here, as otherwise I might have done. But I have been very happy here,
Juan."
"I am glad to hear it," said the merry-hearted, unsuspecting Juan. "I
am glad also that you are not in too great haste to tie yourself down
to the Church's service; though our honoured uncle seems to wish you
had a keener eye to your own interest, and a better look-out for fat
benefices. But I believe his own sons have appropriated all the stock
of worldly prudence meant for the whole family, leaving none over for
thee and me, Carlos."
"That is true of Don Manuel and Don Balthazar, not of Gonsalvo."
"Gonsalvo! he is far the worst of the three," Juan exclaimed, with
something like anger in his open, sunny face.
Carlos laughed. "I suppose he has been favouring you with his opinion
of me," he said.
"If he were not a poor miserable weakling and cripple, I should answer
him with the point of my good sword. However, this is idle talk. Little
brother" (Carlos being nearly as tall as himself, the diminutive was
only a term of affection, recalling the days of their childhood, and
more suited to masculine lips than its equivalent, dear)--"little
brother, you look grave and pale, and ten years older than when we
parted at Alcala."
"Do I? Much has happened with me since. I have been very sorrowful and
very happy."
Don Juan laid his available hand on his brother's shoulder, and looked
him earnestly in the face. "No secrets from me, little brother," he
said. "If thou dost not like the service of Holy Church after all,
speak out, and thou shalt go back with me to France, or to anywhere
else in the known world that thou wilt. There may be some fair lady in
the case," he added, with a keen and searching glance.
"No, brother--not that. I have indeed much to tell thee, but not
now--not to-day."
"Choose thine own time; only remember, no secrets. That were the one
unbrotherly act I could never forgive."
"But I am not yet satisfied about your wound," said Carlos, with
perhaps a little moral cowardice, turning the conversation. "Was the
bone broken?"
"No, fortunately; only grazed. It would not have signified, but for the
treatment of the blundering barber-surgeon. I was advised to show it to
some man of skill; and already my cousins have recommended to me one
who is both physician and surgeon, and very able, they say."
"Dr. Cristobal Losada?"
"The same. Your favourite, Don Gonsalvo, has just been prevailed upon
to make trial of his skill."
"I am heartily glad of it," returned Carlos. "There is a change of mind
on his part, equal to any wherewith he can reproach me; and a change
for the better, I have little doubt."
Thus the conversation wandered on; touching many subjects, exhausting
none; and never again drawing dangerously near those deep places which
one of the brothers knew must be thoroughly explored, and that at no
distant day. For Juan's sake, for the sake of One whom he loved even
more than Juan, he dared not--nay, he would not--avoid the task. But he
needed, or thought he needed, consideration and prayer, that he might
speak the truth wisely, as well as bravely, to that beloved brother.
XVII.
Disclosures.
"No distance breaks the tie of blood;
Brothers are brothers evermore;
Nor wrong, nor wrath of deadliest mood,
That magic may o'erpower."
KEBLE.
The opportunity for free converse with his brother which Carlos
desired, yet dreaded, was unexpectedly postponed. It would have been
in accordance neither with the ideas of the time nor with his own
feelings to have shortened his period of retreat in the monastery,
though he would not now prolong it. And though Don Juan did not fail
to make his appearance upon every day when visitors were admitted,
he was always accompanied by either of his cousins Don Manuel or Don
Balthazar, or by both. These shallow, worldly-minded young men were
little likely to allow for the many things, in which strangers might
not intermeddle, that brothers long parted might find to say to each
other; they only thought that they were conferring a high honour on
their poorer relatives by their favour and notice. In their presence
the conversation was necessarily confined to the incidents of Juan's
campaign, and to family matters. Whether Don Balthazar would obtain
a post he was seeking under Government; whether Doña Sancha would
eventually bestow the inestimable favour of her hand upon Don Beltran
Vivarez or Don Alonso de Giron; and whether the disappointed suitor
would stab himself or his successful rival;--these were questions
of which Carlos soon grew heartily weary. But in all that concerned
Beatriz he was deeply interested. Whatever he may once have allowed
himself to fancy about the sentiments of a very young and childish
girl, he never dreamed that she would make, or even desire to make,
any opposition to the expressed wish of her guardian, who destined her
for Juan. He was sure that she would learn quickly enough to love his
brother as he deserved, even if she did not already do so. And it gave
him keen pleasure that his sacrifice had not been in vain; that the
wine-cup of joy which he had just tasted, then put steadily aside, was
being drained to the dregs by the lips he loved best. It is true this
pleasure was not yet unmixed with pain, but the pain was less than a
few months ago he would have believed possible. The wound which he once
thought deadly, was in process of being healed; nay, it was nearly
healed already. But the scar would always remain.
