The Spanish Brothers Part 47

XLI.

More about the Penitent.

"Ay, thus thy mother looked, With such a sad, yet half-triumphant smile.

All radiant with deep meaning."--Hemans

A slight incident, that occurred the following morning, partially broke down the barrier of reserve between the two prisoners. After his early devotions, the penitent laid aside his mantle, took up a besom made of long slips of cane, and proceeded, with great deliberation and gravity, to sweep out the room. The contrast that his stately figure, his n.o.ble air, and the dignity of all his movements, offered to the menial occupation in which he was engaged, was far too pathetic to be ludicrous. Carlos could not but think that he wielded the lowly implement as if it were a chamberlain's staff of office, or a grand marshal's baton. He himself was well accustomed to such tasks; for every prisoner of the Santa Casa, no matter what his rank might be, was his own servant. And it spoke much for the revolution that had taken place in his ideas and feelings, that though taught to look on all servile occupations as ineffably degrading, he had never a.s.sociated a thought of degradation with anything laid upon him to do or to suffer as the prisoner of Christ.

And yet he could not endure to see his aged and stately fellow-prisoner thus occupied. He rose immediately, and earnestly entreated to be allowed to relieve him of the task, pleading that all such duties ought to devolve on him as the younger. At first the penitent resisted, saying that it was part of his penance. But when Carlos continued to urge the point, he yielded; perhaps the more readily because his will, like his other faculties, was weakened for want of exercise. Then, with more apparent interest than he had shown in any of his previous proceedings, he watched the rather slow and difficult movements of his young companion.

"You are lame, senor," he said, a little abruptly, when Carlos, having finished his work, sat down to rest.

"From the pulley," Carlos answered quietly; and then his face beamed with a sudden smile, for the secret of the Lord was with him, and he tasted the sweet, strange joy that springs out of suffering borne for Him.

That look was the wire that drew an electric flash of memory from the clouds that veiled the old man's soul. What that sudden flash revealed was a castle gate, at which stood a stately yet slender form robed in silk. In the fair young face tears and smiles were contending; but a smile won the victory, as a little child was held up, and made to kiss a baby-hand in farewell to its father.

In a moment all was gone; only a vague trouble and uneasiness remained, accompanied by that strange sense of having seen or felt just the same thing before, with which we are most of us familiar. Accustomed to solitude, the penitent spoke aloud, perchance unconsciously.

"Why did they bring you here?" he said, in a half fretful tone. "You hurt me. I have done very well alone all these years."

"I am sorry to incommode you, senor," returned Carlos. "But I did not come here of my own will; neither, unhappily, can I go. I am a prisoner, like yourself; but, unlike you, I am a prisoner under sentence of death."

For several minutes the penitent did not answer. Then he rose, and taking a step or two towards the place where Carlos sat, gravely extended his hand. "I fear I have spoken uncourteously," he said. "So many years have pa.s.sed since I have conversed with my fellows, that I have well-nigh forgotten how I ought to address them. Do me the favour, senor and my brother, to grant me your pardon."

Carlos warmly a.s.sured him no offence had been given; and taking the offered hand, he pressed it reverently to his lips. From that moment he loved his fellow-prisoner in his heart.

There was an interval of silence, then the penitent of his own accord resumed the conversation. "Did I hear you say you are under sentence of death?" he asked.

"I am so actually, though not formally," Carlos replied. "In the language of the Holy Office, I am a professed impenitent heretic."

"And you so young!"

"To be a heretic?"

"No; I meant so young to die.'

"Do I look young--even yet? I should not have thought it. To me the last two years seem like a long life-time."

"Have you been two years, then, in prison? Poor boy! Yet I have been here ten, fifteen, twenty years--I cannot tell how many. I have lost the account of them."

Carlos sighed. And such a life was before him, should he be weak enough to surrender his hope. He said, "Do you really think, senor, that these long years of lonely suffering are less hard to bear than a speedy though violent death?"

"I do not think it matters, as to that," was the penitent's not very apposite reply. In fact, his mind was not capable, at the time, of dealing with such a question; so he turned from it instinctively. But in the meantime he was remembering, every moment more and more clearly, that a duty had been laid upon him by the authority to which his soul held itself in absolute subjection. And that duty had reference to his fellow-prisoner.

"I am commanded," he said at last, "to counsel you to seek the salvation of your soul, by returning to the bosom of the one true Catholic and Apostolic Church, out of which there is no peace and no salvation."

Carlos saw that he spoke by rote; that his words echoed the thought of another, not his own. It seemed to him, under the circ.u.mstances, scarcely generous to argue. He spared to put forth his mental powers against the aged and broken man, as Juan in like case would have spared to use his strong right arm.

After a moment's thought, he replied,--

"May I ask of your courtesy, senor and my father, to bear with me for a little while, that I may frankly disclose to you my real belief?"

Appeal could never be made in vain to that penitent's courtesy. No heresy, that could have been proposed, would have shocked him half so much as the supposition that one Castilian gentleman could be uncourteous to another, upon any account. "Do me the favour to state your opinions, senor," he responded, with a bow, "and I will honour myself by giving them my best attention."

Carlos was little used to language such as this. It induced him to speak his mind more freely than he had been able to do for the last two years. But, mindful of his experience with old Father Bernardo at San Isodro, he did not speak of doctrines, he spoke of a Person. In words simple enough for a child to understand, but with a heart glowing with faith and love, he told of what He was when he walked on earth, of what He is at the right hand of the Father, of what He has done and is doing still for every soul that trusts him.

