he descended late in the evening to the cool, marble-paved court,
or _patio_, in the centre of which the fountain ever murmured and
glistened, surrounded by tropical plants, some of them in gorgeous
bloom.
As he had hoped, one solitary lamp burned like a star in a remote
corner; and its light illumined the form of a young girl seated on
a low chair, before an inlaid ebony table, writing busily. Doña
Beatriz had excused herself from accompanying the family on an evening
visit, that she might devote herself in undisturbed solitude to the
composition of her first love-letter--indeed, her first letter of any
kind: for short as he intended his absence to be, Juan had stipulated
for this consolation, and induced her to promise it; and she knew that
the King's post went northwards the next day, passing by Nuera on his
way to the towns of La Mancha.
So engrossing was her occupation that she did not hear the step of
Carlos. He drew near, and stood behind her. Pearls, golden Agni, and
a scarlet flower or two, were twined with her glossy raven hair; and
the lamp shed a subdued radiance over her fine features, which glowed
through their delicate olive with the rosy light of joy. An exquisite
though not very costly perfume, that Carlos in other days always
associated with her presence, still continued a favourite with her, and
filled the place around with fragrance. It brought back his memory to
the past--to that wild, vain, yet enchanting dream; the brief romance
of his life. But there was no time now even for "a dream within a
dream." There was only time to thank God, from the depths of his soul,
that in all the wide world there was no heart that would break for
_him_.
"Doña Beatriz," he said gently.
She started, and half turned, a bright flush mounting to her cheek.
"You are writing to my brother."
"And how know you that, Señor Don Carlos?" asked the young lady, with a
little innocent affectation.
But Carlos, standing face to face with terrible realities, pushed aside
her pretty arts, as one hastening to succour a dying man might push
aside a branch of wild roses that impeded his path.
"I most earnestly request of you, señora, to convey to him a message
from me."
"And wherefore can you not write to him yourself, Señor Licentiate?"
"Is it possible, señora, that you know not what has happened?"
"Vaya, vaya, Don Carlos! how you startle one.--Do you mean these
horrible arrests?"
Carlos found that a few strong, plain words were absolutely necessary
in order to make Beatriz understand his brother's peril. She had
listened hitherto to Don Juan's extracts from Scripture, and the
arguments and exhortations founded thereon, conscious, indeed, that
these were secrets which should be jealously guarded, yet unconscious
that they were what the Church and the world branded as heresy.
Consequently, although she heard of the arrest of Losada and his
friends with vague regret and apprehension, she was far from distinctly
associating the crime for which they suffered with the name dearest to
her heart. She was still very young; and she had not thought much--she
had only loved. And she blindly followed him she loved, without caring
to ask whither he was going himself, or whither he was leading her.
When at last Carlos made her comprehend that it was for reading the
Scriptures, and talking of justification by faith alone, that Losada
was thrown into the dungeons of the Triana, a thrilling cry of anguish
broke from her lips.
"Hush, señora!" said Carlos; and for once his voice was stern. "If even
your little black foot-page heard that cry, it might ruin all."
But Beatriz was unused to self-control. Another cry followed, and there
were symptoms of hysterical tears and laughter. Carlos tried a more
potent spell.
"Hush, señora" he repeated. "We must be strong and silent, if we are to
save Don Juan."
She looked piteously up at him, repeating, "Save Don Juan?"
"Yes, señora. Listen to me. _You_, at least, are a good Catholic. You
have not compromised yourself in any way: you say your angelus; you
make your vows; you bring flowers to Our Lady's shrine. _You_ are
safe."
She turned round and faced him--her cheek dyed crimson, and her eyes
flashing,--
"I am safe! Is that all you have to say? Who cares for that? What is
_my_ life worth?"
"Patience, dear señora! Your safety aids in securing his. Listen.--You
are writing to him. Tell him of the arrests; for hear of them he must.
Use the language about heresy which will occur to you, but which--God
help me!--I could not use. Then pass from the subject. Write aught
else that comes to your mind; but before closing your letter, say that
I am well in mind and body, and would be heartily recommended to him.
Add that I most earnestly request of him, for our common good and the
better arrangement of our affairs, not to return to Seville, but to
remain at Nuera. He will understand that. Lay your own commands upon
him--your _commands_, remember, señora--to the same effect."
