/^ 
 
 I LIBRARY 
 
 1 UNIVERSITY OF I 
 \ 
 

JOHN BEATTIE, 
 CLIFTON. 
 
MAKIQUITA. 
 
 HENRY GRANT. 
 
 LONDON: 
 EMILY FAITHFULL, 
 
 Printer and Publisher in Ordinary to Her Majesty, 
 
 VICTORIA PRESS, PRINCES STREET, HANOVER SQUARE, AND 
 83 A , FARRINGDON STREET. 
 
 1863. 
 
Bonbon : 
 
 EMILY FAITHFULL, PRINTER AND PUBLISHER IN ORDINARY TO HER MAJESTY, 
 VICTORIA PRESS, 83A, FARRINGDON STREET, B.C. 
 
TO 
 
 HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN, 
 
 WHO HAS BEEN GRACIOUSLY PLEASED TO ORDER A COPY OF MY POEM 
 (BOUND IN MOROCCO), FOR THE ROYAL LIBRARY AT WINDSOR CASTLE; 
 
 TO THEIE ROYAL HIGHNESSES 
 
 THE PRINCE AND THE PRINCESS OF WALES; 
 
 AND TO 
 
 THE SUBSCRIBERS, 
 
 THROUGH WHOSE KINDNESS I HAVE BEEN ENABLED TO PUBLISH THIS WORK IN 
 
 THE FORM IN WHICH I NOW PRESENT IT, I BEG TO EXPRESS 
 
 MY HUMBLE AND GRATEFUL THANKS. 
 
 HENRY GRANT. 
 
 CLIFTON, September 7, 1863. 
 
 910 
 
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PREFACE. 
 
 WHAT dream is like the dream of life ! The bourn 
 
 That separates the unreal from the real, 
 
 The perishable from the imperishable, 
 
 We see not. Busy phantoms of the brain 
 
 Lure us to plan great things, to do great things, 
 
 Knowing not even the spirit we are of. 
 
 Man would be famous in all time. He founds 
 
 A dynasty, builds up a family, 
 
 Invents a polity, endows a creed 
 
 His name shall be exalted, while the sun 
 
 Endures The immortality he covets 
 
 His own right arm, his own good sword, shall win, 
 
 His mind create, his piety attain. 
 
 But let us lift the veil and see the end 
 
 The dream evanishes, and melts away 
 
 Into thin air, on wings of gossamer 
 
 Lighter than air. The mighty of the earth, 
 
 The marshalled myriads whose onward tread 
 
 Once shook the crimsoned plains, the conqueror, 
 
 The fortress that he bathed in fire and blood, 
 
 The city that he built, and called by name, 
 
 B 
 
2 PREFACE. 
 
 Have perished out of sight the sterile sand 
 Hideth their ashes many a fathom deep 
 They cease to moulder, and the dust of death 
 Doth garner them in death. 
 
 See on the crest 
 
 Of yonder rock, a castellated keep 
 The stronghold of an iron race, whose frown 
 Was feared and felt afar. Strange are the lights 
 That wildly gleam, as if from spectre eyes, 
 Through fractured wall and hollow embrasure : 
 And strange the sounds that linger in the hall 
 That echoed once with song and revelry. 
 Birds of ill omen, with their boding cries, 
 Frequent the chambers of the ladye fair 
 And belted knight. The goodly companie, 
 The bridegroom and the bride, the joyous group- 
 They are all passed away their very name 
 And lineage is lost. 
 
 Adown the glen, 
 
 Adown the silver stream, a lonely hut, 
 Surrounded by its modest garden plot, 
 Shelters a humble cottier family. 
 A cheerful fagot blazes on the hearth ; 
 A cheerful matron cooks the noontide meal ; 
 The thrush sings in the brake, and high in air 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Carols the lark. A blue-eyed maiden trips, 
 With lithesome step and blooming cheek, to fill 
 Her pitcher at the well. Hard by the brook 
 The children are at play a boisterous crew 
 Their game a boat-race, and they cheer the stick 
 That beats the straw in sailing down the stream. 
 But here comes one they know. The little troop 
 Are off to meet the stalwart labourer, 
 And cluster round him as he leads them home. 
 The hut is built so rudely that it seems 
 To have but little hold upon the soil ; 
 The store ingathered for the winter months 
 Is very scant ; little is there to meet 
 The pinch of sickness, or the casual blight 
 Of adverse seasons if they touch the crop : 
 And yet through all the store hath never failed 
 From year to year ; not for a thousand years 
 Fails there a man to till the little plot, 
 Nor children's faces round the humble board. 
 There is a prop somewhere 
 
 B 2 
 
MAEIQUITA, 
 
 i. 
 
 Low in the forest glade, upon the moss, 
 They laid me down and folded me to sleep. 
 I recollect my waking from that sleep ; 
 A light serenely pure and beautiful 
 Was shining, and I watched it as I lay ; 
 Then, as I lifted up my infant hands, 
 It moved it came to me and I could see 
 Eyes that were smiling on me lips that smiled, 
 Nearer and nearer, till they touched my lips. 
 It was my mother's smile that holy light 
 That waked within my heart its first impression 
 Of love and happiness ! But never more 
 Saw I that smile. They told me she was dead. 
 I knew not what it was they meant to tell, 
 Nor what it was to die ; I only knew 
 That never more I saw her holy smile. 
 
 Next, I remember, there was hurrying 
 Away, I knew not where away by night 
 Away, through deepening shadows, deepening gloom, 
 And through the wildering maze of giant trees, 
 That waved their arms against the star-lit sky, 
 As bidding us farewell. 
 
6 MARIQUITA. 
 
 But of that night 
 
 I recollect no more ; nor of the days 
 Which followed ; nor how far we travelled on ; 
 Nor when we reached the solitary tower 
 Upon the open plain. To Torreveas 
 We came the old grey tower it was our home 
 For many a year. Over the wide, wide plain 
 I roamed at will. The circle of my rambles 
 Extended with my years. I liked that life ; 
 The free untrammelled range, the cloudless skies, 
 The sweet fresh air of morn upon the wold. 
 
 Dolores was my nurse, a shepherd's wife : 
 I fear she had an evil time with me. 
 She could not overtake her household work, 
 And follow me, who loved to have my way, 
 And go my way. It wearied me, I said, 
 To hear her old world stories told so often. 
 ' Would she but study how to season them 
 With the variety and piquancy 
 With which her ollas were prepared.' Ah ! now 
 I know and can appreciate her worth. 
 Even if her winter evening entertainments 
 Were from a repertory rather threadbare. 
 
 But I was not without a friend and guide, 
 And faithful guardian in my wanderings 
 
MARIQUITA. 
 
 Upon the plain ; and had a wolf come nigh, 
 It would have been seen clearly that my choice, 
 As to protection and companionship, 
 Was sensible. Stronger than any wolf, 
 And of high courage, and devotion rare, 
 My brave dog, Osman, was an abler guardian 
 Than a whole train of nurses to attend me. 
 
 My father seldom came to Torreveas ; 
 He lived at Cordova. My memory 
 And notions of a father at that time 
 Were strangely dim. He little noticed rue. 
 He came to weigh and take away the wool ; 
 And even then I hardly saw his face. 
 He wore his hat low down upon his brows, 
 His cloak so as to muffle chin and mouth ; 
 And what I saw of him invited not 
 My fancy, by an effort, to supply 
 The missing features of a countenance 
 That had no pleasant light. I knew not then 
 The story of my early orphanage, 
 Nor whence his claim or title to the name 
 Of father. 
 
 On the sunny sward my step 
 Was light and free ; nor cross nor care I knew 
 Till my twelfth year. And then a rumour came ; 
 The flock was sold ; we were to leave the plain ; 
 
8 MARIQUITA. 
 
 We were to leave the tower ; the time was short ; 
 To morrow we must go. I asked not whither 
 I recked not whither. When the sun was low 
 I called poor Osman he was getting old, 
 Poor Osman and I went with heavy heart 
 To take my farewell walk upon the plain. 
 But neither did I stoop to kiss the flowers 
 Nor mingled with the falling dew my tears, 
 But drearily I felt, and drearily 
 Looked into the dark future. When the sun 
 Went down, and Osman looked up wistfully, 
 E turned to leave the dusky plain, with steps 
 No longer light and free. I thought it hard 
 To part with Osman ; but my father said 
 It must be so : he must be left behind. 
 He died that night. I think they poisoned him. 
 
 At daybreak, we were mounted upon mules, 
 And as we travelled onward, the grey tower 
 Of Torreveas faded from our sight. 
 That day we rode to Cordova the next 
 To Mangonegro. There we were to live. 
 How beautiful is Cordova ! how poor, 
 How mean looked Mangonegro ! and the dust ! 
 The wretched pueblecita* it was choked 
 With dust. The houses of the labradores,* 
 * Appendix A. 
 
MAHIQU1TA. 
 
 The clothes they wore, the gardens and the fields, 
 Were all one shade ; as though the people revelled 
 In dust. And here we were to live. Ah me ! 
 
 But God disposes better than we know. 
 Wearily passed the day, and wearily 
 A second day ; but on the third there came 
 A blind man ; and he had a dog that led him. 
 The man looked poor, his clothes were travel-soiled, 
 The dog was panting with the dust and heat ; 
 And I went out and asked if I might fetch 
 A bowl of water, that the dog might drink. 
 My offer was received with thanks and blessings. 
 As the dog drank, I saw that he was thin, 
 And said, if he were hungry I would share 
 My dinner with him ; and the blind man said, 
 4< He shares with me most days ; but for to-day 
 I have it not. I thank you, Senorita." 
 " Nay, then," I answered, " if you have it not, 
 We have enough, and you shall dine with us, 
 And we will share together what we have." 
 The poor old man bent low : he bent his head 
 To offer up his wonted prayer to Heaven, 
 .Breathed silently. But one that passed our door, 
 And heard rue ask him in, said quietly, 
 *" God bless your tender heart, my little maid, 
 And may you never want ! " The kindly voice 
 
10 MAKIQUITA. 
 
 Attracted me. I looked to see who spoke ; 
 
 I met her eye ; she nodded pleasantly, 
 
 And we were friends. The constant intercourse 
 
 That followed for we never missed a day 
 
 Was fraught with untold benefits to me. 
 
 Rosa, my good, my kind, my patient friend, 
 
 Had passed the spring and summer of her days, 
 
 Tending the poor and sick in hospitals 
 
 And charitable houses. Of herself 
 
 She never thought : the fount of sympathy 
 
 In her was ever welling up, as full, 
 
 As fresh, as in the morn and prime of life, 
 
 Ere bitter disappointments and regrets 
 
 Have sullied or impoisoned the pure stream. 
 
 She found me shy, untractable, and wild. 
 
 She gently led me, gently guided me. 
 
 She brought me books, and taught me every day 
 
 But from her books I never learnt so much 
 
 As from the lessons of her clear bright mind. 
 
 Her sweetness would so soothe my bitterness ; 
 
 Her calm so conquer my impulsiveness ; 
 
 Her constancy so check my waywardness ; 
 
 Her love so win my heart. 
 
 Thus passed three years. 
 My father never all these years came once 
 To Mangonegro. Then, quite suddenly, 
 
MAR1QU1TA. 1 1 
 
 When I was in my fifteenth year, he came, 
 
 With troubled brow, to make his home with us. 
 
 Misfortune had pursued him : he had lost 
 
 All that he had, and we were now to feel 
 
 The pinch of want. The little we could raise, 
 
 Parting with ornaments and household stuff, 
 
 Was spent at last. We breakfasted that day 
 
 Together, but had nothing more to place 
 
 Before my father. So we sat till evening, 
 
 And then he said to me : " Look you, my child, 
 
 You have a friend, go ask a loan of her, 
 
 That we may eat." I answered not a word 
 
 A tear 'twas only one, if one escaped 
 
 Stood in my eye. He looked looked hard at me, 
 
 And said, " It seems you have not yet been taught 
 
 The duty of obedience." I replied, 
 
 " My friend has for her wants enough for her, 
 
 But nothing more. If I should ask of her 
 
 To give her evening meal to us, too surely 
 
 She would deny herself, and we might share 
 
 Her slender store ; and what would it avail 
 
 To stay our hunger ? " He said, angrily, 
 
 " You have not learned your duty ; " and I answered, 
 
 " God will provide." " Ay, surely," he replied, 
 
 " We soon may sup in heaven." I sat silent. 
 
 My father sat and smoked ; at intervals 
 
 He muttered words that hardly readied my car 
 
12 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Night had set in. Our lamp was burning low, 
 And there remained to us to seek in sleep 
 The solace which forgetfulness imparts ; 
 When one who travelled late came down the street. 
 We heard the footfall of the mule he rode. 
 He stopped before our door, and we went out 
 To see who it might be. It was a shepherd, 
 Who came to see my father, and obtain 
 Such knowledge of the herbage of the plain 
 As his experience at Torreveas 
 Enabled him to give. Our house we offered,*' 
 But told him that for supper as I faltered 
 My father said the word, and bitterly 
 " For supper, this my child so dutiful, 
 Has set before me, both for meat and drink, 
 The simple fare, which you shall share with us 
 ' God will provide? r The shepherd clasped his hands, 
 And, in the moonlight, I could see he looked 
 With streaming eyes to Heaven, as he said, 
 " There is no feast, my brother, to compare 
 With that ; and we may hope to share this night 
 The bounties which our Father will provide. 
 I had intended you should sup with me; 
 Now it is clear that I must sup with you. 
 T come not empty -handed ; and I pray 
 Your kind acceptance of the humble boon. 
 * Appendix B. 
 
MARIQUITA. 13 
 
 The bread of Cordova is good, the fowls 
 
 Are good ; so I replenished there my saddle-bags. 
 
 All they contain is yours. ' God will provide.' " 
 
 Whatever delicate embarrassment 
 We might have felt, Dolores seemed resolved 
 To dissipate at once. With hearty zest 
 She took possession of the saddle-bags, 
 And occupied herself with their contents, 
 Cooking our supper with a ready hand; 
 While to the nearest inn the traveller 
 Repaired to feed his mule. On his return, 
 The fire was blazing cheerily on the hearth, 
 And as he entered, by its light I scanned 
 The aspect of our visitor. A countenance 
 More nobly beautiful I never saw. 
 Years had not dimmed the lustre of his eye, 
 But o'er his shoulders and upon his breast, 
 His hair like silver, and his flowing beard, 
 White as the snow of the Sierra,* fell. 
 His rough and homely garb his shepherd garb 
 Betokened his condition; but his air 
 Of quiet, unaffected humbleness, 
 Gave promise of an easy pleasant evening 
 With such a guest. 
 
 * Appendix A. 
 
14 MARIQUITA. 
 
 And thankfully we gathered 
 Around the table ; and the dear old man, 
 He bid Dolores sit by him, and share 
 What she had cooked for us with so much skill. 
 And while we supped, he asked from time to time 
 The information that he sought : what range 
 There was upon the plain ; how many sheep 
 My father kept, and how much rent he paid. 
 And then he thanked us with a kindly grace, 
 And said he only wished we could be neighbours 
 At Torreveas were it possible. 
 His master (a good master he had served 
 Through a Jong life) had given him the flock, 
 Which he knew well to tend ; but in all else, 
 The sale of wool, the rent of land and tower, 
 He was a child, without experience. 
 Could he but find a partner, to divide 
 The burden and responsibility, 
 And bargain for the rent of tower and land, 
 
 And manage well the yearly sales of wool 
 
 He paused. My father eyed him curiously, 
 As one that doubts the motive or the man 
 Will scan another. With a quiet smile, 
 The shepherd added, (i Perfect confidence 
 Is of slow growth ; and I can only wish 
 That I were better known." He paused again, 
 My father answered, hurriedly, " Agreed 
 
MARIQUITA. 15 
 
 I hardly understand you, but a man 
 That's drowning must needs catch at any strnw 
 Agreed." The shepherd cordially replied, 
 " Agreed, if you consent to let me be 
 Simply your servant, in the humble path 
 Of life that suits me best a shepherd's life. 
 And if this gentle maiden will consent 
 To manage all for me, then you can pay 
 My share to her, for household purposes 
 And daily food. I wish to have no care, 
 Save for my sheep." My father said, " Agreed- 
 Stranger ! your name." The colour slightly rose 
 To the old man's cheek, as low he bent his head, 
 " Your servant, Esteban, am I henceforth, 
 In every lawful duty." How serene 
 He looked ; how noble in humility ! 
 
16 MARIQUITA. 
 
 II. 
 
 AND now, seen from afar, the old grey tower 
 Beckons us on : and as we travel on 
 I breathe with new delight the free sweet air, 
 So fresh upon the plain. " It is a landscape," 
 Said Esteban, " that offers less of earth 
 And more of sky. May all my pilgrimage 
 Be so!" 
 
 My kind friend, Rosa, I had left 
 Regretfully ; but she had cheered my heart 
 By promising to come and visit me 
 Next year at Torreveas ; were it only 
 To see the bloom upon my cheek once more. 
 " Now God hath sent," she said, " this generous friend, 
 And there is some good end to be fulfilled 
 More than we see or know. The fine old man 
 He is no shepherd ; yes, he is a shepherd, 
 And you the one ewe lamb he means to tend 
 But of a thousand you would note his bearing : 
 He is a highborn man. The hand of God, 
 That brought him hither, guide your onward steps, 
 And guard your path ! " 
 
MARIQUJTA. 17 
 
 And now upon the wold, 
 The wilderness, where as a child afar 
 I loved to roam, my step is light and free. 
 The blue horizon bounds the golden landscape, 
 The sky bends to salute the lip of earth ; 
 Earth melteth into sky. The glorious arch 
 Of heaven spans all the circle of the plain. 
 And here I freely breathe, and freely rove 
 From bank to sunny bank, .so bright, so gay 
 With flowers of every hue profusely spread, 
 All glittering in the glow of that warm sky. 
 
 But when the shadows lengthen on the sward, 
 And all the wild flowers close their tiny cups, 
 What I love best is my accustomed seat, 
 With dear old Esteban, upon the mound, 
 The highest on the plain, whence he surveys 
 The pasture all around. There with much care 
 He spreads his cloak upon the ground for me. 
 There of an evening, and for many an hour, 
 I sit with Esteban, and learn of him 
 The names of all the flowers that deck the plain, 
 The names of all the stars that stud the sky, 
 And stories of old times and other lands. 
 And there he reads to me his wondrous book 
 Of holy story, and of holy song, 
 A book of living words, of burning words. 
 
 C 
 
18 MAKIQUITA. 
 
 And there were times, when, leaving him awhile 
 To seek some flowers to decorate my veil, 
 I'd silently steal back again, and lurk 
 Behind the mound to hear old Esteban 
 Lift up his voice, as he was wont to do 
 At eventide in words so beautiful, 
 So musical, that often in my dreams 
 My charmed ear would vibrate yet again 
 With the entrancing sounds 7and then I'd wake 
 With lips all tremulous for utterance, 
 Because my heart would echo them again. 
 
 Esteban's book of sacred song and story ; 
 Esteban's orisons how bright their light 
 That golden Autumn ! And how cheerfully 
 We passed the Winter season in the tower ! 
 We were but three in family. My father 
 Came not to Torreveas in those months. 
 Esteban and Dolores, they were all 
 I had with me. But with the early days 
 Of Spring, another cherished friend appeared. 
 
 The day I well remember. Esteban 
 Was on the plain, and to look out for him 
 I had ascended to the highest turret ; 
 Whence, in the distance, on the old approach 
 And roadway, I perceived a cloud of dust, 
 
MARIQUTTA. 19 
 
 Increasing in its volume as it came 
 
 Winding along for it came winding on 
 
 Like a great serpent. I could see, at length, 
 
 The figures of a motley cavalcade 
 
 A long and straggling line of horses, mules, 
 
 And asses. Huddled on their backs, they bore 
 
 Women and children, and all sorts of gear 
 
 Vessels for cooking, canvass, poles for tents 
 
 While men afoot conducted them, and dogs 
 
 Ran alongside. 'T\vas like a moving fair. 
 
 And though the garments of the party showed 
 
 Full many a patch and rent, they still looked gay : 
 
 The colours were so varied and so bright. 
 
 And on they came, with easy jaunty gait, 
 
 As though their weary march and pilgrimage 
 
 Were one long holiday. The nut-brown brats 
 
 In panniers pleased me more than all the rest. 
 
 On one old burro * were no less than four 
 
 Two upon either side and they maintained 
 
 A fight with wands and straws, pellets and sand, 
 
 Two against two, across the ass's back. 
 
 Now as they passed the tower, to wend their way 
 
 Down to the Soto,* half a league below, 
 
 There stept from out their ranks one whom I thought 
 
 Might well be Queen of all the wandering tribe 
 
 So dignified her bearing, and her speech 
 
 * Appendix A. 
 
 c 2 
 
20 MARIQUITA. 
 
 So grave and courteous. She saluted me, 
 
 For I came down to see them as they passed ; 
 
 And she inquired whether old Esteban 
 
 Were still my father's shepherd ; but her look 
 
 Was anxious, and the colour left her lips 
 
 Even as she spoke, and so I tarried not 
 
 To give an answer. " God be praised !" I said, 
 
 " My dear friend, Esteban, is still with us, 
 
 And even now he tends my father's flock 
 
 Upon the plain ; and if your grace be pleased 
 
 To see him, I will call him, or conduct you 
 
 To where I hope to find him." " That is best," 
 
 She answered quickly ; so I led the way. 
 
 Her heart was full. I walked on silently 
 
 Before her, and when yet a long way off, 
 
 I pointed to the mound where Esteban 
 
 Stood leaning on his staff. She hastened on, 
 
 Nor slacked her speed till she- embraced his knees ; 
 
 Then looking up, as he bent over her, 
 
 Full wistfully she gazed into his face 
 
 Upon her father's face the daughter gazed 
 
 To read the lines that years had not effaced, 
 
 And all the lines that years and cares had stamped 
 
 Deep in the furrows of his noble brow. 
 
 At length he murmured, ff Sara, O my child ! 
 
 Returned to bless me, and receive my blessing ! 
 
 Child of my heart ! " Then, in the overflow 
 
MABIQUJTA. 21 
 
 Of tenderness, he pressed her to his heart 
 
 With fond endearment ; and I turned to go. 
 
 Nor could I quite repress the rising sigh, 
 
 To hear the dear familiar words of love 
 
 Bestowed on her a stranger hitherto 
 
 To me. I felt she had the better claim, 
 
 But that prevented not the starting tear. 
 
 I turned to go ; but Esteban observed me, 
 
 And took my hand and Sara's hand, and joined them, 
 
 And pressed them in his own with much emotion ; 
 
 Exclaiming, " Now, blessed be God ! I see 
 
 My little flock enfolded in my arms. 
 
 He whom I serve hath brought it all to pass 
 
 He who hath loved us He hath gathered us 
 
 Under His wings ; no longer scattered, driven, 
 
 Like hunted partridge on the mountain side ; 
 
 But brooded now within His sheltering love. 
 
 And this, our little one what think you, Sara? 
 
 Hath she not Eva's eyes ? " Then Sara spoke 
 
 Some words I understood not what they were 
 
 And Esteban was silent. But I thought 
 
 And pondered on the words that fell from him, 
 
 Till Sara spoke again, and cautioned me 
 
 That there was danger danger to them both 
 
 In coming into Spain. " Forget," she said, 
 
 " The words that you have heard to-night. Forget 
 
 That Esteban, the shepherd, hath a daughter, 
 
22 MAKIQUITA. 
 
 Who harbours with the wandering Zincali.* ' 
 
 If you can keep our secret, I may hope 
 
 To see my father daily on the plain, 
 
 And sit with him, and in that happy hour 
 
 Forget our trials and anxieties." 
 
 That evening when we parted at the mound, 
 
 And Esteban arose to go with me, 
 
 Sara went down to join the Zincali, 
 
 Where they had pitched their tents. Afar, I spied 
 
 Two of them come to meet her by the way, 
 
 As though they watched for her. 
 
 When in the dusk 
 
 Of evening we approached the tower, we found 
 There was a stranger at the outer gate. 
 A youth one of the wandering tribe who led 
 In hand a horse of pure Arabian blood, 
 And beauty rare. The lad besought our leave 
 To stable or to picket him that night 
 At Torreveas He had stayed behind, 
 To soothe the savage fury of the horse 
 Maddened by all the turmoil and the noise 
 Of such a multitude. I ran to fetch 
 Some bread to give him, and the beauteous creature 
 Arched his proud neck, and ate it from my hand. 
 I said that I should like to keep him always, 
 * Appendix A. 
 
MAR1QU1TA. 23 
 
 And feed him every day, and gallop him 
 
 Over the plain. The youth said, " Sefiorita, 
 
 If you will keep him for the next few weeks, 
 
 I shall be most beholden to your goodness ; 
 
 But he will ill requite your generous care. 
 
 He will not let you ride him 'tis a horse 
 
 No man can ride." Then Esteban inquired, 
 
 " Why do you keep him ?" And the youth replied, 
 
 " We keep him as we bought him for our sins. 
 
 He cost us twelve gold ounces. We shall never touch 
 
 Our gold again." But Esteban said, " Nay, 
 
 It is the barb you shall not touch again : 
 
 The gold I promise you the colt I buy 
 
 For Mariquita." So the Selim colt, 
 
 A beautiful Arabian, was bought 
 
 The beautiful Arabian was mine. 
 
 I gave him a new name Campeador. 
 
 I asked when I might ride him. Esteban 
 
 Decided that I must not think of it 
 
 Till the horse knew me and would follow me, 
 
 Just as poor Oscar used to follow me. 
 
 Therefore, I used to call him to the door 
 
 And feed him from my hand, and lead him out 
 
 For pasture. And I did so for a month : 
 
 Thus we became inseparable friends. 
 
 And proud was Esteban, when soothing him 
 
 AVith gentle voice and with a gentle hand, 
 
24 MARIQUITA. 
 
 He set me on the horse no man could ride. 
 Stately as a procession, the first day, 
 Our pace upon the sward. There was more life 
 The second. And the pace increased, ere long, 
 Till, as a seabird wheeling its swift flight 
 Over the waves, I could be seen afar, 
 Campeador and I in full career, 
 Upon the open plain. 
 
 And every day 
 
 Came Sara to the mound. We looked for her 
 At the accustomed hour : and then I rode 
 To welcome her and bring her on her way. 
 There she would sit with Esteban for hours. 
 Sometimes I sat with them ; but oftener 
 I circled round them on Campeador, 
 In fairy rings, as Esteban would say. 
 One day I saw, a great way off, a speck 
 A dark speck on the plain. It seemed to move. 
 I watched it. It came towards me. Then T rode 
 To view it from the summit of the mound. 
 I said to Esteban, " I see a man. 
 I think he rides, and hitherward he comes." 
 Esteban rose, and looked across the plain. 
 (S Not many travellers," he said, " are wont 
 To visit us. No mule-track marks the way 
 By which this stranger comes. There is a priest 
 
MARIQUITA. 25 
 
 Come to the hermitage. The shepherds say 
 
 A meddler and a troubler of the plain. 
 
 Should this be he, and if I scan aright 
 
 The fashion of his raiment 'tis a priest, 
 
 It will be well, my children, you withdraw, 
 
 And leave the man to me. Go towards the Soto." 
 
 We went together, often looking back 
 At length we could discern against the sky 
 The figure of a man upon the mound, 
 And that he had dismounted from his mule, 
 To talk with Esteban. We now were screened 
 From observation, having made our way 
 Down to the Soto. There we stood in shade, 
 Behind a dark green fringe of stunted wood. 
 We waited long, the sun was. going down, 
 When Sara said, " The stranger moves away. 
 My father waves to us : he will come down 
 To join us in the Soto. Now he points 
 To Torreveas, and he waves his staff 
 For you to go. So haste away, my child ; 
 And if my father tarries late with me, 
 Fear not for him we have good friends at hand. 
 She raised a silver whistle to her lips, 
 And from the forest, to her call, there came 
 Pepe, the youth that brought Campeador 
 To Torreveas ; and there followed him 
 
26 MABIQUITA. 
 
 A dark-eyed matron of the Zincali, 
 Ines by name, and Pepe was her son. 
 Ines sat down by Sara, while the youth 
 Went off across the plain, leading a mule 
 For Esteban, to bring him to the spot 
 Where they awaited him. I tarried not, 
 But galloped home upon Campeador, 
 As night with sable wings came swiftly down, 
 Darkening the plain. 
 
 But many a weary hour 
 Succeeded weary hour that anxious night, 
 Ere Esteban returned. When he came in 
 Nothing escaped his lips as to the priest, 
 Nor why he stayed so late, nor what befel 
 After I left. But, ever and anon, 
 He looked at me as if his gentle eyes 
 Would fain express in floods of tenderness 
 That which lay deep within, yet unexpressed 
 Save by those gentle eyes. The night wore on. 
 We were about to part, when suddenly 
 He turned to me, and asked, " What say you, child, 
 To a forest life with Sara ? How your eyes 
 Sparkle and speak ! But I, what shall I choose ? 
 The snows of many winters, year by year, 
 Cluster around the temples of my head. 
 I only pray for rest, and you must pray 
 For rest for me." He spoke with cheerfulness : 
 
MAK1QU1TA. 27 
 
 But after I had left him for the night, 
 
 An undefined but pressing sense of fear 
 
 Possessed my mind ; and an intense desire, 
 
 As wakeful through so many hours I lay, 
 
 To open all my heart to one true friend, 
 
 And tell her all my thoughts. With morning light 
 
 I would seek Sara sit with her alone, 
 
 And tell her that if danger threatened her 
 
 Or Esteban, I only wished to- share 
 
 With them through life whatever was in store 
 
 Of coming happiness or coining ill. 
 
 If only I might have their confidence. 
 
 Then might she open all he'r heart to me, 
 
 And tell me all her story, and discover 
 
 The mystery that I could bear no longer 
 
 What was the link between us what the tie 
 
 That drew them thus to me, and what the fear 
 
 That overhung why dwelt she thus apart, 
 
 With people of a stranger race and tongue. 
 
 The night was far spent ere I slept : the sun 
 Had mounted in the heavens many hours 
 When I awoke, still bent on seeing Sara. 
 But first I would tell Esteban. I knocked, 
 But all was silent. Either he was gone 
 Upon the plain, or slept a longer sleep 
 Than was his wont. I snatched a brief repast, 
 And hastened forth. 
 
28 MAEIQUITA. 
 
 III. 
 
 I WANDERED forth alone. The summer sun 
 
 Shone brightly on the sward. A thousand flowers 
 
 Bloomed at my feet. A thousand fragrant odours 
 
 Breathed softly through the calm and grateful air. 
 
 I wandered on beneath that glowing sky 
 
 On through the flower enamelled solitudes, 
 
 Till the plain trended, and there lay before me 
 
 A broken range of undulating ground. 
 
 The lowly plants and herbage of the plain 
 
 Were now replaced by shrubs that clothed the scene. 
 
 Rosemary, myrtle, flowering oleander, 
 
 Sweet marjoram, wild thyme, and lavender, 
 
 Covered the hillocks that around me rose ; 
 
 But at their base I found a hollow way, 
 
 A miniature ravine, and followed it ; 
 
 Till, startled by a sound, I paused to listen. 
 
 Was it a voice, a murmur, or a dream ? 
 
 Were fairies dancing underneath the ground 
 
 Or marching on with music in their train 
 
 Or whence that melody ? I followed on, 
 
 And soon the mystery resolved itself: 
 
 There was a gurgling ripple ; then a gush ; 
 
MARIQUITA. 29 
 
 And from its subterranean channel leaping 
 
 A stream glanced forth, all sparkling in the sun, 
 
 Rejoicing in the light. And I rejoiced, 
 
 And called the tiny stream my friend and guide. 
 
 The silver thread by which to mark my way 
 
 Into the forest depths ; the silver thread 
 
 By which securely to retrace my steps. 
 
 On then, with lightsome heart and quickened foot, 
 
 On to the Soto with my gay companion, 
 
 Cheered by the life and prattle of the stream. 
 
 The sun was high in heaven when I left 
 The realms of day the warm and teeming earth, 
 And all the glorious canopy of sky 
 To penetrate the dark domain of forest, 
 Nor without awe paused to survey the scene. 
 One vast and gloomy temple, far as eye 
 Could scan a temple of an hundred aisles 
 A stately colonnade of countless stems, 
 Roofed by rich masses of dark foliage, 
 And dimly lit by fitful rays and gleams 
 Aisles that appeared, and, even as I gazed, 
 Faded away and vanished into darkness 
 Aisles that I saw, and when I turned again 
 Were lost to sight. A temple of the dead 
 Surely, I thought, a temple of the dead. 
 Along these forest aisles they walk in silence, 
 
30 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Departed spirits, through the solemn twilight, 
 That separates from Paradise the souls 
 Not yet made perfect. And I wandered on 
 As one that walked with that drear company 
 Unblest. How long how long to linger here ? 
 I paused, and I was answered for mine ear 
 Drank in e'en now the liquid cheerfulness 
 And music of the stream serenely clear. 
 And I took courage as I followed on, 
 Even through the thickest darkness of the Soto. 
 Ere long my path was lightened. I approached 
 A clear expanse that opened out before me, 
 Discovering a beautiful small lake, 
 Bright as the sky reflected in its waters. 
 And now my streamlet lost itself; and now 
 I called for surely Sara could not fail 
 To know this lovely haunt. Hither, I wist 
 The children of the Zincali come trooping 
 To cull the reeds and rushes ; hither come 
 The maidens of the tribe to gather lilies, 
 And deck their hair, and view, as in a glass, 
 Their image pourtrayed in the calm clear lake. 
 I called. My voice resounded audibly ; 
 But Sara answered not, nor was there sign 
 Of life, save that with startled energy 
 And flapping loud her wings, a bittern rose, 
 Sailing on high. But Sara where is Sara ? 
 
MARIQU1TA. 31 
 
 Along the margin of the lake I strayed, 
 In idle mood, and with uncertain step ; 
 And here I gathered rushes, there a lily, 
 Till on the further side I found again, 
 Escaping from the lake with murmur soft, 
 The little silver brook, my friend and guide, 
 And turned, as if by impulse, with the stream, 
 (Leaving the clear expanse of lake and sky,) 
 To follow on wherever it might flow. 
 The forest now another aspect wore ; 
 The trees no longer interwove their branches, 
 Excluding day ; but singly, or in groups, 
 Adorned the mossy glade and varied lawn, 
 And light and shade were exquisitely mingled : 
 The light so cheerful and the shade so grateful. 
 In this enchanted ground sweet breezes played, 
 And when the highest sprays waved to and fro, 
 And flickering rays moved lightly on the ground, 
 My fancy fain would conjure into being, 
 Winged cherubs flitting through the rustling leaves, 
 And sprites beneath in fairy circles dancing. 
 In this enchanted land I found new flowers, 
 And loitered willingly to gather them. 
 The stream flowed on I followed on, and soon 
 A glimpse of a new country caught my eye, 
 And pressing on, there opened to my view 
 A finely watered Huerta,* rich in fruits, 
 
 * Appendix A. 
 
32 MARIQUITA. 
 
 And on the slopes beyond were olive trees 
 And clustering vineyards. On an upper ridge. 
 Cresting the slopes, appeared an orange grove ; 
 And white walls, brightly glistening in the sun, 
 Announced the abode of man. I wondered much 
 Whose were these orchards and that fair domain. 
 A monastery bell resolved the question. 
 With heads low bending, and with solemn step, 
 In long array, defiling towards the chapel, 
 The ghostly fathers pass. And now I knew 
 These were the Benedictines lords of all 
 These lands, and lords besides of all our plain, 
 And of the Soto. Often Esteban 
 Has told me of their wealth and their possessions, 
 And that their spacious monastery stood 
 Beyond the river. Where then is the river ? 
 Onward I pressed, and soon I reached its bank, 
 And stood beside its waters the Great River, 
 Famous in Moorish story and in song 
 The W"ady al Kebir. 
 
 I sate me down 
 
 To watch its flow. Went not my heart with thee, 
 Oh river, flowing on and ever flowing ! 
 I dreamed day dreams of all the cities fair, 
 Laved by the tide of the Guadalquivir, 
 And chiefly Seville and its orangeries, 
 
MARIQUITA. 33 
 
 Its gardens of delight, its gaieties, 
 
 Its solemn festivals and high processions. 
 
 And as I sate, I occupied myself 
 
 Mechanically, and scarce knowing it, 
 
 Plaiting the rushes gathered at the lake. 
 
 And then I thought ah ! had I but a barque, 
 
 A fairy barque, to launch upon the waters, 
 
 A voyage I would quickly make to Seville. 
 
 My mocking fingers seemed to catch the thought, 
 
 And worked upon it all unconsciously 
 
 Until behold ! a tiny boat complete, 
 
 Framed on a willow slip and planked with rushes. 
 
 I laughed, and said it should set sail at once 
 
 For Seville ; and to represent myself 
 
 I placed a waterlily in the barge. 
 
 Sail on, oh barge ! sail on, fair Mariquita ! 
 
 And thus I launched it ; and I clapped my hands 
 
 With glee, to see how swiftly by the stream 
 
 My barque was borne along. Alas ! too swiftly. 
 
 Alas ! too recklessly. Some hundred paces 
 
 From where I stood, for want of guiding hand, 
 
 Caught in a rapid eddy of the current, 
 
 The barque whirls round turns over and the lily 
 
 Floats in the stream and I, as in despair, 
 
 Exclaimed, ah me ! Alas ! for Mariquita. 
 
 Just opposite the scene of my distress 
 
34 MARIQUITA. 
 
 There stood a thorn ; and swiftly from the shade 
 
 Darted a figure. 'Tis a gallant youth ; 
 
 He stems the tide, recovering the lily, 
 
 Nor stays his progress till, the river crossed, 
 
 He lays the trophy at my feet. Surprised, 
 
 I could but murmur forth my thanks. Surprised, 
 
 I could but ask him to accept the flower, 
 
 Which in itself was nothing, but the grace 
 
 And courage of the act these made it worthy 
 
 To be thus offered, should he deem it worthy 
 
 Of his acceptance. So I thought, and stammered 
 
 Some few short words to say so. He replied 
 
 With grace and courtesy, that since he feared 
 
 So rough a rescue might have spoiled the lily 
 
 And tarnished it, it was a great relief 
 
 Thus to become its owner. Then, restoring 
 
 The flower, he prayed he might receive it straight 
 
 From my fair hand, and not from that cold river. 
 
 But when he asked me how I thus had lost it, 
 
 And why it bore the name of Mariquita, 
 
 I laughed, and told him of my childish fancy, 
 
 And then with grave significance, I said 
 
 It boded ill for me, and I felt sure 
 
 That I should never see the palaces 
 
 And beauteous gardens and delights of Seville. 
 
 But at the name of Seville he looked up, 
 
 And said, " Oh, Sefiorita, trust to me, 
 
 The omen is for good. I go to Seville 
 
MARIQUITA. 35 
 
 Ere yet another sun shall rise and set, 
 
 And Mariquita, by her misadventure, 
 
 Has found a surer and a safer way 
 
 Than that frail barque to reach her destined haven. 
 
 And thou, oh, lily of the plain, confide 
 
 The voyager to me, a safe companion 
 
 Not yet, indeed, a father of the Church, 
 
 But under guidance, setting out for Seville, 
 
 My learning to rehearse, and more acquire 
 
 From spiritual doctors. So, fair lily, 
 
 Be sure that Mariquita shall be tended 
 
 With every pious care." 
 
 I heard a voice 
 
 Yes, there were voices and we turned to see 
 Who were the speakers. First, an old gitana, 
 Wrinkled as if a hundred years had chiselled 
 Their history in the deep indented lines 
 That seamed her furrowed brow she led the way. 
 A priest was with her, and he spoke to her 
 Some words that made the old gitana writhe 
 Her withered lips as she suppressed a laugh. 
 I heard them not, but I disliked his look. 
 When they came up, she looked hard in my face, 
 And he, without saluting me, addressed 
 The youth who stood beside me, tauntingly ; 
 Advising him, in case he did not know it, 
 
 D 2 
 
36 MAKIQUITA. 
 
 That there was slippery ground this side the river, 
 And something of enchantment in the air, 
 That caused the hours to glide unheeded by, 
 And vespers thus had passed, of course, unnoticed. 
 But lest the Prior prove unduly harsh, 
 He humbly recommended they should briefly 
 Discuss some knotty question, or resolve 
 Some doubt " and you may then say truly, 
 That having crossed the river, you encountered 
 Father Hunfredo ; and when vespers rung, 
 Were so immersed " 
 
 " A truce, a truce, I pray ! 
 
 Spare me and spare your wit, most reverend Father 
 And give me leave to tell my simple story 
 To those who may concern themselves to hear it. 
 I plunged into the river for the rescue 
 Of that on which this Senorita sets 
 So high a value, that I find myself 
 Possessor of the prize for my reward. 
 Therefore, farewell. God guard you, Senorita; 
 And you, most reverend Sir; and you, Sefiora." 
 He dashed into the river, stemmed the tide, 
 Waved gracefully his hand, reclaimed a book 
 That he had left beneath the thorn, and soon 
 Was lost to sight. " In sooth, a dashing youth," 
 Father Hunfredo said, " a likely youth, 
 
MARIQUITA. 37 
 
 But not exactly of the stuff and pattern 
 
 Wherewith we manufacture priests and monks." 
 
 But the old woman looked askance at me, 
 
 And told me that I ought not thus to go 
 
 In company with youths ; and said, with spite, 
 
 That the young women of the Zincali 
 
 Knew better manners.* And I answered, sharply, 
 
 That I was innocent of wrong intention. 
 
 These were my manners, and I no way cared 
 
 What were the manners of the Zincali. 
 
 And so she peered into my face, and muttered 
 
 I knew not what. I felt I could have cried, 
 
 I was so vexed ; but I repressed the tears, 
 
 Lest any one should deem I cared for her. 
 
 The Priest then spoke. Hither, in search of me, 
 
 He said that he had come to take me home, 
 
 For Esteban was dying. I drew back 
 
 I did not like his look. I answered him, 
 
 ' It is not true.' With passionate denial 
 
 I said, e It is not true ;' and, in my transport 
 
 I seized the old gitana by her cloak, 
 
 4 Tell me, it is not true.' But she replied, 
 
 " His thread is spun ; his child sits at his feet, 
 
 Mourning the dead." The Priest then offered me 
 
 His hand, to lead me to the tower. I shrank 
 
 * Appendix C. 
 
38 MARIQUITA. 
 
 From him ; but not to seem ungracious, said, 
 
 That I could go with far more speed alone. 
 
 But he persisted " You are blind with tears, 
 
 And you will lose your way." And then he claimed 
 
 Authority, for I was his parishioner. 
 
 A voice behind me, in derision asked, 
 
 " Am I, too, your parishioner, Sir Priest ? 
 
 Tell us your forest rights, what they may be, 
 
 And I will summon all the camp to hear." 
 
 'Twas Pepe ; and he uttered a shrill call ; 
 
 Then from the forest depths resounded far 
 
 The answer shrill, and one by one they came, 
 
 Young men and aged, till they formed a ring 
 
 Around us. Pepe said, "We all are here. 
 
 We thought the forest free free to our camp, 
 
 Free to this weeping maiden to pass through 
 
 Alone, if so she would prefer to go. 
 
 But if we be parishioners of yours, 
 
 And if in truth you have authority 
 
 Or rule, we wait to learn it from your mouth." 
 
 Hunfredo answered, that he only offered 
 
 Protection through the forest to a maid, 
 
 Who, without doubt, was his parishioner. 
 
