The Spanish Brothers: A Tale of the Sixteenth Century

by Deborah Alcock

  VII.

  The Desengano

  "And I should evermore be vexed with thee In vacant robe, or hanging ornament, Or ghostly foot-fall lingering on the stair."--Tennyson

  The journey from the city of oranges to the green slopes of the SierraMorena ought to have been a delightful one to Don Carlos Alvarez. Itwas certainly bright with hope. He scarcely harboured a doubt of theultimate success of his plans, and the consequent attainment of all hiswishes. Already he seemed to feel the soft hand of Dona Beatriz in his,and to stand by her side before the high altar of the great Cathedral.

  And yet, as days passed on, the brightness within grew fainter, and anacknowledged shadow, ever deepening, began to take its place. At lasthe drew near his home, and rode through the little grove of cork-treeswhere he and Juan had played as children. When last they were theretogether the autumn winds were strewing the leaves, all dim anddiscoloured, about their paths. Now he looked through the fresh greenfoliage at the deep intense blue of the summer sky. But, thoughscarcely more than twenty, he felt at that moment old and worn, andwished back the time of his boyish sports with his brother. Never againcould he feel quite happy with Juan.

  Soon, however, his sorrowful fancies were put to flight by the joyousgreeting of the hounds, who rushed with much clamour from thecastle-yard to welcome him. There they were, all of them--Pedro, Zina,Pepe, Grullo, Butron--it was Juan who had named them, every one. Andthere, at the gate, stood Diego and Dolores, ready to give him joyfulwelcome. Throwing himself from his horse, he shook hands with thesefaithful old retainers, and answered their kindly but respectfulinquiries both for himself and Senor Don Juan. Then, having caressedthe dogs, inquired for each of the under-servants by name, and givenorders for the due entertainment of his guard, he passed on slowly intothe great deserted hall.

  His arrival being unexpected, he merely surrendered his travelling cloakinto the hands of Diego, and sat down to wait patiently while theservants, always dilatory, prepared for him suitable accommodation.Dolores soon appeared with a flask of wine and some bread and grapes;but this was only a _merienda_, or slight afternoon luncheon, which shelaid before her young master until she could make ready a supper fit forhim to partake of. Carlos spent half an hour listening to her tidingsof the household and the village, and felt sorry when she quitted theroom and left him to his own reflections.

  Every object on which his eyes rested reminded him of his brother.There hung the cross-bow with which, in old days, Juan had made suchvigorous war on the rooks and the sparrows. There lay the foils and thecanes with which they had so often fenced and played; Juan, in hisunquestioned superiority, usually so patient with the younger brother'stimidity and awkwardness. And upon that bench he had carved, with ahunting-knife, his name in full, adding the title that had expired withhis father, "Conde de Nuera."

  The memories these things recalled were becoming intrusive: he wouldfain shake them off. Gladly would he have had recourse to his favouritepastime of reading, but there was not a book in the castle, to hisknowledge, except the breviary he had brought with him. For lack ofmore congenial occupation, he went out at last to the stable to look atthe horses, and to talk to those who were grooming and feeding them.

  Later in the evening Dolores told him that supper was ready, adding thatshe had laid it in the small inner room, which she thought Senor DonCarlos would find more comfortable than the great hall.

  That inner room was, even more than the hall, haunted by the shadowypresence of Juan. But it was usually daylight when the brothers werethere together. Now, a tapestry curtain shaded the window, and a silverlamp shed its light on the well-spread table with its snowy drapery, andcover laid for one.

  A lonely meal, however luxurious, is always apt to be somewhat dreary;it seems a provision for the lowest wants of our nature, and nothingmore. Carlos sought to escape from the depressing influence by givingwings to his imagination, and dreaming of the time when wealth enough torepair and refurnish that half-ruinous old homestead might be his. Hepleased himself with pictures of the long tables in the great hall,groaning beneath the weight of a bountiful provision for a merry companyof guests, upon whom the sweet face of Dona Beatriz might beam awelcome. But how idle such fancies! The castle, after all, was Juan's,not his. Unless, indeed, more difficulties than one should be solved byJuan's death upon some French or Flemish battle-field. This thought hecould not bear to entertain. Grown suddenly sick at heart, he pushedaside his plate of stewed pigeon, and, regardless of the feelings ofDolores, sent away untasted her dessert of sweet butter-cakes dipped inhoney. He was weary, he said, and he would go to rest at once.