"I will do all that.--But here come my aunt and cousins."
It was true. Already the porter had opened for them the gloomy outer
gate; and now the gilt and filagreed inner door was thrown open also,
and the returning family party filled the court. They were talking
together; not quite so gaily as usual, but still eagerly enough. Doña
Sancha soon drew near to Beatriz, and began to rally her upon her
occupation, threatening playfully to carry away and read the unfinished
letter. No one addressed a word to Carlos; but that might have been
mere accident.
It was, however, scarcely accidental that his aunt, as she passed him
on her way to an inner room, drew her mantilla closer round her, lest
its deep lace fringe might touch his clothing. Shortly afterwards Doña
Sancha dropped her fan. According to custom, Carlos stooped for it,
and handed it to her with a bow. The young lady took it mechanically,
but almost immediately dropped it again with a look of scorn, as if
polluted by its touch. Its delicate carved ivory, the work of Moorish
hands, lay in fragments on the marble floor; and from that moment
Carlos knew that he was under the ban, that he stood alone amidst his
uncle's household--a suspected and degraded man.
It was not wonderful. His intimacy with the monks of San Isodro,
his friendship with Don Juan Ponce de Leon, and with the physician
Losada, were all well-known facts. Moreover, had he not taught at the
College of Doctrine, under the direct patronage of Fernando de San
Juan, another of the victims? And there were other indications of his
tendencies which could scarcely escape notice, once the suspicions of
those who lived under the same roof with him were awakened.
For a time he stood silent, watching his uncle's countenance, and
marking the frown that contracted his brow whenever his eye turned
towards him. But when Don Manuel passed into a smaller saloon that
opened upon the court, Carlos followed him boldly.
They stood face to face, but could hardly see each other. The room was
darkness, save for a few struggling moonbeams.
"Señor my uncle," said Carlos, "I fear my presence here is displeasing
to you."
Don Manuel paused before replying.
"Nephew," he said at length, "you have been lamentably imprudent. The
saints grant you have been no worse."
A moment of strong emotion will sometimes bring out in a man's face
characteristic lineaments of his family, in calmer seasons not
traceable there. Thus it is with features of the soul. It was not the
gentle timid Don Carlos who spoke now, it was Alvarez de Santillanos y
Meñaya. There was both pride and courage in his tone.
"If it has been my misfortune to offend my honoured uncle, to whom I
owe so many benefits, I am sorry, though I cannot charge myself with
any fault. But I should be faulty indeed were I to prolong my stay in
a house where I am no longer what, thanks to your kindness, señor my
uncle, I have ever been hitherto, a welcome guest." Having spoken thus,
he turned to go.
"Stay, young fool!" cried Don Manuel, who thought the better of him for
his proud words. They raised him, in his estimation, from a mark for
his scorn to a legitimate object for his indignation. "There spoke your
father's voice. But I tell you, for all that, you shall not quit the
shelter of my roof."
"I thank you."
"You may spare the pains. I ask you not, for I prefer to remain in
ignorance, to what perilous and fool-hardy lengths your intimacy with
heretics may have gone. Without being a Qualificator of heresy myself,
I can tell that you smell of the fire. And indeed, young man, were you
anything less than Alvarez de Meñaya, I would hardly scorch my own
fingers to hold you out of it. The Devil--to whom, in spite of all your
fair appearances, I fear you belong--might take care of his own. But
since truth is the daughter of God, you shall have it from my lips.
And the plain truth is, that I have no desire to hear every cur dog in
Seville barking at me and mine; nor to see our ancient and honourable
name dragged through the mire and filth of the streets."
"I have never disgraced that name."
"Have I not said that I desire no protestations from you? Whatever
my private opinion may be, it stands upon our family honour to hold
that yours is still unstained. Therefore, not from love, as I tell you
plainly, but from motives that may perchance prove stronger in the
end, I and mine extend to you our protection. I am a good Catholic, a
faithful son of Mother Church; but I freely confess I am no hero of
the Faith, to offer up upon its shrine those that bear my own name.
I pretend not to such heights of sanctity, not I." And Don Manuel
shrugged his shoulders.
