in m ,^ - ,'f^'^-.r^ ' c '. ' ' . » J k ' .,• ' / n t,' " ■:n .'V. A< ,» t ' I ■' ^ . " ■ s / , • ; ^^'' . .;,i 1 .i!fj^' HUMOUR SERIES Edited ky W. H. DIRCKS THE HUMOUR OF SPAIN ALREADY ISSUED FRENCH HUMOUR GERMAN HUMOUR ITALIAN HUMOUR AMERICAN HUMOUR DUTCH HUMOUR IRISH HUMOUR SPANISH HUMOUR 'J} <--C^ U^il 'while your daughter walks out with her black lvls. — !•. oiS. THE HUMOUR OF SPAIN SELECTED, WITH AN IN- TRODUCTION AND NOTES, BY SUSETTE M. TAYLOR: ILLUSTRATIONS BY H. R. MILLAR LONDON WALTER SCO IT 1B94 LTD saLF URL T5ll CONTENTS. PAGE Introduction ....... xi My Cid pledges two Coffres full of Sand to the Jews Rachel and Vidas — Twelfth Century . . i The Cowardice of the Infantes of Carrion when the Lion breaks loose — Thirteenth Century . . -4 The Cat turned Nun — Fourteenth Century . . .8 The Madman in the Bath — Don Juan Manuel . . lo The Naked King^-Bou /uan Manuel . . .10 "Not even the Day of the Mud?" — Don Juan Manuel. 16 The Taming of the Shrew — Don Juan Manuel . . iS A Long Tale — Fifteenth Century . . . .22 Ei.ectio Nulla Debet Esse in Malis — Fifteenth Centtiry . 23 The Biter Bit — Fifteenth Century . . . -23 Calisto is smitten with Melibea's Charms — Rodrigo Cota 26 Love and Death . '. . . . -31 Thk Eaten Pancake — Lope de Rueda . . -33 Tnic Fair Celibate — Gil Vicente . . • • 3^ VIII CONTENTS. "The Table- Book and Travellers' Joy"— The Rustic and the Lackeys The Contrary Wife An Affectionate Wife . Chastise with Good Words The Accommodating Farmer The Accommodating Lord Diamond Cut Diamond . The Best Hour to Dine The Best Wife in the World A Pious Wish "The Book of Jokes''— Travellers' Tales Tales of Rogues — Lazaro declareth whose Son he was — Hurtado de 2\feiidoza ....... How Lazaro serves a Blind Man — Hurtado de Meudoza Lazaro is Servant to a Vkx-^^-y— Hurl ado de Meudoza A Tailor would fain learn of Guzman to write his Name, or to make Firma, or RL\rk, and THE Reason why — Maleo Akman Episode of the Officious Physician — Mateo Akman . Of the Pleasant Life Guzman led among his Brethren, and an Account of his Visit to Gatea — Mateo Aleinan . . . . . Of the Wicked Old Housekeeper, and the first knavish pranks Paul played at K\.cK\,k—Qiu7)edo Estebanii.lo acts on the Cardinal's Birthday ! — Este- banlllo Gonzakz ...... J'-' 40 42 42 44 44 44 45 45 45 54 57 58 60 70 71 72 79 86 CONTENTS. The Ingenious Gentleman, Don Quixote of La Mancha — Miguel Cervanles ..... The Lovers' Ruse — Lope de Vega Kvtiis—Jacitito Polo ..... The Miser Chastised— Z?(?«a Maria de Zayas The Market of Ancestors — Velez de Guevara Vision of the Last Judgment — Gomez de Quevedo . The Revenge of Don Lucas — Francesco Kojas de Zorrilia The Mayor of Zalamea — Calderon de la Barca The Simple Grooms — Santos .... Portuguese Epitaphs and "^kw^gs— Seventeenth Century La Tarasca and the Carriers^^^zw^j Pedigree of Fools — Seventeenth Century The Famous Preacher, Friar Blas The Musical Ass — Yn'arte .... The Bashful Shepherdess — Igksias The Bear, the Ape, and the Vm—V/iarte The Frog and the Hen — Yriarte Mariquita the Bw.u—Juan Eugenia Hartzenbusch . PULPETE AND BALBEJA ; OR, AN AnDALUSIAN DuEL— ^5/, ianez Calderon ..... '6\i\\\X.'^— Jose Zorrilia ..... After the Bull-Fight — Mesoncro Romanos . Delights of a Madrid Winter — IVcnccslao Ayguals de Izco In the Earlier Days of PHOTOt;RAi'iiv — M. Ossor/o y Bernard ....... The Old Castilian — Mariano Jose de Lan a . A Demagogic Journai.isi' — Antonio Maria Segovia . IX PAGE 90 128 139 141 160 I7S I So 181 I S3 1 84 1S7 189 1 89 190 191 207 213 213 216 21S 221 233 X CONTENTS. A Cat Chase during the Siege of Gerona— /'tJrt' A Well-won Dish of Cherries — Perez Galdos First Love — Emilia Pardo Bazan The Account ViOOV.— Pedro Antonio de Alarcon Sister Saint Sulpice — A. Palacio Valdes VKViTA—Juan Valera .... If She could only Write — Catnpoamor Doctor Pertinax— Z^^j/o/^/o Alas A Few Thoughts on 'Light— Jose Selgas Epigrams ..... Folk-Tales ..... Miracles of St. Isidro, Patron-Saint of Madrid The Wedding-Night .... Father Cobos' Hint— /uan Martinez Villergas Popular Songs ..... Proverbs ..... Anecdotes ..... Eccentricities of Englishmen — A. Ribot y Foniscn Newspaper Humour ..... Humorous Advertisements . At the Theatre .... Notes — Critical and Biographical . Galdos PAGE 238 242 246 254 261 275 2SS 291 300 302 305 309 313 316 31S 321 329 332 341 345 INTRODUCTION. A CERTAIN mysterious charm clings to the Spanish people, hy reason of the long domain of more than seven hundred years of the Moors over the Peninsula, and consequent intermingling, to some de"-ree, of race, and considerable Oriental influence on the national life and characteristics. The chief sport of the Spaniards, the bull-fight, is of Moorish origin ; their popular dances and songs raise recollections of Indian Nautch-girls and the choruses in Moroccan coffee-houses ; their pre- dominant sentiment, the jealousy over their women, points back to the strict seclusion of the harem. To divert to another paramount influence, Spain, to this day the most Catholic country in the world, is in history of awful interest as the country in which the dread Inquisition took root most firmly: here alone 32,000 persons were condemned to the axdo- da-fe! Gloominess, pride, and reserve have for centuries been the reputed qualities of the Spaniards. Oriental races are not mirthful ; it is difficult to make the dignified Moor smile, much less laugh : the influence of the Moor, therefore, and the absolute power of the Church as little, xii INTRODUCTION. could scarcely be conducive to merriment. And yet Spanish literature is illumined throughout with bright flashes of humour, like the silver lining to the dark cloud of the history of the people — a humour which shows itself in almost every phase of the national literature, from the twelfth to the nineteenth century : from incidents in the " Poema del Cid " which tickled the rough sense of humour of the warriors of the Middle Ages, to the delicate and subtle irony of Valera in " Pepita Jimenez" — quaint and naive in the ballads and collections of tales, sprightly in the drama, boisterous in the " Novela Picaresca," inimitable in " Don Quixote." A humour, moreover, not laboured, not purely literary (though the latter kind is not lacking), but spontaneous, and embodying the salient features of the national life and characteristics. It is both unnecessary and invidious to descant upon " Don Quixote," par excellence the work of Spanish Humour. The death-blow to the chivalrous literature throughout civilised Europe (in Spain more rankly luxuriant than elsewhere, and where it perhaps reached its climax of absurdity), this marvellous work spread rapidly from land to land, and was first put into English in the year 1612. It is here given from the latest and most scholarly trans- lation, the labour of love for eighteen years of Mr. H. E. Watts. It may be as well, however, to draw attention to the special phase of Spanish life round which Spanish humour collected in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries — namely, the life of rogues in the " Novela Picaresca " — to which a section of this volume has been devoted, and the influence of which INTRODUCTION. xiii is traceable in other authors (such as Guevara and Santos) not included in that section. This peculiar taste, called El Gusto Picaresco {picaro = rogue) owes its origin, according to Ticknor, to the condition of certain portions of society in the reigns of Charles V, and Philip II., and it has ever been in popular favour. Le Sage boldly imitated it in his famous "Gil Blas";^ and Fielding, Smollet, and other English authors show its influence upon English literature. This typical rogue, who generally starts in life as a servant, has his counterpart on the stage in the Gracioso (the valet), prototype of the Barbier de Seville of Beaumarchais, and Moliere's Scapin. As this collection is not intended to be compre- hensive, no apology need be made for omissions obvious perhaps to Spanish scholars. Among other works, such as those of the Archpriest of Hita, of Castillejo, Forner, Pitillas, and Moratin, the " Gato- maquia" {see Notes) and "Mosquea," burlesque epics after the pattern of the " Batrachomyomachia," are not represented ; nor yet the famous " Murciliego Alevoso " (in which is displayed a humour not unlike Pope's) of Gonzalez, and the celebrated periodical El Padre Cobos.^ That the drama, however, the richest in Europe, and original and characteristic as only either the Greek or the English drama, should be so little represented is due to the fact that the fun of a Spanish comedy generally lies in the plot and in comic situations. With regard to the tales and anecdotes (both ancient and modern), the difficulty is any certainty • See note on /s/a. ' See note on A^nvspape.r Hiiuioiir. xiv INTRODUCTION. of their origin, though this applies to the literature of all countries. The story of the cook and the crane is a common chestnut (with us the crane is a goose), the travellers' tale of the huge cauldron and the cabbage is perhaps too familiar to please ; but they are here of interest as from Spanish Table- books of so long ago as the sixteenth century. To come to the nineteenth century, our English periodical essayists of the eighteenth — Addison, Steele, and Johnson — will be recognised as proto- types of Figaro, El Curioso Parlante, El Solitario, &c. These Spanish Tatlers and Spectators are, how- ever, on the whole, no servile imitators, and are justly held in high esteem by the Spaniards, though little known outside the Peninsula. ^ The nineteenth- century novel, in which critics see the continuity of the Spanish genius, is here well represented b\' Valera's " Pepita Jimenez," and " Sister Saint Sulpice " of Valdes ; other novelists, the rightly popular Alarcon, and the distinguished authoress, Emilia Pardo Bazan, have contributed short tale's. The chronological order, which on the whole is adhered to down to the eighteenth century, is some- what neglected in the nineteenth for the sake of variety and harmony in the arrangement of the selections. It is also to be feared that a few names of minor importance have crept in among the authors of the present century. ' Elanco Garcia, the latest authority upon modern Spanish literature, ignores the English periodical essayists, and ascribes the introduction of this style of literature into Spain to the amusing and humorous work^ " Ermite de la Chaussee d' Ant in," of M. de Jouy (d. 1846), which work, however, was, according to Gustave Masson, written in imita- tion of the Spectator. INTRODUCTION. XV This compilation is based upon Ticknor's great work upon Spanish literature ^ and Padre Blanco Garcia's " History of the Literature of the Nine- teenth Century " (published 1891), besides some valuable advice, generously given under great stress of work and worry, by Senor Don Rubio y Lluch, professor of Spanish Literature to the University of Barcelona. Other authorities consulted, biographies, &c., are too numerous to detail. Existing translations have been used, and the translators' names appended. Among these many famous ones from Elizabethan to modern times will be noticed. Many of the selections have been considerably adapted for various reasons, principally to suit the requirements of a work in- tended to be popular. Others are almost literal. In many cases it has been no little difficulty to select passages comprehensive enough to dispense with explanations or a long introductory notice. On the whole liveliness and attractiveness (whether with success or no) is aimed at rather than scholarly exactness, though it is to be hoped the collection will also be of interest to the student, and give a faithful reflection of Spanish humour so far as possible in a foreign garb. With regard to the insertion of extracts from translations or Spanish originals published within the last ten years, I have to thank the Casscll Publishing Co., New York, for "The Account ■ This last edition of 1863, enlarged and corrected l)y reference to a German annotated translation and to the Spanish translation (with ample notes) of his first edition by Don Pasciial de Gayangos and Enrique de Vedia. xvi INTRODUCTION. Book," translated by Mary J. Serrano; Messrs. Thomas J. Crovvell & Co., New York, for the extracts from " Sister Saint Sulpice," translated by N. H. Dole ; Mr. Heinemann, for his kind permission to insert the given extract from the translation of " Pepita Jimenez"; Messrs. Kegan Paul, Trench, Triibner, and Co. for permission to insert the ballad from Mr. Gibson's Spanish Romances ; Sehora Dona Emilia Pardo Bazan for her gracious permission to select from her tales; Mr. H. E. Watts for per- mission to insert extracts from his translation of " Don Quixote." Finally, my best thanks are due to kind friends in Catalonia (possessors in the Catalan of a distinct tongue and valuable literature, if less important than the Castilian) for their great help during my residence at Barcelona by the furthering of my Spanish studies, privately, and at the University. While I owe much, to cultured Spaniards, from Santander to Seville, for valuable information on their national life and customs, and to my Mother, a patient and enthusiastic traveller, and the origin, in more than one wa}^ of my sojourn and travels in Spain. SusETTE M. Taylor. THE HUMOUR OF SPAIN. MV CID PLEDGES TWO COFFEES FULL OF SAND TO THE JEWS RACLLEL AND VLDAS. MARTIN ANTOLINEZ, a dowghtye lance art thow And be my troth thy hire shall ne stinted be, I vow My gold, alack, is all yespent and eke the silver toe, And richesse here I none with me as God on hye is trewe. With an ill wille I do itte, for my brave companye's sake, Togither with thy gude reade tweye strong chests we will make. The leather schal be cramasie, the nails schal be of gold, And we'll fill them ful of gravele, as much as thei can hold Toe Rachel and to Vidas, now hie thee speedilee : An outlawe I from Burgos towne, the Kyng is wrath with me, I needs must leave my tresor because of its sore weyt, And I wil plege it to them at an anantageus rate." Martin Antolinez spedde to towne without delai, And saw the tweye Jewes upon that verye day. "O Rachel and thow Vidas, dere frendes are ye in trotlie, A message I have privyly to telle onto youe bothc." They did not keep him waiting, they went asydc all thre. "Here Rachel, and thow Vidas, praye giv your handes to me, Betray me not to Xtian nor yet to any More, And I will make you ryche, you schal never more be poor. The Campeador alate gathered in the landes dutic. And keped from the Kyng grete and mickle bootie ; 2 SrANISH HUMOUR. Tweye coffres he has gotten brimful of shinand gold And he cannot here hem with him, unless he had them sold ; But he'll give them in your keepyng, and borrow what is just, Soe take the coffres in your care, with hem we youe entrust, And laye your handes within mine and tel me one and bothe, That you wil not look insyde them al this yere upon your oathe ' — " And what will my Cid paye toe us for keepyng safe his treasure ? " — Quoth Martin Antolinez, " He will paye you in due measure But now he ncedes a hundred markes, and you can paye them here." — • "We never paye," the Jewes sayde," afore we have the ware." Soe they mounted ther swift corsiares and rade richt s])eedilee, Wen my Cid saw them comynge, he lought most lustilee. The Jewes bent loe and kissed his hande, Martin wrote down the deed, Thei sholde have care of the coffers but of lookyng in tayk heed. The myrth yous sholde have witnest wen the chests were borne away. They coulde not here them by themselves all gyf no strip- lings they. Sayd Rachel to the Campeador, " O Cid, I kisse thy hand, Myght I a fyn red moorish skynne on thi returne demande ? " "Richt willyngley," sayde my Cid, " sych gifts I gladly offer, Shoulde I perchaunce forget itte, youe must count it on the coffer.' THE CID PLEDGES TWO COFFERS OF SAND TO THE JEWS. 4 SPANISH HUMOUR. In the middle of the hall they stretch'd a carpet fringed and rare, And a shete of fyn bleached linen was also laid out then In a single lot of silver thre hundrith markes they payed ; Brave Antolinez counted them but did not have hem weyed. Thre hundrith more he toke in gold, and then bespake the two : " O Rachel and thow Vidas, mickle gain I've brought to you, And in soth I've earned your thanks gif not a pair of breeches toe." Vidas and Rachel youde asyde and speedilye agreed That Antolinez verile had earned of them ryche meede. "Thritte odde markes, wich is but just, Martin, we'll giv to youe. And you can buye some fur, a cloake, and paire of breeches toe." Soe Antolinez took the markes and thanked them hertelye. And tayking curteous leave of them spedde backe richt merrylye. "■ Foe/iia del Cid"" {Ttvelfth Ce?itio-y). THE COWARDICE OF THE INFANTES OF CARRION WHEN THE LION BREAKS LOOSE. TWO years after their marriage did the Infantes of Carrion sojourn in Valencia in peace and pleasure, to their own great contentment, and their uncle Suero Gonzalez with them ; and at the end of those two years there came to pass a great misadventure, by reason of which they fell out with the Cid, in whom there was no fault. There was a lion in the house of the Cid who had grown a large one, and a strong, and was full nimble ; three ^ M^- ^ X v' .|''ftiW'«» fig BKAVliKY Oh THE LIU WHEN THE LION 13KEAKS LOOSE. 6 " SPANISH HUMOUR. men had the keeping of this hon, and they kept him in a den which was in a courtyard, high up in the paLace ; and when they cleansed the court they were wont to shut him up in liis den, and afterward to open the door that he might come out and eat : the Cid kept him for his pastime, that he might take pleasure with him when he was minded so to do. Now it was the custom of the Cid to dine every day with his company, and after he had dined he was wont to sleep awhile upon his seat. And one day when he had dined there came a man and told him that a great fleet was arrived in the port of A^alencia, wherein there was a great power of the Moors, whom King Bucar had brought over, the son of the Miramamolin of Morocco. And when the Cid heard this his heart rejoiced and he was glad, for it was nigh three years since he had had a battle with the Moors. Incontinently he ordered a signal to be made that all the honourable men who were in the city should assemble together. And when they were all assembled in the Alcazar, and his sons-in-law with them, the Cid told them the news, and took counsel with them in what manner they should go out against this great power of the Moors. And when they had taken counsel the Cid went to sleep upon his seat, and the Infantes and the others sat playing at tables and chess. Now at this time the men who were keepers of the lion were cleaning the court, and when they heard the cry that the Moors were coming, they opened the den, and came down into the palace where the Cid was, and left the door of the court open. And when the lion had ate his meat and saw that the door was open he went out of the court and came down into the palace, even into the hall where they all were ; and when they who were there saw him, there was a great stir among them ; but the Infantes of Carrion showed greater cowardice than all the rest. Ferrando Gonzalez having no shame, neither for the Cid nor for the others who were COWARDICE OF THE INFANTES OF CARRION. / present, crept under the seat whereon the Cid was sleeping, and in his haste he burst his mantle and his doublet also at the shoulders. And Diego Gonzalez, the other, ran to a postern door, crying, ''I shall never see Carrion again ! " This door opened upon a courtyard where there was a wine- press, and he jumped out, and by reason of the great height could not keep on his feet, but fell among the lees and defiled himself therewith. And' all the others who were in the hall wrapped their cloaks around their arms, and stood round about the seat whereon the Cid was sleeping, that they might defend him. The noise which they made awakened the Cid, and he saw the lion coming towards him, and he lifted up his hand and said, "What is this?" . . . And the lion, hearing his voice, stood still ; and he rose up and took him by the mane as if he had been a gentle mastiff, and led him back to the court where he was before, and ordered his keepers to look better to him for the time to come. And when he had done this he returned to the hall and took his seat again ; and all they who beheld it were greatly astonished. After some time, Ferrando Gonzalez crept from under the seat where he had hidden himself, and he came out with a pale face, not having yet lost his fear, and his brother Diego got from among the lees : and when they who were present saw them in this plight you never saw such sport as they made ; but my Cid forbade their laughter. And Diego went out to wash himself and change his garments, and he sent to call his brother forth, and they took counsel together in secret. " Chroiiidc of the Cid'''' {Thirteenth Century). Trans. Southey. 8 SPANISH HUMOUR. THE CAT TURNED NUN. IN a certain convent there was a cat which had killed all the mice in the convent but one, which was very big, which she could not catch. The cat mused in her heart in what manner she might deceive the mouse that she might kill him ; and thought so long till she agreed she must take the veil, and clothe herself in nun's garb, and sit amongst the nuns at table, and tlien she might get at the mouse ; and she did as she had thought. The mouse, when he saw the cat eating v/ith the nuns, rejoiced greatly, and thought, since the cat had become religious, that she would henceforth do him no harm, insomuch that Don Mouse came near to where the nuns were eating, and began to leap about here and there. Then the cat rolled her eyes as one who has no longer eyes for any vanity or folly, and she kept a peaceful and humble countenance ; and the mouse, seeing that, drcAv near little by little ; and when the cat saw him nigh her she sprang upon him with her claws and began to throttle him. And the mouse said, " How is it that thou, a nun, art so cruel as to wish to kill me?" Whereupon the cat replied, "Think not thy cries will cause me to free thee \ for know, brother, that when it pleases me I am a nun, and when it pleases me a canoness." ' " The Book oj Cats " {^Fourteenth Century). Author unknown. ' That a canoness is a woman who enjoys a prebend, without being obHged to make any vows, or renounce the world, may be unknown to some readers. THIS MOUSE, WHEN HE SAW THE CAT EATING WITH THE NUNS, REJOICEU GKEATLY.' lO SPANISH HUMOUR. THE MADMAN IN THE BATH. NO'W it chanced that a good man kept some baths, and a neighbour, a madman, was the first to come daily to this bath ; afterwards awaiting the arrival of the people to bathe, he commenced, as soon as he saw them, to beat them with sticks or throw stones at them, so that the proprietor of the baths soon lost all his customers. The good man, seeing this, determined to rise very early one day, undressed himself, and went into the bath before the madman arrived, having at hand a pail full of very hot water and a wooden club. When the madman came to the bath, determined, as usual, to attack all who came in his way, the good man, seeing him enter, allowed him to approach, when he suddenly upset the pail of hot water over his head, attacking him at the same time with the club. The madman now gave himself up for dead ; never- theless, he managed to escape, and, running away, he told every one he met to be careful, for there was a madman in the bath. Don Juan Manuel [d. 1347). Trans, fames York. THE NAKED KING. THREE impostors came to a king and told him they were cloth-weavers, and could fabricate a cloth of so peculiar a nature that a legitimate son of his father could see the cloth ; but if he were illegitimate, though believed to be legitimate, he could not see it. Now the King was much pleased at this, thinking that by this means he would be able to distinguish the men in his kingdom who were legitimate sons of their supposed THE MADMAN IN THE liATII. 1 1 "suddenly UrSliT TIIK I'AIL Ol'' HOT WATliK." 12 SPANISH HUMOUR. fathers from those who were not, and so be enabled to increase his treasures, for among the Moors only legitimate children inherit their father's property ; and for this end he ordered a palace to be appropriated to the manu- facture of this cloth. And these men, in order to convince him that they had no intention of deceiving him, agreed to be shut up in this palace until the cloth was manufactured, which satisfied the King. When they were supplied with a large quantity of gold, silver, silk, and many other things, they entered the palace, and, putting their looms in order, gave it to be understood that they were working all day at the cloth. After some days, one of them came to the King and told him the cloth was commenced, that it was the most curious thing in the world, describing the design and construction ; he then prayed the King to favour them with a visit, but begged he would come alone. The King was much pleased, but wishing to have the opinion of some one first, sent the Lord Chamberlain to see it, in order to know if they were deceiving him. When the Lord Chamberlain saw the workmen, and heard all they had to say, he dared not admit he could not see the cloth, and when he returned to the King he stated that he had seen it ; the King sent yet another, who gave the same report. When they whom he had sent declared that they had seen the cloth, he determined to go himself. On entering the palace and seeing the men at work, who began to describe the texture and relate the origin of the invention, as also the design and colour, in which they all appeared to agree, although in reality they were not working; when the King saw how they appeared to work, and heard the character of the cloth so minutely described, and yet could not see it, although those he had sent had seen it, he began to feel very uneasy, fearing he might not be the son of the King who was supposed to be his father, THE NAKED KING. ^^'M'^^^^M^ /''^^'i fj m: ^^m I \ Aft* -- ... ---'-te"j ^,ir x-ivS:- ' X "he mounted on HORSEnACK AND RODE INTO THE CITV. 14 SPANISH HUMOUR. and that if he acknowledged he could not see the cloth he might lose his kingdom ; under this impression he com- menced praising the fabric, describing its peculiarities after the manner of the workmen. On the return to his palace he related to his people how good and marvellous was the cloth, yet at the same time suspected something wrong. At the end of two or three days the King requested his " Alguacil" (or officer of justice) to go and see the cloth. When the Alguacil entered and saw the workmen, who, as before, described the figures and pattern of the cloth, knowing that the King had been to see it, and yet could not see it himself, he thought he certainly could not be the legitimate son of his father, and therefore could not see it. He, however, feared if he was to declare that he could not see it he would lose his honourable position ; to avoid this mischance he commenced praising the cloth even more vehemently than the others. When the Alguacil returned to the King and told him that he had seen the cloth, and that it was the most ex- traordinary production in the world, the King was much disconcerted ; for he thought that if the Alguacil had seen the cloth, which he was unable to see, there could no longer be a doubt that he was not the legitimate son of the King, as was generally supposed ; he therefore did not hesitate to praise the excellency of the cloth and the skill of the workmen who were able to make it. On another day he sent one of his Councillors, and it happened to him as to the King and the others of whom I have spoken ; and in this manner, and for this reason, thfey deceived the King and many others, for no one dared to say he could not see the cloth. Things went on thus until there came a great feast, when all requested the King to be dressed in some of the cloth ; so the workmen, being ordered, brought some rolled THE NAKED KING. I 5 up in a very fine linen, and inquired of the King how much of it he wished them to cut off; so the King gave orders how much and how to make it up. Now when the clothes were made, and the feast day had arrived, the weavers brought them to the King, inform- ing his Majesty that his dress was made of the cloth as he had directed, the King all this time not daring to say he could not see it. When the King had professed to dress himself in this suit, he mounted on horseback and rode into the city; but fortunately for him it was summer time. The people seeing his Majesty come in this manner were much surprised ; but knowing that those who could not see this cloth would be considered illegitimate sons of their fathers, kept their surprise to themselves, fearing the dishonour consequent upon such a declaration. Not so, however, with a negro, who happened to notice the King thus equipped ; for he, having nothing to lose, came to him and said, " Sire, to me it matters not whose son I am, therefore I tell you that you are riding without any clothes." On this the King commenced beating him, saying that he was not the legiti- mate son of his supposed father, and therefore it was that he could not see the cloth. But no sooner had the negro said this, than others were convinced of its truth, and said the same; until, at last, the King and all with him lost their fear of declaring the truth, and saw through the trick of which these impostors had made them the victims. When the weavers were sought for they were found to have fled, taking with them all they had received from the King by their imposition. Don Juan Manuel. Trajis. Ja/ncs York. I 6 SPANISH HUMOUR. ''NOT EVEN THE DAY OF THE MUDV THE King Abit, of Seville, was married to Romaquia, and he loved her better than anything in the world. She was a very virtuous woman, and the Moors recount many of her good acts. But in one thing she did not display much wisdom ; this was that she generally had some caprice or other v^hich the King was always willing to gratify. One day, being in Cordova during the month of February, there happened to be (which was very un- usual) a very heavy fall of snow. When Romaquia saw this she began to weep. The King, seeing her so afflicted, desired to know the cause of her grief. " I weep," said she, " because I am not permitted to live in a country where we sometimes see snow." The King, anxious to gratify her, ordered almond-trees to be planted on all the mountains surrounding Cordova, for, it being a very warm climate, snow is seldom or never seen there. But now, once a year, and that in the month of February, the almond-trees came forth in full blossom, which, from their whiteness, made it appear as if there had been a fall of snow on the mountains, and was a source of great delight to the Queen for a time. On another occasion Romaquia, being in her apart- ment, which overlooked the river, saw a woman without shoes or stockings kneading mud on the banks of the river for the purpose of making bricks. When Romaquia saw this she began to cry, which the King observing, begged to know the cause of her grief. She replied, "It is because I am not free to do as I please ; I cannot do as yonder woman is doing." Then the King, in order to gratify her, ordered a lake at Cordova to be filled with rose-water in place of ordinary "NOT EVEN THE DAY OF THE ]\tUD ? " 1/ 'the king ordeked a lake at cokdova to ue filled with kosu-wateu. 