BOHN'S STANDARD LIBRARY.
THE EXEMPLARY NOVELS
OF
CERVANTES.
THE
EXEMPLARY NOVELS
OF
MIGUEL DE CERVANTES SAAVEDRA.
TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH
BY
WALTER K. KELLY.
LONDON: GEORGE BELL AND SONS, YORK STREET,
COVENT GARDEN.
1881.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
PREFACE.
It seems to be generally admitted that in rendering the title of a book
from one language into another, the form of the original should be
retained, even at the cost of some deviation from ordinary usage.
Cicero's work _De Officiis_ is never spoken of as a treatise on Moral
Duties, but as Cicero's Offices. Upon the same principle we have not
entitled the following collection of tales, Instructive or Moral; though
it is in this sense that the author applied to them the epithet
_exemplares_, as he states distinctly in his preface. The Spanish word
_exemplo_, from the time of the archpriest of Hita and Don Juan Manuel,
has had the meaning of _instruction_, or _instructive story_.
The "Novelas Exemplares" were first published in 1613, three years
before the death of Cervantes. They are all original, and have the air
of being drawn from his personal experience and observation. Ticknor, in
his "History of Spanish Literature," says of them, and of the
"Impertinent Curiosity," inserted in the first part of Don Quixote:--
"Their value is different, for they are written with different views,
and in a variety of style greater than he has elsewhere shown; but most
of them contain touches of what is peculiar in his talent, and are full
of that rich eloquence and of those pleasing descriptions of natural
scenery which always flow so easily from his pen. They have little in
common with the graceful story-telling spirit of Boccaccio and his
followers, and still less with the strictly practical tone of Don Juan
Manuel's tales; nor, on the other hand, do they approach, except in the
case of the 'Impertinent Curiosity,' the class of short novels which
have been frequent in other countries within the last century. The more,
therefore, we examine them, the more we shall find that they are
original in their composition and general tone, and that they are
strongly marked with the original genius of their author, as well as
with the more peculiar traits of the national character,--the ground, no
doubt, on which they have always been favourites at home, and less
valued than they deserve to be abroad. As works of invention, they rank,
among their author's productions, next after Don Quixote; in correctness
and grace of style they stand before it.... They are all fresh from the
racy soil of the national character, as that character is found in
Andalusia, and are written with an idiomatic richness, a spirit, and a
grace, which, though they are the oldest tales of their class in Spain,
have left them ever since without successful rivals."
The first three tales in this volume have merely undergone the revision
of the editor, having been translated by another before he was engaged
on the work. For the rest he alone is responsible.
W.K.K.
DEDICATION
TO DON PEDRO FERNANDEZ DE CASTRO, COUNT OF LEMOS, ANDRADE, AND VILLALBA,
&c.
Those who dedicate their works to some prince commonly fall into two
errors. The first is, that in their dedicatory epistle, which ought to
be brief and succinct, they dilate very complacently, whether moved by
truth or flattery, on the deeds not only of their fathers and
forefathers, but also of all their relations, friends, and benefactors.
The second is, that they tell their patron they place their works under
his protection and safeguard, in order that malicious and captious
tongues may not presume to cavil and carp at them. For myself, shunning
these two faults, I here pass over in silence the grandeur and titles of
your excellency's ancient and royal house, and your infinite virtues
both natural and acquired, leaving it to some new Phidias and Lysippus
to engrave and sculpture them in marble and bronze, that they may rival
time in duration. Neither do I supplicate your Excellency to take this
book under your protection, for I know, that if it is not a good one,
though I should put it under the wings of Astolfo's hippogrif, or
beneath the club of Hercules, the Zoili, the cynics, the Aretinos, and
the bores, will not abstain from abusing it, out of respect for anyone.
I only beg your Excellency to observe that I present to you, without
more words, thirteen tales,[1] which, had they not been wrought in the
laboratory of my own brains, might presume to stand beside the best.
Such as they are, there they go, leaving me here rejoiced at the thought
of manifesting, in some degree, the desire I feel to serve your
Excellency as my true lord and benefactor. Our Lord preserve, &c.
Your Excellency's servant,
MIGUEL DE CERVANTES SAAVEDRA.
MADRID, _13th of July, 1613_.
[1] There are but twelve of them. Possibly when Cervantes wrote this
dedication he intended to include "El Curioso Impertinente," which
occurs in chapters xxxiii.-xxxv. of the first part of "Don Quixote."
AUTHOR'S PREFACE.
