Unworthily your early bloom!
To my soft vows your ear incline,
Nor frown, but be for ever mine!
His gladsome torch let Hymen light,
And let the god our hearts unite!
This day would then before its end,
See me your husband, lover, friend.
The last line was immediately followed by the flight of two brick-bats,
which fell close to the singer's feet; but had they come in contact with
his head, they would certainly have knocked all the music and poetry out
of it. The poor frightened musician took to his heels with such speed
that a greyhound could not have caught him. Unhappy fate of
night-birds, to be always subject to such showers! All who had heard
the voice of the fugitive admired it, but most of all, Tomas Pedro, only
he would rather the words had not been addressed to Costanza, although
she had not heard one of them. The only person who found fault with the
romance was a muleteer, nicknamed Barrabas. As soon as this man saw the
singer run off, he bawled after him; "There you go, you Judas of a
troubadour! May the fleas eat your eyes out! Who the devil taught you to
sing to a scullery-maid about celestial realms, and spheres, and
ocean-beds, and to call her stars and suns and all the rest of it? If
you had told her she was as straight as asparagus, as white as milk, as
modest as a lay-brother in his novitiate, more full of humours and
unmanageable than a hired mule, and harder than a lump of dry mortar,
why then she would have understood you and been pleased; but your fine
words are fitter for a scholar than for a scullery-maid. Truly, there
are poets in the world who write songs that the devil himself could not
understand; for my part, at least, Barrabas though I am, I cannot make
head or tail of what this fellow has been singing. What did he suppose
Costanza could make of them? But she knows better than to listen to such
stuff, for she is snug in bed, and cares no more for all these
caterwaulers than she does for Prester John. This fellow at least, is
not one of the singers belonging to the corregidor's son, for they are
out and out good ones, and a body can generally understand them; but, by
the Lord, this fellow sets me mad."
The bystanders coincided in opinion with Barrabas, and thought his
criticism very judicious. Everybody now went to bed, but no sooner was
the house all still, than Lope heard some one calling very softly at his
bed-room door. "Who's there?" said he. "It is we," whispered a voice,
"Argüello and the Gallegan. Open the door and let us in, for we are
dying of cold."
"Dying of cold indeed," said Lope, "and we are in the middle of the dog
days."
"Oh, leave off now, friend Lope," said the Gallegan; "get up and open
the door; for here we are as fine as archduchesses."
"Archduchesses, and at this hour? I don't believe a word of it, but
rather think you must be witches or something worse. Get out of that
this moment, or, by all that's damnable, if you make me get up I'll
leather you with my belt till your hinder parts are as red as poppies."
Finding that he answered them so roughly, and in a manner so contrary to
their expectations, the two disappointed damsels returned sadly to their
beds; but before they left the door, Argüello put her lips to the
key-hole, and hissed through it, "Honey was not made for the mouth of
the ass;" and with that, as if she had said something very bitter
indeed, and taken adequate revenge on the scorner, she went off to her
cheerless bed.
"Look you, Tomas," said Lope to his companion, as soon as they were
gone, "set me to fight two giants, or to break the jaws of half a dozen,
or a whole dozen of lions, if it be requisite for your service, and I
shall do it as readily as I would drink a glass of wine; but that you
should put me under the necessity of encountering Argüello, this is what
I would never submit to, no, not if I were to be flayed alive. Only
think, what damsels of Denmark[81] fate has thrown upon us this night.
Well, patience! To-morrow will come, thank God, and then we shall see."
[81] See the romance of Amadis of Gaul.
"I have already told you, friend," replied Tomas, "that you may do as
you please--either go on your pilgrimage, or buy an ass and turn
water-carrier as you proposed."
"I stick to the water-carrying business," said Lope. "My mind is made up
not to quit you at present."
They then went to sleep till daylight, when they rose; Tomas Pedro went
to give out oats, and Lope set off to the cattle-market to buy an ass.
