The Spanish Cavalier Part 13

"May you, Donna Antonia, never know what it is to ask for mercy in vain!" murmured Inez; and without uttering another word she turned to depart. Many of those present would willingly have shown the poor maiden sympathy and done her service, but dared not come forward to do so under the eyes of their tyrant. The Castilian alone, with lofty courtesy, accompanied the young lady to the gate, and beyond it. His escort was no small comfort to Inez; she had not to pa.s.s alone through the gazing throng of servants who were without the garden enclosure awaiting the departure of the guests of the governor's daughter.

"May I have the honour of summoning the carriage of the Donna Inez de Aguilera?" asked her courteous protector, bowing low as he spoke.

"No, senor; I will return as I came," murmured Inez faintly; "and thanks--thanks!" She could not add more, but turned from her pitying conductor and went on her lonely way.

But Inez could not walk far. The excitement of hope sustained her no longer, no strength for further effort remained. Weights of lead seemed to cling to the poor girl's feet, there was a rushing sound in her ears as if the ocean were near. Mist gathered before the eyes of Inez, dimming the brilliant sunshine which yet flooded the city. The Spanish maiden had painful difficulty in breathing, and to get air intuitively threw back her veil. As she did so the voice of one who was about to pa.s.s her in the street uttered her name in a tone of surprise. The fainting girl was only able to recognize the speaker ere her powers completely gave way, and she would have fallen to the ground in a swoon but for the supporting arms of Lucius Lepine.

CHAPTER XXI.

TWO ANGELS.

We will now return to Alcala, whom we left on his way to the prison.

Slowly the conveyance in which the cavalier was seated, guarded by several alguazils, rolled through the streets of Seville. Alcala sat as far back in the vehicle as he could, to avoid the gaze of curious eyes; for many of the populace were eager to get a sight of a hidalgo sent to prison for White Judaism, that mysterious crime. Once only did Alcala lean forward in his seat, and that was to catch a glimpse of the outer wall of the huge Coliseo of Seville, the Plaza de Toros.

What a gush of thankfulness came into the breast of Alcala at the sight of that place, the scene of his rash, unG.o.dly venture! Had he been left to expire in that arena which it had been a crime to enter, where would his soul now have been! But the heavenly Father, whom he had so deeply offended, would not suffer the sinner to perish in his sin. Mercy had not only s.n.a.t.c.hed him from destruction both of body and soul, but had made the rebel a son, had granted to the transgressor the privilege of suffering for the sake of the gospel. The realization of the freeness of G.o.d's grace, the depth of His love, excluded for the time from the spirit of the Spaniard all less powerful emotions.

It may be said that there are two heaven-sent guides appointed to lead through life's pilgrimage all those who in faith seek a heritage above. THE FEAR OF G.o.d and THE LOVE OF G.o.d are these two guiding angels. The former, in somewhat austere beauty, appears in garments of spotless white; for _the fear of the Lord is clean_, and on his snowy pinions is inscribed the word "obedience." Blessed are they who are led by this spirit of reverence, as a poet has n.o.bly expressed the thought,--"Fearing G.o.d, they have no other fear."[21]

It is this angel who is wont to meet pilgrims on the outset of their career, to guide their first feeble steps in the narrow path of duty; but oftentimes he yields place to another spirit even more glorious than he. Not that the fear of G.o.d can ever be far removed from the Christian, but his form is half hidden by the radiance of his twin-brother, the second guide of the pilgrim. Holy fear is fair indeed, but who can describe the seraphic beauty of holy love! He shines with the glory reflected from the smile of a reconciled G.o.d; all the tints of heaven's rainbow glitter in his quivering wings, their motion is light, and their inscription is "joy." The fear of G.o.d leads us onward, the love of G.o.d bears us upward. Blessed, thrice blessed, those over whom the second angel waves his pinions of joy!

Often, very often, has this spirit been sent on a special mission to those who suffer for conscience' sake. When he is near, earthly griefs seem to have lost their power to pain; his soft whisper drowns with its music the scoff of the persecutor, the yell of the furious mob.

Cheered by that whisper, the martyr has gone with light step and joyous countenance to meet the king of terrors. He has felt, though man could not see, the waving of the bright wings, and has, with cheerful courage, embraced the cross or the stake.

