diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old/69530-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/69530-0.txt | 13213 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 13213 deletions
diff --git a/old/69530-0.txt b/old/69530-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 3693266..0000000 --- a/old/69530-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,13213 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The humour of Spain., by Susette M. -Taylor - -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: The humour of Spain. - -Illustrator: H. R. Millar - -Compiler: Susette M. Taylor - -Release Date: December 12, 2022 [eBook #69530] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Josep Cols Canals, Les Galloway and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The - Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HUMOUR OF SPAIN. *** - - - Transcriber’s Notes - -Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. All other -variations remain unchanged. - -Italics are represented thus _italic_, bold thus =bold=. - - - - - _HUMOUR SERIES_ - - EDITED BY W. H. DIRCKS - - - THE HUMOUR OF SPAIN - - - - - ALREADY ISSUED - - - _FRENCH HUMOUR_ - _GERMAN HUMOUR_ - _ITALIAN HUMOUR_ - _AMERICAN HUMOUR_ - _DUTCH HUMOUR_ - _IRISH HUMOUR_ - _SPANISH HUMOUR_ - - -[Illustration: “WHILE YOUR DAUGHTER WALKS OUT WITH HER BLACK EYES.”—P. -318.] - - - - - THE - HUMOUR OF SPAIN - - - SELECTED, WITH AN INTRODUCTION - AND NOTES, - BY SUSETTE M. TAYLOR: - ILLUSTRATIONS BY H. R. - MILLAR - - - THE WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING CO., LTD., - PATERNOSTER SQUARE, LONDON, E.C. - CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, - 153-157 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. - 1909. - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - - INTRODUCTION xi - - MY CID PLEDGES TWO COFFRES FULL OF SAND TO THE - JEWS RACHEL AND VIDAS—_Twelfth Century_ 1 - - THE COWARDICE OF THE INFANTES OF CARRION WHEN THE - LION BREAKS LOOSE—_Thirteenth Century_ 4 - - THE CAT TURNED NUN—_Fourteenth Century_ 8 - - THE MADMAN IN THE BATH—_Don Juan Manuel_ 10 - - THE NAKED KING—_Don Juan Manuel_ 10 - - “NOT EVEN THE DAY OF THE MUD?”—_Don Juan Manuel_ 16 - - THE TAMING OF THE SHREW—_Don Juan Manuel_ 18 - - A LONG TALE—_Fifteenth Century_ 22 - - ELECTIO NULLA DEBET ESSE IN MALIS—_Fifteenth Century_ 23 - - THE BITER BIT—_Fifteenth Century_ 23 - - CALISTO IS SMITTEN WITH MELIBEA’S CHARMS—_Rodrigo Cota_ 26 - - LOVE AND DEATH 31 - - THE EATEN PANCAKE—_Lope de Rueda_ 33 - - THE FAIR CELIBATE—_Gil Vicente_ 36 - - “THE TABLE-BOOK AND TRAVELLERS’ JOY”— - - THE RUSTIC AND THE LACKEYS 38 - - THE CONTRARY WIFE 40 - - AN AFFECTIONATE WIFE 42 - - CHASTISE WITH GOOD WORDS 42 - - THE ACCOMMODATING FARMER 44 - - THE ACCOMMODATING LORD 44 - - DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND 44 - - THE BEST HOUR TO DINE 45 - - THE BEST WIFE IN THE WORLD 45 - - A PIOUS WISH 45 - - “THE BOOK OF JOKES”—TRAVELLERS’ TALES 54 - - TALES OF ROGUES— - - LAZARO DECLARETH WHOSE SON HE WAS—_Hurtado de - Mendoza_ 57 - - HOW LAZARO SERVES A BLIND MAN—_Hurtado de Mendoza_ 58 - - LAZARO IS SERVANT TO A PRIEST—_Hurtado de Mendoza_ 60 - - A TAILOR WOULD FAIN LEARN OF GUZMAN TO WRITE - HIS NAME, OR TO MAKE FIRMA, OR MARK, AND - THE REASON WHY—_Mateo Aleman_ 70 - - EPISODE OF THE OFFICIOUS PHYSICIAN—_Mateo Aleman_ 71 - - OF THE PLEASANT LIFE GUZMAN LED AMONG HIS - BRETHREN, AND AN ACCOUNT OF HIS VISIT TO - GATEA—_Mateo Aleman_ 72 - - OF THE WICKED OLD HOUSEKEEPER, AND THE FIRST - KNAVISH PRANKS PAUL PLAYED AT ALCALA—_Quevedo_ 79 - - ESTEBANILLO ACTS ON THE CARDINAL’S BIRTHDAY!—_Estebanillo - Gonzalez_ 86 - - THE INGENIOUS GENTLEMAN, DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA—_Miguel - Cervantes_ 90 - - THE LOVERS’ RUSE—_Lope de Vega_ 128 - - AUNTS—_Jacinto Polo_ 131 - - THE MISER CHASTISED—_Doña Maria de Zayas_ 132 - - THE MARKET OF ANCESTORS—_Velez de Guevara_ 139 - - VISION OF THE LAST JUDGMENT—_Gomez de Quevedo_ 141 - - THE REVENGE OF DON LUCAS—_Francesco Rojas de Zorrilla_ 155 - - THE MAYOR OF ZALAMEA—_Calderon de la Barca_ 160 - - THE SIMPLE GROOMS—_Santos_ 178 - - PORTUGUESE EPITAPHS AND SAYINGS—_Seventeenth Century_ 180 - - LA TARASCA AND THE CARRIERS—_Santos_ 181 - - PEDIGREE OF FOOLS—_Seventeenth Century_ 183 - - THE FAMOUS PREACHER, FRIAR BLAS 184 - - THE MUSICAL ASS—_Yriarte_ 187 - - THE BASHFUL SHEPHERDESS—_Iglesias_ 189 - - THE BEAR, THE APE, AND THE PIG—_Yriarte_ 189 - - THE FROG AND THE HEN—_Yriarte_ 190 - - MARIQUITA THE BALD—_Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch_ 191 - - PULPETE AND BALBEJA; OR, AN ANDALUSIAN DUEL—_Estébanez - Calderón_ 207 - - SEVILLE—_José Zorrilla_ 213 - - AFTER THE BULL-FIGHT—_Mesonero Romanos_ 213 - - DELIGHTS OF A MADRID WINTER—_Wenceslao Ayguals de Izco_ 216 - - IN THE EARLIER DAYS OF PHOTOGRAPHY—_M. Ossorio y - Bernard_ 218 - - THE OLD CASTILIAN—_Mariano José de Larra_ 221 - - A DEMAGOGIC JOURNALIST—_Antonio Maria Segovia_ 233 - - A CAT CHASE DURING THE SIEGE OF GERONA—_Perez Galdos_ 238 - - A WELL-WON DISH OF CHERRIES—_Perez Galdos_ 242 - - FIRST LOVE—_Emilia Pardo Bazan_ 246 - - THE ACCOUNT BOOK—_Pedro Antonio de Alarcon_ 254 - - SISTER SAINT SULPICE—_A. Palacio Valdés_ 261 - - PEPITA—_Juan Valera_ 275 - - IF SHE COULD ONLY WRITE—_Campoamor_ 288 - - DOCTOR PERTINAX—_Leopoldo Alas_ 291 - - A FEW THOUGHTS ON LIGHT—_José Selgas_ 300 - - EPIGRAMS 302 - - FOLK-TALES 305 - - MIRACLES OF ST. ISIDRO, PATRON-SAINT OF MADRID 309 - - THE WEDDING-NIGHT 313 - - FATHER COBOS’ HINT—_Juan Martinez Villergas_ 316 - - POPULAR SONGS 318 - - PROVERBS 321 - - ANECDOTES 325 - - ECCENTRICITIES OF ENGLISHMEN—_A. Ribot y Fontserré_ 329 - - NEWSPAPER HUMOUR 332 - - HUMOROUS ADVERTISEMENTS 338 - - AT THE THEATRE 341 - - NOTES—CRITICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL 345 - - - - - INTRODUCTION. - - -A certain mysterious charm clings to the Spanish people, by reason -of the long domain of more than seven hundred years of the Moors -over the Peninsula, and consequent intermingling, to some degree, of -race, and considerable Oriental influence on the national life and -characteristics. The chief sport of the Spaniards, the bull-fight, is -of Moorish origin; their popular dances and songs raise recollections -of Indian Nautch-girls and the choruses in Moroccan coffee-houses; -their predominant sentiment, the jealousy over their women, points back -to the strict seclusion of the harem. To divert to another paramount -influence, Spain, to this day the most Catholic country in the world, -is in history of awful interest as the country in which the dread -Inquisition took root most firmly: here alone 32,000 persons were -condemned to the _auto-da-fe_! Gloominess, pride, and reserve have -for centuries been the reputed qualities of the Spaniards. Oriental -races are not mirthful; it is difficult to make the dignified Moor -smile, much less laugh: the influence of the Moor, therefore, and the -absolute power of the Church as little, could scarcely be conducive -to merriment. And yet Spanish literature is illumined throughout with -bright flashes of humour, like the silver lining to the dark cloud of -the history of the people—a humour which shows itself in almost every -phase of the national literature, from the twelfth to the nineteenth -century: from incidents in the “Poema del Cid” which tickled the rough -sense of humour of the warriors of the Middle Ages, to the delicate -and subtle irony of Valera in “Pepita Jimenez”—quaint and naïve in the -ballads and collections of tales, sprightly in the drama, boisterous -in the “Novela Picaresca,” inimitable in “Don Quixote.” A humour, -moreover, not laboured, not purely literary (though the latter kind is -not lacking), but spontaneous, and embodying the salient features of -the national life and characteristics. - -It is both unnecessary and invidious to descant upon “Don Quixote,” -_par excellence_ the work of Spanish Humour. The death-blow to the -chivalrous literature throughout civilised Europe (in Spain more rankly -luxuriant than elsewhere, and where it perhaps reached its climax of -absurdity), this marvellous work spread rapidly from land to land, and -was first put into English in the year 1612. It is here given from the -latest and most scholarly translation, the labour of love for eighteen -years of Mr. H. E. Watts. It may be as well, however, to draw attention -to the special phase of Spanish life round which Spanish humour -collected in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries—namely, the life -of rogues in the “Novela Picaresca”—to which a section of this volume -has been devoted, and the influence of which is traceable in other -authors (such as Guevara and Santos) not included in that section. -This peculiar taste, called El Gusto Picaresco (_pícaro_ = rogue) -owes its origin, according to Ticknor, to the condition of certain -portions of society in the reigns of Charles V. and Philip II., and -it has ever been in popular favour. Le Sage boldly imitated it in his -famous “Gil Blas”;[1] and Fielding, Smollet, and other English authors -show its influence upon English literature. This typical rogue, who -generally starts in life as a servant, has his counterpart on the stage -in the Gracioso (the valet), prototype of the Barbier de Seville of -Beaumarchais, and Molière's Scapin. - -As this collection is not intended to be comprehensive, no apology need -be made for omissions obvious perhaps to Spanish scholars. Among other -works, such as those of the Archpriest of Hita, of Castillejo, Forner, -Pitillas, and Moratin, the “Gatomaquia” (_see_ Notes) and “Mosquea,” -burlesque epics after the pattern of the “Batrachomyomachia,” are not -represented; nor yet the famous “Murciliego Alevoso” (in which is -displayed a humour not unlike Pop) of Gonzalez, and the celebrated -periodical _El Padre Cobos_.[2] That the drama, however, the richest in -Europe, and original and characteristic as only either the Greek or the -English drama, should be so little represented is due to the fact that -the fun of a Spanish comedy generally lies in the plot and in comic -situations. - -With regard to the tales and anecdotes (both ancient and modern), the -difficulty is any certainty of their origin, though this applies to -the literature of all countries. The story of the cook and the crane is -a common chestnut (with us the crane is a goose), the travellers’ tale -of the huge cauldron and the cabbage is perhaps too familiar to please; -but they are here of interest as from Spanish Tablebooks of so long ago -as the sixteenth century. - -To come to the nineteenth century, our English periodical essayists -of the eighteenth—Addison, Steele, and Johnson—will be recognised as -prototypes of Figaro, El Curioso Parlante, El Solitario, &c. These -Spanish _Tatlers_ and _Spectators_ are, however, on the whole, no -servile imitators, and are justly held in high esteem by the Spaniards, -though little known outside the Peninsula.[3] The nineteenth-century -novel, in which critics see the continuity of the Spanish genius, is -here well represented by Valer “Pepita Jiménez,” and “Sister Saint -Sulpice” of Valdés; other novelists, the rightly popular Alarcon, and -the distinguished authoress, Emilia Pardo Bazan, have contributed short -tales. - -The chronological order, which on the whole is adhered to down to the -eighteenth century, is somewhat neglected in the nineteenth for the -sake of variety and harmony in the arrangement of the selections. It is -also to be feared that a few names of minor importance have crept in -among the authors of the present century. - -This compilation is based upon Ticknor’s great work upon Spanish -literature[4] and Padre Blanco Garcia’s “History of the Literature of the -Nineteenth Century” (published 1891), besides some valuable advice, -generously given under great stress of work and worry, by Senõr Don -Rubió y Lluch, professor of Spanish Literature to the University of -Barcelona. Other authorities consulted, biographies, &c., are too -numerous to detail. - -Existing translations have been used, and the translators’ names -appended. Among these many famous ones from Elizabethan to modern times -will be noticed. Many of the selections have been considerably adapted -for various reasons, principally to suit the requirements of a work -intended to be popular. Others are almost literal. In many cases it has -been no little difficulty to select passages comprehensive enough to -dispense with explanations or a long introductory notice. - -On the whole liveliness and attractiveness (whether with success or no) -is aimed at rather than scholarly exactness, though it is to be hoped -the collection will also be of interest to the student, and give a -faithful reflection of Spanish humour so far as possible in a foreign -garb. - -With regard to the insertion of extracts from translations or Spanish -originals published within the last ten years, I have to thank the -Cassell Publishing Co., New York, for “The Account Book,” translated -by Mary J. Serrano; Messrs. Thomas J. Crowell & Co., New York, for the -extracts from “Sister Saint Sulpice,” translated by N. H. Dole; Mr. -Heinemann, for his kind permission to insert the given extract from the -translation of “Pepita Jiménez”; Messrs. Kegan Paul, Trench, Trübner, -and Co. for permission to insert the ballad from Mr. Gibson’s Spanish -Romances; Señora Doña Emilia Pardo Bazan for her gracious permission -to select from her tales; Mr. H. E. Watts for permission to insert -extracts from his translation of “Don Quixote.” - -Finally, my best thanks are due to kind friends in Catalonia -(possessors in the Catalan of a distinct tongue and valuable -literature, if less important than the Castilian) for their great -help during my residence at Barcelona by the furthering of my Spanish -studies, privately, and at the University. While I owe much, to -cultured Spaniards, from Santander to Seville, for valuable information -on their national life and customs, and to my Mother, a patient and -enthusiastic traveller, and the origin, in more than one way, of my -sojourn and travels in Spain. - - SUSETTE M. TAYLOR. - - - - - THE HUMOUR OF SPAIN. - - - - - _MY CID PLEDGES TWO COFFRES FULL OF - SAND TO THE JEWS RACHEL AND VIDAS._ - - - “Martin Antolinez, a dowghtye lance art thow - And be my troth thy hire shall ne stinted be, I vow - My gold, alack, is all yespent and eke the silver toe, - And richesse bere I none with me as God on hye is trewe. - With an ill wille I do itte, for my brave companye’s sake, - Togither with thy gude reade tweye strong chests we will make, - The leather schal be cramasie, the nails schal be of gold, - And we’ll fill them ful of gravele, as much as thei can hold - Toe Rachel and to Vidas, now hie thee speedilee: - An outlawe I from Burgos towne, the Kyng is wrath with me, - I needs must leave my tresor because of its sore weyt, - And I will plege it to them at an anantageus rate.” - Martin Antolinez spedde to towne without delai, - And saw the tweye Jewes upon that verye day. - “O Rachel and thow Vidas, dere frendes are ye in trothe, - A message I have privyly to telle onto youe bothe.” - They did not keep him waiting, they went asyde all thre. - “Here Rachel, and thow Vidas, praye giv your handes to me, - Betray me not to Xtian nor yet to any More, - And I will make you ryche, you schal never more be poor. - The Campeador alate gathered in the landes dutie, - And keped from the Kyng grete and mickle bootie; - Tweye coffres he has gotten brimful of shinand gold - And he cannot bere hem with him, unless he had them sold; - But he’ll give them in your keepyng, and borrow what is just, - Soe take the coffres in your care, with hem we youe entrust, - And laye your handes within mine and tel me one and bothe, - That you wil not look insyde them al this yere upon your oathe”— - “And what will my Cid paye toe us for keepyng safe his treasure?”— - Quoth Martin Antolinez, “He will paye you in due measure - But now he needes a hundred markes, and you can paye them here.”— - “We never paye,” the Jewes sayde, “afore we have the ware.” - Soe they mounted ther swift corsiares and rade richt speedilee, - Wen my Cid saw them comynge, he lought most lustilee. - The Jewes bent loe and kissed his hande, Martin wrote down the deed, - Thei sholde have care of the coffers but of lookyng in tayk heed. - The myrth youe sholde have witnest wen the chests were borne away, - They coulde not bere them by themselves all gyf no striplings they. - Sayd Rachel to the Campeador, “O Cid, I kisse thy hand, - Myght I a fyn red moorish skynne on thi returne demande?” - “Richt willyngley,” sayde my Cid, “sych gifts I gladly offer, - Shoulde I perchaunce forget itte, youe must count it on the coffer.” - In the middle of the hall they stretch’d a carpet fringed and rare, - And a shete of fyn bleached linen was also laid out ther. - In a single lot of silver thre hundrith markes they payed; - Brave Antolinez counted them but did not have hem weyed. - Thre hundrith more he toke in gold, and then bespake the two: - “O Rachel and thow Vidas, mickle gain I’ve brought to you, - And in soth I’ve earned your thanks gif not a pair of breeches toe.” - Vidas and Rachel youde asyde and speedilye agreed - That Antolinez verile had earned of them ryche meede. - “Thritte odde markes, wich is but just, Martin, we’ll giv to youe, - And you can buye some fur, a cloake, and paire of breeches toe.” - Soe Antolinez took the markes and thanked them hertelye, - And tayking curteous leave of them spedde backe richt merrylye. - - “_Poema del Cid_” (_Twelfth Century_). - - -[Illustration: THE CID PLEDGES TWO COFFERS OF SAND TO THE JEWS.] - - - - - _THE COWARDICE OF THE INFANTES OF - CARRION WHEN THE LION BREAKS LOOSE._ - - -Two years after their marriage did the Infantes of Carrion sojourn in -Valencia in peace and pleasure, to their own great contentment, and -their uncle Suero Gonzalez with them; and at the end of those two years -there came to pass a great misadventure, by reason of which they fell -out with the Cid, in whom there was no fault. There was a lion in the -house of the Cid who had grown a large one, and a strong, and was full -nimble; three men had the keeping of this lion, and they kept him -in a den which was in a courtyard, high up in the palace; and when -they cleansed the court they were wont to shut him up in his den, and -afterward to open the door that he might come out and eat: the Cid kept -him for his pastime, that he might take pleasure with him when he was -minded so to do. Now it was the custom of the Cid to dine every day -with his company, and after he had dined he was wont to sleep awhile -upon his seat. And one day when he had dined there came a man and told -him that a great fleet was arrived in the port of Valencia, wherein -there was a great power of the Moors, whom King Bucar had brought over, -the son of the Miramamolin of Morocco. And when the Cid heard this -his heart rejoiced and he was glad, for it was nigh three years since -he had had a battle with the Moors. Incontinently he ordered a signal -to be made that all the honourable men who were in the city should -assemble together. And when they were all assembled in the Alcazar, and -his sons-in-law with them, the Cid told them the news, and took counsel -with them in what manner they should go out against this great power -of the Moors. And when they had taken counsel the Cid went to sleep -upon his seat, and the Infantes and the others sat playing at tables -and chess. Now at this time the men who were keepers of the lion were -cleaning the court, and when they heard the cry that the Moors were -coming, they opened the den, and came down into the palace where the -Cid was, and left the door of the court open. And when the lion had -ate his meat and saw that the door was open he went out of the court -and came down into the palace, even into the hall where they all were; -and when they who were there saw him, there was a great stir among -them; but the Infantes of Carrion showed greater cowardice than all the -rest. Ferrando Gonzalez having no shame, neither for the Cid nor for -the others who were present, crept under the seat whereon the Cid was -sleeping, and in his haste he burst his mantle and his doublet also at -the shoulders. And Diego Gonzalez, the other, ran to a postern door, -crying, “I shall never see Carrion again!” This door opened upon a -courtyard where there was a winepress, and he jumped out, and by reason -of the great height could not keep on his feet, but fell among the lees -and defiled himself therewith. And all the others who were in the hall -wrapped their cloaks around their arms, and stood round about the seat -whereon the Cid was sleeping, that they might defend him. The noise -which they made awakened the Cid, and he saw the lion coming towards -him, and he lifted up his hand and said, “What is this?“... And the -lion, hearing his voice, stood still; and he rose up and took him by -the mane as if he had been a gentle mastiff, and led him back to the -court where he was before, and ordered his keepers to look better to -him for the time to come. And when he had done this he returned to the -hall and took his seat again; and all they who beheld it were greatly -astonished. - -After some time, Ferrando Gonzalez crept from under the seat where he -had hidden himself, and he came out with a pale face, not having yet -lost his fear, and his brother Diego got from among the lees: and when -they who were present saw them in this plight you never saw such sport -as they made; but my Cid forbade their laughter. And Diego went out to -wash himself and change his garments, and he sent to call his brother -forth, and they took counsel together in secret. - - “_Chronicle of the Cid_” (_Thirteenth Century_). - _Trans. Southey._ - -[Illustration: BRAVERY OF THE CID WHEN THE LION BREAKS LOOSE.] - - - - - _THE CAT TURNED NUN._ - - -In a certain convent there was a cat which had killed all the mice in -the convent but one, which was very big, which she could not catch. -The cat mused in her heart in what manner she might deceive the mouse -that she might kill him; and thought so long till she agreed she must -take the veil, and clothe herself in nun’s garb, and sit amongst the -nuns at table, and then she might get at the mouse; and she did as -she had thought. The mouse, when he saw the cat eating with the nuns, -rejoiced greatly, and thought, since the cat had become religious, -that she would henceforth do him no harm, insomuch that Don Mouse came -near to where the nuns were eating, and began to leap about here and -there. Then the cat rolled her eyes as one who has no longer eyes for -any vanity or folly, and she kept a peaceful and humble countenance; -and the mouse, seeing that, drew near little by little; and when the -cat saw him nigh her she sprang upon him with her claws and began to -throttle him. And the mouse said, “How is it that thou, a nun, art so -cruel as to wish to kill me?” Whereupon the cat replied, “Think not -thy cries will cause me to free thee; for know, brother, that when it -pleases me I am a nun, and when it pleases me a canoness.”[5] - - “_The Book of Cats_” (_Fourteenth Century_). - _Author unknown._ - -[Illustration: “THE MOUSE, WHEN HE SAW THE CAT EATING WITH THE NUNS, -REJOICED GREATLY.”] - - - - - _THE MADMAN IN THE BATH._ - - -Now it chanced that a good man kept some baths, and a neighbour, a -madman, was the first to come daily to this bath; afterwards awaiting -the arrival of the people to bathe, he commenced, as soon as he saw -them, to beat them with sticks or throw stones at them, so that the -proprietor of the baths soon lost all his customers. The good man, -seeing this, determined to rise very early one day, undressed himself, -and went into the bath before the madman arrived, having at hand a pail -full of very hot water and a wooden club. When the madman came to the -bath, determined, as usual, to attack all who came in his way, the good -man, seeing him enter, allowed him to approach, when he suddenly upset -the pail of hot water over his head, attacking him at the same time -with the club. The madman now gave himself up for dead; nevertheless, -he managed to escape, and, running away, he told every one he met to be -careful, for there was a madman in the bath. - - _Don Juan Manuel_ (_d._ 1347). _Trans. James York._ - - - - - _THE NAKED KING._ - - -Three impostors came to a king and told him they were cloth-weavers, -and could fabricate a cloth of so peculiar a nature that a legitimate -son of his father could see the cloth; but if he were illegitimate, -though believed to be legitimate, he could not see it. - -Now the King was much pleased at this, thinking that by this means -he would be able to distinguish the men in his kingdom who were -legitimate sons of their supposed fathers’s from those who were not, -and so be enabled to increase his treasures, for among the Moors only -legitimate children inherit their father’s property; and for this end he -ordered a palace to be appropriated to the manufacture of this cloth. -And these men, in order to convince him that they had no intention of -deceiving him, agreed to be shut up in this palace until the cloth was -manufactured, which satisfied the King. - -[Illustration: “SUDDENLY UPSET THE PAIL OF HOT WATER.”] - -When they were supplied with a large quantity of gold, silver, silk, -and many other things, they entered the palace, and, putting their -looms in order, gave it to be understood that they were working all day -at the cloth. - -After some days, one of them came to the King and told him the cloth -was commenced, that it was the most curious thing in the world, -describing the design and construction; he then prayed the King to -favour them with a visit, but begged he would come alone. The King was -much pleased, but wishing to have the opinion of some one first, sent -the Lord Chamberlain to see it, in order to know if they were deceiving -him. When the Lord Chamberlain saw the workmen, and heard all they had -to say, he dared not admit he could not see the cloth, and when he -returned to the King he stated that he had seen it; the King sent yet -another, who gave the same report. When they whom he had sent declared -that they had seen the cloth, he determined to go himself. - -On entering the palace and seeing the men at work, who began to -describe the texture and relate the origin of the invention, as also -the design and colour, in which they all appeared to agree, although in -reality they were not working; when the King saw how they appeared to -work, and heard the character of the cloth so minutely described, and -yet could not see it, although those he had sent had seen it, he began -to feel very uneasy, fearing he might not be the son of the King who -was supposed to be his father, and that if he acknowledged he could -not see the cloth he might lose his kingdom; under this impression he -commenced praising the fabric, describing its peculiarities after the -manner of the workmen. - -[Illustration: “HE MOUNTED ON HORSEBACK AND RODE INTO THE CITY.”] - -On the return to his palace he related to his people how good and -marvellous was the cloth, yet at the same time suspected something -wrong. - -At the end of two or three days the King requested his “Alguacil” (or -officer of justice) to go and see the cloth. When the Alguacil entered -and saw the workmen, who, as before, described the figures and pattern -of the cloth, knowing that the King had been to see it, and yet could -not see it himself, he thought he certainly could not be the legitimate -son of his father, and therefore could not see it. He, however, feared -if he was to declare that he could not see it he would lose his -honourable position; to avoid this mischance he commenced praising the -cloth even more vehemently than the others. - -When the Alguacil returned to the King and told him that he had seen -the cloth, and that it was the most extraordinary production in the -world, the King was much disconcerted; for he thought that if the -Alguacil had seen the cloth, which he was unable to see, there could -no longer be a doubt that he was not the legitimate son of the King, -as was generally supposed; he therefore did not hesitate to praise the -excellency of the cloth and the skill of the workmen who were able to -make it. - -On another day he sent one of his Councillors, and it happened to -him as to the King and the others of whom I have spoken; and in this -manner, and for this reason, they deceived the King and many others, -for no one dared to say he could not see the cloth. - -Things went on thus until there came a great feast, when all requested -the King to be dressed in some of the cloth; so the workmen, being -ordered, brought some rolled up in a very fine linen, and inquired of -the King how much of it he wished them to cut off; so the King gave -orders how much and how to make it up. - -Now when the clothes were made, and the feast day had arrived, the -weavers brought them to the King, informing his Majesty that his dress -was made of the cloth as he had directed, the King all this time not -daring to say he could not see it. - -When the King had professed to dress himself in this suit, he mounted -on horseback and rode into the city; but fortunately for him it was -summer time. The people seeing his Majesty come in this manner were -much surprised; but knowing that those who could not see this cloth -would be considered illegitimate sons of their fathers, kept their -surprise to themselves, fearing the dishonour consequent upon such a -declaration. Not so, however, with a negro, who happened to notice the -King thus equipped; for he, having nothing to lose, came to him and -said, “Sire, to me it matters not whose son I am, therefore I tell you -that you are riding without any clothes.” On this the King commenced -beating him, saying that he was not the legitimate son of his supposed -father, and therefore it was that he could not see the cloth. But no -sooner had the negro said this, than others were convinced of its -truth, and said the same; until, at last, the King and all with him -lost their fear of declaring the truth, and saw through the trick of -which these impostors had made them the victims. When the weavers were -sought for they were found to have fled, taking with them all they had -received from the King by their imposition. - - _Don Juan Manuel. Trans. James York._ - - - - - “_NOT EVEN THE DAY OF THE MUD?_” - - -The King Abit, of Seville, was married to Romaquia, and he loved her -better than anything in the world. She was a very virtuous woman, and -the Moors recount many of her good acts. But in one thing she did not -display much wisdom; this was that she generally had some caprice or -other which the King was always willing to gratify. - -One day, being in Cordova during the month of February, there happened -to be (which was very unusual) a very heavy fall of snow. When Romaquia -saw this she began to weep. The King, seeing her so afflicted, desired -to know the cause of her grief. - -“I weep,” said she, “because I am not permitted to live in a country -where we sometimes see snow.” - -The King, anxious to gratify her, ordered almond-trees to be planted -on all the mountains surrounding Cordova, for, it being a very warm -climate, snow is seldom or never seen there. But now, once a year, and -that in the month of February, the almond-trees came forth in full -blossom, which, from their whiteness, made it appear as if there had -been a fall of snow on the mountains, and was a source of great delight -to the Queen for a time. - -On another occasion Romaquia, being in her apartment, which overlooked -the river, saw a woman without shoes or stockings kneading mud on the -banks of the river for the purpose of making bricks. When Romaquia saw -this she began to cry, which the King observing, begged to know the -cause of her grief. - -She replied, “It is because I am not free to do as I please; I cannot -do as yonder woman is doing.” - -Then the King, in order to gratify her, ordered a lake at Cordova to be -filled with rose-water in place of ordinary water, and to produce mud -he had this filled with sugar, powdered cinnamon and ginger, beautiful -stones, amber, musk, and as many other fragrant spices and perfumes as -could be procured, and in place of straws he ordered to be placed ready -small sugar-canes. Now when this lake was full of such mud, as you may -imagine, the King informed Romaquia that now she might take off her -shoes and stockings and enjoy herself by making as many bricks as she -pleased. - -[Illustration: “THE KING ORDERED A LAKE AT CORDOVA TO BE FILLED WITH -ROSE-WATER.”] - -Another day, taking a fancy for something not immediately procurable, -she began weeping as before. The King again entreated to know the cause -of her grief. - -“How can I refrain from tears,” said she, “when you never do anything -to please me?” - -The King, seeing that so much had been done to please and gratify her -caprices, and feeling now at his wits’ end, exclaimed, in Arabic, “_Ehu -alenahac aten_,” which means, “Not even the day of the mud.” That is to -say, that, although all the rest had been forgotten, she might at least -have remembered the mud he had prepared to humour her. - - _Don Juan Manuel_ (_d._ 1347). _Trans. James York._ - - - - - _THE TAMING OF THE SHREW._ - - -There lived in a city a Moor who was much respected, and who had a son, -the most promising youth in the world, but not being rich enough to -accomplish the great deeds which he felt in his heart equal to, he was -greatly troubled, having the will and not the power. Now in the same -town there lived another Moor who held a higher position, and was very -much richer than his father, and who had an only daughter, the very -reverse in character and appearance of the young man, she being of -so very violent a temper that no one could be found willing to marry -such a virago. One day the young man came to his father and said, “You -know that your means will not allow you to put me in a position to -live honourably,” adding that, as he desired to live an easy and quiet -life, he thought it better to seek to enrich himself by an advantageous -marriage, or to leave that part of the country. The father told him -that he would be very happy if he could succeed in such a union. On -this the son proposed, if it were agreeable to his father, to seek the -daughter of their neighbour in marriage. Hearing this, the father was -much astonished, and asked how he could think of such a thing when he -knew that no man, however poor, could be induced to marry her. - -Nevertheless the son insisted, and although the father thought it a -strange whim, in the end he gave his consent. The good man then visited -his neighbour telling him the wish of his son. - -When the good man heard what his friend said, he answered, “By heaven, -my friend, were I to do such a thing I should prove myself a very -false friend, for you have a worthy son, and it would be base in me to -consent to his injury or death, and I know for certain that, were he to -live with my daughter, he would soon die, or death, at least, would be -preferable to life. Do not think I say this from any objection to your -alliance, for I should only be too grateful to any man who would take -her out of my house.” - -The young man’s father was much pleased at this, as his son was so intent -on the marriage. All being ultimately arranged, they were in the end -married, and the bride taken home, according to the Moorish fashion, -to the house of her husband, and left to supper, the friends and -relations returning to their respective homes, waiting anxiously for -the following day, when they feared to find the bridegroom either dead -or seriously injured. - -Now, being left alone, the young couple sat down to supper, when the -bridegroom, looking behind him, saw his mastiff, and said to him, -“Bring me water wherewith to wash my hands.” The dog naturally taking -no notice of this command, the young man became irritated, and ordered -the animal more angrily to bring him water for his hands, which the -latter not heeding, the young man arose in a great rage, and, drawing -his sword, commenced a savage attack on the dog, who to avoid him -ran away, but finding no retreat jumped on the table, then to the -fireplace, his master still pursuing him, who, having caught him, -first cut off his head, then his paws, hewing him to pieces, covering -everything with blood. Thus furious and blood-stained he returned to -the table, and looking round saw a cat. “Bring me water for my hands,” -said he to him. The animal not noticing the command, the master cried -out, “How, false traitor, did you not see how I treated the mastiff for -disobeying me? If you do not do as I tell you this instant you shall -share his fate.” The poor little harmless cat continuing motionless, -the master seized him by the paws and dashed him to pieces against -the wall. His fury increasing, he again placed himself at the table, -looking about on all sides as if for something to attack next. His -wife, seeing this, and supposing he had lost his senses, held her -peace. At length he espied his horse, the only one he had, and called -to him fiercely to bring him water to wash his hands. The animal not -obeying he cried out in a rage, “How is this? Think you that because -you are the only horse I have, you may dare thus to disobey my orders? -Know, then, that your fate shall be the same as the others, and that -any one living who dares to disobey me shall not escape my vengeance.” -Saying this he seized the horse, cut off his head, and hacked him to -pieces. - -And when the wife saw this, and knowing he had no other horse, felt -that he was really in earnest, she became dreadfully alarmed. - -He again sat down to table, raging and all bloody as he was, swearing -he would kill a thousand horses, or even men or women, if they dared -to disobey him. Holding at the same time his bloody sword in his hand, -he looked around with glaring eyes until, fixing them on his wife, he -ordered her to bring him water to wash his hands. - -The wife, expecting no other fate than to be cut to pieces if she -demurred, immediately arose and brought him the water. - -“Ha! thank God you have done so!” said he, “otherwise, I am so -irritated by these senseless brutes, that I should have done by you -as by them.” He afterwards commanded her to help him to meat. She -complied; but he told her, in a fearful tone of voice, to beware, as -he felt as if he was going mad. Thus passed the night, she not daring -to speak, but strictly obeying all his orders. After letting her sleep -for a short time he said to her, “Get up; I have been so annoyed that I -cannot sleep, take care that nothing disturbs me, and in the meanwhile -prepare me a good and substantial meal.” - -While it was yet early the following morning the fathers, mothers, and -other relatives came stealthily to the door of the young people, and, -hearing no movement, feared the bridegroom was either dead or wounded, -and seeing the bride approach the door alone were still more alarmed. - -She, seeing them, went cautiously and tremblingly towards them, and -exclaimed: “Traitors, what are you doing? How dare you approach this -gate? Speak not—be silent, or all of us, you as well as I, are dead.” - -When they heard this they were much astonished, and on learning what -had taken place the night previous they esteemed the young man very -much who had made so good a commencement in the management of his -household; and from that day forward his wife became tractable and -complaisant, so that they led a very happy life. A few days later his -father-in-law, wishing to follow the example of his son, likewise -killed a horse in order to intimidate his wife, but she said to him, -“My friend, it is too late to begin now; it would not avail you to kill -a hundred horses: we know each other too well.” - - “Who would not for life be a henpecked fool, - Must show, from the first, that he means to rule.” - - _Don Juan Manuel. Trans. James York._ - - - - - _A LONG TALE._ - - -A King kept a man to tell him fables and tales at night before going to -sleep. And one night the King, troubled with anxious thoughts, could -not sleep, and the man told him three tales more than on other nights. -And the King bade him tell still more, but he was unwilling, having -told many. And the King said, “Thou hast told many, but they were -short; tell me a long one, and then thou canst hie thee to bed.” The -man, agreeing, began thus: “A countryman had a thousand shillings, and -went to the fair and bought two thousand sheep at sixpence each, and -on his way back he found the water had risen in the river, and that he -could not cross by either bridge or ford; but he found a little boat, -and putting in two sheep, rowed across. And now, the river is wide, the -boat very small, and the sheep many; when the rustic has ferried his -flock across, I will go on with the tale.” And he got up and hied him -to bed. - - “_Libro de los Exemplos_” (_Fifteenth Century_). - - - - - _ELECTIO NULLA DEBET ESSE IN MALIS._ - - -A knavish fool condemned to death, asked the judge if he might choose -the tree whereon he should be hanged; and this wish granted him, he was -taken to the mountains, but could see no tree to please him. And they -took him before the King, who asked why he was not yet hanged, to which -the fool replied, the fact was he could not find a tree on which he -felt he would like to be hanged. - - “_Libro de los Exemplos_” (_Fifteenth Century_). - - - - - _THE BITER BIT._ - - “Who thinks to take another in - Is oft in his turn taken in.” - - -Two townsmen and a countryman, on a pilgrimage to Mecca, agreed to -share provisions till they should reach Mecca. But the victuals ran -short, so that they had nothing left but a little flour—enough to make -a loaf. And the townsmen, seeing that, said one to the other: “We have -but little food, and our companion eats much, how shall we bring about -that he shall eat none of the bread, and that we alone eat it?” And -they took this counsel—they would make the loaf, and whilst it was -baking should all go to sleep, and whoever dreamed the most marvellous -thing in that time, he should alone eat the bread. This they did, -thinking to betray the simple rustic, and they made the loaf and put it -to bake, and then lay down to sleep. But the rustic saw through their -treachery, and when the companions were sleeping took the half-baked -bread, ate it, and turned to sleep. Then one of the townsmen awoke as -one dreaming and afraid, and called to his companion; and the other -said, “What hast thou?” - -“I saw a marvellous vision: methought two angels opened the gates of -heaven, and bore me before the face of God.” - -And his companion said, “Marvellous is that vision. But I dreamed that -two angels seized me, and, cleaving the earth, bore me to hell.” - -The rustic heard all this and pretended to sleep, but the others called -out to him to awake, and he discreetly, as one amazed, replied, “Who -are ye that are calling me?” - -They replied, “We are thy companions.” - -And he said, “Have ye returned?” - -And they said, “Whence wouldst thou have us return?” - -And the rustic said, “But now methought I saw two angels take the one -of you to heaven, and then two other angels take the other to hell; and -seeing this, and thinking you would neither return, I got up and ate -the loaf.” - - “_Libro de los Exemplos_” (_Fifteenth Century_). - -[Illustration: “WHO ARE YE THAT ARE CALLING ME?”] - - - - - _CALISTO IS SMITTEN WITH MELIBEA’S CHARMS._ - -[Illustration: Melibea and Calisto.] - - - ARGUMENT.—CALISTO, _entering into a garden after his usual manner, met - there with_ MELIBEA, _with whose love being caught, he began to court - her; by whom being sharply checkt and dismist, he gets him home_. - -_Calisto._ Sempronio, Sempronio, why Sempronio, I say, Where is this -accursed Varlet? - -_Sempronio._ I am heere, Sir, about your horses. - -_Calisto._ My horses (you knave), how haps it then that thou comst out -of the hall? - -_Sempronio._ The Gyrfalcon bated, and I came in to set him on the -Pearch. - -_Calisto._ Is’t e’en so? Now the divell take thee; misfortune waite on -thy heeles to thy destruction; mischiefe light upon thee; let some -perpetuall intolerable torment seyze upon thee in so high a degree that -it may be beyond all comparison, till it bring thee (which shortly I -hope to see) to a most painfull, miserable, and disastrous death. Goe, -thou unlucky rogue, goe I say, and open the chamber doore, and make -ready my bed. - -_Sempronio._ Presently, Sir, the bed is ready for you. - -_Calisto._ Shut the windowes, and leave darknesse to accompany him, -whose sad thoughts deserve no light. Oh death! how welcome art thou, -to those who out-live their happinesse! how welcome, wouldst thou but -come when thou art cal! O that Hypocrates and Galen, those learned -Physicians, were now living, and both heere, and felt my paine! O -heavens! if yee have any pitty in you, inspire that Pleberian heart -therewith, lest that my soule, helplesse of hope, should fall into the -like misfortune with Pyrramus and Thisbe. - -_Sempronio._ What a thing is this? Wha the matter with you? - -_Calisto._ Away, get thee gone, doe not speake to me, unlesse thou -wilt, that these my hands, before thy time be come, cut off thy daies -by speedy death. - -_Sempronio._ Since you will lament all alone, and have none to share -with you in your sorrowes, I will be gone, Sir. - -_Calisto._ Now the divell goe with thee. - -_Sempronio._ With me Sir? There is no reason that he should goe with -me, who stayes with you. O unfortunate, O sudden and unexpected ill; -what contrarious accident, what squint-ey’d starre is it that hath robbed -this Gentleman of his wonted mirth? and not of that alone, but of it -(which is worse) his wits. Shall I leave him all alone? or shall I goe -in to him? If I leave him alone, he will kill himselfe. If I goe in, he -will kill me. Let him bide alone, and bite upon the bit, come what will -come, I care not. Better it is that hee dye, whose life is hatefull -unto him, than that I dye, when life is pleasing unto mee, and say that -I should not desire to live, save only to see my Elicia, that alone -is motive inoughe to make mee louke to my selfe, and guard my person -from dangers.... Well, I will let him alone awhile, and give his humour -leave to work out it selfe; ... againe, if he see me in sight, I shall -see him more incensed against me: For there the sun scorcheth most -where he reflecteth most.... And therefore I think it my best play, -to play least in sight, and to stay a little longer; but if in the -meanewhile he should kill him selfe, then farewell he. Perhaps I may -get more by it than every man is aware of, and cast my skinne, changing -rags for robes, and penury for plenty. But it is an old saying, He that -lookes after dead-men’s shoes, may chance to goe barefoote: Perhaps also -the divell hath deceived me. And so his death may be my death, and then -all the fat is in the fire: The rope will go after the Bucket: and one -losse follows another;—on the other side, your wise men say, That it -is a great ease to a grieved soule to have a companion, to whom he may -communicate his sorrow. Besides, it is generally received, that the -wound which bleedes inward, is ever the more dangerous. Why then in -these two extremes hang I in suspense. What I were best to doe? Sure -the safest is to enter.... - -_Calisto._ Sempronio! - -_Sempronio._ Sir. - -_Calisto._ Reach me that Lute. - -_Sempronio._ Sir, heere it is. - -_Calisto._ “Tell me what griefe so great can be - As to equall my misery.” - -_Sempronio._ This Lute, Sir, is out of tune. - -_Calisto._ How shall he tune it, who himselfe is out of tune?... Or -how can he do anything well, whose will is not obedient to reason? who -harbors in his brest needles, peace, warre, truce, love, hate, injuries -and suspicions; and all these at once, and from one and the same cause. -Doe thou therefore take this Lute unto thee, and sing me the most -doleful ditty thou canst devise. - -_Sempronio._ - - “Nero from Tarpey, doth behold - How Rome doth burne all on a flame; - He heares the cries of young and old, - Yet is not grievéd at the same.” - -_Calisto._ My fire is farre greater, and lesse her pity whom now I -speake of—— - -_Sempronio._ I was not deceived when I sayd, my Master had lost his -wits. - -_Calisto._ Whats that (Sempronio) thou muttrest to thy selfe? - -_Sempronio._ Nothing Sir, not I. - -_Calisto._ Tell me what thou saidst: Be not afraid. - -_Sempronio._ Marry I said, How can that fire be greater which but -tormenteth one living man, than that which burnt such a Citty as that -was, and such a multitude of men? - -_Calisto._ How? I shall tell thee. Greater is that flame which lasteth -fourscore yeeres than that which endureth but one day. And greater -that fire which burneth one soule, than that which burneth an hundred -thousand bodies: See what difference there is betwixt apparencies and -existencies; betwixt painted shadowes, and lively substances.... So -great a difference is there betwixt that fire which thou speakest of -and that which burneth mee. - -_Sempronio._ I see, I did not mistake my byas; which runnes worse and -worse. Is it not enough to shew thy selfe a fool, but thou must also -speake prophanely? - -_Calisto._ Did I not tell thee, when thou speakest, that thou shouldest -speake aloud? Tell me what’s that thou mumblest to thy selfe. - -_Sempronio._ Onely I doubted of what religion your Worship was. - -_Calisto._ I am a Melibean, I adore Melibea, I believe in Melibea, and -I love Melibea. - -_Sempronio._ My Master is all Melibea: whose heart not able to containe -her, like a boyling vessell, goes bubbling her name in his mouth. Well, -I have now as much as I desire: I know on which foot you halt. I shall -heale you. - -_Calisto._ Thou speakest of matters beyond the Moone. It is impossible. - -_Sempronio._ O Sir, exceeding easie; for the first recovery of -sicknesse, is the discovery of the disease.... Ha, ha, ha, Calisto’s fire; -these, his intolerable paines: as if love shot all his arrowes only -against him. O Cupid, how high and unsearchable are thy mysteries! -What reward has thou ordained for love, since that so necessary a -tribulation attends on lovers? That hast set his bounds, as markes for -men to wonder at: Lovers ever deeming that they only are cast behinde; -that all men breake thorow but themselves, like your light-footed -bulls, which being let loose in the Place, and galled with darts, take -over the bars as soone as they feele themselves prickt. - -_Calisto._ Sempronio. - -_Sempronio._ Sir. - -_Calisto._ Doe not you goe away. - -_Sempronio._ This pipe sounds in another tune. - -_Calisto._ What dost thou think of my malady? - -_Sempronio._ Why, that you love Melibea. - - “_Celestina, or the Tragicomedy of Calisto and Melibea._” - The first Act is attributed to Rodrigo Cota, 1480. - _Trans. Puede-Ser, or Mabbe._ - - - - - _LOVE AND DEATH._ - - TAPÁROUSE EN UNA VENTA. - - - Death and Cupid chanced to meet, - On a day when they were roaming, - At a wayside country inn, - After sunset in the gloaming. - Cupid he was bound for Seville, - Death was marching to Madrid, - Both with knapsacks on their shoulders, - Where their wicked wares were hid. - - Seemed to me that they were fleeing - From the clutches of the law, - For the couple gained a living - Dealing death on all they saw. - Cupid slily glanced at Death, - As they sat around the board, - Marvelled at her ugly visage, - Shook his merry sides and roared. - - “Madam,” quoth he, “’tis so rude - To behave in such a way; - But, in sooth, so fair a fright - I’ve not seen for many a day.” - Death, whose cheeks grew red and fiery, - Put an arrow in her bow; - Cupid put in his another, - And to combat they would go. - - Quick the landlord slipped between them, - As they scowled on one another, - Made them swear eternal friendship, - Bade them sit and sup together. - In the kitchen, by the ingle, - They were fain to lay them down, - For no bed was in the tavern, - And the landlord he had none. - - They their arrows, bows and quivers, - Gave into Marina’s care, - She, a buxom wench who waited - On the guests that harboured there; - On the morrow at the dawning, - Cupid started from the floor, - Bade the landlord fetch his arms, - Broke his fast and paid his score. - - ’Twas the arms of Death the landlord - In his haste to Cupid brought, - Cupid flung them on his shoulder, - Took the road and gave no thought. - Death rose up a little after, - Sour, and limp, and woe-begone, - Took at once the arms of Cupid, - Shouldered them, and wandered on. - - From that very day to this, - Cupid’s shafts no more revive; - Youths who feel his fatal arrows - Pass not over twenty-five. - And, ’tis stranger still, the old ones, - Whom Death’s arrows used to slay, - When they feel the shafts of Cupid, - Gain a new life and a gay. - - What a world, so topsy-turvey! - What a change in people’s lives! - Cupid giving life destroys, - Death destroying life revives! - - _Trans. J. Y. Gibson._ - - - - -_THE EATEN PANCAKE._ - - -_Leno._ Ah, Troico, are you there? - -_Troico._ Yes, my good fellow, do you see I am? - -_Leno._ It would be better if I did not see it. - -_Troico._ Why so, Leno? - -_Leno._ Why, then you would not know a piece of ill-luck that has just -happened. - -_Troico._ What ill-luck? - -_Leno._ What day is it to-day? - -_Troico._ Thursday. - -_Leno._ Thursday? How soon will Friday come, then? - -_Troico._ Friday will come to-morrow. - -_Leno._ Well, tha something;—but tell me, are there not other days of -ill-luck as well as Fridays? - -_Troico._ Why do you ask? - -_Leno._ Because there may be unlucky pancakes, if there are unlucky -Thursdays. - -_Troico._ I suppose so. - -_Leno._ Now, stop there;—suppose one of yours had been eaten of a -Thursday, on whom would the ill-luck have fallen—on the pancake, or on -you? - -_Troico._ On me, of course. - -_Leno._ Then, my good Troico, comfort yourself, and begin to suffer and -be patient; for men, as the saying is, are born to misfortunes, and -these are matters, in fine, that come from God; and in the order of -time you must die yourself, and, as the saying is, your last hour will -then be come and arrived. Take it, then, patiently, and remember that -we are here to-morrow and gone to-day. - -_Troico._ For heaven’s sake, Leno, is anybody in the family dead? Or else -why do you console me so? - -_Leno._ Would to heaven that were all, Troico! - -_Troico._ Then what is it? Can’t you tell me without so many -circumlocutions? What is all this preamble about? - -_Leno._ When my poor mother died, he that brought me the news, before -he told me of it, dragged me round through more turn-abouts than there -are windings in the rivers Pisuerga and Zapardiel. - -_Troico._ But I have got no mother, and never knew one. I don’t know what -you mean. - -_Leno._ Then smell this napkin. - -_Troico._ Very well, I have smelt it. - -_Leno._ What does it smell of? - -_Troico._ Something like butter. - -_Leno._ Then you may surely say, “Here Troy was.” - -_Troico._ What do you mean, Leno? - -_Leno._ For you it was given to me; for you Donna Timbria sent it, all -stuck over with nuts;—but, as I have (and Heaven and everybody else -knows it) a sort of natural relationship for whatever is good, my eyes -watched and followed her just as a hawk follows chickens. - -_Troico._ Followed whom, villain? Timbria? - -_Leno._ Heaven forbid! But how nicely she sent it, all made up with -butter and sugar! - -_Troico._ And what was that? - -_Leno._ The pancake, to be sure,—don’t you understand? - -_Troico._ And who sent a pancake to me? - -_Leno._ Why, Donna Timbria. - -_Troico._ Then what became of it? - -_Leno._ It was consumed. - -_Troico._ How? - -_Leno._ By looking at it? - -_Troico._ Who looked at it? - -_Leno._ I, by ill-luck. - -_Troico._ In what fashion? - -_Leno._ Why, I sat down by the wayside. - -_Troico._ Well, what next? - -_Leno._ I took it in my hand. - -_Troico._ And then? - -_Leno._ Then I tried how it tasted; and what between taking and leaving -all around the edges of it, when I tried to think what had become of -it, I found I had no sort of recollection. - -_Troico._ The upshot is that you ate it? - -_Leno._ It is not impossible. - -_Troico._ I’ faith you are a trusty fellow! - -_Leno._ Indeed! do you think so? Hereafter, if I bring two, I will eat -them both, and so be better yet. - -_Troico._ The business goes on well, truly! - -_Leno._ And well advised, and at small cost, and to my content. But -now, go to; suppose we have a little jest with Timbria. - -_Troico._ Of what sort? - -_Leno._ Suppose you make her believe you ate the pancake yourself, and, -when she thinks it is true, you and I can laugh at the trick till you -split your sides. Can you ask for anything funnier? - -_Troico._ You counsel well, indeed. - -_Leno._ Well, Heaven bless the men that listen to reason! But tell me, -Troico, do you think you can carry out the jest with a grave face? - -_Troico._ I? What have I to laugh about? - -_Leno._ Why, don’t you think it is a laughing matter to make her believe -you ate it, when all the time it was your own good Leno that did it? - -_Troico._ Wisely said! But now hold your tongue, and go about your -business! - - _Lope de Rueda._ “_Timbria_” (_fl._ 1565). _Trans. Ticknor._ - - - - - _THE FAIR CELIBATE._ - - - They say, “’Tis time, go, marry! go!” - But I’ll no husband! not I! no! - - For I would live all carelessly, - Amidst these hills, a maiden free, - And never ask, nor anxious be, - Of wedded weal or woe. - Yet still they say, “Go, marry! go!” - But I’ll no husband! not I! no! - - So, mother, think not I shall wed, - And through a tiresome life be led, - Or use, in folly’s ways instead, - What grace the heaven’s bestow— - Yet still they say, “Go, marry! go!” - But I’ll no husband! not I! no! - - The man has not been born, I ween, - Who as my husband shall be seen; - And since what frequent tricks have been - Undoubtingly I know,— - In vain they say, “Go, marry! go!” - For I’ll no husband! not I! no! - - _Gil Vicente_ (_d._ 1557). _Trans. Ticknor._ - -[Illustration: THE FAIR CELIBATE.] - - - - - “THE TABLE-BOOK AND TRAVELLERS’ JOY.” - - - _THE RUSTIC AND THE LACKEYS._ - - -A rustic desirous to see the King, thinking he was more than man, put -his wages in his pocket and took leave of his master. But the pennies -soon melted away on the long journey to the capital. Having arrived -and seen the King, whom he found to be a man like himself, he was so -disgusted at having spent upon this all his money excepting half a -real, that a tooth began to ache, and what with hunger tormenting him -too he did not know what to do, for he said to himself, “If I have the -tooth drawn, and give my half real for that, I shall die of hunger; -while, if I eat the half real, my tooth will go on aching.” As he was -thus debating he approached a pastrycook’s stall, and gazed with longing -eyes at the tarts displayed. By chance two lackeys were passing by, -who, seeing him so taken up with the pastry, cried out, to make sport— - -“Hola, rustic, how many tarts would you venture to make a meal of?” - -“By heavens! I could swallow fifty.” - -“Go to the devil!” said they. - -“Gentlemen,” he replied, “you are easily frightened.” - -Upon which they offered to lay a wager. - -“Done,” said the rustic; “if I don’t eat fifty, you can draw this tooth,” -and he pointed to the one that ached. - -[Illustration: “THE OTHERS, MAKING VERY MERRY, BADE A BARBER DRAW THE -TOOTH.”] - -All parties pleased, the countryman, very much to his taste, began -whetting his teeth upon the tarts. When his hunger was satisfied he -stopped, saying, “Gentlemen, I have lost.” The others, making very -merry, indulged in much laughter, bade a barber draw the tooth—though -at this our friend feigned great grief—and the more to jeer at him -cried out to the bystanders— - -“Did you ever see such a fool of a clown as to lose an ivory to satiate -himself with tarts?” - -“Yours is the greater folly,” retorted he; “you have satisfied my -hunger and drawn a grinder which has been aching all the morning.” - -The crowd burst out laughing at the trick the rustic had played upon -the lackeys, who, paying the pastrycook and barber, turned their backs -and went away. - - - _THE CONTRARY WIFE._ - - -A tambourinist had so contrary a wife, he never could get her to -do anything he asked. One day, on their way to a wedding, at which -he was to play, she was riding an ass and carrying his tambourine, -and he cried out, as they were fording a river, “Woman, don’t play the -tambourine, for you’ll frighten the ass.” No sooner said than she began -thrumming; the ass, shying, lost its footing, and threw our dame into -the river; while the husband, however much he wished to help her, could -do no good. Seeing she was drowned, he went up-stream in search of her -body. - -“My good fellow,” said a looker-on, “what are you seeking?” - -“My wife,” replied he, “who is drowned.” - -“And you are looking for her up-stream, friend?” - -“Oh, yes, sir, she was always contrary.” - -[Illustration: “THE ASS, SHYING, LOST HIS FOOTING, AND THREW OUR DAME -INTO THE RIVER.”] - - - _AN AFFECTIONATE WIFE._ - - -Matters came to such a pass between a husband and wife—who, having -married against their will, lived a cat and dog life—that the husband -one day gave his spouse a box on the ears, whereupon she, knowing he -had a few days before killed a neighbour, began, without the least -caring about the issue, to raise her voice, crying, “Seize the villain; -he wants to kill me as he did So-and-so.” Somebody heard her, and the -man was accused, and, in accordance with his own confession, condemned -to be hanged. On his way to the gallows he begged to be allowed to -speak with his wife. She came, and he stopped on the road; but the good -woman, eager to see the last of his days, cried, “Husband, why stop -still? Let us walk while we talk, and lose no time.” - - - _CHASTISE WITH GOOD WORDS._ - - -An honest husband, so ill-starred as to have married a troublesome -widow, beat her with a light stick, whereupon she went and complained -to her kinsfolk. The latter reprehended her husband, bidding him not -treat his wife thus, but chastise her with good words. This he said he -would do, whereupon the skittish widow conducted herself much worse. -The good fellow, not to break his promise, took a cudgel, into which he -cut the _Pater Noster_ on one side, and the _Ave Maria_ on the other, -and when she misbehaved herself beat her with that. The wife renewing -her complaints, her relations came to tell him he had ill kept his -word. “Not so, friends,” replied the young man; “I have done what you -bade me, and only chastised her with good words; read what is written -on the cudgel.” - -[Illustration: “READ WHAT IS WRITTEN ON THE CUDGEL.”] - - - _THE ACCOMMODATING FARMER._ - - -A farmer who had on his land a fig-tree, on which several poor wretches -had from time to time done away with themselves, determined to fell it -as a thing of evil omen; but before so doing sent a cryer through the -town: Should any one wish to hang himself on that fig-tree, he was to -make up his mind within three days, for it was going to be cut down. - - - _THE ACCOMMODATING LORD._ - - -As a great lord was dining, his servants at the sideboard turning their -backs, there entered a thief, who took one of the best dishes on the -table, and, seeing the master of the house looking at him, signed to -him to keep quiet, and made off. When the dish was found missing, the -lord said, “A thief took it, I saw him do so.” - -“Then why didn’t your lordship cry out?” - -“Oh, he bade me be quiet.” - - - _DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND._ - - -A chaplain devouring a fine roast pigeon at an inn was asked by a fresh -arrival to let him eat with him and he would pay his share. This was -refused, and the pedestrian sat down and ate his dry bread, saying -afterwards, “Know, reverend sir, you by tasting, and I by smelling, -have both eaten the pigeon, although against your wish.” - -“If that is so, you must pay your part of the pigeon,” replied the -chaplain. - -The chaplain insisting, the other refusing, they finally made the -village sacristan judge between them. The sacristan, asking what the -bird cost, was told half a real, and then made the pedestrian disburse -a farthing, which he took and rang on the table, saying, “Reverend sir, -inasmuch as he ate by the smell of the pigeon, consider yourself paid -by the sound of the money.” - - - _THE BEST HOUR TO DINE._ - -A great nobleman asked certain physicians what was the best time of the -day to dine. One replied, at ten; another, at eleven; another, at noon. -The oldest said, “My lord, the perfect hour for dining is for the rich -man when he feels inclined, for the poor man when he has something to -eat.” - - - _THE BEST WIFE IN THE WORLD._ - -A certain Valencian dame, a very good wife, had one fault: at times she -wagged her tongue more than was needful. One evening at a ball she was -seized with faintness, and they ran for her husband, telling him his -wife had lost her speech. “Let her alone! Let her alone!” said he. “If -this lasts, she’ll be the best wife in the world!” - - - _A PIOUS WISH._ - -A captain, when in Flanders, being robbed of some half-boots made to -measure for his feet, which were maimed and crooked, exclaimed, upon -discovering his loss, “Please God, they may fit the rogue who stole -them!” - -A country squire, who had killed a crane, bade his cook roast it. As -his master was late to dinner, the cook ate one leg, and when the bird -was sent up to table and the other leg asked for, he replied cranes -only had one leg. Out shooting cranes another day with his master, he -said, “See, sir, they only have one” (for the bird raises one when -standing). “S-s-s-s-t!” cried the Squire, and the cranes flew up, -each showing two legs. “Oh!” exclaimed the cook, “if you had said -‘S-s-s-s-t!’ to the one on the dish, he would also have brought out his -other leg.” - -[Illustration: “‘s-s-s-t!’ CRIED THE SQUIRE, AND THE CRANES FLEW UP.”] - - * * * * * - -An old man, jealous of his pretty young wife and a certain friend of -his, a merchant and widower, fell ill of a mortal disease. Knowing his -case was hopeless, he said to his wife, “You know, my dear, that I -cannot escape this deadly sickness; what I beg of you is, if you care -to please me, that you will not marry that friend of mine, who often -comes to the house, and of whom I have been somewhat jealous.” “Dear -husband,” replied she, “even if I wished, I could not, for I am already -engaged to somebody else.” - - * * * * * - -An old bachelor, having married at seventy, was reproached by his -friends for having committed a folly, and replied they said true: Man -with years loses his prudence; when he was a young man, and had any, he -never could be induced to marry. - - * * * * * - -An astrologer, whose wife was with child, cast the horoscope of the -unborn infant and discovered two sons would be born to him, and that -the first would be a cutpurse, the second a murderer. This so grieved -him that he was unable to conceal his sorrow, which being perceived -by his wife, was unburdened to her. “There is a cure for this case,” -said she. “We will make the first a purse-maker, and he will cut -purses; the second a butcher, and he can slay oxen.” - - * * * * * - -A village maiden, driving before her an ass, which, as it was returning -to its foal, went quicker than the girl, met a courtier. “Where do -you live, my pretty maiden?” “At Getafe,” replied she. “Tell me, do -you know the daughter of the innkeeper in that village?” “Very well,” -replied she. “Then be so kind as to take her a kiss from me!” “Give it -to my donkey, sir; she’ll get there first.” - - * * * * * - -A father sending his son to study at Salamanca, bade him eat the -cheapest food. The youth on his arrival asked the price of an ox, and -was told ten ducats; then of a partridge, and was told a real. “Oh!” -said he, “then I am bidden to eat partridges!” - - * * * * * - -Two friends, a weaver and a tailor, became in time enemies, so much so -that the tailor spoke much evil of the weaver behind his back, though -the weaver always spoke well of the tailor. Upon a lady asking the -weaver why he always spoke so well of the tailor, who spoke so ill of -him, he replied: “Madam, we are both liars.” - - * * * * * - -Two thieves were breaking into a door when the master of the house, -hearing them, looked out of the window and said: “Friends, come a -little later, we are not yet in bed.” - -[Illustration: “THEN BE SO KIND AS TO TAKE HER A KISS FROM ME.”] - - * * * * * - -A man of evil life and fame having built a beautiful house, had -inscribed on the lintel: “Let no evil cross this threshold.” A wit -reading it, said, “Then wherever does the master of the house enter?” - - * * * * * - -A knight having received a dish of cherries early in the season, had -them placed before him above the dais. His children, a bastard and a -legitimate son, were seated at another table apart, and seeing they got -no cherries, the bastard up with his hand and soundly boxed his brother’s -ears. “How now, you villain,” said the father, “why did you do that?” -“Because, sir, he kept on saying, ‘You won’t get any cherries, you won’t.’” -Upon which the father, much amused, gave some to both. - -[Illustration: “YOU WON’T GET ANY CHERRIES, YOU WON’T!”] - - * * * * * - -A prince had a jester who kept a book of fools, in which he put -everybody deserving that title. One day at table the prince asked the -jester to bring him the book, and opening it saw his own name, and -below, “His Highness, on such a day, gave fifty ducats to an alchemist -with which to go to Italy and bring back materials for making gold and -silver.” “And what if he returns?” said the Prince. “Oh, then she will -scratch out your Highness and put him in.” - - * * * * * - -A collegian of the Archbishop of Seville’s college was one day at table -overlooked by the prebendary who doles out everybody’s rations. Somewhat -embarrassed as to how he should ask for his food, he suddenly observed -a cat mewing in front of him, which he addressed in a loud voice so -that the prebendary might hear, “Why the deuce are you mewing and -licking your chops at me? I have not yet got my rations, and you must -needs already begin bothering me for the bones.” - - * * * * * - -A Biscayan, just finished working on the belfry in a small town, -where there chanced to be a man condemned to death, was told by -the authorities that, as they had no executioner, they would give -him a ducat and the condemned man’s clothes to do the job, with which -our Biscayan was well content. A few months after, finding himself -penniless, and remembering how much he had gained by so light a task, -he climbed the belfry, and when the townsfolk hurried by upon the -pealing of the bells, he looked down at them, saying: “Gentlemen, it -is I have called your worships. You must know I have not a blessed -farthing, and you remember you gave me a ducat the other day to hang a -man. Now I have been thinking that, from the smallest to the biggest -of your worships, I should like to hang the whole town at half a ducat -each.” - - * * * * * - -A blind man hid some money at the foot of a tree in a field belonging -to a rich farmer. Visiting it one day he found it gone, and suspecting -the farmer, went to him and said, “Sir, as you seem an honest man, I -have come to ask your advice. I have a sum of money in a very safe -place, and now I have just as much more, and do not know if I should -hide it where the other is, or somewhere else.” The farmer replied, -“Truly, if I were you, I would not change the place, it being as safe -as you say.” “That’s just what I thought,” said the blind man, and took -his leave. The farmer hurriedly put back the money, hoping to get it -doubled, and the blind man in his turn dug it up, greatly rejoicing at -recovering what he had lost. - - _Juan de Timoneda_ (_fl._ 1590). - -[Illustration: “I SHOULD LIKE TO HANG THE WHOLE TOWN AT HALF A DUCAT -EACH.”] - - - - - “THE BOOK OF JOKES.” - - _TRAVELLERS’ TALES._ - - -In Monzon de Campos a nobleman returned from India, as he was one day -relating wonders of those regions to some neighbours, told them how -he had seen a cabbage so immense that three hundred mounted men could -rest under its shade. “I don’t think much of that,” cried a servant of -the Marquess of Poza. “In Biscay I saw a cauldron so vast that two -hundred men were hammering at it, and yet stood so far from each other -that no man heard the noise of his neighbour’s hammer.” The Indian, much -surprised, inquired the use of this cauldron. “Sir, to cook the cabbage -you have just told us about.” - - * * * * * - -Don Rodrigo Pimentel, Count of Benavente, was a master much feared by -his servants. One day at Benavente, as he was writing some important -despatches, certain of his pages stood round about discussing their -fear of him, and one said, “What will you give me if I go up, just as -he is now, and give him a hard smack on the back of his neck?” The -others eagerly laid a wager with him. Hereupon goes my good page as if -to see if his lord wanted anything, and gives him a sound slap, crying -“St. George!” “What’s that?” said the Count. “Sir, a large spider was -crawling down your Excellenc neck.” The Count sprang up much disturbed, -saying, “What became of it? Did you kill it?” “I knocked it down, sir, -and it’s gone away.” And his delighted comrades willingly paid the wager -he had so cleverly and boldly won. - - _Luis de Pinedo_ (_Sixteenth Century_). - -[Illustration: “HEREUPON GOES MY GOOD PAGE AND GIVES HIM A SOUND -SMACK.”] - - * * * * * - -A great favourite of Cardinal Loaysa came one day to speak with him on -a certain matter, arriving so early that the Cardinal was asleep. The -nobleman’s importunity was so great that the servants awoke his Eminence, -telling him who was there. The Cardinal finally ordered him to be shown -in, and learning his business, said, “My friend, I knew long ago that -you wasted your time; but that you got up so early to do so, that I did -not know.” - - * * * * * - -A pupil at the grammar school of Alcalá once said to the vice-rector, -who, for the sake of economy, always made boys eat very stale bread, -“Domine, fac ut lapides isti panes fiant.” - - * * * * * - -Bachelor N., at Salamanca, gave bad wine to some pupils, one of whom, -a bold fellow, tasting it, rose, and taking off his hat, said to him, -“Domine, si potest fieri, transeat a me calix iste.” - - * * * * * - -In the madhouse of Toledo a madman cried out in a loud voice to some -visitors shown round, “I am the angel Gabriel, who came with the -tidings to Our Lady,” and said, “Ave Maria,” &c. Another madman near -him upon this exclaimed, “He is lying; I am God the Father and I sent -him on no such errand.” - - - - - TALES OF ROGUES. - - - _LAZARO DECLARETH WHOSE SON HE WAS._ - -“Your Worship shall understand, before all things, that my name is -Lazaro de Tormes, son of Thomas Gonzalez and Antonia Pelez, native of -Tejares, a village near Salamanca. I was born within the river called -Tormes, whereof I took my surname. My father (whom God pardon) had -the charge of a mill standing upon that river, wherein he supplied -the room of a miller about fifteen years. It fortuned on a night, my -mother being great with child was there brought to bed, and there was I -born; therefore now I may truly report the river itself to be the place -of my nativity; and after the time I came to the age of eight years, -there was laid to my father’s charge that he had shamefully cut the seams -of men’s sacks that came thither to grind; wherefore he was taken and -imprisoned, and being tormented, he confessed the whole matter, denying -nothing, wherefore he was persecuted. I trust in God he is now in -Paradise, seeing the Gospel doth say that blessed are such as confess -their faults.” - - “_Lazarillo de Tormes_,” _Hurtado de Mendoza_, 1503-1575. - _Trans. David Rowland._ - - - _HOW LAZARO SERVES A BLIND MAN._ - -I am sorry to say that I never met with so avaricious and so wicked an -old curmudgeon; he allowed me almost to die daily of hunger, without -troubling himself about my necessities; and, to say the truth, if I had -not helped myself by means of a ready wit and nimble fingers, I should -have closed my account from sheer starvation. - -Notwithstanding all my master’s astuteness and cunning, I contrived so -to outwit him that generally the best half came to my share. But to -accomplish this I was obliged to tax my powers of invention to the -uttermost. The old man was accustomed to carry his bread, meat, and -other things, in a sort of linen knapsack, which was closed at the -mouth with an iron ring, and secured also by a padlock; but in adding -to his store, or taking from it, he used such vigilance that it was -almost an impossibility to cheat him of a single morsel. However, when -he had given me my pittance, which I found no difficulty in dispatching -at about two mouthfuls, and closed his budget, thinking himself -perfectly secure from depredation, I began my tactics, and by means of -a small rent, which I slyly effected in one of the seams of the bag, I -used to help myself to the choicest pieces of meat, bacon, and sausage, -taking care to close the seam according as opportunity occurred. But in -addition to this, all that I could collect together, either by fraud -or otherwise, I carried about me in half farthings; so that when the -old man was sent for to pray, and they gave him farthings (all which -passed through my hands, he being blind), I contrived to slip them into -my mouth, by which process so quick an alteration was effected that -when they reached his hands they were invariably reduced to half the -original value. - -[Illustration: “I PROCURED A LARGE STRAW.”] - -The cunning old fellow, however, suspected me, for he used to say, -“How the deuce is this? ever since you have been with me they give -me nothing but half-farthings, whereas before it was not an unusual -thing to be paid with halfpence, but never less than farthings. I must -be sharp with _you_, I find.” Whenever we ate, the old man took care -to keep a small jar of wine near him, which was reserved for his own -especial service, but I very soon adopted the practice of bestowing on -this favourite jar sundry loving though stolen embraces. Such pleasures -were but short-lived, for the fervency of my attachment was soon -discovered in the deficiency of the wine; and the old man afterwards, -to secure his draught, never let the jar go without tying it to him by -the handle. But I was a match for him even there; for I procured a long -straw, and, dipping it into the mouth of the jar, renewed my intimacy -with such effect that but a small share was his who came after me. The -old traitor was not long in finding me out; I think he must have heard -me drink, for he quickly changed his plan, and placed the jar between -his knees, keeping the mouth closed with his hand, and in this manner -considered himself secure from my depredations. - - _Hurtado de Mendoza._ _Trans. Roscoe._ - - - _LAZARO IS SERVANT TO A PRIEST._ - -It was during this trying and afflicting time, when, seeing things -going from bad to worse, without any one to advise with, I was praying -with all Christian humility that I might be released from such misery, -that one day, when my wretched, miserable, covetous thief of a master -had gone out, an angel, in the likeness of a tinker, knocked at the -door—for I verily believe he was directed by Providence to assume that -habit and employment—and inquired whether I had anything to mend? -Suddenly a light flashed upon me, as though imparted by an invisible -and unknown power. “Uncle,” said I, “I have unfortunately lost the -key of this great chest, and sadly afraid my master will beat me; for -God’s sake, try if you can fit it, and I will reward you.” The angelic -tinker drew forth a large bunch of keys, and began to try them, while -I assisted his endeavours with my feeble prayers; when lo, and behold! -when least I thought it, the lid of the chest arose, and I almost -fancied I beheld the divine essence therein in the shape of loaves of -bread. “I have no money,” said I to my preserver, “but give me the key -and help yourself.” He took some of the whitest and best bread he could -find, and went away well pleased, though not half so well as myself. I -refrained from taking any for the present, lest the deficiency might be -noticed, and contented myself with the hope that, on seeing so much in -my power, hunger would hardly dare to approach me. - -[Illustration: “THE ANGELIC TINKER DREW FORTH A LARGE BUNCH OF KEYS AND -BEGAN TO TRY THEM.”] - -My wretched master returned, and it pleased God that the offering my -angel had been pleased to accept remained undiscovered by him. The -next day, when he went out, I went to my farinaceous paradise, and, -taking a loaf between my hands and teeth, in a twinkling it became -invisible; then, not forgetting to lock the treasure, I capered about -the house for joy to think that my miserable life was about to change, -and for some days following I was as happy as a king. But it was not -predestined for me that such good luck should continue long; on the -third day symptoms of my old complaint began to show themselves, for -I beheld my murderer in the act of examining our chest, turning and -counting the loaves over and over again. Of course I dissimulated my -terror, but it was not for want of my prayers and invocations that he -was not struck stone-blind like my old master, but he retained his -eyesight. - -After he had been some time considering and counting, he said, “If I -were not well assured of the security of this chest, I should say that -somebody had stolen my bread; but, however, to remove all suspicion, -from this day I shall count the loaves; there remain now exactly nine -and a piece.” - -“May nine curses light upon you, you miserable beggar,” said I to -myself, for his words went like an arrow to my heart, and hunger -already began to attack me, seeing a return to my former scanty fare -now inevitable. - -No sooner did the priest go out than I opened the chest to console -myself even with the sight of food, and as I gazed on the nice white -loaves a sort of adoration arose within me, which the sight of such -tempting morsels could alone inspire. I counted them carefully to see -if, perchance, the curmudgeon had mistaken the number; but, alas! I -found he was a much better reckoner than I could have desired. The -utmost I dared do was to bestow on these objects of my affection a -thousand kisses, and, in the most delicate manner possible, to nibble -here and there a morsel of the crust. With this I passed the day, and -not quite so jovially as the former, you may suppose. - -But as hunger increased, and more so in proportion as I had fared -better the few days previously, I was reduced to the last extremity. -Yet all I could do was to open and shut the chest and contemplate the -divine image within. Providence, however, who does not neglect mortals -in such an extreme crisis, suggested to me a slight palliation of my -present distress. After some consideration, I said within myself, “This -chest is very large and old, and in some parts, though very slightly, -is broken. It is not impossible to suppose that rats may have made an -entrance and gnawed the bread. To take a whole loaf would not be wise, -seeing that it would be missed by my most liberal master, but the other -plan he shall certainly have the benefit of.” Then I began to pick the -loaves on some tablecloths which were there, not of the most costly -sort, taking one loaf and leaving another, so that in the end I made -up a tolerable supply of crumbs, which I ate like so many sugar-plums; -and with that I in some measure consoled myself and contrived to live. - -The priest, when he came home to dinner and opened the chest, beheld -with dismay the havoc made in his store; but he immediately supposed -it to have been occasioned by rats, so well had I imitated the style -of those depredators. He examined the chest narrowly, and discovered -the little holes through which the rats might have entered, and calling -me, he said, “Lazaro, look what havoc has been made in our bread during -the night.” I seemed very much astonished, and asked “what it could -possibly be?” “What has done it?” quoth he; “why, rats; confound ‘em, -there is no keeping anything from them.” I fared well at dinner, and -had no reason to repent of the trick I played, for he pared off all the -places which he supposed the rats had nibbled at, and, giving them to -me, he said, “There, eat that; rats are very clean animals.” In this -manner, adding what I thus gained to that acquired by the labour of my -hands, or rather my nails, I managed tolerably well, though I little -expected it. I was destined to receive another shock when I beheld my -miserable tormentor carefully stopping up all the holes in the chest -with small pieces of wood, which he nailed over them, and which bade -defiance to further depredations. “Oh, Lord!” I cried involuntarily, -“to what distress and misfortunes are we unhappy mortals reduced, and -how short-lived are the pleasures of this our transitory existence. -No sooner did I draw some little relief from the measure which kind -fortune suggested, than it is snatched away; and this last act is like -closing the door of consolation against me, and opening that of my -misfortunes.” - -It was thus I gave vent to my distress, while the careful workman, with -abundance of wood and nails, was finishing his cruel job, saying with -great glee. “Now, you rascals of rats, we will change sides, if you -please, for your future reception in this house will be right little -welcome.” - -The moment he left the house I went to examine his work, and found he -had not left a single hole unstopped by which even a mosquito could -enter. I opened the chest, though without deriving the smallest benefit -from its contents; my key was now utterly useless; but as I gazed with -longing eyes on the two or three loaves which my master believed to be -bitten by the rats, I could not resist the temptation of nibbling a -morsel more, though touching them in the lightest possible manner, like -an experienced swordsman in a friendly assault. - -Necessity is a great master, and being in this strait, I passed night -and day in devising means to get out of it. All the rascally plans -that could enter the mind of man did hunger suggest to me, for it is a -saying, and a true one, as I can testify, that hunger makes rogues, and -abundance fools. One night, when my master slept, of which disposition -he always gave sonorous testimony, as I was revolving in my mind the -best mode of renewing my intimacy with the contents of the chest, a -thought struck me, which I forthwith put in execution. I arose very -quietly, and, taking an old knife which, having some little glimmering -of the same idea the day previous, I had left for an occasion of this -nature, I repaired to the chest, and at the part which I considered -least guarded I began to bore a hole. The antiquity of the chest -seconded my endeavours, for the wood had become rotten from age, and -easily yielded to the knife, so that in a short time I managed to -display a hole of very respectable dimensions. I then opened the chest -very gently, and, taking out the bread, I treated it much in the same -manner as heretofore, and then returned safe to my mattress. - -The next day my worthy master soon spied my handiwork, as well as the -deficiency in his bread, and began by wishing the rats at the devil. -“What can it mean?” said he; “during all the time I have been here -there have never been rats in the house before.” And he might say so -with truth; if ever a house in the kingdom deserved to be free from -rats, it was his, as they are seldom known to visit where there is -nothing to eat. He began again with nails and wood, but when night -came, and he slept, I resumed my operations, and rendered nugatory all -his ingenuity. - -In this manner we went on; the moment he shut one door, I opened -another; like the web of Penelope, what he spun by day I unravelled -by night, and in the course of a few nights the old chest was so -maltreated that little remained of the original that was not covered -with pieces and nailing. When the unhappy priest found his mechanical -ability of no avail, he said, “Really, this chest is in such a state, -and the wood is so old and rotten, that the rats make nothing of it. -The best plan I can think of, since what we have done is of no use, is -to arm ourselves within against these cursed rats.” He then borrowed a -rat-trap, and baiting it with bits of cheese which he begged from the -neighbours, set it under the chest. This was a piece of singular good -fortune for me, for although my hunger needed no sauce, yet I did not -nibble the bread at night with less relish because I added thereto the -bait from the rat-trap. When in the morning he found not only the bread -gone as usual, but the bait likewise vanished, and the trap without a -tenant, he grew almost beside himself. He ran to the neighbours and -asked of them what animal it could possibly be that could positively -eat the very cheese out of the trap, and yet escape untouched. The -neighbours agreed that it could be no rat that could thus eat the bait, -and not remain within the trap, and one more cunning than the rest -observed, “I remember once seeing a snake about your premises, and -depend on it that is the animal which has done you this mischief, for -it could easily pick the bait from the trap without entering entirely, -and thus too it might easily escape.” The rest all agreed that such -must be the fact, which alarmed my master a good deal. - -He now slept not near so soundly as before, and at every little noise, -thinking it was the snake biting the chest, he would get up, and -taking a cudgel which he kept at his bed’s head for the purpose, began to -belabour the poor chest with all his might, so that the noise might -frighten the reptile from his unthrifty proceedings. He even awoke the -neighbours with such prodigious clamour, and I could not get a single -minute’s rest. He turned me out of bed, and looked amongst the straw, and -about the blanket, to see if the creature was concealed anywhere; for, -as he observed, at night they seek warm places, and not unfrequently -injure people by biting them in bed. When he came I always pretended -to be very heavy with sleep, and he would say to me in the morning, -“Did you hear nothing last night, boy? The snake was about, and I think -I heard him at your bed, for they are very cold creatures, and love -warmth.” “I hope to God he will not bite me,” returned I, “for I am -very much afraid.” He was so watchful at night that, by my faith, the -snake could not continue his operations as usual, but in the morning, -when the priest was at church, he resumed them pretty steadily as usual. - -Looking with dismay at the damage done to his store, and the little -redress he was likely to have for it, the poor priest became quite -uneasy from fretting, and wandered about all night like a hobgoblin. I -began very much to fear that, during one of these fits of watchfulness, -he might discover my key, which I placed for security under the -straw of my bed. I therefore, with a caution peculiar to my nature, -determined in future to keep this treasure by night safe in my mouth; -and this was an ancient custom of mine, for during the time I lived -with the blind man my mouth was my purse, in which I could retain ten -or twelve maravedies in farthings, without the slightest inconvenience -in any way. Indeed, had I not possessed this faculty, I should never -have had a single farthing of my own, for I had neither pocket nor -bag that the old man did not continually search. Every night I slept -with the key in my mouth without fear of discovery; but, alas! when -misfortune is our lot, ingenuity can be of little avail. - -It was decreed, by my evil destiny, or rather, I ought to say, as a -punishment for my evil doings, that one night, when I was fast asleep, -my mouth being somewhat open, the key became placed in such a position -therein that my breath came in contact with the hollow of the key, -and caused—the worst luck for me!—a loud whistling noise. On this -my watchful master pricked up his ears, and thought it must be the -hissing of the snake which had done him all the damage, and certainly -he was not altogether wrong in his conjectures. He arose very quietly, -with his club in his hand, and stealing towards the place whence the -hissing sound proceeded, thinking at once to put an end to his enemy, -he lifted his club, and with all his force discharged such a blow on my -unfortunate head that it needed not another to deprive me of all sense -and motion. The moment the blow was delivered he felt it was no snake -that had received it, and, guessing what he had done, called out to me -in a loud voice, endeavouring to recall me to my senses. Then, touching -me with his hands, he felt the blood, which was by this time in great -profusion about my face, and ran quickly to procure a light. On his -return he found me moaning, yet still holding the key in my mouth, and -partly visible, being in the same situation which caused the whistling -noise he had mistaken for the snake. Without thinking much of me, the -attention of the slayer of snakes was attracted by the appearance of -the key, and drawing it from my mouth, he soon discovered what it was, -for of course the wards were precisely similar to his own. He ran to -prove it, and with that at once found out the extent of my ingenuity. - -“Thank God,” exclaimed this cruel snake hunter, “that the rats and the -snakes which have so long made war upon me, and devoured my substance, -are both at last discovered.” - -Of what passed for three days afterwards I can give no account, but -that which I have related I heard my master recount to those who came -there to see me. At the end, however, of the third day I began to have -some consciousness of what was passing around me, and found myself -extended on my straw, my head bound up and covered with ointment and -plaisters. - -“What is the meaning of all this?” I cried in extreme alarm. The -heartless priest replied, “I have only been hunting the rats and the -snakes, which have almost ruined me.” Seeing the condition in which I -was, I then guessed what had happened to me. At this time an old nurse -entered, with some of the neighbours, who dressed the wounds on my -head, which had assumed a favourable appearance; and as they found my -senses were restored to me, they anticipated but little danger, and -began to amuse themselves with my exploits, while I, unhappy sinner, -could only deplore their effects. - -With all this, however, they gave me something to eat, for I was almost -dying with hunger, and at the end of fourteen or fifteen days I was -able to rise from my bed without danger, though not even then without -hunger, and only half cured. The day after I got up my worthy and truly -respectable master took my hand, and, opening the door, put me into -the street, saying, “Lazaro, from this day look out for yourself; seek -another master, and fare you well. No one will ever doubt that you have -served a blind man, but for me, I do not require so diligent nor so -clever a servant.” Then shaking me off, as though I was in league with -the Evil One, he went back into his house and shut the door. - - _Hurtado de Mendoza._ _Trans. Roscoe._ - - - _A TAILOR WOULD FAIN LEARN OF GUZMAN TO WRITE HIS NAME, OR TO MAKE - FIRMA, OR MARK, AND THE REASON WHY._ - - -It was my hap one day to bear in my basket, which I brought from the -Shambles, a quarter of Mutton, for a certain Hosier, or Gentleman -Tailor. I had by chance at that time about me, certain old Coplas, or -Ballads, which in a kind of broken tune still, as I read this or t’other -line, I fell a-singing, as I went along. My good Master having (as it -should seem) listened unto me, looked back on the sudden, and smiling, -said— - -“How now, my tattered Rascal, a pox take you for a ragga-muffin. Can -you read, you Rogue?” - -“Yes, marry, can I, Sir,” quoth I. “I thank God I can read reasonable -well, but my writing is better than my reading.” - -“Sayst thou so, Boy?” - -And with that he entreated me, that I would teach him to write his -name, or to make some mark that might serve for a subscription, or -undersigning. He cared not which, for either would serve his turn. - -“I pray, Sir,” said I, “what good can this do you? What can you benefit -yourself, by having learnt to make a bare mark and no more? Methinks -you should have no great use for that alone, unless you could write -too.” - -“Yes, marry, have I, Sir,” quoth he, “for I have much work goes -through these hands, of such and such great men, I make all the -clothes their children wear” (and there, by the way, he reckons me up -a beadroll of these and these Lords) “and therefore I would very fain, -if I knew how, learn to write my Name, or to make my Mark, that if -occasion were offered I might not be taken for an Ass, and say like -a fool as I am when I am called to subscribe, ‘Indeed, Sir, you must -pardon me, I cannot write.’” - -And so this business broke off as abruptly, as it began. And I making a -large soliloquium, and meditation to myself, went on. - - “_Guzman d’Alfarache_,” _Mateo Aleman_ (_fl. 1609_). - _Trans. Mabbe._ - - - _EPISODE OF THE OFFICIOUS PHYSICIAN._ - - (In Spain your physician’s fee is ordinarily two shillings; the better - sort give four shillings; and the best seldom above a crown.) - - -Now methought I saw Heaven opened, and my honest Carrier appearing unto -me in the shape of an Angel. His face was as joyful unto me, as that of -the desired Physician is to him that is afflicted with sickness. I say, -desired; because (as perhaps you may have heard) a Physician hath three -faces: Of a man, when we see him, and have no need of him: of an angel -when we are sick, and cannot be without him: and of a Devil, when at -one and the self-same time our sickness, and our purse ends together, -and yet for his private interest and to gain a fee, he follows us with -daily visits. As it happened to a Gentleman in Madrid, who having sent -for a physician, for a certain infirmity, wherewithal he was troubled, -every visit that he made, gave him a crown. The humour ceased; but his -physician was not in the humour to cease from coming unto him. - -Now the Gentleman, when he saw that he was thorough well, and that his -Physician did still continue his visits, he got him up one morning very -early and went to Church. - -Now, when the Physician came to visit him, and found him not at home, -he asked his servant whither he was gone. He (like a fool as he was), -for there are Servants still enow for their masters’ hurt, but few -for their profit, told him, that he was gone forth to Mass to such a -Church. My nimble Doctor, putting spurs to his Mule for to make the -more haste, went with all speed to the said Church, and, searching for -him, at last he found him; and then said unto him— - -“What in God’s name, Sir, do you mean to commit so great an excess, as to -go abroad without my leave?” - -The Gentleman, who knew well enough what he came for, and seeing that -now he had no more need of him, put his hand in his pocket, took out -his purse, drew forth a crown, and putting it in his hand, told him, -“Here, take it, master Doctor; for by the faith of a Gentleman, I now -perceive even this sacred place cannot privilege me from you.” - - _Mateo Aleman._ _Trans. Mabbe._ - - - - -_OF THE PLEASANT LIFE GUZMAN LED AMONG HIS BRETHREN, AND AN ACCOUNT OF - HIS VISIT TO GAETA._ - - -In the evenings we used to assemble, some ten or twelve of us, and -amused ourselves with discussing the different kind of new exclamations -we had hit upon, to rouse public sympathy in our behalf. Such was the -skill of a few, that they had invented forms of benediction from which -they derived considerable profit by the sale of them to other less -ingenious heads than their own; so great was their novelty and efficacy -with all classes. - -On every festival we went early in the morning to church, where plenary -indulgence was always granted us. We placed ourselves in the most -convenient stations; we continued there the whole morning; and towards -evening we issued forth into the neighbouring villages, calling at the -country seats and farmhouses on our road. From these we usually brought -away some slices of bacon, bread and cheese, eggs, and sometimes old -clothes and other articles; so successfully did we work upon the -charity of the good people. Did a person above the common rank happen -to make his appearance, we instantly united in setting up a loud -lamentation, even at a distance, giving him time to put his hand into -his pocket, and vociferating louder and louder the nearer he came, so -as to compel him in a manner to be charitable. - -If we met a number of good citizens together, and had leisure to -prepare to accost them in due form, each played his own part—one -the _blind_, another the _halt_, a third the _dumb_, a fourth the -_paralytic_, a fifth the _idiotic_, and some with crutches, making -altogether a complication of human misery and distortion, which, with -the most able at our head, was sure to penetrate into the pockets even -of the callous. Could you but have heard the concord of sweet sounds we -made at the crisis that decided the balance in our favour! We beseeched -the Lord to bless them with lovely children—to return their bounty a -hundred fold—and long to preserve their precious health. Not a party of -pleasure could be got up, not a single festival pass, but we had some -share in it; so that however much others expended we gained by them; -and so acute was our scent that we could smell the preparation for them -at an enormous distance. - -In the same way the mansions of the cardinals, the bishops, and -ambassadors, with all kind of open houses, were successfully besieged -and occupied by us. Thus we might truly be said to possess all, -levying as we did a tax upon all, though really having nothing. I know -not how my comrades felt inclined on receiving charity from the hands -of a pretty lady; but for my part, miserable sinner, when I accosted -a young creature, enchanting both in face and figure, I looked her -steadily in the face while I asked with my eyes fixed upon hers. If she -gave me anything, I caught her hand, pressed it affectionately, and -imprinted upon it a kiss in the fervour of my gratitude, before she had -time to withdraw it. Yet so respectfully, or rather, hypocritically, -was this done, that the lady, not being previously alarmed, took the -whole in good part, as a transport of grateful joy. - -What are called the pleasures of life—erroneously supposed to be -monopolised by the great and the wealthy of this best of worlds—are, -in fact, the chief property of us mendicants, who feel no drawback, -but taste their flavour with a double relish, without a tithe of their -anxiety and trouble to obtain them. Had the happy fellows no other -privilege than that of asking freely, and receiving without the least -touch of shame or pain, it is such a one as the rest of mankind cannot -boast; if we only except monarchs and their royal families, who, -without a blush, can demand what they please from their good people, -while the sole difference between them and other beggars is, that they -always wring out silver and gold even from the poorest people, while -we require nothing but a mere trifle from the most proud and wealthy. -There is no condition, therefore, more happy and respectable than that -of the mendicant, but all do not know their own happiness—“beati si sua -bona norint.” - -The most part of us—wholly sunk in the enjoyment of mere animal life; -insensible of the true pleasure of living independently, free from -strife, from all speculative losses, all intrigues of State, eternal -business; in short, from the infernal embarrassment in which the great -are involved—to the day of their death have the folly to envy what they -ought to avoid. The first man who embraced our kind of life must, from -his very nature, have been much better than the great—I mean a great -philosopher. - -I had been led to think that this noble fraternity was safe from -the usual shocks of fortune, but the malicious goddess made -them occasionally feel the effects of her ire—throwing little -stumbling-blocks in their way, much like the one I broke my shins -over, when on a visit at Gaeta, whither I had gone out of curiosity, -and in the idea that a man already able in the profession would only -need to enter the town to feel a revivifying shower of alms poured -upon him from all sides. No sooner was I there than, having assumed a -new complexion, I placed myself at the entrance into a church. As luck -would have it, the governor of the place was then passing, and, after -looking at me very earnestly for a few moments, he gave me alms. A -number of the natives immediately followed his example, and it acted -as a continued benediction for me during more than a week; but there -is a medium in all things, and I did not observe the golden rule. On -the next festival, my complexion appearing no longer ingenious enough, -I changed it for a huge ulcer on my leg, and for this purpose I put in -practice one of the choicest secrets of my craft. - -After having put my leg into an elegant case, I took an advantageous -station at the entrance to a well-frequented church. There, setting -up a sorrowful howl, caused by the new pain I felt from the ulcer, I -caught the eye of almost every one that passed. I thought I excited -the compassion of all who looked on me, but unluckily my rubicund -complexion, which I had neglected to sicken over with white, seemed to -give the lie to my lamentations, and might well excite suspicion; but -good people are not over suspicious, and I heard the golden shower -dropping sweetly and plentifully as they went into the house of prayer. -In short, I got more than all the rest of my brethren put together, and -they wished me at the devil, with my ulcer, that brought the capital -into one bank. - -As the stars at last would have it, there came the governor to hear -mass at this very church—surely for my sins—and he recognised my -voice in a moment, surveying me intently from head to foot. Yes, it -was my voice, for elsewhere I was impenetrable; my whole person being -disguised in the most effectual manner, with a huge napkin round my -head, reaching down to my nose. Alas! he was a man of strong natural -penetration, and suspicious as the devil; for, as he fixed me with his -eyes, he seemed to be saying within himself, “For these several days -past I have heard, I have seen, this odd-looking fish; is it possible -he has got so dreadful an ulcer—all at once? Let us examine a little -farther.” “Friend,” he observed, “you seem in a sad plight; your case -truly deserves compassion; come, follow me, I will at least give you a -shirt to your back.” - -I had the indiscretion to obey, for I suspected nothing. Had I so done, -spite of all the people at his heels, I vow I would have given him the -slip, and saved my unfortunate carcase. He had no sooner got me safely -housed than he assumed a cold and severe aspect, from which I augured -nothing pleasant. He then asked me sharply if I were not the person he -had seen at the door of a church, with a complexion as pale as death. -I grew pale enough indeed at this, and lost all presence of mind; I -could not deny it: and when he asked me how I had got so speedily cured -of my scalded head and other infirmities I was still more puzzled than -before. “Besides,” he continued, “I cannot comprehend how, with that -ruddy complexion of thine, thou hast got such a terrible ulcer in -the leg.” “My lord,” replied I, quite disconcerted, and trembling in -every limb, “I know not how it is, except that it is the will of God.” - -[Illustration: “COME, FOLLOW ME, I WILL AT LEAST GIVE YOU A SHIRT TO -YOUR BACK.”] - -But what was my anxiety when I heard the governor direct one of his -messengers to go and call in a surgeon. I saw what was coming, and -would have made an attempt to save myself had not the doors been -already closed upon me. Not a chance was left me; the dreaded surgeon -came, he examined my leg; but with all his ability and experience, he -would perhaps have been deceived had not the cruel governor privately -communicated the reasons he had to believe me an impostor. Of course, -he had little merit after that of probing the thing to the bottom; -he unbundled it all anew, and putting on a knowing face: “I verily -believe,” he said, “the rogue has nothing amiss with his leg, any more -than I have with my eyes; I see through it; bring me some warm water;” -which being done, he proceeded to restore it to its natural form and -colour. I had not a word to say in my defence, and held my tongue. - -The governor then ordered me to be presented with a shirt, as he -had promised, and this was nothing but a most severe flagellation, -administered by a stout fellow, who laid on, at the governor’s special -order, with right good will on my bare carcase. After thirty lashes he -stopped; I was dressed by the same surgeon, and told to take myself -off, spite of my smarting, at double quick time, under a more terrible -penalty were I again found in the same territories. This advice was -quite superfluous. I hastened from the accursed spot, shrugging up -my shoulders, and marched as quickly as possible to reach the milder -government of the Pope. I uttered a thousand benedictions at the sight -of my well-loved Rome once more; I wept for joy as I entered it, and -wished that I had arms long enough to embrace it with the devoted love -of some returning prodigal son or happy pilgrim. - -I rejoined my comrades, and took care not to say a word of the new -marks of honour I had brought back with me; there would have been no -end to their raillery, and I should never have heard the last of it. -I merely said I had been making a little excursion to the adjacent -villages, but, with the exception of Rome, there was no place on which -our profession could fairly rely, either for profit or safety. I had -indeed been a great ass to leave such a city at all. - - _Mateo Aleman._ _Trans. Roscoe._ - - - - - _OF THE WICKED OLD HOUSEKEEPER, AND THE FIRST KNAVISH PRANKS PAUL - PLAYED AT ALCALA._ - - -When you are at Rome, do as they do at Rome, says the old proverb; and -it is well said. I took it so seriously into consideration, that I -fully resolved to play the knave among knaves, and to excel them all if -possible. I know not whether I succeeded to my wish, but I am sure I -used all my endeavours. In the first place, I made a law that it should -be no less than death for any pigs to cross the threshold of our house, -or for any of the old housekeeper’s chickens to run out of the yard into -our room. It happened that one day two of the cleverest porkers that -ever my eyes beheld slipped into our dominions; I was then at play -with the other servants, and hearing them grunt, said to one of my -companions, “Go see who it is that grunts in our house;” he went, and -brought word they were actually two swine. - -No sooner did I hear, then off I set in a passion, exclaiming—“It was a -great deal of impudence in them to grunt in other people’s houses.” Then -slamming to the door, in a sudden heat of blood, I ran my sword into -the throats of them both, and we afterwards cut off their heads. To -prevent their cries for rescue, we all set up our voices to the highest -pitch during the operation, and between us they soon gave up the ghost. -We next paunched them, saved the blood, and by the help of our straw -bed half roasted them in the yard, so that all was over before our -masters came home, except the mere making of the black puddings. Don -Diego and our steward were informed of this exploit, and flew into such -a passion, that the other lodgers, highly amused, were fain to take my -part. - -The don asked me what I should say for myself when the affair should be -found out. I replied that I would plead hunger, the common sanctuary -of all scholars; and if that was not enough, I would urge that, seeing -them come into the house without knocking, just as if they had been at -home, I really thought that they were ours. They all laughed, and Don -Diego said, “By my faith, Paul, you begin to understand the trade.” -It was well worth observing the difference between my master and me; -he so sober and religious, I so arch and roguish, so that the one was -a foil to the other, and served to set off either his virtue or his -vice. Our old housekeeper was pleased to the very heart, for we both -played our parts, and conspired against the larder. I was caterer, and -a mere Judas in my employment, ever since retaining an inclination for -cribbing and stealing. The meat always wasted in the old woman’s keeping, -and she never dressed wedder mutton when she could get ewe or goat. -Besides, she picked the flesh off the bones before she boiled them, so -that the dishes she served up looked as if the cattle had all died of -a consumption. The broth was so clear, that had it been as hard as the -bones, it might have passed for crystal; but when she wanted to make it -seem a little fat, she clapped in a few candles’ ends. When I was by, -she would say to my master, “In truth, sir, Paul is the best servant -in Spain, bating his unluckiness, but that may well enough be borne -with, because he is so honest.” I gave her the same character, and so -we put upon the whole house between us. - -When I bought anything at market for the real value, the old body would -pretend to fall out and quarrel; and she, seeming to be in a passion, -would say, “Do not tell me, Paul, that this is a pennyworth of salad.” -At this I pretended to cry and make a great noise, beseeching my master -that he would please to send the steward, that he might prove the base -calumny of the scolding old woman. By such simple means did we both -retain our character for honesty; she appearing to look sharp after -me, and I always being found out to be trustworthy. Don Diego, highly -pleased, would often say, “Would to God, Paul were as virtuous in other -ways as he is honest; I see, my good woman, he is even better than you -represent him.” It was thus we had leisure and opportunity to feast on -them like horse-leeches. - -If you ask how much we might cheat them of in the year’s round, I can only -say it amounted to a considerable sum; yet the old woman never missed -going to church daily, nor did I perceive any scruple of conscience she -made of it, though she was so great a saint. She always wore a pair of -beads about her neck, so big, that the wood of them might have served -to roast a sirloin of beef. It was all hung with medals, crosses, -pictures, and other trinkets, on all which, she said, she prayed every -night for her benefactors. She would pray longer than any fanatical -preacher, always in dog Latin, the sound of which almost made us split -our sides with laughter. - -The old woman kept fowls, and had about a dozen fine grown chickens, -which made my mouth water, for they were fit for any gentleman’s table. -It happened one day, going to feed them, she called, as is the custom -in Spain, very loud: “Pio, Pio, Pio.” She repeated it so often, that I -cried out in a pretended rage— - -“’Fore God! nurse, I wish I had seen you kill a man, or clip and coin, -for then I might have kept your counsel; but now I must be forced to -discover you. The Lord have mercy upon us both, I say.” - -She, seeing me in such disorder, was somewhat alarmed: “Why, Paul,” she -said, “what have I done? pray do not jest with me.” - -“Jest with you, forsooth, a curse on your iniquity! I cannot avoid -giving information to the Inquisition, or I shall be excommunicated.” - -“Oh Lord! the Inquisition; have I committed any crime, then?” - -“Have you _not_?” I answered; “don’t think to trifle with the Inquisitors; -own you are in the wrong; eat your own words as fast as you can, and -deny not the blasphemy and irreverence.” - -She replied in great consternation: “But, Paul, will they punish me if -I recant?” - -“No,” I replied, “they will then only absolve you.” - -“Then I recant,” said she; “only tell me what it is I have to recant; -for I know nothing of it, as I hope for mercy.” - -“Bless me,” replied I; “is it possible you should be so dull? the -irreverence was so great I hardly know how to express it. Wretch as -you are, did you not call the chickens, Pio, Pio; and Pius is the name -of several Popes, who are Christ’s vicars upon earth, and heads of the -church. Now do you consider whether that be any trifling sin?” - -She stood as if she had been thunderstruck, and after a while cried: -“’Tis true, I said so, Paul; but may I be burnt if I did it with any -ill design. I recant—I do, indeed; and try to find some way not to -inform of me; for I shall die if they get me into the Inquisition.” - -“Provided you take your oath on the holy altar that you meant it not -for blasphemy; but then you must give me the two chickens you called -in that unsanctified way, by the names of the Popes, that they may be -burnt by the officers of the Inquisition. This you must do now, or I -shall otherwise be compelled to lay an information against you as quick -as possible.” - -She was glad to escape so easily, and instantly consented, giving me -three instead of two, which I took to a neighbouring cook, had them -dressed, and ate with my companions. Don Diego came to hear of the -trick, and made excellent sport of it in the family. The old woman had -nearly fretted herself to death for mere vexation, and was a thousand -times in the mind of taking revenge, and discovering all my schemes. -She was, however, too deeply implicated; and having once quarrelled -with me, there was no end to the tricks I played her. In short, I -became a great authority in all that the scholars called snatching and -shop-lifting, at which I had many pleasant adventures. - -One evening, about nine o’clock, as I was passing through the great -street, I spied a confectioner’s shop open, and in it a frail of raisins -upon the counter. I whipped in, took hold of it, and set a-running; -the confectioner scoured after me, and so did several neighbours and -servants. Being loaded, I perceived that, though I had the start, they -would overtake me, and so, turning the corner of a street, I clapped -the frail upon the ground and sat down upon it, and wrapping my cloak -about my leg, began to cry out, “God forgive him, he has trod upon me -and crippled me.” When they came up I began to cry, “For God’s sake, pity -the lame; I pray God you may never be lame!” - -[Illustration: “‘FRIEND,’ THEY EXCLAIMED, ‘DID YOU SEE A MAN RUN THIS -WAY?’”] - -“Friend!” they exclaimed, “did you see a man run this way?” - -“He is before you,” was my answer, “for he trod upon me.” - -I boasted of this exploit, and with some reason: I even invited them -to come and see me steal a box of sweetmeats another night. They came, -and observing that all the boxes were so far within the shop, that -there was no reaching them, they concluded the thing was impracticable. -Drawing my sword, however, about a dozen paces from the shop, I ran on, -and crying out at the door, “You are a dead man!” I made a strong pass -just before the confectioner’s breast, who dropped down calling for help; -and my sword running clean through a box of sweetmeats, I drew it, box -and all, and took to my heels. They were all amazed at the contrivance, -and ready to burst with laughing on hearing him bid the people search -him, for that he was badly wounded; even when he found out the cheat he -continued to bless himself, while I was employed in eating the fruits -of my exploit. My comrades used to say that I could easily maintain my -family upon nothing; as much as to say, by my wits and sleight-of-hand. -This had the effect of encouraging me to commit more. I used to bring -home my girdle, hung all round with little pitchers, which I stole from -nuns, begging some water to drink of them; and when they turned it out -in their wheel, I went off with the mugs, they being shut up and not -able to help themselves. - - “_Paul, the Spanish Sharper._” _Quevedo_ (1580-1645). - _Trans. Roscoe._ - - - - - _ESTEBANILLO ACTS ON THE CARDINAL’S BIRTHDAY!_ - - -When I had been there five weeks, to reward my good service, I was -prefe to be under-sweeper below stairs. Thus men rise who behave -themselves well in their employment, and are careful to please their -superiors. I was barefoot, half-naked, and as black as a collier, when -I entered upon my new charge, where I fared not so well as in the -kitchen; for places of honour are not often so profitable as those -of less reputation, and nothing could stick to me but the dust of -the house, whereas before I never wanted a sop in the pan, or other -perquisites. - -[Illustration: “I CAME TO THE SEASHORE.”] - -But Fortune so ordered it that the Cardinal’s servants undertook to act -a play on his Eminency’s birthday; and in distributing the parts, they -pitched upon me to represent a young King of Leon, either because I -was young, or for being descended from the renowned Fernan Gonzales, -who, as I said before, was my progenitor, and Earl of Castile, before -there were kings of that country. I took care to learn my part, and -persuaded him that took the management of it to give me half a pound of -raisins and a couple of oranges every day, that I might eat a little -collation at night, and rub my temples with the orange-peels in the -morning fasting, telling him that would help my memory, which was very -weak, else I should never get it by heart, tho’ the whole was not -above twenty lines; and assuring him I had seen this done by the most -celebrated comedians in Spain, when they acted the greatest parts. -When the day of the solemnity came, a stately theatre was erected in -the largest room in the palace, making a wood of green boughs at the -end next the attiring room, where I was to lye asleep, and Moors to -come and carry me away captive. My lord, the Cardinal, invited all -the men of quality and ladies of the court to this diversion. Our -Merry-Andrew actors dressed themselves like so many Jack-Puddings, and -all the palace was richly hung and adorned. They put me on a very fine -cloth suit, half cover’d with rich silver loops, and laced down the seams, -which was as good as giving me wings to take my flight and be gone. -Seeing myself in such equipage as I had never known before, I thought -not fit to return to my rags again, but resolv’d to shift for myself. -The play began at three in the afternoon, the audience consisting of -all the flower of the city. The manager of the representation was so -active and watchful, because he had hir’d my clothes, and was bound to see -them forthcoming, that he never suffered me to go out of his sight. -But when they came to that part where I was to appear as if I had been -hunting, and then to lye down in the wood, pretending weariness and -sleep; I repeated a few verses, and those who came out with me upon -the stage having left me, I turn’d into that green copse, where it cannot -be said I was taken napping, for going in at one end I follow’d a narrow -path that was left among the boughs, to the other end of the theatre, -whence I slipped down, and going along under it to the door of that -great hall, bid those who stood about it, make way, for I was going -to shift my clothes. Upon this they all let me pass, I made but two -steps down the stairs, and flew along the streets like an arrow out -of a bow, till I came to the sea-shore, whither I had steer’d my course, -in hopes of some conveniency to carry me off. I was told afterwards -when I returned to Palermo, that at the time when I quitted the stage, -there came out half-a-dozen Christian Moors, well stuff’d with gammon of -bacon, and encouraged with rich wine; who coming to the wood to seize -their prize, thinking I had been there, cry’d out with loud voice: “Young -Christian King, appear!” To which I supposing them to be my servants, -was to answer, “Is it time to move?” I being then too far on my way, -not for fear of being made a slave among infidels, but rather of being -stripped of my fine clothes, could not play my part, or answer to the -Moors, because I was a mile off, driving a bargain with Christians. -The prompter perceiving I did not answer, was very diligent, repeating -what I was to say, as believing I had forgot myself, tho’ he was much -mistaken, for I had all my business fresh in my head. The Moors being -tired with expectation, and concluding I had really fallen asleep, when -I ought only to counterfeit, went into the imaginary wood, and found no -footsteps of a King. They were all amazed, there was no proceeding on -the play; some ran about calling upon me, and others went to enquire -after my Majesty, whilst he, who had engag’d for my clothes, tore his -hair for vexation, and offer’d vows to Heaven in case I were found, and -he escaped that shipwreck. They told the Cardinal I was fled, who -answered, I was much in the right to make my escape from the enemies -of the Christian religion, and not suffer myself to be made prisoner -by them. That, without doubt, I was gone back to the city of Leon, -where I kept my court, whence it was likely I would take care to return -the clothes; but in the meanwhile, he would pay the value, so that -they need not take the trouble of sending after me, for he would not -disoblige so great a prince, especially on his birthday. He ordered my -part should be read, and the rest of the play acted; which was done -accordingly, to the great satisfaction of the audience, and no less of -the manager, having such good security for his clothes. - - “_The Life of Estebanillo Gonzalez_” (_written by himself - in 1646_). _Trans. Captain John Stevens._ - - - - - _THE INGENIOUS GENTLEMAN, DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA._ - -_Which treats of the condition and way of life of the famous gentleman, - Don Quixote of La Mancha._ - - -In a certain village of La Mancha, whose name I will not recall, there -lived not long ago a gentleman—one of those who keep a lance in the -rack, an ancient target, a lean hackney, and a greyhound for coursing. -A mess of somewhat more beef than mutton, a salad on most nights, a -hotch-potch on Saturdays, lentils on Fridays, with the addition of a -pigeon on Sundays, consumed three parts of his substance. The rest of -it was spent in a doublet of fine broadcloth, a pair of velvet breeches -for holidays, with slippers of the same, and his home-spun of the -finest, with which he decked himself on week-days. He kept at home a -housekeeper, who was past forty, and a niece who had not yet reached -twenty, besides a lad for the field and market, who saddled the nag and -handled the pruning-hook. - -The age of our gentleman bordered upon fifty years. He was of a -vigorous constitution, spare of flesh, dry of visage, a great early -riser, and a lover of the chase. They affirm that his surname was -Quejada, or Quesada (and in this there is some variance among the -authors who treat of the matter), although by very probable conjectures -we are led to conclude that he was called Quijana. But this is of -small import to our story; enough that in the telling of it we swerve -not a jot from the truth. - -Be it known, then, that this gentleman above mentioned, during the -interval that he was idle, which was the greater part of the year, gave -himself up to the reading of books of chivalries, with so much fervour -and relish, that he almost entirely neglected the exercise of the -chase and even the management of his estate. And to such a pitch did -his curiosity and infatuation reach, that he sold many acres of arable -land in order to buy romances of chivalry to read; and so he brought -home as many of them as he could procure. And of all none seemed to him -so good as those composed by the famous Feliciano de Silva, for their -brilliancy of style and those entangled sentences seemed to him to be -very pearls; and especially when he came to read of the passages of -love, and cartels of defiance, wherein he often found written things -like these: “_The reason of the unreason which is done to my reason in -such wise my reason debilitates, that with reason I complain of your -beauteousness_.” And also when he read: “_The lofty heavens which of -your divinity do divinely fortify you with the constellations, and make -you deserver of the deserts which your mightiness deserves_.” - -Over these reasons our poor gentleman lost his senses, and he used to -keep awake at night in trying to comprehend them, and in plucking out -their meaning, which not Aristotle himself could extract or understand, -were he to come to life for that special purpose. He did not much -fancy the wounds which Don Belianis gave and received; for he thought -that, however potent were the masters who had healed him, the Knight -could not but have his face and all his body full of scars and marks. -Nevertheless, he praised in the author the ending of his book with the -promise of that interminable adventure, and ofttimes he was seized with -a desire to take up the pen, and put a finish to it in good earnest, -as is there purposed. And doubtless he would have done so—aye, and -gone through with it—had not other greater and more lasting thoughts -diverted his mind. - -Many times he held dispute with the Priest of his village (who was a -learned man, a graduate of Siguenza) as to who should have been the -better knight, Palmerin of England, or Amadis of Gaul; though Master -Nicholas, the Barber of the same village, was used to say that none -came up to the Knight of the Sun, and that if any one could compare -with him it was Don Galaor, brother of Amadis of Gaul, for he had a -very accommodating temper for everything; he was no prudish cavalier, -nor such a sniveller as his brother, nor in the article of valour any -behind him. - -In fine, our gentleman was so absorbed in these studies, that he -passed his nights reading from eve to dawn, and his days from dark to -dusk; and so with little sleep and much study his brain dried up, to -the end that he lost his wits. He filled himself with the imagination -of all that he read in the books: with enchantments, with quarrels, -battles, challenges, wounds, amorous plaints, loves, torments, and -follies impossible. And so assured was he of the truth of all that -mass of fantastic inventions of which he read, that for him there was -no other history in the world so certain. He would say that the Cid -Ruy Diaz must have been a good knight, but not to be named with the -Knight of the Flaming Sword, who only with one back-stroke had severed -two fierce and monstrous giants through the middle. He better liked -Bernardo del Carpio, because at Roncesvalles he had slain Orlando -the Enchanted, availing himself of Hercules’ trick when he throttled -Anteus, son of Terra, in his arms. He spoke very well of the giant -Morgante; for, though of that gigantesque brood who are all arrogant -and uncivil, he alone was affable and well-mannered. But, above all, he -esteemed Rinaldo of Montalvan, especially when he saw him sally from -his castle and rob all he met, and when in Heathenrie he stole that -idol of Mahound, which was all of gold, as his history tells. As for -the traitor Galalon, for a volley of kicks at him he would have given -his housekeeper—aye, and his niece to boot. In short, his wits utterly -wrecked, he fell into the strangest delusion ever madman conceived in -the world, and this was, that it was fitting and necessary for him, -as he thought, both for the augmenting of his honour and the service -of the State, to make himself a Knight Errant, and travel through -the world with his armour and his horse seeking for adventures, and -to exercise himself in all that he had read that the Knight Errant -practised, redressing all kinds of wrong, and placing himself in perils -and passes by the surmounting of which he might achieve an everlasting -name and fame. Already the poor man imagined himself, by the valour -of his arm, crowned with, at the least, the Empire of Trebizond. And -so, with these imaginations so delightful, rapt in the strange zest -with which they inspired him, he made haste to give effect to what he -desired. The first thing he did was to furbish up some armour which -had belonged to his great-grandfathers, which, eaten with rust and -covered with mould, had lain for ages, where it had been put away and -forgotten, in a corner. He scoured and dressed it as well as he was -able, but he saw that it had one great defect, which was that there was -no covered helmet, but only a simple morion or, headpiece. This his -ingenuity supplied, for, with pieces of pasteboard, he fashioned a sort -of half-beaver, which, fitted to the morion, gave it the appearance -of a complete helmet. The fact is that, to prove it to be strong and -able to stand the chance of a sword-cut, he drew his sword and gave it -a couple of strokes, demolishing with the very first in a moment what -had cost him a week to make. The ease with which he had knocked it to -pieces not seeming to him good, in order to secure himself against -this danger he set to making it anew, fitting some bars of iron within -in such a manner as to leave him satisfied with his defence; and -without caring to make a fresh trial of it, he constituted and accepted -it for a very perfect good helmet. He went then to inspect his nag, -a beast which, though it had more quarters than there are in a real, -and more blemishes than the horse of Gonela, who, _tantum pellis et -ossa fuit_, appeared to him to surpass Alexander’s Bucephalus and the Ci -Bavieca. Four days were spent by our gentlemen in meditating on what -name to give him; for, as he said to himself, it was not right that the -steed of Knight so famous, and in himself so good, should be without a -recognised appellation; and therefore he endeavoured to fit him with -one which should signify what he had been prior to his belonging to -a Knight Errant, and what he was then; since he thought it but right -that, the master having changed his condition, the horse should also -change his name, and get him one sublime and high-sounding, as befitted -the new order and the new office which he professed. And so, after -many names which he devised, effaced, and rejected, amended, re-made -and un-made in his mind and fancy, finally he decided to call him -ROZINANTE—a name, in his opinion, lofty, sonorous, and significative of -what his animal had been when he was a common hackney, before he became -what he now was, before, and in front of, all the hackneys in the world. - -Having given to his horse a name so much to his liking, he then desired -to give one to himself, and the thinking of this cost him eight other -days. At last he decided to call himself DON QUIXOTE; whereupon the -authors of this truthful history, as has been said, have found occasion -to affirm that his name was Quijada, and not Quesada, as others would -have it. Then recollecting that the valorous Amadis was not contented -with calling himself simply Amadis, but added the name of his kingdom -and native country, to make it famous, taking the name of Amadis of -Gaul, so he desired, like a good knight, to add to his own the name of -his native land, and call himself DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA, whereby, -to his seeming, he made lively proclamation of his lineage and his -country, and honoured it by taking his surname therefrom. - -His armour then being cleaned, his morion manufactured into a helmet, -a name given to his horse, and himself confirmed with a new one, it -struck him that he lacked nothing else than to look for a lady of -whom to be enamoured; for the Knight Errant without amours was a tree -without leaves and without fruit, and a body without soul. He would say -to himself: “Were I, for my sins, or through good luck, to encounter -hereabouts some giant, as usually happens to Knights Errant, and to -overthrow him at the onset, or cleave him through the middle of his -body, or, in fine, vanquish him and make him surrender, would it not be -well to have some one to whom to send him as a present, that he might -enter and bend the knee before my sweet mistress, and say with humble -and subdued voice: ‘I, lady, am the giant Caraculiambro, lord of the -island of Malindramia, whom the never-to-be-praised-as-he-deserves -Knight, Don Quixote of La Mancha, vanquished in single combat—he -who hath commanded me to present myself before your grace that your -highness may dispose of me at your pleasure.’” - -Oh, how our good knight was pleased with himself when he had delivered -this speech!