"I entreat of you, señor my uncle, to allow me to explain--"
Don Manuel waved his hand with a forbidding gesture. "None of thy
explanations for me," he said. "I am no silly cock, to scratch till I
find the knife. Dangerous secrets had best be let alone. This I will
say, however, that of all the contemptible follies of these evil times,
this last one of heresy is the worst. If a man _will_ lose his soul, in
the name of common sense let him lose it for fine houses, broad lands,
a duke's title, an archbishop's coffers, or something else good at
least in this world. But to give all up, and to gain nothing, save fire
here and fire again hereafter! It is sheer, blank idiocy."
"I _have_ gained something," said Carlos firmly. "I have gained a
treasure worth more than all I risk, more than life itself."
"What! Is there really a meaning in this madness? Have you and your
friends a secret?" Don Manuel asked in a gentler voice, and not without
curiosity. For he was the child of his age; and had Carlos told him
that the heretics had made the discovery of the philosopher's stone, he
would have seen nothing worthy of disbelief in the statement; he would
only have asked him for proofs.
"The knowledge of God in Christ," began Carlos eagerly "gives me joy
and peace--"
"_Is that all?_" cried Don Manuel with an oath. "Fool that I was, to
imagine, for half an idle minute, that there might be some grain of
common sense still left in your crazy brain! But since it is only a
question of words and names, and mystical doctrines, I have the honour
to wish you good evening, Señor Don Carlos. Only I command you, as you
value your life, and prefer a residence beneath my roof to a dungeon
in the Triana, to keep your insanity within bounds, and to conduct
yourself so as to avert suspicion. On these conditions we will shelter
you. Eventually, if it can be done with safety, we may even ship you
out of the Spains to some foreign country, where heretics, rogues, and
thieves are permitted to go at large." So saying, he left the room.
Carlos was stung to the quick by his contempt; but remembered at last
that it was a fragment of the true cross (really the first that had
fallen to his lot) given him to wear in honour of his Master.
Sleep would not visit his eyes that night. The next day was the
Sabbath, a day he had been wont to welcome and enjoy. But never again
should the Reformed Church of Seville meet in the upper room which
had been the scene of so much happy intercourse. The next reunion was
appointed for another place, a house not made with hands, eternal in
the heavens. Doña Isabella de Baena and Losada were in the dungeons
of the Triana. Fray Cassiodoro de Reyna, singularly fortunate, had
succeeded in making his escape. Fray Constantino, on the other hand,
had been amongst the first arrested; but Carlos went as usual to the
Cathedral, where that eloquent voice would never again be heard. A
heavy silent gloom, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, seemed to
fill the crowded aisles.
Yet it was there that the first gleam of comfort reached the breaking
heart of Carlos. It came to him through the familiar words of the Latin
service, loved from childhood.
He said afterwards to the trembling children of one of the victims,
whose desolated home he dared to visit, "For myself, horror took
hold of me. I dared not to think. I scarce dared to pray, save in
broken words that were only like cries of pain. The first thing that
helped me was that grand verse in the Te Deum, chanted by the sweet
childish voices of the Cathedral choir--'Tu, devicto mortis aculeo,
aperuesti credentibus regna coelorum.' Think, dear friends, not death
alone, but its sting, its sharpness,--for us and our beloved,--He has
overcome, and they and we in him. The gates of the kingdom of heaven
stand open; opened by his hands, and neither men nor fiends can shut
them again."
Such words as these did Carlos find opportunity to speak to many
bereaved ones, from whom the desire of their eyes had been taken by
a stroke far more bitter than death. This ministry of love did not
greatly increase his own peril, since the less he deviated from his
ordinary habits of life the less suspicion he was likely to awaken.
But had it been otherwise, he was not now in a position to calculate.
Perhaps he was too near heaven; at all events, he had already ventured
too much for Christ's sake not to be willing, at his call, to venture a
little more.
Meanwhile, the isolation of his position in his uncle's house grew
overpowering. No one reproached him, no one taunted him, not even
Gonsalvo. He often longed for some bitter word, ay, though it were a
curse, to break the oppressive silence. Every eye looked upon him with
hatred and scorn; every hand shrank from the slightest, most accidental
contact with his. Almost he came to consider himself what all others
considered him,--polluted, degraded--under the ban.
