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Scarcely had our devout pilgrims set foot on one of the two entrances that lead to the valley, which is formed and enclosed by the lofty mountains of Guadaloupe, than at each fresh step they found new subjects of admiration; but their admiration reached the highest possible point when they saw the noble and sumptuous monastery, the walls of which contain the blessed image of the Queen of Heaven; that blessed image, which gives freedom to the captive, cleanses his sins, and relieves his distress; that blessed image, which gives health to the sick, comfort to the afflicted, which is a mother to the orphan, and a defence from all misfortune. They entered the church, and where they expected to find walls adorned with the Tyrian purple, the damask of Syria, the brocades of Milan, in their place they saw, crutches left by the cripple, wax eyes that had belonged to the blind, arms hung there by the maimed, shrouds cast aside by the dead, all, who after having been cast down by misery, now living, healthy, free and happy, loudly return thanks to the Mother of mercies, who in this small space, makes intercession with her blessed Son for his infinite mercy.
So strong an impression was made upon the hearts of the devout pilgrims by all these miracles, that they gazed around them, fancying that they saw in the air the captive in his chains, coming to hang them up on the holy walls. The lame and infirm trailing their crutches along with them, the dead corpse its winding-sheet, seeking where to place them, and not finding space left, so great was the number those walls already held.
This sight, which had never been seen before by Periander, Auristella, Ricla, Constance, or the young Antonio, filled them with awe and wonder; and they were never tired of gazing, nor of admiring; so with devout and humble minds they knelt down to adore the Saviour, and implore the intercession of his holy Mother. But what most deserved notice was, that Feliciana, on bended knees, and with clasped hands, pressed to her breast, whilst tears of tender sorrow bathed her cheeks, almost without appearing to move her lips, or make any sign of being a living creature, raised her voice, and sang some verses which she knew by heart, and which afterwards she gave them in writing. Her sweet and most melodious singing enchanted the senses of all her hearers, and well proved that she had not praised her own voice too highly, fully satisfying the strong wish of all the pilgrims to hear her.
She had sung about four stanzas, when some strangers entered the church, who knelt down, as they were induced to do both by custom and devotion. They were also struck by the voice of Feliciana, who went on singing; and one among them, who seemed rather advanced in years, turning to the person nearest him, said, "Either that is the voice of some angel in Heaven, or it is that of my daughter Feliciana." "Who can doubt it?" replied the other. "There she is, but there she shall not be long, if my arm can strike a sure blow;" so saying, he grasped his poignard, and with hurried steps, white with passion, he was approaching the spot where Feliciana knelt. The venerable old man followed, and drawing him back hastily, said, "This is no place, my son, for punishment. Take time, for now this traitress cannot escape from us, and do not, in seeking to chastise the fault of another, bring down a judgment upon thine own head."
These words, and the disturbance altogether, had stopped the mouth of Feliciana, and put the pilgrims into some consternation, and also every one else in the church. They were not able to prevent the father and brother of Feliciana from dragging her out of the church into the street, where they were very soon joined by a crowd of people, with the officers of justice, who released her from the grasp of those who seemed more like executioners than father or brother.
Things being in this confusion, the father demanding his daughter, and the brother his sister, whilst the magistrate refused to give her up to them until he could learn the state of the case, a little party of horsemen entered on one side of the open place, two of whom were immediately recognised by most of the persons present, as Don Francisco Pizarro, and Don Juan de Orellana. They came up to the spot where the tumult was, and another gentleman with them, whose face was covered with a veil of black taffeta, and inquired the cause of all this disturbance. They were told that nobody knew what was the matter, except that the officers of justice were defending a pilgrim, whom two men, callingthemselves her father and brother, wanted to kill. Don Francisco and Don Juan were listening to this account, when the muffled cavalier, leaping from his horse, drew his sword, and uncovering his face, placed himself at Feliciana's side, and cried aloud, "It is from me, sirs, that you must take the satisfaction that you desire for Feliciana's fault, if it be a fault that deserves death for a lady to marry against her parents' consent. Feliciana is my wife, and I am Rosanio, as you see, not so humble in condition as to be undeserving that you should give me openly that which I chose secretly. I am of noble birth, of which I can show you the proofs: I am rich enough to support her as my wife; I do not think it right that what I have gained by good fortune should be taken from me by Louis Antonio, at your pleasure; and if you think I have offended you by that which I have done without your consent, pardon the fault, which was caused by the all-powerful force of love, and the finding you already so well inclined towards Louis Antonio, which made me forget the duty I owed you, for which once more I entreat your pardon."
