acquaintance with the truth."
"And that enigma, Dr. Blanco?"
Fray Fernando shook his head. "Whether his mind was really changed, or
whether he concealed his true opinions through fear, or through love of
the present world, I know not. I should not judge him."
"No," said Carlos, softly. "It is not for us, who have never been
tried, to judge those who have failed in the day of trial. But it must
be a terrible thing to fail, Fray Fernando."
"As good Dr. Egidius did himself. Ah, señor, if you had but seen him
when he came forth from his prison! His head was bowed, his hair was
white; they who spoke with him say his heart was well-nigh broken.
Still he was comforted, and thanked God, when he saw the progress the
truth had made during his imprisonment, both in Valladolid and in
Seville, especially amongst the brethren here. His visit was of great
use to us. But the most precious boon we ever received was a supply of
God's Word in our own tongue, which was brought to us some months ago."
Carlos looked at him eagerly. "I think I know whose hand brought it,"
he said.
"You cannot fail to know, señor. You have doubtless heard of Juliano El
Chico?"
The colour rose to the cheek of Carlos as he answered, "I shall thank
God all my life, and beyond it, that I have not heard of him alone, but
met him. He it was who put this book into my hand," and he drew out his
own Testament.
"We also have good cause to thank him. And we mean that others
shall have it through us. For the books he brought we not only use
ourselves, but diligently circulate far and wide, according to our
ability."
"It is strange to know so little of a man, and yet to owe him so much.
Can you tell me anything more than the name, Juliano Hernandez, which I
repeat every day when I ask God in my prayers to bless and reward him?"
"I only know he is a poor, unlearned man, a native of Villaverda, in
Campos. He went to Germany, and entered the service of Juan Peres, who,
as you are aware, translated the Testament, and printed it, Juliano
aiding in the work as compositor. He then undertook, of his own free
will, the task of bringing a supply into this country; you well know
how perilous a task, both the sea-ports and the passes of the Pyrenees
being so closely watched by the emissaries of the Holy Office. Juliano
chose the overland journey, since, knowing the mountains well, he
thought he could manage to make his way unchallenged by some of their
hazardous, unfrequented paths. God be thanked, he arrived in safety
with his precious freight early last summer."
"Do you know where he is now?"
"No. Doubtless he is wandering somewhere, perhaps not far distant,
carrying on, in darkness and silence, his noble missionary work."
"What would I give--rather, what would I not give--to see him once
more, to take his hand in mine, and to thank him for what he has done
for me!"
"Ah, there is the vesper bell. You know, señor, that Fray Cristobal is
to lecture this evening on the Epistle to the Hebrews. That is why I
love Tuesday best of all days in the week."
Fray Cristobal D'Arellano was a monk of San Isodro, remarkable for his
great learning, which was consecrated to the task of explaining and
spreading the Reformed doctrines. Carlos put himself under the tuition
of this man, to perfect his knowledge of Greek, a language of which he
had learned very little, and that little very imperfectly, at Alcala.
He profited exceedingly by the teaching he received, and partially
repaid the obligation by instructing the novices in Latin, a task which
was very congenial to him, and which he performed with much success.
XV.
The Great Sanbenito.
"The thousands that, uncheered by praise,
Have made one offering of their days;
For Truth's, for Heaven's, for Freedom's sake,
Resigned the bitter cup to take."
HEMANS.
Young as was the Protestant Church in Seville, she already had her
history. There was one name that Carlos had heard mentioned in
connection with her first origin, round which there gathered in his
thoughts a peculiar interest, or rather fascination. He knew now that
the monks of San Isodro had been largely indebted to the instructions
of Doctor Juan Gil, or Egidius. And he had been told previously that
Egidius himself had learned the truth from an earlier and bolder
witness, Rodrigo de Valer. This was the name that Losada once coupled
in his hearing with that of his own father.
