*CHAPTER XIV*
*THE PHANTOM AT THE SHRINE*
At last the evening had come, when Eckhardt was for ever to retire fromthe world, to spend the remainder of his days in prayers and penances,within the dismal walls of the cloister. The pontiff himself was toofficiate at the high ceremony, which was to close the last chapter inthe great general's life. Daylight was fading fast, and the faintlight, which still glimmered through the western windows of St. Peter'sBasilica had long since lost its sunset ruddiness and was little morethan a pale shadow. The candles, their mighty rival departed, blazedhigher now in merry fitfulness, delighting to play in grotesque imageryover the monkish faces, which haunted the gloom.
One end of the Basilica was now luminous with the pale glow ofinnumerable slender tapers of every length, ranged in gradated orderround the altar. Their mellow radiance drove the gloom a quarter of theway down the cathedral. The massive bronze doors at the farther endwere still shut and locked. The only way of entering the church wasthrough the sacristy, by way of the north transepts, to which only themonks had access. No sound that should ring out within these mightywalls to-night could reach the ears of those who might be in the streetswithout.
Meanwhile the quiescent echoes of the vast Basilica were disturbed byfitful murmurs from the Sacristy. Far in the distance, from the northtransept, might be distinguished light footfalls. Slowly a double fileof monks entered the church, walking to the rhythm of a subduedprocessional chant, which rose through the sombre shadows of the aisles.At the same time the great portals of the Basilica were thrown open tothe countless throngs, which had been waiting without and which now,like waters released from the impediment of a dam, rushed into theimmense area, waiting to receive them.
The rumour of Eckhardt's impending consecration had added no little tothe desire of the Romans to be present at a spectacle such as had notwithin the memory of man fallen to their lot to behold, and it seemed asif all Rome had flocked to the ancient Basilica to witness the great andtouching ordeal at which the youthful Pontiff himself was to officiate.Seemingly interminable processions of monks, bearing huge waxen tapers,of choristers, acolytes and incense-bearers, with a long array ofcrosses and other holy emblems continued to pour into the Basilica. Thepriests were in their bright robes of high-ceremony. The choristerschanted a psalm as they passed on and the incense bearers swung theirsilver censers.
The Pontiff's face was a rarely lovely one to look upon; it was that ofa mere youth. His chin was smooth as any woman's and the altar clothwas not as white as his delicate hands. The halo of golden hair, whichencircled his tonsure, gave him the appearance of a saint.Marvellously, indeed, did stole, mitre and staff become the delicateface and figure of Bruno of Carinthia, and if there was some incongruitybetween the spun gold of his fair hair and the severity of the mitre,which surrounded it, there was none in all that assembly to note it.
At the door, awaiting the pontifical train, stood the venerable Gerbertof Aurillac, impressive in his white and gold dalmatica against the redrobes of the chapter. Preceded by two cardinals the Pontiff mounted thesteps, entering through the great bronze portals of the Basilica, whichpoured a wave of music and incense out upon the hushed piazza. Thenthey closed again, engulfing the brilliant procession.
The chant ceased and the monks silently ranged themselves in a closesemi-circle about the high-altar. There was a brief and impressivesilence, while the deep, melodious voice of the Archbishop of Rheims wasraised in prayer. The monks chanted the Agnus Dei, then a deep hush ofexpectation fell upon the multitudes.
The faint echoes of approaching footsteps now broke the intense silencewhich pervaded the immense area of the Basilica. Accompanied by twomonks, Eckhardt slowly strode down the aisle, which the reverentialtread of millions had already worn to unevenness. In an obscured nichehe had waited their signal, racked by doubts and fears, and lessconvinced than ever that the final step he was about to take would leadto the desired goal. From his station he could distinguish faintsilhouettes of the glittering spars in the vaulting, and the sculpturedchancel, twisted and beaten into fantastic shapes and the line of ivorywhite Apostles. As he approached the monks gathered closely round thechancel, where, under the pontifical canopy, stood the golden chair ofthe Vicar of Christ.