—and the more when he found one to whom to give the name -of his lady. It happened, as the belief is, that in a village near his -own there was a well-looking peasant girl, with whom he had once fallen -in love, though it is understood that she never knew it or had proof -thereof. Her name was Aldonza Lorenzo, and upon her he judged it fit -to bestow the title of mistress of his fancy; and, seeking for her a -name which should not much belie her own, and yet incline and approach -to that of a princess or great lady, he decided to call her DULCINEA -DEL TOBOSO, for she was a native of El Toboso—a name, in his opinion, -musical, romantic, and significant, as were all which he had given to -himself and his belongings. - - - _Wherein is related the pleasant method by which Don Quixote got - himself dubbed Knight._ - -... Don Quixote promised to perform all that was recommended to him -with all exactness; whereupon he was enjoined forthwith to keep watch -over his armour in a large yard by the inn-side. Collecting the pieces -all together, he placed them on top of a stone trough which stood near -a well, and, buckling on his shield, he grasped his lance, and began -with a jaunty air to pace in front of the trough, it being now dark -when he commenced his exercise. - -The landlord told all who were staying in the inn of his guest’s craze, -the watching of the armour, and the dubbing of Knighthood which he -awaited. Wondering at this strange kind of madness, they went to look -at him from afar, and saw him sometimes pacing with a tranquil mien, -sometimes resting on his lance, with his eyes fixed on his armour, -from which he would not take them off for some time. The night had now -closed in, with a moon of such brightness that she might have vied with -him who lent it to her,[6] so that whatever our novice did could be -plainly seen by all. Just then one of the muleteers who were staying -in the inn, wanting to give water to his team, found it necessary to -remove Don Quixote’s armour from where it lay on the trough. The Knight, -seeing the man approach, exclaimed with a loud voice: “O thou, -whosoever thou art, rash cavalier! who comest to touch the armour of -the most valiant Errant that ever girt sword on himself, take heed what -thou doest, and touch it not, if thou wouldst not lose thy life in -forfeit of thy temerity.” - -The muleteer paid no regard to these words (and better for him it had -been had he regarded them, for he would have re-guarded his safety), -but, taking hold of the armour by the straps, flung it some way from -him. When Don Quixote saw this, he lifted his eyes to heaven, and -addressing himself, as it seemed, to his Lady Dulcinea, cried, “Succour -me, mistress mine, in this the first affront which is offered to this -enthralled bosom: let not your favour and help fail me in this first -trial!” - -And uttering these and other such words, and loosing his shield, he -raised his lance in both hands, and with it dealt such a mighty blow -on the muleteer’s head that it felled him to the earth in such ill plight -that, if it had been followed up with a second, there would have been -no need of a leech to cure him. Soon after, another muleteer, without -knowing what had passed (for the first still lay stunned), came up -with the same purpose of giving water to his mules, and was going to -remove the armour so as to clear the trough, when Don Quixote, without -speaking a word or asking any one’s favour, again loosed his shield and -again raised his lance, and without breaking it made more than three of -the second muleteer’s head, for he broke it into four pieces. At the noise -all the people of the inn ran out, and the landlord among them. Seeing -this, Don Quixote buckled on his shield, and, setting his hand to his -sword, cried, “O lady of beauty! strength and vigour of this debile -heart! now is the hour when you should turn the eyes of your grandeur -on this your captive Knight, who is awaiting this mighty adventure!” - -[Illustration: “DEALT SUCH A MIGHTY BLOW ON THE MULETEER’S HEAD, THAT IT -FELLED HIM TO THE EARTH.”] - -Thereupon he seemed to himself to acquire so much courage, that if all -the muleteers in the world had assailed him he would not have budged -a foot backwards. The companions of the wounded, seeing them in that -plight, began to shower stones upon Don Quixote from a distance, who -sheltered himself as well as he could with his shield, not venturing to -leave the horse-trough lest he should seem to abandon his armour. The -innkeeper called out to them to leave him alone, for he had told them -already that it was a madman, and being mad he would be scot-free even -if he killed them all. Don Quixote also cried out yet louder, calling -them cowards and traitors, and declaring the Lord of the castle to be -a craven and a base-born Knight for consenting to Knights Errant being -so treated, and that if he himself had received the order of Knighthood -he would have made him sensible of his perfidy: “But of you, base and -wild rabble, I make no account. Shoot! come on! advance! assail me as -much as ye are able; you shall see the penalty you have to pay for your -folly and insolence!” - -This he said with so much spirit and intrepidity that he struck all who -heard him with a terrible fear; and therefore, and partly by the host’s -persuasions, they left off pelting him, and he on his part permitted -them to carry off their wounded, returning to the vigil of his arms -with the same calmness and composure as before. - -These pranks of his guest were not to the innkeeper’s liking, so he -determined to despatch and give him that plaguy order of Knighthood -forthwith, before other mischief should happen. Going up to him, -therefore, he apologised for the insolence with which those base -fellows had behaved without his knowledge, but, he added, they had been -well chastised for their hardihood. And seeing there was no chapel in -that castle, as he had said before, there was no need, he declared, -for the rest of the performance—that the whole point of Knight-making -consisted in the slap of the hand and the stroke on the shoulder, -according to his knowledge of the ceremonial of the order, and this -could be done in the middle of a field; and that Don Quixote had -already accomplished all that pertained to the watching of arms, more -by token that he had been more than four hours at what might have been -finished off with a two hours’ watch. - -To all this Don Quixote gave credence, and he said to the host that -he was there ready to obey him, praying him to conclude the business -as soon as possible, for, were he assaulted again when full Knight, -he purposed not to leave any one alive in the castle, except those he -might spare at the Castellan’s bidding, and out of regard for him. - -The Castellan, thus forewarned, and apprehensive of what might happen, -brought out a book in which he used to enter the straw and barley -which he supplied to the muleteers, and, with a candle-end borne by a -lad, the two damsels aforesaid with him, went up to where Don Quixote -was standing, whom he ordered to go down on his knees. Reading in his -manual as though he were reciting some devout prayer, he broke off -in the middle, and, lifting up his hand, dealt Don Quixote a sound -blow on the head, and after this a brisk thwack on the shoulder with -his own sword, still muttering between his teeth as though he were -praying. This done, he commanded one of those ladies to gird on Don -Quixote’s sword, which she did with much sprightliness and discretion, -and it needed no little of that last article to avoid bursting with -laughter at each point of the ceremonies, though the prowesses they -had witnessed of the new Knight kept their mirth within bounds. At the -girding on of the sword the good lady said, “God make your worship -a fortunate Knight, and give you good luck in battles!” Don Quixote -besought her to tell him her name, that thenceforward he might know to -whom he was indebted for the favour received, for he designed to bestow -on her some portion of the honour which he was to reap by the valour -of his arm. She replied, with much humility, that her name was _La -Tolosa_, and that she was the daughter of a cobbler, native of Toledo, -who lived among the stalls of Sancho Bienaya, and that wheresoever -she might be, she was at his service and took him for her master. Don -Quixote begged her in reply, for love of him, henceforth to assume the -_Don_, and call herself Donna Tolosa, which she promised to do. The -other damsel buckled on him his spurs, with whom there passed almost -the same colloquy as with her of the sword. He asked her her name, and -she answered that she was called _La Molinera_, and was the daughter -of a miller of Antequera. Her also Don Quixote besought to take upon -her the _Don_, and call herself Donna Molinera, renewing his offers of -service and favour. - -These never-before-seen ceremonies having been despatched at a gallop -and post-haste, Don Quixote could not rest till he saw himself on -horseback, sallying forth in quest of adventures. So saddling Rozinante -at once he mounted, and embracing the innkeeper, thanked him for -the favour done in the knighting in terms so extravagant that it is -impossible to give an exact relation of them. The innkeeper, seeing him -well outside his inn, responded to his speeches with others no less -flowery although more brief, and, without asking him for the cost of -his lodging, let him go with a hearty good will. - - - _Of the good success which Don Quixote had in the terrible and - never-before imagined adventure of the windmills, with other events - worthy of happy remembrance._ - -While thus conversing, they caught sight of some thirty or forty -windmills which are in that plain, and as soon as Don Quixote perceived -them, he exclaimed— - -“Fortune is guiding our affairs better than we could have desired, -for look yonder, friend Sancho, where thirty or more huge giants are -revealed, with whom I intend to do battle, and take all their lives. -With their spoils we will begin to enrich ourselves, for this is fair -war, and it is doing God great service to clear this evil spawn from -off the face of the earth. - -“What giants?” asked Sancho Panza. - -“Those thou seest there,” replied his master, “with the long arms, -which some of them are wont to have of two leagues’ length.” - -“Take care, sir,” cried Sancho, “for those we see yonder are not -giants, but windmills, and what in them look like arms are the sails -which, being whirled about by the wind, make the mill-stone to go.” - -“It is manifest,” answered Don Quixote, “that thou art not experienced -in this matter of adventures. They are giants, and if thou art afraid -get thee away home and dispose thyself to prayer, while I go to engage -with them in fierce and unequal combat.” - -So saying, he clapped spurs to Rozinante, his steed, without heeding -the cries which Sancho Panza, his squire, uttered, warning him that -those he was going to encounter were beyond all doubt windmills and not -giants. But he went on so fully persuaded that they were giants, that -he neither listened to the cries of his squire Sancho, nor stopped to -mark what they were, but shouted to them in a loud voice— - -“Fly not, cowards, vile creatures, for it is a single cavalier who -assails you!” - -A slight breeze having sprung up at this moment, the great sail-arms -began to move, on perceiving which Don Quixote cried— - -“Although ye should wield more arms than had the giant Briareus, ye -shall pay for it!” - -Saying this, and commending himself with his whole soul to his lady -Dulcinea, beseeching her to succour him in this peril, well covered -with his buckler, with his lance in rest, he charged at Rozinante’s best -gallop, and attacked the first mill before him and thrusting his lance -into the sail the wind turned it with so much violence that the lance -was shivered to pieces, carrying with it the horse and his rider, who -was sent rolling over the plain sorely damaged. - -[Illustration: “THE HORSE AND HIS RIDER SENT ROLLING OVER THE PLAIN -SORELY DAMAGED.”] - -Sancho Panza hastened to his master’s help as fast as his ass could go, -and when he came up he found the Knight unable to stir, such a shock -had Rozinante given him in the fall. - -“God bless me,” cried Sancho, “did I not tell your worship to look to -what you were doing, for they were nought but windmills? And nobody -could mistake them but one who had other such in his head.” - -“Peace, friend Sancho,” said Don Quixote; “for the things of war -are more than other subject to continual mutation. And, moreover, I -believe, and that is the truth, that the same sage Friston, who robbed -me of my room and my books, hath turned these giants into windmills, in -order to deprive me of the glory of their overthrow, so great is the -enmity he bears to me; but in the upshot his evil arts shall little -avail against the goodness of my sword.” - -“God send it as He will,” answered Sancho; and helping him to rise, the -Knight remounted Rozinante, whose shoulders were half dislocated. - - - _Which treats of the lofty adventure and the rich winning of Mambrino’s - helmet._ - -... Now, the truth of the matter as to the helmet, the horse, and the -Knight that Don Quixote saw was this. There were in that neighbourhood -two villages, one so small that it possessed neither apothecary’s shop -nor barber, which the other, close to it, had; and so the barber of -the larger village did duty for the smaller, in which was a sick man -who required to be blooded, and another who wanted shaving; on which -account the barber was coming, bringing with him a brass basin; and -it chanced that, at the time he was travelling, it commenced to rain, -and, not to spoil his hat, which was a new one, he clapt upon his head -the basin, which, being a clean one, shone half a league off. He rode -upon a grey ass, as Sancho said, and this was how to Don Quixote there -appeared the dapple-grey steed and the Knight and the helmet of gold, -for all things that he saw he made to fall in very easily with his -wild chivalries and his vagabond fancies. And, when he perceived that -luckless horseman draw near, without stopping to parley with him, he -ran at him with his lance couched at Rozinante’s full gallop, with intent -to pierce him through and through; and as he came up to him, without -abating the fury of his career, he cried out— - -[Illustration: “BEGAN TO RACE ACROSS THE PLAIN FASTER THAN THE WIND.”] - -“Defend thyself, vile caitiff creature, or render me up of thine own -will that which by all right is my due.” - -The barber, who saw that apparition bearing down upon him, without -thought or apprehension of any such thing, had no other way to save -himself from the thrust of the lance than to let himself fall off his -ass, and no sooner had he touched the ground when he rose more nimbly -than a deer, and began to race across the plain faster than the wind. -The basin he left upon the ground, with which Don Quixote was well -content, remarking that the Paynim had done wisely, and that he had -imitated the beaver, who, when he finds himself hard pressed by the -hunters, tears and cuts off with his teeth that for which he knows by -natural instinct he is chased. He bade Sancho pick up the helmet, who, -taking it in his hands, said— - -“In sooth the basin is a good one, and worth a real of eight, if it is -worth a maravedi.” - -He gave it to his master, who placed it upon his head, turning it about -from side to side in search of the vizor, and, not finding it, he said— - - -“Doubtless the Paynim to whose measure this famous headpiece was first -forged, must have had a very large head, and the worst of it is that -half of it is wanting.” - -When Sancho heard him call the basin a headpiece, he could not contain -his laughter, but bethinking him of his master’s wrath, he checked himself -in the midst of it. - -“What dost thou laugh at?” asked Don Quixote. - -“I am laughing,” replied he, “for thinking of the big head the Paynim -owner of this helmet must have had, for it looks for all the world like -nothing but a perfect barber’s basin.” - -“Knowest thou what I suspect, Sancho? That this famous piece of the -enchanted helmet must by some strange accident have come into the hands -of one who did not know or esteem its worth, and who, ignorant of what -he did, seeing it to be of pure gold, must have melted down the other -half of it to profit by its worth, and of this half he has made what -looks to thee like a barber’s basin, as thou sayest. But, be that as it -may, to me who recognise it, its transmutation makes no matter, for I -will have it rectified in the first village where there is a smith, -and in such wise that it shall not be surpassed or even approached by -that which was made and forged by the god of smithies for the god of -battles. And, in the meantime, I will wear it as I can, for something -is better than nothing; all the more as it will well suffice to protect -me against any blow from a stone.” - - - _Wherein is set forth the highest point and extreme to which the - never-before-heard-of courage of Don Quixote reached or could reach; - with the happily achieved Adventure of the Lions._ - -The history tells that Sancho, when Don Quixote called for his helmet, -was buying some curds of the shepherds, and in his perturbation at his -master’s hurried call, knew not what to do with them or how to carry them; -so in order not to lose what he had now paid for, he bethought him -of clapping them into his master’s helmet, and having thus made shift, -he turned back to see what Don Quixote wanted, who, on his coming up, -cried, “Give me that helmet, friend, for I know little of adventure -or that which I descry yonder is one which should require, and does -require, me to take to arms.” - -He of the Green Coat, hearing this, turned his eyes every way, but saw -nothing but a cart which came towards them with two or three little -flags, which made him think that it must be carrying the King’s treasure, -and so he told Don Quixote. But the Knight would not credit it, always -supposing and imagining that all which happened was adventures, and -still adventures; and so he replied— - -“Forewarned is forearmed; nothing is lost by taking precaution, for I -know by experience that I have enemies visible and invisible, nor know -I when, nor where, nor in what moment, nor in what shape I have to -encounter them.” - -And turning to Sancho he asked for his helmet, which the squire, not -having an opportunity of relieving it of the curds, was compelled to -hand to him as it was. Don Quixote took it, and without giving a look -to what it contained, clapped it on his head in all haste; and as the -curds were squeezed and pressed, the whey began to pour over all Don -Quixote’s face and beard, from which he got such a fright that he said to -Sancho— - -“What is this, Sancho? For methinks my skull is softening, or my brains -are melting, or I sweat from feet to head. And if it is that I am -sweating, truly it is not from fear. Without doubt I believe this is -terrible, the adventure that now means to befall me. Give me something, -if you can, with which to wipe myself, for this copious sweat doth -blind my eyes.” - -Sancho held his tongue and gave him a cloth, and with it thanks to -God that his master had not found out the truth. Don Quixote wiped -himself, and took off the helmet to see what it was which seemed to -chill his head, and finding the white clots within his headpiece, held -them to his nose, and smelling them, cried— - -“By the life of my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, but these are curds thou -hast put here, thou traitor! villain, brazen-faced squire!” - -To which, with much deliberation and command of countenance, Sancho -replied, “If they are curds give them to me, your worship, and I will -eat them; but let the devil eat them, for it must be he who put them -there. I to dare soil your worship’s helmet! You must know who it is -that’s so bold. In faith, sir, as God reads my mind, I, too, must have -enchanters who persecute me as a creature and limb of your worship; -and they will have put that nastiness there to move your patience to -anger, and make you baste my ribs as you are wont to do; but, in truth, -this time they have jumped wide of the mark, for I rely on my master’s -good judgment, who will consider that I have neither curds nor milk -about me, nor anything like; and if I had I would rather put it into my -stomach than in the helmet.” - -“It may be all so,” quoth Don Quixote. And the gentleman in the Green -Coat, who noted all, was utterly amazed, especially when, after Don -Quixote had wiped dry his head, face, beard, and helmet, he put it on -again, and settling himself firmly in his stirrups, reaching for his -sword and grasping his lance, exclaimed— - -“Now come what may, for here I stand to do battle with Satan himself in -person.” - -The cart with the flags now approached, in which was nobody but the -carter upon one of the mules and a man seated in front. Planting -himself before it, Don Quixote exclaimed— - -“Whither go ye, my brethren; what cart is this? What do you carry -therein? And what flags are these?” - -To which the carter replied, “The cart is mine; what go in it are two -bold lions in a cage, which the General is sending from Oran to the -capital as a present to his Majesty; the flags are the King‘s, our master, -in token that something of his goes here.” - -“And are they large, the lions?” asked Don Quixote. - -“So large,” answered the man at the door of the van, “that none larger -or so large have ever passed from Africa to Spain; and I am the -lion-keeper, and have carried many, but none like these. They are male -and female; the male goes in the first cage, and the female in the one -behind, and they are now very hungry, for they have not eaten to-day; -and so let your worship stand aside, for we must needs reach quickly -the place where we are to give them their dinner.” - -On which said Don Quixote, with a little smile, “Lion-whelps to me? -To me, lion-whelps? And at this time of day? Then by Heaven, those -gentleman who send them here shall see whether I am a man who is -frightened of lions. Alight, good fellow, and since you are the -lion-keeper, open these cages, and turn me out these beasts, for in the -middle of this open field I will teach them to know who Don Quixote of -La Mancha is, in defiance and despite of the enchanters who send them -to me.” - -“So, so,” said he of the Green Coat to himself at this, “our good -knight gives us a proof of what he is; the curds i’ faith have softened -his skull and mellowed his brain.” - -Here Sancho came up to him, and exclaimed, “For God’s sake, sir, mind that -my master, Don Quixote, does not fight with these lions, for if he -fights them all we here will be torn to pieces.” - -“But is your master so mad,” the gentleman answered, “that you fear and -believe that he will fight with animals so fierce?” - -“Not mad is he,” replied Sancho, “but headstrong.” - -“I will make him desist,” said the gentleman. And coming up to Don -Quixote, who was pressing the keeper to open the cage, he said, “Sir -Knight, Knights Errant have to engage in adventures which hold out some -prospect of a good issue from them, and not in those that are wholly -devoid of it, for the valour which enters within the bounds of temerity -has more of madness than of fortitude; moreover, these lions come not -against you, nor do they dream of doing so, but are going as a present -to his Majesty, and it will not be right to detain them or hinder their -journey.” - -“Get you gone, Sir Country-squire,” replied Don Quixote, “and look -after your quiet pointer and your saucy ferret, and leave every one -to do his duty; this is mine, and I know whether they come against me -or not, these gentlemen the lions.” And, turning to the keeper, he -said, “I swear, Don Rascal, that if you do not open the cage at once, -instantly, I will pin you to the cart with this lance.” - -The carter, seeing that armed phantom’s determination, said to him— - -“Be pleased, dear sir, for charity, to let me unyoke the mules and -place myself and them in safety before the lions are let loose, for if -they are killed I shall be utterly ruined, for I have no other property -but this cart and these mules.” - -“O man of little faith!” replied Don Quixote, “get down and unyoke, and -do what thou wilt, for soon thou shalt see that thou toilest in vain, -and might spare thyself these pains.” - -The carter alighted and in great haste unyoked, and the keeper cried -in a loud voice, “Be witnesses as many as are here, how against my -will and on compulsion I open the cages and let loose the lions, and -that I protest to this gentleman, that all the evil and damage these -beasts shall do will run and go to his account, with my wages and dues -besides. Let you, sirs, make yourselves safe before I open; for myself, -I am sure they will do me no harm.” - -Once more Don Diego entreated him not to commit such an act of madness, -for to engage in such a freak were a tempting of Providence, to which -Don Quixote replied that he knew what he was doing. The gentleman -pressed him again to look well to it, for that he was surely mistaken. - -“Nay, sir,” quoth Don Quixote, “if your worship would not bear witness -to this, which in your opinion is about to be a tragedy, spur your grey -and put yourself in safety.” - -Sancho, on hearing this, prayed his master with tears in his eyes -to desist from such an enterprise, compared to which that of the -windmills, and the fearful one of the fulling-mills, and, in short, all -the deeds his master had attempted in the course of his life, were but -pleasuring and junketing. - -“Look, sir,” quoth Sancho, “here there is no enchantment, nor anything -like it, for I have seen through the chinks and bars of the cage a claw -of a real lion, and I gather from it that such a lion, to have such a -claw, is bigger than a mountain.” - -“Fear, at least,” said Don Quixote, “will make it seem bigger to thee -than half the earth. Retire, Sancho, and leave me, and if I die here, -thou knowest our old compact: thou wilt betake thee to Dulcinea. I say -no more.” - -Other words he added to these which took away all hope of his giving -up proceeding with his insane purpose. He of the Green Coat would have -resisted him in it, but he saw himself unequal in arms, and judged it -not wise to fight with a madman, for such he now appeared to him to be -at all points. Don Quixote once more pressing the keeper and repeating -his threats, caused the gentleman to urge his mare, and Sancho Dapple, -and the carter his mules, all trying to get away from the cart as far -as possible before the lions broke loose. Sancho wept over the death -of his master, for this time he verily believed it had come from the -lion’s claws; he cursed his fortune and called it a fatal hour when it -came into his mind once more to serve Don Quixote; but none the less, -in weeping and lamenting, did he stop cudgelling Dapple to get him -farther from the cart. The lion-keeper, seeing now that those who had -fled were well away, again entreated and warned Don Quixote as he had -entreated and warned him before, but the Knight replied that he heard -him, and that he cared for no more warnings and entreaties, which would -be fruitless, and bade him despatch. Whilst the keeper was engaged in -opening the first cage, Don Quixote was considering whether it would -be better to have the battle on foot or on horseback, and finally he -decided to have it on foot, fearing lest Rozinante should be startled -at the sight of the lions. Therefore, he leapt from his horse, threw -away his lance, and buckling his shield and unsheathing his sword, -leisurely, with a marvellous intrepidity and valiant heart advanced to -post himself in front of the cart, commending his soul to God and then -to his lady Dulcinea. - -And it is to be known that, coming to this passage, the author of this -truthful history breaks out into this exclamation, saying— - -“O brave and beyond all commendation courageous Don Quixote of La -Mancha! mirror wherein all the valiant may behold themselves, a -second and new Don Manuel de Leon, who was the honour and glory of -Spanish Knights! In what words shall I recount this dread exploit, -or by what argument make it creditable to future ages? What praises -can there be unfitting and unmeet for thee, be they ever such -hyperboles upon hyperboles? Thou on foot, thou alone, thou fearless, -thou great-hearted, with thy simple sword, and that not one of your -trenchant dog blades; with a shield of no very bright and shining -steel, standest watching and waiting for two of the fiercest lions that -ever the African forests engendered! Let thy deeds themselves, valorous -Manchegan, extol thee, for here I leave them at their height, failing -words to glorify them.” - -[Illustration: “HE PUT HIS HEAD OUT OF THE CAGE AND GAZED ALL ABOUT -WITH HIS EYES BLAZING LIKE LIVE COALS.”] - -Here the author breaks off from his apostrophe, and proceeds to take up -the thread of his history, saying— - -The keeper, seeing Don Quixote fixed in his position, and that it was -impossible to avoid letting loose the male lion without falling under -the resentment of the rageful and dauntless Knight, opened wide the -door of the first cage where, as has been said, was the male lion, -who looked to be of extraordinary size and of a hideous and terrible -aspect. The first thing he did was to turn himself round in his cage, -and to extend his claws and stretch himself to his full length. Then -he opened his mouth and yawned very leisurely, and with about two -hands’-breadth of tongue which he put out, he licked the dust from his -eyes and bathed his face. This done, he put his head out of the cage -and gazed all about with his eyes blazing like live coals, a spectacle -and attitude to instil dread into daring itself. Don Quixote alone -looked at him intently, longing for him to leap out of the cart and -come within reach of his hands, between which he thought to rend him to -pieces. - -To this height did his unheard-of madness carry him; but the generous -lion, more courteous than arrogant, taking no notice of these childish -tricks and swaggerings, after having looked round about him, as has -been said, turned his back and, showing to Don Quixote his hinder -parts, with great calmness and nonchalance flung himself down again in -the cage. Seeing this Don Quixote commanded him to give him some blows -and tease him so that he might come out. - -“That I will not do,” answered the keeper, “for if I excite him the -first he will tear in pieces will be myself. Let your worship, Sir -Knight, be content with what has been done, which is all that one can -tell of in point of valour, and seek not to tempt fortune a second -time. The lion has his door open; it rests with him to come out or not; -but since he has not come out up to now he will not come out all day. -Your worship’s greatness of heart is now made fully manifest. No champion -fighter, as I take it, is bound to do more than defy his enemy and wait -for him in the field; if the opponent does not appear the infamy rests -upon him, and he who waits wins the crown of victory.” - -“That is true,” said Don Quixote; “close the door, friend, and give in -the best form thou canst a voucher of what thou hast seen me do: to -wit, how that thou didst open to the lion; I awaited him; he did not -come out; I waited for him again; again he did not come out, but turned -to lie down. I am bound to do no more. Enchantments avaunt! and God -prosper justice and truth and true chivalry! Shut the door, friend, -whilst I signal to the fugitive and absent to return that they may -learn of this exploit from thy mouth.” - -The keeper did so, and Don Quixote, placing on the point of his lance -the cloth with which he had wiped the shower of curds off his face, -began to hail those who had never ceased retreating all in a troop, -looking round at every step, driven before him by the gentlemen in -Green. Sancho happened to perceive the signal of the white cloth, and -exclaimed, “May I die if my master has not conquered the wild beasts, -for he is calling us!” - -They all stopped, and seeing that it was Don Quixote who was making the -signals, losing some of their fear, little by little they came nearer, -until they clearly heard the voice of Don Quixote calling to them. - -At length they returned to the cart, and on their approach Don Quixote -said to the carter— - -“Yoke your mules again, friend, and proceed on your journey, and thou, -Sancho, give him two gold crowns for himself and for the keeper, -towards amends for my having detained them.” - -“I will give them with all my heart,” answered Sancho; “but what has -been done with the lions? Are they dead or alive?” - -Then the keeper recounted minutely and at his leisure the issue of the -encounter, extolling, to the best of his power and skill, the valour -of Don Quixote, at sight of whom the cowed lion cared not, or durst -not, to come out of his cage, though he had held the door open a good -while, and that it was through his having told the Knight that it was a -tempting of Providence to provoke the lion so as to force him to come -out, as he wanted him to do, that he had most unwillingly and against -the grain permitted him to close the door.” - -“What is your judgment on this, Sancho?” quoth Don Quixote; “are there -enchantments which avail against true valour? The enchanters may be -able to rob me indeed of fortune, but of my resolution and courage, it -is impossible.” - -Sancho gave the gold crowns; the carter yoked up; the keeper kissed -Don Quixote’s hands for the largess received, and promised to relate that -valorous deed to the King himself when he should see him at Court. - -“And if by chance his Majesty should ask who performed it,” said -Don Quixote, “you shall tell him, _The Knight of the Lions_; for -henceforth I would that into this may be changed, altered, varied, and -transferred, the name which till now I have borne, of the Knight of -the Rueful Feature; and in this I follow the ancient usage of Knights -Errant, who changed their names at their pleasure and according to the -occasion.” - -The cart proceeded on its journey, and Don Quixote. Sancho, and he of -the Green Coat, continued theirs. - - -_Of the strange adventures which happened to Don Quixote in the Castle._ - -... With this she began to touch a harp very softly. - -On hearing this Don Quixote was startled, for in that moment there came -into his memory the infinite adventures similar to that, of windows, -lattices, and gardens; of serenades, love-plaints, and languishments, -which he had read of in his giddy books of chivalries. He at once -conceived that some one of the Duchess’s maidens was enamoured of him, -and that modesty compelled her to keep her love in secret. He trembled -lest he should yield, but resolved in his mind not to let himself be -overcome; so, commending himself with all good heart and soul to his -lady Dulcinea del Toboso, he determined to listen to the music; and to -let them know he was there, he feigned to sneeze, at which the damsels -were not a little rejoiced, for they desired nothing better than that -Don Quixote should hear them. Then, the harp being set up and tuned, -Altisidora struck up this ballad— - - - BALLAD. - - Thou that all the night till morning - Sleepest on thy downy bed; - Gaily with thy legs out-stretched, - ’twixt two sheets of linen laid: - - Valiant Knight! thou whom La Mancha - Knows none greater or more bold; - Purer, blesseder, and chaster - Than Arabia’s sifted gold: - - Hear a woful maid’s complaining, - Nurtured well but thriven ill, - Whose fond heart the burning sun-rays - From thine eyes do scorch and kill. - - Seekest thou thine own adventures; - Others’ ventures thou suppliest; - Dealest wounds, yet for their healing - Salve of plaster thou deniest. - - Tell me, lusty youth and valiant, - May thy wishes all be sped! - Was’t in Jaca’s gloomy mountains, - Or in Lybia thou wert bred? - - Say, didst suck thy milk from serpents; - Was thine infant babyhood - Nurséd by the horrid mountain, - Dandled by the rugged wood? - - Well may Dulcinea, thy charmer, - Damsel plump and round, be proud, - Conquering that heart of tiger, - Softening that bosom rude! - - This shall make thy name e’er famous - From Jarama to Henares; - From Pisuerga to Arlanza; - From Tagus e’en to Manzanares. - - Might I change with Dulcinea, - give her my best petticoat; - Rarest silk, of pretty colours, - Golden fringe and all to boot! - - O to live within thine arms, and - O to sit beside thy bed! - O that poll so sweet to scratch, and - Brush the scurf from that dear head! - - Much I ask, though undeserving - Of so notable a grace, - Would that I thy feet were stroking, - That’s enough for maid so base. - - What fine night-caps I would work thee; - What fine shiny silvern socks; - Breeches of the rarest damask; - Lovely yellow Holland cloaks! - - Precious milk-white pearls I’d give thee, - Each as big as any gall, - Such as, having no companions, - Orphans they are wont to call. - - Gaze not from thy rock Tarpeian - On the fire which scorches me, - Nero of the world Manchegan! - Nor revive it cruelly. - - Child I am—a tender pullet— - Fifteen years I’ve never seen; - I vow, by God and on my conscience, - I’m only three months past fourteen. - - Lame I am not, neither crooked, - Nothing in my body’s wrong; - Locks like lilies, when I stand up, - Sweep the ground, they are so long. - - Though my mouth is like an eagle’s, - And a little flat my nose, - With my topaz teeth,—of beauty - I’ve enough for Heaven, with those. - - And my voice is, if you listen, - Equal to the best, I trow; - And I am of form and figure - Something less than middling too. - - Spoils of thy spear, thy bow and quiver, - These my charms and more, are; - Maid am I of this here castle, - And my name Altisidora! - -Here ended the lay of the sore-wounded Altisidora, and here began the -terror of the courted Don Quixote, who, heaving a deep sigh, said to -himself— - -“How unhappy an Errant am I, that there is no maiden but looks upon -me, who is not enamoured of me! How sad is the fate of the peerless -Dulcinea, whom they will not leave free to enjoy my incomparable -fidelity! Queens, what do ye want of her? Empresses, why do ye -persecute her? Maidens of fourteen and fifteen, wherefore do ye molest -her? Leave, O leave the unhappy one to triumph, to rejoice, to glory -in the lot which love would assign her in the rendering her my heart, -and delivering to her my soul! Know, ye amorous crew, that for Dulcinea -alone am I dough and sugar-paste, and for all the rest of you flint. -For her I am honey, and for you aloes. For me Dulcinea alone is the -beautiful, the sensible, the chaste, the gay, and the well-bred; -and the rest ugly, silly, wanton and base-born. To be her’s and none -other’s Nature sent me into the world. Let Altisidora weep or sing; let -the lady despair for whose sake they belaboured me in the castle of -the enchanted Moor; for Dulcinea’s I must be—roasted or boiled, clean, -well-born, and chaste—in spite of all the powers of witchcraft in the -world.” - -And with that he clapt the window to, and laid down on his bed; where -for the present we will leave him, for the great Sancho calls, who is -desirous of making a beginning with his famous Governorship. - - - _Of the mode in which the great Sancho Panza began to govern, when he - had taken possession of his Isle._ - -... At this moment there entered the justice-hall two men, one dressed -as a labourer and the other as a tailor, for he bore a pair of scissors -in his hand, and the tailor said— - -“Sir Governor, I and this labouring man have come before your worship -for the cause that this good fellow came to my shop yesterday, who, -saving your presences, am a licensed tailor, blessed be God! and -putting a piece of cloth in my hands, asked me: ‘Sir, would there be -enough in this cloth to make me a cap?’I, measuring the stuff, answered -him ‘_Yes_.’He must have suspected, as I suspect, and suspected -rightly, that without doubt I wished to rob him of some part of his -cloth, founding his belief on his own roguery and the ill-opinion there -is of tailors, and he replied that I should look and see if there were -enough for two. I guessed his drift, and said, ‘_Yes_’ and he, riding -away on his first damned intent, went on adding caps, and I adding -_yeses_, till we reached five caps; and now at this moment he has come -for them, and I am giving them to him; and he will not pay me for the -making, but rather demands that I shall pay him, or give him back his -cloth.” - -“Is all this so, brother?” inquired Sancho. - -“Yes, sir,” answered the man; “but let your worship make him show the -five caps he has made me.” - -“With all my heart,” said the tailor, and thrusting his hand suddenly -under his cloak he showed five caps on it, placed on the five tops of -his fingers, and said: “Here are the five caps which this good man -wants of me, and on God and my conscience I have none of the cloth left -for myself, and I will give the work to be examined by the inspectors -of the trade.” - -All those present laughed at the number of caps, and at the novelty of -the suit. Sancho set himself to consider a little while, and then said— - -“Methinks there need be no long delays in this case, but that it may -be decided, according to a wise mans’ judgment, off-hand; and so I decree -that the tailor shall lose the making, and the countryman the stuff, -the caps to be given to the prisoners in the gaol; and let no more be -said.” - -This judgment provoked the laughter of the audience, but what the -Governor commanded was done. - - - _Of how Don Quixote fell sick, and of the will he made, and of his - death._ - -... The Notary entered with the rest, and after having written the -preamble to the will, and Don Quixote had disposed of his soul with -all those Christian circumstances which are requisite, coming to the -bequests he said— - -“_Item, it is my will that of certain moneys which Sancho Panza, whom -in my madness I made my squire, retains, that because there have been -between him and me certain accounts, receipts, and disbursements, I -wish that he be not charged with them, nor that any reckoning be asked -from him, but that, if there should be any surplus after he has paid -himself what I owe him, the residue should be his, which will be very -little, and may it do him much good. And if I, being mad, was a party -to giving him the governorship of the Isle, now, being sane, I would -give him that of a Kingdom, were I able, for the simplicity of his -nature and the fidelity of his behaviour deserve it._” - -And turning to Sancho, he said to him— - -“Pardon me, friend, that I have given thee occasion to appear mad like -myself, making thee fall into the error into which I fell, that there -were and are Knights Errant in the world.” - -“Alack!” responded Sancho, weeping, “don’t you die, your worship, dear -master, but take my advice and live many years, for the maddest thing -a man can do in this life is to let himself die without more ado, -without anybody killing him, nor other hands to finish him off than -those of melancholy. Look you, do not be lazy, but get out of that -bed, and we will go into the country, dressed like shepherds, as we -have arranged. Mayhap behind some hedge we shall find the lady Donna -Dulcinea disenchanted, and as fine as may be seen. If so be that you -are dying of fretting at being conquered, put the fault on me, and say -they overthrew you because I girthed Rozinante badly; more by token, -as your worship must have seen in your books of chivalries, that it -was a common thing for some Knights to overthrow others, and he who is -conquered to-day may be conqueror to-morrow.” - -“It is so,” said Samson, “and honest Sancho is very true about these -matters.” - -“Gently, sirs,” said Don Quixote, “for _in last year’s nests you look -not for birds of this year_. I was mad, and now I am sane. I was Don -Quixote of La Mancha, and to-day I am, as I have said, Alonso Quixano -the Good. May my repentance and my sincerity restore me to the esteem -you once had for me, and so let Master Notary go on.” - -“_Item, I bequeath all my estate, without reserve, to Antonia Quixana, -my Niece, who is present, there being first deducted from it, as may be -most convenient, what is needed for the satisfaction of the bequests -which I have made; and the first payment to be made I desire to be -of the salary due to my Housekeeper from the time she has been in my -service, with twenty ducats more for a dress. I leave as my executors -Master Priest, and Master Bachelor Samson Carrasco, who are present. -Item, it is my wish that if Antonia Quixana, my Niece, is inclined to -marry, she should wed a man of whom she shall first have evidence that -he knows not what books of chivalries are; and in case it shall be -discovered that he does know, and yet my Niece wishes to marry with him -and does so marry, that she shall forfeit all that I have bequeathed -her, which my executors are empowered to distribute in pious works at -their pleasure. Item, I beseech the said gentlemen, my executors, that -if good fortune should bring them to know the author who, they say, -wrote a history which is current hereabout under the title of Second -Part of the Exploits of Don Quixote of La Mancha, that they will on my -behalf beg him, as earnestly as they can, to pardon the occasion which -I unwittingly gave him for writing so many and such enormous follies -as therein be written, for I quit this life with some tenderness of -conscience for having given him a motive for writing them._” - -With this he concluded his testament, and, being taken with a fainting -fit, he lay extended at full length upon the bed. They were all -alarmed, and ran to his assistance, and during the three days that -he lived after the day on which he made his will he fainted very -frequently. The house was all in confusion; however, the Niece ate, the -Housekeeper drank, and Sancho Panza was cheerful; for this inheriting -of something dulls or tempers in the inheritor the memory of the pain -which the dead man naturally leaves behind. - -At last came Don Quixote’s end, after he had received all the sacraments, -and after he had expressed with many and moving terms his horror at the -books of chivalries. The Notary was present, and said that never had he -read in any book of chivalries that any Knight Errant had died in his -bed so tranquilly and so Christianlike as Don Quixote, who, amidst the -tears and lamentations of all who stood by, gave up his spirit,—that is -to say, died. - -On seeing this, the Priest asked the Notary to give him a certificate -that Alonso Quixano the Good, commonly called Don Quixote of La -Mancha, had passed out of this present life, and had died a natural -death; declaring that he sought such certificate in order to take away -from any other author than Cid Hamet Benengeli the excuse falsely to -resuscitate him, and write interminable histories of his deeds. - -This was the end of the Ingenious Gentleman of La Mancha, whose village -Cid Hamet desired not to indicate precisely, in order to let all the -cities and towns of La Mancha contend among themselves for the honour -of giving him birth and adopting him for their own, as the seven cities -of Greece contended for Homer. The lamentations of Sancho, of the -Niece, and the Housekeeper of Don Quixote are here omitted, as well as -the new epitaphs upon his tomb; but this was what Samson Carrasco put -there:— - - “A valiant gentleman here lies, - Whose courage reached to such a height, - Of death itself he made a prize, - When against Death he lost the fight. - He reck’d not of the world a jot, - The world’s great bugbear and the dread; - Strong was his arm, and strange his lot; - Stark mad in life,—when sober, dead.“ - - - “_Don Quixote de La Mancha._” _Miguel Cervantes_ (1547-1616). - _Trans. H. E. Watts._ - - - - - _CERVANTES TAKES A MERRY LEAVE OF LIFE._ - - -It happened afterwards, dear reader, that as two of my friends and -myself were coming from Esquivias, a place famous for twenty reasons, -more especially for its illustrious families and for its excellent -wines, I heard a man behind me whipping his nag with all his might, and -seemingly very desirous of overtaking us. Presently he called out to -us, and begged us to stop, which we did; and when he came up, he turned -out to be a country student, dressed in brown, with spatterdashes and -round-toed shoes. He had a sword in a huge sheath, and a band tied -with tape. He had indeed but two tapes, so that his band got out of -its place, which he took great pains to rectify. “Doubtless,” said he, -“Señors, you are in quest of some office or some prebendal stall at -the court of my Lord of Toledo, or from the King, if I may judge from -the celerity with which you journey; for, in good truth, my ass has -hitherto had the fame of a good trotter, and yet he could not overtake -you.” - -One of my companions answered, “It is the stout steed of Señor Miguel -Cervantes that is the cause of it, for he is very quick in his paces.” - -Scarcely had the student heard the name of Cervantes, than, throwing -himself off his ass, whilst his cloak-bag tumbled on one side and his -portmanteau on the other, and his bands covered his face, he sprang -towards me, and seizing me by the left hand, exclaimed: “This, then, -is the famous one-handed author, the merriest of writers, the favourite -of the Muses.” - -As for me, when I heard him pouring forth all these praises, I thought -myself obliged in politeness to answer him; so embracing his neck, -whereby I contrived to pull off his bands altogether, I said: “I am -indeed Cervantes, Señor, but not the favourite of the Muses, nor any -other of those fine things which you have said of me. Pray, sir, mount -your ass again, and let us converse together for the small remainder of -our journey.” - -The good student did as I desired. We then drew bit, and proceeded at -a more moderate pace. As we rode on, we talked of my illness, but the -student gave me little hope, saying: “It is an hydropsy, which all the -water in the ocean, if you could drink it, would not cure; you must -drink less, Señor Cervantes, and not neglect to eat, for this alone can -cure you.” - -“Many other people,” said I, “have told me the same thing; but it is as -impossible for me not to drink, as if I had been born for nothing but -drinking. My life is pretty nearly ended, and to judge by the quickness -of my pulse, I cannot live longer than next Sunday. You have made -acquaintance with me at a very unfortunate time, as I fear that I shall -not live to show my gratitude to you for your obliging conduct.” - -Such was our conversation when we arrived at the bridge of Toledo, over -which I was to pass, while he was bound another route by the bridge of -Segovia. - -“As to my future history, I leave that to the care of fame. My friends -will, no doubt, be very anxious to narrate it, and I should have great -pleasure in hearing it.” - -I embraced him anew, and repeated the offer of my services. He spurred -his ass and left me as ill inclined to prosecute my journey, as he was -well disposed to do so. He had, however, supplied my pen with ample -materials for pleasantry. But all times are not the same. Perhaps the -time may yet arrive when, taking up the thread which I am now compelled -to break, I may complete what is now wanting, and what I fain would -tell. But adieu to gaiety, adieu to humour, adieu, my pleasant friends! -I must now die, and I wish for nothing better than speedily to see you -well contented in another world. - - _Preface_ (written a little time before the author’s death) _to the - “Labours of Persiles and Sigismunda.”_ _Miguel Cervantes_ (1547-1616). - _Trans. Roscoe._ - - - - - _THE LOVERS’ RUSE._ - - - _Theodora._ Show more of gentleness and modesty; - Of gentleness in walking quietly, - Of modesty in looking only down - Upon the earth you tread. - - _Belisa._ ’Tis what I do. - - _Theodora._ What? When yoe looking straight towards that man? - - _Belisa._ Did you not bid me look upon the earth? - And what is he but just a bit of it? - - _Theodora._ I said the earth whereon you tread, my niece. - - _Belisa._ But that whereon I tread is hidden quite - With my own petticoat and walking-dress. - - _Theodora._ Words such as these become no well-bred maid. - But by your mother’s blessèd memory, - I’ll put an end to all your pretty tricks;— - What? You look back at him again? - - _Belisa._ Who? I? - -[Illustration: “BELISA: ‘WHY, SURE YOU THINK IT WISE AND WARY TO NOTICE -WELL THE PLACE I STUMBLED AT.’”] - - _Theodora._ Yes, you; and make him secret signs besides. - - _Belisa._ Not I. ’Tis only that you troubled me - With teasing questions and perverse replies, - So that I stumbled and looked round to see - Who would prevent my fall. - - _Riselo_ (_to Lisardo_). She falls again. - Be quick and help her. - - _Lisardo_ (_to Belisa_). Pardon me lady, - And forgive my glove. - - _Theodora._ Who ever saw the like? - - _Belisa._ Thank you, sir; you saved me from a fall. - - _Lisardo._ An angel, lady, might have fallen so; - Or stars that shine with Heaven’s own blessèd light. - - _Theodora._ I, too, can fall; but this is but a trick. - Good gentleman, farewell to you! - - _Lisardo._ Madam, - Your servants. (Heaven save us from such spleen!) - - _Theodora._ A pretty fall you made of it, and now I hope - You’ll be content, since they assisted you. - - _Belisa._ And you no less content, since now you have - The means to tease me for a week to come. - - _Theodora._ But why again do you turn back your head? - - _Belisa._ Why, sure you think it wise and wary - To notice well the place I stumbled at, - Lest I should stumble there when next I pass, - - _Theodora._ Go to! Come home! come home! - - _Belisa._ Now we shall have - A pretty scolding cook’d up out of this. - - _“El Azero de Madrid.” Lope de Vega (1562-1635)._ - _Trans. Ticknor._ - - - - - _AUNTS._ - - -That young creature whom you see there,” said the God of Love, as he -led me on, “is the chief captain of my war, the one that has brought -most men under my banners. The elderly person that is leading her along -by the hand is her aunt.” - -“Her _aunt_, did you say?” I replied; “her _aunt_? Then there is an end -of all my love for her. That word ‘_aunt_’is a counter-poison that has -disinfected me entirely, and quite healed the wound your well-planted -arrow was beginning to make in my heart. For, however much a man may be -in love, there can be no doubt an _aunt_ will always be enough to purge -him clean of it. Inquisitive, suspicious, envious,—one or the other she -cannot fail to be,—and if the niece have the luck to escape, the lover -never has; for if she is envious, she wants him for herself; and if -she is only suspicious, she still spoils all comfort, so disconcerting -every little project, and so disturbing every little nice plan, as to -render pleasure itself unsavoury.” - -“Why, what a desperately bad opinion you have of aunts?” said Love. - -“To be sure I have,” said I. “If the state of innocence in which Adam -and Eve were created had nothing else to recommend it, the simple fact -that there could have been no _aunts_ in Paradise would have been -enough for me. Why, every morning, as soon as I get up, I cross myself -and say, ‘By the sign of the Holy Rood, from all aunts deliver us this -day, good Lord.’And every time I repeat the _Pater Noster_, after -‘Lead us not into temptation,’I always add, ‘nor into the way of aunts -either.’” - - _Jacinto Polo (?) (fl. 1630). Trans. Ticknor._ - - - - - _THE MISER CHASTISED._ - - -In this edifying manner did Don Marcos arrive at the age of thirty, -with the reputation of a wealthy man; and with good reason, for he had -gathered together, at the expense of every gentlemanly quality, and -the starvation of his unfortunate carcase, a good round sum, which he -always retained near him, for he dreaded every kind of speculation that -might place in the slightest degree of jeopardy his darling treasure. - -Now as Don Marcos was known to be neither a gambler nor a libertine, -good opportunities of marriage continually presented themselves, of -which, however, he did not avail himself always, considering it a -speculation, and not unlikely to lead to some unfortunate result. -Nevertheless, he wished to appear to advantage in the eyes of the -ladies, some of whom, not knowing him, might have no objection to him -as a husband. To them he appeared more in the light of a gallant than -a miser. Amongst others who would have no objection to him, was a lady -who had been married, but was not so well reconciled to her situation -as a widow. - -She was a lady of superior air and pretentions, although somewhat past -the prime of life; but by the help of a little study and skill, no -one would have supposed that she had arrived at so discreet an age as -she certainly had. She was prettily enough called Donna Isidora, and -was reported to be very rich; that she had actual property, at least -according to those who knew her well, her manner of living clearly -enough proved. Now this eligible match was proposed to Don Marcos; the -lady was represented to him in such engaging colours, with such perfect -assurance that she possessed more than fourteen or fifteen thousand -ducats, that he was led into temptation—the temptation of Mammon. Her -deceased husband was represented to have been a gentleman of one of the -best families of Andalusia, and Donna Isidora was equally well born, -and a native of the famous city of Seville. - -These flattering communications so worked on the avarice and pride of -our friend Don Marcos, that he almost wished himself already married, -that he might be sure of the possession of so enviable a prize. He who -first entangled Don Marcos in this notable affair was a cunning rogue -of a dealer, who not only dealt in marriages, but in other descriptions -of more sure traffic. - -He promised therefore an introduction to Don Marcos that very evening, -because, as he said, there was danger in delay. - -Donna Isidora was profuse in her thanks to the obliging gentleman who -had procured her the pleasure of such an acquaintance; and she finally -established her triumph over Don Marcos, by inviting him to a costly -entertainment, wherein she displayed the utmost luxury and wealth. - -At this entertainment Don Marcos was introduced to a young man of a -very gallant and prepossessing appearance, whom Donna Isidora honoured -with the title of nephew. His name was Augustin, and he, in turn, -seemed happy in the chance that gave him so delightful a relationship. -The under servant, Ines, waited on them at table, because Marcella, -the upper maid, by the order of her mistress, was engaged to entertain -them with her guitar, in the management of which she was so perfect, -that even the grandees of the court were seldom regaled with better -music. Her voice, which she accompanied with the instrument, was so -melodious, that it appeared more like that of an angel than a woman. -The unaffected manner, too, without the slightest timidity, yet equally -free from boldness, in which she sung, lent an additional charm; -for without being entreated, she continued to amuse them, feeling -confident that her performance would be well received. - -Don Marcos felt himself so completely at ease with the well-bred, -though generous hospitality of Donna Isidora and her nephew, that -without the least scruple he amply indemnified himself for many a -hungry day, as the sensible diminution of the luxuries of the table -bore abundant, or rather scanty testimony. It may be said without -exaggeration, that that evening’s entertainment furnished him with as -much as six days of his ordinary consumption; and the continual and -repeated supplies, forced on him by his elegant and kind hostess, were -in themselves sufficient to enable him to dispense with eating for a -considerable time to come. - -The pleasures of the conversation and of the table finished with the -daylight, and four wax candles were placed in beautiful candelabras, -by the light of which, and the sounds which Augustin drew from the -instrument which Marcella had before touched so well, the two girls -commenced a dance, in which they moved with such grace, as to excite -the admiration of their superiors. After all this, Marcella, at the -request of Don Marcos, again took her guitar, and closed the evening’s -amusement with an old chivalric romance. - -On the conclusion of the song, the gentleman who had introduced -Don Marcos gave him a hint that it was time to retire; who, though -unwilling to leave such good company, and such good cheer, and at -such little cost, took leave of his kind hostess with expressions of -consideration and friendship, and took his road homewards, entertaining -his friend by the way with expressions of admiration of Donna Isidora, -or rather, more properly speaking, of her money. He begged him as -soon as possible to have a deed drawn up which would ensure to him so -enviable a treasure. His friend replied that he might already consider -the marriage concluded, for that his opinion held such weight with -Donna Isidora, that he would take an early opportunity of speaking -with her to effect the arrangement, for he fully agreed with him, that -delays were dangerous. - -With this excellent maxim they separated, the one to recount to Donna -Isidora what had passed, and the other to return to the house of his -master. - -It being very late, all the household had retired to rest. Don Marcos -availing himself of the end of a candle, which he generally carried in -his pocket for the purpose, withdrew to a small lamp, which lighted an -image of the Virgin, at the corner of the street. There he placed it on -the point of his sword and lighted it, making, at the same time, a very -short but devout prayer that the very reasonable hopes he had framed -might not be disappointed. Satisfied with this pious duty, he then -retired to rest, waiting, however, impatiently for the day which should -crown his expectations. - -The next day he was visited by his friend Gamorre, such was the name -of the gentleman who had recommended to him this tempting alliance. -Don Marcos had risen by times that morning, for love and interest had -conspired to banish sleep from his pillow. It was, therefore, with -the utmost joy that he welcomed his visitor, who informed him that he -had been successful in his mission to Donna Isidora, and that he was -the bearer of an invitation to him from that lady to pass the day at -her house, when he would have an opportunity of personally pressing -his suit, and perhaps concluding the negociation which had so happily -commenced. - - * * * * * - -Before they parted that night everything was arranged for their -marriage, which in three days from that time was solemnised with all -the splendour becoming people of rank and wealth. Don Marcos on this -occasion so far overcame his parsimony as to present his wife with a -rich wedding dress of great cost and fashion; calculating very wisely -that the expense was but trifling in comparison with what he had to -receive. - -Behold, then, our friend Don Marcos, lord and master of this sumptuous -dwelling, and its amiable inmates; and when the day of the auspicious -union arrived, it found him in a state of the greatest possible -contentment and happiness. - -“Surely this is the happiest day of my life,” he said to himself. -The future domestic arrangements were all carefully discussed by the -calculating mind of the bridegroom; and he already had disposed of his -anticipated savings in a speculation; for he had begun even to think of -speculating as to the greatest saving and profit. - -Before retiring to rest, however, these flattering visions were -a little disturbed by the sudden illness of Augustin. Whether it -proceeded from mortification at his aunt’s wedding, which threatened to -curtail him of some of his fair proportions—his accustomed pleasures, -or from some natural cause, it is impossible to say; but the house -was suddenly thrown into a state of the greatest confusion; servants -running about for remedies, and Donna Isidora in a state of the most -violent agitation! However, the invalid became composed with the -efforts which were made in his behalf; and Donna Isidora ventured to -leave him and retire to rest, while the bridegroom went his round, -taking care to see that the doors and windows were all fast, possessing -himself of the keys for their better security. - -This last act of caution seemed to be looked on with great distrust by -the servants, who immediately attributed to jealousy that which was -the result only of care and prudence; for Don Marcos had that morning -removed to the house, with his own valuable person, and all his worldly -possessions, including his six thousand ducats, which had not for a -long time seen the light of day, and which he intended should still -be consigned to solitary confinement, as far as locks and keys would -ensure it. - -Having arranged everything to his satisfaction, he retired to his -bridal-chamber, leaving the servants to bewail their unhappy fortune, -in having got a master whose habits threatened to curtail them of -little liberties which the kindness of their mistress had so long -indulged. Marcella spoke of her dissatisfaction at once; saying that -rather than live like a nun, she should seek her fortune elsewhere, but -Ines fancying that she heard a noise in the chamber of Don Augustin, -and feeling he might require something in his illness, stepped lightly -to his room to inquire in what she might assist him. - -On the ensuing morning Ines was about the house earlier than usual, -and to her surprise found the chamber of Marcella empty, and no -appearance of her having slept there that night. Astonished at so -strange a circumstance, she left the room to seek her, and was still -more surprised on finding the outer door unlocked, which her master had -so carefully fastened the night before, and which now, as if for the -purpose of disturbing Don Marcos’s ideas of security, had been left wide -open. - -On seeing this, Ines became terribly alarmed, and flew to the chamber -of her mistress, raising an outcry that the house had been broken into. -The bridegroom, half stupified with terror, leaped from the couch, -calling for his wife to do the same; at the same time drawing aside all -the curtains, and throwing open all the windows, in order that there -might be no deficiency of light to see whether anything were missing. -The first thing he beheld was what he supposed to be his wife, but so -altered, that he could scarce believe her to be the same; instead of -six-and-thirty years of age, which she professed to be, this sudden -and unwelcome visitation of morning light added at least twenty years -to her appearance; small locks of grey hair peeped from beneath -her nightcap, which had been carefully concealed by the art of the -hair-dresser, but the false hair had in the carelessness of sleep been -unluckily transferred to the ground. - -The suddenness of this morning’s alarm had produced another no less -unfortunate mischance; her teeth, which Don Marcos had so complimented -for their regularity and whiteness, were now, alas! not to be seen, -and the lady at least verified the old proverb of not casting pearls -before swine. We will not attempt to describe the consternation of the -poor hidalgo, or waste words which the imagination can so much better -supply. We will only say that Donna Isidora was confounded. It was -intolerable that her imperfections should be made thus manifest at so -unseasonable an hour, and snatching up her strayed locks, she attempted -to replace them, but with such little success, owing to her extreme -hurry, that had not Don Marcos been overwhelmed with consternation, he -would assuredly hardly have refrained from laughter. She then sought -to lay hands on the dress she had worn the previous day; but, alas! -nothing of the rich paraphernalia in which she had been attired by the -gallantry of her husband—not one of the jewels and trinkets in which -she had dazzled the spectators’ eyes—remained. - -Don Marcos, on his part, was struck dumb with horror, on finding that -his own wedding suit was missing, and likewise a valuable gold chain -which he had worn at the ceremony, and which he had drawn from his -treasure for the purpose. No pen can describe the agony of Don Marcos -upon this fatal discovery; he could not even console himself with the -youthful graces of his wife, for turning towards her he saw nothing but -age and ugliness, and turning his eyes again from her, he found his -expensive clothes all vanished, and his chain gone. - -Almost out of his wits, he ran out into the saloon, and throughout -the apartments, attired only in his shirt, wringing his hands, and -betraying every sign of a miser’s lamentation and despair. While in this -mood, Donna Isidora escaped to her dressing-room, without giving -herself the trouble of inquiring into the minor catastrophe, and busied -herself in repairing the personal injuries which the untoward event had -produced. Don Augustin had by this time risen, and Ines recounted to -him the adventures of the morning, and they both laughed heartily at -the consternation of poor Don Marcos, the ridiculous accident of Donna -Isidora, and the roguishness of Marcella. - - _Doña Maria de Zayas_ (_fl._ 1637). _Trans. Roscoe._ - - - - - _THE MARKET OF ANCESTORS._ - - -They hereupon entered a fairly wide street, littered with coffins, -amongst which walked several sextons, while a number of grave-diggers -were breaking into various graves. Don Cleofas said to his companion— - -“What street is this, it is the oddest I have ever seen?” - -“This is more worldly and of the times than any other,” replied the -Limping Devil, “and the most useful. It is the old-clothes market of -ancestors, where anybody in want of forefathers, his own not suiting -him, or being somewhat shabby, comes to pick out the one he likes best -for his money. Just look at that poor, deformed gentleman trying on -a grandmother he badly wants, and the other, who has already chosen -a father, putting on a grandfather as well, who’s much too big for -him. That fellow lower down is exchanging his grandfather for another, -offering a sum of money into the bargain, but can’t come to terms because -the sexton, who is the dealer, would be a loser by it. The man over -there has just turned his great-grandfather inside out and is patching -him up with somebody else’s great-grandmother. Her another with a -policeman to look for an ancestor of whom he has been robbed, and who -is hanging up in the market. If you want an ancestor or two on credit, -no your chance; one of the dealers is a friend of mine.” - -“I could do with some money, but I’m not in want of ancestors,” replied the -student. So they continued their adventures. - - “_The Limping Devil._” _Velez de Guevara_ (1644). - -[Illustration: “IT IS THE OLD-CLOTHES MARKET OF ANCESTORS.”] - - - - - _VISION OF THE LAST JUDGMENT._ - - -Homer, we find, represents Jupiter as the author or inspirer of dreams, -more especially the dreams of princes and governors, granting always -that the subject of them be of a religious and important character. -It is stated, moreover, as the opinion of the learned Propertius, -“that good dreams are sent from above, have their meaning, and ought -not to be slighted.” To give frankly my own idea upon this subject, -I am inclined to his way of thinking, in particular as to the case -of a certain dream I had the other night. As I was reading a sermon -concerning the end of the world, it happened that I fell asleep over -it, and pursuing the same line of thought, dreamed the following dream -of the Last Judgment—a thing rarely admitted into the house of a poet, -so much as in a dream. I was in this way reminded too of an observation -in “Claudian,” “that all creatures dream at night of what they have -heard and seen in the day; as the hound,” says Petronius Arbiter, -“dreams of hunting the hare.” - -Well, methought I beheld a noble-looking youth towering in the air, -and drawing loud and solemn tones from a mighty trumpet. The vehemence -of his breath did certainly detract somewhat from the effect of his -glorious beauty, yet even the monumental marbles, the earth-closed -caverns—nay, the very dead within—obeyed his fearful call; for the -ground was seen gradually to open, the bones to rise and unite -together, and a mighty harvest of the living spring from the long-sown -seed of the dead. The first that appeared were soldiers,—such as -generals of armies, captains, lieutenants, and the common foot, who, -thinking that a fresh charge had sounded, rose out of their graves -with considerable boldness and alacrity, as if they had been preparing -for combat, or a sudden assault. The misers next put their heads out, -all pale and trembling, with the idea they were going to be again -plundered. Cavaliers and boon companions came trooping along, supposing -they were going to a horse-race, or a grand hunt. In short, though all -heard the trumpet sound, not any one seemed to understand it, for their -thoughts were plain enough to be read by the strangeness of their looks -and gestures. - -While the souls came trooping in on all sides, many were seen to -approach their new bodies, not without signs of considerable aversion -and difficulty. Others stood spellbound with wonder and horror, as -if not venturing to come nearer to so dreadful a spectacle; for this -wanted an arm, that an eye, and the other a head. Though, on the whole, -I could not forbear smiling at so strange a variety of figures, I found -yet greater matter for awe and admiration at the power of Providence, -which drew order out of chaos, and restored every part and member to -its particular owner. I dreamed that I was myself in a churchyard; that -I saw numbers busied in changing heads, who were averse to make their -appearance; and an attorney would have put in a demurrer, on the plea -that he had got a soul that could be none of his, for that his soul and -body belonged to some different ones elsewhere. - -When it came at length to be generally understood that here at last was -the Day of Judgment, it was curious to observe what strange evasions -and excuses were made use of among the wicked. The man of pleasure, -the betrayer of innocence, the epicure, and the hypocrite, would not -own their eyes, nor the slanderer his tongue, because they were sure -to appear in evidence against them. Pick-pockets were seen running -away as fast as possible from their own fingers, while an old usurer -wandered about anxiously inquiring if the money-bags were not to rise -as well as the bodies? I should have laughed outright at this, had not -my attention been called away to a throng of cutpurses, hastening all -speed from their own ears, now offered them, that they might not hear -so many sad stories against themselves. - -I was a witness to the whole scene, from a convenient station above -it, when all at once there was uttered a loud outcry at my feet of -“Withdraw, withdraw!” No sooner was it pronounced, than down I came, -and forthwith a number of handsome women put out their heads and called -me a base clown for not showing the respect and courtesy due to their -high quality, not being a whit the less inclined to stand upon their -etiquette,—although in Hell itself. They appeared half-naked, and as -proud as Juno’s peacock, whenever they happened to catch your eye; and, to -say truth, they had a good complexion, and were well made. When they -were informed, however, that it was no other than the Day of Judgment, -they took the alarm, all their vivacity vanished, and slowly they took -their way towards an adjacent valley, quite pensive and out of humour. -Of these one among the rest had wedded seven husbands, and promised -to each of them that she would never marry again, for she was unable -to love any one like she had loved the last. Now the lady was eagerly -inventing all manner of excuses, in order that she might return a -proper answer when examined on this part of her conduct. Another, that -had been common as the common air, affected to hum a tune, and delay -the arrival on pretence of having forgotten some of her trickeries, as -an eye-brow, or a comb; but, spite of her art—for she could now neither -lead nor drive—she was impelled on till she came within sight of the -throne. There she beheld a vast throng, among whom were not a few she -had brought far on their way to the worst place; and no sooner did they -recognise her than they began to hoot after and pursue her, till she -took refuge in a troop of city police. - -Next appeared a number of persons driving before them a certain -physician along the banks of a river, whither he had unfairly -dispatched them considerably before their time. They assailed his -ears all the way with cries of “_justice! justice!