HOW TERESA AND GUILLEN BELIEVED THAT GOD HAD TOUCHED THE HEART OF DON
SUERO
On the following day, just as the sun was beginning to lessen the
intense cold of the morning, Teresa and Guillen departed from the
encampment of the bandits, with their consent, which had been obtained
on the previous evening, when the last of the wounded, who had been in
the power of Don Suero, returned with Bellido. As the journey was long
and the roads were bad, even worse than usual on account of the heavy
rain which had fallen, the Vengador had taken compassion on the weak
state of the Infanta, and had given her a very strong horse, which was
able to carry both her and the page. They both, therefore, mounted it,
extremely grateful for the generosity of the bandits, and, above all,
for the kindness of their chief, who had afforded them protection and
cared for them as well as he possibly could in that solitary place.
The two young people were journeying thus towards Carrion, conversing
lovingly, when about half-way they met a servant of Don Suero, who, on
perceiving them, stopped, full of joy on seeing his mistress at liberty,
for all the inhabitants of the castle, and of the surrounding district,
loved and respected her.
Teresa and Guillen were informed by him of all that had occurred in the
castle during their absence, and when they were about to continue their
journey, the Infanta asked Gonzalo, for that was the name of the
servant, whither he was going.
"My lady," he replied, "Don Suero sends me with a letter to the Count of
Cabra."
"Is he sending to his friend the count for aid, fearing that some other
band may attack the castle?" asked Teresa.
"My lady, I can only tell you that my master received tidings yesterday
from Zamora, which caused him great annoyance, so great that he beat me
with a stick, shut himself up in his apartment, and spoke to no person
until this morning, when he summoned me in order to give me a letter,
which he said I should bring to the Count of Cabra as quickly as
possible."
"Ah, you do not know, my good Gonzalo, what fear the bandits inspire me
with, now that I know how far their audacity may go," said the Infanta,
in order that the servant might not suspect that she had any other
object in having thus questioned him. "Proceed on your way now, my good
Gonzalo, proceed whither your master sends you, for we shall soon arrive
at the castle, and relieve the anxiety which my brother feels respecting
us."
Gonzalo then continued his way to Burgos, and Teresa and Guillen
proceeded towards Carrion.
"Guillen," said Teresa, "that letter which my brother is sending to the
Count of Cabra causes me to foresee events which may effect the peace of
my family. The Count of Cabra is the instrument which some of the
grandees of Leon and Castile have made use of, for many years, to plot
treasons and to carry out their mean revenges; for Don Garcia is a
skilled master in the art of conspiring, in everything that is cowardly
and cunning. To be in relations with him is the same as being engaged in
some treacherous action. Since he fled from his estates, although he
had sufficient armed retainers to resist the Moors, and came to Castile,
he lives by what those who have need of his assistance in carrying out
their plots, pay him."
"And I would stake a hundred to one that your brother is plotting some
treachery against the knight of Vivar, for he considers him his greatest
enemy, especially since Don Rodrigo challenged him, and, on his refusing
to fight with him, got notices posted up throughout Castile and Leon,
denouncing his cowardice, calling him a bad, disloyal, and treacherous
cavalier, together with other disagreeable names of a like nature, which
your brother has not forgotten. Besides, the great success of the
cavalier of Vivar has made him jealous, and he would be only too glad to
clip the wings which in so short a time have soared so high."
"I trust in God that we all shall not have to weep tears of blood on
account of the ambition, the injustice, and the wild and ungovernable
character of my brother. The house of Carrion, formerly loved and
respected by all, is now surrounded by enemies. Who now treats it with
respect? Who would draw a sword in its defence, on the day when all its
enemies will rise in open hostility against it? It is indeed powerful,
and its vassals are numerous enough to form an army, before which even
the King of Castile and Leon might well tremble; but how weak is power
when it has not love for its cement!"