Now it happened that Tomas had spent his leisure on holidays in
composing some amorous verses, and had jotted them down in the book in
which he kept the account of the oats, intending to copy them out
fairly, and then blot them out of the book, or tear out the page. But,
before he had done so, he happened to go out one day and leave the book
on the top of the oat-bin. His master found it there, and looking into
it to see how the account of the oats stood, he lighted upon the verses.
Surprised and annoyed, he went off with them to his wife, but before he
read them to her, he called Costanza into the room, and peremptorily
commanded her to declare whether Tomas Pedro, the hostler, had over made
love to her, or addressed any improper language to her, or any that
gave token of his being partial to her. Costanza vowed that Tomas had
never yet spoken to her in any such way, nor ever given her reason to
suppose that he had any bad thoughts towards her.
Her master and mistress believed her, because they had always found her
to speak the truth. Having dismissed her, the host turned to his wife
and said, "I know not what to say of the matter. You must know, señora,
that Tomas has written in this book, in which he keeps the account of
the oats, verses that give me an ugly suspicion that he is in love with
Costanza."
"Let me see the verses," said the wife, "and I'll tell you what we are
to conclude."
"Oh, of course; as you are a poet you will at once see into his
thoughts."
"I am not a poet, but you well know that I am a woman of understanding,
and that I can say the four prayers in Latin."
"You would do better to say them in plain Spanish; you know your uncle
the priest has told you that you make no end of blunders when you patter
your Latin, and that what you say is good for nothing."
"That was an arrow from his niece's quiver. She is jealous of seeing me
take the Latin hours in hand, and make my way through them as easily as
through a vineyard after the vintage."
"Well, have it your own way. Listen now, here are the verses;" and he
read some impassioned lines addressed to Costanza.
"Is there any more?" said the landlady.
"No. But what do you think of these verses?"
"In the first place, we must make sure that they are by Tomas."
"Of that there can be no manner of doubt, for the handwriting is most
unquestionably the same as that in which the account of the oats is
kept."
"Look ye, husband, it appears to me that although Costanza is named in
the verses, whence it may be supposed that they were made for her, we
ought not for that reason to set the fact down for certain, just as if
we had seen them written, for there are other Costanzas in the world
besides ours. But even supposing they were meant for her, there is not a
word in them that could do her discredit. Let us be on the watch, and
look sharply after the girl; for if he is in love with her, we may be
sure he will make more verses, and try to give them to her."
"Would it not be better to get rid of all this bother by turning him out
of doors?"
"That is for you to do if you think proper. But really, by your own
account, the lad does his work so well that it would go against one's
conscience to turn him off upon such slight grounds."
"Very well; let us be on the watch as you say, and time will tell us
what we have to do." Here the conversation ended, and the landlord
carried the book back to the place where he had found it.
Tomas returned in great anxiety to look for his book, found it, and that
it might not occasion him another fright, he immediately copied out the
verses, effaced the original, and made up his mind to hazard a
declaration to Costanza upon the first opportunity that should present
itself. Her extreme reserve, however, was such that there seemed little
likelihood of his finding such an opportunity; besides, the great
concourse of people in the house made it almost impossible that he
should have any private conversation with her,--to the despair of her
unfortunate lover. That day, however, it chanced that Costanza appeared
with one cheek muffled, and told some one who asked her the reason, that
she was suffering from a violent face ache. Tomas, whose wits were
sharpened by his passion, instantly saw how he might avail himself of
that circumstance. "Señora Costanza," he said, "I will give you a prayer
in writing, which you have only to recite once or twice, and it will
take away your pain forthwith."
"Give it me, if you please," said Costanza, "and I will recite it; for I
know how to read."
"It must be on condition, however," said Tomas, "that you do not show it
to anybody; for I value it highly, and I should not wish it to lose its
charm by being made known to many."
"I promise you that no person shall see it; but let me have it at once,
for I can hardly bear this pain."
"I will write it out from memory, and bring it you immediately."
