XXXVIII.
Nuera Again.
"Happy places have grown holy; If ye went where once ye went, Only tears would fall down slowly. As at solemn Sacrament Household names, that used to flutter Through your laughter unawares, God's divine one ye can utter With less trembling in your prayers."--E. B. Browning
A chill and dreary torpor stole over Juan's fiery spirit after the Auto.The settled conviction that his brother was dead took possession of hismind. Moreover, his soul had lost its hold upon the faith which he onceembraced so warmly. He had consciously ceased to be true to his bestconvictions, and those convictions, in turn, had ceased to support him.His confidence in himself, his trust in his own heart, had been shakento its foundations. And he was very far from having gained in its steadthat strong confidence in God which would have infinitely more thancounter-balanced its loss.
Thus two or three slow and melancholy months wore away. Then,fortunately for him, events happened that forced him, in spite ofhimself, to the exertion that saves from the deadly slumber of despair.It became evident, that if he did not wish to see the last earthlytreasure that remained to him swept out of his reach for ever, he mustrouse himself from his lethargy so far as to grasp and hold it; for nowDon Manuel _commanded_ his ward to bestow her hand upon his rival, SenorLuis Rotelo.
In her anguish and dismay, Beatriz fled for refuge to her kind-heartedcousin, Dona Inez.
Dona Inez received her into her house, where she soothed and comfortedher; and soon found means to despatch an "esquelita," or billet, to DonJuan, to the following effect:--"Dona Beatriz is here. Remember, mycousin, 'that a leap over a ditch is better than another man's prayer.'"
To which Juan replied immediately:--
"Senora and my cousin, I kiss your feet. Lend me a helping hand, and Itake the leap."
Dona Inez desired nothing better. Being a Spanish lady, she loved anintrigue for its own sake; being a very kindly disposed lady, she lovedan intrigue for a benevolent object. With her active co-operation andassistance, and her husband's connivance, it was quickly arranged thatDon Juan should carry off Dona Beatriz from their house to a littlecountry chapel in the neighbourhood, where a priest would be inreadiness to perform the solemn rite which should unite them for ever.Thence they were to proceed at once to Nuera, Don Juan disguisinghimself for the journey as the lady's attendant. Dona Inez did notanticipate that her father and brothers would take any hostile stepsafter the conclusion of the affair--glad though they might have been toprevent it--since there was nothing which they hated and dreaded so muchas a public scandal.
All Juan's latent fire and energy woke up again to meet the peril and tosecure the prize. He was successful in everything; the plan had beenwell laid, and was well and promptly carried out. And thus it happened,that amidst December-snows he bore his beautiful bride home to Nuera intriumph. If triumph it could be called, overcast by the ever-presentmemory of the one who "was not," which rested like a deep shadow uponall joy, and subdued and chastened it. Few things in life are sadderthan a great, long-expected blessing coming thus;--like a friend from aforeign land whose return has been eagerly anticipated, but who, afteryears of absence, meets us changed in countenance and in heart,unrecognizing and unrecognized.
Dolores welcomed her young master and his bride with affection andthankfulness. But he noticed that the dark hair, at the time of hislast visit still only threaded with silver, had grown white as themountain snows. In former days Dolores, could not have told which ofthe noble youths, her lady's gallant sons, had been the dearer to her.But now she knew full well. Her heart was in the grave with the boy shehad taken a helpless babe from his dying mother's arms. But, after all,was he in the grave? This was the question which she asked herself dayby day, and many times a day. She was not quite so sure of the answeras Senor Don Juan seemed to be. Since the day of the Auto, he hadassumed all the outward signs of mourning for his brother.
Fray Sebastian was also at Nuera, and proved a real help and comfort toits inmates. His very presence served to shield the household from anysuspicions that might have been awakened with regard to their faith.For who could doubt the orthodoxy of Don Juan Alvarez, while he not onlycontributed liberally to the support of his parish church, but also kepta pious Franciscan in his family, in the capacity of private chaplain?Though it must be confessed that the Fray's duties were anything butonerous; now, as in former days, he showed himself a man fond of quiet,who for the most part held his peace, and let every one do what wasright in his own eyes.