_” at the same time -urging him forwards towards the seat of judgment, where they at length -arrived. Meantime, I heard upon my left hand something like a paddling -in the water, as if some one were trying to swim; and what should it -all be but a judge, plunged into the middle of a river, and vainly -trying to wash his hands of the foul matter that adhered to them. -I inquired what he was employed about, and he told me, that in his -lifetime he had often had them oiled so as to let the business slip the -better through them, and he would gladly get out the stains before he -came to hold up his hand before the bar. What was yet more horrible, -I saw coming under guard of a legion of devils, all armed with rods, -scourges, and clubs, a whole posse of vintners and tailors, suffering -no little correction; and many pretended to be deaf, being unwilling to -leave the grave under dread of a far worse lodging. - -As they were proceeding, however, up started a little dapper lawyer, -and inquired whither they were going; to which it was replied, that -they were going to give an account of their works. On hearing this, -the lawyer threw himself down flat on his face in his hole again, -exclaiming at the same time, “If down I must without a plea, I am at -least so far on my way.” An innkeeper seemed in a great sweat as he -walked along, while a demon at his elbow jeering at him cried,—“Well -done, my brave fellow, get rid of the water, that we may have no more -of it in our wine.” But a poor little tailor, well bolstered up, with -crooked fingers, and bandy legged, had not a word to say for himself -all the way he went, except, “Alas! alas! how can any man be a thief -that dies for want of bread!” As he cried, his companions, however, -rebuked him for running down his own trade. Next followed a gang of -highwaymen, treading upon the heels of one another, and in no little -dread of treachery and cheating among each other. These were brought up -by a party of devils in the turning of a hand, and were quartered along -with the tailors; for, as was observed by one of the company, your real -highwayman is but a wild sort of tailor. To be sure, they were a little -quarrelsome at the first, but in a short time they went together down -into the valley, and took up their quarters very quietly together. -A little behind them came Folly, Bells, and Co., with their band of -poets, fiddlers, lovers, and fencers—that kind of people, in short, -that last dream of a day of reckoning. These were chiefly distributed -among the hangmen, Jews, scribes, and philosophers. There were also -a great many solicitors, greatly wondering among themselves how they -could have so much conscience when dead, and none at all in their -lifetime. In short, the catch-word “silence” was the order of the day. - -The throne of the Eternal being at length elevated, and the mighty -day of days at hand which spake of comfort to the good, and of terror -to the wicked; the sun and the stars, like satraps, cast their glory -round the footstool of the Supreme Judge—the avenger of the innocent, -and the Judge of the greatest monarchs and judges of the earth. The -wind was stilled; the waters were quiet in their ocean-sleep—the earth -being in suspense and anguish for fear of her human offspring. The -whole creation looked about to yield up its trust in huge confusion -and dismay. The just and righteous were employed in prayer and -thanksgiving; the impious and wicked were vainly busy in weaving fresh -webs of sophistry and deceit, the better to mitigate their sentence. On -one side stood the guardian angels ready to show how they had fulfilled -the part entrusted to them; and on the other frowned the evil genii, -or the devils who had eagerly contended with the former, and fomented -the worst human passions, attending now to aggravate every matter of -charge against their unfortunate victims. The Ten Commandments held the -guard of a narrow gate, so straight indeed, that the most subdued and -extenuated body could not get through without leaving the better part -of his skin behind. - -In one portion of this vast theatre were thronged together Disgrace, -Misfortune, Plague, Grief, and Trouble, and all were in a general -clamour against the doctors. The plague admitted fairly that she had -smitten many, but it was the doctor at last who did their business. -Black Grief and Shame both said the same; and human calamities of -all kinds made open declaration that they never brought any man to -his grave without the help and abetting of a doctor. It was thus the -gentlemen of the faculty were called to account for the number of -fellow-men they had killed, and which were found to exceed by far those -who had fallen by the sword. They accordingly took their station upon -the scaffold, provided with pen, ink, and paper; and always as the -dead were called, some or other of them made answer to the name, and -quoted the year and day when such or such a patient passed from time to -eternity through his hands. - -They began the inquiry as far back as Adam, who, to say the truth, was -rather roughly handled about biting an apple. “Alas!” cried one Judas -that stood by, “if that were such a fault, what must be the end of me, -who sold and betrayed my own Lord and Master?” Then next approached the -race of patriarchs; and next the Apostles, who took up their places by -the side of St. Peter. It was well worth observing that on this day -there was not a whit distinction between kings and beggars: all were -equal before the judgment-seat. Herod and Pilate had no sooner put out -their heads, than they found it was likely to go hard with them. “My -judgment, however, is just,” exclaimed Pilate. “But alas!” cried Herod, -“what have I to confide in? Heaven is no abiding place for me, and in -Limbo I shall fall among the very innocents whom I murdered; I have no -choice, therefore, but must e’en take up my quarters in Hell—the general -refuge for the most notorious malefactors.” After this, a rough sort of -sour, ill-grained fellow, made his appearance: “See here,” he cried, -“here are my credentials—take these letters.” The company, surprised at -his odd humour, inquired of the porter who he was? “Who am I?” quoth -he, “I am master of the noble science of defence”: then pulling out a -number of sealed parchments, “These will bear witness to my exploits.” -As he said these words, the testimonials fell out of his hand, and two -devils near him were just going to pick them up, to keep as evidence -against him at his trial, but the fencer was too nimble for them, and -seized on them. An angel, however, now offered him his hand to help -him in; while he, as if fearing an attack, leapt a step back, throwing -himself into an attitude of defence. “Now,” he exclaimed, “if you -like, I will give you a taste of my skill”; upon which the company set -a-laughing, and this sentence was pronounced against him: “That since -by his art he had caused so many duels and murders, he should himself -be allowed to go to the devil in a perpendicular line.” He pleaded he -was no mathematician, and knew no such a line; but with that word a -devil came up, and gave him a twirl or two round, and down he tumbled -before he could bring his sentence to an end. - -The public treasurers came after him, pursued by such a hooting at -their heels, that some supposed the whole band of thieves themselves -were coming; which others denying, the company fell into a dispute upon -it. They were greatly troubled at the word “thieves,” and one and all -requested they might be permitted to have the benefit of counsel. “For -a very good reason,” said one of the devils. “Here’s a discarded apostle, -a Judas, that played into both hands at once; seize him!” - -On hearing this, the treasurers turned away; but a vast roll of -accusations against them, held in another devil’s hand, met their -eyes, and one of them exclaimed, “For mercy’s sake, away with those -informations! We will one and all submit to any penalty; to remain -in purgatory a thousand years, if you will only remove them from our -sight.” “Is it so?” quoth the cunning devil that had drawn out the -charges—“you are hard put to it to think of compounding on terms like -these.” The treasurers had no more to say; but, finding they must make -the best of a bad case, they very quietly followed the dancing-master. - -Close upon the last came an unfortunate pastryman, and on being asked -if he wished to be tried, he replied that he did, and with the help of -the Lord would stand the venture. The counsel against him then prest -the charge; namely, that he had roasted cats for hares, and filled his -pies with bones in place of meat, and sold nothing but horse-flesh, -dogs, and foxes, in lieu of good beef and mutton. It turned out, in -fact, that Noah had never had so many animals in his ark as this -ingenious fellow had put in his pies (for we hear of no rats and mice -in the former); so that, in utter despair, he threw up his cause, and -went to be baked in his turn with other sinners like himself. - -“Next came and next did go” a company of barefoot philosophers with -their syllogisms, and it was amusing enough to hear them chop logic, -and try all manner of questions in mood and figure, at the expense of -their own souls. Yet the most entertaining of them all were the poets, -who refused to be tried at any lesser tribunal than that of Jupiter -himself. Virgil, with his _Sicelides Musæ_, made an eloquent defence of -himself, declaring that he had prophecied the Nativity. But up jumped a -devil with a long story about Mæcenas and Octavius, declaring that he -was no better than an idolater of the old school. Orpheus then put in -a word, asserting that, as he was the elder, he ought to be allowed to -speak for all, commanding the poet to repeat his experiment of going -into hell, and trying to get out again, with as many of the company as -he could take along with him. - -They were no sooner gone, than a churlish old miser knocked at the -gate, but was informed that it was guarded by the Ten Commandments, to -which he had always been an utter stranger. Yet he contended that if -he had not kept, he had never broken, any of them, and proceeded to -justify his conduct from point to point. His quirks, however, were not -admitted—his works were made the rule of decision—and he was marched -off to receive a due reward. - -He was succeeded by a gang of housebreakers and others of the same -stamp, some of whom were so fortunate as to be saved just in the nick -of time. The usurers and attorneys, seeing this, thought they too had -a good chance, and put so good a face on the matter that Judas and -Mahomet began to look about them, and advanced rather confidently to -meet their trial, a movement which made the devils themselves fall to -laughing. - -It was now the accusing demons of the usurers and attorneys proceeded -with their accusations, which they took not from the bills of -indictment made out, but from the acts of their lives, insisting upon -the plain matter of fact, so as to leave them without the possibility -of an excuse. Addressing the Judge—“The great crime of which these -men were guilty was their being attorneys at all;”—to which it was -ingeniously answered by the men of law—“No, not so; we only acted -as the secretaries of other men.” They nearly all denied their own -calling; and the result was that, after much cross-questioning and -pleading, two or three only were acquitted, while to the rest their -accusers cried out, “You here! you are wanted elsewhere;” and they -then proceeded to swear against some other people, some bribing the -witnesses, making them say things which they had never heard, and see -things they had never seen, in order to leave innocence no chance of -escape. The lie was concocted in all its labyrinths; and I saw Judas, -Mahomet, and Luther draw back, while the former prest his money-bag -closer to him. Luther observed that he did just the same thing in his -writings (_i.e._, draw back); but the doctor interrupted him, declaring -that, compelled by those who had betrayed him, _he_ now appeared with -the apothecary and the barber to defend himself. On this a demon with -the accusations in his hand turned sharp round on him, asking, “Who -it was had sent the greater part of the dead then present, and with -the aid of his worthy _aide-de-camps_, had, in fact, occasioned the -whole proceedings of that day.” But the apothecary’s advocate put in a -plea for him, asserting that he had dosed the poor people for nothing. -“No matter,” retorted a devil, “I have him down on my list; two of -his pill-boxes despatched more than ten thousand pikes could do in -a battle, such was the virulence of his poisonous drugs, with which -indeed he entered into a partnership with the plague, and destroyed two -entire villages.” The physician defended himself from any participation -in these exploits, and at last the apothecary was obliged to succumb, -the physician and the barber each taking the deaths that respectively -belonged to them. - -A lawyer was next condemned for taking bribes from both sides, and -betraying both; and lurking behind him was discovered a fellow who -seemed very desirous of concealing himself, and who, on being asked his -name, replied that he was a player. “And a very comic player indeed,” -rejoined a devil, “who had done better not to appear on that stage -to-day.” The poor wretch promised to retire, and was as good as his -word. A tribe of vintners next took their station, accused of having -assassinated numbers of thirsty souls by substituting bad water for -good wine. They tried to defend themselves on the plea of compensation, -having supplied a hospital gratis with wine for the sacred ceremonies; -but this was overruled, as was that preferred by the tailors, of having -clothed some charity boys on the same terms, and they were all sent to -the same place. - -Three or four rich merchants next appeared, who had got wealth by -defrauding their correspondents and creditors, but the accusing -demon now informed them they would find it more difficult to make a -composition; and turning towards Jupiter, he said, “Other men, my Lord -Judge, have to give account of their own affairs, but these have had -to do with everybody’s.” Sentence was forthwith pronounced, but I could -not well catch it, so speedily they all disappeared. A cavalier now -came forward with so good a face, and so upright, as to challenge even -justice itself. He made a very lowly obeisance on entering, but his -collar was of such a size as to defy you to say whether he had got any -head in it at all. A messenger inquired, on the part of Jupiter, if he -was a man, to which he courteously replied in the affirmative, adding -that his name was Don Fulano, on the faith of a cavalier. At this one -of the devils laughed, and he was then asked what it was he wanted? -To which he replied that he wanted to be saved. He was delivered -over to the demons, whom he entreated to use him gently, lest they -should chance to disorder his mustachios and ruff. Behind him came -a man uttering great lamentations, which he himself interrupted by -saying, “Though I cry, I am none so badly off, for I have shaken the -dust off the saints themselves before now.” Every one looked round, -thinking to see a hero, or a Diocletian, from his brushing the ears of -the saints; but he turned out to be a poor wretch whose highest office -was to sweep the pictures, statues, and other ornaments of the church. -His cause seemed safe, when all at once he was accused by one of the -devils of drinking the oil out of the lamps, but which he again laid to -the charge of an owl; that he had moreover clothed himself out of the -church suits, that he drank the wine, ate the bread, and even laid a -duty on the fees. He made but a lame defence, and was ordered to take -the left hand road in his descent. - -[Illustration: “A BEVY OF FINE LADIES, TRICKED OUT IN CAP AND FEATHER.”] - -He made way for a bevy of fine ladies, tricked out in cap and feather, -and so full of merriment that they fell to amuse themselves with the -odd figures of the demons themselves. It was stated by their advocate -that they had been “excellent devotees.” “True,” retorted the demon, -“devoted to anything but chastity and virtue.” “Yes, certainly,” -replied one that had taken her full fling in life, and whose trial -now came on. She was accused of making religion itself a cloak, and -even marrying, the better to conceal the enormities of her conduct. -When condemned she retired, bitterly complaining that, had she known -the result, she would have taken care not to have done any of the -charitable things, and said so many masses as she had. - -Next, after some delay, appeared Judas, Mahomet, and Martin Luther, of -whom a messenger inquired which of the three was Judas? To this both -Mahomet and Luther replied that he was the man; on which Judas cried -out in a rage that they were both liars, for that he was the true -Judas, and that they only affected to be so, in order to escape a worse -fate than his, for though he had indeed sold his Master, the world -had been the better of it, while the other rascals, by selling both -themselves and his Master, had well-nigh ruined it. They were all sent -to the place they deserved. - -An attorney who held the evidence in his hand now called on the -alguazils and runners to answer the accusations brought against them. -They cut a woful figure, and so clear was the case against them, that -they were condemned without more ado. - -An astrologer now entered with his astrolabes, globes, and other -quackery, crying out that there was some mistake, for that was not the -Day of Judgment, as Saturn had not yet completed his course, nor he out -of sheer fear his own. But a devil turned round on him, and seeing him -loaded with wooden instruments and maps, exclaimed, “Well done, friend, -you have brought firewood along with you, though it is a hard thing, -methinks, after making so many heavens as are here, you should be sent -to the wrong place at last for the want of a single one.” “I will not -go, not I,” said the astrologer. “Then carry him,” said the devil, and -away he went. - -The whole court after this broke up: the shadows and clouds withdrew, -the air grew refreshing, flowers scented once more the breezes, the -sunny sky reappeared, while I methought remained in the valley; and -wandering about, heard a good deal of noise and voices of lamentation, -as if rising out of the ground. I pressed forward to inquire what it -could be, and I saw in a hollow cavern (a fit mouth to hell) a number -of persons in pain. Among these was a _Letrado_, but busied not so -much with dead laws as with live coals,—and an _Escrivano_, devouring -only letters. A miser was there, counting more pangs than pieces; a -physician contemplating a dead patient; and an apothecary steeped in -his own mixtures. - -I laughed so outright at this that I started wide awake, and was withal -more merry than sad to find myself on my bed. - -The foregoing indeed are dreams, but such as if your excellency will -sleep upon them, it will come to pass, that in order to see the things -as I see them, you will pray for them to turn out as I say they are. - - _Gomez de Quevedo_ (1580-1645). _Trans. Roscoe._ - - - - - _THE REVENGE OF DON LUCAS._ - - - - - DON LUCAS, _a rich, fat, ugly little man, betrothed to his ward_, - DOÑA ISABEL, _against her will_. - DON PEDRO, _young cousin to_ DON LUCAS, _and in love with_ ISABEL. - DON LUIS, _a gaunt old batchelor, also in love with_ ISABEL. - DOÑA ISABEL. - DOÑA ALFONSA, _an old maid, sister to_ DON LUCAS, _and in love with_ - DON PEDRO. - PERIWIG, _valet to_ DON LUCAS. - - - DON LUCAS _and_ DON LUIS. - -_Don Luis._ I tell you—yesterday at Illescas she departed from her mute -coyness and, quitting her chamber, came to discourse with me under the -porch, where she told me she would be my bride with all her heart, and -that her hand was bestowed upon you against her will. If this be truth, -why separate two loving souls? ... I hold you for a man of mind, and -therefore come to demand.... - -_Don Lucas._ No more, for by the devil, I’ll pay you out.... - -_D. Alfonsa._ (_knocking without_). Is my brother here? - -_Don Lucas._ Into my bedroom, quick, I must see my sister. - -_Don Luis._ Let me know first if my life and liberty are secure! - -_Don Lucas._ Be off with you, ther time enough to look after your life -and liberty. - - [_Exit_ DON LUIS. - - DON LUCAS _and_ DOÑA ALFONSA. - -_D. Alfonsa._ Brother? - -_Don Lucas._ Well, sister Alfonsa? - -_D. Alfonsa._ I have something to tell you. - -_Don Lucas._ Deuce take it, everybody has something to tell me. But it’s -my own fault for listening. - -_D. Alfonsa._ Are we alone? - -_Don Lucas._ Yes, sister. - -_D. Alfonsa._ Will you be angry at what I’m going to tell you? - -_Don Lucas._ How do I know? - -_D. Alfonsa._ Well, you know.... - -_Don Lucas._ I don’t know. - -_D. Alfonsa._ ... That I am a woman.... - -_Don Lucas._ I don’t know anything of the kind. - -_D. Alfonsa._ Brother?... - -_Don Lucas._ Do be quick and have done with it. You’ll all be the death of -me. - -_D. Alfonsa._ Well, I am a woman, and in love.... - -_Don Lucas._ The point at last. - -_D. Alfonsa._ And with Don Pedro. - -_Don Lucas._ All right. - -_D. Alfonsa._ But he doesn’t love me; the treacherous wretch is courting -Doña Isabel, and betraying both of us. - -_Don Lucas._ I say, I don’t believe it. - -_D. Alfonsa._ Well, you know, I often have fainting fits. - -_Don Lucas._ Yes! - -_D. Alfonsa._ And do you remember that I also had one at the inn at -Illescas? - -_Don Lucas._ Well, what of that? - -_D. Alfonsa._ You must know it was feigned. - -_Don Lucas._ And now who’ll believe you when you really have one? - -_D. Alfonsa._ I did it with a motive. Don Pedro, the traitor, thinking -it was real, seized the opportunity to say a thousand tender things to -Doña Isabel. I would have given vent to my rage, but he is so far gone, -he even makes love to her before _you_. - -_Don Lucas._ A pretty how-d’ye-do! - -_D. Alfonsa._ Last—night—he—met—her—in—the—parlour—secretly.... And now -you know my wrongs. Make haste and avenge both yourself and me on that -treacherous Don Pedro. - -_Don Lucas._ A pretty kettle of fish. But, devil take it, Don Luis has -just been to tell me that Isabel is in love with _him_. Perhaps she -loves them both, she seems to have a great facility that way. But if -Don Pedro is her accepted lover, I’ll pay them both out! I shall have -such a revenge as shall last their whole lives! To kill them would be -too poor a vengeance. - -_D. Alfonsa._ What do you mean to do? - -_Don Lucas._ (_calling_). Don Pedro! - -_D. Alfonsa._ There, he’s just come in. - -_Don Lucas._ (_calling_). Doña Isabel! - -_D. Alfonsa._ Here she is. - - _Enter_ DOÑA ISABEL, DON PEDRO, _and_ PERIWIG. - -_D. Isabel._ Why are you calling me? - -_Don Pedro._ What can I do for you? - -_Don Lucas._ Just wait for a bit. Periwig, shut that door. - -_Periwig._ Yes, sir. (_Shuts it._) - -_Don Lucas._ Lock it. - -_Periwig._ Certainly, sir. (_Locks it._) - -_Don Lucas._ Give me the key. - -_Periwig._ Here it is, your honour. (_Hands him the key._) - -_Don Lucas._ (_opening his bedroom door_). Come out, Don Luis. - -_Don Luis._ Here I am. (_Comes out._) - -_D. Isabel._ What are you going to do? - - _Don Pedro._ } - } What’s all this? - _Don Luis._ } - -_Don Lucas._ Listen, all of you. Señor Don Luis, whom you here behold, -has told me he is Doña Isabel’s lover, and that he must marry her, for she -gave him her word at Illescas and.... - -_Periwig._ Oh no, beg pardon, sir. I saw the gent knock at a door at -Illescas and palaver with Doña Alfonsa, whom he took for the young -lady. Don’t you remember, sir, you heard a noise, and came out with a -light and your sword? Well, it was him, sir. - -_Don Luis._ I will not deny it. You came forth, and I discreetly hid, -but I thought I was speaking with Isabel, not with Alfonsa. - -_D. Alfonsa._ Wait, it was I with whom you spoke, but I took you for -Don Pedro. - -_Don Pedro._ (_aside_). Blessings upon Cupid and my lucky star. - -_Don Lucas._ Well, that’s one gallant done with. But to proceed (_to Don -Pedro_), my sister, Doña Alfonsa, tells me treacherous and unloyal -fellow, that you love Isabel. - -_Don Pedro._ Yes, it is so. I confess I have long loved her, before you -even thought of her; and who can blame my impotence to stifle a love so -great that.... - -_Don Lucas._ Hold your tongue, young cousin, for by h——, but no, I won’t -swear.... I must have fierce and fatal vengeance. - -_Don Pedro._ Plunge your poniard into this my throat. - -_Don Lucas._ No, I won’t do that; I don’t want to kill you: that’s what -you’d like. - -_Don Pedro._ Then what will you do? - -_Don Lucas._ You shall know. You, Don Pedro, are a pauper, and but for -me would have starved. - -_Don Pedro._ It is true. - -_Don Lucas._ Doña Isabel is a beggar. I was going to marry her for her -looks only, for she hasn’t a farthing for a dowry. - -_Don Pedro._ But she is virtuous and beautiful. - -_Don Lucas._ Well, then, give her your hand, for this is my vengeance. -You are very poor, and she is very poor; no more happiness for you. -Love flies out of the window when poverty enters the door. On your -wedding-day you may laugh at me, but on the morrow when breakfasting on -kisses, with vows on the table for victuals, and constancy for supper, -Love instead of a silk frock, and “Darling” to keep you warm, you will -see who laughs longest and last. - -_Don Pedro._ Cousin.... - -_Don Lucas._ I say, you shall marry her. - -_Periwig._ (_aside_). The punishment is _too_ severe! - -_Don Lucas._ (_joins_ DON PEDRO’S _and_ DOÑA ISABEL’S _hands_). - - Join hands, you fond and pretty fools, - By vengeance is the nuptial knot: - Too soon you’ll learn what Love is like - When there is nothing in the Pot. - -“_Entre Bobos anda el Juego._” _Francesco Rojas de Zorrilla_ (_fl._ -1670). - - - - - _THE MAYOR OF ZALAMEA._ - - - DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. - - - KING PHILIP II.[7] - DON LOPE DE FIGUERROA. - DON ALVARO DE ATAIDE. - - PEDRO CRESPO, _a Farmer of Zalamea_. - JUAN, _his Son_. - ISABEL, _his Daughter_. - INES, _his Niece_. - - DON MENDO, _a poor Hidalgo_. - NUÑO, _his Servant_. - - REBOLLEDO, _a Soldier_. - CHISPA, _his Sweetheart_. - - A SERGEANT, A NOTARY, SOLDIERS, LABOURERS, CONSTABLES, - ROYAL SUITE, &c. - - -ACT I. - - - SCENE I.—_Country near Zalamea._ _Enter_ REBOLLEDO, CHISPA, _and - Soldiers_. - -_Reb._ Confound, say I, these forced marches from place to place, -without halt or bait; what say you, friends? - -_All._ Amen! - -_Reb._ To be trailed over the country like a pack of gipsies, after a -little scrap of flag upon a pole, eh? - -_1st. Soldier._ Rebolledo’s off! - -_Reb._ And that infernal drum, which has at last been good enough to -stop a moment, stunning us. - -_2nd. Sold._ Come, come, Rebolledo, don’t storm; we shall soon be at -Zalamea. - -_Reb._ And where will be the good of that if I’m dead before I get there? -And if not, ’twill only be from bad to worse: for if we all reach -the place alive, as sure as death up comes Mr. Mayor to persuade the -Commissary we had better march on to the next town. At first Mr. -Commissary replies very virtuously, “Impossible! the men are fagged to -death.” But after a little pocket persuasion, then it’s all “Gentlemen, I’m -very sorry, but orders have come for us to march forward, and -immediately,” and away we have to trot, foot-weary, dust bedraggled, -and starved as we are. Well, I swear if I do get alive to Zalamea -to-day, I’ll not leave it this side o’ sunrise for love, lash, or money. -It won’t be the first time in my life I’ve given ‘em the slip. - -_1st. Sold._ Nor the first time a poor fellow has had the slip given -him for doing so. And more likely than ever now that Don Lope de -Figuerroa has taken the command, a fine brave fellow they say, but a -devil of a tartar, who’ll have every inch of duty done, or take the -change out of his own son, without waiting for trial either.[8] - -_Reb._ Listen to this now, gentlemen! By Heaven, I’ll be beforehand with -him. - -_2nd. Sold._ Come, come, a soldier shouldn‘t talk so. - -_Reb._ I tell you it isn’t for myself I care so much, as for this poor -little thing that follows me. - -_Chis._ Signor Rebolledo, don’t you fret about me; you know I was born -with a beard on my heart if not on my chin, if ever girl was; and your -fearing for me is as bad as if I was afeard myself. Why, when I came -along with you I made up my mind to hardship and danger for honour’s -sake; else if I’d wanted to live in clover, I never should have left the -Alderman who kept such a table as all aldermen don’t, I promise you. Well, -what’s the odds? I chose to leave him and follow the drum, and here I am, -and if I don’t flinch, why should you? - -_Reb._ ‘Fore Heaven, you’re the crown of womankind! - -_Soldiers._ So she is, so she is, _Viva la Chispa!_ - -_Reb._ And so she is, and one cheer more for her—hurrah! especially if -she’ll give us a song to lighten the way. - -_Chis._ The castanet shall answer for me. - -_Reb._ I’ll join in—and do you, comrades, bear a hand in the chorus. - -_Soldiers._ Fire away! - -_Chispa sings._ - - -I. - - “Titiri tiri, marching is weary, - Weary, weary, and long is the way: - Titiri tiri, hither, my deary, - What meat have you got for the soldier to-day? - ‘Meat have I none, my merry men,’Titiri tiri, then kill the old hen. - ‘Alas and a day! the old hen is dead!’Then give us a cake from the - oven instead. - Titiri titiri titiri tiri, - Give us a cake from the oven instead. - - - II. - - Admiral, admiral, where have you been-a? - I‘ve been fighting where the waves roar.’ Ensign, ensign, what have - you seen-a? - ‘Glory and honour and gunshot galore; - Fighting the Moors in column and line, - Poor fellows, they never hurt me or mine— - Titiri titiri titiri tina ...’” - -_1st Sold._ Look, look, comrades—what between singing and grumbling we -never noticed yonder church among the trees. - -_Reb._ Is that Zalamea? - -_Chis._ Yes, that it is, I know the steeple. Hoorah! we’ll finish the -song when we get into quarters, or have another as good; for you know I -have ‘em of all sorts and sizes. - -_Reb._ Halt a moment, here’s the sergeant. - -_2nd. Sold._ And the captain, too. - - _Enter_ CAPTAIN _and_ SERGEANT. - -_Capt._ Good news, men, no more marching for to-day at least; we halt -at Zalamea till Don Lope joins with the rest of the regiment from -Llerena. So who knows but you may have a several days’ rest here? - -_Reb. and Solds._ Hurrah for our captain! - -_Capt._ Your quarters are ready, and the Commissary will give every one -his billet on marching in. - -_Chis._ (_singing_). Now then for - - “Titiri tiri, hither, my deary, - Heat the oven and kill the old hen.” - - [_Exit with Soldiers._ - -_Capt._ Well, Mr. Sergeant, have you my billet? - -_Serg._ Yes, sir. - -_Capt._ And where am I to be put up? - -_Serg._ With the richest man in Zalamea, a farmer, as proud as Lucifer’s -heir-apparent. - -_Capt._ Ah, the old story of an upstart. - -_Serg._ However, sir, you have the best quarters in the place, -including his daughter, who is, they say, the prettiest woman in -Zalamea. - -_Capt._ Pooh! a pretty peasant! splay hands and feet. - -_Serg._ Shame! shame! - -_Capt._ Isn’t it true, puppy? - -_Serg._ What would a man on march have better than a pretty country -lass to toy with? - -_Capt._ Well, I never saw one I cared for, even on march. I can’t call -a woman a woman unless she’s clean about the hands and fetlocks, and -otherwise well appointed—a lady, in short. - -_Serg._ Well, any one for me who’ll let me kiss her. Come, sir, let us -be going, for if you won’t be at her, I will. - -_Capt._ Look, look yonder! - -_Serg._ Why, it must be Don Quixote himself, with his very Rosinante -too, that Michel Cervantes writes of. - -_Capt._ And his Sancho at his side. Well, carry you my kit on before to -quarters, and then come and tell me when all’s ready. - - [_Exeunt._ - - -SCENE II.—_Zalamea, before_ CRESPO’S _House_. _Enter_ DON MENDO _and_ NUÑO. - -_Men._ Ho the grey horse? - -_Nuñ._ You may as well call him the _Dun_; so screw’d he ca move a leg. - -_Men._ Did you have him wal gently about? - -_Nuñ._ Wal about! when it’s corn he wants, poor devil! - -_Men._ And the dogs? - -_Nuñ._ Ah, now, they might do if yo give them the horse to eat. - -_Men._ Enough, enough—it has struck three. My gloves and tooth-pick. - -_Nuñ._ That sinecure tooth-pick? - -_Men._ I tell you I would brain anybody who insinuated to me I had not -dined—and on game too. But tell me, Nuño, hav the soldiers come into -Zalamea this afternoon? - -_Nuñ._ Yes, sir. - -_Men._ What a nuisance for the commonalty who have to quarter them. - -_Nuñ._ But worse for those who hav. - -_Men._ What do you mean, sir? - -_Nuñ._ I mean the squires. Ah, sir; if the soldiers are billeted on -them, do you know why? - -_Men._ Well, why? - -_Nuñ._ For fear of being starved—which would be a bad job for the kin -service. - -_Men._ God rest my father’s soul, says I, who left me a pedigree and -patent all blazon’d in gold and azure, that exempts me from such -impositions. - -_Nuñ._ I wish he’d left you the gold in a more available shape, however. - -_Men._ Though, indeed, when I come to think of it, I do know if I owe -him any thanks; considering that, unless he had consented to beget me -an Hidalgo at once, I would have been born at all, for him or any one. - -_Nuñ._ Humph! Could you have hel it? - -_Men._ Easily. - -_Nuñ._ How, sir. - -_Men._ You must know that every one that is born is the essence of the -food his parents eat—— - -_Nuñ._ Oh! Your parents did eat, then, sir? You have not inherited -_that_ of them, at all events. - -_Men._ Knave, do you insinuate—— - -_Nuñ._ I only know it is now three lock, and we have neither of us yet -had anything but our own spittle to chew. - -_Men._ Perhaps so, but there are distinctions of rank. An Hidalgo, sir, -has no belly. - -_Nuñ._ Oh, Lord! that I were an Hidalgo! - -_Men._ Possibly; servants must learn moderation in all things. But let -me hear no more of the matter; we are under Isabel’s window. - -_Nuñ._ There again——If you are so devoted an admirer, why on earth, -sir, do you ask her in marriage of her father; by doing which you would -kill two birds with one stone: get yourself something to eat, and his -grandchildren squires. - -_Men._ Hold your tongue, sir, it is impious. Am I, an Hidalgo with such -a pedigree, to demean myself with a plebeian connection just for money’s -sake? - -_Nuñ._ Well, I’ve always heard say a mean father-in-law is best; better -stumble on a pebble than run your head again a post. But, however, if -you do mean marriage, sir, what do you mean? - -_Men._ And pray, sir, what business is that of yours? But go directly, -and tell me if you can get a sight of her? - -_Nuñ._ afraid lest her father should get a sight of me. - -_Men._ And what if he do, being my man? Go and do as I bid you. - -_Nuñ._ (_after going to look_). Come, sir, you owe one meal at least -now—sh at the window with her cousin. - -_Men._ Go again and tell her something about her window being another -East, and she a second Sun dawning from it in the afternoon. - - (ISABEL _and_ INES _come to the window_.) - -_Ines._ For heave sake, cousin, le stand here and see the soldiers -march in. - -_Isab._ Not I, while that man is in the way, Ines; you know how I hate -the sight of him. - -_Ines._ With all his devotion to you! - -_Isab._ I wish he would spare himself and me the trouble. - -_Ines._ I think you are wrong to take it as an affront. - -_Isab._ How would you have me take it? - -_Ines._ Why, as a compliment. - -_Isab._ What, when I hate the man? - -_Men._ Ah! ‘pon the honour of an Hidalgo (which is a sacred oath), I -could have sworn that till this moment the sun had not risen. But why -should I wonder? When indeed a second Aurora—— - -_Isab._ Signor Don Mendo, how often have I told you not to waste your -time playing these foo antics before my window day after day. - -_Men._ If a pretty woman only knew, la! how anger improves its beauty! -her complexion needs no other paint than indignation. Go on, go on, -lovely one, grow angrier and lovelier still. - -_Isab._ You shan’t have even that consolation; come, Ines. - - [_Exit._ - -_Ines._ Beware of the portcullis, sir knight. - - (_Shuts down the blind in his face._) - -_Men._ Ines, beauty must be ever victorious, whether advancing or -retreating. - -_Enter_ CRESPO. - -_Cres._ That I can never go in or out of my house without that squireen -haunting it! - -_Nuñ._ Pedro Crespo, sir! - -_Men._ Oh—ah—let us turn another way; ’tis an ill-conditioned fellow. - -_As he turns, enter_ JUAN. - -JUAN. That I never can come home but this ghost of an Hidalgo is there -to spoil my appetite. - -_Nuñ._ His son, sir! - -_Men._ He’s worse. (_Turning back._) Oh, Pedro Crespo, good-day, Crespo, -good man, good-day. - - [_Exit with_ NUÑO. - -_Cres._ Good-day, indeed; I’ll make it bad day one of these days with -you, if you do take care. But how now, Juanito, my boy? - -_Juan._ I was looking for you, sir, but could not find you; where have -you been? - - _Cres._ To the barn, where high and dry - The jolly sheaves of corn do lie, - Which the sun, arch-chemist of old, - Turn’d from black earth into gold, - And the swinging flail one day - On the barn-floor shall assay, - Separating the pure ore - From the drossy chaff away. - This I’ve been about. And now, - Juanito, what hast thou? - -_Juan._ Alas, sir, I ca answer in so good rhyme or reason. I have been -playing at fives, and lost every bout. - -_Cres._ What signifies if you paid? - -_Juan._ But I could not, and have come to you for the money. - - _Cres._ Before I give it you, listen to me. - There are things two - Thou never must do; - Swear to more than thou knowest, - Play for more than thou owest; - And never mind cost, - So credit’s not lost. - -_Juan._ Good advice, sir, no doubt, that I shall lay by for its own -sake as well as for yours. Meanwhile I have also heard say— - - “Preach not to a beggar till - The beggar’s empty hide you fill.” - -_Cres._ ‘Fore Heaven, thou pat me in my own coin. But—— - - _Enter_ SERGEANT. - -_Serg._ Pray, does one Pedro Crespo live hereabout? - -_Cres._ Have you any commands for him, if he does? - -_Serg._ Yes, to tell him of the arrival of Don Alvaro de Ataide, -captain of the troop that has just marched into Zalamea, and quartered -upon him. - -_Cres._ Say no more; my house and all I have is ever at the service of -the king, and of all who have authority under him. If you will leave -his things here, I will see his room is got ready directly; and do you -tell his Honour that, come when he will, he shall find me and mine at -his service. - -_Serg._ Good—he will be here directly. - - [_Exit._ - -_Juan._ I wonder, father, that, rich as you are, you still submit -yourself to these nuisances. - -_Cres._ Why, boy, how could I help them? - -_Juan._ You know; by buying a patent of Gentility. - -_Cres._ A patent of Gentility! upon thy life now dost think ther a -soul who does know that no gentleman at all, but just a plain farmer? -Wha the use of my buying a patent of Gentility, if I ca buy the gentle -blood along with it? will any one think me a bit more of a gentleman -for buying fifty patents? Not a whit; I should only prove I was worth -so many thousand royals, not that I had gentle blood in my veins, which -ca be bought at any price. If a fello been bald ever so long, and buys -him a fine wig and claps it on, will his neighbours think it is his own -hair a bit the more? No, they will say, “So-and-so has a fine wig; and, -wha more, he must have paid handsomely for it too.” But they know his -bald pate is safe under it all the while. Tha all he gets by it. - -_Juan._ Nay, sir, he gets to look younger and handsomer, and keeps off -sun and cold. - -_Cres._ Tut! I’ll have none of your wig honour at any price. My -grandfather was a farmer, so was my father, so is yours, and so shall -you be after him. Go, call your sister. - - _Enter_ ISABEL _and_ INES. - -Oh, here she is. Daughter, our gracious king (whose life God save -these thousand years!) is on his way to be crowned at Lisbon; thither -the troops are marching from all quarters, and among others that -fine veteran Flanders regiment, commanded by the famous Don Lope de -Figuerroa, will march into Zalamea, and be quartered here to-day; some -of the soldiers in my house. Is it not as well you should be out of the -way? - -_Isab._ Sir, ’twas upon this very errand I came to you, knowing what -nonsense I shall have to hear if I stay below. My cousin and I can go -up to the garret, and there keep so close, the very sun shall not know -of our whereabout. - -_Cres._ That’s my good girl. Juanito, you wait here to receive them in -case they come while I am out looking after their entertainment. - -_Isab._ Come, Ines. - -_Ines._ Very well—— - - “Though I’ve heard in a song what folly ’twould be - To try keep in a loft what wo keep on the tree.” - - [_Exeunt._ - - _Enter_ CAPTAIN _and_ SERGEANT. - -_Serg._ This is the house, sir. - -_Capt._ Is my kit come? - -_Serg._ Yes, sir, and (_aside_) I’ll be the first to take an inventory -of the pretty daughter. - - [_Exit._ - -_Juan._ Welcome, sir, to our house; we count it a great honour to have -such a cavalier as yourself for a guest, I assure you. (_Aside._) What -a fine fellow! what an air! I long to try the uniform, somehow. - -_Capt._ Thank you, my lad. - -_Juan._ You must forgive our poor house, which we devoutly wish was a -palace for your sake. My father is gone after your supper, sir; may I -go and see that your chamber is got ready for you? - -_Capt._ Thank you, thank you. - -_Juan._ Your servant, sir. - - [_Exit._ - - _Enter_ SERGEANT. - -_Capt._ Well, sergeant, wher the Dulcinea you told me of? - -_Serg._ Deuce take me, sir, if I hav been looking everywhere—in -parlour, bedroom, kitchen, and scullery, upstairs and downstairs, and -ca find her out. - -_Capt._ Oh, no doubt the old fellow has hid her away for fear of us. - -_Serg._ Yes, I as a serving wench, and she confess’d her master had loc -the girl up in the attic, with strict orders not even to look out so -long as we were in the place. - -_Capt._ Ah! these clodpoles are all so jealous of the service. And what -is the upshot? Why, I, who did care a pin to see her before, shall -never rest till I get at her now. - -_Serg._ But how, without a blow-up? - -_Capt._ Let me see; how shall we manage it? - -_Serg._ The more difficult the enterprise, the more glory in success, -you know, in love as in war. - -_Capt._ I have it! - -_Serg._ Well, sir? - -_Capt._ You shall pretend—but no, here comes one will serve my turn -better. - - _Enter_ REBOLLEDO _and_ CHISPA. - -_Reb._ (_to_ CHISPA). There he is; now if I can get him into a good -humour. - -_Chis._ Speak up then, like a man. - -_Reb._ I wish some of your courage; but do you leave me while I tackle -him. Please, your Honour—— - -_Capt._ (_to_ SERGEANT). I tell you I’ve my eye on Rebolledo to do him a -good turn; I like his spirit. - -_Serg._ Ah, he’ one of a thousand. - -_Reb._ (_aside_). Her luck! Please, your Honour—— - -_Capt._ Oh, Rebolledo—Well, Rebolledo, what is it? - -_Reb._ You may know I am a gentleman who has, by ill-luck, lost all his -estate; all that ever I had, have, shall have, may have, or can have, -through all the conjugations of the verb “_to have_.” And I want your -Honour—— - -_Capt._ Well? - -_Reb._ To desire the ensign to appoint me roulette-master to the -regiment, so I may pay my liabilities like a man of honour. - -_Capt._ Quite right, quite right; I will see it done. - -_Chis._ (_aside_). Oh, brave captain! Oh, if I only live to hear them -all call me Madame Roulette! - -_Reb._ Shall I go at once and tell him? - -_Capt._ Wait. I want you first to help me in a little plan I have. - -_Reb._ Out with it, noble captain. Slow said slow sped, you know. - -_Capt._ You are a good fellow; listen. I want to get into that attic -there, for a particular purpose. - -_Reb._ And why does your Honour go up at once? - -_Capt._ I do like to do it in a strange house without an excuse. Now -look here; you and I will pretend to quarrel; I get angry and draw my -sword, and you run away upstairs, and I after you, to the attic, tha -all; I’ll manage the rest. - -_Chis._ (_aside_). Ah, he seems to be getting on famously. - -_Reb._ I understand. When are we to begin? - -_Capt._ Now directly. - -_Reb._ Very good. (_In a loud voice._) This is the reward of my -services—a rascal, a pitiful, scoundrel, is preferred, when a man of -honour—a man who has seen service—— - -_Chis._ (_aside_). Halloa! Rebolledo up? All is not so well. - -_Reb._ Who has led you to victory? - -_Capt._ This language to me, sir? - -_Reb._ Yes, to you, who have so grossly insulted and defrauded—— - -_Capt._ Silence! and think yourself lucky if I take no further notice -of your insolence. - -_Reb._ If I restrain myself, it is only because you are my captain, and -as such—but ‘fore God, if my cane were in my hand—— - -_Chis._ (_advancing_.) Hold! hold! - -_Capt._ I’ll show you, sir, how to talk to me in this way. (_Draws his -sword._) - -_Reb._ It is before your commission, not you, I retreat. - -_Capt._ That sha’n’t save you, rascal! - - (_Pursues_ REBOLLEDO _out_.) - -_Chis._ Oh! I sha’n’t be Madame Roulette after all. Murder! murder! - - [_Exit calling._ - - - SCENE III.—ISABEL’S _Garret_. ISABEL _and_ INES. - -_Isab._ What noise is that on the stairs? - - _Enter_ REBOLLEDO. - -_Reb._ Sanctuary! Sanctuary! - -_Isab._ Who are you, sir? - - _Enter_ CAPTAIN. - -_Capt._ Where is the rascal? - -_Isab._ A moment, sir! This poor man has flown to our feet for -protection; I appeal to you for it; and no man, and least of all an -officer, will refuse that to any woman. - -_Capt._ I swear no other arm than that of beauty, and beauty such as -yours, could have withheld me. (_To_ REBOLLEDO.) You may thank the -deity that has saved you, rascal. - -_Isab._ And I thank you, sir. - -_Capt._ And yet ungratefully slay me with your eyes in return for -sparing him with my sword. - -_Isab._ Oh, sir, do not mar the grace of a good deed by poor -compliment, and so make me less mindful of the real thanks I owe you. - -_Capt._ Wit and modesty kiss each other, as well they may, in that -lovely face. (_Kneels._) - -_Isab._ Heavens! my father! - -_Enter_ CRESPO _and_ JUAN _with swords_. - -_Cres._ How is this, sir? I am alarmed by cries of murder in my -house—am told you have pursued a poor man up to my daughte room; -and, when I get here expecting to find you killing a man, I find you -courting a woman. - -_Capt._ We are all born subjects to some dominion—soldiers especially -to beauty. My sword, though justly raised against this man, as justly -fell at this lad bidding. - -_Cres._ No lady, sir, if you please; but a plain peasant girl—my -daughter. - -_Juan._ (_aside_). All a trick to get at her. My blood boils. (_Aloud -to Captain._) I think, sir, you might have seen enough of my father’s -desire to serve you to prevent your requiting him by such an affront as -this. - -_Cres._ And, pray, who bid thee meddle, boy? Affront! what affront? The -soldier affronted his captain; and if the captain has spared him for -thy siste sake, pray what hast thou to say against it? - -_Capt._ I think, young man, you had best consider before you impute ill -intention to an officer. - -_Juan._ I know what I do know. - -_Cres._ What! you will go on, will you? - -_Capt._ It is out of regard for you I do not chastise him. - -_Cres._ Wait a bit; if that were wanting, ’twould be from his father, -not from you. - -_Juan._ And wha more, I would endure it from any one but my father. - -_Capt._ You would not? - -_Juan._ No! death rather than such dishonour! - -_Capt._ What, pray, is a clodpol idea of honour. - -_Juan._ The same as a captain’s—no clodpole no captain, I can tell you. - -_Capt._ ‘Fore Heaven, I must punish this insolence. - - (_About to strike him._) - -_Cres._ You must do it through me, then. - -_Reb._ Eyes right!—Don Lope! - -_Capt._ Don Lope! - - _Enter_ DON LOPE. - -_Lope._ How now? A riot the very first thing I find on joining the -regiment? What is it all about? - -_Capt._ (_aside_). Awkward enough! - -_Cres._ (_aside_). By the lord, the boy would have held his own with -the best of ‘em. - -_Lope._ Well! No one answer me? ‘Fore God, I’ll pitch the whole house, -men, women, and children, out of windows, if you do tell me at once. -Here have I had to trail up your accursed stairs, and then no one will -tell me what for. - -_Cres._ Nothing, nothing at all, sir. - -_Lope._ Nothing? that would be the worst excuse of all, but swords are -drawn for nothing; come, the truth? - -_Capt._ Well, the simple fact is this, Don Lope; I am quartered upon -this house; and one of my soldiers—— - -_Lope._ Well, sir, go on. - -_Capt._ Insulted me so grossly I was obliged to draw my sword on him. -He ran up here, where it seems these two girls live; and I, not knowing -there was any harm, after him; at which these men, their father or -brother, or some such thing, take affront. This is the whole business. - -_Lope._ I am just come in time then to settle it. First, who is the -soldier that began it with an act of insubordination? - -_Reb._ What, am I to pay the piper? - -_Isab._ (_pointing to_ REBOLLEDO). This, sir, was the man who ran up -first. - -_Lope._ This? handcuff him! - -_Reb._ Me! my lord? - -_Capt._ (_aside to_ REBOLLEDO). Do blab, I’ll bear you harmless. - -_Reb._ Oh, I dare say, after being marched off with my hands behind me -like a coward. Noble commander, ’twas the captain’s own doing; he made me -pretend a quarrel, that he might get up here to see the women. - -_Cres._ I _had_ some cause for quarrel, you see. - -_Lope._ Not enough to peril the peace of the town for. Halloa there! -beat all to quarters on pain of death. And, to prevent further ill -blood here, do you (_to the_ CAPTAIN) quarter yourself elsewhere till -we march. I’ll stop here. - -_Capt._ I shall of course obey you, sir. - -_Cres._ (_to_ ISABEL). Get you in. (_Exeunt_ ISABEL _and_ INES.) I -really ought to thank you heartily for coming just as you did, sir; -else, have done for myself. - -_Lope._ How so? - -_Cres._ I should have killed this popinjay. - -_Lope._ What, sir, a captain in his Majest service? - -_Cres._ Aye, a general, if he insulted me. - -_Lope._ I tell you, whoever lays his little finger on the humblest -private in the regiment, I’ll hang him. - -_Cres._ And I tell you, whoever points his little finger at my honour, -I’ll cut him down before hanging. - -_Lope._ Know you not, you are bound by your allegiance to submit. - -_Cres._ To all cost of property, yes; but of honour, no, no, no! My -goods and chattels, aye, and my life—are the kin; but my honour is my -own sou, and that is—God Almight. - -_Lope._ ‘Fore God, ther some truth in what you say. - -_Cres._ ‘Fore God, there ought to be, for I’ve been some years saying it. - -_Lope._ Well, well. I’ve come a long way, and this leg of mine, which I -wish the devil who gave it would carry [_sic_] away with him! cries for -rest. - -_Cres._ And who prevents its taking some? the same devil I suppose who -gave you your leg, gave me a bed, which I do want him to take away -again, however, on which your leg may lie if it like. - -_Lope._ But did the devil, when he was about it, make your bed as well -as give it? - -_Cres._ To be sure he did. - -_Lope._ Then I’ll unmake it—Heaven knows weary enough. - -_Cres._ Heaven rest you then. - -_Lope._ (_aside_). Devil or saint alike he echoes me! - -_Calderon de la Barca_ (1600-1681). - - _Trans. Edward Fitzgerald._ - - - - - _THE SIMPLE GROOMS._ - - -“Look,” said Juanillo, “we have now arrived at the Puerta del Sol, one -of the chief resorts in Madrid. This site of beautiful things, rightly -called the Sol or Sun, is renowned not only in Madrid, but throughout -the whole world.” Just then the cries and loud sobs of a lad made them -turn to inquire the cause, and Onofre, asking a boy close by, was told -it was a doctor’s groom who had gone out to sell a mule too slow for his -master, who, on account of his large practice, required one with more -go. - -“Are there so many sick in Madrid?” asked Onofre; to which the boy -replied: “He lives in a suburb of delicate people, who dress richly, -lie a long time in bed, have all their windows shut to keep out the -air, and if their chocolate is too sweet or too highly spiced, say it -has done them harm, and then they send for the doctor, who, to feel the -pulses and purses of all, needs a lively mule, and so he wanted to sell -his slow one.” - -The boy went on to relate how the groom soon found a buyer in the -servant of a country doctor, just arrived on horseback between the -panniers of bread, a trick worthy of the devil himself, since that -they might not suspect Death was entering the gates of Madrid, he came -cloaked with the chief support of life; for they say he was abandoning -his last residence, since it had lost half its population during the -one year of his stay, and was, therefore, coming to Madrid, where, on -account of its size, he hoped his work would not be so noticeable. With -this executione servant ... a bargain was struck, and the buyer allowed -to try the mule, after entertaining and bribing the groom; whereupon he -vanished down the street of Alcalá. - -Onofre smiled at the youth’s humour, and approaching the blubbering -groom, heard the crowd trying to advise and console him in various -ways: to look in all the hostries, where the thief might have taken the -mule to give it a feed; that his master would easily earn his value in -four days; that it was no good crying over spilt milk, to all of which -the groom wept loudly, the big tears running down his cheeks, which, -as well as his nose, he wiped with his cape and shirt-sleeves. Onofre -felt sorry for the poor fellow, but Juanillo, calling him, told him -such things often happened market days, and he knew another case, which -showed the astuteness of some thieves. - -A groom went, like this one, to sell a mule, which was, however, so -young and wild, his master could not ride it. He arrived at the market -and straightway found a buyer, for those simple fellows always come -across crafty rogues, up to all kinds of tricks. They quickly came to -terms, and the thief asked the lad to come for his money astride his -mule to a surgeon-barber, for whom it was purchased. He then lead him -to a shop where he had been shaved once or twice, and, leaving him -outside on the mule, inquired for the master, and after the customary -salutations, told him he had brought a sick groom whom he wished to -be examined, and cured if possible, but that, as he was very shy and -embarrassed, and had put off coming to a doctor for a long time, he -must try not to frighten him, and ask the lad to wait a while inside -till he could see him, lest he should run away. He then paid half the -fee and said he would pay the rest afterwards. The barber, highly -pleased, went out and asked the groom to come in and wait, and his -business would soon be despatched. - -“You know my business?” said the lad. - -“Certainly,” said the barber. - -The cheat, telling the groom that the barber would give him a dozen -reals for himself beside the price for the mule, mounted, clapped spurs -to the mule, and made off. - -The groom, after waiting some little time, found out the fraud as soon -as the barber began questioning him as to his health, and set up a -great hullabaloo, whereupon the police hastened by, but could only warn -him to be more prudent next time, with the hope that God would console -him meanwhile. - - “_Day and Night in Madrid._” _Santos_ (_fl._ 1697). - - - - - _PORTUGUESE EPITAPHS AND SAYINGS._ - - - A noble Portuguee lies here, - By name Don Vasco Cid Figuere, - Not in bloodshed - Died he, he fled - From wars and Moors, and did all he could - To die in bed as a gentleman should. - - * * * * * - -Here lies who once lived and is now dead, and although he died, he -lives, for the world trembles at the sound of his name. - - * * * * * - - Here lies the body of Senhor Vasco Barreto, - He died by God’s will and much against his own. - Breathe an _Ave Maria_ for the repose of his soul. - - * * * * * - -Here lies Alfonso Galego. He died for the glory of God in spite of the -Devil. - - * * * * * - -A Portuguese preacher once said: “The Moors are our neighbours, and -the Jews are our neighbours, and even the Castilians are also our -neighbours.” - -Another time a Portuguese friar, preaching on the anniversary of a -great battle, said: “The Christians were on one side of the river, and -the Castilians on the other.” - - (_Seventeenth Century_). - - - - - _LA TARASCA AND THE CARRIERS._ - - -A town in Spain on the banks of the Tagus, just about to celebrate -Corpus Christi, sent to a neighbouring town for the giants and the huge -serpent, called La Tarasca. On the eve of the festival the bearers, -in order to arrive in good time to join the procession, set out at -dusk, with the intention of reaching their destination at break of -day. They were inside the huge effigies, which were borne on their -shoulders exactly as when they dance through the streets. The moon -rose during their journey and shone down on the strange figures, to -the great amazement and alarm of some carriers with loads of wine, -who, becoming aware of the serpent and the giants behind, only screwed -together enough courage to take to their heels as fast as they could. -The bearers cried after them to come back and look after their teams, -but in vain, the more they shouted, the faster they fled. Thereupon the -porters of La Tarasca set her down and repaired to the mules, and when -they perceived the sweet spoils they had won without any bloodshed, -called to the bearers of the giants, and they all drank to each other’s -health in such long draughts and hearty quaffs, that the liquor rose to -their heads and laid them full length on the road. - -The carriers, who were great braggarts, returned home and told their -Alcalde how they had encountered such giant thieves; and the whole -township, armed with cross-bows, lances and cudgels, sallied out in -quest of these odd fish. They arrived at the spot, making so great a -din, they almost awakened their foes, whom they found stretched on the -ground. - -[Illustration: “THE MORE THEY SHOUTED, THE FASTER THEY FLED.”] - -The Alcalde, much amused at the jest, gave judgment that the carriers -were to pay with wine those who had come to their help; upon which all -drank to their hear content till the citizens and soldiers returned -homewards and the porters again shouldered their burdens. - - “_Truth on the Rack._” _Santos_ (_fl._ 1697). - - - - - _PEDIGREE OF FOOLS._ - - -They say Lost Time married Ignorance, and had a son called I Thought, -who married Youth, and had the following children: I Did Know, I Did -Think, Who Would Have Expected. - -Who Would Have Expected married Heedlessness, and had for children I -All Right, To-morrow Will Do, Ther Plenty of Time, Next Opportunity. - -Ther Plenty of Time married Doña I Did Think, and had for family I -Forgot, I Know All About It, Nobody Can Deceive Me. - -I Know All About It espoused Vanity, and begat Pleasure, who, marrying -Tha Not Likely, became father to Let Us Enjoy Ourselves and Bad Luck. - -Bad Luck took to wife Little Sense, and had a very large family, among -whom were This Will Do, What Business Is It Of Theirs, It Seems To Me, -I Not Possible. - -Pleasure was widowed, and, marrying again, espoused Folly. Consuming -their inheritance, they said one to the other, “Have Patience, let us -spend our capital and enjoy ourselves this year, for God will provide -for the next.” But Deception took them to prison, and Poverty to the -workhouse, where they died. - -Strange obsequies were performed at their funeral, at which were -present the five Senses, Intellect, Memory, and Will, although in a -pitiful condition. Repentance, who came somewhat late, found no seat, -and had to stand the whole time, while Consolation and Contentment -were represented by Desolation and Melancholy, daughters of Memory. - -Despair, grandchild of the deceased, went about begging for several -days, in which he could only collect six maravedies, with which he -bought a rope and hanged himself from a turret, which is the end of the -family of Fools. - - _Anon._ (_Seventeenth Century_). - - - - - _THE FAMOUS PREACHER, FRIAR BLAS._ - - -He was in the full perfection of his strength, just about -three-and-thirty years old, tall, robust, and stout; his limbs well set -and well proportioned; manly in gait, inclining to corpulence, with an -erect carriage of his head, and the circle of hair round his tonsure -studiously and exactly combed and shaven. His clerical dress was always -neat, and fell round his person in ample and regular folds. His shoes -fitted him with the greatest nicety, and, above all, his silken cap -was adorned with much curious embroidery and a fanciful tassel—the -work of certain female devotees who were dying with admiration of -their favourite preacher. In short, he had a very youthful, gallant -look; and, adding to this a clear, rich voice, a slight fashionable -lisp, a peculiar grace in telling a story, a talent at mimicry, an -easy action, a taking manner, a high-sounding style, and not a little -effrontery—never forgetting to sprinkle jests, proverbs, and homely -phrases along his discourses with a most agreeable aptness—he won -golden opinions in his public discourses, and carried everything before -him in the drawing-rooms he frequented. - -[Illustration: FRIAR BLAS.] - -It was well known that he always began his sermons with some proverb, -some jest, some pothouse witticism, or some strange fragment, which, -taken from its proper connections and relations, would seem, at first -blush, to be an inconsequence, a blasphemy, or an impiety; until at -last, having kept his audience waiting a moment in wonder, he finished -the clause, or came out with an explanation which reduced the whole to -a sort of miserable trifling. Thus, preaching one day on the mystery -of the Trinity, he began his sermon by saying, “I deny that God exists -a Unity in essence and a Trinity in person,” and then stopped short -for an instant. The hearers, of course, looked round on one another -scandalised, or, at least, wondering what would be the end of this -heretical blasphemy. At length, when the preacher thought he had fairly -caught them, he went on, “Thus says the Ebionite, the Marcionite, the -Arian, the Manichean, the Socinian; but I prove it against them all -from the Scriptures, the Councils, and the Fathers.” - -In another sermon, which was on the Incarnation, he began by crying -out, “Your health, cavaliers!” and, as the audience burst into a broad -laugh at the free manner in which he had said it, he went on, “This is -no joking matter, however; for it was for your health and for mine, -and for that of all men, that Christ descended from heaven and became -incarnate in the Virgin Mary. It is an article of faith, and I prove -it thus: ‘_Propter nos, homines et nostram salutem decendit de cœlo et -incarnatus est_,’”—whereat they all remained in delighted astonishment, -and such a murmur of applause ran round the church that it wanted -little of breaking out into open acclamation. - - _Trans. Ticknor._ - - - - - _THE MUSICAL ASS._ - - - The fable which I now present - Occur to me by accident; - And whether bad or excellent, - Is merely so by accident. - - A stupid Ass this morning went - Into a field by accident - And crop his food and was content, - Until he spied by accident - A flute, which some oblivious gent - Had left behind by accident; - When, sniffing it with eager scent, - He breathed on it by accident, - And made the hollow instrument - Emit a sound by accident. - “Hurrah, hurrah!” exclaimed the brute, - “How cleverly I play the flute!” - - A fool, in spite of nature’s bent, - May shine for once—by accident. - - _Yriarte_ (1750-1791). _Trans. R. Rockliff._ - -[Illustration: THE BASHFUL SHEPHERDESS.] - - - - - _THE BASHFUL SHEPHERDESS._ - - - No shady fruit-tree - In the early year - Dec with blossoms sweet - In the day dawn clear - So gladdens my eyes, - And raises my heart, - As when I catch sight - Of my own sweetheart. - He says, if I like, - In the fair springtime - We will married be, - For his love I see. - But to tell him yes - I feel such shame, - And no to answer - Gives still more pain. - But a thousand times yes, - The very first time - That he asks again, - Is the answer mine. - - _Iglesias_ (_d._ 1791). - - - - - _THE BEAR, THE APE, AND THE PIG._ - - - A bear, whose dancing hel to gain - His own and owne livelihood, - And whose success had made him vain - As any petit-maitre, stood - Upon his hinder legs to try - The figure of a new quadrille, - When, seeing that an Ape was nigh, - He stump’d about with all his skill, - And, “Tell me how you like,” he cried, - “My dancing, for always glad - To hear the truth.” The Ape replied, - “I really think it very bad.” - “’Tis plain enough,” rejoin’d the Bear, - “That envy makes you censure so; - For have I not a graceful air, - A slender shape and limber toe?” - But here a tasteless Pig began - To grunt applause, and said, “I vow - I’ve never met, in brute or man, - With one who danced so well as thou.” - The bear, on hearing this, became - Sedate and pensive for awhile; - And then, as if abash’d with shame. - Replied, in a more humble style: - “The agile Ape’s rebuke might be - Inspired by jealousy or spleen; - But, since the Pig commends, I see - How bad my dancing must have been.” - - Let every author think on this, - And hold the maxim for a rule— - The worst that can befall him is - The approbation of a fool. - - _Yriarte_ (1750-1791). _Trans. R. Rockliff._ - - - - - _THE FROG AND THE HEN._ - - - As once a Frog, - Who all day long had chatte from his bog, - Began to close - His mouth and eyes, and drop into a dose, - He chanced just then - To hear the sudden cackle of a hen. - “What sound is this?” - He cried. “Dear madam, what can be amiss, - That thus you scream, - And keep a quiet neighbour from his dream?” - The Hen replied, - Her feathers fluttering with maternal pride, - “I humbly beg - Your pardon, sir; but, having laid an egg, - I could not chuse - To let you sleep in ignorance of the news.” - “What! all this clatter - About a single egg!