I wish it were possible, dear reader, to dispense with writing this
preface; for that which I put at the beginning of my "Don Quixote" did
not turn out so well for me as to give me any inclination to write
another. The fault lies with a friend of mine--one of the many I have
made in the course of my life with my heart rather than my head. This
friend might well have caused my portrait, which the famous Don Juan de
Jauregui would have given him, to be engraved and put in the first page
of this book, according to custom. By that means he would have gratified
my ambition and the wishes of several persons, who would like to know
what sort of face and figure has he who makes bold to come before the
world with so many works of his own invention. My friend might have
written under the portrait--"This person whom you see here, with an oval
visage, chestnut hair, smooth open forehead, lively eyes, a hooked but
well-proportioned nose, & silvery beard that twenty years ago was
golden, large moustaches, a small mouth, teeth not much to speak of, for
he has but six, in bad condition and worse placed, no two of them
corresponding to each other, a figure midway between the two extremes,
neither tall nor short, a vivid complexion, rather fair than dark,
somewhat stooped in the shoulders, and not very lightfooted: this, I
say, is the author of 'Galatea,' 'Don Quixote de la Mancha,' 'The
Journey to Parnassus,' which he wrote in imitation of Cesare Caporali
Perusino, and other works which are current among the public, and
perhaps without the author's name. He is commonly called MIGUEL DE
CERVANTES SAAVEDRA. He was for many years a soldier, and for five years
and a half in captivity, where he learned to have patience in adversity.
He lost his left hand by a musket-shot in the battle of Lepanto: and
ugly as this wound may appear, he regards it as beautiful, having
received it on the most memorable and sublime occasion which past times
have over seen, or future times can hope to equal, fighting under the
victorious banners of the son of that thunderbolt of war, Charles V., of
blessed memory." Should the friend of whom I complain have had nothing
more to say of me than this, I would myself have composed a couple of
dozen of eulogiums, and communicated them to him in secret, thereby to
extend my fame and exalt the credit of my genius; for it would be absurd
to expect the exact truth in such matters. We know well that neither
praise nor abuse is meted out with strict accuracy.
However, since this opportunity is lost, and I am left in the lurch
without a portrait, I must have recourse to my own tongue, which, for
all its stammering, may do well enough to state some truths that are
tolerably self-evident. I assure you then, dear reader, that you can by
no means make a fricassee of these tales which I here present to you,
for they have neither legs, head, bowels, nor anything of the sort; I
mean that the amorous intrigues you will find in some of them, are so
decorous, so measured, and so conformable to reason and Christian
propriety, that they are incapable of exciting any impure thoughts in
him who reads them with or without caution.
I have called them _exemplary_, because if you rightly consider them,
there is not one of them from which you may not draw some useful
example; and were I not afraid of being too prolix, I might show you
what savoury and wholesome fruit might be extracted from them,
collectively and severally.
My intention has been to set up, in the midst of our community, a
billiard-table, at which every one may amuse himself without hurt to
body and soul; for innocent recreations do good rather than harm. One
cannot be always at church, or always saying one's prayers, or always
engaged in one's business, however important it may be; there are hours
for recreation when the wearied mind should take repose. It is to this
end that alleys of trees are planted to walk in, waters are conveyed
from remote fountains, hills are levelled, and gardens are cultivated
with such care. One thing I boldly declare: could I by any means
suppose that these novels could excite any bad thought or desire in
those who read them, I would rather cut off the hand with which I write
them, than give them to the public. I am at an age when it does not
become me to trifle with the life to come, for I am upwards of
sixty-four.
My genius and my inclination prompt me to this kind of writing; the more
so as I consider (and with truth) that I am the first who has written
novels in the Spanish language, though many have hitherto appeared among
us, all of them translated from foreign authors. But these are my own,
neither imitated nor stolen from anyone; my genius has engendered them,
my pen has brought them forth, and they are growing up in the arms of
the press. After them, should my life be spared, I will present to you
the Adventures of Persiles, a book which ventures to compete with
Heliodorus. But previously you shall see, and that before long, the
continuation of the exploits of Don Quixote and the humours of Sancho
Panza; and then the Weeks of the Garden. This is promising largely for
one of my feeble powers; but who can curb his desires? I only beg you to
remark that since I have had the boldness to address these novels to the
great Count of Lemos, they must contain some hidden mystery which exalts
their merit.
I have no more to say, so pray God to keep you, and give me patience to
bear all the ill that will be spoken of me by more than one subtle and
starched critic. _Vale_.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
THE LADY CORNELIA 1
RINCONETE AND CORTADILLO; OR, PETER OF THE CORNER AND
THE LITTLE CUTTER 42
THE LICENTIATE VIDRIERA; OR, DOCTOR GLASS-CASE 86
THE DECEITFUL MARRIAGE 112
DIALOGUE BETWEEN SCIPIO AND BERGANZA, DOGS OF THE
HOSPITAL OF THE RESURRECTION IN THE CITY OF VALLADOLID,
COMMONLY CALLED THE DOGS OF MAHUDES 124
THE LITTLE GIPSY GIRL 178
THE GENEROUS LOVER 236
THE SPANISH-ENGLISH LADY 278
THE FORCE OF BLOOD 314
THE JEALOUS ESTRAMADURAN 331
THE ILLUSTRIOUS SCULLERY-MAID 365
THE TWO DAMSELS 410
THE LADY CORNELIA.
Don Antonio de Isunza and Don Juan de Gamboa, gentlemen of high birth
and excellent sense, both of the same age, and very intimate friends,
being students together at Salamanca, determined to abandon their
studies and proceed to Flanders. To this resolution they were incited by
the fervour of youth, their desire to see the world, and their
conviction that the profession of arms, so becoming to all, is more
particularly suitable to men of illustrious race.
