"The same as ever! This will have an end," he said turning fiercely to
the gipsy, who now started talking to him in her own language. She grew
animated as she spoke, and her eyes became terrible. It appeared to me
she was urging him warmly to do something at which he hesitated. I think
I understood what it was only too well from seeing her quickly pass and
repass her little hand under her chin. There was some question of a
throat to cut, and I had a suspicion that the throat was mine.
Don José only answered with two or three words in a sharp tone, and the
gipsy, casting a look of deep contempt at him, retired to a corner of
the room, and taking an orange, peeled it and began to eat it.
Don José took my arm, opened the door, and led me into the street. We
walked some way together in the profoundest silence. Then, stretching
out his hand, "Keep straight on," he Said, "and you will find the
bridge."
With that he turned his back on me, and walked rapidly away. I returned
to my inn a little crestfallen and depressed. Worst of all was that, as
I was undressing, I discovered my watch was missing.
I departed for Seville next day, and after several months of rambling in
Andalusia, was once more back in Cordova, on my way to Madrid.
The good fathers at the Dominican convent received me with open arms.
"Your watch has been found again, and will be returned to you," one of
them told me. "The rascal is in gaol, and is to be executed the day
after to-morrow. He is known in the country under the name of José
Navarro, and he is a man to be seen."
I went to see the prisoner, and took him some cigars. At first he
shrugged his shoulders and received me coldly, but I saw him again on
the morrow, and passed a part of the day with him. It was from his mouth
I learnt the sad adventures of his life.
_III.--Don José's Story_
"I was born," he said, "at Elizondo, and my name--Don José
Lizzarrabengoa--will tell you that I am Basque, and an old Christian. If
I take the _don_, it is because I have the right to do so. One day when
I had been playing tennis with a lad from Alava I won, and he picked a
quarrel with me. We took our iron-tipped sticks, and fought, and again I
had the advantage; but it forced me to quit the country. I met some
dragoons, and enlisted in the Almanza regiment of cavalry. Soon I became
a corporal, and they were under promise to make me sergeant when, to my
misfortune, I was put on guard at the tobacco factory at Seville.
"I was young then, and I was always thinking of my native country, and
was afraid of the Andalusian young women and their jesting ways. But one
Friday--I shall never forget it--when I was on duty, I heard people
saying, 'Here's the gipsy.' And, looking up, I saw her for the first
time. I saw that Carmen whom you know, in whose house I met you some
months ago.
"She made some joke at me as she passed into the factory, and flipped a
cassia flower just between my eyes. When she had gone, I picked it up
and put it carefully in my pocket. First piece of folly!
"A few hours afterwards I was ordered to take two of my men into the
factory. There had been a quarrel, and Carmen had slashed another woman
with two terrible cuts of her knife across the face. The case was clear.
I took Carmen by the arm, and bade her follow me. At the guard-house the
sergeant said it was serious, and that she must be taken to prison. I
placed her between two dragoons, and, walking behind, we set out for the
town.
"At first the gipsy kept silence, but presently she turned to me, and
said softly, 'You are taking me to prison! Alas! what will become of me?
Have pity on me, Mr. Officer! You are so young, so good-looking! Let me
escape, and I will give you a piece of the loadstone which will make all
women love you.'
"I answered her as seriously as I could that the order was to take her
to prison, and that there was no help for it.
"My accent told her I was from the Basque province, and she began to
speak to me in my native tongue. Gipsies, you know, sir, speak all
languages. She told me she had been carried off by gipsies from Navarro,
and was working at the factory in order to earn enough to return home to
her poor mother. Would I do nothing for a country-woman? The Spanish
women at the factory had slandered her native place.
"It was all lies, sir. She always lied. But I believed her at the time.
"'If I pushed you and you fell,' she resumed, in Basque, 'it would not
be these two conscripts who would hold me.'
"I forgot my order and everything, and said, "'Very well, my country-
woman; and may our Lady of the Mountain be your aid!'
"Suddenly Carmen turned round and dealt me a blow on the chest with her
fist. I let myself fall backwards on purpose, and, with one bound, she
leapt over me, and started to run. There was no risk of overtaking her
with our spurs, our sabres, and our lances. The prisoner disappeared in
no time, and all the women-folk in the quarter favoured her escape, and
made fun of us, pointing out the wrong road on purpose. We had to return
at last to the guard-house without a receipt from the governor of the
prison.
"The result of this was I was degraded and sent to prison for a month.
Farewell to the sergeant's stripes, I thought.
"One day in prison the jailor entered, and gave me a special loaf of
bread.
"'Here,' he said, 'see what your cousin has sent you.'
"I was astonished, for I had no cousin in Seville, and when I broke the
loaf I found a small file and a gold piece inside it. No doubt then, it
was a present from Carmen, for a gipsy would set fire to a town to
escape a day's imprisonment, and I was touched by this mark of
remembrance.
"But I served my sentence, and, on coming out, was put on sentry outside
the colonel's door, like a common soldier. It was a terrible
humiliation.
"While I was on duty I saw Carmen again. She was dressed out like a
shrine, all gold and ribbons, and was going in one evening with a party
of gipsies to amuse the colonel's guests. She recognised me, and named a
place where I could meet her next day. When I gave her back the gold
piece she burst into laughter, but kept it all the same. Do you know, my
son,' she said to me when we parted, 'I believe I love you a little. But
that cannot last. Dog and wolf do not keep house together long. Perhaps,
if you adopted the gipsy law, I would like to become your wife. But it
is nonsense; it is impossible. Think no more of Carmencita, or she will
bring you to the gallows.'