Eckhardt did not raise his eyes. Once only, as in mute questioning, didhis gaze meet that of Gregory, then he knelt before the altar. Hisardent desire was about to be fulfilled. As this momentous timeapproached, Eckhardt's hesitation in taking the irrevocable step seemedto diminish--and gradually to vanish. He was even full of impatientjoy. Never did bridegroom half so eagerly count the hours to hiswedding, as did the German leader the moments which were for ever torelieve him of that gnawing pain that consumed his soul. In the brokenfitful slumber of the preceding night he had seen himself chanting themass. To be a monk seemed to him now the last and noblest refuge fromthe torments which gnawed the strings of his heart. At this moment hewould have disdained the estate of an emperor or king. There was nochoice left now. The bridge leading into the past was destroyed andEckhardt awaited his anointment more calmly.
Gregory's face was grave and to a close observer it would have appearedto withhold approval from that which added greater glory to the Church,as if anticipating proportionately greater detriment for the state. AsEckhardt knelt in silent prayer, all but entranced in religious ecstasy,he noted not the nearness of Benilo, who watched him like a tiger fromthe half gloom of his station. The hush in the Basilica was well-nighoppressive. The Romans, who had flocked hither to witness the uncommonsight of a victorious leader abandoning the life at a court for thecassock of a monk, and perhaps inwardly calculating the immenseconsequences of a step so grave, waited breathlessly until that stepshould be accomplished. Those whose sympathies lay with the imperialparty were filled with grave misgivings, for if Eckhardt's example foundimitators in the German host, the cause of the emperor would grow weakerin proportion as the prestige of the Romans and the monks increased.
The benediction had been pronounced. The Communion in both kind hadbeen partaken. The palms of Eckhardt had been anointed with consecratedoil, and finally the celebration of the Holy Rite had been offered up incompany with the officiating Cardinal.
It was done. There remained little more than the cutting of thetonsure, and from the world, which had once claimed him--from the worldto which he still unconsciously clung with fevered pulses,--Eckhardt wasto vanish for ever. As the officiating Cardinal of San Gregorioapproached the kneeling general, the latter chanced to raise his head.A deadly pallor overspread his features as his eyes gazed beyond theecclesiastic at one of the great stone pillars, half of which was wraptin dense gloom. The ceremony, so splendid a moment ago, seemed to fadebefore the aspect of those terrible eyes, which peered into his own froma woman's face, pale as death. Throughout the church darkness seemedsuddenly to reign, The candles paled in their sconces of gold before theglare of those eyes, calculated to make or mar the destinies of man.
Against the incense saturated gloom, her beauty shone out like aheavenly revelation; she seemed herself the fountain of light, to giveit rather than to receive it. For a moment Eckhardt lowered his gaze,little doubting but that the apparition was some new temptation of thefiend, to make him waver at the decisive moment. The ceremonyproceeded. But when after a few moments, not being able to withstandthe lure, he looked up again, he saw her glittering in a brightpenumbra, which dazzled him like the burning disk of the sun. And as hegazed upon the strange apparition, tall with the carriage of a goddess,her eyes darting rays like stars, winging straight for his heart--andshe the very image of his dead wife, just as she had appeared to him onthat memorable night in the churchyard of San Pancrazio,--he hardly knewwhether the flame that lighted those orbs came from heaven to strengthenhis resolve, or from hell, to foil it. But from devil or angelassuredly it came.
Her white teeth shone in the terrible smile, wit
h which she regardedhim. The smooth alabaster skin of her throat glistened with a pearlysheen. Her white robe, falling from her head to her feet, straight asthe winding sheet of death, matched the marble pallor of her complexion,and her hands, seemingly holding the shroud in place, were as white asfresh fallen snow.
As Eckhardt continued to gaze upon her, he felt the floodgates of hismemory re-open; he felt the portals of the past, which had seemed lockedand barred, swing back upon their hinges, grating deep down in his soul.And with the sight of the phantom standing before him, so life-like, sobeautiful, all the mad longing bounded back into his heart. Gripped bya terrible pain, he heard neither the chant, nor the words of theCardinal. Everything around him seemed to fade, but the terrible beingstill held his gaze with those deep and marvellous eyes, that had allthe brightness and life of the sapphire seas.
