CHAPTER SIX.
COSITAS DE ESPANA.
"On earth no word is said, I ween, But's registered in Heaven: What's here a jest, is there a sin Which may never be forgiven."
Blanche Enville sat on the terrace, on a warm September afternoon, witha half-finished square of wool-work in her hand, into which she wasputting a few stitches every now and then. She chose to imagine herselfhard at work; but it would have fatigued nobody to count the number ofrows which she had accomplished since she came upon the terrace. Thework which Blanche was really attending to was the staple occupation ofher life,--building castles in the air. At various times she had playedall manner of parts, from a captive queen, a persecuted princess, or aduchess in disguise, down to a fisherman's daughter saving a vessel indanger by the light in her cottage window. No one who knows how toerect the elegant edifices above referred to, will require to be toldthat whatever might be her temporary position, Blanche always acquittedherself to perfection: and that any of the airy _dramatis personae_ whofailed to detect her consummate superiority was either compassionatelyundeceived, or summarily crushed, at the close of the drama.
Are not these fantasies one of the many indications that all alonglife's pathway, the old serpent is ever whispering to us his firstlie,--"Ye shall be as gods?"
At the close of a particularly sensational scene, when Blanche had justsucceeded in escaping from a convent prison wherein the wicked. Queenher sister had confined her, the idea suddenly flashed upon theoppressed Princess that Aunt Rachel would hardly be satisfied with thestate of the kettle-holder; and coming down in an instant from air toearth, she determinately and compunctiously set to work again. Thesecond row of stitches was growing under her hands when, by that subtlepsychological process which makes us aware of the presence of anotherperson, though we may have heard and seen nothing, Blanche becameconscious that she was no longer alone. She looked up quickly, into theface of a stranger; but no great penetration was needed to guess thatthe young man before her was the shipwrecked Spaniard.
Blanche's first idea on seeing him, was a feeling of wonder that herfather should have thought him otherwise than "well-favoured." He washandsome enough, she thought, to be the hero of any number of dramas.
The worthy Knight's ideas as to beauty by no means coincided with thoseof his daughter. Sir Thomas thought that to look well, a man must notbe--to use his own phrase--"lass-like and finnicking." It was all verywell for a woman to have a soft voice, a pretty face, or a gracefulmien: but let a man be tall, stout, well-developed, and tolerably rough.So that the finely arched eyebrows, the languishing liquid eyes, thesoft delicate features, and the black silky moustache, which were thecharacteristics of Don Juan's face, found no favour with Sir Thomas, butwere absolute perfection in the captivated eyes of Blanche. When thosedark eyes looked admiringly at her, she could see no fault in them; andwhen a voice addressed her in flattering terms, she could readily enoughoverlook wrong accents and foreign idioms.
"Most beautiful lady!" said Don Juan, addressing himself to Blanche, andtranslating literally into English the usual style of his native land.
The epithet gave Blanche a little thrill of delight. No one--except themythical inhabitants of the airy castles--had ever spoken to her in thismanner before. And undoubtedly there was a zest in the living voice ofanother human being, which was unfortunately lacking in the denizens ofFairy Land. Blanche had never sunk so low in her own opinion as she didwhen she tried to frame an answer. She was utterly at a loss for words.Instead of the exquisitely appropriate language which would have risento her lips at once if she had not addressed a human being, she couldonly manage to stammer out, in most prosaic fashion, a hope that he wasbetter. But her consciousness of inferiority deepened, when Don Juanreplied promptly, with a low bow, and the application of his left handto the place where his heart was supposed to be, that the sight of herface had effected a full and immediate cure of all his ills.
Oh, for knowledge what to say to him, with due grace and effect! Whywas she not born a Spanish lady? And what would he think of her, withsuch plebeian work as this in her hand! "How he must despise me!"thought silly Blanche. "Why, I have not even a fan to flutter."
Don Juan was quite at his ease. Shyness and timidity were evidently notin the list of his failings.