Whilst he spoke thus, he held Feliciana clasped close round the waist, all trembling and full of terror, but still all beautiful. Before her father or brother could speak a word, Don Francisco embraced the former, and Don Juan the latter, who were their intimate friends. Don Francisco said to the father, "Where is your prudence gone, Senor Don Pedro Tenorio? Is it possible that you desire to do what is so much against your own interests? Do not you see that this offence brings its own excuse along with it? What is there in Rosanio undeserving of Feliciana, or what will become of her in future if she loses Rosanio?"
The same or similar arguments were used by Don Juanwith the brother, adding more, for he said, "Don Sancho, passion never ends well, and an angry spirit rarely hits correctly: your sister chose a good husband for herself; you would do ill to take vengeance, because they failed in the proper ceremony and respect that was due to you.
"Look you, Don Sancho, I have in my house at home, a nephew of yours you cannot disown, unless you disown yourself, he is so like you."
The answer of the father was to go to his son and take away the poignard from his hands, after which he embraced Rosanio, who fell at the feet of his father-in-law and embraced them a thousand times. Feliciana also fell on her knees, half fainting, at her father's feet, amid a flood of tears and sighs.
The bystanders were delighted; the father got credit for his conduct: the son also, and the two friends, for their prudent advice. The Corregidor invited them all to his house; the prior of the monastery showed them great hospitality; the pilgrims visited all the relics, which are very numerous, holy, and rich. They confessed themselves, received the Sacrament, and during the time they stayed, Don Francisco sent for the child, which the shepherd's sister had brought him, and which was the same that Rosanio delivered to Periander. It was so lovely, that the grandfather, when he saw it, forgetting all his cause for anger, exclaimed, "A blessing on the mother who bore thee, and on thy father also;" and taking it into his arms, he covered it with kisses and tears.
Feliciana, with her father, brother, and husband, returned home, taking the child with them, all well pleased with the happy conclusion of the business.
The pilgrims stayed four days at Guadaloupe, duringwhich they began seeing the monastery. I say they began to see it, because, to come to the end of seeing its many wonders, would be impossible. They next went to Truxillo, where they met with a most friendly reception from the two noble gentlemen, Don Francisco Pizarro and Don Juan de Orellana. There, the story of Feliciana was again discussed, and her voice and conduct met with due praise, as well as the kind behaviour of her father and brother. From Truxillo they went, after about two days' stay, to Talavera, where they found preparations making to celebrate the great feast of the world, whose origin began many years before the birth of Christ, and which Christians have brought to so good a conclusion, that what the Heathens did in honour of the goddess Venus, is now devoted to celebrate the praise of the blessed Virgin. They would much have liked to see this, but not wishing for any delay, they went on without satisfying their desire.
(Note.) There are here three Chapters omitted, Chap. 6, 7, and 8, in order to shorten the Story a little, and not possessing much interest or merit.
(Note.) There are here three Chapters omitted, Chap. 6, 7, and 8, in order to shorten the Story a little, and not possessing much interest or merit.
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The spirits of Antonio rose when he breathed again his native air. Ricla and her two children rejoiced to think that they soon should see,—she, her father and mother-in-law, and they, their grand-parents, for Antonio had discovered that they were yet living, in spite of the grief that his absence had given them. He also heard that his adversary had inherited his father's estate, and that he had died in amity with his (Antonio's) father, because it had been proved, from many circumstances, that what Antonio did was not an affront, because they were words spoken in the heat of a quarrel, and with drawn swords, and that the glitter of steel takes away the strength of words, and such words as are spoken with the sword drawn are not affronts, though they may be aggravating: so he who wishes to avenge himself for them, has only to chastise an offence, and not to satisfy himself for an affront as happened in this case. Let us suppose that I mention a fact which is as clear as the day; I am answered that it is an error, that I lie, and shall lie every time I repeat the said fact; and this is supported moreover by the person who utters it clapping his hand on the hilt of his sword, by way of maintaining his assertion.I, who am thus given the lie, have no need to return to the fact I mentioned, which cannot be denied, but I am obliged to chastise the person who gave me the lie for his want of respect; else he who has had the lie direct given to him, could not meet any one in the field till he has received satisfaction: as I before said, there is a great difference between an affront and an injury; in short, I say that Antonio knew that his father and his former enemy were friends, and that since they were so, they must have considered all the circumstances of his case thoroughly.
