THE JESUIT.
None save those who have been circumstanced as we unfortunately were,
in a city besieged and reduced almost to the last extremity, can
fully appreciate the value of the prize I brought with me to lay at
the feet of Ernestine; but a pound of fresh meat, or a slice of plain
bread, were then worth thrice their weight in gold.
When I entered her little boudoir, which the Fraü of the last
occupant had furnished with exquisite taste, and hung with curtains
of the richest velvet, she was kneeling at prayer, and the softness
of the Turkey carpet enabled me to approach her unheard. Then I
paused for a time; but her eye detected me, and she arose with a
charming smile.
"You were praying when I left you, and still you are praying! Dear
Ernestine, how very bad you must be to have so much to repent of,"
said I, playfully.
"All my prayers are for my poor father and you, Philip--for your
safety and for his," replied she, with somewhat of a pouting air;
"believe me, that since I came to Stralsund I have almost forgotten
how to pray for myself."
"Now, do not pout, dear Ernestine," said I, clasping her head upon my
breast; "for it does not look pretty even in you, who possess the
charm of that perfect innocence, without which a beautiful woman is
like a rose without perfume."
"Now, where did you pick up this piece of poetry?"
"Not amid the shot and smoke, the slime and slaughter, of yonder
batteries; but here with you, Ernestine; for it is you, and you
alone, who shed a ray of light and poetry along the dark and
dangerous way I am treading."
"And in the hope that Heaven will protect you on that way, to the end
of your journey--let me say our journey, Philip--I pray so often."
"Heaven," said I caressing her, "will never be so cruel as to
separate two hearts that love each other as ours do."
"Oh, Philip! I have heard Father Ignatius say, that excess of
earthly love excludes the love of heaven, which thereby becomes
incensed, and sends death as a terrible mentor to those who forget
it."
I was about to make some jesting protest against this theory of our
old friend, when a knock was given at the door, and the red visage
and redder beard of Gillian M'Bane, one of our musketeers, appeared;
and after many apologies he informed me, that a patrol of the guard
at the Frankendör had taken a prisoner, who incessantly asked for me,
and that Ian Dhu required my presence immediately.
Reluctantly I left Ernestine, and taking my sword with me (for I
remembered the vicinity of Bandolo), piloted my way in the evening
twilight to the Frankendör. From the description of "the prisoner,"
given to me by Gillian, viz.--a tall, lantern-jawed man, with high
cheekbones, black hair, and bald head, keen eyes, and sallow visage,
with a long ungainly figure enveloped in a black cassock buttoned up
to his chin, I had little doubt that he would prove no other than
Father Ignatius; and by part of a conversation which I overheard
while descending the steep stair towards the bastion gate, I learned
that my suspicions were right.
"You afford no sufficient explanation for prowling close to the
walls," I heard the Baron Karl say, as he and Ian stood forward from
among a group of our Highlanders, one of whom held up a lantern to
the prisoner's face; "but say at once for what purpose you came here?"
"To preach the religion of God, even as Colomanus the Scot, who
converted the pagans of Austria, and Argobastus the Scot, who
baptized those of Strasburg, preached when they came here before me
in other times."
"Bravo!" thought I; "it _is_ Father Ignatius."
"Your religion," said Karl laughing; "and what are you?"
"A poor and unworthy brother of the order of Jesus," he replied,
bowing his head at the name.
"Oho--a Jesuit!" continued Karl, in his impudent way; "so that is the
trade you follow?"
"Mein Herr, I follow the commands of God--the Master of all. Sir,"
said he, suddenly turning to Ian, "I am a Scotsman, a countryman of
your own, and indeed, sir, merit not this rough handling."
"A Scotsman!" reiterated Ian; "why the deuce did you not say so
before? Enter then, and, Imperialist though ye be, here is the hand,
and there the sword, that will stretch on the heather the first
foreign churl that molests you."
"But your patrol had no right to seize me. In deep reverie, and
pondering over many things, but chiefly on a sermon I was to preach
to-morrow, I stumbled near your gates, but with no intention of
espying your works, believe me. I repeat, sirs, ye have no right to
seize me--I belong to God, and not to man. I belong neither to
Wallenstein nor Tilly--to Christian nor Gustavus--I serve heaven and
not earth----"
"Calm yourself, reverend sir," said I, approaching and taking him by
the hand; "make way, gentlemen--'tis my friend, Father Ignatius,
brother of my old preceptor, Dominie Daidle of Cromartie; one to whom
I owe a reprieve from an unjust and shameful death."
