had hardly got there when there was a great bruit or noise of clashing
of naked weapons in the same street at its further end, and I clearly
perceived that it was a brawl between two parties of pretenders to
Dolores’ favour, who, being on the same errand intent, had there
met. In haste to escape their observation I knocked at the gate, but
scarcely had I done so than one being hurt in the skirmish broke
out of the press, and fleeing towards the place where I stood, fell
down dead at my feet, even as the duenna, the confidante of Dolores,
opened the wicket to let me enter. She straightway conducted me into
a garderobe or inner chamber, where I hardly passed three words to my
dear mistress, whom I found there awaiting me, when we heard a great
noise and hurly-burly in the street of the alguazils, who, finding the
dead body at the door, inquiring of the neighbours were told that the
murderer had but now slipped into the house before which the body lay.
Whereupon the captain began to bounce at the door with such assistance
of his company that we were struck with fear at the uproar, I for her
honour, while she was in terror for my safety lest they might search
the house and take me for the murderer, notwithstanding that I knew
nothing of it. With her ready woman’s wit Dolores bade me instantly
follow her, and leading me into a manservant’s chamber then disused,
showed me how I might mount to the midst of the chimney, which I did
just as her father was parleying with the officers who insisted on
searching the house. I had nothing to support me but a narrow bar
of iron upon which there was barely space to stand, while Dolores
retired to her chamber, from which she presently issued, feigning to
be disturbed from her slumber, and exclaiming at the indecency of such
a disturbance at such an hour. But the captain was forced by what the
neighbours had said (though half against his will) to continue his
search, and receiving the keys from Señor Escañuela, began to ransack
each corner and cabinet in the house, in which he omitted nothing, for
no coffer escaped without its bottom turned upward, and every bed and
bolster was tried with the point of a sharp poignard. When they came
to the chamber where I was hid in the chimney I would have cursed my
folly, had my love not been so great, for venturing thus upon one
of the most dangerous enterprises that can be undertaken in Spain,
and risking the honour of my mistress by my discovery; and, as evils
never come alone, after they had well searched the chamber, which had
very little furniture in it, though fortunately not bethinking them
that one might be perched up in the chimney, that being the last part
of the house examined, the captain was dissatisfied at not having
found anyone, and so proposed to set a guard for the night and to
continue his search at the return of daylight. To that end, despite
the protestations of Dolores’ father, two men were left on guard, and
what was worse, these men quartered themselves in the very chamber
where I hung up in the chimney, as being one of those in the house
not at present in use. You may well imagine that Dolores was terribly
distressed at this, and all the more that she feared, as I did, that
since the night was cold the men would desire to kindle a fire,
wherefore she gave special charge that no fuel should be supplied to
them, but that if they wished it a pan of hot coal, after the manner of
us Spaniards, could be placed in the midst of their chamber. Hearing
these two wretches establish themselves, I had almost given myself up
for lost, but that I might not for the reputation of my mistress which
I valued more than my life. I had grown during this time exceedingly
tired of standing upon my perch, hardly recovered in strength as I was
from my severe wounds; moreover, the smell of the soot and the cold air
excited in me a very great desire to sneeze, which I durst not gratify
and yet scarce could stay it. Soon after I heard my mistress enter
the chamber again with two of her women, and proffer wine to the men,
in reward, as she said, for their services in guarding her. This they
took very graciously, but knowing what I did, methought she had put a
sleeping-draught therein, which, indeed, turned out to be the case, for
presently they slept and soundly, but I durst not come down until her
duenna, whom she had sent there to spy, seeing that the guards were
governed by the potion, bade me descend, which I joyfully did, and
withdrew quietly to another chamber where I found my dear mistress.
