Part 8

“She would not spy upon us two nights in succession.”

On the way across the lake, the sparkles of light upon the water were not more numerous than the words of love which he lavished upon Elsbeth. They erased from her mind the disagreeable occurrence. She thought only of the morrow, of escape--and of the gorgeous gown and the jewel that had come from Stamboul.

As soon as they left the chapel, the Princess had the door unbolted, and entered, followed by two men bearing a chest identical in size and design with the one that stood beneath the picture. In obedience to her command they exchanged them, and took the former chest back to the castle.

The next night found Elsbeth on the stairs waiting eagerly. When Prince Ràkoczi came, she took the package he gave her and ran back to her room. When again she came out, she wore a short white satin princess dress, heavily embroidered in seed pearls. It was cut low and square at the neck, and flared at the bottom. It resembled in style and cut the votive robes made for statues of the Virgin. About her neck was a cross of diamonds. The convent cloak was thrown over her arm, to be used in case of need.

No sooner had they entered the chapel and seen to the safe bolting of the door, than with kisses and caresses he led her to the picture of La Fiorita. Moving a few steps away, he paused and looked at her.

“You cannot imagine how greatly you resemble that picture. In certain ways the faces are identical. The difference is that you have not lived so much. That is the woman my father loved. This is the woman whom I love. As she was the grief of his life, you will be the happiness of mine--” An imperative knock interrupted him.

Elsbeth donned the cloak and hood, drawing it carefully over the whiteness of her gown. Then she unbolted the door. Graciously the Princess entered.

“My good sister, I am going to take you from your prayerful duties for a few moments to-night to gratify a curiosity of mine.”

“I shall be most happy to serve you, Gracious Princess,” murmured Elsbeth.

“I have heard,” she continued, “that beneath the fingers of a pure woman the opal loses its angry fire and becomes white like a pearl. It is my wish to find out if that is true. Now on that chest there--the one beneath the repentant Magdalene--opals are set. You, of course, having had no occasion to observe the chest, have not seen them. I will make the test in the light of this candle, if you will come. Now observe the decoration on the chest front, a procession of wise men bearing offerings to the infant Christ. It was designed and made by Maestro Benedetto da Majano and is well-nigh priceless. Notice the rich softness of the wood--its depth of color. Do you see how it poises between the shades of brown and red? Look at that kneeling figure there, holding up a plate filled with fruit. The fruit in the center of the plate is made of opals. Now place your finger upon the central one, the apple. It represents, I fancy, the forbidden fruit of the tree of life.

“That’s right. That’s right. Remarkable! Remarkable! It has grown pale--see! So have you, good nun. Why is that? Why does your hand tremble? Hold it more firmly, that I may see. There!--there!--Now press your fingers on that central stone.”

Elsbeth obeyed. As she did so, a shriek rang out, so heartrending, so horrible, it curdled the blood. Again a shriek of mortal anguish--then silence.

Above her, stern and erect, Princess Ràkoczi towered, her thin face illumined by the pointed candle. Without a word she gathered up her rustling robe and walked away.

When she had gone, Elsbeth lifted the chest lid. “Merciful God!” she cried. “Help! Help! Help!” Again and again she called, until her throat felt numb and weary.

When she pressed her finger to the opal, she had touched a spring that released round, needle-like darts of steel, which had been concealed beneath the satin lining. The body within was shredded into ribbons. In the space of a moment it had become an unrecognizable mass of pulp. Across it lay a silver heart, shining dimly, and beside it two tiny marble Cupids held chains of roses, which were dotted with blood.

Madly she grasped the steels, attempting to tear them away. But she succeeded only in making deep wounds in the palms of her hands. She ran to the castle door, determined to have revenge. The door was fastened on the other side. When she beat upon it and tried to call for help, she found she could not speak. Her throat was paralyzed. She was dumb.

