he was with whom she had been conversing all night; but when she beheld
him, she would have been glad that it had never dawned, but that her
eyes had remained in perpetual darkness, for the cavalier who stood
before her was her brother! At sight of him she was stupefied with
emotion, her face was deadly pale, and she could not utter a word. At
last, rallying her spirits, she drew her dagger, and presenting the
handle to her brother, fell at his feet, and gasped out, "Take it, dear
señor and brother, punish the fault I have committed, and satisfy your
resentment, for my offence deserves no mercy, and I do not desire that
my repentance should be accepted as an atonement. The only thing I
entreat is that you will deprive me of life, but not of my honour; for
though I have placed it in manifest danger by absenting myself from the
house of my parents, yet its semblance may be preserved before the world
if my death be secret."
Her brother regarded her fixedly, and although her wantonness excited
him to vengeance, he could not withstand this affecting appeal. With a
placable countenance he raised her from the ground, and consoled her as
well as he could, telling her, among other things, that as he knew of no
punishment adequate to the magnitude of her folly, he would suspend the
consideration of that matter for the present; and as he thought that
fortune had not yet made all remedy impossible, he thought it bettor to
seek one than at once to take vengeance on her for her levity. These
words restored Teodosia to life; the colour returned to her cheeks, and
her despair gave way to revived hope. Don Rafael (that was the brother's
name) would speak no more on the subject, but bade her change her name
from Teodosia to Teodoro, and decided that they should both proceed at
once to Salamanca in quest of Marco Antonio, though he hardly expected
to find him there; for as they were intimate friends, they would have
met had he been at the university, unless indeed Marco Antonio might
have shunned him from a consciousness of the wrong he had done him. The
new Teodoro acquiesced in everything proposed by her brother; and the
innkeeper coming in, they ordered breakfast, intending to depart
immediately.
Before all was ready another traveller arrived. This was a gentleman who
was known to Don Rafael and Teodoro, and the latter, to avoid being
seen by him, remained in the chamber. Don Rafael, having embraced the
newcomer, asked him what news he brought. His friend replied that he had
just come from the port of Santa Maria, where he had left four galleys
bound for Naples, and that he had seen Marco Antonio Adorno, the son of
Don Leonardo Adorno, on board one of them. This intelligence rejoiced
Don Rafael, to whom it appeared that since he had so unexpectedly
learned what it was of such importance for him to know, he might regard
this an omen of his future success. He asked his friend, who knew his
father well, to exchange the hired mule he rode for his father's nag,
giving him to understand, not that he was coming from Salamanca, but
that he was going thither, and that he was unwilling to take so good an
animal on so long a journey. The other obligingly consented, and
promised to deliver the nag to its owner. Don Rafael and he breakfasted
together, and Teodoro alone; and finally the friend pursued his journey
to Cazallo, where he had an estate, whilst Don Rafael excused himself
from accompanying him by saying that he had to return that day to
Seville.
As soon as the friend was gone, and the reckoning paid, Don Rafael and
Teodoro mounted and bade adieu to the people of the inn, leaving them
all in admiration of the comeliness of the pair. Don Rafael told his
sister what news he had received of Marco Antonio, and that he proposed
they should make all haste to reach Barcelona; for vessels on their way
to or fro between Italy and Spain usually put in at that port; and if
Marco Antonio's ship had not yet arrived there, they would wait for it,
and be sure of seeing him. His sister said he should do as he thought
best, for his will was hers. Don Rafael then told the muleteer who
accompanied him to have patience, for he intended to go to Barcelona,
but would pay him accordingly. The muleteer, who was one of the merriest
fellows of his trade, and who knew Don Rafael's liberality, declared
that he was willing to go with him to the end of the world.
Don Rafael asked his sister what money she had. She told him she had not
counted it; all she knew was that she had put her hand seven or eight
times into her father's strong box, and had taken it out full of gold
crowns. From this Don Rafael calculated that she might have something
about five hundred crowns, which, with two hundred of his own, and a
gold chain he wore, seemed to him no bad provision for the journey; the
more so, as he felt confident of meeting Marco Antonio in Barcelona.