Eckhardt felt he was being carried far from the sphere of the cloisterinto a world at whose gates new desires were knocking. While hemechanically muttered the responses to the queries, which the Cardinalput to him, his whole soul began to rise in arms against the words histongue was uttering. A secret force seemed to drag them from him, hefelt the gaze of the thousands weighing upon him like a cope of lead.Yet it seemed that no one in all that vast assembly heeded the strangeapparition, and if there appeared any hesitancy in Eckhardt's responses,or a strange restlessness in his demeanour, it was charged to theconsciousness of the momentous change, the responsibility of theirrevocable step, crushing life, ambition and hope.
But the countenance of the mysterious apparition did not change as theceremony progressed. Steadfastly, with tender and caressing gaze sheseemed to regard him, her whole soul in her straining eyes. With aneffort, which might have moved a mountain, Eckhardt strove to cry out,that he would never be a monk. It was in vain. His tongue clove to theroof of his mouth. Not even by sign could he resist. Wide awake, heseemed to be in the throes of one of those nightmares, wherein onecannot utter the words on which life itself depends. The apparitionseemed instinctively to read and to comprehend the torture, which rackedEckhardt's breast. And the glance she cast upon him seemed so fraughtwith the echoes of despair, that it froze his heart to the core.
Was it indeed but an apparition?
Was this terrible semblance to his dead wife more than a mere accident?
The chalice, with the blood of Christ, trembled in Eckhardt's hand. Hewas about to pass it to his lips. But try as he might, he could notavert his gaze. Those terrible eyes, the marble calm of the face of hisdead wife seemed to draw him onward,--onward.--Forgotten was church, andceremony, and vow; forgotten everything before that phantom from beyondthe grave. It held him with a power which mocked to scorn every effortto escape its spell. The apparition lured him on, as almostimperceptibly it began to recede, without once abandoning its gaze.
A wild shriek re-echoed through the high-vaulted dome of the Basilica ofSt. Peter. It was the shriek of a madman, who has escaped his guards,but fears to be overtaken. The golden chalice fell from Eckhardt'snerveless grasp, spilling its contents over the feet of the Cardinal ofSan Gregorio who raised his hands in unfeigned dismay and muttered ananathema. Then, with a white, wet face, Eckhardt staggered blindly tohis feet, groping, with outstretched arms, toward the apparition--whichseemed to recede farther and farther away into the gloom.
The hush of death had fallen upon the assembly. The monk Cyprianusraised aloft his arms, as though invoking divine interposition andexorcising the fiend. His eyes, the eyes of the assembled thousands andthe stare of Benilo, the Chamberlain, followed the direction ofEckhardt's outstretched arms. Suddenly he was seen to pause before oneof the massive pillars, pale as death, mumbling strange words,accompanied by stranger gestures. Then he gazed about like one wakingfrom a terrible dream--the spot where the apparition had mocked him buta moment ago was deserted! Had it been but another temptation of thefiend?
But no! It was impossible. This woman had made him utterly her own;her glance had sufficed to snap asunder the fetters of a self-imposedyoke, as though her will, powerful even after death, had suddenly passedupon him. Though he saw her not at the present moment, he had but toclose his eyes, to see her as distinctly as if she were still present inthe body. And in that moment Eckhardt felt all the horrors of the pathhe was about to choose, the dead and terrible aspect of the life he wasabout to espouse. To be a monk, to crawl till death in the chill shadeof the cloister, to see none save living spectres, to watch by thenameless corpses of folks unknown, to wear his raiment for his coffin'spall--a terrible dread seized him. One brief hour spent before an altarand some gabbled words were about to cut him off for ever from thesociety of the living. With his own hand he was about to seal the stoneupon his tomb, and turn the key in the lock of the door of Life.
Like a whirlwind these thoughts passed through Eckhardt's brain. Thenhe imagined once more that he saw the eyes of his dead wife gazing uponhim, burning into the very depths of his soul. What made their aspectso terrible to him, he was not just then in the frame to analyze. Somemysterious force, which had left the sweetness of her face unmarred,seemed to have imparted something to her eyes that inspired him with anunaccountable dread.
