The Fiery Angel (36 page)
Knowing that our departure was fixed for that day, in the hours of the afternoon, I immediately went to find the Count, that I might ask his permission to spend at least another four-and-twenty hours in the castle, and I succeeded at last, not without difficulty, in obtaining an audience.
The Count met me very ungraciously, which was a striking contradiction to his behaviour of yesterday, but which immediately explained itself, for, as soon as I had unfolded the object of my visit, he changed in an instant, jumped from his arm-chair, shook me by the hand, and exclaimed:
“And so you are parting from your companions, dear Rupprecht! But that puts a different complexion on matters altogether! Of course you may not only ask, you may command my hospitality, in the name of Pallas Athene. We moderns form a sort of brotherhood, though the Parcæ may have spun for us different threads of fate, and we are bound to be of service to one another.”
But when, surprised, I asked the Count why he was so glad of my decision, he informed me, after some hesitation that Mephistophilis had preceded me to him, and had asked, announcing his departure, for one hundred Rhine guldens as fee for the magic experiment of the previous day, and the Count had been indignant at my conduct, for he thought me a participant in the sharing of the money. I must confess that the news struck me as the blow of a bludgeon upon my head, for, though I realised that magic has nothing in common with alchymy, and that the most skilful necromancers are none the less in need of roof and food, yet, all the same, the action of Mephistophilis appeared to me most unknightly. Even had I had any doubts before, whether I were behaving well in parting from Doctor Faustus, the intelligence conveyed by the Count now blew them away, as the wind disperses a fog, and in the most polite words I expressed my gratitude to the Count for his hospitality.
The Count, evidently himself affected by his own kindness, spoke to me as follows:
“Why, in any case, hasten your departure from my castle? Have you then business in Trier that you cannot postpone? Stay in my castle, and I shall see to it that you shall not find it ill. And, moreover, I require someone who can write Latin, for I intend to write a treatise on the stars.”
This offer was extremely unexpected to me, and even seemed to me, who had long been accustomed to independence, a trifle impertinent, but quickly casting a mental glance over my position, I decided that I had no reason to refuse it. On the one hand I had no definite plans determining my further path of life, and on the other—I have never looked askance at any office, having been, in the course of my life, both a simple landsknecht and an agent of merchant houses. So I gave my consent, thus obeying a new whim of that flow of life that was dragging me along a winding river, past islands and shoals—and I was transformed thus suddenly from the companion of a dubious magician to the scribe of a doubtful humanist.
That very day Doctor Faustus and Mephistophilis did indeed leave the castle.
Before their departure I called on Doctor Faustus to take my leave, and had a conversation with him, some parts of which I should like to give here. It was natural that we should discuss the experiment in magic of the previous day, and Doctor Faustus delivered himself of such a whole-hearted panegyric upon the beauty of Helena the Greek, in such exalted terms, that scarcely with greater passion was she acclaimed in Ilium before his father and brothers by Paris, the abductor, himself. Later, we talked of necromancy in general, and Doctor Faustus, as parallel to his own efforts, pointed out to me the invocation of the shade of the seer Teiresias by Ulysses, and of the prophet Samuel by the witch of Endor. At the end of our conversation, I brought up in very tortuous phrases, and hinted to Doctor Faustus, the real reason of my parting with him, in other words the popular fable that ascribed to him unworthy acts, and accounted for his power by most unworthy means. Doctor Faustus evidently understood my cautious hints, and, after a silence, thus replied to me:
“Never believe it, dear Rupprecht, if anyone tells you that a true magus has made a pact with a demon. Perhaps some unfortunate unlearned fool may sometimes renounce eternal bliss in exchange for a few handfuls of stolen coins offered him by one of the smaller devils, but God’s justice would certainly not punish such a contract, in which there must be more ignorance than sin! And what means have the demons to tempt a man who comprehends their nature and the limits of their powers? It is true that the demons possess certain faculties with which man is not endowed: they can fly fast from place to place, dissolve their substance to a light mist or condense it to any image, can rise to the aerial and other spheres. But are the desires of man limited to those that can be satisfied by the help of such means? Does not man thirst to comprehend all the mysteries of the universe, to its uttermost end, and to possess all its treasures, without limit or measure? A true magus always regards the demons as forces of a lower order, of whom he can make use, but to whom it would be an act of foolishness to submit. Do not forget that man is created in the image and similitude of the Creator Himself, and therefore there are elements in him incomprehensible not only to demons, but to angels as well. Angels and demons can strive only for their own bliss, the first—to the glory of God, the second—to the glory of Evil, but a man can seek sorrow and suffering, and even death itself. Just as God Omnipotent sacrificed His First-born Son for the world He had created, so we at times can sacrifice our immortal souls, and thus resemble the Creator. And remember the words of the Evangels: he that will save his life shall lose it, and he that shall lose it shall find it!”