It is this angel of light who has come into many a sick-room, and turned it into a chamber of peace. He has gently smoothed the pillow, touched the pain-wrinkled brow, and its furrows have disappeared; there has been such happiness imparted by the presence of the love of G.o.d that weeping, wondering friends have owned that the last enemy himself has lost all his sting.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE ENTRANCE TO THE PRISON

Page 185.]

"No smile is like the smile of death, When all good musings past Rise wafted on the parting breath, The sweetest thought the last!"

Alcala, on his way to his prison, was accompanied by this invisible angel, and, in the strength imparted by the love of G.o.d, could make an apostle's words his own. He could say, "_We rejoice in the glory of G.o.d. And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience; and patience, experience; and experience, hope. And hope maketh not ashamed; because the love of G.o.d is shed abroad in our hearts!_"

FOOTNOTES:

[21] "Je crains Dieu, cher Abner, et je n'ai d'autre crainte."--RACINE.

CHAPTER XXII.

STRANGE COMPANY.

The vehicle which conveyed Alcala to his destination stopped at the entrance of a dark and gloomy building, situated in a narrow street.

Through a vaulted pa.s.sage, dimly lighted, Alcala was conducted to a door in which was a grating formed of thick iron bars. At this door one of the alguazils who escorted the prisoner knocked. The face of a jailer was dimly visible through the grating, and then there was the sound of withdrawal of bolt and turning of key; the heavy door was slowly swung back, and Alcala entered the prison.

Through a vestibule the cavalier was then conducted to an office-room, in which, seated at a high desk, appeared the alcalde of the prison, a hollow-eyed, melancholy man. He glanced at the warrant which was formally presented to him by one of the alguazils, then rose, and with gloomy ceremony welcomed his involuntary guest.

"Senor," said the alcalde, with a low inclination of the head, "may your residence here be a brief one. Permit me to have the honour of myself introducing you into your temporary abode. I regret to see that the health of the ill.u.s.trious caballero appears to be impaired."

After a ceremonious exchange of courtesy with the alcalde who had arrested him, and who retired after delivering up his charge to the prison authorities, Alcala followed his jailer to a huge grated door, which was guarded by a couple of turnkeys. This barrier also was pa.s.sed, and with a heavy, echoing clang the ma.s.sive door closed on the prisoner. Alcala and his jailer were now in a corridor, lighted by narrow barred windows, looking on a patio, in which a number of prisoners were taking what air and exercise its confined s.p.a.ce permitted.

"Most n.o.ble caballero," said the jailer, who now walked by the side of Alcala, "in this melancholy abode there is preserved a due distinction of ranks. We have a few apartments reserved for ill.u.s.trious senors like yourself, whom misfortune may have led to visit our retreat for awhile."

As Alcala only replied by a slight inclination of the head, the alcalde thought that his hint had not been understood by his captive.

"Cavaliers are permitted to furnish their apartments according to their good pleasure, senor; and they are waited on by the attendants with the distinction becoming their rank. But, of course, this alleviation of the trial of detention within these walls belongs only to those who--" The alcalde hesitated, so Alcala relieved him from the difficulty of further explaining his meaning.

"I suppose that the private apartments are reserved for those who have the means of paying for them," said Alcala. "This, senor, I have not."

"I regret that on the present occasion every one of these rooms is occupied, ill.u.s.trious caballero," observed the jailer, still--though disappointed of his expected gains--preserving his ceremonious politeness, as he ushered Alcala into the large vaulted gloomy dungeon which the cavalier was to share with the fifty or sixty criminals who crowded the place.

The sight, the scent of the den in which he was to pa.s.s, perhaps, the remainder of a brief life, were enough to try the fort.i.tude of any one who had, like Alcala, been gently nurtured. The place was dirty to a disgusting degree, and utterly unfurnished. The brick floor, on which some of the inmates were squatting and others reclining, served at once for chair, table, and bed. Offensive odours poisoned the air; the aspect of the place was revolting.

To an artist, indeed, the scene, as beheld by light struggling through grated windows coated with dust, might not have appeared devoid of picturesque effect. There was no clipped hair to be seen, no prison-dress common to all the inmates; each criminal wore what he would, and a curious variety of costumes appeared before the eyes of Alcala. There were here and there dashes of bright colour from waistcoats of green or blue silk, worn, uncovered by coat or jacket, over shirts with large flowing sleeves. These gaudy articles of costume marked the bandit race, who had probably been committed to prison for robbery or murder on the highway. On other criminals appeared the sheep-skin of the peasant, or the mantero of the citizen; one man was seen in buff jerkin, with jack-boots reaching half-way up his thigh. Most of the prisoners wore the faja, or waist-belt, so characteristic a part of Spanish costume,--being a very long piece of cloth, usually black or red, twisted round the middle of the person, and forming a receptacle for the purse, and sometimes the dagger.

