OF THE SORROWS WHICH THE COWARDLY DON SUERO CAUSED HIS SISTER
Just at the time that Guillen left the Castle of Carrion to proceed to
the seat of war in Portugal, Bellido Dolfos entered it. The arrival of
the traitor was announced to Don Suero, and satisfaction shone in the
eyes of the count, who hastened to receive Bellido, for he doubted not
but that he brought him some important intelligence, having returned so
soon to the castle.
"What tidings do you bring me? Speak at once," he asked of the
new-comer, even without waiting for his salutation.
"I bring you very important news, sir count."
"Speak, speak!"
"Can any person hear us?"
"No one, Bellido."
"Notwithstanding, it is just as well to shut the door."
And Bellido closed the door of the apartment, and then returned and
seated himself at the side of the count.
"What have you to tell me of that infernal band?"
"I have but little to tell you of the band."
"Then of whom do you bring me news?"
"Of your sister, and of the page."
"They returned to the castle."
"I know that."
"I do not then understand what the news can be that you bring me of
them."
"Calm your impatience, my lord. The attentions of that handsome page
were more than a little pleasing to the Infanta."
"And to me also, Bellido; for this very day I rewarded that loyal
servant, giving him the best of my horses and arms, in order that he
might go to the seat of war. You must have met him near the castle."
"Is he not in the castle now?"
"No."
"I certainly saw a horseman issue forth. Ah, my lord, you have allowed
to escape from your hands him who is the most deserving of your anger."
"By Lucifer, explain yourself, Bellido! What would you tell me?"
"I would tell you that the youth loves your sister, and that your sister
returns his love."
The count jumped to his feet as suddenly as if a serpent had pierced him
with its fangs. Bellido had foreseen his rage, and, in order to lessen
it, had intended to break the information to him; he had, however,
precipitated it, annoyed by the impatience and the imperious tone of Don
Suero.
"Bellido!" exclaimed the count, gazing fixedly at his companion,
"perchance you think that I am in such good humour that I can tolerate
jokes? Do you believe that the Count of Carrion is so much your friend
that you can amuse yourself with him?"
"My lord," answered Bellido humbly, "the vexation you feel grieves me
sincerely; but I can only repeat to you that your sister and the page
are in love with each other, that they vilely deceive you, and"--
"This calumny will cost you your life, Bellido!"
"If what I tell you is not the truth I am quite willing that you cause
me to be hung on the ramparts of your castle."
"What proofs can you give me that you are not calumniating one of the
noblest maidens in Spain?"
"My word, which the loyalty and the zeal with which I have served you,
will vouch for."
"Hell, hell! Must I believe what you tell me? No, I cannot believe it,
Bellido; it cannot be that a miserable page has dared to set his eyes on
the Infanta of Carrion; it cannot be that my sister has opened her ears
to so low-born a youth!"
"My lord, I can well understand your incredulity, but there is nothing
more certain than that which I have told you. Silence reigned in the
camp of the bandits. I know not what made me suspect that the page was
something more than a servant in the eyes of the Infanta; I crept up to
the tent in which both of them were lodged, and, as I found that they
were awake, I applied my ear to the canvas, and surprised the secret of
their love"--
"And if it is a fact that the page loves my sister, why has he
voluntarily left her, in order to go to the war in Portugal?"
"Because he aspires to the hand of your sister, and knows that he must
be at least a knight in order to marry the Infanta of Carrion."
"Oh, everything conspires against me!" exclaimed Don Suero, falling back
into the violent despair which he seemed to have mastered for a moment.
"I suffer on earth all the tortures of hell. They deceive me, they sell
me; my own kinsfolk and strangers murder me slowly. Whom can I trust? My
life appears to be that of the wicked, which my mother often described
to me; not a moment of calm; no happiness that merits such a name,
enemies on all sides; vain projects; desires never satisfied; sadness,
sleeplessness, everlasting despair,--such was the life my mother
pictured to me, and such is mine. Oh! am I one that is accursed? No, I
am not, I am not. If I have treated my servants and my vassals cruelly,
it is because my servants and my vassals detested me, and would have
sold me. If I have enemies and plot their destruction, it is because I
cannot gain their friendship, because they all insult me and conspire
against me. This is to live a life of agony."
