THE NEOPHYTE.
As Christian was saying these words, he heard, first at a distance and
soon after on the Exchange Bridge itself, the loud clang of several
bells and the sharp twirl of metal rattles, intercepted with a
lugubrious psalmody, at the close of which the noise of bells and
rattles became deafening. No less astonished than his wife, the artisan
rose from his seat, opened the window, and saw a long procession filing
before the house. At its head marched a detachment of archers carrying
their cross-bows on their left shoulders and long thick wax candles in
their right hands; behind them came several Dominican monks in their
white robes and black cowls, ringing the bells and turning the rattles;
after these followed a cart drawn by two horses caparisoned in black and
silver network. The four sides of the cart were of considerable height
and constituted a huge quadrangular transparency, lighted from within,
and representing the figures of men and women of all ages, together with
children, plunged up to the waist in a sea of flames, and, amid
desperate contortions, raising their suppliant arms towards an image of
God seated on a throne. On each of the four sides of the wagon and above
the painting the following inscription was to be seen, printed in thick
black and red letters:
PRAY
FOR THE SOULS IN PURGATORY
TO-MORROW
AT
THE CHURCH OF THE CONVENT OF ST. DOMINIC
THE INDULGENCE
WILL RAISE ITS THRONE.
PRAY AND GIVE
FOR THE POOR SOULS THAT ARE IN PURGATORY.
Four monks equipped with long gilded staves, topped with glass
lanthorns, on which also souls in torture were painted, marched on
either side of the cart. A large number of other Dominican monks
carrying a large silver crucifix at their head, followed the cart. The
monks chanted in a loud voice the following lugubrious psalm of
penitence:
_"De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine;_
_Domine, exaudi vocem meam._
_Fiant aures tuae intendentes_
_In vocem deprecationis meae!"_[4]
Every time, at the close of the funereal chant, the clatter of bells and
rattles was struck up anew as the procession marched along. Finally, a
second detachment of archers brought up the rear. A crowd of ragged men
and women, all with cynic and even ruffianly faces, almost all
night-strollers, if not worse, followed in the wake of the march. They
held one another by the arms, sang, crossed themselves and shouted:
"Glory to the Holy Father!"
"He sends us indulgences!"
"We need them!"
"Blessings upon him!"
Interspersed between these exclamations, coarse and even obscene jokes
were exchanged. The mob nevertheless bore the impress of conviction in
the most deplorable of superstitions. A large number of the inhabitants
of the houses built upon the bridge threw open their windows as the
procession filed by; some of these reverently knelt down at their
windows. After the procession had passed and the noise sounded only from
a distance, Christian re-shut the window of his room, and said to his
wife in voice that was even sadder than before:
"Alas, this procession seems to me to bode us only ill."
"I do not understand you, my friend."
"You saw, Bridget, the picture on the transparency of the cart that
these monks surrounded. It represented the souls in purgatory, writhing
in flames. The Dominican monks, whom the Pope has delegated to sell
plenary indulgences, also sell the ransoming of souls in pain. All those
who share that belief are convinced that, by means of money, they are
able to snatch from the flames of purgatory, not only the near
relatives or friends whom they imagine exposed to such torture, but also
strangers to them. Could not Herve have thought to himself: 'With the
gold that I purloin from my father I shall be able to ransom twenty
souls--fifty souls from purgatory'?"
"Say no more, Christian, say no more!" cried Bridget with a shudder;
"say no more! My doubts, alas! almost turn into certainty;" but suddenly
interrupting herself and listening in the direction of the door of the
room, she added in a low voice: "Listen--listen."
Husband and wife remained silent. In the midst of the profound silence
of the night they heard a noise that sounded like the intermittent
strapping of a body. A thought flashed through Christian's mind; he
motioned his wife not to stir; took up the lamp, and gently opened the
door leading to the wooden staircase through which the lower floor was
reached. Leaning over the banister with his hand shading the lamp,
Christian saw Herve, whom, no doubt, the clatter of bells and rattles of
the procession had awakened, kneeling in only his shirt and trousers
upon the floor and inflicting a rude discipline upon his sides and
shoulders by means of a cat-o'-nine-tails, the thongs of which ended in
knots. The lad flagellated himself with such intense exaltation that he
did not notice the proximity of his father on the staircase, although
the light shed by the lamp projected its rays into the lower hall.
