She called me a little rogue, gave me the kiss, and then told me, that a
cavalier would be under the window a little after vesper bell, and that
I must give him a billet, which she put into my hand. Of course, having
received my payment beforehand, I consented. At the time mentioned I
looked out of the gate, and perceiving a cavalier under the window, I
accosted him, "What ho, senhor, what is it you expect from a fair lady?"
"A billet, my little page," replied he.
"Then here you have it," replied I, pulling it out of my vest. He put a
doubloon in my hand, and immediately disappeared.
I liked the gold very much, but I preferred the other payment more. I
put the money into my pocket, and returned into the house. I had hardly
come into the hall, when Donna Teresa, the other young lady, accosted
me. "Pedro, I have been looking for you--can you keep a secret?"
"Yes, if I am paid for it," replied I, as before.
"And what must it be that will keep that little tongue of yours from
chattering?"
"From you," replied I, "it must be a kiss."
"Oh! you little manikin--I'll give you twenty;" and she did so, until
she almost took away my breath. "And now," said she, "there is a senhor
waiting below for a note, which you must take him." I took the note,
and when I came to the gate, found a cavalier there, as she had
mentioned. "Oh, senhor," said I, "what are you waiting for, is it a
billet-doux from a sweet lady?"
"It is, my pretty boy," answered he.
"Perhaps this will interest you," replied I, handing him the note. He
snatched it from me, and would have departed. "Senhor," said I, "I
cannot allow my mistress to be affronted. Her favours are beyond all
price, but still they are always coupled with gold. Since you are so
poor, and gold must pass, here is a piece for you," and I offered him
the doubloon which I had received from the other cavalier.
"You are a witty boy," replied he, "and have corrected my negligence,
for it was nothing more, I assure you. Add this to the other;"--and he
put a quarter-doubloon in my hand, and disappeared. I returned to the
house; and, as I had been some time away from my mistress, I went into
the saloon--where she was sitting alone.
"Pedro, come hither, child; you know how good I have been to you, and
how carefully I have brought you up. Now tell me, can you keep a
secret?"
"Yes, madam," replied I, "I can keep yours, for it is my duty."
"That's a good child. Well then, I have an idea that my two nieces are
followed by some of the gay cavaliers, who saw them at Madrid, and I
wish you to find out if it is true.--Do you understand?"
"Oh, yes, madam," replied I; "I do perfectly."
"Well then, do you watch,--and Pedro, here are two reals for you, to buy
sugar-plums."
Thus did I enter in one day into the real occupation of a page. I added
the two reals to the gold, and, as you may suppose, meant to serve as I
was paid. But, as I found out afterwards, I had made a terrible mistake
with the two billets-doux. That of Donna Emilia I had given to Don
Florez, who was Donna Teresa's admirer; that of Donna Teresa I had given
to Don Perez, who was the lover of Donna Emilia; but I had better
explain to you, before I go on, what did not come to my knowledge until
the _denouement_ took place. Don Perez, the lover of Emilia, was a
young man who was entitled to large property, at the death of an uncle,
to whom he was heir by entail. Don Florez, on the contrary, was in
possession of a splendid fortune, and able to choose for himself.
From fear of discovery, the notes were both in a disguised hand, and not
signed by the respective christian names of the ladies. Donna Emilia's
ran thus:--"I found your note in the spot agreed, but my aunt has taken
away the key of the shrubbery, and is I believe suspicious.--Why are you
so urgent?--I trust your affection, like mine, will but increase from
delay. It will be impossible to meet you to-night; but I have entered
the page in my service, and will write soon." That of Donna Teresa,
which I put in the hands of Don Perez, ran as follows:--"I can no longer
refuse your solicitations for an interview. My aunt has locked up the
shrubbery, but if you have courage enough to scale the garden wall, I
will meet you in the saloon which opens upon the garden; but not a word
must be said, as the servants are continually passing the door--neither
can we have a light--I must trust to your honour."
Don Perez was delighted at Donna Emilia's having at last yielded to his
intreaties for a meeting; and Don Florez, as much annoyed at the
reserved conduct of his mistress, went home accusing her of coquetry.
At the appointed hour, Don Perez met his supposed mistress in the
saloon. The two sisters were _confidantes_; and, as I was in their
secret, they made no scruple of talking before me. The next day, when
their aunt left the room, they began arguing upon the personal merits of
the respective cavaliers. After a good-humoured controversy, they
appealed to me.
"Come, Pedro," said Teresa, "you shall decide. Which do you think the
handsomest cavalier?"