As he paused thus before the pillar, pressing his icy hands to hisfevered temples, vainly groping for a solution, vainly endeavouring tobreak the fetters which bound his will and seemed to crush his strength,there broke upon his ears the loud command of the officiating monk, toreturn and bid the Fiend desist. These words broke the deadly spellwhich had benumbed his senses and caused him to remain riveted to thespot, where the phantom had hovered. His sunken eyes glared as those ofa madman, as he slowly turned in response to the monk's behest. The hotbreath came panting from between his parched lips. Then, withoutheeding the ceremony, without heeding the monks or the spectators whohad flocked hither to witness his consecration, Eckhardt dashed throughthe circle of which he had formed the central figure and, ere the amazedspectators knew what happened or the monks could stem his precipitateflight, the chief of the imperial hosts rushed out of the church in hisrobes of consecration and vanished from sight.
So quickly, so unexpectedly did it all happen, that even the officiatingCardinal seemed completely paralyzed by the suddenness of Eckhardt'sflight. There was no doubt in the mind of Cyprianus that the Margravehad gone mad and his whispered orders sent two monks speeding after thedemented neophyte. Deep, ominous silence hovered over the vast area ofthe Basilica. It seemed as if the very air was fraught with deepportent, and ominous forebodings of impending danger filled the heartsof the assembled thousands. The people knelt in silent prayer andbreathless expectation. Would Eckhardt return? Would the ceremonyproceed?
Among all those, who had so eagerly watched the uncommon spectacle ofwhose crowning glory they were about to see themselves deprived, therewas but one to whom the real cause of the scene which had just come to aclose, was no mystery. Benilo alone knew the cause of Eckhardt's flight.To the last moment he had triumphed, convinced that no temptation couldturn from his chosen path a mind so stern as Eckhardt's. But when theeffect of the mysterious vision upon the kneeling general becameapparent, when his restlessness grew with every moment, up to theterrible climax, accentuated by his madman's yell, when, unmindful ofthe monk's admonition--he saw him rush out of the church in hisconsecrated robes--then Benilo knew that the general would not return.For the time all the insolent boastfulness of his nature forsook him andhe shivered as one seized with a sudden chill. Without awaiting whatwas to come, unseen and unnoticed amidst the all-pervadingconsternation, the Chamberlain rushed out of the Basilica by the samedoor through which Eckhardt had gained the open.
Under his canopy sat the Vice-Gerent of Christ, surrounded by theconsecrated cardinals and bishops and the monks of the various orders.Without an inkling of the true cause prompting Eckhardt's precipitateflight Gregory had witnessed the terrible scene, which had just come toa close. But inwardly he rejoiced. For only when every opposition toEckhardt's m
ad desire had appeared fruitless, had the Pontiff acquiescedin granting to him the special dispensation, which shortened the time ofhis novitiate to the limit of three days.
But it was not a matter for the moment, for Gregory himself was topartake of the Communion and the monk Cyprianus, who was to perform theholy office, a tribute to the order whose superior he was, had justblessed the host. In his consecrated hand the wine was to turn into theblood of Christ, Gregory had just partaken of the holy wafer. Now themonk placed the golden tube in the golden chalice and, drawing his cowldeeply over his forehead, passed the other end of the tube to thePontiff.
Gregory placed the golden tube to his lips, and as he sipped the wine,changed into blood, the two cardinals on duty approached the sacredthrone, a torch in one hand, a small bundle of tow in the other.According to custom they set the tow on fire.
Again the unison chant of the monks resounded; the assembled thousandslying prostrate in prayer.
Suddenly there arose a strange bustle round the pontifical canopy.Suppressed murmurs broke the silence. Monks were to be seen rushinghither and thither. Gregory had fainted! The monk Cyprianus seemedvainly endeavouring to revive him. For a moment the crowds remained inawe-struck silence, then, as if the grim spectre of Death had visiblyappeared amongst them, the terror-stricken worshippers rushed out of theBasilica of St. Peter and soon the terrible rumour was rife in thestreets of Rome. Pope Gregory the Fifth was dying.