THE SHUT HOUSE IN MONEY STREET
There is a house in the city of Perpignan, in the street called "of the
money," where on a time strange things were done and still stranger
planned. It is the ancient House of the Holy Office, that is to say, of
the Inquisition. In an upper room, after the fatigues of the day, three
priests were seated. One was a dark, thin man, the type of Philip's new
inquisitors, a Torquemada reborn; the second was a little grey-haired
man, with watering reddish eyes, and a small mouth, as if it had been
cut with one blow of a chisel; while in the only comfortable chair
lounged a certain smiling Jesuit father, who, though under the open
censure of his General, was yet the most powerful man in all their
terrible Order--one Mariana, historian, pamphleteer, disputant, plotter,
inquisitor, and chief firebrand of the new Society which had come to
turn the world upside down.
These three men awaited a messenger who was to bring them momentous
intelligence from a city far away.
Little was said, though it was supper-time, and wines and meat had been
placed on the table. The two Fathers of the Holy Office ate sparingly,
as became men whose eyes had seen their fellows endure many hours of
torment that day, in order that their hearts and minds might be purified
from heresy, and their money chink in the coffers of Holy Church. Only
Mariana ate and drank heartily. For was it not his business to go about
the world with soft compressive palm and a cheerful smile on his rosy
face, a complete refutation of the idea that a Jesuit must of necessity
be a dark and cunning plotter, or an inquisitor, merely an
ecclesiastical executioner?
The Chief Surintendant Teruel was a grim Aragonese, a peasant brought up
hardly, the humanity ground out of him by long years of noviciate, till
now he knew no pity, no kindness, no faltering, while he carried out the
will of God as interpreted to him by his hierarchical superiors.
Little Frey Tullio, on the contrary, was a Neapolitan, who had been sent
over from Rome on purpose to familiarise himself with the best Spanish
methods. For nowhere did the Holy Office thrive so congenially and root
itself so deeply as in Catholic Spain. Frey Tullio did his work
conscientiously, but without the stern joy of his Aragonese superior,
and certainly wholly without the supple, subtle wit and smiling finesse
of Mariana, the famous "outcast" of the Company of the Gesu.
"A man is waiting below," said a black-robed acolyte, who had handled
certain confession-producing ropes and cords that day, and was now also
resting from his labours. The prisoners who had been saved for the next
_auto de fe_ (except those who, being delicate, had succumbed to the
Lesser and Greater Question) rested equally from theirs--in the cellars
below, the blood stiffening in their unwashed wounds, and their
rack-tormented bones setting into place a little so as to be ready for
ten of the clock on the morrow.
"A man waiting below?" repeated the Chief Inquisitor; "what does he
want?"
"To see the Fathers of the Holy Office," said the servitor, wondering if
he had sufficiently wiped the wine from his mouth ere he came in--the
Surintendant was regarding him so sternly.
"He looks like a shepherd of the hills," said the acolyte; "indeed, I
have seen him before--at Collioure. He is a servant, so he says, of Don
Raphael Llorient!"
"Ah," said Mariana quickly, "then I think I can guess his message. I
have already spoken of it with Don Raphael."
"Bid three stout familiars of the Office stand unseen behind the curtain
there, weapons in hand," commanded Surintendant Teruel; "then show the
man up!"
Jean-aux-Choux entered, long-haired, wild-eyed, his cloak of rough
frieze falling low about his ankles, and his hand upon the dagger-hilt
which had once been red with the blood of the Guise.
The three looked silently at him, with that chill, pitiless gaze which
made no difference between a man asked to speak his message and him who,
by one word out of his own mouth, must deliver himself to torture and to
death.
"Stand!" commanded the Chief Inquisitor, "speak your message briefly,
and if all be well, you are at liberty to return as you came!"
The threat was hardly veiled, but Jean-aux-Choux stood undaunted.
"Death is my familiar friend," he said; "I am not afraid. God, who hath
oft delivered me from the tooth of the lion and the claw of the bear,
can deliver me also from this Philistine."
The two judges of men's souls looked at each other. This was perilously
like fanaticism. They knew well how to deal with that. But Mariana only
laughed and tapped his forehead covertly with his forefinger.