"Why," answered I, "I think that your senhor is, for a fair man, the
handsomest I ever saw--but still the beautiful dark eyes of the Donna
Emilia's cavalier are equally prepossessing."
"Why, Pedro, you have mistaken the two," said Emilia, "it is Don Perez,
the fair one, who is my admirer, and the dark senhor is Don Florez, who
is in love with my sister." I perceived that I had made a mistake when
I delivered the notes, and Teresa coloured up. But I had sense enough
to answer:--"Very true, madam, you are right; I now recollect that I am
confounding the two."
Shortly afterwards the aunt came into the room, and Teresa quitted it,
beckoning me to follow her. As soon as I had joined her, she said,
"Now, Pedro, tell the truth: did you not make the mistake that you
stated, and deliver my note to the fair cavalier, Don Perez?"
I answered, "that I had, as I had already delivered Emilia's note to the
dark gentleman." Donna Teresa put her hands over her face, and wept
bitterly,--"Pedro, you must now keep this secret, for it is of the
greatest importance.--My God, what will become of me?" cried she; and
for some time she was in the greatest distress: at last she wiped her
eyes, and after much reflection, she took up paper and wrote a note.
"Pedro, take this note to the direction; recollect it is for the dark
cavalier that it is intended." Teresa had read the note of Emilia to
Don Perez, which had been received by Don Florez--in consequence her
present note ran thus:--"You may think me harsh for having refused to
see you last night, but I was afraid. Do not accuse me with trifling
with your feelings, I will meet you in the saloon that leads to the
garden, which was last night occupied; come at ten this evening."
I went out with the note and gave it into the hands of Don Florez. "My
dear boy, tell Donna Teresa I will not fail; I know now why she could
not receive me last night; I only hope I may be as fortunate as Don
Perez." He put a doubloon in my hand, and I went away. I had not
quitted the street when I met Don Perez.
"Ah! my little page, this is indeed lucky; just step to my rooms while I
write a note to Donna Emilia." I did so, and he gave me a
quarter-doubloon as before. "I thank you, senhor," replied I; "what
with the doubloons of Don Florez and your quarter-doubloons, I shall
soon be a rich man."
"How say you," replied he, "Don Florez give you doubloons--then he
spoils the market; but I must not allow him to pay you better than I do,
or I shall not be served so faithfully.--Here's a doubloon and a half,
which, with what you have already received, will make the accounts
square." I made my bow, and with many thanks withdrew.
Young as I was, I had an idea that something had occurred at the
mistaken meeting of last night, which seriously affected Donna Teresa.
As I was much more partial to her than to her sister, I resolved not to
deliver the note of Don Perez to Emilia, until I had consulted Donna
Teresa. On my return, I beckoned her into her chamber, and told her the
answer of Don Florez, with his observation, "that he hoped he should be
as fortunate as Don Perez was last night." She coloured with shame and
vexation; and I then told her how I had met Don Perez, and what had
passed. I then gave her the note, and asked whether I should deliver it
or not. She hastily tore it open--it ran as follows:--"How can I
sufficiently express my gratitude to my adored Emilia, for her kindness
to me last night? Tell me, dearest angel, when am I to have the
pleasure of meeting you again in the saloon? Till you once more grant
me the favour, life will be a blank."
"Pedro," said she, "you have indeed done me a service--you have been my
preserver. How can I ever repay you?"
"Give me a double allowance of kisses, this time," replied I.
"I will give you a thousand," answered she; and she kissed and blessed
me while tears ran down her cheeks: she then took some paper, and
imitating the hand-writing, wrote as follows:--"I must submit to your
wishes, Donna Emilia; and while your sister blesses Don Florez, must
yield to the severity of your disposition. Still I hope that you will
relent--I am very miserable; write to me, if you have any love still
remaining for your adorer.--Perez."
"Take this to Emilia, my sweet child.--What can I do to reward you?"
"Why you must take care of my money," said I, "for if my mistress finds
it out, I shall never be able to tell how I came by it." She smiled
mournfully as she received my doubloons, and locked them up in a
trinket-box. "I will add to your wealth, Pedro," said she.
"No," replied I, "only kisses from you." I told her why her aunt gave
me the two reals, and we separated. I delivered the note to Donna
Emilia, who in the afternoon put an answer into my hand; but I would not
act without Donna Teresa knowing what took place; and it occurred to me,
that it would be very possible to repair the mischief which my mistake
had occasioned. I therefore took the answers of Donna Emilia to her
lover to Donna Teresa, and told her what I thought. "My dear Pedro, you
are indeed a treasure to me," replied Teresa.
