*CHAPTER XVIII.*
The Inquisitors and the Jesuits continued to adopt a policy of greatleniency to those who were in prison. The majority, after oneexamination, were released, merely going through the form of abjuringheresies and errors of which they had never dreamed. Owing to thispolitic course of action, assisted by the dislike and contempt which thepeople felt towards the then Pope, who was supposed to be a favourer ofMolinos, and of whose dull reign the Romans were weary, a great changetook place in the opinions of the populace. The credit of the Jesuitsrose exceedingly, and they became celebrated for their excessivemildness, who before had been blamed for their rigour. To such anextent did they gain in popular estimation, that the chiefs of thedefeated party were unable to keep back great numbers of the followersof Molinos from coming in to the Inquisitors every day, to accusethemselves of heresy, and to offer themselves to penance. These beingvery gently treated, and dismissed in peace, testified everywhere to theclemency of the Holy Office and of the Jesuits. The excitement, whichbefore had set in one direction, was now turned with equal impetuosityin another; and many who had before, doubtless in perfect sincerity,found--or fancied they found--spiritual satisfaction in the "method ofcontemplation," now discovered an equal benefit in an excessiveorthodoxy. The Quietist party was utterly crushed, and put toignominious silence; and Molinos himself became an object of hatred andcontempt; while, all the time, with extraordinary inconsistency, it waspublicly reported that the reason of this surprising clemency was thegreat support which his doctrine received from the mystical Divinity,which had been authorized by so many canonizations, and approved by somany Councils and Fathers of the Church. The leaders of the defeatedparty lived as in a desert. Their saloons, which only a few days beforehad been crowded, were now empty, and Cardinal Petrucci himself wasvisited by no one; while the Jesuits were everywhere received withenthusiasm, so true to the character that the Satirist gave a thousandyears before did the Roman populace remain--
"Sequitur fortunam, ut semper, et odit "Damnatos."
Some slight portion of this popular applause fell to Inglesant's lot,whichever report was believed--whether, as the agent of the Society hehad betrayed his friends, or had used his influence to procure thisunexpected policy of mercy--either supposition procured him notorietyand even approbation. It now only remained to watch the fate of Molinos,and the inmates of Don Agostino's palace waited in silence the policy oftheir triumphant opponents. The Jesuits began by circulating reports ofhis hypocrisy and lewd course of life--facts of which they said they hadconvincing evidence. They said that these scandals had been provedbefore the Pope, who then, and not till then, had renounced his cause.The Romans replied to this story that they believed it, for the Pope wasa good judge of such matters, but none at all of the questions oftheology on which the quarrel had previously turned. There was not atthe time, and there never has been since, the slightest evidence offeredpublicly that these stories had the least foundation; but they amplyserved their turn, insomuch that when Molinos was brought out to theMinerva on the day of his condemnation, he was saluted by the peoplewith cries of "Fire! Fire!" and, but that his coach was resolutelydefended by the Sbirri and guards, he would have been massacred by thefurious mob.
When the morning rose upon the day on which his condemnation was to takeplace, the tribunal of the Minerva, and all the avenues and corridorsleading to it, were thronged with an excited crowd. For days before,all the efforts both of money and favour had been exerted to procuregood places in the court itself, and those who were unable to gain thesecoveted seats lined the corridors and staircases, while the populaceoutside thronged the streets leading from the prison of the Inquisition.The windows and house tops were crowded; scarcely an inhabitant of Romebut was to be found somewhere on the line of route; the rest of the citywas a desert.
The vine-clad wastes of the Aventine, the green expanse of the CampoVacchino, and the leafy walls of the Colosseum and of the arches, werelying under the morning sunlight, calm and quiet as in the midst of ahappy and peaceful world. As Inglesant came across from the lonelyconvent where he still occasionally lodged, and turned out of the squareof the Ara Coeli, the silent tenantless houses and palaces looked downwith dim eyes like a city of the dead; and as he came into the Via delGesu the distant hum and murmur of the crowd first broke upon his ear.Here and there a belated spectator like himself turned out of somebye-street or doorway, and hastened towards the Piazza della Minerva.
