The Silent Prince/Chapter 10
CHAPTER X.
A PRINCE OF THE CHURCH.
“The hour grows late, Heer Chancellor. I will bid you good evening, as I have still other business to attend to before I sleep.” Raising his hand in benediction the Superior retired.
The buildings appointed for the brethren of the Order of Jesus lay in the rear of the cathedral. They were imposing in construction, and planned with due attention to both beauty and comfort. Extensive grounds, artistically designed, surrounded the buildings and were enclosed by a high brick wall, the gates of which were kept locked. The Superior fitted a key to the lock and entered the grounds. He passed up the neatly gravelled walk without encountering any one, and entered the door leading to the library. The walls on three sides of the room were covered with massive oak bookcases which were filled with books, some of them of priceless value. On an exquisitely inlaid table was a costly missal, beautifully illuminated, and besides this was a rosary studded with precious stones, which caught and reflected the rays of light which fell from a silver lamp suspended from the ceiling. A marble bust of Christ, sculptured in bas-relief, filled a niche in the corner of the room, while on the walls were the masterpieces of Rubens, “The Descent from the Cross” and “The Adoration of the Magi.”
The Jesuit did not linger to read or pray, but walked toward that portion of the wall which was devoid of ornamentation, but which in other respects seemed no different from the other walls. Touching a secret spring, a door opened, revealing a small apartment beyond, which the priest entered. It was a beautiful room, fitted up with all the luxury known to this age. The Regent herself did not occupy a more elegantly appointed room. Aside from the rich tapestries and antique furniture, the walls were literally covered with costly paintings. The Superior was a passionate admirer of beauty in all its manifold forms. He compensated in a measure for his outward life of asceticism, and satisfied the cravings of his nature with these rare paintings, which were the companions of his solitude. There were pictures of beautiful women that smiled on the priest from the canvas, without coquetry or caprice. A connoisseur of art, the Superior had selected those gems which had caught the reflection of every type of loveliness embodied in the female face and form. There were several pictures of the Madonna of rare merit, with the sweet though sensuous beauty which most of the old masters have given to that well known face. Paintings representing the beautiful women of the Bible hung upon the walls. There were Ruth, Esther, Miriam, Jephtha's daughter, and Mary Magdalene.
The critical eye of the priest surveyed these still representatives of a warm, passionate life with the keenest satisfaction. Just at this moment a clock on the cathedral chimed the hour of midnight. The music of that magnificent mass from the Stabat Mater, intoned by a choir of carefully trained voices, floated on the evening air. After the last harmonious chord had died away the Superior laid aside the heavy serge garment in which he was attired and assumed a loose flowing robe of the finest silk. Then a lay brother appeared, bearing on a silver tray a daintily prepared luncheon, served on the finest of linen and the rarest of china. The Jesuit partook of these viands with the relish of an epicure, and sipped his choice wine with a clear conscience. As a high dignitary of the Church, he had derived a perpetual indulgence from the Pope, and he was privileged to enjoy every pleasure which his rank afforded him, provided that the outward decorum of the Church was not violated.
Touching a bell, an attendant appeared to remove the tray.
“Send Father Steen to me!” said the Jesuit peremptorily.
With a humble obeisance the lay brother departed to do his bidding.
In a few moments the gaunt form of Father Steen appeared in the doorway.
“I have an important mission to entrust to you,” said the Superior. “ Be prepared to start for Antwerp by daybreak.”
The priest bowed.
“You are to watch carefully the movements of two families—that of the Burgomaster, Anthony Van Straalen, and that of Dr. John Chenoweth.”
At the mention of the doctor's name the priest started as if stung, and beads of perspiration came out on his brow. He wiped them away, and his lips twitched nervously as though he were about to speak.
The Superior watched him with a quiet smile.
“You seem disturbed, Father Steen, by this command. Why?”
“You know why, your reverence. You are asking me to walk into temptation, to watch the actions of the woman I lo― once loved,” corrected the priest, catching his words just in time.
A curious look hovered in the Superior's eyes.
“How long is it since you have seen your old sweetheart?” he inquired contemptuously.
“Twenty years.”
“The best medicine I can recommend for you, Steen, is to go and see Madam Chenoweth—and be cured of your folly. Twenty years! Why, man, you left her a blooming girl. She is now a middle-aged woman, probably sour, disappointed, ugly. This is the concise history of most married women.”
“Your reverence,” said the priest passionately, “you have never been in love.”
“By the mass, I trust not! I have been graciously spared that folly.”
“Why folly?” demanded his companion.
“The confessional should answer that question for you. I have heard enough of these family histories in my day to make me a firm believer in celibacy. And as for beauty, just look about you!” and the Superior waved his hand toward the lovely faces on the wall, that seemed, in the dim light of the silver lamp, to take on the semblance of life. “I have seen scores of just as beautiful women, but never yet have I regretted my vow of celibacy.”
“You are a cynic!” retorted Father Steen.
“A cynic? Yes, perhaps! Every student of that elusive, disturbing quantity commonly known as woman is bound to be a cynic.”
The Superior smiled indulgently. “Father Steen, you are the only man in this house that I would allow to stand and argue with me. But you are a good man and a valuable man. I am sorry that you dislike your mission, but it must be performed nevertheless, and in your accustomed skilful manner.”
Father Steen could not resist the powerful personality of the Superior, strive though he might. The passionate look which for a few moments had changed the whole expression of his face disappeared, and his features resumed their accustomed impassive look. He was once more a Jesuit.
“I obey, your reverence.”
“That is all,” said the Superior. “Report to me at your earliest convenience. You may retire.”
With a slight inclination of the head the priest withdrew.
Monseigneur Ryder's power lay in his ability to sway and mould the actions of those with whom he associated. The secret of the power of the Order of Jesus was not altogether in its system, but in the selection of leaders. From the time of Loyola to the present time the Jesuits have been signally fortunate in their choice of leaders. A man like Father Ryder, by the force of a strong intellectual personality, gave life and vigor to a set of rules which would have been as nothing without this vivifying influence.
For some time the Superior sat in his luxurious room reviewing the events of the evening.
“So the Chancellor thinks it doubtful if I persuade Mademoiselle La Tour to enter the convent and take the veil,” he soliloquized. At length he laughed softly. He was recalling the look of disgust on the magistrate's face when he lost the game of chess. “Thus easily will I remove all the obstacles from my path,” said the Jesuit with a look of conscious power. “I will dispose my pieces with the greatest circumspection. I will advance the pawns, defend the king, and make ready for the final checkmate. The game is mine!”
Little did the Superior dream that a woman's frail hand would overturn that chessboard and scatter the pieces to the four winds! How should he know that the game would be recast on entirely different lines, and that he, Monseigneur Ryder, was destined to suffer an ignominious defeat!