But they did not reach Flanders until peace was restored, or at least on
the point of being concluded; and at Antwerp they received letters from
their parents, wherein the latter expressed the great displeasure caused
them by their sons having left their studies without informing them of
their intention, which if they had done, the proper measures might have
been taken for their making the journey in a manner befitting their
birth and station.
Unwilling to give further dissatisfaction to their parents, the young
men resolved to return to Spain, the rather as there was now nothing to
be done in Flanders. But before doing so they determined to visit all
the most renowned cities of Italy; and having seen the greater part of
them, they were so much attracted by the noble university of Bologna,
that they resolved to remain there and complete the studies abandoned at
Salamanca.
They imparted their intentions to their parents, who testified their
entire approbation by the magnificence with which they provided their
sons with every thing proper to their rank, to the end that, in their
manner of living, they might show who they were, and of what house they
were born. From the first day, therefore, that the young men visited the
schools, all perceived them to be gallant, sensible, and well-bred
gentlemen.
Don Antonio was at this time in his twenty-fourth year, and Don Juan had
not passed his twenty-sixth. This fair period of life they adorned by
various good qualities; they were handsome, brave, of good address, and
well versed in music and poetry; in a word, they were endowed with such
advantages as caused them to be much sought and greatly beloved by all
who knew them. They soon had numerous friends, not only among the many
Spaniards belonging to the university,[2] but also among people of the
city, and of other nations, to all of whom they proved themselves
courteous, liberal, and wholly free from that arrogance which is said to
be too often exhibited by Spaniards.
[2] Cardinal Albornoz founded a college in the university of Bologna,
expressly for the Spaniards, his countrymen.
Being young, and of joyous temperament, Don Juan and Don Antonio did not
fail to give their attention to the beauties of the city. Many there
were indeed in Bologna, both married and unmarried, remarkable as well
for their virtues as their charms; but among them all there was none who
surpassed the Signora Cornelia Bentivoglia, of that old and illustrious
family of the Bentivogli, who were at one time lords of Bologna.
Cornelia was beautiful to a marvel; she had been left under the
guardianship of her brother Lorenzo Bentivoglio, a brave and honourable
gentleman. They were orphans, but inheritors of considerable wealth--and
wealth is a great alleviation of the evils of the orphan state. Cornelia
lived in complete seclusion, and her brother guarded her with unwearied
solicitude. The lady neither showed herself on any occasion, nor would
her brother consent that any one should see her; but this very fact
inspired Don Juan and Don Antonio with the most lively desire to behold
her face, were it only at church. Yet all the pains they took for that
purpose proved vain, and the wishes they had felt on the subject
gradually diminished, as the attempt appeared more and more hopeless.
Thus, devoted to their studies, and varying these with such amusements
as are permitted to their age, the young men passed a life as cheerful
as it was honourable, rarely going out at night, but when they did so,
it was always together and well armed.
One evening, however, when Don Juan was preparing to go out, Don
Antonio expressed his desire to remain at home for a short time, to
repeat certain orisons: but he requested Don Juan to go without him, and
promised to follow him.
"Why should I go out to wait for you?" said Don Juan. "I will stay; if
you do not go out at all to-night, it will be of very little
consequence." "By no means shall you stay," returned Don Antonio: "go
and take the air; I will be with you almost immediately, if you take the
usual way."
"Well, do as you please," said Don Juan: "if you come you will find me
on our usual beat." With these words Don Juan left the house.
The night was dark, and the hour about eleven. Don Juan passed through
two or three streets, but finding himself alone, and with no one to
speak to, he determined to return home. He began to retrace his steps
accordingly; and was passing through a street, the houses of which had
marble porticoes, when he heard some one call out, "Hist! hist!" from
one of the doors. The darkness of the night, and the shadow cast by the
colonnade, did not permit him to see the whisperer; but he stopped at
once, and listened attentively. He saw a door partially opened,
approached it, and heard these words uttered in a low voice, "Is it you,
Fabio?" Don Juan, on the spur of the moment, replied, "Yes!" "Take it,
then," returned the voice, "take it, and place it in security; but
return instantly, for the matter presses." Don Juan put out his hand in
the dark, and encountered a packet. Proceeding to take hold of it, he
found that it required both hands; instinctively he extended the second,
but had scarcely done so before the portal was closed, and he found
himself again alone in the street, loaded with, he knew not what.
Presently the cry of an infant, and, as it seemed, but newly born, smote
his ears, filling him with confusion and amazement, for he knew not what
next to do, or how to proceed in so strange a case. If he knocked at the
door he was almost certain to endanger the mother of the infant; and if
he left his burthen there, he must imperil the life of the babe itself.
But if he took it home he should as little know what to do with it, nor
was he acquainted with any one in the city to whom he could entrust the
care of the child; yet remembering that he had been required to come
back quickly, after placing his charge in safety, he determined to take
the infant home, leave it in the hands of his old housekeeper, and
return to see if his aid was needed in any way, since he perceived
clearly that the person who had been expected to come for the child had
not arrived, and the latter had been given to himself in mistake. With
this determination, Don Juan soon reached his home; but found that
Antonio had already left it. He then went to his chamber, and calling
the housekeeper, uncovered the infant, which was one of the most
beautiful ever seen; whilst, as the good woman remarked, the elegance of
the clothes in which the little creature was wrapped, proved him--for it
was a boy--to be the son of rich parents.