She opened Emilia's note, which ran as follows:--"You accuse me of
unkindness, which I do not deserve. Heaven knows my heart is but too
yielding. I will arrange a meeting as soon as I possibly can; but as I
before said, my aunt is suspicious, and I cannot make up my mind, like
Teresa, to run the risk of discovery."
Teresa tore up this note; and wrote as follows:--"If a woman has the
misfortune to yield too much to the solicitations of her lover, he
becomes arrogant, and claims as a right, what only can be received as a
favour. I consider that what passes in darkness should remain as secret
in the breast, and as silent in the tongue. I now tell you candidly,
that I shall consider it as an insult, if ever you refer to the meeting
of last night; and to punish you for your arrogant request of another,
shall treat you with the same reserve as before. Recollect that the
least intimation of it, however private we may be, will be the signal of
your dismissal. At the same time, expecting implicit obedience to this
command, I shall punish you no further, if you offend not again. When I
feel inclined to see you, I will let you know. Till then, Yours,
etcetera."
I took this note to Don Perez, whom I found at his lodgings drinking in
company with Don Florez, for they had no secrets from each other. Perez
opened the note, and appeared a little astonished. "Read this, Florez,"
said he, "and tell me if woman is not a riddle."
"Well, now I like her spirit," replied Florez, "some women would have
been dying with apprehension at your leaving them: she, on the contrary,
considers that you are under greater obligations than before; and
assumes her dominion over you. I recommend you to comply with her
injunctions, if you wish to retain her love."
"I don't know but what you are right, Florez; and as we are lords and
masters after marriage, it is but fair, that they should hold their
uninterrupted sway before. I feel more attached to her than ever; and
if she chooses to play the tyrant, why she shall. It shows her good
sense; for keeping us off, is the only way to induce us to go on."
I returned home, delivering a note from Don Perez to Emilia, stating his
intention to abide by her wishes, and stated to Donna Teresa all that
had passed between the cavaliers.
"Thanks to your prudence and sagacity, my dear little Pedro, all as yet
is well; but it may yet be discovered; for I will now confide to you,
that the tenderness last night, intended for Don Florez, was by your
mistake, and the darkness and silence prescribed at the meeting,
lavished upon my sister's admirer. But all will I trust be well, and I
shall not suffer for an unintentional misfortune."
That evening Don Florez was received by Teresa in the saloon; and the
next morning, I was sitting as usual by my mistress, when she asked,
"Well, Pedro, have you discovered any thing?"
"Yes, madam," replied I.
"And what is it, child?"
"Why, madam, a gentleman asked me to give a letter, but I would not."
"Who was it for, child?"
"I don't know, madam, for I refused to take it in my hand."
"Well, Pedro, you were right; the next time he offers you a letter take
it, and bring it to me."
"I will, madam," said I. "Here are two reals for you, child--have you
spent the last I gave you?"
I left the room--when Donna Emilia met me outside, and put a note into
my hand for Don Perez. I first took it to my friend Teresa, who opened
it:--"At last my affection has borne down my resolution, and I consent
to see you. There is no other way but in the saloon. Be careful not to
offend me, or it will be for the last time."
"This may go, Pedro," said Teresa, "and you may call at Don Florez's
lodgings as you pass by."
I delivered the note to Don Perez, and before he had finished it, Don
Florez entered the room.--"Congratulate me, my dear friend," said he.
"I was received as kindly as I could wish."
"And my fair one has not taken long to relent," answered Perez, "for I
have an appointment with her this evening. Pedro, tell your mistress,
that I do not write, but that I bless her for her kindness, and shall
not fail to meet her.--Do you understand? Well, what are you waiting
for? Oh! you little rogue, I understand," and he threw me a
doubloon.--"Florez, you give that boy too much money, and I am obliged
to do the same." Florez laughed, and I again took my departure.
Thus did I continue in my vocation for some time, when the old lady fell
sick and died. She divided her fortune between her two nieces, and as
they were now independent, they married their respective lovers; but the
old lady forgot to mention me in her will, and I should have been turned
adrift on the world had it not been for Donna Teresa, who immediately
appointed me as her own attendant. I was as happy as before, although
no more doubloons fell into my hands, after the marriages took place.
