Melmoth the Wanderer 1820

by Charles Robert Maturin

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  ‘This was not enough. I was deluged almost to suffocation with aspersions of holy water. Then followed, &c.

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  “The result was, that I remained half-naked, half-drowned, gasping, choaking and delirious with rage, shame and fear, when I was summoned to attend the Bishop, who, surrounded by the Superior and the community, awaited me in the church. This was the moment they had fixed on – I yielded myself to them. I said, stretching out my arms, “Yes, drag me naked, mad – religion and nature alike violated in my abused figure – before your Bishop. If he speaks truth, – if he feels conscience, – woe be to you, hypocritical, tyrannical wretches. You have half-driven me mad! – half-murdered me, by the unnatural cruelties you have exercised on me! and in this state you drag me before the Bishop! Be it so, I must follow you.” As I uttered these words, they bound my arms and legs with ropes, carried me down, and placed me at the door of the church, standing close to me. The Bishop was at the altar, the Superior near him; the community filled the choir. They flung me down like a heap of carrion, and retreated as if they fled from the pollution of my touch. This sight struck the Bishop: He said, in a loud voice, “Rise, unhappy, and come forward.” I answered, in a voice whose tones appeared to thrill him, “Bid them unbind me, and I will obey you.” The Bishop turned a cold and yet indignant look on the Superior, who immediately approached and whispered him. This whispering consultation was carried on for some time; but, though lying on the ground, I could perceive the Bishop shook his head at every whisper of the Superior; and the end of the business was an order to unbind me. I did not fare much the better for this order, for the four monks were still close to me. They held my arms as they led me up the steps to the altar. I was then, for the first time, placed opposite to the Bishop. He was a man, the effect of whose physiognomy was as indelible as that of his character. – The one left its impress on the senses, as strongly as the other did on the soul. He was tall, majestic and hoary; not a feeling agitated his frame – not a passion had left its trace on his features. He was a marble statue of Episcopacy, chiselled out by the hand of Catholicism, – a figure magnificent and motionless. His cold black eyes did not seem to see you, when they were turned on you. His voice, when it reached you, did not address you, but your soul. Such was his exterior: – for the rest, his character was unimpeachable, his discipline exemplary, his life that of an Anchorite hewed out in stone. But he was partially suspected of what is called liberality in opinions, (that is, of an inclination to Protestantism), and the sanctity of his character went bail in vain for this imputed heterodoxy, which the Bishop could hardly redeem by his rigid cognizance of every conventual abuse in his district, among which my convent happened to be. Such was the man before whom I stood. At the command to unloose me, the Superior shewed much agitation; but the command was positive, and I was released. I was then between the four monks, who held me, and I felt that my appearance must have justified the impression he had received. I was ragged, famished, livid and on fire, with the horrible treatment I had just received. I hoped, however, that my submission to whatever was to be performed, might, in some degree, redeem the opinion of the Bishop. He went with evident reluctance through the forms of exorcism, which were delivered in Latin, while all the time, the monks crossed themselves, and the Acolytes were not sparing of holy water and of incense. Whenever the terms “diabole te adjuro” occurred, the monks who held me twisted my arms, so that I appeared to make contortions, and uttered cries of pain. This, at first, seemed to disturb the Bishop; but when the form of exorcism was over, he commanded me to approach the altar alone. I attempted to do so; but the four monks surrounding me, made it appear an act of great difficulty. He said, “Stand apart – let him alone.” They were compelled to obey. I advanced alone, trembling. I knelt. The Bishop, placing his stole on my head, demanded, “Did I believe in God, and the holy Catholic church?” Instead of answering, I shrieked, flung off the stole, and trampled in agony on the steps of the altar. The Bishop retreated, while the Superior and the rest advanced. I collected courage as I saw them approach; and, without uttering a word, pointed to the pieces of broken glass which had been thrown on the steps where I stood, and which had pierced me through my torn sandals. The Bishop instantly ordered a monk to sweep them away with the sleeve of his tunic. The order was obeyed in a moment, and the next I stood before him without fear or pain. He continued to ask, “Why do you not pray in the church?” – “Because its doors are shut against me.” – “How? what is this? A memorial is in my hands urging many complaints against you, and this among the first, that you do not pray in the church.” – “I have told you the doors of the church are shut against me. – Alas! I could no more open them, than I could open the hearts of the community – everything is shut against me here.” He turned to the Superior, who answered, “The doors of the church are always shut to the enemies of God.” The Bishop said, with his usual stern calmness, “I am asking a plain question – evasive and circuitous answers will not do. Have the doors of the church been shut against this wretched being? – have you denied him the privilege of addressing God?” – “I did so, because I thought and believed –” “I ask not what you thought or believed; I ask a plain answer to a matter-of-fact question. Did you, or did you not, deny him access to the house of God?” – “I had reason to believe that –” “I warn you, these answers may compel me to make you exchange situations in one moment with the object you accuse. Did you, or did you not, shut the doors of the church against