A kind smile spread over his usually grim visage as I led him away,
and he explained to me the circumstances of his capture, and how he
had narrowly escaped being sent to enjoy the company of those
glorious martyrs and old Scottish missionaries on whom his mind was
constantly dwelling, and of whom his friend, Father Robert Strachan
of Dundee, was preparing, as he told me, to give the world a history
so ample, in his _Germania Christiana_. A musket-shot had been sent
through the crown of his shovel-hat, and as such chapeaux were
somewhat scarce in Stralsund, he contemplated the orifice with a
rueful aspect, as he smoothed down the well-worn nap with his
threadbare cuff.
During this, perceiving a half-starved little girl shivering in the
doorway of a deserted house, the good but eccentric man (in
imitation, I suppose, of St. Martin, when he rent his military cloak
in twain, and divided it with a poor devil whom he, met in the
streets of Rome) tore off the long skirt of his cassock, spread it
over the shoulders of the wanderer, and then stalked on beside me,
looking altogether, with his long lean body in the short fragment of
his garment and tight serge breeches, as remarkable and absurd as
when he appeared before Ernestine in the drummer's doublet at
Eckernfiörde.
I took him first to the residence of Ernestine, who had a sincere
friendship for him, notwithstanding all his uncouth eccentricity;
but, having much to relate, I will only rehearse briefly the news he
gave us from the Imperial camp.
The losses endured by the troops of Wallenstein, he stated, were
frightful; their trenches were now mere graves, where hecatombs of
slain lay buried; but hordes of barbarian soldiers were pouring to
his banner from Croatia, Bulgaria, Bosnia, and Upper Austria, so that
severe and disastrous work was yet before us.
Bandolo had been lurking about the Imperial camp, coming abroad only
in the night when, like a wolf or jackal, he prowled about those
places where he could plunder the unburied dead; and, though fired at
repeatedly, he had always escaped. A week ago, the regiment of
Merodé had joined, and having marched through Hesinge, had there
learned the whole story of Gabrielle's terrible fate. Colonel Johan
de Vart (or Wert), a reckless soldier, on whom Carlstein had bestowed
many favours, then challenged Merodé to single combat with rapier and
pistols, on horseback, before the tent of Wallenstein. After a
furious combat, the colonel ran the count fairly through the heart;
and thus perished the primary cause of poor Gabrielle's death, but
the actual perpetrator yet remained to be taken. By beat of drum
Carlstein had offered three thousand ducats to any man who would
bring Bandolo before him, dead or alive; Wallenstein had offered as
much more from his own purse; Major-general Arnheim had added a
thousand, and Camargo five hundred, thus a vast sum was now set on
the head of the assassin, whom Count Tilly could no longer protect
even if he was disposed to do so. The cupidity of a hundred thousand
men had been excited by the proffered reward, and Bandolo had been
hunted from one hiding-place to another. For three days he had
lurked among some rocks and woods near Hohendorf, where the count in
person, with three squadrons of his Reitres, had tracked him like a
wolf; and with these three squadrons he had once maintained a running
fight for six hours. He was almost naked; in his superhuman
exertions to elude pursuit, by rushing from rock to tree, and from
tree to rock, his clothing had been torn to shreds, and little more
remained than the belt and pouch of ammunition which supplied his
murderous carbine. He did terrible execution among the count's
Reitres! Concealing himself at one time behind a rock, at another
behind a bush, or among the furze and long grass, he hovered within
gunshot, and picked off the leading troopers, until terrified by the
havoc committed by his single arm, and by the miraculous manner in
which he escaped their shots, as if he was bullet-proof; and,
moreover, finding the perfect impractibility of pursuing in their
heavy accoutrements a half nude and wholly desperate man, who was
strong as a lion, active as a lynx, and determined to die rather than
be taken alive, Carlstein's Reitres had been compelled, but
reluctantly, to relinquish the chase, and thus Bandolo had escaped.
"_Escaped!_" I exclaimed, and started to my feet; "ah! if I, with
only six of our fleet Highland mountaineers, had been there, a
different story had been told."
"Well, he escaped, and none save myself know to where; for he sent me
a message by a poor Franciscan yesterday, that he was concealed in a
cavern of the isle of Rugen, which is now almost desolate; for
Wallenstein's Croats have poured over it like a fiery scourge,
driving all the inhabitants into the sea."
"You are sure he is there, sir?"
"Sure as that I now address you," continued the Jesuit, from whom I
concealed the fierce exultation that, arose within my breast; "but he
will soon be discovered, and may Heaven, through the intercession of
one more worthy than me, grant him that contrition and forgiveness
for the horrors of his past life, which I--by falling into the hands
of your very unceremonious patrol--am unable to afford him."
"And would you really have gone to him?" I asked with unfeigned
astonishment.
"Bandolo has an immortal soul, as well as yourself, Captain Rollo;
and had he slain my own father (and, Heaven knoweth, I loved little
Gabrielle like a daughter of my own), it would have been but my duty
to visit him when summoned on such an errand."
"What errand?" said I, drawing the buckle of my belt with impatience.