—so small a matter!” - “True, neighbour, true; - ’Tis but a single egg—a small one, too; - But if you blame - The rout that I have made about the same, - ’Tis doubly wrong - In you to croak for nothing all day long. - The egg’s of use, - And therefore I may brag with some excuse; - But the dull brute - Tha unproductive should be also mute.” - - _Yriarte._ _Trans. R. Rockliff._ - - - - - _MARIQUITA THE BALD._ - - (A TALE AFTER THE STYLE OF AN OLD CHRONICLE.) - - -It is as sorry a matter to use the words of which one ignores the -meaning as it is a blemish for a man of sense to speak of what he knows -nothing about. I say this to those of you who may have the present -story in your hands, however often you may have happened to have heard -_Mariquita the Bald_ mentioned, and I swear by my doublet that you -shall soon know who Mariquita the Bald was, as well as I know who ate -the Christmas turkey, setting aside the surmise that it certainly must -have been a mouth. - -I desire, therefore, to enlighten your ignorance of this subject, and -beg to inform you that the said noted Maria (Mariquita is a diminutive -of Maria) was born in the District of Segovia, and in the town of Sant -Garcia, the which town is famed for the beauty of the maidens reared -within its walls, who for the most part have such gentle and lovely -faces, that may I behold such around me at the hour of my death. Mari -father was an honest farmer, by name Juan Lanas, a Christian old -man, and much beloved, and who had inherited no mean estate from his -forefathers, though with but little wit in his crown, a lack which was -the cause of much calamity to both the father and the daughter, for -in the times to which we have attained, God forgive me if it is not -necessary to have more of the knave than of the fool in on composition. -Now it came to pass that Juan Lanas, for the castigation of his sins, -must needs commit himself to a lawsuit with one of his neighbours about -a vine stock which was worth about fifty maravedis; and Juan was in the -right, and the judges gave the verdict in his favour, so that he won -his case, excepting that the suit lasted no less than ten years and -the costs amounted to nothing less than fifty thousand maravedies, not -to speak of a disease of the eyes which after all was over left him -blind. When he found himself with diminished property and without his -eyesight, in sorrow and disgust he turned into money such part of his -patrimony as sufficed to rid him of the hungry herd of scribeners and -lawyers, and took his way to Toledo with his daughter, who was already -entering upon her sixteenth year, and had matured into one of the most -beautiful, graceful, and lovable damsels to be found throughout all -Castile and the kingdoms beyond. For she was white as the lily and red -like the rose, straight and tall of stature, and slender in the waist, -with fair, shapely hips; and again her foot and hand were plump and -small to a marvel, and she possessed a head of hair which reached to -her knees. For I knew the widow Sarmiento who was their housekeeper, -and she told me how she could scarcely clasp Mariquita’s hair with both -hands, and that she could not comb the hair unless Maria stood up and -the housekeeper mounted on a footstool, for if Maria sat down, the long -tresses swept the ground, and therefore became all entangled. - -And do not imagine her beauty and grace being such that she sinned -greatly in pride and levity, as is the wont of girls in this age. She -was as humble as a cloistered lay-sister, and as silent as if she -were not a woman, and patient as the sucking lamb, and industrious as -the ant, clean as the ermine, and pure as a saint of those times in -which, by the grace of the Most High, saintly women were born into -the world. But I must confide to you in friendship that our Mariquita -was not a little vain about her hair, and loved to display it, and -for this reason, now in the streets, now when on a visit, now when at -mass, it is said she used to subtilely loosen her mantilla so that her -tresses streamed down her back, the while feigning forgetfulness and -carelessness. She never wore a hood, for she said it annoyed her and -choked her; and every time that her father reproached her for some deed -deserving of punishment and threatened to cut off her hair, I warrant -you she suffered three times more than after a lash from the whip, and -would then be good for three weeks successively; so much so that Juan -Lanas, perceiving her amendment, would laugh under his cloak, and when -saying his say to his gossips would tell them that his daughter, like -the other saint of Sicily, would reach heaven by her hair. Having read -so far, you must now know that Juan Lanas, the blind man, with the -change of district and dwelling did not change his judgment, and if he -was crack-brained at Sant Garcia, he remained crack-brained at Toledo, -consuming in this resort his monies upon worthless drugs and quacks -which did not cure his blindness and impoverished him more and more -every day, so that if his daughter had not been so dexterous with her -fingers in making and broidering garments of linen, wool, and silk, I -promise you that this miserable Juan would have to have gone for more -than four Sundays without a clean shirt to put on or a mouthful to -eat, unless he had begged for it from door to door. The years passed -by to find Maria every day more beautiful, and her father every day -more blind and more desirous to see, until his affliction and trouble -took such forcible possession of his breast and mind, that Maria saw -as clear as daylight that if her father did not recover his sight, -he would die of grief. Maria thereupon straightway took her father -and led him to the house of an Arabian physician of great learning -who dwelt at Toledo, and told the Moor to see if there were any cure -for the old ma sight. The Arabian examined and touched Juan, and made -this and that experiment with him, and everything was concerted in -that the physician swore great oaths by the heel-bone of Mohammed that -there was a complete certainty of curing Juan and making him to see -his daughter again, if only he, the physician, were paid for the cure -with five hundred maravedies all in gold. A sad termination for such a -welcome beginning, for the two unhappy creatures, Juan and Maria, had -neither maravedi nor cuarto in their money box! So they went thence all -downcast, and Maria never ceased praying to his Holiness Saint John and -his Holiness Saint James (the patron saint of Spain) to repair to their -assistance in this sad predicament. - -“In what way,” conjectured she inwardly—“in what way can I raise -fifty maravedies to be quits with the worthy Moor who will give back -his sight to my poor old father? Ah! I have it. I am a pretty maid, -and suitors innumerable, commoners and nobles, pay their addresses -and compliments to me. But all are trifling youths who only care for -love-making and who seek light o’ loves rather than spouses according -to the law of the Lord Jesus Christ. I remember, notwithstanding, -that opposite our house lives the sword-cutler, Master Palomo, who is -always looking at me and never speaks to me, and the Virgin assist -me, he appears a man of very good condition for a husband; but what -maiden, unless she were cross-eyed or hunch-backed, could like a man -with such a flat nose, with that skin the colour of a ripe date, with -those eyes like a dead cal, and with those huge hands, which are more -like the paws of a wild beast than the belongings of a person who -with them should softly caress the woman whom Destiny bestows upon -him for a companion? ’Tis said that he is no drunkard, nor cudgeller, -nor dallier with woman, nor a liar, and that he is besides possessed -of much property and very rich. Pity ’tis that one who is so ugly and -stiff-necked should unite such parts.” - -Thus turning the matter over and over in her mind, Maria together with -Juan reached their home, where was awaiting them an esquire in a long -mourning robe, who told Maria that the aunt of the Mayor of the city -had died in an honest estate and in the flower of her age, for she had -not yet completed her seventy years, and that the obsequies of this -sexagenarian damsel were to be performed the following day, on which -occasion her coffin would be carried to the church by maidens, and he -was come to ask Maria if she would please to be one of the bearers of -the dead woman, for which she would receive a white robe, and to eat, -and a ducat, and thanks into the bargain. - -Maria, since she was a well brought up maid, replied that if it seemed -well to her father, it would also seem well to her. - -Juan accepted, and Maria was rejoiced to be able to make a display -of her hair, for it is well known that the maidens who bear another -to the grave walk with dishevelled locks. And when on the morrow the -tiring-women of the Mayoress arrayed Maria in a robe white as the -driven snow and fine as the skin of an onion; and when they girt her -slender waist with a sash of crimson silk, the ends of which hung down -to the broad hem of the skirt; and when they crowned her smooth and -white forehead with a wreath of white flowers, I warrant you that, -what with the robe and the sash and the wreath, and the beautiful -streaming hair and her lovely countenance and gracious mien, she seemed -no female formed of flesh and blood, but a superhuman creature or -blessed resident of those shining circles in which dwell the celestial -hierarchies. The Mayor and the other mourners stepped forth to see -her, and all unceasingly praised God, who was pleased to perform such -miracles for the consolation and solace of those living in this world. -And there in a corner of the hall, motionless like a heap of broken -stones, stood one of the mutes with the hood of his long cloak covering -his head, so that nothing could be seen but his eyes, the which he kept -fixed on the fair damsel. The latter modestly lowered her eyes to the -ground with her head a little bent and her cheeks red for bashfulness, -although it pleased her no little to hear the praises of her beauty. -At this moment a screen was pushed aside, and there began to appear a -huge bulk of petticoats, which was nothing less than the person of the -Mayoress, for she was with child and drawing near to her time. And when -she saw Maria, she started, opened her eyes a hand’s-breadth wide, bit -her lips, and called hurriedly for her husband. They stepped aside for -a good while, and then hied them thence, and when they returned the -mutes and maidens had all gone. - -While they are burying the defunct lady I must tell you, curious -readers, that the Mayor and Mayoress had been married for many years -without having any children, and they longed for them like the -countryman for rain in the month of May, and at last her hour of bliss -came to the Mayoress, to the great content of her husband. Now, it was -whispered that the said lady had always been somewhat capricious; judge -for yourselves what she would be now in the time of her pregnancy! And -as she was already on the way to fifty, she was more than mediocrely -bald and hairless, and on these very same days had commissioned a woman -barber, who lived in the odour of witchcraft, to prepare for her some -false hair, but it was not to be that of a dead woman, for the Mayoress -said very sensibly that if the hair belonged to a dead woman who -rejoiced in supreme glory, or was suffering for her sins in purgatory, -it would be profanation to wear any pledge of theirs, and if they were -in hell, it was a terrible thing to wear on person relics of one of -the damned. And when the Mayoress saw the abundant locks of Maria, she -coveted them for herself, and it was for this reason that she called -to the Mayor to speak to her in private and besought him eagerly to -persuade Maria to allow herself to be shorn upon the return from the -burial. - -“I warn you,” said the Mayor, “that you are desirous of entering upon -a very knotty bargain, for the dishevelled girl idolises her hair in -such wise, that she would sooner lose a finger than suffer one of her -tresses to be cut off.” - -“I warn you,” replied the Mayoress, “that if on this very day the head -of this young girl is not shorn smooth beneath my hand as a melon, the -child to which I am about to give birth will have a head of hair on its -face, and if it happens to be a female, look you, a pretty daughter is -in store for you!” - -“But bethink yourself that Maria will ask, who knows, a good few crowns -for this shaving.” - -“Bethink yourself, that if not, your heir or heiress, begotten after so -many years’ marriage, will come amiss; and bear in mind, by the way, -that we are not so young as to hope to replace this by another.” - -Upon this she turned her back to the Mayor, and went to her apartment -crying out: “I want the hair, I must have the hair, and if I do not get -the hair, by my halidom I shall never become a mother.” - -In the meantime the funeral had taken place without any novelty to -mention, excepting that if in the streets any loose fellow in the crowd -assayed to annoy the fair Maria, the hooded mute, of whom we made -mention before, quickly drew from beneath his cloak a strap, with which -he gave a lash to the insolent rogue without addressing one word to -him, and then walked straight on as if nothing had happened. When all -the mourners returned, the Mayor seized hold of Mari hand and said to -her— - -“And now, fair maid, let us withdraw for a little while into this other -apartment,” and thus talking whilst in motion he brought her into his -wife’s private tiring-room, and sat himself down in a chair and bent his -head and stroked his beard with the mien of one who is studying what -beginning to give to his speech. Maria, a little foolish and confused, -remained standing in front of the Mayor, and she also humbly lowered -before him her eyes, black as the sloe; and to occupy herself with -something, gently fingered the ends of the sash which girded her waist -and hung down over her skirt, not knowing what to expect from the grave -mien and long silence of the Mayor, who, raising his eyes and looking -up at Maria, when he beheld her in so modest a posture, devised thence -a motive with which to begin, saying— - -“Forsooth, Maria, so modest and sanctimonious is thy bearing, that it -is easy to see thou art preparing thyself to become a black wimpled -nun. And if it be so, as I presume it to be, I now offer of my own -accord to dispose of thy entry into the cloisters without any dowry, on -condition that thou dost give me something that thou hast on thy head, -and which then wilt not be necessary for thee.” - -“Nay, beshrew me, Sir Mayor,” replied Maria, “for I durst not think -that the Lord calls upon me to take that step, for then my poor father -would remain in the world without the staff of his old age.” - -“Then, now, I desire to give thee some wise counsel, maid Maria. Thou -dost gain thy bread with great fatigue, thou shouldst make use of thy -time as much as is possible. Now one of thy neighbours hath told me, -that in the dressing of thy hair, thou doth waste every day more than -an hour. It would be better far if thou didst spend this hour on thy -work rather than in the dressing and braiding which thou dost to thy -hair.” - -“That is true, Sir Mayor,” replied Maria, turning as red as a -carnation, “but, look you, it is not my fault if I have a wealth of -tresses, the combing and plaiting of which necessitates so long a time -every morning.” - -“I tell thee it is thy fault,” retorted the Mayor, “for if thou didst -cut off this mane, thou would save thyself all this combing and -plaiting, and thus would have more time for work, and so gain more -money, and would also give no occasion to people to call thee vain. -They even say that the Devil will some day carry thee off by thy hair. -Nay, do not be distressed, for I already perceive the tears gathering -in thy eyes, for thou hast them indeed very ready at hand; I admonish -thee for thine own good without any self-interest. Cut thy hair off, -shear thyself, shave thyself, good Maria, and to allay the bitterness -of the shearing, I will give fifty maravedies, always on condition that -thou dost hand me over the hair.” - -When Maria at first heard this offer of so reasonable a sum for this -her hair, it seemed to her a jest of the Mayo, and she smiled right -sweetly while she dried her tears, repeating— - -“You will give me fifty maravedies if I shave myself?” - -Now it appeared to the Mayor (who, it is said, was not gifted with all -the prudence of Ulysses) that that smile signified that the maid was -not satisfied with so small a price, and he added— - -“If thou wilt not be content with fifty maravedies, I will give thee a -hundred.” - -Then Maria saw some hangings of the apartment moving in front of her, -and perceiving a bulky protuberance, she immediately divined that the -Mayoress was hiding behind there, and that the protuberance was caused -by her portly form. She now discovered the Mayo design, and that it -was probably a caprice of his spouse, and she made a vow not to suffer -herself to be shorn unless she acquired by these means the five hundred -maravedies needful to pay the Arabian physician who would give her -father back his eyesight. - -Then the Mayor raised his price from a hundred maravedies to a hundred -and fifty, and afterwards to two hundred, and Maria continued her sweet -smiling, shaking of the head and gestures, and every time that the -Mayor bid higher and Maria feigned to be reluctant, she almost hoped -that the Mayor would withdraw from his proposition, for the great -grief it caused her to despoil herself of that precious ornament, -notwithstanding that by means of it she might gain her father’s health. -Finally the Mayor, anxious to conclude the treaty, for he saw the -stirring of the curtains, and knew by them the anxiety and state of -mind of the listener, closed by saying— - -“Go to, hussy, I will give thee five hundred maravedies, see, once and -for all, if thou canst agree to these terms.” - -“Be it so,” replied Maria, sighing as if her soul would flee from her -flesh with these words—“be it so, so long that nobody doth know that I -remain bald.” - -“I will give my word for it,” said the Mayoress, stepping from behind -the curtains with a pair of sharp shears in her hands and a wrapper -over her arm. - -When Maria saw the scissors she turned as yellow as wax, and when they -told her to sit down on the sacrificial chair, she felt herself grow -faint and had to ask for a drink of water; and when they tied the -wrapper round her throat it is related that she would have immediately -torn it asunder if her courage had not failed her. And when at the -first movement of the shears she felt the cold iron against her skull, -I tell you it seemed to her as if they were piercing her heart with -a bright dagger. It is possible that she did not keep her head still -for a moment while this tonsuring was taking place; she moved it in -spite of herself, now to one side, now to another, to flee from the -clipping scissors, of which the rude cuts and the creaking axis wounded -her ears. Her posture and movements, however, were of no avail to the -poor shorn maiden, and the pertinacious shearer, with the anxiety and -covetousness of a pregnant woman satisfying a caprice, seized the hair -well, or ill, by handfuls, and went on bravely clipping, and the locks -fell on to the white wrapper, slipping down thence till they reached -the ground. - -At last the business came to an end, and the Mayoress, who was beside -herself with joy, caressingly passed the palm of her hand again and -again over the mai bald head from the front to the back, saying— - -“By my mother’s soul, I have shorn you so regularly and close to root, -that the most skilful barber could not have shorn you better. Get up -and braid the hair while my husband goes to get the money and I your -clothes, so that you can leave the house without any one perceiving it.” - -[Illustration: “AT THE FIRST MOVEMENT OF THE SHEARS ... IT SEEMED TO -HER AS IF THEY WERE PIERCING HER HEART WITH A BRIGHT DAGGER.”] - -The Mayor and Mayoress went out of the room, and Maria, as soon as -she found herself alone, went to look at herself in a mirror that hung -there; and when she saw herself bald she lost the patience she had -had until then, and groaned with rage and struck herself, and even -tried to wrench off her ears, which appeared to her now outrageously -large, although they were not so in reality. She stamped upon her -hair and cursed herself for having ever consented to lose it, without -remembering her father, and just as if she had no father at all. But as -it is a quality of human nature to accept what cannot be altered, poor -angry Maria calmed down little by little, and she picked up the hair -from the ground and bound it together and braided it into great ropes, -not without kissing it and lamenting over it many times. The Mayor and -the Mayoress returned, he with the money and she with the every-day -clothes of Maria, who undressed and folded her white robe in a -kerchief, put on her old gown, hid herself with her shawl to the eyes, -and walked, moaning, to the house of the Moor, without noticing that -the man with the hood over his head was following behind her, and that -when she, in a moment of forgetfulness, lowered her shawl through the -habit she had of displaying her tresses, her bald head could be plainly -seen. The Moor received the five hundred maravedies with that good will -with which money is always received, and told Maria to bring Juan Lanas -to his house to stay there so long as there was any risk in the cure. -Maria went to fetch the old man, and kept silence as to her shorn head -so as not to grieve him, and whilst Juan remained the physicia guest, -Maria durst not leave her home except after nightfall and then well -enveloped; this, however, did not hinder her being followed by the -muffled-up man. - -One evening the Moor told her in secret that the next morning he would -remove the bandages from Jua eyes. Maria went to bed that night with -great rejoicing, but thought to herself that when her father saw her -(which would be with no little pleasure) he would be pleased three or -four times more if he could see her with the pretty head-dress which -she used to wear in her native town. Amidst such cavillation she donned -the next day her best petticoat and ribands to hie to the Arabia house; -and while she was sitting down to shoe herself she of a sudden felt -something like a hood closing over her head, and, turning round, she -saw behind her the muffled-up man of before, who, throwing aside his -cloak, discovered himself to be the sword-cutler, Master Palomo, who, -without speaking, presented Maria with a little Venetian mirror, in -which she looked and saw herself with her own hair and garb in such -wise that she wondered for a good time if it were not a dream that the -Mayoress had shorn her. The fact was, that Master Palomo was a great -crony of the old woman barber, and had seen in her house Mari tresses -on the very same afternoon of the morning in which he saw Maria was -bald, and keeping silence upon the matter, had wheedled the old woman -into keeping Mari hair for him, and dressing for the Mayoress some -other hair of the same hue which the crone had from a dead woman—a -bargain by which the crafty old dame acquired many a bright crown. And -the story relates that as soon as Maria regained her much-lamented -and sighed-for hair by the hands of the gallant sword-cutler, the -Master appeared to her much less ugly than before, and I do not know -if it tells that from that moment she began to look on him with more -favourable eyes, but i’sooth it is a fact that upon his asking her to -accept his escort to the Moor’s house, she gave her assent, and the -two set out hand in hand, the maiden holding her head up free from -mufflers. As they both entered the physicia apartment her father threw -himself into Mari arms, crying— - -“Glory to God, I see thee now, my beloved daughter. How tall and -beautiful thou art grown! Verily, it is worthwhile to become blind for -five years to see on daughter matured thus! Now that I see daylight -again, it is only right that I should no longer be a burden to thee. I -shall work for myself, for as for thee it is already time for thee to -marry.” - -“For this very purpose am I come,” broke in at this opportune moment -the silent sword-cutler; “I, as you will have already recognised by my -voice, am your neighbour, Master Palomo. I love Maria, and ask you for -her hand.” - -“Lack-a-day, Master, but your exterior is not very prepossessing. -Howbeit, if Maria doth accept you, I am content.” - -“I,” replied Maria, wholly abashed, and smoothing the false hair (which -then weighed upon her head and heart like a burden of five hundred -weight)—“I, so may God enlighten me, for I durst not venture to reply.” - -Palomo took her right hand without saying anything, and as he did so -Maria looked at the Master’s wrists, and observed the wristbands of his -shirt, neatly embroidered, and with some suspicion and beating of her -heart said to him— - -“If you wish to please me, good neighbour, tell me by what sempstress -is this work?” - -“It is the work,” replied the Master, jocularly—“the work of a pretty -maiden who for five years has toiled for my person, albeit she hath not -known it till now.” - -“Now I perceive,” said Maria, “how that all the women who have come to -give me linen to sew and embroider were sent by you, and that is why -they paid me more than is customary.” - -The Master did not reply, but he smiled and held out his arms to Maria. -Maria threw herself into them, embracing him very caressingly; and Juan -himself said to the two— - -“In good sooth, you are made one for the other.” - -“By my troth, my beloved one,” continued the sword-cutler after a -while, “if my countenance had only been more pleasing, I should not -have been silent towards you for so many long days, nor would I have -been content with gazing at you from afar. I should have spoken to you, -you would have made me the confidant of your troubles, and I would -have given you the five hundred maravedies for the cure of your good -father.” And whispering softly into her ear, he added, “And then you -would not have passed that evil moment under the hands of the Mayoress. -But if you fear that she may break the promise she made to you to keep -silence as to your cropped head, let us, if it please you, set out for -Seville, where nobody knows you, and thus——” - -“No more,” exclaimed Maria, resolutely throwing on the ground the hair, -which Juan picked up all astonished; “Send this hair to the Mayoress, -since it was for this and not for that of the dead woman that she -paid so dearly. For I, to cure myself of my vanity, now make a vow, -with your good permission, to go shorn all my life; such artificial -adornments are little befitting to the wives of honest burghers.” - -“But rely upon it,” replied the Master-cutler, “that as soon as it is -known that you have no hair, the girls of the city, envious of your -beauty, will give you the nickname of _Mariquita the Bald_!” - -“They may do so,” replied Maria, “and that they may see that I do not -care a fig for this or any other nickname, I swear to you that from -this day forth I will not suffer anybody to call me by another name -than _Mariquita the Bald_.” - -This was the event that rendered so famous throughout all Castille the -beautiful daughter of good Juan Lanas, who in effect married Master -Palomo, and became one of the most honourable and prolific women of the -most illustrious city of Toledo. - - _Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch_ (1806-1880). - - - - - _PULPETE AND BALBEJA; OR, AN ANDALUSIAN DUEL._ - - -Through the little square of St. Anna, towards a certain tavern, where -the best wine is to be quaffed in Seville, there walked in measured -steps two men, whose demeanour clearly manifested the soil which gave -them birth. He who walked in the middle of the street, taller than -the other by about a finger’s length, sported with affected carelessness -the wide, slouched hat of Ecija, with tassels of glass beads and a -ribbon as black as his sins. He wore his cloak gathered under his left -arm; the right, emerging from a turquoise lining, exposed the merino -lambskin with silver clasps. The herdsman’s boots—white, with Turkish -buttons,—the breeches gleaming red from below the cloak and covering -the knee, and, above all, his strong and robust appearance, dark curly -hair, and eye like a red-hot coal, proclaimed at a distance that all -this combination belonged to one of those men who put an end to horses -between their knees and tire out the bull with their lance. He walked -on, arguing with his companion, who was rather spare than prodigal in -his person, but marvellously lithe and supple. The latter was shod with -low shoes, garters united the stockings to the light-blue breeches, -the waistcoat was cane-coloured, his sash light green, and jaunty -shoulder-knots, lappets, and rows of buttons ornamented the camelite -jacket. The open cloak, the hat drawn over his ear, his short, clean -steps, and the manifestations in all his limbs and movements of agility -and elasticity beyond trial plainly showed that in the arena, carmine -cloth in hand, he would mock at the most frenzied of Jarama bulls, or -the best horned beasts from Utrera. - -I—who adore and die for such people, though the compliment be not -returned—went slowly in the wake of their worships, and, unable -to restrain myself, entered with them the same tavern, or rather -eating-house, since there they serve certain provocatives as well as -wine, and I, as my readers perceive, love to call things by their right -name. I entered and sat down at once, and in such a manner as not to -interrupt my Oliver and Roland, and that they might not notice me, when -I saw that, as if believing themselves alone, they threw their arms -with an amicable gesture round each other’s neck, and thus began their -discourse:— - -“Pulpete,” said the taller, “now that we are going to meet each other, -knife in hand—you here, I there,... _one, two,... on your guard,... -triz, traz,... have that,... take this and call it what you like_ -...—let us first drain a tankard to the music and measure of some -songs.” - -“Señor Balbeja,” replied Pulpete, drawing his face aside and spitting -with the greatest neatness and pulchritude towards his shoe, “I am not -the kind of man either for la Gorja or other similar earthly matters, -or because a steel tongue is sheathed in my body, or my weasand slit, -or for any other such trifle, to be provoked or vexed with such a -friend as Balbeja. Let the wine be brought, and then we will sing; and -afterwards blood—blood to the hilt.” - -The order was given, they clinked glasses, and, looking one at the -other, sang a Sevillian song. - -This done, they threw off their cloaks with an easy grace, and -unsheathed their knives with which to prick one another, the one -Flemish with a white haft, the other from Guadix, with a guard to -the hilt, both blades dazzling in their brightness, and sharpened -and ground enough for operating upon cataracts, much less ripping up -bellies and bowels. The two had already cleft the air several times -with the said lancets, their cloak wound round their left arm—first -drawing closer, then back, now more boldly and in bounds—when Pulpete -hoisted the flag for parley, and said— - -“Balbeja, my friend, I only beg you to do me the favour not to fan -my face _Juilon_ your knife, since a slash might use it so ill that -my mother who bore me would not know me, and I should not like to be -considered ugly; neither is it right to mar and destroy what God made -in His likeness.” - -“Agreed,” replied Balbeja; “I will aim lower.” - -“Except—except my stomach also, for I was ever a friend to cleanliness, -and I should not like to see myself fouled in a bad way, if your knife -and arm played havoc with my liver and intestines.” - -“I will strike higher; but let us go on.” - -“Take care of my chest, it was always weak.” - -“Then just tell me, friend, _where_ am I to sound or tap you?” - -“My dear Balbeja, ther always plenty of time and space to hack at a -man: I have here on my left arm a wen, of which you can make meat as -much as you like.” - -“Here goes for it,” said Balbeja, and he hurled himself like an arrow; -the other warded off the thrust with his cloak, and both, like skilful -penmen, began again tracing and signatures in the air with dashes and -flourishes, without, however, raising a particle of skin. - -I do not know what would have been the end of this onslaught, since -my venerable, dry, and shrivelled person was not suitable for forming -a point of exclamation between two combatants; and the tavern-keeper -troubled so little about what was happening that he drowned the -stamping of their feet and clatter of the tumbling stools and utensils -by scraping street music on a guitar as loud as he could. Otherwise he -was as calm as if he were entertaining two angels instead of two devils -incarnate. - -[Illustration: “INCREASED THEIR FEINTS, FLOURISHES, CURVETS, -CROUCHINGS, AND BOUNDS.”] - -I do not know, I repeat, how this scene would have ended, when there -crossed the threshold a personage who came to take a part in the -development of the drama. There entered, I say, a woman of twenty to -twenty-two years of age, diminutive in body, superlative in audacity -and grace. Neat and clean hose and shoes, short, black flounced -petticoat, a linked girdle, head-dress or mantilla of fringed taffeta -caught together at the nape of her neck, and a corner of it over her -shoulder, she passed before my eyes with swaying hips, arms akimbo, and -moving her head to and fro as she looked about her on all sides. - -Upon seeing her the tavern-keeper dropped his instrument, and I was -overtaken by perturbation such as I had not experienced for thirty -years (I am, after all, only flesh and blood); but, without halting for -such lay-figures, she advanced to the field of battle. - -There was a lively to-do here: Don Pulpete and Don Balbeja when they -saw Doña Gorja appear, first cause of the disturbance and future -prize for the victor, increased their feints, flourishes, curvets, -onsets, crouching, and bounds—all, however, without touching a hair. -Our Helen witnessed in silence for a long time this scene in history -with that feminine pleasure which the daughters of Eve enjoy at such -critical moments. But gradually her pretty brow clouded over, until, -drawing from her delicate ear, not a flower or earring, but the stump -of a cigar, she hurled it amidst the jousters. Not even Charles V.’s -cane in the last duel in Spain produced such favourable effects. Both -came forward immediately with formal respect, and each, by reason of -the discomposure of his person and clothes, presumed to urge a title -by which to recommend himself to the fair with the flounces. She, as -though pensive, was going over the passage of arms in her mind, and -then, with firm and confident resolution, spoke thus— - -“And is this affair for me?” - -“Who else should it be for? since I ... since nobody——” they replied in -the same breath. - -“Listen, gentlemen,” said she. “For females such as I and my parts, -of my charms and descent—daughter of la Gatusa, niece of la Méndez, -and granddaughter of la Astrosa—know that there are neither pacts -nor compacts, nor any such futile things, nor are any of them worth a -farthing. And when men challenge each other, let the knife do its work -and the red blood flow, so as not to have my mother’s daughter present -without giving her the pleasure of snapping her fingers in the face -of the other. If you pretend you are fighting for me, it’s a lie; you -are wholly mistaken, and that not by halves. I love neither of you. -Mingalarios of Zafra is to my taste, and he and I look upon you with -scorn and contempt. Good-bye, my braves; and, if you like, call my man -to account.” - -She spoke, spat, smoothed the saliva with the point of her shoe, -looking Pulpete and Balbeja full in the face, and went out with the -same expressive movements with which she entered. - -The two unvarnished braggarts followed the valorous Doña Gorja with -their eyes; and then with a despicable gesture drew their knives across -their sleeve as though wiping off the blood there might have been, -sheathed them at one and the same time, and said together— - -“Through woman the world was lost, through a woman Spain was lost;[9] -but it has never been known, nor do ballads relate, nor the blind -beggars sing,[10] nor is it heard in the square or markets, that two -valiant men killed each other for another lover.” - -“Give me that fist, Don Pulpete.” - -“Your hand, Don Balbeja.” - -They spoke and strode out into the street, the best friends in the -world, leaving me all amazed at such whimsicality. - - _Estébanez Calderón_ (_El Solitario_) (1799-1867). - - - - - _SEVILLE._ - - - Who Naples fair has never seen - never a marvel, sure, has seen; - Nor who to Sevill ever been - will ever wish to leave, I ween, - “See bella Napoli and die!” - is the Neapolitan’s cry. - The counsel the Sevillians give - is “Seville see and learn to live!” - - _José Zorrilla_ (1817-1893). - - - - - _AFTER THE BULL-FIGHT._ - - -Beg pardon, Mr. Magistrate, but it was as my husband tells it, for he -stayed at home with Alfonsa and the baby, who was asleep, and he knew -nothing about what happened.” - -“Then, do you tell me how it happened.” - -“I, sir? Well, you see, your Worship, an honest woman and do know how -to explain myself well; but that gentleman there is my husband, and his -conduct is such as your Honour sees, always drunk and out of work.” - -“Come to the point.” - -“Well, I’m coming; the cause of it all is a friend of the family and very -intimate, as every one knows, and they call him Malgesto, and he can -thrust a banderilla[11] into the morning star, much less into a bull; -well, as I was saying, the same had told me: ‘Paca, I won’t have my lady -friends look at el Chato, and if I see them do it, I’ll cut off the -little nose he has left.’“All right!” said I, “but as you see, your -Lordship or your Worship, taste is taste, and in no catechism have I -seen it called a sin to look at somebody; so la Curra, who evil tongues -say is Malgesto’s wife, and I paid no attention, you see, and....” - -“Go on, you went to the bull-fight with the other man.” - -“Tha just it, since he hired a fly and took me and la Curra, so that we -might not go alone, and everybody would have done the same, and I....” - -“To the point, to the point.” - -“The point is a needle’s point, as one says, for take my word for it, the -other from the arena never takes his eyes off us the whole time, and he -placed the darts in a cross, and cursed them with gestures towards us, -from which Heaven deliver us.” - -“But at last....” - -“At last the last bull was despatched as usual, and we all went away -in peace and the grace of God, when as we were going out el Chato -disappeared somehow, and I who expected to meet him at the door -of the fly, who do you think I met? nobody more nor less than the -banderillero, who said, ‘Ungrateful woman, is this how you obey my -orders?’I said to him ... but no, I said nothing to him then, as if I -were afraid, but I just shrugged my shoulders, and I do know if I did -anything else. He answered nothing, except two or three oaths and a -little blasphemy, and then seizing la Curra, he lifted her violently -into the cab, and then he pushed me in, saying: ‘If you do go in I’ll -kill el Chato’ and I, you see, your Honour, a decent woman, and do want -anybody’s death.” - -“And so what did you do?” - -“What could I do? I got in.” - -“And afterwards?” - -“Afterwards came the row, for la Curra began to grumble, and so did I, -he to keep us quiet gave us each two or three cuffs; and then we began -to call him names and call each other names, for your Honour knows -defence is only natural; to finish up, the horse took fright and nearly -upset us; but at last we got out in the Calle del Barquillo; he set off -running, la Curra after him, and tha the last I’ve seen of them.” - -“So that you have nothing more to allege?” - -“Nothing more.” - -“And you swear to this?” - -“I swear that I am a respectable woman, incapable of scandalous -behaviour, though at times a poor female ca help ... but now I want to -complain to your Worship, for I too have my wrongs.” - -“Let us hear them.” - -“In the first place I complain of all my neighbours, for they have -stolen all I had in the house, inside and outside.” - -“And how can you prove?” - -“I can prove the things are gone, which is the principal thing; -secondly, I complain of my husband, who does protect me in my danger; -thirdly, I complain of la Curra for fourteen scratches and ten pinches, -not to mention some kicks; besides this I complain of the policeman, -who took me to prison only because I pulled a face at him on St. Anthony’s -day,[12] when he tried to make love to me; lastly, I complain of your -Worship, who are Justice of the Peace for this ward, and——” - -“Silence, you baggage, or by Heavens I’ll put a gag in your mouth which -it won’t be so easy to shake off.” - - * * * * * - -“What is it, constable?” - -“Notice has just been brought, sir, that two men have been fighting -with knives in front of Mother Alfons tavern, and are both badly -wounded.” - -“Who are they?” - -“El Chato and Malgesto.” - -“_Scenes in Madrid._” _Mesonero Romanos_ (_El Curioso Parlante_) -(1803-1882). - - - - - _DELIGHTS OF A MADRID WINTER._ - - -No, sir, you cannot deny that the best season of the year is winter. -The theatres fill up. Gastronomists return to the juicy oyster; and -as soon as it begins to freeze still their appetites with the tasty -sea-bream. The crown ministers can infringe the laws with impunity, -fearless of tumults and insurrections, for the people’s blood does not -boil as in the month of July, and patriots prefer roasting chestnuts -and toasting themselves over the brazier to haranguing in rain and -snow. The shoeblacks dance with joy, for the mud is all in their -favour. The doctors make their fortunes with colds and lung diseases. -The apothecaries sell cough lozenges to their hearts’ content. The -maid-servants make a new conquest every day of the Savoyards who cross -the Pyrenees to clean out our chimneys and purses with their monkeys -and hurdy-gurdies. But besides these and other votaries, who have -powerful reasons for liking winter, there are other admirers of this -season dubbed _rigorous_ by the ignorant vulgar. These devotees are the -only really intelligent beings, and nobody will be able to deny they -are right, when they patent the advantages of the months of November, -December, and January over those of May, June, and July. - -The monotony of summer is insipid. The sun shines upon everything with -the very same rays. The flowers unceasingly diffuse the identical -scent. The country is always green.... It is unsupportable, horrible! -The votaries of summer say that all this makes the little birds charm -with their trills and warbles every heart sensible to the delights of -harmony. And we defenders of winter reply, who can compare the feeble -song of the timid nightingale to the animated and piercing duets -intoned by enamoured cats on our roofs in January? And the rain? Can -anything be more delicious than rain? Oh, how I rave for the rain! Let -us talk about the rain! - -Some people say the rain is monotonous. Ignorant idiots! Let them apply -that epithet to the sun, but the rain—monotonous? Bah! Could anybody -adduce anything more varied and agreeable than rain? Clouds, mists, -dew, hail, drizzle, showers, snow-storms ... what a charming mosaic of -precious things! - -Is there a more sublime spectacle than a shower? ... especially when -contemplated from behind a well-glazed window? When the cataracts -of heaven are opened on Sundays, it is worth while hiring a balcony -in the Puerta del Sol. Those who have been so imprudent as to sally -out without their wife and umbrella, recognise the advantage of the -latter article over the former. But what a pleasing sight is the -picturesque group of a married pair and their little children under -the protection of one umbrella! And when the crystalline rain is -accompanied by a strong soester, which the most impermeable of taffety -cannot resist—that boisterous blast which removes hats and wigs ... -oh, then the respectable couple who have issued forth to air their -Sunday-best present a marvellous and really romantic spectacle. The -husband, fearful for his precious umbrella abandons the arm of his -better-half, and presses his feet firmly to the ground to save the -article in question, for the wind has turned it inside out like a -stocking, and seems desirous of snatching it from his hands, in the -same way that it has whirled off his hat just as a flower-pot falls -from one of the houses and smashes his skull. The modest spouse pays -no attention either to her husband’s catastrophe, or to the gusts or -downpour, but thinks only of her angelical prudicity, and how she may -best avoid making a display of her person, for the wind against which -she is struggling marks out all her contour, seeming to take a pleasure -in exposing to the spectators the most hidden curves of his victim. - -But I should never end if I gave a minute description of all the -fascinations of my favourite season. I have said enough about the -beauties of rain. In another article I hope to illustrate the pleasures -of the cold, the charm of chilblains, and particularly all tha heroic -in cerebral rheums, fully persuaded that once the reasons upon which I -base my opinions are read, all my readers will agree with me that there -is nothing to be compared with the delights of winter. - - _Wenceslao Ayguals de Izco._ - - - - - _IN THE EARLIER DAYS OF PHOTOGRAPHY._ - - -“I tell you it’s not good at all,” vociferated a newly-elected -parliamentary representative of some rural locality. “Why my -constituency would recognise me in that portrait. It’s detestable!” - -“It’s excellent!” replied the exasperated photographer. “There’s not a -better photographer than myself in Madrid.” - -“I do doubt it; but it’s clear you have not been successful with me.” - -“But what’s the matter with it?” - -“The matter?... Look at me!... Have I two eyes?” - -“Certainly.” - -“Well, in the photograph there’s only one.” - -“But....” - -“Have I two ears?” - -“Of course, but....” - -“Well, you’ve only given me one too.” - -“But you are taken in profile....” - -“Tut, tut, tut.... Do you take me for a simple rustic? However much I -placed myself in profile, does that prevent my having two eyes and two -ears?” - -(_Aside_) “And very long ones....” (_Aloud_) “But....” - -“Again, is my neck black?” - -“That is the shade....” - -“No imputations, sir! ther nothing shady in me or my political life, -and in my district they will tell you who I am; and if, though I am -mayor, I never served my two years in the militia, why....” - -“But the photograph, the photograph!” - -“The photograph is not like me.” - -“Then you wo take it?” - -“No, sir.” - -“Good; then I shall put it in the window, with the inscription, ‘The -original of this is a cheat.’” - -“You can do it....” - -“Everybody who knows you....” - -“Who would recognise me?... My electors know perfectly well that I have -two eyes and two ears.” - -“Then go, sir, in Heave name.” - -“And to think that people say photography is so true to life!” growled, -as he departed, this father of his country. - -“Number 25,” cried the manservant, putting his head in at the door of -the waiting-room. - -And Number 25, who is not a bad-looking lady, passes through the -corridor and enters the studio. - -The photographer bows, and the following conversation begins:— - -“Sir,” said the lady, “my happiness lies in your hands.” - -“I am very pleased, sure; but I do quite understand....” - -“I am a single lady, sir, as yet single....” - -“Been so long?” - -“What?” - -“I beg your pardon, I mean ... at your service.” - -“I must tell you that a gentleman I do not love wants to marry me -perforce.... He resides at Havana, and I do not wish to have my husband -so far away.” - -“I understand.” - -“Now, tell me, if a man persisted in marrying you from Havana....” - -“The hypothesis is not admissible, mm.” - -“Ah, true! well, if a woman....” - -“There are matters, madam, in which the person interested can alone....” - -“It is true; for this reason, wishing at all costs to break off the -projected marriage, I have determined to send my likeness to my suitor.” - -“Your looks, mm, will captivate him more than ever.” - -“That’s why; ... I wish my likeness not to be my likeness: I want to come -out ugly, very ugly.” - -“That’s impossible, madam; photography always tells the truth.” - -“Do you refuse?” - -“Decidedly. Even if I tried you would not come out ugly.” - -“That’s what my cousin the lieutenant says.” - -“And he’s right.” - -“But I must carry out my plan, and if you will not do it I shall go to -a photographer I saw in the Calle de Francia, where some hideous women -are exhibited.” - -“As you like, madam.” - -The lady withdraws, and the manservant calls out, “Number 26.” - -Number 26 is a stalwart country bumpkin in a russet suit, who, after -entering the studio, is asked if he desires his photograph on a card or -on glass. - -“I want those that cost twelve reals by the notice,” says he. - -“Good. Sit down in that chair.” - -“But it must be exactly like me; I give you warning.” - -“You will see, sir.” - -“And I must appear in the fancy dress I wear at home in our village for -the Carnival.” - -“Have you brought it with you?” - -“No; ought I to have?” - -“Most certainly.” - -“Take me now, and the first time I come to Madrid again I’ll bring the -dress.” - -“Impossible!” - -“Well, I am surprised; to think that....” - -“Come, come, it’s getting late, and other people are waiting for me.” -[_Exit bumpkin._ - -“Number 27.” - - “_Viaje crítico alrededor de la Puerta del Sol._” - - _M. Ossorio y Bernard._ - - - - - _THE OLD CASTILIAN._ - - -Since I have grown older I very seldom care to change the order of my -way of living, which has now been settled a long time, and I base this -repugnance upon the fact that I have never for a single day abandoned -my Lares to break my system without being overtaken by a most sincere -repentance as the presumption of my deluded hopes. Nevertheless a -remnant of the old-fashioned courtesy adopted by our forefathers in -their intercourse obliges me at times to accept certain invitations, -which to refuse would be rudeness, or at least a ridiculous affectation -of delicacy. - -Some days ago I was walking through the streets in search of material -for my articles. Buried in my thoughts, I surprised myself several -times, laughing like a poor wretch at my own fancies, and mechanically -moving my lips. A stumble or so reminded me now and again that to -walk on the pavements of Madrid it is not the best of circumstances -to be either poet or philosopher; more than one malicious smile, more -than one look of wonder from the passers-by, made me reflect that -soliloquies should not be made in public; and when turning corners -not a few collisions with those who turned them as heedlessly as I -made me recognise that the absent-minded are not among the number of -elastic bodies, much less among glorious and impassable beings. Such -being my frame of mind, imagine my sensations upon receiving a horrible -smack which a huge hand attached (it seemed to me) to a brawny arm -administered to one of my shoulders, which unfortunately bear not the -slightest resemblance to those of Atlas! - -Not wishing to make it understood that I would not recognise this -energetic way of announcing on self, nor to rebuff the goodwill, which -doubtless wished to show itself to be more than mediocre by leaving -me crooked for the rest of the day, I was merely about to turn round -to see who was so much my friend as to treat me so badly. But my Old -Castilian is a man who, when he is joking, does not stop half-way. -What? my reader will ask. He gave further proofs of his intimacy and -affection? He clasped his hands tightly over my eyes from behind, -crying out, “Who am I?” bubbling over with delight at the success of -his pretty trick. “Who you are? A brute,” I was about to reply; but -I suddenly remembered who it might be, and substituted the words, -“I Braulio.” Upon hearing me he loosened his hands, held his sides -for laughter, disturbing the whole street, and making us both very -conspicuous. - -“Good, good! How did you recognise me?” - -“Who could it be but you?...” - -“Well, so you’ve come from your dear Biscay?” - -“No, Braulio, I have not come?” - -“Always the same merry humour. What does it matter? I a way we have of -talking in Spain.... Do you know it’s my birthday to-morrow?” - -“I wish you many happy returns of the day.” - -“Oh, no formalities between us; you know a plain fellow and an Old -Castilian, and call a spade a spade; consequently I require no -compliments from you, but consider yourself invited——” - -“To what?” - -“To dine with me.” - -“Impossible.” - -“You must.” - -“I cannot,” I insist, trembling. - -“You ca?” - -“Very many thanks——” - -“Thanks? Very well, my dear friend; as not the Duke of F., or Count P., -of course——” - -Who can resist an attack of this kind? Who cares to appear proud? “It -is not that, but——” - -“Well, if it’s not that,” he breaks in, “I shall expect you at two. We -dine early at my house—Spanish style. I expect a lot of people; there -will be the famous improvisor X.; T. will sing after dinner in his -usual first-rate style; and in the evening J. will play and sing some -trifles.” - -This consoled me somewhat, and I had to give way. “Everybody,” said I -to myself, “has an evil day sometimes. In this world, if one wishes to -preserve friends, one must endure their civilities.” - -“You wo fail, unless you want to quarrel with me?” - -“I shall not fail,” I said in a lifeless voice and low spirits, like a -fox vainly revolving in the trap in which it has allowed itself to be -caught. - -“Then good-bye till to-morrow,” and he gave me a parting slap. - -I watched him go as the sower watches the decreasing cloud of his seed, -and remained wondering how one should take such adverse and fatal -friendships. - - * * * * * - -Two lock arrived. As I knew my friend Braulio, I did not think it -advisable to make myself too fine for his party; that, I am sure, -would have annoyed him; nevertheless I could not dispense with a -light frock-coat and a white pocket-handkerchief as essential for -such birthday festivities. Above all, I dressed myself as slowly as -possible, like the wretched criminal confessing at the foot of the -gallows, who would like to have committed a hundred more sins the which -to confess in order to gain more time. I was invited at two, and I -entered the state-parlour at half-past two. - -I will not dwell on the ceremonious calls made before dinner-time by -an infinite number of visitors, among which were not least all the -officials of his department with their spouses and children, their -cloaks, umbrellas, galoshes, and house-dogs; I will be silent as to the -foolish compliments paid to the head of the family on his birthday, -nor describe the monstrous circle which was formed in the parlour -by the assembly of so many heterogeneous people, discoursing upon -how the weather was about to change, and how the winter is generally -colder than the summer. Let us come to the point: four lock struck, -and we, the invited guests, found ourselves alone. Unluckily for me, -Señor X., who was to have entertained us, being a connoisseur of this -class of invitation, had had the good idea to fall sick that morning; -the celebrated T. found himself opportunely compromised by another -invitation, and the young lady who was to sing and play so well was -hoarse to such a degree that she was appalled lest a single word should -drop from her lips, while she had a rag round one of her fingers. Alas, -for my beguiled expectations! - -“I suppose all who are to dine are here,” exclaimed Don Braulio. “Let -us go to table, my dear.” - -“Wait a bit,” replied his wife in a loud whisper. “Such a lot of -callers prevented my being in the kitchen, and....” - -“But, look, it’s five lock....” - -“Dinner will be ready in a moment....” - -It was five lock when we sat down. - -“Ladies and gentleman,” said our amphitryon, as we staggered into our -respective chairs, “I insist upon your making yourselves quite at home; -we do stand upon ceremony in my house. Oh, Figaro! I want _you_ to be -quite comfortable; you are a poet, and besides, these gentlemen who -know how intimate we are will not be offended if I make an exception of -you; take off your coat; it wo do to stain it.” - -“Why should I stain it?” I replied, biting my lips. - -“Oh, tha all right; I’ll lend you a loose jacket; sorry I have one for -everybody.” - -“I’d sooner not, thank you.” - -“Nonsense! My jacket! Here it is; it will be a little large for you!” - -“But, Braulio....” - -“You must have it—bother etiquette!” and he thereupon pulled off my -coat himself, _velis nolis_, and buried me in a great striped jacket, -through which only my feet and head protruded, and the sleeves of which -would probably not permit me to eat. I thanked him; he thought he was -doing me a favour. - -The days upon which my friend has no visitors he contents himself -with a low table, little more than a cobble bench, because he and his -wife, as he says, what should they want more? From this little table -he carries his food, like water drawn up a well, to his mouth, where -it arrives dripping after its long journey; for to imagine that these -people keep a proper table and eat comfortably every day in the year -is to expect too much. It is easy, therefore, to conceive that the -installations of a large table for a dinner-party was an event in -that house, so much so that a table at which scarcely eight people -could have eaten comfortably had been considered capable of sitting -the whole fourteen of us. We had to sit sideways with one shoulder -towards the dinner, and the elbows of the guests entered on intimate -relationship with each other in the most confiding fashion possible. -They put me as in a place of honour between a child five years old, -raised on some cushions, which I had to arrange every minute, as the -natural restlessness of my youthful neighbour caused them to slip, and -one of those men that occupy in this world the room of three, whose -corpulency rose from the basis of the armchair (the only one) in which -he was sitting as from the point of a needle. The table-napkins which -we silently unfolded were new, for they were just as little commodities -of daily use, and were pulled by these good gentlemen through a -button-hole of their frock-coats to serve as intermediary bodies -between the sauces and their broadcloth. - -“You will have to do penance, gentlemen,” exclaimed our amphitryon as -soon as he had sat down. - -“What ridiculous affectation if untrue,” said I to myself; “and if it -is true, what folly to invite on friends to do penance.” Unfortunately -it was not long before I knew that there was in that expression more -truth than my good Braulio imagined. Interminable and of poor taste -were the compliments with which, upon passing and receiving each dish, -we wearied one another. “Pray help yourself.” “Do me the favour.” “I -could think of it.” “Pass it on to the lady.” “Ah, tha right.” “Pardon -me.” “Thank you.” - -“No ceremony, gentlemen,” exclaimed Braulio, and was the first to dip -his spoon into his plate. - -The soup was followed by an olla, an assortment of the most savoury -impertinences of that most annoying but excellent dish; here was some -meat, there some green stuff; here the dried beans,[13] there the ham; -the chicken to the right, the bacon in the middle, and the Estremaduran -sausage to the left. Then came some larded veal, upon which may the -curse of Heaven alight, and after this another dish, and another and -another and another, half of which were brought over from an hotel, -which will suffice to excuse our praising them, the other half made -at home by their own maid and a Biscayan wench, a help hired for this -festivity, and the mistress of the house, who on such occasions is -supposed to have a hand in everything, and can consequently superintend -nothing properly. - -“You must be indulgent with this dish,” said the latter of some -pigeons, “they are a little burnt.” - -“But, my dear....” - -“I only left them for a moment, and you know what servants are.” - -“What a pity this turkey was not half an hour longer before the fire! -It was put down too late. And do you think that stew is a little -smoked?” - -“What can you expect? A woman ca be everywhere at once.” - -“Oh, thee excellent!” we all exclaimed, leaving the pieces on our -plates—“delicious!” - -“This fish is bad.” - -“Well, they said in the office of the fresh fish delivery that it had -only just arrived; the man there is so stupid!” - -“Where does this wine come from?” - -“Now there yoe wrong, for it’s....” - -“Detestable.” - -These short dialogues were accompanied by a number of furtive glances -from the husband to acquaint his wife of some negligence, and both -tried to give us to understand that they were quite at home in all -those formulæ which in similar cases are reputed correct, and that -all the blunders were the fault of the servants, who can never learn -to wait. But these omissions were so numerous, and looks were of such -little avail, that the husband had recourse to pinches and kicks, -and his wife, who, until the present, had barely succeeded in rising -superior to her spouse’s persecution, now became inflamed in the face, and -had tears in her eyes. - -“Dear madam, do not distress yourself about such trifles,” said her -neighbour. - -“Ah! I assure you I shall not do this kind of thing in the house again; -you do know what it means; another time, Braulio, we’ll dine at the -hotel, and then you’ll not have ...” - -“You, madam, shall do what I ...” - -“Braulio! Braulio!” - -A terrible storm was about to burst; however, all the guests vied with -each other in settling these disputes born of the desire to demonstrate -the greatest refinement, and of which not the smallest components -were Braulio’s mania, and the concluding remark which he again directed -to the assembly with regard to the inutility of ceremony, by which -he understood being properly served and knowing how to eat. Is there -anything more ridiculous than those people who wish to pass for refined -in the depths of the crassest ignorance of social usage, and who, to -favour you, forcibly oblige you to eat and drink, and will not allow -you to do what you like? And why are there people who only care to eat -with a little more comfort on birthdays? - -To add to all this, the child to my left violently knocked against a -dish of ham and tomatoes a saucer of olives, of which one hit one of -my eyes, and prevented me seeing clearly for the rest of the day; the -stout gentleman to my right had taken the precaution to heap up on the -cloth by the side of my bread the crumbs of his own and the bones of -the birds which he had picked; and the guest opposite me, who piqued -himself on his carving, had taken upon himself to make the autopsy of -a capon, or cock, for nobody knew which, and whether by reason of the -advanced age of the victim, or the lack of anatomical science of the -executioner, the joints would not sever. - -“This bird has no joints!” exclaimed the poor wretch, the drops of -perspiration running down his face from his struggles, “for the -carver is the labourer who digs that I may eat,” and then a wonderful -occurrence took place. Upon one of the attacks the fork, as if in -resentment, slipped on the animal, which, thus violently despatched, -took a flight as in its happier days, and then quietly alighted on the -tablecloth, as on a roost in the poultry yard. - -The fright was general, and the alarm reached its climax when a -sauce-boat, impelled by the bird’s wild career, upset, splashing my -snow-white shirt. At this point the carver rose hastily, with a mind -to chase the fugitive fowl, and as he precipitated himself upon it, -a bottle to the right, which he knocked with his arm, abandoning its -perpendicular position, poured out an abundant stream of Valdepeñas[14] -over the capon and the cloth. The wine ran; the uproar increased; salt -was abundantly sprinkled on the top of the wine to save the cloth; to -save the table a napkin was inserted below the cloth, and an eminence -arose on the site of so many ruins. A terrified maid-servant, who was -bidden bear away the capon, now reposing in its own gravy, tilted the -dish as she lifted it over me, and an accursed shower of grease -descended like the dew upon the meadows to leave lasting traces on my -pearl-grey pantaloons. The anguish and confusion of the girl are beyond -bounds; she withdraws, unsuccessful in her excuses, and, turning round, -collides with the waiter, who is carrying a dozen clean plates and a -salver for the dessert wines, and the whole machine comes to the ground -with the most horrible clatter and commotion. - -[Illustration: “TOOK A FLIGHT AS IN ITS HAPPIER DAYS.”] - -“By St. Peter!” roars our host, and a mortal pallor diffused itself -over his features, while a fire broke out on his wif face. “But no -matter; let us continue, friends,” said he, calming down. - -Oh, honest homes where a modest olla and a single dish constitute -the daily happiness of a family, shun the perturbation of a birthday -dinner-party! The custom of eating well and being well served every day -can alone avert similar discomfiture. - -Are there any more disasters? Alas, there are for my miserable self! -Doña Juana, the lady with the black and yellow teeth, holds out to me -from her plate and with her own fork a dainty bit, which I am bound to -accept and swallow; the child diverts himself by shooting cherry-stones -at the eyes of the assembly; Don Leandro makes me taste the delicious -orange, which I had refused, squeezed into his glass, which preserves -the indelible traces of his greasy lips; my fat friend is smoking, and -makes me the flue of his chimney; finally, oh last of miseries! the -clamour and uproar increase, voices already hoarse demand couplets and -stanzas, and Figaro is the only poet present. - -“You must.” “I for you to say something,” they all shout. “Start him -with the first line; let him compose a couplet for each of us.” “I’ll -start him: - - ‘To Don Braulio on this day.’” - -“Gentlemen, for Heave sake!” - -“Ther no getting out of it.” - -“I’ve never improvised in my life.” - -“Do play the bashful.” - -“I shall go.” - -“Lock the door. He sha’n’t leave the room till he recites something.” - -And so I repeat some verses at last, and vomit absurdities, which they -praise, and the smoke, the hubbub, and the purgatory increases. - -Thank Heavens, I succeed in escaping from this new pandemonium. At -last I again breathe the pure air of the street; there are now no more -lunatics, no more Old Castilians around me. - -“Ye gods, I thank you!” I exclaimed, breathing freely like a stag who -has just escaped a dozen dogs and can barely hear their distant barks. -“Henceforward I do not pray for riches, office, or honours. But deliver -me from those houses in which a dinner-party is an event, in which a -decent table is only laid for visitors, in which they think they are -doing you a good turn while they are doing you a bad one, in which -they are over-polite, in which they recite verses, in which there are -children, in which there are fat men, in which, finally, there reigns -the brutal frankness of the Old Castilians! If I fall again by similar -temptations, may I ever lack roast beef, may beefsteaks vanish from -this world, may timbales of macaroni be annihilated, may there be no -turkeys in Perigueux, nor pies in Perigord, may the wines of Bordeaux -dry up, and everybody but myself drink the delicious foam of champagne!” - - _Mariano José de Larra_ (_Figaro_) (1809-1837). - - - - - _A DEMAGOGIC JOURNALIST._ - - -Eleven was striking by the nearest clock; and as the last stroke -vibrated upon Don Liberato Plebist tympanum an instantaneous electric -commotion was transmitted from it to his brain, which made him hastily -sit up in bed and begin to dress. He violently rubbed his eyes with his -knuckles, which, together with the use of his pocket-handkerchief and -four or five loud hollow coughs, sufficed to cause him to regain entire -possession of his senses and natural powers, and shook him out of that -kind of lethargy, or state of doze, which between a deep sleep and -being wide awake occupies the function of a scruple. - -He had fallen asleep with a fixed idea that he must rise early to write -a long, forcible, and brilliant article, and seeing the sun already -so advanced on its course, he jumped out of bed, and made towards -his study in a rich dressing-gown and canvas slippers delicately -embroidered by some feminine hand. He leaned back in an armchair before -a solid mahogany writing-table, pulled the bell loudly three times -by a silken rope; a footman appeared, who placed upon the table the -silver brazier with some large red-hot pieces of charcoal; and then, -when he had demanded breakfast with an imperative manner, and the man -had withdrawn, Don Liberato lit a fragrant Havana, seized it between -his teeth, grasped the pen with his right hand, rested his brow on -his left, and leaning his elbow on the desk and gently tapping his -right foot on the carpet, as if to excite ideas by this slight motion, -remained in this attitude for five minutes, at the end of which he put -his pen to paper and began to write to the following effect:— - -“The incarnate enemies of the unhappy people—those wicked and egoistic -men, who live under the shadow of privileges (_Don Liberato smiled -to himself_) and grow fat with the substance of the poor—take very -good care in all their writings and perorations to speak of nothing -but principles and political questions, more or less metaphysical and -vague, astutely keeping silence when there is any reference to social -questions, upon which is actually based the revolution, which in this -our age agitates Spain, disturbs Europe, and threatens the world.” - -(_Liberato, savouring the sonority of this rounded period, expelled -from his cigar a dense cloud of azure and aromatic smoke ... and -continued writing._) - -“The priority of certain castes, the inequality with which property is -distributed, the malign influence of priesthood, the tyranny of the -rich and potential over the masses, and other thousand obstacles which -oppose the felicity of the people, are those which must be destroyed, -but with regard to which the partisans of abuses ever succeed in -embroiling a discussion. You, unhappy day-labourers, unfortunate -artisans, fathers of a numerous family, who to gain bread for your -unfortunate offspring must abandon your narrow bed at break of day....” - -(_At this moment Don Liberato’s clock struck a quarter to twelve, and the -rays of the noonday sun, penetrating the green curtains, succeeded in -bathing with light the richly furnished room of the journalist, who -went on writing thus_):— - -“You will tell me if what interests you most is to discuss the -preference for this or that method of electing representatives, or, -on the contrary, the monstrous superiority of the potentate swimming -in pleasures, of the sensual sybarite passing the night amidst the -delicacies of the table, while you earn with the sweat of your brow the -bread you must eat soaked in your tears.” - -(_The room door is opened, and Don Liberato’s footman enters carrying -an exquisite china tea-service, with a savoury dish, tea, milk, and -buttered toast. Placing his burden on a small table, covered with a -fine white embroidered cloth, he draws it in the greatest silence -within reach of his master to the right of the desk, and retires -stealthily, so as not to interrupt the sublime composition which -continues multiplying sheets of paper thus wise_):— - -“Ye hungry and naked sons of the unfortunate Spanish people (_The -writer throws away the stump of the Havana, and crams his mouth full -with sweet-bread_) rear your naked and hungry children with anxiety and -fatigue, and rear them to be the slaves of a rich, powerful, and proud -aristocracy....” - -(_Don Liberato again smiles to himself, and devours the rest of the -sweet-bread._) - -“Rear them to till _their_ land, to build _their_ palaces, to weave -_their_ rich clothes, to wrench from the bowels of the earth the -precious metals with which _their_ ostentatious apparel is embroidered, -and _their_ ornaments and furniture covered in scandalous profusion.” - -(_The writer imbibes about a quart of tea, and attacks the buttered -toast._) - -“Rear them that they may be dragged into misery with you, while the -gilded chariots of the great, bearing their mistresses to shows and -pageants, roll by, threatening to run over them, and bespattering them -with mud....” - -“Sir,” said the Gallegan servant, entering timidly. - -“Wha the matter?” replied Don Liberato. - -“They have brought this letter from the lady. It is urgent.” - -Having read the note, he replied thus— - -“Say, ‘very well’ and Domingo, remember to hire a carriage for this -evening at five sharp: and I ca see anybody now, I must get on with my -writing.” - -“This, this is the real evil of society, the pitiful state of which the -present generation aspires to vary by a revolution as glorious as just. -Let those monstrous fortunes be divided and subdivided, let them return -in small capitals to the hands of the poor people who made them. Thus -these terrible scenes of misery will not be seen which are augmented by -the scandalous neglect of the Government for the widows and orphans of -the best servants of the State.” - -“Sir!” - -“What is it now?” - -“The widow of that captain, who comes to see if you....” - -“D—— you and the widow; throw her downstairs, and do open the door to -every beggar.” - -“But there also came....” - -“Who came?—quickly.” - -“A man with cigars, the one who brought that other box.” - -“Here, take these twenty-five dollars, and go to the devil! Let us see -if I can finish my article.” - -“Meanwhile the vile aristocrats keep the people in the most humiliating -servitude, and their condition and treatment is worse than that of -cattle.” - -“Sir.” - -“If you do shut that door, you brute, I’ll throw the ink-bottle at your -head.” - -“The habits of despotism which they have acquired through the course of -centuries....” - -“But, sir, only one word....” - -(_Don Liberato hurls the salver at the poor Gallegan, and then -continues scribbling with the greatest amenity until he comes to the -following words_):— - -“And these errors, upheld by venal journalists....” - -(_Domingo returns to the charge, preceded this time by a man of ugly -appearance, who pays Don Liberato a large sum for a compilation. Having -taken the money, and returned the receipt, he continues_):— - -“And who tells these calumniators that the defence of the people is a -propensity to anarchy; that the severe censure of deeds of despotism -is an act of rebellion; and that the struggle against fanaticism is -unbelief, impiety, and hatred of the sacred religion which we venerate -more than they?” - -“May I go out, sir?” - -“No, no, hang you, and by heavens if you interrupt me again....” - -“It is Sunday, sir, if you remember, and there is only late mass now.” - -“You must do without mass, I require you here.” - -“You must take it on your conscience, sir.” - -“And so I will, you rascal; and I may take a stick too, and send you -to hear mass in the infernal regions, that will stop your being such a -confounded hypocrite.” - - * * * * * - -With this last invective the scene ended between master and man, and -with a few more lines the article of our journalist. The latter, after -having dined sumptuously, passed the evening driving with his mistress, -entered a café, where he spent a dollar or two, calling the waiter a -scoundrel and stupid idiot; went in the night to a gambling-house, -where he parted with ten gold pieces, and returned to bed with the -dawn, forming plans for heartrending articles on the lot of the poor, -and furious declamations against the aristocracy, the rich, and the -Government. - - “_El Estudiante._” _Antonio Maria Segovia._ - - - - -_A CAT CHASE DURING THE SIEGE OF GERONA._ - - -“Siseta,” I said suddenly, “it is a long time since I have seen Pussy, -but I suppose she is wandering about somewhere with her three kittens.” - -“Oh!” she replied sorrowfully, “do you know that Dr. Pablo has done for -the whole family? Poor Pussy! He says the flesh is excellent; but I -think I would rather die of hunger than eat her.” - -“What? he killed Pussy? I never heard about it; and the little kittens -too?” - -“I didn’t like to tell you. The last few days that we have not been at -home, the doctor often came in. One day he knelt down and implored me -to give him something for his sick daughter, for he had no provisions -left or money to buy them. While he was talking one of the kittens -sprang on to my shoulder, and Don Pablo seized it quickly and put -it into his pocket. The next day he came again and offered me his -drawing-room furniture for another kitten, and without awaiting my -answer went into the kitchen, then into the dark lobby, lay in wait and -chased the kitten like a cat after a rat. I had to bathe the scratches -on his face. The third perished in the same way, and then Pussy -disappeared from the house, probably thinking she was not safe.” - -I was meditating upon the desertion of the poor animal, when Don Pablo -suddenly presented himself. He was lean and cadaverous-looking, and had -lost by physical and moral sufferings the kindly expression and gentle -accent which distinguished him. His clothes were disorderly and torn, -and he was carrying a large gun and a hunting-knife. - -“Siseta,” he said abruptly, and forgetting to greet me, although -we had not seen each other for several days. “I know now where that -cunning cat is.” - -“Where is she, Don Pablo?” - -“In the loft the other side of the yard where my corn and straw was -stored when I kept a horse.” - -“Perhaps it is not our Pussy,” said Siseta, in her generous desire to -save the poor animal. - -“Yes, it is, I tell you. She can’t deceive me. The sly thing jumped in -this morning through the pantry window and stole a kitte leg hanging -there. The audacity! and to eat her own children’s flesh too. I must put -an end to her, Siseta. I have already given you a good part of my -furniture for the kittens. I have nothing valuable left except my books -of medicine. Will you have them in exchange for the cat?” - -“Don Pablo, I will take neither furniture nor books, catch Pussy, and, -as we are reduced to such extremities, give part of her to my brothers.” - -“Good. Andres, do you dare chase the animal?” - -“I do think we want such a lot of arms,” I replied. - -“But I do. Let us go.” - - * * * * * - -The doctor and I climbed to the loft, which we entered slowly and -warily, for fear we might be attacked by the ravenous beast, probably -maddened by hunger and the instinct of preservation. Don Pablo, lest -our prey should escape us, closed the door from within and we remained -in almost total darkness, since the feeble light which entered by a -narrow slit of a window merely illumined the immediate obscurity. -Gradually, however, our eyes got accustomed to the murkiness, and we -saw that the room was lumbered with a lot of old and broken furniture; -above our heads floated dense curtains of spider webs covered with -the dust of a century. Then we began to look for the truant; but saw -nothing nor in fact any indication of her presence. I expressed my -doubt to Don Pablo; but he replied— - -“Oh, she’s here. I saw her enter a moment ago.” - -We moved some empty cases, threw on one side some bits of a broken -armchair and a little barrel, and then saw a small body glide away and -leap over the piled-up objects. It was Pussy. We could see in the dark -background her two golden-green eyes, watching the movements of her -persecutors with a fierce inquietude. - -“Do you see her?” said the doctor. “Take my gun and shoot at her.” - -“No,” I replied laughing. “It is not very easy to aim in the dark. The -gun is of no good. Keep on one side and give me your hunting-knife.” - -The two eyes remained motionless in their first position, and that -green and golden light, unlike the irradiation of any other gaze, or -any gem, produced in me a strong impression of terror. I gradually -distinguished the outline of the animal, and the grey and black stripes -on her tawny coat multiplied in my eyes, increasing the size of her -body till she had the proportions of a tiger. I was afraid, why deny -it? and for a moment repented having undertaken such a difficult task. -Don Pablo was more frightened than I, his teeth were chattering. - -We held a council of war, the result of which was that we were to take -the offensive; but when we had recovered a little valour, we heard -a low rumbling, a noise between a dove’s coo and a death-rattle, which -announced Puss hostile disposition. The cat was saying to us in her -language, “Come on, murderers of my children, I am ready for you!” - -She had first adopted a sphinx-like posture, but now cowered together, -her angular head resting on her fore paws, and her eyes changed, -projecting a blue light in vertical rays. Her grim aspect seemed to -glower at us. Then she raised her head, rubbed her paws over her face, -cleaning her long whiskers, and took a few somersaults to descend to a -nearer site, where she crouched in readiness to spring. The muscular -force possessed by these animals in the articulation of their hind paws -is immense, and she could have sprung upon us in one bound. I saw her -looks were directed more especially towards Don Pablo than myself. - -“Andres,” he said, “if you are afraid, I shall attack her. I -disgraceful that such a little animal should make cowards like this of -two men. Yes, Señora Pussy, we shall eat you.” - -It seemed as if the animal heard and understood the threatening words, -for my friend had scarcely pronounced them when she precipitated -herself with lightning speed upon him, alighting on his neck and -shoulders. The struggle was short, and the cat had put into execution -the whole of her offensive power, so that the rest of the combat could -not be otherwise than favourable to us. I hastened to my all defence, -and the animal fell to the ground, carrying away with her claws some -particles of the good doctor’s person and tattooing my right hand. She -then doubled in different directions, but once as she sprang at me, I -had the good luck to receive her on the point of the hunting-knife, -which put an end to the unequal combat. - -“The animal was more formidable than I thought,” said Don Pablo, -putting his hand to his beating heart. - -“Well, doctor,” said I, after a pause, “let us now divide the prey.” - -The doctor pulled a face of profound disgust, and, wiping the blood -from his neck, said in the most aggressive tone I had heard from his -lips— - -“Wha that about dividing? Siseta gave me the cat in exchange for my -books. Do you know my daughter ate nothing yesterday?” - -“Siseta and the children have also eaten nothing,” I replied. - -Don Pablo scratched his head, making ugly contractions with his mouth -and nostrils—and taking the dead animal by the neck, said— - -“Do bother me, Andres. The children can live on any rubbish they pick -up in the street; but my invalid needs better food; do me the favour -not to touch the cat.” - -“Do you mean to say you wo divide the cat? Good, good,” I said, and -advanced towards him. Our hands met; we struggled for a short time and -then the doctor fell and rolled along the floor, leaving me in full -possession of our prey. - -“Thief! thief!” he exclaimed. “Is this the way you rob me? Just wait a -moment!” - -I was picking up our victim to leave the loft. But the doctor ran, or -rather leapt like a cat, to the gun, and aimed it full at me, crying -with a hoarse and tremulous voice— - -“Drop the cat, or I’ll kill you.” - - * * * * * - -“Don Pablo,” said I, “take the cat. You have become a wild beast.” - -Without reply, but showing the horrible agitation of his mind by a -smothered groan, he seized the animal which I had hurled from me, and -opening the door, disappeared. - - _Perez Galdos._ - - - - - _A WELL-WON DISH OF CHERRIES._ - - -Manalet ran away, but he soon came back with a lot of other little -boys, all barefoot, dirty, unkempt, and ragged, and amongst them his -brother Badoret, with Gasparo pickapack, clinging tightly with arms and -legs to his shoulders and waist. All seemed very pleased, especially -Badoret, who was distributing cherries to his companions. - -“Take one, Andres,” said the boy, giving me a cherry. “How did you -think I got them? Well, I’ll tell you. I was going with Gasparo on my -back down the calle del Lobo, when I saw open the gate of the Convent -of the Capuchin Nuns, which is always shut. Gasparo would keep on -asking me for bread and crying, and I gave him little slaps to make -him keep quiet, telling him that if he wouldn’t leave off I would tell -his Excellency the Governor. But when I saw the convent gate open, I -said to myself, ‘there will be something to find here,’and I slipped -in. I crossed the courtyard, and then entered the church and passed -through the choir till I reached a long corridor with a lot of little -rooms, and I didn’t meet a soul. I looked carefully everywhere to see if -I could get anything, but I only came across some candle-ends and two -or three skeins of silk, which I began to chew to see if they gave -any juice. I was thinking of returning to the street, when I heard -behind me, ‘_Ss—t, Ss—t_,’ as if somebody was calling me. I looked, -but I saw nobody. Oh, how afraid I was, Andres! Down at the bottom of -the corridor there was a huge print, in which was a devil with a long -green tail. I thought it was the devil calling me, and began to run. -But, oh dear! I could not find a door, and I went round and round that -horrid corridor, and all the time, ‘_Ss—t_!’ And then I heard some -one say, ‘Little boy, come here,’and I looked at the ceiling and the -walls, until I at last saw behind some bars a white hand and a worn and -wrinkled face. I was not afraid then, and went to it. The nun said to -me, ‘Come, don’t be afraid, I have something to say to you.’I went close -to the grating, and said to her, ‘Pardon me, Señora, I thought you were -the devil.’” - -“Why, it must have been some poor sick nun who could not escape with -the others.” - -“That’s it. The lady said to me, ‘Little boy, how did you come in here? -God has sent you to do me a great service. All the sisters have gone -away. I am ill and a cripple. They wanted to take me, but it grew -late, and so they left me behind. I am very afraid. Is all the town -burnt? Have the French entered? Just now, when I was half asleep, I -dreamt that all the sisters had been beheaded in the slaughter-house, -and that the French were eating them. Boy, would you venture to go, -now at once, to the fort, and give this note to my nephew, Don Alonso -Carrillo, captain of the regiment of Ultonia? If you do so, I will give -you the dish of cherries you see here, and this half loaf.’“Even if -she hadn’t offered them me I would have gone, you know. I seized the note, -she told me where I could get out, and I ran towards the fort. Gasparo -cried more than before, but I said to him, ‘If you don't keep quiet, I’ll -put you in a cannon as if you were a ball, and shoot you away, and you’ll -go rolling amongst the French, who will cook you in a saucepan and eat -you.’ - -“At last I reached the fort. What a lot of firing there! That -down here is nothing to it. The cannon balls whizzed through the air -like a flight of birds. And do you think I was afraid? Not I! Gasparo -went on crying and screaming; but I showed him the flames bursting -from the bombs, and the flashes from the powder-pans, and said, ‘Look, -how pretty! We are going to shoot cannons too now!’ - - “A soldier gave -me a cuff to push me to one side, and I fell on a heap of dead, but I -got up and went straight on. Then the Governor appeared, and grasping -a large black banner he waved it in the air, and then he said that he -would have the first coward hanged. What do you think of that? I went -in front and shouted, ‘Quite right, too!’ ‘Some soldiers told me to go -away, and the women who were looking after the wounded began to abuse -me, asking me why I had taken the baby there. What a crowd of sparks! -They fell like flies, first one, then another. The French wanted to get -in, but we wouldn't let them.” - -“What? You wouldn't?” - -“Yes; the women and our men threw stones from the top of the wall at -the scoundrels who wanted to climb them. I loosened Gasparo, putting -him on the top of a box in which was some powder and cannon-balls, -and I also began to throw stones. And what stones! I threw one which -weighed at least six hundredweight, and hit a Frenchman, doubling him -in two. You ought to have seen it. The French were many, and they -wanted to do nothing else but come into the fort. You should have -seen the Governor, Andresillo! Don Mariano, and I, we sprang in front -... and always went where the soldiers were most hard pressed. I don’t -know what I did, but I did something, Andres. I could not see for -the smoke, nor hear for the noise. Such terrible firing! Into your -very ears, Andres. It makes one quite deaf. I began to shout, calling -them blackguards, thieves, and telling them that Napoleon was a -good-for-nothing. Maybe they didn’t hear me for the noise, but I made them -turn back and a-half. Rather! Well, Andres, not to tire you, I stayed -there until they retreated. The Governor told me he was satisfied—no, -he did not speak to me, he said it to the rest.” - -“But the letter.” - -“I looked for Captain Carrillo—I knew him by sight before—and I met -him at last when all was over. I gave him the paper, and he gave me a -message for the nun. Then, remembering Gasparo, I went to look for him -where I had left him, but he wasn’t there. I began to shout out, ‘Gasparo, -Gasparo!’ but he didn’t answer. At last I saw him under a gun carriage, -rolled up like a little ball, with his fists in his mouth, looking -between the spokes of the wheel, and a large tear in each eye. I put -him on my back and ran to the convent. But now comes the best of it; as -I was going along thinking of battles, and my head full of all I had -seen, I forgot the message the Captain had given me for the nun. She -scolded me, saying that I had torn up the letter, and wanted to deceive -her, and that she couldn’t think of giving me either the cherries or the -bread she had promised. And then she began to grumble, and called me -a bad boy and a beast. One of Gasparo’s toes was bleeding, and the nun -tied a rag round it; but the cherries—not a single one! At last all -was settled, for Captain Carrillo came himself, and she gave me the -cherries and the bread, and I ran out of the convent.” - -“Take the child home to your sister,” I said, noticing that poor Gaspar -foot was still bleeding. - -“I have kept some cherries for Siseta,” he cried. - - * * * * * - -“Oh, I say, boys!” shouted Manalet, running back towards us, “the -Governor is going through the town with a lot of people and banners; -the ladies are singing in front, and the monks dancing, and the bishop -smiling, and the nuns crying. Come along!” - -And like a flock of birds the band of children ran down the street. - - _Gerona_: “_Episodios Nacionales._” _Perez Galdos._ - - - - - _FIRST LOVE._ - - -How old I was then? Eleven or twelve years? More probably thirteen, for -before then is too early to be seriously in love; but I won’t venture to -be certain, considering that in Southern countries the heart matures -early, if that organ is to blame for such perturbations. - -If I do not remember well _when_, I can at least say exactly _how_ my -love first revealed itself. I was very fond—as soon as my aunt had -gone to church to perform her evening devotions—of slipping into her -bedroom and rummaging her chest of drawers, which she kept in admirable -order. Those drawers were to me a museum; in them I always came across -something rare or antique, which exhaled an archaic and mysterious -scent, the aroma of the sandalwood fans which perfumed her white linen. -Pincushions of satin now faded; knitted mittens, carefully wrapped in -tissue paper; prints of saints; sewing materials; a reticule of blue -velvet embroidered with bugles, an amber and silver rosary would appear -from the corners: I used to ponder over them, and return them to their -place. But one day—I remember as well as if it were to-day—in the -corner of the top drawer, and lying on some collars of old lace, I saw -something gold glittering.... I put in my hand, unwittingly crumpled -the lace, and drew out a portrait, an ivory miniature, about three -inches long, in a frame of gold. - -I was struck at first sight. A sunbeam streamed through the window and -fell upon the alluring form, which seemed to wish to step out of its -dark background and come towards me. It was a most lovely creature, -such as I had never seen except in the dreams of my adolescence. The -lady of the portrait must have been some twenty-odd years; she was -no simple maiden, no half-opened rosebud, but a woman in the full -resplendency of her beauty. Her face was oval, but not too long, -her lips full, half-open and smiling, her eyes cast a languishing -side-glance, and she had a dimple on her chin as if formed by the tip -of Cupid’s playful finger. Her head-dress was strange but elegant; a -compact group of curls plastered conewise one over the other covered -her temples, and a basket of braided hair rose on the top of her head. -This old-fashioned head-dress, which was trussed up from the nape -of her neck, disclosed all the softness of her fresh young throat, -on which the dimple of her chin was reduplicated more vaguely and -delicately. As for the dress ... I do not venture to consider whether -our grandmothers were less modest than our wives are, or if the -confessors of past times were more indulgent than those of the present; -I am inclined to think the latter, for seventy years ago women prided -themselves upon being Christianlike and devout, and would not have -disobeyed the director of their conscience in so grave and important -a matter. What is undeniable is, that if in the present day any lady -were to present herself in the garb of the lady of the portrait, there -would be a scandal; for from her waist (which began at her armpits) -upwards, she was only veiled by light folds of diaphanous gauze, -which marked out, rather than covered, two mountains of snow, between -which meandered a thread of pearls. With further lack of modesty she -stretched out two rounded arms worthy of Juno, ending in finely-moulded -hands ... when I say _hands_ I am not exact, for, strictly speaking, -only one hand could be seen, and that held a richly embroidered -handkerchief. - -Even to-day I am astonished at the startling effect which the -contemplation of that miniature produced upon me, and how I remained -in ecstasy, scarcely breathing, devouring the portrait with my eyes. I -had already seen here and there prints representing beautiful women: -it often happened that in the illustrated papers, in the mythological -engravings of our dining-room, or in a shop-window, that a beautiful -face, or a harmonious and graceful figure attracted my precociously -artistic gaze; but the miniature encountered in my aunt’s drawer, apart -from its great beauty, appeared to me as if animated by a subtle and -vital breath; you could see it was not the caprice of a painter, but -the image of a real and actual person of flesh and blood. The warm -and rich tone of the tints made you surmise that the blood was tepid -beneath that mother-of-pearl skin. The lips were slightly parted to -disclose the enamelled teeth; and to complete the illusion there ran -round the frame a border of natural hair, chestnut in colour, wavy and -silky, which had grown on the temples of the original. As I have said, -it was more than a copy, it was the reflection of a living person from -whom I was only separated by a wall of glass.... I seized it, breathed -upon it, and it seemed to me that the warmth of the mysterious deity -communicated itself to my lips and circulated through my veins. At this -moment I heard footsteps in the corridor. It was my aunt returning -from her prayers. I heard her asthmatic cough, and the dragging of her -gouty feet. I had only just time to put the miniature into the drawer, -shut it, and approach the window, adopting an innocent and indifferent -attitude. - -My aunt entered noisily, for the cold of the church had exasperated -her catarrh, now chronic. Upon seeing me, her wrinkled little eyes -brightened, and giving me a friendly tap with her withered hand, she -asked me if I had been turning over her drawers as usual. - -Then, with a chuckle— - -“Wait a bit, wait a bit,” she added, “I have something for you, -something you will like.” - -And she pulled out of her vast pocket a paper bag, and out of the bag -three or four gum lozenges, sticking together in a cake, which gave me -a feeling of nausea. - -My aunt’s appearance did not invite one to open one’s mouth and devour -these sweets: the course of years, her loss of teeth, her eyes dimmed -to an unusual degree, the sprouting of a moustache or bristles on -her sunken-in mouth, which was three inches wide, dull grey locks -fluttering above her sallow temples, a neck flaccid and livid as the -crest of the turkey when in a good temper.... In short, I did not take -the lozenges. Ugh! A feeling of indignation, a manly protest rose in -me, and I said forcibly— - -“I do not want it, I don’t want it.” - -“You don’t want it? What a wonder! You who are greedier than a cat!” - -“I am not a little boy,” I exclaimed, drawing myself up, and standing -on tip-toes; “I don’t care for sweets.” - -My aunt looked at me half good-humouredly and half ironically, and at -last, giving way to the feeling of amusement I caused her, burst out -laughing, by which she disfigured herself, and exposed the horrible -anatomy of her jaws. She laughed so heartily that her chin and nose -met, hiding her lips, and emphasising two wrinkles, or rather two deep -furrows, and more than a dozen lines on her cheeks and eyelids; at the -same time her head and body shook with the laughter, until at last her -cough began to interrupt the bursts, and between laughing and coughing -the old lady involuntarily spluttered all over my face.... Humiliated, -and full of disgust, I escaped rapidly thence to my mother’s room, where I -washed myself with soap and water, and began to muse on the lady of the -portrait. - -And from that day and hour I could not keep my thoughts from her. As -soon as my aunt went out, to slip into her room, open the drawer, bring -out the miniature, and lose myself in contemplation, was the work of -a minute. By dint of looking at it, I fancied that her languishing -eyes, through the voluptuous veiling of her eyelashes, were fixed in -mine, and that her white bosom heaved. I became ashamed to kiss her, -imagining she would be annoyed at my audacity, and only pressed her -to my heart or held her against my cheek. All my actions and thoughts -referred to the lady; I behaved towards her with the most extraordinary -refinement and super-delicacy. Before entering my aunt’s room and opening -the longed-for drawer, I washed, combed my hair, and tidied myself, -as I have seen since is usually done before repairing to a love -appointment. I often happened to meet in the street other boys of my -age, very proud of their slip of a sweetheart, who would exultingly -show me love-letters, photographs, and flowers, and who asked me if I -hadn’t a sweetheart with whom to correspond. A feeling of inexplicable -bashfulness tied my tongue, and I only replied with an enigmatic and -haughty smile. And when they questioned me as to what I thought of -the beauty of their little maidens, I would shrug my shoulders and -disdainfully call them _ugly mugs_. One Sunday I went to play in the -house of some little girl-cousins, really very pretty, and the elder of -whom was not yet fifteen. - -We were amusing ourselves looking into a stereoscope, when suddenly one -of the little girls, the youngest, who counted twelve summers at most, -secretly seized my hand, and in some confusion and blushing as red as a -brazier, whispered in my ear— - -“Take this.” - -At the same time I felt in the palm of my hand some thing soft and -fresh, and saw that it was a rosebud with its green foliage. The little -girl ran away smiling and casting a side-glance at me; but I, with a -Puritanism worthy of Joseph, cried out in my turn— - -“Take this!” - -And I threw the rosebud at her nose, a rebuff which made her tearful -and pettish with me the whole afternoon, and which she has not pardoned -me even now, though she is married and has three children. - -The two or three hours which my aunt spent morning and evening together -at church being too short for my admiration of the entrancing portrait, -I resolved at last to keep the miniature in my pocket, and went about -all day hiding myself from people just as if I had committed a crime. I -fancied that the portrait from the depth of its prison of cloth could -see all my actions, and I arrived at such a ridiculous extremity, that -if I wanted to scratch myself, pull up my sock, or do anything else -not in keeping with the idealism of my chaste love, I first drew out -the miniature, put it in a safe place, and then considered myself free -to do whatever I wanted. In fact, since I had accomplished the theft, -there was no limit to my vagaries; at night I hid it under the pillow, -and slept in an attitude of defence; the portrait remained near the -wall, I outside, and I awoke a thousand times, fearing somebody would -come to bereave me of my treasure. At last I drew it from beneath the -pillow and slipped it between my nightshirt and left breast, on which -the following day could be seen the imprint of the chasing of the frame. - -The contact of the dear miniature gave me delicious dreams. The lady of -the portrait, not in effigy, but in her natural size and proportions, -alive, graceful, affable, beautiful, would come towards me to conduct -me to her palace by a rapid and flying train. With sweet authority -she would make me sit on a stool at her feet, and would pass her -beautifully moulded hand over my head, caressing my brow, my eyes, and -loose curls. I read to her out of a big missal, or played the lute, and -she deigned to smile, thanking me for the pleasure which my reading and -songs gave her. At last romantic reminiscences overflowed in my brain, -and sometimes I was a page, and sometimes a troubadour. - -With all these fanciful ideas, the fact is, that I began to grow thin -quite perceptibly, which was observed with great disquietude by my -parents and my aunt. - -“In this dangerous and critical age of development, everything is -alarming,” said my father, who used to read books of medicine, and -anxiously studied my dark eyelids, my dull eyes, my contracted and pale -lips, and above all, the complete lack of appetite which had taken -possession of me. - -“Play, boy; eat, boy,” he would say to me, and I replied to him -dejectedly— - -“I don’t feel inclined.” - -They began to talk of distractions, offered to take me to the theatre; -stopped my studies, and gave me foaming new milk to drink. Afterwards -they poured cold water over my head and back to fortify my nerves; and -I noticed that my father at table or in the morning when I went to -his bedroom to bid him good morning, would gaze at me fixedly for some -little time, and would sometimes pass his hand down my spine, feeling -the vertebræ. I hypocritically lowered my eyes, resolved to die rather -than confess my crime. As soon as I was free from the affectionate -solicitude of my family, I found myself alone with my lady of the -portrait. At last, to get nearer to her, I thought I would do away -with the cold crystal. I trembled upon putting this into execution; -but at last my love prevailed over the vague fear with which such a -profanation filled me, and with skilful cunning I succeeded in pulling -away the glass and exposing the ivory plate. As I pressed my lips -to the painting and could scent the slight fragrance of the border -of hair, I imagined to myself even more realistically that it was a -living person whom I was grasping with my trembling hands. A feeling of -faintness overpowered me, and I fell unconscious on the sofa, tightly -holding the miniature. - -When I came to my senses I saw my father, my mother, and my aunt, all -bending anxiously over me; I read their terror and alarm in their -faces: my father was feeling my pulse, shaking his head, and murmuring— - -“His pulse is nothing but a flutter, you can scarcely feel it.” - -My aunt, with her claw-like fingers was trying to take the portrait -from me, and I was mechanically hiding it and grasping it more firmly. - -“But, my dear boy.... Let go, you are spoiling it!” she exclaimed. “Do -you see you are smudging it? I am not scolding you, my dear.... I will -show it to you as often as you like, but don’t destroy it; let go, you are -injuring it.” - -“Let him have it,” begged my mother, “the boy is not well.” - -“Of all things to ask!” replied the old maid. “Let him have it! And -who will paint another like this ... or make me as I was then? To-day -nobody paints miniatures ... it is a thing of the past, and I also am a -thing of the past, and I am not what is represented there!” - -My eyes dilated with horror; my fingers released their hold on the -picture. I don’t know how I was able to articulate— - -“You ... the portrait ... is you...?” - -“Don’t you think I am as pretty now, boy? Bah! one is better looking -at twenty-three than at ... than at ... I don’t know what, for I have -forgotten how old I am!” - -My head drooped and I almost fainted again; anyway, my father lifted me -in his arms on to the bed, and made me swallow some tablespoons of port. - - * * * * * - -I recovered very quickly, and never wished to enter my aunt’s room again. - - _Emilia Pardo Bazan_ (_Nineteenth Century_). - - - - - _THE ACCOUNT BOOK._ - - A RURAL TALE. - - -Gaffer Buscabeatas was already beginning to stoop at the time when the -events occurred which I am going to relate; for he was now sixty years -old, and of these sixty years he had spent forty cultivating a garden -bordering on the shore of La Costilla. - -In the year in question he had cultivated in this garden some wonderful -pumpkins, as large as the ornamental globes on the breastwork of some -massive bridge, that at the time of our story were beginning to turn -yellow, inside and out, which is the same as saying that it was the -middle of June. Old Buscabeatas knew by heart the particular form and -the stage of maturity at which it had arrived of every one of these -pumpkins, to each of which he had given a name, and especially of the -forty largest and finest specimens, which were already crying out, -“Cook me!” and he spent the days contemplating them affectionately, and -saying in melancholy accents— - -“Soon we shall have to part!” - -At last, one evening, he made up his mind to the sacrifice, and marking -out the best fruits of those beloved vines which had cost him so many -anxieties, he pronounced the dreadful sentence— - -“To-morrow,” he said, “I shall cut from their stalks these forty -pumpkins and take them to the market at Cadiz. Happy the man who shall -eat of them!” - -And he returned to his home with slow step and spent the night in such -anguish as a father may be supposed to feel on the eve of his daughter’s -wedding-day. - -“What a pity to have to part from my dear pumpkins!” he would sigh from -time to time in his restless vigil. But presently he would reason with -himself and end his reflections by saying, “And what else can I do but -sell them? That is what I have raised them for. The least they will -bring me is fifteen dollars!” - -Judge, then, what was his consternation, what his rage and despair, on -going into the garden on the following morning, to find that during -the night he had been robbed of his forty pumpkins! Not to weary the -reader, I will only say that his emotion, like that of Shakespeare’s Jew, -so admirably represented, it is said, by the actor Kemble, reached the -sublimity of tragedy as he frantically cried— - -“Oh, if I could but find the thief! If I could but find the thief!” - -Poor old Buscabeatas presently began to reflect upon the matter with -calmness, and comprehended that his beloved treasures could not be in -Rota, where it would be impossible to expose them for sale without risk -of their being recognised, and where, besides, vegetables bring a very -low price. - -“I know as well as if I saw them, that they are in Cadiz!” he ended. -“The scoundrel! the villain! the thief must have stolen them between -nine and ten o’clock last night, and got off with them at midnight on the -freight-boat. I shall go to Cadiz this morning on the hour-boat, and it -will surprise me greatly if I do not catch the thief there, and recover -the children of my toil.” - -After he had thus spoken, he remained for some twenty minutes longer on -the scene of the catastrophe, whether to caress the mutilated vines, to -calculate the number of pumpkins that were missing, or to formulate a -declaration of the loss sustained, for a possible suit; then, at about -eight o’clock, he bent his steps in the direction of the wharf. - -The hour-boat was just going to sail. This was a modest coaster which -leaves Cadiz every morning at nine lock precisely, carrying passengers, -as the freight-boat leaves Cadiz every night at twelve, laden with -fruits and vegetables. - -The former is called the hour-boat because in that space of time, and -occasionally even in forty minutes, if the wind is favourable, it makes -the three leagues which separate the ancient village of the Duke of -Arcos from the ancient city of Hercules. - - * * * * * - -It was, then, half-past ten in the morning on the before-mentioned day, -when old Buscabeatas passed before a vegetable-stand in the market of -Cadiz, and said to the bored policeman who was accompanying him— - -“Those are my squashes! arrest that man!” and he pointed to the vendor. - -“Arrest me!” cried the vendor, astonished and enraged. “These squashes -are mine; I bought them!” - -“You will have to prove that before the judge!” answered old -Buscabeatas. - -“I say No!” - -“I say Yes!” - -“Thief!” - -“Vagabond!” - -“Speak more civilly, you ill-mannered fellows! Decent men ought not to -treat one another in that way!” said the policeman tranquilly, giving a -blow with his closed fist to each of the disputants. - -By this time a crowd had gathered, and there soon arrived also on the -scene the inspector of public markets. - -The policeman resigned his jurisdiction in the case to his Honour, and -when this worthy official had learned all the circumstances relating to -the affair, he said to the vendor majestically— - -“From whom did you purchase those squashes?” - -“From Gossip Fulano, a native of Rota,” answered the person thus -interrogated. - -“It could be no one else!” cried old Buscabeatas. “He is just the one -to do it! When his own garden, which is a very poor one, produces -little, he takes to robbing the gardens of his neighbours!” - -“But, admitting the supposition that forty pumpkins were stolen from -you last night,” said the inspector, turning to the old gardener and -proceeding with his examination, “how do you know that these are -precisely your pumpkins?” - -“How?” replied old Buscabeatas. “Because I know them as well as you -know your daughters, if you have any! Don’t you see that they have grown -up under my care? Look here: this one is called Roly-poly, this one -Fat-cheeks, this one Big-belly, this one Ruddy-face, this Manuela, -because it reminded me of my youngest daughter.” - -And the poor old man began to cry bitterly. - -“That may be all very well,” replied the inspector; “but it is -not enough for the law that you should recognise your pumpkins. -It is necessary also that the authorities be convinced of the -pre-existence of the article in dispute, and that you identify it with -incontrovertible proofs; gentlemen, there is no occasion for you to -smile—I know the law!” - -“You shall see, then, that I will very soon prove to the satisfaction -of everybody present, without stirring from this spot, that these -pumpkins have grown in my garden!” said old Buscabeatas, to the no -little surprise of the spectators of this scene. And laying down on -the ground a bundle which he had been carrying in his hand, he bent -his knees until he sat upon his heels, and quietly began to untie the -knotted corners of the handkerchief. - -The curiosity of the inspector, the vendor, and the chorus was now at -its height. - -“What is he going to take out of that handkerchief?” they said to -themselves. - -At this moment a new spectator joined the crowd, curious to see what -was going on, whom the vendor had no sooner perceived than he exclaimed— - -“I am very glad that you have come, Gossip Fulano! This man declares -that the squashes which you sold me last night, and which are now here -present, listening to what we are saying about them, were stolen. -Answer, you!” - -The newcomer turned as yellow as wax, and made a movement as if to -escape, but the bystanders detained him by force, and the inspector -himself ordered him to remain. As for Gaffer Buscabeatas, he had -already confronted the supposed thief, saying to him— - -“Now you are going to see something good.” - -Gossip Fulano, recovering his self-possession, answered— - -“It is you who ought to see what you are talking about, for if you do -not prove, as prove you cannot, your accusation, I shall have you put -in prison for libel. These pumpkins were mine. I cultivated them, like -all the others that I brought this year to Cadiz, in my garden, the -Egido, and no one can prove to the contrary!” - -“Now you shall see!” repeated old Buscabeatas, loosening the knots of -the handkerchief and spreading out its contents on the ground. - -And there were scattered over the floor a number of fragments of -pumpkin stalks, still fresh and dripping sap, while the old gardener, -seated on his heels and unable to control his laughter, addressed the -following discourse to the inspector and the wondering bystanders. - -“Gentlemen, have any of you ever paid taxes? If you have, you must have -seen the big green book of the collector, from which he tears off your -receipt, leaving the stub or end, so as to be able to prove afterward -whether the receipt is genuine or not.” - -“The book you mean is called the account-book,” said the inspector -gravely. - -“Well, that is what I have here—the account-book of my garden; that is -to say, the stalks to which these pumpkins were attached before they -were stolen from me. And in proof of what I say, look here! This stalk -belongs to this pumpkin; no one can doubt it. This other—you can see -for yourselves—belonged to this other. This is thicker—it must belong -to this one. This to that one. This to that other.” - -And as he spoke he went fitting a stub or peduncle to the hole which -had been made in each pumpkin as it was pulled from the stalk, and the -spectators saw with surprise that the irregular and capricious shaped -ends of the peduncles corresponded exactly with the whitish circles -and the slight hollows presented by what we might call the cicatrices -of the pumpkins. - -Every one present, including the policeman, and even the inspector -himself, then got down on their heels and began to help old Buscabeatas -in his singular comprobation, crying out with childlike delight— - -“He is right! he is right! There is not a doubt of it! Look! This -belongs to this one. This to that one. That one there belongs to this. -This belongs to that!” And the bursts of laughter of the grown people -were mingled with the whistling of the boys, the abuse of the women, -the tears of joy and triumph of the old gardener, and the pushes that -the policeman gave to the convicted thief, as if they were impatient to -carry him off to prison. - -Needless to say that the policeman had that pleasure; that Gossip -Fulano was immediately compelled to restore to the vendor the fifteen -dollars he had received from him, that the vendor handed these over -at once to Gaffer Buscabeatas, and that the latter departed for Rota, -highly delighted, although he kept repeating all the way home— - -“How handsome they looked in the market! I should have brought Manuela -back with me to eat at supper to-night, and save the seeds.” - -“_Moors and Christians, and other Tales._” _Pedro Antonio de Alarcon_ -(1833-1891). _Trans. Mary J. Serrano._ - - - - - _SISTER SAINT SULPICE._ - - - SISTER SULPICE (_Gloria, by her mundane name_), _a novice about to - quit the convent for the world, against her mother, Doña Tula’s, - wish_. - - SISTER MARIA DE LA LUZ, _cousin to Sister Sulpice, and also a - novice_. - - THE MOTHER SUPERIOR FLORENTINA. - - PACA, _Glori foster-sister_. - - DON CEFERINO, _native of Galicia_. - - DON PACO, _landlord of the Fonda Continental_. - - - I. AT THE MARMOLEYO SPA. - -Along a gentle slope, over which was intended to be a high-road, we -descended to the spring which gushes out in the very middle of the -river Guadalquivir, which comes circling around the brow of the sierra. -There is a gallery or bridge which leads from the shore to the spring. -Across it were gravely walking two or three persons, who, by their -wandering and vacant looks, showed that they were perhaps paying more -attention to the contents of their stomachs than to the discourse and -steps of their companions. From time to time they hastened to the -spring, descended the steps, asked for a glass of water, and drank -it eagerly, shutting their eyes with a kind of pleasurable emotion, -suggesting the hope of health. - -“Have you been taking much of the water, Mother?” asked my landlord, -leaning over the railing of the well. - -A short, plump nun, who appeared to be dropsical, and had a small red -nose, raised her head just as she was about to put the glass to her -lips. - -“Good morning, Señor Paco.... I have had only four glasses so far. -Would you like a little to increase your appetite?” - -That greatly delighted my landlord. - -“Increase my appetite, eh? Give me something to reduce it, rather! that’s -what I should prefer.... And the Sisters?” - -Two young nuns, not at all ill-favoured, who were standing beside the -other with their heads raised towards us, smiled politely. - -“The same as always; two little sips,” rejoined one of them, who had -lively black eyes, and spoke with a downright Andalusian accent, and -displayed an elegant set of teeth. - -“How little!” - -“Why, surely you would not wish to make our stomachs ponds for -anchovies, would you, like the Mother’s?” - -“Anchovies?” - -“Yes, Cadiz anchovies. You have only to cast the net.” - -The Mother’s dropsical form was shaken violently by a laughing fit. The -anchovies swimming in her stomach, according to the young nun, must -have thought that they were exposed to an earthquake. - -We all laughed and went down to the spring. As we came near the -Mother, she greeted me with an affectionate smile. I bent low, took -the crucifix which hung from her girdle, and kissed it. The nun smiled -still more tenderly, and looked at me with an expression of generous -sympathy. - -Let us be explicit: if this book is to be an honest history or -confession of my life, it is my duty to declare that by the act of -bending over to kiss the metal crucifix, I do not think that I was -actuated by any mystic impulse, rather, I suspect, that the pretty -Sister’s black eyes shrewdly fixed upon me had a very active part in it. -Perhaps, without being aware of it, I desired to ingratiate myself with -those eyes. And the truth is that I failed in my attempt; because, -instead of showing that she was flattered by such an act of devotion, -it seemed to me that they assumed a slight expression of mockery. I was -a bit confused. - -“Has the gentleman come to take the waters?” asked the Mother half -directly, half indirectly. - -“Yes, señora, I have just arrived from Madrid.” - -“They are wonderful! The Lord our God has given them a virtue which is -almost beyond belief. You will see how they develop the appetite. You -will eat as much as you possibly can, and it will not hurt you.... You -see, I can say I am a different woman, and it is only a week since we -came.... Just imagine! yesterday I ate pig’s liver, and it did not hurt me -at all.... Then this young girl,” she added, pointing to the black-eyed -Sister: “I can’t tell you what a colour she had! She was as pale as ashes. -To be sure she hasn’t much colour yet, but, ... there now, ... that is -another thing.” - -I looked at her closely, and noticed that she was blushing, though she -instantly turned her back to get another glass of water. - -She was a young woman of nineteen or twenty, of average height, with an -oval face of a pale brunette, her nose slightly “tip-tilted,” her teeth -white and close, and her eyes, as I have already said, of an intense -and velvety black, shaded by long lashes, and bordered by a slight pink -circle. Her hair was entirely covered from sight by the hood that bound -her forehead. She was dressed in black serge, with a girdle around her -waist, from which hung a large bronze crucifix. On her head, beside the -hood, she wore a great white _papalina_, or “coronet,” with stiffly -starched flaps. Her shoes were large and coarse, but could not wholly -disguise the grace of her dainty Southern foot. - -The other Sister was likewise young, perhaps even younger than -the first, as well as shorter in stature, and with a lily-white -face, showing under the transparent skin an exceedingly lymphatic -temperament; her eyes were clear blue, her teeth somewhat faulty. By -the purity and correctness of her features, and likewise by her quiet -manners, she looked like a Virgin of painted wood. She kept her eyes -constantly fixed upon the ground, and did not open her lips during the -short moments that we were together there. - -“Come, drink, señor, prove the Divine grace,” said the Mother. - -I took the glass which the Sister with the white teeth had just laid -down, and proceeded to fill it with water, since the attendant had -disappeared through a trap-door; but in doing so I had to lean on the -rock, and when I bent over to dip the glass into the pool I slipped, -and my foot went in above my ankle. - -“Be careful!” simultaneously cried my landlord and the Mother, as is -always said after one has met with any accident. - -I drew out my foot with the water spurting from my shoe, and could not -refrain from a rather energetic exclamation. - -The Mother was disturbed, and hastened to ask me with a grave face— - -“Did it hurt you?” - -The little Sister of the transparent skin blushed up to her ears. The -other began to laugh so heartily, that I gave her a quick and not very -affectionate look. But she paid no heed to it; she continued to laugh, -although, in order not to meet my eyes, she turned her face the other -way. - -“Sister San Sulpicio, remember that it is a sin to laugh at another’s -misfortunes,” said the Mother. “Why do you not imitate Sister Maria de -la Luz?” - -The latter was blushing like a poppy. - -“I can’t help it, Mother, I cannot; excuse me,” she replied, endeavouring, -but without success, to contain herself. - -“Let her laugh; the truth is, the thing is more ludicrous than -serious,” said I, affecting good-humour though angry at heart. - -These words, instead of inciting the Sister, had the opposite effect, -and she quickly grew calm. I looked at her now and then, with a -curiosity mingled with annoyance. She returned my look with a frank and -smiling eye, in which still lurked a trace of mockery. - -“You must change your shoes and stockings as quick as you can; getting -the feet wet is very bad,” said the Mother with interest. - -“Pshaw! I shall not change them till night. I am accustomed to go all -day with my feet soaking,” said I, in a scornful tone of voice, putting -on a show of robustness, which, unfortunately, I am very far from being -blessed with. But it pleased me to affect bravado before the smiling -nun. - -“By all means ... go, go home and take off your stocking. We are going -to walk across the gallery to see if the water is going down. May the -Lord our God bless you!” - -I once more made a low bow and kissed the Mother’s crucifix. I did the -same with Sister Maria’s, who, of course, blushed again. As to Sister San -Sulpicio’s I refrained from touching it. I merely bowed low with a grave -face. Thus should she learn not to laugh at people when they get wet. - - - II. IN SEVILLE. - -... When I returned to my boarding-house to dinner, I found Paca -waiting at the door to give me a letter. I did not care to open it -before the messenger, and tried to dismiss her as soon as possible. -But the worthy woman was too happy over her señorita’s escape from the -convent, not to chatter for a while. Both interested and impatient, -I was treated to all the particulars; how Doña Tula had gone to get -Gloria in her carriage; how abominably they had behaved towards her at -the convent, no one except the chaplain coming to bid her good-bye; how -happy her señorita felt to take off her nun’s dress; how glad every one -was to see her “so bright and chipper!” and all the insignificant words -which they had exchanged in their talk. - -At last she went away, and I hastened to my room, nervously lighted my -candle, and opened the note. - -“I am out of the convent,” it read. “If you wish to receive the -promised scolding, pass in front of my house at eleven o’clock. I will be -at the grating, and we will have a talk.” - -The keen joy produced in me by that letter may be imagined. All my -dreams were coming true at once. Gloria loved me, and was giving me a -rendezvous, and this rendezvous was singularly attractive to a poet and -a man of the North by being at the grating! - -The grating—_la reja_![15] Does not this word exert a strange -fascination? does it not awake in fancy a swarm of vague, sweet -thoughts, as though it were the symbol and centre of love and poesy? -Who is there with so little imagination as never to have dreamed of a -talk with a loved one through the grating on a moonlight night? These -talks and these nights have, moreover, the incalculable advantage that -they can be described without an actual experience of them. There is -not a lyrical mosquito among all those that hum and buzz in the central -or septentrional provinces of Spain who has not given expression to -his feelings concerning them, and framed a more or less harmonious -structure with the sweet notes of the guitar, the scents of tube-roses, -the moonlight scattering its delicate filaments of silver over the -windows, the heavens bespangled with stars, the orange flowers, the -maiden’s fascinating eyes, her warm perfumed breath, &c. - -I myself, as a descriptive poet and colourist, have on more than -one occasion, to the applause of my friends, jumbled together these -commonplaces of Andalusian æsthetics. - -But now the reality far exceeded and differed from this poetic -conventionalism. For the time being, as I entered the Calle de Argote -de Molina, at eleven o’clock, I failed to notice whether moon and stars -were shining in the sky or not. It is quite possible that they were, -for such things are natural; but I did not notice. What could be seen -with perfect distinctness was the watchman with pike and lantern -leaning up against a door not very far from Gloria’s. - -“Shall I have to wait till this fellow goes off?” I asked myself with a -sudden pang of fear. - -Fortunately, after a little while I saw him start away from that place -and move up the street. - -Moreover, I went to the trysting-place without guitar or cloak, merely -with a jonquil in my hand, and wearing a plain and inoffensive jacket. -Neither did I go mounted on a fiery steed, black, dappled, or sorrel; -but on my own wretched legs, which certainly trembled all too violently -as I approached the windows of the house. In one of them I saw the -gleam of a white object, and I hastened to tap on the grating. - -“Gloria!” I said in a very low voice. - -“Here I am,” replied the girl’s voice. - -At the same instant her graceful bare head bent over toward the -grating, and I saw the gleam of her little white teeth with that same -bewitching and mocking smile which was so delineated on my heart. I saw -her dark velvety eyes shining. As though I were in the presence of a -supernatural apparition, I stood motionless with both hands clenching -the grating. I found nothing more to say than— - -“Còmo sigue V.” “How do you do?” - -That ordinary formula of every-day courtesy did not seem to arouse any -sad ideas in her, for I saw her put her hand to her mouth to hide a -laugh. After a brief silence, she replied— - -“Well; and you?” - -“How I have longed for this moment to arrive!” I exclaimed, realising -that I was not “in situation,” as they say in the theatres. “Can you -not imagine the eagerness with which I have been waiting for it, -Gloria?...” - -“And why should you have been anxious for it?” - -“Because my heart was tormented with the desire to tell you how I -worship you.” - -“That indeed is news! Why, my son, you have repeated it in the nine -letters you have written me, forty-one times.... I counted them!” - -“Then it was so as to tell you so the forty-second time. What is taking -place between us, Gloria, seems to me just like a novel. It is not -three months that I have known you, and yet it seems to me as if I had -lived three years since then. What a change! How it has altered our -lives! You were a nun, and now I see you transformed into a perfect -young lady of the world.” - -“So you really find that I am perfect?” - -“Exquisite!” - -“A thousand thanks. What would it be if you were to see me!” - -“I do see you ... not very well, but sufficient to make me realise what -a favourable change.” - -Up to a certain point that was true. Although the darkness that -prevailed in that corner did not allow me to make out her features, I -could see the outline of her graceful head, adorned with waving hair, -and when she bent it over a little toward the grating, the dim light of -the street shone into her face, which seemed to me paler than when she -was at Marmolejo, though not less lovely. - -A moment of silence ensued, and, embarrassed by it, I said at last— - -“Is this your chamber?” - -“This is not a chamber, it is the reception-room.” - -“Ah!” - -And again silence fell. - -I noticed that her eyes were fastened upon me, and, if the truth -be told, I could not deceive myself into thinking that they were -overflowing with love, but rather that they displayed a mischievous -curiosity. - -“O Gloria, if you only knew how sadly those days passed for me when I -got no word from you! I believed that you had forgotten me.” - -“I never forget my good friends. Besides, I had promised you one thing, -and I should certainly not wish to fail of fulfilling my promise.” - -“What was it?” - -“Do you remember?—the scolding....” - -“Oh, yes,” I exclaimed, laughing. - -And, encouraged by these words, I felt that I ought to have my love -affairs put upon a definite basis, and I said— - -“Well, then, Gloria, I have come for nothing else than to have you -undeceive me if I am under a false impression, or else confirm my -hopes of being loved if they have any foundation. Since I have already -repeated forty-one times that I adore you, as you say, I need not say -it again. Ever since I have seen you and talked with you at Marmolejo, -you have kept me a willing prisoner of love and admiration. My fate -is in your hands, and I wait with the greatest anxiety to hear my -sentence.” - -Gloria paused a few moments before she answered; then she coughed a -little, and finally said— - -“The fatal moment has arrived. Prepare for the worst.... Señor Don -Ceferino, I should not tell the truth if I gave you to understand that -from the first day I talked with you at Marmolejo, I did not perceive -that you were courting me. Further, I believe that the kiss which you -gave Mother Florentina’s crucifix, the first time we saw each other, you -gave me in my honour.... You laugh? Well, it shows that I was not -deceived. Those gallantries of yours have caused me some annoyances, -but I cherish no hard feelings against you. Sooner or later I had to -let the thunder burst, for I had made up my mind not to stay in the -convent, even though I had to go out to service. Then you greatly aided -me in accomplishing my wishes, and for this I am very grateful.... But -gratitude is one thing and love is another. So far I have not been able -to reciprocate your love. I esteem you ... I like you, and I shall -never forget how kind you have been to me; but I speak frankly, I -cannot have you live longer labouring under a mistake. I will be your -sincere and affectionate friend.... Your betrothed I cannot be.” - -It is absolutely impossible for me to give any idea of my state of -mind on hearing those words. They were spoken in an ironical tone, -which might have left one open to think that they were in jest, but the -reasoning was so natural and logical that they put an end to any such -supposition. Nevertheless, by a supreme act of self-control, I burst -into a laugh, exclaiming— - -“Well, that is a well-fabricated refusal! I might think that you really -meant it!” - -“What! don’t you believe what I say?... Child, have you not a very lofty -opinion of your little self?” - -“It is not a question of whether I have a high opinion of myself, -Gloria,” I replied, becoming grave; “it is that it is hard to believe -that you would have waited so long to refuse me.” - -“But you have not given me a chance till now!” - -“Are you speaking seriously, Gloria?” - -“Why not? Come, now, you have imagined because I accepted your aid in -getting out of the convent, that I was in so far bound to worship you, -did you not?” - -A wave of hot blood surged into my cheeks; my ears hummed. I suddenly -realised the fact that I had been making a fool of myself in a most -lamentable fashion, that this girl had most shamefully turned me -into ridicule. Indignation and anger took complete possession of me; -I poured out all my bile in a perfect torrent of words. I stood for -some little time clutching the grating, gazing at her in silence with -flaming eyes. Finally, in a voice hoarse with anger, I said,— - -“The truth is, you are the veriest flirt,[16] unworthy of receiving -the attentions of any decent man. I do not regret the time that I have -wasted in loving you, but I do regret having wasted my love on you! I -believed that under your apparent frivolity you had a good heart, but -I see that it was nothing but vanity and giddiness. I rejoice that I -have found it out in good time, for I will at one blow tear it out of -my heart and my thoughts, where you ought never to have found a place. -Good-bye! and for ever!” - -As I withdrew my contracted hands from the iron bars I felt the -pressure of hers, and I heard a compressed laugh, which entirely -confused me. - -“Bravo, bravo? I like you so, my dear! I was becoming weary of so much -sweetness!” - -“What does this mean, Gloria?” - -“It means that you must not be so honey-like, for one gets tired of -syrup, and incense is sickening. See here! You have advanced your cause -more in one moment by saying impudent things to me, than in three -months of flatteries. You will say that I like to have my knuckles -rapped with the fire-shovel. It may be so. But I tell you that a little -touch of genius never hurts a man!” - -“Yes? Then wait a bit, and I will insult you some more,” said I, -laughing. - -“No, no,” she exclaimed, also laughing, “enough for to-day.” - -During that sweet and memorable interview, which was prolonged till one -o’clock, our love was mutually confessed and agreed upon. Without any -difficulty we began to address each other with the familiar “thee” and -“thou,” and we swore fidelity till death, no matter what might happen. - -Not a soul passed through the street. The watchman, when he saw me -glued to the grating, did not come near. I was afraid that Doña Tula -might come into the room, but Gloria re-assured me by declaring that -in Seville no one ever acted traitorously towards two lovers, and the -watchmen still less interfered with these colloquies at the gratings, -which they saw every night. She also had great confidence in the -servants. Therefore the prospect of a series of delightful interviews -was spread before us, filling my soul with joy. - -“They will know about it sooner or later,” said she. “But suppose they -do. I will take it upon me to make them mind their own business if they -attempt to interfere.” - -And in her handsome eyes I saw a flash of audacious mischief, which -made it plain enough that it would not be an easy matter to lead her in -paths where she did not wish to go. - -“Now it is getting late. Mamma gets up very early for mass, and will -wish me to go with her. Now you must go.” - -“A little while longer, sweetheart! It is not midnight yet.” - -“Yes, the clock in the Giralda[17] struck one.” - -“No, it is only a quarter-past twelve....” - -The slow, solemn stroke of the bell in the Giralda just then struck a -quarter-past one. - -“Do you hear? It is a quarter-past one. Adios! adios!” - -“And are you going to send me off so, without giving me your hand?” - -She reached it out to me, and I, naturally, was about to kiss it, but -she snatched it away. - -“No, no; wait a little, I will give you the crucifix, as in Marmolejo,” -she cried with a laugh. - -“I prefer your hand.” - -“You heretic, begone!” - -“God is everywhere. But still if you wish to give me the crucifix I -will guard it carefully as a keepsake.” - -“Wait just a second. I have my dress here.” - -She withdrew from the window for a moment and came back with the bronze -crucifix, which she handed out to me through the iron grating. In -taking it from her I got possession of her brown, firm hand, and kissed -it a number of times voraciously, gluttonously! - -“That will do, little boy. Do you expect to keep it up till morning?” - -I went away from that window grating intoxicated with love and bliss. -So far gone was I that when I met the watchman a little distance away -I gave him two pesetas. Afterwards I regretted it, for there was no -need of doing so, according to what Gloria had said. This time, also, I -noticed as little as before whether the stars were glittering on high -with sweet brilliancy, or whether the moonlight filtered down into the -dark labyrinthine streets, spotting them here and there with patines of -bright silver. I carried in my own heart a radiant sun, which dazzled -me and prevented me from seeing such petty details! - - - III. A VISIT TO THE CONVENT. - -... During all this time neither the Mother Superior nor the sisters -had asked who I was, or how and why Gloria happened to be in that -place. They looked at me with quick glances of curiosity, showing that -my presence embarrassed them. I had not opened my lips. - -My wife, doubtless piqued by this neglect, suddenly said, “Did you not -know that I was married?” - -The sisters burst into a laugh. - -“Ay! what a Sister!—always so full of spirit,” exclaimed the Mother -Superior. - -“Yes, Mother, I have been married for a month and three days to this -fine young man whom you see. He has only one defect,” she added, -growing grave, “and that is that he is a Gallegan!... But you would not -think it, would you?” - -“What a Sister!” again exclaimed some of the nuns. “How witty she -is!—who would have said that she was married! Something has happened to -her!” - -“What! Don’t you believe me?” - -The Sisters still laughed, giving me keen and mysterious glances. - -“Well, then, this very instant I will prove it to you!” exclaimed my -wife with a sudden impulse. And at the same time she threw her arms -around my neck and began to give me some ringing kisses on the cheek, -saying,— - -“_Rico mio!_ Isn’t it true that you are my husband? Isn’t it true that I am -your little wife? Isn’t it true that we are married? Tell me, sweetheart! -Tell me, my own life!” - -While I, quite abashed, was trying to escape from her caresses, I heard -exclamations of reproof, and saw that the nuns were flying in fright -towards the portal. One of them, more intrepid, seized the cord of -the curtain and pulled it with all her force. The curtain, as it shut -together, likewise sent up a squeak of scandalised amazement. - -I heard hurried steps and a sound of voices. Then nothing; it had grown -silent. - -My wife, laughing merrily and blushing at the same time, seized my hand -and drew me out. We passed through the melancholy corridors in this -way, ran down the stairs, passed through the great passageway, and when -we found ourselves in the street I said to her, half vexed, “Child, how -crazy you were! What got into you, to....” - -“Forgive me, my dear,” she replied, still laughing and crimson. “They -made me nervous. They might as well know that we were married as the -priest who gave us his benediction.” - - _A. Palacio Valdés_ (_Nineteenth Century_). - _Trans. Nathan Haskell Dole._ - - - - - _PEPITA._ - - -In the past few days I have had occasion to practise patience in an -extreme degree, and to mortify my self-love in the most cruel manner. -My father, wishing to return Pepita’s compliment of the garden-party, -invited her to visit his villa at the Pozo de la Solana. The excursion -took place on the 22nd of April. I shall not soon forget the date. - -The Pozo de la Solana is about two leagues distant from the village, -and the only road to it is a bridle-path. We all had to go on -horseback. As I never learned to ride, I had on former occasions -accompanied my father mounted on a pacing mule, gentle, and, according -to the expression of Dientes the muleteer, as good as gold, and of -easier motion than a carriage. On the journey to the Pozo de la Solana -I went in the same manner. - -My father, the notary, the apothecary, and my cousin Currito were -mounted on good horses. My aunt, Doña Casilda, who weighs more than two -hundred and fifty pounds, rode on a large and powerful donkey, seated -in a commodious side-saddle. The reverend vicar rode a gentle and easy -mule like mine. - -As for Pepita Jiménez, who, I supposed, would go also mounted on a -donkey, in the same sort of easy saddle as my aunt—for I was ignorant -that she knew how to ride—she surprised me by making her appearance -on a black and white horse full of fire and spirit. She wore a -riding-habit, and managed her horse with admirable grace and skill. - -[Illustration: “SHE WORE A RIDING-HABIT, AND MANAGED HER HORSE WITH -ADMIRABLE GRACE AND SKILL.”] - -I was pleased to see Pepita look so charming on horseback, but I soon -began to foresee and to be mortified by the sorry part I would play, -jogging on in the rear beside my corpulent Aunt Casilda and the vicar, -all three as quiet and tranquil as if we were seated in a carriage, -while the gay cavalcade in front would caracole, gallop, trot, and make -a thousand other displays of their horsemanship. - -I fancied on the instant that there was something of compassion in -Pepita’s glance as she noted the pitiable appearance I no doubt presented, -seated on my mule. My cousin Currito looked at me with a mocking smile, -and immediately began to make fun of me and to tease me. - -Confess that I deserve credit for my resignation and courage. I -submitted to everything with a good grace, and Currito’s jests soon ceased -when he saw that I was invulnerable to them. But what did I not suffer -in secret! The others, now trotting, now galloping, rode in advance of -us, both in going and returning. The vicar and I, with Doña Casilda -between us, rode on, tranquil as the mules we were seated upon, without -hastening or retarding our pace. - -I had not even the consolation of chatting with the vicar, in whose -conversation I find so much pleasure, nor of wrapping myself up in my -own thoughts and giving the rein to my fancy, nor of silently admiring -the beauty of the scenery around us. Doña Casilda is gifted with an -abominable loquacity, and we were obliged to listen to her. She told -us all there is to be told of the gossip of the village; she recounted -to us all her accomplishments; she told us how to make sausages, -brain-puddings, pastry, and innumerable other dishes and delicacies. -There is no one, according to herself, who can rival her in matters -pertaining to the kitchen, or to the dressing of hogs, but Antoñona, -Pepita’s nurse, and now her housekeeper and general manager. I am already -acquainted with this Antoñona, for she goes back and forth between -her mistress’s house and ours with messages, and is in truth extremely -handy—as loquacious as Aunt Casilda, but a great deal more discreet. - -The scenery on the road to the Pozo de la Solana is charming, but my -mind was so disturbed during our journey that I could not enjoy it. -When we arrived at the villa and dismounted, I was relieved of a great -load, as if it had been I who carried the mule, and not the mule who -carried me. - -We then proceeded on foot through the estate, which is magnificent, of -varied character and extensive. There are vines, old and newly planted, -all on the same property, producing more than five hundred bushels of -grapes; olive-trees that yield to the same amount; and, finally, a -grove of the most majestic oaks that are to be found in all Andalusia. -The water of the Pozo de la Solana forms a clear and deep brook, at -which all the birds of the neighbourhood come to drink, and on whose -borders they are caught by hundreds, by means of reeds smeared with -bird-lime, or of nets, in the centre of which are fastened a cord and a -decoy. All this carried my thoughts back to the sports of my childhood, -and to the many times that I too had gone to catch birds in the same -manner. - -Following the course of the brook, and especially in the ravines, are -many poplars and other tall trees, which, together with the bushes and -the shrubs, form a dark and labyrinthine wood. A thousand fragrant wild -flowers grow there spontaneously, and it would, in truth, be difficult -to imagine anything more secluded and sylvan, more solitary, peaceful, -and silent than this spot. Even in the fervour of noonday, when the -sun pours down his light in torrents from a heaven without a cloud, -the mind experiences the same mysterious terror as visits it at times -in the silent hours of the night. One can understand here the manner -of life of the patriarchs of old, and of the primitive shepherds and -heroes; and the visions and apparitions that appeared to them of -nymphs, of gods, and of angels, in the midst of the noonday brightness. - -As we walked through this thicket, there arrived a moment in which, I -know not how, Pepita and I found ourselves alone together. The others -had remained behind. - -I felt a sudden thrill pass through me. For the first time, and in -a place so solitary, I found myself alone with this woman; while my -thoughts were still dwelling on the noontide apparitions, now sinister, -now gracious, but always supernatural, vouchsafed to the men of remote -ages. - -Pepita had left the long skirt of her riding habit in the house, -and now wore a short dress that did not interfere with the graceful -ease of her movements. She had on her head a little Andalusian hat, -which became her extremely. She carried in her hand her riding-whip, -which I fancied to myself to be a magic wand, by means of which this -enchantress might cast her spells over me. - -I am not afraid to transcribe here these eulogies of her beauty. In -this sylvan scene she appeared to me more beautiful than ever. The -precaution recommended in similar cases by ascetics, to think of her -beauty defaced by sickness and old age, to picture her to myself dead, -the prey of corruption and of the worm, presented itself, against -my will, to my imagination; and I say _against my will_, for I do -not concur in the necessity for such a precaution. No thought of the -material, no suggestion of the evil spirit, troubled my reason or -infected my will or my senses. - -What did occur to me was an argument—at least to my mind—in disproof of -the efficacy of this precaution. Beauty, the creation of a Sovereign -and Divine Power, may indeed be frail and ephemeral, may vanish in an -instant; but the idea of beauty is eternal, and, once perceived by the -mind, it lives there an immortal life. The beauty of this woman, such -as it manifests itself to-day, will disappear in a few short years; -the graceful form, those charming contours, the noble head that raises -itself so proudly above her shoulders: all will be food for loathsome -worms; but—though the material must of necessity be transformed—its -idea, the creative thought—abstract beauty, in a word—what shall -destroy this? Does it not exist in the Divine Mind? Once perceived and -known by me, must it not continue to live in my soul, triumphing over -age and even over death? - -I was meditating thus, striving to tranquillise my spirit and to -dissipate the doubts which you have succeeded in infusing into my mind, -when Pepita and I encountered each other. I was pleased and at the same -time troubled to find myself alone with her—hoping and yet fearing that -the others would join us. - -The silvery voice of Pepita broke the silence, and drew me from my -meditations, saying— - -“How silent you are, Don Luis, and how sad! I am pained to think that -it is perhaps through my fault, or partly so at least, that your father -has caused you to spend a disagreeable day in these solitudes, taking -you away from a solitude more congenial, where there would be nothing -to distract your attention from your prayers and pious books.” - -I know not what answer I made to this. It must have been something -nonsensical, for my mind was troubled. I did not wish to flatter Pepita -by paying her profane compliments, nor, on the other hand, did I wish -to answer her rudely. - -She continued— - -“You must forgive me if I am wrong, but I fancy that, in addition to -the annoyance of seeing yourself deprived to-day of your favourite -occupation, there is something else that powerfully contributes to your -ill-humour.” - -“And what is this something else?” I said, “since you have discovered -it, or fancy you have done so.” - -“This something else,” responded Pepita, “is a feeling not altogether -becoming in one who is going to be a priest so soon, but very natural -in a young man of twenty-two.” - -On hearing this I felt the blood mount to my face, and my face burn. -I imagined a thousand absurdities; I thought myself beset by evil -spirits; I fancied myself tempted by Pepita, who was doubtless about -to let me understand that she knew I loved her. Then my timidity gave -place to haughtiness, and I looked her steadily in the face. There -must have been something laughable in my look, but either Pepita did -not observe it, or, if she did, she concealed the fact with amiable -discretion; for she exclaimed, in the most natural manner— - -“Do not be offended because I find you are not without fault. This that -I have observed seems to me a slight one. You are hurt by the jests of -Currito, and by being compelled to play—speaking profanely—a not very -dignified _rôle_, mounted, like the reverend vicar with his eighty -years, on a placid mule, and not, as a youth of your age and condition -should be, on a spirited horse. The fault is the reverend dea, to whom -it did not occur that you should learn to ride. To know how to manage a -horse is not opposed to the career you intend to follow, and I think, -now that you are here, that your father might in a few days give you -the necessary instruction to enable you to do so. If you should go to -Persia or to China, where there are no railroads yet, you will make but -a sorry figure in those countries as a bad horseman. It is possible -even that, by this oversight, the missionary himself may come to lose -prestige in the eyes of those barbarians, which will make it all the -more difficult for him to reap the fruits of his labours.” - -This and other arguments Pepita adduced in order to persuade me to -learn to ride on horseback; and I was so convinced of the necessity -of a missionary’s being a good horseman, that I promised her to learn at -once, taking my father as a teacher. - -“On the very next expedition we make,” I said, “I shall ride the most -spirited horse my father has, instead of the mule I am riding to-day.” - -“I shall be very glad of it,” responded Pepita, with a smile of -indescribable sweetness. - -At this moment we were joined by the rest of the party, at which I was -secretly rejoiced, though for no other reason than the fear of not -being