him, with that pompous way of walking of his, I feel sorry for
them because I think that they may be suffering what I saw this
one go through. But even with all his poverty, I'd still be glad
to serve him more than the others because of the things I've just
mentioned. There was only one little thing that I didn't like
about him: I wished that he wouldn't act so superior; if only
he'd let his vanity come down a little to be in line with his
growing necessity. But it seems to me that that's a rule his
kind always keeps: even if they don't have a red cent to their
name, they have to keep up the masquerade. God help them or
that's the way they'll go to their graves.
Well, while I was there, getting along the way I said, my bad
luck (which never got tired of haunting me) decided that that
hard, foul way of life shouldn't last. The way it happened was
that, since there had been a crop failure there that year, the
town council decided to make all the beggars who came from other
towns get out of the city. And they announced that from then on
if they found one of them there, he'd be whipped. So the law
went into effect, and four days after the announcement was given
I saw a procession of beggars being led through the streets and
whipped. And I got so scared that I didn't dare go out begging
any more.
It's not hard to imagine the dieting that went on in my house and
the sadness and silence of the people living there. It was so
bad that for two or three days at a time we wouldn't have a bite
to eat or even say one word to each other. I knew some ladies
who lived next door to us; they spun cotton and made hats, and
they kept me alive. From what little they brought in they always
gave me something, and I just about managed to get by.
But I didn't feel as sorry for myself as I did for my poor
master: he didn't have a damned bite to eat in a week. At least,
we didn't have anything to eat at the house. When he went out I
don't know how he got along, where he went or what he ate. And
if you could only have seen him coming down the street at noon,
holding himself straight, and skinnier than a full-blooded
greyhound! And because of his damn what-do-you-call it--honor--
he would take a toothpick (and there weren't very many of those
in the house either) and go out the door, picking at what didn't
have anything between them and still grumbling about the cursed
place. He'd say, "Look how bad things are. And it's this
blasted house that's causing it all. Look how gloomy and dark
and dismal it is. As long as we stay here, we're going to
suffer. I wish the month were over so we could get out of here."
Well, while we were in this terrible, hungry state, one day--I
don't know by what stroke of luck or good fortune--a silver piece
found its way into the poor hands of my master. And he brought it
home with him, looking as proud as if he had all the money in Venice,
and smiling very happily, he gave it to me and said: "Take this, Lazaro.
God is beginning to be good to us. Go down to the square and buy bread
and wine and meat. Let's shoot the works! And also--this should make
you happy--I want you to know that I've rented another house, so we'll
only stay in this unlucky place until the end of the month. Damn the
place and damn the person who put the first tile on its roof--
I should never have rented it. I swear to God that as long as
I've lived here I haven't had a drop of wine or a bite of meat,
and I haven't gotten any rest. And it's all because of the way
this place looks--so dark and gloomy! Go on now, and come back
as quick as you can: we'll eat like kings today."
I took my silver coin and my jug, and hurrying along, I went up
the street, heading for the square, very content and happy. But
what's the use if my bad luck has it planned for me that I can't
enjoy anything without trouble coming along with it? And that's
the way this thing went. I was going up the street, thinking
about how I would spend the money in the best way possible and
get the most out of it. And I was thanking God with all my heart
for letting my master have some money, when suddenly I came upon
a corpse that a bunch of clergy and other people were carrying
down the street on a litter.
I squeezed up next to the wall to let them by, and after the body
had gone past there came right behind the litter a woman who must
have been the dead man's wife, all dressed up in mourning (and a
lot of other women with her). And she came along, crying loudly
and saying, "My husband and lord, where are they taking you?
It's to that poor, unhappy house, that dark and gloomy house,
that house where they never eat or drink!"
And when I heard that, I felt like I had fallen through the
ground, and I said, "Oh--no! They're taking this dead man to my
house."
I turned around and squeezed through the crowd and ran back down
the street as fast as I could toward my house. And when I got
inside I closed the door right behind me and called out for my
master to come and help me. And I grabbed hold of him and begged
him to help me block the door. He was a little stunned, thinking
it might be something else, and he asked me, "What is it, boy?
