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THE EXEMPLARY NOVELS
OF
CERVANTES.
BOHN'S STANDARD LIBRARY.
THE
EXEMPLARY NOVELS
OF
MIGUEL DE CERVANTES SAAVEDRA.
TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH
BY
WALTER K. KELLY.
LONDON: GEORGE BELL AND SONS, YORK STREET,
COVENT GARDEN.
1881.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
PREFACE.
It seems to be generally admitted that in rendering the title of a book
from one language into another, the form of the original should be
retained, even at the cost of some deviation from ordinary usage.
Cicero's work _De Officiis_ is never spoken of as a treatise on Moral
Duties, but as Cicero's Offices. Upon the same principle we have not
entitled the following collection of tales, Instructive or Moral; though
it is in this sense that the author applied to them the epithet
_exemplares_, as he states distinctly in his preface. The Spanish word
_exemplo_, from the time of the archpriest of Hita and Don Juan Manuel,
has had the meaning of _instruction_, or _instructive story_.
The "Novelas Exemplares" were first published in 1613, three years
before the death of Cervantes. They are all original, and have the air
of being drawn from his personal experience and observation. Ticknor, in
his "History of Spanish Literature," says of them, and of the
"Impertinent Curiosity," inserted in the first part of Don Quixote:--
"Their value is different, for they are written with different views,
and in a variety of style greater than he has elsewhere shown; but most
of them contain touches of what is peculiar in his talent, and are full
of that rich eloquence and of those pleasing descriptions of natural
scenery which always flow so easily from his pen. They have little in
common with the graceful story-telling spirit of Boccaccio and his
followers, and still less with the strictly practical tone of Don Juan
Manuel's tales; nor, on the other hand, do they approach, except in the
case of the 'Impertinent Curiosity,' the class of short novels which
have been frequent in other countries within the last century. The more,
therefore, we examine them, the more we shall find that they are
original in their composition and general tone, and that they are
strongly marked with the original genius of their author, as well as
with the more peculiar traits of the national character,--the ground, no
doubt, on which they have always been favourites at home, and less
valued than they deserve to be abroad. As works of invention, they rank,
among their author's productions, next after Don Quixote; in correctness
and grace of style they stand before it.... They are all fresh from the
racy soil of the national character, as that character is found in
Andalusia, and are written with an idiomatic richness, a spirit, and a
grace, which, though they are the oldest tales of their class in Spain,
have left them ever since without successful rivals."
The first three tales in this volume have merely undergone the revision
of the editor, having been translated by another before he was engaged
on the work. For the rest he alone is responsible.
W.K.K.
DEDICATION
TO DON PEDRO FERNANDEZ DE CASTRO, COUNT OF LEMOS, ANDRADE, AND VILLALBA,
&c.
Those who dedicate their works to some prince commonly fall into two
errors. The first is, that in their dedicatory epistle, which ought to
be brief and succinct, they dilate very complacently, whether moved by
truth or flattery, on the deeds not only of their fathers and
forefathers, but also of all their relations, friends, and benefactors.
The second is, that they tell their patron they place their works under
his protection and safeguard, in order that malicious and captious
tongues may not presume to cavil and carp at them. For myself, shunning
these two faults, I here pass over in silence the grandeur and titles of
your excellency's ancient and royal house, and your infinite virtues
both natural and acquired, leaving it to some new Phidias and Lysippus
to engrave and sculpture them in marble and bronze, that they may rival
time in duration. Neither do I supplicate your Excellency to take this
book under your protection, for I know, that if it is not a good one,
though I should put it under the wings of Astolfo's hippogrif, or
beneath the club of Hercules, the Zoili, the cynics, the Aretinos, and
the bores, will not abstain from abusing it, out of respect for anyone.
I only beg your Excellency to observe that I present to you, without
more words, thirteen tales,[1] which, had they not been wrought in the
laboratory of my own brains, might presume to stand beside the best.
Such as they are, there they go, leaving me here rejoiced at the thought
of manifesting, in some degree, the desire I feel to serve your
Excellency as my true lord and benefactor. Our Lord preserve, &c.
Your Excellency's servant,
MIGUEL DE CERVANTES SAAVEDRA.
MADRID, _13th of July, 1613_.
[1] There are but twelve of them. Possibly when Cervantes wrote this
dedication he intended to include "El Curioso Impertinente," which
occurs in chapters xxxiii.-xxxv. of the first part of "Don Quixote."
AUTHOR'S PREFACE.
I wish it were possible, dear reader, to dispense with writing this
preface; for that which I put at the beginning of my "Don Quixote" did
not turn out so well for me as to give me any inclination to write
another. The fault lies with a friend of mine--one of the many I have
made in the course of my life with my heart rather than my head. This
friend might well have caused my portrait, which the famous Don Juan de
Jauregui would have given him, to be engraved and put in the first page
of this book, according to custom. By that means he would have gratified
my ambition and the wishes of several persons, who would like to know
what sort of face and figure has he who makes bold to come before the
world with so many works of his own invention. My friend might have
written under the portrait--"This person whom you see here, with an oval
visage, chestnut hair, smooth open forehead, lively eyes, a hooked but
well-proportioned nose, & silvery beard that twenty years ago was
golden, large moustaches, a small mouth, teeth not much to speak of, for
he has but six, in bad condition and worse placed, no two of them
corresponding to each other, a figure midway between the two extremes,
neither tall nor short, a vivid complexion, rather fair than dark,
somewhat stooped in the shoulders, and not very lightfooted: this, I
say, is the author of 'Galatea,' 'Don Quixote de la Mancha,' 'The
Journey to Parnassus,' which he wrote in imitation of Cesare Caporali
Perusino, and other works which are current among the public, and
perhaps without the author's name. He is commonly called MIGUEL DE
CERVANTES SAAVEDRA. He was for many years a soldier, and for five years
and a half in captivity, where he learned to have patience in adversity.
He lost his left hand by a musket-shot in the battle of Lepanto: and
ugly as this wound may appear, he regards it as beautiful, having
received it on the most memorable and sublime occasion which past times
have over seen, or future times can hope to equal, fighting under the
victorious banners of the son of that thunderbolt of war, Charles V., of
blessed memory." Should the friend of whom I complain have had nothing
more to say of me than this, I would myself have composed a couple of
dozen of eulogiums, and communicated them to him in secret, thereby to
extend my fame and exalt the credit of my genius; for it would be absurd
to expect the exact truth in such matters. We know well that neither
praise nor abuse is meted out with strict accuracy.
However, since this opportunity is lost, and I am left in the lurch
without a portrait, I must have recourse to my own tongue, which, for
all its stammering, may do well enough to state some truths that are
tolerably self-evident. I assure you then, dear reader, that you can by
no means make a fricassee of these tales which I here present to you,
for they have neither legs, head, bowels, nor anything of the sort; I
mean that the amorous intrigues you will find in some of them, are so
decorous, so measured, and so conformable to reason and Christian
propriety, that they are incapable of exciting any impure thoughts in
him who reads them with or without caution.
I have called them _exemplary_, because if you rightly consider them,
there is not one of them from which you may not draw some useful
example; and were I not afraid of being too prolix, I might show you
what savoury and wholesome fruit might be extracted from them,
collectively and severally.
My intention has been to set up, in the midst of our community, a
billiard-table, at which every one may amuse himself without hurt to
body and soul; for innocent recreations do good rather than harm. One
cannot be always at church, or always saying one's prayers, or always
engaged in one's business, however important it may be; there are hours
for recreation when the wearied mind should take repose. It is to this
end that alleys of trees are planted to walk in, waters are conveyed
from remote fountains, hills are levelled, and gardens are cultivated
with such care. One thing I boldly declare: could I by any means
suppose that these novels could excite any bad thought or desire in
those who read them, I would rather cut off the hand with which I write
them, than give them to the public. I am at an age when it does not
become me to trifle with the life to come, for I am upwards of
sixty-four.
My genius and my inclination prompt me to this kind of writing; the more
so as I consider (and with truth) that I am the first who has written
novels in the Spanish language, though many have hitherto appeared among
us, all of them translated from foreign authors. But these are my own,
neither imitated nor stolen from anyone; my genius has engendered them,
my pen has brought them forth, and they are growing up in the arms of
the press. After them, should my life be spared, I will present to you
the Adventures of Persiles, a book which ventures to compete with
Heliodorus. But previously you shall see, and that before long, the
continuation of the exploits of Don Quixote and the humours of Sancho
Panza; and then the Weeks of the Garden. This is promising largely for
one of my feeble powers; but who can curb his desires? I only beg you to
remark that since I have had the boldness to address these novels to the
great Count of Lemos, they must contain some hidden mystery which exalts
their merit.
I have no more to say, so pray God to keep you, and give me patience to
bear all the ill that will be spoken of me by more than one subtle and
starched critic. _Vale_.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE LADY CORNELIA 1
RINCONETE AND CORTADILLO; OR, PETER OF THE CORNER AND
THE LITTLE CUTTER 42
THE LICENTIATE VIDRIERA; OR, DOCTOR GLASS-CASE 86
THE DECEITFUL MARRIAGE 112
DIALOGUE BETWEEN SCIPIO AND BERGANZA, DOGS OF THE
HOSPITAL OF THE RESURRECTION IN THE CITY OF VALLADOLID,
COMMONLY CALLED THE DOGS OF MAHUDES 124
THE LITTLE GIPSY GIRL 178
THE GENEROUS LOVER 236
THE SPANISH-ENGLISH LADY 278
THE FORCE OF BLOOD 314
THE JEALOUS ESTRAMADURAN 331
THE ILLUSTRIOUS SCULLERY-MAID 365
THE TWO DAMSELS 410
THE LADY CORNELIA.
Don Antonio de Isunza and Don Juan de Gamboa, gentlemen of high birth
and excellent sense, both of the same age, and very intimate friends,
being students together at Salamanca, determined to abandon their
studies and proceed to Flanders. To this resolution they were incited by
the fervour of youth, their desire to see the world, and their
conviction that the profession of arms, so becoming to all, is more
particularly suitable to men of illustrious race.
But they did not reach Flanders until peace was restored, or at least on
the point of being concluded; and at Antwerp they received letters from
their parents, wherein the latter expressed the great displeasure caused
them by their sons having left their studies without informing them of
their intention, which if they had done, the proper measures might have
been taken for their making the journey in a manner befitting their
birth and station.
Unwilling to give further dissatisfaction to their parents, the young
men resolved to return to Spain, the rather as there was now nothing to
be done in Flanders. But before doing so they determined to visit all
the most renowned cities of Italy; and having seen the greater part of
them, they were so much attracted by the noble university of Bologna,
that they resolved to remain there and complete the studies abandoned at
Salamanca.
They imparted their intentions to their parents, who testified their
entire approbation by the magnificence with which they provided their
sons with every thing proper to their rank, to the end that, in their
manner of living, they might show who they were, and of what house they
were born. From the first day, therefore, that the young men visited the
schools, all perceived them to be gallant, sensible, and well-bred
gentlemen.
Don Antonio was at this time in his twenty-fourth year, and Don Juan had
not passed his twenty-sixth. This fair period of life they adorned by
various good qualities; they were handsome, brave, of good address, and
well versed in music and poetry; in a word, they were endowed with such
advantages as caused them to be much sought and greatly beloved by all
who knew them. They soon had numerous friends, not only among the many
Spaniards belonging to the university,[2] but also among people of the
city, and of other nations, to all of whom they proved themselves
courteous, liberal, and wholly free from that arrogance which is said to
be too often exhibited by Spaniards.
[2] Cardinal Albornoz founded a college in the university of Bologna,
expressly for the Spaniards, his countrymen.
Being young, and of joyous temperament, Don Juan and Don Antonio did not
fail to give their attention to the beauties of the city. Many there
were indeed in Bologna, both married and unmarried, remarkable as well
for their virtues as their charms; but among them all there was none who
surpassed the Signora Cornelia Bentivoglia, of that old and illustrious
family of the Bentivogli, who were at one time lords of Bologna.
Cornelia was beautiful to a marvel; she had been left under the
guardianship of her brother Lorenzo Bentivoglio, a brave and honourable
gentleman. They were orphans, but inheritors of considerable wealth--and
wealth is a great alleviation of the evils of the orphan state. Cornelia
lived in complete seclusion, and her brother guarded her with unwearied
solicitude. The lady neither showed herself on any occasion, nor would
her brother consent that any one should see her; but this very fact
inspired Don Juan and Don Antonio with the most lively desire to behold
her face, were it only at church. Yet all the pains they took for that
purpose proved vain, and the wishes they had felt on the subject
gradually diminished, as the attempt appeared more and more hopeless.
Thus, devoted to their studies, and varying these with such amusements
as are permitted to their age, the young men passed a life as cheerful
as it was honourable, rarely going out at night, but when they did so,
it was always together and well armed.
One evening, however, when Don Juan was preparing to go out, Don
Antonio expressed his desire to remain at home for a short time, to
repeat certain orisons: but he requested Don Juan to go without him, and
promised to follow him.
"Why should I go out to wait for you?" said Don Juan. "I will stay; if
you do not go out at all to-night, it will be of very little
consequence." "By no means shall you stay," returned Don Antonio: "go
and take the air; I will be with you almost immediately, if you take the
usual way."
"Well, do as you please," said Don Juan: "if you come you will find me
on our usual beat." With these words Don Juan left the house.
The night was dark, and the hour about eleven. Don Juan passed through
two or three streets, but finding himself alone, and with no one to
speak to, he determined to return home. He began to retrace his steps
accordingly; and was passing through a street, the houses of which had
marble porticoes, when he heard some one call out, "Hist! hist!" from
one of the doors. The darkness of the night, and the shadow cast by the
colonnade, did not permit him to see the whisperer; but he stopped at
once, and listened attentively. He saw a door partially opened,
approached it, and heard these words uttered in a low voice, "Is it you,
Fabio?" Don Juan, on the spur of the moment, replied, "Yes!" "Take it,
then," returned the voice, "take it, and place it in security; but
return instantly, for the matter presses." Don Juan put out his hand in
the dark, and encountered a packet. Proceeding to take hold of it, he
found that it required both hands; instinctively he extended the second,
but had scarcely done so before the portal was closed, and he found
himself again alone in the street, loaded with, he knew not what.
Presently the cry of an infant, and, as it seemed, but newly born, smote
his ears, filling him with confusion and amazement, for he knew not what
next to do, or how to proceed in so strange a case. If he knocked at the
door he was almost certain to endanger the mother of the infant; and if
he left his burthen there, he must imperil the life of the babe itself.
But if he took it home he should as little know what to do with it, nor
was he acquainted with any one in the city to whom he could entrust the
care of the child; yet remembering that he had been required to come
back quickly, after placing his charge in safety, he determined to take
the infant home, leave it in the hands of his old housekeeper, and
return to see if his aid was needed in any way, since he perceived
clearly that the person who had been expected to come for the child had
not arrived, and the latter had been given to himself in mistake. With
this determination, Don Juan soon reached his home; but found that
Antonio had already left it. He then went to his chamber, and calling
the housekeeper, uncovered the infant, which was one of the most
beautiful ever seen; whilst, as the good woman remarked, the elegance of
the clothes in which the little creature was wrapped, proved him--for it
was a boy--to be the son of rich parents.
"You must, now," said Don Juan to his housekeeper, "find some one to
nurse this infant; but first of all take away these rich coverings, and
put on him others of the plainest kind. Having done that, you must carry
the babe, without a moment's delay, to the house of a midwife, for there
it is that you will be most likely to find all that is requisite in such
a case. Take money to pay what may be needful, and give the child such
parents as you please, for I desire to hide the truth, and not let the
manner in which I became possessed of it be known." The woman promised
that she would obey him in every point; and Don Juan returned in all
haste to the street, to see whether he should receive another mysterious
call. But just before he arrived at the house whence the infant had been
delivered to him, the clash of swords struck his ear, the sound being as
that of several persons engaged in strife. He listened carefully, but
could hear no word; the combat was carried on in total silence; but the
sparks cast up by the swords as they struck against the stones, enabled
him to perceive that one man was defending himself against several
assailants; and he was confirmed in this belief by an exclamation which
proceeded at length from the last person attacked. "Ah, traitors! you
are many and I am but one, yet your baseness shall not avail you."
Hearing and seeing this, Don Juan, listening only to the impulses of his
brave heart, sprang to the side of the person assailed, and opposing the
buckler he carried on his arm to the swords of the adversaries, drew his
own, and speaking in Italian that he might not be known as a Spaniard,
he said--"Fear not, Signor, help has arrived that will not fail you
while life holds; lay on well, for traitors are worth but little however
many there may be." To this, one of the assailants made answer--"You
lie; there are no traitors here. He who seeks to recover his lost honour
is no traitor, and is permitted to avail himself of every advantage."
No more was said on either side, for the impetuosity of the assailants,
who, as Don Juan thought, amounted to not less than six, left no
opportunity for further words. They pressed his companion, meanwhile,
very closely; and two of them giving him each a thrust at the same time
with the point of their swords, he fell to the earth. Don Juan believed
they had killed him; he threw himself upon the adversaries,
nevertheless, and with a shower of cuts and thrusts, dealt with
extraordinary rapidity, caused them to give way for several paces. But
all his efforts must needs have been vain for the defence of the fallen
man, had not Fortune aided him, by making the neighbours come with
lights to their windows and shout for the watch, whereupon the
assailants ran off and left the street clear.
The fallen man was meanwhile beginning to move; for the strokes he had
received, having encountered a breastplate as hard as adamant, had only
stunned, but not wounded him.
Now, Don Juan's hat had been knocked off in the fray, and thinking he
had picked it up, he had in fact put on that of another person, without
perceiving it to be other than his own. The gentleman whom he had
assisted now approached Don Juan, and accosted him as follows:--"Signor
Cavalier, whoever you may be, I confess that I owe you my life, and I am
bound to employ it, with all I have or can command, in your service: do
me the favour to tell me who you are, that I may know to whom my
gratitude is due."
"Signor," replied Don Juan, "that I may not seem discourteous, and in
compliance with your request, although I am wholly disinterested in what
I have done, you shall know that I am a Spanish gentleman, and a student
in this city; if you desire to hear my name I will tell you, rather lest
you should have some future occasion for my services than for any other
motive, that I am called Don Juan de Gamboa."
"You have done me a singular service, Signor Don Juan de Gamboa,"
replied the gentleman who had fallen, "but I will not tell you who I am,
nor my name, which I desire that you should learn from others rather
than from myself; yet I will take care that you be soon informed
respecting these things."
Don Juan then inquired of the stranger if he were wounded, observing,
that he had seen him receive two furious lunges in the breast; but the
other replied that he was unhurt; adding, that next to God, a famous
plastron that he wore had defended him against the blows he had
received, though his enemies would certainly have finished him had Don
Juan not come to his aid.
While thus discoursing, they beheld a body of men advancing towards
them; and Don Juan exclaimed--"If these are enemies, Signor, let us
hasten to put ourselves on our guard, and use our hands as men of our
condition should do."
"They are not enemies, so far as I can judge," replied the stranger.
"The men who are now coming towards us are friends."
And this was the truth; the persons approaching, of whom there were
eight, surrounded the unknown cavalier, with whom they exchanged a few
words, but in so low a tone that Don Juan could not hear the purport.
The gentleman then turned to Don Juan and said--"If these friends had
not arrived I should certainly not have left your company, Signor Don
Juan, until you had seen me in some place of safety; but as things are,
I beg you now, with all kindness, to retire and leave me in this place,
where it is of great importance that I should remain." Speaking thus,
the stranger carried his hand to his head, but finding that he was
without a hat, he turned towards the persons who had joined him,
desiring them to give him one, and saying that his own had fallen. He
had no sooner spoken than Don Juan presented him with that which he had
himself just picked up, and which he had discovered to be not his own.
The stranger having felt the hat, returned it to Don Juan, saying that
it was not his, and adding, "On your life, Signor Don Juan, keep this
hat as a trophy of this affray, for I believe it to be one that is not
unknown."
The persons around then gave the stranger another hat, and Don Juan,
after exchanging a few brief compliments with his companion, left him,
in compliance with his desire, without knowing who he was: he then
returned home, not daring at that moment to approach the door whence he
had received the newly-born infant, because the whole neighbourhood had
been aroused, and was in movement.
Now it chanced that as Don Juan was returning to his abode, he met his
comrade Don Antonio de Isunza; and the latter no sooner recognised him
in the darkness, than he exclaimed, "Turn about, Don Juan, and walk with
me to the end of the street; I have something to tell you, and as we go
along will relate a story such as you have never heard before in your
life."
"I also have one of the same kind to tell you," returned Don Juan, "but
let us go up the street as you say, and do you first relate your story."
Don Antonio thereupon walked forward, and began as follows:--"You must
know that in little less than an hour after you had left the house, I
left it also, to go in search of you, but I had not gone thirty paces
from this place when I saw before me a black mass, which I soon
perceived to be a person advancing in great haste. As the figure
approached nearer, I perceived it to be that of a woman, wrapped in a
very wide mantle, and who, in a voice interrupted by sobs and sighs,
addressed me thus, 'Are you, sir, a stranger, or one of the city?' 'I am
a stranger,' I replied, 'and a Spaniard.' 'Thanks be to God!' she
exclaimed, 'he will not have me die without the sacraments.' 'Are you
then wounded, madam?' continued I, 'or attacked by some mortal malady?'
'It may well happen that the malady from which I suffer may prove
mortal, if I do not soon receive aid,' returned the lady, 'wherefore, by
the courtesy which is ever found among those of your nation, I entreat
you, Signor Spaniard, take me from these streets, and lead me to your
dwelling with all the speed you may; there, if you wish it, you shall
know the cause of my sufferings, and who I am, even though it should
cost me my reputation to make myself known.'
"Hearing this," continued Don Antonio, "and seeing that the lady was in
a strait which permitted no delay, I said nothing more, but offering her
my hand, I conducted her by the by-streets to our house. Our page,
Santisteban, opened the door, but, commanding him to retire, I led the
lady in without permitting him to see her, and took her into my room,
where she had no sooner entered than she fell fainting on my bed.
Approaching to assist her, I removed the mantle which had hitherto
concealed her face, and discovered the most astonishing loveliness that
human eyes ever beheld. She may be about eighteen years old, as I should
suppose, but rather less than more. Bewildered for a moment at the sight
of so much beauty, I remained as one stupified, but recollecting myself,
I hastened to throw water on her face, and, with a pitiable sigh, she
recovered consciousness.
"The first word she uttered was the question, 'Do you know me, Signor?'
I replied, 'No, lady! I have not been so fortunate as ever before to
have seen so much beauty.' 'Unhappy is she,' returned the lady, 'to whom
heaven has given it for her misfortune. But, Signor, this is not the
time to praise my beauty, but to mourn my distress. By all that you most
revere, I entreat you to leave me shut up here, and let no one behold
me, while you return in all haste to the place where you found me, and
see if there be any persons fighting there. Yet do not take part either
with one side or the other. Only separate the combatants, for whatever
injury may happen to either, must needs be to the increase of my own
misfortunes.' I then left her as she desired," continued Don Antonio,
"and am now going to put an end to any quarrel which may arise, as the
lady has commanded me."
"Have you anything more to say?" inquired Don Juan.
"Do you think I have not said enough," answered Don Antonio, "since I
have told you that I have now in my chamber, and hold under my key, the
most wonderful beauty that human eyes have ever beheld."
"The adventure is a strange one, without doubt," replied Don Juan, "but
listen to mine;" and he instantly related to his friend all that had
happened to him. He told how the newly-born infant was then in their
house, and in the care of their housekeeper, with the orders he had
given as to changing its rich habits for others less remarkable, and for
procuring a nurse from the nearest midwife, to meet the present
necessity. "As to the combat you come in quest of," he added, "that is
already ended, and peace is made." Don Juan further related that he had
himself taken part in the strife; and concluded by remarking, that he
believed those whom he had found engaged were all persons of high
quality, as well as great courage.
Each of the Spaniards was much surprised at the adventure of the other,
and they instantly returned to the house to see what the lady shut up
there might require. On the way, Don Antonio told Don Juan that he had
promised the unknown not to suffer any one to see her; assuring her that
he only would enter the room, until she should herself permit the
approach of others.
"I shall nevertheless do my best to see her," replied Don Juan; "after
what you have said of her beauty, I cannot but desire to do so, and
shall contrive some means for effecting it."
Saying this they arrived at their house, when one of their three pages,
bringing lights, Don Antonio cast his eyes on the hat worn by Don Juan,
and perceived that it was glittering with diamonds. Don Juan took it
off, and then saw that the lustre of which his companion spoke,
proceeded from a very rich band formed of large brilliants. In great
surprise, the friends examined the ornament, and concluded that if all
the diamonds were as precious as they appeared to be, the hat must be
worth more than two thousand ducats. They thus became confirmed in the
conviction entertained by Don Juan, that the persons engaged in the
combat were of high quality, especially the gentleman whose part he had
taken, and who, as he now recollected, when bidding him take the hat,
and keep it, had remarked that it was not unknown.
The young men then commanded their pages to retire, and Don Antonio,
opening the door of his room, found the lady seated on his bed, leaning
her cheek on her hand, and weeping piteously. Don Juan also having
approached the door, the splendour of the diamonds caught the eye of the
weeping lady, and she exclaimed, "Enter, my lord duke, enter! Why afford
me in such scanty measure the happiness of seeing you; enter at once, I
beseech you."
"Signora," replied Don Antonio, "there is no duke here who is declining
to see you."
"How, no duke!" she exclaimed. "He whom I have just seen is the Duke of
Ferrara; the rich decoration of his hat does not permit him to conceal
himself."
"Of a truth, Signora, he who wears the hat you speak of is no duke; and
if you please to undeceive yourself by seeing that person, you have but
to give your permission, and he shall enter."
"Let him do so," said the lady; "although, if he be not the duke, my
misfortune will be all the greater."
Don Juan had heard all this, and now finding that he was invited to
enter, he walked into the apartment with his hat in his hand; but he had
no sooner placed himself before the lady than she, seeing he was not the
person she had supposed, began to exclaim, in a troubled voice and with
broken words, "Ah! miserable creature that I am, tell me, Signor--tell
me at once, without keeping me in suspense, what do you know of him who
owned that sombrero? How is it that he no longer has it, and how did it
come into your possession? Does he still live, or is this the token that
he sends me of his death? Oh! my beloved, what misery is this! I see the
jewels that were thine. I see myself shut up here without the light of
thy presence. I am in the power of strangers; and if I did not know that
they were Spaniards and gentlemen, the fear of that disgrace by which I
am threatened would already have finished my life."
"Calm yourself, madam," replied Don Juan, "for the master of this
sombrero is not dead, nor are you in a place where any increase to your
misfortunes is to be dreaded. We think only of serving you, so far as
our means will permit, even to the exposing our lives for your defence
and succour. It would ill become us to suffer that the trust you have in
the faith of Spaniards should be vain; and since we are Spaniards, and
of good quality--for here that assertion, which might otherwise appear
arrogant, becomes needful--be assured that you will receive all the
respect which is your due."
"I believe you," replied the lady; "but, nevertheless, tell me, I pray
you, how this rich sombrero came into your possession, and where is its
owner? who is no less a personage than Alfonso d'Este, Duke of Ferrara."
Then Don Juan, that he might not keep the lady longer in suspense,
related to her how he had found the hat in the midst of a combat, in
which he had taken the part of a gentleman, who, from what she had said,
he could not now doubt to be the Duke of Ferrara. He further told her
how, having lost his own hat in the strife, the gentleman had bidden
him keep the one he had picked up, and which belonged, as he said, to a
person not unknown; that neither the cavalier nor himself had received
any wound; and that, finally, certain friends or servants of the former
had arrived, when he who was now believed to be the duke had requested
Don Juan to leave him in that place, where he desired for certain
reasons to remain.
"This, madam," concluded Don Juan, "is the whole history of the manner
in which the hat came into my possession; and for its master, whom you
suppose to be the Duke of Ferrara, it is not an hour since I left him in
perfect safety. Let this true narration suffice to console you, since
you are anxious to be assured that the Duke is unhurt."
To this the lady made answer, "That you, gentlemen, may know how much
reason I have to inquire for the duke, and whether I need be anxious for
his safety, listen in your turn with attention, and I will relate what I
know not yet if I must call my unhappy history."
While these things were passing, the housekeeper of Don Antonio and Don
Juan was occupied with the infant, whose mouth she had moistened with
honey, and whose rich habits she was changing for clothes of a very
humble character. When that was done, she was about to carry the babe to
the house of the midwife, as Don Juan had recommended, but as she was
passing with it before the door of the room wherein the lady was about
to commence her history, the little creature began to cry aloud,
insomuch that the lady heard it. She instantly rose to her feet, and set
herself to listen, when the plaints of the infant arrived more
distinctly to her ear.
"What child is this, gentlemen?" said she, "for it appears to be but
just born."
Don Juan replied, "It is a little fellow who has been laid at the door
of our house to-night, and our servant is about to seek some one who
will nurse it."
"Let them bring it to me, for the love of God!" exclaimed the lady, "for
I will offer that charity to the child of others, since it has not
pleased Heaven that I should be permitted to nourish my own."
Don Juan then called the housekeeper, and taking the infant from her
arms he placed it in those of the lady, saying, "Behold, madam, this is
the present that has been made to us to-night, and it is not the first
of the kind that we have received, since but few months pass wherein we
do not find such God-sends hooked on to the hinges of our doors."
The lady had meanwhile taken the infant into her arms, and looked
attentively at its face, but remarking the poverty of its clothing,
which was, nevertheless, extremely clean, she could not restrain her
tears. She cast the kerchief which she had worn around her head over her
bosom, that she might succour the infant with decency, and bending her
face over that of the child, she remained long without raising her head,
while her eyes rained torrents of tears on the little creature she was
nursing.
The babe was eager to be fed, but finding that it could not obtain the
nourishment it sought, the lady returned the babe to Don Juan, saying,
"I have vainly desired to be charitable to this deserted infant, and
have but shown that I am new to such matters. Let your servants put a
little honey on the lips of the child, but do not suffer them to carry
it through the streets at such an hour; bid them wait until the day
breaks, and let the babe be once more brought to me before they take it
away, for I find a great consolation in the sight of it."
Don Juan then restored the infant to the housekeeper, bidding her take
the best care she could of it until daybreak, commanding that the rich
clothes it had first worn should be put on it again, and directing her
not to take it from the house until he had seen it once more. That done,
he returned to the room; and the two friends being again alone with the
beautiful lady, she said, "If you desire that I should relate my story,
you must first give me something that may restore my strength, for I
feel in much need of it." Don Antonio flew to the beaufet for some
conserves, of which the lady ate a little; and having drunk a glass of
water, and feeling somewhat refreshed, she said, "Sit down, Signors, and
listen to my story."
The gentlemen seated themselves accordingly, and she, arranging herself
on the bed, and covering her person with the folds of her mantle,
suffered the veil which she had kept about her head to fall on her
shoulders, thus giving her face to view, and exhibiting in it a lustre
equal to that of the moon, rather of the sun itself, when displayed in
all its splendour. Liquid pearls fell from her eyes, which she
endeavoured to dry with a kerchief of extraordinary delicacy, and with
hands so white that he must have had much judgment in colour who could
have found a difference between them and the cambric. Finally, after
many a sigh and many an effort to calm herself, with a feeble and
trembling voice, she said--
"I, Signors, am she of whom you have doubtless heard mention in this
city, since, such as it is, there are few tongues that do not publish
the fame of my beauty. I am Cornelia Bentivoglio, sister of Lorenzo
Bentivoglio; and, in saying this, I have perhaps affirmed two
acknowledged truths,--the one my nobility, and the other my beauty. At a
very early age I was left an orphan to the care of my brother, who was
most sedulous in watching over me, even from my childhood, although he
reposed more confidence in my sentiments of honour than in the guards he
had placed around me. In short, kept thus between walls and in perfect
solitude, having no other company than that of my attendants, I grew to
womanhood, and with me grew the reputation of my loveliness, bruited
abroad by the servants of my house, and by such as had been admitted to
my privacy, as also by a portrait which my brother had caused to be
taken by a famous painter, to the end, as he said, that the world might
not be wholly deprived of my features, in the event of my being early
summoned by Heaven to a better life.
"All this might have ended well, had it not chanced that the Duke of
Ferrara consented to act as sponsor at the nuptials of one of my
cousins; when my brother permitted me to be present at the ceremony,
that we might do the greater honour to our kinswoman. There I saw and
was seen; there, as I believe, hearts were subjugated, and the will of
the beholders rendered subservient; there I felt the pleasure received
from praise, even when bestowed by flattering tongues; and, finally, I
there beheld the duke, and was seen by him; in a word, it is in
consequence of this meeting that you see me here.
"I will not relate to you, Signors (for that would needlessly protract
my story), the various stratagems and contrivances by which the duke and
myself, at the end of two years, were at length enabled to bring about
that union, our desire for which had received birth at those nuptials.
Neither guards, nor seclusion, nor remonstrances, nor human diligence of
any kind, sufficed to prevent it, and we were finally made one; for
without the sanction due to my honour, Alfonso would certainly not have
prevailed. I would fain have had him publicly demand my hand from my
brother, who would not have refused it; nor would the duke have had to
excuse himself before the world as to any inequality in our marriage,
since the race of the Bentivogli is in no manner inferior to that of
Este; but the reasons which he gave for not doing as I wished appeared
to me sufficient, and I suffered them to prevail.
"The visits of the duke were made through the intervention of a servant,
over whom his gifts had more influence than was consistent with the
confidence reposed in her by my brother. After a time I perceived that I
was about to become a mother, and feigning illness and low spirits, I
prevailed on Lorenzo to permit me to visit the cousin at whose marriage
it was that I first saw the duke; I then apprised the latter of my
situation, letting him also know the danger in which my life was placed
from that suspicion of the truth which I could not but fear that Lorenzo
must eventually entertain.
"It was then agreed between us, that when the time for my travail drew
near, the duke should come, with certain of his friends, and take me to
Ferrara, where our marriage should be publicly celebrated. This was the
night on which I was to have departed, and I was waiting the arrival of
Alfonso, when I heard my brother pass the door with several other
persons, all armed, as I could hear, by the noise of their weapons. The
terror caused by this event was such as to occasion the premature birth
of my infant, a son, whom the waiting-woman, my confidant, who had made
all ready for his reception, wrapped at once in the clothes we had
provided, and gave at the street-door, as she told me, to a servant of
the duke. Soon afterwards, taking such measures as I could under
circumstances so pressing, and hastened by the fear of my brother, I
also left the house, hoping to find the duke awaiting me in the street.
I ought not to have gone forth until he had come to the door; but the
armed band of my brother, whose sword I felt at my throat, had caused
me such terror that I was not in a state to reflect. Almost out of my
senses I came forth, as you behold me; and what has since happened you
know. I am here, it is true, without my husband, and without my son; yet
I return thanks to Heaven which has led me into your hands--for from you
I promise myself all that may be expected from Spanish courtesy,
reinforced, as it cannot but be in your persons, by the nobility of your
race."
Having said this, the lady fell back on the bed, and the two friends
hastened to her assistance, fearing she had again fainted. But they
found this not to be the case; she was only weeping bitterly. Wherefore
Don Juan said to her, "If up to the present moment, beautiful lady, my
companion Don Antonio, and I, have felt pity and regret for you as being
a woman, still more shall we now do so, knowing your quality; since
compassion and grief are changed into the positive obligation and duty
of serving and aiding you. Take courage, and do not be dismayed; for
little as you are formed to endure such trials, so much the more will
you prove yourself to be the exalted person you are, as your patience
and fortitude enable you to rise above your sorrows. Believe me,
Signora, I am persuaded that these extraordinary events are about to
have a fortunate conclusion; for Heaven can never permit so much beauty
to endure permanent sorrow, nor suffer your chaste purposes to be
frustrated. Go now to bed, Signora, and take that care of your health of
which you have so much need; there shall presently come to wait on you a
servant of ours, in whom you may confide as in ourselves, for she will
maintain silence respecting your misfortunes with no less discretion
than she will attend to all your necessities."
"The condition in which I find myself," replied the lady, "might compel
me to the adoption of more difficult measures than those you advise. Let
this woman come, Signors; presented to me by you, she cannot fail to be
good and serviceable; but I beseech you let no other living being see
me."
"So shall it be," replied Don Antonio; and the two friends withdrew,
leaving Cornelia alone.
Don Juan then commanded the housekeeper to enter the room, taking with
her the infant, whose rich habits she had already replaced. The woman
did as she was ordered, having been previously told what she should
reply to the questions of the Signora respecting the infant she bore in
her arms Seeing her come in, Cornelia instantly said, "You come in good
time, my friend; give me that infant, and place the light near me."
The servant obeyed; and, taking the babe in her arms, Cornelia instantly
began to tremble, gazed at him intently, and cried out in haste, "Tell
me, good woman, is this child the same that you brought me a short time
since?" "It is the same, Signora," replied the woman. "How is it, then,
that his clothing is so different? Certainly, dame housekeeper, either
these are other wrappings, or the infant is not the same." "It may all
be as you say," began the old woman. "All as I say!" interrupted
Cornelia, "how and what is this? I conjure you, friend, by all you most
value, to tell me whence you received these rich clothes; for my heart
seems to be bursting in my bosom! Tell me the cause of this change; for
you must know that these things belong to me, if my sight do not deceive
me, and my memory have not failed. In these robes, or some like them, I
entrusted to a servant of mine the treasured jewel of my soul! Who has
taken them from him? Ah, miserable creature that I am! who has brought
these things here? Oh, unhappy and woeful day!"
Don Juan and Don Antonio, who were listening to all this, could not
suffer the matter to go further, nor would they permit the exchange of
the infant's dress to trouble the poor lady any longer. They therefore
entered the room, and Don Juan said, "This infant and its wrappings are
yours, Signora;" and immediately he related from point to point how the
matter had happened. He told Cornelia that he was himself the person to
whom the waiting woman had given the child, and how he had brought it
home, with the orders he had given to the housekeeper respecting its
change of clothes, and his motives for doing so. He added that, from the
moment when she had spoken of her own infant, he had felt certain that
this was no other than her son; and if he had not told her so at once,
that was because he feared the effects of too much gladness, coming
immediately after the heavy grief which her trials had caused her.
The tears of joy then shed by Cornelia were many and long-continued;
infinite were the acknowledgments she offered to Heaven, innumerable the
kisses she lavished on her son, and profuse the thanks which she
offered from her heart to the two friends, whom she called her guardian
angels on earth, with other names, which gave abundant proof of her
gratitude. They soon afterwards left the lady with their housekeeper,
whom they enjoined to attend her well, and do her all the service
possible--having made known to the woman the position in which Cornelia
found herself, to the end that she might take all necessary precautions,
the nature of which, she, being a woman, would know much better than
they could do. They then went to rest for the little that remained of
the night, intending to enter Cornelia's apartment no more, unless
summoned by herself, or called thither by some pressing need.
The day having dawned, the housekeeper went to fetch a woman, who agreed
to nurse the infant in silence and secrecy. Some hours later the friends
inquired for Cornelia, and their servant told them that she had rested a
little. Don Juan and Don Antonio then went to the Schools. As they
passed by the street where the combat had taken place, and near the
house whence Cornelia had fled, they took care to observe whether any
signs of disorder were apparent, and whether the matter seemed to be
talked of in the neighbourhood: but they could hear not a word
respecting the affray of the previous night, or the absence of Cornelia.
So, having duly attended the various lectures, they returned to their
dwelling.
The lady then caused them to be summoned to her chamber; but finding
that, from respect to her presence, they hesitated to appear, she
replied to the message they sent her, with tears in her eyes, begging
them to come and see her, which she declared to be now the best proof of
their respect as well as interest; since, if they could not remedy, they
might at least console her misfortunes.
Thus exhorted, the gentlemen obeyed, and Cornelia received them with a
smiling face and great cordiality. She then entreated that they would do
her the kindness to walk about the city, and ascertain if anything had
transpired concerning her affairs. They replied, that they had already
done so, with all possible care, but that not a word had been said
reacting the matter.
At this moment, one of the three pages who served the gentlemen
approached the door of the room telling his masters from without, that
there was then at the street door, attended by two servants, a
gentleman, who called himself Lorenzo Bentivoglio, and inquired for the
Signor Don Juan de Gamboa. Hearing this message, Cornelia clasped her
hands, and placing them on her mouth, she exclaimed, in a low and
trembling voice, while her words came with difficulty through those
clenched fingers, "It is my brother, Signors! it is my brother! Without
doubt he has learned that I am here, and has come to take my life. Help
and aid, Signors! help and aid!"
"Calm yourself, lady," replied Don Antonio; "you are in a place of
safety, and with people who will not suffer the smallest injury to be
offered you. The Signor Don Juan will go to inquire what this gentleman
demands, and I will remain to defend you, if need be, from all
disturbance."
Don Juan prepared to descend accordingly, and Don Antonio, taking his
loaded pistols, bade the pages belt on their swords, and hold themselves
in readiness for whatever might happen. The housekeeper, seeing these
preparations began to tremble,--Cornelia, dreading some fearful result
was in grievous terror,--Don Juan and Don Antonio alone preserved their
coolness.
Arrived at the door of the house, Don Juan found Don Lorenzo, who,
coming towards him, said, "I entreat your Lordship"--for such is the
form of address among Italians--"I entreat your Lordship to do me the
kindness to accompany me to the neighbouring church; I have to speak to
you respecting an affair which concerns my life and honour."
"Very willingly," replied Don Juan. "Let us go, Signor, wherever you
please."
They walked side by side to the church, where they seated themselves on
a retired bench, so as not to be overheard. Don Lorenzo was the first to
break silence.
"Signor Spaniard," he said, "I am Lorenzo Bentivoglio; if not of the
richest, yet of one of the most important families belonging to this
city; and if this seem like boasting of myself, the notoriety of the
fact may serve as my excuse for naming it. I was left an orphan many
years since, and to my guardianship was left a sister, so beautiful,
that if she were not nearly connected with me, I might perhaps describe
her in terms that, while they might seem exaggerated, would yet not by
any means do justice to her attractions. My honour being very dear to
me, and she being very young, as well as beautiful, I took all possible
care to guard her at all points; but my best precautions have proved
vain; the self-will of Cornelia, for that is her name, has rendered all
useless. In a word, and not to weary you--for this story might become a
long one,--I will but tell you, that the Duke of Ferrara, Alfonso
d'Este, vanquishing the eyes of Argus by those of a lynx, has rendered
all my cares vain, by carrying off my sister last night from the house
of one of our kindred; and it is even said that she has already become a
mother.
"The misfortune of our house was made known to me last night, and I
instantly placed myself on the watch; nay, I met and even attacked
Alfonso, sword in hand; but he was succoured in good time by some angel,
who would not permit me to efface in his blood the stain he has put upon
me. My relation has told me, (and it is from her I have heard all,) that
the duke deluded my sister, under a promise to make her his wife; but
this I do not believe, for, in respect to present station and wealth,
the marriage would not be equal, although, in point of blood, all the
world knows how noble are the Bentivogli of Bologna. What I fear is,
that the duke has done, what is but too easy when a great and powerful
Prince desires to win a timid and retiring girl: he has merely called
her by the tender name of wife, and made her believe that certain
considerations have prevented him from marrying her at once,--a
plausible pretence, but false and perfidious.
"Be that as it may, I see myself at once deprived of my sister and my
honour. Up to this moment I have kept the matter secret, purposing not
to make known the outrage to any one, until I see whether there may not
be some remedy, or means of satisfaction to be obtained. It is better
that a disgrace of this kind be supposed and suspected, than certainly
and distinctly known--seeing that between the yes and the no of a doubt,
each inclines to the opinion that most attracts him, and both sides of
the question find defenders. Considering all these things, I have
determined to repair to Ferrara, and there demand satisfaction from the
duke himself. If he refuse it, I will then offer him defiance. Yet my
defiance cannot be made with armed bands, for I could neither get them
together nor maintain them but as from man to man. For this it is,
then, that I desire your aid. I hope you will accompany me in the
journey; nay, I am confident that you will do so, being a Spaniard and a
gentleman, as I am told you are.
"I cannot entrust my purpose to any relation or friend of my family,
knowing well that from them I should have nothing more than objections
and remonstrances, while from you I may hope for sensible and honourable
counsels, even though there should be peril in pursuing them. You must
do me the favour to go with me, Signor. Having a Spaniard, and such as
you appear to be, at my side, I shall account myself to have the armies
of Xerxes. I am asking much at your hands; but the duty of answering
worthily to what fame publishes of your nation, would oblige you to do
still more than I ask."
"No more, Signor Lorenzo," exclaimed Don Juan, who had not before
interrupted the brother of Cornelia; "no more. From this moment I accept
the office you propose to me, and will be your defender and counsellor.
I take upon myself the satisfaction of your honour, or due vengeance for
the affront you have received, not only because I am a Spaniard, but
because I am a gentleman, and you another, so noble, as you have said,
as I know you to be, and as, indeed, all the world reputes you. When
shall we set out? It would be better that we did so immediately, for a
man does ever well to strike while the iron is hot. The warmth of anger
increases courage, and a recent affront more effectually awakens
vengeance."
Hearing this, Don Lorenzo rose and embraced Don Juan, saying to him, "A
person so generous as yourself, Signor Don Juan, needs no other
incentive than that of the honour to be gained in such a cause: this
honour you have assured to yourself to-day, if we come out happily from
our adventure; but I offer you in addition all I can do, or am worth.
Our departure I would have to be to-morrow, since I can provide all
things needful to-day."
"This appears to me well decided," replied Don Juan, "but I must beg
you, Signor Don Lorenzo, to permit me to make all known to a gentleman
who is my friend, and of whose honour and silence I can assure you even
more certainly than of my own, if that were possible."
"Since you, Signor Don Juan," replied Lorenzo, "have taken charge, as
you say, of my honour, dispose of this matter as you please; and make it
known to whom and in what manner it shall seem best to you; how much
more, then, to a companion of your own, for what can he be but
everything that is best."
