"Are ye resigned that they be spent
In such world's help? The spirits bent
Their awful brows, and said, 'Content!'
"Content! It sounded like Amen
Said by a choir of mourning men;
An affirmation full of pain
"And patience,--ay, of glorying.
And adoration, as a king
Might seal an oath for governing."--E. B. Browning
When Carlos stood once more face to face with his sorrow--as he did as
soon as he had closed the door--he found that it had somewhat changed
its aspect. A trouble often does this when some interruption from the
outer world makes us part company with it for a little while. We find
on our return that it has developed quite a new phase, and seldom a more
hopeful one.
It now entered the mind of Carlos, for the first time, that he had been
acting very basely towards his brother. Not only had he planned and
intended a treason, but by endeavouring to engage the affections of Dona
Beatriz, he had actually committed one. Heaven grant it might not prove
irreparable! Though the time that had passed since his better self
gained the victory was only measured by hours, it represented to him a
much longer period. Already it enabled him to look upon what had gone
before from the vantage-ground that some degree of distance gives. He
now beheld in true, perhaps even in exaggerated colours, the meanness
and the treachery of his conduct. He, who prided himself upon the
nobility of his nature matching that of his birth--he, Don Carlos
Alvarez de Santillanos y Menaya, the gentleman of stainless manners, of
reputation untarnished by a single blot--he, who had never yet been
ashamed of anything,--in his solitude he blushed and covered his face in
shame, as the villany he had planned rose up before his mind. It would
have broken his heart to be scorned by any man; and was it not worse a
thousand-fold to be thus scorned by himself! He thought even more of
the meanness of his plan than of its treachery. Of its sin he did not
think at all. Sin was a theological term which he had been wont to
handle in the schools, and to toss to and fro with the other materials
upon which he showed off his dialectic skill; but it no more occurred to
him to take it out of the scholastic world and to bring it into that in
which he really lived and acted, than it did to talk Latin to Diego, or
softly to whisper quotations from Thomas Aquinas into the ear of Dona
Beatriz between the pauses of the dance.
Scarcely any consideration, however, could have made him more miserable
than he was. Past and future--all alike seemed dreary. Not a happy
memory, not a cheering anticipation could he find to comfort him. He
was as one who goes forth to face the driving storm of a wintry night:
not strong in hope and courage--a warm hearth behind him, and before him
the pleasant starry glimmer that tells of another soon to be
reached--but chilled, weary, forlorn, the wind whistling through thin
garments, and nothing to meet his eye but the bare, bleak, shelterless
moor stretching far out into the distance.
He sat long, too crushed in heart even to finish his slight, unimportant
task. Sometimes he drew towards him the sheet of figures, and for a
moment or two tried to fix his attention upon it; but soon he would push
it away again, or make aimless dots and circles on its margin. While
thus engaged, he heard a cheery and not unmelodious voice chanting a
fragment of song in some foreign tongue. Listening more attentively, he
believed the words were French, and supposed the singer must be his
humble guest, the muleteer, on his way to the stable to take a last look
at the beloved companions of his toils before he lay down to rest. The
man had probably exercised his vocation at some former period in the
passes of the Pyrenees, and had thus acquired some knowledge of French.
Half an hour's talk with any one seemed to Carlos at that moment a most
desirable diversion from the gloom of his own thoughts. He might
converse with this stranger when he dared not summon to his presence
Diego or Dolores, because they knew and loved him well enough to
discover in two minutes that something was seriously wrong with him. He
waited until he heard the voice once more close beneath his window; then
softly opening it, he called the muleteer. Juliano responded with ready
alertness; and Carlos, going round to the door, admitted him, and led
him into his sanctum.
"I believe," he said, "that was a French song I heard you sing. You
have been in France, then?"
"Ay, senor; I have crossed the Pyrenees more than once. I have also been
in Switzerland."
"You must, then, have visited many places worthy of note; and not with
your eyes shut, I think. I wish you would tell me, for pastime, the
story of your travels."
"Willingly, senor," said the muleteer, who, though perfectly respectful,
had an ease and independence of manner that made Carlos suspect it was
not the first time he had conversed with his superiors. "Where shall I
begin?"
"Have you ever crossed the Santillanos, or visited the Asturias?"
"No, senor. A man cannot be everywhere; 'he that rings the bells does
not walk in the procession.' I am only master of the route from Lyons
here; knowing a little also, as I have said, of Switzerland."
"Tell me first of Lyons, then. And be seated, my friend."
