THE
LIFE AND ADVENTURES
OF
GUZMAN D’ALFARACHE,
OR
THE SPANISH ROGUE.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH EDITION OF
MONS. LE SAGE.
BY JOHN HENRY BRADY.
SECOND EDITION,
CORRECTED AND CONSIDERABLY IMPROVED.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME,
BROWN, AND GREEN, PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1823.
London: Printed by J. Nichols and Son,
25, Parliament-street.
ADVERTISEMENT
TO THE
SECOND EDITION.
The first large impression of this work, which was published in 1821,
being exhausted, and another edition called for, I have taken great
pains to render it still more acceptable to the reader. For the many
flattering notices bestowed on it by the Reviewers, I have to express my
sincere acknowledgments; and they will not fail to observe that their
remarks have had their due weight with me in the alterations I have
made. The translation has been carefully revised, and the parts
complained of as too significant have been softened down; and I trust,
from the superior type and paper in which _Guzman_ is now presented to
the public, that the _Spanish Rogue_ will be considered as dressed in a
style becoming one whose exploits have already obtained for him a
patronage for which he ought, rogue though he is, to feel grateful.
THE TRANSLATOR.
_London, 1823._
TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE.
“There is hardly any Language in Europe that knows not Guzman; and the
Spanish Rogue is as much talked of, as if there was no other in the
world,” is the commencement of the Preface to a “_Translation of Guzman
d’Alfarache_,” into English, by “several hands,” published in 1708: and
assuredly such _was_ the popularity of Guzman formerly: although _now_
even his name is unknown, except to the literati; and there is no
English translation of him extant, the above one excepted, with another,
still more ancient: both of which are only to be found in the select
libraries of a few of the learned and curious: particularly the latter
work; which is the production of Don Diego Puede-Sur; and was published
in 1634, by “_Robert Allot, at the Signe of the Blacke Bear, in Paul’s
Church Yard_,” to which, among others, is prefixed the subjoined
compliment by Ben Jonson.
“ON THE AUTHOR, WORKE, AND TRANSLATOR.”
“Who tracks this Author’s or Translator’s pen,
Shall finde, that either hath read Bookes and Men:
To say but one were single. Then it chimes,
When the old words doe strike in the new times,
As in this _Spanish Proteus_; who, though writ
But in one tongue, was form’d with the world’s wit;
And hath the noblest marks of a good Booke;
That an ill man dares not securely looke
Upon it, but will loath it, or let passe,
As a deformed face doth a true Glasse.
Such Bookes deserve Translators, of like Coate,
As was the _Genius_ wherewith they were wrote;
And this hath met that one, that may be stil’d
More than the foster father of that Child:
For tho’ Spaine gave him his first aire and vogue,
He would be call’d henceforth the _English Rogue_.
But that he’s too well suited in a Cloth
Finer than was his Spanish, if my Oath
Will be received in Court; if not, would I
Had cloath’d him so. Here’s all I can supply
To your desert, who’ve done it, Friend. And this
Faire emulation and no envie is;
When you behold me wish myself the man
That would have done that which you only can.”
BEN JONSON.
Some years since, indeed, a Mr. O’Conner published another Translation,
avowedly “for the entertainment of a few friends who did not understand
French,” and for the incorrectness and mediocrity of which, he made many
apologies. This was re-published about four years since; but it is
little known: out of print I apprehend: confined to the few, and
inaccessible to the many.
These circumstances considered, and a reflection of pity that such an
eminent production of genius should be lost to the British Public, in
an age so devoted to the Arts in general, and Literature in particular,
induced me to engage in the Translation which I now present to my
readers; faithfully rendered from the French of Le Sage, whose
pre-eminent talents are too well known to render my expatiating on them
necessary. How far I have succeeded in catching the spirit of my
prototype (who certainly identifies himself most felicitously with his
original) others must determine; I can alone plead the most minute
attention, and persevering diligence. If, therefore, to arrive as nearly
at perfection as possible, I have consulted the most authentic sources
of information, and used the utmost assiduity in collating the
accessaries to the subject I engaged in, though approbation may be
qualified, it will not, I trust, be withheld: and though praise for
perfection be denied, acceptation will be accorded by liberality for
exertion, and by candour for fidelity.
To those friends, who, to stimulate endeavour, and give consistency to
hope, have honoured me with their names as Subscribers to the work,
gratitude demands my open avowal of unequivocal thanks: and while the
respect due to their own feelings must circumscribe the extent of this
declaration; I trust their justice and amity will lead them to
appreciate the acknowledgment in the full force of its warmth and
sincerity.
Before I conclude it may be necessary to make some observations on the
nature of the work, with which I shall include some remarks on the
Spanish Author.
The History of Guzman d’Alfarache was written originally in Spanish by
Mateo Aleman, Contador de Resultas to Philip II. (a situation of high
rank in the Royal Accountant’s Office), and was rapidly translated into
several Languages. Upon its reception by all polite nations, I have
already remarked: and it is significant, that the Author, in testimony
of his great genius, was called _the divine Spaniard_.