And the count, who had bent it down, raised his head suddenly, and such
was the appearance of his countenance, and the glitter of his eyes, that
Bellido made a movement as if to turn away from him, believing that
reason had forsaken him.
"Traitor!" exclaimed Don Suero, "have you come here to take advantage of
what I say? My dagger shall teach you to be more courteous."
Bellido arose from his seat, and placing his hand on the pommel of his
sword, said, endeavouring to render his words as conciliatory as
possible--
"My lord, grief is overcoming you; remember that he who stands by your
side is the only loyal friend in whom you can trust."
Don Suero quickly recovered his senses, which, for a moment, had
abandoned him, and said, holding out his hand to the traitor--
"Pardon me, Bellido, pardon my burst of passion. Yes, yes, you are
right; grief, anger, despair, put me out of my mind. Yes, you are my
sole friend, the only one who has not betrayed me, who has not insulted
me, who feels compassion for me. But is it quite certain that this
miserable page loves my sister, and that she has degraded herself by
returning his love?"
"Nothing, I repeat, is more certain."
"And what is to be done, Bellido, what is to be done?"
"Kill the villain who has thus betrayed your confidence."
"Yes, and the Infanta also deserves to die. A hundred lives, taken one
by one, would not be sufficient to expiate such treason. But where can I
find the page? What a fool I was to let him escape my vengeance! And I
have given him arms--perchance to use them against myself, for, I doubt
it not, that traitor will proceed to Portugal, he will fight against the
Moors, rise from his present low condition, and return, filled with
pride and audacity, to insult me, to challenge me, and to impose
shameful conditions on me."
"As soon as he returns from Portugal he will come to see the Infanta,
and then you will find an opportunity to punish his treachery; but, in
order that he may return to the castle, that he may fall into your
hands, he must not know that you have discovered his insensate love; you
must not let the Infanta know that you even suspect it, for Doña Teresa
would be able to discover some means of advising him, and then the
traitor would remain unpunished."
"Impossible, Bellido, impossible! Can I look on my sister without my
indignation breaking out? Can I put off the punishment, which she
deserves, until the day when that traitor may feel pleased to appear in
my castle?"
"Certainly, my lord, it would be difficult for you to do so; but you
must find some pretext for your annoyance. Say to your sister that you
wish to confer her hand on--the first that comes into your head; your
sister will oppose your wishes, and then you can give vent to your
anger, the real motive of which will not be suspected."
"I shall do so, Bellido, I shall do so. It was a fortunate day on which
I first made your acquaintance, for you are the only man who gives me
loyal advice, who aids me to fight against that cruel fate which
baffles all my enterprises, which upsets all my plans, which does not
leave a moment of tranquillity to my soul. Yes, yes, I intend the hand
of my sister for the son of the Count of Cabra, and my sister does not
yet know of it. The occasion for telling her has arrived."
"But be on your guard, I repeat; do not let her suspect that you know of
her love for the page."
"She shall suspect nothing, Bellido. But tell me now, in what condition
is the band?"
"I believe that it will totally disappear within the next few days.
Although its members are now but few, they are able to defend themselves
against the Salvadores as long as they are all together--they can at
least escape from them if they cannot conquer them as formerly. I have,
however, succeeded in dividing them, under the pretext that such is done
for their security, availing myself of the influence which I have gained
over the Vengador and Rui-Venablos, from the time I prophesied to them
that the band would be destroyed, if they forcibly attacked the Castle
of Carrion. After to-day one half of the bandits will be encamped at a
considerable distance from the other half, so that they could not rejoin
each other quickly, should the two encampments be attacked by the
Salvadores, to whom, before I return to the band I shall give full
information. You can easily imagine that if the bandits were deadly
hostile to you before, they have been much more so since they suffered
such a terrible reverse in your castle. For that reason you should be
delighted to get rid of them quickly."
