IF a weed be discovered in a badly cultivated field, a fine root of sorrel, for example, and the spectator wish to ascertain with certainty whether it has sprung up from seed, either ripened in the field itself, or wafted thither by the wind, or dropped there by a bird in its flight, let him think as he will about it, he will never come to a satisfactory conclusion. For the same reason we are unable to decide whether the resolution formed by the Count of making use of the Father provincial to cut in two, as the best and easiest method, this intricate knot, arose from his own unassisted imagination, or from the suggestions of Attilio. Certain it is, that Attilio had not thrown out the hint unintentionally; and however naturally he might expect that the jealous haughtiness of his noble relative would recoil at so open an insinuation, he was determined at any rate to make the idea of such a resource flash before his eyes, and let him know the course which he desired he should pursue. On the other hand, the plan was so exactly consonant with his uncle’s disposition, and so naturally marked out by circumstances, that one might safely venture the assertion, that he had thought of, and embraced it, without the suggestion of any one. It was a most essential point towards the reputation of power which he had so much at heart, that one of his name, a nephew of his, should not be worsted in a dispute of such notoriety. The satisfaction that his nephew would take for himself, would have been a remedy worse than the disease, a foundation for future troubles, which it was necessary to overthrow at any cost, and without loss of time. Command him at once to quit his palace, and he would not obey; and, even should he submit, it would be a surrendering of the contest, a submission of their house to the superiority of a convent. Commands, legal force, or any terrors of that nature, were of no value against an adversary of such a character as Father Cristoforo: the regular and secular clergy were entirely exempt, not only in their persons, but in their places of abode, from all lay-jurisdiction (as must have been observed even by one who has read no other story than the one before him); otherwise they would often have fared very badly. All that could be attempted against such a rival was his removal, and the only means for obtaining this was the Father provincial, at whose pleasure Father Cristoforo was either stationary, or on the move.
Between this Father provincial and the Count of the Privy-council there existed an acquaintanceship of long standing: they seldom saw each other, but whenever they met, it was with great demonstrations of friendship, and reiterated offers of service. It is sometimes easier to transact business advantageously with a person who presides over many individuals than with only one of those same individuals, who sees but his own motives, feels but his own passions, seeks only his own ends; while the former instantly perceives a hundred relations, contingencies, and interests, a hundred objects to secure or avoid, and can, therefore, be taken on a hundred different sides.
When all had been well arranged in his mind, the Count one day invited the Father provincial to dinner, to meet a circle of guests selected with superlative judgment:— an assemblage of men of the highest rank, whose family alone bore a lofty title, and who by their carriage, by a certain native boldness, by a lordly air of disdain, and by talking of great things in familiar terms, succeeded, even without intending it, in impressing, and, on every occasion, keeping up, the idea of their superiority and power; together with a few clients bound to the house by an hereditary devotion, and to its head by the servitude of a whole life; who, beginning with the soup to say ‘yes’, with their lips, their eyes, their ears, their head, their whole body, and their whole heart, had made a man, by dessert-time, almost forget how to say ‘no.’
At table, the noble host quickly turned the conversation upon Madrid. There are many ways and means of accomplishing one’s object, and he tried all. He spoke of the court, the Count-duke, the ministers, and the governor’s family; of the bull-baits, which he could accurately describe, having been a spectator from a very advantageous post; and of the Escurial, of which he could give a minute account, because of the Count-duke’s pages had conducted him through every nook and corner of it. For some time the company continued like an audience, attentive to him alone; but, by degrees, they divided into small groups of talkers, and he then proceeded to relate further anecdotes of the great things he had seen, as in confidence, to the Father provincial, who was seated near him, and who suffered him to talk on without interruption. But at a certain point he gave a turn to the conversation, and, leaving Madrid, proceeded from court to court, and from dignitary to dignitary, till he had brought upon the tapis Cardinal Barberini, a Capuchin, and brother to the then reigning Pope, Urban VIII. The Count was at last obliged to cease talking for a while, and be content to listen, and remember that, after all, there were some people in the world who were not born to live and act only for him. Shortly after leaving the table, he requested the Father provincial to step with him into another apartment.Two men of authority, age, and consummate experience, now found themselves standing opposite to each other. The noble lord requested the reverend Father to take a seat, and, placing himself at his side, began as follows: ‘Considering the friendship that exists between us, I thought I might venture to speak a word to your Reverence on a matter of mutual interest, which it would be better to settle between ourselves, without taking any other courses, which might . . . But, without further preface, I will candidly tell you to what I allude, and I doubt not you will immediately agree with me. Tell me: in your convent of Pescarenico there is a certain Father Cristoforo of . . .?’
