Rita Monaldi - Imprimatur

Whereupon, the Jesuit withdrew in great haste.

So as not to attract attention to myself, I waited until the group had dispersed, then at once followed Padre Robleda. I caught up with him just as he was crossing the threshold of his own apartment.

Still half out of breath, I said to him that I was most apprehensive for my master's soul: had the oil cleansed Pellegrino's conscience of sins, so that he would run no risk of perishing in the Inferno? Or must he confess himself before dying? And what would happen if he did not regain consciousness before he died?

"Oh, if that is what is troubling you," replied Robleda hurriedly, "you need not worry: 'twill not be your master's fault if, before dying, he is unable to return to his senses for long enough to render a full confession of his little sins to the Lord."

"I know," I promptly retorted, "but if there should also be mortal sins, as well as venial ones…"

"Do you perhaps know of some grave sin committed by your master?" asked the Jesuit, growing alarmed.

"As far as I know, he has never gone beyond some intemperance and a few glasses too many."

"Still, even if he had killed," said Robleda, signing himself, "that would not mean much."

And he explained to me that the Jesuit fathers, having a special vocation for the sacrament of Confession, had always made a careful study of the doctrine of sin and pardon: "There are greater sins that lead to the death of the soul, and these are in the majority. But there are also sins which are partially permissible," said he, lowering his voice bashfully, "or even sins which are permitted. That depends upon the circumstances, and for the confessor, I can assure you, the decision is always difficult."

The study of case histories was limitless, and was to be considered with the greatest prudence. Should absolution be accorded to a son who, in legitimate self-defence, kills his father? Does he commit a sin who, in order to avoid an unjust condemnation, kills a witness? And what of a wife who kills her husband, knowing that he is about to render her the same service? May a nobleman, in order to defend his honour before his peers (which for him is of the uttermost importance) assassinate someone who has offended him? Does a soldier sin who, obeying a superior's order, kills an innocent? Or again: may a woman prostitute herself in order to save her own children from hunger?

"And is stealing always a sin, Padre?" I insisted, remembering that my master's over-indulgence in the contents of the cellar did not always draw upon what belonged to him.

"Anything but. Here, too, one must consider the inner and outer circumstances in which the act was accomplished. It is certainly not the same when a rich man robs a poor one as when a poor man robs a rich one, or a rich man another rich man, or a poor man another poor man, and so on, and so forth."

"But cannot one gain pardon in all cases when one returns what has been stolen?"

"You are too hasty! The obligation to return stolen goods is, of course, important, and the confessor is in duty bound to bring this to the attention of whoever confides the matter to him. But the obligation may also be subject to limitations, or even be cancelled out. It is not necessary to return what has been stolen if that means impoverishing oneself: a nobleman may not deprive himself of servants, and a distinguished citizen may certainly not demean himself by working."

"But if I am not under any obligation to restore what was wrongfully taken, as you put it, then what must I do to obtain pardon?"

"That depends. It may sometimes be best to visit the offended party at home and to beg his forgiveness."

"And taxes? What happens if one does not pay what is owed?"

"Well, well, that is a delicate matter. Taxes fall within the category of res odiosae, in the sense that no one pays them willingly. Let us say that it is surely a sin not to pay those which are just, while in the case of unjust taxes, the matter should be examined case by case."

Robleda then enlightened me on many other instances in which, not knowing Jesuit doctrine, I would doubtless have reached very different conclusions: a man who has been unjustly condemned may escape from prison and may get the guards drunk and help his fellow prisoners to escape; it is licit to rejoice at the death of a relative who leaves one a great inheritance, so long as that is done without personal enmity; one may read books which have been banned by the Church, but for no more than three days and six pages at a time; one may steal from one's parents without sinning, but no more than fifty gold pieces; and whoever swears on oath but only pretends to do so is not obliged to keep his word.

"In other words, one may perjure oneself!" I concluded in utter astonishment.

"Do not be so crude. It all depends on the intention. Sin is deliberate detachment from the Word of God," intoned Robleda solemnly. "If, however, one commits it only in appearance, but without real intent, then one will be saved."

I left Robleda's chamber, vacillating between disquiet and prostration. Thanks to the learning of the Jesuits, I thought, Pellegrino had good chances of saving his soul. But from this discourse it seemed almost as though white were black, truth the same as lies, and good and evil one and the same thing.

Perhaps Abbot Melani was not as upright as he would wish one to believe. But, I thought, Robleda was even less to be trusted.

Luncheon was already late, and our guests, who had fasted since the evening before, descended rapidly to the kitchen. After hastily regaling themselves with my broth containing little dumplings and hop shoots, which no one cared for, it was Cristofano who called our attention to what was to be done next. The men-at-arms would soon be calling us to appear at the windows. The presence of another sick person would surely cause the Congregation for Public Health to decree there was a danger of pestilence and the quarantine would then be maintained and strengthened. Perhaps a pest-house might be improvised to which we would all sooner or later be transferred. Such a possibility was enough to make even brave men tremble.

"Then, our only hope is to try to escape," gasped the glass-blower Brenozzi.

"It would not be possible," observed Cristofano. "They will already have erected gates and closed off the road, and even if we were to succeed in getting past them, we would be hunted down throughout the Papal States. We could try to cross the territory in the direction of Loreto, fleeing through the woods, and to embark on the Adriatic and flee by sea. But I have no sure friends along that way, nor do I think that any of us is better off in that respect. We would be reduced to begging strangers to take us in, always running the risk of betrayal by whoever offers us hospitality. Otherwise, we could try to take refuge in the Kingdom of Naples, travelling by night and sleeping by day. I am certainly no longer of an age to support such heavy exertions; and there are others among you who have perhaps not been favoured by nature. Besides, we would, of course, need a guide, a shepherd or a villager, who would not be so easy to persuade, to lead us through the hills and vales, and who must above all not guess that we are hunted fugitives, or he would hand us over to his master without thinking twice. Lastly, we are too numerous to escape, and none of us bear certificates of health: so we would all be stopped at the first border post. Our chances of success would, in other words, be negligible. And all that without counting the fact that, even were we to succeed, we would be doomed never to return to Rome."

"And so what?" rejoined Bedfordi, snorting disdainfully and letting his hands dangle ridiculously from his wrists in a gesture of impatience.

"And so, Pellegrino will reply to the roll-call," replied Cristofano without the slightest loss of composure.