Patrañas; or, Spanish Stories, Legendary and Traditional
Page 9
THE STEEPLE OF COVENA.
At a very little distance from Madrid you may already discern againstthe horizon the outline of the steeple of Covena, which is one of thehandsomest edifices of New Castile; and all the thitherward way itis before you, standing against the sky as a landmark to the traveller.
The people are so proud of having a church which bears so unusual aproportion to the size of their village, that they will not allow itwas designed by any architect of less renown than Juan de Herrera,the architect of the Escorial, whom another tradition declares tohave had a hand in the works at St. Peter's, in Rome.
Nor are they satisfied with the mere statement; they are also verycircumstantial in their account of his connexion with it, thoughboth are declared to be quite apocryphal. They say he was so pleasedwith this work of his genius that he had it produced entirely underhis own eye. He watched while the foundations were laid, while thematerials were collected round the spot, while every stone was laidin its place; in fact, he was never tired of looking at it: now hewould take a long walk into the country to enjoy its appearance inthe distant view; now he would stand in the plaza beneath, and gazeup at the storied decorations with which his fancy had invested it;now he would mount the interior staircase of the tower, and look downfrom the monument he had raised, upon the insignificant dwellingswith which it was surrounded.
On one of these latter expeditions he observed that he was one dayfollowed by Andres, his son, a boy of some fifteen years of age. Thecircumstance pleased him, because he had noticed with growing sorrowthat Andres on many occasions had failed to display that fearlessdisposition which is the characteristic of a brave and generousspirit. Through an opening in the tracery he turned to watch, froma higher stage, the boy's proceedings. For a certain distance hemounted steadily enough, but in proportion as he got higher and hadcompleted more turnings, giddiness seemed to overcome him. Juan deHerrera began to lose patience. The boy wiped the perspiration fromhis forehead, and sat down in a recess. Herrera felt so provokedthat he could not restrain an impetuous movement; slight as was theattendant noise, it struck upon the boy's excited nerves; he startedfrom his resting-place, trembling like an aspen leaf.
"What's the matter, Andres, my boy?" cried his father, to reassure him:"it is only I, your father."
"I'm all right!" replied Andres, ashamed to be caught under a displayof weakness.
"Then come on, boy; and don't sit panting like a broken-windedhorse. There, put your head out of that slit in the wall, and lookdown and see what a fine height I have made this tower. You'll seeDolores and Pepito and Luis and Mariquilla playing in the plaza,and they will look like ants from this high tower."
Andres somewhat recovered from his exertions and his alarm, and,curious to see his playmates looking "like ants," summoned sufficientcourage to put his head through the loophole.
For the first time the boy experienced the effect of the giddy height;he hung back and turned pale, then pressed his hands against the wallfor support.
"Coward! you don't mean to say you are afraid!" exclaimed Juande Herrera.
"Oh--no--I'm not afraid," stammered poor Andres, making a convulsiveeffort to look out through the slit once more.
This time he remained so long opposite the opening and so steadily,that his father hoped he had got over the first fears; but, watchinghim anxiously, he observed, as he at length turned away, that he hadhis eyes closed.
Indignant that his son should not have as robust courage as thepeasant boys of the village, and still more that he should not bein a condition to enjoy his favourite structure, Juan de Herrera,unable to master his irritation, loaded the boy with reproaches;and Andres slunk away, grieved at having distressed his father,yet unable to summon courage sufficient to satisfy his wishes.
Some days after this, the consecration of the church took place, andthe municipal functionaries invited the architect and his son to abanquet on the occasion, at which were assembled all the notabilitiesof the place, as well as many from neighbouring villages, and evenfrom Madrid. Juan de Herrera deemed, with more zeal than judgment,that this would be a favourable opportunity for curing his son of hisweakness, and to effect this narrated to the company the circumstancestated above.
"Father, it was a passing folly," cried the boy, burning with shame;"give me an opportunity, and I will show you that I do not deserveyour opinion."
There was a pause, for the boy spoke with such thrilling earnestnessthat the smile of derision which had been raised at his expense diedaway from every lip.
"The galera [16] has just brought down the cross and ball for thesummit of the steeple," continued Andres; "let me go up and place it,and I shall have had the merit of crowning your work."
"You will never dare it!" answered Juan de Herrera contemptuously.
"Let me show you I am not so bad," pleaded Andres.
"Bear in mind, boy, that if your courage fails when you get to thatheight it will cost you your life."
"Don't be afraid; my courage will not be wanting," replied Andres.
"Be it so then," rejoined Juan de Herrera; "to-morrow you shall showwhat you are worth," and he clasped the boy's hand to encourage him inhis courageous resolution, and all round the table applauded his pluck.
The next morning found all who were at the banquet, and many morewhose curiosity the report of the story had excited, gathered in theplaza round the Church of Covena. There at the foot of the steeple layshining the huge cross and ball, newly clad with gilding and boundwith strong ropes, by means of which it was to be hoisted over theready adjusted pulleys into its place.
"If you don't feel up to the mark, you had better give in, evennow!" whispered Juan de Herrera, under the porch. "It is still time;and, mind, it is no easy task!"
"My head is quite steady," answered Andres, piqued to find his fatherstill doubted his daring; and, his head erect, without waiting tohear another word of warning, he commenced the ascent of the spiralstair at a rapid pace.
Not altogether free from uneasiness, Juan de Herrera went out to watchthe result from the stone cross in the centre of the plaza. The wholecrowd was nearly as breathless and anxious as the father, but beforetwo minutes had elapsed Andres was seen emerging from behind one ofthe pinnacles of a platform, level with the beam on which the bellhad been hung a few days before.
A shudder seized the throng, for some one whispered that he hadheard the bell sound as the youth passed by, and the rest took upthe words and repeated under their breath with superstitious terror,"La campana ha tocado a muerto [17]!"
Herrera, meantime, stood leaning against the cross a little way fromthe crowd, and too much absorbed to catch the report. He seemed quitetranquil and had heard no sound.
Most probably the lad had touched the clapper as he passed it.
Meantime Andres was steadily mounting a step-ladder placed on theroof by which the final stage was to be reached, and from the stepswas engaged in arranging the support that was to receive the ball.
The workmen below were drawing the pulleys, and the ornament hadnearly reached the summit; as it rose, Andres had to mount two stepsmore. He raised his foot, but his courage failed.
"My son is lost, for he hesitates!" cried the terror-stricken father,in a hoarse voice.
The multitude took up the cry; but, simultaneously with its utterance,the luckless boy was precipitated to the ground, dashing against oneof the buttresses as he fell.
Juan de Herrera, adds the tradition, was never seen to smile again.
One day he went up to the top of the lantern of St. Lorenzo of theEscorial, and gazed over towards Covena. It seemed to him that he sawtwo fiery eyes glaring upon him from the steeple which had once beenhis pride.
Eight days after he was found a corpse. It was the anniversary ofthe death of his son.