At the Altar. Translated from the German of E. W, by Mrs. Parker

Chapter I

The autumn had made its entry also into the mountains. There truly, it appeared under a different aspect to that which it assumed on the plain, where Nature sinks slowly and wearily into its grave, over which the winter soon spreads its white shroud. Here the sky hangs heavy and gray over the veiled earth, the fields stretch away in endless, monotonous brown, the river flows along quiet and dark, and what is still left of colour and form the fog hides under its thick, damp veil. The rain falls vol. II. b softly and persistently. Lightly and dully the leaves drop from the trees. Sadly the wind blows through the branches, till the last withered one has fallen to the ground and the forest stands stripped and bare — everywhere is slow decay, quiet resistless death. It is different in the mountains.

There all is wild movement — everywhere a de fiant, desperate struggle for existence. Storms such as the plains never know are there unfettered and rage violently ; seething masses of cloud float up and down the valleys, or drive furiously, storm-lashed, about the highest peaks ; and the mountain streams, swollen by the violent rains, roar along in unrestrained fierceness. There also the misty veil hangs over wood and rock ; but the dark pines, whose tops the coldest blast cannot rob of their verdure, whose rough and jagged twigs stand out all the stronger from their mantle of cloud, rear their rigid heads above it defiantly. The autumn tears the flower-wreath from the mountain's top, but there its power ceases ; it can only break helplessly against its forests and its rocks, which can neither be stripped of their foliage nor shaken.

Even winter cannot be entire master of this inflexible nature, and if he does bury everything under his weight of snow, he cannot still the mountain's ever-throbbing vein ; he can never bind the mountain stream in his icy fetters, and when all around lies rigid in snow and ice, this life that springs ever new and ever moving from the hills continues to flow, the only unconquered thing, in ever-fresh spring green. The village of the Father Clemens' parish was one of those lonely high-lying places that for only half the year have any inter course with the plains, whilst the other half they are, through the autumn storms, the winter snows, and the spring floods, entirely cut off, sometimes indeed utterly inaccessible. Narrow and crowded to gether the village lay on its high plateau, closely huddled round the church which stood in the centre, as though it needed its shelter, and indeed it appeared little and defenceless enough in the midst of the towering snow mountains that lay around it and looked down in such giant grandeur upon the contemptible dwellings of men, which a single storm could annihilate.

Spare, crippled pine-trees edged the margin of the plateau ; the forest began further down, where the road turned down towards the valley ; it was truly no high road, and there was considerable difficulty, even in the best season of the year, in reaching it, otherwise than on foot. From out of the door of the parsonage, whose appearance sufficiently showed that it was a very poor parish of which Father Clemens had the direction, stepped two priests, and walked slowly through the village, returning on every side the re spectful salutations which greeted them, or stooping to bless a child who had run up to kiss the reverend father's hand. As they left the houses behind them, and stepped into the open ground, the mountain wind struck them with redoubled fury. " You should return, reverend father," said the younger, drawing his mantle closer round him.

" The air is too rough ; it feels as though we should have another storm." The elder shook his head. " I will go with you as far as the crucifix at any rate, dear Benedict. I have taken overmuch care of myself since you came. The little walk will do me good." Benedict raised no further objection, and they walked on for some little way in silence ; then the pastor began the conver sation anew. " If only this daily walk to the Pilgrims' Chapel were not necessary ! I cannot dis miss a feeling of anxiety on your account." " Wherefore ? " asked Benedict, calmly. " The road is not too long." " But dangerous ! You must always cross the ' Wild Gorge,' one of the worst places in the mountains. Were it summer, that might pass ; but now, that the con tinued rains have made the rocky ground smooth and slippery, and when one never knows whether the bridge has really resisted the last storms " " The peasants always choose this road, in order to shorten their way to the valley !

" interrupted the young priest, indifferently. " Yes, our peasants ! who have been born and bred in the mountains. Such a foot does not slip so easily, and knows how even in falling still to hold on and to cling — but yours. I cannot help it, I see you go every time with anxiety, and am only pacified when I know you to be safe in the parsonage." " I am free from giddiness," said Bene dict, quietly, " and besides, I cannot on this account deprive the people of a prac tice, which for months has become a necessity, like this daily mass in the Pilgrims' Chapel." "It is however in no wise prescribed," objected the old pastor, timidly. " I my self — well, certainly, my strength had for long not been equal to such daily fatigues, and I was obliged to reserve it for the necessary walks to the sick and dying — I myself have only had service there on pil grimage days."

