opinions of others; and also because he actually preferred Gonsalvo,
notwithstanding his great and glaring faults, to his more calculating
and worldly-minded brothers. Force of any kind possesses a real
fascination for an intellectual and sympathetic, but rather weak
character; and this fascination grows in intensity when the weaker has
a reason to pity and a desire to help the stronger.
It was not altogether grace, therefore, which checked the proud words
that often rose to the lips of Carlos in answer to his cousin's sneers
or sarcasms. He was not ignorant of the cause of Gonsalvo's contempt
for him. It was Gonsalvo's creed that a man who deserved the name
always got what he wanted, or died in the attempt; unless, of course,
absolutely insuperable physical obstacles interfered, as they did in
his own case. As he knew well enough what Carlos wanted before his
departure from Seville, the fact of his quietly resigning the prize,
without even an effort to secure it, was final with him.
One day, when Carlos had returned a forbearing answer to some taunt,
Doña Inez, who was present, took occasion to apologize for her brother,
as soon as he had quitted the room. Carlos liked Doña Inez much better
than her still unmarried sister, because she was more generous and
considerate to Beatriz. "You are very good, amigo mio," she said,
"to show so great forbearance to my poor brother. And I cannot think
wherefore he should treat you so uncourteously. But he is often rude to
his brothers, sometimes even to his father."
"I fear it is because he suffers. Though rather less helpless than he
was six months ago, he seems really more frail and sickly."
"Ay de mi, that is too true. And have you heard his last whim? He tells
us he has given up physicians for ever. He has almost as ill an opinion
of them as--forgive me, cousin--of priests."
"Could you not persuade him to consult your friend, Doctor Cristobal?"
"I have tried, but in vain. To speak the truth, cousin," she added,
drawing nearer to Carlos, and lowering her voice, "there is another
cause that has helped to make him what he is. No one knows or even
guesses aught of it but myself; I was ever his favourite sister. If I
tell you, will you promise the strictest secrecy?"
Carlos did so; wondering a little what his cousin would think could she
surmise the weightier secrets which were burdening his own heart.
"You have heard of the marriage of Doña Juana de Xeres y Bohorques with
Don Francisco de Vargas?"
"Yes; and I account Don Francisco a very fortunate man."
"Are you acquainted with the young lady's sister, Doña Maria de
Bohorques?"
"I have met her. A fair, pale, queenly girl. She is not fond of gaiety,
but very learned and very pious, as I have been told."
"You will scarce believe me, Don Carlos, when I tell you that pale,
quiet girl is Gonsalvo's choice, his dream, his idol. How she contrived
to gain that fierce, eager young heart, I know not--but hers it is, and
hers alone. Of course, he had passing fancies before; but she was his
first serious passion, and she will be his last."
Carlos smiled. "Red fire and white marble," he said. "But, after all,
the fiercest fire could not feed on marble. It must die out, in time."
"From the first, Gonsalvo had not the shadow of a chance," Doña Inez
replied, with an expressive flutter of her fan. "I have not the least
idea whether the young lady even knows he loves her. But it matters
not. We are Alvarez de Meñaya; still we could not expect a grandee of
the first order to give his daughter to a younger son of our house.
Even before that unlucky bull-feast. _Now_, of course, he himself would
be the first to say, 'Pine-apple kernels are not for monkeys,' nor fair
ladies for crippled caballeros. And yet--you understand?"
"I do," said Carlos; and in truth he _did_ understand, far better than
Doña Inez imagined.
She turned to leave the room, but turned back again to say kindly, "I
trust, my cousin, your own health has not suffered from your residence
among those bleak inhospitable mountains? Don Garçia tells me he has
seen you twice, since your return, coming forth late in the evening
from the dwelling of our good Señor Doctor."
There was a sufficient reason for these visits. Before they parted, De
Seso had asked Carlos if he would like an introduction to a person in
Seville who could give him further instruction upon the subjects they
had discussed together. The offer having been thankfully accepted,
he was furnished with a note addressed, much to his surprise, to the
physician Losada; and the connection thus begun was already proving a
priceless boon to Carlos.
