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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Prosper Mérimée's Short Stories, by

+Prosper Mérimée

+

+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and

+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions

+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms

+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at

+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you

+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before

+using this eBook.

+

+Title: Prosper Mérimée's Short Stories

+

+Author: Prosper Mérimée

+

+Translator: George Burnham Ives

+

+Contributor: Grace King

+

+Release Date: March 17, 2022 [eBook #67643]

+

+Language: English

+

+Produced by: Thomas Frost, Tim Lindell and the Online Distributed

+             Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was

+             produced from images generously made available by The

+             Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)

+

+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PROSPER MÉRIMÉE'S SHORT

+STORIES ***

+

+

+

+

+

+

+LITTLE FRENCH MASTERPIECES

+

+[Illustration: PROSPER MÉRIMÉE

+

+From an etching]

+

+

+

+

+  Prosper Mérimée’s

+  Short Stories

+

+  Carmen

+  The Taking of the Redoubt

+  The Venus of Ille, etc.

+

+  Translated by

+  George Burnham Ives

+

+  With an Introduction by

+  Grace King

+

+  G. P. Putnam’s Sons

+  New York and London

+  The Knickerbocker Press

+  1909

+

+

+

+

+  COPYRIGHT, 1903

+  BY

+  G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS

+

+

+The Knickerbocker Press, New York

+

+

+

+

+Contents

+

+

+                                      PAGE

+

+  PROSPER MÉRIMÉE                       ix

+

+    CARMEN                               3

+

+    THE TAKING OF THE REDOUBT          137

+

+    MATEO FALCONE                      151

+

+    THE VENUS OF ILLE                  181

+

+

+

+

+Introduction

+

+Prosper Mérimée

+

+(1803-1870)

+

+

+The stories here presented are a selection from that brilliant

+series which shine like a constellation in French literature of the

+last century, blazoning Mérimée’s name across it. Each one has been

+tested and judged by successive generations of readers and critics.

+The authoritative appraisers of literary values, French and English,

+have been pronouncing upon them from the time of their publication

+until now, when they are still pronouncing upon them, as upon new

+productions. Their interest, nevertheless, is still fresh, their

+charm as attractive as ever, and inexplicable, as charm must be. The

+prediction that was made in their day having been fulfilled so far,

+it does not seem hazardous to renew it, at our own risk, that they may

+be placed alongside of those classics of fiction that meet so natural

+a soil in the human mind that we can no more foresee their ceasing to

+give pleasure to readers in course of time than we can foresee the

+flowers in the gardens ceasing to give pleasure to lovers of flowers.

+

+_Carmen_, with which the book begins, was the last one written of the

+series. It might, however, be said to antedate them all, for the first

+impulsive, perhaps instinctive, love of Mérimée’s imagination was for

+the passionate drama of Spain, and his first production, _The Plays of

+Clara Gazul_, was so vivid an imitation of it that it mystified the

+critics of the time, who had yet to learn the extreme susceptibility of

+Mérimée’s mind to exotic influences; a susceptibility that the author

+indulged, if he did not foster, throughout life.

+

+It was not until 1830 (after the publication of _Mateo Falcone_ and

+_The Taking of the Redoubt_) that Mérimée saw Spain with the eyes

+of his body, and became naturalised in that part of it, that, as he

+describes it, “was bounded on the north by a _gitana_ and on the south

+by a carbine,” whose patois he spoke fluently, in whose _ventas_ he

+was at home, where he confesses to have committed a thousand follies.

+In his letters addressed from Madrid and Valencia, during this first

+voyage to Spain, those who are curious about such questions can read

+the account of Mérimée’s introduction to Carmen,--that is, to José

+Maria, the contrabandist and bandit, and to the toreador. As for

+Carmen herself, “that servant of the devil,” as José Maria describes

+her only too well, although she does not figure in the letters, we may

+infer that she did in some of the “thousand follies.” The story was

+not, however, written until fifteen years later than this, after many

+subsequent visits to its birthplace. A postscriptum, dated 1842, is

+attached to the letters, giving an account of the death of the toreador

+and of José Maria.

+

+Mérimée had so long before this story proved himself the most

+exquisite master, in his day, of the art of simplicity and naturalness

+in writing, that he would seem to have left no farther room to himself

+for advance in perfection, no margin for additional praise for this his

+last story; and yet it has a quality of its own that distinguishes it

+from every preceding one.

+

+“Señor,” said José Maria, “one becomes a rascal without thinking of it;

+a pretty girl steals your wits, you fight for her, an accident happens,

+you have to live in the mountains, and from a smuggler you become a

+robber before you know it.”

+

+This is the simplicity and naturalness, not of Mérimée, but of José

+Maria himself; and the story that follows shows absolutely no other

+author than the condemned bandit. There is no consciousness in reading

+it of the perfection that mars the very perfection of _Colomba_, nor

+suspicion of premeditated pathos as in the supremely pathetic _Arsène

+Guillot_. Form and pathos are no more thought of by the author than by

+José Maria himself. And, therefore, as Taine says, “dissertations on

+primitive and savage instinct, learned essays like Schopenhauer’s on

+love and death, are not worth its hundred pages.”

+

+As if he himself recognised the finality of his art in this identity of

+it with nature, Mérimée laid aside his pen after writing it, and wrote

+no more stories for twenty years; in truth, wrote no more, for as his

+biographer Filon expresses it, when he took up his pen again, he found

+it irremediably rusted.

+

+_The Taking of the Redoubt_ resembles _Carmen_ in this, that the author

+so completely effaces his personality from the teller of the story,

+that one finds it easier to suppose than not that the incident was

+related to him, as he says in the prefatory note, by the officer to

+whom it happened, and that he merely wrote it down from memory. The

+concession, however, concedes nothing, as long as the word “memory”

+is retained in the explanation. For what it stands for here is an

+imagination that could make the carelessly dropped incident its own,

+and turn upon it a marvellous sight (lens-eye and light, all in one),

+until what we read was as clear to Mérimée as it is to us now. Then he

+wrote it down in the pages that are without a match in the thousands

+of descriptions of battles that have been written. As one does not go

+to another for words to describe what one sees oneself, so we need no

+interpreter of our sensations when we read _The Taking of the Redoubt_.

+It is for us alone, as Mérimée seems to tell us, to read it or not to

+read it, to see what took place or not see it.

+

+In the list of Mérimée’s stories _Mateo Falcone_ stands immediately

+before _The Taking of the Redoubt_. Both were published in the same

+year, in 1829, which was the twenty-sixth of the author’s age. It is

+so seldom mentioned now in English without Walter Pater’s judgment

+upon it, “perhaps the cruellest story in the world,” that that might

+well be added to the name as a sub-title. It would be so, perhaps, if

+Mérimée had not related it. He himself, despite the cold impassivity

+that he had schooled himself into maintaining as an author,--he himself

+shows here and there a trace of the emotion that he arouses in us.

+The temptation, fall, and punishment of the little child touch indeed

+the most sensitive nerve in the human heart; the one that can give

+the keenest pain; that cuts through the heart like a knife. The story

+would be well-nigh unbearable in another hand than Mérimée’s, or had he

+told it in a clean, clear thrust of reality, as in _The Taking of the

+Redoubt_. But he retards the action in the beginning with details and

+diverts the attention with local colour; not, however, be it remarked,

+such local colour as he saw with his own eyes, in Spain, but the kind

+that he learned how to make so easily in the days of _Clara Gazul_ and

+_La Guzla_, that he lost, as he confesses, all respect for it. Mateo,

+Gianetto, Gamba, and Giuseppa belong also to the domain of the not

+seen, not known. But the child, the unfortunate Fortunato, stands out

+against the artificial background of place, time, and circumstance,

+with a vividness of reality that, as in _The Taking of the Redoubt_,

+would make the reality seem vague and indistinct beside it. A few pages

+of this story might be cited as the highest point that Mérimée attained

+as an artist.

+

+He himself considered _The Venus of Ille_ the best story he ever wrote.

+The preference is characteristic of him. It contains all the elements

+of the mysterious and horrible for which he had an inherent passion;

+and he relates it as he loved to relate the extraordinary, in the tone

+of skeptical raillery that is the surest as well as the subtlest way of

+sowing in a reader distrust in the integrity of his common sense. This

+tone, also, was an inherent quality of Mérimée’s; it represented the

+attitude of his mind towards the illusions of his imagination, which

+he explains in one of his _Lettres Inédites_: “You cannot imagine,

+madame, the difference there is between the things which it pleases

+me to suppose and those which I admit to be true. I please myself in

+imagining goblins and fairies. I make my own hair stand on end by

+relating ghost stories to myself. But, notwithstanding the physical

+effect I experience, I am not prevented from not believing in ghosts;

+on this point my incredulity is so great that even if I were to see a

+ghost, I would not believe in it any the more.”

+

+The old mediæval legend was exhumed by Mérimée, as he unearthed the

+bronze statue of the maleficent Venus, in the little village under

+the shadow of the Canigou,--in all its beauty and terror, in all its

+ferocity, one might say, of pagan Christian. He altered nothing of

+it, and added only what as a visiting archæologist, his rôle in the

+story, he could not omit: the details of his rather curious experience;

+the impression made upon him by the statue, as a woman of seductive

+wickedness and cruel, imperious passions, a type of woman that, as his

+biographer comments, “none in the Paris of his day (the home of such

+divinities) understood so well as he.”

+

+The ascent to the dramatic catastrophe of the story is so natural,

+easy, and pleasant (the preparations for a wedding and its celebration

+are of all pleasant things in the world what a reader loves most to

+dally with); the means employed by the writer are so natural--for

+there is not the faintest suggestion of or appeal to the morbid--that

+we arrive at the crisis well prepared to lose none of its weird and

+terrible intensity, and the thrill and the shudder that arise in us

+then are as real as Mérimée’s own physical tribute to the power of his

+imagination.

+

+Such stories have an intrinsic value that renders them independent of

+an author’s name and reputation, even of his time and country. They are

+as easily detached from him, and with as little loss to themselves,

+as precious stones are from the name and place of the mine that once

+held them. This supreme distinction of a story is, nevertheless, what

+commends it to the assiduous seekers after the secret of literary

+perfection; the philosopher’s stone of the world of letters. Mérimée,

+on the whole, has stood the biographical and critical tests applied to

+him well, both as man and artist, and, although the secret of his art

+in truth went to the grave with him, this much at least has been found

+out, that he was worthy to be the author of his stories.

+

+[Illustration: (Signature) Grace King]

+

+

+

+

+Carmen

+

+    Πᾶσα γυνὴ χόλος ἐστίν· ἔχει δ' ἀγαθάς δύο ὥρας

+    Τήν μίαν ἐν θαλάμω, τήν μίαν ἐν θανάτω.

+

+    PALLADAS.

+

+

+I

+

+I had always suspected the geographers of not knowing what they were

+talking about when they placed the battle-field of Munda in the country

+of the Bastuli-Pœni, near the modern Monda, some two leagues north of

+Marbella. According to my own conjectures concerning the text of the

+anonymous author of the _Bellum Hispaniense_, and in view of certain

+information collected in the Duke of Ossuna’s excellent library, I

+believed that we should seek in the vicinity of Montilla the memorable

+spot where for the last time Cæsar played double or quits against

+the champions of the republic. Happening to be in Andalusia in the

+early autumn of 1830, I made quite a long excursion for the purpose of

+setting at rest such doubts as I still entertained. A memoir which I

+propose to publish ere long will, I trust, leave no further uncertainty

+in the minds of all honest archæologists. Pending the time when my

+deliverance shall solve at last the geographical problem which is now

+holding all the learning of Europe in suspense, I propose to tell you a

+little story; it has no bearing on the question of the actual location

+of Munda.

+

+I had hired a guide and two horses at Cordova, and had taken the

+field with no other impedimenta than Cæsar’s _Commentaries_ and a

+shirt or two. On a certain day, as I wandered over the more elevated

+portion of the plain of Cachena, worn out with fatigue, dying with

+thirst, and scorched by a sun of molten lead, I was wishing with all

+my heart that Cæsar and Pompey’s sons were in the devil’s grip, when

+I spied, at a considerable distance from the path I was following,

+a tiny greensward, studded with reeds and rushes, which indicated

+the proximity of a spring. In fact, as I drew nearer, I found that

+what had seemed to be a greensward was a marshy tract through which a

+stream meandered, issuing apparently from a narrow ravine between two

+high buttresses of the Sierra de Cabra. I concluded that by ascending

+the stream I should find cooler water, fewer leeches and frogs, and

+perhaps a bit of shade among the cliffs. As we rode into the gorge my

+horse whinnied, and another horse, which I could not see, instantly

+answered. I had ridden barely a hundred yards when the gorge, widening

+abruptly, disclosed a sort of natural amphitheatre, entirely shaded by

+the high cliffs which surrounded it. It was impossible to find a spot

+which promised the traveller a more attractive sojourn. At the foot

+of perpendicular cliffs, the spring came bubbling forth and fell into

+a tiny basin carpeted with sand as white as snow. Five or six fine

+live-oaks, always sheltered from the wind and watered by the spring,

+grew upon its brink and covered it with their dense shade; and all

+about the basin, a fine, sheeny grass promised a softer bed than one

+could find at any inn within a radius of ten leagues.

+

+The honour of discovering so attractive a spot did not belong to me.

+A man was already reposing there, and was asleep in all probability

+when I rode in. Roused by the neighing of the horses, he had risen,

+and had walked towards his horse, which had taken advantage of his

+master’s slumber to make a hearty meal on the grass in the immediate

+neighbourhood. He was a young fellow, of medium height, but of robust

+aspect, and with a proud and distrustful expression. His complexion,

+which might once have been fine, had become darker than his hair

+through the action of the sun. He held his horse’s halter in one hand

+and in the other a blunderbuss with a copper barrel. I will admit

+that at first blush the blunderbuss and the forbidding air of its

+bearer took me a little by surprise; but I had ceased to believe in

+robbers, because I had heard so much said about them and had never

+met one. Moreover, I had seen so many honest farmers going to market

+armed to the teeth that the sight of a firearm did not justify me in

+suspecting the stranger’s moral character.--“And then, too,” I said to

+myself, “what would he do with my shirts and my Elzevir Cæsar?” So I

+saluted the man with the blunderbuss with a familiar nod, and asked him

+smilingly if I had disturbed his sleep.

+

+He eyed me from head to foot without replying; then, as if satisfied

+by his examination, he scrutinised no less closely my guide, who rode

+up at that moment. I saw that the latter turned pale and stopped in

+evident alarm. “An unfortunate meeting!” I said to myself. But prudence

+instantly counselled me to betray no uneasiness. I dismounted, told the

+guide to remove the horses’ bridles, and, kneeling by the spring, I

+plunged my face and hands in the water; then I took a long draught and

+lay flat on my stomach, like the wicked soldiers of Gideon.

+

+But I kept my eyes on my guide and the stranger. The former drew near,

+sorely against his will; the other seemed to have no evil designs upon

+us, for he had set his horse at liberty once more, and his blunderbuss,

+which he had held at first in a horizontal position, was now pointed

+towards the ground.

+

+As it seemed to me inexpedient to take umbrage at the small amount of

+respect shown to my person, I stretched myself out on the grass, and

+asked the man with the blunderbuss, in a careless tone, if he happened

+to have a flint and steel about him. At the same time I produced my

+cigar-case. The stranger, still without a word, felt in his pocket,

+took out his flint and steel and courteously struck a light for me.

+Evidently he was becoming tamer, for he sat down opposite me, but did

+not lay aside his weapon. When my cigar was lighted, I selected the

+best of those that remained and asked him if he smoked.

+

+“Yes, señor,” he replied.

+

+Those were the first words that he had uttered, and I noticed that

+he did not pronounce the s after the Andalusian fashion,[1] whence I

+concluded that he was a traveller like myself, minus the archæologist.

+

+“You will find this rather good,” I said, offering him a genuine Havana

+regalia.

+

+He bent his head slightly, lighted his cigar by mine, thanked me with

+another nod, then began to smoke with every appearance of very great

+enjoyment.

+

+“Ah!” he exclaimed, as he discharged the first puff slowly through his

+mouth and his nostrils, “how long it is since I have had a smoke!”

+

+In Spain, a cigar offered and accepted establishes hospitable

+relations, just as the sharing of bread and salt does in the East.

+My man became more talkative than I had hoped. But, although he

+claimed to live in the _partido_ of Montilla, he seemed to be but

+ill-acquainted with the country. He did not know the name of the

+lovely valley where we were; he could not mention any village in the

+neighbourhood; and, lastly, when I asked him whether he had seen any

+ruined walls thereabouts, or any tiles with raised edges, or any carved

+stones, he admitted that he had never paid any attention to such

+things. By way of compensation he exhibited much expert knowledge of

+horses. He criticised mine, which was not very difficult; then he gave

+me the genealogy of his, which came from the famous stud of Cordova;

+a noble animal in very truth, and so proof against fatigue, according

+to his master, that he had once travelled thirty leagues in a day, at

+a gallop or a fast trot. In the middle of his harangue the stranger

+paused abruptly, as if he were surprised and angry with himself for

+having said too much.

+

+“You see, I was in a hurry to get to Cordova,” he added, with some

+embarrassment. “I had to present a petition to the judges in the matter

+of a lawsuit.”

+

+As he spoke, he glanced at my guide, Antonio, who lowered his eyes.

+

+The cool shade and the spring were so delightful to me that I

+remembered some slices of excellent ham which my friends at Montilla

+had put in my guide’s wallet. I bade him produce them, and I invited

+the stranger to join me in my impromptu collation. If he had not smoked

+for a long while, it seemed probable to me that he had not eaten for

+at least forty-eight hours. He devoured the food like a starved wolf.

+It occurred to me that our meeting was a providential affair for the

+poor fellow. My guide meanwhile ate little, drank still less, and did

+not talk at all, although from the very beginning of our journey he had

+revealed himself to me in the guise of an unparalleled chatterbox. Our

+guest’s presence seemed to embarrass him, and a certain distrust kept

+them at arm’s length from each other, but I was unable to divine its

+cause.

+

+The last crumbs of the bread and ham had vanished; each of us had

+smoked a second cigar; I ordered the guide to put the bridles on our

+horses, and I was about to take leave of my new friend, when he asked

+me where I intended to pass the night.

+

+I replied, before I had noticed a signal from my guide, that I was

+going on to the Venta del Cuervo.

+

+“A wretched place for a man like you, señor. I am going there, and if

+you will allow me to accompany you, we will ride together.”

+

+“With great pleasure,” I replied, mounting my horse.

+

+My guide, who was holding my stirrup, made another signal with his

+eyes. I answered it with a shrug of my shoulders, as if to assure him

+that I was perfectly unconcerned, and we set forth.

+

+Antonio’s mysterious signs, his evident uneasiness, a few words that

+had escaped from the stranger, and, above all, his gallop of thirty

+leagues, and the far from plausible explanation of it which he had

+offered, had already formed my opinion concerning our travelling

+companion. I had no doubt that I had fallen in with a smuggler,

+perhaps a highwayman; but what did it matter to me? I was sufficiently

+acquainted with the Spanish character to be very sure that I had

+nothing to fear from a man who had broken bread and smoked with me. His

+very presence was a certain protection against any unpleasant meetings.

+Furthermore, I was very glad to know what manner of man a brigand

+is. One does not see them every day, and there is a certain charm in

+finding oneself in the company of a dangerous individual, especially

+when one finds him to be gentle and tame.

+

+I hoped to lead the stranger by degrees to the point of making me

+his confidant, and despite my guide’s meaning winks, I turned the

+conversation to the subject of highway robbers. Be it understood that I

+spoke of them with great respect. There was in Andalusia at that time

+a celebrated brigand named José Maria, whose exploits were on every

+tongue.

+

+“Suppose I were riding beside José Maria!” I said to myself.

+

+I told such stories as I knew concerning that hero--all to his credit,

+by the way,--and I expressed in warm terms my admiration for his

+gallantry and his generosity.

+

+“José Maria is a villain pure and simple,” observed the stranger,

+coldly.

+

+“Is he doing himself justice?” I thought; “or is this merely an excess

+of modesty on his part?” For, by dint of observing my companion

+closely, I had succeeded in applying to him the description of José

+Maria which I had seen placarded on the gates of many a town in

+Andalusia. “Yes, it is certainly he: fair hair, blue eyes, large mouth,

+fine teeth, small hands; a shirt of fine linen, velvet jacket with

+silver buttons, white leather gaiters, a bay horse. There is no doubt

+of it! But I will respect his incognito.”

+

+We arrived at the _venta_. It was the sort of place that he had

+described, that is to say, one of the vilest taverns that I had seen as

+yet. A large room served as kitchen, dining-room, and bedroom. The fire

+was kindled on a flat stone in the middle of the room, and the smoke

+emerged through a hole in the roof, or rather hung about it, forming a

+dense cloud a few feet from the floor. Stretched on the ground along

+the walls could be seen some five or six worn mule-blankets; they were

+the beds of the guests. Some twenty yards from the house, or rather

+from the single room which I have described, was a sort of shed, which

+did duty as a stable. In this attractive abode there were no other

+human beings, for the moment at least, than an old woman and a little

+girl of eight or ten years, both as black as soot and clad in shocking

+rags.

+

+“Behold,” I said to myself, “all that remains of the population of the

+ancient Munda Bœtica! O Cæsar! O Sextus Pompey! how surprised you would

+be, should you return to earth!”

+

+At sight of my companion, the old woman uttered an exclamation of

+surprise.

+

+“Ah! Señor Don José!” she cried.

+

+Don José frowned and raised his hand with an authoritative gesture

+which instantly silenced the old woman. I turned to my guide, and with

+an imperceptible sign gave him to understand that there was nothing

+that he could tell me concerning the man with whom I was about to pass

+the night.

+

+The supper was better than I anticipated. On a small table about a

+foot high we were served with an aged rooster, fricasseed with rice

+and an abundance of peppers; then with peppers in oil; and lastly with

+_gaspacho_, a sort of pepper salad. Three dishes thus highly seasoned

+compelled us to have frequent recourse to a skin of Montilla wine,

+which was delicious. After we had eaten, happening to spy a mandolin

+hanging on the wall,--there are mandolins everywhere in Spain,--I asked

+the little girl who waited on us if she knew how to play it.

+

+“No,” she replied, “but Don José plays it so well!”

+

+“Be good enough,” I said to him, “to sing me something; I am

+passionately fond of your national music.”

+

+“I can refuse no request of such a gallant gentleman, who gives me such

+excellent cigars,” said Don José, good-naturedly.

+

+And, having asked for the mandolin, he sang to his own accompaniment.

+His voice was rough, but very agreeable, the tune melancholy and weird;

+as for the words, I did not understand a syllable.

+

+“If I am not mistaken,” I said, “that is not a Spanish air. It

+resembles the _zorzicos_ which I have heard in the Provinces,[2] and

+the words must be Basque.”

+

+“Yes,” replied Don José, with a gloomy air.

+

+He placed the mandolin on the floor, and sat with folded arms, gazing

+at the dying fire with a strange expression of melancholy. His face at

+once noble and fierce, lighted by a lamp that stood on the low table,

+reminded me of Milton’s Satan. Perhaps, like him, my companion was

+thinking of the sojourn that he had left, of the banishment that he

+had incurred by a sin. I tried to revive the conversation, but he did

+not answer, absorbed as he was in his sad thoughts. The old woman had

+already retired in one corner of the room, behind an old torn blanket

+suspended by a cord. The little girl had followed her to that retreat,

+reserved for the fair sex. Thereupon my guide rose and invited me to

+accompany him to the stable; but at that suggestion Don José, as if

+suddenly awakened, asked him roughly where he was going.

+

+“To the stable,” was the guide’s reply.

+

+“What for? The horses have their feed. Sleep here; the señor will not

+object.”

+

+“I am afraid the señor’s horse is sick; I would like the señor to see

+him; perhaps he will know what to do for him.”

+

+It was evident that Antonio wished to speak to me in private; but I had

+no desire to arouse Don José’s suspicions, and, in view of the footing

+on which we then stood, it seemed to me that the wisest course was to

+show the most entire confidence. So I told Antonio that I understood

+nothing about horses, and that I wished to sleep. Don José went with

+him to the stable, whence he soon returned alone. He told me that

+nothing was the matter with the horse, but that my guide considered him

+such a valuable beast that he was rubbing him with his jacket to make

+him sweat, and that he proposed to pass the night in that delectable

+occupation. Meanwhile I had stretched myself out on the mule-blankets,

+carefully wrapped in my cloak, in order not to come in contact with

+them. After apologising for the liberty he took in taking his place

+beside me, Don José lay down before the door, not without renewing

+the priming of his blunderbuss, which he took care to place under the

+wallet which served him for a pillow. Five minutes after we had bade

+each other good-night we were both sound asleep.

+

+I had believed that I was tired enough to be able to sleep even on such

+a couch; but after about an hour, a very unpleasant itching roused me

+from my first nap. As soon as I realised the nature of it, I rose,

+convinced that it would be better to pass the night in the open air

+than beneath that inhospitable roof. I walked to the door on tiptoe,

+stepped over Don José, who was sleeping the sleep of the just, and

+exerted such care that I left the house without waking him. Near the

+door was a broad wooden bench; I lay down upon it, and bestowed myself

+as comfortably as possible to finish the night. I was just closing my

+eyes for the second time, when it seemed to me that I saw the shadows

+of a man and a horse pass me, both moving without the slightest sound.

+I sat up, and fancied that I recognised Antonio. Surprised to find him

+outside of the stable at that time of night, I rose and walked toward

+him. He had halted, having seen me first.

+

+“Where is he?” he asked in a whisper.

+

+“In the _venta_; he is asleep; he has no fear of fleas. Why are you

+taking that horse away?”

+

+I noticed then that to avoid making any noise on leaving the shed,

+Antonio had carefully wrapped the animal’s feet in the remnants of an

+old blanket.

+

+“Speak lower, in God’s name!” said Antonio. “Don’t you know who that

+man is? He’s José Navarro, the most celebrated bandit in Andalusia. I

+have been making signs to you all day, but you wouldn’t understand.”

+

+“Bandit or not, what do I care?” said I; “he has not robbed us, and

+I’ll wager that he has no inclination to do so.”

+

+“Very good! but there’s a reward of two hundred ducats for whoever

+causes his capture. I know that there’s a detachment of lancers

+stationed a league and a half from here, and before daybreak I will

+bring up some stout fellows to take him. I would have taken his horse,

+but the beast is so vicious that no one but Navarro can go near him.”

+

+“The devil take you!” said I. “What harm has the poor fellow done to

+you that you should denounce him? Besides, are you quite sure that he

+is the brigand you say he is?”

+

+“Perfectly sure; he followed me to the stable just now and said to me:

+‘You act as if you knew me; if you tell that honest gentleman who I

+am, I’ll blow your brains out!’--Stay, señor, stay with him; you have

+nothing to fear. So long as he knows you are here he won’t suspect

+anything.”

+

+As we talked we had walked so far from the _venta_ that the noise of

+the horse’s shoes could not be heard there. Antonio, in a twinkling,

+removed the rags in which he had wrapped them, and prepared to mount. I

+tried to detain him by entreaties and threats.

+

+“I am a poor devil, señor,” he said; “two hundred ducats aren’t to be

+thrown away, especially when it’s a question of ridding the province

+of such vermin. But beware! if Navarro wakes, he’ll jump for his

+blunderbuss, and then look out for yourself! I have gone too far to go

+back; take care of yourself as best you can.”

+

+The rascal was already in the saddle; he dug both spurs into the horse,

+and I soon lost sight of him in the darkness.

+

+I was very angry with my guide, and decidedly uneasy. After a moment’s

+reflection, I decided what to do, and returned to the _venta_. Don José

+was still asleep, repairing doubtless the effects of the fatigue and

+vigils of several days of peril. I was obliged to shake him violently

+in order to rouse him. I shall never forget his fierce glance and

+the movement that he made to grasp his blunderbuss, which, as a

+precautionary measure, I had placed at some distance from his couch.

+

+“Señor,” I said, “I ask your pardon for waking you; but I have a

+foolish question to ask you: would you be greatly pleased to see half a

+dozen lancers ride up to this door?”

+

+He sprang to his feet and demanded in a terrible voice:

+

+“Who told you?”

+

+“It matters little whence the warning comes, provided that it be well

+founded.”

+

+“Your guide has betrayed me, but he shall pay me for it! Where is he?”

+

+“I don’t know; in the stable, I think.--But some one told me----”

+

+“Who told you? It couldn’t have been the old woman.”

+

+“Some one whom I do not know.--But without more words, have you any

+reason for not awaiting the soldiers, yes or no? If you have, waste no

+time; if not, good-night, and I ask your pardon for disturbing your

+sleep.”

+

+“Ah! your guide! your guide! I suspected him from the first; but--his

+account is made up! Farewell, señor! God will repay you for the

+service you have rendered me. I am not altogether so bad as you think;

+no, there is still something in me which deserves a gallant man’s

+compassion.--Farewell, señor! I have but one regret, and that is that I

+cannot pay my debt to you.”

+

+“In payment of the service I have rendered you, promise, Don José, to

+suspect no one, and not to think of revenge. Here, take these cigars,

+and a pleasant journey to you!”

+

+And I offered him my hand.

+

+He pressed it without replying, took his blunderbuss and his wallet,

+and after exchanging a few words with the old woman, in an argot which

+I could not understand, he ran to the shed. A few moments later I heard

+him galloping across country.

+

+I lay down again on my bench, but I slept no more. I wondered whether

+I had done right to save a highwayman, perhaps a murderer, from the

+gibbet, simply because I had eaten ham and rice _à la Valenciennes_

+with him. Had I not betrayed my guide, who was upholding the cause of

+the law? Had I not exposed him to the vengeance of a miscreant? But

+the duties of hospitality!--“The prejudice of a savage!” I said to

+myself; “I shall be responsible for all the crimes that bandit may

+commit.”--But after all, is it really a prejudice, that instinct of

+the conscience which is impervious to all argument? Perhaps, in the

+delicate situation in which I found myself, I could not have taken

+either course without remorse. I was still in a maze of uncertainty

+concerning the moral aspect of my action, when I saw half a dozen

+horsemen approaching, with Antonio, who remained prudently with the

+rear-guard. I went to meet them and informed them that the brigand had

+taken flight more than two hours before. The old woman, when questioned

+by the officer in command, admitted that she knew Navarro, but said

+that, living alone as she did, she should never have dared to risk her

+life by denouncing him. She added that it was his custom, whenever he

+visited her house, to leave in the middle of the night. For my part, I

+was obliged to go to a place a few leagues away, to show my passport

+and sign a declaration before an alcalde, after which I was allowed

+to resume my archæological investigations. Antonio bore me a grudge,

+suspecting that it was I who had prevented him from earning the two

+hundred ducats. However, we parted on friendly terms at Cordova, where

+I gave him a gratuity as large as the state of my finances would permit.

+

+

+II

+

+I passed several days at Cordova. I had been told of a certain

+manuscript in the library of the Dominican convent, in which I was

+likely to find valuable information concerning the Munda of the

+ancients. Being very amiably received by the good fathers, I passed

+the days in their convent, and walked about the city in the evenings.

+There is always a throng of idlers, about sunset, on the quay that

+borders the right bank of the Guadalquivir at Cordova. There one

+inhales the emanations from a tannery which still maintains the ancient

+celebrity of the district for the manufacture of leather; but, on the

+other hand, one enjoys a spectacle that has its merits. A few minutes

+before the Angelus, a great number of women assemble on the river

+bank, below the quay, which is quite high. No man would dare to join

+that group. As soon as the Angelus rings, it is supposed to be dark.

+At the last stroke of the bell, all those women undress and go into

+the water. Thereupon there is tremendous shouting and laughter and an

+infernal uproar. From the quay above, the men stare at the bathers,

+squinting their eyes, but they see very little. However, those vague

+white shapes outlined against the dark blue of the stream set poetic

+minds at work; and with a little imagination it is not difficult to

+conjure up a vision of Diana and her nymphs in the bath, without

+having to fear the fate of Actæon. I had been told that on a certain

+day a number of profane scapegraces clubbed together to grease the palm

+of the bell-ringer at the cathedral and hire him to ring the Angelus

+twenty minutes before the legal hour. Although it was still broad

+daylight, the nymphs of the Guadalquivir did not hesitate, but trusting

+the Angelus rather than the sun, they fearlessly made their bathing

+toilet, which is always of the simplest. I was not there. In my day the

+bell-ringer was incorruptible, the twilight far from brilliant, and

+only a cat could have distinguished the oldest orange-woman from the

+prettiest grisette in Cordova.

+

+One evening, when it was too dark to see anything, I was leaning

+against the parapet of the quay, smoking, when a woman ascended the

+steps leading to the river and seated herself by my side. She had in

+her hair a large bouquet of jasmine, the flowers of which exhale an

+intoxicating odour at night. She was simply, perhaps poorly clad, all

+in black, like most grisettes in the evening. Women of fashion wear

+black only in the morning; in the evening they dress _à la francesca_.

+When she reached my side, my bather allowed the mantilla which covered

+her head to fall over her shoulders, and I saw, “by the dim light

+that falleth from the stars,” that she was young, small, well built,

+and that she had very large eyes. I threw my cigar away at once. She

+appreciated that distinctively French attention, and made haste to

+say that she was very fond of the smell of tobacco; in fact, that she

+sometimes smoked herself, when she could obtain a very mild _papelito_.

+Luckily, I happened to have some of that description in my case, and

+I lost no time in offering them to her. She deigned to take one and

+lighted it at a piece of burning string which a child brought us in

+consideration of a small coin. Mingling our smoke, we talked so long,

+the fair bather and myself, that we were finally left almost alone on

+the quay. I thought that I might safely venture to invite her to take

+an ice at the _neveria_.[3] After hesitating modestly, she accepted;

+but before concluding to do so, she wished to know what time it was. I

+caused my repeater to strike, and that striking seemed to surprise her

+greatly.

+

+“What wonderful things you foreigners invent! From what country are

+you, señor? An Englishman, no doubt?”[4]

+

+“A Frenchman, and your humble servant. And you, señorita, or señora,

+are of Cordova, I presume?”

+

+“No.”

+

+“You are an Andalusian, at all events. It seems to me that I can tell

+that by your soft speech.”

+

+“If you observe everybody’s speech so closely, you should be able to

+guess what I am.”

+

+“I believe that you are from the land of Jesus, within two steps of

+paradise.”

+

+(I had learned this metaphor, which designates Andalusia, from my

+friend Francisco Sevilla, a well-known picador.)

+

+“Bah! paradise--the people about here say that it wasn’t made for us.”

+

+“In that case you must be a Moor, or----”

+

+I checked myself, not daring to say “Jewess.”

+

+“Nonsense! you see well enough that I am a gypsy; would you like me to

+tell your _baji_?[5] Have you ever heard of La Carmencita? I am she.”

+

+I was such a ne’er-do-well in those days--fifteen years ago--that I did

+not recoil in horror when I found myself seated beside a sorceress.

+

+“Pshaw!” I said to myself, “last week I supped with a highway robber,

+to-day I will eat ices with a handmaid of the devil. When one is

+travelling, one must see everything.”

+

+I had still another motive for cultivating her acquaintance. When I

+left school, I confess to my shame, I had wasted some time studying the

+occult sciences, and several times indeed I had been tempted to conjure

+up the spirits of darkness. Long since cured of my fondness for such

+investigations, I still retained, nevertheless, a certain amount of

+curiosity concerning all kinds of superstition, and I rejoiced at the

+prospect of learning how far the art of magic had been carried among

+the gypsies.

+

+While talking together we had entered the _neveria_ and had taken

+our seats at a small table lighted by a candle confined in a glass

+globe. I had abundant opportunity to examine my _gitana_, while

+divers respectable folk who were eating ices there lost themselves in

+amazement at seeing me in such goodly company.

+

+I seriously doubt whether Señorita Carmen was of the pure breed; at

+all events, she was infinitely prettier than any of the women of her

+nation whom I had ever met. No woman is beautiful, say the Spaniards,

+unless she combines thirty _so’s_; or, if you prefer, unless she may

+be described by ten adjectives, each of which is applicable to three

+parts of her person. For instance, she must have three black things:

+eyes, lashes, and eyebrows, etc. (See Brantôme for the rest.) My gypsy

+could make no pretension to so many perfections. Her skin, albeit

+perfectly smooth, closely resembled the hue of copper. Her eyes were

+oblique, but of a beautiful shape; her lips a little heavy but well

+formed, and disclosed two rows of teeth whiter than almonds without

+their skins. Her hair, which was possibly a bit coarse, was black with

+a blue reflection, like a crow’s wing, and long and glossy. To avoid

+fatiguing you with a too verbose description, I will say that for each

+defect she had some good point, which stood out the more boldly perhaps

+by the very contrast. It was a strange, wild type of beauty, a face

+which took one by surprise at first, but which one could not forget.

+Her eyes, especially, had an expression at once voluptuous and fierce,

+which I have never seen since in any mortal eye. “A gypsy’s eye is a

+wolf’s eye” is a Spanish saying which denotes keen observation. If you

+have not the time to go to the Jardin des Plantes to study the glance

+of a wolf, observe your cat when it is watching a sparrow.

+

+Of course it would have been absurd to have my fortune told in a café.

+So I requested the pretty sorceress to allow me to accompany her to her

+home. She readily consented, but she desired once more to know how the

+time was passing and asked me to make my watch strike again.

+

+“Is it real gold?” she inquired, scrutinising it with extraordinary

+attention.

+

+When we left the café, it was quite dark; most of the shops were

+closed, and the streets almost deserted. We crossed the Guadalquivir

+by the bridge, and at the very extremity of the suburb, we stopped

+in front of a house which bore no resemblance to a palace. A child

+admitted us. The gypsy said some words to him in a language entirely

+unknown to me, which I afterwards found was the _rommani_ or _chipe

+calli_, the language of the _gitanos_. The child at once disappeared,

+leaving us in a room of considerable size, furnished with a small

+table, two stools, and a chest. I must not forget to mention a jar of

+water, a pile of oranges, and a bunch of onions.

+

+As soon as we were alone, the gypsy took from her chest a pack of cards

+which seemed to have seen much service, a magnet, a dried chameleon,

+and a number of other articles essential to her art. Then she bade me

+make a cross in my left hand with a coin, and the magic ceremonies

+began. It is unnecessary to repeat her predictions; and, as for her

+method of operation, it was evident that she was not a sorceress by

+halves.

+

+Unfortunately we were soon disturbed. The door was suddenly thrown

+open with violence, and a man wrapped to the eyes in a brown cloak

+entered the room, addressing the gypsy in a far from amiable fashion.

+I did not understand what he said, but his tone indicated that he was

+in a very bad temper. At sight of him the _gitana_ exhibited neither

+surprise nor anger, but she ran to meet him, and, with extraordinary

+volubility, said several sentences in the mysterious tongue which she

+had already used in my presence. The word _payllo_, repeated several

+times, was the only word that I understood. I knew that the gypsies

+designated thus every man of another race than their own. Assuming

+that I was the subject of discussion, I looked forward to a delicate

+explanation; I already had my hand on one of the stools and was

+deliberating as to the precise moment when it would be well for me to

+hurl it at the intruder’s head. But he roughly pushed the gypsy aside

+and strode toward me; then recoiled a step, exclaiming:

+

+“What! is it you, señor?”

+

+I looked closely at him and recognised my friend Don José. At that

+moment I was inclined to regret that I had not let him be hanged.

+

+“Ah! is it you, my fine fellow?” I cried, laughing as heartily as I

+could manage to do; “you interrupted the señorita just as she was

+telling me some very interesting things.”

+

+“Always the same! This must come to an end,” he said between his teeth,

+glaring savagely at the girl.

+

+She meanwhile continued to talk to him in her own language. She became

+excited by degrees. Her eye became bloodshot and terrible to look at,

+her features contracted, and she stamped upon the floor. It seemed to

+me that she was earnestly urging him to do something which he evidently

+hesitated to do. What that something was, I fancied that I understood

+only too well, when I saw her draw her little hand swiftly back and

+forth under her chin. I was tempted to believe that it was a matter of

+cutting a throat, and I had some suspicion that the throat in question

+was my own.

+

+To all this torrent of eloquence Don José replied only by two or three

+words uttered in a sharp tone. Thereupon the gypsy bestowed on him a

+glance of supreme contempt; then seated herself Turkish fashion in a

+corner of the room, selected an orange, peeled it, and began to eat it.

+

+Don José seized my arm, opened the door and led me into the street.

+We walked about two hundred yards in absolute silence. Then he said,

+extending his hand:

+

+“Go straight ahead and you will come to the bridge.”

+

+With that he turned his back on me and walked rapidly away. I returned

+to my inn rather sheepishly and in a very bad temper. The worst feature

+of the affair was that when I undressed I found that my watch was

+missing.

+

+Various considerations deterred me from going the next day to demand

+it back, or from applying to the corregidor to recover it for me.

+I completed my work on the manuscript at the Dominican convent and

+departed for Seville. After wandering about Andalusia for several

+months, I determined to return to Madrid, and it was necessary for me

+to pass through Cordova once more. I did not propose to make a long

+stay there, for I had taken a violent dislike to that fair city and

+the bathers in the Guadalquivir. However, a few errands to do and some

+friends to call upon would detain me three or four days at least in the

+ancient capital of the Mussulman princes.

+

+When I appeared at the Dominican convent, one of the fathers, who had

+taken a lively interest in my investigations concerning the location of

+Munda, welcomed me with open arms.

+

+“Blessed be the name of God!” he cried. “Welcome, my dear friend! We

+all believed you to be dead, and I who speak to you, I have recited

+many _paters_ and _aves_, which I do not regret, for the welfare of

+your soul. So you were not murdered?--for robbed we know that you

+were.”

+

+“How so?” I asked, not a little astonished.

+

+“Why, yes--you know, that beautiful repeating watch that you used to

+make strike in the library when we told you that it was time to go to

+the choir. Well! it has been recovered; it will be restored to you.”

+

+“That is to say,” I interrupted, somewhat disconcerted, “I lost it----”

+

+“The villain is behind the bars, and as he was known to be a man who

+would fire a gun at a Christian to obtain a penny, we were terribly

+afraid that he had killed you. I will go to the corregidor’s with you,

+and we will obtain your fine watch. And then, do not let me hear you

+whisper that justice does not know its business in Spain!”

+

+“I confess,” said I, “that I would rather lose my watch than give

+testimony in court which might send a poor devil to the gallows,

+especially because--because----”

+

+“Oh! do not be alarmed on that score; he is well recommended, and he

+cannot be hanged twice. When I say hanged, I am wrong. He is a hidalgo,

+is your robber; so that he will be garroted[6] day after to-morrow,

+without fail. So, you see, one theft more or less will have no effect

+on his fate. Would to God that he had done nothing but steal! but he

+has committed several murders, each more shocking than the last.”

+

+“What is his name?”

+

+“He is known throughout the province by the name of José Navarro,

+but he has another Basque name, which neither you nor I could ever

+pronounce. But he is a man worth looking at, and you, interested as you

+are in seeing all the curiosities of the province, should not neglect

+the opportunity to learn how villains leave this world in Spain. It

+will be in the chapel, and Father Martinez will take you thither.”

+

+My Dominican insisted so earnestly that I should view the preparations

+for the “pretty little hanging” that I could not refuse. I went to see

+the prisoner, having first supplied myself with a bunch of cigars,

+which, I hoped, would induce him to pardon my indiscretion.

+

+I was ushered into the presence of Don José while he was eating. He

+nodded coldly to me, and thanked me courteously for the present I

+brought him. Having counted the cigars in the bunch which I placed in

+his hands, he took out a certain number and returned the rest to me,

+remarking that he should not need any more.

+

+I asked him if I could make his lot any easier by the expenditure of a

+little money or by the influence of my friends. At first he shrugged

+his shoulders and smiled sadly; but in a moment, on further reflection,

+he requested me to have a mass said for the salvation of his soul.

+

+“Would you,” he added timidly,--“would you be willing to have one said

+also for a person who injured you?”

+

+“Certainly, my dear fellow,” I said; “but there is no one in this part

+of the country who has injured me, so far as I know.”

+

+He took my hand and pressed it, with a solemn expression. After a

+moment’s silence, he continued:

+

+“May I venture to ask another favour at your hands? When you return to

+your own country, perhaps you will pass through Navarre; at all events,

+you will go by way of Vittoria, which is not very far away.”

+

+“Yes,” I said, “I certainly shall go by way of Vittoria, but it is not

+impossible that I may turn aside to go to Pampelune, and, to oblige

+you, I think that I would willingly make that détour.”

+

+“Very well! if you go to Pampelune, you will see more than one thing

+that will interest you. It is a fine city. I will give you this

+locket (he showed me a little silver locket which he wore about his

+neck); you will wrap it in paper”--he paused a moment to control his

+emotion--“and deliver it, or have it delivered, to a good woman whose

+address I will give you. You will tell her that I am dead, but that you

+do not know how I died.”

+

+I promised to perform his commission. I saw him again the next day, and

+passed a large part of the day with him. It was from his own lips that

+I learned the melancholy adventures which follow.

+

+

+III

+

+“I was born,” he said, “at Elizondo, in the valley of Baztan. My name

+is Don José Lizzarrabengoa, and you are familiar enough with Spain,

+señor, to know at once from my name that I am a Basque and a Christian

+of the ancient type. I use the title _Don_ because I am entitled to

+it; and if I were at Elizondo, I would show you my genealogy on a

+sheet of parchment. My family wished me to be a churchman, and they

+forced me to study, but I profited little by it. I was too fond of

+playing tennis--that was my ruin. When we Navarrese play tennis, we

+forget everything. One day, when I had won, a young man from Alava

+picked a quarrel with me; we took our _maquilas_,[7] and again I had

+the advantage; but that incident compelled me to leave the country.

+I fell in with some dragoons, and I enlisted in the cavalry regiment

+of Almanza. The men from our mountains learn the military profession

+quickly. I soon became a corporal, with the promise of being promoted

+to quartermaster, when, to my undoing, I was placed on duty at the

+tobacco factory in Seville. If you have ever been to Seville, you

+must have seen that great building, outside of the fortifications,

+close to the Guadalquivir. It seems to me that I can see the doorway

+and the guard-house beside it at this moment. When on duty Spanish

+troops either gamble or sleep; I, like an honest Navarrese, always

+tried to find something to do. I was making a chain of brass wire, to

+hold my primer. Suddenly my comrades said: ‘There goes the bell; the

+girls will be going back to work.’ You must know, señor, that there

+are four or five hundred girls employed in the factory. They roll the

+cigars in a large room which no man can enter without a permit from

+the Twenty-four,[8] because they are in the habit of making themselves

+comfortable, the young ones especially, when it is warm. At the hour

+when the women return to work, after their dinner, many young men

+assemble to see them pass, and they make remarks of all colours to

+them. There are very few of those damsels who will refuse a silk

+mantilla, and the experts in that fishery have only to stoop to pick

+up their fish. While the others stared, I remained on my bench, near

+the door. I was young then; I was always thinking of the old province,

+and I did not believe that there were any pretty girls without blue

+petticoats and long plaited tresses falling over their shoulders.[9]

+Moreover, the Andalusian girls frightened me; I was not accustomed as

+yet to their manners: always jesting, never a serious word. So I had my

+nose over my chain, when I heard some civilians say: ‘Here comes the

+_gitanella_!’ I raised my eyes and I saw her. It was a Friday, and I

+shall never forget it. I saw that Carmen whom you know, at whose house

+I met you several months ago.

+

+“She wore a very short red skirt, which revealed white silk stockings

+with more than one hole, and tiny shoes of red morocco, tied with

+flame-coloured ribbons. She put her mantilla aside, to show her

+shoulders and a huge bunch of cassia, which protruded from her chemise.

+She had a cassia flower in the corner of her mouth, too, and as she

+walked she swung her hips like a filly in the stud at Cordova. In

+my province a woman in that costume would have compelled everybody

+to cross themselves. At Seville every one paid her some equivocal

+compliment on her appearance, and she had a reply for every one,

+casting sly glances here and there, with her hand on her hip, as

+impudent as the genuine gypsy that she was. At first sight she did not

+attract me, and I returned to my work; but she, according to the habit

+of women and cats, who do not come when you call them, but come when

+you refrain from calling them,--she halted in front of me and spoke to

+me.

+

+“‘_Compadre_,’ she said in Andalusian fashion, ‘will you give me your

+chain to hold the keys of my strong-box?’

+

+“‘It is to hold my primer’ [_épinglette_], I replied.

+

+“‘Your _épinglette_!’ she exclaimed, with a laugh. ‘Ah! the señor makes

+lace, since he needs pins!’ [_épingles_]

+

+“Everybody present began to laugh, and I felt the blood rise to my

+cheeks, nor could I think of any answer to make.

+

+“‘Well, my heart,’ she continued, ‘make me seven ells of black lace

+for a mantilla, pincushion [_épinglier_] of my soul!’

+

+“And, taking the flower from her mouth she threw it at me with a jerk

+of her thumb, and struck me between the eyes. Señor, that produced

+on me the effect of a bullet. I did not know which way to turn, so I

+sat as still as a post. When she had gone into the factory, I saw the

+cassia blossom lying on the ground between my feet; I do not know what

+made me do it, but I picked it up, unseen by my comrades, and stowed it

+carefully away in my pocket--the first folly!

+

+“Two or three hours later, I was still thinking of her, when a porter

+rushed into the guard-house, gasping for breath and with a horrified

+countenance. He told us that a woman had been murdered in the large

+room where the cigars were made, and that we must send the guard there.

+The quartermaster told me to take two men and investigate. I took my

+two men and I went upstairs. Imagine, señor, that on entering the room

+I found, first of all, three hundred women in their chemises, or

+practically that, all shouting and yelling and gesticulating, making

+such an infernal uproar that you could not have heard God’s thunder.

+On one side a woman lay on the floor, covered with blood, with an X

+carved on her face by two blows of a knife. On the opposite side from

+the wounded woman, whom the best of her comrades were assisting, I saw

+Carmen in the grasp of five or six women.

+

+“‘Confession! Confession! I am killed!’ shrieked the wounded woman.

+

+“Carmen said nothing; she clenched her teeth and rolled her eyes about

+like a chameleon.

+

+“‘What is all this?’ I demanded. I had great difficulty in learning

+what had taken place, for all the work-girls talked at once. It seemed

+that the wounded one had boasted of having money enough in her pocket

+to buy an ass at the fair at Triana.

+

+“‘I say,’ said Carmen, who had a tongue of her own, ‘isn’t a

+broomstick good enough for you?’ The other, offended by the insult,

+perhaps because she was conscious that she was vulnerable on that

+point, replied that she was not a connoisseur in broomsticks, as she

+had not the honour to be a gypsy or a godchild of Satan, but that the

+Señorita Carmencita would soon make the acquaintance of her ass, when

+the corregidor took her out to ride, with two servants behind to keep

+the flies away. ‘Well!’ said Carmen, ‘I’ll make watering-troughs for

+flies on your cheek, and I’ll paint a checker-board on it.’ And with

+that, vli, vlan! she began to draw St. Andrew’s crosses on the other’s

+face with the knife with which she cut off the ends of the cigars.

+

+“The case was clear enough; I took Carmen by the arm. ‘You must come

+with me, my sister,’ I said to her courteously. She darted a glance at

+me, as if she recognised me; but she said, with a resigned air:

+

+“‘Let us go. Where’s my mantilla?’

+

+“She put it over her head in such wise as to show only one of her great

+eyes, and followed my two men, as mild as a sheep. When we reached the

+guard-house, the quartermaster said that it was a serious matter, and

+that she must be taken to prison. It fell to my lot again to escort

+her there. I placed her between two dragoons, and marched behind, as a

+corporal should do under such circumstances. We started for the town.

+At first the gypsy kept silent; but on Rue de Serpent--you know that

+street; it well deserves its name because of the détours it makes--she

+began operations by letting her mantilla fall over her shoulders, in

+order to show me her bewitching face, and turning toward me as far as

+she could, she said:

+

+“‘Where are you taking me, my officer?’

+

+“‘To prison, my poor child,’ I replied, as gently as possible, as a

+good soldier should speak to a prisoner, especially to a woman.

+

+“‘Alas! what will become of me? Señor officer, take pity on me. You are

+so young, so good looking!’ Then she added, in a lower tone: ‘Let me

+escape, and I’ll give you a piece of the _bar lachi_, which will make

+all women love you.’

+

+“The _bar lachi_, señor, is the lodestone, with which the gypsies claim

+that all sorts of spells may be cast when one knows how to use it. Give

+a woman a pinch of ground lodestone in a glass of white wine, and she

+ceases to resist.--I replied with as much gravity as I could command:

+

+“‘We are not here to talk nonsense; you must go to prison--that is the

+order, and there is no way to avoid it.’

+

+“We natives of the Basque country have an accent which makes it easy

+for the Spaniards to identify us; on the other hand, there is not one

+of them who can learn to say even _baï, jaona_.[10] So that Carmen

+had no difficulty in guessing that I came from the provinces. You

+must know, señor, that the gypsies, being of no country, are always

+travelling, and speak all languages, and that most of them are

+perfectly at home in Portugal, in France, in the Basque provinces, in

+Catalonia, everywhere; they even make themselves understood by the

+Moors and the English. Carmen knew Basque very well.

+

+“‘_Laguna ene bihotsarena_, comrade of my heart,’ she said to me

+abruptly, ‘are you from the provinces?’

+

+“Our language, señor, is so beautiful, that, when we hear it in a

+foreign land, it makes us tremble.--I would like to have a confessor

+from the provinces,” added the bandit in a lower tone.

+

+He continued after a pause:

+

+“‘I am from Elizondo,’ I replied in Basque, deeply moved to hear my

+native tongue spoken.

+

+“‘And I am from Etchalar,’ said she. That is a place about four hours’

+journey from us. ‘I was brought to Seville by gypsies. I have been

+working in the factory to earn money enough to return to Navarre, to

+my poor mother, who has no one but me to support her, and a little

+_barratcea_[11] with twenty cider-apple trees! Ah! if I was at home,

+by the white mountain! They insulted me because I don’t belong in

+this land of thieves and dealers in rotten oranges; and those hussies

+all leagued against me, because I told them that all their Seville

+_jacques_[12] with their knives, wouldn’t frighten one of our boys

+with his blue cap and his _maquila_. Comrade, my friend, won’t you do

+anything for a countrywoman?’

+

+“She lied, señor, she always lied. I doubt whether that girl ever said

+a true word in her life; but when she spoke, I believed her; it was too

+much for me. She murdered the Basque language, yet I believed that she

+was a Navarrese. Her eyes alone, to say nothing of her mouth and her

+colour, proclaimed her a gypsy. I was mad, I paid no heed to anything.

+I thought that if Spaniards had dared to speak slightingly to me of

+the provinces, I would have slashed their faces as she had slashed her

+comrade’s. In short, I was like a drunken man; I began to say foolish

+things, I was on the verge of doing them.

+

+“‘If I should push you and you should fall, my countryman,’ she

+continued, in Basque, ‘it would take more than these two Castilian

+recruits to hold me.’

+

+“Faith, I forgot orders and everything, and said to her:

+

+“‘Well, my dear, my countrywoman, try it, and may Our Lady of the

+Mountain be with you!’

+

+“At that moment we were passing one of the narrow lanes of which there

+are so many in Seville. All of a sudden Carmen turned and struck me

+with her fist in the breast. I purposely fell backward. With one spring

+she leaped over me and began to run, showing us a fleet pair of legs!

+Basque legs are famous; hers were quite equal to them--as swift and as

+well moulded. I sprang up instantly; but I held my lance horizontally

+so as to block the street, so that my men were delayed for a moment

+when they attempted to pursue her. Then I began to run myself, and they

+at my heels. But overtake her! there was no danger of that, with our

+spurs, and sabres, and lances![13] In less time than it takes to tell

+it, the prisoner had disappeared. Indeed, all the women in the quarter

+favoured her flight, laughed at us, and sent us in the wrong direction.

+After much marching and countermarching, we were obliged to return to

+the guard-house without a receipt from the governor of the prison.

+

+“My men, to avoid being punished, said that Carmen had talked Basque

+with me; and to tell the truth, it did not seem any too natural that

+a blow with the fist of so diminutive a girl should upset a fellow of

+my build so easily. It all seemed decidedly suspicious, or rather it

+seemed only too clear. When I went off duty I was reduced to the ranks

+and sent to prison for a month. That was my first punishment since I

+had been in the service. Farewell to the uniform of a quartermaster,

+which I fancied that I had already won!

+

+“My first days in prison passed dismally enough. When I enlisted I had

+imagined that I should at least become an officer. Longa and Mina,

+countrymen of mine, are captains-general; Chapalangarra, who, like

+Mina, is a negro and is a refugee in your country--Chapalangarra was

+a colonel, and I have played tennis twenty times with his brother,

+who was a poor devil like myself. Now I said to myself: ‘All the time

+that you have served without punishment is time thrown away. Here you

+are blacklisted, and to regain the good graces of your superiors, you

+will have to work ten times harder than when you first enlisted! And

+why did you receive punishment? For a gypsy hussy, who made a fool of

+you, and who is doubtless stealing at this moment in some corner of the

+city.’--But I could not help thinking of her. Would you believe it,

+señor? I had always before my eyes her silk stockings, full of holes,

+which she had shown me from top to bottom when she ran away. I looked

+through the bars into the street, and among all the women who passed

+I did not see a single one who could be compared with that devil of a

+girl! And then, too, in spite of myself, I smelt of the cassia flower

+she had thrown at me, which, although it had withered, still retained

+its sweet odour. If there are such things as witches, that girl was one!

+

+“One day the jailer came in and gave me an Alcala[14] loaf.

+

+“‘Here,’ said he, ‘your cousin sends you this.’

+

+“I took the loaf, greatly surprised, for I had no cousin in Seville.

+‘It may be a mistake,’ I thought as I glanced at the loaf; but it was

+so appetising, it smelt so good, that, without disturbing myself as

+to whence it came or for whom it was intended, I determined to eat it.

+On attempting to cut it my knife came in contact with something hard.

