Part 33 (1/2)
He wandered on again towards the chapel. At last the smell of burning was mingled with the odour of stale incense, and a wild confusion of broken choir-seats, images, and candelabra impeded his steps.
”Are you here, my brethren? Is no one here?” He shouted again and listened. He heard something--this time it was not the wind, it was a low groan from some human being.
”Who is there? answer me!” he cried, trembling.
”Who are you?” A well-known but broken voice fell upon his ear.
”Correntian!” cried Donatus, between fear and joy.
”Donatus!” answered the voice, and a strange shudder ran through him--as if he were called to the last judgment, and a voice from the clouds had read his name on the list of the d.a.m.ned.
”Donatus,” repeated Correntian, ”miserable son, why are you come so late? You have been our ruin.”
”Correntian, my brother, I will tell you all; give me your hand and help me over these ruins.”
”I am lying with crushed limbs under the overturned altar, I cannot help you,” groaned Correntian.
”All-merciful G.o.d! How has this happened?”
”I wanted to rescue the charter of the convent from the enemy, and to hide it under the altar, but they surprised me, and in the struggle the altar was overturned upon me,” groaned Correntian.
”And the brethren, where are they?”
”They have fled, driven away stripped and bare, the whole party. Our herds are driven off, the convent destroyed and plundered. Your father, who had leagued himself with your mother's kindred, committed the crime.”
Trembling as he went, and with infinite effort, the youth had made his way through the medley of fragments and ruins towards the spot whence the voice proceeded; a hand now arrested his lifted foot.
”Stop, you will tread upon me.” He stooped down, there lay Correntian on the bare stone half buried under the enormous ma.s.s of the stone altar.
”Oh! misery and horror!” screamed the blind man. ”Crushed like a worm, a great, strong man! and no one to help you, no one!”
”The brethren could scarcely save their own lives, the people of the neighbourhood fled from the fearful scene; for three days I have lain here, abandoned, and not a hand to give me a draught of water.”
”I will fetch you some water, I will find the spring,” cried Donatus, but Correntian held him back.
”No, never mind, the well is choked, and it would not serve me now. My torture is near its end, I feel--”
”Oh poor soul, and must you end so miserably?” lamented the younger man. ”Crushed by the altar you so faithfully served!”
”Do not grieve for me, I die as I have lived--for the Church. It is the highest mercy that G.o.d should grant me to die such a death. There is one who is yet more to be pitied than I.” Donatus staggered.
”G.o.d help me, not the Abbot?”
”Yes, unhappy boy, the Abbot, who loved you with a love which was a sin against the rules of our holy Order--he expiated his sin fearfully.”
”Speak, for pity's sake, torture me no longer,” implored Donatus. ”What happened to him?”
”Count Reichenberg demanded that he should give you up, for he thought you were hidden in the convent, and when he refused--was obliged to refuse--he had him bound and dragged into the court-yard and then--”
Correntian paused for breath.
”And then, what then?”