 Here an old man, the oldest of the camp, 
 
 Stepped forward, and inquired by what new law 
 
 The Hermitage, which never was a parish, 
 
 Conferred such powers. The Priest replied, with warmth, 
 
MAKIQUITA. 39 
 
 That he would answer for the powers he used 
 To his superiors only. The old man 
 Replied with equal warmth, that in these precincts 
 He, as the father of the family 
 Camped in the forest, was superior 
 To any meddling priest. Thus the debate 
 Was waxing fierce, when, unexpectedly, 
 'Twas interrupted. At a frantic pace, 
 A boy, uncouth and strange, came galloping 
 Upon a little, wild, and shaggy pony, 
 Nor checked his course, till, in the very midst 
 Of where we stood, he stopped him with his voice ; 
 And then and there the pony shook himself, 
 Just like a water-dog, distributing 
 A shower around. The younger Zincali 
 Laughed heartily the boy, with air important, 
 Inquired if in this goodly company 
 Any could tell him how and where to find 
 The priest for whom these letters one Hunfredo ? 
 The Priest stepped forward, saying, " They are mine ; 
 And you shall answer for thus soiling them." 
 " The ford is very deep, and we are small," 
 The boy replied, " I and my little Jaca ;* 
 And so we had to swim. It matters not 
 Whether the letters be illegible 
 Or legible, or whether you can read 
 * Appendix A. 
 
40 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Or cannot read ; for all that they contain 
 Is to require you to proceed forthwith 
 Across the river to the Priory, 
 To see the Prior, touching certain persons 
 You have accused." 
 
 Hunfredo anxiously 
 Said to his ancient guide, " If it be so, 
 
 And if the ford be in good sooth so deep " 
 
 But at this pass, Froila saw some signs 
 
 She did not like. " Hist ! trembler, come with me," 
 
 She said ; and they went off while, with a glare, 
 
 All eyes were bent upon the Priest ; and sounds 
 
 Muttered between the teeth, portentously 
 
 Announced a coming storm. "If this be so," 
 
 They said, " let him be followed up, and thrown 
 
 Into the river." Ines interposed : 
 
 " The accused," she said, " we hear, is far away 
 
 Beyond the reach of malice ; and his daughter, 
 
 My friend, you will protect her will you not ? 
 
 Let there be nothing done with violence. 
 
 Graspar can tell you that the accusation 
 
 Finds little favour at the Priory, 
 
 So let him go. 
 
 And this poor weeping child, 
 Blinded with tears, I will take care of her, 
 And lead her through the Soto to the tower." 
 
MARIQUITA. 41 
 
 IV. 
 
 WHY such impatient haste, such breathless speed 
 
 Across the plain, if now thou standest shivering 
 
 Under the shadow of the open portal, 
 
 Oh, Mariquita ! From the cheerful day, 
 
 Go in, go in Acquaint thyself with death. 
 
 How dark and silent looked my home to me 
 
 That day silent the hall silent the roof- 
 
 And in that upper chamber drear, how silent ! 
 
 With faltering step and slow I entered in. . 
 
 With beating heart I entered. Sara sat 
 
 Mourning the dead. She neither moaned nor wept ; 
 
 Meekly her arms were folded o'er her breast ; 
 
 Her head was covered, and she swayed herself, 
 
 Unconscious haply, or as though she sought 
 
 To rock herself to sleep, because he slept. 
 
 And there lay Esteban in still repose, 
 
 His warfare over, and the victory won. 
 
 I gaze upon the well-beloved face, 
 
 Calm and untroubled in its dignity 
 
 Of aspect and expression. Who could wish 
 
 To call him back into the battle-field 
 
 Of life, to face again its stormy doom 
 
42 MARIQUITA. 
 
 And heritage of pain ? I gaze again. 
 
 What say those lips that speak, still speak to me 
 
 That all is well. The paroxysm past, 
 
 Sara arose, and hand in hand we stood 
 
 To gaze upon the well-beloved face. 
 
 How beautiful in death ! These silver locks 
 
 How like a glory round his noble brow ! 
 
 Nor could we now repine ; and if a sound 
 
 Passed Sara's lips, it was a low soft sigh, 
 
 The spirit murmuring, as winds will murmur 
 
 In orange groves, where charged with sweetest fragrance 
 
 And bearing precious seed from flower to flower. 
 
 They have a holy mission to fulfil : 
 
 And every sigh that breathed through Sara's lips 
 
 Told feelingly her yearning to depart 
 
 And be with Esteban told touchingly 
 
 Her faith, her hope, and her unchanging love. 
 
 That night a sound that startled us a sound 
 As if the winds were gathering for a storm 
 Swept o'er the plain. A momentary pause 
 And Sara said, " They come." And now I heard 
 The tramp of horses, and the riders' voices : 
 They come the young men of the Zincali 
 For Esteban, to bury him by night. 
 Ines came in to say a few brief words 
 To me. " Child, there are enemies at work. 
 
MARIQUITA. 43 
 
 An idle word, or one untoward step, 
 
 May cost us dear to-night. Only obey 
 
 And follow quietly, and question not." 
 
 She took from Sara's hands Esteban's book 
 
 The book which since he died Sara had held 
 
 Clasped in her hands, or folded to her breast, 
 
 And wrapping it in linen carefully, 
 
 She placed it as a pillow for the dead 
 
 Esteban's pillow that on which he leaned 
 
 For all repose in life, for all repose 
 
 In death. The youths were called ; they bore him forth, 
 
 Obeying every motion of her hand. 
 
 We followed, silently. 
 
 Over the plain, 
 
 The night was clear, and Ines led the way, 
 As if the trackless solitudes to her 
 
 Were well-known paths. The youths that bore the bier 
 Moved swiftly forward. Ever and anon, 
 Out of the troop of horsemen, other youths 
 Leaped from their horses, six replacing six, 
 To carry Esteban. Against the sky 
 At length a dark low building : 'tis the place 
 To which we travel : 'tis the resting place 
 For Esteban. It is the Hermitage. 
 Here is the chapel. We alight ; our horses 
 Are picketed around ; torches are lit. 
 
44 MARIQUITA. 
 
 A strongly fastened door is open swung, 
 Creaking and grating on its rusty hinges, 
 And straightway to the centre of the Chapel 
 The bier is borne. The tesselated pavement 
 Was broken up a yawning chasm was there, 
 And there, with ropes, the bier is lowered down 
 Into the vault beneath. As we stood round, 
 The flaming torches shed a ghastly glare 
 Such did it seem to me a deathlike glare 
 On every face on all but Esteban ; 
 For every face but his looked black and pained. 
 Around his placid lips there floated still 
 The sweet expression of angelic peace, 
 So that he seemed the living we the dying. 
 And as they lowered him, and lowered him, 
 Further and further from the lights they held, 
 Brighter and brighter shone his countenance, 
 As though it were an emanating light. 
 And for a moment, there appeared to me 
 That smile upon his lips which I had seen 
 But once, and never more ; that one fond smile 
 That I had seen in early infancy 
 Upon my mother's lips. 
 
 Again the door, 
 
 Which we had shut, swings, grating noisily, 
 Upon its massive hinges. At a sign 
 
MAKIQUITA. 45 
 
 From Sara, every torch was quickly quenched. 
 But while the young men of the Zincali 
 Moved swiftly to the door, my hand was grasped 
 By Ines, and she led both me and Sara 
 In silence to the altar, and behind it. 
 There she knelt down, and whispered, "Follow me." 
 A secret door admitted us. Low bending, 
 We passed along a winding corridor, 
 And thence by steps descended to a vault. 
 Here Ines struck a light, and we were hailed 
 As soon as seen. A guide awaited us 
 The little boy that I had seen that day 
 Upon his Jaca. Here he was at home, 
 For here he had his stores of contraband. 
 Ines advised that he should go alone, 
 To ascertain if now the way were clear. 
 He went forthwith, and presently returned 
 In merry mood. " You should have seen the thieves ; 
 You should have heard the Priest and alguacils* 
 Cursing the Zincali for your escape. 
 You should have heard the Zincali, in turn, 
 Jeering and gibing. ' Twas a first-rate play. 
 Then the lads, laughing, bade them name their price, 
 And they would catch you, and away they raced, 
 Away to Torreveas ; and away 
 Went Priest and alguacils, riding their best 
 To outstrip them in the race. It was a treat. 
 * Appendix A. 
 
46 MARIQUITA. 
 
 And now the plain is free ; the stars are kind, 
 And Pepe has our horses at the sheepcot." 
 
 Gaspar went forward, and we followed him 
 In silence from the vault, through a pine grove 
 Scarcely less gloomy. Once upon the plain, 
 With stars to light us on and lead us on, 
 Gaspar said, " We are safe. I see the sheepcot." 
 As we drew near it, Ines said to me, 
 " Now hearken, child. Your horse is fleet, and Gaspar 
 Can ride that none shall catch him. Gallop straight 
 To Mangonegro. There will Rosa tell you 
 What you must do. Gaspar will be your guide ; 
 There is no better, through the despoblados."* 
 She said no more until we reached the sheepcot, 
 Where Pepe waited with Campeador, 
 And with three other horses one for Ines, 
 And one for Sara, and his own. And then 
 Ines said, in a low voice, " You must part, 
 To baffle the pursuit." Sara replied not, 
 But kissed me ; while the tears that hitherto 
 Were pent and prisoned, each within its cell, 
 Like rain-drops in a cloud, began to fall, 
 Touched by another cloud, in copious showers, 
 And I wept sore ; for it seemed hard to me 
 To part with Sara. 
 
 * Appendix A. 
 
MARIQUITA. 47 
 
 Gaspar called his pony. 
 It answered to his voice, and ran to him. 
 We mounted, and away we flew; the boy 
 Leading the way at first, as is the custom 
 Of guides ; but I requested him to ride 
 Beside me, for Campeador's proud spirit 
 Brooked not to follow, and he chafed and fumed, 
 So that 'twas difficult to manage him. 
 I found the lad belonged to Cordova, 
 And knew the country well. There was a scar 
 Upon his forehead of a frightful wound 
 In fray or fight. He told the story thus : 
 Returning he, his father, and their friends 
 From the Mairena fair, where they had sold 
 Much stock, and it was known that they had taken 
 Much gold in payment, it was greatly feared 
 That robbers might waylay and plunder them. 
 The party were unarmed, and, if attacked, 
 Could offer no resistance ; so they planned 
 That all the money should be stowed away 
 In the boy's pockets. On the fleetest horse 
 They set him, and his orders were to flee 
 At the first onset, sparing not the spur, 
 Should robbers threaten them. In force they came 
 A ruthless gang. The lad attempted flight, 
 The butt end of a musket laid him low. 
 His father, interposing to protect him, 
 
48 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Was truculently murdered on the spot. 
 ' The rest gave in ; the booty was secured. 
 The lad was carried home, and for a year 
 Lay prostrate from the blow. Recovered now, 
 And nothing daunted, he had just begun 
 Contrabandista life, with every chance 
 Of fresh adventures. 
 
 The boy's lively talk 
 
 Cheered me that night. The pony that he rode 
 Was full of tricks, and full of cunning too ; 
 For if across the wold we missed the track, 
 The boy would loose the rein, and then the pony, 
 With nose upon the ground, would snort and snuff 
 And scent it out again unerringly. 
 At sunrise, I could see that we were near 
 The walls of Cordova. We skirted them, 
 Mended our pace, and, in another hour, 
 Entered the little town of Mangonegro. 
 
MARIQUITA. 49 
 
 V. 
 
 A NARROW lane, a by-way known to Gaspar, 
 Led to a little garden, where a child 
 Sat book in hand. I recognised at once 
 The garden. It was Rosa's. Oftentimes 
 I had been there, but knew not of the lane : 
 It was a by-path very little used. 
 At sight of us, the child threw down her book 
 And ran for Rosa. She came quickly forth, 
 Calling to Gaspar, " Follow down the lane, 
 And, where it meets the road, there you will find 
 One who awaits you." Then she welcomed me 
 With much affection, as she led me in. 
 
 " I cannot be to you in room of him," 
 Said Rosa ; " but when grief has run its course, 
 Esteban's memory will be sweet to you. 
 All I can be to you my heart desires 
 To be, and we have friends who can protect 
 And aid us. Letters have been forwarded 
 To Seville, to our Metropolitan, 
 The Cardinal Archbishop, praying him 
 To interfere in your behalf. To-night 
 
50 MARIQUITA. 
 
 We hope for a safe-conduct. And till then 
 I pray you sleep, my child, if you can sleep 
 On my poor trestle bed." 
 
 Because she wished, 
 
 I laid me down, but not to close my eyes ; 
 For I had much to say, and much to ask. 
 And first I asked if Sara, too, had friends 
 To interpose for her, and might I hope 
 To see her soon. But Rosa shook her head : 
 " Sara, advised by those who know her danger, 
 Will doubtless seek again beyond the seas 
 A refuge and a home. She promises 
 That we shall hear of her. She has a friend 
 At Alicante, through whom her letters pass, 
 And you can write to her. Most earnestly 
 She prays me not to leave you. She has sent 
 A purse of gold ; she says it is your own, 
 And more shall be supplied, as we have need 
 But privately. She sends it privately 
 Lest trouble come of it ; since there be those 
 That would be fain to profit by the knowledge 
 Fain to make merchandise of you. But now 
 Is it your wish, dear child, to be with me ? 
 What is your wish ?" I answered that at once, 
 By taking Rosa's hand and pressing it 
 Warmly in mine. " And whither shall we go ? " 
 
MARIQUITA. 51 
 
 I answered not at all. Then Kosa said: 
 " God will direct our way ! It will be best 
 To wait till evening. I expect the youth 
 Who had the letters for the Cardinal. 
 'Tis a good youth : he promised to return 
 To-night. Then, when the answer is received, 
 We may be guided by it." 
 
 After dark, 
 
 Kosa went out : for she had named the house 
 Of a near neighbour for the interview, 
 To wait the coming of the messenger 
 From Seville. I lay down on Rosa's bed ; 
 The little maid sat silent by my side, 
 I liked to have her by me, for my sleep 
 Was broken ; and I loved to see her gentle face 
 When spectral fancies woke me. Then I spoke 
 To her, and asked her if she had been long 
 With my friend Rosa ? And the little maid 
 Told me her story. 
 
 Since her father's death 
 
 They had been very poor so poor they knew not 
 How they might reckon on to-morrow's bread. 
 Her home was broken up. Her mother went 
 To keep house for a priest ; her only brother 
 Had to make shift, though young, to keep himself ; 
 
 E 2 
 
52 MARIQUITA. 
 
 And she was sent to learn to be a servant, 
 
 Where they had beaten her, and famished her 
 
 Until she ran away. She meant to run 
 
 To Seville. One day's journey landed her 
 
 By night in Mangonegro. But too tired 
 
 To go from house to house to ask for shelter, 
 
 She lay down in the street, resting her head 
 
 Upon a door-step. Rosa found her thus 
 
 Asleep, and carried her, still sleeping, home ; 
 
 And when she woke she thought it was the work 
 
 Of some enchantress, thus to carry her 
 
 To a sweet room that opened to a garden, 
 
 So bright, so gay, a paradise of flowers, 
 
 There to be spoken to with kindest words, 
 
 And never hear an angry, bitter threat. 
 
 " 'Twas an enchantment," said the little maid, 
 
 " And something else that's very wonderful, 
 
 I have to tell. But 'tis a secret. Will you keep 
 
 My secret ? I will trust you. Though so young, 
 
 My brother has a pony of his own. 
 
 He is a trader, and he hopes some day 
 
 To be a grand rich merchant. Is not that 
 
 Like an enchantment, too, and me so poor ? " 
 
 Full many a time that night I would say ( Hush,' 
 She would say " Hark." At length we hear her step, 
 And Rosa enters with that quiet air, 
 
MAKIQU1TA. 53 
 
 Expressive of the unclouded confidence 
 
 And peace, that seem to lift her as with wings 
 
 Above the troubled waves of earthly care, 
 
 Into a purer element. One look, 
 
 One smile, sufficed to reassure my mind. 
 
 We waited till the child was hushed in sleep, 
 
 Then Rosa said, " There is no room for doubt, 
 
 We go to Seville, where the Cardinal 
 
 Expects you, and will shield you from the malice 
 
 Of enemies. And first you owe this favour 
 
 To the good Prior who commended you 
 
 To the protection of his Eminence : 
 
 And to the youth, who never spared himself, 
 
 But rode to Seville. He is here again, 
 
 As by a miracle, a worthy youth, 
 
 He answers for your safety by the way. 
 
 Then I am known " a slight flush tinged her face 
 
 " Known to kind friends in Seville, who have told 
 
 The Cardinal that I instructed you 
 
 In Mangonegro, when your home was here. 
 
 So we shall find good friends, and powerful friends, 
 
 In Seville, and be far from enemies." 
 
 How good was Rosa ! How considerate ! 
 I felt, how much I could not well express, 
 Her kindness. To inhabit that lone tower, 
 With all my grief for Esteban, and all 
 
54 MARIQUITA. 
 
 My terror of Hunfredo better far 
 
 To lay me down and die. With grateful heart 
 
 I entered into Rosa's plan for me, 
 
 And we resolved to go, as she advised, 
 
 Next day. Then she proposed that we should hire 
 
 Horse and tartana from a labrador 
 
 Well known to her, and thus, by easy stages, 
 
 Travel to Seville. She preferred that way. 
 
 So we set out next day, before the sun 
 
 Was risen. And we travelled in the cool 
 
 Of morn or eve. The little maid we took. 
 
 At times I walked along the road with her, 
 
 Or the conductor kindly stopped for us, 
 
 When gathering flowers we loitered by the way. 
 
 ' Twas very pleasant. 
 
 Now, I had remarked, 
 And pointed out to Rosa when I saw, 
 That there were soldiers on the road. It seemed 
 They neither overtook us, nor did we 
 Outstrip them. In the heat we travelled not ; 
 But when again that evening I observed 
 The soldiers on the road, and Sara saw them, 
 She said, " I make no doubt they follow us 
 For our protection ; and the youth who rides 
 Beside them is, undoubtedly, the youth 
 Who went as messenger. The gracious youth-- 
 
MARIQUITA. 55 
 
 How delicate his courtesy to us ! 
 He keeps behind us, not to intrude on us, 
 And companies with soldiers by the way." 
 It was so every day they followed us 
 At the same distance, unobtrusively. 
 
 One night, it was the eve of our last day 
 Upon the road, I opened to the air 
 Our window, for the night was warm and sultry. 
 Below were our protectors, keeping watch 
 The soldiers and the youth. And to beguile 
 The hours, the soldiers asked of him a song. 
 
 1. 
 
 In festive hall, in lady's bower, 
 In deeds of chivalrous devoir, 
 
 In love or war, 
 Who so graceful and so gay, 
 Who so valiant in the fray, 
 
 As Baltazar ? 
 
 2. 
 
 But now no more where bright eyes glance, 
 And now no more where proud steeds prance, 
 
 Shall he be known : 
 He doffs the corslet, dons the cowl, 
 That he may purify his soul, 
 
 A hermit lone ! 
 
56 MARIQUITA. 
 
 3. 
 
 See on yon peak, 'twixt earth and sky, 
 Afar from human sympathy 
 
 And human guilt, 
 His hermitage so wild and rude, 
 That for the eagle and her brood 
 
 It seemeth built. 
 
 4. 
 
 Morn, noon, and eve he tells his beads, 
 Morn, noon, and eve his office reads, 
 
 Obediently. 
 
 He wakes the forest with his lays, 
 He fills the air with songs of praise, 
 
 Melodiously. 
 
 5> 
 
 The rocks with sacred orisons, 
 The woods with holy benisons, 
 
 Resound afar: 
 
 What anchorite, what solitaire, 
 Breathes there of such devotion rare, 
 
 As Baltazar? 
 
 6. 
 
 There is a moss-grown path refrain 
 There is a leafy bower restrain 
 Thy wandering feet. 
 
MAKIQUITA. 57 
 
 Beware that haunt ; the Syren there, 
 Who flatters man, but mocks at prayer, 
 Spreadeth her net. 
 
 7. 
 
 Vain voice ! He never feared man's arm ; 
 Why should he fear this dulcet charm ? 
 
 A thing of air ! 
 
 He will defy her witching power ; 
 He will destroy the Syren's bower ; 
 
 He will not spare. 
 
 8. 
 
 Adown the mossy path, one morn, 
 He wends his way. At his return, 
 
 Eve's dew shines clear. 
 'Tis but an echo he hath heard 
 Eesponsively repeat each word, 
 
 His heart to cheer. 
 
 9. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! for Baltazar ; 
 Alas ! for all that promise fair ; 
 
 For now he loves 
 
 To hear with what engagement sweet, 
 Two voices mingle when they meet, 
 
 Like song of doves. 
 
58 MAKIQUITA. 
 
 10. 
 
 But where are now his vows or where 
 The answer meet to holy prayer, 
 
 From One above ? 
 Alas ! he is fain to idolize 
 The Syren's voice when she replies, 
 
 With love for love. 
 
 11. 
 
 Warned by a dream, that in the path 
 He treads is sin, and death, and wrath, 
 
 He flies in haste 
 Up to his habitation rude, 
 Where silently his soul doth brood 
 
 Upon the past. 
 
 12. 
 
 He tries to pray ; ah ! vain oblation, 
 While echoes yet that soft vibration 
 
 Within his heart ! 
 
 His soul is tranced by that strange spell 
 " But one word more ; one last farewell ; 
 
 And then to part ! " 
 
 13. 
 
 He seeks her bower. A lovely form 
 Lies dying there. Beware the charm 
 Her lips beware! 
 
MAUIQU1TA. 59 
 
 'Tis fated now she steals his breath ; 
 Her cold embrace hath sealed his death 
 Ay ! Baltazar. 
 
 14. 
 
 She lives, and lures to her retreat, 
 The worshipper of music sweet. 
 
 Avoid her lair ? 
 
 Oh, sons of men ! or she will take 
 Your breath, and life, ere you can make 
 
 One cry or prayer. 
 
60 MAKIQUITA. 
 
 VI. 
 
 SEVILLE is queen of cities. Her Giralda,* 
 
 Peerless in beauty, vindicates her claim. 
 
 But upon such a lofty pinnacle 
 
 'Tis with the winds I ween that she discourseth ; 
 
 So rather let Sevillian lips declare 
 
 In language worthy of the entrancing theme, 
 
 How bloom her gardens fair with fruit and flower ; 
 
 How bloom her daughters in the golden noon, 
 
 Or crimson setting of her glorious sun. 
 
 I was a stranger there, and rather sought 
 
 The shade. 
 
 And for retirement from the world, 
 I should make choice of Seville. f 'Tis a city 
 Of narrow lanes. No vehicle intrudes 
 With noise of glittering wheels. The summer sun 
 Pours in no flood of heat, so serpentine 
 And winding are the labyrinthine streets 
 Of Seville. And how pretty is the patio ! 
 Seen through the ornamented iron gate 
 Seen by the passer-by, who thus enjoys 
 A pleasant glimpse of the Sevillian home 
 
 * Appendix A. f Appendix D. 
 
MARIQUITA. 61 
 
 The little court where grouped the family 
 
 Love best to sit beneath the open sky, 
 
 Around the fountain decked with choicest flowers. 
 
 Such was the street in which we made our home. 
 
 The following day, by Rosa's wish, we went 
 
 To tender to the Cardinal our thanks 
 
 For the safe-conduct, and to place ourselves 
 
 Under his Grace's guidance and protection. 
 
 The porter showed us to an ante-room, 
 
 And prayed us to be seated. Presently 
 
 A secretary came, to usher us 
 
 Into the presence of the aged prelate. 
 
 We knelt for the old man's blessing* and he spoke 
 
 Kindly to us, and welcomed us to Seville. 
 
 But when, on rising, Rosa would express 
 
 Our thanks for his safe-conduct, and the guard 
 
 Of soldiers, he seemed somewhat at a loss. 
 
 " There was a summons duly drawn," he said, 
 
 " To cite before me" 
 
 From a deep recess, 
 
 Where he sat reading until now, with eyes 
 Bent resolutely down, a youth stepped forward. 
 " Pardon me, Monsefior ; but 'twas the summons, 
 Backed by the guard that served for a safe-conduct." 
 " And who arranged all this machinery, 
 Anselmo ? Ah ! you need not answer me. 
 
62 MARIQUITA. 
 
 You have been reading novels, without doubt, 
 
 And hence this chapter of knight-errantry. 
 
 I pray you leave us." " Not before I thank him," 
 
 Said Rosa, " for the courtesy he showed us. 
 
 Your Eminence will pardon me. This youth, 
 
 If it be he indeed who followed us, 
 
 Hath been most delicate. The guard he kept 
 
 Some hundred paces from us all the way. 
 
 He never once addressed us, or came near us, 
 
 Neither upon the road nor when we rested. 
 
 This maiden doth not even know the youth 
 
 By sight, nor doth the youth know Mariquita." 
 
 A smile, I could not help it, stole across 
 My lips. A smile, he could not help it, stole 
 Across his lips. He was the gallant youth 
 That rescued Mariquita in her barge, 
 The waterlily, setting sail for Seville. 
 Silently bowing his acknowledgments 
 To Rosa, he went out. The Cardinal 
 Expressed his satisfaction that his nephew 
 Had not intruded on us in our journey. 
 
 Then he inquired what dangers menaced us, 
 Since such extraordinary remedies 
 Had been resorted to. Rosa replied 
 By the relation of my history, 
 
MARIQUITA. 63 
 
 As far as it was known to her, since first 
 
 I came to Mangonegro with Dolores. 
 
 And then she told him of our poverty ; 
 
 And how, when it was deepest, Esteban 
 
 Came as an angel to our door by night. 
 
 Here Rosa bade me take the clew from her, 
 
 Continuing my story to the end. 
 
 But when I tried to tell of Esteban, 
 
 And all he was to me, my faltering voice 
 
 Moved the compassion of the kind old man. 
 
 " I ask no more," he said, " for in good time 
 
 I shall have letters. My good friend, the Prior, 
 
 Sent me a message promising to write. 
 
 Is there a letter ? Ha ! most opportunely 
 
 It comes to tell us all we wish to know. 
 
 See that with every hospitality 
 
 The messenger be treated." Then he took 
 
 The letter from the secretary's hand ; 
 
 And as he read it he was deeply moved, 
 
 And broken sentences escaped his lips. 
 
 " Carlos, friend of my heart ! to be with thee- 
 
 To be at rest where Carlos is at rest 
 
 And the accuser ay, 'tis he the Jew ! " 
 
 Then he looked long and earnestly at me. 
 
 " Child, I would be a friend to you. 'Tis well 
 
 That you are here. I would say more, but now 
 
 Old memories of bygone days come thick, 
 
64 MA.RIQUITA. 
 
 And I am troubled. One thing would I know : 
 He was devout, the good old man, your friend, 
 He was true Christian, and true Catholic ? 
 Kosa shall answer me. You never knew him 
 Malign the Church, or trample on the Cross 
 Of Christ?" 
 
 " Nay, 'tis from Mariquita's lips 
 Your Grace shall have the answer you require. 
 Child, you have many holy songs you learnt 
 From Esteban. I ask you to repeat but one : 
 For he that taught you thus was no reviler 
 Of Holy Church, or of the Cross of Christ. 
 Of life so pure and blameless, we should wonder 
 How he had enemies ; but that we know 
 The Master whom he served had enemies." 
 I did as Rosa told me, and recited 
 A hymn I learnt from Esteban, the shepherd. 
 
 1. 
 Cruel the hands that planted thee, Oh, tree 
 
 On Calvary ! 
 The Holy One and Just expires on thee 
 
 In agony. 
 
 Tree of the bruised soul and broken heart, 
 With tears bedewed, 
 With blood imbrued, 
 
MARIQUITA. 65 
 
 No beauteousness, 
 Nor comeliness, 
 Hast thou,.that we 
 Should cling to thee, 
 Or with the dying victim choose our part. 
 
 2. 
 
 But ye who pierced with grief as with a sword, 
 
 Lament and shed 
 Tears o'er the bleeding feet of that dear Lord, 
 
 Lift up your head, 
 The hour of your redemption draweth nigh. 
 
 The curse is past 
 
 Come here and taste 
 
 The bread and wine 
 
 Of love divine 
 
 The tree of life is lifted up on high, 
 And he that looks thereon shall never die. 
 
 3. 
 
 For through that bitter agony and cry, 
 
 And through these tears, 
 And through the gloom and pall of that dark sky, 
 
 The smile of God appears, 
 Robing the Cross of Calvary with light ; 
 F 
 
66 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Like the rod of Aaron 
 Like the rose of Sharon 
 It blossometh free. 
 And the leaves of the tree 
 Heal the nations that flow to that glorious sight, 
 
 I ceased we waited but the old man sat 
 And spoke not ; he sat covering his face 
 With both his hands. The secretary whispered, 
 " 'Tis so at times ; he knows not you are here. 
 I pray you to withdraw." 
 
MAKIQUITA. 67 
 
 VII. 
 
 MY tranquil life with Rosa was not destined 
 To be of long continuance. Some weeks 
 Passed quietly, and then from Cordova 
 My father came, and brought with him his friend 
 The younger Mufios. 'Twas a name I knew, 
 For old Gil Munos bought my father's wool, 
 And paid him, I believe, with worthless shares 
 In mines and speculations of that sort. 
 The son, Don Jorge, I had never seen. 
 My father told us he should introduce 
 Don Jorge as his friend, a worthy youth, 
 Who would inherit all his father's wealth, 
 And be the richest man in Cordova. 
 Therefore the following day we might expect 
 A visit. Rosa answered, quietly, 
 " That, living in seclusion, as we did, 
 We could receive no visitors*" " Except," 
 Replied my father, " such as I present." 
 Rosa said, firmly, " I am mistress here, 
 In my own house, which having hired I hold ; 
 Don Jorge enters not without my leave, 
 And that, for reasons good, he cannot have." 
 
 F 2 
 
68 MARIQUITA. 
 
 My father asked her what those reasons were. 
 Rosa declined to give them. So he urged 
 That slanders were not always just nor true. 
 Rosa said, ff Slanders never can be just 
 Nor true." My father ceased ; he said no more, 
 But left us for the night. 
 
 By Rosa's wish 
 
 I went not out next day. She went alone ; 
 My father, meeting her, accosted her, 
 And introduced Don Jorge as his friend, 
 Requesting to be favoured with commands 
 For Mangonegro ; as about to leave 
 Seville next day. She thanked him, and they passed. 
 Still I remained at home, and went not out 
 Until we ascertained that of a truth 
 My father had set forth ; and we might hope 
 To walk abroad, as hitherto, in peace, 
 And unmolested. 
 
 This was not to be. 
 
 The first occasion of our leaving home 
 Don Jorge followed us, and spoke to us 
 To Rosa first and then to me. And this, 
 Although we neither spoke nor noticed him, 
 He would repeat again, pursuing us 
 With unrequited salutations, bows, 
 
MARIQUITA. 69 
 
 And wishes of " Good evening," or " Good night." 
 But failing to extort acknowledgment 
 That he was either heard or seen at all, 
 He tried another way ; he would arouse 
 My indignation. 
 
 Now, I tell the truth, 
 In all sincerity, the simple truth : 
 Anselmo every morning passed our door ; 
 He passed it for the street in which we lived 
 Led to the Canon's house and library, 
 Whither he went to prosecute his studies. 
 I knew he passed our door ; I knew the hour. 
 But never, no not once, did he attempt 
 To gain my notice by a single glance, 
 Or look, or act. I think he knew our house, 
 Because, when passing, he invariably 
 Bent down his eyes intently on the book 
 He carried in his hand. And, if I sat 
 At the open casement, as he passed I bent 
 My eyes upon my work or on my flowers. 
 But whether thus discreet or indiscreet, 
 Doubtless, the same construction of our acts 
 Would have been put by this most pestilent 
 Disturber of my peace, who now imagined 
 A rival in Anselmo. So, one morning, 
 To my dismay ('twas near the hour at which 
 
70 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Anselmo passed as wont), who should I see 
 
 Approaching, but Don Jorge, with his eyes 
 
 Demurely fixed upon a folio huge 
 
 Preposterously spread before his face, 
 
 And thus he marched with measured tread and slow, 
 
 Caricaturing, I suppose, the gait 
 
 And manner of Anselmo. Now for once 
 
 The farce was well enough, for it was droll, 
 
 And had materials for merriment. 
 
 But when next morning he appeared again, 
 
 Parading as before, I was annoyed 
 
 And nettled, and resolved to put him down ; 
 
 So with a careless air I looked at him, 
 
 Exclaiming, so that he might hear it, " Ah, 
 
 Some fanfarron* pretending he can read." 
 
 He never came again, and I suspect 
 
 The arrow that I shot was barbed too truly, 
 
 And rankled just because he could not read. 
 
 He came no more, but set what wit he had 
 
 To work, and schemed another plan of action 
 
 To ridicule Anselmo and annoy me. 
 
 I cannot count the days, but not a few 
 Had passed away, and I began to hope 
 Don Jorge had gone back to Cordova ; 
 And so I walked more freely than before, 
 * Appendix A. 
 
MARIQUITA. 71 
 
 And sometimes, choosing a sequestered spot, 
 
 I sat upon the river's bank alone, 
 
 While Rosa walked on farther. It so chanced 
 
 That thus I sate one evening, near the walk 
 
 Of the Delicias, but screened from view, 
 
 And there I watched the river flowing on 
 
 The same on which I set my fragile barque 
 
 So thoughtlessly that day, the same that glides 
 
 As ever it hath glided through the plain 
 
 And there I seemed to see the lambs at play, 
 
 And hear the bleating of the peaceful flock, 
 
 All as I knew them once, unchanged, unscattered !". 
 
 But we who tended them how scattered now 
 
 Esteban gone, and Sara fled, and I, 
 
 What is my life ? Not without bitterness, 
 
 Not without bitter tears, did I repeat, 
 
 What is my life ? what doth it profit me ? 
 
 What doth it profit any one ? Who cares 
 
 For Mariquita ? But in my distress 
 
 There came the hope, I am not what I seem 
 
 To be. That selfish man who only comes 
 
 Prowling about me for his own vile ends ; 
 
 That cold and selfish man is not my father ; 
 
 There is not in my veins a single drop 
 
 Of blood that does not turn against the thought 
 
 Of having flowed from such a source as that. 
 
 I thought of Esteban, and of the smile 
 
72 MARIQUITA. 
 
 That played upon his lips, and of the smile 
 That I had seen upon my mother's lips. 
 Fancies came thick, and I sat weaving them 
 Into the tissue of a fond romance 
 That might explain the story of my life 
 The mystery of my being. Suddenly, 
 As if to mock and dissipate my dream, 
 A loud laugh on the walk that I had left 
 Arrested me. I turned, and a strange scene 
 Met my astonished gaze. There stood Anselmo, 
 In great despair and there, convulsed with laughter, 
 Don Jorge. And his dog, a large coarse mastiff, 
 Held fast between his teeth Anselmo's book, 
 Which he had torn from him with sudden bound 
 And seizure being doubtless trained to it. 
 The efforts of Anselmo to regain 
 His book, elicited fresh peals of laughter, 
 And ah ! the picaro* what taste for reading- 
 What a voracious love of learned books 
 Was all the satisfaction to be had 
 From dog or master; and 'twas difficult 
 It seemed impossible to catch the thief. 
 At last he brought it to Don Jorge's feet, 
 Lay down, and growled, as challenging who dared 
 To take it; then, with paws and teeth applied, 
 He tore it open. On the open page 
 
 * Appendix A. 
 
MARIQUITA. 73 
 
 There lay the waterlily which Anselmo 
 
 Rescued for me, and which I gave to him. 
 
 Now, in a moment, with a sudden spring, 
 
 Anselmo seized the book; the dog held fast 
 
 With fierce, savage growl; and now Don Jorge 
 
 Hounded him on. The fight I saw was coming, 
 
 And flew, without a moment's hesitation, 
 
 To take my part. I seized Don Jorge's dog 
 
 Fast by the neck ; he dropped the book, and bit me. 
 
 A crowd began to gather round the spot 
 
 Don Jorge called his dog there was a respite. 
 
 But now my fortitude gave way, and now 
 
 The colour left my cheek, the tears came thick, 
 
 And as I strove to hide them with my hand, 
 
 I showed unconsciously my bleeding fingers. 
 
 Then there arose a cry, and some said " Shame ! " 
 
 And others cried, " She is torn, the dog must die," 
 
 Then, with an effort, I recovered strength 
 
 To say, ( Seriores, spare the dog, I pray you. 
 
 He has but done what he was taught to do, 
 
 And these bad manners, they are not his own. 
 
 I pray you spare him.' . Then there was a cry, 
 
 " It is Don Jorge's dog ; and if Don Jorge 
 
 Has trained him to these tricks, we'll throw Don Jorge 
 
 Into the river." But I still besought them, 
 
 ' I pray you spare Don Jorge too, my friends, 
 
 For the same reason that you spared his dog. 
 
74 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Don Jorge, like the dog, has but behaved 
 
 According to his training. He is not 
 
 A true Caballero.' Then they cried, 
 
 " Let both begone, and let them come no more 
 
 To the Delicias, or we will drown them 
 
 In the same pool." And many biting jests 
 
 They levelled at Don Jorge : but they praised 
 
 My courage in enthusiastic terms, 
 
 And would escort me home, but that I said, 
 
 6 1 see my friend at hand, and I am safe.' 
 
 Don Jorge came no more to the paseo, 
 But not the less he schemed to injure me. 
 For that had passed, and I had spoken words 
 That rankled in his unforgiving breast. 
 Little I recked ; so that I might escape 
 From his attentions, I was satisfied 
 To bear the brunt of what malevolence 
 And hatred were engendered by my words ; 
 For now my spirit rose. I was not now 
 The child that hitherto I seemed to be. 
 I felt that I could meet and brave a danger ; 
 And deep I knew it from that evening deep 
 In one true heart I had a place. 
 
MAKIQUITA. 75 
 
 VIII. 
 
 No stroke is struck in vain. The maddest hand 
 That wields a weapon for the wildest work 
 Of ruin and destruction, strikes no blow 
 But it shall weld a link, or clinch a rivet, 
 In the great chain that girds the universe. 
 Forge thou thy bolt the issue is with God 
 Not as thou wiliest, but as He decrees. 
 
 My father came again to visit us. 
 He came at night. He said he must obtain 
 A loan of fifty ounces. What had we ? 
 Rosa replied we had enough to live 
 Simply and frugally, but nothing more. 
 She said, "You have the flock." He answered her, 
 " The flock is sold, and all at Torre veas 
 Is sold." I asked it nearly broke my heart 
 To ask it f And my horse, Campeador ? ' 
 He said, <f Your horse, Campeador, is sold." 
 Then we sat silent for a time. At length 
 He rose to go. But ere he went we said, 
 " It is but little that we have ; accept, 
 We pray you, for your need, that which we have." 
 He took it and went out. 
 
76 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Early next day, 
 
 A message from the Cardinal was brought : 
 Rosa must wait on him without delay. 
 She went, and presently my father came 
 To tell me that he had been cited also 
 To the same conference ; that it transpired 
 That I had taken an unseemly part 
 In a disgraceful fray. The Cardinal 
 Was much offended, and it was resolved 
 That I must from this time submit myself 
 To those who have the legal right to guide 
 And regulate my actions. He had come, 
 He said, to take the charge of me henceforth ; 
 And Rosa had set out for Mangonegro, 
 Feeling acutely the disgrace and shame 
 Of having forfeited the good opinion 
 Of the old man, who seemed to be our friend. 
 
 I answered not a word all seemed a dream, 
 A troubled dream. My father dined with me, 
 And sat where Rosa used to sit. But still 
 I shed no tear. After a silent meal, 
 He told me to put on my best apparel, 
 And come with him. " You shall be seen to-day," 
 He said, as we went forth and joined a throng 
 A multitude of people hastening forward. 
 " T'is the great bull feast of the year, and here 
 
MARIQUITA. 77 
 
 Are barandillas* for the feast." I asked, 
 ' If we are now so poor that all is sold, 
 Whence have we barandillas for this feast ? ' 
 He said, " A friend has sent them : ask no more ; 
 But come with me to occupy your place." 
 
 Ha ! what a sight I Ten thousand citizens, 
 All frantic with excitement and delight, 
 Massed in the spacious amphitheatre. 
 A bull had just rushed into the arena, 
 The foremost picador* awaits the assault 
 With lowered lance. He fails to turn the bull, 
 And man and horse lie tumbled in the sand. 
 The horse is dead ; the picador, well sheathed 
 In iron greaves, escapes with heavy gait. 
 The bull attacks the second picador, 
 And then the third ; alike the fate of all. 
 Three horses lie all weltering in gore; 
 Their riders go in search of other steeds. 
 The voices of the multitude are hoarse, 
 Applauding the brave bull which cleared the ring, 
 And shouting, " Where are now your picadors ? " 
 They come again, fresh mounted for the encounter. 
 Again each horse lies low the ring is cleared. 
 But not with equal fortune to the men 
 Unhorsed this time, for one is carried out 
 * Appendix A. 
 
78 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Insensible : his horse pierced to the heart 
 
 Reared high, and falling back has crushed the rider, 
 
 The multitude applaud no less the bull 
 
 An Andaluz the strongest and the surest 
 
 That ever cleared the plaza one that needs 
 
 A cool and wary hand to take his life 
 
 So true his thrust ; no banderillero* 
 
 Offers to face him. But the matador, 
 
 The oldest and most skilful, asks and has 
 
 Permission to encounter him. The chulos,* 
 
 With scarfs of every hue around him play, 
 
 And warily they go, and warily 
 
 The matador* avoids him, while the youths 
 
 In dizzying circles lead the flaunted bull 
 
 Again another and another maze, 
 
 Till at a vantage he can offer low 
 
 The crimson flag swiftly the rush is made 
 
 The fatal sword implanted drinks his life, 
 
 And thunders of applause re-echo round. 
 
 And now as harnessed oxen drag away 
 The trophies of the fight, there is a buzz 
 Of expectation for report gains ground 
 That, mounted on a pure Arabian 
 There will appear among the picadors 
 A brave aficionado*. Formerly 
 
 * Appendix A. 
 
MARIQUITA. 79 
 
 The nobles of the land, Spain's chivalry, 
 
 Superbly mounted on their finest steeds, 
 
 Would thus take part in bull feasts, lance in hand, 
 
 Relying on their skill and horsemanship, 
 
 And on the quickness of the pure-bred horse, 
 
 To turn and fend the charges of the bull ; 
 
 But 'twas a pastime totally disused 
 
 In later times. Now many stories ran 
 
 Their circle through the crowd, and it was said 
 
 That he who sold the Arabian for this fight 
 
 Was prompted by some base malevolence 
 
 Thus to devote the horse to certain death. 
 
 But he who claimed to ride him in the arena 
 
 Had given largely for the privilege, 
 
 And if he saved the horse in fair encounter, 
 
 His right was to redeem him as his own. 
 
 However it might be, much interest 
 
 And much excitement stirred the multitude, 
 
 And when the mounted picadors appeared, 
 
 A shout of approbation hailed their entrance. 
 
 They came one of their company a youth, 
 Truly a gallant youth of gallant bearing, 
 Reining with easy grace a beauteous steed. 
 I know him at a glance among a thousand 
 I'd know him ; and he rides Campeador. 
 Breathless and faint, I turned to ask my father 
 
80 MARIQUITA. 
 
 What it might mean. My father, where is he ? 
 
 Hath he forsaken me ? Am I alone ? 
 
 Alas ! not all alone, mine enemy 
 
 Stands peering at me with malicious eyes : 
 
 And I can see the plot ay, through and through 
 
 Before he speaks. But with an agony 
 
 Of effort I composed my quivering lips, 
 
 And looked him in the face with proud defiance. 
 
