Black Magic, Marjorie Bowen [100 books to read TXT] 📗

CHAPTER II

THE CONFESSION

 

“‘In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spinitus Sancti,’ I give you

greeting,” said the Cardinal in a low grave voice; he crossed to the

ivory chair and seated himself.

 

Theirry lifted his head and looked eagerly at the man who he hoped

would be his saviour.

 

The Cardinal was young, of the middle height, of a full but elegant

person and conveying an impression of slightness and delicacy, though

he was in reality neither small nor fragile. His face was pale, by

this light only dimly to be seen; he wore a robe of vivid pink and

violet silk that spread about the step on which his chair was placed;

his hands were very beautiful, and ornamented with a variety of costly

rings; on his head was a black skull-cap, and outside it his hair

showed, thick, curling and of a chestnut-red colour; his foot, very

small and well shaped, encased in a gold slipper, showed beneath his

gown.

 

He caught hold of the ivory arms of his seat and looked straight at

Theirry with intense, dark eyes.

 

“On what matters did you wish to speak with me?” he asked.

 

Theirry could not find words, a choking sense of horror, of something

dreadful and blasphemous beyond all words clutched at his heart…he

stared at the young Cardinal…he must be going mad…

 

“The air—the incense makes me giddy, holy father,” he murmured.

 

The Cardinal touched a bell that stood by the sand clock, and motioned

to Theirry to rise. A beautiful boy in a white tunic answered the

summons.

 

“Extinguish the incense,” said the Cardinal, “and open the window,

Gian…it is very hot, a storm gathers, does it not?”

 

The youth drew apart the painted curtains and unlatched the window; as

the cooler air was wafted into the close chamber Theirry breathed more

freely.

 

“The stars are all hidden, your Eminence,” said Gian, looking at the

night. “Certainly, it is a storm.”

 

He raised the brazier, shook out the incense, leaving it smouldening

greyly, went on one knee to the Cardinal, then withdrew backwards.

 

As the door closed behind him Luigi Caprarola turned to the man

standing humbly before him. “Now can you speak?” he said gravely.

 

Theirry flushed.

 

“Scarcely have I the heart…your Eminence abashes me, I have a

sickening tale to relate…hearing of you I thought, this holy man can

give me peace, and I came half across the world to lay my troubles at

your feet; but now, sir, now—I fear to speak, indeed, am scarce able,

unreal and hideous it seems in this place.”

 

“In brief, sir,” said the Cardinal, “ye have changed your mind—I

think ye were ever of a changeful disposition, Theirry of

Dendermonde.”

 

“How does your Eminence know that of me is, alas! true.”

 

“I see it in your face,” answered the Cardinal, “and something else I

see—you are, and long have been, unhappy.”

 

“It is my great unhappiness that has brought me before your Eminence.”

 

Luigi Caprarola rested his elbow on the ivory chair arm and his cheek

on his palm; the pale, dim light was full on his face; because of

something powerful and intense that shone in his eyes Theirry did not

care to look at him.

 

“Weary of sin and afraid of Heaven ye have come to seek absolution of

me,” said the Cardinal. “Yea, if it might be granted me, if by any

penitence I might obtain pardon.”

 

Then Theirry, whose gaze was fixed on the ground as he spoke, had an

extraordinary vivid impression that the Cardinal was laughing; he

looked up quickly, only to behold Luigi Caprarola calm and grave.

 

A peal of thunder sounded, and the echoes hovered in the chamber.

 

“The confession must come before the absolution,” said the Cardinal.

“Tell me, my son, what troubles you.”

 

Theirry shuddered.

 

“It involves others than myself…”

 

“The seal of the confession is sacred, and I will ask for no names.

Theirry of Dendermonde, kneel here and confess.”

 

He pointed to the ivory footstool close to his raised seat; Theirry

came and humbly knelt.

 

The curtains fluttered in the hot wind, a flash of lightning darted in

between them and mingled with the luminous colour cast by the faint

lamps.

 

The Cardinal took up the gold book and laid it on his knee, his pink

silk sleeve almost touched Theirry’s lips…his garments gave out a

strange and beautiful perfume. “Tell me of these sins of thine,” he

said, half under his breath.

 

“I must go far back,” answered the penitent in a trembling voice, “for

your Eminence to understand my sins—they had small beginnings.”

 

He paused and fixed his gaze on the Cardinal’s long fair fingers

resting across the gold cover of the breviary.