They pursued their journey I rapidly without accident or impediment
until they arrived within two leagues of a town called Igualada, which
is nine leagues from Barcelona, and there they learned that a cavalier
who was going as ambassador to Rome, was waiting at Barcelona for the
galleys, which had not yet arrived. Greatly cheered by this news, they
pushed on until they came to the verge of a small wood, from which they
saw a man running, and looking back over his shoulder with every
appearance of terror. "What is the matter with you, good man?" said Don
Rafael, going up to him. "What has happened to you, that you seem so
frightened and run so fast?"
"Have I not good cause to be frightened and to run fast," said the man,
"since I have escaped by a miracle from a gang of robbers in that wood?"
"Malediction! Lord save us!" exclaimed the muleteer. "Robbers at this
hour! By my halidom, they'll leave us as bare as we were born."
"Don't make yourself uneasy, brother," replied the man from the wood,
"for the robbers have by this time gone away, after leaving more than
thirty passengers stripped to their shirts and tied to trees, with the
exception of one only, whom they have left to unbind the rest as soon as
they should have passed a little hill they pointed out to him."
"If that be so," said Calvete, the muleteer, "we may proceed without
fear, for where the robbers have made an attack, they do not show
themselves again for some days. I say this with confidence, as a man who
has been twice in their hands, and knows all their ways."
This fact being confirmed by the stranger, Don Rafael resolved to go on.
They entered the wood, and had not advanced far, when they came upon the
persons who had been robbed, and who were more than forty in number. The
man who had been left free, had unbound some of them; but his work was
not yet complete, and several of them were still tied to the trees. They
presented a strange spectacle, some of them stripped naked, others
dressed in the tattered garments of the robbers; some weeping over their
disaster, some laughing at the strange figure the others made in their
robber's costume; one dolorously reciting the list of the things he had
lost, another declaring that the loss of a box of Agnus Dei he was
bringing home from Rome afflicted him more than all besides. In short,
the whole wood resounded with the moans and lamentations of the
despoiled wretches. The brother and sister beheld them with deep
compassion, and heartily thanked heaven for their own narrow escape from
so great a peril. But what affected Teodoro more than anything else was
the sight of a lad apparently about fifteen, tied to a tree, with no
covering on him but a shirt and a pair of linen drawers, but with a face
of such beauty that none could refrain from gazing on it. Teodoro
dismounted and unbound him, a favour which he acknowledged in very
courteous terms; and Teodoro, to make it the greater, begged Calvete to
lend the gentle youth his cloak, until he could buy him another at the
first town they came to. Calvete complied, and Teodoro threw the cloak
over his shoulders, asking him in Don Rafael's presence to what part of
the country he belonged, whence he was coming, and whither he was going.
The youth replied that he was from Andalusia, and he named as his
birthplace a town which was but two leagues distant from that of the
brother and sister. He said he was on his way from Seville to Italy, to
seek his fortune in arms like many another Spaniard; but that he had had
the misfortune to fall in with a gang of thieves, who had taken from him
a considerable sum of money and clothes, which he could not replace for
three hundred crowns. Nevertheless he intended to pursue his journey,
for he did not come of a race which was used to let the ardour of its
zeal evaporate at the first check.
The manner in which the youth expressed himself, the fact that he was
from their own neighbourhood, and above all, the letter of
recommendation he carried in his face, inspired the brother and sister
with a desire to befriend him as much as they could. After they had
distributed some money among such of the rest as seemed in most need of
it, especially among monks and priests, of whom there were eight, they
made this youth mount Calvete's mule, and went on without more delay to
Igualada. There they were informed that the galleys had arrived the day
before at Barcelona, whence they would sail in two days, unless the
insecurity of the roadstead compelled them to make an earlier departure.