 " He came not to disturb," he said it, sneering, 
 
 " My full enjoyment of this noble sport ; 
 
 But hearing, Sefiorita, that the barb 
 
 In the arena was your favourite, 
 
 I came to tell you that should you desire 
 
 To save the horse, 'tis in your power to save him. 
 
 I have redeemed him. Throw your handkerchief, 
 
 The signal will be understood, the barb 
 
 Will be withdrawn, and placed at my disposal. 
 
 Nor need I say that at your feet I place 
 
 The ransomed steed and all that I possess." 
 
 Cruel are the tender mercies of the wicked, 
 
 And cruelly I felt the base affront. 
 
 Ay ! he will save the barb and win the mistress 
 
 That is his plan ; and straight I answered him : 
 
 ' Senor Don Jorge, look you well to it ! 
 
 Woo not a maiden that can never love you ; 
 
 Buy not a horse that you can never ride ; 
 
 Lay nothing at the feet which will but spurn 
 
MARIQUITA. 81 
 
 The gift. I see a horseman on the barb ; 
 
 Him will I trust, with good right arm and lance, 
 
 To foil the bull, and save my favourite. 
 
 No signal will I make. Campeador 
 
 Shall never be, not even for an hour, 
 
 Yours to present to me. I pray you leave me.' 
 
 " I leave you, Sefiorita ; nor dispute 
 
 Your preference. Your courage I admire. 
 
 When men and horses roll in blood and dust, 
 
 Calm and serene you view the spectacle. 
 
 I leave you to enjoy it, Sefiorita." 
 
 Impatiently, disdainfully, my hand 
 
 I waved to him to leave me. He went out, 
 
 And then I turned to gaze upon the scene. 
 
 Nerve failed me now ; my trembling limbs refused 
 To bear me up ; and, in my paroxysm 
 And agony, I seized the balustrade 
 With desperate grasp. The fiesta ran its course. 
 The next bull, and the next, killed every horse 
 Save one. Campeador was still unhurt 
 Anselmo bore him harmless through the fight. 
 The people praised his courage and address, 
 His skilful horsemanship and strength of arm, 
 Each time he turned the bull. The fourth, a coward, 
 A recreant would not charge the picadors. 
 Rockets were called for by the angry mob ; 
 
 G 
 
82 MARIQUITA. 
 
 These, planted in the reeking side, explode, 
 
 And tear the flesh. Then dogs are slipped at him, 
 
 To tear him more. Lastly, with semiluna,* 
 
 His punishment and torture is completed. 
 
 With tendons cut, he crawls about the ring, 
 
 Till, with the bloody spectacle sufficed, 
 
 The crowd demands his death. No matador 
 
 Does the last honours to the base poltroon ; 
 
 A butcher's hand drives home a common knife. 
 
 The spine is severed, and he dies amid 
 
 The execrations of the multitude. 
 
 Once more a gallant bull, Manchegan this, 
 Is in the arena pauses but a moment 
 Then charges home. The nearest horse lies prostrate ; 
 The second picador soon shares his fate 
 Low in the dust they lie. Campeador 
 Receives the third assault. The charge is parried. 
 With swift and sudden wheel, the bull again 
 Comes hurtling on. It is a dangerous bull, 
 And doubly dangerous now Anselmo's lance 
 Is broken at the blade. There is a hush 
 Of expectation as the charge is given. 
 No remedy no chance to turn him now. 
 Anselmo sees his danger. As the rush 
 
 * Appendix A. 
 
MARIQUITA. 83 
 
 Is made, he gathers well in hand the reins, 
 Faces the bull, deep in his horse's flanks 
 Plunges the long steel spurs, and high in air 
 Bounds the well-managed steed, and clears the bull. 
 Foiled, sullen, foaming at the mouth, he stands ; 
 Nor will he charge again ; he paws the ground ; 
 Campeador is saved. A thousand plaudits 
 Ring through the air ; a thousand scarfs are waved ; 
 And bending low, and smiling as he strokes 
 Campeador's proud neck caressingly, 
 Anselmo leaves the plaza. Soon the fight 
 Is finished, and the thousands are dispersed. 
 I knew it not, for now I was unconscious 
 Alike of danger and of victory. 
 A pall seemed to descend, and wrap the scene. 
 While others left, I sat alone with eyes 
 Open, but seeing not, as in a trance. 
 Anselmo had observed me ; he dismounted, 
 Was quickly by my side, and spoke to me. 
 I answered not. A young and pretty woman, 
 One of the few still near, observed us both ; 
 And with a woman's gentle instinct came 
 To offer her kind aid, and soothingly 
 She chafed my temples and unclasped my hands, 
 And led me forth and made me lean on her ; 
 And asked Anselmo if he knew the house 
 In which I lived, that she might take me home. 
 
 G 2 
 
84 MARIQUITA. 
 
 He was about to tell her, when a hand 
 Was laid upon his arm. ' Twas Gaspar's hand 
 I knew it not. I was unconscious then 
 Of all that passed. I knew it afterwards 
 Anselmo told me all. ' Twas Gaspar's hand. 
 He whispered, " Go not there ; her friends are fled. 
 Young Munos has possession, for a debt 
 Due by her father. She will find herself 
 Dependant there on Munos for her bread. 
 He schemed and worked the ruin of her father, 
 Doubtless with one intent." A crimson flush 
 Mantled Anselmo's brow. The lady saw it, 
 And said, " She shall come home with me, poor child." 
 
 She was a banker's wife, and they were rich, 
 And had a country house at Alcala. 
 Thither did Dona Leonor convey me 
 That day, in her own carriage drawn by mules, 
 Anselmo riding by my side. And thus 
 I found a home that night, when I had none, 
 And might have perished in my misery, 
 An outcast. 
 
.MA III QUIT A. 85 
 
 IX. 
 
 THEY seem all sunshine still, those happy days 
 
 With Leonor. Her nature was not deep, 
 
 Nor was our love such as would feed on tears, 
 
 And nourishment in sorrow seek to find. 
 
 I loved her as I love the sparkling rill 
 
 That gladdens all the garden with its voice, 
 
 Keviving every drooping leaf and flower. 
 
 She had a taste for music, and I sang. 
 
 She could accompany the voice with skill, 
 
 So we had music always every night. 
 
 One night Anselmo came (for Alcala 
 
 "Was distant only two short leagues from Seville). 
 
 He had a full melodious voice, and sang 
 
 With me ; and after that it seemed to us 
 
 That it was nothing if Anselmo came not. 
 
 These were the golden hours of my existence. 
 
 I knew it now, nor needed to be told, 
 
 Deep in one faithful heart there was a shrine, 
 
 Lit up for me with an undying light. 
 
 Leonor's husband sent, one afternoon, 
 To say he would be glad to wait on me. 
 
86 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Don Pedro had received remittances 
 
 For me, and had a letter to deliver. 
 
 I opened it 'twas signed Mateo Vargas, 
 
 Dated from Orihuela and enclosed 
 
 An order on Don Pedro's bank in Seville, 
 
 Being, he said, my share of the returns 
 
 Of the estate for half a year. No clue 
 
 Was given to unravel the enigma. 
 
 I knew of no estate. Mateo Vargas 
 
 Was a name utterly unknown to me. 
 
 Don Pedro, seeing my perplexity, 
 
 Wished to withdraw. Recovering, I told him 
 
 That I relied on him to be my friend, 
 
 And handed him the letter, telling him 
 
 It was an utter mystery to me. 
 
 He laughed, and said, " A pleasant mystery, 
 
 Which you will suffer me to solve in gold, 
 
 As alchemist." While counting out the sum, 
 
 He said, 6( You have good friends, and it is well ; 
 
 For you have also treacherous enemies." 
 
 I answered that I had an enemy, 
 
 But I despised him. Thoughtfully ' 
 
 He said that not the meanest enemy 
 
 Could safely be despised. The vilest tongue 
 
 Could do a world of mischief. And, he added, 
 
 " Our friend Anselmo's visits to this house 
 
 Have all been closely watched and chronicled. 
 
MARJQUITA. 87 
 
 You will do well to tell him to avoid 
 
 Alcala de Guadaira, lest he lose 
 
 His uncle's favour." Then he dropped his voice, 
 
 Whispering, " And you, too, you are closely watched; 
 
 Don Jorge and a Priest are watching you. 
 
 There is a league between them for no good. 
 
 The Priest is now in Alcala : his name 
 
 I do not know, but he was heard to boast 
 
 That he could tell you more about your birth 
 
 And history than you have ever known." 
 
 I thanked Don Pedro for his courtesy 
 And friendly counsel, saying, e You are right. 
 Anselmo must do nothing that may grieve 
 The good Archbishop ; and he must not come 
 To see me here.' No more escaped my lips ; 
 But much it weighed upon my mind, and much 
 I wondered if the Priest who watched me thus 
 Were he whom I had seen upon the plain, 
 Hunfredo of the Hermitage. It weighed 
 Upon my mind till I could scarcely bear 
 The impression wrought on my excited brain, 
 Of that dark eye of deep malevolence 
 Set to observe and watch me. And I framed 
 My plan accordingly, and held to it. 
 For when I said good night to Leonor, 
 Although I did not say the word farewell, 
 
88 MARIQUITA. 
 
 I told her that my path was compassed round 
 With snares, from which I had to extricate 
 My feet as best I could ; and I besought her 
 Not to think ill of me not to believe 
 That ever I could cease to feel her kindness 
 Warmly and gratefully. And so we parted 
 And went to rest. 
 
 At midnight I arose. 
 And left the shelter of the kindly roof 
 With noiseless step. The night was bright and clear, 
 And the cool air revived my drooping spirits 
 And braced my nerves to an unusual measure 
 Of cheerfulnes and strength. The silent stars 
 O'ercanopied my head ; the silent dew 
 Refreshed my feet. My purpose was sincere. 
 Anselmo should not be reproached for me 
 Don Jorge, he in vain should search for me 
 Hunfredo, he in vain lay wait for me. 
 My purpose was to foil every attempt 
 To follow me. Among the Zincali 
 If I could find a guide that night in Seville, 
 I would set out forthwith and travel on, , 
 
 Until I found out Sara and her friends, 
 Wherever camped. If they could shelter her 
 They well might shelter me. 
 
MAKIQUITA. 89 
 
 So cheerfully 
 
 And hopefully I traversed the lone road 
 To Seville, passing round without the gates, 
 Under the shadow of its ancient walls, 
 On to the suburb of Los Humeros, 
 The favourite quarter of the Zincali. 
 I passed along a narrow street, and paused 
 At this house and at that. Here they all slept; 
 There they talked loud, and vented fearful oaths, 
 So that I shrank from them. And I went on 
 Till from a humble hut I heard a cry 
 An infant's cry; and then a soothing voice 
 Hushing it in the language of the gipsies, 
 A mother's voice. I knocked. A woman's hand 
 Lifted the latch. I entered in. A light 
 Was quickly struck. A sharp, keen scrutiny 
 Succeeded ; and she clapped her hands, and cried, 
 " It is the mistress of the Selim colt, 
 Bought from our people. What chance brings her here ? " 
 I said, * I need a guide, one of your people ; 
 And mules for travelling. I will pay her well.' 
 She said, " It shall be done for money's worth. 
 Hold you my babe, and I will find a guide, 
 And mules that know to travel." She went out, 
 Giving her child to me. When she returned, 
 She nodded, saying, " You may cross my hand 
 
90 MAKIQUITA. 
 
 With what you will. A guide and mules are found." 
 
 I gave her silver for her services ; 
 
 And in an hour my guide approached the door. 
 
 Seated upon a mule. She led in hand 
 
 A mule for me, and signed to me to mount 
 
 And follow her, but did not even ask 
 
 Whither I meant to travel. For some paces 
 
 I let her have her way, and then I said, 
 
 6 Good friend, it may be well that you should know 
 
 Whither you have to guide me.' But no heed 
 
 She took of what I said, nor checked her pace, 
 
 But rather urged her mule ahead of me, 
 
 As if she cared not what I said to her, 
 
 Or heard it not. But presently we came 
 
 To the Triana Bridge, and, crossing it, 
 
 She led the very way I wished to go, 
 
 Up the right bank of the Guadalquivir. 
 
 Knowing the Zincali how they pretend 
 
 To read the stars and foreshow destinies 
 
 I judged it best to humour my companion, 
 
 And to assume she knew instinctively 
 
 My pnrpose ; as, indeed, she seemed to know. 
 
 As yet 'twas dark : but when towards dawn faint lines 
 
 Of light began to streak the eastern sky, 
 
 I saw, and shuddered when I saw, her face. 
 
 It was Froila. Faces have I seen 
 
 Distorted while unholy passions gained 
 
MARIQU1TA. 91 
 
 The mastery but never did I see 
 
 Such fixed expression of ferocity 
 
 Such indurated hatred, chiselled, graved, 
 
 In human face. She saw I scanned her features, 
 
 And muttered, " Ay ; ugly, and thin, and old ; 
 
 Ugly, and thin, and old ; but better so 
 
 Than be a lure and snare to wandering eyes." 
 
 We travelled on in silence seldom broken ; 
 
 For if I spoke to her, she only nodded ; 
 
 But if I looked at her, she growled out words 
 
 I did not like to hear. Only one thing 
 
 Tended to reconcile me. It was clear 
 
 She seemed to have divined instinctively 
 
 My motive in selecting for my guide 
 
 One of the Zincali. Instinctively 
 
 She took the very way I should have chosen 
 
 For baffling and defeating all pursuit. 
 
 But 'twas a drear look out to have to travel 
 
 Day after day with such a sullen guide. 
 
 On the fifth day, as we were plodding on, 
 I heard behind me the sharp ringing sound 
 Of horse's feet at speed mad speed it seemed. 
 'Twas Gaspar, on his pony. On he came 
 At furious pace, as though he saw us not'; 
 And as he passed us, whether by design 
 Or accident I know not, with his toe 
 
92 MABIQUITA. 
 
 He caught the old gitana by the heel, 
 
 And nearly threw her from her mule. A shriek, 
 
 And then a frightful curse saluted him. 
 
 The lad pulled up, with serio-comic air, 
 
 To ask her why she blessed him, and what saints 
 
 She had invoked ; then, waiting not her answer, 
 
 Galloped ahead. "We saw him not again 
 
 That day, nor yet the next. It was the seventh 
 
 A long day's journey, and a late we came 
 
 At sunset to a solitary venta; 
 
 There was the boy, too busily engaged, 
 
 Chopping tobacco with his pocket-knife, 
 
 To notice us. And now, occurred the thought, 
 
 The boy may have some message, and he seeks 
 
 An opportunity to speak to me. 
 
 My guide, too she, I saw, had her own thoughts. 
 
 She stripped the mules of all their furniture, 
 
 Hiring a private room to put it in. 
 
 She would have locked the stable-door that night, 
 
 But that the boy challenged her right to hold 
 
 The key, his pony being stabled there. 
 
 Not once did she lie down that night to sleep, 
 
 But wandered to and fro, from house to stable, 
 
 tt 
 Watching her mules. 
 
 It was the early dawn, 
 When waking, such a clamour reached my ears 
 
MARIQUITA. 93 
 
 As never was. Pony and mules Were loose, 
 
 And fighting ; and Froila, and the boy, 
 
 And the ventero, scolded and accused 
 
 Each other. Kicks, and frantic screams and oaths, 
 
 Were blended in one furious rush of sound* 
 
 Then cried the boy, " Say all you have to say, 
 
 And, when 'tis said, I'll whistle, and my Jaca 
 
 Will come to me." So when there was a lull, 
 
 He whistled, and the pony trotted forth 
 
 Gaily enough. But one of our poor mules 
 
 Had suffered serious damage in the fight ; 
 
 Hopelessly lamed, it offered not a chance 
 
 Of further use for many a day to come. 
 
 Froila, after many stormy words, 
 
 Claimed the boy's pony. Gaspar only laughed. 
 
 Then the ventero said, that he, as judge 
 
 (Since in his pueblo, that is, in his venta, 
 
 There was no higher officer than he) 
 
 He would decide this cause, but needed time 
 
 To weigh it with punctilious precision. 
 
 So he sat down and smoked. The day wore on, 
 
 And still he smoked, Gaspar supplying him, 
 
 And smoking with him. Late that afternoon, 
 
 He said he would decide our cause for us. 
 
 He had a colt, that we should buy of him ; 
 
 And if we could not wait to have him caught, 
 
 Or if we could not ride him, then the boy 
 
94 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Must let us have the pony for our journey, 
 And ride the colt. Four ounces was his price. 
 Froila fetched the saddles, and desired 
 That I should pay the price. Without a word, 
 Gaspar led out the pony, and she placed 
 Her saddle on his back, and then prepared 
 To mount. The pony reared, and struck at her 
 With his forefeet. At every fresh attempt, 
 She risked a broken arm. Gaspar looked grave. 
 And said it would not do ; he never knew 
 The pony play such pranks. The Senorita, 
 Perhaps, would ride the pony ; and he whispered, 
 " The Jaca knows you, and will carry you 
 Without a fault." And so it proved. The boy 
 Had trained it to be quiet when he pleased, 
 As well as to play antics when he pleased. 
 I mounted it with ease, and we set out 
 Froila riding on the mule, and I 
 Upon the tricky pony. 
 
 We had travelled 
 
 About an hour, the sun was going down, 
 When suddenly Froila caught my rein : 
 And then I heard the clattering of hoofs 
 Behind us. And the boy upon a colt, 
 Wild as himself, and ragged as himself, 
 Came dashing by. With a determined grasp 
 
MARIQUITA. 95 
 
 She held the rein ; but when the boy turned round, 
 
 Whistling the well known call, one frantic bound 
 
 Released the pony, and away it sped 
 
 After the colt. No arm could hold it now ; 
 
 Nor steep acclivity, nor deep descent, 
 
 Nor shelving bed of torrent, strewn with rock, 
 
 Restrained our mad career, till many a league 
 
 Froila and her mule were left behind. 
 
 When we drew bridle, Gaspar offered me 
 
 My choice, to wait for her or go with him. 
 
 " For me," he said, " I do not wish to see 
 
 Her evil look again, nor hear her tongue ; 
 
 But you shall choose. Engage me if you will, 
 
 And I will guide you to Despenaperros ; 
 
 There you will give me back my only treasure 
 
 My little Jaca for it shares my bread, 
 
 And follows me and answers to my call ; 
 
 And oftentimes I share its bed of rushes. 
 
 There you can let Froila sell the colt, 
 
 And reimburse herself for that old mule. 
 
 But I will tell you how it came to pass 
 
 Her mule was lamed. We saw it all. She stole 
 
 Into the stables, like a thief in the night, 
 
 Hammer in hand, doubtless to drive a nail 
 
 Into my Jaca's foot, and stop my journey. 
 
 The Jaca suffers none to handle it 
 
 Except its master. So it struggled hard 
 
96 MARIQUITA. 
 
 And broke the collar, and in lashing out 
 
 It chanced to kick the mule. Now, in good truth, 
 
 I'd rather trust the robbers of the Sierra, 
 
 Than one so cruel and so treacherous. 
 
 Leave her to exercise her evil eye 
 
 Upon the planets, and her evil tongue 
 
 Upon the sharp night air." 
 
MARIQUITA. 97 
 
 X. 
 
 I ASKED the boy how far we had to ride. 
 
 He answered seven hours, it might be eight ; 
 
 And he had friends who knew the Zincali, 
 
 And would direct us to their camping ground 
 
 In the Sierra. So we travelled on 
 
 Till, near a mountain gorge, my youthful guide 
 
 Proposed to feed our horses at a hut 
 
 Tenanted by a woman that he knew. 
 
 We halted for an hour. The air was keen, 
 
 The woman lit a charcoal fire for us. 
 
 There was another traveller in the room ; 
 
 Wrapped in his cloak, he sat apart from us, 
 
 And seemed to be asleep, for when we entered 
 
 He rose not to present a chair to me, 
 
 Nor spoke at all ; and when we took our leave 
 
 He never moved. I prayed he might not be 
 
 Some robber chief, waylaying simple folk. 
 
 The night was dark ; our way was difficult, 
 Through narrow passes overhung by cliffs, 
 That left us but a narrow strip of sky. 
 Nor, in that scene so new and strange to me, 
 
98 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Accustomed from my childhood to the plains, 
 Could I divest my mind of fear. My dread 
 Increased when now I heard, or seemed to hear, 
 The tramp of horses' feet. But Gaspar said 
 ' Twas but an echo, or some traveller 
 Belated, who was glad to follow us 
 For his own safety. 
 
 Now, where two ways met, 
 My boy-guide seemed uncertain which to take. 
 A horseman overtook us on the road, 
 And Gaspar hailed him as he came : " Seiior, 
 You know the passes ; we will follow you." 
 It was the same Cavalier I had seen 
 An hour before, who sat apart from us 
 In the lone hut. As he came up he bowed, 
 And led the way. We followed silently, 
 And I looked hard at him, but such the gloom 
 And depth of shadow in the wooded glen 
 Through which we tracked our way, that not a trait 
 Nor outline of a feature could I mark. 
 I whispered then to Gaspar my alarm. 
 Gaspar said, "Fear not ; I will speak to him." 
 He spoke, and the low answer reached my ear 
 The music of the answer vibrated 
 Through every pulse. It was Anselmo's voice ; 
 And the rebound from vehement alarm 
 

 MARIQUITA. 99 
 
 To sudden joy the joy I felt to hear 
 Anselmo's voice in that lone wilderness 
 O'ermastered every sense but that of joy. 
 I wept for joy. He pressed my hand in his, 
 And I resigned my hand to him to press. 
 And then he told me how it came to pass 
 That thus we met. The Cardinal had heard 
 The story of the rescue at the bull-fight ; 
 And of a Seriorita beautiful, 
 But dangerous withal, at Alcala ; 
 And of the evenings at Don Pedro's house 
 Pleasant no doubt, but not, so it was said, 
 Tending to form the mind for cloister life. 
 " So, Mariquita, my superiors 
 In conclave met, and it was duly voted 
 That in all branches I had made such progress 
 In study, that to give my talents scope 
 I must have access to new libraries, 
 And quitting Seville, travel to Madrid." 
 Then, lowering his voice, Anselmo said 
 That never, never, if he had a hope 
 Of being loved by me, would he consent 
 To any other vows than love's true vows 
 " So tell me, Mariquita, if you love me." 
 It hurt me to be asked whether I loved him, 
 And so I answered, that it seemed to me 
 He halted between two alternatives, 
 
 H 2 
 
100 MARIQUITA. 
 
 And that in such a case I thought it best 
 
 He should be guided by the sound advice 
 
 Of older heads than mine. So then he said 
 
 He hesitated not all he resigned 
 
 The hope of wealth, preferment, dignity, 
 
 The favour of his aged relative, 
 
 And so forth. Then I drily signified 
 
 That there was too much in the worldly scale 
 
 For a poor girl, all friendless and forlorn, 
 
 To cope with ; and I certainly advised 
 
 The cassock and the cowl. He bade me say 
 
 Whether I spoke in earnest ; and I said 
 
 I spoke in earnest ; and he pondered long 
 
 Then asked me if I wished that we should part 
 
 Thus, and for ever. And I said, ( Anselmo, 
 
 You have two paths before you ; is it meet 
 
 That I should turn you from the way which leads 
 
 To honours and to wealth ? Is this my love ? 
 
 Leave then the homeless, friendless wanderer 
 
 To bear alone the summer's scorching heat 
 
 And winter's wind with those who, born to bear 
 
 Adversity, know how to brace the mind 
 
 And steel the face to meet their miseries.' 
 
 To which Anselmo passionately answered 
 
 " You little know me : wealth and dignity 
 
 I covet not I aim not to possess ; 
 
 I loathe the bloated ease and pomp of riches. 
 
MAKIQUITA. 101 
 
 Place in this scale a sword, in that a mitre ; 
 
 The palace and its luxuries foregoing, 
 
 I'd share the soldier's fare, and march with him 
 
 To share the dangers of the battle-field, 
 
 And win myself a name." I answered him, 
 
 ( Anselmo, these are dreams dreams of the night 
 
 That with the morning dew will pass away. 
 
 Doubtless, for you the camp would have a charm 
 
 More than the cloister; and wherever courage 
 
 And enterprise invited, you would march 
 
 And win the laurel on the hard-fought field. 
 
 Wherefore, then, have you led a student's life ? 
 
 You are not your own master.' But Anselmo 
 
 Replied with haste that he was no man's slave. 
 
 To satisfy the wishes of his friends 
 
 And guardians he had led a cloister life, 
 
 And studied as his tutors had prescribed, 
 
 Obediently ; but now in twelve short months 
 
 He would be free and master of his actions, 
 
 And nothing now could move him to consent 
 
 To bind himself by sacerdotal vows. 
 
 I said, f Anselmo, that is not the question 
 
 Which now concerns us : settle with your tutors 
 
 And guardians and your spiritual guides 
 
 All that concerns your future destination, 
 
 Whether to follow on or to abandon 
 
 Your training for the priesthood : but what now 
 
102 MARIQUITA. 
 
 What now I have to ask myself is this 
 
 How shall I act in this emergency ? 
 
 You have high prospects ; shall I drag you down 
 
 To be partaker of my penury ? 
 
 Would not my lot be doubly hard to bear 
 
 If I should make you partner of my lot ? 
 
 Does not true love forbid the sacrifice ? ' 
 
 Anselmo pleaded, on the other hand, 
 
 That now no joy could be to him a joy, 
 
 That now no bliss could be to us as bliss, 
 
 Unshared ; and that he sought no other lot 
 
 Than to divide with me and share with me, 
 
 And help me to sustain whatever care, 
 
 Whatever penury, whatever trials, 
 
 Heaven might send. Thus we discoursed that night ; 
 
 But when the first faint light of morning dawned, 
 
 I looked around with awe ; and yet my fears 
 
 Were mingled with a wildering delight. 
 
 How dreadful is the chaos ; rocks, upheaved 
 
 By force that to its centre shook the earth, 
 
 Lay strewn in wild disorder, mass on mass, 
 
 And pile on pile ; and towering overhead, 
 
 High cliffs in awful majesty, seen dimly 
 
 Through the pale grey of morning, pierce the clouds. 
 
 Too well we know that the same Voice divine 
 
 That spoke in bygone ages and commanded 
 
 Volcanic fires to penetrate the caverns 
 

 MARIQUITA. 103 
 
 Of Earth, and hurl aloft these rocky fragments 
 
 Upon the plain, can speak again, commanding 
 
 The cliffs to bow, the hills to melt away, 
 
 The mountains, shaken by that word, to fall 
 
 To fall upon us. 'Tis a dreadful scene ; 
 
 And yet how beautiful it grows. The sun 
 
 The upper canopy of heaven empurples 
 
 With gorgeous light, and golden rays are marshalled 
 
 Behind the horizon, all in rank and order, 
 
 All swifter than the swiftest eye can follow. 
 
 Not one shall fail ; they come, so now with me 
 
 Survey the scene. The panoply of rocks 
 
 Is pierced. See now the horrid precipice 
 
 Melt into beauty, softened by the touch 
 
 Of time, and by the sweet caressing air, 
 
 And by the nightly dew. And now admire 
 
 Wild creeping plants their tendrils rivetting, 
 
 And all their graceful tresses gently waving, 
 
 As to the rock they cling. And tiny flowers 
 
 Nestle in every crevice, and the cliff 
 
 Their shelter is, and covert from the wind 
 
 And tempest. Still I gaze. The morning mists 
 
 That hung upon the slopes of the Sierra 
 
 Break into wreaths, that float and fade away. 
 
 A fuller flood of light reveals new forms ; 
 
 And these, again, change with the changing lights 
 
 And waning shadows ; rocks and groves appear 
 
104 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Instinct with life and motion, and I see 
 Familiar objects pass before my eyes 
 Castles and towers, cathedral domes and spires, 
 Gardens and terraces they pass away, 
 And other forms arise. One would I note, 
 Because it hath its legend. 
 
 Mark that pile 
 
 So delicately chiselled by the hand 
 Of Nature. 'Tis an organ : the tall cliff 
 That erst presided there is overthrown. 
 The mountain peasantry know well the story. 
 They know that nightly, when the moon arose, 
 These cold grey stones were changed. The fluted pile 
 Regained its silver keys and golden pipes, 
 And then the cliff would nod and smile, and part 
 The yellow hair that o'er the features hung, 
 And from the folds of a dark mantle touch 
 The silver notes, and with a tenderness 
 Unknown to human hand, awake such sounds 
 As never mortal ear had heard on earth : 
 Such was the power of those sweet harmonies 
 They breathed on all around a calm so holy, 
 Even the wilful winds that love to rave, 
 Could not but hush their voices, and attune them 
 To be the bearers of such heavenly strains 
 Throughout the land, soothing the human heart 
 
MAlilQUITA. 105 
 
 Even in sleep : for 'twas a melody 
 
 That best expressed itself in holy dreams 
 
 And visions. And it was a blessed time, 
 
 And a delightsome land, when every spirit 
 
 Drank of that melody. All men were brothers. 
 
 Their hearts were one. But in an evil hour, 
 
 In honour of the organ and the player, 
 
 A revel and libation were decreed 
 
 A tun of wine in honour of the organ, 
 
 A tun of wine in honour of the cliff. 
 
 That night a night of darkness and of horror 
 
 A frightful storm swept through the pass ; the hand 
 
 That erst so gently touched the silver notes 
 
 Struck madly now, evoking angry peals, 
 
 Echoed and answered from the lowering sky. 
 
 Swift sped the bolt that laid the tall cliff low, 
 
 And strewed the mountain side with wild confusion. 
 
 The organ, turned to stone, responds no more, 
 
 Save to the wailing of the bleak night wind, 
 
 Or to the angry voices of the tempest. 
 
 Men's hearts were turned to stone that dreadful night ; 
 
 A brother's blood by brother's hand was spilt, 
 
 And passions were unloosed, never again 
 
 To be composed by sweetest melody, 
 
 Inbreathing holy calm ; the wild winds now 
 
 Howl as they list ; and on the plain beneath 
 
 That night there fell a curse : the fount of waters 
 
106 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Was dried the stream of waters ceased to flow. 
 So scarce it is that still a cup of water 
 Is of more value than a cup of wine 
 To the Manchegans of these arid vegas. 
 Such is the legend of Despefiaperros. 
 
 We followed through the pass our winding way, 
 Till at a sudden turn Anselmo said, 
 " See yonder ; one of those you seek is there." 
 
MAB1QUITA. 107 
 
 XL 
 
 THE youth seen by Anselmo in the pass 
 
 Sat by the wayside peeling willow wands ; 
 
 But when he saw us coming down the hill 
 
 He rose, and darted quickly out of sight 
 
 Into the thicket. And as quickly Ines 
 
 Came forth to meet us. Gaspar followed her, 
 
 To my surprise so confident was I 
 
 That he was riding slowly after us. 
 
 But by some shorter track 'twas evident 
 
 That he had passed us in the night. We met, 
 
 And Ines prayed Anselmo to ride on, 
 
 Taking the youth for guide. Me she implored ^ 
 
 To come with her on foot, relinquishing 
 
 The pony to the little Cordovan. 
 
 She said that there was danger : what it was 
 
 She told us not ; but all might yet be well 
 
 If only we would aid her to avert it. 
 
 Anselmo vowed he would lay down his life 
 
 For me. But Ines quietly replied, 
 
 " That you may do, and bring her to worse harm." 
 
 I then entreated him to be advised 
 
 By Ines. And we parted. 
 
108 MARIQUITA. 
 
 By a path 
 
 Well nigh impervious, Ines turned aside, 
 And led me through a dark and tangled brake, 
 By devious ways, and by the giddy verge 
 Of many a crag, until we gained the height, 
 And rested on a platform of green sward. 
 There we sat down, and then she bid me say 
 Why came I hither ? why left I my guide ? 
 And what had I to ask of her ? Straightway 
 I told her all my story, and my hope 
 To meet with Sara at Despefiaperros. 
 Sara, said Ines, is beyond the seas, 
 In a far country. Earnestly I answered, 
 Were it a thousand leagues I must attempt 
 The journey. 'Tis my only hope on earth ; 
 Homeless am I and friendless. Ines bent 
 Her eyes upon the ground. With tremulous voice 
 I asked her would she help me ? She replied, 
 " I would do much for Sara ; for her sake 
 I would do much for you ; but it is hard 
 To see a way. Why came you hither thus ? 
 Why make an enemy among our people ? 
 'Tis hard to serve you now ; all that I can 
 That will I do, but the first step must be 
 To see Froila, and appease her wrath, 
 Or e'er she spread an ill report of you 
 Among our people." 
 
MARIQUITA. 109 
 
 Presently appeared 
 
 A boy and mule upon a mountain path, 
 And Ines bade me mount and follow her. 
 So many a weary mile we travelled back 
 Through the ravines to meet the fierce old woman. 
 Afar I could descry her, urging on 
 Her jaded mule. With courteous gentleness 
 Ines besought her to resume her place 
 As guide. Froila answered scornfully, 
 Flashing out fury from her bloodshot eyes, 
 That I might travel where it suited me, 
 So that I travelled not with her again : 
 And she said bitterly, that neither maid 
 Nor woman in the camp would speak to me, 
 So light was I in conduct.* Bitter tears 
 I shed, that such a wretch should say such things 
 Of me, and still more bitterly I felt 
 That Ines did not take my part with warmth. 
 Had I done anything unwomanly, 
 Or any shameful act, I needs must bear 
 My punishment. But now what had I done ? 
 Was it my fault Froila's mule was lamed ? 
 Was it my fault the pony ran away ? 
 Was it my fault Anselmo overtook me ? 
 What had I done ? I thought of Esteban, 
 Who sweetly counselled me, and never blamed. 
 I said, f I ask not why I am reproached ; 
 * Appendix E. 
 
110 MARIQUITA. 
 
 I ask not why the women of your tribe 
 
 Would cast me out. I came not here to seek 
 
 Their hospitality ; I came to ask 
 
 Only one question. Esteban is dead, 
 
 Who was my friend ; no friend on earth have I 
 
 But Sara ; so I bid you in God's name 
 
 Tell me where Sara is, that I may go 
 
 To her. I ask no more. But where is Sara ? ' 
 
 Froila mocked at me : " Why should you wish 
 
 To go to Sara, seeing she would spurn 
 
 And drive you from her ? " Ines interposed : 
 
 " Nay, sister, say not so ; you do not know 
 
 The customs of her people. Good or bad, 
 
 Their manners differ widely from our manners. 
 
 This maiden was not nurtured in our tents ; 
 
 She knows not what she did in leaving you." 
 
 Then Ines turned to me : " 'Tis difficult 
 
 To see a way ; you made it difficult 
 
 To help you when you left my sister thus." 
 
 f Then leave me, leave me here,' I cried, ( to die 
 
 I have not now a friend ; why should I live ? ' 
 
 Froila said, " 'Tis best to leave her here." 
 
 But Ines clave to me : " Nay, sister, nay ; 
 
 Ev'n the stray lamb or kid may claim our care ; 
 
 I cannot let her perish here alone 
 
 For want of human aid. Not far from hence 
 
 Arroya lies, and thither we will go. 
 
MARIQUITA. Ill 
 
 And you, Froila, come you there with us, 
 And rest your mule awhile ; he totters now 
 As though he'd fall ere long ; so turn with us 
 And rest you at Arroya." But Froila 
 Replied by curses upon us, and blows 
 On the poor jaded mule. And so we parted. 
 The sequel we learnt afterwards. Sore pressed, 
 The mule gave way ere long, stumbled, and fell. 
 Then the fierce blasphemy she fain would vent 
 Withered upon her lips, and never more 
 Spake she. A shepherd found her paralysed 
 And dying. From Despefiaperros came 
 The Zincali, and buried her that night. 
 
 But Ines turned with me, and as we went 
 She bade me take good heart, for she had friends 
 Who would receive us kindly in their house. 
 We soon approached a cluster of small cabins. 
 But at the outskirts of the little pueblo, 
 Leaving the road, we took a narrow way 
 Through gardens, to a house that stood apart. 
 Here a most hearty welcome greeted us. 
 It was the house of a rich labrador,* 
 Whose wife, a very beautiful young woman, 
 With bright blue eyes, received us joyfully, 
 And set before us wheaten bread and wine, 
 
 * Appendix A. 
 
112 MARIQUITA. 
 
 With chocolate and comfits, pressing us 
 To eat. Ines told her I needed rest ; 
 And the kind mistress of the house replied 
 That all she had was mine, and her own bed 
 She offered me to rest in till restored 
 With sleep. And while the couch was being laid, 
 Ines told me her story thus : " You see, 
 By her blue eyes,* that Marta is of kin 
 To none of us ; she's of a northern tribe 
 Settled in the Sierra, to replace 
 The banished races and the ravages 
 Of wars that had dispeopled all these lands. 
 Now Marta was the very prettiest girl 
 In all the Sierra. In her sixteenth year 
 Her parents died, father and mother both 
 In that same year. She was their only child. 
 Her father's cousin then as guardian came, 
 And took her to Madrid ; against her will 
 She placed her in a convent. The pretence 
 Was education, but the real intent 
 Was to immure her there till she professed 
 And took the veil. But Marta liked it not ; 
 Freedom is sweet to all the blue-eyed race, 
 And the young maidens of this mountain district 
 Prefer to share their gold and their estates 
 With husbands rather than religious houses. 
 * Appendix F. 
 
MARIQUITA. 113 
 
 We aided her escape from those grim walls ; 
 We aided her concealment in the Sierra, 
 In humble guise. But she was beautiful, 
 And the young labrador that courted her, 
 Married her for her beauty, not for gain. 
 Her guardian now is dead, and she enjoys 
 Not only all her own inheritance, 
 But all her guardian had ; so they are rich, 
 And Marta's kindness to us never fails. 
 So now be sure you have a friend in her. 
 But, in good sooth I say so, it appears, 
 As far as I can see, your destiny 
 Hangs much on the same thread the veil 
 Or else a husband. But no more of that ; 
 Sleep now and rest yourself. I must away 
 On matters of importance, but ere night 
 I will return again." 
 
 I laid me down 
 
 And slept till dark, when Ines came to me, 
 And bade me rise and go with her. I rose, 
 And followed her, and Marta went with us. 
 I asked them whither they were taking me ? 
 They said to meet a friend. I thought of Sara ; 
 'Twas a fond hope I hardly dared to breathe ; 
 I said to Ines, f If it be the friend 
 I hope for, all the grief I have endured 
 
 i 
 
114 MAKIQUITA. 
 
 Is nothing to the joy awaiting me : 
 My cup will then be full to overflowing.' 
 She answered, with much warmth, " Full be your cup 
 Of joy and blessing full to overflowing." 
 They said not who it was we were to meet, 
 But cheered me as we walked with pleasant talk ; 
 And Marta told me stories of the Sierra, 
 Beguiling all the way, until we reached 
 The suburbs of a town. Down a long street 
 We passed. The massive portal of a church 
 Was now in sight, and here we turned aside 
 Along its buttressed wall. A low arched door 
 Was at the further end. Ines knocked thrice ; 
 We were admitted instantly within, 
 But all was dark. Ines encouraged me, 
 Saying that none but kindest friends were here ; 
 And Marta said her husband was to meet us 
 Within the church. We passed along, then stood ; 
 And Ines, after a few words exchanged 
 In whispers, said aloud, " We all are here- 
 Proceed." 
 
 A light was struck. A glance sufficed. 
 Anselmo stood beside me at the altar. 
 An aged priest, with thin and tremulous lips, 
 Read by the flickering light of one small lamp, 
 With hurried voice and low, the marriage office, 
 
MARIQUITA. 115 
 
 Can this be right ? Shall I not ask Anselmo 
 Shall I not charge him instantly to leave me 
 Here at the altar steps on these cold stones 
 Here to lie down and die ? I laid my hand 
 Upon his arm ' Can this be right, Anselmo ? ' 
 He took my hand, and said, " Confide in me. 
 I will be true to you; confide in me." 
 I trembled as he spoke ; not that rich voice, 
 So musical, could reassure my mind ; 
 I trembled as I leant on him. The tree 
 Sustains the leaf, but the first biting blast 
 Shall sever it, and it shall be the sport 
 Of every vengeful storm. I clung to him. 
 The office was concluded. He embraced me, 
 And led me to the door. 
 
 As we approached 
 
 Arroya, we were met by a procession 
 A gay procession of the peasantry, 
 With torches. But how little joy of heart 
 Had I, who thus had given my hand and heart 
 Under the cloud of night. To hide my tears, 
 I tried in vain. So, to divert my mind, 
 Anselmo asked me if I had remarked 
 The beauty of the horse that carried me. 
 I stroked his neck his neck he proudly arched. 
 It was Campeador ! I had regained 
 
 I 2 
 
116 MARIQUITA. 
 
 A long lost friend, and gratefully expressed 
 
 My thanks. " Nay, thank me not," Anselmo said. 
 
 " It is enough to see you smile again ; 
 
 'Tis the best light, and the most beautiful, 
 
 E'en through these tears, that Heaven hath to give." 
 
 And at Arroya there awaited us 
 
 A cordial welcome from the host and hostess. 
 
 They had preceded us, and now insisted 
 
 That we should take possession of their house, 
 
 As if it were our own, and they our servants. 
 
 They waited on us as we sat at supper. 
 
 Pressing us to partake of everything 
 
 Their kindness had provided for our comfort. 
 
 But after supper, I retired with Ines. 
 
 She wished to see me ; and she said to me, 
 
 " Believe me, we have acted for the best. 
 
 It looks unseemly and unkind, I know, 
 
 That you were not consulted your consent 
 
 Asked and obtained ; but we were in a strait. 
 
 There was no time, no room for hesitation. 
 
 You know not even now the fatal web 
 
 That was around you. Look you, Mariquita, 
 
 I am your friend, and I am Sara's friend. 
 
 I tell you the plain truth you do not know 
 
 The customs of our people. As you came, 
 
 We could not harbour you. Your guide, Froila, 
 
 Because you left her as you did, had power 
 
MARIQUITA. 117 
 
 To bar the camp to you. What then ? 'Tis clear 
 You could not ride the country with young men. 
 Nay, weep not now be not so downcast now. 
 You are no more the unprotected girl 
 That came this morning to Despenaperros. 
 You are an honoured wife, and none will dare 
 To meddle with you or molest you more. 
 But there were dangers that you knew not of; 
 Many the snares that compassed you around. 
 Don Jorge was in close pursuit ; his men 
 Beset the passes from La Carolina 
 To Valdepenas ; and he threatens you, 
 Saying he can imprison you for debt 
 Money he lent your father, to provide 
 Your maintenance. The unprotected child 
 Was just the quarry such a kite would fly at. 
 But now he dare not, for Anselmo's arm 
 Can shield you well I trow." 
 
 While we conversed, 
 Gaspar came in to tell us how Froila 
 Had died that day. Ines was greatly moved. 
 She cried, " God help me ! I am innocent 
 Of this, my sister's death. It is God's hand ; 
 And Mariquita, she can testify 
 How true I was to her. Nor would I hear 
 Froila blamed, but travelled back to hear 
 
118 MARIQUITA. 
 
 From her own lips all that she had to say. 
 As a true sister I entreated her, 
 And when we overtook her in the pass, 
 Seeing her mule was staggering and weak, 
 I prayed her to come hither for refreshment. 
 Alas ! Froila, she was of true blood, 
 But strong in her was the accusing spirit, 
 And she must needs press on, outrunning us, 
 The maiden to denounce. Now she lies silent. 
 Alas! Froila!" 
 
