x.x.xV.

The Eve of the Auto.

"It is good for a man that he bear the yoke in his youth He sitteth alone and keepeth silence, because he hath borne it upon him.

He putteth his mouth in the dust, if so be there may be hope."--Lamentations iii, 27-29

On the 21st of September 1559, all Seville wore a festive appearance.

The shops were closed, and the streets were filled with idle loiterers in their gay holiday apparel. For it was the eve of the great Auto, and the preliminary ceremonies were going forward amidst the admiration of gazing thousands. Two stately scaffolds, in the form of an amphitheatre, had been erected in the great square of the city, then called the Square of St. Francis; and thither, when the work was completed, flags and crosses were borne in solemn procession, with music and singing.

But a still more significant ceremonial was enacted in another place.

Outside the walls, on the Prado San Sebastian, stood the ghastly Quemadero--the great altar upon which, for generations, men had offered human sacrifices to the G.o.d of peace and love. Thither came long files of barefooted friars, carrying bushes and f.a.ggots, which they laid in order on the place of death, while, in sweet yet solemn tones, they chanted the "Miserere" and "De Profundis."

Very close together on those festive days were "strong light and deep shadow." But our way leads us, for the present, into the light.

Turning away from the Square of St. Francis, and the Prado San Sebastian, we enter a cool upper room in the stately mansion of Don Garcia Ramirez. There, in the midst of gold and gems, and of silk and lace, Dona Inez is standing, busily engaged in the task of selecting the fairest treasures of her wardrobe to grace the grand festival of the following day. Dona Beatriz de Lavella, and the young waiting-woman who had been employed in the vain though generous effort to save Don Carlos, are both aiding her in the choice.

"Please your ladyship," said the girl, "I should recommend rose colour for the basquina. Then, with those beautiful pearls, my lord's late gift, my lady will be as fine as a d.u.c.h.ess; of whom, I hear, many will be there.--But what will Senora Dona Beatriz please to wear?"

"I do not intend to go, Juanita," said Dona Beatriz, with a little embarra.s.sment.

"Not intend to go!" cried the girl, crossing herself in surprise. "Not go to see the grandest sight there has been in Seville for many a year!

Worth a hundred bull-feasts! Ay de mi! what a pity!"

"Juanita," interposed her mistress, "I think I hear the senorita's voice in the garden. It is far too hot for her to be out of doors. Oblige me by bringing her in at once."

As soon as the attendant was gone, Dona Inez turned to her cousin. "It is really most unreasonable of Don Juan," she said, "to keep you shut up here, whilst all Seville is making holiday."

"I am glad--I have no heart to go forth," said Dona Beatriz, with a quivering lip.

"Nor have I too much, for that matter. My poor brother is so weak and ill to-day, it grieves me to the heart. Moreover, he is still so thoughtless about his poor soul. That is the worst of all. I never cease praying Our Lady to bring him to a better mind. If he would only consent to see a priest; but he was ever obstinate. And if I urge the point too strongly, he will think I suppose him dying."

"I thought his health had improved since you had him brought over here."

"Certainly he is happier here than he was in his father's house. But of late he seems to me to be sinking, and that quickly. And now, the Auto--"

"What of that?" asked Dona Beatriz, with a quick look, half suspicious and half frightened.

Dona Inez closed the door carefully, and drew nearer to her cousin.

"They say _she_ will be amongst the relaxed,"[#] she whispered.

[#] Those delivered over to the secular arm--that is, to death.

"Does he know it?" asked Beatriz.

"I fear he suspects something; and what to tell him, or not to tell him, I know not--Our Lady help me! Ay de mi! 'Tis a horrible business from beginning to end. And the last thing--the arrest of the sister, Dona Juana! A duke's daughter--a n.o.ble's bride. But--best be silent.

'Con el re e la Inquisition, Chiton! Chiton!'"[#]

[#]

"With the King or the Inquisition, Hush! Hush!"--_A Spanish proverb._

Thus, only in a few hurried words, spoken with 'bated breath, did Dona Inez venture to allude to the darkest and saddest of the horrible tragedies in that time of horrors. Nor shall we do more.

