The Spanish Brothers: A Tale of the Sixteenth Century Read online

  Produced by Al Haines.

  Cover]

  THE ALGUAZILS PRODUCING THEIR WARRANT FOR ARREST.]

  THE SPANISH BROTHERS.

  A Tale of the Sixteenth Century.

  _By the Author of_ "_THE CZAR: A TALE OF THE FIRST NAPOLEON._" &c. &c.

  [Transcriber's note: Author was Deborah Alcock]

  "Thy loving-kindness is better than life."

  London T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW. EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK. 1888.

  CONTENTS.

  I. BOYHOOD II. THE MONK'S LETTER III. SWORD AND CASSOCK IV. ALCALA DE HENAREZ V. DON CARLOS FORGETS HIMSELF VI. DON CARLOS FORGETS HIMSELF STILL FURTHER VII. THE DESENGANO VIII. THE MULETEER IX. EL DORADO FOUND X. DOLORES XI. THE LIGHT ENJOYED XII. THE LIGHT DIVIDED FROM THE DARKNESS XIII. SEVILLE XIV. THE MONKS OF SAN ISODRO XV. THE GREAT SANBENITO XVI. WELCOME HOME XVII. DISCLOSURES XVIII. THE AGED MONK XIX. TRUTH AND FREEDOM XX. THE FIRST DROP OF A THUNDER SHOWER XXI. BY THE GUADALQUIVIR XXII. THE FLOOD-GATES OPENED XXIII. THE REIGN OF TERROR XXIV. A GLEAM OF LIGHT XXV. WAITING XXVI. DON GONSALVO'S REVENGE XXVII. MY BROTHER'S KEEPER XXVIII. REAPING THE WHIRLWIND XXIX. A FRIEND AT COURT XXX. THE CAPTIVE XXXI. MINISTERING ANGELS XXXII. THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH XXXIII. ON THE OTHER SIDE XXXIV. FRAY SEBASTIAN'S TROUBLE XXXV. THE EVE OF THE AUTO XXXVI. "THE HORRIBLE AND TREMENDOUS SPECTACLE" XXXVII. SOMETHING ENDED AND SOMETHING BEGUNXXXVIII. NUERA AGAIN XXXIX. LEFT BEHIND XL. "A SATISFACTORY PENITENT" XLI. MORE ABOUT THE PENITENT XLII. QUIET DAYS XLIII. EL DORADO FOUND AGAIN XLIV. ONE PRISONER SET FREE XLV. TRIUMPHANT XLVI. IS IT TOO LATE? XLVII. THE DOMINICAN PRIOR XLVIII. SAN ISODRO ONCE MORE XLIX. FAREWELL

  THE SPANISH BROTHERS.

  I.

  Boyhood.

  "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."--Longfellow.

  On one of the green slopes of the Sierra Morena, shaded by a fewcork-trees, and with wild craggy heights and bare brown wastesstretching far above, there stood, about the middle of the sixteenthcentury, a castle even then old and rather dilapidated. It had oncebeen a strong place, but was not very spacious; and certainly, accordingto our modern ideas of comfort, the interior could not have been aparticularly comfortable dwelling-place. A large proportion of it wasoccupied by the great hall, which was hung with faded, well-repairedtapestry, and furnished with oaken tables, settles, and benches, veryelaborately carved, but bearing evident marks of age. Narrow unglazedslits in the thick wall admitted the light and air; and beside one ofthese, on a gloomy autumn morning, two boys stood together, watching therain that poured down without intermission.

  They were dressed exactly alike, in loose jackets of blue cloth,homespun, indeed, but so fresh and neatly-fashioned as to look morebecoming than many a costlier dress. Their long stockings were of silk,and their cuffs and wide shirt-frills of fine Holland, carefullystarched and plaited. The elder--a very handsome lad, who lookedfourteen at least, but was really a year younger--had raven hair, blacksparkling eager eyes, good but strongly-marked features, and acomplexion originally dark, and well-tanned by exposure to sun and wind.A broader forehead, wider nostrils, and a weaker mouth, distinguishedthe more delicate-looking younger brother, whose hair was also lessdark, and his complexion fairer.