The muleteer sat down, and began his story, telling of the places he had
seen with an intelligence that more and more engaged the attention of
Carlos, who failed not to draw out his information by many pertinent
questions. As they conversed, each observed the other with gradually
increasing interest. Carlos admired the muleteer's courage and energy in
the prosecution of his calling, and enjoyed his quaint and shrewd
observations. Moreover, he was struck by certain indications of a
degree of education and even of refinement not usual in his class.
Especially he noticed the small, finely-formed hand, which was sometimes
in the warmth of conversation laid on the table, and which looked as if
it had been accustomed to wield some implement far more delicate than a
riding-whip. Another thing he took note of. Though Juliano's language
abounded in proverbs, in provincialisms, in quaint and racy expressions,
not a single oath escaped his lips. "I never saw an arriero before,"
thought Carlos, "who could get through two sentences without half a
dozen of them."
Juliano, on the other hand, was observing his host, and with a far
shrewder and deeper insight than Carlos could have imagined. During
supper he had gathered from the servants that their young master was
kind-hearted, gentle, easy-tempered, and had never injured any one in
his life; and knowing all this, he was touched with genuine sympathy for
the young noble, whose haggard face and sorrowful looks told but too
plainly that some great grief was pressing on his heart.
"Your Excellency must be weary of my stories," he said at length. "It
is time I left you to your repose."
And so indeed it was, for the hour was late.
"Ere you go," said Carlos kindly, "you shall drink a cup of wine with
me."
He had no wine at hand but the costly beverage Dolores had produced for
his own especial use. Wondering a little what Juliano would think of
such a luxurious beverage, he sought a second cup, for the proud
Castilian gentleman was too "finely courteous" not to drink with his
guest, although that guest was only a muleteer.
Juliano, evidently a temperate man, remonstrated: "But I have already
tasted your Excellency's hospitality."
"That should not hinder your drinking to my good health," said Carlos,
producing a small hunting-cup, forgotten until now, from the pocket of
his doublet.
Then filling the larger cup, he handed it to Juliano. It was a very
little thing, a trifling act of kindness. But to the last hour of his
life, Carlos Alvarez thanked God that he had put it into his heart to
offer that cup of wine.
The muleteer raised it to his lips, saying earnestly, "God grant you
health and happiness, noble senor."
Carlos drank also, glad to relieve a painful feeling of exhaustion. As
he set down the cup, a sudden impulse prompted him to say, with a bitter
smile, "Happiness is not likely to come my way at present."
"Nay, senor, and wherefore not? With your good leave be it spoken, you
are young, noble, amiable, with much learning and excellent parts, as
they tell me."
"All these things may not prevent a man being very miserable," said
Carlos frankly.
"God comfort you, senor."
"Thanks for the good wish," said Carlos, rather lightly, and conscious
of having already said too much. "All men have their troubles, I
suppose, but most men contrive to live through them. So shall I, no
doubt."
"But God can comfort you," Juliano repeated with a kind of wistful
earnestness.
Carlos, surprised at his manner, looked at him dreamily, but with some
curiosity.
"Senor," said Juliano, leaning forward and speaking in a low tone full
of meaning. "Let your worship excuse a plain man's plain
question--Senor, _do you know God_?"
Carlos started visibly. Was the man mad? Certainly not; as all his
previous conversation bore witness. He was evidently a very clever,
half-educated man, who spoke with just the simplicity and
unconsciousness of an intelligent child. And now he had asked a true
child's question; one which it would exhaust a wise man's wisdom to
answer. Thoroughly perplexed, Carlos at last determined to take it in
its easiest sense. He said, "Yes; I have studied theology, and taken out
my licentiate's degree at the University of Alcala."
"If it please your worship, what may that fine word theology mean?"
"You have said so many wise things, that I marvel you know not Science
about God."
"Then, senor, your Excellency knows _about God_. But is it not another
thing _to know God_? I know much about the Emperor Carlos, now at San
Yuste; I could tell you the story of all his campaigns. But I never saw
him, still less spoke with him. And far indeed am I from knowing him to
be my friend; and so trusting him that if my mules died, or the
Alguazils seized me at Cordova for bringing over something contraband,
or other mishap befell me, I should go or send to him, certain that he
would help and save me."
"I begin to understand you," said Carlos; and a suspicion crossed his
mind that the muleteer was a friar in disguise. But that could scarcely
be, since his black abundant hair showed no marks of the tonsure.
"After the manner you speak of, only great saints know God."
"Indeed, senor! Can that be true? For I have heard that our Lord
Christ"--(at the mention of the name Carlos crossed himself, a ceremony
which the muleteer was so engrossed by his argument as to forget)--"that
our Lord Christ came into the world to make men know the Father; and
that, to all that believe on him, he truly reveals him."
