The miracles of Antichrist : a novel

Front matter

SELMA LAGERLOF

Translated from the Swedish by

SELMA AHLSTROM TROTZ

Book I

I. Mongibello 25

II. Fra Gaetano 39

III. The Godsister 48

IV. Diamante 63

V. Don Ferrante 65

VI. Don Matteo’s Mission 72

VII. The Bells of San Pasquale 78

VIII. Two Canzonets 115

IX. The Flight 127

X. Sirocco 130

XI. The Feast of San Sebastiano 159

Book II

I. A Great Man’s Wife 187

III. The Ejected Image 207

IV. The Ancient Martyrdom 216

V. The Lady With the Iron Ring 229

VI. Fra Felice’s Testament 232

VII. After the Miracle 255

iii

IV

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

VIII. A Jettatore 259

IX. Palazzo Geraci and Palazzo Corvaja 274

X. Falco Falcone 290

XI. Victory 320

Book III

I. The Oasis and the Desert 328

II. In Palermo... 334

III. The Coming-Home 344

IV. Only of this World 361

V. A Fresco by Signorelli 381

Introduction

“ When Antichrist comes, he will appear to be wholly like Christ. * *

I

THE EMPEROR'S VISION

At the time when Augustus was emperor in Rome and Herod was king in Jerusalem, it happened that a very great and holy night descended upon the earth. It was the darkest night that anyone had ever seen ; one might almost have believed that the whole earth had chanced in under a cellar vault. It was impossible to distinguish water from land or find one’s way along the most familiar road. And it could not be otherwise, for not a ray of light came from the sky. All the stars had remained at home in their houses, and the fair moon kept her face turned away. And just as deep as the darkness was also the silence and the stillness.

The rivers had ceased to flow, not a breath of wind stirred, and even the aspen leaves trembled no more. Had one walked by the sea, one would have found that the waves no longer beat against the shore, and had one walked in the desert, the sand would not have grated under foot. Everything was petrified and at rest, in order not to disturb the holy

i night. The grass did not grow, the dew fell not and the flowers dared not breathe out fragrance.

During this night the beasts of prey did not hunt, the serpents did not bite, nor did the dogs bark. And, what was still more glorious, no inanimate thing would have disturbed the sanctity of the night by lending itself to an evil deed. No pick-lock would have opened a door, and no knife had been capable of shedding blood.

That same night there came from the imperial dwelling on the Palatine in Rome, a little group of people, who took the way across the Forum up towards Capitolium Hill. During the day which had just expired, the senators had asked the emperor if he had anything against their erecting a temple to him on Rome’s holy hill. Augustus, however, had not immediately given his assent. He did not know if it were pleasing to the gods that he should own a temple by the side of theirs, and he had answered that he first wished to ascertain their will in the matter by a nightly sacrifice to his genius. It was he who, accompanied by a few faithful friends, now went to perform Ihe sacrifice.

Augustus suffered himself to be carried in a sedan chair, for he was old, and the long stairs of the Capitolium inconvenienced him. He himself held the cage containing the doves, which he was to sacrifice. No priests, soldiers or senators attended him, only his nearest friends. Torch-bearers went before him as if to make a path through the darkness, and behind him followed slaves, carrying the three-footed altar, the coals, the knives and the sacred fire, and everything else needed for the sacrifice.

THE EMPEROR’S VISION

On the way the emperor talked cheerfully with his friends, and, therefore, no one noticed the infinite silence and stillness of the night. Not until they had reached the highest part of Capitolium and stood on the empty spot intended for the new temple, was it revealed to them that something unusual was taking place.

This could not be a night like all others, for upon the edge of the cliff they saw the most marvelous being. At first they thought it was an old twisted olive trunk, afterwards they thought that an antique stone-image from the temple of Jupiter had wandered out on the cliff. At last it seemed to them that it could be none other than the old sibyl.

Any thing so old, so weather-beaten and so gigantic, they had never seen. This old woman was frightful. If the emperor had not been there, they would all have fled home to their beds.

“ It is she,” they whispered to each other, “who numbers as many years as there are grains of sand on her native shore. Why has she come out of her cavern on this particular night ? What does she* augur the emperor and the empire, she who writes her prophesies on the leaves of the trees and knows that the wind conveys the word of the Oracle to the one who is in need of it ? ”

They were so terrified that they would have thrown themselves on their knees with their foreheads towards the earth, had the sibyl stirred. But she sat so still she appeared to be lifeless. She sat crouching on the verge of the cliff, and, shading her eyes with her hand, she peered out into the night.