" It is, however, an infinite relief to all the dwellers in the detached scattered farms to be saved the difficult road to N . They save time and strength, which are both so needful for their work, and I have leisure enough, especially now, when " here a bitter expression played about his eyes — "when preaching is for bidden to me, and I am at the most only permitted to perform the ceremonies. Moreover, I take the walk to-day for the last time." The parson looked up in fright. " For the last time ? " " Well, you know that I am recalled to the monastery." " But it is to be hoped only for a few days." Benedict darkly shook his head. " They will hardly let me return. I know the prelate. The small measure of freedom which this office has allowed me has proved to be all too great ; he will make no delay in taking it from me."

" You mean your sermon on the last feast-day ? Brother, brother ! " The old man's voice trembled, but he stopped as he saw the frown on the young priest's brow. " Well, I will not again torment you with that ; but I cannot in my deepest heart avoid anxiety. Remain here, Bene dict ! Plead illness, or endeavour to postpone your return by some other ex cuse. They mean nothing good by you at the monastery. Here you are safe ; the parishioners hang upon you with enthu siasm, and would defend you in case of need ; no one would dare to seize you in our midst," "I go ! " declared Benedict, emphatically. " But people have entertained suspicions of you for long," continued the other more pressingly. " Our schoolmaster — I would not speak evil of the man of which I had not proof; but it has never pleased me that from the very first day he has pressed himself upon you with such astonishing officiousness.

You were never cautious enough with your books and with your papers. I fear they have been searched, more than once. I was also desired " He stopped and looked down in agitation. " Would they have also degraded you to a spy ? " asked the young priest, bitterly. " A miserable office, especially when ex ercised towards a guest who has slept for months under your roof." " What I have reported will do you no harm," answered the old man, gently. " They may call me in the monastery an old imbecile who sees and hears nothing that goes on around him ; I would sooner bear that than, by an incautious word, thrust you into danger." Benedict answered nothing, but he held out his hand to him. " You will stay ? will you not ? " the pastor, after a short pause, continued im ploringly. " I cannot. Do not think that I trust too much to the mildness of the prelate.

I know what awaits me, or at any rate I imagine it, but to follow your advice would cost me more than life. I assure you it is very, very indifferent to me ; I would not stretch out my hand to save it." They had in the mean time reached the crucifix, which stood on the edge of the plateau. At this point, where the road branched off towards the Pilgrims' Chapel, the two priests stood still. " You should not say so, brother," said the pastor, with gentle reproach ; " you are still too young." " And you are so old, reverend father " (there was a slight tone of scorn in Bene dict's voice), "and still cling to this existence, which has certainly been to you sufficiently full of renunciation ? What have you attained in this wretched parish up here, that has barely been able to keep you from starvation, which has cut you off for twenty years from all society, and has only left you scenes of poverty and misery to look upon ? — vivacity destroyed, the future marred, happiness forsworn for this, — the ex change is too unequal !

" The old man's mild, clear eyes quietly met his brother's gloomy, flaming glance. " About that I have never asked," he said simply. " I have taken it as an obvious duty, and have earnestly endea voured to fulfil it. Truly, it has not al ways been easy to me. I have lived through hard times : there have been days and weeks when I have starved with my poor villagers because I could not find it in my heart to press for my small income, which they, with the best will, were unable to find ; and I have felt it to be still harder to have only spiritual comfort to give when I would so gladly have given sub stantial help, where such help was greatly needed. As the Lord will ! I am now over seventy : it cannot be long before I lay my head to rest. If life has not given me much of good, I carry with me the conviction that I have honestly toiled in my small field.

God knows — I was worthy of no better." There lay a quiet resignation in the simple words. Benedict gazed silently on this gray, weary life that turned itself so quietly and patiently towards the grave and looked back without a murmur or complaint upon the lot which had fallen to it ; but this quiet submission seemed but to goad the young priest. He had still all the defiance of youth, which can go to ruin but does not understand re signation, and he was on the point of making a passionate response as steps were heard approaching, and two strangers, likewise wrapped closely in their mantles, came towards them from the village. The appearance of strangers was some thing so unusual that both priests ceased their conversation and looked at them in astonishment. Benedict appeared to know them, and the short-lived openness which he had manifested towards the pastor vanished to make room for the old reserve, as he stepped to meet the arrivals and greet the eldest of the two politely, but coldly.