"Certainly, Bellido, certainly. I trust that, with your assistance, I
shall be able to annihilate those implacable enemies. Continue your
efforts in that direction, and count on my liberality."
"Sir," said Bellido, affecting diffidence, "I venture to ask you for
some money, which I require to add to the considerable sum, which I have
already expended on the bandits in order to win their confidence, so
that I might succeed in realising my plans."
With every coin which he had to give, it seemed to Don Suero that he was
parting with a piece of his heart, for avarice was the moving cause of
most of his evil actions; however, as it was necessary to secure the aid
of Bellido in his favour, he answered, going to the strong chest, in
which he had on a former occasion showed his treasures to Bellido--
"Take, Bellido, the money which you require. Will twenty gold marks be
sufficient for you?"
"That will not be enough," replied Bellido in a humble tone of voice.
"I will give you forty."
"I must have more," said Bellido firmly.
"Take sixty."
"I require as much as a hundred," replied Bellido haughtily.
"Villain!" exclaimed Don Suero in an involuntary burst of indignation;
but a moment's reflection made him recognise that he must be prudent
with Bellido, and he added in a more subdued and friendly voice--
"Pardon me, Bellido; the annoyances to which I have been subjected make
me forget myself sometimes, and I scarcely know what I say or do. Here
are the hundred marks which you require." And he handed them to Bellido,
who took them with a joy which he vainly tried to conceal.
They then arranged some matters relative to the business which had
brought them together, and Bellido quitted the Castle of Carrion.
Let us see what was taking place in the chamber of Doña Teresa whilst
the scene we have described was being acted in that of the count.
When Guillen left the castle, the Infanta took her place at the window
of her apartment in order to see his departure, and her eyes, full of
tears, followed him until he disappeared behind a cluster of trees which
grew at some distance from the castle. How can we explain what the
loving girl experienced at that moment? It seemed to her as if her soul
had quitted her body in order to accompany the handsome youth who was
departing from her; who was going away, perhaps never to return. It
appeared to her that the sky was growing dark, that the fields were
losing their verdure and beauty, that the birds had ceased their
warbling, that her chamber had suddenly become as gloomy, as dark, and
as solitary as it had appeared before she was loved by Guillen; it
seemed to her as if everything was clad in mourning, as if everything
was weeping for the absence of the handsome page. Her eyes remained
fixed for a long time on that part of the landscape where Guillen had
disappeared, trying to catch a glimpse of him, but no, he had
disappeared.
Reader! he who writes this book appeals again to your recollections, to
your experience, to your heart, in order that you may understand that
which his pen is not able to explain. Have you ever seen a beloved
object disappear from your sight, when going on a long journey, as the
poor Teresa saw Guillen? Have you ever walked forth from your native
place, accompanying a beloved being, who was about to be absent for a
long period, in order to prolong for a short time the sad leave-taking,
and when that at last came, did you not ascend an eminence to see the
traveller as far as possible on his way, and did you not follow him with
your gaze until the horizon shut him off from you; and then, when he had
completely disappeared, did not your eyes overflow with tears? If you
have experienced all that, as he has done who writes this, you will
understand the grief, the anguish, the despair with which Teresa saw her
lover disappear behind the distant trees.
The sad girl turned from the window with her heart full of sadness, and
kneeling down before an image of Mary, which she had adorned with
flowers every day formerly, when she was free and happy enough to go out
to gather them in the surrounding fields, now a long time ago, she
besought the "Mother of pure love" to protect the brave and handsome and
loving youth, who had set out to fight for her love and for the
Christian faith, and she felt her heart consoled. In former times, when
she felt her soul sad, the tender, the pure, the sweet Teresa sought
consolation from her mother; but, as she had been taken from her, to
whom could she appeal but to the universal Mother of the afflicted! Oh,
what a sweet, beautiful, and consoling religion is that which gives us
an immortal Mother, so that we may not remain orphans when she who bore
us has departed from us!