1 8 SPANISH HUMOUR. water, and to produce mud he had this filled with sugar, powdered cinnamon and ginger, beautiful stones, amber, musk, and as many other fragrant spices and perfumes as could be procured, and in place of straws he ordered to be placed ready small sugar-canes. Now when this lake was full of such mud, as you may imagine, the King informed Romaquia that now she might take off her shoes and stockings and enjoy herself by making as many bricks as she pleased. Another day, taking a fancy for something not im- mediately procurable, she began weeping as before. The King again entreated to know the cause of her grief. "How can I refrain from tears," said she, "when you never do anything to please me ? " The King, seeing that so much had been done to please and gratify her caprices, and feeling now at his wits' end, exclaimed, in Arabic, " Ehu aknahac afen" which means, "Not even the day of the mud." That is to say, that, although all the rest had been forgotten, she might at least have remembered the mud he had prepared to humour, her. Don Juan Mamiel {d. 1347). Trans. James York. THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. THERE lived in a city a IMoor who was much re- spected, and who had a son, the most promising youth in the world, but not being rich enough to accom- plish the great deeds which he felt in his heart equal to, he was greatly troubled, having the will and not the power. Now in the same town there lived another INIoor who held a higher position, and was very much richer than his father, and who had an only daughter, the very reverse in cha- THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. ig racter and appearance of the young man, she being of so very violent a temper that no one could be found willing to marry such a virago. One day the young man came to his father and said, " You know that your means will not allow you to put me in a position to live honourably," adding that, as he desired to live an easy and quiet life, he thought it better to seek to enrich himself by an advan- tageous marriage, or to leave that part of the country. The father told him that he would be very happy if he could succeed in such a union. On this the son proposed, if it were agreeable to his father, to seek the daughter of their neighbour in marriage. Hearing this, the father was much astonished, and asked how he could think of such a thing when he knew that no man, however poor, could be induced to marry her. Nevertheless the son insisted, and although the father thought it a strange whim, in the end he gave his consent. The good man then visited his neighbour telling him the wish of his son. When the good man heard what his friend said, he ansv/ered, " By heaven, my friend, were I to do such a thing I should prove myself a very false friend, for you have a worthy son, and it would be base in me to consent to his injury or death, and I know for certain that, were he to live with my daughter, he would soon die, or death, at least, would be preferable to life. Do not think I say this from any objection to your alliance, for I should only be too grateful to any man who would take her out of my house." The young man's father was much pleased at this, as his son was so intent on the marriage. All being ulti- mately arranged, they were in the end married, and the bride taken home, according to the Moorish fashion, to the house of her husband, and left to supper, the friends and relations returning to their respective homes, waiting 20 SPANISH HUMOUR. anxiously for the following day, when they feared to find the bridegroom either dead or seriously injured. Now, being left alone, the young couple sat down to supper, when the bridegroom, looking behind him, saw his mastiff, and said to him, " Bring me water wherewith to wash my hands." The dog naturally taking no notice of this command, the young man became irritated, and ordered the animal more angrily to bring him water for his hands, which the latter not heeding, the young man arose in a great rage, and, drawing his sword, commenced a savage attack on the dog, who to avoid him ran away, but finding no retreat jumped on the table, then to the fireplace, his master still pursuing him, who, having caught him, first cut off his head, then his paws, hewing him to pieces^ covering everything with blood. Thus furious and blood-stained he returned to the table, and looking round saw a cat. " Bring me water for my hands," said he to him. The animal not noticing the command, the master cried out, " How, false traitor, did you not see how I treated the mastiff for disobeying me ? If you do not do as I tell you this instant you shall share his fate." The poor little harmless cat continuing motionless, the master seized him by the paws and dashed him to pieces against the wall. His fury increasing, he again placed himself at the table, looking about on all sides as if for something to attack next. His wife, seeing this, and supposing he had lost his senses, held her peace. At length he espied his horse, the only one he had, and called to him fiercely to bring him water to wash his hands. The animal not obeying he cried out in a rage, " How is this ? Think you that because you are the only horse I have, you may dare thus to disobey my orders ? Know, then, that your fate shall be the same as the others, and that any one living who dares to disobey me shall not escape my vengeance." Saying this he seized the horse, cut off his head, and hacked him to pieces. THE TAMING OF THE SHREW. 21 And when the wife saw this, and knowing he had no other horse, felt that he was really in earnest, she became dreadfully alarmed. He again sat down to table, raging and all bloody as he was, swearing he would kill a thousand horses, or even men or women, if they dared to disobey him. Holding at the same time his bloody sword in his hand, he looked around with glaring eyes until, fixing them on his wife, he ordered her to bring him water to wash his hands. The wife, expecting no other fate than to be cut to pieces if she demurred, immediately arose and brought him the water. "Ha ! thank God you have done so !" said he, "otherwise, I am so irritated by these senseless brutes, that I should have done by you as by them." He afterwards commanded her to help him to meat. She complied ; but he told her, in a fearful tone of voice, to beware, as he felt as if he was going mad. Thus passed the night, she not daring to speak, but strictly obeying all his orders. After letting her sleep for a short time he said to her, "Get up; I have been so annoyed that I cannot sleep, take care that nothing disturbs me, and in the meanwhile prepare me a good and substantial meal.'' While it was yet early the following morning the fathers, mothers, and other relatives came stealthily to the door of the young people, and, hearing no movement, feared the bridegroom was either dead or wounded, and seeing the bride approach the door alone were still more alarmed. She, seeing them, went cautiously and tremblingly towards them, and exclaimed : " Traitors, what are you doing? How dare you approach this gate? Speak not — be silent, or all of us, you as well as I, are dead." ^^'hen they heard this they were much astonished, and on learning what had taken place the night previous they esteemed the young man very much who had made so 22 SPANISH HUMOUR. good a commencement in the management of his house- hold ; and from that day forward his wife became tractable and complaisant, so that they led a very happy life. A few days later his father-in-law, wishing to follow the example of his son, likewise killed a horse in order to intimidate his wife, but she said to him, " My friend, it is too late to begin now ; it would not avail yon to kill a hundred horses : we know each other too well." " Who would not for life be a henpecked fool, Must show, from the first, that he means to rule." Don Juan Manuel. Trans. Ja/nes York. A LONG TALE. A KING kept a man to tell him fables and tales at night before going to sleep. And one night the King, troubled with anxious thoughts, could not sleep, and the man told him three tales more than on other nights. And the King bade him tell still more, but he was unwilling, having told many. And the King said, "Thou hast told many, but they were short ; tell me a long one, and then thou canst hie thee to bed." The man, agreeing, began thus: "A countryman had a thousand shillings, and went to the fair and bought two thousand sheep at sixpence each, and on his way back he found the water had risen in the river, and that he could not cross by either bridge or ford ; but he found a little boat, and putting in two sheep, rowed across. And now, the river is wide, the boat very small, and the sheep many ; when the rustic has ferried his flock across, I will go on with the tale." And he got up and hied him to bed. ^' Libro de los Exeniplos'' {Fiffcent/i Cenfury). THE BITER BIT. 23 E LECTIO NULLA DEBET ESSE TV MA LIS. A KNAVISH fool condemned to death, asked the judge if he might choose the tree whereon he should be hanged; and this wish granted him, he was taken to the mountains, but could see no tree to please him. And they took him before the King, who asked why he was not yet hanged, to which the fool replied, the fact was he could not find a tree on which he felt he would like to be hanged. " Lilrro de los Exemp/os" {Fifteenth Century). THE BITER BLT. " Who thinks to take another in Is oft in his turn taken in." TWO townsmen and a countryman, on a pilgrimage to Mecca, agreed to share provisions till they should reach Mecca. But the victuals ran short, so that they had nothinsf left but a little flour — enough to make a loaf. And the townsmen, seeing that, said one to the other : " Wc have but little food, and our companion eats much, how shall we bring about that he shall eat none of the bread, and that we alone eat it ? " And they took this counsel — they would make the loaf, and whilst it was baking should all go to sleep, and whoever dreamed the most marvellous thing in that time, he should alone eat the bread. This they did, thinking to l^etray the simple rustic, and tliey made the loaf and put it to bake, and then lay down to sleep. I'ut the rustic saw through their treachery, and when the companions were sleeping took the half-baked bread, cat it, and turned to sleep. Then one of the towns- 24 SPANISH HUMOUR. men awoke as one dreaming and afraid, and called to his companion ; and the other said, " What hast thou? " "I saw a marvellous vision: methought two angels opened the gates of heaven, and bore me before the face of God." And his companion said, " Marvellous is that vision. But I dreamed that two angels seized me, and, cleaving the earth, bore me to hell." The rustic heard all this and pretended to sleep, but the others called out to him to awake, and he discreetly, as one amazed, replied, "Who are ye that are calling me?" They replied, " We are thy companions." And he said, " Have ye returned ? " And they said, " Whence wouldst thou have us return ? " And the rustic said, " But now methought I saw two angels take the one of you to heaven, and then two other angels take the other to hell ; and seeing this, and thinking you would neither return, I got up and ate the loaf." " Lihro de los Excmplos " {Fifteenth Centujy). THE BITER BIT. 25 "who are ye that AliF. CALLING ME?" CALISTO IS SMITTEN WITH MELIBEA'S CHARMS. Argument.- — Cat.isto, enfen'ug info a i:^a/-de;i after his iisuall manner., met there witJi Melibea, wifli whose love beijig caught, he began, to court her ; l>y 7vhoin being sharply checid and disniist, he gets him iioine. Calisto. Sempronio, Sempronio, why Sempronio, I say, Where is this accursed Varlet ? Sempronio. I am lieere, Sir, about your horses. Calisto. My horses (you knave), how haps it then that thou comst out of the hall ? CALISTO IS SMITTEN. 2/ Sempronio. The Gyrfalcon bated, and I came in to set him on the Pearch. Calisto. Is't e'en so ? Now the divell take thee ; mis- fortune waite on thy heeles to thy destruction ; mischiefe h'ght upon thee ; let some perpetuall intolerable torment seyze upon thee in so high a degree that it may be beyond all comparison, till it bring thee (which shortly I hope to see) to a most painfull, miserable, and disastrous death. Goe, thou unlucky rogue, goe I say, and open the chamber doore, and make ready my bed. Semprfluio. Presently, Sir, the bed is ready for you. Calisto. Shut the windowes, and leave darknesse to accompany him, whose sad thoughts deserve no light. Oh death ! how welcome art thou, to those who out-live their happinesse ! how welcome, wouldst thou but come when thou art call'd ! O that Hypocrates and Galen, those learned Physicians, were new living, and both heere, and felt my paine ! O heavens ! if yee have any pitty in you, inspire that Pleberian heart therewith, lest that my soule, helplesse of hope, should fall into the like misfortune with P5'rramus and Thisbe. Semprcmio. What a thing is this ? What's the matter with you ? Calisto. Away, get thee gone, doe not speake to me, unlesse thou wilt, that these my hands, before thy time be come, cut off thy daies by speedy death. Semprouio. Since you will lament all alone, and have none to share with you in your sorrowes, I will be gone. Sir. Calisto. Now the divell goe with thee. Sempronio. With me Sir ? There is no reason that he should goe with me, who stayes with you. O unfortunate, O sudden and unexpected ill ; what contrarious accident, what squint-ey'd starre is it that hath robbed this Gentleman of his wonted mirth ? and not of that alone, but of it (which 28 SPANISH HUMOUR. is worse) his wits. Shall I leave him all alone? or shall I goe in to him ? If I leave him alone, he will kill himselfe. If I goe in, he will kill me. Let him bide alone, and bite upon the bit, come what will come, I care not. Better it is that hee dye, whose life is hatefull unto him, than that I dye, when life is pleasing unto mee, and say that I should not desire to live, save only to see my Elicia, that alone is motive inoughe to make mee louke to my selfe, and guard my person from dangers. . . . Well, I will let him alone awhile, and give his humour leave to work out it selfe; . . . againe, if he see me in sight, I shall see him more incensed against me : For there the sun scorcheth most where he reflecteth most. . . . And therefore I think it my best play, to play least in sight, and to stay a little longer ; but if in the meanewhile he should kill him selfe, then farewell he. Perhaps I may get more by it than every man is aware of, and cast my skinne, changing rags for robes, and penury for plenty. But it is an old saying. He that lookes after dead-men's shoes, may chance to goe barefoote : Perhaps also the divell hath deceived me. And so his death may be my death, and then all the fat is in the fire : The rope will go after the Bucket : and one losse follows another ; — on the other side, your wise men say, That it is a great ease to a grieved soule to have a companion, to whom he may communicate his sorrow. Besides, it is generally received, that the wound which bleedes inward, is ever the more dangerous. Why then in these two extremes hang I in suspense. What I were best to doe ? Sure the safest is to enter. . . . Calisto. Sempronio ! Seinpronio. Sir. Calisto. Reach me that Lute. Sempronio. Sir, heere it is, Calisto. " Tell me what griefe so great can be As to equall my misery." CALISTO IS S-MITTEN ^V1T11 MLLIISKAS CIIAR.MS. 29 Scmpronio. This Lute, Sir, is out of tune. Calisto. How shall he tune it, who himselfe is out of tune ? ... Or how can he do anything well, whose will is not obedient to reason ? who harbors in his brest needles, peace, warre, truce, love, hate, injuries and suspicions ; and all these at once, and from one and the same cause. Doe thou therefore take this Lute unto thee, and sing me the most doleful ditty thou canst devise. Scniprojiio. "Nero from Tarpey, doth behold How Rome doth burne all on a flame ; He heares the cries of young and old. Yet is not grieved at the same." Calisto. My fire is farre greater, and lesse her pity whom now I speake of Sempronio. I was not deceived when I sayd, my Master had lost his wits. Calisto. Whats that (Sempronio) thou muttrest to thy selfe ? Sempronio. Nothing Sir, not L Calisto. Tell me what thou saidst : Be not afraid. Sempronio. Marry I said. How can that fire be greater which but tormenteth one living man, than that which burnt such a Citty as that was, and such a multitude of men? Calisto. How ? I shall tell thee. Greater is that flame which lasteth fourscore yeeres than that which endureth but one day. And greater that fire which burnetii one soule, than that which burneth an hundred thousand bodies : See what difference there is betwixt apparencies and existencies; betwixt painted shadowes, and lively substances. ... So great a difference is there betwixt that fire which thou speakest of and that which burneth mee. Sempronio. I see, I did not mistake my byas ; which runnes worse and worse. Is it not enough to shew thy selfe a fool, but thou must also speake prophanely ? 30 SPANISH HUMOUR. Calisto. Did I not tell thee, when thou speakest, that thou shouldest speake aloud ? Tell me what's that thou mumblest to thy selfe. Sempronio. Onely I doubted of what religion your Worship was. Calisto. I am a Melibean, 1 adore Melibea, I believe in Melibea, and I love Melibea. Soiiproiiio. My Master is all Melibea : whose heart not able to containe her, like a boyling vessell, goes bubbling her name in his mouth. Well, I have now as much as I desire : I know on which foot you halt. I shall heale you. Calisto. Thou speakest of matters beyond the Moone. It is impossible. Sempronio. O Sir, exceeding easie ; for the first recovery of sicknesse, is the discovery of the disease. . . . Ha, ha, ha, Calisto's fire ; these, his intolerable paines : as if love shot all his arrowes only against him. O Cupid, how high and unsearchable are thy mysteries ! What reward has thou ordained for love, since that so necessary a tribulation attends on lovers ? That hast set his bounds, as markes for men to wonder at : Lovers ever deeming that they only are cast behinde ; that all men breake thorow but themselves, like your light-footed bulls, which being let loose in the Place, and galled with darts, take over the bars as soone as they feele themselves prickt. Calisto. Sempronio. Sempronio. Sir. Calisto. Doe not you goe away. Sempronio. This pipe sounds in another tune. Calisto. What dost thou think of my malady ? Sempronio. AVhy, that you love Melibea. " Celestina, or the Tragicomedy of Calisto and Melibcfa.'" The first Act is attributed to Rodrigo Cota, 1480. Trans. Fuede-Ser, or Mahbe. LOVE AND DEATH. 31 LOVE AND DEATH. TAPAROUSE KN UNA VENTA. DEATH and Cupid chanced to meet, On a day when they were roaming, At a wayside country inn, After sunset in the gloaming. Cupid he was bound for Seville, Death was marching to Madrid, Both with knapsacks on their shoulders, AV'here their wicked wares were hid. Seemed to me that they were fleeing From the clutches of the law, For the couple gained a living Dealing death on all they saw. Cupid slily glanced at Death, As they sat around the board, Marvelled at her ugly visage, Shook his merry sides and roared. "Madam,'' quoth he, "'tis so rude To behave in such a way ; But, in sooth, so fair a fright Fve not seen for many a day." Death, whose cheeks grew red and fiery, Put an arrow in her bow; Cupid put in his another, And to combat they would go. Quick the landlord slipped between them, As they scowled on one another. Made them swear eternal friendship, Bade them sit and sup together. 3^ SPANISH HUMOUR. In the kitchen, by the ingle, They were fain to lay them down, For no bed was in the tavern, And the landlord he had none. They their arrows, bows and quivers, Gave into Marina's care, She, a buxom wench who waited On the guests that harboured there ; On the morrow at the dawning, Cupid started from the floor. Bade the landlord fetch his arms, Broke his fast and paid his score. 'Twas the arms of Death the landlord In his haste to Cupid brought, Cupid flung them on his shoulder, Took the road and gave no thought. Death rose up a little after. Sour, and limp, and woe-begone, Took at once the arms of Cupid, Shouldered them, and wandered on. From that very day to this, Cupid's shafts no more revive ; Youths who feel his fatal arrows Pass not over twenty-five. And, 'tis stranger still, the old one^, Whom Death's arrows used to slay, When they feel the shafts of Cupid, Gain a new life and a gay. What a world, so topsy-turvey ! What a change in people's lives ! Cupid giving life destroys. Death destroying life revives ! Trans. J. V. Gibson.- THE EATEN TANCAKE. 2i3 THE EATEN EAXCAKE. Lena. Ah, Troico, are you there ? Troico. Yes, my good fellow, don't you see I am ? Leno. It would be better if I did not see it. Troico. ^Vhy so, Leno ? Leno. Why, then you would not know a piece of ill-luck that has just happened. Troico. What ill-luck ? Leno. What day is it to-day ? Troico. Thursday. Leno. Thursday ? How soon will Friday come, then ? Troico. Friday will come to-morrow. Leno. Well, that's something; — but tell me, are there not other days of ill-luck as well as Fridays ? Troico. Why do you ask ? Leno. Because there may be unlucky pancakes, if there are unlucky Thursdays, Troico. I suppose so. Leno. Now, stop there ; — suppose one of yours had been eaten of a Thursday, on whom would the ill-luck have fallen — on the pancake, or on you ? Troico. On me, of course. Le7io. Then, my good Troico, comfort yourself, and begin to suffer and be patient ; for men, as the saying is, are born to misfortunes, and these are matters, in fine, that come from God ; and in the order of time you must die yourself, and, as the saying is, your last hour will then be come and arrived. Take it, then, patiently, and remember that we are Iiere to-morrow and gone to-day. Troico. For heaven's sake, Leno, is anybody in the family dead ? Or else why do you console me so ? Leno. Would to heaven that were all, Troico ! Troico. Then what is it? Can't you tell me without 4 34 SPANISH HUMOUR. so many circumlocutions ? What is all this preamble about ? Leno. When my poor mother died, he that brought me the news, before he told me of it, dragged me round through more turn-abouts than there are windings in the rivers Pisuerga and Zapardiel. Troico. But I have got no mother, and never knew one. I don't know what you mean. Leno. Then smell this napkin. Troico. Very well, I have smelt it. Le7io. What does it smell of? Troico. Something like butter. Leno. Then you may surely say, " Here Troy was.' Troico. What do you mean, Leno ? Leno. For you it was given to me ; for you Donna Timbria sent it, all stuck over with nuts ; — but, as I have (and Heaven and everybody else knows it) a sort of natural relationship for whatever is good, my eyes watched and followed her just as a hawk follows chickens. Troico. Followed whom, villain ? Timbria? Letio. Fleaven forbid ! But how nicely she sent it, all made up with butter and sugar ! Troico. And what was that ? Leno. The pancake, to be sure, — don't you understand ? Troico. And who sent a pancake to me ? Leno. Why, Donna Timbria. Troico. Then what became of it ? Leno. It was consumed. Troico. How ? Leno. By looking at it ? Troico. Who looked at it ? Leno. I, by ill-luck. Troico. In what fashion ? Lxno. Why, I sat down by the way-side. Troico. Well, what next ? THE EATEN PANCAKE. 35 Leno. I took it in my hand. Troico. And then? Leno. Then I tried how it tasted ; and what between taking and leaving all around the edges of it, when I tried to think what had become of it, I found I had no sort of recollection. Troico. The upshot is that you ate it ? Leno. It is not impossible. Troico. r faith you are a trusty fellow ! Leno. Indeed ! do you think so ? Hereafter, if I bring two, I will eat them both, and so be better yet. Troico. The business goes on well, truly ! Leno. And well advised, and at small cost, and to my content. But now, go to ; suppose we have a little jest with Timbria. Troico. Of what sort? Letio. Suppose you make her believe you ate the pancake yourself, and, when she thinks it is true, you and I can laugh at the trick till you split your sides. Can you ask for anything funnier ? Troico. You counsel well, indeed. Letw. Well, Heaven bless the men that listen to reason ! But tell me, Troico, do you think you can carry out the jest with a grave face ? Troico. I ? What have I to laugh about ? Leno. Why, don't you think it is a laughing matter to make her believe you ate it, when all the time it was your own good Leno that did it ? Troico. Wisely said ! But now hold your tongue, and go about your business ! Lope de Rueda. " Timbria " {Ji. 1565). Trans. Ticknor. 