It appears that Don Perez was so much afraid of offending Donna Emilia,
that he never ventured to speak of the meeting, which he supposed he had
with her in the saloon, until after marriage then, feeling himself quite
at liberty, he had laughed at her on the subject. Donna Emilia was all
astonishment, declared most positively that it had not taken place; and
although he at first ridiculed the idea of her denial, yet recollecting
that he still had her notes in his possession, he brought them out, and
showed her the one in which she had prohibited him from speaking on the
subject. Donna Emilia protested that it was not her writing, and was
confounded at the apparent mystery. She stated that Teresa had agreed
to meet Don Florez in the saloon that night.
"On the contrary," replied Don Perez, "he received a letter from Donna
Teresa, refusing him a meeting, at the same time that I received this
from you, giving me the assignation."
Donna Emilia burst into tears. "I see how it is," replied she, "the
page by mistake has given the note which I wrote you to Don Florez, and
Teresa's note fell into your hands. You have taken an unworthy
advantage of the circumstance, and have met my sister. Never make me
believe, Don Perez, that you were not aware of the mistake, when she
received you in the saloon--or that she could not distinguish you from
Don Florez. Cruel sister, thus to rob me of my happiness! Treacherous
Don Perez, thus to betray your friend and me!"
Don Perez tried all he could to pacify his wife, but in vain. Her
jealousy, her pride, and her conscientious scruples were roused, and she
would not listen to any reasoning or protestations. Although he was
almost certain, that the fact was as his wife had stated, he determined
to make sure by referring to me. He came to Don Florez's house, and
after staying a little while with him and his wife, during which he
appeared so uneasy that they asked him whether he was unwell, he went
away making a sign for me to follow him. He then entered into all the
particulars, and asked me about the delivery of the notes. I took it
for granted, that an explanation had taken place between him and his
wife--my only object was to save Donna Teresa.
"Senhor, whether what Donna Emilia says is true, I know not," replied I;
"but, that it was not Donna Teresa who met you, I can certify, for I was
in her room with her that night till she went to bed, playing at piquet
for sugar-plums."
"Then who could it be," observed he.
"I know not, senhor, for I did not go down stairs, where my mistress
was, because she had sent me to bed, and I knew that I should have been
scolded for being up. Therefore I cannot say whether Donna Emilia was
with you or not."
Don Perez meditated some time, and then came to the conclusion that his
wife was ashamed of having been too indulgent to him in an unguarded
moment, and would not acknowledge it. Still he was far from being
satisfied. He returned home, to explain what he had gathered to his
wife but found that she had left the house some time before, without
stating whither she was going. As soon as Don Perez left the house, I
hastened to my mistress, to acquaint her with what had passed, and what
I had told him.
"I thank you for your kind intention, Pedro, but I am afraid that all
will be discovered. It is a judgment on me for my folly and
indiscretion."
In the mean time, Donna Emilia, who had taken refuge in a neighbouring
convent, sent for Don Florez. He found her in the convent-parlour in
tears. Convinced by jealousy that her sister had an attachment to Don
Perez, and that there had been a mutual understanding, she stated to Don
Florez the whole of the circumstances, and pointing out to him how
treacherously they both had been treated, acquainted him with her
intention of retiring from the world.
Don Florez, stirred to madness by the information, exclaimed--"It was
for this, then, that she put me off on that night, and was kind to me
the next. Cursed dupe that I have been; but, thank Heaven, it is not
too late to be revenged. Don Perez, you shall pay dearly for this." So
saying, he quitted Donna Emilia, uncertain whether he should first wreak
his vengeance upon Don Perez or his wife. But this point was soon
decided, for at the convent gate he encountered Don Perez, who had been
informed whither his wife had retreated.
"You are the person I have been anxiously wishing to see, Don Perez--
treacherous villain, void of all honour."
"Not so, Don Florez. I am an unfortunate man, who is half mad by a
cruel mistake which has occurred. Recall your words, for they are
unjust."
"I do not intend to recall them, but assert the truth with the point of
my rapier. If you are not as great a coward, as you are a villain, you
will follow me."
"Such language will admit of no reply. I am at your service," cried Don
Perez.
The two brothers-in-law walked in silence, until they reached a field
hard by, where they threw off their cloaks, and fought with the fury of
demons. Victory was decided in favour of Don Perez; his sword passed
through the heart of his adversary, who never spoke again. Don Perez
viewed the body with a stern countenance, wiped his sword, took up his
cloak, and walked straight to the house of Don Florez. "Donna Teresa,"
said he, (I only was present,) "I call upon you, as you value salvation
in the day of judgment, to tell me the truth. Was it you, that, by an
unfortunate mistake, I met one night in the saloon; and were those
caresses, intended for Don Florez, bestowed upon me?"