"She spoke the truth. I would have been wise to think no more of her;
but after that day I could think of nothing else, and walked about
always hoping to meet her, but she had left the town.
"It was some weeks later, when I had been placed as a night sentinel at
one of the town gates that I saw Carmen. I was put there to prevent
smuggling; but Carmen persuaded me to let five of her friends pass in,
and they were all well laden with English goods. She told me I might
come and see her next day at the same house I had visited before.
"Carmen had moods, like the weather in our country. She would make
appointments and not keep them, and at another time, would be full of
affection.
"One evening when I had called on a friend of Carmen's the gipsy entered
the room, followed by a young man, a lieutenant in our regiment.
"He told me to decamp, and I said something sharp to him. We soon drew
our swords, and presently the point of mine entered his body. Then
Carmen extinguished the lamp, and, wounded though I was, we started
running down the street. 'Great fool,' she said. 'You can do nothing but
foolish things. Besides, I told you I would bring you bad luck.' She
made me take off my uniform and put on a striped cloak, and this with a
handkerchief over my head, enabled me to pass fairly well for a peasant.
Then she took me to a house at the end of a little lane, and she and
another gipsy washed and dressed my wounds. Next day Carmen pointed out
to me the new career she destined me for. I was to go to the coast and
become a smuggler. In truth it was the only one left me, now that I had
incurred the punishment of death. Besides, I believed I could make sure
of her love. Carmen introduced me to her people, and at first the
freedom of the smuggler's life pleased me better than the soldier's
life. I saw Carmen often, and she showed more liking for me than ever;
but, she would not admit that she was willing to be my wife."
_IV.--The End of Don José's Story_
"One becomes a rogue without thinking, sir. A pretty girl makes one lose
one's head, one fights for her, a misfortune happens, one is driven to
the mountains, from smuggler one becomes robber before reflecting.
"Carmen often made me jealous, especially after she accepted me as her
husband, and she warned me not to interfere with her freedom. On my part
I wanted to change my way of life, but when I spoke to her about
quitting Spain and trying to live honestly in America, she laughed at
me.
"'We are not made for planting cabbages,' she said; '_our_ destiny is to
live at the expense of others.' Then she told me of a fresh piece of
smuggling on hand, and I let myself be persuaded to resume the wretched
traffic.
"While I was in hiding at Granada, there were bullfights to which Carmen
went. When she returned, she spoke much of a very skilful picador, named
Lucas. She knew the name of his horse, and how much his embroidered
jacket cost him. I paid no heed to this, but began to grow alarmed when
I heard that Carmen had been seen about with Lucas. I asked her how and
why she had made his acquaintance.
"'He is a man,' she said, 'with whom business can be done. He has won
twelve hundred pounds at the bullfights. One of two things: we must
either have the money, or, as he is a good horseman, we can enroll him
in our band.'
"'I wish,' I replied, 'neither his money nor his person, and I forbid
you to speak to him.'
"'Take care,' she said; 'when anyone dares me to do a thing it is soon
done.'
"Luckily the picador left for Malaga, and I set about my smuggling. I
had a great deal to do in this expedition, and it was about that time I
first met you. Carmen robbed you of your watch at our last interview,
and she wanted your money as well. We had a violent dispute about that,
and I struck her. She turned pale and wept. It was the first time I saw
her weep, and it had a terrible effect on me. I begged her pardon, but
it was not till three days later that she would kiss me.
"'There is a fête at Cordova,' she said, when we were friends again. 'I
am going to see it, then I shall find out the people who carry money
with them and tell you.'
"I let her go, but when a peasant told me there was a bull-fight at
Cordova, I set off like a madman to the spot. Lucas was pointed out to
me, and on the bench close to the barrier I recognised Carmen. It was
enough for me to see her to be certain how things stood. Lucas, at the
first bull, did the gallant, as I had foreseen. He tore the bunch of
ribbons from the bull and carried it to Carmen, who put it in her hair
on the spot. The bull took upon itself the task of avenging me. Lucas
was thrown down with his horse on his chest, and the bull on the top of
both. I looked at Carmen, she had already left her seat, but I was so
wedged in I was obliged to wait for the end of the fights.
"I got home first, however, and Carmen only arrived at two o'clock in
the morning.
"'Come with me,' I said.
"'Very well, let us go,' she answered.
"I went and fetched my horse; I put her behind me, and we travelled all
the rest of the night without speaking. At daybreak we were in a
solitary gorge.
"'Listen,' I said to Carmen, 'I forget everything. Only swear to me one
thing, that you will follow me to America, and live there quietly with
me.'
"'No,' she said, in a sulky tone, 'I do not want to go to America. I am
quite comfortable here.'
"I implored her to let us change our way of life and Carmen answered, 'I
will follow you to death, but I will not live with you any longer. I
always thought you meant to kill me, and now I see that is what you are
going to do. It is destiny, but you will not make me yield.'
"'Listen to me!' I said, 'for the last time. You know that it is for you
I have become a robber and a murderer. Carmen! my Carmen, there is still
time for us to save ourselves,' I promised anything and everything if
she would love me again.
"'José,' she replied, 'you ask me for the impossible. I do not love you
any more. All is over between us. You have the right to kill me. But
Carmen must always be free. To love you is impossible, and I do not wish
to live with you.'
"Fury took possession of me, and I killed her with my knife. An hour
later I laid her in a grave in the wood. Then I mounted my horse,
galloped to Cordova, and gave myself up at the first guard-house....
Poor Carmen! it is the gipsies who are to blame for having brought her
up like that."
* * * * *