He was now on far more cordial terms with Dolores than he had ever beenbefore. This was partly because he had learned that worse physicalevils than ollas of lean mutton, or cheese of goat's milk, _might_ beborne with patience, even with thankfulness. But partly also becauseDolores now really tried to con suit his tastes and to promote hiscomfort. Many a savoury dish "which the Fray used to like" did shetrouble herself to prepare; many a flask of wine from their diminishingstore did she gladly produce, "for the kind words that he spake to himin his sorrow and loneliness."
In spite of the depressing influences around her, Dona Beatriz could notbut be very happy. For was not Don Juan hers, all her own, her own forever? And with the zeal love inspires, and the skill love imparts, sheapplied herself to the task of brightening his darkened life. Not quitewithout effect. Even from that stern and gloomy brow the shadows atlength began to roll away.
Don Juan could not speak of his sorrow. For weeks indeed after hisreturn to Nuera his brother's name did not pass his lips. Better had itbeen otherwise, both for himself and for Dolores. Her heart, achingwith its own lonely anguish and its vague, dark surmisings, often longedto know her young master's true innermost thought about his brother'sfate. But she did not dare to ask him.
At last, however, this painful silence was partially broken through.One morning the old servant accosted her master with an air of somedispleasure. It was in the inner room within the hall. Holding in herhand a little book, she said,--"May it please your Excellency to pardonmy freedom, but it is not well done of you to leave this lying open onyour table. I am a simple woman; still I am at no loss to know what andwhence it is. If you will not destroy it, and cannot keep it safe andsecret, I implore of your worship to give it to me."
Juan held out his hand for it. "It is dearer to me than any earthlypossession," he said briefly.
"It had need to be dearer than your life, senor, if you mean to leave itabout in that fashion."
"I have lost the right to say so much," Juan answered. "And yet,Dolores--tell me, would it break your heart if I sold this place--youknow it is mortgaged heavily already--and quitted the country?"
Juan expected a start, if not a cry of surprise and dismay. That Alvarezde Menaya should sell the inheritance of his fathers seemed indeed amonstrous proposal. In the eyes of the world it would be an act ofinsanity, if not a crime. What then would it appear to one who lovedthe name of Santillanos y Menaya far better than her life?
But the still face of Dolores never changed. "Nothing would break myheart _now_," she said calmly.
"You would come with us?"
She did not even ask _whither_. She did not care: all her thoughts werein the past.
"That is of course, senor," she answered. "If I had but first assuranceof _one_ thing."
"Name it; and if I can assure you, I will."
Instead of naming it she turned silently away. But presently turningagain, she asked, "Will your Excellency please to tell me, is it thatbook that is driving you into exile?"
"It is. I am bound to confess the truth before men; and that isimpossible here."
"But are you sure then that it is the truth?"
"Sure. I have read God's message both in the darkness and in the lightI have seen it traced in characters of blood--and fire."
"But--forgive the question, senor--does it make you happy?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because, Senor Don Juan"--she spoke with an effort, but firmly, andfixing her eyes on his face--"he who gave you yon book found thereinthat which made him happy. I know it; he was here, and I watched him.When he came first, he was ill, or else very sorrowful, I know not why.But he learned from that book that God Almighty loved him, and that theLord and Saviour Christ was his friend; and then his sorrow passed away,and his heart grew full of joy, so full that he must needs be tellingme--ay, and even that poor dolt of a cura down there in thevillage--about the good news. And I think"--but here she stopped,frightened at her own boldness.
"What think you?" asked Juan, with difficulty restraining his emotion.