But nature had not designed him for a keeper of secrets. The colour
mounted rapidly to his cheek, as he answered,--
"I am flattered by my lady cousin's solicitude for me. But, I thank
God, my health is as good as ever. In truth, Doctor Cristobal is
a man of learning and a pleasant companion, and I enjoy an hour's
conversation with him. Moreover, he has some rare and valuable books,
which he is kind enough to lend me."
"He is certainly very well-bred, for a man of his station," said Doña
Inez, condescendingly.
Carlos did not resume his attendance upon the lectures of Fray
Constantino at the College of Doctrine; but when the voice of the
eloquent preacher was heard in the cathedral, he was never absent.
He had no difficulty _now_ in recognizing the truths that he loved
so well, covered with a thin veil of conventional phraseology. All
mention, not absolutely necessary, of dogmas peculiarly Romish was
avoided, unless when the congregation were warned earnestly, though
in terms well-studied and jealously guarded, against "risking their
salvation" upon indulgences or ecclesiastical pardons. The vanity of
trusting to their own works was shown also; and in every sermon Christ
was faithfully held up before the sinner as the one all-sufficient
Saviour.
Carlos listened always with rapt attention, usually with keen delight.
Often would he look around him upon the sea of earnest upturned faces,
saying within himself, "Many of these my brethren and sisters have
found Christ--many more are seeking him;" and at the thought his heart
would thrill with thankfulness. But even at that moment some word from
the preacher's lips might change his joy into a chill of apprehension.
It frequently happened that Fray Constantino, borne onward by the
torrent of his own eloquence, was betrayed into uttering some sentiment
so very nearly heretical as to make his hearer tingle with the peculiar
sense of pain that is caused by seeing one rush heedlessly to the verge
of a precipice.
"I often thank God for the stupidity of evil men and the simplicity of
good ones," Carlos said to his new friend Losada, after one of these
dangerous discourses.
For by this time, what De Seso had first led him to suspect, had
become a certainty with him. He knew himself _a heretic_--a terrible
consciousness to sink into the heart of any man in those days,
especially in Catholic Spain. Fortunately the revelation had come to
him gradually; and still more gradually came the knowledge of all that
it involved. Yet those were sorrowful hours in which he first felt
himself cut off from every hallowed association of his childhood and
youth; from the long chain of revered tradition, which was all he knew
of the past; from the vast brotherhood of the Church visible--that
mighty organization, pervading all society, leavening all thought,
controlling all custom, ruling everything in this world, even if not
in the next. His own past life was shattered: the ambitions he had
cherished were gone--the studies he had excelled and delighted in were
proved for the most part worse than vain. It is true that he believed,
even still, that he might accept priestly ordination from the hands
of Rome (for the idolatry of the mass was amongst the things not yet
revealed to him); but he could no longer hope for honour or preferment,
or what men call a career, in the Church. Joy enough would it be if
he were permitted, in some obscure corner of the land, to tell his
countrymen of a Saviour's love; and perpetual watchfulness, extreme
caution, and the most judicious management would be necessary to
preserve him--as hitherto they had preserved Fray Constantino--from the
grasp of the Holy Inquisition.
To us, who read that word in the lurid light that martyr fires kindled
after this period have flung upon it, it may seem strange that Carlos
was not more a prey to fear of the perils entailed by his heresy.
But so slowly did he pass out of the stage in which he believed
himself still a sincere Catholic into that in which he shudderingly
acknowledged that he was in very truth a Lutheran, that the shock
of the discovery was wonderfully broken to him. Nor did he think
the danger that menaced him either near or pressing, so long as he
conducted himself with reserve and prudence.
It is true that this reserve involved a degree of secrecy, if not of
dissimulation, that was fast becoming very irksome. Formerly the kind
of fencing, feinting, and doubling into which he was often forced,
would rather have pleased him, as affording scope for the exercise of
ingenuity. But his moral nature was growing so much more sensitive,
that he began to recoil from slight departures from truth, in which
heretofore he would only have seen a proper exercise of the advantage
which a keen and quick intellect possesses over dull ones. Moreover,
he longed to be able to speak freely to others of the things which he
himself found so precious.
Though quite sufficiently afraid of pain and danger, the thought of
disgrace was still more intolerable to him. Keener than any suffering
he had yet known--except the pang of renouncing Beatriz--was the
consciousness that all those amongst whom he lived, and who now
respected and loved him, would, if they guessed the truth, turn away
from him with unutterable scorn and loathing.