There was a wildness, a ferocity in his air that frightened her; she
stammered out at last:--"for my sins, it is true; but you know, too
well, that I never was false in heart, although when I found out my
mistake, I attempted to conceal my indiscretion."
"Had you, madam, been as virtuous as your sister, all this mischief
would not have happened--and your husband would not now be lying a
corpse, by the hand of his brother."
Donna Teresa fainted at the intelligence, and Don Perez immediately
quitted the house. I hastened to her assistance, and succeeded in
restoring her to life.
"It is but too true," said she, mournfully; "crime will always meet with
punishment, in this world, or in the next. By permitting my love to
overcome the dictates of virtue, by being too fond of my husband, I have
murdered him. Oh God! I have murdered him and rendered the lives of
two others as much a burden to them as my own will ever be. My poor,
dear sister, where is she?"
I tried all my powers of consolation, but in vain: all she requested was
that I would find out where her sister was, and let her know. I set off
upon my melancholy task, and met the people hearing in the body of Don
Florez. I shuddered as it passed by, when I recollected how principal a
part I had acted in the tragedy. I soon gained the information, and
brought it to Donna Teresa. She dressed herself in deep mourning, and,
desiring me to follow her, knocked at the convent gate, and, requesting
to see the superior, was admitted. The superior came out of the parlour
to receive her, not wishing that any one should enter, while Donna
Emilia was in such a state of misery and despair.
"It is my sister that I come to see, madam, and I must not be refused:
lead me to her, and be witness of the scene, if you please."
The superior, who was not aware that Emilia would have refused to see
Donna Teresa, led the way, and we were ushered into the presence of
Emilia, who, looking up as Donna Teresa entered, turned away from her as
if in abhorrence.
"Emilia," said my mistress, "we are born of the same mother, we have
lived as children, and we have grown up together; never did we have a
secret from each other, till this unfortunate mistake occurred. On my
knees, I request you to listen to me, and to believe what I say."
"Plead your cause with your husband, Teresa; it is more necessary to
pacify him than me."
"I have no husband, Emilia; he is now pleading his own cause with God--
for he has fallen by the sword of yours."
Donna Emilia started.
"Yes, Emilia, dear, dear sister, it is but too true, and still more
true, that you have caused his death. Do not kill me too, Emilia, by
refusing to believe what I declare, as I hope for eternal salvation--
that I never was aware of the mistake, until the boy discovered it to
me, on the ensuing day. If you knew the shame, the vexation, the fear
of discovery which racked my frame, when I was but too sure of it, you
would forgive my having tried to hide a fault, the knowledge of which
would make others miserable, as well as me. Say you believe me--say you
forgive me, Emilia. Oh! Emilia, cannot you forgive a sister?"
Emilia answered not, and Teresa, clinging to her knees, and embracing
them, sobbed hysterically. At this moment Don Perez, who had obtained
admittance to see his wife, came into the room, and walking up to the
part in which the two unfortunate ladies remained in the attitudes
described, said,--"You, Teresa, who have been the original cause of this
unhappy business, I mean not to reproach again. Your punishment has
been greater than your offence. It is to you, madam, I must address
myself; who, by not believing in the words of truth, have caused me to
slay my dearest friend and brother, and, after having unwittingly
wounded him in the tenderest point, add to the injury by taking away his
life. Are you yet satisfied, madam? Are you satisfied with having
embittered my days by your injustice and unworthy suspicions--by having
reduced your unfortunate, yet not guilty sister, to the state of an
unhappy, lonely woman, now suing in vain for pardon at your feet; by
having been the occasion of the death of your brother by marriage--her
husband and my friend? Say, madam, are you yet satisfied, or will you
have more victims to your unbelief?"
Emilia answered not, but continued with her face averted.
"Be it so, then, madam;" replied Don Perez; and, before any one was
aware of his intention, he drew his sword, and fell upon it. "Now,
Emilia, let the sacrifice of my life be a proof to you of my sincerity.
As I hope for pardon, I have told the truth;" and Don Perez fell on his
back, and was dead.
Emilia started round when he fell, and threw herself down by his side in
horror and amazement. The film that passion had thrown over her eyes
was removed, as she witnessed the last melancholy result of her
unbelief. When Don Pedro ceased speaking, she threw herself on his
body, in an agony of grief.--"I do, I do believe--Perez. I do, I do!