Grand and mighty, but perplexing and mournful thoughts were filling
his heart every day more and more. Amongst the subjects eagerly and
continually discussed with the brethren of San Isodro, the most
prominent just now was the sole priesthood of Christ, with the
impossibility of his one perfect and sufficient sacrifice being ever
repeated.
But these truths, in themselves so glorious, had for those who dared
to admit them one terrible consequence. Their full acknowledgment
would transform "the main altar's consummation," the sacrifice of the
mass, from the highest act of Christian worship into a hideous lie,
dishonouring to God, and ruinous to man.
To this conclusion the monks of San Isodro were drawing nearer slowly
but surely every day. And Carlos was side by side with the most
advanced of them in the path of progress. Though timid in action, he
was bold in speculation. To his keen, quick intellect to think and to
reason was a necessity; he could not rest content with surface truths,
nor leave any matter in which he was interested without probing it to
its depths.
But as far at least as the monks were concerned, the conclusion now
imminent was practically a most momentous one. It must transform the
light that illuminated them into a fire that would burn and torture
the hands that held and tried to conceal it. They could only guard
themselves from loss and injury, perhaps from destruction, by setting
it on the candle-stick of a true and faithful profession.
"Better," said the brethren to each other, "leave behind us the rich
lands and possessions of our order; what are these things in comparison
to a conscience void of offence towards God and towards man? Let us
go forth and seek shelter in some foreign land, destitute exiles but
faithful witnesses for Christ, having purchased to ourselves the
liberty of confessing his name before men." This plan was the most
popular with the community; though there were some that objected to it,
not because of the loss of worldly wealth it would entail, but because
of its extreme difficulty, and the peril in which it would involve
others.
That the question might be fully discussed and some course of action
resolved upon, the monks of San Isodro convened a solemn chapter.
Carlos had not, of course, the right to be present, though his friends
would certainly inform him immediately afterwards of all that passed.
So he whiled away part of the anxious hours by a walk in the orange
grove belonging to the monastery. It was now December, and there had
been a frost--not very usual in that mild climate. Every blade of
grass was gemmed with tiny jewels, which were crushed by his footsteps
as he passed along. He fancied them like the fair and sparkling, but
unreal dreams of the creed in which he had been nurtured. They must
perish; even should he weakly turn aside to spare them, God's sun
would not fail ere long to dissolve them with the warmth of its beams.
But wherefore mourn them? Would not the sun shine on still, and the
blue sky, the emblem of eternal truth and love, still stretch above
his head? Therefore he would look up--up, and not down. Forgetting
the things that were behind, and reaching forth unto those that were
before, he would fain press forward towards the mark for the prize. And
then his heart went up in fervent prayer that not only he himself, but
also all those who shared his faith, might be enabled so to do.
Turning into a path leading back through the grove to the monastery, he
saw his brother coming towards him.
"I was seeking thee," said Don Juan.
"And always welcome. But why so early? On a Friday too!"
"Wherein is Friday worse than Thursday?" asked Juan with a laugh. "You
are not a monk, or even a novice, to be bound by rules so strict that
you may not say, 'Vaya con Dios' to your brother without asking leave
of my lord Abbot."
Carlos had often noticed, not with displeasure, the freedom which
Juan since his return assumed in speaking of Churchmen and Church
ordinances. He answered, "I am only bound by the general rules of the
house, to which it is seemly that visitors should conform. To-day the
brethren are holding a Chapter to confer upon matters pertaining to
their discipline. I cannot well bring you in-doors; but we do not need
a better parlour than this."
"True. I care for no roof save God's sky; and as for glazed and grated
windows, I abhor them. Were I thrown into prison, I should die in a
week. I made an early start for San Isodro, on an unusual day, to get
rid of the company of my excellent but tiresome cousins; for in truth I
am sick unto death of their talk and their courtesies. Moreover, I have
ten thousand things to tell you, brother."