This said, the gentlemen embraced each other and took leave, after
having agreed that on the following morning Lorenzo should send to
summon Don Juan at an hour fixed on when they should mount their horses
and pursue their journey in the disguise that Don Lorenzo had selected.
Don Juan then returned, and gave an account of all that had passed to
Don Antonio and Cornelia, not omitting the engagement into which he had
entered for the morrow.
"Good heavens, Signor!" exclaimed Cornelia; "what courtesy! what
confidence! to think of your committing yourself without hesitation to
an undertaking so replete with difficulties! How can you know whether
Lorenzo will take you to Ferrara, or to what place indeed he may conduct
you? But go with him whither you may, be certain that the very soul of
honour and good faith will stand beside you. For myself, unhappy
creature that I am, I shall be terrified at the very atoms that dance in
the sunbeams, and tremble at every shadow; but how can it be otherwise,
since on the answer of Duke Alfonso depends my life or death. How do I
know that he will reply with sufficient courtesy to prevent the anger of
my brother from passing the limits of discretion? and if Lorenzo should
draw the sword, think ye he will have a despicable enemy to encounter?
Must not I remain through all the days of your absence in a state of
mortal suspense and terror, awaiting the favourable or grievous
intelligence that you shall bring me! Do I love either my brother or the
duke so little as not to tremble for both, and not feel the injury of
either to my soul?"
"Your fears affect your judgment, Signora Cornelia," replied Don Juan;
"and they go too far. Amidst so many terrors, you should give some place
to hope, and trust in God. Put some faith also in my care, and in the
earnest desire I feel to see your affairs attain to a happy conclusion.
Your brother cannot avoid making this journey to Ferrara, nor can I
excuse myself from accompanying him thither. For the present we do not
know the intentions of the duke, nor even whether he be or be not
acquainted with your elopement. All this we must learn from his own
mouth; and there is no one who can better make the inquiry than myself.
Be certain, Signora, that the welfare and satisfaction of both your
brother and the Signor Duke are to me as the apples of my eyes, and that
I will care for the safety of the one as of the other."
"Ah Signor Don Juan," replied Cornelia, "if Heaven grant you as much
power to remedy, as grace to console misfortune, I must consider myself
exceedingly fortunate in the midst of my sorrows; and now would I fain
see you gone and returned; for the whole time of your absence I must
pass suspended between hope and fear."
The determination of Don Juan was approved by Don Antonio, who commended
him for the justification which he had thereby given to the confidence
of Lorenzo Bentivoglio. He furthermore told his friend that he would
gladly accompany him, to be ready for whatever might happen, but Don
Juan replied--"Not so; first, because you must remain for the better
security of the lady Cornelia, whom it will not be well to leave alone;
and secondly, because I would not have Signor Lorenzo suppose that I
desire to avail myself of the arm of another." "But my arm is your own,"
returned Don Antonio, "wherefore, if I must even disguise myself, and
can but follow you at a distance, I will go with you; and as to Signora
Cornelia, I know well that she will prefer to have me accompany you,
seeing that she will not here want people who can serve and guard her."
"Indeed," said Cornelia, "it will be a great consolation to me to know
that you are together, Signors, or at least so near as to be able to
assist each other in case of necessity; and since the undertaking you
are going on appears to be dangerous, do me the favour, gentlemen, to
take these Relics with you." Saying this, Cornelia drew from her bosom a
diamond cross, of great value, with an Agnus of gold equally rich and
costly. The two gentlemen looked at the magnificent jewels, which they
esteemed to be of still greater value than the decoration of the hat;
but they returned them to the lady, each saying that he carried Relics
of his own, which, though less richly decorated, were at least equally
efficacious. Cornelia regretted much that they would not accept those
she offered, but she was compelled to submit.
The housekeeper was now informed of the departure of her masters,
though not of their destination, or of the purpose for which they went.
She promised to take the utmost care of the lady, whose name she did not
know, and assured her masters that she would be so watchful as to
prevent her suffering in any manner from their absence.
Early the following morning Lorenzo was at the door, where he found Don
Juan ready. The latter had assumed a travelling dress, with the rich
sombrero presented by the duke, and which he had adorned with black and
yellow plumes, placing a black covering over the band of brilliants. He
went to take leave of Cornelia, who, knowing that her brother was near,
fell into an agony of terror, and could not say one word to the two
friends who were bidding her adieu. Don Juan went out the first, and
accompanied Lorenzo beyond the walls of the city, where they found their
servants waiting with the horses in a retired garden. They mounted, rode
on before, and the servants guided their masters in the direction of
Ferrara by ways but little known. Don Antonio followed on a low pony,
and with such a change of apparel as sufficed to disguise him; but
fancying that they regarded him with suspicion, especially Lorenzo, he
determined to pursue the highway, and rejoin his friend in Ferrara,
where he was certain to find him with but little difficulty.
The Spaniards had scarcely got clear of the city before Cornelia had
confided her whole history to the housekeeper, informing her that the
infant belonged to herself and to the Duke of Ferrara, and making her
acquainted with all that has been related, not concealing from her that
the journey made by her masters was to Ferrara, or that they went
accompanied by her brother, who was going to challenge the Duke Alfonso.
Hearing all this, the housekeeper, as though the devil had sent her to
complicate the difficulties and defer the restoration of Cornelia, began
to exclaim--"Alas! lady of my soul! all these things have happened to
you, and you remain carelessly there with your limbs stretched out, and
doing nothing! Either you have no soul at all, or you have one so poor
and weak that you do not feel it! And do you really suppose that your
brother has gone to Ferrara? Believe nothing of the kind, but rather be
sure that he has carried off my masters, and wiled them from the house,
that he may return and take your life, for he can now do it as one
would drink a cup of water. Consider only under what kind of guard and
protection we are left--that of three pages, who have enough to do with
their own pranks, and are little likely to put their hands to any thing
good. I, for my part, shall certainly not have courage to await what
must follow, and the destruction that cannot but come upon this house.
The Signor Lorenzo, an Italian, to put his trust in Spaniards, and ask
help and favour from them! By the light of my eyes. I will believe none
of that!" So saying, she made a fig[3] at herself. "But if you, my
daughter, will take good advice, I will give you such as shall truly
enlighten your way."
[3] A gesture of contempt or playfulness, as the case may be, and which
consists in a certain twist of the fingers and thumb.
Cornelia was thrown into a pitiable state of alarm and confusion by
these declarations of file housekeeper, who spoke with so much heat, and
gave so many evidences of terror, that all she said appeared to be the
very truth. The lady pictured to herself Don Antonio and Don Juan as
perhaps already dead; she fancied her brother even then coming in at the
door, and felt herself already pierced by the blows of his poniard. She
therefore replied, "What advice do you then give me, good friend, that
may prevent the catastrophe which threatens us?"
"I will give you counsel so good," rejoined the housekeeper, "that
better could not be. I, Signora, was formerly in the service of a
priest, who has his abode in a village not more than two miles from
Ferrara. He is a good and holy man, who will do whatever I require from
him, since he is under more obligations to me than merely those of a
master to a faithful servant. Let us go to him. I will seek some one who
shall conduct us thither instantly; and the woman who comes to nurse the
infant is a poor creature, who will go with us to the end of the world.
And, now make ready, Signora; for supposing you are to be discovered, it
would be much better that you should be found under the care of a good
priest, old and respected, than in the hands of two young students,
bachelors and Spaniards, who, as I can myself bear witness, are but
little disposed to lose occasions for amusing themselves. Now that you
are unwell, they treat you with respect; but if you get well and remain
in their clutches, Heaven alone will be able to help you; for truly, if
my cold disdain and repulses had not been my safeguard, they would long
since have torn my honour to rags. All is not gold that glitters. Men
say one thing, but think another: happily, it is with me that they have
to do; and I am not to be deceived, but know well when the shoe pinches
my foot. Above all, I am well born, for I belong to the Crivellis of
Milan, and I carry the point of honour ten thousand feet above the
clouds; by this you may judge, Signora, through what troubles I have had
to pass, since, being what I am, I have been brought to serve as the
housekeeper of Spaniards, or as, what they call, their _gouvernante_.
Not that I have, in truth, any complaint to make of my masters, who are
a couple of half-saints[4] when they are not put into a rage. And, in
this respect, they would seem to be Biscayans, as, indeed, they say they
are. But, after all, they may be Galicians, which is another nation, and
much less exact than the Biscayans; neither are they so much to be
depended on as the people of the Bay."
[4] The original is _benditos_, which sometimes means simpleton, but is
here equivalent to the Italian _beato_, and must be rendered as in the
text.
By all this verbiage, and more beside, the bewildered lady was induced
to follow the advice of the old woman, insomuch that, in less than four
hours after the departure of the friends, their housekeeper making all
arrangements, and Cornelia consenting, the latter was seated in a
carriage with the nurse of the babe, and without being heard by the
pages they set off on their way to the curate's village. All this was
done not only by the advice of the housekeeper, but also with her money;
for her masters had just before paid her a year's wages, and therefore
it was not needful that she should take a jewel which Cornelia had
offered her for the purposes of their journey.
Having heard Don Juan say that her brother and himself would not follow
the highway to Ferrara, but proceed thither by retired paths, Cornelia
thought it best to take the high road. She bade the driver, go slowly,
that they might not overtake the gentlemen in any case; and the master
of the carriage was well content to do as they liked, since they had
paid him as he liked.
We will leave them on their way, which they take with as much boldness
as good direction, and let us see what happened to Don Juan de Gamboa
and Signor Lorenzo Bentivoglio. On their way they heard that the duke
had not gone to Ferrara, but was still at Bologna, wherefore, abandoning
the round they were making, they regained the high road, considering
that it was by this the duke would travel on his return to Ferrara. Nor
had they long entered thereon before they perceived a troop of men on
horseback coming as it seemed from Bologna.
Don Juan then begged Lorenzo to withdraw to a little distance, since, if
the duke should chance to be of the company approaching, it would be
desirable that he should speak to him before he could enter Ferrara,
which was but a short distance from them. Lorenzo complied, and as soon
as he had withdrawn, Don Juan removed the covering by which he had
concealed the rich ornament of his hat; but this was not done without
some little indiscretion, as he was himself the first to admit some time
after.
Meanwhile the travellers approached; among them came a woman on a
pied-horse, dressed in a travelling habit, and her face covered with a
silk mask, either to conceal her features, or to shelter them from the
effects of the sun and air.
Don Juan pulled up his horse in the middle of the road, and remained
with his face uncovered, awaiting the arrival of the cavalcade. As they
approached him, the height, good looks, and spirited attitude of the
Spaniard, the beauty of his horse, his peculiar dress, and, above all,
the lustre of the diamonds on his hat, attracted the eyes of the whole
party but especially those of the Duke of Ferrara, the principal
personage of the group, who no sooner beheld the band of brilliants than
he understood the cavalier before him to be Don Juan de Gamboa, his
deliverer in the combat frequently alluded to. So well convinced did he
feel of this, that, without further question, he rode up to Don Juan,
saying, "I shall certainly not deceive myself, Signor Cavalier, if I
call you Don Juan de Gamboa, for your spirited looks, and the decoration
you wear on your hat, alike assure me of the fact."
"It is true that I am the person you say," replied Don Juan. "I have
never yet desired to conceal my name; but tell me, Signor, who you are
yourself, that I may not be surprised into any discourtesy."
"Discourtesy from you, Signor, would be impossible," rejoined the duke.
"I feel sure that you could not be discourteous in any case; but I
hasten to tell you, nevertheless, that I am the Duke of Ferrara, and a
man who will be bound to do you service all the days of his life, since
it is but a few nights since you gave him that life which must else have
been lost."
Alfonzo had not finished speaking, when Don Juan, springing lightly from
his horse, hastened to kiss the feet of the duke; but, with all his
agility, the latter was already out of the saddle, and alighted in the
arms of the Spaniard.
Seeing this, Signor Lorenzo, who could but observe these ceremonies from
a distance, believed that what he beheld was the effect of anger rather
than courtesy; he therefore put his horse to its speed, but pulled up
midway on perceiving that the duke and Don Juan were of a verity clasped
in each other's arms. It then chanced that Alfonso, looking over the
shoulders of Don Juan, perceived Lorenzo, whom he instantly recognised;
and somewhat disconcerted at his appearance, while still holding Don
Juan embraced, he inquired if Lorenzo Bentivoglio, whom he there beheld,
had come with him or not. Don Juan replied, "Let us move somewhat apart
from this place, and I will relate to your excellency some very singular
circumstances."
The duke having done as he was requested, Don Juan said to him, "My Lord
Duke, I must tell you that Lorenzo Bentivoglio, whom you there see, has
a cause of complaint against you, and not a light one; he avers that
some nights since you took his sister, the Lady Cornelia, from the house
of a lady, her cousin, and that you have deceived her, and dishonoured
his house; he desires therefore to know what satisfaction you propose to
make for this, that he may then see what it behoves him to do. He has
begged me to be his aid and mediator in the matter, and I have consented
with a good will, since, from certain indications which he gave me, I
perceived that the person of whom of complained, and yourself, to whose
liberal courtesy I owe this rich ornament, were one and the same. Thus,
seeing that none could more effectually mediate between you than myself,
I offered to undertake that office willingly, as I have said; and now I
would have you tell me, Signor, if you know aught of this matter, and
whether what Lorenzo has told me be true."
"Alas, my friend, it is so true," replied the duke, "that I durst not
deny it, even if I would. Yet I have not deceived or carried off
Cornelia, although I know that she has disappeared from the house of
which you speak. I have not deceived her, because I have taken her for
my wife; and I have not carried her off, since I do not know what has
become of her. If I have not publicly celebrated my nuptials with her,
it is because I waited until my mother, who is now at the last
extremity, should have passed to another life, she desiring greatly that
I should espouse the Signora Livia, daughter of the Duke of Mantua.
There are, besides, other reasons, even more important than this, but
which it is not convenient that I should now make known.
"What has in fact happened is this:--on the night when you came to my
assistance, I was to have taken Cornelia to Ferrara, she being then in
the last month of her pregnancy, and about to present me with that
pledge of our love with which it has pleased God to bless us; but
whether she was alarmed by our combat or by my delay, I know not; all I
can tell you is, that when I arrived at the house, I met the confidante
of our affection just coming out. From her I learned that her mistress
had that moment left the house, after having given birth to a son, the
most beautiful that ever had been seen, and whom she had given to one
Fabio, my servant. The woman is she whom you see here. Fabio is also in
this company; but of Cornelia and her child I can learn nothing. These
two days I have passed at Bologna, in ceaseless endeavours to discover
her, or to obtain some clue to her retreat, but I have not been able to
learn anything."
"In that case," interrupted Don Juan, "if Cornelia and her child were
now to appear, you would not refuse to admit that the first is your
wife, and the second your son?"
"Certainly not," replied the duke; "for if I value myself on being a
gentleman, still more highly do I prize the title of Christian.
Cornelia, besides, is one who well deserves to be mistress of a kingdom.
Let her but come, and whether my mother live or die, the world shall
know that I maintain my faith, and that my word, given in private, shall
be publicly redeemed."
"And what you have now said to me you are willing to repeat to your
brother, Signor Lorenzo?" inquired Don Juan.
"My only regret is," exclaimed the duke, "that he has not long before
been acquainted with the truth."
Hearing this, Don Juan made sign to Lorenzo that he should join them,
which he did, alighting from his horse and proceeding towards the place
where his friends stood, but far from hoping for the good news that
awaited him.
The duke advanced to receive him with open arms, and the first word he
uttered was to call him brother. Lorenzo scarcely knew how to reply to a
reception so courteous and a salutation so affectionate. He stood
amazed, and before he could utter a word, Don Juan said to him, "The
duke, Signor Lorenzo, is but too happy to admit his affection for your
sister, the Lady Cornelia; and, at the same time, he assures you, that
she is his legitimate consort. This, as he now says it to you, he will
affirm publicly before all the world, when the moment for doing so has
arrived. He confesses, moreover, that he did propose to remove her from
the house of her cousin some nights since, intending to take her to
Ferrara, there to await the proper time for their public espousals,
which he has only delayed for just causes, which he has declared to me.
He describes the conflict he had to maintain against yourself; and adds,
that when he went to seek Cornelia, he found only her waiting-woman,
Sulpicia, who is the woman you see yonder: from her he has learned that
her lady had just given birth to a son, whom she entrusted to a servant
of the duke, and then left the house in terror, because she feared that
you, Signor Lorenzo, had been made aware of her secret marriage: the
lady hoped, moreover, to find the duke awaiting her in the street. But
it seems that Sulpicia did not give the babe to Fabio, but to some other
person instead of him, and the child does not appear, neither is the
Lady Cornelia to be found, in spite of the duke's researches. He admits,
that all these things have happened by his fault; but declares, that
whenever your sister shall appear, he is ready to receive her as his
legitimate wife. Judge, then, Signor Lorenzo, if there be any more to
say or to desire beyond the discovery of those two dear but unfortunate
ones--the lady and her infant."
To this Lorenzo replied by throwing himself at the feet of the duke,
who raised him instantly. "From your greatness and Christian
uprightness, most noble lord and dear brother," said Lorenzo, "my sister
and I had certainly nothing less than this high honour to expect."
Saying this, tears came to his eyes, and the duke felt his own becoming
moist, for both were equally affected,--the one with the fear of having
lost his wife, the other by the generous candour of his brother-in-law;
but at once perceiving the weakness of thus displaying their feelings,
they both restrained themselves, and drove back those witnesses to their
source; while the eyes of Don Juan, shining with gladness, seemed almost
to demand from them the _albricias_[5] of good news, seeing that he
believed himself to have both Cornelia and her son in his own house.
[5] _Albricias_: "Largess!" "Give reward for good tidings."
Things were at this point when Don Antonio de Isunza, whom Don Juan
recognised at a considerable distance by his horse, was perceived
approaching. He also recognised Don Juan and Lorenzo, but not the duke,
and did not know what he was to do, or whether he ought to rejoin his
friend or not. He therefore inquired of the duke's servants who the
gentleman was, then standing with Lorenzo and Don Juan. They replied
that it was the Duke of Ferrara; and Don Antonio, knowing less than ever
what it was best for him to do, remained in some confusion, until he was
relieved from it by Don Juan, who called him by his name. Seeing that
all were on foot, Don Antonio also dismounted, and, approaching the
group, was received with infinite courtesy by the duke, to whom Don Juan
had already named him as his friend; finally, Don Antonio was made
acquainted with all that had taken place before his arrival.
Rejoicing greatly at what he heard, Don Antonio then said to his
comrade, "Why, Signor Don Juan, do you not finish your work, and raise
the joy of these Signors to its acme, by requiring from them the
albricias for discovering the Lady Cornelia and her son?"
"Had you not arrived, I might have taken those albricias you speak of,"
replied Don Juan; "but now they are yours, Don Antonio, for I am certain
that the duke and Signor Lorenzo will give them to you most joyfully."
The duke and Lorenzo hearing of Cornelia being found, and of albricias,
inquired the meaning of those words.
"What can it be," replied Don Antonio, "if not that I also design to
become one of the personages in this happily terminating drama, being he
who is to demand the albricias for the discovery of the Lady Cornelia
and her son, who are both in my house." He then at once related to the
brothers, point by point, what has been already told, intelligence which
gave the duke and Lorenzo so much pleasure, that each embraced one of
the friends with all his heart, Lorenzo throwing himself into the arms
of Don Juan, and the duke into those of Don Antonio--the latter
promising his whole dukedom for albricias, and Lorenzo his life, soul,
and estates. They then called the woman who had given the child to Don
Juan, and she having perceived her master, Lorenzo Bentivoglio, came
forward, trembling. Being asked if she could recognise the man to whom
she had given the infant, she replied that she could not; but that when
she had asked if he were Fabio, he had answered "yes," and that she had
entrusted the babe to his care in the faith of that reply.
"All this is true," returned Don Juan; "and you furthermore bade me
deposit the child in a place of security, and instantly return."
"I did so," replied the waiting-woman, weeping. But the duke exclaimed,
"We will have no more tears; all is gladness and joy. I will not now
enter Ferrara, but return at once to Bologna; for this happiness is but
in shadow until made perfect by the sight of Cornelia herself." Then,
without more words, the whole company wheeled round, and took their way
to Bologna.
Don Antonio now rode forward to prepare the Lady Cornelia, lest the
sudden appearance of her brother and the duke might cause too violent a
revulsion; but not finding her as he expected, and the pages being
unable to give him any intelligence respecting her, he suddenly found
himself the saddest and most embarrassed man in the world. Learning that
the gouvernante had departed, he was not long in conjecturing that the
lady had disappeared by her means. The pages informed him that the
housekeeper had gone on the same day with himself and Don Juan, but as
to that Lady Cornelia, respecting whom he inquired, they had never seen
her. Don Antonio was almost out of his senses at this unexpected
occurrence, which, he feared, must make the duke consider himself and
Don Juan to be mere liars and boasters. He was plunged in these sad
thoughts when Alfonso entered with Lorenzo and Don Juan, who had spurred
on before the attendants by retired and unfrequented streets. They found
Don Antonio seated with his head on his hand, and as pale as a man who
has been long dead, and when Don Juan inquired what ailed him, and where
was the Lady Cornelia, he replied, "Rather ask me what do I not ail,
since the Lady Cornelia is not to be found. She quitted the house, on
the same day as ourselves, with the gouvernante we left to keep her
company."
This sad news seemed as though it would deprive the duke of life, and
Lorenzo of his senses. The whole party remained in the utmost
consternation and dismay; when one of the pages said to Don Antonio in a
whisper, "Signor, Santisteban, Signor Don Juan's page, has had locked up
in his chamber, from the day when your worships left, a very pretty
woman, whose name is certainly Cornelia, for I have heard him call her
so." Plunged into a new embarrassment, Don Antonio would rather not have
found the lady at all--for he could not but suppose it was she whom the
page had shut up in his room--than have discovered her in such a place.
Nevertheless, without saying a word, he ascended to the page's chamber,
but found the door fast, for the young man had gone out, and taken away
the key. Don Antonio therefore put his lips to the keyhole, and said in
a low voice, "Open the door, Signora Cornelia, and come down to receive
your brother, and the duke, your husband, who are waiting to take you
hence."
A voice from within replied, "Are you making fun of me? It is certain
that I am neither so ugly nor so old but that dukes and counts may very
well be looking for me: but this comes of condescending to visit pages."
These words quite satisfied Don Antonio that it was not the Lady
Cornelia who had replied.
At that moment Santisteban returned and went up to his chamber, where he
found Don Antonio, who had just commanded that all the keys of the
house should be brought, to see if any one of them would open the door.
The page fell on his knees, and held up the key, exclaiming, "Have mercy
on me, your worship: your absence, or rather my own villainy, made me
bring this woman to my room; but I entreat your grace, Don Antonio, as
you would have good news from Spain, that you suffer the fault I have
committed to remain unknown to my master, Don Juan, if he be not yet
informed of it; I will turn her out this instant."
"What is the name of this woman?" inquired Don Antonio. "Cornelia,"
replied Santisteban. Down stairs at once went the page who had
discovered the hidden woman, and who was not much of a friend to
Santisteban, and entered the room where sat the duke, Don Juan, and
Lorenzo, and, either from simplicity or malice, began to talk to
himself, saying, "Well caught, brother page! by Heaven they have made
you give up your Lady Cornelia! She was well hidden, to be sure; and no
doubt my gentleman would have liked to see the masters remain away that
he might enjoy himself some three or four days longer."
"What is that you are saying?" cried Lorenzo, who had caught a part of
these words. "Where is the Lady Cornelia?" "She is above," replied the
page; and the duke, who supposed that his consort had just made her
appearance, had scarcely heard the words before he rushed from the
apartment like a flash of lightning, and, ascending the staircase at a
bound, gained the chamber into which Don Antonio was entering.
"Where is Cornelia? where is the life of my life?" he exclaimed, as he
hurried into the room.
"Cornelia is here," replied a woman who was wrapped in a quilt taken
from the bed with which she had concealed her face. "Lord bless us!" she
continued, "one would think an ox had been stolen! Is it a new thing for
a woman to visit a page, that you make such a fuss about it?"
Lorenzo, who had now entered the room, angrily snatched off the sheet
and exposed to view a woman still young and not ill-looking, who hid her
face in her hands for shame, while her dress, which served her instead
of a pillow, sufficiently proved her to be some poor castaway.
The duke asked her, was it true her name was Cornelia? It was, she
replied--adding, that she had very decent parents in the city, but that
no one could venture to say, "Of this water I will never drink."
The duke was so confounded by all he beheld, that he was almost inclined
to think the Spaniards were making a fool of him; but, not to encourage
so grievous a suspicion, he turned away without saying a word. Lorenzo
followed him; they mounted their horses and rode off, leaving Don Juan
and Don Antonio even more astonished and dismayed than himself.
The two friends now determined to leave no means untried, possible or
impossible, to discover the retreat of the Lady Cornelia, and convince
the duke of their sincerity and uprightness. They dismissed Santisteban
for his misconduct, and turned the worthless Cornelia out of the house.
Don Juan then remembered that they had neglected to describe to the duke
those rich jewels wherein Cornelia carried her relics, with the agnus
she had offered to them; and they went out proposing to mention that
circumstance, so as to prove to Alfonso that the lady had, indeed, been
in their care, and that if she had now disappeared, it was not by any
fault of theirs.
They expected to find the duke in Lorenzo's house; but the latter
informed them that Alfonso had been compelled to leave Bologna, and had
returned to Ferrara, having committed the search for Cornelia to his
care. The friends having told him what had brought them, Lorenzo assured
them that the duke was perfectly convinced of their rectitude in the
matter, adding, that they both attributed the flight of Cornelia to her
great fear, but hoped, and did not doubt, that Heaven would permit her
re-appearance before long, since it was certain that the earth had not
swallowed the housekeeper, the child, and herself.
With these considerations they all consoled themselves, determining not
to make search by any public announcement, but secretly, since, with the
exception of her cousin, no person was yet acquainted with the
disappearance of Cornelia; and Lorenzo judged that a public search might
prove injurious to his sister's name among such as did not know the
whole circumstances of the case, since the labour of effacing such
suspicions as might arise would be infinite, and by no means certain of
success.
The duke meanwhile continued his journey to Ferrara, and favouring
Fortune, which was now preparing his happiness, led him to the village
where dwelt that priest in whose house Cornelia, her infant, and the
housekeeper, were concealed. The good Father was acquainted with the
whole history, and Cornelia had begged his advice as to what it would be
best for her to do. Now this priest had been the preceptor of the duke;
and to his dwelling, which was furnished in a manner befitting that of a
rich and learned clerk, the duke was in the habit of occasionally
repairing from Ferrara, and would thence go to the chase, or amuse
himself with the pleasant conversation of his host, and with the
knowledge and excellence of which the good priest gave evidence in all
he did or said.
The priest was not surprised to receive a visit from the duke, because,
as we have said, it was not the first by many; but he was grieved to see
him sad and dejected, and instantly perceived that his whole soul was
absorbed in some painful thought. As to Cornelia, having been told that
the duke was there, she was seized with renewed terror, not knowing how
her misfortunes were to terminate. She wrung her hands, and hurried from
one side of her apartment to the other, like a person who had lost her
senses. Fain would the troubled lady have spoken to the priest, but he
was in conversation with the Duke, and could not be approached. Alfonso
was meanwhile saying to him, "I come to you, my father, full of sadness,
and will not go to Ferrara to-day, but remain your guest; give orders
for all my attendants to proceed to the city, and let none remain with
me but Fabio."
The priest went to give directions accordingly, as also to see that his
own servants made due preparations; and Cornelia then found an
opportunity for speaking to him. She took his two hands and said, "Ah,
my father, and dear sir, what has the duke come for? for the love of God
see what can be done to save me! I pray you, seek to discover what he
proposes. As a friend, do for me whatever shall seem best to your
prudence and great wisdom."
The priest replied, "Duke Alfonso has come to me in deep sadness, but
up to this moment he has not told me the cause. What I would have you
now do is to dress this infant with great care, put on it all the jewels
you have with you, more especially such as you may have received from
the duke himself; leave the rest to me, and I have hope that Heaven is
about to grant us a happy day." Cornelia embraced the good man, and
kissed his hand, and then retired to dress and adorn the babe, as he had
desired.
The priest, meanwhile, returned to entertain the duke with conversation
while his people were preparing their meal; and in the course of their
colloquy he inquired if he might venture to ask him the cause of his
grief, since it was easy to see at the distance of a league that,
something gave him sorrow.
"Father," replied the duke, "it is true that the sadness of the heart
rises to the face, and in the eyes may be read the history of that which
passes in the soul; but for the present I cannot confide the cause of my
sorrow to any one."
"Then we will not speak of it further, my lord duke," replied the
priest; "but if you were in a condition permitting you to examine a
curious and beautiful thing, I have one to show you which I cannot but
think would afford you great pleasure."
"He would be very unwise," returned Alfonso, "who, when offered a solace
for his suffering, refuses to accept it. Wherefore show me what you
speak of, father; the object is doubtless an addition to one of your
curious collections, and they have all great interest in my eyes."
The priest then rose, and repaired to the apartment where Cornelia was
awaiting him with her son, whom she had adorned as he had suggested,
having placed on him the relics and agnus, with other rich jewels, all
gifts of the duke to the babe's mother. Taking the infant from her
hands, the good priest then went to the duke, and telling him that he
must rise and come to the light of the window, he transferred the babe
from his own arms into those of Alfonso, who could not but instantly
remark the jewels; and perceiving that they were those which he had
himself given to Cornelia, he remained in great surprise. Looking
earnestly at the infant, meanwhile, he fancied he beheld his own
portrait; and full of admiration, he asked the priest to whom the child
belonged, remarking, that from its decorations and appearance one might
take it to be the son of some princess.
"I do not know," replied the priest, "to whom it belongs; all I can tell
you is, that it was brought to me some nights since by a cavalier of
Bologna, who charged me to take good care of the babe and bring it up
heedfully, since it was the son of a noble and valiant father, and of a
mother highly born as well as beautiful. With the cavalier there came
also a woman to suckle the infant, and of her I have inquired if she
knew anything of the parents, but she tells me that she knows nothing
whatever; yet of a truth, if the mother possess but half the beauty of
the nurse, she must be the most lovely woman in Italy."
"Could I not see her?" asked the Duke. "Yes, certainly you may see her,"
returned the priest. "You have only to come with me; and if the beauty
and decorations of the child surprise you, I think the sight of the
nurse cannot fail to produce an equal effect."
The priest would then have taken the infant from the duke, but Alfonso
would not let it go; he pressed it in his arms, and gave it repeated
kisses; the good father, meanwhile, hastened forward, and bade Cornelia
approach to receive the duke. The lady obeyed; her emotion giving so
rich a colour to her face that the beauty she displayed seemed something
more than human. The duke, on seeing her, remained as if struck by a
thunderbolt, while she, throwing herself at his feet, sought to kiss
them. The duke said not a word, but gave the infant to the priest, and
hurried out of the apartment.
Shocked at this, Cornelia said to the priest, "Alas, dear father, have I
terrified the duke with the sight of my face? am I become hateful to
him? Has he forgot the ties by which he has bound himself to me? Will he
not speak one word to me? Was his child such a burden to him that he has
thus rejected him from his arm's?"
To all these questions the good priest could give no reply, for he too
was utterly confounded by the duke's hasty departure, which seemed more
like a flight than anything else.
Meanwhile Alfonso had but gone out to summon Fabio. "Ride Fabio, my
friend," he cried, "ride for your life to Bologna, and tell Lorenzo
Bentivoglio that he must come with all speed to this place; let him
make no excuse, and bid him bring with him the two Spanish gentlemen,
Don Juan de Gamboa and Don Antonio de Isunza. Return instantly, Fabio,
but not without them, for it concerns my life to see them here."
Fabio required no further pressing, but instantly carried his master's
commands into effect. The duke returned at once to Cornelia, caught her
in his arms, mingled his tears with hers, and kissed her a thousand
times; and long did the fond pair remain thus silently locked in each
other's embrace, both speechless from excess of joy. The nurse of the
infant and the dame, who proclaimed herself a Crivella, beheld all this
from the door of the adjoining apartment, and fell into such ecstasies
of delight that they knocked their heads against the wall, and seemed
all at once to have gone out of their wits. The priest bestowed a
thousand kisses on the infant, whom he held on one arm, while with his
right hand he showered no end of benedictions on the noble pair. At
length his reverence's housekeeper, who had been occupied with her
culinary preparations, and knew nothing of what had occurred, entered to
notify to her master that dinner was on the table, and so put an end to
this scene of rapture.
The duke then took his babe from the arms of the priest, and kept it in
his own during the repast, which was more remarkable for neatness and
good taste than for splendour. While they were at table, Cornelia
related to the duke all that had occurred until she had taken refuge
with the priest, by the advice of the housekeeper of those two Spanish
gentlemen, who had protected and guarded her with such assiduous and
respectful kindness. In return the duke related to her all that had
befallen himself during the same interval; and the two housekeepers, who
were present, received from him the most encouraging promises. All was
joy and satisfaction, and nothing more was required for the general
happiness, save the arrival of Lorenzo, Don Antonio, and Don Juan.
They came on the third day, all intensely anxious to know if the duke
had received intelligence of Cornelia, seeing that Fabio, who did not
know what had happened, could tell them nothing on that subject.
The duke received them alone in the antechamber, but gave no sign of
gladness in his face, to their great grief and disappointment. Bidding
them be seated, Alfonso himself sat down, and thus addressed Lorenzo:--
"You well know, Signor Lorenzo Bentivoglio, that I never deceived your
sister, as my conscience and Heaven itself can bear witness; you know
also the diligence with which I have sought her, and the wish I have
felt to have my marriage with her celebrated publicly. But she is not to
be found, and my word cannot so considered eternally engaged to a
shadow. I am a young man, and am not so _blase_ as to leave ungathered
such pleasures as I find on my path. Before I had ever seen Cornelia I
had given my promise to a peasant girl of this village, but whom I was
tempted to abandon by the superior charms of Cornelia, giving therein a
great proof of my love for the latter, in defiance of the voice of my
conscience. Now, therefore, since no one can marry a woman who does not
appear, and it is not reasonable that a man should eternally run after a
wife who deserts him, lest he should take to his arms one who abhors
him, I would have you consider, Signor Lorenzo, whether I can give you
any further satisfaction for an affront which was never intended to be
one; and further, I would have you give me your permission to accomplish
my first promise, and solemnise my marriage with the peasant girl, who
is now in this house."
While the duke spoke this, Lorenzo's frequent change of colour, and the
difficulty with which he forced himself to retain his seat, gave
manifest proof that anger was taking possession of all his senses. The
same feelings agitated Don Antonio and Don Juan, who were resolved not
to permit the duke to fulfil his intention, even should they be
compelled to prevent it by depriving him of life. Alfonso, reading these
resolves in their faces, resumed: "Endeavour to calm yourself, Signor
Lorenzo; and before you answer me one word, I will have you see the
beauty of her whom I desire to take to wife, for it is such that you
cannot refuse your consent, and it might suffice, as you will
acknowledge, to excuse a graver error than mine."
So saying, the duke rose, and repaired to the apartment where Cornelia
was awaiting him in all the splendour of her beauty and rich
decorations. No sooner was he gone than Don Juan also rose, and laying
both hands on the arms of Lorenzo's chair, he said to him, "By St. James
of Galicia, by the true faith of a Christian, and by my honour as a
gentleman, Signor Lorenzo, I will as readily allow the duke to fulfil
his project as I will become a worshipper of Mahomed. Here, in this
spot, he shall yield up his life at my hands, or he shall redeem the
promise given to your sister, the lady Cornelia. At the least, he shall
give us time to seek her; and until we know to a certainty that she is
dead, he shall not marry."
"That is exactly my own view," replied Lorenzo. "And I am sure,"
rejoined Don Juan, "that it will be the determination of my comrade, Don
Antonio, likewise."
While they were thus speaking, Cornelia appeared at the door between the
duke and the priest, each of whom led her by one hand. Behind them came
Sulpicia, her waiting woman, whom the duke had summoned from Ferrara to
attend her lady, with the infant's nurse, and the Spaniards'
housekeeper. When Lorenzo saw his sister, and had assured himself it was
indeed Cornelia,--for at first the apparently impossible character of
the occurrence had forbidden his belief,--he staggered on his feet, and
cast himself at those of the duke, who, raising him, placed him in the
arms of his delighted sister, whilst Don Juan and Don Antonio hastily
applauded the duke for the clever trick he had played upon them all.
Alfonso then took the infant from Sulpicia, and, presenting it to
Lorenzo, he said, "Signor and brother, receive your nephew, my son, and
see whether it please you to give permission for the public
solemnisation of my marriage with this peasant girl--the only one to
whom I have ever been betrothed."
To repeat the replies of Lorenzo would be never to make an end, and the
rather if to these we added the questions of Don Juan, the remarks of
Don Antonio, the expressions of delight uttered by the priest, the
rejoicing of Sulpicia, the satisfaction of the housekeeper who had made
herself the counsellor of Cornelia, the exclamations of the nurse, and
the astonishment of Fabio, with the general happiness of all.
The marriage ceremony was performed by the good priest, and Don Juan de
Gamboa gave away the bride; but it was agreed among the parties that
this marriage also should be kept secret, until he knew the result of
the malady under which the duchess-dowager was labouring; for the
present, therefore, it was determined that Cornelia should return to
Bologna with her brother. All was done as thus agreed on; and when the
duchess-dowager died, Cornelia made her entrance into Ferrara, rejoicing
the eyes of all who beheld her: the mourning weeds were exchanged for
festive robes, the two housekeepers were enriched, and Sulpicia was
married to Fabio. For Don Antonio and Don Juan, they were sufficiently
rewarded by the services they had rendered to the duke, who offered them
two of his cousins in marriage, with rich dowries. But they replied,
that the gentlemen of the Biscayan nation married for the most part in
their own country; wherefore, not because they despised so honourable a
proffer, which was not possible, but that they might not depart from a
custom so laudable, they were compelled to decline that illustrious
alliance, and the rather as they were still subject to the will of their
parents, who had, most probably, already affianced them.
The duke admitted the validity of their excuses, but, availing himself
of occasions warranted by custom and courtesy, he found means to load
the two friends with rich gifts, which he sent from time to time to
their house in Bologna. Many of these were of such value, that although
they might have been refused for fear of seeming to receive a payment,
yet the appropriate manner in which they were presented, and the
particular periods at which Alfonso took care that they should arrive,
caused their acceptance to be easy, not to say inevitable; such, for
example, were those despatched by him at the moment of their departure
for their own country, and those which he gave them when they came to
Ferrara to take their leave of him.
At this period, the Spanish gentlemen found Cornelia the mother of two
little girls, and the duke more enamoured of his wife than ever. The
duchess gave the diamond cross to Don Juan, and the gold agnus to Don
Antonio, both of whom had now no choice but to accept them. They finally
arrived without accident in their native Spain, where they married rich,
noble, and beautiful ladies; and they never ceased to maintain a
friendly correspondence with the duke and duchess of Ferrara, and with
Lorenzo Bentivoglio, to the great satisfaction of all parties.
END OF THE LADY CORNELIA.
RINCONETE AND CORTADILLO:
_Or, Peter of the Corner and the Little Cutter._
At the Venta or hostelry of the Mulinillo, which is situate on the
confines of the renowned plain of Alcudia, and on the road from Castile
to Andalusia, two striplings met by chance on one of the hottest days of
summer. One of them was about fourteen or fifteen years of age; the
other could not have passed his seventeenth year. Both were well formed,
and of comely features, but in very ragged and tattered plight. Cloaks
they had none; their breeches were of linen, and their stockings were
merely those bestowed on them by Nature. It is true they boasted shoes;
one of them wore alpargates,[6] or rather dragged them along at his
heels; the other had what might as well have been shackles for all the
good they did the wearer, being rent in the uppers, and without soles.
Their respective head-dresses were a montera[7] and a miserable
sombrero, low in the crown and wide in the brim. On his shoulder, and
crossing his breast like a scarf, one of them carried a shirt, the
colour of chamois leather; the body of this garment was rolled up and
thrust into one of its sleeves: the other, though travelling without
incumbrance, bore on his chest what seemed a large pack, but which
proved, on closer inspection, to be the remains of a starched ruff, now
stiffened with grease instead of starch, and so worn and frayed that it
looked like a bundle of hemp.
[6] The _alpargates_ are a kind of sandal made of cord.
[7] _Montera_, a low cap, without visor or front to shade the eyes.
Within this collar, wrapped up and carefully treasured, was a pack of
cards, excessively dirty, and reduced to an oval form by repeated paring
of their dilapidated corners. The lads were both much burned by the sun,
their hands were anything but clean, and their long nails were edged
with black; one had a dudgeon-dagger by his side; the other a knife with
a yellow handle.
These gentlemen had selected for their siesta the porch or penthouse
commonly found before a Venta; and, finding themselves opposite each
other, he who appeared to be the elder said to the younger, "Of what
country is your worship, noble Sir, and by what road do you propose to
travel?" "What is my country, Senor Cavalier," returned the other, "I
know not; nor yet which way my road lies."
"Your worship, however, does not appear to have come from heaven,"
rejoined the elder, "and as this is not a place wherein a man can take
up his abode for good, you must, of necessity, be going further." "That
is true," replied the younger; "I have, nevertheless, told you only the
veritable fact; for as to my country, it is mine no more, since all that
belongs to me there is a father who does not consider me his child, and
a step-mother who treats me like a son-in-law. With regard to my road,
it is that which chance places before me, and it will end wherever I may
find some one who will give me the wherewithal to sustain this miserable
life of mine."
"Is your worship acquainted with any craft?" inquired the first speaker.
"With none," returned the other, "except that I can run like a hare,
leap like a goat, and handle a pair of scissors with great dexterity."
"These things are all very good, useful, and profitable," rejoined the
elder. "You will readily find the Sacristan of some church who will give
your worship the offering-bread of All Saints' Day, for cutting him his
paper flowers to decorate the Monument[8] on Holy Thursday."
[8] The Monument is a sort of temporary theatre, erected in the churches
during Passion Week, and on which the passion of the Saviour is
represented.
"But that is not my manner of cutting," replied the younger. "My father,
who, by God's mercy, is a tailor and hose maker, taught me to cut out
that kind of spatterdashes properly called Polainas, which, as your
worship knows, cover the fore part of the leg and come down over the
instep. These I can cut out in such style, that I could pass an
examination for the rank of master in the craft; but my ill luck keeps
my talents in obscurity."
"The common lot, Senor, of able men," replied the first speaker, "for I
have always heard that it is the way of the world to let the finest
talents go to waste; but your worship is still at an age when this evil
fortune may be remedied, and the rather since, if I mistake not, and my
eyes do not deceive me, you have other advantageous qualities which it
is your pleasure to keep secret." "It is true that I have such,"
returned the younger gentleman, "but they are not of a character to be
publicly proclaimed, as your worship has very judiciously observed."
"But I," rejoined the elder, "may with confidence assure you, that I am
one of the most discreet and prudent persons to be found within many a
league. In order to induce your worship to open your heart and repose
your faith on my honour, I will enlist your sympathies by first laying
bare my own bosom; for I imagine that fate has not brought us together
without some hidden purpose. Nay, I believe that we are to be true
friends from this day to the end of our lives.
"I, then, Senor Hidalgo, am a native of Fuenfrida, a place very well
known, indeed renowned for the illustrious travellers who are constantly
passing through it. My name is Pedro del Rincon,[9] my father is a
person of quality, and a Minister of the Holy Crusade, since he holds
the important charge of a Bulero or Buldero,[10] as the vulgar call it.
I was for some time his assistant in that office, and acquitted myself
so well, that in all things concerning the sale of bulls I could hold my
own with any man, though he had the right to consider himself the most
accomplished in the profession. But one day, having placed my affections
on the money produced by the bulls, rather than on the bulls themselves,
I took a bag of crowns to my arms, and we two departed together for
Madrid.
[9] Peter of the Corner; _rincon_ meaning a corner, or obscure nook.
[10] The Spanish authorities, under the pretext of being at perpetual
war with Infidels, still cause "Bulls of the Crusade," to the possession
of which certain indulgences are attached, to be publicly sold in
obscure villages. The product of these sales was originally expended on
the wars with the Moors, but from the time when Granada fell into the
hands of the Spaniards, it has been divided between the church and
state. The bulls are carried about by hawkers, who are called
"Buleros."--_Viardot_.
"In that city, such are the facilities that offer themselves, I soon
gutted my bag, and left it with as many wrinkles as a bridegroom's
pocket-handkerchief. The person who was charged with the collection of
the money, hastened to track my steps; I was taken, and met with but
scant indulgence; only, in consideration of my youth, their worships the
judges contented themselves with introducing me to the acquaintance of
the whipping-post, to have the flies whisked from my shoulders for a
certain time, and commanding me to abstain from revisiting the Court and
Capital during a period of four years. I took the matter coolly, bent my
shoulders to the operation performed at their command, and made so much
haste to begin my prescribed term of exile, that I had no time to
procure sumpter mules, but contented myself with selecting from my
valuables such as seemed most important and useful.
"I did not fail to include this pack of cards among them,"--here the
speaker exhibited that oviform specimen already mentioned--"and with
these I have gained my bread among the inns and taverns between Madrid
and this place, by playing at Vingt-et-un. It is true they are somewhat
soiled and worn, as your worship sees; but for him who knows how to
handle them, they possess a marvellous virtue, which is, that you never
cut them but you find an ace at the bottom; if your worship then is
acquainted with the game, you will see what an advantage it is to know
for certain that you have an ace to begin with, since you may count it
either for one or eleven; and so you may be pretty sure that when the
stakes are laid at twenty-one, your money will be much disposed to stay
at home.
"In addition to this, I have acquired the knowledge of certain mysteries
regarding Lansquenet and Reversis, from the cook of an ambassador who
shall be nameless,--insomuch that, even as your worship might pass as
master in the cutting of spatterdashes, so could I, too, take my degrees
in the art of flat-catching.
