The Spanish Brothers: A Tale of the Sixteenth Century

by Deborah Alcock

  XXXV.

  The Eve of the Auto.

  "It is good for a man that he bear the yoke in his youth He sitteth alone and keepeth silence, because he hath borne it upon him. He putteth his mouth in the dust, if so be there may be hope."--Lamentations iii, 27-29

  On the 21st of September 1559, all Seville wore a festive appearance.The shops were closed, and the streets were filled with idle loiterersin their gay holiday apparel. For it was the eve of the great Auto, andthe preliminary ceremonies were going forward amidst the admiration ofgazing thousands. Two stately scaffolds, in the form of anamphitheatre, had been erected in the great square of the city, thencalled the Square of St. Francis; and thither, when the work wascompleted, flags and crosses were borne in solemn procession, with musicand singing.

  But a still more significant ceremonial was enacted in another place.Outside the walls, on the Prado San Sebastian, stood the ghastlyQuemadero--the great altar upon which, for generations, men had offeredhuman sacrifices to the God of peace and love. Thither came long filesof barefooted friars, carrying bushes and faggots, which they laid inorder on the place of death, while, in sweet yet solemn tones, theychanted the "Miserere" and "De Profundis."

  Very close together on those festive days were "strong light and deepshadow." But our way leads us, for the present, into the light.Turning away from the Square of St. Francis, and the Prado SanSebastian, we enter a cool upper room in the stately mansion of DonGarcia Ramirez. There, in the midst of gold and gems, and of silk andlace, Dona Inez is standing, busily engaged in the task of selecting thefairest treasures of her wardrobe to grace the grand festival of thefollowing day. Dona Beatriz de Lavella, and the young waiting-woman whohad been employed in the vain though generous effort to save Don Carlos,are both aiding her in the choice.

  "Please your ladyship," said the girl, "I should recommend rose colourfor the basquina. Then, with those beautiful pearls, my lord's lategift, my lady will be as fine as a duchess; of whom, I hear, many willbe there.--But what will Senora Dona Beatriz please to wear?"

  "I do not intend to go, Juanita," said Dona Beatriz, with a littleembarrassment.

  "Not intend to go!" cried the girl, crossing herself in surprise. "Notgo to see the grandest sight there has been in Seville for many a year!Worth a hundred bull-feasts! Ay de mi! what a pity!"

  "Juanita," interposed her mistress, "I think I hear the senorita's voicein the garden. It is far too hot for her to be out of doors. Oblige meby bringing her in at once."

  As soon as the attendant was gone, Dona Inez turned to her cousin. "Itis really most unreasonable of Don Juan," she said, "to keep you shut uphere, whilst all Seville is making holiday."

  "I am glad--I have no heart to go forth," said Dona Beatriz, with aquivering lip.

  "Nor have I too much, for that matter. My poor brother is so weak andill to-day, it grieves me to the heart. Moreover, he is still sothoughtless about his poor soul. That is the worst of all. I nevercease praying Our Lady to bring him to a better mind. If he would onlyconsent to see a priest; but he was ever obstinate. And if I urge thepoint too strongly, he will think I suppose him dying."

  "I thought his health had improved since you had him brought over here."

  "Certainly he is happier here than he was in his father's house. But oflate he seems to me to be sinking, and that quickly. And now, theAuto--"

  "What of that?" asked Dona Beatriz, with a quick look, half suspiciousand half frightened.

  Dona Inez closed the door carefully, and drew nearer to her cousin."They say _she_ will be amongst the relaxed,"[#] she whispered.

  [#] Those delivered over to the secular arm--that is, to death.

  "Does he know it?" asked Beatriz.

  "I fear he suspects something; and what to tell him, or not to tell him,I know not--Our Lady help me! Ay de mi! 'Tis a horrible business frombeginning to end. And the last thing--the arrest of the sister, DonaJuana! A duke's daughter--a noble's bride. But--best be silent.

  'Con el re e la Inquisition, Chiton! Chiton!'"[#]

  [#]| "With the King or the Inquisition, Hush! Hush!"--_A Spanish proverb._

  Thus, only in a few hurried words, spoken with 'bated breath, did DonaInez venture to allude to the darkest and saddest of the horribletragedies in that time of horrors. Nor shall we do more.

  "Still, you know, amiga mia," she continued, "one must do like one'sneighbours. It would be so ridiculous to look gloomy on a festival day.Besides, every one would talk."

  "That is why I say I am glad Don Juan made it his prayer to me that Iwould not go. For not to look sorrowful, when thy father, Don Manuel,and my aunt, Dona Katarina, are both doing their utmost to drive me outof my senses, would be past my power."

  "Have they been urging the suit of Senor Luis upon thee again? My poorBeatriz, I am truly sorrow for thee," said Dona Inez, with genuinesympathy.

  "Urging it again!" Beatriz repeated with flashing eyes. "Nay; but theyhave never ceased to urge it. And they spare not to say such wicked,cruel words. They tell me Don Juan is dishonoured by his brother'scrime. Dishonoured, forsooth! Think of dishonour touching him! Afterthe day of St. Quentin, the Duke of Savoy was not of that mind, nor ourCatholic King himself. And they have the audacity to say that I caneasily get absolved of my troth to him. Absolved of a solemn promisemade in the sight of God and of Our Lady, and all the holy Saints! If_that_ be not heresy, as bad as--"

  "Hush!" interrupted Dona Inez. "These are dangerous subjects.Moreover, I hear some one knocking at the door."

  It proved to be a page bearing a message.

  "If it please Dona Beatriz de Lavella, Don Juan Alvarez de Santillanos yMenaya kisses the senora's feet, and most humbly desires the favour ofan audience."

  "I go," said Beatriz.

  "Request Senor Don Juan to have the goodness to untire himself a little,and bring his Excellency fruit and wine," added Dona Inez. "My cousin,"she said, turning to Beatriz as soon as the page left the room, "do younot know your cheeks are all aflame? Don Juan will think we havequarrelled. Rest you here a minute, and let me bathe them for you withthis water of orange-flowers."

  Beatriz submitted, though reluctantly, to her cousin's good offices.While she performed them she whispered, "And be not so downcast, amigamia. There is a remedy for most troubles. And as for yours, I see notwhy Don Juan himself should not save you out of them once for all." Sheadded, in a whisper, two or three words that more than undid all thebenefit which the cheeks of Beatriz might otherwise have derived fromthe application of the fragrant water.

  "No use," was the agitated reply. "Even were it possible, _they_ wouldnot permit it."

  "You can come to visit me. Then trust me to manage the rest. The truthis, amiga mia," Dona Inez continued hurriedly, as she smoothed hercousin's dark glossy hair, "what between sickness, and quarrelling, andthe Faith, and heresy, and prisons, there is so much trouble in theworld that no one can help, it seems a pity not to help all one can. Soyou may tell Don Juan that if Dona Inez can do him a good turn she willnot be found wanting. There, I despair of your cheeks. Yet I mustallow that their crimson becomes you well. But you would rather hearthat from Don Juan's lips than from mine. Go to him, my cousin." Andwith a parting kiss Beatriz was dismissed.

  But if she expected any flattery that day from the lips of Don Juan, shewas disappointed. His heart was far too sorrowful. He had merely cometo tell his betrothed what he intended to do on the morrow--thatdreadful morrow! "I have secured a station," he said, "from whence Ican watch the whole procession, as it issues from the gate of theTriana. If _he_ is there, I shall dare everything for a last look andword. And a desperate man is seldom baffled. If even his dust is there,I shall stand beside it till all is over. If not--" Here he broke off,leaving his sentence unfinished, as if in that case it did not matterwhat he did.

  Just then Dona Inez entered. After customary s
alutations, she said, "Ihave a request to make of you, my cousin, on the part of my brother, DonGonsalvo. He desires to see you for a few moments."

  "Senora my cousin, I am very much at your service, and at his."

  Juan was accordingly conducted to the upper room where Gonsalvo lay.And at the special request of the sick man, they were left alonetogether.

  He stretched out a wasted hand to his cousin, who took it in silence,but with a look of compassion. For it needed only a glance at his faceto show that death was there.

  "I should be glad to think you forgave me," he said.

  "I do forgive you," Juan answered. "You intended no evil."

  "Will you, then, do me a great kindness? It is the last I shall ask.Tell me the names of any of the--the _victims_ that have come to yourknowledge."

  "It is only through rumour one can hear these things. Not yet have Isucceeded in discovering whether the name dearest to me is amongstthem."

  "Tell me--has rumour named in your hearing--Dona Maria de Xeres yBohorques?"

  Juan was still ignorant of the secret which Dona Inez had but recentlyconfided to his betrothed. He therefore answered, without hesitation,though in a low, sad tone, "Yes; they say she is to die to-morrow."

  Don Gonsalvo flung his hand across his face, and there was a greatsilence.

  Which the awed and wondering Juan broke at last. Guessing at the truth,he said, "It may be I have done wrong to tell you."

  "No; you have done right. I knew it ere you told me. It is well--forher."

  "A brave word, bravely spoken."

  "Nigh upon eighteen months--long slow months of grief and pain. Allended now. To-morrow night she will see the glory of God."

  There was another long pause. At last Juan said,--

  "Perhaps, if you could, you would gladly share her fate?"

  Gonsalvo half raised himself, and a flush overspread the wan face thatalready wore the ashy hue of approaching death. "Share _that_ fate!" hecried, with an eagerness contrasting strangely with his former slow andmeasured utterance. "Change with _them_? Ask the beggar, who sits allday at the King's gate, waiting for his dole of crumbs, would he gladlychange with the King's children, when he sees the golden gate flung openbefore them, and watches them pass in robed and crowned, to thepresence-chamber of the King himself."

  "Your faith is greater than mine," said Juan in surprise.

  "In one way, yes," replied Gonsalvo, sinking back, and resuming his low,quiet tone. "For the beggar dares to hope that the King has looked withpity even on _him_."

  "You do well to hope in the mercy of God."

  "Cousin, do you know what my life has been?"

  "I think I do."

  "I am past disguise now. Standing on the brink of the grave, I darespeak the truth, though it be to my own shame. There was no evil, nosin--stay, I will sum up all in one word. _One_ pure, blameless life--aman's life, too--I have watched from day to day, from childhood tomanhood. All that your brother Don Carlos was, I was not; all he wasnot, I was."

  "Yet you once thought that life incomplete, unmanly," said Juan,remembering the taunts that in past days had so often aroused his wrath.

  "I was a fool. It is just retribution that I--I who called himcoward--should see him march in there triumphant, with the palm ofvictory in his hand. But let me end; for I think it is the last time Ishall speak of myself in any human ear. I sowed to the flesh, and of theflesh I have reaped--_corruption_. It is an awful word, Don Juan. Allthe life in me turned to death; all the good in me (what God meant forgood, such as force, fire, passion) turned to evil. What availed it methat I loved a star in heaven--a bright, lonely, distant star--while Iwas earthy, of the earth? Because I could not (and thank God for that!)pluck down my star from the sky and hold it in my hand, even that lovebecame corruption too. I fulfilled my course, the earthly grew sensual,the sensual grew devilish. And then God smote me, though not then forthe first time. The stroke of his hand was heavy. My heart was crushed,my frame left powerless." He paused for a while, then slowly resumed."The stroke of his hand, your brother's words, your brother's book--bythese he taught me. There is deliverance even from the bondage ofcorruption, through him who came to call not the righteous, but sinners.One day--and that soon--I, even I, shall kneel at his feet, and thankhim for saving the lost. And then I shall see my star, shining farabove me in his glorious heaven, and be content and glad."

  "God has been very gracious to you, my cousin," said Juan in a tone ofemotion. "And what he has cleansed I dare not call common. Were mybrother here to-day, I think he would stretch out to you the right hand,not of forgiveness, but of fellowship. I have told you how he longedfor your soul."

  "God can fulfil more desires of his than that, Don Juan, and I doubt nothe will. What know we of his dealings? we who all these dreary monthshave been mourning for and pitying his prisoners, to-morrow to be hiscrowned and sainted martyrs? It were a small thing with him to flood thedungeon's gloom with light, and give--even here, even now--all theirhearts long for to those who suffer for him."

  Juan was silent. Truly the last was first, and the first last now.Gonsalvo had reached some truths which were still far beyond _his_ ken.He did not know how their seed had been sown in his heart by his ownbrother's hand. At length he answered, in a low and faltering voice,"There is much in what you say. Fray Sebastian told me--"

  "Ay," cried Gonsalvo eagerly, "what did Fray Sebastian tell you of_him_?"

  "That he found him in perfect peace, though ill and weak in body. It ismy hope that God himself has delivered him ere now out of their cruelhands. And I ought to tell you that he spoke of all his relatives withaffection, and made special inquiry after your health."

  Gonsalvo said quietly, "It is likely I shall see him before you."

  Juan sighed. "To-morrow will reveal something," he said.

  "Many things, perhaps," Gonsalvo returned. "Well--Dona Beatriz waitsyou now. There is no poison in that wine, though it be of an earthlyvintage; and God himself puts the cup in your hand; so take it, and becomforted. Yet stay, have you patience for one word more?"

  "For a thousand, if you will, my cousin."

  "I know that in heart you share his--_our_ faith."

  Juan shrank a little from his gaze.

  "Of course," he replied, "I have been obliged to conceal my opinions;and, indeed, of late all things have seemed to grow dim and uncertainwith me. Sometimes, in my heart of hearts, I cannot tell what truthis."

  "'He came not to call the righteous, but sinners,'" said Gonsalvo. "Andthe sinner who has heard his call must believe, let others doubt as theymay. Thank God, the sinner may not only believe, but love. Yes; inthat the beggar at the gate may take his stand beside the king'schildren unreproved. Even I dare to say, 'Lord, thou knowest all things;thou knowest that I love thee.' Only to them it is given to prove it;while I--ay, there was the bitter thought. Long it haunted me. At lastI prayed that if indeed he deigned to accept me, all sinful as I was, hewould give me for a sign something to do, to suffer, or to give up,whereby I might prove my love."

  "And did he hear you?"

  "Yes. He showed me one thing harder to give up than life; one thingharder to do than to brave the torture and the death of fire."

  "What is that?"

  Once more Gonsalvo veiled his face. Then he murmured--"Harder to giveup--vengeance, hatred; harder to do--to pray for _their_ murderers."

  "_I_ could never do it," said Juan, starting.

  "And if at last--at last--_I_ can,--I, whose anger was fierce, and whosewrath was cruel, even unto death,--is not that His own work in me?"

  Juan half turned away, and did not answer immediately. In his heartmany thoughts were struggling. Far, indeed, was he from praying for hisbrother's murderers; almost as far from wishing to do it. Rather wouldhe invoke God's vengeance upon them. Had Gonsalvo, in the depths of hismisery, remorse, and penitence, actually found something which Don JuanAlvarez still lacked? He said at last, with a hu
mility new and strangeto him,--

  "My cousin, you are nearer heaven than I."

  "As to time--yes," said Gonsalvo, with a faint smile. "Now farewell,cousin; and thank you."

  "Can I do nothing more for you?"

  "Yes; tell my sister that I know all. Now, God bless you, and deliveryou from the evils that beset your path, and bring you and yours to someland where you may worship him in peace and safety."

  And so the cousins parted, never to meet again upon earth.

  XXXVI.

  "The Horrible and Tremendous Spectacle."[#]

  "All have passed: The fearful, and the desperate, and the strong. Some like the barque that rushes with the blast; Some like the leaf borne tremblingly along; And some like men who have but one more field To fight, and then may slumber on their shield-- Therefore they arm in hope."--Hemans.