This parting and as if monitory speech Doctor Faustus addressed to me with great enthusiasm, and I was sincerely moved, for much of it was in words that I myself might have expressed, so that my soul, listening to them, trembled as a string trembles at the sound of another attuned to it. When, however, I was just getting ready to reply to the doctor, there came the voice of Mephistophilis, who had crept up unheard during our conversation, and suddenly exclaimed:
“Excellent, doctor, excellent! You were born to move all the smug lady parishioners to tears with your sermons from a church pulpit. There is yet time, I have many good friends in the papal curia, I can get you a profitable living as a prelate! Especially do I love it when you bring in texts from the Holy Scriptures to strengthen your arguments—this is the best method of proving anything. For it is only stupidity that is one-sided, truth can be turned with any facet outwards!”
The presence of Mephistophilis always as if bound my movements by strong ropes, and in my confusion I really did not know what to say, while, turning to me, he added:
“And you, Master Rupprecht, probably find that we eclipse your qualities, and that without us it will be easier for you to get on. We shall be magnanimous and will cede you the field.”
To engage in single combat with the lances of wit I had no desire whatever, and I bowed silently to the doctor, turned round and walked out of the room, which was of course not at all polite and might have been interpreted as an insult. Therefore, should these notes happen to fall into the hands of Doctor Faustus himself or of any of his friends, I hasten to testify here that all the evil in the deeds of my two companions I place entirely to the account of Mephistophilis alone. As regards Doctor Faustus, I thought differently of him at different times, but I must finally confess that my log-line did not fathom all the depths of his life and his soul, and that his image still bulks on the horizon of my memory as the shadow of Goliath.
At the departure itself of the doctor I was present as a mere spectator, already amongst the inhabitants of the castle, and once more there was permitted in that scene much mountebankery in respect to the departing guests. Knight Robert delivered a mock oration, thanking the doctor for his visit, and the ladies crowned Mephistophilis with a wreath of flowers grown in the forcing rooms, and it must be confessed that the monk looked quite comical in this unseemly decoration. For my part I studied my erstwhile companions, trying to distinguish in them those traits that had given rise to the popular rumours about them, and I must confess that they provided not a little food for various speculations. The weary repose of the doctor could without difficulty have been taken for the indifference of one who knows his fate beforehand; in the quick movements of Mephistophilis the imagination might easily have discerned something inhuman, devilish, and even our gloomy, black-bearded coachman might easily have been taken, if one so desired, for a common devil, bronzed by hell fire, and accustomed rather to a poker for shovelling coal in the fires of hell, than to reins. And as the coach, all the jolts of which had, but so short a while ago, been transmitted to my ribs, rattled along the cobbled court of the castle, slowly rolled over the draw-bridge and quickly twinkled along beside the Wischel, I almost expected, carried away by the train of my thought, that at any moment, on some bend of the road, it would be transformed, as the fairy tales tell, into a nut-shell, and the four goodly horses into white mice.