36 SPANISH HUMOUR. T THE FAIR CELIBATE. HEY say, " 'Tis time, go, marry ! go ! " But I'll no husband ! not I ! no ! For I would live all carelessly, Amidst these hills, a maiden free, And never ask, nor anxious be, Of wedded weal or woe. Yet still they say, " Go, marry ! go ! " But I'll no husband ! not I ! no ! So, mother, think not I shall wed, And through a tiresome life be led, Or use, in folly's ways instead. What grace the heaven's bestow — Yet still they say, "Go, marry ! go ! " But I'll no husband ! not I ! no ! The man has not been born, I ween, Who as my husband shall be seen ; And since what frequent tricks have been Undoubtingly I know, — In vain they say, " Go, marry ! go ! " For I'll no husband ! not I ! no ! Gil Vicente {d. 1557). Trans. Ticknor. TiiK FAIR <;i;i.ii:Ari:. 37 HaX.% y /' /"^ - — -^ "i t<-+-|<,IM''-i-"'^' " ' c.c.c.f ' ' S-S-S-t ! ' CKIED THE SQUIKE, A.NU THE CRANES FLEW UP. 48 SPANISH HUMOUR. perceived by his wife, was unburdened to her. " There is a cure for this case," said she. "We will make the first a purse-maker, and he will cut purses; the second a butcher, and he can slay oxen." A village maiden, driving before her an ass, which, as it was returning to its foal, went quicker than the girl, met a courtier. " Where do you live, my pretty maiden ? " " At Getafe," replied she. " Tell me, do you know the daughter of the innkeeper in that village?" "Very well," replied she. " Then be so kind as to take her a kiss from me ! " "Give it to my donkey, sir; she'll get there first." A father sending his son to study at Salamanca, bade him eat the cheapest food. The youth on his arrival asked the price of an ox, and was told ten ducats; then of a partridge, and was told a real. " Oh ! " said he, " then I am bidden to eat partridges ! " Two friends, a weaver and a tailor, became in time enemies, so much so that the tailor spoke much evil of the weaver behind his back, though the weaver always spoke well of the tailor. Upon a lady asking the weaver why he always spoke so well of the tailor, who spoke so ill of him, he replied : " Madam, we are boih liars." Two thieves were breaking into a door when the master of the house, hearing them, looked out of the window and said : " Friends, come a little later, we are not yet in bed." SPANISH HUMOUR. 49 %. '^l ,., / THEN CE SO KIND AS TO TAKI-: M]:i; A KISS FROM ME. so SPANISH HUMOUR. A man of evil life and fame having built a beautiful house, had inscribed on the lintel : " Let no evil cross this threshold." A wit reading it, said, " Then wherever does the master of the house enter?" A knight having received a dish of cherries early in the season, had tliem placed before him above the dais. His children, a bastard and a legitimate son, were seated at another table apart, and seeing they got no cherries, the bastard up with his hand and soundly boxed his brother's ears. " How now, you villain," said the father, " why did you do that?" "Because, sir, he kept on saying, 'You won't get any cherries, you won't.'" Upon which the father, much amused, gave some to both. A prince had a jester who kept a book of fools, in which he put everybody deserving that title. One day at table the prince asked the jester to bring him the book, and opening it saw his own name, and below, " His Highness, on such a day, gave fifty ducats to an alchemist with which to go to Italy and bring back materials for making gold and silver." "And what if he returns?" said the Prince. " Oh, then she will scratch out your Highness and put him in." A collegian of the Archbishop of Seville's college was one day at table overlooked by the prebendary who doles out everybody's rations. Somewhat embarrassed as to how he should ask for his food, he suddenly observed a cat mewing in front of him, which he addressed in a loud voice so that the prebendary might hear, " Why the deuce are you mewing and licking your chops at me ? I have not i_ijL ^'S'SSiT'*^'''^'''"^ ^a^ip^ "you won't GliT ANY CIIEUKIES, YOU UON't I ' 52 SPANISH HUMOUR. yet got my rations, and you must needs already begin botliering me for the bones." A Biscayan, just finished working on the belfry in a small town, where there chanced to be a man condemned to death, was told by the authorities that, as they had no executioner, they would give him a ducat and the con- demned man's clothes to do the job, with which our Biscayan was well content. A few months after, finding himself penniless, and remembering how much he had gained by so light a task, he climbed the belfry, and when the townsfolk hurried by upon the peahng of the bells, he looked down at them, saying : " Gentlemen, it is I have called your worships. You must know I have not a blessed farthing, and you remember you gave me a ducat the other day to hang a man. Now I have been thinking that, from the smallest to the biggest of your worships, I should like to hang the whole town at half a ducat each." A blind man hid some money at the foot of a tree in a field belonging to a rich farmer. Visiting it one day he found it gone, and suspecting the farmer, went to him and said, " Sir, as you seem an honest man, I have come to ask your advice. I have a sum of money in a very safe place, and now I have just as much more, and do not know if I should hide it where the other is, or somewhere else." The farmer replied, " Truly, if I were you, I would not change the place, it being as safe as you say." " That's just what I thought," said the blind man, and took his leave. The farmer hurriedly put back the money, hoping to get it doubled, and the blind man in his turn dug it up, greatly rejoicing at recovering what he had lost. Juan de Timoneda {fl. 1590), ■1 bliOULU LlKIi TO llANO Tllli WHOLE TOWN AT llAI.l' A DUCAT liAClI. -THE BOOK OF JOKES." ; TRA VELLERS' TALES. i~ N Monzon de Campos a nobleman returned from India, _ as he was one day relating wonders of those regions to some neighbours^ told them how he had seen a cabbage so immense that three hundred mounted men could rest under its shade. " I don't think much of that," cried a servant of the Marquess of Poza. " In Biscay I saw a cauldron so vast that two hundred men were hammering at it, and yet stood so far from each other that no man heard the noise of his neighbour's hammer." The Indian, much surprised, inquired the use of this cauldron. " Sir, to cook the cabbage you have just told us about." Don Rodrigo Pimentel, Count of Benavente, was a master much feared by his servants. One day at Benavente, as he was writing some important despatches, certain of his pages stood round about discussing their fear of him, and one said, " What will you give me if I go up, just as he is now, and give him a hard smack on the back of his neck ? " The others eagerly laid a wager with him. Hereupon goes my good page as if to see if his lord wanted anything, and gives him a sound slap, crying " St. George ! " " What's that ? " said the Count. " Sir, a large spider was crawling 54 lt-iL'i'"-tA my lamentations, and might well excite suspicion ; but good people are not over suspicious, ■]6 SPANISH HUMOUR. and I heard the golden shower dropping sweetly and plenti- fully as they went into the house of prayer. In short, I got more than all the rest of my brethren put together, and they wished me at the devil, with my ulcer, that brought the capital into one bank. As the stars at last would have it, there came the governor to hear mass at this very church — surely for my sins — and he recognised my voice in a moment, surveying me intently from head to foot. Yes, it was my voice, for elsewhere I was impenetrable ; my whole person being disguised in the most effectual manner, with a huge napkin round my head, reaching down to my nose. Alas ! he was a man of strong natural penetration, and suspicious as the devil; for, as he fixed me with his eyes, he seemed to be saying within himself, " For these several days past I have heard, I have seen, this odd-looking fish ; is it possible he has got so dreadful an ulcer — all at once? Let us examine a little farther.'' "Friend," he observed, "you seem in a sad plight ; your case truly deserves compassion ; come, follow me, I will at least give you a shirt to your back." I had the indiscretion to obey, for I suspected nothing. Had I so done, spite of all the people at his heels, I vow I would have given him the slip, and saved my unfortunate carcase. He had no sooner got me safely housed than he assumed a cold and severe aspect, from which I augured nothing pleasant. He then asked me sharply if I were not the person he had seen at the door of a church, with a com- plexion as pale as death. I grew pale enough indeed at this, and lost all presence of mind ; I could not deny it : and when he asked me how I had got so speedily cured' of my scalded head and other infirmities I was still more puzzled than before. " Besides," he continued, " I cannot comprehend how, with that ruddy complexion of thine, thou hast got such a terrible ulcer in the leg." " My lord." replied I, quite disconcerted, and trembling in every OF THE PLEASANT LIFE GUZMAN LED, 7/ 4'K„MiK«.a1-''^ 'come, follow MF,, I WILL AT LEAST GIVE YOU A SIIIKT TO VOl'R BACK. 78 SPANISH HUMOUR. limb, " I know not how it is, except that it is the will of God." But what was my anxiety when I heard the governor direct one of his messengers to go and call in a surgeon. I saw what was coming, and would have made an attempt to save myself had not the doors been already closed upon me. Not a chance was left me ; the dreaded surgeon came, he examined my leg ; but, with all his ability and experience, he would perhaps have been deceived had not the cruel governor privately communicated the reasons he had to believe me an impostor. Of course, he had little merit after that of probing the thing to the bottom ; he unbundled it all anew, and putting on a knowing face : '■ I verily be- lieve," he said, "the rogue has nothing amiss with his leg, any more than I have with my eyes; I see through it; bring me some warm water ; " which being done, he proceeded to restore it to its natural form and colour. I had not a word to say in my defence, and held my tongue. The governor then ordered me to be presented with a shirt, as he had promised, and this was nothing but a most severe flagellation, administered by a stout fellow, who laid on, at the governor's special order, with right good will on my bare carcase. After thirty lashes he stopped ; I was dressed by the same surgeon, and told to take myself off, spite of my smarting, at double quick time, under a more terrible penalty were I again found in the same territories. This advice was quite superfluous. I hastened from the accursed spot, shrugging up my shoulders, and marched as quickly as possible to reach the milder government of the Pope. I uttered a thousand benedictions at the sight of my well-loved Rome once more ; I wept for joy as I entered it, and wished that I had arms long enough to embrace it with the devoted love of some returning prodigal son or happy pilgrim. I rejoined my comrades, and took care not to say a word OF THE WICKED OLD HOUSEKEEPER. 79 of the new marks of honour I had brought back with nic there would have been no end to their raillery, and I should never have heard the last of it. I merely said I had been making a little excursion to the adjacent villages, but, with the exception of Rome, there was no place on which our profession could fairly rely, either for profit or safety. I had indeed been a great ass to leave such a city at all. Mateo Aleman. Trans. Roscoe. OF THE WICKED OLD HOUSEKEEPER, AND THE FIRST KNAVISH FRANKS PAUL FLAYED AT ALCALA. w ,» / HEN you are at Rome, do as they do at Rome, /y says the old proverb; and it is well said. I took it so seriously into consideration, that I fully resolved to play the knave among knaves, and to excel them all if possible. I know not whether I succeeded to my wish, but I am sure I used all my endeavours. In the first place, I made a law that it should be no less than death for any pigs to cross the threshold of our house, or for any of the old housekeeper's chickens to run out of the yard into our room. It happened that one day two of the cleverest porkers that ever my eyes beheld slipped into our dominions; I was then at play with the other servants, and hearing them grunt, said to one of my companions, " Go see who it is that grunts in our house;" he went, and brought word they were actually two swine. No sooner did I hear, then off I set in a passion, exclaiming — " It was a great deal of impudence in them to grunt in other people's houses." Then slamming to the door, in a sudden heat of blood, I ran my sword into the 8o SPANISH HUMOUR. throats of them both, and we afterwards cut off ihcir heads. To prevent their cries for rescue, we all set up our voices to the highest pitch during the operation, and between us they soon gave up the ghost. We next paunched them, saved the blood, and by the help of our straw bed half roasted them in the yard, so that all was over before our masters came home, except the mere making of the black puddings. Don Diego and our steward were informed of this exploit, and flew into such a passion, that the other lodgers, highly amused, were fain to take my part. The don asked me what I should say for myself when the affair should be found out. I replied that I would plead hunger, the common sanctuary of all scholars ; and if that was not enough, I would urge that, seeing them come into the house without knocking, just as if they had been at home, I really thought that they were ours. They all laughed, and Don Diego said, "By my faith, Paul, you begin to understand the trade." It was well worth observ- ing the difference between my master and me; he so sober and religious, I so arch and roguish, so that the one was a foil to the other, and served to set off either his virtue or his vice. Our old housekeeper was pleased to the very heart, for we both played our parts, and conspired against the larder. I was caterer, and a mere Judas in my employ- ment, ever since retaining an inclination for cribbing and stealing. The meat always wasted in the old woman's keeping, and she never dressed wedder mutton when she could get ewe or goat. Besides, she picked the flesh off the bones before she boiled them, so that the dishes she served up looked as if the cattle had all died of a con- sumption. The broth was so clear, that had it been as hard as the bones, it might have passed for crystal ; but when she wanted to make it seem a little fat, she clapped in a few candles' ends. When I was by, she would say OF THE WICKED OLD HOUSEKEEPER. 8 1 to my master, " In truth, sir, Paul is the best servant in Spain, bating his unluckiness, but that may well enough be borne with, because he is so honest." I gave her the same character, and so we put upon the whole house between us. When I bought anything at market for the real value, the old body would pretend to fall out and quarrel ; and she, seeming to be in a passion, would say, '■ Do not tell me, Paul, that this is a pennyworth of salad." At this I pretended to cry and make a great noise, beseeching my master that he would please to send the steward, that he might prove the base calumny of the scolding old woman. By such simple means did we both retain our character for honesty ; she appearing to look sharp after me, and I always being found out to be trustworthy. Don Diego, highly pleased, would often say, "Would to God, Paul were as virtuous in other ways as he is honest ; I see, my good woman, he is even better than you represent him." It was thus we had leisure and opportunity to feast on them like horse-leeches. If you ask how much we might cheat them of in the year's round, I can only say it amounted to a considerable sum ; yet the old woman never missed going to church daily, nor did I perceive any scruple of conscience she made of it, though she was so great a saint. She always wore a pair of beads about her neck, so big, that the wood of them might have served to roast a sirloin of beef It was all hung with medals, crosses, pictures, and other trinkets, on all which, she said, she prayed every night for her benefactors. She would pray longer than any fanatical preacher, always in dog Latin, the sound of which almost made us split our sides with laughter. The old woman kept fowls, and had about a dozen fine grown chickens, which made my mouth water, for they were fit for any gentleman's table. It happened one day, 7 82 SPANISH HUMOUR. going to feed them, she called, as is the custom in Spain, very loud : " Pio, Pio, Pio." She repeated it so often, that I cried out in a pretended rage — " 'Fore God ! nurse, I wish I had seen you kill a man, or clip and coin, for then I might have kept your counsel ; but now I must be forced to discover you. The Lord have mercy upon us both, T say." She, seeing me in such disorder, was somewhat alarmed : " Why, Paul," she said, " what have I done ? pray do not jest with me." "Jest with you, forsooth, a curse on your iniquity! I cannot avoid giving information to the Inquisition, or I shall be excommunicated." "Oh Lord! the Inquisition; have I committed any crime, then ? " "Have you notV I answered; "don't think to trifle with the Inquisitors ; own you are in the wrong ; eat your own words as fast as you can, and deny not the blasphemy and irreverence." She replied in great consternation : "But, Paul, will they punish me if I recant ? " - "No," I replied, "they will then only absolve you." "Then I recant," said she; "only tell me what it is I have to recant ; for I know nothing of it, as I hope for mercy." " Bless me," replied I ; " is it possible you should be so dull? the irreverence was so great I hardly know how to express it. Wretch as you are, did you not call the chickens, Pio, Pio ; and Pius is the name of several Popes, who are Christ's vicars upon earth, and heads of the church. Now do you consider whether that be any trifling sin?" She stood as if she had been thunderstruck, and after a while cried : " 'Tis true, I said so, Paul ; but may I be burnt if I did it with any ill design. I recant — I do, OF THE WICKED OLD HOUSEKEEPER. 83 indeed ; and try to find some way not to inform of me ; for I shall die if they get me into the Inquisition." " Provided you take your oath on the holy altar that you meant it not for blasphemy ; but then you must give me the two chickens you called in that unsanctified way, by the names of the Popes, that they may be burnt by the officers of the Inquisition. This you must do now, or I shall otherwise be compelled to lay an information against you as quick as possible." She was glad to escape so easily, and instantly consented, giving me three instead of two, which I took to a neigh- bouring cook, had them dressed, and ate with my com- panions. Don Diego came to hear of the trick, and made excellent sport of it in the family. The old woman had nearly fretted heiself to death for mere vexation, and was a thousand times in the mind of taking revenge, and discovering all my schemes. She was, however, too deeply implicated ; and having once quarrelled with me, there was no end to the tricks I played her. In short, I became a great authority in all that the scholars called snatching and shop-lifting, at which I had many pleasant adventures. One evening, about nine o'clock, as I was passing through the great street, I spied a confectioner's shop open, and in it a frail of raisins upon the counter. I whipped in, took hold of it, and set a-running ; the confectioner scoured after me, and so did several neighbours and servants. Iking loaded, I perceived that, though I had the start, they would overtake me, and so, turning the corner of a street, I clapped the frail upon the ground and sat down uijon it, and wrapping my cloak about my leg, began to cry out, " God forgive him, he has trod upon me and crippled me." When they came up I began to cry, "For God's sake, pity the lame; I pray God you may never be lame ! " 84 SPANISH HUMOUR. ■)% — H]^H.cZf-,r. , "'friend,' they exclaijied, 'did you see a man run this WAV?'" OF THE WICKED OLD HOUSEKEEPER. 85 " Friend ! " they exclaimed, " did vou see a man run this y?" "He is before you," was my answer, "for he trod upon way ? " me." I boasted of this exploit, and with some reason : I even invited them to come and see me steal a box of sweet- meats another night. They came, and observing that all the boxes were so far within the shop, that there was no reaching them, they concluded the thing was impracticable. Drawing my sword, however, about a dozen paces from the shop, I ran on, and crying out at the door, " You are a dead man ! '' I made a strong pass just before the con- fectioner's breast, who dropped down calling for help ; and my sword running clean through a box of sweetmeats, I drew it, box and all, and took to my heels. They were all amazed at the contrivance, and ready to burst with laughing on hearing him bid the people search him, for that he was badly wounded; even when he found out the cheat he continued to bless himself, while I was employed in eating the fruits of my exploit. My comrades used to say that I could easily maintain my family upon nothing ; as much as to say, by my wits and sleight-of-hand. This had the effect of encouraging me to commit more. I used to bring home my girdle, hung all round with little pitchers, which I stole from nuns, begging some water to drink of them ; and when they turned it out in their wheel, I went off with the mugs, they being shut up and not able to help themselves. ^^ Paul, the Spanish Sharper T Qiievedo (i 580-1 645). Trans. Roscoe. 86 SPANISH HUMOUR. ESTEBANILLO ACTS ON THE CARDINAL'S BIRTH DA Y! "^T THEN I had been there five weeks, to reward my V V good service, I was prefer d to be under-sweeper below stairs. Thus men rise who behave themselves well in their employment, and are careful to please their superiors. I was bare-foot, half-naked, and as black as a collier, when I entered upon my new charge, where I fared not so well as in the kitchen ; for places of honour are not often so profit- able as those of less reputation, and nothing could stick to me but the dust of the house, whereas before I never wanted a sop in the pan, or other perquisites. But Fortune so ordered it that the Cardinal's servants undertook to act a play on his Eminency's birthday ; and in distributing the parts, they pitched upon me to represent a young King of Leon, either because I was young, or for being descended from the renowned Fernan Gonzales, who, as I said before, was my progenitor, and Earl of Castile, before there were kings of that country. I took care to learn my part, and persuaded him that took the management of it to give me half a pound of raisins and a couple of oranges every day, that I might eat a little collation at night, and rub my temples with the orange-peels in the morning fasting, telling him that would help my memory, which was very weak, else I should never get it by heart, tho' the whole was not above twenty lines ; and assuring him I had seen this done by the most celebrated comedians in Spain, when they acted the greatest parts. When the day of the solemnity came, a stately theatre was erected in the largest room in the palace, making a wood of green boughs at the end next the attiring room, where I was to lye asleep, and Moors to come and carry me away captive. My lord, the Cardinal, invited all the men of quality and ladies of ESTEBANILLO ACTS ON CARDINAL'S BIRTHDAY, ^y Hi I'M t '■■' ' >S^ /^ ' . *''' "• Vv^^^""^ \ ' ' / 'P:., / ^'^i I CAME TO Tllli SEASHOKE. S8 SPANISH HUMOUR. the court to this diversion. Our Merry-Andrew actors dressed themselves hke so many Jack-Puddiugs, and all the palace was richly hung and adorned. They put me on a very fine cloth suit, half cover'd with rich silver loops, and laced down the seams, which was as good as giving me wings to take my flight and be gone. Seeing myself in such equipage as I had never known before, I thought not fit to return to my rags again, but resolv'd to shift for myself. The play began at three in the afternoon, the audience consisting of all the flower of the city. The manager of the representation was so active and watchful, because he had hir'd my clothes, and was bound to see them forth- coming, that he never suffered me to go out of his sight. But when they came to that part where I was to appear as if I had been hunting, and then to lye down in the wood, pretending weariness and sleep ; I repeated a few verses, and those who came out with me upon the stage having left me, I turn'd into that green copse, where it cannot be said I was taken napping, for going in at one end I foUow'd a narrow path that was left among the boughs, to the other end of the theatre, whence I slipped down, and going along under it to the door of that great hall, bid those who stood about it, make way, for I was going to shift my clothes. Upon this they all let me pass, I made but two steps down the stairs, and flew along the streets like an arrow out of a bow, till I came to the sea-shore, whither I had steer'd my course, in hopes of some conveniency to carry me off". I was told afterwards when I returned to Palermo, that at the time when I quitted the stage, there came out half-a-dozen Christian Moors, well stuffd with gammon of bacon, and en- couraged with rich wine ; who coming to the wood to seize their prize, thinking I had been there, cry'd out with loud voice : " Young Christian King, appear ! " To which I supposing them to be my servants, was to answer, " Is it time to move ? " I being then too far on my way, not for ESTEBANILLO ACTS ON CARDINAL'S BIRTHDAY. SQ tear of being made a slave among infidels, but rather of being stripped of my fine clothes, could not play my part, or answer to the Moors, because I was a mile off, driving a bargain with Christians. The prompter perceiving I did not an£V\-er, was very diligent, repeating what I was to say, as believing I had forgot myself, tho' he was much mis- taken, for I had all my business fresh in my head. The Moors being tired with expectation, and concluding I had really fallen asleep, when I ought only to counterfeit, went into the imaginary wood, and found no footsteps of a King. Tliey were all amazed, there was no proceeding on the play; some ran about calling upon me, and others went to enquire after my Majesty, whilst he, who had engag'd for my clothes, tore his hair for vexation, and offer'd vows to Heaven in case I were found, and he escaped that ship- wreck. They told the Cardinal I was fled, who answered, I was much in the right to make my escape from the enemies of the Christian religion, and not suffer myself to be made prisoner by them. That, without doubt, I was gone back to the city of Leon, where I kept my court, whence it was likely I would take care to return the clothes ; but in the meanwhile, he would pay the value, so that they need not take the trouble of sending after me, for he would not dis- oblige so great a prince, especially on his birthday. He ordered my part should be read, and the rest of the play acted ; which was done accordingly, to the great satisfaction of the audience, and no less of the manager, having such good security for his clothes. " The Life of Esteba7iillo Gonzalez " {written by himse/f i7i 1646). Trans. Captain John Stevens. THE INGENIOUS GENTLEMAN, DON Q UIXOTE OF LA MANCHA. Which treats of the condition and waj' of life of tlie famous gentleman, Don Quixote of La il/ancha. IN a certain village of La Mancha, whose name I will not recall, there lived not long ago a gentleman — one of those who keep a lance in the rack, an ancient target, a lean hackney, and a greyhound for coursing. A mess of somewhat more beef than mutton, a salad on most nights, a hotch-potch on Saturdays, lentils on Fridays, with the addition of a pigeon on Sundays, consumed three parts of his substance. The rest of it was spent in a doublet of fine broad-cloth, a pair of velvet breeches for holidays, with slippers of the same, and his home-spun of the finest, with which he decked himself on week-days. He kept at home a housekeeper, who was past forty, and a niece who had not yet reached twenty, besides a lad for the field and market, who saddled the nag and handled the pruning- hook. The age of our gentleman bordered upon fifty years. He was of a vigorous constitution, spare of flesh, dry of visage, a great early riser, and a lover of the chase. They affirm that his surname was Quejada, or Quesada (and in this there is some variance among the authors who treat of the matter), although by very probable conjectures we are led to conclude that he was called Quijana. But this is of 90 CONDITION AND WAY OF LIFE OF DON QUIXOTE. 