Chapter VI: Part 6

If the Bailiff was mortified at seeing his intentions to avenge his son’s death, likely to be frustrated by Elvira, how was he rejoiced when the very same evening he had the consolation to learn that the Marquis participated in his resentment. Don Lewis, in his way home from his farm, passed through the town towards the evening, and observing that a majority of the inhabitants were in arms, he inquired for what purpose they were thus assembled. The late adventure was consequently related to him, and as he wished to know the full particulars, the most considerable person among the mob addressed himself to him: “All this misfortune,” said he, “has arisen merely from a mistake of our Bailiff’s son who was in love with a young girl belonging to your family, and had a rival who was the son of a rich farmer in the environs. The Bailiff’s son was naturally of a debauched character and of a very violent disposition, and finding that his rival, who was of a more sober character and richer than himself, was always more welcome, he sent him word that he would have him well cudgelled if he were ever again found in the neighbourhood of your house with the view of speaking with his mistress. He caused him to be observed, and having been informed this morning that two men who had not the appearance of common peasants, though dressed as such, had slipped into the wood as if by stealth, he doubted not that it was the farmer’s son, with a young fellow of his acquaintance who generally accompanied him in these visits, and that they were thus disguised to avoid the drubbing they had been threatened with; with this impression he employed two of the strongest fellows in the town to conceal themselves in the wood to put his threat in execution; and he himself followed with two of his friends, in order to assist them, if necessary.”

The Marquis saw plainly by this recital, that the Bailiff’s son only was to blame, and that those whom they called his murderers had killed him in their own defence; but when he was informed that these two Cavaliers were no other than Don Alonso de Zuniga and the pretended Ambrosio, and that the Bailiff held the latter in his custody, he began to consider that this adventure was ordained by Heaven to afford him an opportunity of being avenged on his daughter’s seducer. He called the Bailiff before him and excited him to pursue this affair with warmth, assuring him of the protection of his influence and purse, and advising him to repair to Seville the next morning, accompanied by all the relatives of the deceased, as well as those of the wounded, and there throw themselves at the feet of the magistrates, crying aloud for Justice. The Bailiff resolved to follow this advice, and accordingly conducted his prisoner to that city the following day, escorted by the guards and some of the most resolute peasants belonging to the town. When the people of Seville saw him thus brought up, and knew the cause, they were so enraged that it was with great difficulty that the unfortunate Moor was preserved from their fury. In addition to this, Don Lewis arrived the same day in the city, thinking his presence necessary to engage the Judges to condemn a man whose destruction he had sworn.

On the other hand Don Alonso was unfortunately so ill of his wounds that he could scarcely sit on horseback, nor indeed had he yet been able to assemble a sufficient number of his friends to undertake to deliver Ozmin by force. Thus, reduced to solicit on his behalf, he implored each of the Judges separately to consider that they could not in justice condemn a man to death, whose only crime was that of having defended himself against assassins. In answer to this he was told, that he ought to be well contented that he himself was not secured and prosecuted: that the blood which had been spilt demanded justice, and that if he were in the prisoner’s place, they could not possibly be able to save him. The death of Ozmin appeared inevitable and near at hand; but in spite of all the endeavours of Don Lewis to hasten it, it was deferred by an incident which that nobleman little expected. He received a courier express from the Queen who informed him of the capture of the city of Granada, and ordered him to repair to her instantly with Daraxa, whose father was most anxious to see her, who having himself determined to become a Christian, hoped that his daughter would not refuse to follow so good an example.

There was also a packet of letters for Daraxa, but the Marquis judged it most proper to withhold them from her; and did not even communicate the news contained in his own, lest in her impatience of returning to her parents, she should oblige him to set off with her the very next day for Granada. He wished to see the prosecution of Don Jaymé closed by a sentence of death, and even to be present at his execution before his departure. For this purpose he redoubled his efforts and solicitations, in which he succeeded so effectually with the Judges that they condemned Ozmin to be beheaded two days afterwards, under the name of Don Jaymé, Gentleman of Arragon.

Zuniga was among the first that were informed of this severe sentence, of which he apprised the ladies by letter, assuring them, at the same time, that he had assembled above three hundred men, and that he and his friends would all perish, rather than suffer such an injustice. What words can express the affliction of the beautiful Moor? The idea of the ignominious treatment that was preparing for her dear Ozmin almost drove her mad. In the midst of her despair she met Don Lewis, at his return from the palace, where he had spent the whole of the morning. She cast upon him a furious and piercing look, and said, with such transport as sufficiently evinced the disorder of her mind: “Barbarian! are you now satisfied? Unjust and cowardly Judges have consented without shame to gratify your resentment at the expence of innocence. But think not that the blood of this cavalier, who is thus injured and oppressed by your influence and suggestions, shall be shed with impunity. He is my lover, and my husband; a relation of the King of Granada; and not the gallant of your daughter, for whom such a man was never destined. Your head shall answer to me for his; for there are those among his relations, or my own, who will have vengeance; or, if you escape their resentment, I myself will strike the poniard to your heart.”