" Count Rhaneck, you here ! " The count offered his hand, and then turned to the pastor. " Pardon me, reverend father, my presence here has relation solely to your chaplain, to whom I wish most particularly to speak. They told us at the parsonage that he had just gone out, and that we might still overtake him." The old man bowed politely to the two distinguished gentlemen whom Benedict introduced to him. "Will not the count return with us ? Neither the place nor the weather are suitable for a conversation in the open air." " I thank you," interrupted Rhaneck, hastily, " our talk will only be short. Moreover, Father Benedict, as I hear, is on his way to mass ; I would not take upon myself the blame of his being too late." The pastor might easily see from the bearing of the stranger that the conversation was to be one of importance ; he therefore took his leave, at the same time expressing the hope that the gentlemen would on their return do him the honour of resting for a few minutes at the parsonage.

The count answered absently. He waited with evident impatience till the priest was out of hearing, and turned hastily to Benedict. " We sought you, Bruno. As you see, Ottfried has accompanied me. You parted from each other in anger, and still owe to one another the atonement which I asked of you. What you then in the heat of strife refused you will now grant to me. Ottfried offers you his hand in re conciliation : you will accept it." The words were mild, but they were spoken in a tone of absolute command. Ottfreid's face showed plainly enough that his advances were forced, but he stretched his hand out obediently. Benedict did not move. " Well ? " asked the count, still quietly, but in a yet sharper tone. The young priest stepped back. " I beg that you will spare the count and myself a ceremony that is equally painful to us both and which cannot in the slightest degree alter our respective posi tions," he answered, coldly.

Ottfried let his hand fall as if relieved, but nevertheless shot a glance of hatred at the " servant's son," who dared in this way to reject his advances. The eyes of the count went slowly from one to the other. It would be impossible to imagine two more unlike than the two who now stood so closely together. The young count, with the fair hair, the light eyes, and the heavy, lifeless features, that so plainly showed -him to be of Rhaneck descent, the features which so strongly resembled his father's, and yet showed not a trace of that characteristic expression which was peculiar to that proud race ; and the pale, energetic face of the young priest, with the black curly hair and the deep dark eyes. Not in a single feature, not in one solitary line, did they resemble each other, and yet they had one thing in common — the tall slight figure, the pecu liarly proud turn of the head, the walk, and the bearing.

The resemblance was the more striking to-day, as Ottfried also VOL. n. o wore a dark mantle ; seen from a distance one might mistake the one for the other. The count seemed to have this idea strongly forced upon him ; his gaze rested gloomily and heavily on the two young men, and remained at last fixed upon the eldest. " It is you this time, Bruno, who widen the old unhealed wound," he said, reproach fully. " Let it be so ! In an hour you will think otherwise ; you will then yourself offer your hand to Ottfried in reconcili ation. I know it. Leave us alone, Ott fried." The young count obeyed, but the old anger boiled hotly in him as he turned away. The recent occurrences had not been hidden from him, and he guessed only too well what the count meant by this sudden journey into the mountains.

He wished to warn his protege, save him perhaps from the threatening anger of his brother ; but why had he taken his son with him, why so pertinaciously insist upon a reconciliation, when months had passed away since the quarrel ? This Ottfried could not explain. Irritated as he already was, it wounded him still more deeply that the count had so ordered him off, because he wished to speak to Father Benedict — wounded him all the more, because he was obliged to confess to himself that that other had never been treated with such inconsiderateness. Truly, this monk was permitted to do anything ; he showed it afresh when he refused so decidedly to obey the command of his distinguished patron ; and the count, who knew so well how to put down the least movement of disobedience on the part of his own son, seemed power less against this defiance.

The mysterious relationship in which they stood to one another, which had occupied Ottfried's attention already, since that meeting in wood, was forced still more strongly upon him, but he found for it to-day as little explanation as formerly. Rhaneck found himself alone with Bene dict, who stood opposite to him as usual, silent and gloomy, and without the slight est show of feeling for the evident proof of sympathy which his protector again showed by his presence. " Bruno, for God's sake, what have you done ? " The one thus interrogated raised his head in cold defiance. " What I have done I shall know how to defend ! At any rate, my abbot only has the right to call me to account for it — to him I will render it ; to no other ! " In the count's face there was a struggle between the rising anger at the sharp reply, and another and more painful feeling.