9 1 small import to our story ; enough that in the telling of it we swerve not a jot from the truth. Be it known, then, that this gentleman above mentioned, during the interval that he was idle, which was the greater part of the year, gave himself up to the reading of books of chivalries, with so much fervour and relish, that he almost entirely neglected the exercise of the chase and even the management of his estate. And to such a pitch did his curiosity and infatuation reach, that he sold many acres of arable land in order to buy romances of chivalry to read ; and so he brought home as many of them as he could procure. And of all none seemed to him so good as those composed by the famous Feliciano de Silva, for their brilliancy of style and those entangled sentences seemed to him to be very pearls ; and especially when he came to read of the passages of love, and cartels of defiance, wherein he often found written things like these : " The reason oj the unreason which is done to my reason in siicJi ivise my reason debilitates, that ivitJi reason I coniphiin of your beauteousnessy And also when he read : " The lofty heavens which of your divinity do divinely fortify you with the constellations, and make you deserver of the deserts ivliich your mightiness deserves." Over these reasons our poor gentleman lost his senses, and he used to keep awake at night in trying to compre- hend them, and in plucking out their meaning, which not Aristotle himself could extract or understand, were he to come to life for that special purpose. He did not much fancy the wounds which Don Belianis gave and received ; for he thought that, however potent were the masters who had healed him, the Knight could not but have his face and all his body full of scars and marks. Nevertheless, he praised in the author the ending of his book with the promise of that interminable adventure, and ofttimes he was seized with a desire to take up the pen, and put a 92 SPANISH HUMOUR. finish to it in good earnest, as is there purposed. And doubtless he would have done so — aye, and gone through with it — had not other greater and more lasting thoughts diverted his mind. Many times he held dispute with the Priest of his village (who was a learned man, a graduate of Siguenza) as to who should have been the better knight, Palmerin of England, or Amadis of Gaul ; though Master Nicholas, the Barber of the same village, was used to say that none came up to the Knight of the Sun, and that if. any one could compare with him it was Don Galaor, brother of Amadis of Gaul, for he had a very accommodating temper for everything ; he was no prudish cavalier, nor such a sniveller as his brother, nor in the article of valour any behind him. In fine, our gentleman was so absorbed in these studies, that he passed his nights reading from eve to dawn, and his days from dark to dusk ; and so with little sleep and much study his brain dried up, to the end that he lost his wits. He filled himself with the imagination of all that he read in the books : with enchantments, with quarrels, battles, challenges, wounds, amorous plaints, loves, torments, and follies impossible. And so assured was he of the truth of all that mass of fantastic inventions of which he read, that for him there was no other history in the world so certain. He would say that the Cid Ruy Diaz must have been a good knight, but not to be named with the Knight of the Flaming Sword, who only with one back-stroke had severed two fierce and monstrous giants through the middle. He better liked Bernardo del Carpio, because at Roncesvalles he had slain Orlando the Enchanted, availing himself of Hercules' trick when he throttled Anteus, son of Terra, in his arms. He spoke very well of the giant Morgante ; for, though of that gigantesque brood who are all arrogant and uncivil, he alone was affable and well-mannered. But, above all, he esteemed Rinaldo of Montalvan, especially CONDITION AND WAY OF LIFE OF DON QUIXOTE. 93 when he saw him sally from his castle and rob all he met, and when in Heathenrie he stole that idol of Mahound. which was all of gold, as his history tells. As for the traitor Galalon, for a volley of kicks at him he would have given his housekeeper— aye, and his niece to boot. In short, his wits utterly wrecked, he fell into the strangest delusion ever madman conceived in the world, and this was, that it was fitting and necessary for him, as he thought, both for the augmenting of his honour and the service of the State, to make himself a Knight Errant, and travel through the world with his armour and his horse seeking for adventures, and to exercise himself in all that he had read that the Knight Errant practised, redressing all kinds of wrong, and placing himself in perils and passes by the surmounting of which he might achieve an everlasting name and fame. Already the poor man imagined himself, by the valour of his arm, crowned with, at the least, the Empire of Trebi- zond. And so, with these imaginations so delightful, rapt in the strange zest with which they inspired him, he made haste to give effect to what he desired. The first thing he did was to furbish up some armour which had belonged to his great-grandfathers, which, eaten with rust and covered with miould, had lain for ages, where it had been put away and forgotten, in a corner. He scoured and dressed it as well as he was able, but he saw that it had one great defect, which was that there was no covered helmet, but only a simple morion or, headpiece. This his ingenuity supplied, for, with pieces of pasteboard, he fashioned a sort of half- beaver, which, fitted to the morion, gave it the appearance of a complete helmet. The fact is that, to prove it to be strong and able to stand the chance of a sword-cut, he drew his sword and gave it a couple of strokes, demolishing with the very first in a moment what had cost him a week to make. The ease with which he had knocked it to pieces not seeming to him good, in order to secure himself against 94 SPANISH HUMOUR. this danger he set to making it anew, fitting some bars of iron within in such a manner as to leave him satisfied with his defence ; and without caring to make a fresh trial of it, he constituted and accepted it for a very perfect good helmet. He went then to inspect his nag, a beast which, though it had more quarters than there are in a real, and more blemishes than the horse of Gonela, who, tantuvi pellis et ossa fit it, appeared to him to surpass Alexander's Buce- phalus and the Cid's Bavieca. Four days were spent by our gentlemen in meditating on what name to give him ; for, as he said to himself, it was not right that the steed of Knight so famous, and in himself so good, should be without a recognised appellation ; and therefore he en- deavoured to fit him with one which should signify what he had been prior to his belonging to a Knight P>rant, and what he was then ; since he thought it but right that, the master having changed his condition, the horse should also change his name, and get him one sublime and high- sounding, as befitted the new order and the new office which he professed. And so, after many names which he devised, eff'aced, and rejected, amended, re-made and un- made in his mind and fancy, finally he decided to call him RoziNANTE — a name, in his opinion, lofty, sonorous, and significative of what his animal had been when he was a common hackney, before he became what he now was, before, and in front of, all the hackneys in the world. Having given to his horse a name so much to his liking, he then desired to give one to himself, and the thinking of this cost him eight other days. At last he decided to call himself Don Quixote ; whereupon the authors of this truthful history, as has been said, have found occasion to affirm that his name was Quijada, and not Quesada, as others would have it. Then recollecting that the valorous Amadis was not contented with calling himself simply Amadis, but added the name of his kingdom and native country, to make it CONDITION AND WAY OF LIFE OF DON QUIXOTE. 95 famous, taking the name of Amadis of Gaul, so he desired, like a good knight, to add to his own the name of his native land, and call himself Don Quixote of La Mancha, whereby, to his seeming, he made lively proclamation of his lineage and his country, and honoured it by taking his surname therefrom. His armour then being cleaned, his morion manufactured into a helmet, a name given to his horse, and himself con- firmed with a new one, it struck him that he lacked nothing else than to look for a lady of whom to be enamoured ; for the Knight Errant without amours was a tree without leaves and without fruit, and a body without soul. He would say to himself : " Were I, for my sins, or through good luck, to encounter hereabouts some giant, as usually happens to Knights Errant, and to overthrow him at the onset, or cleave him through the middle of his body, or, in fine, vanquish him and make him surrender, would it not be well to have some one to whom to send him as a present, that he might enter and bend the knee before my sweet mistress, and say with humble and sub- dued voice : ' I, lady, am the giant Caraculiambro, lord of the island of Malindramia, whom the never-to-be-praised-as- he-deserves Knight, Don Quixote of La Mancha, van- quished in single combat — he who hath commanded me to present myself before your grace that your highness may dispose of me at your pleasure.' " Oh, how our good knight was pleased with himself when he had delivered this speech ! — and the more when he found one to whom to give the name of his lady. It happened, as the belief is, that in a village near his own there was a well-looking peasant girl, with whom he had once fallen in love, though it is understood that she never knew it or had proof thereof. Her name was Aldonza Lorenzo, and upon her he judged it fit to bestow the title of mistress of his fancy ; and, seeking for her a name which should not much 96 SPANISH HUMOUR. belie her own, and yet incline and approach to that of a princess or great lady, he decided to call her Dulcinea del ToBOSO, for she was a native of El Toboso — a name, in his opinion, musical, romantic, and significant, as were all which he had given to himself and his belongings. Wherein is related the pleasant method by which Don Quixote got hint- self dubbed Knight. .... Don Quixote promised to perform all that was re- commended to him with all exactness ; whereupon he was enjoined forthwith to keep watch over his armour in a large yard by the inn-side. Collecting the pieces all together, he placed them on top of a stone trough which stood near a well, and, buckling on his shield, he grasped his lance, and began with a jaunty air to pace in front of the trough, it being now dark when he commenced his exercise. The landlord told all who were staying in the inn of his guest's craze, the watching of the armour, and the dubbing of Knighthood which he awaited. Wondering at this strange kind of madness, they went to look at him from afar, and saw him sometimes pacing with a tranquil mien, sometimes resting on his lance, with his eyes fixed on his armour, from which he would not take them off for some time. The night had now closed in, with a moon of such brightness that she might have vied with him who lent it to her,' so that whatever our novice did could be plainly seen by all. Just then one of the muleteers who were staying in the inn, wanting to give water to his team, found it neces- sary to remove Don Quixote's armour from where it lay on the trough. The Knight, seeing the man approach, ex- claimed with a loud voice : " O thou, whosoever thou art, rash cavalier ! who comest to touch the armour of the most valiant Errant that ever girt sword on himself, take heed ' Meaning, of course, the sun. HOW HE GOT HIMSELF DUBBED KNIGHT. 97 what thou doest, and touch it not, if thou wouldst not lose thy Hfe in forfeit of thy temerity." The muleteer paid no regard to these words (and better for him it had been had he regarded them, for he would have re-guarded his safety), but, taking hold of the armour by the straps, flung it some way from him. When Don Quixote saw this, he lifted his eyes to heaven, and ad- dressing himself, as it seemed, to his Lady Dulcinea, cried, " Succour me, mistress mine, in this the first affront which is offered to this enthralled bosom : let not your favour and help fail me in this first trial ! " And uttering these and other such words, and loosing his shield, he raised his lance in both hands, and with it dealt such a mighty blow on the muleteer's head that it felled him to the earth in such ill plight that, if it had been followed up with a second, there would have been no need of a leech to cure him. Soon after, another muleteer, with- out knowing what had passed (for the first still lay stunned), came up with the same purpose of giving water to his mules, and was going to remove the armour so as to clear the trough, when Don Quixote, without speaking a word or asking any one's favour, again loosed his shield and again raised his lance, and without breaking it made more than three of the second nmleteer's head, for he broke it into four pieces. At the noise all the people of the inn ran out, and the landlord among them. Seeing this, Don Quixote buckled on his shield, and, setting his hand to his sword, cried, "O lady of beauty ! strength and vigour of this debile heart ! now is the hour when you should turn the eyes of your grandeur on this your captive Knight, who is awaiting this mighty adventure ! " Thereupon he seemed to himself to acquire so much courage, that if all the muleteers in the world had assailed him he would not have budged a foot backwards. The companions of the wounded, seeing them in that plight, 8 98 SPANISH HUMOUR. 'dealt such a mighty blow on the muleteers head, that it felled him to the earth." HOW HE GOT HIMSELF DUBBED KNIGHT. 99 began to shower stones upon Don Quixote from a dis- tance, who sheltered himself as well as he could with his shield, not venturing to leave the horse-trough lest he should seem to abandon his armour. The innkeeper called out to them to leave him alone, for he had told them already that it was a madman, and being mad he would be scot- free even if he killed them all. Don Quixote also cried out yet louder, calling them cowards and traitors, and declaring the Lord of the castle to be a craven and a base-born Knight for consenting to Knights Errant being so treated, and that if he himself had received the order of Knighthood he would have made him sensible of his perfidy : " But of you, base and wild rabble, I make no account. Shoot ! come on ! advance ! assail me as much as ye are able ; you shall see the penalty you have to pay for your folly and in- solence ! " This he said with so much spirit and intrepidity that he struck all who heard him with a terrible fear ; and there- fore, and partly by the host's persuasions, they left off pelting him, and he on his part permitted them to carry off their wounded, returning to the vigil of his arms with the same calmness and composure as before. These pranks of his guest were not to the innkeeper's liking, so he determined to despatch and give him that plaguy order of Knighthood forthwith, before other mischief should happen. Going up to him, therefore, he apologised for the insolence with which those base fellows had behaved without his knowledge, but, he added, they had been well chastised for their hardihood. And seeing there was no chapel in that castle, as he had said before, there was no need, he declared, for the rest of the performance— that the whole point of Knight-making consisted in the slap of the hand and the stroke on the shoulder, according to his knowledge of the ceremonial of the order, and this could be done in the middle of a field; and that Don Quixote 100 SPANISH HUMOUR. had already accomplished all that pertained to the watching of arms, more by token that he had been more than four hours at what might have been finished off with a two hours' watch. To all this Don Quixote gave credence, and he said to the host that he was there ready to obey him, praying him to conclude the business as soon as possible, for, were he assaulted again when full Knight, he purposed not to leave any one alive in the castle, except those he might spare at the Castellan's bidding, and out of regard for him. The Castellan, thus forewarned, and apprehensive of what might happen, brought out a book in which he used to enter the straw and barley which he supplied to the mule- teers, and, with a candle-end borne by a lad, the two damsels aforesaid with him, went up to where Don Quixote was standing, whom he ordered to go down on his knees. Reading in his manual as though he were reciting some devout prayer, he broke off in the middle, and, lifting up his hand, dealt Don Quixote a sound blow on the head, and after this a brisk thwack on the shoulder with his own sword, still muttering between his teeth as though he were praying. This done, he commanded one of those ladies to gird on Don Quixote's sword, which she did with much sprightliness and discretion, and it needed no little of that last article to avoid bursting with laughter at each point of the cere- monies, though the prowesses they had witnessed of the new Knight kept their mirth within bounds. At the girding on of the sword the good lady said, " God make your worship a fortunate Knight, and give you good luck in battles ! " Don Quixote besought her to tell him her naftie, that thenceforward he might know to whom he was indebted for the favour received, for he designed to bestow on her some portion of the honour which he was to reap by the valour of his arm. She replied, with much humility, that her name was La To/osa, and that she was the daughter of ADVENTURE OF THE WIND-MILLS. 10 1 a cobbler, native of Toledo, who lived among the stalls of Sancho Bienaya, and that wheresoever she might be, she was at his service and took him for her master. Don Quixote begged her in reply, for love of him, henceforth to assume the Don^ and call herself Donna Tolosa, which she promised to do. The other damsel buckled on him his spurs, with whom there passed almost the same colloquy as with her of the sword. He asked her her name, and she answered that she was called La Molinera, and was the daughter of a miller of Antequera. Her also Don Quixote besought to take upon her the Don, and call herself Donna Molinera, renewing his offers of service and favour. These never-before-seen ceremonies having been des- patched at a gallop and post-haste, Don Quixote could not rest till he saw himself on horseback, sallying forth in quest of adventures. So saddling Rozinante at once he mounted, and embracing the innkeeper, thanked him for the favour done in the knighting in terms so extravagant that it is impossible to give an exact relation of them. The inn- keeper, seeing him well outside his inn, responded to his speeches with others no less flowery although more brief, and, without asking him for the cost of his lodging, let him go with a hearty good will. Of the good success which Don Quixote had in the terrible and ncver-before imagined advenlu>-e of the windmills, with other events worthy of happy remembrance. While thus conversing, they caught sight of some thirty or forty windmills which are in that plain, and as soon as Don Quixote perceived them, he exclaimed — " Fortune is guiding our affairs better than we could have desired, for look yonder, friend Sancho, where tliirty or more huge giants are revealed, with whom I intend to do battle, and take all their lives. With their spoils we will begin to enrich ourselves, for this is fair war, and it is doing God I02 SPANISH HUMOUR. great service to clear this evil spawn from off the face of the earth. " What giants ? " asked Sancho Panza. " Those thou seest there," replied his master, " with the long arms, which some of them are wont to have of two leagues' length." " Take care, sir," cried Sancho, " for those we see yonder are not giants, but windmills, and what in them look like arms are the sails which, being whirled about by the wind, make the mill-stone to go." " It is manifest," answered Don Quixote, "that thou art not experienced in this matter of adventures. They are giants, and if thou art afraid get thee away home and dispose thyself to prayer, while I go to engage with them in fierce and unequal combat." So saying, he clapped spurs to Rozinante, his steed, without heeding the cries which Sancho Panza, his squire, uttered, warning him that those he was going to encounter were beyond all doubt windmills and not giants. But he went on so fully persuaded that they were giants, that he neither listened to the cries of his squire Sancho, nor stopped to mark what they were, but shouted to them in a loud voice — " Fly not, cowards, vile creatures, for it is a single cavalier who assails you ! A slight breeze having sprung up at this moment, the great sail-arms began to move, on perceiving which Don Quixote cried — " Although ye should wield more arms than had the giant Briareus, ye shall pay for it ! " Saying this, and commending himself with his whole soul to his lady Dulcinea, beseeching her to succour him in this peril, well covered with his buckler, with his lance in rest, he charged at Rozinante's best gallop, and attacked the first mill before him and thrusting his lance into the sail the ADVENTURE OF THE WIND-MILLS. 103 "the horse and his rider sent rolling over the I'LAIN SOKliLY DAMAGED." 104 SPANISH HUMOUR. wind turned it with so much violence that the lance was shivered to pieces, carrying with it the horse and his rider, who was sent rolling over the plain sorely damaged. Sancho Panza hastened to his master's help as fast as his ass could go, and when he came up he found the Knight unable to stir, such a shock had Rozinante given him in the fall. " God bless me," cried Sancho, " did I not tell your worship to look to what you were doing, for they were nought but windmills ? And nobody could mistake them but one who had other such in his head." " Peace, friend Sancho," said Don Quixote ; " for the things of war are more than other subject to continual mutation. And, moreover, I believe, and that is the truth, that the same sage Friston, who robbed me of my room and my books, hath turned these giants into windmills, in order to deprive me of the glory of their overthrow, so great is the enmity he bears to me ; but in the upshot his evil arts shall little avail against the goodness of my sword." " God send it as He will," answered Sancho ; and help- ing him to rise, the Knight remounted Rozinante, whose shoulders were half dislocated. Which treats of the lofty adventure and the rich winning of Mamhrino'' s helmet. . . . Now, the truth of the matter as to the helmet, the horse, and the Knight that Don Quixote saw was this. There were in that neighbourhood two villages, one so small that it possessed neither apothecary's shop nor barber, which the other, close to it, had ; and so the l^arber of the larger village did duty for the smaller, in which was a sick man who required to be blooded, and another who wanted shaving ; on which account the barber was coming, bring- RICH WINNING OF MAMBRINO'S IIELINIET. lO^ /"•■'.-■/, ' /'■ '^^ "S '^^ ' UEGAN TO KACE ACKOSS THE PLAIN FASTKU THAN THE WIND." I06 SPANISH HUMOUR. ing with him a brass basin ; and it chanced that, at the time he was travelh'ng, it commenced to rain, and, not to spoil his hat, which was a new one, he clapt upon his head the basin, which, being a clean one, shone half a league off. He rode upon a grey ass, as Sancho said, and this was how to Don Quixote there appeared the dapple-grey steed and the Knight and the helmet of gold, for all things that he saw he made to fall in very easily with his wild chivalries and his vagabond fancies. And, when he perceived that luckless horseman draw near, without stopping to parley with him, he ran at him with his lance couched at Rozinante's full gallop, with intent to pierce him through and through ; and as he came up to him, without abating the fury of his career, he cried out — " Defend thyself, vile caitiff creature, or render me up of thine own will that which by all right is my due." The barber, who saw that apparition bearing down upon him, without thought or apprehension of any such thing, had no other way to save himself from the thrust of the lance than to let himself fall off his ass, and no sooner had he touched the ground when he rose more nimbly than a deer, and began to race across the plain faster than the wind. The basin he left upon the ground, with which Don Quixote was well content, remarking that the Paynim had done wisely, and that he had imitated the beaver, who, when he finds himself hard pressed by the hunters, tears and cuts off with his teeth that for which he knows by natural instinct he is chased. He bade Sancho pick up the helmet, who, taking it in his hands, said — " In sooth the basin is a good one, and worth a real of eight, if it is worth a maravedi." He gave it to his master, who placed it upon his head, turning it about from side to side in search of the vizor, and, not finding it, he said — " Doubtless the Paynim to whose measure this famous HAPPILY ACHIEVED ADVENTURE OF THE LIONS. 