him? – answer yes or no.” The Superior, trembling with fear and rage, said, “I did; and I was justified in doing so.” – “That is for another tribunal to judge. But it seems you plead guilty to the fact of which you accuse him.” The Superior was dumb. The Bishop then examining his paper, addressed me again, “How is it that the monks cannot sleep in their cells from the disturbance you cause?” – “I know not – you must ask them.” – “Does not the evil spirit visit you nightly? Are not your blasphemies, your execrable impurities, disgorged even in the ears of those who have the misfortune to be placed near you? Are you not the terror and the torment of the whole community?” I answered, “I am what they have made me. I do not deny there are extraordinary noises in my cell, but they can best account for them. I am assailed by whispers close to my bed-side: It seems these whispers reach the ears of the brethren, for they burst into my cell, and take advantage of the terror with which I am overwhelmed, to put the most incredible constructions on it.” – “Are there no cries, then, heard in your cell at night?” – “Yes, cries of terror – cries uttered not by one who is celebrating infernal orgies, but dreading them.” – “But the blasphemies, the imprecations, the impurities, which proceed from your lips?” – “Sometimes, in irrepressible terror, I have repeated the sounds that were suggested to my ears; but it was always with an exclamation of horror and aversion, that proved these sounds were not uttered but echoed by me, – as a man may take up a reptile in his hand, and gaze on its hideousness a moment, before he flings it from him. I take the whole community to witness the truth of this. The cries I uttered, the expressions I used, were evidently those of hostility to the infernal suggestions which had been breathed into my ears. Ask the whole community – they must testify, that when they broke into my cell, they found me alone, trembling, convulsed. That I was the victim of those disturbances, they affected to complain of; and though I never was able to guess the means by which this persecution was effected, I am not rash in ascribing it to the hands that covered the walls of my cell with representations of demons, the traces of which still remain.” – “You are also accused of having burst into the church at midnight, defaced the images, trampled on the crucifix, and performed all the acts of a demon violating the sanctuary.” At this accusation, so unjust and cruel, I was agitated beyond control. I exclaimed, “I flew to the church for protection in a paroxysm of terror, which their machinations had filled me with! I flew there at night, because it was shut against me during the day, as you
have discovered! I prostrated myself before the cross, instead of trampling on it! I embraced the images of the blessed saints, instead of violating them! And I doubt whether prayers more sincere were ever offered within these walls, than those I uttered that night amid helplessness, terror, and persecutions!” – “Did you not obstruct and deter the community next morning by your cries, as they attempted to enter the church?” – “I was paralyzed from the effects of lying all night on the stone pavement, where they had flung me. I attempted to rise and crawl away at their approach, and a few cries of pain were extorted from me by my efforts to do so – efforts rendered more painful by their refusing to offer me the slightest assistance. In a word, the whole is a fabrication. I flew to the church to implore for mercy, and they represent it as the outrages of an apostate spirit. Might not the same arbitrary and absurd construction be put on the daily visits of multitudes of afflicted souls, who weep and groan audibly as I did? If I attempted to overturn the crucifix, to deface the images, would not the marks of this violence remain? Would they not have been preserved with care, to substantiate the accusation against me? Is there a trace of them? – there is not, there cannot be, because they never existed.” The Bishop paused. An appeal to his feelings would have been vain, but this appeal to facts had its full effect. After some time, he said, “You can have no objection, then, to render before the whole community the same homage to the representations of the Redeemer and the holy saints, that you say it was your purpose to render them that night?” – “None.” A crucifix was brought me, which I kissed with reverence and unction, and prayed, while the tears streamed from my eyes, an interest in the infinite merits of the sacrifice it represented. The Bishop then said, “Make a deed of faith, of love, of hope.” I did so; and though they were extempore, my expressions, I could perceive, made the dignified ecclesiastics who attended on the Bishop, cast on each other looks in which were mingled compassion, interest, and admiration. The Bishop said, “Where did you learn those prayers?” – “My heart is my only teacher – I have no other – I am allowed no book.” – “How! – recollect what you say.” – “I repeat I have none. They have taken away my breviary, my crucifix; – they have stript my cell of all its furniture. I kneel on the floor – I pray from the heart. If you deign to visit my cell, you will find I have told you the truth.” At these words, the Bishop cast a terrible look on the Superior. He recovered himself, however, immediately, for he was a man unaccustomed to any emotion, and felt it at once a suspension of his habits, and an infringement of his rank. In a cold voice he bid me retire; then, as I was obeying him, he recalled me, – my appearance for the first time seemed to strike him. He was a man so absorbed in the contemplation of that waveless and frozen tide of duty in which his mind was anchored, without fluctuation, progress, or improvement, that physical objects must be presented before him a long time before they made the least impression on him, – his senses were almost ossified. Thus he had come to examine a supposed demoniac; but he had made up his mind that there must be injustice and imposture in the case, and he acted in the matter with a spirit, decision, and integrity, that did him honour.