On the same day, about evening, the remaining guests of the Count, the knights and ladies, departed also, so that there remained in the castle only its customary inhabitants, of whom, however, there were not a few. On the one hand there was the castle society: the Count himself, Countess Louisa, her two ladies-in-waiting, knight Robert, the seneschal, the chaplain and such-like persons, and on the other hand the numerous retainers, beginning with bowmen and huntsmen and ending with ordinary servants. I, of course, remained in that company to which my education entitled me, even if one does not take into consideration the weighty reflections on
nobilita
of Poggio Braccolini, and was invited to the general table, as well as to all the evening conversations in the Countess’s chamber, but I must admit that my position at the castle began none the less to assume an ambiguous character. The Count alone treated me with unchanging friendliness, and also the chaplain would at times engage me in cordial discussion, but the Countess and knight Robert tried to appear not to notice me at all. For my part, I too sought intimacy with no one, outwardly preserved that mask of sternness in which I had first appeared at the castle, and even at dinner preferred to keep silence, especially as the Count and his cousin loved to argue on political questions little known to me, for example, on the state of affairs at Württemburg on the return there of Duke Ulrich, on the desires and attempts of the Emperor to renew the Schwabian Union, on the Seim to be held at Worms the following month, on the matter of the siege of the City of Münster, and the like.
Recalling now the days that I spent in the castle in this position of half-friend, half-servant, I am not overmuch surprised that I felt their burden so little at the time, explaining it by the fact that, after spending half a year of my life in torment with Renata, after the passionate intensity of my short communion with Agnes, and after the exceedingly varied adventures of my four days’ travelling with Doctor Faustus—my soul fell into a somnolent swoon, as, during winter, fall certain caterpillars.
After the departure of Doctor Faustus, I was placed in another room, also very convenient and handsome, in the west tower of the castle, with windows giving on the far distant lines of the Ahr heights, and, as the Count gave me leave to use the books from his library, I was wont to spend the greater part of the day in this retreat, at the window, book in hand, immediately forcing my attention back upon the page almost as soon as chance dreams swept my imagination far away. Thus I read many remarkable compositions, previously unknown to me, mostly books of travel, and amongst them the beautiful opus of Petrus Martyr Anglerius, who describes so vividly and engagingly in his decades the discovery of the New World and the first conquests in New Spain. But, despite the wide leisure that I enjoyed, almost never did I give myself up to thoughts of my love, for I was afraid of exacerbating the wounds of my heart, which it seemed to me were healing, and I preferred to shield myself from my memories as if from poisoned arrows, by a shield of incogitancy.
Those of my duties which I took upon myself to execute did not prove to be burdensome, for the Count loved more to dream of his treatise, than really to work upon its composition. Every day he would invite me into his study, and, having whittled a new pen in order to write to his dictation, I would unfold a sheet of paper, but seldom did I have occasion to mar its white with the black of more than one or two lines, for the Count would either begin, transported, to explain to me the further chapters of his treatise, or simply to engage me in conversation on subjects foreign to it, and, moreover, these digressions were in no way irksome to me, but often, on the contrary, very instructive to me. As regards that little which, notwithstanding, I did take down, following the very promising heading: “
Tractatus mathematicus de firmamento septentrionali
,” I shall keep silence about its content, for the Count did, in many ways, render me invaluable services, and proved himself, in many other spheres, to be a man of education and acute intelligence.
Of the Count himself I shall have yet to speak in more detail, here I will only say that he loved to pride himself on his extreme lack of faith, and often mocked me for my conviction, based on experiment, of the reality of magic manifestations. Thus, in the course of one of our conversations, he asked me, among other things, what I thought of the experiment of the invocation of Helena the Greek, of which we had both been a witness. I frankly declared that the experiment had appeared to me to be very remarkable, and that I had deplored it when knight Robert had prevented it from being brought to its proper conclusion. The Count, laughing, said to me:
“You are very easily credulous, Rupprecht! Would it have been difficult to find an accomplice among the maids of the castle? For two guldens any one of them would have been willing to play the part of Queen Helena, and equally unskilfully into the bargain! Indeed, I am even almost certain which of them we have to suspect.”