  It was long before sleep would visit his eyelids; and when at last itcame, his brother's dark reproachful eyes haunted him still. Atdaybreak he awoke with a start from a feverish dream that Juan, all paleand ghostlike, had come to his bedside, and laying his hand on his arm,said solemnly, "I claim the jewel I left thee in trust."

  Further sleep was impossible. He rose, and wandered out into the freshair. As yet no one was astir. Fair and sweet was all that met hisgaze: the faint pearly light, the first blush of dawn in the quiet sky,the silvery dew that bathed his footsteps. But the storm within ragedmore fiercely for the calm without. There was first an agonizingstruggle to repress the rising thought, "Better, after all, _not_ to dothis thing." But, in spite of his passionate efforts, the thoughtgained a hearing, it seemed to cry aloud within him, "Better, after all,not to betray Juan!" "And give up Beatriz forever? _For ever!_" herepeated over and over again, beating it

  "In upon his weary brain, As though it were the burden of a song."

  He had climbed, almost unawares, to the top of a rocky hill; and now hestood, looking around him at the prospect, just as if he saw it. Intruth, he saw nothing, felt nothing outward, until at last a mistymountain rain swept in his face, refreshing his burning brow with atouch as of cool fingers.

  Then he descended mechanically. Exchanging salutations (as if nothingwere amiss with him) with the milk-maid and the wood-boy, he crossed theopen courtyard and re-entered the hall. There Dolores, and a girl whoworked under her, were already busy, so he passed by them into the innerroom.

  Its darkness seemed to stifle him; with hasty hand he drew aside theheavy tapestry curtain. As he did so something caught his eye. For thehundredth time he re-read the mystic inscription on the glass:

  "El Dorado Yo he trovado."

  And, as an infant's touch may open a sluice that lets in the mightyocean, those simple words broke up the fountains of the great deepwithin. He gave full course to the emotions they awakened. Again heheard Juan's voice repeat them; again he saw Juan's deep earnest eyeslook into his; not now reproachfully, but with full unshaken trust, asin the old days when first he said, "We will go forth together and findour father."

  "Juan--brother!" he cried aloud, "I will never wrong thee, so help meGod!" At that moment the morning sun, having scattered the mists withthe glory of its rising, sent one of its early beams to kiss thehandwriting on the window-pane. "Old token for good," thought Carlos,whose imaginative nature could play with fancies even in the hours ofsupreme emotion. "And true still even yet. Only the good is all forJuan; for me--nothing but despair."

  And so Don Carlos found his "desengano," or disenchantment, and it was avery thorough one.

  Body and mind were well-nigh exhausted with the violence of thestruggle. Perhaps this was fortunate, in so far that it won for thedecision of his better nature a more rapid and easy acceptance. In asense and for a season any decision was welcome to the weary,tempest-tossed soul.

  It was afterwards that he asked himself how were long years to bedragged on without the face that was the joy of his heart and the lifeof his life? How was he to bear the never-ending pain, the achingloneliness, of such a lot? Better to die at once than to endure thisslow, living death. He knew well that it was not in his nature to poi
ntthe pistol or the dagger at his own breast. But he might pine away anddie silently--as many thousands die--of blighted hopes and a ruinedlife. Or--and this was more likely, perhaps--as time passed on he mightgrow dead and hard in soul; until at last he would become a dry, cold,mechanical mass-priest, mumbling the Church's Latin with thin, bloodlesslips, a keen eye to his dues, and a heart that might serve for a Churchrelic, so much faith would it require to believe that it had been warmand living once.

  Still, laudably anxious to provide against possible future waverings ofthe decision so painfully attained, he wrote informing his uncle of hissafe arrival; adding that he had fully made up his mind to take Ordersat Christmas, but that he found it advisable to remain in his presentquarters for a month or two. He at once dispatched two of themen-at-arms with the letter; and much was the thrifty Don Manuelsurprised that his nephew should spend a handful of silver reals inorder to inform him of what he knew already.

  Gloomily the day wore on. The instinctive reserve of a sensitive naturemade Carlos talk to the servants, receive the accounts, inspect the kineand sheep--do everything, in short, except eat and drink--as he wouldhave done if a great sorrow had not all the time been crushing hisheart. It is true that Dolores, who loved him as her own son, was notdeceived. It was for no trivial cause that the young master was pale asa corpse, restless and irritable, talking hurriedly by fitful snatches,and then relapsing into moody silence. But Dolores was a prudent woman,as well as a loving and faithful one; therefore she held her peace, andbided her time.

