The Vale of Cedars; Or, The Martyr
Page 31
CHAPTER XXX.
"Oh, bear me up Against the unutterable tenderness Of earthly love, my God! In the sick hour Of dying human hope, forsake me not!"
MRS. HEMANS.
For some months all was gayety and rejoicing in Segovia, not a littleheightened by the exciting preparations for the much desired war. Thetime had now come when Ferdinand could, with safety to the internalstate of his kingdom, commence the struggle for which he had soimpatiently waited, since the very first hour of the union of Arragonand Castile. Troops were marshalling secretly all over Spain; thearmorers and smiths were in constant requisition. The nobles wereconstantly flitting from their hereditary domains to the court, eagerand active to combine all the pomp and valor of a splendid chivalrywith the more regular force; standing armies, which in almost everyEuropean land were now beginning to take the place of the feudalsoldiery, so long their sole resource. It was necessary for Ferdinand,ere he commenced operations, to visit his own dominions; a measure hedid not regret, as it effectually concealed his ulterior plans fromthe Moors, who were also at that time too much disturbed by internaldissensions, to give more than a cursory glance on the movements andappearances of their Christian foes.
In the festivals of the palace the young Englishman was naturally thehero of the day; the best feelings of the Spanish character hadbeen called into play towards him: he had been unjustly accused andseriously injured; been subject to dishonor and shame; and many mightsay it had all sprung from prejudice against him as a foreigner. Thevery failing of the Spaniards in this case also operated in his favor;their national jealousy called upon them to make publicly manifest thefalsity of such a supposition, and he was courted and feted by all,brought forward on every occasion, and raised and promoted both tocivil and military distinction, by those very men who, before the lateevents, would have been the first to keep him back, yielding him butthe bare and formal courtesy, which, however prejudiced, no true-bornSpaniard could refuse.
Amongst Isabella's female train, Arthur Stanley was ever gladlywelcomed, and his presence might have proved dangerous to more thanone of Isabella's younger attendants, had not his manner been such asto preclude even the boldest and most presuming from any thought oflove. One alone he certainly singled out to talk with, and treat withmore attention than any other; and that one was the maiden we havemore than once had occasion to mention, Catherine Pas. Rallied as shewas by her companions, the young girl herself imagined there could beno danger to her peace in associating thus with the handsome youngEnglishman; for _she_ knew, though her companions did not, the realreason of his preference for her society. Isabella had once slightlyhinted from which of her attendants Stanley might hear of Marie, andgiving them permission to answer his queries. It was a dangerousordeal for Catherine, but she laughed at the idea of permitting herheart to pass into the possession of one who cared nothing for her,save as she could speak of Marie.
Great was the surprise and many the conjectures of the Queen'sfemale court, when rather more than six months after her strangedisappearance, the widow of Morales re-appeared amongst them; notpublicly indeed, for at the various fetes and amusements of thepalace, and elsewhere, Marie was never seen. Her existence, however,and safety, under Isabella's especial protection, were no longer keptsecret; and her recent loss was in itself quite sufficient reason forher strict retirement. Her identity with brother Ernest, the supposednovice, never transpired; he was supposed to have returned with Perezto his guardian, Father Ambrose, who, though seen and questioned byDon Alonzo at the village, did not accompany his dying penitent toSegovia, nor, in fact, was ever seen in that city again.
The tender care and good nursing which had been lavished on Marie, hadrestored her sufficiently to health as to permit returning elasticityof mind. All morbid agony had passed, all too passionate emotions weregradually relaxing their fire-bands round her heart; and strength, themartyr strength, for which she unceasingly prayed, to give up all ifcalled upon for her God, seemed dawning for her. That she was stillunder some restraint, a sort of prisoner in the palace, Marie herselfwas not aware; she had neither wish nor energy to leave the castle,and therefore knew not that her egress, save under watchfulguardianship, would have been denied. She had no spirits to minglewith the light-hearted, happy girls, in her Sovereign's train, andtherefore was unconscious that, with the sole exception of Catherinewhose passionate entreaties had obtained her this privilege, allintimacy with them would have been effectually prevented. It wasenough, more than enough (for the foreboding dread was ever present,that such a blissful calm, such mental and bodily repose, were far,far too sweet for any long continuance) to be employed in littleservices for and about the person of the Queen, and to know thatArthur Stanley was restored to even more than former favor, and fastrising to eminence and honor.