  ‘But, all the time, the horror and misery of my appearance, which would have made the first impression on a man whose feelings were at all external, made the last. They struck him as I slowly and painfully crawled from the steps of the altar, and the impression was forcible in proportion to its slowness. He called me back and inquired, as if he saw me for the first time, “How is it your habit is so scandalously ragged?” At these words I thought I could disclose a scene that would have added to the Superior’s humiliation, but I only said, “It is the consequence of the ill treatment I have experienced.” Several other questions of the same kind, relating to my appearance, which was deplorable enough, followed, and at last I was forced to make a full discovery. The Bishop was incensed at the detail more than was credible. Rigid minds, when they yield themselves to emotion, do it with a vehemence inconceivable, for to them every thing is a duty, and passion (when it occurs) among the rest. Perhaps the novelty of emotion, too, may be a delightful surprise to them.

  ‘More than all this was the case now with the good Bishop, who was as pure as he was rigid, and shrunk with horror, disgust and indignation, at the detail I was compelled to give, which the Superior trembled at my uttering, and which the community dared not to contradict. He resumed his cold manner; for to him feeling was an effort, and rigour a habit, and he ordered me again to retire. I obeyed, and went to my cell. The walls were as bare as I had described them, but, even contrasted with all the splendour and array of the scene in the church, they seemed emblazoned with my triumph. A dazzling vision passed before me for a moment, then all subsided; and, in the solitude of my cell, I knelt and implored the Almighty to touch the Bishop’s heart, and impress on him the moderation and simplicity with which I had spoken. As I was thus employed, I heard steps in the passage. They ceased for a moment, and I was silent. It appeared the persons overheard me, and paused; and these few words, uttered in solitude, made, I found, a deep impression on them. A few moments after the Bishop, with some dignified attendants, followed by the Superior, entered my cell. The former all stopped, horror-struck at its appearance.

  ‘I have told you, Sir, that my cell now consisted of four bare walls and a bed; – it was a scandalous, degrading sight. I was kneeling in the middle of the floor, God knows, without the least idea of producing an effect. The Bishop gazed around him for some time, while the ecclesiastics who attended him testified their horror by looks and attitudes that needed no interpretation. The Bishop, after a pause, turned to the Superior, “Well, what do you say to this?” The Superior hesitated, and at last said, I was ignorant of this.” – “That is false,” said the Bishop; “and even if it was true, it would be your crimination, not your apology. Your duty binds you to visit the cells every day; how could you be ignorant of the shameful state of this cell, without neglecting your own duties?” He took several turns about the cell, followed by the ecclesiastics, shrugging their shoulders, and throwing on each other looks of disgust. The Superior stood dismayed. They went out, and I could hear the Bishop say, in the passage, “All this disorder must be rectified before I quit the house.” And to the Superior, “You are unworthy of the situation you hold, – you ought to be deposed.” And he added in severer tones, “Catholics, monks, Christians, this is shocking, – horrible! tremble for the consequences of my next visit, if the same disorders exist, – I promise you it shall be repeated soon.” He then returned, and standing at the door of my cell, said to the Superior, “Take care that all the abuses committed in this cell are rectified before to-morrow morning.” The Superior signified his submission to this order in silence.

  ‘That evening I went to sleep on a bare mattress, between four dry walls. I slept profoundly, from exhaustion and fatigue. I awoke in the morning far beyond the time for matins, and found myself surrounded by all the comforts that can be bestowed on a cell. As if magic had been employed during my sleep, crucifix, breviary, desk, table, every thing was replaced. I sprung from bed, and actually gazed in extasy around my cell. As the day advanced, and the hour for refection approached, my extasy abated, and my terrors increased; – it is not easy to pass from extreme humiliation and utter abhorrence, to your former state in the society of which you are a member. When the bell rung I went down. I stood at the door for a moment, – then, with an impulse like despair, I entered, and took my usual place. No opposition was made, – not a word was said. The community separated after dinner. I watched for the toll of the bell for vespers, – I imagined that would be decisive. The bell tolled at last, – the monks assembled. I joined them without opposition, – I took my place in the choir, – my triumph was complete, and I trembled at it. Alas! in what moment of success do we not feel a sensation of terror! Our destiny always acts the part of the ancient slave to us, who was required every morning to remind the monarch that he was a man; and it seldom neglects to fulfil its own predictio
ns before the evening. Two days passed away, – the storm that had so long agitated us, seemed to have sunk into a sudden calm. I resumed my former place, – I performed the customary duties, – no one congratulated or reviled me. They all seemed to consider me as one beginning monastic life de novo. I passed two days of perfect tranquillity, and I take God to witness, I enjoyed this triumph with moderation. I never reverted to my former situation, – I never reproached those who had been agents in it, – I never uttered a syllable on the subject of the visitation, which had made me and the whole convent change places in the space of a few hours, and the oppressed take the part (if he pleased) of the oppressor. I bore my success with temperance, for I was supported by the hope of liberation. The Superior’s triumph was soon to come.