OUR LADY DEL PILAR.
"The foe retires--she heads the sallying host,
Who can appease like her a lover's ghost?
Who can so well appease a lover's fall?
What maid retrieve when man's flushed hope is lost?
Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul,
Foiled by a woman's hand before a battered wall."
BYRON.
"What a singular adventure this is," thought Quentin; "and what a
perplexing position for us both! It is very romantic, certainly. A
deserted house, a lovely girl, and all that. 'Tis very like some
incidents I have read of, and some I have imagined; but, by Jove! I
wish I could see my way handsomely out of it."
The last desire resulted from the unpleasant recollection of the
Padre Trevino's face and intonation of voice, when he spoke so
impressively of the _interest he_ felt in the lady committed to his
care, and the sternly expressed anxiety that she should reach
Portalegre "without hindrance or _delay_."
Was the fellow only acting a part, or could it be that the ugly ogre
actually had some tender fancy for Isidora? Whether he had or not,
an unfrocked friar, especially of his peculiar character, had not
much chance of success with the sister or support from the brother,
so Quentin dismissed the idea.
"How charming she looks!" he thought, stealing a glance at the long
lashes of the now pensive eyes, the soft features half shaded by the
black lace veil, and the graceful contour of her bust and shoulders,
in her low-cut scarlet velvet corset. "How delightful, if, instead
of being lost in this barbarous place, she were at Rohallion or
Ardgour; what a lovely friend and companion for Flora!"
Poor Quentin! Alas, this was but the sophistry of the heart, and
was, perhaps, its first impulse towards the donna herself, and might
end by her image supplanting Flora's there.
"Such desecration, that her hand should even be touched by such a
wretch as Trevino!"
He had muttered his last thought aloud, so Donna Isidora looked up
and said--
"You mentioned the Padre Trevino?"
"Did I?--surely not?" replied Quentin, as the colour rushed into his
face.
"Yes--what of him, senor?" she asked, fixing her soft, dark eyes on
him inquiringly.
"I must have been dreaming."
"Scarcely," said she, smiling, "while the thunder makes such a noise;
you were thinking aloud."
"Perhaps."
"Of what? I insist on knowing."
"I cannot help reflecting, senora, that such actions as those in
which Trevino seems to exult, must damage the Spanish cause in the
eyes of Europe and of humanity, and thus--excuse me----but I begin to
lose faith in your countrymen, even before we test alliance with them
fully."
"And what say you of the recent siege of Zaragossa?"
"Ah, Don José Palafox is a brave man, certainly; and brave too, is
Augustina, the Maid of Zaragossa, who led the cannoneers in the
defence of the Portillo against Lefebre."
"She had lost her lover in the siege, so apart from inspiration, her
courage was no marvel."
"And you, senora--if you lost a lover?"
"I have lost several; but if I lost one whom I loved, you mean?"
"Yes--and who loved you well and truly?"
"I would face ten thousand cannon to avenge him!--Augustina did
nothing that I would not dare and do!" replied Isidora, as her eyes
sparkled, and she pressed her clenched hand into the soft cheek that
rested on it.
"A beautiful little spitfire!" thought Quentin.
"But, senor, you must be aware that neither Palafox the Arragonese
nor the girl Augustina could have achieved all they did, save for the
aid of our Lady del Pilar?"
"What lady is she?" asked Quentin.
"Madre divina, listen to him! It grieves me sadly, amigo mio, to
think--to think----"
"What?" asked Quentin, as she paused.
"That you are a heretic, innocently, through no fault of your own,
and yet born to perdition."
"You are not very complimentary, yet I pardon you, my dear senora,"
replied Quentin, laughing as he kissed her hand--which we fear he did
rather frequently now.
"Shall I try to teach you, and lead your heart as I would wish it?"
she asked, with a gentle smile.
"If you please, senora."
"I mean, to instil a proper spirit of adoration in it?"
"If it is adoration of yourself, senora, I fear my heart is learning
that fast enough already," replied Quentin, with such a caballero air
that the donna laughed and coloured, but accepted the answer as a
mere compliment; "then tell me," he added, "about this Lady del
Pilar, who aided Don José Palafox."
"She is the guardian saint of the city of Zaragossa, and save but for
her assistance, he had never withstood the arms of France so long;
for it was faith in her, and her only, that inspired Palafox to make
a resistance so terrible!"
"But tell me about her, Donna Isidora."
"You must learn, senor, that after the resurrection of our blessed
Lord, when the twelve apostles separated and went to preach the
gospel in different parts of the world, St. George set out for
England, St. Anthony for Italy, and the others went elsewhere; but
Santiago the elder set out for Spain, a land which, say our annals,
the Saviour commended to his peculiar care.
"Before departing from Judea, he went to the humble dwelling of the
blessed Virgin--the same little hut that is now at Loretto--to kiss
her hand, on his knees to obtain her permission to set forth, and her
blessing on his labours. After bestowing it, she adjured him to
build a church unto her honour in that city of Spain where he should
make the most important, or the greatest number of converts.
"So the saint set sail in a Roman galley, but was driven through the
Pillars of Hercules into the Atlantic ocean, and after enduring great
perils along the shores of Lusitania, he landed in the kingdom of
Galicia. Proceeding through the land, he went barefooted, preaching
the gospel, teaching and baptizing, but with little success, until he
came to a fair city of Arragon, on the banks of the Ebro and the
Guerva, in the midst of a vast and lovely plain. Surrounded by
fertile fields of corn, and by groves of orange and lime trees, its
stately towers were visible from afar, glittering white as snow in
the sunshine; but in its marble temples false gods and goddesses were
worshipped by the people.