One day, when walking in the city with his aunt and Doña Sancha, they
turned down a side-street to avoid meeting the death procession of a
murderer on his way to the scaffold. The crime for which he suffered
had been notorious; and with the voluble exclamations of horror and
congratulations at getting safely out of the way to which the ladies
gave expression, were mingled prayers for the soul of the miserable
man. "If they knew all," thought Carlos, as the slight, closely-veiled
forms clung trustingly to him for protection, "they would think _me_
worse, more degraded, than yon wretched being. They pity _him_, they
pray for _him_; _me_ they would only loathe and execrate. And Juan, my
beloved, my honoured brother--what will he think?" This last thought
was the one that haunted him most frequently and troubled him most
deeply.
But had he nothing to counter-balance these pangs of fear and shame,
these manifold dark misgivings? He had much. First and best, he had
the peace that passeth all understanding shed abroad in his heart. Its
light did not grow pale and faint with time; on the other hand, it
increased in brightness and steadiness, as new truths arose like stars
upon his soul, every new truth being in itself "a new joy" to him.
Moreover, he found keen enjoyment in the communion of saints. Great was
his surprise when, after sufficiently instructing him in private, and
satisfactorily testing his sincerity, Losada cautiously revealed to him
the existence of a regularly-organized Lutheran Church in Seville, of
which he himself was actually the pastor. He invited Carlos to attend
its meetings, which were held, with due precaution, and usually after
nightfall, in the house of a lady of rank--Doña Isabella de Baena.
Carlos readily accepted the perilous invitation, and with deep emotion
took his place amongst the band of "called, chosen, and faithful" men
and women, every one of whom, as he believed, shared the same joys and
hopes that he did. They were not at all such a "little band" as he
expected to find them. Nor were they, with very few exceptions, of the
poor of this world. If that bright southern land, so rich in all that
kindles the imagination, eventually to her own ruin rejected the truth
of God, at least she offered upon his altar some of her choicest and
fairest flowers. Many of those who met in Doña Isabella's upper room
were "chief men" and "devout and honourable women." Talent, learning,
excellence of every kind was largely represented there; so also was
the _sangre azul_, the boast of the proud Spanish grandees. One of
the first faces that Carlos recognized was the sweet, thoughtful one
of the young Doña Maria de Bohorques, whose precocious learning and
accomplishments had often been praised in his hearing, and in whom he
had now a new and peculiar interest.
There were two noblemen of the first order--Don Domingo de Guzman, son
of the Duke of Medina Sidonia, and Don Juan Ponce de Leon, son of the
Count of Baylen. Carlos had often heard of the munificent charities of
the latter, who had actually embarrassed his estates by his unbounded
liberality to the poor. But while Ponce de Leon was thus labouring
to relieve the sorrows of others, a deep sadness brooded over his
own spirit. He was wont to go forth by night, and pace up and down
the great stone platform in the Prado San Sebastian, that bore the
ghastly name of the Quemadero, or _Burning-place_, while in his heart
the shadow of death--the darkest shadow of the dreadest death--was
struggling with the light of immortality.
Did the rest of that devoted band share the agony of apprehension that
filled those lonely midnight hours with passionate prayer? Some amongst
them did, no doubt. But with most, the circumstances and occupations
of daily life wove, with their multitudinous slender threads, a veil
dense enough to hide, or at least to soften, the perils of their
situation. The Protestants of Seville contrived to pass their lives
and to do their work side by side with other men; they moved amongst
their fellow-citizens and were not recognized; they even married and
were given in marriage; though all the time there fell upon their daily
paths the shadow of the grim old fortress where the Holy Inquisition
held its awful secret court.
But then, at this period the Holy Inquisition was by no means
exhibiting its usual terrible activity. The Inquisitor-General,
Fernando de Valdez, Archbishop of Seville, was an old man of
seventy-four, relentless when roused, but not particularly
enterprising. Moreover, he was chiefly occupied in amassing enormous
wealth from his rich and numerous Church preferments. Hitherto, the
fires of St. Dominic had been kindled for Jews and Moors; only one
Protestant had suffered death in Spain, and Valladolid, not Seville,
had been the scene of his martyrdom. Seville, indeed, had witnessed two
notable prosecutions for Lutheranism--that of Rodrigo de Valer and that
of Juan Gil, commonly called Dr. Egidius. But Valer had been only sent
to a monastery to die, while, by a disgraceful artifice, retraction had
been obtained from Egidius.
