GREAT LOVE--AND GREATER
Now this is the explanation of these things.
In his hot youth, Philip, son of the great Emperor, had wedded in secret
his comrade's sister, that comrade being one of the richest and most
ancient nobles of his kingdom, Osorio, Marquis of Astorga. But by a
miracle of abnegation, Isabel Osorio had stood aside, her brother and
the full family council approving her act, in order that her husband,
and the father of her three children, should add Portugal, and
afterwards England, to his Spanish domains.
Therefore, from the point of view of dynasty, the Osorios of Astorga
held the succession of the kingdom of Spain in their hands. At the least
they could have produced a bloody war, which would have rent Spain from
one end to the other, on behalf of the succession of Isabel Osorio's
children. Therefore it had been the main purpose of Philip to keep them
all unmarried. The sons, Pierre and Bernardino, he had severally made
priors of great Flemish and Italian monasteries. Only Valentine la Nina
he had never been able to dispose of according to his will. Now he had
her word. No wonder that the King slept more soundly that night.
After all, what did it matter to him if a couple of heretics escaped--if
only Valentine la Nina were once safely cloistered within the house of
the Carmelites of El Parral. It cannot be denied, however, that a
thought of treachery passed across the royal--oh, so little royal--mind.
"Afterwards?" he murmured "But no--that would not do. I must keep my
word--a painful necessity, but a necessity. The Osorios of Astorga are
too powerful. To spite me, Valentine might return to the world. And the
Pope would be glad enough to embroil the succession of Spain, in the
interests of the Milanais and his own Italian provinces."
After all, better to keep his word! So, satiated with well-doing and
well-intending, the King said a prayer, clicked his beads, and as he
turned towards the slit in his bedroom through which he could see the
high altar, he thanked God that he was not as other men. He could
forgive. He could fulfil. Nay, he would go himself and witness the
ceremony of the Black Veil--to make sure that his daughter really became
the bride of Holy Church. And to this end he sent certain orders to
Tarragona.
* * * * *
Philip II. had a natural eye for artistic effect. He would, indeed, have
preferred to send the inconvenient Valentine willy-nilly to a convent.
He would have delighted to arrange the details of the funeral pyre of
these two dangerous heretics, John d'Albret and Francis the Scot. It
would have cost him nothing, even, to permit the piquant young beauty of
Claire Agnew to perish with the rest.
But Valentine la Nina had posed her conditions most carefully. The
Marquis, her near kinsman, had come specially from Leon, with many
gentlemen of the province in his train. For, though never insisted on,
the nativity of Valentine was no secret for the grandees of her own
province.
The chapel of the Convent of the Carmelites on the Parral of Madrid had
been arranged by Philip's orders for a great ceremonial. He attended to
the matter in person, for nothing was too great or too little for him.
A sweet sound of chanting was heard, and from behind the tall iron bars
of the _coro_ the spectators, as they assembled, could dimly see the
forms of the cloistered nuns--of that Carmelite Order, the most austere
in Spain, no one of whom would ever again look upon the face of man.
There before an altar, dressed for the occasion, and in presence of the
King, Claire and John d'Albret stood hand in hand. There they exchanged
their vows, with many onlookers, but with one sole maid of honour. And
when it was demanded, as is customary, "Who giveth this woman?" the tall
figure of Francis Agnew, bent and bearded, took his daughter's hand and
placed it in that of Valentine, who, herself arrayed like another bride,
all in white, with lace and veil, stood by Claire's side. Valentine la
Nina looked once, a long, holding look, into the eyes of John d'Albret.
Then she took the hand of the bride and placed it in his. The
officiating priest said no word.
For, indeed, it was she who had given this woman to this man--more, too,
she had given him her own life.
King Philip looked on, sternly smiling, from the stall which, as a canon
of Leon, was his right. Now, however, he had laid aside his monk's
dress, and was arrayed royally, as became the first cavalier of Spain.
What the King was really waiting for came later.
Valentine la Nina retired to a tiring-room where, the first ceremonies
accomplished, her splendid hair was cut close, and she was attired in
the white and brown of the Order of the Carmelites. Then the final black
veil was thrown over her head. She came forth with her sponsors--two
cardinal-archbishops in the splendid array of their rank as princes of
the Church. The chant from the choir rose high and clear. Behind the
black bars the cloistered nuns, their veils about their faces, clustered
closer. The wedding-party had drawn back, John d'Albret standing in the
midst, with Claire on his arm, clinging close and sobbing--for the debt
which another had paid. The procession of priests passed slowly back
down the aisle. Valentine was left kneeling before the altar with only
her sponsors on either side.
"_Sister Maria of the Renunciation!_"
The Archbishop of Toledo proclaimed the new name of this latest bride of
Holy Church. Claire whispered, "What is it? Oh, what does it mean? I do
not understand!"