"With all these acquirements, I am tolerably sure of not dying from
hunger, since, even in the most retired farm-house I come to, there is
always some one to be found who will not refuse himself the recreation
of a few moments at cards. We have but to make a trial where we are; let
us spread the net, and it will go hard with us if some bird out of all
the Muleteers standing about do not fall into it. I mean to say, that if
we two begin now to play at Vingt-et-un as though we were in earnest,
some one will probably desire to make a third, and, in that case, he
shall be the man to leave his money behind him."
"With all my heart," replied the younger lad: "and I consider that your
excellency has done me a great favour by communicating to me the history
of your life. You have thereby made it impossible for me to conceal
mine, and I will hasten to relate it as briefly as possible. Here it is,
then:--
"I was born at Pedroso, a village situate between Salamanca and Medina
del Campo. My father is a tailor, as I have said, and taught me his
trade; but from cutting with the scissors I proceeded--my natural
abilities coming in aid--to the cutting of purses. The dull, mean life
of the village, and the unloving conduct of my mother-in-law, were
besides but little to my taste. I quitted my birthplace, therefore,
repaired to Toledo to exercise my art, and succeeded in it to
admiration; for there is not a reliquary suspended to the dress, not a
pocket, however carefully concealed, but my fingers shall probe its
contents, or my scissors snip it off, though the owner were guarded by
the eyes of Argus.
"During four months I spent in Toledo, I was never trapped between two
doors, nor caught in the fact, nor pursued by the runners of justice,
nor blown upon by an informer. It is true that, eight days ago, a double
spy[11] did set forth my distinguished abilities to the Corregidor, and
the latter, taking a fancy to me from his description, desired to make
my acquaintance; but I am a modest youth, and do not wish to frequent
the society of personages so important. Wherefore I took pains to excuse
myself from visiting him, and departed in so much haste, that I, like
yourself, had no time to procure sumpter-mules or small change,--nay, I
could not even find a return-chaise, nor so much as a cart."
[11] An _alguazil_, who, while in the service of justice, is also in
that of the thieves. He betrays them, nevertheless, whenever it suits
his purpose to do so:
"Console yourself for these omissions," replied Pedro del Rincon; "and
since we now know each other, let us drop these grand and stately airs,
and confess frankly that we have not a blessed farthing between us, nor
even shoes to our feet."
"Be it so," returned Diego Cortado, for so the younger boy called
himself. "Be it so; and since our friendship, as your worship Senor
Rincon is pleased to say, is to last our whole lives, let us begin it
with solemn and laudable ceremonies,"--saying which, Diego rose to his
feet, and embraced the Senor Rincon, who returned the compliment with
equal tenderness and emotion.
They then began to play at Vingt-et-un with the cards above described,
which were certainly "free from dust and straw,"[12] as we say, but by
no means free from grease and knavery; and after a few deals, Cortado
could turn up an ace as well as Rincon his master. When things had
attained this point, it chanced that a Muleteer came out at the porch,
and, as Rincon had anticipated, he soon proposed to make a third in
their game.
[12] "Clean from dust and straw"--_limpios de polvo y paja_--is a phrase
equivalent to "free of the king's dues."
To this they willingly agreed, and in less than half an hour they had
won from him twelve reals and twenty-two maravedis, which he felt as
sorely as twelve stabs with a dagger and twenty-two thousand sorrows.
Presuming that the young chaps would not venture to defend themselves,
he thought to get back his money by force; but the two friends laying
hands promptly, the one on his dudgeon dagger and the other on his
yellow handled knife, gave the Muleteer so much to do, that if his
companions had not hastened to assist him, he would have come badly out
of the quarrel.
At that moment there chanced to pass by a company of travellers on
horseback, who were going to make their siesta at the hostelry of the
Alcalde, about half a league farther on. Seeing the affray between the
Muleteer with two boys, they interposed, and offered to take the latter
in their company to Seville, if they were going to that city.
"That is exactly where we desire to go," exclaimed Rincon, "and we will
serve your worships in all that it shall please you to command."
Whereupon, without more ado, they sprang before the mules, and departed
with the travellers, leaving the Muleteer despoiled of his money and
furious with rage, while the hostess was in great admiration of the
finished education and accomplishments of the two rogues, whose dialogue
she had heard from beginning to end, while they were not aware of her
presence.
When the hostess told the Muleteer that she had heard the boys say the
cards they played with were false, the man tore his beard for rage, and
would have followed them to the other Venta, in the hope of recovering
his property; for he declared it to be a serious affront, and a matter
touching his honour, that two boys should have cheated a grown man like
him. But his companions dissuaded him from doing what they declared
would be nothing better than publishing his own folly and incapacity;
and their arguments, although they did not console the Muleteer, were
sufficient to make him remain where he was.
Meanwhile Cortado and Rincon displayed so much zeal and readiness in the
service of the travellers, that the latter gave them a lift behind them
for the greater part of the way. They might many a time have rifled the
portmanteaus of their temporary masters, but did not, lest they should
thereby lose the happy opportunity of seeing Seville, in which city they
greatly desired to exercise their talents. Nevertheless, as they entered
Seville--which they did at the hour of evening prayer, and by the gate
of the custom-house, on account of the dues to be paid, and the trunks
to be examined--Cortado could not refrain from making an examination, on
his own account, of the valise which a Frenchman of the company carried
with him on the croup of his mule. With his yellow-handled weapon,
therefore, he gave it so deep and broad a wound in the side that its
very entrails were exposed to view; and he dexterously drew forth two
good shirts, a sun-dial, and a memorandum book, things that did not
greatly please him when he had leisure to examine them. Thinking that
since the Frenchman carried that valise on his own mule, it must needs
contain matters of more importance than those he had captured, Cortado
would fain have looked further into it, but he abstained, as it was
probable that the deficiency had been already discovered, and the
remaining effects secured. Before performing this feat the friends had
taken leave of those who had fed them on their journey, and the
following day they sold the two shirts in the old clothes' market, which
is held at the gate of the Almacen or arsenal, obtaining twenty reals
for their booty.
Having despatched this business, they went to see the city, and admired
the great magnificence and vast size of its principal church, and the
vast concourse of people on the quays, for it happened to be the season
for loading the fleet. There were also six galleys on the water, at
sight of which the friends could not refrain from sighing, as they
thought the day might come when they should be clapped on board one of
those vessels for the remainder of their lives. They remarked the large
number of basket-boys, porters, &c., who went to and fro about the
ships, and inquired of one among them what sort of a trade it
was--whether it was very laborious--and what were the gains.
An Asturian, of whom they made the inquiry, gave answer to the effect
that the trade was a very pleasant one, since they had no harbour-dues
to pay, and often found themselves at the end of the day with six or
seven reals in their pocket, with which they might eat, drink, and enjoy
themselves like kings. Those of his calling, he said, had no need to
seek a master to whom security must be given, and you could dine when
and where you please, since, in the city of Seville, there is not an
eating-house, however humble, where you will not find all you want at
any hour of the day.
The account given by the Asturian was by no means discouraging to the
two friends, neither did his calling seem amiss to them; nay, rather, it
appeared to be invented for the very purpose of enabling them to
exercise their own profession in secresy and safety, on account of the
facilities it offered for entering houses. They consequently determined
to buy such things as were required for the instant adoption of the new
trade, especially as they could enter upon it without undergoing any
previous scrutiny.
In reply to their further inquiries, the Asturian told them that it
would be sufficient if each had a small porter's bag of linen, either
new or second-hand, so it was but clean, with three palm-baskets, two
large and one small, wherein to carry the meat, fish, and fruit
purchased by their employers, while the bag was to be used for carrying
the bread. He took them to where all these things were sold; they
supplied themselves out of the plunder of the Frenchman, and in less
than two hours they might have been taken for regular graduates in their
new profession, so deftly did they manage their baskets, and so jauntily
carry their bags. Their instructor furthermore informed them of the
different places at which they were to make their appearance daily: in
the morning at the shambles, and at the market of St. Salvador; on
fast-days at the fish-market; every afternoon on the quay, and on
Thursdays at the fair.
All these lessons the two friends carefully stored in their memory, and
the following morning both repaired in good time to the market of St.
Salvador. Scarcely had they arrived before they were remarked by numbers
of young fellows of the trade, who soon perceived, by the shining
brightness of their bags and baskets, that they were new beginners. They
were assailed with a thousand questions, to all which they replied with
great presence of mind and discretion. Presently up came two customers,
one of whom had the appearance of a Student, the other was a Soldier;
both were attracted by the clean and new appearance of their baskets;
and he who seemed to be a student beckoned Cortado, while the soldier
engaged Rincon. "In God's name be it!"[13] exclaimed both the novices in
a breath--Rincon adding, "It is a good beginning of the trade, master,
since it is your worship that is giving me my hansel." "The hansel shall
not be a bad one," replied the soldier, "seeing that I have been lucky
at cards of late, and am in love. I propose this day to regale the
friends of my lady with a feast, and am come to buy the materials."
"Load away, then, your worship," replied Rincon, "and lay on me as much
as you please, for I feel courage enough to carry off the whole market;
nay, if you should desire me to aid in cooking what I carry, it shall be
done with all my heart."
[13] This is a formula used in Spain by those who do a thing for the
first time.--_Viardot_.
The soldier was pleased with the boy's ready good-will, and told him
that if he felt disposed to enter his service he would relieve him from
the degrading office he then bore; but Rincon declared, that since this
was the first day on which he had tried it, he was not willing to
abandon the work so soon, or at least until he had seen what profit
there was to be made of it; but if it did not suit him, he gave the
gentleman his word that he would prefer the service offered him even to
that of a Canon.
The soldier laughed, loaded him well, and showed him the house of his
lady, bidding him observe it well that he might know it another time, so
that he might be able to send him there again without being obliged to
accompany him. Rincon promised fidelity and good conduct; the soldier
gave him three quartos,[14] and the lad returned like a shot to the
market, that he might lose no opportunity by delay. Besides, he had been
well advised in respect of diligence by the Asturian, who had likewise
told him that when he was employed to carry small fish, such as sprats,
sardines, or flounders, he might very well take a few for himself and
have the first taste of them, were it only to diminish his expenses of
the day, but that he must do this with infinite caution and prudence,
lest the confidence of the employers should be disturbed; for to
maintain confidence was above all things important in their trade.
[14] The Quarto contains four Maravedis.
But whatever haste Rincon had made to return, he found Cortado at his
post before him. The latter instantly inquired how he had got on. Rincon
opened his hand and showed the three quartos; when Cortado, thrusting
his arm into his bosom, drew forth a little purse which appeared to have
once been of amber-coloured silk, and was not badly filled. "It was with
this," said he, "that my service to his reverence the Student has been
rewarded--with this and two quartos besides. Do you take it, Rincon, for
fear of what may follow."
Cortado had scarcely given the purse in secret to his companion, before
the Student returned in a great heat, and looking in mortal alarm. He no
sooner set eyes on Cortado, than, hastening towards him, he inquired if
he had by chance seen a purse with such and such marks and tokens, and
which had disappeared, together with fifteen crowns in gold pieces,
three double reals, and a certain number of maravedis in quartos and
octavos. "Did you take it from me yourself," he added, "while I was
buying in the market, with you standing beside me?"
To this Cortado replied with perfect composure, "All I can tell you of
your purse is, that it cannot be lost, unless, indeed, your worship has
left it in bad hands."
"That is the very thing, sinner that I am," returned the Student. "To a
certainty I must have left it in bad hands, since it has been stolen
from me." "I say the same," rejoined Cortado, "but there is a remedy for
every misfortune excepting death. The best thing your worship can do
now is to have patience, for after all it is God who has made us, and
after one day there comes another. If one hour gives us wealth, another
takes it away; but it may happen that the man who has stolen your purse
may in time repent, and may return it to your worship, with all the
interest due on the loan."
"The interest I will forgive him," exclaimed the Student; and Cortado
resumed:--"There are, besides, those letters of excommunication, the
Paulinas;[15] and there is also good diligence in seeking for the thief,
which is the mother of success. Of a truth, Sir, I would not willingly
be in the place of him who has stolen your purse; for if your worship
have received any of the sacred orders, I should feel as if I had been
guilty of some great crime--nay of sacrilege--in stealing from your
person."
[15] _Paulinas_ are the letters of excommunication despatched by the
ecclesiastical courts for the discovery of such things as are supposed
to be stolen or maliciously concealed.
"Most certainly the thief has committed a sacrilege," replied the
Student, in pitiable tones; "for although I am not in orders, but am
only a Sacristan of certain nuns, yet the money in my purse was the
third of the income due from a chapelry, which I had been commissioned
to receive by a priest, who is one of my friends, so that the purse
does, in fact, contain blessed and sacred money."
"Let him eat his sin with his bread," exclaimed Rincon at that moment;
"I should be sorry to become bail for the profit he will obtain from it.
There will be a day of judgment at the last, when all things will have
to pass, as they say, through the holes of the colander, and it will
then be known who was the scoundrel that has had the audacity to plunder
and make off with the whole third of the revenue of a chapelry! But tell
me, Mr. Sacristan, on your life, what is the amount of the whole yearly
income?"
"Income to the devil, and you with it,[16]" replied the Sacristan, with
more rage than was becoming; "am I in a humour to talk to you about
income? Tell me, brother, if you know anything of the purse; if not, God
be with you--I must go and have it cried."
[16] (This footnote is missing from the printed edition.)
"That does not seem to me so bad a remedy," remarked Cortado; "but I
warn your worship not to forget the precise description of the purse,
nor the exact sum that it contains; for if you commit the error of a
single mite, the money will never be suffered to appear again while the
world is a world, and that you may take for a prophecy."
"I am not afraid of committing any mistake in describing the purse,"
returned the Sacristan, "for I remember it better than I do the ringing
of my bells, and I shall not commit the error of an atom." Saying this,
he drew a laced handkerchief from his pocket to wipe away the
perspiration which rained down his face as from an alembic; but no
sooner had Cortado set eyes on the handkerchief, than he marked it for
his own.
When the Sacristan had got to a certain distance, therefore, Cortado
followed, and having overtaken him as he was mounting the steps of a
church, he took him apart, and poured forth so interminable a string of
rigmarole, all about the theft of the purse, and the prospect of
recovering it, that the poor Sacristan could do nothing but listen with
open mouth, unable to make head or tail of what he said, although he
made him repeat it two or three times.
Cortado meanwhile continued to look fixedly into the eyes of the
Sacristan, whose own were rivetted on the face of the boy, and seemed to
hang, as it were, on his words. This gave Cortado an opportunity to
finish his job, and having cleverly whipped the handkerchief out of the
pocket, he took leave of the Sacristan, appointing to meet him in the
evening at the same place, for he suspected that a certain lad of his
own height and the same occupation, who was a bit of a thief, had stolen
the purse, and he should be able to ascertain the fact in a few days,
more or less.
Somewhat consoled by this promise, the Sacristan took his leave of
Cortado, who then returned to the place where Rincon had privily
witnessed all that had passed. But a little behind him stood another
basket-boy, who had also seen the whole transaction; and at the moment
when Cortado passed the handkerchief to Rincon, the stranger accosted
the pair.
"Tell me, gallant gentlemen," said he, "are you admitted to the Mala
Entrada,[17] or not?"
[17] _Mala Entrada_, the evil way.
"We do not understand your meaning, noble Sir," replied Rincon.
"How! not entered, brave Murcians?" replied the other.
"We are neither of Murcia[18] nor of Thebes," replied Cortado. "If you
have anything else to say to us, speak; if not, go your ways, and God be
with you."
[18] In the slang dialect of Spain, _Murcian_ and _Murcia_, mean thief,
and the land of thieves.
"Oh, your worships do not understand, don't you?" said the porter; "but
I will soon make you understand, and even sup up my meaning with a
silver spoon. I mean to ask you, gentlemen, are your worships thieves?
But why put the question, since I see well that you are thieves; and it
is rather for you to tell me how it is that you have not presented
yourselves at the custom-house of the Senor Monipodio."
"Do they then pay duty on the right of thieving in this country, gallant
Sir?" exclaimed Rincon.
"If they do not pay duty, at least they make them register themselves
with the Senor Monipodio, who is the father, master, and protector of
thieves; and I recommend you to come with me and pay your respects to
him forthwith, or, if you refuse to do that, make no attempt to exercise
your trade without his mark and pass-word, or it will cost you dearly."
"I thought, for my part," remarked Cortado, "that the profession of
thieving was a free one, exempt from all taxes and port dues; or, at
least, that if we must pay, it is something to be levied in the lump,
for which we give a mortgage upon our shoulders and our necks; but since
it is as you say, and every land has its customs, let us pay due respect
to this of yours; we are now in the first country of the world, and
without doubt the customs of the place must be in the highest degree
judicious. Wherefore your worship may be pleased to conduct us to the
place where this gentleman of whom you have spoken is to be found. I
cannot but suppose, from what you say, that he is much honoured, of
great power and influence, of very generous nature, and, above all,
highly accomplished in the profession."
"Honoured, generous, and accomplished! do you say?" replied the boy:
"aye, that he is; so much so, that during the four years that he has
held the seat of our chief and father, only four of us have suffered at
Finibusterry;[19] some thirty or so, and not more, have lost leather;
and but sixty-two have been lagged."
[19] _In finibus terrae_, that is to say, at the gallows, or garotte,
which to the thief is the end of the earth and all things.
"Truly, Sir," rejoined Rincon, "all this is Hebrew to us; we know no
more about it than we do of flying."
"Let us be jogging, then," replied the new-comer, "and on the way I will
explain to you these and other things, which it is requisite you should
know as pat as bread to mouth;" and, accordingly, he explained to them a
whole vocabulary of that thieves' Latin which they call Germanesco, or
Gerigonza, and which their guide used in the course of his lecture,--by
no means a short one, for the distance they had to traverse was of
considerable length.
On the road, Rincon said to his new acquaintance, "Does your worship
happen to be a Thief?"
"Yes," replied the lad, "I have that honour, for the service of God and
of all good people; but I cannot boast of being among the most
distinguished, since I am as yet but in the year of my novitiate."
"It is news to me," remarked Cortado, "that there are thieves for the
service of God and of good people."
"Senor," the other replied, "I don't meddle with theology; but this I
know, that every one may serve God in his vocation, the more so as daddy
Monipodio keeps such good order in that respect among all his children."
"His must needs be a holy and edifying command," rejoined Rincon, "since
it enjoins thieves to serve God."
"It is so holy and edifying," exclaimed the stranger, "that I don't
believe a better will ever be known in our trade. His orders are that we
give something by way of alms out of all we steal, to buy oil for the
lamp of a highly venerated image, well known in this city; and we have
really seen great things result from that good work. Not many days ago,
one of our _cuatreros_ had to take three _ansias_ for having come the
Murcian over a couple of _roznos_, and although he was but a poor weak
fellow, and ill of the fever to boot, he bore them all without singing
out, as though they had been mere trifles. This we of the profession
attribute to his particular devotion to the Virgin of the Lamp, for he
was so weak, that, of his own strength, he could not have endured the
first _desconcierto_ of the hangman's wrist. But now, as I guess, you
will want to know the meaning of certain words just used; I will take
physic before I am sick--that is to say, give you the explanation before
you ask for it.
"Be pleased to know then, gentlemen, that a _cuatrero_ is a stealer of
cattle, the _ansia_ is the question or torture. _Roznos_--saving your
presence--are asses, and the first _desconcierto_ is the first turn of
the cord which is given by the executioner when we are on the rack. But
we do more than burn oil to the Virgin. There is not one of us who does
not recite his rosary carefully, dividing it into portions for each day
of the week. Many will not steal at all on a Friday, and on Saturdays we
never speak to any woman who is called Mary."
"All these things fill me with admiration," replied Cortado; "but may I
trouble your worship to tell me, have you no other penance than this to
perform? Is there no restitution to make?"
"As to restitution," returned the other, "it is a thing not to be
mentioned; besides, it would be wholly impossible, on account of the
numerous portions into which things stolen have to be divided before
each one of the agents and contractors has received the part due to him.
When all these have had their share, the original thief would find it
difficult to make restitution. Moreover, there is no one to bid us do
anything of that kind, seeing that we do not go to confession. And if
letters of excommunication are out against us, they rarely come to our
knowledge, because we take care not to go into the churches while the
priests are reading them, unless, indeed, it be on the days of Jubilee,
for then we do go, on account of the vast profits we make from the
crowds of people assembled on that occasion."
"And proceeding in this manner," observed Cortado, "your worships think
that your lives are good and holy?"
"Certainly! for what is there bad in them?" replied the other lad! "Is
it not worse to be a heretic or a renegade? or to kill your father or
mother?"
"Without doubt," admitted Cortado; "but now, since our fate has decided
that we are to enter this brotherhood, will your worship be pleased to
step out a little, for I am dying to behold this Senor Monipodio, of
whose virtues you relate such fine things."
"That wish shall soon be gratified," replied the stranger, "nay even
from this place we can perceive his house: but your worships must remain
at the door until I have gone in to see if he be disengaged, since these
are the hours at which he gives audience."
"So be it," replied Rincon; and the thief preceding them for a short
distance, they saw him enter a house which, so far from being handsome,
had a very mean and wretched appearance. The two friends remained at the
door to await their guide, who soon reappeared, and called to them to
come in. He then bade them remain for the present in a little paved
court, or patio,[20] so clean and carefully rubbed that the red bricks
shone as if covered with the finest vermilion. On one side of the court
was a three-legged stool, before which stood a large pitcher with the
lip broken off, and on the top of the pitcher was placed a small jug
equally dilapidated. On the other side lay a rush mat, and in the middle
was a fragment of crockery which did service as the recipient of some
sweet basil.
[20] The _Patio_, familiar to all who have visited Seville, as forming
the centre of the houses, and which serves in summer as the general
sitting-room, so to speak, of the family.
The two boys examined these moveables attentively while awaiting the
descent of the Senor Monipodio, but finding that he delayed his
appearance, Rincon ventured to put his head into one of two small rooms
which opened on the court. There he saw two fencing foils, and two
bucklers of cork hung upon four nails; there was also a great chest, but
without a lid or anything to cover it, with three rush mats extended on
the floor. On the wall in face of him was pasted a figure of Our
Lady--one of the coarsest of prints--and beneath it was a small basket
of straw, with a little vessel of white earthenware sunk into the wall.
The basket Rincon took to be a poor box, for receiving alms, and the
little basin he supposed to be a receptacle for holy water, as in truth
they were.
While the friends thus waited, there came into the court two young men
of some twenty years each; they were clothed as students, and were
followed soon afterwards by two of the basket boys or porters, and a
blind man. Neither spoke a word to the other, but all began to walk up
and down in the court. No long time elapsed before there also came in
two old men clothed in black serge, and with spectacles on their noses,
which gave them an air of much gravity, and made them look highly
respectable: each held in his hand a rosary, the beads of which made a
ringing sound. Behind these men came an old woman wearing a long and
ample gown, who, without uttering a word, proceeded at once to the room
wherein was the figure of Our Lady. She then took holy water with the
greatest devotion, placed herself on her knees before the Virgin, and
after remaining there a considerable time, first kissed the soil thrice,
and then rising, lifted her arms and eyes towards heaven, in which
attitude she remained a certain time longer. She then dropped her alms
into the little wicker case--and that done, she issued forth among the
company in the patio.
Finally there were assembled in the court as many as fourteen persons of
various costumes and different professions. Among the latest arrivals
were two dashing and elegant youths with long moustachios, hats of
immense brims, broad collars, stiffly starched, coloured stockings,
garters with great bows and fringed ends, swords of a length beyond that
permitted by law, and each having a pistol in his belt, with a buckler
hanging on his arm. No sooner had these men entered, than they began to
look askance at Rincon and Cortado, whom they were evidently surprised
to see there, as persons unknown to themselves. At length the new-comers
accosted the two friends, asking if they were of the brotherhood. "We
are so," replied Rincon, "and the very humble servants of your worships
besides."
At this moment the Senor Monipodio honoured the respectable assembly
with his welcome presence. He appeared to be about five or six-and-forty
years old, tall, and of dark complexion; his eyebrows met on his
forehead, his black beard was very thick, and his eyes were deeply sunk
in his head. He had come down in his shirt, through the opening of which
was seen a hairy bosom, as rough and thick set as a forest of brushwood.
Over his shoulders was thrown a serge cloak, reaching nearly to his
feet, which were cased in old shoes, cut down to make slippers; his legs
were covered with a kind of linen gaiters, wide and ample, which fell
low upon his ankles. His hat was that worn by those of the Hampa,
bell-formed in the crown, and very wide in the brim.[21] Across his
breast was a leather baldric, supporting a broad, short sword of the
_perrillo_ fashion.[22] His hands were short and coarse, the fingers
thick, and the nails much flattened: his legs were concealed by the
gaiters, but his feet were of immoderate size, and the most clumsy form.
In short, he was the coarsest and most repulsive barbarian ever beheld.
With him came the conductor of the two friends; who, taking Rincon and
Cortado each by a hand, presented them to Monipodio, saying, "These are
the two good boys of whom I spoke to your worship, Senor Monipodio. May
it please your worship to examine them, and you will see how well they
are prepared to enter our brotherhood." "That I will do willingly,"
replied Monipodio.
[21] The Braves of the Hampa were a horde of ruffians principally
Andalusians; they formed a society ready to commit every species of
wrong and violence.
[22] The _perrillo_, or "little dog," was the mark of Julian del Rey, a
noted armourer of Toledo, by birth a Morisco.
But I had forgotten to say, that when Monipodio had first appeared, all
those who were waiting for him, made a deep and long reverence, the two
dashing cavaliers alone excepted, who did but just touch their hats, and
then continued their walk up and down the court.
Monipodio also began to pace up and down the patio, and, as he did so,
he questioned the new disciples as to their trade, their birthplace, and
their parents. To this Rincon replied, "Our trade is sufficiently
obvious, since we are here before your worship; as to our country, it
does not appear to me essential to the matter in hand that we should
declare it, any more than the names of our parents, since we are not now
stating our qualifications for admission into some noble order of
knighthood."
"What you say, my son, is true, as well as discreet," replied Monipodio;
"and it is, without doubt, highly prudent to conceal those
circumstances; for if things should turn out badly, there is no need to
have placed upon the books of register, and under the sign manual of the
justice-clerk, 'So and so, native of such a place, was hanged, or made
to dance at the whipping-post, on such a day,' with other announcements
of the like kind, which, to say the least of them, do not sound
agreeable in respectable ears. Thus, I repeat, that to conceal the name
and abode of your parents, and even to change your own proper
appellation, are prudent measures. Between ourselves there must,
nevertheless, be no concealment: for the present I will ask your names
only, but these you must give me."
Rincon then told his name, and so did Cortado: whereupon Monipodio said,
"Henceforward I request and desire that you, Rincon, call yourself
Rinconete, and you, Cortado, Cortadillo; these being names which accord,
as though made in a mould, with your age and circumstances, as well as
with our ordinances, which make it needful that we should also know the
names of the parents of our comrades, because it is our custom to have a
certain number of masses said every year for the souls of our dead, and
of the benefactors of our society; and we provide for the payment of the
priests who say them, by setting apart a share of our swag for that
purpose.
"These masses, thus said and paid for, are of great service to the souls
aforesaid. Among our benefactors we count the Alguazil, who gives us
warning; the Advocate, who defends us; the Executioner, who takes pity
upon us when we have to be whipped, and the man who, when we are running
along the street, and the people in full cry after us bawling 'Stop
thief,' throws himself between us and our pursuers, and checks the
torrent, saying, 'Let the poor wretch alone, his lot is hard enough; let
him go, and his crime will be his punishment.' We also count among our
benefactors the good wenches who aid us by their labours while we are in
prison, or at the galleys; our fathers, and the mothers who brought us
into the world; and, finally, we take care to include the Clerk of the
Court, for if he befriend us, there is no crime which he will not find
means to reduce to a slight fault, and no fault which he does not
prevent from being punished. For all these our brotherhood causes the
_sanctimonies_ (ceremonies) I have named to be _solecised_ (solemnised)
every year, with all possible _grandiloquence_.
"Certainly," replied Rinconete (now confirmed in that name), "certainly
that is a good work, and entirely worthy of the lofty and profound
genius with which we have heard that you, Senor Monipodio, are endowed.
Our parents still enjoy life; but should they precede us to the tomb,
we will instantly give notice of that circumstance to this happy and
highly esteemed fraternity, to the end that you may have 'sanctimonies
solecised' for their souls, as your worship is pleased to say, with the
customary 'grandiloquence.'"
"And so shall it be done," returned Monipodio, "if there be but a piece
of me left alive to look to it."
He then called their conductor, saying, "Hallo! there, Ganchuelo![23] Is
the watch set?" "Yes," replied the boy; "three sentinels are on guard,
and there is no fear of a surprise." "Let us return to business, then,"
said Monipodio. "I would fain know from you, my sons, what you are able
to do, that I may assign you an employment in conformity with your
inclinations and accomplishments."
[23] _Ganchuelo_ is the diminutive of _gancho_, a crimp.
"I," replied Rinconete, "know a trick or two to gammon a bumpkin; I am
not a bad hand at hiding what a pal has prigged; I have a good eye for a
gudgeon; I play well at most games of cards, and have all the best turns
of the pasteboard at my finger ends; I have cut my eye teeth, and am
about as easy to lay hold of as a hedgehog; I can creep through a
cat-hole or down a chimney, as I would enter the door of my father's
house; and will muster a million of tricks better than I could marshal a
regiment of soldiers; and flabbergast the knowingest cove a deal sooner
than pay back a loan of two reals."
"These are certainly the rudiments," admitted Monipodio, "but all such
things are no better than old lavender flowers, so completely worn out
of all savour that there is not a novice who may not boast of being a
master in them. They are good for nothing but to catch simpletons who
are stupid enough to run their heads against the church steeple; but
time will do much for you, and we must talk further together. On the
foundation already laid you shall have half a dozen lessons; and I then
trust in God that you will turn out a famous craftsman, and even,
mayhap, a master."
"My abilities shall always be at your service, and that of the gentlemen
who are our comrades," replied Rinconete; and Monipodio then turned
towards Cortadillo.
"And you, Cortadillo, what may you be good for?" he inquired; to which
Cortadillo replied, "For my part I know the trick called 'put in two,
and take out five,' and I can dive to the bottom of a pocket with great
precision and dexterity." "Do you know nothing more?" continued
Monipodio. "Alas, no, for my sins, that is all I can do," admitted
Cortadillo, "Do not afflict yourself, nevertheless," said the master;
"you are arrived at a good port, where you will not be drowned, and you
enter a school in which you can hardly fail to learn all that is
requisite for your future welfare. And now as to courage: how do you
feel yourselves provided in that respect, my children?" "How should we
be provided," returned Rinconete, "but well and amply? We have courage
enough to attempt whatever may be demanded in our art and profession."
"But I would have you to possess a share of that sort which would enable
you to suffer as well as to dare," replied Monipodio, "which would carry
you, if need were, through a good half dozen of _ansias_ without opening
your lips, and without once saying 'This mouth is mine.'" "We already
know what the _ansias_ are, Senor Monipodio," replied Cortadillo, "and
are prepared for all; since we are not so ignorant but that we know very
well, that what the tongue says, the throat must pay for; and great is
the grace heaven bestows on the bold man (not to give him a different
name), in making his life or death depend upon the discretion of his
tongue, as though there were more letters in a No than an Aye."
"Halt there, my son; you need say no more," exclaimed Monipodio at this
point of the discourse. "The words you have just uttered suffice to
convince, oblige, persuade, and constrain me at once to admit you both
to full brotherhood, and dispense with your passing through the year of
novitiate."
"I also am of that opinion," said one of the gaily-dressed Bravos; and
this was the unanimous feeling of the whole assembly. They therefore
requested that Monipodio would immediately grant the new brethren the
enjoyment of all the immunities of their confraternity, seeing that
their good mien and judicious discourse proved them to be entirely
deserving of that distinction.
Monipodio replied, that, to satisfy the wishes of all, he at once
conferred on those new-comers all the privileges desired, but he
exhorted the recipients to remember that they were to hold the favour in
high esteem, since it was a very great one: consisting in the exemption
from payment of the _media anata_, or tax levied on the first theft they
should commit, and rendering them free of all the inferior occupations
of their office for the entire year. They were not obliged, that is to
say, to bear messages to a brother of higher grade, whether in prison or
at his own residence. They were permitted to drink their wine without
water, and to make a feast when and where they pleased, without first
demanding permission of their principal. They were, furthermore, to
enter at once on a full share of whatever was brought in by the superior
brethren, as one of themselves--with many other privileges, which the
new comers accepted as most signal favours, and on the possession of
which they were felicitated by all present, in the most polite and
complimentary terms.
While these pleasing ceremonies were in course of being exchanged, a boy
ran in, panting for breath, and cried out, "The Alguazil of the
vagabonds is coming direct to the house, but he has none of the
Marshalsea men with him."
"Let no one disturb himself," said Monipodio. "This is a friend; never
does he come here for our injury. Calm your anxiety, and I will go out
to speak with him." At these words all resumed their self-possession,
for they had been considerably alarmed; and Monipodio went forth to the
door of his house, where he found the Alguazil, with whom he remained
some minutes in conversation, and then returned to the company. "Who was
on guard to-day," he asked, "in the market of San Salvador?" "I was,"
replied the conductor of our two friends, the estimable Ganchuelo.
"You!" replied Monipodio. "How then does it happen that you have not
given notice of an amber-coloured purse which has gone astray there this
morning, and has carried with it fifteen crowns in gold, two double
reals, and I know not how many quartos?"
"It is true," replied Ganchuelo, "that this purse has disappeared, but
it was not I took it, nor can I imagine who has done so." "Let there be
no tricks with me," exclaimed Monipodio; "the purse must be found, since
the Alguazil demands it, and he is a friend who finds means to do us a
thousand services in the course of the year." The youth again swore
that he knew nothing about it, while Monipodio's choler began to rise,
and in a moment flames seemed to dart from his eyes. "Let none of you
dare," he shouted, "to venture on infringing the most important rule of
our order, for he who does so shall pay for it with his life. Let the
purse be found, and if any one has been concealing it to avoid paying
the dues, let him now give it up. I will make good to him all that he
would have been entitled to, and out of my own pocket too; for, come
what may, the Alguazil must not be suffered to depart without
satisfaction." But Ganchuelo could do no more than repeat, with all
manner of oaths and imprecations, that he had neither taken the purse,
nor ever set eyes on it.
All this did but lay fuel on the flame of Monipodio's anger, and the
entire assembly partook of his emotions; the honourable members
perceiving that their statutes were violated, and their wise ordinances
infringed. Seeing, therefore, that the confusion and alarm had now got
to such a height, Rinconete began to think it time to allay it, and to
calm the anger of his superior, who was bursting with rage. He took
counsel for a moment with Cortadillo, and receiving his assent, drew
forth the purse of the Sacristan, saying:--
"Let all questions cease, gentlemen: here is the purse, from which
nothing is missing that the Alguazil has described, since my comrade
Cortadillo prigged it this very day, with a pocket-handkerchief into the
bargain, which he borrowed from the same owner." Thereupon Cortadillo
produced the handkerchief before the assembled company.
Seeing this, Monipodio exclaimed "Cortadillo the Good! for by that title
and surname shall you henceforward be distinguished. Keep the
handkerchief, and I take it upon myself to pay you duly for this
service; as to the purse, the Alguazil must carry it away just as it is,
for it belongs to a Sacristan who happens to be his relation, and we
must make good in his case the proverb, which says, 'To him who gives
thee the entire bird, thou canst well afford a drumstick of the same.'
This good Alguazil can save us from more mischief in one day than we can
do him good in a hundred."
All the brotherhood with one voice approved the spirit and gentlemanly
proceeding of the two new comers, as well as the judgment and decision
of their superior, who went out to restore the purse to the Alguazil.
As to Cortadillo, he was confirmed in his title of the _Good_, much as
if the matter had concerned a Don Alonzo Perez de Guzman, surnamed the
Good, who from the walls of Tarifa threw down to his enemy the dagger
that was to destroy the life of his only son.[24]
[24] Our readers will perceive that this relates to the atrocity
committed by the Infant Don Juan of Castille, who, while in revolt
against his brother, Sancho IV., appeared before the city of Tarifa with
an army, chiefly composed of Mahometans; finding the infant son of the
governor, Don Alonzo Perez de Guzman, at nurse in a neighbouring
village, he took the child, and bearing him to the foot of the walls,
called on Guzman to surrender the place on pain of seeing his infant
slaughtered before his eyes in case of refusal. The only reply
vouchsafed by Don Alonzo was the horrible one alluded to in the text. He
detached his own dagger from its belt, and threw it to Don Juan, when
the sanguinary monster, far from respecting the fidelity of his
opponent, seized the weapon, and pierced the babe to the heart as he had
threatened to do This anecdote is related, with certain variations, in
Conde, "La Dominacion de los Arabes en Espana."--See English
Translation, vol. iii.
When Monipodio returned to the assembly he was accompanied by two girls,
with rouged faces, lips reddened with carmine, and necks plastered with
white. They wore short camlet cloaks, and exhibited airs of the utmost
freedom and boldness. At the first glance Rinconete and Cortadillo could
see what was the profession of these women. They had no sooner entered,
than they hurried with open arms, the one to Chiquiznaque, the other to
Maniferro; these were the two bravos, one of whom bore the latter name
because he had an iron hand, in place of one of his own, which had been
cut off by the hand of justice. These two men embraced the girls with
great glee, and inquired if they had brought the wherewithal to moisten
their throats. "How could we think of neglecting that, old blade!"
replied one of the girls, who was called Gananciosa.[25] "Silvatillo,
your scout, will be here before long with the clothes-basket, crammed
with whatever good luck has sent us."
[25] The winner.
And true it was; for an instant afterwards, a boy entered with a
clothes-basket covered with a sheet.
The whole company renewed their rejoicings on the arrival of Silvatillo,
and Monipodio instantly ordered that one of the mats should be brought
from the neighbouring chamber, and laid out in the centre of the court.
Furthermore he commanded that all the brotherhood should take places
around it, in order that while they were taking the wrinkles out of
their stomachs, they might talk about business.
To this proposal the old woman, who had been kneeling before the image,
replied, "Monipodio, my son, I am not in the humour to keep festival
this morning, for during the last two days I have had a giddiness and
pain in my head, that go near to make me mad; I must, besides, be at our
Lady of the Waters before mid-day strikes, having to accomplish my
devotions and offer my candles there, as well as at the crucifix of St.
Augustin; for I would not fail to do either, even though it were to snow
all day and blow a hurricane. What I came here for is to tell you, that
last night the Renegade and Centipede brought to my house a basket
somewhat larger than that now before us; it was as full as it could hold
of fine linen, and, on my life and soul, it was still wet and covered
with soap, just as they had taken it from under the nose of the
washerwoman, so that the poor fellows were perspiring and breathless
beneath its weight. It would have melted your heart to see them as they
came in, with the water streaming from their faces, and they as red as a
couple of cherubs. They told me, besides, that they were in pursuit of a
cattle-dealer, who had just had some sheep weighed at the
slaughter-house, and they were then hastening off to see if they could
not contrive to grab a great cat[26] which the dealer carried with him.
They could not, therefore, spare time to count the linen, or take it out
of the basket but they relied on the rectitude of my conscience; and so
may God grant my honest desires, and preserve us all from the power of
justice, as these fingers have refrained from touching the basket, which
is as full as the day it was born."
[26] A large purse made of cat-skin.
"We cannot doubt it, good mother," replied Monipodio. "Let the basket
remain where it is; I will come at nightfall to fetch it away, and will
then ascertain the quantity and quality of its contents, giving to every
one the portion, due to him, faithfully and truly, as it is my habit to
do."
"Let it be as you shall command," rejoined the old woman; "and now, as
it is getting late, give me something to drink, if you have it
there--something that will comfort this miserable stomach, which is
almost famishing for want."
"That you shall have, and enough of it, mother," exclaimed Escalanta,
the companion of Gananciosa; and, uncovering the basket, she displayed a
great leather bottle, containing at least two arrobas[27] of wine, with
a cup made of cork, in which you might comfortably carry off an
azumbre,[28] or honest half-gallon of the same. This Escalanta now
filled, and placed it in the hands of the devout old woman, who took it
in both her own, and, having blown away a little froth from the surface,
she said,--
[27] The _arroba_ holds about thirty-two pints.
[28] The _azumbre_ is two quarts.
"You have poured out a large quantity, Escalanta, my daughter; but God
will give me strength." Whereupon, without once taking breath, and at
one draught, she poured the whole from the cup down her throat. "It is
real Guadalcanal,"[29] said the old woman, when she had taken breath;
"and yet it has just a tiny smack of the gypsum. God comfort you, my
daughter, as you have comforted me; I am only afraid that the wine may
do me some mischief, seeing that I have not yet broken my fast."
[29] A favourite wine, grown on the shore of the Manzanares.
"No, mother; it will do nothing of the kind," returned Monipodio, "for
it is three years old at the least."
"May the Virgin grant that I find it so," replied the old woman. Then
turning to the girls, "See, children," she said "whether you have not a
few maravedis to buy the candles for my offerings of devotion. I came
away in so much haste, to bring the news of the basket of linen, that I
forgot my purse, and left it at home."
"Yes, Dame Pipota,"--such was the name of the old woman,--"I have some,"
replied Gananciosa; "here are two cuartos for you, and with one of them
I beg you to buy a candle for me, which you will offer in my name to the
Senor St. Michael, or if you can get two with the money, you may place
the other at the altar of the Senor St. Blas, for those two are my
patron-saints. I also wish to give one to the Senora Santa Lucia, for
whom I have a great devotion, on account of the eyes;[30] but I have no
more change to-day, so it must be put off till another time, when I
will square accounts with all."
[30] The Virgin Martyr, Santa Lucia, had her eyes burnt out of her head,
and is regarded, in the Catholic Church, as particularly powerful in the
cure of all diseases of the eyes. She is usually represented as bearing
her eyes on a salver, which she holds in her hand.
"And you will do well, daughter," replied the old woman. "Don't be
niggard, mind. It is a good thing to carry one's own candles before one
dies, and not to wait until they are offered by the heirs and executors
of our testament."
"You speak excellently, Mother Pipota," said Escalanta; and, putting her
hand into her pocket, she drew forth a cuarto, which she gave the old
woman, requesting her to buy two candles for her likewise, and offer
them to such saints as she considered the most useful and the most
likely to be grateful. With this old Pipota departed, saying,
"Enjoy yourselves, my dears, now while you have time, for old age will
come and you will then weep for the moments you may have lost in your
youth, as I do now. Commend me to God in your prayers, and I will
remember you, as well as myself, in mine, that he may keep us all, and
preserve us in this dangerous trade of ours from all the terrors of
justice." These words concluded, the old woman went her way.
Dame Pipota having disappeared, all seated themselves round the mat,
which Gananciosa covered with the sheet in place of a table-cloth. The
first thing she drew from the basket was an immense bunch of radishes;
this was followed by a couple of dozens or more of oranges and lemons;
then came a great earthen pan filled with slices of fried ling, half a
Dutch cheese, a bottle of excellent olives, a plate of shrimps, and a
large dish of craw-fish, with their appropriate sauce of capers, drowned
in pepper-vinegar: three loaves of the whitest bread from Gandul
completed the collation. The number of guests at this breakfast was
fourteen, and not one of them failed to produce his yellow-handled
knife, Rinconete alone excepted, who drew his dudgeon dagger instead.
The two old men in serge gowns, and the lad who had been the guide of
the two friends, were charged with the office of cupbearers, pouring the
wine from the bottle into the cork cup.
But scarcely had the guests taken their places, before they were all
startled, and sprang up in haste at the, sound of repeated knocks at the
door. Bidding them remain quiet, Monipodio went into one of the lower
rooms, unhooked a buckler, took his sword in his hand, and, going to the
door, inquired, in a rough and threatening voice, "Who is there?"
"All right Senor! it is I, Tagarote,[31] on sentry this morning,"
replied a voice from without. "I come to tell you that Juliana de
Cariharta[32] is coming, with her hair all about her face, and crying
her eyes out, as though some great misfortune had happened to her."
[31] The quill-driver.
[32] Fat-face, puff-cheeks, or any other term describing fulness of
face, in the least complimentary manner.
He had scarcely spoken when the girl he had named came sobbing to the
door, which Monipodio opened for her, commanding Tagarote to return to
his post; and ordering him, moreover, to make less noise and uproar when
he should next bring notice of what was going forward,--a command to
which the boy promised attention.
Cariharta, a girl of the same class and profession with those already in
presence, had meanwhile entered the court, her hair streaming in the
wind, her eyes swollen with tears, and her face covered with contusions
and bruises. She had no sooner got into the Patio, than she fell to the
ground in a fainting fit. Gananciosa and Escalanta[33] sprang to her
assistance, unfastened her dress, and found her breast and shoulders
blackened and covered with marks of violence. After they had thrown
water on her face, she soon came to herself, crying out as she did so,
"The justice of God and the king on that shameless thief, that cowardly
cut-purse, and dirty scoundrel, whom I have saved from the gibbet more
times than he has hairs in his beard. Alas! unhappy creature that I am!
see for what I have squandered my youth, and spent the flower of my
days! For an unnatural, worthless, and incorrigible villain!"
[33] The clamberer.
"Recover yourself, and be calm, Cariharta," said Monipodio; "I am here
to render justice to you and to all. Tell me your cause of complaint,
and you shall be longer in relating the story than I will be in taking
vengeance. Let me know if anything has happened between you and your
_respeto_;[34] and if you desire to be well and duly avenged. You have
but to open your mouth."
[34] Protector, or more exactly "bully,"--to defend and uphold in acts
of fraud and violence.