The next morning, when the sisters of St. Euthymius came to tell her that they had decided to release her from her confinement, they found her lying upon her bed, robed in white satin and pearls, a cross of diamonds upon her breast. When they spoke to her in their astonishment at the sight that met their eyes, and asked for an explanation, she pointed to her mouth. They understood. She had taken the vow of eternal silence. Then she held up her hands. The palms were dotted with spots of red. They fell upon their knees in reverence and adoration, crying: “A miracle! _The stigmata! The stigmata!_” They saw, too, that her face was changed, and that her hair was streaked with white.

For the remainder of her life, which lasted twenty-five years, Saint Elsbeth was never known to break her vow of silence.

The white robe and the diamond cross which came down from heaven when she was made the bride of Christ possessed greater healing efficacy than any relics in Hungary. Their power was oftenest called into service by maidens and young lovers, until Saint Elsbeth became the patron saint of the heart. Through these relics Saint Euthymius became the richest convent in all Hungary and the most widely known for the piety of its inmates.

There are certain days of midsummer when the convent is gratuitously open to the public. Then the room with its tiny window overlooking the lake is shown, where the miracle was wrought, and the white satin robe and diamond cross came down from heaven to honor Saint Elsbeth, who was the bride of Christ.

THE OPAL ISLES

_Vivere ardendo é non sentire il malo!_[9]

GASPARA STAMPA.

(To live intensely, to be impervious to wrong!)

We were sitting over our after-dinner cigars, my host, Gustav Berençy, and myself, when the conversation touched on love. Without pausing to consider the effect of the question or its evident infringement of guest-right, I boyishly asked him why he had never married.

Gustav Berençy had been the friend of my grandfather. They had known each other in Paris in their youth. I remembered hearing my grandfather say that Berençy was not only the handsomest, but the most distinguished man he had met. Looking out upon the luxurious park-setting of his seaside home, I could not help wondering why he had always lived alone.

As I asked the question, I saw that the eyes looking into mine were dimmed for a moment, as if by a veil of grief.

“I _am_ married,” he replied; “not by the law of man, but by something more sacred--the law of the heart, which is God’s law.”

“I beg your pardon,” I hastened to make reply, repenting of the ill-timed question. “I had not heard of your marriage, nor indeed,” I added, “of your wife’s death.”

“No, of course not,” was the answer, “because I do not know myself whether she is alive or dead. In all these years I have not been able to tell. She is here with me, in the great room there above,” indicating with his hand a wing of the house.

“I do not believe I understand,” I murmured awkwardly, trying to hit upon a fitting answer.

“Very likely you do not, because I do not.” Grief like a shadow flitted across his face. For the moment it looked aged and strangely weary.

“Of course you do not understand, because I do not. For fifty years she has been there--in that room. For fifty years my heart has not wavered in its allegiance to her, and yet I do not know, as I have told you, whether she is alive or dead.”

We sat in silence, while my host looked reminiscently out across the sea, as if somewhere in its spaces he sought the mystery’s solving. A sensation of fear swept over me, which, however, I controlled upon the instant. I was ashamed of my folly. This genial, courtly gentleman was not mad. In the eyes that looked into mine there was none of the maniac’s frenzy. On the contrary, they were gently meditative, and pregnant with thought and grief.

“No,” he said, reminiscently, lighting a fresh cigar, whose white smoke in the gentle evening floated up and blended aureole-like with the thick whiteness of his hair, “no, I do not mind telling you why I have never married, as the world puts it. It is a strange story. I doubt if you will believe it. But you are leaving on the morrow, and I shall never see you again. Besides, I am old, you know. I am eighty.”

With a sad smile he waved aside my polite demurrer. “Fifty years is long enough to keep a secret, is it not?” he continued. “And it might be well in after years for some one to know the truth. It might help her.”

Involuntarily my thoughts flew to the great silent room above, where for fifty years the woman had lain who was neither alive nor dead. Little did I guess what was housed there, as my heart beat eagerly with anticipation.