" That is all the thanks I get for all my care and anxiety for you," he said, bitterly. " I have never indeed possessed your con fidence, but for some time you seem to have turned from me in positive hostility." Benedict's eye fell ; the reproach woke once more in him the feeling of shame which constantly struggled with the secret aversion, which he could not overcome, towards the man to whom he owed so much. " I have already confessed to you, Sir Count, that I have only shown ingratitude for all your goodness," answered Bruno, softly ; " forgive me and — give me up ! " At the smallest concession on the part of his protege all anger vanished im mediately from the count's manner. " Give you up ! Then you know at any rate that you are in danger. Bruno, how could you dare to preach this fatal sermon ?

You must have known, must have calcu lated, what consequences you would bring upon your head." young priest raised his eyes again, gloomily. " If I had altogether calculated it, the whole would have remained unsaid. I am still monk enough to maintain the obedience which I owe to my superior, and I know that that address was fearfully contrary to it. But when I found myself in the midst of the assembled pilgrims, who bowed before me in blind devotion — as I thought that perhaps hundreds of them would one day force their children into those fetters that press me to the earth — it overcame me with unconquerable force, and carried me along against my will ; I coidd not any longer hold back the words — only when I had stepped out of the pulpit did the knowledge of what I had said come upon me."

Rhaneck shook his head. " The misfortune is the place where they were spoken. If it had happened here, in N , before the little congregation, the thing might still be arranged ; but before the streaming multitude, before the thou sands of pilgrims, who will carry your words into every part of the mountains, that my brother never will forgive ! " " I know it." " Why did you not tell me that you hated the position to which I consecrated you ? " asked the count, in a voice of sup pressed feeling. " I would never have forced you ; by Heaven, I would never have done it, in spite of all my brother's pressure. But I believed you to be in fullest harmony with yourself, and with your future." Benedict laughed bitterly. " Had I felt on the day when I was consecrated a priest what I now feel, no power on earth would have forced me to take the robe.

You forget that I was brought up in a priest's seminary, where all will and under standing were blindly led in one direction, and where no minute was left unwatched or unemployed. I found time to think for the first time in the cloister — found, in the midst of all the outward restraint, liberty enough to live by myself, and then came the awakening — too late ! " With a heavy sigh Rhaneck seemed to wish to tear himself away from these pain ful thoughts. " We will not dispute about the past," he said, resolutely ; " the present is sufficiently threatening. You are recalled to the monastery ? " " Yes." " And you will obey the call ? " " The command of my abbot, certainly ! " The count hastily took a step nearer. " You must not return, on no account ! Is it necessary for me to tell you what awaits you there?

Does not the fate of many of those holding your opinions act as a warning, and have you not been long enough a monk to know what revenge a cloister can take, what revenge your brethren are capable of? And you have irritated them fearfully. Bruno, you have thrown down the gauntlet to them — they can never forgive you ! " The young chaplain leaned upon the cross with his arms folded on his breast and his eyes fixed on the speaker. " What, then, do you wish that I should do, Sir Count ? Would you have me meet the distinct command to return with open resistance, and let it come to a trial of strength ? " The count cast a hasty glance around ; Ottfried was far enough away not to hear a syllable of the conversation, yet his voice sank to a whisper, and trembled even in this whisper. " No ! Only one thing remains to you — flight, immediate flight, into another land, if necessary."

He paused a moment, and drew a deep breath. " Another creed " Benedict rose. "And you say that to me, Count Rhaneck? — the brother of my prelate, the head of the ancient and powerful ,Catholic race, that has at all times sought the honour of being called a de fender of the Church ? Such counsel from Cl if you ? " If I give it to you, you may judge by that of the greatness of the danger," said Rhaneck, in a dull voice. "What it costs me, you can have no idea of, Bruno ; but it concerns your deliverance, and there fore no price is too high." There sounded in these words once again something of that " insane tenderness " with which the prelate had so often re proached his brother. Benedict also felt it, but it found no response in his breast. Astounded and distrustful, he stepped back a step, and again he turned upon the count a glance of amazement, but this time there was also evident suspicion in it.