+I investigated and found a small English file, which had been slipped

+into the dough before baking. There was also in the loaf a gold piece

+of two piastres. There was no more doubt in my mind; it was a gift from

+Carmen. To people of her race freedom is everything, and they would set

+fire to a city to save themselves from a day in prison. However, she

+was a shrewd minx, and with that loaf one could snap one’s fingers at

+jailers. In an hour’s time the stoutest bar could be sawed through with

+the little file; and with the two piastres I could exchange my uniform

+for a civilian’s coat at the first old clo’-man’s. You may imagine that

+a man who had many a time taken young eaglets from their nests on our

+cliffs would not have been at a loss to climb down into the street from

+a window less than thirty feet high. But I did not wish to escape. I

+still possessed my honour as a soldier, and to desert seemed to me a

+heinous crime. However, I was touched by that token of remembrance.

+When you are in prison you like to think that you have a friend outside

+who is interested in you. The gold piece disturbed me a little, and I

+would have liked to return it; but where was I to find my creditor?

+That did not seem to me a simple matter.

+

+“After the ceremony of reduction to the ranks, I thought that I could

+not suffer any more; but I had still another humiliation to undergo:

+when, on my release from prison, I was restored to duty and made to

+take my turn at sentry-go like any private. You cannot conceive what

+a man of spirit feels at such a time. I believe that I would as lief

+have been shot. Then, at all events, you walk alone, in front of the

+platoon; you feel that you are somebody; people look at you.

+

+“I was stationed at the colonel’s door. He was a wealthy young man,

+a good fellow, who liked to enjoy himself. All the young officers

+were at his house, and many civilians--women, too, actresses, so it

+was said. For my own part, it seemed to me as if the whole city had

+arranged to meet at his door, in order to stare at me. Finally, the

+colonel’s carriage drives up, with his valet on the box. Whom do I see

+alight from it?--the _gitanella_! She was arrayed like a shrine this

+time, bedizened and bedecked, all gold and ribbons. A spangled dress,

+blue slippers, also with spangles, and flowers and lace everywhere. She

+had a tambourine in her hand. There were two other gypsy women with

+her, one young and one old. There always is an old woman to go about

+with them. Then, there was an old man, also a gypsy, with a guitar, to

+play for them to dance. You know that it is the fashion to hire gypsies

+to go about to parties, to dance the _romalis_--that is their national

+dance--and oftentimes for something else.

+

+“Carmen recognised me and we exchanged a glance. I do not know why, but

+at that moment I would have liked to be a hundred feet underground.

+

+“‘_Agur laguna_,’[15] she said; ‘you seem to be mounting guard, like a

+raw recruit, my officer!’

+

+“And before I had thought of a word to say in reply, she was inside the

+house.

+

+“The whole company was in the _patio_, and in spite of the crowd, I

+could see through the gate almost everything that took place.[16]

+I heard the castanets, the tambourine, the laughter and applause;

+sometimes I could see her head when she leaped into the air with her

+tambourine. And then I heard some of the officers say to her many

+things that brought the blood to my cheeks. I did not know what she

+replied. It was that day, I believe, that I began to love her in good

+earnest; for I was tempted three or four times to go into the _patio_

+and run my sabre into the belly of those popinjays who were making love

+to her. My torture lasted a good hour; then the gypsies came out and

+the carriage took them away. Carmen, as she passed, glanced at me again

+with the eyes that you know, and said, very low:

+

+“‘My countryman, when one likes nice fried things, one goes to Lillas

+Pastia’s at Triana for them.’

+

+“Nimble as a kid, she jumped into the carriage, the coachman whipped

+his mules, and the whole merry band drove away, I know not where.

+

+“You will readily guess that when I was relieved from duty I went to

+Triana; but I was shaved first, and brushed my clothes as for a dress

+parade. She was at Lillas Pastia’s, an old gypsy, black as a Moor,

+who kept an eating-house, to which many civilians came to eat fried

+fish--especially, I rather think, since Carmen had taken up her

+quarters there.

+

+“‘Lillas,’ she said, as soon as she saw me, ‘I shall do nothing more

+to-day. It will be light to-morrow.[17] Come, my countryman, let’s go

+for a walk.’

+

+“She put her mantilla over her face, and behold, we were in the street,

+I with no idea where we were going.

+

+“‘Señorita,’ I said, ‘I believe that I have to thank you for a present

+which you sent me when I was in prison. I ate the bread; I shall use

+the file to sharpen my lance, and I shall keep it in memory of you; but

+here is the money.’

+

+“‘My word! he has kept the money!’ she exclaimed, laughing heartily.

+‘However, it’s all the better, for I am not in funds. But what does it

+matter? The dog that keeps going always finds a bone.[18] Come on, we

+will eat it all up. You shall treat me.’

+

+“We were walking in the direction of Seville. As we entered Rue

+de Serpent, she bought a dozen oranges and bade me put them in my

+handkerchief. A little farther on she bought bread and sausages, and a

+bottle of Manzanilla; and finally she entered a confectioner’s shop.

+There she tossed on the counter the gold piece I had given back to

+her with another that she had in her pocket and some small silver;

+then she asked me for all that I had. I had only a _piecette_ and a

+few _cuartos_, which I gave her, sorely vexed because I had no more.

+I thought that she intended to carry off the whole shop. She selected

+all the best and most expensive sweetmeats: _yemas_,[19] _turon_,[20]

+preserved fruits, so long as the money held out. All those things too

+I must needs carry in paper bags. Perhaps you know Rue de Candilejo,

+where there’s a head of King Don Pedro the Justiciary?[21] That head

+should have suggested some salutary reflections to my mind. We stopped

+in front of an old house on that street. She entered the passage and

+knocked at a door on the ground floor. A gypsy woman, a veritable

+handmaid of Satan, opened the door. Carmen said a few words to her in

+_rommani_. The old woman grumbled at first, and Carmen, to pacify her,

+gave her two oranges and a handful of bonbons, and allowed her to taste

+the wine. Then she put her cloak over her shoulders and escorted her

+to the door, which she secured behind her with an iron bar. As soon as

+we were alone, she began to dance and laugh like a mad woman, saying:

+

+“‘You are my _rom_, and I am your _romi_!’[22]

+

+“I stood in the middle of the room, laden with all her purchases, not

+knowing where to put them. She threw them all on the floor and jumped

+on my neck, saying:

+

+“‘I pay my debts, I pay my debts! That is the law of the _cales_.’[23]

+

+“Ah! that day, señor! that day! When I think of it, I forget to-morrow!”

+

+The bandit was silent for a moment; then, having relighted his cigar,

+he continued:

+

+“We passed the whole day together, eating, drinking, and the rest.

+When she had eaten her fill of bonbons, like a child of six, she

+stuffed handfuls of them into the old woman’s water-jar.--‘That’s to

+make sherbet for her,’ she said. She crushed _yemas_ by throwing them

+against the wall. ‘That’s to induce the flies to let us alone,’ she

+said. There is no conceivable trick and no folly that she did not

+commit. I told her that I would like to see her dance; but where was

+she to obtain castanets? She instantly took the old woman’s only plate,

+broke it in pieces, and in a moment she was dancing the _romalis_,

+clapping the pieces of crockery in as perfect time as if they had been

+castanets of ebony or ivory. One was never bored with that girl, I

+assure you.

+

+“Night came on and I heard the drums beating the retreat.

+

+“‘I must go to quarters for the roll-call,’ I said.

+

+“‘To quarters?’ she repeated, contemptuously; ‘are you a negro, pray,

+that you allow yourself to be led by a stick? You are a regular canary,

+in dress and in temper![24] Go! you are a chicken-hearted fellow!’

+

+“I remained, with my mind made up beforehand to the guard-room. The

+next morning, she was the first to mention parting.

+

+“‘Look you, Joseito,’ she said, ‘have I paid you? According to our law,

+I owed you nothing, as you are a _payllo_; but you are a comely youth,

+and you took my fancy. We are quits. Good-day.’

+

+“I asked her when I should see her again.

+

+“‘When you are less stupid,’ she replied with a laugh. Then, in a more

+serious tone: ‘Do you know, my son, that I believe that I love you a

+little bit? But it can’t last. Dog and wolf don’t live happily together

+for long. Perhaps, if you should swear allegiance to Egypt, I should

+like to be your _romi_. But this is foolish talk; it can never be.

+Believe me, my boy, you have come off cheap. You have met the devil,

+yes, the devil; he isn’t always black, and he didn’t wring your neck. I

+am dressed in wool, but I am no sheep.[25] Go and put a wax candle in

+front of your _majari_.[26] She has well earned it. Well, good-bye once

+more. Think no more of Carmencita, or she might be the cause of your

+marrying a widow with wooden legs.’[27]

+

+“As she spoke she removed the bar that secured the door, and once in

+the street, she wrapped herself in her mantilla and turned her back on

+me.

+

+“She spoke truly. I should have been wise to think no more of her; but

+after that day on Rue de Candilejo, I could think of nothing else. I

+walked about all day long, hoping to meet her. I asked the old woman

+and the eating-house keeper for news of her. Both replied that she

+had gone to Laloro,[28] which was their way of designating Portugal.

+Probably they said that in accordance with Carmen’s instructions, but I

+very soon found out that they lied. Several weeks after my day on Rue

+de Candilejo, I was on duty at one of the gates of the city. A short

+distance from the gate there was a breach in the wall; men were at work

+repairing it during the day, and at night a sentinel was posted there

+to prevent smuggling. During the day I saw Lillas Pastia going to and

+fro around the guard-house, and talking with some of my comrades; all

+of them knew him, and they knew his fish and his fritters even better.

+He came to me and asked me if I had heard from Carmen.

+

+“‘No,’ said I.

+

+“‘Well, you will, _compadre_.’

+

+“He was not mistaken. At night I was stationed at the breach. As soon

+as the corporal had retired, I saw a woman coming towards me. My heart

+told me that it was Carmen. However, I shouted:

+

+“‘Go back! You cannot pass!’

+

+“‘Don’t be disagreeable,’ she said, showing me her face.

+

+“‘What! is it you, Carmen?’

+

+“‘Yes, my countryman. Let us talk a little and talk quick. Do you want

+to earn a _douro_? There are some men coming with bundles; let them

+alone.’

+

+“‘No,’ I replied. ‘I must prevent them from passing; those are my

+orders.’

+

+“‘Orders! orders! So you’ve forgotten the Rue de Candilejo?’

+

+“‘Ah!’ I exclaimed, completely overwhelmed by the bare memory of that

+day, ‘that would be well worth the penalty of forgetting orders; but I

+want no smugglers’ money.’

+

+“‘Well, if you don’t want money, would you like to go again to old

+Dorothy’s and dine?’

+

+“‘No,’ I said, half suffocated by the effort it cost me, ‘I cannot.’

+

+“‘Very good. If you are so stiff-backed, I know whom to apply to. I

+will go to your officer and offer to go to Dorothy’s with him. He looks

+like a good fellow, and he will put some man on duty here who will see

+no more than he ought to see. Farewell, Canary. I shall laugh with all

+my heart on the day when the orders are to hang you.’

+

+“I was weak enough to call her back, and I promised to allow all

+gypsydom to pass, if necessary, provided that I obtained the only

+reward that I desired. She instantly swore to keep her word on the

+next day, and hastened away to notify her friends, who were close by.

+There were five of them,--Pastia was one--all well laden with English

+goods. Carmen kept watch. She was to give warning with her castanets

+the instant that she saw the patrol; but she did not need to do it. The

+smugglers did their work in an instant.

+

+“The next day I went to Rue de Candilejo. Carmen kept me waiting, and

+when she came she was in a villainous temper.

+

+“‘I don’t like people who make you ask them so many times,’ she said.

+‘You did me a very great service the first time, without knowing

+whether you would gain anything by it. Yesterday, you bargained with

+me. I don’t know why I came, for I don’t love you any more. Here, take

+this _douro_ for your trouble.’

+

+“I was within an ace of throwing the money at her head, and I was

+obliged to make a violent effort over myself to keep from striking

+her. After we had quarrelled for an hour, I left the house in a rage.

+I wandered about the city a long while, tramping hither and thither

+like a madman; at last I entered a church, and, seeking out the darkest

+corner, wept scalding tears. Suddenly I heard a voice:

+

+“‘A dragoon’s tears! I must make a love-philtre of them!’

+

+“I raised my eyes; Carmen stood in front of me.

+

+“‘Well, my countryman, are you still angry with me?’ she said. ‘It must

+be that I love you, in spite of what I know of you, for since you left

+me, I don’t know what is the matter with me. See, I am the one now who

+asks you to come to Rue de Candilejo.’

+

+“So we made our peace; but Carmen’s moods were like the weather in our

+country. Among our mountains a storm is never so near as when the sun

+shines brightest. She promised to meet me again at Dorothy’s, and she

+did not come. And Dorothy told me coolly that she had gone to Laloro on

+business of Egypt.

+

+“As I knew already from experience what to think on that subject, I

+sought Carmen wherever I thought that she could possibly be, and I

+passed through Rue de Candilejo twenty times a day. One evening I was

+at Dorothy’s, having almost tamed her by treating her now and then to a

+glass of anisette, when Carmen came in, followed by a young officer, a

+lieutenant in our regiment.

+

+“‘Off with you, quick,’ she said to me in Basque.

+

+“I sat as if stupefied, with rage in my heart.

+

+“‘What are you doing here?’ the lieutenant asked me; ‘decamp, leave

+this house!’

+

+“I could not take a step; I was like a man who has lost the use of his

+limbs. The officer, seeing that I did not withdraw, and that I had not

+even removed my forage cap, lost his temper, seized me by the collar,

+and shook me roughly. I do not know what I said to him. He drew his

+sword, and I my sabre. The old woman grasped my arm, and the lieutenant

+struck me a blow on the forehead, the mark of which I still bear. I

+stepped back and knocked Dorothy down with a blow of my elbow; then,

+as the lieutenant followed me, I held the point of my sabre to his

+breast, and he spitted himself on it. Thereupon Carmen put out the

+lamp and told Dorothy in her language to fly. I myself rushed out into

+the street and started to run, I knew not whither. It seemed to me

+that some one was following me. When I came to my senses, I found that

+Carmen had not left me.

+

+“‘You great idiot of a canary!’ she exclaimed; ‘you can’t do anything

+but make a fool of yourself! I told you, you know, that I should bring

+you bad luck. Well! there’s a cure for everything when one has for

+one’s friend a Roman Fleming.[29] First of all, put this handkerchief

+on your head, and toss me that belt. Wait for me in this passage. I

+will return in two minutes.’

+

+“She disappeared, and soon brought me a striped cloak, which she had

+obtained heaven knows where. She bade me take off my uniform and put

+on the cloak over my shirt. Thus attired, with the handkerchief with

+which she had bound up the wound on my head, I looked not unlike a

+peasant from Valencia, so many of whom came to Seville to sell their

+_chufas_[30] orgeat. Then she took me into a house much like Dorothy’s,

+at the end of a narrow lane. She and another gypsy washed me and

+dressed my wound better than any surgeon could have done, and gave me

+something, I don’t know what, to drink; finally, they laid me on a

+mattress, and I went to sleep.

+

+“Probably those women had mingled with my drink one of those soporific

+drugs of which they know the secret, for I did not wake until very late

+the next day. I had a terrible headache and a little fever. It was

+some time before I remembered the terrible scene in which I had taken

+part the night before. After dressing my wound, Carmen and her friend,

+both squatting beside my mattress, exchanged a few words of _chipe

+calli_, which seemed to be a medical consultation. Then they united in

+assuring me that I should soon be cured, but that I must leave Seville

+at the earliest possible moment; for, if I should be caught, I would

+inevitably be shot.

+

+“‘My boy,’ said Carmen, ‘you must do something. Now that the king gives

+you neither rice nor dried fish,[31] you must think about earning

+your living. You are too stupid to steal _à pastesas_[32]; but you

+are strong and active; if you have any pluck, go to the coast and be

+a smuggler. Haven’t I promised to be the cause of your being hung?

+That’s better than being shot? However, if you go about it the right

+way you will live like a prince as long as the _miñons_[33] and the

+coast-guards don’t get their hands on your collar.’

+

+“In this engaging way did that diabolical girl point out to me the new

+career for which she destined me, the only one, to tell the truth,

+which remained open to me, now that I had incurred the death penalty.

+Need I tell you, señor? she prevailed upon me without much difficulty.

+It seemed to me that I should become more closely united to her by that

+life of perils and of rebellion. Thenceforth I felt that I was sure

+of her love. I had often heard of a band of smugglers who infested

+Andalusia, mounted on good horses, blunderbuss in hand, and their

+mistresses _en croupe_. I imagined myself trotting over mountain and

+valley with the pretty gypsy behind me. When I spoke to her about

+it she laughed until she held her sides, and told me that there was

+nothing so fine as a night in camp, when every _rom_ retires with

+his _romi_ under the little tent formed of three hoops with canvas

+stretched over them.

+

+“‘If I ever have you in the mountains,’ I said to her, ‘I shall be sure

+of you! There, there are no lieutenants to share with me.’

+

+“‘Oh! you are jealous,’ she replied. ‘So much the worse for you! Are

+you really stupid enough for that? Don’t you see that I love you, as I

+have never asked you for money?’

+

+“When she talked like that I felt like strangling her.

+

+“To cut it short, señor, Carmen procured a civilian’s costume for me

+in which I left Seville without being recognised. I went to Jerez

+with a letter from Pastia to a dealer in anisette, whose house was

+a rendezvous for smugglers. There I was presented to those gentry,

+whose leader, one Dancaïre, took me into his troop. We started for

+Gaucin, where I found Carmen, who had agreed to meet me there. In our

+expeditions she served us as a spy, and a better spy there never was.

+She was returning from Gibraltar and she had already arranged with the

+master of a vessel to bring a cargo of English goods which we were to

+receive on the coast. We went to Estepona to wait for it, and concealed

+a portion in the mountains. Then, laden with the rest, we journeyed to

+Ronda. Carmen had preceded us thither, and it was she who let us know

+the opportune moment to enter the town. That first trip and several

+succeeding ones were fortunate. The smuggler’s life pleased me better

+than that of a soldier. I made presents to Carmen; I had money and a

+mistress. I suffered little from remorse, for, as the gypsies say:

+‘The scab does not itch when one is enjoying one’s self.’ We were well

+received everywhere; my companions treated me well, and even showed me

+much consideration. The reason was that I had killed a man, and there

+were some among them who had not such an exploit on their consciences.

+But what appealed to me most strongly in my new life was that I saw

+Carmen often. She was more affectionate with me than ever; but before

+our comrades she would not admit that she was my mistress; and she

+had even made me swear all sorts of oaths never to say anything about

+her. I was so weak before that creature that I obeyed all her whims.

+Moreover, it was the first time that she had exhibited herself to

+me with the reserve of a virtuous woman, and I was simple enough to

+believe that she had really corrected herself of her former manners.

+

+“Our troop, which consisted of eight or ten men, seldom met except

+at critical moments; ordinarily we were scattered about by twos and

+threes, in different towns and villages. Each of us claimed to have

+a trade; one was a tinker, another a horse-dealer; I was a silk

+merchant, but I seldom showed my face in the large places because of my

+unfortunate affair at Seville.

+

+“One day, or rather one night, our rendezvous was at the foot of Veger.

+Dancaïre and I arrived there before the rest. He seemed in very high

+spirits.

+

+“‘We are going to have another comrade,’ he said. ‘Carmen has just

+played one of her best tricks. She has managed the escape of her _rom_,

+who was at the presidio at Tarifa.’

+

+“I was already beginning to understand the gypsy tongue, which almost

+all my comrades spoke, and that word _rom_ gave me a shock.

+

+“‘What’s that? her husband! is she married?’ I asked the captain.

+

+“‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘to Garcia the One-Eyed, a gypsy, as sharp as

+herself. The poor fellow was at the galleys. Carmen bamboozled the

+surgeon at the presidio so successfully that she has obtained her

+_rom’s_ liberty. Ah! that girl is worth her weight in gold. For two

+years she has been trying to manage his escape. Every scheme failed

+until they took it into their heads to change surgeons. With the new

+one she seems to have found a way to come to an understanding very

+soon.’

+

+“You can imagine the pleasure that that news afforded me. I soon saw

+Garcia the One-Eyed; he was surely the most loathsome monster that

+ever gypsydom reared; black of skin, and blacker of heart, he was the

+most unblushing villain that I have ever met in my life. Carmen came

+with him; and when she called him her _rom_ in my presence, you should

+have seen the eyes she made at me and her grimaces when Garcia turned

+his head. I was angry, and I did not speak to her that night. In the

+morning we had made up our bales and were already on the march, when

+we discovered that a dozen horsemen were at our heels. The braggart

+Andalusians, who talked of nothing but massacring everybody, made a

+most pitiful show. It was a general save himself who could. Dancaïre,

+Garcia, a handsome fellow from Ecija whom we called the Remendado, and

+Carmen, did not lose their heads. The rest had abandoned the mules, and

+had plunged into the ravines, where horses could not follow them. We

+could not keep our animals, and we hastily unpacked the best of our

+booty and loaded it on our shoulders, then tried to escape down the

+steep slopes of the cliffs. We threw our bundles before us and slid

+down on our heels after them as best we could. Meanwhile the enemy were

+peppering us; it was the first time that I had ever heard the whistle

+of bullets, and it didn’t affect me very much. When one is under the

+eye of a woman, there is no merit in laughing at death. We escaped, all

+except the poor Remendado, who received a shot in the loins. I dropped

+my bundle and tried to carry him.

+

+“‘Fool!’ shouted Garcia, ‘what have we to do with carrion? Finish him

+and don’t lose the stockings!’

+

+“‘Drop him!’ Carmen called to me.

+

+“Fatigue forced me to place him on the ground a moment, behind a rock.

+Garcia stepped up and discharged his blunderbuss at his head.

+

+“‘It will be a clever man who will recognise him now,’ he said,

+glancing at his face, which was torn to shreds by a dozen bullets.

+

+“Such, señor, was the noble life I led. That night we found ourselves

+in a copse, utterly worn out and ruined by the loss of our mules.

+What does that infernal Garcia do but pull a pack of cards from his

+pocket and begin to play with Dancaïre by the light of a fire which

+they kindled. Meanwhile I had lain down and was gazing at the stars,

+thinking of the Remendado and saying to myself that I would rather be

+in his place. Carmen was sitting near me, and from time to time she

+played with the castanets and sang under her breath. Then, drawing

+nearer as if to speak to me, she kissed me, almost against my will, two

+or three times.

+

+“‘You are the devil!’ I said to her.

+

+“‘Yes,’ she replied.

+

+“After a few hours’ rest she started for Gaucin, and the next day a

+young goatherd brought us food. We remained there the whole day, and

+at night went in the direction of Gaucin. We expected to hear from

+Carmen. No one appeared. At daybreak we saw a muleteer conducting a

+well-dressed woman with a parasol, and a small girl who seemed to be

+her servant. Garcia said:

+

+“‘Here’s two mules and two women sent to us by Saint Nicholas; I should

+rather have four mules; but no matter, I’ll make the best of it.’

+

+“He took his blunderbuss and crept down toward the path, keeping out

+of sight in the underbrush. We followed him, Dancaïre and I, at a

+short distance. When we were within arm’s length we showed ourselves

+and called to the muleteer to stop. The woman when she saw us, instead

+of being frightened--and our costumes were quite enough to frighten

+her--shouted with laughter.

+

+“‘Ha! ha! the _lillipendi_, to take me for an _erani_!’[34]

+

+“It was Carmen, but so perfectly disguised that I should not have

+recognised her if she had spoken a different tongue. She jumped down

+from her mule and talked for some time in a low tone with Dancaïre and

+Garcia, then said to me:

+

+“‘We shall meet again, Canary, before you’re hung. I am going to

+Gibraltar on business of Egypt. You will hear of me soon.’

+

+“We parted, after she had told us of a place where we could obtain

+shelter for a few days. That girl was the Providence of our party. We

+soon received some money which she sent us, and some information which

+was worth much more to us; it was to the effect that on such a day two

+English noblemen would leave Gibraltar for Grenoble by such a road.

+A word to the wise is sufficient. They had a store of good guineas.

+Garcia wanted to kill them, but Dancaïre and I objected. We took only

+their money and watches, in addition to their shirts, of which we were

+in sore need.

+

+“Señor, a man becomes a rascal without thinking of it. A pretty girl

+steals your wits, you fight for her, an accident happens, you have to

+live in the mountains, and from a smuggler you become a robber before

+you know it. We considered that it was not healthy for us in the

+neighbourhood of Gibraltar, after the affair of the noblemen, and we

+buried ourselves in the Sierra de Ronda. You once mentioned José Maria

+to me; well, it was there that I made his acquaintance. He took his

+mistress on his expeditions. She was a pretty girl, clean and modest

+and well-mannered; never an indecent word, and such devotion. As a

+reward, he made her very unhappy. He was always running after women, he

+maltreated her, and sometimes he took it into his head to pretend to be

+jealous. Once he struck her with a knife. Well, she loved him all the

+better for it. Women are made like that, especially the Andalusians.

+She was proud of the scar she had on her arm, and showed it as the

+most beautiful thing in the world. And then José Maria was the worst

+kind of a comrade, to boot. In an expedition that we made together, he

+managed matters so well that he had all the profit, we all the blows

+and trouble. But I resume my story. We heard nothing at all from Carmen.

+

+“‘One of us must go to Gibraltar to find out something about her,’ said

+Dancaïre; ‘she should have arranged some affair for us. I would go, but

+I am too well known at Gibraltar.’

+

+“The One-Eyed said:

+

+“‘So am I too; everybody knows me there, and I’ve played so many games

+on the lobsters[35]! and as I have only one eye, I am hard to disguise.’

+

+“‘Shall I go then?’ said I in my turn, overjoyed at the bare thought of

+seeing Carmen again; ‘tell me, what must I do?’

+

+“The others said to me:

+

+“‘Arrange it so as to go by sea or by San Roque, as you choose; and

+when you get to Gibraltar, ask at the harbour where a chocolate seller

+called Rollona lives; when you have found her, you can learn from her

+what’s going on yonder.’

+

+“It was agreed that we three should go together to the Sierra de

+Gaucin, where I was to leave my companions and go on to Gibraltar in

+the guise of a dealer in fruit. At Ronda, a man who was in our pay

+had procured me a passport; at Gaucin they gave me a donkey; I loaded

+him with oranges and melons, and started. When I reached Gibraltar, I

+found that Rollona was well known there, but that she was dead or had

+gone _to the ends of the earth_,[36] and her disappearance explained,

+in my opinion, the loss of our means of correspondence with Carmen. I

+put my donkey in a stable, and, taking my oranges, I walked about the

+city as if to sell them, but in reality to see if I could not meet

+some familiar face. There are quantities of riff-raff there from all

+the countries on earth, and it is like the Tower of Babel, for you

+cannot take ten steps on any street without hearing as many different

+languages. I saw many gypsies, but I hardly dared to trust them; I

+sounded them and they sounded me. We divined that we were villains;

+the important point was to know whether we belonged to the same band.

+After two days of fruitless going to and fro, I had learned nothing

+concerning Rollona or Carmen, and was thinking of returning to my

+comrades after making a few purchases, when, as I passed through a

+street at sunset, I heard a woman’s voice calling to me from a window:

+‘Orange-man!’ I looked up and saw Carmen on a balcony, leaning on the

+rail with an officer in red, gold epaulets, curly hair--the whole

+outfit of a great noble. She too was dressed magnificently: a shawl

+over her shoulders, a gold comb, and her dress all silk; and the saucy

+minx--always the same!--was laughing so that she held her sides. The

+Englishman called to me in broken Spanish to come up, that the señora

+wanted some oranges; and Carmen said in Basque:

+

+“‘Come up, and don’t be surprised at anything.’

+

+“In truth nothing was likely to surprise me on her part. I do not know

+whether I felt more joy or grief at seeing her again. There was a tall

+English servant with powdered hair, at the door, who ushered me into a

+gorgeous salon. Carmen instantly said to me in Basque:

+

+“‘You don’t know a word of Spanish; you don’t know me.’ Then, turning

+to the Englishman: ‘I told you I recognised him at once as a Basque;

+you will hear what a strange tongue it is. What a stupid look he has,

+hasn’t he? One would take him for a cat caught in a pantry.’

+

+“‘And you,’ I said to her in my language, ‘have the look of a

+brazen-faced slut, and I am tempted to slash your face before your

+lover.’

+

+“‘My lover!’ she said; ‘did you really guess that all by yourself? And

+you are jealous of this simpleton? You are more of a fool than you

+were before our evenings in Rue de Candilejo. Don’t you see, blockhead

+that you are, that I am doing the business of Egypt at this moment, and

+in the most brilliant fashion too? This house is mine, the lobster’s

+guineas will be mine; I lead him by the end of the nose, and I will

+lead him to a place he will never come out of.’

+

+“‘And I,’ I said, ‘if you go on doing the business of Egypt in this

+way, I will see to it that you won’t do it again.’

+

+“‘Ah! indeed! Are you my _rom_, to give me orders? The One-Eyed thinks

+it’s all right, what business is it of yours? Oughtn’t you to be

+content to be the only man who can say that he’s my _minchorrò?_’[37]

+

+“‘What does he say?’ asked the Englishman.

+

+“‘He says that he is thirsty and would like to drink a glass,’ Carmen

+replied.

+

+“And she threw herself on a couch, roaring with laughter at her

+translation.

+

+“When that girl laughed, señor, it was impossible to talk sense.

+Everybody laughed with her. The tall Englishman began to laugh too,

+like the fool that he was, and ordered something to be brought for me

+to drink.

+

+“While I was drinking:

+

+“‘Do you see that ring he has on his finger?’ she asked me; ‘I will

+give it to you if you want.’

+

+“I replied:

+

+“‘I would give a finger to have your lord on the mountains, each of us

+with a _maquila_ in his hand.’

+

+“‘_Maquila_--what does that mean?’ asked the Englishman.

+

+“‘_Maquila_,’ said Carmen, still laughing, ‘is an orange. Isn’t that a

+curious word for orange? He says that he would like to give you some

+_maquila_ to eat.’

+

+“‘Yes?’ said the Englishman. ‘Well! bring some _maquila_ to-morrow.’

+

+“While we were talking, the servant entered and said that dinner was

+ready. Thereupon the Englishman rose, gave me a piastre and offered

+Carmen his arm, as if she could not walk alone. Carmen, still laughing,

+said to me:

+

+“‘I can’t invite you to dinner, my boy; but to-morrow, as soon as you

+hear the drums beating for the parade, come here with some oranges. You

+will find a room better furnished than the one on Rue de Candilejo, and

+you will see whether I am still your Carmencita. And then we will talk

+about the business of Egypt.’

+

+“I made no reply, and after I was in the street I heard the Englishman

+calling after me:

+

+“‘Bring some _maquila_ to-morrow!’ and I heard Carmen’s shouts of

+laughter.

+

+“I went out, having no idea what I should do. I slept little, and in

+the morning I found myself so enraged with that traitress that I had

+resolved to leave Gibraltar without seeing her; but at the first beat

+of the drum all my courage deserted me; I took my bag of oranges and

+hurried to Carmen. Her blinds were partly open, and I saw her great

+black eye watching me. The powdered servant ushered me in at once;

+Carmen gave him an errand to do, and as soon as we were alone she burst

+out with one of her shouts of crocodile laughter and threw herself

+on my neck. I had never seen her so lovely. Arrayed like a Madonna,

+perfumed--silk-covered furniture, embroidered hangings--ah!--and I,

+dressed like the highwayman that I was!

+

+“‘_Minchorrò!_’ said Carmen, ‘I have a mind to smash everything here,

+to set fire to the house, and fly to the mountains!’

+

+“And such caresses! and such laughter! and she danced, and she tore her

+falbalas; never did monkey go through more antics, more deviltry, more

+grimacing. When she had resumed her gravity:

+

+“‘Listen,’ she said, ‘let us talk of Egypt. I want him to take me to

+Ronda, where I have a sister who’s a nun (a fresh outburst of laughter

+here). We shall go by a place that I will let you know. Do you fall

+upon him; strip him clean! The best way would be to finish him; but,’

+she added, with a diabolical smile which she assumed at certain times,

+and no one had any desire to imitate that smile at such times,--‘do you

+know what you must do? Let the One-Eyed appear first. Do you stay back

+a little; the lobster is brave and a good shot; he has good pistols. Do

+you understand?’

+

+“She interrupted herself with a fresh burst of laughter that made me

+shudder.

+

+“‘No,’ I said, ‘I hate Garcia, but he is my comrade. Some day, perhaps,

+I will rid you of him, but we will settle our accounts after the

+fashion of my country. I am a gypsy only by chance; and in certain

+things I shall always be a downright Navarrese, as the proverb says.’

+

+“She retorted:

+

+“‘You are a blockhead, a fool, a genuine _payllo_! You are like the

+dwarf who thinks he’s tall when he can spit a long way. You don’t love

+me--be off!’

+

+“When she said ‘be off!’ I could not go. I promised to leave Gibraltar,

+to return to my comrades and wait for the Englishman; she, on her side,

+promised to be ill until it was time to leave Gibraltar for Ronda. I

+stayed at Gibraltar two more days. She had the audacity to come to

+see me at my inn, in disguise. I left the city; I, too, had my plan.

+I returned to our rendezvous, knowing the place and hour when the

+Englishman and Carmen were to pass. I found Dancaïre and Garcia waiting

+for me. We passed the night in a wood beside a fire of pine cones,

+which blazed finely. I proposed a game of cards to Garcia. He accepted.

+In the second game I told him he was cheating; he began to laugh. I

+threw the cards in his face. He tried to take his gun, but I put my

+foot on it and said to him: ‘They say you can handle a knife like the

+best _jaque_ in Malaga--will you try it with me?’ Dancaïre tried to

+separate us. I had struck Garcia two or three times with my fist. Anger

+made him brave; he drew his knife and I mine. We both told Dancaïre to

+give us room and a fair field. He saw that there was no way of stopping

+us, and he walked away. Garcia was bent double, like a cat on the point

+of springing at a mouse. He held his hat in his left hand to parry, his

+knife forward. That is the Andalusian guard. I took my stand Navarrese

+fashion, straight in front of him, with the left arm raised, the left

+leg forward, and the knife along the right thigh. I felt stronger than

+a giant. He rushed on me like a flash; I turned on my left foot, and

+he found nothing in front of him; but I caught him in the throat, and

+my knife went in so far that my hand was under his chin. I twisted the

+blade so sharply that it broke. That was the end. The knife came out of

+the wound, forced by a stream of blood as big as your arm. He fell to

+the ground as stiff as a stake.

+

+“‘What have you done?’ Dancaïre asked me.

+

+“‘Look you,’ said I; ‘we couldn’t live together. I love Carmen, and

+I wish to be her only lover. Besides, Garcia was a villain, and I

+remember what he did to poor Remendado. There are only two of us left,

+but we are stout fellows. Tell me, do you want me for your friend, in

+life or death?’

+

+“Dancaïre gave me his hand. He was a man of fifty.

+

+“‘To the devil with love affairs!’ he cried. ‘If you had asked him for

+Carmen, he’d have sold her to you for a piastre. There’s only two of us

+now; how shall we manage to-morrow?’

+

+“‘Let me do it all alone,’ I replied. ‘I snap my fingers at the whole

+world now.’

+

+“We buried Garcia and pitched our camp again two hundred yards away.

+The next day Carmen and her Englishman passed, with two muleteers and a

+servant.

+

+“I said to Dancaïre:

+

+“‘I will take care of the Englishman. Frighten the others--they are not

+armed.’

+

+“The Englishman had pluck. If Carmen had not struck his arm, he would

+have killed me. To make my story short, I won Carmen back that day, and

+my first words to her were to tell her that she was a widow. When she

+learned how it had happened:

+

+“‘You will always be a _lillipendi_!’ she said. ‘Garcia ought to have

+killed you. Your Navarrese guard is all folly, and he has put out the

+light of better men than you. It means that his time had come. Yours

+will come too.’

+

+“‘And yours,’ I retorted, ‘unless you’re a true _romi_ to me.’

+

+“‘All right,’ said she, ‘I’ve read more than once in coffee grounds

+that we were to go together. Bah! let what is planted come up!’

+

+“And she rattled her castanets, as she always did when she wished to

+banish some unpleasant thought.

+

+“We forget ourselves when we are talking about ourselves. All these

+details tire you, no doubt, but I shall soon be done. The life we were

+then leading lasted quite a long time. Dancaïre and I associated with

+ourselves several comrades who were more reliable than the former

+ones, and we devoted ourselves to smuggling, and sometimes, I must

+confess, we stopped people on the highroad, but only in the last

+extremity and when we could not do otherwise. However, we did not

+maltreat travellers, and we confined ourselves to taking their money.

+For several months I had no fault to find with Carmen; she continued

+to make herself useful in our operations, informing us of profitable

+strokes of business we could do. She stayed sometimes at Malaga,

+sometimes at Cordova, sometimes at Granada; but at a word from me, she

+would leave everything and join me at some isolated tavern, or even in

+our camp. Once only--it was at Malaga--she caused me some anxiety. I

+knew that she had cast her spell upon a very rich merchant, with whom

+she probably proposed to repeat the Gibraltar pleasantry. In spite of

+all that Dancaïre could say, I left him and went to Malaga in broad

+daylight; I sought Carmen and took her away at once. We had a sharp

+explanation.

+

+“‘Do you know,’ she said, ‘that since you have been my _rom_ for good

+and all I love you less than when you were my _minchorrò_? I don’t

+choose to be tormented or, above all, to be ordered about! What I want

+is to be free and to do what I please. Look out that you don’t drive me

+too far. If you tire me out I will find some good fellow who will serve

+you as you served the One-Eyed.’

+

+“Dancaïre made peace between us; but we had said things to each

+other that remained on our minds and we were no longer the same as

+before. Soon after an accident happened to us. The troops surprised

+us, Dancaïre was killed, and two more of my comrades; two others were

+captured. I was seriously wounded and but for my good horse I should

+have fallen into the soldiers’ hands. Worn out with fatigue, and with

+a bullet in my body, I hid in some woods with the only comrade I had

+left. I fainted when I dismounted, and I thought that I was going to

+die in the underbrush like a wounded rabbit. My comrade carried me

+to a cave that we knew, then he went in search of Carmen. She was at

+Granada, and she instantly came to me. For a fortnight she did not

+leave me a moment. She did not close an eye; she nursed me with a skill

+and attention which no woman ever showed for the man she loved best. As

+soon as I could stand she took me to Granada with the utmost secrecy.

+Gypsies find sure places of refuge everywhere, and I passed more than

+six weeks in a house within two doors of the corregidor who was looking

+for me. More than once as I looked out from behind a shutter I saw him

+pass. At last I was cured; but I had reflected deeply on my bed of pain

+and I proposed to change my mode of life. I spoke to Carmen of leaving

+Spain and of seeking an honest livelihood in the New World. She laughed

+at me.

+

+“‘We were not made to plant cabbages,’ said she; ‘our destiny is

+to live at the expense of the _payllos_. Look you, I have arranged

+an affair with Nathan Ben-Joseph of Gibraltar. He has some cotton

+stuffs that are only waiting for you, to pass the frontier. He knows

+that you are alive. He is counting on you. What would our Gibraltar

+correspondents say if you should go back on your word?’

+

+“I allowed her to persuade me and I resumed my wretched trade.

+

+“While I was in hiding in Granada there were some bull-fights which

+Carmen attended. When she returned she had much to say of a very

+skilful picador named Lucas. She knew the name of his horse and how

+much his embroidered jacket cost. I paid no attention to it. Juanito,

+my last remaining comrade, told me some days later that he had seen

+Carmen with Lucas in a shop on the Zacatin. That began to disturb me.

+I asked Carmen how and why she had made the picador’s acquaintance.

+

+“‘He’s a fellow with whom one can do business,’ she said. ‘A river that

+makes a noise has either water or stones. He won twelve hundred reals

+in the bull-fights. One of two things must happen: either we must have

+that money, or else, as he’s a good rider and a fellow of good pluck,

+we must take him into our band. Such a one and such a one are dead and

+you need some one in their places. Take him.’

+

+“‘I don’t want either his money or his person,’ I said, ‘and I forbid

+you to speak to him.’

+

+“‘Beware!’ said she, ‘when any one defies me to do a thing it’s soon

+done!’

+

+“Luckily the picador left for Malaga, and I turned my attention to

+bringing in the Jew’s bales of cotton. I had a great deal to do in that

+affair, and so did Carmen; and I forgot Lucas; perhaps she forgot him,

+too, for the moment at least. It was about that time, señor, that I met

+you, first near Montilla, then at Cordova. I will say nothing about

+our last interview. Perhaps you remember it better than I do. Carmen

+stole your watch; she wanted your money, too, and above all, that ring

+that I see on your finger, which, she said, was a magnificent ring,

+which it was most important for her to own. We had a violent quarrel,

+and I struck her. She turned pale and shed tears, and that produced

+a terrible effect on me. I asked her to forgive me, but she sulked a

+whole day, and, when I started to return to Montilla, she refused to

+kiss me. My heart was very heavy, when, three days later, she came

+to see me with a laughing face and gay as a lark. Everything was

+forgotten, and we were like lovers of two days’ standing. At the moment

+of parting, she said to me:

+

+“‘There’s to be a fête at Cordova; I am going to it, and I shall find

+out what people are going away with money and let you know.’

+

+“I let her go. When I was alone, I mused upon that fête and upon

+Carmen’s change of humour. ‘She must have had her revenge already,’ I

+thought, ‘as she was the first to make advances.’ A peasant told me

+that there were bulls at Cordova. My blood began to boil, and like a

+madman, I started for the city and went to the public square. Lucas was

+pointed out to me, and on the bench next to the barrier, I recognised

+Carmen. A single glance at her was enough to satisfy me. Lucas, when

+the first bull appeared, played the gallant, as I had foreseen. He tore

+the cockade[38] from the bull and carried it to Carmen, who instantly

+put it in her hair. The bull took it upon himself to avenge me. Lucas

+was thrown down, with his horse across his chest and the bull on top

+of them both. I looked for Carmen; she was no longer in her seat.

+It was impossible for me to leave the place where I was, and I was

+compelled to wait until the end of the sports. Then I went to the house

+that you know, and I lay in wait there all the evening and part of the

+night. About two o’clock Carmen returned, and was rather surprised to

+see me.

+

+“‘Come with me,’ I said to her.

+

+“‘All right!’ said she; ‘let us go.’

+

+“I went for my horse and took her behind me, and we rode all the rest

+of the night without exchanging a word. At daybreak we stopped at a

+lonely _venta_, near a little hermitage. There I said to Carmen:

+

+“‘Listen; I will forget everything; I will never say a word to you

+about anything that has happened; but promise me one thing--that you

+will go to America with me and remain quietly there.’

+

+“‘No,’ she said, sullenly, ‘I don’t want to go to America. I am very

+well off here.’

+

+“‘That is because you are near Lucas; but understand this, if he

+recovers, he won’t live to have old bones. But, after all, why should I

+be angry with him? I am tired of killing all your lovers; you are the

+one I will kill.’

+

+“She looked earnestly at me with that savage look of hers, and said:

+

+“‘I have always thought that you would kill me. The first time I saw

+you, I had just met a priest at the door of my house. And that night

+when we left Cordova, didn’t you see anything? A hare crossed the road

+between your horse’s feet. It is written.’

+

+“‘Carmen, don’t you love me any more?’ I asked her.

+

+“She made no reply. She was seated with her legs crossed, on a mat, and

+making figures on the ground with her finger.

+

+“‘Let us change our mode of life, Carmen,’ I said to her in suppliant

+tone. ‘Let us go somewhere to live where we shall never be parted. You

+know, we have a hundred and twenty ounces buried under an oak, not far

+from here. Then, too, we have funds in the Jew Ben-Joseph’s hands.’

+

+“She smiled and said:

+

+“‘Me first, then you. I know that it is bound to happen so.’

+

+“‘Reflect,’ I continued; ‘I am at the end of my patience and my

+courage; make up your mind, or I shall make up mine.’

+

+“I left her and walked in the direction of the hermitage. I found the

+hermit praying. I waited until his prayer was at an end; I would have

+liked to pray, but I could not. When he rose I went to him.

+

+“‘Father,’ I said, ‘will you say a prayer for some one who is in great

+danger?’

+

+“‘I pray for all who are afflicted,’ he said.

+

+“‘Can you say a mass for a soul which perhaps is soon to appear before

+its Creator?’

+

+“‘Yes,’ he replied, gazing fixedly at me.

+

+“And, as there was something strange in my manner, he tried to make me

+talk.

+

+“‘It seems to me that I have seen you before,’ he said.

+

+“I placed a piastre on his bench.

+

+“‘When will you say the mass?’ I asked.

+

+“‘In half an hour. The son of the innkeeper yonder will come soon to

+serve it. Tell me, young man, have you not something on your conscience

+which torments you? Will you listen to the advice of a Christian?’

+

+“I felt that I was on the point of weeping. I told him that I would

+come again, and I hurried away. I lay down on the grass until I heard

+the bell ring. Then I returned, but I remained outside the chapel. When

+the mass was said, I returned to the _venta_. I hoped that Carmen would

+have fled--she might have taken my horse and made her escape--but I

+found her there. She did not propose that any one should say that I had

+frightened her. During my absence she had ripped the hem of her dress,

+to take out the lead. Now she was standing by a table, watching the

+lead, which she had melted and had just thrown into a bowl filled with

+water. She was so engrossed by her magic that she did not notice my

+return at first. At one moment she would take up a piece of lead and

+turn it in every direction with a melancholy air; then she would sing

+one of those ballads of magic in which they invoke Maria Padilla, Don

+Pedro’s mistress, who, they say, was the _Bari Crallisa_, or the great

+queen of the gypsies.[39]

+

+“‘Carmen,’ I said, ‘will you come with me?’

+

+“She rose, pushed her bowl away, and put her mantilla over her head, as

+if ready to start. My horse was brought, she mounted behind me, and we

+rode away.

+

+“‘So, my Carmen,’ I said, after we had ridden a little way, ‘you will

+go with me, won’t you?’

+

+“‘I will go with you to death, yes, but I won’t live with you any more.’

+

+“We were in a deserted ravine; I stopped my horse.

+

+“‘Is this the place?’ she said.

+

+“And with one spring she was on the ground. She took off her mantilla,

+dropped it at her feet, and stood perfectly still, with one hand on her

+hip, looking me in the eye.

+

+“‘You mean to kill me, I can see that,’ she said; ‘it is written, but

+you will not make me yield.’

+

+“‘Be reasonable, I beg,’ I said to her. ‘Listen to me. All of the past

+is forgotten. However, as you know, it was you who ruined me; it was

+for your sake that I became a robber and a murderer. Carmen! my Carmen!

+let me save you and myself with you.’

+

+“‘José,’ she replied, ‘you ask something that is impossible. I no

+longer love you; you do still love me, and that is the reason you

+intend to kill me. I could easily tell you some lie; but I don’t choose

+to take the trouble. All is over between us. As my _rom_, you have a

+right to kill your _romi_; but Carmen will always be free. _Calli_ she

+was born, _calli_ she will die.’

+

+“‘Then you love Lucas?’ I demanded.

+

+“‘Yes, I did love him, as I loved you, for a moment--but less than I

+loved you, I think. Now, I love nobody, and I hate myself for having

+loved you.’

+

+“I threw myself at her feet, I took her hands, I drenched them with

+my tears. I reminded her of all the blissful moments we had passed

+together. I offered to remain a brigand to please her. Everything,

+señor, everything; I offered her everything, if only she would love me

+again.

+

+“She said to me:

+

+“‘To love you again is impossible. I will not live with you.’

+

+“Frenzy took possession of me. I drew my knife. I would have liked her

+to show some fear and to beg for mercy, but that woman was a demon.

+

+“‘For the last time,’ I cried, ‘will you stay with me?’

+

+“‘No! no! no!’ she replied, stamping the ground with her foot.

+

+“And she took from her finger a ring I had given her and threw it into

+the underbrush.

+

+“I struck her twice. It was the One-Eyed’s knife, which I had taken,

+having broken my own. She fell at the second stroke, without a sound.

+I fancy that I still see her great black eye gazing at me; then it

+grew dim and closed. I remained utterly crushed beside that corpse for

+a long hour. Then I remembered that Carmen had often told me that she

+would like to be buried in a wood. I dug a grave with my knife and laid

+her in it. I hunted a long while for her ring and found it at last. I

+placed it in the grave with her, also a small crucifix. Perhaps I did

+wrong. Then I mounted my horse, galloped to Cordova, and gave myself

+up at the first guard-house. I said that I had killed Carmen, but I

+have refused to tell where her body is. The hermit was a holy man. He

+prayed for her! He said a mass for her soul. Poor child! The _Cales_

+are guilty, for bringing her up so.”

+

+

+IV

+

+Spain is one of those countries where we find to-day in the greatest

+numbers those nomads who are scattered over all Europe, and are

+known by the names of _Bohemians_, _Gitanos_, _Gypsies_, _Zigeuner_,

+etc. Most of them live, or rather lead a wandering existence, in the

+provinces of the south and east, in Andalusia, Estremadura, and the

+kingdom of Murcia; there are many in Catalonia. These latter often

+cross the frontier into France. They are to be seen at all the fairs

+in the Midi. Ordinarily the men carry on the trades of horse-dealer,

+veterinary, and clipper of mules; they combine therewith the industry

+of mending kettles and copper implements, to say nothing of smuggling

+and other illicit traffic. The women tell fortunes, beg, and sell all

+sorts of drugs, innocent or not.

+

+The physical characteristics of the gypsy are easier to distinguish

+than to describe, and when you have seen a single one, you can readily

+pick out a person of that race from a thousand others. Features and

+expression--these above all else separate them from the natives of

+the countries where they are found. Their complexion is very dark,

+always darker than that of the peoples among whom they live. Hence the

+name _Cale_--black--by which they often refer to themselves. Their

+eyes, which are perceptibly oblique, well-shaped, and very black, are

+shaded by long, thick lashes. One can compare their look to nothing

+save that of a wild beast. Audacity and timidity are depicted therein

+at once, and in that respect their eyes express accurately enough

+the character of the race--crafty, insolent, but _naturally afraid

+of blows_, like Panurge. As a general rule, the men are well-knit,

+slender, and active; I believe that I have never seen a single one

+overburdened with flesh. In Germany, the gypsy women are often very

+pretty; beauty is very rare among the _gitanas_ of Spain. When they are

+very young, they may pass for rather attractive ugly women; but when

+they have once become mothers, they are repulsive. The uncleanliness

+of both sexes is beyond belief, and one who has never seen the hair

+of a gypsy matron would find it hard to form an idea of it, even by

+imagining it as like the coarsest, greasiest, dustiest horsehair. In

+some large cities of Andalusia, some of the girls who are a little

+more attractive than the rest take more care of their persons. They go

+about dancing for money--dances very like those which are forbidden at

+our (Parisian) public balls during the Carnival. M. Borrow, an English

+missionary, the author of two very interesting works on the gypsies of

+Spain, whom he had undertaken to convert at the expense of the Bible

+Society, asserts that there is no known instance of a _gitana_ having

+a weakness for a man not of her race. It seems to me that there is

+much exaggeration in the eulogium which he bestows on their chastity.

+In the first place, the great majority of them are in the plight of

+Ovid’s ugly woman: _Casta quam nemo rogavit_. As for the pretty ones,

+they are, like all Spanish women, exacting in the choice of their

+lovers. A man must please them and deserve them. M. Borrow cites as a

+proof of their virtue an instance which does honour to his own virtue,

+and above all to his innocence. An immoral man of his acquaintance,

+he says, offered several ounces of gold to a pretty _gitana_, to no

+purpose. An Andalusian to whom I told this anecdote declared that

+that same immoral man would have had better luck if he had shown only

+two or three piastres, and that to offer ounces of gold to a gypsy

+was as poor a way to persuade her as to promise a million or two to a

+servant girl at an inn. However that may be, it is certain that the

+_gitanas_ display a most extraordinary devotion to their husbands.

+There is no peril or privation which they will not defy, in order to

+assist them in their need. One of the names by which the gypsies call

+themselves--_romi_ or _spouses_--seems to me to bear witness to the

+respect of the race for the marriage state. In general, we may say that

+their principal virtue is patriotism, if we may call by that name the

+fidelity which they observe in their relations with persons of the same

+origin as themselves, the zeal with which they help one another, and

+the inviolable secrecy which they maintain in respect to compromising

+affairs. Indeed, we may remark something similar in all associations

+that are shrouded in mystery and are outside of the law.

+

+A few months ago, I visited a tribe of gypsies settled in the Vosges.

+In the cabin of an old woman, the patriarch of the tribe, there was a

+gypsy unknown to her family, suffering from a fatal disease. That man

+had left a hospital, where he was well cared for, to die among his

+compatriots. For thirteen weeks he had been in bed in the cabin of

+his hosts, and much better treated than the sons and sons-in-law who

+lived in the same house. He had a comfortable bed of straw and moss,

+with reasonably white sheets, whereas the rest of the family, to the

+number of eleven, slept on boards three feet long. So much for their

+hospitality. The same woman who was so humane to her guest said in his

+presence: “_Singo, singo, homte hi mulo.”_ “Before long, before long,

+he must die.” After all, the life of those people is so wretched that

+the certainty of death has no terrors for them.

+

+A remarkable feature of the gypsy character is their indifference in

+the matter of religion. Not that they are atheists or skeptics. They

+have never made profession of atheism. Far from that, they adopt the

+religion of the country in which they live; but they change when they

+change countries. The superstitions which among ignorant peoples

+replace religious sentiments are equally foreign to them. Indeed, how

+could superstition exist among people who, in most cases, live on the

+credulity of others! I have observed, however, among Spanish gypsies, a

+strange horror at the thought of touching a dead body. There are few of

+them whom money could hire to carry a corpse to the cemetery.

+

+I have said that most gypsy women dabble in fortune-telling. They are

+very skillful at it. But another thing that is a source of very great

+profit to them is the sale of charms and love-philtres. Not only do

+they keep frogs’ feet to fix fickle hearts, or powdered lodestone to

+force the unfeeling to love; but at need they make potent conjurations

+which compel the devil to lend them his aid. Last year a Spanish

+woman told me the following story: She was passing one day along Rue

+d’Alcala, sad and distraught, when a gypsy sitting on the sidewalk

+called after her: “Your lover has been false to you, fair lady.”--It

+was the truth.--“Do you want me to bring him back?”--You will imagine

+how joyfully the offer was accepted, and what unbounded confidence

+was naturally inspired by a person who could thus divine at a glance

+the inmost secrets of the heart. As it would have been impossible to

+proceed to magic rites in the most frequented street in Madrid, they

+made an appointment for the morrow.--“Nothing easier than to bring

+the unfaithful one back to your feet,” said the _gitana_. “Have you a

+handkerchief, a scarf, or a mantilla that he has given you?”--The lady

+gave her a silk handkerchief.--“Now sew a piastre into a corner of it,

+with crimson silk; half a piastre into another; a _piecette_ here; a

+two real piece here. Then you must sew a gold piece in the centre; a

+doubloon would be best.”--The doubloon and the rest were duly sewn

+into the handkerchief.--“Now, give it to me; I will take it to the

+Campo-Santo when the clock strikes twelve. Come with me, if you want

+to see some fine deviltry. I promise you that you will see the man you

+love to-morrow.”--The gypsy started alone for the Campo-Santo, for the

+lady was too much afraid of the devils to accompany her. I leave you to

+guess whether the poor love-lorn creature saw her handkerchief or her

+faithless lover again.

+

+Despite their poverty and the sort of aversion which they inspire, the

+gypsies enjoy a certain consideration none the less among unenlightened

+peoples, and they are very proud of it. They feel a haughty contempt

+for intelligence, and cordially despise the people who give them

+hospitality. “The Gentiles are such fools,” said a gypsy of the Vosges

+to me one day, “that there’s no merit in tricking them. The other day

+a peasant woman called to me on the street, and I went into her house.

+Her stove was smoking, and she asked me for a spell, to make it burn.

+I told her to give me first of all a big piece of pork. Then I mumbled

+a few words in _rommani_. ‘You are a fool,’ I said, ‘you were born a

+fool, a fool you will die.’--When I was at the door, I said to her in

+good German: ‘The infallible way to keep your stove from smoking is not

+to make any fire in it.’--And I ran off at full speed.”

+

+The history of the gypsies is still a problem. To be sure, we know that

+the first bands of them, very small in numbers, showed themselves in

+the east of Europe early in the fifteenth century; but no one can say

+whence they came to Europe, or why; and, which is more extraordinary,

+we have no idea how they multiplied so prodigiously, in a short time,

+in several countries at a great distance from one another. The gypsies

+themselves have preserved no tradition concerning their origin, and,

+although most of them speak of Egypt as their original fatherland, it

+is because they have adopted a fable that was spread abroad concerning

+them many, many years ago.

+

+Most Orientalists who have studied the gypsy language believe that they

+came originally from India. In fact, it seems that a great number of

+the roots of the _rommani_ tongue and many of its grammatical forms

+are found in phrases derived from the Sanskrit. We can understand

+that, in their long wanderings, the gypsies may have adopted many

+foreign words. In all the dialects of the _rommani_, we find many

+Greek words. For example: _cocal_, bone, from κόκκαλον; _petalli_,

+horseshoe, from πέταλον; _cafi_, nail, from καρφί, etc. To-day, the

+gypsies have almost as many different dialects as there are bands of

+their race living apart from one another. Everywhere they speak the

+language of the country in which they live more readily than their

+own, which they seldom use except as a means of speaking freely before

+strangers. If we compare the dialect of the gypsies of Germany with

+that of the Spaniards, who have had no communication with the former

+for centuries, we discover a very great number of words common to the

+two; but the original tongue has been noticeably modified everywhere,

+although in different degrees, by the contact with the more cultivated

+tongues, which these nomads have been constrained to employ. German

+on the one side, Spanish on the other, have so modified the substance

+of the _rommani_ that it would be impossible for a gypsy of the Black

+Forest to converse with one of his Andalusian brethren, although they

+need only exchange a few sentences to realise that each of them is

+speaking a dialect derived from the same parent tongue. A few words in

+very frequent use are common, I believe, to all dialects; for instance,

+in all the vocabularies which I have had an opportunity to see, _pani_

+means water, _manro_, bread, _mas_, meat, and _lon_, salt.