10/ headpiece was first forged, must have had a very large head, and the worst of it is that half of it is wanting." When Sancho heard him call the basin a headpiece, he could not contain his laughter, but bethinking him of his master's wrath, he checked himself in the midst of it. " What dost thou laugh at ? " asked Don Quixote. " I am laughing," replied he, " for thinking of the big head the Paynim owner of this helmet must have had, for it looks for all the world like nothing but a perfect barber's basin." " Knowest thou what I suspect, Sancho ? That this famous piece of the enchanted helmet must by some strange accident have come into the hands of one who did not know or esteem its worth, and who, ignorant of what he did, seeing it to be of pure gold, must have melted down the other half of it to profit by its worth, and of this half he has made what looks to thee like a barber's basin, as thou sayest. But, be that as it may, to me who recognise it, its transmutation makes no matter, for I will have it rectified in the first village where there is a smith, and in such wise that it shall not be surpassed or even approached by that which was made and forged by the god of smithies for the god of battles. And, in the meantime, I will wear it as I can, for something is better than nothing ; all the more as it will well suffice to protect me against any blow from a stone." IV/ierein is set forth the highest point and extretne to -vhich the never- before-lieard-of courage of Don Quixote readied or could reach ; with the happily achieved Adventure of the Lions. The history tells that Sancho, when Don Quixote called for his helmet, was buying some curds of the shepherds, and in his perturbation at his master's hurried call, knew not what to do with them or how to carry them ; so in order not to lose what he had now paid for, lie bethought I08 SPANISH HUMOUR, him of clapping them into his master's helmet, and having thus made shift, he turned back to see what Don Quixote wanted, who, on his coming up, cried, " Give me that helmet, friend, for I know little of adventure or that which I descry yonder is one which should require, and does require, me to take to arms." He of the Green Coat, hearing this, turned his eyes every way, but saw nothing but a cart which came towards them with two or three little flags, which made him think that it must be carrying the King's treasure, and so he told Don Quixote. But the Knight would not credit it, always supposing and imagining that all which happened was adventures, and still adventures ; and so he replied — " Forewarned is forearmed ; nothing is lost by taking precaution, for I know by experience that I have enemies visible and invisible, nor know I when, nor where, nor in what moment, nor in what shape I have to encounter them." And turning to Sancho he asked for his helmet, which the squire, not having an opportunity of relieving it of the curds, was compelled to hand to him as it was. Don Quixote took it, and without giving a look to what it con- tained, clapped it on his head in all haste ; and as the curds were squeezed and pressed, the whey began to pour over all Don Quixote's face and beard, from which he got such a fright that he said to Sancho — • " What is this, Sancho ? For methinks my skull is soften- ing, or my brains are melting, or I sweat from feet to head. And if it is that I am sweating, truly it is not from fear. Without doubt I believe this is terrible, the adventure that now means to befall me. Give me something, if you can, with which to wipe myself, for this copious sweat doth blind my eyes." Sancho held his tongue and gave him a cloth, and with it thanks to God that his master had not found out the HAPPILY ACHIEVED ADVENTURE OF THE LIONS. I09 truth. Don Quixote wiped himself, and took off the hehnet to see what it was which seemed to chill his head, and find- ing the white clots within his headpiece, held them to his nose, and smelling them, cried — " By the life of my lady Dulcinea del Toboso, but these are curds thou hast put here, thou traitor ! villain, brazen- faced squire ! " To which, with much deliberation and command of countenance, Sancho replied, " If they are curds give them to me, your worship, and I will eat them ; but let the devil eat them, for it must be he who put them there. I to dare soil your worship's helmet ! You must know who it is that's so bold. In faith, sir, as God reads my mind, I, too, must have enchanters who persecute me as a creature and limb of your worship ; and they will have put that nastiness there to move your patience to anger, and make you baste my ribs as you are wont to do ; but, in truth, this time they have jumped wide of the mark, for I rely on my master's good judgment, who will consider that I have neither curds nor milk about me, nor anything like ; and if I had I would rather put it into my stomach than in the helmet." " It may be all so," quoth Don Quixote. And the gentleman in the Green Coat, who noted all, was utterly amazed, especially when, after Don Quixote had wiped dry his head, face, beard, and helmet, he put it on again, and settling himself firmly in his stirrups, reaching for his sword and grasping his lance, exclaimed — " Now come what may, for here I stand to do battle with Satan himself in person." The cart with the flags now approached, in which was nobody but the carter upon one of the mules and a man seated in front. Planting himself before it, Don Quixote exclaimed — "Whither go ye, my brethren; what cart is this? What do you carry therein ? And what flags are these ? " no SPANISH HUMOUR. To which the carter replied, " The cart is mine ; what go in it are two bold lions in a cage, which the General is sending from Oran to the capital as a present to his Majesty ; the flags are the King's, our master, in token that something of his goes here." " And are they large, the lions?" asked Don Quixote. " So large," answered the man at the door of the van, " that none larger or so large have ever passed from Africa to Spain ; and I am the lion-keeper, and have carried many, but none like these. They are male and female ; the male goes in the first cage, and the female in the one behind, and they are now very hungry, for they have not eaten to-day ; and so let your worship stand aside, for we must needs reach quickly the place where we are to give them their dinner." On which said Don Quixote, with a little smile, " Lion- whelps to me ? To me, lion-whelps ? And at this time of day ? Then by Heaven, those gentleman who send them here shall see whether I am a man who is frightened of lions. Alight, good fellow, and since you are the lion- keeper, open these cages, and turn me out these beasts, for in the middle of this open field I will teach them to know who Don Quixote of La Mancha is, in defiance and despite of the enchanters who send them to me." " So, so," said he of the Green Coat to himself at this, " our good knight gives us a proof of what he is ; the curds i' faith have softened his skull and mellowed his brain." Here Sancho came up to him, and exclaimed, '• For God's sake, sir, mind that my master, Don Quixote, does not fight with these lions, for if he fights them all we here will be torn to pieces." " But is your master so mad," the gentleman answered, "that you fear and believe that he will fight with animals so fierce ? " " Not mad is he," replied Sancho, " but headstrong." HAPPILY ACHIEVED ADVENTURE OF THE LION-S. I I I "I will make him desist," said the gentleman. And coming up to Don Quixote, who was pressing the keeper to open the cage, he said, " Sir Knight, Knights Errant have to engage in adventures which hold out some prospect of a good issue from them, and not in those that are wholly devoid of it, for the valour which enters within the bounds of temerity has more of madness than of fortitude ; more- over, these lions come not against you, nor do they dream of doing so, but are going as a present to his Majesty, and it will not be right to detain them or hinder their journey." " Get you gone, Sir Country-squire," replied Don Quixote, " and look after your quiet pointer and your saucy ferret, and leave every one to do his duty ; this is mine, and I know whether they come against me or not, these gentlemen the lions." And, turning to the keeper, he said, " I swear, Don Rascal, that if you do not open the cage at once, instantly, I will pin you to the cart with this lance." The carter, seeing that armed phantom's determination, said to him — "Be pleased, dear sir, for charity, to let me unyoke the mules and place myself and them in safety before the lions are let loose, for if they are killed I shall be utterly ruined, for I have no other property but this cart and these mules." " O man of little faith ! " replied Don Quixote, " get down and unyoke, and do what thou wilt, for soon thou shalt see that thou toilest in vain, and might spare thyself these pains." The carter alighted and in great haste unyoked, and the keeper cried in a loud voice, "Be witnesses as many as are here, how against my will and on compulsion I ojjcn the cages and let loose the lions, and that I protest to this gentleman, that all the evil and damage these beasts shall do will run and go to his account, with my wages and dues 112 SPANISH HUMOUR. besides. Let you, sirs, make yourselves safe before I open ; for myself, I am sure they will do me no harm." Once more Don Diego entreated him not to commit such an act of madness, for to engage in such a freak were a tempting of Providence, to which Don Quixote replied that he knew what he was doing. The gentleman pressed him again to look well to it, for that he was surely mistaken. "Nay, sir," quoth Don Quixote, "if your worship would not bear witness to this, which in your opinion is about to be a tragedy, spur your grey and put yourself in safety." Sancho, on hearing this, prayed his master with tears in his eyes to desist from such an enterprise, compared to which that of the windmills, and the fearful one of the fulling-mills, and, in short, all the deeds his master had attempted in the course of his life, were but pleasuring and junketing. "Look, sir," quoth Sancho, "here there is no enchant- ment, nor anything like it, for I have seen through the chinks and bars of the cage a claw of a real lion, and I gather from it that such a lion, to have such a claw, is bigger than a mountain." "Fear, at least," said Don Quixote, "will make it seem bigger to thee than half the earth. Retire, Sancho, and leave me, and if I die here, thou knowest our old compact : thou wilt betake thee to Dulcinca. I say no more." Other words he added to these which took away all hope of his giving up proceeding with his insane purpose. He of the Green Coat would have resisted him in it, but he saw himself unequal in arms, and judged it not wise to fight with a madman, for such he now appeared to him to be at all points. Don Quixote once more pressing the keeper and repeating his threats, caused the gentleman to urge his mare, and Sancho Dapple, and the carter his mules, all trying to get away from the cart as far as possible before the lions broke loose. Sancho wept over the death HAPPILY ACHIEVED ADVENTURE OF THE LIONS. II 3 of his master, for this time he verily beheved it had come from the lion's claws ; he cursed his fortune and called it a fatal hour when it came into his mind once more to serve Don Quixote ; but none the less, in weeping and lament- ing, did he stop cudgelling Dapple to get him farther from the cart. The lion-keeper, seeing now that those who had fled were well away, again entreated and warned Don Quixote as he had entreated and warned him before, but the Knight replied that he heard him, and that he cared for no more warnings and entreaties, which would be fruit- less, and bade him despatch. Whilst the keeper was engaged in opening the first cage, Don Quixote was con- sidering whether it would be better to have the battle on foot or on horseback, and finally he decided to have it on foot, fearing lest Rozinante should be startled at the sight of the lions. Therefore, he leapt from his horse, threw away his lance, and buckling his shield and unsheathing his sword, leisurely, with a marvellous intrepidity and valiant heart advanced to post himself in front of the cart, commending his soul to God and then to his lady Dulcinea. And it is to be known that, coming to this passage, the author of this truthful history breaks out into this exclama- tion, saying — - " O brave and beyond all commendation courageous Don Quixote of La Mancha I mirror wherein all the valiant may behold themselves, a second and new Don Manuel de Leon, who was the honour and glory of Spanish Knights ! In what words shall I recount this dread exploit, or by what argument make it creditable to future ages ? What praises can there be unfitting and unmeet for thee, be they ever such hyperboles upon hyperboles ? Thou on foot, thou alone, thou fearless, thou great-hearted, with thy simple sword, and that not one of your trenchant dog blades ; with a shield of no very bright and shining steel, standest watching and waiting for two of the fiercest lions that ever 9 T14 SPANISH HUMOUR. 'he put his head out of the caoe and gazed all about with his eyes blazing like live coals." HAPPILY ACHIEVED ADVENTURE OF THE LIONS. II 5 the African forests engendered ! Let thy deeds themselves, valorous Manchegan, extol thee, for here I leave them at their height, failing words to glorify them." Here the author breaks off from his apostrophe, and proceeds to take up the thread of his history, saying — The keeper, seeing Don Quixote fixed in his position, and that it was impossible to avoid letting loose the male lion without falling under the resentment of the rageful and dauntless Knight, opened wide the door of the first cage where, as has been said, was the male lion, who looked to be of extraordinary size and of a hideous and terrible aspect. The first thing he did was to turn himself round in his cage, and to extend his claws and stretch himself to his full length. Then he opened his mouth and yawned very leisurely, and with about two hands'-breadth of tongue which he put out, he licked the dust from his eyes and bathed his face. This done, he put his head out of the cage and gazed all about with his eyes blazing like live coals, a spectacle and attitude to instil dread into daring itself. Don Quixote alone looked at him intently, longing for him to leap out of the cart and come within reach of his hands, between which he thought to rend him to pieces. To this height did his unheard-of madness carry him ; but the generous lion, more courteous than arrogant, taking no notice of these childish tricks and swaggerings, after having looked round about him, as has been said, turned his back and, showing to Don Quixote his hinder parts, with great calmness and nonchalance flung himself down again in the cage. Seeing this Don Quixote com- manded him to give him some blows and tease him so that he might come out. "That I will not do," answered the keeper, " for if I excite him the first lie will tear in pieces will be myself. Let your worship, Sir Knight, be content with what has been Il6 SPANISH HUMOUR. done, which is all that one can tell of in point of valour, and seek not to tempt fortune a second time. The lion has his door open ; it rests with him to come out or not ; but since he has not come out up to now he will not come out all day. Your worship's greatness of heart is now made fully manifest. No champion fighter, as I take it, is bound to do more than defy his enemy and wait for him in the field ; if the opponent does not appear the infamy rests upon him, and he who waits wins the crown of victory." "That is true," said Don Quixote; "close the door, friend, and give in the best form thou canst a voucher of what thou hast seen me do : to wit, how that thou didst open to the lion ; I awaited him ; he did not come out ; I waited for him again ; again he did not come out, but turned to lie down. I am bound to do no more. Enchantments avaunt ! and God prosper justice and truth and true chivalry ! Shut the door, friend, whilst I signal to the fugitive and absent to return that they may learn of this exploit from thy mouth." The keeper did so, and Don Quixote, placing on the point of his lance the cloth with which he had wiped the shower of curds off his face, began to hail those who had never ceased retreating all in a troop, looking round at every step, driven before him by the gentlemen in Green. Sancho happened to perceive the signal of the white cloth, and exclaimed, " May I die if my master has not con- quered the wild beasts, for he is calling us ! " They all stopped, and seeing that it was Don Quixote who was making the signals, losing some of their fear, little by little they came nearer, until they clearly heard the voice of Don Quixote calling to them. At length they returned to the cart, and on their ap- proach Don Quixote said to the carter — " Yoke your mules again, friend, and proceed on your journey, and thou, Sancho, give him two gold crowns for HAPPILY ACHIEVED ADVENTURE OF THE LIONS. 11/ himself and for the keeper, towards amends for my having detained them." '• I \Yill give them with all my heart," answered Sancho ; " but what has been done with the lions ? Are they dead or alive ? " Then the keeper recounted minutely and at his leisure the issue of the encounter, extolling, to the best of his l)0wer and skill, the valour of Don Quixote, at sight of whom the cowed lion cared not, or durst not, to come out of his cage, though he had held the door open a good while, and that it was through his having told the Knight that it was a tempting of Providence to provoke the lion so as to force him to come out, as he wanted him to do, that he had most unwillingly and against the grain permitted him to close the door." " What is your judgment on this, Sancho ? " quoth Don Quixote; "are there enchantments which avail against true valour? The enchanters may be able to rob me indeed of fortune, but of my resolution and courage, it is impossible." Sancho gave the gold crowns ; the carter yoked up ; the keeper kissed Don Quixote's hands for the largess received, and promised to relate that valorous deed to the King himself when he should see him at Court. " And if by chance his Majesty should ask who performed it,'' said Don Quixote, " you shall tell him, The K/iighi oj the Lions ; for henceforth I would that into this may be changed, altered, varied, and transferred, the name which till now I have borne, of the Knight of the Rueful Feature ; and in this I follow the ancient usage of Knights Errant, who changed their names at their pleasure and according to the occasion." The cart proceeded on its journey, and Don Quixote. Sancho, and he of the Green Coat, continued theirs. IlS SPANISH HUMOUR. Of the strange adventures ivhich happened to Don Quixote in the Castle. . . . With this she began to touch a harp very softly. On hearing this Don Quixote was startled, for in that moment there came into his memory the infinite adventures similar to that, of windows, lattices, and gardens ; of sere- nades, love -plaints, and languishments, which he had read of in his giddy books of chivalries. He at once conceived that some one of the Duchess's maidens was enamoured of him, and that modesty compelled her to keep ..her love in secret. He trembled lest he should yield, but resolved in his mind not to let himself be overcome ; so, commending himself with all good heart and soul to his lady Dulcinea del Toboso, he determined to listen to the music ; and to let them know he was there, he feigned to sneeze, at which the damsels were not a little rejoiced, for they desired nothing better than that Don Quixote should hear them. Then, the harp being set up and tuned, Altisidora struck up this ballad — BALLAD. Thou that all the night till morning Sleepest on thy downy bed ; Gaily with thy legs out-stretched, 'Twixt two sheets of linen laid : Valiant Knight ! thou whom La IMancha Knows none greater or more bold ; Purer, blesseder, and chaster Than Arabia's sifted gold : Hear a woful maid's complaining, Nurtured well but thriven ill, Whose fond heart the burning sun-rays From thine eyes do scorch and kill. Seekest thou thine own adventures ; Others' ventures thou suppliest ; Dealest wounds, yet for their healing Salve of plaster thou deniest. STRANGE ADVENTURES IN THE CASTLE. II9 Tell me, lusty youth and valiant, May thy wishes all be sped ! Was't in Jaca's gloomy mountains, Or in Lybia thou wert bred ? Say, didst suck thy milk from serpents ; Was thine infant babyhood Nursed by the horrid mountain, Dandled by the rugged wood ? Well may Dulcinea, thy charmer, Damsel plump and round, be proud. Conquering that heart of tiger. Softening that bosom rude ! This shall make thy name e'er famous From Jarama to Henares ; From Fisuerga to Arlanza ; P'rom Tagus e'en to Manzanares. Might I change with Dulcinea, Fd give her my best petticoat ; Rarest silk, of pretty colours, Golden fringe and all to boot ! O to live within thine arms, and O to sit beside thy bed ! O that poll so sweet to scratch, and Brush the scurf from that dear head ! Much I ask, though undeserving Of so notable a grace. Would that I thy feet were stroking. That's enough for maid so base. What fine night-caps I would work thee ; What fine shiny silvern socks ; Breeches of the rarest damask ; Lovely yellow Holland cloaks ! Precious milk-white pearls Fd give thee. Each as big as any gall. Such as, having no companions, Orphans they are wont to call. I20 SPANISH HUMOUR. Gaze not from Ihy rock Tarpeian On the fire which scorches me, Nero of the world Manchegan ! Nor revive it cruelly. Child I am — a tender pullet — Fifteen years I've never seen ; I vow, by God and on my conscience, I'm only three months past fourteen. Lame I am not, neither crooked. Nothing in my body's wrong ; Locks like lilies, when I stand up, Sweep the ground, they are so long. Though my mouth is like an eagle's, And a little flat my nose. With my topaz teeth, — of beauty I've enough for Heaven, with those. And my voice is, if you listen, Equal to the best, I trow ; And I am of form and figure Something less than middling too. Spoils of thy spear, thy bow and quiver, These my charms and more, are ; Maid am I of this here castle. And my name Altisidora ! Here ended the lay of the sore-wounded Altisidora, and here began the terror of the courted Don Quixote, who, heaving a deep sigh, said to himself — " How unhappy an Errant am I, that there is no maiden but looks upon me, who is not enamoured of me ! How sad is the fate of the peerless Dulcinea, whom they will not' leave free to enjoy my incomparable fidelity ! Queens, what do ye want of her? Empresses, why do ye persecute her ? Maidens of fourteen and fifteen, wherefore do ye molest her ? Leave, O leave the unhappy one to triumph, to rejoice, to glory in the lot which love would assign her in SANCHO PANZA GOVERNS. 121 the rendering lier my heart, and delivering to her my soul ! Know, ye amorous crew, that for Dulcinea alone am I dough and sugar-paste, and for all the rest of you flint. For her I am honey, and for you aloes. For me Dulcinea alone is the beautiful, the sensible, the chaste, the gay, and the well-bred ; and the rest ugly, silly, wanton and base- born. To be her's and none other's Nature sent me into the world. Let Altisidora weep or sing ; let the lady despair for whose sake they belaboured me in the castle of the enchanted Moor ; for Dulcinea's I must be — roasted or boiled, clean, well-born, and chaste — in spite of all the powers of witchcraft in the world." And with that he clapt the window to, and laid down on his bed ; where for the present we will leave him, for the great Sancho calls, who is desirous of making a beginning with his famous Governorship. Of the mode in which the great Sancho Panza began to govern, when he had taken possession of his Isle. . . . At this moment there entered the justice-hall two men, one dressed as a labourer and the other as a tailor, for he bore a pair of scissors in his hand, and the tailor said — " Sir Governor, I and this labouring man have come before your w'orship for the cause that this good fellow came to my shop yesterday, who, saving your presences, am a licensed tailor, blessed be God ! and putting a piece of cloth in my hands, asked me : 'Sir, would there be enough in this cloth to make me a cap? ' I, measuring the stuff, answered him ' Yes.' He must have suspected, as I suspect, and suspected rightly, that without doubt I wished to rob him of some i)art of his cloth, founding his belief on his own roguery and the ill-opinion there is of tailors, and he replied that 1 should look and see if there were enough ' for two. I guessed his drift, and said, ' Yes ' ; and he, riding away on his first damned intent, went on adding caps, and 122 SPANISH HUMOUR. I adding yeses, till we reached five caps ; and now at this moment he has come for them, and I am giving them to him ; and he will not pay me for the making, but rather demands that I shall pay him, or give him back his cloth." "Is all this so, brother? " inquired Sancho. "Yes, sir," answered the man; "but let your worship make him show the five caps he has made me." "With all my heart," said the tailor, and thrusting his hand suddenly under his cloak he showed five caps on it, placed on the five tops of his fingers, and said : " Here are the five caps which this good man wants of me, and on God and my conscience I have none of the cloth left for myself, and I will give the work to be examined by the inspectors of the trade." All those present laughed at the number of caps, and at the novelty of the suit. Sancho set himself to consider a little while, and then said — " Methinks there need be no long delays in this case, but that it may be decided, according to a wise man's judg- ment, off-hand ; and so I decree that the tailor shall lose the making, and the countryman the stuff, the caps to be given to the prisoners in the gaol ; and let no more be said." This judgment provoked the laughter of the audience, but what the Governor commanded was done. Of how Don Quixote Jell sick, and of the will he made, and of his death. . . . The Notary entered with the rest, and after having written the preamble to the will, and Don Quixote had dis- posed of his soul with all those Christian circumstances which are requisite, coming to the bequests he said — '•'■Item, it is my will that of certain moneys which Sancho Panza, whom in my madness I made my squire, retains, that because there have been between him and me certain accounts, receipts, arid disbursements, I wish that he be not charged with OF now DON QUIXOTE FELL SICK. 1 23 them, nor that any reckoning be asked from him, but that, if there should be any surplus after he has paid himself what I owe him, the residue should be his, which tvill be very little, and may it do him much good. And if I, being mad, zvas a party to giving him the governorship of the Isle, now, being sane, I would give him that of a Kingdom, were I able, for the simplicity of his ?iature and the fidelity of his behaviour deserve it.