Why then had he not sought information, which might have proved so
deeply interesting to him, directly from Losada himself, his friend
and teacher? Several causes contributed to his reluctance to broach
the subject. But by far the greatest was a kind of chivalrous, half
romantic tenderness for that absent brother, whom he could now truly
say that he loved best on earth. It is very difficult for us to put
ourselves in the position of Spaniards of the sixteenth century, so
far as at all to understand the way in which they were accustomed to
look upon heresy. In their eyes it was not only a crime, infinitely
more dreadful than that of murder; it was also a horrible disgrace,
branding a man's whole lineage up and down for generations, and
extending its baleful influence to his remotest kindred. Carlos asked
himself, day by day, how would the high-hearted Don Juan Alvarez, whose
idol was glory, and his dearest pride a noble and venerated name,
endure to hear that his beloved and only brother was stained with that
surpassing infamy? But at least it would be anguish enough to stab Juan
once, as it were, with his own hand, without arming the dead hand of
the father whose memory they both revered, and then driving home the
weapon into his brother's heart. Rather would he let the matter remain
in obscurity, even if (which was extremely doubtful) he could by any
effort of his own shed a ray of light upon it.
Still he took occasion one day to inquire of his friend Fray Fernando,
who had received full information on these subjects from the older
monks, "Was not that Rodrigo de Valer, whose sanbenito hangs in the
Cathedral, the first teacher of the pure faith in Seville?"
"True, señor, he taught many. While he himself, as I have heard,
received the faith from none save God only."
"He must have been a remarkable man. Tell me all you know of him."
"Our Fray Cassiodoro has often heard Dr. Egidius speak of him; so that,
though his lips were silenced long before your time or mine, señor, he
seems still one of our company."
"Yes, already some of our number have joined the Church triumphant, but
they are still one with us in Christ."
"Don Rodrigo de Valer," continued the young monk, "was of a noble
family, and very wealthy. He was born at Lebrixa, but came to reside
in Seville, a gay, light-hearted, brilliant young caballero, who
was soon a leader in all the folly and fashion of the great city.
But suddenly these things lost their charm for him. Much to the
astonishment of the gay world, to which he had been such an ornament,
he disappeared from the scenes of amusement and festivity he had been
wont to love. His companions could not understand the change that came
over him--but _we_ can understand it well. God's arrows of conviction
were sharp in his heart. And he led him to turn for comfort, not to
penance and self-mortification, but to his own Word. Only in one form
was that Word accessible to him. He gathered up the fragments of
his old school studies--little cared for at the time, and well-nigh
forgotten afterwards--to enable him to read the Vulgate. There he
found justification by faith, and through it, peace to his troubled
conscience. But he did not find, as I need scarcely say to you, Don
Carlos, purgatory, the worship of Our Lady and the saints, and certain
other things our fathers taught us."
"How long since was all this?" asked Carlos, who was listening with
much interest, and at the same time comparing the narrative with that
other story he had heard from Dolores.
"Long enough, señor. Twenty years ago or more. When God had thus
enlightened him, he returned to the world. But he returned to it a
new man, determined henceforth to know nothing save Christ and him
crucified. He addressed himself in the first instance to the priests
and monks, whom, with a boldness truly amazing, he accosted wherever he
met them, were it even in the most public places of the city, proving
to them from Scripture that their doctrines were not the truth of God."
"It was no hopeful soil in which to sow the Word."
"No, truly; but it seemed laid upon him as a burden from God to speak
what he felt and knew, whether men would hear or whether they would
forbear. He very soon aroused the bitter enmity of those who hate the
light because their deeds are evil. Had he been a poor man, he would
have been burned at the stake, as that brave, honest-hearted young
convert, Francisco de San Romano, was burned at Valladolid not so long
ago, saying to those who offered him mercy at the last, 'Did you envy
me my happiness?' But Don Rodrigo's rank and connections saved him from
that fate. I have heard, too, that there were those in high places who
shared, or at least favoured his opinions in secret. Such interceded
for him."
"Then his words were received by some?" Carlos asked anxiously. "Have
you ever heard the names of any of those who were his friends or
patrons?"
Fray Fernando shook his head. "Even amongst ourselves, señor," he said,
"names are not mentioned oftener than is needful. For 'a bird of the
air will carry the matter;' and when life depends on our silence, it
is no wonder if at last we become a trifle over-silent. In the lapse
of years, some names that ought to be remembered amongst us may well
chance to be forgotten, from this dread of breathing them, even in
a whisper. Always excepting Dr. Egidius, Don Rodrigo's friends or
converts are unknown to me. But I was about to say, the Inquisitors
were prevailed upon, by those who interceded for him, to regard him
as insane. They dismissed him, therefore, with no more severe penalty
than the loss of his property, and with many cautions as to his future
behaviour."
