Taquisara Part 52

"It is a very terrible thing. For all the sacraments I have administered in these many years have been of no value; but the worst, for its consequences, is that none of the many hundreds I have married, are truly married, and that if the truth were known to them, the confusion would be beyond my power to imagine. But Christians they are, for a layman may baptize, even though he be not in a state of grace.

"And for the other sacraments, the sin is all mine, as you see, and G.o.d will be good to them all, according to the intention and belief they had. And now a worse thing has happened, though it was not my fault, excepting that the original fault is all mine. For Don Gianluca della Spina was lying at the point of death, and there were with him the princess and Don Sigismondo Taquisara, the Baron of Guardia, his friend.

The princess desired to be married to Don Gianluca, before he died, and sent for me in great haste and commanded me to marry them. As I raised my eyes to speak, for it was impossible to resist her will, the Taquisara thought that Don Gianluca was dead and took the princess's hand from the dead man's, as he thought, and as I suppose--and I gave them the benediction. But when I looked down, it was the Baron of Guardia who appeared to have been married to the princess, for their right hands were clasped; and I cannot tell whether, if I were a true priest, they would have been married or not.

"But the princess and Don Gianluca believe that I made them husband and wife, though the Taquisara knows that something was wrong, since he held her hand. For Don Gianluca has recovered, and they are now about to have a civil marriage and announce it to their friends.

"It was the will of G.o.d that my own sin should follow me to the end, and that it should be the means of freeing these three persons from their terrible position. For the Baron of Guardia believes that he is married to the princess, and she believes that she is Don Gianluca's wife. But as yet no further harm is done, and the Taquisara is the bravest gentleman and the truest man to his friend that ever drew breath.

Therefore I have made this confession. And I will abide all the consequences. The bishop before whom you will lay the case will know what is to be done. It will be in his power, I presume, to acquaint the princess with the fact that she is not married at all, and must be married by a true priest; and to do so, without injuring the poor people of Muro who have been the victims of my sin for many years.

"That is my confession. And now, if I have not made all clear to you, I beg you to ask me such questions as you think fit, for it is not in your power to give me absolution."

Don Teodoro was exhausted. His face sank upon his folded hands on the edge of the table, and his shoulders trembled.

"My poor friend! My poor friend!" repeated Don Matteo, in a low and wondering tone. "No--it is quite clear," he added. "There is nothing which I have not understood. But I can say nothing, my poor friend!

Pray--pray for forgiveness. G.o.d will forgive you, for you have done evil only to yourself, and never anything but good to others."

Don Teodoro in a hardly audible voice repeated the second half of the 'Confiteor' and remained on his knees a little while longer. Don Matteo covered his eyes with his hands, and during several minutes there was silence. Then the two old men rose and looked at each other for a moment.

"Courage!" said Don Matteo, and he gently patted his friend's shoulder.

He took off his stole, folded it carefully, and wrapped it in its clean white paper again, before putting it away. But he did that by force of habit. Confessors hear strange things sometimes and are not easily disconcerted, but Don Teodoro's was the strangest tale that had ever come to Don Matteo's ears. Again he came and patted Don Teodoro's shoulder in a way of kindly encouragement.

Then he took his three-cornered hat and went out without a word. In such a case there was no time to be lost.

Cardinal Campodonico was at that time the archbishop of Naples, and he received Don Matteo immediately, for the priest was a man of extraordinarily brilliant gifts and well known to the prelate, who liked him and had caused him to be made a canon of the cathedral not many years earlier.

Don Matteo, as was right in such a position, laid the whole matter before him as a theoretical case of conscience, without names, and without any useless details which might by any possibility give a clue to his real penitent's ident.i.ty. He stated it all with great clearness and force, but he dwelt much upon the spotless life of charity and good works which the man had led, in spite of his one chief sin. He knew, when Don Teodoro spoke of having spent his father's fortune, that almost every penny of it had gone to the poor of Naples in one way or another, and he had seen at a glance how his poor friend had in his youth exaggerated his boyish admiration for his stepmother. But Don Matteo put the main point very clearly before the cardinal--always as a purely theoretical case of conscience, asking what a confessor's duty would be in such an extremely difficult situation.

The cardinal listened attentively, and then was silent for some time.

"The first thing to be done," he said at last, "would be to make a priest of him. He is evidently a man with a vocation, and the chain of circ.u.mstances which led him into this sin and difficulty is a very strange one. I hardly know what to say of it--left alone with savages only just converted--well, he was wrong, of course. But the man you represent in your theoretical case is supposed to be in all other respects almost a holy man."

"Yes, a man of holy life," said Don Matteo, earnestly.

"I do not see how a man of such disposition could have been so lacking in courage afterwards," said the cardinal.

"But suppose that it were exactly as I represent the case, Eminence, what should the confessor do?"

The cardinal looked into his eyes long and gravely.

"I should think it best to make a priest of him as soon as possible," he said at last.

"But how? No bishop could ordain him a priest without knowing his story."

"I would ordain him, if he came to me. I think I should be doing right."

"But then your Eminence would know him, and the secret of confession would have been betrayed."

"That is true. Let him go to another bishop and tell his story."

"Another bishop might not think as your Eminence does. Besides, the question is what the confessor is to do under the circ.u.mstances."