"I have a few for your ear also."
"Let us sit down. Here is a pleasant seat which some of your brethren
contrived to rest their weary limbs and enjoy the prospect. They know
how to be comfortable, these monks."
They sat down accordingly. For more than an hour Don Juan was the chief
speaker; and as he spoke out of the abundance of his heart, it was no
wonder that the name oftenest on his lips was that of Doña Beatriz. Of
the long and circumstantial story that he poured into the sympathizing
ear of Carlos no more than this is necessary to repeat--that Beatriz
not only did not reject him (no well-bred Spanish girl would behave in
such a singular manner to a suitor recommended by her guardian), but
actually looked kindly, nay, even smiled upon him. His exhilaration was
in consequence extreme; and its expression might have proved tedious to
any listener not deeply interested in his welfare.
At last, however, the subject was dismissed. "So my path lies clear
and plain before me," said Juan, his fine determined face glowing with
resolution and hope. "A soldier's life, with its toils and prizes;
and a happy home at Nuera, with a sweet face to welcome me when I
return. And, sooner or later, _that_ voyage to the Indies. But you,
Carlos--speak out, for I confess you perplex me--what do _you_ wish and
intend?"
"Had you asked me that question a few months, I might almost say a few
weeks, ago, I should not have hesitated, as now I do, for an answer."
"You were ever willing, more than willing, for Holy Church's service.
I know but one cause which could alter your mind; and to the tender
accusation you have already pleaded not guilty."
"The plea is a true one."
"Certes; it cannot be that you have been seized with a sudden passion
for a soldier's life," laughed Juan. "That was never your taste,
little brother; and with all respect for you, I scarce think your
achievements with sword and arquebus would be specially brilliant. But
there is something wrong with you," he said in an altered tone, as he
gazed in his brother's anxious face.
"Not _wrong_, but--"
"I have it!" said Juan, joyously interrupting him. "You are in debt.
That is soon mended, brother. In fact, it is my fault. I have had far
too large a share already of what should have been for both of us
alike. In future--"
"Hush, brother. I have always had enough, more than I needed. And thou
hast many expenses, and wilt have more henceforward, whilst I shall
only want a doublet and hosen, and a pair of shoes."
"And a cassock and gown?"
Carlos was silent.
"I vow it is a harder task to comprehend you than to chase Coligny's
guard with my single arm! And you so pious, so good a Christian! If
you were a dull rough soldier like me, and if you had had a Huguenot
prisoner (and a very fine fellow, too) to share your bed and board for
months, one could comprehend your not liking certain things over well,
or even"--and Juan averted his face and lowered his voice--"your having
certain evil thoughts you would scarcely care to breathe in the ears of
your father confessor."
"Brother, I too have had thoughts," said Carlos eagerly.
But Juan suddenly tossed off his montero, and ran his fingers through
his black glossy hair. In old times this gesture used to be a sign that
he was going to speak seriously. After a moment he began, but with a
little hesitation, for in fact he held the _mind_ of Carlos in as true
and unfeigned reverence as Carlos held his _character_. And that is
enough to say, without mentioning the additional respect with which he
regarded him, as almost a priest. "Brother Carlos, you are good and
pious. You were thus from childhood; and therefore it is that you are
fit for the service of Holy Church. You rise and go to rest, you read
your books, and tell your beads, and say your prayers, all just as you
are ordered. It is the best life for you, and for any man who _can_
live it, and be content with it. You do not sin, you do not doubt;
therefore you will never come into any grief or trouble. But let me
tell you, little brother, you have a scant notion what men meet with
who go forth into the great world and fight their way in it; seeing
on every side of them things that, take them as they may, will _not_
always square with the faith they have learned in childhood."
"Brother, I also have struggled and suffered. I also have doubted."