As in his History of Guzman, a professed rogue, he had to describe,
necessarily, predicaments and adventures of a nefarious character, that
they might produce the proper effect, a dissuasive from evil, he
accompanied each with moral reflections too enlightened to be slighted,
and too impressive to be easily forgotten: mingling circumstance and
reasoning so adroitly together, that entertainment and instruction, the
_utile et dulce_, are blended in the most effectual manner; and while
the one excites admiration, the other, as forcibly, not only counteracts
evil example, but impresses the mind fully with the vanity of folly, and
the turpitude of crime.
Mons. Bremont was the first who translated the work into French; and to
the moral reflections of Aleman he added many of his own, which from
their unreasonable frequency gave the work a sombre character, and
operated much to its disadvantage. To remedy this defect, Le Sage was
induced to render it into French, omitting what he considered the
_superfluous_ reflections of both. From Le Sage’s edition I have
translated it almost to the letter, leaving my readers to make
additional comments themselves; as their especial province if they read
profitably; but not at all the business of a Translator, who is bound in
justice to abide by the dictum of his Author, if he would exhibit him in
his true spirit, and accord to him the exact meed of merit to which he
has an indubitable claim.
Having thus premised, I submit the work, with the greatest diffidence,
to the reader’s indulgence: trusting that while, on the one hand, the
credit of assiduity will not be denied me, my youth, on the other, may
protect me from severity of criticism.
THE
LIFE
OF
GUZMAN D’ALFARACHE.
CHAP. I.
_Introduction._
I was so desirous, curious reader, to relate to you my own adventures,
that I had almost commenced speaking of myself without making any
mention of my family, with which some sophist or other would not have
failed to accuse me: “Be not so hasty, friend Guzman,” would he have
said; “let us begin, if you please, from the definition, before we
proceed to speak of the thing defined. Inform us, in the first place,
who were your parents; you can then relate to us at your pleasure those
exploits which you have so immoderate a desire to entertain us with.”
To proceed, therefore, in due course, I will introduce my parents to
your notice. Were I to relate their history, I doubt not that you would
find it more entertaining than my own; but think not that I am going so
far to enlarge at their expence as to reveal all that I know of them:
let any other that pleases rake up the ashes of the dead, and regale
himself on their bodies, like the hyena; for my part, I shall so far
respect the memory of my parents, as to pass over in silence such things
as it would not become me to speak of; and it is even my wish so to set
off such as I shall recount to you, that it may be said of me, “Blessed
be the man who thus glosses over the crimes of his ancestors.”
Their conduct, however, has certainly not always been blameless, and
some of their actions have made so much noise in the world, that it
were in vain for me to attempt to make them appear spotless. I shall
only give the lie to the numerous comments that have been made upon the
truth; for, God be praised! it is the fashion now-a-days to disguise
truth by such comments. Every man who relates a story, whether from
malice or ostentation, is sure to interlard with it some portion of
slander, more or less; such is the good disposition of our nature, that
something of our own invention must be added to that which is expected
of us. I will relate to you an example of this.
I knew a gentleman at Madrid, a stranger, who was a great lover of
Spanish horses. He possessed two of a remarkably fine shape, a sorrel
and a dapple grey, which he would willingly have transported to his own
country; but it not being lawful, and, besides, scarcely possible, on
account of the very great distance, he resolved to have them painted,
that he might at least have the pleasure of shewing their pictures to
his friends. With this view he employed two celebrated painters, to each
of whom he gave a horse to paint; promising, over and above the price
agreed on, to recompense handsomely the one whose performance should
excel the other’s.
The first painted the sorrel almost to the life, and filled up the rest
of his canvas with light strokes and shades. The other painter was not
so perfect in the dapple-grey; but, to make amends, he adorned the upper
part of his picture with trees, clouds, a beautiful perspective and
venerable ruins, and he represented, at the lower part, an open country
abounding with shrubs, meadows, and waterfalls. In the corner of his
piece he had suspended all manner of horse-furniture on the trunk of a
tree, with a hunting-saddle, which for workmanship could not be
excelled.
When the gentleman saw the two paintings, he with reason very much
preferred the sorrel to the other, paid without hesitation what the
artist demanded, and presented him besides with a fine ring. The other
painter seeing the stranger so liberal, and conceiving that he deserved
a much greater recompence than his rival, set his performance at an
excessive rate; at which the gentleman, being surprised, asked him, “How
he could for a moment imagine that he would purchase his painting at a
higher rate than the other, to which it was undoubtedly much inferior?”
“Inferior!” answered the painter: “I grant that my brother may have
excelled me in the _horse_, but my shrubs and ruins alone are worth much
more than the whole of his painting.” “I had no occasion,” answered the
gentleman, “for your shrubs and ruins, we have enough of those in our
own country. In one word, all that I desired of you was a true painting
of my horse.”
