born, yet I have a certain fantastic little spirit within me, which
moves me to great things. Promises do not tempt me, nor presents sap my
resolution, nor obsequiousness allure, nor amorous wiles ensnare me; and
although by my grandmother's reckoning I shall be but fifteen next
Michaelmas, I am already old in thought, and have more understanding
than my years would seem to promise. This may, perhaps, be more from
nature than from experience; but be that as it may, I know that the
passion of love is an impetuous impulse, which violently distorts the
current of the will, makes it dash furiously against all impediments,
and recklessly pursue the desired object. But not unfrequently when the
lover believes himself on the point of gaining the heaven of his wishes,
he falls into the hell of disappointment. Or say that the object is
obtained, the lover soon becomes wearied of his so much desired
treasure, and opening the eyes of his understanding he finds that what
before was so devoutly adored is now become abhorrent to him. The fear
of such a result inspires me with so great a distrust, that I put no
faith in words, and doubt many deeds. One sole jewel I have, which I
prize more than life, and that is my virgin purity, which I will not
sell for promises or gifts, for sold it would be in that case, and if it
could be bought, small indeed would be its value. Nor is it to be
filched from me by wiles or artifices; rather will I carry it with me to
my grave, and perhaps to heaven, than expose it to danger by listening
to specious tales and chimeras. It is a flower which nothing should be
allowed to sully, even in imagination if it be possible. Nip the rose
from the spray, and how soon it fades! One touches it, another smells
it, a third plucks its leaves, and at last the flower perishes in vulgar
hands. If you are come then, señor, for this booty, you shall never bear
it away except bound in the ties of wedlock. If you desire to be my
spouse, I will be yours; but first there are many conditions to be
fulfilled, and many points to be ascertained.
"In the first place I must know if you are the person you declare
yourself to be. Next, should I find this to be true, you must
straightway quit your father's mansion, and exchange it for our tents,
where, assuming the garb of a gipsy, you must pass two years in our
schools, during which I shall be able to satisfy myself as to your
disposition, and you will become acquainted with mine. At the end of
that period, if you are pleased with me and I with you, I will give
myself up to you as your wife; but till then I will be your sister and
your humble servant, and nothing more. Consider, señor, that during the
time of this novitiate you may recover your sight, which now seems lost,
or at least disordered, and that you may then see fit to shun what now
you pursue with so much ardour. You will then be glad to regain your
lost liberty, and having done so, you may by sincere repentance obtain
pardon of your family for your faults. If on these conditions you are
willing to enlist in our ranks, the matter rests in your own hands; but
if you fail in any one of them, you shall not touch a finger of mine."
The youth was astounded at Preciosa's decision, and remained as if
spell-bound, with his eyes bent on the ground, apparently considering
what answer he should return. Seeing this, Preciosa said to him, "This
is not a matter of such light moment that it can or ought to be
resolved on the spot. Return, señor, to the city, consider maturely what
is best for you to do; and you may speak with me in this same place any
week-day you please, as we are on our way to or from Madrid."
"When Heaven disposed me to love you, Preciosa," replied the cavalier,
"I determined to do for you whatever it might be your will to require of
me, though it never entered my thoughts that you would make such a
demand as you have now done; but since it is your pleasure that I should
comply with it, count me henceforth as a gipsy, and put me to all the
trials you desire, you will always find me the same towards you as I now
profess myself. Fix the time when you will have me change my garb. I
will leave my family under pretext of going to Flanders, and will bring
with me money for my support for some time. In about eight days I shall
be able to arrange for my departure, and I will contrive some means to
get rid of my attendants, so as to be free to accomplish my purpose.
What I would beg of you (if I might make bold to ask any favour) is
that, except to-day for the purpose of inquiring about me and my family,
you go no more to Madrid, for I would not that any of the numerous
occasions that present themselves there, should deprive me of the good
fortune I prize so dearly."
"Not so, señor gallant," said Preciosa: "wherever I go I must be free
and unfettered; my liberty must not be restrained or encumbered by
jealousy. Be assured, however, that I will not use it to such excess,
but that any one may see from a mile off that my honesty is equal to my
freedom. The first charge, therefore, I have to impose upon you is, that
you put implicit confidence in me; for lovers who begin by being
jealous, are either silly or deficient in confidence."
"You must have Satan himself within you, little one," said the old
gipsy; "why you talk like a bachelor of Salamanca. You know all about
love and jealousy and confidence. How is this? You make me look like a
fool, and I stand listening to you as to a person possessed, who talks
Latin without knowing it."
