Frank Schätzing - Death and the Devil

When he finally realized he would never see his building completed, not even the chancel, he threw himself into his work with even greater determination. It was his church, his idea. And there was still the power of logic. The completed cathedral existed—on parchment. The impossible cathedral had been alive inside his head, without the constraints of time and space, as long as he had been alive.

Matthias gave a pitying shake of the head. “You were right,” he said softly to the corpse, “you achieved none of your goals.”

Gerhard was wearing a costly shroud. He had had it made some time ago and had obtained permission from Conrad to place it, just for a moment, on the bones of the Three Kings, whose relics had been brought to the city less than a hundred years ago. To be accompanied by the Wise Men on his last journey was Gerhard’s deepest wish.

Memento mori.

Matthias watched as the Dominican monks drew the sheet over Gerhard’s head and sewed it up. Each one did one stitch, while their quiet singing and praying filled the room. The air was heavy with incense. The body was blessed with incense and sprinkled with holy water.

Guda, Gerhard’s widow, was sitting beside the body, deep in prayer. The previous evening she had washed the body, the priests had anointed it, and then, together with the family and neighbors, kept watch through the night, praying for Gerhard’s soul.

Why am I not praying for him? Matthias wondered. I had no quarrel with him.

Because I can’t, he concluded dispassionately.

He looked around. There were not many gathered in the half-lit room. The street outside was teeming with people who wanted to bid their last farewell or were simply curious to see the funeral procession. Inside, on the other hand, only clerics, family, friends, and nobles were allowed. He knew them all, apart from a few monks. From the Overstolzes, Gertrude and Johann’s wife, Hadewig, had hurried over the previous evening to support Guda in her hour of need, to join with her in prayer. Johann and Theoderich were behind him, staring blankly at the winding sheet the body was sewn up in, while Daniel was looking up at the ceiling, a bored expression on his face. Various members of the stonemason’s guild had hastily drummed up a quorum. Two of Gerhard’s sons and a daughter, all in holy orders, were kneeling beside Guda. Other noble families had sent representatives.

Kuno was the only member of the Kone family present. Stone-faced, he ignored the others. Matthias watched him from beneath knitted brows.

Suddenly he noticed two strangers who came in, sank to their knees by the bier, crossed themselves, and nodded deferentially to Guda, before going out again. From their habits they must belong to one of the numerous mendicant orders. They had only stayed a few moments, but Matthias thought he knew who they were. He slipped unobtrusively away from the mourners and quickly followed them. They were standing outside the house, gesticulating and speaking to the people.

“—as he walked along the planks he was looking up at the heavens,” one of them was proclaiming.

“Surely he must have seen the Holy Spirit,” the other cried, “his face was transfigured.”

“God was telling him, ‘Come, I will take you up into My Kingdom.’”

“Whatever it was he saw, he did not keep his eye on the walkway—”

“Alas, alas.”

“—and although, in my attempt to save him, I called out—”

“So did I, so did I!”

“My lord, I cried, watch your step—”

“—or you will fall—”

“—go no farther. But it was too late. I saw him fall, fall like a withered apple from the tree—”

“He fell and his bones were shattered.”

“—and break in two like a dry stick.”

The crowd was holding its breath. Matthias leaned against the doorpost watching the performance with interest. The shorter of the two, a chubby fellow, had worked himself up into a frenzy.

“And when we went to the aid of our fallen brother,” he declaimed, “to offer him our spiritual assistance, he opened his eyes, one last time—”

“—and confessed—”

“—confessed his sins, yes. ‘May the Lord forgive me my trespasses,’ he said, ‘as I forgive those who have trespassed against me—’”

“‘—that I may be received into God’s grace—’”

“‘Amen!’ and died.”

“‘—and be assured of eternal peace,’ he said, and—”

“And died!”

“In the name of the Lord, yes. And died.”

“Amen, amen.”

The people were moved. Some made the sign of the cross. The two monks looked at each other, visibly pleased with themselves.

“Tell us again, reverend brothers,” screeched a woman, pulling a pair of grubby children to the front. “The children didn’t hear.”

The monk with the louder voice raised his hands to heaven and opened his eyes wide. “O Lord,” he wailed, “how painful it is for me to bear witness to the death of Thy son Gerhard again and again. I would have given my life to save him, yet Thy will be done. But still, to see him fall while my brother here, Andreas von Helmerode, and I were sitting in pious contemplation beside one of the chapels, O Holy Mother of God, sweet vessel of grace and mercy, it was as if I were being tortured by a thousand red-hot knives. But is it our place to lament if it has pleased the Lord to take brother Gerhard to his bosom? Should we not be joyful and give thanks for the moment when, leaving this unimportant earthly existence behind, he was born anew? For, dear brothers and sisters, what is death but our true birth? What should we feel in the face of death but joyous anticipation that we, too, will soon appear before our Judge to be blessed with His infinite mercy. True, the cathedral has lost its guiding hand, but others will come and they will be imbued with Gerhard’s spirit. This is not a moment for vanity, not a moment to turn our thoughts to material things, to stones and towers, colored glass and mosaics. Yes, we saw Gerhard fall, saw him plunge from the highest point of the scaffolding at a moment when he was communing with God. You call it an accident? I call it Divine Providence and grace!”

“What sins did Gerhard confess to?” a man in the crowd shouted.

The monk went red as a beetroot and clenched his fist. “How dare you ask!” he roared. “May God send His lightning down upon you and shrivel you up, body and soul.”

“You should be praying instead of asking questions,” the second monk broke in, making the sign of the cross again, “praying all the time. Do you want to meet the poor soul in your dreams, accusing you of not having supported it with all your heart? Recite the Creed, sing the Te deum. Remember, at this very moment the dead man is on his way to appear before his heavenly Judge, weighed down with his sins, humbly offering up his remorse. But woe betide the sinner who stumbles, for the Devil’s fiendish crew lies in wait for the lamb along the path it must take to its Merciful Shepherd. Stinking filth, demonic obscenities, the wolves of darkness!” He made a grand gesture, as if to damn Cologne and all the surrounding villages. “Verily I say unto you, all of you, each and every one, will have to take that path, and you will long to have the prayers of the whole of Christendom to keep you safe from the clutches of the Evil One, who will try to drag you down to the darkest depths of hell where Leviathan writhes in transports of satanic delight on its red-hot grill, crushing human souls in its countless claws. Remember, we all must die! It opens its gaping maw, and its teeth are terrible round about! Its eyes are like the eyelids of the morning! Out of its mouth go burning lamps, and sparks of fire leap out! Out of its nostrils goeth smoke, as out of a seething cauldron! Its breath kindleth coals and a flame goeth out of its mouth! There is not its like upon earth.”