Oh! indeed I do believe--speak to me, Perez--O God, he is dying!--
Sister, Teresa, come, come, he'll speak to you--he's not angry with
you--Sister, sister, speak--O God! O God!" screamed the unhappy woman,
"he's dead--and I have murdered him!"--and she dashed her head upon the
floor. Teresa hastened to her sister, and held her in her arms, while
the tears poured fast. It was some time before reason resumed her seat;
at last, exhausted by the violence of her feelings, she was relieved
with a flood of tears.
"Who is it?--you, Teresa--kind sister, whom I have used so ill--I do
believe you--I do believe, Teresa; God forgive me! kiss me, sister, and
say that you forgive me--for am I not punished?"
"It is all my fault," answered Teresa, bursting into tears: "Oh! how
wicked, how foolish have I been!"
"No, no, sister, your fault is small, compared to mine; you allowed your
passion to overcome you, but it arose from an excess of love, the best
feeling in our nature--the only remnant of heaven left us since our
fall. I too have allowed my passion to overcome me; but whence has it
arisen?--from hatred and jealousy, feelings which were implanted by
demons, and which create a hell wherever they command. But it is done,
and repentance comes too late."
The unfortunate sisters embraced each other and mingled their tears
together; and I hardly need say, that the lady abbess and I could not
restrain our meed of pity at the affecting scene. As the evening
closed, they separated, each to attend to the same mournful duty, of
watching by the bodies of their husbands, and bedewing them with their
tears. A few days after the interments took place, Emilia sent for her
sister, and after an affectionate interview, took the veil in the
convent to which she had retired--endowing the church with her property.
Donna Teresa did not take the veil; but employed herself in the more
active duties of charity and benevolence; but she gradually wasted
away--her heart was broken. I stayed with her for three years, when she
died, leaving a considerable sum to me, and the remainder of her wealth
to beneficent institutions. This is about five years ago; since when I
have been living on the property, which is nearly all expended by my
extravagance. The stigma on my birth is, however, the only subject
which has weighed upon my spirits--this is providentially removed, and I
trust that I shall not disgrace the mother who has so kindly
acknowledged me, or the dear girl who has honoured this faulty person
with her attachment.
My mother and Clara thanked me when I had concluded my narrative, and we
remained unto a late hour entering upon family affairs, and planning for
the future. My mother informed me that upon the estates she had only a
life interest, as they were entailed, and would revert to a cousin; but
that she had laid by a considerable sum of money, intending it as a
dowry for my Clara, and that she hoped to increase it before she died.
As I was anxious to quit Seville, where I feared daily discovery, I
proposed that we should retire to the estate near Carthagena, by which
not only a considerable expense would be saved, but I should feel more
happy in the company of Clara and herself. My mother and my intended
gladly consented to the proposal, not only for the above reasons, but
because she was aware that the questions which might be asked about me
would tend to the injury of her character. In less than a fortnight the
establishment at Seville was broken up, and we retired to the country,
where I was made happy by the possession of my Clara. I now considered
myself as secure from any discovery, and although I had led a life of
duplicity, meant by future good conduct to atone for the past. Whether
Donna Celia was my mother or not, I felt towards her as if she was, and
after some time from habit considered it an established fact. My Clara
was as kind and endearing as I could desire; and for five years I was as
happy as I could wish. But it was not to last: I was to be punished for
my deceit. My marriage with Clara, and the mystery attached to my
birth, which was kept secret, had irritated the heir of the estate, who
had been in hopes, by marrying Clara himself, to secure the personal as
well as the real property. We occasionally met, but we met with rancour
in our hearts, for I resented his behaviour towards me. Fearful of
discovery, I had never paid any attention to music since my marriage; I
had always pretended that I could not sing. Even my wife was not aware
of my talent; and although latterly I had no fear of the kind, yet as I
had always stated my inability, I did not choose to bring forth a
talent, the reason for concealing which I could not explain even to my
wife and mother, without acknowledging the deception of which I had been
guilty.
It happened that one evening at a large party I met my cousin, the heir
of the entailed estates. We were very joyous and merry, and had drunk a
good deal more than usual. The wine was powerful, and had taken effect
upon most of us. Singing was introduced, and the night passed merrily
away, more visitors occasionally dropping in. My cousin was much elated
with wine, and made several ill-natured remarks, which were meant for
me. I took no notice for some time, but, as he continued, I answered
with such spirit, as to arouse his indignation. My own blood boiled;
but the interference of mutual friends pacified us for the time, and we
renewed our applications to the bottle. My cousin was called upon for a
song; he had a fine voice and considerable execution, and was much
applauded.