^' And turning to Sancho, he said to him — " Pardon me, friend, that I have given thee occasion to appear mad hke myself, making thee fall into the error into which I fell, that there were and are Knights Errant in the world." "Alack!" responded Sancho, weeping, "don't you die, your worship, dear master, but take my advice and live many years, for the maddest thing a man can do in this life is to let himself die without more ado, without anybody killing him, nor other hands to finish him off than those of melancholy. Look you, do not be lazy, but get out of that bed, and we will go into the country, dressed like shepherds, as we have arranged. Mayhap behind some hedge we shall find the lady Donna Dulcinea disenchanted, and as fine as may be seen. If so be that you are dying of fretting at being conquered, put the fault on me, and say they over- threw you because I girthed Rozinante badly; more by token, as your worship must have seen in your books of chivalries, that it was a common thing for some Knights to overthrow others, and he who is conquered to-day may be conqueror to-morrow." "It is so," said Samson, "and honest Sancho is very true about these matters." " Gently, sirs," said Don Quixote, " for in last year's nests you look not for birds of this year. I was mad, and now I am sane. I was Don Quixote of La Mancha, and to-day I am, as I have said, Alonso Quixano the Good 124 SPANISH HUMOUR. May my repentance and my sincerity restore me to the esteem you once had for me, and so let Master Notary go on." " //^w, I bequeath all my estate, zu it ho lit reserve, to Antonia Qiiixana, my Niece, who is present, there being first deducted from it, as may be most conveiiient, tvhat is needed for the satisfaction of the bequests which I have made ; and the first payment to be made I desire to be of the salary due to my House- keeper from the time she has beefi iti my service, with twenty ducats more for a dress. I leave as my executors Master Priest, and Afaster Bachelor Samson Carrasco, ivho are present. Item, it is my wish that if Anto?iia Quixana, my Niece, is inclined to marry, she should wed a mati of whom she shall first have evidence that lie knows not what books of chivalries are ; and in case it shall be discovered that he does knotc, and yet my Niece tvishes to marry with him and does so marry, that she shall forfeit all that I have bequeathed her, which my executors are empotvered to distribute in pious works at their pleasure. Item, I beseech the said gentlemen, my executors, that if good fortune should bring them to know the author zvho, they say, wrote a history ivhich is current hereabout under the title of Second Part of the Exploits of Don Quixote of La Mancha, that they zvill on my behalf beg him, as earnestly as they ca?i, to pardon the occasion which I un- ivittingly gave him for writing so many and such enontious follies as therein be luritten, for I quit this life with some tenderness of conscience for having given him a motive for writing them." With this he concluded his testament, and, being taken with a fainting fit, he lay extended at full length upon the bed. They were all alarmed, and ran to his assistance, and during the three days that he lived after the day on which he made his will he fainted very frequently. The house was all in confusion ; however, the Niece ate, the House- keeper drank, and Sancho Panza was cheerful; for this inheriting of something dulls or tempers in the inheritor OF HOW DON QUIXOTE FELL SICK. 1 25 the memory of the pain which the dead man naturally leaves behind. At last came Don Quixote's end, after he had received all the sacraments, and after he had expressed with many and moving terms his horror at the books of chivalries. The Notary was present, and said that never had he read in any book of chivalries that any Knight Errant had died in his bed so tranquilly and so Christian-like as Don Quixote, who, amidst the tears and lamentations of all who stood by, gave up his spirit, — that is to say, died. On seeing this, the Priest asked the Notary to give him a certificate that Alonso Quixano the Good, commonly called Don Quixote of La Mancha, had passed out of this present life, and had died a natural death ; declaring that he sought such certificate in order to take away from any other author than Cid Hamet Benengeli the excuse falsely to resuscitate him, and write interminable histories of his deeds. This was the end of the Ingenious Gentleman of La Mancha, whose village Cid Hamet desired not to indicate precisely, in order to let all the cities and towns of La Mancha contend among themselves for the honour of giving him birth and adopting him for their own, as the seven cities of Greece contended for Homer. The lamentations of Sancho, of the Niece, and the Housekeeper of Don Quixote are here omitted, as well as the new epitaphs upon his tomb ; but this was what Samson Carrasco put there : — " A valiant gentleman here lies, Whose courage reached to such a height, or death itself he made a prize, When against Death he lost the fight. He reck'd not of the world a jot, The world's groat Inigbcar and the dread ; Strong was his arm, and strange his lot ; Stark mad in life, — wlit-n sober, dead." " Don Quixote de La Afn/ic/ia." Mi^^iiel Cervatites (1547- 161 6). Tnvis. Jf. E. Watts. CER VANTES TAKES A MERRY LEA VE OF LIFE. IT happened afterwards, dear reader, that as two of my friends and myself were coming from Esquivias, a place famous for twenty reasons, more especially for its illustrious families and for its excellent wines, I heard a man behind me whipping his nag with all his might, and seemingly very desirous of overtaking us. Presently he called out to us, and begged us to stop, which we did ; and when he came up, he turned out to be a country student, dressed in brown, with spatterdashes and round-toed shoes. He had a sword in a hugh sheath, and a band tied with tape. He had indeed but two tapes, so that his band got out of its place, which he took great pains to rectify. " Doubtless," said he, " Senors, you are in quest of some office or some prebendal stall at the court of my Lord of Toledo, or from the King, if I may judge from the celerity with which you journey; for, in good truth, my ass has hitherto had the fame of a good trotter, and yet he could not overtake you." One of my companions answered, " It is the stout steed of Senor Miguel Cervantes that is the cause of it, for he is very quick in his paces." Scarcely had the student heard the name of Cervantes, than, throwing himself off his ass, whilst his cloak-bag tumbled on one side and his portmanteau on the other, and his bands covered his face, he sprang towards me, and 126 CERVANTES TAKES A MERRY LEAVE OF LIFE. 12/ seizing me by the left hand, exclaimed : " This, then, is the famous one-handed author, the merriest of writers, the favourite of the Muses." As for me, when I heard him pouring forth all these praises, I thought myself obliged in politeness to answer him ; so embracing his neck, whereby I contrived to pull off his bands altogether, I said : " I am indeed Cervantes, Senor, but not the favourite of the Muses, nor any other of those fine things which you have said of me. Pray, sir, mount your ass again, and let us converse together for the small remainder of our journey." The good student did as I desired. We then drew bit, and proceeded at a more moderate pace. As we rode on, we talked of my illness, but the student gave me little hope, saying: "It is an hydropsy, which all the water in the ocean, if you could drink it, would not cure ; you must drink less, Senor Cervantes, and not neglect to eat, for this alone can cure you." " Many other people," said I, " have told me the same thing ; but it is as impossible for me not to drink, as if I had been born for nothing but drinking. My life is pretty nearly ended, and to judge by the quickness of my pulse, I cannot live longer than next Sunday. You have made acquaintance with me at a very unfortunate time, as I fear that I shall not live to show my gratitude to you for your obliging conduct." Such was our conversation when we arrived at the bridge of Toledo, over which I was to pass, while he was bound another route by the bridge of Segovia. "As to my future history, I leave that to the care of fame. My friends will, no doubt, be very anxious to narrate it, and I should have great pleasure in hearing it." I embraced him anew, and repeated the offer of my services. He spurred his ass and left me as ill inclined to prosecute my journey, as he was well disposed to do so. 128 SPANISH HUMOUR. He had, however, supplied my pen with ample materials for pleasantry. But all limes are not the same. Perhaps the time may yet arrive when, taking up the thread which I am now compelled to break, I may complete what is now wanting, and what I fain would tell. But adieu to gaiety, adieu to humour, adieu, my pleasant friends ! I must now die, and I wish for nothing better than speedily to see you well contented in another world. Pr''face (written a little time before the author's death) to the " Labours of Persiles and Sigisiiiunda." Miguel Cervantes (i 547-1616). Trans. Roscoc. THE LOVERS RUSE. Theodora. Show more of gentleness and modesty ; Of gentleness in walking quietly. Of modesty in looking only down Upon the earth you tread. Belisa. 'Tis what I do. Theodora. What ? When you're looking straight towards that man ? Belisa. Did you not bid me look upon the earth ? And what is he but just a bit of it? Theodora. I said the earth whereon you tread, my niece. Belisa. But that whereon I tread is hidden quite With my own petticoat and walking-dress. Theodora. Words such as these become no well-bred- maid. But by your mother's blessed memory, I'll put an end to all your pretty tricks ; — What ? You look back at him again ? Belisa. Who ? I ? THE LOVER'S RUSE. 129 ■jK«^uijift. ^ '■ 'iselisa: ' wiiv, suke you think it wise and wakv to notice well the place i stumulf-h at.'" 10 130 SPANISH HUMOUR. Theodora. Yes, you ; and make him secret signs besides. Belisa. Not I. 'Tis only that you troubled me With teasing questions and perver.se replies, So that I stumbled and looked round to see Who would prevent my fall. Riselo {to Lisardo). She falls again. Be quick and help her. Lisardo {to Belisa). Pardon me lady. And forgive my glove. Theodora. Who ever saw the like ? Belisa. Thank you, sir; you saved me from a fall. Lisardo. An angel, lady, might have fallen so ; Or stars that shine with Heaven's own blessed light. Theodora. I, too, can fall ; but this is but a trick. Good gentleman, farewell to you ! Lisardo. Madam, Your servants. (Heaven save us from such spleen ! ) Theodora. A pretty fall you made of it, and now I hope You'll be content, since they assisted you. ' Belisa. And you no less content, since now you have The means to tease me for a week to come. Theodora. But why again do you turn back your head ? Belisa. Why, sure you think it wise and wary To notice well the place I stumbled at, Lest I should stumble there when next I pass, Theodora. Go to ! Come home ! come home ! Belisa. Now we shall have A pretty scolding cook'd up out of this. ''El Azero de Madrid." Lope de Vega (1562- 1635). Trans. Ticknor. AUNTS. m A [/NTS. THAT young creature whom you see there," said the God of Love, as he led me on, " is the chief captain of my war, the one that has brought most men under my banners. The elderly person that is leading her along by the hand is her aunt." "Her au/if, did you say?" I replied; "her au//f? Then there is an end of all my love for her. That word ' a/^;/f ' is a counter-poison that has disinfected me entirely, and quite healed the wound your well-planted arrow was beginning to make in my heart. For, however much a man may be in love, there can be no doubt an a////f will always be enough to purge him clean of it. Inquisitive, suspicious, envious", — one or the other she cannot fail to be, — and if the niece have the luck to escape, the lover never has ; for if she is envious, she wants him for herself; and if she is only suspicious, she still spoils all comfort, so disconcerting every little project, and so disturbing every little nice plan, as to render pleasure itself unsavoury." "Why, what a desperately bad opinion you have of aunts ? " said Love. "To be sure I have," said L " If the state of innocence in which Adam and Eve were created had nothing else to recommend it, the simple fact that there could have been no aunfs in Paradise would have been enough for me. Why, every morning, as soon as I get up, I cross myself and say, ' By the sign of the Holy Rood, from all aunts deliver us this day, good Lord.' And every time I repeat the Pa^er Noster, after * Lead us not into temptation,' I always add, ' nor into the way of aunts either.'" Jacmto Polo i^l) {^Jl. 1630). Trans. Ticknor. 132 SPANISH HUMOUR. THE MISER CHASTISED. IN tliis edifying manner did Don Marcos arrive at the age of thirty, with the reputation of a wealthy man ; and with good reason, for he had gathered together, at the expense of every gentlemanly quality, and the starvation of his unfortunate carcase, a good round sum, which he always retained near him, for he dreaded every kind of speculation that might place in the slightest degree of jeopardy his darling treasure. Now as Don Marcos was known to be neither a gambler nor a libertine, good opportunities of marriage continually presented themselves, of which, however, he did not avail himself always, considering it a speculation, and not un- likely to lead to some unfortunate result. Nevertheless, he wished to appear to advantage in the eyes of the ladies, some of whom, not knowing him, might have no objection to him as a husband. To them he appeared more in the light of a gallant than a miser. Amongst others who would have no objection to him, was a lady who had been married, but was not so well reconciled to her situation as a widow. She was a lady of superior air and pretentions, although somewhat past the prime of life ; but by the help of a little study and skill, no one would have supposed that she had arrived at so discreet an age as she certainly had. She was prettily enough called Donna Isidora, and was reported to be very rich; that she had actual property, at least according to those who knew her well, her manner of living clearly enough proved. Now this eligible match was proposed to Don Marcos ; the lady was represented to him in such engaging colours, with such perfect assurance that she possessed more than fourteen or fifteen thousand ducats, that he was led into temptation — the temptation of Mam- THE MISER CHASTISED. 1 33 mon. Her deceased husband was represented to have been a gentleman of one of the best famiUes of Andalusia, and Donna Isidora was equally well born, and a native of the famous city of Seville. These flattering communications so worked on the avarice and pride of our friend Don Marcos, that he almost wished himself already married, that he might be sure of the possession of so enviable a prize. He who first entangled Don Marcos in this notable affair was a cunning rogue of a dealer, who not only dealt in marriages, but in other descriptions of more sure traffic. He promised therefore an introduction to Don Marcos that very evening, because, as he said, there was danger in delay. Donna Isidora was profuse in her thanks to the obliging gentleman who had procured her the pleasure of such an acquaintance ; and she finally established her triumph over Don Marcos, by inviting him to a costly entertainment, wherein she displayed the utmost luxury and wealth. At this entertainment Don Marcos was introduced to a young man of a very gallant and prepossessing appearance, whom Donna Isidora honoured with the title of nephew. His name was Augustin, and he, in turn, seemed happy in the chance that gave him so delightful a relationship. The under servant, Ines, waited on them at table, because Marcella, the upper maid, by the order of her mistress, was engaged to entertain them with her guitar, in the management of which she was so perfect, that even the grandees of the court were seldom regaled with better music. Her voice, which she accompanied with the instrument, was so melodious, that it appeared more like that of an angel than a woman. The unaffected manner, too, without the slightest timidity, yet equally free from boldness, in which she sung, lent an additional charm ; for without being entreated, she continued to amuse them, 134 SPANISH HUMOUR. feeling confident that her performance would be well received. Don Marcos felt himself so completely at ease with the well-bred, though generous hospitality of Donna Isidora and her nephew, that without the least scruple he amply indemnified himself for many a hungry day, as the sensible diminution of the luxuries of the table bore abundant, or rather scanty testimony. It may be said without exagge- ration, that that evening's entertainment furnished him with as much as six days of his ordinary consumption ; and the continual and repeated supplies, forced on him by his elegant and kind hostess, were in themselves sufficient to enable him to dispense with eating for a considerable time to come. The pleasures of the conversation and of the table finished with the daylight, and four wax candles were placed in beautiful candelabras, by the light of which, and the sounds which Augustin drew from the instrument which Marcella liad before touched so well, the two girls commenced a dance, in which they moved with such grace, as to excite the admiration of their superiors. After all this, Marcella, at the request of Don Marcos, again took her guitar, and closed the evening's amusement with an old chivalric romance. On the conclusion of the song, the gentleman who had introduced Don Marcos gave him a hint that it was time to retire ; who, though unwilling to leave such good company, and such good cheer, and at such little cost, took leave of his kind hostess with expressions of consideration and friendship, and took his road homewards, entertaining his- friend by the way with expressions of admiration of Donna Isidora, or rather, more properly speaking, of h'er money. He begged him as soon as possible to hav.e a deed drawn up which would ensure to him so enviable a treasure. His iriend replied that he might already consider the marriage THE MISER CHASTISED. 1 35 concluded, for that his opinion held such weight with Donna Isidora, that he would take an early opportunity of speaking with her to effect the arrangement, for he fully agreed with him, that delays were dangerous. With this excellent maxim they separated, the one to recount to Donna Isidora what had passed, and the other to return to the house of his master. It being very late, all the household had retired to rest. Don Marcos availing himself of the end of a candle, which he generally carried in his pocket for the purpose, withdrew to a small lamp, which lighted an image of the Virgin, at the corner of the street. There he placed it on the point of his sword and lighted it, making, at the same time, a very short but devout prayer that the very reasonable hopes he had framed might not be disappointed. Satisfied with this pious duty, he then retired to rest, waiting, however, impatiently for the day which should crown his expectations. The next day he was visited by his friend Gamorre, such was the name of the gentleman who had recommended to him this tempting alliance. Don Marcos had risen by times that morning, for love and interest had conspired to banish sleep from his pillow. It was, therefore, with the utmost joy that he welcomed his visitor, who informed him that he had been successful in his mission to Donna Isidora, and that he was the bearer of an invitation to him from that lady to pass the day at her house, when he would have an opportunity of personally pressing his suit, and perhaps concluding the negociation which had so happily com- menced. Before they parted that night everything was arranged for their marriage, which in three days from that time was solemnised with all the splendour becoming people of rank and wealth. Don Marcos on this occasion so far overcame his parsimony as to present his wife with a rich 136 SPANISH HUMOUR. wedding dress of great cost and fashion ; calculating very wisely that the expense was but trifling in comparison with what he had to receive. Behold, then, our friend Don Marcos, lord and master of this sumptuous dwelling, and its amiable inmates ; and when tlie day of the auspicious union arrived, it found him in a state of the greatest possible contentment and happiness. "Surely this is the happiest day of my life," he said to himself. The future domestic arrangements were all care- fully discussed by the calculating mind of the bridegroom ; and he already had disposed of his anticipated savings in a speculation ; for he had begun even to think of speculating as to the greatest saving and profit. Before retiring to rest, however, these flattering visions were a little disturbed by the sudden illness of Augustin. Whether it proceeded from mortification at his aunt's wedding, which threatened to curtail him of some of his fair proportions — his accustomed pleasures, or from some natural cause, it is impossible to say ; but the house was suddenly thrown into a state of the greatest confusion ; servants running about for remedies, and Donna Isidora in a state of the most violent agitation ! However, the invalid became composed with the efforts which were made in his behalf; and Donna Isidora ventured to leave him and retire to rest, while the bridegroom went his round, taking care to see that the doors and windows were all fast, possessing himself of the keys for their better security. This last act of caution seemed to be looked on with great distrust by the servants, who immediately attributed- to jealousy that which was the result only of care and prudence ; for Don Marcos had that morning removed to the house, with his own valuable person, and all his worldly possessions, including his six thousand ducats, which had not for a long time seen the light of day, and which he THE MISER CHASTISED. 1 37 intended should still be consigned to solitary confinement, as far as locks and keys would ensure it. Having arranged everything to his satisfaction, he retired to his bridal-chamber, leaving the servants to bewail their unhappy fortune, in having got a master whose habits threatened to curtail them of little liberties which the kindness of their mistress had so long indulged. Marcella spoke of her dissatisfaction at once ; saying that rather than live like a nun, she should seek her fortune elsewhere, but Ines fancying that she heard a noise in the chamber of Don Augustin, and feeling he might require something in his illness, stepped lightly to his room to inquire in what she might assist him. On the ensuing morning Ines was about the house earlier than usual, and to her surprise found the chamber of Marcella empty, and no appearance of her having slept there that night. Astonished at so strange a circumstance, she left the room to seek her, and was still more surprised on finding the outer door unlocked, which her master had so carefully fastened the night before, and which now, as if for the purpose of disturbing Don Marcos's ideas of security, had been left wide open. On seeing this, Ines became terribly alarmed, and flew to the chamber of her mistress, raising an outcry that the house had been broken into. The bridegroom, half stupi- fied with terror, leaped from the couch, calling for his wife to do the same ; at the same time drawing aside all the curtains, and throwing open all the windows, in order that there might be no deficiency of light to see whether any- thing were missing. The first thing he beheld was what he supposed to be his wife, but so altered, that he could scarce believe her to be the same; instead of six-and-thirty years of age, which she professed to be, this sudden and un- welcome visitation of morning light added at least twenty years to her appearance ; small locks of grey hair peeped 138 SPANISH HUMOUR. from beneath her niglitcap, which had been carefully con- cealed by the art of the hair-dresser, but the false hair had in the carelessness of sleep been unluckily transferred to the ground. The suddenness of this morning's alarm had produced another no less unfortunate mischance ; her teeth, which Don Marcos had so complimented for their regularity and whiteness, were now, alas ! not to be seen, and the lady at least verified the old proverb of not casting pearls before swine. We will not attempt to describe the consternation of the poor hidalgo, or waste words which the imagination can so much better supply. We will only say that Donna Isidora was confounded. It was intolerable that her imper- fections should be made thus manifest at so unseasonable an hour, and snatching up her strayed locks, she attempted to replace them, but with such little success, owing to her extreme hurry, that had not Don Marcos been overwhelmed with consternation, he would assuredly hardly have refrained from laughter. She then sought to lay hands on the dress she had worn the previous day ; but, alas ! nothing of the rich paraphernalia in which she had been attired by the gallantry of her husband — not one of the jewels and trinkets in which she had dazzled the spectators' eyes — remained. Don Marcos, on his part, was struck dumb with horror, on finding that his own wedding suit was missing, and likewise a valuable gold chain which he had worn at the ceremony, and which he had drawn from his treasure for the purpose. No |)en can describe the agony of Don Marcos upon this fatal discovery ; he could not even console himself with the youthful graces of his wife, for turning towards her he saw nothing but age and ugliness, and turning his eyes again from her, he found his expensive clothes all vanished, and his chain gone. Almost out of his wits, he ran out into the saloon, and throughout the apartments, attired only in his shirt, wring- THE MARKET OF AN'CESTORS. 1 39 ing his hands, and betraying every sign of a miser's lamen- tation and despair. While in this mood, Donna Isidora escaped to her dressing-room, without giving herself the trouble of inquiring into the minor catastrophe, and busied lierself in repairing the personal injuries which the untoward event had produced. Don Auguslin had by this time risen, and Ines recounted to him the adventures of the morning, and they both laughed heartily at the consterna- tion of poor Don Marcos, the ridiculous accident of Donna Isidora, and the roguishness of Marcella. Doiia Maria de Zayas {JL 1637). Trans. Roscoe. THE MARKET OF ANCESTORS. THEY hereupon entered a fairly wide street, littered with coffins, amongst which walked several sextons, while a number of grave-diggers were breaking into various graves. Don Cleofas said to his companion^ " What street is this, it is the oddest I have ever seen?" " This is more worldly and of the times than any other," replied the Limping Devil, " and the most useful. It is the old-clothes market of ancestors, where anybody in want of forefathers, his own not suiting him, or being somewhat shabby, comes to pick out the one he likes best for his money. Just look at that poor, deformed gentleman trying on a grandmother he badly wants, and the other, who has already chosen a father, putting on a grandfather as well, who's much too big for him. That fellow lower down is exchanging his grandfather for another, offering a sum of money into the bargain, but can't come to terms because the sexton, who is the dealer, would be a loser by it. The man over there has just turned his great- grandfather inside out and is patching him u[) with some- 140 SPANISH HUMOUR, IT IS THE OLD-CLOTHES MAUKET 0¥ ANCESTORS. VISION OF THE LAST JUDGMENT. I41 body else's great grandmother. Here's another with a pohceman to look for an ancestor of whom he has been robbed, and who is hanging up in the market. If you want an ancestor or two on credit, now's your chance ; one of the dealers is a friend of mine." "I could do with some money, but I'm not in want of ancestors," replied the student. So they continued their adventures. " Tlic Linifi/ig Devil."' I'clez de Guevara (16.14). VISION OF THE LAST JUDGMENT. HOMER, we find, represents Jupiter as the author or inspirer of dreams, more especially the dreams of princes and governors, granting always that the subject of them be of a religious and important character. It is stated, moreover, as the opinion of the learned Propertius, " that good dreams are sent from above, have their mean- ing, and ought not to be slighted." To give frankly my own idea upon this subject, I am inclined to his way of thinking, in particular as to the case of a certain dream I had the other night. As I was reading a sermon con- cerning the end of the world, it happened that I fell asleep over it, and pursuing the same line of thought, dreamed the foliovving dream of the Last Judgment — a thing rarely admitted into the house of a poet, so much as in a dream. I was in this way reminded too of an observation in "Claudian," " that all creatures dream at night of what they have heard and seen in the day; as the hound," says Petronius Arbiter, "dreams of hunting the hare." Well, methought I beheld a noble-looking youth towering in the air, and drawing loud and solemn tones from a mighty trumpet. The vehemence of his breath did 142 SPANISH HUMOUR. certainly detract somewhat from the effect of his glorious beauty, yet even the monumental marbles, the earth-closed caverns — nay, the very dead within — obeyed his fearful call ; for the ground was seen gradually to open, the bones to rise and unite together, and a mighty harvest of the living spring from the long-sown seed of the dead. The first that appeared were soldiers, — such as generals of armies, captains, lieutenants, and the common foot, who, thinking that a fresh charge had sounded, rose out of their graves with considerable boldness and alacrity, as if they had been preparing for combat, or a sudden assault. The misers next put their heads out, all pale and trembling, with the idea they were going to be again plundered. Cavaliers and boon companions came trooping along, supposing they were going to a horse-race, or a grand hunt. In short, though all heard the trumpet sound, not any one seemed to understand it, for their thoughts were plain enough to be read by the strangeness of their looks and gestures. While the souls came trooping in on all sides, many were seen to approach their new bodies, not without signs of considerable aversion and difficulty. Others stood spell- bound with wonder and horror, as if not venturing to come nearer to so dreadful a spectacle ; for this wanted an arm, that an eye, and the other a head. Though, on the whole, I could not forbear smiling at so strange a variety of figures, I found yet greater matter for awe and admiration at the power of Providence, which drew order out of chaos, and restored every part and member to its particular owner. I dreamed that I was myself in a churchyard ; that I saw numbers busied in changing heads, who were averse to make their appearance ; and an attorney would have put in a demurrer, on the plea that he had got a soul that could be none of his, for that his soul and body belonged to some different ones elsewhere. VISION OF Tin-: last judgment. 