She sat there as if she had gone up on the hill in order to see better something which was taking place far away.

At that moment the emperor and all his attendants noticed how extremely dark it was. No one could see a hand-breadth before him. And how still, how silent ! Not even the dull murmur of the Tiber could be heard. The air was stifling. Cold sweat broke out on their foreheads, and their hands were stiff and numb. They believed that something terrible must be imminent.

No one, however, would show that he was afraid, but all said to the emperor that these were good prognostics. All nature held its breath to welcome a new god.

They exhorted Augustus to hasten with the sacrifice, and said that the old sibyl had probably issued from her cavern to greet his genius.

But the truth was, that the old sibyl was so wholly absorbed by a vision, that she did not even know that Augustus had come up on Capitolium. In spirit she was carried away to a distant land, where it seemed to her she was wandering over a great plain. In the darkness her feet continually stumbled against something, which she took to be knolls. She stooped to feel with her hand. No, it was not knolls, but sheep. She wandered between large sleeping flocks of sheep.

Now she noticed the shepherds’ fire. It burned in the middle of the field, and she turned her steps towards it. The shepherds were asleep by the fire, and beside them lay their long, pointed staves, used in defending the flocks against wild animals. But

THE EMPEROR’S VISION the small creatures with the gleaming eyes and bushy tails, stealing along towards the fire, were they not jackals ? And yet the shepherds did not hurl their staves at them, the dogs continued to sleep, the sheep did not flee, and the wild beasts lay down to rest beside human beings. This the sibyl saw, but she knew nothing of what passed behind her on the hill. She did not know that an altar was being raised there, fire kindled and incense scattered, and that the emperor took one of the doves out of the cage to sacrifice it. But his hands were so benumbed that he could not hold the bird. With one stroke of the wing she escaped and vanished above in the darkness.

When this happened, the courtiers cast suspicious glances at the old sibyl. They thought that it was she who caused the mishap.

How could they know that the sibyl was in fancy standing by the shepherds’ fire, and that she now listened to a faint sound reverberating through the dead silence of the night. She heard it a long while before she was aware that it did not come from the earth but from the sky. Finally lifting her head, she saw shining forms gliding along in the darkness. It was flocks of angels, who, sweetly singing, flew back and forth over the wide plain, as if seeking something.

While the sibyl listened to the song of the angels, the emperor prepared for a new sacrifice. He washed his hands, purified the altar and received the second dove. But although he exerted himself to the utmost to hold it, the dove glided out of his hands and flew away into the impenetrable night.

The emperor was terrified. He prostrated himself before the empty altar and prayed to his genius. He implored him for strength to avert the misfortunes which this night seemed to portend.

Nothing of this either had the sibyl heard. She listened with her whole soul to the song of the angels which grew stronger and stronger. At last it was so powerful that it awoke the shepherds. They raised themselves on their elbows, and saw shining bands of silvery white angels moving up there in the darkness in long, fluttering lines like birds of passage. Some had lutes and violins in their hands, others citharas and harps, and their song sounded as gleefully as the laughter of children and as careless as the twittering of larks. When the shepherds heard this they arose to go to the city in the mountains where they dwelt, and relate the wonder they had seen.

They groped their way along a narrow, winding path, and the old sibyl followed them. All at once it grew light up on the mountain. A large, clear star appeared straight over it, and the city on its top gleamed like silver in the starlight. All the roaming bands of angels hurried thither with cries of exultation, and the shepherds hastened their steps. When they had reached the city, they found the angels gathered together above a low stall in the vicinity of the city gate. It was a miserable building with a straw roof and the naked cliff for a back wall. Over this stood the star, and hither flocked more and more angels. Some alighted on the straw roof or on the steep wall of rock behind the house, others hovered above it. High up, the air was glorified by radiant wings.

THE EMPEROR’S VISION

At the same moment as the star began to shine above the city in the mountains, all nature awoke, and the men who stood on Capitolium could not help noticing it. They felt cool, refreshing winds passing through the air, sweet odors streamed up to them from below, the trees rustled, the Tiber began to murmur, the stars glistened, and all at once the nioon stood high in the heavens and lighted up the world. And from the sky came the two doves and alighted on the emperor’s shoulder.

When this miracle took place, Augustus rose in triumphant joy, but his friends and slaves prostrated themselves. “ Ave Caesar,” they cried, “ thy genius has answered thee. Thou art the god, who shall be worshiped on Capitolium.”

