Part 20 (1/2)

”And dare you actually look me in the face--can you bear that I should look at you? You liars and hypocrites--do you not tremble before me?”

”We tremble before no just man,” said the Abbot, ”for our consciences are pure. As to the unjust--them the Lord will punish.”

”Spare your words!” cried the Count. ”Every breath of your throat is a falsehood.”

”My Lord Count,” said the Abbot, ”do you believe that we--”

”Believe!” interrupted the Count, ”I believe nothing--I know.--Do you understand? Since my visit with the Duke I have lurked round your convent. The nurse whom you maltreated betrayed the track; the old man at Saint Valentine's has confessed. He is dead and he made his last confession to _me_.”

At those words, which fell upon them like a thunderbolt, the brethren turned pale and were dumb. Now was G.o.d's judgment come upon them. But with a comprehension of the danger came resignation; if they had sinned, G.o.d might punish them--if they had done right, He would surely help them.

”Where is my son?” cried the Count impatiently, glancing round at the whole circle of monks.

”My Lord, at this moment he is doing penance for a heavy sin,” said the Abbot in an uncertain voice.

”What sin?” asked the Count.

”A breach of obedience to the rules of our Order,” explained the Abbot.

”Obedience! that is at an end! A Count of Reichenberg owes obedience to no man!”

”He is not a Count of Reichenberg--he is a brother of our Order; he has taken the vows and he cannot be absolved from them.”

”It was a forced vow, against all law and justice--he was cheated into it!” shouted the Count. ”I was lately with the Bishop of Chur and informed myself on the subject. If you refuse to give the boy up to me, I will accuse you before the Pope himself, and you will be laid under an interdict. For, as the Bishop told me, that is the law; Pope Celestin III. decreed that the decisions of the Church in Council at Toledo and Aix-la-Chapelle should come into force again, and that no Order might receive a child before he was of age without the consent of his parents. And will you hold him to a vow thus surrept.i.tiously extorted from him--will you a.s.sert your claim to stolen goods? Am I not his father and did I ever give my consent to his becoming a monk?

Answer!”

The brethren had come to a rapid understanding among themselves in Latin.

”Well and good, my Lord,” replied the Abbot, ”you speak truly, and according to the letter of the law you are in your rights when you require at our hands that which is your own. The only question is this: is that still yours which you threw away of your own free will and abandoned to destruction? I know very well that such an incredible instance of a perverted nature is not provided for by any law, and if you appeal against us the judgment will be in your favour; but, my Lord Count, you were no doubt also informed that the same Canon law permits young people when they come to full years of discretion to enter an order without their parents' consent. Are you or are you not aware of that?”

”Yes,” said the Count, biting his lip.

”Well then, my Lord,” continued the Abbot, ”you may punish us according to the letter of the law, for that wherein we have sinned against the letter of the law--but you cannot break the vows your son has taken, for he is now of age and if he now renews them, he is answerable to the law.”

”But he will not renew them now that his father is here to fetch him home to splendour and dominion,” said the Count confidently. ”Only bring him here and let me speak to him myself, and put my patience to no farther proof. A Reichenberg can never learn to wait.”

Again a few Latin words pa.s.sed from mouth to mouth in a low whisper.

”If it please you to follow us into the refectory and refresh yourself with a cool draught, my Lord,” said the Abbot. ”You are exhausted and everything, whatever it may be, is better done when men have rested and strengthened themselves with a cup of wine.”

”Very good--let us go in; and send me the young Count that he may empty the first bowl with his father,” said the Count, somewhat pacified, for he thought the monks' opposition was broken, and his newly awakened fatherly feeling made his heart beat impatiently for the son to whom he must now make up for the neglect of twenty-one long years. So they went into the refectory where bread and wine had been set ready; still the Count would touch nothing,

”My son,” said he; ”first fetch my son.”

The monks looked at each other in their difficulty; G.o.d had forsaken them--no farther escape was possible. After another short consultation father Correntian went ”to fetch him.” The Abbot stood like a condemned criminal at the foot of the cross on which he is to be crucified; ”G.o.d help us! have mercy on our wrong-doing! Thou who canst read the heart, Thou knowest we meant it rightly!” Thus he prayed silently.

The brethren were one and all incapable of speech. ”When the father sees the state of his son--what will happen?” That was the thought that filled every mind.

But Correntian came back alone.

”Your son refuses to appear,” he said. ”He has this very hour renewed his oath never to quit the cloister--and he will not see you.”