The Countess of Rudolstadt / A Sequel to "Consuelo"

by George Sand

"In disguise he entered Bohemia, and found Zdenko alone in the cavern of the Schreckenstein. He wished thence to write to his kindred and prepare them for the excitement of his return. He was aware that Amelia was the most courageous, as well as the most frivolous of the family, and to her he wished to send his first letter. As he wrote it, and while Zdenko was out on the mountain, he heard the report of a gun, and a painful cry of agony. He rushed out, and the first thing he saw was Zdenko, bearing Cynabre in his arms. To hurry to his poor old dog, without thinking of concealing his face, was the first act of Albert. As he bore the poor animal, with a death wound, towards the place known as the 'Monk's Cave,' he saw an old huntsman hurrying towards him, rapidly as age would permit, to seize his prey. This was Baron Frederick, who, while hunting at the dawn of day, had taken Cynabre for some wild beast. He had seen him through the undergrowth, and as his eye and hand were yet sure, had wounded him. He had put two balls in his side. All at once he saw Albert, and fancying that a spectre stood before him, paused in terror. No longer fearing a real danger, he shrank back to the very verge of a mountain path, and fell into a ravine, where he was crushed by the rocks. He died immediately, at the very place where for centuries had stood the fatal oak of Schreckenstein, known as the Hussite, in other days the witness and accomplice of terrible catastrophes.

"Albert saw the baron fall, and left Zdenko, to descend into the ravine. He then perceived the servants of his uncle, seeking to lift him up, and filling the air with lamentations, for he gave no sign of life. Albert hearing these words—'Our poor master is dead; alas! what will our lady the canoness say?' forgot himself, and shouted and cried aloud.

"As soon as they saw him, a panic took possession of the credulous servants. They abandoned the body of their master, and were about to fly, when old Hans, the most superstitious of all, bade them halt, and said, making the sign of the cross, 'My friends, it is not our Albert that stands before us; it is the spirit of the Schreckenstein, who has taken his form to destroy us all if we be cowards. I saw him distinctly, and he it was who made our master the baron fall. He would carry his body away and devour it, for he is a vampire. Be brave, my children; be brave. They say the devil is a coward. I shall shoot at him in the mean time. Father,' (he spoke to the chaplain) 'go over the exorcism.' As he spoke Hans made the sign of the cross again and again, lifted up his gun, and fired at Albert, while the other servants crowded around the baron's body. Fortunately Hans was too much terrified and too much afraid to fire accurately. He acted in a kind of delirium. The ball hissed by Albert's head, but Hans was the best shot in all the country, and had he been cool would infallibly have killed my son. Albert stood irresolute. 'Be brave, lads: be brave.' said Hans, loading his gun. 'Fire at once. You will not kill him, for he is ball-proof, but you will make him retreat, and we will be able to carry away the Baron Frederick's body.'

"Albert, seeing all the guns directed at him, rushed into the thicket, and unseen descended the declivity of the mountain, and soon by personal observation became assured of the reality of the dreadful scene. The crushed and broken body of his unfortunate uncle lay on the bloody stones. His skull was crushed, and old Hans, in the most lamentable tone, said to the crowd—'Gather up his brains, and leave nothing on the rocks, for the vampire's dog will come to lap them up. Yes, yes, there was a dog—a dog I would have sworn was Cynabre.'

"'He, though, disappeared after Count Albert's death,' said another, 'and no one has seen him since. He died in some corner or other, and the dog we saw is a shadow, as also was the vampire that assumed Count Albert's form. Horrible! It will always be before my eyes. Lord God have mercy on us, and the soul of the baron, who died unconfessed, in consequence of the evil spirit's malice.'