And the homage which the enraptured men rendered the emperor was so loud, that the old sibyl heard it. She rose from her place on the edge of the cliff and came and stood in the midst of the people. And it was as if a dark cloud had risen from the precipice and swept down over the hill. She was appalling in her senility. Coarse hair hung in thin tufts about her head, the joints of her limbs were misshapen and grotesquely large, and the dark skin was like a covering of bark, with furrow upon furrow. But mighty and imposing she advanced towards the emperor. With one hand she seized his wrist, with the other she pointed eastward —

“ Behold ! ” she commanded him, and the emperor lifted his eyes. The expanse opened before him and his gaze penetrated to the distant East. And he saw a poor stall under a steep wall of rock and in the open door a few kneeling shepherds. Inside the stall he saw a young mother on her knees before a little child, which lay on a sheaf of straw on the floor.

And the sibyl’s bony finger pointed towards that lowly child. “Ave, Caesar,” said the sibyl with a scoffing laugh. “ There is the God that shall be worshiped on Capitolium Hill.” Then Caesar recoiled from her as from a maniac.

But upon the sibyl descended the mighty spirit of prophecy. Her dim eyes began to glow, her hands stretched toward heaven, her voice changed, so that it no longer seemed to be her own, but had such ring and power that it might have been heard over the whole world. And she pronounced words which she seemed to read up among the stars :

“ On Capitolium the world-renewer shall be worshipped,

Christ or Antichrist, but not weak, infirm human beings.”

Having said this, she glided away between the terror-stricken men and passed slowly down the hill and disappeared.

But the next day Augustus strictly forbade the people to erect a temple to him on Capitolium Hill. Instead, he built there a sanctuary to the newborn Godchild and called it heaven’s altar, Aracoeli.

II

On Capitolium Hill a monastery had been erected which was occupied by Franciscan monks. Yet it could hardly be regarded as a monastery, but rather as a fortress, or as a watch-tower by the seashore where one spies and watches for an approaching enemy.

Beside the monastery stood the splendid basilica of Santa Maria in Aracoeli, built in commemoration of Him the sibyl had here permitted Augustus to see, Christ. But the monastery was built because of the fear of the fulfilment of the sibyl’s prediction, that Antichrist would be worshiped on Capitolium.

And the monks felt like soldiers. When they went to church to sing and pray, they fancied themselves walking on ramparts and sending showers of arrows down upon the assaulting Antichrist, of whom they lived in continual fear ; all their service being but a struggle to keep him away from Capitolium.

Drawing their cowls forward so as to shade their faces, they sat spying out into the world.

Their eyes became feverish from staring, and they constantly imagined they discovered Antichrist. “ He is here, he is here! ” they cried. And up they flapped in their brown gowns, raising themselves in combat, like crows, on the top of a crag, at the sight of an eagle.

But some said : “ Of what use are prayers and

penance ? The sibyl has said it. Antichrist must come.”

Others said, “ God can perform a miracle. If it availed nothing to struggle, He would not have permitted the sibyl to warn us.”

Year after year the Franciscans defended Capitolium by penance, and works of charity, and by preaching the word of God.

Century after century they guarded it, but as time advanced, the people became weaker and more powerless. The monks said between themselves: “ Soon the kingdoms of the present time can endure no longer. A world-renewer is needed as in the days of Augustus.”

They tore their hair and flagellated themselves, for they knew that the reviver must be Antichrist, and that it would be a regeneracy of force and violence.

Just as the sick are pursued by their malady, so these monks were haunted by thoughts of Antichrist. And they saw him plainly before their eyes. He was just as rich as Christ had been poor, as wicked as Christ had been good, as exalted as Christ had been abased.

He carried powerful weapons and led the way at the head of bloody malefactors. He destroyed the churches, murdered the priests, and armed the people for war, so that brother fought against brother, and all feared each other, and peace did not exist. And for every despot and tyrant, that journeyed over the ocean of time, there came from the watch-tower on Capitolium the cry : “ Antichrist ! Antichrist ! ”

II

And for every one of these that disappeared and broke down in the struggle, the monks cried “ Hosanna! ” and sang the Te Deum. And they said : “ It is on account of our prayers that the wicked fall before they have time to ascend Capitolium.”

It was a severe judgment upon the beautiful monastery, that its monks never found peace. Their nights were even more grievous than their days. Then they saw wild beasts force their way into the cells, and lie down beside them on their pallets. And every wild beast was Antichrist. T o some of the monks he appeared like a dragon, to some like a griffin, and to others like a sphinx. When they arose from their dreams, they were weak as after a severe illness.