Why are you shouting? What's the matter? Why did you slam the
door so hard?"
"Oh, sir," I said, "help me! They're bringing a dead man here."
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I stumbled into him just up the way from here, and his wife was
coming along saying, 'My husband and lord, where are they taking
you? To the dark and gloomy house, the poor, unhappy house, the
house where they never eat or drink!' Oh, sir, they're bringing
him here."
And I tell you that when my master heard that, even though he
didn't have any reason for being very cheerful, he laughed so
hard that for a long time he couldn't even talk. In the meantime
I had the bolt snapped shut on the door and my shoulder against
it to hold them all back. The people passed by with their
corpse, and I was still afraid that they were going to stick him
in our house. And when he'd had his bellyful of laughter (more
than of food) my good master said to me: "It's true, Lazaro, that
taking the words of the widow at face value, you had every reason
to think what you did. But since it was God's will to do
something else and they've gone by, go on and open the door and
go get us something to eat."
"Sir, wait until they've gone down the street," I said.
Finally my master came up to the door that led to the street and
opened it, reassuring me--and I really needed that because I was
so upset and afraid. So I started up the street again.
But even though we ate well that day, I didn't enjoy it a damn
bit. In fact, I didn't get my color back for three days. And my
master would grin every time he thought about what I'd done.
So that's what happened to me during those days with my third
poor master, this squire, and all the time I was wishing I knew
how he'd come to this place and why he was staying here. Because
from the very first day that I started serving him, I realized he
was a stranger here: he hardly knew anyone, and he didn't
associate with very many of the people around here.
Finally my wish came true, and I found out what I wanted to know.
One day after we'd eaten fairly well and he was pretty content,
he told me about himself. He said he was from Old Castile. And
he said the only reason he'd left there was because he didn't
want to take his hat off to a neighbor of his who was a high-
class gentleman.
"Sir," I said, "if he was the kind of man you say he was and his
status was higher than yours, it was only right for you to take
your hat off first--after all, you say that
he took off his hat, too."
"That is the kind of man he was: his status was higher and he did
take his hat off to me. But considering all the time I took mine
off first, it wouldn't have been asking too much for him to be
civil and make the first move once in a while."
"It seems to me, sir," I told him, "that I wouldn't even think
about that--especially with people who are my superiors and are
better off than I am."
"You're just a boy," he answered, "and you don't understand
honor. That is the most important thing to any self-respecting
gentleman these days. Well, I want you to know that I'm a
squire--as you can see. But I swear to God that if I meet a
count on the street and he doesn't take his hat all the way off
his head for me, the next time I see him coming, I'll duck right
into a house and pretend that I have some business or other to do
there. Or I'll go up another street, if there is one, before he
gets up to me--just so I won't have to take off my hat to him.
Because a gentleman doesn't owe anything to anyone except
God or the King. And it isn't right, if he's a man of honor,
for him to let his self-respect fall even for a minute.
"I remember one day when I put a craftsman from my town in his
place, and I felt like strangling him, too, because every time I
ran into him he would say, 'God keep you, friend.' 'You little
peasant,' I said to him, 'How dare you address me with "God keep
you" as if I were just anybody? Where were you brought up?' And
from that day on, whenever he saw me, he took off his hat and
spoke to me the way he was supposed to."
"But isn't that a good way for one man to greet another: to say
'God keep you'?"
"Damn it!" he said. "That's what they say to the lower classes.
But to people who are higher up, like me, they're only supposed
to say, 'I hope you are well today, sir.' Or, at least, 'I hope
you feel well today' if the person talking to me is a gentleman.
So I didn't want to put up with that man from my town who was
filling me up to here with his 'God keep you.' And I wouldn't put
up with him either. In fact, I won't stand for anyone--including
the King himself--to say to me 'God keep you, friend.'"
"Well, I'll be. . . ," I said. "That's why God doesn't help
you out. You won't let anyone ask Him to."
