The Spanish Brothers: A Tale of the Sixteenth Century

by Deborah Alcock

  XIII.

  Seville

  "There is a multitude around, Responsive to my prayer; I hear the voice of my desire Resounding everywhere."--A. L. Waring

  Don Carlos felt surprised, on returning to Seville, to find the circlein which he had been wont to move exactly as he left it. His absenceappeared to him a great deal longer than it really was. Moreover, therelurked in his mind an undefined idea that a period so fraught withmomentous change to him could not have passed without change over theheads of others. But the worldly only seemed more worldly, thefrivolous more frivolous, the vain more vain than ever.

  Around the presence of Dona Beatriz there still hung a sweet dangerousfascination, against which he struggled, and, in the strength of his newand mighty principle of action, struggled successfully. Still, for thesake of his own peace, he longed to find some fair pretext for makinghis home elsewhere than beneath his uncle's roof.

  One great pleasure awaited his return--a letter from Juan. It was thesecond he had received; the first having merely told of his brother'ssafe arrival at the headquarters of the royal army at Cambray. Don Juanhad obtained his commission just in time for active service in the briefwar between France and Spain that immediately followed the accession ofPhilip II. And now, though he said not much of his own exploits, it wasevident that he had already begun to distinguish himself by the promptand energetic courage which was a part of his character. Moreover, asignal piece of good fortune had fallen to his lot. The Spaniards werethen engaged in the siege of St. Quentin. Before the works were quitecompleted, the French General--the celebrated Admiral Coligny--managedto throw himself into the town by a brilliant and desperate_coup-de-main_. Many of his heroic band were killed or taken prisoners,however; and amongst the latter was a gentleman of rank and fortune, amember of the admiral's suite, who surrendered his sword into the handsof young Don Juan Alvarez.

  Juan was delighted with his prize, as he well might be. Not only wasthe distinction an honourable one for so young a soldier; but the ransomhe might hope to receive would serve very materially to smooth hispathway to the attainment of his dearest wishes.

  Carlos was now able to share his brother's joy with unselfish sympathy.With a peculiar kind of pleasure, not quite unmixed with superstition,he recalled Juan's boyish words, more than once repeated, "When I go tothe wars, I shall make some great prince or duke my prisoner." They hadfound a fair, if not exactly literal, fulfilment, and that so early inhis career. And a belief that had grown up with him from childhood wasstrengthened thereby. Juan would surely accomplish everything uponwhich his heart was set. Certainly he would find his father--if thatfather should prove to be after all in the land of the living.

  Carlos was warmly welcomed back by his relatives--at least by all ofthem save one. To a mild temper and amiable disposition he united thegreat advantage of rivalling no man, and interfering with no man'scareer. At the same time, he had a well-defined and honourable careerof his own, in which he bid fair to be successful; so that he was notdespised, but regarded as a credit to the family. The solitaryexception to the favourable sentiments he inspired was found in thebitter disdain which Gonsalvo, with scarcely any attempt at disguise,exhibited towards him.

  This was painful to him, both because he was sensitively alive to theopinions of others; and also because he actually preferred Gonsalvo,notwithstanding his great and glaring faults, to his more calculatingand worldly-minded brothers. Force of any kind possesses a realfascination for an intellectual and sympathetic, but rather weakcharacter; and this fascination grows in intensity when the weaker has areason to pity and a desire to help the stronger.

  It was not altogether grace, therefore, which checked the proud wordsthat often rose to the lips of Carlos in answer to his cousin's sneersor sarcasms. He was not ignorant of the cause of Gonsalvo's contemptfor him. It was Gonsalvo's creed that a man who deserved the namealways got what he wanted, or died in the attempt; unless, of course,absolutely insuperable physical obstacles interfered, as they did in hisown case. As he knew well enough what Carlos wanted before hisdeparture from Seville, the fact of his quietly resigning the prize,without even an effort to secure it, was final with him.

  One day, when Carlos had returned a forbearing answer to some taunt,Dona Inez, who was present, took occasion to apologize for her brother,as soon as he had quitted the room. Carlos liked Dona Inez much betterthan her still unmarried sister, because she was more generous andconsiderate to Beatriz. "You are very good, amigo mio," she said, "toshow so great forbearance to my poor brother. And I cannot thinkwherefore he should treat you so uncourteously. But he is often rude tohis brothers, sometimes even to his father."