"He is harmless, but mad, this fellow," he murmured; "I have often
spoken with him while I abode at the house of Don Raphael of Collioure.
He hath had in his youth some smattering of letters, but now what little
lear he had trots all skimble-skamble in his head. Yet, failing our
young Dominican of Sens--well, we might go farther and fare worse."
Then he turned to Jean-aux-Choux.
"Your message, shepherd?" he said. "Fear nothing. We shall not harm
you."
"Had I supposed so, you would not have found me here--out of the mouth
of the lion, and out of----"
"That will do," said Mariana, cutting him short; "whence come you?"
"From the camp of two kings, a great and a little, a true and a false,
the lion and the dog----"
"Speak plainly--we have little time to waste!"
"Plainly then, I have seen the meeting of Henry of Valois and Henry of
Navarre! They fell each on the other's neck and kissed!"
The two inquisitors rose to their feet. For the first time emotion
showed on their faces. The chief, tall, black, sombre, stood and
threatened Jean-aux-Choux with comminatory forefinger.
"If you speak lies, beware!"
The little Italian, formerly so grey and still, nothing stirring about
him save the restless, beady eyes common to all Neapolitans, stood up
and vociferated.
"It is an open defiance of our Holy Father," he cried, "a shame of
shames--the Valois shall be accursed! He has delivered his realm to the
Huguenot. He shall be burnt alive, and I--I would refuse him the
_viaticum_!"
"He may not have time even for that!" said Mariana softly--"that is,
when his day comes. But haste you, man, tell us what befel--where, and
how."
"On Sunday last," began Jean-aux-Choux, looking his three inquisitors in
the face with the utmost calm, "I was, as Father Mariana knows, in a
certain place upon the affairs of my master.
"It was in a park near a great city of many towers. A river ran near by
and a bridge spanned it. At the bridge-head were three great
nobles--dukes and peers of France, so they said. Many people were in the
park and about the palace which stood within it. There seemed no fear.
The place was open to all. About a chapel door they cried 'God save the
King!' For within a man, splendidly arrayed, was hearing mass--I saw him
enter."
The inquisitors looked at one another, nodding expressively.
"But I cared not for that. I was at the bridge-head, and almost at my
elbow the three nobles conferred one with the other, doubtful if he for
whom they waited would come.
"'I should not, if I were he,' said one of them; 'my father did the
like, and died! Only he had a written promise.'"
"That was Chatillon, Coligny's son, I warrant," said Mariana, who seemed
to know everything.
"And another said, 'He has my word--he will believe that, though he
doubts that of the King!'"
"Epernon, for a wager!" cried the Jesuit, clapping his hands; "there
spoke the man! And the third, what said he?"
"Oh, he--no great matter," answered Jean-aux-Choux, gently stroking his
brow, as if to recall a matter long past. "Ah, I do remember--he only
caused great swelling words to come from his mouth, and rattled his
sword in his scabbard, declaring that if there was any treachery he
would thrust the traitor through and through with 'Monsieur la Chose'
(so he named his sword), which he declared to be the peer and overlord
of any king in Christendie!"
"That would be the Marshal d'Aumont," said Mariana, after a pause.
"Well, and so these three waited there, on the bridge, did they?"
"Ay, I warrant. I was at their elbow, as I say," quoth Jean-aux-Choux,
"on the bridge called the 'Pont de la Motte.' And presently there came
in sight a cloud of dust, and out of the cloud galloping horses, with
one that rode in front. And there were spear-heads that glinted, and
musket-barrels, and swords with dinted scabbards. And the armour of
these men was all tashed, and their helms like to a piece of lead that
one has smitten with a hammer long and long."
"Battered armour is the worn breviary of the soldier!" commented
Mariana. "Had these horsemen white scarves belting them?"