Whilst engaged in this and other such conversations, the Castle of
Carrion appeared to their view. Teresa remembered the joy with which in
other times she had seen again those grey walls, when returning with her
parents from the frequent excursions which they were in the habit of
making, and when they were always received with ovations by their
vassals, amongst whom the lords of Carrion were looked on as a second
providence. She remembered what she had suffered within those walls from
the time she had lost her parents, and thought of what she might still
have to suffer; and the comparison of those two periods, so different
from each other, filled her heart with sadness. The Infanta almost felt
grief at having to return to the castle in which she had been born; she
was almost sorry for having left the camp of the bandits, for in it,
although she was the captive of the Vengador, she had Guillen
continually by her side, she could enjoy freely the sweet and ardent
love which dominated her soul, and God alone knew what awaited her in
the castle, God alone knew if there she should ever see Guillen near
her.
At length they arrived at the castle gate. Don Suero came out to meet
them, and, almost the first time in his life, he embraced Teresa, and
held out his hand to Guillen.
"You are heartily welcome, my sister," he said to the Infanta. "If the
natural roughness of my character, which contrasts with the sweetness of
yours, has ever caused you to doubt of my affection, that want of
confidence in me must henceforth cease. Think, Teresa, how much I must
love you when, in order not to draw upon you the vengeance of the
bandits, I renounced the exercise of mine on those accursed wretches,
when they were in my power. You, who know how undeserving of pity those
bandits are, who committed so many outrages in the district of Carrion,
who attacked so treacherously my castle; you, who know the terrible
chastisements which I am in the habit of inflicting on those who offend
me; you, my sister, can now understand the great sacrifice I have made
to ensure your safety. If you had not been in the power of the bandits,
my men-at-arms would have followed the track of the miserable remnant of
the band of the Vengador, would have overtaken them, and could have
completely exterminated them; but how could I pursue them when you were
amongst them, for, at the shooting of the first arrow by my men, those
pitiless wretches would have plunged their daggers in your heart."
"Oh, thanks, thanks, brother!" replied Teresa, much moved, and
forgetting the brutal tyranny which the count had practised on her
during so long a time; for the heart of Teresa was always open to
gratitude and affection; and to the poor girl, who had always seen
frowns and severity on the face of her brother, a kindly smile from him
was of inestimable value.
"To you I return my best thanks, my good Guillen," said Don Suero to the
page, "for having so loyally accompanied and guarded your mistress. I
have always looked on you differently than on my other attendants, and
from to-day you shall be the friend rather than the servant of the Count
of Carrion, for I know that you will become more and more worthy of my
esteem."
"My lord," replied Guillen in a stammering voice, "your goodness is
greater than my deserts. Was it not my simple duty to protect and defend
my mistress in every way in my power?"
The honourable page accused himself at that moment of disloyalty to his
master; his conscience was so upright, his soul was so noble and
delicate, that he could not help thinking to himself--
"I am vilely deceiving my master: Teresa is the most valuable thing he
has in his castle, and I have stolen it from him, like an unfaithful
servant; my lips speak one thing and my heart feels another." Such were
the thoughts that were disturbing the page and bringing a colour to his
cheeks.
If the words which her brother had addressed to her were sweet to
Teresa, those which he had spoken to Guillen were far sweeter to her.
Oh, how delicious did the name of "friend," which Don Suero had given to
the page, sound in her ears!
The Infanta entered her chamber filled with gladness, consolation, and
the hope of having happy days there instead of the sad ones she had
before spent in it; all this was not founded so much on the favourable
state of mind in which she had found her brother, as on the certainty
she felt that henceforth there would be one in the castle who loved her
tenderly and disinterestedly.
"I shall see Guillen every day," she thought to herself, "for my brother
will be grateful to him for the sacrifices he has made for me, the cares
he has lavished on me, his grief at seeing me deprived of almost the
necessaries of life; and thus he will attribute to my gratitude alone
the preference I will show him, my affection for him, and my desire to
see him constantly near me."