"I think me fortunate, fair lady," sighed he, with another bow, "thatthis the misfortune me has made acquainted with your Grace. In mycountry, we say to the ladies; Grant me the soles of your foots. Buthere the gentlemen humble not themselves so low. I beseech your Grace,therefore, the favour to kiss you the hand."
Blanche wondered if all Spanish ladies were addressed as "your Grace."[Note 1.] How delightful! She held out her hand like a queen, and DonJuan paid his homage.
"Your Grace see me much happinessed. When I am again in my Andalusia, Icount it the gloriousest hour of my life that I see your sweet countryand the beautifullest of his ladies."
How far either Don Juan or Blanche might ultimately have gone in makingthemselves ridiculous cannot be stated, because at this momentMargaret--prosaic, literal Margaret--appeared on the terrace.
"Blanche! Aunt Rachel seeketh thee.--Your servant, Master! I trust youare now well amended?"
Don Juan was a very quick reader of character. He instantly realisedthe difference between the sisters, and replied to Margaret's inquiry ina calm matter-of-fact style. Blanche moved slowly away. She felt as ifshe were leaving the sunshine behind her.
"Well, of all the lazy jades!" was Rachel's deserved greeting. "Threerows and an half, betwixt twelve of the clock and four! Why, 'tis not afull row for the hour! Child, art thou 'shamed of thyself?"
"Well, just middling, Aunt Rachel," said Blanche, pouting a little.
"Blanche," returned her Aunt very gravely, "I do sorely pity thinehusband--when such a silly thing may win one--without he spend anhundred pound by the day, and keep a pack of serving-maids a-louting atthy heels."
"I hope he may, Aunt Rachel," said Blanche coolly.
"Eh, child, child!" And Rachel's head was ominously shaken.
From that time Don Juan joined the family circle at meals. Of course hewas a prisoner, but a prisoner on parole, very generously treated, andwith little fear for the future. He was merely a spectator, havingtaken no part in the war; there were old friends of his parents amongthe English nobility: no great harm was likely to come to him. So hefelt free to divert himself; and here was a toy ready to his hand.
The family circle were amused with the names which he gave them. SirThomas became "Don Tomas;" Lady Enville was "the grand Senora."Margaret and Lucrece gave him some trouble; they were not Spanish names.He took refuge in "Dona Mariquita" (really a diminutive of Maria), and"Dona Lucia." But there was no difficulty about "Dona Clara" and "DonaBlanca," which dropped from his lips (thought Blanche) like music.Rachel's name, however, proved impracticable. He contented himself with"_Senora mia_" when he spoke to her, and, "Your Lady Aunt" when he spokeof her.
He was ready enough to give some account of himself. His father, DonGonsalvo, Marquis de Las Rojas, was a grandee of the first class, and aLord in Waiting to King Philip; his mother, Dona Leonor de Torrejano,had been in attendance on Queen Mary. He had two sisters, whose nameswere Antonia and Florela; and a younger brother, Don Hernando. [Allfictitious persons.]
It flattered Blanche all the more that in the presence of others he wasdistantly ceremonious; but whenever they were alone, he was continually,though very delicately, hinting his admiration of her, and pouring softspeeches into her entranced ears. So Blanche, poor silly child I playedthe part of the moth, and got her wings well singed in the candle.
Whatever Blanche was, Don Juan himself was perfectly heart-whole. Ofcourse no grandee of Spain could ever descend so low as really tocontemplate marriage with a mere _caballero's_ daughter, and of aheretic country; that was out of the question. Moreover, there was afamily understanding that, a dispensation being obtained, he was tomar
ry his third cousin, Dona Lisarda de Villena, [A fictitious person] alady of moderate beauty and fabulous fortune. This arrangement had beenmade while both were little children, nor had Don Juan the leastintention of rendering it void. He was merely amusing himself.
It often happens that such amusements destroy another's happiness. Andit sometimes happens that they lead to the destruction of another'ssoul.