Don Lewis was thunderstruck at these impassioned exclamations, which showed but too clearly Daraxa’s interest in the life of the prisoner. He knew not what to reply, so overwhelmed was he with trouble and confusion. He at length, however, told her, that she was much to blame for not having sooner informed him of the quality of the pretended Ambrosio, against whom he did not deny that he had solicited, conceiving that he had disgraced his house. Daraxa was proceeding to assure him that it was not the fault of Ozmin if Elvira had conceived a foolish love for him, but at that moment a servant entered the room, and whispered to the Marquis that there were several equipages at the gate, and a great number of Moors, who asked to speak with Daraxa. Don Lewis was somewhat troubled at this news, and apologized for being obliged to leave her for an instant. As Daraxa had not heard what the servant had whispered, and wished to know everything that happened in her present anxious state, she followed the Marquis and entered a parlour, where from the window she perceived some Moors whom she knew at the gate, for the most part servants of her father. This sight beguiled her of her troubles for awhile, and joy took possession of her heart, when Don Lewis entered the room conducting one of her father’s officers into her presence, who, having paid his respects to her, announced the capture of the city of Granada, and that the war was at an end. He informed her at the same time that her father, having obtained permission of their Catholic Majesties to recall her home, had sent her an equipage and followers suitable to a person of her high birth: that she must doubtless be already informed of all these particulars by the courier the Queen had dispatched to the Marquis de Padilla, and by the letters she must have received. This was a fresh cause of confusion to the Marquis, who was obliged to frame all sorts of excuses to Daraxa for not having before put her in possession of them.

The joy of the beautiful Moor lasted no longer than the time that was occupied in communicating to her the wishes of her father. The thoughts respecting Ozmin, and the extreme danger he was in, soon renewed her grief. This afflicted lover dispatched the officer, and Orviedo by whom he was accompanied, to demand a public audience for her of the Judges, who were at that moment deliberating upon advices they had just received that Don Alonso’s house was filling with cavaliers who were arrived from the country to second him in his design to rescue his friend. To prevent this enterprise, the Judges had just resolved to have the culprit put to death that night in prison.

They were much surprised at Daraxa’s request, never having known an instance of a woman coming in ceremony before them, to address the Judges, and they knew not what answer to return. The oldest among them were of opinion that she ought not to be allowed an audience, but the younger ones were of a different way of thinking. The curiosity to know what she could have to say to them--the respect they were bound to entertain for a lady who was so great a favourite with the Queen, and, above all, the pleasure of seeing her, at last prevailed; and they decided that an audience should be granted her at six in the evening. Daraxa, who was apprehensive that this would have been refused her, was well pleased at this message. She sent Orviedo to Don Alonso, apprising him of her intentions, and requesting him to accompany her to the palace, if his health would allow him to do her this favor. Zuniga was extremely charmed with the honor conferred upon him by the beautiful Moor in selecting him as her squire upon this occasion, and prepared for the cavalcade. He had no need to seek very far for the cavaliers he wished to join him in it; since they were, for the most part, already in his own house, ready to follow him wherever he chose to lead them. He conducted them at five o’clock to Don Lewis’s house, who, seeing more than two hundred cavaliers who came for Daraxa, whose intentions he was not unacquainted with, went in search of her, and offered himself to bear her company; but she returned him thanks, telling him that she was very glad she was able to spare him the mortification of seeing her solicit for the life of a man, whose enemy he had so openly professed himself, and, in fact, against whose life he was the principal prosecutor.

The Marquis, stung to the quick by this refusal, would willingly have frustrated the lady’s design, or at least have rendered it useless if it had been in his power; but it was now too late to frame any obstacle. He was, therefore, obliged to conceal his mortification, which was, however, visibly depicted on his face, in spite of all his efforts to smother it. Daraxa at length left the house, without taking any notice of his displeasure. She found Don Alonso waiting for her on foot at the gate, with all the principal persons of the troop, who had also alighted to compliment her. She made an effort to express some joy, notwithstanding the profound sorrow that she felt on the occasion, and assured Don Alonso she should ever entertain the most lively sense of her obligation to him. Zuniga forgot nothing that a man in love and full of noble thoughts could say on such an occasion, and answered: that “he could not express how sensible he was of her kindness, in having selected himself and his friends to conduct her to the palace, where she could not fail to immortalize herself by so heroic an action.” Don Alonso, as well as the other gentlemen, could not sufficiently applaud so generous an undertaking, most firmly believing that the beautiful Moor interested herself for the prisoner, merely out of friendship for her friend Donna Elvira.

