CHAPTER IX
THE SHADOW OF THE DESTROYER
The Abbot of Montblanch, Don Baltasar Varela, was supposed to beoccupied in prayer and meditation. But in common with many of hisabbatical brethren, he employed his leisure with quite other matters.Many have been the jests levelled at the higher clergy of the Church ofRome, rich, cloistered, and celibate, in their relations to the othersex.
But all such jests, good against even certain holy popes of Rome andtheir nephews, fell harmless against the triple brass of the reputationof Don Baltasar, present head of the great Monastery of Montblanch.
Things might be whispered against the practice of divers of the brethrenof the Order. But out of the sphere of his immediate jurisdiction, DonBaltasar concerned himself not with other men's matters.
"To his own God he standeth or falleth," quoth Don Baltasar, and washedhis hands of the responsibility.
But there were one or two offences which Don Baltasar did not treat inthis manner, and of these anon.
Meantime the Abbot talked with his confessor, and in the security of hischamber was another man to the genial host, the liberal and well-readchurchman, the courteous man of the world who had listened soapprovingly to the wild talk of Rollo the Scot, and so condescendinglyclinked glasses with Brother Hilario, the rich young recruit who hadcome from his native province to support the cause of _el Rey Absoluto_,Don Carlos V. of Spain.
The chamber itself was different. It contained one chair, plain and rudeas that of any anchorite, in which the Abbot sat, a stool for the fatherconfessor, a pallet bed, a rough shelf with half a dozen worn volumesabove it, two great books with locked clasps of metal--these composedthe entire furniture of the chamber of one of the most powerful princesof Holy Church in the world.
"It is no use, Anselmo," said the Abbot, gravely toying with the claspof one of the open books, in which a few lines of writing were stillwet, "after all, we are but playing with the matter here. The cure lieselsewhere. We may indeed keep our petty bounds intact, sheltering withina dozen of leagues not one known unfaithful to the true King, and theprinciples of the Catholic religion; but we do not hold even Aragon withany certainty. The cities whelm us in spite of ourselves. Zaragozaitself is riddled with sedition, rottenly Jacobin to the core!"
"An accursed den of thieves!" said the gloomy monk. "God will judge itin His time!"
"Doubtless--doubtless. I most fully agree!" said the Abbot, softly, "butmeantime it is His will that we use such means as we have in our handsto work out the divine ends. It is well known to you that there is oneman who is driving this estate of Spain to the verge of a devil'sprecipice."
With a look of dark shrewdness the priest dropped his head closer to hissuperior's ear.
"Mendizabal," he said, "Mendizabal, the Jew of Madrid, the lover ofheretic England, the overgrown cat's-paw of the money-brokers, thegabbler of the monkeys' chatter called 'liberal principles,' the evilcouncillor of a foolish queen."
"Even so," sighed the Abbot. "To such God for a time grants power toscourge His very elect. Great is their power--for a time. They flourishlike a green bay tree--for a time. But doth not the Wise Man say in theScripture, 'Better is wisdom than many battalions, and a prudent manthan a man of war'? You and I, father, must be the prudent men."
"But will not our brave Don Carlos soon rid us of these dead dogs ofMadrid?" said the Confessor. "What of his great generals Cabrera and ElSerrador? They have gained great victories. God has surely been withtheir arms!"
The Prior shrugged his shoulders with a slight but inconceivablycontemptuous movement, which indicated that he was weary of the father'sline of argument.
"Another than yourself, Anselmo, might mistake me for a scoffer when Isay that in this matter we must be our own Don Carlos, our owngenerals--nay, our own Providence. To be plain, Carlos V.--that blessedand truly legitimate sovereign, is a donkey; Cabrera, a brave but cruel_guerrillero_ who will get a shot through him one fine day, as all thesegluttons for fighting do!--The rest of the generals are even as DonCarlos, and as for Providence--well, believe me, reverend father, inthese later days, even Providence has left poor Spain to fend forherself?"
"God will defend His Church," said the Confessor solemnly.