  "Rain--rain! Will it rain for ever?" cried, in a tone of impatience,the elder, whose name was Juan; or rather, his proper style and title(and very angry would he have felt had any part been curtailed oromitted) was Don Juan Rodrigo Alvarez de Santillanos y Menaya. He wasof the purest blood in Spain; by the father's side, of noblest Castilianlineage; by the mother's, of an ancient Asturian family. Well he knewit, and proudly he held up his young head in consequence, in spite ofpoverty, and of what was still worse, the mysterious blight that hadfallen on the name and fortunes of his house, bringing poverty in itstrain, as the least of its attendant evils.

  "'Rising early will not make the daylight come sooner,' nor watchingbring the sunshine," said the quick-witted Carlos, who, apt in learningwhatever he heard, was already an adept in the proverbial philosophywhich was then, and is now, the inheritance of his race.

  "True enough. So let us fetch the canes, and have a merry play. Or,better still, the foils for a fencing match."

  Carlos acquiesced readily, though apparently without pleasure. In alloutward things, such as the choice of pursuits and games, Juan was theunquestioned leader, Carlos never dreamed of disputing his fiat. Yet inother, and really more important matters, it was Carlos who, quiteunconsciously to himself, performed the part of guide to hisstronger-willed but less thoughtful brother.

  Juan now fetched the carefully guarded foils with which the boys wereaccustomed to practise fencing; either, as now, simply for their ownamusement, or under the instructions of the gray-haired Diego, who hadserved with their father in the Emperor's wars, and was now mayor-domo,butler, and seneschal, all in one. He it was, moreover, from whomCarlos had learned his store of proverbs.

  "Now stand up. Oh, you are too low; wait a moment." Juan left the hallagain, but quickly returned with a large heavy volume, which he threw onthe floor, directing his brother to take his stand upon it.

  Carlos hesitated. "But what if the Fray should catch us using our greatHorace after such a fashion!"

  "I just wish he might," answered Juan, with a mischievous sparkle in hisblack eyes.

  The matter of height being thus satisfactorily adjusted, the game began,and for some time went merrily forward. To do the elder brotherjustice, he gave every advantage to his less active and less skilfulcompanion; often shouting (with very unnecessary exertion of his lungs)words of direction or warning about fore-thrust, side-thrust, back-handstrokes, hitting, and parrying. At last, however, in an unlucky moment,Carlos, through some awkward movement of his own in violation of therules of the game, received a blow on the cheek from his brother's foil,severe enough to make the blood flow. Juan instantly sprang forward,full of vexation, with an "Ay de mi!" on his lips. But Carlos turnedaway from him, covering his face with both hands; and Juan, much to hisdisgust, soon heard the sound of a heavy sob.

  "You little coward!" he exclaimed, "to weep for a blow. Shame--shameupon you."

  "Coward yourself, to call me ill names when I cannot fight you,"retorted Carlos, as soon as he could speak for weeping.

  "That is ever your way, little tearful. _You_ to talk of going to findour father! A brave man you would make to sail to the Indies and fightthe savages. Better sit at home and spin, with Mother Dolores."

  Far too deeply stung to find a proverb suited to the occasion, or indeedto make any answer whatever, Carlos, still in tears, left the hall withhasty footsteps, and took refuge in a smaller apartment that opened intoit.

  The hangings of this room were comparatively new and very beautiful,being tastefully wrought with the needle; and the furniture was muchmore costly than that in the hall. There was also a glazed window, andnear this Carlos took his stand, looking moodily out on the fallingrain, and thinking hard thoughts of his brother, who had first hurt himso sorely, then called him coward, and last, and far worst of all, hadtaunted him with his unfitness for the task which, child as he was, hiswhole heart and soul w
ere bent on attempting.

  But he could not quarrel very seriously with Juan, nor indeed could hefor any considerable time do without him. Before long his anger beganto give way to utter loneliness and discomfort, and a great longing to"be friends" again.