Inglesant turned off by a side street, and, following the narrow windinglanes with which he was well acquainted, came out into the Via diCoronari at some midway distance between the prison of the Inquisitionand the Minerva. He was just in time. As he stationed himself againstthe wall of the Church of St. Maria de Anima and the German Hospital, heknew, by the excitement and frantic cries of the crowd, that Molinos wasnot far off. He was brought along the street in a large coach withglass windows, a Dominican friar seated at his side. On each side ofthe carriage and at the horses' heads the Sbirri and Swiss guardsexerted themselves manfully to keep back the people and to clear theway. A deafening shout and cry rose unceasingly, and every few momentsthe crowd, pressing upon the carriage and the guards, caused them tocome to a dead stop. Clinging to the horses' heads, to the carriageitself, to the halberds of the Swiss, climbing on the steps and on theback of the coach, had the crowd desired a rescue, Inglesant thought onebold and decided leader might have accomplished it in a few desperatemoments. But the mob desired nothing less. This man--who but a fewweeks ago had been followed by admiring crowds, who had been idolized incourtly saloons, whose steps and walks had been watched with the tenderand holy devotion with which a people watches the man whose life ittakes to be hid in God; whom loving modest women had pointed out totheir children as the holy monk whom they must love and remember alltheir lives; whom passionate women, on whose souls the light of God hadbroken, had followed trembling, that they might throw themselves at hisfeet, and clinging to his gown, hear the words of gospel from his lips;to whom desperate men had listened whom no other voice had evermoved;--this man was now the execration of the mob of Rome. Amidst theroar and din around no word was distinguishable but that terrible one of"Fire!" that pointed to a heretic's death at the stake; and, but for thedetermined resistance of the guards, Molinos would have been draggedfrom the coach and butchered in the streets.
When the carriage arrived opposite the spot upon which Inglesant hadposted himself, he could see Molinos's face as he sat in the coach. Hewas carefully dressed in his priestly habit, and looked about him with acheerful serene countenance. "He looks well," said a man, not far fromInglesant, who had been very bitter against the prisoner; "the secret ofhis success is not far to seek, for his face possesses all the charmsthat are able to captivate, especially the fair sex."
When the coach was close to Inglesant the crowd made another and mostdetermined attack, and the horses came to a stand. The cries of "Fire!Fire!" rose louder and more fiercely, and the guards were for a momentbeaten from one of the doors. It seemed that nothing could prevent thepeople from dragging their victim into the street; Inglesant felt hisblood turn cold, fully expecting to see the massacre performed beforehis eyes; but before the people could open the door, which seemedfastened on the inside, the guard rallied, and by the free use of theirhalberds and short swords recovered the coach, and drove back the mob.
Through all this scene Molinos had preserved his perfectly unconcernedexpression, and his eyes, wandering calmly over the people, at lastrested upon the spot where Inglesant stood. Whether he recognized him ornot Inglesant did not know, for he involuntarily drew back and shrankfrom his eye. He learnt afterwards that Molinos did recognize him, andalso noticed his recoil. "He fears I should compromise him with thefurious crowd," he thought; "he need not fear."
Inglesant's movement was caused, however, by a thought very differentfrom this one, which indeed never occurred to him. He was ashamed tomeet Molinos's eye.
In the daylight and sunshine they had walkedtogether, but when the trial came, the one was taken, and all the restescaped. It was impossible but that some at least of the fortunate manyshould feel some pangs of uneasiness and doubt. Inglesant especially,the agent and confidant of the Jesuits, was open to such thoughts, andbefore the single-hearted uncompromising priest and confessor could notbut feel in some sort condemned. The carriage passed on amid theunabated fury of the people, and, turning aside down a narrow windinglane, he entered the Dominicans' Church, to the reserved part of whichhe had a ticket of admission, to be ready for the final scene.
