Fac-simile of my letter to Luis Portal:
My dear Boy:
Here I am at your orders at Tejo, the country-seat of the father of my uncle’s lady-love—confound him! called so, not my uncle, but the country-seat, on account of a colossal yew-tree, which, according to what they say, is three stories high, as high as the finest house in Orense.
I have just arrived here, so I can’t tell you yet what I think about the bride and the people here, to wit: her father, an old woman who had some connection with the father in former times, and two daughters or nieces of the old woman; one well grown, and although she is called Cándida—well, the least said about that the better. My future auntie is a young lady of graceful bearing, with a pleasant face, if you examine it attentively. She has pretty eyes, very pretty, indeed. I know not whether she is in love, but she displays considerable affection for my uncle,—well, old chap, I come back to my old subject. Can you believe that a decent and high-minded woman—and they say that my auntie is such—can marry such a man just for the sake of marrying? Does not her little heart conceal some secret experience? Or can it be that, by reason of her own innocence, she imagines that to marry a man is only like taking his arm for a promenade?
The thing fills my mind, because in a very short time I have formed a private opinion in regard to Carmiñia Aldao, due to the information I have received from a friar. Don’t you know, my boy? I have journeyed with a veritable friar, a Franciscan, barefooted and all that. And he praised my auntie up to the sky, saying that she is a model of a Christian woman. This is singular, indeed, coming from a friar. If you could see what a curious type this Father Moreno is! He is one of the most unaffected, simple, frank, and fascinating beings the Lord ever created! He amazes me. Nothing startles him nor is he bigoted; he does not avoid talking upon any subject which may be alluded to in good society, nor does he treat one disdainfully, or fall into any pious foolishness; nor does he do anything that does not seem cordial, discreet, and fitting. You must not think, by what I am saying, that the friar is taking me in; that’s not so easily done. On the contrary, I am dreadfully stirred up by his gift of fascinating everybody around him, including myself. I will watch him; and I am of little use, if I don’t unmask him yet. What does the rogue mean? To make himself able to win more proselytes? There’s no doubt about it, with his charming disposition and manners he secures and exerts great influence. Is it possible that he is concealing other schemes not in accordance with his garb? For he is either a saint or a hypocrite, although quite different from any ordinary hypocrite. Do you believe, my boy, that a man can live that way, surrounded by breakers and quicksands, without running upon them? One must admit that his vow of perpetual poverty is no pretense, for I have found out that he does not even carry enough money to buy a pipe; likewise his vow of obedience, though soldiers also obey their superior officers; but as for his vow of chastity—well, if he keeps that—don’t you think that’s rather fishy, my boy?
As you can fancy, my uncle is as deeply in love as is possible for him. To tell the truth, his sweetheart seems to be a great catch for him. Perhaps Señor Aldao has not much money, because they say he likes display and that his country-seat eats up his cash; also, that his married son bleeds him freely. But with all that, I think that my uncle has more than he could have hoped for.
The wedding will take place soon, on the day of Our Lady of Carmen. My uncle sleeps at the druggist’s in San Andrés; but I, not being the lover, am entertained at Tejo, I will tell you what goes on here.
Write to me, old chap, you lazy fellow. I presume you go on chewing your old cud of opportunism and compromise with everybody, even the devil himself.
You are a great rogue!—I forgot, tear this up at once,—but you are so prudent you were sure to have done so without my asking it.