"Protector!" exclaimed the girl. "What kind of a protector is he? It
were better for me to be protected in hell than to remain any longer
with that lion among sheep, and sheep among men! Will I ever eat again
with him at the same table, or live under the same roof? Rather would I
give this flesh of mine, which he has put into the state you shall see,
to be devoured alive by raging beasts." So saying, she pulled up her
petticoats to her knees, and even a little higher, and showed the wheals
with which she was covered. "That's the way," she cried, "that I have
been treated by that ungrateful Repolido,[35] who owes more to me than
to the mother that bore him.
[35] Dandy.
"And why do you suppose he has done this? Do you think I have given him
any cause?--no, truly. His only reason for serving me so was, that being
at play and losing his money, he sent Cabrillas, his scout, to me for
thirty reals, and I could only send him twenty-four. May the pains and
troubles with which I earned them be counted to me by heaven in
remission of my sins! But in return for this civility and kindness,
fancying that I had kept back part of what he chose to think I had got,
the blackguard lured me out to the fields this morning, beyond the
king's garden, and there, having stripped me among the olive trees, he
took off his belt, not even removing the iron buckle--oh that I may see
him clapped in irons and chains!--and with that he gave me such an
unmerciful flogging, that he left me for dead; and that's a true story,
as the marks you see bear witness."
Here Cariharta once more set up her pipes and craved for justice, which
was again promised to her by Monipodio and all the bravos present.
The Gananciosa then tried her hand at consoling the victim; saying to
her, among other things--"I would freely give my best gown that my fancy
man had done as much by me; for I would have you know, sister Cariharta,
if you don't know it yet, that he who loves best thrashes best; and when
these scoundrels whack us and kick us, it is then they most devoutly
adore us. Tell me now, on our life, after having beaten and abused you,
did not Repolido make much of you, and give you more than one caress?"
"More than one!" replied the weeping girl; "he gave me more than a
hundred thousand, and would have given a finger off his hand if I would
only have gone with him to his posada; nay, I even think that the tears
were almost starting from his eyes after he had leathered me."
"Not a doubt of it," replied Gananciosa; "and he would weep now to see
the state he has put you into: for men like him have scarcely committed
the fault before repentance begins. You will see, sister, if he does not
come here to look for you before we leave the place; and see if he does
not beg you to forgive what has passed, and behave to you as meek and as
humble as a lamb."
"By my faith," observed Monipodio, "the cowardly ruffian shall not enter
these doors until he has made full reparation for the offence he has
committed. How dare he lay a hand on poor Cariharta, who for cleanliness
and industry is a match for Gananciosa herself, and that is saying
everything."
"Alas! Senor Monipodio," replied Juliana, "please do not speak too
severely of the miserable fellow; for, hard as he is, I cannot but love
him as I do the very folds of my heart; and the words spoken in his
behalf by my friend Gananciosa have restored the soul to my body. Of a
truth, if I consulted only my own wishes, I should go this moment and
look for him."
"No, no," replied Gananciosa, "you shall not do so by my counsel; for to
do that would make him proud; he would think too much of himself, and
would make experiments upon you as on a dead body. Keep quiet, sister,
and in a short time you will see him here repentant, as I have said; and
if not, we will write verses on him that shall make him roar with rage."
"Let us write by all means," returned Juliana, "for I have a thousand
things to say to him."
"And I will be your secretary, if need be," rejoined Monipodio, "for
although I am no poet, yet a man has but to tuck up the sleeves of his
shirt, set well to work, and he may turn off a couple of thousand verses
in the snapping of a pair of scissors. Besides, if the rhymes should not
come so readily as one might wish, I have a friend close by, a barber,
who is a great poet, and will trim up the ends of the verses at an
hour's notice. At present, however, let us go finish our repast; all the
rest can be done afterwards."
Juliana was not unwilling to obey her superior, so they all fell to
again at the O-be-joyful with so much goodwill that they soon saw the
bottom of the basket and the dregs of the great leather bottle. The old
ones drank _sine fine_, the younger men to their hearts' content, and
the ladies till they could drink no more. When all was consumed, the two
old men begged permission to take their leave, which Monipodio allowed
them to do, but charged them to return punctually, for the purpose of
reporting all they should see or hear that could be useful to the
brotherhood; they assured him they would by no means fail in their duty,
and then departed.
After these gentlemen had left the company, Rinconete, who was of a very
inquiring disposition, begged leave to ask Monipodio in what way two
persons so old, grave, and formal as those he had just seen, could be of
service to their community. Monipodio replied, that such were called
"Hornets" in their jargon, and that their office was to poke about all
parts of the city, spying out such places as might be eligible for
attempts to be afterwards made in the night-time. "They watch people who
receive money from the bank or treasury," said he, "observe where they
go with it, and, if possible, the very place in which it is deposited.
When this is done, they make themselves acquainted with the thickness of
the walls, marking out the spot where we may most conveniently make our
_guzpataros_, which are the holes whereby we contrive to force an
entrance. In a word, these persons are among the most useful of the
brotherhood: and they receive a fifth of all that the community obtains
by their intervention, as his majesty does, on treasure trove. They are,
moreover, men of singular integrity and rectitude. They lead a
respectable life, and enjoy a good reputation, fearing God and regarding
the voice of their consciences, insomuch that not a day passes over
their heads in which they have not heard mass with extraordinary
devotion. There are, indeed, some of them so conscientious, that they
content themselves with even less than by our rules would be their due.
Those just gone are of this number. We have two others, whose trade it
is to remove furniture; and as they are daily employed in the conveyance
of articles for persons who are changing their abode, they know all the
ins and outs of every house in the city, and can tell exactly where we
may hope for profit and where not."
"That is all admirable," replied Rinconete, "and greatly do I desire to
be of some use to so noble a confraternity."
"Heaven is always ready to favour commendable desires," replied
Monipodio.
While the two were thus discoursing, a knock was heard at the door, and
Monipodio went to see who might be there. "Open, Sor[36]
Monipodio--open," said a voice without; "it is I, Repolido."
[36] _Sor_ the contraction of Senor.
Cariharta hearing this voice, began to lift up her own to heaven, and
cried out, "Don't open the door, Senor Monipodio; don't let in that
Tarpeian mariner--that tiger of Ocana."[37]
[37] "Ocana" is a city at no great distance from Madrid; and if the lady
has placed her tiger there, instead of in Hyrcania, as she doubtless
intended, it is of course because her emotions had troubled her memory.
The "Tarpeian mariner" is a fine phrase surely, but its meaning is not
very clear.
Monipodio opened the door, nevertheless, in despite of her cries; when
Cariharta, starting to her feet, hurried away, and hid herself in the
room where the bucklers were hung up. There, bolting the door, she
bawled from her refuge, "Drive out that black-visaged coward, that
murderer of innocents, that white-livered terror of house-lambs, who
durst not look a man in the face."
Repolido was meanwhile kept back by Maniferro and Chiquiznaque, as he
struggled with all his might to get into the room where Cariharta was
hidden. But when he saw that to be impossible, he called to her from
without, "Come, come, let us have done with this, my little sulky; by
your life, let us have peace, as you would wish to be married."
"Married!" retorted the lady, "married to you too! Don't you wish you
may get it? See what kind of a string he's playing on now. I would
rather be married to a dead notomy." "Oh, bother!" exclaimed Repolido;
"let us have done with this, for it is getting late; take care of being
too much puffed up at hearing me speak so gently, and seeing me so meek;
for, by the light of heaven, if my rage should get steeple-high, the
relapse will be worse than the first fit. Come down from your stilts,
let us all have done with our _tantrums_, and not give the devil a
dinner."
"I will give him a supper to boot, if he will take you from my sight to
some place where I may never set eyes on you more," exclaimed the gentle
Juliana from within.
"Haven't I told you once to beware, Madame Hemp-sack? By the powers, I
suspect I must serve out something to you by the dozen, though I make no
charge for it."
Here Monipodio interposed: "In my presence," he said, "there shall be no
violence. Cariharta will come out, not for your threats, but for my
sake, and all will go well. Quarrels between people who love each other
are but the cause of greater joy and pleasure when peace is once made.
Listen to me, Juliana, my daughter; listen to me, my Cariharta. Come out
to us, for the love of your friend Monipodio, and I will make Repolido
beg your pardon on his knees."
"Ah! if he will do that," exclaimed Escalanta, "we shall then be all on
his side, and will entreat Juliana to come out."
"If I am asked to beg pardon in a sense of submission that would
dishonour my person," replied Repolido, "an army of lansquenets would
not make me consent; but if it be merely in the way of doing pleasure to
Cariharta, I do not say merely that I would go on my knees, but I would
drive a nail into my forehead to do her service."
At these words Chiquiznaque and Maniferro began to laugh, and Repolido,
who thought they were making game of him, cried out in a transport of
rage, "Whoever shall laugh or think of laughing at anything whatsoever
that may pass between Cariharta and myself, I say that he lies, and that
he will have lied every time he shall laugh or think of laughing."
Hearing this, Chiquiznaque and Maniferro looked at each other and
scowled so sternly, that Monipodio saw things were likely to come to a
crisis unless he prevented it. Throwing himself, therefore, into the
midst of the group, he cried out, "No more of this, gentlemen! have done
with all big words; grind them up between your teeth; and since those
that have been said do not reach to the belt, let no one here apply them
to himself."
"We are very sure," replied Chiquiznaque, "that such admonitions neither
have been nor will be uttered for our benefit; otherwise, or if it
should be imagined that they were addressed to us, the tambourine is in
hands that would well know how to beat it."
"We also, Sor Chiquiznaque, have our drum of Biscay," retorted
Repolido, "and, in case of need, can make the bells as well as another.
I have already said, that whoever jests in our matters is a liar: and
whoever thinks otherwise, let him follow me; with a palm's length of my
sword I will show him that what is said is said." Having uttered these
words, Repolido turned towards the outer door, and proceeded to leave
the place.
Cariharta had meanwhile been listening to all this, and when she found
that Repolido was departing in anger, she rushed out, screaming, "Hold
him, hold him,--don't let him go, or he will be showing us some more of
his handiwork; can't you see that he is angry? and he is a Judas
Macarelo in the matter of bravery. Come here, Hector of the world and of
my eyes!" With these words, Cariharta threw herself upon the retiring
bravo, and held him with all her force by his cloak. Monipodio lent her
his aid, and between them they contrived to detain him.
Chiquiznaque and Maniferro, undetermined whether to resume the dispute
or not, stood waiting apart to see what Repolido would do, and the
latter perceiving himself to be in the hands of Monipodio and Cariharta,
exclaimed, "Friends should never annoy friends, nor make game of
friends, more especially when they see that friends are vexed."
"There is not a friend here," replied Maniferro, "who has any desire to
vex a friend; and since we are all friends, let us give each other the
hand like friends." "Your worships have all spoken like good friends,"
added Monipodio, "and as such friends should do; now finish by giving
each other your hands like true friends."
All obeyed instantly, whereupon Escalanta, whipping off her cork-soled
clog, began to play upon it as if it had been a tambourine. Gananciosa,
in her turn, caught up a broom, and, scratching the rushes with her
fingers, drew forth a sound which, if not soft or sweet, yet agreed very
well with the beating of the slipper. Monipodio then broke a plate, the
two fragments of which he rattled together in such fashion as to make a
very praiseworthy accompaniment to the slipper and the broom.
Rinconete and Cortadillo stood in much admiration of that new invention
of the broom, for up to that time they had seen nothing like it.
Maniferro perceived their amazement, and said to them, "The broom
awakens your admiration,--and well it may, since a more convenient kind
of instrument was never invented in this world, nor one more readily
formed, or less costly. Upon my life, I heard a student the other day
affirm, that neither the man who fetched his wife out of hell--Negrofeo,
Ogrofeo, or what was he called--nor that Marion who got upon a dolphin,
and came out of the sea like a man riding on a hired mule--nor even that
other great musician who built a city with a hundred gates and as many
posterns--never a one of them invented an instrument half so easy of
acquirement, so ready to the touch, so pleasing and simple as to its
frets, keys, and chords, and so far from troublesome in the tuning and
keeping in accord; and by all the saints, they swear that it was
invented by a gallant of this very city, a perfect Hector in matters of
music."
"I fully believe all you say," replied Rinconete, "but let us listen,
for our musicians are about to sing. Gananciosa is blowing her nose,
which is a certain sign that she means to sing."
And she was, in fact, preparing to do so. Monipodio had requested her to
give the company some of the Seguidillas most in vogue at the moment.
But the first to begin was Escalanta, who sang as follows, in a thin
squeaking voice:--
"For a boy of Sevilla,
Red as a Dutchman,
All my heart's in flame."
To which Gananciosa replied, taking up the measure as she best might--
"For the little brown lad,
With a good bright eye,
Who would not lose her name?"
Then Monipodio, making great haste to perform a symphony with his pieces
of platter, struck in--
"Two lovers dear, fall out and fight,
But soon, to make their peace, take leisure;
And all the greater was the row,
So much the greater is the pleasure."
But Cariharta had no mind to enjoy her recovered happiness in silence
and fingering another clog, she also entered the dance, joining her
voice to those of her friends, in the following words--
"Pause, angry lad! and do not beat me more,
For 'tis thine own dear flesh that thou dost baste,
If thou but well consider, and--"
"Fair and soft," exclaimed Repolido, at that moment, "give us no old
stories, there's no good in that. Let bygones be bygones! Choose another
gait, girl; we've had enough of that one."
The canticle, for a moment interrupted by these words, was about to
recommence, and would not, apparently, have soon come to an end, had not
the performers been disturbed by violent knocks at the door. Monipodio
hastened to see who was there, and found one of his sentinels, who
informed him that at the end of the street was the alcalde of criminal
justice, with the little Piebald and the Kestrel (two catchpolls, who
were called neutral, since they did the community of robbers neither
good nor harm), marching before him.
The joyous company within heard the report of their scout, and were in a
terrible fright. Escalanta and Cariharta put on their clogs in great
haste, Gananciosa threw down her broom, and Monipodio his broken plate,
every instrument sinking at once into silence. Chiquiznaque lost his
joyous grin, and stood dumb as a fish; Repolido trembled with fear, and
Maniferro looked pale with anxiety. But these various demonstrations
were exhibited only for a moment,--in the next, all that goodly
brotherhood had disappeared. Some rushed across a kind of terrace, and
gained another court; others clambered over the roof, and so passed into
a neighbouring alley. Never did the sound of a fowling piece, or a
sudden peal of thunder, more effectually disperse a flock of careless
pigeons, than did the news of the alcalde's arrival that select company
assembled in the house of the Senor Monipodio. Rinconete and Cortadillo,
not knowing whither to flee, stood in their places waiting to see what
would be the end of that sudden storm, which finished simply enough by
the return of the sentinel, who came to say that the alcalde had passed
through the whole length of the street without seeming to have any
troublesome suspicions respecting them, or even appearing to think of
their house at all.
While Monipodio was in the act of receiving this last report, there
came to the door a gentleman in the prime of youth, and dressed in the
half-rustic manner suitable to the morning, or to one residing in the
country. Monipodio caused this person to enter the house with himself;
he then sent to look for Chiquiznaque, Repolido, and Maniferro, with
orders that they should come forth from their hiding places, but that
such others as might be with them should remain where they were.
Rinconete and Cortadillo having remained in the court, could hear all
the conversation which took place between Monipodio and the gentleman
who had just arrived, and who began by inquiring how it happened that
the job he had ordered had been so badly done. At this point of the
colloquy, Chiquiznaque appeared, and Monipodio asked him if he had
accomplished the work with which he had been entrusted--namely, the
knife-slash of fourteen stitches.[38]
[38] "At that time," remarks Viardot, "while wounds were still sewed up
by the surgeons, the importance or extent of the cut made was estimated
by the number of the stitches."
"Which of them was it," inquired Chiquiznaque, "that of the merchant at
the Cross-ways?" "Exactly," replied the gentleman. "Then I'll tell you
how the matter went," responded the bravo. "Last night, as I watched
before the very door of his house, and the man appeared just before to
the ringing of the _Ave Maria_, I got near him, and took the measure of
his face with my eyes; but I perceived it was so small that it was
impossible, totally impossible, to find room in it for a cut of fourteen
stitches. So that, perceiving myself unable to fulfil my
destructions"--"Instructions you mean," said the gentleman;--"Well,
well, instructions if you will," admitted Chiquiznaque,--"seeing that I
could not find room for the number of stitches I had to make, because of
the narrowness, I say, and want of space in the visage of the merchant,
I gave the cut to a lacquey he had with him, to the end that I might not
have my journey for nothing; and certainly his allowance may pass for
one of the best quality."
"I would rather you had given the master a cut of seven stitches than
the servant one of fourteen," remarked the gentleman. "You have not
fulfilled the promise made me, but the thirty ducats which I gave you as
earnest money, will be no great loss." This said, he saluted the two
ruffians and turned to depart, but Monipodio detained him by the cloak
of mixed cloth which he wore on his shoulders, saying: "Be pleased to
stop, Senor cavalier, and fulfil your promise, since we have kept our
word with strict honour and to great advantage. Twenty ducats are still
wanting to our bargain, and your worship shall not go from this place
until you have paid them, or left us something of equal value in
pledge."
"Do you call this keeping your word," said the gentleman, "making a cut
on the servant when you should have made it on the master?"
"How well his worship understands the business," remarked Chiquiznaque.
"One can easily see that he does not remember the proverb which says:
'He who loves Beltran, loves his dog likewise.'"
"But what has this proverb to do with the matter?" inquired the
gentleman.
"Why, is it not the same thing as to say, 'He who loves Beltran ill,
loves his dog ill too?' Now the master is Beltran, whom you love ill,
and the servant is his dog; thus in giving the cut to the dog I have
given it to Beltran, and our part of the agreement is fulfilled; the
work has been properly done, and nothing remains but to pay for it on
the spot and without further delay."
"That is just what I am ready to swear to," cried Monipodio; "and you,
friend Chiquiznaque, have taken all that you have said from my mouth;
wherefore let not your worship, Senor gallant, be making difficulties
out of trifles with your friends and servants. Take my advice and pay us
what is our due. After that, if your worship would like to have another
cut given to the master, of as many stitches as the space can contain,
consider that they are already sewing up the wound."
"If it be so," said the gentleman, "I will very willingly pay the whole
sum."
"Make no more doubt of it than of my being a good Christian, for
Chiquiznaque will set the mark on his face so neatly, that he shall seem
to have been born with it."
"On this promise, then, and with this assurance," replied the gentleman,
"receive this chain in pledge for the twenty ducats before agreed on,
and for forty other ducats which I will give you for the cut that is to
come. The chain weighs a thousand reals, and it may chance to remain
with you altogether, as I have an idea that I shall want fourteen
stitches more before long."
Saying this, he took a chain from his neck, and put it into the hands of
Monipodio, who found immediately by the weight and touch that it was not
gold made by the chemist, but the true metal. He received it accordingly
with great pleasure and much courtesy, for Monipodio was particularly
well-bred. The execution of the work to be done for it was committed to
Chiquiznaque, who declared that it should be delayed no longer than till
the arrival of night. The gentleman then departed, well satisfied with
his bargain.
Monipodio now summoned the confraternity from the hiding places into
which their terror had driven them. When all had entered, he placed
himself in the midst of them, drew forth a memorandum book from the hood
of his cloak, and as he himself could not read, he handed it to
Rinconete, who opened it, and read as follows:--
"Memoranda of the cuts to be given this week.
"The first is to the merchant at the Cross-ways, and is worth fifty
crowns, thirty of which have been received on account. _Secutor_,[39]
Chiquiznaque.
[39] _Secutor_ for executor.
"I believe there are no others, my son," said Monipodio; "go on and look
for the place where it is written, 'Memoranda of blows with a cudgel.'"
Rinconete turned to that heading, and found under it this entry:--"To
the keeper of the pot-house called the Trefoil, twelve blows, to be laid
on in the best style, at a crown a-piece, eight of which crowns have
been received; time of execution, within six days. _Secutor_,
Maniferro."
"That article may be scratched out of the account," remarked Maniferro,
"for to-night I shall give the gentleman his due."
"Is there not another, my son?" asked Monipodio.
"There is," replied Rinconete, and he read as follows:--
"To the hunch-backed Tailor, called by the nick-name Silguero,[40] six
blows of the best sort for the lady whom he compelled to leave her
necklace in pledge with him. _Secutor_, the Desmochado." [41]
[40] The goldfinch.
[41] The lop-eared, or mutilated; alluding, generally, to losses
suffered at the hands of justice.
"I am surprised to find this article still on the account," observed
Monipodio, "seeing that two days have elapsed since it ought to have
been taken off the book; and yet the secutor has not done his work.
Desmochado must be indisposed."
"I met him yesterday," said Maniferro. "He is not ill himself, but the
Hunchback has been so, and being confined to the house on that account,
the Desmochado has been unable to encounter him."
"I make no doubt of it," rejoined Monipodio, "for I consider the
Desmochado to be so good a workman, that but for some such reasonable
impediment he would certainly before this have finished a job of much
greater importance. Is there any more, my boy?" "No, Senor," replied
Rinconete. "Turn over, then, till you find the 'Memorandum of
miscellaneous damages.'"
Rinconete found the page inscribed "Memorandum of miscellaneous
damages," namely, Radomagos,[42] greasing with oil of juniper, clapping
on sanbenitos[43] and horns, false alarms, threatened stabbings,
befoolings, _calomels_,[44] &c. &c.
[42] _Radomagos_, phials or bottles of ink, vitriol, and other injurious
matters, cast on the face, person, or clothes.
[43] Most of our readers will remember that the "sanbenito" is the long
coat or robe, painted over with flames, which is worn by heretics whom
the Inquisition has condemned and given over to the civil power.
[44] _Calomels_, for calumnies
"What do you find lower down?" inquired Monipodio. "I find, 'Greasing
with oil of juniper at the house in--'" "Don't read the place or name
of the house," interrupted Monipodio, "for we know where it is, and I am
myself the _tuautem_ and _secutor_ of this trifling matter; four crowns
have already been given on account, and the total is eight." "That is
exactly what is here written," replied Rinconete. "A little lower down,"
continued the boy, "I find, 'Horns to be attached to the house--'" "Read
neither the name nor the place where," interrupted Monipodio. "It is
quite enough that we offer this outrage to the people in question; we
need not make it public in our community, for that would be an
unnecessary load on your consciences. I would rather nail a hundred
horns, and as many sanbenitos, on a man's door, provided I were paid for
my work, than once tell that I had done so, were it to the mother that
bore me." "The executor of this is Nariqueta,"[45] resumed Rinconete.
"It is already done and paid for," said Monipodio; "see if there be not
something else, for if my memory is not at fault, there ought to be a
fright of the value of twenty crowns. One half the money has already
been paid, and the work is to be done by the whole community, the time
within which it is to come off being all the current month. Nor will we
fail in our duty; the commission shall be fulfilled to the very letter
without missing a tilde,[46] and it will be one of the finest things
that has been executed in this city for many years. Give me the book,
boy, I know there is nothing more, and it is certain that business is
very slack with us just now; but times will mend, and we shall perhaps
have more to do than we want. There is not a leaf on the tree that moves
without the will of God, and we cannot force people to avenge
themselves, whether they will or not. Besides, many a man has the habit
of being brave in his own cause, and does not care to pay for the
execution of work which he can do as well with his own hands."
[45] The flat-nose.
[46] The _tilde_ is the mark placed over the Spanish letter n, as in
Senor.
"That is true," said Repolido; "but will your worship, Senor Monipodio,
see what you have for us to do, as it is getting late, and the heat is
coming on at more than a foot-pace."
"What you have now to do is this," rejoined Monipodio: "Every one is to
return to his post of the week, and is not to change it until Sunday. We
will then meet here again, and make the distribution of all that shall
have come in, without defrauding any one. To Rinconete and Cortadillo I
assign for their district, until Sunday, from the Tower of Gold, all
without the city, and to the postern of the Alcazar, where they can work
with their fine flowers.[47] I have known those who were much less
clever than they appear to be, come home daily with more than twenty
reals in small money, to say nothing of silver, all made with a single
pack, and that four cards short. Ganchuelo will show them the limits of
their district, and even though they should extend it as far as to San
Sebastian, or Santelmo, there will be no great harm done, although it is
perhaps of more equal justice that none should enter on the domain of
another."
[47] Tricks of cheatery at cards.
The two boys kissed his hand in acknowledgment of the favour he was
doing them; and promised to perform their parts zealously and
faithfully, and with all possible caution and prudence.
Monipodio then drew from the hood of his cloak a folded paper, on which
was the list of the brotherhood, desiring Rinconete to inscribe his name
thereon, with that of Cortadillo; but as there was no escritoire in the
place, he gave them the paper to take with them, bidding them enter the
first apothecary's shop they could find, and there write what was
needful: "Rinconete, and Cortadillo," namely, "comrades; novitiate,
none; Rinconete, a florist; Cortadillo, a bassoon-player."[48] To this
was to be added the year, month, and day, but not the parents or
birthplace.
[48] Cutpurse.
At this moment one of the old hornets came in and said, "I come to tell
your worships that I have just now met on the steps, Lobillo[49] of
Malaga, who tells me that he has made such progress in his art as to be
capable of cheating Satan himself out of his money, if he have but clean
cards. He is so ragged and out of condition at this moment, that he
dares not instantly make his appearance to register himself, and pay his
respects as usual, but will be here without fail on Sunday."
[49] The wolf-cub.
"I have always been convinced," said Monipodio, "that Lobillo would some
day become supereminent in his art, for he has the best hands for the
purpose that have ever been seen; and to be a good workman in his trade,
a man should be possessed of good tools, as well as capacity for
learning."
"I have also met the Jew," returned the hornet; "he wears the garb of a
priest, and is at a tavern in the Street of the Dyers, because he has
learned that two Peruleros[50] are now stopping there. He wishes to try
if he cannot do business with them, even though it should be but in a
trifling way to begin; for from small endeavours often come great
achievements. He, too, will be here on Sunday, and will then give an
account of himself."
[50] For Peruvians, which the American merchants were then called.
"The Jew is a keen hawk too," observed Monipodio, "but it is long since
I have set eyes on him, and he does not do well in staying away, for, by
my faith, if he do not mend, I will cut his crown for him. The scoundrel
has received orders as much as the Grand Turk, and knows no more Latin
than my grandmother. Have you anything further to report?"
The old man replied that he had not. "Very well," said Monipodio; "Take
this trifle among you," distributing at the same time some forty reals
among those assembled, "and do not fail to be here on Sunday, when there
shall be nothing wanting of the booty." All returned him thanks.
Repolido and Cariharta embraced each other; so did Maniferro and
Escalanta, and Chiquiznaque and Gananciosa; and all agreed that they
would meet that same evening, when they left off work at the house of
Dame Pipota, whither Monipodio likewise promised to repair, for the
examination of the linen announced in the morning, before he went to his
job with the juniper oil.
The master finally embraced Rinconete and Cortadillo, giving them his
benediction; he then dismissed them, exhorting them to have no fixed
dwelling or known habitation, since that was a precaution most important
to the safety of all. Ganchuelo accompanied the friends for the purpose
of guiding them to their districts, and pointing out the limits thereof.
He warned them on no account to miss the assembly on Sunday, when it
seemed that Monipodio intended to give them a lecture on matters
concerning their profession. That done, the lad went away, leaving the
two novices in great astonishment at all they had seen.
Now Rinconete, although very young, had a good understanding, and much
intelligence. Having often accompanied his father in the sale of his
bulls, he had acquired the knowledge of a more refined language than
that they had just been hearing, and laughed with all his heart as he
recalled the expressions used by Monipodio, and the other members of the
respectable community they had entered. He was especially entertained by
the solecising sanctimonies; and by Cariharta calling Repolido a
Tarpeian Mariner, and a Tiger of Ocana. He was also mightily edified by
the expectation of Cariharta that the pains she had taken to earn the
twenty-four reals would be accepted in heaven as a set-off against her
sins, and was amazed to see with what security they all counted on
going to heaven by means of the devotions they performed,
notwithstanding the many thefts, homicides, and other offences against
God and their neighbour which they were daily committing. The boy
laughed too with all his heart, as he thought of the good old woman
Pipota, who suffered the basket of stolen linen to be concealed in her
house, and then went to place her little wax candles before the images
of the saints, expecting thereby to enter heaven full dressed in her
mantle and clogs.
But he was most surprised at the respect and deference which all these
people paid to Monipodio, whom he saw to be nothing better than a coarse
and brutal barbarian. He recalled the various entries which he had read
in the singular memorandum-book of the burly thief, and thought over all
the various occupations in which that goodly company was hourly engaged.
Pondering all these things, he could not but marvel at the carelessness
with which justice was administered in that renowned city of Seville,
since such pernicious hordes and inhuman ruffians were permitted to live
there almost openly.
He determined to dissuade his companion from continuing long in such a
reprobate course of life. Nevertheless, led away by his extreme youth,
and want of experience, he remained with these people for some months,
during which there happened to him adventures which would require much
writing to detail them; wherefore I propose to remit the description of
his life and adventures to some other occasion, when I will also relate
those of his master, Monipodio, with other circumstances connected with
the members of that infamous academy, which may serve as warnings to
those who read them.
END OF PETER OF THE CORNER AND THE LITTLE CUTTER.
THE LICENTIATE VIDRIERA; OR, DOCTOR GLASS-CASE.
Two students were one day passing along the banks of the Tormes, when
they found a boy, about eleven years old, dressed as a labourer, and
sleeping under a tree. They sent a servant to wake him, and when he had
well opened his eyes, they asked him whence he came, and what he was
doing, to be lying asleep and defenceless in that lonely place. The boy
replied, that he had forgotten the name of his birthplace, but was going
to Salamanca, there to seek a master whom he might serve, on condition
of being permitted and aided to pursue his studies.
The gentlemen then asked if he could read, and he replied that he could,
and write also.
"It is not from want of memory, then, that you have forgotten the name
of your country," remarked the students.
"Let the cause be what it may," replied the boy, "neither that nor the
name of my parents shall be known to any one until I can do honour to
them both."
"But in what manner do you propose to do them honour?" inquired the
gentlemen.
"By the results of my studies," said the boy, "and when I have rendered
myself famous by the learning I mean to acquire; for I have heard that
some men have made themselves bishops by their studies."
This reply moved the two gentlemen to receive the lad into their
service, and take him with them to Salamanca, giving him such facilities
for studying as it is not unusual for masters to afford in that
university to those who serve them.
The youth subsequently informed his masters, that they might call him
Thomas Rodaja; whence the students judged him to be the son of some poor
labourer. A day or two after their meeting, they caused him to be
clothed in a suit of black; and, in the course of a few weeks, he gave
proof of extraordinary talent. He was, besides, very grateful, and
laboured so earnestly in the service of his masters, that although in
fact exceedingly attentive to his studies, it might well have been
thought that he did nothing but wait upon those he served.
Now the good service of the valet led the masters to treat him well;
Thomas soon became their companion rather than servant, and, during
eight years, all of which he passed with them, he acquired for himself
so high a reputation in the university, by his great ability and
excellent conduct, that he was beloved and esteemed by those of every
rank.
The principal object of Rodaja's study was the law, but he was almost
equally distinguished in polite learning, and his memory was matter of
marvel to all; and the correctness of his views on all subjects was not
less remarkable.
The time had now arrived when the studies of his masters were completed,
and they returned to their birthplace, which was one of the most
important cities of Andalusia. They took Rodaja with them, and he
remained in their company for some time; but, assailed by a perpetual
longing to return to his studies at Salamanca,--a city that enchains the
will of all who have tasted the amenities of life in that fair seat of
learning--he entreated permission of his masters to depart for that
purpose. With their usual kindness, they accorded him the favour he
desired, and took such measures in his behalf that by their bounty he
was supplied with a sufficiency to support him in the university for
three years.
Rodaja took his leave with manifest proofs of gratitude, and departed
from Malaga, for that was the native city of his masters, without
further delay. Descending the declivity of the Zambra on the road to
Antequera, he chanced to encounter a gentleman on horseback, gaily
accoutred in a rich travelling dress, and attended by two servants, also
on horseback, whose company he joined; their journey thenceforward lay
in the same direction, and the gentleman accepted Thomas as his
comrade.[51] They discoursed of various matters, and, in a short time,
Rodaja gave such proof of his quality as much delighted his
fellow-traveller; while the latter, on his part, soon proved himself to
be a kind and courteous man. He told Rodaja that he was a captain of
infantry in the service of the king, and that his ensign was then
completing their company at Salamanca. He praised the life of a soldier
in the highest terms, describing, with much encomium, the many cities
and other places visited by those who lead that life. Among other themes
of which he spoke were the beauty of Naples, the feasting and pleasures
of Palermo, the rich abundance of Milan, and the frequent festivals held
in other parts of Lombardy--not omitting the good cheer of the numerous
hostelries--in the description of which he broke forth rapturously in
the Tuscan language, discoursing of _Macarela_, _Macarroni_, and
_Polastri_, with the most cordial goodwill. He expatiated largely on the
free enjoyment of life in Italy, and on the pleasures of the soldier's
life in general, which he exalted to the skies; but he did not say a
word of the chilling night-watch, the perils of the assault, the terrors
of battle, the hunger and privation endured in blockades and sieges, or
the ruin caused by mines, with other matters of similar kind whereof he
might have spoken, but which he passed over in silence--although there
are those who would consider such things as having something to do with
the life of the soldier, not to call them its principal features. In a
word, he said so much on the subject, that the resolution of our Thomas
Rodaja began to waver, and his inclination went near to fix itself on
that life, which is so near a neighbour to death.
[51] Don Augustin de Arrieta, a Spanish commentator of our author,
informs us that the _camarada_ not only journeyed and lived with his
companion of the way, but even slept in the same chamber, and not
unfrequently in the same bed.
The captain, whose name was Don Diego de Valdivia, charmed, on his part,
with the handsome looks, cheerful manners, and admirable abilities of
Rodaja, entreated him to accompany the march into Italy, were it only
for the purpose of seeing the country. He offered him his table, and
even, if he would adopt the military life, he proposed to procure him a
pair of colours; nay, he assured him that those of his own regiment
would soon be vacant, and should be at his service.
But little persuasion was required to induce Rodaja's acceptance of a
part of this offer. Weighing it in his mind, he considered that it would
be well to see Italy and Flanders, to say nothing of other countries,
since travel contributes to increase knowledge and discretion. He
thought, too, that although he should spend three, or even four years
in that occupation, yet these, added to the few he then counted, would
not make him so old but that he might afterwards return to his studies.
These and other considerations had their weight, and the opportunity
being so much to his taste, Rodaja finally told the captain that he
would go with him into Italy; but it must be on condition of being left
at perfect liberty. He would not consent to enlist under his banner, nor
to have his name enrolled in the books of the regiment, that he might
not be subjected to the restraints of service. The captain represented
that his being inscribed on the lists was a matter which involved no
duty, and that he would thereby obtain all the appointments, with the
regular pay accorded to his rank; while he, Don Diego, would take care
that he should have leave of absence whenever he might demand it. Yet
Rodaja was not to be moved from his determination. "For this," said he,
"would be to act against the dictates of my conscience and of yours,
senor captain; I would, besides, much rather go free than be attached to
military service in any manner."
"A conscience so scrupulous is more suitable to the cowl of a monk than
the helmet of a soldier," said Don Diego, laughing; "but let it be as
you will, so we but remain comrades."
The first night of their journey they had passed at Antequera, and
making long stages each day, they speedily arrived at the place where
the captain was to join his company. All arrangements being completed,
the company began its march with four others to Carthagena, quartering
at such places as fell in their way.
And now Rodaja could not fail to remark the authority assumed by the
commissaries; the intractable character of many among the captains; the
rapacity of the quartermasters, and the unreasonable nature of their
demands; the fashion in which the paymasters managed their accounts; the
complaints of the people; the traffic in and exchange of billets; the
insolence of the undisciplined troops; their quarrels with the other
guests at the inns; the requisition of more rations and other stores
than were rightful or necessary; and, finally, the almost inevitable
consequences of all this. Much besides came under his observation,
which he could not but see to be in every way wrong and injurious.
For Rodaja himself, he had now abandoned the garb of a student, and
dressed himself parrot-fashion (as we say), conforming to such things as
the life around him presented. The many books he had possessed were now
reduced to the "Orisons of Our Lady," and a "Garcilaso without
Comments," which he carried in two of his pockets.
The party with which he travelled arrived at Carthagena much earlier
than he desired, for the varied life he led was very pleasant, and each
day brought something new and agreeable. At Carthagena the troops
embarked in four galleys for Naples; and in his cabin, also, Kodaja made
many observations on the strange life passed in those maritime houses,
where, for the most part, a man is devoured by vermin and destroyed by
rats, vexed by the sailors, robbed by the galley-slaves, and tormented
by the swell of the waters. He endured terrible fear from violent storms
and tempests, more especially in the Gulf of Lyons, where they had two,
by one of which they were cast on the Island of Corsica, while the other
drove them back upon Toulon, in France. At last, weary and half-drowned,
they reached land in the darkness of the night, and with great
difficulty arrived at the most peaceful and beautiful city of Genoa.
Having disembarked, and hastily visited a church to return thanks for
their safety, the captain with all his comrades adjourned to a tavern,
where they quickly forgot past storms and tempests in present rejoicing
and feasting.
Here they learned to appreciate the respective merits of the different
wines presented to them by their active and voluble host; the delicacy
of Trebbiano, the fine body of Montefiascone, the purity of Asperino,
the generous spirit of the wines from Candia and Soma, and the strength
of those from the Cincovinas, or Five Vineyards. Neither did they
disregard the sweetness and amenity of the Senora Guarnacha, or the
rustic bloom of the Centola, not forgetting even in this bright array
the humble Romanesco, which likewise came in for its meed of praise.
The host having passed in review all these and other wines, of many
various qualities, offered besides to place before his guests, without
having any recourse to magic, and not as one marks down places on a
map, but in all their vivid reality, Madriga, Coca, Alacjos, and the
imperial, rather than royal city--that favourite abode of the god of
smiles--Ciudad Real. He furthermore offered Esquibias, Alanis, Cazalla,
Guadalcanal, and Membrilla, without forgetting the wines of Ribadavia or
of Descargamaria. At a word, the host offered and even gave them more
wines than Bacchus himself could have stored in all his cellars.
Nor was the good Thomas unmindful of the admiration due to the radiant
locks of the Genoese maidens, renowned for those fair tresses, while he
likewise appreciated the obliging and cheerful disposition of the male
inhabitants, and was never weary of expatiating on the beauty of the
city itself, which, as you look at it from the sea, appears to hold the
houses enchased amidst the rocks, as diamonds are set in gold.
The day after their arrival, such of the companies as were destined for
Piedmont were disembarked; Rodaja, however, had no wish to proceed
thither, but determined to go from Genoa by land to Rome and Naples, and
return by the way of Our Lady of Loretto to the great and magnificent
Venice, and thence to Milan and Piedmont, where it was agreed that he
should rejoin Don Diego, if the latter had not previously been compelled
to set off for Flanders, as was expected.
Two days after these arrangements were made, Rodaja took leave of the
captain, and in five days from that time he reached Florence, having
first seen Lucca, a city which is small but very well built, and one
where Spaniards are more kindly received and better treated than in any
other part of Italy.
With Florence Rodaja was infinitely delighted, as well for the
pleasantness of its position as for its sumptuous buildings, its fine
river, agreeable streets, and cleanliness of aspect. He remained there
but four days, and then departed for Rome, the queen of cities and
mistress of the world, whose temples he visited, whose relics he adored,
and whose grandeur he admired: and as from the claws of the lion you may
judge of its mass and force, so did Rodaja infer the greatness of Rome
from the fragments of her marbles--her statues, broken or entire--her
arches, fallen or fractured--her baths, crumbled to ruin--her
magnificent porticos and vast amphitheatres--her renowned and holy
river, which ever fills the banks with water to the brim, while it
blesses them with innumerable remains of the martyrs whose bodies have
found a burial beneath its waves. Nor did our traveller fail to estimate
the beauty of the bridges, which one might fancy to be admiring each
other, or the streets, which, by their very names alone, claim authority
and pre-eminence over those of all other cities in the world: the Via
Flaminia, for example, the Via Julia, the Appia, and others of the same
character.
No less was Rodaja satisfied with the division of those hills which
exist within the city itself, the Caelian, the Quirinal, the Vatican, and
the other four, whose very names bear evidence to the Roman greatness
and majesty. He took careful note, moreover, of that authority which
attaches to the College of Cardinals, and of the dignity represented in
the person of the Supreme Pontiff; nor did he suffer to pass unnoticed
that great concourse and variety of men from all nations ever
congregated within the walls of the city.
All these things Rodaja admired, reflected on, and arranged in the order
of their importance; and having made the station of the Seven Churches,
confessed to a Penitentiary, and kissed the feet of his Holiness, he
departed, well loaded with _Agnus Deis_ and legends, determining thence
to proceed to Naples.
But the time was one of important changes and much disorder; this
rendered the roads dangerous for all desiring to enter or travel out of
Rome; and as he had come to the city by land, so he now resolved to
depart by sea, wherefore, proceeding to the port of Ostia, he there
embarked, and having reached Naples, added to the satisfaction which he
had previously felt at seeing Rome, that of finding himself in a city,
in his estimation, and in the opinion of all who have seen it, the
finest in Europe, or even in the whole world.
From Naples, Rodaja proceeded to Sicily, where he visited Palermo and
Messina; the first of these cities he admired for the advantages of its
position and its beauty, and the second for the convenience of its port;
while to the whole island he could not but offer the tribute of his
praise for that abundance which causes it to be justly denominated the
granary of all Italy.
Returning from Sicily to Naples and Rome, Rodaja thence proceeded to Our
Lady of Loretto, in whose Holy Temple he could see neither walls nor
partitions, since every part was covered with crutches, biers, shrouds,
chains, padlocks, fetters, and locks of hair; with arms, hands, legs, or
busts in wax, to say nothing of pictures and prints, all giving manifest
indication of the mercies and favours innumerable which hundreds of men
have received in that place from the hand of God, by the intercession of
his Divine Mother, whose sacred Image (there preserved) He has been
pleased to exalt and sanction by a vast number of miracles, which have
been performed in recompense of the devotion of her votaries; for by
them it is that the walls of her house have been adorned in the manner
described.[52]
[52] The _ex-votos_, or pictures and figures here described, are too
familiar to the visitor of Catholic churches to need any explanation.
Here Rodaja beheld that very chamber of the Virgin, wherein was
delivered the most stupendous embassy ever heard or witnessed by all the
heavens, all the angels, and all the archangels, or other inhabitants of
the everlasting abodes.
From this place our traveller proceeded to Ancona, where he embarked and
repaired to Venice, a city which, had Columbus never appeared in the
world, would certainly be still supposed to have no equal; but, by the
favour of heaven, and thanks to the great Fernando Cortez who conquered
Mexico, the magnificent Venice has now found a city that may be compared
to herself. The streets of these two renowned capitals, which are almost
wholly of water, make them the admiration and terror of all
mankind--that of Europe dominating the old world, and that of America
the new. For of the former it would appear that her riches are infinite,
her position impregnable, her government most wise, the abundance of her
products inexhaustible; in a word, she is herself, as a whole, and in
all her parts, entirely worthy of that fame for greatness and majesty
which has penetrated to all the regions of the world: the justice of the
praise bestowed on Venice is, besides, accredited by her renowned
arsenal, wherein are constructed her potent galleys, with other vessels
of which the number is not to be told.
To our curious traveller the delights and pastimes found in Venice had
almost proved fatal as those of Calypso, since they had nearly caused
him to forget his first intentions. Yet when he had passed a month in
that enchanting place, he found resolution to continue his journey,
passing by Ferrara, Parma, and Placentia, to Milan, that workshop of
Vulcan--that grudge and despair of France--that superb city of which
more wonders are reported than words can tell, her own grandeur being
increased by that of her famous Temple, and by the marvellous abundance
of all things necessary to human life that are to be found therein.
From Milan, Rodaja journeyed to Asti, where he arrived in very good
time, since the regiment of Don Diego was to depart for Flanders on the
following day. He was received very kindly by his friend the captain,
with whom he passed into Flanders, and arrived at Antwerp, a city no
less worthy of admiration than those which he had seen in Italy. He
visited Ghent and Brussels likewise, finding the whole country preparing
to take arms, and well disposed to enter on the campaign of the
following year.
Rodaja having now seen all that he had desired to behold, resolved to
return to his native Spain, and to the city of Salamanca, there to
complete his studies. He had no sooner determined than he instantly put
his purpose into execution, to the great regret of his friend, who,
finding him resolved to depart, entreated him at least to write him word
of his safe arrival, and likewise of his future success. This Rodaja
promised to do, and then returned to Spain through France, but he did
not see Paris, which was at that time in arms. At length he arrived at
Salamanca, where he was well received by his friends, and with the
facilities which they procured him, he continued his studies until he
finally attained to the degree of doctor of laws.
Now it chanced that, about this time, there arrived in Salamanca one of
those ladies who belong to all the points of the compass; she was
besides well furnished with devices of every colour. To the whistle and
bird-call of this fowler there instantly came flocking all the birds of
the place; nor was there a _vade mecum_[53] who refrained from paying a
visit to that gay decoy. Among the rest our Thomas was informed that the
Senora said she had been in Italy and Flanders when he, to ascertain if
he were acquainted with the dame, likewise paid her a visit. She, on her
part, immediately fell in love with Rodaja, but he rejected her
advances, and never approached her house but when led thither by others,
and almost by force. Attending much more zealously to his studies than
his amusements, he did not in any manner return her affection, even when
she had made it known to him by the offer of her hand and all her
possessions.
[53] Student: they are so called from the name given to the portfolio in
which they carry their books and papers to the university, and which
they always have with them.
Seeing herself thus scorned, and perceiving that she could not bend the
will of Rodaja by ordinary means, the woman determined to seek others,
which in her opinion would be more efficacious, and must, as she
thought, ensure the desired effect. So, by the advice of a Morisca
woman, she took a Toledan quince, and in that fruit she gave him one of
those contrivances called charms, thinking that she was thereby forcing
him to love her; as if there were, in this world, herbs, enchantments,
or words of power, sufficient to enchain the free-will of any creature.