 Ines thought awhile ; 
 
 Then added, " There will be much questioning 
 Why she was found dying, with none to help, 
 And why the maiden she was charged to guide 
 Had left her thus alone in the Sierra. 
 Then they will sVt the matter through and through, 
 Tracking her way from Seville to the pass ; 
 And some will say the maiden caused her death ; 
 Others will say, the little Cordovan, 
 He caused her death. So with the morning dawn 
 Depart, I pray ye, and avoid the pass. 
 Avoid Despenaperros and my people, 
 And go with God." She wrapped her cloak about her, 
 And left us. But when morning came,, we found 
 She waited yet to see us, and to say, 
 That having overnight expressed the wish 
 
MAKIQUITA. 119 
 
 That Marta and her husband should escort us 
 Through the Sierra to Ciudad Real, 
 And set us forward on the way that leads 
 Through Cuerva and Toledo, to Madrid. 
 They undertook the office willingly ; 
 But then how far were they to go with us 
 That was the question, and in that discussion 
 Juan Lopez and his wife outbid each other. 
 He said the road was bad ; the ventas poor ; 
 All, if you asked " What have you got for supper ? " 
 Would say, " Whatever you have brought with you," 
 According to the custom of these parts. 
 So he would recommend a sumpter-mule 
 To carry fair provision for the road 
 As far as Cuerva. It was clear to him 
 We ought to be accompanied so far, 
 Being strangers to the country. Marta thought 
 That it was well to see us safe to Cuerva. 
 But if to Cuerva, why not to Toledo, 
 Where many goodly sights were to be seen, 
 Which she would like to see. " But then," urged Juan, 
 " If to Toledo, why not to Madrid, 
 And see far finer things ? And now, methinks, 
 It will be best. Does not Gil Pasador 
 Owe me a hundred duros*, which he vows 
 To pay to me the very day I come 
 * Appendix A, 
 
120 MARIQUITA. 
 
 To visit him at home in his tienda ? " * 
 
 And Marta clapped her hands, and said, " Agreed ; 
 
 "We travel to Madrid ; and our expenses, 
 
 Why Gil shall pay them." Ines therefore prayed us 
 
 To settle with our kind and willing friends 
 
 That we should travel in their company. 
 
 After brief interview, we all agreed 
 To travel upon mules in peasant guise. 
 And then I sent for Ines, to take leave, 
 And prayed her to accept Campeador, 
 And keep him, or present him to her people, 
 As she judged best. She said, " You may present him, 
 If they will have him. I must cross the seas 
 In search of Sara. There is none like Sara 
 In trouble and perplexity ; I need 
 Her aid ; and you may need her aid ere long." 
 And so we parted. And Campeador 
 Was led that morning to Despeiiaperros 
 By one we trusted. But Froila's death, 
 As yet neither explained nor understood, 
 Had so excited that wild race, her kinsfolk, 
 That when the barb was led into the camp, 
 And offered as a gift from Mariquita, 
 They all cried out, " It is the price of blood 
 It is hush money we refuse the bribe 
 
 * Appendix A. 
 
MARIQUITA. 121 
 
 Loose him, and let him go." Campeador 
 
 Was loosed. Away, spurning the ground, he sped 
 
 Away, with mane free flowing in the wind, 
 
 Away to the far plains, free there to roam, 
 
 Free to the streams of the Guadalquivir, 
 
 Free as the air he breathes. Campeador 
 
 Once loosed, regained his birthright and free charter, 
 
 And never more shall bit or bridle curb 
 
 That neck so proudly arched ; nor bloody spur 
 
 Print its dark stain upon his snow-white flank. 
 
 That very night, his clear shrill neigh was heard 
 
 At Torreveas. He is never seen 
 
 But for a moment. Meteor-like he passes 
 
 And vanishes. 
 
 But many a tale is woven 
 Upon that slender warp. For they will tell 
 The story as they list. How the poor youth, 
 Destined to be a priest, was led astray 
 By an old soceress, who clothed herself 
 "With beauty to deceive him. She waylaid him 
 In the Sierra passes; but a curse 
 She uttered there was answered by the bolt 
 Of heaven. She had entered the Sierra 
 (For many saw her enter) a young girl, 
 Of matchless loveliness, upon a barb 
 Of beauty unsurpassed. But there they found, 
 
122 MAKIQUITA. 
 
 Hideous in death, a form distorted, withered/ 
 
 Sere with the scars of all her evil years, 
 
 And by her side lay dead a jaded mule, 
 
 The victim of ill-usage and starvation ; 
 
 And for her crimes she rests not, but her ghost 
 
 Is doomed to wander for as many years 
 
 As she had misspent as a sorceress. 
 
 But others say the sorceress escaped 
 
 From the Sierra to the plain, where still 
 
 She rides the barb, and decks herself with youth 
 
 Anfl beauty to deceive the sons of men. 
 
MA1UQUITA. 123 
 
 XII. 
 
 left Arroya by a bridle-road 
 Known to Juan Lopez: so he led the way. 
 Marta rode after him, I followed next, 
 And then Anselmo all of us on mules. 
 Then came the boy, the little Cordovan, 
 Leading the sumpter-mule behind his pony. 
 We thought it well that he should go with us ; 
 He knew the country, and, when so required, 
 Could gallop on before us to provide 
 Lodging and fuel. But we took with us 
 Good store of food, and also water-bottles, 
 Mistrusting the Manchegan and his norias.* 
 
 Now when the day broke, and we could survey 
 The party habited in pafio pardo,* 
 There was much merriment. As birds of passage, 
 Doubtless we were a flock all of one feather, 
 So I proposed that now, by song and chorus, 
 Our rank and order in the tuneful tribe 
 Should be assigned. And so we sang together : 
 Nor was there lark that morn, or cheerful linnet, 
 * Appendix A. 
 
124 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Melodious thrush, or plaintive nightingale, 
 That better woke the echoes of the Sierra, 
 Than did our joyous company and choir. 
 The mountain air was somewhat keen and sharp, 
 So when we halted for our morning meal, 
 The little Cordovan collected quickly 
 Dried leaves and sticks, and then piled up huge branches 
 And struck a light, and fanned it into flame. 
 Seated around we warmed ourselves, enjoying 
 The cheerful blaze and crackling of the leaves. 
 Thus through the rocks and woods of the Sierra, 
 Its deep defiles and dark ravines, we went 
 That day, and at a solitary venta ' 
 In the Sierra rested for the night. 
 Next morning we descended to the plains, 
 And crossed the Guadiana by a ford. . 
 And now farewell for many a weary league 
 To the refreshing sound of running water- 
 For here we enter on the arid waste 
 Of drear La Mancha. 
 
 We had crossed the ford : 
 Before us, undiversified by hill 
 Or hollow, lay our road of many paths. 
 One solitary figure was in sight; 
 A man, some hundred paces in advance, 
 Whose movements we observed as singular. 
 
MAKIQUITA. 125 
 
 Sometimes he hurried on bounding along 
 
 With wonderful activity and speed. 
 
 Sometimes he stopped as suddenly transfixed ; 
 
 Now he would wave his arms, then clasp his hands, 
 
 Then menacingly shaking his clenched fist, 
 
 We thought him mad. At length we overtook him, 
 
 For he had thrown himself upon the ground, 
 
 And lay upon his side ; his head supported 
 
 By his left hand ; the right he waved, and cried, 
 
 " No, I will never yield. Come on, ye caitiffs ; 
 
 For now your eyes, oh infidels ! shall see 
 
 How I, a Christian Warrior, can die." 
 
 This rhapsody pronounced, he started up, 
 
 Advanced to meet us, and, with bow profound, 
 
 Hoped for the favour of the audience, 
 
 Though unprepared as to all accessories, 
 
 To represent with due solemnity 
 
 The part he was rehearsing, and to which 
 
 He had unwittingly admitted us 
 
 As privileged spectators behind scenes. 
 
 The tragedy, as yet but incomplete, 
 
 Would one day raise its author to a place 
 
 Among the votaries of Fame. At present, 
 
 Orlando Miraflores is a name 
 
 Almost unknown." 
 
 We all laughed heartily, 
 
126 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Seeing the very miserable plight 
 
 In which this hero of such expectations 
 
 And name so grandiose was travelling. 
 
 His equanimity was undisturbed, 
 
 For he was doubtless disciplined to hear 
 
 Casual symptoms of the risible 
 
 Salute his speeches and performances 
 
 In far more trying cases than the present. 
 
 So rather overlooking than resenting 
 
 Our indecorum (and perhaps imputing 
 
 Our want of manners to our ignorance 
 
 Of polished life), the representative 
 
 Of kings and princes, with much dignity, 
 
 Offered to us his company as far 
 
 As might be mutually pleasurable, 
 
 Which we accepted with due courtesy ; 
 
 And then pursued our journey sure to find 
 
 Some entertainment in our new companion, 
 
 He told us all his history. At first, 
 
 His firm resolve was to be true to nature. 
 
 He persevered so long as audiences 
 
 Would tolerate so great a novelty. 
 
 But loud were the complaints of the spectators 
 
 Who came to see kings, heroes, and what not, 
 
 Of lofty port, and hear sonorous language, 
 
 And not to have their ears offended nightly 
 
 With the familiar talk of a mere boor. 
 
MAKIQUITA. 127 
 
 (We smiled, and said it was to us a pleasure 
 
 To hear Orlando Miraflores talk.) 
 
 He changed his style, aiming at highest flights 
 
 Of eloquence ; and thunders of applause 
 
 Greeted him from his entrance to his exit. 
 
 But fickle Fortune favoured him not long. 
 
 A taller man, with a more potent voice, 
 
 A better presence, and a better wardrobe, 
 
 Emulous of his talents, rivalled him, 
 
 And soon eclipsed him. He could not consent, 
 
 To shine with minished lustre as a star 
 
 Of lesser magnitude so disappeared. 
 
 The firmament of scenic entertainment 
 
 Saw him no more But now in confidence 
 
 He would divulge his plan ; and it was this : 
 
 Expatriation from the sunny skies 
 
 Of bright Andalucia for a time, 
 
 To study in Madrid the highest style 
 
 Of action, and imbibe Castilian pure, 
 
 Even at the fountain head. He would return 
 
 As soon as he could mould his lips to breathe 
 
 Castilian pure, and so outshine his rival. 
 
 Anselmo counselled him, before attempting 
 The highest style of tragedy, to weigh 
 Well in his mind whether he might not turn 
 The talents which already he possessed 
 
128 MARIQUITA. 
 
 To good account. Orlando Miraflores, 
 Prince, warrior, king, crusader, and what not, 
 Speaking the purest of the pure Castilian, 
 Might, doubtless, sword in hand, carve for himself 
 A fortune. But the Andalucian lisp, 
 Imbibed with mother's milk, was apt to cling 
 To lips once used to it ; and pure Castilian 
 Came not to every open mouth. Why not 
 Try being true to nature once again, 
 And grace the laughter-moving Sainete* 
 With the rich accent of the Andaluz 
 A condiment much relished in Madrid ? 
 
 Such counsel to the poor tragedian 
 Was most distasteful. What ! demean himself 
 To earn his bread by such buffoonery? 
 He'd rather sweep the stage, and light the candles, 
 Than have his accent made the laughing-stock 
 Of proud Castilians. " No," he said, with fervour, 
 "I scale the fort, or perish in the breach!" 
 
 Anselmo praised the greatness of his soul, 
 But intimated that since fort and breach 
 Were for the present safe from escalade, 
 He would do well to fill his haversack 
 On any fair occasion that might offer 
 * Appendix A. 
 
MARIQUITA. 129 
 
 A chance of livelihood, inviting him, 
 The venta being near, to sup with us. 
 We supped together, our fantastic guest 
 Doing full justice to the entertainment. 
 But whether, after too long abstinence, 
 His blood was more excitable, or whether 
 He drank too freely of the Valdepenas, 
 I know not ; but he volunteered to sing, 
 And showed some signs of being quarrelsome, 
 Because Anselmo stopped his vulgar songs. 
 Next he insisted we should all take part 
 And act a well known play, " The Jealous Rivals." 
 He said he would personify the lover, 
 Untimely murdered by his former friend. 
 But here the little Cordovan, his eyes 
 Twinkling with fun and mischief, interposed, 
 Advising him to let alone that part, 
 Lest he should meet the fate of Paco Borro. 
 This sally, which we did not comprehend, 
 Completely silenced our loquacious guest. 
 The boy said nothing more till I inquired 
 Who Paco Borro was, and what the story. 
 He then related the adventure. " Paco, 
 Professedly tragedian, but in fact 
 A strolling vagabond, that walked the country, 
 Singing low songs, reciting scraps of plays, 
 And organizing mock theatricals, 
 
 K 
 
130 MARIQUITA. 
 
 From barn to barn, among the peasantry, 
 
 Was chiefly known to fame, 'twas singular 
 
 But true, as acting in the very play 
 
 Acting the very part this gentleman 
 
 Who condescends to sup with us has named. 
 
 Lording it over them as manager, 
 
 Paco assigned each part. Unhappily, 
 
 On one occasion, he made choice for rival 
 
 Of a young labrador, who really loved 
 
 The maiden who appeared as heroine. 
 
 In the catastrophe, the youth by right 
 
 Should pierce his rival to the heart; then Paco, 
 
 Who plumed himself on falling gracefully, 
 
 Would die like a cavalier. No sword 
 
 The repertory furnished, so a stick 
 
 Had to do duty. The young labrador, 
 
 Forgetting or mistaking quite the mode 
 
 In which he was to slay his adversary, 
 
 Or from a brutal want (so Paco said) 
 
 Of high-bred feeling and intelligence ; 
 
 Or, as more likely, entering too keenly 
 
 Into the spirit of the play and, haply, 
 
 Observing Paco act the lover's part 
 
 With more devotion to the Sefiorita 
 
 Than he could bear, fell furiously on him. 
 
 The stick he grasped for sword was far more cruel 
 
MARIQUITA. 131 
 
 As stick. A shower of blows fell on poor Paco, 
 
 Who writhed with pain ; and his appeals for mercy, 
 
 Mingled with execrations, only prompted 
 
 Another shower of blows. Then he feigned dead. 
 
 The play was over. Amidst loud applause 
 
 The labrador retired. When Paco rose, 
 
 He too received congratulations many 
 
 On having acted to the life, exhibiting 
 
 So truthfully the pain of being beaten. 
 
 And it was voted, not a voice dissenting, 
 
 To have the play performed again next day. 
 
 But Paco prudently resolved to fly, 
 
 And leave the labrador without a rival. 
 
 He disappeared. But oft the merry tale 
 
 Groes round, how Paco profited that night 
 
 By the best lesson that he ever had 
 
 In tragic acting." 
 
 It was manifest 
 
 To all who sat at table, that the guest 
 Who supped with us had very little relish 
 For the narration of his own adventures, 
 For such they were, and he was Paco Borro ; 
 He eyed the little Cordovan awhile, 
 Drank a huge draught of wine, then rose from table, 
 And left us. Fearing that there would be mischief, 
 
 K 2 
 
132 MARJQUITA. 
 
 I cautioned the ventero ; but he laughed, 
 And said, that such a Bribon* and Borracho* 
 Need not disturb my thoughts. There was no cause 
 For fear. But he agreed, because I asked, 
 To hold him under lock and key that night, 
 And, with next sunrise, send him on his way. 
 But on the morrow, he refused to go, 
 Insisting that we had invited him 
 To travel with us to our journey's end. 
 He said he had no^neans not one real 
 To pay his way. I offered him some silver, 
 Which he accepted, and agreed to go 
 As soon as he had breakfasted. Our host 
 Supplied him, and attended him to watch him. 
 During the meal, a large Manchegan knife, 
 Which the ventero carried in his sash, 
 Attracted the regards of the tragedian, 
 Who coveted the knife, and bid for it 
 A dollar nay, two dollars all he had > 
 Saying, that it was worth his life to pass 
 Unarmed and all alone in those wild wastes. 
 The host assured him, that his purse being light, 
 His wardrobe light, and being light of heel, 
 He would insure him safe enough to pass, 
 Unless he played the bully or the meddler. 
 A knife, he said, might bring him into trouble 
 * Appendix A. 
 
MARIQUITA. 133 
 
 More readily than it could bring him out. 
 Manchegan knives were apt to turn in hands 
 Unskilled to use them. He would like to know 
 How Senor Paco handled such a weapon. 
 Paco replied, that for a lesser fault 
 He'd give a man offending him say, so much 
 (He measured off an inch upon the blade) ; 
 And for a greater fault he'd give him so much 
 (He measured with his thumb another inch.) 
 But if his enemy impugned his honour, 
 The knife should drink his blood unsparingly. 
 " Friend," said the host, " to grasp a knife to drink 
 The blood of men, may cost thee something more 
 In these Manchegan plains, than with good will 
 Thou would'st consent to pay. There are two sides 
 Two parties to such bargains. Would'st thou like 
 To see the game we play ? Ho ! Cordovan ; 
 Thou hast a pretty knack at that same play : 
 Show us thy knife, and how thou handiest it." 
 Gaspar unrolled a fresh made cigarrillo,* 
 And nailed the paper to the door ; then turned, 
 And from the farthest corner of the room 
 Took aim hurling the knife with a precision 
 That showed the deadly nature of the weapon. 
 The mark was hit, and quivering in the door 
 The knife remained. The boy examined it, 
 * Appendix A. 
 
134 MARIQUITA. 
 
 And said he was not satisfied. A blade 
 
 Of truer steel would pierce the door right through. 
 
 He had a Guadix* knife he'd like to try. 
 
 He'd go and fetch it. (( Now," exclaimed the host, 
 
 " Be off,, friend Paco. Take the bridle-road 
 
 That lies on your right hand ; the road it is 
 
 That leads by Orgaz to Madrid. Be off! 
 
 Cross not the Cardovan ; he knows full well 
 
 Why you would buy my knife ; he'd take your life, 
 
 Just as he would a dog's that tried to bite him. 
 
 Be off, I say ; I want no bloodshed here. 
 
 Run, fool ! I hear his step. Now by the mark " 
 
 He seized him by the neck and thrust him out, 
 
 As Gaspar ran at him with open knife 
 
 To frighten him. And now he fled apace ; 
 
 Fled like a hare across the dusty plain 
 
 Fled still, when none pursued, till lost to sight. 
 
 Some six weeks afterwards, Anselmo met him 
 Prowling about Madrid, half-clothed, half-starved, 
 And gave him wherewithal to eke out life, 
 Till he could aid him more efficiently. 
 And this he did. He wrote a sainete, 
 Founded upon the story told that night 
 At supper by the little Cordovan. 
 Paco, the actual hero of the adventure, 
 * Appendix A. 
 
MARIQU1TA. 135 
 
 Took it to the Director, offering 
 His services. The merit of the play 
 A play within a play was seen at once ; 
 And the Director's practised eye foresaw 
 How rich a treat the comedy would be, 
 Enhanced by such a charming specimen 
 Of the pure Andaluz. And he judged rightly. 
 The play gave great content, and Paco shone 
 A first-rate actor now, all from the lesson 
 The labrador had given him with his stick. 
 The beating of him was the making of him, 
 And the performance was repeated nightly. 
 Paco's attempts at flights of eloquence, 
 His native lisp, his arrant cowardice 
 And boastfulness, all acted to the life, 
 Proved, as they merited, an endless fund 
 Of entertainment to the audience, 
 And profit to poor Paco. 
 
136 MAKIQUITA. 
 
 XII. 
 
 THENCEFORTH we were more cautious and reserved. 
 All we saluted courteously, but passed 
 Onward, as those who wish not to invite 
 Companionship or converse by the way ; 
 And pressing forward with all diligence, 
 Entered Toledo after five days' journey. 
 
 Anselmo travelled forward to Madrid, 
 Accompanied by Gaspar. There he hired 
 A house for us ; and when it was prepared 
 For our reception, we took horse again, 
 And two short days sufficed us to complete 
 Our journey. At Madrid, with joy we met. 
 Anselmo there received me in his arms, 
 And pressed me to his heart. Thankful were we, 
 After so many days of dust and toil, 
 To have the quiet haven of a home. 
 
 And there for seven months our cherished friends 
 Abode with us. And Marta was to me 
 As a dear sister ; and our hearts still twined 
 With all their clinging tendrils heart to heart, 
 Until, alas ! the melancholy day 
 
MARIQUITA. 137 
 
 That parted us. While Marta lived with me, 
 
 I never knew a lonely hour. We sat 
 
 Sweetly conversing, or we went together 
 
 Now through the gay and crowded streets, close veiled, 
 
 Now to the Prado ; but our favourite walk 
 
 Was down the meadows by the Manzanares. 
 
 What were our thoughts, oh Marta ! as we watched, 
 
 For the last time, the lovely tints and lights 
 
 Reflected on the bosom of its stream ? 
 
 Did we discern the hand that at the fount 
 
 Dissolves the cloud in renovating showers, 
 
 Where on the mountain-side the little rills 
 
 Sparkle like gems ? Or did we recognise 
 
 The hand the gracious hand that fills our cup ? 
 
 Full is thy river fresh are all thy streams 
 
 Gentle the dew that is distilled around, 
 
 On tender herb and flower, and fruitful blossom, 
 
 And all that claims thy care. Refresh our souls, 
 
 Oh Father of our spirits ! and invite, 
 
 By the clear shining of thy glorious light 
 
 The incense and the offering of our hearts 
 
 To rise where treasured in thy heaven of heavens, 
 
 Nothing shall fail all shall redound again 
 
 In showers of blessing, and in sweetest streams, 
 
 Gladdening the paradise of God ! Was this 
 
 Our prayer, oh Marta ! as we sat together 
 
 Upon the pleasant banks of Manzanares ? 
 
138 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Alas ! Our hearts were veiled. Little saw we 
 Beyond the cloud that seemingly obscured 
 Our happiness and marred our joyousness. 
 Marta revealed to me the secret grief 
 That preyed upon her mind, All that she had 
 She'd give to be a mother. What to her 
 Were wealth and lands, and houses and possessions ? 
 Her hearth was desolate and all unblest. 
 To hear the prattle of a child's sweet voice 
 To hear the music of its little feet 
 Was her one wish on earth. But year by year 
 Her fluttering hopes had withered, and had withered, 
 Fading away until they died within her. 
 She knew, for I had told her I had hopes 
 Denied to her ; and thought it strange and hard 
 That I, a thoughtless child, whose fondest wishes 
 Were blended with a thousand foolish fears, 
 Should have the blessing that her bleeding heart 
 So passionately yearned for, and in vain. 
 She lived to see it in another light : 
 But now she leaned her head upon my breast, 
 And sobbed as if her heart would break. I tried 
 To soothe and comfort her with gentle words. 
 And then I told her all that troubled me. 
 'Tis a relief to pour into the ear 
 Of sympathising friend one's grievances. 
 
MARIQUITA. 139 
 
 Without consulting me whether or no 
 I wished, when Marta left, to have a friend 
 To live with me nor yet consulting me 
 As to what kind of friend I might prefer 
 Anselmo, lest I should be dull and lone, 
 Invited one in whom he could repose 
 All confidence, an admirable woman, 
 To live with me when my dear friend was gone. 
 It did not suit my notions, not at all. 
 Excellent she might be, discreet, no doubt, 
 And rather given to domineer, this female, 
 So admirable and so excellent, 
 
 One who could watch each look and note each glance, 
 And then misconstrue me, and injure me. 
 So I began to hate before I saw 
 This excellent and admirable woman. 
 I told Anselmo that one parting walk 
 With Marta was the last I meant to take 
 For many months, and that to sit alone 
 And think of him, and watch and wait for him, 
 Would suit me better than the company 
 Of all the admirable of my sex 
 That could be found in Old and New Castile. 
 Anselmo answered that he but advised 
 That which was best for me. And I replied 
 That I should at all times observe to do 
 That which was right and proper, but declined 
 
140 MARIQUITA. 
 
 The assistance of a Duefia* in my duties. 
 Then I gave way and cried, for I was grieved 
 To see Anselmo so persistingly 
 Press my submission ; and I said, ' Anselmo, 
 If you mistrust me if at any time 
 My conduct has annoyed you, or conveyed 
 Suspicion for a moment to your mind, 
 I pray you set an Aya* over me, 
 To watch my conduct, and report to you, 
 And govern and subdue me as you will.' 
 Anselmo said no more. The subject dropped ; 
 But there was still discomfort. It was clear 
 He thought me in the wrong, and was offended. 
 All this I told to Marta, as we sat 
 That day discoursing by the Manzanares, 
 And asked her if she thought an enemy 
 Had whispered in Anselmo's ears some doubt 
 Some wrong suspicion. Marta could not tell, 
 But prayed me by all means to do my best 
 To live in harmony and confidence 
 Unbroken with my husband ; and to yield 
 Bather than have discomfort in my home. 
 But I was young and wilful. I had gained 
 A triumph in the matter of the Aya, 
 And was not in the humour to resign 
 My conquest. But I said I would reflect; 
 * Appendix A. 
 
MARIQUITA. 141 
 
 And if Anselmo at a future time 
 Urged it again, I then would do my best 
 To talk it over temperately with him. 
 
 But as it proved, Anselmo was too proud 
 To say another word, nor did he wish 
 To overbear me. I misconstrued him 
 As to his motive. Afterwards I saw 
 Too plainly there was reason on his side. 
 Anselmo still was under tutelage]; 
 Not for three months to come would he be free, 
 And master of his actions. Now his guardians 
 Could still control his movements, and decree 
 Where he should go and where he should reside. 
 They thus had power to interpose and part us, 
 And it was of great moment to us both 
 To me of greatest moment to abide 
 During that time unnoticed and unknown. 
 The street in which I dwelt he entered not 
 To come to me, but by a secret door 
 Passed from his study to the house I lived in. 
 While our dear friends were with us we could count 
 On some immunity from observation 
 Of prying eyes. But when they went away, 
 And I, so young, remained to live alone 
 I ought to have foreseen it I, so young 
 Report, because I always went close veiled 
 
142 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Report would say, so young and beautiful 
 Could hardly hope to escape the busy talk 
 Of idle neighbours. It was evident 
 That rumourers would whisper, Who is she ? 
 And echoing walls would whisper, Who is she ? 
 For walls have ears, and they have voices too. 
 There was that danger, but I saw it not 
 There was worse danger, but I knew it not. 
 
 With many a kindly wish on either side, 
 And many a tear on mine, Marta my friend, 
 And Juan her husband, took their leave of us 
 To travel home. Anselmo tried to cheer me ; 
 He promised to come earlier of an evening, 
 And wiped away my tears. They were long days, 
 The days that followed. Many and many a time 
 I wished that I had taken his advice. 
 I wished that he would offer it again, 
 That I might meekly signify assent, 
 If but to please him. What a happiness 
 To please him ! for no other happiness 
 Had I. For him I dressed and decked my hair ; 
 For him I set fresh flowers upon my table ; 
 For him I tried to make the little room 
 Look gay ; and when at eventide my lamp 
 Was trimmed and furnished, with a smile I'd say, 
 4 Now with the glowworm shining in the grass, 
 
M YUIQUITA. 143 
 
 And with that lone star shining in the sky, 
 My sisters twain, I'll light my beacon light, 
 And my true love will come.' He never failed, 
 And happy Mariquita then forgot, 
 In present joy, the previous weary hours. 
 They passed as all at last will pass away. 
 
 Nearly three months were gone since Marta went, 
 When, at an early hour, I heard a step 
 Approach my chamber door. The step I knew. 
 It was Anselmo's. Hurriedly he came, 
 To tell me he was summoned instantly 
 To Seville, where the Cardinal lay dying. 
 Full well I understood the deep importance 
 Of such a summons ; for the good old man 
 Had been through life the guardian of Anselmo. 
 Even as a father had he been to him, 
 Exacting the obedience of a son. 
 Anselmo was his heir. The hour that freed 
 The old man's spirit from its house of clay, 
 Would free Anselmo from the hard restraint 
 Imposed upon him hitherto. No need 
 To hide our marriage from the eye of men 
 Would then remain. And I, an honoured wife, 
 Would freely breathe again the pure fresh air, 
 And wander through the meadows and the groves, 
 And hear the song of birds ; and all my joy 
 
144 MARIQUITA. 
 
 And every fresh delight would be still sweeter 
 
 Shared with Anselmo. So I took good heart, 
 
 And said, ' God speed your going forth I God speed 
 
 Your swift return ! ' I faltered not at all, 
 
 Nor sought to stay him ; but he lingered still, 
 
 And gazed upon me with an anxious eye 
 
 And harassed brow, and seemed to hesitate, 
 
 As if he wished to say, and not to say, 
 
 What troubled him. Interpreting his look, 
 
 I said, ' Anselmo, I can read the cause 
 
 Of this perplexity that weighs on you. 
 
 You wish that I had now a faithful friend 
 
 To care for me ; and this anxiety 
 
 That weighs on you reminds me of my fault. 
 
 I was in fault, Anselmo grievously 
 
 In fault, in that I listened not to you 
 
 With due obedience ; and these many months, 
 
 Had you but spoken again, it was my wish 
 
 To yield to your advice.' Then candidly, 
 
 My foolish doubts and fancies I confessed, 
 
 And leaning fondly on Anselmo's breast, 
 
 I tried to hide the tears that flowed. He smiled 
 
 At the imaginary Aya figured 
 
 And sketched by me, then from his breast he drew 
 
 A locket, that contained a minature, 
 
 And opened it. How very beautiful 
 
 That dark, full eye, that pale and thoughtful face 
 
MARIQU1TA. 145 
 
 Those features that reflect as in a mirror, 
 
 The fine emotions of the mind. And time, 
 
 Whose pencillings have changed the glossy hair, 
 
 Once dark as raven's wing, to silver grey 
 
 Time hath not touched or, if it hath but touched, 
 
 It hath refined and chastened, not impaired, 
 
 The exquisite expression of that face. 
 
 It strangely fascinated me. I looked 
 
 And looked, till from my lips unwittingly 
 
 Burst forth, ( How lovely how I love that face ! ' 
 
 Anselmo kissed me, and caressingly 
 
 Looked upon me, repeating the same words, 
 
 " f How lovely how I love that lovely face ! ' 
 
 Thine in the golden promise of thy youth 
 
 Her's in the silver setting years and sorrows 
 
 Have framed for her. Yes, you will love her much, 
 
 And she will love you much. To-morrow night 
 
 Would God it were to-night she shall be here. 
 
 A special messenger shall go at once 
 
 To bring her from Toledo to this house, 
 
 Nor will she tarry by the way. Farewell 
 
 Farewell, sweet heart, and for Anselmo's sake, 
 
 Bear up, sweet heart, till he return again." 
 
 We parted ; we were young ; our hearts were true 
 And strong, and hope was high ; and yet, that word 
 Farewell ! and that last look Have you not seen 
 
 L 
 
146 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Or e'er the wintry blast scatters the leaves 
 
 And shakes the forest have you not seen a tinge, 
 
 A streak upon the leaf; more beautiful 
 
 It seems, enhanced with that bright fringe of gold, 
 
 And those rich amber hues, how beautiful ! 
 
 Sad presage ! And that smile, how beautiful ! 
 
 As he bent over me to say farewell. 
 
 A chill crept to my heart. No consciousness 
 
 Had I of coming ill, no boding fear, 
 
 That I could give a name to ; but I felt 
 
 As the sere heart alone can feel. Relief 
 
 Comes not in words, nor thoughts, nor yet in tears. 
 
 I sat me down to gaze, with vacant eyes 
 Open, but seeing not how long, I know not, 
 Nor wist I that my gaze was met. I saw 
 No man, nor him that came, nor him that went. 
 But in the street stood one whose piercing eye, 
 Keen as the basilisk's, was fixed on me. 
 He crossed the street, knocked freely at the door, 
 Would no denial take ; he was a friend, 
 Had matters of importance for my ear, 
 Pushed on to my apartment, entered in, 
 And ere I could collect myself, sat down 
 Before me, raised his hat, unclasped the cloak 
 That muffled still his features Then I knew him ; 
 It was Hunfredo. Haughtily I rose, 
 
M AKIQUITA. 147 
 
 
 
 And asked him how he dared intrude on me 
 
 Unbidden. And he answered, unabashed, 
 
 That he would tell me straightway why he dared 
 
 Give him but time, " A little breathing time, 
 
 And I will tell you Senorita. Ha ! 
 
 You colour angrily. I humbly crave 
 
 Indulgence for mine error. You are married 
 
 Since last we met, Sefiora ; bear with me, 
 
 And I will tell you that which of a truth 
 
 You would give much to know. Nay, I am mute, 
 
 If you desire it, and you may remain 
 
 Ignorant of your birth and parentage, 
 
 Ignorant of your kindred, ignorant 
 
 Who was the shepherd Esteban, what ties 
 
 Of blood drew him to you, to dwell with you 
 
 In that lone tower. And you might like to know 
 
 If he who claimed the name had any right 
 
 To call himself your father. But, mayhap, 
 
 You care not for such matters. I am mute, 
 
 If so it please you." And the Priest was silent. 
 
 I said, ( You have come here against my will ; 
 
 If you have aught to tell, let it be told, 
 
 If you have nought to tell, I pray you go.' 
 
 " Lady, you give me scant encouragement ; 
 
 But listen, you will not repent the grace 
 
 That I have craved. 
 
148 MARIQUITA. 
 
 
 
 " Sefiora, on the plain 
 
 You were well tended while the shepherd lived 
 Him you called Esteban. No shepherd he, 
 But of an ancient, honourable house, 
 And he sole heir of all their wide domains. 
 But he inherited, besides, the dower 
 Brought by his mother he inherited 
 That fatal dower, infused into the veins 
 Her Jewish blood, which blood would have its course. 
 Carlos de Solis loved the ancient records 
 Of Holy Writ more than he loved the Church. 
 Suspected to be no true Catholic, 
 And threatened with the wrath of Holy Church, 
 He leased his lands, went down to Alicante, 
 And sailed, it was supposed, to Italy. 
 He had two daughters ; one he took with him : 
 The elder was your mother. You grow pale. 
 Take courage, lady. Eva was her name ; 
 She was the wife of a high-born cavalier. 
 Three years they lived together. By a fall 
 In hunting it is said that he was killed 
 In the Segura forest. There he fell ; 
 And it was whispered he had had foul play 
 'Twas but a whisper. But your mother pined, 
 Wasting away wasting away with grief. 
 And as she lay a dying she was borne 
 Whether still breathing, that is only known 
 
MARIQUITA. 149 
 
 To those who had a part in the affair 
 Dying or dead they bore her to the chapel ; 
 Dying or dead they solemnized a marriage. 
 The mayor-domo thus enriched himself, 
 And took possession of his master's lands, 
 And called himself your father. Now you know 
 What for my part I think it right and just 
 That you should know. A gallant caballero 
 Your father was ; and on your mother's side 
 You are of noble blood. And that low caitiff 
 Who ruined your estates and then forsook you, 
 Was not your father. Why then were you left 
 To such a worthless fellow's guardianship ? 
 Carlos de Solis knew that it was vain 
 To try a rescue, with the cry gone forth 
 Against him as a heretic. He knew 
 He could not face that storm and rescue you ; 
 He bent before the blast that threatened him, 
 And in the humble garb and character 
 Of lowly shepherd, he re-entered Spain ; 
 And, having found you, offered services 
 Such as were never tendered yet by shepherd. 
 He kept the sheep and found them too. No flock 
 Ever was known to yield such revenues ; 
 Truly it was a flock with golden flefeces. 
 But then you understand that Esteban 
 Received from Murcia the yearly rent 
 
150 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Of the De Soils lands. But when he died, 
 
 And the Alchemist was gone, the flock soon went. 
 
 The gold, however, was not in the flock ; 
 
 But I can tell you where to find it all, 
 
 And more. The lands are yours they are your own. 
 
 Clara de Solis, she whom you have seen 
 
 Camped with the Zincali, by them called Sara 
 
 She is as deep in heresy, or deeper, 
 
 Than was her sire. She could not touch an ounce, 
 
 Not a real, of these vast revenues, 
 
 But for the aid of one well known to me. 
 
 My brother has a lease of the estates ; 
 
 A certain rent is punctually paid ; 
 
 And just as punctually, you may guess, 
 
 For his own share, he pockets twice as much. 
 
 Why do I tell you this ? I mean, Sefiora, 
 
 To take an interest in your affairs : 
 
 I mean to see you righted. What say you ? 
 
 Chaplain ? confessor ? secretary ? Say 
 
 How I can serve you best." 
 
 I loathed the man, 
 
 And bade him quit my presence instantly. 
 He smiled as he went out, and I could hear 
 His dogged, heavy step upon the street, 
 Under my window, pacing to and fro. 
 I tried to occupy myself; his step 
 
MARIQUITA. 1 ") 1 
 
 Still sounded to and fro and to and fro. 
 
 I tried to sleep ; the heavy, dogged step 
 
 Still sounded to and fro and to and fro. 
 
 It beat upon my head, stroke after stroke, 
 
 Each footfall, as it fell, like iron blow 
 
 Of weighted hammer upon ringing arch. 
 
 The brain gave way ; convulsions bowed me down. 
 
 That evening, as the sun was going down, 
 
 My babe was born. 
 
 Under the cloud of night, 
 
 Men forced their way into the room where slept 
 My babe upon my breast ; they seized my arms, 
 And held me down, and tore my child from me, 
 And left me conscious only Oh ! that cry ! 
 That cry ! 
 
 ***** 
 ***** 
 
152 MARIQUITA. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 6 1 PRAY you, neighbours, have you seen my babe- 
 
 Or heard its cry 
 
 A cry that would brings tears to any eyes 
 
 But mine ? 
 
 Yet had I once a heart like yours a heart 
 
 Tender and true. 
 
 But when I lost my babe it turned to stone ; 
 
 The fount is dried 
 
 Even from the source,, and all the stream is dried ; 
 
 I cannot shed a tear. 
 
 I pray you weep not it reproacheth me 
 
 To see you weep. 
 
 ***** 
 
 ***** 
 
 6 The night shines bright, 
 For God hath set stars 
 To lighten my path. 
 Know you the story, 
 How the Magi of old 
 Were led by a star? 
 They walked through arid deserts 
 And over boundless plains ; 
 
MARIQUITA. 153 
 
 They traversed glens and torrents, 
 
 And clomb the mountain peaks, 
 
 Till they came to the city 
 
 The City of God. 
 
 Then the star went before them, 
 
 To Bethlehem of Judah, 
 
 And there it stood still 
 
 Over the place 
 
 Where the young child lay. 
 
 ' Therefore, mine eyes keep watch upon the heavens, 
 I wait the advent of the guiding star 
 That's lit for me. I pray you look for me ; 
 For as I gaze they are all in circles dancing, 
 All in a giddy maze in circles whirling, 
 And lead me on in rounds from house to house, 
 In rounds from street to street. And I am weary. 
 
 * Sir, I will tell you why 
 My lord is coming home. 
 I know not how to meet him with these lips 
 So cold. Only the worm that loves the chill 
 Of death could feast upon these clay-cold lips. 
 But if my babe be found, 
 
154 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Then shall the lamp be trimmed 
 
 Against his coming home. 
 
 And his dear heart be cheered 
 
 No matter where they, lay me, 
 
 My babe will cheer his heart 
 
 With sweetest looks from sweetest eyes, 
 
 And sweetest smiles from sweetest lips. 
 
 6 Breathe, oh night winds ! whatever lullabies 
 Are sung by happy mothers to their babes ; 
 Convey that music gently to my sweet child's ears ; 
 But tell him not of my unrest 
 Tell it to God, 
 
 And whisper not, lest that Anselmo hear 
 That I have lost my babe, and that our hearth 
 Is desolate 
 Tell it to God. 
 
 s The stars put out their light ; 
 'Tis a chill morning, and the sun is cold. 
 Let no one grieve for me because I shiver. 
 'Tis pitiful to see all faces grow so dark ; 
 To see mirth banished, and the strong man pass 
 His hand across his eyes, and women weep, 
 And children cease to play. 
 
MARIQUITA. 155 
 
 * 
 
 All will be well when I have found my babe, 
 And drank from those dear eyes a look of love, 
 And drank from those dear lips a smile of love 
 All will be well. 
 
 ( Nay, friends, be not so rough. 
 
 What have I done what wrong ? Whom have I harmed? 
 You pain my wrists. Ha ! manacles ? 
 Nay, put not on these cruel, cruel irons. 
 I have no strength to hurt you or to harm you. 
 I have wandered till I totter on my feet, 
 Seeking my babe. Are you men ? Are you fiends ? 
 I will be gentle gentle as a babe. 
 Who spoke of a babe ? 
 Good friends I kind friends ! say, have you seen my babe ? ' 
 
156 MARIQUITA. 
 
 * 
 
 XIV. 
 
 THE narrow cell, the rusted window-grate, 
 
 The uneasy pallet upon which I lay 
 
 All the realities that compassed me, 
 
 Appeared to me as freaks of fantasy, 
 
 Vain and imaginary vagaries, 
 
 That crossed but could not sully the pure stream 
 
 Of happiness that now possessed my mind. 
 
 Beneath the smile of God entranced I lay ; 
 
 My barque was on the waters, borne along 
 
 By gentle winds that, wafted from the wings 
 
 Of ministering seraphs, fanned the air, 
 
 And lulled my thoughts and fancies. On and on 
 
 My barque was borne for when they moved their 
 
 wings, 
 
 There was a gentle ripple at the prow 
 On to the lovely shore and happy land 
 Where Esteban and Sara wait for me, 
 And one whose smile I know. 
 
 But in a night 
 
 The dream of bliss departed, and I saw 
 A multitude all swiftly rushing on 
 
MARIQUITA. 157 
 
 I 
 
 To chide with me. Head surging over head, 
 
 Like the wild waves that break upon the cliff, 
 
 They came. Their brows are knit, their eyes are fierce, 
 
 And with one voice accusing me they cry 
 
 What have you done ? The few that stood with me 
 
 Bent down their eyes awaiting my reply. 
 
 I tried to speak, but could not, for my lips, 
 
 And tongue, and throat, were parched. They waved 
 
 their arms, 
 
 As if triumphantly, and passed away. 
 I woke, but could not speak, and could not move ; 
 The temples of my head throbbed painfully. 
 Again I tried to speak ; and now I heard 
 A voice I seemed to know. A gentle voice, 
 Like the familiar strain of some sweet air, 
 Said to me, " Hush ! you have not strength to speak." 
 Then, calling an attendant, she desired 
 That the physician should be told that now 
 I was awake. He came ; she took my hand : 
 " This, Senor, is my friend, who needs your care. 
 Twenty-one days agone they brought her here, 
 As one bereft of reason. 'Twas not so ; 
 'Twas fever, and neglect induced delirium ; 
 I had not been but a few hours with her 
 AVlien it subsided. Now, by my request, 
 The superintendent kindly gives me rooms 
 Next to her own, to nurse her and to tend her ; 
 
158 MARIQUITA. 
 
 And thither, with your kind advice and aid, 
 
 We would remove her presently." My pulse 
 
 He felt, then smoked a cigarrillo ; felt 
 
 My pulse again, then nodded pleasantly. 
 
 And said, " You may remove her when you will. 
 
 She will do well. I kiss your feet, Senora." 
 
 Then in her arms dear Sara lifted me, 
 
 And now a smile of love we interchanged, 
 
 As tenderly she bore me from the cell, 
 
 Along a passage to an airy room, 
 
 And laid me on a couch, so simply neat, 
 
 Covered with fair white linen, that the freshness 
 
 Of all around revived me, and I asked 
 
 How she had found me out, and where we were. 
 
 But Sara placed her finger on her lips, 
 
 Enjoining silence. So I lay and gazed 
 
 With dreamy eyes. How sweet to watch her face 
 
 Falling asleep how grateful was that sleep ! 
 
