IV.
Alcala de Henarez
"Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of morning, Her tears and her smiles are worth evening's best light."--Moore
Few are the lives in which seven years come and go with out witnessingany great event. But whether they are eventful or no, the years thatchange children into men must necessarily be important. Three years ofthese important seven, Juan and Carlos Alvarez spent in their mountainhome, the remaining four at the University of Alcala, or Complutum. Theuniversity training was of course needful for the younger brother, whowas intended for the Church. That the elder was allowed to share theprivilege, although destined for the profession of arms, was the resultof circumstances. His guardian, Don Manuel Alvarez, although worldlyand selfish, still retained a lingering regard for the memory of thatlost brother whose latest message to him had been, "Have my boycarefully educated." And, moreover, he could scarcely have left thehigh-spirited youth to wear out the years that must elapse before hecould obtain his commission in the dreary solitude of his mountain home,with Diego and Dolores for companions, and for sole amusement, a horseand a few greyhounds. Better that he should take his chance at Alcala,and enjoy himself there as best he might, with no obligation to severestudy, and but one duty strongly impressed on him--that of keeping outof debt.
He derived real benefit from the university training, though no academiclaurels rested on his brow, nor did he take a degree. Fray Sebastianhad taught him to read and write, and had even contrived to pass himthrough the Latin grammar, of which he afterwards remembered scarcelyanything. To have urged him to learn more would have required severityonly too popular at the time; but this Fray Sebastian was too timid,perhaps too prudent, to employ; while of interesting him in his studieshe never thought. At Alcala, however, he was interested. He did notcare, indeed, for the ordinary scholastic course; but he found in thecollege library all the books yet written in his native language, and itwas then the palmy age of Spanish literature. Beginning with the poemsand romances relating to the history of his country, he read througheverything; poetry, romance, history, science, nothing came amiss tohim, except perhaps theology. He studied with especial care all thathad reference to the story of the New World, whither he hoped one day togo. He attended lectures; he even acquired Latin enough to learnanything he really wanted to know, and could not find except in thatlanguage.
Thus, at the end of his four years' residence, he had acquired a gooddeal of useful though somewhat desultory information; and he had gainedthe art of expressing himself in the purest Castilian, by tongue or pen,with energy, vigour, and precision.
The sixteenth century gives us many specimens of such men--and not a fewof them were Spaniards--men of intelligence and general cultivation,whose profession was that of arms, but who can handle the pen with asmuch ease and dexterity as the sword; men who could not only do valiantdeeds, but also describe them when done, and that often with singulareffectiveness.
With his contemporaries Juan was popular, for his pride wasinaggressive, and his fiery temper was counterbalanced by greatgenerosity of disposition. During his residence at Alcala he foughtthree duels; one to chastise a fellow-student who had called his brother"Dona Carlotta," the other two on being provoked by the far more seriousoffence of covert sneers at his father's memory. He also caned severelya youth whom he did not think of sufficient rank to honour with hissword, merely for observing, when Carlos won a prize from him, "DonCarlos Alvarez unites genius and industry, as he would need to do, whois _the son of his own good works_." But afterwards, when the samestudent was in danger, through poverty, of having to give up his careerand return home, Juan stole into his chamber during his absence, andfurtively deposited four gold ducats (which he could ill spare) betweenthe leaves of his breviary.
Far more outwardly successful, but more really disastrous, was theacademic career of Carlos. As student of theology, most of his days,and even some of his nights, were spent over the musty tomes of theSchoolmen. Like living water on the desert, his young bright intellectwas poured out on the dreary sands of scholastic divinity (little else,in truth, than "bad metaphysics"), to no appreciable result, except itsown utter waste. The kindred study of casuistry was even worse thanwaste of intellect; it was positive defilement and degradation. It wasbad enough to tread with painful steps through roads that led nowhere;but it became worse when the roads were miry, and the mud at every stepclung to the traveller's feet. Though here the parallel must cease; forthe moral defilement, alas! is most deadly and dangerous when least feltor heeded.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, according as we look on the things seenor the things not seen, Carlos offered to his instructors admirable rawmaterial out of which to fashion a successful, even a great Churchman.He came to them a stripling of fifteen, innocent, truthful,affectionate. He had "parts," as they styled them, and singularly goodones. He had just the acute perception, the fine and ready wit, whichenabled him to cut his way through scholastic subtleties and conceitswith ease and credit. And, to do his teachers justice, they sharpenedhis intellectual weapon well, until its temper grew as exquisite as thatof the scimitar of Saladin, which could divide a gauze kerchief by thethread at a single blow. But how would it fare with such a weapon, andwith him who, having proved no other, could wield only that, in thegreat conflict with the Dragon that guarded the golden apples of truth?The question is idle, for truth was a luxury of which Carlos was nottaught to dream. To find truth, to think truth, to speak truth, to acttruth, was not placed before him as an object worth his attainment. Notthe _True_, but the _Best_, was always held up to him as the mark to beaimed at: the best for the Church, the best for his family, the best forhimself.