The Provincial bowed assent.
‘Your Paternity will be good enough then, frankly, like a friend, to tell me . . . this person . . . this Father . . . I don’t know him personally; I am acquainted with several Capuchin fathers, zealous, prudent, humble men, who are worth their weight in gold: I have been a friend to the order from my boyhood . . . But in every rather numerous family . . . there is always some individual, some wild . . . And this Father Cristoforo, I know by several occurrences that he is a person . . . rather inclined to disputes . . . who has not all the prudence, all the circumspection . . . I dare say he has more than once given your Paternity some anxiety.’
— I understand; this is a specimen — thought the Provincial in the meantime. — It is my fault; I knew that blessed Cristoforo was fitter to go about from pulpit to pulpit, than to be set down for six months in one place, specially in a country convent. —
‘Oh!’ said he aloud, ‘I am really very sorry to hear that your Highness entertains such an opinion of Father Cristoforo; for, as far as I know, he is a most exemplary monk in the convent, and is held in much esteem also in the neighbourhood.’
‘I understand perfectly; your Reverence ought . . . However, as a sincere friend, I wish to inform you of a thing which it is important for you to know; and even if you are already acquainted with it, I think, without exceeding my duty, I should caution you against the (I only say) possible consequences. Do you know that this Father Cristoforo has taken under his protection a man of that country, a man . . . of whom your Paternity has doubtless heard mention; him who escaped in such disgrace from the hands of justice, after having done things on that terrible day of St. Martin . . . things . . . Lorenzo Tramaglino?’
— Alas! — thought the Provincial, as he replied: ‘This particular is quite new to me, but your Highness is sufficiently aware that it is a part of our office to seek those who have gone astray, to recall them . . . ’
‘Yes, yes; but intercourse with offenders of a certain kind! . . . is rather a dangerous thing — a very delicate affair . . . ’ And here, instead of puffing out his cheeks and panting, he compressed his lips, and drew in as much air as he was accustomed to send forth with such profound importance. He then resumed: ‘I thought it as well to give you this hint, because if ever his Excellency . . . He may have had some business at Rome . . . I don’t know, though . . . and there might come to you from Rome . . . ’
‘I am much obliged to your Lordship for this information, but I feel confident, that if they would make inquiries on this subject, they would find that Father Cristoforo has had no intercourse with the person you mention, unless it be to try and set him right again. I know Father Cristoforo well.’
‘You know, probably, already, better than I do, what kind of a man he was as a layman, and the life he led in his youth.’
‘It is one of the glories of our habit, Signor Count, that a man who has given ever so much occasion in the world for men to talk about him, becomes a different person when he has assumed this dress. And ever since Father Cristoforo has worn the habit . . . ’
‘I would gladly believe it, I assure you — I would gladly believe it; but sometimes . . . as the proverb says . . . “It is not the cowl that makes the friar.”’
The proverb was not exactly to the purpose, but the Count had cited it instead of another, which had crossed his mind: ‘The wolf changes its skin, but not its nature.’
‘I have facts,’ continued he; ‘I have positive proofs . . . ’
‘If you know for certain,’ interrupted the Provincial, ‘that this friar has been guilty of any fault, (and we are all liable to err), you will do me a favour to inform me of it. I am his superior, though unworthily; but it is, therefore, my duty to correct and reprove.’
‘I will tell you; together with the unpleasing circumstance of the favour this Father displays towards the person I have mentioned, there is another grievous thing, which may . . . But we will settle all this between ourselves at once. This same Father Cristoforo has begun a quarrel with my nephew, Don Rodrigo . . . ’
‘Indeed! I am very sorry to hear it! — very sorry indeed!’
