XL.
"A Satisfactory Penitent."
"How long in thralldom's grasp I lay I knew not; for my soul was black, And knew no change of night or day."--Campbell.
Carlos was sleeping tranquilly in his dungeon on the following night,when the opening of the door aroused him. He started with sickeningdread, the horrors of the torture-room rising in an instant before hisimagination. Benevidio entered, followed by Herrera, and commanded himto rise and dress immediately. Long experience of the Santa Casa hadtaught him that he might as well make an inquiry of its doors and wallsas of any of its officials. So he obeyed in silence, and slowly andpainfully enough. But he was soon relieved from his worst fear byseeing Herrera fold together the few articles of clothing he had beenallowed to have with him, preparatory to carrying them away. "It isonly, then, a change of prison," he thought; "and wherever they bringme, heaven will be equally near."
His limbs, enfeebled by two years of close confinement, and lame fromthe effects of one terrible night, were sorely tried by what he thoughtan almost interminable walk through corridors and down narrow windingstairs. But at last he was conducted to a small postern door, which,greatly to his surprise, Benevidio proceeded to unlock. Thekind-hearted Herrera took advantage of the moment when Benevidio wasthus occupied to whisper,--
"We are bringing you to the Dominican prison, senor; you will be betterused there."
Carlos thanked him by a grateful look and a pressure of the hand. Butan instant afterwards he had forgotten his words. He had forgotteneverything save that he stood once more in God's free air, and thatGod's own boundless heaven, spangled with ten thousand stars, was overhim, no dungeon roof between. For one rapturous moment he gazed upwards,thanking God in his heart. But the fresh air he breathed seemed tointoxicate him like strong wine. He grew faint, and leaned for supporton Herrera.
"Courage, senor; it is not far--only a few paces," said theunder-gaoler, kindly.
Weak as he was, Carlos wished the distance a hundred times greater. Butit proved quite long enough for his strength. By the time he wasdelivered over into the keeping of a couple of lay brothers, and lockedby them into a cell in the Dominican monastery, he was scarcelyconscious of anything save excessive fatigue.
The next morning was pretty far advanced before any one came to him; butat last he was honoured with a visit from the prior himself. He saidfrankly, and with perfect truth,--
"I am glad to find myself in your hands, my lord."
To one accustomed to feel himself an object of terror, it is a new andpleasant sensation to be trusted. Even a wild beast will sometimesspare the weak but fearless creature that ventures to play with it: andDon Fray Ricardo was not a wild beast; he was only a stern, narrow,conscientious man, the willing and efficient agent of a terrible system.His brow relaxed visibly as he said,--
"I have always sought your true good, my son."
"I am well aware of it, father."
"And you must acknowledge," the prior resumed, "that great forbearanceand lenity have been shown towards you. But your infatuation has beensuch that you have deliberately and persistently sought your own ruin.You have resisted the wisest arguments, the gentlest persuasions, andthat with an obstinacy which time and discipline seem only to increase.And now at last, as another Auto-da-fe may not be celebrated for sometime, my Lord Vice-Inquisitor-General, justly incensed at yourcontumacy, would fain have thrown you into one of the undergrounddungeons, where, believe me, you would not live a month. But I haveinterceded for you."
"I thank your kindness, my lord. But I cannot see that it matters muchhow you deal with me now. Sooner or later, in one form or other, itmust be death; and I thank God it can be no more."
While a man might count twenty, the prior looked silently in thatsteadfast sorrowful young face. Then he said,--
"My son, do not yield to despair; for I come to thee this day with amessage of hope. I have also made intercession for thee with theSupreme Council of the Holy Office; and I have succeeded in obtainingfrom that august tribunal a great and unusual grace."
Carlos looked up, a sudden flush on his cheek. He hoped this unusualgrace might be permission to see some familiar face ere he died; but theprior's next words disappointed him. Alas! it was only the offer ofescape from death on terms that he might not accept. And yet such anoffer really deserved the name the prior gave it--a great and unusualgrace. For, as has been already intimated, by the laws of theInquisition at that time in force, the man who had _once_ professedheretical doctrines, however sincerely he might have retracted them, wasdoomed to die. His penitence would procure him the favour ofabsolution--the mercy of the garotte instead of the stake; that was all.
The prior went on to explain to Carlos, that upon the ground of hisyouth, and the supposition that he had been led into error by others,his judges had consented to show him singular favour. "Moreover," headded, "there are other reasons for this course of action, upon which itwould be needless, and might be inexpedient, to enter at present; butthey have their weight, especially with me. For the preservation,therefore, both of your soul and your body--upon which I take morecompassion than you do yourself--I have, in the first place, obtainedpermission to remove you to a more easy and more healthful confinement,where, besides other favours, you will enjoy the great privilege of acompanion, constant intercourse with whom can scarcely fail to benefityou."