“I was born, as you know, in France,” said my host. “My mother died at my birth. My childhood was spent in a monastic school on the gloomy coast of La Bas Bretagne. There I did not see much childish merriment, as you may imagine. Shortly after graduating, when the subject was being discussed as to whether or not I, the younger son, should take holy orders--and at that time of my impressionable youth I was not greatly averse to the idea, so accustomed had I become to monastic discipline--my father and my brother died, leaving me heir to the name and fortune. Thus duty, rather than inclination, kept me in a world of which at that time I knew nothing.

“Finding the loneliness of the old home unendurable, I went to Paris. There I saw something of life. When at length dissipation palled upon me, I gave myself over to study and to art. It was then that I met your grandfather. Finally, I determined to make the _grand tour_, which in those days was _de rigueur_ for young men of wealth and position. I sauntered across Europe, pausing wherever caprice seized me, idled carelessly across Asia, dallying with my art the while, reached its eastern coast, and found myself confronted by the great Pacific. Here, not knowing what else to do, but without a definite goal in view, I took passage for a cruise among the islands of Polynesia. Some months later, when I had satisfied my curiosity in regard to the South Seas, just after leaving the Austral Isles, a typhoon struck us and we were wrecked upon an outlying coral reef. The steamer was virtually cut in two. The entire crew were drowned with the exception of the first mate, one sailor, and myself.

“We were swept by the fury of the waves upon a high white beach, where a group of natives who had seen the wreck were waiting for the storm to subside, with the intention of plundering the ship. I found that we had merely exchanged one form of death for another and a crueler one. We were seized, bound hand and foot, and thrown upon the ground to await the tribe’s decision of our fate upon the morrow. That night, while I lay awake wondering what the outcome would be, a young native woman, whose sinewy strength had caught my eye during the day, slipped up to where I lay alone at a distance from the others, and with incredible swiftness cut the thongs that bound me. Putting her finger to her lips significantly, she motioned me to follow. One fate was as bad as another, if they all meant death, and I did not hesitate.

“She went across the island, walking so swiftly that it was all that I could do to keep up. Not once did she look back, or seem to think of me. She went straight on, as if impelled by fear. I have no idea how far we walked. When at length she paused with a gesture that made me know that the journey was at an end, the day was not far off. We had crossed the island, and again the sea lay before us.

“The shore was different here. It was repellent and stern, like the coast of La Bas Bretagne which I had known in my gloomy childhood. Rocks sloped in sharp declivity to the water, which looked threatening and black.

“Going up to one of the rocky walls, she pointed to an opening beneath, and went in a little way, motioning me to follow. There I saw a stairway hewn from the living rock, and descending into the bowels of the earth. Although it seemed at first glance to be perpendicular, it sloped slightly toward the water, at whose edge we had entered, so I knew that whatever pathway lay beyond must lead beneath the sea.

“She crouched down upon the stair beside me and, stretching out one long bare arm, pointed down, down, down--once, twice, thrice--meaning that there I must go. Then she took from her back a bag-shaped basket and handed it to me. In it were food and drink.

“Like a whirr of yellow swords, the first sun-rays pierced the sky. As if frightened to see the day so soon, she bounded up the stairs and was gone. To go back meant death; to go on meant I knew not what. But the chance of a life hung in the balance, so I went on.

“The stairs led downward between smooth walls of rock. How far I do not know. I counted the steps until I could count no longer. My brain grew dizzy and refused to work. I sat down and buried my face in my hands to recover poise. I got up and went on, and again my brain refused to count the infinite steps. Again I had to give it up.

“The opening above, which for a time shed light plentifully upon me, became a distant pin-point, then vanished, and inky blackness surrounded me. I should have felt like one buried alive, had it not been for the fresh air that swept between the perpendicular walls of this canal-way.

“But what awaited me at the bottom? Was it water, black and silent and of fathomless depth--impassable, mysterious water that had never reflected the stars or the sun? Was I to find myself upon the edge of an abyss whose depth I could sense but could not estimate?