"I hold it scarce likely that he observed them."
"Very far otherwise, señor. For a short time, indeed, his friends
prevailed on him to express his sentiments more privately; and Fray
Cassiodoro says that during this interval he confirmed them in the
faith by expounding the Epistle to the Romans. But he could not long
hide the light he held. To all remonstrances he answered, that he
was a soldier sent on a forlorn hope, and must needs press forward
to the breach. If he fell, it mattered not; in his place God would
raise up others, whose would be the glory and the joy of victory. So,
once again, the Holy Office laid its grasp upon him. It was resolved
that his voice should be heard no more on earth; and he was therefore
consigned to the living death of perpetual imprisonment. And yet, in
spite of all their care and all their malice, one more testimony for
God and his truth was heard from his lips."
"How was that?"
"They led him, robed in that great sanbenito you have often seen, to
the Church of San Salvador, to sit and listen, with the other weeping
penitents, while some ignorant priest denounced their heresies and
blasphemies. But he was not afraid after the sermon to stand up in his
place, and warn the people against the preacher's erroneous doctrine,
showing them where and how it differed from the Word of God. It is
marvellous they did not burn him; but God restrained the remainder of
their wrath. They sent him at last to the monastery of San Lucar, where
he remained in solitary confinement until his death."
Carlos mused a little. Then he said, "What a blessed change, from
solitary confinement to the company of just men made perfect; from the
gloom of a convent prison to the glory of God's house, eternal in the
heavens!"
"Some of the elder brethren say _we_ may be called upon to pass through
trials even more severe," remarked Fray Fernando. "I know not. Being
amongst the youngest here, I should speak my mind with humility; still
I cannot help looking around me, and seeing that everywhere men are
receiving the Word of God with joy. Think of the learned and noble men
and women in the city who have joined our band already, and are eager
to gain others! New converts are won for us every day; not to speak of
that great multitude among Fray Constantino's hearers who are really on
our side, without dreaming it themselves. Moreover, your noble friend,
Don Carlos de Seso, told us last summer that the signs in the north are
equally encouraging. He thinks the Lutherans of Valladolid are more
numerous than those of Seville. In Toro and Logrono also the light is
spreading rapidly. And throughout the districts near the Pyrenees the
Word has free course, thanks to the Huguenot traders from Béarn."
"I have heard these things in Seville, and truly my heart rejoices at
them. But yet--" here Carlos broke off suddenly, and remained silent,
gazing mournfully into the fire, near which, as it was now winter, they
had seated themselves.
At last Fray Fernando asked, "What do _you_ think, señor?"
Carlos raised his dark blue eyes and fixed them on the questioner's
face.
"Of the future," he said slowly, "I think--_nothing_. I dare not think
of it. It is in God's hand, and he thinks for us. Still, one thing I
cannot choose but see. Where we are we cannot remain. We are bound to a
great wheel that is turning--turning--and turn with it, even in spite
of ourselves, we must and do. But it is the wheel, not of chance, but
of God's mighty purposes; that is all our comfort."
"And those purposes, are they not mercy and truth unto our beloved
land?"
"They may be; but I know not. They are not revealed. 'Mercy and truth
unto such as keep his covenant,' that indeed is written."
"We are they that keep his covenant."
Carlos sighed, and resumed the thread of his own thought,--
"The wheel turns round, and we with it. Even since I came here it has
turned perceptibly. And how it is to turn one step further without
bringing us into contact with the solid frame of things as they are,
and so crushing us, truly I see not. I see not; but I trust God."
"You allude to these discussions about the sacrifice of the mass now
going on so continually amongst us?"
"I do. Hitherto we have been able to work underground; but if doubt
must be thrown upon _that_, the thin shell of earth that has concealed
and protected us, will break and fall in upon our heads. And then?"
"Already we are all asking, 'And then?'" said Fray Fernando. "There
will be nothing before us but flight to some foreign land."
"And how, in God's name, is that to be accomplished? But God forgive
me these words; and God keep me, and all of us, from the subtle snare
of mixing with the question, 'What is his will?' that other question,
'What will be our fate if we try to do it?' As the noble De Seso said
to me, all that matters to us is to be found amongst those who 'follow
the Lamb whithersoever he goeth.' _But he went to Calvary._"
The last words were spoken in so low a tone that Fray Fernando heard
them not.
"What did you say?" he asked.
"No matter. Time enough to hear if God himself speaks it in our ears."
Their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of a lay brother,
who informed Carlos that a visitor awaited him in the convent parlour.
As it was one of the hours during which the rules of the house
(which were quite liberal enough, without being lax) permitted the
entertainment of visitors, Carlos went to receive his without much
delay.
He knew that if the guest had been one of "their own," their loved
brethren in the faith, even the attendant would have been well
acquainted with his person, and would naturally have named him. He
entered the room, therefore, with no very lively anticipations;
expecting, at most, to see one of his cousins, who might have paid him
the compliment of riding out from the city to visit him.
A tall, handsome, sunburnt man, who had his left arm in a sling, was
standing with his back to the window. But in one moment more the other
arm was flung round the neck of Carlos, and heart pressed to heart, and
lip to lip--the brothers stood together.
XVI.
Welcome Home.
"We are so unlike each other,
Thou and I, that none would guess
We were children of one mother,
But for mutual tenderness."
E.B. BROWNING.
After the first tumult of greeting, in which affection was expressed
rather by look and gesture than by word, the brothers sat down and
talked. Eager questions rose to the lips of both, but especially to
those of Carlos, whose surprise at Juan's unexpected appearance only
equalled his delight.
"But you are wounded, my brother," he said. "Not seriously, I hope?"
"Oh no! Only a bullet through my arm. A piece of my usual good luck. I
got it in The Battle."
No adjective was needed to specify the glorious day of St. Quentin,
when Flemish Egmont's chivalrous courage, seconded by Castilian
bravery, gained for King Philip such a brilliant victory over the arms
of France. Carlos knew the story already from public sources. And it
did not occur to Juan, nor indeed to Carlos either, that there had
ever been, or would ever be again, a battle so worthy of being held in
everlasting remembrance.
"But do you count the wound part of your good luck?" asked Carlos.
"Ay, truly, and well I may. It has brought me home; as you ought to
have known ere this."
"I received but two letters from you--that written on your first
arrival, and dated from Cambray; and that which told of your notable
prize, the French prisoner."
"But I wrote two others: one, I entrusted to a soldier who was coming
home invalided--I suppose the fellow lost it; the other (written just
after the great St. Laurence's day) arrived in Seville the night
before I made my own appearance there. His Majesty will need to look
to his posts; certes, they are the slowest carriers to be found in any
Christian country." And Juan's merry laugh rang through the convent
parlour, little enough used to echo such sounds.
"So I have heard almost nothing of you, brother; save what could be
gathered from the public accounts," Carlos continued.
"All the better now. I have only such news as is pleasant for me to
tell; and will not be ill, I think, for thee to hear. First, then, and
in due order--I am promised my company!"
"Good news, indeed! My brother must have honoured our name by some
special deed of valour. Was it at St. Quentin?" asked Carlos, looking
at him with honest, brotherly pride. He was not much changed by his
campaign, except that his dark cheek wore a deeper bronze, and his face
was adorned with a formidable pair of _bigotes_.
"That story must wait," returned Juan. "I have so much else to tell
thee. Dost thou remember how I said, as a boy, that I should take a
noble prisoner, like Alphonso Vives, and enrich myself by his ransom?
And thou seest I have done it."
"In a good day! Still, he was not the Duke of Saxony."
"Like him, at least, in being a heretic, or Huguenot, if that be a
less unsavoury word to utter in these holy precincts. Moreover, he is
a tried and trusted officer of Admiral Coligny's suite. It was that
day when the admiral so gallantly threw himself into the besieged town.