 Next evening, as she sat beside my couch, 
 I noticed something glitter that she held : 
 I looked it was a clasp I knew the clasp : 
 Esteban's book lay open in her lap, 
 His book of holy songs and sacred story. 
 I said, f Dear Sara, read to me.' She read 
 Here a sweet verse, there a sweet verse to me. 
 And when I looked I saw that it was Sara ; 
 
MARIQUITA. 159 
 
 But when I closed my eyes, surely the voice 
 
 Was Esteban's ; and then my thoughts took wing 
 
 To the far plain, to my accustomed seat 
 
 Upon the mound with him. That voice that book 
 
 How is it then ? or is it all a dream ? 
 
 God giveth songs songs in the night to cheer 
 
 The drooping spirit, and revive the heart. 
 
 And it was in the search for that lost treasure, 
 
 That Sara found the clew by which she traced me, 
 
 And to my succour hastened. 
 
 Esteban, 
 
 The night before he died, a solemn charge 
 Had given to Sara, to repair once more 
 To a far valley in the higher Alps, 
 With alms and offerings for a suffering Church 
 A suffering people that had sheltered him 
 In other days. Sara with pious zeal 
 Fulfilled the duty ; but her health succumbed. 
 She sickened, and for many a month she lay 
 With little hope of life. Recovering 
 But slowly from the fever of the valley, 
 A year elapsed ere she retraced her steps, 
 Re-entering Spain. At Seville she was told 
 That I had left Don Pedro's house by night, 
 But no one knew whither I bent my steps. 
 She passed to Mangonegro, and saw Rosa. 
 
160 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Rosa related how she was misled 
 
 By false inventions, purposely devised 
 
 To sunder us how nightly she had prayed 
 
 That from the wiles and snares of enemies 
 
 I might escape. But never had she heard 
 
 Whither I went. So next to Torreveas 
 
 Passed Sara. And Dolores still was there, 
 
 Who for all answer wept and wept again. 
 
 " Then to Despefiaperros must I go," 
 
 Said Sara, " for the Zincali are there, 
 
 And Ines may have tidings of the child." 
 
 " Hold now ! " Dolores said ; " she whom you seek 
 
 Is in the Soto : she no longer camps 
 
 Among her people. There's a mystery 
 
 Why she departed from their camp ; but now 
 
 She and her boy, whom you remember, Pepe, 
 
 They dwell apart, and they are in the Soto." 
 
 There Sara found her. All my history 
 Ines related circumstantially, 
 Up to the day we parted at Arroya. 
 Further she knew not, for she left the Sierra 
 That very day to travel to the south ; 
 But Gaspar had gone with us to Madrid. 
 If Gaspar could be found, he doubtless knew 
 Where we were lodged. Pepe would seek him out. 
 He had been seen last week in Cordova ; 
 
MARIQUITA. 161 
 
 Pepe would go for him, and bring the boy 
 
 To Torreveas. Pepe tarried not 
 
 To mount a pony tethered near the tent, 
 
 And gallop off. Then Sara spoke to Ines, 
 
 Of her desire to repossess the book, 
 
 That she had laid beneath her father's head, 
 
 When he was carried forth to burial. 
 
 Ines averred she feared to see that book, 
 
 Nor would she meddle with the dead, nor touch 
 
 That which the dead had touched. But Sara said, 
 
 " It is the Book of Life. My father's spirit 
 
 Would grieve to know that in the silent tomb 
 
 Of dark decay I suffered it to lie. 
 
 At any cost I must regain the book." 
 
 Ines said, thoughtfully, " You must not venture 
 
 And yet it may be done. The Cordovan 
 
 Fears nothing, and he knows the vaults." She lowered 
 
 Her voice, and whispered, " He is often there ; 
 
 His mother is the servant of the Priest, 
 
 And in the chapel vaults the boy has stores. 
 
 So if, indeed, you must have back the book, 
 
 Let Gaspar fetch it." 
 
 Waiting the return 
 Of Pepe with the little Cordovan, 
 Sara asked Ines why they camped apart, 
 And how they lived. " You are my friend, Senora, 
 
 M 
 
162 MARIQUITA. 
 
 And I will tell you truly. As to living, 
 
 We live but poorly but we live in hope ; 
 
 For Pepe has a plan. If we could buy 
 
 A mare or two to start with, on the plain 
 
 We could rear horses, and do well in time. 
 
 But now our stock is small ; one little pony 
 
 Is all we have, but still we live in hope 
 
 To tide it over and do well in time. 
 
 As to my people, they went mad the day 
 
 That your young friend she knew not what she did- 
 
 Left old Froila in the mountain pass. 
 
 Her angry passions choked her, as I think ; 
 
 But there arose much questioning and clamour. 
 
 Our people said I was the friend of Busne,* 
 
 And not of the Errate,* so I left them." 
 
 (f A true friend, Ines, you have been to me," 
 
 Said Sara ; " and you shall not want for means 
 
 To stock the plain while I have gold to give." 
 
 Twenty-five ounces Sara counted out 
 
 That night to Ines, her free gift and present. 
 
 Pepe returned with speed from Cordova, 
 And Gaspar with him, who knew well the house 
 In which I lodged, with Juan and Marta Lopez. 
 He offered willingly to go as guide 
 With Sara to Madrid. As to the book, 
 * Appendix A. 
 
MARIQUTTA. 1()3 
 
 He had it safe ; for he was in the vault 
 
 The night that Esteban was buried there, 
 
 And, as they lowered him down, he turned the lamp 
 
 He held upon the face of Esteban, 
 
 And something glittered underneath his head 
 
 That looked like gold. And when he went again 
 
 Into the vault, he found the book and took it, 
 
 Wrapping it carefully, because he judged 
 
 It was a work of value. Presently 
 
 He would ride over to the Hermitage, 
 
 And fetch the book for Sara. 
 
 Late that night, 
 
 Gaspar returned in safety with the book. 
 But in presenting it seemed lost in thought, 
 Heedless of prize and heedless of reward : 
 " He had heard that," he said, " he feared to tell." 
 But, being urged, with agitated voice 
 He told his story : how he went, as wont, 
 Cautiously to the Hermitage, and tapped 
 Upon a tree beside his mother's window, 
 And whistled low. A light she struck was sign 
 To enter in. Hunfredo was from home 
 Upon a journey. So they supped together 
 In the Priest's parlour. Hardly was the meal 
 Despatched, when Gaspar's keen quick ear detected 
 The turning of a key. The hand he guessed ; 
 
 M 2 
 
164 MARIQUITA. 
 
 And, darting into a recess, lay hid 
 Behind a pile of wood. Hunfredo entered, 
 Accompanied by one, who, seemingly, 
 Was of his order. Long and earnestly 
 They talked ; at times aloud, at times so low 
 He failed to catch the purport. But he heard 
 That which had nearly made him hurry out 
 From where he lay. They spoke of Mariquita 
 As having lost her reason, and Hunfredo 
 Had seen her at Toledo, there in ward 
 Among the insane, and dying, as he thought. 
 
 Afflicted beyond measure, but intent 
 (Could she by any means accomplish it) 
 On taking care of me and nursing me, 
 Sara set out with Gaspar. Night and day 
 They travelled. On arrival at Toledo, 
 She went to see the principal physician, 
 Whose charge it was to visit the asylum, 
 And, frankly telling him her purpose, gained 
 His friendly aid. " It was impossible," 
 He said, " to move me in my present state." 
 Then she would be my nurse, were there but hope 
 Of access. He was willing to discuss it. 
 The superintendent of the female ward, 
 A lady whom he held in much esteem, 
 Had rooms at her disposal. He advised 
 
MAK1QUITA. 165 
 
 Sara to see her, and arrange with her 
 
 For the accommodation of her friend. 
 
 He, for his part, would recommend the change, 
 
 And place his services at her disposal. 
 
 The superintendent willingly agreed 
 
 That both should be received myself as patient, 
 
 And Sara as a servant to attend me. 
 
 Thus with a true devotedness and love, 
 Which could not be surpassed, did my dear friend 
 Enter these gloomy walls, where the bereft 
 Of reason languish out their time, or rave 
 Till Heaven opens free its gates of rest, 
 Closing the scene. Thus did she undertake 
 A duty for my sake so arduous, 
 So full of painfulness. For she enlarged, 
 As I recovered strength, her sphere of labours, 
 Calming, with gentle voice and soothing words, 
 The frantic and despairing. Deep the well 
 And clear the living spring from which she drew 
 The theme of consolation for the mind 
 If haply but a ray of light Divine 
 Might penetrate the gloom of that dark heart 
 If haply but a momentary calm 
 Might lull the passions of that stormy brain 
 If haply but a word of soberness 
 Recall those senses lost in crazy mirth 
 
166 MARIQUITA. 
 
 It was her part, it was her privilege, 
 To wait on all with holy sentences 
 The loving messages of God to man, 
 Interpreted in pure Castilian, 
 The language of our hearts. 
 
 Esteban's book 
 
 Was precious to my soul in many an hour, 
 When pain and anguish preyed upon my mind, 
 And the low murmur trembled on my lips : 
 Why was I born into this suffering world ? 
 There was a cloud, in mercy it was sent 
 A cloud upon my mind. That dreadful day 
 Was blotted out. No memory had I 
 Of all that passed no memory of my child, 
 Nor that they tore him from my arms that night. 
 My life up to that day was it a dream ? 
 But there were dreams that to my inward sense 
 Were clearer far. I doubted of the past, 
 Whether in truth it were not all a dream. 
 And, like a broken chain, my shattered mind 
 Was powerless of itself to re-connect 
 The story of my life, unless a link 
 Were given, enabling me to realize 
 That which had been. But for dear Sara's love 
 I had not lived. Devotedly she nursed me. 
 And as she sat by me, the pure soft light 
 
MARIQUITA. 167 
 
 Of Sara's eyes was very sweet to me. 
 
 One evening, I said, f Sara, I have dreamed 
 
 A day-dream, that my mother looked even so, 
 
 As you do now. And I have dreamed a dream 
 
 So sweet a dream and yet 'tis passing strange, 
 
 That 'twas a voice, harsh, and of evil omen, 
 
 That told me that my mother was a child 
 
 Of Esteban. But still the dream is sweet. 
 
 I love to lie and look into your eyes, 
 
 And think of her, as you bend over me ; 
 
 And fancy for I love to fancy it 
 
 That she was like you. Smile again, even so, 
 
 Dear Sara, for my mother smiled even so. 
 
 But when she died, the smile that left her lips 
 
 Died not, but lived again upon the lips 
 
 Of Esteban, And when he died, that smile 
 
 Died not, but passed to live within your lips. 
 
 Is it not so ? I do not pain you, Sara ? ' 
 
168 MAKIQUITA. 
 
 XV. 
 
 SAKA embraced me, saying, " And that smile, 
 
 Could I but see it on your lips once more ! 
 
 It is no fleeting fancy, no vain dream, 
 
 That you have dreamed ; for from my father's lips 
 
 Your sainted mother had that tender grace, 
 
 That heavenly light, that holy smile. of love, 
 
 Which you remember to have seen. His child, 
 
 His darling Eva, early called away 
 
 To her eternal -home, left one sweet infant, 
 
 Long lost to us, long sought for, but in vain, 
 
 Till God directed us. Now your heart yearns 
 
 To know it all. And Miguel Alava 
 
 No, he was not your father. And your heart 
 
 Burns to know all and why we hid from you 
 
 The story of your birth ; and why we came, 
 
 My father, as a shepherd, to the plains, 
 
 I with the wandering race, the Zincali. 
 
 Know then, it was for you, child of our hearts, 
 
 For love of you, my father secretly 
 
 Attempted what he could not openly 
 
 Venture to do. He risked imprisonment, 
 
 Torture, and death, in setting foot in Spain. 
 
MARigUITA. 169 
 
 " 'Tis said that in our race and lineage 
 There is a tinge (and some would call it taint) 
 Of Jewish blood. If it be so, indeed, 
 ' Tis a reproach that we may be content 
 To bear with our dear Lord, the royal line 
 Of David, and with Prophets and Apostles. 
 The source I know not, but my father's heart 
 Was moved within him deeply for that race, 
 So honoured once and now so trodden down 
 Of men. He was a scholar deeply read, 
 And knew the Hebrew tongue. In Palestine 
 He had been often as a traveller, 
 And had discoursed with the far-scattered Jews 
 In many lands. It has been said (he felt 
 Too truly) by our poets and divines, 
 That it is easier to move the hearts 
 Of heathen to embrace the cross of Christ 
 Than to convert the Jew. But in the free 
 Confiding intercourse he cordially 
 Invited, he was led to ponder deeply 
 Upon the causes that estranged and sundered, 
 From the new covenant of love and peace, 
 Those who by blood are brethren of our Lord. 
 Unhappily, the Jew could point with scorn 
 To Christians bowing down to images 
 Of wood and stone, and ask, ( Is this the faith 
 You would invite us to this the Communion ? 
 
170 MARIQUITA. 
 
 True, we are outcasts from the pleasant land 
 God gave our fathers ; we are wanderers, 
 Without a country and without a temple ; 
 But this we have, in our sad pilgrimage, 
 This one support we have blessed be God ! 
 We bow to Him alone the Invisible, 
 The Lord our God. If Christ, our King, be come, 
 The hope* of Israel, to redeem our nation, 
 And gather to his Kingdom from all lands 
 The scattered tribes, proclaim the grand event 
 Our joy fulfil. But tell us not, my brother, 
 Of Christs of wood or stone.' 
 
 " Remonstrances, 
 
 Couched in such terms, fell on no heedless ear. 
 My father searched the Scriptures earnestly, 
 And, as he read and pondered, the conviction 
 Gained force, that in the time of the Apostles 
 A purer worship and a purer faith 
 Prevailed a faith that might embrace both Jew 
 And Gentile in its ample fold a Church 
 Spotless and without blemish before God. 
 
 " One year it was the year that you were born- 
 We spent the winter months at Alicante, 
 And there my father found a family, 
 In which he took a lively interest 
 
MARIQUITA. 171 
 
 Jews by descent converts ostensibly, 
 
 And strict in their obedience to the Church, 
 
 But, as my father judged, and rightly judged, 
 
 Jews in the secret chamber of their hearts. 
 
 The elder son was in a priory, 
 
 In course of preparation for the priesthood. 
 
 The younger son, Mateo, was the stay 
 
 And sole support of a dependent mother 
 
 In feeble health. The amiable traits 
 
 That marked his conduct as a son, secured 
 
 My father's notice and regard. Intent 
 
 To do him some substantial benefit, 
 
 And finding him accomplished as a scribe, 
 
 My father soon engaged his services 
 
 To aid him in compiling and revising 
 
 A work he was desirous to complete. 
 
 Freely, but with due reverence, they discoursed 
 
 God's dealings with the sons of men, the law, 
 
 The prophecies, the coming of Messiah, 
 
 The covenant of grace, the character 
 
 Of Christ, and of his humble followers, 
 
 The purity attainable by man 
 
 Taught by the Spirit. And my father urged 
 
 Upon Mateo's mind the excellence 
 
 Of such a plan for man's recovery 
 
 From sin and death. Whence such a glorious plan, 
 
 If not the work of the Great Architect? 
 
172 MABIQUITA. 
 
 Mateo listened, for his ear drank in 
 
 The music and the beauty of the theme. 
 
 But hath he yet embraced it with his heart, 
 
 Or is it only as a melody, 
 
 A reverie, a beatific vision, 
 
 He views the gospel scheme ? We never knew, 
 
 I know not now. But much it weighs on me, 
 
 That there may be a cause. His zeal to serve 
 
 Our interests I feel may be the cause 
 
 Why he conforms to semi-Pagan rites 
 
 He cannot but despise, why he is still 
 
 A man of two religions one by law, 
 
 Another in his heart. 
 
 " Not so my father : 
 As one who in a dry and thirsty land 
 Had found a living stream, had drank thereof, 
 And found eternal blessedness therein, 
 He could not but impart the sacred treasure, 
 That all might taste, and drink of it, and live. 
 Some listened to him, and some turned away. 
 But even they, who thought him in the wrong, 
 Could not but love him for his gentle spirit, 
 So sweetened with affection and compassion. 
 And thus he moved among his fellow men, 
 Kind and forbearing, patient and endearing, 
 Endeavouring to do kindnesses to all, 
 Nor knew he that he had an enemy. 
 
MARIQUITA. 173 
 
 " It came at last. We had not long returned 
 To pass the summer months in Orihuela, 
 When, at an early hour and in much haste, 
 Mateo came, requiring instantly 
 To see my father. With a troubled brow 
 He told him that a charge of heresy 
 Impended over him. At any hour 
 His papers might be seized, and he consigned 
 To the dark dungeons of the inquisition. 
 There came another warning that same day 
 A private notice from our friendly Bishop 
 (The same who is Archbishop now of Seville) 
 Advising that my father should escape, 
 Secure his property, and burn his papers. 
 Within one hour we were prepared to fly : 
 Only, solicitous to save the fruit 
 Of many years of thought and careful study, 
 And anxious to complete his work, he took 
 His manuscripts, resolved at any cost, 
 At any risk, to save them. Rapidly 
 We rode to Cartagena, and at sunset 
 Drew bridle near the town, and entered slowly, 
 Mateo passing round to ascertain 
 What vessels there might be, and whither bound. 
 Alighting at the Fonda,* presently 
 Mateo joined us with the welcome news 
 
 * Appendix A. 
 
174 MARIQUITA. 
 
 That late that night would sail for Genoa, 
 
 A well-manned brig, that had put into port 
 
 For some repairs. The opportunity 
 
 Was gladly seized ; but ere we went on board 
 
 A deed was executed by my father, 
 
 In presence of a notary of the town, 
 
 Leasing his whole estate in Orihuela, 
 
 For a long term of years, to his young friend 
 
 Mateo. Honourably has the trust 
 
 Been to this hour discharged. 
 
 " Sailing that night, 
 
 In seven days we neared the Italian coast, 
 And sighted Genoa. The sails were furled, 
 And we lay off till sunset, then stood in 
 And came to anchor in a rocky creek, 
 Under the land. A signal light was hoisted : 
 'Twas answered, and the dipping sound of oars 
 Soon met the ear. The captain went below 
 And bade my father follow. In few words 
 He told him, that perceiving he had wares 
 That might occasion trouble, he advised 
 That we should not proceed to Genoa, 
 But rather take advantage of the boat, 
 And land where he could answer for our safety, 
 ' And where/ he added, ' I have trusty friends 
 Who will procure you tried and faithful guides 
 
MARIQUITA. 175 
 
 Into the upper valleys of the Alps, 
 
 Whither I make no doubt you mean to go, 
 
 To join the primitive religionists.' 
 
 And then he told us he had goods on board 
 
 For that same people, who would send for them, 
 
 And thus we should enjoy safe company, 
 
 Accustomed to the mountain roads and passes. 
 
 " Up to that time we hardly saw our way. 
 Here, by the gracious hand of God, a way 
 Was opened, and a refuge from the storm 
 Provided for our shelter. Gratefully 
 We seized the welcome opportunity, 
 Bid the kind captain of the sloop farewell, 
 Entered the boat, and quickly to the shore 
 Were borne ; while, spreading to the wind her sail, 
 The sloop passed on. That night we were the guests 
 Of the poor fishermen who manned the boat. 
 They showed us every kindness, and provided 
 According to their means for our reception. 
 Strangers in a strange land we passed that night. 
 
 " With morning light we rose to view the landscape 
 An amphitheatre of hills, dissevered 
 By intervening valleys and ravines. 
 The hills were castle-crested ; every summit 
 Boasted its watch-tower and its fortalice ; 
 
176 MARIQUITA. 
 
 While, clustering beneath the massive walls, 
 
 As if relying on their armed protection, 
 
 Lay grouped the dwellings of the villagers 
 
 A picture of the feudal age bygone. 
 
 e Here,' said my father, ' let us sit awhile, 
 
 And from these moss-grown rocks and ruins glean 
 
 Something of interest in the history 
 
 And records of the past. These toppling crags 
 
 These broken jagged cliffs these fearful chasms 
 
 Tell of the force of the volcanic powers 
 
 That, in the war of elements, convulsed 
 
 And burst the riven earth, and strewed the plain 
 
 With fragments wildly rent and tossed, and heaped 
 
 In chaos wild. Man enters on the scene ; 
 
 Rears high the battlement, forges the bolt, 
 
 Crowns every cliff with bristling armoury, 
 
 And hurls defiance, till the reeling earth 
 
 Trembles again beneath the shock of war. 
 
 Ages are past and now survey the scene 
 
 The ivy-mantled portal, moss-grown wall, 
 
 And flower-enamelled hill. Time's soothing hand 
 
 Hath softened every stern asperity. 
 
 Passions, once pent within the stormy breast, 
 
 Or bursting forth fierce as volcanic fires, 
 
 Repose in silence ; and the landscape melts 
 
 Into this liquid beauty that we see 
 
 Dimly, through tears that all unbidden start, 
 
HARIQU1TA. 177 
 
 And fill the eye. But yet we owe a tribute 
 
 To those grim warriors of that iron age. 
 
 The feudal castle, perched like eagle's eyrie 
 
 On headland and on cliff the mountain fastness, 
 
 Whose rocky barrier spurned the leaguered host, 
 
 Defiant of the despot and his myriads, 
 
 Has proved the cradle of our liberties, 
 
 A refuge for the oppressed. In this fair Italy 
 
 Was fought the battle of civilization : 
 
 In the recesses of these Alpine ranges 
 
 Shines the pure light of gospel truth, unquenched 
 
 By all the efforts of benighted bigotry 
 
 By all the powers of priestly tyranny, 
 
 That chained the nations to the car of Rome. 
 
 The poor and lowly servants of their Lord 
 
 Find shelter, as the floweret findeth shelter 
 
 Beneath the rocky precipice that towers 
 
 Over its head We shall find shelter there. 
 
 So not in vain these throes of earth have been. 
 
 The earthquake and the cataract of fire 
 
 Have wrought His pleasure, who directs all issues 
 
 According to the purpose of His will. 
 
 He hath done all things well.' 
 
 " 'Twas thus my father 
 
 Loved to discourse with me. Now time would fail 
 To tell you of our journey to the Alps, 
 
 N 
 
178 MARIQUITA. 
 
 And of our sojourn there. For many years 
 
 We dwelt among the simple mountaineers, 
 
 In happy fellowship and sympathy. 
 
 And still my father worked, nor spared himself, 
 
 To perfect his translation of the Scriptures, 
 
 That in the noble language of our land 
 
 That in the touching language of our heart 
 
 The finished work of Christ might be made known ; 
 
 Not in words of the wisdom of this world, 
 
 But in the burning words of saints and prophets 
 
 Words of the living oracles of God 
 
 To every child of our beloved country. 
 
 Counting that He who said, Let there be light, 
 
 Willeth that none should perish utterly 
 
 For lack of light. And time would fail to tell 
 
 Of my deep interest in my father's work, 
 
 Or of my humble efforts to instruct 
 
 The little ones of the poor mountaineers, 
 
 Wending my way each morn from hut to hut, 
 
 Till winter's snows made it too perilous. 
 
 Often and often we can talk of it 
 
 At other times ; but now I must press on 
 
 To tell you of the one anxiety 
 
 That lay a grievous burden on our minds. 
 
 " My sister Eva, far the loveliest flower 
 In Orihuela she had gone from us 
 
MAKKjl'lTA. 179 
 
 A blooming bride three years before our exile. 
 Often she wrote to tell us of her life 
 Her happy life ; and after you were born, 
 Her letters overflowed with joyfulness 
 And tenderness. But after leaving Spain 
 We heard no more. Often we wrote to her, 
 But never letter came, and our suspense 
 Was painful in the extreme. Mateo knew 
 How much we suffered, and how fervently 
 We longed for tidings in our banishment 
 Of one so dear ; and failing to procure 
 Intelligence on which he could rely, 
 Resolved to make the journey for our sakes, 
 And travel to the forest of Segura. 
 Too true the rumours that had reached his ear : 
 Fernando Gomez, the high spirited 
 And noble youth that Eva had espoused, 
 Was killed, 'twas said in hunting, in the forest; 
 But to this day it is a mystery. 
 The horse he rode sped homeward. Eva saw it 
 Dash by without a rider, white with foam ; 
 The rein torn from the bit, the saddle turned, 
 Swung by the girths. One piercing cry she uttered : 
 ' My husband, they have slain him in the forest ! ' 
 Nor ever spoke again, as some averred ; 
 But others said, that by the Priest's advice, 
 To insure protection for her infant babe, 
 
 N 2 
 
180 MARIQUITA, 
 
 She to the mayordomo gave her hand 
 
 In marriage ere she died. Mateo asked 
 
 Where is the child, and where the mayordomo ? 
 
 The people only knew that he had gone, 
 
 Taking the child with him. The property 
 
 Was sold to satisfy the various claims 
 
 Made by the mayordomo. And the Priest ? 
 
 He, too, was gone. No trace, no clew remained. 
 
 Mateo travelled back to Alicante, 
 
 And wrote to tell us the heartrending tale. 
 
 Nor could he soften the afflictive stroke 
 
 With any tidings or with any hope 
 
 Of the discovery of Eva's child, 
 
 To solace our deep grief. Years passed away : 
 
 We could not enter Spain. We could but urge 
 
 Inquiry on inquiry ; but no light, 
 
 No ray of hope, was thrown across the gloom 
 
 That deepened year by year. 
 
 te One winter night 
 
 The snow was falling thick, the drift was deep 
 We sat together by the fire my father, 
 Myself, and faithful Velador, my guide 
 In all my mountain rambles. As the drift 
 Gathered against our door, my father cried, 
 ' Alas ! for houseless wanderers ! ' The dog 
 Looked in his face walked to the door lav down, 
 
MAR1QU1TA. 181 
 
 Snuffing with long-drawn breath then whined, then 
 
 barked. 
 
 We listened, and we heard a far-off cry. 
 Then came a fainter cry, telling too plainly 
 Of some poor traveller struggling through the storm, 
 Or ceasing, it might be, to struggle more. 
 My father seized his staff, and hastened out, 
 Through the deep drifting snow, with Velador, 
 And through the blinding storm. I lit my lamp, 
 And followed, tracking silently his steps. 
 Nor far had gone, before I found him bending 
 To raise an almost lifeless female form, 
 Kesisting, seemingly, the attempt to raise her, 
 And clutching desperately a woollen coat 
 Half buried in the snow. I stooped to look, 
 But now my lamp went out. Guiding my hand 
 Along the woollen garment, I discovered 
 That which she had not strength to tell her boy 
 Lay buried in the drift. The new fallen snow 
 Was easily removed, enabling us 
 In a short time to extricate the child, 
 Whose garment so tenaciously was grasped 
 By his poor mother. He had first succumbed, 
 And slept the sleep that would so soon have proved 
 The sleep of death ; she, in her agony, 
 Had stretched herself above him, in the endeavour 
 Still to preserve, by warmth, the vital spark. 
 
182 MAR1QUITA. 
 
 And as the snow was gathering to enclose 
 Both in one tomb, she cried and cried again, 
 And her cry reached the chalet where we lived. 
 My father carried home the boy; I followed, 
 Leading the shivering mother after him. 
 
 O O 
 
 Velador led us, with unerring instinct, 
 
 Home to the chalet, by the mountain path 
 
 We could no longer see. We wrapped the woman 
 
 In blankets, which we warmed, and woollen rugs, 
 
 And then applied ourselves to chafe the limbs 
 
 Of her poor boy ; and first we rubbed his hands 
 
 And feet with snow, restoring by degrees 
 
 The circulation to his limbs. At times 
 
 The anguish of the mother would break forth 
 
 In words of a strange language that we knew not. 
 
 Then, rising from the couch on which we laid her, 
 
 She murmured as she bent her o'er her child, 
 
 * Just like the youth just like the noble youth 
 
 In the Segura forest.' And again 
 
 She muttered words of fondness and endearment, 
 
 In her strange language, as she looked at him ; 
 
 Till, to her joy, he moved his lips to speak. 
 
 For, with returning warmth, returning life 
 
 Was circling in the current of his blood, 
 
 And in another hour he had revived. 
 
 And then we warmed some food for our poor guests. 
 
 But much I pondered what the woman said, 
 

 MAKIQUITA. 183 
 
 Gazing upon her child, when, as in death, 
 
 His eyes were closed ; and I looked hard at both. 
 
 The filmy eyes with strange and fitful gleam, 
 
 The swarthy features, particoloured dress 
 
 So gay, the looks and language interchanged, 
 
 Bespoke them plainly of the Zincali. 
 
 When they had supped, we sat awhile together ; 
 
 Then to the boy I said, ' You lay so still 
 
 Down in the snow-wreath, like the silent dead, 
 
 Wrapped in a winding-sheet ; your mother cried, 
 
 " Just like the youth just like the noble youth 
 
 In the Segura forest ! " ( Nay, Senora, ' 
 
 Said the gitana, e nay, I named no forest.' 
 
 I said no more she said no more to me. 
 
 I was convinced, by her evasive answer, 
 
 She knew that which she did not choose to tell. 
 
 What might it be, and what might it not be, 
 
 I trembled with anxiety to know. 
 
 She scrutinized me with keen searching eye. 
 
 After a while my father took the lad 
 
 Apart, and bade him occupy the bed 
 
 Prepared for him ; and then returned to us. 
 
 We sat by the fire, and waited silently 
 
 Till the gitana spoke. 
 
 " ' I see, Senora, 
 That you are Murcians, and wish to know 
 
184 MAKIQUITA. 
 
 If it was in the forest of Segura 
 
 I saw a noble youth on the cold earth laid 
 
 In death. Sefiora, I will tell you truly : 
 
 I saw it in the forest of Segura : 
 
 But of the manner of his death or cause 
 
 I never knew it, and can tell you nothing/ 
 
 She paused and looked at me, and then continued, 
 
 ' There's trouble on your brow, and it may be 
 
 The Dona Eva was your friend. Alas ! 
 
 ' Twas pitiful but there is anguish in your eye, 
 
 Sefiora, and we will not talk of it. 
 
 But now there is a look it cannot be 
 
 She had a sister.' And I said to her 
 
 She was my sister. Then she pondered long 
 
 Before she spoke again. ' I ought to have known it. 
 
 And now what can I say, what can I do? 
 
 The past is sealed. Ines can say no more.' 
 
 6 Ines,' I said. 6 1 neither wish to know 
 
 Of him who died mysteriously so young, 
 
 Nor yet of her who died of a broken heart, 
 
 Nor of the dead, nor of the hidden past. 
 
 One thing, and only one, I ask to know, 
 
 And solemnly I charge you to declare, 
 
 As in God's holy presence, what you know. 
 
 "Where is the child my sister Eva's child ?' 
 
 She bent her head, to lean it on her hand, 
 
 And answered, f If you think to take the child 
 
r \. 185 
 
 From him who claims to exercise the right 
 
 Of guardianship, you cannot. Move a finger, 
 
 And he will hand it over to the nuns.' 
 
 At once I reassured her. ' We are exiles. 
 
 We dare not even appear to urge our claim. 
 
 And any suit or contest for the child 
 
 Would but result in widening the gulf 
 
 That separates us now. Our only wish 
 
 Is to devise some little acts of kindness, 
 
 Some tokens of affection to interpret 
 
 The language of our hearts, and cheer her heart 
 
 Something to tell her she is not alone, 
 
 Neglected and unloved in a cold world ; 
 
 For pitiful as is their lot who perish 
 
 Outcasts of weather, when descending snows 
 
 Shape softly with their flakes a sepulchre, 
 
 More pitiful their lot whose hearts are chilled 
 
 Unkindly from the cradle to the grave, 
 
 Shivering through life unhappy and unblest. 
 
 You to whom Heaven gave this night in mercy 
 
 To shelter in your breast, and breathe upon, 
 
 Your child' 
 
 " Vehemently, passionately, 
 She interrupted me, ' The Zincali 
 Can feel ; and I, a mother, I can feel 
 What Ines owes you, Ines will repay. 
 
186 MAIUQUITA. 
 
 The track is long, but I will follow it 
 Though it were twice twelve years, I'd follow it 
 To trace the child. I will not flinch nor fail. 
 I have the clew. First I must find the man 
 That went as guide the night that Luis Nunez 
 Left the Segura forest with the child. 
 The man I know, for he is of our people. 
 Once on the trail, I will not quit the chase 
 Till I have found the child.' 
 
 " Ines was true. 
 
 The morning shone out clear. She and her boy 
 Pursued their journey down to Genoa, 
 Crossed into Spain with letters for Mateo, 
 Made search and quest among the Zincali 
 In every forest, till she found the man, 
 Joaquim, who was Luis Nunez' guide 
 The night that he absconded with the child, 
 And by the help of Joaquim pursued 
 The track to Torreveas, on the plain, 
 And thence to Mangonegro. There she saw 
 Our long-lost little one in Rosa's garden, 
 And hastened to return to Alicante 
 With the glad tidings. And she told Mateo 
 That when she looked upon the child it seemed 
 As though she saw again the beauteous bride 
 Fernando Gomez brought, in bygone years, 
 

 MAKigUITA. 187 
 
 To the Segura forest, for her eyes 
 
 Were Eva's eyes. Mateo crossed the seas 
 
 To Genoa. With deep anxiety 
 
 We there awaited the intelligence 
 
 Ines might send. How fervent was our joy ! 
 
 My father, deeply moved, could only murmur, 
 
 In the first overflow of gratitude, 
 
 4 God will direct us leave it all to Him 
 
 He will direct us best no plans, no plans 
 
 But only thanks to-night from thankful hearts.' 
 
 " Next morning, with serene and calm composure, 
 My father told me that his fixed resolve 
 Was to re-enter Spain. With earnestness 
 Mateo would dissuade him from a step 
 So fraught with danger. But he smiled and said, 
 ' I know my danger.' Then I said, ' Dear father, 
 That danger I must share.' Almost with tears, 
 Mateo now implored us to refrain 
 From thus imperilling our own from thus 
 Imperilling each others lives. ( The risk 
 Is great,' he said, 'to either; but if both 
 Enter together, 'tis a certainty 
 That you will never see the child you seek 
 With so much ardent and intense desire.' 
 After long conference, we framed the plan 
 Which we pursued. And my beloved father 
 
188 MAKIQU1TA. 
 
 Travelled as humble shepherd with a flock, 
 Through Spain to Cordova, and sought you out 
 At Mangonegro. When I was assured 
 That he was safe with you at Torreveas, 
 I joined myself to Ines and her people. 
 And they were happy days, those summer days, 
 Upon the plain together ! Well you loved 
 The dear old shepherd, though you little knew 
 The precious link, child of his gentle Eva, 
 Child of our hearts, that drew us thus to you." 
 
 I fell upon her neck with many a fond 
 Endearing word of love ; then I exclaimed, 
 ' But was there cause, dear Sara, was there cause 
 For wrapping everything in mystery ? 
 Why so mistrust me as to hide from me 
 That I was Eva's child and Esteban's ? 
 Why was I doomed to think it was the blood 
 Of that hard, selfish man, that filled my veins ? 
 And that the loving and beloved were strangers 
 With whom I had no rightful sympathies ? 
 How could you coldly hide yourselves from me ? 
 Nay, Sara, nay, that single tear reproves me 
 You have done what you could. You ventured all 
 That you might come to me to cherish me. 
 I ask not why there was a mystery.' 
 
MAllIQUITA. 189 
 
 " You were a child. Even now your years are few. 
 As yet you know not may you never know 
 The fearful pressure on the suffering brain, 
 When danger menaceth the one we love ; 
 When but one word but one unwary look, 
 Or one unguarded action, may be death. 
 We knew too well the withering blight that marred 
 And chilled the healthful play of your affections ; 
 We knew the word that would have called them forth, 
 Waking within your heart* the sacred flame 
 Of filial devotion. And that word 
 Might have proved fatal. You were closely watched ; 
 And the discovery of that near tie, 
 Expressed in acts or words, or looks or tears, 
 Might have proved fatal. Then my father felt, 
 Because you were so young, averse to aught 
 That might entangle you in the proscription 
 From which we suffered. We could not explain 
 Why we were under ban as heretics, 
 Unless we entered on that controversy. 
 We could not justify our simple creed 
 Without impugning the malpractices 
 And superstitions of these evil days. 
 We shrunk from aught that might imperil you, 
 By leading you to cast your lot with us. 
 And we were in the wrong. I know it now. 
 
190 MARIQUITA. 
 
 We acted wrongly and unfaithfully 
 
 By you. Our duty, our high privilege 
 
 It was to hold the scales, and bid you choose 
 
 The Word of life, or all the fair domain 
 
 Of the De Solis family. We shrank 
 
 For you we shrank from perilling your estate, 
 
 And we were in the wrong. 
 
191 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " You never saw our home in Murcia, 
 Its terraces and groves. You never saw 
 The vale of Orihuela. God hath lavished 
 His choicest gifts on that enchanting scene 
 A land of corn and oil, and of all fruits 
 The garden. There the orange and the vine, 
 The dark pomegranate, and the mulberry, 
 Are mingled with the richly clustering palm. 
 'Tis a delightsome land. The varied hue 
 Of plant and herb, of blossom, fruit, and flower, 
 The varied tint of leaf It must be seen. 
 The eye, and not the ear, must drink it in 
 Language would fail to represent the beauty, 
 The blent and varied beauty that adorns 
 The vale of Orihuela. Could the scene 
 Be still enhanced by some magician's art, 
 There shall you find that which enhances it 
 More than the stroke of the enchanter's wand : 
 For all this rich profusion in the vale 
 Is spread beneath the range of lofty mountains 
 That raise on either side their rocky barrier : 
 Sternly magnificent in gloomy grandeur, 
 
192 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Their origin of fire is chronicled 
 
 From age to age upon their cloven ridges 
 
 And arid steeps, as lifeless and as sere, 
 
 As when the molten flood of burning lava 
 
 First coursed adown their scorched and withered sides. 
 
 Touch but the plain, all verdure blooms again. 
 
 Touch but the plain, all nature lives again. 
 
 There's music in the air of singing birds ; 
 
 There's music in the rippling of the waters ; 
 
 There's music in the fields of reapers' voices ; 
 
 Waking the music of the heart, to join 
 
 The universal choir in song and praise. 
 
 Such is our fair possession, yours and mine, 
 
 And it has been our ruin. 
 
 " Hark ! my child I 
 There be that covet our inheritance ; 
 And we have been pursued these fourteen years ; 
 The persecutor weaves his meshes still ; 
 He has a hold on us unknown to you : 
 But if you knew it, you would say with me, 
 Part with the fair domain and purchase rest. 
 What say you, Mariquita, are you willing 
 To part with all we have, our home, our lands, 
 The gardens and the groves in Orihuela, 
 And face the bleak, inhospitable world, 
 As strangers upon earth ? With free, light step, 
 
MARIQUITA. 193 
 
 We then may undertake life's pilgrimage. 
 
 The burdens we shall bear how light they'll be, 
 
 And there's a blessing waiting us beyond." 
 
 I answered, with a smile, f Esteban's book 
 Tells of a better land than priheula 
 A land where no more pain and no more sorrow 
 Shall be a land where God shall wipe away 
 The tear from every eye : there we shall meet 
 Those who are gone before, to part no more.' 
 
 " But who shall guide us to that better land ? " 
 I laid my hand upon the holy book. 
 ' Thy word shall be a lamp to guide our feet ; 
 Thy word a light to shine upon our path.' 
 " Now God us aid to walk in His own light," 
 Sara exclaimed. " His promises are sure ; 
 Cast we our care on Him who cares for us, 
 And for the poorest of the humble poor." 
 
 The purpose of her heart she told me not, 
 Esteeming that I could not bear it then. 
 Anxiously through my illness she had watched 
 And waited but no outburst of despair, 
 And no lament, no plaint escaped my lips. 
 I never named Anselmo:; never named 
 My infant ; so that Sara wondered oft 
 
194 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Whether the past were all a blank to me, 
 
 Rased from the tablets of my memory. 
 
 Once, and once only, ere she knew my state, 
 
 She had approached with gentle carefulness 
 
 The theme of my calamities and wrongs : 
 
 Then she discerned the truth x and that a cloud 
 
 Rested upon my mind and memory. 
 
 A nature womanly and delicate 
 
 Prompted at once, as if instinctively, 
 
 Her resolution not to tear aside 
 
 The veil, which haply God hath given, she said, 
 
 To hide from her the agonising past, 
 
 And spare her till the time of restitution. 
 
 The purpose which she had, but told me not, 
 
 Was to reclaim my child for me, by parting 
 
 With the De Solis lands in Orihuela. 
 
 There was no proof, but never did she doubt 
 
 Who was the spoiler ; never did she doubt 
 
 But that Hunfredo was the perpetrator 
 
 Of that foul wrong, and for his own vile ends 
 
 Had robbed me of my child. He coveted 
 
 Possession of our lands. Sara was willing 
 
 To give him all, if he would but restore 
 
 My child to me. Therefore she had despatched 
 
 A messenger to Murcia for Mateo, 
 
 Counting on his assistance to promote 
 
MARIQUITA. 195 
 
 The purpose which she had so much at heart. 
 He had arrived, and waited her commands. 
 
 They met that day ; Mateo urgently 
 Dissuaded her from such a sacrifice. 
 Sara was firm : the deed already drawn 
 Awaited signature ; nor did she swerve 
 From her intention, but a blank was left, 
 Rather than name Hunfredo on the parchment, 
 Till the agreement yet to be enforced 
 For our behoof was duly ratified. 
 Mateo earnestly advised us so. 
 We signed it. He departed that same hour, 
 To travel with all speed to Cordova. 
 I knew not what a precious freight he bore, 
 Nor what a priceless purchase was in view. 
 After Mateo left, the Doctor came. 
 We valued much the visits of a friend, 
 So kind and good, so courteous and so pleasant. 
 He cheered our spirits with his lively talk, 
 News of the day, or stories of the past. 
 This day he entertained us with the adventures 
 Of one he called a quack, a charlatan, 
 Impostor, fanfarron, and picaro. 
 The rogue, he said, had had the impudence 
 To fix his quarters in the very street 
 
 o 2 
 
196 MARIQUITA. 
 
 In which for twenty years he had not known 
 
 A rival. He professed to cure and heal 
 
 All of whatever ailment they were seized, 
 
 By drenching them with water inwardly, 
 
 And dousing them with water outwardly ; 
 
 And to Don Juan Aguado's. water-cure 
 
 Resorted all the weaker sort in crowds, 
 
 To be half drowned. He turned the showers of water 
 
 To showers of gold. But now that alchemy 
 
 He hoped to stop. Don Tomas Rioseco, 
 
 His pupil, and a native of La Mancha, 
 
 "Would open, in a house just opposite, 
 
 His temperance establishment : observe, 
 
 In all things temperate especially 
 
 In the use of water. He would take high ground : 
 
 " Man was no camel, with an extra stomach 
 
 Man was no long-necked animal to stoop 
 
 And drink up ponds and streams. What was the 
 
 draught 
 
 Which nature had provided ? Was it not 
 That which the hollow of the hand could hold ? 
 What the ablution nature had provided ? 
 Surely the morning and the evening dew. 
 Take yet a lesson from the history . 
 
 Of nations. Where was now the Saracen ? 
 Where now the overwhelming hosts of Islam ? 
 Where now the power of the Mahommedan ? 
 
MAK1QUITA. 197 
 
 Effete, decayed, destroyed, washed out, I say. 
 
 They built their worship upon vain ablutions 
 
 And washings, which have sapped their strength and 
 manhood. 
 
 They melt away, unstable as the element 
 
 On which they base the rites of their false creed. 
 
