The Nameless Castle Part 33
Since Count Vavel had ceased to take outdoor exercise, he had renewed his fencing practice with Henry, who was also an expert swordsman.
In a room on the ground floor of the castle, whence the clashing of steel could not penetrate to Marie's apartments, the two men, master and man, would fight their friendly battles twice daily, and with such vigor that their bodies (as they wore no plastrons) were covered with scratches and bruises.
One morning the count waited in vain for Henry to make his appearance in the fencing-hall. It was long past the usual hour for their practice, and the count, becoming impatient, went in search of the old servant.
The groom's apartment was on the same floor with the kitchen, adjoining the room occupied by his wife Lisette, the cook.
The door of Henry's room which opened into the corridor was locked; the count, therefore, pa.s.sed into the kitchen, where Lisette was preparing dinner.
"Where is Henry?" he asked of the unwieldy mountain of flesh, topped by a face as broad and round as the full moon.
"He is in bed," replied Lisette, without looking up from her work.
"Is he ill?"
"I believe he has had a stroke of apoplexy."
She said it with as little emotion as if she had spoken of an underdone pasty.
The count hastened through Lisette's room to Henry's bedside.
The poor fellow was lying among the pillows; his mouth and one eye were painfully distorted.
"Henry!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the count, in a tone of alarm; "my poor Henry, you are very ill."
"Ye-es--your--lord-ship," he answered slowly, and with difficulty; "but--but--I shall soon--soon be--all right--again."
Ludwig lifted the sick man's hand from the coverlet, and felt the pulse.
"Yes, you are very ill indeed, Henry--so ill that I would not attempt to treat you. We must have a doctor."
"He--he won't come--here; he is--afraid. Besides, there is nothing--the matter with--any part of me but--but my--tongue. I can--can hardly--move--it."
"You must not die, Henry--you dare not!" in an agony of terror exclaimed Ludwig. "What would become of me--of Marie?"
"That--that is what--troubles--troubles me--most, Herr Count. Who will--take my--place? Perhaps--that old soldier--with the machine leg--"
"No! no! no! Oh, Henry, no one could take your place. You are to me what his arms are to a soldier. You are the guardian of all my thoughts--my only friend and comrade in this solitude."
The poor old servant tried to draw his distorted features into a smile.
"I am--not sorry for--myself--Herr Count; only for you two. I have earned--a rest; I have--lost everything--and have long ago--ceased to hope for--anything. I feel that--this is--the end. No doctor can--help me. I know--I am--dying." He paused to breathe heavily for several moments, then added: "There is--something--I should--like to have--before--before I--go."
"What is it, Henry?"
"I know you--will be--angry--Herr Count, but--I cannot--cannot die without--consolation."
"Consolation?" echoed Ludwig.
"Yes--the last consolation--for the--dying. I have not--confessed for--sixteen years; and the--mult.i.tude of my--sins--oppresses me.
Pray--pray, Herr Count, send for--a priest."
"Impossible, Henry. Impossible!"
"I beseech you--in the name of G.o.d--let me see a priest. Have mercy--on your poor old servant, Herr Count. My soul feels--the torments of h.e.l.l; I see the everlasting flames--and the sneering devils--"
"Henry, Henry," impatiently remonstrated his master, "don't be childish.
You are only tormenting yourself with fancies. Does the soldier who falls in battle have time to confess his sins? Who grants him absolution?"
"Perhaps--were I in--the midst of the turmoil of battle--I should not feel this agony of mind. But here--there is so much time to think. Every sin that I have committed--rises before me like--like a troop of soldiers that--have been mustered for roll-call."
"Pray cease these idle fancies, Henry. Of what are you thinking? You want to tell a priest that you are living here under a false name--tell him that I, too, am an impostor? You would say to him: 'When the revolutionists imprisoned my royal master and his family, to behead them afterward, I clothed my own daughter in the garments belonging to my master's daughter, in order to save the royal child from death, I gave up my own child to danger, and carried my master's child to a place of safety. My own child I gave up to play the role of king's daughter, when kings and their offspring were hunted down like wild beasts; and made of the king's daughter a servant, that she might be allowed to go free. I counterfeited certificates of baptism, registers, pa.s.sports, in order to save the king's daughter from her enemies. I bore false witness--committed perjury in order to hide her from her persecutors--'"
"Yes--yes," moaned the dying man, "all that have I done."
"And do you imagine that you will be allowed to breathe such a confession into a human ear?" sternly responded the count.
"I must--I must--to make my peace with G.o.d."
"Henry, if you knew G.o.d as He is you would not tremble before him. If you could realize the immeasurable greatness of His benevolence, His love, His mercy, you would not be afraid to appear before Him with the plea: 'Master, Thou sentest me forth; Thou hast summoned me to return. I came from Thee; to Thee I return. And all that which has happened to me between my going and my coming Thou knowest.'"
"Ah, yes, Herr Count, you have a great soul. It will know how to rise to its Creator. But what can my poor, ignorant little soul do when it leaves my body? It will not be able to find its way to G.o.d. I am afraid; I tremble. Oh, my sins, my sins!"
"Your sins are imaginary, Henry," almost irritably responded Count Vavel. "I swear to you, by the peace of my own soul, that the load beneath which you groan is not sin, but virtue. If it be true that human speech and thought are transmitted to the other world, and if there is a voice that questions us, and a countenance that looks upon us, then answer with confidence: 'Yes, I have transgressed many of Thy laws; but all my transgressions were committed to save one of Thy angels.'"
"Ah, yes, Herr Count, if I could talk like that; but I can't."
"And are not all your thoughts already known to Him who reads all hearts? It does not require the absolution of a priest to admit you to His paradise."
But Henry refused to be comforted; his eyes burned with the fire of terror as he moaned again and again:
"I shall be d.a.m.ned! I shall be d.a.m.ned!"
Count Vavel now lost all patience, and, forgetting himself in his anger, exclaimed:
"Henry, if you persist in your foolishness you will deserve d.a.m.nation.
Did not you say so yourself, when you pledged your word to me on that eventful day? Did you not say, 'The wretch who would become a traitor deserves to be d.a.m.ned'?"
With these words he rose and strode toward the door. But ere he reached it his feeling heart got the better of his anger. He turned and walked back to the bed, took the dying man's ice-cold hand in his, and said gently:
"My old comrade--my brave old companion in arms! we must not part in anger. Don't you trust me any more? Listen, my old friend, to what I say to you. You are going on before to arrange quarters; then I will follow.
When I arrive at the gates of paradise, my first question to St. Peter will be, 'Is my good old comrade, the honest, virtuous Henry, within?'
And should the sainted gatekeeper reply, 'No, he is not here; he is down below,' then I shall say to him, 'I am very much obliged to you, old fellow, for your friendliness, but a paradise from which my old friend Henry is excluded is no place for me. I am going down below to be with him.' That is what I shall say, so help me Heaven!"
The sufferer who stood on the threshold of death strove to smile. He could not return the pressure of his master's hand, but he slowly and with painful effort turned his head so that his cold lips rested against the count's hand.
"Yes--yes," he whispered, and his dim eyes brightened for an instant.