After these compliments, Daraxa mounted her horse with her usual grace. Don Alonso and the rest followed her example, and the cavalcade began to defile by the Moors, who were about forty in number, all well equipped, and admirably mounted, having Orviedo and the newly-arrived officer at their head. After these came Daraxa herself, between Don Alonso and Don Diego de Castro; the remainder of the company followed in very good order, six in each rank. Though the preparations for this cavalcade had occupied but little time, yet the rumour of its approach had already spread through the city, and the people, who were as curious to behold the beautiful Moor as to know what could be her business at the palace, were collected in crowds in the streets through which she must of necessity pass. She was dressed in a most magnificent Moorish habit, and had neglected nothing that could add to her beauty on so important an occasion. All the spectators were struck with her becoming appearance; but what astonished them more than any thing, was the graceful ease and dexterity with which she managed her horse; an art in which Spanish women rarely excel.

The cavalcade having arrived at the square before the palace, Don Alonso formed his Cavaliers into a squadron round about her, and the Judges sent out two ushers of the Court, who conducted her to the door of the first hall, where she was received by two of the Judges, who did her all the honor that could have been conferred on a princess, and led her to the audience. Don Alonso, and other young nobles, who had alighted from their horses at the same time as Daraxa, followed her, and entered also into the hall where the Judges were assembled, who appeared much surprised and uneasy on this account. Putting, however, a good face on the matter, they attended only to the Moorish lady, who charmed them all by the elegant and majestic air with which she presented herself before the tribunal of justice. She took her seat in an arm-chair with a cushion and foot-carpet, which had been prepared for her, and after having beheld all the Judges for some moments with fixed attention, she raised her voice, and thus addressed them:--

“There is but one reason, my Lords, sufficiently imperative to justify the step that I have taken, in thus presenting myself before you. I know the rules that modesty prescribes for persons of my sex; but there are occasions when these rules may be dispensed with. On such an occasion am I come hither, to implore justice against yourselves. A sentence is to be put in execution to-morrow, that you have pronounced upon a man, whose only crime is that of having defended his life against assassins. This is an incontrovertible fact, of which I was myself an eye-witness, as well as Donna Elvira, and two waiting-women who were also with us in the wood. Shall two peasants be allowed to come up behind two Cavaliers, and beat them with clubs most unmercifully, and shall not these Cavaliers be justified in defending themselves against so unwarranted an assault? If the Bailiff’s son came with two of his friends, all three armed with swords, and rushed upon two men who had nothing but sticks to protect themselves with, what crime have these latter committed in acting on the defensive against such dastardly villains? Who among you, gentlemen, finding himself in the same situation, but would do his utmost to kill his opponent, if no other means remained of saving his own life? but why should I enlarge upon that point? you need not be told that it is the law of nature. It is now said that it was a mistake of the Bailiff’s son: but what of that? his mistake cannot justify his actions, neither can it criminate the persons whom he wished to assassinate.

“I shall not trouble you, my Lords, with any further remarks, except to inform you what has induced me to interest myself so strongly for your prisoner. _He is not a gentleman of Arragon, nor is he Don Jaymé Vivez_, BUT THE BRAVE OZMIN, whose name is well known among your troops, as having distinguished himself in many glorious actions. He it was, who, the last day of the sports killed the two bulls, and saved the life of Don Alonso de Zuniga. But what has impelled me more than all his noble qualities, to make this appeal to your Justice, is, that he is my husband, if I may be permitted to give that name to a man who with the mutual consent of our parents has plighted his faith to me, and received mine in return. Reflect on what I have laid before you, my Lords, before you cause a sentence to be carried into execution against a kinsman of King Mahomet, whom you ought not to have condemned on such slight grounds.”

The beautiful Moor had no sooner finished her speech, than a noise arose throughout the hall that very much startled and frighted the Judges: every body crying out, that the prisoner was innocent, and ought to be released. The chief Justice commanded silence, which being obtained, he replied to the Lady in the name of himself and brothers, “That they might possibly have been misinformed in this affair: that they would review the whole matter, and give her their answer that very same day.” But the whole assembly cried out again, that the prisoner ought instantly to be set at liberty, threatening to force the prison-doors if this were refused. The same Judge answered, “That after a judgment was once pronounced, it was no longer in their power to liberate the prisoner; that all they could do on their parts, was to suspend the execution of the sentence until they received orders from their Majesties, who alone were now able to annul it.” Daraxa then requested permission to visit Ozmin; and it was granted her without hesitation, on condition that no more than four persons should enter the prison with her, and that she would engage that no violence should ensue.