"You must, now," said Don Juan to his housekeeper, "find some one to
nurse this infant; but first of all take away these rich coverings, and
put on him others of the plainest kind. Having done that, you must carry
the babe, without a moment's delay, to the house of a midwife, for there
it is that you will be most likely to find all that is requisite in such
a case. Take money to pay what may be needful, and give the child such
parents as you please, for I desire to hide the truth, and not let the
manner in which I became possessed of it be known." The woman promised
that she would obey him in every point; and Don Juan returned in all
haste to the street, to see whether he should receive another mysterious
call. But just before he arrived at the house whence the infant had been
delivered to him, the clash of swords struck his ear, the sound being as
that of several persons engaged in strife. He listened carefully, but
could hear no word; the combat was carried on in total silence; but the
sparks cast up by the swords as they struck against the stones, enabled
him to perceive that one man was defending himself against several
assailants; and he was confirmed in this belief by an exclamation which
proceeded at length from the last person attacked. "Ah, traitors! you
are many and I am but one, yet your baseness shall not avail you."
Hearing and seeing this, Don Juan, listening only to the impulses of his
brave heart, sprang to the side of the person assailed, and opposing the
buckler he carried on his arm to the swords of the adversaries, drew his
own, and speaking in Italian that he might not be known as a Spaniard,
he said--"Fear not, Signor, help has arrived that will not fail you
while life holds; lay on well, for traitors are worth but little however
many there may be." To this, one of the assailants made answer--"You
lie; there are no traitors here. He who seeks to recover his lost honour
is no traitor, and is permitted to avail himself of every advantage."
No more was said on either side, for the impetuosity of the assailants,
who, as Don Juan thought, amounted to not less than six, left no
opportunity for further words. They pressed his companion, meanwhile,
very closely; and two of them giving him each a thrust at the same time
with the point of their swords, he fell to the earth. Don Juan believed
they had killed him; he threw himself upon the adversaries,
nevertheless, and with a shower of cuts and thrusts, dealt with
extraordinary rapidity, caused them to give way for several paces. But
all his efforts must needs have been vain for the defence of the fallen
man, had not Fortune aided him, by making the neighbours come with
lights to their windows and shout for the watch, whereupon the
assailants ran off and left the street clear.
The fallen man was meanwhile beginning to move; for the strokes he had
received, having encountered a breastplate as hard as adamant, had only
stunned, but not wounded him.
Now, Don Juan's hat had been knocked off in the fray, and thinking he
had picked it up, he had in fact put on that of another person, without
perceiving it to be other than his own. The gentleman whom he had
assisted now approached Don Juan, and accosted him as follows:--"Signor
Cavalier, whoever you may be, I confess that I owe you my life, and I am
bound to employ it, with all I have or can command, in your service: do
me the favour to tell me who you are, that I may know to whom my
gratitude is due."
"Signor," replied Don Juan, "that I may not seem discourteous, and in
compliance with your request, although I am wholly disinterested in what
I have done, you shall know that I am a Spanish gentleman, and a student
in this city; if you desire to hear my name I will tell you, rather lest
you should have some future occasion for my services than for any other
motive, that I am called Don Juan de Gamboa."
"You have done me a singular service, Signor Don Juan de Gamboa,"
replied the gentleman who had fallen, "but I will not tell you who I am,
nor my name, which I desire that you should learn from others rather
than from myself; yet I will take care that you be soon informed
respecting these things."
Don Juan then inquired of the stranger if he were wounded, observing,
that he had seen him receive two furious lunges in the breast; but the
other replied that he was unhurt; adding, that next to God, a famous
plastron that he wore had defended him against the blows he had
received, though his enemies would certainly have finished him had Don
Juan not come to his aid.
While thus discoursing, they beheld a body of men advancing towards
them; and Don Juan exclaimed--"If these are enemies, Signor, let us
hasten to put ourselves on our guard, and use our hands as men of our
condition should do."
"They are not enemies, so far as I can judge," replied the stranger.
"The men who are now coming towards us are friends."
And this was the truth; the persons approaching, of whom there were
eight, surrounded the unknown cavalier, with whom they exchanged a few
words, but in so low a tone that Don Juan could not hear the purport.
The gentleman then turned to Don Juan and said--"If these friends had
not arrived I should certainly not have left your company, Signor Don
Juan, until you had seen me in some place of safety; but as things are,
I beg you now, with all kindness, to retire and leave me in this place,
where it is of great importance that I should remain." Speaking thus,
the stranger carried his hand to his head, but finding that he was
without a hat, he turned towards the persons who had joined him,
desiring them to give him one, and saying that his own had fallen. He
had no sooner spoken than Don Juan presented him with that which he had
himself just picked up, and which he had discovered to be not his own.
The stranger having felt the hat, returned it to Don Juan, saying that
it was not his, and adding, "On your life, Signor Don Juan, keep this
hat as a trophy of this affray, for I believe it to be one that is not
unknown."
The persons around then gave the stranger another hat, and Don Juan,
after exchanging a few brief compliments with his companion, left him,
in compliance with his desire, without knowing who he was: he then
returned home, not daring at that moment to approach the door whence he
had received the newly-born infant, because the whole neighbourhood had
been aroused, and was in movement.
Now it chanced that as Don Juan was returning to his abode, he met his
comrade Don Antonio de Isunza; and the latter no sooner recognised him
in the darkness, than he exclaimed, "Turn about, Don Juan, and walk with
me to the end of the street; I have something to tell you, and as we go
along will relate a story such as you have never heard before in your
life."
"I also have one of the same kind to tell you," returned Don Juan, "but
let us go up the street as you say, and do you first relate your story."
Don Antonio thereupon walked forward, and began as follows:--"You must
know that in little less than an hour after you had left the house, I
left it also, to go in search of you, but I had not gone thirty paces
from this place when I saw before me a black mass, which I soon
perceived to be a person advancing in great haste. As the figure
approached nearer, I perceived it to be that of a woman, wrapped in a
very wide mantle, and who, in a voice interrupted by sobs and sighs,
addressed me thus, 'Are you, sir, a stranger, or one of the city?' 'I am
a stranger,' I replied, 'and a Spaniard.' 'Thanks be to God!' she
exclaimed, 'he will not have me die without the sacraments.' 'Are you
then wounded, madam?' continued I, 'or attacked by some mortal malady?'
'It may well happen that the malady from which I suffer may prove
mortal, if I do not soon receive aid,' returned the lady, 'wherefore, by
the courtesy which is ever found among those of your nation, I entreat
you, Signor Spaniard, take me from these streets, and lead me to your
dwelling with all the speed you may; there, if you wish it, you shall
know the cause of my sufferings, and who I am, even though it should
cost me my reputation to make myself known.'
"Hearing this," continued Don Antonio, "and seeing that the lady was in
a strait which permitted no delay, I said nothing more, but offering her
my hand, I conducted her by the by-streets to our house. Our page,
Santisteban, opened the door, but, commanding him to retire, I led the
lady in without permitting him to see her, and took her into my room,
where she had no sooner entered than she fell fainting on my bed.
Approaching to assist her, I removed the mantle which had hitherto
concealed her face, and discovered the most astonishing loveliness that
human eyes ever beheld. She may be about eighteen years old, as I should
suppose, but rather less than more. Bewildered for a moment at the sight
of so much beauty, I remained as one stupified, but recollecting myself,
I hastened to throw water on her face, and, with a pitiable sigh, she
recovered consciousness.
"The first word she uttered was the question, 'Do you know me, Signor?'
I replied, 'No, lady! I have not been so fortunate as ever before to
have seen so much beauty.' 'Unhappy is she,' returned the lady, 'to whom
heaven has given it for her misfortune. But, Signor, this is not the
time to praise my beauty, but to mourn my distress. By all that you most
revere, I entreat you to leave me shut up here, and let no one behold
me, while you return in all haste to the place where you found me, and
see if there be any persons fighting there. Yet do not take part either
with one side or the other. Only separate the combatants, for whatever
injury may happen to either, must needs be to the increase of my own
misfortunes.' I then left her as she desired," continued Don Antonio,
"and am now going to put an end to any quarrel which may arise, as the
lady has commanded me."
"Have you anything more to say?" inquired Don Juan.
"Do you think I have not said enough," answered Don Antonio, "since I
have told you that I have now in my chamber, and hold under my key, the
most wonderful beauty that human eyes have ever beheld."
"The adventure is a strange one, without doubt," replied Don Juan, "but
listen to mine;" and he instantly related to his friend all that had
happened to him. He told how the newly-born infant was then in their
house, and in the care of their housekeeper, with the orders he had
given as to changing its rich habits for others less remarkable, and for
procuring a nurse from the nearest midwife, to meet the present
necessity. "As to the combat you come in quest of," he added, "that is
already ended, and peace is made." Don Juan further related that he had
himself taken part in the strife; and concluded by remarking, that he
believed those whom he had found engaged were all persons of high
quality, as well as great courage.
Each of the Spaniards was much surprised at the adventure of the other,
and they instantly returned to the house to see what the lady shut up
there might require. On the way, Don Antonio told Don Juan that he had
promised the unknown not to suffer any one to see her; assuring her that
he only would enter the room, until she should herself permit the
approach of others.
"I shall nevertheless do my best to see her," replied Don Juan; "after
what you have said of her beauty, I cannot but desire to do so, and
shall contrive some means for effecting it."
Saying this they arrived at their house, when one of their three pages,
bringing lights, Don Antonio cast his eyes on the hat worn by Don Juan,
and perceived that it was glittering with diamonds. Don Juan took it
off, and then saw that the lustre of which his companion spoke,
proceeded from a very rich band formed of large brilliants. In great
surprise, the friends examined the ornament, and concluded that if all
the diamonds were as precious as they appeared to be, the hat must be
worth more than two thousand ducats. They thus became confirmed in the
conviction entertained by Don Juan, that the persons engaged in the
combat were of high quality, especially the gentleman whose part he had
taken, and who, as he now recollected, when bidding him take the hat,
and keep it, had remarked that it was not unknown.
The young men then commanded their pages to retire, and Don Antonio,
opening the door of his room, found the lady seated on his bed, leaning
her cheek on her hand, and weeping piteously. Don Juan also having
approached the door, the splendour of the diamonds caught the eye of the
weeping lady, and she exclaimed, "Enter, my lord duke, enter! Why afford
me in such scanty measure the happiness of seeing you; enter at once, I
beseech you."
"Signora," replied Don Antonio, "there is no duke here who is declining
to see you."
"How, no duke!" she exclaimed. "He whom I have just seen is the Duke of
Ferrara; the rich decoration of his hat does not permit him to conceal
himself."
"Of a truth, Signora, he who wears the hat you speak of is no duke; and
if you please to undeceive yourself by seeing that person, you have but
to give your permission, and he shall enter."
"Let him do so," said the lady; "although, if he be not the duke, my
misfortune will be all the greater."
Don Juan had heard all this, and now finding that he was invited to
enter, he walked into the apartment with his hat in his hand; but he had
no sooner placed himself before the lady than she, seeing he was not the
person she had supposed, began to exclaim, in a troubled voice and with
broken words, "Ah! miserable creature that I am, tell me, Signor--tell
me at once, without keeping me in suspense, what do you know of him who
owned that sombrero? How is it that he no longer has it, and how did it
come into your possession? Does he still live, or is this the token that
he sends me of his death? Oh! my beloved, what misery is this! I see the
jewels that were thine. I see myself shut up here without the light of
thy presence. I am in the power of strangers; and if I did not know that
they were Spaniards and gentlemen, the fear of that disgrace by which I
am threatened would already have finished my life."
"Calm yourself, madam," replied Don Juan, "for the master of this
sombrero is not dead, nor are you in a place where any increase to your
misfortunes is to be dreaded. We think only of serving you, so far as
our means will permit, even to the exposing our lives for your defence
and succour. It would ill become us to suffer that the trust you have in
the faith of Spaniards should be vain; and since we are Spaniards, and
of good quality--for here that assertion, which might otherwise appear
arrogant, becomes needful--be assured that you will receive all the
respect which is your due."
"I believe you," replied the lady; "but, nevertheless, tell me, I pray
you, how this rich sombrero came into your possession, and where is its
owner? who is no less a personage than Alfonso d'Este, Duke of Ferrara."
Then Don Juan, that he might not keep the lady longer in suspense,
related to her how he had found the hat in the midst of a combat, in
which he had taken the part of a gentleman, who, from what she had said,
he could not now doubt to be the Duke of Ferrara. He further told her
how, having lost his own hat in the strife, the gentleman had bidden
him keep the one he had picked up, and which belonged, as he said, to a
person not unknown; that neither the cavalier nor himself had received
any wound; and that, finally, certain friends or servants of the former
had arrived, when he who was now believed to be the duke had requested
Don Juan to leave him in that place, where he desired for certain
reasons to remain.
"This, madam," concluded Don Juan, "is the whole history of the manner
in which the hat came into my possession; and for its master, whom you
suppose to be the Duke of Ferrara, it is not an hour since I left him in
perfect safety. Let this true narration suffice to console you, since
you are anxious to be assured that the Duke is unhurt."
To this the lady made answer, "That you, gentlemen, may know how much
reason I have to inquire for the duke, and whether I need be anxious for
his safety, listen in your turn with attention, and I will relate what I
know not yet if I must call my unhappy history."
While these things were passing, the housekeeper of Don Antonio and Don
Juan was occupied with the infant, whose mouth she had moistened with
honey, and whose rich habits she was changing for clothes of a very
humble character. When that was done, she was about to carry the babe to
the house of the midwife, as Don Juan had recommended, but as she was
passing with it before the door of the room wherein the lady was about
to commence her history, the little creature began to cry aloud,
insomuch that the lady heard it. She instantly rose to her feet, and set
herself to listen, when the plaints of the infant arrived more
distinctly to her ear.
"What child is this, gentlemen?" said she, "for it appears to be but
just born."
Don Juan replied, "It is a little fellow who has been laid at the door
of our house to-night, and our servant is about to seek some one who
will nurse it."
"Let them bring it to me, for the love of God!" exclaimed the lady, "for
I will offer that charity to the child of others, since it has not
pleased Heaven that I should be permitted to nourish my own."
Don Juan then called the housekeeper, and taking the infant from her
arms he placed it in those of the lady, saying, "Behold, madam, this is
the present that has been made to us to-night, and it is not the first
of the kind that we have received, since but few months pass wherein we
do not find such God-sends hooked on to the hinges of our doors."
The lady had meanwhile taken the infant into her arms, and looked
attentively at its face, but remarking the poverty of its clothing,
which was, nevertheless, extremely clean, she could not restrain her
tears. She cast the kerchief which she had worn around her head over her
bosom, that she might succour the infant with decency, and bending her
face over that of the child, she remained long without raising her head,
while her eyes rained torrents of tears on the little creature she was
nursing.