+

+The names of the numbers are almost the same everywhere. The German

+dialect seems to me much purer than the Spanish; for it has retained

+a number of the primitive grammatical forms, while the _gitanos_

+have adopted those of the Castilian tongue. A few words, however,

+are exceptions to this rule and attest the former community of the

+dialects. The preterit tenses in the German dialect are formed by

+adding _ium_ to the imperative, which is always the root of the verb.

+The verbs in the Spanish _rommani_ are all conjugated like Castilian

+verbs of the first conjugation. From the infinitive _jamar_, to eat,

+they regularly make _jamé_, I have eaten; from _lillar_, to take,

+_lillé_, I have taken. But some old gypsies say, on the other hand,

+_jayon_, _lillon_. I know no other verbs which have retained this

+ancient form.

+

+While I am thus parading my slight acquaintance with the _rommani_

+tongue, I must note a few words of French argot, which our thieves

+have borrowed from the gypsies. The _Mystères de Paris_ has taught

+good society that _chourin_ means knife. The word is pure _rommani_;

+_tchouri_ is one of the words common to all the dialects. M. Vidocq

+calls a horse _grès_--that is another _rommani_ word--_gras_, _gre_,

+_graste_, _gris_. Add the word _romanichel_, which in Parisian

+slang means gypsies. It is a corruption of _rommane tchave_, gypsy

+youths. But an etymology of which I am proud is that of _frimousse_,

+expression, face--a word which all schoolboys use, or did use in my

+day. Observe first that Oudin, in his curious dictionary, wrote in 1640

+_firlimouse_. Now, _firla_, _fila_, in _rommani_ means face; _mui_

+has the same meaning, it exactly corresponds to the Latin _os_. The

+combination _firlamui_ was instantly understood by a gypsy purist, and

+I believe it to be in conformity with the genius of his language.

+

+This is quite enough to give the readers of _Carmen_ a favourable idea

+of my studies in _rommani_. I will close with this proverb, which is

+quite apropos: _En retudi panda nasti abela macha_--“a fly cannot enter

+a closed mouth.”

+

+ 1845.

+

+

+FOOTNOTES:

+

+[1] The Andalusians aspirate the _s_, and in pronunciation confound it

+with _c_ soft and _z_, which the Spaniards pronounce like the English

+_th_. It is possible to recognise an Andalusian by the one word _señor_.

+

+[2] That is, the _privileged provinces_, which enjoy special _fueros_,

+namely, Alava, Biscay, Guipuzcoa, and a part of Navarre. Basque is the

+language spoken in those provinces.

+

+[3] A café provided with an ice-house, or rather with a store of snow.

+There is hardly a village in Spain which has not its _neveria_.

+

+[4] In Spain every traveller who does not carry about with him

+specimens of calico or silk is taken for an Englishman, _Inglesito_. It

+is the same in the East; at Chalcis I had the honour of being announced

+as a Μιλὸρδος Φραντσέοος.

+

+[5] Fortune.

+

+[6] In 1830 the nobility alone enjoyed that privilege. To-day (1847)

+under the constitutional _régime_, the plebeians have obtained the

+privilege of the _garrote_.

+

+[7] Ironshod staves carried by the Basques.

+

+[8] The magistrate at the head of the police and municipal

+administration.

+

+[9] The ordinary costume of the peasant women of Navarre and the Basque

+provinces.

+

+[10] Yes, sir.

+

+[11] Enclosure, garden.

+

+[12] Bravoes, bullies.

+

+[13] All the Spanish cavalry are armed with lances.

+

+[14] Alcala de los Panaderos, a hamlet two leagues from Seville, where

+they make delicious small loaves. It is claimed that their excellence

+is due to the water of Alcala, and great quantities of them are taken

+to Seville daily.

+

+[15] Good-day, comrade.

+

+[16] Most of the houses in Seville have an interior courtyard

+surrounded by porticos. The inhabitants live there in summer. The

+courtyard is covered with canvas, which is kept wet during the day and

+removed at night. The gate into the street is almost always open, and

+the passage leading into the courtyard is closed by an iron gate of

+elaborate workmanship.

+

+[17] _Mañana sera otro dia._--A Spanish proverb.

+

+[18] A gypsy proverb.

+

+[19] Sugared yolks of eggs.

+

+[20] A kind of nougat.

+

+[21] King Don Pedro, whom we call the _Cruel_, but whom Isabella

+the Catholic always called the _Justiciary_, loved to walk the

+streets of Seville at night in search of adventures, like the

+Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid. On a certain night he had a quarrel in an

+out-of-the-way street with a man who was giving a serenade. They fought

+and the king slew the love-lorn knight. Hearing the clash of swords,

+an old woman put her head out of a window and lighted up the scene

+with a small lamp (_candilejo_) which she held in her hand. You must

+know that King Don Pedro, who was very active and powerful, had one

+physical peculiarity: his knees cracked loudly when he walked. The old

+woman had no difficulty in recognising him by means of that cracking.

+The next day the Twenty-four who was on duty came to the king to make

+his report. “Sire, there was a duel last night on such a street. One

+of the combatants was killed.” “Have you discovered the murderer?”

+“Yes, sire.” “Why is he not punished before now?” “I await your orders,

+sire.” “Carry out the law.” Now the king had recently issued a decree

+providing that every duellist should be beheaded, and that his head

+should be exposed on the battle-field. The Twenty-four extricated

+himself from the dilemma like a man of wit. He caused the head of a

+statue of the king to be sawed off, and exposed it in a recess in the

+middle of the street where the murder had taken place. The king and all

+the good people of Seville thought it an excellent joke. The street

+took its name from the lamp of the old woman, who was the sole witness

+of the adventure. Such is the popular tradition. Zuñiga tells the story

+a little differently. (See _Anales de Sevilla_, vol. ii., p. 136.)

+However, there is still a Rue de Candilejo in Seville, and in that

+street a stone bust said to be a portrait of Don Pedro. Unfortunately

+the bust is a modern affair. The old one was sadly defaced in the

+seventeenth century, and the municipal government caused it to be

+replaced by the one we see to-day.

+

+[22] _Rom_, husband; _romi_, wife.

+

+[23] _Calo_; feminine _calli_; plural _cales_. Literally _black_--the

+name by which the gypsies call themselves in their own tongue.

+

+[24] The Spanish dragoons wear a yellow uniform.

+

+[25] A gypsy proverb.

+

+[26] Saint--the Blessed Virgin.

+

+[27] The gallows, supposed to be the widow of the last man hanged.

+

+[28] The red (land).

+

+[29] _Flamenço de Roma_--a slang term to designate a gypsy. _Roma_ does

+not mean here the Eternal City, but the race of _Romi_, or married

+folk, a name which the gypsies assume. The first that were seen in

+Spain probably came from the Low Countries, whence the designation

+_Flemings_.

+

+[30] A bulbous root of which a very pleasant drink is made.

+

+[31] The ordinary rations of the Spanish soldier.

+

+[32] That is, with address, and without violence.

+

+[33] A sort of unattached body of troops.

+

+[34] The idiots, to take me for a swell!

+

+[35] A name which the common people in Spain give to the English, on

+account of the colour of their uniform.

+

+[36] That is to say, to the galleys, or to all the devils.

+

+[37] My lover, or rather, my fancy.

+

+[38] _La divisa_, a bow of ribbon, the colour of which indicates the

+place from which the bull comes. This bow is fastened in the bull’s

+hide by a hook, and it is the very climax of gallantry to tear it from

+the living animal and present it to a woman.

+

+[39] Maria Padilla has been accused of having bewitched King Don Pedro.

+A popular tradition says that she presented to Queen Blanche de Bourbon

+a golden girdle, which seemed to the fascinated eyes of the king a

+living serpent. Hence the repugnance which he always displayed for the

+unfortunate princess.

+

+

+

+

+The Taking of the Redoubt

+

+

+A military friend of mine, who died of a fever in Greece a few years

+ago, told me one day about the first action in which he took part. His

+story made such an impression on me that I wrote it down from memory as

+soon as I had time. Here it is:

+

+I joined the regiment on the fourth of September, in the evening. I

+found the colonel in camp. He received me rather roughly; but when he

+had read General B----’s recommendation, his manner changed and he said

+a few courteous words to me.

+

+I was presented by him to my captain, who had just returned from a

+reconnaissance. This captain, with whom I hardly had time to become

+acquainted, was a tall, dark man, with a harsh, repellent face. He

+had been a private and had won his epaulets and his cross on the

+battle-field. His voice, which was hoarse and weak, contrasted

+strangely with his almost gigantic stature. I was told that he owed

+that peculiar voice to a bullet which had passed through his lungs at

+the battle of Jena.

+

+When he learned that I was fresh from the school at Fontainebleau, he

+made a wry face and said:

+

+“My lieutenant died yesterday.”

+

+I understood that he meant to imply: “You ought to take his place, and

+you are not capable of it.”

+

+A sharp retort came to my lips, but I restrained myself.

+

+The moon rose behind the redoubt of Cheverino, about two gunshots from

+our bivouac. It was large and red, as it usually is when it rises. But

+on that evening it seemed to me of extraordinary size. For an instant

+the redoubt stood sharply out in black against the brilliant disk of

+the moon. It resembled the crater of a volcano at the instant of an

+eruption.

+

+An old soldier beside whom I happened to be, remarked upon the colour

+of the moon.

+

+“It is very red,” said he; “that’s a sign that it will cost us dear to

+take that famous redoubt!”

+

+I have always been superstitious, and that prophecy, at that particular

+moment especially, affected me. I lay down, but I could not sleep. I

+rose and walked about for some time, watching the tremendously long

+line of camp-fires that covered the heights above the village of

+Cheverino.

+

+When I thought that the fresh, sharp night air had cooled my blood

+sufficiently, I returned to the fire; I wrapped myself carefully in

+my cloak and closed my eyes, hoping not to open them before dawn. But

+sleep refused to come. Insensibly my thoughts took a gloomy turn. I

+said to myself that I had not a friend among the hundred thousand

+men who covered that plain. If I were wounded, I should be taken to

+a hospital and treated roughly by ignorant surgeons. All that I had

+heard of surgical operations came to my mind. My heart beat violently,

+and I instinctively arranged my handkerchief, and the wallet that I had

+in my breast pocket, as a sort of cuirass. I was worn out with fatigue,

+I nodded every moment, and every moment some sinister thought returned

+with renewed force and roused me with a start.

+

+But weariness carried the day, and when they beat the reveille, I was

+sound asleep. We were drawn up in battle array, the roll was called,

+then we stacked arms, and everything indicated that we were to have a

+quiet day.

+

+About three o’clock an aide-de-camp appeared, bringing an order. We

+were ordered under arms again; our skirmishers spread out over the

+plain; we followed them slowly, and after about twenty minutes, we saw

+all the advanced posts of the Russians fall back and return inside the

+redoubt.

+

+A battery of artillery came into position at our right, another at our

+left, but both well in advance of us. They began a very hot fire at

+the enemy, who replied vigorously, and the redoubt of Cheverino soon

+disappeared beneath dense clouds of smoke.

+

+Our regiment was almost protected from the Russian fire by a rise in

+the ground. Their balls, which, indeed, were rarely aimed at us, for

+they preferred to fire at our gunners, passed over our heads, or, at

+the worst, spattered us with dirt and small stones.

+

+As soon as we received the order to advance, my captain looked at me

+with a close scrutiny which compelled me to run my hand over my budding

+moustache twice or thrice, as unconcernedly as I could. Indeed, I was

+not frightened, and the only fear I had was that he should believe that

+I was frightened. Those harmless cannon-balls helped to maintain me in

+my heroically calm frame of mind. My self-esteem told me that I was

+really in danger, as I was at last under the fire of a battery. I was

+overjoyed to be so entirely at my ease, and I thought of the pleasure I

+should take in telling of the capture of the redoubt of Cheverino in

+Madame de B----’s salon on Rue de Provence.

+

+The colonel passed our company; he spoke to me:

+

+“Well, you are going to see some sharp work for your début.”

+

+I smiled with an altogether martial air as I brushed my coat sleeve, on

+which a shot that struck the ground thirty yards away had spattered a

+little dust.

+

+It seems that the Russians observed the ill success of their

+cannon-balls; for they replaced them with shells, which could more

+easily be made to reach us in the hollow where we were posted. A large

+piece of one took off my shako and killed a man near me.

+

+“I congratulate you,” said my captain, as I picked up my shako; “you’re

+safe now for to-day.”

+

+I was acquainted with the military superstition which believes that

+the axiom, _Non bis in idem_, has the same application on a field of

+battle as in a court of justice. I proudly replaced my shako on my head.

+

+“That is making a fellow salute rather unceremoniously,” I said as

+gaily as I could. That wretched joke was considered first-rate, in view

+of the circumstances.

+

+“I congratulate you,” continued the captain; “you will get nothing

+worse, and you will command a company this evening; for I feel that the

+oven is being heated for me. Every time that I have been wounded the

+officer nearest me has been hit by a spent ball; and,” he added in a

+low tone and almost as if he were ashamed, “their names always began

+with a P.”

+

+I feigned incredulity; many men would have done the same; many men too

+would have been, as I was, profoundly impressed by those prophetic

+words. Conscript as I was, I realised that I could not confide my

+sensations to any one, and that I must always appear cool and fearless.

+

+After about half an hour the Russian fire sensibly diminished;

+thereupon we left our sheltered position to march upon the redoubt.

+

+Our regiment consisted of three battalions. The second was ordered to

+turn the redoubt on the side of the entrance; the other two were to

+make the assault. I was in the third battalion.

+

+As we came out from behind the species of ridge which had protected

+us, we were received by several volleys of musketry, which did little

+damage in our ranks. The whistling of the bullets surprised me; I

+kept turning my head, and thus induced divers jests on the part of my

+comrades, who were more familiar with that sound.

+

+“Take it all in all,” I said to myself, “a battle isn’t such a terrible

+thing.”

+

+We advanced at the double-quick, preceded by skirmishers; suddenly the

+Russians gave three hurrahs, three distinct hurrahs, then remained

+silent and ceased firing.

+

+“I don’t like this silence,” said my captain; “it bodes us no good.”

+

+I considered that our men were a little too noisy, and I could not

+forbear making a mental comparison between their tumultuous shouting

+and the enemy’s impressive silence.

+

+We speedily reached the foot of the redoubt; the palisades had been

+shattered and the earth torn up by our balls. The soldiers rushed at

+these newly made ruins with shouts of “_Vive l’Empereur!_” louder than

+one would have expected to hear from men who had already shouted so

+much.

+

+I raised my eyes, and I shall never forget the spectacle that I saw.

+The greater part of the smoke had risen, and hung like a canopy about

+twenty feet above the redoubt. Through a bluish haze one could see

+the Russian grenadiers behind their half-destroyed parapet, with arms

+raised, motionless as statues. It seems to me that I can see now each

+soldier, with his left eye fastened upon us, the right hidden by the

+levelled musket. In an embrasure, a few yards away, a man stood beside

+a cannon, holding a fusee.

+

+I shuddered, and I thought that my last hour had come.

+

+“The dance is going to begin,” cried my captain. “Bonsoir!”

+

+Those were the last words I heard him utter.

+

+The drums rolled inside the redoubt. I saw all the muskets drop. I

+closed my eyes, and I heard a most appalling crash, followed by shrieks

+and groans. I opened my eyes, surprised to find myself still among the

+living. The redoubt was filled with smoke once more. I was surrounded

+by dead and wounded. My captain lay at my feet; his head had been

+shattered by a cannon-ball, and I was covered with his brains and his

+blood. Of all my company only six men and myself were left on our feet.

+

+This carnage was succeeded by a moment of stupefaction. The colonel,

+placing his hat on the point of his sword, was the first to scale the

+parapet, shouting: “_Vive l’Empereur!_” He was followed instantly by

+all the survivors. I have a very dim remembrance of what followed.

+We entered the redoubt; how, I have no idea. We fought hand to hand,

+amid smoke so dense that we could not see one another. I believe that

+I struck, for my sabre was all bloody. At last I heard shouts of

+“Victory!” and as the smoke grew less dense, I saw blood and corpses

+completely covering the surface of the redoubt. The guns especially

+were buried beneath piles of bodies. About two hundred men, in the

+French uniform, were standing about in groups, with no pretence of

+order, some loading their muskets, others wiping their bayonets. Eleven

+hundred Russian prisoners were with them.

+

+The colonel, covered with blood, was lying on a shattered caisson near

+the ravine. A number of soldiers were bustling about him. I approached.

+

+“Where is the senior captain?” he asked a sergeant.

+

+The sergeant shrugged his shoulders most expressively.

+

+“And the senior lieutenant?”

+

+“Monsieur here, who arrived last night,” said the sergeant, in a

+perfectly matter-of-fact tone.

+

+The colonel smiled bitterly.

+

+“Well, monsieur,” he said, “you command in chief; order the entrance to

+the redoubt to be strengthened with these waggons, for the enemy is in

+force; but General C---- will see that you are supported.”

+

+“Colonel,” I said, “are you severely wounded?”

+

+“Finished, my boy, but the redoubt is taken!”

+

+ 1829.

+

+

+

+

+Mateo Falcone

+

+

+As you leave Porto Vecchio and journey north-west, towards the interior

+of the island, you find that the ground rises rather rapidly; and

+after a three hours’ jaunt along winding paths, obstructed by huge

+boulders, and sometimes interrupted by ravines, you find yourself on

+the edge of a very extensive _maquis_. The _maquis_ is the home of the

+Corsican shepherd and of all those who are at odds with the law. You

+must know that the Corsican farmer, to save himself the trouble of

+fertilising his land, sets fire to a certain amount of woodland. If

+the fire spreads farther than is necessary, so much the worse; come

+what come may, he is quite sure of obtaining a good harvest by planting

+the ground fertilised by the ashes of the trees it formerly bore. When

+the ripe grain is gathered,--for they leave the straw, which it would

+require some labour to collect,--the roots which are left unburned in

+the ground put forth in the following spring very vigorous shoots,

+which reach a height of seven or eight feet in a few years. It is this

+species of dense underbrush which is called _maquis_. It consists of

+trees and bushes of different kinds, mingled together as God pleases.

+Only with hatchet in hand can man open a path through it; and there are

+some _maquis_ so dense and thick that even the wild sheep cannot break

+through.

+

+If you have killed a man, betake yourself to the _maquis_ of Porto

+Vecchio, and you can live there in safety with a good rifle, powder,

+and shot. Do not forget a brown cloak provided with a hood, to serve as

+a covering and as a mattress. The shepherds will give you milk, cheese,

+and chestnuts, and you will have no reason to fear the law, or the dead

+man’s kindred, except when you are forced to go down into the town to

+replenish your stock of ammunition.

+

+Mateo Falcone, when I was in Corsica, in 18--, had his home about half

+a league from this _maquis_. He was a rather wealthy man for that

+country; living nobly--that is to say, without working--on the produce

+of his flocks, which were driven to pasture here and there upon the

+mountains by shepherds, a sort of nomadic people. When I saw him,

+two years subsequent to the episode I am about to relate, he seemed

+to me to be not more than fifty years old at most. Imagine a small,

+but sturdily built man, with curly hair as black as jet, aquiline

+nose, thin lips, large bright eyes, and a complexion of the hue of a

+boot-flap. His skill in marksmanship was considered extraordinary, even

+in his country, where there are so many good shots. For example, Mateo

+would never fire at a wild sheep with buckshot; but he would bring

+one down at a hundred and twenty yards with a bullet in the head or

+the shoulder, as he pleased. He used his weapons as readily at night

+as by day, and I was told of this instance of his skill, which will

+seem incredible perhaps to those who have not travelled in Corsica. A

+candle was placed at a distance of twenty-four yards, behind a piece of

+transparent paper as large as a plate. He took aim, then the candle was

+extinguished, and, a minute later, in absolute darkness, he fired and

+hit the paper three times out of four.

+

+With such transcendent talent, Mateo Falcone had won a great

+reputation. He was said to be as true a friend as he was a dangerous

+enemy; always ready to oblige, and generous to the poor, he lived at

+peace with all the world in the district of Porto Vecchio. But the

+story was told of him, that at Corte, where he married his wife, he had

+disposed very summarily of a rival who was reputed to be as redoubtable

+in war as in love; at all events, Mateo was given credit for a certain

+rifle shot which surprised the aforesaid rival as he was shaving in

+front of a little mirror that hung at his window. When the affair was

+forgotten, Mateo married. His wife, Giuseppa, gave him at first three

+daughters (which caused him to fret and fume), and finally a son, whom

+he named Fortunato; he was the hope of the family, the heir to the

+name. The daughters were well married; their father could at need rely

+upon the daggers and carbines of his sons-in-law. The son was only ten

+years old, but he already gave rich promise for the future.

+

+On a certain day in autumn, Mateo left the house early, with his wife,

+to inspect one of his flocks at a clearing in the _maquis_. Fortunato

+would have liked to go with them, but the clearing was too far;

+moreover, some one must stay behind to watch the house; so the father

+refused; we shall see whether he had reason to repent.

+

+He had been absent several hours, and little Fortunato was lying

+placidly in the sun, watching the blue mountains, and thinking that, on

+the following Sunday, he was going to the town to dine with his uncle

+the _caporal_,[40] when he was suddenly interrupted in his meditations

+by the report of a firearm. He rose and turned towards the plain from

+which the sound came. Other reports followed, at unequal intervals,

+coming constantly nearer. At last, on a path leading from the plain

+to Mateo’s house, appeared a man wearing a pointed cap such as the

+mountaineers wear, with a long beard, clad in rags, and hardly able to

+drag himself along, using his rifle as a cane. He had received a bullet

+in the thigh.

+

+That man was a bandit,[41] who, having started under cover of the

+darkness to go to the town for powder, had fallen into an ambush

+of Corsican voltigeurs.[42] After a stout defence he had succeeding

+in beating a retreat, hotly pursued, and firing from one rock after

+another. But he was only a little in advance of the soldiers, and his

+wound made it impossible to reach the _maquis_ before he was overtaken.

+

+He went up to Fortunato and said:

+

+“You are Mateo Falcone’s son?”

+

+“Yes.”

+

+“I am Gianetto Sanpiero. I am pursued by the yellow collars.[43] Hide

+me, for I can’t go any farther.”

+

+“What will my father say if I hide you without his leave?”

+

+“He will say that you did well.”

+

+“Who knows?”

+

+“Hide me quick; they’re coming.”

+

+“Wait till my father comes home.”

+

+“Wait? damnation! They will be here in five minutes. Come, hide me, or

+I’ll kill you.”

+

+Fortunato replied with the utmost coolness:

+

+“Your gun’s empty, and there ain’t any cartridges left in your

+_carchera_.”[44]

+

+“I have my stiletto.”

+

+“But can you run as fast I can?”

+

+He gave a leap and placed himself out of danger.

+

+“You are not Mateo Falcone’s son! Will you let me be arrested in front

+of your house?”

+

+The child seemed to be moved.

+

+“What will you give me if I hide you?” he said, drawing nearer.

+

+The bandit felt in a leather pocket that hung from his belt and took

+out a five-franc piece, which he had kept in reserve, no doubt, to buy

+powder. Fortunato smiled at sight of the silver; he seized it and said

+to Gianetto:

+

+“Don’t be afraid.”

+

+He instantly dug a great hole in a haystack that stood near the house.

+Gianetto crept into it, and the child covered him so as to let him

+have a little air to breathe, but so that it was impossible to suspect

+that the hay concealed a man. He conceived also an ingeniously crafty

+idea, worthy of a savage. He took a cat and her kittens and placed

+them on the haystack, to make it appear that it had not been disturbed

+recently. Then, noticing marks of blood on the path near the house, he

+carefully covered them with dirt, and, when that was done, lay down

+again in the sun with the most perfect tranquillity.

+

+A few minutes later, six men in brown uniform with yellow facings

+commanded by an adjutant halted in front of Mateo’s door. This

+adjutant was distantly related to the Falcones. (It is well known

+that in Corsica degrees of kinship are followed out much farther than

+elsewhere.) His name was Tiodoro Gamba; he was an active officer,

+greatly feared by the bandits, several of whom he had already run to

+earth.

+

+“Good-day, my young cousin,” he said to Fortunato, walking to where he

+lay; “how you’ve grown! Did you see a man pass by just now?”

+

+“Oh! I ain’t as tall as you yet, cousin,” replied the child, with a

+stupid expression.

+

+“That will come. But tell me, didn’t you see a man pass?”

+

+“Didn’t I see a man pass?”

+

+“Yes, a man with a black velvet pointed cap and a red and yellow

+embroidered jacket?”

+

+“A man in a pointed cap and a red and yellow embroidered jacket?”

+

+“Yes; answer at once, and don’t repeat my questions.”

+

+“Monsieur le curé passed our door this morning, on his horse Piero. He

+asked me how papa was and I told him----”

+

+“Ah! you little scamp, you are playing sly! Tell me quick which way

+Gianetto went; for he’s the man we’re looking for, and I am certain he

+took this path.”

+

+“Who knows?”

+

+“Who knows? I know that you saw him.”

+

+“Does a fellow see people pass when he’s asleep?”

+

+“You weren’t asleep, good-for-nothing; the shots woke you.”

+

+“Do you think, cousin, that your guns make such a great noise? My

+father’s carbine makes a lot more.”

+

+“May the devil take you, you infernal rascal! I am perfectly sure you

+saw Gianetto. Perhaps you have hidden him even. Come, boys; go into the

+house, and see if our man isn’t there. He was only going on one foot,

+and he knows too much, the villain, to try to get to the _maquis_ at

+that gait. Besides, the marks of blood stopped here.”

+

+“What will papa say?” queried Fortunato, with a mocking laugh. “What

+will he say when he knows that you went into his house when he was

+away?”

+

+“You good-for-nothing!” said Adjutant Gamba, taking him by the ear, “do

+you know that it rests with me to make you change your tune? Perhaps,

+if I give you twenty blows or so with the flat of my sabre, you will

+conclude to speak.”

+

+But Fortunato continued to laugh sneeringly.

+

+“My father is Mateo Falcone!” he said with emphasis.

+

+“Do you know, you little scamp, that I can take you to Corte or to

+Bastia? I’ll make you sleep in a dungeon, on straw, with irons on

+your feet, and I’ll have you guillotined, if you don’t tell me where

+Gianetto Sanpiero is.”

+

+The child laughed heartily at this absurd threat.

+

+“My father’s Mateo Falcone,” he repeated.

+

+“Adjutant,” said one of the voltigeurs in an undertone, “let us not get

+into a row with Mateo.”

+

+Gamba was evidently perplexed. He talked in a low tone with his

+soldiers, who had already searched the whole house. It was not a very

+long operation, for a Corsican’s cabin consists of a single square

+room. The furniture consists of a table, benches, chests, and household

+and hunting implements. Meanwhile little Fortunato patted his cat,

+and seemed to derive a wicked enjoyment from the embarrassment of the

+voltigeurs and his cousin.

+

+A soldier approached the haystack. He saw the cat and thrust his

+bayonet carelessly into the hay, shrugging his shoulders, as if he

+realised that it was an absurd precaution. Nothing stirred; and the

+child’s face did not betray the slightest excitement.

+

+The adjutant and his squad were at their wit’s end; they were already

+glancing meaningly toward the plain, as if proposing to return whence

+they came, when their leader, convinced that threats would have no

+effect on Falcone’s son, determined to make one last effort, and to try

+the power of caresses and gifts.

+

+“You seem to be a very wide-awake youngster, cousin,” said he. “You

+will go far. But you are playing a low game with me; and if I wasn’t

+afraid of distressing my cousin Mateo, deuce take me if I wouldn’t

+carry you off with me!”

+

+“Bah!”

+

+“But, when my cousin returns, I’ll tell him the story, and he’ll give

+you the lash till the blood comes, to punish you for lying.”

+

+“And then?”

+

+“You will see. But, I say, be a good boy, and I’ll give you something.”

+

+“And I’ll give you a piece of advice, cousin: if you stay here any

+longer, Gianetto will be in the _maquis_, and then it will take more

+than one fox like you to catch him.”

+

+The adjutant took a silver watch from his pocket, worth perhaps thirty

+francs; and observing that little Fortunato’s eyes sparkled as he

+looked at it, he said, holding it up at the end of its steel chain:

+

+“Rascal! you’d like to have a watch like this hanging round your neck,

+and you’d stroll through the streets of Porto Vecchio, as proud as a

+peacock; and people would ask you: ‘What time is it?’ and you’d say:

+‘Look at my watch!’”

+

+“When I’m big, my uncle the _caporal_ will give me a watch.”

+

+“Yes; but your uncle’s son has got one now--not such a fine one as

+this, to be sure. Still, he’s younger than you.”

+

+The child sighed.

+

+“Well! would you like this watch, my little cousin?”

+

+Fortunato, with his eye fixed on the watch, resembled a cat to which a

+whole chicken is presented. As the beast feels sure that he is being

+made a fool of, he dares not touch it with his claws, and he turns

+his eyes away from time to time to avoid the risk of yielding to

+temptation; but he licks his chops every instant, and seems to say to

+his master: “What a cruel joke this is!”

+

+But Adjutant Gamba seemed to be in earnest in his offer of the watch.

+Fortunato did not put out his hand; but he said with a bitter smile:

+

+“Why do you make sport of me?”

+

+“By God! I am not joking. Just tell me where Gianetto is, and this

+watch is yours.”

+

+Fortunato smiled an incredulous smile; and, fastening his black eyes on

+the adjutant’s, he strove to read therein how far he should put faith

+in his words.

+

+“May I lose my epaulets,” cried the adjutant, “if I don’t give you the

+watch on that condition! My comrades are witnesses; and I can’t go back

+on my word.”

+

+As he spoke, he held the watch nearer and nearer, so that it almost

+touched the child’s pale cheek. His face betrayed the battle that was

+taking place in his mind between covetousness and respect for the

+duties of hospitality. His bare breast rose and fell violently, and he

+seemed on the point of suffocation. Meanwhile the watch swung to and

+fro, turned, and sometimes touched the end of his nose. At last, by

+slow degrees, his right hand rose toward the watch; the ends of his

+fingers touched it; and he felt the full weight of it on his hand, but

+still the adjutant did not let go the end of the chain. The face was

+sky-blue, the case newly polished--in the sun it shone like fire. The

+temptation was too great.

+

+Fortunato raised his left hand, too, and pointed with his thumb, over

+his left shoulder, to the haystack against which he was leaning. The

+adjutant understood him instantly. He let go the end of the chain;

+Fortunato realised that he was the sole possessor of the watch. He

+sprang up with the agility of a stag, and ran some yards away from the

+haystack, which the voltigeurs began at once to demolish.

+

+They soon saw the hay begin to move; and a man covered with blood

+came forth, dagger in hand; but when he tried to raise himself, his

+stiffened wound prevented him from standing erect. He fell. The

+adjutant threw himself upon him and tore his stiletto from his hand.

+In a trice he was securely bound, despite his resistance.

+

+Gianetto, lying on the ground and corded like a bundle of sticks,

+turned his head toward Fortunato, who had drawn near.

+

+“Son of----!” he said, with more scorn than anger.

+

+The child tossed him the piece of silver which he had received from

+him, feeling that he no longer deserved it; but the outlaw seemed to

+pay no heed to that movement. He said to the adjutant, as coolly as

+possible:

+

+“I can’t walk, my dear Gamba; you will have to carry me to the town.”

+

+“You ran faster than a kid just now,” retorted the cruel victor; “but

+never fear; I am so pleased to have caught you, that I would carry you

+on my back a whole league without getting tired. However, my boy, we’ll

+make a litter for you with some branches and your cloak; and we shall

+find horses at Crespoli’s farm.”

+

+“Good,” said the prisoner; “just put a little straw on your litter,

+too, so that I can be more comfortable.”

+

+While the voltigeurs busied themselves, some in making a sort of litter

+with chestnut branches, others in dressing Gianetto’s wound, Mateo

+Falcone and his wife suddenly appeared at a bend in the path leading to

+the _maquis_. The woman was stooping painfully beneath the weight of an

+enormous bag of chestnuts, while her husband sauntered along, carrying

+nothing save one rifle in his hand and another slung over his shoulder;

+for it is unworthy of a man to carry any other burden than his weapons.

+

+At sight of the soldiers, Mateo’s first thought was that they had come

+to arrest him. But why that thought? Had Mateo any difficulties to

+adjust with the authorities? No. He enjoyed an excellent reputation. He

+was, as they say, a person of good fame; but he was a Corsican and a

+mountaineer; and there are few Corsican mountaineers who, by carefully

+searching their memory, cannot find some trifling peccadillo--such as

+a rifle shot, a dagger thrust, or other bagatelle. Mateo’s conscience

+was clearer than most, for he had not aimed his rifle at a man for more

+than ten years; but he was prudent none the less, and he placed himself

+in a position to make a stout defence, if need be.

+

+“Wife,” he said to Giuseppa, “put down your bag and be ready.”

+

+She instantly obeyed. He gave her the gun that he carried slung over

+his shoulder, which might be in his way. He cocked the one he had in

+his hand, and walked slowly toward his house, skirting the trees that

+lined the path, and ready, at the slightest hostile demonstration, to

+jump behind the largest trunk, where he could fire without exposing

+himself. His wife followed at his heels, holding his spare gun and his

+cartridge-box. A good housewife’s work, in case of a fight, is to load

+her husband’s weapons.

+

+The adjutant, on the other hand, was greatly disturbed to see Mateo

+advance thus with measured steps, with rifle raised and finger on

+trigger.

+

+“If by any chance,” he thought, “Mateo proves to be related to

+Gianetto, or if he is his friend and should take it into his head to

+defend him, the charges of his two rifles would reach two of us, as

+sure as a letter reaches its address; and suppose he should draw a bead

+on me, notwithstanding our relationship!”

+

+In his perplexity he adopted an extremely courageous course--he went

+forward alone toward Mateo, to tell him what had happened, accosting

+him as an old acquaintance; but the short distance that separated them

+seemed to him terribly long.

+

+“Hallo! my old comrade,” he cried; “how goes it, old fellow? It’s me,

+Gamba, your cousin.”

+

+Mateo, without a word in reply, halted, and as the other spoke he

+raised the barrel of his gun slowly, so that it was pointed at the sky

+when the adjutant met him.

+

+“Good-day, brother,” said the adjutant, “it’s a long while since I saw

+you.”

+

+“Good-day, brother.”

+

+“I looked in to say good-day to you and Cousin Pepa as I passed. We

+have had a long jaunt to-day; but we ought not to complain of fatigue,

+as we have made a famous capture. We have caught Gianetto Sanpiero.”

+

+“God be praised!” cried Giuseppa. “He stole a milch goat from us last

+week.”

+

+Those words made Gamba’s heart glad.

+

+“Poor devil!” said Mateo, “he was hungry.”

+

+“The rascal defended himself like a lion,” continued the adjutant,

+slightly mortified; “he killed one of my men, and, not content with

+that, he broke Corporal Chardon’s arm; but there’s no great harm done;

+he was only a Frenchman. After that, he hid himself so completely that

+the devil himself couldn’t have found him. If it hadn’t been for my

+little cousin, Fortunato, I could never have unearthed him.”

+

+“Fortunato!” cried Mateo.

+

+“Fortunato!” echoed Giuseppa.

+

+“Yes, Gianetto was hidden under the haystack yonder; but my little

+cousin showed me the trick. And I’ll tell his uncle the _caporal_, so

+that he’ll send him a handsome present for his trouble. And his name

+and yours will be in the report I shall send the advocate-general.”

+

+“Malediction!” muttered Mateo.

+

+They had joined the squad. Gianetto was already lying on the litter,

+ready to start. When he saw Mateo with Gamba, he smiled a strange

+smile; then, turning towards the door of the house, he spat on the

+threshold, saying:

+

+“House of a traitor!”

+

+Only a man who had made up his mind to die would have dared to utter

+the word traitor as applying to Falcone. A quick thrust of the

+stiletto, which would not have needed to be repeated, would have paid

+for the insult instantly. But Mateo made no other movement than to put

+his hand to his forehead, like a man utterly crushed.

+

+Fortunato had gone into the house when he saw his father coming. He

+soon reappeared with a mug of milk, which he handed to Gianetto with

+downcast eyes.

+

+“Away from me!” shouted the outlaw in a voice of thunder. Then, turning

+to one of the voltigeurs, “Comrade,” he said, “give me a drink.”

+

+The soldier placed his gourd in his hands, and the outlaw drank the

+water given him by a man with whom he had recently exchanged rifle

+shots. Then he asked that his hands might be bound so that they would

+be folded on his breast, instead of behind his back.

+

+“I like to lie comfortably,” he said.

+

+They readily gratified him; then the adjutant gave the signal for

+departure, bade adieu to Mateo, who made no reply, and marched down at

+a rapid pace towards the plain.

+

+Nearly ten minutes passed before Mateo opened his mouth. The child

+glanced uneasily, now at his mother and now at his father, who,

+leaning upon his gun, gazed at him with an expression of intense wrath.

+

+“You begin well!” said Mateo at last, in a voice which, although calm,

+was terrifying to one who knew the man.

+

+“Father!” cried the child stepping forward, with tears in his eyes, as

+if to throw himself at his feet.

+

+But Mateo cried:

+

+“Away from me!”

+

+And the child stopped and stood still, sobbing, a few steps from his

+father.

+

+Giuseppa approached. She had spied the watch chain, one end of which

+protruded from Fortunato’s shirt.

+

+“Who gave you that watch?” she asked in a harsh tone.

+

+“My cousin the adjutant.”

+

+Falcone seized the watch, and hurled it against a stone, breaking it

+into a thousand pieces.

+

+“Woman,” he said, “is this child mine?”

+

+Giuseppa’s brown cheeks turned a brick red.

+

+“What do you say, Mateo? Do you know who you’re talking to?”

+

+“Well, this child is the first of his race that ever did an act of

+treachery.”

+

+Fortunato’s sobs and hiccoughs redoubled in force, and Falcone still

+kept his lynx-eyes fastened on him. At last he struck the butt of his

+gun on the ground, then threw it over his shoulder again and started

+back toward the _maquis_, calling to Fortunato to follow him. The child

+obeyed.

+

+Giuseppa ran after Mateo and grasped his arm.

+

+“He is your son,” she said in a trembling voice, fixing her black eyes

+on her husband’s, as if to read what was taking place in his mind.

+

+“Let me alone,” replied Mateo, “I am his father.”

+

+Giuseppa embraced her son and entered her cabin, weeping. She fell

+on her knees before an image of the Virgin and prayed fervently.

+Meanwhile Falcone walked some two hundred yards along the path, and did

+not stop until they reached a narrow ravine into which he descended.

+He sounded the earth with the butt of his rifle, and found it soft and

+easy to dig. It seemed to him a suitable spot for his design.

+

+“Fortunato, go and stand by that big stone.”

+

+The child did what he ordered, then knelt.

+

+“Say your prayers.”

+

+“Father, father, don’t kill me!”

+

+“Say your prayers!” Mateo repeated, in a terrible voice.

+

+The child, stammering and sobbing, repeated the _Pater_ and the

+_Credo_. The father, in a loud voice, said _Amen!_ at the end of each

+prayer.

+

+“Are those all the prayers you know?”

+

+“I know the _Ave Maria_, too, father, and the litany my aunt taught me.”

+

+“That’s very long, but no matter.”

+

+The child finished the litany in a feeble voice.

+

+“Have you finished?”

+

+“Oh, father! mercy! forgive me! I won’t do it again! I will pray so

+hard to my uncle the _caporal_ that he’ll forgive Gianetto!”

+

+He continued to speak; Mateo had cocked his gun, and he took aim at

+him, saying:

+

+“May God forgive you!”

+

+The child made a desperate effort to rise and grasp his father’s knees;

+but he had not time. Mateo fired, and Fortunato fell stark dead.

+

+Without glancing at the body, Mateo returned to his house to fetch a

+spade, in order to bury his son. He had taken only a few steps, when he

+met Giuseppa, who was running after them, terrified by the report.

+

+“What have you done?” she cried.

+

+“Justice.”

+

+“Where is he?”

+

+“In the ravine. I am going to bury him. He died the death of a

+Christian; I will have a mass sung for him. Send word to my son-in-law

+Tiodoro Bianchi to come and live with us.”

+

+ 1829.

+

+

+FOOTNOTES:

+

+[40] In olden times the _caporals_ were the leaders chosen by the

+Corsican communes when they rebelled against the feudal lords. To-day

+the name is sometimes given to a man who, by reason of his property,

+his alliances, and his clientage, exerts a certain influence and acts

+as a sort of magistrate in a _pieve_ or a canton. The Corsicans, by an

+ancient custom, divide themselves into _gentlemen_ (some of whom are

+_magnificoes_, others _signori_), _caporali_, _citizens_, _plebeians_,

+and _foreigners_.

+

+[41] The word is in this instance synonymous with outlaw.

+

+[42] A corps levied within a few years by the government and employed

+on police duty, concurrently with the gendarmerie.

+

+[43] The uniform of the voltigeurs consisted of a brown coat with a

+yellow collar.

+

+[44] A leather girdle used as cartridge-box and as wallet.

+

+

+

+

+The Venus of Ille

+

+    Ἰλεὼς ἣν δ' ἐγὼ, ἔστω ὁ ἀνδρίας

+    Καὶ ἤπιος, οὔτως ἀνδρεῖος ὢν.

+

+    ΛΟΥΚΙΑΝΟΥ ΦΙΛΟΨΕΥΔΗΣ.

+

+

+I was descending the last slope of Canigou, and, although the sun had

+already set, I could distinguish in the plain below the houses of the

+little town of Ille, for which I was bound.

+

+“You know,” I said to the Catalan who had been acting as my guide since

+the preceding day, “you know, doubtless, where Monsieur de Peyrehorade

+lives?”

+

+“Do I know!” he cried; “why, I know his house as well as I do my own;

+and if it wasn’t so dark, I’d show it to you. It’s the finest house in

+Ille. He has money, you know, has Monsieur de Peyrehorade; and his son

+is going to marry a girl that’s richer than himself.”

+

+“Is the marriage to take place soon?” I asked.

+

+“Soon! It may be that the fiddles are already ordered for the wedding.

+To-night, perhaps, or to-morrow, or the day after, for all I know! It’s

+to be at Puygarrig; for it’s Mademoiselle de Puygarrig that the young

+gentleman is going to marry.”

+

+I had a letter of introduction to M. de Peyrehorade from my friend M.

+de P. He was, so my friend had told me, a very learned antiquarian, and

+good-natured and obliging to the last degree. He would take pleasure in

+showing me all the ruins within a radius of ten leagues. Now, I relied

+upon him to accompany me about the country near Ille, which I knew to

+be rich in monuments of ancient times and of the Middle Ages. This

+marriage, of which I now heard for the first time, might upset all my

+plans.

+

+“I shall be an interloper,” I said to myself.

+

+But I was expected; as my arrival had been announced by M. de P., I

+must needs present myself.

+

+“I’ll bet you, monsieur,” said my guide, as we reached the foot of the

+mountain, “I’ll bet you a cigar that I can guess what you are going to

+do at Monsieur de Peyrehorade’s.”

+

+“Why, that is not very hard to guess,” I replied, offering him a cigar.

+“At this time of day, when one has walked six leagues over Canigou, the

+most urgent business is supper.”

+

+“Yes, but to-morrow? Look you, I’ll bet that you have come to Ille to

+see the idol! I guessed that when I saw you drawing pictures of the

+saints at Serrabona.”

+

+“The idol! what idol?” The word had aroused my curiosity.

+

+“What! didn’t any one at Perpignan tell you how Monsieur de Peyrehorade

+had found an idol in the ground?”

+

+“You mean a terra-cotta, or clay statue, don’t you?”

+

+“No, indeed! I mean a copper one, and it’s big enough to make a lot of

+big sous. It weighs as much as a church bell. It was way down in the

+ground, at the foot of an olive tree, that we found it.”

+

+“So you were present at the discovery, were you?”

+

+“Yes, monsieur. Monsieur de Peyrehorade told us a fortnight ago, Jean

+Coll and me, to dig up an old olive tree that got frozen last year--for

+it was a very hard winter, you know. So, while we were at work, Jean

+Coll, who was going at it with all his might, dug his pick into the

+dirt, and I heard a _bimm_--just as if he’d struck a bell.--‘What’s

+that?’ says I. We kept on digging and digging, and first a black hand

+showed; it looked like a dead man’s hand sticking out of the ground.

+For my part, I was scared. I goes to monsieur, and I says to him: ‘Dead

+men under the olive tree, master. You’d better call the curé.’

+

+“‘What dead men?’ he says.

+

+“He went with me, and he’d no sooner seen the hand than he sings out:

+‘An antique! an antique!’ You’d have thought he had found a treasure.

+And to work he went with the pick and with his hands, and did as much

+as both of us together, you might say.”

+

+“Well, what did you find?”

+

+“A tall black woman more than half naked, saving your presence,

+monsieur, of solid copper; and Monsieur de Peyrehorade told us that it

+was an idol of heathen times--of the time of Charlemagne!”

+

+“I see what it is: a bronze Blessed Virgin from some dismantled

+convent.”

+

+“A Blessed Virgin! oh, yes! I should have recognised it if it had been

+a Blessed Virgin. It’s an idol, I tell you; you can see that from its

+expression. It fastens its great white eyes on you; you’d think it was

+trying to stare you out of countenance. Why, you actually lower your

+eyes when you look at it.”

+

+“White eyes? They are incrusted on the bronze, no doubt. It may be some

+Roman statue.”

+

+“Roman! that’s it. Monsieur de Peyrehorade says she’s a Roman.--Ah! I

+see that you’re a scholar like him.”

+

+“Is it whole, well preserved?”

+

+“Oh! it’s all there, monsieur. It’s even handsomer and finished better

+than the plaster-of-Paris bust of Louis Philippe at the mayor’s office.

+But for all that, I can’t get over the idol’s face. It has a wicked

+look--and she is wicked, too.”

+

+“Wicked! what harm has she done you?”

+

+“None to me exactly; but I’ll tell you. We had got down on all fours to

+stand her up, and Monsieur de Peyrehorade, he was pulling on the rope,

+too, although he hasn’t any more strength than a chicken, the excellent

+man! With a good deal of trouble we got her on her feet. I was picking

+up a piece of stone to wedge her, when, _patatras!_ down she went

+again, all in a heap. ‘Stand from under!’ says I. But I was too late,

+for Jean Coll didn’t have time to pull out his leg.”

+

+“And he was hurt?”

+

+“His poor leg broken off short like a stick! _Pécaïre!_ when I saw

+that, I was furious. I wanted to smash the idol with my pickaxe, but

+Monsieur de Peyrehorade held me back. He gave Jean Coll some money,

+but he’s been in bed all the same ever since it happened, a fortnight

+ago, and the doctor says he’ll never walk with that leg like the

+other. It’s a pity, for he was our best runner, and next to monsieur’s

+son, the best tennis player. I tell you, it made Monsieur Alphonse de

+Peyrehorade feel bad, for Coll always played with him. It was fine to

+see how they’d send the balls back at each other. Paf! paf! They never

+touched the ground.”

+

+Chatting thus we entered Ille, and I soon found myself in M. de

+Peyrehorade’s presence. He was a little old man, still hale and

+active, with powdered hair, a red nose, and a jovial, bantering air.

+Before opening M. de P.’s letter, he installed himself in front of a

+bountifully spread table, and introduced me to his wife and son as an

+illustrious archæologist, who was destined to rescue Roussillon from

+the oblivion in which the indifference of scholars had thus far left it.

+

+While eating with a hearty appetite--for nothing is more conducive

+thereto than the keen mountain air--I examined my hosts. I have

+already said a word or two of M. de Peyrehorade; I must add that he

+was vivacity personified. He talked, ate, rose from his chair, ran to

+his library, brought books to me, showed me prints, filled my glass;

+he was never at rest for two minutes in succession. His wife, who was

+a trifle too stout, like all the Catalan women after they have passed

+forty, impressed me as a typical provincial, who had no interests

+outside of her household. Although the supper was ample for at least

+six persons, she ran to the kitchen, ordered pigeons killed, all sorts

+of things fried, and opened Heaven knows how many jars of preserves. In

+an instant the table was laden with dishes and bottles, and I should

+certainly have died of indigestion if I had even tasted everything

+that was offered me. And yet, with every new dish that I declined,

+there were renewed apologies. She was afraid that I would find myself

+very badly off at Ille. One had so few resources in the provinces, and

+Parisians were so hard to please!

+

+Amid all the goings and comings of his parents, M. Alphonse de

+Peyrehorade sat as motionless as the god Terminus. He was a tall young

+man of twenty-six, with a handsome and regular face, which however

+lacked expression. His figure and his athletic proportions fully

+justified the reputation of an indefatigable tennis player which he

+enjoyed throughout the province. On this evening he was dressed in the

+height of fashion, exactly in accordance with the engraving in the last

+number of the _Journal des Modes_. But he seemed ill at ease in his

+clothes; he was as stiff as a picket in his velvet stock, and moved his

+whole body when he turned. His rough, sunburned hands and short nails

+formed a striking contrast to his costume. They were the hands of a

+ploughman emerging from the sleeves of a dandy. Furthermore, although

+he scrutinised me with interest from head to foot, I being a Parisian,

+he spoke to me but once during the evening, and that was to ask me

+where I bought my watch chain.

+

+“Look you, my dear guest,” said M. de Peyrehorade, as the supper drew

+to a close, “you belong to me, you are in my house; I shall not let

+you go until you have seen everything of interest that we have in our

+mountains. You must learn to know our Roussillon, and you must do her

+justice. You have no suspicion of all that we are going to show you:

+Phœnician, Celtic, Roman, Arabian, Byzantine monuments--you shall see

+them all, from the cedar to the hyssop. I will take you everywhere, and

+I will not let you off from a single brick.”

+

+A paroxysm of coughing compelled him to pause. I seized the opportunity

+to say that I should be distressed to incommode him at a season so

+fraught with interest to his family. If he would simply give me the

+benefit of his excellent advice as to the excursions it would be well

+for me to make, I could easily, without putting him to the trouble of

+accompanying me----

+

+“Ah! you refer to this boy’s marriage,” he exclaimed, interrupting

+me. “That’s a mere trifle--it will take place day after to-morrow.

+You must attend the wedding with us, _en famille_, as the bride is in

+mourning for an aunt whose property she inherits. So there are to be

+no festivities, no ball. It is too bad, for you might have seen our

+Catalan girls dance. They are very pretty, and perhaps you would have

+felt inclined to follow my Alphonse’s example. One marriage, they say,

+leads to others.--Saturday, when the young people are married, I shall

+be free, and we will take the field. I ask your pardon for subjecting

+you to the ennui of a provincial wedding. For a Parisian, sated with

+parties of all sorts--and a wedding without a ball, at that! However,

+you will see a bride--a bride--you must tell me what you think of her.

+But you are a serious man, and you don’t look at women any more. I have

+something better than that to show you. I will show you something worth

+seeing! I have a famous surprise in store for you to-morrow.”

+

+“Mon Dieu!” said I, “it is difficult to keep a treasure in one’s house

+without the public knowing all about it. I fancy that I can divine

+the surprise that you have in store for me. But if you refer to your

+statue, the description of it that my guide gave me has served simply

+to arouse my curiosity and to predispose me to admiration.”

+

+“Ah! so he spoke to you about the idol--for that is what they call

+my beautiful Venus Tur--but I will tell you nothing now. You shall

+see her to-morrow, by daylight, and tell me whether I am justified in

+considering her a _chef-d’œuvre_. Parbleu! you could not have arrived

+more opportunely! There are some inscriptions which I, poor ignoramus

+that I am, interpret after my manner. But a scholar from Paris!

+It may be that you will make fun of my interpretation--for I have

+written a memoir--I, who speak to you, an old provincial antiquary,

+have made a start; I propose to make the printing-presses groan. If

+you would kindly read and correct me, I might hope. For example, I am

+very curious to know how you will translate this inscription on the

+pedestal: CAVE--but I won’t ask you anything yet. Until to-morrow!

+until to-morrow! Not a word about the Venus to-day!”

+

+“You are quite right, Peyrehorade,” said his wife, “to let your old

+idol rest. You must see that you are keeping monsieur from eating. Bah!

+monsieur has seen much finer statues than yours in Paris. There are

+dozens of them at the Tuileries, and bronze ones, too.”

+

+“There you have the ignorance, the blessed ignorance of the provinces!”

+interrupted M. de Peyrehorade. “Think of comparing an admirable antique

+to Coustou’s insipid figures!

+

+    “‘With what irreverence

+    Doth my good wife speak of the gods!’

+

+Would you believe that my wife wanted me to melt my statue and make it

+into a bell for our church! She would have been the donor, you see. A

+_chef-d’œuvre_ of Myron, monsieur!”

+

+“_Chef-d’œuvre! chef-d’œuvre!_ a pretty _chef-d’œuvre_ she made! to

+break a man’s leg!”

+

+“Look you, my wife,” said M. de Peyrehorade in a determined tone,

+extending his right leg encased in a stocking of Chinese silk, in her

+direction, “if my Venus had broken this leg, I should not regret it.”

+

+“Gracious Heaven! how can you say that, Peyrehorade? Luckily the man is

+getting better. Still, I can’t make up my mind to look at the statue

+that causes such accidents as that. Poor Jean Coll!”

+

+“Wounded by Venus, monsieur,” said M. de Peyrehorade, with a chuckle,

+“wounded by Venus, the clown complains:

+

+    “‘Veneris nec præmia noris.’

+

+“Who has not been wounded by Venus?”

+

+M. Alphonse, who understood French better than Latin, winked with a

+knowing look, and glanced at me as if to ask:

+

+“And you, Monsieur le Parisien, do you understand?”

+

+The supper came to an end. I had eaten nothing for the last hour. I was

+tired and I could not succeed in dissembling the frequent yawns which

+escaped me. Madame de Peyrehorade was the first to notice my plight and

+observed that it was time to go to bed. Thereupon began a new series

+of apologies for the wretched accommodations I was to have. I should

+not be as comfortable as I was in Paris. One is so badly off in the

+provinces! I must be indulgent for the Roussillonnais. In vain did I

+protest that after a journey in the mountains a sheaf of straw would be

+a luxurious bed for me--she continued to beg me to excuse unfortunate

+country folk if they did not treat me as well as they would have liked

+to do. I went upstairs at last to the room allotted to me, escorted by

+M. de Peyrehorade. The staircase, the upper stairs of which were of

+wood, ended in the centre of a corridor upon which several rooms opened.

+

+“At the right,” said my host, “is the apartment which I intend to

+give to Madame Alphonse that is to be. Your room is at the end of the

+opposite corridor. You know,” he added, with an expression meant to be

+sly, “you know we must put a newly married couple all by themselves.

+You are at one end of the house and they at the other.”

+

+We entered a handsomely furnished room, in which the first object

+that caught my eye was a bed seven feet long, six feet wide, and so

+high that one had to use a stool to climb to the top. My host, having

+pointed out the location of the bell, having assured himself that the

+sugarbowl was full, and that the bottles of cologne had been duly

+placed on the dressing-table, and having asked me several times if I

+had everything that I wanted, wished me a good-night and left me alone.

+

+The windows were closed. Before undressing I opened one of them to

+breathe the fresh night air, always delicious after a long supper. In

+front of me was Canigou, beautiful to look at always, but that evening,

+it seemed to me the most beautiful mountain in the world, lighted as

+it was by a brilliant moon. I stood for some minutes gazing at its

+wonderful silhouette, and was on the point of closing my window when,

+as I lowered my eyes, I saw the statue on a pedestal some forty yards

+from the house. It was placed at the corner of a quickset hedge which

+separated a small garden from a large square of perfectly smooth turf,

+which, as I learned later, was the tennis-court of the town. This

+tract, which belonged to M. de Peyrehorade, had been ceded by him to

+the commune, at his son’s urgent solicitation.

+

+I was so far from the statue that I could not distinguish its attitude

+and could only guess at its height, which seemed to be about six

+feet. At that moment two young scamps from the town walked across the

+tennis-court, quite near the hedge, whistling the pretty Roussillon

+air, _Montagnes Régalades_. They stopped to look at the statue, and one

+of them apostrophised it in a loud voice. He spoke Catalan; but I had

+been long enough in Roussillon to understand pretty nearly what he said.

+

+“So there you are, hussy! (The Catalan term was much more forcible.) So

+there you are!” he said. “So it was you who broke Jean Coll’s leg! If

+you belonged to me, I’d break your neck!”

+

+“Bah! with what?” said the other. “She’s made of copper, and it’s so

+hard that Étienne broke his file, trying to file it. It’s copper of the

+heathen times, and it’s harder than I don’t know what.”

+

+“If I had my cold-chisel”--it seemed that he was a locksmith’s

+apprentice--“I’d soon dig out her big white eyes, as easy as I’d take

+an almond out of its shell. They’d make more than a hundred sous in

+silver.”

+

+They walked away a few steps.

+

+“I must bid the idol good-night,” said the taller of the two, suddenly

+stopping again.

+

+He stooped, and, I suppose, picked up a stone. I saw him raise his arm

+and throw something, and instantly there was a ringing blow on the

+bronze. At the same moment the apprentice put his hand to his head,

+with a sharp cry of pain.

+

+“She threw it back at me!” he exclaimed.

+

+And my two rascals fled at the top of their speed. It was evident that

+the stone had rebounded from the metal, and had punished the fellow for

+his affront to the goddess.

+

+I closed my window, laughing heartily.

+

+“Still another vandal chastised by Venus!” I thought. “May all the

+destroyers of our ancient monuments have their heads broken thus!”

+

+And with that charitable prayer, I fell asleep.

+

+It was broad daylight when I woke. Beside my bed were, on one side, M.

+de Peyrehorade in his _robe-de-chambre_; on the other a servant, sent

+by his wife, with a cup of chocolate in his hand.