"Now then," said he, in an ironical tone, "perhaps Don Pedro will oblige
the company; although perhaps the real way to oblige them will be by not
attempting that of which he is not capable."
Stung with this sarcasm, and flushed with wine, I forgot my prudence.
Snatching the guitar from him, after a prelude which created the
greatest astonishment of all present, I commenced one of my most
successful airs: I sang it in my best style, and it electrified the
whole party. Shouts proclaimed my victory, and the defeat of my
relative. Some embraced me in their enthusiasm, and all loudly encored;
but as soon as there was a moment's silence, I heard a voice behind me
observe--"Either that is the monk Anselmo's voice, or the devil's."
I started at the words, and turned round to the speaker, but he had
mingled with the crowd, and I could not discover who it was. I
perceived that my relative had followed him on; and I now cursed my own
imprudence. As soon as I could, I made my escape from the company, and
returned home. As I afterwards found out, my relative had immediately
communicated with the person who had made the observation. He was one
of the priests who knew me at Seville. From him, my cousin gained the
information that brother Anselmo had left the convent about five years
ago, and not having returned, it was thought that an accident had
happened to him. But a discovery had since been made, which led them to
suppose, that brother Anselmo had, for some time, been carrying on a
system of deception. You may remember I stated, that when I resumed my
worldly apparel to introduce myself as the son of Donna Celia, I changed
the dress at my lodgings. I locked up my friar's dress and the false
tonsure in the chest, intending to have returned, and destroyed it; but
I quite forgot it, and left Seville with the key of my lodgings in my
pocket. The landlord waited until his rent was due, when not hearing
any thing of me, he broke open the door and found the chest. This he
opened, and discovered the false tonsure and friar's gown. Knowing the
monastic order to which it belonged, and suspecting some mischief; he
took it to our convent, and all the habits of the monks being numbered
in the inside, it was immediately recognised as mine: the false tonsure
also betrayed that I must have been breaking through the rules of my
order, and the most rigorous search after me was made for some time
without success. Possessed of this information, my vindictive relative
repaired to Seville to ascertain the exact date of my quitting the
convent, and found that it was about a fortnight previous to Donna Celia
having quitted Seville. He then repaired to the landlord for further
information. The landlord stated that the lodgings had been taken by a
monk, for his brother, who had occupied them. He described the
brother's person, which exactly corresponded with mine; and my relation
was convinced that the monk Anselmo and Don Pedro were one and the same
person. He immediately gave notice to the Inquisition. In the mean
time, I was in the greatest consternation. I felt that I should be
discovered, and reflected upon my conduct. I had lately abjured all
deceit, and had each day gained a step in the path of virtue. I
acknowledged with bitterness, that I deserved all that threatened me,
and that, sooner or later, vice will meet with its reward. Had I at
first made known my situation to Donna Celia, she would have had
interest enough (believing me to be her son), to have obtained a
dispensation of my vows. I then might have boldly faced the world--but
one act of duplicity required another to support it, and thus had I
entangled myself in a snare, by which I was to be entrapped at last.
But it was not for myself that I cared; it was for my wife whom I doted
on--for my mother (or supposed mother), to whom it would be the
bitterness of death. The thoughts of rendering others miserable as well
as myself drove me to distraction--and how to act I knew not.
After much reflection, I resolved as a last resource, to throw myself
upon the generosity of my adversary; for although inimical to me, he
bore a high character as a Spanish cavalier. I desired to be informed
the moment that he returned from Seville; and when the intelligence
came, I immediately repaired to his house, and requested an audience. I
was admitted; when Don Alvarez, for that was his name, addressed me.
"You wish to speak with me, Don Pedro--there are others at your house by
this time who wish to speak with you."
I guessed that he meant the officers of the Inquisition; but pretending
not to understand the remark, I answered him:--"Don Alvarez, the enmity
that you have invariably shown towards me has, I am sure, proceeded from
the affront, which you consider that your noble family has received, by
your cousin having formed an alliance with one of unknown parentage. I
have long borne with your pointed insults, out of respect for her who
gave me birth; I am now about to throw myself upon your generosity, and
probably when I inform you, that I am the unhappy issue of the early
amour of Donna Celia (which of course you have heard of), I may then
claim your compassion, if not your friendship, from having at least some
of the same noble blood in my veins."
"I was not indeed aware of it," replied Don Alvarez, with agitation; "I
would to Heaven you had confided in me before."