Don Juan won golden opinions from Sir Thomas and Lady Enville. He wasnot wanting in sense, said the former (to whom the sensible side of himhad been shown); and, he was right well-favoured, and so courtly! saidLady Enville--who had seen the courtly aspect.
"Well-favoured!" laughed Sir Thomas. "Calleth a woman yonder ladwell-favoured? Why, his face is the worst part of him: 'tis all satinand simpers!"
Rachel had not the heart to speak ill of the invalid whom she hadnursed, while she admitted frankly that there were points about himwhich she did not like: but these, no doubt, arose mainly from his beinga foreigner and a Papist. Margaret said little, but in her heart shedespised him. And presently Jack came home, when the volunteers weredisbanded, and, after a passage of arms, became the sworn brother of theyoung prisoner. He was such a gentleman! said Master Jack. So therewas not much likelihood of Blanche's speedy disenchantment.
"Marry, what think you of the lad, Mistress Thekla?" demanded Barbaraone day, when she was at "four-hours" at the parsonage.
"He is very young," answered Mrs Tremayne, who always excused everybodyas long as it was possible. "He will amend with time, we may wellhope."
"Which is to say, I admire him not," suggested Mrs Rose, now a very oldwoman, on whom time had brought few bodily infirmities, and no, mentalones.
"Who doth admire him, Barbara, at the Court?" asked Mr Tremayne.
"Marry La'kin! every soul, as methinks, save Mistress Meg, and Sim, andJennet. Mistress Meg--I misdoubt if she doth; and Sim says he is anincompoop; [silly fellow] and Jennet saith, he is as like as two peasto the old fox that they nailed up on the barn door when she was alittle maid. But Sir Thomas, and my Lady, and Master Jack, be mightytaken with him; and Mistress Rachel but little less: and as to MistressBlanche, she hath eyes for nought else."
"Poor Blanche!" said Thekla.
"Blanche shall be a mouse in a trap, if she have not a care," said MrsRose, with a wise shake of her head.
"Good lack, Mistress! she is in the trap already, but she wot it not."
"When we wot us to be in a trap, we be near the outcoming," remarked theRector.
"Of a truth I cannot tell," thoughtfully resumed Barbara, "whether thisyoung gentleman be rare deep, or rare shallow. He is well-nigh as illto fathom as Mistress Lucrece herself. Lo' you, o' Sunday morrow, SirThomas told him that the law of the land was for every man and woman inthe Queen's dominions to attend the parish church twice of the Sunday,under twenty pound charge by the month if they tarried at home, notbeing let by sickness: and I had heard him say himself that he lookedDon John should kick thereat. But what doth Don John but to take up hishat, and walk off to the church, handing of Mistress Rachel, as smilingas any man; and who as devote as he when he was there?--Spake the Amen,and sang in the Psalm, and all the rest belike. Good lack! I hadthought the Papists counted it sinful for to join in a Protestantservice."
"Not alway," said Mr Tremayne. "Maybe he hath the priest's licence inhis pocket."
"I wis not what he hath," responded Barbara, sturdily, "save and exceptmy good will; and that he hath not, nor is not like to have,--inespecial with Mistress Blanche, poor sely young maiden! that wot notwhat she doth."
"He may have it, then, in regard to Clare?" suggested Mrs Rosemischievously.
"Marry La'kin!" retorted Barbara in her fiercest manner. "But if Ithought yon fox was in any manner of fashion of way a-making up to myjewel,--I could find it in my heart to put rats-bane in his pottage!"
Sir Thomas transmitted to London the news of the wreck of the Dolorida,requesting orders concerning the seven survivors: at the same timekindly writing to two or three persons in high places, old acquaintancesof the young man's parents, to ask their intercession on behalf of DonJuan. But the weeks passed away, and as yet no answer came. The Queenand Council were too busy to give their attention to a small knot ofprisoners.