Pleased and contented with this good news, he set off again on his journey with his companions, to whom he told all he had heard of his affairs, and that a brother of the man he had considered his enemy, had inherited the estates, and was living on the same friendly terms with his father as his deceased brother had done. It was Antonio's wish that none of them should do anything but as he ordered, as he intended to make them known to his father, not suddenly, but in some circuitous way, so as to increase the pleasure of the discovery, for sometimes too sudden a joy will kill like a sudden grief.
About three days' more travel brought them at dusk to his father's house. The father and mother were sitting at the door of their house, enjoying the freshness of the evening air, for it was the summer season. They all approached together, and Antonio spoke first to his father. "Is there by chance in this place a hospital for pilgrims, sir?" he asked. "As our inhabitants are good Christians," replied the father, "every house is an hospital for pilgrims, and if no other should be so, mine, as far as it goes, may serve for you all."
"Is not this place called Quintanas de la Orden, sir," asked Antonio; "and does not a person live here called by some a gentleman of the name of Villaseñores? I ask you this, because I knew a man of this name in far distant countries, and if he was here, neither I nor my companions need go anywhere for a lodging."
"And what was the name of this Villaseñores of whom you speak?" asked the mother.
"He was called Antonio," replied Antonio, "and his father's name was, if I remember right, Diego de Villaseñor."
"Ah, sir!" cried the mother, rising from her seat, "and to my sorrow it is now seventeen years that he has been missing from his native land. How many tears, sighs, and prayers, have been exhausted for his restoration to me; would to God that these eyes may ever again behold him, before they are closed in eternal night. Tell me, is it long since you saw him? is it long since you left him? was he in good health? did he talk of returning home? does he remember his parents, to whom he may now come back, for he has no enemies to hinder his doing so. Those who caused his departure from his own country, are now friends."
The old father listened to all these words, and then called aloud to his servants to bring lights, and to admit into the house the pilgrim guests, and going up to his as yet unknown son, he embraced him closely, saying, "For your sake alone I would gladly give you all lodging, even though it were not my custom to receive pilgrims, but now this glad tidings that you have brought increases my inclination to do so, and makes me doubly desirous to serve you."
By this time the servants had brought lights, and shownthe pilgrims into the house; and from the middle of a spacious court, which they entered, came forth two pretty and well-mannered young girls, sisters of Antonio, who had both been born since he went away. They were charmed with the beauty of Auristella, and the loveliness of Constance, their niece, also with the pleasant looks of their sister-in-law, Ricla. They could not sufficiently load them with blessings and embraces; but when they expected to see their father enter with the new guests, they saw a confused crowd of people come in also, bringing on their shoulders, upon a seat, a seemingly dead man, whom they knew at once to be the count, who had inherited the estates of him who once had been their brother's enemy. The tumult of the crowd, the confusion that their parents were in, and the care of receiving their new guests embarrassed them so much that they knew not whom to turn to, nor whom to ask for the cause of all this disturbance. Their parents had the count brought in; he was shot through the shoulders with a ball in an affray between two parties of soldiers, who were lodged in the town, and the townspeople; the ball had passed through into his breast, and on seeing himself wounded, he had ordered his servants to carry him to the house of Diego de Villaseñor, his friend, and he was brought thither exactly at the very moment when he was about to offer hospitality to his son, his daughter-in-law, and his two grand-children, and to Periander and Auristella. She, taking Antonio's sisters by the hand, prayed that they would take her away from all the tumult, and allow her to rest in some apartment where she might be alone. They did as she desired, not without again admiring her peerless beauty.
Constance, who felt the force of kindred blood animateher heart, neither wished nor would separate from her aunts, who were both of the same age, and of equal beauty. The same feelings actuated the boy Antonio, who, forgetful of all the laws of good breeding and the obligations he owed to his hosts, was so bold in his delight as to embrace one of his aunts, which a servant of the family seeing, said, "For your life, sir pilgrim, keep your hands quiet, for the master of this house is not a man to be trifled with, and you will have to beat a retreat in spite of your shameless behaviour."
"By Heaven, my friend," answered the boy, "this that I have done is very little to what I intend doing, if Heaven favours my wish, which is to be at the service of these fair ladies, and all those of the house."
Meanwhile the wounded man had been placed in a rich bed, and two surgeons called in, who staunched the blood and examined the wound, which they pronounced mortal, and beyond all human remedies. The whole town was in arms against the soldiers, who had marched out into the country in battle array, ready to fight if the people came out to attack them. For some time, little availed the anxiety of the commanding officers to restore peace, nor the Christian cares of the priests and monks of the town, the people of which, a light cause will easily excite and rouse into commotion. However, day came, and the soldiers were made to march off by their officers, and the townspeople were persuaded to remain within the town, in spite of the bad feeling and anger the soldiers had excited.