The painter replied, that “a horse alone would have had but a very poor
effect in so large a piece, whereas the ornaments he had introduced had
given great relief to its appearance. Besides,” added he, “I could not
think of leaving a horse without saddle and bridle, and those that I
have made I would not change for others, though made of gold.” “Once
more,” said the stranger, “all I asked of you was a horse, for which I
am ready to pay you a reasonable price. In regard to the saddle and
bridle, you have only to dispose of them as you please.” Thus, for
having done more than was desired of him, the artist was not paid for
his trouble.
How many people are there in the world like this painter! A plain horse
only is required of them, and they will, peremptorily, give you him
saddled and bridled. Once more, slanderous commentaries are the fashion,
and nobody escapes them. Judge then, reader, if my parents have been
spared.
CHAP. II.
_Of the Parents of Guzman, but more particularly of his Father._
My ancestors, as well as my Father, were originally from the Levant; but
having settled in Genoa, and been ingrafted with the noblesse there, I
shall call them Genoese.
They employed themselves in the traffic of exchanges, which was much
practised among the gentry of that city. It is true that they acted in
such a manner in their commerce, that their credit was soon publicly
cried down, and they were accused of usury; it was moreover said of
them, that they lent money at an exorbitant interest, upon plate and
other good security, for a limited time, at the expiration of which, the
pledges, if not redeemed, remained at their disposal; sometimes they
even denied themselves, and evaded persons who came for the purpose of
reclaiming their property at the stipulated time, and, very frequently,
restitution could only be obtained by an appeal to justice.
My parents well knew that they were reproached with these and the like
villanies, but as they were prudent, peaceful people, they always went
on their own way, and cared not what detractors said of them. In fact,
when one behaves with decorum, why pay any regard to such slander? My
father was a constant attendant at church, and always carried about with
him a rosary of fifteen complete sections, each bead of which was larger
than a hazel-nut. He never failed at mass; humbly kneeling before the
altar, with his hands folded together, and his eyes turned up towards
heaven, he uttered such ejaculations, and sighed with so much fervency,
that he inspired all around him with devotion. Can it be believed, then,
without injustice, that with so truly religious an outward appearance,
he was capable of the infamous transactions of which he was accused? God
only is able to form a correct judgment of the heart of man. I confess,
that if I saw a religious man enter a house in the night-time, armed
with a sword, I might suspect his intention; but that such a man as my
father, who was constantly seen to act in this Christian-like manner,
should be taxed with hypocrisy, is a piece of malignity which I cannot
pass over.
Thus, though he had determined to treat all these unpleasant reports
respecting him with contempt, he found that he had not always resolution
sufficient to bear them with _patience_. That he might hear no more of
them, therefore, he determined upon leaving the City. Another reason for
his taking this resolution was, that he had received information that
his correspondent at Seville, with whom he was engaged for a
considerable sum, had become a bankrupt. At this distressing
intelligence he embarked immediately for Spain, in the hope of meeting
with that person. But the vessel in which he sailed being taken by the
corsairs, he was made a slave and carried to Algiers.
My father was now not only afflicted at the loss of his liberty, but was
obliged to give up all hope of regaining his money. In his despair he
took the turban; and having, by his insinuating manner, been happy
enough to be well received by a rich widow at Algiers, he shortly
afterwards married her.
In the mean time it was known at Genoa that he had been taken prisoner
by the pirates, and this news soon came to the ears of his correspondent
at Seville, who was the more rejoiced at it, as he fancied he had got
rid of his principal creditor, whom he considered a slave for life.
Finding, therefore, that one way or other he had sufficient remaining to
satisfy the others, he arranged his affairs with them immediately. So
that, having discharged all his debts, according to the mode prescribed
for bankrupts, he found himself able to commence business again in a
better condition than ever.
On the other hand, my father’s thoughts were still completely occupied
with the remembrance of his correspondent’s bankruptcy, and he never
failed to make inquiries respecting him in all his letters to Spain. He
learnt by this means, that his debtor had adjusted his affairs, and was
in a better condition than ever: this afforded some consolation to our
captive, who began to hope from that moment that he should recover some
part of his debt. As to his having taken upon him the Turkish habit, and
married in Algiers, nothing appeared easier to him than to clear himself
from any difficulty on that score. The first thing he did, was to
persuade his wife to turn all her property into ready money, telling her
that he was desirous to trade again. In respect to what jewels she had,
he made not the slightest scruple to possess himself of them, before she
had the least suspicion of his intention.
When he had thus got every thing in readiness, his next business was to
find out some christian captain, who, out of _compassion_ for him, _and
for a reasonable remuneration_, would undertake to transport him to the
Spanish coast, and he was fortunate enough to meet with one who was an
Englishman, with a feeling heart, and a proper sense of religion, which
the majority of his nation generally possess. Every thing was so well
ordered that they had got a considerable way out to sea with my father
and his treasure, before his wife had any knowledge of his departure. To
add to his good luck, the vessel was bound for Malaga, whence it is but
three short days’ journey to Seville. No sooner had my father landed,
than the idea of soon securing his rascally debtor seemed to complete
his joy. The first thing he did was to get reconciled to the church;
more, perhaps, from the fear of penance in this world, than from dread
of punishment in the world to come.
Having got rid of an affair of so great importance, he thought of
nothing but Seville, whither he hastened immediately. The news of my
father’s having embraced Mahometanism had got to Seville long before
him, and his correspondent felt so well assured of it, that he was
enjoying his money without entertaining the slightest apprehension of
ever being compelled to make any account of it: judge, therefore, of his
surprise upon seeing the Genoese strut into his house one fine morning,
with an imperious air, and dressed in a manner bearing but little
resemblance to a slave; he could not but believe him for some moments
to be some _spirit_ in the form of his principal creditor; but
recollecting, in spite of himself, that it was my father, in his own
flesh and blood, he was obliged at length to come to some explanation.
With the utmost effrontery, therefore, he agreed that _it was but right
to settle accounts_; but that they had so many and long dealings
together, that their business required a long discussion. It may be
boldly asserted, that during their commerce there had been a thousand
rogueries on both sides, known to themselves only; and as these slights
of hand, or mutual juggles, are never entered on tradesmen’s books, this
roguish correspondent had the audacity to deny three-fourths of them,
unmindful of the good faith and honor which thieves are said so
religiously to observe towards each other.
What more have I to tell you? After the perusal and reperusal of many
papers pro and con; after an infinity of demands and replies,
accompanied by reproaches and reciprocal hard words; an accommodation
was made, by which my father was content to lose the greater part of his
demand. Of water spilt we must recover what we can, and certainly my
father acted wisely in ridding himself at Malaga of _the itch of
Algiers_[A]. If he had not taken this precaution, he would have obtained
no redress, nor would he have touched a farthing of his debt. A man of
his correspondent’s character might easily have taken advantage of the
circumstance at Seville; perhaps by giving the half of his debt to the
Brothers of the Holy Inquisition to undertake the cause for him. You may
judge of the feeling he entertained towards him, by the reports that he
spread to his disadvantage throughout Seville. What absurdities did he
not relate to all the merchants upon ’Change, of two former petty
bankruptcies of the Genoese, which, in fact, were not without fraud;
but do other merchants act differently? Is it not hard then, thus to cry
down one unfortunate speculator who, to repair and patch up his deranged
affairs, has recourse to a little bankruptcy? This is nothing among
merchants; they easily make amends to each other by a compliment of the
like nature. If it were so very great a crime, would not justice take
care to remedy it? Undoubtedly; for so severe is she, that we see many a
poor devil well whipped, and sent to the galleys, for less than five or
six reals.
[A] Alluding to his having taken the Turban.
This rascal of a correspondent was not content with having destroyed my
father’s reputation by divulging his two bankruptcies; his malignity
went so far, that he endeavoured to make him appear ridiculous in the
world, by giving out that he took more pains with his person than an
antiquated coquette, and that his face was always covered with red and
white paint. I grant you that my father curled his hair, and perfumed
himself, and took a vast deal of pains with his teeth and hands. But
what of this? he loved himself, and not hating women, he neglected
nothing that he thought would make his person agreeable to them. This
afforded fine sport for our correspondent, who at first did some harm;
but as soon as my father became somewhat better known at Seville, he
contrived to efface all the bad impressions that slander had made, for
he conducted himself in so plausible a manner, and made a show of so
much uprightness and sincerity in all his actions, that he gained the
esteem and friendship of the first merchants in that city.
With the sum of money that he had brought with him from Algiers, added
to what he had recovered from his correspondent, my father now found
himself worth about 40,000 livres, which was not an inconsiderable sum
for him, who knew well how to conduct his business as a wholesale
trader. Nobody made greater noise than he on the Exchange: so well did
he get on, that after some years he purchased a house in town and
another in the country; he furnished them both in a magnificent manner,
especially his house of pleasure at St. Juan d’Alfarache, whence I
derive my title. But, as he loved pleasure, this house was the cause of
his ruin, by the very frequent expences he was led into; so that he
insensibly neglected his affairs and trusted to his clerks; and to keep
up appearances he was obliged to have recourse to play with rich
merchants whom he invited and entertained for that purpose, and of whom
he generally won.
CHAP. III.
_Guzman relates how his Father makes an acquaintance with a Lady, with
the consequences thereof._
Such was the life my father led, when being one day on ’Change among
other merchants, he discovered afar off a christening which seemed to
belong to persons of distinction; every body hastened to see it pass,
especially as it was whispered that it was the child of some person of
quality, whose baptism was wished to be as private as possible.
My father followed with the rest to the church, and stationed himself at
the font; not so much out of a desire to see the ceremony, as the face
of a lady whom an old knight led, and who, as it appeared, was to stand
for the infant, with this superannuated cavalier. Both the face and
figure of this lady were so admirable, that my father was much struck
with her appearance. Although in an undress, he could not but admire her
graceful deportment, and, as she chanced to raise her veil for an
instant, he beheld a face which completely charmed him: there certainly
was not a more lovely woman in Seville. He kept his eye immoveably fixed
upon this charmer, who was far from being displeased at observing it;
for beautiful women are never vexed at a man’s looking at them with
admiration, although he be of the very dregs of the people. She, in her
turn, took a very minute survey of the merchant, and not considering him
unworthy of a tender look, she bestowed one on him, which had the
desired effect so completely, that he scarcely recollected where he was.
He was not, however, so entirely lost as to forget to follow his
mistress, after the ceremony, to ascertain where she resided, and who
she was. He found that she lived with this old knight, and was kept by
him in a very expensive style, out of an income that he derived from two
or three rich benefices in his possession.
My father was not displeased at this discovery, for he felt assured that
such a woman could not live very contentedly with her old companion.
With this thought, he contrived all the ways he could to see her again
and to speak to her, but in vain; he never met her without her old
gallant, who never lost sight of her. But these difficulties only added
fuel to his flame, and served but to make him sharper and more eager. At
length he was fortunate enough, by dint of presents and promises, to
gain over to him a duenna, without whose aid he could never have
succeeded; this was apparently a good, religious old woman, who
(dissembler as she was) had free admittance into the knight’s house, and
was not in the least mistrusted. This hypocrite, a true agent of Satan,
excited the lady’s passions by continually speaking of the love and
constancy of the Genoese, whose good qualities she did not fail to
exaggerate. The lady, who did not possess the disposition of a tigress,
listened so far to the old woman’s persuasions that she commissioned her
to desire my father not to despair. It is certain, and not to be
wondered at, that she was more favourably disposed towards him than
towards her old knight, who was very disgusting, much incommoded with
the gravel, and oftentimes with the gout; while, on the contrary, the
merchant promised to realize her hopes of an active and vigorous young
gallant. A woman of experience could not hesitate an instant in her
choice. But as she was a prudent woman, who had more regard to her
interest than to anything else, she was rather perplexed how to act; for
though she was night and day completely beset by her keeper’s jealous
fears, so that it was scarcely possible for her to carry on a secret
correspondence with the Genoese, yet she was feathering her nest too
snugly all this while, through her old man’s kindnesses to her, to think
of giving him up so suddenly for a stranger.
Nevertheless, the lovers came to a proper understanding, through the old
woman’s mediation; the only difficulty after which was to get an
opportunity and place of interview. But nothing is impossible to love.
When the parties are agreed mountains even shall be divided to give them
way. The lady, who was a woman of some experience in these matters,
arranged the following plan. She proposed to the old gentleman to
accompany her to pass the day at a house of his at Gelvas. It was the
most pleasant time of the year, and he consented, therefore, to the
proposal, which was perfectly agreeable to him. It was not the first
time that they had made this same trip together, the old gentleman
being much attached to that part of the country. Of all parts of Spain,
Andalusia is, undoubtedly, the most pleasant, and no part of Andalusia
is so attractive as Gelvas and St. Juan d’Alfarache, two adjoining
villages, which the famous river Guadalquiver fertilizes with its
waters, winding about them in such various meanders, that it appears to
quit them with regret. The spot abounds with beautiful gardens, the most
delicious fruits and flowers, fountains, grottoes, and cascades. In a
word, everything that can flatter the sight, taste, and smell, is here
to be met with to admiration.
When the day for setting out on this trip arrived, servants were sent
off early in the morning to get everything ready at Gelvas. Some hours
after, the knight and his darling started, with the duenna, (who was
always of their company, and never at all in the way,) all three on
quiet mules, and followed by two footmen. When they had got just within
sight of my father’s house, by which they must of necessity pass, the
young lady was suddenly taken with so violent a fit of the cholic, that
she beseeched the old gentleman, if he did not wish to see her die on
the spot, to stop immediately; then slipping gently from the saddle to
the ground, as if she was half dead, she requested some rest and
refreshment, in a weak voice, saying that she could go no farther. The
old man, who from his heart sincerely pitied her, knew not what to say
or do; but the duenna, whose cue it was now to speak, represented in a
very prudent manner to the lady, that it was by no means proper that she
should remain in such a situation on the highway; that if she could not
manage to walk, she had better allow herself to be carried to the house
which was not far off, and which appeared to belong to some person of
distinction, who could not refuse to afford every accommodation to a
lady who so much required it. The old gentleman highly approved of the
duenna’s advice; and the pretended sick lady said, thereupon, that they
should do what they pleased with her, but that as to walking so far, the
cruel pains she was suffering rendered it utterly impossible. The two
footmen, therefore, carried her, whilst the afflicted old knight walked
on before to speak to the people of the house, to entreat them to afford
accommodation to his mistress for a few hours.
I have already told you that this house was my father’s. It was left in
the care of an old housekeeper, who had ample instructions how to behave
to serve him in this instance. As soon as she heard a knocking at the
door, she ran to open it, and pretending to be astonished at seeing a
stranger, she inquired his business in a trembling voice. “I only
desire,” answered the cavalier, “that you will be so kind as to allow a
lady, whom I am conducting to Gelvas, and who has been suddenly taken
ill at a short distance from hence, to rest herself for a short time in
your house, and that you will be kind enough to assist us in the
application of something which may relieve her.”--“If that be all,”
replied the housekeeper, “you shall have every reason to be satisfied,
for you could not have pitched upon a more charitable house.” In the
mean time, the sick lady came up to them, carried by her two footmen.
“Behold where she approaches,” cried the knight, “suffering grievously
with the cholic.”
“Walk in, Sir Knight, with your lady,” said the housekeeper, “you are
both most welcome. I only regret that my master is not at home to
receive you. He would spare nothing to entertain you as you appear to
deserve; but in his absence I will take upon me to perform his part in
the best manner I am able.”
She then conducted the lady into a fine chamber, with a noble bed in it,
the furniture of which was but half finished, that the old man might
have no cause of suspicion. Every thing being in readiness, such as
perfumed sheets, soft pillows, and a satin-pinked quilt, the lady was
soon put to bed, still complaining of the obstinacy of her disorder. The
housekeeper and the duenna, equally disposed to good works, heated some
flannels, which, as fast as they were brought to the invalid, she slid
down with her foot to the bottom of the bed. Had she not done this, she
would, undoubtedly, have been so incommoded that the heat would have
given her the vapours. She was obliged also to take a good draught of
mulled wine, which she could well have dispensed with; so that to
prevent the possibility of any other remedy still more disagreeable, she
declared that she felt relieved, and that if she were left alone for a
quarter of an hour, she doubted not that she should be, by that time,
perfectly well again. The good old man was very glad to find that she
felt an inclination to take some rest, which he considered as a certain
indication that she was getting better. He left the room, therefore,
immediately, not forgetting to lock the door after him, and to desire
the servants to make no noise, leaving the duenna only, with the sick
lady. He went himself to take a turn in the garden, waiting impatiently
for the happy moment when he should be summoned to attend his dear
mistress again, quite recovered of her cholic.
I fancy I need not inform you that my father was all this time in the
house; and, indeed, if my information has been correct, it was to the
interview which on this occasion took place between the lovers that I am
indebted for my being.
The sun by this time became rather too powerful in the garden, in spite
of the shade of the groves, and the coolness of the fountain. The old
knight being now tired, and besides quite uneasy to know how his nymph
did, resolved to leave the garden, and returned with a slow pace
towards the house. The lady, whom I shall in future call my mother,
pretended to be still fast asleep when the old man entered her chamber,
and as if the noise that he made in coming in awoke her, she complained
that he had not the complaisance even to allow her to rest herself for a
quarter of an hour. “A quarter of an hour,” cried he. “I swear by your
lovely eyes, my darling, that you have been asleep here for at least two
hours.” “No, no,” replied she, “I am convinced it cannot be half an
hour, for it seemed to me that I was just dozing off. However it may
be,” added she, “I feel that I never had more need of rest than at this
moment.” She put on a cheerful countenance, however, and assured the old
knight that she felt herself much better; which he was exceedingly glad
to hear: and finding that the heat had become so excessive that they
could not venture out on their journey again, he proposed to his
faithful mistress to pass the remainder of the day where she was, and
where they had met with so much more attention than they could have
anticipated. She consented, provided that the people of the house would
but allow of it; and so the old cavalier asked the housekeeper’s
permission, who told him that he was perfectly at liberty to make
himself quite at home in that house, and that so far from being
displeased, her master would be proud of such a favour. Having then
resolved to stay, they dispatched one of their servants to the house at
Gelvas, to desire the other servants who were already there, to repair
to them with a stock of provisions.
Whilst the knight was issuing these orders, my father stole out of the
house, got on horseback, and returned to Seville, merely to shew himself
upon ’Change, and to come back, to sleep, as usual, at St. Juan
d’Alfarache. The time appeared to pass but slowly to him; but, as he
had no reason to complain of his day’s work, he made more than usual
haste to set out on his return home again, where he arrived about six
o’clock. His old rival hastened out to meet him, apologizing and
requesting to be excused for the liberty he had taken. Compliments
passed on both sides, but more particularly on that of my father, whose
fine speeches and polished manners, though they cost him nothing,
entirely won the old man’s heart, insomuch that he himself conducted him
to his lady, who had just entered the garden to enjoy the air, the
excessive heat having considerably gone off. The merchant saluted her as
if she was entirely unknown to him, and she received him with as much
dissimulation, as if she had never in her life seen him before.
It not being yet the proper time to walk, the party entered a small
arbour, which was the more refreshing as it was situated on the bank of
the river. They began to play at primero, and the lady won, my father
being too gallant a man not to allow himself to lose in such a case.
After the game they took a turn round the walks, which was followed by a
good supper, which lasted so long that they no sooner rose from table
than they were obliged to return to Seville by water, in a small barge
which my father had caused to be set off with green boughs and flowers
for that purpose. To complete their entertainment, they heard concerts
of music performed by some persons that sung and played on several
instruments in a small boat, which immediately followed their’s down the
river Guadalquiver. At last, the lady and her old gallant, after having
been most agreeably entertained, returned hearty thanks to my father for
his handsome reception of them; which had such an effect on the old
knight that he thought he never could make sufficient acknowledgments
for it; and so great was the friendship he conceived for my father,
that I do not think he could have made up his mind to leave him so soon,
without the promise of seeing him again the next day.
This friendship was so well managed by the lady and my father that it
lasted during the life of the old knight, who, in truth, did not live
much longer. He was a worn-out rake, an old sinner, who had given
himself up entirely to pleasure, without the least fear of the other
world, or regard to what might be said of him in this. I was already
four years old when he died; but was not his only heir. The good man had
several other children by other mistresses, and we lived in his house
like tithe-loaves, every one of a different oven. Perhaps, if the truth
was known, he was no more their father than he was mine; but, however
that might be, as I was the youngest, and from the tenderness of my age
not so well able to help myself as my brothers, I should have come but
badly off among them, had I not in my mother a person well able to take
my part. In short, she was a woman of Andalusia. She did not wait till
the old man was dead to feather her nest; for no sooner was he given
over by his physicians, than, having all the keys, and being mistress of
the house, she took possession of everything worth carrying away,
leaving nothing but rags for his next of kin. Even the very day that he
died, his house was laid waste in a deplorable manner; while he was
gasping for life he lost even the sheets from his bed; and everything of
value was spirited away before the breath was out of his body. Nothing
but the four walls were left standing when his kindred came about him,
big with expectation. In vain they examined every thing; it was very
evident that some one had been there before them, and they found
themselves obliged to be at the expence of his funeral for the honor of
the family. They behaved, however, as well as they could, without
shedding many tears on the occasion; but who ever mourns much for a
person that leaves nothing? It is for heirs only who are well paid for
it to appear to be afflicted.
The kindred of the deceased had made sure of succeeding to a
considerable property. They could not possibly conceive how a man who
enjoyed fifteen thousand livres a-year in church revenues could die so
miserably poor. They knew that his house had been nobly furnished, and
could not doubt that he had been robbed of his effects. In vain did they
make every possible inquiry; in vain did they cause monitory letters to
be affixed to different church doors. Thieves never refund what they
have made off with, though under the dread of being excommunicated.
After all, my mother had good reasons for quietly taking possession of
the old gentleman’s property; for, a short time prior to his death, when
he had occasion to go to his strong box, or to inspect his jewels, or
had by chance bought some curious piece of furniture, he would say to my
mother: _Have but patience, my dearest, this is all for thee_. Besides,
if she had any scruple on her conscience after this, which she
considered as no less than a gift in form, you must needs acknowledge
that she well deserved her inheritance, for having contented herself for
several years with so disagreeable an old bedfellow; added to which, the
divines whom she consulted on the occasion completely acquitted her,
with an assurance that she had taken nothing but what was undoubtedly
her due.
CHAP. IV.
_Guzman’s Father gets married, and dies: what followed his death._
After the old knight’s death, to whom God be merciful, his chaste widow
quickly found another gallant, and I another father, in the person of
the Genoese. My mother was cunning enough to persuade them both that I
was their son, telling the one, that I was his living picture, and at
another time, assuring the other that two eggs could not be more alike.
Happily for me, whether I owe my existence to the old knight or to the
young Genoese, I certainly was born a gentleman. On my mother’s side, my
nobility cannot be disputed. I have a hundred times heard her say, that
my grandmother, who prided herself as much as my mother upon her
chastity, reckoned, in the number of her relations, so many illustrious
persons, that you might make a tree of their genealogies, as large as
that of the house of Toledo.
It is, nevertheless, possible that my discreet mother might have had a
third gallant in some commoner, for she that deceives one man is very
capable of deceiving two; but whether it was instinct, or that I
confided in my mother’s assurance, I always looked upon the noble
Genoese as my father, and I can assure you, that whether he actually was
my father or not, he loved both my mother and me most tenderly; which he
made sufficiently appear afterwards, as regarded her, by the bold step
he ventured to take in marrying her. He knew very well what reputation
she had, and that he should be pointed at in the city, where my mother
was well known by the name of the knight’s lady. But what did he care
for that? he knew very well what he did; for at the commencement of
their acquaintance his affairs were on the decline, and the continuation
of it did not, by any means, tend to ameliorate them; while the lady,
who had at least as much knavery about her as good management, had
dispensed her favours to so good an account, that she was now mistress
of at least ten thousand ducats, which sum was the means of saving my
father from another stoppage he was on the point of making, and enabled
him to make as good a figure as ever among the merchants. He was,
unfortunately, passionately fond of company, splendour, and show; but as
he could not long satisfy this ruling passion, without plunging himself
into the same difficulties again, from which my mother’s money had but
just extricated him, he found himself, a few years after his marriage,
obliged to become bankrupt again for the last time; I say the last time,
because, finding himself without resource, and utterly unable to keep
up his former equipage and appearance, he chose rather to die with
chagrin, than to survive the date of his prosperity.