The only comfort these poor monks possessed, was the miracle-working image of Christ, preserved in the basilica of Aracoeli. When a monk was in despair from fright, he went into the church to seek comfort. He walked through the whole basilica and entered a chapel on one side of the chief altar. There he lighted consecrated candles and repeated a prayer, before opening the shrine which had a double-locked iron-door and as long as he gazed at the image he remained on his knees.

The image represented a little child in swaddling clothes, with a gold crown on its head, gold shoes on its feet, and the whole of the swaddling clothes glittered with gems, gifts from needy ones who had appealed to it for aid. And the walls in the chapel were covered with pictures illustrating how it had rescued in dangers of fire and sea, how it had healed the sick and helped the unfortunate. On beholding this, the monk rejoiced and said to himself : “ Praise be

to God ! Christ is still worshiped on Capitolium.”

The monk saw the face of the image smile upon him, a smile full of a mysterious conscious power, and his spirit soared to the realms of faith and trust.

“ What can overthrow thee, thou mighty one? ” he said. “ What can overthrow thee ? Before thee the eternal city bends its knees. Thou art Rome’s Holy Child. Thou art the crowned one whom the people adore. Thou art omnipotent, and cometh with help and strength and comfort. Thou alone * shall be worshiped on Capitolium.”

The monk saw the crown on the image change into a halo, which sent out rays over the whole world. And in whichever direction the rays pointed, he saw churches, where Christ was worshiped. It was as if a powerful ruler had shown him all the citadels and fortresses that defended his realm. Verily thou canst not fall. Thy kingdom must endure.”

And each one of the monks, who saw the image, had a few hours of peace until he was again seized with fear. But had the monks not possessed the image, they would not have had a moment’s rest.

Thus had the monks of Aracoeli in prayer and struggle worked their way through the ages, and there had never been a lack of watchers, for as soon as one had become worn out by anxiety, others had hastened to occupy his place.

And although the majority of those who entered this monastery were seized with insanity or died an early death, the monks’ ranks never seemed to thin, for to fight at Aracoeli was considered a great honor before God.

And so it happened that not more than sixty years ago, this struggle was still in full operation, and because of the impotency of that period, the monks fought with greater zeal than ever before.

At that time there came to Rome a wealthy English lady. She went up to Aracoeli and saw the image, and it charmed her so, that it seemed to her she could not live if she could not have it. Again and again she went to Aracoeli to see the image, and at last she begged the monk to let her buy it.

But even if she had paved the whole mosaic floor of the great basilica with gold pieces, the monks would not have wished to sell her this image, their only solace.

Nevertheless the English lady was so completely fascinated with the image, that she found neither peace nor joy without it. And when she could not gain her object in any other way, she decided to steal it. She did not think of the sin she would have committed, but felt only a great restraint and a burning thirst and would rather risk her soul than deny her heart the joy of possessing what she coveted. And to accomplish her purpose, she first had an image made exactly like the one at Aracoeli.

The image at Aracoeli is carved of olive-wood from the garden of Gethsemane, but the English lady presumed to have an image carved out of elm-wood, exactly like it. The image at Aracoeli is not painted by human hand. When the monk who carved it had taken out brush and paints, he fell asleep over his work and when he awoke, the image had color. It had painted itself in token that God loved Him it represented. But the English lady was bold enough to let an earthly painter paint her image of elm exactly like the holy image.

For the false image she procured crown and shoes, but not of gold ; it was only sheet-iron and gilding. She ordered gems, she bought rings and necklaces and bracelets and diamond knots, but they were all made of brass and glass — and she clothed it as those in quest of succor, had clothed the right and real one.

When the image was completed, she took a needle and engraved in the crown : “ My kingdom is only of this world.” It was as if she feared that she herself would not be able to distinguish image from image. And it was as if she wanted to keep her conscience clear. I have not presumed to make a false image of Christ, have I? For behold on his crown I have written : ‘ My kingdom is only of this world. ’ ”

After that she threw a wide cloak over her, and hiding the image under it, went up to Aracoeli ; and she begged that she might be permitted to make her devotion before the image of Christ.

As she now stood within the sanctuary, and the candles were lighted, and the iron door opened, and the image appeared before her, she commenced to shake and tremble and appeared as though she were going to faint. The monk who was with her hurried in to the sacristan after water, and she was left alone in the chapel. When he returned she had committed the sacrilege. She had taken the holy miracle-working image and substituted the false, powerless one.

The monk did not notice the change. He shut up the false image behind the double-locked, iron door, while the English lady returned home with Aracoeli’s treasure. She placed it in her palace on a marble pedestal, and was happier than she had ever been before.

