"A fair face and a tender voice had made me mad and blind."--E. B.
Browning
Don Carlos Alvarez found Alcala, after his brother's departure,
insupportably dull; moreover, he had now almost finished his brilliant
university career. As soon, therefore, as he could, he took his degree
as Licentiate of Theology. He then wrote to inform his uncle of the
fact; adding that he would be glad to spend part of the interval that
must elapse before his ordination at Seville, where he might attend the
lectures of the celebrated Fray Constantino Ponce de la Fuente,
Professor of Divinity in the College of Doctrine in that city. But, in
fact, a desire to fulfil his brother's last charge weighed more with him
than an eagerness for further instruction; especially as rumours that
his watchfulness was not unnecessary had reached his ears at Alcala.
He received a prompt and kind invitation from his uncle to make his
house his home for as long a period as he might desire. Now, although
Don Manuel was highly pleased with the genius and industry of his
younger nephew, the hospitality he extended to him was not altogether
disinterested. He thought Carlos capable of rendering what he deemed an
essential service to a member of his own family.
That family consisted of a beautiful, gay, frivolous wife, three sons,
two daughters, and his wife's orphan niece, Dona Beatriz de Lavella.
The two elder sons were cast in their father's mould; which, to speak
truth, was rather that of a merchant than of a cavalier. Had he been
born of simple parents in the flats of Holland or the back streets of
London, a vulgar Hans or Thomas, his tastes and capabilities might have
brought him honest wealth. But since he had the misfortune to be Don
Manuel Alvarez, of the bluest blood in Spain, he was taught to look on
industry as ineffably degrading, and trade and commerce scarcely less
so. Only one species of trade, one kind of commerce, was open to the
needy and avaricious, but proud grandee. Unhappily it was almost the
only kind that is really degrading--the traffic in public money, in
places, and in taxes. "A sweeping rain leaving no food," such traffic
was, in truth. The Government was defrauded; the people, especially the
poorer classes, were cruelly oppressed. No one was enriched except the
greedy jobber, whose birth rendered him infinitely too proud to work,
but by no means too proud to cheat and steal.
Don Manuel the younger, and Don Balthazar Alvarez, were ready and
longing to tread in their father's footsteps. Of the two pale-faced
dark-eyed sisters, Dona Inez and Dona Sancha, one was already married,
and the other had also plans satisfactory to her parents. But the
person in the family who was not of it was the youngest son, Don
Gonsalvo. He was the representative, not of his father, but of his
grandfather; as we so often see types of character reproduced in the
third generation. The first Conde de Nuera had been a wild soldier of
fortune in the Moorish wars, fierce and fiery, with strong unbridled
passions. At eighteen, Gonsalvo was his image; and there was scarcely
any mischief possible to a youth of fortune in a great city, into which
he had not already found his way. For two years he continued to
scandalize his family, and to vex the soul of his prudent and decorous
father.
Suddenly, however, a change came over him. He reformed, became quiet
and regular in his conduct; gave himself up to study, making
extraordinary progress in a very short time; and even showed what those
around him called "a pious disposition." But these hopeful appearances
passed as suddenly and as unaccountably as they came. After an interval
of less than a year, he returned to his former habits, and plunged even
more madly than ever into all kinds of vice and dissipation.
His father resolved to procure him a commission, and send him away to
the wars. But an accident frustrated his intentions. In those days,
cavaliers of rank frequently sought the dangerous triumphs of the
bull-ring. The part of matador was performed, not, as now, by hired
bravos of the lowest class, but often by scions of the most honourable
houses. Gonsalvo had more than once distinguished himself in the bloody
arena by courage and coolness. But he tempted his fate too often. Upon
one occasion he was flung violently from his horse, and then gored by
the furious bull, whose rage had been excited to the utmost pitch by the
cruel arts usually practised. He escaped with life, but remained a
crippled invalid, apparently condemned for the rest of his days to
inaction, weakness, and suffering.
