CHAPTER XXX.
JEAN-AUX-CHOUX TAKES HIS WAGES
No sooner had Jean-aux-Choux departed from the terrible house in theStreet of the Money at Perpignan, in which he had found the threeinquisitors seated, than Mariana, with a sigh of relief, drew from hisbreast a document on cream-coloured vellum.
Before reading it he looked at the other two, and especially at FreyTullio the Neapolitan.
"We are all good Spaniards," he was about to begin. But remembering intime the birthplace of the junior inquisitor, he altered his sentenceinto, "We are all good subjects of King Philip?"
Surintendant Teruel and Frey Tullio bowed their heads. They wonderedwhat was coming, and Tullio was growing not a little sleepy. Eveninquisitors must sleep. A pulley-wheel creaked overhead uneasily. Downin the Place of Pain the familiars were trying the ropes for the morrow.There was one that had not acted satisfactorily in the case of thatValencian Jew in the afternoon. They had been ordered to mend it. KingPhilip did not approve of paying for new ropes too often. Besides, theold were better. They did not stretch so much. Blood and tears haddropped upon them.
So ever and anon the pulley creaked complainingly between tworafters, in the pauses of the Jesuit's soft voice, as he readthe Pope's condemnation of King Henry III. of France (called ofValois)--excommunicated, outcasted, delivered to Satan that he mightlearn not to offend--for the sin of alliance with the heretic, for thesin of schism and witchcraft--"ordered to be read from the chair of ourcathedral-church of Meaux, and of all others occupied by faithfulbishops----"
The face of the peasant-ecclesiastic Teruel lighted with a fierce joy ashe listened.
"We shall yet be able to send the Valois before our tribunals. The HolyOffice shall be set up in France. At last the Edicts of Trent shall beobeyed. What glory! What joy--to judge a King of France, and send him tothe stake as a heretic, a schismatic, a hater of Holy Church----"
"Softly--softly, Brother Teruel," said Mariana, smiling fixedly. "Franceis not our happy Spain. The people there are not accustomed to fires inthe market-places and the smell of burned sacrifice--to the sight oftheir parents and children being fagoted for the glory of God. See whathappened in England a few years ago, when our Philip's wife Mary, Queenof that country, tried to introduce a little--oh, such a very little--ofher husband's methods."
"Here we have no difficulty," said Teruel, from his peasant-bigot'spoint of view. "It is God's good method with the world to extirpate theheretic!"
But the Jesuit answered him truly.
"Make no mistake," he said, tapping the Papal Bull with a plumpforefinger, "you succeed here in Spain, my country and yours, becausethe Spaniard, ninety-nine out of a hundred, is wishful that you shouldsucceed. Our good John Spaniard hates Jews--he despises heretics. To himthey are a foolish remnant. They prosper abominably; they are patient,unwarlike, easily plundered. Yet they take it upon themselves to offendthe eye by their unnecessary industry. A striped blanket in the shade, alittle wine, a little gossip--and in these later times, since blessedFerdinand, a good rollicking _auto de fe_ once a week. These suffice himwhen the King does not call our Spaniard to war. They are the very'bread-and-bull-fights' for which he cried when he was yet a Roman and acitizen. But in France and in England--even in Italy we must actotherwise. We attain our end just the same, but without noise. Only oneman somewhere, with a clear brain and an arm that will not fail, drivesa knife--or, when all backs are turned, inverts the bottom of a poisonphial. He gains the martyr's crown, skips Purgatory with a bound, andfinds himself in Paradise!"
The little grey Neapolitan blinked owlishly at Mariana. He was growingsleepy, and with all his soul he wished this too-wise man would besilent. But being applied to, he thought it was safer to agree.
"Certainly--certainly," he said, "it is the same in Italy."
"In Italy--not quite, my friend," said Mariana; "your needs are scarcelythe same. With you, cup-and-dagger are as common as--fleas, and aslittle thought of. You have means (literally) to your hand! But here wehave to manufacture them, put spirit into them, send them out on theirmission as only we of the Gesu can do."
The Jesuit of Toledo paused a little in his argument, turning his eyesfrom one to the other.
"As to this little matter," he said, again tapping the Papal Bull withhis finger-nail, "I have a man who will execute His Holiness's will--inyour national manner, my good Tullio. Only first, he would have amandate from the Holy Office, a sort of safe-conduct for his soul--thepromise of absolution for breaking his vow against the shedding ofblood. He is, I must tell you, a little Dominican of Sens, presentlymisbehaving himself in the mother-college of St. Jacques at Paris. Buthe is good material for all that, properly handled."
