prosaic narrative of established facts does not immediately recommend
itself to the average man. Possibly few have existed who were so good
and so great that they can afford to have the whole truth told about
them. At any rate, it is easier to convey a picturesque general
impression than to collect all the available evidence with the
untiring persistence of a model detective and to present it with the
impartial acumen of a competent judge. Moreover, the inertia of
pre-existing opinion has to be overcome. Once readers have been
accustomed to accept as absolutely authentic an idealized conventional
portrait of a man of genius, it is difficult to induce them to abandon
it for a more realistic likeness. In the interest of historical truth,
however, the attempt must be made. We are sometimes told that
'historical truth can afford to wait'. That may be true; but it has
waited for nearly four centuries, and, if it be divulged in English
now, the revelation lays us open to no reasonable charge of
indiscretion or indecent haste.

It may be that the name of Luis de Leon is comparatively unknown
outside the small group of those who are regarded as specialists.
Luis de Leon is nothing like so famous as Cervantes, as Lope de Vega,
as Tirso de Molina, as Ruiz de Alarcon, and as Calderon, whose names,
if not their works, are familiar to the laity. This is one of chance's
unjust caprices. With the single exception of Cervantes perhaps no
figure in the annals of Spanish literature deserves to be more
celebrated than Luis de Leon. He was great in verse, great in prose,
great in mysticism, great in intellectual force and moral courage.
Many may recall him as the hero of a story--possibly apocryphal--in
which he figures as returning to his professorial chair after an
absence of over four years (passed in the prison-cells of the
Inquisition) and beginning his exordium to his students with the