able to sustain the conversation, and of saying a great many -foolish things, on account of the little experience I have had in -conversing with women. - -After our walk my father’s servants spread before us on the fresh grass, -in the most charming spot beside the brook, a rural and abundant -collation. - -The conversation was very animated, and Pepita sustained her part in -it with much discretion and intelligence. My cousin Currito returned -to his jests about my manner of riding and the meekness of my mule. He -called me a theologian, and said that, seated on mule-back, I looked -as if I were dispensing blessings. This time, however, being now -firmly resolved to learn to ride, I answered his jests with sarcastic -indifference. I was silent, nevertheless, with respect to the promise I -had just made Pepita. The latter, doubtless thinking as I did—although -we had come to no understanding in the matter—that silence for the -present was necessary to insure the complete success of the surprise -that I would create afterward by my knowledge of horsemanship, said -nothing of our conversation. Thus it happened, naturally and in the -simplest manner, that a secret existed between us; and it produced in -my mind a singular effect. - -Nothing else worth telling occurred during the day. - -In the afternoon we returned to the village in the same manner in which -we had left it. Yet, seated on my easygoing mule and at the side of -my aunt Casilda, I did not experience the same fatigue or sadness as -before. - -During the whole journey I listened without weariness to my aunt’s -stories, amusing myself at times in conjuring up idle fancies. Nothing -of what passes in my soul shall be concealed from you. I confess, then, -that the figure of Pepita was, as it were, the centre, or rather the -nucleus and focus, of these idle fancies. - -The noonday vision in which she had appeared to me, in the shadiest -and most sequestered part of the grove, brought to my memory all the -visions, holy and unholy, of wondrous beings, of a condition superior -to ours, that I had read of in sacred authors and in the profane -classics. Pepita appeared to the eyes and on the stage of my fancy -in the leafy seclusion of the grove, not as she rode before us on -horseback, but in an ideal and ethereal fashion—as Venus to Æneas, as -Minerva to Callimachus, as the sylph who afterward became the mother of -Libusa to the Bohemian Kroco, as Diana to the son of Aristæus, as the -angels in the valley of Mamre to the Patriarch, as the hippocentaur to -St. Anthony in the solitude of the wilderness. - -That the vision of Pepita should assume in my mind something of a -supernatural character, seems to me no more to be wondered at than any -of these. For an instant, seeing the consistency of the illusion, I -thought myself tempted by evil spirits; but I reflected that in the few -moments during which I had been alone with Pepita near the brook of the -Solana, nothing had occurred that was not natural or commonplace; that -it was afterward, as I rode along quietly on my mule, that some demon, -hovering invisible around me, had suggested these extravagant fancies. - -That night I told my father of my desire to learn to ride. I did not -wish to conceal from him that it was Pepita who had suggested this -desire. My father was greatly rejoiced; he embraced me, he kissed me, -he said that now not you only would be my teacher, but that he also -would have the pleasure of teaching me something. He ended by assuring -me that in two or three weeks he would make me the best horseman of -all Andalusia; able to go to Gibraltar for contraband goods, and come -back laden with tobacco and cotton, after eluding the vigilance of the -Custom-house officers; fit, in a word, to astonish the riders who show -off their horsemanship in the fairs of Seville and Mairena, and worthy -to press the flanks of Babieca,[18] Bucephalus, or even of the horses -of the sun themselves, if they should by chance descend to earth, and I -could catch them by the bridle. - -I don’t know what you will think of this notion of my learning to ride, -but I take it for granted you will see nothing wrong in it. - -If you could but see how happy my father is, and how he delights in -teaching me! Since the day after the excursion I told you of, I take -two lessons daily. There are days on which the lesson is continuous, -for we spend from morning till night on horseback. During the first -week the lessons took place in the courtyard of the house, which is -unpaved, and which served as a riding-school. - -We now ride out into the country, but manage so that no one shall see -us. My father does not want me to show myself on horseback in public -until I am able to astonish every one by my fine appearance in the -saddle, as he says. If the vanity natural to a father does not deceive -him, this, it seems, will be very soon, for I have a wonderful aptitude -for riding. - -“It is easy to see that you are my son!” my father exclaims with joy, -as he watches my progress. - -My father is so good that I hope you will pardon him the profane -language and irreverent jests in which he indulges at times. I grieve -for this at the bottom of my soul, but I endure it with patience. These -constant and long-continued lessons have reduced me to a pitiable -condition with blisters. My father enjoins me to write to you that they -are caused by mortification of the flesh. - -As he declares that within a few weeks I shall be an accomplished -horseman, and he does not desire to be superannuated as a master, he -proposes to teach me other accomplishments of a somewhat irregular -character, and sufficiently unsuited to a future priest. At times he -proposes to train me in throwing the bull, in order that he may take -me afterwards to Seville, where, with lance in hand, on the plains of -Tablada, I shall make the braggarts and the bullies stare. Then he -recalls his own youthful days, when he belonged to the body-guard, and -declares that he will look up his foils, gloves, and masks, and teach -me to fence. And, finally, as my father flatters himself that he can -wield the Sevillian knife better than any one else, he has offered to -teach me even this accomplishment also. - -You can already imagine the answer I make to all this nonsense. My -father replies that, in the good old times, not only the priests, but -even the bishops themselves, rode about the country on horseback, -putting infidels to the sword. I rejoin that this might happen in the -Dark Ages, but then in our days the ministers of the Most High should -know how to wield no other weapons than those of persuasion. “And what -if persuasion be not enough?” rejoins my father. “Do you think it would -be amiss to re-enforce argument with a few good blows of a cudgel?” The -complete missionary, according to my father’s opinion, should know how on -occasion to have recourse to these heroic measures, and as my father -has read a great many tales and romances he cites various examples in -support of his opinion. He cites, in the first place, St. James, who on -his white horse, without ceasing to be an apostle, put more Moors to -the sword than he preached to or convinced; he cites a certain Señor -de la Vera, who, being sent on an embassy to Boabdil by Ferdinand and -Isabella, became entangled in a theological discussion with the Moors -in the courtyard of the Lions, and, being at the end of his arguments, -drew his sword and fell upon them with fury in order to complete their -conversion; and he finally cites the Biscayan hidalgo, Don Inigo de -Loyola, who, in a controversy he had with a Moor regarding the purity -of the Holy Virgin, growing weary at last of the impious and horrible -blasphemies with which the aforesaid Moor contradicted him, fell upon -him, sword in hand, and, if he had not taken to his heels, would have -enforced conviction upon his soul in a terrible fashion. In regard to -the incident relating to St. Ignatius, I answer my father that this was -before the saint became a priest; and in regard to the other examples, -I answer that historians are not agreed. - -In short, I defend myself as best I can against my father’s jests, and -I content myself with being a good horseman, without learning other -accomplishments unsuited to the clergy, although my father assures me -that not a few of the Spanish clergy understand and practise them with -frequency in Spain, even in our own day, with a view to contributing to -the triumph of the faith, and to the preservation or the restoration of -the unity of the Church. - -I am grieved to the soul by this levity of my father’s, and that he -should speak with irreverence and jestingly about the most serious -things; but a respectful son is not called upon to go further than -I do in repressing his somewhat Voltairean freedom of speech. I say -_Voltairean_, because I am not able to describe it by any other word. -At heart my father is a good Catholic, and this thought consoles me. - -Yesterday was the Feast of the Cross, and the village presented a very -animated appearance. In each street were six or seven May-crosses -covered with flowers, but none of them was so beautiful as that placed -by Pepita at the door of her house. It was adorned by a perfect cascade -of flowers. - -In the evening we went to an entertainment at the house of Pepita. The -cross which had stood at the door was now placed in a large saloon on -the ground-floor, in which there is a piano, and Pepita presented us -with a simple and poetic spectacle—one that I had seen when a child, -but had since forgotten. - -From the upper part of the cross hung down seven bands or broad -ribbons, two white, two green, and three red, the symbolic colours of -the theological virtues. Eight children, of five or six years old, -representing the seven sacraments, and holding the seven ribbons -that hung from the cross, performed with great skill a species of -contra-dance. The sacrament of baptism was represented by a child -wearing the white robe of a catechumen; ordination, by another child -as a priest; confirmation, by a little bishop; extreme unction, by a -pilgrim with staff and scrip, the latter filled with shells; marriage, -by a bride and bridegroom; and penance, by a Nazarene with cross and -crown of thorns. - -The dance was a series of reverences, steps, evolutions, and -genuflexions, rather than a dance, performed to the sound of very -tolerable music, something like a march, which the organist played, not -without skill, on the piano. - -The little dancers, children of the servants or retainers of Pepita, -after playing their parts, went away to bed loaded with gifts and -caresses. - -The entertainment, in the course of which we were served with -refreshments, continued till twelve; the refreshments were syrup -served in little cups, and afterwards chocolate with sponge-cake, and -meringues and water. - -Since the return of spring Pepita’s seclusion and retirement are being -gradually abandoned, at which my father is greatly rejoiced. In future -Pepita will receive every night, and my father desires that I shall be -one of the guests. - -Pepita has left off mourning, and now appears, more lovely and -attractive than ever, in the lighter fabrics appropriate to the season, -which is almost summer. She still dresses, however, with extreme -simplicity. - -I cherish the hope that my father will not now detain me here beyond -the end of this month at farthest. In June we shall both join you in -the city, and you shall then see how, far from Pepita, to whom I am -indifferent, and who will remember me neither kindly nor unkindly, I -shall have the pleasure of embracing you, and attaining at last to the -happiness of being ordained. - - “_Pepita Jiménez._” _Juan Valera._ - - - - - _IF SHE COULD ONLY WRITE._ - - - “Please write me a letter, Holy Sir.” - —“To Robin, I suppose?” - “You know because one evening dark - To startle us you chose,— - But on my soul ...”—“No more, a pen - And paper, daughter, give: - ‘_Belovèd Rob_,’”—“‘Belo’d’?”—“Then - You don’t love him, I perceive.” - “Oh yes! and now you’ve put it, - It must stay”—“‘_If you but knew - How very sad and lonely, dear, - I am away from you!_’” - “Why, Sir, you know my very thoughts!”... - “To an old man like me - A maid’s breast is of crystal clear - Through which the heart we see. - ‘_Without you all is bitterness, - But with you Paradise._’” - “Pray make those letters quite clear, Sir, - And underline them thrice.” - “‘_And if you no longer love me, - Suffer so much shall I. - That_’ ...”—“‘Suffer’? ’tis not the word, Sir; - Put ‘I shall surely die.’” - “’Twere sinning against Heaven, my child.” - “‘Die,’ sir, in black and white!” - “Not so.”—“Alas, your heart’s of ice, - Oh! if I could but write!... - Dear Father, Holy Father! - In vain you write for me, - If incarnate in the letters - Is not all that I may be. - For Christ’s sake, tell him that my soul - Within me will not stay, - That if anguish does not kill me - ’Tis because I weep all day. - That my lips, the roses of his breath, - Know only how to close; - And that all smiles and laughter - Long ago within me froze. - That the eyes he thought so lovely - Are heavy with distress, - Since there’s nobody to look at them - They shut for wretchedness. - That for the echo of his voice - My ears are all athirst; - That of all the torments suffer’d - His absence is the worst ... - And that it is _his_ fault my heart’s - In such sweet-bitter plight!... - Good heavens, how many things I’d put - If I could only write!...” - - _Campoamor._ - -[Illustration: “IF I COULD ONLY WRITE.”] - - - - - _DOCTOR PERTINAX._ - - -St. Peter was polishing the large knocker of the Gate of Heaven, -leaving it as bright as the sun—which is not to be wondered at since -the knocker St. Peter was cleaning _is_ the sun we see appearing every -morning in the east. - -The holy porter, merrier than his colleagues at Madrid, was humming -some little air not unlike _Ça ira_ of the French. - -“Hola! You get up very early,” said he, bending his head and staring at -a person who had stopped before the threshold of the gate. - -The unknown did not reply, but bit his lips, which were thin, pale, and -dry. - -“No doubt,” continued St. Peter, “you are the savant who was dying -last night?... What a night you made me pass, friend!... I never closed -my eyes once, thinking you might be likely to knock; my last orders -were not to let you wait a moment, a piece of respect paid to your sort -here in heaven. Well, welcome, and come in; I can’t leave the gate. Go -through, and then straight on.... There is no entresol.” - -[Illustration: “THE STRANGER DID NOT STIR FROM THE THRESHOLD.”] - -The stranger did not stir from the threshold, but fixed his little blue -eyes on the venerable bald head of St. Peter, who had turned his back -to go on rubbing up the sun. - -The newcomer was thin, short, and sallow, with somewhat feminine -movements, neat in his attire, and without a hair on his face. He wore -his shroud elegantly and nicely adjusted, and he measured his gestures -with academic severity. - -After gazing for some time at St. Peter working, he wheeled round and -was about to return on the journey he had come he knew not how; but -he found he was standing above a gloomy abyss, in which the darkness -almost seemed palpable, and a horrisonous tempest was roaring with -flashes of livid light at intervals like lightning. There was not a -trace of any stairs, and the machine by which he dimly remembered he -had mounted was not in sight either. - -“Sir,” exclaimed he, in a vibrating and acrid voice: “May I know what -this means? Where am I? Why was I brought here.” - -“Ah, you haven’t gone yet; I am very glad, for I had forgotten something.” -And pulling his memorandum-book out of his pocket, the saint moistened -the point of the pencil between his lips and asked— - -“Your name?” - -“I am Doctor Pertinax, author of the book stereotyped in its twentieth -edition, called ‘_Philosophia Ultima_.’...” - -St. Peter was not a quick writer, and of all this had only put down -Pertinax.... - -“Well, Pertinax of what?” - -“Of what? Oh, I see, you mean from where? just as they say: Thales of -Miletus, Parmenides of Elea....” - -“Exactly, Quixote of la Mancha....” - -“Write down, Pertinax of Torrelodones. And now, may I know what this -farce means?” - -“This farce?” - -“Yes, sir. I am the victim of a farce, this is a comedy: my enemies, my -colleagues, with the help of subtle artifices and theatrical machinery, -exalting my mind with some beverage, have doubtless prepared all this. -But the deception is useless. My power of reasoning is above all -these appearances, and protests with a mighty voice against this low -trickery; neither masks nor limelights are of any avail, for I am not -taken in by such palpable effrontery, and I say what I always said, -and which is enframed on page 315 of my ”_Philosophia Ultima_,“ note -_b._ of the sub-note Alpha, _i.e._, that after death the deception of -appearances will not exist, and there will no longer be any desire for -life, _nolite vivere_, which is only a chain of shadows linked with -desires, &c., &c.... Therefore, one of the two: either I have died, or -I have not died; if I have died, it cannot possibly be I as I was when -alive half an hour ago, and all that I see around me, as it can only be -a representation, is not, for I am not; but if I have not died, and am -myself, what I was and am, it is clear that although what I see around -me exists in me by representation, it is not what my enemies wish me -to believe, but an unworthy farce designed to frighten me; but ’tis in -vain, for....” - -And the philosopher swore like a coal-heaver. And the swearing was not -the worst, for he lifted up his voice towards Heaven, the inhabitants -of which were beginning to awake at the noise, while some of the blest -were already descending by the staircase of clouds, tinged some as with -woad, others with a sea-blue. - -Meanwhile St. Peter held his sides with both hands to keep from -bursting into the laughter with which he was nearly choking. Pertinax -became more irritated at the saint’s laughter, and the latter had to stop -to try and pacify him by the following words— - -“My dear sir, farces are of no avail here, nor is it a question of -deceiving you, but of bringing you to Heaven, which it appears you -have merited for some good works of which I am ignorant; in any case, -calm yourself and go up, for the inhabitants above are already astir, -and you will find somebody who will conduct you to where all will be -explained to your taste, so that not a shadow of doubt will remain, for -doubts all disappear in this region, where the dullest thing is the sun -which I am polishing.” - -“I do not say _you_ are deceiving me, for you seem an honest man; the -tricksters are others, and you only an instrument, unconscious of what -you are doing.” - -“I am St. Peter....” - -“They have persuaded you that you are; but there’s no proof that you are.” - -“Dear sir, I have been porter here for more than eighteen hundred -years....” - -“Apprehension, preconception....” - -“Preconception fiddlesticks!” cried the saint, now somewhat angry; -“I am St. Peter, and you a savant, and like all that come to us, an -ignorant fool, with more than one bee in your bonnet....” - -The gateway was now crowded with angels and cherubim, saints, male and -female, and a number of the blest, who all formed a circle round the -stranger and smilingly surveyed him. - - * * * * * - -From amongst them there stepped forth St. Job:—“I think,” said he, -“that this gentleman would be convinced that he had lived in error -if he could see the Universe as it actually is. Why not appoint a -commission from amongst us to accompany Doctor Pertinax and show him -the construction of the immense piece of architecture, as Lope de Vega -says, whom I am sorry not to see among us.” - -Great was the respect for St. Job, and they immediately proceeded to -a nominal vote, which took up a good deal of time, as more than half -the martyrology had repaired to the gate. The following were by the -results appointed members of the commission:—St. Job, by acclamation; -Diogenes, by a majority; and St. Thomas the Apostle, by a majority. St. -Thomas of Aquinas and Duns Scotus had votes. - -Dr. Pertinax gave way to the supplications of the commission, and -consented to survey all the machinery and magic, with which they might -deceive his eyes, said he, but not his mind. - -“My dear fellow, don’t be downhearted,” said St. Thomas, as he sewed -some wings on to the Doctor’s shoulder-blades: “Look at me, I was an -unbeliever, and....” - -“Sir,” replied Pertinax, “you lived in very different times, the -world was then in its theological age, as Comte said, and I have -passed through all those ages and have lived side by side with the -”_Criticisms of Pure Reason_“ and the ”_Philosophia Ultima_“; so that -I believe in nothing, not even in the mother who bore me; I only -believe in this, inasmuch as I know that I am, I am conscious, but -without falling into the preconception of confounding representation -with essence, which is unattainable, that is to say, excepting the -being conscious, putting aside all that is not myself (and all being -in myself) I _know_, by knowing that everything is represented (and -I as everything else) by simply appearing to be what it is, and the -reality of which is only investigated by another volitive and effective -representation, a harmful representation, being irrational and the -original sin of the Fall; therefore, this apparent desire undone, -nothing remains to explore, since not even the will for knowledge -remains.” - -Only St. Job heard the last word of this discourse, and, scratching his -bald crown with his potsherd, he replied— - -“The truth is, you savants are the very devil for talking nonsense, and -do be offended, but those things, whether in your head or imagination, -as you please, will give you warm work to see them in reality as they -are.” - -“Forward! forward!” shouted Diogenes at this moment; “the sophists -denied me motion, and you know how I proved it; forward!” - -And they began their flight through boundless space. Boundless? -Pertinax thought it so, and said— - -“Do you expect to show me all the Universe?” - -“Certainly,” replied St. Thomas. - -“But since the Universe—seemingly, of course—is infinite ... how can -you conceive the limit of space?” - -“Conceive it, with difficulty; but see it, easily. Aristoteles sees it -every day, for he takes the most terrible walks with his disciples, and -certainly he complained that the space for walking ended before the -disputes of his peripatetics.” - -“But how can space have an end? If there is a limit, it will have to be -nothing; but as nothing does not exist, it cannot form a boundary; for -a boundary is something, and something apart from what is bounded.” - -St. Job, who was already growing impatient, cut him short— - -“Enough, enough of conversation! but you had better bend your head so -as not to knock it, for we have arrived at that limit of space which -cannot be conceived, and if you take a step more, you will break your -head against that nothing you are denying.” - -And effectually; Pertinax saw there was nothing more beyond; wished to -feel it, and bumped his head. - -“But this can’t be!” he exclaimed, while St. Thomas applied to the bump -one of those pieces of money which pagans take with them on their -journey to the other world. - -There was no help for it, they had to turn back, the Universe had come -to an end. But ended or not, how beautiful shone the firmament with its -millions and millions of stars! - -“What is that dazzling light shining above there, higher than all the -constellations? Is it some nebula unknown to the astronomers of the -earth?” - -“A pretty nebula!” replied St. Thomas; “that is the celestial -Jerusalem, from which we have just descended, and what is shining so -are the diamond walls round the city of God.” - -“So that those marvels related by Chateaubriand, and which I thought -unworthy of a serious man...?” - -“Are perfectly true, my friend. And now let us go and rest on that -star passing below there, for i’ faith, I am tired of so much going -backwards and forwards.” - -“Gentlemen, I am not presentable,” said Pertinax; “I have not yet -doffed my shroud, and the inhabitants of this star will laugh at such -indecorous garb....” - -The three Ciceroni of Heaven all burst out laughing together. Diogenes -was the first to exclaim— - -“Though I should lend you my lantern, you would not meet a living soul -in that star, nor in any other star.” - -“Of course,” added Job, very seriously, “there are no inhabitants -except on the Earth; don’t talk such nonsense.” - -“This I cannot believe!” - -“Well, let us go and show him,” said St. Thomas, who was already -growing angry. And they journeyed from star to star, and in a few -minutes had traversed all the Milky Way and the most distant starry -systems. Nothing, not a sign of life. They did not even encounter a -flea, for all the numerous globes they surveyed. Pertinax was horrified. - -“This is the Creation!” he exclaimed; “what solitude! Come, show me the -Earth; I want to see that privileged region; by what I conjecture, all -modern cosmography is a lie, the Earth is still, and the centre of all -the celestial vault; and round her revolve the suns and planets, and -she is the largest of all the spheres....” - -“Not at all,” replied St. Thomas; “astronomy is not mistaken; the -earth revolves round the sun, and you will soon see how insignificant -she appears. Let us see if we can find her amongst all that crowd of -stars. _You_ look for her, St. Job; _you_ have plenty of patience.” - -“I will!” exclaimed the Saint of the potsherd, as he hooked his -spectacles round his ears. - -“It is like looking for a needle in a bottle of hay!... I see her! -there she goes! look! look how small! she looks like a microbe!” - -Pertinax looked at the Earth and sighed. - -“And are there no inhabitants except on that mote?” - -“Nowhere else.” - -“And the rest of the Universe is empty?” - -“Empty.” - -“Then of what use are such millions and millions of stars?” - -“As lamps. They are the public illumination of the Earth. And they are -also useful for singing praises to the Almighty. And they serve as -eke-outs in poetry, and you can’t deny they are very pretty.” - -“But all empty?” - -“Every one!” - -Pertinax remained in the air for a good time sad and thoughtful. He -felt ill. The edifice of his “_Philosophia Ultima_” was threatening -ruin. Upon seeing that the Universe was so different from what reason -demanded, he began to believe in the Universe. That brusque lesson of -reality was the rude and cold contact with material which his spirit -needed in order to believe. “It is all so badly arranged, but perhaps -it is true!” thus thought the philosopher. Suddenly he turned to his -companions, and asked them—“Does Hell exist?” - -The three sighed, made gestures of compassion, and replied— - -“Yes; it exists.” - -“And condemnation is eternal?” - -“Eternal.” - -“A solemn injustice!” - -“A terrible reality!” replied the three in chorus. - -Pertinax wiped his brow with his shroud. He was perspiring philosophy. -He began to believe that he was in the other world. The injustice of -everything convinced him. “Then the cosmogony and the theogony of my -infancy was the truth?” - -“Yes; the first and only philosophy.” - -“Then I am not dreaming?” - -“No.” - -“Confession! confession!” groaned the philosopher; and he swooned into -the arms of Diogenes. - - * * * * * - -When he awoke, he found himself in his bed. His old servant and the -priest were by his side. - -“Here is the confessor, sir, for whom you asked....” - -Pertinax sat up, stretched out both hands, and looking at the confessor -with frightened eyes, cried— - -“I say and repeat, that all is pure representation, and that I am the -victim of an unworthy farce.”——And he expired really. - - “_Solos de Clarin._” _Leopoldo Alas._ - - - - - _A FEW THOUGHTS ON LIGHT._ - - -Man has invented artificial light, he inferred it from natural light; -he has in the same way invented artificial truths, inferring them from -supreme truths. - -The sun appears every day illuminating space to show us the heavens. - -In Madrid the gas is lighted every night that we may see the earth. - -Man is to God what a box of matches is to the sun. - -Human pride can also write its Genesis. - -It can begin like this— - -“One day man said—‘Fiat lux,’ and there were matches.“ - -Henceforward a blaze of light which illumines us perfectly. - -The light invented by men is worth more than the light created by God: -let us see how. - -A thousand sunbeams cost nothing; one box of matches costs a halfpenny. - - ”_Hojas Sueltas._” _José Selgas._ - - - - - _EPIGRAMS._ - - - TO A CRITIC. - - Thy foolish criticism - On the plays composed by me - Wounds not my egotism; - But a sore, indeed, ’t would be, - Should they be praised by thee. - - _Leandro Fernandez de Moratin_, 1760-1828. - - - TO A TRANSLATOR OF THE ÆNEID. - - In bad Spanish great Vergil - You dare to asperse. - And tell us most closely - You follow his verse: - If to imitate Maro - Is your real intent, - Pray will it’s to burn - By _your_ last testament. - - * * * * * - - The mother of young Cupid, - Once her baby sleepless lay, - Fearful lest the child should perish, - Weeping loud in her dismay, - Quickly to the gods repair’d. - Grave Morpheus took it in his care, - Laid it in the bed of Hymen,— - In a trice it slumber’d there. - - * * * * * - - Love, Morpheus, and I - Shared a maiden fair; - Love took her heart - As his due share, - And Morpheus liked - Her sweet eyes best - So I for myself - Claimed all the rest. - - * * * * * - - The Devil tried hard - Job’s faith to impair, - Loss of property, children, - And health he’d to bear, - But failing to tempt him - To curse his own life, - To make him despair - He left him his wife. - - * * * * * - - A MATHEMATICIAN, - García by name. - Was thus sadly address’d - By the wife of the same: - How is’t you acquir’d - Such a great reputation - And are so behindhand - In Multiplication? - - _Pablo de Jérica._ - - * * * * * - - - THE SUN-DIAL. - - A sun-dial was made by some natives near Quito, - Who thought it so fine (in Spanish “bonito”), - They put up a roof to protect it from rain, - Saying, “We never shall have such a sun-dial again.” - But of use it was none, since the roof hid the sun. - And I said in my heart, ’tis a nice counterpart - Of good laws for our weal - Spoil’d by fools’ silly zeal! - - _J. E. Hartzenbusch_, 1806-1880. - - - - - _FOLK-TALES._ - - - THE GIRL WHO WANTED THREE HUSBANDS. - -A certain Pacha had a daughter who had three suitors. When her father -asked her which of the three she would marry, she replied she wanted -all three. To this he replied it was impossible, no woman ever had -three husbands; but the girl, who was wilful and spoilt, persisted, and -at last the good Pacha in despair called the three suitors before him -and told them he would give his daughter to whichever returned with -the most wonderful thing within a year’s time. The three suitors set out -in quest, and after vainly wandering about the world for many months, -one of them met a witch who showed him a looking-glass in which you saw -whatever you wished to see. This he bought from her. The second suitor -also met this witch, who sold him a strip of carpet, which, when you -sat upon it, carried you to wherever you wished to go; while the third -suitor bought from her a salve, the which, when applied to the lips -of a newly laid out corpse returned the body to life. Now the three -suitors met, and showed each other their respective finds. - -“Let us wish to see our fair mistress,” said one; and they wished and -looked into the mirror, when, lo and behold! they saw her dead, laid -out in her coffin ready for burial. They were overwhelmed with grief. - -“My salve will restore her to life,” said the third suitor, “but by -the time we get to her she will have been long buried and devoured by -worms.” - -“But my carpet will take us to her at once,” cried the second suitor, -and so they all sat down on it and wished. - -In a trice they found themselves in the Pacha’s palace, and the salve was -applied to the dead girl’s lips. She immediately came to life again, sat -up, and looking at the Pacha said— - -“I was right, you see, father, when I wanted all three.” - - _(Abridged from) Fernan Caballero._ - - - PÉR SOLUTION OF THE DIFFICULTY. - -There was in the village of Abadiano a certain farmer called Chomin, -who had made a prodigious fortune by his devotion to a number of saints -of both sexes. - -When first married he possessed nothing beyond his wife and a dog; -but it occurred to him to make perpetual family saints of St. Isidro, -patron of farmers; St. Antonio, advocate of animals; St. Roque, enemy -of the plague; Santa Lucia, protector of the sight; St. Barbara, enemy -of thunderbolts and lightning, and other innumerable saints, to each of -whom he offered up every night their respective Pater Noster and Ave -Maria, and certes, he struck a mine of wealth by so doing, for from -that moment he began to prosper, and in such a way that after a few -years he had the best house and farm in the district of Gaztelua. - -In Chomin’s house even a headache was unknown; the wheat, which in Biscay -generally produces sixteen bushels for one sown, produced twenty-four -for Chomin; the maize, which nearly always produces thirty for one, -produced forty for Chomin; not a single head of his cattle had come to -grief, although he had many, and when a storm burst upon the heights -of Gorbea and Amboto, and the lightning flashed towards Abadiano, it -always took good care to make a little round so as to avoid passing -over Chomin’s buildings and property. - -Chomin had a servant by name Péru, to whom he had promised his -daughter, Mari-Pepa, with whom Péru was in love, and verily not without -motive, for she was the prettiest girl that came to dance on Sundays in -the market-place of Abadiano. - -Péru was a hard worker, and as honest as the day; but he had a very -short memory, and was not over-intelligent; it was related of him -among other things, how one day that Péru had to go to San Antonio de -Urquiola, his master having commissioned him to kiss the Saint for him, -Péru, instead of giving the kiss to the Saint, gave it to the Saint’s pig, -which always accompanies him. But in spite of this, if he was in love -with Mari-Pepa, she was still more in love with him, for we know what -women are like; they may dislike a man for being poor, ugly, or wicked, -but they don’t mind how stupid he is. - -One night, the eve of St. James, after the whole family, under the -direction of Chomin, had told their rosary, with an extra rosary of -Pater Nosters and Ave Marias to the patron saints of the house, Chomin -said to Péru— - -“Listen, Péru. To-morrow begins the fair of Basurto, and I am thinking -of going there to see if I can buy a pair of bullocks to rear and -train, so that when you and Mari-Pepa marry you may have a good yoke of -oxen, for it is already time to think of settling you.” - -Péru and Mari-Pepa, upon hearing this, blushed as red as cherries, and -looked at each other with eyes dancing with joy. - -Chomin continued, “I shall be away for at least a couple of days, for -until I come across a pair which will be the pride of the country I wo -come back. Meanwhile, Péru, you will have to take my place at prayers, -and be careful not to forget the Pater Noster and Ave Maria for each of -the Saints who protect us.” - -“Don’t you worry about it,” replied Péru, “not a single one shall be -forgotten.” - -“I hope not, Péru, for, you see, we owe them a great deal. My wife and -I had only one rag in front and another behind when we made them our -Saints, and to-day.... Well, you shall see a good few ounces of gold -from the sweepings of our stables on your and Mari-Pepa’s wedding-day! But -suppose you omit, for example, St. Barbara and her corresponding Pater -Noster and Ave Maria, and a tempest bursts over us.... Lord Jesus, at -the very thought my legs tremble! Now let us see, Péru, if you know by -heart all the saints to whom you must pray.” - -Péru recited the names of all the patrons of the family to Chomin’s -satisfaction, but the latter burdened his fealty in the accomplishment -of his task, by threatening that he should not become his son-in-law -if he did a single saint out of their respective Pater Noster and Ave -Maria, which omission would be sure to be found out by the ill-luck -which would certainly happen to the family, house, property, or cattle. - -The next morning, after he had attended early mass, Chomin took his way -to the fair, now certain that Péru would not pass over a single saint. -Poor Péru took the charge so much to heart, and above all the threat, -that he passed the whole night and next morning in trying to find a -sure way of not forgetting a single saint, but with no avail, however -much he racked his brains. And it was a serious case, for Péru said -to himself, “I know all their names off like a parrot, but as there -are twenty-five besides the Virgin, how can I help it if I give an Ave -Maria or so short, and there is an end to my marriage with Mari-Pepa? -It would be a pretty to-do if that happened, for I shall not find -another companion like her easily, and then Chomin won’t let us leave the -house without some household furniture, a good yoke of oxen, and fifty -ducats for the dowry.” - -At the fall of evening all the village was dancing to the sound of -the tambourine in the market-place of Abadiano, all except Péru and -Mari-Pepa. Péru was sitting amidst brambles and furze on a desolate -slope overlooking the village. Mari-Pepa was in the market-place close -to the village fountain, refusing to dance with anybody, and full of -grief at Péru’s state of mind. - -Suddenly Péru uttered a shout of joy and flew down the hill, seized -Mari-Pepa, and began the maddest dance ever seen in Abadiano. He had -thought out an infallible way how not to forget a single saint in the -celestial city. - -That evening, after praying to each of the particular saints appointed -by Chomin special patron saints of the family, lest any should have -been forgotten he prayed to _all the saints in the celestial city,—and -seven leagues without_, in case any should be taking a walk. - - _A. Trueba._ - - - - - _MIRACLES OF ST. ISIDRO, PATRON-SAINT OF MADRID._ - - - OLD CHRISTOVAL’S ADVICE, AND THE REASON WHY HE GAVE IT. - - If thy debtor be poor, old Christoval cried, - Exact not too hardly thy due; - For he who preserves a poor man from want, - May preserve him from wickedness too. - - If thy neighbour should sin, old Christoval cried, - Never, never unmerciful be! - For remember it is by the mercy of God - That thou art not as wicked as he. - - At sixty-and-seven the hope of heaven - Is my comfort, old Christoval cried; - But if God had cut me off in my youth, - I might not have gone there when I died. - - You shall have the farm, young Christoval, - My good master Henrique said; - But a surety provide, in whom I can confide, - That duly the rent shall be paid. - - I was poor, and I had not a friend upon earth, - And I knew not what to say; - We stood by the porch of St. Andrew’s Church, - And it was St. Isidro’s day. - - Take St. Isidro for my pledge, - I ventured to make reply; - The Saint in Heaven may perhaps be my friend, - But friendless on earth am I. - - We entered the church and came to his grave, - And I fell on my bended knee; - I am friendless, holy Isidro, - And I venture to call upon thee. - - I call upon thee my surety to be, - Thou knowest my honest intent; - And if ever I break my plighted word, - Let thy vengeance make me repent - - I was idle, the day of payment came on, - And I had not the money in store; - I feared the wrath of Isidro, - But I feared Henrique more. - - On a dark, dark night I took my flight - And hastily fled away: - It chanced that by St. Andre Church - The road I had chosen lay. - - As I passed the door I thought what I had swore - Upon St. Isidr day; - And I seemed to fear because he was near, - And faster I hastened away. - - So all night long I hurried on, - Pacing full many a mile; - I knew not his avenging hand - Was on me all the while. - - Weary I was, and safe I thought, - But when it was daylight, - I had, I found, been running round - And round the church all night. - - I shook like a palsy and fell on my knees, - And for pardon devoutly I prayed: - When my Master came up—What, Christoval, - You are here betimes, he said. - - I have been idle, good master! I cried, - Good master, and I have been wrong! - And I have been running round the church - In penance all night long. - - If thou hast been idle, Henrique said, - Go home and thy fault amend; - I will not oppress thee, Christoval, - May the Saint thy labour befriend. - - Homeward I went a penitent, - And I never was idle more; - St. Isidro blest my industry, - As he punished my fault before. - - When my debtor was poor, old Christoval said, - I have never exacted my due; - I remembered Henrique was good to me, - And copied his goodness too. - - When my neighbour has sinned, old Christoval said, - I have ever forgiven his sin. - For I thought of the night by St. Andrew’s Church, - And remembered what I might have been. - - _Southey’s “Letters from Spain and Portugal.”_ - - -[Illustration: “I HAD, I FOUND, BEEN RUNNING ROUND AND ROUND THE CHURCH -ALL NIGHT.”] - - - - - THE WEDDING NIGHT. - - Before Isidro’s holy shrine - Hernando knelt and pray’d, - “Now, blessed Saint, afford thine aid, - And make Aldonza mine; - And fifty pieces I will lay, - The offering of my Wedding Day, - Upon thy holy shrine.” - - Hernando rose and went his way; - Isidro heard his vow; - And, when he sued, Aldonza now - No longer said him nay; - For he was young and _débonair_, - And sped so well that soon the fair - Had fix’d the Wedding Day. - - The Wedding Day at length is here. - The day that came so slow; - Together to the church they go, - The youth and maid so dear; - And kneeling at the altar now - Pronounced the mutual marriage vow, - With lips and heart sincere. - - And joy is on Hernando’s brow, - And joy is in his breast; - To him by happiness possest, - The past exists not now; - And gazing on the wedded maid, - The youth forgot Isidro’s aid, - And thought not of his vow. - - The sun descended from the height - Of heaven his western way; - Amid Hernando’s hall so gay, - The tapers pour their light; - The Wedding Guests, a festive throng, - With music and with dance and song, - Await the approach of night. - - The hours pass by, the night comes on, - And from the hall so gay, - One by one they drop away, - The Wedding Guests; anon - The festive hall is emptied quite; - But whither on his Wedding Night - Is young Hernando gone? - - Hernando he had gone away - The Wedding Guests before; - For he was summon’d to his door - By an old man cloth’d in grey. - Who bade the Bridegroom follow him; - His voice was felt in every limb, - And forced them to obey. - - The old man he went fast before, - And not a word said he, - Hernando followed silently, - Against his will full sore; - For he was dumb, nor power of limb - Possess’d, except to follow him, - Who still went mute before. - - Towards a church they hasten now, - And now the door they reach; - The Bridegroom had no power of speech, - Cold drops were on his brow; - The church where St. Isidro lay, - Hernando knew, and in dismay, - He thought upon his vow. - - The old man touch’d the door, the door - Flew open at his will, - And young Hernando followed still - The silent man before; - The clasping doors behind him swung, - And thro’ the aisles and arches rung - The echo of their roar. - - Dim tapers, struggling with the gloom, - Sepulchral twilight gave: - And now to St. Isidro’s grave - The old man in grey is come. - The youth that sacred shrine survey’d, - And shook to see no corpse was laid - Within that open tomb. - - “Learn thou to pay thy debts aright!” - Severe the old man said, - As in the tomb himself he laid; - “Nor more of vows make light.” - The yearning marble clos’d its womb, - And left Hernando by the tomb, - To pass his Wedding Night. - - _Southey’s “Letters from Spain and Portugal.”_ - - - - - _FATHER COBOS’ HINT._ - - (LAS INDIRECTAS DE PADRE COBOS.) - - -A certain Father Superior of, I don’t know where, used to take such -delicious cups of chocolate as only holy friars do. An intimate friend -of the friar, who was extremely fond of chocolate, began visiting him -very frequently, and always at the hour in which his reverence drank -his chocolate, the friar being so courteous as to always order another -cup for his visitor. But as this friend abused the father’s hospitality by -coming day after day, the latter complained of this sponging tendency, -whereupon a lay-friar, whose name was Father Cobos, declared that it -fell to him to give him a hint to drop this habit. To this the Father -Superior agreed. Noticing soon after that his friend no longer came to -the convent, and desirous to know the lay-friar’s hint, he asked him after -a fortnight what he had said to make his friend leave off coming even -to see him. - -“I gave him a hint,” replied Father Cobos. “I said, ‘Look you, Don -Fulano, don’t be so disobliging as to take your chocolate at home; for the -Father Superior says you are such a tremendous glutton that it warms -the cockles of his heart every time he sees you.’” - -The Father Superior was so amused at this that he divulged the story, -and since then the hints of Padre Cobos have become proverbial -throughout Spain. - - _Juan Martinez Villergas._ - - - - - _POPULAR SONGS._ - - - THE PARSLEY VENDOR. - - This morning as the golden sun - Was rising, pretty maid, - I saw you in the garden - Bending o’er the parsley bed. - To see you somewhat nearer - Through the garden gate I strayed, - And found when I went out again - I’d lost my heart, sweet maid. - You must have come across it, - For I lost it there, I say. - “Oh, pretty parsley maiden, - Give back my heart, I pray.” - - _A. Trueba_, 1819-1889. - - - PETENERA. - - When He made thee those black lashes - God, no doubt, would give thee warning - That for all the deaths thou causest, - Thou must put thyself in mourning. - - (_Trans. A. Strettel._) - - * * * * * - - Alcaldè măyòr, Alcaldè măyòr, - You sentence poor prisoners for theft, - While your daughter walks out with her black eyes, - And robs all our hearts right and left. - - - LA GRANADINA. - - Some tears, my pretty maiden, - If only two or three, - And the goldsmiths of Granàda - Shall set them as jewels for me. - - * * * * * - - They tell me that you love me, - But ’tis a falsehood bold; - So circumscribed a bosom - Could never two hearts hold. - - * * * * * - - As I carelessly opened - Your letter, my dear, - Your heart dropp’d out, - Into my bosom, I fear, - So I took it in; but - As there’s no room for two, - I have taken out mine, - Which I now send to you. - - - BOLERO. - - I saw two stones - Fight in your street - For the joy of being trodden - Under your feet; - And I ponder’d then. - If the stones do this, - Oh, what will men? - - BOLERO. - - A favour, Blacksmith, - I ask of you; - Pray make me a lover - Of steel so true. - And this is what he replies to me - It can’t be very true - If a man it’s to be. - - * * * * * - - As we know, God made man first, - And afterwards the womenstock; - First of all the tower is built. - But last of all the weather-cock. - - * * * * * - - May the Lord God preserve us from evil birds three, - From all friars, and curates, and sparrows that be; - For the sparrows eat up all the corn that we sow, - The friars drink down all the wine that we grow, - Whilst the curates have all the fair dames at their nod: - From these three evil curses preserve us, good God. - - (_Trans. G. Borrow._) - - - - - _PROVERBS._ - - -The Man is Fire, the Woman tow, the Devil comes the flame to blow. - -Choose your Wife on a Saturday, not on a Sunday. - -While the tall Maid is stooping the little one hath swept the House. - -He who hath a handsome Wife, or a Castle on the Frontier, or a Vineyard -near the Highway, never lacks a quarrel. - -He who marries a Widow, will have a dead Man’s Head often thrown in his -Dish. - -There’s not a pin’s point between the yes and no of a woman. - -Mother, what kind of thing is this Marrying? Daughter, ’tis to spin, to -bear Children, and to cry your eyes out. - -The honest woman and the broken leg within doors. - -Women and hens soon lost with gadding about. - -He who stirs honey must have some stick to him. - -In the house of the tambourinist, all dance. - -No olla without bacon, no wedding without a tambourine. - -A partridge frightened is half cooked. - -There’s many a good drinker under a ragged cloak. - -God doth the Cure, and the Doctor takes the Money. - -When the Devil hies to his Prayers he means to cheat you. - -Change of Weather finds Discourse for Fools. - -When all Men say you are an Ass, ’tis time to bray. - -A Handful of Mother-wit is worth a bushel of Learning. - -A Pound of Care will not pay an ounce of Debt. - -A broken head never lacked a rag. - -As good bread is baked here as in France. - -When loaves are lacking, cake will do. - -He who sings, scares away sorrow. - -The hen lives on even with the pip. - -However early you get up, the day won’t break any sooner. - -Short cuts, deep ruts. - -Patience, and shuffle the cards. - -The hare jumps out when you least expect her. - -Where you hope to find rashers there are not even spits. - -Opportunity is painted bald. - -When the heifer’s given you, run quick with the halter. - -He who is not Handsome at Twenty, nor Strong at Thirty, nor Rich at -Forty, nor Wise at Fifty, will never be Handsome, Strong, Rich, nor -Wise. - -I wept when I was born, and every day shows why. - -Buy at a Fair, and sell at home. - -Let us be Friends, and put out the Devil’s eye. - -Women, Wind, and Fortune are ever changing. - - When going up hill - For a mule I sigh, - But I like my own legs - When I downwards hie. - -He who will have a Mule without any Fault must keep none. - -You should not blame the pannier for the donkey’s fault. - -The mule said to the donkey. Gee up, long ears. - -There’s a difference between Peter and Peter. - -God keep me from him whom I trust, from him whom I trust not I shall -keep myself. - -The foot of the Owner is the best manure for his Land. - -If your dove-cote never lacks corn, you will never lack pigeons. - -Lock your Door, that you may keep your Neighbour honest. - -Never mention the rope in the house of a hanged man. - -Finger nails come in when wedges are useless. - -When the abbot sings out, the acolyte’s not far behind. - -At night all cats are grey. - -One devil’s like another. - -He who sheared me still handles his scissors. - -Once bitten by a scorpion, and frightened at its shadow. - -Flies don’t enter a closed mouth. - -Some have the glory, and others card the wool. - -Don’t stretch your leg further than the street is long. - -What you have to give to the mouse give to the cat. - -Smugglers make better custom-house officers than do carbineers. - -Money paid, arms soon tired. - -Italy to be born in, France to live in, and Spain to die in. - - - - - _ANECDOTES._ - - -An astute Gallegan one day presented himself with the most candid air -at the shop of a tailor, telling him he had come to draw the fifty -reals he had deposited with him two years ago. - -The tailor was thunderstruck, and replied that he had no money of -his, whereupon the Gallegan began to cry out and complain loudly and -bitterly, which soon drew a crowd round the shop door. - -The tailor was sure of his fact, since there was no document to -attest the imaginary deposit, but fearing the scandal might damage -his business, yet unable to confess to the debt after denying it, had -recourse to a neighbouring tradesman, who promised to settle the affair. - -“Look you here, yokel, why are you making such a fuss about a mistake? -Don’t you remember that it was to my shop you brought the fifty reals?” - -“Oh, yes,” slyly replied the Gallegan; “but that was another fifty.” - - * * * * * - -While ascending a steep hill the mayoral opens the door, of the -diligence every now and then, to shut it with a loud bang, without a -word to the passengers. - -“Oh, mayoral!” cries one, “why do you open and shut the door like that, -we are freezing.” - -“Hush! it’s for the mules; every time the door slams they think somebody -has got out, and pull better.” - -A countryman wrote the following letter to his son, a student in the -capital:— - -“MY DEAR SON,—This is to tell you that I am very displeased with the -bad conduct which I have been told you observe in Madrid. If a good -thrashing could be sent by post, you would have had several from me. -As for your mother, the good woman spoils you as usual. Enclosed you -will find an order for seventy reals, which she sends you without my -knowledge, - - “Your father, - JOHN.” - - * * * * * - -Horse-dealer, exhibiting a superb animal to probable customer:— - -“Take this one, sir. He’s a splendid trotter. Mount him at four in the -morning at Madrid, and you’ll be at Alcalá at five.” - -“He won’t suit me.” - -“Why not?” - -“What should I do at five o’clock in the morning at Alcalá where I know -nobody?” - - * * * * * - -“The deuce! I do feel bad.” - -“What’s the matter.” - -“I ate a steak of horse-flesh and it’s going round and round in my -inside.” - -“My dear fellow! It must have been a circus-horse!” - - * * * * * - -A young girl was taken to see a bull-fight for the first time, and one -of the matadors was furiously attacked by a bull. - -“Don’t be afraid, dear, don’t be afraid!” exclaimed her father, while the -matador was flying through the air with the impetus of the beast’s horns. - -“Oh, no, papa, it’s the bull-fighter who’ll be afraid.” - - * * * * * - - AT A STATION. - -“A peseta for a cup of chocolate! It’s very dear. It would be better to -lower the price, though it should be of an inferior quality.” - -“To please you, señor, I will make it three reals, but I can’t make it of -inferior quality.” - - * * * * * - - IN SCHOOL. - -“Now, Pepito, is _huevo_ [egg] masculine or feminine?” - -(Pepito, thoughtfully) “It’s very difficult to tell.” - -“Difficult? What do you mean?” - -“Well, sir, how can one know until the chicken’s hatched?” - - * * * * * - -An Aragonese carman was unmercifully beating a mule who had fallen down -in one of the chief streets of the capital. The passers-by stopped to -censure the carman’s conduct, exclaiming— - -“How cruel!” - -“Poor mule!” - -“What a beast the man is!” - -The carman stopped his blows and going to the mule’s head, said— - -“Caramba! Jocky; what a lot of friends you’ve made in Madrid!” - - * * * * * - -In the porch of a church a beggar’s stool, on the stool a hat, in the hat -a cardboard with the inscription— - -“Ladies and gentlemen, do not forget a poor blind man, who has gone to -his breakfast.” - - * * * * * - -A dying courtier said to the priest that the only favour he asked of -God was to let him live till he had paid his debts. - -“That is a good motive, my son, and it is to be hoped that your prayer -will be heard.” - -“Alas, father! If it were, I should be sure never to die.” - - * * * * * - -An Arab of Tetuan asked a Jew, which of the three religions was the -best: the Jewish, the Christian, or the Mahometan? - -The Jew replied—“If Messiah really came, the Christian is the best; -if He did not, mine is the best; but whether or no, yours, Mahomet, is -always bad.” - - - - - _ECCENTRICITIES OF ENGLISHMEN._ - - -It is not to be wondered at that a country so fecund in heroes and -men of genius as the home of Nelson, Newton, and Byron, should also -produce some very eccentric men. Of no other sons of Adam are such -whimsicalities and oddities related as of those born in England. -At every step on the other side of the Channel one meets with mad -philosophers, who, if they unexpectedly inherit a large fortune, -instead of leading a sybaritic life, order a schooner or brig to be -built, embark straight away without troubling about their destination, -let the wind take them whither it lists, swallow half-a-dozen bottles -of rum, double themselves into a berth, and mingle their snores with -the roaring of the waves until their craft strands on a shoal, when the -dampness of the ocean reminds them it’s time to wake up. - -I knew an Englishman poorer than a retired Spanish ensign, and more -miserly than an old clo’man, who, with the help of a clever Newfoundland, -which he loved like a brother, saved the life of a lord’s daughter who -had fallen into the Thames. Ten years later, when he did not even -remember his generous deed, he received from the father of the lord’s -daughter a gift of £200,000 sterling. This stroke of good luck produced -no impression on his mind, to judge by any outward expression of joy; -and the following day when his creditors came to congratulate him, -they found him, to their surprise, bathed in his own blood. Not far -from the corpse lay a letter with the following contents: “Let nobody -be accused of my death, ascribe it still less to bad fortune. I was -happy in the act of suicide; I had good health and money. And yet I -felt inclined to kill myself first, because I felt inclined, secondly, -because from a boy I had always wished for a capital of £100,000, and I -find myself with one hundred thousand more than I wanted. I leave half -my fortune to my Newfoundland dog, to be invested in cat’s-meat, of which -he is very fond, and the other half to whoever undertakes to buy the -cat’s-meat for the dog. Witness my signature....” - -Needless to say, that all who knew the last will and testament of the -deceased, wanted to discharge it, with no further philanthropy than -receiving the recompense. As for the dog, which was present at the -reading of his master’s will, that so greatly concerned him, he did not -show the slightest sign of joy. However, the will was declared invalid, -and to avoid all disputes the £200,000 were returned to the chest of -the noble lord. - -The latter, finding himself again possessor of funds of which he had -taken leave for ever, desired to use them to satisfy a caprice, which -should give him the fame, throughout the whole country, of a wit. He -laid a wager with a rich tradesman that he would not sell a hundred -thousand sovereigns at a halfpenny each, though he should take his -stand for six hours in one of the most crowded spots of the capital. -This proposition deceived the tradesman as it would have deceived -anybody, and he agreed to take the bet, the stakes being nothing -less than £200,000, convinced that it was impossible he could lose. -There was a Court _levée_ that day, and a tremendous crowd of people -were crossing the Thames over Westminster Bridge towards St. James’s -Palace. The tradesman and the lord took up their post one side of the -bridge, behind a huge open chest, full of sovereigns. “A ha’penny each, -sovereigns a ha’penny each!” cried the tradesman, and the lord at his side -did nothing but laugh; the stipulations being that the lord should only -be allowed to laugh, and the tradesman to say “A ha’penny each, sovereigns -a ha’penny each!” The people passed on, saying: “What a take in! Good -heavens! Sovereigns for a ha’penny. What will they be like?” The tradesman -began to despair. More than one passer-by took up one of the coins, -turned it round and round, and then noticing the laughter which the -lord pretended he could not stifle, put the money back, saying, “They -are well imitated, but nobody can do me.” - -“A ha’penny each, sovereigns a ha’penny each!” shouted the tradesman -unceasingly, and the more he exerted himself to cry his ware, the -more clearly did the public think they saw through the trick by -which he hoped to empty their pockets. They stayed thus from nine in -the morning till three in the afternoon, the lord laughing and the -tradesman shouting. The result was that the latter lost the bet. Only -two sovereigns were sold, and these were bought by a medical student, -believing them to be false, but hoping to pass them in a gambling den -or other low place. When he found they were accepted, he returned -post-haste to Westminster Bridge to lay in a new provision, but arrived -too late; the lord and the tradesman had already vanished. - - _A. Ribot y Fontserré._ - - - - - _NEWSPAPER HUMOUR._ - - - IN THE STREET. - -Excuse me, I can’t stop. The sermon begins at five, and Padre Macario -preaches to-day. His words are worth their weight in gold, I don’t want to -lose _one_. I thought of going to call on the Zaragatonas to give them -a piece of my mind; deceitful things, they wrote an anonymous letter -to the head of my husband’s department, saying he had the influenza, and -that all the office would catch it, which is a vile story; he is quite -well, and if he had anything the matter with him I should say so at -once.... They may be thankful this is Holy Week or I should teach -them a thing or two, but I don’t want to offend Heaven to-day. The wicked -scandalmongers! ... They shall hear from me sooner or later. ... But -... I can’t stop. What’s the time? Five o’clock. I must run the whole -way. Oh! do you think you could manage to send me some stalls for La -Tubau![19] - - - IN THE CHURCH. - -“Hail, Mary,” ... Madam, you are crushing my mantilla. ... “full of -grace,” ... yes, _you_, Madam! “Blessed are thou amongst.” ... Good -evening, doña Agustina. ... No, the sermon has not commenced yet, but -it must very soon for I saw Padre Macario go into the sacristy.... -Yes, isn’t there a crowd, and quite natural too, there are not many -orators _like_ him.... “Our Father which” ... You look rather pale? -What’s the matter? ... Oh, don’t speak to me of husbands, there are -some wretches amongst them? ... What, he wouldn’t let you come to the -sermon? Heavens, what a man! Mine, thank God, is not like that; on the -contrary, so that I might feel quite easy, he has promised to give baby -his food. He’s a very good husband; fancy, this morning I had to go -out to see the dynamiters in court, and he stayed at home to wash out -some baby-clothes.... “Thy kingdom come,” ... but he has his enemies. -Those horrid Zaragatonas; ... they can’t bear me because I’m plump. ... -They’re jealous and I’ve told them so. It’s the will of Heaven, for as -for eating, I eat very little, and some days a little stewed veal, an -omelette, and half-a-dozen oranges satisfy me as much as if I had eaten -an ox. But it’s no good, they dislike me, because they themselves are -so scraggy, and now they’ve started a nasty rumour about my husband. -Suppose he has a little cold in the head, what’s that to do with them? -“Pray for our sins now and” ... _They_ are consumptive, if you like: -you need only look at them, especially the eldest, who dresses her -salad with cod-liver oil. I, of course, respect the sacredness of this -week, or I should go and see them, when they would have to look to -themselves. Besides, I don’t like talking ill of anybody, but they had -a lieutenant-colonel lodging with them, who only slept there, for he -ate with his mess, and paid them ten reals for a tiny bedroom, and was -always making them presents besides; if he had an old pair of trousers, -for instance, he would give them to their mother to make a little -jacket for herself. Now that all means something. In fact, I don’t like -scandal, but that lieutenant-colonel, “the Lord is with thee.”... -What? Padre Macario in the pulpit? So he is, and just going to begin. - -“Dear Brethren....” - -What eloquence! - -“May you in truth be brethren, with your conscience free from the sin -of hatred....” - -He’s right. People are so uncharitable, those Zaragatonas, for instance. - -“Love one another with the love of brethren. Christ pardoned His -tormentors....” - -(_Much moved_) Ah! ah! It seems impossible that people won’t repent. When -I think of those Zaragatonas, I don’t know what’s the matter with me! No, -when Holy Week is over, I shall go and hear what they have to say for -themselves. Horrid creatures! - - “_De todo un poco._” _Luis Taboada_ (_Madrid Comico_). - - * * * * * - -A coiner of false money was confessing that he had made and uttered -dollars (20 reals) which were only worth four reals. - -“You must restore the difference,” said the priest. - -“But to whom can I restore it, father?” asked the compunctious penitent. - -The priest hesitated for a moment, then said— - -“Make as many other dollars worth thirty-six reals.” - - “_La Ilustracion Española y Americana._” - - - SPANISH CEREMONY. - -A very ceremonious Spaniard, when asked why he was not present at the -funeral of a certain personage, replied— - -“Because he owed me a call.” - - - CHILDREN. - - A governess out walking with two children:— - “Look, that’s the white cow that gives us our milk.” - “Does that black one give us the coffee then?” - - * * * * * - - “Oh, children! what are you doing up that tree?” - “Mama, Pepito wanted to pick some pears.” - “And you?” - “I got up to persuade him not to.” - - - RURAL SYMPATHY. - -“My boy,” said a happy mother, “has won the first prize at school.” - -“I can understand your feelings. Oh, how well I remember how pleased I -was when our pig took a prize at the show.” - - “_Blanco y Negro._” - - - IN THE STALLS. - -“Do you notice how fat all the chorus are?” - -“Yes, the manager is very economical, and the fat ones get the same pay -as the thin but fill the stage better.” - - “_Blanco y Negro_” - - * * * * * - -“Take care they don’t give you mule’s flesh,” said a mistress to her maid, -who was going out marketing. - -“And how can I tell, ma’am?” - -“I don’t know, but mind you don’t buy any.” - -“Good, ma’am; I won’t take any meat until the butcher has shown me the -cow’s horns.” - - “_La Ilustracion Española y Americana._” - - * * * * * - -Furious wife to inflexible husband:— - -“My health requires it. The doctor has ordered me a change of air.” - -“Very well, my dear, use another fan.” - - “_La Ilustracion Española y Americana._” - - - THE ANARCHIST AGITATION. - -Military police to poor wretch found in a miserable garret suspiciously -hiding a paper:— - -“Some little preparation for the First of May, eh?” - -(_Timidly_) “Only a sonnet dedicated to the victims.” - - “_Madrid Comico._” - - - SUNDAY REST. - -The Congress is at present warmly debating the question as to Sunday -rest. As scarcely any of us Spaniards work even on week-days, _why_ -should we work on a Sunday? - - “_Madrid Comico._” - - * * * * * - - Woman and Man, - I’ve a specialist’s word, - Are as different quite - As a fish and a bird. - She, like the latter, - Is graceful and sweet, - White feathers, charms many, - Long wings, and short feet. - He, on the contrary, - Sticky as gum. - Has, patent or hidden, - Sharp fins, a fair sum. - They marry each other, - For love possibly, - And the law of their cage - Turns and takes out the key. - Poor things, unaware - Were they, but now larn, - That the well-being of one - Is the other one’s harm. - If she longs for air, - For water he cries; - The bird drowns in water, - In air the fish dies. - - But some pairs are happy, to me you reply! - Yes, some few amphibious creatures, I sigh. - - “_Los Lunes de el Imparcial._” _Manuel del Palacio._ - - - - - _HUMOROUS ADVERTISEMENTS._ - - -[Illustration: Perfumes recently arrived from Heaven.