 Chapter 9 El Dorado Found So, the all-great were the all-loving, too. So through the thunder comes a human voice, saying, O heart I made, a heart beats here. Face my hands fashioned, see it in myself. No hast no power, nor mace conceive of mine, but love I gave thee with myself to love, and now must love me who have died for thee, our browning. Three silent months stole away in the old castle of Nuera. No outward event affecting the fortunes of its inmates marked their progress, and yet they were by far the most important months Don Carlos had ever seen, or perhaps would ever see. They witnessed a change in him, mysterious in its progress, but momentous in its results, and influence passed over him, mighty as the wind in its azure pathway, but like it visible only by its effects. No man could tell. Whence it cometh, or whither it goeth? Again it was early morning, a bright Sunday morning in September. Already Carlos stood prepared to go forth. He had quite discarded his student's habit, and was dressed like any other young nobleman, in a doublet and short cloak of Genoa velvet, with a sword by his side. His bravery was in his hand, however, and he was on the point of taking up his hat when Dolores entered the room, bearing a cup of wine and a mansion of bread. Carlos shook his head, saying, I intend to communicate, and you, Dolores. He added, Are you not also going to hear mass? Surely, senor, we will all attend our duty, but there is still time to spare. Your worship sets us an example in the matter of early rising. They were ashamed to lose such fair hours as these. Pretty Dolores, and lest I forget, has thou something savoury in the house for dinner? Glad I am to hear you ask, senor. Hitherto it has seemed alike to your excellency, whether they served you with a potage of lentils, or a stew of partridges. But since Diego had the good fortune to kill that buck on Wednesday, we are better than well provided. Your worship shall dine on roast venison to-day. That will do. If thou wouldst add some of the betterware, in which thou art so skillful, it would be better still, for I intend to bring home a guest. Now the saints help me, that is news. Without meaning offence, your worship might have told me before. Any noble caballero coming to these parts to visit you must needs have bed as well as board found him. And how can I, in three hours, more or less? Nay, be not alarmed, Dolores. No stranger is coming here. I wish to bring the cura home to dinner. Even the self-restrained Dolores could not repress an exclamation of surprise. For both the brothers had been accustomed to regard the ignorant vulgar cura of the neighbouring village with unmitigated disliking attempt. In old times Dolores herself had sometimes tried to induce them to show him some trifling hurtesies. For their soul's health they were willing enough to send that beggar, as Don Juan used to call him, presence of meat or game when they could. But these they would not have grudged to their worst enemy. To converse with him or to sit him at their table was a very different matter. He was— No fit associate from noblemen, said the boys, and Dolores and her heart agreed with them. She looked at her young master to see whether he were gesting. He likes a good dinner, Carlos added quietly. Let us for once give him one. In good faith, senor Don Carlos, I cannot tell what has come to you. You must be about doing penance for your sins, though I will say no young gentleman of your years has fewer to answer for. Still, to please your whim, the cura shall eat the best we have, though beans and bacon would be more fitting fare for him. Thank you, mother Dolores. Said Carlos kindly. In truth neither Don Juan nor I had ever whim, yet you did not strive to gratify. And who would not do more than that for so pleasant and kind a young master? Not Dolores, as she withdrew to superintend the cooking operations. God's blessing and our ladies' rest on him, and in sooth I think they do. Three months ago he came here looking like a corpse out of the grave, and fitter as it seemed to me to don his shroud than his priest's frock. But the free mountain air wherein he was born is bringing back the red to his cheek and the light to his eye, thank the holy saints. If his lady mother could only see her gallant sons now. Meanwhile Don Carlos leisurely took his way down the hill. Having abundance of time to spare, he chose a solitary, devious path through the cork trees in the pastureland belonging to the castle. His heart was alive to every pleasant sight and sound that met his eye and ear, although, or rather because, a low sweet song of thankfulness was all the while chanting itself within him. During his solitary walk he distinctly realized for the first time the stupendous change that had passed over him. Such changes cannot be understood or measured until afterwards, perhaps not always then. Drawing from his pocket Juliano's little book he clasped it in both hands. This, God be thanked, has done it all under him, and yet at first it added to my misery a hundredfold. Then his mind ran back to the dreary days of helpless, almost hopeless wretchedness when he first began its perusal. Much of it had then been quite unintelligible to him, but what he understood had only made his darkness darkener still. He who had but just learned from that stern teacher, life, the meaning of sorrow, learned from the pages of his book the awful significance of that other word, sin. Bitter hours, never to be remembered without a shutter, were those that followed. Already prostrate on the ground beneath the weight of his selfish sorrow for the love that might never be his. Cruel blows seemed reigned upon him by the very hand to which he turned to lift him up. All was his own fault, said Conscience, but had Conscience enlightened by Hood's book, said no more, he could have borne it. It was a different thing to recognize that all was his own sin, to feel more keenly every day that the whole current of his thoughts and affections was set in opposition to the will of God as revealed in that book, and illustrated in the life of him of whom it told. But the sickness of heart, deadly though it seemed, was not unto death. The word had indeed proved a mere, in which he saw his own face reflected with the lines and colors of truth. But it had a farther use for him, as he did not fling it away in despair, but still gazed on, at length he saw in its queer depths another face, a face radiant with divine majesty yet beaming with tender love and pity. He whom the mere thus gave back to him had been not far from him all his life, had been standing over against him, watching and waiting for the moment in which to reveal himself. At last that moment came. He looked up from the mere to the real face, from the word to him whom the word revealed. He turned and said unto him, Ravoni, which is to say, my master. He laid his soul at his feet in love, in trust, in gratitude. And he knew then, not until then, that this was the coming to him, the believing on him, the receiving him, of which he spoke as the condition of life, a pardon and of happiness. From that hour he possessed life. He knew himself forgiven. He was happy. This was no theory but a fact. A fact was changed all his present and was destined to change all his future. He longed to impart the wonderful secret he had found. This longing overcame his contempt for the cura, and made him seek to win him by kindness, to listen to words that perhaps might open for him also the same wonderful fountain of joy. Now I am going to worship my lord. Afterwards I shall speak of him. He said as he crossed the threshold of the little village church. During due season the service was over. Its ceremonies did not pain or offend Carlos in any way. He took part in them with much real devotion, as acts of homage paid to his lord. Still, if he had analyzed his feelings, which he did not, he would have found them like those of a king's child, who is obliged on days of courtly ceremonial, to pay his father the same distant homage as the other peers of the realm, and yet knows that all this for him is but an idle show, and longs to throw aside its cumbers pomp, and rejoice once more on the free, familiar intercourse which is his habit and his privilege. But that the ceremonial itself could be otherwise than pleasing to his king, he had not the most distant suspicion. He spoke kindly to the priest, and inquired by name after all the sick folk in the village, though in fact he knew more about them himself by this time than did Father Thomas. The cura's heart was glad when the catechism came to a termination, so satisfactory as an invitation to dine at the castle. Whatever the fair might be, and his expectations were not extravagantly high, it could scarce fail to be an improvement on the aula of which he had intended to make his Sunday repast. Moreover, one favour from the castle might be the earnest of others, and favours from the castle, for though its lords might be, were not to be despised. Nor was he ill at ease in the society of an accomplished gentleman, as a man just a little better bred would probably have been. A wealthy peasant's son, and with but scanty education, Father Thomas was so hopelessly vulgar that he never once imagined he was vulgar at all. Carlos bore as patiently as he could with his coarse manners, and conversation something worse than commonplace. Not until the repast was concluded did he find an opportunity of bringing forward the topic upon which he longed to speak. Then with more tact than his guests could appreciate, he began by inquiring, as one himself tended for the priesthood might naturally do, whether he could always keep his thoughts from wandering while he was celebrating the holy mysteries of the faith. Father Thomas crossed himself and answered that he was a sinner like other men, but that he tried to do his duty to our holy mother-church to the best of his ability. Carlos remarked that unless we ourselves know the love of God by experience we cannot love him, and that without love there is no acceptable service. Most true, Signor, said the priest, turning his eyes upwards. As the holy Saint Augustine saith, your worship quotes from him, I believe. I have quoted nothing, said Carlos, beginning to feel that he was speaking to the deaf. But I know the words of Christ, and that he spoke out of a full heart of Christ's work for us, of his love to us, and of the pardon and peace which those who receive that trust him. But his listener's stolid face betrayed no new interest, only a vague uneasiness which increased as Carlos proceeded. The poor parish cura began to suspect the clever young colegian intended to astonish and bewilder him by the exhibition of his learning and his new ideas. Indeed, he was not quite sure whether his host was eloquently enlarging all the time upon Catholic truths, or now and then mischievously throwing out a few heretical propositions in order to try whether he would have skill enough to detect them. Naturally he did not greatly relish this style of entertainment. Nothing could be got from him save a cautious. That is true, senor. Or very good, your worship. And as soon as his notions of politeness would permit, he took his leave. Carlos marveled greatly at his dullness, but soon dismissed him from his mind, and took his testament out to read under the shade of the cork trees. Ear-long the light began to fade, but he sat there still in the fast-evening twilight, thoughts and fancies thronged upon his mind and dreams of the past sought, as even they often did, to reassert the supremacy over his heart. One of those apparently uncountable freaks of memory, which we all know by experience, brought back to him suddenly the luscious perfume of the orange blossoms, called by Spaniards the azahar. Such fragrance had filled the air, and such flowers had been strewn upon his pathway, but last he walked with Donya Beatriz in the fairy gardens of the Alcazar of Seville. Keen was the ping that shot through his heart at the remembrance, but it was conquered soon. But he went indoors, he repeated the words he had just been reading. He that cometh unto me shall never hunger. He that believeth on me shall never thirst. And this hunger of the soul, as well as every other, he can stay. Having him I have all things, el dorado yo he trovado. Father, dear unknown father, I have found the golden country. But in the sense thou didst fondly seek, and I as fondly dreamed to find it, if the only true land of gold I have found indeed, the treasure unfailing, the inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeeth not away, reserved in heaven for me. CHAPTER X. DELORUS. O hearts that break and give no signs, a whitening lip and fading tresses, till death pours out his cordial wine, slow-dropped from misery's crushing presses. If singing breath or echoing cord to every hidden pang were given, but endless melodies report, as sad as earth, as sweet as heaven. OW HOMES. A great modern poet has compared the soul of men to a pilgrim who passes through the world staff in hand, never resting, ever pressing onwards to some point as yet attained, ever sighing wearily. ALAS! that there is never here. And with deep significance adds his Christian commentator. In Christ there is here. He who has found Christ is already at the goal, for he stills our innermost fears and fulfills our utmost longings. In him the dry land, the mirage of the desert, becomes living water. He who knows him knows the reasonable things. Passing along all the ages we might gather from the silent lips of the dead such words as these, bearing inside a witness to what human hearts have found in him. Yet after all we would come back to his own grand and simple words as Beth's expressing the truth. I am the bread of life. I will give you rest. In me ye shall have peace. With the peace which he gave there came to Carlos a strange new knowledge also. The testament from its first page to its last became intelligible to him. From a mere sketch, partly dim and partly blurred and blotted, it grew into a transparency through which light shone upon his soul, every word being itself a star. He often read his book to Dolores, although he allowed her to suppose it was Latin, and that he was improvising a translation for her benefit. She would listen attentively, though with a deeper shade of sadness on her melancholy face. Never did she volunteer in observation, but she always thanked him at the end in her usual, respectful manner. These readings were in fact trouble to Dolores. They gave her pain, like the sharp throbs at a company the first return of consciousness to a frozen member, for the awakened feelings that had long been dormant and that she thought were dead forever. But on the other hand, she was gratified by the condescension of her young master in reading a lab for her edification. She had gone through the worlds giving very largely out of her own loving heart, and expecting little or nothing in return. She would most gladly have laid down her life for Don Carlos or Don Juan, yet she did not imagine that the old servant of the house could be to them much more than one of the old tables with the carved chairs. That's Senor Don Carlos, should take such thought for her and trouble himself to do her good, thrilled her with a sensation more like joy than any she had known for years. Little do those whose cups are so full of human love that they carry them carelessly, spilling many a precious drop as they pass along, dream how others cherish the few poor leaves and remnants left to them. Moreover Carlos, in the eyes of Dolores, was half a priest already, and this lent additional weight and even sacredness to all that he said and did. One evening he had been reading to her in the inner room by the light of the little silver lamp. He had just finished the story of Lazarus, and he made some remark on the grateful love of Mary and the costly sacrifice by which she proved it. Tears gathered in the dark, whistful eyes of Dolores, and she said with sudden, and for her most unusual energy, that was small wonder, any one would do as much for him that brought the dear dead back from the grave. He has done a greater thing than even that for each of us, said Carlos. But Dolores withdrew into her ordinary self again as some timid creature might shrink into its shell from a touch. I thank your Excellency. She's sad, rising to withdraw. And I also make my acknowledgements to our lady, who has inspired you with such true piety, suitable to your holy calling. Say a little to Dolores, said Carlos, as a sudden thought occurred to him. I marvel it has so seldom come into my mind to ask you about my mother. Aye, senor, when you were both children, I used to wonder that you and Don Juan, while you talked often together of my lord, your father, had scarce a thought at all of your lady mother. Yet if she had lived, you would have been her favorite, senor. And Juan, my father's, said Carlos, not without a slight pang of jealousy. Was my noble father then more like what my brother is? Yes, senor. He was bold and brave. No offense to your Excellency, for one you love, I warrant me you could be brave enough. But he loved his sword, and his lance, and his good steed. Moreover he loved travel and adventure greatly, and never could bear to abide long in the same place. Did he not make a voyage to the Indies in his youth? He did. Then he fought under the Emperor, both in Italy and in Africa against the Moors. Once his Imperial Majesty sent him on some errand to Leon, and there he first met my lady. Afterwards he crossed the mountains to our home and wooed and won her. He brought her, the fairest young bride Ice Catreston, to Civi, where he had a stately palace on the Alameda. You must have grieved to leave your mountains for the southern city. No, senor. I did not grieve. Wherever your lady mother dwelt was home to me. Besides, a great grief kills all the rest. Then you had known Sorrow before. I thought you lived with our house from your childhood. Not altogether, though my mother nursed yours and we slept in the same cradle, and as we grew older shared each other's place. At seven years old I went home to my father and mother, who were honest, well-to-do people, like all my forebears. Good old Christians and noble, they could wear their caps in the presence of his Catholic Majesty. They had no girl but me, so they would fain have me ever in their sight. For ten years and more I was the light of their eyes, and no blighter less ever led the goats to the mountain in summer, or spun wool and roasted chestnuts at the winter fire. But the year of the bad fever both were stricken. Christmas morning, with the bells for early mass ringing in my ears, I closed my father's eyes, and three days afterwards set the last kiss on my mother's cold lips. Nine upon five and twenty years ago, but it seems like yesterday. Folks say there are many good things in the world, but I have known none so good as the love of father and mother. I demise, senor, you never knew either. When your parents died, did you return to my mother? For half a year I stayed with my brother. Though no daughter ever shed true tears over the grave of better parents, I was not then quite broken-hearted. There was another love to whisper hope, and to keep me from desolation. He, Alfonso, this years and years since I uttered the name, save in my prayers, had gone to the war, telling me he would come back and claim me for his bride. So I watched for him hour by hour, and toiled and spun, and spun and toiled, that I might not go home to him empty-handed. But at last a lad from our parish, who had been a comrade of his, returned and told me all. He was lying on the bloody field of Marignano, with a French bullet in his heart. Senor, the sisters you read of could go to the grave and weep there, and yet the Lord pitied them. He pities all who weep, said Carlos. All good Christians he may. But though an old Christian I was not a good one, for I thought it bitter-hearted my candle should be quenched in a moment like a wax-taper when the procession is done. And it came often into my mind how the Almighty, or our Lady, or the Saints, could have helped me if they would. May they forgive me. It is hard to be religious. I do not think so. I suppose it is not hard to learn gentlemen who have been at the colleges. But how can simple men and women tell whether they are keeping all the commandments of God and Holy Church? It well may be that I had done something, or left something undone, whereby our Lady was displeased. It is not our Lady but our Lord Himself who holds the keys of hell and of death, said Carlos, gaining at the moment new truth for his own heart. None enters the gates of death, as none shall come forth through them save at his command. But go on, Dolores, and tell me how did comfort come to you? Comfort never came to me, Senor, but after a time there came a kind of numbness and hardness that helped me to live my life as if I cared for it. And your Lady Mother, God rest her soul, showed me wondrous kindness in my sorrow. It was then she took me to be her own maiden. She had me taught many things, such as reading and various cunning kinds of embroidery, that I might suffer with them, she said, but I well knew they were meant to turn my heart away from its own aching. I went with her to Sivvy. I could be glad for her, Senor, that God had given her the good things he had denied to me. At last it came to be almost like joy to me to see the great deep love there was between your father and her. This was a degree of unselfishness beyond the keeping prehension of Carlos just then. He felt his own wounds throb painfully and was not sorry to turn the conversation. Did my parents reside long in Sivvy? He asked. Not long, Senor. Their life was a gay one, as became their rank and wealth, for as your worship knows your father had a noble estate then. But soon they both grew tired of the gay world. My lady ever loved the free mountains, and my lord, I scarce can tell what change passed over him. He lost his care for the tourney and the dance, and betook himself instead to study. Both were glad to withdraw to this quiet spot. Here your brother Don Juan was born, and for nigh a year afterwards no lord and lady could have led a happier, and at the same time more pious and orderly life than did your noble parents. The thoughtful eye of Carlos turned to the inscription on the window and kindled with a strange light. Was not this room my father's favourite place of study? He asked. It was, Senor. Of course the house was not then as it now is, though simply enough after the Sivvy palace with its fountains and marbled statues and doors grated with gold in network, it was still a seemingly dwelling place for a noble lord and lady. There was glass in all the windows then, though through neglect and carelessness it has been broken. Even your worship may remember how Don Juan sent an arrow through a quarrel pain in the west window one day. So we thought it best to remove the traces. My parents led a pious life, you say? Truly they did, Senor. They were good and charitable to the poor, and they spent much of their time reading holy books, as you do now. Ay demie, what was wrong with them I know not, save that perhaps they were scarce careful enough to give holy church all her views. But I used sometimes to wish that my lady would show more devotion to the blessed mother of God. But she felt it all, no doubt. Only it was not her way, nor my lord's, either, to be forever running about on pilgrimage or offering wax candles, nor yet to keep the father confessor every instant with his ear to their lips. Carlos started, and turned an earnest inquiring gaze upon her. Did my mother ever read to you as I have done? He asked. She sometimes read me good words out of the breviary, Senor. All things went on thus, until one day when a letter came from the emperor himself, as I believe, desiring your father to go to him, to entverb. The matter was to be kept very private, but my lady used to tell me everything. My lord thought he was to be sent on some secret mission where skill was needed, and perchance peril was to be met, for it was well known that he loved such affairs and was dexterous in the management of them. So he parted cheerily from my lady, she standing at the gate yonder and making little Don Juan kiss hands to him as he rode down the path. Woe for the poor babe that never saw his father's face again. And worse woe for the mother, but death yields all things except sin. After three weeks or a month more or less, two monks of Saint Dominic rode to the gates one day. The younger stayed without in the hall with us, while the elder, a man of stern and stately presence, had private audience of my lady in this chamber where we sit now. A place of death it has seemed to me ever since. For the audience had not lasted long until I heard a cry, such a cry. It rings in my ears even now. I hastened to my lady. She had swooned, and long, long was it before sense returned again. Do not keep looking at me, Senor, with eyes so like hers, or I cannot tell you