"Still, you know, amiga mia," she continued, "one must do like one's neighbours. It would be so ridiculous to look gloomy on a festival day.

Besides, every one would talk."

"That is why I say I am glad Don Juan made it his prayer to me that I would not go. For not to look sorrowful, when thy father, Don Manuel, and my aunt, Dona Katarina, are both doing their utmost to drive me out of my senses, would be past my power."

"Have they been urging the suit of Senor Luis upon thee again? My poor Beatriz, I am truly sorrow for thee," said Dona Inez, with genuine sympathy.

"Urging it again!" Beatriz repeated with flashing eyes. "Nay; but they have never ceased to urge it. And they spare not to say such wicked, cruel words. They tell me Don Juan is dishonoured by his brother's crime. Dishonoured, forsooth! Think of dishonour touching him! After the day of St. Quentin, the Duke of Savoy was not of that mind, nor our Catholic King himself. And they have the audacity to say that I can easily get absolved of my troth to him. Absolved of a solemn promise made in the sight of G.o.d and of Our Lady, and all the holy Saints! If _that_ be not heresy, as bad as--"

"Hush!" interrupted Dona Inez. "These are dangerous subjects.

Moreover, I hear some one knocking at the door."

It proved to be a page bearing a message.

"If it please Dona Beatriz de Lavella, Don Juan Alvarez de Santillanos y Menaya kisses the senora's feet, and most humbly desires the favour of an audience."

"I go," said Beatriz.

"Request Senor Don Juan to have the goodness to untire himself a little, and bring his Excellency fruit and wine," added Dona Inez. "My cousin,"

she said, turning to Beatriz as soon as the page left the room, "do you not know your cheeks are all aflame? Don Juan will think we have quarrelled. Rest you here a minute, and let me bathe them for you with this water of orange-flowers."

Beatriz submitted, though reluctantly, to her cousin's good offices.

While she performed them she whispered, "And be not so downcast, amiga mia. There is a remedy for most troubles. And as for yours, I see not why Don Juan himself should not save you out of them once for all." She added, in a whisper, two or three words that more than undid all the benefit which the cheeks of Beatriz might otherwise have derived from the application of the fragrant water.

"No use," was the agitated reply. "Even were it possible, _they_ would not permit it."

"You can come to visit me. Then trust me to manage the rest. The truth is, amiga mia," Dona Inez continued hurriedly, as she smoothed her cousin's dark glossy hair, "what between sickness, and quarrelling, and the Faith, and heresy, and prisons, there is so much trouble in the world that no one can help, it seems a pity not to help all one can. So you may tell Don Juan that if Dona Inez can do him a good turn she will not be found wanting. There, I despair of your cheeks. Yet I must allow that their crimson becomes you well. But you would rather hear that from Don Juan's lips than from mine. Go to him, my cousin." And with a parting kiss Beatriz was dismissed.

But if she expected any flattery that day from the lips of Don Juan, she was disappointed. His heart was far too sorrowful. He had merely come to tell his betrothed what he intended to do on the morrow--that dreadful morrow! "I have secured a station," he said, "from whence I can watch the whole procession, as it issues from the gate of the Triana. If _he_ is there, I shall dare everything for a last look and word. And a desperate man is seldom baffled. If even his dust is there, I shall stand beside it till all is over. If not--" Here he broke off, leaving his sentence unfinished, as if in that case it did not matter what he did.

Just then Dona Inez entered. After customary salutations, she said, "I have a request to make of you, my cousin, on the part of my brother, Don Gonsalvo. He desires to see you for a few moments."

"Senora my cousin, I am very much at your service, and at his."

Juan was accordingly conducted to the upper room where Gonsalvo lay.

And at the special request of the sick man, they were left alone together.

He stretched out a wasted hand to his cousin, who took it in silence, but with a look of compa.s.sion. For it needed only a glance at his face to show that death was there.

"I should be glad to think you forgave me," he said.