  "I fear it is because he suffers. Though rather less helpless than hewas six months ago, he seems really more frail and sickly."

  "Ay de mi, that is too true. And have you heard his last whim? Hetells us he has given up physicians for ever. He has almost as ill anopinion of them as--forgive me, cousin--of priests."

  "Could you not persuade him to consult your friend, Doctor Cristobal?"

  "I have tried, but in vain. To speak the truth, cousin," she added,drawing nearer to Carlos, and lowering her voice, "there is anothercause that has helped to make him what he is. No one knows or evenguesses aught of it but myself; I was ever his favourite sister. If Itell you, will you promise the strictest secrecy?"

  Carlos did so; wondering a little what his cousin would think could shesurmise the weightier secrets which were burdening his own heart.

  "You have heard of the marriage of Dona Juana de Xeres y Bohorques withDon Francisco de Vargas?"

  "Yes; and I account Don Francisco a very fortunate man."

  "Are you acquainted with the young lady's sister Dona Maria deBohorques?"

  "I have met her. A fair, pale, queenly girl. She is not fond ofgaiety, but very learned and very pious, as I have been told."

  "You will scarce believe me, Don Carlos, when I tell you that pale,quiet girl is Gonsalvo's choice, his dream, his idol. How she contrivedto gain that fierce, eager young heart, I know not--but hers it is, andhers alone. Of course, he had passing fancies before; but she was hisfirst serious passion, and she will be his last."

  Carlos smiled. "Red fire and white marble," he said. "But, after all,the fiercest fire could not feed on marble. It must die out, in time."

  "From the first, Gonsalvo had not the shadow of a chance," Dona Inezreplied, with an expressive flutter of her fan. "I have not the leastidea whether the young lady even knows he loves her. But it mattersnot. We are Alvarez de Menaya; still we could not expect a grandee ofthe first order to give his daughter to a younger son of our house.Even before that unlucky bull-feast. Now, of course, he himself wouldbe the first to say, 'Pine-apple kernels are not for monkeys,' nor fairladies for crippled caballeros. And yet--you understand?"

  "I do," said Carlos; and in truth he _did_ understand, far better thanDona Inez imagined.

  She turned to leave the room, but turned back again to say kindly, "Itrust, my cousin, your own health has not suffered from your residenceamong those bleak inhospitable mountains? Don Garcia tells me he hasseen you twice, since your return, coming forth late in the evening fromthe dwelling of our good Senor Doctor."

  There was a sufficient reason for these visits. Before they parted, DeSeso had asked Carlos if he would like an introduction to a person inSeville who could give him further instruction upon the subjects theyhad discussed together. The offer having been thankfully accepted, hewas furnished with a note addressed, much to his surprise, to thephysician Losada; and the connection thus begun was already proving apriceless boon to Carlos.

  But nature had not designed him for a keeper of secrets. The colourmounted rapidly to his cheek, as he answered,--

  "I am flattered by my lady cousin's solicitude for me. But, I thankGod, my health is as good as ever. In truth, Doctor Cristobal is a manof lea
rning and a pleasant companion, and I enjoy an hour's conversationwith him. Moreover, he has some rare and valuable books, which he iskind enough to lend me."

  "He is certainly very well-bred, for a man of his station," said DonaInez, condescendingly.

  Carlos did not resume his attendance upon the lectures of FrayConstantino at the College of Doctrine; but when the voice of theeloquent preacher was heard in the cathedral, he was never absent. Hehad no difficulty now in recognizing the truths that he loved so well,covered with a thin veil of conventional phraseology. All mention, notabsolutely necessary, of dogmas peculiarly Romish was avoided, unlesswhen the congregation were warned earnestly, though in termswell-studied and jealously guarded, against "risking their salvation"upon indulgences or ecclesiastical pardons. The vanity of trusting totheir own works was shown also; and in every sermon Christ wasfaithfully held up before the sinner as the one all-sufficient Saviour.