These thoughts, these hopes filled Teresa with happiness. That apartment
already seemed to her less lonely, less sad, less gloomy; she no longer
looked on herself as alone in the world; she breathed with freedom; she
saw the horizon of her life smiling and bright. She went to that narrow
window, at which she had so often shed tears, and directed her gaze on
the wide stretch of country which was visible from it. The sun had just
disappeared behind a hill, and in the fields could be heard the songs of
the shepherds and labourers, and the summons to prayer which was
sounding from all the belfries that arose on the extensive plain. This
sight, which had so often formerly saddened her heart, which had filled
her with an invincible and deep melancholy, now caused in her an
entirely different feeling; the songs of the country people, the chimes
of the bells, seemed to her as if they were celebrating her happiness
and announcing it to her.
She stood for a long time motionless at the window, buried in the
contemplation of her newly awakened hopes, blessing God who had
sweetened the bitterness of her life, and giving thanks to her mother,
to whose prayers she believed that she owed a great part of her
happiness; for that mother who, in other times, loved her, pitied her,
and consoled her, must have implored the mercy of God in her favour, in
favour of the sad orphan, isolated in the world and persecuted by her
own brother, by him who, when her mother died, should have loved,
pitied, and consoled her.
When Teresa was most absorbed in those sweet reflections, she heard some
person entering her chamber, and almost at the same moment the voice of
her brother, who thus affectionately addressed her:--
"Teresa, my sister, I could not retire to rest without first embracing
you, without seeing that you have everything necessary for your comfort,
without beseeching you to forget for ever my harshness towards you, for,
from this day, I shall not be a tyrant to you, as I have hitherto been,
but a brother to my good and gentle Teresa!"
Saying this, Don Suero opened his arms and clasped the Infanta to his
breast, with a seeming tenderness, which filled the sweet girl with
pleasure.
She endeavoured to speak, but could not, for the excitement of joy
smothered her voice. If at that moment Guillen had come to the door of
the chamber, he would have blessed God for having granted to him the
felicity of being loved by that angel, whose heart was overflowing with
affection and tenderness. For, when the noble maiden exhibited such
affection for her executioner, what would it not be for the kind-hearted
youth who loved, who adored her with the purest affection and the most
reverent adoration that a man can offer to a human creature.
Teresa was not able to express to her brother by means of words the
gratitude, the tenderness, and the joy which filled her heart, but a
kiss, which her lips imprinted on the cheek of Don Suero, spoke for her.
"My sister," continued the count, still in an affectionate tone of
voice, "until I saw you in danger, until you were absent from me, I did
not really know how much I loved you. Until one loses a thing, he often
does not recognise its value; whilst your sweet voice, your tenderness,
and your cares for me, soothed my troubles, and made life more
tolerable--a life constantly tortured, I know not how, whether by a
fatal destiny that thwarts all my plans, that constantly opposes my
will, and makes me hateful even in the eyes of those most disposed to
indulgence and affection; whilst I enjoyed this blessing, I did not know
how to appreciate it; but as soon as I was deprived of it, I understood
its value, and constantly lamented its loss. You cannot know, my sister,
how much I felt your absence, how I longed for your return, what anxiety
on your account drove my sleep away, whilst you were in the power of the
bandits. Every moment I feared either that a dagger might be plunged in
your breast, or that some villain might treacherously stain the purity
of the angel, whose custody the most tender and holy of women confided
to me when she went to heaven."
"Oh, may God bless you, brother!" exclaimed Teresa, at last recovering
her speech, as if God had come to her aid when she wished to praise her
mother; "God bless you, brother, for speaking thus of her who gave us
our being, and for so reverencing her memory! What will not be her
pleasure in looking down from heaven on the love you manifest for me! Do
you remember her last words, brother, do you remember them? 'Love each
other,' she said; 'let you, my son,' she added, looking towards you,
'watch over your sister; be her guide, her shield; for she is weak, and
has no one in the world but you to protect her!' We both then knelt down
by the bedside, and the last words she heard was the solemn promise we
made to follow her counsels and fulfil her wishes."
"Yes, my sister, I remember the last words of our mother; perhaps I have
forgotten them for a long time; but I repent of that forgetfulness, and
wish to expiate my fault, and give back to you that affection which I
have denied you; loving you henceforth, and, if necessary, sacrificing
my life for your happiness."