On the fourth of September in the Armada year, 1588, died Robert Dudley,the famous Earl of Leicester, who had commanded the army of defence atTilbury. This one man--and there was only one such--Elizabeth had neverceased to honour. He retained her favour unimpaired for thirty years,through good report--of which there was very little; and evil report--ofwhich there was a great deal. He saw rival after rival rise andflourish and fall: but to the end of his life, he stood alone as the onewhose brilliant day was unmarred by storm,--the King of England, becausethe King of her Queen. What was the occult power of this man, the lastof the Dudleys of Northumberland, over the proud spirit of Elizabeth?It was not that she had any affection for him: she showed that plainlyenough at his death, when her whole demeanour was not that of mourning,but of release. He was a man of extremely bad character,--a fact patentto all the world: yet Elizabeth kept him at her side, and admitted himto her closest friendship,--though she knew well that the rumours whichblackened his name did not spare her own. He never cleared himself ofthe suspected murder of his first wife; he never tried to clear himselfof the attempted murder of the second, whom he alternately asserted anddenied to be his lawful wife, until no one knew which story to believe.But the third proved his match. There was strong cause for suspicionthat twelve years before, Robert Earl of Leicester had given a lesson inpoisoning to Lettice Countess of Essex: and now the same Lettice,Countess of Leicester, had not forgotten her lesson. Leicester wastired of her; perhaps, too, he was a little afraid of what she knew.The deft and practised poisoner administered a dose to his wife. ButLettice survived, and poisoned him in return. And so the last of theDudleys passed to his awful account.
His death made no difference in the public rejoicing for the defeat ofthe Armada. Two days afterwards, the Spanish banners were exhibitedfrom Paul's Cross, and the next morning were hung on London Bridge. Thenineteenth of November was a holiday throughout the kingdom. On Sundaythe 24th, the Queen made her famous thanksgiving progress to SaintPaul's, seated in a chariot built in the form of a throne, with fourpillars, and a crowned canopy overhead. The Privy Council and the Houseof Lords attended her. Bishop Pierce of Salisbury preached the sermon,from the very appropriate text, afterwards engraved on the memorialmedals,--"He blew with His wind, and they were scattered."
All this time no word came to decide the fate of Don Juan. It was notexpected now before spring. A winter journey from Lancashire to Londonwas then a very serious matter.
"So you count it not ill to attend our Protestant churches, Master?"asked Blanche of Don Juan, as she sat in the window-seat, needlework inhand. It was a silk purse, not a kettle-holder, this time.
"How could I think aught ill, Dona Blanca, which I see your Grace do?"was the courtly reply of Don Juan.
"But what should your confessor say, did he hear thereof?" askedBlanche, provokingly.
"Is a confessor a monster in your eyes, fair lady?" said Don Juan, withthat smile which Blanche held in deep though secret admiration.
"I thought they were rarely severe," she said, bending her eyes on herwork.
"Ah, Senora, our faith differs from yours much less than you think.What is a confessor, but a priest--a minister? The Senor Tremayne is aconfessor, when one of his people shall wish his advice. Where lieththe difference?"
Blanche was too ignorant to know where it lay.
"I accounted there to be mighty difference," she said, hesitatingly.
"_Valgame los santos_! [The saints defend me!]--but a shade or two ofcolour. Hold we not the same creeds as you? Your Book of CommonPrayer--what is it but the translation of ours? We worship the sameGod; we honour the same persons, as you. Where, then, is thedifference? Our priests wed not; yours may. We
receive the HolyEucharist in one kind; you, in both. We are absolved in private, andmake confession thus; you, in public. Be these such mightydifferences?"
If Don Juan had thrown a little less dust in her eyes, perhaps Blanchemight have had sense enough to ask him where the Church of Rome hadfound her authority for her half of these differences, since itcertainly was not in Holy Scripture: and also, whether that communionheld such men as Cranmer, Latimer, Calvin, and Luther, in very highesteem? But the dust was much too thick to allow any stronger replyfrom Blanche than a feeble inquiry whether these really were all thepoints of difference.
