It was midnight. Juan, worn out with grief and anxious work, at last had
fallen asleep; a feverish sleep that partook more of the character of a
nightmare than of Nature's sweet restorer.
Meanwhile his wife had for some time made a show of sleeping. But she
watched her husband anxiously. When she felt certain that he had at
length succumbed to a deep sleep, she softly rose, and scarcely daring
to breathe, crept out into the kitchen. She opened the window gently and
looked out.
The night was dark; now and again vivid flashes of lightning lit up the
sky. No sound was heard save the roar of the rushing currents of the
Tagus, and the sighing of the wind as it swept in and out among the
scaffolding and complicated framework of the bridge.
Catherine noiselessly closed the window. From the hearth she took one of
the half-burnt faggots which still smouldered, and throwing a cloak over
her shoulders went out into the silent streets, her heart beating
wildly.
Where was she proceeding? Was she carrying that burning faggot as a
torch to light her path in the dense darkness of a moonless night? It
was indeed a dangerous track, covered as it was with broken boulders,
and uneven ground. Yet she strove rather to conceal the lighted wood
beneath her cloak.
At last she reached the bridge. The wind still sighed and whistled, and
the river continued to break its current against the pillars, as though
irritated at meeting obstacles which it could no longer sweep away.
Catherine approached the buttress of the bridge. An involuntary shudder
of terror passed through her frame. Was it because she stood on the edge
of that abyss of roaring waters? Or was it because her hand, only
accustomed hitherto to deeds of goodness, was now brandishing the torch
of destruction? Or rather did she tremble because a tremendous peal of
thunder at that moment resounded through the vault of heaven.
Waving the torch to kindle it afresh, she applied it to the dry,
resinous wood of the scaffolding. The wood quickly ignited, and the
flame, fanned by the wind, ascended with fearful rapidity, spreading and
involving arches and framework and the whole structure of the bridge.
[Illustration: "THE FLAME ASCENDED WITH FEARFUL RAPIDITY."]
Then she quitted the scene swiftly. Aided by the glare of the
conflagration and the vivid flashes of lightning which lit up the sky,
Catherine soon traversed the space which separated her from her home.
She entered as noiselessly as she had left it, and closed the door. Her
husband still slept soundly, and had not missed her. Catherine again
pretended to be fast asleep, as though she had never left her bed.
A few moments later, a noise of many people running arose within the
city, while from every belfry the bells rang forth the terrible alarm of
fire. A tremendous crash succeeded, followed by a cry of anguish such as
had been uttered years before, when the besieging army wrecked the
former bridge.
Juan awoke in terror; Catherine lay at his side, apparently sleeping
calmly. He dressed himself in haste, and ran out to learn the reason of
the uproar. To his secret joy he beheld the ruin of the burning bridge.
The Cardinal Archbishop and the Toledans attributed the disaster to a
flash of lightning which had struck the central arch, and had, moreover,
ignited the whole structure. The general sorrow was intense. Great also
was the public sympathy with the despair which the calamity must have
caused the architect, who was on the eve of a great triumph. The
inhabitants never knew whether it was fire from heaven, or an accident
that had caused the conflagration; but Juan de Arèvalo, who was good and
pious, and firmly believed in the protection of heaven, never wavered
for an instant in the belief that the bridge had really been destroyed
by lightning.
The destruction of the bridge, however, only retarded Juan's triumph for
a twelve-month. On the following year, on the same festival of San
Ildefonso, his new bridge was solemnly thrown open by the Cardinal; and
the joyous Toledans once more crossed the Tagus to visit the lovely
grounds of the Cigarrales, which they had been deprived of for so many
years. On that auspicious day the Cardinal celebrated the event by
giving a magnificent banquet. At his right hand sat the architect and
his noble wife; and after a highly complimentary speech from the
Cardinal, the whole company, amidst a tumult of applause, conducted Juan
and Catherine to their home.
[Illustration: "AT HIS RIGHT HAND SAT THE ARCHITECT AND HIS NOBLE
WIFE."]
Five hundred years have passed since then, but Juan's bridge still
stands secure above the rushing waters of the Tagus. His second
calculation had no error. The following illustration shows its
appearance at the present day.
[Illustration: ST. MARTIN'S BRIDGE TOLEDO.]
_On the Decay of Humour in the House of Commons._