"Each man of them!" Jean-aux-Choux answered. "But even he that rode at
the head had his armour (so much of it as he wore) in a like state; but
whereas all the others rode with plain steel helms, there was a white
plume in his. Those who stood near called it his panache, and said it
was miracle-working. Also he wore a cloak, like that of a
night-sentinel, but underneath, his doublet and hose were of olive-green
velvet. He was of a hearty countenance, robust of body, and rode
gallantly, with his head thrown back, laughing at little things by the
way--as when a court page-boy, all in cloth of gold, fell off the tree
on which he had climbed to see the show, and had to be pulled out of the
river, dripping and weeping, with a countryman's rake all tangled in the
hinder breadths of his raiment."
"The Bearnais! To a hair!" cried the Jesuit. "Ah, what a man! What a
man--if only he were on the side of Holy Church----"
"He is a heretic of heretics," said the Surintendant Temel, "and
deserves only the flames and the yellow robe!"
"It is a pity," said Mariana, with a certain contempt for such
intolerance of idea; "you would have found him an equally good man in
your father's wheat-field, and I, at the King's council. One day he will
give our Philip tit-for-tat--that is, if he live so long!"
"Which God forbid!" said the inquisitor.
"Amen!" assented Frey Tullio.
"Well," smiled Mariana, "there is no pleasing you. For me, there are
many sorts of gallant men, but with you, a man must either swallow all
the Council of Trent, or be food for flames."
The inquisitors were silent. Discussion was not their business. They
worked honestly from ten in the morning till five in the afternoon.
Therefore, they deserved their rest, and if Mariana persisted in talking
they would not get it. Still, they were eager to hear what the servant
of Raphael Llorient had to say.
Mariana made Jean a signal to go on with his tale. He continued:
"So being used to run on the mountains, I outstripped the crowd and came
to the door of the chapel where the Other King, he in the cloak of blue
and gold, was at his prayers. The crowd pressed and thronged--all
looking the other way.
"And I waited. But not long. From very far away there came a crying of
many people--a great soughing whisper first, then a sound like the
strength of the wind among high trees, and last, loud as the roar of
many waters--'The White Plume! The White Plume! Navarre! Navarre!'
"Then the Other King, whom no one cheered greatly nor took much heed of,
came out from his mass and strove to meet the king of the brisk and
smiling countenance. But for a long time they could not. For the crowd
broke in and pressed them so tight that during a good quarter of an hour
these two Kings, the White Plume, and the Man-all-covered-with-Lilies,
stood within half-a-dozen paces of each other, unable to embrace or even
to touch hands. Whereat the White Plume laughed and jested with those
about, bidding them remember that he had come without his breakfast, and
such-like. But the Man-with-the-Lilies was sullen and angry with the
concourse."
"Ah, for a couple of good disciplined Leaguers with long knives!"
muttered the Chief of the Inquisitors regretfully.
"And then," continued Jean-aux-Choux, "the angry Soldier-Man, who had
stood on the bridge with sword and baton, thrust back the people,
speaking many words hotly, which are not fit that I should repeat in
your reverend ears. So finally the two Kings met and embraced, and the
people shouted, so that none might know what his neighbour said. And
presently I saw these two walk arm-in-arm through the press, and so up
into the chateau, out of my sight. They abode there long time talking,
and then after eating they came out. For it was time that the
King-covered-with-Lilies should go back to his chapel, being a man
apparently very devout."
The expression on the faces of the two inquisitors was dreadful to
behold in its contempt and hate. But Mariana laughed.
"So he came out again, and the King with the White Plume still with him.
Only he of the Plume entered not in to the chapel, but stayed without,
playing at tennis with the strongest and bravest youths of the court,
and laughing when they beat him, or when the ball took him in his face.
"And all the while the crowd cried, 'Long live the White Plume! Long
live Navarre!' And sometimes from the back, one or two would raise a
feeble cry 'Long live France! Long live Henry of Valois!'"
The Chief Inquisitor brought down his fist on the table with a crash, so
that the wine-bottles tottered and a glass smashed.
"But he shall not--by the crucifix, he shall not!" he hissed,
chill-white with anger. "He shall die--if there be poison in Italy,
steel in France, or----"
"Money in Spain!" said Mariana calmly, putting his hand on the arm of
his coadjutor. "Well, there is not much--but this is the Street of the
Money--and I judge we shall find enough for that!"