more. Did she speak? Did she reveal anything to you? Nothing, Senor, during the days that followed only things without meaning or connection, such as those in fever speak, or broken words of prayer, wear on her lips. Until the very last, and then she was worn and weak, and could but receive the rites of the church, and whisper a few directions about the poor babes. She bade us give you the name you bear, since he had said that his next boy should be called for the great emperor. Then she prayed very earnestly, Lord, take him thyself, take him thyself. Dr. Marco, who was present, thought she meant the poor little newborn babe, supposing and no wonder that it would be better tended in heaven by our lady and the angels than here on earth. But I know it was not you she thought of. My poor mother, God rest her soul. Nay, I doubt not that now she rests in God. Carlos added softly. Until the curse fell on your house, Senor, and in such sorrow were you born. Yet you grew up married lads, you and Don Juan. Thanks to thy care and kindness, well-beloved and faithful nurse. But the lords tell me truly, have you never heard anything further of, or from, my father? From him never, of him that I believed, never. And what do you believe? Carlos asked eagerly. I know nothing, Senor. I have heard all that your worship has heard, and no more. Do you think it is true what we have all been told of his death in the Indies? I know nothing, Senor. Dolores repeated, with the ever person determined to say nothing. But Carlos would not allow her to escape thus. Both had gone too far to lead the subject without probing it to its depth, and both felt instinctively that it was not likely again to be discussed between them. Holding his hand on her arm and looking steadily in her face, he asked, Dolores, are you sure my father is dead? Seemingly relieved by the form the question had taken, she met his gaze without flinching and answered in tones of evidence and serity. Sure as that I sit here, so help me God. After a long pause she added as she rose to go. Senor Don Carlos, be not offended if I counsel you this once, since I held you a baby in my arms, and you will find none that loves you better. If a poor old woman may say so to a young and noble caballero, Say all you think to me, my dear and kind nurse. Then, Senor, I say, leave vain thoughts and questions about your father's fate. There are no birds in last year's nests, and water that has run by will turn no mill. And I entreat of you to repeat the same to your noble brother when you find opportunity. Look before you, Senor, and not behind, and God's best blessings rest on you. Dolores turned to go, but turning back again stood it resolute. What is it, Dolores? Carlos asked, hoping perhaps for some further glimmer of light upon that dark past from which she implored him to turn his thoughts. If it please you, Senor Don Carlos. And she paused and hesitated. Can I do anything for you? Said Carlos in a kind, encouraging tone. Aye, Senor, that you can. With your learning and your good book, surely you can tell me whether the soul of my poor Alfonso, dead on the battlefield without shrift or sacrament, has yet found rest with God? Thus the true woman's heart, though so full of sympathy for others, still turned back to its own sorrow, which lay deepest of all. Carlos felt himself unexpectedly involved in a difficulty. My book tells me nothing on the subject. He said, after some thought, but I'm sure you may be comforted after all these years, during which you have diligently prayed and sought the church's prayers for him. The long eager gaze of her wispful eyes sassed mournfully. Is this all you can tell me? But her lips only said, I thank your Excellency, as she withdrew. CHAPTER 11 THE LIBERVOX CHAPTER 11 THE LIGHT ENJOYED Doubt is slow to clear, and sorrow is hard to bear, and each sufferer has his say, his scheme of the wheel and the woe. But God has a few of us whom he whispers in the ear. The rest may reason and welcome, to sweet musicians know. R. Browning. Bewildering were the trains of thought which the conversation just narrated awakened in the mind of Carlos. On the one hand a gleam of light was shed upon his father's career, suggesting a possible interpretation of the inscription on the window that thrilled his heart with joy. On the other, the termination of that career was involved in even deeper obscurity than before, and he was made to feel more keenly than ever how childish and unreal over the dreams which he and his brother had been wanted to cherish upon the subject. Moreover, Dolores, just before she left him, had drawn a bow at venture, and most unintentionally sent a sharp bow through a joint in his harness. Why could he find no answer to a question so simple and natural as the one she had asked him? Why did the book which had solved so many mysteries for him shed not a ray of light upon this one? Whence this ominous silence of the Apostles and Evangelists upon so many things that the church most gladly proclaimed? Where in his book was Purgatory to be found at all? Where was the adoration of the Virgin and the Saints? Where were works of super-arrowation? But here he started in horror, as one who suddenly saw himself on the brink for precipice, or rather as one dwelling secure and contented within a little circle of light and warmth, to whom such questions came as intimations of a chaos surrounding it on every side into it to chance step might at any moment plunge him. Most earnestly hand-treated that the Lord of his life, the guide of his spirit, would not let him go forth to wander there. He prayed expressly and repeatedly the doubts which began to trouble him might be laid in silenced. His prayer was answered as all true prayer is sure to be, but it was not granted. He whose love is strong and deep enough to work out its good purpose in us, even against the pleadings of our own hearts, saw that his child must need path through a land of darkness to reach the clearer light beyond. Conflicts fierce and terrible must be his portion, if indeed he were to take his place among those called and chosen and faithful ones, who, having stood beside the Lamb in his contents with Antichrist, shall stand beside him on the sea of glass mingled with fire. Already Carlos was in training for that contest, though as yet he knew not that there was any contest before him, save the general striving against sin in which all Christians have to take part. For the joy of the Lord is the Christian strength in the day of battle, and to usually prepares those faithful soldiers whom he means to set in the forefront of the hottest battle by previously bestowing upon them that joy in very full measure. He who is willing to sell all that he hath must first defend a treasure, and what the joy thereof is none else may declare. In this joy Carlos lived now, and it was as yet too fresh a need to be greatly disturbed by haunting doubts or perplexing questions. These for the present came and passed like a breath upon the surface of molten gold, scarcely dimming its luster for a moment. It had become his great wish to receive order as soon as possible, and he might consecrate himself more entirely to the service of his Lord, and spread abroad the knowledge of his love more widely. With this view he determined on returning to Seville early in October. He left Nuevaire with regret, especially on account of Dolores, who had taken a new place in his consideration, and even in his affections, since he had begun to read to her from his book. And though usually very calm and impassive in manner, she could scarcely refrain from tears at the parting, and treated him with all his most passionate earnestness to be very prudent and careful of himself in the great city. Carlos, who saw no special danger likely to menace him, save such as might arise from his own heart, felt tempted to smile at her foreboding tone and asked her what she feared for him. Oh, senor Don Carlos! She pleaded with clasps' tans. For the love of God, take care, and do not be reading and telling your good words to everyone you meet. For the world is an ill place, your worship, where good is oft times evil spoken of. Never fear for me. Return, Carlos, with his frank, pleasant smile. I have found nothing in my book, but the most Catholic verities, which will be useful to all and hurtful to none. But of course I shall be prudent, and take due care of my words, lest by any extraordinary chance they might be misinterpreted, so that you may keep your mind at peace, dear mother Dolores. CHAPTER XII OF THE SPANISH BROTHERS, BY DEBRA ALCOCK This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. 12. THE LIGHT DIVIDED FROM THE DARKNESS I felt and feel, whenever befall, the footsteps of that life in mine. 10. In the glorious autumn weather, Don Carlos rode joyfully through pork and chestnut groves, across bare brown plains, and amidst gardens of pale olives and golden orange globes shining through dark, glossy leaves. He had long ago sent back to reveal the guard with which his uncle had furnished him, so that his only companion was a country youth, trained by Diego to act as his servant. But although he passed through the very district afterwards immortalized by the adventures of the renowned Don Quixote, no adventure fell to his lot, unless it may count for an adventure that near the termination of his journey the weather suddenly changed. And torrents of rain, accompanied by unusual cold, drove him to seek shelter. Right on quickly, Jorge, he said to his attendant, For I remember there is a venta, or inn, by the roadside, not far off, a poor place truly, where we are little likely to find a supper, but we shall find a roof to shelter us and fire to warm us, and these at present are our most pressing needs. Arrived at the venta, they were surprised to see the lazy landlord so far stirred out of unusual apathy as to busy himself in trying to secure the fastening of the outer door, and it might not swing backwards and forwards in the wind, to the greatest comfort of all within the house. The proud, indifferent Spaniard looked calmly up from his task and remarked that he would do all in his power to accommodate his worship. But unfortunately, senor, and your excellency, a very great and principal nobleman has just arrived here with a most distinguished train of fine Caballeros, his lordship's gentlemen and servants, and kitchen, hall, and chamber are as full of them as a hive is full of bees. This was evil news to Carlos. Proud, sensitive, and shy, there could be nothing more foreign to his character than to throw himself into the society of a person who, though really only he's equal in rank, was so much his superior in all that lends rank its charm in the eyes of the voker. We had better push on to Isiah. Said he was reluctant, attenuant bravely, turning his face at the storm, and making up his mind to 10 miles more in dressing rain. At that moment, however, a tall figure emerged from the inner door, opening into the long room behind the stable and kitchen that formed the only tolerable accommodation the one storied venta afforded. Surely, senor, you do not intend to go further in the storm. Said the nobleman, who's fine, thoughtful, countenance to Carlos could not but fancy that he had seen before. It is not far to Isiah, senor. Returned Carlos, bowing. And first come, first served, is an excellent proverb. The first comer has certainly one privilege which I am not disposed to waive, that of hospitably welcoming the second. Do me the favor to come in, senor, you will find an excellent fire. Carlos could not decline an invitation so courteously given. He was soon seated by the wood fire that blazed on the hearth of the inner room, exchanging compliments in true Spanish fashion, with the nobleman who had welcomed him so kindly. Though no one could doubt for an instant the stranger's possession of the pure sangra es ur. Yet his manners were more frank and easy and less ceremonious than those to which Carlos had been accustomed in the exclusive and privileged glass of civil society. A fact accounted for by the discovery, afterwards made, that he was born and educated in Italy. I have the pleasure of recognizing Don Carlos Alvarez de Santillanos y Menaya. Said he. I hope the babe about whom his worship showed such amiable anxiety recovered from its indisposition. This, then, was the personage whom Carlos had seen in such close conversation with the physician Losada. The association of ideas immediately brought back the mysterious remark by his father that he had overheard on