Our common adventure had brought us nearer together, for the danger we
had mutually suffered and were not yet escaped from, had swept away
the artifices of coyness, our hearts seemed already to sympathise and
burn in the flame of mutual affection. She entertained my vows and
speeches of unalterable love with many blushes which came and went,
casting a roseate veil over the milk-white lilies of her complexion,
which, together with her soft eyes, her delicate stature, and the
many perfections of her beauty, confirmed the subserviency of my zeal
and wedded constancy to my love. With many protestations we took our
leaves, but, impatient of delay, the very next day I waited upon her
father, and in due terms requisite for me to give and him to receive,
demanded his daughter in marriage. Señor Escañuela, while thanking
me for the honour, which, as he protested, I had done him, replied:
‘Señor, our family is much beholden to you for the flattering proposal
which you make, and words hardly suffice me to express the pleasure I
should experience by the union of our two families in marriage, which
is as much an honour to me as a condescension in you. Nevertheless,
much as I may regret it, I have already pledged my daughter Dolores to
the Count de Villegas, and my pledged word will not permit me to alter
my decision in your favour. Therefore, señor, I am your humble servant,
and must beg you in future to put away from your thoughts all notion of
my daughter.’ To this I could only answer: ‘Illustrissimo, I am your
humble and obedient servant,’ and so take my leave, knowing full well
that he preferred the titled and rich Count de Villegas to poor me, who
had nothing, no title and no riches. Nevertheless my love was so great
and the encouragement my mistress had given me was such, that I was
resolved not to give her up without a struggle, and therefore I indited
an epistle to her as follows, which I entrusted to el Moro to deliver
to her, who, however cowardly he might be, possessed a discretion and a
subtlety that few could equal.
‘Madam,’ I wrote, ‘though your father prove obdurate in entertaining
the hope with which I burn, yet so great and inextinguishable are the
flames of my desire, that I cannot tamely acquiesce in his decision to
give you to another whom I cannot think worthy of those transcendent
beauties. That your charms have vanquished me is nothing, and would
give me no claim to your consideration; but you have deigned to
distinguish me from the common crowd, and in so doing have raised me to
that degree among the competitors to your favour, that I now consider
myself the equal and even superior of any grandee in Spain. Oh, grant
me, divine being, some confirmation of my pretensions, that my fainting
heart be again raised by thy word, for without thee nothing is left
to me to live for, while the hope of thy favour will give me strength
to fight against paternal objections, my superiors in rank or riches,
or even the devil himself.’ This letter I despatched by el Moro, who,
by feigning an attachment to Dolores’ maid, had no great difficulty in
delivering it to her own hand without the observation of her parents.
By the same means I received the following answer: ‘Señor, it is with
blushes and hesitation that I so far transgress maidenly decorum as
to answer your letter; and the more since I fear that my conduct in
giving you an opportunity of private converse may be misconstrued.
Nevertheless, it would show ill manners in me to pass over your letter
in silence, since it plainly comes from the heart of an honourable
gentleman. I may freely confess that your person is not unpleasing
to me, and that, were it my parents’ wish, I might be prepared to
entertain your flattering proposal; but since you have not succeeded in
obtaining from them the confirmation of your wishes, it only remains
for me to say that I will never consent to a union with the Count
de Villegas.’ To this I replied by the same means as follows: ‘Fair
mistress! Ah, madam, though I be not so fortunate as to please thy
parents, yet love is no crime to be visited by thy divine displeasure,
when thou thyself art the bright object of my affection. Though thy
parents, swayed rather by their ambition than by dislike to me, do
not favour my suit, yet the union of two souls should not be governed
by Mammon, but rather by Cupid, the gentle god of love. Hymen ever
joyfully confirms the union of them that are invited to join themselves
by Cupid, and as constantly refuses to bless those introduced to him by
pride or avarice. Give then scope to thy gentle heart, dear lady, that
hath already rescued me from the death nearly brought upon me by rivals
for thy affection, and confirm my life, which is otherwise valueless,
by the hope of thy dear hand.’