This was the very first conversation that had ever taken place between
Tomas and Costanza during all the time he had been in the house, which
was nearly a month. Tomas withdrew, wrote out the prayer, and found
means to deliver it, unseen by any one else, into Costanza's hand; and
she, with great eagerness, and no less devotion, went with it into a
room, where she shut herself up alone. Then, opening the paper, she read
as follows:--
"Lady of my soul, I am a gentleman of Burgos; and if I survive my
father, I shall inherit a property of six thousand ducats yearly income.
Upon the fame of your beauty, which spreads far and wide, I left my
native place, changed my dress, and came in the garb in which you see
me, to serve your master. If you would consent to be mine in the way
most accordant with your virtue, put me to any proof you please, to
convince you of my truth and sincerity; and when you have fully
satisfied yourself in this respect, I will, if you consent, become your
husband, and the happiest of men. For the present, I only entreat you
not to turn such loving and guileless feelings as mine into the street;
for if your master, who has no conception of them, should come to know
my aspirations, he would condemn me to exile from your presence, and
that would be the same thing as sentencing me to death. Suffer me,
señora, to see you until you believe me, considering that he does not
deserve the rigorous punishment of being deprived of the sight of you,
whose only fault has been that he adores you. You can reply to me with
your eyes, unperceived by any of the numbers who are always gazing upon
you; for your eyes are such that their anger kills, but their compassion
gives new life."
When Tomas saw that Costanza had gone away to read his letter, he
remained with a palpitating heart, fearing and hoping either his
death-doom, or the one look that should bid him live. Presently Costanza
returned, looking so beautiful in spite of her muffling, that if any
extraneous cause could have heightened her loveliness, it might be
supposed that her surprise at finding the contents of the paper so
widely different from what she had expected, had produced that effect.
In her hand she held the paper torn into small pieces, and returning,
the fragments to Tomas, whose legs could hardly bear him up, "Brother
Tomas," she said, "this prayer of yours seems to me to savour more of
witchcraft and delusion than of piety, therefore I do not choose to put
faith in it or to use it, and I have torn it up that it may not be seen
by any one more credulous than myself. Learn other prayers, for it is
impossible that this one can ever do you any good."
So saying, she returned to her mistress's room, leaving Tomas sorely
distressed, but somewhat comforted at finding that his secret remained
safe confined to Costanza's bosom; for as she had not divulged it to her
master, he reckoned that at least he was in no danger of being turned
out of doors. He considered also, that in having taken the first step,
he had overcome mountains of difficulties, for in great and doubtful
enterprises the chief difficulty is always in the beginning.
Whilst these things were happening in the posada, Asturiano was going
about the market in search of an ass. He examined a great many, but did
not find one to his mind; though a gipsy tried hard to force upon him
one that moved briskly enough, but more from the effects of some
quicksilver which the vendor had put into the animal's ears, than from
its natural spirit and nimbleness. But though the pace was good enough,
Lope was not satisfied with the size, for he wanted an ass big and
strong enough to carry himself and the water vessels, whether they were
full or empty. At last a young fellow came up, and whispered in his ear,
"If you want a beast of the right sort for a water-carrier's business, I
have one close by in a meadow; a bigger or a better you will not find in
Toledo. Take my advice, and never buy a gipsy's beast, for though they
may seem sound and good, they are all shams, and full of hidden defects.
If you want to buy the real thing, come along with me, and shut your
mouth."
Lope consented, and away went the pair shoulder to shoulder, till they
arrived at the King's Gardens, where they found several water-carriers
seated under the shade of a water wheel, whilst their asses were grazing
in an adjoining meadow. The vendor pointed out his ass, which took
Lope's fancy immediately, and was praised by all present, as a very
strong animal, a good goer, and a capital feeder. The bargain was soon
struck, and Lope gave sixteen ducats for the ass, with all its
accoutrements. The bystanders congratulated him on his purchase, and on
his entrance into the business, assuring him that he had bought an
exceedingly lucky ass, for the man who had sold him had, in less than a
year, without over-working himself, made enough to buy two suits of
clothes, over and above his own keep, and that of the ass, and the
sixteen ducats, with which he intended to return to his native place,
where a marriage had been arranged with a half kinswoman of his. Besides
the water-carriers who assisted at the sale of the ass, there was a
group of four stretched on the ground, and playing at primera, the earth
serving them for a table, and their cloaks for a table cloth. Lope went
up to watch their game, and saw that they played more like archdeacons
than like water-carriers, each of them having before him a pile of more
than a hundred reals in cuartos and in silver. Presently two of the
players, having lost all they had, got up; whereupon the seller of the
ass said, that, if there was a fourth hand, he would play, but he did
not like a three-handed game.
