OF THE EATING OF MEAT
NO sooner had I made this confession than this remarkable man uttered a
shout that filled the place like the report of a caliver.
“By my hand,” he cried, “what a nation! Have you ever heard of the
moon, my son?”
“Certainly, sir, I have heard of the moon.”
“Come now, he’s heard of the moon. How learned they are getting in this
cursed peninsula! This must be one of the clergy.”
“Yes, sir,” I said with sternness, for the sauciness of his look was
hard to condone; “I have heard of the moon continually; and under your
good favour I am willing to hear of this England of which you make
mention. Where may it be?”
“Well, to begin with, I could never learn that it was in Spain. Thereby
I have a predilection to my prayers, that I may reward heaven for its
good kindness.”
This incensed me greatly.
“It must be a barbarous land this England, if I may judge by what it
breeds,” was my rejoinder.
“Barbarous indeed,” said he. “There are more barbers in England than
there are honest men in this peninsula.”
“You misunderstand me, sir, I am afraid.”
“I hope I do misunderstand you, my son; for if I do not, it would
almost appear that you are a native of this damnable country.”
“Mother of Jesus!” I cried, “this is intolerable.”
Such a taunt was beyond my patience; and when I fell to consider
that he who applied it to my country, was native to a land in which
civilization had yet its work to do--I had now a recollection that
these English were a dreadful brawling people, a race of robbers who
sold their swords for gain, and overran the whole of Europe--I deemed
it proper to indulge a grievance against this foreigner whose demeanour
was so rude.
“Señor caballero, I fear I am under the necessity of having to correct
you.”
I laid my hand on my sword with a dignified gesture.
“By all means, young Hop-o’-my-Thumb.” His harsh voice sank into a most
remarkable cooing softness. “I am ever open to correction, as becomes a
good mother’s son who hath received it regularly.”
“Here, sir, and now,” I cried hotly, dragging my sword from its case.
While I had been speaking, the eyes of the barbarian had opened wider
and wider, till at the moment I showed him my steel he opened his
mouth and sent up such a peal of laughter to the hams, onions, and
lemons that lined the beams in the roof, as nearly provoked the poor
innkeeper, who all this time had taken care to keep behind me, to take
leave of his wits.
“Why, if this is not a giant-killer”--he pressed his hands to his ribs
and roared like a bull--“I am not a king’s son. By the lord Harry, what
a notable assemblance have we here! By cock, how he doth spread his
five feet nothing! If he had but a beard under his chin, he might break
an egg. And look you, he holds his point as staunchly as old harlequin
bears his wand in the Lord Mayor’s Show.”
“On guard, sir, immediately”--I advanced a step upon him--“before I run
you through the heart.”
Instead, however, of heeding my purpose, he continued to address most
immoderate roars to the roof, and his huge frame swayed on the stool
like a ship in distress.
“Why, there’s fierceness!” he roared. “The valiancy of the tempest in a
pouncet box. By my good soul, I have never seen anything so terrible,
unless it is a cricket sitting under a thorn with its ears spread, or a
squirrel casting for nuts in a scarce July. But here’s my hand, little
Jack Giant-killer. Do you hop upon it like a good thing; and I pray
you, Jacky, do not preen your feathers like a starling, else a fluxion
will mount in my brains and I shall spit blood.”
The enormous barbarian held his hand towards me, as though I were a
small bird with feathers, and he puckered up his mouth, as if he would
coax me to perch upon his forefinger. He kept gazing at me sideways,
and now and again would whisk away his face and break into laughter the
most unseemly.
I tapped the point of my sword on the floor in the instancy of anger.
“Feathers!” he cried. “By my good soul, they preen and bristle like the
back of a goose. Why I would like to wear your quills in my bonnet and
eat your grease in a pie.”
“I am afraid you do not apprehend, sir,” said I, striving to regain
my composure, “with whom you hold speech. My name is Sarda; and Don
Ygnacio, my illustrious father, both by descent and nurture was one of
the first of his native province of Asturias. His family have served
their country in a thousand ways, since the time of that Ruy Diaz whom
we call familiarly the Cid.”
“Is that so, good Don, is that really the case?” The Englishman averted
his countenance. “Then if you are the offshoot of such an illustrious
trunk, you must be nearly as full of high breeding as an elderly
bonaroba is full of dignity. Good Master Don What-do-you-call-yourself,
I pray you do not make me laugh; the best surgeons in the county of
Middlesex have warned me against flux of the brain and the spitting of
blood. All the most accomplished minds of a pretty good house have died
in that way.”
“Sir Englishman,” said I, “I grieve for this demeanour which you
display; but the last of our name must follow the practice of his
fathers. Your language is unseemly; it is to be regretted; the
misprisions you have urged against my country cannot go unmarked.”
“Oh, my young companion,” said he, striving to be grave, yet failing to
appear so, “I am persuaded I shall die a horribly incontinent death.”