Bridget had followed her husband with tears in her eyes, walking on
tip-toe. He felt the trembling hand of his wife upon his shoulder and
in his ear the whispered words of distress that forced themselves
through her sobs:
"Oh, the unhappy boy!"
"Come, my dear wife; the moment is favorable to obtain a confession from
our son."
"And if he confesses, let everything be pardoned," replied the indulgent
mother. "He must have succumbed to an impulse of fanatical charity."
With the lamp in his hand the artisan descended into the kitchen with
his wife without seeking to conceal their approach. The sound of their
steps and the creak of the wooden staircase under their feet finally
attracted Herve's attention. He suddenly turned his head, and, seeing
his father and mother, rose from the floor with a start as if propelled
by a spring. In his surprise the lad dropped his instrument of torture.
Christian's son was almost eighteen years of age. His once open, happy
and blooming face, that breathed frankness, had become pale and somber;
his unsteady, restless eyes seemed to eschew observation. The unexpected
presence of his parents seemed at first to cause him a painful
impression; he looked embarrassed; but doubtlessly calling himself to
account for the unguarded impulse of false shame, he said resolutely
without raising his eyes:
"I was administering a discipline to myself--I thought I was alone--I
was fulfilling a penance--"
"My son," replied the artisan, "seeing that you are up, sit down upon
that chair--your mother and I have serious matters to speak about with
you; we shall be better here than upstairs, where our voice might wake
up your sister."
Not a little astonished, the lad sat down, on a stool. Christian also
sat down; Bridget remained standing near her husband, leaning upon his
shoulder, with her eyes resting compassionately upon her son.
"My boy," said Christian, "I wish, first of all, to assure you that
neither I nor your mother have ever thought of crossing you in the
religious practices that you have of late been indulging in with all the
impetuous ardor of a neophyte. But seeing that the occasion presents
itself, I wish to make some observations to you upon the subject in all
fatherly love."
"I listen, father; speak."
"You, as well as your sister and brother, have been brought up by us in
the evangelical doctrine--love one another, do not unto others what you
would not like to be done to, pardon those who trespass against you,
pity the sinners, help the sorrowful, honor those who repent, be
industrious and honest. These few words sum up the eternal morality that
your mother and myself have preached and held up to you since your
infancy as the example to be followed. When you reached riper years of
intelligence I sought to inculcate in your mind that belief of our
fathers that we are immortal, body and soul, and that after what is
called death, a moment of transition between the existence that ends and
that which begins, we are born again, or, rather, continue to live,
spirit and matter, in other spheres, thus rising successively, at each
of those stages of our eternal existence, towards infinite perfection
equal to that of the Creator."
"That, father, is heresy, and flies in the face of Catholic dogma."
"Be it so. I do not force the belief upon you. Every man is free to
strive in his religious aspirations after his own ideal of the relations
between the Creator and the creature. The freedom to do so is the most
priceless attribute of the soul, the sublimest right of human
conscience."
"There is no religion in the world beside the Catholic religion, the
revealed religion," put in Herve in a sharp voice. "All other belief is
false--"
"My friend," said Christian interrupting his son, "I do not wish to
enter into a theological discussion with you. You have of late lost your
former happy disposition, you seem to mistrust us, you grow more and
more reserved and taciturn, your absences from the printing shop are
becoming frequent and are prolonged beyond all measure; your nature,
once so pleasant and buoyant, has become irritable and sour, even to the
point of rudeness towards your brother Odelin before his departure for
Milan. Besides that and since, your asperity towards your sister is ever
more marked--and yet you know that she loves you dearly."
At these last words a thrill ran over Herve's frame. At the mention of
his sister, his physiognomy grew more intensely somber and assumed an
undefinable expression. For a moment he remained silent, whereupon his
voice, that sounded sharp and positive shortly before in his answers
regarding religious matters, became unsteady as he stammered:
"At times I am subject to fits of bad humor that I pray God to free me
of. If--I have been--rude--to my sister--it is without meaning to. I
entertain a strong affection for her."
"We are certain of that, my child," Bridget replied; "your father only
mentions the circumstance as one of the symptoms of the change that we
notice in you, and that so much alarms us."