“What torturing fear and suspense did I not suffer, as I descended that frightful stairway! Suppose my foot slipped and I should fall! What then! But she, my guide of the night, had motioned that I was to follow the stairway. She had not crossed the island merely to bring about my death. It was her intention to save me. I must have faith in her. There was no other way. I summoned fresh courage and crept down the blackness.

“I lost all account of time as hours go. But judging by my weariness and hunger when I reached the level, I think I must have put in a good part of a day in descending that frightful stairway. At the bottom I found myself in a smooth and level road enclosed between walls of granite.

“But the silence and the darkness--how can I tell you what they were? Such silence drives men mad. The darkness was like velvet in its black impenetrableness. It seemed to fall upon my face and stifle me. Nothing disturbed the silence. Even the wind slipped noiselessly through this grave of granite. And it had come so far that it had freed its wings of the scents of the world of light, of the sea and of the earth. No message from the world above came here. Not a sound broke the silence. From the walls of barren rock no dust clods fell to tell of the ceaseless, weaving life of the earth. Adown their sides no water tinkled. Along the road there was not even the friendly whirr of a dried leaf blown by the wind. Nothing! Nothing!

“After I had traveled for a time and the silence had heaped its leaden weight upon me, I shrieked. I could restrain myself no longer. I cried out with all the strength of lung that I possessed, and the granite walls sent back a million, broken-voiced echoes to beat about my ears.

“For days I traveled on like this, pausing only to eat and sleep. I had lost reckoning of time, of night, of day. I heard only the measured sound of my own steps. I do not know how many days and nights had passed like this, when I found that the road was leading upward. It became narrower and steeper. I brushed the rock walls as I walked; I could scarcely squeeze between them. I did not fear. The sound of my steps had dulled my brain. Darkness had paralyzed the power to think.

“Above my head the roof lowered till I could no longer stand erect. I fell upon my knees and crept forward. The wind changed; it freshened. I thought it brought a scent of the sea. Suddenly thick leaves barred the way. I brushed through them, and the star-splendid circle of a tropic night swept into view.

“I was in the garden of a spacious residence that crowned an elevation. Below me a white city lay, and around and beyond the sea. How I drank in the air! How I rejoiced in the sleepy rustle of leaves and grass, and in the regained face of the earth!

“The city which presented itself to my eyes was arranged in the form of a wheel, whose hub was the dwelling in the garden where I stood. From the dwelling the streets radiated like spokes, and at the end of each, terminating at the island’s edge, shone the sea. Around the eminence spread a circular park of considerable breadth, adorned with flowers and statues. Around this lay a smooth wide road, bordered at regular intervals with slender palms, whose leaves in the windless night were motionless. Opposite, the city streets began, and each was headed by a building of great beauty, so that beyond the park and the roadway rose a circular sweep of noble buildings. At regular distances from the central starting-point, each street was interrupted by a small circular space of greensward, and these, uniting, made a driveway around the city.

“I chose at random one of the paths that intersected the garden and followed it. Since I was the toy of chance, I determined to resign myself bravely. After a detour the path led toward the dwelling, blended with one of its marble walks, and ended at the foot of a staircase. I climbed the stairs and entered an uncovered corridor of white marble. After walking to the end, I found it closed by a smooth and rounded stone. I touched it. It swung open, enfolding and sweeping me within its circle, and then closed silently behind me. Impenetrable draperies of silk hung in front of me, brushing my face. I parted them and entered the strangest room I ever saw.

“It was long and of unusual height. The top was uncovered and let in the tropic night. Around the edge of the top of the walls a rim of opal glass projected, upon which a glass ceiling was folded back, to be used in case of need. There were no pictures in the room, nor were there decorations or adornment of any kind. The four walls were hung uniformly in curtains of heavy white silk, which fell in straight folds to the floor.