  Nor was Juan much more comfortable, though he told himself he was quiteright to reprove his brother sharply for his lack of manliness; and thathe would be ready to die for shame if Carlos, when he went to Seville,should disgrace himself before his cousins by crying when he was hurt,like a baby or a girl. It is true that in his heart he rather wished hehimself had held his peace, or at least had spoken more gently; but hebraved it out, and stamped up and down the hall, singing, in as cheery avoice as he could command,--

  "The Cid rode through the horse-shoe gate, Omega like it stood, A symbol of the moon that waned before the Christian rood. He was all sheathed in golden mail, his cloak was white as shroud: His vizor down, his sword unsheathed, corpse still he rode, and proud."

  "Ruy!" Carlos called at last, just a little timidly, from the nextroom--"Ruy!"

  Ruy is the Spanish diminutive of Rodrigo, Juan's second name, and theone by which, for reasons of his own, it pleased him best to be called;so the very use of it by Carlos was a kind of overture for peace. Juancame right gladly at the call; and having convinced himself, by amoment's inspection, that his brother's hurt signified nothing, hecompleted the reconciliation by putting his arm, in familiar boyishfashion, round his neck. Thus, without a word spoken, the brief quarrelwas at an end. It happened that the rain was over also, and the sunjust beginning to shine out again. It was, indeed, an effect of thesunlight which had given Carlos a pretext for calling Juan again to hisside.

  "Look, Ruy," he said, "the sun shines on our father's words!"

  These children had a secret of their own, carefully guarded, with thestrange reticence of childhood, even from Dolores, who had been thefaithful nurse of their infancy, and who still cast upon their younglives the only shadow of motherly love they had ever known--a shadow, itis true, pale and faint, yet the best thing that had fallen to theirlot: for even Juan could remember neither parent; while Carlos had neverseen his father's face, and his mother had died at his birth.

  Yet it happened that in the imaginary world which the children hadcreated around them, and where they chiefly lived, their unknown fatherwas by far the most important personage. All great nations in theirchildhood have their legends, their epics, written or unwritten, andtheir hero, one or many of them, upon whose exploits Fancy rings itschanges at will during the ages when national language, literature, andcharacter are in process of development. So it is with individuals.Children of imagination--especially if they are brought up in seclusion,and guarded from coarse and worldly companionship--are sure to havetheir legends, perhaps their unwritten epic, certainly their hero. Norare these dreams of childhood idle fancies. In their time they are goodand beautiful gifts of God--healthful for the present, helpful forafter-years. There is deep truth in the poet's words, "When thou art aman, reverence the dreams of thy youth."

  The Cid Campeador, the Charlemagne, and the King Arthur of our youthfulSpanish brothers, was no other than Don Juan Alvarez de Menaya, secondand last Conde de Nuera. And as the historical foundation of nationalromance is apt to be of the slightest--nay, the testimony of crediblehistory is often ruthlessly set at defiance--so it is with the romancesof children; nor did the present instance form any exception. All theworld said that their father's bones lay bleaching on a wild Araucanianbattle-field; but this went for nothing in the eyes of Juan and CarlosAlvarez. Quite enough to build their childish faith upon was aconfidential whisper of Dolores--when she thought them sleeping--to thevillage barber-surgeon, who was helping her to tend them through somechildish malady: "Dead? Would to all the Saints, and the blessed Queenof Heaven, that we only had assurance of it!"

  They had, however, more than this. Almost every day they read andre-read those mysterious words, traced with a diamond by their father'shand--as it never entered their heads to doubt--on the window of theroom which had once been his favourite place of retirement:--

  "El Dorado Yo he trovado."

  "I have found El Dorado."