"In short," Christian proceeded, "we regret to see you give up the
company of the friends of your childhood, and no longer share the
innocent pleasures that become your age."
Herve's voice, that seemed so much out of his control when his sister
Hena was the topic, became again harsh and firm:
"The friends whom I formerly visited are worldly, they are running to
perdition; the thoughts that to-day engage me are not theirs."
"You are free to choose your connections, my friend, provided they be
honorable. I see you have become an intimate friend of Fra Girard, the
Franciscan monk--"
"God sent him across my path--he is a saint! His place is marked in
paradise."
"I shall not dispute the sanctity of Fra Girard; he is said to be a man
of probity, and I believe it. I must admit, however, that I would have
preferred to see you form some other friendship; the monk is several
years your senior; you seem to have a blind faith in him; I fear lest
the fervor of his zeal may render you intolerant, and lead you to share
his own excessive religious exaltation. For all that, I never reproached
you for your intimacy with Fra Girard--"
"Despite anything that you could have done or said, father, I would have
seen to my own salvation. God before the family."
"And do you imagine, my son, that we could be opposed to your welfare?"
asked Bridget in an accent of affectionate reproach. "Do you not know
how much we love you? Are not all our thoughts dictated by our
attachment to you? Can you doubt our affection?"
"Happiness lies in the faith, and the faith comes to us from heaven.
There is no welfare outside of the bosom of the Church."
"It would have become you better to answer your mother's kind words with
other terms," observed Christian, as he saw his wife hurt and saddened
by the harshness of Herve's words. "If your faith comes from heaven,
filial love also is a celestial sentiment; may God forfend that it be
weakened in your heart--in fine, may God forfend that Fra Girard's
influence over you should tend to pervert, despite himself and despite
yourself, your sense of right and wrong."
"I do not understand you, father."
The artisan cast a significant look at Bridget, who, guessing her
husband's secret thoughts, felt assailed by mortal anguish.
"I shall explain myself more clearly," Christian continued. "Do you
remember a few days ago at the shop when some of our fellow workmen
expressed indignation at the traffic in indulgences?"
"Yes, father; and I withered the blasphemous utterances with the
contempt that they deserved. Indulgences open the gates of heaven."
"One of our fellow workingmen loudly likened the commerce in indulgences
to a theft," Christian proceeded, unable completely to overcome his
emotion, while Bridget in vain sought to catch the eyes of her son, who,
from the start of this conversation held his eyes nailed to the floor.
"Upon hearing so severe an opinion expressed upon the indulgences,"
Christian added, "you, my son, shouted that all money, even if it
proceeded from theft, became holy if devoted to pious works; you said
so, did you not? You thereby justified a reprehensible action."
"It is my conviction."
After a momentary silence the artisan again resumed:
"My boy, you were surely awakened to-night, as we ourselves were, by the
noise of the procession. It was the procession of indulgences."
"Yes, father--and in order to render my prayers for the deliverance of
the souls in purgatory more efficacious, I macerated myself."
"The monks claim that the souls in purgatory can be ransomed by money;
do they not make the claim?"
"It is the doctrine of the Catholic Church, father. The Church can not
err."
"Herve, let me suppose that you find on the street a purse full of gold;
would you believe yourself justified to dispose of it in behalf of the
souls in purgatory, without first inquiring after the rightful owner of
the purse?"
"I would not hesitate a minute to do what you said. I would take it to
the Church."
Christian and Bridget exchanged looks of distress at this answer. Their
suspicions were almost confirmed. They now counted at least with Herve's
frankness. Convinced that all means were legitimate in order to compass
the salvation of souls in pain, he would assuredly admit the theft. The
artisan proceeded:
"My son, we never set you the example of duplicity. Particularly at this
moment when we must appeal to your frankness, we shall speak without
circumlocution. I have this to say to you: The fruits of your mother's
laborious savings and my own have been recently purloined; the sum
amounted to twenty gold crowns."
Herve remained impassable and silent.
"The theft was committed yesterday or the day before," pursued
Christian, painfully affected by his son's impassiveness. "The money was
deposited in the case in our bedroom, and could have been taken away by
none except a person familiar in our house."
With his hands crossed over his knees and his eyes on the floor, Herve
remained silent, impenetrable.