+

+“Come, up with you, Parisian! This is just like you sluggards from the

+capital!” said my host, while I hastily dressed myself. “It is eight

+o’clock, and you are still in bed! I have been up since six. This is

+the third time I have come upstairs; I came to your door on tiptoe; not

+a sound, not a sign of life. It will injure you to sleep too much at

+your age. And you haven’t seen my Venus yet! Come, drink this cup of

+Barcelona chocolate quickly. Genuine contraband, such chocolate as you

+don’t get in Paris. You must lay up some strength, for, when you once

+stand in front of my Venus, I shall not be able to tear you away from

+her.”

+

+In five minutes I was ready--that is to say, half shaved, my clothes

+half buttoned, and my throat scalded by the chocolate, which I had

+swallowed boiling hot. I went down into the garden and found myself

+before a really beautiful statue.

+

+It was, in truth, a Venus, and wonderfully lovely. The upper part of

+the body was nude, as the ancients ordinarily represented the great

+divinities; the right hand, raised as high as the breast, was turned

+with the palm inward, the thumb and first two fingers extended, the

+other two slightly bent. The other hand was near the hip and held the

+drapery that covered the lower part of the body. The pose of the statue

+recalled that of the Morra Player, usually known, I know not why, by

+the name of Germanicus. Perhaps the sculptor intended to represent the

+goddess playing the game of morra.

+

+However that may be, it is impossible to imagine anything more perfect

+than the body of that Venus; anything more harmonious, more voluptuous

+than her outlines, anything more graceful and more dignified than her

+drapery. I expected to see some work of the later Empire; I saw a

+_chef-d’œuvre_ of the best period of statuary. What especially struck

+me was the exquisite verisimilitude of the forms, which one might have

+believed to have been moulded from nature, if nature ever produced such

+flawless models.

+

+The hair, which was brushed back from the forehead, seemed to have

+been gilded formerly. The head, which was small, like those of almost

+all Greek statues, was bent slightly forward. As for the face, I

+shall never succeed in describing its peculiar character; it was of

+a type which in no wise resembled that of any antique statue that I

+can remember. It was not the tranquil, severe beauty of the Greek

+sculptors, who systematically imparted a majestic immobility to all the

+features. Here, on the contrary, I observed with surprise a clearly

+marked intention on the part of the artist to express mischievousness

+amounting almost to deviltry. All the features were slightly

+contracted; the eyes were a little oblique, the corners of the mouth

+raised, the nostrils a little dilated. Disdain, irony, cruelty could

+be read upon that face, which none the less was inconceivably lovely.

+In truth, the more one looked at that marvellous statue, the more

+distressed one felt at the thought that such wonderful beauty could be

+conjoined to utter absence of sensibility.

+

+“If the model ever existed,” I said to M. de Peyrehorade,--“and I doubt

+whether Heaven ever produced such a woman--how I pity her lovers! She

+must have delighted in driving them to death from despair. There is

+something downright savage in her expression, and yet I never have seen

+anything so beautiful!”

+

+“’T is Venus all intent upon her prey!” quoted M. de Peyrehorade,

+delighted with my enthusiasm.

+

+That expression of infernal irony was heightened perhaps by the

+contrast between the very brilliant silver eyes and the coating of

+blackish green with which time had overlaid the whole statue. Those

+gleaming eyes created a certain illusion which suggested reality, life.

+I remembered what my guide had said, that she made those who looked

+at her lower their eyes. That was almost true, and I could not help

+feeling angry with myself as I realised that I was perceptibly ill at

+ease before that bronze figure.

+

+“Now that you have admired her in every detail, my dear colleague

+in antiquarian research,” said my host, “let us open a scientific

+conference, if you please. What do you say to this inscription, which

+you have not noticed as yet?”

+

+He pointed to the base of the statue, and I read there these words:

+

+  CAVE AMANTEM.

+

+“_Quid dicis, doctissime?_” (“What do you say, most learned of men?”)

+he asked, rubbing his hands. “Let us see if we shall agree as to the

+meaning of this _cave amantem_.”

+

+“Why, there are two possible meanings,” I said. “It may be translated:

+‘Beware of him who loves you--distrust lovers.’ But I am not sure that

+_cave amantem_ would be good Latin in that sense. In view of the lady’s

+diabolical expression, I should be inclined to believe rather that the

+artist meant to put the spectator on his guard against that terrible

+beauty. So that I should translate: ‘Look out for yourself if _she_

+loves you.’”

+

+“Humph!” ejaculated M. de Peyrehorade; “yes, that is a possible

+translation; but, with all respect, I prefer the first, which I will

+develop a little, however. You know who Venus’s lover was?”

+

+“She had several.”

+

+“Yes, but the first one was Vulcan. Did not the artist mean to say:

+‘Despite all your beauty, and your scornful air, you shall have a

+blacksmith, a wretched cripple, for a lover’? A solemn lesson for

+coquettes, monsieur!”

+

+I could not help smiling, the interpretation seemed to me so

+exceedingly far-fetched.

+

+“The Latin is a terrible language, with its extraordinary

+conciseness,” I observed, to avoid contradicting my antiquary directly;

+and I stepped back a few steps, to obtain a better view of the statue.

+

+“One moment, colleague!” said M. de Peyrehorade, seizing my arm, “you

+have not seen all. There is still another inscription. Stand on the

+pedestal and look at the right arm.”

+

+As he spoke, he helped me to climb up.

+

+I clung somewhat unceremoniously to the neck of the Venus, with whom

+I was beginning to feel on familiar terms. I even looked her in the

+eye for an instant, and I found her still more diabolical and still

+lovelier at close quarters. Then I saw that there were some letters,

+in what I took to be the antique cursive hand, engraved on the right

+arm. With the aid of a strong glass I spelled out what follows, M. de

+Peyrehorade repeating each word as I pronounced it, and expressing his

+approbation with voice and gesture. I read:

+

+  VENERI TVRBVL--

+

+  EVTYCHES MYRO

+

+  IMPERIO FECIT

+

+After the word _tvrbvl_ in the first line several letters seemed to

+have become effaced, but _tvrbvl_ was perfectly legible.

+

+“Which means?”--queried my host, with a beaming face, and winking

+maliciously, for he had a shrewd idea that I would not easily handle

+that _tvrbvl_.

+

+“There is one word here which I do not understand as yet,” I said;

+“all the rest is simple. ‘Eutyches made this offering to Venus by her

+order.’”

+

+“Excellent. But what do you make of _tvrbvl_? What is _tvrbvl_?”

+

+“_Tvrbvl_ puzzles me a good deal. I have tried in vain to think of

+some known epithet of Venus to assist me. What would you say to

+_Turbulenta_? Venus, who disturbs, who excites--as you see, I am still

+engrossed by her evil expression. _Turbulenta_ is not a very inapt

+epithet for Venus,” I added modestly, for I was not very well satisfied

+myself with my explanation.

+

+“Turbulent Venus! Venus the roisterer! Ah! so you think that my Venus

+is a wine-shop Venus, do you? Not by any means, monsieur; she is a

+Venus in good society. But I will explain this _tvrbvl_ to you. Of

+course you will promise not to divulge my discovery before my memoir is

+printed. You see, I am very proud of this find of mine. You must leave

+us poor devils in the provinces a few spears to glean. You are so rich,

+you Parisian scholars!”

+

+From the top of the pedestal, whereon I was still perched, I solemnly

+promised him that I would never be guilty of the baseness of stealing

+his discovery.

+

+“_Tvrbvl_--monsieur,” he said, coming nearer to me and lowering

+his voice, for fear that some other than myself might hear--“read

+_tvrbvlneræ_.”

+

+“I don’t understand any better.”

+

+“Listen. About a league from here, at the foot of the mountain, is a

+village called Boulternère. That name is a corruption of the Latin word

+_Turbulnera_. Nothing is more common than such inversions. Boulternère,

+monsieur, was a Roman city. I have always suspected as much, but I have

+never had a proof of it. Here is the proof. This Venus was the local

+divinity of the city of Boulternère; and this word Boulternère, whose

+antique origin I have just demonstrated, proves something even more

+interesting--namely, that Boulternère, before it became a Roman city,

+was a Phœnician city!”

+

+He paused a moment to take breath and to enjoy my surprise. I succeeded

+in restraining a very strong inclination to laugh.

+

+“It is a fact,” he continued, “_Turbulnera_ is pure Phœnician; _Tur_,

+pronounced _Tour_--_Tour_ and _Sour_ are the same word, are they not?

+_Sour_ is the Phœnician name of Tyre; I do not need to remind you of

+its meaning. _Bul_ is Baal; Bal, Bel, Bul--slight differences in

+pronunciation. As for _nera_--that gives me a little trouble. I am

+inclined to believe, failing to find a Phœnician word, that it comes

+from the Greek word νηρός, damp, swampy. In that case the word would

+be a hybrid. To justify my suggestion of νηρός, I will show you that

+at Boulternère the streams from the mountain form miasmatic pools. On

+the other hand, the termination _nera_ may have been added much later,

+in honour of Nera Pivesuvia, wife of Tetricus, who may have had some

+property in the city of Turbul. But on account of the pools I prefer

+the etymology from νηρός.”

+

+And he took a pinch of snuff with a self-satisfied air.

+

+“But let us leave the Phœnicians and return to the inscription. I

+translate then: ‘To Venus of Boulternère, Myron, at her command,

+dedicates this statue, his work.’”

+

+I had no idea of criticising his etymology, but I did desire to exhibit

+some little penetration on my own part; so I said to him:

+

+“Stop there a moment, monsieur. Myron dedicated something, but I see

+nothing to indicate that it was this statue.”

+

+“What!” he cried, “was not Myron a famous Greek sculptor? The talent

+probably was handed down in the family; it was one of his descendants

+who executed this statue. Nothing can be more certain.”

+

+“But,” I rejoined, “I see a little hole in the arm. I believe that it

+was made to fasten something to--a bracelet, perhaps, which this Myron

+presented to Venus as an expiatory offering.--Myron was an unsuccessful

+lover; Venus was irritated with him and he appeased her by consecrating

+a gold bracelet to her. Observe that _fecit_ is very often used in the

+sense of _consecravit_; they are synonymous terms. I could show you

+more than one example of what I say if I had Gruter or Orellius at

+hand. It would be quite natural for a lover to see Venus in a dream and

+to fancy that she ordered him to give a gold bracelet to her statue.

+So Myron consecrated a bracelet to her; then the barbarians, or some

+sacrilegious thief----”

+

+“Ah! it is easy to see that you have written novels!” cried my host,

+giving me his hand to help me descend. “No, monsieur, it is a work of

+the school of Myron. Look at the workmanship simply and you will agree.”

+

+Having made it a rule never to contradict outright an obstinate

+antiquarian, I hung my head with the air of one fully persuaded, saying:

+

+“It’s an admirable thing.”

+

+“Ah! mon Dieu!” cried M. de Peyrehorade; “still another piece of

+vandalism! Somebody must have thrown a stone at my statue!”

+

+He had just discovered a white mark a little above Venus’s breast. I

+observed a similar mark across the fingers of the right hand, which I

+then supposed had been grazed by the stone; or else that a fragment

+of the stone had been broken off by the blow and had bounded against

+the hand. I told my host about the insult that I had witnessed, and

+the speedy retribution that had followed. He laughed heartily, and,

+comparing the apprentice to Diomedes, expressed a hope that, like the

+Grecian hero, he might see all his companions transformed into birds.

+

+The breakfast bell interrupted this classical conversation, and I was

+again obliged, as on the preceding day, to eat for four. Then M. de

+Peyrehorade’s farmers appeared; and while he gave audience to them,

+his son took me to see a calèche which he had bought at Toulouse for

+his fiancée, and which I admired, it is needless to say. Then I went

+with him into the stable, where he kept me half an hour, boasting of

+his horses, giving me their genealogies, and telling me of the prizes

+they had won at various races in the province. At last he reached the

+subject of his future wife, by a natural transition from a gray mare he

+intended for her.

+

+“We shall see her to-day,” he said. “I do not know whether you will

+think her pretty; but everybody here and at Perpignan considers her

+charming. The best thing about her is that she’s very rich. Her aunt

+at Prades left her all her property. Oh! I am going to be very happy.”

+

+I was intensely disgusted to see a young man more touched by the dowry

+than by the _beaux yeux_ of his betrothed.

+

+“You know something about jewels,” continued M. Alphonse; “what do

+you think of this one? This is the ring that I am going to give her

+to-morrow.”

+

+As he spoke, he took from the first joint of his little finger a huge

+ring with many diamonds, made in the shape of two clasped hands; an

+allusion which seemed to me exceedingly poetical. The workmanship was

+very old, but I judged that it had been changed somewhat to allow the

+diamonds to be set. On the inside of the ring were these words in

+Gothic letters: _Sempr’ ab ti_; that is to say, “Always with thee.”

+

+“It is a handsome ring,” I said, “but these diamonds have taken away

+something of its character.”

+

+“Oh! it is much handsomer so,” he replied, with a smile. “There are

+twelve hundred francs’ worth of diamonds. My mother gave it to me. It

+was a very old family ring--of the times of chivalry. It belonged to my

+grandmother, who had it from hers. God knows when it was made.”

+

+“The custom in Paris,” I said, “is to give a very simple ring, usually

+made of two different metals, as gold and platinum, for instance. See,

+that other ring, which you wear on this finger, would be most suitable.

+This one, with its diamonds and its hands in relief, is so big that one

+could not wear a glove over it.”

+

+“Oh! Madame Alphonse may arrange that as she pleases. I fancy that she

+will be very glad to have it all the same. Twelve hundred francs on

+one’s finger is very pleasant. This little ring,” he added, glancing

+fatuously at the plain one which he wore, “was given me by a woman in

+Paris one Mardi Gras. Ah! how I did go it when I was in Paris two

+years ago! That’s the place where one enjoys one’s self!”

+

+And he heaved a sigh of regret.

+

+We were to dine that day at Puygarrig with the bride’s parents; we

+drove in the calèche to the château, about a league and a half from

+Ille. I was presented and made welcome as a friend of the family. I

+will say nothing of the dinner or of the conversation which followed

+it, and in which I took little part. M. Alphonse, seated beside his

+fiancée, said a word in her ear every quarter of an hour. As for her,

+she hardly raised her eyes, and whenever her future husband addressed

+her she blushed modestly, but replied without embarrassment.

+

+Mademoiselle de Puygarrig was eighteen years of age; her supple and

+delicate figure formed a striking contrast to the bony frame of her

+athletic fiancé. She was not only lovely, but fascinating. I admired

+the perfect naturalness of all her replies; and her good-humoured air,

+which however was not exempt from a slight tinge of mischief, reminded

+me, in spite of myself, of my host’s Venus. As I made this comparison

+mentally, I asked myself whether the superiority in the matter of

+beauty which I could not choose but accord to the statue, did not

+consist in large measure in her tigress-like expression; for energy,

+even in evil passions, always arouses in us a certain surprise and a

+sort of involuntary admiration.

+

+“What a pity,” I said to myself as we left Puygarrig, “that such an

+attractive person should be rich, and that her dowry should cause her

+to be sought in marriage by a man who is unworthy of her!”

+

+On the way back to Ille, finding some difficulty in talking with Madame

+de Peyrehorade, whom, however, I thought it only courteous to address

+now and then, I exclaimed:

+

+“You are very strong-minded here in Roussillon! To think of having a

+wedding on a Friday, madame! We are more superstitious in Paris; no

+one would dare to take a wife on that day.”

+

+“Mon Dieu! don’t mention it,” said she; “if it had depended on me,

+they certainly would have chosen another day. But Peyrehorade would

+have it so, and I had to give way to him. It distresses me, however.

+Suppose anything should happen? There must surely be some reason for

+the superstition, for why else should every one be afraid of Friday?”

+

+“Friday!” cried her husband; “Friday is Venus’s day! A splendid day

+for a wedding! You see, my dear colleague, I think of nothing but my

+Venus. On my honour, it was on her account that I chose a Friday.

+To-morrow, if you are willing, before the wedding, we will offer a

+little sacrifice to her; we will sacrifice two pigeons, if I can find

+any incense.”

+

+“For shame, Peyrehorade!” his wife interposed, scandalised to the last

+degree. “Burn incense to an idol! That would be an abomination! What

+would people in the neighbourhood say about you?”

+

+“At least,” said M. de Peyrehorade, “you will allow me to place a

+wreath of roses and lilies on her head:

+

+  “‘Manibus date lilia plenis.’

+

+The charter, you see, monsieur, is an empty word; we have no freedom of

+worship!”

+

+The order of ceremonies for the following day was thus arranged:

+everybody was to be fully dressed and ready at precisely ten o’clock.

+After taking a cup of chocolate, we were to drive to Puygarrig. The

+civil ceremony would take place at the mayor’s office of that village,

+and the religious ceremony in the chapel of the château. Then there

+would be a breakfast. After that, we were to pass the time as best we

+could until seven o’clock, when we were to return to Ille, to M. de

+Peyrehorade’s, where the two families were to sup together. The rest

+followed as a matter of course. Being unable to dance, the plan was to

+eat as much as possible.

+

+At eight o’clock I was already seated in front of the Venus, pencil

+in hand, beginning for the twentieth time to draw the head of the

+statue, whose expression I was still absolutely unable to catch.

+M. de Peyrehorade hovered about me, gave me advice, and repeated

+his Phœnician etymologies; then he arranged some Bengal roses on

+the pedestal of the statue, and in a tragi-comic tone addressed

+supplications to it for the welfare of the couple who were to live

+under his roof. About nine o’clock he returned to the house to dress,

+and at the same time M. Alphonse appeared, encased in a tightly fitting

+new coat, white gloves, patent-leather shoes, and carved buttons, with

+a rose in his buttonhole.

+

+“Will you paint my wife’s portrait?” he asked, leaning over my drawing;

+“she is pretty, too.”

+

+At that moment a game of tennis began on the court I have mentioned,

+and it immediately attracted M. Alphonse’s attention. And I myself,

+being rather tired, and hopeless of being able to reproduce that

+diabolical face, soon left my drawing to watch the players. Among them

+were several Spanish muleteers who had arrived in the town the night

+before. There were Aragonese and Navarrese, almost all wonderfully

+skillful at the game. So that the men of Ille, although encouraged by

+the presence and counsels of M. Alphonse, were speedily beaten by these

+new champions. The native spectators were appalled. M. Alphonse glanced

+at his watch. It was only half after nine. His mother’s hair was not

+dressed. He no longer hesitated, but took off his coat, asked for a

+jacket, and challenged the Spaniards. I watched him, smiling at his

+eagerness, and a little surprised.

+

+“I must uphold the honour of the province,” he said to me.

+

+At that moment I considered him really handsome. He was thoroughly

+in earnest. His costume, which engrossed him so completely a moment

+before, was of no consequence. A few minutes earlier he was afraid to

+turn his head for fear of disarranging his cravat. Now, he paid no heed

+to his carefully curled locks, or to his beautifully laundered ruff.

+And his fiancée?--Faith, I believe that, if it had been necessary, he

+would have postponed the wedding. I saw him hastily put on a pair of

+sandals, turn back his sleeves, and with an air of confidence take his

+place at the head of the beaten side, like Cæsar rallying his legions

+at Dyrrhachium. I leaped over the hedge and found a convenient place in

+the shade of a plum-tree, where I could see both camps.

+

+Contrary to general expectation, M. Alphonse missed the first ball; to

+be sure, it skimmed along the ground, driven with astounding force by

+an Aragonese who seemed to be the leader of the Spaniards.

+

+He was a man of some forty years, thin and wiry, about six feet tall;

+and his olive skin was almost as dark as the bronze of the Venus.

+

+M. Alphonse dashed his racquet to the ground in a passion.

+

+“It was this infernal ring,” he cried: “it caught my finger and made me

+miss a sure ball!”

+

+He removed the diamond ring, not without difficulty, and I stepped

+forward to take it; but he anticipated me, ran to the Venus, slipped

+the ring on her third finger, and resumed his position at the head of

+his townsmen.

+

+He was pale, but calm and determined. Thereafter he did not make

+a single mistake, and the Spaniards were completely routed. The

+enthusiasm of the spectators was a fine spectacle; some shouted for joy

+again and again, and tossed their caps in the air; others shook his

+hands and called him an honour to the province. If he had repelled an

+invasion, I doubt whether he would have received more enthusiastic and

+more sincere congratulations. The chagrin of the defeated party added

+still more to the splendour of his victory.

+

+“We will play again, my good fellow,” he said to the Aragonese in a

+lofty tone; “but I will give you points.”

+

+I should have been glad if M. Alphonse had been more modest, and I

+was almost distressed by his rival’s humiliation. The Spanish giant

+felt the insult keenly. I saw him turn pale under his tanned skin. He

+glanced with a sullen expression at his racquet, and ground his teeth;

+then he muttered in a voice choked with rage:

+

+“_Me lo pagarás!_”

+

+M. de Peyrehorade’s appearance interrupted his son’s triumph. My host,

+greatly surprised not to find him superintending the harnessing of

+the new calèche, was much more surprised when he saw him drenched

+with perspiration, and with his racquet in his hand. M. Alphonse ran

+to the house, washed his face and hands, resumed his new coat and his

+patent-leather boots, and five minutes later we were driving rapidly

+toward Puygarrig. All the tennis players of the town and a great number

+of spectators followed us with joyous shouts. The stout horses that

+drew us could hardly keep in advance of those dauntless Catalans.

+

+We had reached Puygarrig, and the procession was about to start for

+the mayor’s office, when M. Alphonse put his hand to his forehead and

+whispered to me:

+

+“What a fool I am! I have forgotten the ring! It is on the Venus’s

+finger, the devil take her! For Heaven’s sake, don’t tell my mother.

+Perhaps she will not notice anything.”

+

+“You might send some one to get it,” I said.

+

+“No, no! my servant stayed at Ille, and I don’t trust these people

+here. Twelve hundred francs’ worth of diamonds! that might be too much

+of a temptation for more than one of them. Besides, what would they all

+think of my absent-mindedness? They would make too much fun of me. They

+would call me the statue’s husband.--However, I trust that no one will

+steal it. Luckily, all my knaves are afraid of the idol. They don’t

+dare go within arm’s length of it.--Bah! it’s no matter; I have another

+ring.”

+

+The two ceremonies, civil and religious, were performed with suitable

+pomp, and Mademoiselle de Puygarrig received a ring that formerly

+belonged to a milliner’s girl at Paris, with no suspicion that her

+husband was bestowing upon her a pledge of love. Then we betook

+ourselves to the table, where we ate and drank, yes, and sang, all at

+great length. I sympathised with the bride amid the vulgar merriment

+that burst forth all about her; however, she put a better face on it

+than I could have hoped, and her embarrassment was neither awkwardness

+nor affectation. It may be that courage comes of itself with difficult

+situations.

+

+The breakfast came to an end when God willed; it was four o’clock; the

+men went out to walk in the park, which was magnificent, or watched the

+peasant girls of Puygarrig, dressed in their gala costumes, dance on

+the lawn in front of the château. In this way, we passed several hours.

+Meanwhile the women were hovering eagerly about the bride, who showed

+them her wedding gifts. Then she changed her dress, and I observed

+that she had covered her lovely hair with a cap and a hat adorned with

+feathers; for there is nothing that wives are in such a hurry to do as

+to assume as soon as possible those articles of apparel which custom

+forbids them to wear when they are still unmarried.

+

+It was nearly eight o’clock when we prepared to start for Ille.

+But before we started there was a pathetic scene. Mademoiselle de

+Puygarrig’s aunt, who had taken the place of a mother to her, a woman

+of a very advanced age and very religious, was not to go to the town

+with us. At our departure, she delivered a touching sermon to her niece

+on her duties as a wife, the result of which was a torrent of tears,

+and embraces without end. M. de Peyrehorade compared this separation to

+the abduction of the Sabine women.

+

+We started at last, however, and on the road we all exerted ourselves

+to the utmost to divert the bride and make her laugh; but it was all to

+no purpose.

+

+At Ille supper awaited us, and such a supper! If the vulgar hilarity of

+the morning had disgusted me, I was fairly sickened by the equivocal

+remarks and jests which were aimed at the groom, and especially at the

+bride. M. Alphonse, who had disappeared a moment before taking his

+place at the table, was as pale as death and as solemn as an iceberg.

+He kept drinking old Collioure wine, almost as strong as brandy. I was

+by his side and felt in duty bound to warn him.

+

+“Take care! they say that this wine----”

+

+I have no idea what foolish remark I made, to put myself in unison with

+the other guests.

+

+He pressed my knee with his and said in a very low tone:

+

+“When we leave the table, let me have a word with you.”

+

+His solemn tone surprised me. I looked at him more closely and noticed

+the extraordinary change in his expression.

+

+“Are you feeling ill?” I asked him.

+

+“No.”

+

+And he returned to his drinking.

+

+Meanwhile, amid shouts and clapping of hands, a child of eleven years,

+who had slipped under the table, exhibited to the guests a dainty white

+and rose-coloured ribbon which he had taken from the bride’s ankle.

+They called that her garter. It was immediately cut into pieces and

+distributed among the young men, who decorated their buttonholes with

+them, according to an ancient custom still observed in some patriarchal

+families. This episode caused the bride to blush to the whites of her

+eyes. But her confusion reached its height when M. de Peyrehorade,

+having called for silence, sang some Catalan verses, impromptu, so he

+said. Their meaning, so far as I understood it, was this:

+

+“Pray, what is this, my friends? Does the wine I have drunk make me see

+double? There are two Venuses here----”

+

+The bridegroom abruptly turned his head away with a terrified

+expression which made everybody laugh.

+

+“Yes,” continued M. de Peyrehorade, “there are two Venuses beneath my

+roof. One I found in the earth, like a truffle; the other, descended

+from the skies, has come to share her girdle with us.”

+

+He meant to say her garter.

+

+“My son, choose whichever you prefer--the Roman or the Catalan Venus.

+The rascal chooses the Catalan, and his choice is wise. The Roman is

+black, the Catalan white. The Roman is cold, the Catalan inflames all

+who approach her.”

+

+This deliverance caused such an uproar, such noisy applause and such

+roars of laughter, that I thought that the ceiling would fall on our

+heads. There were only three sober faces at the table--those of the

+bride and groom, and my own. I had a terrible headache; and then,

+for some unknown reason, a wedding always depresses me. This one, in

+addition, disgusted me more or less.

+

+The last couplets having been sung by the mayor’s deputy--and they were

+very free, I must say--we went to the salon to make merry over the

+retirement of the bride, who was soon to be escorted to her chamber,

+for it was near midnight.

+

+M. Alphonse led me into a window recess, and said to me, averting his

+eyes:

+

+“You will laugh at me, but I don’t know what the matter is with me; I

+am bewitched! the devil has got hold of me!”

+

+The first idea that came to my mind was that he believed himself to be

+threatened by some misfortune of the sort of which Montaigne and Madame

+de Sévigné speak:

+

+“The sway of love is always full of tragic episodes,” etc.

+

+“I supposed that accidents of that sort happened only to men of

+intellect,” I said to myself.--“You have drunk too much Collioure wine,

+my dear Monsieur Alphonse,” I said aloud. “I warned you.”

+

+“Yes, that may be. But there is something much more terrible than

+that.”

+

+He spoke in a halting voice. I concluded that he was downright tipsy.

+

+“You remember my ring?” he continued, after a pause.

+

+“Well! has it been stolen?”

+

+“No.”

+

+“Then you have it?”

+

+“No--I--I can’t take it off that infernal Venus’s finger!”

+

+“Nonsense! you didn’t pull hard enough.”

+

+“Yes, I did. But the Venus--she has bent her finger.”

+

+He looked me in the eye with a haggard expression, leaning against the

+window-frame to avoid falling.

+

+“What a fable!” I said. “You pushed the ring on too far. To-morrow you

+can recover it with a pair of pincers. But take care that you don’t

+injure the statue.”

+

+“No, I tell you. The Venus’s finger is drawn in, bent; she has closed

+her hand--do you understand? She is my wife, apparently, as I have

+given her my ring. She refuses to give it back.”

+

+I felt a sudden shiver, and for a moment I was all goose-flesh. Then,

+as he heaved a profound sigh, he sent a puff of alcoholic fumes into my

+face, and all my emotion vanished.

+

+“The wretch is completely drunk,” I thought.

+

+“You are an antiquary, monsieur,” continued the bridegroom in a piteous

+tone; “you know all about these statues; perhaps there is some spring,

+some devilish contrivance that I don’t know about. Suppose you were to

+go out and look?”

+

+“Willingly,” I said; “come with me.”

+

+“No, I prefer that you should go alone.”

+

+I left the salon.

+

+The weather had changed while we were at supper, and the rain was

+beginning to fall violently. I was about to ask for an umbrella when a

+sudden reflection detained me. “I should be a great fool,” I said to

+myself, “to take any trouble to verify what an intoxicated man tells

+me! Perhaps, too, he is trying to play some wretched joke on me, in

+order to give these worthy provincials something to laugh at; and the

+least that can happen to me is to be drenched to the skin and to catch

+a heavy cold.”

+

+I glanced from the door at the statue, which was dripping wet, and

+then went up to my room without returning to the salon. I went to bed,

+but sleep was a long while coming. All the scenes of the day passed

+through my mind. I thought of that lovely, pure maiden delivered to the

+tender mercies of a brutal sot. “What a hateful thing a _mariage de

+convenance_ is!” I said to myself. “A mayor dons a tri-coloured scarf,

+a curé a stole, and lo! the most virtuous girl imaginable is abandoned

+to the Minotaur! Two persons who do not love each other--what can they

+have to say at such a moment, which two true lovers would purchase at

+the cost of their lives? Can a woman ever love a man whom she has once

+seen make a beast of himself? First impressions are not easily effaced,

+and I am sure that this Monsieur Alphonse well deserves to be detested.”

+

+During my monologue, which I have abridged very materially, I had heard

+much coming and going about the house, doors opening and closing,

+carriages driving away; then I fancied that I heard in the hall the

+light footsteps of several women walking toward the farther end of

+the corridor opposite my room. It was probably the procession of the

+bride, who was being escorted to her bedroom. Then I heard the steps go

+downstairs again. Madame de Peyrehorade’s door closed.

+

+“How perturbed and ill at ease that poor child must be,” I thought.

+

+I turned and twisted in my bed, in an execrable humour. A bachelor

+plays an absurd rôle in a house where a marriage is being celebrated.

+

+Silence had reigned for some time, when it was broken by heavy steps

+ascending the staircase. The wooden stairs creaked loudly.

+

+“What a brute!” I cried. “I’ll wager that he will fall on the stairs!”

+

+Everything became quiet once more. I took up a book in order to change

+the current of my thoughts. It was a volume of departmental statistics,

+embellished by an article from the pen of M. de Peyrehorade on the

+druidical remains in the arrondissement of Prades. I dozed at the third

+page.

+

+I slept badly and woke several times. It might have been five o’clock,

+and I had been awake more than twenty minutes, when a cock crew. Day

+was just breaking. Suddenly I heard the same heavy steps, the same

+creaking of the stairs that I had heard before I fell asleep. That

+struck me as peculiar. I tried, yawning sleepily, to divine why M.

+Alphonse should rise so early. I could imagine no probable cause. I was

+about to close my eyes again when my attention was once more attracted

+by a strange tramping, to which was soon added the jangling of bells

+and the noise of doors violently thrown open; then I distinguished

+confused outcries.

+

+“My drunkard must have set fire to something!” I thought, as I leaped

+out of bed.

+

+I dressed in hot haste and went out into the corridor. From the farther

+end came shrieks and lamentations, and one heartrending voice rose

+above all the rest: “My son! my son!” It was evident that something

+had happened to M. Alphonse. I ran to the bridal chamber; it was full

+of people. The first object that caught my eye was the young man, half

+dressed, lying across the bed, the framework of which was broken.

+He was livid and absolutely motionless. His mother was weeping and

+shrieking by his side. M. de Peyrehorade was bustling about, rubbing

+his temples with eau de cologne, or holding salts to his nose. Alas!

+his son had been dead a long while.

+

+On a couch, at the other end of the room, was the bride, in frightful

+convulsions. She was uttering incoherent cries, and two strong

+maidservants had all the difficulty in the world in holding her.

+

+“Great God!” I cried, “what has happened?”

+

+I walked to the bed and raised the unfortunate young man’s body; it was

+already cold and stiff. His clenched teeth and livid face expressed

+the most horrible anguish. It seemed perfectly evident that his death

+had been a violent one, and the death agony indescribably terrible.

+But there was no sign of blood on his clothes. I opened his shirt and

+found on his breast a purple mark which extended around the loins and

+across the back. One would have said that he had been squeezed by an

+iron ring. My foot came in contact with something hard on the carpet; I

+stooped and saw the diamond ring.

+

+I dragged M. de Peyrehorade and his wife to their room; then I caused

+the bride to be taken thither.

+

+“You still have a daughter,” I said to them; “you owe to her your

+devoted care.”

+

+Then I left them alone.

+

+It seemed to me to be beyond question that M. Alphonse had been the

+victim of a murder, the authors of which had found a way to introduce

+themselves into the bride’s bedroom at night. The marks on the breast

+and their circular character puzzled me a good deal, however, for a

+club or an iron bar could not have produced them. Suddenly I remembered

+having heard that in Valencia the _bravi_ used long leather bags

+filled with fine sand to murder people whom they were hired to kill.

+I instantly recalled the Aragonese muleteer and his threat; and yet I

+hardly dared think that he would have wreaked such a terrible vengeance

+for a trivial jest.

+

+I walked about the house, looking everywhere for traces of a break,

+and finding nothing. I went down into the garden, to see whether the

+assassins might have forced their way in on that side of the house;

+but I found no definite indications. Indeed, the rain of the preceding

+night had so saturated the ground that it could not have retained any

+distinct impression. I observed, however, several very deep footprints;

+they pointed in two opposite directions, but in the same line, leading

+from the corner of the hedge next the tennis-court to the gateway of

+the house. They might well be M. Alphonse’s steps when he went out to

+take his ring from the finger of the statue. On the other hand, the

+hedge was less dense at that point than elsewhere, and the murderers

+might have passed through it there. As I went back and forth in front

+of the statue, I paused a moment to look at it. That time, I will

+confess, I was unable to contemplate without terror its expression

+of devilish irony; and, with my head full of the horrible scenes I

+had witnessed, I fancied that I had before me an infernal divinity,

+exulting over the disaster that had stricken that house.

+

+I returned to my room and remained there till noon. Then I went out and

+inquired concerning my hosts. They were a little calmer. Mademoiselle

+de Puygarrig--I should say M. Alphonse’s widow--had recovered her

+senses. She had even talked with the king’s attorney from Perpignan,

+then on circuit at Ille, and that magistrate had taken her deposition.

+He desired mine also. I told him what I knew and made no secret of my

+suspicions of the Aragonese muleteer. He ordered that he should be

+arrested immediately.

+

+“Did you learn anything from Madame Alphonse?” I asked the king’s

+attorney, when my deposition was written out and signed.

+

+“That unfortunate young woman has gone mad,” he replied, with a sad

+smile. “Mad! absolutely mad! This is what she told me:

+

+“She had been in bed, she said, a few minutes, with the curtains drawn,

+when her bedroom door opened and some one came in. At that time Madame

+Alphonse was on the inside of the bed, with her face towards the wall.

+Supposing, of course, that it was her husband, she did not move. A

+moment later, the bed creaked as if under an enormous weight. She was

+terribly frightened, but dared not turn her head. Five minutes, ten

+minutes perhaps,--she can only guess at the time--passed in this way.

+Then she made an involuntary movement, or else the other person in the

+bed made one, and she felt the touch of something as cold as ice--that

+was her expression. She moved closer to the wall, trembling in every

+limb. Shortly after, the door opened a second time, and some one came

+in, who said: ‘Good-evening, my little wife.’ Soon the curtains were

+drawn aside. She heard a stifled cry. The person who was in the bed by

+her side sat up and seemed to put out its arms. Thereupon she turned

+her head, and saw, so she declares, her husband on his knees beside the

+bed, with his head on a level with the pillow, clasped in the arms of a

+sort of greenish giant, who was squeezing him with terrible force. She

+says--and she repeated it twenty times, poor woman!--she says that she

+recognised--can you guess whom?--the bronze Venus, M. de Peyrehorade’s

+statue. Since she was unearthed, the whole neighbourhood dreams of her.

+But I continue the story of that unhappy mad woman. At that sight she

+lost consciousness, and it is probable that she had lost her reason

+some moments before. She could give me no idea at all how long she

+remained in her swoon. Recovering her senses, she saw the phantom, or,

+as she still insists, the statue, motionless, with its legs and the

+lower part of the body in the bed, the bust and arms stretched out, and

+in its arms her husband, also motionless. A cock crew. Thereupon the

+statue got out of bed, dropped the dead body, and left the room. Madame

+Alphonse rushed for the bell-cord, and you know the rest.”

+

+The Spaniard was arrested; he was calm, and defended himself with much

+self-possession and presence of mind. He did not deny making the remark

+I had overheard; but he explained it by saying that he had meant

+simply this: that, on the following day, having rested meanwhile, he

+would beat his victorious rival at tennis. I remember that he added:

+

+“An Aragonese, when he is insulted, doesn’t wait until the next day for

+his revenge. If I had thought that Monsieur Alphonse intended to insult

+me, I would have driven my knife into his belly on the spot.”

+

+His shoes were compared with the footprints in the garden, and were

+found to be much larger.

+

+Lastly, the innkeeper at whose house he was staying deposed that he had

+passed the whole night rubbing and doctoring one of his mules, which

+was sick. Furthermore, the Aragonese was a man of excellent reputation,

+well known in the province, where he came every year in the course of

+his business. So he was released with apologies.

+

+I have forgotten the deposition of a servant, who was the last person

+to see M. Alphonse alive. It was just as he was going up to his wife;

+he called the man and asked him with evident anxiety if he knew where I

+was. The servant replied that he had not seen me. Thereupon M. Alphonse

+sighed and stood more than a minute without speaking; then he said:

+

+“_Well! the devil must have taken him away, too!_”

+

+I asked him if M. Alphonse had his diamond ring on his finger when he

+spoke to him. The servant hesitated before he replied; at last he said

+that he did not think so, but that he had not noticed particularly.

+

+“If he had had that ring on his finger,” he added upon reflection, “I

+should certainly have noticed it, for I thought that he had given it to

+Madame Alphonse.”

+

+As I questioned this man, I was conscious of a touch of the

+superstitious terror with which Madame Alphonse’s deposition had

+infected the whole household. The king’s attorney glanced at me with a

+smile, and I did not persist.

+

+Some hours after M. Alphonse’s funeral, I prepared to leave Ille. M.

+de Peyrehorade’s carriage was to take me to Perpignan. Despite his

+enfeebled condition, the poor old man insisted upon attending me to his

+garden gate. We passed through the garden in silence; he, hardly able

+to drag himself alone, leaning on my arm. As we were about to part,

+I cast a last glance at the Venus. I foresaw that my host, although

+he did not share the terror and detestation which she inspired in a

+portion of his family, would be glad to be rid of an object which would

+constantly remind him of a shocking calamity. It was my purpose to urge

+him to place it in some museum. I hesitated about opening the subject,

+when M. de Peyrehorade mechanically turned his head in the direction in

+which he saw that I was gazing earnestly. His eye fell upon the statue,

+and he instantly burst into tears. I embraced him, and, afraid to say a

+single word, entered the carriage.

+

+I never learned, subsequent to my departure, that any new light had

+been thrown upon that mysterious catastrophe.

+

+M. de Peyrehorade died a few months after his son. By his will he

+bequeathed to me his manuscripts, which I shall publish some day,

+perhaps. I found among them no memoir relating to the inscriptions on

+the Venus.

+

+       *       *       *       *       *

+

+P. S.--My friend M. de P. has recently written me from Perpignan that

+the statue no longer exists. After her husband’s death, Madame de

+Peyrehorade’s first care was to have it melted into a bell, and in that

+new shape it is now used in the church at Ille.

+

+“But,” M. de P. adds, “it would seem that an evil fate pursues all

+those who possess that bronze. Since that bell has rung at Ille the

+vines have frozen twice.”

+

+ 1837.

+

+

+

+

+Transcriber’s Note

+

+

+Minor printer’s errors were corrected by the transcriber; otherwise, as

+far as possible, original spelling and punctuation have been retained.

+

+There were many errors in the ancient Greek in the printed text; some

+of these were introduced by the translator, and some were present in

+the French edition. In this file, as far as possible, the ancient Greek

+is identical to that of the English text as printed.

+

+In this file, text in _italics_ is indicated by underscores.

+

+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PROSPER MÉRIMÉE'S SHORT

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+<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Prosper Mérimée's Short Stories, by Prosper Mérimée</p>

+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>

+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and

+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions

+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms

+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online

+at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you

+are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the

+country where you are located before using this eBook.

+</div>

+

+<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Prosper Mérimée's Short Stories</p>

+<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Prosper Mérimée</p>

+<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Translator: George Burnham Ives</p>

+<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Contributor: Grace King</p>

+<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: March 17, 2022 [eBook #67643]</p>

+<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p>

+  <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Thomas Frost, Tim Lindell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)</p>

+<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PROSPER MÉRIMÉE'S SHORT STORIES ***</div>

+

+

+

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</span></p>

+

+<p class="center p200"><b>LITTLE FRENCH MASTERPIECES</b></p>

+

+

+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop full" />

+

+

+<div class="figcenter illowp56 chap" id="frontispiece" style="max-width: 93.625em;">

+  <img class="w100" src="images/frontispiece.jpg" alt="" title="Frontispiece" />

+  <div class="caption"><p><span class="smcap">Prosper Mérimée</span></p>

+

+<p>From an etching</p></div>

+</div>

+

+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop full" />

+

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</span></p>

+

+

+

+<div class="chap">

+<h1>Prosper Mérimée’s<br />

+<span class="p90">Short Stories</span></h1>

+</div>

+

+<p class="blocktext p125 p3" style="width: 12em;"><b>Carmen<br />

+The Taking of the Redoubt<br />

+The Venus of Ille, etc.</b></p>

+

+<p class="center p3"><span class="p105"><b>Translated by</b></span><br />

+<span class="p140"><b>George Burnham Ives</b></span></p>

+

+<p class="center p3"><span class="p105"><b>With an Introduction by</b></span><br />

+<span class="p140"><b>Grace King</b></span></p>

+

+<p class="center p6">

+<span class="p140"><b>G. P. Putnam’s Sons</b></span><br />

+<span class="p130"><b>New York and London</b></span><br />

+<span class="p120"><b>The Knickerbocker Press</b></span><br />

+<span class="p110"><b>1909</b></span></p>

+

+

+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop full" />

+

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</span></p>

+

+<div class="chap">

+<p class="center"><span class="smcap"><b>Copyright</b></span><b>, 1903<br />

+BY</b><br />

+<span class="p110"><b>G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS</b></span></p></div>

+

+

+<p class="center p4 p110"><b>The Knickerbocker Press, New York</b>

+</p>

+

+

+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop full" />

+

+

+

+<div class="chapter">

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</span></p>

+

+<h2 class="nobreak" id="Contents">Contents</h2>

+</div>

+

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</span></p>

+

+<table style="width:20em">

+<tr>

+<td class="tdl"></td>

+<td class="tdr p80">PAGE</td>

+</tr>

+<tr>

+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Prosper Mérimée</span></td>

+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Introduction">ix</a></td>

+</tr>

+<tr>

+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Carmen</span></td>

+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Carmen">3</a></td>

+</tr>

+<tr>

+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Taking of the Redoubt</span></td>

+<td class="tdr"><a href="#The_Taking_of_the_Redoubt">137</a></td>

+</tr>

+<tr>

+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Mateo Falcone</span></td>

+<td class="tdr"><a href="#Mateo_Falcone">151</a></td>

+</tr>

+<tr>

+<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">The Venus of Ille</span></td>

+<td class="tdr"><a href="#The_Venus_of_Ille">181</a></td>

+</tr>

+</table>

+

+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop full" />

+

+<div class="chapter">

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</span></p>

+

+

+<h2 class="nobreak mb0" id="Introduction">Introduction<br />

+

+<span class="p90">Prosper Mérimée</span></h2>

+</div>

+

+<p class="center"><b>(1803-1870)</b></p>

+

+

+<p>The stories here presented are a selection

+from that brilliant series which shine like

+a constellation in French literature of the last

+century, blazoning Mérimée’s name across it.

+Each one has been tested and judged by

+successive generations of readers and critics.

+The authoritative appraisers of literary values,

+French and English, have been pronouncing

+upon them from the time of their publication

+until now, when they are still pronouncing

+upon them, as upon new productions. Their

+interest, nevertheless, is still fresh, their

+charm as attractive as ever, and inexplicable,

+as charm must be. The prediction that was

+made in their day having been fulfilled so far,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</span>

+it does not seem hazardous to renew it, at our

+own risk, that they may be placed alongside

+of those classics of fiction that meet so natural

+a soil in the human mind that we can

+no more foresee their ceasing to give pleasure

+to readers in course of time than we can foresee

+the flowers in the gardens ceasing to give

+pleasure to lovers of flowers.</p>

+

+<p><cite>Carmen</cite>, with which the book begins, was

+the last one written of the series. It might,

+however, be said to antedate them all, for the

+first impulsive, perhaps instinctive, love of

+Mérimée’s imagination was for the passionate

+drama of Spain, and his first production, <cite>The

+Plays of Clara Gazul</cite>, was so vivid an imitation

+of it that it mystified the critics of the

+time, who had yet to learn the extreme

+susceptibility of Mérimée’s mind to exotic influences;

+a susceptibility that the author indulged,

+if he did not foster, throughout life.</p>

+

+<p>It was not until 1830 (after the publication

+of <cite>Mateo Falcone</cite> and <cite>The Taking of the Redoubt</cite>)

+that Mérimée saw Spain with the eyes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</span>

+of his body, and became naturalised in that

+part of it, that, as he describes it, “was

+bounded on the north by a <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">gitana</i> and on

+the south by a carbine,” whose patois he spoke

+fluently, in whose <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">ventas</i> he was at home,

+where he confesses to have committed a thousand

+follies. In his letters addressed from Madrid

+and Valencia, during this first voyage to

+Spain, those who are curious about such

+questions can read the account of Mérimée’s

+introduction to Carmen,&mdash;that is, to José Maria,

+the contrabandist and bandit, and to the toreador.

+As for Carmen herself, “that servant of

+the devil,” as José Maria describes her only too

+well, although she does not figure in the letters,

+we may infer that she did in some of the

+“thousand follies.” The story was not, however,

+written until fifteen years later than this,

+after many subsequent visits to its birthplace.

+A postscriptum, dated 1842, is attached to the

+letters, giving an account of the death of the

+toreador and of José Maria.</p>

+

+<p>Mérimée had so long before this story<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</span>

+proved himself the most exquisite master, in

+his day, of the art of simplicity and naturalness

+in writing, that he would seem to have

+left no farther room to himself for advance in

+perfection, no margin for additional praise for

+this his last story; and yet it has a quality of

+its own that distinguishes it from every preceding

+one.</p>

+

+<p>“Señor,” said José Maria, “one becomes a

+rascal without thinking of it; a pretty girl

+steals your wits, you fight for her, an accident

+happens, you have to live in the mountains,

+and from a smuggler you become a robber

+before you know it.”</p>

+

+<p>This is the simplicity and naturalness, not

+of Mérimée, but of José Maria himself; and

+the story that follows shows absolutely no

+other author than the condemned bandit.

+There is no consciousness in reading it of

+the perfection that mars the very perfection

+of <cite>Colomba</cite>, nor suspicion of premeditated

+pathos as in the supremely pathetic <cite>Arsène

+Guillot</cite>. Form and pathos are no more<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</span>

+thought of by the author than by José Maria

+himself. And, therefore, as Taine says, “dissertations

+on primitive and savage instinct,

+learned essays like Schopenhauer’s on love and

+death, are not worth its hundred pages.”</p>

+

+<p>As if he himself recognised the finality of his

+art in this identity of it with nature, Mérimée

+laid aside his pen after writing it, and wrote

+no more stories for twenty years; in truth,

+wrote no more, for as his biographer Filon

+expresses it, when he took up his pen again,

+he found it irremediably rusted.</p>

+

+<p><cite>The Taking of the Redoubt</cite> resembles

+<cite>Carmen</cite> in this, that the author so completely

+effaces his personality from the teller of the

+story, that one finds it easier to suppose than

+not that the incident was related to him, as

+he says in the prefatory note, by the officer

+to whom it happened, and that he merely

+wrote it down from memory. The concession,

+however, concedes nothing, as long as

+the word “memory” is retained in the explanation.

+For what it stands for here is an<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</span>

+imagination that could make the carelessly

+dropped incident its own, and turn upon it a

+marvellous sight (lens-eye and light, all in

+one), until what we read was as clear to

+Mérimée as it is to us now. Then he wrote

+it down in the pages that are without a match

+in the thousands of descriptions of battles that

+have been written. As one does not go to

+another for words to describe what one sees

+oneself, so we need no interpreter of our

+sensations when we read <cite>The Taking of the

+Redoubt</cite>. It is for us alone, as Mérimée seems

+to tell us, to read it or not to read it, to see

+what took place or not see it.</p>

+

+<p>In the list of Mérimée’s stories <cite>Mateo Falcone</cite>

+stands immediately before <cite>The Taking

+of the Redoubt</cite>. Both were published in the

+same year, in 1829, which was the twenty-sixth

+of the author’s age. It is so seldom

+mentioned now in English without Walter

+Pater’s judgment upon it, “perhaps the

+cruellest story in the world,” that that might

+well be added to the name as a sub-title. It<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xv">[Pg xv]</span>

+would be so, perhaps, if Mérimée had not related

+it. He himself, despite the cold impassivity

+that he had schooled himself into

+maintaining as an author,&mdash;he himself shows

+here and there a trace of the emotion that he

+arouses in us. The temptation, fall, and

+punishment of the little child touch indeed

+the most sensitive nerve in the human heart;

+the one that can give the keenest pain; that

+cuts through the heart like a knife. The story

+would be well-nigh unbearable in another

+hand than Mérimée’s, or had he told it in a

+clean, clear thrust of reality, as in <cite>The Taking

+of the Redoubt</cite>. But he retards the action in

+the beginning with details and diverts the attention

+with local colour; not, however, be

+it remarked, such local colour as he saw with

+his own eyes, in Spain, but the kind that he

+learned how to make so easily in the days of

+<cite>Clara Gazul</cite> and <cite>La Guzla</cite>, that he lost, as he

+confesses, all respect for it. Mateo, Gianetto,

+Gamba, and Giuseppa belong also to the domain

+of the not seen, not known. But the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xvi">[Pg xvi]</span>

+child, the unfortunate Fortunato, stands out

+against the artificial background of place,

+time, and circumstance, with a vividness of

+reality that, as in <cite>The Taking of the Redoubt</cite>,

+would make the reality seem vague and indistinct

+beside it. A few pages of this story

+might be cited as the highest point that Mérimée

+attained as an artist.</p>

+

+<p>He himself considered <cite>The Venus of Ille</cite>

+the best story he ever wrote. The preference

+is characteristic of him. It contains all

+the elements of the mysterious and horrible

+for which he had an inherent passion; and

+he relates it as he loved to relate the extraordinary,

+in the tone of skeptical raillery that

+is the surest as well as the subtlest way

+of sowing in a reader distrust in the integrity

+of his common sense. This tone, also,

+was an inherent quality of Mérimée’s; it

+represented the attitude of his mind towards

+the illusions of his imagination, which he

+explains in one of his <cite>Lettres Inédites</cite>:

+“You cannot imagine, madame, the difference<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xvii">[Pg xvii]</span>

+there is between the things which it

+pleases me to suppose and those which I

+admit to be true. I please myself in imagining

+goblins and fairies. I make my own

+hair stand on end by relating ghost stories

+to myself. But, notwithstanding the physical

+effect I experience, I am not prevented

+from not believing in ghosts; on this point

+my incredulity is so great that even if I

+were to see a ghost, I would not believe

+in it any the more.”</p>

+

+<p>The old mediæval legend was exhumed by

+Mérimée, as he unearthed the bronze statue

+of the maleficent Venus, in the little village

+under the shadow of the Canigou,&mdash;in all

+its beauty and terror, in all its ferocity, one

+might say, of pagan Christian. He altered

+nothing of it, and added only what as a visiting

+archæologist, his rôle in the story, he

+could not omit: the details of his rather

+curious experience; the impression made upon

+him by the statue, as a woman of seductive

+wickedness and cruel, imperious passions,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xviii">[Pg xviii]</span>

+a type of woman that, as his biographer

+comments, “none in the Paris of his day (the

+home of such divinities) understood so well

+as he.”</p>

+

+<p>The ascent to the dramatic catastrophe of

+the story is so natural, easy, and pleasant

+(the preparations for a wedding and its celebration

+are of all pleasant things in the world

+what a reader loves most to dally with); the

+means employed by the writer are so natural&mdash;for

+there is not the faintest suggestion of or

+appeal to the morbid&mdash;that we arrive at the

+crisis well prepared to lose none of its weird

+and terrible intensity, and the thrill and the

+shudder that arise in us then are as real as

+Mérimée’s own physical tribute to the power

+of his imagination.</p>

+

+<p>Such stories have an intrinsic value that

+renders them independent of an author’s name

+and reputation, even of his time and country.

+They are as easily detached from him, and

+with as little loss to themselves, as precious

+stones are from the name and place of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xix">[Pg xix]</span>

+mine that once held them. This supreme

+distinction of a story is, nevertheless, what

+commends it to the assiduous seekers after

+the secret of literary perfection; the philosopher’s

+stone of the world of letters. Mérimée,

+on the whole, has stood the biographical and

+critical tests applied to him well, both as man

+and artist, and, although the secret of his art

+in truth went to the grave with him, this

+much at least has been found out, that he was

+worthy to be the author of his stories.</p>

+

+<div class="figright illowp60" id="signature" style="max-width: 30em;">

+  <img class="w100" src="images/signature.jpg" alt="" />

+</div>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_xx">[Pg xx]</span></p>

+

+

+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

+

+<div class="chapter">

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span></p>

+<h2 class="nobreak" id="Carmen">Carmen</h2>

+</div>

+

+<p class="ml5 mb0">Πᾶσα γυνὴ χόλος ἐστίν· ἔχει δ' ἀγαθάς δύο ὥρας<br />

+Τήν μίαν ἐν θαλάμω, τήν μίαν ἐν θανάτω.</p>

+

+<p class="p0 ml20">

+<span class="smcap">Palladas.</span>

+</p>

+

+

+<h3>I</h3>

+

+<p>I had always suspected the geographers

+of not knowing what they were talking

+about when they placed the battle-field of

+Munda in the country of the Bastuli-Pœni,

+near the modern Monda, some two leagues

+north of Marbella. According to my own

+conjectures concerning the text of the anonymous

+author of the <cite>Bellum Hispaniense</cite>, and

+in view of certain information collected in the

+Duke of Ossuna’s excellent library, I believed

+that we should seek in the vicinity of Montilla

+the memorable spot where for the last

+time Cæsar played double or quits against

+the champions of the republic. Happening<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span>

+to be in Andalusia in the early autumn of

+1830, I made quite a long excursion for the

+purpose of setting at rest such doubts as I still

+entertained. A memoir which I propose to

+publish ere long will, I trust, leave no further

+uncertainty in the minds of all honest archæologists.

+Pending the time when my deliverance

+shall solve at last the geographical

+problem which is now holding all the learning

+of Europe in suspense, I propose to tell

+you a little story; it has no bearing on the

+question of the actual location of Munda.</p>

+

+<p>I had hired a guide and two horses at Cordova,

+and had taken the field with no other

+impedimenta than Cæsar’s <cite>Commentaries</cite> and

+a shirt or two. On a certain day, as I wandered

+over the more elevated portion of the

+plain of Cachena, worn out with fatigue, dying

+with thirst, and scorched by a sun of molten

+lead, I was wishing with all my heart that

+Cæsar and Pompey’s sons were in the devil’s

+grip, when I spied, at a considerable distance

+from the path I was following, a tiny<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span>

+greensward, studded with reeds and rushes,

+which indicated the proximity of a spring.

+In fact, as I drew nearer, I found that what

+had seemed to be a greensward was a marshy

+tract through which a stream meandered,

+issuing apparently from a narrow ravine between

+two high buttresses of the Sierra de

+Cabra. I concluded that by ascending the

+stream I should find cooler water, fewer

+leeches and frogs, and perhaps a bit of shade

+among the cliffs. As we rode into the gorge

+my horse whinnied, and another horse, which

+I could not see, instantly answered. I had

+ridden barely a hundred yards when the

+gorge, widening abruptly, disclosed a sort of

+natural amphitheatre, entirely shaded by the

+high cliffs which surrounded it. It was impossible

+to find a spot which promised the

+traveller a more attractive sojourn. At the

+foot of perpendicular cliffs, the spring came

+bubbling forth and fell into a tiny basin carpeted

+with sand as white as snow. Five or

+six fine live-oaks, always sheltered from the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span>

+wind and watered by the spring, grew upon

+its brink and covered it with their dense shade;

+and all about the basin, a fine, sheeny grass

+promised a softer bed than one could find at

+any inn within a radius of ten leagues.</p>

+

+<p>The honour of discovering so attractive a

+spot did not belong to me. A man was already

+reposing there, and was asleep in all

+probability when I rode in. Roused by the

+neighing of the horses, he had risen, and had

+walked towards his horse, which had taken

+advantage of his master’s slumber to make a

+hearty meal on the grass in the immediate

+neighbourhood. He was a young fellow, of

+medium height, but of robust aspect, and

+with a proud and distrustful expression. His

+complexion, which might once have been fine,

+had become darker than his hair through the

+action of the sun. He held his horse’s halter

+in one hand and in the other a blunderbuss

+with a copper barrel. I will admit that at

+first blush the blunderbuss and the forbidding

+air of its bearer took me a little by surprise;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span>

+but I had ceased to believe in robbers, because

+I had heard so much said about them and had

+never met one. Moreover, I had seen so

+many honest farmers going to market armed

+to the teeth that the sight of a firearm did

+not justify me in suspecting the stranger’s

+moral character.&mdash;“And then, too,” I said to

+myself, “what would he do with my shirts

+and my Elzevir Cæsar?” So I saluted the

+man with the blunderbuss with a familiar nod,

+and asked him smilingly if I had disturbed his

+sleep.</p>

+

+<p>He eyed me from head to foot without replying;

+then, as if satisfied by his examination,

+he scrutinised no less closely my guide, who

+rode up at that moment. I saw that the latter

+turned pale and stopped in evident alarm.