that occasion. Putting that aside, however, for the present, he answered. Perfectly, I thank you, Grace. We attribute the recovery mainly to the skill and care of the excellent Dr. Cristobal Losada. A gentleman whose medical skill cannot be praised too highly, except, indeed, it were exalted at the expense of his other excellent qualities, and particularly his charity to the poor. Carlos heartily acquiesced and added some instances of the physician's kindness to those who could not rep compense him again. They were new to his companion who listened with interest. During this conversation, supper was late. As the principal guest had brought his own provisions with him, it was a comfortable and plentiful repast. Carlos, ere he sat down, left the room to rearrange his dress and found opportunity to ask the innkeeper if he knew the noble stranger's name. His Excellency is a great noble from Castille. Return, my host, with an ear of much importance. His name, as I am informed, is Don Carlos de Seiso, and his illustrious lady, Dunya Isabella, is of the blood royal. Where does he reside? His gentlemen tell me, principally at one of his finest states in the North, via Mediana, they call it. He is also Corregador or mayor of Toro. He has been visiting Seville upon business of importance and is now returning home. Pleased to be the guest of such a man, or in fact, he was his guest. Carlos took a seat at the table and thoroughly enjoyed the meal and ours intercourse with a man who had ride and traveled much but had thought much more was a rare treat to him. Moreover, de Seiso showed him all the fine cornice, which a youth so highly appreciates from a senior, giving careful attention to every observation he hazarded and manifestly bringing the best of his powers to bear on his own share of the conversation. He spoke of Frey Constantino's preaching with an enthusiasm that made Carlos regret that he had been hitherto such an inattentive hero. Have you seen a little treatise by the Frey entitled The Confession of a Sinner? Yeah. Carlos, having replied in the negative, his new friend drew a tract from the pocket of his doublet and gave it to him to read while he wrote a letter. Carlos, after the manner of eager, rapid readers, plunged at once into the heart of the manor, disdaining beginnings. Almost the first words upon which his eyes fell arrested his attention and drew him irresistibly onwards. Such has been the pride of man he read that he aimed at being God. But so great was thy compassion towards him in his fallen state that thou abasidst thyself to become not only of the rank of men, but a true man and the least of men, taking upon thee the form of his servant, that thou mightest set me at liberty and that by means of thy grace, wisdom, and righteousness, man might obtain more than he had lost by his ignorance and pride. Was thou not chastised for the iniquity of others as not thy blood sufficient virtue to wash out the sins of all the human race? Are not thy treasures more able to enrich me than all the debt of Adam to impoverish me? Lord, although I had been the only person alive or the only sinner in the world, thou wouldst not have failed to die for me. O my Savior, I would say and say it with truth that I individually stand in need of those blessings which thou hast given to all. What though the guilt of all had been mine, thy death is all mine. Even though I had committed all the sins of all, yet would I continue to trust thee and to assure myself that thy sacrifice and pardon is all mine, though it belong to all. So far he read in silence, then the tract fell from his hand and an involuntary exclamation broke from his lips. Passing strange. They say so, paused, pen in hand, and looked up surprised. What find you passing strange, Senor? Yes. That he, that Fry Constantino should have felt precisely what he describes here that such a holy man should feel so deeply his own other sinfulness, but you are doubtless aware that the holiest saints in all ages have shared this experience. St. Augustine, for instance, with whose writings so ripe a theological scholar is doubtless well acquainted. Such. Richard and Carlos. Are not worse than others, but they know what they are as others do not. True, tried by the standard of God's perfect law, the purest life must appear a miserable failure. We may call the marble of our churches and dwellings white until we see God's snow, pure and fresh from heaven upon it. Aye, Senor. Say, Carlos, with joyful eagerness. But the hand that points out the stains can cleanse them. No snow is half so pure as the linen clean and white, which is the righteousness of saints. It was Desaiso's turn to be astonished now. In the look that, half leaning over the table, he bent upon the eager face of Carlos, surprise and emotion blended. For a moment their eyes met with a flash, like that which Flint strikes from steel of mutual intelligence and sympathy. But it passed again as quickly. Desaiso said, I suspect that I see in you, Senor Don Carlos, one of those admirable scholars who have devoted their talents to the study of that sacred language, in which the words of the holy apostles are handed down to us. You are a gracious. Carlos shook his head. Greek is but little studied at Complutum now. He said. And I confine myself to the usual theological course. In which I have heard your success has been brilliant, but it is a sore disgrace to us and a heavy loss to the youth of our nation that the language of Saint John and Saint Paul should be deemed unworthy of their attention. Your excellency is aware that it was otherwise in former years. Richard Carlos. Perhaps the present neglect is owing to the suspicion of heresy, which truly or falsely has attached itself to most of the accomplished Greek scholars of our time. A miserable misapprehension, the growth of monkish ignorance in envy and popular superstition. Heresy is a convenient stigma with which men often brand as evil, the good they are incapable of comprehending. Most true, senor, even Frey Constantino has not escaped. His crime has been that he has sought to turn the minds of men from outward acts and ceremonies to the great spiritual truths of which these are the symbols. To the vulgar, religion is nothing but a series of shows and postures. Yes. But the heart that loves God and truly believes in our Lord and Savior is taught to put such in their proper place. These ought ye to have done and not to leave the other undone. Senor Don Carlos. The day says so, with the prize he could no longer suppress. You are evidently a devout and earnest student of the scriptures. I search the scriptures. In them I think I have eternal life and they testify of Christ. Promptly responded the less cautious youth. I perceive that you do not quote the vulgate. Carlos smiled. No, senor. To a man of your enlightened views, I'm not afraid to acknowledge the truth. I have seen, nay, why should I hesitate? I possess a rare treasure, the New Testament of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ in our own noble Castilian tongue. Even through the calm and dignified deportment of his companion, Carlos could perceive the thrill that this communication caused. There was a pause, then he said softly, And your treasure is also mine. The low quiet words came from even greater depths of feeling than the eager, tremulous tones of Carlos. For his convictions, slowly reached and deeply purchased, were built below the reach of the soul that passions agitate. Based on the crystalline sea of thought and its eternity. The heart of Carlos glowed with sudden ardent love towards the man who shared his treasure, and he doubted not his faith also. He could joyfully have embraced him on the spot, but the force of habit and the sensitive return of his character tracked this impetuous monster to finish. He only said with a look that was worth an embrace. I knew it. Your excellency spoke as one who held our Lord and his truth in honor. Ella es pues honor a vosotros que creís. It would have been hard to begin a verse that Carlos could not at this time have instantly completed. He went on. Mas para los que no crean, la piedra que los edificadores reprobaron. A sorrowful truth, Sede ceso, which my young friend must needs bear in mind, his word, like himself, is rejected by the many. It's very mention may expose to obliquy and danger. Only another instance in your of those lamentable prejudices about heresy, about which we spoken on. I am aware that there are those that would brand me, me, a scholar too, with the odious name of heretic, merely for reading God's word in my own tongue, but how utterly absurd the charge. The blessed book has but confirmed my faith in all the doctrines of our holy Mother Church. Has it? Sede ceso, quietly, perhaps a little dryly. Most assuredly, senor. Carlos rejoined with warmth. In fact, I never understood or, I may say, truly believed those holy verities until now, beginning with the cradle itself and the orthodox Catholic faith in our Lord's divinity and atonement. Here their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the attendants who removed supper, replenished the lamp, and heat fresh chestnut logs on the fire. But as soon as the room was cleared, they returned eagerly to subjects so interesting to both. Our salvation rests, sede ceso, upon the great cardinal truths you have named. By the faith which receives into your heart the atonement of Christ as a work done for you, you are justified. I am forgiven and I shall be justified. Pardon me, senor. Scripture teaches that your justification is already complete. Therefore, being justified by faith, we have peace with God. But that cannot surely be the apostles' meaning. That Carlos. I, to me, I know too well that I am not yet completely justified. Far from it, evil thoughts throng my heart. And not with art alone, but with lips, eyes, hands, I transgress daily. Yet you see, peace can only be consequent on justification and peace you have. Carlos looked perplexed. Misled by the teaching of his church, he confused justification with sanctification. Consequently, he could not legitimately enjoy the peace that ought to flow from one at the complete and finished work, because the other necessarily remained imperfect. They say so explained that the word justified is never used in Scripture in its derivative sense to make righteous, but always in its common and universally accepted sense, to account or declare righteous. Quite easily and naturally, he'd glided into the teacher's place, while Carlos gladly took that of the learner. Not indeed without astonishment at the layman's skill and divinity, but with too intense an interest in what he said to waste much thought upon his matter of saying it. Heather, too, he had been like an unlearned man who, without guide or companion, explores the trackless shores of a newly discovered land. Shouldn't such a one meet in his course a scientific explorer who has mapped and named every mountain rock and bay, who has traced out the coastline and can tell what lies beyond the white hills in the distance, it is easy to understand the eagerness with which he would listen to his narrative and the intentness with which he would bend over the chart in which listening of his own journeyings lies portrayed. Thus they say so not only taught Carlos the true meaning of Scripture terms and the connection of Scripture truths with each other, but he also made clear to him the facts of his own experience and gave names to them for him. I think I understand now. But Carlos, after a lengthened conversation, in which, moving from point to point, he had suggested many doubts and not a few objections, and these, in turn, had been taken up and answered by his friend. God be thanked. There is no more condemnation, no more punishment for us. Nothing, either in act or suffering, can be added to the work of Christ, which is complete. I, now you have grasped the truth which is the source of our joy and strength. It must then be our sanctification which suffering promotes, both in this life and in purgatory. All God's dealings with us in this life are meant to promote our sanctification. Joy may do it by his grace as well as sorrow. It is written not alone, he humbled thee and suffered thee to hunger, but also, he fed thee with manna to teach the secret of life in him, from him and by him. But suffering is purifying like fire. Not in itself. Criminals released from the galleys usually come forth hardened in their crimes by the lash and the oar. Having said this, they say so rose and extinguished the expiring