Teresa felt consoled; but, her sensibilities being very much excited,
she felt the necessity of conversing with someone whom she loved and who
loved her. Who then could that person be but her brother? She was about
leaving her chamber to go in search of him, when he appeared before her,
and the poor girl trembled when she saw him, for she remarked on the
countenance of her brother a certain expression of anger, which she had
perceived in it on other occasions. However, Don Suero was restraining
himself, and succeeded in somewhat softening that expression; and then
tranquillity and confidence returned to the heart of the Infanta.
"My brother," said Teresa in a sweet and affectionate tone, "accustomed
to be so much by your side, I feel lonely when I am long without seeing
you, and I was therefore going to seek you."
The Infanta spoke the truth when she said this: from the time she had
returned from the bandits' camp she desired to be near her brother, whom
she really loved tenderly, for she believed that he nourished the same
feeling towards her.
"Hypocrite!" said Don Suero to himself, and he was on the point of
breaking the resolution he had made to conceal his anger; but he
conquered that instinctive feeling, and answered his sister kindly--
"I also desire to be near you, Teresa, for you are the only being I
really love. For a long time I was unjust towards you, but at last I
recognised my error, and I wish to repair it by bestowing on you the
happiness which you deserve. My sister, I am about to prove to you that
I anxiously desire your happiness, that I desire to see you honoured,
loved, happy. Have you ever thought on the felicity to which a woman
should aspire?"
"I do not understand you, brother."
"Have you never thought that the greatest happiness of an honoured and
good maiden, as you are, consists in finding a noble and loving
husband?"
The Infanta trembled with fright on hearing this question, and replied--
"Yes, brother, my mother said that to me."
"Well, then, Teresa, your brother is about to bestow that happiness on
you."
The terror of the girl came to its height.
"Brother," she said, "I am still very young, allow me to remain at your
side, for that is the happiness I desire at present."
"Teresa, at the side of the husband whom I destine for you, you will
also have the affection of your brother. Nuño Garciez, the son of the
Count of Cabra, is noble, is brave, and loves you now for a long time."
"Nuño Garciez, the son of the Count of Cabra?" exclaimed Teresa,
terrified.
"Yes, he shall be the husband who will work out your happiness, my
sister."
"Impossible, brother, impossible!"
Anger inflamed the visage of Don Suero.
"Teresa!" he exclaimed, with severity, "do you mean to say that you
refuse the hand of Nuño?"
Teresa could not lie; her sincerity conquered her natural timidity.
"Pardon me, brother," she answered, "but I shall never bestow my hand on
the son of the Count of Cabra."
"May the anger of God strike you! What is that you dare to say,
traitress? Do you repay my affection by opposing yourself insolently and
rebelliously to my will? Teresa, you shall be the wife of Nuño Garciez!"
"Have compassion on me, my brother; do not condemn to eternal sadness,
to eternal pain, to eternal despair this heart which has suffered so
much."
And the Infanta sank down on her knees before her brother, bursting into
tears.
"Have you any for me, perchance?" retorted Don Suero. "Have you
compassion for me when, seeing me surrounded by enemies, you refuse to
procure for me the aid of a family which could help me to triumph over
all my rivals?"
"But I could never love Nuño Garciez, and my vow before the altar would
be horrible perjury. Brother, have pity on me; remember the promise you
made to our mother; remember that she, who gave you life, blessed you
when she was breathing her last; for you had just promised her that you
would be my shield, my protector, my brother--not my executioner"--
"Hell, hell! Arise from your knees, traitress, for your supplications
and tears are unavailing!" roared Don Suero, at the very height of his
rage.
And with a violent push he threw the gentle girl on the floor.