"Oh, my brother," exclaimed the Infanta, "how can I ever repay you for
those dear promises?"
"With your love, Teresa, with your love, and with the cancelling from
your memory of any cruelty with which I may have hitherto treated you.
From this day you shall be absolute mistress of this castle, and even I
will submit with pleasure to your commands. Mention to me the dueñas and
the maidens you wish to attend on you, the servants you desire to have
at your orders, and from this very night they shall be ready to obey
you."
"Those who have hitherto waited on me, my brother, will be sufficient."
Teresa believed that the occasion had presented itself to speak of
Guillen, to justify in the eyes of her brother the preference she
intended to show him, and to heighten the good opinion which Don Suero
already had of him. Her cheeks, however, became covered with blushes,
for the maiden had never concealed her real feelings, but now she felt
herself obliged to do so, and was fearful lest her words might reveal
them to her brother; she ventured to say, nevertheless, endeavouring to
conceal her agitation--
"The good Elvira is sufficient to attend to me; but as years have
deprived her, to a great extent, of her hearing, I cannot pass,
conversing with her, the long winter evenings, and I would wish that
Guillen might sometimes keep me company; you know how pleasant his
conversation usually is, always brightened with narratives which his
natural cleverness has enabled him to treasure up, and which he knows
how to make very entertaining."
"Well, then, sister, although Guillen is very useful to me, you can have
him with you as often as you desire, for indeed that youth is not only
the most discreet of our servants, but also the most loyal and
noble-hearted."
"Oh, if you only knew, my brother, the proofs of devotion and loyalty
which he gave me during our sojourn with the bandits! If you only knew
the cares he lavished on me, with what assiduity he guarded me whilst I
slept, with what solicitude he endeavoured to lessen the privations I
had to endure, and above all, with what self-forgetfulness, with what
bravery, in short, he shed his blood to defend me from one of the
bandits! Oh, my brother, Guillen is the son of an humble man, but the
heart of a cavalier beats in his breast."
Teresa stopped, fearing that if she continued to praise the page thus,
she might go farther than it was prudent to do.
"Do you say, Teresa, that Guillen shed his blood for you?" asked Don
Suero, much astonished.
"Yes; one night we were watching together in a dilapidated tent, which
the bandits had allotted to us, when one of those men entered it, and
commanded Guillen to leave him alone with me; but the faithful page
answered, that rather than do so, he would lose his life by my side. A
terrible fight then took place between Guillen and the bandit, and I
was saved, but the dagger of our persecutor wounded the hand which was
defending me."
"Oh, thanks, thanks, my good page, my good friend, for that is the name
I shall give him henceforth!" exclaimed Don Suero, with a seeming
tenderness and enthusiasm which increased very much the happiness of
Teresa.
"My sister," added the count, "both of us have need of repose, for it is
near midnight. You have not slept well for a long time, and I may almost
say the same of myself, for the thoughts of the dangers that menaced you
drove slumber from me."
The count then quitted the chamber of Teresa, having embraced her
affectionately. He proceeded to the place where Guillen was awaiting his
orders, and extending his hand to him, he said--
"Guillen, my friend, thanks for your loyalty. My sister has just related
to me all that you did for her, and I shall know how to recompense you.
From to-day it is my desire that you should always be at the orders of
the Infanta. Go to her apartments before retiring to rest, and see if
she has any commands for you."
The page felt himself almost wild with joy. He could not find words to
reply to his master, for all appeared too poor to express his gratitude,
but went off at once to her apartments, his head almost turned with the
delight he felt.
Had it not been for the habit he had acquired of respectfully calling
out the name of the Infanta on approaching her rooms, he would have
allowed himself to be borne away by the gladness which was intoxicating
him, by that species of madness with which he was possessed; he would
have approached Teresa, pouring forth the most affectionately familiar
names that the vocabulary of love contains. As he approached the
chamber, in very high spirits, he was evidently on the point of doing
so, but he checked himself, and only said, on entering the chamber--
"My lady, the count has sent me to receive your orders."