The babe was eager to be fed, but finding that it could not obtain the
nourishment it sought, the lady returned the babe to Don Juan, saying,
"I have vainly desired to be charitable to this deserted infant, and
have but shown that I am new to such matters. Let your servants put a
little honey on the lips of the child, but do not suffer them to carry
it through the streets at such an hour; bid them wait until the day
breaks, and let the babe be once more brought to me before they take it
away, for I find a great consolation in the sight of it."
Don Juan then restored the infant to the housekeeper, bidding her take
the best care she could of it until daybreak, commanding that the rich
clothes it had first worn should be put on it again, and directing her
not to take it from the house until he had seen it once more. That done,
he returned to the room; and the two friends being again alone with the
beautiful lady, she said, "If you desire that I should relate my story,
you must first give me something that may restore my strength, for I
feel in much need of it." Don Antonio flew to the beaufet for some
conserves, of which the lady ate a little; and having drunk a glass of
water, and feeling somewhat refreshed, she said, "Sit down, Signors, and
listen to my story."
The gentlemen seated themselves accordingly, and she, arranging herself
on the bed, and covering her person with the folds of her mantle,
suffered the veil which she had kept about her head to fall on her
shoulders, thus giving her face to view, and exhibiting in it a lustre
equal to that of the moon, rather of the sun itself, when displayed in
all its splendour. Liquid pearls fell from her eyes, which she
endeavoured to dry with a kerchief of extraordinary delicacy, and with
hands so white that he must have had much judgment in colour who could
have found a difference between them and the cambric. Finally, after
many a sigh and many an effort to calm herself, with a feeble and
trembling voice, she said--
"I, Signors, am she of whom you have doubtless heard mention in this
city, since, such as it is, there are few tongues that do not publish
the fame of my beauty. I am Cornelia Bentivoglio, sister of Lorenzo
Bentivoglio; and, in saying this, I have perhaps affirmed two
acknowledged truths,--the one my nobility, and the other my beauty. At a
very early age I was left an orphan to the care of my brother, who was
most sedulous in watching over me, even from my childhood, although he
reposed more confidence in my sentiments of honour than in the guards he
had placed around me. In short, kept thus between walls and in perfect
solitude, having no other company than that of my attendants, I grew to
womanhood, and with me grew the reputation of my loveliness, bruited
abroad by the servants of my house, and by such as had been admitted to
my privacy, as also by a portrait which my brother had caused to be
taken by a famous painter, to the end, as he said, that the world might
not be wholly deprived of my features, in the event of my being early
summoned by Heaven to a better life.
"All this might have ended well, had it not chanced that the Duke of
Ferrara consented to act as sponsor at the nuptials of one of my
cousins; when my brother permitted me to be present at the ceremony,
that we might do the greater honour to our kinswoman. There I saw and
was seen; there, as I believe, hearts were subjugated, and the will of
the beholders rendered subservient; there I felt the pleasure received
from praise, even when bestowed by flattering tongues; and, finally, I
there beheld the duke, and was seen by him; in a word, it is in
consequence of this meeting that you see me here.
"I will not relate to you, Signors (for that would needlessly protract
my story), the various stratagems and contrivances by which the duke and
myself, at the end of two years, were at length enabled to bring about
that union, our desire for which had received birth at those nuptials.
Neither guards, nor seclusion, nor remonstrances, nor human diligence of
any kind, sufficed to prevent it, and we were finally made one; for
without the sanction due to my honour, Alfonso would certainly not have
prevailed. I would fain have had him publicly demand my hand from my
brother, who would not have refused it; nor would the duke have had to
excuse himself before the world as to any inequality in our marriage,
since the race of the Bentivogli is in no manner inferior to that of
Este; but the reasons which he gave for not doing as I wished appeared
to me sufficient, and I suffered them to prevail.
"The visits of the duke were made through the intervention of a servant,
over whom his gifts had more influence than was consistent with the
confidence reposed in her by my brother. After a time I perceived that I
was about to become a mother, and feigning illness and low spirits, I
prevailed on Lorenzo to permit me to visit the cousin at whose marriage
it was that I first saw the duke; I then apprised the latter of my
situation, letting him also know the danger in which my life was placed
from that suspicion of the truth which I could not but fear that Lorenzo
must eventually entertain.
"It was then agreed between us, that when the time for my travail drew
near, the duke should come, with certain of his friends, and take me to
Ferrara, where our marriage should be publicly celebrated. This was the
night on which I was to have departed, and I was waiting the arrival of
Alfonso, when I heard my brother pass the door with several other
persons, all armed, as I could hear, by the noise of their weapons. The
terror caused by this event was such as to occasion the premature birth
of my infant, a son, whom the waiting-woman, my confidant, who had made
all ready for his reception, wrapped at once in the clothes we had
provided, and gave at the street-door, as she told me, to a servant of
the duke. Soon afterwards, taking such measures as I could under
circumstances so pressing, and hastened by the fear of my brother, I
also left the house, hoping to find the duke awaiting me in the street.
I ought not to have gone forth until he had come to the door; but the
armed band of my brother, whose sword I felt at my throat, had caused
me such terror that I was not in a state to reflect. Almost out of my
senses I came forth, as you behold me; and what has since happened you
know. I am here, it is true, without my husband, and without my son; yet
I return thanks to Heaven which has led me into your hands--for from you
I promise myself all that may be expected from Spanish courtesy,
reinforced, as it cannot but be in your persons, by the nobility of your
race."
Having said this, the lady fell back on the bed, and the two friends
hastened to her assistance, fearing she had again fainted. But they
found this not to be the case; she was only weeping bitterly. Wherefore
Don Juan said to her, "If up to the present moment, beautiful lady, my
companion Don Antonio, and I, have felt pity and regret for you as being
a woman, still more shall we now do so, knowing your quality; since
compassion and grief are changed into the positive obligation and duty
of serving and aiding you. Take courage, and do not be dismayed; for
little as you are formed to endure such trials, so much the more will
you prove yourself to be the exalted person you are, as your patience
and fortitude enable you to rise above your sorrows. Believe me,
Signora, I am persuaded that these extraordinary events are about to
have a fortunate conclusion; for Heaven can never permit so much beauty
to endure permanent sorrow, nor suffer your chaste purposes to be
frustrated. Go now to bed, Signora, and take that care of your health of
which you have so much need; there shall presently come to wait on you a
servant of ours, in whom you may confide as in ourselves, for she will
maintain silence respecting your misfortunes with no less discretion
than she will attend to all your necessities."
"The condition in which I find myself," replied the lady, "might compel
me to the adoption of more difficult measures than those you advise. Let
this woman come, Signors; presented to me by you, she cannot fail to be
good and serviceable; but I beseech you let no other living being see
me."
"So shall it be," replied Don Antonio; and the two friends withdrew,
leaving Cornelia alone.
Don Juan then commanded the housekeeper to enter the room, taking with
her the infant, whose rich habits she had already replaced. The woman
did as she was ordered, having been previously told what she should
reply to the questions of the Signora respecting the infant she bore in
her arms Seeing her come in, Cornelia instantly said, "You come in good
time, my friend; give me that infant, and place the light near me."
The servant obeyed; and, taking the babe in her arms, Cornelia instantly
began to tremble, gazed at him intently, and cried out in haste, "Tell
me, good woman, is this child the same that you brought me a short time
since?" "It is the same, Signora," replied the woman. "How is it, then,
that his clothing is so different? Certainly, dame housekeeper, either
these are other wrappings, or the infant is not the same." "It may all
be as you say," began the old woman. "All as I say!" interrupted
Cornelia, "how and what is this? I conjure you, friend, by all you most
value, to tell me whence you received these rich clothes; for my heart
seems to be bursting in my bosom! Tell me the cause of this change; for
you must know that these things belong to me, if my sight do not deceive
me, and my memory have not failed. In these robes, or some like them, I
entrusted to a servant of mine the treasured jewel of my soul! Who has
taken them from him? Ah, miserable creature that I am! who has brought
these things here? Oh, unhappy and woeful day!"
Don Juan and Don Antonio, who were listening to all this, could not
suffer the matter to go further, nor would they permit the exchange of
the infant's dress to trouble the poor lady any longer. They therefore
entered the room, and Don Juan said, "This infant and its wrappings are
yours, Signora;" and immediately he related from point to point how the
matter had happened. He told Cornelia that he was himself the person to
whom the waiting woman had given the child, and how he had brought it
home, with the orders he had given to the housekeeper respecting its
change of clothes, and his motives for doing so. He added that, from the
moment when she had spoken of her own infant, he had felt certain that
this was no other than her son; and if he had not told her so at once,
that was because he feared the effects of too much gladness, coming
immediately after the heavy grief which her trials had caused her.
The tears of joy then shed by Cornelia were many and long-continued;
infinite were the acknowledgments she offered to Heaven, innumerable the
kisses she lavished on her son, and profuse the thanks which she
offered from her heart to the two friends, whom she called her guardian
angels on earth, with other names, which gave abundant proof of her
gratitude. They soon afterwards left the lady with their housekeeper,
whom they enjoined to attend her well, and do her all the service
possible--having made known to the woman the position in which Cornelia
found herself, to the end that she might take all necessary precautions,
the nature of which, she, being a woman, would know much better than
they could do. They then went to rest for the little that remained of
the night, intending to enter Cornelia's apartment no more, unless
summoned by herself, or called thither by some pressing need.
The day having dawned, the housekeeper went to fetch a woman, who agreed
to nurse the infant in silence and secrecy. Some hours later the friends
inquired for Cornelia, and their servant told them that she had rested a
little. Don Juan and Don Antonio then went to the Schools. As they
passed by the street where the combat had taken place, and near the
house whence Cornelia had fled, they took care to observe whether any
signs of disorder were apparent, and whether the matter seemed to be
talked of in the neighbourhood: but they could hear not a word
respecting the affray of the previous night, or the absence of Cornelia.
So, having duly attended the various lectures, they returned to their
dwelling.