These things are called charms, but they are in fact poisons: and those
who administer them are actual poisoners, as has been proved by sundry
experiences.
In an unhappy moment Rodaja ate the quince, but had scarcely done so
when he began to tremble from head to foot as if struck by apoplexy,
remaining many hours before he could be brought to himself. At the end
of that time he partially recovered, but appeared to have become almost
an idiot. He complained, with a stammering tongue and feeble voice, that
a quince which he had eaten had poisoned him, and also found means to
intimate by whom it had been given, when justice at once began to move
in quest of the criminal; but she, perceiving the failure of her
attempt, took care to hide herself, and never appeared again.
Six months did Thomas remain confined to his bed; and during that time
he not only became reduced to a skeleton, but seemed also to have lost
the use of his faculties. Every remedy that could be thought of was
tried in his behalf; but although the physicians succeeded in curing the
physical malady, they could not remove that of the mind; so that when he
was at last pronounced cured, he was still afflicted with the strangest
madness that was ever heard of among the many kinds by which humanity
has been assailed. The unhappy man imagined that he was entirely made of
glass; and, possessed with this idea, when any one approached him he
would utter the most terrible outcries, begging and beseeching them not
to come near him, or they would assuredly break him to pieces, as he was
not like other men but entirely of glass from head to foot.
In the hope of rousing him from this strange hallucination, many
persons, without regard to his prayers and cries, threw themselves upon
him and embraced him, bidding him observe that he was not broken for all
that. But all they gained by this was to see the poor creature sink to
the earth, uttering lamentable moans, and instantly fall into a fainting
fit, from which he could not be recovered for several hours; nay, when
he did recover, it was but to renew his complaints, from which he never
desisted but to implore that such a misfortune might not be suffered to
happen again.
He exhorted every one to speak to him from a great distance; declaring
that on this condition they might ask him what they pleased, and that he
could reply with all the more effect, now he was a man of glass and not
of flesh and bones, since glass, being a substance of more delicate
subtlety, permits the soul to act with more promptitude and efficacy
than it can be expected to do in the heavier body formed of mere earth.
Certain persons then desiring to ascertain if what he had said were
true, asked him many questions of great difficulty respecting various
circumstances; to all these he replied with the utmost acuteness,
insomuch that his answers awakened astonishment in the most learned
professors of medicine and philosophy whom that university could boast.
And well they might be amazed at seeing a man who was subject to so
strange an hallucination as that of believing himself to be made of
glass, still retain such extraordinary judgment on other points as to be
capable of answering difficult questions with the marvellous propriety
and truth which distinguished the replies of Rodaja.
The poor man had often entreated that some case might be given to him
wherein he might enclose the brittle vase of his body, so that he might
not break it in putting on the ordinary clothing. He was consequently
furnished with a surplice of ample width, and a cloth wrapper, which he
folded around him with much care, confining it to his waist with a
girdle of soft cotton, but he would not wear any kind of shoes. The
method he adopted to prevent any one from approaching him when they
brought him food, was to fix an earthen pot into the cleft of a stick
prepared for that purpose, and in this vessel he would receive such
fruits as the season presented. He would not eat flesh or fish; nor
would he drink anything but the water of the river, which he lapped from
his hands.
In passing through the streets, Rodaja was in the habit of walking
carefully in the middle of them, lest a tile should fall from the houses
upon his head and break it. In the summer he slept in the open air, and
in the winter he lodged at one of the inns, where he buried himself in
straw to his throat, remarking that this was the most proper and secure
bed for men of glass. When it thundered, Rodaja trembled like an aspen
leaf, and would rush out into the fields, not returning to the city
until the storm had passed.
His friends kept him shut up for some time, but perceiving that his
malady increased, they at last complied with his earnest request that
they would let him go about freely; and he might be seen walking through
the streets of the city, dressed as we have described, to the
astonishment and regret of all who knew him.
The boys soon got about him, but he kept them off with his staff,
requesting them to speak to him from a distance, lest they should break
him, seeing that he, being a man of glass, was exceedingly tender and
brittle. But far from listening to his request, the boys, who are the
most perverse generation in the world, soon began to throw various
missiles and even stones at him, notwithstanding all his prayers and
exclamations. They declared that they wished to see if he were in truth
of glass, as he affirmed; but the lamentations and outcries of the poor
maniac induced the grown persons who were near to reprove and even beat
the boys, whom they drove away for the moment, but who did not fail to
return at the next opportunity.
One day, that a horde of these tormentors had pursued him with more than
their usual pertinacity, and had worn out his patience, he turned to
them, saying--"What do you want with me you varlets? more obstinate than
flies, more disgusting than _Chinches_,[54] and bolder than the boldest
fleas. Am I, perchance, the Monte Testacio[55] of Rome, that you cast
upon me so many potsherds and tiles?" But Rodaja was followed by many
who kept about him for the purpose of hearing him reply to the questions
asked, or reprove the questioner, as the case might be. And after a
time, even the boys found it more amusing to listen to his words than to
throw tiles at him; when they gave him, for the most part, somewhat less
annoyance.
[54] The reader will be pleased to guess the name of that insufferable
insect which the Spaniards denominate _Chinche_, and with the English
equivalent of which I am unwilling to offend his eyes. Happy, indeed, if
he cannot guess; but then he cannot have seen either Seville or Granada,
and one might almost encounter an acquaintance with the animal called
_Chinche_ rather than renounce _them_.
[55] Such of our readers as have visited Rome, will remember that
enormous mound which is seen rising on the right hand as you leave the
city, by the Porta Salaria, and is said to have been formed by the
numberless fragments of pottery cast on the spot from time immemorial.
The maniac Bodaja was one day passing through the Ropery at Salamanca,
when a woman who was working there accosted him, and said, "By my soul,
Senor Doctor, I am sorry for your misfortune, but what shall I do for
you, since, try as I may, I cannot weep?" To which Rodaja, fixedly
regarding her, gravely replied, "_Filiae Jerusalem, plorate super vos et
super filios vestros_." The husband of the ropeworker was standing by,
and comprehending the reply, he said to Rodaja, "Brother Glasscase, for
so they tell me you are to be called, you have more of the rogue than
the fool in you!" "You are not called on to give me an obolus," rejoined
Rodaja, "for I have not a grain of the fool about me!" One day that he
was passing near a house well known as the resort of thieves and other
disorderly persons, he saw several of the inhabitants assembled round
the door, and called out, "See, here you have baggage belonging to the
army of Satan, and it is lodged in the house of hell accordingly."
A man once asked him what advice he should give to a friend whose wife
had left him for another, and who was in great sorrow for her loss. "You
shall bid him thank God," replied Rodaja, "for the favour he has
obtained, in that his enemy is removed from his house."
"Then you would not have him go seek her?" inquired the other.
"Let him not even think of doing so," returned Rodaja, "for if he find
her, what will he have gained but the perpetual evidence of his
dishonour?"
"And what shall I do to keep peace with my own wife?" inquired the same
person.
"Give her all that she can need or rightfully claim," said the maniac,
"and let her be mistress of every person and thing thy house contains,
but take care that she be not mistress of thyself."
A boy one day said to him, "Senor Glasscase, I have a mind to run away
from my father, and leave my home for ever, because he beats me." "I
would have thee beware, boy," replied Rodaja; "the stripes given by a
father are no dishonour to the son, and may save him from those of the
hangman, which are indeed a disgrace."
Intelligence of his peculiar state, with a description of the replies he
gave, and the remarks he uttered, was much spread abroad, more
especially among those who had known him in different parts, and great
sorrow was expressed for the loss of a man who had given so fair a
promise of distinction. A person of high rank then at Court wrote to a
friend of his at Salamanca, begging that Rodaja might be sent to him at
Valladolid, and charging his friend to make all needful arrangements for
that purpose. The gentleman consequently accosted Vidriera the next time
he met him, and said, "Senor Glasscase, you are to know that a great
noble of the Court is anxious to have you go to Valladolid;" whereupon
Rodaja replied, "Your worship will excuse me to that nobleman, and say
that I am not fit to dwell at Court, nor in the Palace, because I have
some sense of shame left, and do not know how to flatter." He was
nevertheless persuaded to go, and the mode in which he travelled was as
follows: a large pannier of that kind in which glass is transported was
prepared, and in this Rodaja was placed, well defended by straw, which
was brought up to his neck, the opposite pannier being carefully
balanced by means of stones, among which appeared the necks of bottles,
since Rodaja desired it to be understood that he was sent as a vessel of
glass. In this fashion he journeyed to Valladolid, which city he entered
by night, and was not unpacked until he had first been carefully
deposited in the house of the noble who had requested his presence.
By this gentleman he was received with much kindness, and the latter
said to him, "You are extremely welcome, Doctor Glasscase; I hope you
have had a pleasant journey." Rodaja replied, that no journey could be
called a bad one if it took you safe to your end, unless indeed it were
that which led to the gallows.
Being one day shown the Falconry, wherein were numerous falcons and
other birds of similar kind, he remarked that the sport pursued by means
of those birds was entirely suitable to great nobles, since the cost was
as two thousand to one of the profit.
When it pleased Rodaja to go forth into the city, the nobleman caused
him to be attended by a servant, whose office it was to protect him from
intrusion, and see that he was not molested by the boys of the place, by
whom he was at once remarked; indeed but few days had elapsed before he
became known to the whole city, since he never failed to find a reply
for all who questioned or consulted him.
Among those of the former class, there once came a student, who inquired
if he were a poet, to which Rodaja replied, that up to the moment they
had then arrived at, he had neither been so stupid nor so bold as to
become a poet. "I do not understand what you mean by so stupid or so
bold, Senor Glasscase," rejoined the student; to which Rodaja made
answer, "I am not so stupid as to be a bad poet, nor so bold as to think
myself capable of being a good one." The student then inquired in what
estimation he held poets, to which he answered that he held the poets
themselves in but little esteem; but as to their art, that he esteemed
greatly. His hearer inquiring further what he meant by that, Rodaja said
that among the innumerable poets, by courtesy so called, the number of
good ones was so small as scarcely to count at all, and that as the bad
were not true poets, he could not admire them: but that he admired and
even reverenced greatly the art of poetry, which does in fact comprise
every other in itself, since it avails itself of all things, and
purifies and beautifies all things, bringing its own marvellous
productions to light for the advantage, the delectation, and the wonder
of the world, which it fills with its benefits. He added further, "I
know thoroughly to what extent, and for what qualities, we ought to
estimate the good poet, since I perfectly well remember those verses of
Ovid, wherein he says:--
"'Cura ducum fuerunt olim regumque poetae,
Praemiaque antiqui magna tulere chori.
Sanctaque majestas, et erat venerabile nomen
Vatibus; et largae saepe dabantur opes.'
And still less do I forget the high quality of the poets whom Plato
calls the interpreters of the Gods, while Ovid says of them--
"'Est deus in nobis; agitante calescimus illo.'
And again--
"'At sacri vates et divum cura vocamur.'
"These things are said of good poets; but, as respects the bad ones--the
gabbling pretenders--what can we say, save only that they are the idiocy
and the arrogance of the world.
"Who is there that has not seen one of this sort when he is longing to
bring forth some sonnet to the ears of his neighbours? How he goes round
and round them with--'Will your worships excuse me if I read you a
little sonnet, which I made one night on a certain occasion; for it
appears to me, although indeed it be worth nothing, to have yet a
certain something--a _je ne scai quoi_ of pretty, and pleasing.' Then
shall he twist his lips, and arch his eyebrows, and make a thousand
antics, diving into his pockets meanwhile and bringing out half a
hundred scraps of paper, greasy and torn, as if he had made a good
million of sonnets; he then recites that which he proffered to the
company, reading it in a chanting and affected voice.
"If, perchance, those who hear him, whether because of their knowledge
or their ignorance, should fail to commend him, he says, 'Either your
worships have not listened to the verses, or I have not been able to
read them properly, for indeed and in truth they deserve to be heard;'
and he begins, as before, to recite his poem, with new gestures and
varied pauses.
"Then to hear these poetasters censure and tear one another to pieces!
And what shall I say of the thefts committed by these cubs and whelps of
modern pretence on the grave and ancient masters of the art, or of their
malevolent carpings at those excellent persons of their own day in whom
shines the true light of poetry; who, making a solace and recreation of
their arduous labours, prove the divinity of their genius and the
elevation of their thoughts to the despite and vexation of these
ignorant pretenders, who presume to judge that of which they know
nothing, and abhor the beauties which they are not able to comprehend?
What will you have me esteem in the nullity which seeks to find place
for itself under the canopy spread for others--in the ignorance which is
ever leaning for support on another man's chair?"
Rodaja was once asked how it happened that poets are always poor; to
which he replied, "That if they were poor, it was because they chose to
be so, since it was always in their power to be rich if they would only
take advantage of the opportunities in their hands. For see how rich are
their ladies," he added; "have they not all a very profusion of wealth
in their possession? Is not their hair of gold, their brows of burnished
silver, their eyes of the most precious jewels, their lips of coral,
their throats of ivory and transparent crystal? Are not their tears
liquid pearls, and where they plant the soles of their feet do not
jasmine and roses spring up at the moment, however rebellious and
sterile the earth may previously have been? Then what is their breath
but pure amber, musk, and frankincense? Yet to whom do all these things
belong, if not to the poets? They are, therefore, manifest signs and
proofs of their great riches."
In this manner he always spoke of bad poets; as to the good ones, he was
loud in their praise, and exalted them above the horns of the moon.
Being at San Francisco, he one day saw some very indifferent pictures,
by an incapable hand; whereupon he remarked that the good painters
imitate nature, while the bad ones have the impertinence to daub her
face.
Having planted himself one day in front of a bookseller's shop with
great care, to avoid being broken, he began to talk to the owner, and
said, "This trade would please me greatly, were it not for one fault
that it has." The bookseller inquiring what that might be, Rodaja
replied, "It is the tricks you play on the writers when you purchase the
copyright of a book, and the sport you make of the author if, perchance,
he desire to print at his own cost. For what is your method of
proceeding? Instead of the one thousand five hundred copies which you
agree to print for him, you print three thousand; and when the author
supposes that you are selling his books, you are but disposing of your
own."
One of those men who carry sedan-chairs, once standing by while Rodaja
was enumerating the faults committed by various trades and occupations,
remarked to the latter, "Of us, Senor Doctor, you can find nothing amiss
to say." "Nothing," replied Rodaja, "except that you are made acquainted
with more sins than are known to the confessor; but with this
difference, that the confessor learns them to keep all secret, but you
to make them the public talk of the taverns."
A muleteer who heard this, for all kinds of people were continually
listening to him, said aloud, "There is little or nothing that you can
say of us, Senor Phial, for we are people of great worth, and very
useful servants to the commonwealth." To which the man of glass replied,
"The honour of the master exalts the honour of the servant. You,
therefore, who call those who hire your mules your masters, see whom you
serve, and what honour you may borrow from them; for your employers are
some of the dirtiest rubbish that this earth endures.
"Once, when I was not a man of glass, I was travelling on a mule which I
had hired, and I counted in her master one hundred and twenty-one
defects, all capital ones, and all enemies to the human kind. All
muleteers have a touch of the ruffian, a spice of the thief, and a dash
of the mountebank. If their masters, as they call those they take on
their mules, be of the butter-mouthed kind, they play more pranks with
them than all the rogues of this city could perform in a year. If they
be strangers, the muleteers rob them; if students, they malign them; if
monks, they blaspheme them; but if soldiers, they tremble before them.
These men, with the sailors, the carters, and the arrieros or pack
carriers, lead a sort of life which is truly singular, and belongs to
themselves alone.
"The carter passes the greater part of his days in a space not more than
a yard and a half long, for there cannot be much more between the yoke
of his mules and the mouth of his cart. He is singing for one half of
his time, and blaspheming the other; and if he have to drag one of his
wheels out of a hole in the mire, he is more aided, as it might seem,
by two great oaths than by three strong mules.
"The mariners are a pleasant people, but little like those of the towns,
and they can speak no other language than that used in ships. When the
weather is fine they are very diligent, but very idle, when it is
stormy. During the tempest they order much and obey little. Their ship,
which is their mess-room, is also their god, and their pastime is the
torment endured by sea-sick passengers.
"As to the mule-carriers, they are a race which has taken out a divorce
from all sheets, and has married the pack-saddle. So diligent and
careful are these excellent men, that to save themselves from losing a
day, they will lose their souls. Their music is the tramp of a hoof;
their sauce is hunger; their matins are an exchange of abuse and bad
words; their mass is--to hear none at all."
While speaking thus, Rodaja stood at an apothecary's door, and turning
to the master of the shop, he said, "Your worship's occupation would be
a most salutary one if it were not so great an enemy to your lamps."
"Wherein is my trade an enemy to my lamps?" asked the apothecary.
"In this way," replied Rodaja; "whenever other oils fail you,
immediately you take that of the lamp, as being the one which most
readily comes to hand. But there is, indeed, another fault in your
trade, and one that would suffice to ruin the most accredited physician
in the world." Being asked what that was, he replied that an apothecary
never ventured to confess, or would admit, that any drug was absent from
his stock; and so, if he have not the medicine prescribed, he makes use
of some other which, in his opinion, has the same virtues and qualities;
but as that is very seldom the case, the medicine, being badly
compounded, produces an effect contrary to that expected by the
physician.
Rodaja was then asked what he though, of the physicians themselves, and
he replied as follows: "_Honora medicum propter necessitatem, etenim
creavit cum altissimus: a Deo enim est omnis medela, et a rege accipiet
donationem: disciplina medici exaltavit caput illius, et in conspectu
magnatum collaudabitur. Altissimus de terra creavit medicinam, et vir
prudens non abhorrebit illam._ Thus," he added, "speaketh the Book of
Ecclesiasticus, of Medicine, and good Physicians; but of the bad ones we
may safely affirm the very contrary, since there are no people more
injurious to the commonwealth than they are. The judge may distort or
delay the justice which he should render us; the lawyer may support an
unjust demand; the merchant may help us to squander our estate, and, in
a word, all those with whom we have to deal in common life may do us
more or less injury; but to kill us without fear and standing quietly at
his ease; unsheathing no other sword than that wrapped in the folds of a
recipe, and without being subject to any danger of punishment, that can
be done only by the physician; he alone can escape all fear of the
discovery of his crimes, because at the moment of committing them he
puts them under the earth. When I was a man of flesh, and not of glass,
as I now am, I saw many things that might be adduced in support of what
I have now said, but the relation of these I refer to some other time."
A certain person asked him what he should do to avoid envying another,
and Rodaja bade him go to sleep, for, said he, "While you sleep you will
be the equal of him whom you envy."
It happened on a certain occasion that the Criminal Judge passed before
the place where Rodaja stood. There was a great crowd of people, and two
alguazils attended the magistrate, who was proceeding to his court, when
Rodaja inquired his name. Being told, he replied, "Now, I would lay a
wager that this judge has vipers in his bosom, pistols in his inkhorn,
and flashes of lightning in his hands, to destroy all that shall come
within his commission. I once had a friend who inflicted so exorbitant a
sentence in respect to a criminal commission which he held, that it
exceeded by many carats the amount of guilt incurred by the crime of the
delinquents. I inquired of him wherefore he had uttered so cruel a
sentence, and committed so manifest an injustice? To which he replied
that he intended to grant permission of appeal, and that in this way he
left the field open for the Lords of the Council to show their mercy by
moderating and reducing that too rigorous punishment to its due
proportions. But I told him it would have been still better for him to
have given such a sentence as would have rendered their labour
unnecessary, by which means he would also have merited and obtained the
reputation of being a wise and exact judge."
Among the number of those by whom Rodaja, as I have said, was constantly
surrounded, was an acquaintance of his own, who permitted himself to be
saluted as the Senor Doctor, although Thomas knew well that he had not
taken even the degree of bachelor. To him, therefore, he one day said,
"Take care, gossip mine, that you and your title do not meet with the
Fathers of the Redemption, for they will certainly take possession of
your doctorship as being a creature unrighteously detained captive."
"Let us behave well to each other, Senor Glasscase," said the other,
"since you know that I am a man of high and profound learning."
"I know you rather to be a Tantalus in the same," replied Rodaja; "for
if learning reach high to you, you are never able to plunge into its
depths."
He was one day leaning against the stall of a tailor, who was seated
with his hands before him, and to whom he said--
"Without doubt, Senor Maeso,[56] you are in the way to salvation."
[56] Master.
"From what symptom do you judge me to be so, Senor Doctor?" inquired the
tailor.
"From the fact that, as you have nothing to do, so you have nothing to
lie about, and may cease lying, which is a great step."
Of the shoemakers he said, that not one of that trade ever performed his
office badly; seeing that if the shoe be too narrow, and pinches the
foot, the shoemaker says, "In two hours it will be as wide as an
alpargate;" or he declares it right that it should be narrow, since the
shoe of a gentleman must needs fit closely; and if it be too wide, he
maintains that it still ought to be so, for the ease of the foot, and
lest a man should have the gout.
Seeing the waiting-maid of an actress attending her mistress, he said
she was much to be pitied who had to serve so many women, to say nothing
of the men whom she also had to wait on; and the bystanders requiring to
know how the damsel, who had but to serve one, could be said to wait on
so many, he replied, "Is she not the waiting-maid of a queen, a nymph,
a goddess, a scullery-maid, and a shepherdess? besides that she is also
the servant of a page and a lackey? for all these, and many more, are in
the person of an actress."
Some one asked Rodaja, who had been the happiest man in the world? To
which he answered--"_Nemo_, seeing that _Nemo novit patrem--Nemo sine
crimine vivit--Nemo sua sorte contentus--Nemo ascendit in coelum_," &c.
&c.
Of the fencing masters he said, that they were professors of an art
which was never to be known when it was most wanted, since they
pretended to reduce to mathematical demonstrations, which are
infallible, the angry thoughts and movements of a man's adversaries.
To such men as dyed their beards, Rodaja always exhibited a particular
enmity; and one day observing a Portuguese, whose beard he knew to be
dyed, in dispute with a Spaniard, to whom he said, "I swear by the beard
that I wear on my face," Rodaja called out to him, "Halt there, friend;
you should not say that you _wear_ on your face, but that you dye on
your face."[57] To another, whose beard had been streaked by an
imperfect dye, Doctor Glasscase said, "Your beard is of the true
dust-coloured pieball." He related, on another occasion, that a certain
damsel, discreetly conforming to the will of her parents, had agreed to
marry an old man with a white beard, who, on the evening before his
marriage was to take place, thought fit to have his beard dyed, and
whereas he had taken it from the sight of his betrothed as white as
snow, he presented it at the altar with a colour blacker than that of
pitch.
[57] Here Rodaja spoke mockingly, an impure Portuguese, and not Spanish
(_olhay_, _homen_, _naon_, _digais_, _teno_, _sino tino_). The spirit of
the remark (as in some other passages omitted for that reason) consists
in a play on words resembling each other in sound, though not in sense,
and is necessarily lost in translation.
Seeing this, the damsel turned to her parents and requested them to give
her the spouse they had promised, saying that she would have him, and no
other.
They assured her, that he whom she there saw was the person they had
before shewn her, and given her for her spouse: but she refused to
believe it, maintaining, that he whom her parents had given her was a
grave person, with a white beard: nor was she, by any means, to be
persuaded that the dyed man before her was her betrothed, and the
marriage was broken off.
Towards Duennas he entertained as great a dislike as towards those who
dyed their beards--uttering wonderful things respecting their falsehood
and affectation, their tricks and pretences, their simulated scruples
and their real wickedness,--reproaching them with their fancied maladies
of stomach, and the frequent giddiness with which they were afflicted in
the head; nay, even their mode of speaking, was made the subject of his
censure; and he declared that there were more turns in their speech than
folds in their great togas and wide gowns; finally, he declared them
altogether useless, if not much worse.
Being one day much tormented by a hornet which settled on his neck, he
nevertheless refused to take it off, lest in seeking to catch the insect
he should break himself; but he still complained woefully of the sting.
Some one then remarked to him, that it was scarcely to be supposed he
would feel it much, since his whole person was of glass. But Rodaja
replied, that the hornet in question must needs be a slanderer, seeing
that slanderers were of a race whose tongues were capable of penetrating
bodies of bronze, to say nothing of glass.
A monk, who was enormously fat, one day passed near where Rodaja was
sitting, when one who stood by ironically remarked, that the father was
so reduced and consumptive, as scarcely to be capable of walking.
Offended by this, Rodaja exclaimed, "Let none forget the words of Holy
Scripture, '_Nolite tangere Christos meos_;' and, becoming still more
heated, he bade those around him reflect a little, when they would see,
that of the many saints canonised, and placed among the number of the
blessed by the Church within a few years in those parts, none had been
called the Captain Don Such a one, or the Lawyer Don So and So, or the
Count Marquis, or Duke of Such a Place; but all were brother Diego,
brother Jacinto, or brother Raimundo: all monks and friars, proceeding,
that is to say, from the monastic orders." "These," he added, "are the
orange-trees of heaven, whose fruits are placed on the table of God." Of
evil-speakers Rodaja said, that they were like the feathers of the eagle
which gnaw, wear away, and reduce to nothing, whatever feathers of
other birds are mingled with them in beds or cushions, how good soever
those feathers may be.
Concerning the keepers of gaming-houses he uttered wonders, and many
more than can here be repeated--commending highly the patience of a
certain gamester, who would remain all night playing and losing; yea,
though of choleric disposition by nature, he would never open his mouth
to complain, although he was suffering the martyrdom of Barabbas,
provided only his adversary did not cut the cards. At a word, Rodaja
uttered so many sage remarks, that, had it not been for the cries he
sent forth when any one approached near enough to touch him, for his
peculiar dress, slight food, strange manner of eating, and sleeping in
the air, or buried in straw, as we have related, no one could have
supposed but that he was one of the most acute persons in the world.
He remained more than two years in this condition; but, at the end of
that time, a monk of the order of St. Jerome, who had extraordinary
powers in the cure of lunacy, nay, who even made deaf and dumb people
hear and speak in a certain manner; this monk, I say, undertook the care
and cure of Rodaja, being moved thereto by the charity of his
disposition. Nor was it long before the lunatic was restored to his
original state of judgment and understanding. When the cure was
effected, the monk presented his patient with his previous dress of a
doctor of laws, exhorting him to return to his earlier mode of life, and
assuring him that he might now render himself as remarkable for the
force of his intellect, as he had before done for his singular folly.
Thomas returned accordingly to his past pursuits; but, instead of
calling himself Rodaja, as before, he assumed the name of Rueda. He had
scarcely appeared in the street, before he was recognised by the boys;
but seeing him in a dress so different from that he had before worn and
been known by, they dared not cry after him or ask him questions, but
contented themselves with saying, one to another, "Is not this the
madman, Doctor Glasscase? It is certainly he; and though he now looks so
discreet, he may be just as mad in this handsome dress as he was in that
other. Let us ask him some questions, and get rid of our doubts."
All this was heard by Thomas, who maintained silence, but felt much
confused, and hurried along more hastily than he had been wont to do
before he regained his senses. The men at length made the same remarks
as the boys and before he had arrived at the courts he had a train of
more than two hundred persons of all classes following him, being more
amply attended than the most popular professor of the university.
Having gained the first court, which is that of the entrance, these
people ended by surrounding him completely; when, perceiving that he was
so crowded on as no longer to have the power of proceeding, he finally
raised his voice, and said--
"Senores, it is true that I am Doctor Glass-case, but not he whom you
formerly knew. I am now Doctor Rueda. Misfortunes such as not
unfrequently happen in this world, by the permission of heaven, had
deprived me of my senses, but the mercy of God has restored them; and by
those things which you have heard me say when I was mad, you may judge
of what I shall say now that I am become sane. I am a doctor in laws of
the university of Salamanca, where I studied in much poverty, but raised
myself through all the degrees to that I now hold; but my poverty may
serve to assure you that I owe my rank to industry and not to favour. I
have come to this great sea of the Court, hoping to swim and get forward
and gain the bread of my life; but if you do not leave me I shall be
more likely to sink and find my death. For the love of God, I entreat
that you follow me no further, since, in doing so, you persecute and
injure me. What you formerly enquired of me in the streets, I beg you
now to come and ask me at my house, when you shall see that the
questions to which I before replied, impromptu, shall be more perfectly
answered now that I shall take time to consider."
All listened to him, many left him as he desired, and he returned to his
abode with a much smaller train. But it was every day the same: his
exhortations availed nothing; and Thomas finally resolved to repair to
Flanders, there to support himself by the strength of his arm, since he
could no longer profit by that of his intellect.
This resolution he executed accordingly, exclaiming as he departed--"Oh,
city and court! you by whom the expectations of the bold pretender are
fulfilled, while the hopes of the modest labourer are destroyed; you who
abundantly sustain the shameless Buffoon, while the worthy sage is left
to die of hunger; I bid you farewell." That said, he proceeded to
Flanders, where he finished in arms the life which he might have
rendered immortal by letters, and died in the company of his friend the
Captain Don Diego, leaving behind him the reputation of a most valiant
soldier and upright man.
THE DECEITFUL MARRIAGE
From the Hospital of the Resurrection, which stands just beyond the
Puerta del Campo, in Valladolid, there issued one day a soldier, who, by
the excessive paleness of his countenance, and the weakness of his
limbs, which obliged him to, lean upon his sword, showed clearly to all
who set eyes on him that, though the weather was not very warm, he must
have sweated a good deal in the last few weeks. He had scarcely entered
the gate of the city, with tottering steps, when he was accosted by an
old friend who had not seen him for the last six months, and who
approached the invalid, making signs of the cross as if he had seen a
ghost. "What; is all this?" he cried; "do I, indeed, behold the Senor
Alferez[58] Campuzano? Is it possible that I really see you in this
country? Why, I thought you were in Flanders trailing a pike, instead of
hobbling along with your sword for a walking-stick. How pale--how
emaciated you look!"
[58] Alferez, Ensign.
"As to whether I am in this country or elsewhere, Signor Licentiate
Peralta, the fact that you now see me is a sufficient answer," replied
Campuzano; "as for your other questions, all I can tell you is, that I
have just come out of that hospital, where I have been confined for a
long time in a dreadful state of health, brought upon me by the conduct
of a woman I was indiscreet enough to make my wife."
"You have been married, then?" said Peralta.
"Yes, Senor."
"Married without benefit of clergy, I presume. Marriages of that sort
bring their own penance with them."
"Whether it was without benefit of clergy I cannot say," replied the
Alferez; "but I can safely aver that it was not without benefit of
physic. Such were the torments of body and soul which my marriage
brought upon me, that those of the body cost me forty sudations to cure
them, and, as for those of the soul, there is no remedy at all that can
relieve them. But excuse me, if I cannot hold a long conversation in the
street; another day I will, with more convenience, relate to you my
adventures, which are the strangest and most singular you ever heard in
all the days of your life."
"That will not do," said the licentiate; "I must have you come to my
lodgings, and there we will do penance together.[59] You will have an
olla, very fit for a sick man; and though it is scantly enough for two,
we will make up the deficiency with a pie and a few slices of Rute ham,
and, above all, with a hearty welcome, not only now, but whenever you
choose to claim it."
[59] A common form of invitation, meaning we will partake of a poor
repast.
Campuzano accepted the polite invitation. They turned into the church of
San Lorente and heard mass, and then Peralta took his friend home,
treated him as he had promised, repeated his courteous offers, and
requested him after dinner to relate his adventures. Campuzano, without
more ado, began as follows:--
You remember, Senor Licentiate Peralta, how intimate I was in this city
with Captain Pedro de Herrera, who is now in Flanders. "I remember it
very well," replied Peralta. Well, one day when we had done dinner in
the Posada della Solana, where we lived, there came in two ladies of
genteel appearance, with two waiting women: one of the ladies entered
into conversation with the Captain, both leaning against a window; the
other sat down in a chair beside me, with her veil low down, so that I
could not see her face, except so far as the thinness of the texture
allowed. I entreated her to do me the favour to unveil, but I could not
prevail, which the more inflamed my desire to have sight of her; but
what especially increased my curiosity was that, whether on purpose, or
by chance, the lady displayed a very white hand, with very handsome
rings.
At that time I made a very gallant appearance with that great chain you
have seen me wear, my hat with plumes and bands, my flame-coloured
military garments, and, in the eyes of my own folly, I seemed so
engaging that I imagined all the women must fall in love with me! Well,
I implored her to unveil. "Be not importunate," she replied; "I have a
house; let a servant follow me; for though I am of more honourable
condition than this reply of mine would indicate, yet for the sake of
seeing whether your discretion corresponds to your gallant appearance, I
will allow you to see me with less reserve." I kissed her hand for the
favour she granted me, in return for which I promised mountains of gold.
The captain ended his conversation, the ladies went away, and a servant
of mine followed them. The captain told me that what the lady had been
asking of him was to take some letters to Flanders to another captain,
who she said was her cousin, though he knew he was nothing but her
gallant.
For my part I was all on fire for the snow-white hands I had seen, and
dying for a peep at the face; so I presented myself next day at the door
which my servant pointed out to me, and was freely admitted. I found
myself in a house very handsomely decorated and furnished, in presence
of a lady about thirty years of age, whom I recognised by her hands. Her
beauty was not extraordinary, but of a nature well suited to fascinate
in conversation; for she talked with a sweetness of tone that won its
way through the ears to the soul. I had long _tete-a-tetes_ with her, in
which I made love with all my might: I bragged, bounced, swaggered,
offered, promised, and made all the demonstrations I thought necessary
to work myself into her good graces; but as she was accustomed to such
offers and protestations, she listened to them with an attentive, but
apparently far from credulous ear. In short, during the four days I
continued to visit her, our intercourse amounted only to talking soft
nonsense, without my being able to gather the tempting fruit.
In the course of my visits I always found the house free from intruders,
and without a vestige of pretended relations or real gallants. She was
waited on by a girl in whom there was more of the rogue than the
simpleton. At last resolving to push my suit in the style of a soldier,
who is about to shift his quarters, I came to the point with my fair
one, Dona Estefania de Caycedo (for that is the name of my charmer), and
this was the answer she gave me:--"Senor Alferez Campuzano, I should be
a simpleton if I sought to pass myself off on you for a saint; I have
been a sinner, ay, and am one still, but not in a manner to become a
subject of scandal in the neighbourhood or of notoriety in public. I
have inherited no fortune either from my parents or any other relation;
and yet the furniture of my house is worth a good two thousand five
hundred ducats, and would fetch that sum it put up to auction at any
moment. With this property I look for a husband to whom I may devote
myself in all obedience, and with whom I may lead a better life, whilst
I apply myself with incredible solicitude to the task of delighting and
serving him; for there is no master cook who can boast of a more refined
palate, or can turn out more exquisite ragouts and made-dishes than I
can, when I choose to display my housewifery in that way. I can be the
major domo in the house, the tidy wench in the kitchen, and the lady in
the drawing room: in fact, I know how to command and make myself obeyed.
I squander nothing and accumulate a great deal; my coin goes all the
further for being spent under my own directions. My household linen, of
which I have a large and excellent stock, did not come out of drapers'
shops or warehouses; these fingers and those of my maid servants
stitched it all, and it would have been woven at home had that been
possible. If I give myself these commendations, it is because I cannot
incur your censure by uttering what it is absolutely necessary that you
should know. In fine, I wish to say that I desire a husband to protect,
command, and honour me, and not a gallant to flatter and abuse me: if
you like to accept the gift that is offered you, here I am, ready and
willing to put myself wholly at your disposal, without going into the
public market with my hand, for it amounts to no less to place oneself
at the mercy of match-makers' tongues, and no one is so fit to arrange
the whole affair as the parties themselves."
My wits were not in my head at that moment, but in my heels. Delighted
beyond imagination, and seeing before me such a quantity of property,
which I already beheld by anticipation converted into ready money,
without making any other reflections than those suggested by the longing
that fettered my reason, I told her that I was fortunate and blest above
all men since heaven had given me by a sort of miracle such a companion,
that I might make her the lady of my affections and my fortune,--a
fortune which was not so small, but that with that chain which I wore
round my neck, and other jewels which I had at home, and by disposing
of some military finery, I could muster more than two thousand ducats,
which, with her two thousand five hundred, would be enough for us to
retire upon to a village of which I was a native, and where I had
relations and some patrimony. Its yearly increase, helped by our money,
would enable us to lead a cheerful and unembarrassed life. In fine, our
union was at once agreed on; the banns were published on three
successive holidays (which happened to fall together), and on the fourth
day, the marriage was celebrated in the presence of two mends of mine,
and a youth who she said was her cousin, and to whom I introduced myself
as a relation with words of great urbanity. Such, indeed, were all those
which hitherto I had bestowed on my bride--with how crooked and
treacherous an intention I would rather not say; for though I am telling
truths, they are not truths under confession which must not be kept
back.
My servant removed my trunk from my lodgings to my wife's house. I put
by my magnificent chain in my wife's presence; showed her three or four
others, not so large, but of better workmanship, with three or four
other trinkets of various kinds; laid before her my best dresses and my
plumes, and gave her about four hundred reals, which I had, to defray
the household expenses. For six days I tasted the bread of wedlock,
enjoying myself like a beggarly bridegroom in the house of a rich
father-in-law. I trod on rich carpets, lay in holland sheets, had silver
candlesticks to light me, breakfasted in bed, rose at eleven o'clock,
dined at twelve, and at two took my siesta in the drawing-room. Dona
Estefania and the servant girl danced attendance upon me; my servant,
whom I had always found lazy, was suddenly become nimble as a deer. If
ever Dona Estefania quitted my side, it was to go to the kitchen and
devote all her care to preparing fricassees to please my palate and
quicken my appetite. My shirts, collars, and handkerchiefs were a very
Aranjuez of flowers, so drenched they were with fragrant waters. Those
days flew fast, like the years which are under the jurisdiction of time;
and seeing myself so regaled and so well treated, I began to change for
the better the evil intention with which I had begun this affair.
At the end of them, one morning, whilst I was still in bed with Dona
Estefania, there was a loud knocking and calling at the street door. The
servant girl put her head out of the window, and immediately popped it
in again, saying,--"There she is, sure enough; she is come sooner than
she mentioned in her letter the other day, but she is welcome!"
"Who's come, girl?" said I.
"Who?" she replied; "why, my lady Dona Clementa Bueso, and with her
senor Don Lope Melendez de Almendarez, with two other servants, and
Hortigosa, the duena she took with her."
"Bless me! Run, wench, and open the door for them," Dona Estefania now
exclaimed; "and you, senor, as you love me, don't put yourself out, or
reply for me to anything you may hear said against me."
"Why, who is to say anything to offend you, especially when I am by?
Tell me, who are these people, whose arrival appears to have upset you?"
"I have no time to answer," said Dona Estefania; "only be assured that
whatever takes place here will be all pretended, and bears upon a
certain design which you shall know by and by."
Before I could make any reply to this, in walked Dona Clementa Bueso,
dressed in lustrous green satin, richly laced with gold, a hat with
green, white, and pink feathers, a gold hat-band, and a fine veil
covering half her face. With her entered Don Lope Melendez de Almendarez
in a travelling suit, no less elegant than rich. The duena Hortigosa was
the first who opened her lips, exclaiming, "Saints and angels, what is
this! My lady Dona Clementa's bed occupied, and by a man too! Upon my
faith, the senora Dona Estefania has availed herself of my lady's
friendliness to some purpose!"
"That she has, Hortigosa," replied Dona Clementa; "but I blame myself
for never being on my guard against friends who can only be such when it
is for their own advantage."
To all this Dona Estefania replied: "Pray do not be angry, my lady Dona
Clementa. I assure you there is a mystery in what you see; and when you
are made acquainted with it you will acquit me of all blame."
During this time I had put on my hose and doublet, and Dona Estefania,
taking me by the hand, led me into another room. There she told me that
this friend of hers wanted to play a trick on that Don Lope who was
come with her, and to whom she expected to be married. The trick was to
make him believe that the house and everything in it belonged to
herself. Once married, it would matter little that the truth was
discovered, so confident was the lady in the great love of Don Lope; the
property would then be returned; and who could blame her, or any woman,
for contriving to get an honourable husband, though it were by a little
artifice? I replied that it was a very great stretch of friendship she
thought of making, and that she ought to look well to it beforehand, for
very probably she might be constrained to have recourse to justice to
recover her effects. She gave me, however, so many reasons, and alleged
so many obligations by which she was bound to serve Dona Clementa even
in matters of more importance, that much against my will, and with sore
misgivings, I complied with Dona Estefania's wishes, on the assurance
that the affair would not last more than eight days, during which we
were to lodge with another friend of hers.
We finished dressing; she went to take her leave of the senora Dona
Clementa Bueso and the senor Lope Melendez Almendarez, ordered my
servant to follow her with my luggage, and I too followed without taking
leave of any one. Dona Estefania stopped at a friend's house, and stayed
talking with her a good while, leaving us in the street, till at last a
girl came out and told me and my servant to come in. We went up stairs
to a small room in which there were two beds so close together that they
seemed but one, for the bed-clothes actually touched each other. There
we remained six days, during which not an hour passed in which we did
not quarrel; for I was always telling her what a stupid thing she had
done in giving up her house and goods, though it were to her own mother.
One day, when Dona Estefania had gone out, as she said, to see how her
business was going on, the woman of the house asked me what was the
reason of my wrangling so much with my wife, and what had she done for
which I scolded her so much, saying it was an act of egregious folly
rather than of perfect friendship. I told her the whole story, how I had
married Dona Estefania, the dower she had brought me, and the folly she
had committed in leaving her house and goods to Dona Clementa, even
though it was for the good purpose of catching such a capital husband as
Don Lope. Thereupon the woman began to cross and bless herself at such
a rate, and to cry out, "O, Lord! O, the jade!" that she put me into a
great state of uneasiness. At last, "Senor Alferez," said she, "I don't
know but I am going against my conscience in making known to you what I
feel would lie heavy on it if I held my tongue. Here goes, however, in
the name of God,--happen what may, the truth for ever, and lies to the
devil! The truth is, that Dona Clementa Bueso is the real owner of the
house and property which you have had palmed upon you for a dower; the
lies are every word that Dona Estefania has told you, for she has
neither house nor goods, nor any clothes besides those on her back. What
gave her an opportunity for this trick was that Dona Clementa went to
visit one of her relations in the city of Plasencia, and there to
perform a novenary in the church of our Lady of Guadalupe, meanwhile
leaving Dona Estefania to look after her house, for in fact they are
great friends. And after all, rightly considered, the poor senora is not
to blame, since she has had the wit to get herself such a person as the
Senor Alferez for a husband."
Here she came to an end, leaving me almost desperate; and without doubt
I should have become wholly so, if my guardian angel had failed in the
least to support me, and whisper to my heart that I ought to consider I
was a Christian, and that the greatest sin men can be guilty of is
despair, since it is the sin of devils. This consideration, or good
inspiration, comforted me a little; not so much, however, but that I
took my cloak and sword, and went out in search of Dona Estefania,
resolved to inflict upon her an exemplary chastisement; but chance
ordained, whether for my good or not I cannot tell, that she was not to
be found in any of the places where I expected to fall in with her. I
went to the church of San Lorente, commended me to our Lady, sat down on
a bench, and in my affliction fell into so deep a sleep that I should
not have awoke for a long time if others had not roused me. I went with
a heavy heart to Dona Clementa's, and found her as much at ease as a
lady should be in her own house. Not daring to say a word to her,
because Senor Don Lope was present, I returned to my landlady, who told
me she had informed Dona Estefania that I was acquainted with her whole
roguery; that she had asked how I had seemed to take the news; that
she, the landlady, said I had taken it very badly, and had gone out to
look for her, apparently with the worst intentions; whereupon Dona
Estefania had gone away, taking with her all that was in my trunk, only
leaving me one travelling coat. I flew to my trunk, and found it open,
like a coffin waiting for a dead body; and well might it have been my
own, if sense enough had been left me to comprehend the magnitude of my
misfortune.
"Great it was, indeed," observed the licentiate Peralta; "only to think
that Dona Estefania carried off your fine chain and hat-band! Well, it
is a true saying, 'Misfortunes never come single.'"
I do not so much mind that loss, replied the Alferez, since I may apply
to myself the old saw, "My father-in-law thought to cheat me by putting
off his squinting daughter upon me; and I myself am blind of an eye."
"I don't know in what respect you can say that?" replied Peralta.
Why, in this respect, that all that lot of chains and gewgaws might be
worth some ten or twelve crowns.
"Impossible!" exclaimed the licentiate; "for that which the Senor
Alferez wore on his neck must have weighed more than two hundred
ducats."
So it would have done, replied the Alferez, if the reality had
corresponded with the appearance; but "All is not gold that glitters,"
and my fine things were only imitations, but so well made that nothing
but the touchstone or the fire could have detected that they were not
genuine.
"So, then, it seems to have been a drawn game between you and the Senora
Dona Estefania," said the licentiate.
So much so that we may shuffle the cards and make a fresh deal. Only the
mischief is, Senor Licentiate, that she may get rid of my mock chains,
but I cannot get rid of the cheat she put upon me; for, in spite of my
teeth, she remains my wife.
"You may thank God, Senor Campuzano," said Peralta, "that your wife has
taken to her heels, and that you are not obliged to go in search of
her."
Very true; but for all that, even without looking for her, I always find
her--in imagination; and wherever I am, my disgrace is always present
before me.
"I know not what answer to make you, except to remind you of these two
verses of Petrarch:--
"'Che qui prende diletto di far frode,
Non s'ha di lamentar s'altro l'inganna.'
That is to say, whoever makes it his practice and his pleasure to
deceive others, has no right to complain when he is himself deceived."