Of course the entrance of a new companion in misfortune awakened curiosity, and attracted the attention of all the motley groups. A murmur of "'Tis a caballero!" was heard from the dark recesses of the place of confinement.

But though the den was mostly filled with miscreants who had broken every one of the ten commandments, an Englishman must have been struck by the absence of brutal coa.r.s.eness, whether of manner or conversation, which he would have expected amongst the lowest cla.s.s of criminals thus promiscuously thrown together. Men who had preserved no sense of honour, no scruple of conscience, men who might have robbed a church or murdered a brother, demeaned themselves as though they preserved some self-respect still. It is a peculiarity of the Spanish race that, to a certain extent, even the poorest appear to be gentlemen born. The beggar has his dignity; the picker of pockets his grace. Alcala had to encounter no insolent banter, no brutal jests, when he found himself amongst the sc.u.m of Spanish society in the common prison of Seville.

The cavalier's first feeling was one of utter disgust and repulsion, and an intense longing for solitude, were it even only to be sought in the darkest and most narrow of cells. Alcala had been brought up in aristocratic seclusiveness, and his besetting sin was pride. He reproached himself now for the selfish haughtiness which would fain have raised an impenetrable wall between himself and his companions in suffering.

"How is it that I, myself rescued from depths of guilt, dare to despise my fellow-sinners?" mused Alcala. "Who hath made me to differ from them? Wherefore should I desire to be secluded from all opportunities of serving my kind, because my pride shrinks from contact with those whom I deem beneath me? Here is the post which my Lord has a.s.signed me. May He give me strength to bear witness for Him even in the prison, and deliver His message to some who, if they had heard it before, might never have entered this horrible den."

Alcala had scarcely had time for these reflections, when he was accosted by a lithe, active-looking man of very dark complexion, who had come from the further end of the dungeon on seeing him enter.

"Most ill.u.s.trious caballero, Don Alcala de Aguilera, we have met before," said the man.

"And where, my friend?" asked Alcala.

"In the Plaza de Toros, senor. My name is Diego. I was one of the chulos who planted a banderilla in the neck of the bull which your worthiness met so bravely."

"I am engaged in a different contest now," said Alcala, who was resolved not to let either the weariness of his frame, or the repugnance of his spirit, prevent his entering into conversation with the companions whom he hoped to influence for their good. The cavalier seated himself on the floor, supporting his back against the wall; and the chulo, who was inclined to be sociable, stretched himself, resting on his elbow, beside the senor.

"Your worship finds yourself in strange company," observed this self-const.i.tuted cicerone of the prison, lowering his tone so as not to be overheard by the ruffians around him. "Yonder, jabbering their Egyptian gibberish, is a party of Zingali: the worst punishment to them is to have a roof over their heads; the Gitano would rather lie in a ditch than a palace, boil his kettle under a hedge than feast at the governor's table. To the left there, senor, are smugglers from Cadiz; many a contraband bale has galled the backs of their mules as they moved over the sierra by moonlight. He in the red faja behind them is a highly respectable man; he merely hacked a rival to death in a combat with knives: it is strange that the alguazils should have thought it worth while to arrest the poor fellow for a simple affair like that. But yon gentleman with the bright blue jacket has earned his lodging at Her Majesty's expense; he is a brigand from the Sierra Morena, and has, I trow, cut more throats than he has fingers upon his two hands."

Alcala wondered silently for what crime his communicative companion had himself been committed to prison. Diego did not long leave him in ignorance of the cause.

"It is a shame to put me with such as these," said the talkative chulo; "I am a political offender," he added, with something like pride. "Not a Carlist, mind you, senor; I am locked up in this kennel merely for saying what all the world thinks, though not all have the courage to speak out their minds. I did but say that it is a disgrace that such a wretch as he whom the Queen has always at her elbow should be suffered to ride rough-shod over the necks of the Spanish nation, and that I wished that the nun Patrocinio would keep to her cell and leave politics alone. I did add--and I care not who knows it,"

continued the chulo, "that we shall never see good days till we have our exiled General Prim back again! Prim is the man to make Spain once more what she was in the glorious old times!"