Part 4 (1/2)
”It is rather I who should ask who you are, and what you are doing in my house?”
”In your house?” repeated the man in surprise. ”Then are you the Count's wife?”
Anna bowed. The old man gazed on her with eyes full of pity, and two large tears rolled slowly down his dried and yellow cheeks.
On her side Anna regarded him with extreme curiosity. This una.s.suming man, broken by the cares and hards.h.i.+ps of life, seemed to be animated by some unknown sentiment; he became grave and majestic. In his presence that proud lady felt almost humble. The features of the silent old man glowed with a secret inspiration. Suddenly coming to his senses, he glanced round timidly, and then advanced a step.
”Oh, you!” he exclaimed, ”whom G.o.d has created for His glory, you beautiful vase of virtue, a being full of light, and like unto an angel in purity, why do you not shake from off your shoes the dust that now clings to them from their contact with this unclean Babylon? Why, oh why, do you not flee from this place of corruption? Who was so perverse as to cast such a beautiful child into this sordid world? Why are you not afraid? Are you not aware of your peril?”
Anna listened to the old man, whose voice intimidated her for the first time in her life. She was indignant at such daring on the part of the minister, but she could not feel angry with him.
Without giving her time to reply, he continued:
”Do you know where you are? Are you aware that the ground on which you stand shakes beneath your feet? Do you realize that these walls open; that people disappear if they prove an obstruction; and that here human life is a thing of nought, when it interferes with a single drop of pleasure?”
”What fearful things you are telling me,” exclaimed the Countess at length, ”why do you wish to terrify me?”
”Because I see that you are innocent and pure, and that you know not what you may expect here. You cannot have been here long.”
”Only a few hours,” replied the Countess.
”And you did not spend your childhood here, or you could not look as you do now,” continued the old man.
”My childhood was spent at Holstein; I have been Count Hoym's wife for several years, but I have lived in the country.”
”Then I suppose you do not know much about your husband?” said the old man, s.h.i.+vering. ”I pity you, for you are beautiful and innocent as a lily, and now a herd of savage beasts are going to trample on you.
'Twere better had you bloomed and shed forth your perfume in G.o.d's desert.”
He became silent and thoughtful. Anna moved a few steps nearer to him.
”Who are you?” she inquired.
The old man appeared not to hear her, so she repeated her question.
”Who am I?” he repeated. ”I am a sinner; a wretched being, the laughing-stock of all. I am the voice crying in the wilderness. I am he who predicts downfall, annihilation, and days of misery. Who am I? I am G.o.d's messenger, sent to point out to His people the path of virtue, but to whom none will hearken. I am an outcast to the rich--I am despised--but I am true and pure in the sight of the Lord.”
The last words were spoken quietly, then he became silent.
”How strange it all is!” said the Countess. ”After years of tranquillity, pa.s.sed in the country, I am summoned here by my husband, and here I meet you, who are to me as a voice of warning. Surely in this there must be the finger of G.o.d!”
”Yes, verily!” rejoined the old man, ”and woe to those who heed not G.o.d's warning. You ask who I am. I am a poor preacher, I have spoken against powerful lords, and therefore their vengeance pursues me. My name is Schramm. Count Hoym knew me when I was a mere lad, and I have come here to ask his protection, for my life is threatened. This is the reason I am here; but who brought you hither?”
”My husband,” replied Anna briefly.
”Ask him to let you go away,” he whispered, looking timidly round as he spoke. ”I have seen all the beauties of the court, and, taken all together, they cannot compare with you in beauty. Woe be to you if you remain here. They will entangle you in a net of intrigues; they will intoxicate you with songs; they will still your conscience with fairy-tales; they will accustom you to shame. Then one day, intoxicated, weary, feeble, you will fall over the precipice.”
Anna Hoym frowned.