"Enchanted by the sight of a city so fair, the saint rested on his
staff and asked of a wayfarer how it was named; and he was told that
it was Cæsarea Augusta; so entering, he began to preach in the public
thoroughfares, and ere long made eight disciples, who gave all they
possessed to the poor, and followed him.
"Full of joy with his success he retired, one evening, to a little
grove on the banks of the Ebro, with his eight new friends, and
there, after long and holy converse, they fell asleep under the
orange trees; but between the night and morning they were awakened by
hearing a choir, possessed of a harmony that was divine, singing 'Ave
Maria gratia plena, Dominus tecum;' yet they saw not from whence the
sound proceeded.
"Louder swelled this mysterious harmony, and louder still, until they
seemed to be in the midst of it.
"Listening in wonder and awe they fell on their knees, and lo, senor!
a marvellous silver light, brighter than that of day, filled all the
orange grove, and amid a choir of angels, whose golden hair floated
over their shoulders, whose wings and robes were white as the new
fallen snow, and whose faces bloomed with the purity and radiance of
heaven, there, on the summit of a white marble pillar, stood the
blessed Madonna, with her fair brow crowned by thirteen stars, and
her robe all of a dazzling brightness. With a divine smile on her
face, she listened to the choir, who went through the whole of her
matin service.
"When it was ended, when the voices of the angels were hushed, their
eyes cast down, and their hands meekly folded on their bosoms,
"'Santiago,' said she, 'here on this spot raise them the church of
which I told thee, and build it round this pillar, which I have
brought hither by the hands of angels; here shall it abide until the
end of the world, and all the powers of hell shall not prevail
against it!'
"The saint and his eight disciples, who were all on their knees in
reverence and awe, bowed low at this command; when they looked up,
the Virgin had disappeared with all her shining choir, and nothing
remained but the miraculous pillar of polished marble, standing cold,
white, and solitary, amid the moonlight, by the bank of the Ebro.
"So around that column he built the famous church of Our Lady del
Pilar, which has been the scene of a thousand miracles; about it, ere
long, grew the vast Christian city now named Zaragossa, which, as my
father the professor always assured me, is but a corruption of the
original name, Cæsarea-Augusta.
"Santiago rests from his holy labours in Compostella, where he was
martyred by the barbarous Galicians, and where his bones were
discovered in after years by a miraculous star that burned over his
grave. When danger threatens Spain, the clashing of arms and of
armour is heard within his tomb, for he is her tutelary guardian, and
so greatly do we venerate him, that of the canons of his cathedral
seven, at least, must be cardinal priests: and there, at Compostella,
he appeared in a vision to the king, Don Ramiro, before his famous
battle with the Moors, and promised him victory for withholding the
annual tribute of a hundred Christian girls.
"Time passed over Zaragossa, and even the infidel Moors respected the
holy pillar, for it was found uninjured when the city was re-captured
from them by Don Alphonso of Arragon.
"And so last year, when the French had pushed their batteries along
the right bank of the Guerva, and had beaten down the rampart; and
when, at their head, General Ribeaupierre had cut a passage through
the ranks of Palafox into the wide and stately Coso: when Lefebre
assailed the Portillo, and was repulsed with the loss of two thousand
men, but returned with renewed fury, when a carnage ensued that must
have ended in the fall of Zaragossa and the capture of Don José,
_then_ it was, senor, that the young girl Augustina, inspired by
vengeance for her lover's fall, appeared among the soldiers, calling
on Our Lady del Pilar to aid her chosen city.
"Then springing over dead and dying, she snatched a lighted match
from her dead lover's hand and discharged a twenty-six pounder loaded
with grapeshot full at the advancing foe, and animated the citizens
to continue that awful struggle by which Zaragossa was saved, though
the flower of Arragon perished. Foot to foot and breast to breast
they fought, contesting every street and house, from floor to floor,
till the French retired. Augustina received a noble pension, and now
wears on her sleeve a shield of honour with the city's name."
By the time this story was ended, darkness had almost set in; the
rain was still rushing down in a ceaseless flood, and the vivid
lightning, with its green and ghastly glare, lit up from time to time
the gloomy chambers of the silent villa.
Remembering that he had seen a lamp in one of the rooms, Quentin was
about to go in search of it, when the sound of a heavy door closing
with a bang that echoed through all the mansion, made him pause, and
as he was Scotsman enough to have certain undefined but superstitious
notions, he turned to his companion, who on hearing this unexpected
noise, had started from her seat with her eyes dilated and her lips
parted.
"You heard that, senora?" said he.
"It is the private door of the chapel--the door through which we
passed," she replied.
"What has caused it to open and shut?"
"The wind, probably."
"It can be nothing else, senora, though in truth I was thinking of
those two effigies that for seven hundred years have stood, with
their stony eyes uplifted and their mailed hands clasped in prayer."
"What of them?" she asked, with surprise.
"What if they got off their pedestals and took a promenade through
the villa on this stormy night?"
"Ah, senor, don't talk of such things!" said Donna Isidora, as she
shrunk close to him and laid her hand on his arm.
END OF VOL. II.