"Perhaps it would have been better," replied I, "but permit me to prove
my assertions." I then stated my having been the friar Anselmo, the
discovery of my birth by accident, and the steps which I had taken. "I
am aware," continued I, "that I have been much to blame, but my love for
Donna Clara made me regardless of consequences. Your unfortunate enmity
induced me, in an unguarded moment, to expose myself; and it will
probably end in my destruction."
"I acknowledge the truth of your remark, and that no power can save you,
I lament it, Don Pedro; but what is done cannot be undone. Even now the
officers of the Inquisition are at your house." As he uttered these
words, a loud knocking at the door announced that they had followed me.
"This must not be Don Pedro," said Don Alvarez, "step this way." He
opened a panel, and desired me to go in--and he hardly had time to shut
it before the officers came into the room.
"You have him here, Don Alvarez, have you not?" inquired the chief.
"No, unfortunately," replied he, "I tried to detain him, but suspecting
some discovery he forced his way out, sword in hand, and has gone I do
not know in what direction; but he cannot be far--saddle all the horses
in my stable and pursue the sacrilegious wretch. I would sacrifice half
my worldly wealth, that he should not escape my vengeance."
As Don Alvarez was the informant, and uttered these words with the
apparent violence of rage, the inquisitors had no suspicion, but
hastened to comply with his request. As soon as they had departed, he
opened the panel and let me out.
"So far, Don Pedro, have I proved the sincerity of my assertion; but
now, what remains to be done?"
"But one thing, Don Alvarez, to conceal the truth from my poor wife and
mother. I could bear it all with firmness, but for them," (and I fell
on a sofa, and burst into tears.) Don Alvarez was much affected.
"Oh, Don Pedro! it is too late now, or I should say, `What a warning
this ought to be to us--that honesty is the best policy!' had you
communicated to me the mystery of your birth, this never would have
occurred. Instead of having been your persecutor, I should have been
your friend--What can I do?"
"Kill me, Don Alvarez," replied I, baring my breast, "and I will bless
you for the deed. My death may afflict them, but they will recover from
their grief in time; but to know that I am murdered by the Inquisition,
as a sacrilegious impostor, will bring them to their grave with shame
and mortification."
"Your observation is correct; but kill you I must not. I will, however,
so far comply with your wishes, that I will bear the news of your death,
and their hatred of the deed, rather than the family should be
disgraced." He then went to his scrutoire, and taking out a bag of one
thousand pistoles--"This is all the money that I have at present--it
will serve you for some time. Put on one of my servant's dresses, and I
will accompany you to a seaport, and secure your safety before I leave
you. I will then state, that I met you in a fair duel, and will bribe
the officers of the Inquisition to hold their tongues about the
circumstances which have been communicated."
The advice was good, and I agreed to it; following him as a servant, I
arrived safely at Carthagena, whence I took a passage for New Spain. We
sailed; and before we were clear of the Straits of Gibraltar, we were
attacked by one of the cruisers of the state. We fought desperately,
but were overpowered by numbers; and they took possession, after we had
lost more than half of our crew. They brought us into this port; where,
with the rest, I was sold as a slave.
"Such is my history," ended the Spaniard, "which I trust has afforded
some amusement to your sublime highness."
The immediate answer of the pacha was a loud yawn.
"Shukur Allah! Praise be to God you have done talking. I do not
understand much about it," continued the pacha, turning round to
Mustapha; "but how can we expect a good story from an unbelieving dog of
a Christian?"
"Wallah thaib! Well said, by God!" replied Mustapha; "who was Lokman,
that they talk of his wisdom? Are not these words of more value than
strung pearls?"
"What was the name of the country?" demanded the pacha.
"Spain, your sublime highness; the infidel tribes which you allow to
remain there, are employed in cultivating the olive for true believers."
"Very true," rejoined the pacha; "I remember now. Let the kafir taste
of our bounty. Give him two pieces of gold; and allow him to depart."
"May the shadow of your sublime highness never be less," said the
Spaniard. "I have here a manuscript which I received from an ancient
monk of our order when at the point of death. At the time of my capture
it was thrown on one side, and I preserved it as curious. It refers to
the first discovery of an island. As your highness is pleased to be
amused with stories, it may be worth while to have it translated." The
Dominican then handed from his breast a discoloured piece of parchment.
"Very good," replied the pacha, rising. "Mustapha let it be put into
Arabic by the Greek slave, who shall read it to us some evening when we
have no story-tellers."
"Be chesm! Upon my eyes be it," replied Mustapha, bowing low, as the
pacha retired to his harem.