  Carlos listened always with rapt attention, usually with keen delight.Often would he look around him upon the sea of earnest upturned faces,saying within himself, "Many of these my brethren and sisters have foundChrist--many more are seeking him;" and at the thought his heart wouldthrill with thankfulness. But even at that moment some word from thepreacher's lips might change his joy into a chill of apprehension. Itfrequently happened that Fray Constantino, borne onward by the torrentof his own eloquence, was betrayed into uttering some sentiment so verynearly heretical as to make his hearer tingle with the peculiar sense ofpain that is caused by seeing one rush heedlessly to the verge of aprecipice.

  "I often thank God for the stupidity of evil men and the simplicity ofgood ones," Carlos said to his new friend Losada, after one of thesedangerous discourses.

  For by this time, what De Seso had first led him to suspect, had becomea certainty with him. He knew himself _a heretic_--a terribleconsciousness to sink into the heart of any man in those days,especially in Catholic Spain. Fortunately the revelation had come tohim gradually; and still more gradually came the knowledge of all thatit involved. Yet those were sorrowful hours in which he first felthimself cut off from every hallowed association of his childhood andyouth; from the long chain of revered tradition, which was all he knewof the past; from the vast brotherhood of the Church visible--thatmighty organization, pervading all society, leavening all thought,controlling all custom, ruling everything in this world, even if not inthe next. His own past life was shattered: the ambitions he hadcherished were gone--the studies he had excelled and delighted in wereproved for the most part worse than vain. It is true that he believed,even still, that he might accept priestly ordination from the hands ofRome (for the idolatry of the mass was amongst the things not yetrevealed to him); but he could no longer hope for honour or preferment,or what men call a career, in the Church. Joy enough would it be if hewere permitted, in some obscure corner of the land, to tell hiscountrymen of a Saviour's love; and perpetual watchfulness, extremecaution, and the most judicious management would be necessary topreserve him--as hitherto they had preserved Fray Constantino--from thegrasp of the Holy Inquisition.

  To us, who read that word in the lurid light that martyr fires kindledafter this period have flung upon it, it may seem strange that Carloswas not more a prey to fear of the perils entailed by his heresy. Butso slowly did he pass out of the stage in which he believed himselfstill a sincere Catholic into that in which he shudderingly acknowledgedthat he was in very truth a Lutheran, that the shock of the discoverywas wonderfully broken to him. Nor did he think the danger that menacedhim either near or pressing, so long as he conducted himself withreserve and prudence.

  It is true that this reserve involved a degree of secrecy, if not ofdissimulation, that was fast becoming very irksome. Formerly the kind offencing, feinting, and doubling into which he was often forced, wouldrather have pleased him, as affording for the exercise of ingenuity.But his moral nature was growing so much more sensitive, that he beganto recoil from slight departures from truth, in which heretofore hewould only have seen a proper exercise of the advantage which a keen andquick intellect possesses over dull ones. Moreover, he longed to beable to speak freely to others of the things which he himself found soprecious.

  Though quite sufficiently afraid of pain and danger, the thought ofdisgrace was still more intolerable to him. Keener than any sufferinghe had yet known--except the pang of renouncing Beatrix--was theconsciousness that all those amongst whom he lived, and who nowrespected and loved him, would, if they guessed the truth, turn awayfrom him with unutterable scorn and loathing.

  One day, when walking in the city with his aunt and Dona Sancha, theyturned down a side-street to avoid meeting the death procession of amurderer on his way to the scaffold. The crime for which he sufferedhad been notorious; and with the voluble exclamations of horror andcongratulations at getting safely out of the way to which the ladiesgave expression, were mingled prayers for the soul of the miserable man."If they knew all," thought Carlos, as the slight, closely-veiled formsclung trustingly to him for protection, "they would think _me_ worse,more degraded, than yon wretched being. They pity _him_, they pray for_him_; _me_ they would only loathe and execrate. And Juan, my beloved,my honoured brother--what will he think?" This last thought was the onethat haunted him most frequently and troubled him most deeply.

  But had he nothing to counterbalance these pangs of fear and shame,these manifold dark misgivings? He had much. First and best, he had thepeace that passeth all understanding shed abroad in his heart. Itslight did not grow pale and faint with time; on the other hand, itincreased in brightness and steadiness, as new truths arose like starsupon his soul, every new truth being in itself "a new joy" to him.

