Part 51 (1/2)
But one evening, to the affectionate ”Good-night” always exchanged by the son and father with the sense that many more might not be left to them, Don Juan added, ”Rejoice with me, my son; for I think that I have found again the thing that I lost--
'El Dorado Yo he trovada.'”
XLIV.
One Prisoner Set Free.
”All was ended now, the hope and the fear, and the sorrow; All the aching of heart, the restless unsatisfied longing, All the dull deep pain, and constant anguish of patience.”--Longfellow.
The winter rain was pouring down in a steady continuous torrent It was long since a gleam of suns.h.i.+ne had come through the windows of the prison-room. But Don Juan Alvarez did not miss the sunlight. For he lay on his pallet, weak and ill, and the only sight he greatly cared to look upon was the loving face that was ever beside him.
It is possible, by means of the embalmer's art, to enable buried forms to retain for ages a ghastly outward similitude to life. Tombs have been opened, and kings found therein clothed in their royal robes, stern and stately, the sceptre in their cold hands, and no trace of the grave and its corruption visible upon them. But no sooner did the breath of the upper air and the finger of light touch them than they crumbled away, silently and rapidly, and dust returned to dust again. Thus, buried in the chill dark tomb of his seclusion, Don Juan might have lived for years--if life it could be called--or, at least, he might have lingered on in the outward similitude of life. But Carlos brought in light and air upon him. His mind and heart revived; and, just in proportion, his physical nature sank. It proved too weak to bear these powerful influences. He was dying.
Tender and thoughtful as a woman, Carlos, who himself knew so well all the bitterness of unpitied pain and sickness, ministered to his father's wants. But he did not request their gaolers to afford him any medical aid, though, had he done so, it would have been readily granted.
He had good reason for seeking no help from man. The daily penance was neglected now; the rosary lay untold; and never again would ”Ave Maria Sanctissima” pa.s.s the lips of Don Juan Alvarez. Therefore it was that Carlos, after much thought and prayer, said quietly to him one day, ”My father, are you afraid to lie here, in G.o.d's hands, and in his alone, and to take whatever he pleases to send us?”
”I am not afraid.”
”Do you desire _any_ help they can give, either for your soul or for your body?”
”_No,_” said the Conde de Nuera, with something like the spirit of other days. ”I would not confess to them; for Christ is my only priest now.
And they should not anoint me while I retained my consciousness.”
A look of resolution, strange to see, pa.s.sed over the gentle face of Carlos. ”It is well said, my father,” he responded. ”And, G.o.d helping me, I will let no man trouble you.”
”My son,” said Don Juan one evening, as Carlos sat beside him in the twilight, ”I pray you, tell me a little more of those who learned to love the truth since I walked amongst men. For I would fain be able to recognize them when we meet in heaven.”
Then Carlos told him, not indeed for the first time, but more fully than ever before, the story of the Reformed Church in Spain. Almost every name that he mentioned has come down to us surrounded by the mournful halo of martyr glory. With special reverential love, he told of Don Carlos de Seso, of Losada, of D'Arellano, and of the heroic Juliano Hernandez, who, as he believed, was still waiting for his crown. ”For him,” he said, ”I pray even yet; for the others I can only thank G.o.d, Surely,” he added, after a pause, ”G.o.d will remember the land for which these, his faithful martyrs, prayed and toiled and suffered! Surely he will hear their voices, that cry under the altar, not for vengeance, but for forgiveness and mercy; and one day he will return and repent, and leave a blessing behind him?”
”I know not,” said the dying man despondingly. ”The Spains have had their offer of G.o.d's truth, and have rejected it. What is there that is said, somewhere in the Scriptures, about Noah, Daniel, and Job?”
Carlos repeated the solemn words, ”'Though Noah, Daniel, and Job were in it, as I live, saith the Lord G.o.d, they shall deliver neither son nor daughter; they shall but deliver their own souls by their righteousness.' Do you fear that such a terrible doom has gone forth over our land, my father? I dare to hope otherwise. For it is not the Spains that have rejected the truth. It is the Inquisition that is crus.h.i.+ng it out.”
”But the Spains must answer for its deeds, since they consent to them.
They heed not. There are brave men enough, with weapons in their hands,” said the soldier of former days, with a momentary return to old habits of thought and feeling.
”Yet G.o.d may give our land another trial,” Carlos continued. ”His truth is sometimes offered twice to individuals, why not to nations?”
”True; it was offered twice to me, praised be his name.” After an interval of silence, he resumed, ”My son always speaks of others, never of himself. Not yet have I learned how it was that you came to receive the Word of G.o.d so readily from Juliano.”
Then in the dark, with his father's hand in his, Carlos told, for the first and last time, the true story of his life.
Before he had gone far, Don Juan started, half-raised him self, and exclaimed in surprise, ”What, and you!--_you_ too--once loved?”
”Ay, and bitter as the pain has been, I am glad now of all except the sin. I am glad that I have tasted earth's very best and sweetest; that I know how the wine is red and gives its colour in the cup of life he honours me to put aside for him.” His voice was low and full of feeling as he said this. Presently he resumed. ”But the sin, my father!
Especially my treachery in heart to Juan; that rankled long and stung deeply. Juan, my brave, generous brother, who would have struck down any man who dared to hint that I could do, or think, aught dishonourable! He never knew it; and had he known it, he would have forgiven me; but I could not forgive myself. I do not think the self-scorn pa.s.sed away until--_that_ which happened after I had been nigh a year in prison. O my father, if G.o.d had not interposed to save me by withholding me from that crime, I shudder to think what my life might have been. I am persuaded I should have sunk lower, lower, and ever lower. Perhaps, even, I might have ended in the purple and fine linen, and the awful pomp and luxury of the oppressors and persecutors of the saints.”