‘My nephew is young, and hot-tempered; he feels what he is, and is not accustomed to be provoked . . . ’
‘It shall be my business to make every inquiry on the subject. As I have often told your Lordship, and as you must know, with your great experience in the world, and your noble judgment, far better than I, we are all human, and liable to err . . . some one way, some another; and if our Father Cristoforo has failed . . . ’
‘Your Reverence must perceive that these are matters, as I said, which had better be settled between ourselves, and remain buried with us — things which, if much meddled with, will only be made worse. You know how it often happens; these strifes and disputes frequently originate from a mere bagatelle, and become more and more serious as they are suffered to proceed. It is better to strike at the root before they grow to a head, or become the causes of a hundred other contentions. Suppress it, and cut it short, most reverend Father; suppress, and cut it short. My nephew is young; the monk, from what I hear, has still all the spirit — all the . . . inclinations of a young man; and it belongs to us who have some years on our shoulders —(too many, are there not, most reverend Father?) it belongs to us, I say, to have judgment for the young, and try to remedy their errors. Fortunately we are still in good time: the matter has made no stir; it is still a case of a good principiis obsta. Let us remove the straw from the flame. A man who has not done well, or who may be a cause of some trouble in one place, sometimes gets on surprisingly in another. Your Paternity, doubtless, knows where to find a convenient post for this friar. This will also meet the other circumstance of his having, perhaps, fallen under the suspicions of one . . . who would be very glad that he should be removed; and thus, by placing him at a little distance, we shall kill two birds with one stone; all will be quietly settled, or rather, there will be no harm done.’
The Father provincial had expected this conclusion from the beginning of the interview. — Ay, ay! — thought he to himself; — I see well enough what you would bring me to. It’s the usual way; if a poor friar has an encounter with you, or with any one of you, or gives you any offence, right or wrong, the superior must make him march immediately. —
When the Count was at last silent, and had puffed forth a long-drawn breath, which was equivalent to a full stop: ‘I understand very well,’ said the Provincial, ‘what your noble Lordship would say; but before taking a step . . . ’
‘It is a step, and it is not a step, most reverend Father. It is a natural thing enough — a very common occurrence; and if it does not come to this, and quickly too, I foresee a mountain of disorders — an Iliad of woes. A mistake . . . my nephew, I do not believe . . . I am here, for this . . . But, at the point at which matters have now arrived, if we do not put a stop to it between ourselves, without loss of time, by one decided blow, it is not possible that it should remain a secret . . . and then, it is not only my nephew . . . we raise a hornet’s nest, most reverend Father. You know, we are a powerful family — we have adherents . . . ’
‘Plainly enough . . . ’
‘You understand me: they are all persons who have some blood in their veins, and who . . . count as somebody in the world. Their honour will come in; it will become a common affair; and then . . . even one who is a friend to peace . . . It will be a great grief to me to be obliged . . . to find myself . . . I, who have always had so much kind feeling towards the Capuchin Fathers! You reverend Fathers, to continue to do good, as you have hitherto done, with so much edification among the people, stand in need of peace, should be free from strifes, and in harmony with those who . . . And, besides, you have friends in the world . . . and these affairs of honour, if they go any length, extend themselves, branch out on every side, and draw in . . . half the world. I am in a situation which obliges me to maintain a certain dignity . . . His Excellency . . . my noble colleagues . . . it becomes quite a party matter . . . particularly with that other circumstance . . . You know how these things go.’
‘Certainly,’ said the Father provincial, ‘Father Cristoforo is a preacher; and I had already some thoughts . . . I have just been asked . . . But at this juncture, and under the present circumstances, it might look like a punishment; and a punishment before having fully ascertained . . . ’
‘Pshaw! punishment, pshaw! — merely a prudential arrangement — a convenient resource for preventing evils which might ensue . . . I have explained myself.’
‘Between the Signor Count and me things stand in this light, I am aware; but as your Lordship has related the circumstances, it is impossible, I should say, but that something is known in the country around. There are everywhere firebrands, mischief-makers, or, at least, malicious priers, who take a mad delight in seeing the nobility and the religious orders at variance; they observe it immediately, report it, and enlarge upon it . . . Everybody has his dignity to maintain; and I also, as Superior, (though unworthily,) have an express duty . . . The honour of the habit . . . is not my private concern . . . it is a deposit of which . . . Your noble nephew, since he is so high-spirited as your Lordship describes him, might take it as a satisfaction offered to him, and . . . I do not say boast of it, and triumph over him, but . . .?
‘Is your Paternity joking with me? My nephew is a gentleman of some consideration in the world . . . that is, according to his rank and the claims he has; but in my presence he is a mere boy, and will do neither more nor less than I bid him. I will go further, and tell you that my n............