His father thought a good canonry would be a decent and comfortable
provision for him, and pressed him accordingly to enter the Church. But
the invalided youth manifested an intense repugnance to the step; and
Don Manuel hoped that the influence of Carlos would help to overcome
this feeling; believing that he would gladly endeavour to persuade his
cousin that no way of life was so pleasant or so easy as that which he
himself was about to adopt.
The good nature of Carlos led him to fall heartily into his uncle's
plans. He really pitied his cousin, moreover, and gladly gave himself
to the task of trying in every possible way to console and amuse him.
But Gonsalvo rudely repelled all his efforts. In his eyes the destined
priest was half a woman, with no knowledge of a man's aims or a man's
passions, and consequently no right to speak of them.
"Turn priest!" he said to him one day; "I have as good a mind to turn
Turk. Nay, cousin, I am not pious--you may present my orisons to Our
Lady with your own, if it so please you. Perhaps she may attend to them
better than to those I offered before entering the bull-ring on that
unlucky day of St. Thomas."
Carlos, though not particularly devout, was shocked by this language.
"Take care, cousin," he said; "your words sound rather like blasphemy."
"And yours sound like the words of what you are, half a priest already,"
retorted Gonsalvo. "It is ever the priest's cry, if you displease him,
'Open heresy!' 'Rank blasphemy!' And next, 'the Holy Office, and a
yellow Sanbenito.' I marvel it did not occur to your sanctity to menace
me with that."
The gentle-tempered Carlos did not answer; a forbearance which further
exasperated Gonsalvo, who hated nothing so much as being, on account of
his infirmities, borne with like a woman or a child. "But the saints
help the Churchmen," he went on ironically. "Good simple souls, they do
not know even their own business! Else they would smell heresy close
enough at hand. What doctrine does your Fray Constantino preach in the
great Church every feast-day, since they made him canon-magistral?"
"The most orthodox and Catholic doctrine, and no other," said Carlos,
roused, in his turn, by the attack upon his teacher; though he did not
greatly care for his instructions, which turned principally upon
subjects about which he had learned little or nothing in the schools.
"But to hear thee discuss doctrine is to hear a blind man talking of
colours."
"If I be the blind man talking of colours, thou art the deaf prating of
music," retorted his cousin. "Come and tell me, if thou canst, what are
these doctrines of thy Fray Constantino; and wherein they differ from
the Lutheran heresy? I wager my gold chain and medal against thy new
velvet cloak, that thou wouldst fall thyself into as many heresies by
the way as there are nuts in Barcelona."
Allowing for Gonsalvo's angry exaggeration, there was some truth in his
assertion. Once out of the region of dialectic subtleties, the champion
of the schools would have become weak as another man. And he could not
have expounded Fray Constantino's preaching;--because he did not
understand it.
"What, cousin!" he exclaimed, affronted in his tenderest part, his
reputation as a theological scholar. "Dost thou take me for a
barefooted friar or a village cura? Me, who only two months ago was
crowned victor in a debate upon the doctrines taught by Raymondus
Lullius!"
But whatever chagrin Carlos may have felt at finding himself utterly
unable to influence Gonsalvo, was soon effectually banished by the
delight with which he watched the success of his diplomacy with Dona
Beatriz.
Beatriz was almost a child in years, and entirely a child in mind and
character. Hitherto, she had been studiously kept in the background,
lest her brilliant beauty should throw her cousins into the shade.
Indeed, she would probably have been consigned to a convent, had not her
portion been too small to furnish the donative usually bestowed by the
friends of a novice upon any really aristocratic establishment. "And
pity would it have been," thought Carlos, "that so fair a flower should
wither in a convent garden."
