_Guzman leaves Rome, and arrives at his friend Pompey’s house at Sienna,
where he hears bad news._
The day subsequent to this sad catastrophe, which was the general
subject of conversation in Rome, I took my leave of that city, well
mounted, but poorer, alas! than I imagined. Assuming a consequential
air, and anticipating much pleasure, I proceeded towards Sienna, where I
imagined my friend Pompey would be most anxiously expecting me. Having
arrived there, I repaired straightway to his house.
He was at home, and received me in a civil manner, though not without
evident embarrassment. “Signor Pompey,” said I, embracing him, “your
friend Guzman can scarcely express his extreme joy at being at length
introduced to your personal acquaintance.” My very name seemed to
astonish him. “How,” answered he with surprise, “can you be that Guzman
to whom I am under so many and such great obligations?” I was almost
frozen by these words, for I knew they could portend no good. “For what
possible reason,” cried I with emotion, “can you be so much astonished
at seeing me?” “You will soon know that to your cost,” replied the
merchant. “I see plainly that I have been duped, and that you are in
reality that Guzman d’Alfarache whom I expected.”
These words were like a thunder-bolt to me, and I instantly foresaw that
some accident had happened to my property. Impatient to discover the
truth, I intreated Pompey to explain himself more clearly. “Well then,”
said he, “you must know that there has passed through Sienna a cavalier
calling himself gentleman to the Spanish Ambassador, who came hither
from Rome, followed by two servants, on his road to Florence with
despatches from his master. This spark introduced himself to me as the
Guzman d’Alfarache who had been of so much service to me in my late
law-suit, and he had in his possession the keys of your trunks.” I
thought I should have fallen into convulsions even at these words, but a
more circumstantial detail of the whole adventure drove me almost to
madness. I requested to be allowed to inspect my trunks. He conducted me
immediately to the chamber prepared for my reception, and pointing out
two large ones, “There are the two that are left behind,” said he; “but
even these have been in their power as well as the third.” I sighed
bitterly when I recollected that my gold and jewels were in the one that
was missing. I failed not, however, to open the others, and should have
been somewhat appeased if the thieves, satisfied with having my money,
had not meddled with my clothes; but no such consolation was in store
for me.
In justice to Pompey, I must acknowledge that he was not less afflicted
than myself when I informed him that I had been robbed of two thousand
crowns. After all, however, his affliction may have been principally
caused by the fear that I should hold him accountable for the loss of my
property, whatever he might be able to urge in his own justification. So
far from thinking of making him uneasy on this point, however, I tried
all in my power to conceal the grief which consumed me. It appeared to
me that a man who wished to assume the carriage of a gentleman ought not
to shew much vexation at the loss of his clothes. Nevertheless, I was
really half distracted, and Heaven knows I had reason enough, not being
in possession of another coat except the one I had on, nor any linen
but two shirts in my portmanteau.
In vain did I rack my brain with conjectures as to who could be the
person who had taken the impression of my keys. I knew not whom to
suspect. As for Sayavedra, I esteemed him too sincerely to entertain the
slightest mistrust of him. It was not Pompey’s fault, however, if I was
so long in discovering the thief; for as, in his relation of this
affair, he described the person of the false Guzman, he gave me an exact
portrait of Sayavedra; the figure, the hair, the voice, and the manners,
were all his. So prejudiced was I in his favour, that I should have
thought it quite a crime to have suspected him on account of the
resemblance. I will say more: though I remembered that I had left him
alone in my chamber when the carrier of Sienna came to look at my boxes,
my respect for Sayavedra was proof against the recollection of even this
circumstance.
While my host and I were making very useless reflections upon my loss, a
servant came to tell us that supper was ready. We accordingly went down
into the parlour, and sat down to table with gloomy faces, and without
much inclination to eat. Pompey, perceiving that this vexatious affair
had completely taken away my appetite, said to me, “Signor Guzman, your
property is not so entirely lost as to render its recovery quite
hopeless. I have not been idle; the Bargello[A], who is a friend of
mine, has undertaken the pursuit of the thieves; and I assure you I
place great reliance on his exertions. He will return this evening or
to-morrow, and I trust he will be the bearer of good news.” “I hope so
too,” answered I; “but, between ourselves, I don’t think that much
confidence ought to be placed in persons of that kind: especially in an
affair where restitution is to be made.”
