The First Drop of a Thunder Shower.
"Closed doorways that are folded
And prayed against in vain"--E. B. Browning
Meanwhile the happy weeks glided on noiselessly and rapidly. They
brought full occupation for head and heart, as well as varied and
intense enjoyment. Don Juan's constant intercourse with Dona Beatriz was
not the less delightful because already he sought to imbue her mind with
the truths which he himself was learning every day to love better. He
thought her an apt and hopeful pupil, but, under the circumstances, he
was scarcely the best possible judge.
Carlos was not so well satisfied with her attainments; he advised
reserve and caution in imparting their secrets to her, lest through
inadvertence she might betray them to her aunt and cousins. Juan
considered this a mark of his constitutional timidity; yet he so far
attended to his warnings, that Dona Beatriz was strongly impressed with
the necessity of keeping their religious conversations a profound
secret, whilst her sensibilities were not shocked by any mention of
words so odious as heresy or Lutheranism.
Put there could be no doubt as to Juan's own progress under the
instructions of his brother, and of Losada and Fray Cassiodoro. He
began, ere long, to accompany Carlos to the meetings of the Protestants,
who welcomed the new acquisition to their ranks with affectionate
enthusiasm. All were attracted by Don Juan's warmth and candour of
disposition, and by his free, joyous, hopeful temperament; though he was
not beloved by any as intensely as Carlos was by the few who really knew
him, such as Losada, Don Juan Ponce de Leon, and the young monk, Fray
Fernando.
Partly through the influence of his religious friends, and partly
through the brilliant reputation he had brought from Alcala, Carlos now
obtained a lectureship at the College of Doctrine, of which the provost,
Fernando de San Juan, was a decided and zealous Lutheran. This
appointment was an honourable one, considered in no way derogatory to
his social position, and useful as tending to convince his uncle that he
was "doing something," not idly dreaming his time away.
Occupations of another kind opened out before him also. Amongst the many
sincere and anxious inquirers who were troubled with perplexities
concerning the relations of the old faith and the new, were some who
turned to him, with an instinctive feeling that he could help them.
This was just the work that best suited his abilities and his
temperament. To sympathize, to counsel, to aid in conflict as only that
man can do who has known conflict himself, was God's special gift to
him. And he who goes through the world speaking, whenever he can, a word
in season to the weary, will seldom be without some weary one ready to
listen to him.
Upon one subject, and only one, the brothers still differed. Juan saw
the future robed in the glowing hues borrowed from his own ardent,
hopeful spirit. In his eyes the Spains were already won "for truth and
freedom," as he loved to say. He anticipated nothing less than a
glorious regeneration of Christendom, in which his beloved country would
lead the van. And there were many amongst Losada's congregation who
shared these bright and beautiful, if delusive dreams, and the
enthusiasm which had given them birth, and in its turn was nourished by
them.
Again, there were others who rejoiced with much trembling over the good
tidings that often reached them of the spread of the faith in distant
parts of the country, and who welcomed each neophyte to their ranks as
if they were adorning a victim for the sacrifice. They could not forget
that name of terror, the Holy Inquisition. And from certain ominous
indications they thought the sleeping monster was beginning to stir in
his den. Else why had new and severe decrees against heresy been
recently obtained from Rome? And above all, why had the Bishop of
Terragona, Gonzales de Munebraga, already known as a relentless
persecutor of Jews and Moors, been appointed Vice-Inquisitor General at
Seville?
Still, on the whole, hope and confidence predominated; and strange, nay,
incredible as it may appear to us, beneath the very shadow of the Triana
the Lutherans continued to hold their meetings "almost with open doors."
One evening Don Juan escorted Dona Beatriz to some festivity from which
he could not very well excuse himself, whilst Carlos attended a re-union
for prayer and mutual edification at the usual place--the house of Dona
Isabella de Baena.
Don Juan returned at a late hour, but in high spirits. Going at once to
the room where his brother sat awaiting him, he threw off his cloak, and
stood before him, a gay, handsome figure, in his doublet of crimson
satin, his gold chain, and well-used sword, now worn for ornament, with
its embossed scabbard and embroidered belt.
"I never saw Dona Beatriz look so charming," he began eagerly. "Don
Miguel de Santa Cruz was there, but he could not get no much as a single
dance with her, and looked ready to die for envy. But save me from the
impertinence of Luis Rotelo! I shall have to cane him one of these
days, if no milder measures will teach him his place and station. _He_,
the son of a simple hidalgo, to dare lift his eyes to Dona Beatriz de
Lavella? The caitiff's presumption!--But thou art not listening,
brother. What is wrong with thee?"
No wonder he asked. The face of Carlos was pale; and the deep mournful
eyes looked as if tears had been lately there. "A great sorrow, brother
mine," he answered in a low voice.
"_My_ sorrow too, then. Tell me, what is it?" asked Juan, his tone and
manner changed in a moment.
"Juliano is taken."
"Juliano! The muleteer who brought the books, and gave you that
Testament?"
"The man who put into my hands this precious Book, to which I owe my joy
now and my hope for eternity," said Carlos, his lip trembling.
"Ay de mi!--But perhaps it is not true."
"Too true. A smith, to whom he showed a copy of the Book, betrayed him.
God forgive him--if there be forgiveness for such. It may have been a
month ago, but we only heard it now. And he lies there--_there_."
"Who told you?"
"All were talking of it at the meeting when I entered. It is the sorrow
of all; but I doubt if any have such cause to sorrow as I. For he is my
father in the faith, Juan. And now," he added, after a long, sad pause,
"I shall _never_ tell him what he has done for me--at least on this side
of the grave."
"There is no hope for him," said Juan mournfully, as one that mused.
"_Hope_! Only in the great mercy of God. Even those dreadful dungeon
walls cannot shut Him out."
"No; thank God."
"But the prolonged, the bitter, the horrible suffering! I have been
trying to contemplate, to picture it--but I cannot, I dare not. And
what I dare not think of, he must endure."
"He is a peasant, you are a noble--that makes some difference," said Don
Juan, with whom the tie of brotherhood in Christ had not yet effaced all
earthly distinctions. "But Carlos," he questioned suddenly, and with a
look of alarm, "does not he know everything?"
"_Everything_," Carlos answered quietly. "One word from his lips, and
the pile is kindled for us all. But that word will never be spoken.
To-night not one heart amongst us trembled for ourselves, we only wept
for him."
"You trust him, then, so completely? It is much to say. They in whose
hands he is are cruel as fiends. No doubt they will--"
"Hush!" interrupted Carlos, with a look of such exceeding pain, that
Juan was effectually silenced. "There are things we cannot speak of,
save to God in prayer. Oh, my brother, pray for him, that He for whom
he has risked so much may sustain him, and, if it may be, shorten his
agony."
"Surely more than two or three will join in that prayer. But, my
brother," he added, after a pause, "be not so downcast. Do you not know
that every great cause must have its martyr? When was a victory won,
and no brave man left dead on the field; a city stormed, and none fallen
in the breach? Perhaps to that poor peasant may be given the glory--the
great glory--of being honoured throughout all time as the sainted martyr
whose death has consecrated our holy cause to victory. A grand lot
truly? Worth suffering for!" And Juan's dark eye kindled, and his
cheek glowed with enthusiasm.
Carlos was silent.
"Dost thou not think so, my brother?"
"I think that Christ is worth suffering; for," said Carlos at last.
"And that nothing short of his personal presence, realized by faith, can
avail to bring any man victorious through such fearful trials. May
that--may he be with his faithful servant now, when all human help and
comfort are far away."