"Hold your peace, grandmother," replied Preciosa; "and know that all the
things you have heard me say are mere trifles to the many greater truths
that remain in my breast."
All that Preciosa said, and the sound sense she displayed, added fuel
to the flame that burned in the breast of the enamoured cavalier.
Finally, it was arranged that they should meet in the same place on that
day sennight, when he would report how matters stood with him, and they
would have had time to inquire into the truth of what he had told them.
The young gentleman then took out a brocaded purse in which he said
there were a hundred gold crowns, and gave it to the old woman; but
Preciosa would by no means consent that she should take them.
"Hold your tongue, niña," said her grandmother; "the best proof this
señor has given of his submission, is in thus having yielded up his arms
to us in token of surrender. To give, upon whatever occasion it may be,
is always the sign of a generous heart. Moreover, I do not choose that
the gitanas should lose, through my fault, the reputation they have had
for long ages of being greedy of lucre. Would you have me lose a hundred
crowns, Preciosa? A hundred crowns in gold that one may stitch up in the
hem of a petticoat not worth two reals, and keep them there as one holds
a rent-charge on the pastures of Estramadura! Suppose that any of our
children, grandchildren, or relations should fall by any mischance into
the hands of justice, is there any eloquence so sure to touch the ears
of the judge as the music of these crowns when they fall into his purse?
Three times, for three different offences, I have seen myself all but
mounted on the ass to be whipped; but once I got myself off by means of
a silver mug, another time by a pearl necklace, and the third time with
the help of forty pieces of eight, which I exchanged for quartos,
throwing twenty reals into the bargain. Look you, niña, ours is a very
perilous occupation, full of risks and accidents; and there is no
defence that affords us more ready shelter and succour than the
invincible arms of the great Philip: nothing beats the _plus ultra_.[71]
For the two faces of a doubloon, a smile comes over the grim visage of
the procurator and of all the other ministers of mischief, who are
downright harpies to us poor gitanas, and have more mercy for highway
robbers than for our poor hides. Let us be ever so ragged and wretched
in appearance, they will not believe that we are poor, but say that we
are like the doublets of the gavachos of Belmont, ragged and greasy and
full of doubloons."
[71] After the discovery of America the Spanish dollar was marked with
the pillars of Hercules and the legend "PLUS ULTRA."
"Say no more, for heaven's sake, grandmother," said Preciosa; "do not
string together so many arguments for keeping the money, but keep it,
and much good may it do you. I wish to God you would bury it in a grave
out of which it may never return to the light, and that there may never
be any need of it. We must, however, give some of it to these companions
of ours, who must be tired of waiting so long for us."
"They shall see one coin out of this purse as soon as they will see the
Grand Turk," the old woman replied. "The good señor will try if he has
any silver coin or a few coppers remaining, to divide amongst them, for
they will be content with a little."
"Yes, I have," he said, and he took from his pocket three pieces of
eight which he divided among the gitanas, with which they were more
delighted than the manager of a theatre when he is placarded as victor
in a contest with a rival. Finally it was settled that the party should
meet there again in a week, as before mentioned, and that the young
man's gipsy name should be Andrew Caballero, for that was a surname not
unknown among the gipsies. Andrew (as we shall henceforth call him)
could not find courage to embrace Preciosa, but darting his very soul
into her with a glance, he went away without it, so to speak, and
returned to Madrid. The gipsies followed soon after; and Preciosa, who
already felt a certain interest in the handsome and amiable Andrew, was
anxious to learn if he was really what he said.
They had not gone far before they met the page of the verses and the
gold crown. "Welcome, Preciosa," he said, coming up to her. "Have you
read the lines I gave you the other day?"
"Before I answer you a word," said she, "you must, by all you love best,
tell me one thing truly."
"Upon that adjuration," he replied, "I could not refuse an answer to any
question, though it should cost me my head."
"Well, then, what I want to know is this: are you, perchance, a poet?"
"If I were one, it would certainly be perchance," said the page; "but
you must know, Preciosa, that the name of poet is one which very few
deserve. Thus I am not a poet, but only a lover of poetry; yet for my
own use I do not borrow of others. The verses I gave you were mine, as
are these also which I give you now; but I am not a poet for all
that--God forbid."
"Is it such a bad thing to be a poet?" Preciosa asked.