"Where did you get this strange learning?"
"It is simple learning; and yet very blessed, senor," returned Juliano,
evading the question. "For those who know God are happy. Whatever
sorrows they have without, within they have joy and peace."
"You are advising me to seek peace in religion?"
It was singular certainly that a muleteer should advise _him_; but then
this was a very uncommon muleteer. "And so I ought," he added, "since I
am destined for the Church."
"No, senor; not to seek peace in religion, but to seek peace from God,
and in Christ who reveals him."
"It is only the words that differ, the things are the same."
"Again I say, with all submission to your Excellency, not so. It is
Christ Jesus himself--Christ Jesus, God and man--who alone can give the
peace and happiness for which the heart aches. Are we oppressed with
sin? He says, 'Thy sins are forgiven thee!' Are we hungry? He is
bread. Thirsty? He is living water. Weary? He says, 'Come unto me,
all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest!'"
"Man! who or what are you? You are quoting the Holy Scriptures to me.
Do you then read Latin?"
"No, senor," said the muleteer humbly, casting his eyes down to the
ground.
"_No?_"
"No, senor; in very truth. But--"
"Well? Go on!"
Juliano looked up again, a steady light in his eyes. "Will you promise,
on the faith of a gentleman, not to betray me?" he asked.
"Most assuredly I will not betray you."
"I trust you, senor. I do not believe it would be possible for _you_ to
betray one who trusted you."
Carlos winced, and rather shrank from the muleteer's look of hearty,
honest confidence.
"Though I cannot guess your reason for such precautions," he said, "I am
willing, if you wish it, to swear secrecy upon the holy crucifix."
"It needs not, senor; your word of honour is as much as your oath.
Though I am putting my life in your hands when I tell you that I have
dared to read the words of my Lord Christ in my own tongue."
"Are you then a heretic?" Carlos exclaimed, recoiling involuntarily, as
one who suddenly sees the plague spot on the forehead of a friend whose
hand he has been grasping.
"That depends upon your notion of a heretic, senor. Many a better man
than I has been branded with the name. Even the great preacher Don Fray
Constantino, whom all the fine lords and ladies in Seville flock to
hear, has often been called heretic by his enemies."
"I have resided in Seville, and attended Fray Constantino's theological
lectures," said Carlos.
"Then your worship knows there is not a better Christian in all the
Spains. And yet men say that he narrowly escaped a prosecution for
heresy. But enough of what men say. Let us hear what God says for
once. His words cannot lead us astray."
"No; not the Holy Scriptures, properly expounded by learned and orthodox
doctors. But heretics put their own construction upon the sacred text,
which, moreover, they corrupt and interpolate."
"Senor, you are a scholar; you can consult the original, and judge for
yourself how far that charge is true."
"But I do not want to read heretic writings."
"Nor I, senor. Yet I confess that I have read the words of my Saviour
in my own tongue, which some misinformed or ignorant persons call
heresy; and through them, to my soul's joy, I have learned to know Him
and the Father. I am bold enough to wish the same knowledge yours,
senor, that the same joy may be yours also." The poor man's eye
kindled, and his features, otherwise homely enough, glowed with an
enthusiasm that lent them true spiritual beauty.
Carlos was not unmoved. After a moment's pause he said, "If I could
procure what you style God's Word in my own tongue, I do not say that I
would refuse to read it. Should I discover any heretical mistranslation
or interpolation, I could blot out the passage; or, if necessary, burn
the book."
"I can place in your hands this very hour the New Testament of our
Saviour Christ, lately translated into Castilian by Juan Perez, a
learned man, well acquainted with the Greek."
"What! have you got it with you? In God's name bring it then; and at
least I will look at it."
"Be it truly in God's name, senor," said Juliano, as he left the room.
During his absence Carlos pondered upon this singular adventure.
Throughout his lengthened conversation with him, he had discerned no
marks of heresy in the muleteer, except his possession of the Spanish
New Testament. And being very proud of his dialectic acuteness, he
thought he should certainly have discovered such had they existed. "He
had need to be a clever heretic that would circumvent _me_," he said,
with the vanity of a young and successful scholar. Moreover, his ten
months' attendance on the lectures of Fray Constantino had,
unconsciously to himself, somewhat imbued his mind with liberal ideas.
He could have read the Vulgate at Alcala if he had cared to do so (only
he never had); where then could be the harm of glancing, out of mere
curiosity, at a Spanish translation from the same original?