However, Teresa made him a familiar sign to come near her; then Guillen
abandoned his gravity, at once approached the maiden, and said to her--
"Oh, how happy I am, Teresa--how happy! To be always by your side, to
see you at all hours!"
"Yes, Guillen, yes," interrupted the Infanta. "The finger of God has
touched the heart of my brother. How happy we are, Guillen!" And she
added, with the smile of a child who amuses itself with other children,
"Let us now be content with the happiness that we have already
experienced, for there will be time enough to enjoy that which smiles on
us from all sides."
"Yes, Teresa, yes, my angel," murmured the page in a low voice, "let us
retire to rest, for when the heart is full of love there is happiness in
sleep. Go to your rest, my love, lulled to sleep by the happiness which
will lull me to sleep also."
And the happy lovers parted from each other.
Teresa did not send for Elvira to undress her, as she was in the habit
of doing, for she desired to be alone, entirely alone, in order to give
herself up unreservedly to her happy thoughts. She knelt down and
prayed, thanking God for the joy which she experienced, with as much
fervour and earnestness as a saint could have shown if the gates of
heaven, in a divine vision, had been opened before him.
She then retired to her bed, and in a very short time was in a deep
sleep.
The count was also sleeping--but let us not approach his couch, for the
angel of purity does not repose in it, for it is profaned by unholy
love. Let us approach that of Guillen or that of Teresa--let us only
approach that of the latter, for the chaste love which sleeps in the one
also sleeps in the other.
Teresa was dreaming of Guillen.
Guillen was dreaming of Teresa.
There is scarcely anyone in the world who has not dreamed, some time or
other, that the bonds of love united him to a being who until then had
been indifferent to him, and on awaking, and for some time after, had
thought with delight on that being, and where formerly he had seen only
an ordinary individual who awoke no feelings in his soul, now sees a
being surrounded with enchantment and poetry. How many constant, ardent
loves, fruitful of joys and sorrows, have had their birth in a dream!
Well, then, if the being who has been always indifferent to us, and to
whom we do not owe sacrifices of love, appears in dreams surrounded with
enchantment, ideality, and poesy, how must not that being appear to us
whom we have long loved, and who loves us sincerely, who has exposed his
life to save us; who is our only hope in this world; who physically and
morally has so many claims on our love, and appears to our eyes
surrounded with so many charms? Such was the case of Teresa in regard to
Guillen.
How beautiful, how sweet, how celestial, if it is right to employ that
word to express complete earthly happiness, was the dream which
presented itself to the Infanta of Carrion immediately on her falling
asleep, picturing to her the last loving words of Guillen! She dreamt
that she was in an enchanted land, in a paradise; light, flowers,
perfumes, harmonies, palaces of gold and diamonds surrounded her; there
men and women had the bodies of angels, and also the souls of angels;
there were neither masters nor servants in that beautiful place, neither
oppressed nor oppressors, for the will of one was the will of all; there
was a common soul-feeling amongst them, as there is a common atmosphere
for all living beings; there the sky was ever blue and calm, and the sun
was never clouded; there the verdure of the fields, and the colour, and
the freshness, and the perfume of the flowers were eternal; there the
birds always sang, but their music was ever sweet and in delicious
harmony, like the harps of the seraphim; there no serpent hissed, and no
wild animal lurked in the thickets; there the feet of the wayfarers were
not wounded by thorns or brambles; there storms did not rage, the sun
did not parch the ground, and the frost, snow, and biting blasts of
winter did not benumb; there the trees were ever laden with scented
blossoms and delicious fruits; and there, in the midst of that land of
enchantment, of that heaven, she and he lived, the two beloved of each
other, Guillen and Teresa, and their love was so great, and their
happiness so immense, that they almost feared to excite the envy of the
inhabitants of that paradise, all happy, all lovers, all intoxicated
with boundless and endless delights. And that sweet dream, marvellously
like to one which had presented itself also to Guillen at the same time,
bound Teresa in calm sleep, until she was aroused from it by the songs
of the birds and the bright morning light, entering through the window,
which in her happiness she had forgotten to close.