 These soakings, gulpings, dousings, plungings, drench- 
 ings, 
 
 They are not natural, nor Catholic, 
 
 Nor Spanish. Let me tell you, Serioras, 
 
 We want an Inquisition that shall nip 
 
 Such heresies in the bud." 
 
 This ebullition 
 
 Elicited a smile. Sara remarked, 
 That if the Inquisition were a shield 
 Against religious error, it was clear 
 An Inquisition would be found of use 
 To stay all heresy in medicine. 
 But first, since Doctors differ, ' twould be well 
 To bind fast in indisputable lines 
 The science and the rules of medicine. 
 The Doctor gravely intimated doubts 
 If that were possible, but hinted slily 
 That Doctors of Religion* had been known 
 To differ also. Then he whispered low, 
 " We are on dangerous ground." 
 
198 MARIQUITA. 
 
 There was a pause, 
 
 Till Sara said, " I pray you to be frank, 
 And tell us of the danger you allude to." 
 " Nay," said the Doctor, " be not you alarmed. 
 There's little questioning within these walls. 
 The chief Inquisitor died yesterday. 
 He was well gone in years. He exercised 
 His office mildly, and they say there's hope 
 Of a humane successor, for 'tis thought 
 The policy of the Church is to relax, 
 In this most favoured land, the stringency 
 Of the Inquisition. But in the interval, 
 And ere a chief Inquisitor be chosen, 
 There may be wild work done, for there are men 
 In that same holy office, underlings, 
 That fear. not God nor man. It may be well 
 To shut our mouths, and keep the door of our lips, 
 Until we see the issue of these changes." 
 
 The Doctor took his leave of us. And now 
 A hurried knock a hurried step we heard. 
 The door flew open ; Ines entered in. 
 " The officers," she cried, " are in the city. 
 Sara, you must escape, give me your veil, 
 And take my cloak and hood, I will remain 
 With Mariquita. At the southern gate 
 You will find one you know Gaspar is there. 
 
MAK1QUITA. 199 
 
 Fear not for Mariquita ; I have planned 
 
 Her rescue, but she cannot ride with you. 
 
 Escape as if you heard the bloodhound's note 
 
 Pursuing." Ines almost forced her forth, 
 
 And then returned to sit by me. (f As yet," 
 
 She said, " I hedr no tramp of horses' feet, 
 
 But we shall have the horsemen presently." 
 
 She made a sign to me enjoining silence, 
 
 And veiled herself. Slow stealing came the tread 
 
 Of men across a floor. I seemed to hear 
 
 Their breathing ; and a secret panel door 
 
 Was drawn aside. Into the room there strode 
 
 Hunfredo and another seemingly 
 
 A brother priest. At once with eager hand 
 
 They seized the book which lay upon the table 
 
 Esteban's book. " Here is a prize, indeed," 
 
 Exclaimed Hunfredo. " Here you have embalmed 
 
 The odour of De Solis' sanctities. 
 
 He was a holy man, as these Senoras 
 
 Can tell you ; " and he looked into my face. 
 
 I answered, f Esteban, my friend ,was kind 
 
 And good to me ; he was a holy man, 
 
 If so it might be said of any man.' 
 
 " And this his book, Senora ; it contains 
 
 True doctrine, holy doctrine, doth it not ? " 
 
 < It is the Word of God.' " Enough, enough. 
 
 Do not blaspheme, Senora. You have answered. 
 
200 MARIQUITA. 
 
 You are my prisoner. We may now proceed 
 To pay our bounden duty to the lady 
 Who sits so silent by your side. Senora, 
 Please to remove your veil. * * Clara de Solis ! 
 Remove your veil." Ines sat motionless, 
 As though she heard not. Suddenly arose 
 Hunfredo, and with rude unmanly hand, 
 Tore from her face the veil, and at a glance 
 Discovered the deceit. " Whom have we here ? " 
 He cried. Sf Accursed hag ! but you shall suffer 
 For this in every joint in every nerve." 
 He struck her as he spoke. 
 
 The scene was frightful 
 The passion of Hunfredo the grim sneer 
 Of the tall Priest, on whose repulsive features 
 Ferocity and cruelty were stamped 
 In every line. Ines alone was calm ; 
 But as she rose, and the dark coils of hair 
 Hunfredo's hand had loosed, hung serpent-like 
 Around her features, and a strange wild light 
 Shot through her gleaming eyes, instinctively 
 The men drew back as if they shrank from her. 
 She moved towards Hunfredo. As she gazed 
 Into his face, the expression of her eye 
 Changed from defiant scorn into a look 
 Of interest intense, as one absorbed. 
 
MARIQU1TA. 201 
 
 She turned to me and said, " You need not fear him, 
 His thread is spun. They lick their hungry lips 
 For him. And they will lick their bloody lips 
 When the moon is full." " And ere the moon is full 
 I'll burn you for a witch," Hunfredo cried. 
 " But we are fools to bandy words with her. 
 The bird is flown, and we must after her, 
 Friend Nicolas. Doubtless, she has escaped 
 In trappings furnished by this prophetess 
 With the dishevelled hair. Away, my brother, 
 Pursue the game while yet the scent is fresh, 
 We know your relish for this kind of chase." 
 
 Lurcher-like, he went out : but happily 
 Time had been gained. Hunfredo turned to me : 
 " You will come with me to Madrid ; prepare 
 Yourself for travelling." Ines interposed, 
 " Produce your warrant for removing her." 
 Hunfredo laughed. " The book I have in hand 
 Is worth a hundred warrants. But my friend 
 Who apprehended her hath ample powers." 
 " Nay," answered Ines, " I can vouch for it, 
 He spoke no word, and laid no hand on her. 
 And he is gone, so let us see your warrant." 
 " Force is my warrant," he replied, and seized 
 My wrist, and would have dragged me to the door, 
 But Ines from her garter drew a knife, 
 
202 MARIQUITA. 
 
 And offered at his throat. He stood at bay, 
 
 Uncertain how to act. When, roused and frightened 
 
 By the angry voices that resounded far, 
 
 The matron entered, and her servants with her, 
 
 Demanding an account of the intrusion 
 
 Of strangers, and the reason of the tumult. 
 
 Ines said, quietly, " By the request 
 Of her who nursed her, I am here. The Priest 
 Can answer for himself, while we withdraw ; 
 For the Sefiora suffers in the presence 
 Of one who dared unmanly violence. 
 He struck me on the breast, and wrenched her wrist, 
 But hath no vestige of authority 
 For meddling with the inmates of this house." 
 
 We sought the inner room in which I slept. 
 Ines said, " Summon all your fortitude. 
 The Priest will doubtless go for alguacils, 
 And hale you to the Inquisition dungeons. 
 I have a potion. Have you courage for it ? 
 For six-and-thirty hours it will have power 
 To stretch you as one dead. ( Ines,' I said, 
 * If it should hide me in the silent tomb 
 Till the new morning of eternal day, 
 Better the hand of death than of these men.' 
 She held a vial to my lips. A chill, 
 
MARIQU1TA. 203 
 
 A creeping chill, crept through my curdling veins 
 
 A deathlike torpor paralysed ray limbs. 
 
 She hurried from the room, crying aloud, 
 
 " Haste ! she hath taken poison ! she is dying ! " 
 
 I heard them enter. As they gazed at me, 
 
 I felt her close my eyes, straighten my limbs, 
 
 And bind my face. 
 
204 MARIQUITA. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 As from a trance, a dreamless sleep, I woke. 
 
 How dreadful is the place ! How dark ! how silent ! 
 
 Nor ray, nor star, nor vaulted arch of heaven, 
 
 But only gloom ! A shadow on the wall 
 
 The flickering of the wing of bat or owl 
 
 Were a relief. Where have they carried me ? 
 
 The dew of night is moist upon my brow. 
 
 In vain I make the endeavour to arise. 
 
 Hath cold benumbed my feet ? Or are they bound 
 
 And swathed around in dank and clinging garments ? 
 
 And am I numbered with the silent dead ? 
 
 At length a light a feeble glimmering light 
 It may be but the glow-worm on the grass. 
 It moves moves hitherward. And now I hear 
 Voices of men. They come and gather round me. 
 " Why have they brought her here ? " the foremost 
 
 asks. 
 
 And he is answered, " We are strictly charged 
 To question nothing, since the talking tongue 
 Is oftener a blister than a salve." 
 
MARIQUITA. 205 
 
 And then one said, " She died but yesternight ; 
 
 And when they brought her here, a flush and bloom, 
 
 Like life, were on her cheek and on her lips." 
 
 Another said, " Belike they crimsoned them. 
 
 But never saw I yet, nor dead nor living, 
 
 So beautiful a maid." And then he turned 
 
 The lamp he held full on my face. I moved 
 
 My lips to speak. " Jesu Maria, shield us I " 
 
 He cried, with voice all tremulous. The lamp 
 
 Dropped from his hand he fled. With mingled prayers, 
 
 And cries, and oaths, his comrades followed him. 
 
 Some one moved near me. Whispering low, a voice 
 Bade me take courage now, for all was well. 
 'Twas Ines' voice ; and she unbound my limbs, 
 And, aided by another, bore me out ; 
 Saying to me, " 'Tis but a mile to walk, 
 And Father Pablo, who is our good friend, 
 Will help to carry you." The fresh night air 
 Revived me now. I said that I could walk. 
 Along a mountain path they led me on, 
 Higher and higher, resting here and there, 
 Till on a slope before us, in the moonlight, 
 We saw the white walls of the Convent shine, 
 Even as a beacon. " We are near," said Ines. 
 " You will have every kindness shown you here, 
 And for a time 'tis your best place of refuge." 
 
206 MARIQUITA. 
 
 We knocked repeatedly, ere we were heard. 
 Then for I now was faint they laid me down 
 Before the Convent gate. The good old Priest 
 Carefully wrapped me in his own warm cloak, 
 To shield me from the keen and cutting wind. 
 We knocked again, and lights began to sparkle 
 From many a casement. We were heard at last ; 
 And there was rapid hurrying to and fro. 
 
 As fluttered doves with eager wing fly forth 
 From every window of the startled dovecot, 
 So from their cells the nuns came flocking out; 
 And when they saw me lying at the gate, 
 As one that hovered between life and death, 
 Compassion filled their eyes and overflowed 
 In copious showers ; their piteous voices told 
 How tender and how true their sympathy. 
 They bore me in their arms ; they brought me food ; 
 They brought me generous wine ; they chafed my hands ; 
 They comforted my heart with kindest words, 
 And said I must abide with them alway, 
 To be to them a sister well-beloved. 
 I still recall their loving kindnesses 
 With much affection. Their simplicity 
 Was like the sweet simplicity of childhood ; 
 Nor had their life of rigorous seclusion 
 Deprived them altogether of communion 
 

 
 MARIQUITA. 207 
 
 With a superior mind, nor shut them up 
 
 To mere routine. The Convent was endowed 
 
 For thirty orphans by the fostering hand 
 
 Of one whose name was never named by them 
 
 But with some tribute of deep reverence 
 
 And love. " Had you but come to us," they said, 
 
 " But one day sooner, here you would have found 
 
 Dona Cecilia. And when she is with us, 
 
 We are the happiest Convent in the world." 
 
 A novice, youngest of the sisterhood, 
 Lay dying in the room adjoining mine. 
 As health returned to me, and from the grave 
 And gate of death I passed to life again, 
 So faded that poor child gassing away. 
 Bitter the thought, and bitterly I wept, 
 To think of her being carried from our sight, 
 And from the gentle ministering hands 
 That smoothed her couch, and from the cheerful sunshine, 
 To that dark vault. A young Asturian 
 Was she. Her father was an officer. 
 He took her to Madrid so beautiful 
 His child, he reckoned on her marrying, 
 So as to further his ambitious views. 
 But there were footprints on the yellow sands 
 Of a sequestered creek true, the next tide 
 Surged over them, and you would find next morn 
 
> 
 
 208 MARIQUITA. 
 
 No vestige As the winds whose wings are swift 
 
 Retain no record, no enduring trace, 
 
 Of lovers' sighs and lovers' vows that float 
 
 At evening through the channel of the air. 
 
 They pledged their vows, they told their tale of love 
 
 Not to the shifting sands or idle winds 
 
 They wrote them on the tablets of the heart, 
 
 When Marcos to his Ester pledged his faith, 
 
 And Ester to her kinsman pledged her love, 
 
 On the Asturian shore. Her heart is there, 
 
 Where last they parted. Never will she be 
 
 Another's. But she pines and wastes away. 
 
 Her father tells her she is only fit 
 
 To be a nun. She meekly bows her head, 
 
 And acquiesces. One desire has Ester 
 
 To see her mother ere she die. The wish 
 
 Grows stronger, as the waning lamp of life 
 
 Is going out ; now it becomes a hope, 
 
 And then the sanguine hope grows till she dreams 
 
 She sees her mother sitting by her side. 
 
 'Twas in that happy dream her spirit passed. 
 
 The letter that she wrote was found her fancy 
 
 Had winged a messenger to carry it 
 
 To her Asturian home but it was found 
 
 Under her pillow after she was gone. 
 
MARIQUITA. 209 
 
 ESTER'S LETTER. 
 
 1. 
 My mother ! I am passing on 
 
 It may be rapidly 
 To a land where sorrow is unknown, 
 
 And no more pain shall be. 
 I have no wish to linger here, 
 Nor dread to know that death is near, 
 
 For death will set me free 
 From pain that wastes my feeble frame 
 From secret griefs I will not name. 
 
 My mother ! ere I seek that rest 
 
 On yonder distant shore, 
 I ask it is my last request 
 
 To see your face once more 
 Once more to see your smile, and lie 
 In the calm light of your soft blue eye, 
 
 And all its love explore. 
 I count the pulses of my breast, 
 And all prefer the same request. 
 
 3. 
 
 My sister nuns are kind to me 
 Their kindnesses abound ; 
 
210 MARIQUITA. 
 
 But there's a still formality, 
 
 And an unvarying round. 
 The same low voices, like a chant, 
 In one unbroken mournful plaint, 
 
 Fatigue me with the sound. 
 And the same white walls that meet the eye 
 Too much resemble vacancy. 
 
 4. 
 
 And my heart, it yearneth wistfully 
 
 For my own native land ; 
 Once more to behold the dark blue sea 
 
 Roll to the golden sand 
 Its crested billows ; and once more 
 To gather shells upon the shore, 
 
 And pebbles on the strand ; 
 Where the sea-bird, with its cry so wild, 
 Made music I loved when I was a child. 
 
 5. 
 
 My little room for I call it mine 
 
 Is it pretty as before ? 
 The roses and the jessamine, 
 
 Climb they high above the door, 
 Up round the lattice clustering ? 
 And my canary, does he sing 
 
 As sweetly as of yore ? 
 
MAIUQUI-TA. 211 
 
 And to my finger will he come, 
 And to my call, when I come home ? 
 
 6. 
 
 Are these, my thoughts, too light and vain ? 
 
 My mother ! then give ear. 
 I do not wish to cause you pain, 
 
 But I shrink from dying here : 
 I shrink from the dark, cold vault of the dead, 
 Where the nuns, each one in her shroud, are laid ; 
 
 That vault so dank and drear. 
 Let me lean once more upon your breast, 
 And gently pass to my last long rest, 
 
 7. 
 
 Holding your hand. And lay me where 
 
 The sun shines warm and bright ; 
 You will come sometimes to rest you there, 
 
 In the pleasant evening light, 
 Recalling bygone hours. 
 And there's one I know will bring fresh flowers, 
 
 And a wreath time cannot blight : 
 He will lay a garland of immortelle 
 On the grave of her he loved so well. 
 
 p 2 
 
212 MARIQUITA. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 As tranquil day succeeded tranquil day, 
 
 My health and strength returned. Some weeks had 
 
 Since little Ester died. I sat, as wont, 
 
 One morning with the Abbess in her room, 
 
 When she was summoned to an interview 
 
 At which I was invited to assist, 
 
 For Father Pablo was our visitor. 
 
 " Now God be praised," he said, as we appeared. 
 
 " God's holy name be praised, I bring good news. 
 
 Impending trouble I had greatly feared, 
 
 For there were secret lurkers hereabouts, 
 
 Whose look I liked not. But to-day a post 
 
 Brings us good tidings. We have now a friend 
 
 In power. Who shall be chief Inquisitor 
 
 Is undecided. But the holy Pontiff 
 
 Hath issued a commission, and our brother 
 
 And friend, Ignacio, hath received a fiat 
 
 Commissioning him to administer 
 
 The affairs of the Inquisition, while the Church 
 
 Weighs evenly the merits of her servants 
 
 Ere the appointment be fulfilled. And now 
 
MAKIQUITA. 213 
 
 Shall honest men look up and rogues look down. 
 For while Ignacio holds the sacred office, 
 The poorest and the weakest in the land 
 Will have a friend on whom they may rely 
 For justice simple, even-handed justice. 
 Sefiora, by your leave, we will rejoice. 
 Your foes shall bite the dust; he will restrain 
 Their malice ; he will forge an iron ring 
 To cramp the nose of every one of them." 
 
 And then with many quaint felicitations, 
 The worthy Priest, beside himself with joy, 
 Saluted me. When he had taken leave, 
 And we alone again, the Abbess said, 
 " We have, indeed, much cause for thankfulness 
 Of heart. But you will better understand 
 Why the good Father so exceedingly 
 Rejoices, when I tell you that the friend 
 Whose elevation to so high an office 
 He hails with such enthusiastic zest 
 Is brother of our admirable friend, 
 Dona Cecilia, and they have been 
 Our constant benefactors. Utterly unlike 
 Are they. For she has every lowly grace. 
 He but I almost fear to speak of him 
 He looks you through and through, and every eye 
 Must quail before his eye. But his high pride, 
 
214 MABIQUITA. 
 
 His terrible impetuosity 
 
 And passion, he controls for love of her. 
 
 Cecilia leads him with a silken cord 
 
 Of love. But you have never seen Cecilia. 
 
 How do you like her picture ? " 
 
 She unclasped 
 
 A locket. At a glance I recognised 
 The noble features and the dark soft eye 
 Of one She was to come to me vain dream ! 
 I never saw her, and she never came. 
 What had I done ? What was my fault my guilt ? 
 Or was it all a dream ? A painful spasm 
 Shot through my brain. The kind Superior saw 
 The flush upon my brow. She gently stooped 
 To kiss me; and spoke soothingly to me. 
 " You are still weak, my child ; could you but breathe 
 The mountain air upon the upper heights, 
 And have more freedom, and society 
 A little less sedate than ours, I think 
 You would recover better. I will write 
 To a dear friend, and we will see to it." 
 
 Another week passed by. As wont, I sat 
 With the kind Abbess in her morning room. 
 Visitors were announced. We heard their step 
 Along the corridor. They entered in ; 
 
MAKIQUITA. 21,5 
 
 A tall, dark man, in simple riding dress, 
 
 Such as is worn by churchmen ; but his bearing, 
 
 His easy grace, and courtesy of manner, 
 
 Were such as would become the highest rank, 
 
 The purest lineage, and best blood of Spain. 
 
 He led by the hand a little girl, a child 
 
 Whose speaking smiles, perpetually playing 
 
 Upon her lips, like pleasant rays of light, 
 
 Bespoke the sunshine of a joyous heart. 
 
 But never smile illumined his calm features. 
 
 Nothing could there be read nor joy nor grief, 
 
 Nor love nor hate, nor anger nor emotion, 
 
 Till the dark eye revealed the inner man. 
 
 Then you might see, as in a blaze of light, 
 
 The passions all at work. He spoke to me, 
 
 As one who took an interest in me, 
 
 Kindly and thoughtfully ; and in my hand 
 
 He placed the hand of her he led, and said, 
 
 " Do you think you could be friends ?" When our eyes 
 
 met, 
 
 Mine and the child's, he waited not our answer, 
 But answered for us, " Yes, you will be friends. 
 Your eyes have spoken. Marvellously well 
 Do maidens use their eyes to tell their thoughts. 
 Wittier, doubtless, is the tongue ; but better 
 The language of the eyes. How excellent, 
 To found an order and a sisterhood, 
 
216 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Framed by that rule strict silence for the tongue, 
 Free converse with the eyes. Would it not be 
 A perfect order and a perfect rule, 
 Perfecting womanhood ? " The Abbess smiled, 
 . And said, " But first you must find perfect beings 
 To enter your new order. We, who talk, 
 Are spoiled already for your perfect rule." 
 He bowed and said, fe You have convicted me ; 
 I must begin with ruling mine own tongue, 
 Since I have spoken foolishly. And now 
 The purport of my visit, gracious madam, 
 I will declare. Lola requires a run 
 Among the hills for air and exercise, 
 To gather roses, some to deck her hair, 
 And some to paint her cheeks, and some for me. 
 And here I find a friend for they are friends 
 Even now to ramble with her through the hills ; 
 I have engaged a trusty guide for them, 
 Good Father Pablo, and he is to find 
 A pony to assist them as they need. 
 And Lola, you will be obedient. 
 Madam, you must not spoil her ; Mariquita, 
 You must not spoil her. I am training her 
 Under a single law, the best of laws, 
 Simple unquestioning obedience." 
 He turned his earnest eyes upon the child 
 And met her smiling eyes as she exclaimed, 
 

 MARIQUITA. 217 
 
 " How happy we shall be, how very happy, 
 
 And my Padrino loves to see me happy." 
 
 The tall dark man looked down ; but as he bent 
 
 His eyes upon the ground, a glance revealed 
 
 The wondrous tenderness of those dark eyes. 
 
 The well is deep, not every one shall draw ; 
 
 But underneath that calm exterior, 
 
 Under the fortalice of that firm brow, 
 
 Under the rock, there is a fountain clear 
 
 And a perennial flow, a living stream 
 
 Of tenderness of loving tenderness 
 
 Passing the love of women. Quietly 
 
 He raised his eyes again, bade us adieu, 
 
 And told the Abbess that, with her permission, 
 
 He would be pleased to see the orphan school. 
 
 He bowed with formal courtesy to me 
 
 As he withdrew ; and Lola kissed his hand, 
 
 Then placed her little hand again in mine. 
 
 Free was our life free as the mountain air 
 We breathed. And Father Pablo never failed 
 To bring the pony daily, and propose 
 To climb some hill we had not yet ascended, 
 Or see some glen we had not yet explored. 
 All was so new to Lola, every plant 
 And every tiny flower such a delight, 
 It shed a charm upon the scene ; a charm 
 
218 MABIQUITA. 
 
 That could not but revive the heart, to see 
 
 The fresh and happy nature of the child 
 
 Expand as in a new-created world 
 
 A Paradise just opened to her view. 
 
 What was her history ? She was the child 
 
 La Nina, for no other name had she, 
 
 La Nina de la Inquisicion. 
 
 Who were her parents ? Nobody could tell. 
 
 Father Ignacio had adopted her : 
 
 He called her Lola ; and in one short week 
 
 Lola and her Padrino were as though 
 
 She had been born his own. But he had fears ; 
 
 Her spirit, ardent to intensity, 
 
 Lodged in so delicate a frame ; her eyes 
 
 Seemed so unnaturally bright, he feared 
 
 Lest still the Inquisition, its grim walls, 
 
 And iron gates, should claim her for a prey. 
 
 Hence the first lessons he devised for her, 
 
 To run, to ride, to climb the mountain height, 
 
 And breathe the fresh invigorating air. 
 
 Thus for a month we roamed ; then came a change. 
 Winter set in. The heights were cold ; the winds 
 Were like the winds of the Guadarrama, 
 So subtle as to extinguish life or e'er 
 The flame that flickers in the lamp expires. 
 Lola must go ; an early day was fixed 
 
MAKIQUITA. 219 
 
 For her return. She spoke of going home, 
 
 And asked me whether I were going home. 
 
 ' Child/ I said bitterly, e I have no home.' 
 
 Lola looked up at me, her large eyes filled 
 
 With tears ; she took my hand. " Then promise me 
 
 To come with me, and make your home with me ; 
 
 And the Padrino will be kind to you. 
 
 I am to have a room, the prettiest room 
 
 In all the house. Promise me, you will come 
 
 And stay with me." 
 
 6 The child of the Inquisition 
 
 Would share her home, would share her room with me.' 
 And Father Pablo smiled approvingly, 
 And told me that for Lola's sake and mine, 
 Father Ignacio would be greatly pleased 
 To see me. 
 
 At that time he said no more, 
 But afterwards, when Lola was below us 
 Gathering moss, he added, 
 
 " You may go 
 
 With confidence; he takes an interest 
 In you. He is your friend ; the best you have 
 In Spain. To cheer you he sent Lola here ; 
 He can and will protect you. I believe 
 
220 MARIQUITA. 
 
 It was to save you from the evil horde 
 
 Of villains that he undertook the office, 
 
 And now administers the Inquisition. 
 
 He pledged himself to show that infidels 
 
 And heretics were creeping into power, 
 
 And using as a tool for their vile ends 
 
 The sacred office. His capacity 
 
 And talents are so great, his probity 
 
 So valued, that he readily obtained 
 
 The post he asked for. 'Tis a vantage ground 
 
 Of vast importance. At the present time 
 
 A very delicate and subtle hand 
 
 Is needed for the affairs of Holy Church, 
 
 Whose yoke our friends beyond the Pyrenees 
 
 Have broken from their necks. A milder rule 
 
 Has been our policy ; but there were knaves 
 
 Who took advantage of that milder rule, 
 
 And were a terror to the good. Ignacio 
 
 Is handling well that horde of thieves. They say 
 
 That two of them have gone to their account, 
 
 And none too soon ; for one of them had wreaked 
 
 His vengeance on a lad one that you know. 
 
 Gaspar the same the little Cordovan 
 
 Yes, that is he. A gallant lad ; he rescued 
 
 Important papers from their greedy hands. 
 
 But he is sorely crippled sorely hurt. 
 
 You'll find him at Madrid. To see your face 
 
MARIQUITA. 221 
 
 i 
 
 Will be the best of cordials to the boy. 
 Often he says he thinks that he should mend, 
 Could he but see your face." 
 
 ( Nay, urge it not, 
 
 Good Father, for I need not to be urged. 
 Gladly with Lola will I go, and make 
 My home with her, and ask permission there 
 To nurse poor Gaspar. And the taJJ, dark man, 
 Lola's Padrino, he is kind to her, 
 And for her sake, he will be kind to me.' 
 
 Thus we conversed, and now the Convent walls 
 To which so soon we were to bid farewell 
 Admitted us once more. Nor did I leave 
 The simple kindly nuns without regret, 
 Nor without tears did Lola say adieu, 
 When father Pablo summoned us to go. 
 But the clear morning air, the pleasant road , 
 
 Through farms and villages, the wayside greetings, 
 And, as we neared Madrid, the gaiety 
 And life and movement of the shifting scene 
 Revived our spirits. And the childish glee 
 Of Lola freed my mind from boding fears. 
 The Inquisition -was to be my home, 
 And not my prison Father Ignacio 
 
222 MARIQUITA. 
 
 My host and not my gaoler. As the friend 
 Of Lola, I should have companionship 
 Most sweet. Yet not without a sense of awe 
 I entered, holding Lola by the hand, 
 That gloomy portal. 
 
MARIQUITA. 223 
 
 
 XIX. 
 
 PASSING along through vaulted passages 
 
 We entered, by a strongly grated door, 
 
 A private range of building. Quickly sped 
 
 Lola before me to embrace her nurse, 
 
 And then returned to lead me by the hand, 
 
 Telling me that my room was all prepared, 
 
 Next to her own ; and that the kind Padrino 
 
 Had given orders to construct a door 
 
 Of access, opening from room to room. 
 
 There was an ante-chamber opposite, 
 
 And a large, airy sitting-room beyond. 
 
 All the arrangements made for us evinced 
 
 Kind forethought and refined solicitude. 
 
 That evening, I received a courteous note. 
 
 Father Ignacio would wait on me 
 
 If I were so disposed. I sent him word 
 
 I should be happy to receive his visit. 
 
 He welcomed me with kindness as he entered, 
 
 And many a fond caress bestowed on Lola. 
 
 Then placed her on his knee and bade her tell 
 
 All that had happened since the day they parted, 
 
 And he sat listening to her anecdotes 
 
224 MAKIQUITA. 
 
 As if no interest was comparable 
 
 To Lola's innocent and childish prattle. 
 
 Ere we retired to rest, a message came 
 To ask me to see Gaspar. The poor boy 
 Was sunk in stupor. They had tried all means, 
 But all in vain, to rouse him, and they feared 
 Lest he should die that night. I went at once 
 And spoke to him. It was the turning point. 
 He knew my voice, and smiled, and looked at me. 
 I gave him food ; he took it from my hand, 
 And said, " Now all the pain, and ten times more, 
 I'd bear again to see your face to-night. 
 I said that Mariquita was alive. 
 I said I would return and seek for her 
 Until I found her. It is come to pass 
 Just as I said, and I am happy now. 
 But I have much to tell you, my Seriora. 
 And I will tell you all, if you can wait 
 Only till I get breath, for seeing you 
 Has taken away my breath." I said, ' Dear friend, 
 Lay your head down, and I will sit by you. 
 You must not speak, not yet, for you are weak. 
 But let me smooth your pillow. Take my hand, 
 And I will sit beside you till you sleep ; 
 I will not leave you, Gaspar.' Gratefully 
 He smiled, and lay looking at me, till sleep 
 
MARIQUITA. 225 
 
 Stole on his eyelids, and they drooped and closed. 
 I watched him through the night, and when he woke, 
 And saw me sitting by his side, he smiled, 
 Quietly closed his eyes, and slept again. 
 
 When morning came, I helped to dress his wounds ; 
 So fearfully and cruelly his limbs 
 Were cut by cords with which they had been bound, 
 That skin and flesh came sloughing from his feet, 
 And little hope appeared that the poor boy 
 Could ever walk again. He seemed to read 
 My thoughts, and said, " Be of good cheer, Senora ; 
 I and my Jaca, we have four feet left, 
 And there is no such Jaca in all Spain." 
 The gallant boy his spirit never flagged 
 As he recovered, his anxiety 
 To tell his story could not be repressed. 
 Permission being given, it was thus 
 I had it from his lips : 
 
 " Senora, know 
 
 That when I lay behind the wood that night, 
 And heard the Priests converse, I told not all 
 To Sara; but I made it known to Ines, 
 That 'twas agreed that Nicolas next day 
 Should travel to Toledo, and report 
 Your death, as soon as he should ascertain 
 
 Q 
 
226 MARIQUITA. 
 
 That of a certainty your span was measured. 
 
 And Ines bade me watch the watcher well 
 
 Till I should hear from her again. She came 
 
 Some ten days afterwards, to take my place, 
 
 And to abide near Sara; me she sent 
 
 Home to the Hermitage, to watch Hunfredo. 
 
 Senora, I was often there. Good right 
 
 Had I. My stores were there before he came. 
 
 I never troubled him. But, as you know, 
 
 The vaults were rather better known to me 
 
 Than to Hunfredo ; and being posted now 
 
 As sentinel, I set my wits to work 
 
 To do my duty handsomely. A search 
 
 I made one day the Priest was on the plain 
 
 Resulted in a grand discovery. 
 
 You know the narrow passage that by which, 
 
 When Esteban was buried, you escaped 
 
 That passage has another secret branch 
 
 That leads to a small cell, and there I found 
 
 An aperture through which I could observe 
 
 And hear what passed in the Priest's private room, 
 
 ' Ha ! ' I exclaimed, e you shall confess to me 
 
 Your villanies, O Priest. Here is my post, 
 
 Next time your coadjutor, Nicolas, 
 
 Comes to enlighten us.' And being bound 
 
 To keep a good look out, I had a code 
 
 Of signals, so that whilst I slept, my mother 
 
MARIQUITA. 227 
 
 Kept watch for me. And thus it was, Senora, 
 That when in haste, one evening, Nicolas 
 Appeared with news of the discovery 
 That you were nursed by one he hoped to claim 
 For stake and faggot, I assisted there 
 At that same conference ; while Nicolas 
 Rested an hour to sup and feed his horse, 
 I hastened to a shepherd's hut, where tethered 
 I kept the Jaca. Now, there's not a horse 
 In Spain that could have beat them but the Jaca. 
 They had relays, and yet the Jaca beat them 
 Into Toledo, with an hour to spare. 
 There I saw Ines, and she planned with me 
 Sara's escape. You know how speedily 
 The Priest was in pursuit ; you know not yet 
 How he was baffled. At a lone cabana, 
 Not half-a-league from the Toledo walls, 
 Ines had friends, and Sara hid herself 
 With them till nightfall ; and I dressed myself 
 In Ines' cloak and hat which Sara wore, 
 And rode for the Sierra, making sure 
 That one of them would soon be on my track. 
 Nor had I gone a league before I heard 
 The hoofs of the pursuer on the road. 
 I looked behind, and then, as one alarmed, 
 I urged the Jaca to its utmost speed, 
 And fled. I knew he could not overtake me ; 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 MARIQUITA. 
 
 
 
 But once upon the trail I had no doubt, 
 
 Like sleuth-hound, he would try to hunt me down. 
 
 Thus I should lead him on to follow me, 
 
 While Sara waited in the lone cabana 
 
 For Ines. I rode warily, to save 
 
 The little Jaca fast enough to task 
 
 The failing powers of my pursuer's steed. 
 
 I heard him blowing like a broken pipe ; 
 
 I heard him blundering along the road 
 
 Till he could only walk, and ih his walk 
 
 Went stumbling. Then I gaily cantered on 
 
 To feed my little Jaca at a venta. 
 
 There is not such a Jaca in all Spain. 
 
 Senora, shall I ever ride a course 
 
 Like that again upon my little Jaca ? 
 
 We rested at the venta till I saw 
 
 My sallow friend come limping through the grey 
 
 Of morning ; then I started at a gallop 
 
 To show what we could do. When the Priest saw 
 
 How little chance he had of catching me, 
 
 He stopped to rest and feed his jaded horse, 
 
 While I rode on to Peralvillo. There 
 
 I told the wondering host, who knew me well, 
 
 But stared at my disguise, that as he valued 
 
 The good opinion of the Countess Clara, 
 
 The Jaca must be duly fed and cared for 
 
 Till my return. If any should inquire 
 
MARIQU1TA. 229 
 
 For me, he would report that I had gone 
 To the Guadiana for a morning bath. 
 So for a mile I sauntered down its banks, 
 Then stripping off my strange habiliments, 
 Forded the river, made for the Sierra, 
 Slept at the alqueria* of your friends, 
 Juan Lopez and his wife, and thence set out 
 At leisure and on foot to Cordova. 
 
 " There I remained to wait Mateo's coming 
 Sara had charged me to await him there, 
 And tell him of her flight. On the third day 
 I sat on the look-out beyond the gate ; 
 A string of mules approached ; the arrieros* 
 Carried a litter ; on the litter lay 
 Mateo. They had found him on the road, 
 Grievously stabbed with knives. They bound his wounds, 
 And brought him on with them to Cordova. 
 He beckoned me to follow to the inn, 
 Where, when they carried him, he sent for me, 
 And told me he had been beset by thieves, 
 Who robbed him. For the gold he little cared, 
 But there were parchments of the greatest value ; 
 And he explained to me that they were signed 
 By you, Seiiora, and by Sara, vesting 
 Your lands in him ; to give him certain powers 
 * Appendix A. 
 
230 MAR1QUITA. 
 
 To act for you in an emergency. 
 
 * And now,' he said, ' I cannot write, but go 
 
 And seek my brother out. Tell him my loss : 
 
 Tell him the loss is rather his than mine, 
 
 Since I am willing to make over all 
 
 To him. Tell him to make all diligence 
 
 To track the men that robbed me, and regain 
 
 Possession of the parchments.' 
 
 " I set out 
 
 That evening for the Hermitage. The thought 
 That stuck to me that night at every step 
 As close as my own shadow, was the thought 
 That he who robbed Mateo of the deed 
 Was his own brother : and the impression grew 
 Stronger and stronger, and I felt convinced 
 Not only that Hunfredo was the thief, 
 But that Mateo knew it. Were it so, 
 And if it were Hunfredo that attempted 
 His brother's life what a fool's errand mine ! 
 'Twas clear Hunfredo never would believe 
 But that Mateo meant to overreach him ; 
 And if the assassin's knife had failed for once 
 To reach Mateo's heart, another stroke 
 Might do the work, and make Hunfredo heir 
 Of the De Solis lands. The more I thought 
 The less I liked the errand. After dusk, 
 
MAltlQUlTA. 231 
 
 I asked two shepherds, who were on the plain, 
 Whether the Priest, Hunfredo, had been seen 
 Of late. They answered, he had passed that way 
 Only six hours before ; another priest 
 Rode with him. And I asked who he might be. 
 They said a stranger with a slouching gait. 
 I thanked them, and I slackened now my pace, 
 Having no wish to reach the Hermitage 
 Till I could reckon on the lights being out. 
 I had a dangerous game, and it required 
 The utmost caution. It was after midnight 
 When I approached the gate. There was a light 
 Still burning feebly in Hunfredo's room. 
 I hid behind a buttress of the chapel, 
 Intent on watching. Presently the light 
 Was shifted ; disappearing first, and then 
 Showing again, as now the door was opened ; 
 And he came forth, and passed along the path 
 That leads from house to chapel. He went in, 
 And soon I heard him hard at work. I climbed 
 An ivy stem to gain a window sill ; 
 And by the glimmering light of a small lamp 
 Set on the ground, I saw him, trowel in hand, 
 Removing tiles and scooping out the earth. 
 Then he looked stealthily around, and bent 
 Over the spot. But a still stealthier eye 
 Surveyed him. From behind another buttress, 
 
 
232 MAKIQUITA. 
 
 I marked a figure frlide, and gain the door 
 While still Hunfredo laboured to replace 
 The tiles with careful hand. He then withdrew 
 Softly, returning to the Hermitage. 
 
 " I could not hesitate. I climbed and entered 
 The western window, whence the glass was gone 
 To warm the kitchen of the Hermitage ; 
 And the luxuriant ivy tresses formed 
 Convenient ropes and ladders for my use. 
 I groped my way to the altar, found the tiles, 
 Round which the mortar still was damp and soft ; 
 Removed the pavement, with my knife for tool, 
 And struck an iron box. Piercing the ground, 
 I drew it out ; and having got my prize, 
 I rose, uncertain whether to be gone, 
 Or to replace the tiles. Just then I heard 
 A step slow stealing from the porch it came -. 
 The figure of a man I dimly saw, 
 And threw myself along the altar steps. 
 Just as he reached them, with a sudden rush 
 Another man came on. The first turned round, 
 Recoiled, and stumbled on the broken ground. 
 They grappled man with man, like fighting dogs. 
 T heard the questions rapidly succeeding, 
 ' What do you here ? ' and Who are you ' ' and 
 you?' 
 
MARIQUITA. 23# 
 
 You may believe, I tarried not to see 
 
 The play played out, but, creeping to the porch, 
 
 Was off. But I must reckon on pursuit 
 
 So whither ? They will ride, no doubt, I thought. 
 
 Could I but reach the thickets of the soto, 
 
 I could defy a regiment of horsemen 
 
 So to the soto. I had run a league 
 
 A quarter league was all I had to make. 
 
 I was among the forest trees. The brushwood 
 
 Was near at hand, when in the wind I heard 
 
 The cry of wolves, and on the wings of the wind 
 
 They seemed to travel. Nearer still, and nearer, 
 
 Their cry. No safety in the thicket now. 
 
 I stood irresolute. An old oak tree 
 
 Stretched out its arms above, and I embraced 
 
 The shelter that it offered. Then I saw 
 
 What, if I live a thousand years, I hope 
 
 Never to see again. Sefiora, on 
 
 They came two horsemen riding furiously, 
 
 A hungry pack of wolves close at their heels. 
 
 And as they neared the tree, I saw the attempt 
 
 Made by the rider of the fleetest horse 
 
 I saw the attempt he made to shoot ahead 
 
 Foiled by the other, who, with sudden grasp, 
 
 Seized the loose rein, just as the rider shook it, 
 
 Jerking the horse's mouth. With the other hand 
 
 A practised hand it was that dealt the blow 
 
 
234 MARIQUITA. 
 
 He drew a knife, and gave the fatal stab, 
 
 Piercing the spinal marrow, and the horse 
 
 Dropped dead ; and fearful was the cry that broke 
 
 From those impassioned lips, as horse and man 
 
 Came crashing to the ground. I knew the voice. 
 
 It was Hunfredo's voice. And he that stabbed 
 
 With treacherous hand his horse I knew him too. 
 
 I knew the stooping carriage, the loose seat, 
 
 The swing of arms and legs, the stealthy look 
 
 It was the Priest, Sefiora, that I foiled 
 
 The night I led him such a chase. That Priest, 
 
 I have my notion as to him, Sefiora ; 
 
 He hath a human form, or nearly so. 
 
 But if on earth there ever was a fiend 
 
 In human form, 'tis he ; for such a crime, 
 
 So black a crime, so foul a treachery, 
 
 Was never known. I saw him ride away. 
 
 I saw the wolves spring at Hunfredo's throat. 
 
 They dragged him down, and tore him limb from limb ; 
 
 A bloody carnival they held that night, 
 
 Then licked their jaws, and lifting up their heads 
 
 Howled to the moon. At length, the grisliest 
 
 Of all the pack began the chase again 
 
 Upon the track of that demoniac Priest 
 
 That sacrificed his comrade ; and the rest, 
 
 Joining the cry, went off upon the trail. 
 
 " Now I began to breathe again, and now 
 
MAK1QU1TA. 235 
 
 Relaxed my hold ; for I had seized a branch, 
 
 And held it with a grasp as desperate 
 
 As if my life depended on the force 
 
 With which I clutched it, as I sat aloft, 
 
 Frozen with fear. But now that I could breathe, 
 
 Another train of thought beset me sore. 
 
 That fearful man how swift and sure the chase 
 
 He gave. But for the wolves that hunted him, 
 
 He would have taken me. Whither shall I turn 
 
 For safety ? How can I elude his search, 
 
 With such a mark to work by, if I carry 
 
 Hunfredo's box ? Could I but open it 
 
 Could I but venture to retrace my steps, 
 
 And search the Hermitage to get the key ! 
 
 Then came the thought the search might be in vain. 
 
 It is more likely that he carried it 
 
 About him. And I left my airy perch, 
 
 Descending to the plashy slippery sward 
 
 Steeped with Hunfredo's blood, where scattered lay 
 
 Mangled remains of limbs and bones and hair, 
 
 And rags and remnants of his clothes and boots. 
 
 It was a horrid spectacle to see ; 
 
 But I pursued the search, till in the moonshine 
 
 I saw the glistening of a silver chain. 
 
 It was a broken chain ; so carefully 
 
 I searched around, and passed my hand around 
 
 Over the bloody grass; ere long I found 
 
 More of the chain, and close to it a key, 
 
236 MAKIQUITA. 
 
 Quaint and old-fashioned, and it was the key 
 
 I was in search of; and the iron box 
 
 I opened and took out the deed, Senora 
 
 The deed you signed conferring your estate, 
 
 And which Mateo's purpose was to offer 
 
 To that unfortunate whose fate it was 
 
 To perish in pursuing to the last 
 
 His evil course of robbery and wrong. 
 
 I placed the parchment in my breast. The box 
 
 I locked and left upon the ground ; the key 
 
 I threw away. Then with all speed I made 
 
 For Torre veas, carrying the deed 
 
 Hid in my breast. 
 