By slow degrees, little by little, Antonio discovered himself to his parents, and presented to them their two grand-children and daughter-in-law, whom they received with many tears. The beauty of Auristella, and the grace of Periander, gained admiration from all eyes and hearts. This pleasure, as unexpected as it was great,—this unlooked-for arrival of his son and his family, interrupted, and for a time almost did away with the sad misfortune of the count, who grew worse and worse every hour; however, he presented his children to him, and anew offered him the services of the whole family, and everything that could be required for his comfort and convenience; for although he had wished to remove to his own house, it would not have been possible, so slight were the hopes of his recovery.
Auristella and Constance never left his bedside, but, moved by Christian compassion and kindness, made themselves his nurses, against the desire of the surgeons, who ordered him to be left alone, or at least not attended by the women. But Heaven, that directs and disposes all things in a manner which we cannot fathom, so ordered it in this case, that the count's last hour drawing nigh, he one day, before he took a final leave of them all, sent for Diego de Villaseñor, and when they were alone together, spoke to him thus:—"I left home intending to go to Rome this year, in which the supreme Pontiff has opened the ark of the Church's treasure, and made known to us as in a holy year, the infinite graces that are to be obtained thereby. I meant to travel expeditiously, but as a poor pilgrim, rather than as a rich gentleman. I entered this town, found an affray going on, as you have heard, between the soldiers who were lodging in it, and the inhabitants: I mingled with them, and in trying to save the lives of others, have lost my own, for this wound so treacherously dealt, as I may say, will in a short time end my existence. I do not know by whose hand it was given, for in these popular tumults all is confusion.My death will not grieve me, unless it should be the cause of that of others, either for justice, or to avenge mine. Nevertheless, to do all that is in my power, I here say that I forgive my murderer, and all who may have been guilty with him; and I also desire to show my gratitude for all the kindness I have received in your house, and the mark I wish to give will be the very greatest you can possibly imagine. In the two chests, which you see here, which contain my wardrobe, I believe I have as much as twenty thousand ducats in gold and in jewels, which do not take up much room; and if this sum, instead of being so small, was as great as the mines of Potosí contain, I would do the same with it as I am now doing. Take it then, or rather make the lady Constance your grand-daughter, take it, for I give it to her in earnest as a marriage portion; and further, I desire to espouse her myself; so that although she will be speedily a widow, she will be at the same time honoured as a wife and a maid. Send for her hither, and fetch a priest to perform the ceremony. Her merit, her beauty, and her Christian virtues, make her worthy to be queen of the whole world. Do not be surprised, sir, at what you hear, and believe all I say, for it will be no such monstrous novelty for a nobleman to marry a poor gentleman's daughter, in whom unites every quality that can make a woman desirable. Heaven wills it—my own wishes lead me to it. Go then, be discreet, and without answering a word, fetch some one who can perform the marriage ceremony between me and your grand-daughter, and also some one who can draw up the writings about the money and jewels, so that no slander can ever undo that which I bestow on her."
Villaseñor was greatly astonished at this discourse, andbelieved that without a doubt the count's senses were bewildered, and that his death was near at hand, since at that moment, for the most part, men either say very fine things or very great follies; and so he answered thus:—"My lord, I trust in God that you will recover your health, and then you will more clearly see; and when no pain disturbs you, more plainly feel what you are about as to the way you wish to bestow your wealth; and the wife you will choose, my grand-child, is not your equal. She is very far from deserving the honour of being your wife; and I am not so greedy as to wish to buy the honour you would do me, with what vulgar tongues would surely say (always ready to believe evil). It seems to me that it would be said that I had you in my house, that I worked upon your mind, and did all this from avarice."
"Let the world say what it likes," said the count; "if the vulgar portion of it will deceive itself, then let it be deceived in what it thinks of you."
"Well then," said Villaseñor, "I will not be so foolish as to set myself against the good fortune that offers itself to me;" and so saying, he left the room, and related what the count had said, to his wife and grand-children, and to Periander and Auristella, who were of opinion that without delay the offer should be accepted, and a person sent for to bring the affair to a conclusion.