He made the most of the limited opportunities of intercourse which the
ceremonious manners of the time and country afforded, even to inmates of
the same house. He would stand beside her chair, and watch the quick
flush mount to her olive, delicately-rounded cheek, as he talked
eloquently of the absent Juan. He was never tired of relating stories
of Juan's prowess, Juan's generosity. In the last duel he fought, for
instance, the ball had passed through his cap and grazed his head. But
he only smiled, and re-arranged his locks, remarking, while he did so,
that with the addition of a gold chain and medal, the spoiled cap would
be as good, or better than ever. Then he would dilate on his kindness
to the vanquished; rejoicing in the effect produced, as a tribute as
well to his own eloquence as to his brother's merit. The occupation was
too fascinating not to be resorted to once and again, even had he not
persuaded himself that he was fulfilling a sacred duty.
Moreover, he soon discovered that the bright dark eyes which were
beginning to visit him nightly in his dreams, were pining all day for a
sight of that gay world from which their owner was jealously and
selfishly excluded. So he managed to procure for Dona Beatriz many a
pleasure of the kind she most valued. He prevailed upon his aunt and
cousins to bring her with them to places of public resort; and then he
was always at hand, with the reverence of a loyal cavalier, and the
freedom of a destined priest, to render her every quiet unobtrusive
service in his power. At the theatre, at the dance, at the numerous
Church ceremonies, on the promenade, Dona Beatriz was his especial
charge.
Amidst such occupations, pleasant weeks and months glided by almost
unnoticed by him. Never before had he been so happy. "Alcala was well
enough," he thought; "but Seville is a thousand times better. All my
life heretofore seems to me only like a dream, now I am awake."
Alas! he was not awake, but wrapped in a deep sleep, and cradling a
bright delusive vision. As yet he was not even "as those that dream,
and know the while they dream." His slumber was too profound even for
this dim half-consciousness.
No one suspected, any more than he suspected himself, the enchantment
that was stealing over him. But every one remarked his frank, genial
manners, his cheerfulness, his good looks. Naturally, the name of Juan
dropped gradually more and more out of his conversation; as at the same
time the thought of Juan faded from his mind. His studies, too, were
neglected; his attendance upon the lectures of Fray Constantino became
little more than a formality; while "receiving Orders" seemed a remote
if not an uncertain contingency. In fact, he lived in the present, not
caring to look either at the past or the future.
In the very midst of his intoxication, a slight incident affected him
for a moment with such a chill as we feel when, on a warm spring day,
the sun passes suddenly behind a cloud.
His cousin, Dona Inez, had been married more than a year to a wealthy
gentleman of Seville, Don Garcia Ramirez. Carlos, calling one morning
at the lady's house with some unimportant message from Dona Beatriz,
found her in great trouble on account of the sudden illness of her babe.
"Shall I go and fetch a physician?" he asked, knowing well that Spanish
servants can never be depended upon to make haste, however great the
emergency may be.
"You will do a great kindness, amigo mio," said the anxious young
mother.
"But which shall I summon?" asked Carlos. "Our family physician, or Don
Garcia's?"
"Don Garcia's, by all means,--Dr. Cristobal Losada. I would not give a
green fig for any other in Seville. Do you know his dwelling?"
"Yes. But should he be absent or engaged?"
"I must have him. Him, and no other. Once before he saved my darling's
life. And if my poor brother would but consult him, it might fare
better with him. Go quickly, cousin, and fetch him, in Heaven's name."
Carlos lost no time in complying; but on reaching the dwelling of the
physician, found that though the hour was early he had already gone
forth. After leaving a message, he went to visit a friend in the Triana
suburb. He passed close by the Cathedral, with its hundred pinnacles,
and that wonder of beauty, the old Moorish Giralda, soaring far up above
it into the clear southern sky. It occurred to him that a few Aves said
within for the infant's recovery would be both a benefit to the child
and a comfort to the mother. So he entered, and was making his way to a
gaudy tinselled Virgin and Babe, when, happening to glance towards a
different part of the building, his eyes rested on the physician, with
whose person he was well acquainted, as he had often noticed him amongst
Fray Constantino's hearers. Losada was now pacing up and down one of
the side aisles, in company with a gentleman of very distinguished
appearance.