lamp. Lark Carlos remained thoughtfully gazing into the fire. Then you are. Said, after a long pause, during which the stream of thought ran continuously underground, to reappear consequently in an unexpected place. Senor, do you think God's word which solves so many mysteries can answer every question for us? Scarcely, some questions we may ask of which the answers in our present state would be beyond our comprehension. And others may indeed be answered there, but we may miss the answers because through weakness of faith we are not yet able to receive them. For instance, I had rather not name an instance at present. Said they say so. And Carlos thought his face had a sorrowful look as he gazed at it in the firelight. I would not willingly miss anything my Lord meant to teach. I desire to know all his will and to follow it. Carlos rejoined earnestly. It may be that you know not what you desire. Still, name any question you wish and I will tell you freely whether in my judgment God's word contains an answer. Carlos stated the difficulty suggested by the inquiry of Dolores, who can tell the exact moment when his bark leaves the gently flowing river for the great deep ocean. That of Carlos, on the instant when he put this question, was met by the first wave of ever mighty sea upon which he was to be tossed by many a storm. But he did not know it. I agree with you as to the silence of God's word about purgatory. Carlos returned his friend and for some time both gazed into the fire without speaking. This and similar discoveries have sometimes given me, I own a feeling of blank disappointment and even of terror. Said Carlos at length. For with him it was one of those rare hours in which a man can bear to translate into words the darkness giving to the soul, usually unacknowledged even to himself. I cannot say, was the answer, that the thought of passing through the gate of death into the immediate presence of my glorified Lord affects me with blank disappointment or terror. Oh, what do you say? Cried Carlos, starting visibly. Absent from the body, present with the Lord. To depart and be with Christ is far better. But it was some Pablo the great apostle in martyr who said that, for us we have the church's teaching. Carlos rejoined in quick anxious tone. Nevertheless, I venture to think that in the face of all you have learned from God's word, you will find it a task somewhat of the hardest to prove purgatory. Not at all. Said Carlos. And immediately he bounded into the arena of controversy, laid his lance in rest and began an animated tilting match with his new friend, who was willing. Of course, thought Carlos for argument's sake alone and as an intellectual exercise to person a Lutheran antagonist. But not a few of the doubted champions have met the stern reality of a bloody death in the mimic warfare of the tilting field. At every turn Carlos found himself answered baffled confounded. Yet how could he? How dared he acknowledge defeat even to himself when with the imperiled doctrine so much else must fall. What would become of the private masses and indulgences prized for the dead? Nay, what would become of the infallibility of the mother church herself? So he fought desperately. Fear, ever increasing, quickened his perceptions, baptized his lips with eloquence, made his sense acute and his memory retentive. Driven at last from the ground of scripture and reason, he took his stand upon that of scholastic divinity. Using the weapons with which he had been taught to play so deftly for once in terrible earnest, he spun clever syllogisms in which he hoped to entangle his adversary. But they say so caught the flimsy webs in the naked hand of his strong sense and crushed them to atoms. Then Carlos knew that the battle was lost. I can see no more. He acknowledged sorrowfully bowing his head. And what have I said? Is it not in accordance with the word of God? With a cry of dismay on his lips, Carlos turned and looked at him. God help us. Are we then Lutherans? It may be Christ is asking another question. Are we amongst those who follow him with or so ever he goeth? Oh, not there. Not to that. Cried Carlos, rising in his agitation and beginning to pace the room. I abhor heresy. I astue the thought. From my cradle I have done so anywhere but that. Causing at last in his walk before the place where they say so sat, he asked. And you, senor, have you considered whether this would lead? I have. I do not ask thee to follow. But this I say. If Christ bids any man leave the ship and come to him upon these dark and stormy waters, he will stretch out his own right hand to uphold and sustain him. To leave the ship, his church? That would be leaving him. And leaving him, I am lost. Soul and body, lost, lost. Fear not, at his feet, clinging to him, soul of man was never lost yet. I will cleave to him and to the church too. Still, if one must be forsaken, let not that one be Christ. Never, never. So help me God. After a pause he added as if speaking to himself. Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life. He stood motionless, wrapped in thought, while they say so rose softly, and going to the window, put aside the root shutter that had been fastened across it. The night is bright. Say, Carlos Dreamley. The moon must have risen. That is daylight, you see. Return his companion with a smile. Time for wayfarers to seek rest in sleep. Prayer is better than sleep. True, and we who own the same precious faith can well unite in prayer. With the willing consent of Carlos, his new friend laid their common desires and perplexities before God. The prayer was in itself a revelation to him. He forgot even to wonder that it came from the lits of allayment. For they say so spoke as one accustomed to converse with the unseen, and to enter by faith through the inner sanctuary, the very presence of God himself. And Carlos found that it was good thus to draw an eye to God. He felt his troubled soul returning to its rest, to its quiet confidence in him, who, he knew, would guide him by his counsel and afterwards receive him into glory. When they rose, instinctively their right hand sought each other and were locked in that strong grasp, which is sometimes worth more than an embrace. We have confidence each in the other. Did they say so? So that we need exchange no pledge of faithfulness or secrecy. Carlos bowed his head. Pray for me, senor. What's that? Pray that God who sent you here to teach me may in his own time complete the work he has begun. Then both lay down in their cloak, one to sleep, the other to ponder and pray. In the morning each went to several way, and never was it given to Carlos in this work to look upon that face or to grasp that hand again. He who had thus crossed his path, as it were for a moment, was perhaps the noblest of all the heroic fan of Spanish martyrs, that for Lauren hope of Christ's army who fought and fell where Satan's seat was. His high berth and lofty station, his distinguished abilities, even those more superficial graces of person and manner, which are not without their strong fascination, were all, like the precious ointment with the odor of which the house is filled, consecrated to the surface of the Lord for whom he lived and died. The eye of imagination lingers with special and reverential love upon that grand, calm figure. But our simple story leads us far away amongst other scenes and other characters. We must now turn to a different part of the wide missionary harvest field, in which the lowly mule tier Julianne Hernandez and the great noble Don Carlos de Ceso were both laboring. Was there labor in vain? End of Chapter 12 Chapter 13 of the Spanish Brothers by Deborah Alcock This is a LibraVox recording. All LibraVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibraVox.org. Chapter 13, 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 circle in which he had been want to move exactly as he left it. His absence appeared to him a great deal longer than it really was. Moreover, there lurked in his mind an undefined idea that a period so fraught with momentum's change to him could not have passed without change over the heads of others. But the worldly only seemed more worldly, the frivolous more frivolous, the vain more vain than ever. Around the presence of Dona Beatriz, there still hung a sweet dangerous fascination against which he struggled, and in the strength of his new and mighty principle of action struggled successfully. Still, for the sake of his own peace, he longed to find some fair pretext for making his home elsewhere than beneath his uncle's roof. One great pleasure awaited his return, a letter from Juan. It was the second he had received, the first having merely told of his brother's safe arrival at the headquarters of the royal army in Canberra. Don Juan had obtained his commission just in time for active service in the brave war between France and Spain that immediately followed the accession of Philip II. And now, though he said not much of his exploits, it was evident that he had already began to distinguish himself by the prompt and energetic courage which was a part of his character. Moreover, a signal piece of good fortune had fallen to his lot. The Spaniards were then engaged in the siege of Saint Quentin. Before the works were quite completed, the French general, the celebrated Admiral Colligny, managed to throw himself into the town by a brilliant and desperate coup de main. Many of his heroic band were killed or taken prisoner, however, and among the latter was a gentleman of rank and fortune, a member of the Admiral's suite who surrendered his sword into the hands of young Don Juan Alvarez. Juan was delighted with his prize, as well he might be. Not only was the distinction an honorable one for so young a soldier, but the ransom he might hope to receive was served very materially to smooth his pathway 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 to the wars, I shall make some great Prince or Duke, my prisoner. They had found a fair, if not exactly literal, fulfillment, and that so early in his career, and the belief that had grown up with him from childhood was strengthened thereby. Juan would surely accomplish everything upon which his heart was set. Certainly he would find his father, if that father should prove to be after all in the land of living. Carlos was warmly welcomed back by his relatives, at least by all of them save one. To a mild temper and amiable disposition, he united the great advantage of rivaling no man and interfering with no man's career. At the same time, he had a well-defined and honorable career of his own, in which he bid fair to be successful, so that he was not despised, but regarded as a credit to the family. The solitary exception to the favorable sentiments he inspired was found in the bitter disdain which Gonzalvo, with scarcely any attempt to disguise, exhibited towards him. This was painful to him, both because he was sensitively alive to the opinions of others, and also because he actually preferred Gonzalvo, notwithstanding his great and glaring faults, to his more calculating, adworldly-minded brothers. Force of any kind possesses a real fascination for an intellectual and sympathetic but rather weak character, and this fascination grows in intensity, when the weaker has a reason to pity and a desire to help the stronger. It was not altogether grace, therefore, which checked the proud words that often rose to the lips of Carlos, an answer to his cousin's sneers or sarcasms. He was not ignorant of the cause of Gonzalvo's contempt for him. It was Gonzalvo's creed that a man who deserved the name always got what he wanted or died in the attempt, unless, of course, absolutely insuperable physical obstacles interfered, as they did in his own case. As he knew well enough what Carlos wanted before his departure from Seville, the fact of his quietly resigning the name without even an effort to secure it was final with him. One day, when Carlos had returned a forbearing answer to some taunt, Doña Inés, who was present, took occasion to apologize for her brother as soon as he had quitted the room. Carlos liked Doña Inés much better than her still unmarried sister because she was more generous and considerate to Beatrice. You were very good, Amigo Mio. She said, To show so great forbearance to my poor brother. And I cannot think wherefore he should treat you so uncourteously, but he is often rude to his brothers, sometimes even to his father. I fear it is because he suffers. Though rather less helpless than he was six months ago, he seems really more