But I don't complain, replied the Alferez; only I pity myself--for the
culprit who knows his fault does not the less feel the pain of his
punishment. I am well aware that I sought to deceive and that I was
deceived, and caught in my own snare; but I cannot command my feelings
so much as not to lament over myself. To come, however, to what more
concerns my history (for I may give that name to the narrative of my
adventures), I learned that Dona Estefania had been taken away by that
cousin whom she brought to our wedding, who had been a lover of hers of
long standing. I had no mind to go after her and bring back upon myself
an evil I was rid of. I changed my lodgings and my skin too within a few
days. My eyebrows and eyelashes began to drop; my hair left me by
degrees; and I was bald before my time, and stripped of everything; for
I had neither a beard to comb nor money to spend. My illness kept pace
with my want; and as poverty bears down honour, drives some to the
gallows, some to the hospital, and makes others enter their enemies'
doors with cringing submissiveness, which is one of the greatest
miseries that can befall an unlucky man; that I might not expend upon my
cure the clothes that should cover me respectably in health, I entered
the Hospital of the Resurrection, where I took forty sudations. They say
that I shall get well if I take care of myself. I have my sword; for the
rest I trust in God.
The licentiate renewed his friendly offers, much wondering at the things
he had heard.
If you are surprised at the little I have told you, Senor Peralta, said
the Alferez, what will you say to the other things I have yet to relate,
which exceed all imagination, since they pass all natural bounds? I can
only tell you that they are such that I think it a full compensation for
all my disasters that they were the cause of my entering the hospital,
where I saw what I shall now relate to you; and what you can never
believe; no; nor anybody else in the world.
All these preambles of the Alferez so excited Peralta's curiosity, that
he earnestly desired to hear, in detail, all that remained to be told.
You have no doubt seen, said the Alferez, two dogs going about by night
with lanterns along with the Capuchin brethren, to give them light when
they are collecting alms.
"I have," replied Peralta.
You have also seen, or heard tell of them, that if alms are thrown from
the windows, and happen to fall on the ground, they immediately help
with the light and begin to look for what has fallen; that they stop of
their own accord before the windows from which they know they are used
to receive alms; and that with all their tameness on these occasions, so
that they are more like lambs than dogs, they are lions in the hospital,
keeping guard with great care and vigilance.
"I have heard that all this is as you say," said Peralta; "but there is
nothing in this to move my wonder."
But what I shall now tell you of them, returned the Alferez, is enough
to do so; yet, strange as it is, you must bring yourself to believe it.
One night, the last but one of my sudation, I heard, and all but saw
with my eyes those two dogs, one of which is called Scipio, the other
Berganza, stretched on an old mat outside my room. In the middle of the
night, lying awake in the dark, thinking of my past adventures and my
present sorrows, I heard talking, and set myself to listen attentively,
to see if I could make out who were the speakers and what they said. By
degrees I did both, and ascertained that the speakers were the dogs
Scipio and Berganza.
The words were hardly out of Campuzano's mouth, when the licentiate
jumped up and said: "Saving your favour, Senor Campuzano, till this
moment I was in much doubt whether or not to believe what you have told
me about your marriage; but what you now tell me of your having heard
dogs talk, makes me decide upon not believing you at all. For God's
sake, Senor Alferez, do not relate such nonsense to any body, unless it
be to one who is as much your friend as I am."
Do not suppose I am so ignorant, replied Campuzano, as not to know that
brutes cannot talk unless by a miracle. I well know that if starlings,
jays, and parrots talk, it is only such words as they have learned by
rote, and because they have tongues adapted to pronounce them; but they
cannot, for all that, speak and reply with deliberate discourse as those
dogs did. Many times, indeed, since I heard them I have been disposed
not to believe myself, but to regard as a dream that which, being really
awake, with all the five senses which our Lord was pleased to give me, I
heard, marked, and finally wrote down without missing a word; whence you
may derive proof enough to move and persuade you to believe this verity
which I relate. The matters they talked of were various and weighty,
such as might rather have been discussed by learned men than by the
mouths of dogs; so that, since I could not have invented them out of my
own head, I am come, in spite of myself, to believe that I did not
dream, and that the dogs did talk.
"Body of me!" exclaimed the licentiate, "are the times of AEsop come back
to us, when the cock conversed with the fox, and one beast with
another?"
I should be one of them, and the greatest, replied the Alferez, if I
believed that time had returned; and so I should be, too, if I did not
believe what I have heard and seen, and what I am ready to swear to by
any form of oath that can constrain incredulity itself to believe. But,
supposing that I have deceived myself, and that this reality was a
dream, and that to contend for it is an absurdity, will it not amuse
you, Senor Peralta, to see, written in the form of a dialogue, the
matters talked of by those dogs, or whoever the speakers may have been?
"Since you no longer insist on having me believe that you heard dogs
talk," replied Peralta, "with much pleasure I will hear this colloquy,
of which I augur well, since it is reported by a gentlemen of such
talents as the Senor Alferez."
Another thing I have to remark, said Campuzano, is, that, as I was very
attentive, my apprehension very sensitive, and my memory very retentive
(thanks to the many raisins and almonds I had swallowed), I got it all
by heart, and wrote it down, word for word, the next day, without
attempting to colour or adorn it, or adding or suppressing anything to
make it attractive. The conversation took place not on one night only,
but on two consecutive nights, though I have not written down more than
one dialogue, that which contains the life of Berganza. His comrade
Scipio's life, which was the subject of the second night's discourse, I
intend to write out, if I find that the first one is believed, or at
least not despised. I have thrown the matter into the form of a dialogue
to avoid the cumbrous repetition of such phrases as, _said Scipio_,
_replied Berganza_.
So saying, he took a roll of paper out of his breast pocket, and put it
in the hands of the licentiate, who received it with a smile, as if he
made very light of all he had heard, and was about to read.
I will recline on this sofa, said the Alferez, whilst you are reading
those dreams or ravings, if you will, which have only this to recommend
them, that you may lay them down when you grow tired of them.
"Make yourself comfortable," said Peralta; "and I will soon despatch my
reading."
The Alferez lay down; the licentiate opened the scroll, and found it
headed as follows:--
* * * * *
DIALOGUE BETWEEN SCIPIO AND BERGANZA,
DOGS OF THE HOSPITAL OF THE RESURRECTION IN THE CITY OF VALLADOLID,
COMMONLY CALLED THE DOGS OF MAHUDES.
_Scip._ Berganza, my friend, let us leave our watch over the hospital
to-night, and retire to this lonely place and these mats, where, without
being noticed, we may enjoy that unexampled favour which heaven has
bestowed on us both at the same moment.
_Berg._ Brother Scipio, I hear you speak, and know that I am speaking to
you; yet cannot I believe, so much does it seem to me to pass the bounds
of nature.
_Scip._ That is true, Berganza; and what makes the miracle greater is,
that we not only speak but hold intelligent discourse, as though we had
souls capable of reason; whereas we are so far from having it, that the
difference between brutes and man consists in this, that man is a
rational animal and the brute is irrational.
_Berg._ I hear all you say, Scipio; and that you say it, and that I
hear it, causes me fresh admiration and wonder. It is very true that in
the course of my life I have many a time heard tell of our great
endowments, insomuch that some, it appears, have been disposed to think
that we possess a natural instinct, so vivid and acute in many things
that it gives signs and tokens little short of demonstrating that we
have a certain sort of understanding capable of reason.
_Scip._ What I have heard highly extolled is our strong memory, our
gratitude, and great fidelity; so that it is usual to depict us as
symbols of friendship. Thus you will have seen (if it has ever come
under your notice) that, on the alabaster tombs, on which are
represented the figures of those interred in them, when they are husband
and wife, a figure of a dog is placed between the pair at their feet, in
token that in life their affection and fidelity to each other was
inviolable,
_Berg._ I know that there have been grateful dogs who have cast
themselves into the same grave with the bodies of their deceased
masters; others have stood over the graves in which their lords were
buried without quitting them or taking food till they died. I know,
likewise, that next to the elephant the dog holds the first place in the
way of appearing to possess understanding, then the horse, and last the
ape.
_Scip._ True; but you will surely confess that you never saw or heard
tell of any elephant, dog, horse, or monkey having talked: hence I
infer, that this fact of our coming by the gift of speech so
unexpectedly falls within the list of those things which are called
portents, the appearance of which indicates, as experience testifies,
that some great calamity threatens the nations.
_Berg._ That being so I can readily enough set down as a portentous
token what I heard a student say the other day as I passed through
Alcala de Henares.
_Scip._ What was that?
_Berg._ That of five thousand students this year attending the
university--two thousand are studying medicine.
_Scip._ And what do you infer from that?
_Berg._ I infer either that those two thousand doctors will have
patients to treat, and that would be a woful thing, or that they must
die of hunger.
_Scip._ Be that as it may, let us talk, portent or no portent; for what
heaven has ordained to happen, no human diligence or wit can prevent.
Nor is it needful that we should fall to disputing as to the how or the
why we talk. Better will it be to make the best of this good clay or
good night at home; and since we enjoy it so much on these mats, and
know not how long this good fortune of ours may last, let us take
advantage of it and talk all night, without suffering sleep to deprive
us of a pleasure which I, for my part, have so long desired.
_Berg._ And I, too; for ever since I had strength enough to gnaw a bone
I have longed for the power of speech, that I might utter a multitude of
things I had laid up in my memory, and which lay there so long that they
were growing musty or almost forgotten. Now, however, that I see myself
so unexpectedly enriched with this divine gift of speech, I intend to
enjoy it and avail myself of it as much as I can, taking pains to say
everything I can recollect, though it be confusedly and helter-skelter,
not knowing when this blessing, which I regard as a loan, shall be
reclaimed from me.
_Scip._ Let us proceed in this manner, friend Berganza: to-night you
shall relate the history of your life to me, and the perils through
which you have passed to the present hour; and to-morrow night, if we
still have speech, I will recount mine to you; for it will be better to
spend the time in narrating our own lives than in trying to know those
of others.
_Berg._ I have ever looked upon you, Scipio, as a discreet dog and a
friend, and now I do so more than ever, since, as a friend, you desire
to tell me your adventures and know mine; and, as a discreet dog, you
apportion the time in which we may narrate them. But first observe
whether any one overhears us.
_Scip._ No one, I believe; since hereabouts there is a soldier going
through a sweating-course; but at this time of night he will be more
disposed to sleep than to listen to anything.
_Berg._ Since then we can speak so securely, hearken; and if I tire you
with what I say, either check me or bid me hold my tongue.
_Scip._ Talk till dawn, or till we are heard, and I will listen to you
with very great pleasure, without interrupting you, unless I see it to
be necessary.
_Berg._ It appears to me that the first time I saw the sun was in
Seville, in its slaughter-houses, which were outside the Puerta do la
Carne; wence I should imagine (were it not for what I shall afterwards
tell you) that my progenitors were some of those mastiff's which are
bred by those ministers of confusion who are called butchers. The first
I knew for a master, was one Nicholas the Pugnosed, a stout, thick-set,
passionate fellow, as all butchers are. This Nicholas taught me and
other whelps to run at bulls in company with old dogs and catch them by
the ears. With great ease I became an eagle among my fellows in this
respect.
_Scip._ I do not wonder, Berganza, that ill-doing is so easily learned,
since it comes by a natural obliquity.
_Berg._ What can I say to you, brother Scipio, of what I saw in those
slaughter-houses, and the enormous things that were done in them? In the
first place, you must understand that all who work in them, from the
lowest to the highest, are people without conscience or humanity,
fearing neither the king nor his justice; most of them living in
concubinage; carrion birds of prey; maintaining themselves and their
doxies by what they steal. On all flesh days, a great number of wenches
and young chaps assemble in the slaughtering place before dawn, all of
them with bags which come empty and go away full of pieces of meat. Not
a beast is killed out of which these people do not take tithes, and that
of the choicest and most savoury pickings. The masters trust implicitly
in these honest folk, not with the hope that they will not rob them (for
that is impossible), but that they may use their knives with some
moderation. But what struck me as the worst thing of all, was that these
butchers make no more of killing a man than a cow. They will quarrel for
straws, and stick a knife into a person's body as readily as they would
fell an ox. It is a rare thing for a day to pass without brawls and
bloodshed, and even murder. They all pique themselves on being men of
mettle, and they observe, too, some punctilios of the bravo; there is
not one of them but has his guardian angel in the Plaza de San
Francesco, whom he propitiates with sirloins, and beef tongues.
_Scip._ If you mean to dwell at such length, friend Berganza, on the
characteristics and faults of all the masters you have had, we had
better pray to heaven to grant us the gift of speech for a year; and
even then I fear, at the rate you are going, you will not get through
half your story. One thing I beg to remark to you, of which you will see
proof when I relate my own adventures; and that is, that some stories
are pleasing in themselves, and others from the manner in which they are
told; I mean that there are some which give satisfaction, though they
are told without preambles and verbal adornments; while others require
to be decked in that way and set off by expressive play of features,
hands, and voice; whereby, instead of flat and insipid, they become
pointed and agreeable. Do not forget this hint, but profit by it in what
you are about to say.
_Berg._ I will do so, if I can, and if I am not hindered by the great
temptation I feel to speak; though, indeed, it appears to me that I
shall have the greatest difficulty in constraining myself to moderation.
_Scip._ Be wary with your tongue, for from that member flow the greatest
ills of human life.
_Berg._ Well, then, to go on with my story, my master taught me to carry
a basket in my mouth, and to defend it against any one who should
attempt to take it from me. He also made me acquainted with the house in
which his mistress lived, and thereby spared her servant the trouble of
coming to the slaughter-house, for I used to carry to her the pieces of
meat he had stolen over night. Once as I was going along on this errand
in the gray of the morning, I heard some one calling me by name from a
window. Looking up I saw an extremely pretty girl; she came down to the
street door, and began to call me again. I went up to her to see what
she wanted of me; and what was it but to take away the meat I was
carrying in the basket and put an old clog in its place? "Be off with
you," she said, when she had done so; "and tell Nicholas the Pugnosed,
your master, not to put trust in brutes." I might easily have made her
give up what she had taken from me; but I would not put a cruel tooth on
those delicate white hands.
_Scip._ You did quite right; for it is the prerogative of beauty always
to be held in respect.
_Berg._ Well, I went back to my master without the meat and with the old
clog. It struck him that I had come back very soon, and seeing the clog,
he guessed the trick, snatched up a knife, and flung it at me; and if I
had not leaped aside, you would not now be listening to my story. I
took to my heels, and was off like a shot behind St. Bernard's, away
over the fields, without stopping to think whither my luck would lead
me. That night I slept under the open sky, and the following day I
chanced to fall in with a flock of sheep. The moment I saw it, I felt
that I had found the very thing that suited me, since it appeared to me
to be the natural and proper duty of dogs to guard the fold, that being
an office which involves the great virtue of protecting and defending
the lowly and the weak against the proud and mighty. One of the three
shepherds who were with the flock immediately called me to him, and I,
who desired nothing better, went up at once to him, lowering my head and
wagging my tail. He passed his hand along my back, opened my mouth,
examined my fangs, ascertained my age, and told his master that I had
all the works and tokens of a dog of good breed. Just then up came the
owner of the flock on a gray mare with lance and surge, so that he
looked more a coast-guard than a sheep master.
"What dog is that!" said he to the shepherd; "he seems a good one." "You
may well say that," replied the man; "for I have examined him closely,
and there is not a mark about him but shows that he must be of the right
sort. He came here just now; I don't know whose he is, but I know that
he does not belong to any of the flocks hereabouts."
"If that be so," said the master, "put on him the collar that belonged
to the dog that is dead, and give him the same rations as the rest,
treat him kindly that he may take a liking to the fold, and remain with
it henceforth." So saying he went away, and the shepherd put on my neck
a collar set with steel points, after first giving me a great mess of
bread sopped in milk in a trough. At the same time I had a name bestowed
on me, which was Barcino. I liked my second master, and my new duty very
well; I was careful and diligent in watching the flock, and never
quitted it except in the afternoons, when I went to repose under the
shade of some tree, or rock, or bank, or by the margin of one of the
many streams that watered the country. Nor did I spend those leisure
hours idly, but employed them in calling many things to mind, especially
the life I had led in the slaughter-house, and also that of my master
and all his fellows, who were bound to satisfy the inordinate humours
of their mistresses. O how many things I could tell you of that I
learned in the school of that she-butcher, my master's lady; but I must
pass them over, lest you should think me tedious and censorious.
_Scip._ I have heard that it was a saying of a great poet among the
ancients, that it was a difficult thing to write satires. I consent that
you put some point into your remarks, but not to the drawing of blood.
You may hit lightly, but not wound or kill; for sarcasm, though it make
many laugh, is not good if it mortally wounds one; and if you can please
without it, I shall think you more discreet.
_Berg._ I will take your advice, and I earnestly long for the time when
you will relate your own adventures; for seeing how judiciously you
correct the faults into which I fall in my narrative, I may well expect
that your own will be delivered in a manner equally instructive and
delightful. But to take up the broken thread of my story, I say that in
those hours of silence and solitude, it occurred to me among other
things, that there could be no truth in what I had heard tell of the
life of shepherds--of those, at least, about whom my master's lady used
to read, when I went to her house, in certain books, all treating of
shepherds and shepherdesses; and telling how they passed their whole
life in singing and playing on pipes and rebecks, and other old
fashioned instruments. I remember her reading how the shepherd of
Anfriso sang the praises of the peerless Belisarda, and that there was
not a tree on all the mountains of Arcadia on whose trunk he had not sat
and sung from the moment Sol quitted the arms of Aurora, till he threw
himself into those of Thetis, and that even after black night had spread
its murky wings over the face of the earth, he did not cease his
melodious complaints. I did not forget the shepherd Elicio, more
enamoured than bold, of whom it was said, that without attending to his
own loves or his flock, he entered into others' griefs; nor the great
shepherd Filida, unique painter of a single portrait, who was more
faithful than happy; nor the anguish of Sireno and the remorse of Diana,
and how she thanked God and the sage Felicia, who, with her enchanted
water, undid that maze of entanglements and difficulties. I bethought me
of many other tales of the same sort, but they were not worthy of being
remembered.
The habits and occupations of my masters, and the rest of the shepherds
in that quarter, were very different from those of the shepherds in the
books. If mine sang, it was no tuneful and finely composed strains, but
very rude and vulgar songs, to the accompaniment not of pipes and
rebecks, but to that of one crook knocked against another, or of bits of
tile jingled between the fingers, and sung with voices not melodious and
tender, but so coarse and out of tune, that whether singly or in chorus,
they seemed to be howling or grunting. They passed the greater part of
the day in hunting up their fleas or mending their brogues; and none of
them were named Amarillis, Filida, Galatea, or Diana; nor were there any
Lisardos, Lausos, Jacintos, or Riselos; but all were Antones, Domingos,
Pablos, or Llorentes. This led me to conclude that all those books about
pastoral life are only fictions ingeniously written for the amusement of
the idle, and that there is not a word of truth in them; for, were it
otherwise, there would have remained among my shepherds some trace of
that happy life of yore, with its pleasant meads, spacious groves,
sacred mountains, handsome gardens, clear streams and crystal fountains,
its ardent but no less decorous love-descants, with here the shepherd,
there the shepherdess all woe-begone, and the air made vocal everywhere
with flutes and pipes and flageolets.
_Scip._ Enough, Berganza; get back into your road, and trot on.
_Berg._ I am much obliged to you, friend Scipio; for, but for your hint,
I was getting so warm upon the scent, that I should not have stopped
till I had given you one whole specimen of those books that had so
deceived me. But a time will come when I shall discuss the whole matter
more fully and more opportunely than now.
_Scip._ Look to your feet, and don't run after your tail, that is to
say, recollect that you are an animal devoid of reason; or if you seem
at present to have a little of it, we are already agreed that this is a
supernatural and altogether unparalleled circumstance.
_Berg._ That would be all very well if I were still in my pristine state
of ignorance; but now that I bethink me of what I should have mentioned
to you in the beginning of our conversation, I not only cease to wonder
that I speak, but I am terrified at the thought of leaving off.
_Scip._ Can you not tell me that something now that you recollect it?
_Berg._ It was a certain affair that occurred to me with a sorntess, a
disciple of la Camacha de Montilla.
_Scip._ Let me hear it now, before you proceed with the story of your
life.
_Berg._ No, not till the proper time. Have patience and listen to the
recital of my adventures in the order they occurred, for they will
afford you more pleasure in that way.
_Scip._ Very well; tell me what you will and how you will, but be brief.
_Berg._ I say, then, that I was pleased with my duty as a guardian of
the flock, for it seemed to me that in that way I ate the bread of
industry, and that sloth, the root and mother of all vices, came not
nigh me; for if I rested by day, I never slept at night, the wolves
continually assailing us and calling us to arms. The instant the
shepherds said to me, "The wolf! the wolf! at him, Barcino," I dashed
forward before all the other dogs, in the direction pointed out to me by
the shepherds. I scoured the valleys, searched the mountains, beat the
thickets, leaped the gullies, crossed the roads, and on the morning
returned to the fold without having caught the wolf or seen a glimpse of
him, panting, weary, all scratched and torn, and my feet cut with
splinters; and I found in the fold either a ewe or a wether slaughtered
and half eaten by the wolf. It vexed me desperately to see of what
little avail were all my care and diligence. Then the owner of the flock
would come; the shepherds would go out to meet him with the skin of the
slaughtered animal: the owner would scold the shepherds for their
negligence, and order the dogs to be punished for cowardice. Down would
come upon us a shower of sticks and revilings; and so, finding myself
punished without fault, and that my care, alertness, and courage were of
no avail to keep off the wolf, I resolved to change my manner of
proceeding, and not to go out to seek him, as I had been used to do, but
to remain close to the fold; for since the wolf came to it, that would
be the surest place to catch him. Every week we had an alarm; and one
dark night I contrived to get a sight of the wolves, from which it was
so impossible to guard the fold. I crouched behind a bank; the rest of
the dogs ran forward; and from my lurking-place I saw and heard how two
shepherds picked out one of the fattest wethers, and slaughtered it in
such a manner, that it really appeared next morning as if the
executioner had been a wolf. I was horror-struck, when I saw that the
shepherds themselves were the wolves, and that the flock was plundered
by the very men who had the keeping of it. As usual, they made known to
their master the mischief done by the wolf, gave him the skin and part
of the carcase, and ate the rest, and that the choicest part,
themselves. As usual, they had a scolding, and the dogs a beating. Thus
there were no wolves, yet the flock dwindled away, and I was dumb, all
which filled me with amazement and anguish. O Lord! said I to myself,
who can ever remedy this villany? Who will have the power to make known
that the defence is offensive, the sentinels sleep, the trustees rob,
and those who guard you kill you?
_Scip._ You say very true, Berganza; for there is no worse or more
subtle thief than the domestic thief; and accordingly there die many
more of those who are trustful than of those who are wary. But the
misfortune is, that it is impossible for people to get on in the world
in any tolerable way without mutual confidence. However, let us drop
this subject: there is no need that we should be evermore preaching. Go
on.
_Berg._ I determined then to quit that service, though it seemed so good
a one, and to choose another, in which well-doing, if not rewarded, was
at least not punished. I went back to Seville, and entered the service
of a very rich merchant.
_Scip._ How did you set about getting yourself a master? As things are
now-a-days, an honest man has great difficulty in finding an employer.
Very different are the lords of the earth from the Lord of Heaven; the
former, before they will accept a servant, first scrutinise his birth
and parentage, examine into his qualifications, and even require to know
what clothes he has got; but for entering the service of God, the
poorest is the richest, the humblest is the best born; and whoso is but
disposed to serve him in purity of heart is at once entered in his book
of wages, and has such assigned to him as his utmost desire can hardly
compass, so ample are they.
_Berg._ All this is preaching, Scipio.
_Scip._ Well, it strikes me that it is. So go on.
_Berg._ With respect to your question, how I set about getting a master:
you are aware that humility is the base and foundation of all virtues,
and that without it there are none. It smooths inconveniences, overcomes
difficulties, and is a means which always conducts us to glorious ends;
it makes friends of enemies, tempers the wrath of the choleric, and
abates the arrogance of the proud: it is the mother of modesty, and
sister of temperance. I availed myself of this virtue whenever I wanted
to get a place in any house, after having first considered and carefully
ascertained that it was one which could maintain a great dog. I then
placed myself near the door; and whenever any one entered whom I guessed
to be a stranger, I barked at him; and when the master entered, I went
up to him with my head down, my tail wagging, and licked his shoes. If
they drove me out with sticks, I took it patiently, and turned with the
same gentleness to fawn in the same way on the person who beat me. The
rest let me alone, seeing my perseverance and my generous behaviour; and
after one or two turns of this kind, I got a footing in the house. I was
a good servant: they took a liking to me immediately; and I was never
turned out, but dismissed myself, or, to speak more properly, I ran
away; and sometimes I met with such a master, that but for the
persecution of fortune I should have remained with him to this day.
_Scip._ It was just in the same way that I got into the houses of the
masters I served. It seems that we read men's thoughts.
_Berg._ I will tell you now what happened to me after I left the fold in
the power of those reprobates. I returned, as I have said, to Seville,
the asylum of the poor and refuge for the destitute, which embraces in
its greatness not only the rude but the mighty and nourishing. I planted
myself at the door of a large house belonging to a merchant, exerted
myself as usual, and after a few trials gained admission. They kept me
tied up behind the door by day, and let me loose at night. I did my duty
with great care and diligence, barked at strangers, and growled at
those who were not well known. I did not sleep at night, but visited the
yards, and walked about the terraces, acting as general guard over our
own house and those of the neighbours; and my master was so pleased with
my good service, that he gave orders I should be well treated, and have
a ration of bread, with the bones from his table, and the kitchen
scraps. For this I showed my gratitude by no end of leaps when I saw my
master, especially when he came home after being abroad; and such were
my demonstrations of joy that my master ordered me to be untied, and
left loose day and night. As soon as I was set free, I ran to him, and
gambolled all round him, without venturing to lay my paws on him; for I
bethought me of that ass in AEsop's Fables, who was ass enough to think
of fondling his master in the same manner as his favourite lap-dog, and
was well basted for his pains. I understood that fable to signify, that
what is graceful and comely in some is not so in others. Let the ribald
flout and jeer, the mountebank tumble,--let the common fellow, who has
made it his business, imitate the song of birds and the gestures of
animals, but not the man of quality, who can deserve no credit or renown
from any skill in these things.
_Scip._ Enough said, Berganza; I understand you; go on.
_Berg._ Would that others for whom I say this understood me as well! For
there is something or other in my nature which makes me feel greatly
shocked when I see a cavalier make a buffoon of himself, and taking
pride in being able to play at thimblerig, and in dancing the _chacona_
to perfection, I know a cavalier who boasted, that he had, at the
request of a sacristan, cut out thirty-two paper ornaments, to stick
upon the black cloth over a monument; and he was so proud of his
performance that he took his friends to see it, as though he were
showing them pennons and trophies taken from the enemy, and hung over
the tombs of his forefathers. Well, this merchant I have been telling
you of had two sons, one aged twelve, the other about fourteen, who were
studying the humanities in the classes of the Company of Jesus. They
went in pomp to the college, accompanied by their tutor, and by pages to
carry their books, and what they called their Vademecum. To see them go
with such parade, on horseback in fine weather, and in a carriage when
it rained, made me wonder at the plain manner in which their father
went abroad upon his business, attended by no other servant than a
negro, and sometimes mounted upon a sorry mule.
_Scip._ You must know, Berganza, that it is a customary thing with the
merchants of Seville, and of other cities also, to display their wealth
and importance, not in their own persons, but in those of their sons:
for merchants are greater in their shadows than in themselves; and as
they rarely attend to anything else than their bargains, they spend
little on themselves; but as ambition and wealth burn to display
themselves, they show their own in the persons of their sons,
maintaining them as sumptuously as if they were sons of princes.
Sometimes too they purchase titles for them, and set upon their breasts
the mark that so much distinguishes men of rank from the commonalty.
_Berg._ It is ambition, but a generous ambition that seeks to improve
one's condition without prejudice to others.
_Scip._ Seldom or never can ambition consist with abstinence from injury
to others.
_Berg._ Have we not said that we are not to speak evil of any one?
_Scip._ Ay, but I don't speak evil of any one.
_Berg._ You now convince me of the truth of what I have often heard say,
that a person of a malicious tongue will utter enough to blast ten
families, and calumniate twenty good men; and if he is taken to task for
it, he will reply that he said nothing; or, if he did, he meant nothing
by it, and would not have said it if he had thought any one would take
it amiss. In truth, Scipio, one had need of much wisdom and wariness to
be able to entertain a conversation for two hours, without approaching
the confines of evil speaking. In my own case, for instance, brute as I
am, I see that with every fourth phrase I utter, words full of malice
and detraction come to my tongue like flies to wine. I therefore say
again that doing and speaking evil are things we inherit from our first
parents, and suck in with our mother's milk. This is manifest in the
fact, that hardly is a boy out of swaddling clothes before he lifts his
hand to take vengeance upon those by whom he thinks himself offended;
and the first words he articulates are to call his nurse or his mother a
jade.
_Scip._ That is true. I confess my error, and beg you will forgive it,
as I have forgiven you so many. Let us pitch ill-nature into the sea--as
the boys say--and henceforth backbite no more. Go on with your story.
You were talking of the grand style in which the sons of your master the
merchant went to the college of the Company of Jesus.
_Berg._ I will go on then; and though I hold it a sufficient thing to
abstain from ill-natured remarks, yet I propose to use a remedy, which I
am told was employed by a great swearer, who repenting of his bad habit,
made it a practice to pinch his arm, or kiss the ground as penance,
whenever an oath escaped him; but he continued to swear for all that. In
like manner, whenever I act contrary to the precept you have given me
against evil speaking, and contrary to my own intention to abstain from
that practice, I will bite the tip of my tongue, so that the smart may
remind me of my fault, and hinder me from relapsing into it.
_Scip._ If that is the remedy you mean to use, I expect that you will
have to bite your tongue so often, that there will be none of it left,
and it will be put beyond the possibility of offending.
_Berg._ At least I will do my best; may heaven make up my deficiencies.
Well, to resume: one day my master's sons left a note-book in the
court-yard where I was; and as I had been taught to fetch and carry, I
took it up, and went after them, resolved to put it into their own
hands. It turned out exactly as I desired; for my masters seeing me
coming with the note-book in my mouth, which I held cleverly by its
string, sent a page to take it from me; but I would not let him, nor
quitted it till I entered the hall with it, at which all the students
fell a laughing. Going up to the elder of my masters, I put it into his
hands, with all the obsequiousness I could, and went and seated myself
on my haunches at the door of the hall, with my eyes fixed on the master
who was lecturing in the chair. There is some strange charm in virtue;
for though I know little or nothing about it, I at once took delight in
seeing the loving care and industry with which the reverend fathers
taught those youths, shaping their tender minds aright, and guiding them
in the path of virtue, which they demonstrated to them along with
letters. I observed how they reproved them with suavity, chastised them
with mercy, animated them with examples, incited them with rewards, and
indulged them with prudence; and how they set before them the
loathsomeness of vice and the beauty of virtue, so that abhorring the
one and loving the other, they might achieve the end for which they were
created.
_Scip._ You say very well, Berganza; for I have heard tell of this holy
fraternity, that for worldly wisdom there are none equal to them; and
that as guides and leaders on the road to heaven, few come up to them.
They are mirrors of integrity, catholic doctrine, rare wisdom, and
profound humility, the base on which is erected the whole edifice of
beatitude.
_Berg._ That is every word true. But to return to my story: my masters
were so pleased with my carrying them the note-book, that they would
have me do so every day; and thus I enjoyed the life of a king, or even
better, having nothing to do but to play with the students, with whom I
grew so tame, that they would put their hands in my mouth, and the
smallest of them would ride on my back. They would fling their hats or
caps for me to fetch, and I would put them into their hands with marks
of great delight. They used to give me as much to eat as they could; and
they were fond of seeing, when they gave me nuts or almonds, how I
cracked them like a monkey, let fall the shells, and ate the kernels.
One student, to make proof of my ability, brought me a great quantity of
salad in a basket, and I ate it like a human being. It was the winter
season, when manchets and mantequillas abound in Seville; and I was so
well supplied with them, that many an Antonio was pawned or sold that I
might breakfast. In short, I spent a student's life, without hunger or
itch, and that is saying everything for it; for if hunger and itch were
not identified with the student's life, there would be none more
agreeable in the world; since virtue and pleasure go hand in hand
through it, and it is passed in learning and taking diversion. This
happy life ended too soon for me. It appeared to the professors that the
students spent the half-hour between the classes not in studying their
lessons, but in playing with me; and therefore they ordered my masters
not to bring me any more to the college. I was left at home accordingly,
at my old post behind the door; and notwithstanding the order graciously
given by the head of the family, that I should be at liberty day and
night, I was again confined to a small mat, with a chain round my neck.
Ah, friend Scipio, did you but know how sore a thing it is to pass from
a state of happiness to one of wretchedness! When sorrows and distresses
flood the whole course of life, either they soon end in death, or their
continuance begets a habit of endurance, which generally alleviates
their greatest rigour; but when one passes suddenly and unexpectedly
from a miserable and calamitous lot to one of prosperity and enjoyment,
and soon after relapses into his former state of woe and suffering: this
is such a poignant affliction, that if it does not extinguish life, it
is only to make it a prolonged torment. Well, I returned to my ordinary
rations, and to the bones which were flung to me by a negress belonging
to the house; but even these were partly filched from me by two cats,
who very nimbly snapped up whatever fell beyond the range of my chain.
Brother Scipio, as you hope that heaven will prosper all your desires,
do suffer me to philosophise a little at present; for unless I utter the
reflections which have now occurred to my mind, I feel that my story
will not be complete or duly edifying.
_Scip._ Beware, Berganza, that this inclination to philosophise is not a
temptation of the fiend; for slander has no better cloak to conceal its
malice than the pretence that all it utters are maxims of philosophers,
that evil speaking is moral reproval, and the exposure of the faults of
others is nothing but honest zeal. There is no sarcastic person whose
life, if you scrutinise it closely, will not be found full of vices and
improprieties. And now, after this warning, philosophise as much as you
have a mind.
_Berg._ You may be quite at your ease on that score, Scipio. What I have
to remark is, that as I was the whole day at leisure--and leisure is the
mother of reflection--I conned over several of those Latin phrases I had
heard when I was with my masters at college, and wherewith it seemed to
me that I had somewhat improved my mind; and I determined to make use of
them as occasion should arise, as if I knew how to talk, but in a
different manner from that practised by some ignorant persons, who
interlard their conversation with Latin apophthegms, giving those who do
not understand them to believe that they are great Latinists, whereas
they can hardly decline a noun or conjugate a verb.
_Scip._ That is not so bad as what is done by some who really
understand Latin; some of whom are so absurd, that in talking with a
shoemaker or a tailor, they pour out Latin like water.
_Berg._ On the whole we may conclude, that he who talks Latin before
persons who do not understand it, and he who talks it, being himself
ignorant of it, are both equally to blame.
_Scip._ Another thing you may remark, which is that some persons who
know Latin are not the less asses for all that.
_Berg._ No doubt of it; and the reason is clear; for when in the time of
the Romans everybody spoke Latin as his mother tongue, that did not
hinder some among them from being boobies.
_Scip._ But to know when to keep silence in the mother tongue, and speak
in Latin, is a thing that needs discretion, brother Berganza.
_Berg._ True; for a foolish word may be spoken in Latin as well as in
the vulgar tongue; and I have seen silly literati, tedious pedants, and
babblers in the vernacular, who were enough to plague one to death with
their scraps of Latin.
_Scip._ No more of this: proceed to your philosophical remarks.
_Berg._ They are already delivered.
_Scip._ How so?
_Berg._ In those remarks on Latin and the vulgar tongue, which I began
and you finished.
_Scip._ Do you call railing philosophising? Sanctify the unhallowed
plague of evil speaking, Berganza, and give it any name you please, it
will, nevertheless entail upon us the name of cynics, which means dogs
of ill tongue. In God's name, hold your peace, and go on with your
story.
_Berg._ How can I go on with my story, if I hold my peace?
_Scip._ I mean go on with it in one piece, and don't hang on so many
tails to it as to make it look like a polypus.
_Berg._ Speak correctly, Scipio: one does not say the tails but the arms
of a polypus. But to my story: my evil fortune, not content with having
torn me from my studies, and from the calm and joyous life I led amid
them; not content with having fastened me up behind a door, and
transferred me from the liberality of the students to the stinginess of
the negress, resolved to rob me of the little ease and comfort I still
enjoyed. Look ye, Scipio, you may set it down with me for a certain
fact, that ill luck will hunt out and find the unlucky one, though he
hides in the uttermost parts of the earth. I have reason to say this;
for the negress was in love with a negro, also belonging to the house,
who slept in the porch between the street-door and the inner one behind
which I was fastened, and they could only meet at night, to which end
they had stolen the keys or got false ones. Every night the negress came
down stairs, and stopping my mouth with a piece of meat or cheese,
opened the door for the negro. For some days, the woman's bribes kept my
conscience asleep; for but for them, I began to fear that my ribs would
come together, and that I should be changed from a mastiff to a
greyhound. But my better nature coming at last to my aid, I bethought me
of what was due to my master, whose bread I ate; and that I ought to act
as becomes not only honest dogs, but all who have masters to serve.
_Scip._ There now, Berganza, you have spoken what I call true
philosophy; but go on. Do not make too long a yarn--not to say tail of
your history.
_Berg._ But, first of all, pray tell me if you know what is the meaning
of the word philosophy? For though I use it, I do not know what the
thing really is, only I guess that it is something good.
_Scip._ I will tell you briefly. The word is compounded of two Greek
words, _philo_, love, and _sophia_, wisdom; so that it means love of
wisdom, and philosopher a lover of wisdom.
_Berg._ What a deal you know, Scipio. Who the deuce taught you Greek
words?
_Scip._ Truly you are a simpleton, Berganza, to make so much of a matter
that is known to every schoolboy; indeed, there are many persons who
pretend to know Greek, though they are ignorant of it, just as is the
case with Latin.
_Berg._ I believe it, Scipio; and I would have such persons put under a
press, as the Portuguese do with the negroes of Guinea, and have all the
juice of their knowledge well squeezed out of them, so that they might
no more cheat the world with their scraps of broken Greek and Latin.
_Scip._ Now indeed, Berganza, you may bite your tongue, and I may do
the same; for we do nothing but rail in every word.
_Berg._ Ay, but I am not bound to do as I have heard that one Charondas,
a Tyrian, did, who published a law that no one should enter the national
assembly in arms, on pain of death. Forgetting this, he one day entered
the assembly girt with a sword; the fact was pointed out to him, and, on
the instant, he drew his sword, plunged it into his body, and thus he
was the first who made the law, broke it, and suffered its penalty. But
I made no law; all I did was to promise that I would bite my tongue, if
I chanced to utter an acrimonious word; but things are not so strictly
managed in these times as in those of the ancients. To-day a law is
made, and to-morrow it is broken, and perhaps it is fit it should be so.
To-day a man promises to abandon his fault, and to-morrow he falls into
a greater. It is one thing to extol discipline, and another to inflict
it on one's self; and indeed there is a wide difference between saying
and doing. The devil may bite himself, not I; nor have I a mind to
perform heroic acts of self-denial here on this mat, where there are no
witnesses to commend my honourable determination.
_Scip._ In that case, Berganza, were you a man you would be a hypocrite,
and all your acts would be fictitious and false, though covered with the
cloak of virtue, and done only that men might praise you, like the acts
of all hypocrites.
_Berg._ I don't know what I should do if I were a man; but what I do
know is that at present I shall not bite my tongue, having so many
things yet to tell, and not knowing how or when I shall be able to
finish them; but rather fearing that when the sun rises we shall be left
groping without the power of speech.
_Scip._ Heaven forbid it! Go on with your story, and do not run off the
road into needless digressions; in that way only you will come soon to
the end of it, however long it may be.
_Berg._ I say, then, that having seen the thievery, impudence, and
shameful conduct of the negroes, I determined, like a good servant, to
put an end to their doings, if possible, and I succeeded completely in
my purpose. The negress, as I have told you, used to come to amuse
herself with the negro, making sure of my silence on account of the
pieces of meat, bread, or cheese she threw me. Gifts have much power,
Scipio.
_Scip._ Much. Don't digress: go on.
_Berg._ I remember, when I was a student, to have heard from the master
a Latin phrase or adage, as they call it, which ran thus: _habet bovem
in lingua_.
_Scip._ O confound your Latin! Have you so soon forgotten what we have
said of those who mix up that language with ordinary conversation?
_Berg._ But this bit of Latin comes in here quite pat; for you must know
that the Athenians had among their coin one which was stamped with the
figure of an ox; and whenever a judge failed to do justice in
consequence of having been corrupted, they used to say, "He has the ox
on his tongue."
_Scip._ I do not see the application.
_Berg._ Is it not very manifest, since I was rendered mute many times by
the negress's gifts, and was careful not to bark when she came down to
meet her amorous negro? Wherefore I repeat, that great is the power of
gifts.
_Scip._ I have already admitted it; and were it not to avoid too long a
digression, I could adduce many instances in point; but I will speak of
these another time, if heaven grants me an opportunity of narrating my
life to you.
_Berg._ God grant it! meanwhile I continue. At last my natural integrity
prevailed over the negress's bribes; and one very dark night, when she
came down as usual, I seized her without barking, in order not to alarm
the household; and in a trice I tore her shift all to pieces, and bit a
piece out of her thigh. This little joke confined her for eight days to
her bed, for which she accounted to her masters by some pretended
illness or other. When she was recovered, she came down another night: I
attacked her again; and without biting, scratched her all over as if I
had been carding wool. Our battles were always noiseless, and the
negress always had the worst of them; but she had her revenge. She
stinted my rations and my bones, and those of my own body began to show
themselves through my skin. But though she cut short my victuals, that
did not hinder me from barking; so to make an end of me altogether, she
threw me a sponge fried in grease. I perceived the snare, and knew that
what she offered me was worse than poison, for it would swell up in the
stomach, and never leave it with life. Judging then that it was
impossible for me to guard against the insidious attacks of such a base
enemy, I resolved to get out of her sight, and put some space between
her and me. One day, I found myself at liberty, and without bidding
adieu to any of the family, I went into the street; and before I had
gone a hundred paces, I fell in with the alguazil I mentioned in the
beginning of my story, as being a great friend of my first master
Nicholas the butcher. He instantly knew me, and called me by my name. I
knew him too, and went up to him with my usual ceremonies and caresses.
He took hold of me by the neck, and said to his men, "This is a famous
watch-dog, formerly belonging to a friend of mine: let us bring him
home." The men said, if I was a watch-dog, I should be of great use to
them all, and they wanted to lay hold on me to lead me along; but the
alguazil said, it was not necessary, for I knew him, and would follow
him. I forgot to tell you, that the spiked collar I wore when I ran away
from the flock was stolen from me at an inn by a gipsy, and I went
without one in Seville; but my new master put on me a collar all studded
with brass. Only consider, Scipio, this change in my fortunes, Yesterday
I was a student, and to-day I found myself a bailiff.
_Scip._ So wags the world, and you need not exaggerate the vicissitudes
of fortune, as if there were any difference between the service of a
butcher and that of a bailiff. I have no patience when I hear some
persons rail at fortune, whose highest hopes never aspired beyond the
life of a stable-boy. How they curse their ill-luck, and all to make the
hearers believe that they have known better days, and have fallen from
some high estate.
_Berg._ Just so. Now you must know that this alguazil was on intimate
terms with an attorney; and the two were connected with a pair of
wenches not a bit better than they ought to be, but quite the reverse.
They were rather good looking, but full of meretricious arts and
impudence. These two served their male associates as baits to fish with.
Their dress and deportment was such that you might recognise them for
what they were at the distance of a musket shot; they frequented the
houses of entertainment for strangers, and the period of the fairs in
Cadiz and Seville was their harvest time, for there was not a Breton
with whom they did not grapple. Whenever a bumpkin fell into their
snares they apprised the alguazil and the attorney to what inn they were
going, and the latter then seized the party as lewd persons, but never
took them to prison, for the strangers always paid money to get out of
the scrape.
One day it happened that Colendres--this was the name of the alguazil's
mistress--picked up a Breton, and made an appointment with him for the
night, whereof she informed her friend; and they were hardly undressed
before the alguazil, the attorney, two bailiffs, and myself entered the
room. The amorous pair were sorely disconcerted, and the alguazil,
inveighing against the enormity of their conduct, ordered them to dress
with all speed, and go with him to prison. The Breton was dismayed, the
attorney interceded from motives of compassion, and prevailed on the
alguazil to commute the penalty for only a hundred reals. The Breton
called for a pair of leather breeches he had laid on a chair at the end
of the room, and in which there was money to pay his ransom, but the
breeches were not to be seen. The fact was, that when I entered the
room, my nostrils were saluted by a delightful odour of ham. I followed
the scent, and found a great piece of ham in one of the pockets of the
breeches, which I carried off into the street, in order to enjoy the
contents without molestation. Having done so, I returned to the house,
where I found the Breton vociferating in his barbarous jargon, and
calling for his breeches, in one of the pockets of which he said he had
fifty gold crowns. The attorney suspected that either Colendres or the
bailiffs had stolen the money; the alguazil was of the same opinion,
took them aside, and questioned them. None of them knew anything, and
they all swore at each other like troopers. Seeing the hubbub, I went
back to the street where I had left the breeches, having no use for the
money in them; but I could not find them, for some one passing by had no
doubt picked them up.
The alguazil, in despair at finding that the Breton had no money to
bribe with, thought to indemnify himself by extorting something from the
mistress of the house. He called for her, and in she came half dressed,
and when she saw and heard the Breton bawling for his money, Colindres
crying in her shift, the alguazil storming, the attorney in a passion,
and the bailiffs ransacking the room, she was in no very good humour.