Carlos thought this last a doubtful boon; but as it was kindly intended,he was bound to be grateful. He thanked the prior accordingly; adding,"May I be permitted to ask the name of this companion?"
"You will probably find out ere long, if you conduct yourself so as todeserve it,"--an answer Carlos found so enigmatical, that after severalvain endeavours to comprehend it, he gave up the task in despair, andnot without some apprehension that his long imprisonment had dulled hisperceptions. "Amongst us he is called Don Juan," the prior continued."And this much I will tell you. He is a very honourable person, who hadmany years ago the great misfortune to be led astray by the same errorsto which you cling with such obstinacy. God was pleased, however, tomake use of my poor instrumentality to lead him back to the bosom of theChurch. He is now a true and sincere penitent, diligent in prayer andpenance, and heartily detesting his former evil ways. It is my lasthope for you that his wise and faithful counsels may bring you to thesame mind."
Carlos did not particularly like the prospect. He feared that thisvaunted penitent would prove a noisy apostate, who would seek to obtainthe favour of the monks by vilifying his former associates. Nor, on theother hand, did he think it honest to accept without protest kindnessesoffered him on the supposition that he might even yet be induced torecant. He said,--
"I ought to tell you, senor, that my mind will never change, God helpingme. Rather than lead you to imagine otherwise, I would go at once tothe darkest cell in the Triana. My faith is based on the Word of God,which can never be overthrown."
"The penitent of whom I speak used such words as these, until God andOur Lady opened his eyes. Now he sees all things differently. So willyou, if God is pleased to give you the inestimable benefit of his divinegrace; for it is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, butof God that showeth mercy," said the Dominican, who, like others of hisorder, ingeniously managed to combine strong predestinarian theorieswith the creed of Rome.
"That is most true, senor," Carlos responded.
"But to resume," said the prior; "for I have yet more to say. Shouldyou be favoured with the grace of repentance, I am authorized to holdout to you a well-grounded hope, that, in consideration of your youth,your life may even yet be spared."
"And then, if I were strong enough, I might live out ten or twentyyears--like the last two," Carlos answered, not without a touch ofbitterness.
"It is not so, my son," returned the prior mildly. "I cannot promise,indeed, under any circumstances, to restore you to the world. For thatwould be to p
romise what could not be performed; and the laws of theHoly Office expressly forbid us to delude prisoners with false hopes.[#]But this much I will say, your restraint shall be rendered so light andeasy, that your position will be preferable to that of many a monk, whohas taken the vows of his own free will. And if you like the society ofthe penitent of whom I spoke anon, you shall continue to enjoy it."
[#] But these laws were often broken or evaded.
Carlos began to feel a somewhat unreasonable antipathy to this penitent,whose face he had never seen. But what mattered the antipathies of aprisoner of the Holy Office? He only said, "Permit me again to thankyou, my lord, for the kindness you have shown me. Though my fellow-mencast out my name as evil, and deny me my share of God's free air andsky, and my right to live in his world, I still take thankfully everyword or deed of pity and gentleness they give me by the way. For theyknow not what they do."
The prior turned away, but turned back again a moment afterwards, toask--what for the credit of his humanity he ought to have asked a yearbefore--"Do you stand in need of any thing? or have you any request youwish to make?"
Carlos hesitated a moment. Then he said, "Of things with in your powerto grant, my lord, there is but one that I care to ask. Two brethren ofthe Society of Jesus visited me the day before yesterday. I spokehastily to one of them, who was named Fray Isodor, I think. Had I theopportunity, I should be glad to offer him my hand."
"Now, of all mysterious things in heaven or earth," said the prior, "aheretic's conscience is the most difficult to comprehend. Truly youstrain at a gnat and swallow a camel. But as for Fray Isodor, you mayrest content. For good and sufficient reasons, he cannot visit youhere. But I will repeat to him what you have said. And I know wellthat his own tongue is a sharp weapon enough when used in the defence ofthe faith."
The prior withdrew; and shortly afterwards one of the monks appeared,and silently conducted Carlos to a cell, or chamber, in the higheststory of the building. Like the cells in the Triana, it had twodoors--the outer one secured by strong bolts and bars, the inner onefurnished with an aperture through which food or other things could bepassed.