"What other matter offendeth your Grace? Doubtless I can expound thesame."
"Why, I have heard," said Blanche faintly, selecting one of the smallercharges first, "that the Papists do hold Mary, the blessed Virgin, tohave been without sin."
"Some Catholics have that fantasy," replied Don Juan lightly. "It isonly a few. The Church binds it not on the conscience of any. You takeit--you leave it--as you will."
"Likewise you hold obedience due to the Bishop of Rome, instead of onlyunto your own Prince, as with us," objected Blanche, growing a shadebolder.
"That, again, is but in matters ecclesiastical. In secular matters, Ido assure your Grace, the Pope interfereth not."
Blanche, who had no answers to these subtle explainings away of thefacts, felt as if all her outworks were being taken, one by one.
"Yet," she said, bringing her artillery to bear on a new point, "youhave images in your churches, Don John, and do worship unto them?"
The word worship has changed its meaning since the days of QueenElizabeth. To do worship, and to do honour, were then interchangeableterms.
Don Juan smiled. "Have you no pictures in your books, Dona Blanca?These images are but as pictures for the teaching of the vulgar, thatcannot read. How else should we learn them? If some of the ignorantmake blunder, and bestow to these images better honour than the Churchdid mean them, the mistake is theirs. No man really doth worship untothese, only the vulgar."
"But do not you pray unto the saints?"
"We entreat the saints to pray for us; that is all."
"Then, in the Lord's Supper--the mass, you call it,"--said Blanche,bringing up at last her strongest battering-ram, "you do hold, as I havebeen taught, Don John, that the bread and wine be changed into the veryself body and blood of our Saviour Christ, that it is no more bread andwine at all. Now how can you believe a matter so plainly confuted byyour very senses?"
"Ah, if I had but your learning and wisdom, Senora!" sighed Don Juan,apparently from the bottom of his heart.
Blanche felt flattered; but she was not thrown off the scent, as heradmirer intended her to be. She still looked up for the answer; and DonJuan saw that he must give it.
"Sweetest lady! I am no doctor of the schools, nor have I studied forthe priesthood, that I should be able to expound all matters unto one ofyour Grace's marvellous judgment and learning. Yet, not to leave sofair a questioner without answer--suffer that I ask, your gracious leaveaccorded--did not our Lord say thus unto the holy Apostles,--`_Hoc estcorpus mens_,' to wit, `This is My Body?'"
Blanche assented.
"In what manner, then, was it thus?"
"Only as a memorial or representation thereof, we do hold, Don John."
"Good: as the child doth present [represent] the father, being of thelike substance, no less than appearance,--as saith the blessed SaintAugustine, and also the blessed Jeronymo, and others of the holy Fathersof the Church, right from the time of our Lord and His Apostles."
Don Juan had never read a line of the works of Jerome or Augustine.Fortunately for him, neither had Blanche,--a chance on which he safelycalculated. Blanche was completely puzzled. She sat looking out of thewindow, and thinking with little power, and to small purpose. She hadnot an idea when Augustine lived, nor whether he read the service in hisown tongue in a surplice, or celebrated the Latin mass in fullpontificals. And if it were true that all the Fathers, down from theApostles, had held the Roman view--for poor ignorant Blanche had not theleast idea whether it were true or false--it was a very awkward thing.Don Juan stood and watched her face for an instant. His diplomaticinstinct told him that the subject had better be dropped. All that wasneeded to effect this end was a few well-turned compliments, which hisingenuity readily suggested. In five minutes more the theologicaldiscussion was forgotten, at least by Blanche, as Don Juan was assuringher that in all Andalusia there were not eyes comparable to hers.
Mr Tremayne and Arthur came in to supper that evening. The formerquietly watched the state of affairs without appearing to noticeanything. He saw that Don Juan, who sat by Lucrece, paid her the mostcourteous attention; that Lucrece received it with a thinly-veiled airof triumph; that Blanche's eyes constantly followed, the young Spaniard:and he came to the conclusion that the affair was more complicated thanhe had originally supposed.