Once and again would he have sought escape by flight from an atmosphere
in which it seemed more and more impossible to breathe. But flight
meant arrest; and arrest, besides its overwhelming terrors for himself,
meant the danger of betraying Juan. His uncle and his uncle's family,
though they seemed now to scorn and hate him, had promised to save him
if they could, and so far he trusted them.
XXIV.
A Gleam of Light.
"It is a weary task to school the heart,
Ere years or griefs have tamed its fiery throbbings,
Into that still and passive fortitude
Which is but learned from suffering."
HEMANS
Shortly afterwards, the son and heir of Doña Inez was baptized, with
the usual amount of ceremony and rejoicing. After the event, the family
and friends partook of a merienda of fruit, confectionery, and wine, in
the patio of Don Garçia's house. Much against his inclination, Carlos
was obliged to be present, as his absence would have occasioned remark
and inquiry.
When the guests were beginning to disperse, the hostess drew near the
spot where he stood, near to the fountain, admiring, or seeming to
admire, a pure white azalia in glorious bloom.
"In good sooth, cousin Don Carlos," she said, "you forget old friends
very easily. But I suppose it is because you are going so soon to take
Orders. Every one knows how learned and pious you are. And no doubt
you are right to wean yourself in good time from the concerns and
amusements of this unprofitable world."
No word of this little speech was lost upon one of the greatest gossips
in Seville, a lady of rank, who stood near, leaning on the arm of
Losada's former patient, the wealthy Canon. And this was what the
speaker, in her good nature, probably intended.
Carlos raised to her face eyes beaming with gratitude for the friendly
notice.
"No change of state, señora, can ever make me forget the kindness of my
fair cousin," he responded with a bow.
"Your cousin's little daughter," said the lady, "had once a place in
your affections. But with you, as with all the rest, I presume the boy
is everything. As for my poor little Inez, her small person is of small
account in the world now. It is well she has her mother."
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to renew my acquaintance
with Doña Inez, if I maybe permitted so to do."
This was evidently what the mother desired. "Go to the right then,
amigo mio," she said promptly, indicating the place intended by a quick
movement of her fan, "and I will send the child to you."
Carlos obeyed, and for a considerable time paced up and down a cool
spacious apartment, only separated from the court by marble pillars,
between which costly hangings were suspended. Being a Spaniard, and
dwelling among Spaniards, he was neither surprised nor disconcerted by
the long delay.
At last, however, he began to suspect that his cousin had forgotten
him. But this was not the case. First a painted ivory ball rolled in
over the smooth floor; then one of the hangings was hastily pushed
aside, and the little Doña Inez bounded gaily into the room in search
of her toy. She was a merry, healthy child, about two years old, and
really very pretty, though her infantine charms were not set off to
advantage by the miniature nun's habit in which she was dressed, on
account of a vow made by her mother to "Our Lady of Carmel," during the
serious illness for which Carlos had summoned Losada to her aid.
She was followed almost immediately, not by the grave elderly nurse
who usually waited on her, but by a girl of about sixteen, rather a
beauty, whose quick dark eyes bestowed, from beneath their long lashes,
bashful but evidently admiring glances on the handsome young nobleman.
Carlos, ever fond of children, and enjoying the momentary relief from
the painful tension of his daily life, stooped for the ball and held
it, just allowing its bright red to appear through his fingers. As the
child was not in the least shy, he was soon engaged in a game with her.
Looking up in the midst of it, he saw that the mother had come in
silently, and was watching him with searching anxious eyes that brought
back in a moment all his troubles. He allowed the ball to slide to the
ground, and then, with a touch of his foot, sent it rolling into one
of the farthest corners of the spacious hall. The child ran gleefully
after it; while the mother and the attendant exchanged glances. "You
may take the noble child away, Juanita," said the former.
Juanita led off her charge without again allowing her to approach
Carlos, thus rendering unnecessary the ceremony of a farewell. Was this
the mother's contrivance, lest by spell of word or gesture, or even by
a kiss, the heretic might pollute or endanger the innocent babe?
When they were alone together, Doña Inez was the first to speak. "I do
not think you can be so wicked after all; since you love children, and
play with them still," she said in a low, half-frightened tone.
"God bless you for those words, señora," answered Carlos with a
trembling lip. He was learning to steel himself to scorn; but kindness
tested his self-control more severely.