But here the resemblance ceased. Carlos found himself, on entering, inwhat seemed to him more like a hall than a cell; though, indeed, it mustbe remembered that his eye was accustomed to ten feet square. It wasfurnished as comfortably as any room needed to be in that warm climate;and it was tolerably clean, a small mercy which he noted with no smallgratitude. Best perhaps of all, it had a good window, looking down onthe courtyard, but strongly barred, of course. Near the window was atable, upon which stood an ivory crucifix, and a picture of the Madonnaand child.
But even before his eye took in all these objects, it turned to thepenitent, whose companionship had been granted him as so great a boon.He was utterly unlike all that he had expected. Instead of a fussy,noisy pervert, he saw a serene and stately old man, with long white hairand beard, and still, clearly chiselled, handsome features. He wasdressed in a kind of mantle, of a nondescript colour, made like a monk'scowl without the hood, and bearing two large St. Andrew's crosses, oneon the breast and the other on the back; in fact, it was a compromisedsanbenito.
As Carlos entered, he rose (showing a tall, spare figure, slightlystooped), and greeted his new companion with a courteous and elaboratebow, but did not speak.
Shortly afterwards, food was handed through the aperture in the door;and the half-starved prisoner from the Triana sat down with hisfellow-captive to what he esteemed a really luxurious repast. He hadintended to be silent until obliged to speak, but the aspect and bearingof the penitent quite disarranged his preconceived ideas. During themeal, he tried once and again to open a conversation by some slightcourteous observation.
All in vain. The penitent did the honours of the table like a prince indisguise, and never failed to bow and answer, "Yes, senor," or "No,senor," to everything Carlos said. But he seemed either unable orunwilling to do more.
As the day wore on, this silence grew oppressive to Carlos; and hemarvelled increasingly at his companion's want of ordinary interest inhim, or curiosity about him. Until at length a probable solution of themystery dawned upon his mind. As he considered the penitent an agent ofthe monks deputed to convert him, very likely the penitent, on his side,regarded him in the light of a spy commissioned to watch hisproceedings.
But this, if it was true at all, was only a small part of the truth.Carlos failed to take into account the terrible effect of long years ofsolitude, crushing down all the faculties of the mind and heart. It istold of some monastery, where the rules were so severe that the brethrenwere only allowed to converse with each other during one hour in theweek, that they usually sat for that hour in perfect silence: they hadnothing to say. So it was with the penitent of the Dominican convent.He had nothing to say, nothing to ask; curiosity and interest were deadwithin him--dead long ago, of absolute starvation.
Yet Carlos could not help observing him with a strange kind offascination. His face was too still, too coldly calm, like a whitemarble statue; and yet it was a noble face. It was, although not athoughtful face, the face of a thoughtful man asleep. It did not lackexpressiveness, though it lacked expression. Moreover, there was in ita look that awakened dim, undefined memories--shadowy things, that fledaway like ghosts whenever he tried to grasp them, yet persistently roseagain, and mingled with all his thoughts.
He told himself many times that he had never seen the man before. Wasit, then, an accidental likeness to some familiar face that so fixed andhaunted him? Certainly there was something which belonged to his past,and which, even while it perplexed and baffled, strangely soothed andpleased him.
At each of the canonical hours (which were announced to them by thetolling of the convent bells), the penitent did not fail to kneel beforethe crucifix, and, with the aid of a book and a rosary, to read orrepeat long Latin prayers, in a half audible voice. He retired to restearly, leaving his fellow-prisoner supremely happy in the enjoyment ofhis lamp and his Book of Hours. For it was two years since the eyes ofthe once enthusiastic young scholar had rested on a printed page, orsince the kindly gleam of lamp or fire had cheered his solitude. Theprivilege of refreshing his memory with the passages of Scripturecontained in the Romish book of devotion now appeared an unspeakableboon to him. And although, accustomed as he was to a life of unbrokenmonotony, the varied impressions of the day had produced extremeweariness of mind and body, it was near midnight before he could prevailupon himself to close the volume, and lie down to rest on thecomfortable pallet prepared for him.
He was just falling asleep, when the midnight bell tolled out heavily.He saw his companion rise, throw his mantle over his shoulders, andbetake himself to his devotions. How long these lasted he could nottell, for the stately kneeling figure soon mingled with hisdreams--strange dreams of Juan as a penitent, dressed in a sanbenito,and with white hair and an old man's face, kneeling devoutly before thealtar in the church at Nuera, but reciting one of the songs of the Cidinstead of _De Profundis_.
The Spanish Brothers: A Tale of the Sixteenth Century Page 40