"'Alas! I told him some misfortune would befall him,' said Hans, as he gathered up the shreds of the baron's garments in his hands, which were stained with the nobleman's blood. 'He would hunt in this thrice-accursed place. He thought, because no one ever came hither, all the game of the forest crowded into it. God knows there never was any other game here than what, when I was a lad, I saw hanging from the branches of that oak. Accursed Hussite! tree of perdition. The fire of heaven has devoured it, but while one root remains in the soil, the Hussites will come hither to avenge themselves on the Catholics. Well, get the litter ready, and let us go, for here we are not safe. Ah! Madame Canoness! poor mistress! what will become of you? Who will dare first to appear before you, and say as we used to—"The baron has come back from hunting." Will she say—"Have dinner at once!" Dinner!—a long time will pass before anyone in the castle will be hungry. Well, this family is too unhappy. I can account for it, though.'

"While the body of the baron was placed on a litter, Hans, annoyed by questions, replied, and, as he did so, he shook his head—'In this family all were pious and died like Christians, until the day when the Countess Wanda, on whom may God have mercy, died unconfessed. Count Albert did not die in a state of grace, and his worthy father suffered for it. He died unconscious, and here is another who has passed away without the sacraments. I bet, not even the canoness will have time to prepare herself. Fortunately for this holy family, she is always in a state of grace.'

"Albert heard every word of all this sad conversation, the expression of true grief in common-place words, and a terrible reflection of the fanatical horror which both of us excited at Riesenberg. In stupor and amazement, he saw the sad cortège defile in the distance down the paths of the ravine, and did not dare to follow it, though he was aware that properly he should have been the first to bear the sad news to his old aunt and aid her in her mortal grief. He was sure, though, had he done so, his apparition would either have killed or crazed her. He therefore withdrew in despair to the cavern, where Zdenko, who was ignorant of the most unfortunate accident of the day, was busy in washing Cynabre's wound. It was too late, however. Cynabre, when he saw his master return, uttered a cry of pain; in spite of his broken ribs, he crawled up to him, and died at his feet, after receiving his last caresses. Four days afterwards Albert rejoined us; he was pale and overcome by this last shock. He remained many days sad and overcome with these new sufferings. At last, his tears fell on his bosom. 'I am accursed among men,' said he, 'and it seems that God seeks to exclude me from the world, where I should have loved no one. I cannot return to it, without being the vehicle of terror, death, or madness. All is over. I will never be able again to see those who took care of my childhood. These ideas, in relation to the eternal separation of the body and soul, are so absolute and terrible, that they would prefer to think me chained forever to the tomb, to seeing my unfortunate countenance. This is a strange and terrible phase of life. The dead become objects of hatred to those who loved them most; and if their shadows appear, they seem sent forth by hell, instead of being angels from heaven. My poor uncle! my noble father! you to me seemed heretical, as I did to you; yet did you appear, were I fortunate enough to see your forms as death seized them, I would welcome them on my knees, I would think they came from the bosom of God, where souls are retempered and bodies formed anew. I would utter no horrible formula of dismissal and malediction, no impious exorcisms of fear and aversion. I would call on you, I would gaze on you with love, and retain you with me as things sent to aid me. Oh! mother! all is over. I must to them be dead whether they be living or dead to me.'

"Albert had not left the country until he was assured the canoness had survived this last shock of misfortune. This old woman, as ill-restrained as I am, lives by sorrow alone. Venerated for her convictions and her sorrows, she counts, resignedly, the bitter days God yet requires her to live. In her sorrow, however, she yet maintains a degree of pride which has survived all her affections. She said not long ago, to a person who wrote to us: 'If we did not fear death from a sense of duty, we would yet have to do so for propriety's sake.' This remark explains all the character of Wenceslawa.

"Thenceforth Albert abandoned all idea of leaving us, and his courage seemed to increase at every trial. He seemed even to have overcome his love, and plunged into philosophy and religion, and was buried in ethics and revolutionary action. He gave himself up to serious labors; and his vast mind in this manner assumed a development which was as serene and magnificent as it had been feverish and fitful when away from us. This strange man, whose delirium had terrified Catholics, became a light of wisdom to beings of a superior order. He was initiated into the most mysterious secrets of the Invisibles, and assumed a rank among the chiefs of the new church. He gave them advice, which they received with love and gratitude. The reforms he proposed were consented to, and in the practice of a militant creed he regained hope and a serenity of soul which makes heroes and martyrs.