frail and sickly. Hey, Jimmy, that is too true. And have you heard his last whim? He tells us he's given up physicians for ever. He's almost as ill an opinion of them as, forgive me, cousin, of priests. Could you not persuade him to consult your friend, Dr. Cristobal? I have tried, but in vain. To speak the truth, cousin. She added, drawing nearer to Carlos and lowering her voice. There is another cause that has helped to make him what he is. No one knows or even guesses out of it but myself. I was ever his favorite sister. If I tell you, will you promise the strictest secrecy? Carlos did so, wondering a little what his cousin would think. Could she surmise the way to your secrets with re-burdening his own heart? You have heard of the marriage of Donia Juana de Zérez de Bohorcas with Don Francisco de Vargas. Yes, and I account Don Francisco a very fortunate man. Are you acquainted with the young lady's sister, Donia Maria de Bohorcas? I have met her, a fair, pale, queenly girl. She is not fond of gaiety, 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 Gonzalo's choice, his dream, his idol. How she can try to gain that fierce, eager young heart I know not, but hers it is and hers alone. Of course, he had passing fancies before, but she was his first 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 to Gonzalo had not the shadow of a chance. Donia Ines replied with an expressive flutter of her fan. I have not the least idea whether the young lady even knows he loves her. But it matters not. We are Alvarez de Menier. Still, we cannot expect a grand day of the first order to give his daughter to a younger son of our house, even before that unlucky bull feast. Now, of course, he himself would be the first to say Pineapple kernels are not for monkeys, no fair ladies for crippled caballeros. And yet, you understand? I do, said Carlos, and in truth he did understand far better than Donia Ines imagined. She turned to leave the room, but suffered again to say kindly. I trust my cousin your own health has not suffered from your residence among those bleak inhospitable mountains. Don Garcia tells me he's seen you twice since your return, coming forth late in the evening from the dwelling of our good senior doctor. There was sufficient reason for these visits. Before they parted, they say so had asked Carlos if he would like an introduction to a person in Seville who could give him further instruction upon the subjects they had discussed together. The author, having been thankfully accepted, he was furnished with a note addressed, much to his surprise, to the physician Lozada, and the connection thus begun was already proving a priceless boon to Carlos. But nature had not designed him for a keeper of secrets. The color mounted rapidly to his cheek as he answered. I am flattered by my lady cousin's solicitude for me, but I thank God my health is as good as ever. In truth, Dr. Cristobal is a man of learning and a pleasant companion, and I enjoin ours conversation with him. Moreover, he has some rare and valuable books, which he is kind enough to lend me. He is certainly very well bred for a man of his station, said Donia Ines condescendingly. Carlos did not resume his attendance upon the lectures of Frank Constantino at the College of Doctrine, but when the voice of the eloquent preacher was heard in the cathedral, he was never absent. He had no difficulty now in recognizing the truths that he loved so well, covered with a thin veil of conventional phraseology. All mention not necessary of dogmas particularly Romish was avoided. Unless when the congregation were warned earnestly, though in terms well studied and jealously guarded, against risking their salvation upon indulgences or ecclesiastical pardons, the vanity of trusting to their own works was shown also, and in every sermon, Christ was faithfully held up before the center as the one all-sufficient Savior. Carlos listened always with rapt attention, usually with king delight. Often would he look around him upon the sea of earnest upturned faces, saying within himself, Many of these brethren and sisters have found Christ. Many more are seeking him. And at the thought, his heart would thrill with thankfulness. But even at that moment some word from the preacher's lips might change his joy into a chill of apprehension. It frequently happened that Frey Constantino, born onward by the torrent of his own eloquence, was betrayed into uttering some sentiments so very nearly heretical as to make his hero tingle with the peculiar sense of pain that is caused by seeing one rush heedlessly to the verge of a precipice. I often thank God for the stupidity of evil men and the simplicity of good ones. Carlos said to his new friend, Losada, after one of these dangerous discourses. For by this time, what De Ceso had first led him to suspect had become a certainty with him. He knew himself a heretic, a terrible consciousness to sink into the heart of any man in those days, especially in Catholic Spain. Fortunately, the revelation had come to him gradually, and still more gradually came the knowledge of all that it involved. Yet those were sorrowful hours in which he first felt himself cut off from every hallowed association of his childhood and youth, from the long chain of revered tradition, which was all he knew of the past, from the vast brotherhood of the Church visible, that mighty organization, pervading all society, leavening all thought, controlling all custom, ruling everything in this world, even if not in the next. His own past life was shattered. The ambitions he had cherished were gone. The studies he had excelled and delighted in were proof, for the most part, worse than vain. It is true that he believed, even still, that he might accept priestly ordination from the hands of Rome, for the idolatry of the Mass was amongst the things not yet revealed to him, but he could no longer hope for honor or performance or what men call a career in the Church. Joy enough would it be if he were permitted in some obscure corner of the land to tell his countrymen of a Savior's love, and perpetual watchfulness, extreme caution, and the most judicious management would be necessary to preserve him, as hitherto they had preserved Frey Constantino, from the grasp of the Holy Inquisition. To us who read that word in the lurid light that martyr fires kindled after this period have flung upon it, it may seem strange that Carlos was not more a prey to fear of the perils entailed by his heresy. But so slowly did he pass out of the stage in which he believed himself still a sincere Catholic, into that in which he shudderingly acknowledged that he was in very truth a Lutheran, that the shock of the discovery was wonderfully broken to him, nor did he think the danger that menaced him either near or pressing, so long as he conducted himself with reserve and prudence. It is true that this reserve involved a degree of secrecy, if not of dissimulation, that was fast becoming very irksome. Formerly the kind of fencing, fainting, and doubling into which he was often forced, would rather have pleased him as affording for the exercise of ingenuity. But his moral nature was growing so much more sensitive that he began to recoil from slight departures from truth, in which heretofore he would only have seen a proper exercise of the advantage which a keen and quick intellect possesses over dull ones. Moreover, he longed to be able to speak freely to others of the things which he himself found so precious. Though quite sufficiently afraid of pain and danger, the thought of disgrace was still more intolerable to him. Keener than any suffering he had yet known, except the pang of renouncing Beatrix, was the consciousness that all amongst whom he lived, and who now respected and loved him, would, if they guessed the truth, turn away from him with unutterable scorn and loathing. One day, when walking in the street with his aunt and donya Sansha, they turned down a side street to avoid meeting the death procession of a murderer on his way to the scaffold. The crime for which he had suffered had been notorious, and with valuable exclamations of horror and congratulations at getting safely out of the way to which the ladies gave expression were mingled prayers for the soul of the miserable man. If they all knew, thought Carlos, as the slight, closely veiled forms clung 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 one, my beloved, my honoured brother, what will he think? This last thought was one that 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 the peace that passeth all understanding shed abroad in his heart. Its light did not grow pale and faint with time. On the other hand, it increased in brightness and steadiness, as new truths arose like stars upon his soul, every new truth being in itself a new joy to him. Moreover, he found keen enjoyment in the communion of saints. Great was his surprise when, after sufficiently instructing him in private, and satisfactorily testing his sincerity, Losada cautiously revealed to him the existence of a regularly organized Lutheran church in Seville, of which he himself was actually the pastor. He invited Carlos to attend his meetings, which were held, with due precaution, and usually after nightfall, in the house of a lady of rank, Donny Isabella de Vena. Carlos readily accepted the perilous invitation, and with deep emotion took his place amongst the band of called, chosen, and faithful men and women, every one of whom, as he believed, shared the same joys and hopes that he did. They were not at all such a little band as he expected to find them, nor were they, with very few exceptions, the poor of this world. If that bright southern land so rich in all that kindles the imagination, eventually, to her own ruin, rejected the truth of God, at least she offered upon his altar some of her choicest and fairest flowers. Many of those who met in Donny Isabella's upper room were chief men, and devout and honorable women. Talent, learning, excellence of every kind was largely represented there, so also was the Sangre Azul, the boss of the proud Spanish grandees. One of the first faces that Carlos recognized was the sweet, thoughtful one of the young Donny Maria de Borrocues, whose precocious learning and accomplishments had often been praised in his earring, and in whom he now had a new and peculiar interest. There were two noblemen of the First Order, Don Domingo de Guzmán, son of the Duke of Medina Sidonia, and Don Juan Ponce de Leon, son of the Count of Bélin. Carlos had often heard of the munificent charity to the latter, who had actually embarrassed his estates by his unbounded liberality to the poor. But while Ponce de Leon was thus laboring to relieve the sorrows of others, a deep sadness brooded over his own spirit. He was wont to go forth by night and pace up and down the great stone platform in the Prado San Sebastian that bore the ghastly name of the Camadero, or Burning Place, while in his heart the shadow of death, the darkest shadow of the dreaded death, was struggling with the light of immortality. Did the rest of that devoted band share the agony of apprehension that filled those lonely midnight hours with passionate prayer? Some amongst them did, no doubt, but with most, the circumstances and occupations of daily life wove, with their multitudinous slender threads availed us enough to hide, or at least to soften, the perils of their situation. The Protestants of Seville contrived to pass their lives and do their work side by side with other men. They moved amongst their fellow citizens and were not recognized. They even married and were given in marriage, though all the time they fell upon their daily paths, the shadow of the grim old fortress where the Holy Inquisition held its awful secret court. But then, at this period the Holy Inquisition was by no means exhibiting its usual terrible activity. The Inquisitor General, Fernando de Valdez, Archbishop of Seville, was an old man of seventy-four, relentless when roused, but not particularly enterprising. Moreover, he was chiefly occupied in amassing enormous wealth from his rich and numerous church performance. Hitherto the fires of Saint Dominic had been kindled for Jews and Moors. Only one Protestant had suffered death in Spain, and Val de Lid, not Seville, had been the scene of his martyrdom. Seville, indeed, had witnessed two notable prosecutions for Lutheranism, that of Rodrigo de Valer and that of Juan Gil, commonly called Dr. Agidius. But Valer had only been sent to a monastery to die, while, by a disgraceful