During the years that had passed since then, the Holy Office had
appeared to slumber. Victims who refused to eat pork, or kept Sabbath
on Saturday, were growing scarce for obvious reasons. And not yet had
the wild beast "exceeding dreadful, whose teeth were of iron and his
nails of brass," begun to devour a nobler prey. Did the monster, gorged
with human blood, really slumber in his den; or did he only assume the
attitude and appearance of slumber, as some wild beasts are said to do,
to lure his unwary victims within the reach of his terrible crouch and
spring?
No one can certainly tell; but however it may have been, we doubt not
the Master used the breathing-time thus afforded his Church to prepare
and polish many a precious gem, destined to shine through all ages in
his crown of glory.
XIV.
The Monks of San Esodro.
"The earnest of eternal joy
In every prayer I trace;
I see the likeness of the Lord
In every patient face.
How oft, in still communion known,
Those spirits have been sent
To share the travail of my soul,
Or show me what it meant."
A.L. WARING.
It is amongst the perplexing conditions of our earthly life, that we
cannot first reflect, then act; first form our opinions, then, and
not till then, begin to carry them out into practice. Thought and
action have usually to run beside each other in parallel lines; a
terrible necessity, and never more terrible than during the progress of
momentous inward changes.
A man becomes convinced that the star by which he has hitherto been
steering is not the true pole-star, and that if he perseveres in his
present course his barque will inevitably be lost. At his peril,
he must find out the one unerring guide; yet, while he seeks it,
his hand must not for an instant quit his hold on the helm, for the
winds of circumstance fill his sails, and he cannot choose whether he
will go, he can only choose where. This lies at the root of much of
the apparent inconsistency which has often been made a reproach to
reformers.
Though Carlos did not feel this difficulty as keenly as some of his
brethren in the faith, he yet felt it. His uncle was continually
pressing him to take Orders, and to seek for this or that tempting
preferment; whilst every day he had stronger doubts as to the
possibility of his accepting any preferment in the Church, and was even
beginning to entertain scruples about taking Orders at all.
During this period of deliberation and uncertainty, one of his new
friends, Fray Cassiodoro, an eloquent Jeromite friar, who assisted
Losada in his ministrations, said to him, "If you intend embracing a
religious life, Señor Don Carlos, you will find the white tunic and
brown mantle of St. Jerome more to your taste than any other habit."
Carlos pondered the hint; and shortly afterwards announced to his
relatives that he intended to "go into retreat" for a season, at the
Jeromite Convent of San Isodro del Campo, which was about two miles
from Seville.
His uncle approved this resolution; and none the less, because he
thought it was probably intended as a preparation for taking the cowl.
"After all, nephew, it may turn out that you have the longest head
amongst us," he said. "In the race for wealth and honours, no man can
doubt that the Regulars beat the Seculars now-a-days. And there is
not a saint in all the Spains so popular as St. Jerome. You know the
proverb,--
"'He who is a count, and to be a duke aspires,
Let him straight to Guadaloupe, and sing among the friars.'"
Gonsalvo, who was present, here looked up from his book and observed
sharply,--
"No man will ever be a duke who changes his mind three times within
three months."
"But I only changed my mind once," returned Carlos.
"You have never changed it at all, that I wot of," said Don Manuel.
"And I would that thine were turned in the same profitable direction,
son Gonsalvo."
"Oh yes! By all means. Offer the blind and the lame in sacrifice. Put
Heaven off with the wreck of a man that the world will not condescend
to take into her service."
"Hold thy peace, son born to cross me!" said the father, losing his
temper at by no means the worst of the many provocations he had
recently received. "Is it not enough to look at thee lying there a
useless log, and to suffer thy vile temper; but thou must set thyself
against me, when I point out to thee the only path in which a cripple
such as thou could earn green figs to eat with his bread, not to speak
of supporting the rank of Alvarez de Meñaya as he ought."
Here Carlos, out of consideration for the feelings of Gonsalvo, left
the room; but the angry altercation between the father and son lasted
long after his departure.