"It is not a bad thing," he answered; "but to be a poet and nothing else
I do not hold to be very good. We should use poetry like a rich jewel,
the owner of which does not wear it every day, or show it to all people,
but displays it only at suitable times. Poetry is a beautiful maiden,
chaste, honest, discreet, reserved, and never overstepping the limits of
perfect refinement. She is fond of solitude; she finds pleasure and
recreation among fountains, meadows, trees, and flowers; and she
delights and instructs all who are conversant with her."
"I have heard for all that," said Preciosa, "that she is exceedingly
poor; something of a beggar in short."
"It is rather the reverse," said the page, "for there is no poet who is
not rich, since they all live content with their condition; and that is
a piece of philosophy which few understand. But what has moved you,
Preciosa, to make this inquiry?"
"I was moved to it, because, as I believe all poets, or most of them, to
be poor, that crown which you gave me wrapped up with the verses caused
me some surprise; but now that I know that you are not a poet, but only
a lover of poetry, it may be that you are rich, though I doubt it, for
your propensity is likely to make you run through all you have got. It
is a well-known saying, that no poet can either keep or make a fortune."
"But the saying is not applicable to me," said the page. "I make verses,
and I am neither rich nor poor; and without feeling it or making a talk
about it, as the Genoese do of their invitations, I can afford to give a
crown, or even two, to whom I like. Take then, precious pearl, this
second paper, and this second crown enclosed in it, without troubling
yourself with the question whether I am a poet or not. I only beg you to
think and believe that he who gives you this would fain have the wealth
of Midas to bestow upon you."
Preciosa took the paper, and feeling a crown within it, she said, "This
paper bids fair to live long, for it has two souls within it, that of
the crown and that of the verses, which, of course, are full of souls
and hearts as usual. But please to understand, Señor Page, that I do not
want so many souls; and that unless you take back one of them, I will
not receive the other on any account. I like you as a poet and not as a
giver of gifts; and thus we may be the longer friends, for your stock of
crowns may run out sooner than your verses."
"Well," said the page, "since you will have it that I am poor, do not
reject the soul I present to you in this paper, and give me back the
crown, which, since it has been touched by your hand, shall remain with
me as a hallowed relic as long as I live."
Preciosa gave him the crown, and kept the paper, but would not read it
in the street. The page went away exulting in the belief that Preciosa's
heart was touched, since she had treated him with such affability.
It being now her object to find the house of Andrew's father, she went
straight to the street, which she well knew, without stopping anywhere
to dance. About half way down it, she saw the gilded iron balcony which
Andrew had mentioned to her, and in it a gentleman of about fifty years
of age, of noble presence, with a red cross on his breast. This
gentleman seeing the gitanilla, called out, "Come up here, niñas, and we
will give you something." These words brought three other gentlemen to
the balcony, among whom was the enamoured Andrew. The instant he cast
his eyes on Preciosa he changed colour, and well nigh swooned, such was
the effect her sudden appearance had upon him. The girls went up stairs,
whilst the old woman remained below to pump the servants with respect to
Andrew. As they entered the room, the elder gentleman was saying to the
others, "This is no doubt the handsome gitanilla who is so much talked
of in Madrid."
"It is," said Andrew; "and she is unquestionably the most beautiful
creature that ever was seen."
"So they say," said Preciosa, who had overheard these remarks as she
came in; "but indeed they must be half out in the reckoning. I believe I
am pretty well, but as handsome as they say--not a bit of it!"
"By the life of Don Juanico, my son," said the elder gentleman, "you are
far more so, fair gitana."
"And who is Don Juanico, your son?" said Preciosa.
"That gallant by your side," said the cavalier.
"Truly, I thought your worship had sworn by some bantling of two years
old," said Preciosa. "What a pretty little pet of a Don Juanico![72] Why
he is old enough to be married; and by certain lines on his forehead, I
foresee that married he will be before three years are out, and much to
his liking too, if in the meantime he be neither lost nor changed."
[72] Juanico, diminutive of Juan; Johnny.
"Ay, ay," said one of the company; "the gitanilla can tell the meaning
of a wrinkle."
During this time, the three gipsy girls, who accompanied Preciosa, had
got their heads together and were whispering each other. "Girls," said
Christina, "that is the gentleman that gave us the three pieces of eight
this morning."
"Sure enough," said they; "but don't let us say a word about it unless
he mentions it. How do we know but he may wish to keep it secret?"