+“An unfortunate meeting!” I said to myself.

+But prudence instantly counselled me to betray

+no uneasiness. I dismounted, told the guide

+to remove the horses’ bridles, and, kneeling by

+the spring, I plunged my face and hands in

+the water; then I took a long draught and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span>

+lay flat on my stomach, like the wicked soldiers

+of Gideon.</p>

+

+<p>But I kept my eyes on my guide and the

+stranger. The former drew near, sorely against

+his will; the other seemed to have no evil

+designs upon us, for he had set his horse at

+liberty once more, and his blunderbuss, which

+he had held at first in a horizontal position,

+was now pointed towards the ground.</p>

+

+<p>As it seemed to me inexpedient to take umbrage

+at the small amount of respect shown

+to my person, I stretched myself out on the

+grass, and asked the man with the blunderbuss,

+in a careless tone, if he happened to

+have a flint and steel about him. At the same

+time I produced my cigar-case. The stranger,

+still without a word, felt in his pocket, took

+out his flint and steel and courteously struck

+a light for me. Evidently he was becoming

+tamer, for he sat down opposite me, but did

+not lay aside his weapon. When my cigar

+was lighted, I selected the best of those that

+remained and asked him if he smoked.</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span></p>

+

+<p>“Yes, señor,” he replied.</p>

+

+<p>Those were the first words that he had

+uttered, and I noticed that he did not pronounce

+the s after the Andalusian fashion,<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>

+whence I concluded that he was a traveller

+like myself, minus the archæologist.</p>

+

+<p>“You will find this rather good,” I said,

+offering him a genuine Havana regalia.</p>

+

+<p>He bent his head slightly, lighted his cigar

+by mine, thanked me with another nod, then

+began to smoke with every appearance of very

+great enjoyment.</p>

+

+<p>“Ah!” he exclaimed, as he discharged the

+first puff slowly through his mouth and his

+nostrils, “how long it is since I have had a

+smoke!”</p>

+

+<p>In Spain, a cigar offered and accepted establishes

+hospitable relations, just as the sharing

+of bread and salt does in the East. My man<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span>

+became more talkative than I had hoped. But,

+although he claimed to live in the <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">partido</i> of

+Montilla, he seemed to be but ill-acquainted

+with the country. He did not know the name

+of the lovely valley where we were; he could

+not mention any village in the neighbourhood;

+and, lastly, when I asked him whether he had

+seen any ruined walls thereabouts, or any tiles

+with raised edges, or any carved stones, he

+admitted that he had never paid any attention

+to such things. By way of compensation he

+exhibited much expert knowledge of horses.

+He criticised mine, which was not very difficult;

+then he gave me the genealogy of his,

+which came from the famous stud of Cordova;

+a noble animal in very truth, and so proof

+against fatigue, according to his master, that

+he had once travelled thirty leagues in a day,

+at a gallop or a fast trot. In the middle of

+his harangue the stranger paused abruptly, as

+if he were surprised and angry with himself

+for having said too much.</p>

+

+<p>“You see, I was in a hurry to get to Cordova,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span>

+he added, with some embarrassment.

+“I had to present a petition to the judges in

+the matter of a lawsuit.”</p>

+

+<p>As he spoke, he glanced at my guide, Antonio,

+who lowered his eyes.</p>

+

+<p>The cool shade and the spring were so delightful

+to me that I remembered some slices

+of excellent ham which my friends at Montilla

+had put in my guide’s wallet. I bade him

+produce them, and I invited the stranger to

+join me in my impromptu collation. If he had

+not smoked for a long while, it seemed probable

+to me that he had not eaten for at least

+forty-eight hours. He devoured the food like

+a starved wolf. It occurred to me that our

+meeting was a providential affair for the poor

+fellow. My guide meanwhile ate little, drank

+still less, and did not talk at all, although

+from the very beginning of our journey he

+had revealed himself to me in the guise

+of an unparalleled chatterbox. Our guest’s

+presence seemed to embarrass him, and a

+certain distrust kept them at arm’s length<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span>

+from each other, but I was unable to divine

+its cause.</p>

+

+<p>The last crumbs of the bread and ham had

+vanished; each of us had smoked a second

+cigar; I ordered the guide to put the bridles

+on our horses, and I was about to take leave

+of my new friend, when he asked me where

+I intended to pass the night.</p>

+

+<p>I replied, before I had noticed a signal from

+my guide, that I was going on to the Venta

+del Cuervo.</p>

+

+<p>“A wretched place for a man like you,

+señor. I am going there, and if you will

+allow me to accompany you, we will ride

+together.”</p>

+

+<p>“With great pleasure,” I replied, mounting

+my horse.</p>

+

+<p>My guide, who was holding my stirrup,

+made another signal with his eyes. I answered

+it with a shrug of my shoulders, as if

+to assure him that I was perfectly unconcerned,

+and we set forth.</p>

+

+<p>Antonio’s mysterious signs, his evident uneasiness,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span>

+a few words that had escaped from

+the stranger, and, above all, his gallop of

+thirty leagues, and the far from plausible explanation

+of it which he had offered, had

+already formed my opinion concerning our

+travelling companion. I had no doubt that I

+had fallen in with a smuggler, perhaps a

+highwayman; but what did it matter to me?

+I was sufficiently acquainted with the Spanish

+character to be very sure that I had

+nothing to fear from a man who had broken

+bread and smoked with me. His very presence

+was a certain protection against any

+unpleasant meetings. Furthermore, I was

+very glad to know what manner of man a

+brigand is. One does not see them every

+day, and there is a certain charm in finding

+oneself in the company of a dangerous individual,

+especially when one finds him to be

+gentle and tame.</p>

+

+<p>I hoped to lead the stranger by degrees

+to the point of making me his confidant, and

+despite my guide’s meaning winks, I turned<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span>

+the conversation to the subject of highway

+robbers. Be it understood that I spoke of

+them with great respect. There was in Andalusia

+at that time a celebrated brigand

+named José Maria, whose exploits were on

+every tongue.</p>

+

+<p>“Suppose I were riding beside José Maria!”

+I said to myself.</p>

+

+<p>I told such stories as I knew concerning

+that hero&mdash;all to his credit, by the way,&mdash;and

+I expressed in warm terms my admiration for

+his gallantry and his generosity.</p>

+

+<p>“José Maria is a villain pure and simple,”

+observed the stranger, coldly.</p>

+

+<p>“Is he doing himself justice?” I thought;

+“or is this merely an excess of modesty on

+his part?” For, by dint of observing my

+companion closely, I had succeeded in applying

+to him the description of José Maria

+which I had seen placarded on the gates of

+many a town in Andalusia. “Yes, it is certainly

+he: fair hair, blue eyes, large mouth,

+fine teeth, small hands; a shirt of fine linen,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span>

+velvet jacket with silver buttons, white leather

+gaiters, a bay horse. There is no doubt of

+it! But I will respect his incognito.”</p>

+

+<p>We arrived at the <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">venta</i>. It was the sort

+of place that he had described, that is to say,

+one of the vilest taverns that I had seen as

+yet. A large room served as kitchen, dining-room,

+and bedroom. The fire was kindled

+on a flat stone in the middle of the room, and

+the smoke emerged through a hole in the

+roof, or rather hung about it, forming a dense

+cloud a few feet from the floor. Stretched

+on the ground along the walls could be seen

+some five or six worn mule-blankets; they

+were the beds of the guests. Some twenty

+yards from the house, or rather from the

+single room which I have described, was a

+sort of shed, which did duty as a stable. In

+this attractive abode there were no other

+human beings, for the moment at least, than

+an old woman and a little girl of eight or

+ten years, both as black as soot and clad in

+shocking rags.</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span></p>

+

+<p>“Behold,” I said to myself, “all that remains

+of the population of the ancient Munda

+Bœtica! O Cæsar! O Sextus Pompey! how

+surprised you would be, should you return to

+earth!”</p>

+

+<p>At sight of my companion, the old woman

+uttered an exclamation of surprise.</p>

+

+<p>“Ah! Señor Don José!” she cried.</p>

+

+<p>Don José frowned and raised his hand with

+an authoritative gesture which instantly silenced

+the old woman. I turned to my

+guide, and with an imperceptible sign gave

+him to understand that there was nothing

+that he could tell me concerning the man

+with whom I was about to pass the night.</p>

+

+<p>The supper was better than I anticipated.

+On a small table about a foot high we were

+served with an aged rooster, fricasseed with

+rice and an abundance of peppers; then with

+peppers in oil; and lastly with <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">gaspacho</i>, a

+sort of pepper salad. Three dishes thus highly

+seasoned compelled us to have frequent recourse

+to a skin of Montilla wine, which was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span>

+delicious. After we had eaten, happening to

+spy a mandolin hanging on the wall,&mdash;there

+are mandolins everywhere in Spain,&mdash;I asked

+the little girl who waited on us if she knew

+how to play it.</p>

+

+<p>“No,” she replied, “but Don José plays it

+so well!”</p>

+

+<p>“Be good enough,” I said to him, “to sing

+me something; I am passionately fond of your

+national music.”</p>

+

+<p>“I can refuse no request of such a gallant

+gentleman, who gives me such excellent

+cigars,” said Don José, good-naturedly.</p>

+

+<p>And, having asked for the mandolin, he

+sang to his own accompaniment. His voice

+was rough, but very agreeable, the tune melancholy

+and weird; as for the words, I did

+not understand a syllable.</p>

+

+<p>“If I am not mistaken,” I said, “that is

+not a Spanish air. It resembles the <i lang="eu" xml:lang="eu">zorzicos</i>

+which I have heard in the Provinces,<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> and the

+words must be Basque.”</p>

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span></p>

+<p>“Yes,” replied Don José, with a gloomy

+air.</p>

+

+<p>He placed the mandolin on the floor, and

+sat with folded arms, gazing at the dying fire

+with a strange expression of melancholy. His

+face at once noble and fierce, lighted by a

+lamp that stood on the low table, reminded

+me of Milton’s Satan. Perhaps, like him, my

+companion was thinking of the sojourn that

+he had left, of the banishment that he had incurred

+by a sin. I tried to revive the conversation,

+but he did not answer, absorbed as he

+was in his sad thoughts. The old woman

+had already retired in one corner of the room,

+behind an old torn blanket suspended by a

+cord. The little girl had followed her to that

+retreat, reserved for the fair sex. Thereupon

+my guide rose and invited me to accompany

+him to the stable; but at that suggestion Don

+José, as if suddenly awakened, asked him

+roughly where he was going.</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span></p>

+

+<p>“To the stable,” was the guide’s reply.</p>

+

+<p>“What for? The horses have their feed.

+Sleep here; the señor will not object.”</p>

+

+<p>“I am afraid the señor’s horse is sick; I

+would like the señor to see him; perhaps he

+will know what to do for him.”</p>

+

+<p>It was evident that Antonio wished to

+speak to me in private; but I had no desire to

+arouse Don José’s suspicions, and, in view of

+the footing on which we then stood, it seemed

+to me that the wisest course was to show the

+most entire confidence. So I told Antonio

+that I understood nothing about horses, and

+that I wished to sleep. Don José went with

+him to the stable, whence he soon returned

+alone. He told me that nothing was the matter

+with the horse, but that my guide considered

+him such a valuable beast that he was

+rubbing him with his jacket to make him

+sweat, and that he proposed to pass the night

+in that delectable occupation. Meanwhile I

+had stretched myself out on the mule-blankets,

+carefully wrapped in my cloak, in order<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span>

+not to come in contact with them. After

+apologising for the liberty he took in taking

+his place beside me, Don José lay down before

+the door, not without renewing the priming

+of his blunderbuss, which he took care to

+place under the wallet which served him for a

+pillow. Five minutes after we had bade each

+other good-night we were both sound asleep.</p>

+

+<p>I had believed that I was tired enough to be

+able to sleep even on such a couch; but after

+about an hour, a very unpleasant itching

+roused me from my first nap. As soon as I

+realised the nature of it, I rose, convinced that

+it would be better to pass the night in the

+open air than beneath that inhospitable roof.

+I walked to the door on tiptoe, stepped over

+Don José, who was sleeping the sleep of the

+just, and exerted such care that I left the house

+without waking him. Near the door was a

+broad wooden bench; I lay down upon it, and

+bestowed myself as comfortably as possible

+to finish the night. I was just closing my

+eyes for the second time, when it seemed to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span>

+me that I saw the shadows of a man and a

+horse pass me, both moving without the

+slightest sound. I sat up, and fancied that I

+recognised Antonio. Surprised to find him

+outside of the stable at that time of night, I

+rose and walked toward him. He had halted,

+having seen me first.</p>

+

+<p>“Where is he?” he asked in a whisper.</p>

+

+<p>“In the <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">venta</i>; he is asleep; he has no fear

+of fleas. Why are you taking that horse

+away?”</p>

+

+<p>I noticed then that to avoid making any

+noise on leaving the shed, Antonio had carefully

+wrapped the animal’s feet in the remnants

+of an old blanket.</p>

+

+<p>“Speak lower, in God’s name!” said Antonio.

+“Don’t you know who that man is?

+He’s José Navarro, the most celebrated bandit

+in Andalusia. I have been making signs to

+you all day, but you wouldn’t understand.”</p>

+

+<p>“Bandit or not, what do I care?” said I;

+“he has not robbed us, and I’ll wager that he

+has no inclination to do so.”</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span></p>

+

+<p>“Very good! but there’s a reward of two

+hundred ducats for whoever causes his capture.

+I know that there’s a detachment of lancers

+stationed a league and a half from here, and

+before daybreak I will bring up some stout

+fellows to take him. I would have taken his

+horse, but the beast is so vicious that no one

+but Navarro can go near him.”</p>

+

+<p>“The devil take you!” said I. “What

+harm has the poor fellow done to you that

+you should denounce him? Besides, are you

+quite sure that he is the brigand you say he

+is?”</p>

+

+<p>“Perfectly sure; he followed me to the

+stable just now and said to me: ‘You act as

+if you knew me; if you tell that honest gentleman

+who I am, I’ll blow your brains out!’&mdash;Stay,

+señor, stay with him; you have nothing

+to fear. So long as he knows you are here he

+won’t suspect anything.”</p>

+

+<p>As we talked we had walked so far from

+the <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">venta</i> that the noise of the horse’s shoes

+could not be heard there. Antonio, in a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span>

+twinkling, removed the rags in which he had

+wrapped them, and prepared to mount. I

+tried to detain him by entreaties and threats.</p>

+

+<p>“I am a poor devil, señor,” he said; “two

+hundred ducats aren’t to be thrown away,

+especially when it’s a question of ridding the

+province of such vermin. But beware! if

+Navarro wakes, he’ll jump for his blunderbuss,

+and then look out for yourself! I have

+gone too far to go back; take care of yourself

+as best you can.”</p>

+

+<p>The rascal was already in the saddle; he

+dug both spurs into the horse, and I soon lost

+sight of him in the darkness.</p>

+

+<p>I was very angry with my guide, and

+decidedly uneasy. After a moment’s reflection,

+I decided what to do, and returned to

+the <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">venta</i>. Don José was still asleep, repairing

+doubtless the effects of the fatigue and

+vigils of several days of peril. I was obliged

+to shake him violently in order to rouse him.

+I shall never forget his fierce glance and the

+movement that he made to grasp his blunderbuss,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span>

+which, as a precautionary measure, I had

+placed at some distance from his couch.</p>

+

+<p>“Señor,” I said, “I ask your pardon for

+waking you; but I have a foolish question to

+ask you: would you be greatly pleased to see

+half a dozen lancers ride up to this door?”</p>

+

+<p>He sprang to his feet and demanded in a

+terrible voice:</p>

+

+<p>“Who told you?”</p>

+

+<p>“It matters little whence the warning comes,

+provided that it be well founded.”</p>

+

+<p>“Your guide has betrayed me, but he shall

+pay me for it! Where is he?”</p>

+

+<p>“I don’t know; in the stable, I think.&mdash;But

+some one told me&mdash;&mdash;”</p>

+

+<p>“Who told you? It couldn’t have been

+the old woman.”</p>

+

+<p>“Some one whom I do not know.&mdash;But

+without more words, have you any reason

+for not awaiting the soldiers, yes or no? If

+you have, waste no time; if not, good-night,

+and I ask your pardon for disturbing your

+sleep.”</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span></p>

+

+<p>“Ah! your guide! your guide! I suspected

+him from the first; but&mdash;his account is made

+up! Farewell, señor! God will repay you for

+the service you have rendered me. I am not

+altogether so bad as you think; no, there is

+still something in me which deserves a gallant

+man’s compassion.&mdash;Farewell, señor! I have

+but one regret, and that is that I cannot pay

+my debt to you.”</p>

+

+<p>“In payment of the service I have rendered

+you, promise, Don José, to suspect no one,

+and not to think of revenge. Here, take these

+cigars, and a pleasant journey to you!”</p>

+

+<p>And I offered him my hand.</p>

+

+<p>He pressed it without replying, took his

+blunderbuss and his wallet, and after exchanging

+a few words with the old woman, in an

+argot which I could not understand, he ran to

+the shed. A few moments later I heard him

+galloping across country.</p>

+

+<p>I lay down again on my bench, but I slept

+no more. I wondered whether I had done

+right to save a highwayman, perhaps a murderer,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span>

+from the gibbet, simply because I had

+eaten ham and rice <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">à la Valenciennes</i> with

+him. Had I not betrayed my guide, who was

+upholding the cause of the law? Had I not

+exposed him to the vengeance of a miscreant?

+But the duties of hospitality!&mdash;“The prejudice

+of a savage!” I said to myself; “I shall

+be responsible for all the crimes that bandit

+may commit.”&mdash;But after all, is it really a prejudice,

+that instinct of the conscience which is

+impervious to all argument? Perhaps, in the

+delicate situation in which I found myself, I

+could not have taken either course without

+remorse. I was still in a maze of uncertainty

+concerning the moral aspect of my action,

+when I saw half a dozen horsemen approaching,

+with Antonio, who remained prudently

+with the rear-guard. I went to meet them

+and informed them that the brigand had taken

+flight more than two hours before. The old

+woman, when questioned by the officer in

+command, admitted that she knew Navarro,

+but said that, living alone as she did, she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span>

+should never have dared to risk her life by

+denouncing him. She added that it was his

+custom, whenever he visited her house, to

+leave in the middle of the night. For my

+part, I was obliged to go to a place a few

+leagues away, to show my passport and sign

+a declaration before an alcalde, after which I

+was allowed to resume my archæological

+investigations. Antonio bore me a grudge,

+suspecting that it was I who had prevented

+him from earning the two hundred ducats.

+However, we parted on friendly terms at

+Cordova, where I gave him a gratuity as large

+as the state of my finances would permit.</p>

+

+

+<h3>II</h3>

+

+<p>I passed several days at Cordova. I had

+been told of a certain manuscript in the

+library of the Dominican convent, in which I

+was likely to find valuable information concerning

+the Munda of the ancients. Being

+very amiably received by the good fathers,

+I passed the days in their convent, and walked<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span>

+about the city in the evenings. There is

+always a throng of idlers, about sunset,

+on the quay that borders the right bank of

+the Guadalquivir at Cordova. There one inhales

+the emanations from a tannery which

+still maintains the ancient celebrity of the district

+for the manufacture of leather; but, on

+the other hand, one enjoys a spectacle that

+has its merits. A few minutes before the

+Angelus, a great number of women assemble

+on the river bank, below the quay, which is

+quite high. No man would dare to join that

+group. As soon as the Angelus rings, it is

+supposed to be dark. At the last stroke

+of the bell, all those women undress and go

+into the water. Thereupon there is tremendous

+shouting and laughter and an infernal

+uproar. From the quay above, the men stare

+at the bathers, squinting their eyes, but they

+see very little. However, those vague white

+shapes outlined against the dark blue of the

+stream set poetic minds at work; and with a

+little imagination it is not difficult to conjure up<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span>

+a vision of Diana and her nymphs in the bath,

+without having to fear the fate of Actæon. I had

+been told that on a certain day a number of

+profane scapegraces clubbed together to grease

+the palm of the bell-ringer at the cathedral

+and hire him to ring the Angelus twenty minutes

+before the legal hour. Although it was

+still broad daylight, the nymphs of the Guadalquivir

+did not hesitate, but trusting the

+Angelus rather than the sun, they fearlessly

+made their bathing toilet, which is always of

+the simplest. I was not there. In my day

+the bell-ringer was incorruptible, the twilight

+far from brilliant, and only a cat could have

+distinguished the oldest orange-woman from

+the prettiest grisette in Cordova.</p>

+

+<p>One evening, when it was too dark to see

+anything, I was leaning against the parapet

+of the quay, smoking, when a woman ascended

+the steps leading to the river and seated herself

+by my side. She had in her hair a large

+bouquet of jasmine, the flowers of which exhale

+an intoxicating odour at night. She<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span>

+was simply, perhaps poorly clad, all in black,

+like most grisettes in the evening. Women

+of fashion wear black only in the morning; in

+the evening they dress <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">à la francesca</i>. When

+she reached my side, my bather allowed the

+mantilla which covered her head to fall over

+her shoulders, and I saw, “by the dim light

+that falleth from the stars,” that she was

+young, small, well built, and that she had

+very large eyes. I threw my cigar away

+at once. She appreciated that distinctively

+French attention, and made haste to say that

+she was very fond of the smell of tobacco; in

+fact, that she sometimes smoked herself, when

+she could obtain a very mild <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">papelito</i>. Luckily,

+I happened to have some of that description

+in my case, and I lost no time in offering

+them to her. She deigned to take one and

+lighted it at a piece of burning string which a

+child brought us in consideration of a small

+coin. Mingling our smoke, we talked so

+long, the fair bather and myself, that we were

+finally left almost alone on the quay. I thought<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span>

+that I might safely venture to invite her to

+take an ice at the <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">neveria</i>.<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> After hesitating

+modestly, she accepted; but before concluding

+to do so, she wished to know what time

+it was. I caused my repeater to strike, and

+that striking seemed to surprise her greatly.</p>

+

+<p>“What wonderful things you foreigners

+invent! From what country are you, señor?

+An Englishman, no doubt?”<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p>

+

+<p>“A Frenchman, and your humble servant.

+And you, señorita, or señora, are of Cordova, I

+presume?”</p>

+

+<p>“No.”</p>

+

+<p>“You are an Andalusian, at all events. It

+seems to me that I can tell that by your soft

+speech.”</p>

+

+<p>“If you observe everybody’s speech so

+closely, you should be able to guess what I

+am.”</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span></p>

+

+<p>“I believe that you are from the land of

+Jesus, within two steps of paradise.”</p>

+

+<p>(I had learned this metaphor, which designates

+Andalusia, from my friend Francisco

+Sevilla, a well-known picador.)</p>

+

+<p>“Bah! paradise&mdash;the people about here

+say that it wasn’t made for us.”</p>

+

+<p>“In that case you must be a Moor, or&mdash;&mdash;”</p>

+

+<p>I checked myself, not daring to say “Jewess.”</p>

+

+<p>“Nonsense! you see well enough that I am

+a gypsy; would you like me to tell your

+<i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">baji</i>?<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> Have you ever heard of La Carmencita?

+I am she.”</p>

+

+<p>I was such a ne’er-do-well in those days&mdash;fifteen

+years ago&mdash;that I did not recoil in

+horror when I found myself seated beside a

+sorceress.</p>

+

+<p>“Pshaw!” I said to myself, “last week I

+supped with a highway robber, to-day I will<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span>

+eat ices with a handmaid of the devil. When

+one is travelling, one must see everything.”</p>

+

+<p>I had still another motive for cultivating her

+acquaintance. When I left school, I confess

+to my shame, I had wasted some time studying

+the occult sciences, and several times indeed

+I had been tempted to conjure up the

+spirits of darkness. Long since cured of my

+fondness for such investigations, I still retained,

+nevertheless, a certain amount of curiosity

+concerning all kinds of superstition, and I rejoiced

+at the prospect of learning how far the

+art of magic had been carried among the

+gypsies.</p>

+

+<p>While talking together we had entered the

+<i lang="es" xml:lang="es">neveria</i> and had taken our seats at a small table

+lighted by a candle confined in a glass globe.

+I had abundant opportunity to examine my

+<i lang="es" xml:lang="es">gitana</i>, while divers respectable folk who were

+eating ices there lost themselves in amazement

+at seeing me in such goodly company.</p>

+

+<p>I seriously doubt whether Señorita Carmen

+was of the pure breed; at all events, she was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>

+infinitely prettier than any of the women of

+her nation whom I had ever met. No woman

+is beautiful, say the Spaniards, unless she combines

+thirty <em>so’s</em>; or, if you prefer, unless she

+may be described by ten adjectives, each of

+which is applicable to three parts of her person.

+For instance, she must have three black

+things: eyes, lashes, and eyebrows, etc. (See

+Brantôme for the rest.) My gypsy could make

+no pretension to so many perfections. Her

+skin, albeit perfectly smooth, closely resembled

+the hue of copper. Her eyes were

+oblique, but of a beautiful shape; her lips a

+little heavy but well formed, and disclosed

+two rows of teeth whiter than almonds without

+their skins. Her hair, which was possibly

+a bit coarse, was black with a blue reflection,

+like a crow’s wing, and long and glossy. To

+avoid fatiguing you with a too verbose description,

+I will say that for each defect she

+had some good point, which stood out the

+more boldly perhaps by the very contrast. It

+was a strange, wild type of beauty, a face<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span>

+which took one by surprise at first, but which

+one could not forget. Her eyes, especially,

+had an expression at once voluptuous and

+fierce, which I have never seen since in any

+mortal eye. “A gypsy’s eye is a wolf’s eye”

+is a Spanish saying which denotes keen observation.

+If you have not the time to go to

+the Jardin des Plantes to study the glance of a

+wolf, observe your cat when it is watching a

+sparrow.</p>

+

+<p>Of course it would have been absurd to

+have my fortune told in a café. So I requested

+the pretty sorceress to allow me to

+accompany her to her home. She readily

+consented, but she desired once more to

+know how the time was passing and asked

+me to make my watch strike again.</p>

+

+<p>“Is it real gold?” she inquired, scrutinising

+it with extraordinary attention.</p>

+

+<p>When we left the café, it was quite dark;

+most of the shops were closed, and the

+streets almost deserted. We crossed the

+Guadalquivir by the bridge, and at the very<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span>

+extremity of the suburb, we stopped in front

+of a house which bore no resemblance to

+a palace. A child admitted us. The gypsy

+said some words to him in a language entirely

+unknown to me, which I afterwards

+found was the <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">rommani</i> or <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">chipe calli</i>, the

+language of the <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">gitanos</i>. The child at once

+disappeared, leaving us in a room of considerable

+size, furnished with a small table,

+two stools, and a chest. I must not forget

+to mention a jar of water, a pile of oranges,

+and a bunch of onions.</p>

+

+<p>As soon as we were alone, the gypsy took

+from her chest a pack of cards which seemed

+to have seen much service, a magnet, a dried

+chameleon, and a number of other articles

+essential to her art. Then she bade me make

+a cross in my left hand with a coin, and the

+magic ceremonies began. It is unnecessary

+to repeat her predictions; and, as for her

+method of operation, it was evident that

+she was not a sorceress by halves.</p>

+

+<p>Unfortunately we were soon disturbed.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span>

+The door was suddenly thrown open with

+violence, and a man wrapped to the eyes

+in a brown cloak entered the room, addressing

+the gypsy in a far from amiable

+fashion. I did not understand what he said,

+but his tone indicated that he was in a very bad

+temper. At sight of him the <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">gitana</i> exhibited

+neither surprise nor anger, but she ran to

+meet him, and, with extraordinary volubility,

+said several sentences in the mysterious

+tongue which she had already used in my

+presence. The word <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">payllo</i>, repeated several

+times, was the only word that I understood.

+I knew that the gypsies designated thus every

+man of another race than their own. Assuming

+that I was the subject of discussion,

+I looked forward to a delicate explanation;

+I already had my hand on one of the stools

+and was deliberating as to the precise moment

+when it would be well for me to hurl

+it at the intruder’s head. But he roughly

+pushed the gypsy aside and strode toward

+me; then recoiled a step, exclaiming:</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span></p>

+

+<p>“What! is it you, señor?”</p>

+

+<p>I looked closely at him and recognised my

+friend Don José. At that moment I was inclined

+to regret that I had not let him be hanged.</p>

+

+<p>“Ah! is it you, my fine fellow?” I cried,

+laughing as heartily as I could manage to do;

+“you interrupted the señorita just as she was

+telling me some very interesting things.”</p>

+

+<p>“Always the same! This must come to

+an end,” he said between his teeth, glaring

+savagely at the girl.</p>

+

+<p>She meanwhile continued to talk to him

+in her own language. She became excited

+by degrees. Her eye became bloodshot and

+terrible to look at, her features contracted,

+and she stamped upon the floor. It seemed to

+me that she was earnestly urging him to do

+something which he evidently hesitated to do.

+What that something was, I fancied that

+I understood only too well, when I saw her

+draw her little hand swiftly back and forth

+under her chin. I was tempted to believe

+that it was a matter of cutting a throat, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span>

+I had some suspicion that the throat in question

+was my own.</p>

+

+<p>To all this torrent of eloquence Don José

+replied only by two or three words uttered

+in a sharp tone. Thereupon the gypsy bestowed

+on him a glance of supreme contempt;

+then seated herself Turkish fashion in

+a corner of the room, selected an orange,

+peeled it, and began to eat it.</p>

+

+<p>Don José seized my arm, opened the door

+and led me into the street. We walked about

+two hundred yards in absolute silence. Then

+he said, extending his hand:</p>

+

+<p>“Go straight ahead and you will come to

+the bridge.”</p>

+

+<p>With that he turned his back on me and

+walked rapidly away. I returned to my inn

+rather sheepishly and in a very bad temper.

+The worst feature of the affair was that

+when I undressed I found that my watch

+was missing.</p>

+

+<p>Various considerations deterred me from

+going the next day to demand it back, or<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span>

+from applying to the corregidor to recover it

+for me. I completed my work on the manuscript

+at the Dominican convent and departed

+for Seville. After wandering about Andalusia

+for several months, I determined to return to

+Madrid, and it was necessary for me to pass

+through Cordova once more. I did not propose

+to make a long stay there, for I had

+taken a violent dislike to that fair city and the

+bathers in the Guadalquivir. However, a few

+errands to do and some friends to call upon

+would detain me three or four days at least in

+the ancient capital of the Mussulman princes.</p>

+

+<p>When I appeared at the Dominican convent,

+one of the fathers, who had taken a

+lively interest in my investigations concerning

+the location of Munda, welcomed me with

+open arms.</p>

+

+<p>“Blessed be the name of God!” he cried.

+“Welcome, my dear friend! We all believed

+you to be dead, and I who speak to you, I

+have recited many <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">paters</i> and <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">aves</i>, which I

+do not regret, for the welfare of your soul.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span>

+So you were not murdered?&mdash;for robbed we

+know that you were.”</p>

+

+<p>“How so?” I asked, not a little astonished.</p>

+

+<p>“Why, yes&mdash;you know, that beautiful repeating

+watch that you used to make strike

+in the library when we told you that it was

+time to go to the choir. Well! it has been

+recovered; it will be restored to you.”</p>

+

+<p>“That is to say,” I interrupted, somewhat

+disconcerted, “I lost it&mdash;&mdash;”</p>

+

+<p>“The villain is behind the bars, and as he

+was known to be a man who would fire a

+gun at a Christian to obtain a penny, we were

+terribly afraid that he had killed you. I will

+go to the corregidor’s with you, and we will

+obtain your fine watch. And then, do not let

+me hear you whisper that justice does not

+know its business in Spain!”</p>

+

+<p>“I confess,” said I, “that I would rather

+lose my watch than give testimony in court

+which might send a poor devil to the gallows,

+especially because&mdash;because&mdash;&mdash;”</p>

+

+<p>“Oh! do not be alarmed on that score;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span>

+he is well recommended, and he cannot be

+hanged twice. When I say hanged, I am

+wrong. He is a hidalgo, is your robber; so

+that he will be garroted<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> day after to-morrow,

+without fail. So, you see, one theft

+more or less will have no effect on his fate.

+Would to God that he had done nothing but

+steal! but he has committed several murders,

+each more shocking than the last.”</p>

+

+<p>“What is his name?”</p>

+

+<p>“He is known throughout the province by

+the name of José Navarro, but he has another

+Basque name, which neither you nor I could

+ever pronounce. But he is a man worth

+looking at, and you, interested as you are in

+seeing all the curiosities of the province,

+should not neglect the opportunity to learn

+how villains leave this world in Spain. It will

+be in the chapel, and Father Martinez will

+take you thither.”</p>

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span></p>

+<p>My Dominican insisted so earnestly that I

+should view the preparations for the “pretty

+little hanging” that I could not refuse. I

+went to see the prisoner, having first supplied

+myself with a bunch of cigars, which, I

+hoped, would induce him to pardon my indiscretion.</p>

+

+<p>I was ushered into the presence of Don

+José while he was eating. He nodded coldly

+to me, and thanked me courteously for the

+present I brought him. Having counted the

+cigars in the bunch which I placed in his

+hands, he took out a certain number and

+returned the rest to me, remarking that he

+should not need any more.</p>

+

+<p>I asked him if I could make his lot any

+easier by the expenditure of a little money or

+by the influence of my friends. At first he

+shrugged his shoulders and smiled sadly;

+but in a moment, on further reflection, he requested

+me to have a mass said for the salvation

+of his soul.</p>

+

+<p>“Would you,” he added timidly,&mdash;“would<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span>

+you be willing to have one said also for a

+person who injured you?”</p>

+

+<p>“Certainly, my dear fellow,” I said; “but

+there is no one in this part of the country

+who has injured me, so far as I know.”</p>

+

+<p>He took my hand and pressed it, with a

+solemn expression. After a moment’s silence,

+he continued:</p>

+

+<p>“May I venture to ask another favour at

+your hands? When you return to your own

+country, perhaps you will pass through Navarre;

+at all events, you will go by way of

+Vittoria, which is not very far away.”</p>

+

+<p>“Yes,” I said, “I certainly shall go by way

+of Vittoria, but it is not impossible that I may

+turn aside to go to Pampelune, and, to oblige

+you, I think that I would willingly make that

+détour.”</p>

+

+<p>“Very well! if you go to Pampelune, you

+will see more than one thing that will interest

+you. It is a fine city. I will give you this

+locket (he showed me a little silver locket

+which he wore about his neck); you will<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span>

+wrap it in paper”&mdash;he paused a moment to

+control his emotion&mdash;“and deliver it, or have

+it delivered, to a good woman whose address

+I will give you. You will tell her that I am

+dead, but that you do not know how I died.”</p>

+

+<p>I promised to perform his commission. I

+saw him again the next day, and passed a

+large part of the day with him. It was from

+his own lips that I learned the melancholy adventures

+which follow.</p>

+

+

+<h3>III</h3>

+

+<p>“I was born,” he said, “at Elizondo, in the

+valley of Baztan. My name is Don José

+Lizzarrabengoa, and you are familiar enough

+with Spain, señor, to know at once from my

+name that I am a Basque and a Christian of

+the ancient type. I use the title <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">Don</i> because

+I am entitled to it; and if I were at Elizondo,

+I would show you my genealogy on a

+sheet of parchment. My family wished me

+to be a churchman, and they forced me to

+study, but I profited little by it. I was too<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span>

+fond of playing tennis&mdash;that was my ruin.

+When we Navarrese play tennis, we forget

+everything. One day, when I had won, a

+young man from Alava picked a quarrel with

+me; we took our <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">maquilas</i>,<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> and again I had

+the advantage; but that incident compelled

+me to leave the country. I fell in with some

+dragoons, and I enlisted in the cavalry regiment

+of Almanza. The men from our mountains

+learn the military profession quickly. I

+soon became a corporal, with the promise of

+being promoted to quartermaster, when, to

+my undoing, I was placed on duty at the

+tobacco factory in Seville. If you have ever

+been to Seville, you must have seen that

+great building, outside of the fortifications,

+close to the Guadalquivir. It seems to me

+that I can see the doorway and the guard-house

+beside it at this moment. When on duty

+Spanish troops either gamble or sleep; I, like

+an honest Navarrese, always tried to find

+something to do. I was making a chain of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span>

+brass wire, to hold my primer. Suddenly my

+comrades said: ‘There goes the bell; the

+girls will be going back to work.’ You must

+know, señor, that there are four or five hundred

+girls employed in the factory. They roll

+the cigars in a large room which no man can

+enter without a permit from the Twenty-four,<a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a>

+because they are in the habit of making themselves

+comfortable, the young ones especially,

+when it is warm. At the hour when the

+women return to work, after their dinner,

+many young men assemble to see them pass,

+and they make remarks of all colours to them.

+There are very few of those damsels who will

+refuse a silk mantilla, and the experts in that

+fishery have only to stoop to pick up their

+fish. While the others stared, I remained on

+my bench, near the door. I was young then;

+I was always thinking of the old province,

+and I did not believe that there were any

+pretty girls without blue petticoats and long<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span>

+plaited tresses falling over their shoulders.<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a>

+Moreover, the Andalusian girls frightened me;

+I was not accustomed as yet to their manners:

+always jesting, never a serious word.

+So I had my nose over my chain, when I

+heard some civilians say: ‘Here comes the

+<i lang="es" xml:lang="es">gitanella</i>!’ I raised my eyes and I saw her.

+It was a Friday, and I shall never forget it. I

+saw that Carmen whom you know, at whose

+house I met you several months ago.</p>

+

+<p>“She wore a very short red skirt, which

+revealed white silk stockings with more than

+one hole, and tiny shoes of red morocco,

+tied with flame-coloured ribbons. She put

+her mantilla aside, to show her shoulders and

+a huge bunch of cassia, which protruded from

+her chemise. She had a cassia flower in the

+corner of her mouth, too, and as she walked

+she swung her hips like a filly in the stud

+at Cordova. In my province a woman in

+that costume would have compelled everybody<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span>

+to cross themselves. At Seville every

+one paid her some equivocal compliment on

+her appearance, and she had a reply for every

+one, casting sly glances here and there, with

+her hand on her hip, as impudent as the genuine

+gypsy that she was. At first sight she did

+not attract me, and I returned to my work;

+but she, according to the habit of women and

+cats, who do not come when you call them,

+but come when you refrain from calling them,&mdash;she

+halted in front of me and spoke to me.</p>

+

+<p>“‘<i lang="es" xml:lang="es">Compadre</i>,’ she said in Andalusian fashion,

+‘will you give me your chain to hold the

+keys of my strong-box?’</p>

+

+<p>“‘It is to hold my primer’ [<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">épinglette</i>], I

+replied.</p>

+

+<p>“‘Your <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">épinglette</i>!’ she exclaimed, with a

+laugh. ‘Ah! the señor makes lace, since he

+needs pins!’ [<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">épingles</i>]</p>

+

+<p>“Everybody present began to laugh, and I

+felt the blood rise to my cheeks, nor could I

+think of any answer to make.</p>

+

+<p>“‘Well, my heart,’ she continued, ‘make<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span>

+me seven ells of black lace for a mantilla, pincushion

+[<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">épinglier</i>] of my soul!’</p>

+

+<p>“And, taking the flower from her mouth

+she threw it at me with a jerk of her thumb,

+and struck me between the eyes. Señor, that

+produced on me the effect of a bullet. I did

+not know which way to turn, so I sat as

+still as a post. When she had gone into the

+factory, I saw the cassia blossom lying on

+the ground between my feet; I do not know

+what made me do it, but I picked it up, unseen

+by my comrades, and stowed it carefully

+away in my pocket&mdash;the first folly!</p>

+

+<p>“Two or three hours later, I was still

+thinking of her, when a porter rushed into

+the guard-house, gasping for breath and with

+a horrified countenance. He told us that a

+woman had been murdered in the large room

+where the cigars were made, and that we

+must send the guard there. The quartermaster

+told me to take two men and investigate.

+I took my two men and I went upstairs.

+Imagine, señor, that on entering the room I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span>

+found, first of all, three hundred women in

+their chemises, or practically that, all shouting

+and yelling and gesticulating, making such an

+infernal uproar that you could not have heard

+God’s thunder. On one side a woman lay on

+the floor, covered with blood, with an X

+carved on her face by two blows of a knife.

+On the opposite side from the wounded woman,

+whom the best of her comrades were

+assisting, I saw Carmen in the grasp of five

+or six women.</p>

+

+<p>“‘Confession! Confession! I am killed!’

+shrieked the wounded woman.</p>

+

+<p>“Carmen said nothing; she clenched her

+teeth and rolled her eyes about like a chameleon.</p>

+

+<p>“‘What is all this?’ I demanded. I had

+great difficulty in learning what had taken

+place, for all the work-girls talked at once.

+It seemed that the wounded one had boasted

+of having money enough in her pocket to buy

+an ass at the fair at Triana.</p>

+

+<p>“‘I say,’ said Carmen, who had a tongue<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span>

+of her own, ‘isn’t a broomstick good enough

+for you?’ The other, offended by the insult,

+perhaps because she was conscious that she

+was vulnerable on that point, replied that she

+was not a connoisseur in broomsticks, as she

+had not the honour to be a gypsy or a godchild

+of Satan, but that the Señorita Carmencita

+would soon make the acquaintance of her

+ass, when the corregidor took her out to ride,

+with two servants behind to keep the flies

+away. ‘Well!’ said Carmen, ‘I’ll make

+watering-troughs for flies on your cheek,

+and I’ll paint a checker-board on it.’ And

+with that, vli, vlan! she began to draw St.

+Andrew’s crosses on the other’s face with

+the knife with which she cut off the ends of

+the cigars.</p>

+

+<p>“The case was clear enough; I took Carmen

+by the arm. ‘You must come with me,

+my sister,’ I said to her courteously. She

+darted a glance at me, as if she recognised

+me; but she said, with a resigned air:</p>

+

+<p>“‘Let us go. Where’s my mantilla?’</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span></p>

+

+<p>“She put it over her head in such wise as

+to show only one of her great eyes, and followed

+my two men, as mild as a sheep.

+When we reached the guard-house, the quartermaster

+said that it was a serious matter,

+and that she must be taken to prison. It fell

+to my lot again to escort her there. I placed

+her between two dragoons, and marched behind,

+as a corporal should do under such circumstances.

+We started for the town. At

+first the gypsy kept silent; but on Rue de

+Serpent&mdash;you know that street; it well deserves

+its name because of the détours it

+makes&mdash;she began operations by letting her

+mantilla fall over her shoulders, in order to

+show me her bewitching face, and turning

+toward me as far as she could, she said:</p>

+

+<p>“‘Where are you taking me, my officer?’</p>

+

+<p>“‘To prison, my poor child,’ I replied, as

+gently as possible, as a good soldier should

+speak to a prisoner, especially to a woman.</p>

+

+<p>“‘Alas! what will become of me? Señor

+officer, take pity on me. You are so young,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span>

+so good looking!’ Then she added, in a

+lower tone: ‘Let me escape, and I’ll give

+you a piece of the <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">bar lachi</i>, which will make

+all women love you.’</p>

+

+<p>“The <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">bar lachi</i>, señor, is the lodestone,

+with which the gypsies claim that all sorts of

+spells may be cast when one knows how to

+use it. Give a woman a pinch of ground

+lodestone in a glass of white wine, and she

+ceases to resist.&mdash;I replied with as much gravity

+as I could command:</p>

+

+<p>“‘We are not here to talk nonsense; you

+must go to prison&mdash;that is the order, and

+there is no way to avoid it.’</p>

+

+<p>“We natives of the Basque country have

+an accent which makes it easy for the Spaniards

+to identify us; on the other hand, there

+is not one of them who can learn to say even

+<i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">baï, jaona</i>.<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> So that Carmen had no difficulty

+in guessing that I came from the provinces.

+You must know, señor, that the gypsies, being

+of no country, are always travelling, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span>

+speak all languages, and that most of them

+are perfectly at home in Portugal, in France,

+in the Basque provinces, in Catalonia, everywhere;

+they even make themselves understood

+by the Moors and the English. Carmen

+knew Basque very well.</p>

+

+<p>“‘<i lang="eu" xml:lang="eu">Laguna ene bihotsarena</i>, comrade of my

+heart,’ she said to me abruptly, ‘are you

+from the provinces?’</p>

+

+<p>“Our language, señor, is so beautiful, that,

+when we hear it in a foreign land, it makes

+us tremble.&mdash;I would like to have a confessor

+from the provinces,” added the bandit in a

+lower tone.</p>

+

+<p>He continued after a pause:</p>

+

+<p>“‘I am from Elizondo,’ I replied in Basque,

+deeply moved to hear my native tongue

+spoken.</p>

+

+<p>“‘And I am from Etchalar,’ said she. That

+is a place about four hours’ journey from us.

+‘I was brought to Seville by gypsies. I have

+been working in the factory to earn money

+enough to return to Navarre, to my poor<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span>

+mother, who has no one but me to support

+her, and a little <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">barratcea</i><a id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> with twenty

+cider-apple trees! Ah! if I was at home, by

+the white mountain! They insulted me because

+I don’t belong in this land of thieves

+and dealers in rotten oranges; and those hussies

+all leagued against me, because I told

+them that all their Seville <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">jacques</i><a id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> with their

+knives, wouldn’t frighten one of our boys

+with his blue cap and his <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">maquila</i>. Comrade,

+my friend, won’t you do anything for a

+countrywoman?’</p>

+

+<p>“She lied, señor, she always lied. I doubt

+whether that girl ever said a true word in her

+life; but when she spoke, I believed her; it

+was too much for me. She murdered the

+Basque language, yet I believed that she was

+a Navarrese. Her eyes alone, to say nothing

+of her mouth and her colour, proclaimed

+her a gypsy. I was mad, I paid no heed to

+anything. I thought that if Spaniards had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span>

+dared to speak slightingly to me of the provinces,

+I would have slashed their faces as

+she had slashed her comrade’s. In short, I

+was like a drunken man; I began to say foolish

+things, I was on the verge of doing them.</p>

+

+<p>“‘If I should push you and you should fall,

+my countryman,’ she continued, in Basque, ‘it

+would take more than these two Castilian

+recruits to hold me.’</p>

+

+<p>“Faith, I forgot orders and everything, and

+said to her:</p>

+

+<p>“‘Well, my dear, my countrywoman, try

+it, and may Our Lady of the Mountain be

+with you!’</p>

+

+<p>“At that moment we were passing one of

+the narrow lanes of which there are so many

+in Seville. All of a sudden Carmen turned

+and struck me with her fist in the breast. I

+purposely fell backward. With one spring

+she leaped over me and began to run, showing

+us a fleet pair of legs! Basque legs are

+famous; hers were quite equal to them&mdash;as

+swift and as well moulded. I sprang up instantly;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span>

+but I held my lance horizontally so as

+to block the street, so that my men were delayed

+for a moment when they attempted to

+pursue her. Then I began to run myself, and

+they at my heels. But overtake her! there

+was no danger of that, with our spurs, and

+sabres, and lances!<a id="FNanchor_13" href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> In less time than it takes

+to tell it, the prisoner had disappeared. Indeed,

+all the women in the quarter favoured

+her flight, laughed at us, and sent us in the

+wrong direction. After much marching and

+countermarching, we were obliged to return

+to the guard-house without a receipt from the

+governor of the prison.</p>

+

+<p>“My men, to avoid being punished, said

+that Carmen had talked Basque with me; and

+to tell the truth, it did not seem any too natural

+that a blow with the fist of so diminutive

+a girl should upset a fellow of my build so

+easily. It all seemed decidedly suspicious, or

+rather it seemed only too clear. When I went

+off duty I was reduced to the ranks and sent<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span>

+to prison for a month. That was my first

+punishment since I had been in the service.

+Farewell to the uniform of a quartermaster,

+which I fancied that I had already won!</p>

+

+<p>“My first days in prison passed dismally

+enough. When I enlisted I had imagined

+that I should at least become an officer.

+Longa and Mina, countrymen of mine, are

+captains-general; Chapalangarra, who, like

+Mina, is a negro and is a refugee in your

+country&mdash;Chapalangarra was a colonel, and

+I have played tennis twenty times with his

+brother, who was a poor devil like myself.

+Now I said to myself: ‘All the time that you

+have served without punishment is time

+thrown away. Here you are blacklisted, and

+to regain the good graces of your superiors,

+you will have to work ten times harder than

+when you first enlisted! And why did you

+receive punishment? For a gypsy hussy,

+who made a fool of you, and who is doubtless

+stealing at this moment in some corner

+of the city.’&mdash;But I could not help thinking of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span>

+her. Would you believe it, señor? I had always

+before my eyes her silk stockings, full

+of holes, which she had shown me from top to

+bottom when she ran away. I looked through

+the bars into the street, and among all the women

+who passed I did not see a single one

+who could be compared with that devil of a

+girl! And then, too, in spite of myself, I

+smelt of the cassia flower she had thrown at

+me, which, although it had withered, still retained

+its sweet odour. If there are such things

+as witches, that girl was one!</p>

+

+<p>“One day the jailer came in and gave me an

+Alcala<a id="FNanchor_14" href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> loaf.</p>

+

+<p>“‘Here,’ said he, ‘your cousin sends you

+this.’</p>

+

+<p>“I took the loaf, greatly surprised, for I had

+no cousin in Seville. ‘It may be a mistake,’ I

+thought as I glanced at the loaf; but it was so<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span>

+appetising, it smelt so good, that, without

+disturbing myself as to whence it came or for

+whom it was intended, I determined to eat it.

+On attempting to cut it my knife came in contact

+with something hard. I investigated and

+found a small English file, which had been

+slipped into the dough before baking. There

+was also in the loaf a gold piece of two piastres.

+There was no more doubt in my mind;

+it was a gift from Carmen. To people of her

+race freedom is everything, and they would

+set fire to a city to save themselves from a

+day in prison. However, she was a shrewd

+minx, and with that loaf one could snap one’s

+fingers at jailers. In an hour’s time the stoutest

+bar could be sawed through with the

+little file; and with the two piastres I could

+exchange my uniform for a civilian’s coat at

+the first old clo’-man’s. You may imagine

+that a man who had many a time taken young

+eaglets from their nests on our cliffs would

+not have been at a loss to climb down into

+the street from a window less than thirty feet<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span>

+high. But I did not wish to escape. I still

+possessed my honour as a soldier, and to desert

+seemed to me a heinous crime. However, I

+was touched by that token of remembrance.

+When you are in prison you like to think

+that you have a friend outside who is interested

+in you. The gold piece disturbed

+me a little, and I would have liked to return

+it; but where was I to find my creditor? That

+did not seem to me a simple matter.</p>

+

+<p>“After the ceremony of reduction to the

+ranks, I thought that I could not suffer any

+more; but I had still another humiliation to

+undergo: when, on my release from prison, I

+was restored to duty and made to take my

+turn at sentry-go like any private. You cannot

+conceive what a man of spirit feels at such

+a time. I believe that I would as lief have

+been shot. Then, at all events, you walk alone,

+in front of the platoon; you feel that you are

+somebody; people look at you.</p>

+

+<p>“I was stationed at the colonel’s door. He

+was a wealthy young man, a good fellow,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span>

+who liked to enjoy himself. All the young

+officers were at his house, and many civilians&mdash;women,

+too, actresses, so it was said. For

+my own part, it seemed to me as if the whole

+city had arranged to meet at his door, in order

+to stare at me. Finally, the colonel’s carriage

+drives up, with his valet on the box. Whom

+do I see alight from it?&mdash;the <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">gitanella</i>! She

+was arrayed like a shrine this time, bedizened

+and bedecked, all gold and ribbons. A spangled

+dress, blue slippers, also with spangles,

+and flowers and lace everywhere. She had

+a tambourine in her hand. There were two

+other gypsy women with her, one young and

+one old. There always is an old woman to

+go about with them. Then, there was an old

+man, also a gypsy, with a guitar, to play for

+them to dance. You know that it is the fashion

+to hire gypsies to go about to parties, to

+dance the <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">romalis</i>&mdash;that is their national dance&mdash;and

+oftentimes for something else.</p>

+

+<p>“Carmen recognised me and we exchanged

+a glance. I do not know why, but at that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span>

+moment I would have liked to be a hundred

+feet underground.</p>

+

+<p>“‘<i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">Agur laguna</i>,’<a id="FNanchor_15" href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> she said; ‘you seem to

+be mounting guard, like a raw recruit, my

+officer!’</p>

+

+<p>“And before I had thought of a word to say

+in reply, she was inside the house.</p>

+

+<p>“The whole company was in the <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">patio</i>, and

+in spite of the crowd, I could see through the

+gate almost everything that took place.<a id="FNanchor_16" href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> I

+heard the castanets, the tambourine, the

+laughter and applause; sometimes I could see

+her head when she leaped into the air with

+her tambourine. And then I heard some of

+the officers say to her many things that brought

+the blood to my cheeks. I did not know what

+she replied. It was that day, I believe, that I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span>

+began to love her in good earnest; for I was

+tempted three or four times to go into the

+<i lang="es" xml:lang="es">patio</i> and run my sabre into the belly of those

+popinjays who were making love to her. My

+torture lasted a good hour; then the gypsies

+came out and the carriage took them away.

+Carmen, as she passed, glanced at me again

+with the eyes that you know, and said, very

+low:</p>

+

+<p>“‘My countryman, when one likes nice

+fried things, one goes to Lillas Pastia’s at

+Triana for them.’</p>

+

+<p>“Nimble as a kid, she jumped into the carriage,

+the coachman whipped his mules, and

+the whole merry band drove away, I know

+not where.</p>

+

+<p>“You will readily guess that when I was relieved

+from duty I went to Triana; but I

+was shaved first, and brushed my clothes as

+for a dress parade. She was at Lillas Pastia’s,

+an old gypsy, black as a Moor, who kept an

+eating-house, to which many civilians came

+to eat fried fish&mdash;especially, I rather think,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span>

+since Carmen had taken up her quarters

+there.</p>

+

+<p>“‘Lillas,’ she said, as soon as she saw me,

+‘I shall do nothing more to-day. It will be

+light to-morrow.<a id="FNanchor_17" href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> Come, my countryman,

+let’s go for a walk.’</p>

+

+<p>“She put her mantilla over her face, and behold,

+we were in the street, I with no idea

+where we were going.</p>

+

+<p>“‘Señorita,’ I said, ‘I believe that I have to

+thank you for a present which you sent me

+when I was in prison. I ate the bread; I shall

+use the file to sharpen my lance, and I shall keep

+it in memory of you; but here is the money.’</p>

+

+<p>“‘My word! he has kept the money!’ she

+exclaimed, laughing heartily. ‘However, it’s

+all the better, for I am not in funds. But what

+does it matter? The dog that keeps going always

+finds a bone.<a id="FNanchor_18" href="#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> Come on, we will eat it

+all up. You shall treat me.’</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span></p>

+

+<p>“We were walking in the direction of Seville.

+As we entered Rue de Serpent, she

+bought a dozen oranges and bade me put

+them in my handkerchief. A little farther on

+she bought bread and sausages, and a bottle

+of Manzanilla; and finally she entered a confectioner’s

+shop. There she tossed on the

+counter the gold piece I had given back to

+her with another that she had in her pocket

+and some small silver; then she asked me for

+all that I had. I had only a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">piecette</i> and a few

+<i lang="es" xml:lang="es">cuartos</i>, which I gave her, sorely vexed because

+I had no more. I thought that she

+intended to carry off the whole shop. She

+selected all the best and most expensive sweetmeats:

+<i lang="es" xml:lang="es">yemas</i>,<a id="FNanchor_19" href="#Footnote_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">turon</i>,<a id="FNanchor_20" href="#Footnote_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> preserved fruits, so long

+as the money held out. All those things too

+I must needs carry in paper bags. Perhaps you

+know Rue de Candilejo, where there’s a head

+of King Don Pedro the Justiciary?<a id="FNanchor_21" href="#Footnote_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> That<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span>

+head should have suggested some salutary reflections

+to my mind. We stopped in front

+of an old house on that street. She entered the

+passage and knocked at a door on the ground

+floor. A gypsy woman, a veritable handmaid

+of Satan, opened the door. Carmen said a few

+words to her in <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">rommani</i>. The old woman

+grumbled at first, and Carmen, to pacify her,

+gave her two oranges and a handful of bonbons,

+and allowed her to taste the wine.

+Then she put her cloak over her shoulders and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span>

+escorted her to the door, which she secured

+behind her with an iron bar. As soon as we

+were alone, she began to dance and laugh like

+a mad woman, saying:</p>

+

+<p>“‘You are my <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">rom</i>, and I am your <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">romi</i>!’<a id="FNanchor_22" href="#Footnote_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a></p>

+

+<p>“I stood in the middle of the room, laden

+with all her purchases, not knowing where to

+put them. She threw them all on the floor

+and jumped on my neck, saying:</p>

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span></p>

+<p>“‘I pay my debts, I pay my debts! That

+is the law of the <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">cales</i>.’<a id="FNanchor_23" href="#Footnote_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a></p>

+

+<p>“Ah! that day, señor! that day! When

+I think of it, I forget to-morrow!”</p>

+

+<p>The bandit was silent for a moment; then,

+having relighted his cigar, he continued:</p>

+

+<p>“We passed the whole day together, eating,

+drinking, and the rest. When she had

+eaten her fill of bonbons, like a child of six,

+she stuffed handfuls of them into the old

+woman’s water-jar.&mdash;‘That’s to make sherbet

+for her,’ she said. She crushed <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">yemas</i> by

+throwing them against the wall. ‘That’s to

+induce the flies to let us alone,’ she said.