Teresa arose quickly, no longer humble and timid, but haughty as a queen
whom a ruffian has insulted, and said--
"Listen to me, Don Suero, for you do not deserve that my lips should
give you the dear name of brother; perhaps you may be able to escape the
justice of men; perhaps God will permit you to escape even His justice
for some time; perhaps you will torture me as long as I live; but the
Infanta of Carrion will never bestow her hand on the son of the Count of
Cabra, nor on anyone whom her heart has not chosen. A woman may be
dragged to the steps of the altar, may be calumniated, may be
barbarously ill-treated; but if she has courage enough to die without
opening her lips, as I have, that vow cannot be dragged from her--that
vow which alone constitutes the union of husband and wife."
"Silence, silence!" cried Don Suero, clutching at the handle of his
dagger, "or you will force me, at this very moment, to punish your
rebellion."
"I have told you already that you may kill me, for death does not
terrify me; but my hand shall never belong to anyone who is not master
of my heart."
"Then you shall suffer on earth all the tortures of hell; you shall be
scoffed at by even the worst ruffians; ignominy and shame shall follow
you everywhere."
"Shame shall never humiliate my brow, for in my life there never has
been, nor shall there ever be, anything of which I can feel ashamed."
"Do you dare to speak thus, traitress? Bow your haughty brow to the
ground, for the noble Infanta of Carrion cannot raise it proudly when
she has become a renegade to her glorious race by loving one who is
base-born, one of her wretched menials."
Don Suero repented, perhaps, of that burst of anger which had caused him
to reveal to his sister what he had intended to conceal. Teresa trembled
when she heard those words, which showed that her brother was aware of
her love for Guillen; but both of them now felt that dissimulation was
useless, and the masks having been torn off, they made up their minds to
fight face to face.
"Well, then," said the Infanta, "I do confess my love for the menial
whom you allude to; but I feel no shame on that account, for that
menial, that peasant, has a heart as noble as that of the proudest
hidalgo of Castile. I shall never feel shame for having loved him."
"That traitor shall die; he shall die, hung up on the ramparts of my
castle, and his crime shall be everywhere published; it shall be known
that he was the accepted lover of the Infanta of Carrion, and that noble
Infanta will be scoffed at by all, and the Leonese and Castilian nobles
will spit on her face."
"Be it so, Don Suero; the Infanta of Carrion is resolved to encounter
the ignominy with which you threaten her, without ceasing to love
Guillen, the miserable page, the humble peasant, whom she does love with
all her heart."
"Hell, hell!" cried Don Suero, furious, mad with anger, and he pulled
out his dagger to strike down his sister with it; but whether it was
that he was not quite cruel enough to commit so horrible a crime, or
that he wished to reserve his victim for greater tortures, for a more
tedious agony, for a more painful death, he returned the weapon to its
sheath, and in order not to fall again into that barbarous temptation,
he left the chamber of Teresa, speaking to himself in a loud voice, like
a madman, whilst traversing the corridors that lay between his
apartments and those of his sister.
When he had become somewhat calm, he took a sheet of parchment, wrote
some lines, fastened it up, called Gonzalo, and said to him--
"Start for Burgos at once, and deliver this letter to the Count of
Cabra; gallop, do not spare the best horse in my stables. It is now
midday; if you are not back by midnight you shall be hung on the
ramparts."
"But, my lord," the servant ventured to say, "that time is necessary for
the journey thither alone; it is a twelve-hours' journey from Carrion to
Burgos."
"Villain! do you dare to disobey your master?" exclaimed the Count, and
laying his hand on his dagger he rose from his seat.
Gonzalo retreated a few paces, terrified, and cried out--
"Pardon, my lord, pardon; I shall obey your orders; I shall be back from
Burgos even sooner than you say, if such is your desire."
And the servant started from the castle a few minutes afterwards,
spurring to a full gallop the very best horse that was to be found in
the stables.