Novelist, archaeologist, essayist, and in all three
departments one of the greatest masters of French style of his
century, Prosper Mérimée was born in Paris on September 23,
1803. The son of a painter, Mérimée was intended for the law,
but at the age of twenty-two achieved fame as the author of a
number of plays purporting to be translations from the
Spanish. From that time until his death at Cannes on September
23, 1870, a brilliant series of plays, essays, novels, and
historical and archaeological works poured from his fertile
pen. Altogether he wrote about a score of tales, and it is on
these and on his "Letters to an Unknown" that Mérimée's fame
depends. His first story to win universal recognition was
"Colombo," in 1830. Seventeen years later appeared his
"Carmen, the Power of Love," of which Taine, in his celebrated
essay on the work, says, "Many dissertations on our primitive
savage methods, many knowing treatises like Schopenhauer's on
the metaphysics of love and death, cannot compare to the
hundred pages of 'Carmen.'"
_I.--I Meet Don José_
One day, wandering in the higher part of the plain of Cachena, near
Cordova, harassed with fatigue, dying of thirst, burned by an overhead
sun, I perceived, at some distance from the path I was following, a
little green lawn dotted with rushes and reeds. It proclaimed to me the
neighbourhood of a spring, and I saw that a brook issued from a narrow
gorge between two lofty spurs of the Sierra de Cabra.
At the mouth of the gorge my horse neighed, and another horse that I did
not see answered immediately. A hundred steps farther, and the gorge,
suddenly widening, revealed a sort of natural circus, shaded by the
cliffs which surrounded it. It was impossible to light upon a place
which promised a pleasanter halt to the traveller.
But the honour of discovering this beautiful spot did not belong to me.
A man was resting there already, and it my entrance, he had risen and
approached his horse. He was a young fellow of medium height, but robust
appearance, with a gloomy and haughty air. In one hand he held his
horse's halter, in the other a brass blunderbuss. The fierce air of the
man somewhat surprised me, but not having seen any robbers I no longer
believed in them. My guide Antonio, however, who came up behind me,
showed evident signs of terror, and drew near very much against his
will.
I stretched myself on the grass, drew out my cigar-case, and asked the
man with the blunderbuss if he had a tinder-box on him. The unknown,
without speaking, produced his tinder-box, and hastened to strike a
light for me. In return I gave him one of my best Havanas, for which he
thanked me with an inclination of the head.
In Spain a cigar given and received establishes relations of
hospitality, like the sharing of bread and salt in the East. My unknown
now proved more talkative than I had expected. He seemed half famished,
and devoured some slices of excellent ham, which I had put in my guide's
knapsack, wolfishly. When I mentioned I was going to the Venta del
Cuervo for the night he offered to accompany me, and I accepted
willingly.
As we rode along Antonio endeavoured to attract my attention by
mysterious signs, but I took no notice. Doubtless my companion was a
smuggler, or a robber. What did it matter to me? I knew I had nothing to
fear from a man who had eaten and smoked with me.
We arrived at the venta, which was one of the most wretched I had yet
come across. An old woman opened the door, and on seeing my companion,
exclaimed, "Ah, Señor Don José!"
Don José frowned and raised his hand, and the old woman was silent at
once.
The supper was better than I expected, and after supper Don José played
the mandoline and sang some melancholy songs. My guide decided to pass
the night in the stable, but Don José and I stretched ourselves on mule
cloths on the floor.
Very disagreeable itchings snatched me from my first nap, and drove me
to a wooden bench outside the door. I was about to close my eyes for the
second time, when, to my surprise, I saw Antonio leading a horse. He
stopped on seeing me, and said anxiously, "Where is he?"
"In the venta; he is sleeping. He is not afraid of the fleas. Why are
you taking away my horse?"
I then observed that, in order to prevent any noise, Antonio had
carefully wrapped the animal's feet in the remains of an old sack.
"Hush!" said Antonio. "That man there is José Navarro, the most famous
bandit of Andalusia. There are two hundred ducats for whoever gives him
up. I know a post of lancers a league and a half from here, and before
it is day I will bring some of them here."
"What harm has the poor man done you that you denounce him?" said I.
"I am a poor wretch, sir!" was all Antonio could say. "Two hundred
ducats are not to be lost, especially when it is a matter of delivering
the country from such vermin."
My threats and requests were alike unavailing. Antonio was in the
saddle, he set spurs to his horse after freeing its feet from the rags,
and was soon lost to sight in the darkness.
I was very much annoyed with my guide, and somewhat uneasy; but quickly
making up my mind, returned to the inn, and shook Don José to awaken
him.
"Would you be very pleased to see half a dozen lancers arrive here?" I
said.
He leapt to his feet.
"Ah, your guide has betrayed me! Your guide! I had suspected him. Adieu,
sir. God repay you the service I am in your debt for. I am not quite as
bad as you think. Yes, there is still something in me deserving the pity
of a gentleman. Adieu!"
He ran to the stable, and some minutes later I heard him galloping into
the fields.
As for me, I asked myself if I had been right in saving a robber,
perhaps a murderer, from the gallows only because I had eaten ham and
rice and smoked with him.
I think Antonio cherished a grudge against me; but, nevertheless, we
parted good friends at Cordova.
_II.--My Experience with Carmen_
I passed some days at Cordova searching for a certain manuscript in the
Dominican's library.
One evening I was leaning on the parapet of the quay, smoking, when a
woman came up the flight of stairs leading to the river and sat down
beside me. She was simply dressed, all in black, and we fell into
conversation.
On my taking out my repeater watch she was greatly astonished.
"What inventions they have among you foreigners!"
Then she told me she was a gipsy, and proposed to tell my fortune.
"Have you heard people speak of La Carmencita?" she added. "That is me!"
"Good!" I said to myself. "Last week I supped with a highway robber; now
to-day I will eat ices with a gipsy. When travelling one must see
everything."
With that I escorted the Señorita Carmen to a café, and we had ices.
My gipsy had a strange and wild beauty, a face which astonished at
first, but which one could not forget. Her eyes, in particular, had an
expression, at once loving and fierce, that I have found in no human
face since.
It would have been ridiculous to have had my fortune told in a public
café and I begged the fair sorceress to allow me to accompany her to her
domicile. She at once consented, but insisted on seeing my watch again.
"Is it really of gold?" she said, examining it with great attention.
Night had set in, and most of the shops were closed and the streets
almost deserted as we crossed the Guadalquiver bridge, and went on to
the outskirts of the town.
The house we entered was by no means a palace. A child opened the door,
and disappeared when the gipsy said some words to it in the Romany
tongue.
Then the gipsy produced some cards, a magnet, a dried chameleon, and
other things necessary for her art. She told me to cross my left hand
with a piece of money, and the magic ceremonies began. It was evident to
me that she was no half-sorceress.
Unfortunately, we were soon disturbed. Of a sudden the door opened
violently, and a man entered, who denounced the gipsy in a manner far
from polite.