Lope, who never liked to spoil sport, said that he would make a fourth.
They sat down at once, and went at it so roundly that, in a few moments,
Lope lost six crowns which he had about him, and finding himself without
coin, said if they liked to play for the ass he would stake him. The
proposal was agreed to, and he staked one quarter of the ass, saying
they should play for him, quarter by quarter. His luck was so bad, that
in four consecutive games he lost the four quarters of his ass, and they
were won by the very man who had sold him. The winner got up to take
possession, but Lope stopped him, observing that he had only played for
and lost the four quarters of his ass, which the winner was welcome to
take, but he must leave him the tail. This queer demand made all present
shout with laughter; and some of them, who were knowing in the law, were
of opinion that his claim was unreasonable, for when a sheep or any
other beast is sold, the tail is never separated from the carcass, but
goes as a matter of course with one of the hind quarters. To this Lope
replied that in Barbary they always reckon five quarters to a sheep, the
tail making the fifth, and being reckoned as valuable as any of the
other quarters. He admitted that when a beast was sold alive, and not
quartered, that the tail was included in the sale; but this was not to
the point in question, for he had not sold his ass, but played it away,
and it had never been his intention to stake the tail; therefore he
required them forthwith to give him up the same, with everything thereto
annexed, or pertaining, that is to say, the whole series of spinal
bones, from the back of the skull to where they ended in the tail, and
to the tips of the lowest hairs thereof.
"Well," said one, "suppose it be as you say, and that your claim is
allowed; leave the tail sticking to the rest of the ass, and hold on by
it."
"No," said Lope, "give me up the tail, or all the water-carriers in the
world shall never make me give up the ass. Don't imagine because there
are so many of you, that I will let you put any cheating tricks on me,
for I am a man who can stand up to another man, and put two handbreadths
of cold steel into his guts without his being able to tell how he came
by them. Moreover, I won't be paid in money for the tail at so much a
pound, but I will have it in substance, and cut off from the ass, as I
have said."
The winner of the four quarters and the rest of the company began to
think that it would not be advisable to resort to force in this
business, for Lope seemed to them to be a man of such mettle, that he
would not be vanquished without some trouble. Nor were they mistaken;
for, as became a man who had spent three seasons at the tunny fisheries,
where all sorts of rows and brawls are familiar things, he rattled out a
few of the most out of the way oaths in vogue there, threw his cap into
the air, whipped out a knife from beneath his cloak, and put himself
into such a posture as struck the whole company with awe and respect. At
last, one of them, who seemed the most rational, induced the rest to
agree that Lope should be allowed to stake the tail against a quarter of
the ass at a game of _quinola_. So said, so done. Lope won the first
game; the loser was piqued and staked another quarter, which went the
way of the first; and in two more games the whole ass was gone. He then
proposed to play for money: Lope was unwilling, but was so importuned on
all hands, that at last he consented; and such was his run of luck that
he left his opponent without a maravedi. So intense was the loser's
vexation, that he rolled and writhed upon the ground and knocked his
head against it. Lope, however, like a good-natured, liberal gentleman,
raised him up, returned all the money he had won, including the sixteen
ducats the price of the ass, and even divided what he had left among the
bystanders. Great was the surprise of them all at this extraordinary
liberality; and had they lived in the time of the great Tamerlane, they
would have made him king of the water-carriers.