"He believed himself to be dying; and, if free and unfettered, on
what plea could I withhold the last sacrament from a repentant
sinner--one in _articulo mortis_, as he most probably is."
"And he is lurking"----
"In a cavern of the rocky isle of Rügen--poor wretch!"
I turned away, lest the simple-hearted priest should read the dark
thoughts that flitted through my mind; for he thought that in Rügen,
Bandolo was as safe from those in Stralsund, as if he had been among
the Norwegian Alps. All that long and terrible debt of vengeance,
which time and atrocity had scored up between us, seemed now on the
point of being paid off. In the keen exultation of the time, I had
only one fear--that Bandolo might die ere I could reach him. Some
may deem this sentiment revengeful and unchristian; but let me remind
them that Stralsund was not then the school wherein to learn the
Christian virtues.
Concealing my future intentions under a mild exterior, after we left
Ernestine, and when we walked through the streets towards the house
of our preacher, where I intended to billet Father Ignatius, I
acquired every necessary information about the isle of Rügen. There
were no Imperialists there now; the few inhabitants who had not been
shot or driven into the sea, lurked in their half-ruined villages;
and the cavern occupied by Bandolo lay among some rocks that overhung
the Black Lake, near Stubbenkamer. Poor Father Ignatius, in the
perfect simplicity of his heart, gave me all the information I
required.
Already, in imagination, I saw Bandolo in his cavern! I could reach
it blindfolded! These little details occupied me until we reached
the billet of our regimental minister, the Reverend Mr. Gideon
Geddes, to whom the burgomaster had carefully assigned one of the
most comfortable, and (so far as cannon-balls were concerned) least
exposed houses in Stralsund.
To him I introduced Father Ignatius, whom he welcomed with a sour
smile, and after measuring him from top to toe with his eye, as if he
was examining an adversary, invited him to partake of the supper
which his servant was just then spreading on the table. I now bade
their reverences adieu, and went in search of Phadrig Mhor.
I should have remembered that good and true, though homely adage,
"concerning two of a trade," who seldom agree; and that our
preacher's billet, though the largest house in Stralsund, was still
not large enough to contain two such spirits as Father Ignatius, a
follower of Loyola, and the Reverend Gideon Geddes, who had studied
divinity at the ancient university of Glasgow. A tremendous
explosion of polemics was the result!
The Reverend Gideon, a hard-featured, short-nosed and wiry-haired
little man, with eyes like a Skye terrier, stiffly starched bands,
and a sable cloak of the newest Geneva cut, was unguarded enough, in
the very middle of supper, to make some caustic remarks concerning
the absurdity of Lent and saints' festivals.
Father Ignatius defended both from Scripture.
The Reverend Gideon retorted by averring that the devil might quote
Scripture; but that the church of Rome could never stand before the
Bible, and that the triple-headed beast, which arose from the gates
of hell, would soon be hurled behind them.
Irritated by this, Father Ignatius swelled up in his skirtless
cassock, and told our chaplain that he was a blasphemous wretch, a
preacher of heresy, a broken reed, and so forth--one who railed at a
church which would yet overshadow the earth.
"Nay, nay," said our preacher, with a grin; "for lo you now! There
riseth a tide which, from the shores of the Baltic, will flow to the
Adriatic, and in its passage that tide shall sweep away Rome and its
corruption. The force of opinion, and the valour of Gustavus and his
host, will bear all before them. All the world knoweth that the
crimes of the Cæsars, of Nero, Tiberius, and Heliogabalus, were as
purity and innocence when compared to those of Pope Stephen and many
of his successors, down to him who was the father of the Duke of
Valentinois and Lucrezia Borgia."
"Wretch!" replied the Jesuit, "I only pray that Heaven may spare you
to repent this blasphemy, or permit you by your invincible ignorance
to escape the flames of the great abyss."
"Jesuit--I need no man's prayers," replied the sturdy Presbyterian,
snapping his fingers; "my ain are enough, and may be mair than enough
for my purpose--but a Jesuit's--feich!"
"Sir," said the priest proudly, "the order of Jesus are the best
soldiers of the church of Rome!"
"Likely enough," retorted Gideon; "for it's a kirk that's been unco
fond of war of late."
Then arming himself with the famous folio Bible of Andro Hart of
Edinburgh, and Calvin's _Commentaries_, he returned to the charge
against Lent and images, and assailed poor Father Ignatius with such
vigour and vituperation, and with such a noisy storm of hard Hebrew
names, that he had great difficulty in keeping his ground; for our
preacher was one of those clever fellows who take care to keep all
the argument to themselves. At this crisis, when the battle was at
the fiercest, a file of the quarter-guard were sent by Major Fritz,
who separated the angry disputants, and conveyed the Jesuit to his
own billet, at the house of the widow.