artist, retraction had been attained from Agidius. During the years that had passed since then, the Holy Office had appeared to slumber. Victims who refused to eat pork or kept Sabbath on Saturday were growing scarce for obvious reasons. And not yet had the wild beast, exceeding Dreadful, whose teeth were of iron and his nails of brass, began to devour a noble prey. Did the monster gore with human blood, really slumber in his den, or did he only assume the attitude and appearance of slumber, as some wild beasts are said to do, to lure his unwary victims within the reach of his terrible crotch in spring? No one can certainly tell, but however it may have been, we doubt not the master used the breathing time that's afforded his church to prepare and polish many a precious gem, destined to shine through all ages in his crown of glory. Chapter 14 The Monks of Sanisodro The earnest of eternal joy in every prayer I trace, I see the likeness of the Lord in every patient face, how oft in still communion gnome those spirits have been sent, to share the travail of my soul or show me what it meant. A. L. Waring. It is amongst the perplexing conditions of our earthly life that we cannot first reflect then act, first form our opinions, then and not till then begin to carry them out into practice. Thought and action have usually to run beside each other in parallel lines, a terrible necessity, and never more terrible than during the progress of momentous inward changes. A man becomes convinced the star by which he has hitherto been steering is not the true pole star, and that if he perseveres in his present course his bark will inevitably be lost. At his peril he must find out the one unerring guide, yet while he seeks it his hand must not for an instant quit his hole on the helm, for the winds of circumstances fill his sails and he cannot choose whether he will go, he can only choose where. This lies at the root of much of the apparent inconsistency which has often been made a reproach to reformers. Though Carlos did not feel this difficulty as keenly as some of his brethren in the faith, he yet felt it. His uncle was continually pressing him to take orders and to seek for this or that tempting preferment, whilst every day he had stronger doubts as to the possibility of his accepting any preferment in the church, and was even beginning to entertain scruples about taking orders at all. During this period of deliberation and uncertainty, one of his new friends, Frey Casiodoro, an eloquent Jeremiah Friar who assisted Losada in his administrations, said to him, Carlos pondered the hint, and shortly afterwards announced to his relatives that he intended to go into retreat for a season at the Jeremiah's convent of San Hisojo del Campo, which was about two miles from Seville. His uncle approved this resolution, and nonetheless, because he thought it was probably intended as a preparation for taking the cowl. After all, nephew, it may turn out that you have the longest head among us, he said. In the race for wealth and honors no man can doubt that the regulars beat the secular nowadays, and there is not a saint in all the Spains so popular as Saint Jerome. You know the proverb, he who is a count and to be a duke aspires, let him straight to Guadalupe and sing among the friars. Consalvo, who is present, here looked up from his book and observed sharply, No man will ever be a duke who changes his mind three times within three months. But I only changed my mind once. Returned, Carlos. You have never changed it at all that I want of, said Don Manuel, and I would that Dine were turned in the same profitable direction, son Consalvo. Oh yes, by all means, offer the blind and the lame in sacrifice. Put heaven off with the wreck of a man that the world will not condescend to take into her service. Hold thy peace, son, born to cross me. Said the father, losing his temper at by no means the worst of the many provocations he had recently received. Is it not enough to look at thee lying there, a useless log, and to suffer thy vile temper? But thou must set thyself against me. When I point out to thee the only path in which a cripple such as thou could earn green figs to eat with his bread, not to speak of supporting the rank of alvarez de maniaia, as he ought. Here Carlos, out of consideration for the feelings of Consalvo, left the room, but the angry altercation between the father and son lasted long after his departure. The next day Don Carlos rode out, by a lonely path amidst the gray ruins of Old Italica, to the stately-castellated convent of San Isodro. Amidst all his new interests, the Uncastilian noble still remembered with due enthusiasm how the building had been reared, more than two hundred years ago, by the devotion of the heroic Alonzo Guzman the Good, who gave up his own son to death under the walls of Tarifa, rather than surrender the city to the Moors. Before he left Seville, he placed a copy of Fre Constantino's sum of Christian doctrine between two volumes of Consalvo's favorite Lope de Vega. He had previously introduced to the notice of the ladies several of the phrase little treatises, which contained a large amount of scripture truth so cautiously expressed as not only have escaped the censure, but actually obtained the express approbation of the Holy Office. He had also induced them occasionally to accompany him to the preachings of the Cathedral. Further than this he dared not go, nor did he on other counts think it advisable, as yet, to permit himself much communication with Dona Beatriz. The monks of San Isodoro welcomed him with that strong peculiar love, which springs up between the disciples of the same Lord, more especially when they are a little flock surrounded by enemies. They knew that he was already one of the initiated, a regular member of Losada's congregation. Both this fact and the warm recommendations of Fre Casiodoro led them to trust him implicitly, and very quickly they made him a sharer in their secrets, their difficulties, and their perplexities. To his astonishment he found himself in the midst of a community, Protestant in heart almost to a man, and as far as possible acting out their convictions, while at the same time they retained, how could they discard them, the outward ceremonies of their church and their order. He soon fraternalized with the gentle pious young monk named Fre Fernando, and asked him to explain this extraordinary state of things. I am just out of my novitiate, having been here little more than a year, said the young man, who is about his own age. And already when I came the fathers carefully instructed the novices out of the scriptures, exhorting us to lay no stress upon outward ceremonies, penances, crosses, holy water, and the like. But I have often heard them speak of the manner in which they were led to adopt these views. Who was their teacher, Fre Casiodoro? Laterally, not at first. It was Dr. Blanco who sowed the first seeds of truth here. Whom do you mean? We in the city give the name of Dr. Blanco, the white doctor, from his silver hairs to a man of your holy order certainly, but one most zealous for the old faith. He is a friend and confident of the inquisitors, if indeed he is not himself qualificator of heresy, one of the learned men who were appointed to assist the inquisition and whose duty it was to decide whether doubtful propositions were or were not heretical. I speak of Dr. Garcius Arias. The same man. You are Estani, senora. Nevertheless, it is true. The elder brethren say that when he came to the convent, all were sunk in ignorance and superstition. The monks cared for nothing but vain repetitions of unfelt prayers and showing mumburies of idle ceremonial, but the white doctor told them all these would avail them nothing, unless their hearts were given to God and they worshiped him in spirit and in truth. They listened, were convinced, began to study the holy scriptures as he recommended them, and truly to seek him who is revealed therein. Out of the ether came forth meat. I am truly amazed to hear of such teaching from the lips of Garcius Arias. Not more amazed than the brethren were by his after-conduct. Just when they had received the truth with joy and were beginning heartily to follow it, their teacher suddenly changed his tone and addressed himself diligently to the task of building up the thing that he once destroyed. When Lent came round, the burden of his preachy was nothing but penance and mortification of the flesh. No less would contend him than that the poor brethren should sleep on the bare ground, or standing, and wear sackcloth and iron girdles. I could not tell what to make of these bewildering instructions. Now some followed them, others clung to the simpler faith they had learned to love. Many tried to unite both. In fact, the convent was filled with confusion, and several of the brethren were driven half-distracted. But at last God put it into their heart to console Dr. Egeegius. Your Excellency is well acquainted with his history, Diplos. Not so well as I should like to be. Still for the present, let us keep to the brethren. Did Dr. Egeegius confirm their faith? On that he did, senor, and in many ways he led them into a further acquaintance with the truth. And that enigma, Dr. Bronco? Frey Fernando shook his head. Whether his mind was really changed, or whether he concealed his true opinions through fear, or through love of the present world, I know not. I should not judge him. No. Said Carlos softly. It is not for us, who have never been tried, to judge those who have failed in the day of trial. But it must be a terrible thing to fail, Frey Fernando. As good Egeegius did himself. Ah, senor, if you had but seen him when he came forth from his prison, his head was bowed, his hair was white. They who spoke with him say his heart was well my broken. Still, he was comforted and thanked God when he saw the progress the truth had made during his imprisonment, both in Valladolid and in Seville, especially amongst the brethren here. His visit was of great use to us, but the most precious boon we ever received was a supply of God's word in our own town, which was brought to us some months ago. Carlos looked at him eagerly. I think I know whose hand brought it. He said, You cannot fail to know, senor. You have doubtless heard Juliano El Chico? The color rose to the cheeks of Carlos, as he answered. I shall thank God all my life and beyond it that I have not heard of him alone, but met him. Here it was who put this book into my hand. And he drew out his own testament. We also have good cause to thank him, and we mean that others shall have it through us. For the books he brought, we not only use ourselves, but diligently circulate far and wide, according to our ability. It is strange to know so little of a man and yet to owe him so much. Can you tell me anything more than the name Juliano Hernandez, which I repeat every day when I ask God in my prayers to bless and reward him? I only know he is a poor, unlearned man, a native of Villa Verda, in Campos. He went to Germany and entered the service of Juan Perez, who, as you are aware, translated the testament and printed it, Juliano aiding in the work as a compositor. He then undertook of his own free will the task of bringing his supply into this country. You well know how perilous a task, both the seaports and the passes of the Pyrenees, being so closely watched by the emissaries of the Holy Office. Juliano chose the overland journey. Since knowing the mountains well, he thought he could manage to make his way unchallenged by some of their hazardous, unfrequented paths. God be thanked, he arrived in safety with his precious freight early last summer. Do you know where he is now? No. doubtless he is wandering somewhere, perhaps not far distant, carrying on in darkness and silence his noble missionary work. What would I give? Rather, what would I not give? To see him once more, to take his hand in mine, and to thank him for what he has done for me. Ah, there is the Vesperelle. You know, senor, that Fr. Cristobal still lectured this evening on the epistle to the Hebrews. That is why I love Tuesday, best of all days in the week. Fr. Cristobal de Aralano was a monk of San Isodro, remarkable for his great learning, which was consecrated to the task of explaining and spreading the Reformed doctrines. Carlos put himself under the tuition of this man to perfect his knowledge of Greek, a language of which he had learned very little, and that little very imperfectly, at Alcala. He profited exceedingly by the teaching he