  But Carlos noticed one effort she made to console him. Coming in towardsevening from a consultation with Diego about some cork-trees which aMorisco merchantman wished to purchase and cut down, he saw upon histable a carefully sealed wine-flask, with a cup beside it. He knewwhence it came. His father had left in the cellar a small quantity ofchoice wine of Xeres; and this relic of more prosperous times being,like most of their other possessions, in the care of Dolores, was onlyproduced very sparingly, and on rare occasions. But she evidentlythought "Senor Don Carlos" needed it now. Touched by her watchful,unobtrusive affection, he would have gratified her by drinking; but hehad a peculiar dislike to drinking alone, while he knew he would onlyrender his sanity doubtful by inviting either her or Diego to share theluxurious beverage. So he put it aside for the present, and drewtowards him a sheet of figures, an inkhorn, and a pen. He could notwork, however. With the silence and solitude, his great grief came backupon him again. But nature all this time had been silently working forhim. His despair was giving way to a more violent but less bittersorrow. Tears came now: a long, passionate fit of weeping relieved hisaching heart. Since his early childhood he had not wept thus.

  An approaching footstep recalled him to himself. He rose with haste andshame, and stood beside the window, hoping that his position and thewaning light might together shield him from observation. It was onlyDolores.

  "Senor," she said, entering somewhat hastily, "will it please you to seeto those men of Seville that came with your Excellency? They areinsulting a poor little muleteer, and threatening to rob his packages."

  Yanguesian carriers and other muleteers, bringing goods across theSierra Morena from the towns of La Mancha to those of Andalusia, oftenpassed by the castle, and sometimes received hospitality there. Carlosrose at once at the summons, saying to Dolores--

  "Where is the boy?"

  "He is not a boy, senor, he is a man; a very little man, but with agreater spirit, if I mistake not, than some twice his size."

  It was true enough. On the green plot at the back of the castle, besidewhich the mountain pathway led, there were gathered the ten or twelverough Seville pikemen, taken from the lowest of the population, and mostof them of Moorish blood. In their midst, beside the foremost of histhree mules, with one arm thrown round her neck and the other raised togive effect by animated gestures to his eager oratory, stood themuleteer. He was a very short, spare, active-looking man, clad fromhead to foot in chestnut-coloured leather. His mules were well laden;each with three large alforjas, one at each side and one laid across theneck. But they were evidently well fed and cared for also; and theypresented a gay appearance, with their adornments of bright-colouredworsted tassels and tiny bells.

  "You know, my friends," the muleteer was saying, as Carlos came withinhearing, "an arriero's alforjas[#] are like a soldier's colours,--itstands him upon his honour to guard them inviolate. No, no! Ask him foraught else--his purse, his blood--they are at your service; but nevertouch his colours, if you care for a long life."

  [#] _Arriero_, muleteer; _alforjas_, bags.

  "My honest friend, your colours, as you call them, shall be safe here,"said Carlos, kindly.

  The muleteer turned towards him a good-humoured, intelligent face, and,bowing low, thanked him heartily.

  "What is your name?" asked Carlos; "and whence do you come?"

  "I am Juliano; Juliano el Chico (Julian the Little) men generally callme--since, as your Excellency sees, I am not very great. And I comelast from Toledo."

  "Indeed! And what wares do you carry?"

  "Some matters, small in bulk, yet costly, which I am bringing for aSeville merchant--Medel de Espinosa by name, if your worship has heardof him? I have mirrors, for example, of a new kind; excellent inworkmanship, and true as steel, as well they may be."

  "I know the shop of Espinosa well. I have been much in Seville," saidCarlos, with a sudden pang, caused by the recollection of the manypretty trifles that he had purchased there for Dona Beatrix. "Butfollow me, my friend, and a good supper shall make you amends for therudeness of these fellows.--Andres, take the best care thou canst of hismules; 'twill be only fair penance for thy sin in molesting theirowner."

  "A hundred thousand thanks, senor. Still, with your worship's goodleave, and no offence to friend Andres, I had rather look to the beastsmyself. We are old companions; they know my ways, and I know theirs."

  "As you please, my good fellow. Andres will show you the stable, and Ishall tell my mayor-domo to see that you lack nothing."

  "Again I render to your Excellency my poor but hearty thanks."

  Carlos went in, gave the necessary directions to Diego, and thenreturned to his solitary chamber.