Certainly the faded eye brightened; and something like a look of interest began to dawn in the mournfully still and pa.s.sive countenance.

For a time Carlos was aware that his listener followed every word, and he spoke slowly, on purpose to allow him so to do. But then there came a change. The listening look pa.s.sed out of the eyes; and yet they did not wander once from the speaker's face. The expression of the whole countenance was gradually altered, from one of rather painful attention to the dreamy look of a man who hears sweet music, and gives free course to the emotions it is calculated to awaken. In truth, the voice of Carlos was sweet music in his fellow-captive's ear; and he would willingly have sat thus for ever, gazing at him and enjoying it.

Carlos thought that if this was their reverences' idea of "a satisfactory penitent," they were not difficult to satisfy. And he marvelled increasingly that so astute a man as the Dominican prior should have put the task of his conversion into such hands. For the piety so lauded in the penitent appeared to him mere pa.s.siveness--the submission of a soul out of which all resisting forces had been crushed.

"It is only life that resists," he thought; "the dead they can move whithersoever they will."

Intolerance always sets a premium on mental stagnation. Nay, it actually produces it; it "makes a desert, and calls it peace." And what the Inquisition did for the penitent, that it has done also for the penitent's fair fatherland. Was the resurrection of dead and buried faculties possible for _him_? Is such a resurrection possible for _it_?

And yet, in spite of the deadness of heart and brain, which he doubted not was the result of cruel suffering, Carlos loved his fellow-prisoner every hour more and more. He could not tell why; he only knew that "his soul was knit" to his.

When Carlos, for fear of fatiguing him, brought his explanations to a close, both relapsed into silence; and the remainder of the day pa.s.sed without much further conversation, but with a constant interchange of little kindnesses and courtesies. The first sight that greeted the eyes of Carlos when he awoke the next morning, was that of the penitent kneeling before the pictured Madonna, his lips motionless, his hands crossed on his breast, and his face far more earnest with feeling--it might be thought with devotion--than he had ever seen it yet.

Carlos was moved, but saddened. It grieved him sore that his aged fellow-prisoner should pour out the last costly libation of love and trust left in his desolated heart before the shrine of that which was no G.o.d. And a great longing awoke within him to lead back this weary and heavy-laden one to the only Being who could give him true rest.

"If, indeed, he is one of G.o.d's chosen, of his loved and redeemed ones, he will be led back," thought Carlos, who had spent the past two years in thinking out many things for himself. Certain aspects of truth, which may be either strong cordials or rank poisons, as they are used, had grown gradually clear to him. Opposed to the Dominican prior upon most subjects, he was at one with him upon that of predestination. For he had need to be a.s.sured, when the great water floods prevailed, that the chain which kept him from drifting away with them was a strong one.

And therefore he had followed it up, link by link, until he came at last to that eternal purpose of G.o.d in which it was fast anch.o.r.ed. Since the day that he first learned it, he had lived in the light of that great centre truth, "I have loved thee"--_thee_ individually. But as he lay in the gloomy prison, sentenced to die, something more was revealed to him. "I have loved thee _with an everlasting love, therefore_ with loving-kindness have I drawn thee." The value of this truth, to him as to others, lay in the double aspect of that word "everlasting;" its look forward to the boundless future, as well as backward on the mysterious past. The one was a pledge and a.s.surance of the other. And now he was taking to his heart the comfort it gave, for the penitent as well as for himself. But it made him, not less, but more anxious to be G.o.d's fellow-worker in bringing him back to the truth.

In the meantime, however, he was quite mistaken as to the feelings with which the old man knelt before the pictured Virgin and Child. His heart was stirred by no mystic devotion to the Queen of Heaven, but by some very human feelings, which had long lain dormant, but which were now being gradually awakened there. He was thinking not of heaven, but of earth, and of "earth's warm beating joy and dole." And what attracted him to that spot was only the representation of womanhood and childhood, recalling, though far off and faintly, the fair young wife and babe from whom he had been cruelly torn years and years ago.

A little later, as the two prisoners sat over the bread and fruit that formed their morning meal, the penitent began to speak more frankly than he had done before. "I was quite afraid of you, senor, when you first came," he said.

"And perhaps I was not guiltless of the same feeling towards you,"

Carlos answered. "It is no marvel. Companions in sorrow, such as we are, have great power either to help or to hurt one another."

"You may truly say that," returned the penitent. "In fact, I once suffered so cruelly from the treachery of a fellow-prisoner, that it is not unnatural I should be suspicious."

"How was that, senor?"

"It was very long ago, soon after my arrest. And yet, not soon. For weary months of darkness and solitude, I cannot tell how many, I held out--I mean to say, I continued impenitent."

"Did you?" asked Carlos with interest. "I thought as much."

"Do not think ill of me, I entreat of you, senor," said the penitent anxiously. "I am _reconciled_. I have returned to the bosom of the true Church, and I belong to her. I have confessed and received absolution. I have even had the Holy Sacrament; and if ill, or in danger of death, it is promised I shall receive 'su majestad'[#] at any time. And I have abjured and detested all the heresies I learned from De Valero."

[#] "His Majesty," the ordinary term applied by Spaniards to the Host.