The cardinal suddenly rose, went to the broad window, and looked out thoughtfully. Don Matteo stood up respectfully, waiting. It seemed to him a long time before the prelate turned, and what he did then surprised the priest very much, for he went to each of the three doors of the room in succession, opened it, looked out, closed it again and locked it. Then he came back to Don Matteo.

"Are you, to the best of your belief, in a state of grace, my friend?"

he asked in a low voice. "Have you no mortal sin on your conscience?

Reflect well. This is a grave matter."

"I cannot think of any, Eminence," answered the good priest, after a moment's pause.

"Very well. We are alone here. The case of conscience you have laid before me is a very extraordinary one. I do not wish to know whether it has actually come before you in confession. But if it has,--or if it should,--I should wish you to be in a position to help that poor man and set his life straight, by the grace of G.o.d, without injuring him, and, above all, without injuring any of those persons to whom he has administered the sacraments. I have known you a long time, Don Matteo, and I can trust you to make no use of any power I give you, before the world. I have the power and the right to consecrate a bishop any priest whom I think a fit person. Kneel down here, say the 'Confiteor,' and I will lay my hands on you. You could then give the penitent absolution and ordain him a priest privately."

Don Matteo started in utmost surprise, and hesitated an instant.

"Kneel down," said the cardinal. "I take this upon myself."

The priest knelt, and the solemn words sounded low in the quiet little room, as the archbishop laid his hands upon Don Matteo's grey head. When the latter rose, he kissed the cardinal's ring, trembling a little, for it had all been very unexpected. The cardinal embraced him in the ecclesiastical fas.h.i.+on, and then, to his further amazement, drew off his episcopal ring and slipped it upon Don Matteo's finger, took his own bishop's cross and chain from his neck and hung it about Don Matteo's neck.

"Keep them both in memory of this morning," said the prelate. "But hide the chain and the cross under your ca.s.sock, for people need not see that you are a bishop, when you sit among the canons in church. You know it, I know it, your penitent must know it if the case is a real one, and the Pope shall know it--but no one else living need ever guess it. Will you kindly unlock the doors? Thank you. We will not mention this occurrence again, if we can help it. Good morning, Don Matteo--good morning, my friend."

When Don Matteo was in the street again, he stood still and pa.s.sed his hand over his eyes, trying to collect his thoughts. His bishop's ring touched his forehead, and he realized that it was all true. He had not been half an hour in the archbishop's palace, and when he reached his own door, he had not been absent an hour from the house.

He found Don Teodoro in the same room and still in the same chair, into which he had dropped exhausted when Don Matteo had gone out, his head sunk on his breast, his hands clasped despairingly on his knees. As the door opened, he looked up with scared eyes, and rose.

"Courage!" exclaimed Don Matteo, patting his shoulder just as he had done before going out. "I have seen his Eminence."

Don Teodoro looked at him in mute and resigned expectation, and wondered at his cheerful face. But his friend made him sit down again, and told him all that had taken place, and then, before Don Teodoro could recover his astonishment and emotion, he found himself kneeling on the floor and heard the words of absolution spoken softly over him. A moment later he felt upon his head the laying of hands and heard those still more solemn words p.r.o.nounced over him, which, he had never hoped to hear said for himself.

When he rose to his feet at last, he saw Don Matteo wrapping up the bishop's cross and chain and ring in the same piece of clean white paper in which he kept the old stole.

But Don Teodoro went to his little room, which was ready for him as usual, and he was not seen again on that day. Several times Don Matteo went softly to the door. Once he heard the old man sobbing within as though his heart would break, all alone; and once again he heard his voice saying Latin prayers in a low tone; and the third time all was very still, and Don Matteo knew that the worst was past.

On the next morning very early Don Teodoro came out of his room. Neither of the two spoke of what had happened, but the clear light was in the old priest's eyes again, clearer and happier than before, and little by little the lines smoothed themselves from his singular face until there were no more there than there had been for years. All that day they talked together of books and of Don Teodoro's great history of the Church. But they were both thoughtful and subject to moments of absence of mind.

It was not until the evening of the third day that Don Teodoro asked his friend a question.

"What do you advise me to say to the princess?" he inquired, when they were alone together.

"Tell her that you have consulted an ecclesiastical authority and that there was an irregularity about the marriage with Don Gianluca so that you must solemnly marry them again before they can consider themselves man and wife. And tell the Baron of Guardia that the same authority is sure that he was not married to the princess, but is a free man. It is very simple, and there can be no possible mistake, now."

"Yes," said Don Teodoro. "It is very simple."

And so it was, for Cardinal Campodonico deserved the reputation he enjoyed of being, in ecclesiastical affairs, a man equal to the most difficult emergencies, in character, in keen discernment, and in prompt action.

But Don Teodoro sighed softly when he had spoken, for he thought of Taquisara and of what that brave and silent man would suffer when he was forced to stand by Gianluca's side and see the rings exchanged and the hands joined, and hear the words spoken which must cut him off forever from all hope. But Taquisara, at least, in his suffering, would have the consolation of having been honest and true and loyal from first to last.

He would never have to bear the consequences of having been a coward at a great moment. It could not be so very hard for him, after all, thought Don Teodoro.

And he saw no reason for curtailing his stay in Naples, since there was time until the first of January. On the contrary, he grew glad of those long days, in which he could meditate on the past and think of the future, and be supremely and humbly thankful for the great change that had come into his life.