" Before we go further, Sir Count, might I ask you to explain this extraordinary in terest in my fate ! " he answered, inquir ingly. " I have often asked myself what motive you could have for such continued care of a strange, poor boy, and never found an answer. Now, however, when you are willing to sacrifice your own con victions, and to break with all the tradi tions of your family, on my account — now, it seems to me, I have a right to this answer. I urgently demand it." The young priest's bearing plainly showed that, in spite of all, he still had not the slightest conception of the real nature of the secret, for which he sought so pressingly ; the count gazed at him silently and fixedly. " You shall know it ! " he said at last. " It was decided before I came here, and it must be made known before we part.

But first answer me, will you fly ? " "No!" " Bruno, I implore you " I remain. Rhaneck made a hasty movement. " This fatal obstinacy ! I have so often in myself " he broke off suddenly. " Why will you not seize the remedy that is offered to you ? I tell you again, it is the only one." Benedict raised himself firmly. " Be cause my conscience and my oath forbid it to me ! The prelate may be pitiless even to cruelty ; he never acts from common or from personal motives, and to that which he resolves upon for me, in the name of the Order, to that I must bow. I have given the fatal oath at the altar, and though it has long been a curse to me, and now plunges me into ruin, I cannot break it ! With equal right you might tear from the wife the husband who at that place swore to be faithful to her — you might break every word, loose every tie that binds mankind in love and trust.

What is there left in the world that is holy, if the altar and the vow be not so ! And if I must pay for mine with my life — I remain and await my fate." There was a proud, passionate en thusiasm in these words, and something of the power of speech by which the young priest had lately carried with him the assembled pilgrims, but upon the count they produced a different effect. He stood like a condemned man : his eyes on the ground, his trembling lips pressed together, his face deadly pale ; but there rose to his brow a flaming colour, which grew deeper and deeper at every word, which seemed to sink into the proud man's innermost heart and to crush it ; it seemed as though he would sink under their weight. Benedict passed his hand over his fore head and drew his mantle, which had fallen back with his hasty movement, again round his shoulders.

" You know now my decision, Sir Count ; it is unchangeable. And now may I, on my side, ask for your promised answer ? " Slowly the count raised his eyes from the ground and fixed them, with an in describable expression on his strained features, upon the questioner ; pain, shame, desperate bitterness, all these were in his glance ; then he turned away silently. " I beg you ! " repeated Benedict, ur gently. " No ! " said Rhaneck, gloomily. " Not now. " But you promised me." " Never ! " returned Rhaneck, passionately. " I tell you, you shall never learn it, at least from my lips — you yourself have decided me." The young priest was silent. He made no further attempt to penetrate the secret whose already pro mised disclosure had been so stubbornly refused to him, but the suspicion deepened on his brow, and, with still greater cold ness than ever, he stepped back from his patron.

He was obviously struggling to regain the self-command of which Benedict's passionate explanation had deprived him. He called Ottfried to him, but as he obeyed the call and came to his side, he seemed once more to waver. It was as if, in spite of all, the mysterious words pressed for utterance, as though he must still make an attempt at reconciliation. He turned to wards Benedict. " You persist, then, in your determina tion to return to the monastery ? " " To-morrow evening I shall be there. Tell the prelate that the power, which he would fain have retained to the Order, is lost to him for ever, but that, in spite of all, I am mindful of the words which he spoke at ~ parting : I am capable of anything, only not of perjury ! " The count once more shuddered, and the hand already raised to grasp that of the young priest, in order to draw him towards his son, sank to his side ; he com pressed his lips silently.

Neither of the young men spoke a word ; they stood opposite, and yet turned from each other in gloomy hostility, which was with difficulty restrained. Only the presence of the count held it in check. If this check was removed that scene in the wood would in all probability be repeated ; then would be fulfilled the tragedy which, he had with such difficulty prevented. He certainly did not know the secret spring from which the hatred rose, and which had already once driven them to arms against each other, and for this reason he under estimated the danger. He rested satisfied with his former prohibition, that they should not encounter each other in anta gonism — a vain thought, that a prohibi tion could control the hot passion of youth. The one word, which alone could have made an end of the enmity between them, and could have forced them to reconciliation, remained unspoken.