Farewell.
"My country is there;
Beyond the star pricked with the last peak of snow."--E. B.
Browning.
About a fortnight afterwards, a closely veiled lady, dressed in deep
mourning, leaned over the side of a merchant vessel, and gazed into the
sapphire depths of the Bay of Cadiz. A respectable elderly woman was
standing near her, holding her pretty dark-eyed babe. They seemed to be
under the protection of a Franciscan friar; and of a stately, handsome
serving-man, whose bearing and appearance were rather out of keeping
with his supposed rank. It was said amongst the crew that the lady was
the widow of a rich Sevillian merchant, who during a residence in London
some years before had married an Englishwoman. She was now going to
join her kindred in the heretical country, and much compassion was
expended on her, as she was said to be very Catholic and very pious. It
was a signal proof of these dispositions that she ventured to bring with
her, as private chaplain, the Franciscan friar, who, the sailors
thought, would probably soon fall a martyr to his attachment to the
Faith.
But a few illusions might have been dispelled, if the conversation of
the party, when for a brief space they had the deck to themselves, could
have been overheard.
"Dost thou mourn that the shores of our Spain are fading from us?" said
the lady to the supposed servant.
"Not as I should once have done, my Beatriz; though it is still my
fatherland, dearest and best of all lands to me. And you, my beloved?"
"Where thou art is my country, Don Juan. Besides," she added softly,
"God is everywhere. And think what it will be to worship him in peace,
none making us afraid."
"And you, my brave, true-hearted Dolores?" asked Don Juan.
"Senor Don Juan, my country is _there_, with those that I love best,"
said Dolores, with an upward glance of the large wistful eyes, which had
yet, in their sorrowful depths, a look of peace unknown in past days.
"What is Spain to me--Spain, that would not give to the noblest of them
all a few feet of her earth for a grave?"
"Do not let us stain with one bitter thought our last look at those
shores," said Don Juan, with the gentleness that was growing upon him of
late. "Remember that they who denied a grave to our beloved, are
powerless to rob us of one precious memory of him. His grave is in our
hearts; his memorial is the faith which every one of us now standing
here has learned from him."
"That is true," said Dona Beatriz. "I think that not all thy teaching,
Don Juan, made me understand what 'precious faith' is, until I learned
it by his death."
"He gave up all for Christ, freely and joyfully," Juan continued.
"While I gave up nothing, save as it was wrenched from my unwilling
hand. Therefore for him there is the 'abundant entrance,' the 'crown of
glory.' For me, at the best, 'Seekest thou great things for thyself,
seek them not. But thy life will I give unto thee for a prey in all
places whither thou goest.'"
Fray Sebastian drew near at the moment, and happening to overhear the
last words, he asked, "Have you any plan, senor, as to whither you will
go?"
"I have no plan," Don Juan answered. "But I think God will guide us. I
have indeed a dream," he added, after a pause, "which may, or may not,
come true eventually. My thoughts often turn to that great New World,
where, at least, there should be room for truth and liberty. It was our
childhood's dream, to go forth to the New World and to find our father.
And the lesser half of it, comparatively worthless as it is, may fitly
fall to my lot to fulfil, another worthier than I having done the rest."
His voice grew gentler, his whole countenance softened as he
continued,--"That the prize was his, not mine, I rejoice. It is but an
earnest of the nobler victory, the grander triumph, he enjoys now,
amongst those who stand evermore before the King of kings--CALLED,
CHOSEN, AND FAITHFUL."
Historical Note.
It may be asked by some thoughtful reader who has followed the narrative
of the foregoing pages, How much is fact, how much fiction? As the
writer's sole object is to reveal, to enforce, and to illustrate Truth,
an answer to the question is gladly supplied. All is fact, except what
concerns the personal history of the Brothers and their family.
Whatever relates to the rise, progress, and downfall of the Protestant
Church in Spain, is strictly historical. Especially may be mentioned
the story of the two great Autos at Seville. But much of interest on
the subject remains untold, as nothing was taken up but what would
naturally amalgamate with the narrative and it was not designed to
supersede history, only to stimulate to its study. Except in the
instance of a conversation with Juliano Hernandez, another with Don
Carlos de Seso, and a few words required by the exigencies of the tale
from Losada, the glorious martyr names have been left untouched by the
hand of fiction. It was a sense of their sacredness which led the
writer to choose for hero a character not historical, but typical and
illustrative. But nothing is told of him which did not occur over and
over again, if we except the act of mercy which is supposed to have shed
a brightness over his last days. He is merely a given example, a
specimen of the ordinary fate of such prisoners of the Inquisition as
were enabled to remain faithful to the end; and, thank God, these were
numerous. He is even a favourable specimen; for the conditions of art
require that in a work of fiction a veil should be thrown over some of
the worst horrors of persecution. Those who accuse Protestant writers
of exaggeration in these matters, little know what they say. Easily
could we show greater abominations than these; but we forbear.
As for the joy and triumph ascribed to the steadfast martyr at the close
of his career, we have a thousand well-authenticated instances that such
has been really given. These embrace all classes and ages, and all
varieties of character, and range throughout all time, from the day that
Stephen saw Christ sitting on the right hand of God, until the martyrs
of Madagascar sang hymns in the fire, and "prayed as long as they had
any life; and then they died, softly, gently."
It is not fiction, but truest truth, that He repays his faithful
servants an hundred-fold, even in this life, for anything they do or
suffer for his name's sake.