Molinos was taken to one of the corridors of the Minerva, where he stoodfor some time looking about him very calmly, and returning all thesalutes which were made him by those who had formerly been of hisacquaintance. To all inquiries he returned but one answer; that theysaw a man who was defamed, but who was penitent (infamato ma penitente).After he had stood here some time he was conducted into a smallapartment, where a sumptuous repast was spread before him, and he wasinvited to partake as of his last luxurious indulgence before being shutup in a little cell for life. A strange banquet! and a strange tastesuch delicacies must have to a man at such a time.
After dinner he was carried into the Church, as in a triumph, in an openchair upon the shoulders of the Sbirri. The tapers upon the altarshrines showed more clearly than did the dim and sober daylight thatpenetrated beneath the darkened roofs the three mystic aisles of thestrange Church, which were filled with a brilliant company of cardinals,nobles, innumerable ladies, gentlemen of every rank, ecclesiasticswithout end. The dark marble walls, the sumptuous crowd, the richcolours of the stained glass, gave a kind of lurid splendour to thescene; while on every side the sculptured forms upon the monuments, withstolid changeless features, stood out pale amidst the surrounding gloom;and here and there, where free space was kept, the polished marble floorreflected the sombre brilliancy of the whole.
As Molinos was brought up to his place he made a low and devoutreverence to the Cardinals, and his manner was perfectly possessed andwithout a show of fear or shame. He was made to stand up before thealtar, a chain was bound round him and fastened to his wrists, and a waxtaper was placed in his hands. Then with a loud voice a friar read hisProcess, so as to be heard by all in the Church: and as some of thearticles were read, there were loud cries from the reverend and politeassembly of "Fire! Fire!"
In a few moments the sight was over, and Molinos was led back to thestreet, to be placed this time in a close carriage, and taken back tothe prison, where his cell was prepared. As Inglesant stepped back intothe aisle of the Church he felt some one pull him by his Benedictinegown, and turning round, he saw a lady in a velvet masque. She appearedexcited, and, as far as he could see, was weeping, and her voice, whichhe thought he recognized, was broken and indistinct.
"Cavaliere," she said, "he will stop a moment in the vestibule beforethey put him in the coach. I want him to have this--he must have it--itwill be a relief and consolation to him unspeakable. They will stop allof us, and will let no one come to him; but they will let you. You area Jesuit, and their friend. For the love of Gesu, Cavaliere, do him andme, and all of us, this favour. He will bless you and pray for you. Hewill intercede for you. For the love of God, Cavaliere!"
She was pleading with such eager tearfulness and such hurried speech andgesture, that he could not doubt her truth, yet he paused a moment.
"Surely I know your voice?" he said.
"Ah! you know me," replied the masque, "but that is of no consequence.Another moment, and it will be too late. Cavaliere! for the love ofGesu!"
Inglesant took the small paper packet, which seemed to contain a casket,and went down the fast emptying Church. As he reached the entrance heturned and looked back for the velvet masque, but she was nowhere to beseen. His mind was full of suspicion, yet he was not unwilling tofulfil his mission. He should, at any rate, speak to Molinos, andperhaps grasp his hand.
In the vestibule Molinos stood alone, a circle being kept at somedistance round him by the guard. His manner was unchanged and calm.The select crowd stood around gazing at him with eager curiosity;outside might be heard again the shouting of the mob, and the cry of"Fire!" Inglesant advanced towards the Captain of the Sbirri; but, tohis surprise, before he could speak, the latter made a sign, and theguards fell back to let him pass. A murmur ran through the crowd, andevery one pressed forward with intense eagerness. Molinos looked up, andan expression of grateful pleasure lighted up his face as he extendedhis hand. Inglesant grasped it with emotion, and looking him in theface, said,--
"Adieu, Father, you are more to be envied than we. You are clothed inthe heavenly garment and sit down at the supper of the King; we wanderin the outer darkness, with an aching conscience that cannot rest."
The expression of the other's face was compassionate and beautiful, andhe said,--
"Adieu, Cavaliere, we shall meet again one day, when the veil shall betaken from the face of God, and we shall see Him as He is."