At Aracoeli, where every one was wholly ignorant of the loss suffered, the false image of Christ was worshiped as had been the real one, and when Christmas came, there was built, as was customary, a most beautiful grotto inside the church. There the image lay, glittering like a jewel, in Mary’s lap, and round it shepherds were arranged and angels and wise men. And as long as the grotto remained, children came from Rome and Campagna and were lifted up into a little pulpit in the basilica, and they preached about the little Christ-child’s sweetness and kindness and greatness and power.

But the English lady lived in constant fear lest someone should discover that she had stolen Aracoeli’s image of Christ. Therefore she confessed to no one that the image she had was the real one. “ It’s an imitation,” she said, “ as like the real one as it can be, but it is only an imitation.”

Now it happened that she had a little Italian maid. One day, as the latter was passing through the rooms, she stopped in front of the image and talked to it. “ Thou poor little Christ-child, who art no Christ-child,” she said. “ If thou only knew how the real one lies in splendor in the grotto in Aracoeli and how Maria and San Guiseppe and the Shepherds lie on their knees before it ! And if thou knew how the children stand in a little pulpit straight before it, and how they curtesy and kiss their fingers to it and preach to it the best they know how ! ”

1 6 THE MIRACLES OE ANTICHRIST*

Several days after that the little maid came again and talked to the image : “ Thou poor little Christchild, who art no Christ-child,” she said, “dost know, that to-day I have been up in Aracoeli and seen how the real child was carried in a procession ? They held a canopy over it, and all the people fell on their knees, and sang and played for it. Thou wilt never take part in anything so grand ! ”

And mark well, a few days later the little maid came again and talked to the image : “ Dost thou know, little Christ-child, who art not a real Christchild, that it is better for thee to be where thou art. Because the real child is called to the sick, and it rides to them in a golden carriage, but it cannot help them, and they die in despair. And it is commenced to be said that Aracoeli’s holy child has lost its power of doing good, and that tears and prayers have no effect upon it. It is far better for thee to remain where thou art than to be appealed to and not be able to help.”

But the next night a miracle happened. Towards midnight there was a violent ringing at the monastery portal in Aracoeli. And when the porter did not open quickly enough, it began to knock. The raps had a sharp metallic ring and echoed through the whole monastery. All the monks rushed at once out of their beds. All who had been tormented by frightful dreams rushed out, thinking that Antichrist was come.

But when the door was opened — when the door was opened ! Who should be standing there on the threshold but the little Christ-child? It was his little hand that had pulled the bell-rope. It was his little gold-shod foot that had reached out and kicked on the door !

The porter straightway took the holy child in his arms. Then he saw that it had tears in its eyes. Alas! the poor holy child had wandered through the city in the night ! What must it not have seen ? So much poverty and want, so much vice and so many crimes ! It was dreadful to think of all that it must have gone through.

The porter went immediately to the prior and showed him the image. And they wondered how it had got out in the night.

But the prior gave orders to strike the church bell and call the monks to service. And all the monks of Aracoeli marched into the great dimly-lighted basilica to replace the image in all solemnity.

Worn and suffering they walked along, shivering in their heavy gowns of wadmal. Several of them wept, as though they had escaped a deadly peril. “ What would have become of us,” they said, “ if our only comfort had been taken from us ? Is it not Antichrist who has enticed Rome’s holy child out of the sheltering sanctuary ? ”

But when they were about to put back the Christchild into the shrine of the chapel, they found there the other child, the one that bore on its crown the inscription, “ My kingdom is only of this world.” And upon examining the image more closely, they found the inscription.

Then the prior turned to the monks and spoke to them :

‘'Brothers, we will sing the Te Deum and cover the pillars of the church with satin, and light all the

IS THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST

wax candles and all the hanging lamps, and we will celebrate a great feast.

“ As long as the monastery has stood, it has been an abode of terror and abomination, but for all their sufferings’ sake, who have lived here, God has been gracious. And now all danger is past.

“ God has crowned the struggle with victory, and this which ye here see, is the sign that Antichrist shall not be worshiped on Capitolium.

“ For in order that the words of the sibyl should not remain unfulfilled, God has sent the false image of Christ, which bears Antichrist’s words in its crown, and he has permitted us to worship and adore it as though he had been the great miracle-worker.

“ But now we may rest in joy and peace, for the sibyl’s vague speech is fulfilled, and homage has here been paid Antichrist.

“ Great is God, the Almighty, who has suffered our cruel fear to come to naught, and who has accomplished His will without the world’s beholding the corrupted image of the son of man.