On account of this news, they rose next morning before the sun, although
they had not slept all night in consequence of a circumstance which had
occurred at supper, and which had more surprised and interested the
brother and sister than they were themselves aware. As they sat at
table, and the youth with them whom they had taken under their
protection, Teodoro fixed her eyes intently on his face, and
scrutinising his features somewhat curiously, perceived that his ears
were bored. From this and from a certain bashfulness that appeared in
his looks, she suspected that the supposed youth was a woman, and she
longed for supper to be over that she might verify her suspicion.
Meanwhile Don Rafael asked him whose son he was, for he knew all the
principal people in the town he had named as his birth place. The youth
said he was the son of Don Enrique de Cardenas. Don Rafael replied that
he was well acquainted with Don Enrique, and knew for certain that he
had no son; but that if he had given that answer because he did not
choose to make known his family, it was of no consequence, and he should
not be questioned again on that subject.
"It is true," said the youth, "that Don Enrique has no children, but his
brother Don Sancho has."
"He has no son either," replied Don Rafael, "but an only daughter, who,
by the bye, they say is one of the handsomest damsels in Andalusia; but
this I know only by report; for though I have been often in her town I
have never seen her."
"It is quite true, as you say, señor, that Don Sancho has only a
daughter, but not one so handsome as fame reports; and if I said that I
was the son of Don Enrique it was only to give myself some importance in
your eyes; for in fact, I am only the son of Don Sancho's steward, who
has been many years in his service, and I was born in his house. Having
displeased my father, I carried off a good sum of money from him, and
resolved to go to Italy, as I have told you, and follow the career of
arms, by which men even of obscure birth have been known to make
themselves illustrious."
Teodoro, who listened attentively to all this conversation, was more and
more confirmed in her suspicion, both by the manner and the substance
of what the youth said. After the cloth was removed, and while Don
Rafael was preparing for bed, she made known to him her surmise, and
then, with his permission, took the youth aside, and, going out with him
upon a balcony which looked on the street, addressed him thus:--
"Don Francisco," for that was the name he had given himself, "I would
fain have done you so much service that you could not help granting me
anything that I should ask of you; but the short time we have known you
has not permitted this. Hereafter perhaps you may know how far I deserve
that you should comply with my desires; but if you do not choose to
satisfy that which I am now about to express, I will not the less
continue to be your faithful servant. Furthermore, before I prefer my
present request, I would impress upon you that although my age does
exceed yours, I have more experience of the world than is usual at my
years, as you will admit when I tell you that it has led me to suspect
that you are not a man, as your garb imports, but a woman, and one as
well-born as your beauty proclaims, and perhaps as unfortunate as your
disguise implies, for such transformations are never made willingly, or
except under the pressure of some painful necessity. If what I suspect
is the case, tell me so, and I swear to you on the faith of a cavalier
to aid and serve you in every way I can. That you are a woman you cannot
make me doubt, for the holes in your ears make that fact very clear. It
was thoughtless of you not to close them with a little flesh-coloured
wax, for somebody else as inquisitive as myself, and not so fit to be
trusted with a secret, might discover by means of them what you have so
ill concealed. Believe me, you need not hesitate to tell me who you are,
in full reliance on my inviolable secrecy."
The youth had listened with great attention to all Teodoro said, and,
before answering her a word, he seized her hands, carried them by force
to his lips, kissed them with great fervour, and even bedewed them
copiously with tears. Teodoro could not help sympathising with the acute
feelings of the youth, and shedding tears also. Although, when she had
with difficulty withdrawn her hands from the youth's lips, he replied
with a deep-drawn sigh, "I will not, and cannot deny, señora, that your
suspicion is true; I am a woman, and the most unfortunate of my sex;
and since the acts of kindness you have conferred upon me, and the
offers you make me, oblige me to obey all your commands, listen and I
will tell you who I am, if indeed it will not weary you to hear the tale
of another's misfortunes."