Whilst the three were thus conferring together, Preciosa replied to the
last remark about wrinkles. "What I see with my eyes, I divine with my
fingers. Of the Señor Don Juanico, I know without lines that he is
somewhat amorous, impetuous, and hasty; and a great promiser of things
that seem impossible. God grant he be not a deceiver, which would be
worse than all. He is now about to make a long journey; but the bay
horse thinks one thing, and the man that saddles him thinks another
thing. Man proposes and God disposes. Perhaps he may think he is bound
for Oñez, and will find himself on the way to Gaviboa."
"In truth, gitana," said Don Juan, "you have guessed right respecting me
in several points. I certainly intend, with God's will, to set out for
Flanders in four or five days, though you forebode that I shall have to
turn out of my road; yet I hope no obstacle will occur to frustrate my
purpose."
"Say no more, señorito," the gipsy replied; "but commend yourself to
God, and all will be well. Be assured I know nothing at all of what I
have been saying. It is no wonder if I sometimes hit the mark, since I
talk so much and always at random. I wish I could speak to such good
purpose as to persuade you not to leave home, but remain quietly with
your parents to comfort their old age; for I am no friend to these
Flanders expeditions, especially for a youth of your tender years. Wait
till you are grown a little more and better able to bear the toils of
war; and the rather as you have war enough at home, considering all the
amorous conflicts that are raging in your bosom. Gently, gently with
you, madcap! Look what you are doing before you marry; and now give us a
little dole for God's sake and for the name you bear; for truly I
believe you are well born, and if along with this you are loyal and
true, then I will sing jubilee for having hit the mark in all I have
said to you."
"I told you before, niña," said Don Juan, otherwise Andrew Caballero,
"that you were right on every point except as to the fear you entertain
that I am not quite a man of my word. In that respect you are certainly
mistaken. The word that I pledge in the field I fulfil in the town, or
wherever I may be, without waiting to be asked; for no man can esteem
himself a gentleman, who yields in the least to the vice of falsehood.
My father will give you alms for God's sake and for mine; for in truth I
gave all I had this morning to some ladies, of whom I would not venture
to assert that they are as obliging as they are beautiful, one of them
especially."
Hearing this, Christina said to her companions, "May I be hanged, girls,
if he is not talking of the three pieces of eight he gave us this
morning."
"No, that can't be," one of them observed; "for he said they were
ladies, and we are none; and being so true-spoken as he says he is, he
would not lie in this matter."
"Oh, but," said Christina, "that is not a lie of any moment that is told
without injury to anybody, but for the advantage and credit of him who
tells it. Be that as it may, I see he neither gives us anything, nor
asks us to dance."
The old gipsy now came into the room and said, "Make haste,
granddaughter; for it is late, and there is much to be done, and more to
be said."
"What is it, grandmother?" said Preciosa, "A boy or a girl?"
"A boy, and a very fine one. Come along, Preciosa, and you shall hear
marvels."
"God grant the mother does not die of her after pains," said the
granddaughter.
"We will take all possible care of her. She has had a very good time,
and the child is a perfect beauty."
"Has any lady been confined?" said Andrew's father.
"Yes, señor," replied the old Gitana: "but it is such a secret, that no
one knows of it except Preciosa, myself, and one other person. So we
cannot mention the lady's name."
"Well, we don't want to know it," said one of the gentlemen present;
"but God help the lady who trusts her secret to your tongues, and her
honour to your aid."
"We are not all bad," replied Preciosa; "perhaps there may be one among
us who piques herself on being as trusty and as true as the noblest man
in this room. Let us begone, grandmother; for here we are held in little
esteem, though in truth we are neither thieves nor beggars."
"Do not be angry, Preciosa," said Andrew's father. "Of you at least I
imagine no one can presume anything ill, for your good looks are warrant
for your good conduct. Do me the favour to dance a little with your
companions. I have here a doubloon for you with two faces, and neither
of them as good as your own, though they are the faces of two kings."