— -PERFUMERIA AMERICANA, ESPOZ Y MINA, 26.] - -[Illustration: Two elephants pull at a pair of English trousers -(PESQUERA, MAGDALENA, 20) without tearing them.] - -[Illustration: Resuscitation of a dead man, thanks to the fine Brandy -of MOGUER, CARMEN, 10.] - -[Illustration: I had been shaved at No. 40, ALCALA, when an angel -flying past told me to follow him, since I was ready.] - -[Illustration: The athlete, Señor Gomez, has developed his muscles in -a most extraordinary way by dining regularly at the restaurant, LAS -TULLERIAS, MATUTE 6.] - -[Illustration: “The earth shook, my sister, the skies were o’ercast, and -the clocks stopped.” - -“Then they could not have been bought at BRANAS, MATUTE 12, father!”] - - -[Illustration: - - When Love has the toothache, - He is halting and thin, - So get rid of the tooth - If your fair one you’d win. - -(TIRSO PEREZ, MAYOR, 73, DENTIST.)] - - _Madrid Comico._ - - - - - _AT THE THEATRE._ - - -[Illustration: The first thing done by every newcomer is to deposit his -hat on a chair, to show there are no hooks in the hall.] - -[Illustration: The startled lover hides himself in a special shelveless -cupboard, kept in all houses exclusively for this object.] - -[Illustration: If anyone becomes a corpse at the end of the drama, the -witnesses must all keep the same position until the curtain falls at -least.] - -[Illustration: When anything serious happens to the heroine, she must -at once take out her hair-pins, which are incompatible with sentiment.] - -[Illustration: The comic tenor can do nothing less than sing smart -couplets to the young ladies, who learn them immediately and repeat -them straight away.] - -_Madrid Comico._ - - - - - NOTES CRITICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL. - - - [_The accent, used in Spanish both for accentuation and pronunciation, - has mostly only been given in the names of persons and places in which - it is necessary for the pronunciation, as José, otherwise Jose._] - - ALARCON, PEDRO ANTONIO DE, perhaps the most popular Spanish writer - of the nineteenth century, was born in Guadix in 1833, and was a - member of a noble family of but little means. After studying first - jurisprudence, and afterwards theology, he devoted himself to letters, - for which he had always shown a strong proclivity. Amongst the best - known of his numerous works are “The Three-Cornered Hat,” which - is based on an old Spanish tale, somewhat Boccaccian in flavour; - “The Scandal”; “La Alpujarra,” the records of a delightful trip in - Andalusia; and several collections of short tales, of which many have - been translated into English—notably by Mary J. Serrano (New York). - - ALAS, LEOPOLDO, author and critic of the present day. - - ALEMAN, MATEO, native of Seville, flourished in the year 1609. He - followed in the steps of Mendoza, by the more ample portraiture of - the life of a rogue than is the former’s Lazarillo, in his “Guzman - de Alfarache,” which appeared in 1553, forty-six years after its - prototype. Little is known of Aleman’s life; he seems to have been long - employed in the Treasury, and at last to have retired, and devoted the - rest of his life to letters. But he claims to be remembered by his - work, “Guzmann de Alfarache,” the popularity of which was so immediate - that, like “Don Quixote,” it provoked a spurious “Second Part” before - the real continuation appeared, and was soon translated into the chief - European tongues, French, Italian, German, Portuguese, and even - Latin, and into excellent English by Mabbe, whose contemporary, Ben - Jonson, thus speaks of it: - - “The Spanish Proteus, which, though writ - But in one tongue, was formed with the world’s wit, - And hath the noblest mark of a good booke, - That an ill man doth not securely looke - Upon it; but will loathe or let it passe, - As a deformed face doth a true glasse.” - - (Verses prefixed to Mabbe’s translation, and signed by Ben Jonson.) - - AYGUALS DE IZCO, WENCESLAO, nineteenth century. This author, now often - held up as a model to avoid, enjoyed, some fifty years ago, no little - popularity as a humorous writer. - - “BOOK OF JOKES, THE,” is to be found in the collection of “Spanish - Salt,” edited by A. Paz y Melía, and published in 1890. Señor Paz - believes most of the tales in the “Book of Jokes” should be ascribed - to Hurtado de Mendoza. - - CALDERON DE LA BARCA, PEDRO, the great successor and rival of Lope de - Vega, was eminently a poet in the national temper, and had a brilliant - success. He was born at Madrid on January 17, 1600. After serving - as a soldier he was, on the death of Lope, formally attached to the - Court, and was subsequently made a Knight of the Order of Santiago. In - 1651 he followed the example of Lope de Vega and other men of letters - by entering the Church. He died in 1681, on the Feast of Pentecost, - when all Spain was ringing with his autos, and was buried in the - splendid church of Atocha. Calderon was remarkable for his personal - beauty, and was endowed with a benevolent and kindly character. Of his - autos, or religious plays, the “Wonder-working Magician” is the most - characteristic of the old Spanish stage (the question has been raised - if Goethe had not read it before he wrote “Faust,” the plot being very - similar). Of the secular dramas, “The Mayor of Zalamea” is in Spain - the most popular, and is still frequently represented, while “Life is - a Dream” is perhaps pre-eminent for its brilliant flowing verse and - philosophic thoughts. “The Mayor of Zalamea,” though boisterous and - jolly in the act given in the text, winds up a tragedy of the first - water. - - CAMPOAMOR, RAMON DE, native of Asturias, September 24, 1817, called - by Blanco García the Poet “Philosopher” (a title disputed by other - critics), is one of the few modern Spanish poets whose fame has - crossed the frontier of the Peninsula, his works having been studied - in Italy and France. Like his late fellow-poet, Zorrilla, he has - reached a ripe old age, and his peculiar style (of which “If She could - only Write” is perhaps scarcely typical) has had several imitators. - - “CELESTINA; OR, THE TRAGICOMEDY OF CALISTO AND MELIBŒA,” is considered - one of the chief foundations of the Spanish drama. The first act was - probably written by Rodrigo Cota of Toledo, and it may be assumed that - it was produced about 1480. The rest was added by Fernando de Rojas - de Montalvan. Unhappily, large portions of this vigorous work abound - in a shameless libertinism. It was followed by many imitations, and - was soon translated into English, German, Dutch, Latin, Italian, and - French. - - CERVANTES DE SAAVEDRA (MIGUEL) was a member of an old noble family, - decayed in fortune, and was born in the month of October in 1547 in - Alcalá de Henares. Here he probably received his early education, - which it has been conjectured he continued at Madrid, and later on at - the University of Salamanca. He discovered a strong predilection for - literature, but his necessities seemed to have forced him to seek for - a livelihood by some other means. Anyway, in 1570 we find him serving - at Rome as chamberlain in the household of Cardinal Aquaviva; and he - subsequently entered the navy, and lost his left hand at the famous - sea-fight of Lepanto, which fight decisively arrested the intrusion of - the Turks into the West of Europe (October 7, 1571). His misfortune - did not prevent him joining the troops of the King of Spain at Naples; - but when returning to Spain by sea, he was made a prisoner by pirates, - who took him to Algiers, where for five years he was kept as a slave. - After this period he was ransomed, when he went to Madrid. He married - in 1584, and soon after began his first literary efforts, which were - for the stage. But after composing some thirty plays with little - pecuniary result, his genius was diverted into a different channel, - and he produced, in 1605, the First Part of the immortal novel of “Don - Quixote.” Inimitable in its wit and humour as this work is, it was at - first received with comparative indifference. Ultimately, however, it - met with the greatest applause, although the author reaped few or - none of the emoluments which might have been expected from it. The - Second Part was not published till 1615, and was even superior to the - first. (Avellaneda’s spurious Second Part appeared in 1614.) Needless to - say, “Don Quixote” soon became known all over the civilised world, - and was translated into a multitude of tongues. The oldest English - translation is by Shenton, 1612, which is followed by a vulgar, - unfaithful, and coarse one by Milton’s nephew, John Philips, 1712; one by - Motteux; one by Jervas (Jarvis), 1742, which Smollet used freely in - his own, 1755; a few others of lesser importance; and finally, in the - eighties of the present century, one by Mr. Ormsby; and Mr. H. E. Watt’s - learned and faithful work, from which the extracts have been drawn for - this volume. The other principal works of Cervantes are “The Journey - to Parnassus,” his Exemplary Novels, “Galatea,” and the unfinished - romance, “The Labours of Persiles and Sigismunda,” his last work. - Cervantes died on the 23rd of April, in the year 1616 (the year of - Shakespeare’s death), at the age of sixty-eight. - - CHRONICLE OF THE CID. Southey’s so-called “Chronicle of the Cid” is not a -translation of any single work, but is based upon, i. La Cronica del -Cid; ii. La cronica general (thirteenth century); iii. El Poema del -Cid (twelfth century); and lastly, the ballads of the Cid. The extract -given is, however, a word for word translation from the Cronica del -Cid. The first and only edition of this chronicle was printed in 1552, -but it is impossible to ascertain its age. (The Abbot who published it -absurdly supposed it to have been written during the Cid’s lifetime.) -The incident in the given extract seems to have much amused a mediæval -audience, and it was often enlarged and improved upon by the minstrels -and story-tellers. - - CID, THE (ARABIC, SAID = LORD), DON RODRIGO DIAZ DE BIVAR, also styled - _The Campeador_, the national hero of Spain, was born at Burgos about - 1040. The facts of his career have been wrapped by his admiring - countrymen in such a haze of glorifying myths, that it is scarcely - possible to detect them. His life, however, appears to have been - entirely spent in fierce warfare with the Moors, then masters of a - great part of Spain. His exploits are set forth in the works given in - the note to the Chronicle of the Cid; and the story of his love for - Ximena is the subject of Corneille’s masterpiece, “Le Cid” (based on a - play by the Spanish dramatist Guillen de Castro). The Campeador’s last - achievement was the capture from the Moors of Valencia, where he died - in 1099. - - EPIGRAMS. The names of two famous satirists, of Forner (d. 1797) and - Pitillas, are, for various reasons, lacking in this compilation. - - ESTÉBANEZ DE CALDERÓN, SERAFIN (El Solitario), born in Malaga, 1799, - and died in Madrid in 1867, is given the priority of those authors, - akin to the Periodical Essayists in English literature, called in - Spain writers of “_costumbres_” (manners and customs of the people), - who occupy so important a place in the Spanish literature of the - nineteenth century, and amongst whom de Larra (Figaro) is pre-eminent. - Unfortunately El Solitario employs such subtle style and archaic - phrases that the Spaniards themselves complain they have to read his - works with a dictionary. - - “ESTEBANILLO GONZALEZ, THE LIFE OF,” which appeared in 1646, is the - autobiography of a buffoon, who was long in the service of Ottavio - Piccolomini, the great general of the Thirty Years’ War, but it is an - autobiography so full of fiction, that Le Sage, sixty years after its - appearance, easily changed it into a mere romance (Ticknor). - - “FERNAN CABALLERO” (Cecilia Böhl de Faber, daughter of the Spanish - scholar), was born in 1796, and married three times. She is sometimes - known under her last name, Cecilia Arron (or Arrom) de Azala. Her - numerous works, chiefly novelas, were published under the pseudonym - of Fernan Caballero, the name of a little village in La Mancha. They - give truthful and lively pictures of Spanish (especially Andalusian) - life and manners, are eminently national in tone and spirit, and have - an excellent moral tendency, which combination soon made her one - of the most popular Spanish writers of the nineteenth century. She - also shares with Trueba the honour of collecting Spanish Folk-tales - and popular songs from the mouths of the people, before the days - of Folk-lore societies. Queen Isabella II. made her an offer of a - residence in the Alcazar of Seville, of which she availed herself till - the revolution of 1868, after which she lived in a modest villa, and - devoted herself to charity. She died April 7, 1877. - - FOLK-TALES. To a student of Spanish Folk-lore this selection will - be unsatisfactory. The tales from Fernan Caballero and Trueba (see - _Biographical Notes_) are, however, amusing, while Southey’s verses - present a sample of the numerous tales current in Spain about the - saints, and which are more often than not allied to the ridiculous. - _El Padre Cobos_ is the title of a famous periodical produced in the - years 1854-6 (see _Newspaper Humour_). - - “GATOMAQUIA.” [Having been unable to find a passage in Lope de Veg - burlesque epic, the “Gatomachia,” comprehensive enough in itself to - form a good extract, I append some lines descriptive of the hero and - heroine, which, though somewhat vulgarised in the English, may give a - notion of its humour.] - - On a lofty peak’d ridge of a til’d-roof there sat - Zapaquilda, the prettiest pussy cat, - Enjoying a blow and most busy at work - Cleaning waistcoat and tail with tongue graceful yet perk, - For as jaunty a cat and important is she - As if she belonged to a monastery— - No mirror had she, though a mocking magpie - Had carried a broken potsherd up on high— - Who never found student’s shirt-collar but he - Behind a tile hid it as his property. - When she’d finished her washing, and wetting her paws, - Had drawn two long stripes down her sides with her claws, - She sang a sweet sonnet with such style and grace, - It reminded one of the musician of Thrace, - And made all the hearts of her list’ners rejoice - And say, “I am sure that’s a pussy cat’s voice,” - While some feline solfas and harmonious chromatics - Laid a whole nest of rats low with nervous rheumatics. - - ’Twas late spring and fair Flora with buskins of gold - Decked the earth with her roses and flowers manifold, - When to Sir Marramaquiz, of fame far and wide, - His squire (of La Mancha, by birth) quickly hied, - To tell how in the sun Zapaquilda, as fair - As the roseate dawn, had been combing her hair, - And now, with a charm and a grace quite her own, - Was singing a trifle of famed Mendelssohn, - That enamoured the air. Marramaquiz’s heart - At this news of his squire of dire love felt the smart; - He called for his charger, a monkey acquired - In the war of the Apes and the Cats, and attired - In breeches and boots, worth many a bright dollar, - And a little girl’s cuff round his neck for a collar, - In cape, cap and feather, and girt with a sword, - (The feather he’d pluck’d from a parrot whose word - Of defiance had vexed him), used both whip and spur, - And found Zapaquilda still taking the air,— - Who on seeing him, modest as nun ‘neath a veil, - Lick’d one paw, droop’d her eyelids and let down her tail, - For of virtuous maidens, ’tis ever the duty - To be more circumspect the greater their beauty. - - GUEVARA, LUIS VELEZ DE, born in 1572 or 1574 at Ecija in Andalusia. He - wrote a good deal for the stage (four hundred plays), in which he was - an early follower of Lope de Vega; but the work which established his - fame was the “Diablo Cojuelo,” the “Limping Devil,” which suggested - the idea of Le Sag famous “Diable Boiteux.” Guevara died in the year - 1644. - - HARTZENBUSCH, JUAN EUGENIO, lived from 1805 to 1880, was born of a - German father and Spanish mother. He is one of the first scholars, - prose writers, and critics of the century, and like his contemporary, - Mesonero Romanos, edited valuable collections of the flower of the old - Spanish drama. His masterpiece is the tragedy, “The Lovers of Teruel,” - which treats upon an old Spanish legend, and is one of the most - popular of modern plays. An opera with the same title and subject, by - a Spanish composer of the day, is also deservedly popular. “Mariquita - la Pelona,” which is taken from a collection of short tales by this - author, is written in old Spanish, and has a sequel in a modern - “Mariquita,” who repairs to a convent for a year to obtain possession - of a sum of money offered her by some unknown person, on condition she - undergoes this temporary confinement, to find at the expiration of the - twelve months that the mysterious donor is a slighted suitor, who had - vowed to humiliate her. - - IGLESIAS, born in Salamanca, wrote a number of poems, the lighter of - which have alone retained popularity, the serious and duller ones, - written after he became a priest, being justly neglected. He died in - 1791. - - ISLA, FATHER, was born in 1703, and died in 1781 at Bologna, where, - being a Jesuit, he had been sent on the general expulsion of his order - from Spain. He was an author possessed of a brilliant and delicate - satire, most thoroughly exemplified in his celebrated work, “The - History of the Famous Preacher, Friar Gerund,” a direct attack on the - bad style of preaching then in vogue. Padre Isla is also prominent - as the translator into Spanish of “Gil Blas,” which, without any - foundation, he maintained had been stolen by Le Sage from Spanish - literature. - - JÉRICA (XÉRICA), PABLO DE (he was a young man during the French - revolution), is very severely criticised by Blanco García in his - “History of the Literature of the Nineteenth Century.” - - LARRA, MARIANO JOSÉ DE (Figaro), was born in Madrid in the year 1809. - Receiving his first education in France, where his father served as - doctor in Napoleon’s army, he returned to complete it at Madrid, and - afterwards repaired to the University of Valladolid, where he began - to study law. He wrote his first prose essays at the age of twenty, - but it was his later articles, signed “El pobrecito Hablador,” which - first gave him the undisputed reputation of critic and writer of - “_costumbres_,” among the host of which, his Spanish contemporaries - and imitators, he reigns supreme, while what preserve his fame are - the brilliant and satirical articles signed “Figaro,” amongst which - “The Old Castilian,” and “Yo quiero ser comico,” are the best known. - Unfortunately his private life was disturbed by wild love affairs, and - he committed suicide on account of an attachment to a married lady, in - 1837, at the age of twenty-eight. - - “LIBRO DE LOS EXEMPLOS” (author unknown). This collection of tales - is considered by Don Pascual de Gayangos to be posterior to Don Juan - Manuel. The greater part of the tales are taken from Rabbi Mosch - Sefardi’s “Disciplina Clericalis” (early part of the twelfth century), - probably the Latin translation of an Arabic original, which is drawn - from Oriental sources, and is itself the common well from which drew, - amongst others, the authors of the “Gesta Romanorum,” the “Decameron,” - and the “Canterbury Tales.” The story entitled “The Biter Bit” - figures, for instance, in the “Disciplina Clericalis” and the Gesta - Romanorum. “El Libro de los Gatos” belongs to the same century as the - “Libro de los Exemplos” (or Enxemplos). - - - LOPE FELIX DE VEGA CARPIO was born on November 25, 1562, at Madrid. - This extraordinary Spanish genius, second only to Cervantes, than whom - he was more popular during the lifetime of both, rose to a degree of - fame reached by few of any country. Epics, serious and humorous (see - “_Gatomaquia_”); novelas; ballads; epigrams; plays—religious, heroic, - of intrigue, or of domestic life; nothing, in fact, came amiss to - his pen. But it is as dramatist that he is best known, and in which - quality his facility was such that at his death it was reckoned he - had composed eighteen hundred plays and four hundred autos (religious - dramas), while it is stated that one of his plays was written and - acted within five days. Lope de Vega’s last days were the prey to a - melancholy fanaticism. He regretted he had ever been engaged in - any occupations but such as were exclusively religious; and on one - occasion he went through with a private discipline so cruel that - the walls of the compartment where it occurred were found sprinkled - with his blood. From this he never recovered, and he died on August - 27, 1635, nearly seventy-three years old. His funeral, which immense - crowds thronged to see, lasted nine days; and of the eulogies and - poems written on the occasion, those in Spanish were sufficient to - form one volume, those in Italian another. - - MANUEL, PRINCE DON JUAN, born May 5, 1282, at Escalona, died 1349, was - of the blood royal of Castile and Leon, nephew to Alfonso the Wise, - cousin to Sancho IV. He first fought against the Moors when he was - twelve, and the rest of his years were spent in filling great offices - in the State, or in military operations on the Moorish frontier. In - spite of a life full of intrigue and violence he devoted himself - successfully to literature, and is the first great Spanish prose - writer. In “Count Lucanor,” his best and more known work, most of the - tales are of Oriental origin. That Shakespeare knew the tale, here - given the title of his play, is indubitable; while “The Naked King” - will appear familiar to readers of Hans Andersen’s fairy tales (“The - Emperor’s New Clothes” in its turn has given the plot for Ludwig Fulda’s - drama, “The Talisman,” considered the best German play of the last - three years, and recently introduced into England by Mr. Beerbohm Tree - under the title of “Once Upon a Time”). - - MENDOZA, DIEGO HURTADO DE, a distinguished Spanish statesman, soldier, - and historian, was born at Granada in 1503. After studying at the - Universities of Granada and Salamanca, he entered the service of the - Emperor Charles V., and was employed in Italy both as diplomatist and - general with equal success. He at last fell under the displeasure - of Philip II. of Spain, and in 1567 was banished. He died at Madrid - in the year 1575. His greatest work is “La guerra de Granada contra - los Moriscos”; he also wrote some fine poetry; and claims the - merit of producing in “Lazarillo de Tormes” the first model of the - _novela picoresca_, peculiar to the literature of Spain. “Lazarillo” - was translated into English as early as 1586 by David Rowland, of - which rendering as many as twenty editions are known, and which was - re-edited in the seventeenth century by James Blakeston, with but - slight alterations. Like other books enjoying a wide reputation, it - produced many imitations, among them a “Second Part” of little merit. - See _Book of Jokes_. - - MESONERO ROMANOS, RAMON DE (El Curioso Parlante), born in Madrid, - 1803, died in 1882, who appeared in the literary world, almost - simultaneously, with de Larra, and together with him and Estébanez - de Calderón belongs to the writers of “_costumbres_,” seems to an - English reader inferior to these two in style and conception, though - Spaniards consider his “Escenas Matritenses” one of the great works - of the nineteenth century, and they are held by Blanco García to be - invaluable photographs of life in the writer’s days. Mesonero Romanos was - also a composer of light and piquant verses, and distinguished himself - in the critical world by his collections of Spanish dramatists, - published by Rivadeneyra. - - MORATIN, LEANDRO FERNANDEZ, died 1828, the more famous son of a famous - father (Nic. Fern. Moratin). - - NEWSPAPER HUMOUR. The strictly humorous Spanish periodical literature - of to-day is of no great merit, and often borders upon impropriety. - Of the papers from which cuttings are here given, _La Ilustracion - Española y Americana_ (the Spanish _Illustrated News_), is first-rate - in its class—Fernandez Bremen is a well-known contributor. The daily - paper—_El Imparcial_—devotes a sheet every Monday to lighter and - more amusing literature under the direction of Señor Ortega Munilla. - Manuel Palacio is the comic poet of the day. Taboada, who writes for - _El Madrid Comico_, the nearest approach to our _Punch_, is nothing - if not vulgar. _Blanco y Negro_ is a fairly successful attempt of - humour with propriety. The famous periodical, _El Padre Cobos_, is - not represented here as (it appeared in the years 1854-56) it cannot - be considered to belong to the present day. It is, moreover, purely - political. - - OSSORIO Y BERNARD, MANUEL (nineteenth century). A humbler member of - the _Spectator_ school, or “autores de costumbres.” - - PALACIO VALDÉS, ARMANDO (nineteenth century). One of the Spanish - novelists of the day, and of great popularity, especially in America, - where nearly all his novels have been translated into English. “Sister - Saint Sulpice” is perhaps his masterpiece. Of his later novels, - “Froth” should be avoided as a disagreeable work, and no true picture - of aristocratic Spanish circles. “El Maestrante,” the last work of - this author, is to be brought out shortly by Mr. Heinemann. - - PARDO BAZAN, EMILIA, native of Corunna, September 16, 1851, married in - 1868, is one of the most gifted women of the times, and in fame the - Madame de Staël of Spain. She belongs to the Naturalistic school of - novelists; does not, however, lack tinges of idealism. Her critical - power is manifest in the review, _El Teatro Critico_, for three years - the product of her pen alone, and the issuing of which, it is to be - regretted, she has—owing to stress of work—suspended for this year - (1894). She is, furthermore, editor of a series of works of special - reference to women (whether of fiction, or of scientific, historical, - and philosophical interest), for which she has already translated John - Stuart Mill’s “The Subjection of Women,” while she promises, among other - volumes, a Spanish version of “Adam Bede.” The little tale “First - Love” is given here as being suitable for this volume, rather than - as typical of Doña Emilia’s pen. Her works are too numerous to be here - recounted. - - “PEDIGREE OF FOOLS.” This was versified at a later date. - - PÉREZ GALDOS, BENITO, born in Las Palmas (the Canary Isles) in 1845, - came to Madrid in 1863, where he took his degree in law. His fame - rests upon the “Epistodios Nacionales,” in which, following in the - steps of Erckmann-Chatrian, he illustrates his national history in - a series of romances. The first series, to which the volume “Gerona” - belongs, covers the period from the battle of Trafalgar to the entry - of Ferdinand VII. into Spain (1814). Unlike his French prototypes, - Pérez Galdos is furnished with no small amount of humour. In “Gerona” - the grim horrors of the siege are well contrasted by passages, such as - those given, and a third, in which the two boys Manolet and Badolet - catch rats in the cellars, in danger themselves of being devoured by - the army of famishing rodents, which are led by a huge fat rat, abused - by the boys under the name of Napoleon, and which they finally catch - and propose to sell in the market for at least ten reals (2s.) Pérez - Galdos changes his residence according to the scenes of the subject at - which he is working, and is at present at Santander. - - PINEDO, LUIS DE. See _Book of Jokes_. - - “POEMA DEL CID.” This grand old poem, unquestionably the oldest in - the Spanish language, is by Sanchez, who first published it in 1779, - given as early a date as the middle of the twelfth century, about - fifty years after the death of the Cid. Some spirited fragmentary - translations by Mr. John Hookham Frere are appended to the early - edition of Southey’s “Chronicle of the Cid,” and the whole laid before - the reader in verse and somewhat epitomised prose by Mr. John Ormsby, - whose work is invaluable to English students of the poem, not only - for its true rendering, but for the fine introduction. An attempt at - old ballad language and style may perhaps be excused in the extract - selected, by reason that this, the most humorous incident in the poem, - had unfortunately not been put into verse by either Mr. Hookham or - Mr. Ormsby, and a fresh departure seemed desirable to avoid invidious - comparison. The passage, alas! is also considerably abridged to suit - the requirements of the present volume. For the rendering of the old - Spanish I have to thank the valuable tuition of Señor Don José Balari - y Jovany, of the University of Barcelona, to whom, as a philologist - of no small merit, attention has already been drawn in England. The - following passage is from Ford’s “Guide to Spain”—Burgos Cathedral. “In - the ante-room of the chapter-house is preserved _El Cofre del Cid_, a - trunk clamped with iron, and now attached to the north wall, which the - Cid filled with sand, and then pledged to the Jews as full of gold, - for a loan of 600 marks, which he afterwards honestly repaid.” - - POLO, JACINTO, flourished in 1630, and is known as the composer of - some lyrical poetry and author of prose satires in the style of Quevedo’s - Visions. It has, however, been doubted by Gayangos and other critics - if “The University of Love and School of Interest,” from which Ticknor - gives the extract “Aunts,” was written by Polo. - - POPULAR SONGS. Long romances or ballads, like those of the olden - times, are also sung in the streets of Spain by the blind minstrels. - The so-called popular songs are, however, of the kind here given, - which bear a strong family likeness to the _stornelli_ and _rispetti_ - of the Italian peasantry, and which, illustrating the origin of the - word _ballad_, are danced to. The verses often embody quaint conceits. - The stones in the pavement quarrelling over which should be trodden - on by a fair maid is not very far-fetched for a Spanish compliment. - A Spanish lover will adore anything that has the remotest connection - to his lady-love, and a record “flor” (flower = sweet saying) which - hails from South America is, “Blessed be even the razor with which - your father shaves himself.” The accompaniment to the songs is in - dancing rhythm thrummed on the ubiquitous guitar, and often marked by - the castanets of the dancers, or, in Oriental fashion, by the clapping - of hands of the bystanders. The air sung consists of three or four - phrases at most, each a combination of nasally intoned, long-sustained - notes ending in odd twists and turns. - - PORTUGUESE EPITAPHS. The Castilians always sharpen their wits on - the Portuguese, who, together with the Biscayans, are laughed at - for their simplicity. The Portuguese is also accused of a love of - brag. This joking is carried so far that, to take off the poor - Portuguese, anecdotes and epitaphs (as in those selected) are written - in the Portuguese language by Spaniards. The Andalusian also plays - the braggart, and is a reputed payer of fantastic and exaggerated - compliments (_flores_) to the fair sex. The Gallegan is credited with - the shrewdness of the Yorkshireman. - - PROVERBS. Many of these “wise sayings drawn from long experience,” to - which the Spanish people are especially addicted, are given in the - English rendering of an old book on Spanish proverbs in the library of - the British Museum. - - QUEVEDO, FRANCISCO GOMEZ DE, the eminent Spanish satirist, was born - of a distinguished family at Madrid, 1580. He was sent early to the - University of Alcalá, where he took his degree at the age of fifteen. - He mixed much in fashionable society, but in consequence of a duel - he was compelled to quit the court and repair to Naples, where he - was received by the Spanish envoy, the Duke of Osuna, who not only - retained him in his service, but procured his pardon at Madrid. On - the fall of his patron Quevedo returned to court; but scarcely had - he arrived there when he was arrested, and confined for three years - to his country seat, upon the charge of being the author of certain - libels against the Government. In 1641 he was again arrested on the - charge of libel, and cast into prison, where he remained for nearly - two years. He died sometime after his release in September, 1645. - Quevedo was undoubtedly one of the best writers of his age, both in - prose and verse. His longest prose satire, “The History and Life of - the Great Sharper, Paul of Segovia,” first printed in 1626, belongs to - the style of fiction invented by Mendoza in his “Lazarillo,” and has - most of the characteristics of its class. His “Sueños,” or Visions, - are equally famous, and are extremely original. His works were - translated into English by Sir Roger L’Estrange, and passed through about - ten editions in forty years, and again by Stevens about the close of - the last century. This most original of Spanish writers (excepting - Cervantes) distinguished himself by his extraordinary versatility of - talent. His poems, collected under the title of “El Parnaso Español,” - consist of lyrical poems, satires, burlesque pieces, and more than a - thousand sonnets of remarkable beauty. - - RIBOT Y FONTSERRÉ. The tales current abroad of the eccentricities of - Englishmen are many. A Spaniard will gravely tell a tale of how an - Englishman, after a serious railway accident on the Continent, in - which his valet was killed, gathered together the fragments of the - latter’s body, packed them in the man’s trunk, and despatched this to the - family of the deceased. The tale of the somewhat Dundrearyesque lord - may, however, be based on fact, for the story is known in England. It - is here given from a Spanish humorous publication of the first half - of this century. A veteran in journalism like Mr. Sala would probably - know the origin, and name the hero of the story. - - ROJAS, FRANCISCO DE (ROJAS Y ZORRILLA), flourished during the greater - part of Calderon’s life, and may have survived him. He was born in - Toledo, and in 1641 was made a Knight of the Order of Santiago; but - when he died is not known. Unless he began his career too early to be - a mere follower, he certainly belongs to Calderon’s school. He is perhaps - most successful in tragedies, of which the best play is “None below - the King.” This work still maintains a position on the stage, and is - worth reading if only as an example of the extraordinary sense of - honour and allegiance entertained by Spaniards in those past times. - - RUEDA, LOPE DE, is the author of four comedias, two pastoral - colloquies (“Timbria” is one), and minor works, all written for - representation, and which were unquestionably acted before public - audiences by the strolling company Lope de Rueda led about. The period - in which he flourished is probably between 1544 and 1567. In spite of - belonging to the then despised and rejected profession of the stage, - he was interred with honour in the great cathedral of Cordova. - - SANTOS, FRANCESCO, a native of Madrid, died not far from the year - 1700. Between 1663 and 1697 he gave to the world sixteen volumes of - different kinds of works for the popular amusement. The oldest of the - series is “Dia y Noche en Madrid,” the hero of which, a stranger, - falls into the hands of a not over-honest servant, who undertakes to - serve as guide to him in Madrid. “Truth on the Rack; or, the Cid come - to Life again,” is an allegorical work (from it the tale “La Tarasca” - is drawn), and is amusing in that the Cid on his return to earth is - much disgusted with the traditions and ballads about himself. - - SEGOVIA, ANTONIO MARIA, who signed his articles with the pseudonym - “The Student,” has the fame of being the most classic in style of the - Spanish periodical essayists of the nineteenth century. - - SELGAS Y CARRASCO, JOSÉ, was born in Murcia in 1824, and died at - Madrid, 1882. He was one of the contributors to the famous periodical - _El Padre Cobos_, and exhibits an inimitable serious humour in his - volumes of “Loose Leaves” (“Hojas Sueltas”). - - TIMONEDA, JUAN DE, a bookseller, one of the founders of the popular - theatre in Spain, flourished in the year 1590. He was also an early - writer of Spanish tales, his first attempt being “Patrañuelo,” a small - work which drew its material from widely different sources—some being - found in the Gesta Romanorum, others, like the story of Griselda, from - Boccaccio, another, familiar to English readers by the ballad of “King - John and the Abbot of Canterbury,” probably from Sacchetti. Timoneda - was a friend of Lope de Rueda, whose works he edited. - - TRUEBA, ANTONIO DE, born Christmas, 1819 (?), of poor and respectable - parents, within the jurisdiction of the province of Biscay, was - sent, at the age of fifteen, to work in a hardware store in Madrid, - where he spent all his spare time and hours, stolen from sleep, in - reading and writing, until he began to publish, and finally dedicated - himself wholly to literature. He is the exponent of humble Spanish - life, especially of the country people, and if he is somewhat too - rose-coloured in his views, it is, perhaps, not an unpardonable fault. - His collection of popular songs was received with enthusiasm, and - though he is now out of vogue as an author, the songs and his prose - works, of which most are based upon folk-tales, will always be of - value for the researches of Folk-lore. - - VALERA, JUAN, was born in the province of Cordova on October 18, 1824. - He had aristocratic connections, and was early in life enrolled in - the diplomatic service, to which he owes his great familiarity with - European literature. He subsequently entered politics, and until the - age of forty-two had been able to give up to authorship but his hours - of leisure, to which we owe his critical studies and translations. - “Pepita Jiménez,” his first novel, was produced in 1874, and was a - “success unparalleled in the history of modern Spanish literature.” To - continue in the words of Mr. Edmund Gosse:—“This book still remains, - after the large development of fiction in Spain, the principal, the - typical Spanish novel of our days.... It has become a classic in - the lifetime of its author, and is studied, imitated, analysed as - a book which has passed beyond all danger of the vicissitudes of - fashion, and which will unquestionably survive as one of the glories - of the national literature.... ‘Pepita Jiménez’ is Spain itself in - a microcosm—Spain with its fervour, its sensual piety, its rhetoric - and hyperbole, its superficial passion, its mysticism, its graceful - extravagance.” Later novels are “El Comendador Mendoza,” “Doña Luz,” - and “Doctor Faustino.” Valera occupies a pre-eminent position as - politician, journalist, author, and critic, and is at present at - Vienna as Spanish ambassador to the Austrian Court. - - VICENTE, GIL, a Portuguese, but who ranks among Spanish dramatists, as - he wrote ten plays in Castilian. (It was a not uncommon practice for - Portuguese authors to employ Castilian. Saa de Miranda, the pastoral - poet and contemporary of Gil Vicente, wrote six of his eight eclogues - in the more sonorous Castilian.) Gil Vicente flourished as a writer - for the stage from 1506 to 1536; died in 1557. - - YRIARTE (IRIARTE), TOMAS DE, born on the island of Tenerife in 1750, - but educated mostly at Madrid, owes his reputation chiefly to his - literary fables, the influence of which was much needed in the age of - bad writing in which they appeared, and in which he showed originality - by adapting the attributes of animals to only one class of men, - namely, authors, and not mankind at large, as had always been done - before. Yriarte died in 1791. - - ZAYAS Y SOTOMAYOR, MARIA DE. The only information we can gather - respecting this lady is founded on the authority of the industrious - bibliographer, Nicolas Antonio, who assures us that she was a native - of Madrid, and that she composed two series of novels, under the - titles of “Novelas Amorosas i exemplares,” and “Novelas i Seraos.” - She is also mentioned by Lope de Vega in his “Laurel de Apolo” in - very flattering terms. The style and character of this write novels - exhibit much of the ease and elegance, with no little of the freedom, - of Boccaccio; they abound with incident, both humorous and tragic, and - with chivalric or amorous adventure. With little artifice, however, - in the plot, and less study of character, there are some striking and - effective scenes; while the situations are often well conceived, and - the suspense is maintained throughout so as to please or surprise us. - “The Miser Chastised” is perhaps the only one of her novels in which - the writer wholly adopts a comic tone and spirit, without any touches - of a more sentimental kind. With some humour, this story combines - considerable ease and originality. Under the same title as the - foregoing appeared a drama from the pen of Don Juan de la Hoz Mota, a - Spanish dramatic writer of some celebrity, who succeeded in exposing - the vice of avarice on the stage in strong and natural colours, and - with such bold and happy strokes of ridicule, as almost to merit its - being placed in the same rank with the famous “Avare” of Molière - (Thomas Roscoe). Doña Maria de Zayas, flourished in the year 1637. - ZORRILLA, JOSÉ, born at Valladolid, February 21, 1817, poet _par - excellence_ of traditionary and legendary subjects, has for years been - prime favourite of the Spanish people, and his inexhaustible vein of - poetry showed but scanty signs of diminishing even in the last years - of a hoary old age. His most popular work, “Don Juan Tenorio” (1844), - a drama in verse treating of the notorious Don Juan, hero of Tirso de - Molina’s “Seville Deceiver,” of Byron’s poem, and Mozart’s opera, is - a masterpiece of harmonious and flowing verse, and of fine dramatic - effect. It is played annually in every town where there is a theatre - throughout all Spain on the eve of All Saints’ Day, when the scene in - which the bodies rise from their graves and come to the banquet of Don - Juan and his boon companions upon the former’s blasphemous invitation - is awaited with breathless horror by crowded houses. Other long poems - are the “Legend of the Cid,” and “The Cobbler and the King.” Zorrilla - died the 23rd of January, 1893. - - - THE WALTER SCOTT PRESS, NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE. - - - - - NEW BOOKS - IMPORTED BY - _CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS_, - NEW YORK CITY. - - - GREAT WRITERS. - - A NEW SERIES OF CRITICAL BIOGRAPHIES OF FAMOUS WRITERS OF EUROPE AND - AMERICA. - - LIBRARY EDITION. - -_Printed on large paper of extra quality, in handsome binding, Demy -8vo, price $1.00 each._ - - ALPHABETICAL LIST. - - _PRESS NOTICES._ - -Life of Jane Austen. By Goldwin Smith. - - “Mr. Goldwin Smith has added another to the not inconsiderable roll of - eminent men who have found their delight in Jane Austen. Certainly a - fascinating book.”—_Spectator._ - -Life of Balzac. By Frederick Wedmore. - - “A finished study, a concentrated summary, a succinct analysis of - Balzac’s successes and failures, and the causes of these successes and - failures, and of the scope of his genius.”—_Scottish Leader._ - -Life of Charlotte Brontë. By A. Birrell. - - “Those who know much of Charlotte Brontë will learn more, and those - who know nothing about her will find all that is best worth learning - in Mr. Birrell’s pleasant book.”—_St. James’s Gazette._ - -Life of Browning. By William Sharp. - - “This little volume is a model of excellent English, and in every - respect it seems to us what a biography should be.”—_Public Opinion._ - -* _A striking feature of this “Great Writers” Series is that each -volume contains a splendid Bibliography._ - -Life of Bunyan. By Canon Venables. - - “A most intelligent, appreciative, and valuable memoir.”—_Scotsman._ - -Life of Burns. By Professor Blackie. - - “The editor certainly made a hit when he persuaded Blackie to write - about Burns.”—_Pall Mall Gazette._ - -Life of Byron. By Hon. Roden Noel. - - “He [Mr. Noel] has at any rate given to the world the most credible - and comprehensible portrait of the poet ever drawn with pen and - ink.”—_Manchester Examiner._ - -Life of Thomas Carlyle. By R. Garnett, LL.D. - - “This is an admirable book. Nothing could be more felicitous and - fairer than the way in which he takes us through Carlyle’s life and - works.”—_Pall Mall Gazette._ - -Life of Cervantes. By H. E. Watts. - - “Let us rather say that no volume of this series, nor, so far as we - can recollect, of any of the other numerous similar series, presents - the facts of the subject in a more workmanlike style, or with more - exhaustive knowledge.”—_Manchester Guardian._ - -Life of Coleridge. By Hall Caine. - - “Brief and vigorous, written throughout with spirit and great literary - skill.”—_Scotsman._ - -Life of Congreve. By Edmund Gosse. - - “Mr. Gosse has written an admirable and most interesting biography - of a man of letters who is of particular interest to other men of - letters.”—_The Academy._ - -Life of Crabbe. By T. E. Kebbel. - - “No English poet since Shakespeare has observed certain aspects - of nature and of human life more closely; and in the qualities of - manliness and of sincerity he is surpassed by none.... Mr. Kebbel’s - monograph is worthy of the subject.”—_Athenæum._ - -Life of Darwin. By G. T. Bettany. - - “Mr. G. T. Bettany’s _Life of Darwin_ is a sound and conscientious - work.”—_Saturday Review._ - -Life of Dickens. By Frank T. Marzials. - - “Notwithstanding the mass of matter that has been printed relating - to Dickens and his works, ... we should, until we came across this - volume, have been at a loss to recommend any popular life of England’s - most popular novelist as being really satisfactory. The difficulty is - removed by Mr. Marzials’ little book.”—_Athenæum._ - -Life of George Eliot. By Oscar Browning. - - “We are thankful for this interesting addition to our knowledge of the - great novelist.”—_Literary World._ - -Life of Emerson. By Richard Garnett, LL.D. - - “As to the larger section of the public, to whom the series of Great - Writers is addressed, no record of Emerson’s life and work could be more - desirable, both in breadth of treatment and lucidity of style, than - Dr. Garnett’s.”—_Saturday Review._ - -Life of Goethe. By James Sime. - - “Mr. James Sime’s competence as a biographer of Goethe, both in respect - of knowledge of his special subject, and of German literature - generally, is beyond question.”—_Manchester Guardian._ - -Life of Goldsmith. By Austin Dobson. - - “The story of his literary and social life in London, with all its - humorous and pathetic vicissitudes, is here retold as none could tell - it better.”—_Daily News._ - -Life of Nathaniel Hawthorne. By Moncure Conway. - - “Easy and conversational as the tone is throughout, no important fact - is omitted, no useless fact is recalled.”—_Speaker._ - -Life of Heine. By William Sharp. - - “This is an admirable monograph, ... more fully written up to the - level of recent knowledge and criticism of its theme than any other - English work.”—_Scotsman._ - -Life of Victor Hugo. By Frank T. Marzials. - - “Mr. Marzials’ volume presents to us, in a more handy form than any - English, or even French, handbook gives, the summary of what, up to - the moment in which we write, is known or conjectured about the life - of the great poet.”—_Saturday Review._ - -Life of Hunt. By Cosmo Monkhouse. - - “Mr. Monkhouse has brought together and skilfully set in order much - widely scattered material.”—_Athenæum._ - -Life of Samuel Johnson. By Colonel F. Grant. - - “Colonel Grant has performed his task with diligence, sound judgment, - good taste, and accuracy.”—_Illustrated London News._ - -Life of Keats. By W. M. Rossetti. - - “Valuable for the ample information which it contains.”—_Cambridge - Independent._ - -Life of Lessing. By T. W. Rolleston. - - “A picture of Lessing which is vivid and truthful, and has enough of - detail for all ordinary purposes.”—_Nation_ (New York). - -Life of Longfellow. By Prof. Eric S. Robertson. - - “A most readable little book.”—_Liverpool Mercury._ - -Life of Marryat. By David Hannay. - - “What Mr. Hannay had to do—give a craftsman-like account of a great - craftsman who has been almost incomprehensibly undervalued—could - hardly have been done better than in this little volume.”—_Manchester - Guardian._ - -Life of Mill. By W. L. Courtney. - - “A most sympathetic and discriminating memoir.”—_Glasgow Herald._ - -Life of Milton. By Richard Garnett, LL.D. - - “Within equal compass the life-story of the great poet of Puritanism - has never been more charmingly or adequately told.”—_Scottish Leader._ - -Life of Renan. By Francis Espinasse. - - “Sufficiently full in details to give us a living picture of the great - scholar, ... and never tiresome or dull.”—_Westminster Review._ - -Life of Dante Gabriel Rossetti. By J. Knight. - - “Mr. Knight’s picture of the great poet and painter is the fullest and - best yet presented to the public.”—_The Graphic._ - -Life of Schiller. By Henry W. Nevinson. - - “This is a well-written little volume, which presents the leading - facts of the poet’s life in a neatly rounded picture.”—_Scotsman._ - - “Mr. Nevinson has added much to the charm of his book by his spirited - translations, which give excellently both the ring and sense of the - original.”—_Manchester Guardian._ - -Life of Arthur Schopenhauer. By William Wallace. - - “The series of Great Writers has hardly had a contribution of more - marked and peculiar excellence than the book which the Whyte Professor - of Moral Philosophy at Oxford has written for it on the attractive and - still (in England) little-known subject of Schopenhauer.”—_Manchester - Guardian._ - -Life of Scott. By Professor Yonge. - - “For readers and lovers of the poems and novels of Sir Walter Scott - this is a most enjoyable book.”—_Aberdeen Free Press._ - -Life of Shelley. By William Sharp. - - “The criticisms ... entitle this capital monograph to be ranked with - the best biographies of Shelley.”—_Westminster Review._ - -Life of Sheridan. By Lloyd Sanders. - - “To say that Mr. Lloyd Sanders, in this volume, has produced the best - existing memoir of Sheridan is really to award much fainter praise - than the book deserves.”—_Manchester Guardian._ - - “Rapid and workmanlike in style, the author has evidently a good - practical knowledge of the stage of Sheridan’s day.”—_Saturday Review._ - -Life of Adam Smith. By R. B. Haldane, M.P. - - “Written with a perspicuity seldom exemplified when dealing with - economic science.”—_Scotsman._ - - “Mr. Haldane’s handling of his subject impresses us as that of a man - who well understands his theme, and who knows how to elucidate - it.”—_Scottish Leader._ - - “A beginner in political economy might easily do worse than take Mr. - Haldan book as his first text-book.”—_Graphic._ - -Life of Smollett. By David Hannay. - - “A capital record of a writer who still remains one of the great - masters of the English novel.”—_Saturday Review._ - - “Mr. Hannay is excellently equipped for writing the life of Smollett. - As a specialist on the history of the eighteenth century navy, he - is at a great advantage in handling works so full of the sea and - sailors as Smollett’s three principal novels. Moreover, he has a complete - acquaintance with the Spanish romancers, from whom Smollett drew - so much of his inspiration. His criticism is generally acute and - discriminating; and his narrative is well arranged, compact, and - accurate.”—_St. James’s Gazette._ - -Life of Thackeray. By Herman Merivale and Frank T. Marzials. - - “The book, with its excellent bibliography, is one which neither the - student nor the general reader can well afford to miss.”—_Pall Mall - Gazette._ - - “The last book published by Messrs. Merivale and Marzials is full of - very real and true things.”—Mrs. ANNE THACKERAY RITCHIE on “Thackeray - and his Biographers,” in _Illustrated London News_. - -Life of Thoreau. By H. S. Salt. - - “Mr. Salt’s volume ought to do much towards widening the knowledge and - appreciation in England of one of the most original men ever produced - by the United States.”—_Illustrated London News._ - -Life of Voltaire. By Francis Espinasse. - - “Up to date, accurate, impartial, and bright without any trace of - affectation.”—_Academy._ - -Life of Whittier. By W. J. Linton. - - “Mr. Linton is a sympathetic and yet judicious critic of - Whittier.”—_World._ - -Complete Bibliography to each volume, by J. P. ANDERSON, British -Museum, London. - - * TO-DAY’S ADDITION:—LIFE OF RUSKIN. By Ashmore Wingate. - - - “_An excellent series._”—TELEGRAPH. - - “_Excellently translated, beautifully bound, and elegantly - printed._”—LIVERPOOL MERCURY. - - “_Notable for the high standard of taste and excellent judgment that - characterise their editing, as well as for the brilliancy of the - literature that they contain._”—BOSTON GAZETTE, U.S.A. - - - Library of Humour. - - _Cloth Elegant, Large 12mo, Price $1.25 per vol._ - - _VOLUMES ALREADY ISSUED._ - - =The Humour of France.= Translated, with an Introduction and Notes, by - ELIZABETH LEE. With numerous Illustrations by PAUL FRÉNZENY. - - =The Humour of Germany.= Translated, with an Introduction and Notes, - by HANS MÜLLER-CASENOV. With numerous Illustrations by C. E. BROCK. - - =The Humour of Italy.= Translated, with an Introduction and Notes, by - A. WERNER. With 50 Illustrations and a Frontispiece by ARTURO FIELDI. - - =The Humour of America.= Selected, with a copious Biographical Index - of American Humorists, by JAMES BARR. - - =The Humour of Holland.= Translated, with an Introduction and Notes, - by A. WERNER. With numerous Illustrations by DUDLEY HARDY. - - =The Humour of Ireland.= Selected by D. J. ONOGHUE. With numerous - Illustrations by OLIVER PAQUE. - - =The Humour of Spain.= Translated, with an Introduction and Notes, by - SUSETTE M. TAYLOR. With numerous Illustrations by H. R. MILLAR. - - =The Humour of Russia.= Translated, with Notes, by E. L. BOOLE, and an - Introduction by STEPNIAK. With 50 Illustrations by PAUL FRÉNZENY. - - - _In One Volume. Crown 8vo, Cloth, Richly Gilt. Price $1.25._ - - Musicians’ Wit, Humour, and Anecdote: - - BEING - _ON DITS_ OF COMPOSERS, SINGERS, AND INSTRUMENTALISTS OF ALL TIMES. - - By FREDERICK J. CROWEST, - -Author of “The Great Tone Poets,” “The Story of British Music”; Editor - of “The Master Musicians” Series, etc., etc. - - Profusely Illustrated with Quaint Drawings by J. P. DONNE. - - _WHAT ENGLISH REVIEWERS SAY_:— - -“It is one of those delightful medleys of anecdote of all times, -seasons, and persons, in every page of which there is a new specimen of -humour, strange adventure, and quaint saying.”—T. P. O’CONNOR in -_T. P.’s Weekly_. - -“A remarkable collection of good stories which must have taken years of -perseverance to get together.”—_Morning Leader._ - -“A book which should prove acceptable to two large sections of the -public—those who are interested in musicians and those who have an -adequate sense of the comic.”—_Globe._ - - - THE USEFUL RED SERIES. - - _Red Cloth, Pocket Size, Price 50 Cents._ - - - =NEW IDEAS ON BRIDGE.= By ARCHIBALD DUNN, JUN. - - =INDIGESTION: Its Prevention and Cure.= By F. HERBERT ALDERSON, M.B. - - =ON CHOOSING A PIANO.= By ALGERNON ROSE. - - =CONSUMPTION: Its Nature, Causes, Prevention, and Cure.= By Dr. SICARD - DE PLAUZOLES. - - =BUSINESS SUCCESS.= By G. G. MILLAR. - - =PETROLEUM.= By SYDNEY H. NORTH. - - * =INFANT FEEDING.= By a PHYSICIAN. - - =THE LUNGS IN HEALTH AND DISEASE.= By DR. PAUL NIEMEYER. - - - _The Music Story Series._ - - _A SERIES OF LITERARY-MUSICAL MONOGRAPHS._ - - Edited by FREDERICK J. CROWEST, - - Author of “The Great Tone Poets,” etc., etc. - - Illustrated with Photogravure and Collotype Portraits, Half-tone and - Line Pictures, Facsimiles, etc. - - _Square Crown 8vo, Cloth, $1.25 net._ - - VOLUMES NOW READY. - - =THE STORY OF ORATORIO.= By ANNIE W. PATTERSON, B.A., Mus. Doc. - - =THE STORY OF NOTATION.= By C. F. ABDY WILLIAMS, M.A., Mus. Bac. - - =THE STORY OF THE ORGAN.= By C. F. ABDY WILLIAMS, M.A., Author of - “Bach” and “Handel” (“Master Musicians’ Series”). - - =THE STORY OF CHAMBER MUSIC.= By N. KILBURN, Mus. Bac. (Cantab.). - - =THE STORY OF THE VIOLIN.= By PAUL STOEVING, Professor of the Violin, - Guildhall School of Music, London. - - =THE STORY OF THE HARP.= By WILLIAM H. GRATTAN FLOOD, Author of - “History of Irish Music.” - - =THE STORY OF ORGAN MUSIC.= By C. F. ABDY WILLIAMS, M.A., Mus. Bac. - - =THE STORY OF ENGLISH MUSIC= (1604-1904): being the Worshipful Company - of Musicians’ Lectures. - - =THE STORY OF MINSTRELSY.= By EDMONDSTOUNE DUNCAN. - - * =THE STORY OF MUSICAL FORM.= By CLARENCE LUCAS. - - - IN PREPARATION. - - =THE STORY OF THE PIANOFORTE.= By ALGERNON S. ROSE, Author of “Talks - with Bandsmen.” - - =THE STORY OF MUSICAL SOUND.= By CHURCHILL SIBLEY, Mus. Doc. - - - The Makers of British Art. - - A Series of Illustrated Monographs - - Edited by - - James A. Manson. - - Illustrated with Photogravure Portraits; Half-tone and Line - Reproductions of the Best Pictures. - - _Square Crown 8vo, Cloth, $1.25 net._ - - - =LANDSEER=, SIR EDWIN. By the EDITOR. - - “This little volume may rank as the most complete account of Landseer - that the world is likely to possess.”—_Times._ - -=REYNOLDS=, SIR JOSHUA. By ELSA STERRE-KEELING. - - “An admirable little volume.... Miss Keeling writes very justly and - sympathetically.”—_Daily Telegraph._ - - “Useful as a handy work of reference.”—_Athenæum._ - -=TURNER=, J. W. M. By ROBERT CHIGNELL, Author of “The Life and -Paintings of Vicat Cole, R.A.” - - “This book is thoroughly competent, and at the same time it is in the - best sense popular in style and treatment.”—_Literary World._ - -=ROMNEY=, GEORGE. By SIR HERBERT MAXWELL, BART., F.R.S. - - “Sir Herbert Maxwell’s brightly-written and accurate monograph will not - disappoint even exacting students, whilst its charming reproductions - are certain to render it an attractive gift-book.”—_Standard._ - - “It is a pleasure to read such a biography as this, so well - considered, and written with such insight and literary skill.”—_Daily - News._ - - =WILKIE=, SIR DAVID. By PROFESSOR BAYNE. - =CONSTABLE=, JOHN. By the EARL OF PLYMOUTH. - =RAEBURN=, SIR HENRY. By EDWARD PINNINGTON. - =GAINSBOROUGH=, THOMAS. By A. E. FLETCHER. - =HOGARTH=, WILLIAM. By PROF. G. BALDWIN BROWN. - =MOORE=, HENRY. By FRANK J. MACLEAN. - =LEIGHTON=, LORD. By EDGCUMBE STALEY. - =MORLAND=, GEORGE. By D. H. WILSON, M.A., LL.M. - =WILSON=, RICHARD. By BEAUMONT FLETCHER. - * =MILLAIS=, SIR JOHN EVERETT. By J. EADIE REID. - - - The Contemporary Science Series. - - Edited by Havelock Ellis. - - _12mo. Cloth. Price $1.50 per Volume._ - - -I. THE EVOLUTION OF SEX. By Prof. PATRICK GEDDES and J. A. THOMSON. - With 90 Illustrations. Second Edition. - -“The authors have brought to the task—as indeed their names guarantee—a -wealth of knowledge, a lucid and attractive method of treatment, and a -rich vein of picturesque language.”—_Nature._ - -II. ELECTRICITY IN MODERN LIFE. By G. W. DE TUNZELMANN. With 88 - Illustrations. - -“A clearly written and connected sketch or what is known about -electricity and magnetism, the more prominent modern applications, and -the principles on which they are based.”—_Saturday Review._ - -III. THE ORIGIN OF THE ARYANS. By Dr. ISAAC TAYLOR. Illustrated. - Second Edition. - -“Canon Taylor is probably the most encyclopædic all-round scholar now -living. His new volume on the _Origin of the Aryans_ is a first-rate -example of the excellent account to which he can turn his exceptionally -wide and varied information.... Masterly and exhaustive.”—_Pall Mall -Gazette._ - -IV. PHYSIOGNOMY AND EXPRESSION. By P. MANTEGAZZA. Illustrated. - -“Brings this highly interesting subject even with the latest -researches.... Professor Mantegazza is a writer full of life and -spirit, and the natural attractiveness of his subject is not destroyed -by his scientific handling of it.”—_Literary World_ (Boston). - -V. EVOLUTION AND DISEASE. By J. B. SUTTON, F.R.C.S. With 135 - Illustrations. - -“The book is as interesting as a novel, without sacrifice of -accuracy or system, and is calculated to give an appreciation of the -fundamentals of pathology to the lay reader, while forming a useful -collection of illustrations of disease for medical reference.”—_Journal -of Mental Science._ - -VI. THE VILLAGE COMMUNITY. By G. L. GOMME. Illustrated. - -“His book will probably remain for some time the best work of reference -for facts bearing on those traces of the village community which have -not been effaced by conquest, encroachment, and the heavy hand of Roman -law.”—_Scottish Leader._ - -* TO-DAY’S ADDITIONS:— - - =HYPNOTISM.= By DR. ALBERT MOLL. New and Enlarged Edition. - =MODERN ORGANIC CHEMISTRY.= By C. A. KEANE, D.Sc., Ph.D., F.I.C. - -VII. THE CRIMINAL. By HAVELOCK ELLIS. Illustrated Second Edition. - -“The sociologist, the philosopher, the philanthropist, the -novelist—all, indeed, for whom the study of human nature -has any attraction—will find Mr. Ellis full of interest and -suggestiveness.”—_Academy._ - -VIII. SANITY AND INSANITY. By Dr. CHARLES MERCIER. Illustrated. - -“Taken as a whole, it is the brightest book on the physical side of -mental science published in our time.”—_Pall Mall Gazette._ - -IX. HYPNOTISM. By Dr. ALBERT MOLL. New and Enlarged Edition. - -“Marks a step of some importance in the study of some difficult -physiological and psychological problems which have not yet received -much attention in the scientific world of England.”—_Nature._ - -X. MANUAL TRAINING. By Dr. C. M. WOODWARD, Director of the Manual - Training School, St. Louis. Illustrated. - -“There is no greater authority on the subject than Professor -Woodward.”—_Manchester Guardian._ - -XI. THE SCIENCE OF FAIRY TALES. By E. SIDNEY HARTLAND. - -“Mr. Hartland’s book will win the sympathy of all earnest students, both -by the knowledge it displays, and by a thorough love and appreciation -of his subject, which is evident throughout.”—_Spectator._ - -XII. PRIMITIVE FOLK. By ELIE RECLUS. - -“An attractive and useful introduction to the study of some aspects of -ethnography.”—_Nature._ - - XIII. THE EVOLUTION OF MARRIAGE. By Professor LETOURNEAU. - -“Among the distinguished French students of sociology, Professor -Letourneau has long stood in the first rank. He approaches the great -study of man free from bias and shy of generalisations. To collect, -scrutinise, and appraise facts is his chief business. In the volume -before us he shows these qualities in an admirable degree.”—_Science._ - -XIV. BACTERIA AND THEIR PRODUCTS. By Dr. G. SIMS WOODHEAD. - Illustrated. Second Edition. - -“An excellent summary of the present state of knowledge of the -subject.”—_Lancet._ - -XV. EDUCATION AND HEREDITY. By J. M. GUYAU. - -“It is at once a treatise on sociology, ethics, and pedagogics. It -is doubtful whether, among all the ardent evolutionists who have had -their say on the moral and the educational question, any one has -carried forward the new doctrine so boldly to its extreme logical -consequence.”—Professor SULLY in _Mind_. - -XVI. THE MAN OF GENIUS. By Prof. LOMBROSO. Illustrated. - - “By far the most comprehensive and fascinating collection of facts - and generalisations concerning genius which has yet been brought - together.”—_Journal of Mental Science._ - -XVII. THE HISTORY OF THE EUROPEAN FAUNA. By R. F. SCHARFF, B.Sc., -Ph.D., F.Z.S. Illustrated. - -XVIII. PROPERTY: ITS ORIGIN AND DEVELOPMENT. By CH. LETOURNEAU, General -Secretary to the Anthropological Society, Paris, and Professor in the -School of Anthropology, Paris. - - “M. Letourneau has read a great deal, and he seems to us to have - selected and interpreted his facts with considerable judgment and - learning.”—_Westminster Review._ - -XIX. VOLCANOES, PAST AND PRESENT. By Prof. EDWARD HULL, LL.D., F.R.S. - - “A very readable account of the phenomena of volcanoes and - earthquakes.”—_Nature._ - -XX. PUBLIC HEALTH. By Dr. J. F. J. SYKES. With numerous Illustrations. - - “Not by any means a mere compilation or a dry record of details - and statistics, but it takes up essential points in evolution, - environment, prophylaxis, and sanitation bearing upon the preservation - of public health.”—_Lancet._ - -XXI. MODERN METEOROLOGY. AN ACCOUNT OF THE GROWTH AND PRESENT CONDITION -OF SOME BRANCHES OF METEOROLOGICAL SCIENCE. By FRANK WALDO, Ph.D., -Member of the German and Austrian Meteorological Societies, etc.; late -Junior Professor, Signal Service, U.S.A. With 112 Illustrations. - - “The present volume is the best on the subject for general use that we - have seen.”—_Daily Telegraph_ (London). - -XXII. THE GERM-PLASM: A THEORY OF HEREDITY. By AUGUST WEISMANN, - Professor in the University of Freiburg-in-Breisgau. With 24 - Illustrations. $2.50. - - “There has been no work published since Darwin’s own books which has so - thoroughly handled the matter treated by him, or has done so much to - place in order and clearness the immense complexity of the factors - of heredity, or, lastly, has brought to light so many new facts and - considerations bearing on the subject.”—_British Medical Journal._ - - -XXIII. INDUSTRIES OF ANIMALS. By E. F. HOUSSAY. With numerous - Illustrations. - - “His accuracy is undoubted, yet his facts out-marvel all romance. - These facts are here made use of as materials wherewith to form the - mighty fabric of evolution.”—_Manchester Guardian._ - -XXIV. MAN AND WOMAN. By HAVELOCK ELLIS. Illustrated. Fourth and Revised - Edition. - - “Mr. Havelock Ellis belongs, in some measure, to the continental - school of anthropologists; but while equally methodical in the - collection of facts, he is far more cautious in the invention of - theories, and he has the further distinction of being not only - able to think, but able to write. His book is a sane and impartial - consideration, from a psychological and anthropological point of view, - of a subject which is certainly of primary interest.”—_Athenæum._ - -XXV. THE EVOLUTION OF MODERN CAPITALISM. By JOHN A. HOBSON, M.A. (New - and Revised Edition.) - - “Every page affords evidence of wide and minute study, a weighing of - facts as conscientious as it is acute, a keen sense of the importance - of certain points as to which economists of all schools have hitherto - been confused and careless, and an impartiality generally so great as - to give no indication of his [Mr. Hobson’s] personal sympathies.”—_Pall - Mall Gazette._ - -XXVI. APPARITIONS AND THOUGHT-TRANSFERENCE. By FRANK PODMORE, M.A. - - “A very sober and interesting little book.... That - thought-transference is a real thing, though not perhaps a very common - thing, he certainly shows.”—_Spectator._ - -XXVII. AN INTRODUCTION TO COMPARATIVE PSYCHOLOGY. By Professor C. LLOYD - MORGAN. With Diagrams. - - “A strong and complete exposition of Psychology, as it takes shape in - a mind previously informed with biological science.... Well written, - extremely entertaining, and intrinsically valuable.”—_Saturday Review._ - -XXVIII. THE ORIGINS OF INVENTION: A STUDY OF INDUSTRY AMONG PRIMITIVE - PEOPLES. By OTIS T. MASON, Curator of the Department of Ethnology in - the United States National Museum. - - “A valuable history of the development of the inventive - faculty.”—_Nature._ - -XXIX. THE GROWTH OF THE BRAIN: A STUDY OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM IN - RELATION TO EDUCATION. By HENRY HERBERT DONALDSON, Professor of - Neurology in the University of Chicago. - - “We can say with confidence that Professor Donaldson has executed his - work with much care, judgment, and discrimination.”—_The Lancet._ - - -XXX. EVOLUTION IN ART: AS ILLUSTRATED BY THE LIFE-HISTORIES OF - DESIGNS. By Professor ALFRED C. HADDON. With 130 Illustrations. - - “It is impossible to speak too highly of this most unassuming and - invaluable book.”—_Journal of Anthropological Institute._ - -XXXI. THE PSYCHOLOGY OF THE EMOTIONS. By TH. RIBOT, Professor at the - College of France, Editor of the _Revue Philosophique_. - - “Professor Ribot’s treatment is careful, modern, and adequate.”—_Academy._ - -XXXII. HALLUCINATIONS AND ILLUSIONS: A STUDY OF THE FALLACIES OF - PERCEPTION. By EDMUND PARISH. - - “This remarkable little volume.”—_Daily News._ - -XXXIII. THE NEW PSYCHOLOGY. By E. W. SCRIPTURE, Ph.D. (Leipzig). With - 124 Illustrations. - -XXXIV. SLEEP: ITS PHYSIOLOGY, PATHOLOGY, HYGIENE, AND PSYCHOLOGY. By - MARIE DE MANACEÏNE (St. Petersburg). Illustrated. - -XXXV. THE NATURAL HISTORY OF DIGESTION. By A. LOCKHART GILLESPIE, M.D., - F.R.C.P. ED., F.R.S. ED. With a large number of Illustrations and - Diagrams. - - “Dr. Gillespie’s work is one that has been greatly needed. No - comprehensive collation of this kind exists in recent English - Literature.”—_American Journal of the Medical Sciences._ - -XXXVI. DEGENERACY: ITS CAUSES, SIGNS, AND RESULTS. By Professor EUGENE - S. TALBOT, M.D., Chicago. With Illustrations. - - “The author is bold, original, and suggestive, and his work is a - contribution of real and indeed great value, more so on the whole than - anything that has yet appeared in this country.”—_American Journal of - Psychology._ - -XXXVII. THE RACES OF MAN: A SKETCH OF ETHNOGRAPHY AND ANTHROPOLOGY. By - J. DENIKER. With 178 Illustrations. - - “Dr. Deniker has achieved a success which is well-nigh - phenomenal.”—_British Medical Journal._ - -XXXVIII. THE PSYCHOLOGY OF RELIGION. AN EMPIRICAL STUDY OF THE GROWTH - OF RELIGIOUS CONSCIOUSNESS. By EDWIN DILLER STARBUCK Ph.D., Assistant - Professor of Education, Leland Stanford Junior University. - - “No one interested in the study of religious life and experience can - afford to neglect this volume.”—_Morning Herald._ - - -XXXIX. THE CHILD: A STUDY IN THE EVOLUTION OF MAN. By Dr. ALEXANDER - FRANCIS CHAMBERLAIN, M.A., Ph.D., Lecturer on Anthropology in Clark - University, Worcester (Mass.). With Illustrations. - - “The work contains much curious information, and should be studied by - those who have to do with children.”—_Sheffield Daily Telegraph._ - -XL. THE MEDITERRANEAN RACE. By Professor SERGI. With over 100 - Illustrations. - - “M. Sergi has given us a lucid and complete exposition of his views on - a subject of supreme interest.”—_Irish Times._ - -XLI. THE STUDY OF RELIGION. By MORRIS JASTROW, Jun., Ph.D., Professor - in the University of Pennsylvania. - - “This work presents a careful survey of the subject, and forms an - admirable introduction to any particular branch of it.”—_Methodist - Times._ - -XLII. HISTORY OF GEOLOGY AND PALÆONTOLOGY TO THE END OF THE NINETEENTH - CENTURY. By KARL VON ZITTEL. - - “It is a very masterly treatise, written with a wide grasp of recent - discoveries.”—_Publishers’ Circular._ - -XLIII. THE MAKING OF CITIZENS: A STUDY IN COMPARATIVE EDUCATION. By R. - E. HUGHES, M.A. (Oxon.), B.Sc. (Lond.). - - “Mr. Hughes gives a lucid account of the exact position of Education - in England, Germany, France, and the United Stales. The statistics - present a clear and attractive picture of the manner in which one of - the greatest questions now at issue is being solved both at home and - abroad.”—_Standard._ - -XLIV. MORALS: A TREATISE ON THE PSYCHO-SOCIOLOGICAL BASES OF ETHICS. By - PROFESSOR G. L. DUPRAT. Translated by W. J. GREENSTREET, M.A., F.R.A.S. - - “The present work is representative of the modern departure in the - treatment of the theory of morals. The author brings a wide knowledge - to bear on his subject.”—_Education._ - -XLV. A STUDY OF RECENT EARTHQUAKES. By CHARLES DAVISON, D.SC, F.G.S. - With Illustrations. - - “Dr. Davison has done his work well.”—_Westminster Gazette._ - -* XLVI. MODERN ORGANIC CHEMISTRY. By DR. C. A. KEANE, D.SC., PH.D., - F.I.C. With Diagrams. * - - - IBSEN’S DRAMAS. - - EDITED BY WILLIAM ARCHER. - - THREE PLAYS TO THE VOLUME. - - 12mo, CLOTH, PRICE $1.25 PER VOLUME. - - - “_We seem at last to be shown men and women as they are; and at first - it is more than we can endure.... All Ibsen’s characters speak and act - as if they were hypnotised, and under their creator’s imperious demand - to reveal themselves. There never was such a mirror held up to nature - before: it is too terrible.... Yet we must return to Ibsen, with his - remorseless surgery, his remorseless electric-light, until we, too, - have grown strong and learned to face the naked—if necessary, the - flayed and bleeding—reality._”—SPEAKER (London). - - VOL. I. “A DOLL’S HOUSE,” “THE LEAGUE OF YOUTH,” and “THE PILLARS OF - SOCIETY.” With Portrait of the Author, and Biographical Introduction - by WILLIAM ARCHER. - - VOL. II. “GHOSTS,” “AN ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE,” and “THE WILD DUCK.” With - an Introductory Note. - - VOL. III. “LADY INGER OF ÖSTRÅT,” “THE VIKINGS AT HELGELAND,” “THE - PRETENDERS.” With an Introductory Note. - - VOL. IV. “EMPEROR AND GALILEAN.” With an Introductory Note by WILLIAM - ARCHER. - - VOL. V. “ROSMERSHOLM,” “THE LADY FROM THE SEA,” “HEDDA GABLER.” - Translated by WILLIAM ARCHER. With an Introductory Note. - - VOL. VI. “PEER GYNT: A DRAMATIC POEM.” Authorised Translation by - WILLIAM and CHARLES ARCHER. - - The sequence of the plays in _each volume_ is chronological; the - complete set of volumes comprising the dramas thus presents them in - chronological order. - - “The art of prose translation does not perhaps enjoy a very high - literary status in England, but we have no hesitation in numbering - the present version of Ibsen, so far as it has gone (Vols. I. - and II.), among the very best achievements, in that kind, of our - generation.”—_Academy._ - - “We have seldom, if ever, met with a translation so absolutely - idiomatic.”—_Glasgow Herald._ - - -* THIS IS THE BEST AND CHEAPEST EDITION OF IBSEN. - - - NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS - - - FOOTNOTES: - -[Footnote 1: See note on _Isla_.] - -[Footnote 2: See note on _Newspaper Humour_.] - -[Footnote 3: Blanco Garcia, the latest authority upon modern Spanish -literature, ignores the English periodical essayists, and ascribes the -introduction of this style of literature into Spain to the amusing and -humorous work, “Ermite de la Chaussée d’Antin,” of M. de Jouy (d. 1846), -which work, however, was, according to Gustave Masson, written in -imitation of the _Spectator_.] - -[Footnote 4: This last edition of 1863, enlarged and corrected by -reference to a German annotated translation and to the Spanish -translation (with ample notes) of his first edition by Don Pascual de -Gayangos and Enrique de Vedia.] - -[Footnote 5: That a canoness is a woman who enjoys a prebend, without -being obliged to make any vows, or renounce the world, may be unknown -to some readers.] - -[Footnote 6: Meaning, of course, the sun.] - -[Footnote 7: Does not appear in this extract.] - -[Footnote 8: Don Lope de Figuerroa, who figures also in the _Amar -despues de la Muerte_, was (says Mr. Ticknor) “the commander under whom -Cervantes served in Italy, and probably in Portugal, when he was in the -_Tercio de Flandes_, the Flanders regiment, one of the best bodies of -troops in the armies of Philip II.,” and the very one now advancing, -with perhaps Cervantes in it, to Zalamea.] - -[Footnote 9: Count Julian, governor of the provinces on both sides -of the Straits of Gibraltar, to avenge himself on King Roderick for -dishonouring his daughter, the famous La Cava (also called Florinda) of -the Spanish ballads, invited (711 A.D.) the Moors into Spain.] - -[Footnote 10: The street singers of Spain are invariably recruited from -the large army of the blind.] - -[Footnote 11: A stick about a foot in length, wound round with gay -ribbon or strips of coloured paper, and with a barbed dart at the -point. The great feat is to stick a pair of banderillas, at one and the -same time, one in each side of the bull, just above the shoulder.] - -[Footnote 12: San Antonio is the patron saint of animals (St. Anthony -and his pig), and reference to this saint is a favourite Spanish jest. -To tell a youth his saint’s day is St. Anthony is equal to saying, “You -are a donkey.”] - -[Footnote 13: Garbanzos—chick-peas.] - -[Footnote 14: A generous red wine.] - -[Footnote 15: “_La reja._” In Spanish houses the large casements of -the ground floor are all heavily barred, permitting the windows in the -hot weather to be wide open without fear of intrusion. _La reja_ is to -Spain in æsthetic value (with regard to love scenes) what the balcony -is to Italy.] - -[Footnote 16: _Solemnisima coquetuela._] - -[Footnote 17: The Giralda is the celebrated cathedral tower of Seville, -built by a Moor 1196.] - -[Footnote 18: The Cid’s famous charger.] - -[Footnote 19: The Spanish Ellen Terry.] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HUMOUR OF SPAIN. *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - 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. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that: - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without -widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |