“Good men, I am Guiomar, of Torrezon, widow of the noble Pedro de
Torrezon, and because my late husband was owing Sancho for soling a pair
of boots, I came here to pay the debt; but Sancho would have detained me
against my will. He is concealed on the roof of the house, and if you
leave me here he will murder me.”
Then she naturally fainted and screamed for so long a time that the
street was soon full of people who, hearing what had happened, cried out
against Sancho.
The watchmen having secured him, he was led before the alcaide, and,
being a poor man, he was sent to prison until such time as Donna
Guiomar should feel disposed to pardon him.
At the end of a year Donna Guiomar obtained his liberty, but on the
condition that he should forthwith proceed to Rome and do penance, which
was to count for the benefit of her deceased husband.
This act of piety on her part was very much approved of by the priests,
who required of Sancho that during the whole of his pilgrimage there he
should not shave, nor have his hair nor his nails cut. He was,
furthermore, to wear a suit of horse-hair cloth next to his skin, and
was to subsist solely on onions, garlic, maize bread, and pure water.
But liberty is so sweet that Sancho did not mind his hard fare, and he
went on his way to Rome repeating penitential prayers, while his hair
and beard grew until his head and face were nearly hidden.
Arrived at Rome, the people wondered much to see such a strange-looking
being; but when he opened his mouth to inquire his way to St. Peter’s,
so strong was the smell of onions and garlic that the people, accustomed
as they were to these vegetables, could not stand against it, and as
Sancho spoke in a foreign tongue they could not have understood him
very easily.
At last he met a priest who was kind enough to listen to him, and he
said he would be allowed audience of the Pope next morning with other
pilgrims, but that meantime he had better confess what his fault had
been.
Sancho recounted all about the lovely young widow, and the priest very
properly admonished him for having dared to frighten a lady whose
anxiety respecting her deceased husband was quite enough of sorrow
without having it added to by being forcibly detained by a cobbler.
“It is a pity,” said the worthy priest, “that you were not handed over
to the inquisitorial brothers, for they would have burned you before you
were allowed to import the odour of all the fields of Spanish onions and
garlic into the Eternal City. It is a sign of the bad times that are
approaching when errant cobblers are allowed to vitiate the precincts of
St. Peter’s with their pestilential breath. To-morrow you will be
regaled with a view—mind, only a view—of his holiness’s toe, and then
you must depart this city.”
Sancho recognized the truth of what the good priest said, and, having
refreshed himself with some more onions and a glass of water, he lay
down to sleep behind one of the large stone pillars and slept until next
morning, when the large bell of the cathedral awoke him. He then hurried
in to the presence of the Pope, nor had he much difficulty in so doing,
for the other pilgrims were glad to get out of his way. Bowing low
before the golden chair, he exclaimed—
“One weary soul, though cobbler he by trade,
Comes here to seek a pardon for his sin;
Most holy father, ere the daylight fade,
Oh, let me in!
“From sunny Spain, where runs the Arlanzon,
To thee, oh, father, come I now to crave
That thou wilt raise Don Pedro Torrezon
From restless grave,
“And to his widow him restore again.
This done, dismiss me to my home in peace,
To be thy servant as a priest in Spain,
And faith increase.”