Though I succeeded in corresponding with Dolores without the knowledge
of her parents, yet this correspondence could not be so subtle as to
hope for concealment from the eyes of a lover, and so the Count de
Villegas was not without intelligence of what was going on, of which he
took good care that Señor Escañuela should be informed, who thereupon
gave instructions that el Moro should be prevented from coming to his
house. At the same time the Count de Villegas sent me the following
challenge:
‘Since I am given to understand that thy baseness doth not fear to
aspire to the incomparable beauty of the phœnix of her sex and bright
star of beauty, my mistress Dolores, if thou dost not instantly give
up all pretension to her hand, doubt not that my sword is prepared to
chastise thy insolence. Either, therefore, return me an answer under
thy hand, that thou art prepared henceforth to avoid all communication
with my mistress, or be prepared to-morrow morning to meet me without
the walls with rapier and sword, if thou hast any pretence to be
thought to have the breeding of a gentleman, to justify thy audacious
resolution.--+Villegas.+’
To this I bade the messenger reply that I would not fail to meet
him according to his desire and appointment. I bore this challenge
privately from my father, and all the world except a young gentleman,
one of my few acquaintances, whom I chose to be my second in the
quarrel, named Señor Velasco, a valiant and true friend, who very
readily engaged himself to me, so that he and the Marquis de Campofrio,
the second of the Count de Villegas, with as much friendship as
secrecy, met in the city and resolved on the rapiers and other
ceremonies requisite in the duello. As soon as the morning appeared,
both parties were early astir, and showed themselves on the field of
battle a little before six, which was the hour appointed. The seconds
duly performed their allotted office in visiting the principals, who
cast off their doublets and drew, and so we fell to deeds. The Count
de Villegas played the first close with great wariness and coolness,
but presently warming to the business, he wounded me in the right arm,
while I gave him a thrust in the left side which did but little hurt
as it glanced along a rib. At the second encounter, the Count wounded
me betwixt the breast and shoulder, while I thrust him clean through
the left arm, which piercing his sinews and arteries, he was no longer
able to hold his poignard, and despite his resolution and courage, it
fell out of his hand, an unlooked-for disaster which did much perplex
and afflict him. Upon seeing this, disdaining to fight upon unequal
terms, I threw away my poignard also, and after a short breathing
space we again closed, when running in upon him I ran him through the
right flank and withdrawing my rapier leapt back to put myself upon a
defensive guard, but my foot slipping, I could not prevent myself from
falling to the ground. The Count following me close, and being eager
in pursuit, could not forego his advantage, and being bloodthirsty in
his revenge and forgetful of all honour, working upon the misfortune
of my fortune, he right then and there nailed me to the ground, and
withdrawing his rapier was preparing to pierce me through the heart and
so act a perpetual divorce betwixt my body and soul, when his second
unable to look on at so base an act, ran forward and turned aside his
weapon. My own second coming forward at the same time, raised me from
the ground, and the chirurgeon advancing examined my wounds, so that
the combat was put an end to.
I was conveyed to my home, and lay betwixt life and death for the
space of about a week, when an alguazil of the Inquisition came to
cite me before the Holy Tribunal upon certain charges of heresy,
and I was conveyed to a noisome cell of their prison, which, as my
father afterwards learnt, was at the instance of the false Count, who
repenting him of my life had thus accused me.
My dungeon was situated close beneath the roof, and since it was winter
I was almost perished with cold. Yet, withal, that was better than the
extreme heat of summer that I had to look forward to, for the stink and
noisomeness of the air was less in the winter. The cell was narrow,
and for that reason belike, and also perhaps because I had not yet
been put to the question, I had no fellow-prisoner. No light entered
therein save for a narrow rift in the wall high up, and no wider than
a man’s finger, but I might have had a worse apartment if it had not
been expected that my father would be willing to pay for my better
accommodation. For the same reason the order of my diet was better than
the common, for my father paid very large fees to the Holy Office for
it, and had it not been for this, in my then state of weakness with
my wounds scarcely healed, I had surely perished. And yet, easy as it
is to get into the prison of the Inquisition, few go out, for if they
have not already perished from the hardships of their imprisonment and
the torture of the question, yet they seldom go forth but clad in the
San Benito for the stake, or at the least to a life-long slavery in
the galleys. It was far otherwise with the ordinary prisoners who had
no money to bless themselves withal. Those poor creatures have a daily
allowance of half a rial from the king for their diet, which is about
equal to two sous French, out of which poor pittance is to be defrayed
their steward and laundress’s wages, and whatsoever other necessary
charges grow besides must be from thence discharged. Moreover, of this
allowance given to them by the king, not one half comes to their use,
for it passes through two or three men’s hands, to whose fingers some
of it sticks. First there is the treasurer, and then comes the steward,
then the cook, and lastly, the jailor, all of whom will have their
fees. But if the prisoner be a rich man then is his lot even worse,
for they do not suffer him in any case to better his condition out of
his own goods, which they look to for plunder, nor do they allow him
to have other than a little brown bread and cold water. No sound is
heard in those sorrowful walls, for no prisoner is allowed to raise
his voice, and some heretics that would be singing of psalms in the
vulgar tongue, for fear that they should thereby solace themselves or
let others know of their presence, had wooden bits fastened upon their
tongues, and were so compelled to silence. For this reason it happens
that father and son, husband and wife, or brother and sister, may be in
the prison-house for the space of two or three years, and neither of
them know of the other being there until the time comes of meeting on
the scaffold--if it ever comes, for the most perish in prison as I have
said, from the great filth and stench, and their corrupt and naughty
diet, or they become altered in their wits from their prolonged and
lonely imprisonment, or perchance some fever consumes them little by
little, making their living life worse than any death they could die.