Teruel spoke with the natural caution of the peasant.
"But," said he, "we will be held responsible if aught goes amiss; ourduty here is difficult enough! The King----"
"The King I will take in my own hand," said Mariana. "I warrant you hisfullest protection, and approval. You shall have great favour--perhapseven be moved to Seville or Granada, or some other place where Jews,Moriscos, and heretics are frequent and rich. Write me the paper andseal it with the seal official!"
So with his Papal Bull and an order from the chiefs of the Holy Office,assembled in council at the nearest accessible point, Mariana withdrewto his bed, and none in all the Street of the Money slept sounder thanhe that night, though when he opened the window to let in a breath ofthe cool, moist air off the Tet, the prayers of the prisoners could beheard coming up in moaning gusts from the dungeons beneath.
* * * * *
The machinery set in motion by the Jesuit Mariana revolved statedly,wheel within his wheel. The "young Dominican of Sens," deliveringhimself to a strange but not unusual mixture of fanaticism and debauch,misspent his days with the rabble of Paris, his evenings in listening tothe fair speeches and yet fairer promises of Madame de Montpensier, theDuke of Guise's sister, while all night mysterious voices whispered inthe darkness of his cell that he was the chosen of God, the approved,and that if he, Jacques Clement, would only kill the King, angels wouldimmediately waft his body, safe and unseen, to the quiet of his convent.
Had he not heard the Bull of the Pope read by the Father Superior? Hadthe Holy Office not promised him immunity, nay, even canonisation--hadnot Madame de Montpensier----? But enough, Jacques Clement, riotous monkof Sens, sat him down and made his dagger like a needle for sharpness,like a mirror for polish. This he did when he should have been readinghis breviary in the monastery of the Dominicans in the RueSaint-Jacques.
* * * * *
So it came to pass that on the evening of the third day of August, 1589,Jean-aux-Choux, still wearing his great shepherd's cloak, though allPerpignan city panted in the fervent heat, and the cool water of the Tetreeked against the sun-heated banks, stood again at the door of thatgloomy house in the Street of the Money.
Above, the three men waited as before. But this time there was nohesitation about admittance, not even a question asked. The three menwho had done a great thing far away, without lifting one of their littlefingers, now waited, tense with anxiety--not for themselves, for no oneof them cared for his own safety, but to know that they had won the gamefor their Church and cause.
To them Jean-aux-Choux opened his mouth.
"He is dead!" he announced, solemnly--"Henry of Valois is dead! Thesiege of Paris is raised. Epernon and the great lords have refused toserve a Huguenot king. They have gone home----"
"And the Bearnais--the Bearnais?" interrupted Mariana hoarsely, "what ofhim?"
"I saw him ride sadly away--the White Scarves only following!"
Then for once, at the crowning moment of his life, Mariana, the smilingJesuit, leaned face-forward on the table. His strength had gone fromhim.
"Enough," he said, "I have done the Society's will. But so great successeven I had not hoped for!"
And he rocked himself to and fro in that terrible cri
sis of nervousemotion which comes only to the most self-restrained, while Teruel, theSurintendant of the Holy Inquisition, and Frey Tullio his second, wereprodigal of their cares, lavishing restoratives, of which (in virtue oftheir office) they had great store in the Street of the Money.
None minded Jean-aux-Choux, or even thanked him. But he, seeing aparchment with a familiar name written upon it, the ink scarcely dry,and as a paper-weight the seal of the Holy Office ready to append to it,coolly pocketed both seal and mandate.
It was a warrant to the familiars of the Holy Office in the city ofPerpignan to seize the body of one Claire Agnew, a known and warrantableheretic, presently residing at the house of La Massane near Collioure,and to bring her within the prisons of the aforesaid Inquisition in theStreet of the Money, in the city above mentioned, within ten days atmost from that date--upon peril of their several lives, and of the livesof all that should defend, aid, assist, or shelter the said ClaireAgnew, heretic, daughter of Francois of that name, plotter, spy, andCalvinist.
Followed the signs and signatures of the two inquisitors in charge--towit, Teruel and Tullio. The name of Mariana did not anywhere appear.
"Ten days," muttered Jean-aux-Choux, when he had read it over; "thatgives us time. And there"--he heaved the seal of the Holy Office intothe Tet--"they will have to get one made. That will be another length toour tether!"
The White Plumes of Navarre: A Romance of the Wars of Religion Page 31
