The Prime Minister

by William Henry Giles Kingston

The gaoler retired, and directly after returned, ushering in a cowled and bare-footed Friar.

“Pax vobiscum,” said the holy man, as he entered. “I come, my son, to bring food and comfort to your soul. Leave us,” he added, turning to the gaoler, “I would be alone with the prisoner.”

No sooner had the gaoler withdrawn, than the Friar, throwing back his hood, exhibited to the astonished gaze of his intended penitent, the rotund and ruddy countenance of the holy Frè Diogo Lopez.

“Hush!” said that worthy person, putting his finger to his lips. “I am sorry to find you a prisoner here, though I am glad that it is I who have been sent to you. Come, give me an embrace, to convince me that you retain a kindly recollection of me.”

Luis, scarcely able to speak with surprise, performed the ceremony; indeed, the face of one who, though he considered him a rogue, had always shown a friendly disposition towards himself, could not but afford him pleasure.

“Now, we will make ourselves as happy as circumstances will permit,” continued the Friar, at the same time producing from beneath his gown a good sized flask, and a couple of glasses, which he placed on the table, a smile curling his lips, and his eyes glistening the while. “Stand there, my friends, till you are wanted,” he added, as he seated himself on the bed. “Now, Don Luis, I wish to convince you that, although you once thought me a rogue, I can, at all events, be honest towards you. I am sent here to pump you, to discover all your secrets, and to betray them to the Governor. Now, take my advice; do not tell them to me, or any other confessor; and as there are no proofs against you, as far as I can learn, you have a chance of escaping the punishment many others are about to suffer. This plan will prevent either of us incurring any risk, and I shall feel a wonderful satisfaction in deceiving that cunning devil of a Governor. Ha, ha! the very thought amuses me. I little thought that you were among the unfortunate prisoners shut up in this horrid place, till the Governor sent for me to-day, and informed me that one of his pets desired to see a priest, in order to make confession, desiring me to learn all I could, and let him know without delay. I have done so often before, without feeling any compunction on the subject; for there are so many knaves in the world, that I considered it as merely telling one rogue’s secrets to another rogue, besides being well paid into the bargain. I do not wish to know yours, in case I might be tempted to betray them. With me the old weakness is as strong as ever. I cannot resist temptation, though I bitterly repent it afterwards. I, by chance, inquired the name of my penitent, when, to my surprise and sorrow, I learnt it was you. However, I soon made up my mind how to act, and, providing myself with that flask of good wine, I determined to make a jovial evening of it with a clear conscience, instead of hypocritically drawing the secrets from some poor wretch, to betray him afterwards. So now, my dear Don Luis, or rather I ought to say Count, let us to business. I can give you a short shrift afterwards, if you require it, when we have finished the bottle.”

So saying, the Friar drew the table between himself and Luis, and filling both glasses with wine, he nodded familiarly to his penitent, draining his off, and smacking his lips, to set him an example. He then indulged in a low quiet chuckle at the young Count’s astonishment.

Luis first felt inclined to be disgusted with the Friar’s open acknowledgment of his contempt for the sacred office he performed; but the imperturbable coolness and thorough good nature of the latter, at last conquered that feeling, and, forgetting that he had come to perform a religious rite, he could no longer refrain from pledging him in return.

“Well, my dear Count, I am glad to find that you have at length conquered your scruples,” said Frè Diogo, laughing. “I have always said it is impossible to know what a man really is till you learn his works. Now, if I had put on a sanctimonious face, played shriver, and betrayed you, you would have considered me a very pious man; and now, because I tell you the truth, and kick hypocrisy to the devil who invented it, you, in your heart of hearts, believe me a knave. Well, it cannot be helped, such is the way of the world. Come, Count, don’t be cast down, you have many years to enjoy life yet before you, if I mistake not. Fill your glass, and drive away care. I wish I could venture to sing a stave, it would wonderfully rouse your spirits, but it would not do to be heard—even I could not pass it off as a hymn.” And the Friar hummed a few lines of a song in a low tone. “Bah! the effect is spoilt; you ought to hear it trolled forth by a jovial set of us, the roof of the old hall of our convent rings again. Oh, that would do your heart good!”

Luis, in spite of himself, could not help joining in the Friar’s merriment, which seemed to give the latter much satisfaction. “That is as it should be, my friend; I wish the gaolers were deaf, and that the rascally Governor was not likely to be prowling this way, for we might drink and sing away to our heart’s content. Come, help me to finish the bottle, or I shall not be quite in a clerical state to make a clear report to the Governor of your confession.”