143 When it came at length to be generally understood that here at last was the Day of Judgment, it was curious to observe what strange evasions and excuses were made use of among the wicked. The man of pleasure, the betrayer of innocence, the epicure, and the hypocrite, would not own their eyes, nor the slanderer his tongue, because they were sure to appear in evidence against them. Pick- pockets were seen running away as fast as possible from their own fingers, while an old usurer wandered about anxiously inquiring if the money-bags were not to rise as well as the bodies ? I should have laughed outright at this, had not my attention been called away to a throng of cut- purses, hastening all speed from their own ears, now offered them, that they might not hear so many sad stories against themselves. I was a witness to the whole scene, from a convenient station above it, when all at once there was uttered a loud outcry at my feet of " Withdraw, withdraw 1 " No sooner was it pronounced, than down I came, and forthwith a number of handsome women put out their heads and called me a base clown for not showing the respect and courtesy due to their high quality, not being a whit the less inclined to stand upon their etiquette, — although in Hell itself. They appeared half-naked, and as proud as Juno's peacock, whenever they happened to catch your eye ; and, to say truth, they had a good complexion, and were well made. When they were informed, however, that it was no other than the Day of Judgment, they took the alarm, all their vivacity vanished, and slowly they took their way towards an adjacent valley, quite pensive and out of humour. Of these one among the rest had wedded seven husbands, and promised to each of them that she would never marry again, for she was unable to love any one like she had loved the last. Now the lady was eagerly inventing all manner of excuses, in order that she might return a proper answer 144 SPANISH HUMOUR. when examined on this part of her conduct. Another, that had been common as the common air, affected to hum a tune, and delay the arrival on pretence of having for- gotten some of her trickeries, as an eye brow, or a comb ; but, spite of her art — for she could now neither lead nor drive — she was impelled on till she came within sight of the throne. There she beheld a vast throng, among whom were not a few she had brought far on their way to the worst place ; and no sooner did they recognise her than they began to hoot after and pursue her, till she took refuge in a troop of city police. Next appeared a number of persons driving before them a certain physician along the banks of a river, whither he had unfairly dispatched them considerably before their time. They assailed his ears all the way with cries of "■justice ! justice!'" at the same time urging him forwards towards the seat of judgment, where they at length arrived. Meantime, I heard upon my left hand something like a paddling in the water, as if some one were trying to swim ; and what should it all be but a judge, plunged into the middle of a river, and vainly trying to wash his hands of the foul matter that adhered to them, I inquired what he was employed about, and he told me, that in his lifetime he had often had them oiled so as to let the business slip the better through them, and he would gladly get out the stains before he came to hold up his hand before the bar. What was yet more horrible, I saw coming under guard of a legion of devils, all armed with rods, scourges, and clubs, a whole posse of vintners and tailors, suffering no little correction ; and many pretended to be deaf, being unwilling to leave the grave under dread of a far worse lodging. As they were proceeding, however, up started a little dapper lawyer, and inquired whither they were going ; to which it was replied, that they were going to give an VISION OF THE LAST JUDGMENT. 14^ account of their works. On hearing this, the lawyer threw himsch' down flat on his face in his hole again, exclaiming at the same time, " If down I must without a plea, I am at least so far on my way." An innkeeper seemed in a great sweat as he walked along, while a demon at his elbow jeering at him cried, — "Well done, my brave fellow, get rid of the water, that we may have no more of it in our wine." But a poor little tailor, well bolstered up, with crooked fingers, and bandy legged, had not a word to say for himself all the way he went, except, "Alas ! alas! how can any man be a thief that dies for want of bread ! " As he cried, his companions, however, rebuked him for running down his own trade. Next followed a gang of highwaymen, treading upon the heels of one another, and in no little dread of treachery and cheating among each other. These were brought up by a party of devils in the turning of a hand, and were quartered along with the tailors ; for, as was observed by one of the company, your real highwayman is but a wild sort of tailor. To be sure, they were a little quarrelsome at the first, but in a short time they went together down into the valley, and took up their quarters very quietly together. A little behind them came Folly, Bells, and Co., with their band of poets, fiddlers, lovers, and fencers— that kind of people, in short, that last dream of a day of reckoning. These were chiefly distributed among the hangmen, Jews, scribes, and philo- sophers. There were also a great many solicitors, greatly wondering among themselves how they could have so much conscience when dead, and none at all in their lifetime. In short, the catch-word "silence" was the order of the day. The throne of the Eternal being at length elevated, and the mighty day of days at hand which spake of comfort to the good, and of terror to the wicked ; the sun and the stars, like satraps, cast their glory round the footstool of the Supreme Judge — the avenger of the innocent, and the IX 146 SPANISH HUMOUR. Judge of the greatest monarchs and judges of the earth. The wind was stilled ; the waters were quiet in their ocean- sleep — the earth being in suspense and anguish for fear of her human offspring. The whole creation looked about to yield up its trust in huge confusion and dismay. The just and righteous were employed in prayer and thanksgiving ; the impious and wicked were vainly busy in weaving fresh webs of sophistry and deceit, the better to mitigate their sentence. On one side stood the guardian angels ready to show how they had fulfilled the part entrusted to them ; and on the other frowned the evil genii, or the devils who had eagerly contended with the former, and fomented the worst human passions, attending now to aggravate every matter of charge against their unfortunate victims. The Ten Commandments held the guard of a narrow gate, so straight indeed, that the most subdued and extenuated body could not get through without leaving the better part of his skin behind. In one portion of this vast theatre were thronged together Disgrace, Misfortune, Plague, Grief, and Trouble, and all were in a general clamour against the doctors. The plague admitted fairly that she had smitten many, but it was the doctor at last who did their business. Elack Grief and Shame both said the same; and human calamities of all kinds made open declaration that they never brought any man to his grave without the help and abetting of a doctor. It was thus the gentlemen of the faculty were called to account for the number of fellow-men they had killed, and which were found to exxeed by far those who had fallen by the sword. They accordingly took their station upon the scaffold, provided with pen, ink, and paper ; and always as the dead were called, some or othei of them made answer to the name, and quoted the year and day when such or such a patient passed from time to eternity through his hands. VISION OF THE LAST JUDGMENT. I47 They began the inquiry as far back as Adam, who, to say the truth, was rather roughly handled about biting an apple. "Alas ! " cried one Judas that stood by, " if that were such a fault, what must be the end of me, who sold and betrayed my own Lord and Master ? " Then next approached the race of patriarchs ; and next the Apostles, who took up their places by the side of St. Peter. It was well worth observing that on this day there was not a whit distinction between kings and beggars : all were equal before the judgment-seat. Herod and Pilate had no sooner put out their heads, than they found it was likely to go hard with them. " ]My judgment, however, is just," exclaimed Pilate. "But alas!" cried Herod, "what have I to confide in? Heaven is no abiding place for me, and in Limbo I shall fall among the very innocents whom I murdered ; I have no choice, therefore, but must e'en take up my quarcers in Hell — the general refuge for the most notorious male- factors." After this, a rough sort of sour, ill-grained fellow, made his appearance : " See here," he cried, " here are my credentials — take these letters." The company, surprised at his odd humour, inquired of the porter who he was ? " Who am I ? " quoth he, " I am master of the noble science of defence " : then pulling out a number of sealed jiarchments, " These will bear witness to my exploits." As he said these words, the testimonials fell out of his hand, and two devils near him were just going to pick them uj), to keep as evidence against him at his trial, but the fencer was too nimble for them, and seized on them. An angel, however, now offered him his hand to help him in ; while he, as if fearing an attack, leapt a step back, throwing himself into an attitude of defence. " Now," he exclaimed, "if you like, I will give you a taste of my skill"; upon which the company set a-laughing, and this sentence was pronounced against him : " That since by his art he had caused so many duels and murders, he should himself be 148 SPANISH HUMOUR. allowed to go to the devil in a perpendicular line." He pleaded he was no mathematician, and knew no such a line ; but with that word a devil came up, and gave him a twirl or two round, and down he tumbled before he could bring his sentence to an end. The public treasurers came after him, pursued by such a hooting at their heels, that some supposed the whole band of thieves themselves were coming ; which others denying, the company fell into a dispute upon it. They were greatly troubled at the word "thieves," and one and all requested they might be permitted to have the benefit of counsel. " For a very good reason," said one of the devils. " Here's a discarded apostle, a Judas, that played into both hands at once ; seize him ! " On hearing this, the treasurers turned away ; but a vast roll of accusations against them, held in another devil's hand, met their eyes, and one of them exclaimed, " For mercy's sake, away with those informations ! We will one and all submit to any penalty ; to remain in purgatory a thousand years, if you will only remove them from our sight." " Is it so ? " quoth the cunning devil that had drawn out the charges — " you are hard put to it to think of compounding on terms like these." The treasurers had no more to say; but, finding they must make the best of a bad case, they very quietly followed the dancing-master. Close upon the last came an unfortunate pastryman, and on being asked if he wished to be tried, he replied that he did, and with the help of the Lord would stand the venture. The counsel against him then prest the charge ; namely, that he had roasted cats for hares, and filled hrs pies with bones in place of meat, and sold nothing but horse-flesh, dogs, and foxes, in lieu of good beef and mutton. It turned out, in fact, that Noah had never had so many animals in his ark as this ingenious fellow had put in his pies (for we hear of no rats and mice in the former) j VISION OF THE LAST JUDGMENT. 149 SO that, in utter despair, he threw up his cause, and went to be baked in his turn with other sinners like himself. " Next came and next did go " a company of barefoot pliilosophers with their syllogisms, and it was amusing enough to hear them chop logic, and try all manner of questions in mood and figure, at the expense of their own souls. Yet the most entertaining of them all were the poets, who refused to he tried at any lesser tribunal than that of Jupiter himself. Virgil, with his Sicclides Miisce, made an eloquent defence of himself, declaring that he had prophecied the Nativity. But up jumped a devil with a long story about Maecenas and Octavius, declaring that he was no better than an idolater of the old school. Orpheus then put in a word, asserting that, as he was the elder, he ought to be allowed to speak for all, commanding the poet to repeat his experiment of going into hell, and trying to get out again, with as many of the company as he could take along with him. They were no sooner gone, than a churlish old miser knocked at the gate, but was informed that it was guarded by the Ten Commandments, to which he had always been an utter stranger. Yet he contended that if he had not kept, he had never broken, any of them, and proceeded to justify his conduct from point to point. His quirks, how- ever, were not admitted — his works were made the rule of decision — and he was marched off to receive a due reward. He was succeeded by a gang of housebreakers and others of the same stamp, some of whom were so fortunate as to be saved just in the nick of time. The usurers and attor- neys, seeing this, thought they too had a good chance, and put so good a face on the matter that Judas and Mahomet began to look about them, and advanced rather confidently to meet their trial, a movement which made the devils themselves fall to laughing. It was now the accusing demons of the usurers and at- 150 SPANISH HUMOUR torneys proceeded with their accusations, which they took not from the bills of indictment made out, but from the acts of their lives, insisting upon the plain matter of fact, so as to leave them without the possibility of an excuse. Ad- dressing the Judge — " The great crime of which these men were guilty was their being attorneys at all ; " — to which it was ingeniously answered by the men of law — -" No, not so; we only acted as the secretaries of other men." They nearly all denied their own calling; and the result was that, after much cross-questioning and pleading, two or three only were acquitted, while to the rest their accusers cried out, " You here ! you are wanted elsewhere ; " and they then proceeded to swear against some other people, some bribing the witnesses, making them say things which they had never heard, and see things they had never seen, in order to leave innocence no chance of escape. The lie was concocted in all its labyrinths ; and I saw Judas, Mahomet, and Luther draw back, while the former prest his money- bag closer to him. Luther observed that he did just the same thing in his writings {i.e., draw back) ; but the doctor interrupted him, declaring that, compelled by those who had betrayed him, ke now appeared with the apothecary and the barber to defend himself. On this a demon with the accusa- tions in his hand turned sharp round on him, asking, "Who it was had sent the greater part of the dead then present, and with the aid of his worthy aidc-dc-camps, had, in fact, occa- sioned the whole proceedings of that day." But the apothe- cary's advocate put in a plea for him, asserting that he had dosed the poor people for nothing. "No matter," retorted a devil, " I have him down on my list; two of his pill-boxes despatched more than ten thousand pikes could do in a battle, such was the virulence of his poisonous drugs, with which indeed he entered into a partnership with the plague, and destroyed two entire villages." The physician defended himself from any participation in these exploits, and at last VISION OF THE LAST JUDGMENT. 151 the apothecary was obliged to succumb, the physician and the barber each taking the deaths that respectively be- longed to them. A lawyer was next condemned for taking bribes from both sides, and betraying both; and lurking behind him was discovered a fellow who seemed very desirous of concealing himself, and who, on being asked his name, replied that he was a player. "And a very comic player indeed," rejoined a devil, " who had done better not to appear on that stage to-day." The poor wretch promised to retire, and was as Sfood as his word. A tribe of vintners next took their station, accused of having assassinated numbers of thirsty souls by substituting bad water for good wine. They tried to defend themselves on the plea of compensation, having supplied a hospital gratis with wine for the sacred cere- monies; but this was overruled, as was that preferred by the tailors, of having clothed some charity boys on the same terms, and they were all sent to the same place. Three or four rich merchants next appeared, who had got wealth by defrauding their correspondents and creditors, but the accusing demon now informed them they would find it more difficult to make a composition; and turning towards Jupiter, he said, "Other men, my Lord Judge, have to give account of their own affairs, but these have had to do with everybody's." Sentence was forthwith pronounced, but I could not well catch it, so speedily they all disap- peared. A cavalier now came forward with so good a face, and so upright, as to challenge even justice itself. He made a very lowly obeisance on entering, but his collar was of such a size as to defy you to say whether he had got any head in it at all. A messenger inquired, on the part of Jupiter, if he was a man, to which he courteously replied in the affirmative, adding that his name was Don Fulano, on the faith of a cavalier. At this one of the devils laughed, and he was then asked whot it was he wanted? To which 1^2 SrANISII HUMOUR. 4- yjr^^-^ "a devy of fine ladies, tkicked out in cap and feather. VISION OF THE LAST JUDGMENT. 1 53 he replied that he wanted to be saved. He was dehvered over to the demons, whom he entreated to use him gently, lest they should chance to disorder his mustachios and ruff. Behind him came a man uttering great lamentations, which he himself interrupted by saying, "Though I cry, I am none so badly off, for I have shaken the dust off the saints themselves before now." Every one looked round, think- ing to see a hero, or a Diocletian, from his brushing the ears of the saints ; but he turned out to be a poor wretch whose highest office was to sweep the pictures, statues, and other ornaments of the church. His cause seemed safe, when all at once he was accused by one of the devils of drinking the oil out of the lamps, but which he again laid to the charge of an owl ; that he had moreover clothed himself out of the church suits, that he drank the wine, ate the bread, and even laid a duty on the fees. He made but a lame defence, and was ordered to take the left hand road in his descent. He made way for a bevy of fine ladies, tricked out in cap and feather, and so full of merriment that they fell to amuse themselves with the odd figures of the demons them- selves. It was stated by their advocate that they had been excellent devotees." " True," retorted the demon, "devoted to anything but chastity and virtue." "Yes, certainly," replied one that had taken her full fling in life, and whose trial now came on. She was accused of making religion itself a cloak, and even marrying, the better to conceal the enor- mities of her conduct. When condemned she retired, bitterly complaining that, had she known the result, she would have taken care not to have done any of the charit- able things, and said so many masses as she had. Next, after some delay, appeared Judas, Mahomet, and Martin Luther, of whom a messenger inquired which of the three was Judas? To this both Mahomet and Luther replied that he was the man; on which Judas cried out in a 154 SPANISH HUMOUR. rage that they were both liars, for that he was the true Judas, and that they only affected to be so, in order to escape a worse fate than his, for though he had indeed sold his Master, the world had been the better of it, while the other rascals, by selling both themselves and his Master, had well-nigh ruined it. They were all sent to the place they deserved. An attorney who held the evidence in his hand now called on the alguazils and runners to answer the accusa- tions brought against them. They cut a woful figure, and so clear was the case against them, that they were con- demned without more ado. An astrologer now entered with his astrolobes, globes, and other quackery, crying out that there was some mis- take, for that that was not the Day of Judgment, as Saturn had not yet completed his course, nor he out of sheer fear his own. But a devil turned round on him, and seeing him loaded with wooden instruments and maps, exclaimed, " Well done, friend, you have brought firewood along with you, though it is a hard thing, methinks, after making so many heavens as are here, you should be sent to the wrong place at last for the want of a single one. " I will not go, not I," said the astrologer." " Then carry him," said the devil, and away he went. The whole court after this broke up : the shadows and clouds withdrew, the air grew refreshing, flowers scented once more the breezes, the sunny sky reappeared, while I methought remained in the valley ; and wandering about, heard a good deal of noise and voices of lamentation, as if rising out of the ground. I pressed forward to inquire what it could be, and I saw in a hollow cavern (a fit mouth to hell) a number of persons in pain. Among these was a Letrado, but busied not so much with dead laws as with live coals, — and an Escrivano, devouring only letters. A miser was there, counting more pangs than pieces ; a physi- THE REVENGE OF DON LUCAS. 1 55 cian contemplating a dead patient ; and an apothecary steeped in his own mixtures. I laughed so outriglit at this that I started wide awake, and was withal more merry than sad to find myself on my bed. The foregoing indeed are dreams, but such as if your excellency will sleep upon them, it will come to pass, that in order to see the things as I see them, you will pray for them to turn out as I say they are. Gomez de Qucvcdo (15S0-1645). Trans. Roscoe. THE REVENGE OF DON LUCAS. Don Lucas, a rich, fat, uf^Iy little men , l>ctroihcd to his 7vard, Dona Isabel, against her will. Don Pedro, young cousin to Don Lucas, and in Iotc zvith Isabel. Don Luis, a gainit old batchelor, also in love with Isabel. Dona Isabel. Do.va Alfonsa, an old maid, sister to Don Lucas, and in love with Don Pedro. Periwig, valet to Don Lucas. Don Lucas and Don Luis. Don Luis. I tell you — yesterday at Illescas she departed from her mute coyness and, quitting her chamber, came to discourse with me under the porch, where she told me she would be my bride with all her heart, and that her hand was bestowed upon you against her will. If this be truth, why separate two loving souls ? . . . I hold you for a man of mind, and therefore come to demand. . . . Don Lucas. No more, for by the devil, I'll pay you out . . . D. Alfonsa. {knocking zvithout). Is my brother here? Don Lucas. Into my bedroom, quick, I must see my sister. 156 SrANISII HUMOUR. Don Luis. Let me know first if my life and liberty are secure ! Don Litcas. Be off with you, there's time enough to look after your life and liberty. \Exit Don Luis. Don Lucas ami Dona Alfonsa. D. Alfonsn. Brother? Don Lucas. "Well, sister Alfonsa ? D. Aifonsa. I have something to tell you. Do)i Lucas. Deuce take it, everybody has something to tell me. But it's my own fault for listening. D. Aifonsa. Are we alone ? Don Ljicas. Yes, sister. D. Aifonsa. Will you be angry at what Fm going to tell you ? Do7i Lucas. How do I know ? D. Aifonsa. Well, you know . . . Don Lucas. I don't know. D. Aifonsa. . . . That I am a woman . . . Don Lucas. I don't know anything of the kind. D. Aifonsa. Brother? ... Don Lucas. Do be quick and have done with it. You'll all be the death of me. D. Aifonsa. Well, I am a woman, and in love . . . Don Lucas. The point at last. D. Aifonsa. And with Don Pedro. Don Lucas. All right. D. Aifonsa. But he doesn't love me ; the treacherous wretch is courting Doha Isabel, and betraying both of us. - Don Lucas. I say, I don't believe it. D. Aifonsa. Well, you know, I often have fainting fits. Don Lucas. Yes ! D. Aifonsa. And do you remember that I also had one at tlie inn at Illescas ? THE REVENGE OF DUN LUCAS. 1 57 Don Lucas. Wtll, what of that? D. Alfonsa. You must know it was feigned. Do7t Lucas. And now who'll believe you when you really have one ? D. Alfonsa. I did it with a motive. Don Pedro, the traitor, thinking it was real, seized the opportunity to say a thousand tender things to Doha Isabel. I would have given vent to my rage, but he is so far gone, he even makes love to her before jy;//'. Don Lucas. A pretty how-d'ye-do ! D. Alfonsa. Last — night — he — met — her— in — the — par- lour — secretly . . . And now you know my wrongs. Make haste and avenge both yourself and me on that treacherous Don Pedro. Don Lucas. A pretty kettle of fish. But, devil take it, Don Luis has just been to tell me that Isabel is in love with him. Perhaps she loves' them both, she seems to have a great facility that way. But if Don Pedro is her accepted lover, I'll pay them both out ! I shall have such a revenge as shall last their whole lives ! To kill them would be too poor a vengeance. D. Alfonsa. What do you mean to do ? Don Lucas, {calling). Don Pedro ! D. Alfonsa. There, he's just come in. Don Lucas, {calling). Doiia Isabel ! D. Alfonsa. Here she is. Enter Dona Isabel, Don Pedro, and Periwig, D. Lsabcl. Why are you calling mc? Don Pedro. What can I do for you ? Don Lucas. Just wait for a bit. Periwig, shut that dour, L^eriwig. Yes, sir. {Shuts it.) Don Lucas. Lock it. Periwig. Certainly, sir. {L^ocks it.) Don Lucas. Give mc the key. 158 SPANISH HUMOUR. Perhvig. Here it is, your honour. {Hands him the key.) Don Lucas, {opening his bedroom door). Come out, Don Luis. Don Luis. Here I am. {Comes out.) D. Isabel. Wliat are you going to do ? Do7i Pedro. ) ,,,, , ,, , . ^ „ ^ . \ What s all this ? Don Luis. ) Don Lucas. Listen, all of you. Sehor Don Luis, whom you here behold, has told me he is Doha Isabel's lover, and that he must marry her, for she gave him her word at Illescas and . . . Periwig. Oh no, beg pardon, sir. I saw the gent knock at a door at Illescas and palaver with Doha Alfonsa, whom he took for the young lady. Don't you remember, sir, you heard a noise, and came out with a light and your sword ? Well, it was him, sir. Don Luis. I will not deny it. You came forth, and I discreetly hid, but I thought I was speaking with Isabel, not with Alfonsa. D. Alfonsa. Wait, it was I with whom you spoke, but I took you for Don Pedro. Don Pedro, {aside). Blessings upon Cupid and my lucky star. Don Lucas. Well, that's one gallant done with. But to proceed {to Don Pedro), my sister. Dona Alfonsa, tells me treacherous and unloyal fellow, that you love Isabel. Don Pedro. Yes, it is so. I confess I have long loved her, before you even thought of her; and who can blame my impotence to stifle a love so great that . . . Don Lucas. Hold your tongue, young cousin, for by h , but no, I won't swear. ... I nmst have fierce and fatal vengeance. Don Pedro. Plunge your poniard into this my throat. Don Lucas. No, I won't do that; I don't want to kill you : that's what you'd like. THE REVENGE OF DON LUCAS. 1 59 Don Pedro. Then what will you do ? Don Lucas. You shall know. You, Don Pedro, arc a pauper, and but for me would have starved. Don Pedro. It is true. Do)L Lucas. Dona Isabel is a beggar. I was going to marry her for her looks only, for she hasn't a farthing for a dowry. Don Pedro. But she is virtuous and beautiful. Do)i Lucas. Well, then, give her your hand, for this is my vengeance. You are very poor, and she is very poor ; no more happiness for you. Love flies out of the window when poverty enters the door. On your wedding-day you may laugh at me, but on the morrow when breakfasting on kisses, with vows on the table for victuals, and constancy for supper. Love instead of a silk frock, and "Darling" to keep you warm, you will see who laughs longest and last. Don Pedro. Cousin . . . Don Lucas. I say, you shall marry her. Periwig, {aside). The punishment is too severe ! Don Lucas, {joins Don Pedro's and Dona Isabel's hands). Join hands, you fond and pretty fools. By vengeance is the nuptial knot : Too soon you'll learn what Love is like When there is nothing in the Pot. " Pntre Bobos anda el /uego." Francesco Liojas de Zorrilla (//. 