The Knight of Malta

“I shall die too soon, father, so far from my wife and child; I shall not live to see them again.”

“We ought never to despair of the divine mercy, my brother. Many poor slaves have said, like you, ‘I shall never see my loved ones again,’ yet at this moment they are with their own, peaceful and happy. Often the galleys of religion exchange their captives; why, my brother, should you not be included some day in these exchanges?”

“Some day! Perhaps! That is my only hope,” said the Moor, despondently.

“Poor, unhappy man! then why will you say ‘never’?”

“My father is right. Never, – never – oh, that would be too horrible! Yes, – perhaps, – some day!”

And a pathetic smile played upon the lips of the Moor.

Father Elzear hesitated to make the fatal confidence. Yet the hour was approaching and he resolved to speak.

“My brother has won the confidence of all by his gentleness and courage; why, then, this morning did he – ”

Father Elzear could not continue.

The Moor looked at him, astonished.

“Why, this morning, instead of obeying the overseer’s orders, did my brother strike him?”

“I struck him, father, because he struck me without cause.”

“Alas! no doubt you were, as a little while ago, absorbed in your sad reflections; they prevented your hearing the overseer’s orders.”

“Did he give me orders?” asked the Moor, with a startled air.

“Twice, my brother; he even reprimanded you for not performing them. Taking your silence for an insult, he then struck you.”

“It must be as you say, father. I repent having struck the overseer. I did not hear him. In dreaming of the past, I forgot the present. I saw again my little home in Gigeri; my little Acoub came to meet me. I was listening to his voice, and, raising my eyes, I saw his mother opening the blinds of our balcony.”

Then, with these words, returning to his former position, the Moor bowed his head in heaviness and despondency, and two tears flowed down his bronzed cheeks, as he said, with a heartrending expression: “And then, nothing more, – nothing more.”

At the aspect of this man, already so unhappy, the good brother shuddered at the thought of what he must tell him; he was on the point of giving up the painful mission, but he took courage, and said;

“I am very sorry that my brother was so absorbed this morning, because I know he did not mean to strike the overseer. But, alas, discipline demands that he must be punished for it.”

“Pardon me, father, that I was not able to repress my first movement. Since my captivity, it was the first happy dream I have had. The blows of the whip tore me away from this cherished dream. I was furious, not with pain, but with sorrow. Besides, what matters it? I am a slave here; I will endure the punishment.”

“But this punishment is cruel, my poor, unfortunate brother, – it is so cruel that I will not leave you during its execution; it is so cruel that I will be near you, and I will pray for you, and my loving hands at least shall clasp your hands contracted in agony.”

The Moor looked at Father Elzear intently, then said, with an accent of resignation, almost of indifference:

“Shall I have, then, to suffer so much?”

The priest, without replying to him, pressed his hands more strongly in his own, and fixed his tearful eyes on his face.

“Yet I did my duty as a slave, the best that I could possibly do. But what matters it!” said the Moor, sighing; “God will bless you, father, for not forsaking me. And when am I to suffer?”

“To-day – presently – ”

“What must I do, good old father? Bear it, and bless God that he has sent you to me in this fatal moment.”

“Poor creature!” cried Father Elzear, profoundly moved by this resignation, “you do not know, alas, what you will have to suffer!”

And, with a trembling voice, the priest explained to him in a few words the nature of the suffering he was to endure.

The Moor shuddered a little, and said: “At least, my wife and child will know nothing of it.”

At this moment the captain of the mast and four soldiers, wearing cassocks of black felt with white crosses, approached the bench to which the Moor was chained.

“Hugues,” said Father Elzear to the captain, “suspend the execution, I pray you, until I have spoken with my brother.”

The discipline established on the galley was so severe, so absolute, that the gunner looked at the priest with an undecided air, but, thanks to the respect that Father Elzear inspired, he did not dare refuse his request.

The father hastened to the chamber of the commander, in order to intercede with him for the unhappy Moor.

After having crossed the narrow passage which conducted to his brother’s apartment, he saw the key of the door enveloped in crape.

This sign, always respected, announced that the commander forbade absolutely and to all the entrance to his chamber.

Nevertheless, the Moor inspired such interest that Father Elzear, although well-nigh convinced of the futility of his effort, desired to make one last trial.

He entered the commander’s chamber.

CHAPTER XXIII. THE COMMANDER

The spectacle which met the eyes of Father Elzear was both frightful and solemn.

The chamber, which was very small, and lighted only by two narrow windows, was hung with black.

A coffin of white wood, filled with ashes, and fastened to the floor by screws, served as a bed for Commander Pierre des Anbiez.

Above this funereal bed was suspended the portrait of a young man wearing a cuirass, and leaning on a helmet. An aquiline nose, a delicate and gracefully chiselled mouth, and large, sea-green eyes gave to this face an expression which was, at the same time, proud and benevolent.

Below the frame, on a tablet, was written distinctly the date December 25,1613; a black curtain hanging near the picture could be drawn over it at pleasure.

Weapons of war, attached to a rack, constituted the sole ornaments of this gruesome habitation.

Pierre des Anbiez had not observed the entrance of his brother. On his knees before his praying-desk, the commander was half covered with a coarse haircloth, which he wore night and day; his shoulders were bare. By the drops of coagulated blood, and by the furrows which veined his flesh, it could be seen that he had just inflicted upon himself a bloody discipline. His bowed head rested on his two hands, and now and then convulsive shudders shook his lacerated shoulders, as if his breast heaved under the agony of suppressed sobs. The praying-desk, where he was kneeling, was placed below the two small windows, which admitted an occasional and doubtful light into this chamber.

In the midst of this dim light the pale face and long white vestments of Father Elzear contrasted strangely with the wainscoting hung with black; he looked like a spectre. He stood there as if petrified; he had never believed his brother capable of such mortifications, and, lifting his hands to Heaven, he uttered a profound sigh.

The commander started. He turned around quickly, and, seeing in the shadow the immovable figure of Father Elzear, cried, in terror:

“Are you a spirit? Do you come to ask account of the blood I have shed?” His countenance was frightful. Never remorse, never despair, never terror impressed its seal more terribly upon the brow of guilt!

His eyes, red with weeping, were fixed and haggard; his gray, closely shaven hair seemed to bristle upon his brow; his bluish lips trembled with fear, and his scraggy, muscular arms were extended before him as if they entreated a supernatural vision.