As Inglesant grasped his hand he slipped the casket into it, and as hedid so dropped on one knee. The hand of the monk rested on his head fora moment, and in the next he had risen and stepped back, and the guardsclosed in for the last time round Molinos, and the crowd pressed after,following them to the coach.
When the carriage had driven off, and the crowd somewhat dispersed,Inglesant came down the steps, and was turning to the right into theCorso when he was surprised to see that the Captain of the Sbirri hadnot followed his prisoner, but was standing on the causeway with two orthree of his men, near a plain carriage which was waiting. As Inglesantcame up he turned to him, and said politely,--
"Pardon, Signore Cavaliere, I must ask you to come with me. You haveconveyed a packet to a condemned prisoner--a grave offence--a packetwhich contains poison. You will come quietly, no doubt."
"I will come quietly, certainly," said Inglesant. "Where are we going?to the Inquisition?"
"No, no," said the other, as he followed the new prisoner into thecoach, "yours is a civil offence; we are going to the St. Angelo."
"The General must have a taste for theatricals," thought Inglesant asthe coach rolled off, "or he never could have planned such a melodrama."
On their arrival at the castle he was conducted into a good room, not inthe tower, which commanded an extensive view of St. Peter's. Greatliberty was allowed him, everything he liked to pay for was procured forhim, and at certain hours he was allowed to walk on the glacis andfortifications.
The second day of his confinement was drawing to a close when he wasvisited by the Dominican who had attended Molinos. This monk, whoseemed a superior person, had evidently been impressed by theconversation and character of his prisoner. After the first greeting hesaid,--
"That unhappy man requested me to bring you a message. It was to theeffect that he had done you wrong. He saw you among the crowd as he wasbeing brought to the Minerva, and noticed that you shrank back. Heaccused you in his mind of fearing to be compromised; he knows now that,on the contrary, you were watching for an opportunity to do him aservice. It was but the thought of a moment, but he could not restuntil he had acknowledged it, and begged your forgiveness. He bade mealso to tell you that 'the bruised reed is not broken, nor the smokingflax quenched.'"
"Where did you leave him?" said Inglesant.
"At the door of his cell, which he calls his cabinet."
"'The smoking flax is not quenched,'" said Inglesant; "I hear that oneof his followers, a day or two ago, before the tribunal told theexaminers to their faces that they 'were a company of unjust, cruel, andheretical men, and that the measure which they dealt to others was thesame that Christ Himself had received from His persecutors.'"
"It is true," said the Dominican, "and it is true also that he isreleased; such, on the contrary, is the clemency of the Church."
After an imprisonment of about a fortnight, as Inglesant was one daytaking his usual walk upon the fortific
ations, he was informed that theGeneral of the Order was in his room, and desired to see him. He wentto him immediately, and was received with great appearance offriendliness.
"You will pardon my little plot, Cavaliere," said the General,"especially as I gave orders that you should be made very comfortablehere. I wished to see in what manner and how far you were our servant,and I have succeeded admirably. I find, as I imagined, that you areinvaluable; but it must be on your own terms, and at your own time. Youare faithful and unflinching when you have undertaken anything, but eachmission must be entered upon or renounced at your own pleasure. I hopeyou have not been nourishing bitter thoughts of me during yourincarceration here."
"Far from it," replied Inglesant; "I have nothing to complain of. Ihave all I want, and the view from these windows is, as you see,unrivalled in Rome. If it consists with your policy I should take it asa great favour were you to inform me whether the velvet masque was amere tool or not. I could have sworn that her accent and manner werethose of a person speaking the truth; still, when the Captain of theSbirri made way for me I thought I was in the toils."
"Your penetration did not err. The lady was the Countess of ----. Sheconceived the idea of communicating with Molinos herself, and confidedit to her director--not in confession, observe. He consulted me, and weadvised what took place; and what may console you still farther, we didthe lady no wrong. We have reason to know that, besides the poison,some writing was conveyed to Molinos together with the casket, by whichhe obtained information which he was very desirous of receiving. Youwill forgive me now, since your 'amour propre' is not touched, and yourfriend's purpose is served."