He did so, and in less than two hours Constance was married to the count, and the gold and jewels in her possession, with all the securities and confirmations that could possibly be made. There was no music at this wedding, only sighs and tears, for the life of the count was ebbing fast away. On the day that followed the marriage ceremony, they all received the Sacrament, and the count expired in the arms of his wife, the countess Constance, who, covering her head with a black veil, fell on her knees, and raising her eyes to Heaven, she began to say, "I vow;" but hardly had she begun to speak, when she was stopped by Auristella. "What are you going to vow?" said she. "To become a nun," replied the countess. "Stay and consider this," answered Auristella; "those things we would do to serve God ought not to be done in haste; nor as if they were impelled by some sudden accident; and as it is owing to your husband's death that you are about to make this vow, which afterwards, perhaps, you may not wish to fulfil, leave your will in the hands of God; and your own discretion, and that of your parents and relations, will be able to advise and direct you in the path it will be best to take, and give orders for the interment of your husband; and trust in God, that since you have been so unexpectedly made a countess, it may please him to bestow some other title and honour that will be more lasting than this is."
The countess yielded to this reasoning, and gave directions concerning the funeral of the count. A younger brother arrived, to whom the news had been sent at Salamanca, where he was studying. He wept for his brother's death, but the expectation of his inheritance helped to dry the tears. When he heard what had been done, he embraced his sister-in-law, and did not contest the gift. He buried his brother so as to remove him afterwards to his own place, and set out for the king's court, to demand justice against his murderers. He gained his suit,—the captains were beheaded, and many of the townspeople received punishment. Constance remained with the rank and title of countess.
Periander began to think of continuing their journey, in which the elder Antonio no longer wished to bear him company; neither did his wife Ricla, weary of such long pilgrimages and wanderings, which had not, however, tired their son Antonio, nor the young countess, who could not exist separate from Auristella and Periander.
All this time Antonio had never shown his grandfather the canvass on which their history was painted. One day he was displaying it, and telling the story, he observed that one part was still wanting—that of how Auristella got to the barbarous isle, when she and Periander had met in changed attire; she, in that of a man, and he, dressed in female garments—a strange metamorphosis—to which Auristella answered, "That it would be told in a few words, that when the pirates stole her and Clelia, with the two young wives of the fishermen, from the shores of Denmark, they came to an uninhabited island, in order to divide their spoil, and not being able to do this equally, one of the chief among them said, 'He should be satisfied with herself as his share,' and even added gifts to those of the others to make them more equal. Thus," said she, "was I thrown into his power alone, and deprived of a companion to alleviate my misfortunes. He made me put on the dress of a man, and thus I accompanied him to many different places, serving and obeying him in all that was consistent with honour. At length we arrived at the barbarous isle, there we were surprised and made prisoners by the barbarians. He died in the affray, and I was thrown into the prison cave, where I found my beloved Clelia, who by other not less unfortunate adventures had been brought hither. From her I learned the history of these barbarians, the vain superstition that they held, and the ridiculous and false prophecy. She also told me that she had great reason to believe that my brother Periander had been in the same dungeon, but she had not been able to speak to him, from the haste the barbarians were in to drag him out to be sacrificed. I wished to accompany Clelia to ascertain the truth, as I was in the dress of a man, and in spite of her entreaties, who would fain have prevented my doing so, I willingly delivered myself to be sacrificed by the barbarians, persuaded that it would be infinitely better to end my life at once, than to be perpetually in danger of losing it day after day. And now I have nothing more to say, since you all know well what followed after this."
The old Villaseñor wished this also to be added to the picture, and all agreed that it should be done, and that the history of such wonderful and unheard-of adventures ought not to be merely depicted upon a perishable canvass, but should be written on tables of bronze, and graven on the memories of men.
Meanwhile Villaseñor desired to keep the picture, if only to look upon the well portrayed likenesses of his children, and the unequalled beauty of Periander and Auristella.
In a few days the departure was determined upon, that they might accomplish their vow at Rome. Antonio, the father, remained at home, but the younger Antonio would not stay behind, nor his sister, the young Constance, whose affection for Auristella was such, as I have said before, that it would have carried her, not only to Rome, but if it could be done together, she would gladly have accompanied her to the other world.
The day of parting came, and they had tears, and embraces, and grievous sighs, especially from Ricla, who felt in losing her children as if her very heart went with them. The grandfather bestowed his blessing upon them all, for the blessing of an old person is a thing that avails much in such undertakings.
They took one of the servants of the house along with them to be of service on the journey, and set out, leaving the parental home sorrowful; and half in joy, half in sadness, went on their way.