He had much imagination, he was quick in invention and ready inexpedients; good gifts in themselves, but very perilous where the senseof truth is lacking, or blunted. He was timid, as sensitive andreflective natures are apt to be, perhaps also from physical causes.And in those rough ages, the Church offered almost the only path inwhich the timid man could not only escape infamy, but actually attain tohonour. In her service a strong head could more than atone for weaknerves. Power, fame, wealth, might be gained in abundance by theChurchman without stirring from his cell or chapel, or facing a singledrawn sword or loaded musket. Always provided that his subtle,cultivated intellect could guide the rough hands that wielded theswords, or, better still, the crowned head that commanded them.
There may have been even then at that very university (there certainlywere a few years earlier), a little band of students who had quite otheraims, and who followed other studies than those from which Carlos hopedto reap worldly success and fame. These youths really desired to findthe truth and to keep it; and therefore they turned from the pages ofthe Fathers and the Schoolmen to the Scriptures in the originallanguages. But the "Biblists," as they were called, were few andobscure. Carlos did not, during his whole term of residence, come incontact with any of them. The study of Hebrew, and even of Greek, wasby this time discouraged; the breath of calumny had blown upon it,linking it with all that was horrible in the eyes of Spanish Catholics,summed up in the one word, heresy. Carlos never even dreamed of anyexcursion out of the beaten path marked out for him, and which he wastravelling so successfully as to distance nearly all his competitors.
Both Juan and Carlos still clung fondly to their early dream; thoughtheir wider knowledge had necessarily modified some of its details.Carlos, at least, was not quite so confident as he had once been aboutthe existence of El Dorado; but he was as fully determined as Juan tosearch out the mystery of their father's fate, and either to clasp hisliving hand, or to stand beside his grave. The love of the brothers,and their trust in each other, had only strengthened with their years,and was beautiful to witness.
Occasional journeys to Seville, and brief intervals of making holidaythere, varied the monotony of their college life, and were not withoutimportant results.
It was the summer of 1556. The great Carlos, so lately King and Kaiser,had laid down the heavy burden of sovereignty, and would soon be on hisway to pleasant San Yuste, to mortify the flesh, and prepare for hisapproaching end, as the world believed; but in reality to eat, drink,and enjoy himself as well as his worn-out body and mind would allow him.Just then our young Juan, healthy, hearty, hopeful, and with the worldbefore him, received the long wished-for appointment in the army of thenew King of all the Spains, Don Felipe Segunde.
The brothers have eaten their last temperate meal together, in theirhandsome, though not very comfortable, lodging at Alcala. Juan pushesaway the wine-cup that Carlos would fain have refilled, and toysabsently with the rind of a melon. "Carlos," he says, without lookinghis brother in the face, "remember that thing of which we spoke;" addingin lower and more earnest tones, "and so may God remember thee."
"Surely, brother. You have, however, little to fear."
"Little to fear!" and there was the old quick flash in the dark eyes."Because, forsooth, to spare my aunt's selfishness and my cousin'svanity, she must not be seen at dance, or theatre, or bull-feast? It isenough for her to show her face on the Alameda or at mass to raise me upa host of rivals."
"Still, my uncle favours you; and Dona Beatriz herself will not be foundof a different mind when you come home with your promotion and yourglory, as you will, my Ruy!"
"Then, brother, watch thou in my absence, and fail not to speak theright word at the right moment, as thou canst so well. So shall I holdmyself at ease, and give my whole mind to the noble task of breaking theheads of all the enemies of my liege lord the king."
Then, rising from the table, he girt on his new Toledo sword with itsembroidered belt, threw over his shoulders his short scarlet cloak, andflung a gay velvet montero over his rich black curls. Don Carlos wentout with him, and mounting the horses a lad from their country-home heldin readiness, they rode together down the street and through the gate ofAlcala Don Juan followed by many an admiring gaze, and many a hearty"Vaya con Dios,"[#] from his late companions.
[#] Go with God.
The Spanish Brothers: A Tale of the Sixteenth Century Page 4