For the Protestant and foreigner can never understand the awfulness of
that sacrifice. Even now it did not seem real to Claire. Surely, oh,
surely she was walking in a vain show. Soon she must awake from this
dream and find Valentine by her side, as she had been for weeks past.
But, in the midst of the solemn chant, the black gratings of iron
opened. The nuns could be seen kneeling on either side, their heads
bowed almost to the ground. Only the abbess came forward, a tall old
woman, groping and tottering, her bony hand scarce able to find its way
through the dense folds of her veil.
She stretched out her hand, feeling this way and that, like a creature
of the dark blinded by the light. The two cardinals delivered the new
sister of the Order into her charge. This was done silently. The sound
of Claire's sobs could be heard distinctly.
But ere the tall iron gratings shut together, ere the interrupted chant
lifted itself leisurely out of the silence, ere the groping hands of the
old blind abbess could grasp hers, Valentine la Nina had turned once
more to look her last on the world she was leaving.
Her eyes searched for and met those of John d'Albret. And if soul ever
spoke to soul these were the words they said to him, "This I have done
for you!"
The huge barred doors creaked and rasped their way back, shutting with a
clank of jarring iron, not to be again opened till another sister
entered that living tomb.
Dimly the files of phantom Carmelites could be seen receding farther and
farther towards the high altar. The chant sank to a whisper. Valentine
la Nina was no more for this world.
With a choking sob Claire fell into her husband's arms.
"God make me worthy!" she whispered, holding very close.
* * * * *
AFTER THE CURTAIN
In the Mas of the Mountain the olive logs were piled high. The mistral
of November made rage outside. But those who gathered round were well
content. Claire sat by Dame Amelie's knee, her hand in her father's, her
husband watching her proudly.
There were the three brothers, to all appearance not a day older--the
Professor with a huge Pliny on his knee, the miller with the lines of
farina-dust back again in the crow's feet about his eyes, and Don Jordy,
who had taken up the succession of a notary's office in Avignon, which
is a great city for matters and quarrels ecclesiastical, being Papal
territory of the strictest: he also throve.
The three were telling each other for the thousandth time how glad they
were to be free and bachelors. Thus they had none to consider but
themselves. The world was open and easy before them. Nothing was more
light than the heart of a woman--nothing heavier than that of a man
saddled with a wife. In short, the vine having been swept clean, the
grapes had become very, very sour.
All this in natural pleasantry, while Dame Amelie interrupted them with
her ever-new rejoinder.
"They are slow--slow, my sons," she murmured, patting the head of Claire
which touched her side--"slow, but good lads. Only--they will be dead
before they are married!"
Into the quietly merry circle came Jean-aux-Choux. He brought great
news.
"The Bearnais has beaten Mayenne and bought the others!" he cried;
"France will be a quiet land for many days--no place for Jean-aux-Choux.
So I will hie me to the Prince of Orange, and there seek some good
fighting for the Religion! Will you come with me, Francis Agnew, as in
the days before the Bartholomew?"
But the worn man shook his head.
"I have been too long at the oar, Jean-aux-Choux!" he said. "Moreover, I
am too old. When I see these young folk settled in that which the
Bearnais hath promised them, I have a thought to win back and lay this
tired tickle of bones in good Wigtonshire mould--somewhere within sough
of the Back Shore of the Solway, where the waves will sing me to sleep
at nights! Come back with me, John Stirling, and we will eat oaten cakes
and tell old tales!"
"Not I," cried Jean-aux-Choux, "I go where the fighting is--where the
weapon-work is to be done. I shall die on a battle-field--or on the
scaffold. But on the shore of mine own land will I not set a foot,
unless"--he paused a moment as if the more surely to launch his phrase
of denunciation--"unless the Woman-clad-in-Scarlet, Mother of
Abominations, returns thither in her power! Then and then alone will
John Stirling (called Jean-aux-Choux) tread Scottish earth."
So, without a good-bye, Jean-aux-Choux went out into the night and the
storm, his great piked staff thrust before him, and the firelight from
the sparkling olive-roots gleaming red on the brass-bound sheath of the
dagger which had been wet with the blood of Guise.
Then the Professor, looking across at the lovers, who had drawn together
in the semi-obscurity, murmured to himself, "Which is better--to love or
to go lonely? Which is happier--John d'Albret--or I? Who hath better
served the Lord--Valentine the cloistered Carmelite, or Jean-aux-Choux
the Calvinist, gone forth into the world to fight after his fashion the
fight of faith?"
Then aloud he said, speaking so suddenly that every one in the
comfortable kitchen started, "Who art thou that judgest another man's
servant? To his own master he standeth or falleth!"
Without, Jean-aux-Choux faced the storm and was happy. Within, the
lovers sat hand in hand in a great peace, and were happy also. And in
her narrow cell, who shall say that Valentine la Nina had not also some
happiness? She had given her life for another.
THE END