Accompanied by a great retinue, Lope returned to the city, where he
related his adventure to Tomas, who in turn recounted to him his own
partial success. There was no tavern, or eating house, or rogues'
gathering, in which the play for the ass was not known, the dispute
about the tail, and the high spirit and liberality of the Asturian; but
as the mob are for the most part unjust, and more prone to evil than to
good, they thought nothing of the generosity and high mettle of the
great Lope, but only of the tail; and he had scarcely been two days
carrying water about the city, before he found himself pointed at by
people who cried, "There goes the man of the tail!" The boys caught up
the cry, and no sooner had Lope shown himself in any street, than it
rang from one end to the other with shouts of "Asturiano, give up the
tail! Give up the tail, Asturiano!" At first Lope said not a word,
thinking that his silence would tire out his persecutors; but in this he
was mistaken, for the more he held his tongue the more the boys wagged
theirs, till at last he lost patience, and getting off his ass began to
drub the boys; but this was only cutting off the heads of Hydra, and for
every one he laid low by thrashing some boy, there sprang up on the
instant, not seven but seven hundred more, that began to pester him more
and more for the tail. At last he found it expedient to retire to the
lodgings he had taken apart from his companion in order to avoid
Argüello, and to keep close there until the influence of the malignant
planet which then ruled the hours should have passed away, and the boys
should have forgotten to ask him for the tail. For two days he never
left the house except by night to go and see Tomas, and ask him how he
got on. Tomas told him that since he had given the paper to Costanza he
had never been able to speak a single word to her, and that she seemed
to be more reserved than ever. Once he had found as he thought an
opportunity to accost her, but before he could get out a word, she
stopped him, saying, "Tomas, I am in no pain now, and therefore have no
need of your words or of your prayers. Be content that I do not accuse
you to the Inquisition, and give yourself no further trouble." But she
made this declaration without any expression of anger in her
countenance. Lope then related how the boys annoyed him, calling after
him for the tail, and Tomas advised him not to go abroad, at least with
his ass, or if he did that he should choose only the least frequented
streets. If that was not enough, he had an unfailing remedy left, which
was to get rid of his business and with it of the uncivil demand to
which it subjected him. Lope asked him had the Gallegan come again to
his room. He said she had not, but that she persisted in trying to
ingratiate herself with him by means of dainties which she purloined out
of what she cooked for the guests. After this conversation Lope went
back to his lodgings, intending not to leave them again for another six
days, at least in company with his ass.
It might be about eleven at night, when the corregidor most unexpectedly
entered the Posado del Sevillano, at the head of a formidable posse. The
host and even the guests were startled and agitated by his visit; for as
comets, when they appear, always excite fears of disaster, just so the
ministers of justice, when they suddenly enter a house, strike even
guiltless consciences with alarm. The unwelcome visitor walked into a
room, and called for the master of the house, who came tremblingly to
know what might be the señor corregidor's pleasure. "Are you the
landlord?" said the magistrate with great gravity. "Yes, señor, and your
worship's humble servant to command," was the reply. The corregidor then
ordered that every one else should quit the room, and leave him alone
with the landlord. This being done, he resumed his questions.
"What servants have you in your inn, landlord?"
"Señor, I have two Gallegan wenches, a housekeeper, and a young man who
gives out the oats and straw, and keeps the reckoning."
"No more?"
"No, señor."
"Then tell me, landlord, what is become of a girl who is said to be a
servant in this house, and so beautiful that she is known all over this
city as the illustrious scullery-maid? It has even reached my ears that
my son Don Perequito is in love with her, and that not a night passes in
which he does not serenade her."
"Señor, it is true that this illustrious scullery-maid, as they call
her, is in my house, but she neither is my servant, nor ceases to be
so."
"I do not understand you. What do you mean by saying that she is and is
not your servant?"
"It is the real truth, and if your worship will allow me, I will explain
the matter to you, and tell you what I have never told to any one."
"Before I hear what you have to say, I must first see this
scullery-maid."
Upon this the landlord went to the door and called to his wife to send
in Costanza, When the landlady heard that, she was in great dismay, and
began to wring her hands, saying, "Lord, have mercy on me! What can the
corregidor want with Costanza, and alone! Some terrible calamity must
surely have happened, for this girl's beauty bewitches the men."