As Carlos drew nearer, it occurred to him that he had never seen this
personage in any place of public resort, and for this reason, as well as
from certain slight indications in his dress of fashions current in the
north of Spain, he gathered that he was a stranger in Seville, who might
be visiting the Cathedral from motives of curiosity. Before he came up
the two men paused in their walk, and turning their backs to him, stood
gazing thoughtfully at the hideous row of red and yellow Sanbenitos, or
penitential garments, that hung above them.
"Surely," thought Carlos, "they might find better objects of attention
than these ugly memorials of sin and shame, which bear witness that
their late miserable wearers--Jews, Moors, blasphemers, or
sorcerers,--have ended their dreary lives of penance, if not of
penitence."
The attention of the stranger seemed to be particularly attracted by one
of them, the largest of all. Indeed, Carlos himself had been struck by
its unusual size; and upon one occasion he had even had the curiosity to
read the inscription, which he remembered because it contained Juan's
favourite name. Rodrigo. It was this: "Rodrigo Valer, a citizen of
Lebrixa and Seville; an apostate and false apostle, who pretended to be
sent from God." And now, as he approached with light though hasty
footsteps, he distinctly heard Dr. Cristobal Losada, still looking at
the Sanbenito, say to his companion, "Yes, senor; and also the Conde de
Nuera, Don Juan Alvarez."
Don Juan Alvarez! What possible tie could link his father's name with
the hideous thing they were gazing at? And what could the physician
know about him of whom his own children knew so little? Carlos stood
amazed, and pale with sudden emotion.
And thus the physician saw him, happening to turn at that moment. Had
he not exerted all his presence of mind (and he possessed a great deal),
he would himself have started visibly. The unexpected appearance of the
person of whom we speak is in itself disconcerting; but it deserves
another name when we are saying that of him or his which, if overheard,
might endanger life, or what is more precious still than life. Losada
was equal to the occasion, however. The usual greetings having been
exchanged, he asked quietly whether Senor Don Carlos had come in search
of him, and hoped that he did not owe the honour to any indisposition in
his worship's noble family.
Carlos felt it rather a relief, under the circumstances, to have to say
that his cousin's babe was alarmingly ill. "You will do us a great
favour," he added, "by coming immediately. Dona Inez is very anxious."
The physician promised compliance; and turning to his companion,
respectfully apologized for leaving him abruptly.
"A sick child's claim must not be postponed," said the stranger in
reply. "Go, senor doctor, and God's blessing rest on your skill."
Carlos was struck by the noble bearing and courteous manner of the
stranger, who, in his turn, was interested by the young man's anxiety
about a sick babe. But with only a passing glance at the other, each
went his different way, not dreaming that once again at least their
paths were destined to cross.
The strange mention of his father's name that he had overheard filled
the heart of Carlos with undefined uneasiness. He knew enough by that
time to feel his childish belief in his father's stainless virtue a
little shaken. What if a dreadful unexplained something, linking his
fate with that of a convicted heretic, were yet to be learned? After
all, the accursed arts of magic and sorcery were not so far removed from
the alchemist's more legitimate labours, that a rash or presumptuous
student might not very easily slide from one into the other. He had
reason to believe that his father had played with alchemy, if he had not
seriously devoted himself to its study. Nay, the thought had sometimes
flashed unbidden across his mind that the "El Dorado" found might after
all have been no other than the philosopher's stone. For he who has
attained the power of producing gold at will may surely be said, without
any stretch of metaphor, to have discovered a golden country. But at
this period of his life the personal feelings of Carlos were so keen and
absorbing that almost everything, consciously or unconsciously, was
referred to them. And thus it was that an intense wish sprang up in his
heart, that his father's secret might have descended to _him_.
Vain wish! The gold he needed or desired must be procured from a less
inaccessible region than El Dorado, and without the aid of the
philosopher's stone.