"But how?" purred the Abbot. "Will Providence send down three legions ofangels to sweep the Nationals from sea-board to sea-board, from Alicanteeven to Pontevedra?"
"I, for one, place neither bounds nor limits upon the Divine power!"said the dark monk, sententiously.
"Well, then, I do," answered the Prior; "those of common sense, and ofrequiring us who are on earth to use the means, the commoner and themore earthly the better."
The monk bowed, but did not again contradict his superior. The latterwent on--
"Now I have received from a sure hand in Madrid, one of us and devotedto our interests, an intimation that so soon as the present Cortes isdissolved, Mendizabal means to abolish all the convents in Spain, toseize their treasures and revenues, turn their occupants adrift, andwith the proceeds to pay enough foreign mercenaries to drive Don Carlosbeyond the Pyrenees and end the war!"
During this speech, which the Prior delivered calmly, tapping the lid ofhis golden snuff-box and glancing occasionally at the Father Confessorout of his unfathomable grey eyes, that gloomy son of the Church hadgradually risen to his full height. At each slow-dropping phrase theexpression of horror deepened on his countenance, and as the Abbotended, he lifted his right arm and pronounced a curse upon Mendizabal,such as only the lips of an ex-inquisitor could have compassed, whichmight have excited the envy of Torquemada the austere, and even causeda smile of satisfaction to sit upon the grim lips of San Vicente Ferrer,scourge of the Jews.
The Prior heard him to the end of the anathema.
"_And then_?" he said, quietly.
The dark monk stared down at his chief, as he set placidly fingering hisepiscopal ring and smiling. Was it possible that in such an awful crisishe remained unmoved?
"The day of anathemas is over," he said; "the power of words to loose orto bind, so far as the world is concerned, is departed. But steel canstill strike and lead kill. We must use means, Father Anselmo, we mustuse means."
"_I_ will be the means--_I_, Anselmo, unworthy son of Holy Church--withthis dagger I will strike the destroyer down! Body and soul I will sendhim quick to the pit! I alone will go! Hereby I devote myself!Afterwards let them rend and torture me as they will. I fear not; Ishall not blench. I, Anselmo, who have seen so many--shall know howto comport myself!"
"Hush!" said the Abbot, for the first time seriously disturbed, andlooking over his shoulder at the curtained door, "moderate your voiceand command yourself, father. These things are not to be spoken of evenin secret. The Jew of Madrid shall die, because he hath risen up againstthe Lord's anointed; but your hand shall not drive the steel!"
"And why, Baltasar Varela?" said the dark priest, "pray tell me why youclaim the right to keep me from performing my vow?"
"Let that tell you why!" said the Prior with severity. And withoutrising, so circumscribed was his chamber, he reached down the smallwall-mirror, which he used when he shaved, and handed it to the FatherConfessor. "Think you, would a countenance like that have any chance ofbeing allowed into the ante-rooms of the Prime Minister?"
"I would disguise myself," said the priest.
The Prior smiled. "Yes," he said, "and like a _sereno_ in plain clothes,look three times the monk you are with your frock upon you! No, no,Anselmo; Holy Church has need of you, but she does not require that youshould throw your life away uselessly."
He motioned the Confessor to a seat, and passed him his snuff-box open,from which the dark monk took a pinch mechanically, his lips stillworking, like the sea after a storm, in a low continuous mutter of Latincurses.
"I have found my instruments," said the Prior. "They are within thewalls of the Abbey of Montblanch at this moment. And we have just twomonths in which to do our business."
The Father Confessor, obeying the beck
oning eyebrow of his superior,inclined his ear closer, and the Prior whispered into it for someminutes. As he proceeded, doubt, hope, expectation, certainty, joy,flitted across the monk's face. He clasped his hands as the Abbotfinished.
"God in His Heaven defend His poor children and punish thetransgressor!"
"Amen," said the Abbot, a little dryly; "and we must do what we can toassist Him upon the earth."
The Firebrand Page 9
