II.
The Monk's Letter
"Quoth the good fat friar, Wiping his own mouth--'twas refection time."--R. Browning.
"Fray Sebastian Gomez, to the Honourable Senor Felipe de Santa Maria,Licentiate of Theology, residing at Alcala de Henarez, commonly calledComplutum.
"Most Illustrious and Reverend Senor,--
"In my place of banishment, amidst these gloomy and inhospitablemountains, I frequently solace my mind by reflections upon the friendsof my youth, and the happy period spent in those ancient halls oflearning, where in the morning of our days you and I together attendedthe erudite prelections of those noble and most orthodox Grecians,Demetrius Ducas and Nicetus Phaustus, or sat at the feet of thatvenerable patriarch of science, Don Fernando Nunez. Fortunate are you,O friend, in being able to pass your days amidst scenes so pleasant andoccupations so congenial; while I, unhappy, am compelled by fate, and bythe neglect of friends and patrons, to take what I may have, in place ofhaving what I might wish. I am, alas! under the necessity of wearingout my days in the ungrateful occupation of instilling the rudiments ofhumane learning into the dull and careless minds of children, whom toinstruct is truly to write upon sand or water. But not to weary yourexcellent and illustrious friendship with undue prolixity, I shallbriefly relate the circumstances which led to my sojourn here."
(The good friar proceeds with his personal narrative, but by no meansbriefly; and as it has, moreover, little or nothing to do with ourstory, it may be omitted with advantage.)
"In this desert, as I may truly style it" (he continues), "nutriment forthe corporeal frame is as poor and bare as nutriment for theintellectual part is altogether lacking. Alas! for the golden wine ofXerez, that ambery nectar wherewith we were wont to refresh our jadedspirits! I may not mention now our temperate banquets: the crisp redmullet, the succulent pasties, the delicious ham of Estremadura, thesavoury olla podrida. Here beef is rarely seen, veal never. Our ollais of lean mutton (if it be not rather of the flesh of goats), washeddown with bad vinegar, called wine by courtesy, and supplemented by afew naughty figs or roasted chestnuts, with cheese of goat's milk, hardas the heads of the rustics who make it. Certainly I am experiencing thetruth of the proverb, 'A bad cook is an inconvenient relation.' Andmarvellously would a cask of Xerez wine, if, through the kindness of mygenerous friends, it could find its way to these remote mountains, mendmy fare, and in all probability prolong my days. The provider here isan antiquated, sour-faced duenna, who rules everything in this old ruinof a castle, where poverty and pride are the only things to be found inplenty. She is an Asturian, and came hither in the train of the lateunfortunate countess. Like all of that race, where the very shepherdsstyle themselves nobles, she is proud; but it is just to add that she isalso active, industrious, and thrifty to a miracle.
"But to pass on to affairs of greater importance. I have presumed, onthe part of my illustrious friend, some acquaintance with the sorrowfulhistory of my young pupils' family. You will remember the sudden shadowthat fell, like the eclipse of one of the bright orbs of heaven, uponthe fame and fortunes of the Conde de Nuera, known, some fifteen yearsago or more, as a brilliant soldier and courtier, and personal favouriteof his Imperial Majesty. There was a rumour of some black treason, Iknow not what, but men said it even struck at the life of the greatEmperor, his friend and patron. It is supposed that the Emperor (whomGod preserve!), in his just wrath remembered mercy, and generously savedthe honour, while he punished the crime, of his ungrateful servant. Atall events, the world was told that the Count had accepted a command inthe Indies, and that he sailed thither from some port in the LowCountries to which the Emperor had summoned him, without returning toSpain. It is believed that, to save his neck from the axe and his namefrom dire disgrace, he signed away, by his own act, his large propertyto the Emperor and to Holy Church, reserving only a pittance for hischildren. One year afterwards, his death, in battle with the Araucaniansavages, was announced, and, if I am not mistaken, His Majesty wasgracious enough to have masses said for his soul. But, at the time, thetongue of rumour whispered a far more dreadful ending to the tale. Menhinted that, upon the discovery of his treason, he despaired alike ofhuman and divine compassion, and perished miserably by his own hand.But all possible pains were taken, for the sake of the family, to hushup the affair; and nothing certain has ever, or probably will ever,transpire. I am doubtful whether I am not a transgressor in havingcommitted to paper what is written above. Still, as it is written, itshall stand. With you, most illustrious and honourable friend, allthings are safe.
"The youths whom it is my task to instruct are not deficient in parts.But the elder, Don Juan, is idle and insolent; and withal, of so fiery atemper, that he will brook no manner of correction. The younger, DonCarlos is more toward in disposition, and really apt at his humanities,were it not that his good-for-nothing brother is for ever leading himinto mischief. Don Manuel Alvarez, their uncle and guardian, who is ashrewd man of the world, will certainly cause him to enter the Church.But I pray, as I am bound in Christian charity, that it may not occur tohim to make the lad a Minorite friar, since, as I can testify fromsorrowful experience, such go barely enough through this wicked andmiserable world.
"In conclusion, I entreat of you, most illustrious friend, with theutmost despatch and carefulness, to commit this writing to the flames;and so I pray our Lady and the blessed St. Luke, upon whose vigil Iwrite, to have you in their good keeping.--Your unworthy brother,"SEBASTIAN."
Thus, with averted face, or head shaken doubtfully, or murmured "Ay demi," the world spoke of him, of whom his own children, happy at least inthis, knew scarce anything, save words that seemed like a cry of joy.
The Spanish Brothers: A Tale of the Sixteenth Century Page 2