 " The first pale streak of dawn 
 Lightened the sky before I reached the tower. 
 The door was open, so I entered in. 
 There sat the man the fiend that smote the horse 
 And launched his brother man into the jaws 
 Of ravening wolves. He sat before the fire, 
 And nodded as I entered. Did he know me ? 
 I looked at him and spoke not, but sat down, 
 Took my tobacco and a roll of paper, 
 Opened my knife, and quietly prepared 
 And smoked my cigarrillo. I could see 
 He watched me like a tiger ; and I judged 
 That underneath the folds of that long cloak 
 
MARIQUITA. 237 
 
 Were instruments enough, and inclination 
 
 To use them. If he knew me, I should have 
 
 Before we parted some slight mention of 
 
 Hunfredo's iron box : and it might be 
 
 He waited for the opportunity 
 
 To question me where none might interfere. 
 
 But as he sat apparently asleep, 
 
 Or half awake, I heard a woman's step, 
 
 And presently Dolores greeted me, 
 
 For she is there, Sefiora, still in charge 
 
 At Torreveas. But she looked askance, 
 
 When her eye fell upon the sallow Priest 
 
 In truth it was an evil countenance 
 
 And when he bade her go and milk her goats, 
 
 And bring him a warm drink, because the air 
 
 Was chill and keen, she answered, in good time 
 
 He should be served, but first she'd hear my news. 
 
 The news I proffered was, that three days hence 
 
 I should return with every sort of stuff 
 
 And ware her slender garrison could need 
 
 Trinkets and lace, tobacco, and salt fish 
 
 In passing on to my good friends the monks. 
 
 Now while we reckoned what were the supplies 
 
 She might require, there joined us in the room 
 
 Pepe, the son of Ines, and I placed 
 
 My finger on my lips. The Priest observed 
 
 My movement, and to mock me did the same. 
 
 
238 MARIQUITA. 
 
 " As we sat silent by the fire, a sound 
 Arrested our attention ; hoofs at speed 
 A horse's hoofs at speed upon the plain. 
 Another minute, and with heaving flank 
 And drooping head he stands before the door. 
 Two youths, of aspect wild and manner wild, 
 Jump from his back. They have exciting news, 
 And, in the language of the Zincali, 
 Tell it with vehement gesticulation. 
 
 " Pepe's eye flashed upon the stranger Priest, 
 Who sat with calmest, coolest unconcern, 
 As Pepe scanned his evil countenance. 
 The youths stood staring with their filmy eyes. 
 Here is bad work, said Pepe. These two lads 
 Have found a man what was a man last night 
 The wolves have eaten him ; and there his horse 
 Lies dead. But him the wolves have hardly touched ; 
 The man they've eaten to the teeth. The lads 
 Looked to the track. The man was not alone ; 
 There was another. And the horse that fell, 
 It was no wolf that stretched him on the sward. 
 The mark is there, behind the horse's ears, 
 Where hand and steel dealt fatally the stroke. 
 There was a quarrel, and the cause of quarrel 
 We yet may know it, for an iron box 
 Lies on the bloody grass. 
 
MARIQUITA. 239 
 
 " Up rose the Priest, 
 
 And clasped his hands, lamenting, and cried out 
 ' Alas ! my brother ! We were to have met 
 This morning at the ford. He was to bring 
 The iron box to me. Some murderer 
 Has overtaken him and laid him low. 
 My friends, I pray you guide me to the spot. 
 This boy will go with me. Alas ! alas ! 
 My brother ! let me pay the last respect 
 To thy remains !' As one convulsed with grief, 
 He hid his face, rushed quickly to the door, 
 Passed to the court, and ere a word was spoken, 
 We saw him mounted, and away he rode 
 The same long gallop, and the stealthy look 
 The same. ( But let him ride, he'll only find 
 The nutshell, not the nut. The nut is here,' 
 I said to Pepe, showing him the deed. 
 My night adventure, and Hunfredo's death, 
 Became the theme of much exciting talk. 
 Then we debated how to act. The deed 
 Was no safe cargo through the despoblados. 
 Pepe proposed to deal with it at once 
 By planting it among the glowing cinders. 
 But in debating it, we saw the danger 
 Of even seeming to conceal my part 
 In rescuing Mateo's property. 
 At last, it was agreed we should consult 
 
240 MARIQUITA. 
 
 The venerable Prior, and relate 
 
 All that had happened, openly to him. 
 
 Nor did we tarry. In our going down 
 
 To cross the ford, we saw upon the plain 
 
 A horseman watch us ; but we were too many 
 
 For him to venture on or meddle with, 
 
 And in an hour we stood before the Prior. 
 
 " The good old man, amazed and horror-struck, 
 Said, ( Ah ! Hunfredo drew it on himself. 
 But thus to die, unblessed and unabsolved ! 
 'Tis terrible.' He then agreed to keep 
 The parchments, which we tendered to be lodged 
 For safety, till the owner should reclaim them, 
 And offered me a shelter and asylum, 
 Unless I judged, with those who came with me, 
 The soto to be safer, and the wolves 
 Pleasanter neighbours. I requested leave 
 To stay till nightfall, when I could return 
 To Cordova by bypaths known to me, 
 To tell Mateo of his brother's death, 
 And that the deed was safe. 
 
 " Alone I went 
 
 At midnight, and before the sun was risen, 
 I entered Cordova. Mateo lay 
 Still weak and suffering, so I said no more 
 
MARIQUITA. 241 
 
 Than that the parchments had been safely lodged 
 With my good friends the monks ; for a full week 
 I said no more, and then I told him all ; 
 Adding what I believed, and still believe, 
 That he who stabbed that horse would just as soon 
 Have stabbed the rider, had it suited him ; 
 And that the parchments in the iron box 
 Would have sufficed, had I not taken them, 
 To seal Hunfredo's fate. 
 
 " Another week 
 
 Brought us intelligence of both our friends, 
 Sara and Ines. Into Portugal 
 They passed ; and from Lisboa they proposed 
 To make the straits by sea, and place themselves 
 Under protection of the rock and fortress, 
 There to await Mateo. Then there came 
 A rumour, my Senora, of your death. 
 So when Mateo had recovered strength 
 To travel south, and was resolved to go, 
 Having a friendly escort for the road 
 As far as Seville, I, being free to choose, 
 Said I must needs return to Peralvillo, 
 To get my Jaca. Then he questioned me 
 If that were all, and I my purpose told 
 Of visiting Toledo, to inquire 
 For you, Senora. By the way I hoped 
 To see my mother. 
 
242 MARIQUITA. 
 
 " To the Hermitage 
 
 I went that night. There were the well-known lights, 
 And, strange to say, one in Hunfredo's room. 
 Cautiously I approached. Examining 
 The chestnut tree I found a danger signal 
 Nailed to the trunk : and now I had no doubt 
 Hunfredo's murderer was there ( he knows 
 The tie between us, and he lies in wait, 
 Counting on my affections drawing me 
 To cheer my mother in her solitude. 
 He knows no scruples. He would seethe the kid 
 Even in its mother's milk.' I made my mark, 
 To let my mother know I had been there, 
 And sped away. 
 
 " Away to the Sierra 
 I went, and rested but a few brief hours 
 Here a chance sleep, and there a hasty meal, 
 As need required. Away through the Sierra, 
 Down to the Guadiana, and across 
 To Peralvillo. Were they all asleep, 
 That no one answered when I knocked that night ? 
 I called aloud ; the Jaca knew my voice, 
 And whinnied from his stall. The stable-door 
 I tried ; it opened to my hand nor bolt 
 Nor lock secured it ; and I entered in. 
 The Jaca plunged to free himself. I ran 
 With joy to throw my arms around his neck. 
 
MARIQUITA. 24.3 
 
 - A nand that struck a chill into my blood 
 Was laid upon my shoulder. Instantly 
 My arms were pinioned, and my feet were bound. 
 My captors dragged me out, brought up a cart, 
 And laid me on it. As the cart moved off, 
 I heard a frantic struggle in the stable, 
 And then the Jaca bounded wildly forth, 
 Snorting with passion. I could feel its breath 
 Warm on my feet ; so then I whistled low, 
 To soothe it ; and it followed quietly. 
 
 " The driver of the cart spoke not a word. 
 The night was clear, and after us there rode 
 Two horsemen. One I knew. The man I knew. 
 Twice in the chase I had eluded him ; 
 Now I was hunted down. The night wore on ; 
 At length a halt to have the horses fed. 
 The horsemen beckoned to the man that drove me, 
 And when we yoked again to travel on, 
 I saw though he was muffled to the mouth, 
 And the Sombrero* shaded all his face 
 That he who took the veins was not the same. 
 Against the sky I marked his slouching form ; 
 And as I lay I watched him as I'd watch 
 A serpent. He sat silent the first hour ; 
 Then, without turning round, said jeeringly, 
 * Appendix A. 
 R 2 
 
244 MARIQUITA. 
 
 f You'd rather ride before me on the Jaca, 
 
 Than lie behind me in the cart, my friend. 
 
 Well, make your bargain. How much will you give 
 
 To be unbound, and mounted on the Jaca ? 
 
 A hundred thousand fifty thousand duros ? 
 
 The iron box you stole so cleverly, 
 
 And robbed of its contents, that box was worth 
 
 A hundred thousand duros. Tell me, then, 
 
 Will you divide with me?' I answered him, 
 
 That there was nothing to divide : to me, 
 
 To him, the box and all that it contained 
 
 Was worthless. I would tell him nothing more. 
 
 ( Then,' said the Priest, ( we will put on the screw.' 
 
 And as he spoke he tightened painfully 
 
 The cords that bound my feet, and with a sneer 
 
 Said that the choicest grape was valueless 
 
 Until a gentle pressure be applied, 
 
 And then it will exude its generous juice. 
 
 ' So now, oh Cordovan ! think well of it. 
 
 I give you time. Will you divide with me ? ' 
 
 I answered not ; we travelled on awhile ; 
 
 Then he got down and drew the cords again 
 
 Still tighter, and again he put the question, 
 
 * Will you divide with me ? ' And this he did 
 
 At intervals, until the pain and agony 
 
 Deprived me of sensation for a time. 
 
 But the last twist he gave, the ligature 
 
MAUIQU1TA. 245 
 
 Cut to the bone, and the free flow of blood 
 Relieved my bursting feet; and I replied, 
 ' There is nothing to divide.' 
 
 " Now, as I spoke, 
 
 I heard a sound the tread of many feet 
 A sound of horsemen riding rapidly. 
 And as they overtook us, a cavalier 
 Shouted aloud, ( Ho ! Master Nicolas, 
 Whom have you there with you?' ' A prisoner, 
 So please your grace.' * A prisoner ! a child 
 He seems to me. Why is he bound with ropes ? 
 Is he alive or dead ? Child, are you ill ? 
 He is too ill to speak.' ' This child, your grace, 
 Hath given me the slip ere now ; ay, twice. 
 It may be that the alguacils have drawn 
 The cords so tight as to make sure of him.' 
 ' Ha ! we will look to that. Lucas, dismount. 
 Inspect these cords. Good heavens ! the savages ! 
 The fiends ! What wounds are these ! So tenderly 
 Bind them with care. Thy skill in plastering 
 Serves a good turn ; and now the boy looks better. 
 Sefior Don Nicolas, resign these reins. 
 Of this your prisoner this your weighty charge 
 I do release you. Please to mount this horse 
 You have your own ! Then that is better still. 
 Ride forward, and give notice at my house 
 
246 MARIQUITA. 
 
 That at Aranjuez I lodge this day, 
 Having affairs of some importance there ; 
 To-morrow you shall hear from me.' 
 
 " e Your grace 
 
 Has only to command,' my captor said, 
 Low bending ; and exchanged a parting glance 
 With him to whom he bent ; the scrutiny, 
 Though brief was keen, for the Familiar's eye 
 Contracted till it scarcely could be seen, 
 But for the gleam that flashed and shot from it, 
 Or e'er it quailed and fell before that gaze, 
 That strangely mournful gaze. What he saw there 
 Boded, I trow, but ill for him. 'Tis said 
 He poisoned and destroyed himself that day. 
 
 " They bore me to Aranjuez, and cheered 
 My heart with news of you, and promised me 
 The Jaca should be cared for. And the hope 
 To see your face once more so heartened me, 
 I bore the journey well. But afterwards 
 I sickened, and too surely should have died, 
 But for the word you spoke that night, Senora 
 ' I will not leave you.' It was wine and oil ; 
 It was new life to me that gracious word 
 ' I will not leave you, Gaspar.' ' 
 
MAKIQU1TA. 247 
 
 XX. 
 
 IT was a charm, a medicine to Gaspar, 
 To tell him that as soon as he could ride. 
 Father Ignacio anxiously required 
 His services. He rallied rapidly. 
 I little knew how deep an interest 
 Attached to the recovery of Gaspar. 
 
 I lay, one night, revolving in my mind 
 My destiny, and wishing I could see, 
 Like Gaspar, my next step ; for all my path 
 Seemed dark to me. The night was long. I sighed 
 For morning. As I lay thus, ill at ease, 
 And troubled, I was startled by a shriek 
 A fearful shriek. From Lola's room it seemed 
 To come. I hastened to the child. Her nurse 
 Was by her side. Lola lay motionless, 
 But every feature of her face expressed 
 Intensest agony and suffering. 
 Her limbs were drawn and strained, as if a force, 
 A superhuman force, were torturing 
 The child. 'Twas terrible to witness it. 
 I thought that she was dying ; but the nurse 
 
248 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Said, " It will take its course ; we can do nothing. 
 She dreams. Is it not strange ? Her mother died 
 The day that she was born, within the walls 
 Of the Inquisition. And I sometimes think 
 That Lola bears the impress of that story 
 Of ruth, unconsciously ; for of the rack 
 And question she knows nothing. But in dreams 
 She suffers as you see." 
 
 With voice subdued, 
 Father Ignacio (unseen by us 
 He had come in, and stood beside the bed) 
 Said, " Much, I fear, there has been indiscretion. 
 Some one has told the child a history 
 Which, true or false, she ought not to have known. 
 But now the paroxysm and spasm is past, 
 Let her sleep on. Nurse, you will sit by her." 
 He took my hand, and led me from the room. 
 I grasped his hand. Trembling in every limb, 
 I said, f Could such things be?' He answered slowly 
 And mournfully, " The past is ours no more 
 To deal with or to remedy. The past 
 God will require hereafter. Let us draw 
 The veil, if but in mercy to ourselves, 
 Over the past." 
 
EL DESENGANO. 
 
 Es el engaHo traidor, 
 Y el desengaifo leal ; 
 El uno dolor sin mal, 
 Y el otro mal sin dolor." 
 
 CALDEBON UE LA BARCA. 
 
 MY brother ! could we but agree to bury, 
 
 As deep as thou couldst wish and I could wish, 
 
 These memories I But with these memories, 
 
 Ere we can close and seal that long account, 
 
 I charge thee, bury deep not only rack 
 
 And faggot, and the hateful catalogue 
 
 Of instruments of torture, bury thou 
 
 In the same pit, deep in its lowest depths, 
 
 The persecuting spirit. Who art thou 
 
 That judgest? Who art thou that shuttest up 
 
 Thy brother in a prison, till the iron 
 
 Enters his soul ? or drivest him afar 
 
 From home and country from the sympathies 
 
 And charities of life, to a strange land ? 
 
250 EL DESENGANO. 
 
 Thou dost renounce, as fiendish and accurst, 
 
 The Inquisition and its cruelties : 
 
 Thou doest well, if thou renouncest them, 
 
 Condemning from the heart all cruelty 
 
 As hateful in the sight of God and man. 
 
 But offer not to Him who sees the heart 
 
 The worn-out instruments of former ages, 
 
 Which in this age thou dost not dare to use : 
 
 Such sacrifice is but offence and insult, 
 
 If to the hopeless portion of an exile, 
 
 If to the lingering torments of a prison, 
 
 Thou wouldst condemn thy brother for his faith, 
 
 Because his thoughts agree not with thine own. 
 
 Every good gift, and every perfect gift 
 Is from above. Thy knowledge, whence is it ? 
 Thy faith, whence hast thou that transcendant dower ? 
 And wilt thou judge, Oh man ! thy fellow man 
 For lacking that which God hath not imparted ? 
 
 Seest thou the heart ? Canst thou discern the spirit ? 
 The man thou judgest, thousands think with him. 
 But he is honest he hath told thee truly 
 His thoughts. The rest are solemn hypocrites, 
 Basely professing what they neither think 
 Nor feel. Him thou wilt thrust into a dungeo^ 
 
EL DESENGANO. 251 
 
 Because he tells the truth. The horde of liars 
 Perforce thou must absolve. Is this thy justice ? 
 
 Consider but a moment. Thy poor victim, 
 He hath not, it may be, a perfect faith 
 He hath not, it may be, in things divine 
 All knowledge ; haply, he hath not the best 
 Of all religious creeds, and rites, and forms ; 
 And yet of knowledge he may have as much 
 As he can bear. His form may be the best 
 For him. God knows. 
 
 My brother, let me speak 
 A word in season, and a -word in truth 
 To thee. Thou canst not name an earthly judge, 
 Thou canst not name tribunal upon earth, 
 Competent to decide whether a man 
 Holdeth the faith, or holdeth not the faith. 
 But thou canst judge and thou shalt judge thyself. 
 
 Thou art a member of the Church of Home, 
 Whose head is Vicar upon earth of Christ, 
 According to the teaching of thy Church. 
 But thy poor brother doubts nay, he denies 
 Nay, he impugns as all unwarranted 
 The assumption of such power. Is not the Church 
 The bride, the spouse of Christ ? How readest thou ? 
 
252 EL DESENGANO. 
 
 If thus betrothed, she will not so deny 
 Those heavenly espousals, as to brook 
 The intruder, were he angel. But, alas ! 
 What have not these pretended Yicars been ? 
 One name suffices Borgia. Can you name 
 A name so deeply stained with sin and vice ? 
 And thy poor brother is amazed, aghast, 
 That such a man pretend to represent, 
 In his Lord's name, the holy mystery 
 Of His espousals. 
 
 Eighteen hundred years 
 
 And more have passed, since at an evening meal 
 One who hath known us one who knows our frame, 
 Our sorrows, and our wants and weaknesses 
 One who was on the eve of laying down 
 His life for us, to wash away our sins, 
 And reconcile us to the Heart of Grod ; 
 He who for us was on the eve of tasting 
 The bitter cup of death bequeathed to us 
 The cup of blessing. Simple was the rite ; 
 Simple the form. " In memory of Me, 
 Eat of this bread. In memory of Me, 
 Drink of this cup drink ye all of this cup." 
 Such was His last bequest. The bitter cup 
 He drank alone. The winepress of God's wrath 
 He trod alone. The pleasant bread and wine, 
 
EL DESENGANO. 253 
 
 With these He bade us keep the feast to Him, 
 
 In memory of His death. It was not hard, 
 
 That last affectionate bequest. But Rome 
 
 Her Pontiffs and her Cardinals and Bishops 
 
 Say, " Ye shall not partake that cup. The Priest 
 
 Alone shall drink of it. Stand ye aloof." 
 
 Now, if thy brother seek to keep that feast 
 
 As Jesus Christ enjoined, eating that bread, 
 
 Drinking that cup, in all simplicity, 
 
 In all sincerity because our Lord 
 
 Charged us to eat that bread and drink that cup 
 
 In memory of Him wilt thou prepare 
 
 Arrows of persecution for that man ? 
 
 Knowing full well that all the vain excuses* 
 
 That all the Doctors of thy Church have urged 
 
 Are worthless knowing well that in the time 
 
 Of the Apostles, never was the cup 
 
 Denied to Christian people ; all partook, 
 
 Under the sanction of these holy men 
 
 Ordained of God. Wilt thou prepare thy chains 
 
 To bind that man a prisoner, who obeys 
 
 His God's behest ? 
 
 Hear me, Romanus, it may be thy brother 
 Eubulus hath forsaken thy communion 
 With purpose just as honest as thine own, 
 * Appendix H. 
 
254 EL DESENGANO. 
 
 Who cleavest to the Church that he hath left. 
 He is in earnest. He would find the path 
 Of life. He covets the best gifts. He hates 
 Every false way. I pray you bear with him 
 If in the mass thy daily sacrifice 
 He hath not found that which can satisfy 
 His soul. To him it is a dreary* service. 
 And in the records of the early Church 
 He thinks that he can trace with certainty 
 A better way of serving his Creator. 
 The sacrifice, the sacrificing Priest, 
 On which your creed relies, your hope depends, 
 He cannot comprehend. For he has read 
 Of One who by one sacrifice atoned 
 For sin, abolished death, and reconciled 
 Our guilty race to God. And he will hold 
 To that sheet-anchor of his faith and hope 
 One mediator between God and man 
 One sacrifice for sin. But can he prove 
 His right to worship God as holy men 
 And holy women worshipped Him of old ? 
 Hear him the Scriptures he hath deeply read. 
 He hath concluded that a company 
 Of Christian men and women is a Church. 
 He hath concluded that the Christian scheme 
 Is not a scheme of bondage, but of freedom. 
 * Appendix I. 
 
EL DESENGANO. 
 
 He hath concluded that a Christian Church 
 
 May purge itself from error and deceit. 
 
 He finds an open door no man can shut it 
 
 WHERE TWO OR THREE ARE GATHERED TOGETHER 
 IN MY NAME, THERE AM I IN THE MIDST OF THEM. 
 
 This is the charter of the brotherhood 
 Founded by Jesus Christ this the free charter 
 Of Christian liberty. Such Christian liberty 
 Thou claimest in the British Isles, Romanus, 
 Thou for thyself and for thy Church. Be just ! 
 Thou art in power in Spain. Wilt thou refuse, 
 Because thine arm is strong, the equal right ? 
 
 Let me speak freely. There be certain truths 
 That I will place before thee certain facts 
 From which thou shalt deduce thine own conclusions. 
 Or rather tell me for thou knowest well 
 Its history when was it that thy Church 
 Was most disgraced, corrupted, and depraved ? 
 The answer is a warning to all Churches. 
 It was precisely as the Church of Rome 
 Increased her power and rivetted her sway, 
 That she became licentious, infamous ; 
 Her people steeped in foul licentiousness ; 
 Her priesthood scandalous ; her very Pontiffs* 
 A shame and a disgrace to human nature. 
 * Appendix K. 
 
256 EL DESENGANO. 
 
 Who in that fallen Church could recognise 
 The spouse of Jesus Christ ? 
 
 I pray you mark, 
 
 For it deserves your earnest contemplation, 
 How He walked holy, harmless, undefiled, 
 And separate from sinners. And how pure, 
 How simple, and how chaste must she be found 
 Who claims to be His Bride ! How pure in life- 
 How simply chaste in outward ornament 
 How beautiful within ! if she would please 
 Him whom the lily of the field could please 
 More than the glory of the gorgeous throne 
 Of Solomon. But in that fallen Church, 
 What vestige could you find of preparation 
 To meet her Lord ? Of the pretended Vicar, 
 Steeped in excesses, drenched in sin and vice 
 Of him she was fit concubine. She wore 
 His colours, tawdry in her finery, 
 Bedraggled, and defiled. Was ever Church 
 So fallen ? Read that woful history, 
 And read all history since, and say in truth 
 Whether the Reformation has not proved 
 A blessing to the Church that most withstood 
 Its influence. Read any modern work 
 Or speech of any member of the Church 
 Of Rome how mildly tolerant are all ! 
 
EL DESENGANO. 257 
 
 Where is the bigot* gone ? Alas ! in Spain 
 
 He lingers still. But in the happy homes 
 
 Of England can you find him ? Blessed change ! 
 
 Intolerant ! 'Tis of intolerance 
 
 We are intolerant in this fair England. 
 
 The Church of Rome puts on her best apparel 
 
 In England clothes herself with charity, 
 
 Meekness, goodwill, kindness, long-suffering, 
 
 And hateth every kind of persecution. 
 
 But is it only where her power is crippled 
 
 The Roman Church is thus magnanimous ? 
 
 Is she, where she has power, tyrannical 
 
 And cruel ? Is this show of toleration 
 
 Mere cunning, mere pretence, mere selfishness ? 
 
 Repudiate with scorn, O thou, my friend 
 
 Romanus, the foul libel ! Plead in Spain 
 
 The cause that thou in England knowest so well 
 
 To plead. Quote to thy co-religionists 
 
 In Spain the righteous judgment of the man 
 
 Who fought the battle of Emancipation, 
 
 And won the field. 
 
 " That man who, to enforce 
 His creed, employs the soldier's bayonet 
 Or the policeman's staff, gives evidence 
 By his own conduct, that he has no faith 
 * Appendix L. 
 S 
 
258 EL DESENGANO. 
 
 In the intrinsic excellence and value 
 
 Or genuine superiority 
 
 Of that which he professes to believe. 
 
 If he employ soldier or constable, 
 
 Gaoler or executioner, he shows 
 
 He has no confidence in his religion, 
 
 As capable of being based on truth 
 
 And reason. Who pursueth such a course, 
 
 I care not who he be or Protestant 
 
 Or Catholic, or Presbyterian 
 
 He is a persecutor, and as such 
 
 He is no Christian." * 
 
 Everywhere proclaim 
 
 That truth. In Rome and Spain proclaim that truth. 
 'Tis the best gospel thou hast given forth 
 These many years, Romanus. It is truth. 
 Ponder it deeply. Sound with line and plummet 
 The human heart. And tell me what the state 
 Of any people subjected by fear 
 To the profession of a creed enforced 
 By penalties. No longer is the truth 
 Sought for and loved. That well is choked and dried. 
 What under such a system can it profit 
 To exercise the faculties which God 
 Hath given to exercise the mind and heart 
 * Appendix M. 
 
EL DESENGANO. 259 
 
 In sacred things ? 'Tis dangerous to do so. 
 The formalist, and he alone, is safe. 
 And with hypocrisy men clothe themselves 
 As with a garment. 
 
 What saith history ? 
 
 Five years of Mary's reign we chronicle 
 Five years of Papal sway we chronicle 
 Five years of haling Protestants to prison, 
 And burning them by hundreds at the stake. 
 Children of tender age were seized and burnt. 
 It was a reign of terror ; but the Church 
 Of Rome rejoiced to purge from heresy 
 The realm of England. She could count her priests 
 Nine thousand and four hundred. Mary dies. 
 Elizabeth succeeds. And every priest 
 Must now subscribe to the reformed religion 
 Or quit his benefice. How many priests, 
 Think you, were true to Rome, true to the faith 
 They had adopted in that reign of terror ? 
 One hundred, seventy, and one. The tale 
 Is fraught with much instruction. 
 
 Read again 
 
 The story of last century its close. 
 What 'nation can you name so true to Rome, 
 So blessed of Rome, as France ? With iron will 
 
 s 2 
 
260 EL DESENGANO, 
 
 And iron heel, she had extirpated 
 And crushed out heresy. The Huguenot, 
 Jansenist, Mystic 'twas a holocaust 
 That offering of thy devoted child. 
 How came it, oh Romanus ! that a land 
 So eminently favoured with thy creed, 
 So purged of all that thou esteemest error, 
 Fell into such a pit ? 
 
 Was ever land 
 
 So cursed with bloodshed and impiety ? 
 Mark in that revolution all the fruits 
 Of a religion stablished by the sword. 
 The ancient church of Notre Dame becomes 
 Temple of Reason. There her votaries, 
 Priests headed by their Metropolitan 
 Gobel (of Paris Bishop), all abjure 
 The Christian faith, and with the people bow 
 To the new Goddess that they have enthroned 
 Goddess of Reason. Whence the cruelties, 
 Obscenities, and blasphemies, that stalk 
 Unbridled through these streets ? It is a land 
 That thou hast educated, ruled, and trained, 
 Oh Rome ! it is a land that thou hast held 
 Subject, and thou, if thou wilt read the lesson, 
 Canst read it there. Religion there was planted 
 And watered by thy hand. Thy husbandry 
 
EL DESENGANO. 261 
 
 Was with the sword, and with a flood of tears 
 And blood. And thou didst reap as thou didst sow. 
 
 In the Cathedral of Toledo hangs 
 An effigy of Christ upon the Cross. 
 The craft of making images no doubt 
 Is gainful to the craftsmen as of old 
 At Ephesus, and gainful to the cities 
 To which in crowds the worshippers resort ; 
 And gainful to the priests who have the keys 
 Of famous shrines. This image on the Cross 
 Of which I speak deserves especial notice. 
 It is a human skin, preserved and dried, 
 And stuffed. This desecration* of the dead, 
 Intolerable to a mind imbued 
 "With piety, deserves especial notice. 
 Doubtless, it is intended to convey 
 The liveliest impression of the scene 
 Thus figured. When at last the open page 
 Of Scripture shall irradiate with its light 
 The nation which is now forbid to read 
 The simple narrative of those who stood 
 Beneath the Cross on which the Saviour died 
 When they shall thus receive the touching story 
 Of the Redeemer's love, in that last hour 
 Of agony, when darkness veiled the earth, 
 
 * Appendix N. 
 
EL DESENGANO. 
 
 Men will no longer bear the parody 
 The loathsome parody. But until then, 
 And while religion is thus travestied, 
 We point to it. See there the "handiwork 
 Of priestcraft in that handiwork a type 
 Of what religion is when manufactured 
 By craft of men. By pressure and by screws 
 ' Tis moulded into shape, and outwardly 
 It hath a form, a covering, a skin 
 Within 'tis rubbish and mere rottenness. 
 
 And now, if thou wilt govern with the sword 
 In sacred things if thou wilt punish men 
 For their religion, forge I charge thee, forge 
 Instruments proper for thy work. If creeds 
 Are to be punished, institute a court 
 Competent to examine and decide 
 Questions of faith. The civil courts of Spain- 
 No man will say that they are fit tribunals 
 To judge of heresy. What then ? 'Tis clear 
 The Inquisition* must be re-ordained 
 The sacred office as fit arbiter 
 In sacred things. I challenge the inquiry 
 Whether, if men are to be judged by men 
 For matters of opinion in religion, 
 
 * 
 * Appendix O. 
 
EL DESENGANO 203 
 
 The Inquisition be not the fit engine 
 
 For such a work. How else can you extract 
 
 The hidden secrets of the heart ? How else 
 
 Lay the breast bare, but? with the orthodox 
 
 Inquisitorial instruments of torture ? 
 
 There is deep truth beneath the plea for these. 
 
 They have the necessary sifting power. 
 
 Without them the presiding judges lack 
 
 Materials for procuring evidence. 
 
 Cruel, yea, fiendish are the instruments. 
 
 But for that work, the trial and conviction 
 
 Of man, for differing from his fellow man ^ 
 
 They are the fit and proper instruments. 
 
 And all that is required is to produce 
 
 The warrant and authority to use them. 
 
 I pray thee, therefore, construe thou this text 
 
 Thou, the successor of St. Peter thou, 
 
 Claiming that title, construe thou this text : 
 
 PUT UP THY SWORD, FOR ALL THAT TAKE THE SWORD 
 SHALL PERISH BY THE SWORD. 
 
 Arise, arise, 
 
 Oh Spain ! put forth thy might ! Claim for thy sons 
 The freedom wherewith Christ hath made us free. 
 Open thy windows to the light of Heaven 
 The light of gospel truth. Emancipate 
 Thy children from the thrall that has debased 
 
264 EL DESENGANO. 
 
 A noble* people; making merchandise 
 
 Even of the vices that its tyranny 
 
 Engenders. Priestcraft totters. Let it fall. 
 
 Claim for yourselves and for your fellow men, 
 
 Oh Spaniards ! as your priceless privilege 
 
 Yea, band yourselves to claim it as your birthright 
 
 That henceforth ye be free to worship God 
 
 In Christ, as freemen, not constrained by fear 
 
 Of man, but as the children of your Father, 
 
 With willing hearts and minds, that know no bands 
 
 But love. 
 
 * Appendix P. 
 
MAKIQUITA. 265 
 
 XXI. 
 
 THE child knew nothing. But my heart was crushed. 
 
 I longed to close my eyes for evermore 
 
 On these unhappy scenes. How fair a world ! 
 
 Teeming with beauty, and with promise teeming. 
 
 All a vain show ! The fiend lurks there to mar 
 
 And wither all. His name is Cruelty. 
 
 Lola, I loved that flower, that tender flower ; 
 
 And she, too, is a child of sorrow blighted 
 
 Even from her birth. I longed to die. Kind words 
 
 Fell all unheeded on my ear. They tried 
 
 To rouse me. The gay street, the pleasant meadows 
 
 Along the Manzanares then Aranjuez, 
 
 Its gardens and its groves from spray to spray, 
 
 Its thousand restless songsters the still air 
 
 Woke with their melody. In vain ! I seemed 
 
 As one who heard not. Then ('twas Lola's thought 
 
 For I had often told her of the book, 
 
 Repeating what my memory had stored) 
 
 Father Ignacio broke the seal, and brought me 
 
266 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Esteban's book. I took it eagerly, 
 And clasped it to my breast. For it was thus 
 I wished to walk the few and solemn steps 
 That seemed to lie before me to the bourn 
 Of life pressing the book of Esteban 
 Close to my heart. * * * * 
 
 * * We left Aranjuez, 
 And after many days of travelling 
 
 Through plains, there rose afar in glorious sheen 
 And majesty there rose beyond the plains 
 A great white throne, resplendent, luminous, 
 Brighter than silver, reaching unto heaven.* 
 Beyond may it not be ? beyond there lies 
 That better country, and that happier land. 
 It was my beacon now for many a day 
 In journeying on. * 
 
 * Under its base we pass, 
 And then we mount and mount, till from a height 
 We view the expanse of ocean. Not a breath 
 Disturbs its calm. I said, f It is the sea 
 
 Of glass that lies beneath the great white throne. 
 It is the bourn I long for. We shall see 
 Thousands of angels with their harps upon it. 
 So press we on.' * 
 
 * Appendix Q. 
 
M. \IMQUITA. 267 
 
 * * But now I see a ship 
 Upon the waters. Ere we reach that shore 
 That lies beyond, it may be we must pass 
 Through waters deep. But clasping to my breast 
 Esteban's book, I feel that I can pass 
 Through the deep waters fearlessly. Adieu ! 
 My country. * * 
 
 * * * We are seated in a skiff 
 That bears us to the ship that waits for us. 
 Father Ignacio tells me to prepare 
 
 For fellow-voyagers whose destiny 
 Is bound with mine. * * * 
 
 * * * Anselmo ! As he came, 
 I knew the step that swiftly crossed the deck 
 I knew the music of Anselmo's step ; 
 
 And as he took my hand, I said to him, 
 
 ' Sir, I have often seen your face in dreams.' 
 
 There then approached another. I knew well 
 
 The features of that face twice I had seen 
 
 A picture of Cecilia. Now I saw 
 
 That which the picture failed to represent. 
 
 The expression of her face, more beautiful 
 
 Than any limner's art could reproduce, 
 
 Told me at once Anselmo was her son. 
 
 I took her hand and said, ( It was last night 
 
 You were to come to me. The night was long.' 
 
 She carried in her arms a little infant; 
 
268 MARIQUITA. 
 
 And as she stood before me she unveiled it. 
 I started when I saw its gentle face, 
 Serene in purity and innocence. 
 I trembled lest some blight should fall on it, 
 And prayed it might be veiled again. Anselmo 
 Said mournfully, " You do not know the child." 
 I answered, * Yes, I know that I have heard 
 Its cry in dreams. It is a child of sorrow.' 
 
 Father Ignacio now took leave of all. 
 I rose to go with him. All eyes 
 Were bent on me. It tried me painfully 
 To meet the anxious gaze of many faces. 
 I looked imploringly to him. He took 
 My hand and said, " I now can do no more 
 For you." But when he saw my agony 
 My mute appeal to him and that I grasped 
 And held his sleeve he said, " Nay, it shall be 
 As you desire. Cecilia goes with you 
 And Lola ; but if aught that I can do 
 Will make you happy, I will go with you, 
 Poor Mariquita." I looked up to thank him, 
 And looking up I felt I had a friend 
 Whose sympathy could soothe me, when the cloud 
 Upon my mind was darkest. 
 
 God be praised, 
 
MAKIQUITA. 269 
 
 Who in the cloud hath set the bow of mercy 
 
 As a memorial and a sacrament, 
 
 And sign, that when the floods lift up their voice, 
 
 And when the floods lift up their waves, the Lord, 
 
 Mightier than the mighty waves of ocean, 
 
 Is with the sons of men, and willeth not 
 
 That any perish. And the bow of mercy 
 
 That shines in Heaven, shines even in a tear. 
 
 Now I looked seaward. O'er the calm expanse 
 Stream lightest airs, fanning, as if with wings, 
 The glassy surface. Then, as harbingers, 
 Bright zones of blue and green alternate gird 
 The deep. They darken as they come. Our sail 
 Is spread from every spar to meet the breeze. 
 Adieu to Spain ! 
 
 How swiftly speeds the ship 
 
 Along the coast ! The breeze is freshening now ; 
 The sky looks threatening, and the storm is coming. 
 Still on the neadland pours the westering sun 
 A flood of roseate light ; the purple shadows 
 Still sleep beneath the cliffs ; but the blue sea 
 Blackens beneath the lowering sky. It comes 
 It lifts us on its crest, then dashes on. 
 Its lip is curled, and white with wrath ; it utters 
 A murmur loud and hoarse. The cliff replies, 
 
270 MARIQUITA. 
 
 Mocking its angry voice. Impetuously 
 It breaks upon the rock the spray flies up 
 High as the headland ; and afar the flakes 
 Of driving foam seem to the little ones 
 The children of the fisherman who stand 
 Before their father's hut to watch the storm, 
 Even like a flock of sea-birds borne aloft 
 And carried on the gale. 
 
 So shall it be 
 
 Till the day come the day so terrible, 
 The day so longed for when the lofty cliff 
 Shall bow its head, and molten all by fire 
 Flow down. The sea hath fled, and no more sea 
 Shall be. Only the sea of glass shall be 
 Before the great white throne. 
 
CONCLUSION. 271 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 G. I THANK you, Seymour, for the manuscript. 
 Tell me, how came it into your possession ? 
 
 S. The voyagers, who left their native land, 
 Came to my father's parish. One of them, 
 Father Ignatius, was well known to him, 
 And had arranged beforehand their reception 
 In England. 
 
 G. And of course his object was 
 
 To shelter Mariquita from the risk 
 Of persecution. 
 
 S. It was thus it happened. 
 
 Among the landed gentry of the parish 
 There was, of ancient name and lineage, 
 A family of Roman Catholics 
 A family well nigh extinct. The last 
 Of all their house were they save one, a nephew, 
 A laughter-loving boy, who ridiculed 
 Their ways, and utterly refused to listen 
 To the old Priest. Being childless, they were bent 
 On making choice of one whom they might train 
 And educate as their adopted child. 
 
272 CONCLUSION. 
 
 My father heard of Lola from his friend. 
 
 The voyage was arranged for Lola's sake. 
 
 But in the providence of God it was 
 
 The happiest of events for Mariquita. 
 
 You know the parish, and the gush of streams 
 
 That gladden it. The forest scenery 
 
 You know. It seemed a paradise to her. 
 
 Her mind was soothed and calmed. And when they 
 
 told her 
 
 That 'twas a land in which the people read 
 And loved the book she carried (calling it 
 Esteban's book), she opened it and placed 
 Her child upon her knee, and sung the songs 
 Of Zion. Every heart was touched and moved 
 That day. 
 
 G. "What followed, I should like to hear, 
 
 And how it fared with Lola. 
 
 S. She was trained 
 
 With admirable care and circumspection 
 By her Padrino for Ignatius brooked 
 No intermeddling. He, and he alone, 
 Was her confessor. But he pitied much 
 The youth that thus was sentenced to the loss 
 Of his inheritance. And when she knew it, 
 Lola so pitied him 
 
 G. She married him. 
 
 S. Even so, 
 
CONCLUSION. 273 
 
 G. And I conclude they all became 
 
 Sound Protestants. 
 
 S. My father often said 
 
 There were no better Christians in his parish. 
 Other distinctions it was not his wont 
 To draw. 
 
 G. And Mariquita and Anselmo ? 
 
 S. Tenderly she was cared for. And the clouds 
 Which in the morning of her life so darkened 
 Her path, were in the evening of her days 
 A glorious and resplendent monument 
 Of mercy and forgiveness. This she felt, 
 And loved to point to. 
 
 G. And, their infant boy ? 
 
 S. De Solis ? From a child he loved the sea, 
 And from a child he loved to count afar 
 The tapering masts, seen from the rectory, 
 Of all the men of war. And he is now 
 Serving his country his adopted country 
 But hath an anchorage in the parish still : 
 He married Lola's daughter. 
 
 G. And Cecilia ? 
 
 S. Cecilia and Ignatius you may see 
 Their graves, if you will come with me this evening. 
 There is no stone to mark the spot ; but flowers, 
 Fresh flowers, are often strewed by little hands 
 By the De Solis children on the grass 
 
274 CONCLUSION. 
 
 That grows so green and fresh within the precincts 
 
 Of the old Abbey. We had better wait 
 
 Till evening, to avoid all interruption 
 
 Of visitors. For one will learnedly 
 
 Discuss the architecture, style, and date ; 
 
 Or speculate on what varieties 
 
 Of fish the streams supply, and if we owe 
 
 The grayling to the monks of olden time. 
 
 Another, with much relish, will inspect 
 
 The little window 'twixt refectory 
 
 And kitchen. But at sunset we shall meet 
 
 None to disturb our thoughts. How many an hour 
 
 We spent together there, my friend and I ! 
 
 He loved to meditate among the ruins. 
 
 " For," he would say, "are we not ruins all? 
 
 This is the fittest temple for a man 
 
 To worship in ; the mossy grass invites 
 
 The bended knee more than the costliest 
 
 Marble that you could pave it with. The roof, 
 
 How glorious is its arch ; and how resplendent 
 
 Its lights ! the sun by day, the stars by night. 
 
 Nor tell me of its altars overthrown : 
 
 Hath not the sparrow found herself an house ? 
 
 Hath not the swallow builded there her nest 
 
 Where she may lay her young ? And if before 
 
 Thine altars, O my God ! these are remembered, 
 
 And claim Thy care even from the dust of death 
 
 Our cry shall reach Thine ear." 
 
275 
 
 APPENDIX A. 
 
 THE few Spanish words which occur in this work are pro- 
 bably known to the reader ; but, if not, the following glossary 
 will serve as interpreter. 
 
 Aficionado. An amateur in contradistinction to a pro- 
 fessional. 
 
 Alguacil. An officer of justice, constable, &c. 
 
 Alqueria. A farm-house. 
 
 Arriero. A muleteer. 
 
 Aya. Governess or nurse. 
 
 Banderillero. One whose part in the bull-fight is (he being 
 armed with two ornamented darts) to invite the bull to charge 
 him, and, as the charge is made, to meet the bull swiftly, and 
 
 ERRATA. 
 
 For most, read much. Page 23, line 4. 
 
 For wist, read wis. Page 30, line 17. 
 
 For Sara, read Kosa. Page 54, line 22. 
 
 For fierce, savage, read fierce and savage. Page 73, line 5. 
 
 For shaking, read shake. Page 125, line 5. 
 
 For Cardovan, read Cordovan. Page 134, line 8. 
 
 For came, read come. Page 157, line 3. 
 
 For All eyes, read At once all eyes. Page 268, line 10. 
 
 an evening >vim a, opauisii lainny, ana one 01 tne ladies may 
 
 T 2 
 
274 CONCLUSION. 
 
 That grows so green and fresh within the precincts 
 
 Of the old Abbey. We had better wait 
 
 Till evening, to avoid all interruption 
 
 Of visitors. For one will learnedly 
 
 Discuss the architecture, style, and date ; 
 
 Or speculate on what varieties 
 
 Of fish the streams supply, and if we owe 
 
 The grayling to the monks of olden time. 
 