"Oh yes, a Churchman's doubts! You had only to tell yourself doubt
was a sin, to make the sign of the cross, to say an Ave or two, then
there was an end of your doubts. 'Twere a different matter if you had
the evil one in the shape of an angel of light--at least in that of a
courteous, well-bred Huguenot gentleman, with as nice a sense of honour
as any Catholic Christian--at your side continually, to whisper that
the priests are no better than they ought to be, that the Church needs
reform; and Heaven knows what more, and worse, beside.--Now, my pious
brother, if thou art going to curse me with bell, book, and candle,
begin at once. I am ready, and prepared to be duly penitent. Let me
first put on my cap though, for it is cold," and he suited the action
to the word.
The voice in which Carlos answered him was low and tremulous with
emotion. "Instead of cursing thee, brother beloved, I bless thee from
my heart for words which give me courage to speak. I have doubted--nay,
why should I shrink from the truth? I have learned, as I believe, from
God himself that some things which the Church teaches as her doctrines
are only the commandments of men."
Don Juan started, and his colour changed. His vaguely liberal ideas
were far from having prepared him for this. "What do you mean?" he
cried, staring at his brother in amazement.
"That I am now, in very truth, what I think you would call--_a
Huguenot_."
The die was cast. The avowal was made. Carlos waited its effects in
breathless silence, as one who has fired a powder magazine might await
the explosion.
"May all the holy saints have mercy upon us!" cried Juan, in a voice
that echoed through the grove. But after that one involuntary cry he
was silent. The eyes of Carlos sought his face, but he turned away from
him. At last he muttered, striking with his sword at the trunk of a
tree that was near him, "Huguenot--Protestant--_heretic_!"
"Brother," said Carlos, rising and standing before him--"brother, say
what thou wilt, only speak to me. Reproach me, curse me, strike me, if
it please thee, only speak to me."
Juan turned, gazed full in his imploring face, and slowly, very slowly,
allowed the sword to fall from his hand. There was a moment of doubt,
of hesitation. Then he stretched out that hand to his brother. "They
who list may curse thee, but not I," he said.
Carlos strained the offered hand in so close a grasp that his own was
cut by his brother's diamond ring, and the blood flowed.
For a long time both were silent, Juan in amazement, perhaps in
consternation; Carlos in deep thankfulness. His confession was made,
and his brother loved him still.
At last Juan spoke, slowly and as if half bewildered. "The Sieur de
Ramenais believes in God, and in our Lord and his passion. And you?"
Carlos repeated the Apostles' Creed in the vulgar tongue.
"And in Our Lady, Mary, Mother of God?"
"I believe that she was the most blessed among women, the holiest among
the holy saints. Yet I ask her intercession no more. I am too well
assured of His love who says to me; and to all who keep his word, 'My
brother, my sister, my mother.'"
"I thought devotion to Our Lady was the surest mark of piety," said
Juan, in utter perplexity. "Then, I am only a man of the world. But oh,
my brother, this is frightful!" He paused a moment, then added more
calmly, "Still, I have learned that Huguenots are not beasts with horns
and hoofs; but, possibly, brave and honourable men enough, as good,
for this world, as their neighbours. And yet--the disgrace!" His dark
cheek flushed, then grew pale, as there rose before his mind's eye an
appalling vision--his brother robed in a hideous sanbenito, bearing a
torch in the ghastly procession of an _auto-da-fé_! "You have kept your
secret as your life? My uncle and his family suspect nothing?" he asked
anxiously.
"Nothing, thank God."
"And who taught you this accursed--these doctrines?"
Carlos briefly told the story of his first acquaintance with the
Spanish New Testament; suppressing, however, all mention of the
personal sorrow that had made its teaching so precious to him; nor did
he think it expedient to give the name of Juliano Hernandez.
"The Church may need reform. I am sure she does," Juan candidly
admitted. "But Carlos, my brother," he added, while the expression of
his face softened gradually into mournful, pitying tenderness, "little
brother, in old times so gentle, so timid, hast thou dreamed--of the
peril? I speak not now of the disgrace--God wot that is hard enough to
think of--hard enough," he repeated bitterly. "But the peril?"
Carlos was silent; his hands were clasped, his eyes raised upwards,
full of thought, perhaps of prayer.
"What is that on thy hand?" asked Juan, with a sudden change of tone.
"Blood? The Sieur de Ramenais' diamond ring has hurt thee."
Carlos glanced at the little wound, and smiled. "I never felt it," he
said, "so glad was my heart, Ruy, for that brave grasp of faithful
brotherhood." And there was a strange light in his eye as he added,
"Perchance it may be thus with me, if Christ indeed should call me to
suffer. Weak as I am, he can give, even to me, such blessed assurance
of his love, that in the joy of it pain and fear shall be unfelt, or
vanish."
Juan could not understand him, but he was awed and impressed. He had
no heart for many words. He rose and walked towards the gate of the
monastery grounds, slowly and in silence, Carlos accompanying him. When
they had nearly reached the spot where they were to part, Carlos said,
"You have heard Fray Constantino, as I asked you?"
"Yes, and I greatly admire him."
"He teaches God's truth."
"Why can you not rest content with his teaching, then, instead of going
to look for better bread than wheaten, Heaven knows where?"
"When I return to the city next week I will explain all to thee."
"I hope so. In the meantime, adios." He strode on a pace or two, then
turned back to say, "Thou and I, Carlos; we will stand together against
the world."
XVIII.
The Aged Monk.
"I will not boast a martyr's might
To leave my home without a sigh--
The dwelling of my past delight,
The shelter where I hoped to die."
ANON.
Much was Carlos strengthened by the result of his interview with Don
Juan. The thing that he greatly feared, his beloved brother's wrath and
scorn, had not come upon him. Juan had shown, instead, a moderation,
a candour, and a willingness to listen, which, while it really amazed
him, inspired him with the happiest hopes. With a glad heart he
repeated the Psalmist's exulting words: "The Lord is my strength and
my shield; my heart hath trusted in him and I am helped; therefore my
heart danceth for joy, and in my song will I praise him."
He soon perceived that the Chapter was over; for figures, robed in
white and brown, were moving here and there amongst the trees. He
entered the house, and without happening to meet any one, made his
way to the deserted Chapter-room. Its sole remaining occupant was a
very aged monk, the oldest member of the community. He was seated at
the table, his face buried in his hands, and his frail, worn frame
quivering as if with sobs.
Carlos went up to him and asked gently, "Father, what ails you?"
The old man slowly raised his head, and gazed at him with sad, tired
eyes, which had watched the course of more than eighty years. "My son,"
he said, "if I weep, it is for joy."
Carlos wondered; for he saw no joy on the wrinkled brow or in the
tearful face. But he merely asked, "What have the brethren resolved?"
"To await God's providence here. Praised be his holy name for that."
And the old man bowed his silver head, and wept once more.
To Carlos also the determination was a cause for deep gratitude.
He had all along regarded the proposed flight of the brethren with
extreme dread, as an almost certain means of awakening the suspicions
of the Holy Office, and thus exposing all who shared their faith to
destruction. It was no light matter that the danger was now at least
postponed, always provided that the respite was purchased by no
sacrifice of principle.
"Thank God!" reiterated the old monk. "For here I have lived; and here
I will die and be buried, beside the holy brethren of other days, in
the chapel of Don Alonzo the Good. My son, I came hither a stripling
as thou art--no, younger, younger--I know not how many years ago; one
year is so like another, there is no telling. I could tell by looking
at the great book, only my eyes are too dim to read it. They have grown
dim very fast of late; when Doctor Egidius used to visit us, I could
read my Breviary with the youngest of them all. But no matter how many
years. They were many enough to change a blooming, black-haired boy
into an old man tottering on the grave's brink. And I to go forth now
into that great, wicked world beyond the gate! I to look upon strange
faces, and to live amongst strange men! Or to die amongst them, for to
that it would come full soon! No, no, Señor Don Carlos. Here I took
the cowl; here I lived; and here I will die and lie buried, God and the
saints helping me!"
"Yet for the Truth's sake, my father, would you not be willing to make
even this sacrifice, and to go forth in your old age into exile?"
"If the brethren must needs go, so, I suppose, must I. But they are
_not_ going, St. Jerome be praised," the old man repeated.
"Going or staying, the presence of Him whom they serve and for whom
they witness will be with them."
"It may be, it may be, for aught I know. But in my young days so many
fine words were not in use. We sang our matins, our complines, our
vespers; we said the holy mass and all our offices, and God and St.
Jerome took care of the rest."
"But you would not have those days back again, would you, my father?
You did not then know the glorious gospel of the grace of God."