 

“I was born in Dendermonde,” he said at length. “My father was a clerk

who taught me his learning. When he died I came to Courtrai. I was

eighteen, ambitious and clever beyond other scholars of my age. I

wished above everything to go to one of the colleges…”

 

He gave a hot sigh, as if he could still recall the passionate throb

of that early desire.

 

“To gain a living I taught the arts I was acquainted with, among

others I gave lessons in music to the daughter of a great lord in

Courtrai…in this manner I came to know her brother, who was a young

knight of lusty desires.”

 

The Cardinal was listening intently; his breathing seemed hardly to

stir his robe; the hand on the gilt and turkis cover was very still.

 

Theirry wiped his damp forehead, and continued—

 

“He was, as I, restless and impatient with Courtrai…but, unlike me,

he was innocent, for I,”—he moistened his lips—“I about this time

began to practise—black magic.”

 

The thunder rolled sombrely yet triumphantly round the seven hills,

and the first rain dashed against the window.

 

“Black magic,” repeated the Cardinal, “go on.”

 

“I read forbidden books that I found in an old library in the house of

a Jew whose son I taught—I tried to work spells, to raise spirits; I

was very desperate to better myself, I wished to become as Alcuin, as

Saint Jerome—nay, as Zerdusht himself, but I was not skilful enough.

I could do little or nothing…”

 

The Cardinal moved slightly; Theirry, in an agony of old bitter

memories, torn between horror and ease at uttering these things at

last, continued in a low desperate voice—

 

“The young knight I have spoken of was in love with a mighty lady who

came through Courtrai, he wished to follow her to Frankfort, she had

given him hopes that she would find him service there—he asked me to

bear him company, and I was glad to go. On the journey he told me of

his marriage to the daughter of a neighbouring lord—and—though that

is no matter here–he knew not if she were alive or dead, but he knew

of the place where she had last been known of, and we went thither—it

was in the old, half-deserted town of Antwerp…”

 

“And the young knight hoped to find she was dead,” interrupted the

Cardinal. “Was she, I wonder?”

 

“All the world thought so. It is a strange story, not for my telling;

we found the house, and there we met a youth, who told us of the

maid’s death and showed us her grave…”

 

The thunder, coming nearer, shook the palace, and Theirry hid his face

in his hands. “What of this youth?” asked the Cardinal softly, “tell

me of him.”

 

“He ruined me—by night he came to me and told of his studies—black

magic! black magic!…cast spells and raised a devil…in a mirror he

showed me visions, I swore with him faithful friendship…he ruined my

soul—he sold some of the goods in the house, and we went together to

Basle College.”

 

“Ye make him out your evil angel,” said the Cardinal. “Who was he?”

 

“I know not; he was high-born, I think, dainty in ways and pleasant to

look upon; my faltering soul was caught by his wiles, for he spoke of

great rewards; I know not who he was, man or demon…I think he loved

me.”

 

There was a little silence in the chamber, then the Cardinal spoke.

 

“Loved you?—what makes you think he loved you?”

 

“Certes, he said so, and acted so…we went to Basle College—then, I

also thought I loved him…he was the only thing in the world I had

ever spoken to of my hopes, my desires…we continued our

experiments…our researches were blasphemous, horrible, he was ever

more skilful than I…then one day I met a lady, and then I knew

myself hideous, but that very night I was drawn into the toils

again…we cast a spell over another student—we were discovered and

fled the college.”

 

A flash of lightning pierced the blue gloom like a sword rending silk;

Theirry winced and shuddered as the thunder crashed overhead.

 

“Does your tale end here?” demanded the Cardinal. “Alas! alas! no; I

fell from worse sin to worse sin—we were poor, we met a monk, robbed

him of God His moneys, and left him for dead…we came to Frankfort

and lived in the house of an Egyptian hag, and I began to loathe the

youth because the lady was ever in my thoughts, and he hated the lady

bitterly because of this; he tempted me to do murder for gain, and I

refused for her sake.” Theirry’s voice became hot and passionate.

“Then I found that he was tempting her—my saint! but I had no fear

that she would fall, and while she spurned him I thought I could also,

ay, and I did…but she proved no stronger—she loved her steward, and

bid him slay his wife: ‘You staked on her virtue,’ the Devil cried to

me, ‘and you’ve lost! lost!’”

 

The sobs thickened his voice, and the bitter tears gathered in his

beautiful eyes.

 

“I was the youth’s prey again, but now I hated him for his

victory…we came back to Frankfort, and he was sweet and soft to me,

while I was thinking how I might injure him as he had injured me…I

dwelt on that picture of—her—dishonoured and undone, and I