He regarded the New Testament in the light of some very dangerous,
though effective, weapon of the explosive kind; likely to overwhelm with
terrible destruction the careless or ignorant meddler with its
intricacies, and therefore wisely forbidden by the authorities; though
in able and scientific hands, such as his own, it might be harmless and
even useful.
But it was a very different matter for the poor man who brought it to
him. Was he, after all, a madman? Or was he a heretic? Or was he a
great saint or holy hermit in disguise? But whatever his spiritual peril
might or might not be, it was only too evident that he was incurring
temporal dangers of a very awful kind. And perhaps he was doing so in
the simplicity of ignorance. Carlos could not do less than warn him of
them.
He soon returned; and drawing a small brown volume from beneath his
leathern jerkin, handed it to the young nobleman.
"My friend," said Carlos kindly, as he took it from him, "do you know
what you dare by offering this to me, or even by keeping it yourself?"
"I know it well, senor," was the calm reply; and the muleteer's dark eye
met his undauntedly.
"You are playing a dangerous game. This time you are safe. But take
care. You may try it once too often."
"I shall not, senor. I shall witness for my Lord just so often as he
permits. When he has no more need of me, he will call me home."
"God help you. I fear you are throwing yourself into the fire. And for
what?"
"For the joy of bringing food to the perishing, water to the thirsty,
light to those that sit in darkness, rest to the weary and heavy-laden.
Senor, I have counted the cost, and I shall pay the price right
willingly."
After a moment's silence he continued: "I leave within your hands the
treasure brought at such cost. But God alone, by his Divine Spirit, can
reveal to you its true worth. Senor, seek that Spirit. Nay, be not
offended. You are very noble and very learned; and it is a poor and
ignorant man who speaks to you. But that poor man is risking his life
for your soul's salvation; and thus he proves, at least, how true his
desire to see you one day at the right hand of Christ, his King and
Master. Adios, senor."
He bowed low; and before Carlos had sufficiently recovered from his
astonishment to say a word in answer, he had left the room and closed
the door behind him.
"Strange being!" thought Carlos; "but I shall talk with him again
to-morrow." And ere he was aware, his eyelids were wet; for the courage
and self-sacrifice of the poor muleteer had stirred some answering chord
of emotion in his heart. Probably, in spite of all appearances to the
contrary, he was a madman; or else he was a heretical fanatic. But he
was a man willing to brave numberless sufferings (of which a death of
torture was the last and least), to bring his fellow-men something which
he imagined would make them happy. "The Church has no more orthodox son
than I," said Don Carlos Alvarez; "but I shall read his book for all
that."
Then, the hour being late, he retired to rest, and slept soundly.
He did not rise exactly with the sun, and when he came forth from his
chamber breakfast was already in preparation.
"Where is the muleteer who was here last night?" he asked Dolores.
"He was up and away at sunrise," she answered. "Fortunately, it is not
my custom to stop in bed and see the sunshine; so I just caught him
loading his mules, and gave him a piece of bread and cheese and a
draught of wine. A smart little man he is, and one who knows his
business."
"I wish I had seen him ere he left," said Carlos aloud. "Shall I ever
look upon his face again?" he added mentally.
Carlos Alvarez saw that face again, not by the ray of sun or moon, nor
yet by the gleam of the student's lamp, but clear and distinct in a
lurid awful light more terrible than Egyptian darkness, yet fraught with
strange blessing, since it showed the way to the city of God, where the
sun no more goes down, neither doth the moon withdraw herself.
Juliano el Chico, otherwise Julian Hernandez, is no fancy sketch, no
"character of fiction." It is matter of history that, cunningly stowed
away in his alforjas, amongst the ribbons, laces, and other trifles that
formed their ostensible freight, there was a large supply of Spanish New
Testaments, of the translation of Juan Perez. And that, in spite of all
the difficulties and dangers of his self-imposed task, he succeeded in
conveying his precious charge safely to Seville.
Our cheeks grow pale, our hearts shudder, at the thought of what he and
others dared, that they might bring to the lips of their countrymen that
living water which was truly "the blood of the men that went for it in
jeopardy of their lives." More than jeopardy. Not alone did Juliano
brave danger, he encountered certain death. Sooner or later, it was
impossible that he should not fall into the pitiless grasp of that
hideous engine of royal and priestly tyranny, called the Holy
Inquisition.
We have no words in which to praise such heroism as his. We leave
that--and we may be content to leave it--to Him whose lips shall one day
pronounce the sublime award, "Well done, good and faithful servant;
enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." But in the view of such things
done and suffered for his name's sake, there is another thought that
presses on the mind. How real and great, nay, how unutterably precious,
must be that treasure which men were found willing, at such cost, not
only to secure for themselves, but even to impart to others.