received, and partially repaid the obligation by instructing the novices in Latin, a task which was very congenial to him, and which he performed with much success. End of Chapter 14 Chapter 15 of The Spanish Brothers by Deborah Alcock This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Chapter 15 The Great San Benito The thousands that, uncheered by praise, have made one offering of their days, for truths, for heavens, for freedom's sake, resigned to the bitter cup to take. Hemans Young as was the Protestant Church in Seville, she already had her history. There was one name that Carlos had heard mentioned in connection with her first origin, round which they're gathered in his thoughts of peculiar interest, or rather, fascination. He knew now that the monks of San Isodro had been largely indebted to the instructions of Dr. Juan Gil, or Agirius, and he had been told previously that Agirius himself had learned the truth from an earlier and bolder witness, Rodrigo de Valer. This was the name that Losada once coupled in his hearing with that of his own father. Why then had he not sought information which might have proved so deeply interesting to him, directly from Losada himself, his friend and teacher? Several causes contributed to his reluctance to broach the subject, but by far the greatest was a kind of chivalrous, half-romantic tenderness for that absent brother. Rumi could now truly say that he loved best on earth. It is very difficult for us to put ourselves in the position of Spaniards of the 16th century, so far as at all to understand the way in which they were accustomed to look upon heresy. In their eyes, it was not only a crime, infinitely more dreadful than that of murder, it was also a horrible disgrace, branding a man's whole lineage up and down for generations, and extending its baleful influence to its remotest kindred. Carlos asked himself, day by day, how would the high-hearted Don Juan Alvarez, whose idol was a glory and his dearest pride a noble and venerated name, endure to hear that his beloved and only brother was stained with that surpassing infamy? But at least it would be anguished enough to stab Juan once, as it were, with his own hand, without arming the dead hand of the father whose memory they both revered, and then driving home the weapon into his brother's heart. Rather would he let the matter remain an obscurity, even if, which was extremely doubtful, he could by any effort of his own shed a ray of light upon it. Still he took occasion one day to inquire of his friend Fe Fernando, who received full information on these subjects from the older monks. What's not that Rodrigo de Valer, whose San bonito hangs in the cathedral, the first teacher of the pure faith in Seville? To, senor, he taught many. While he himself, as I have heard, received the faith from none save God only. He must have been a remarkable man. Tell me all you know of him. Afre Casidoro has often heard Dr. Ahidius speak of him, so that though his lips were silenced long before your time are mine, senor, he seems still one of our company. Yes, already some of our number have joined the church triumphant, but they are still one with us in Christ. Don Rodrigo de Valer, continued the young monk, was of a noble family, and very wealthy. He was born in Libria, but came to reside in Seville a gay, light-hearted, brilliant, young Caballero, who was soon a leader in all the falling fashion of the great city. But suddenly these things lost their charm for him. Much to the astonishment of the gay world, to which he had been such an ornament, he disappeared from the scenes of amusement and festivity he had been want to love. His companions could not understand the change that came over him, but we can understand it well. God's arrows of conviction were sharp in his heart, and he led him to turn for comfort, not to penance and self-mortification, but to his own word. Only one form was that word accessible to him. He gathered up the fragments of his old school studies little cared for at the time, and well I forgot an afterwards to enable him to read the Vulgate. There he found justification by faith, and through it peace to his troubled conscience, but he did not find, as I need scarcely say to you, Don Carlos, brigatory, the worship of our Lady and the Saints, and certain other things our Fathers taught us. How long since was all this? Asked Carlos, who was listening with much interest, and at the same time comparing the narrative with that other story he had heard from Dolores. Long enough, Señor, twenty years ago or more, when God had thus enlightened him, he returned to the world, but he returned to it a new man, determined henceforth to know nothing save Christ, and him crucified. He addressed himself in the first instance to the priests and monks, whom with a boldness truly amazing he accosted wherever he met them. Word even in the most public places of the city, proving to them from scriptures that their doctrines were not the truth of God. It was no hopeful soil in which to sow the word. No, truly, but it seemed to lay upon him as a burden from God to speak what he felt and knew, whether men would hear or whether they would forbear. He very soon aroused the bitter enmity of those who hate the light because their deeds are evil. Had he been a poor man, he would have been burned at the stake, as that brave, honest, hearted young convert Francisco de San Romano was burned avaya de olid not so long ago, saying to those who offered him mercy at the last, Did you envy me, my happiness? But Don Rodegro's rank and connection saved him from that fate. I have heard too that there were those in high places who shared or at least favored his opinions in secret, such interceded for him. Then his words were received by some? Carlos asked anxiously. Have you ever heard the names of any of those who were his friends or patrons? Frey Fernando shook his head. Even among ourselves, senor. He said, Names are not mentioned oftener than is needful, for a bird of the air will carry the matter, and when life depends on our silence, it is no wonder if at least we become a trifle over silent. In the lapse of years some names that ought to be remembered amongst us may well chance to be forgotten, from this dread of breathing them, even in a whisper, always, except in Dr. Uhidius, Don Rodegro's friends, or converts are unknown to me. But I was about to say the inquisitors were prevailed upon by those who interceded for him to regard him as insane. They dismissed him, therefore with no more severe penalty, than the loss of his property, and with many cautions as to his future behavior. I hold it scarce likely that he observed them. Very far otherwise, senor. For a short time indeed his friends prevailed on him to express his sentiments more privately, and Fr. Casidoro says that during this interval he confirmed them in the fate by expounding the epistle to the Romans. But he could not long hide the light he held. To all remonstrances he answered that he was a soldier sent on a forlorn hope, and must needs press forward to the breach. If he fell, it mattered not. In his place God would raise up others, whose would be the glory and the joy of victory. So once again the Holy Office laid its grasp upon him. It was resolved that his voice should be heard no more on earth. And he was therefore consigned to the living death of perpetual imprisonment. And yet in spite of all their care, and all their malice, one more testimony for God, and his truth was heard from his lips. How was that? They led him robed in that great sun beneath though you have often seen, to the church of San Salvador to sit and listen with the other weeping penitents, while some ignorant priests denounced their heresies and blasphemies. But he was not afraid after the sermon to stand up in his place, and warned the people against the preacher's erroneous doctrine, showing them where and how it differed from the word of God. It was marvelous they did not burn him. But God restrained the remainder of their wrath. They sent him at last to the monastery of San Lucar, where he remained in solitary confinement until his death. Carlos mused a little, then he said, What a blessed change from solitary confinement to the company of just men made perfect, from the gloom of a convent prison to the glory of God's house, eternal in the heavens. Some of the elder brethren say we may be called upon to pass through trials even more severe. Remarked Frey Fernando. I know not. Being amongst the youngest here, I should speak my mind with humility. Still, I cannot help looking around me and seeing that everywhere men are receiving the word of God with joy. Think of the learned and noble men and women in the city who have joined our band already and are eager to gain others. You converts are one for us every day, not to speak of that great multitude among Frey Konstantinos' heirs who are really on our side without dreaming it to themselves. Moreover, your noble friend Don Carlos de Cesso told us last summer that the signs in the earth are equally encouraging. He thinks the Lutherans of Valladolid are more numerous than those of Seville, and Lograno also the light is spreading rapidly, and throughout the districts near the Pyrenees the word has free course thanks to the Huguenot traders on Bayonne. I've heard these things in Seville, and truly my heart rejoices at them, but yet… Here Carlos broke off suddenly and remained silent, using mournfully into the fire, near which, as it was now winter, they had seen themselves. At last Frey Fernando asked, What do you think, Senor? Carlos raised his dark blue eyes and fixed them on the questioner's face. Of the future? He said slowly, I think nothing, I dare not think of it. It is in God's hands, and he thinks for us. Still one thing I cannot choose but see, where we are we cannot remain. We are bound to a great wheel that is turning, turning, and turn with it. Even in spite of ourselves we must and do. But it is the wheel not of chance, but of God's mighty purposes, that is all our comfort. And those purposes, are they not mercy and truth and to our beloved land? They may be, but I know not. They are not revealed. Mercy and truth and to such as keep his covenant, that indeed is written. We are they that keep his covenant. Carlos sighed and resumed the threat of his own thought. The wheel turns round and we with it. Even since I came here it has turned perceptibly. And how it is to turn one step further without bringing us into contact with the solid frame of things as they are and so crushing us? Truly I see not, but I trust God. You allude to those discussions about the sacrifice of the mass now going on so continually amongst us? I do. Hitherto we've been able to work underground, but if doubt must be thrown upon that, the thin shell of earth that has concealed and protected us will break and fall in upon our heads. And then? We are already asking. And then? Said Frey Fernando. There will be nothing before us but flight to some foreign land. And how in God's name is that to be accomplished? But God forgive me these words, and God keep me and all of us from the subtle snare of mixing with the question, what is his will that other question? What will be our fate if we try to do it? As the noble de Ceso said to me, all that matters to us is to be found amongst those who follow the Lamb whither so ever he goeth. But he went to Calvary. The last words were spoken in so low a tone that Frey Fernando heard them not. What did you say? He asked. No matter. Time enough to hear of God himself speaks it in our ears. Their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of a lay brother who informed Carlos the visitor awaited him in the convent parlor. As it was one of the hours during which the rules of the house, which were quite liberal enough without being lax, permitted the entertainment of visitors. Carlos went to receive his without much delay. He knew that if the guest had been one of their own, their loved brethren in the faith, even the attendant would have been well acquainted with his person and would naturally have named him. He entered the room therefore with no very lively anticipations, expecting at most to see one of his cousins who might have paid him the compliment of riding out from the city to visit him. A tall, handsome, sunburnt man, who had his left arm in a sling, was standing with his back to the window. But in one moment more the other arm was flung round the neck of Carlos and heart pressed to heart and lip to lip. The brothers stood together. End of chapter 15