There was a pause, after which the General said,--
"You have deserved well of the Order--few better; and whatever theirenemies may say, the Companions of Jesus are not unmindful of theirchildren, nor ungrateful, unless the highest necessities of the generalgood require it. You look upon the prosecution of Molinos as an act ofintolerable tyranny, and you are yourself eager to enter upon a crusadeon behalf of religious freedom and of the rights of private devotion andjudgment. You are ready to engage almost single-handed against thewhole strength of the Society of Jesus, of the Curia, and of theexisting powers. I say nothing of the Quixotic nature of theenterprise; that would not deter you. Nor of its utter hopelessness; howhopeless you may judge from the sudden collapse of the party ofMolinos--a party so favoured in high places, so fashionable, patronized,as has been said, even by the Pope himself. You may also judge of thisfrom the fact, of which you are probably aware, that every detail ofyour late meeting was communicated to us by the President of thatmeeting, and by many of those who attended it. But in speaking of thesematters to you, whose welfare I sincerely seek, I address myself toanother argument which I imagine will have more weight. You have onlyconsidered this coveted spiritual freedom as the right of the favouredfew, of the educated and refined. You have no desire and no intentionthat it should be extended to the populace. But you do not consider, asthose who have the guidance of the Church polity are bound to consider,that to grant it to the one and deny it to the other is impossible; thatthese principles are sure to spread; that in England and in othercountries where they have spread they have been the occasion ofincalculable mischiefs. You are standing, at this moment, thankschiefly to the nurture and clemency of the much-abused Society of Jesus,at a point where you may choose one of two roads, which, joining here,will never meet again. The question is between individual license andobedience to authority; and upon the choice, though you may not thinkit, depends the very existence of Christianity in the world. Betweenunquestioning obedience to authority and absolute unbelief there is nota single permanent resting-place, though many temporary halts may bemade. You will scarcely dispute this when you remember that everyheretical sect admits it. They only differ as to what the authority isto which obedience is due. We, in Rome at least, cannot be expected toallow any authority save that of the Catholic Church, and indeed whatother can you place instead of it--a Book? Do you think that those whohave entered upon the path of inquiry will long submit to be fettered bythe pages of dead languages? You know more of this probably than I dofrom your acquaintance with the sceptics of other lands."
He paused as if waiting for a reply, but Inglesant did not speak;perhaps the logic of the Jesuit seemed to him unanswerable--especiallyin the St. Angelo at Rome.
After a few seconds the latter went on,--
"Ah! I fear you still bear me some malice. If so, I regret it verymuch. As I said before, you have no truer friend in Rome than the Orderand its unworthy General. I am convinced, both by my own experience andby the reports of others, that you are an invaluable friend and agent ofthe Society in countries where men like you, gentlemen of honour, bold,unflinching, and of spotless name, are wanted at every turn,--men whohave the confidence of both parties, of enemies as well as friends. Butlong ere this you will have seen that here in Rome we do thingsdifferently; here we strike openly and at once, and we require agents ofa far lower type, not so much agents, indeed, as hammers ready to ourhand. Your refined nature is altogether out of place. As a friend Irecommend your return to England. Father St. Clare is there, and nodoubt requires you, and I am very certain that the climate of Rome willnot suit your health. You have passed some years very pleasantly inItaly, as I believe, in spite of your share in those great sorrows towhich we all are heir; and though I am grieved to separate you from yourfriends, the noblest in Rome, yet it is better that you should be partedin this manner than by sharper and more sudden means. Every facilityshall be given you for transferring your property to England, and I hopeyou will take with you no unpleasant recollections of this city, and ofthe poor Fathers of Jesus, who wish you well."
He pronounced these last words with so much feeling that Inglesant couldonly reply,--
"I have nothing to say of the Society but what is good. It has ever beenmost tender and parental to me. I shall go away with nothing butsadness and affection in my heart; with nothing but gratitude towardsyou, Father, with nothing but reverence towards this city--the Mother ofthe World."
John Inglesant: A Romance (Volume 2 of 2) Page 18
