Maria Diaz—Priestly Vituperation—Antonio’s Visit—Antonio at Service—A
Scene—Benedict Mol—Wandering in Spain—The Four Evangelien.
“Well,” said I to Maria Diaz, on the third morning after my imprisonment,
“what do the people of Madrid say to this affair of mine?”
“I do not know what the people of Madrid in general say about it,
probably they do not take much interest in it; indeed, imprisonments at
the present time are such common matters, that people seem to be quite
indifferent to them; the priests, however, are in no slight commotion,
and confess that they have committed an imprudent thing in causing you to
be arrested by their friend the _corregidor_ of Madrid.”
“How is that?” I inquired. “Are they afraid that their friend will be
punished?”
“Not so, _señor_,” replied Maria; “slight grief indeed would it cause
them, however great the trouble in which he had involved himself on their
account; for this description of people have no affection, and would not
care if all their friends were hanged, provided they themselves escaped.
But they say that they have acted imprudently in sending you to prison,
inasmuch as by so doing they have given you an opportunity of carrying a
plan of yours into execution. ‘This fellow is a _bribon_,’ say they,
‘and has commenced tampering with the prisoners; they have taught him
their language, which he already speaks as well as if he were a son of
the prison. As soon as he comes out he will publish a thieves’ Gospel,
which will be a still more dangerous affair than the gypsy one, for the
gypsies are few, but the thieves! woe is us; we shall all be
Lutheranized. What infamy, what rascality! It was a trick of his own.
He was always eager to get into prison, and now, in evil hour, we have
sent him there, _el bribonazo_; there will be no safety for Spain until
he is hanged; he ought to be sent to the four hells, where at his leisure
he might translate his fatal gospels into the language of the demons.’”
“I but said three words to the _alcayde_ of the prison,” said I,
“relative to the jargon used by the children of the prison.”
“Three words! _Don Jorge_; and what may not be made out of three words?
You have lived amongst us to little purpose if you think we require more
than three words to build a system with. Those three words about the
thieves and their tongue were quite sufficient to cause it to be reported
throughout Madrid that you had tampered with the thieves, had learnt
their language, and had written a book which was to overturn Spain, open
to the English the gates of Cadiz, give Mendizabal all the church plate
and jewels, and to Don Martin Luther the archiepiscopal palace of
Toledo.”
Late in the afternoon of rather a gloomy day, as I was sitting in the
apartment which the _alcayde_ had allotted me, I heard a rap at the door.
“Who is that?” I exclaimed. “_C’est moi_, _mon maître_,” cried a
well-known voice, and presently in walked Antonio Buchini, dressed in the
same style as when I first introduced him to the reader, namely, in a
handsome but rather faded French surtout, vest, and pantaloons, with a
diminutive hat in one hand, and holding in the other a long and slender
cane.
“_Bon jour_, _mon maître_,” said the Greek; then, glancing around the
apartment, he continued, “I am glad to find you so well lodged. If I
remember right, _mon maître_, we have slept in worse places during our
wanderings in Galicia and Castile.”
“You are quite right, Antonio,” I replied; “I am very comfortable. Well,
this is kind of you to visit your ancient master, more especially now he
is in the toils; I hope, however, that by so doing you will not offend
your present employer. His dinner hour must be at hand; why are you not
in the kitchen?”
“Of what employer are you speaking, _mon maître_?” demanded Antonio.
“Of whom should I speak but Count ---, to serve whom you abandoned me,
being tempted by an offer of a monthly salary less by four dollars than
that which I was giving you?”
“Your worship brings an affair to my remembrance which I had long since
forgotten. I have at present no other master than yourself, _Monsieur
Georges_, for I shall always consider you as my master, though I may not
enjoy the felicity of waiting upon you.”
“You have left the Count, then,” said I, “after remaining three days in
the house, according to your usual practice.”