[A] The Translator has not been able to meet with the word “Bargello”
in either of the best Spanish Dictionaries; but presumes that it must
signify a Magistrate, or perhaps inferior Officer of Justice.
Though the table was covered with well-dressed dishes and excellent
wine, we were so little inclined to eat or drink, that supper was soon
over. As I pretended to be very much fatigued, my host conducted me to
my chamber, and soon withdrew, to my great satisfaction, for I found his
conversation very tiresome. I spent part of the night in pacing my
chamber absorbed in meditation: and did not retire to rest till near
day-break; when my mind was so overwhelmed and fatigued with the
different thoughts that agitated it by turns, that at last I fell
asleep. My slumbers were soon disturbed; a loud noise on the staircase
awoke me suddenly, and I heard several persons vociferating at the same
time, “The thief is taken! the thief is taken!”
I drew back the bed-curtains, being scarcely able to believe my ears,
and I was going to rise, that I might know what to think of it; when in
rushed the merchant’s whole family, wife, children, and servants, all
speaking together, and repeating what I had heard before: I requested
the wife to explain the meaning of all this. “It means,” said she “that
the Bargello is expected in the course of an hour, with one of the
thieves in his custody: he sent one of his attendants forward to give
Pompey notice of it, who is dressing himself that he may wait upon you.”
My host was not slow in bringing this man before me, to whom I put some
questions, and he informed me, “that the thief who was taken was he who
had sustained the character of Guzman.”
This news revived me a little, and I began to flatter myself, that I
should recover at least a part of my effects, since we had apprehended
the thief. Pompey also indulged the same hopes, and the whole family
evinced the greatest joy at this fortunate event. I gave a pistole to
the man who had ridden all the way at full gallop to bring me the news;
and hastened to dress myself, that I might recognize the scoundrel who
had personated me. Pompey also prepared to accompany me, that he might
speak to the magistrates in my favour.
While we were conversing on the subject, a servant came to inform us,
that the Bargello was at the door on horseback, and that his myrmidons
were conveying the thief to prison. The merchant sent a request to the
Provost that he would alight and favour us with his company up stairs.
The Bargello, as great a scoundrel as ever was born, marched in with an
air of triumph. First of all he related to us the intrepid manner in
which he had secured the thief, and made me quite impatient by long
digressions which did little honour to his modesty. I interrupted his
heroic recital, to inquire what was of most importance to me to know,
namely, whether he could give me any information respecting my money.
“As for the money,” said he, with an air of great nonchalance, “he had
about him but five and twenty pistoles: which is not much to be wondered
at. Though he played the chief character in the piece, he is not at the
head of the gang. That honour belongs to a certain Alexander
Bentivoglio, of whom I have heard but too often: and who may yet some
day fall into my clutches; however,” continued he, “console yourself:
the scoundrel who is the cause of your misfortune is in our power, and I
promise you that he shall be hung.” I could scarcely repress my rage at
this impertinent discourse. I fairly wished them all at the devil
together. The Provost who talked to me in that manner,--his man who had
cost me a pistole,--and the merchant who, by his imprudence, had placed
me in this embarrassing situation. I began to be angry in good earnest.
The Bargello perceiving that so far from thinking of rewarding him as he
expected, I was highly dissatisfied, took his leave very much displeased
with my Lordship; and telling Pompey that if he had known that I should
have received his services so ungratefully, he should not have taken
much trouble about the affair.