  No eyes but their own had ever noticed this inscription; and marvellousindeed was the superstructure their fancy contrived to raise on theslight and airy foundation of its enigmatical five words. They hadheard from the lips of Diego many of the fables current at the periodabout the "golden country" of which Spanish adventurers dreamed sowildly, and which they sought so vainly in the New World. They wereaware that their father in his early days had actually made a voyage tothe Indies: and they had thoroughly persuaded themselves, therefore, ofnothing less than that he was the fortunate discoverer of El Dorado;that he had returned thither, and was reigning there as a king, rich andhappy--only, perhaps, longing for his brave boys to come and join him.And join him one day they surely would, even though unheard of dangers(of which giants twelve feet high and fiery dragons--things in whichthey quite believed--were among the least) might lie in their way, thickas the leaves of the cork-trees when the autumn winds swept down throughthe mountain gorges.

  "Look, Ruy," said Carlos, "the light is on our father's words!"

  "So it is! What good fortune is coming now? Something always comes tous when they look like that."

  "What do you wish for most?"

  "A new bow, and a set of real arrows tipped with steel. And you?"

  "Well--the 'Chronicles of the Cid,' I think."

  "I should like that too. But I should like better still--"

  "What!"

  "That Fray Sebastian would fall ill of the rheum, and find the mountainair too cold for his health; or get some kind of good place at hisbeloved Complutum."

  "We might go farther and fare worse, like those that go to look forbetter bread than wheaten," returned Carlos, laughing. "Wish again,Juan; and truly this time--your wish of wishes."

  "What else but to find my father?"

  "I mean, next to that."

  "Well, truly, to go once more to Seville, to see the shops, and thebull-fights, and the great Church; to tilt with our cousins, and dancethe cachuca with Dona Beatriz."

  "That would not I. There be folk that go out for wool, and come homeshorn. Though I like Dona Beatriz as well as any one."

  "Hush! here comes Dolores."

  A tall, slender woman, robed in black serge, relieved by a neat whitehead-dress, entered the room. Dark hair, threaded with silver, andpale, sunken, care-worn features, made her look older than she reallywas. She had once been beautiful; and it seemed as though her beautyhad been burned up in the glare of some fierce agony, rather than hadfaded gradually beneath the suns of passing years. With the silentstrength of a deep, passionate heart, that had nothing else left tocling to, Dolores loved the children of her idolized mistress andfoster-sister. It was chiefly her talent and energy that kept togetherthe poor remains of their fortune. She surrounded them with as manyinexpensive comforts as possible; still, like a true Spaniard, she wouldat any moment have sacrificed their comfort to the maintenance of theirrank, or the due upholding of their dignity. On this occasion she heldan open letter in her hand.

  "Young gentlemen," she said, using the formal style of address nofamiliarity ever induced her to drop, "I bring your worships goodtidings. Your noble uncle, Don Manuel, is about to honour your castlewith his presence."

  "Good tidings indeed! I am as glad as if you had given me a satindoublet. He may take us back with him to Seville," cried Juan.

  "He might have stayed at home, with good luck and my blessing," murmuredCarlos.

  "Whether you go to Seville or no, Senor Don Juan," said Dolores,gravely, "may very probably depend on the contentment you give yournoble uncle respecting your progress in your Latin, your grammar, andyour other humanities."

  "A green fig for my noble uncle's contentment!" said Juan, irreverently."I know already as m
uch as any gentleman need, and ten times more thanhe does himself."

  "Ay, truly," struck in Carlos, coming forward from the embrasure of thewindow; "my uncle thinks a man of learning--except he be a fellow ofcollege, perchance--not worth his ears full of water. I heard him saysuch only trouble the world, and bring sorrow on themselves and alltheir kin. So, Juan, it is you who are likely to find favour in hissight, after all."

  "Senor Don Carlos, what ails your face?" asked Dolores, noticing now forthe first time the marks of the hurt he had received.

  Both the boys spoke together.

  "Only a blow caught in fencing; all through my own awkwardness. It isnothing," said Carlos, eagerly.

  "I hurt him with my foil. It was a mischance. I am very sorry," saidJuan, putting his hand on his brother's shoulder.

  Dolores wisely abstained from exhorting them to greater carefulness.She only said,--

  "Young gentlemen who mean to be knights and captains must learn to givehard blows and take them." Adding mentally--"Bless the lads! May theystand by each other as loyally ten or twenty years hence as they donow."