The alguazil ordered her to put on her clothes and be off with him to
prison, for allowing men and women to meet for bad purposes in her
house. Then indeed the row grew more furious than ever. "Senor Alguazil
and Senor Attorney," said the hostess, "none of your tricks upon me, for
I know a thing or two, I tell you. Give me none of your blustering, but
shut your mouth, and go your ways in God's name, otherwise by my faith
I'll pitch the house out of the windows, and blow upon you all; for I am
well acquainted with the Senora Colendres, and I know moreover that for
many months past she has been kept by the Senor Alguazil; so don't
provoke me to let out any more, but give this gentleman back his money,
and let us all part good friends, for I am a respectable woman, and I
have a husband with his patent of nobility with its leaden seals all
hanging to it, God be thanked! and I carry on this business with the
greatest propriety. I have the table of charges hung up where everybody
may see it, so don't meddle with me, or by the Lord I'll soon settle
your business. It is no affair of mine if women come in with my lodgers;
they have the keys of their rooms, and I am not a lynx to see through
seven walls."
My masters were astounded at the harangue of the landlady, and at
finding how well acquainted she was with the story of their lives; but
seeing there was nobody else from whom they could squeeze money, they
still pretended that they meant to drag her to prison. She appealed to
heaven against the unreasonableness and injustice of their behaving in
that manner when her husband was absent, and he too a man of such
quality. The Breton bellowed for his fifty crowns; the bailiffs
persisted in declaring that they had never set eyes on the breeches, God
forbid! The attorney privately urged the alguazil to search Colindres'
clothes, for he suspected she must have possessed herself of the fifty
crowns, since it was her custom to grope in the pockets of those who
took up with her company. Colindres declared that the Breton was drunk,
and that it was all a lie about his money. All in short was confusion,
oaths, and bawling, and there would have been no end to the uproar if
the lieutenant corregidor had not just then entered the room, having
heard the noise as he was going his rounds. He asked what it was all
about, and the landlady replied with great copiousness of detail. She
told him who was the damsel Colindres (who by this time had got her
clothes on), made known the connection between her and the alguazil, and
exposed her plundering tricks; protested her own innocence, and that it
was never with her consent that a woman of bad repute had entered her
house; cried herself up for a saint, and her husband for a pattern of
excellence; and called out to a servant wench to run and fetch her
husband's patent of nobility out of the chest, that she might show it to
the Senor Lieutenant. He would then be able to judge whether the wife of
so respectable a man was capable of anything but what was quite correct.
If she did keep a lodging-house, it was because she could not help it.
God knows if she would not rather have some comfortable independence to
live upon at her ease. The lieutenant, tired of her volubility and her
bouncing about the patent of gentility, said to her, "Sister hostess, I
am willing to believe that your husband is a gentleman, but then you
must allow he is only a gentleman innkeeper." The landlady replied with
great dignity, "And where is the family in the world, however good its
blood may be, but you may pick some holes in its coat?" "Well, all I
have to say, sister, is, that you must put on your clothes, and come
away to prison." This brought her down from her high flights at once;
she tore her hair, cried, screamed, and prayed, but all in vain; the
inexorable lieutenant carried the whole party off to prison, that is to
say, the Breton, Colindres, and the landlady. I learned afterwards that
the Breton lost his fifty crowns, and was condemned besides to pay
costs; the landlady had to pay as much more. Colindres was let off scot
free, and the very day she was liberated she picked up a sailor, out of
whom she made good her disappointment in the affair of the Breton. Thus
you see, Scipio, what serious troubles arose from my gluttony.
_Scip._ Say rather from the rascality of your master.
_Berg._ Nay but listen, for worse remains to be told, since I am loth to
speak ill of alguazil and attorneys.
_Scip._ Ay, but speaking ill of one is not speaking ill of all. There is
many and many an attorney who is honest and upright. They do not all
take fees from both parties in a suit; nor extort more than their right;
nor go prying about into other people's business in order to entangle
them in the webs of the law; nor league with the justice to fleece one
side and skin the other. It is not every alguazil that is in collusion
with thieves and vagabonds, or keeps a decoy-duck in the shape of a
mistress, as your master did. Very many of them are gentlemen in feeling
and conduct; neither arrogant nor insolent, nor rogues and knaves, like
those who go about inns, measuring the length of strangers' swords, and
ruining their owners if they find them a hair's breadth longer than the
law allows.[60]
[60] When Cervantes wrote this, a decree had recently been issued
limiting the length of the sword.
_Berg._ My master hawked at higher game. He set himself up for a man of
valour, piqued himself on making famous captures, and sustained his
reputation for courage without risk to his person, but at the cost of
his purse. One day at the Puerta de Xeres he fell in, single-handed,
with six famous bravoes, whilst I could not render him any assistance,
having a muzzle on my mouth, which he made me wear by day and took off
at night. I was amazed at his intrepidity and headlong valour. He dashed
in and out between the six swords of the ruffians, and made as light of
them as if they were so many osier wands. It was wonderful to behold the
agility with which he assaulted, his thrusts and parries, and with what
judgment and quickness of eye he prevented his enemies from attacking
him from behind. In short, in my opinion and that of all the spectators
of the fight, he was a very Rhodomont, having fought his men all the way
from the Puerta de Xeres to the statues of the college of Maese Rodrigo,
a good hundred paces and more. Having put them to flight, he returned to
collect the trophies of the battle, consisting of three sheaths, and
these he carried to the corregidor, who was then, if I mistake not, the
licentiate Sarmiento de Valladares, renowned for the destruction of the
Sauceda.[61] As my master walked through the streets, people pointed to
him and said, "There goes the valiant man who ventured, singly, to
encounter the flower of the bravoes of Andalusia."
[61] An old promenade of the city.
He spent the remainder of the day in walking about the city, to let
himself be seen, and at night we went to the suburb of Triana, to a
street near the powder-mill, where my master, looking about to see if
any one observed him, entered a house, myself following him, and in the
court-yard we found the six rogues he had fought with, all untrussed,
and without cloaks or swords. One fellow, who appeared to be the
landlord, had a big jar of wine in one hand and a great tavern goblet in
the other, and, filling a sparkling bumper, he drank to all the company.
No sooner had they set eyes on my master than they all ran to him with
open arms. They all drank his health, and he returned the compliment in
every instance, and would have done it in as many more had there been
occasion--so affable he was and so averse to disoblige any one for
trifles. Were I to recount all that took place there--the supper that
was served up, the fights and the robberies they related, the ladies of
their acquaintance whom they praised or disparaged, the encomiums they
bestowed on each other, the absent bravoes whom they named, the clever
tricks they played, jumping up from supper to exhibit their sleight of
hand, the picked words they used, and, finally, the figure of the host,
whom all respected as their lord and father,--were I to attempt this, I
should entangle myself in a maze, from which I could never extricate
myself. I ascertained that the master of the house, whose name was
Monipodio, was a regular fence, and that my master's battle of the
morning had been preconcerted between him and his opponents, with all
its circumstances, including the dropping of the sword-sheaths, which my
master now delivered, in lieu of his share of the reckoning. The
entertainment was continued almost till breakfast time; and, by way of a
final treat, they gave my master information of a foreign bravo, an
out-and-outer, just arrived in the city. In all probability he was an
abler blade than themselves, and they denounced him from envy. My master
captured him the next night as he lay in bed; but had he been up and
armed, there was that in his face and figure which told me that he would
not have allowed himself to be taken so quietly. This capture, coming
close upon the heels of the pretended fight, enhanced the fame of my
poltroon of a master, who had no more courage than a hare, but sustained
his valorous reputation by treating and feasting; so that all the gains
of his office, both fair and foul, were frittered away upon his false
renown.
I am afraid I weary you, Scipio, but have patience and listen to another
affair that befel him, which I will tell you without a tittle more or
less than the truth. Two thieves stole a fine horse in Antequera,
brought him to Seville, and in order to sell him without risk, adopted
what struck me as being a very ingenious stratagem. They put up at two
different inns, and one of them entered a plaint in the courts of law,
to the effect that Pedro de Losada owed him four hundred reals, money
lent, as appeared by a note of hand, signed by the said Pedro, which he
produced in evidence. The lieutenant corregidor directed that Losada
should be called upon to state whether or not he acknowledged the note
as his own, and if he did, that he should be compelled to pay the amount
by seizure of his goods, or go to prison. My master and his friend the
attorney were employed in this business. One of the thieves took them to
the lodgings of the other, who at once acknowledged his note of hand,
admitted the debt, and offered his horse in satisfaction of the amount.
My master was greatly taken with the animal, and resolved to have it if
it should be sold. The time prescribed by the law being expired, the
horse was put up for sale; my master employed a friend to bid for it,
and it was knocked down to him for five hundred reals, though well worth
twelve or thirteen hundred. Thus one thief obtained payment of the debt
which was not due to him, the other a quittance of which he had no need,
and my master became possessed of the horse, which was as fatal to him
as the famous Sejanus[62] was to his owners.
[62] The successive owners of this animal were Seius, Dollabella,
Cassius, and Anthony. The first of them was executed, the rest committed
suicide.
The thieves decamped at once; and two days afterwards my master, after
having repaired the horse's trappings, appeared on his back in the Plaza
de San Francisco, as proud and conceited as a bumpkin in his holiday
clothes. Everybody complimented him on his bargain, declaring the horse
was worth a hundred and fifty ducats as surely as an egg was worth a
maravedi. But whilst he was caracolling and curvetting, and showing off
his own person and his horse's paces, two men of good figure and very
well dressed entered the square, one of whom cried out, "Why, bless my
soul! that is my horse Ironfoot, that was stolen from me a few days ago
in Antequera." Four servants, who accompanied him, said the same thing.
My master was greatly chopfallen; the gentleman appealed to justice,
produced his proofs, and they were so satisfactory that sentence was
given in his favour, and my master was dispossessed of the horse. The
imposture was exposed; and it came out how, through the hands of justice
itself, the thieves had sold what they had stolen; and almost everybody
rejoiced that my master's covetousness had made him burn his fingers.
His disasters did not end there. That night the lieutenant going his
rounds, was informed that there were robbers abroad as far as San
Julian's wards. Passing a cross-road he saw a man running away, and
taking me by the collar, "At him, good dog!" he said, "At him, boy!"
Disgusted as I was with my master's villanies, and eager to obey the
lieutenant's orders, I made no hesitation to seize my own master and
pull him down to the ground, where I would have torn him to pieces if
the thief-takers had not with great difficulty separated us. They wanted
to punish me, and even to beat me to death with sticks; and they would
have done so if the lieutenant had not bade them let me alone, for I had
only done what he ordered me. The warning was not lost upon me, so
without taking my leave of anybody, I leaped through an opening in the
wall, and before daybreak I was in Mayrena, a place about four leagues
from Seville.
There by good luck I fell in with a party of soldiers, who, as I heard,
were going to embark at Cartagena. Among them were four of my late
master's ruffian friends; one of them was the drummer, who had been a
catchpole and a great buffoon, as drummers frequently are. They all knew
me and spoke to me, asking after my master as if I could reply; but the
one who showed the greatest liking for me was the drummer, and so I
determined to attach myself to him, if he would let me, and to accompany
the expedition whether they were bound for Italy or Flanders. For in
spite of the proverb, a blockhead at home is a blockhead all the world
over, you must agree with me that travelling and sojourning among
various people makes men wise.
_Scip._ That is so true that I remember to have heard from a master of
mine, a very clever man, that the famous Greek, Ulysses, was renowned as
wise solely because he had travelled and seen many men and nations. I
therefore applaud your determination to go with the soldiers, wherever
they might take you.
_Berg._ To help him in the display of his jugglery, the drummer began to
teach me to dance to the sound of the drum, and to play other monkey
tricks such as no other dog than myself could ever have acquired. The
detachment marched by very short stages; we had no commissary to control
us; the captain was a mere lad, but a perfect gentleman, and a great
christian; the ensign had but just left the page's hall at the court;
the serjeant was a knowing blade, and a great conductor of companies
from the place where they were raised to the port of embarkation. The
detachment was full of ruffians whose insolent behaviour, in the places
through which we passed, redounded in curses directed to a quarter where
they were not deserved. It is the misfortune of the good prince to be
blamed by some of his subjects, for faults committed by others of them,
which he could not remedy if he would, for the circumstances attendant
on war are for the most part inevitably harsh, oppressive, and untoward.
In the course of a fortnight, what with my own cleverness, and the
diligence of him I had chosen for my patron, I learned to jump for the
king of France, and not to jump for the good-for-nothing landlady; he
taught me to curvet like a Neapolitan courser, to move in a ring like a
mill horse, and other things which might have made one suspect that they
were performed by a demon in the shape of a dog. The drummer gave me the
name of the wise dog, and no sooner were we arrived at a halting place,
than he went about, beating his drum, and giving notice to all who
desired to behold the marvellous graces and performances of the wise
dog, that they were to be seen at such a house, for four or eight
maravedis a head, according to the greater or less wealth of the place.
After these encomiums everybody ran to see me, and no one went away
without wonder and delight. My master exulted in the gains I brought
him, which enabled him to maintain six of his comrades like princes. The
envy and covetousness of the rogues was excited, and they were always
watching for an opportunity to steal me, for any way of making money by
sport has great charms for many. This is why there are so many puppet
showmen in Spain, so many who go about with peep shows, so many others
who hawk pens and ballads, though their stock, if they sold it all,
would not be enough to keep them for a day; and yet they are to be found
in taverns and drinking-shops all the year round, whence I infer that
the cost of their guzzling is defrayed by other means than the profits
of their business. They are all good-for-nothing vagabonds, bread
weevils and winesponges.
_Scip._ No more of that, Berganza; let us not go over the same ground
again. Continue your story, for the night is waning, and I should not
like, when the sun rises, that we should be left in the shades of
silence.
_Berg._ Keep it and listen. As it is an easy thing to extend and improve
our inventions, my master, seeing how well I imitated a Neapolitan
courser, made me housings of gilt leather, and a little saddle, which he
fitted on my back; he put on it a little figure of a man, with lance in
hand, and taught me to run straight at a ring fixed between two stakes.
As soon as I was perfect in that performance, my master announced that
on that day the wise dog would run at the ring, and exhibit other new
and incomparable feats, which, indeed, I drew from my own invention, not
to give my master the lie. We next marched to Montilla, a town belonging
to the famous and great christian, Marquis of Priego, head of the house
of Aguilar and Montilla. My master was quartered, at his own request, in
a hospital; he made his usual proclamation, and as my great fame had
already reached the town, the court-yard was filled with spectators in
less than an hour. My master rejoiced to see such a plenteous harvest,
and resolved to show himself that day a first-rate conjuror. The
entertainment began with my leaping through a hoop. He had a willow
switch in his hand, and when he lowered it, that was a signal for me to
leap; and when he kept it raised, I was not to budge.
On that day (for ever memorable in my life) he began by saying, "Come,
my friend, jump for that juvenile old gentleman, you know, who blacks
his beard; or, if you won't, jump for the pomp and grandeur of Donna
Pimpinela de Plafagonia, who was the fellow servant of the Galician
kitchen wench at Valdeastillas. Don't you like that, my boy? Then jump
for the bachelor Pasillas, who signs himself licentiate without having
any degree. How lazy you are! Why don't you jump? Oh! I understand! I
am up to your roguery! Jump, then, for the wine of Esquivias, a match
for that of Ciudad Real, St. Martin, and Rivadavia." He lowered the
switch, and I jumped in accordance with the signal. Then, addressing the
audience, "Do not imagine, worshipful senate," he said, "that it is any
laughing matter what this dog knows. I have taught him four-and-twenty
performances, the least of which is worth going thirty leagues to see.
He can dance the zaraband and the chacona better than their inventor; he
tosses off a pint of wine without spilling a drop; he intones a sol, fa,
mi, re, as well as any sacristan. All these things, and many others
which remain to be told, your worships shall witness during the time the
company remains here. At present, our wise one will give another jump,
and then we will enter upon the main business."
Having inflamed the curiosity of the audience, or senate, as he called
them, with this harangue, he turned to me and said, "Come now, my lad,
and go through all your jumps with your usual grace and agility; but
this time it shall be for the sake of the famous witch who is said to
belong to this place." The words were hardly out of his mouth, when the
matron of the hospital, an old woman, who seemed upwards of seventy,
screamed out, "Rogue, charlatan, swindler, there is no witch here. If
you mean Camacha, she has paid the penalty of her sin, and is where God
only knows; if you mean me, you juggling cheat, I am no witch, and never
was one in my life; and if I ever was reputed to be a witch, I may thank
false witnesses, and the injustice of the law, and a presumptuous and
ignorant judge. All the world knows the life of penance I lead, not for
any acts of witchcraft, which I have never done, but for other great
sins which I have committed as a poor sinner. So get out of the
hospital, you rascally sheep-skin thumper, or by all the saints I'll
make you glad to quit it at a run." And with that she began to screech
at such a rate, and pour such a furious torrent of abuse upon my master,
that he was utterly confounded. In fine, she would not allow the
entertainment to proceed on any account. My master did not care much
about the row, as he had his money in his pocket, and he announced that
he would give the performance next day in another hospital. The people
went away cursing the old woman, and calling her a witch, and a bearded
hag into the bargain. We remained for all that in the hospital that
night, and the old woman meeting me alone in the yard, said, "Is that
you, Montiel, my son? Is that you?" I looked up as she spoke, and gazed
steadily at her, seeing which, she came to me with tears in her eyes,
threw her arms round my neck, and would have kissed my mouth if I had
allowed her; but I was disgusted, and would not endure it.
_Scip._ You were quite right, for it is no treat, but quite the reverse,
to kiss or be kissed by an old woman.
_Berg._ What I am now going to relate I should have told you at the
beginning of my story, as it would have served to diminish the surprise
we felt at finding ourselves endowed with speech. Said the old woman to
me, "Follow me, Montiel, my son, that you may know my room; and be sure
you come to me to-night, that we may be alone together, for I have many
things to tell you of great importance for you to know." I drooped my
head in token of obedience, which confirmed her in her belief that I was
the dog Montiel whom she had been long looking for, as she afterwards
told me. I remained bewildered with surprise, longing for the night to
see what might be the meaning of this mystery or prodigy, and as I had
heard her called a witch, I expected wonderful things from the
interview. At last the time came, and I entered the room, which was
small, and low, and dimly lighted by an earthenware lamp. The old woman
trimmed it, sat down on a chest, drew me to her, and without speaking a
word, fell to embracing me, and I to taking care that she did not kiss
me.
"I did always hope in heaven," the old woman began, "that I should see
my son before my eyes were closed in the last sleep; and now that I have
seen you, let death come when it will, and release me from this life of
sorrow. You must know, my son, that there lived in this city the most
famous witch in the world, called Camacha de Montilla. She was so
perfect in her art, that the Erichtheas, Circes, and Medeas, of whom old
histories, I am told, are full, were not to be compared to her. She
congealed the clouds when she pleased, and covered the face of the sun
with them; and when the whim seized her, she made the murkiest sky clear
up at once. She fetched men in an instant from remote lands; admirably
relieved the distresses of damsels who had forgot themselves for a
moment; enabled widows to console themselves without loss of reputation;
unmarried wives, and married those she pleased. She had roses in her
garden in December, and gathered wheat in January. To make watercresses
grow in a handbasin was a trifle to her, or to show any persons whom you
wanted to see, either dead or alive, in a looking-glass, or on the nail
of a newborn infant. It was reported that she turned men into brutes,
and that she made an ass of a sacristan, and used him really and truly
in that form for six years. I never could make out how this was done;
for as for what is related of those ancient sorceresses, that they
turned men into beasts, the learned are of opinion that this means only
that by their great beauty and their fascinations, they so captivated
men and subjected them to their humours, as to make them seem
unreasoning animals. But in you, my son, I have a living instance to the
contrary, for I know that you are a rational being, and I see you in the
form of a dog; unless indeed this is done through that art which they
call Tropelia, which makes people mistake appearances and take one thing
for another.
"Be this as it may, what mortifies me is that neither your mother nor
myself, who were disciples of the great Camacha, ever came to know as
much as she did, and that not for want of capacity, but through her
inordinate selfishness, which could never endure that we should learn
the higher mysteries of her art, and be as wise as herself. Your mother,
my son, was called Montiela, and next to Camacha, she was the most
famous of witches. My name is Canizares; and, if not equal in
proficiency to either of these two, at least I do not yield to them in
good will to the art. It is true that in boldness of spirit, in the
intrepidity with which she entered a circle, and remained enclosed in it
with a legion of fiends, your mother was in no wise inferior to Camacha
herself; while, for my part, I was always somewhat timid, and contented
myself with conjuring half a legion; but though I say it that should
not, in the matter of compounding witches' ointment, I would not turn my
back upon either of them, no, nor upon any living who follow our rules.
But you must know, my son, ever since I have felt how fast my life is
hastening away upon the light wings of time, I have sought to withdraw
from all the wickedness of witchcraft in which I was plunged for many
years, and I have only amused myself with white magic, a practice so
engaging that it is most difficult to forego it. Your mother acted in
the same manner; she abandoned many evil practices, and performed many
righteous works; but she would not relinquish white magic to the hour of
her death. She had no malady, but died by the sorrow brought upon her by
her mistress, Camacha, who hated her because she saw that in a short
time Montiela would know as much as herself, unless indeed she had some
other cause of jealousy not known to me.
"Your mother was pregnant, and her time being come, Camacha was her
midwife. She received in her hands what your mother brought forth, and
showed her that she had borne two puppy dogs. 'This is a bad business,'
said Camacha; 'there is some knavery here. But, sister Montiela, I am
your friend, and I will conceal this unfortunate birth; so have patience
and get well, and be assured that your misfortune shall remain an
inviolable secret.' I was present at this extraordinary occurrence, and
was not less astounded than your mother. Camacha went away taking the
whelps with her, and I remained to comfort the lying-in woman, who could
not bring herself to believe what had happened. At last Camacha's end
drew near, and when she felt herself at the point of death, she sent for
her and told her how she had turned her sons into dogs on account of a
certain grudge she bore her, but that she need not distress herself, for
they would return to their natural forms when it was least expected; but
this would not happen 'until they shall see the exalted quickly brought
low, and the lowly exalted by an arm that is mighty to do it.'
"Your mother wrote down this prophecy, and deeply engraved it in her
memory, and so did I, that I might impart it to one of you if ever the
opportunity should present itself. And in hopes to recognise you, I have
made it a practice to call every dog of your colour by your mother's
name, to see if any of them would answer to one so unlike those usually
given to dogs; and, this evening, when I saw you do so many things, and
they called you the wise dog, and also when you looked up at me upon my
calling to you in the yard, I believed that you were really the son of
Montiela. It is with extreme pleasure I acquaint you with the history
of your birth, and the manner in which you are to recover your original
form. I wish it was as easy as it was for the golden ass of Apuleius,
who had only to eat a rose for his restoration; but yours depends upon
the actions of others, and not upon your own efforts. What you have to
do meanwhile, my son, is to commend yourself heartily to God, and hope
for the speedy and prosperous fulfilment of the prophecy; for since it
was pronounced by Camacha it will be accomplished without any doubt, and
you and your brother, if he is alive, will see yourselves as you would
wish to be. All that grieves me is that I am so near my end, that I can
have no hope of witnessing the joyful event.
"I have often longed to ask my goat how matters would turn out with you
at last; but I had not the courage to do so, for he never gives a
straightforward answer, but as crooked and perplexing as possible. That
is always the way with our lord and master; there is no use in asking
him anything, for with one truth he mingles a thousand lies, and from
what I have noted of his replies it appears that he knows nothing for
certain of the future, but only by way of conjecture. At the same time
he so be-fools us that, in spite of a thousand treacherous tricks he
plays us, we cannot shake off his influence. We go to see him a long way
from here in a great field, where we meet a multitude of warlocks and
witches, and are feasted without measure, and other things take place
which, indeed and in truth, I cannot bring myself to mention, nor will I
offend your chaste ears by repeating things so filthy and abominable.
Many are of opinion that we frequent these assemblies only in
imagination, wherein the demon presents to us the images of all those
things which we afterwards relate as having occurred to us in reality;
others, on the contrary, believe that we actually go to them in body and
soul; and for my part I believe that both opinions are true, since we
know not when we go in the one manner or in the other; for all that
happens to us in imagination does so with such intensity, that it is
impossible to distinguish between it and reality. Their worships the
inquisitors have had sundry opportunities of investigating this matter,
in the cases of some of us whom they have had under their hands, and I
believe that they have ascertained the truth of what I state.
"I should like, my son, to shake off this sin, and I have exerted
myself to that end. I have got myself appointed matron to this hospital;
I tend the poor, and some die who afford me a livelihood either by what
they leave me, or by what I find among their rags, through the great
care I always take to examine them well. I say but few prayers, and only
in public, but grumble a good deal in secret. It is better for me to be
a hypocrite than an open sinner; for my present good works efface from
the memory of those who know me the bad ones of my past life. After all,
pretended sanctity injures no one but the person who practises it. Look
you, Montiel, my son, my advice to you is this: be good all you can; but
if you must be wicked, contrive all you can not to appear so. I am a
witch, I do not deny it, and your mother was one likewise; but the
appearances we put on were always enough to maintain our credit in the
eyes of the whole world. Three days before she died, we were both
present at a grand sabbath of witches in a valley of the Pyrenees; and
yet when she died it was with such calmness and serenity, that were it
not for some grimaces she made a quarter of an hour before she gave up
the ghost, you would have thought she lay upon a bed of flowers. But her
two children lay heavy at her heart, and even to her last gasp she never
would forgive Camacha, such a resolute spirit she had. I closed her eyes
and followed her to the grave, and there took my last look at her;
though, indeed, I have not lost the hope of seeing her again before I
die, for they say that several persons have met her going about the
churchyards and the cross-roads in various forms, and who knows but I
may fall in with her some time or other, and be able to ask her whether
I can do anything for the relief of her conscience?"
Every word that the old hag uttered in praise of her she called my
mother went like a knife to my heart; I longed to fall upon her and tear
her to pieces, and only refrained from unwillingness that death should
find her in such a wicked state. Finally she told me that she intended
to anoint herself that night and go to one of their customary
assemblies, and inquire of her master as to what was yet to befal me. I
should have liked to ask her what were the ointments she made use of;
and it seemed as though she read my thoughts, for she replied to my
question as though it had been uttered.
"This ointment," she said, "is composed of the juices of exceedingly
cold herbs, and not, as the vulgar assert, of the blood of children whom
we strangle. And here you may be inclined to ask what pleasure or profit
can it be to the devil to make us murder little innocents, since he
knows that being baptised they go as sinless creatures to heaven, and
every Christian soul that escapes him is to him a source of poignant
anguish. I know not what answer to give to this except by quoting the
old saying, that some people would give both their eyes to make their
enemy lose one. He may do it for sake of the grief beyond imagination
which the parents suffer from the murder of their children; but what is
still more important to him is to accustom us to the repeated commission
of such a cruel and perverse sin. And all this God allows by reason of
our sinfulness; for without his permission, as I know by experience, the
devil has not the power to hurt a pismire; and so true is this, that one
day when I requested him to destroy a vineyard belonging to an enemy of
mine, he told me that he could not hurt a leaf of it, for God would not
allow him. Hence you may understand when you come to be a man, that all
the casual evils that befal men, kingdoms, and cities, and peoples,
sudden deaths, shipwrecks, devastations, and all sorts of losses and
disasters, come from the hand of the Almighty, and by his sovereign
permission; and the evils which fall under the denomination of crime,
are caused by ourselves. God is without sin, whence it follows that we
ourselves are the authors of sin, forming it in thought, word, and deed;
God permitting all this by reason of our sinfulness, as I have already
said.
"Possibly you will ask, my son, if so be you understand me, who made me
a theologian? And mayhap you will say to yourself, Confound the old hag!
why does not she leave off being a witch since she knows so much? Why
does not she turn to God, since she knows that he is readier to forgive
sin than to permit it? To this I reply, as though you had put the
question to me, that the habit of sinning becomes a second nature, and
that of being a witch transforms itself into flesh and blood; and amidst
all its ardour, which is great, it brings with it a chilling influence
which so overcomes the soul as to freeze and benumb its faith, whence
follows a forgetfulness of itself, and it remembers neither the terrors
with which God threatens it, nor the glories with which he allures it.
In fact, as sin is fleshly and sensual, it must exhaust and stupefy all
the feelings, and render the soul incapable of rising to embrace any
good thought, or to clasp the hand which God in his mercy continually
holds out to it. I have one of those souls I have described; I see it
clearly; but the empire of the senses enchains my will, and I have ever
been and ever shall be bad.
"But let us quit this subject, and go back to that of our unguents. They
are of so cold a nature that they take away all our senses when we
anoint ourselves with them; we remain stretched on the ground, and then
they say we experience all those things in imagination which we suppose
to occur to us in reality. Sometimes after we have anointed and changed
ourselves into fowls, foals, or deer, we go to the place where our
master awaits us. There we recover our own forms and enjoy pleasures
which I will not describe, for they are such as the memory is ashamed to
recal, and the tongue refuses to relate. The short and the long of it
is, I am a witch, and cover my many delinquencies with the cloak of
hypocrisy. It is true that if some esteem and honour me as a good woman,
there are many who bawl in my ear the name imprinted upon your mother
and me by order of an ill-tempered judge, who committed his wrath to the
hands of the hangman; and the latter, not being bribed, used his plenary
power upon our shoulders. But that is past and gone; and all things
pass, memories wear out, lives do not renew themselves, tongues grow
tired, and new events make their predecessors forgotten. I am matron of
a hospital; my behaviour is plausible in appearance; my unguents procure
me some pleasant moments, and I am not so old but that I may live
another year, my age being seventy-five. I cannot fast on account of my
years, nor pray on account of the swimming in my head, nor go on
pilgrimages for the weakness of my legs, nor give alms because I am
poor, nor think rightly because I am given to back-biting, and to be
able to backbite one must first think evil. I know for all that that God
is good and merciful, and that he knows what is in store for me, and
that is enough; so let us drop this conversation which really makes me
melancholy. Come, my son, and see me anoint myself; for there is a cure
for every sorrow; and though the pleasures which the devil affords us
are illusive and fictitious, yet they appear to us to be pleasures; and
sensual delight is much greater in imagination than in actual fruition,
though it is otherwise with true joys."
After this long harangue she got up, and taking the lamp went into
another and smaller room. I followed her, filled with a thousand
conflicting thoughts, and amazed at what I had heard and what I expected
to see. Canizares hung the lamp against the wall, hastily stripped
herself to her shift, took a jug from a corner, put her hand into it,
and, muttering between her teeth, anointed herself from her feet to the
crown of her head. Before she had finished she said to me, that whether
her body remained senseless in that room, or whether it quitted it, I
was not to be frightened, nor fail to wait there till morning, when she
would bring me word of what was to befal me until I should be a man. I
signified my assent by drooping my head; and she finished her unction,
and stretched herself on the floor like a corpse. I put my mouth to
hers, and perceived that she did not breathe at all. One thing I must
own to you, friend Scipio, that I was terribly frightened at seeing
myself shut up in that narrow room with that figure before me, which I
will describe to you as well as I can.
She was more than six feet high, a mere skeleton covered with a black
wrinkled skin. Her dugs were like two dried and puckered ox-bladders;
her lips were blackened; her long teeth locked together; her nose was
hooked; her eyes starting from her head; her hair hung in elf-locks on
her hollow wrinkled cheeks;--in short, she was all over diabolically
hideous. I remained gazing on her for a while, and felt myself overcome
with horror as I contemplated the hideous spectacle of her body, and the
worse occupation of her soul. I wanted to bite her to see if she would
come to herself, but I could not find a spot on her whole body that did
not fill me with disgust. Nevertheless, I seized her by one heel, and
dragged her to the yard, without her ever giving any sign of feeling.
There seeing myself at large with the sky above me, my fear left me, or
at least abated, so much as to give me courage to await the result of
that wicked woman's expedition, and the news she was to bring me.
Meanwhile, I asked myself, how comes this old woman to be at once so
knowing and so wicked? How is it that she can so well distinguish
between casual and culpable evils? How is it that she understands and
speaks so much about God, and acts so much from the prompting of the
devil? How is it that she sins so much from choice, not having the
excuse of ignorance?
In these reflections I passed the night. The day dawned and found us
both in the court, she lying still insensible, and I on my haunches
beside her, attentively watching her hideous countenance. The people of
the hospital came out, and seeing this spectacle, some of them
exclaimed, "The pious Canizares is dead! See how emaciated she is with
fasting and penance." Others felt her pulse, and finding that she was
not dead, concluded that she was in a trance of holy ecstacy; whilst
others said, "This old hag is unquestionably a witch, and is no doubt
anointed, for saints are never seen in such an indecent condition when
they are lost in religious ecstacy; and among us who know her, she has
hitherto had the reputation of a witch rather than a saint." Some
curious inquirers went so far as to stick pins in her flesh up to the
head, yet without ever awaking her. It was not till seven o'clock that
she came to herself; and then finding how she was stuck over with pins,
bitten in the heels, and her back flayed by being dragged from her room,
and seeing so many eyes intently fixed upon her, she rightly concluded
that I had been the cause of her exposure. "What, you thankless,
ignorant, malicious villain," she cried, "is this my reward for the acts
I did for your mother and those I intended to do for you?" Finding
myself in peril of my life under the talons of that ferocious harpy, I
shook her off, and seizing her by her wrinkled flank, I worried and
dragged her all about the yard, whilst she shrieked for help from the
fangs of that evil spirit. At these words, most present believed that I
must be one of those fiends who are continually at enmity with good
Christians. Some were for sprinkling me with holy water, some were for
pulling me off the old woman, but durst not; others bawled out words to
exorcise me. The witch howled, I tightened my grip with my teeth, the
confusion increased, and my master was in despair, hearing it said that
I was a fiend. A few who knew nothing of exorcisms caught up three or
four sticks and began to baste me. Not liking the joke, I let go the old
woman; in three bounds I was in the street, and in a few more I was
outside the town, pursued by a host of boys, shouting, "Out of the way!
the wise dog is gone mad." Others said "he is not mad, but he is the
devil in the form of a dog." The people of the place were confirmed in
their belief that I was a devil by the tricks they had seen me perform,
by the words spoken by the old woman when she woke out of her infernal
trance, and by the extraordinary speed with which I shot away from them,
so that I seemed to vanish from before them like a being of the other
world. In six hours I cleared twelve leagues; and arrived at a camp of
gipsies in a field near Granada. There I rested awhile, for some of the
gipsies who recognised me as the wise dog, received me with great
delight, and hid me in a cave, that I might not be found if any one came
in search of me; their intention being, as I afterwards learned, to make
money by me as my master the drummer had done. I remained twenty days
among them, during which I observed their habits and ways of life; and
these are so remarkable that I must give you an account of them.
_Scip._ Before you go any further, Berganza, we had better consider what
the witch said to you, and see if there can possibly be a grain of truth
in the great lie to which you give credit. Now, what an enormous
absurdity it would be to believe that Camacha could change human beings
into brutes, or that the sacristan served her for years under the form
of an ass. All these things, and the like, are cheats, lies, or
illusions of the devil; and if it now seems to ourselves that we have
some understanding and reason--since we speak, though we are really dogs
or bear that form--we have already said that this is a portentous and
unparalleled case; and though it is palpably before us, yet we must
suspend our belief until the event determines what it should be. Shall I
make this more plain to you? Consider upon what frivolous things Camacha
declared our restoration to depend, and that what seems a prophecy to
you is nothing but a fable, or one of those old woman's tales, such as
the headless horse, and the wand of virtues, which are told by the
fireside in the long winter nights; for were it anything else it would
already have been accomplished, unless, indeed, it is to be taken in
what I have heard called an allegorical sense: that is to say, a sense
which is not the same as that which the letter imports, but which,
though differing from it, yet resembles it. Now for your
prophecy:--"They are to recover their true forms when they shall see the
exalted quickly brought low, and the lowly exalted by a hand that is
mighty to do it." If we take this in the sense I have mentioned, it
seems to me to mean that we shall recover our forms when we shall see
those who yesterday were at the top of fortune's wheel, to-day cast down
in the mire, and held of little account by those who most esteemed them;
so, likewise, when we shall see others who, but two hours ago, seemed
sent into the world only to figure as units in the sum of its
population, and now are lifted up to the very summit of prosperity. Now,
if our return, as you say, to human form, were to depend on this, why we
have already seen it, and we see it every hour. I infer, then, that
Camacha's words are to be taken, not in an allegorical, but in a
literal, sense; but this will help us out no better, since we have many
times seen what they say, and we are still dogs, as you see. And so
Carnacha was a cheat, Canizares an artful hag, and Montiela a fool and a
rogue--be it said without offence, if by chance she was the mother of us
both, or yours, for I won't have her for mine. Furthermore, I say that
the true meaning is a game of nine-pins, in which those that stand up
are quickly knocked down, and the fallen are set up again, and that by a
hand that is able to do it. Now think whether or not in the course of
our lives we have ever seen a game of nine-pins, or having seen it, have
therefore been changed into men.
_Berg._ I quite agree with you Scipio, and have a higher opinion of your
judgment than ever. From all you have said, I am come to think and
believe that all that has happened to us hitherto, and that is now
happening, is a dream; but let us not therefore fail to enjoy this
blessing of speech, and the great excellence of holding human discourse
all the time we may; and so let it not weary you to hear me relate what
befel me with the gipsies who hid me in the cave.
_Scip._ With great pleasure. I will listen to you, that you in your turn
may listen to me, when I relate, if heaven pleases, the events of my
life.
_Berg._ My occupation among the gipsies was to contemplate their
numberless tricks and frauds, and the thefts they all commit from the
time they are out of leading-strings and can walk alone. You know what a
multitude there is of them dispersed all over Spain. They all know each
other, keep up a constant intelligence among themselves, and
reciprocally pass off and carry away the articles they have purloined.
They render less obedience to their king than to one of their own people
whom they style count, and who bears the surname of Maldonado, as do all
his descendants. This is not because they come of that noble line, but
because a page belonging to a cavalier of that name fell in love with a
beautiful gipsy, who would not yield to his wishes unless he became a
gipsy and made her his wife. The page did so, and was so much liked by
the other gipsies, that they chose him for their lord, yielded him
obedience, and in token of vassalage rendered to him a portion of
everything they stole, whatever it might be.
To give a colour to their idleness the gipsies employ themselves in
working in iron, and you may always see them hawking pincers, tongs,
hammers, fire-shovels, and so forth, the sale of which facilitates their
thefts. The women are all midwives, and in this they have the advantage
over others, for they bring forth without cost or attendants. They wash
their new-born infants in cold water, and accustom them from birth to
death to endure every inclemency of weather. Hence they are all strong,
robust, nimble leapers, runners, and dancers. They always marry among
themselves, in order that their bad practices may not come to be known,
except by their own people. The women are well behaved to their
husbands, and few of them intrigue except with persons of their own
race. When they seek for alms, it is rather by tricks and juggling than
by appeals to charity; and as no one puts faith in them, they keep none,
but own themselves downright vagabonds; nor do I remember to have ever
seen a gipsy-woman taking the sacrament, though I have often been in the
churches. The only thoughts of their minds are how to cheat and steal.
They are fond of talking about their thefts and how they effected them.
A gipsy, for instance, related one day in my presence how he had
swindled a countryman as you shall hear:
The gipsy had an ass with a docked tail, and he fitted a false tail to
the stump so well that it seemed quite natural. Then he took the ass to
market and sold it to a countryman for ten ducats. Having pocketed the
money, he told the countryman that if he wanted another ass, own brother
to the one he had bought, and every bit as good, he might have it a
bargain. The countryman told him to go and fetch it, and meanwhile he
would drive that one home. Away went the purchaser; the gipsy followed
him, and some how or other, it was not long before he had stolen the
ass, from which he immediately whipped off the false tail, leaving only
a bare stump. He then changed the halter and saddle, and had the
audacity to go and offer the animal for sale to the countryman, before
the latter had discovered his loss. The bargain was soon made; the
purchaser went into his house to fetch the money to pay for the second
ass, and there he discovered the loss of the first. Stupid as he was, he
suspected that the gipsy had stolen the animal, and he refused to pay
him. The gipsy brought forward as witness the man who had received the
alcabala[63] on the first transaction, and who swore that he had sold
the countryman an ass with a very bushy tail, quite different from the
second one; and an alguazil, who was present, took the gipsy's part so
strongly that the countryman was forced to pay for the ass twice over.
Many other stories they told, all about stealing beasts of burden, in
which art they are consummate masters. In short, they are a thoroughly
bad race, and though many able magistrates have taken them in hand, they
have always remained incorrigible.
[63] A tax on sales and transfers.
After I had remained with them twenty days, they set out for Murcia,
taking me with them. We passed through Granada, where the company was
quartered to which my master the drummer belonged. As the gipsies were
aware of this, they shut me up in the place where they were lodged. I
overheard them talking about their journey, and thinking that no good
would come of it, I contrived to give them the slip, quitted Granada,
and entered the garden of a Morisco,[64] who gladly received me. I was
quite willing to remain with him and watch his garden,--a much less
fatiguing business in my opinion than guarding a flock of sheep; and as
there was no need to discuss the question of wages, the Morisco soon had
a servant and I a master. I remained with him more than a month, not
that the life I led with him was much to my liking, but because it gave
me opportunities of observing that of my master, which was like that of
all the other Moriscoes in Spain. O what curious things I could tell
you, friend Scipio, about that half Paynim rabble, if I were not afraid
that I should not get to the end of my story in a fortnight! Nay, if I
were to go into particulars, two months would not be enough. Some few
specimens, however, you shall hear.
[64] A Christian of Moorish descent.
Hardly will you find among the whole race one man who is a sincere
believer in the holy law of Christianity. Their only thought is how to
scrape up money and keep it; and to this end they toil incessantly and
spend nothing. The moment a real falls into their clutches, they condemn
it to perpetual imprisonment; so that by dint of perpetually
accumulating and never spending, they have got the greater part of the
money of Spain into their hands. They are the grubs, the magpies, the
weasels of the nation. Consider how numerous they are, and that every
day they add much or little to their hoards, and that as they increase
in number so the amount of their hoarded wealth must increase without
end. None of them of either sex make monastic vows, but all marry and
multiply, for thrifty living is a great promoter of fecundity. They are
not wasted by war or excessive toil; they plunder us in a quiet way, and
enrich themselves with the fruits of our patrimonies which they sell
back to us. They have no servants, for they all wait upon themselves.
They are at no expense for the education of their sons, for all their
lore is but how to rob us. From the twelve sons of Jacob, who entered
Egypt, as I have heard, there had sprung, when Moses freed them from
captivity, six hundred thousand fighting men, besides women and
children. From this we may infer how much the Moriscoes have multiplied,
and how incomparably greater must be their numbers.
_Scip._ Means have been sought for remedying the mischiefs you have
mentioned and hinted at; and, indeed, I am sure that those which you
have passed over in silence, are even more serious than those which you
have touched upon. But our commonwealth has most wise and zealous
champions, who, considering that Spain produces and retains in her bosom
such vipers as the Moriscoes, will, with God's help, provide a sure and
prompt remedy for so great an evil. Go on.
_Berg._ My master being a stingy hunks, like all his caste, I lived
like himself chiefly on maize bread and buckwheat porridge; but this
penury helped me to gain paradise, in the strange manner you shall hear.
Every morning, by daybreak, a young man used to seat himself at the foot
of one of the many pomegranate trees. He had the look of a student,
being dressed in a rusty suit of threadbare baize, and was occupied in
writing in a note book, slapping his forehead from time to time, biting
his nails, and gazing up at the sky. Sometimes he was so immersed in
reverie, that he neither moved hand nor foot, nor even winked his eyes.
One day I drew near him unperceived, and heard him muttering between
his teeth. At last, after a long silence, he cried out aloud, "Glorious!
The very best verse I ever composed in my life!" and down went something
in his note book. From all this, it was plain that the luckless wight
was a poet. I approached him with my ordinary courtesies, and when I had
convinced him of my gentleness, he let me lie down at his feet, and
resumed the course of his thoughts, scratching his head, falling into
ecstacies, and then writing as before.
Meanwhile there came into the garden another young man, handsome and
well dressed, with papers in his hand, at which he glanced from time to
time. The new comer walked up to the pomegranate tree, and said to the
poet, "Have you finished the first act?"
"I have just this moment finished it in the happiest manner possible,"
was the reply.
"How is that?"
"I will tell you! His Holiness the Pope comes forth in his pontificals,
with twelve cardinals in purple canonicals--for the action of my comedy
is supposed to take place at the season of _mutatio caparum_, when their
eminences are not dressed in scarlet but in purple--therefore propriety
absolutely requires that my cardinals should wear purple. This is a
capital point, and one on which your common run of writers would be sure
to blunder; but as for me I could not go wrong, for I have read the
whole Roman ceremonial through, merely that I might be exact as to these
dresses."
"But where do you suppose," said the other, "that our manager is to find
purple robes for twelve cardinals?"
"If a single one is wanting," cried the poet, "I would as soon think of
flying, as of letting my comedy be represented without it. Zounds! is
the public to lose that magnificent spectacle! Just imagine the splendid
effect on the stage of a supreme Pontiff and twelve grave cardinals,
with all the other dignitaries, who will of course accompany them! By
heavens, it will be one of the grandest things ever seen on the stage,
not excepting even the nosegay of Duraja!"
I now perceived that one of these young men was a poet, and the other a
comedian. The latter advised the former that he should cut out a few of
his cardinals, if he did not want to make it impossible for the manager
to produce the piece. The poet would not listen to this, but said they
might be thankful that he had not brought in the whole conclave, to be
present at the memorable event which he proposed to immortalise in his
brilliant comedy. The player laughed, left him to his occupation, and
returned to his own, which was studying a part in a new play. The poet,
after having committed to writing some verses of his magnificent comedy,
slowly and gravely drew from his pocket some morsels of bread, and about
twenty raisins, or perhaps not so many, for there were some crumbs of
bread among them, which increased their apparent number. He blew the
crumbs from the raisins, and ate them one by one, stalks and all, for I
did not see him throw anything away, adding to them the pieces of bread,
which had got such a colour from the lining of his pocket, that they
looked mouldy, and were so hard that he could not get them down, though
he chewed them over and over again. This was lucky for me, for he threw
them to me, saying, "Catch, dog, and much good may it do you." Look,
said I to myself, what nectar and ambrosia this poet gives me; for that
is the food on which they say these sons of Apollo are nourished. In
short, great for the most part is the penury of poets; but greater was
my need, since it obliged me to eat what he left.