“Not three hours, _mon maître_,” replied Antonio; “but I will tell you
the circumstances. Soon after I left you I repaired to the house of
_Monsieur le Comte_; I entered the kitchen, and looked about me. I
cannot say that I had much reason to be dissatisfied with what I saw: the
kitchen was large and commodious, and everything appeared neat and in its
proper place, and the domestics civil and courteous; yet, I know not how
it was, the idea at once rushed into my mind that the house was by no
means suited to me, and that I was not destined to stay there long; so,
hanging my haversack upon a nail, and sitting down on the dresser, I
commenced singing a Greek song, as I am in the habit of doing when
dissatisfied. The domestics came about me, asking questions. I made
them no answer, however, and continued singing till the hour for
preparing the dinner drew nigh, when I suddenly sprang on the floor, and
was not long in thrusting them all out of the kitchen, telling them that
they had no business there at such a season. I then at once entered upon
my functions. I exerted myself, _mon maître_—I exerted myself, and was
preparing a repast which would have done me honour; there was, indeed,
some company expected that day, and I therefore determined to show my
employer that nothing was beyond the capacity of his Greek cook. _Eh
bien_, _mon maître_, all was going on remarkably well, and I felt almost
reconciled to my new situation, when who should rush into the kitchen but
_le fils de la maison_, my young master, an ugly urchin of thirteen years
or thereabouts. He bore in his hand a manchet of bread, which, after
prying about for a moment, he proceeded to dip in the pan where some
delicate woodcocks were in the course of preparation. You know, _mon
maître_, how sensitive I am on certain points, for I am no Spaniard, but
a Greek, and have principles of honour. Without a moment’s hesitation I
took my young master by the shoulders, and hurrying him to the door,
dismissed him in the manner which he deserved. Squalling loudly, he
hurried away to the upper part of the house. I continued my labours, but
ere three minutes had elapsed, I heard a dreadful confusion above stairs,
_on faisoit une horrible tintamarre_, and I could occasionally
distinguish oaths and execrations. Presently doors were flung open, and
there was an awful rushing downstairs, a gallopade. It was my lord the
count, his lady, and my young master, followed by a regular bevy of women
and _filles de chambre_. Far in advance of all, however, was my lord
with a drawn sword in his hand, shouting, ‘Where is the wretch who has
dishonoured my son, where is he? He shall die forthwith.’ I know not
how it was, _mon maître_, but I just then chanced to spill a large bowl
of _garbanzos_, which were intended for the _puchera_ of the following
day. They were uncooked, and were as hard as marbles; these I dashed
upon the floor, and the greater part of them fell just about the doorway.
_Eh bien_, _mon maître_, in another moment in bounded the count, his eyes
sparkling like coals, and, as I have already said, with a rapier in his
hand. ‘_Tenez_, _gueux enragé_,’ he screamed, making a desperate lunge at
me; but ere the words were out of his mouth, his foot slipping on the
pease, he fell forward with great violence at his full length, and his
weapon flew out of his hand, _comme une flêche_. You should have heard
the outcry which ensued—there was a terrible confusion: the count lay
upon the floor to all appearance stunned. I took no notice, however,
continuing busily employed. They at last raised him up, and assisted him
till he came to himself, though very pale and much shaken. He asked for
his sword: all eyes were now turned upon me, and I saw that a general
attack was meditated. Suddenly I took a large _casserole_ from the fire
in which various eggs were frying; this I held out at arm’s length,
peering at it along my arm as if I were curiously inspecting it, my right
foot advanced and the other thrown back as far as possible. All stood
still, imagining, doubtless, that I was about to perform some grand
operation, and so I was: for suddenly the sinister leg advancing, with
one rapid _coup de pied_, I sent the _casserole_ and its contents flying
over my head, so that they struck the wall far behind me. This was to
let them know that I had broken my staff and had shaken the dust off my
feet; so casting upon the count the peculiar glance of the Sceirote cooks
when they feel themselves insulted, and extending my mouth on either side
nearly as far as the ears, I took down my haversack and departed, singing
as I went the song of the ancient Demos, who, when dying, asked for his
supper, and water wherewith to lave his hands—
Ό ἤλιος ἐβασίλευε, κἰ ὁ Δημος διατάζει,
Σύρτε, παιδιά μου, ’σ τὸ νερὸν ψωμὶ νὰ φάτ' ὰπόψε. {164}
And in this manner, _mon maître_, I left the house of the Count of ---.”
_Myself_.—And a fine account you have given of yourself; by your own
confession, your behaviour was most atrocious. Were it not for the many
marks of courage and fidelity which you have exhibited in my service, I
would from this moment hold no further communication with you.
_Antonio_.—_Mais qu’est ce que vous voudriez_, _mon maître_? Am I not a
Greek, full of honour and sensibility? Would you have the cooks of
Sceira and Stambul submit to be insulted here in Spain by the sons of
counts rushing into the temple with manchets of bread? _Non_, _non_,
_mon maître_, you are too noble to require that, and what is more, _too
just_. But we will talk of other things. _Mon maître_, I came not
alone, there is one now waiting in the corridor anxious to speak to you.
_Myself_.—Who is it?
_Antonio_.—One whom you have met, _mon maître_, in various and strange
places.
_Myself_.—But who is it?
_Antonio_.—One who will come to a strange end, _for so it is written_.
The most extraordinary of all the Swiss, he of Saint James—_Der Schatz
Gräber_. {165}
_Myself_.—Not Benedict Mol?