+There is no conceivable trick and no folly that

+she did not commit. I told her that I would

+like to see her dance; but where was she to

+obtain castanets? She instantly took the old

+woman’s only plate, broke it in pieces, and in

+a moment she was dancing the <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">romalis</i>, clapping<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span>

+the pieces of crockery in as perfect time

+as if they had been castanets of ebony or

+ivory. One was never bored with that girl,

+I assure you.</p>

+

+<p>“Night came on and I heard the drums

+beating the retreat.</p>

+

+<p>“‘I must go to quarters for the roll-call,’ I

+said.</p>

+

+<p>“‘To quarters?’ she repeated, contemptuously;

+‘are you a negro, pray, that you

+allow yourself to be led by a stick? You are

+a regular canary, in dress and in temper!<a id="FNanchor_24" href="#Footnote_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a>

+Go! you are a chicken-hearted fellow!’</p>

+

+<p>“I remained, with my mind made up beforehand

+to the guard-room. The next morning,

+she was the first to mention parting.</p>

+

+<p>“‘Look you, Joseito,’ she said, ‘have I

+paid you? According to our law, I owed you

+nothing, as you are a <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">payllo</i>; but you are a

+comely youth, and you took my fancy. We

+are quits. Good-day.’</p>

+

+<p>“I asked her when I should see her again.</p>

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span></p>

+<p>“‘When you are less stupid,’ she replied

+with a laugh. Then, in a more serious tone:

+‘Do you know, my son, that I believe that I

+love you a little bit? But it can’t last. Dog

+and wolf don’t live happily together for long.

+Perhaps, if you should swear allegiance to

+Egypt, I should like to be your <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">romi</i>. But

+this is foolish talk; it can never be. Believe

+me, my boy, you have come off cheap. You

+have met the devil, yes, the devil; he isn’t

+always black, and he didn’t wring your neck.

+I am dressed in wool, but I am no sheep.<a id="FNanchor_25" href="#Footnote_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a>

+Go and put a wax candle in front of your

+<i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">majari</i>.<a id="FNanchor_26" href="#Footnote_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a> She has well earned it. Well, good-bye

+once more. Think no more of Carmencita,

+or she might be the cause of your

+marrying a widow with wooden legs.’<a id="FNanchor_27" href="#Footnote_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a></p>

+

+<p>“As she spoke she removed the bar that

+secured the door, and once in the street, she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span>

+wrapped herself in her mantilla and turned

+her back on me.</p>

+

+<p>“She spoke truly. I should have been wise

+to think no more of her; but after that day on

+Rue de Candilejo, I could think of nothing

+else. I walked about all day long, hoping to

+meet her. I asked the old woman and the

+eating-house keeper for news of her. Both

+replied that she had gone to Laloro,<a id="FNanchor_28" href="#Footnote_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a> which

+was their way of designating Portugal.

+Probably they said that in accordance with

+Carmen’s instructions, but I very soon found

+out that they lied. Several weeks after my

+day on Rue de Candilejo, I was on duty at

+one of the gates of the city. A short distance

+from the gate there was a breach in the wall;

+men were at work repairing it during the

+day, and at night a sentinel was posted there

+to prevent smuggling. During the day I saw

+Lillas Pastia going to and fro around the

+guard-house, and talking with some of my

+comrades; all of them knew him, and they<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span>

+knew his fish and his fritters even better. He

+came to me and asked me if I had heard from

+Carmen.</p>

+

+<p>“‘No,’ said I.</p>

+

+<p>“‘Well, you will, <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">compadre</i>.’</p>

+

+<p>“He was not mistaken. At night I was

+stationed at the breach. As soon as the

+corporal had retired, I saw a woman coming

+towards me. My heart told me that it was

+Carmen. However, I shouted:</p>

+

+<p>“‘Go back! You cannot pass!’</p>

+

+<p>“‘Don’t be disagreeable,’ she said, showing

+me her face.</p>

+

+<p>“‘What! is it you, Carmen?’</p>

+

+<p>“‘Yes, my countryman. Let us talk a

+little and talk quick. Do you want to earn a

+<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">douro</i>? There are some men coming with

+bundles; let them alone.’</p>

+

+<p>“‘No,’ I replied. ‘I must prevent them

+from passing; those are my orders.’</p>

+

+<p>“‘Orders! orders! So you’ve forgotten

+the Rue de Candilejo?’</p>

+

+<p>“‘Ah!’ I exclaimed, completely overwhelmed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span>

+by the bare memory of that day,

+‘that would be well worth the penalty of

+forgetting orders; but I want no smugglers’

+money.’</p>

+

+<p>“‘Well, if you don’t want money, would

+you like to go again to old Dorothy’s and

+dine?’</p>

+

+<p>“‘No,’ I said, half suffocated by the effort

+it cost me, ‘I cannot.’</p>

+

+<p>“‘Very good. If you are so stiff-backed,

+I know whom to apply to. I will go to your

+officer and offer to go to Dorothy’s with him.

+He looks like a good fellow, and he will put

+some man on duty here who will see no more

+than he ought to see. Farewell, Canary. I

+shall laugh with all my heart on the day when

+the orders are to hang you.’</p>

+

+<p>“I was weak enough to call her back, and

+I promised to allow all gypsydom to pass, if

+necessary, provided that I obtained the only

+reward that I desired. She instantly swore to

+keep her word on the next day, and hastened

+away to notify her friends, who were close<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span>

+by. There were five of them,&mdash;Pastia was one&mdash;all

+well laden with English goods. Carmen

+kept watch. She was to give warning with

+her castanets the instant that she saw the

+patrol; but she did not need to do it. The

+smugglers did their work in an instant.</p>

+

+<p>“The next day I went to Rue de Candilejo.

+Carmen kept me waiting, and when she came

+she was in a villainous temper.</p>

+

+<p>“‘I don’t like people who make you ask

+them so many times,’ she said. ‘You did me

+a very great service the first time, without

+knowing whether you would gain anything

+by it. Yesterday, you bargained with me.

+I don’t know why I came, for I don’t love

+you any more. Here, take this <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">douro</i> for

+your trouble.’</p>

+

+<p>“I was within an ace of throwing the

+money at her head, and I was obliged to

+make a violent effort over myself to keep

+from striking her. After we had quarrelled

+for an hour, I left the house in a rage. I wandered

+about the city a long while, tramping<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span>

+hither and thither like a madman; at last

+I entered a church, and, seeking out the

+darkest corner, wept scalding tears. Suddenly

+I heard a voice:</p>

+

+<p>“‘A dragoon’s tears! I must make a love-philtre

+of them!’</p>

+

+<p>“I raised my eyes; Carmen stood in front

+of me.</p>

+

+<p>“‘Well, my countryman, are you still

+angry with me?’ she said. ‘It must be that I

+love you, in spite of what I know of you, for

+since you left me, I don’t know what is the

+matter with me. See, I am the one now who

+asks you to come to Rue de Candilejo.’</p>

+

+<p>“So we made our peace; but Carmen’s

+moods were like the weather in our country.

+Among our mountains a storm is never so

+near as when the sun shines brightest. She

+promised to meet me again at Dorothy’s, and

+she did not come. And Dorothy told me

+coolly that she had gone to Laloro on business

+of Egypt.</p>

+

+<p>“As I knew already from experience what<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span>

+to think on that subject, I sought Carmen

+wherever I thought that she could possibly

+be, and I passed through Rue de Candilejo

+twenty times a day. One evening I was at

+Dorothy’s, having almost tamed her by treating

+her now and then to a glass of anisette,

+when Carmen came in, followed by a young

+officer, a lieutenant in our regiment.</p>

+

+<p>“‘Off with you, quick,’ she said to me in

+Basque.</p>

+

+<p>“I sat as if stupefied, with rage in my

+heart.</p>

+

+<p>“‘What are you doing here?’ the lieutenant

+asked me; ‘decamp, leave this house!’</p>

+

+<p>“I could not take a step; I was like a man

+who has lost the use of his limbs. The officer,

+seeing that I did not withdraw, and that

+I had not even removed my forage cap, lost

+his temper, seized me by the collar, and shook

+me roughly. I do not know what I said to

+him. He drew his sword, and I my sabre.

+The old woman grasped my arm, and the

+lieutenant struck me a blow on the forehead,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span>

+the mark of which I still bear. I stepped back

+and knocked Dorothy down with a blow of

+my elbow; then, as the lieutenant followed

+me, I held the point of my sabre to his breast,

+and he spitted himself on it. Thereupon Carmen

+put out the lamp and told Dorothy in

+her language to fly. I myself rushed out into

+the street and started to run, I knew not

+whither. It seemed to me that some one

+was following me. When I came to my

+senses, I found that Carmen had not left me.</p>

+

+<p>“‘You great idiot of a canary!’ she exclaimed;

+‘you can’t do anything but make a

+fool of yourself! I told you, you know, that

+I should bring you bad luck. Well! there’s a

+cure for everything when one has for one’s

+friend a Roman Fleming.<a id="FNanchor_29" href="#Footnote_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> First of all, put

+this handkerchief on your head, and toss me<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span>

+that belt. Wait for me in this passage. I

+will return in two minutes.’</p>

+

+<p>“She disappeared, and soon brought me a

+striped cloak, which she had obtained heaven

+knows where. She bade me take off my uniform

+and put on the cloak over my shirt.

+Thus attired, with the handkerchief with

+which she had bound up the wound on my

+head, I looked not unlike a peasant from Valencia,

+so many of whom came to Seville to

+sell their <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">chufas</i><a id="FNanchor_30" href="#Footnote_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> orgeat. Then she took me

+into a house much like Dorothy’s, at the end

+of a narrow lane. She and another gypsy

+washed me and dressed my wound better

+than any surgeon could have done, and gave

+me something, I don’t know what, to drink;

+finally, they laid me on a mattress, and I went

+to sleep.</p>

+

+<p>“Probably those women had mingled with

+my drink one of those soporific drugs of

+which they know the secret, for I did not

+wake until very late the next day. I had a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span>

+terrible headache and a little fever. It was

+some time before I remembered the terrible

+scene in which I had taken part the night before.

+After dressing my wound, Carmen and

+her friend, both squatting beside my mattress,

+exchanged a few words of <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">chipe calli</i>, which

+seemed to be a medical consultation. Then

+they united in assuring me that I should soon

+be cured, but that I must leave Seville at the

+earliest possible moment; for, if I should be

+caught, I would inevitably be shot.</p>

+

+<p>“‘My boy,’ said Carmen, ‘you must do

+something. Now that the king gives you

+neither rice nor dried fish,<a id="FNanchor_31" href="#Footnote_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a> you must think

+about earning your living. You are too stupid

+to steal <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">à pastesas</i><a id="FNanchor_32" href="#Footnote_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a>; but you are strong

+and active; if you have any pluck, go to the

+coast and be a smuggler. Haven’t I promised

+to be the cause of your being hung?

+That’s better than being shot? However,

+if you go about it the right way you will<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span>

+live like a prince as long as the <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">miñons</i><a id="FNanchor_33" href="#Footnote_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a> and

+the coast-guards don’t get their hands on your

+collar.’</p>

+

+<p>“In this engaging way did that diabolical

+girl point out to me the new career for which

+she destined me, the only one, to tell the

+truth, which remained open to me, now that I

+had incurred the death penalty. Need I tell

+you, señor? she prevailed upon me without

+much difficulty. It seemed to me that

+I should become more closely united to her by

+that life of perils and of rebellion. Thenceforth

+I felt that I was sure of her love. I had often

+heard of a band of smugglers who infested

+Andalusia, mounted on good horses, blunderbuss

+in hand, and their mistresses <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">en croupe</i>.

+I imagined myself trotting over mountain and

+valley with the pretty gypsy behind me.

+When I spoke to her about it she laughed

+until she held her sides, and told me that there

+was nothing so fine as a night in camp, when<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span>

+every <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">rom</i> retires with his <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">romi</i> under the little

+tent formed of three hoops with canvas

+stretched over them.</p>

+

+<p>“‘If I ever have you in the mountains,’

+I said to her, ‘I shall be sure of you! There,

+there are no lieutenants to share with me.’</p>

+

+<p>“‘Oh! you are jealous,’ she replied. ‘So

+much the worse for you! Are you really stupid

+enough for that? Don’t you see that I

+love you, as I have never asked you for

+money?’</p>

+

+<p>“When she talked like that I felt like strangling

+her.</p>

+

+<p>“To cut it short, señor, Carmen procured

+a civilian’s costume for me in which

+I left Seville without being recognised. I

+went to Jerez with a letter from Pastia to

+a dealer in anisette, whose house was a rendezvous

+for smugglers. There I was presented

+to those gentry, whose leader, one

+Dancaïre, took me into his troop. We started

+for Gaucin, where I found Carmen, who had

+agreed to meet me there. In our expeditions<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span>

+she served us as a spy, and a better spy there

+never was. She was returning from Gibraltar

+and she had already arranged with the master

+of a vessel to bring a cargo of English goods

+which we were to receive on the coast. We

+went to Estepona to wait for it, and concealed

+a portion in the mountains. Then, laden with

+the rest, we journeyed to Ronda. Carmen

+had preceded us thither, and it was she who

+let us know the opportune moment to enter

+the town. That first trip and several succeeding

+ones were fortunate. The smuggler’s life

+pleased me better than that of a soldier. I

+made presents to Carmen; I had money and a

+mistress. I suffered little from remorse, for, as

+the gypsies say: ‘The scab does not itch

+when one is enjoying one’s self.’ We were

+well received everywhere; my companions

+treated me well, and even showed me much

+consideration. The reason was that I had

+killed a man, and there were some among

+them who had not such an exploit on their

+consciences. But what appealed to me most<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span>

+strongly in my new life was that I saw Carmen

+often. She was more affectionate with

+me than ever; but before our comrades she

+would not admit that she was my mistress;

+and she had even made me swear all sorts

+of oaths never to say anything about her. I

+was so weak before that creature that I obeyed

+all her whims. Moreover, it was the first

+time that she had exhibited herself to me with

+the reserve of a virtuous woman, and I was

+simple enough to believe that she had really

+corrected herself of her former manners.</p>

+

+<p>“Our troop, which consisted of eight or ten

+men, seldom met except at critical moments;

+ordinarily we were scattered about by twos

+and threes, in different towns and villages.

+Each of us claimed to have a trade; one was

+a tinker, another a horse-dealer; I was a silk

+merchant, but I seldom showed my face in

+the large places because of my unfortunate

+affair at Seville.</p>

+

+<p>“One day, or rather one night, our rendezvous

+was at the foot of Veger. Dancaïre and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span>

+I arrived there before the rest. He seemed in

+very high spirits.</p>

+

+<p>“‘We are going to have another comrade,’

+he said. ‘Carmen has just played one of her

+best tricks. She has managed the escape of

+her <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">rom</i>, who was at the presidio at Tarifa.’</p>

+

+<p>“I was already beginning to understand

+the gypsy tongue, which almost all my comrades

+spoke, and that word <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">rom</i> gave me a

+shock.</p>

+

+<p>“‘What’s that? her husband! is she married?’

+I asked the captain.</p>

+

+<p>“‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘to Garcia the One-Eyed,

+a gypsy, as sharp as herself. The poor

+fellow was at the galleys. Carmen bamboozled

+the surgeon at the presidio so successfully

+that she has obtained her <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">rom’s</i> liberty.

+Ah! that girl is worth her weight in gold.

+For two years she has been trying to manage

+his escape. Every scheme failed until they

+took it into their heads to change surgeons.

+With the new one she seems to have found a

+way to come to an understanding very soon.’</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span></p>

+

+<p>“You can imagine the pleasure that that

+news afforded me. I soon saw Garcia the

+One-Eyed; he was surely the most loathsome

+monster that ever gypsydom reared; black of

+skin, and blacker of heart, he was the most

+unblushing villain that I have ever met in my

+life. Carmen came with him; and when she

+called him her <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">rom</i> in my presence, you

+should have seen the eyes she made at me

+and her grimaces when Garcia turned his

+head. I was angry, and I did not speak to

+her that night. In the morning we had made

+up our bales and were already on the march,

+when we discovered that a dozen horsemen

+were at our heels. The braggart Andalusians,

+who talked of nothing but massacring everybody,

+made a most pitiful show. It was a

+general save himself who could. Dancaïre,

+Garcia, a handsome fellow from Ecija whom

+we called the Remendado, and Carmen, did

+not lose their heads. The rest had abandoned

+the mules, and had plunged into the ravines,

+where horses could not follow them. We<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span>

+could not keep our animals, and we hastily

+unpacked the best of our booty and loaded it

+on our shoulders, then tried to escape down

+the steep slopes of the cliffs. We threw our

+bundles before us and slid down on our heels

+after them as best we could. Meanwhile the

+enemy were peppering us; it was the first

+time that I had ever heard the whistle of bullets,

+and it didn’t affect me very much. When

+one is under the eye of a woman, there is no

+merit in laughing at death. We escaped, all

+except the poor Remendado, who received a

+shot in the loins. I dropped my bundle and

+tried to carry him.</p>

+

+<p>“‘Fool!’ shouted Garcia, ‘what have we

+to do with carrion? Finish him and don’t

+lose the stockings!’</p>

+

+<p>“‘Drop him!’ Carmen called to me.</p>

+

+<p>“Fatigue forced me to place him on the

+ground a moment, behind a rock. Garcia

+stepped up and discharged his blunderbuss at

+his head.</p>

+

+<p>“‘It will be a clever man who will recognise<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span>

+him now,’ he said, glancing at his face,

+which was torn to shreds by a dozen bullets.</p>

+

+<p>“Such, señor, was the noble life I led.

+That night we found ourselves in a copse,

+utterly worn out and ruined by the loss of

+our mules. What does that infernal Garcia

+do but pull a pack of cards from his pocket

+and begin to play with Dancaïre by the light

+of a fire which they kindled. Meanwhile

+I had lain down and was gazing at the stars,

+thinking of the Remendado and saying to

+myself that I would rather be in his place.

+Carmen was sitting near me, and from time

+to time she played with the castanets and

+sang under her breath. Then, drawing nearer

+as if to speak to me, she kissed me, almost

+against my will, two or three times.</p>

+

+<p>“‘You are the devil!’ I said to her.</p>

+

+<p>“‘Yes,’ she replied.</p>

+

+<p>“After a few hours’ rest she started for

+Gaucin, and the next day a young goatherd

+brought us food. We remained there the

+whole day, and at night went in the direction<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span>

+of Gaucin. We expected to hear from Carmen.

+No one appeared. At daybreak we

+saw a muleteer conducting a well-dressed

+woman with a parasol, and a small girl who

+seemed to be her servant. Garcia said:</p>

+

+<p>“‘Here’s two mules and two women sent

+to us by Saint Nicholas; I should rather have

+four mules; but no matter, I’ll make the best

+of it.’</p>

+

+<p>“He took his blunderbuss and crept down

+toward the path, keeping out of sight in the

+underbrush. We followed him, Dancaïre and

+I, at a short distance. When we were within

+arm’s length we showed ourselves and called

+to the muleteer to stop. The woman when

+she saw us, instead of being frightened&mdash;and

+our costumes were quite enough to frighten

+her&mdash;shouted with laughter.</p>

+

+<p>“‘Ha! ha! the <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">lillipendi</i>, to take me for

+an <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">erani</i>!’<a id="FNanchor_34" href="#Footnote_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a></p>

+

+<p>“It was Carmen, but so perfectly disguised

+that I should not have recognised her if she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span>

+had spoken a different tongue. She jumped

+down from her mule and talked for some

+time in a low tone with Dancaïre and Garcia,

+then said to me:</p>

+

+<p>“‘We shall meet again, Canary, before

+you’re hung. I am going to Gibraltar on

+business of Egypt. You will hear of me

+soon.’</p>

+

+<p>“We parted, after she had told us of a

+place where we could obtain shelter for a few

+days. That girl was the Providence of our

+party. We soon received some money which

+she sent us, and some information which was

+worth much more to us; it was to the effect

+that on such a day two English noblemen

+would leave Gibraltar for Grenoble by such a

+road. A word to the wise is sufficient. They

+had a store of good guineas. Garcia wanted

+to kill them, but Dancaïre and I objected.

+We took only their money and watches, in

+addition to their shirts, of which we were in

+sore need.</p>

+

+<p>“Señor, a man becomes a rascal without<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span>

+thinking of it. A pretty girl steals your wits,

+you fight for her, an accident happens, you

+have to live in the mountains, and from

+a smuggler you become a robber before

+you know it. We considered that it was

+not healthy for us in the neighbourhood of

+Gibraltar, after the affair of the noblemen, and

+we buried ourselves in the Sierra de Ronda.

+You once mentioned José Maria to me; well,

+it was there that I made his acquaintance.

+He took his mistress on his expeditions. She

+was a pretty girl, clean and modest and well-mannered;

+never an indecent word, and such

+devotion. As a reward, he made her very unhappy.

+He was always running after women,

+he maltreated her, and sometimes he took it

+into his head to pretend to be jealous. Once

+he struck her with a knife. Well, she loved

+him all the better for it. Women are made

+like that, especially the Andalusians. She was

+proud of the scar she had on her arm, and

+showed it as the most beautiful thing in the

+world. And then José Maria was the worst<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span>

+kind of a comrade, to boot. In an expedition

+that we made together, he managed

+matters so well that he had all the profit, we

+all the blows and trouble. But I resume my

+story. We heard nothing at all from Carmen.</p>

+

+<p>“‘One of us must go to Gibraltar to find

+out something about her,’ said Dancaïre;

+‘she should have arranged some affair for

+us. I would go, but I am too well known at

+Gibraltar.’</p>

+

+<p>“The One-Eyed said:</p>

+

+<p>“‘So am I too; everybody knows me

+there, and I’ve played so many games on

+the lobsters<a id="FNanchor_35" href="#Footnote_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a>! and as I have only one eye,

+I am hard to disguise.’</p>

+

+<p>“‘Shall I go then?’ said I in my turn,

+overjoyed at the bare thought of seeing

+Carmen again; ‘tell me, what must I do?’</p>

+

+<p>“The others said to me:</p>

+

+<p>“‘Arrange it so as to go by sea or by San

+Roque, as you choose; and when you get to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span>

+Gibraltar, ask at the harbour where a chocolate

+seller called Rollona lives; when you have

+found her, you can learn from her what’s

+going on yonder.’</p>

+

+<p>“It was agreed that we three should go

+together to the Sierra de Gaucin, where I was

+to leave my companions and go on to Gibraltar

+in the guise of a dealer in fruit. At

+Ronda, a man who was in our pay had

+procured me a passport; at Gaucin they gave

+me a donkey; I loaded him with oranges and

+melons, and started. When I reached Gibraltar,

+I found that Rollona was well known

+there, but that she was dead or had gone

+<em>to the ends of the earth</em>,<a id="FNanchor_36" href="#Footnote_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a> and her disappearance

+explained, in my opinion, the loss of

+our means of correspondence with Carmen.

+I put my donkey in a stable, and, taking my

+oranges, I walked about the city as if to sell

+them, but in reality to see if I could not meet

+some familiar face. There are quantities of

+riff-raff there from all the countries on earth,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span>

+and it is like the Tower of Babel, for you

+cannot take ten steps on any street without

+hearing as many different languages. I saw

+many gypsies, but I hardly dared to trust

+them; I sounded them and they sounded me.

+We divined that we were villains; the important

+point was to know whether we

+belonged to the same band. After two days

+of fruitless going to and fro, I had learned

+nothing concerning Rollona or Carmen, and

+was thinking of returning to my comrades

+after making a few purchases, when, as I

+passed through a street at sunset, I heard

+a woman’s voice calling to me from a

+window: ‘Orange-man!’ I looked up and

+saw Carmen on a balcony, leaning on the

+rail with an officer in red, gold epaulets, curly

+hair&mdash;the whole outfit of a great noble. She

+too was dressed magnificently: a shawl over

+her shoulders, a gold comb, and her dress all

+silk; and the saucy minx&mdash;always the same!&mdash;was

+laughing so that she held her sides.

+The Englishman called to me in broken<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span>

+Spanish to come up, that the señora wanted

+some oranges; and Carmen said in Basque:</p>

+

+<p>“‘Come up, and don’t be surprised at anything.’</p>

+

+<p>“In truth nothing was likely to surprise me

+on her part. I do not know whether I felt more

+joy or grief at seeing her again. There was a

+tall English servant with powdered hair, at the

+door, who ushered me into a gorgeous salon.

+Carmen instantly said to me in Basque:</p>

+

+<p>“‘You don’t know a word of Spanish; you

+don’t know me.’ Then, turning to the

+Englishman: ‘I told you I recognised him

+at once as a Basque; you will hear what a

+strange tongue it is. What a stupid look he

+has, hasn’t he? One would take him for a

+cat caught in a pantry.’</p>

+

+<p>“‘And you,’ I said to her in my language,

+‘have the look of a brazen-faced slut, and I am

+tempted to slash your face before your lover.’</p>

+

+<p>“‘My lover!’ she said; ‘did you really guess

+that all by yourself? And you are jealous of

+this simpleton? You are more of a fool than<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span>

+you were before our evenings in Rue de

+Candilejo. Don’t you see, blockhead that

+you are, that I am doing the business of Egypt

+at this moment, and in the most brilliant

+fashion too? This house is mine, the lobster’s

+guineas will be mine; I lead him by the end

+of the nose, and I will lead him to a place he

+will never come out of.’</p>

+

+<p>“‘And I,’ I said, ‘if you go on doing the

+business of Egypt in this way, I will see to it

+that you won’t do it again.’</p>

+

+<p>“‘Ah! indeed! Are you my <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">rom</i>, to give

+me orders? The One-Eyed thinks it’s all

+right, what business is it of yours? Oughtn’t

+you to be content to be the only man who

+can say that he’s my <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">minchorrò?</i>’<a id="FNanchor_37" href="#Footnote_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a></p>

+

+<p>“‘What does he say?’ asked the Englishman.</p>

+

+<p>“‘He says that he is thirsty and would like

+to drink a glass,’ Carmen replied.</p>

+

+<p>“And she threw herself on a couch, roaring

+with laughter at her translation.</p>

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span></p>

+<p>“When that girl laughed, señor, it was

+impossible to talk sense. Everybody laughed

+with her. The tall Englishman began to

+laugh too, like the fool that he was, and

+ordered something to be brought for me to

+drink.</p>

+

+<p>“While I was drinking:</p>

+

+<p>“‘Do you see that ring he has on his

+finger?’ she asked me; ‘I will give it to you

+if you want.’</p>

+

+<p>“I replied:</p>

+

+<p>“‘I would give a finger to have your lord

+on the mountains, each of us with a <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">maquila</i>

+in his hand.’</p>

+

+<p>“‘<i lang="es" xml:lang="es">Maquila</i>&mdash;what does that mean?’ asked

+the Englishman.</p>

+

+<p>“‘<i lang="es" xml:lang="es">Maquila</i>,’ said Carmen, still laughing, ‘is

+an orange. Isn’t that a curious word for

+orange? He says that he would like to give

+you some <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">maquila</i> to eat.’</p>

+

+<p>“‘Yes?’ said the Englishman. ‘Well!

+bring some <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">maquila</i> to-morrow.’</p>

+

+<p>“While we were talking, the servant<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span>

+entered and said that dinner was ready.

+Thereupon the Englishman rose, gave me a

+piastre and offered Carmen his arm, as if she

+could not walk alone. Carmen, still laughing,

+said to me:</p>

+

+<p>“‘I can’t invite you to dinner, my boy; but

+to-morrow, as soon as you hear the drums

+beating for the parade, come here with some

+oranges. You will find a room better furnished

+than the one on Rue de Candilejo, and

+you will see whether I am still your Carmencita.

+And then we will talk about the

+business of Egypt.’</p>

+

+<p>“I made no reply, and after I was in the

+street I heard the Englishman calling after

+me:</p>

+

+<p>“‘Bring some <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">maquila</i> to-morrow!’ and I

+heard Carmen’s shouts of laughter.</p>

+

+<p>“I went out, having no idea what I should

+do. I slept little, and in the morning I found

+myself so enraged with that traitress that I

+had resolved to leave Gibraltar without seeing

+her; but at the first beat of the drum all my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span>

+courage deserted me; I took my bag of

+oranges and hurried to Carmen. Her blinds

+were partly open, and I saw her great black

+eye watching me. The powdered servant

+ushered me in at once; Carmen gave him an

+errand to do, and as soon as we were alone

+she burst out with one of her shouts of crocodile

+laughter and threw herself on my neck.

+I had never seen her so lovely. Arrayed

+like a Madonna, perfumed&mdash;silk-covered

+furniture, embroidered hangings&mdash;ah!&mdash;and

+I, dressed like the highwayman that I

+was!</p>

+

+<p>“‘<i lang="es" xml:lang="es">Minchorrò!</i>’ said Carmen, ‘I have a

+mind to smash everything here, to set fire to

+the house, and fly to the mountains!’</p>

+

+<p>“And such caresses! and such laughter!

+and she danced, and she tore her falbalas;

+never did monkey go through more antics,

+more deviltry, more grimacing. When she

+had resumed her gravity:</p>

+

+<p>“‘Listen,’ she said, ‘let us talk of Egypt.

+I want him to take me to Ronda, where I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span>

+have a sister who’s a nun (a fresh outburst

+of laughter here). We shall go by a place

+that I will let you know. Do you fall upon

+him; strip him clean! The best way would

+be to finish him; but,’ she added, with a diabolical

+smile which she assumed at certain

+times, and no one had any desire to imitate

+that smile at such times,&mdash;‘do you know

+what you must do? Let the One-Eyed appear

+first. Do you stay back a little; the

+lobster is brave and a good shot; he has good

+pistols. Do you understand?’</p>

+

+<p>“She interrupted herself with a fresh burst

+of laughter that made me shudder.</p>

+

+<p>“‘No,’ I said, ‘I hate Garcia, but he is my

+comrade. Some day, perhaps, I will rid you

+of him, but we will settle our accounts after

+the fashion of my country. I am a gypsy

+only by chance; and in certain things I shall

+always be a downright Navarrese, as the

+proverb says.’</p>

+

+<p>“She retorted:</p>

+

+<p>“‘You are a blockhead, a fool, a genuine<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span>

+<i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">payllo</i>! You are like the dwarf who thinks

+he’s tall when he can spit a long way. You

+don’t love me&mdash;be off!’</p>

+

+<p>“When she said ‘be off!’ I could not go.

+I promised to leave Gibraltar, to return to my

+comrades and wait for the Englishman; she,

+on her side, promised to be ill until it was

+time to leave Gibraltar for Ronda. I stayed

+at Gibraltar two more days. She had the

+audacity to come to see me at my inn, in

+disguise. I left the city; I, too, had my plan.

+I returned to our rendezvous, knowing the

+place and hour when the Englishman and

+Carmen were to pass. I found Dancaïre and

+Garcia waiting for me. We passed the night

+in a wood beside a fire of pine cones, which

+blazed finely. I proposed a game of cards to

+Garcia. He accepted. In the second game I

+told him he was cheating; he began to laugh.

+I threw the cards in his face. He tried to take

+his gun, but I put my foot on it and said to

+him: ‘They say you can handle a knife like

+the best <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">jaque</i> in Malaga&mdash;will you try it<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span>

+with me?’ Dancaïre tried to separate us. I

+had struck Garcia two or three times with my

+fist. Anger made him brave; he drew his

+knife and I mine. We both told Dancaïre to

+give us room and a fair field. He saw that

+there was no way of stopping us, and he

+walked away. Garcia was bent double, like

+a cat on the point of springing at a mouse.

+He held his hat in his left hand to parry, his

+knife forward. That is the Andalusian guard.

+I took my stand Navarrese fashion, straight in

+front of him, with the left arm raised, the left

+leg forward, and the knife along the right

+thigh. I felt stronger than a giant. He rushed

+on me like a flash; I turned on my left foot,

+and he found nothing in front of him; but I

+caught him in the throat, and my knife went

+in so far that my hand was under his chin. I

+twisted the blade so sharply that it broke.

+That was the end. The knife came out of

+the wound, forced by a stream of blood as

+big as your arm. He fell to the ground as

+stiff as a stake.</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span></p>

+

+<p>“‘What have you done?’ Dancaïre asked

+me.</p>

+

+<p>“‘Look you,’ said I; ‘we couldn’t live together.

+I love Carmen, and I wish to be her

+only lover. Besides, Garcia was a villain,

+and I remember what he did to poor Remendado.

+There are only two of us left, but we

+are stout fellows. Tell me, do you want me

+for your friend, in life or death?’</p>

+

+<p>“Dancaïre gave me his hand. He was a

+man of fifty.</p>

+

+<p>“‘To the devil with love affairs!’ he cried.

+‘If you had asked him for Carmen, he’d have

+sold her to you for a piastre. There’s only

+two of us now; how shall we manage to-morrow?’</p>

+

+<p>“‘Let me do it all alone,’ I replied. ‘I

+snap my fingers at the whole world now.’</p>

+

+<p>“We buried Garcia and pitched our camp

+again two hundred yards away. The next

+day Carmen and her Englishman passed, with

+two muleteers and a servant.</p>

+

+<p>“I said to Dancaïre:</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span></p>

+

+<p>“‘I will take care of the Englishman.

+Frighten the others&mdash;they are not armed.’</p>

+

+<p>“The Englishman had pluck. If Carmen

+had not struck his arm, he would have killed

+me. To make my story short, I won Carmen

+back that day, and my first words to her

+were to tell her that she was a widow.

+When she learned how it had happened:</p>

+

+<p>“‘You will always be a <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">lillipendi</i>!’ she

+said. ‘Garcia ought to have killed you. Your

+Navarrese guard is all folly, and he has put

+out the light of better men than you. It

+means that his time had come. Yours will

+come too.’</p>

+

+<p>“‘And yours,’ I retorted, ‘unless you’re a

+true <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">romi</i> to me.’</p>

+

+<p>“‘All right,’ said she, ‘I’ve read more than

+once in coffee grounds that we were to go

+together. Bah! let what is planted come

+up!’</p>

+

+<p>“And she rattled her castanets, as she

+always did when she wished to banish some

+unpleasant thought.</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span></p>

+

+<p>“We forget ourselves when we are talking

+about ourselves. All these details tire you,

+no doubt, but I shall soon be done. The life

+we were then leading lasted quite a long

+time. Dancaïre and I associated with ourselves

+several comrades who were more reliable

+than the former ones, and we devoted

+ourselves to smuggling, and sometimes, I

+must confess, we stopped people on the highroad,

+but only in the last extremity and when

+we could not do otherwise. However, we

+did not maltreat travellers, and we confined

+ourselves to taking their money. For several

+months I had no fault to find with Carmen;

+she continued to make herself useful in our

+operations, informing us of profitable strokes

+of business we could do. She stayed sometimes

+at Malaga, sometimes at Cordova, sometimes

+at Granada; but at a word from me,

+she would leave everything and join me at

+some isolated tavern, or even in our camp.

+Once only&mdash;it was at Malaga&mdash;she caused

+me some anxiety. I knew that she had cast<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span>

+her spell upon a very rich merchant, with

+whom she probably proposed to repeat the

+Gibraltar pleasantry. In spite of all that

+Dancaïre could say, I left him and went to

+Malaga in broad daylight; I sought Carmen

+and took her away at once. We had a sharp

+explanation.</p>

+

+<p>“‘Do you know,’ she said, ‘that since

+you have been my <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">rom</i> for good and all I love

+you less than when you were my <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">minchorrò</i>?

+I don’t choose to be tormented or, above all,

+to be ordered about! What I want is to

+be free and to do what I please. Look out

+that you don’t drive me too far. If you tire

+me out I will find some good fellow who will

+serve you as you served the One-Eyed.’</p>

+

+<p>“Dancaïre made peace between us; but we

+had said things to each other that remained on

+our minds and we were no longer the same as

+before. Soon after an accident happened to

+us. The troops surprised us, Dancaïre was

+killed, and two more of my comrades; two

+others were captured. I was seriously<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span>

+wounded and but for my good horse I should

+have fallen into the soldiers’ hands. Worn

+out with fatigue, and with a bullet in my

+body, I hid in some woods with the only comrade

+I had left. I fainted when I dismounted,

+and I thought that I was going to die in the

+underbrush like a wounded rabbit. My comrade

+carried me to a cave that we knew, then

+he went in search of Carmen. She was at

+Granada, and she instantly came to me. For

+a fortnight she did not leave me a moment.

+She did not close an eye; she nursed me with

+a skill and attention which no woman ever

+showed for the man she loved best. As soon

+as I could stand she took me to Granada with

+the utmost secrecy. Gypsies find sure places

+of refuge everywhere, and I passed more than

+six weeks in a house within two doors of the

+corregidor who was looking for me. More

+than once as I looked out from behind a shutter

+I saw him pass. At last I was cured; but

+I had reflected deeply on my bed of pain and I

+proposed to change my mode of life. I spoke<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span>

+to Carmen of leaving Spain and of seeking an

+honest livelihood in the New World. She

+laughed at me.</p>

+

+<p>“‘We were not made to plant cabbages,’

+said she; ‘our destiny is to live at the expense

+of the <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">payllos</i>. Look you, I have arranged

+an affair with Nathan Ben-Joseph of

+Gibraltar. He has some cotton stuffs that are

+only waiting for you, to pass the frontier. He

+knows that you are alive. He is counting on

+you. What would our Gibraltar correspondents

+say if you should go back on your

+word?’</p>

+

+<p>“I allowed her to persuade me and I resumed

+my wretched trade.</p>

+

+<p>“While I was in hiding in Granada there

+were some bull-fights which Carmen attended.

+When she returned she had much to say of a

+very skilful picador named Lucas. She knew

+the name of his horse and how much his embroidered

+jacket cost. I paid no attention to

+it. Juanito, my last remaining comrade, told

+me some days later that he had seen Carmen<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span>

+with Lucas in a shop on the Zacatin. That

+began to disturb me. I asked Carmen how

+and why she had made the picador’s acquaintance.</p>

+

+<p>“‘He’s a fellow with whom one can do

+business,’ she said. ‘A river that makes a

+noise has either water or stones. He won

+twelve hundred reals in the bull-fights. One

+of two things must happen: either we must

+have that money, or else, as he’s a good rider

+and a fellow of good pluck, we must take him

+into our band. Such a one and such a one are

+dead and you need some one in their places.

+Take him.’</p>

+

+<p>“‘I don’t want either his money or his

+person,’ I said, ‘and I forbid you to speak to

+him.’</p>

+

+<p>“‘Beware!’ said she, ‘when any one defies

+me to do a thing it’s soon done!’</p>

+

+<p>“Luckily the picador left for Malaga, and I

+turned my attention to bringing in the Jew’s

+bales of cotton. I had a great deal to do in

+that affair, and so did Carmen; and I forgot<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span>

+Lucas; perhaps she forgot him, too, for the

+moment at least. It was about that time,

+señor, that I met you, first near Montilla,

+then at Cordova. I will say nothing about

+our last interview. Perhaps you remember

+it better than I do. Carmen stole your watch;

+she wanted your money, too, and above all,

+that ring that I see on your finger, which, she

+said, was a magnificent ring, which it was

+most important for her to own. We had a

+violent quarrel, and I struck her. She turned

+pale and shed tears, and that produced a terrible

+effect on me. I asked her to forgive me,

+but she sulked a whole day, and, when I

+started to return to Montilla, she refused to

+kiss me. My heart was very heavy, when,

+three days later, she came to see me with a

+laughing face and gay as a lark. Everything

+was forgotten, and we were like lovers of two

+days’ standing. At the moment of parting,

+she said to me:</p>

+

+<p>“‘There’s to be a fête at Cordova; I am

+going to it, and I shall find out what people<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span>

+are going away with money and let you

+know.’</p>

+

+<p>“I let her go. When I was alone, I mused

+upon that fête and upon Carmen’s change of

+humour. ‘She must have had her revenge

+already,’ I thought, ‘as she was the first to

+make advances.’ A peasant told me that

+there were bulls at Cordova. My blood began

+to boil, and like a madman, I started for

+the city and went to the public square. Lucas

+was pointed out to me, and on the bench next

+to the barrier, I recognised Carmen. A single

+glance at her was enough to satisfy me. Lucas,

+when the first bull appeared, played the gallant,

+as I had foreseen. He tore the cockade<a id="FNanchor_38" href="#Footnote_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a>

+from the bull and carried it to Carmen, who

+instantly put it in her hair. The bull took it

+upon himself to avenge me. Lucas was

+thrown down, with his horse across his chest<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span>

+and the bull on top of them both. I looked

+for Carmen; she was no longer in her seat.

+It was impossible for me to leave the place

+where I was, and I was compelled to wait

+until the end of the sports. Then I went to

+the house that you know, and I lay in wait

+there all the evening and part of the night.

+About two o’clock Carmen returned, and was

+rather surprised to see me.</p>

+

+<p>“‘Come with me,’ I said to her.</p>

+

+<p>“‘All right!’ said she; ‘let us go.’</p>

+

+<p>“I went for my horse and took her behind

+me, and we rode all the rest of the night without

+exchanging a word. At daybreak we

+stopped at a lonely <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">venta</i>, near a little hermitage.

+There I said to Carmen:</p>

+

+<p>“‘Listen; I will forget everything; I will

+never say a word to you about anything that

+has happened; but promise me one thing&mdash;that

+you will go to America with me and remain

+quietly there.’</p>

+

+<p>“‘No,’ she said, sullenly, ‘I don’t want to

+go to America. I am very well off here.’</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span></p>

+

+<p>“‘That is because you are near Lucas; but

+understand this, if he recovers, he won’t live

+to have old bones. But, after all, why should

+I be angry with him? I am tired of killing all

+your lovers; you are the one I will kill.’</p>

+

+<p>“She looked earnestly at me with that savage

+look of hers, and said:</p>

+

+<p>“‘I have always thought that you would

+kill me. The first time I saw you, I had just

+met a priest at the door of my house. And

+that night when we left Cordova, didn’t you

+see anything? A hare crossed the road between

+your horse’s feet. It is written.’</p>

+

+<p>“‘Carmen, don’t you love me any more?’

+I asked her.</p>

+

+<p>“She made no reply. She was seated

+with her legs crossed, on a mat, and making

+figures on the ground with her finger.</p>

+

+<p>“‘Let us change our mode of life, Carmen,’

+I said to her in suppliant tone. ‘Let us go

+somewhere to live where we shall never be

+parted. You know, we have a hundred and

+twenty ounces buried under an oak, not far<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span>

+from here. Then, too, we have funds in the

+Jew Ben-Joseph’s hands.’</p>

+

+<p>“She smiled and said:</p>

+

+<p>“‘Me first, then you. I know that it is

+bound to happen so.’</p>

+

+<p>“‘Reflect,’ I continued; ‘I am at the end

+of my patience and my courage; make up

+your mind, or I shall make up mine.’</p>

+

+<p>“I left her and walked in the direction of

+the hermitage. I found the hermit praying.

+I waited until his prayer was at an end; I

+would have liked to pray, but I could not.

+When he rose I went to him.</p>

+

+<p>“‘Father,’ I said, ‘will you say a prayer for

+some one who is in great danger?’</p>

+

+<p>“‘I pray for all who are afflicted,’ he said.</p>

+

+<p>“‘Can you say a mass for a soul which

+perhaps is soon to appear before its Creator?’</p>

+

+<p>“‘Yes,’ he replied, gazing fixedly at me.</p>

+

+<p>“And, as there was something strange in

+my manner, he tried to make me talk.</p>

+

+<p>“‘It seems to me that I have seen you before,’

+he said.</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span></p>

+

+<p>“I placed a piastre on his bench.</p>

+

+<p>“‘When will you say the mass?’ I

+asked.</p>

+

+<p>“‘In half an hour. The son of the innkeeper

+yonder will come soon to serve it.

+Tell me, young man, have you not something

+on your conscience which torments you?

+Will you listen to the advice of a Christian?’</p>

+

+<p>“I felt that I was on the point of weeping.

+I told him that I would come again, and I

+hurried away. I lay down on the grass until

+I heard the bell ring. Then I returned, but I

+remained outside the chapel. When the mass

+was said, I returned to the <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">venta</i>. I hoped

+that Carmen would have fled&mdash;she might have

+taken my horse and made her escape&mdash;but I

+found her there. She did not propose that

+any one should say that I had frightened her.

+During my absence she had ripped the hem

+of her dress, to take out the lead. Now she

+was standing by a table, watching the lead,

+which she had melted and had just thrown

+into a bowl filled with water. She was so<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span>

+engrossed by her magic that she did not notice

+my return at first. At one moment she

+would take up a piece of lead and turn it in

+every direction with a melancholy air; then

+she would sing one of those ballads of magic

+in which they invoke Maria Padilla, Don

+Pedro’s mistress, who, they say, was the

+<i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">Bari Crallisa</i>, or the great queen of the

+gypsies.<a id="FNanchor_39" href="#Footnote_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a></p>

+

+<p>“‘Carmen,’ I said, ‘will you come with

+me?’</p>

+

+<p>“She rose, pushed her bowl away, and

+put her mantilla over her head, as if ready to

+start. My horse was brought, she mounted

+behind me, and we rode away.</p>

+

+<p>“‘So, my Carmen,’ I said, after we had

+ridden a little way, ‘you will go with me,

+won’t you?’</p>

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span></p>

+<p>“‘I will go with you to death, yes, but I

+won’t live with you any more.’</p>

+

+<p>“We were in a deserted ravine; I stopped

+my horse.</p>

+

+<p>“‘Is this the place?’ she said.</p>

+

+<p>“And with one spring she was on the

+ground. She took off her mantilla, dropped

+it at her feet, and stood perfectly still, with

+one hand on her hip, looking me in the eye.</p>

+

+<p>“‘You mean to kill me, I can see that,’ she

+said; ‘it is written, but you will not make me

+yield.’</p>

+

+<p>“‘Be reasonable, I beg,’ I said to her.

+‘Listen to me. All of the past is forgotten.

+However, as you know, it was you who

+ruined me; it was for your sake that I became

+a robber and a murderer. Carmen! my Carmen!

+let me save you and myself with you.’</p>

+

+<p>“‘José,’ she replied, ‘you ask something

+that is impossible. I no longer love you;

+you do still love me, and that is the reason

+you intend to kill me. I could easily tell you

+some lie; but I don’t choose to take the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span>

+trouble. All is over between us. As my <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">rom</i>,

+you have a right to kill your <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">romi</i>; but Carmen

+will always be free. <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">Calli</i> she was born,

+<i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">calli</i> she will die.’</p>

+

+<p>“‘Then you love Lucas?’ I demanded.</p>

+

+<p>“‘Yes, I did love him, as I loved you, for

+a moment&mdash;but less than I loved you, I think.

+Now, I love nobody, and I hate myself for

+having loved you.’</p>

+

+<p>“I threw myself at her feet, I took her

+hands, I drenched them with my tears. I

+reminded her of all the blissful moments we

+had passed together. I offered to remain

+a brigand to please her. Everything, señor,

+everything; I offered her everything, if only

+she would love me again.</p>

+

+<p>“She said to me:</p>

+

+<p>“‘To love you again is impossible. I will

+not live with you.’</p>

+

+<p>“Frenzy took possession of me. I drew

+my knife. I would have liked her to show

+some fear and to beg for mercy, but that

+woman was a demon.</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span></p>

+

+<p>“‘For the last time,’ I cried, ‘will you stay

+with me?’</p>

+

+<p>“‘No! no! no!’ she replied, stamping the

+ground with her foot.</p>

+

+<p>“And she took from her finger a ring I

+had given her and threw it into the underbrush.</p>

+

+<p>“I struck her twice. It was the One-Eyed’s

+knife, which I had taken, having broken my

+own. She fell at the second stroke, without

+a sound. I fancy that I still see her great

+black eye gazing at me; then it grew dim

+and closed. I remained utterly crushed beside

+that corpse for a long hour. Then I

+remembered that Carmen had often told me

+that she would like to be buried in a wood.

+I dug a grave with my knife and laid her in

+it. I hunted a long while for her ring and

+found it at last. I placed it in the grave with

+her, also a small crucifix. Perhaps I did

+wrong. Then I mounted my horse, galloped

+to Cordova, and gave myself up at the first

+guard-house. I said that I had killed Carmen,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span>

+but I have refused to tell where her body is.

+The hermit was a holy man. He prayed for

+her! He said a mass for her soul. Poor child!

+The <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">Cales</i> are guilty, for bringing her up so.”</p>

+

+

+<h3>IV</h3>

+

+<p>Spain is one of those countries where we

+find to-day in the greatest numbers

+those nomads who are scattered over all

+Europe, and are known by the names of

+<em>Bohemians</em>, <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">Gitanos</i>, <em>Gypsies</em>, <em>Zigeuner</em>, etc.

+Most of them live, or rather lead a wandering

+existence, in the provinces of the south and

+east, in Andalusia, Estremadura, and the

+kingdom of Murcia; there are many in Catalonia.

+These latter often cross the frontier

+into France. They are to be seen at all

+the fairs in the Midi. Ordinarily the men

+carry on the trades of horse-dealer, veterinary,

+and clipper of mules; they combine therewith

+the industry of mending kettles and

+copper implements, to say nothing of smuggling

+and other illicit traffic. The women tell<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span>

+fortunes, beg, and sell all sorts of drugs,

+innocent or not.</p>

+

+<p>The physical characteristics of the gypsy

+are easier to distinguish than to describe, and

+when you have seen a single one, you can

+readily pick out a person of that race from

+a thousand others. Features and expression&mdash;these

+above all else separate them from

+the natives of the countries where they are

+found. Their complexion is very dark, always

+darker than that of the peoples among whom

+they live. Hence the name <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">Cale</i>&mdash;black&mdash;by

+which they often refer to themselves.

+Their eyes, which are perceptibly oblique,

+well-shaped, and very black, are shaded by

+long, thick lashes. One can compare their

+look to nothing save that of a wild beast.

+Audacity and timidity are depicted therein

+at once, and in that respect their eyes express

+accurately enough the character of

+the race&mdash;crafty, insolent, but <em>naturally afraid

+of blows</em>, like Panurge. As a general rule,

+the men are well-knit, slender, and active;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span>

+I believe that I have never seen a single one

+overburdened with flesh. In Germany, the

+gypsy women are often very pretty; beauty

+is very rare among the <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">gitanas</i> of Spain.

+When they are very young, they may pass

+for rather attractive ugly women; but when

+they have once become mothers, they are

+repulsive. The uncleanliness of both sexes

+is beyond belief, and one who has never seen

+the hair of a gypsy matron would find it

+hard to form an idea of it, even by imagining

+it as like the coarsest, greasiest, dustiest

+horsehair. In some large cities of Andalusia,

+some of the girls who are a little more attractive

+than the rest take more care of

+their persons. They go about dancing for

+money&mdash;dances very like those which are

+forbidden at our (Parisian) public balls during

+the Carnival. M. Borrow, an English missionary,

+the author of two very interesting

+works on the gypsies of Spain, whom he

+had undertaken to convert at the expense

+of the Bible Society, asserts that there is no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span>

+known instance of a <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">gitana</i> having a weakness

+for a man not of her race. It seems to

+me that there is much exaggeration in the

+eulogium which he bestows on their chastity.

+In the first place, the great majority of them

+are in the plight of Ovid’s ugly woman: <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Casta

+quam nemo rogavit</i>. As for the pretty ones,

+they are, like all Spanish women, exacting in

+the choice of their lovers. A man must

+please them and deserve them. M. Borrow

+cites as a proof of their virtue an instance

+which does honour to his own virtue, and

+above all to his innocence. An immoral

+man of his acquaintance, he says, offered

+several ounces of gold to a pretty <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">gitana</i>,

+to no purpose. An Andalusian to whom

+I told this anecdote declared that that same

+immoral man would have had better luck

+if he had shown only two or three piastres,

+and that to offer ounces of gold to a gypsy

+was as poor a way to persuade her as to

+promise a million or two to a servant girl

+at an inn. However that may be, it is certain<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span>

+that the <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">gitanas</i> display a most extraordinary

+devotion to their husbands. There is no

+peril or privation which they will not defy,

+in order to assist them in their need. One

+of the names by which the gypsies call themselves&mdash;<i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">romi</i>

+or <em>spouses</em>&mdash;seems to me to

+bear witness to the respect of the race for

+the marriage state. In general, we may say

+that their principal virtue is patriotism, if we

+may call by that name the fidelity which they

+observe in their relations with persons of

+the same origin as themselves, the zeal with

+which they help one another, and the inviolable

+secrecy which they maintain in

+respect to compromising affairs. Indeed, we

+may remark something similar in all associations

+that are shrouded in mystery and

+are outside of the law.</p>

+

+<p>A few months ago, I visited a tribe of

+gypsies settled in the Vosges. In the cabin

+of an old woman, the patriarch of the tribe,

+there was a gypsy unknown to her family,

+suffering from a fatal disease. That man had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span>

+left a hospital, where he was well cared for,

+to die among his compatriots. For thirteen

+weeks he had been in bed in the cabin of

+his hosts, and much better treated than the

+sons and sons-in-law who lived in the same

+house. He had a comfortable bed of straw

+and moss, with reasonably white sheets,

+whereas the rest of the family, to the number

+of eleven, slept on boards three feet long.

+So much for their hospitality. The same

+woman who was so humane to her guest

+said in his presence: “<i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">Singo, singo, homte hi

+mulo.”</i> “Before long, before long, he must

+die.” After all, the life of those people is so

+wretched that the certainty of death has no

+terrors for them.</p>

+

+<p>A remarkable feature of the gypsy character

+is their indifference in the matter of religion.

+Not that they are atheists or skeptics.

+They have never made profession of atheism.

+Far from that, they adopt the religion of the

+country in which they live; but they change

+when they change countries. The superstitions<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span>

+which among ignorant peoples replace

+religious sentiments are equally foreign to

+them. Indeed, how could superstition exist

+among people who, in most cases, live on

+the credulity of others! I have observed,

+however, among Spanish gypsies, a strange

+horror at the thought of touching a dead

+body. There are few of them whom money

+could hire to carry a corpse to the cemetery.</p>

+

+<p>I have said that most gypsy women dabble

+in fortune-telling. They are very skillful at it.

+But another thing that is a source of very great

+profit to them is the sale of charms and love-philtres.

+Not only do they keep frogs’ feet to

+fix fickle hearts, or powdered lodestone to force

+the unfeeling to love; but at need they make

+potent conjurations which compel the devil to

+lend them his aid. Last year a Spanish woman

+told me the following story: She was passing

+one day along Rue d’Alcala, sad and distraught,

+when a gypsy sitting on the sidewalk

+called after her: “Your lover has been false to

+you, fair lady.”&mdash;It was the truth.&mdash;“Do you<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span>

+want me to bring him back?”&mdash;You will

+imagine how joyfully the offer was accepted,

+and what unbounded confidence was naturally

+inspired by a person who could thus divine at

+a glance the inmost secrets of the heart. As it

+would have been impossible to proceed to

+magic rites in the most frequented street in

+Madrid, they made an appointment for the

+morrow.&mdash;“Nothing easier than to bring the

+unfaithful one back to your feet,” said the

+<i lang="es" xml:lang="es">gitana</i>. “Have you a handkerchief, a scarf,

+or a mantilla that he has given you?”&mdash;The

+lady gave her a silk handkerchief.&mdash;“Now

+sew a piastre into a corner of it, with crimson

+silk; half a piastre into another; a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">piecette</i> here;

+a two real piece here. Then you must sew a

+gold piece in the centre; a doubloon would be

+best.”&mdash;The doubloon and the rest were duly

+sewn into the handkerchief.&mdash;“Now, give it

+to me; I will take it to the Campo-Santo when

+the clock strikes twelve. Come with me, if

+you want to see some fine deviltry. I promise

+you that you will see the man you love<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span>

+to-morrow.”&mdash;The gypsy started alone for the

+Campo-Santo, for the lady was too much

+afraid of the devils to accompany her. I leave

+you to guess whether the poor love-lorn creature

+saw her handkerchief or her faithless lover

+again.</p>

+

+<p>Despite their poverty and the sort of aversion

+which they inspire, the gypsies enjoy a certain

+consideration none the less among unenlightened

+peoples, and they are very proud of

+it. They feel a haughty contempt for intelligence,

+and cordially despise the people who

+give them hospitality. “The Gentiles are

+such fools,” said a gypsy of the Vosges to me

+one day, “that there’s no merit in tricking

+them. The other day a peasant woman called

+to me on the street, and I went into her

+house. Her stove was smoking, and she asked

+me for a spell, to make it burn. I told her to

+give me first of all a big piece of pork. Then

+I mumbled a few words in <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">rommani</i>. ‘You

+are a fool,’ I said, ‘you were born a fool, a

+fool you will die.’&mdash;When I was at the door,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span>

+I said to her in good German: ‘The infallible

+way to keep your stove from smoking is not

+to make any fire in it.’&mdash;And I ran off at full

+speed.”</p>

+

+<p>The history of the gypsies is still a problem.

+To be sure, we know that the first bands of

+them, very small in numbers, showed themselves

+in the east of Europe early in the

+fifteenth century; but no one can say whence

+they came to Europe, or why; and, which is

+more extraordinary, we have no idea how

+they multiplied so prodigiously, in a short

+time, in several countries at a great distance

+from one another. The gypsies themselves

+have preserved no tradition concerning their

+origin, and, although most of them speak of

+Egypt as their original fatherland, it is because

+they have adopted a fable that was spread

+abroad concerning them many, many years

+ago.</p>

+

+<p>Most Orientalists who have studied the

+gypsy language believe that they came originally

+from India. In fact, it seems that a great<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span>

+number of the roots of the <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">rommani</i> tongue

+and many of its grammatical forms are found

+in phrases derived from the Sanskrit. We can

+understand that, in their long wanderings,

+the gypsies may have adopted many foreign

+words. In all the dialects of the <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">rommani</i>,

+we find many Greek words. For example:

+<i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">cocal</i>, bone, from κόκκαλον; <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">petalli</i>, horseshoe,

+from πέταλον; <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">cafi</i>, nail, from καρφί,

+etc. To-day, the gypsies have almost as many

+different dialects as there are bands of their race

+living apart from one another. Everywhere

+they speak the language of the country in

+which they live more readily than their own,

+which they seldom use except as a means of

+speaking freely before strangers. If we compare

+the dialect of the gypsies of Germany with

+that of the Spaniards, who have had no communication

+with the former for centuries, we

+discover a very great number of words common

+to the two; but the original tongue has

+been noticeably modified everywhere, although

+in different degrees, by the contact with the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span>

+more cultivated tongues, which these nomads

+have been constrained to employ. German on

+the one side, Spanish on the other, have so

+modified the substance of the <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">rommani</i> that it

+would be impossible for a gypsy of the Black

+Forest to converse with one of his Andalusian

+brethren, although they need only exchange a

+few sentences to realise that each of them is

+speaking a dialect derived from the same parent

+tongue. A few words in very frequent use

+are common, I believe, to all dialects; for

+instance, in all the vocabularies which I have

+had an opportunity to see, <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">pani</i> means water,

+<i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">manro</i>, bread, <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">mas</i>, meat, and <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">lon</i>, salt.</p>

+

+<p>The names of the numbers are almost the

+same everywhere. The German dialect seems

+to me much purer than the Spanish; for it has

+retained a number of the primitive grammatical

+forms, while the <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">gitanos</i> have adopted

+those of the Castilian tongue. A few words,

+however, are exceptions to this rule and attest

+the former community of the dialects.