Life had more charms for my mother, who bore my father’s loss with
considerable fortitude, though she was much afflicted at his death. Our
houses were obliged to be given up to his creditors. We had now only a
few jewels left, besides the furniture, which my mother turned into
money, and retired to a small house where she determined to live in a
private manner, as well as she could. She did not take this step on
account of her inability to maintain us by fresh intrigues; for,
although she was already in her fortieth year, she had always taken such
good care of herself, that even at this time of life, she was not a
conquest to be despised; but as she could not make up her mind to make
the first advances to men who had formerly sought her favours with
ardour, this noble feeling of pride so ill accorded with the situation
of our domestic affairs, that they daily grew worse and worse.
I doubt not that my mother has a thousand times wished she had had a
girl instead of me, which would, undoubtedly, have been much more to her
advantage, and who might have been a support to her, as she herself was
to my grandmother, of whom I feel it incumbent on me to afford you a
more detailed account. She was one of the finest women of her time in
the kingdom, was extremely witty and well-bred. None but young noblemen
were admitted into her house, such as wished to improve themselves in
politeness and gallantry, and they certainly might be said to be fine
gentlemen, after having gone through her course of lessons for a few
years. But what is most to be wondered at, is the perfect harmony that
reigned among her scholars. While she had given her mind up to perfect
these young folks, she lay in with my mother somehow or other; and, as
she herself scarcely knew how this happened, she gave every one of these
gentlemen the honour of it separately, satisfying each of them that her
daughter resembled him in some particular. “Do but look at her mouth,”
would she say to one; “observe but her eyes,” would she say to another;
“you cannot pretend to disown this child;” and the more to induce them
to believe her, she took great pains always to call her by the name of
the cavalier who was present; and if there happened to be more than one,
which was not uncommonly the case, she was called Donna Marcella, which
was her christian name; as for the Donna, it would be unjust, indeed, to
dispute her right to that title, since she, without doubt, was the
daughter of a person of quality. But to let you a little more into the
secret of her birth, you must know, that among my grandmother’s gallants
there was one whom she loved best of any; and as this gentleman was a
Guzman, she considered that she might conscientiously make her daughter
descend from so illustrious a house. At least this is what she
afterwards told my mother in confidence, though she confessed at the
same time, that for ought she knew, she might have been begot by a
certain lord, who was a near relation to the dukes of Medina Sidonia.
From what I have now told you respecting my grandmother, you will
perceive that she was scarcely to be matched in love intrigues;
nevertheless, as she was a very extravagant woman, and never so much as
thought of laying by the profit of her favours, she must inevitably have
been reduced to indigence in her old age, had not her daughter’s beauty
began to shine forth in proportion as her own faded and declined. The
good old lady was very impatient until the little Marcella was
sufficiently grown and well-shaped to think of settling her; and
finding that at twelve years old she was very forward for her age, she
no longer delayed endeavouring to provide for her. A merchant newly
arrived from Peru, and richer than a jew, enjoyed her first favours,
through the assistance of four thousand ducats, which he presented to my
grandmother; and finding a successor as generous as the merchant, for
every day in the week, she lived in plenty, by that means, for the
remaining part of her life.
A daughter in my stead, would, certainly, then, have been better for my
mother, or even had she had us both, my sister would have been a harbour
for us in our present wreck, and we should soon have made a good fortune
at Seville, where purchasers are always sure to be found for every sort
of commodity. It is the common retreat of persons who have only their
wits to live on: it serves as the mother to orphans, and a cloak to
sinners. At all events, if that city were not sufficient, we could have
proceeded to Madrid, where such a jewel is always saleable. If, at
first, we were not able to dispose of it for a permanency, there we
could, at least, put it in pledge to so good an account, as always to
live in plenty. If I am not more awkward than another man, I think that
having a pretty sister, I could have managed to obtain some good
preferment; but Heaven ordained it otherwise, and made me an only son
for my sins.
I had just entered my fourteenth year, and as I could not look without
pain on the misery with which we were threatened, I resolved to leave my
mother and my country, and to seek my fortune elsewhere. My wish to
travel was for the purpose of seeing and knowing a little of the world,
and I always had a particular desire to visit my father’s relations at
Genoa. So that not being able any longer to defer the execution of my
design, I left Seville on a beautiful day, with my purse almost as
destitute of money as my head was crammed with idle fancies and
chimeras.
CHAP. V.
_Guzman sets out from Seville. His first adventure at an Inn._