The Spanish Brothers: A Tale of the Sixteenth Century

by Deborah Alcock

  XLIV.

  One Prisoner Set Free.

  "All was ended now, the hope and the fear, and the sorrow; All the aching of heart, the restless unsatisfied longing, All the dull deep pain, and constant anguish of patience."--Longfellow.

  The winter rain was pouring down in a steady continuous torrent It waslong since a gleam of sunshine had come through the windows of theprison-room. But Don Juan Alvarez did not miss the sunlight. For he layon his pallet, weak and ill, and the only sight he greatly cared to lookupon was the loving face that was ever beside him.

  It is possible, by means of the embalmer's art, to enable buried formsto retain for ages a ghastly outward similitude to life. Tombs havebeen opened, and kings found therein clothed in their royal robes, sternand stately, the sceptre in their cold hands, and no trace of the graveand its corruption visible upon them. But no sooner did the breath ofthe upper air and the finger of light touch them than they crumbledaway, silently and rapidly, and dust returned to dust again. Thus,buried in the chill dark tomb of his seclusion, Don Juan might havelived for years--if life it could be called--or, at least, he might havelingered on in the outward similitude of life. But Carlos brought inlight and air upon him. His mind and heart revived; and, just inproportion, his physical nature sank. It proved too weak to bear thesepowerful influences. He was dying.

  Tender and thoughtful as a woman, Carlos, who himself knew so well allthe bitterness of unpitied pain and sickness, ministered to his father'swants. But he did not request their gaolers to afford him any medicalaid, though, had he done so, it would have been readily granted.

  He had good reason for seeking no help from man. The daily penance wasneglected now; the rosary lay untold; and never again would "Ave MariaSanctissima" pass the lips of Don Juan Alvarez. Therefore it was thatCarlos, after much thought and prayer, said quietly to him one day, "Myfather, are you afraid to lie here, in God's hands, and in his alone,and to take whatever he pleases to send us?"

  "I am not afraid."

  "Do you desire _any_ help they can give, either for your soul or foryour body?"

  "_No,_" said the Conde de Nuera, with something like the spirit of otherdays. "I would not confess to them; for Christ is my only priest now.And they should not anoint me while I retained my consciousness."

  A look of resolution, strange to see, passed over the gentle face ofCarlos. "It is well said, my father," he responded. "And, God helpingme, I will let no man trouble you."

  "My son," said Don Juan one evening, as Carlos sat beside him in thetwilight, "I pray you, tell me a little more of those who learned tolove the truth since I walked amongst men. For I would fain be able torecognize them when we meet in heaven."

  Then Carlos told him, not indeed for the first time, but more fully thanever before, the story of the Reformed Church in Spain. Almost everyname that he mentioned has come down to us surrounded by the mournfulhalo of martyr glory. With special reverential love, he told of DonCarlos de Seso, of Losada, of D'Arellano, and of the heroic JulianoHernandez, who, as he believed, was still waiting for his crown. "Forhim," he said, "I pray even yet; for the others I can only thank God,Surely," he added, after a pause, "God will remember the land for whichthese, his faithful martyrs, prayed and toiled and suffered! Surely hewill hear their voices, that cry under the altar, not for vengeance, butfor forgiveness and mercy; and one day he will return and repent, andleave a blessing behind him?"

  "I know not," said the dying man despondingly. "The Spains have hadtheir offer of God's truth, and have rejected it. What is there that issaid, somewhere in the Scriptures, about Noah, Daniel, and Job?"

  Carlos repeated the solemn words, "'Though Noah, Daniel, and Job were init, as I live, saith the Lord God, they shall deliver neither son nordaughter; they shall but deliver their own souls by theirrighteousness.' Do you fear that such a terrible doom has gone forthover our land, my father? I dare to hope otherwise. For it is not theSpains that have rejected the truth. It is the Inquisition that iscrushing it out."

  "But the Spains must answer for its deeds, since they consent to them.They heed not. There are brave men enough, with weapons in theirhands," said the soldier of former days, with a momentary return to oldhabits of thought and feeling.

  "Yet God may give our land another trial," Carlos continued. "His truthis sometimes offered twice to individuals, why not to nations?"

  "True; it was offered twice to me, praised be his name." After aninterval of silence, he resumed, "My son always speaks of others, neverof himself. Not yet have I learned how it was that you came to receivethe Word of God so readily from Juliano."

  Then in the dark, with his father's hand in his, Carlos told, for thefirst and last time, the true story of his life.

  Before he had gone far, Don Juan started, half-raised him self, andexclaimed in surprise, "What, and you!--_you_ too--once loved?"

  "Ay, and bitter as the pain has been, I am glad now of all except thesin. I am glad that I have tasted earth's very best and sweetest; thatI know how the wine is red and gives its colour in the cup of life hehonours me to put aside for him." His voice was low and full of feelingas he said this. Presently he resumed. "But the sin, my father!Especially my treachery in heart to Juan; that rankled long and stungdeeply. Juan, my brave, generous brother, who would have struck downany man who dared to hint that I could do, or think, aughtdishonourable! He never knew it; and had he known it, he would haveforgiven me; but I could not forgive myself. I do not think theself-scorn passed away until--_that_ which happened after I had beennigh a year in prison. O my father, if God had not interposed to saveme by withholding me from that crime, I shudder to think what my lifemight have been. I am persuaded I should have sunk lower, lower, andever lower. Perhaps, even, I might have ended in the purple and finelinen, and the awful pomp and luxury of the oppressors and persecutorsof the saints."