+The preterit tenses in the German dialect are<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span>

+formed by adding <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">ium</i> to the imperative,

+which is always the root of the verb. The

+verbs in the Spanish <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">rommani</i> are all conjugated

+like Castilian verbs of the first conjugation.

+From the infinitive <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">jamar</i>, to eat, they

+regularly make <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">jamé</i>, I have eaten; from <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">lillar</i>,

+to take, <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">lillé</i>, I have taken. But some

+old gypsies say, on the other hand, <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">jayon</i>,

+<i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">lillon</i>. I know no other verbs which have

+retained this ancient form.</p>

+

+<p>While I am thus parading my slight acquaintance

+with the <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">rommani</i> tongue, I must

+note a few words of French argot, which

+our thieves have borrowed from the gypsies.

+The <cite>Mystères de Paris</cite> has taught good society

+that <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">chourin</i> means knife. The word is

+pure <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">rommani</i>; <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">tchouri</i> is one of the words

+common to all the dialects. M. Vidocq calls

+a horse <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">grès</i>&mdash;that is another <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">rommani</i> word&mdash;<i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">gras</i>,

+<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">gre</i>, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">graste</i>, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">gris</i>. Add the word <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">romanichel</i>,

+which in Parisian slang means gypsies.

+It is a corruption of <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">rommane tchave</i>,

+gypsy youths. But an etymology of which I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span>

+am proud is that of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">frimousse</i>, expression,

+face&mdash;a word which all schoolboys use, or

+did use in my day. Observe first that Oudin,

+in his curious dictionary, wrote in 1640 <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">firlimouse</i>.

+Now, <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">firla</i>, <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">fila</i>, in <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">rommani</i> means

+face; <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">mui</i> has the same meaning, it exactly

+corresponds to the Latin <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">os</i>. The combination

+<i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">firlamui</i> was instantly understood

+by a gypsy purist, and I believe it to be in

+conformity with the genius of his language.</p>

+

+<p>This is quite enough to give the readers of

+<cite>Carmen</cite> a favourable idea of my studies in

+<i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">rommani</i>. I will close with this proverb,

+which is quite apropos: <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">En retudi panda

+nasti abela macha</i>&mdash;“a fly cannot enter a

+closed mouth.”</p>

+

+<div class="blockquot">

+

+<p>1845.</p>

+</div>

+

+

+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> The Andalusians aspirate the <em>s</em>, and in pronunciation

+confound it with <em>c</em> soft and <em>z</em>, which the Spaniards pronounce

+like the English <em>th</em>. It is possible to recognise an

+Andalusian by the one word <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">señor</i>.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> That is, the <em>privileged provinces</em>, which enjoy special

+<i lang="es" xml:lang="es">fueros</i>, namely, Alava, Biscay, Guipuzcoa, and a part of

+Navarre. Basque is the language spoken in those provinces.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> A café provided with an ice-house, or rather with a store

+of snow. There is hardly a village in Spain which has not

+its <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">neveria</i>.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> In Spain every traveller who does not carry about with

+him specimens of calico or silk is taken for an Englishman,

+<i lang="es" xml:lang="es">Inglesito</i>. It is the same in the East; at Chalcis I had the

+honour of being announced as a Μιλὸρδος Φραντσέοος</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[5]</a> Fortune.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[6]</a> In 1830 the nobility alone enjoyed that privilege. To-day

+(1847) under the constitutional <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">régime</i>, the plebeians

+have obtained the privilege of the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">garrote</i>.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="label">[7]</a> Ironshod staves carried by the Basques.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="label">[8]</a> The magistrate at the head of the police and municipal

+administration.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="label">[9]</a> The ordinary costume of the peasant women of Navarre

+and the Basque provinces.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="label">[10]</a> Yes, sir.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="label">[11]</a> Enclosure, garden.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="label">[12]</a> Bravoes, bullies.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_13" href="#FNanchor_13" class="label">[13]</a> All the Spanish cavalry are armed with lances.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_14" href="#FNanchor_14" class="label">[14]</a> Alcala de los Panaderos, a hamlet two leagues from

+Seville, where they make delicious small loaves. It is

+claimed that their excellence is due to the water of Alcala,

+and great quantities of them are taken to Seville daily.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_15" href="#FNanchor_15" class="label">[15]</a> Good-day, comrade.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_16" href="#FNanchor_16" class="label">[16]</a> Most of the houses in Seville have an interior courtyard

+surrounded by porticos. The inhabitants live there in summer.

+The courtyard is covered with canvas, which is kept

+wet during the day and removed at night. The gate into

+the street is almost always open, and the passage leading

+into the courtyard is closed by an iron gate of elaborate

+workmanship.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_17" href="#FNanchor_17" class="label">[17]</a> <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">Mañana sera otro dia.</i>&mdash;A Spanish proverb.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_18" href="#FNanchor_18" class="label">[18]</a> A gypsy proverb.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_19" href="#FNanchor_19" class="label">[19]</a> Sugared yolks of eggs.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_20" href="#FNanchor_20" class="label">[20]</a> A kind of nougat.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_21" href="#FNanchor_21" class="label">[21]</a> King Don Pedro, whom we call the <em>Cruel</em>, but whom

+Isabella the Catholic always called the <em>Justiciary</em>, loved to

+walk the streets of Seville at night in search of adventures,

+like the Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid. On a certain night he

+had a quarrel in an out-of-the-way street with a man who

+was giving a serenade. They fought and the king slew the

+love-lorn knight. Hearing the clash of swords, an old

+woman put her head out of a window and lighted up the

+scene with a small lamp (<i lang="es" xml:lang="es">candilejo</i>) which she held in her

+hand. You must know that King Don Pedro, who was

+very active and powerful, had one physical peculiarity: his

+knees cracked loudly when he walked. The old woman

+had no difficulty in recognising him by means of that cracking.

+The next day the Twenty-four who was on duty

+came to the king to make his report. “Sire, there was a

+duel last night on such a street. One of the combatants

+was killed.” “Have you discovered the murderer?” “Yes,

+sire.” “Why is he not punished before now?” “I await

+your orders, sire.” “Carry out the law.” Now the king

+had recently issued a decree providing that every duellist

+should be beheaded, and that his head should be exposed on

+the battle-field. The Twenty-four extricated himself from

+the dilemma like a man of wit. He caused the head of a

+statue of the king to be sawed off, and exposed it in a recess

+in the middle of the street where the murder had taken

+place. The king and all the good people of Seville thought

+it an excellent joke. The street took its name from the

+lamp of the old woman, who was the sole witness of the

+adventure. Such is the popular tradition. Zuñiga tells the

+story a little differently. (See <cite>Anales de Sevilla</cite>, vol. ii.,

+p. 136.) However, there is still a Rue de Candilejo in

+Seville, and in that street a stone bust said to be a portrait

+of Don Pedro. Unfortunately the bust is a modern affair.

+The old one was sadly defaced in the seventeenth century,

+and the municipal government caused it to be replaced by

+the one we see to-day.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_22" href="#FNanchor_22" class="label">[22]</a> <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">Rom</i>, husband; <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">romi</i>, wife.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_23" href="#FNanchor_23" class="label">[23]</a> <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">Calo</i>; feminine <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">calli</i>; plural <i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">cales</i>. Literally <em>black</em>&mdash;the

+name by which the gypsies call themselves in their own

+tongue.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_24" href="#FNanchor_24" class="label">[24]</a> The Spanish dragoons wear a yellow uniform.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_25" href="#FNanchor_25" class="label">[25]</a> A gypsy proverb.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_26" href="#FNanchor_26" class="label">[26]</a> Saint&mdash;the Blessed Virgin.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_27" href="#FNanchor_27" class="label">[27]</a> The gallows, supposed to be the widow of the last man

+hanged.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_28" href="#FNanchor_28" class="label">[28]</a> The red (land).</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_29" href="#FNanchor_29" class="label">[29]</a> <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">Flamenço de Roma</i>&mdash;a slang term to designate a gypsy.

+<i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">Roma</i> does not mean here the Eternal City, but the race of

+<i lang="rom" xml:lang="rom">Romi</i>, or married folk, a name which the gypsies assume.

+The first that were seen in Spain probably came from the

+Low Countries, whence the designation <em>Flemings</em>.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_30" href="#FNanchor_30" class="label">[30]</a> A bulbous root of which a very pleasant drink is made.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_31" href="#FNanchor_31" class="label">[31]</a> The ordinary rations of the Spanish soldier.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_32" href="#FNanchor_32" class="label">[32]</a> That is, with address, and without violence.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_33" href="#FNanchor_33" class="label">[33]</a> A sort of unattached body of troops.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_34" href="#FNanchor_34" class="label">[34]</a> The idiots, to take me for a swell!</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_35" href="#FNanchor_35" class="label">[35]</a> A name which the common people in Spain give to the

+English, on account of the colour of their uniform.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_36" href="#FNanchor_36" class="label">[36]</a> That is to say, to the galleys, or to all the devils.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_37" href="#FNanchor_37" class="label">[37]</a> My lover, or rather, my fancy.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_38" href="#FNanchor_38" class="label">[38]</a> <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">La divisa</i>, a bow of ribbon, the colour of which indicates

+the place from which the bull comes. This bow is

+fastened in the bull’s hide by a hook, and it is the very climax

+of gallantry to tear it from the living animal and present

+it to a woman.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_39" href="#FNanchor_39" class="label">[39]</a> Maria Padilla has been accused of having bewitched

+King Don Pedro. A popular tradition says that she presented

+to Queen Blanche de Bourbon a golden girdle, which

+seemed to the fascinated eyes of the king a living serpent.

+Hence the repugnance which he always displayed for the

+unfortunate princess.</p>

+

+</div>

+</div>

+

+

+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

+

+

+<div class="chapter">

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span></p>

+<h2 class="nobreak" id="The_Taking_of_the_Redoubt">The Taking of the Redoubt</h2>

+</div>

+

+

+<p>A military friend of mine, who died of

+a fever in Greece a few years ago, told

+me one day about the first action in which

+he took part. His story made such an impression

+on me that I wrote it down from

+memory as soon as I had time. Here it is:</p>

+

+<p>I joined the regiment on the fourth of

+September, in the evening. I found the colonel

+in camp. He received me rather roughly;

+but when he had read General B&mdash;&mdash;’s recommendation,

+his manner changed and he said

+a few courteous words to me.</p>

+

+<p>I was presented by him to my captain,

+who had just returned from a reconnaissance.

+This captain, with whom I hardly had time

+to become acquainted, was a tall, dark man,

+with a harsh, repellent face. He had been

+a private and had won his epaulets and his

+cross on the battle-field. His voice, which<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span>

+was hoarse and weak, contrasted strangely

+with his almost gigantic stature. I was told

+that he owed that peculiar voice to a bullet

+which had passed through his lungs at the

+battle of Jena.</p>

+

+<p>When he learned that I was fresh from the

+school at Fontainebleau, he made a wry face

+and said:</p>

+

+<p>“My lieutenant died yesterday.”</p>

+

+<p>I understood that he meant to imply: “You

+ought to take his place, and you are not

+capable of it.”</p>

+

+<p>A sharp retort came to my lips, but I restrained

+myself.</p>

+

+<p>The moon rose behind the redoubt of

+Cheverino, about two gunshots from our

+bivouac. It was large and red, as it usually

+is when it rises. But on that evening it

+seemed to me of extraordinary size. For an

+instant the redoubt stood sharply out in black

+against the brilliant disk of the moon. It

+resembled the crater of a volcano at the instant

+of an eruption.</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span></p>

+

+<p>An old soldier beside whom I happened to

+be, remarked upon the colour of the moon.</p>

+

+<p>“It is very red,” said he; “that’s a sign

+that it will cost us dear to take that famous

+redoubt!”</p>

+

+<p>I have always been superstitious, and that

+prophecy, at that particular moment especially,

+affected me. I lay down, but I could

+not sleep. I rose and walked about for some

+time, watching the tremendously long line of

+camp-fires that covered the heights above

+the village of Cheverino.</p>

+

+<p>When I thought that the fresh, sharp night

+air had cooled my blood sufficiently, I returned

+to the fire; I wrapped myself carefully

+in my cloak and closed my eyes, hoping not

+to open them before dawn. But sleep refused

+to come. Insensibly my thoughts took

+a gloomy turn. I said to myself that I had

+not a friend among the hundred thousand

+men who covered that plain. If I were

+wounded, I should be taken to a hospital and

+treated roughly by ignorant surgeons. All that<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span>

+I had heard of surgical operations came to

+my mind. My heart beat violently, and I instinctively

+arranged my handkerchief, and the

+wallet that I had in my breast pocket, as a sort

+of cuirass. I was worn out with fatigue, I

+nodded every moment, and every moment

+some sinister thought returned with renewed

+force and roused me with a start.</p>

+

+<p>But weariness carried the day, and when

+they beat the reveille, I was sound asleep.

+We were drawn up in battle array, the roll

+was called, then we stacked arms, and everything

+indicated that we were to have a quiet

+day.</p>

+

+<p>About three o’clock an aide-de-camp appeared,

+bringing an order. We were ordered

+under arms again; our skirmishers spread

+out over the plain; we followed them slowly,

+and after about twenty minutes, we saw all

+the advanced posts of the Russians fall back

+and return inside the redoubt.</p>

+

+<p>A battery of artillery came into position

+at our right, another at our left, but both well<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span>

+in advance of us. They began a very hot fire

+at the enemy, who replied vigorously, and

+the redoubt of Cheverino soon disappeared

+beneath dense clouds of smoke.</p>

+

+<p>Our regiment was almost protected from

+the Russian fire by a rise in the ground.

+Their balls, which, indeed, were rarely aimed

+at us, for they preferred to fire at our gunners,

+passed over our heads, or, at the worst, spattered

+us with dirt and small stones.</p>

+

+<p>As soon as we received the order to advance,

+my captain looked at me with a close

+scrutiny which compelled me to run my hand

+over my budding moustache twice or thrice,

+as unconcernedly as I could. Indeed, I was

+not frightened, and the only fear I had was

+that he should believe that I was frightened.

+Those harmless cannon-balls helped to maintain

+me in my heroically calm frame of mind.

+My self-esteem told me that I was really in

+danger, as I was at last under the fire of a battery.

+I was overjoyed to be so entirely at my

+ease, and I thought of the pleasure I should<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span>

+take in telling of the capture of the redoubt

+of Cheverino in Madame de B&mdash;&mdash;’s salon on

+Rue de Provence.</p>

+

+<p>The colonel passed our company; he spoke

+to me:</p>

+

+<p>“Well, you are going to see some sharp

+work for your début.”</p>

+

+<p>I smiled with an altogether martial air as I

+brushed my coat sleeve, on which a shot that

+struck the ground thirty yards away had

+spattered a little dust.</p>

+

+<p>It seems that the Russians observed the

+ill success of their cannon-balls; for they replaced

+them with shells, which could more

+easily be made to reach us in the hollow

+where we were posted. A large piece of one

+took off my shako and killed a man near me.</p>

+

+<p>“I congratulate you,” said my captain, as I

+picked up my shako; “you’re safe now for

+to-day.”</p>

+

+<p>I was acquainted with the military superstition

+which believes that the axiom, <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Non bis in

+idem</i>, has the same application on a field of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span>

+battle as in a court of justice. I proudly replaced

+my shako on my head.</p>

+

+<p>“That is making a fellow salute rather unceremoniously,”

+I said as gaily as I could.

+That wretched joke was considered first-rate,

+in view of the circumstances.</p>

+

+<p>“I congratulate you,” continued the captain;

+“you will get nothing worse, and you

+will command a company this evening; for I

+feel that the oven is being heated for me.

+Every time that I have been wounded the

+officer nearest me has been hit by a spent

+ball; and,” he added in a low tone and

+almost as if he were ashamed, “their names

+always began with a P.”</p>

+

+<p>I feigned incredulity; many men would

+have done the same; many men too would

+have been, as I was, profoundly impressed by

+those prophetic words. Conscript as I was,

+I realised that I could not confide my sensations

+to any one, and that I must always

+appear cool and fearless.</p>

+

+<p>After about half an hour the Russian fire<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span>

+sensibly diminished; thereupon we left our

+sheltered position to march upon the redoubt.</p>

+

+<p>Our regiment consisted of three battalions.

+The second was ordered to turn the redoubt

+on the side of the entrance; the other two

+were to make the assault. I was in the third

+battalion.</p>

+

+<p>As we came out from behind the species of

+ridge which had protected us, we were received

+by several volleys of musketry, which

+did little damage in our ranks. The whistling

+of the bullets surprised me; I kept turning my

+head, and thus induced divers jests on the

+part of my comrades, who were more familiar

+with that sound.</p>

+

+<p>“Take it all in all,” I said to myself, “a

+battle isn’t such a terrible thing.”</p>

+

+<p>We advanced at the double-quick, preceded

+by skirmishers; suddenly the Russians

+gave three hurrahs, three distinct hurrahs,

+then remained silent and ceased firing.</p>

+

+<p>“I don’t like this silence,” said my captain;

+“it bodes us no good.”</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span></p>

+

+<p>I considered that our men were a little too

+noisy, and I could not forbear making a

+mental comparison between their tumultuous

+shouting and the enemy’s impressive silence.</p>

+

+<p>We speedily reached the foot of the redoubt;

+the palisades had been shattered and

+the earth torn up by our balls. The soldiers

+rushed at these newly made ruins with shouts

+of “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Vive l’Empereur!</i>” louder than one

+would have expected to hear from men who

+had already shouted so much.</p>

+

+<p>I raised my eyes, and I shall never forget

+the spectacle that I saw. The greater part of

+the smoke had risen, and hung like a canopy

+about twenty feet above the redoubt. Through

+a bluish haze one could see the Russian grenadiers

+behind their half-destroyed parapet, with

+arms raised, motionless as statues. It seems

+to me that I can see now each soldier, with

+his left eye fastened upon us, the right hidden

+by the levelled musket. In an embrasure, a

+few yards away, a man stood beside a cannon,

+holding a fusee.</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span></p>

+

+<p>I shuddered, and I thought that my last

+hour had come.</p>

+

+<p>“The dance is going to begin,” cried my

+captain. “Bonsoir!”</p>

+

+<p>Those were the last words I heard him utter.</p>

+

+<p>The drums rolled inside the redoubt. I saw

+all the muskets drop. I closed my eyes, and

+I heard a most appalling crash, followed by

+shrieks and groans. I opened my eyes, surprised

+to find myself still among the living.

+The redoubt was filled with smoke once

+more. I was surrounded by dead and

+wounded. My captain lay at my feet; his

+head had been shattered by a cannon-ball,

+and I was covered with his brains and his

+blood. Of all my company only six men and

+myself were left on our feet.</p>

+

+<p>This carnage was succeeded by a moment

+of stupefaction. The colonel, placing his hat

+on the point of his sword, was the first to

+scale the parapet, shouting: “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Vive l’Empereur!</i>”

+He was followed instantly by all

+the survivors. I have a very dim remembrance<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span>

+of what followed. We entered the

+redoubt; how, I have no idea. We fought

+hand to hand, amid smoke so dense that we

+could not see one another. I believe that I

+struck, for my sabre was all bloody. At last

+I heard shouts of “Victory!” and as the smoke

+grew less dense, I saw blood and corpses completely

+covering the surface of the redoubt.

+The guns especially were buried beneath piles

+of bodies. About two hundred men, in the

+French uniform, were standing about in

+groups, with no pretence of order, some

+loading their muskets, others wiping their

+bayonets. Eleven hundred Russian prisoners

+were with them.</p>

+

+<p>The colonel, covered with blood, was lying

+on a shattered caisson near the ravine. A

+number of soldiers were bustling about him.

+I approached.</p>

+

+<p>“Where is the senior captain?” he asked a

+sergeant.</p>

+

+<p>The sergeant shrugged his shoulders most

+expressively.</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span></p>

+

+<p>“And the senior lieutenant?”</p>

+

+<p>“Monsieur here, who arrived last night,”

+said the sergeant, in a perfectly matter-of-fact

+tone.</p>

+

+<p>The colonel smiled bitterly.</p>

+

+<p>“Well, monsieur,” he said, “you command

+in chief; order the entrance to the redoubt to

+be strengthened with these waggons, for the

+enemy is in force; but General C&mdash;&mdash; will see

+that you are supported.”</p>

+

+<p>“Colonel,” I said, “are you severely

+wounded?”</p>

+

+<p>“Finished, my boy, but the redoubt is

+taken!”</p>

+

+<div class="blockquot">

+

+<p>1829.</p>

+</div>

+

+

+

+

+

+

+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

+

+<div class="chapter">

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span></p>

+<h2 class="nobreak" id="Mateo_Falcone">Mateo Falcone</h2>

+</div>

+

+

+<p>As you leave Porto Vecchio and journey

+north-west, towards the interior of the

+island, you find that the ground rises rather

+rapidly; and after a three hours’ jaunt along

+winding paths, obstructed by huge boulders,

+and sometimes interrupted by ravines, you

+find yourself on the edge of a very extensive

+<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">maquis</i>. The <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">maquis</i> is the home of the Corsican

+shepherd and of all those who are at

+odds with the law. You must know that the

+Corsican farmer, to save himself the trouble

+of fertilising his land, sets fire to a certain

+amount of woodland. If the fire spreads farther

+than is necessary, so much the worse;

+come what come may, he is quite sure of obtaining

+a good harvest by planting the ground

+fertilised by the ashes of the trees it formerly

+bore. When the ripe grain is gathered,&mdash;for<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span>

+they leave the straw, which it would require

+some labour to collect,&mdash;the roots which are

+left unburned in the ground put forth in the

+following spring very vigorous shoots, which

+reach a height of seven or eight feet in a few

+years. It is this species of dense underbrush

+which is called <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">maquis</i>. It consists of trees

+and bushes of different kinds, mingled together

+as God pleases. Only with hatchet in

+hand can man open a path through it; and

+there are some <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">maquis</i> so dense and thick that

+even the wild sheep cannot break through.</p>

+

+<p>If you have killed a man, betake yourself to

+the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">maquis</i> of Porto Vecchio, and you can

+live there in safety with a good rifle, powder,

+and shot. Do not forget a brown cloak provided

+with a hood, to serve as a covering and

+as a mattress. The shepherds will give you

+milk, cheese, and chestnuts, and you will

+have no reason to fear the law, or the dead

+man’s kindred, except when you are forced

+to go down into the town to replenish your

+stock of ammunition.</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span></p>

+

+<p>Mateo Falcone, when I was in Corsica, in

+18&mdash;, had his home about half a league from

+this <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">maquis</i>. He was a rather wealthy man

+for that country; living nobly&mdash;that is to say,

+without working&mdash;on the produce of his

+flocks, which were driven to pasture here

+and there upon the mountains by shepherds,

+a sort of nomadic people. When I saw him,

+two years subsequent to the episode I am

+about to relate, he seemed to me to be not

+more than fifty years old at most. Imagine a

+small, but sturdily built man, with curly hair

+as black as jet, aquiline nose, thin lips, large

+bright eyes, and a complexion of the hue of

+a boot-flap. His skill in marksmanship was

+considered extraordinary, even in his country,

+where there are so many good shots. For

+example, Mateo would never fire at a wild

+sheep with buckshot; but he would bring

+one down at a hundred and twenty yards

+with a bullet in the head or the shoulder, as he

+pleased. He used his weapons as readily at

+night as by day, and I was told of this<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span>

+instance of his skill, which will seem incredible

+perhaps to those who have not travelled in

+Corsica. A candle was placed at a distance

+of twenty-four yards, behind a piece of transparent

+paper as large as a plate. He took

+aim, then the candle was extinguished, and,

+a minute later, in absolute darkness, he fired

+and hit the paper three times out of four.</p>

+

+<p>With such transcendent talent, Mateo Falcone

+had won a great reputation. He was

+said to be as true a friend as he was a dangerous

+enemy; always ready to oblige, and

+generous to the poor, he lived at peace with

+all the world in the district of Porto Vecchio.

+But the story was told of him, that at Corte,

+where he married his wife, he had disposed

+very summarily of a rival who was reputed to

+be as redoubtable in war as in love; at all

+events, Mateo was given credit for a certain

+rifle shot which surprised the aforesaid rival

+as he was shaving in front of a little mirror

+that hung at his window. When the affair

+was forgotten, Mateo married. His wife,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span>

+Giuseppa, gave him at first three daughters

+(which caused him to fret and fume), and

+finally a son, whom he named Fortunato; he

+was the hope of the family, the heir to the

+name. The daughters were well married;

+their father could at need rely upon the daggers

+and carbines of his sons-in-law. The

+son was only ten years old, but he already

+gave rich promise for the future.</p>

+

+<p>On a certain day in autumn, Mateo left the

+house early, with his wife, to inspect one

+of his flocks at a clearing in the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">maquis</i>. Fortunato

+would have liked to go with them, but

+the clearing was too far; moreover, some one

+must stay behind to watch the house; so the

+father refused; we shall see whether he had

+reason to repent.</p>

+

+<p>He had been absent several hours, and little

+Fortunato was lying placidly in the sun, watching

+the blue mountains, and thinking that, on

+the following Sunday, he was going to the

+town to dine with his uncle the <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">caporal</i>,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span><a id="FNanchor_40" href="#Footnote_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a>

+when he was suddenly interrupted in his

+meditations by the report of a firearm. He

+rose and turned towards the plain from which

+the sound came. Other reports followed, at

+unequal intervals, coming constantly nearer.

+At last, on a path leading from the plain to

+Mateo’s house, appeared a man wearing a

+pointed cap such as the mountaineers wear,

+with a long beard, clad in rags, and hardly

+able to drag himself along, using his rifle as

+a cane. He had received a bullet in the

+thigh.</p>

+

+<p>That man was a bandit,<a id="FNanchor_41" href="#Footnote_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a> who, having

+started under cover of the darkness to go to

+the town for powder, had fallen into an ambush<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span>

+of Corsican voltigeurs.<a id="FNanchor_42" href="#Footnote_42" class="fnanchor">[42]</a> After a stout

+defence he had succeeding in beating a retreat,

+hotly pursued, and firing from one rock

+after another. But he was only a little in advance

+of the soldiers, and his wound made it

+impossible to reach the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">maquis</i> before he was

+overtaken.</p>

+

+<p>He went up to Fortunato and said:</p>

+

+<p>“You are Mateo Falcone’s son?”</p>

+

+<p>“Yes.”</p>

+

+<p>“I am Gianetto Sanpiero. I am pursued

+by the yellow collars.<a id="FNanchor_43" href="#Footnote_43" class="fnanchor">[43]</a> Hide me, for I can’t go

+any farther.”</p>

+

+<p>“What will my father say if I hide you

+without his leave?”</p>

+

+<p>“He will say that you did well.”</p>

+

+<p>“Who knows?”</p>

+

+<p>“Hide me quick; they’re coming.”</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span></p>

+

+<p>“Wait till my father comes home.”</p>

+

+<p>“Wait? damnation! They will be here in

+five minutes. Come, hide me, or I’ll kill

+you.”</p>

+

+<p>Fortunato replied with the utmost coolness:</p>

+

+<p>“Your gun’s empty, and there ain’t any

+cartridges left in your <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">carchera</i>.”<a id="FNanchor_44" href="#Footnote_44" class="fnanchor">[44]</a></p>

+

+<p>“I have my stiletto.”</p>

+

+<p>“But can you run as fast I can?”</p>

+

+<p>He gave a leap and placed himself out of

+danger.</p>

+

+<p>“You are not Mateo Falcone’s son! Will

+you let me be arrested in front of your

+house?”</p>

+

+<p>The child seemed to be moved.</p>

+

+<p>“What will you give me if I hide you?” he

+said, drawing nearer.</p>

+

+<p>The bandit felt in a leather pocket that hung

+from his belt and took out a five-franc piece,

+which he had kept in reserve, no doubt, to

+buy powder. Fortunato smiled at sight of

+the silver; he seized it and said to Gianetto:</p>

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span></p>

+<p>“Don’t be afraid.”</p>

+

+<p>He instantly dug a great hole in a haystack

+that stood near the house. Gianetto crept into

+it, and the child covered him so as to let him

+have a little air to breathe, but so that it was

+impossible to suspect that the hay concealed a

+man. He conceived also an ingeniously crafty

+idea, worthy of a savage. He took a cat and

+her kittens and placed them on the haystack,

+to make it appear that it had not been disturbed

+recently. Then, noticing marks of

+blood on the path near the house, he carefully

+covered them with dirt, and, when that was

+done, lay down again in the sun with the

+most perfect tranquillity.</p>

+

+<p>A few minutes later, six men in brown

+uniform with yellow facings commanded by

+an adjutant halted in front of Mateo’s door.

+This adjutant was distantly related to the

+Falcones. (It is well known that in Corsica

+degrees of kinship are followed out much

+farther than elsewhere.) His name was Tiodoro

+Gamba; he was an active officer, greatly<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span>

+feared by the bandits, several of whom he had

+already run to earth.</p>

+

+<p>“Good-day, my young cousin,” he said to

+Fortunato, walking to where he lay; “how

+you’ve grown! Did you see a man pass by

+just now?”</p>

+

+<p>“Oh! I ain’t as tall as you yet, cousin,”

+replied the child, with a stupid expression.</p>

+

+<p>“That will come. But tell me, didn’t you

+see a man pass?”</p>

+

+<p>“Didn’t I see a man pass?”</p>

+

+<p>“Yes, a man with a black velvet pointed

+cap and a red and yellow embroidered

+jacket?”</p>

+

+<p>“A man in a pointed cap and a red and yellow

+embroidered jacket?”</p>

+

+<p>“Yes; answer at once, and don’t repeat

+my questions.”</p>

+

+<p>“Monsieur le curé passed our door this

+morning, on his horse Piero. He asked me

+how papa was and I told him&mdash;&mdash;”</p>

+

+<p>“Ah! you little scamp, you are playing

+sly! Tell me quick which way Gianetto<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span>

+went; for he’s the man we’re looking for,

+and I am certain he took this path.”</p>

+

+<p>“Who knows?”</p>

+

+<p>“Who knows? I know that you saw him.”</p>

+

+<p>“Does a fellow see people pass when he’s

+asleep?”</p>

+

+<p>“You weren’t asleep, good-for-nothing;

+the shots woke you.”</p>

+

+<p>“Do you think, cousin, that your guns

+make such a great noise? My father’s carbine

+makes a lot more.”</p>

+

+<p>“May the devil take you, you infernal

+rascal! I am perfectly sure you saw Gianetto.

+Perhaps you have hidden him even. Come,

+boys; go into the house, and see if our man

+isn’t there. He was only going on one foot,

+and he knows too much, the villain, to try to

+get to the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">maquis</i> at that gait. Besides, the

+marks of blood stopped here.”</p>

+

+<p>“What will papa say?” queried Fortunato,

+with a mocking laugh. “What will he say

+when he knows that you went into his house

+when he was away?”</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span></p>

+

+<p>“You good-for-nothing!” said Adjutant

+Gamba, taking him by the ear, “do you know

+that it rests with me to make you change your

+tune? Perhaps, if I give you twenty blows or

+so with the flat of my sabre, you will conclude

+to speak.”</p>

+

+<p>But Fortunato continued to laugh sneeringly.</p>

+

+<p>“My father is Mateo Falcone!” he said

+with emphasis.</p>

+

+<p>“Do you know, you little scamp, that I can

+take you to Corte or to Bastia? I’ll make you

+sleep in a dungeon, on straw, with irons on

+your feet, and I’ll have you guillotined, if you

+don’t tell me where Gianetto Sanpiero is.”</p>

+

+<p>The child laughed heartily at this absurd

+threat.</p>

+

+<p>“My father’s Mateo Falcone,” he repeated.</p>

+

+<p>“Adjutant,” said one of the voltigeurs in an

+undertone, “let us not get into a row with

+Mateo.”</p>

+

+<p>Gamba was evidently perplexed. He talked

+in a low tone with his soldiers, who had already<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span>

+searched the whole house. It was not

+a very long operation, for a Corsican’s cabin

+consists of a single square room. The furniture

+consists of a table, benches, chests, and

+household and hunting implements. Meanwhile

+little Fortunato patted his cat, and

+seemed to derive a wicked enjoyment from

+the embarrassment of the voltigeurs and his

+cousin.</p>

+

+<p>A soldier approached the haystack. He

+saw the cat and thrust his bayonet carelessly

+into the hay, shrugging his shoulders, as if he

+realised that it was an absurd precaution.

+Nothing stirred; and the child’s face did not

+betray the slightest excitement.</p>

+

+<p>The adjutant and his squad were at their

+wit’s end; they were already glancing meaningly

+toward the plain, as if proposing to return

+whence they came, when their leader,

+convinced that threats would have no effect

+on Falcone’s son, determined to make one

+last effort, and to try the power of caresses

+and gifts.</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span></p>

+

+<p>“You seem to be a very wide-awake

+youngster, cousin,” said he. “You will go

+far. But you are playing a low game with

+me; and if I wasn’t afraid of distressing my

+cousin Mateo, deuce take me if I wouldn’t

+carry you off with me!”</p>

+

+<p>“Bah!”</p>

+

+<p>“But, when my cousin returns, I’ll tell him

+the story, and he’ll give you the lash till the

+blood comes, to punish you for lying.”</p>

+

+<p>“And then?”</p>

+

+<p>“You will see. But, I say, be a good boy,

+and I’ll give you something.”</p>

+

+<p>“And I’ll give you a piece of advice,

+cousin: if you stay here any longer, Gianetto

+will be in the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">maquis</i>, and then it will take

+more than one fox like you to catch him.”</p>

+

+<p>The adjutant took a silver watch from his

+pocket, worth perhaps thirty francs; and observing

+that little Fortunato’s eyes sparkled as

+he looked at it, he said, holding it up at the

+end of its steel chain:</p>

+

+<p>“Rascal! you’d like to have a watch like<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span>

+this hanging round your neck, and you’d stroll

+through the streets of Porto Vecchio, as proud

+as a peacock; and people would ask you:

+‘What time is it?’ and you’d say: ‘Look at

+my watch!’”</p>

+

+<p>“When I’m big, my uncle the <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">caporal</i>

+will give me a watch.”</p>

+

+<p>“Yes; but your uncle’s son has got one

+now&mdash;not such a fine one as this, to be sure.

+Still, he’s younger than you.”</p>

+

+<p>The child sighed.</p>

+

+<p>“Well! would you like this watch, my

+little cousin?”</p>

+

+<p>Fortunato, with his eye fixed on the watch,

+resembled a cat to which a whole chicken is

+presented. As the beast feels sure that he is

+being made a fool of, he dares not touch it

+with his claws, and he turns his eyes away

+from time to time to avoid the risk of yielding

+to temptation; but he licks his chops

+every instant, and seems to say to his master:

+“What a cruel joke this is!”</p>

+

+<p>But Adjutant Gamba seemed to be in earnest<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span>

+in his offer of the watch. Fortunato did not put

+out his hand; but he said with a bitter smile:</p>

+

+<p>“Why do you make sport of me?”</p>

+

+<p>“By God! I am not joking. Just tell me

+where Gianetto is, and this watch is yours.”</p>

+

+<p>Fortunato smiled an incredulous smile; and,

+fastening his black eyes on the adjutant’s, he

+strove to read therein how far he should put

+faith in his words.</p>

+

+<p>“May I lose my epaulets,” cried the adjutant,

+“if I don’t give you the watch on that

+condition! My comrades are witnesses; and

+I can’t go back on my word.”</p>

+

+<p>As he spoke, he held the watch nearer and

+nearer, so that it almost touched the child’s

+pale cheek. His face betrayed the battle

+that was taking place in his mind between

+covetousness and respect for the duties of

+hospitality. His bare breast rose and fell violently,

+and he seemed on the point of suffocation.

+Meanwhile the watch swung to and fro,

+turned, and sometimes touched the end of his

+nose. At last, by slow degrees, his right hand<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span>

+rose toward the watch; the ends of his

+fingers touched it; and he felt the full weight

+of it on his hand, but still the adjutant did not

+let go the end of the chain. The face was

+sky-blue, the case newly polished&mdash;in the

+sun it shone like fire. The temptation was

+too great.</p>

+

+<p>Fortunato raised his left hand, too, and

+pointed with his thumb, over his left shoulder,

+to the haystack against which he was

+leaning. The adjutant understood him instantly.

+He let go the end of the chain;

+Fortunato realised that he was the sole possessor

+of the watch. He sprang up with the

+agility of a stag, and ran some yards away

+from the haystack, which the voltigeurs began

+at once to demolish.</p>

+

+<p>They soon saw the hay begin to move; and

+a man covered with blood came forth, dagger

+in hand; but when he tried to raise himself,

+his stiffened wound prevented him from standing

+erect. He fell. The adjutant threw himself

+upon him and tore his stiletto from his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span>

+hand. In a trice he was securely bound, despite

+his resistance.</p>

+

+<p>Gianetto, lying on the ground and corded

+like a bundle of sticks, turned his head

+toward Fortunato, who had drawn near.</p>

+

+<p>“Son of&mdash;&mdash;!” he said, with more scorn

+than anger.</p>

+

+<p>The child tossed him the piece of silver

+which he had received from him, feeling that

+he no longer deserved it; but the outlaw

+seemed to pay no heed to that movement.

+He said to the adjutant, as coolly as possible:</p>

+

+<p>“I can’t walk, my dear Gamba; you will

+have to carry me to the town.”</p>

+

+<p>“You ran faster than a kid just now,” retorted

+the cruel victor; “but never fear; I am

+so pleased to have caught you, that I would

+carry you on my back a whole league without

+getting tired. However, my boy, we’ll

+make a litter for you with some branches and

+your cloak; and we shall find horses at Crespoli’s

+farm.”</p>

+

+<p>“Good,” said the prisoner; “just put a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span>

+little straw on your litter, too, so that I can be

+more comfortable.”</p>

+

+<p>While the voltigeurs busied themselves,

+some in making a sort of litter with chestnut

+branches, others in dressing Gianetto’s

+wound, Mateo Falcone and his wife suddenly

+appeared at a bend in the path leading to the

+<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">maquis</i>. The woman was stooping painfully

+beneath the weight of an enormous bag of

+chestnuts, while her husband sauntered along,

+carrying nothing save one rifle in his hand

+and another slung over his shoulder; for it is

+unworthy of a man to carry any other burden

+than his weapons.</p>

+

+<p>At sight of the soldiers, Mateo’s first

+thought was that they had come to arrest

+him. But why that thought? Had Mateo

+any difficulties to adjust with the authorities?

+No. He enjoyed an excellent reputation. He

+was, as they say, a person of good fame; but

+he was a Corsican and a mountaineer; and

+there are few Corsican mountaineers who, by

+carefully searching their memory, cannot find<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span>

+some trifling peccadillo&mdash;such as a rifle shot,

+a dagger thrust, or other bagatelle. Mateo’s

+conscience was clearer than most, for he had

+not aimed his rifle at a man for more than ten

+years; but he was prudent none the less, and

+he placed himself in a position to make a

+stout defence, if need be.</p>

+

+<p>“Wife,” he said to Giuseppa, “put down

+your bag and be ready.”</p>

+

+<p>She instantly obeyed. He gave her the

+gun that he carried slung over his shoulder,

+which might be in his way. He cocked the

+one he had in his hand, and walked slowly

+toward his house, skirting the trees that lined

+the path, and ready, at the slightest hostile

+demonstration, to jump behind the largest

+trunk, where he could fire without exposing

+himself. His wife followed at his heels, holding

+his spare gun and his cartridge-box. A

+good housewife’s work, in case of a fight, is

+to load her husband’s weapons.</p>

+

+<p>The adjutant, on the other hand, was

+greatly disturbed to see Mateo advance thus<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span>

+with measured steps, with rifle raised and

+finger on trigger.</p>

+

+<p>“If by any chance,” he thought, “Mateo

+proves to be related to Gianetto, or if he is his

+friend and should take it into his head to

+defend him, the charges of his two rifles

+would reach two of us, as sure as a letter

+reaches its address; and suppose he should

+draw a bead on me, notwithstanding our

+relationship!”</p>

+

+<p>In his perplexity he adopted an extremely

+courageous course&mdash;he went forward alone

+toward Mateo, to tell him what had happened,

+accosting him as an old acquaintance;

+but the short distance that separated them

+seemed to him terribly long.</p>

+

+<p>“Hallo! my old comrade,” he cried; “how

+goes it, old fellow? It’s me, Gamba, your

+cousin.”</p>

+

+<p>Mateo, without a word in reply, halted,

+and as the other spoke he raised the barrel

+of his gun slowly, so that it was pointed at

+the sky when the adjutant met him.</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span></p>

+

+<p>“Good-day, brother,” said the adjutant,

+“it’s a long while since I saw you.”</p>

+

+<p>“Good-day, brother.”</p>

+

+<p>“I looked in to say good-day to you and

+Cousin Pepa as I passed. We have had a

+long jaunt to-day; but we ought not to complain

+of fatigue, as we have made a famous capture.

+We have caught Gianetto Sanpiero.”</p>

+

+<p>“God be praised!” cried Giuseppa. “He

+stole a milch goat from us last week.”</p>

+

+<p>Those words made Gamba’s heart glad.</p>

+

+<p>“Poor devil!” said Mateo, “he was hungry.”</p>

+

+<p>“The rascal defended himself like a lion,”

+continued the adjutant, slightly mortified;

+“he killed one of my men, and, not content

+with that, he broke Corporal Chardon’s arm;

+but there’s no great harm done; he was only

+a Frenchman. After that, he hid himself so

+completely that the devil himself couldn’t

+have found him. If it hadn’t been for my

+little cousin, Fortunato, I could never have

+unearthed him.”</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span></p>

+

+<p>“Fortunato!” cried Mateo.</p>

+

+<p>“Fortunato!” echoed Giuseppa.</p>

+

+<p>“Yes, Gianetto was hidden under the haystack

+yonder; but my little cousin showed

+me the trick. And I’ll tell his uncle the

+<i lang="es" xml:lang="es">caporal</i>, so that he’ll send him a handsome

+present for his trouble. And his name and

+yours will be in the report I shall send the

+advocate-general.”</p>

+

+<p>“Malediction!” muttered Mateo.</p>

+

+<p>They had joined the squad. Gianetto was

+already lying on the litter, ready to start.

+When he saw Mateo with Gamba, he smiled

+a strange smile; then, turning towards the

+door of the house, he spat on the threshold,

+saying:</p>

+

+<p>“House of a traitor!”</p>

+

+<p>Only a man who had made up his mind to

+die would have dared to utter the word

+traitor as applying to Falcone. A quick

+thrust of the stiletto, which would not have

+needed to be repeated, would have paid for

+the insult instantly. But Mateo made no<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span>

+other movement than to put his hand to his

+forehead, like a man utterly crushed.</p>

+

+<p>Fortunato had gone into the house when he

+saw his father coming. He soon reappeared

+with a mug of milk, which he handed to

+Gianetto with downcast eyes.</p>

+

+<p>“Away from me!” shouted the outlaw in

+a voice of thunder. Then, turning to one of

+the voltigeurs, “Comrade,” he said, “give

+me a drink.”</p>

+

+<p>The soldier placed his gourd in his hands,

+and the outlaw drank the water given him by

+a man with whom he had recently exchanged

+rifle shots. Then he asked that his hands

+might be bound so that they would be folded

+on his breast, instead of behind his back.</p>

+

+<p>“I like to lie comfortably,” he said.</p>

+

+<p>They readily gratified him; then the adjutant

+gave the signal for departure, bade adieu to

+Mateo, who made no reply, and marched

+down at a rapid pace towards the plain.</p>

+

+<p>Nearly ten minutes passed before Mateo

+opened his mouth. The child glanced uneasily,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span>

+now at his mother and now at his

+father, who, leaning upon his gun, gazed at

+him with an expression of intense wrath.</p>

+

+<p>“You begin well!” said Mateo at last, in a

+voice which, although calm, was terrifying to

+one who knew the man.</p>

+

+<p>“Father!” cried the child stepping forward,

+with tears in his eyes, as if to throw himself

+at his feet.</p>

+

+<p>But Mateo cried:</p>

+

+<p>“Away from me!”</p>

+

+<p>And the child stopped and stood still, sobbing,

+a few steps from his father.</p>

+

+<p>Giuseppa approached. She had spied the

+watch chain, one end of which protruded

+from Fortunato’s shirt.</p>

+

+<p>“Who gave you that watch?” she asked

+in a harsh tone.</p>

+

+<p>“My cousin the adjutant.”</p>

+

+<p>Falcone seized the watch, and hurled it

+against a stone, breaking it into a thousand

+pieces.</p>

+

+<p>“Woman,” he said, “is this child mine?”</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span></p>

+

+<p>Giuseppa’s brown cheeks turned a brick

+red.</p>

+

+<p>“What do you say, Mateo? Do you know

+who you’re talking to?”</p>

+

+<p>“Well, this child is the first of his race that

+ever did an act of treachery.”</p>

+

+<p>Fortunato’s sobs and hiccoughs redoubled in

+force, and Falcone still kept his lynx-eyes

+fastened on him. At last he struck the butt

+of his gun on the ground, then threw it over

+his shoulder again and started back toward

+the <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">maquis</i>, calling to Fortunato to follow him.

+The child obeyed.</p>

+

+<p>Giuseppa ran after Mateo and grasped his

+arm.</p>

+

+<p>“He is your son,” she said in a trembling

+voice, fixing her black eyes on her husband’s,

+as if to read what was taking place in his

+mind.</p>

+

+<p>“Let me alone,” replied Mateo, “I am his

+father.”</p>

+

+<p>Giuseppa embraced her son and entered her

+cabin, weeping. She fell on her knees before<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span>

+an image of the Virgin and prayed fervently.

+Meanwhile Falcone walked some two hundred

+yards along the path, and did not stop until

+they reached a narrow ravine into which

+he descended. He sounded the earth with

+the butt of his rifle, and found it soft and easy

+to dig. It seemed to him a suitable spot for

+his design.</p>

+

+<p>“Fortunato, go and stand by that big

+stone.”</p>

+

+<p>The child did what he ordered, then knelt.</p>

+

+<p>“Say your prayers.”</p>

+

+<p>“Father, father, don’t kill me!”</p>

+

+<p>“Say your prayers!” Mateo repeated, in a

+terrible voice.</p>

+

+<p>The child, stammering and sobbing, repeated

+the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Pater</i> and the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Credo</i>. The father, in a loud

+voice, said <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Amen!</i> at the end of each prayer.</p>

+

+<p>“Are those all the prayers you know?”</p>

+

+<p>“I know the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Ave Maria</i>, too, father, and

+the litany my aunt taught me.”</p>

+

+<p>“That’s very long, but no matter.”</p>

+

+<p>The child finished the litany in a feeble voice.</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span></p>

+

+<p>“Have you finished?”</p>

+

+<p>“Oh, father! mercy! forgive me! I won’t

+do it again! I will pray so hard to my uncle

+the <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">caporal</i> that he’ll forgive Gianetto!”</p>

+

+<p>He continued to speak; Mateo had cocked

+his gun, and he took aim at him, saying:</p>

+

+<p>“May God forgive you!”</p>

+

+<p>The child made a desperate effort to rise and

+grasp his father’s knees; but he had not time.

+Mateo fired, and Fortunato fell stark dead.</p>

+

+<p>Without glancing at the body, Mateo returned

+to his house to fetch a spade, in order

+to bury his son. He had taken only a few

+steps, when he met Giuseppa, who was

+running after them, terrified by the report.</p>

+

+<p>“What have you done?” she cried.</p>

+

+<p>“Justice.”</p>

+

+<p>“Where is he?”</p>

+

+<p>“In the ravine. I am going to bury him.

+He died the death of a Christian; I will have a

+mass sung for him. Send word to my son-in-law

+Tiodoro Bianchi to come and live with

+us.”</p>

+

+<div class="blockquot">

+

+<p>1829.</p>

+</div>

+

+

+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_40" href="#FNanchor_40" class="label">[40]</a> In olden times the <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">caporals</i> were the leaders chosen by the

+Corsican communes when they rebelled against the feudal

+lords. To-day the name is sometimes given to a man who,

+by reason of his property, his alliances, and his clientage,

+exerts a certain influence and acts as a sort of magistrate in

+a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">pieve</i> or a canton. The Corsicans, by an ancient custom,

+divide themselves into <em>gentlemen</em> (some of whom are <i lang="co" xml:lang="co">magnificoes</i>,

+others <i lang="co" xml:lang="co">signori</i>), <i lang="co" xml:lang="co">caporali</i>, <em>citizens</em>, <em>plebeians</em>, and

+<em>foreigners</em>.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_41" href="#FNanchor_41" class="label">[41]</a> The word is in this instance synonymous with outlaw.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_42" href="#FNanchor_42" class="label">[42]</a> A corps levied within a few years by the government

+and employed on police duty, concurrently with the gendarmerie.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_43" href="#FNanchor_43" class="label">[43]</a> The uniform of the voltigeurs consisted of a brown coat

+with a yellow collar.</p>

+

+</div>

+

+<div class="footnote">

+

+<p><a id="Footnote_44" href="#FNanchor_44" class="label">[44]</a> A leather girdle used as cartridge-box and as wallet.</p>

+

+</div>

+</div>

+

+

+<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" />

+

+<div class="chapter">

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span></p>

+<h2 class="nobreak" id="The_Venus_of_Ille">The Venus of Ille</h2>

+</div>

+

+

+<p class="blocktext" style="width:14em">Ἰλεὼς ἣν δ' ἐγὼ, ἔστω ὁ ἀνδρίας<br/>

+Καὶ ἤπιος, οὔτως ἀνδρεῖος ὢν.</p>

+

+

+<p class="right mr20">

+ΛΟΥΚΙΑΝΟΥ ΦΙΛΟΨΕΥΔΗΣ.<br />

+</p>

+

+

+<p>I was descending the last slope of Canigou,

+and, although the sun had already set, I

+could distinguish in the plain below the houses

+of the little town of Ille, for which I was

+bound.</p>

+

+<p>“You know,” I said to the Catalan who

+had been acting as my guide since the preceding

+day, “you know, doubtless, where Monsieur

+de Peyrehorade lives?”</p>

+

+<p>“Do I know!” he cried; “why, I know

+his house as well as I do my own; and if it

+wasn’t so dark, I’d show it to you. It’s

+the finest house in Ille. He has money, you

+know, has Monsieur de Peyrehorade; and his

+son is going to marry a girl that’s richer than

+himself.”</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span></p>

+

+<p>“Is the marriage to take place soon?” I

+asked.</p>

+

+<p>“Soon! It may be that the fiddles are

+already ordered for the wedding. To-night,

+perhaps, or to-morrow, or the day after, for

+all I know! It’s to be at Puygarrig; for it’s

+Mademoiselle de Puygarrig that the young

+gentleman is going to marry.”</p>

+

+<p>I had a letter of introduction to M. de Peyrehorade

+from my friend M. de P. He was, so

+my friend had told me, a very learned antiquarian,

+and good-natured and obliging to the

+last degree. He would take pleasure in showing

+me all the ruins within a radius of ten

+leagues. Now, I relied upon him to accompany

+me about the country near Ille, which I

+knew to be rich in monuments of ancient

+times and of the Middle Ages. This marriage,

+of which I now heard for the first time,

+might upset all my plans.</p>

+

+<p>“I shall be an interloper,” I said to

+myself.</p>

+

+<p>But I was expected; as my arrival had been<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span>

+announced by M. de P., I must needs present

+myself.</p>

+

+<p>“I’ll bet you, monsieur,” said my guide,

+as we reached the foot of the mountain, “I’ll

+bet you a cigar that I can guess what you are

+going to do at Monsieur de Peyrehorade’s.”</p>

+

+<p>“Why, that is not very hard to guess,” I

+replied, offering him a cigar. “At this time

+of day, when one has walked six leagues over

+Canigou, the most urgent business is supper.”</p>

+

+<p>“Yes, but to-morrow? Look you, I’ll bet

+that you have come to Ille to see the idol! I

+guessed that when I saw you drawing pictures

+of the saints at Serrabona.”</p>

+

+<p>“The idol! what idol?” The word had

+aroused my curiosity.</p>

+

+<p>“What! didn’t any one at Perpignan tell

+you how Monsieur de Peyrehorade had found

+an idol in the ground?”</p>

+

+<p>“You mean a terra-cotta, or clay statue,

+don’t you?”</p>

+

+<p>“No, indeed! I mean a copper one, and

+it’s big enough to make a lot of big sous. It<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span>

+weighs as much as a church bell. It was way

+down in the ground, at the foot of an olive

+tree, that we found it.”</p>

+

+<p>“So you were present at the discovery,

+were you?”</p>

+

+<p>“Yes, monsieur. Monsieur de Peyrehorade

+told us a fortnight ago, Jean Coll and me, to

+dig up an old olive tree that got frozen last

+year&mdash;for it was a very hard winter, you know.

+So, while we were at work, Jean Coll, who

+was going at it with all his might, dug his

+pick into the dirt, and I heard a <em>bimm</em>&mdash;just as

+if he’d struck a bell.&mdash;‘What’s that?’ says

+I. We kept on digging and digging, and first

+a black hand showed; it looked like a dead

+man’s hand sticking out of the ground. For

+my part, I was scared. I goes to monsieur,

+and I says to him: ‘Dead men under the olive

+tree, master. You’d better call the curé.’</p>

+

+<p>“‘What dead men?’ he says.</p>

+

+<p>“He went with me, and he’d no sooner

+seen the hand than he sings out: ‘An antique!

+an antique!’ You’d have thought he<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span>

+had found a treasure. And to work he went

+with the pick and with his hands, and did as

+much as both of us together, you might

+say.”</p>

+

+<p>“Well, what did you find?”</p>

+

+<p>“A tall black woman more than half

+naked, saving your presence, monsieur, of

+solid copper; and Monsieur de Peyrehorade

+told us that it was an idol of heathen times&mdash;of

+the time of Charlemagne!”</p>

+

+<p>“I see what it is: a bronze Blessed Virgin

+from some dismantled convent.”</p>

+

+<p>“A Blessed Virgin! oh, yes! I should have

+recognised it if it had been a Blessed Virgin.

+It’s an idol, I tell you; you can see that from

+its expression. It fastens its great white eyes

+on you; you’d think it was trying to stare

+you out of countenance. Why, you actually

+lower your eyes when you look at it.”</p>

+

+<p>“White eyes? They are incrusted on the

+bronze, no doubt. It may be some Roman

+statue.”</p>

+

+<p>“Roman! that’s it. Monsieur de Peyrehorade<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span>

+says she’s a Roman.&mdash;Ah! I see that

+you’re a scholar like him.”</p>

+

+<p>“Is it whole, well preserved?”</p>

+

+<p>“Oh! it’s all there, monsieur. It’s even

+handsomer and finished better than the plaster-of-Paris

+bust of Louis Philippe at the mayor’s

+office. But for all that, I can’t get over the

+idol’s face. It has a wicked look&mdash;and she is

+wicked, too.”</p>

+

+<p>“Wicked! what harm has she done you?”</p>

+

+<p>“None to me exactly; but I’ll tell you.

+We had got down on all fours to stand her

+up, and Monsieur de Peyrehorade, he was

+pulling on the rope, too, although he hasn’t

+any more strength than a chicken, the excellent

+man! With a good deal of trouble we

+got her on her feet. I was picking up a piece

+of stone to wedge her, when, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">patatras!</i> down

+she went again, all in a heap. ‘Stand from

+under!’ says I. But I was too late, for Jean

+Coll didn’t have time to pull out his leg.”</p>

+

+<p>“And he was hurt?”</p>

+

+<p>“His poor leg broken off short like a stick!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span>

+<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Pécaïre!</i> when I saw that, I was furious. I

+wanted to smash the idol with my pickaxe,

+but Monsieur de Peyrehorade held me back.

+He gave Jean Coll some money, but he’s

+been in bed all the same ever since it happened,

+a fortnight ago, and the doctor says

+he’ll never walk with that leg like the other.

+It’s a pity, for he was our best runner, and

+next to monsieur’s son, the best tennis player.

+I tell you, it made Monsieur Alphonse de

+Peyrehorade feel bad, for Coll always played

+with him. It was fine to see how they’d

+send the balls back at each other. Paf! paf!

+They never touched the ground.”</p>

+

+<p>Chatting thus we entered Ille, and I soon

+found myself in M. de Peyrehorade’s presence.

+He was a little old man, still hale and active,

+with powdered hair, a red nose, and a jovial,

+bantering air. Before opening M. de P.’s

+letter, he installed himself in front of a

+bountifully spread table, and introduced me

+to his wife and son as an illustrious archæologist,

+who was destined to rescue Roussillon<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span>

+from the oblivion in which the indifference

+of scholars had thus far left it.</p>

+

+<p>While eating with a hearty appetite&mdash;for

+nothing is more conducive thereto than the

+keen mountain air&mdash;I examined my hosts. I

+have already said a word or two of M. de

+Peyrehorade; I must add that he was vivacity

+personified. He talked, ate, rose from his

+chair, ran to his library, brought books to

+me, showed me prints, filled my glass; he

+was never at rest for two minutes in succession.