With might and main he strove to behave more worthily. By taking
infinite pains he was able at last to compose his coarse red features,
bloated with the cup and stained by the sun, into an appearance of
respectfulness; but the moment I bespoke him down went his chin, his
enormous frame began to quiver, and forth came another roar that echoed
along the rafters like the discharge of an arquebuse.
Such conduct put me out of countenance completely. Although my
experience of the world was not such as to teach me how to meet it
becomingly, I was determined that it should not go free. I had a
passion to run him through the body, but this could not be done while
he continued to pay no regard to my sword. Yet, as he was impervious to
those methods of courtesy that were the pride of my race, I determined
to adopt a mode more extreme. I was about to deal him a blow in the
face with my hand, to bring him to a sense of his peril, when, like
a wise fellow, the innkeeper made a diversion. And this for the time
being changed the current of affairs.
He fished a ham from the cooking-pot, and laid it on a dish. No sooner
did the Englishman discover this meat to be set against his elbow than
out he whipped his dagger and fell upon it, being no more able to
contain his inclination than are the beasts that perish. Perforce, I
had to put up my sword and abide in patience until this barbarian had
quelled his appetite. But I had not reckoned well if I thought he would
do this easily. Never have I seen a man eat so rapidly, so grossly,
so extensively as this gigantical foreigner. At last came a pause in
this employ, whereupon he regarded me with the grease shining about his
chaps.
“Why, good Don,” said he, “you look a little sharp yourself. You have
travelled overlong upon your emptiness, or I am a rogue. You shouldn’t
do it, my son, you shouldn’t do it. Always be courteous to the belly,
and you will find her docile. Neglect her, good Don, and you will find
her a jade. Landlord, will you have the goodness to bring a platter for
our friend of the feathers, or must I be put to the trouble of fixing
the point of my dagger into your filthy Iberian skin?”
The innkeeper, who appeared to have no desire to place the Englishman
to this necessity, was mightily prompt in his obedience. Also, he
fished a second ham out of the kettle, from which the Englishman cut a
great portion, laid it on his own platter, and gave over the remainder
to me.
“There is a marrow-bone to suck,” said he. “’Tis the sweetest luxury,
that and a drop of sherris.”
Almost overcome with the pangs of hunger as I was, nothing was further
from my intention than to accept a courtesy at these rude hands. Yet,
after all, continence has a poor sort of virtue in the presence of a
mistress of such despotic powers. Before I was aware that I had so much
as taken the delicious platter into my keeping, I was conveying sweet
smoking morsels into my mouth. And as the propitiation of so imperious
a creature is at all times a delightful exercise, I had scarce felt
my teeth in the delectable pig than I forgot my feud against the
Englishman. Also I forgot my disgust at the manner of his feeding; for
so choice were these dainty morsels that, after all, I considered it
were better not to judge him harshly, as, perhaps, his methods were
less unworthy than they seemed. And he, having dealt faithfully with
his second ham, and having called for a pint of sherry in a voice like
a trumpet, ere I was half upon my course, proceeded to smile upon my
dealings with the marrow-bone in a fashion that can only be described
as brotherly.
“He who stands not true to the trencher is a poor shot,” he said with a
most encouraging smile. “A brave demeanour at meals is as necessary to
the blood, the assemblance and the superstructure of man, as is piety,
good principles, and contemplation to the soul. Therefore, eat away, my
good little Don Spaniardo, and I pray you to forget that I am present.
If my own poor courage could in anywise compare with yours I should be
as near to perfection as is woman to deceit. Small in circumference
thou art, fair shrew, but thou art a beautiful champer, and a notorious
lover of flesh. How wouldst thou esteem a salad, my son, of the brains
of a Jew, as Sir Purchas of my name, and worthy kinsman, always yearned
for and so seldom obtained? He was a man if you please, and notoriously
fine at his meals. I never heard of a man who was better before a
leg of mutton with caper sauce; and he drank canaries until the very
hour they came to measure him for his shell. How rarely do you find a
great nature disrespectful to its knife and its nuncheon. Modesty in
the presence of flesh meat is a menace to virtue. But for that I must
have been twice the man that I am. Ha! my son, give my old pluck such
bravery and I would pawn my pedigree and be a slave, for a liberal
stomach is no friend to displeasure.”
“Yet, good Englishman,” said I, with a touch, I fear, of our northern
slyness, “you seem to do pretty well.”
“Pretty well!” He sighed heavily. “Pretty well is pretty well; pretty
well is neither here nor there. Landlord, bring me this minute a bite
of cheese, about so big as the knee of a bee; and further, landlord,
another cup of this abominable sherris, or by this hand I will cut your
throat, as I am the son of a sainted Christian lady.”
To lend point to this drastic utterance, the Englishman scowled like
a fiend and drew his sword. This weapon, like everything about him,
was of a monstrous character, and he stuck it in the ground beside his
stool.