XXXIII.
On the Other Side.
"Happy are they who learn at last,-- Though silent suffering teach The secret of enduring strength, And praise too deep for speech,-- Peace that no pressure from without, No storm within can reach.
"There is no death for me to fear, For Christ my Lord hath died; There is no curse in all my pain, For he was crucified; And it is fellowship with him That keeps me near his side."--A. L. Waring
When the light of the next morning streamed in through the narrowgrating of his cell, Carlos was there once more, lying on his bed ofrushes. But was it indeed the next morning, or was it ten years, twentyyears afterwards? Without a painful effort of thought and memory, hehimself could scarcely have told. That last night was like a greatgulf, fixed between his present and all his past. The moment when heentered that torch-lit subterranean room seemed a sharp, black dividingline, sundering his life into two halves. And the latter half seemedlonger than that which had gone before.
Nor could years of suffering have left a sadder impress on the youngface, out of which the look of youth had passed, apparently for ever.Brow and lips were pale; but two crimson spots, still telling offeverish pain, burned on the hollow cheeks, while the large lustrouseyes beamed with even unnatural brilliance.
The poor woman, who was doing the work of God's bright angels in thatdismal prison, came softly in. How she obtained entrance there Carlosdid not know, and was far too weak to ask, or even to wonder. Butprobably she was sent by Benevidio, who knew that, in his presentcondition, some human help was indispensable to the prisoner.
Maria Gonsalez was too well accustomed to scenes of horror to beover-much surprised or shocked by what she saw. Silently, though with aheart full of compassion, she rendered the few little services in herpower. She placed the broken frame in as easy a position as she could,and once and again she raised to the parched lips the "cup of coldwater" so eagerly desired.
He roused himself to murmur a word of thanks; then, as she prepared toleave him, his eyes followed her wistfully.
"Can I do anything more for you, senor?" she asked.
"Yes, mother. Tell me--have you spoken to my brother?"
"Ay de mi! no, senor," said the poor woman, whose ability was not equalto her good-will. "I have tried, God wot; but I could not get from mymaster the name of the place where he lives without making him suspectsomething, and never since have I had the good fortune to see his face."
"I know you have done--what you could. My message does not matter now.Not so much. Still, best he should go. Tell him so, when you find him.But, remember, tell him nought of this. You promise, mother! He mustnever know it--_never_!"
She spoke a few words of pity and condolence.
"It _was_ horrible!" he faltered, in faint, broken tones. "Worst ofall--the return to life. For I thought all was over, and that I shouldawake face to face with Christ. But--I cannot speak of it."
There was a long silence; then his eye kindled, and a look of joy--ay,even of triumph--flashed across the wasted, suffering face. "But _Ihave overcome_! No; not I. Christ has overcome in me, the weakest ofhis members. Now I am beyond it--on the other side."
To the poor tortured captive there had been given a foretaste, strangeand sweet, of what they feel who stand on the sea of glass, having theharps of God in their hands. Men had done their worst--their veryworst. He knew now all "the dread mystery of pain;" all that fleshcould accomplish in its fiercest conflict with spirit. Yet not one wordthat could injure any one he loved had been wrung from his lips.
_All_ was over now. In that there was mercy--far more mercy than wasshown to others. He had been permitted to drain the cup at a singledraught. _Now_ he could feel grateful to the physicians, who with trulykind cruelty (and not without some risk to themselves) had prevented, inhis case, that fiendish device, "the suspension of the torture." Evenaccording to the execrable laws of the Inquisition, he had won his rightto die in peace.
As time passed on, a blessed sense that he was now out of the hands ofman, and in those of God alone, sank like balm upon his weary spirit.Fear was gone; grief had passed away; even memory had almost ceased togive him a pang. For how could he long for the loved faces of formerdays, when day and night Christ himself was near him? So strangelynear, so intimately present, that he sometimes thought that if, throughsome wonderful relenting of his persecutors, Juan were permitted to comeand stand beside him, that loved brother would still seem further away,less real, than the unseen Friend who was keeping watch by his couch.And even the bodily pain, that so seldom left him, was not hard to bear,for it was only the touch of His finger.
He had passed into the clear air upon the mountain top, where the sunshines ever, and the storm winds cannot come. Nothing hurt him; nothingdisturbed him now. He had visitors; for what had really placed himbeyond the reach of his enemies was, not unnaturally, supposed by themto have brought him into a fitting state to receive their exhortations.So Inquisitors, monks, and friars--"persons of good learning and honestrepute"--came in due course to his lonely cell, armed with persuasionsand arguments, which were always weighted with threats and promises.
Their voices seemed to reach him faintly, from a great distance. Into"the secret place of the Lord," where he dwelt now, they could notenter. Threats and promises fell powerless on his ear. What more couldthey do to him? As far as the mere facts of the case were concerned,this security may have been misplaced--nay, it _was_ misplaced; but itsaved him from much suffering. And as for promises, had they thrownopen the door of his dungeon and bid him go forth free, only that oneintense longing to see his brother's face would have nerved him to makethe effort.
Arguments he was glad to answer when permitted. It was a joy to speakfor his Lord, who had done, and was doing, such great things for him.As far as he could, he made use of those Scripture words with which hismemory was so richly stored. But more than once it happened that he wasforced to take up the weapons which he had learned in the schools to useso skilfully. He tore sophisms to pieces with the dexterity of one whoknew how they were constructed, and astonished the students of Aristotleand Thomas Aquinas by vanquishing them on their own ground.
Reproach and insult he met with a fearless meekness that nothing couldruffle. Why should he feel anger? Rather did he pity those who stoodwithout in the darkness, not seeing the Face he saw, not hearing theVoice he heard. Usually, however, those who visited him yielded to thespell of his own sweet and perfect courtesy, and were kinder than theyintended to be to the "professed impenitent heretic."
His heart, now "at leisure from itself," was filled with sympathy forhis imprisoned brethren and sisters. But, except to Maria Gonsalez, hedared not speak of them, lest the simplest remark or question might giverise to some new suspicion, or supply some link, hitherto missing, inthe chain of evidence against them. But those who came to visit himsometimes gave him unasked intelligence about them. He could not,however, rely upon the truth of what reached him in this way. He wastold that Losada had retracted; he did not believe it. Equally did hedisbelieve a similar story of Don Juan Ponce de Leon, in which,unhappily, there was some truth. The constancy of that gentle,generous-hearted nobleman had yielded under torture and cruelimprisonment, and concessions had been wrung from him that dimmed thebrightness of his martyr crown. On the other hand, the waverer, GarciasArias, known as the "White Doctor," had come forward with a hardihoodtruly marvellous, and not only confessed his own faith, but mocked anddefied the Inquisitors.
Of Fray Constantino, the most contradictory stories were told him. Atone time he was assured that the great preacher had not only admittedhis own guilt, but also, on the rack, had informed against his brethren.Again he was told, and this time with truth, that the Emperor's formerchaplain and favourite had been spared the horrors of the Question, butthat the eagerly desired evidence against him had been obtained byaccid
ent. A lady of rank, one of his chief friends, was amongst theprisoners; and the Inquisitors sent an Alguazil to her house to demandpossession of her jewels. Her son, without waiting to ascertain theprecise object of the officer's visit, surrendered to him in a panicsome books which Fray Constantino had given his mother to conceal.Amongst them was a volume in his own handwriting, containing the mostexplicit avowal of the principles of the Reformation. On this beingshown to the prisoner, he struggled no longer. "You have there a fulland candid confession of my belief," he said. And he was now in one ofthe dark and loathsome subterranean cells of the Triana.
Amongst those who most frequently visited Carlos was the prior of theDominican convent. This man seemed to take a peculiar interest in theyoung heretic's fate. He was a good specimen of a character oftenertalked about than met with in real life,--the genuine fanatic. When hethreatened Carlos, as he spared not to do, with the fire that is neverquenched, at least he believed with all his heart that he was in dangerof it. Carlos soon perceived this, and accepting his honest intention tobenefit him, came to regard him with a kind of friendliness. Besides,the prior listened to what he said with more attention than did most ofthe others, and even in the prison of the Inquisition a man likes to belistened to, especially when his opportunities of speaking are few andbrief.
Many weeks passed by, and still Carlos lay on his mat, in weakness andsuffering of body, though in calm gladness of spirit. Surgical andmedical aid had been afforded him in due course. And it was not thefault of either surgeon or physician that he did not recover. Theycould stanch wounds and set dislocated joints, but when the springs oflife were sapped, how could they renew them? How could they quicken thefeeble pulse, or send back life and energy into the broken, exhaustedframe? At this time Carlos himself felt certain--even more certain thandid his physician--that never again would his footsteps pass the limitsof that narrow cell.
Once, indeed, there came to him a brief and fleeting pang of regret. Itwas in the spring-time; everywhere else so bright and fair, but makinglittle change in those gloomy cells. Maria Gonsalez now sometimesobtained access to him, partly through Benevidio's increased inattentionto all his duties, partly because, any attempt at escape on the part ofthe captive being obviously out of the question, he was somewhat lessjealously watched. And more than once the gaoler's little daughterstole in timidly beside her nurse, bearing some trifling gift for thesick prisoner. To Carlos these visits came like sunbeams; and in a veryshort time he succeeded in establishing quite an intimate friendshipwith the child.
One morning she entered his cell with Maria, carrying a basket, fromwhich she produced, with shy pleasure, a few golden oranges. "Look,senor," she said, "they are good to eat now, for the blossoms areout.[#] I gathered some to show you;" and filling both her hands withthe luscious wealth of the orange flowers, she flung them carelesslydown on the mat beside him. In her eyes they were of no value comparedwith the fruit.
[#] The people of Seville do not think the oranges fit to eat until thenew blossoms come out in spring.
With Carlos it was far otherwise. The rich perfume that filled the cellfilled his heart also with sweet sad dreams, which lasted long after hiskindly visitors had left him. The orange-trees had just been in flowerlast spring when all God's free earth and sky were shut out from hissight for ever. Only a year ago! What a long, long year it seemed!And only one year further back he was walking in the orange gardens withDona Beatriz, in all the delicious intoxication of his first and lastdream of youthful love. "Better here than there, better now than then,"he murmured, though the tears gathered in his eyes. "But oh, for onehour of the old free life, one look at orange-trees in flower, or blueskies, or the grassy slopes and cork-trees of Nuera! Or"--and morepainfully intense the yearning grew--"one familiar face, belonging tothe past, to show me it was not all a dream, as I am sometimes temptedto think it. Thine, Ruy, if it might be.--O Ruy, Ruy!--But, thank God,I have not betrayed thee!"
In the afternoon of that day visitors were announced. Carlos was notsurprised to see the stern narrow face and white hair of the Dominicanprior. But he was a little surprised to observe that the person whofollowed him wore the gray cowl of St. Francis. The prior merelybestowed the customary salutation upon him, and then, stepping aside,allowed his companion to approach.
But as soon as Carlos saw his face, he raised himself eagerly, andstretching out both his hands, grasped those of the Franciscan. "DearFray Sebastian!" he cried; "my good, kind tutor!"
"My lord the prior has been graciously pleased to allow me to visit yourExcellency."
"It is truly kind of you, my lord. I thank you heartily," said Carlos,frankly and promptly turning towards the Dominican, who looked at himwith somewhat the air of one who is trying to be stern with a child.
"I have ventured to allow you this indulgence," he said, "in the hopethat the counsels of one whom you hold in honour may lead you torepentance."
Carlos turned once more to Fray Sebastian, whose hand he still held."It is a great joy to see you," he said. "Only to-day I had beenlonging for a familiar face. And you are changed never a whit since youused to teach me my humanities. How have you come hither? Where haveyou been all these years?"
Poor Fray Sebastian vainly tried to frame an answer to these simplequestions. He had come to that prison straight from Munebraga'ssplendid patio, where, amidst the gleam of azulejos and of many-colouredmarbles, the scent of rare exotics and the music of rippling fountains,he had partaken of a sumptuous mid-day repast. In this dark fouldungeon there was nothing to please the senses, not even God's free airand light. Everything on which his eye rested was coarse, painful,loathsome. By the prisoner's side lay the remains of a meal, in greatcontrast to his. And the sleeve, fallen back from the hand that heldhis own, showed deep scars on the wrist. He knew whence they were. Yetthe face that was looking in his, with kindling eyes, and a smile on theparted lips, might have been the face of the boy Carlos, when he praisedhim for a successful task, only for the pain in it, and, far deeper thanpain, a look of assured peace that boyhood could scarcely know.
Repressing a choking sensation, he faltered, "Senor Don Carlos, itgrieves me to the heart to see you here."
"Do not grieve for me, dear Fray Sebastian; for I tell you truly, I havenever known such happy hours as since I came here. At first, indeed, Isuffered; there was storm and darkness. But then"--here for a momenthis voice failed, and his flushed cheek and quivering lip betrayed theanguish a too hasty movement cost the broken frame. But, recoveringhimself quickly, he went on: "Then He arose and rebuked the wind and thesea; and there was a great calm. That calm lasts still. And oftentimesthis narrow room seems to me the house of God, the very gate of heaven.Moreover," he added, with a smile of strange brightness, "there isheaven itself beyond."
"But, senor and your Excellency, consider the disgrace and sorrow ofyour noble family--that is, I mean"--here the speaker paused inperplexity, and met the keen eye of the prior, fixed somewhatscornfully, as he thought, upon him. He was quite conscious that theDominican was thinking him incapable, and incompetent to the task he hadso earnestly solicited. He had sedulously prepared himself for thisimportant interview, had gone through it in imagination beforehand,laying up in his memory several convincing and most pertinentexhortations, which could not fail to benefit his old pupil. But thesewere of no avail now; in fact, they all vanished from his recollection.He had just begun something rather vague and incoherent about HolyChurch, when the prior broke in.
"Honoured brother," he said, addressing with scrupulous politeness themember of a rival fraternity, "the prisoner may be more willing tolisten to your pious exhortations, and you may have more freedom inaddressing him, if you are left for a brief space alone together.Therefore, though it is scarcely regular, I will visit a prisoner in aneighbouring apartment, and return hither for you in due time."
Fray Sebastian thanked him, and he withdrew, saying as he did so, "It isnot necessary for me to remind my rev
erend brother that conversationupon worldly matters is strictly forbidden in the Holy House."
Whether the prior visited the other prisoner or no, it is not for us toinquire; but if he did, his visit was a short one; for it is certainthat for some time he paced the gloomy corridor with troubled footsteps.He was thinking of a woman's face, a fair young face, to which that ofDon Carlos Alvarez wore a startling likeness. "Too harsh, needlesslyharsh," he murmured; "for, after all, _she_ was no heretic. But whichof us is always in the right? Ave Maria Sanctissima, ora pro me! Butif I can, I would fain make some reparation--to _him_. If ever therewas a true and sincere penitent, he is one."
After a little further delay, he summoned Fray Sebastian by a peremptoryknock at the inner door, the outer one of course remaining open. TheFranciscan came, his broad, good-humoured face bathed in tears, which hescarcely made an effort to conceal.
The prior glanced at him for a moment, then signed to Herrera, who waswaiting in the gallery, to come and make the door fast. They walked ontogether in silence, until at length Fray Sebastian said, in a tremblingvoice, "My lord, you are very powerful here; can _you_ do nothing forhim?"
"I _have_ done much. At my intercession he had nine months of solitude,in which to recollect himself and ponder his situation, ere he wascalled on to make answer at all. Judge my amazement when, instead ofentering upon his defence, or calling witnesses to his character, he atonce confessed all. Judge my greater amazement at his continuedobstinacy since. When a man has broken a giant oak in two, he may feelsome surprise at being baffled by a sapling."
"He will not relent," said Fray Sebastian, hardly restraining his sobs."He will die."
"I see one chance to save him," returned the prior; "but it is ahazardous experiment. The consent of the Supreme Council is necessary,as well as that of my Lord Vice-Inquisitor, and neither may be very easyto obtain."
"To save his body or his soul?" Fray Sebastian asked anxiously.
"Both, if it succeeds. But I can say no more," he added ratherhaughtily; "for my plan is bound up with a secret, of which few livingmen, save myself, are in possession."
The Spanish Brothers: A Tale of the Sixteenth Century Page 33