  "Nay," said Don Juan, "that would never have been possible to thee,Carlos. But there is a question I have often longed to ask thee. DoesJuan, my Juan Rodrigo, know and love the Word of God?"

  He had asked that question before; but Carlos had contrived, with tactand gentleness, to evade the answer. Up to this hour he had not daredto tell his father the truth upon this important subject. Besides theterrible risk that in some moment of fear or forgetfulness the prior orhis agents might draw an incautious word from the old man's lips, therewas a haunting dread of listeners at key-holes, or secret apertures,quite natural in one who knew the customs of the Holy Office. But now hebent down close to the dying man, and spoke to him in a long earnestwhisper.

  "Thank God," murmured Don Juan. "I would have no earthly wishunsatisfied now--if only you were safe. But still," he added, "itseemeth somewhat hard to me that Juan should have _all_, and younothing."

  "I _nothing_!" Carlos exclaimed; and had not the room been in darknesshis father would have seen that his eye kindled, and his wholecountenance lighted up. "My father, mine has been the best lot, evenfor earth. Were it to do again, I would not change the last two yearsfor the deepest love, the brightest hope, the fairest joy life has tooffer. For the Lord himself has been the portion of my cup, myinheritance in the land of the living."

  After a silence, he continued, "Moreover, and beside all, I have thee,my father. Therefore to me it is a joy to think that my beloved brotherhas also something precious. How he loved her! But the strangest thingof all, as I ponder over it now, is the fulfilment of our childhood'sdream. And in me, the weak one who deserved nothing, not in Juan thehero who deserved everything. It is the lame who has taken the prey.It is the weak and timid Carlos who has found our father."

  "Weak--timid?" said Don Juan, with an incredulous smile. "I marvel whoever joined such words with the name of my heroic son. Carlos, have weany wine?"

  "Abundance, my father," answered Carlos, who carefully treasured for hisfather's use all that was furnished for both of them. Having gi
ven hima little, he asked, "Do you feel pain to-night!"

  "No--no pain. Only weary; always weary."

  "I think my beloved father will soon be where the weary are atrest"--"and where the wicked cease from troubling," he added mentally,not aloud.

  He would fain have dropped the conversation then, fearing to exhaust hisfather's strength. But the sick man's restlessness was soothed by histalk. Ere long he questioned, "Is it not near Christmas now?"

  Well did Carlos know that it was; and keenly did he dread the return ofthe season which ought to bring "peace upon earth." For it wouldcertainly bring the prisoners a visit; and almost certainly there wouldbe the offer of special privileges to the penitent, perhaps sacramentalconsolation, perhaps permission to hear mass. He shuddered to thinkwhat a refusal to avail himself of these indulgences might entail. Andonce and again did he breathe the fervent prayer, that whatever cameupon _him_, neither violence, insult, nor reproach might be allowed totouch his father.

  Moreover, amongst the great festivities of the season, it was more thanlikely that a solemn Auto-da-fe might find place. But this was a secretinner thought, not often put into words, even to himself. Only, if itwere God's will to call his father first!

  "It is December," he said, in answer to Don Juan's question; "but I havelost account of the day. It may be perhaps the twelfth or fourteenth.Shall I recite the evening psalms for the twelfth, 'Te dicet hymnus'?"

  As he did so, the old man fell asleep, which was what he desired. Halfin the sleep of exhaustion, half in weary restlessness, the next day andthe next night wore on. Once only did Don Juan speak connectedly.

  "I think you will see my mother soon," said Carlos, as he bore to hislips wine mingled with water.

  "True," breathed the dying man; "but I am not thinking of that now. Farbetter--I shall see Christ."

  "My father, are you still in peace, resting on him?"

  "In perfect peace."

  And Carlos said no more. He was content; nay, he was exceeding glad.He who in all things will have the pre-eminence, had indeed taken hisrightful place in the heart of the dying, when even the strong earthlylove that was "twisted with the strings of life" had paled before thelove of him.

  And in the last watch of the night, when the day was breaking, he senthis angel to loose the captive's bonds. So gentle was the touch thatfreed him, that he who sat holding his hand in his, and watching hisface as we watch the last conscious looks of our beloved, yet knew notthe exact moment when the Deliverer came. Carlos never said "He isgoing!" he only said "He is gone!" And then he kissed the pale lips andclosed the sightless eyes--in peace.

  None ever thanked God for bringing back their beloved from the gates ofthe grave more fervently than Carlos thanked him that hour for so gentlyopening unto his those gates that "no man can shut." "My father, thyrest is won!" he said, as he gazed on the calm and noble countenance."They cannot touch thee now. Not all the malice of men or of fiends cangive one pang. A moment since so fearfully in their power; now socompletely beyond it! Thank God! thank God!"

  The rain was over, and ere long the sun arose, in his royal robes ofcrimson and purple and gold--to the prisoner from the dungeon of theTriana an ever fresh wonder and joy. Yet not even that sight could winhis eyes to-day from the deeper beauty of the still and solemn facebefore him. And as the soft crimson light fell on the pallid cheek andbrow, the watcher murmured, with calm thankfulness,--"'To him sun anddaylight are as nothing, for he sees the glory of God.'"