"May I never know aught else myself," replied Teodoro, "if I shall not
feel a pleasure in hearing of those misfortunes equal to the pain it
will give me to know that they are yours, and that will be such as if
they were my own." And again she embraced and encouraged the seeming
youth, who, somewhat more tranquilised, continued thus:--
"I have spoken the truth with regard to my native place, but not with
regard to my parents; for Don Enrique is not my father but my uncle, and
his brother Don Sancho is my father. I am that unhappy daughter of his
of whom your brother says that she is celebrated for her beauty, but how
mistakenly you now perceive. My name is Leocadia; the occasion of my
disguise you shall now hear.
"Two leagues from my native town there is another, one of the wealthiest
and noblest of Andalusia, where lives a cavalier of quality, who derives
his origin from the noble and ancient Adornos of Genoa. He has a son,
who, unless fame exaggerates his praises as it does mine, is one of the
most gallant gentlemen one would desire to see. Being so near a
neighbour of ours, and being like my father strongly addicted to the
chase, he often came on a visit of five or six days to our house, the
greater part of that time, much of the night even included, being spent
by my father and him in the field. From these visits of his, fortune, or
love, or my own imprudence, took occasion to bring me down to my present
state of degradation. Having observed, with more attention than became a
modest and well-behaved maiden, the graceful person and manners of our
visitor, and taking into consideration his distinguished lineage and the
great wealth of his parents, I thought that to obtain him for my husband
would be the highest felicity to which my wishes could aspire. With this
thought in my head I began to gaze at him most intently, and also, no
doubt, with too little caution, for he perceived it, and the traitor
needed no other hint to discover the secret of my bosom and rob me of my
peace. But why should I weary you by recapitulating every minute detail
of my unfortunate attachment? Let me say at once that he won so far
upon me by his ceaseless solicitations, having plighted his faith under
the most solemn and, as I thought, the most Christian vows that he would
become my husband, that I put myself wholly at his disposal.
Nevertheless, not being quite satisfied with his vows alone, and in
order that the wind might not bear them away, I made him commit them to
writing, and give them to me in a paper signed with his own hand, and
drawn up in terms so strong and unequivocal as to remove all my
mistrust. Once in possession of this paper, I arranged that he should
come to me one night, climb the garden-wall, and enter my chamber, where
he might securely pluck the fruit destined for him alone. The night so
longed for by me at last arrived--"
Up to this point Teodoro had listened with rapt attention, especially
since she had heard the name of Adorno, but now she could contain
herself no longer. "Well," she cried, suddenly interrupting the speaker,
"and then, what did he do? Did he keep the assignation? Were you happy
in his arms? Did he confirm his written pledge anew? Was he content when
he had obtained from you what you say was his? Did your father know it?
What was the end of this good and wise beginning?"
"The end was to bring me to what you see, for he never came."
Teodoro breathed again at these words, and partly recovered her
self-possession, which had been almost destroyed by the frantic
influence of jealousy. Even yet she was not so free from it but that she
trembled inwardly as Leocadia continued her story.
"Not only did he fail to keep the assignation, but a week after I
learned for certain that he had disappeared from home, and carried off
from the house of her parents, persons of distinction in his own
neighbourhood, a very beautiful and accomplished young lady named
Teodosia. I was nearly mad with jealousy and mortification. I pictured
Teodosia to myself in imagination, more beautiful than the sun, more
perfect than perfection itself, and above all, more blissful than I was
miserable. I read the written engagement over and over again; it was as
binding as any form of words could be; but though my hopes would fain
have clung to it as something sacred and inviolable, they all fell to
the ground when I remembered in what company Marco Antonio had departed.
I beat my face, tore my hair, and cursed my fate; but what was most
irksome to me was that I could not practise these self-inflictions at
all hours in consequence of my father's presence. In fine, that I might
be free to indulge my woe without impediment, I resolved to quit my
home. It would seem that the execution of a bad purpose never fails for
want of opportunity. I boldly purloined a suit of clothes belonging to
one of my father's pages, and from himself a considerable sum of money;
then leaving the house by night I travelled some leagues on foot, and
reached a town called Osuna, where I hired a car. Two days afterwards I
entered Seville, where I was quite safe from all pursuit.