As soon as he was gone, Pompey called for his cloak, and expressed an
intimation of going to solicit the judges. As for me, I had a great
curiosity to see the thief who was in prison, and having repaired
thither, it was with no small astonishment that I recognized Sayavedra;
though he had been accurately described to me. He threw himself at my
feet the moment he saw me. He was as pale as death, and earnestly begged
me to pardon him. “My dear Signor Don Guzman,” cried he, drowned in
tears, “have pity on a wretch who sincerely repents having betrayed
you.” He was going on in this strain, for he had prepared a long
harangue to excite my pity; but I did not allow him time to say more. I
loaded him with reproaches; but even while I thus reviled him I felt my
anger growing weaker every moment. All the feelings of indignation which
agitated me gave way insensibly to emotions of pity, which I should have
been weak enough to have suffered him to perceive, had I not hastened
from the presence of a traitor, who would at least have been condemned
to the galleys, if the administrators of justice in Sienna had acted
with a little wholesome severity.
The judges of that period however, as you will soon perceive, acted as a
thousand others have done before them, and ten thousand since. The next
day they sent to me one of their clerks to propose that I should bind
myself to prosecute the prisoner. I answered that I should be very
ready to do it, provided that they would engage that my lost property
should be restored to me; but that otherwise I would not: that I did not
wish for the death of the offender, and that hanging him would not at
all replenish my purse; in short that I wished for nothing but my money
and my clothes, and that I had given up all hopes of them, since they
were in too good hands for me to have any chance of regaining them. The
clerk had no sooner reported to the judges what I said, than considering
that there was no more spoil to be gleaned from this affair, except the
pistoles which they had taken from the thief they had secured, they
satisfied themselves with condemning him to the pillory for two or three
hours, and perpetual banishment from Sienna. These upright magistrates
urged in defence of so mild a punishment, that as the culprit had no
marks of branding on his shoulders, it was a proof that he had never
been guilty before, and that consequently he deserved some indulgence.
A pretty reason this for suffering a professed thief to escape! And is
it not a most judicious arrangement to banish him from the country where
he had robbed? It was as if they had said to him, “Go friend, and rob
elsewhere.”
I did not yet know what punishment the judges intended to impose on
Sayavedra, and I was at dinner with Pompey, when one his servants, who
had heard the sentence pronounced, rushed into the room quite out of
breath, and cried out with as much apparent satisfaction, as if he had
announced the restoration of my property: “Huzza! Signor Don Guzman, the
thief who has robbed you, is condemned to the Pillory and the iron
collar, and he is just now going to be fastened into it. It will be your
own fault if you do not witness his punishment.” I regretted at this
moment that this fool was not my own servant, and that I was not at
liberty to knock his teeth down his throat for it; for if ever I was
tempted to strike a man, it was upon this occasion. I was obliged
however to endure this mortification, as well as the cold treatment
which I experienced from that time from my host. He changed all at once
from one extreme to the other, and looked upon me only as a stranger who
incommoded him, and whom he wished to get rid of.
Is it possible! you will say. What the Pompey to whom you had been so
serviceable, and who in his letters professed himself so sincerely
obliged,--could this very Pompey repay you with ingratitude? alas it was
but too true. He assumed all at once a cool and distant air, and gave me
to understand by his behaviour, that he desired my absence. This conduct
was owing in a great measure to my telling him that I should not return
to Rome for some time. He concluded from this, that I should not have
it in my power to render him any further service, and in all
probability, as we should have no continued connexion between us, he was
quite indifferent as to whether I was dissatisfied with him or not. He
even went so far as to ask me without ceremony when I intended to
proceed on my journey. I answered him that I should set out the next
day; upon which he replied with a distant air, that he was sorry to part
with me so soon, though he never made the slightest motion to press me
to stay any longer. I was not a little vexed to think of having taken so
much pains to oblige a man who felt so little gratitude, that far from
offering me any assistance to make me some amends for what he had caused
me to lose, he was so unfeeling as to count the minutes with impatience
until I was out of his house. So that the first thing I did the next
morning was to take leave of Signor Pompey, and I took care by my
manner towards him, to let him see the opinion I entertained of his
conduct.