"Especially," he said, "because I'm not so poor. In fact, where
I'm from I have a huge estate (it's fifty miles from where I was
born, right along Costanilla, the main street of Valladolid).
And if the houses on it were still standing and kept up, it
would be worth more than six thousand pieces of silver--just to
give you an idea of how big and grand it would be. And I have a
pigeon house that would produce more than two hundred pigeons a
year if it hadn't fallen down. And there are some other things I
won't mention, but I left them all because of my honor.
"And I came to this city, thinking I'd find a good position. But
it hasn't turned out the way I thought it would. I meet lots of
canons and other officials of the church, but those people are so
tight with their money that no one could possibly get them to
change their ways. Lesser men want me, too, but working for them
is a lot of trouble. They want you to change from a man into a
jack-of-all-trades, and if you won't, they give you the sack.
And, generally, the paydays are few and far between; most of the
time your only sure way of being paid is when they feed you.
And when they want to have a clear conscience and really pay you
for the sweat of your brow, your payoff comes from their clothes
closet with a sweaty old jacket or a ragged cape or coat. And
even when a man has a position with someone of the nobility, he
still has his troubles.
"I ask you: aren't I clever enough to serve one of them and make
him happy? Lord, if I ran into one, I really think I'd be his
favorite--and I could do lots of things for him. Why, I could
lie to him just as well as anyone else could. And I could
flatter him like nothing he'd ever seen before. And I'd laugh at
his stories and jokes even if they weren't exactly the funniest
things in the world. I'd never tell him anything disturbing even
if he would be better off knowing it. I would be very
conscientious in everything about him, both in word and in deed.
And I wouldn't kill myself to do things he wouldn't see.
Whenever he was around to hear me, I would always scold the
servants so he'd think I was very concerned about him. And if he
were scolding one of his servants, I'd step in with some pointed
remarks about the culprit that would make the nobleman even
madder, while I was appearing to take the servant's side. I
would praise the things he liked, but I'd mock and slander the
people of the house and even the ones who didn't live there. I
would go prying and try to find out about other people's lives so
I could tell him about them.
"And I'd do all sorts of other things like this that go on in
palaces these days and that people in that sort of a position
like. They don't want to see good men in their homes. In fact,
they think they're useless, and actually, they hate them. They
say they're stupid people you can't deal with and that a nobleman
can't confide in them. And smart people these days act with the
nobility, as I say, just the way I would. But with my bad luck,
I haven't met one of them."
And so my master complained about his unhappy life, too, telling
me how admirable he was.
Well, about this time, a man and an old woman came in the door.
The man wanted the rent money for the house, and the old lady had
rented him the bed and wanted the money for that. They figured
up the amount, and for two months' rent they wanted what he
couldn't have made in a year. I think it was about twelve or
thirteen pieces of silver. And he answered them very courteously:
he said that he would go out to the square to change a doubloon
and that they should come back that afternoon. But when he left,
he never came back.
So they returned in the afternoon, but it was too late. I told
them that he still hadn't come back. And when night came and he
didn't, I was afraid to stay in the house alone. So I went to
the women next door and told them what had happened, and I slept
at their place.
The next morning, the creditors returned. But no one was home,
so they came to the door of the place I was staying at now and
asked about their neighbor. And the women told them, "Here is
his servant and the door key."
Then they asked me about him, and I told them I didn't know where
he was and that he hadn't come back home after going to get the
change. And I said that I thought he'd given both them and me
the slip.
When they heard that, they went to get a constable and a notary.
And then they came back with them and took the key and called me
and some witnesses over. And they opened the door and went
inside to take my master's property until he paid what he owed
them. They walked through the entire house and found it empty,
just as I've said. And they asked me, "What's become of your
master's things--his chests and drapes and furniture?"
"I don't know anything about that," I answered.
"It's obvious," they said, "that last night they must have had it
all taken out and carted somewhere else. Constable, arrest this
boy. He knows where it is."