“There was no air moving. Indeed, I remembered the night outside to have been singularly windless. Yet these white curtains shivered and swayed with a sibilant and silken murmur. Across their surface gold lines and figures swept. An endless chain of golden phantoms girdled the spacious chamber. From the walls bright forms leaped with a burst of light, and then faded back to whiteness. Round and round swept a glittering, changing pageant, impalpable and soundless. Sometimes the gold within the witch-wrought silk blazed forth until the air gleamed with yellow light that dimmed the stars. Anon it paled to such a vague misty radiance as engirdles a winter moon. But always there was change and light and motion and the rustle of swayed silk. If I examined the curtains closely, if I took them up in my hands, I found that they were colorless and uniformly white. But if I let them fall again, and stepped a foot away to look at them, gold light and flashing form leaped out to startle me.

“There were times when the gold wall-light faded and a dim brilliancy took its place. Occasionally, too, a silver light inspirited the restless curtains, pallid frost-shine filled the room, and horizontal lines of silver swept round the walls. When the silver lines grouped themselves into form and being, it was as if lustrous spirits danced airily a ghost dance of joy, now flashing for an instant into vivid life, now paling and fading into silver mist that still retained their gracious contours.

“There was no furniture save a long, narrow, bed-like pedestal or support of ivory, which stood in the center of the room. Upon this rested a mammoth sickle likewise of ivory, formed like the new moon, and within its hollow curve there lay--how shall I tell you!--was it a woman wrapped in lustrous gauze, or was it a mammoth opal that bore a woman’s form? Standing beside the figure and looking down, I could not tell. Beneath the pallid surface colors glowed like tint of flesh with jewels upon it. Again, they seemed to be only the fiery flash of an opal’s heart, and the surface became icily cold.

“I discovered plainly once or twice the long, noble lines of a figure relaxed as if in sleep. Within the white stone floated the gracious semblance of a woman, yet far away and insubstantial, like colors seen in a dream. Sometimes I thought the figure breathed, but by the light of those moving curtains I could not tell. They kept up such a tremor of shifting brightness that my own body became unreal and no longer seemed to belong to me. They dazzled my senses and broke my chain of reasoned thinking. I was adrift with nothing to guide me. When at length I turned from contemplation of the mysterious figure to find again, if possible, the place of exit, in the wall-labyrinth of weaving light, some power which I could not but obey compelled me to pause on a sudden and look back.

“There, standing upright by the moon’s ivory horn, was the opal woman. The tangling gauze which covered her--which I had not dared to touch to find if it were gauze or the smooth cold surface of a stone--had slipped to her feet, where it billowed white like foam. She was taller than the average woman and more slender, yet withal muscularly built and round. Hers was the body of Pallas.

“An apron-like corselet of flexible gold, woven in open-work squares, fitted her smoothly, falling evenly to her feet, but opened to the waist on either side. Beneath this from the waist downward fell something silken and white, softening the sharp outline of the gold. In each little open-work square of the corselet hung a pink gem, and between her breasts was set a ruby.

“Her hair, which was thick and of a bronze color, was arranged in great coils on either side of her head, completely covering her ears. In the center of each coil shone a ruby that matched in size and color the one between her breasts. From these rubies, and attached to them, extended a net of tiny pearls, covering her hair and holding it securely in place.

“So absorbed was I in contemplation of her person, that I forgot that word was due from me. When at length I lifted my eyes to hers, it was as if along with the conquest of my senses the conquest of my mind had been completed. They seemed to enfold and sweep me within a sea of light where all things were foreign to my will.

“Notwithstanding her strange and fantastic costuming, which at once revealed and enhanced the beauty of her body, I knew that this was no vain coquette. This was not a woman to find pleasure in vulgar admiration. Her costume I felt to be the result of some ideal of life, of beauty, which was the ruling passion of her mind. Calmly and in silence we looked at each other. In my face surprise and admiration struggled. She, however, was undisturbed and looked back at me serenely.