He waited, however, till Arthur and Lysken were both away, until he saidanything at home. When those young persons were safely despatched tobed, Mr and Mrs Tremayne and Mrs Rose drew together before the fire,and discussed the state of affairs at Enville Court.
"Now, what thinkest, Robin?" inquired Mrs Rose. "Is Blanche, _lapauvrette_! as fully taken with Don Juan as Barbara did suppose?"
"I am afeared, fully."
"And Don Juan?"
"If I mistake not, is likewise taken with Blanche: but I doubt somewhatif he be therein as wholehearted as she."
"And what say the elders?" asked Mrs Tremayne.
"Look on with _eyes_ which see nought. But, nathless, there be one pairof eyes that see; and Blanche's path is not like to run o'er smooth."
"What, Mistress Rachel?"
"Nay, she is blind as the rest. I mean Lucrece."
"Lucrece! Thinkest she will ope the eyes of the other?"
"I think she casteth about to turn Don Juan's her way."
"Alack, poor Blanche!" said Mrs Tremayne. "Howso the matter shall go,mefeareth she shall not 'scape suffering."
"She is no match for Lucrece," observed Mrs Rose.
"Truth: but I am in no wise assured Don Juan is not," answered MrTremayne with a slightly amused look. "As for Blanche, she is like tosuffer; and I had well-nigh added, she demeriteth the same: but it willdo her good, Thekla. At the least, if the Lord bless it unto her--beassured I meant not to leave out that."
"The furnace purifieth the gold," said Mrs Tremayne sadly: "yet theheat is none the less fierce for that, Robin."
"Dear heart, whether wouldst thou miss the suffering rather, and thepurifying, or take both together?"
"It is soon over, Thekla," said her mother, quietly.
During the fierce heat of the Marian persecution, those words had oncebeen said to Marguerite Rose. She had failed to realise them then. Thelesson was learned now--thirty-five years later.
"Soon over, to look back, dear Mother," replied Mrs Tremayne. "Yet itnever seems short to them that be in the furnace."
Mrs Rose turned rather suddenly to her son-in-law.
"Robin, tell me, if thou couldst have seen thy life laid out before theeon a map, and it had been put to thy choice to bear the Little Ease, orto leave go,--tell me what thou hadst chosen?"
For Mr Tremayne had spent several months in that horrible funnel-shapedprison, aptly termed Little Ease, and had but just escaped from it withlife. He paused a moment, and his face grew very thoughtful.
"I think, Mother," he said at length, "that I had chosen to go throughwith it. I learned lessons in Little Ease that, if I had lacked now, Ihad been sorely wanting to my people; and--speaking as a man--thatperchance I could have learned nowhere else."
"Childre," responded the aged mother, "it seemeth me, that of all matterwe have need to learn, the last and hardest is to give God leave tochoose for us. At least, thus it hath been with me; it may be I mistaketo say it is for all. Yet I am sure he is the happy man that learnethit soon. It hath taken me well-nigh eighty
years. Thou art better,Robin, to have learned it in fifty."
"I count, Mother, we learn not all lessons in the same order," said theRector, smiling, "though there be many lessons we must all learn. 'Tisnot like to be my last,--without I should die to-morrow--if I havelearned it thoroughly now. And 'tis easier to leave in God's hands,some choices than other."
Mrs Rose did not ask of what he was thinking, but she could guesspretty well. It would be harder to lose his Thekla now, than if he hadcome out of Little Ease and had found her dead: harder to lose Arthur inhis early manhood, than to have seen him coffined with his baby brotherand sisters, years ago. Mrs Tremayne drew a long sigh, as if she hadguessed it too.
"It would be easier to leave all things to God's choice," she said, "ifonly we dwelt nearer God."
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Note 1. "Vuesa merced," the epithet of ordinary courtesy, is literally"Your Grace."