“_Yaw_, _mein lieber Herr_,” said Benedict, pushing open the door which
stood ajar; “it is myself. I met _Herr Anton_ in the street, and hearing
that you were in this place, I came with him to visit you.”
_Myself_.—And in the name of all that is singular, how is it that I see
you in Madrid again? I thought that by this time you were returned to
your own country.
_Benedict_.—Fear not, _lieber Herr_, I shall return thither in good time;
but not on foot, but with mules and coach. The _Schatz_ is still yonder,
waiting to be dug up, and now I have better hope than ever; plenty of
friends, plenty of money. See you not how I am dressed, _lieber Herr_?
And verily his habiliments were of a much more respectable appearance
than any which he had sported on former occasions. His coat and
pantaloons, which were of light green, were nearly new. On his head he
still wore an Andalusian hat, but the present one was neither old nor
shabby, but fresh and glossy, and of immense altitude of cone; whilst in
his hand, instead of the ragged staff which I had observed at Saint James
and Oviedo, he now carried a huge bamboo rattan, surmounted by the grim
head of either a bear or lion, curiously cut out of pewter.
“You have all the appearance of a treasure-seeker returned from a
successful expedition,” I exclaimed.
“Or rather,” interrupted Antonio, “of one who has ceased to trade on his
own bottom, and now goes seeking treasures at the cost and expense of
others.”
I questioned the Swiss minutely concerning his adventures since I last
saw him, when I left him at Oviedo to pursue my route to Santander. From
his answers I gathered that he had followed me to the latter place; he
was, however, a long time in performing the journey, being weak from
hunger and privation. At Santander he could hear no tidings of me, and
by this time the trifle which he had received from me was completely
exhausted. He now thought of making his way into France, but was afraid
to venture through the disturbed provinces, lest he should fall into the
hands of the Carlists, who he conceived might shoot him as a spy. No one
relieving him at Santander, he departed and begged his way till he found
himself in some part of Aragon, but where he scarcely knew. “My misery
was so great,” said Benedict, “that I nearly lost my senses. Oh, the
horror of wandering about the savage hills and wide plains of Spain,
without money and without hope! Sometimes I became desperate, when I
found myself amongst rocks and _barrancos_, perhaps after having tasted
no food from sunrise to sunset; and then I would raise my staff towards
the sky and shake it, crying, _Lieber Herr Gott_, _ach lieber Herr Gott_,
you must help me now or never; if you tarry I am lost; you must help me
now, now! And once, when I was raving in this manner, methought I heard
a voice—nay, I am sure I heard it—sounding from the hollow of a rock,
clear and strong; and it cried, ‘_Der Schatz_, _der Schatz_, it is not
yet dug up; to Madrid, to Madrid. The way to the _Schatz_ is through
Madrid.’ And then the thought of the _Schatz_ once more rushed into my
mind, and I reflected how happy I might be, could I but dig up the
_Schatz_. No more begging then; no more wandering amidst horrid
mountains and deserts; so I brandished my staff, and my body and my limbs
became full of new and surprising strength, and I strode forward, and was
not long before I reached the high road; and then I begged and bettled as
I best could, until I reached Madrid.”
“And what has befallen you since you reached Madrid?” I inquired. “Did
you find the treasure in the streets?”
On a sudden Benedict became reserved and taciturn, which the more
surprised me, as, up to the present moment, he had at all times been
remarkably communicative with respect to his affairs and prospects. From
what I could learn from his broken hints and innuendos, it appeared that,
since his arrival at Madrid, he had fallen into the hands of certain
people who had treated him with kindness, and provided him both with
money and clothes; not from disinterested motives, however, but having an
eye to the treasure. “They expect great things from me,” said the Swiss;
“and perhaps, after all, it would have been more profitable to have dug
up the treasure without their assistance, always provided that were
possible.” Who his new friends were he either knew not or would not tell
me, save that they were people in power. He said something about Queen
Christina and an oath which he had taken in the presence of a bishop on
the crucifix and the four _Evangelien_. I thought that his head was
turned, and forbore questioning. Just before taking his departure, he
observed, “_Lieber Herr_, pardon me for not being quite frank towards
you, to whom I owe so much, but I dare not; I am not now my own man. It
is, moreover, an evil thing at all times to say a word about treasure
before you have secured it. There was once a man in my own country who
dug deep into the earth until he arrived at a copper vessel which
contained a _Schatz_. Seizing it by the handle, he merely exclaimed in
his transport, ‘I have it!’ that was enough, however: down sank the
kettle, though the handle remained in his grasp. That was all he ever
got for his trouble and digging. Farewell, _lieber Herr_, I shall
speedily be sent back to Saint James to dig up the _Schatz_; but I will
visit you ere I go—farewell.”