Then the constable came over and grabbed me by the collar of my
jacket, and he said, "Boy, you're under arrest unless you tell us
what's happened to your master's things."
I'd never seen myself in such a fix (I had, of course, been held
by the collar lots of times before, but that was done gently so
that I could guide that man who couldn't see down the road), and
so I was really scared. And while crying, I promised to answer
their questions.
"All right," they said. "Then tell us what you know. Don't be afraid."
The notary sat down on a stone bench so he could write out the
inventory, and he asked me what things my master had.
"Sir," I said, "according to what my master told me, he has a
nice estate with houses on it and a pigeon house that isn't
standing any more."
"All right," they said. "Even though it probably isn't worth
much, it will be enough to pay off his bill. And what part of
the city is it located in?" they asked me.
"In his town," I answered.
"For God's sake, we're really getting far," they said. "And just
where is his town?"
"He told me that he came from Old Castile," I replied.
And the constable and notary laughed out loud, and said, "This
sort of information would be good enough to pay off your debt
even if it was bigger."
The neighbor ladies were there, and they said: "Gentlemen, this
is just an innocent boy, and he's only been with that squire a
few days. He doesn't know any more about him than you do.
Besides, the poor little fellow has been coming to our house,
and we've given him what we could to eat out of charity, and at
night he's gone to his master's place to sleep."
When they saw that I was innocent, they let me loose and said I
was free to go. And the constable and notary wanted the man and
the woman to pay them for their services. And there was a lot of
shouting and arguing about that. They said they weren't
obligated to pay: there was no reason for them to, since nothing
had been attached. But the men said that they had missed out on
some other more profitable business just so they could come here.
Finally, after a lot of shouting, they loaded the old lady's old
mattress onto a deputy--even though it wasn't very much of a
load. And all five of them went off, shouting at each other. I
don't know how it all turned out. I think that sinner of a
mattress must have paid everyone's expenses. And that was a good
use for it because the time it should have spent relaxing and
resting from its past strain, it had still been going around
being rented out.
So, as I've said, my poor third master left me, and I saw the
hand of my bad luck in this, too. It showed how much it was
going against me, because it arranged my affairs so backward that
instead of me leaving my master--which is what normally happens--
my master left and ran away from me.
IV. How Lazaro Went to Work for a Friar of the Order of Mercy
and What Happened to Him
I had to get a fourth master, and this one turned out to be a
friar of the Order of Mercy. The women I've mentioned
recommended me to him. They said he was a relative. He didn't
think much of choir duties or eating in the monastery; he was
always running around on the outside; and he was really devoted
to secular business and visiting. In fact, he was so dedicated
to this that I think he wore out more shoes than the whole
monastery put together. He gave me the first pair of shoes I
ever wore, but they didn't last me a week. And I wouldn't have
lasted much longer myself trying to keep up with him. So because
of this and some other little things that I don't want to
mention, I left him.
V. How Lazaro Went to Work for a Pardoner and the Things That
Happened to Him Then
As luck would have it, the fifth one I ran into was a seller of
papal indulgences. He was arrogant, without principles, the
biggest hawker of indulgences that I've ever seen in my life or
ever hope to see--and probably the biggest one of all time. He
had all sorts of ruses and underhanded tricks, and he was always
thinking up new ones.
When he'd come to a place where he was going to sell these
pardons, first he'd give the priests and the other clergy some
presents--just little things that really weren't worth much: some
lettuce from Murcia; a couple limes or oranges if they were in
season; maybe a peach; some pears--the kind that stay green even
after they're ripe. That way he tried to win them over so they'd
look kindly on his business and call out their congregation to buy
up the indulgences.
When they thanked him, he'd find out how well educated they were.
If they said they understood Latin, he wouldn't speak a word of
it so they couldn't trip him up; instead he'd use some refined,
polished-sounding words and flowery phrases. And if he saw that
these clerics were "appointed reverends"--I mean that they bought
their way into the priesthood instead of by going through school-
-he turned into a Saint Thomas, and for two hours he'd speak
Latin. Or, at least, something that sounded like Latin even if
it wasn't.