1670). l6o SPANISH HUMOUR. THE MAYOR OF ZALAMEA. DRA-MATIS TERSON^. King Philip H.' Don Lope de Figuerroa. Don Alvaro de Ataide. Peuro Ckesi'O, a Farmer of Zalainca. jUAN, his Son. Isabel, Jus Daii;^hler. Ines, his Niece. Don Men do, a poor Hidalgo. NuNO, his Servant. Rebolledo, a Soldier. Chispa, his S'tvcelheart. A Sergeant, a Notary, Soldiers, Labourers, Constables, Royal Suite, &c. ACT I. Scene I. — Country near Zalatnca. Enter Rebolledo, Chispa, and Soldiers. Reb. Confound, say I, these forced marches from place to place, without halt or bait ; what say you, friends ? All. Amen ! Reb. Tu be trailed over the country like a pack of gipsies, after a little scrap of flag upon a pole, eh ? \st. Soldier. Rebolledo's off ! Reb. And that infernal drum, which has at last been good enough to stop a moment, stunning us. ind. Sold. Come, come, Rebolledo, don't storm ; we shall soon be at Zalamea. Reb. And where will be the good of that if I'm dead ' Does not appear in this extract. THE MAYOR OF ZALAMEA. l6l before I get there ? And if not, 'twill only be from bad to worse : for if we all reach the place alive, as sure as death up comes Mr. Mayor to persuade the Commissary we had better march on to the next town. At first Mr. Com- missary replies very virtuously, " Impossible ! the men are fagged to death." But after a little pocket persuasion, then it's all "Gentlemen, I'm very sorry, l)ut orders have come for us to march forward, and immediately," and away we have to trot, foot-weary, dust bedraggled, and starved as we are. Well, I swear if I do get alive to Zalamea to-day, I'll not leave it this side o' sunrise for love, lash, or money. It won't be the first time in my life I've given 'em the slip. isf. So/d. Nor the first time a poor fellow has had the slip given him for doing so. And more likely than ever now that Don Lope de Figaerroa has taken the command, a fine brave fellow they say, but a devil of a tartar, who'll have every inch of duty done, or take the change out of his own son, without waiting for trial either.^ Rel>. Listen to this now, gentlemen ! By Heaven, I'll be beforehand with him. 2nd. Sold. Come, come, a soldier shouldn't talk so. J^el>. I tell you it isn't for myself I care so much, as for this poor little thing that follows me. C/iis. Signor Rebolledo, don't you fret about me ; you know I was born with a beard on my heart if not on my chin, if ever girl was ; and your fearing for me is as bad as if I was afeard myself Why, when I came along with you I made up my mind to hardship and danger for honour's ' Don I.opc de Fi£;iierroa, wlio rit;iircs also in \hv Amar dcs/^itrs (fc- la Miicrfc, was (says Mr. Ticknor) "the commander under \vlif)m Cer- vantes served in Italy, and prnliaMy in ror(iii:;al, when lie was in the 'I'odo t/e Flaiuks, the I'landers rcLjiment, one of the best Ixidies of troops in the armies of Philip II.," and tlie very one now advancing, with perhaps Cervantes in il, (o Zalamea. 12 l62 SPANISH HUMOUR. sake; else if I'd wanted to live in clover, I never should have left the Alderman who kept such a table as all alder- men don't, I promise you. Well, what's the odds? I chose to leave him and follow the drum, and here I am, and if 1 don't flinch, why should you ? Reb. 'Fore Heaven, you're the crown of womankind ! Soldiers. So she is, so she is, Viva la Cliispa ! Reb. And so she is, and one cheer more for her — hurrah ! especially if she'll give us a song to lighten the way. Chis. The castanet shall answer for me. Reb. I'll join in — and do you, comrades, bear a hand in the chorus. Soldiers. Fire away ! Chispa sings. I. " Titiri tiri, marching is weary, Weary, weary, and long is the way : Titiri tiri, hither, my deary. What meat have you got for the soldier to-day ? 'Meat have I none, my merry men,' Titiri tiri, then kill the old hen. ' Alas and a day ! the old hen is dead ! ' Then give us a cake from the oven instead. Titiri titiri titiri tiri, Give us a cake from the oven instead. II. Admiral, admiral, where have you been a? ' I've been fighting where the waves roar.' Ensign, ensign, what have you seen-a ? ' Glory and honour and gunshot galore ; Fighting the Moors in column and line. Poor fellows, they never hurt me or mine — Titiri titiri titiri tina . . .' " THE MAYOR OF ZALAMEA. 163 If/. S<>/,f. Look, look, comrades — what between singing and firumbling we never noticed yonder church anionti the trees. Rc/k Is that Zakimca ? C/iis. Yes, that it is, I know tlie steeple. Hoorah ! we'll finish the song when we get into quarters, or have another as good; for you know I have 'em of all sorts and sizes. Ivti\ Halt a moment, here's the sergeant. 2>id. So/d. And the captain, too. E/ifcr Cattatn a?id Sergeant. Ca/^f. Good news, men, no more marching for to-day at least ; we halt at Zalamea till Don Lope joins with the rest of the regiment from Llerena. So who knows but you may have a several days' rest here ? Heb. and So/ds. Hurrah for our captain ! Capt. Your quarters are ready, and the Commissary will give every one his billet on marching in. C/iis. (singhij:;). Now then for " Titiii till, liithcr, my deary, Heat the oven and kill the old hen." [Exi/ luith Soldiers. Capt. Well, Mr. Sergeant, have you my billet? Serg. Yes, sir. Capt. And where am I to be put u[)? Serg. With the richest man in Zalamea, a fanner, as [iroud as Lucifer's heir-apparent. Capt. Ah, the old story of an upstart. Ser^:;. However, sir, you have the best quarters in the place, including his daughter, who is, they say, the ]ircttiest woman in Zalamea. Capt. I'ooh ! a pretty peasant ! spiny hands and feet. Serg. Shame ! shame ! 1 64 SPANISH HUMOUR. Cnpt. Isn't it true, puppy ? Serg. What would a man on march have better than a pretty country lass to toy with ? Capt. Well, I never saw one I cared for, even on march. I can't call a woman a woman unless she's clean about the hands and fetlocks, and otherwise well appointed — a lady, in short. Scrg. Well, any one for mc who'll let me kiss her. Come, sir, let us be going, for if you won't be at her, I will. Capt. Look, look yonder ! Scrg. Why, it must be Don Quixote himself, with his very Rosinante too, that Michel Cervantes writes of. Capt. And his Sancho at his side. Well, carry you my kit on before to quarters, and then come and tell me when all's ready. \Exeunt. Scene II. — Zalamea, before Crespo's Ilcv/ae. Enter Don Mendo and NuNO. Men. How's the grey horse ? Niifi. You may as well call him the Dun ; so scrcw'd he can't move a leg. Men. Did you have him walk'd gently about ? Nitil. ^^'alk'd about ! when it's corn he wants, poor devil ! Men. And the dogs ? Nun. Ah, now, they might do if you'd give them the horse to eat. Men. Enough, enotigh — it has struck three. My gloves and tooth-pick. Nun. That sinecure tooth-pick ? Afen. I tell you I would brain anybody who insinuated to me I hod not dined — and on game too. V,v\\. tell me, Nuno, havn't the soldiers come into Zalamea this afternoon ? THE MAYOR UF ZALAMF.A. 165 JViin. Yes, sir. Mc/i. ^\'llat a nuisance for ihe cornmonally whu have to quarter ttieuK jVti/i. But worse for those wiio luivn't. Jfe/i. \Vhat do you mean, sir? A'^/i/L I mean the squires. Ah, sir ; if tiie soldiers aren't billeted on theui, do you know why ? JAu. Well, why ? iV/^//. For fear of being starved — which would be a bad job for the king's service. A/en. God rest my father's soul, says I, who left nie a I^edigree and patent all blazon'd in gold and azure, that exempts me from such impositions. A'uu. I wish he'd kft you the gold in a more availaljle shape, however. J/d/i. Though, indeed, when I come to think of it, 1 don't know if I owe him any thanks ; considering that, unless he had consented to beget me an Hidalgo at once, I wouldn't have been born at all, for him or any one. iVu/i. Humph ! Could you have help'd it ? Me/i. Easily. JVu/i. How, sir. Jfcu. You must know that every one that is born is the essence of the food his parents eat JVii/1. Oh! Your parents did eat, then, sir? You have not inherited t/ui/ of them, at all events. J/du. Knave, do you insinuate A^ii/i. I only know it is now three o'clock, and we have neither of us yet had anything but our own spittle to chew. J/(7/. Perhaps so, but there are distinctions of rank. An Hidalgo, sir, has no belly. xV/iu. Oh, Lord ! that I were an Hidalgo ! J/e/i. I'ossibly ; servants must learn moderation in all things. But let me hear no more of the matter; we arc under Isabel's window. l66 SPANISH HUMOUR. Nun. There again If you are so devoted an ad- mirer, why on earth, sir, don't you ask her in marriage of her father; by doing which you would kill two birds with one stone : get yourself something to eat, and his grand- children squires. Alen. Hold your tongue, sir, it is impious. Am I, an Hidalgo with such a pedigree, to demean myself with a plebeian connection just for money's sake ? Nun. ^Vell, I've always heard say a mean father-in-law is best ; better stumble on a pebble than run your head again a post. But, however, if you don't mean marringe, sir, what do you mean ? Men. And pray, sir, what business is that of yours? Lut go directly, and tell me if you can get a sight of her ? Nun. I'm afraid lest her father should get a sight of me. Men. And what if he do, being my man ? Go and do as I bid you. Nuii. [after going to look). Come, sir, you owe one meal at least now — she's at the window with her cousin. Men. Go again and tell her something about her window being another East, and she a second Sun dawning from it in the afternoon. (Isabel a)id Ines co)ne to the window^ Lies. For heaven's sake, cousin, let's stand here and see the soldiers march in. Isal}. Not I, while that man is in the way, Ines ; you know how I hate the sight of him. Ines. ^Vith all his devotion to you ! Isal>. I wish he would spare himself and me the trouble. Ines. I think you are wrong to take it as an affront. Isat>. How would you have me take it } Ines. Why, as a compliment. Isal?. What, when I hate the man ? iMen. Ah ! 'pon the honour of an Hidalgo (which is a sacred oath), I could have sworn that till this moment the THE MAYOR OF ZALAMEA. 167 sun had not risen. But why shuuld I wonder? When indeed a second Aurora Isab. Signor Don Mendo, how often have I told you not to waste your time playing these fool's antics before my window day after day. Men. If a pretty woman only knew, la ! how anger im- proves its beauty ! her complexion needs no other paint than indignation. Go on, go on, lovely one, grow angrier and lovelier still. Isab. You shan't have even that consolation ; come, Ines. \Exit. lues. Beware of the portcullis, sir knight. [S/iiils if own the blind in his face.) Men. Ines, beauty must be ever victorious, whether advancing or retreating. Enler Crespo. Cres. That I can never go m or out of my house without that squireen haunting it ! N'uh. Pedro Crespo, sir ! Men. Oh — ah — let us turn another way ; 'tis an ill-condi- tioned fellow. ^[s lie turns, enter Juan. /nan. That I never can come home but this ghost ot an Hidalgo is there to spoil my appetite. A^u/l. His son, sir ! Men. He's worse. {Turning:; back.) Oh, Pedro Crespo, good-day, Crespo, good man, good-day. \Exit zvith NuNO. Cres. Good-day, indeed ; I'll make it bad day one of these days with you, if you don't take care. But how now, Juanito, my b(jy ? Juan. I was looking for you, sir, but could not find you j where have you been ? l68 SPANISH HUMOUR. Cixs. To the barn, where high and dry The jolly sheaves of corn do lie, Which the sun, arch-chemist of old, Turn'd from black earth into gold. And the swinging flail one day On the barn-floor shall assay, Separating the pure ore Lrom the drossy chaff away. This I've been about. And now, Juanito, what hast thou ? Juan. Alas, sir, I can't answer in so good rhyme or reason. I have been playing at fives, and lost every bout. Cres. ^Vhat signifies if you paid ? Juan. Lut I could not, and have come to you for the money. Crcs. Before I give it you, listen to me. There are things two Thou never must do ; Swear to more than thou knowest, Play for more than thou owoot ; And never mind cost, So credit's not lost. Juan. Good advice, sir, no doubt, that I shall lay by fijr its own sake as well as for yours. Meanwhile I have also heard say — " Preach not to a beggar till The beggar's empty hide yuu till." Cres. 'Fore Heaven, thou pay'st me in my own coin. But Enter Sergeant. Serg. Pray, does one Pedro Crespo live hereabout? Cres. Have you any commands for him, if he does? Scrg. Yes, to tell him of the arrival of Don Alvaro de THE MAYOR OF ZALAMEA. " 169 Ataide, captain of the troop that has just marched into Zalamea, and quartered upon him. Crcs. Say no more ; my house and all I have is ever at the service of the king, and of all who have authority under him. If you will leave his things here, I will see his room is got ready directly; and do you tell his Honour that, come when he will, he shall find me and mine at his service. Serg. Good — he will be here directly. \_Exit. Juan. I wonder, father, that, rich as you are, you still submit yourself to these nuisances. Cres. Why, boy, how could I help them? Juan. You know ; by buying a patent of Gentility. Cres. A patent of Gentility ! upon thy life now dost think there's a soul who doesn't know that I'm no gentle- man at all, but just a plain farmer? What's the use of my buying a patent of Gentility, if I can't buy the gentle blood along with it ? will any one think me a bit more of a gentle- man for buying fifty patents ? Not a whit ; I should only prove I was worth so many thousand royals, not that I had gentle blood in my veins, which can't be bought at any price. If a fellow's been bald ever so long, and buys him a fine wig and claps it on, will his neighbours think it is his own hair a bit the more ? No, they will say, " So-and- so has a fine wig ; and, what's more, he must have paid handsomely for it too." But they know his bald pate is safe under it all the while. That's all he gets by it. Juan. Nay, sir, he gets to look younger and handsomer, and keeps off sun and cold. Cres. Tut ! I'll have none of your wig honour at any price. My grandfather was a farmer, so was my fatiier, so is yours, and so shall you be after him. Go, call your sister. Enter Isabel and Ines. Oh, here she is. Daughter, our gracious king (whose life God save these thousand years !) is on his way to be I/O SPANISH HUMOUR. crowned at Lisbon; thither the troops are inarching from all quarters, and among others that fine veteran Flanders regiment, commanded by the famous Don Lope de Figuerroa, will march into Zalamea, and be quartered here to-day ; some of the soldiers in my house. Is it not as well you should be out of the way? Isab. Sir, 'twas upon this very errand I came to you, knowing what nonsense I shall have to hear if I stay below. My cousin and I can go up to the garret, and there keep so close, the very sun shall not know of our whereabout. Crcs. That's my good girl. Juanito, you wait here to receive them in case they come while I am out looking after their entertainment. Isab. Come, Ines. Lies. Very well • " Though I've heard in a song what folly 'twould be To try keep in a loft what won't keep on the tree." \E,xcunt. Enter Captain and Sergeant. .Sd'A-.^,^ This is the house, sir. Capt. Is my kit come ? Serg. Yes, sir, and [aside) I'll be the first to take an inventory of the pretty daughter. [^Exit. Juan. Welcome, sir, to our house ; we count it a great honour to have such a cavalier as yourself for a guest, I assure you. {Aside.) What a fine fellow ! what an air ! I long to try the uniform, somehow. Capt. Thank you, my lad. Juan. You must forgive our poor house, which we devoutly wish was a palace for your sake. My father is gone after your supper, sir ; may I go and see that your chamber is got ready for you ? Capt. Thank you, thank you. Juan. Your servant, sir. \^Exit. THE MAYOR OF ZALAMEA. I/r Enter SergilANT. Capt. Well, sergeant, wheie's the Dulcinea you toid me of? Scrg. Deuce take me, sir, if I havn't been looking every- where — in parlour, bedroom, kitchen, and scullery, up- stairs and downstairs, and can't find her out. Capt. Oh, no doubt the old fellow has hid her away for fear of us. Scrg. Yes, I ask'd a serving wench, and she confess'd her master had lock'd the girl up in the attic, with strict orders not even to look out so long as we were in the place. Capt. Ah ! these clodpoles are all so jealous of the service. And what is the upshot? Why, I, who didn't care a pin to see her before, shall never rest till I get at her now. Serg. But how, without a blow-up ? Capt. Let me see ; how shall we manage it ? Scrg. The more difficult the enterprise, the more glory in success, you know, in love as in war. Capt. I have it ! Scrg. Well, sir ? Capt. You shall pretend — but no, here comes one will serve my turn better. Enter REiiOLLEDO and Ciiisi'a. Reb. {to Chispa). There he is ; now if I can gel liiin into a good humour. Chis. S[)eak uj) then, like a man. Kcb. I wish I'd some of your courage; but don"t you leave me while I tackle him. Please, your Honour Capt. {to Sergeant). I tell you I've my eye on ReboUcdo to do him a good turn ; I like his spirit. 1/2 SPANISH HUMOUR. Serg. Ah, he's one of a thousand. J^e/^. (aside). Here's luck ! Please, your Honour C<7/yf. Oh, Rebolledo— Well, Rebolledo, what is it ? /vi/>. You may know I am a gentleman who has, by ill- luck, lost all his estate ; all that ever I had, have, shall have, may have, or can have, through all the conjugations of the verb " /o /lavc." And I want your Honour Cc7/>f. Well? AW^ To desire the ensign to appoint me roulette-master to the regiment, so I may pay my liabilities like a man of honour. Capf. Quite right, ([uite right ; I will see it done. C/iis. (aside). Oh, brave captain ! Oh, if I only live to hear them all call me Madame Roulette ! J^e/>. Shall I go at once and tell him ? Ca/>L Wait. I want you lirst to help me in a little plan I have, J^e/'. Out with it, noble captain. Slow said slow sped, you know. CaJ>^. You are a good fellow ; listen. I want to get into that attic there, for a particular purpose. A'c/k And why doesn't your Honour go up at once ? Cajjf. I don't like to do it in a strange house without an excuse. Now look here ; you and I will pretend to cjuarrel ; I get angry and draw my sword, and you run away upstairs, and I after you, to the attic, that's all ; I'll manage the rest. C/i/s. (aside). Ah, he seems to be getting on famously. Jieif. I understand. When are we to begin? Ca/>i. Now directly. Jielf. Very good. [In a loud voice.) This is the reward of my services — -a rascal, a pitiful, scoundrel, is pre- ferred, when a man of honour — a man who has seen service Chis. (aside). Halloa ! Rebolledo up ? All is not so well- THE MAYOR OF ZALAMEA. 1/3 Rch. Who has led you to victory ? dipt. This language to me, sir ? Rch. Yes, to you, who have so grossly insulted and defrauded Capt. Silence ! and think yourself lucky if I take no further notice of your insolence. Rcb. If T restrain myself, it is only because you are my captain, and as such — but 'fore God, if my cane were in my hand— — - Chis. {advancing}} Hold ! hold ! Capt. I'll show you, sir, how to talk to me in this way. {Draws his sicord.) Reh. It is before your commission, not you, I retreat. Capt. That sha'n't save you, rascal ! {Pin-sues Rebolledo out}) Chis. Oh ! I sha'n't be Madame Roulette after all. Murder ! murder ! \Exit calling. ■ Scene III.— Isap.el's Garret. Isabel and Ines, Isah. What noise is that on the stairs? ' Enter Rebolt.ebo. Rcb. Sanctuary ! Sanctuary ! Isah. Who are yon, sir ? Enter Cap'JAIN. Capt. Where is the rascal ? Isal>. A moment, sir ! 'J'his poor man has flown to our feet f(jr protection; I appeal to you for it ; and no man, and least of all an nflifer, will refuse that to any woman. Capt. I swear no other arm than that of beauty, and beauty such as yours, could have withheld me. {To 174 SPANISH HUMOUR. REBOLLETto.) You niny thank the deity that has saved you, rascal. Isnh. And I thank you, sir. Capt. And yet ungratefully slay me with your eyes in return for sparing him with my sword. Isab. Oh, sir, do not mar the grace of a good deed by poor compliment, and so make me less mindful of the real thanks I owe you. Capt. Wit and modesty kiss each other, as well they may, in that lovely face. i^Kncch) Isab. Heavens ! my father ! Enter Crespo a7id Juan 7vith sruords. Cres. How is this, sir? I am alarmed by cries of murder in my house — am told you have pursued a poor man up to my daughter's room ; and, when I get here ex- pecting to find you killing a man, I find you courting a woman. Capt. We are all born subjects to some dominion — soldiers especially to beauty. My sword, though justly raised against this man, as justly fell at this lady's bidding. Cres. No lady, sir, if you please ; but a plain peasant girl — my daughter. Juan, {aside). All a trick to get at her. My blood boils. {Aloud to Captain.) I think, sir, you might have seen enough of my father's desire to serve you to prevent your requiting him by such an affront as this. Cres. And, pray, who bid thee meddle, boy? Affront! what affront? The soldier affronted his captain; and if the captain has spared him for thy sister's sake, pray what hast thou to say against it ? Capt. I think, young man, you had best consider before you impute ill intention to an officer. THE MAYOR OF ZALAMEA. 1 75 Jumi. I know what I do know-. Crcs. ^Vhat I you will go on, will you? Capt. It is out of regard for you I do not chastise him. Crcs. Wait a bit : if that were wanting, 'twould 1)C from his father, not from yop.. luan. And what's nicire, I wouldn't endure it from any one but my father. Capt. You would not ? Juaii. No ! death rather than such dishonour ! Capt. What, pray, is a clodpole's idea of honour. Juan. The same as a captain's — no clodpole no captain, I can tell you. Capt. 'Fore Heaven, I must punish this insolence. {At'Oi/t to strike him.) Crcs. You must do it through me, then. ]\ct>. Eyes right ! — Don Lope ! Capt. Don Lope ! Eater Don Lope. Lope. How now? A riot the very first thing I find on joining the regiment ? What is it all about? Capt. {aside). Awkward enough ! Crcs. (aside). Ly the lord, the boy would have held his own with the best of 'em. Zopc. Well ! No one answer me? 'Fore God, Til \ntch the whole house, men, women, and children, out of windows, if you don't tell me at once. Here have T had to trail up your accursed stairs, and then no one will tell me what for. Cres. Nothing, nothing at all, sir. /.ope. Nothing? that would be the worst excuse of all, but swords arn't drawn for nothing ; come, the truth ? 176 SPANISH HUMOUR. Capt. Well, the simple fact is this, Don Lope ; I am quartered upon this house • and one of my soldiers Lope. Well, sir, go on. Capt. Insulted me so grossly I was obliged to draw my sword on him. He ran up here, where it seems these two girls live ; and I, not knowing there was any harm, after him ; at which these men, their father or brother, or some such thing, take affront. This is the whole business. Lope. I am just come in time then to settle it. First, who is the soldier that began it with an act of insub- ordination ? Reb. What, am I to pay the piper ? Lsah. {pointing to Rebolledo). This, sir, was the man who ran up first. Lope. This? handcuff him ! Lieb. Me ! my lord ? Capt. [aside to Rebolledo). Don't blab, I'll bear you harmless. Reb. Oh, I dare say, after being marched off with my hands behind me like a coward. Noble commander, 'twas the captain's own doing ; he made me pretend a quarrel, that he might get up here to see the women. Cres. I had some cause for quarrel, you see. Lope. Not enough to peril the peace of the town for. Halloa there ! beat all to quarters on pain of death. And, to prevent further ill blood here, do you {to the Captain) quarter yourself elsewhere till we march. I'll stop here. Capt. I shall of course obey you, sir. Cres. {to Isabel). Get you in. {Exeunt Isabel and Ines.) I really ought to thank you heartily for coming just as you did, sir ; else, I'd have done for myself. L^ope. How so? Cres. I should have killed this popinjay. Lope. What, sir, a captain in his Majesty's service? Cres Aye, a general, if he insulted me. THE MAYOR OF ZALAMEA. 1 77 Lope. I tell you, whoever lays his little finger on the humblest private in the regiment, I'll hang him. Crcs. And I tell you, whoever points his little finger at my honour, I'll cut him down before hanging. Lope. Know you not, you are I^ouiid by your allegiance to submit. Crcs. 'i'o all cost of property, yes ; but of honour, no, no, no ! My goods and chattels, aye, and my life — are the king's ; but my honour is my own soul's, and that is — God Almighty's. Lope. 'Fore God, there's some truth in what you say. Crcs. 'Fore God, there ought to be, for I've been some years saying it. Lope. Well, well. I've come a long way, and this leg of mine, which I wish the devil who gave it would carry \sic^ away with him ! cries for rest. Crcs. And who prevents its taking some? the same devil I suppose who gave you your leg, gave me a bed, which I don't want him to take away again, however, on which your leg may lie if it like. Lope. But did the devil, when he was about it, make your bed as well as give it ? Crcs. To be sure he did. Lope. Then I'll unmake it — Heaven knows I'm weary enough. Cres. Heaven rest you then. Lope, [aside). Devil or saint alike he echoes rne ! Calderon dc In LJarca (i 600-1 681). Trans. Edivard Filzgcrnld. 13 178 SPANISH HUMOUR. THE SIMPLE GROOMS. LOOK," said Juanillo, " we have now arrived at the Puerta del Sol, one of the chief resorts in Madrid. This site of beautiful things, rightly called the Sol or Sun, is renowned not only in Madrid, but throughout the whole world." Just then the cries and loud sobs of a lad made them turn to inquire the cause, and Onofre, asking a boy close by, was told it was a doctor's groom who had gone out to sell a mule too slow for his master, who, on account of his large practice, required one with more go. "Are there so many sick in Madrid? " asked Onofre ; to which the boy replied : " He lives in a suburb of delicate people, who dress richly, lie a long time in bed, have all their windows shut to keep out the air, and if their choco- late is too sweet or too highly spiced, say it has done them harm, and then they send for the doctor, who, to feel the pulses and purses of all, needs a lively mule, and so he wanted to sell his slow one." The boy went on to relate how the groom soon found a buyer in the servant of a country doctor, just arrived on horseback between the panniers of bread, a trick worthy of the devil himself, since that they might not suspect Death was entering the gates of Madrid, he came cloaked with the chief support of life ; for they say he was abandoning his last residence, since it had lost half its population during the one year of his stay, and was, therefore, coming to Madrid, where, on account of its size, he hoped his work would not be so noticeable. VVit-h this executioner's servant ... a bargain was struck, and the buyer allowed to try the mule, after entertaining and bribing the groom ; whereupon he vanished down the street of Alcala. Onofre smiled at the youth's humour, and approaching THE SIMPLE GROOMS. 1 79 the blubbering groom, heard the crowd trying to advise and console him in various ways : to look in all the hostries, where the thief might have taken the mule to give it a feed ; that his master would easily earn his value in four days ; that it was no good crying over spilt milk, to all of which the groom wept loudly, the big tears running down his cheeks, which, as well as his nose, he wiped with his cape and shirt-sleeves. Onofre felt sorry for the poor fellow, but Juanillo, calling him, told him such things often ha[)- pened market days, and he knew another case, which showed the astuteness of some thieves. A groom went, like this one, to sell a mule, which was, however, so young and wild, his master could not ride it. He arrived at the market and straightway found a buyer, for those simple fellows always come across crafty rogues, up to all kinds of tricks. They quickly came to terms, and the thief asked the lad to come for his money astride his mule to a surgeon-barber, for whom it was purchased. He then lead him to a shop where he had been shaved once or twice, and, leaving him outside on the mule, inquired for the master, and after the customary salutations, told him he had brought a sick groom whom he wished to be examined, and cured if possible, but that, as he was very shy and embarrassed, and had put off coming to a doctor for a long time, he must try not to frighten him, and ask the lad to wait a while inside till he could sec him, lest he should run away. He then paid half the fee and said he would pay the rest afterwards. The barber, highly pleased, went out and asked the groom to come in and wait, and his business would soon be despatched. "You know my business?" said the Ind. " Certainly," said the barber. The cheat, telling the groom that the barber would give him a dozen reals for himself beside the i)ri