Loyola's General





She rushed to the window and gazed after him till he had disappeared,

then she uttered a deep cry of anguish, and, wholly overcome by her

agony, she sank down on her knees weeping and wailing, wringing her

hands, and raising them to God.



But just before so happy and joyful, she was now full of woe and

anguish; and bitter sighs of complaint came trembling from her lips.



"Oh, oh," moaned she, with sobs; "what terrible agonies are these, and

how full of despair the anguish that lacerates my breast! I have lain in

his arms; I have received his vows of love and accepted his kisses; and

these vows are not mine, and these kisses he gave not to me. He kissed

me, and he loves in me only her whom I hate. He lays his hands in mine

and utters vows of love which he dedicates to her. He thinks and feels

for her only--her alone. What a terrible torture this is! To be loved

under her name; under her name to receive the vows of love that yet

belong to me only--to me alone! For he loves me, me exclusively.

They are my lips that he kisses, my form that he embraces; to me are

addressed his words and his letters; and it is I that reply to them. He

loves me, me only, and yet he puts no faith in me. I am nothing to him,

naught but a lifeless image, like other women. This he has told me; and

I did not become frenzied; and I had the cruel energy to pass off the

tears wrung from me by despair, for tears of rapture. Oh, detestable,

horrible mockery of fate--to be what I am not, and not to be what I am!"



And with a shrill cry of agony she tore her hair, and with her fist

smote upon her breast, and wept and moaned aloud.



She heard naught; she saw naught; she felt naught but her inexpressible

and despairing anguish.



She did not once tremble for herself; she thought not at all of

this--that she would be lost if she were found in this place.



And yet at the other side of the room a door had opened, softly and

noiselessly, and a man had entered.



He shut the door behind him and walked up to Lady Jane, who still lay

on the floor. He stood behind her while she uttered her despairing

lamentation. He heard every word of her quivering lips; her whole heart

painfully convulsed and torn with grief lay unveiled before him; and she

knew it not.



Now he bent over her; and with his hand he lightly touched her shoulder.

At this touch she gave a convulsive start, as if hit by the stroke of a

sword, and her sobbing was immediately silenced.



An awful pause ensued. The woman lay on the floor motionless,

breathless, and near her, tall and cold as a figure of bronze, stood the

man.



"Lady Jane Douglas," said he then, sternly and solemnly, "stand up. It

becomes not your father's daughter to be upon her knees, when it is not

God to whom she kneels. But you are not kneeling to God, but to an idol,

which you yourself have made, and to which you hate erected a temple in

your heart. This idol is called 'Your own personal misfortune.' But it

is written, 'Thou shalt have no other Gods but me.' Therefore I say to

you once more, Lady Jane Douglas, rise from your knees, for it is not

your God to whom you kneel."



And as though these words exercised a magnetic power over her, she

raised herself up slowly from the floor, and now stood there before her

father, stern and cold as a statue of marble.



"Cast from you the sorrows of this world, which burden you, and hinder

you in the sacred work which God has imposed on you!" continued Earl

Douglas in his metallic, solemn voice. "It is written, 'Come unto Me,

all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest,' saith

our God. But you, Jane, you are to throw down your trouble at the foot

of the throne; and your burden will become a crown that will glorify

your head."



He laid his hand on her head, but she wildly shook it off.



"No," cried she, with heavy, faltering tongue, as if confused in a

dream. "Away with this crown! I wish no crown upon which devils have

laid a spell. I wish no royal robe that has been dyed crimson with the

blood of my beloved."



"She is still in the delirium of her anguish," muttered the earl, as

he contemplated the pale, trembling woman who had now sunk again to

her knees, and was staring straight before her with eyes bewildered

and stretched wide open. But the looks of the earl remained cold and

unmoved, and not the least compassion was aroused in him for his poor

daughter, now penetrated with anguish.



"Arise," said he, in a hard, steelly voice. "The Church, by my mouth,

commands you to serve her as you have vowed to do; that is to say, with

glad heart and a sense of your reliance on God; that is to say, with

smiling lips and a serene, beaming eye, as becomes a disciple inspired

by faith, and as you have sworn to do in the hands of our lord and

master, Ignatius Loyola."



"I cannot! I cannot!" moaned she, in a low tone. "I cannot be glad at

heart when despair, like a wild boar, is rending my heart; I cannot

command my eye to shine when my eyes are dimmed with tears of anguish.

Oh, have pity, have compassion! Remember that you are my father; that I

am your daughter--the daughter of a wife whom you loved, and who would

find in the grave no rest if she knew how you are racking and torturing

me. My mother, my mother, if thy spirit is near me, come and protect me.

Let thy mild looks overshadow my head, and breathe a breath of thy love

into the heart of this cruel father, who is ready to sacrifice his child

on the altar of his God."



"God has called me," said the earl, "and, like Abraham, I too will learn

to obey. But I will not adorn my victim with flowers, but with a royal

crown. I will not plunge a knife into her breast, but will put a golden

sceptre into her hand and say: Thou art a queen before men, but before

God be thou a faithful and obedient servant. Thou hast all to command.

But the holy Church, to whose service thou hast consecrated thyself, and

who will bless thee if thou art faithful, who will dash thee in pieces

with her curse if thou darest deal treacherously, she commands thee. No,

you are not my daughter, but the priestess of the Church, consecrated

to her holy service. No, I have no sympathy with your tear's and this

anguish, for I see the end of these sorrows, and I know that these tears

will be as a diadem of pearls about your temples. Lady Jane Douglas, it

is the saintly Loyola who sends you his commands by my mouth. Obey them,

not because I am your father, but because I am the general to whom you

have sworn obedience and fidelity unto your life's end."