The moment the old woman heard this she cried, "Come along, girls: tuck
up your skirts, and oblige these gentlemen." Preciosa took the
tambourine, and they all danced with so much grace and freedom, that the
eyes of all the spectators were riveted upon their steps, especially
those of Andrew, who gazed upon Preciosa as if his whole soul was
centred in her; but an untoward accident turned his delight into
anguish. In the exertion of the dance, Preciosa let fall the paper given
her by the page. It was immediately picked up by the gentleman who had
no good opinion of the gipsies. He opened it, and said, "What have we
here? A madrigal? Good! Break off the dance, and listen to it; for, as
far as I can judge from the beginning, it is really not bad." Preciosa
was annoyed at this, as she did not know the contents of the paper; and
she begged the gentleman not to read it, but give it back to her. All
her entreaties, however, only made Andrew more eager to hear the lines,
and his friend read them out as follows:--
Who hath Preciosa seen
Dancing like the Fairy Queen?
Ripplets on a sunlit river
Like her small feet glance and quiver.
When she strikes the timbrel featly,
When she warbles, oh how sweetly!
Pearls from her white hands she showers,
From her rosy lips drop flowers.
Not a ringlet of her hair
But doth thousand souls ensnare.
Not a glance of her bright eyes
But seems shot from Love's own skies.
He in obeisance to this sovereign maid,
His bow and quiver at her feet hath laid.
"Por dios!" exclaimed the reader, "he is a dainty poet who wrote this."
"He is not a poet, señor," said Preciosa, "but a page, and a very
gallant and worthy man."
"Mind what you say, Preciosa," returned the other; "for the praises you
bestow on the page are so many lance-thrusts through Andrew's heart.
Look at him as he sits aghast, thrown back on his chair, with a cold
perspiration breaking through all his pores. Do not imagine, maiden,
that he loves you so lightly but that the least slight from you
distracts him. Go to him, for God's sake, and whisper a few words in his
ear, that may go straight to his heart, and recall him to himself. Go on
receiving such madrigals as this every day, and just see what will come
of it."
It was just as he had said. Andrew had been racked by a thousand
jealousies on hearing the verses; and was so overcome that his father
observed it, and cried out, "What ails you, Don Juan? You are turned
quite pale, and look as if you were going to faint."
"Wait a moment," said Preciosa, "let me whisper certain words in his
ear, and you will see that he will not faint." Then bending over him she
said, almost without moving her lips, "A pretty sort of gitano you will
make! Why, Andrew, how will you be able to bear the torture with
gauze,[73] when you are overcome by a bit of paper?" Then making
half-a-dozen signs of the cross over his heart, she left him, after
which Andrew breathed a little, and told his friends that Preciosa's
words had done him good.
[73] One of the ways in which the torture was formerly administered in
Spain, was by making the patient swallow pieces of gauze in water.
Finally, the two-faced doubloon was given to Preciosa, who told her
companions that she would change it, and share the amount honourably
with them. Andrew's father intreated her to leave him in writing the
words she had spoken to his son, as he wished by all means to know them.
She said she would repeat them with great pleasure; and that though they
might appear to be mere child's play, they were of sovereign virtue to
preserve from the heartache and dizziness of the head. The words were
these:--
Silly pate, silly pate,
Why run on at this rate?
No tripping, or slipping, or sliding!
Have trusty assurance,
And patient endurance
And ever be frank and confiding.
To ugly suspicion
Refuse all admission,
Nor let it your better sense twist over.
All this if you do
You'll not rue,
For excellent things will ensue,
With the good help of God and St. Christopher.
"Only say these words," she continued, "over any person who has a
swimming in the head, making at the same time six signs of the cross
over his heart, and he will soon be as sound as an apple."
When the old woman heard the charm, she was amazed at the clever trick
played by her granddaughter; and Andrew was still more so when he found
that the whole was an invention of her quick wit. Preciosa left the
madrigal in the hands of the gentleman, not liking to ask for it, lest
she should again distress Andrew; for she knew, without any one teaching
her, what it was to make a lover feel the pangs of jealousy. Before she
took her leave, she said to Don Juan, "Every day of the week, señor, is
lucky for beginning a journey: not one of them is black. Hasten your
departure, therefore, as much as you can; for there lies before you a
free life of ample range and great enjoyment, if you choose to
accommodate yourself to it."
"It strikes me that a soldier's life is not so free as you say,"
replied Andrew, "but one of submission rather than liberty. However, I
will see what I can do."
"You will see more than you think for," said Preciosa; "and may God have
you in his keeping, and lead you to happiness, as your goodly presence
deserves."
These farewell words filled Andrew with delight; the gitanas went away
no less gratified, and shared the doubloon between them, the old woman
as usual taking a part and a half, both by reason of her seniority, as
because she was the compass by which they steered their course on the
wide sea of their dances, pleasantry, and tricks.