When they wouldn't take his pardons willingly, he'd try to find
some underhanded way to get them to take them. To do that, he'd
sometimes make a nuisance of himself, and other times he'd use
his bag of tricks. It would take too long to talk about all the
things I saw him do, so I'll just tell about one that was really
sly and clever, and I think that will show how good he was at it.
In a place called Sagra, in the province of Toledo, he'd been
preaching for two or three days, trying his usual gimmicks, and
not one person had bought an indulgence, and I couldn't see that
they had any intention of buying any. He swore up and down, and
trying to think of what to do, he decided to call the town together
the next morning so he could try to sell all the pardons.
And that night, after supper, he and the constable began to
gamble to see who would pay for the meal. They got to quarreling
over the game, and there were heated words. He called the
constable a thief, and the constable called him a swindler. At
that point my master, the pardoner, picked up a spear that was
lying against the door of the room where they were playing. The
constable reached for his sword, that he kept at his side.
The guests and neighbors came running at the noise and shouting
we all began to make, and they got in between the two of them to
break it up. Both men were really mad, and they tried to get
away from the people who were holding them back so they could
kill each other. But since those people had come swarming in at
all the noise, the house was full of them, and when the two men
saw that they couldn't use their weapons they began to call each
other names. And at one point the constable said my master was a
swindler and that all the pardons he was selling were
counterfeit.
Finally, the townspeople saw that they couldn't make them stop,
so they decided to get the constable out of the inn and take him
somewhere else. And that made my master even madder. But after
the guests and neighbors pleaded with him to forget about it and
go home to bed he left, and then so did everyone else.
The next morning my master went to the church and told them to
ring for mass so he could preach and sell the indulgences. And
the townspeople came, muttering about the pardons, saying that
they were forgeries and that the constable himself had let it out
while they were quarreling. So, if they hadn't wanted to take
any pardons before, they were dead set against it now.
The pardoner went up to the pulpit and began his sermon, trying
to stir up the people, telling them that they shouldn't be
without the blessings and the forgiveness that would come to them
by buying the indulgences.
When he was into the sermon in full swing, the constable came in
the church door, and after praying he got up, and with a loud and
steady voice he began to speak very solemnly: "My fellow men, let
me say a word; afterward, you can listen to whoever you like. I
came here with this swindler who's preaching. But he tricked
me: he said that if I helped him in his business, we'd split the
profits. And now, seeing how it would hurt my conscience and
your pocketbooks, I've repented of what I've done. And I want to
tell you openly that the indulgences he's selling are forgeries.
Don't believe him and don't buy them. I'm not involved with them
any longer--either in an open or a hidden way--and from now on
I'm giving up my staff, the symbol of my office, and I throw it
on the ground so that you'll see I mean it. And if sometime in
the future this man is punished for his cheating, I want you to
be my witnesses that I'm not in with him and I'm not helping him,
but that I told you the truth--that he's a double-dealing liar."
And he finished his speech.
When he'd started, some of the respectable men there wanted to
get up and throw the constable out of church so there wouldn't be
any scandal. But my master stopped them and told them all not to
bother him under penalty of excommunication. He told them to let
him say anything he wanted to. So while the constable was saying
all that, my master kept quiet, too.
When he stopped speaking, my master told him if he wanted to say
anything more he should go ahead. And the constable said, "I
could say plenty more about you and your dirty tricks, but I've
said enough for now."
Then the pardoner knelt down in the pulpit, and with his hands
folded, and looking up toward heaven, he said: "Lord God, to Whom
nothing is hidden and everything is manifest, for Whom nothing is
impossible and everything is possible, Thou knowest the truth of
how unjustly I have been accused. In so far as I am concerned, I
forgive him so that Thou, Oh Lord, may forgive me. Pay no
attention to this man who knows not what he says or does. But
the harm that has been done to Thee, I beg and beseech Thee in
the name of righteousness that Thou wilt not disregard it.