  Moreover, he found keen enjoyment in the communion of saints. Great washis surprise when, after sufficiently instructing him in private, andsatisfactorily testing his sincerity, Losada cautiously revealed to himthe existence of a regularly-organized Lutheran Church in Seville, ofwhich he himself was actually the pastor. He invited Carlos to attendits meetings, which were held, with due precaution, and usually afternightfall, in the house of a lady of rank--Dona Isabella de Baena.

  Carlos readily accepted the perilous invitation, and with deep emotiontook his place amongst the band of "called, chosen, and faithful" menand women, every one of whom, as he believed, shared the same joys andhopes that he did. They were not at all such a "little band" as heexpected to find them. Nor were they, with very few exceptions, of thepoor of this world. If that bright southern land, so rich in all thatkindles the imagination, eventually to her own ruin rejected the truthof God, at least she offered upon his altar some of her choicest andfairest flowers. Many of those who met in Dona Isabella's upper roomwere "chief men" and "devout and honourable women." Talent, learning,excellence of every kind was largely represented there; so also was the_sangre azul_, the boast of the proud Spanish grandees. One of thefirst faces that Carlos recognized was the sweet, thoughtful one of theyoung Dona Maria de Bohorques, whose precocious learning andaccomplishments had often been praised in his hearing, and in whom hehad now a new and peculiar interest.

  There were two noblemen of the first order--Don Domingo de Guzman, sonof the Duke of Medina Sidonia, and Don Juan Ponce de Leon, son of theCount of Baylen. Carlos had often heard of the munificent charities ofthe latter, who had actually embarrassed his estates by his unboundedliberality to the poor. But while Ponce de Leon was thus labouring torelieve the sorrows of others, a deep sadness brooded over his ownspirit. He was wont to go forth by night, and pace up and down thegreat stone platform in the Prado San Sebastian, that bore the ghastlyname of the Quemadero, or _Burning-place_, while in his heart the shadowof death--the darkest shadow of the dreadest death--was struggling withthe light of immortality.

  Did the rest of that devoted band share the agony of apprehension thatfilled those lonely midnight hours with passionate prayer? Some amongstthem did, no doubt. But with most, the circumstances and occupations ofdaily life wove, with their multi
tudinous slender threads, a veil denseenough to hide, or at least to soften, the perils of their situation.The Protestants of Seville contrived to pass their lives and to do theirwork side by side with other men; they moved amongst theirfellow-citizens and were not recognized; they even married and weregiven in marriage; though all the time there fell upon their daily pathsthe shadow of the grim old fortress where the Holy Inquisition held itsawful secret court.

  But then, at this period the Holy Inquisition was by no means exhibitingits usual terrible activity. The Inquisitor-General, Fernando deValdez, Archbishop of Seville, was an old man of seventy-four,relentless when roused, but not particularly enterprising. Moreover, hewas chiefly occupied in amassing enormous wealth from his rich andnumerous Church preferments. Hitherto, the fires of St. Dominic hadbeen kindled for Jews and Moors; only one Protestant had suffered deathin Spain, and Valladolid, not Seville, had been the scene of hismartyrdom. Seville, indeed, had witnessed two notable prosecutions forLutheranism--that of Rodrigo de Valer and that of Juan Gil, commonlycalled Dr. Egidius. But Valer had been only sent to a monastery to die,while, by a disgraceful artifice, retractation had been obtained fromEgidius.

  During the years that had passed since then, the Holy Office hadappeared to slumber. Victims who refused to eat pork, or kept Sabbathon Saturday, were growing scarce for obvious reasons. And not yet hadthe wild beast "exceeding dreadful, whose teeth were of iron and hisnails of brass," begun to devour a nobler prey. Did the monster, gorgedwith human blood, really slumber in his den; or did he only assume theattitude and appearance of slumber, as some wild beasts are said to do,to lure his unwary victims within the reach of his terrible crouch andspring?

  No one can certainly tell; but however it may have been, we doubt notthe Master used the breathing-time thus afforded his Church to prepareand polish many a precious gem, destined to shine through all ages inhis crown of glory.