"Amigo mio," she resumed, drawing nearer and speaking more rapidly,
"I cannot quite forget the past. It is very wrong, I know, and I am
weak. Ay de mi! If it be true you really are that dreadful thing I do
not care to name, I ought to have the courage to stand by and see you
perish."
"But my kinsfolk," said Carlos, "do not intend me to perish. And for
the protection they afford me I am grateful. More I could not have
expected from them; less they might well have done for me. But I would
to God I could show them and you that I am not the foul dishonoured
thing they deem me."
"If it had only been something _respectable_," said Doña Inez, with a
sort of writhe, "such as some youthful irregularity, or stabbing or
slaying somebody!--but what use in words? I would say, I counsel you to
look to your own safety. Do you not know my brothers?"
"I think I do, señora. That an Alvarez de Meñaya should be defamed of
heresy would be more than a disgrace--it would be a serious injury to
them."
"There be more ways than one of avoiding the misfortune."
Carlos looked inquiringly at her. Something in her half-averted face
and the quick shrug of her shoulders prompted him to ask, "Do you think
they mean me mischief?"
"Daggers are sharp to cut knots," said the lady, playing with her fan
and avoiding his eye.
With so many ghastlier terrors had the mind of Carlos grown familiar,
that this one came to him in the guise of a relief. So "the sharpness
of death" for him might mean no more than a dagger's thrust, after all!
One moment here, the next in his Saviour's presence. Who that knew
aught of the tender mercies of the Holy Office could do less than thank
God on his bended knees for the prospect of such a fate!
"It is not _death_ that I fear," he answered, looking at her steadily.
"But you may as well live; nay, you had better live. For you may
repent, may save your unhappy soul. I shall pray for you."
"I thank you, dear and kind señora; but, through the grace of God, my
soul is saved already. I believe in Jesus Christ--"
"Hush! for Heaven's sake!" Doña Inez interrupted, dropping her fan and
putting her fingers in her ears. "Hush! or ere I am aware I shall have
listened to some dreadful heresy. The saints help me! How should I know
just where the good Catholic words end, and the wicked ones begin? I
might be caught in the web of the evil one; and then neither saint nor
angel, no, nor even Our Lady herself, could deliver me. But listen to
me, Don Carlos, for at all events I would save your life."
"I will listen gratefully to aught from your lips."
"I know that you dare not attempt flight from the city at present.
But if you could lie concealed in some safe and quiet place within it
till this storm has blown over, you might then steal away unobserved.
Don Garçia says that now there is such a keen search made after the
Lutherans, that every man who cannot give a good account of himself
is like to be taken for one of the accursed sect. But that cannot
last for ever; in six months or so the panic will be past. And those
six months you may spend in safety, hidden away in the lodging of my
lavandera."[15]
[15] Washerwoman.
"You are kind--"
"Peace, and listen. I have arranged the whole matter. And once you are
there, I will see that you lack nothing. It is in the Morrero;[16] a
house hidden in a very labyrinth of lanes, a chamber in the house which
a man would need to look for very particularly ere he found it."
[16] Moorish quarter of the city.
"How shall _I_ succeed in finding it?"
"You noticed the pretty girl who led in my little Inez? Pepe, the
lavandera's son, is ready to die for the love of her. She will describe
you to him, and engage his assistance in the adventure, telling him the
story I have told her, that you wish to conceal yourself for a season,
having stabbed your rival in a love affair."
"O Doña Inez! _I!_--almost a priest!"
"Well, well; do not look so horror-stricken, amigo mio. What could I
do? I dared not give them a hint of the truth, or both my hands full
of double ducats would not have tempted them to stir in the affair. So
I thought no shame of inventing a crime for you that would win their
interest and sympathy, and dispose them to aid you."
"Passing strange," said Carlos. "Had I only sinned against the law of
God and the life of my neighbour, they would gladly help me to escape;
did they dream that I read his words in my own tongue, they would give
me up to death."
"Juanita is a good little Christian," remarked Doña Inez; "and Pepe
also is a very honest lad. But perhaps you may find some sympathy with
the old crone of a lavandera, who is of Moorish blood, and, it is
whispered, knows more of Mohammed than she does of her Breviary."
Carlos disclaimed all connection with the followers of the false
prophet.