+His wife, who was a trifle too stout,

+like all the Catalan women after they have

+passed forty, impressed me as a typical provincial,

+who had no interests outside of her

+household. Although the supper was ample

+for at least six persons, she ran to the kitchen,

+ordered pigeons killed, all sorts of things fried,

+and opened Heaven knows how many jars

+of preserves. In an instant the table was

+laden with dishes and bottles, and I should

+certainly have died of indigestion if I had

+even tasted everything that was offered me.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span>

+And yet, with every new dish that I declined,

+there were renewed apologies. She

+was afraid that I would find myself very badly

+off at Ille. One had so few resources in

+the provinces, and Parisians were so hard to

+please!</p>

+

+<p>Amid all the goings and comings of his

+parents, M. Alphonse de Peyrehorade sat

+as motionless as the god Terminus. He was

+a tall young man of twenty-six, with a handsome

+and regular face, which however lacked

+expression. His figure and his athletic proportions

+fully justified the reputation of an

+indefatigable tennis player which he enjoyed

+throughout the province. On this evening

+he was dressed in the height of fashion,

+exactly in accordance with the engraving in

+the last number of the <cite>Journal des Modes</cite>.

+But he seemed ill at ease in his clothes; he

+was as stiff as a picket in his velvet stock,

+and moved his whole body when he turned.

+His rough, sunburned hands and short nails

+formed a striking contrast to his costume.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span>

+They were the hands of a ploughman emerging

+from the sleeves of a dandy. Furthermore,

+although he scrutinised me with interest

+from head to foot, I being a Parisian, he spoke

+to me but once during the evening, and that was

+to ask me where I bought my watch chain.</p>

+

+<p>“Look you, my dear guest,” said M. de

+Peyrehorade, as the supper drew to a close,

+“you belong to me, you are in my house;

+I shall not let you go until you have seen

+everything of interest that we have in our

+mountains. You must learn to know our

+Roussillon, and you must do her justice. You

+have no suspicion of all that we are going

+to show you: Phœnician, Celtic, Roman,

+Arabian, Byzantine monuments&mdash;you shall

+see them all, from the cedar to the hyssop.

+I will take you everywhere, and I will not

+let you off from a single brick.”</p>

+

+<p>A paroxysm of coughing compelled him

+to pause. I seized the opportunity to say

+that I should be distressed to incommode him

+at a season so fraught with interest to his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span>

+family. If he would simply give me the

+benefit of his excellent advice as to the excursions

+it would be well for me to make,

+I could easily, without putting him to the

+trouble of accompanying me&mdash;&mdash;</p>

+

+<p>“Ah! you refer to this boy’s marriage,”

+he exclaimed, interrupting me. “That’s a

+mere trifle&mdash;it will take place day after to-morrow.

+You must attend the wedding with

+us, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">en famille</i>, as the bride is in mourning for

+an aunt whose property she inherits. So

+there are to be no festivities, no ball. It is too

+bad, for you might have seen our Catalan girls

+dance. They are very pretty, and perhaps

+you would have felt inclined to follow my

+Alphonse’s example. One marriage, they

+say, leads to others.&mdash;Saturday, when the

+young people are married, I shall be free, and

+we will take the field. I ask your pardon

+for subjecting you to the ennui of a provincial

+wedding. For a Parisian, sated with parties

+of all sorts&mdash;and a wedding without a ball, at

+that! However, you will see a bride&mdash;a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span>

+bride&mdash;you must tell me what you think of

+her. But you are a serious man, and you

+don’t look at women any more. I have something

+better than that to show you. I will

+show you something worth seeing! I have a

+famous surprise in store for you to-morrow.”</p>

+

+<p>“Mon Dieu!” said I, “it is difficult to keep

+a treasure in one’s house without the public

+knowing all about it. I fancy that I can divine

+the surprise that you have in store for me.

+But if you refer to your statue, the description

+of it that my guide gave me has served simply

+to arouse my curiosity and to predispose me

+to admiration.”</p>

+

+<p>“Ah! so he spoke to you about the idol&mdash;for

+that is what they call my beautiful Venus

+Tur&mdash;but I will tell you nothing now. You

+shall see her to-morrow, by daylight, and tell

+me whether I am justified in considering her

+a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">chef-d’œuvre</i>. Parbleu! you could not have

+arrived more opportunely! There are some

+inscriptions which I, poor ignoramus that I

+am, interpret after my manner. But a scholar<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span>

+from Paris! It may be that you will make fun

+of my interpretation&mdash;for I have written a

+memoir&mdash;I, who speak to you, an old provincial

+antiquary, have made a start; I propose

+to make the printing-presses groan. If you

+would kindly read and correct me, I might

+hope. For example, I am very curious to

+know how you will translate this inscription

+on the pedestal: <span class="allsmcap">CAVE</span>&mdash;but I won’t ask you

+anything yet. Until to-morrow! until to-morrow!

+Not a word about the Venus to-day!”</p>

+

+<p>“You are quite right, Peyrehorade,” said

+his wife, “to let your old idol rest. You

+must see that you are keeping monsieur from

+eating. Bah! monsieur has seen much finer

+statues than yours in Paris. There are dozens

+of them at the Tuileries, and bronze ones,

+too.”</p>

+

+<p>“There you have the ignorance, the blessed

+ignorance of the provinces!” interrupted M. de

+Peyrehorade. “Think of comparing an admirable

+antique to Coustou’s insipid figures!</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container">

+<div class="poetry">

+  <div class="stanza">

+    <div class="verse indent0 outdent">“‘With what irreverence</div>

+    <div class="verse indent0">Doth my good wife speak of the gods!’</div>

+  </div>

+</div>

+</div>

+

+<p>Would you believe that my wife wanted

+me to melt my statue and make it into a bell

+for our church! She would have been the

+donor, you see. A <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">chef-d’œuvre</i> of Myron,

+monsieur!”</p>

+

+<p>“<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Chef-d’œuvre! chef-d’œuvre!</i> a pretty

+<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">chef-d’œuvre</i> she made! to break a man’s

+leg!”</p>

+

+<p>“Look you, my wife,” said M. de Peyrehorade

+in a determined tone, extending his

+right leg encased in a stocking of Chinese

+silk, in her direction, “if my Venus had broken

+this leg, I should not regret it.”</p>

+

+<p>“Gracious Heaven! how can you say that,

+Peyrehorade? Luckily the man is getting

+better. Still, I can’t make up my mind to

+look at the statue that causes such accidents

+as that. Poor Jean Coll!”</p>

+

+<p>“Wounded by Venus, monsieur,” said M.

+de Peyrehorade, with a chuckle, “wounded

+by Venus, the clown complains:</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span></p>

+

+<div class="poetry-container">

+<div class="poetry">

+  <div class="stanza">

+    <div class="verse indent0">“‘Veneris nec præmia noris.’</div>

+  </div>

+</div>

+</div>

+

+<p>“Who has not been wounded by Venus?”</p>

+

+<p>M. Alphonse, who understood French better

+than Latin, winked with a knowing look,

+and glanced at me as if to ask:</p>

+

+<p>“And you, Monsieur le Parisien, do you

+understand?”</p>

+

+<p>The supper came to an end. I had eaten

+nothing for the last hour. I was tired and

+I could not succeed in dissembling the frequent

+yawns which escaped me. Madame

+de Peyrehorade was the first to notice my

+plight and observed that it was time to go to

+bed. Thereupon began a new series of apologies

+for the wretched accommodations I was

+to have. I should not be as comfortable as

+I was in Paris. One is so badly off in the

+provinces! I must be indulgent for the Roussillonnais.

+In vain did I protest that after a

+journey in the mountains a sheaf of straw

+would be a luxurious bed for me&mdash;she continued

+to beg me to excuse unfortunate country

+folk if they did not treat me as well as<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span>

+they would have liked to do. I went upstairs

+at last to the room allotted to me, escorted by

+M. de Peyrehorade. The staircase, the upper

+stairs of which were of wood, ended in the

+centre of a corridor upon which several rooms

+opened.</p>

+

+<p>“At the right,” said my host, “is the apartment

+which I intend to give to Madame Alphonse

+that is to be. Your room is at the end of

+the opposite corridor. You know,” he added,

+with an expression meant to be sly, “you

+know we must put a newly married couple

+all by themselves. You are at one end of

+the house and they at the other.”</p>

+

+<p>We entered a handsomely furnished room,

+in which the first object that caught my eye

+was a bed seven feet long, six feet wide, and

+so high that one had to use a stool to climb to

+the top. My host, having pointed out the location

+of the bell, having assured himself that

+the sugarbowl was full, and that the bottles

+of cologne had been duly placed on the dressing-table,

+and having asked me several times<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span>

+if I had everything that I wanted, wished me

+a good-night and left me alone.</p>

+

+<p>The windows were closed. Before undressing

+I opened one of them to breathe the

+fresh night air, always delicious after a long

+supper. In front of me was Canigou, beautiful

+to look at always, but that evening, it

+seemed to me the most beautiful mountain in

+the world, lighted as it was by a brilliant

+moon. I stood for some minutes gazing at

+its wonderful silhouette, and was on the point

+of closing my window when, as I lowered

+my eyes, I saw the statue on a pedestal some

+forty yards from the house. It was placed at

+the corner of a quickset hedge which separated

+a small garden from a large square of perfectly

+smooth turf, which, as I learned later, was the

+tennis-court of the town. This tract, which

+belonged to M. de Peyrehorade, had been

+ceded by him to the commune, at his son’s

+urgent solicitation.</p>

+

+<p>I was so far from the statue that I could not

+distinguish its attitude and could only guess<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span>

+at its height, which seemed to be about six

+feet. At that moment two young scamps

+from the town walked across the tennis-court,

+quite near the hedge, whistling the pretty

+Roussillon air, <cite>Montagnes Régalades</cite>. They

+stopped to look at the statue, and one of them

+apostrophised it in a loud voice. He spoke

+Catalan; but I had been long enough in Roussillon

+to understand pretty nearly what he

+said.</p>

+

+<p>“So there you are, hussy! (The Catalan

+term was much more forcible.) So there you

+are!” he said. “So it was you who broke

+Jean Coll’s leg! If you belonged to me, I’d

+break your neck!”</p>

+

+<p>“Bah! with what?” said the other. “She’s

+made of copper, and it’s so hard that Étienne

+broke his file, trying to file it. It’s copper of

+the heathen times, and it’s harder than I don’t

+know what.”</p>

+

+<p>“If I had my cold-chisel”&mdash;it seemed that he

+was a locksmith’s apprentice&mdash;“I’d soon dig

+out her big white eyes, as easy as I’d take an almond<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span>

+out of its shell. They’d make more

+than a hundred sous in silver.”</p>

+

+<p>They walked away a few steps.</p>

+

+<p>“I must bid the idol good-night,” said the

+taller of the two, suddenly stopping again.</p>

+

+<p>He stooped, and, I suppose, picked up a

+stone. I saw him raise his arm and throw

+something, and instantly there was a ringing

+blow on the bronze. At the same moment

+the apprentice put his hand to his head, with

+a sharp cry of pain.</p>

+

+<p>“She threw it back at me!” he exclaimed.</p>

+

+<p>And my two rascals fled at the top of their

+speed. It was evident that the stone had rebounded

+from the metal, and had punished

+the fellow for his affront to the goddess.</p>

+

+<p>I closed my window, laughing heartily.</p>

+

+<p>“Still another vandal chastised by Venus!”

+I thought. “May all the destroyers of our

+ancient monuments have their heads broken

+thus!”</p>

+

+<p>And with that charitable prayer, I fell

+asleep.</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span></p>

+

+<p>It was broad daylight when I woke. Beside

+my bed were, on one side, M. de Peyrehorade

+in his <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">robe-de-chambre</i>; on the other a

+servant, sent by his wife, with a cup of chocolate

+in his hand.</p>

+

+<p>“Come, up with you, Parisian! This is just

+like you sluggards from the capital!” said my

+host, while I hastily dressed myself. “It is

+eight o’clock, and you are still in bed! I have

+been up since six. This is the third time I

+have come upstairs; I came to your door on

+tiptoe; not a sound, not a sign of life. It will

+injure you to sleep too much at your age.

+And you haven’t seen my Venus yet! Come,

+drink this cup of Barcelona chocolate quickly.

+Genuine contraband, such chocolate as you

+don’t get in Paris. You must lay up some

+strength, for, when you once stand in front

+of my Venus, I shall not be able to tear you

+away from her.”</p>

+

+<p>In five minutes I was ready&mdash;that is to say,

+half shaved, my clothes half buttoned, and my

+throat scalded by the chocolate, which I had<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span>

+swallowed boiling hot. I went down into the

+garden and found myself before a really beautiful

+statue.</p>

+

+<p>It was, in truth, a Venus, and wonderfully

+lovely. The upper part of the body was nude,

+as the ancients ordinarily represented the great

+divinities; the right hand, raised as high as the

+breast, was turned with the palm inward, the

+thumb and first two fingers extended, the other

+two slightly bent. The other hand was near

+the hip and held the drapery that covered the

+lower part of the body. The pose of the

+statue recalled that of the Morra Player,

+usually known, I know not why, by the

+name of Germanicus. Perhaps the sculptor

+intended to represent the goddess playing the

+game of morra.</p>

+

+<p>However that may be, it is impossible to

+imagine anything more perfect than the body

+of that Venus; anything more harmonious,

+more voluptuous than her outlines, anything

+more graceful and more dignified than her

+drapery. I expected to see some work of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span>

+later Empire; I saw a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">chef-d’œuvre</i> of the best

+period of statuary. What especially struck me

+was the exquisite verisimilitude of the forms,

+which one might have believed to have been

+moulded from nature, if nature ever produced

+such flawless models.</p>

+

+<p>The hair, which was brushed back from

+the forehead, seemed to have been gilded

+formerly. The head, which was small, like

+those of almost all Greek statues, was bent

+slightly forward. As for the face, I shall

+never succeed in describing its peculiar character;

+it was of a type which in no wise

+resembled that of any antique statue that I

+can remember. It was not the tranquil, severe

+beauty of the Greek sculptors, who systematically

+imparted a majestic immobility to

+all the features. Here, on the contrary, I observed

+with surprise a clearly marked intention

+on the part of the artist to express mischievousness

+amounting almost to deviltry. All

+the features were slightly contracted; the

+eyes were a little oblique, the corners of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span>

+mouth raised, the nostrils a little dilated.

+Disdain, irony, cruelty could be read upon

+that face, which none the less was inconceivably

+lovely. In truth, the more one looked

+at that marvellous statue, the more distressed

+one felt at the thought that such wonderful

+beauty could be conjoined to utter absence of

+sensibility.</p>

+

+<p>“If the model ever existed,” I said to M. de

+Peyrehorade,&mdash;“and I doubt whether Heaven

+ever produced such a woman&mdash;how I pity

+her lovers! She must have delighted in driving

+them to death from despair. There is

+something downright savage in her expression,

+and yet I never have seen anything so

+beautiful!”</p>

+

+<p>“’T is Venus all intent upon her prey!”

+quoted M. de Peyrehorade, delighted with my

+enthusiasm.</p>

+

+<p>That expression of infernal irony was

+heightened perhaps by the contrast between

+the very brilliant silver eyes and the coating

+of blackish green with which time had overlaid<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span>

+the whole statue. Those gleaming eyes

+created a certain illusion which suggested

+reality, life. I remembered what my guide

+had said, that she made those who looked at

+her lower their eyes. That was almost true,

+and I could not help feeling angry with myself

+as I realised that I was perceptibly ill at

+ease before that bronze figure.</p>

+

+<p>“Now that you have admired her in every

+detail, my dear colleague in antiquarian research,”

+said my host, “let us open a scientific

+conference, if you please. What do you

+say to this inscription, which you have not

+noticed as yet?”</p>

+

+<p>He pointed to the base of the statue, and I

+read there these words:</p>

+

+<p class="p1_5 center">

+CAVE AMANTEM.

+</p>

+

+<p class="p1_5">“<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Quid dicis, doctissime?</i>” (“What do you

+say, most learned of men?”) he asked, rubbing

+his hands. “Let us see if we shall agree

+as to the meaning of this <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">cave amantem</i>.”</p>

+

+<p>“Why, there are two possible meanings,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span>

+I said. “It may be translated: ‘Beware of

+him who loves you&mdash;distrust lovers.’ But I

+am not sure that <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">cave amantem</i> would be

+good Latin in that sense. In view of the

+lady’s diabolical expression, I should be inclined

+to believe rather that the artist meant

+to put the spectator on his guard against that

+terrible beauty. So that I should translate:

+‘Look out for yourself if <em>she</em> loves you.’”</p>

+

+<p>“Humph!” ejaculated M. de Peyrehorade;

+“yes, that is a possible translation; but, with

+all respect, I prefer the first, which I will

+develop a little, however. You know who

+Venus’s lover was?”</p>

+

+<p>“She had several.”</p>

+

+<p>“Yes, but the first one was Vulcan. Did

+not the artist mean to say: ‘Despite all your

+beauty, and your scornful air, you shall have

+a blacksmith, a wretched cripple, for a lover’?

+A solemn lesson for coquettes, monsieur!”</p>

+

+<p>I could not help smiling, the interpretation

+seemed to me so exceedingly far-fetched.</p>

+

+<p>“The Latin is a terrible language, with<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span>

+its extraordinary conciseness,” I observed, to

+avoid contradicting my antiquary directly; and

+I stepped back a few steps, to obtain a better

+view of the statue.</p>

+

+<p>“One moment, colleague!” said M. de

+Peyrehorade, seizing my arm, “you have not

+seen all. There is still another inscription.

+Stand on the pedestal and look at the right

+arm.”</p>

+

+<p>As he spoke, he helped me to climb

+up.</p>

+

+<p>I clung somewhat unceremoniously to the

+neck of the Venus, with whom I was beginning

+to feel on familiar terms. I even looked

+her in the eye for an instant, and I found her

+still more diabolical and still lovelier at close

+quarters. Then I saw that there were some

+letters, in what I took to be the antique cursive

+hand, engraved on the right arm. With

+the aid of a strong glass I spelled out what

+follows, M. de Peyrehorade repeating each

+word as I pronounced it, and expressing his

+approbation with voice and gesture. I read:</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span></p>

+

+<p class="blocktext p1_5" style="width:9em">

+VENERI TVRBVL&mdash;<br />

+<br />

+EVTYCHES MYRO<br />

+<br />

+IMPERIO FECIT<br />

+</p>

+

+<p class="p1_5">After the word <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">tvrbvl</i> in the first line several

+letters seemed to have become effaced,

+but <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">tvrbvl</i> was perfectly legible.</p>

+

+<p>“Which means?”&mdash;queried my host,

+with a beaming face, and winking maliciously,

+for he had a shrewd idea that I would not

+easily handle that <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">tvrbvl</i>.</p>

+

+<p>“There is one word here which I do not

+understand as yet,” I said; “all the rest is

+simple. ‘Eutyches made this offering to Venus

+by her order.’”</p>

+

+<p>“Excellent. But what do you make of

+<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">tvrbvl</i>? What is <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">tvrbvl</i>?”</p>

+

+<p>“<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Tvrbvl</i> puzzles me a good deal. I have

+tried in vain to think of some known epithet

+of Venus to assist me. What would you say

+to <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Turbulenta</i>? Venus, who disturbs, who

+excites&mdash;as you see, I am still engrossed by

+her evil expression. <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Turbulenta</i> is not a very<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span>

+inapt epithet for Venus,” I added modestly,

+for I was not very well satisfied myself with

+my explanation.</p>

+

+<p>“Turbulent Venus! Venus the roisterer!

+Ah! so you think that my Venus is a wine-shop

+Venus, do you? Not by any means,

+monsieur; she is a Venus in good society.

+But I will explain this <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">tvrbvl</i> to you. Of

+course you will promise not to divulge my

+discovery before my memoir is printed. You

+see, I am very proud of this find of mine.

+You must leave us poor devils in the provinces

+a few spears to glean. You are so rich,

+you Parisian scholars!”</p>

+

+<p>From the top of the pedestal, whereon I

+was still perched, I solemnly promised him

+that I would never be guilty of the baseness

+of stealing his discovery.</p>

+

+<p>“<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Tvrbvl</i>&mdash;monsieur,” he said, coming

+nearer to me and lowering his voice, for fear

+that some other than myself might hear&mdash;“read

+<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">tvrbvlneræ</i>.”</p>

+

+<p>“I don’t understand any better.”</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span></p>

+

+<p>“Listen. About a league from here, at the

+foot of the mountain, is a village called Boulternère.

+That name is a corruption of the

+Latin word <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Turbulnera</i>. Nothing is more

+common than such inversions. Boulternère,

+monsieur, was a Roman city. I have always

+suspected as much, but I have never had a

+proof of it. Here is the proof. This Venus

+was the local divinity of the city of Boulternère;

+and this word Boulternère, whose antique

+origin I have just demonstrated, proves

+something even more interesting&mdash;namely,

+that Boulternère, before it became a Roman

+city, was a Phœnician city!”</p>

+

+<p>He paused a moment to take breath and to

+enjoy my surprise. I succeeded in restraining

+a very strong inclination to laugh.</p>

+

+<p>“It is a fact,” he continued, “<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Turbulnera</i> is

+pure Phœnician; <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Tur</i>, pronounced <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Tour</i>&mdash;<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Tour</i>

+and <i lang="phn" xml:lang="phn">Sour</i> are the same word, are they

+not? <i lang="phn" xml:lang="phn">Sour</i> is the Phœnician name of Tyre; I

+do not need to remind you of its meaning.

+<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Bul</i> is Baal; Bal, Bel, Bul&mdash;slight differences in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span>

+pronunciation. As for <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">nera</i>&mdash;that gives me a

+little trouble. I am inclined to believe, failing

+to find a Phœnician word, that it comes from

+the Greek word νηρός, damp, swampy. In

+that case the word would be a hybrid. To

+justify my suggestion of νηρός, I will show you

+that at Boulternère the streams from the

+mountain form miasmatic pools. On the

+other hand, the termination <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">nera</i> may have

+been added much later, in honour of Nera

+Pivesuvia, wife of Tetricus, who may have

+had some property in the city of Turbul. But

+on account of the pools I prefer the etymology

+from νηρός.”</p>

+

+<p>And he took a pinch of snuff with a self-satisfied

+air.</p>

+

+<p>“But let us leave the Phœnicians and return

+to the inscription. I translate then: ‘To

+Venus of Boulternère, Myron, at her command,

+dedicates this statue, his work.’”</p>

+

+<p>I had no idea of criticising his etymology,

+but I did desire to exhibit some little penetration

+on my own part; so I said to him:</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span></p>

+

+<p>“Stop there a moment, monsieur. Myron

+dedicated something, but I see nothing to indicate

+that it was this statue.”</p>

+

+<p>“What!” he cried, “was not Myron a

+famous Greek sculptor? The talent probably

+was handed down in the family; it was one

+of his descendants who executed this statue.

+Nothing can be more certain.”</p>

+

+<p>“But,” I rejoined, “I see a little hole in the

+arm. I believe that it was made to fasten

+something to&mdash;a bracelet, perhaps, which this

+Myron presented to Venus as an expiatory

+offering.&mdash;Myron was an unsuccessful lover;

+Venus was irritated with him and he appeased

+her by consecrating a gold bracelet to her.

+Observe that <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">fecit</i> is very often used in the

+sense of <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">consecravit</i>; they are synonymous

+terms. I could show you more than one example

+of what I say if I had Gruter or Orellius

+at hand. It would be quite natural for a lover

+to see Venus in a dream and to fancy that she

+ordered him to give a gold bracelet to her

+statue. So Myron consecrated a bracelet to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span>

+her; then the barbarians, or some sacrilegious

+thief&mdash;&mdash;”</p>

+

+<p>“Ah! it is easy to see that you have written

+novels!” cried my host, giving me his

+hand to help me descend. “No, monsieur, it

+is a work of the school of Myron. Look at

+the workmanship simply and you will agree.”</p>

+

+<p>Having made it a rule never to contradict outright

+an obstinate antiquarian, I hung my head

+with the air of one fully persuaded, saying:</p>

+

+<p>“It’s an admirable thing.”</p>

+

+<p>“Ah! mon Dieu!” cried M. de Peyrehorade;

+“still another piece of vandalism! Somebody

+must have thrown a stone at my statue!”</p>

+

+<p>He had just discovered a white mark a little

+above Venus’s breast. I observed a similar

+mark across the fingers of the right hand,

+which I then supposed had been grazed by the

+stone; or else that a fragment of the stone had

+been broken off by the blow and had bounded

+against the hand. I told my host about the

+insult that I had witnessed, and the speedy

+retribution that had followed. He laughed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span>

+heartily, and, comparing the apprentice to

+Diomedes, expressed a hope that, like the

+Grecian hero, he might see all his companions

+transformed into birds.</p>

+

+<p>The breakfast bell interrupted this classical

+conversation, and I was again obliged, as

+on the preceding day, to eat for four. Then

+M. de Peyrehorade’s farmers appeared; and

+while he gave audience to them, his son took

+me to see a calèche which he had bought

+at Toulouse for his fiancée, and which I admired,

+it is needless to say. Then I went

+with him into the stable, where he kept me

+half an hour, boasting of his horses, giving me

+their genealogies, and telling me of the prizes

+they had won at various races in the province.

+At last he reached the subject of his future wife,

+by a natural transition from a gray mare he

+intended for her.</p>

+

+<p>“We shall see her to-day,” he said. “I do

+not know whether you will think her pretty;

+but everybody here and at Perpignan considers

+her charming. The best thing about her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span>

+is that she’s very rich. Her aunt at Prades

+left her all her property. Oh! I am going to

+be very happy.”</p>

+

+<p>I was intensely disgusted to see a young

+man more touched by the dowry than by the

+<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">beaux yeux</i> of his betrothed.</p>

+

+<p>“You know something about jewels,” continued

+M. Alphonse; “what do you think of

+this one? This is the ring that I am going to

+give her to-morrow.”</p>

+

+<p>As he spoke, he took from the first joint of

+his little finger a huge ring with many diamonds,

+made in the shape of two clasped

+hands; an allusion which seemed to me exceedingly

+poetical. The workmanship was

+very old, but I judged that it had been changed

+somewhat to allow the diamonds to be set.

+On the inside of the ring were these words

+in Gothic letters: <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Sempr’ ab ti</i>; that is to say,

+“Always with thee.”</p>

+

+<p>“It is a handsome ring,” I said, “but these

+diamonds have taken away something of its

+character.”</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span></p>

+

+<p>“Oh! it is much handsomer so,” he replied,

+with a smile. “There are twelve hundred

+francs’ worth of diamonds. My mother

+gave it to me. It was a very old family ring&mdash;of

+the times of chivalry. It belonged to

+my grandmother, who had it from hers. God

+knows when it was made.”</p>

+

+<p>“The custom in Paris,” I said, “is to give

+a very simple ring, usually made of two different

+metals, as gold and platinum, for instance.

+See, that other ring, which you wear

+on this finger, would be most suitable. This

+one, with its diamonds and its hands in relief,

+is so big that one could not wear a glove

+over it.”</p>

+

+<p>“Oh! Madame Alphonse may arrange that

+as she pleases. I fancy that she will be very

+glad to have it all the same. Twelve hundred

+francs on one’s finger is very pleasant. This

+little ring,” he added, glancing fatuously at

+the plain one which he wore, “was given me

+by a woman in Paris one Mardi Gras. Ah!

+how I did go it when I was in Paris two<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span>

+years ago! That’s the place where one

+enjoys one’s self!”</p>

+

+<p>And he heaved a sigh of regret.</p>

+

+<p>We were to dine that day at Puygarrig

+with the bride’s parents; we drove in the

+calèche to the château, about a league and a

+half from Ille. I was presented and made

+welcome as a friend of the family. I will say

+nothing of the dinner or of the conversation

+which followed it, and in which I took little

+part. M. Alphonse, seated beside his fiancée,

+said a word in her ear every quarter of an

+hour. As for her, she hardly raised her eyes,

+and whenever her future husband addressed

+her she blushed modestly, but replied without

+embarrassment.</p>

+

+<p>Mademoiselle de Puygarrig was eighteen

+years of age; her supple and delicate figure

+formed a striking contrast to the bony frame

+of her athletic fiancé. She was not only

+lovely, but fascinating. I admired the perfect

+naturalness of all her replies; and her

+good-humoured air, which however was not<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span>

+exempt from a slight tinge of mischief, reminded

+me, in spite of myself, of my host’s

+Venus. As I made this comparison mentally,

+I asked myself whether the superiority in the

+matter of beauty which I could not choose

+but accord to the statue, did not consist in

+large measure in her tigress-like expression;

+for energy, even in evil passions, always

+arouses in us a certain surprise and a sort

+of involuntary admiration.</p>

+

+<p>“What a pity,” I said to myself as we left

+Puygarrig, “that such an attractive person

+should be rich, and that her dowry should

+cause her to be sought in marriage by a man

+who is unworthy of her!”</p>

+

+<p>On the way back to Ille, finding some

+difficulty in talking with Madame de Peyrehorade,

+whom, however, I thought it

+only courteous to address now and then, I

+exclaimed:</p>

+

+<p>“You are very strong-minded here in Roussillon!

+To think of having a wedding on a

+Friday, madame! We are more superstitious<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span>

+in Paris; no one would dare to take a wife on

+that day.”</p>

+

+<p>“Mon Dieu! don’t mention it,” said she;

+“if it had depended on me, they certainly

+would have chosen another day. But Peyrehorade

+would have it so, and I had to give

+way to him. It distresses me, however. Suppose

+anything should happen? There must

+surely be some reason for the superstition,

+for why else should every one be afraid of

+Friday?”</p>

+

+<p>“Friday!” cried her husband; “Friday is

+Venus’s day! A splendid day for a wedding!

+You see, my dear colleague, I think of nothing

+but my Venus. On my honour, it was

+on her account that I chose a Friday. To-morrow,

+if you are willing, before the wedding,

+we will offer a little sacrifice to her; we will

+sacrifice two pigeons, if I can find any

+incense.”</p>

+

+<p>“For shame, Peyrehorade!” his wife interposed,

+scandalised to the last degree. “Burn

+incense to an idol! That would be an abomination!<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span>

+What would people in the neighbourhood

+say about you?”</p>

+

+<p>“At least,” said M. de Peyrehorade, “you

+will allow me to place a wreath of roses and

+lilies on her head:</p>

+

+<p class="center p90">

+“‘Manibus date lilia plenis.’<br />

+</p>

+

+<p>The charter, you see, monsieur, is an empty

+word; we have no freedom of worship!”</p>

+

+<p>The order of ceremonies for the following

+day was thus arranged: everybody was to be

+fully dressed and ready at precisely ten o’clock.

+After taking a cup of chocolate, we were to

+drive to Puygarrig. The civil ceremony would

+take place at the mayor’s office of that village,

+and the religious ceremony in the chapel of

+the château. Then there would be a breakfast.

+After that, we were to pass the time as

+best we could until seven o’clock, when we

+were to return to Ille, to M. de Peyrehorade’s,

+where the two families were to sup together.

+The rest followed as a matter of course. Being

+unable to dance, the plan was to eat as much

+as possible.</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span></p>

+

+<p>At eight o’clock I was already seated in front

+of the Venus, pencil in hand, beginning for

+the twentieth time to draw the head of the

+statue, whose expression I was still absolutely

+unable to catch. M. de Peyrehorade hovered

+about me, gave me advice, and repeated his

+Phœnician etymologies; then he arranged

+some Bengal roses on the pedestal of the

+statue, and in a tragi-comic tone addressed

+supplications to it for the welfare of the couple

+who were to live under his roof. About nine

+o’clock he returned to the house to dress, and

+at the same time M. Alphonse appeared, encased

+in a tightly fitting new coat, white

+gloves, patent-leather shoes, and carved buttons,

+with a rose in his buttonhole.</p>

+

+<p>“Will you paint my wife’s portrait?” he

+asked, leaning over my drawing; “she is

+pretty, too.”</p>

+

+<p>At that moment a game of tennis began on

+the court I have mentioned, and it immediately

+attracted M. Alphonse’s attention. And

+I myself, being rather tired, and hopeless of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span>

+being able to reproduce that diabolical face,

+soon left my drawing to watch the players.

+Among them were several Spanish muleteers

+who had arrived in the town the night before.

+There were Aragonese and Navarrese, almost

+all wonderfully skillful at the game. So that

+the men of Ille, although encouraged by the

+presence and counsels of M. Alphonse, were

+speedily beaten by these new champions.

+The native spectators were appalled. M.

+Alphonse glanced at his watch. It was only

+half after nine. His mother’s hair was not

+dressed. He no longer hesitated, but took

+off his coat, asked for a jacket, and challenged

+the Spaniards. I watched him, smiling at

+his eagerness, and a little surprised.</p>

+

+<p>“I must uphold the honour of the province,”

+he said to me.</p>

+

+<p>At that moment I considered him really

+handsome. He was thoroughly in earnest.

+His costume, which engrossed him so completely

+a moment before, was of no consequence.

+A few minutes earlier he was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span>

+afraid to turn his head for fear of disarranging

+his cravat. Now, he paid no heed to his

+carefully curled locks, or to his beautifully

+laundered ruff. And his fiancée?&mdash;Faith, I

+believe that, if it had been necessary, he

+would have postponed the wedding. I saw

+him hastily put on a pair of sandals, turn back

+his sleeves, and with an air of confidence

+take his place at the head of the beaten side,

+like Cæsar rallying his legions at Dyrrhachium.

+I leaped over the hedge and found a convenient

+place in the shade of a plum-tree,

+where I could see both camps.</p>

+

+<p>Contrary to general expectation, M. Alphonse

+missed the first ball; to be sure, it

+skimmed along the ground, driven with astounding

+force by an Aragonese who seemed

+to be the leader of the Spaniards.</p>

+

+<p>He was a man of some forty years, thin and

+wiry, about six feet tall; and his olive skin was

+almost as dark as the bronze of the Venus.</p>

+

+<p>M. Alphonse dashed his racquet to the

+ground in a passion.</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span></p>

+

+<p>“It was this infernal ring,” he cried: “it

+caught my finger and made me miss a sure

+ball!”</p>

+

+<p>He removed the diamond ring, not without

+difficulty, and I stepped forward to take it; but

+he anticipated me, ran to the Venus, slipped

+the ring on her third finger, and resumed his

+position at the head of his townsmen.</p>

+

+<p>He was pale, but calm and determined.

+Thereafter he did not make a single mistake,

+and the Spaniards were completely routed.

+The enthusiasm of the spectators was a fine

+spectacle; some shouted for joy again and

+again, and tossed their caps in the air; others

+shook his hands and called him an honour to

+the province. If he had repelled an invasion,

+I doubt whether he would have received more

+enthusiastic and more sincere congratulations.

+The chagrin of the defeated party added still

+more to the splendour of his victory.</p>

+

+<p>“We will play again, my good fellow,”

+he said to the Aragonese in a lofty tone; “but

+I will give you points.”</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span></p>

+

+<p>I should have been glad if M. Alphonse had

+been more modest, and I was almost distressed

+by his rival’s humiliation. The Spanish

+giant felt the insult keenly. I saw him

+turn pale under his tanned skin. He glanced

+with a sullen expression at his racquet, and

+ground his teeth; then he muttered in a voice

+choked with rage:</p>

+

+<p>“<i lang="es" xml:lang="es">Me lo pagarás!</i>”</p>

+

+<p>M. de Peyrehorade’s appearance interrupted

+his son’s triumph. My host, greatly surprised

+not to find him superintending the harnessing

+of the new calèche, was much more surprised

+when he saw him drenched with perspiration,

+and with his racquet in his hand. M. Alphonse

+ran to the house, washed his face and hands,

+resumed his new coat and his patent-leather

+boots, and five minutes later we were driving

+rapidly toward Puygarrig. All the tennis

+players of the town and a great number of

+spectators followed us with joyous shouts.

+The stout horses that drew us could hardly

+keep in advance of those dauntless Catalans.</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span></p>

+

+<p>We had reached Puygarrig, and the procession

+was about to start for the mayor’s office,

+when M. Alphonse put his hand to his forehead

+and whispered to me:</p>

+

+<p>“What a fool I am! I have forgotten the

+ring! It is on the Venus’s finger, the devil

+take her! For Heaven’s sake, don’t tell my

+mother. Perhaps she will not notice anything.”</p>

+

+<p>“You might send some one to get it,” I said.</p>

+

+<p>“No, no! my servant stayed at Ille, and I

+don’t trust these people here. Twelve hundred

+francs’ worth of diamonds! that might

+be too much of a temptation for more than one

+of them. Besides, what would they all think

+of my absent-mindedness? They would make

+too much fun of me. They would call me

+the statue’s husband.&mdash;However, I trust that

+no one will steal it. Luckily, all my knaves

+are afraid of the idol. They don’t dare go

+within arm’s length of it.&mdash;Bah! it’s no matter;

+I have another ring.”</p>

+

+<p>The two ceremonies, civil and religious, were<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span>

+performed with suitable pomp, and Mademoiselle

+de Puygarrig received a ring that

+formerly belonged to a milliner’s girl at Paris,

+with no suspicion that her husband was

+bestowing upon her a pledge of love. Then

+we betook ourselves to the table, where we

+ate and drank, yes, and sang, all at great

+length. I sympathised with the bride amid the

+vulgar merriment that burst forth all about her;

+however, she put a better face on it than I

+could have hoped, and her embarrassment was

+neither awkwardness nor affectation. It may

+be that courage comes of itself with difficult

+situations.</p>

+

+<p>The breakfast came to an end when God

+willed; it was four o’clock; the men went out

+to walk in the park, which was magnificent,

+or watched the peasant girls of Puygarrig,

+dressed in their gala costumes, dance on the

+lawn in front of the château. In this way,

+we passed several hours. Meanwhile the

+women were hovering eagerly about the

+bride, who showed them her wedding gifts.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span>

+Then she changed her dress, and I observed

+that she had covered her lovely hair with a

+cap and a hat adorned with feathers; for there

+is nothing that wives are in such a hurry to do

+as to assume as soon as possible those articles

+of apparel which custom forbids them to wear

+when they are still unmarried.</p>

+

+<p>It was nearly eight o’clock when we prepared

+to start for Ille. But before we started

+there was a pathetic scene. Mademoiselle de

+Puygarrig’s aunt, who had taken the place of

+a mother to her, a woman of a very advanced

+age and very religious, was not to go to the

+town with us. At our departure, she delivered

+a touching sermon to her niece on her

+duties as a wife, the result of which was a torrent

+of tears, and embraces without end. M.

+de Peyrehorade compared this separation to

+the abduction of the Sabine women.</p>

+

+<p>We started at last, however, and on the

+road we all exerted ourselves to the utmost to

+divert the bride and make her laugh; but it

+was all to no purpose.</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span></p>

+

+<p>At Ille supper awaited us, and such a supper!

+If the vulgar hilarity of the morning had

+disgusted me, I was fairly sickened by the

+equivocal remarks and jests which were aimed

+at the groom, and especially at the bride. M.

+Alphonse, who had disappeared a moment

+before taking his place at the table, was as

+pale as death and as solemn as an iceberg.

+He kept drinking old Collioure wine, almost

+as strong as brandy. I was by his side and

+felt in duty bound to warn him.</p>

+

+<p>“Take care! they say that this wine&mdash;&mdash;”</p>

+

+<p>I have no idea what foolish remark I made,

+to put myself in unison with the other guests.</p>

+

+<p>He pressed my knee with his and said in a

+very low tone:</p>

+

+<p>“When we leave the table, let me have a

+word with you.”</p>

+

+<p>His solemn tone surprised me. I looked at

+him more closely and noticed the extraordinary

+change in his expression.</p>

+

+<p>“Are you feeling ill?” I asked him.</p>

+

+<p>“No.”</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span></p>

+

+<p>And he returned to his drinking.</p>

+

+<p>Meanwhile, amid shouts and clapping of

+hands, a child of eleven years, who had

+slipped under the table, exhibited to the guests

+a dainty white and rose-coloured ribbon which

+he had taken from the bride’s ankle. They

+called that her garter. It was immediately cut

+into pieces and distributed among the young

+men, who decorated their buttonholes with

+them, according to an ancient custom still observed

+in some patriarchal families. This

+episode caused the bride to blush to the whites

+of her eyes. But her confusion reached its

+height when M. de Peyrehorade, having

+called for silence, sang some Catalan verses,

+impromptu, so he said. Their meaning, so

+far as I understood it, was this:</p>

+

+<p>“Pray, what is this, my friends? Does the

+wine I have drunk make me see double?

+There are two Venuses here&mdash;&mdash;”</p>

+

+<p>The bridegroom abruptly turned his head

+away with a terrified expression which made

+everybody laugh.</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span></p>

+

+<p>“Yes,” continued M. de Peyrehorade,

+“there are two Venuses beneath my roof.

+One I found in the earth, like a truffle; the

+other, descended from the skies, has come to

+share her girdle with us.”</p>

+

+<p>He meant to say her garter.</p>

+

+<p>“My son, choose whichever you prefer&mdash;the

+Roman or the Catalan Venus. The rascal

+chooses the Catalan, and his choice is wise.

+The Roman is black, the Catalan white. The

+Roman is cold, the Catalan inflames all who

+approach her.”</p>

+

+<p>This deliverance caused such an uproar,

+such noisy applause and such roars of laughter,

+that I thought that the ceiling would fall on

+our heads. There were only three sober faces

+at the table&mdash;those of the bride and groom,

+and my own. I had a terrible headache; and

+then, for some unknown reason, a wedding

+always depresses me. This one, in addition,

+disgusted me more or less.</p>

+

+<p>The last couplets having been sung by the

+mayor’s deputy&mdash;and they were very free, I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span>

+must say&mdash;we went to the salon to make

+merry over the retirement of the bride, who

+was soon to be escorted to her chamber, for it

+was near midnight.</p>

+

+<p>M. Alphonse led me into a window recess,

+and said to me, averting his eyes:</p>

+

+<p>“You will laugh at me, but I don’t know

+what the matter is with me; I am bewitched!

+the devil has got hold of me!”</p>

+

+<p>The first idea that came to my mind

+was that he believed himself to be threatened

+by some misfortune of the sort of

+which Montaigne and Madame de Sévigné

+speak:</p>

+

+<p>“The sway of love is always full of tragic

+episodes,” etc.</p>

+

+<p>“I supposed that accidents of that sort happened

+only to men of intellect,” I said to

+myself.&mdash;“You have drunk too much Collioure

+wine, my dear Monsieur Alphonse,” I

+said aloud. “I warned you.”</p>

+

+<p>“Yes, that may be. But there is something

+much more terrible than that.”</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span></p>

+

+<p>He spoke in a halting voice. I concluded

+that he was downright tipsy.</p>

+

+<p>“You remember my ring?” he continued,

+after a pause.</p>

+

+<p>“Well! has it been stolen?”</p>

+

+<p>“No.”</p>

+

+<p>“Then you have it?”</p>

+

+<p>“No&mdash;I&mdash;I can’t take it off that infernal

+Venus’s finger!”</p>

+

+<p>“Nonsense! you didn’t pull hard

+enough.”</p>

+

+<p>“Yes, I did. But the Venus&mdash;she has bent

+her finger.”</p>

+

+<p>He looked me in the eye with a haggard

+expression, leaning against the window-frame

+to avoid falling.</p>

+

+<p>“What a fable!” I said. “You pushed the

+ring on too far. To-morrow you can recover

+it with a pair of pincers. But take care that

+you don’t injure the statue.”</p>

+

+<p>“No, I tell you. The Venus’s finger is

+drawn in, bent; she has closed her hand&mdash;do

+you understand? She is my wife, apparently,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span>

+as I have given her my ring. She refuses to

+give it back.”</p>

+

+<p>I felt a sudden shiver, and for a moment I

+was all goose-flesh. Then, as he heaved a

+profound sigh, he sent a puff of alcoholic

+fumes into my face, and all my emotion vanished.</p>

+

+<p>“The wretch is completely drunk,” I

+thought.</p>

+

+<p>“You are an antiquary, monsieur,” continued

+the bridegroom in a piteous tone;

+“you know all about these statues; perhaps

+there is some spring, some devilish contrivance

+that I don’t know about. Suppose you

+were to go out and look?”</p>

+

+<p>“Willingly,” I said; “come with me.”</p>

+

+<p>“No, I prefer that you should go alone.”</p>

+

+<p>I left the salon.</p>

+

+<p>The weather had changed while we were

+at supper, and the rain was beginning to fall

+violently. I was about to ask for an umbrella

+when a sudden reflection detained me. “I

+should be a great fool,” I said to myself, “to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span>

+take any trouble to verify what an intoxicated

+man tells me! Perhaps, too, he is trying to

+play some wretched joke on me, in order

+to give these worthy provincials something to

+laugh at; and the least that can happen to me

+is to be drenched to the skin and to catch a

+heavy cold.”</p>

+

+<p>I glanced from the door at the statue, which

+was dripping wet, and then went up to my

+room without returning to the salon. I went

+to bed, but sleep was a long while coming.

+All the scenes of the day passed through my

+mind. I thought of that lovely, pure maiden

+delivered to the tender mercies of a brutal sot.

+“What a hateful thing a <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mariage de convenance</i>

+is!” I said to myself. “A mayor dons

+a tri-coloured scarf, a curé a stole, and lo! the

+most virtuous girl imaginable is abandoned to

+the Minotaur! Two persons who do not love

+each other&mdash;what can they have to say at

+such a moment, which two true lovers would

+purchase at the cost of their lives? Can a

+woman ever love a man whom she has once<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span>

+seen make a beast of himself? First impressions

+are not easily effaced, and I am sure that

+this Monsieur Alphonse well deserves to be

+detested.”</p>

+

+<p>During my monologue, which I have

+abridged very materially, I had heard much

+coming and going about the house, doors

+opening and closing, carriages driving away;

+then I fancied that I heard in the hall the light

+footsteps of several women walking toward

+the farther end of the corridor opposite my

+room. It was probably the procession of the

+bride, who was being escorted to her bedroom.

+Then I heard the steps go downstairs

+again. Madame de Peyrehorade’s door closed.</p>

+

+<p>“How perturbed and ill at ease that poor

+child must be,” I thought.</p>

+

+<p>I turned and twisted in my bed, in an

+execrable humour. A bachelor plays an absurd

+rôle in a house where a marriage is

+being celebrated.</p>

+

+<p>Silence had reigned for some time, when

+it was broken by heavy steps ascending<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span>

+the staircase. The wooden stairs creaked

+loudly.</p>

+

+<p>“What a brute!” I cried. “I’ll wager

+that he will fall on the stairs!”</p>

+

+<p>Everything became quiet once more. I

+took up a book in order to change the current

+of my thoughts. It was a volume of

+departmental statistics, embellished by an article

+from the pen of M. de Peyrehorade on

+the druidical remains in the arrondissement of

+Prades. I dozed at the third page.</p>

+

+<p>I slept badly and woke several times. It

+might have been five o’clock, and I had been

+awake more than twenty minutes, when a

+cock crew. Day was just breaking. Suddenly

+I heard the same heavy steps, the same

+creaking of the stairs that I had heard before I

+fell asleep. That struck me as peculiar. I

+tried, yawning sleepily, to divine why M.

+Alphonse should rise so early. I could imagine

+no probable cause. I was about to close

+my eyes again when my attention was once

+more attracted by a strange tramping, to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span>

+which was soon added the jangling of bells

+and the noise of doors violently thrown open;

+then I distinguished confused outcries.</p>

+

+<p>“My drunkard must have set fire to something!”

+I thought, as I leaped out of bed.</p>

+

+<p>I dressed in hot haste and went out into

+the corridor. From the farther end came

+shrieks and lamentations, and one heartrending

+voice rose above all the rest: “My son!

+my son!” It was evident that something

+had happened to M. Alphonse. I ran to the

+bridal chamber; it was full of people. The first

+object that caught my eye was the young man,

+half dressed, lying across the bed, the framework

+of which was broken. He was livid and absolutely

+motionless. His mother was weeping

+and shrieking by his side. M. de Peyrehorade

+was bustling about, rubbing his temples with

+eau de cologne, or holding salts to his nose.

+Alas! his son had been dead a long while.</p>

+

+<p>On a couch, at the other end of the room,

+was the bride, in frightful convulsions. She

+was uttering incoherent cries, and two strong<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span>

+maidservants had all the difficulty in the

+world in holding her.</p>

+

+<p>“Great God!” I cried, “what has happened?”</p>

+

+<p>I walked to the bed and raised the unfortunate

+young man’s body; it was already

+cold and stiff. His clenched teeth and livid

+face expressed the most horrible anguish. It

+seemed perfectly evident that his death had

+been a violent one, and the death agony indescribably

+terrible. But there was no sign of

+blood on his clothes. I opened his shirt and

+found on his breast a purple mark which extended

+around the loins and across the back.

+One would have said that he had been

+squeezed by an iron ring. My foot came in

+contact with something hard on the carpet; I

+stooped and saw the diamond ring.</p>

+

+<p>I dragged M. de Peyrehorade and his wife

+to their room; then I caused the bride to be

+taken thither.</p>

+

+<p>“You still have a daughter,” I said to them;

+“you owe to her your devoted care.”</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span></p>

+

+<p>Then I left them alone.</p>

+

+<p>It seemed to me to be beyond question that

+M. Alphonse had been the victim of a murder,

+the authors of which had found a way to introduce

+themselves into the bride’s bedroom

+at night. The marks on the breast and their

+circular character puzzled me a good deal,

+however, for a club or an iron bar could not

+have produced them. Suddenly I remembered

+having heard that in Valencia the <i lang="es" xml:lang="es">bravi</i>

+used long leather bags filled with fine sand

+to murder people whom they were hired to

+kill. I instantly recalled the Aragonese muleteer

+and his threat; and yet I hardly dared

+think that he would have wreaked such a terrible

+vengeance for a trivial jest.</p>

+

+<p>I walked about the house, looking everywhere

+for traces of a break, and finding nothing.

+I went down into the garden, to see

+whether the assassins might have forced their

+way in on that side of the house; but I found

+no definite indications. Indeed, the rain of

+the preceding night had so saturated the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span>

+ground that it could not have retained any

+distinct impression. I observed, however,

+several very deep footprints; they pointed

+in two opposite directions, but in the

+same line, leading from the corner of the

+hedge next the tennis-court to the gateway

+of the house. They might well be M. Alphonse’s

+steps when he went out to take his

+ring from the finger of the statue. On the

+other hand, the hedge was less dense at that

+point than elsewhere, and the murderers

+might have passed through it there. As I

+went back and forth in front of the statue, I

+paused a moment to look at it. That time,

+I will confess, I was unable to contemplate

+without terror its expression of devilish irony;

+and, with my head full of the horrible scenes

+I had witnessed, I fancied that I had before

+me an infernal divinity, exulting over the

+disaster that had stricken that house.</p>

+

+<p>I returned to my room and remained there

+till noon. Then I went out and inquired concerning

+my hosts. They were a little calmer.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span>

+Mademoiselle de Puygarrig&mdash;I should say M.

+Alphonse’s widow&mdash;had recovered her senses.

+She had even talked with the king’s attorney

+from Perpignan, then on circuit at Ille, and

+that magistrate had taken her deposition.

+He desired mine also. I told him what I knew

+and made no secret of my suspicions of the

+Aragonese muleteer. He ordered that he

+should be arrested immediately.</p>

+

+<p>“Did you learn anything from Madame

+Alphonse?” I asked the king’s attorney,

+when my deposition was written out and

+signed.</p>

+

+<p>“That unfortunate young woman has gone

+mad,” he replied, with a sad smile. “Mad!

+absolutely mad! This is what she told me:</p>

+

+<p>“She had been in bed, she said, a few minutes,

+with the curtains drawn, when her bedroom

+door opened and some one came in. At

+that time Madame Alphonse was on the inside

+of the bed, with her face towards the wall.

+Supposing, of course, that it was her husband,

+she did not move. A moment later, the bed<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span>

+creaked as if under an enormous weight. She

+was terribly frightened, but dared not turn

+her head. Five minutes, ten minutes perhaps,&mdash;she

+can only guess at the time&mdash;passed in

+this way. Then she made an involuntary

+movement, or else the other person in the

+bed made one, and she felt the touch of something

+as cold as ice&mdash;that was her expression.

+She moved closer to the wall, trembling

+in every limb. Shortly after, the door opened

+a second time, and some one came in, who

+said: ‘Good-evening, my little wife.’ Soon

+the curtains were drawn aside. She heard a

+stifled cry. The person who was in the bed

+by her side sat up and seemed to put out its

+arms. Thereupon she turned her head, and

+saw, so she declares, her husband on his

+knees beside the bed, with his head on a level

+with the pillow, clasped in the arms of a sort

+of greenish giant, who was squeezing him

+with terrible force. She says&mdash;and she repeated

+it twenty times, poor woman!&mdash;she

+says that she recognised&mdash;can you guess<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span>

+whom?&mdash;the bronze Venus, M. de Peyrehorade’s

+statue. Since she was unearthed,

+the whole neighbourhood dreams of her. But

+I continue the story of that unhappy mad

+woman. At that sight she lost consciousness,

+and it is probable that she had lost her

+reason some moments before. She could

+give me no idea at all how long she remained

+in her swoon. Recovering her senses, she

+saw the phantom, or, as she still insists, the

+statue, motionless, with its legs and the lower

+part of the body in the bed, the bust and arms

+stretched out, and in its arms her husband,

+also motionless. A cock crew. Thereupon

+the statue got out of bed, dropped the dead

+body, and left the room. Madame Alphonse

+rushed for the bell-cord, and you know the

+rest.”</p>

+

+<p>The Spaniard was arrested; he was calm,

+and defended himself with much self-possession

+and presence of mind. He did not

+deny making the remark I had overheard; but

+he explained it by saying that he had meant<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span>

+simply this: that, on the following day, having

+rested meanwhile, he would beat his victorious

+rival at tennis. I remember that he

+added:</p>

+

+<p>“An Aragonese, when he is insulted,

+doesn’t wait until the next day for his revenge.

+If I had thought that Monsieur Alphonse

+intended to insult me, I would have

+driven my knife into his belly on the spot.”</p>

+

+<p>His shoes were compared with the footprints

+in the garden, and were found to be

+much larger.</p>

+

+<p>Lastly, the innkeeper at whose house he

+was staying deposed that he had passed the

+whole night rubbing and doctoring one of

+his mules, which was sick. Furthermore,

+the Aragonese was a man of excellent reputation,

+well known in the province, where he

+came every year in the course of his business.

+So he was released with apologies.</p>

+

+<p>I have forgotten the deposition of a servant,

+who was the last person to see M. Alphonse

+alive. It was just as he was going up to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span>

+his wife; he called the man and asked him

+with evident anxiety if he knew where I was.

+The servant replied that he had not seen me.

+Thereupon M. Alphonse sighed and stood

+more than a minute without speaking; then

+he said:</p>

+

+<p>“<em>Well! the devil must have taken him

+away, too!</em>”</p>

+

+<p>I asked him if M. Alphonse had his diamond

+ring on his finger when he spoke to

+him. The servant hesitated before he replied;

+at last he said that he did not think so,

+but that he had not noticed particularly.</p>

+

+<p>“If he had had that ring on his finger,”

+he added upon reflection, “I should certainly

+have noticed it, for I thought that he had

+given it to Madame Alphonse.”</p>

+

+<p>As I questioned this man, I was conscious

+of a touch of the superstitious terror with

+which Madame Alphonse’s deposition had infected

+the whole household. The king’s attorney

+glanced at me with a smile, and I did

+not persist.</p>

+

+<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span></p>

+

+<p>Some hours after M. Alphonse’s funeral, I

+prepared to leave Ille. M. de Peyrehorade’s

+carriage was to take me to Perpignan. Despite

+his enfeebled condition, the poor old

+man insisted upon attending me to his garden

+gate. We passed through the garden in

+silence; he, hardly able to drag himself alone,

+leaning on my arm. As we were about to

+part, I cast a last glance at the Venus. I foresaw

+that my host, although he did not share

+the terror and detestation which she inspired

+in a portion of his family, would be glad to be

+rid of an object which would constantly remind

+him of a shocking calamity. It was my

+purpose to urge him to place it in some museum.

+I hesitated about opening the subject,

+when M. de Peyrehorade mechanically turned

+his head in the direction in which he saw

+that I was gazing earnestly. His eye fell

+upon the statue, and he instantly burst into

+tears. I embraced him, and, afraid to say a

+single word, entered the carriage.</p>

+

+<p>I never learned, subsequent to my departure,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span>

+that any new light had been thrown

+upon that mysterious catastrophe.</p>

+

+<p>M. de Peyrehorade died a few months after

+his son. By his will he bequeathed to me

+his manuscripts, which I shall publish some

+day, perhaps. I found among them no memoir

+relating to the inscriptions on the Venus.</p>

+

+<hr class="tb" />

+

+<p>P. S.&mdash;My friend M. de P. has recently

+written me from Perpignan that the statue

+no longer exists. After her husband’s death,

+Madame de Peyrehorade’s first care was to

+have it melted into a bell, and in that new

+shape it is now used in the church at Ille.</p>

+

+<p>“But,” M. de P. adds, “it would seem that

+an evil fate pursues all those who possess

+that bronze. Since that bell has rung at Ille

+the vines have frozen twice.”</p>

+

+<div class="blockquot">

+

+<p>1837.</p>

+</div>

+

+

+<div class="transnote chap">

+

+<p class="center"><b>Transcriber’s Note</b></p>

+

+<p>Minor printer’s errors were corrected by the transcriber; otherwise, as

+far as possible, original spelling and punctuation have been retained.</p>

+

+<p>There were many errors in the ancient Greek in the printed text; some

+of these were introduced by the translator, and some were present in

+the French edition. In this file, as far as possible, the ancient Greek

+is identical to that of the English text as printed.</p>

+

+<p>The cover image was created by the transcriber and placed in the public

+domain.</p>

+</div>

+

+

+<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PROSPER MÉRIMÉE'S SHORT STORIES ***</div>

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