As long as he was busy with the composition of his comedy he did not
fail to visit the garden, nor did I want crusts, for he shared them with
me very liberally; and then we went to the well, where we satisfied our
thirst like monarchs, I lapping, and he drinking out of a pitcher. But
at last the poet came no more, and my hunger became so intolerable, that
I resolved to quit the Morisco and seek my fortune in the city. As I
entered it, I saw my poet coming out of the famous monastery of San
Geronimo. He came to me with open arms, and I was no less delighted to
see him. He immediately began to empty his pockets of pieces of bread,
softer than those he used to, carry to the garden, and to put them
between my teeth without passing them through his own. From the softness
of the bits of bread, and my having seen my poet come out of the
monastery, I surmised that his muse, like that of many of his brethren,
was a bashful beggar. He walked into the city, and I followed him,
intending to take him for my master if he would let me, thinking that
the crumbs from his table might serve to support me, since there is no
better or ampler purse than charity, whose liberal hands are never poor.
After some time, we arrived at the house of a theatrical manager, called
Angulo the Bad, to distinguish him from another Angulo, not a manager
but a player, one of the best ever seen. The whole company was assembled
to hear my master's comedy read; but before the first act was half
finished, all had vanished, one by one, except the manager and myself,
who formed the whole audience. The comedy was such that to me, who am
but an ass in such matters, it seemed as though Satan himself had
composed it for the utter ruin and perdition of the poet; and I actually
shivered with vexation to see the solitude in which his audience had
left him. I wonder did his prophetic soul presage to him the disgrace
impending over him; for all the players--and there were more than twelve
of them--came back, laid hold on the poet, without saying a word, and,
had it not been for the authoritative interference of the manager, they
would have tossed him in a blanket. I was confounded by this sad turn of
affairs, the manager was incensed, the players very merry; and the poor
forlorn poet, with great patience, but a somewhat wry face, took the
comedy, thrust it into his bosom, muttering, "It is not right to cast
pearls before swine," and sadly quitted the place without another word.
I was so mortified and ashamed that I could not follow him, and the
manager caressed me so much that I was obliged to remain; and within a
month I became an excellent performer in interludes and pantomimes.
Interludes, you know, usually end with a cudgelling bout, but in my
master's theatre they ended with setting me at the characters of the
piece, whom I worried and tumbled one over the other, to the huge
delight of the ignorant spectators, and my master's great gain.
Oh, Scipio! what things I could tell you that I saw among these
players, and two other companies to which I belonged; but I must leave
them for another day, for it would be impossible to compress them within
moderate limits. All you have heard is nothing to what I could relate to
you about these people and their ways, their work and their idleness,
their ignorance and their cleverness, and other matters without end,
which might serve to disenchant many who idolise these fictitious
divinities.
_Scip._ I see clearly, Berganza, that the field is large; but leave it
now, and go on.
_Berg._ I arrived with a company of players in this city of Valladolid,
where they gave me a wound in an interlude that was near being the death
of me. I could not revenge myself then, because I was muzzled, and I had
no mind to do so afterwards in cold blood; for deliberate vengeance
argues a cruel and malicious disposition. I grew weary of this
employment, not because it was laborious, but because I saw in it many
things which called for amendment and castigation; and, as it was not in
my power to remedy them, I resolved to see them no more, but to take
refuge in an abode of holiness, as those do who forsake their vices when
they can no longer practise them; but better late than never. Well,
then, seeing you one night carrying the lantern with that good Christian
Mahudes, I noticed how contented you were, how righteous and holy was
your occupation. Filled with honest emulation, I longed to follow your
steps; and, with that laudable intention, I placed myself before
Mahudes, who immediately elected me your companion, and brought me to
this hospital. What has occurred to me since I have been here would take
some time to relate. I will just mention a conversation I heard between
four invalids, who lay in four beds next each other. It will not take
long to tell, and it fits in here quite pat.
_Scip._ Very well; but be quick, for, to the best of my belief, it
cannot be far from daylight.
_Berg._ The four beds were at the end of the infirmary, and in them lay
an alchemist, a poet, a mathematician, and one of those persons who are
called projectors.
_Scip._ I recollect these good people well.
_Berg._ One afternoon, last summer, the windows being closed, I lay
panting under one of their beds, when the poet began piteously to
bewail his ill fortune. The mathematician asked him what he complained
of.
"Have I not good cause for complaint?" he replied. "I have strictly
observed the rule laid down by Horace in his Art of Poetry, not to bring
to light any work until ten years after it has been composed. Now, I
have a work on which I was engaged for twenty years, and which has lain
by me for twelve. The subject is sublime, the invention perfectly novel,
the episodes singularly happy, the versification noble, and the
arrangement admirable, for the beginning is in perfect correspondence
with the middle and the end. Altogether it is a lofty, sonorous, heroic
poem, delectable and full of matter; and yet I cannot find a prince to
whom I may dedicate it--a prince, I say, who is intelligent, liberal,
and magnanimous. Wretched and depraved age this of ours!"
"What is the subject of the work?" inquired the alchemist.
"It treats," said the poet, "of that part of the history of king Arthur
of England which archbishop Turpin left unwritten, together with the
history of the quest of the Sangreal, the whole in heroic measure,--part
rhymes, part blank-verse; and in dactyles moreover, that is to say, in
dactylic noun substantives, without any admission of verbs."
"For my part, I am not much of a judge in matters of poetry," returned
the alchemist, "and therefore I cannot precisely estimate the misfortune
you complain of; but in any case it cannot equal my own in wanting
means, or a prince to back me and supply me with the requisites, for
prosecuting the science of alchemy; but for which want alone I should
now be rolling in gold, and richer than ever was Midas, Crassus, or
Croesus."
"Have you ever succeeded, Senor Alchemist," said the mathematician, "in
extracting gold from the other metals?"
"I have not yet extracted it," the alchemist replied, "but I know for
certain that the thing is to be done, and that in less than two months
more I could complete the discovery of the philosopher's stone, by means
of which gold can be made even out of pebbles."
"Your worships," rejoined the mathematician, "have both of you made a
great deal of your misfortunes; but after all, one of you has a book to
dedicate, and the other is on the point of discovering the
philosopher's stone, by means of which he will be as rich as all those
who have followed that course. But what will you say of my misfortune,
which is great beyond compare? For two and twenty years I have been in
pursuit of the fixed point; here I miss it, there I get sight of it
again, and just when it seems that I am down upon it so that it can by
no means escape me, I find myself on a sudden so far away from it that I
am utterly amazed. It is just the same with the quadrature of the
circle. I have been within such a hair's breadth of it, that I cannot
conceive how it is that I have not got it in my pocket. Thus I suffer a
torment like that of Tantalus, who starves with fruits all round him,
and burns with thirst with water at his lip. At one moment I seem to
grasp the truth, at another it is far away from me; and, like another
Sisyphus, I begin again to climb the hill which I have just rolled down,
along with all the mass of my labours."
The projector, who had hitherto kept silence, now struck in. "Here we
are," he said, "four complainants, brought together by poverty under the
roof of this hospital. To the devil with such callings and employments,
as give neither pleasure nor bread to those who exercise them! I,
gentlemen, am a projector, and have at various times offered sundry
valuable projects to his majesty, all to his advantage, and without
prejudice to the realm; and I have now a memorial in which I supplicate
his majesty to appoint a person to whom I may communicate a new project
of mine, which will be the means of entirely liquidating all his debts.
But from the fate which all my other memorials have had, I foresee that
this one also will be thrown into the dust-hole. Lest, however, your
worships should think me crack-brained, I will explain my project to
you, though this be in some degree a publication of my secret.
"I propose that all his majesty's vassals, from the age of fourteen to
sixty, be bound once a month, on a certain appointed day, to fast on
bread and water; and that the whole expenditure, which would otherwise
be made on that day for food, including fruit, meat, fish, wine, eggs,
and vegetables, be turned into money, and the amount paid to his
majesty, without defrauding him of a doit, as each shall declare on
oath. By this means, in the course of twenty years the king will be
freed from all debts and incumbrances. The calculation is easily made.
There are in Spain more than three millions of persons of the specified
age, exclusive of invalids, old, and young, and there is not one of
these but spends at least a real and a half daily; however, I am willing
to put it at a real only, and less it cannot be, even were they to eat
nothing but leeks. Now does it not strike your worships that it would be
no bad thing to realise every month three millions of reals, all net and
clear as if they were winnowed and sifted? The plan, moreover, instead
of a loss to his majesty's subjects, would be a real advantage to them;
for by means of their fasts they would make themselves acceptable to God
and would serve their king, and some of them even might find it
beneficial to their health. The project is in every way admirable, as
you must confess; the money too might be collected by parishes, without
the cost of tax gatherers and receivers, those plagues and bloodsuckers
of the realm."
The others all laughed at the projector's scheme, and even he himself
joined in the laugh at last. For my part I found much matter for
reflection in the strange conversation I had heard, and in the fact that
people such as these usually end their days in a hospital.
_Scip._ That is true, Berganza. Have you anything more to say?
_Berg._ Two things more and then I shall have done, for I think day is
beginning to dawn. One day I accompanied Mahudes to ask for alms in the
house of the corregidor of this city, who is a great cavalier and a very
great Christian. We found him alone, and I thought fit to take advantage
of that opportunity to give him certain counsels which I had gathered
from the lips of an old invalid in this hospital, who was discussing the
means of saving from perdition those vagabond girls who take to a life
of vice to avoid labour,--an intolerable evil demanding an immediate and
effectual remedy. Wishing to impart what I had heard to the corregidor,
I lifted up my voice, thinking to speak; but instead of articulate
speech I barked so loudly that the corregidor called out in a passion to
his servants to drive me out of the room with sticks; whereupon one of
them caught up a copper syphon, which Was the nearest thing at hand, and
thrashed me with it so, that I feel it in my ribs to this hour.
_Scip._ And do you complain of that, Berganza?
_Berg._ Nay; have I not reason to complain, since I feel the pain even
now; and since it appears to me that my good intentions merited no such
chastisement?
_Scip._ Look you, Berganza, no one should interfere where he is not
wanted, nor take upon himself a business that in no wise is his concern.
Besides, you ought to know, that the advice of the poor, however good it
may be, is never taken; nor should the lowly presume to offer advice to
the great, who fancy they know everything. Wisdom in a poor man lies
under a cloud, and cannot be seen; or if by chance it shines through it,
people mistake it for folly, and treat it with contempt.
_Berg._ You are right, Scipio; and having had the lesson well beaten
into me, I will henceforth act accordingly. That same night I entered
the house of a lady of quality, who had in her arms a little lap-dog, so
very diminutive that she could have hid it in her bosom. The instant it
saw me, it flew at me out of its mistress's arms, barking with all its
might, and even went so far as to bite my leg. I looked at it with
disgust, and said to myself, "If I met you in the street, paltry little
animal, either I would take no notice of you at all, or I would make
mince meat of you." The little wretch was an example of the common
rule--that mean-souled persons when they are in favour are always
insolent, and ready to offend those who are much better than themselves,
though inferior to them in fortune.
_Scip._ We have many instances of this in worthless fellows, who are
insolent enough under cover of their masters' protection; but if death
or any other chance brings down the tree against which they leaned,
their true value becomes apparent, since they have no other merit than
that borrowed from their patrons; whilst virtue and good sense are
always the same, whether clothed or naked, alone or accompanied. But let
us break off now; for the light beaming in through those chinks shows
that the dawn is far advanced.
_Berg._ Be it so; and I trust in heaven that to-night we shall find
ourselves in a condition to renew our conversation.
The licentiate finished the reading of this dialogue, and the Alferez
his nap, both at the same time. "Although this colloquy is manifestly
fictitious," said the licentiate, "it is, in my opinion, so well
composed, that the Senor Alferez may well proceed with the second part."
"Since you give me such encouragement, I will do so," replied the
alferez, "without further discussing the question with you, whether the
dogs spoke or not."
"There is no need that we should go over that ground again," said the
licentiate. "I admire the art and the invention you have displayed in
the dialogue, and that is enough. Let us go to the Espolon,[65] and
recreate our bodily eyes, as we have gratified those of our minds."
[65] A promenade on the banks of the Arlozoro at Valladolid.
"With all my heart," said the alferez, and away they went.
THE LITTLE GIPSY GIRL.
It would almost seem that the Gitanos and Gitanas, or male and female
gipsies, had been sent into the world for the sole purpose of thieving.
Born of parents who are thieves, reared among thieves, and educated as
thieves, they finally go forth perfected in their vocation, accomplished
at all points, and ready for every species of roguery. In them the love
of thieving, and the ability to exercise it, are qualities inseparable
from their existence, and never lost until the hour of their death.
Now it chanced that an old woman of this race, one who had merited
retirement on full pay as a veteran in the ranks of Cacus, brought up a
girl whom she called Preciosa, and declared to be her granddaughter. To
this child she imparted all her own acquirements, all the various tricks
of her art. Little Preciosa became the most admired dancer in all the
tribes of Gipsydom; she was the most beautiful and discreet of all their
maidens; nay she shone conspicuous not only among the gipsies, but even
as compared with the most lovely and accomplished damsels whose praises
were at that time sounded forth by the voice of fame. Neither sun, nor
wind, nor all those vicissitudes of weather, to which the gipsies are
more constantly exposed than any other people, could impair the bloom of
her complexion or embrown her hands; and what is more remarkable, the
rude manner in which she was reared only served to reveal that she must
have sprung from something better than the Gitano stock; for she was
extremely pleasing and courteous in conversation, and lively though she
was, yet in no wise did she display the least unseemly levity; on the
contrary, amidst all her sprightliness, there was at the same time so
much genuine decorum in her manner, that in the presence of Preciosa no
gitana, old or young, ever dared to sing lascivious songs, or utter
unbecoming words.
The grandmother fully perceived what a treasure she had in her
grandchild; and the old eagle determined to set her young eaglet flying,
having been careful to teach her how to live by her talons. Preciosa was
rich in hymns, ballads, seguidillas, sarabands, and other ditties,
especially romances, which she sang with peculiar grace; for the cunning
grandmother knew by experience that such accomplishments, added to the
youth and beauty of her granddaughter, were the best means of increasing
her capital, and therefore she failed not to promote their cultivation
in every way she could. Nor was the aid of poets wanting; for some there
are who do not disdain to write for the gipsies, as there are those who
invent miracles for the pretended blind, and go snacks with them in what
they gain from charitable believers.
During her childhood, Preciosa lived in different parts of Castile; but
in her sixteenth year her grandmother brought her to Madrid, to the
usual camping-ground of the gipsies, in the fields of Santa Barbara.
Madrid seemed to her the most likely place to find customers; for there
everything is bought and sold. Preciosa made her first appearance in the
capital on the festival of Santa Anna, the patroness of the city, when
she took part in a dance performed by eight gitanas, with one gitano, an
excellent dancer, to lead them. The others were all very well, but such
was the elegance of Preciosa, that she fascinated the eyes of all the
spectators. Amidst the sound of the tambourine and castanets, in the
heat of the dance, a murmur of admiration arose for the beauty and grace
of Preciosa; but when they heard her sing--for the dance was accompanied
with song--the fame of the gitana reached its highest point; and by
common consent the jewel offered as the prize of the best dancer in that
festival was adjudged to her. After the usual dance in the church of
Santa Maria, before the image of the glorious Santa Anna, Preciosa
caught up a tambourine, well furnished with bells, and having cleared a
wide circle around her with pirouettes of exceeding lightness, she sang
a hymn to the patroness of the day. It was the admiration of all who
heard her. Some said, "God bless the girl!" Others, "'Tis a pity that
this maiden is a gitana: truly she deserves to be the daughter of some
great lord!" Others more coarsely observed, "Let the wench grow up, and
she will show you pretty tricks; she is closing the meshes of a very
nice net to fish for hearts." Another more good-natured but ill-bred
and stupid, seeing her foot it so lightly, "Keep it up! keep it up!
Courage, darling! Grind the dust to atoms!" "Never fear," she answered,
without losing a step; "I'll grind it to atoms."
At the vespers and feast of Santa Anna Preciosa was somewhat fatigued;
but so celebrated had she become for beauty, wit, and discretion, as
well as for her dancing, that nothing else was talked of throughout the
capital. A fortnight afterwards, she returned to Madrid, with three
other girls, provided with their tambourines and a new dance, besides a
new stock of romances and songs, but all of a moral character; for
Preciosa would never permit those in her company to sing immodest songs,
nor would she ever sing them herself. The old gitana came with her, for
she now watched her as closely as Argus, and never left her side, lest
some one should carry her off. She called her granddaughter, and the
girl believed herself to be her grandchild.
The young gitanas began their dance in the shade, in the Calle de
Toledo, and were soon encircled by a crowd of spectators. Whilst they
danced, the old woman gathered money among the bystanders, and they
showered it down like stones on the highway; for beauty has such power
that it can awaken slumbering charity. The dance over, Preciosa said,
"If you will give me four quartos, I will sing by myself a beautiful
romance about the churching of our lady the Queen Dona Margarita. It is
a famous composition, by a poet of renown, one who may be called a
captain in the battalion of poets." No sooner had she said this, than
almost every one in the ring cried out, "Sing it, Preciosa; here are my
four quartos;" and so many quartos were thrown down for her, that the
old gitana had not hands enough to pick them up. When the gathering was
ended, Preciosa resumed her tambourine, and sang the promised romance,
which was loudly encored, the whole audience crying out with one voice,
"Sing again, Preciosa, sing again, and dance for us, girl: thou shalt
not want quartos, whilst thou hast the ground beneath thy feet."
Whilst more than two hundred persons were thus looking on at the dance,
and listening to the singing of the gitana, one of the lieutenants of
the city passed by; and seeing so many people together, he asked what
was the occasion of the crowd. Being told that the handsome gitana was
singing there, the lieutenant, who was not without curiosity, drew near
also to listen, but in consideration of his dignity, he did not wait for
the end of the romance. The gitanilla, however, pleased him so much,
that he sent his page to tell the old crone to come to his house that
evening with her troop, as he wished his wife Dona Clara to hear them.
The page delivered the message, and the old gitana promised to attend.
After the performance was ended, and the performers were going
elsewhere, a very well-dressed page came up to Preciosa, and giving her
a folded paper, said, "Pretty Preciosa, will you sing this romance? It
is a very good one, and I will give you others from time to time, by
which you will acquire the fame of having the best romances in the
world."
"I will learn this one with much willingness," replied Preciosa; "and be
sure, senor, you bring me the others you speak of, but on condition that
there is nothing improper in them. If you wish to be paid for them, we
will agree for them by the dozen; but do not expect to be paid in
advance; that will be impossible. When a dozen have been sung, the money
for a dozen shall be forthcoming."
"If the Senora Preciosa only pays me for the paper," said the page, "I
shall be content. Moreover, any romance which does not turn out so well
shall not be counted."
"I will retain the right of choice," said Preciosa; and then she
continued her way with her companions up the street, when some gentlemen
called and beckoned to them from a latticed window. Preciosa went up and
looked through the window, which was near the ground, into a cheerful,
well-furnished apartment, in which several cavaliers were walking about,
and others playing at various games. "Will you give me a share of your
winnings, senors?" said Preciosa, in the lisping accent of the gipsies,
which she spoke not by nature but from choice. At the sight of Preciosa,
and at the sound of her voice, the players quitted the tables, the rest
left off lounging, and all thronged to the window, for her fame had
already reached them. "Come in! Let the little gipsies come in," said
the cavaliers, gaily; "we will certainly give them a share of our
winnings."
"But you might make it cost us dear, senors," said Preciosa.
"No, on the honour of gentlemen," said one, "you may come in, nina, in
full security that no one will touch the sole of your shoe. I swear this
to you by the order I wear on my breast;" and as he spoke he laid his
hand on the cross of the order of Calatrava which he wore.
"If you like to go in, Preciosa," said one of the gitanillas who were
with her, "do so by all means; but I do not choose to go where there are
so many men."
"Look you, Christina," answered Preciosa, "what you have to beware of is
one man alone; where there are so many there is nothing to fear. Of one
thing you may be sure, Christina; the woman who is resolved to be
upright may be so amongst an army of soldiers. It is well, indeed, to
avoid occasions of temptation, but it is not in crowded rooms like this
that danger lurks."
"Well then, let us go in, Preciosa," said her companion, "you know more
than a witch."
The old gipsy also encouraged them to go in, and that decided the
question. As soon as they had entered the room, the cavalier of the
order, seeing the paper which Preciosa carried, stretched out his hand
to take it. "Do not take it from me," she said: "It is a romance but
just given to me, and which I have not yet had time to read."
"And do you know how to read, my girl?" said one of the cavaliers.
"Ay, and to write too," said the old woman. "I have brought up my
grandchild as if she was a lawyer's daughter."
The cavalier opened the paper, and finding a gold crown inclosed in it,
said, "Truly, Preciosa, the contents of this letter are worth the
postage. Here is a crown inclosed in the romance."
"The poet has treated me like a beggar," said Preciosa; "but it is
certainly a greater marvel for one of his trade to give a crown than for
one of mine to receive it. If his romances come to me with this
addition, he may transscribe the whole _Romancero General_ and send me
every piece in it one by one. I will weigh their merit; and if I find
there is good matter in them, I will not reject them. Read the paper
aloud, senor, that we may see if the poet is as wise as he is liberal."
The cavalier accordingly read as follows:--
Sweet gipsy girl, whom envy's self
Must own of all fair maids the fairest,
Ah! well befits thy stony heart
The name thou, Preciosa,[66] bearest.
If as in beauty, so in pride
And cruelty thou grow to sight,
Woe worth the land, woe worth the age
Which brought thy fatal charms to light.
A basilisk in thee we see,
Which fascinates our gaze and kills.
No empire mild is thine, but one
That tyrannises o'er our wills.
How grew such charms 'mid gipsy tribes,
From roughest blasts without a shield?
How such a perfect chrysolite
Could humble Manzanares yield?
River, for this thou shalt be famed,
Like Tagus with its golden show,
And more for Preciosa prized
Than Ganges with its lavish flow.
In telling fortunes who can say
What dupes to ruin thou beguilest?
Good luck thou speak'st with smiling lips.
But luckless they on whom thou smilest!
Tis said they're witches every one,
The women of the gipsy race;
And all men may too plainly see
That thou hast witchcraft in thy face.
A thousand different modes are thine
To turn the brain; for rest or move,
Speak, sing, be mute, approach, retire,
Thou kindlest still the fire of love.
The freest hearts bend to thy sway,
And lose the pride of liberty;
Bear witness mine, thy captive thrall,
Which would not, if it could, be free.
These lines, thou precious gem of love,
Whose praise all power of verse transcend,
He who for thee will live or die,
Thy poor and humble lover sends.
[66] Piedra preciosa, precious stone.
"The poem ends with 'poor' in the last line," said Preciosa; "and that
is a bad sign. Lovers should never begin by saying that they are poor,
for poverty, it strikes me, is a great enemy to love."
"Who teaches you these things, girl?" said one of the cavaliers.
"Who should teach me?" she replied. "Have I not a soul in my body? Am I
not fifteen years of age? I am neither lame, nor halt, nor maimed in my
understanding. The wit of a gipsy girl steers by a different compass
from that which guides other people. They are always forward for their
years. There is no such thing as a stupid gitano, or a silly gitana.
Since it is only by being sharp and ready that they can earn a
livelihood, they polish their wits at every step, and by no means let
the moss grow under their feet. You see these girls, my companions, who
are so silent. You may think they are simpletons, but put your fingers
in their mouths to see if they have cut their wise teeth; and then you
shall see what you shall see. There is not a gipsy girl of twelve who
does not know as much as one of another race at five-and-twenty, for
they have the devil and much practice for instructors, so that they
learn in one hour what would otherwise take them a year."
The company were much amused by the gitana's chat, and all gave her
money. The old woman sacked thirty reals, and went off with her flock as
merry as a cricket to the house of the senor lieutenant, after promising
that she would return with them another day to please such liberal
gentlemen. Dona Clara, the lieutenant's lady, had been apprised of the
intended visit of the gipsies, and she and her doncellas and duenas, as
well as those of another senora, her neighbour, were expecting them as
eagerly as one looks for a shower in May. They had come to see Preciosa.
She entered with her companions, shining among them like a torch among
lesser lights, and all the ladies pressed towards her. Some kissed her,
some gazed at her; others blessed her sweet face, others her graceful
carriage. "This, indeed, is what you may call golden hair," cried Dona
Clara; "these are truly emerald eyes."[67] The senora, her neighbour,
examined the gitanilla piecemeal. She made a _pepetoria_[68] of all her
joints and members, and coming at last to a dimple in her chin, she
said, "Oh, what a dimple! it is a pit into which all eyes that behold it
must fall." Thereupon an esquire in attendance on Dona Clara, an elderly
gentleman with a long beard, exclaimed, "Call you this a dimple, senora?
I know little of dimples then if this be one. It is no dimple, but a
grave of living desires. I vow to God the gitanilla is such a dainty
creature, she could not be better if she was made of silver or sugar
paste. Do you know how to tell fortunes, nina?"
[67] It is hard to say what "exquisite reason" Cervantes can have had
for likening a girl's eyes to emeralds above all other gems. He uses the
phrase elsewhere, apparently without any ironical meaning.
[68] A dish, in which a fowl is served up disjointed.
"That I do, and in three or four different manners," replied Preciosa.
"You can do that too?" exclaimed Dona Clara. "By the life of my lord the
lieutenant, you must tell me mine, nina of gold, nina of silver, nina of
pearls, nina of carbuncles, nina of heaven, and more than that cannot be
said."
"Give the nina the palm of your hand, senora, and something to cross it
with," said the old gipsy; "and you will see what things she will tell
you, for she knows more than a doctor of medicine."
The senora Tenienta[69] put her hand in her pocket, but found it empty;
she asked for the loan of a quarto from her maids, but none of them had
one, neither had the senora her neighbour. Preciosa seeing this, said,
"For the matter of crosses all are good, but those made with silver or
gold are best. As for making the sign of the cross with copper money,
that, ladies, you must know lessens the luck, at least it does mine. I
always like to begin by crossing the palm with a good gold crown, or a
piece of eight, or at least a quarto, for, I am like the sacristans who
rejoice when there is a good collection."
[69] The wife of the _teniente_, or lieutenant. "
and you ask
for two-and-twenty maravedis? Go your ways, Contreras, for a tiresome
blockhead, as you always were."
"How witty you are," said the lady visitor; then turning to the squire,
"Do you happen to have a quarto about you, Senor Contreras? if you have,
give it me, and when my husband the doctor comes you shall have it
again."
"I have one," replied Contreras, "but it is pledged for two-and-twenty
maravedis for my supper; give me so much and I will fly to fetch it."
"We have not a quarto amongst us all," said Dona Clara, "and you ask
for two-and-twenty maravedis? Go your ways, Contreras, for a tiresome
blockhead, as you always were."
One of the damsels present, seeing the penury of the house, said to
Preciosa, "Nina, will it be of any use to make the cross with a silver
thimble?"
"Certainly," said Preciosa; "the best crosses in the world are made with
silver thimbles, provided there are plenty of them."
"I have one," said the doncella; "if that is enough, here it is, on
condition that my fortune be told too."
"So many fortunes to be told for a thimble!" exclaimed the old gipsy.
"Make haste, granddaughter, for it will soon be night." Preciosa took
the thimble, and began her sooth saying.
Pretty lady, pretty lady,
With a hand as silver fair,
How thy husband dearly loves thee
'Tis superfluous to declare.
Thou'rt a dove, all milk of kindness;
Yet at times too thou canst be
Wrathful as a tiger, or a
Lioness of Barbary.
Thou canst show thy teeth when jealous;
Truly the lieutenant's sly;
Loves with furtive sports to vary
Magisterial gravity.
What a pity! One worth having
Woo'd thee when a maiden fair.
Plague upon all interlopers!
You'd have made a charming pair.
Sooth, I do not like to say it,
Yet it may as well be said;
Thou wilt be a buxom widow;
Twice again shalt thou be wed.
Do not weep, my sweet senora;
We gitanas, you must know,
Speak not always true as gospel
Weep not then sweet lady so.
If the thought is too distressing,
Losing such a tender mate,
Thou hast but to die before him,
To escape a widow's fate.
Wealth abundant thou'lt inherit,
And that quickly, never fear:
Thou shalt have a son, a canon,
--Of what church does not appear;
Not Toledo; no, that can't be;
And a daughter--let me see--
Ay, she'll rise to be an abbess;
--That is, if a nun she be.
If thy husband do not drop off
From this moment in weeks four,
Burgos him, or Salamanca,
Shall behold corregidor.
Meanwhile keep thyself from tripping:
Where thou walkest, many a snare
For the feet of pretty ladies
Naughty gallants lay: beware!
Other things still more surprising
Shall on Friday next be told,
Things to startle and delight thee,
When I've crossed thy palm with gold.
Preciosa having finished this oracular descant for the lady of the
house, the rest of the company were all eager to have their fortunes
told likewise, but she put them off till the next Friday, when they
promised to have silver coin ready for crossing their palms. The senor
lieutenant now came in, and heard a glowing account of the charms and
accomplishments of the leading gitana. Having made her and her
companions dance a little, he emphatically confirmed the encomiums
bestowed on Preciosa; and putting his hand in his pocket he groped and
rummaged about in it for a while, but at last drew his hand out empty,
saying, "Upon my life I have not a doit. Give Preciosa a real, Dona
Clara; I will give it you by and by."
"That is all very well, senor," the lady replied; "but where is the real
to come from? Amongst us all we could not find a quarto to cross our
hands with."
"Well, give her some trinket or another, that Preciosa may come another
day to see us, when we will treat her better."
"No," said Dona Clara, "I will give her nothing to-day, and I shall be
sure she will come again."
"On the contrary," said Preciosa, "if you give me nothing. I will never
come here any more. Sell justice, senor lieutenant, sell justice, and
then you will have money. Do not introduce new customs, but do as other
magistrates do, or you will die of hunger. Look you, senor, I have heard
say that money enough may be made of one's office to pay any mulets that
may be incurred,[70] and to help one to other appointments."
[70] It was formerly the custom in Spain that a civil officer on giving
up his post, should remain for a certain time in the place where he had
served, to answer any charges of maladministration that might be brought
against him.
"So say and do those who have no conscience," said the lieutenant; "but
the judge who does his duty will have no mulet to pay; and to have well
discharged his office, will be his best help to obtain another."
"Your worship speaks like a very saint," replied Preciosa; "proceed
thus, and we shall snip pieces off your old coats for relics."
"You know a great deal, Preciosa," said the lieutenant; "say no more,
and I will contrive that their majesties shall see you, for you are fit
to be shown to a king."
"They will want me for a court fool," said the gitanilla, "and as I
never shall learn the trade, your pains will be all for nothing. If they
wanted me for my cleverness, they might have me; but in some palaces
fools thrive better than the wise. I am content to be a gitana, and
poor, and let Heaven dispose of me as it pleases."
"Come along, nina," said the old gipsy; "say no more, you have said a
great deal already, and know more than I ever taught you. Don't put too
fine a point to your wit for fear it should get blunted; speak of things
suitable to your years; and don't set yourself on the high ropes, lest
you should chance to have a fall."
"The deuce is in these gitanas," said the delighted lieutenant, as they
were taking their leave. The doncella of the thimble stopped them for a
moment, saying to Preciosa, "Tell me my fortune, or give me back my
thimble, for I have not another to work with."
"Senora doncella," replied Preciosa, "count upon your fortune as if it
were already told, and provide yourself with another; or else sew no
more gussets until I come again on Friday, when I will tell you more
fortunes and adventures than you could read in any book of knight
errantry."
The gipsies went away, and falling in with numerous workwomen returning
from Madrid to their villages as usual at the Ave Maria, they joined
company with them, as they always did for the greater security; for the
old gipsy lived in perpetual terror lest some one should run away with
her granddaughter.
One morning after this as they were returning to Madrid to levy black
mail along with other gitanas, in a little valley about five hundred
yards from the city, they met a handsome young gentleman richly dressed;
his sword and dagger were a blazo of gold; his hat was looped with a
jewelled band, and was adorned with plumes of various colours. The
gitanas stopped on seeing him, and set themselves to observe his
movements at their leisure, wondering much that so fine a cavalier
should be alone and on foot in such a place at that early hour. He came
up to them, and addressing the eldest gitana, said, "On your life,
friend, I entreat you do me the favour to let me say two words in
private to you and Preciosa. It shall be for your good."
"With all my heart," said the old woman, "so you do not take us much out
of our way, or delay us long;" and calling Preciosa, they withdrew to
some twenty paces distance, where they stopped, and the young gentleman
thus addressed them: "I am so subdued by the wit and beauty of Preciosa,
that after having in vain endeavoured to overcome my admiration, I have
at last found the effort impossible. I, senoras (for I shall always give
you that title if heaven favours my pretensions), am a knight, as this
dress may show you;" and opening his cloak he displayed the insignia of
one of the highest orders in Spain; "I am the son of----" (here he
mentioned a personage whose name we suppress for obvious reasons), "and
am still under tutelage and command. I am an only son, and expect to
inherit a considerable estate. My father is here in the capital, looking
for a certain post which by all accounts he is on the point of
obtaining. Being then of the rank and condition which I have declared to
you, I should yet wish to be a great lord for the sake of Preciosa, that
I might raise her up to my own level, and make her my equal and my lady.
I do not seek to deceive; the love I bear her is too deep for any kind
of deception; I only desire to serve her in whatever way shall be most
agreeable to her; her will is mine; for her my heart is wax to be
moulded as she pleases but enduring as marble to retain whatever
impression she shall make upon it. If you believe me I shall fear no
discouragement from any other quarter, but if you doubt me, I shall
despond. My name is----; my father's I have already given you; he lives
in such a house in such a street and you may inquire about him and me of
the neighbours, and of others also; for our name and quality are not so
obscure but that you may hear of us about the court, and every, where in
the capital. I have here a hundred crowns in gold to present to you, as
earnest of what I mean to give you hereafter; for a man will be no
niggard of his wealth who has given away his very soul."
Whilst the cavalier was speaking, Preciosa watched him attentively, and
doubtless she saw nothing to dislike either in his language or his
person. Turning to the old woman, she said, "Pardon me, grandmother, if
I take the liberty of answering this enamoured senor myself."
"Make whatever answer you please, granddaughter," said the old woman,
"for I know you have sense enough for anything." So Preciosa began.
"Senor cavalier," she said, "though I am but a poor gitana and humbly
born, yet I have a certain fantastic little spirit within me, which
moves me to great things. Promises do not tempt me, nor presents sap my
resolution, nor obsequiousness allure, nor amorous wiles ensnare me; and
although by my grandmother's reckoning I shall be but fifteen next
Michaelmas, I am already old in thought, and have more understanding
than my years would seem to promise. This may, perhaps, be more from
nature than from experience; but be that as it may, I know that the
passion of love is an impetuous impulse, which violently distorts the
current of the will, makes it dash furiously against all impediments,
and recklessly pursue the desired object. But not unfrequently when the
lover believes himself on the point of gaining the heaven of his wishes,
he falls into the hell of disappointment. Or say that the object is
obtained, the lover soon becomes wearied of his so much desired
treasure, and opening the eyes of his understanding he finds that what
before was so devoutly adored is now become abhorrent to him. The fear
of such a result inspires me with so great a distrust, that I put no
faith in words, and doubt many deeds. One sole jewel I have, which I
prize more than life, and that is my virgin purity, which I will not
sell for promises or gifts, for sold it would be in that case, and if it
could be bought, small indeed would be its value. Nor is it to be
filched from me by wiles or artifices; rather will I carry it with me to
my grave, and perhaps to heaven, than expose it to danger by listening
to specious tales and chimeras. It is a flower which nothing should be
allowed to sully, even in imagination if it be possible. Nip the rose
from the spray, and how soon it fades! One touches it, another smells
it, a third plucks its leaves, and at last the flower perishes in vulgar
hands. If you are come then, senor, for this booty, you shall never bear
it away except bound in the ties of wedlock. If you desire to be my
spouse, I will be yours; but first there are many conditions to be
fulfilled, and many points to be ascertained.
"In the first place I must know if you are the person you declare
yourself to be. Next, should I find this to be true, you must
straightway quit your father's mansion, and exchange it for our tents,
where, assuming the garb of a gipsy, you must pass two years in our
schools, during which I shall be able to satisfy myself as to your
disposition, and you will become acquainted with mine. At the end of
that period, if you are pleased with me and I with you, I will give
myself up to you as your wife; but till then I will be your sister and
your humble servant, and nothing more. Consider, senor, that during the
time of this novitiate you may recover your sight, which now seems lost,
or at least disordered, and that you may then see fit to shun what now
you pursue with so much ardour. You will then be glad to regain your
lost liberty, and having done so, you may by sincere repentance obtain
pardon of your family for your faults. If on these conditions you are
willing to enlist in our ranks, the matter rests in your own hands; but
if you fail in any one of them, you shall not touch a finger of mine."
The youth was astounded at Preciosa's decision, and remained as if
spell-bound, with his eyes bent on the ground, apparently considering
what answer he should return. Seeing this, Preciosa said to him, "This
is not a matter of such light moment that it can or ought to be
resolved on the spot. Return, senor, to the city, consider maturely what
is best for you to do; and you may speak with me in this same place any
week-day you please, as we are on our way to or from Madrid."
"When Heaven disposed me to love you, Preciosa," replied the cavalier,
"I determined to do for you whatever it might be your will to require of
me, though it never entered my thoughts that you would make such a
demand as you have now done; but since it is your pleasure that I should
comply with it, count me henceforth as a gipsy, and put me to all the
trials you desire, you will always find me the same towards you as I now
profess myself. Fix the time when you will have me change my garb. I
will leave my family under pretext of going to Flanders, and will bring
with me money for my support for some time. In about eight days I shall
be able to arrange for my departure, and I will contrive some means to
get rid of my attendants, so as to be free to accomplish my purpose.
What I would beg of you (if I might make bold to ask any favour) is
that, except to-day for the purpose of inquiring about me and my family,
you go no more to Madrid, for I would not that any of the numerous
occasions that present themselves there, should deprive me of the good
fortune I prize so dearly."
"Not so, senor gallant," said Preciosa: "wherever I go I must be free
and unfettered; my liberty must not be restrained or encumbered by
jealousy. Be assured, however, that I will not use it to such excess,
but that any one may see from a mile off that my honesty is equal to my
freedom. The first charge, therefore, I have to impose upon you is, that
you put implicit confidence in me; for lovers who begin by being
jealous, are either silly or deficient in confidence."
"You must have Satan himself within you, little one," said the old
gipsy; "why you talk like a bachelor of Salamanca. You know all about
love and jealousy and confidence. How is this? You make me look like a
fool, and I stand listening to you as to a person possessed, who talks
Latin without knowing it."
"Hold your peace, grandmother," replied Preciosa; "and know that all the
things you have heard me say are mere trifles to the many greater truths
that remain in my breast."
All that Preciosa said, and the sound sense she displayed, added fuel
to the flame that burned in the breast of the enamoured cavalier.
Finally, it was arranged that they should meet in the same place on that
day sennight, when he would report how matters stood with him, and they
would have had time to inquire into the truth of what he had told them.
The young gentleman then took out a brocaded purse in which he said
there were a hundred gold crowns, and gave it to the old woman; but
Preciosa would by no means consent that she should take them.
"Hold your tongue, nina," said her grandmother; "the best proof this
senor has given of his submission, is in thus having yielded up his arms
to us in token of surrender. To give, upon whatever occasion it may be,
is always the sign of a generous heart. Moreover, I do not choose that
the gitanas should lose, through my fault, the reputation they have had
for long ages of being greedy of lucre. Would you have me lose a hundred
crowns, Preciosa? A hundred crowns in gold that one may stitch up in the
hem of a petticoat not worth two reals, and keep them there as one holds
a rent-charge on the pastures of Estramadura! Suppose that any of our
children, grandchildren, or relations should fall by any mischance into
the hands of justice, is there any eloquence so sure to touch the ears
of the judge as the music of these crowns when they fall into his purse?
Three times, for three different offences, I have seen myself all but
mounted on the ass to be whipped; but once I got myself off by means of
a silver mug, another time by a pearl necklace, and the third time with
the help of forty pieces of eight, which I exchanged for quartos,
throwing twenty reals into the bargain. Look you, nina, ours is a very
perilous occupation, full of risks and accidents; and there is no
defence that affords us more ready shelter and succour than the
invincible arms of the great Philip: nothing beats the _plus ultra_.[71]
For the two faces of a doubloon, a smile comes over the grim visage of
the procurator and of all the other ministers of mischief, who are
downright harpies to us poor gitanas, and have more mercy for highway
robbers than for our poor hides. Let us be ever so ragged and wretched
in appearance, they will not believe that we are poor, but say that we
are like the doublets of the gavachos of Belmont, ragged and greasy and
full of doubloons."
[71] After the discovery of America the Spanish dollar was marked with
the pillars of Hercules and the legend "PLUS ULTRA."
"Say no more, for heaven's sake, grandmother," said Preciosa; "do not
string together so many arguments for keeping the money, but keep it,
and much good may it do you. I wish to God you would bury it in a grave
out of which it may never return to the light, and that there may never
be any need of it. We must, however, give some of it to these companions
of ours, who must be tired of waiting so long for us."
"They shall see one coin out of this purse as soon as they will see the
Grand Turk," the old woman replied. "The good senor will try if he has
any silver coin or a few coppers remaining, to divide amongst them, for
they will be content with a little."
"Yes, I have," he said, and he took from his pocket three pieces of
eight which he divided among the gitanas, with which they were more
delighted than the manager of a theatre when he is placarded as victor
in a contest with a rival. Finally it was settled that the party should
meet there again in a week, as before mentioned, and that the young
man's gipsy name should be Andrew Caballero, for that was a surname not
unknown among the gipsies. Andrew (as we shall henceforth call him)
could not find courage to embrace Preciosa, but darting his very soul
into her with a glance, he went away without it, so to speak, and
returned to Madrid. The gipsies followed soon after; and Preciosa, who
already felt a certain interest in the handsome and amiable Andrew, was
anxious to learn if he was really what he said.
They had not gone far before they met the page of the verses and the
gold crown. "Welcome, Preciosa," he said, coming up to her. "Have you
read the lines I gave you the other day?"
"Before I answer you a word," said she, "you must, by all you love best,
tell me one thing truly."
"Upon that adjuration," he replied, "I could not refuse an answer to any
question, though it should cost me my head."
"Well, then, what I want to know is this: are you, perchance, a poet?"
"If I were one, it would certainly be perchance," said the page; "but
you must know, Preciosa, that the name of poet is one which very few
deserve. Thus I am not a poet, but only a lover of poetry; yet for my
own use I do not borrow of others. The verses I gave you were mine, as
are these also which I give you now; but I am not a poet for all
that--God forbid."
"Is it such a bad thing to be a poet?" Preciosa asked.
"It is not a bad thing," he answered; "but to be a poet and nothing else
I do not hold to be very good. We should use poetry like a rich jewel,
the owner of which does not wear it every day, or show it to all people,
but displays it only at suitable times. Poetry is a beautiful maiden,
chaste, honest, discreet, reserved, and never overstepping the limits of
perfect refinement. She is fond of solitude; she finds pleasure and
recreation among fountains, meadows, trees, and flowers; and she
delights and instructs all who are conversant with her."
"I have heard for all that," said Preciosa, "that she is exceedingly
poor; something of a beggar in short."
"It is rather the reverse," said the page, "for there is no poet who is
not rich, since they all live content with their condition; and that is
a piece of philosophy which few understand. But what has moved you,
Preciosa, to make this inquiry?"
"I was moved to it, because, as I believe all poets, or most of them, to
be poor, that crown which you gave me wrapped up with the verses caused
me some surprise; but now that I know that you are not a poet, but only
a lover of poetry, it may be that you are rich, though I doubt it, for
your propensity is likely to make you run through all you have got. It
is a well-known saying, that no poet can either keep or make a fortune."
"But the saying is not applicable to me," said the page. "I make verses,
and I am neither rich nor poor; and without feeling it or making a talk
about it, as the Genoese do of their invitations, I can afford to give a
crown, or even two, to whom I like. Take then, precious pearl, this
second paper, and this second crown enclosed in it, without troubling
yourself with the question whether I am a poet or not. I only beg you to
think and believe that he who gives you this would fain have the wealth
of Midas to bestow upon you."
Preciosa took the paper, and feeling a crown within it, she said, "This
paper bids fair to live long, for it has two souls within it, that of
the crown and that of the verses, which, of course, are full of souls
and hearts as usual. But please to understand, Senor Page, that I do not
want so many souls; and that unless you take back one of them, I will
not receive the other on any account. I like you as a poet and not as a
giver of gifts; and thus we may be the longer friends, for your stock of
crowns may run out sooner than your verses."
"Well," said the page, "since you will have it that I am poor, do not
reject the soul I present to you in this paper, and give me back the
crown, which, since it has been touched by your hand, shall remain with
me as a hallowed relic as long as I live."
Preciosa gave him the crown, and kept the paper, but would not read it
in the street. The page went away exulting in the belief that Preciosa's
heart was touched, since she had treated him with such affability.
It being now her object to find the house of Andrew's father, she went
straight to the street, which she well knew, without stopping anywhere
to dance. About half way down it, she saw the gilded iron balcony which
Andrew had mentioned to her, and in it a gentleman of about fifty years
of age, of noble presence, with a red cross on his breast. This
gentleman seeing the gitanilla, called out, "Come up here, ninas, and we
will give you something." These words brought three other gentlemen to
the balcony, among whom was the enamoured Andrew. The instant he cast
his eyes on Preciosa he changed colour, and well nigh swooned, such was
the effect her sudden appearance had upon him. The girls went up stairs,
whilst the old woman remained below to pump the servants with respect to
Andrew. As they entered the room, the elder gentleman was saying to the
others, "This is no doubt th |