"Your mother and I first cudgeled our brains to ascertain who could have
committed the guilty act," Christian proceeded, driving the point nearer
and nearer home, and he added slowly, accentuating these last words:
"It then occurred to us that, seeing the theft was justifiable by your
convictions--that is to say, that it was legitimate if committed for the
sake of some pious work--you might--in a moment of mental
aberration--have appropriated the sum for the purpose of consecrating it
to the ransoming of souls in purgatory."
The husband and wife awaited their son's answer with mortal anxiety.
Christian watched him closely and observed that, despite Herve's
apparent impassiveness, a slight flush suffused his face; although the
lad did not raise his eyes, he cast furtive glances at his parents. The
somber and guilty glances, caught by Christian, surprised and distressed
him. He no longer doubted his son's guilt, he even despaired of drawing
from the lad a frank admission that might somewhat have extenuated the
ugly action. Christian continued with a penetrating voice:
"My son, I have acquainted you with the painful suspicions that weigh
upon our hearts--have you no answer to make?"
"Father," said Herve firmly and tersely, "I have not touched your
money."
"He lies," thought the desolate artisan to himself; "it is our own son
who committed the theft."
"Herve," cried Bridget with her face bathed in tears and throwing
herself at the feet of her son, around whom she threw her arms, "my son,
be frank--we shall not scold you! Good God, we believe in the sincerity
of your new convictions--they are your only excuse! You certainly must
have believed that with the aid of that money, which lay idle on the
shelf of the book-case, you might redeem poor souls from the tortures of
purgatory. The charitable purpose of such a superstition might, aye, it
is bound to, carry away a young head like yours. I repeat to you; we
shall look upon that as your excuse; we shall accept the excuse, in the
hope of leading you back again to more wholesome ideas of good and evil.
From your point of view, so far from your action being wrongful, it must
have seemed meritorious to you. Why not admit it? Is it shame that
restrains you, my poor boy? Fear not. The secret will remain with your
father and me." And embracing the lad with maternal warmth, Bridget
added: "Do not the principles in which we brought you up make us feel
sure that, despite your temporary blindness, you will know better in the
future? Could you possibly become confirmed in dishonesty, you, my son?
You who until now gave us so much cause for happiness? Come, Herve, make
a manly effort--tell us the truth--you will thereby change our sorrow
into joy; your confession will prove your frankness and your confidence
in our indulgence and tenderness. You still are silent?--not a word--you
have not a word for me?" cried the wretched woman, seeing her son
remaining imperturbable. "What! we who should complain, are imploring
you! You should be in tears, and yet it is I alone who weep! You should
be at our feet, and I am at yours! And yet you remain like a piece of
icy marble! Oh, unhappy child!"
"Mother," repeated Herve with inflexible voice without raising his eyes,
"I have not touched your money."
In despair at such insensibility, Bridget rose and threw herself
convulsively sobbing into the arms of her husband: "I am a mother to be
pitied."
"My son," now said Christian in a severe tone, "if you are guilty--and I
regret but too deeply that I fear you are--learn this: Even if you
should have employed the money that has been purloined from my room in
what you term 'pious works,' you would not therefore be less guilty of a
theft, do you understand?--a theft in all the disgraceful sense of the
word! I was not mistaken! It has turned out so! By means of unworthy
sophisms, your friend Fra Girard has perverted your one-time sense of
right and wrong! Oh, whatever insane or impostor monks may say to the
contrary, human and divine morality will always condemn theft, whatever
the disguises or hypocritical pretexts may be under which it is
committed. To believe that such a disgraceful action deserves no
punishment--worse yet, that it is meritorious--by reason of the fruits
thereof being consecrated to charitable works, is about the most
monstrous mental aberration that can ever insult the conscience of an
honest man!" Christian thereupon supported and led Bridget in tears back
towards the staircase, took up the lamp, and walked upstairs with these
parting words to his son: "May heaven open your eyes, my son and inspire
you with repentance!"
Imperturbable as ever, Herve did not seem to hear his father's last
words. When the latter re-entered his own room with his wife and closed
the door, the young man, who had remained in the dark, threw himself
down upon his knees, picked up his instrument of discipline and began
flagellating himself with savage fury. The lad smothered the cries that
the pain involuntarily forced from him, and, a prey to delirious
paroxysms, only murmured from time to time, with bated breath, the name
of his sister Hena.