And, for my part, I am heartily obliged to him. But for his presence,
there would have been no defence of St. Quentin, to speak of, at all;
but for the defence, no battle; but for the battle, no grand victory
for the Spains and King Philip. We cut off half of the admiral's
troops, however, and it fell to my lot to save the life of a brave
French officer whom I saw fighting alone amongst a crowd. He gave me
his sword; and I led him to my tent, and provided him with all the
solace and succour I could, for he was sorely wounded. He was the Sieur
de Ramenais; a gentleman of Provence, and an honest, merry-hearted,
valiant man, as it was ever my lot to meet withal. He shared my bed
and board, a pleasant guest rather than a prisoner, until we took the
town, making the admiral himself our captive, as you know already. By
that time, his brother had raised the sum for his ransom, and sent it
honourably to me. But, in any case, I should have dismissed him on
parole, as soon as his wounds were healed. He was pleased to give me,
beside the good gold pistoles, this diamond ring you see on my finger,
in token of friendship."
Carlos took the costly trinket in his hand, and duly admired it.
He did not fail to gather from Juan's simple narrative many things
that he told not, and was little likely to tell. In the time of
action, chivalrous daring; when the conflict was over, gentleness
and generosity no less chivalrous, endearing him to all--even to
the vanquished enemy. No wonder Carlos was proud of his brother!
But beneath all the pride and joy there was, even already, a secret
whisper of fear. How could he bear to see that noble brow clouded with
anger--those bright confiding eyes averted from him in disdain? Turning
from his own thoughts as if they had been guilty things, he asked
quickly,--
"But how did you obtain leave of absence?"
"Through the kindness of his Highness."
"The Duke of Savoy?"
"Of course. And a braver general I would never ask to serve."
"I thought it might have been from the King himself, when he came to
the camp after the battle."
Don Juan's cheek glowed with modest triumph. "His Highness was good
enough to point me out to His Catholic Majesty," he said. "And the King
spoke to me himself!"
It is difficult for us to understand how a few formal words of praise
from the lips of one of the meanest and vilest of men could be looked
upon by the really noble-hearted Don Juan Alvarez as almost the
crowning joy of his life. With the enthusiastic loyalty of his age and
country he honoured Philip the king; Philip the man being all the time
a personage as utterly unknown to him as the Sultan of Turkey. But
not choosing to expatiate upon a theme so flattering to himself, he
continued,--
"The Duke contrived to send me home with despatches, saying kindly
that he thought my wound required a little rest and care. Though I had
affairs of importance" (and here the colour mounted to his brow) "to
settle in Seville, I would not have quitted the camp, with my goodwill,
had we been about any enterprise likely to give us fair fighting. But
in truth Carlos, things have been abundantly dull since the fall of St.
Quentin. Though we have our King with us, and Henry of France and the
Duke of Guise have both joined the enemy, all are standing at gaze as
if they were frozen, and doomed to stay there motionless till the day
of judgment. I have no mind for that kind of sport, not I! I became a
soldier to fight His Catholic Majesty's battles, not to stare at his
enemies as if they were puppets paid to make a show for my amusement.
So I was not sorry to take leave of absence."
"And your important business in Seville. May a brother ask what that
means?"
"A brother may ask what he pleases, and be answered. Wish me joy,
Carlos; I have arranged that little matter with Doña Beatriz." And
his light words half hid, half revealed the great deep joy of his
own strong heart. "My uncle," he continued, "is favourable to my
views; indeed, I have never known him so friendly. We are to have our
betrothal feast at Christmas, when your time of retreat here is over."
Carlos "wished him joy" most sincerely. Fervently did he thank God
that it was in his power to do it; that the snare that had once wound
itself so subtly around his footsteps was broken, and his soul escaped.
He could now meet his brother's eye without self-reproach. Still, this
seemed sudden. He said, "Certainly you did not lose time."
"Why should I?" asked Juan with simplicity. "'By-and-by is always too
late,' as thou wert wont to say; and I would they learned that proverb
at the camp. In truth," he added more gravely, "I often feared, during
my stay there, that I might have lost all through my tardiness. But
thou wert a good brother to me, Carlos."
"Mayest thou ever think so, brother mine," said Carlos, not without a
pang, as his conscience told him how little he deserved the praise.
"But what in the world," asked Juan hastily, "has induced thee to bury
thyself here, amongst these drowsy monks?"
"The brethren are excellent men, learned and pious. And I am not
buried," Carlos returned with a smile.
"And if thou wert buried ten fathoms deep, thou shouldst come up out of
the grave when I need thee to stand beside me."