"Then kill me, my father!" said she, feebly. "Let this life end, which

is but a torture, a protracted martyrdom. Punish me for my disobedience

by plunging your dagger deep into my breast. Punish me, and grudge me

not the repose of the grave."



"Poor enthusiast!" said the father; "suppose you, we would be foolish

enough to subject you to so light a punishment! No, no, if you dare, in

insolent disobedience, rebel against my commands, your penance shall be

a terrible one, and your punishment without end. I will not kill you,

but him whom you love; it will be his head that falls; and you will be

his murderess. He shall die on the scaffold and you--you shall live in

disgrace."



"Oh, horrible!" groaned Jane, as she buried her face in her hands.



Her father continued: "Silly, short-sighted child, who thought she could

play with the sword, and did not see that she herself might feel the

stroke of this double-edged blade! You wanted to be the servant of the

Church, that you might thereby become mistress of the world. You would

acquire glory, but this glory must not singe your head with its fiery

rays. Silly child! he who plays with fire will be consumed. But we

penetrated your thoughts and the wish of which you yourself were

unconscious. We looked into the depths of your being, and when we found

love there, we made use of love for our own purposes and your salvation.

What do you bewail, then, and why do you weep? Have we not allowed you

to love? Have we not authorized you to give yourself entirely up to this

love? Do you not call yourself Earl Surrey's wife, though you cannot

name to me the priest that married you? Lady Jane, obey, and we envy you

not the happiness of your love; dare to rebel against us, and disgrace

and shame overtake you, and you shall stand before all the world

disowned and scoffed at; you the strumpet, that--"



"Stop, my father!" cried Jane, as she sprang vehemently from the floor.

"Desist from your terrible words if you do not wish me to die of shame.

Nay, I submit, I obey! You are right, I cannot draw back."



"And why would you either? Is it not a life pleasant and full of

enjoyment? Is it not rare good fortune to see our sins transfigured to

virtue; to be able to account earthly enjoyment the service of Heaven?

And what do you bewail then? That he does not love you? Nay, he does

love you; his vows of love still echo in your ears; your heart still

trembles with the fruition of happiness. What matters it if the Earl of

Surrey with his inward eyes sees the woman he folds in his arms to be

another than you? Yet in reality he loves but you alone. Whether you are

for him named Catharine Parr or Jane Douglas, it is all the same if you

only are his love."



"But a day will come when he will discover his mistake, and when he will

curse me."



"That day will never come. The holy Church will find a way to avert

that, if you bow to her will and are obedient to her."



"I do bow to it!" sighed Jane. "I will obey; only promise me, my father,

that no harm shall happen to him; that I shall not be his murderess."



"No, you shall become his savior and deliverer. Only you must fulfil

punctually the work I commit to you. First of all, then, tell me the

result of your meeting to-day. He does not doubt that you are the

queen?"



"No, he believes it so firmly that he would take the sacrament on it.

That is to say, he believes it now because I have promised him to give

him publicly a sign by which he may recognize that it is the queen that

loves him."



"And this sign?" inquired her father, with a look beaming with joy.



"I have promised him that at the great tournament, the queen will give

him a rosette, and that in that rosette be will find a note from the

queen."



"Ah, the idea is an admirable one!" exclaimed Lord Douglas, "and only

a woman who wishes to avenge herself could conceive it. So, then, the

queen will become her own accuser, and herself give into our hands

a proof of her guilt. The only difficulty in the way is to bring the

queen, without arousing her suspicion, to wear this rosette, and to give

it to Surrey."



"She will do it if I beg her to do so, for she loves me; and I shall

so represent it to her that she will do it as an act of kindness to me.

Catharine is good-natured and agreeable, and cannot refuse a request."



"And I will apprise the king of it. That is to say, I shall take good

care not to do this myself, for it is always dangerous to approach a

hungry tiger in his cage and carry him his food, because he might in his

voracity very readily devour our own hand together with the proffered

meat."



"But how?" asked she with an expression of alarm. "Will he content

himself with punishing Catharine alone; will he not also crush him--him

whom he must look upon as her lover?"



"He will do so. But you yourself shall save him and set him free. You

shall open his prison and give him freedom, and he will love you--you,

the savior of his life."



"Father, father, it is a hazardous game that you are playing; and it

may happen that you will become thereby your daughter's murderer. For,

listen well to what I tell you; if his head falls, I die by my own

hands; if you make me his murderess, you become thereby mine; and I will

curse you and execrate you in hell! What to me is a royal crown if it is

stained with Henry Howard's blood? What care I for renown and honor,

if he is not there to see my greatness, and if his beaming eyes do not

reflect back to me the light of my crown? Protect him, therefore; guard

his life as the apple of your eye, if you wish me to accept the royal

crown that you offer me, so that the King of England may become again a

vassal of the Church!"



"And that the whole of devout Christendom may praise Jane Douglas,

the pious queen who has succeeded in the holy work of bringing the

rebellious and recreant son of the Church, Henry the Eighth, back to the

Holy Father in Rome, to the only consecrated lord of the Church, truly

penitent. On, on, my daughter; do not despond. A high aim beckons you,

and a brilliant fortune awaits you! Our holy mother, the Church, will

bless and praise you, and Henry the Eighth will declare you his queen."





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