Yea, so great are the cruelties of this prison, and so easily are men
cast therein at the mere whisper of an enemy, that it would confirm
these Turks in their false religion did they know and understand
thereof. Indeed, there was a certain Turk who had voluntarily forsaken
and abjured the Mahometan idolatry and was newly come into Spain to
be confirmed in the true religion, who, finding more faults and worse
sins among the Christians than he had left behind him among his own
countrymen the Moors, happening to say one day that the Mahometan law
was better than the Christian, was immediately denounced by some, and
lodged forthwith in a dungeon of the Inquisition, whence he never again
issued forth but to one of their Acts, and that only after the torture
of the rack, when he was burnt at the stake, which is a thing that
the Turks, pagans as they are, will not do, save that you revile their
religion or so-called saints.
The walls of my dungeon were written all over with the sad complaints
of prisoners that had been there before me, and though in some cases
there were blasphemous inscriptions by heretics, denying the divinity
of our Lady, or even the reality of the Blessed Host, yet for the most
part they were but the expression of their hopelessness, their trust in
God, a farewell to the world, or an invocation to death. Some of these
I remember, for I had leisure to impress them upon my memory during
my long imprisonment; and since they help to show the horror of my
suffering, and the mutability of human affairs, I will repeat them to
you. One of them ran as follows:
Erst I did live in calm content,
And passed each day in merriment;
And in my arrogance and pride,
Methought no evil could betide,
No stroke of fortune break it, nought
Save Death one day must cut it short.
Now, as the past day is the morrow,
One long agony of sorrow;
And in humbleness I sigh
To thee, Lord, to let me die!
And another:--
Ye gloomy walls whose massy stones
Such wicked actions have seen done,
What shrieks ye’ve heard, what hollow groans!
What tortures have ye looked upon!
Yet there’s no spot in all your parts
So hard as are your masters’ hearts!
The wretch whom fate doth immure here
Will ne’er go free while he has life;
Ne’er more he’ll see those he holds dear,
Ne’er bid farewell to child or wife!
An age of torment is begun,
That ne’er will end till life be done.
Oh, Virgin Mother, grant me strength
That I may be resigned to pain;
And through thy Son’s mercy at length
May unto heavenly bliss attain!
My body’s weak, then pity take
Upon me for thy dear Son’s sake!
And again:
With limbs disjointed by the rack,
And by the trough a broken back,
I hardly have sufficient breath
To breathe a quavering prayer to Death,
Can scarce my trembling limbs command
To trace these lines with palsied hand!
I pray thee, Lord, to let me die,
And so cut short my agony!
And again:
Alas, Constantia, we’ve loved long,
And hoped to pass our lives together,
But unkind fate hath proved too strong,
And ruthless our dear love doth sever
I hoped thy joys and griefs to share,
While thou didst do the same by me;
And hand in hand together fare
Through Death into Eternity.
But now, alas, in all my pain,
Thou art not by to soothe my woes,
And if we e’er shall meet again,
The God above us only knows!