"There I bought other clothes, and a mule, and set out with some
cavaliers who were travelling with all speed to Barcelona, that they
might be in time for some galleys that were on their way to Italy. I
continued my journey until yesterday, when the robbers took everything
from me, and among the rest, that precious thing which sustained my soul
and lightened my toils, the written engagement given me by Marco
Antonio. I had intended to carry it with me to Italy, find Marco Antonio
there, and present it to him as an evidence of his faithlessness and my
constancy, and constrain him to fulfil his promise. At the same time I
am conscious that he may readily deny the words written on this paper,
since he has made nought of the obligations that should have been
engraved on his soul; besides, it is plain that if he is accompanied by
the incomparable Teodosia he will not deign to look upon the unfortunate
Leocadia. But happen what may, I am resolved to die or present myself
before the pair, that the sight of me may trouble their joy. This
Teodosia, this enemy of my peace, shall not so cheaply enjoy what is
mine. I will seek her out, I will find her, and will take her life if I
can."
"But how is Teodosia in fault," said Teodoro, "if, as is very probably
the case, she too has been deluded by Marco Antonio, as you, señora,
have been?"
"How can that be so," returned Leocadia, "if he has her with him? Being
with the man she loves, what question can there be of delusion? They are
together, and therefore they are happy, and would be so, though they
were in the burning deserts of Lybia, or the dreary wastes of Scythia.
She is blest in his arms wherever she is, and therefore she shall pay
for all I shall suffer till I find her."
"It is very likely you are mistaken," said Teodoro; "I am very well
acquainted with this enemy of yours, as you call her, and I know her
prudence and modesty to be such, that she never would venture to quit
her father's house and go away with Marco Antonio. And even had she done
so, not knowing you, nor being aware of any claim you had on him, she
has not wronged you at all, and where there is no wrong, vengeance is
out of place."
"Tell me not of her modesty, señor; for I was as modest and as virtuous
as any maiden in the world, and yet I have done what I have told you.
That he has carried her off there is no doubt. I acknowledge, looking on
the matter dispassionately, that she has not wronged me; but the pangs
of jealousy which she occasions me make me abhor her. If a sword were
thrust through my vitals, should I not naturally strive to pluck it out
and break it to pieces?"
"Well, well, señora Leocadia, since the passion that sways you makes you
speak so wildly, I see it is not the fit time to offer you rational
advice. I shall therefore content myself with repeating that I am ready
and willing to render you every service in my power, and I know my
brother's generous nature so well, that I can boldly make you the same
promise on his part. We are going to Italy, and it rests only with
yourself to accompany us. One thing only I entreat, that you will allow
me to tell my brother what I know of your story, that he may treat you
with the attention and respect which is your due. I think you had better
continue to wear male attire, and if it is to be procured in this place,
I will take care that you shall be suitably equipped to morrow. For the
rest, trust to time, for it is a great provider of remedies even for the
most desperate cases."
Leocadia gratefully thanked the generous Teodoro, saying he might tell
his brother whatever he thought fit, and beseeching him not to forsake
her, since he saw to what dangers she was exposed, if she was known to
be a woman. Here the conversation ended, and they retired to rest,
Teodosia in her brother's room, and Leocadia in another next it. Don
Rafael was still awake, waiting for his sister to know what had passed
between her and the suspected woman; and before she lay down, he made
her relate the whole to him in detail. "Well, sister," he said when she
had finished, "if she is the person she declares herself to be, she
belongs to the best family in her native place, and is one of the
noblest ladies of Andalusia. Her father is well known to ours, and the
fame of her beauty perfectly corresponds with the evidence of our own
eyes. My opinion is, that we must proceed with caution, lest she come to
speak with Marco Antonio before us, for I feel some uneasiness about
that written engagement she speaks of, even though she has lost it. But
be of good cheer, sister, and go to rest, for all will come right at
last."