Wöllner rushed forward in answer to this call, and caught Bischofswerder in his arms as he was on the point of falling to the floor. He rested the head on his breast, covered the face with his hand, and gently stroked his cheeks and brow. The king, who stood behind him in breathless suspense, did not comprehend what was going on, and did not see the little bottle which Wöllner held under his friend’s nose, nor did he see him slip it adroitly into his coat-sleeve when he arose. But when Wöllner stepped back, and pointed solemnly to the tranquil body, the king saw that Bischofswerder’s spirit had flown. He saw that the pallid, inanimate object, which lay in the chair, was nothing more than the empty tenement, once the abode of Bischofswerder’s spirit. Of this, the widely-extended, glassy eyes, and the stiffened features, were sufficient evidence.
The king shuddered, and turned away. “It is fearful to look upon the lifeless body of a friend who dies in an endeavor to save and prolong our life. How fearful, if death should be the stronger, and prevent the spirit from returning to its dwelling! Not only would we mourn the loss of a friend, but his death would have been in vain, and the elixir of life unattained! We must observe the time closely and count the minutes, in order that the prayers may begin when the half-hour has elapsed.” With trembling hands the king drew his richly-jewelled watch from his pocket, and watched the creeping hands in breathless anxiety. His alarm increased as time progressed, and now, when only five minutes were wanting to complete the half-hour, the king turned pale and trembled with terror. “Only one minute more, then—”
“He moves,” whispered Wöllner. “See, your majesty! Oh, see! There is life in his eye, his month closes, the hue of life returns to his cheek. A miracle, a miracle has taken place! The spirit has returned to the earthly tabernacle!”
Bischofswerder is once more among the living; he arises. His eyes seek the king and find him. With unsteady gait, a smile on his lips, he approached the king. “Sire, my spirit greets you, my heart shouts for joy. I bring you glad tidings! The grand-kophta has yielded to my entreaties. He approaches to give my king life and health, and above all things to remove his unbelief!”
“He is then really coming? He approaches?” cried the king, joyfully.
“Call him, your majesty! Call the grand-kophta, but do so with a believing and confident heart.”
“Grand-kophta! Sublimest of the sublime! Lend an ear to my entreaties! Appear Divo Cagliostro! Appear, my lord and master!”
A flash, a detonation, proceeding from the furnace, near which Wöllner stands, and all is once more concealed by the clouds of vapor which fill the room. When they at last rise and pass away, a tall figure, enveloped in a long black mantle, is seen standing in the middle of the room. The head only is uncovered, and this head is surrounded with waving black hair, in the midst of which a precious stone shines and sparkles with the lustre of a star. And the large black eyes, which are fastened on the king’s countenance, with a mild and tender look, also shine like stars.
Carried away with rapture and enthusiasm, the king falls on his knees, and raises his hands in adoration.
But the grand-kophta advanced noiselessly to the kneeling king, begged him to rise, and helped him to do so with his own hand. “Yes, you are really my sublime master,” cried the enraptured king. “I feel the warm, living body, the loving pressure of the blessing-dispensing hand. Hail, master! hail Cagliostro!”