The next day Don Carlos rode out, by a lonely path amidst the gray
ruins of old Italica, to the stately castellated convent of San
Isodro. Amidst all his new interests, the young Castilian noble still
remembered with due enthusiasm how the building had been reared, more
than two hundred years ago, by the devotion of the heroic Alonzo Guzman
the Good, who gave up his own son to death, under the walls of Tarifa,
rather than surrender the city to the Moors.
Before he left Seville, he placed a copy of Fray Constantino's "Sum of
Christian Doctrine" between two volumes of Gonsalvo's favourite "Lope
de Vega." He had previously introduced to the notice of the ladies
several of the Fray's little treatises, which contained a large amount
of Scripture truth, so cautiously expressed as to have not only escaped
the censure, but actually obtained the express approbation of the Holy
Office. He had also induced them occasionally to accompany him to the
preachings at the Cathedral. Further than this he dared not go; nor
did he on other accounts think it advisable, as yet, to permit himself
much communication with Doña Beatriz.
The monks of San Isodro welcomed him with that strong, peculiar
love which springs up between the disciples of the same Lord, more
especially when they are a little flock surrounded by enemies. They
knew that he was already one of the initiated, a regular member of
Losada's congregation. Both this fact, and the warm recommendations of
Fray Cassiodoro, led them to trust him implicitly; and very quickly
they made him a sharer in their secrets, their difficulties, and their
perplexities.
To his astonishment, he found himself in the midst of a community,
Protestant in heart almost to a man, and as far as possible acting out
their convictions; while at the same time they retained (how could they
discard them?) the outward ceremonies of their Church and their Order.
He soon fraternized with a gentle, pious young monk named Fray
Fernando, and asked him to explain this extraordinary state of things.
"I am but just out of my novitiate, having been here little more than
a year," said the young man, who was about his own age; "and already,
when I came, the fathers carefully instructed the novices out of the
Scriptures, exhorting us to lay no stress upon outward ceremonies,
penances, crosses, holy water, and the like. But I have often heard
them speak of the manner in which they were led to adopt these views."
"Who was their teacher? Fray Cassiodoro?"
"Latterly; not at first. It was Dr. Blanco who sowed the first seed of
truth here."
"Whom do you mean? We in the city give the name of Dr. Blanco (the
white doctor), from his silver hairs, to a man of your holy order,
certainly, but one most zealous for the old faith. He is a friend
and confidant of the Inquisitors, if indeed he is not himself a
Qualificator of Heresy:[9] I speak of Dr. Garçias Ariâs."
[9] One of the learned men who were appointed to assist the
Inquisitors, and whose duty is was to decide whether doubtful
propositions were, or were not, heretical.
"The same man. You are astonished, señor; nevertheless it is true.
The elder brethren say that when he came to the convent all were sunk
in ignorance and superstition. The monks cared for nothing but vain
repetitions of unfelt prayers, and showy mummeries of idle ceremonial.
But the white doctor told them all these would avail them nothing,
unless their hearts were given to God, and they worshipped him in
spirit and in truth. They listened, were convinced, began to study the
Holy Scriptures as he recommended them, and truly to seek Him who is
revealed therein."
"'Out of the eater came forth meat,'" said Carlos. "I am truly amazed
to hear of such teaching from the lips of Garçias Ariâs."
"Not more amazed than the brethren were by his after conduct," returned
Fray Fernando. "Just when they had received the truth with joy, and
were beginning heartily to follow it, their teacher suddenly changed
his tone, and addressed himself diligently to the task of building up
the things that he once destroyed. When Lent came round, the burden of
his preaching was nothing but penance and mortification of the flesh.
No less would content him than that the poor brethren should sleep on
the bare ground, or standing; and wear sackcloth and iron girdles. They
could not tell what to make of these bewildering instructions. Some
followed them, others clung to the simpler faith they had learned to
love, many tried to unite both. In fact, the convent was filled with
confusion, and several of the brethren were driven half distracted.
But at last God put it into their hearts to consult Dr. Egidius. Your
Excellency is well acquainted with his history, doubtless?"
"Not so well as I should like to be. Still, for the present, let us
keep to the brethren. Did Dr. Egidius confirm their faith?"