Before the sovereigns quitted Segovia, Stanley left the court to marchsouthward with Pedro Pas, to occupy a strong fortification on thebarrier line, dividing the Spanish from the Moorish territories, andcommanding a very important post, which Ferdinand was anxious tosecure, and where he intended to commence his warlike operations,as speedily as he could settle affairs at Saragossa. Twice beforeStanley's departure did Isabella contrive an apparently accidentalmeeting between him and Marie, permitting them, though in herpresence, ample opportunity for mutual explanation; but not with muchevident success. Stanley, indeed, was painfully and visibly agitated,finding it difficult, almost impossible to speak the feelings whichhad so long filled heart and mind, and been in fancy so often throwninto eloquent words, that he could not understand why in her presencewords were frozen up, and he could only _feel_. Marie's cheek and liphad indeed blanched as she beheld him, but the deep and quiet calm shehad so earnestly sought, even then did not forsake her; once only hervoice faltered, when she conjured him to allude no longer to the past,that the exertions she had made for him demanded no such gratitudeas he expressed. He would have answered with his usual passionateimpetuosity, but there was something in her manner which restrainedhim; it was no longer the timid, yielding girl, who, even while shetold him of the barrier between them, had yet betrayed the deep loveshe felt: it was the woman whose martyr spirit was her strength. Andyet, spite of himself, he hoped. Isabella, in parting with him, hadspoken such words as sent a thrill of delight over his whole being,and he quitted Segovia buoyant and glad-hearted, to wait weeks,months, he thought even years: so certain did he feel of success atlast.
Isabella accompanied Ferdinand to Arragon, and determined on remainingat Saragossa during the commencement of his Moorish campaign; butshe did not part from him without demanding and receiving his solemnpromise to send for her as soon as the residence of females in thecamp was practicable. She well knew the inspiring power of herpresence in similar scenes, and the joy and increased ardor which thevicinity of near and dear relations, composing her court, would excitein the warrior camp of Ferdinand. The promise was given, and theannals of the Moorish war tell us how faithfully it was kept, and howadmirably Isabella performed the part she had assigned herself.
Months glided slowly and peacefully on; as each passed, the tremblingheart of Marie foreboded change and sorrow; but it was not till shehad been eight months a widow that aught transpired which couldaccount for such strange fears. Then, indeed, the trial came: shethought she was prepared, but the aching heart and failing strengthwith which she listened to the Queen's commands, betrayed how littleour best endeavors can pave the way for sorrow. Isabella spoke gentlyand kindly indeed, but so decisively, there was no mistaking themeaning of her words: she had waited, she said, till time had restorednot only health and strength, but some degree of tranquillity to theheart, and elasticity to the mind. That, as a Jewess, Marie must havelong known, the Queen could not continue favor; that she was, in fact,acting without a precedent in thus permitting the attendance of anunbeliever on her person, or appearance in her court; but that she hadso acted, believing that when perfectly restored to sense and energy,Marie would herself feel the necessity
, and gladly embrace the onlyreturn she required--a calm deliberation of the Catholic faith, and,as a necessary consequence, its acceptance. She therefore desired thatMarie would devote herself to the instructions of a venerable monk(Father Denis by name), whom she had selected for the task. Thatfrom that day Marie would not be called upon for either service orattendance on the Queen, but to devote her whole mind and energies tothe task proposed; and that when Father Denis brought her informationthat Marie accepted the cross, that very hour she should resumeher place in Isabella's court, and be the dearest, most cherishedthere!--be publicly acknowledged as the inheritrix of her husband'svast possessions, and a future of love and joy would shine before her,so bright as to banish even the memories of the stormy past.
Marie would have replied, but Isabella, with gentle firmness, refusedto hear her. "I demand nothing now," she said, "but obedience. Awilling heart, and open mind, are all you need bring with you to yourtask: the father's holy lessons, blessed with God's grace, will dothe rest. I cannot believe that all the kindness and affection I haveshown have been so utterly without effect, that thou too wilt evincethe ungrateful obstinacy, so unhappily the characteristic of thyblinded people. If banishment from our presence be a source of sorrow,which I do believe it is, the term of that banishment rests entirelywith thyself. The sooner we can hail the child of the Virgin, even asthou art now of our affections, the greater share of happiness wiltthou bestow upon us and upon thyself. We have heard that nought butharshness and severity can have effect on thy hardened race. It maybe, but with thee, at least, we will not use it, unless--" and hervoice and her look grew sufficiently stern for Marie to feel her wordswere no idle threat--"unless obduracy and ingratitude so conqueraffection that we can see no more in the Marie Morales we have lovedthan a hardened member of her own stiff-necked race; then--, but wewill not pain ourself or thee, by imagining what thine own will mayavert. Go, and the holy Virgin bless thee. Not a word; I know whatwill be thine answer now; but a month hence thou wilt thank me forthis seeming severity."
And Isabella turned somewhat hastily away; for her lip quivered andher eye swelled. Marie did not see these indications of emotion, andsilently withdrew.