 Another, with much relish, will inspect 
 
 The little window 'twixt refectory 
 
 And kitchen. But at sunset we shall meet 
 
 None to disturb our thoughts. How many an hour 
 
 We spent together there, my friend and I ! 
 
 He loved to meditate among the ruins. 
 
 Our cry shall reach Thine ear." 
 
275 
 
 APPENDIX A. 
 
 THE few Spanish words which occur in this work arc pro- 
 bably known to the reader ; but, if not, the following glossary 
 will serve as interpreter. 
 
 Aficionado. An amateur in contradistinction to a pro- 
 fessional. 
 
 Alguacil. An officer of justice, constable, &c. 
 
 Alqueria. A farm-house. 
 
 Arriero. A muleteer. 
 
 Aya. Governess or nurse. 
 
 Banderillero. One whose part in the bull-fight is (he being 
 armed with two ornamented darts) to invite the bull to charge 
 him, and, as the charge is made, to meet the bull swiftly, and 
 plant the darts (banderillas) in each shoulder, close to the 
 neck. These fall over, and remain suspended so as to exhibit 
 the skill with which they are placed. This part in the fight 
 is often performed by an aficionado. 
 
 Barandilla. Front seat (or ticket for a seat in the front 
 row) in the gallery of the bull-ring. 
 
 Bribon. A vagabond or rascal. 
 
 Borracho. A drunkard. This is a term of great contempt 
 in Spain. A drunkard is seldom known, and drunkenness is a 
 sin greatly despised. 
 
 Burro. An ass. 
 
 Busne. See Errate. 
 
 Cabana. Hut, cabin. 
 
 Cigarrillo. The cigarrillo is a Spanish institution. Pass 
 an evening with a Spanish family, and one of the ladies may 
 
 T 2 
 
276 APPENDIX A. 
 
 often be seen making cigarrillos. Hand round your cigar-case 
 in a Spanish venta, and each person will cut off a small piece 
 from a cigar, produce his papel, and manufacture a cigarrillo. 
 A Spanish postboy will produce his tobacco, &c., and make a 
 cigarrillo as he rides along at a trot. 
 
 Chulo. Five or six gaily dressed youths, called chulos, 
 take part in every bull-fight. They have long, coloured 
 scarfs with which they scare the bull, make him run, and 
 baffle him. When a picador is dismounted, or a matador in 
 danger, the chulos immediately engage and distract the atten- 
 tion of the bull, which, in charging them, is puzzled by the 
 long scarf fluttering in his face. The chulos, when hard 
 pressed, escape by lightly vaulting over the palisade th.it 
 encloses the bull-ring. 
 
 Desengano. The act of undeceiving, disabusing, or freeing 
 from error. 
 
 Despoblados. Desert, or dispeopled districts. 
 
 Duena. An aged attendant. 
 
 Duro. A Spanish dollar. 
 
 Errate. Gipsies of true blood, who despise the Gentiles 
 the Busne. 
 
 Fanfarron. A boaster. 
 
 Fonda. Hotel. 
 
 Giralda. Yane. The term giralda, originally applied to 
 the female figure at the top of the Moorish tower of Seville 
 Cathedral, is hence used to indicate the tower itself. 
 
 Guadix. See Appendix G. 
 
 Huerta. Orchard, garden. 
 
 Jaca. A small horse or pony. Pronounce it rightly (the 
 J is a strong aspirate), and you have the origin of the English 
 word hack. 
 
APPENDIX A. '211 
 
 Labrador. A peasant, farmer, or landed proprietor who 
 I'arins his own land. 
 
 Matador. In a bull-fight the matador, armed with a sword 
 and small red flag, gives the coup dc grace to the bull. The 
 sword requires to be planted with great skill, and it is a 
 .service of great danger. 
 
 Noria. A draw-well, &c. 
 
 Pano Pardo. The ordinary grey cloth worn by the Spanish 
 peasantry. 
 
 Picador. Three picadors, armed with long lances, play an 
 important part in the bull-fight. The lance has a small iron 
 blade or spike at the end, to assist the picador to turn the 
 bull. The man is tolerably safe, being heavily cased in leather, 
 and having iron leggings. The horse is cruelly exposed. 
 
 Picaro. A rogue. 
 
 Pueblo. Pucblccita. Town, village. 
 
 Sainete. A light comedy or farce. 
 
 Semiluna. A cruel instrument, used in the bull-fight for 
 cutting the tendons of a bull refusing to show fight. 
 
 Senor. I only note this well-known word for the sake of 
 remarking that a Spanish Senor has always been better under- 
 stood by us than a French Monsieur, In Johnson's Dictionary, 
 8th edition, quarto, I find " Monsieur A term of reproach for 
 a Frenchman" \ \ 
 
 Sierra. A serrated range of mountains. 
 
 Sombrero. A hat. 
 
 Soto. A wood or forest. 
 
 Tienda. A shop. 
 
 Venta. A solitary wayside inn. 
 
 Zincali. Gipsies. 
 
278 APPENDIX B, C, 
 
 APPENDIX B. 
 
 Our house we offered, p. 12. "My house is at your grace's 
 disposition." Mi casa es a la disposicion de usted, is the usual 
 Spanish welcome given at the close of your first visit. It 
 means more than the Englishman's " Pray make my house your 
 own." It means that you may spend your evenings there, and 
 is not given where a friendly and intimate acquaintance is not 
 desired. 
 
 APPENDIX C. 
 
 P. 37. The strict watchfulness observed by gipsy mothers 
 over the conduct of their daughters is an interesting feature in 
 the manners of that remarkable race. Borrow's works abun- 
 dantly illustrate this phase of gipsy life. An instance of the 
 maternal counsels being strictly attended to came to my know- 
 ledge, as follows : 
 
 I was walking with my late lamented friend J. A. G. through 
 the fields, when we met and conversed with a gipsy. She told 
 us that her husband was not of their race, but a traveller (pro- 
 bably a travelling tinker), leading a gipsy life. My friend asked 
 
 her if she knew the gipsy that young wanted to marry. 
 
 She answered, " Yes ; she is my sister." " Is she like you ? " 
 " No, Sir ; if she was, she would not be beautiful, but she was 
 very beautiful, with long black hair." " And how came your 
 
 sister to know young Mr. ?" " Sir, I will tell you. 
 
 We were sent for to the hall to see his mother, who spoke very 
 
APPENDIX D, E. 279 
 
 kindly to us, and when we left she gave us gold. But as we 
 were going home the two young men followed us through the 
 wood. We told them not to follow us, for that was not gipsy 
 manners. But they would not leave us, and the oldest of 
 them began to make up to my sister, and the youngest to me ; 
 but I kept him off. He had fine clothes (here a curious 
 smile lit up her features) Yes, to be sure, he had very fine 
 
 clothes ; but I up with a , and splashed him all 
 
 over." 
 
 The missile, whatever it was, was quite sufficient for the 
 purpose. The youth fled. 
 
 APPENDIX D. 
 
 Seville, p. 60. Seville is described in this work as I have 
 seen it, not as I have read of it. Travellers who have visited 
 the East will recognise the Moorish element in the construc- 
 tion of the city. The heat is greatly modified by the twisting 
 and winding course of the narrow streets. Directly you emerge 
 into an open plaza you risk a sun-stroke. 
 
 APPENDIX E, 
 
 P. 109. Froila judges the Spanish girl by the standard oi 
 gipsy manners and customs. Vide supra, Appendix C. 
 
280 APPENDIX F, G, H. 
 
 APPENDIX F. 
 
 P. 112. A colony of Germans was settled in the Sierra 
 Morena in 1767. Their Saxon origin is still apparent, for 
 however their complexion and colour of hair may have changed 
 since their migration, their eyes are still blue. The combina- 
 tion of black hair with blue eyes is striking, and the women of 
 the Sierra are much admired by the passing traveller. 
 
 APPENDIX G. 
 
 P. 134. Guadix is celebrated for its knives, which have a 
 spring to prevent the knife closing on the hand. They serve, 
 therefore, for daggers in the guerra al cuchilloa species of 
 warfare too much in vogue in Spain. The cutler's poetry on 
 the blade if often characteristic. For instance 
 
 " Se esta vipora te pica 
 No vayas a la botica." 
 
 " If this viper pricks you, you will not need the leech." 
 
 APPENDIX H. 
 
 The following account, from a very plausible book, of the 
 reasons which moved the Roman Catholic Church to refuse the 
 cup to the laity, is at least curious : 
 
APPENDIX H. 281 
 
 " It is well known that 'this custom was not first established 
 by ecclesiastical law ; but, on the contrary, it was in conse- 
 quence of the general prevalence of the usage, that this law 
 was passed in approval of it. It is a matter of no less noto- 
 riety, that the monasteries in whose centre this rite had its 
 rise, and thence spread in ever wider circles, were led by a very 
 nice sense of delicacy to impose on themselves this privation. 
 A pious dread of desecrating, by spilling and the like, even in 
 the most conscientious ministration, the form of the sublimest 
 and the holiest, whereof the participation can be vouchsafed to 
 man, was the feeling which swayed their minds." MOEHLER. 
 
 The question deserves some attention. The lay brothers of 
 a monastery occupy a humble, often a menial, position. The 
 government is in the hands of priests. Therefore, for " were 
 led by a very nice sense of delicacy to impose on themselves this 
 privation," read, as the simple fact, that the priests shut out 
 their humble brethren from participation in the Cup of Blessing, 
 arrogating to themselves the exclusive privilege of the recep- 
 tion of one of the elements enjoined to be used in the Lord's 
 Supper to show forth His death till He come. The exclusive 
 enjoyment by the priesthood of the Cup of Blessing is, of course, 
 not without its significance in the eyes of the people on whose 
 minds it is intended to operate. The priest is evidently set 
 forth as a privileged and exalted being. The means used for 
 thus exalting him are in direct disobedience to our Lord's plain 
 injunction. But to the Sacrifice of the Mass is thereby imparted 
 its most remarkable feature, and to the sacrificing priest his 
 highest distinction as such. 
 
282 APPENDIX I. 
 
 APPENDIX I. 
 
 In a letter denying his intention to return to the Church of 
 England, Newman proclaims Protestantism to be the dreariest 
 of all possible religions. 
 
 The objection, coming from a member of the Church of 
 Rome, is singular. Those anchorites and hermits whom the 
 Roman Catholics have delighted to honour with an excess of 
 honour has not the honour paid to them been almost precisely 
 in proportion to the desolate dreariness of their lives ? And 
 there is some justice in the sentiment. For, however little we 
 be disposed to appreciate that fugitive virtue which hides 
 itself in holes of the rock and in desert places, or that fantastic 
 piety which seeks voluntarily a painful and unsocial existence, 
 there have been "who wandered in sheepskins and goatskins, 
 being destitute, afflicted, tormented (of whom the world was 
 not worthy) ; they wandered in deserts and in mountains, and 
 in dens and caves of the earth." Their portion was not in 
 this world. 
 
 But if Mr. Newman mean that the services of a Church 
 ought not to be dreary, I agree with him. There are minds, 
 however, which it would be difficult to satisfy. Cheerfulness 
 is rather a quality of the mind than the result of contrivance. 
 I never heard Mr. Newman preach but once ; he was then a 
 clergyman of the Church of England. The burden of his 
 sermon was But is there anything Romish in this doctrine or 
 that rite ? Unquestionably, that sermon was the dreariest part 
 of the service. But if Mr. Newmau has, since he left the 
 Church of England, discovered the art of not being dreary, he 
 assuredly owes it to himself, to humanity, and to those unfor- 
 
APPENDIX I. 283 
 
 tunates on whom, as an Anglican Minister, he once inflicted 
 dreariness, to expound and elucidate the principles of the new 
 art he has acquired. 
 
 But a mere comparison between Church of England and 
 Church of Rome is unprofitable. There is a better standard 
 for measuring a Church. Tried by this standard, we all 
 come short ; but, seeing and admitting our shortcomings, 
 and seeking the best gifts, we are enabled to aim at and 
 press on towards a better rule and constitution. That is 
 grateful and cheering because it is hopeful. Compared 
 with the early Christian Church, our Churches are much 
 drearier than they ought to be. I recommend Mr. Newman 
 to compare (not the Church he has left he can now 
 exercise no influence there, but) the Church of his adop- 
 tion with the ancient Corinthian Church. " How is it 
 then," says the Apostle, " How is it then, brethren ? When 
 ye come together every one of you hath a psalm, hath a doc- 
 trine, hath a tongue, hath a revelation, hath an interpretation. 
 Let all things be done unto edifying." Faults they had, that 
 early Corinthian Church, but no want of life ; no dreariness, 
 I apprehend. Let Mr. Newman compare carefully with that 
 lively Church, the services of his adopted Church, the Church 
 of Rome ; would that he could infuse a little life into it. But 
 the Sacrifice of the Mass how different from the lively, 
 hearty congregation pourtrayed in the Epistle of St. Paul. 
 Mark the priest, with his back to the people, repeating in an 
 unknown tongue and in low accents, his office ; the congregation 
 some near, some afar, some without as in Ireland kneeling 
 round the outer walls what a silent system passing the 
 silence of Quakers ! 
 
 But are Roman Catholics dreary ? Is not the dreariness of 
 
284 APPENDIX K. 
 
 the service relieved by shows, processions, &c. ? Yes. But 
 I hesitate to call these religion. 
 
 I was in Seville at Easter. The morning of the resurrection 
 was observed on Saturday morning, viz., the day after Good 
 Friday. The uproar was immense squibs, crackers, guns 
 going off in every direction. I looked out of my window. 
 There was a cord across the street. A Judas, as large as 
 life, was suspended by the cord. A young man, in an undress 
 military uniform, armed with a musket, stood in the street, 
 firing and loading again to fire at Judas. Each discharge blew 
 a quantity of bran out of the effigy, and, at each discharge, 
 people in the houses pulled the cord, so as to make the figure 
 dance and caper for the amusement of the people. Thus was 
 the morning of the resurrection kept in Seville by the un- 
 thinking multitude. 
 
 The Reformed Christian Churches use not and need not 
 such mad festivals. Their doctrine is not such as to call for 
 these distractions for the people. Purgatory with its torments 
 is not before their eyes as their next place of abode after 
 leaving this troubled world. There is a dreariness in that 
 doctrine from which I could wish from my heart that our 
 Roman Catholic brethren in every land were freed. 
 
 APPENDIX K. 
 
 I wish to draw attention to a point of great importance. I 
 wish the sincere Roman Catholic, who loves his Church and 
 desires for it all the perfection and purity of which it is 
 capable, to compare the general state and condition of the 
 Church of Rome before the Reformation with its moral status 
 since the Reformation. 
 
APPENDIX K. 285 
 
 In this note I will take but one point to illustrate the 
 subject, viz., the character of the Pontiffs. 
 
 In the work of Count Joseph Le Maistre (a strenuous 
 defender of the Papacy), he says that in the tenth century the 
 human race in Europe had literally " run mad." " Ferocity 
 and debauchery, anarchy and poverty, were in every state." 
 And (quoting Voltaire) "The Pontifical chair was op- 
 pressed, dishonoured, stained with blood." A curious note 
 occurs. 
 
 Voltaire. " It is astonishing that, under so many Popes of 
 scandalous lives (tenth century), the Roman Church did not 
 lose either its prerogatives or its pretensions." 
 
 Le Maistre. It is well to say " it is astonishing ;" the pheno- 
 menon, humanly speaking, is inexplicable. 
 
 Pass we on to the fifteenth century. It opens with the 
 burning of John Huss and Jerome of Prague. It is famous for 
 the extirpation of heretics. " I find," says a writer, " towards 
 the end of the fifteenth century the witnesses were in a manner 
 wholly extinct. For Comenius tells us that, about the year 
 1467, the Waldenses in Austria and Moravia had complied so 
 far as to dissemble their religion and turn to Popery in profes- 
 sion and outward compliance. The Taborites, in the mean- 
 while, upon their refusing to do so, were so destroyed that it 
 was much that seventy of them could be got together to 
 consult about continuing their Church, and about finding out 
 some qualified person to be their minister, for they had none left 
 in the year 1 467. And so low was the Church of Christ then 
 (close of the fifteenth century) that when the hidden remains 
 of the Taborites (who were called Speculani, from their lurking 
 in dens and caves), sent out four men to travel one through 
 Greece and the East, another to Russia and the North, a third 
 
286 APPENDIX K. 
 
 to Thrace, Bulgaria, and the neighbouring places, and a fourth 
 to Asia, Palestine, and Egypt. They did all, indeed, safely 
 return to their brethren, but with sorrowful news, that they 
 found no Church of Christ that was pure, or free from the 
 grossest errors, superstitions, and idolatry. This was in the 
 year 1497. And when they sent two of their number, two 
 years afterwards, viz., Luke Prague and Thomas German, to 
 go into Italy, France, and other places, to see if there were 
 any of the old Waldenses left alive, they returned with the 
 same melancholy news as the former had done that they could 
 neither find nor hear of any remaining : only they were in- 
 formed of the martyrdom of Savonarola (who suffered in the 
 year 1498) ; and they were told of some few remains of the 
 Piedmontois that were scattered and hid among the Alps, but 
 nobody knew where." 
 
 Eome is mistress of the Western world. What is her 
 character ? Alexander VI. is Pope. 
 
 Le Maistre speaks of Alexander VI. as "presenting in 
 his own person a melancholy exception to that long series of 
 virtues by which the Holy See has been honoured" Count 
 Joseph Le Maistre has not been so well informed as he ought 
 to have been. It will throw some light upon the question 
 raised in this note to take the brief history of the two Popes, 
 who successively occupied the Pontifical chair at the close of 
 the fifteenth century, when Rome was dominant, triumphant, 
 rampant. I quote from a recently published Biographical 
 Dictionary, of good repute. 
 
 "Innocent VIII. (Battista Cibo), born at Genoa in 1432, bishop 
 of Melfi and cardinal, was elevated to the Papal chair, 29th 
 August, 1484, and commenced his reign by violating the stipu- 
 lations against nepotism he had made at his election. He pro- 
 
APPENDIX K. 287 
 
 secuted against Naples two wars, setting up Renatus as rival to 
 King Ferdinand ; and while calling upon all Christendom to 
 embark in a war against the Turks, he did not scruple to enter 
 into negotiations with Bajazet II., becoming jailer of his 
 banished brother. Thus he derived revenues both from Chris- 
 tians and Mahometans. Innocent VIII. was very severe against 
 sorcerers, magicians, and witches ; he appointed two head in- 
 quisitors for Upper Germany. He was equally severe against 
 the Hussites in Bohemia. The last years of his reign were 
 employed in creating new places for the purpose of enriching 
 his coffers. He died 25th July, 1492. In consequence of the 
 number of his children he was satirically termed the * father of 
 his country.' Disgraceful crimes marked the whole length .of 
 his reign. Profligacy, nepotism, perfidy, and reckless cupidity, 
 combined to form a character which has scarcely one redeem- 
 ing trait. It is said that he had sixteen illegitimate children 
 to provide for." 
 
 "Alexander VI., Roderic Borgia, was the son of Godfrey 
 Lenzolia and Jane Borgia, the sister of Pope Calixtus III. 
 He was born 1431, and originally practised as an advocate ; 
 afterwards he adopted the profession of arms, which was much 
 more in accordance with his taste. Pope Calixtus sent for him 
 to Rome, and gave him the archbishopric of Valencia ; and in 
 1456 made him cardinal-deacon, and afterwards vice-chancellor 
 of the Church, a post of great dignity, with a large revenue 
 attached. Hitherto his life, which had been most dissolute 
 (he had five illegitimate children by Rosa Vanozza, whose 
 mother had previously been his mistress), had escaped detec- 
 tion ; and inflamed with the ambition of one day sitting on the 
 throne of St. Peter, he outwardly conducted himself in the 
 most decorous manner, so as to win golden opinions from all, 
 
288 APPENDIX K. 
 
 both as a preacher and a man. Little is known of him during 
 the pontificates of Pius II. and Paul II., but we find him 
 sent as legate by Sixtus IV., to negotiate the Spanish and 
 Portuguese affairs. He left the Court of Lisbon without accom- 
 plishing his mission, having offended the king by his dissolute 
 habits ; and on his return to Rome, Sixtus was dead, and 
 Innocent VIII. was pope. He now contrived to bring his 
 mistress to Rome, and lodged her close to St. Peter's, where, 
 under pretence of friendship for her reputed husband, he con- 
 stantly visited her. Innocent died 1492, and it was soon seen on 
 the assembling of the conclave, that their choice was limited to 
 two candidates, Roderic Borgia, the nephew of Calixtus III., 
 and Julian della Rovera, the nephew of Sixtus IV. JBorgia, the 
 more unscrupulous and the more wealthy of the two, by lavish 
 distribution of money and promise of offices, carried the day, 
 and was elected pope. He assumed the title of Alexander VI., 
 and his first act was to discharge his obligations to the cardi- 
 nals, the whole of whom, save five, were said to be in his pay, 
 though eventually he managed to dispose of all to whom he 
 was under obligations. It is impossible, in a narrative like 
 this, to trace at any length the political transactions in which 
 the pope took part ; we can therefore only notice briefly the 
 league he formed with Bajazet II., emperor of the Turks, 
 against Charles VIII., king of France, who claimed the king- 
 dom of Naples. Charles invaded Italy, 1494, with twenty 
 thousand men, and carried everything before him, taking pos- 
 session of Rome itself, and forcing Alexander to take refuge in 
 the castle of St. Angelo. The pope, driven to extremities, 
 made terms with Charles, and granted all his demands ; among 
 others, surrendering to him the person of Zizim, Bajazet's 
 brother, who had been detained in a kind of honourable cap- 
 
APPENDIX K. 289 
 
 tivity at Rome, and whom Charles wished to have in his power 
 as an instrument against Bajazet. It is commonly said that 
 Alexander, mindful of his obligations to the sultan, had pre- 
 viously given him a slow poison. Certain it is, that Zizim 
 died very shortly after he was surrendered to the king. 
 Charles, in return, treated the pontiff with studied courtesy 
 and respect, waited upon him, and kissed his feet. He thus 
 continued his march to Naples, and easily obtained possession 
 of his prize, Alphonso II., the king, fleeing at his approach. 
 The alliance, however, between Charles and Alexander did not 
 last long. It did not suit Alexander's views to have the 
 French at Naples, and aided by' his son, Caesar Borgia, the 
 Duke of Valentino, he formed a league against Charles with 
 the republic of Venice, Ludovico Sforza, Duke of Milan, and 
 other Italian princes, the Emperor Maximilian, and Ferdinand 
 of Spain. The battle of Fornova decided the Italian question 
 in favour of the allies, and Charles found he had lost his con- 
 quests as easily as he had gained them. Freed now from the 
 presence of the French, Alexander was at liberty to devote 
 himself to his main designs the enlargement of the patrimony 
 of St. Peter, and the aggrandisement of his son Caesar. Under 
 his rule, everything was uublushingly put to sale. His chief 
 agent and confidant was his son, the notorious Caesar Borgia ; 
 and after the death of the Duke of Gandia, his elder son (who 
 is said, but without proof, to have been assassinated by order 
 of Co3sar, who was jealous of his intimacy with their common 
 sister, Lucretia), all Alexander's affections were centered in 
 Caesar and Lucretia. Unscrupulous and insatiable, he removed 
 by poison or the dagger all who were in his way, and the 
 papal treasury was enriched by the effects of many members of 
 the sacred college, whose deaths were commonly suspected to 
 
 u 
 
290 APPENDIX K. 
 
 have taken place by foul means. It is not surprising, there- 
 fore, to find Alexander, hitherto the chief opponent of the 
 French, forming an alliance with Louis XII., who had suc- 
 ceeded Charles VIII., 1498, and who was anxious to obtain a 
 divorce from his wife Joan, and to marry his predecessor's 
 widow, Anne of Britany, whom he had loved as Duke of 
 Orleans. The pope consented on condition of Louis exerting 
 his interest to bring about the marriage of Caesar with 
 Charlotte, the daughter of the King of Naples. The lady, 
 however, refused, and Louis declared he would not force her. 
 He accordingly negotiated a marriage for Caesar with a 
 daughter of the King of Navarre, and a papal bull was issued 
 which set Caesar free from his priestly vows, and allowed him 
 to marry. Alexander and his son now entered heartily into 
 the schemes of Louis against the duchy of Milan, and Caesar 
 rode in the French king's train to Milan, whence he set out 
 for the subjugation of the Roman nobles, who were plundered, 
 imprisoned, spoiled of their domains, or assassinated, as the 
 interests of the wretched father and son seemed to require. 
 Rome itself was the centre of the most iniquitous proceedings, 
 neither life nor property were secure ; and if elsewhere a voice 
 like Savonarola's was raised against the prevailing sins, it was 
 silenced at the stake. Meanwhile Alexander disregarded even 
 common decency, and celebrated the marriage of Lucretia with 
 her third husband, Alfonso, son of the Duke d'Este, with the 
 most shameless licentiousness and abominable orgies. In vain 
 the oppressed nobles appealed to Louis ; the pope was always 
 ready to gratify him, and cruelty and oppression prevailed at 
 Rome till the death of Alexander. His end was worthy of his 
 life. It is said that he and his son drunk of poisoned wine, 
 which they had intended for Cardinal Corneto, whose estates 
 
APPENDIX K. 291 
 
 they were anxious to inherit. Caesar escaped with his life, but 
 Alexander died August 2, 1503, aged sixty-two. The most 
 profligate pontiff that ever sat on the apostolic throne we 
 may almost say the most profligate man in history he has 
 left behind him a name which is a 'proverb of reproach.' 
 Anxious as he was to uphold the authority of the Roman see, 
 nothing weakened it more than his wicked life ; and Luther's 
 preaching would not have met with the success it did, had it 
 not been for the gross practical corruptions of morals at the 
 very centre of the church. We may mention here, that 
 Alexander conferred upon the court of Castile the whole of 
 the territory discovered by Columbus." 
 
 The concluding paragraph alludes to the meridian line drawn 
 by Alexander to divide the new world between the Spaniards 
 and Portuguese. On which Count le Maistre makes. a some- 
 what remarkable comment : 
 
 " It was a great happiness for humanity that the Pontifical 
 dignity had yet sufficient influence to obtain this remarkable 
 covenant, and the noble arbitration was so worthy of a true 
 successor of St. Peter, that the bull, ' Inter cater a,' ought to 
 belong to another Pontiff" 
 
 Happy for Count le Maistre that he lived not in the fifteenth 
 century ; for, assuredly, he would have been burned for 
 doubting whether Alexander Borgia were a true successor of 
 St. Peter. 
 
 These two names (Innocent VIII. and Alexander VI. 1484 
 to 1503) mark the culminating point of papal supremacy over the 
 Continent of Europe. In 1517 Luther shall nail his ninety- 
 five theses to the church-door, the Reformation shall march, and 
 the most powerful nations of Europe shall shake off the yoke of 
 Rome. The one point I desire to note is, that since that time 
 
 u 2 
 
292 APPENDIX L, M, N. 
 
 Popes have been respectable. Scandalous and gross vices have 
 not stained the Pontifical chair. 
 
 APPENDIX L. 
 
 P. 257. The word "bigot" is, undoubtedly, of Spanish origin. 
 Johnson says its etymology is unknown. But in Notes and 
 Queries it is traced (I have no doubt correctly) to the word 
 " bigotes," which is the Spanish for " whiskers." " Hombre 
 de bigotes" literally, " a man of whiskers" is a phrase used to 
 express " a man of resolution." Hence bigot, in the sense in 
 which it was probably used at first, "a man of firmness and 
 decision," one who adheres to a cause with the strength of his 
 manhood. 
 
 APPENDIX M. 
 
 P. 258. These sentiments were expressed publicly by Daniel 
 O'Connell. 
 
 APPENDIX N. 
 
 P. 261. To obviate all objections, and to clear those who 
 prepared the effigy at Toledo from any suspicion of body- 
 snatching or stealing, and to give a certain tinge of the mira- 
 culous to the history of the effigy, it is pretended that the body 
 thus preserved, and set up to represent Christ upon the Cross, 
 came to the Spanish coast (proprio motu ?) in a boat. 
 
APPENDIX N. 293 
 
 Such things, of course, affect the Spanish mind very differ- 
 ently as it is more or less educated. Things that I have seen 
 in the interior of Spain have been utterly discredited by 
 Spaniards residing in a seaport, where intercourse with other 
 nations has done much to open their eyes and enlarge their 
 views. For instance : 
 
 I was invited, when in Madrid (A.D. 1840), to an evening 
 party, at the house of a gallant colonel who had married a sil- 
 versmith's daughter. The guests were admitted, in a very 
 unpretending way, through the atelier, where the silver forks, 
 &c., were made. I was shown into a spacious drawing-room, 
 where I found a large society assembled, including the members 
 of the corps diplomatique, foreign ministers, &c. But my 
 attention was chiefly attracted by a lady who stood in the 
 doorway that separated the principal room from a smaller 
 drawing-room she looked so rigid and so still, standing in 
 the very centre of the doorway. I turned to speak to one of 
 the attaches of the British legation, and then glanced again at 
 the stately lady. She was motionless as ever. I turned to my 
 friend, and said to him, " Who is that ? or what is that ? " 
 " Oh, don't you know," he said ; " It took me in at first, and I 
 asked the girls, who answered at once that it was 'pobre 
 mamita ' (poor little mama). When she died, they cut off her 
 hair, had a wax figure made exactly like her, attached her hair 
 to it, and when there is a party, * pobre mamita ' is dressed for 
 the occasion in one of her evening dresses, and wheeled into 
 the room to join the party." 
 
 My story was not believed by an Alicante family, to whom 
 it was related ; but it is not nearly so strange as the Toledo 
 effigy, which every passing traveller could inspect when I was 
 in Spain. 
 
294 APPENDIX O. 
 
 APPENDIX O. 
 
 As long as any persecution of men for their religious convic- 
 tions is actually at work, it is well to be informed whither it 
 tends. 
 
 There are persons now living in whose childhood an auto de 
 fe was held at Goa, in which as many as twenty persons were 
 burnt, under sentence. Now popes and bishops are not of a 
 more cruel nature than kings and judges. They are all men 
 of like passions. But the subtlety of the questions, the extreme 
 difficulty of getting at the truth, and the magnitude and deep 
 importance of the issue, have led to atrocities, in the name of 
 religion, which are, perhaps, without parallel in the most bar- 
 barous civil governments. 
 
 The following articles are from a Cyclopaedia published when 
 the Inquisition was still an institution in most Roman Catholic 
 countries. I believe there is now no Inquisition, save in the 
 city of Rome, and that in a very modified form as to its present 
 manner of administration. But there is the old nucleus. None 
 are more interested than Roman Catholics in extinguishing that 
 spirit which has led {and may again lead) to such lamentable 
 results. 
 
 " INQUISITION. 
 
 " This diabolical tribunal takes cognizance of heresy, Judaism, 
 Mahommedanism, sodomy, and polygamy, and people stand 
 so much in fear of it that parents deliver up their children, 
 husbands their wives, and masters their servants, to its officers, 
 without daring in the least to murmur. The prisoners are kept 
 for a long time, till they themselves turn their own accusers, 
 and declare the cause of their imprisonment; for they are neither 
 
APPENDIX O. 295 
 
 told their crime nor confronted with witnesses. As soon as 
 they are imprisoned their friends go into mourning, and speak 
 of them as dead, not daring to solicit their pardon, lest they 
 should be brought in as accomplices. When there is no 
 shadow of proof against the pretended criminal, he is dis- 
 charged, after suffering the most cruel tortures, a tedious and 
 dreadful imprisonment, and the loss of the greatest part of 
 his effects. The sentence against the prisoner is pronounced 
 publicly, and with extraordinary solemnity. In Portugal, they 
 erect a theatre capaple of holding 3,000 persons, in which they 
 place a rich altar, and raise seats on each side in the form of 
 an amphitheatre. There the prisoners are placed, and over 
 against them is a high chair, whither they are called, one by 
 one, to hear their doom from one of the inquisitors. 
 
 " These unhappy peoplfe know what they are to suffer by the 
 clothes they wear that day. Those who appear in their own 
 clothes are discharged upon payment of a fine. Those who have 
 a santo benito, or strait yellow coat with sleeves, charged with 
 St. Andrew's cross, have their lives, but forfeit all their effects. 
 Those who have the resemblance of flames, made of red serge, 
 sewed upon their santo benito, without any cross, are pardoned, 
 but are threatened to be burnt if they relapse ; but those who, 
 besides these flames, have on their santo benito their own pic- 
 ture, surrounded with figures of devils, are condemned to 
 expire in the flames. The inquisitors, who are ecclesiastics, do 
 not pronounce the sentence of death, but form and read an act, 
 in which they say that the criminal being convicted of such a 
 crime, by his own confession, is, with much reluctance, de- 
 livered to the secular powers, to be punished according to 
 his demerits ; and this writing they give to the seven judges 
 who attend at the right side of the altar, and who immediately 
 
296 APPENDIX O. 
 
 pass sentence. For the conclusion of this horrid scene, see 
 'Act of Faith.' " Encyclopedia Britannica, 1778. 
 
 "AcT OF FAITH. Auto de Fe, in the Romish church, is a 
 solemn day held by the Inquisition for the punishment of heretics, 
 and the absolution of the innocent accused. They usually con- 
 trive the auto to fall on some great festival, that the execu- 
 tion may pass with more awe and regard ; at least, it is 
 always on a Sunday. 
 
 " The auto de fe may be called the last act of the inquisi- 
 torial tragedy ; it is a kind of gaol delivery, appointed as 
 often as a competent number of prisoners in the Inquisition 
 are convicted of heresy, either by their own voluntary or ex- 
 torted confession, or on the evidence of certain witnesses. The 
 process is this : In the morning they are brought into a great 
 hall, where they have certain habits put on which they are to 
 wear in the procession. The procession is led by Dominican 
 friars ; after which come the penitents, some with san 
 benitos, and some without, according to the nature of their 
 crimes ; being all in black coats without sleeves, and bare- 
 footed, with a wax candle in their hand. These are followed 
 by the penitents who have narrowly escaped being burnt, 
 who over their black coats have flames painted, with their 
 points turned downwards Fuego revolto. Next come the 
 negative and relapsed, who are to be burnt, having flames 
 on their habits, pointing upwards. After these come 
 such as profess doctrines contrary to the faith of 
 Rome, who, besides flames pointing upwards, have their 
 picture painted on their breasts, with dogs, serpents, and 
 devils, all open-mouthed, about it. Each prisoner is attended 
 by a familiar of the Inquisition ; and those to be burnt have 
 also a Jesuit on each hand, continually preaching to them to 
 
APPENDIX O. 297 
 
 abjure. After the prisoners, comes a troop of familiars on 
 horseback, and after them come the inquisitors, and other 
 officers of the court, on mules; last of all, the inquisitor-general, 
 on a white horse, led by two men with black hats and green 
 hat bands. A scaffold is erected big enough for two or three 
 thousand people; at one end of which are the prisoners, at the 
 other the inquisitors. After a sermon, made up of encomiums 
 of the Inquisition, and invectives against heretics, a priest 
 ascends a desk near the middle of the scaffold, and having 
 taken the abjuration of the penitents, recites the first sentence 
 of those who are to be put to death, and delivers them to the 
 secular arm, earnestly beseeching at the same time the secular 
 power not to touch their blood or put their lives in danger. 
 The prisoners being thus in the hands of the civil magistrate, 
 are presently loaded with chains, and carried first to the 
 secular gaol, and from thence, in an hour or two, brought 
 before the civil judge, who, after asking in what religion they 
 intend to die, pronounces sentence on such as declare they 
 die in the communion of the Church of Rome, that they shall 
 be first strangled and then burnt to ashes : on such as die in 
 any other faith, that they be burnt alive. Both are immediately 
 carried to the place of execution, where there are as many 
 stakes set up as there are prisoners to be burnt, with a quantity 
 of dry furze about them. The stakes of such as persist in 
 their heresy are about four yards high, having a small board 
 on the top for the prisoner to be seated on. The negative and 
 relapsed being first strangled and then burnt, the professed 
 mount their stakes by a ladder ; and the Jesuits, after several 
 repeated exhortations to be reconciled to the church, part with 
 them telling them that they leave them to the devil, who is 
 standing at their elbow to receive their souls, and carry them 
 
298 APPENDIX O. 
 
 with him into the flames of hell. On this a great shout is 
 raised, and the cry is * Let the dogs' beards be made,' which 
 is done by thrusting flaming furzes fastened to long poles into 
 their faces, till their faces are burnt to a coal, which is accom- 
 panied by the loudest acclamations of joy. At last, fire is set 
 to the furze at the bottom of the stakes, over which the pro- 
 fessed are chained so high, that the top of the flame seldom 
 reaches higher than the seat they sit on, so that they rather 
 seem roasted than burnt. There cannot be a more lamentable 
 spectacle ; the sufferers continually cry out, while they are 
 able, * Misericordia por amor de Dios ; ' yet it is beheld by all 
 sexes and ages with transports of joy and satisfaction." 
 Encyclopedia Britannica, 1778. 
 
 How difficult is the eradication of an evil principle and of bad 
 laws ! More than a century after the Reformation we find 
 mankind so little imbued with charity and forbearance towards 
 each other in the things of religion, that Jeremy Taylor's 
 " Liberty of Prophesying," and Locke's " Letters on Tolera- 
 tion," were looked upon as mere paradoxes in their day. 
 Another century passes, and auto defe's are still in force. 
 Again, nearly another century, and the Spanish Government is 
 imprisoning or exiling its subjects for reading the Bible. But 
 not without protest from the Roman Catholics of this kingdom 
 against these acts. In the British Parliament, at all events, 
 the voice of one Roman Catholic gentleman has been heard in 
 vindication of the principles of religious liberty, viz., that of 
 the member for Limerick. I do not agree with him in his 
 view that the prejudices of the Spanish people are any excuse 
 for the conduct of the Spanish Government. For I do not 
 believe it is at all the Spanish people which has instigated the 
 
APPENDIX O. 299 
 
 persecution. But, otherwise, Mr. Monsell expresses sentiments 
 that it is extremely satisfactory to quote. 
 
 " Mr. Monsell, who rose with Lord Palmerston, and to 
 whom the noble lord gave way, reverting to the question of 
 the Protestants in Spain, said that his opinions were well ex- 
 pressed by Father Lacordaire, who said : 
 
 " ' The public conscience will always repel the man who 
 asks for exclusive liberty, or forgets the rights of others; for 
 exclusive liberty is but privilege, and liberty forgetful of the 
 rights of others is nothing but treason. And there is in the 
 heart of the honest man who speaks for all, and who in speak- 
 ing for all sometimes seems to be speaking against himself, 
 there is in that man a power, a logical and moral superiority 
 which almost invariably begets reciprocity. So Catholics 
 know this well; if you want liberty for yourselves ask it for all 
 men under Heaven. If you ask it for yourselves only, it will 
 never be granted. Give it when you are masters, in order 
 that it may be given to you when you are slaves.' 
 
 " This was a question of extreme delicacy, because we 
 were dealing, not with the Spanish Government, but with 
 the involved prejudices of the Spanish people prejudices 
 which we could easily understand, when we remembered that 
 Catholic emancipation, though advocated by the most eminent 
 men of the day, was long prevented by the public voice, and 
 saw that from all England or Scotland but one Roman Catholic, 
 the noble lord the member for Arundel, was sent to that 
 House. He could only desire that those persons in Spain who 
 wished to continue these laws would come over to Ireland, 
 and see the working of a totally opposite principle. He 
 desired that they should see the strength and life visible in the 
 Catholic Church in Ireland, in spite of the difficulties she had 
 
300 APPENDIX P. 
 
 to contend with, because although she had no privileges there, 
 she had complete liberty. The best means for the spread of 
 the Catholic Church, was for that Church to trust as little as 
 possible to privileges, and to maintain everywhere the cause of 
 religious liberty. He hoped that Spain would cease to be the 
 one exception to all the other Catholic countries of Europe, and 
 he believed of the world, in having laws which were directly 
 opposed to the first principles of religious liberty." Times. 
 
 APPENDIX P. 
 
 P. 264. No people in Europe surpasses the Spanish nation 
 in those qualities which shed a delightful charm over social 
 existence. Vulgar vices are unknown. No people on earth 
 surpasses them in high-bred courtesy. How is it then that, 
 in a country whose people would shrink from using a word or 
 expression that could wound, there exists the spirit of perse- 
 cution ? I state freely my opinion, that the Spanish nation 
 would neither persecute nor injure any man for reading his 
 Bible, were the people left to judge that point for themselves. 
 It is the Spanish Government, instigated by ignorant and fanatic 
 priests, which is guilty of persecution. 
 
 Sir George Bowyer has alleged, that " a Spaniard might be 
 made almost anything : he could be made an infidel, but it was 
 quite impossible to convert him into a Protestant." This is a 
 very old form of argument. " You may think ill of slavery," 
 says the slave-owner; " but to manumit the slaves would be a 
 most dangerous experiment : these men are quite unfitted for 
 
APPENDIX P. 301 
 
 freedom : keep them as they are." So we are not to let the 
 Spaniard have his Bible, lest he turn infidel. "His Bible ? " 
 says Sir George Bowyer. " It is a great mistake to suppose 
 that the Catholic Church objects to the reading of the Bible. 
 The more people read the Bible, the more they will see the 
 truths of the Catholic religion. The only question is, what 
 is the rule of faith to be applied to the Bible ? " Now, I 
 always desire to take a gentleman's word for a matter of fact. 
 But what staggers me is this : In England, the Roman Catholic 
 Church is numerically small, and has no power of shutting up 
 its people to the sole teaching of those whom it esteems ortho- 
 dox. In Spain, the Roman Catholics are completely masters 
 of the position, and have it quite in their power to shut up the 
 people to the sole teaching of the Roman Catholic Church. 
 But in England, Roman Catholics read the Bible freely ; in 
 Spain, every effort is made to prevent the people reading the 
 Bible. Will Sir George Bowyer condescend to explain the 
 anomaly ? 
 
 The real truth is, that the Roman Catholic Church has 
 always attempted to secure, where possible, a monopoly for 
 herself. The effect has been pretty much the same as with 
 other monopolies : a depreciated commodity scarce, dear, and 
 spurious. But there are, nevertheless, strong partizans of 
 monopoly. 
 
 I recommend them to study the question anew. In England, 
 they may learn what a blessing it is, even to Roman Catholics, 
 to have an enlightened Government, to secure to them free 
 access to that Book whose tendency (as admitted by them- 
 selves) is to make them better Catholics ; delivering them 
 from that underlying infidelity which lurks beneath the folds 
 of a religion enforced by penal enactments and coercive laws. 
 
302 APPENDIX Q, R. 
 
 APPENDIX Q. 
 
 The Sierra Nevada, lifting up its snow-clad crest in an 
 almost tropical climate, is a very magnificent and striking sight. 
 The sugar-cane is cultivated within sight of the snowy range 
 of the Sierra Nevada. 
 
 APPENDIX K. 
 
 Mark that pile 
 
 So delicately chiselled by the hand 
 Of Nature. 'Tis an organ. Vide p. 104. 
 
 In the gorge of the Sierra Morena there is a remarkable 
 tier of rocks, which, from its resemblance to the pipes of an 
 organ, is called los organos. The legend, pp. 104 106, is 
 based upon the peculiar structure of the rocks in that pre- 
 cipitous mountain pass. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 EMILY FAITHFULL, Printer and Publisher in Ordinary to Her Majesty, 
 Victoria Press, 83A, Farringdon Street, E.O. 
 

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