"Well, Senor Don Juan, I think that if that good news be true, it wouldnot be so hard to suffer for it. Blessed Virgin! Could it be aught butjoy to me, for instance, to lie in a dark dungeon, or even to be hangedor burned, if that could work out _his_ deliverance? There be worsethings in the world than pain or prisons. For where there's love,senor---- Moreover, it comes upon me sometimes that the LordsInquisitors may have mistaken his case. Wise and learned they may be,and good and holy they are, of course--'twere sin to doubt it--yet they_may_ mistake sometimes. 'Twas but the other day, my old eyes growingdim apace, that I took a blessed gleam of sunlight that had fallen onyon oak table for a stain, and set to work to rub it off; the Lordforgive me for meddling with one of the best of his works! And, foraught we know, just so may they be doing, mistaking God's light upon thesoul for the devil's stain of heresy. But the sunlight is stronger thanthey, after all."
"Dolores, you are half a Lutheran already yourself," answered Juan insurprise.
"I, senor! The Lord forbid! I am an old Christian, and a goodCatholic, and so I hope to die. But if you must hear all the truth, Iwould walk in a yellow sanbenito, with a taper in my hand, before Iwould acknowledge that _he_ ever said one word or thought one thoughtthat was not Catholic and Christian too. All his crime was to find outthat the good Lord loved him, and to be happy on account of it. If thatbe your religion also, Senor Don Juan, I have nothing to say against it.And, as I have said, God granting me, in his great mercy, one assurancefirst, I am ready to follow you and your lady to the world's end."
With these words on her lips she left the room. For a time Juan satsilent in deep thought. Then he opened the Testament, and turned overits leaves until he found the parable of the sower. "'Some fell uponstony places,'" he read, "'where they had not much earth; and forthwiththey sprung up, because they had no deepness of earth: and when the sunwas up, they were scorched; and, because they had no root, they witheredaway.' There," he said within himself, "in those words is written thehistory of my life, from the day my brother confessed his faith to me inthe garden of San Isodro. God help me, and forgive my backsliding! Butat least it is not too late to go humbly back to the beginning, and toask him who alone can do it to break up the fallow ground."
He closed the book, walked to the window and looked out. Presently hiseye was attracted to those dear mystic words on the pane, which both thebrothers had loved and dreamed over from their childhood,--
"El Dorado Yo he trovado."
And at that moment the sun was shining on them as brightly as it used todo in those old days gone by for ever.
No vague dream of any good, foreshadowed by the omen to him or to hishouse, crossed the mind of the practical Don Juan. But he seemed tohear once more the voice of his young brother saying close beside him,"Look, Ruy, the light is on our father's words." And memory bore himback to a morning long ago, when some slight boyish quarrel had beenended thus.
Over his stern, handsome face there passed a look that shaded andsoftened it, and his eyes grew dim--dim with tears.
But just then Dona Beatriz, radiant from a morning walk, and with herhands full of early spring flowers, tripped in, singing a Spanishballad,--
"Ye men that row the galleys, I see my lady fair; She gazes at the fountain That leaps for pleasure there."
Beatrix was a child of the city; and, moreover, her life hitherto hadbeen an unloved and unloving one. Now her nature was expanding underthe wholesome influences of home life and home love, and of simplehealthful pleasures. "Look, Don Juan, what pretty things grow in yourfields here! I have never seen the like," she said, breaking off in hersong to exhibit her treasures.
Don Juan looked carelessly at them, lovingly at her. "I would fain heara morning hymn from those sweet, tuneful lips," he pleaded.
"Most willingly, amigo mio,--
'Sanctissima--'"
"Hush, my beloved; hush, I entreat of you." And laying his hand lightlyon her shoulder, he gazed in her face with a mixture of fond and tenderadmiration and of gentle reproach difficult to describe. "_Not that_.For the sake of all that lies between us and the old faith, not that.Rather let us sing together,--
'Vexill Regis prodeunt.'
For you know that between us and our King there stands, and there needsto stand, no human mediator. Do you not, my beloved?"
"I know that _you_ are right," answered Beatrix, still reading her faithin Don Juan's eyes. "But we can sing afterwards, whatever you like, andas much as you will. I pray you let us come forth now into the sunshinetogether. Look, what a glorious morning it is!"
The Spanish Brothers: A Tale of the Sixteenth Century Page 38