The cavalcade proceeded to the prison in the same order as it had arrived at the palace, and the beautiful Moor chose Don Alonso, Don Diego de Castro, Orviedo, and the Moorish officer, to go in with her. Conceive, if possible, the agreeable surprise of Ozmin, when he saw Daraxa enter his chamber with Don Alonso, and learnt what she had just achieved for him. His joy could only be equalled by that of his mistress, whose heart overflowed with rapturous emotion which she could not otherwise express than by the tears that flowed in torrents from her eyes. Zuniga partook of the pleasure of the lovers, and embraced his friend as sincerely as though he had not been his rival. His friendship mingled with his love. He could not, however, refrain from reproaching him for his want of confidence, threatening with a smile, that he would be avenged for his dissimulation, by continuing in love with the beautiful Moor for the remainder of his life. This reproach drew compliments upon him from both of them. Daraxa declared that next to Ozmin he would ever possess her esteem; and Ozmin assured him that, with the exception of Daraxa, there was no one whose love he should so highly prize. Zuniga did not fail to make obliging returns to these kind professions of friendship; after which he introduced his friend Don Diego to Ozmin, as a Cavalier of distinguished birth and merit. This gave rise to further compliments, till at length they began to think of the more important consideration that brought them hither, and resolved to send off a messenger instantly to their Majesties to obtain the prisoner’s pardon. Orviedo was fixed on, and immediately set off for Granada, with letters both to Ozmin’s and Daraxa’s relations.

Orviedo made such dispatch, that after three days he returned to Seville, with his master’s pardon, and an order to the Magistrates to treat him with all the honors due to his noble birth, and becoming the future husband of the beautiful Moor. As soon as Daraxa was informed that Ozmin was at liberty to leave the prison, she repaired thither with a more numerous and more magnificent equipage than before. Every Cavalier of any distinction in the city was among the cavalcade. Don Rodrigo de Padilla made himself particularly remarkable for his magnificence. He insisted on making one amongst them, and expressed to Daraxa his sincere joy at the good success of her undertaking, in spite of all the old Marquis’s rage and vexation, whose conduct he by no means approved of; and when he saw Ozmin, he behaved towards him in a most handsome manner.

Thus our hero left prison with as much honor and joy, as he was thrust into it with shame and sorrow. The same people who had but a few days before desired his death, now followed the cavalcade with acclamations of delight, so extremely anxious were they to see the famous conqueror of the Bulls. Don Lewis, whose resentment and haughtiness were by no means abated, was the only person who did not visit Ozmin, whom he could not regard in any other light than a man who had brought dishonor upon his family, by the great talk and noise that his daughter’s love for Don Jaymé had made in the city. He fully expected that he should be rallied at court on this account. For this reason he pretended illness, as an excuse for not being able to accompany Daraxa to Granada, and appeared no more in Seville until after her departure.

As for Elvira, besides that she had all the ill-humour of her father to contend with, she could not console herself under the reflection that she had been deceived by the two persons whom she most loved, though, in truth, she had more cause to blame her own conduct than theirs. She did not long survive her mortification and disappointment. The ill-humours and vexations of Don Lewis and his daughter, did not prevent the making extraordinary rejoicings at Don Alonso’s, where Ozmin and Daraxa lodged until the next day, when they set out for Granada, accompanied by Don Alonso and Don Diego de Castro, who insisted on being present at their nuptials, which were celebrated with the greatest magnificence, and honoured by the presence of their Catholic Majesties. There were tournaments and bull feasts, where Moors competed with the Christians in courage and address. In addition to all this, the two lovers, to render themselves more worthy that Heaven should shower its blessings on their nuptials, embraced the Christian religion, and became the noble origin of one of the most illustrious houses in Spain.

The Friar who had entertained us with this story, finished here. After which his friend and himself commenced a conversation respecting the wars of Granada. During all this time the muleteer, perceiving that we were almost at the gates of Cazalla, seemed particularly anxious to say a few words to me in private. Since our last adventure, he had not uttered a word, but, as we were now about to part, perhaps never to meet again, he at length broke silence by demanding of me three crowns, for the charges of my journey, as well as for my share of what we had expended at the inn where we had supped so well the preceding evening, and breakfasted so delicately that very morning. This was any thing but a joke to me, who little expected such a demand, and might have defied him or any other person to have made me pay it, not having half that sum in my purse; and we soon grew so warm in our arguments against each other on this subject, that I had armed myself with two flints, which I should certainly have levelled at his head, had not the Friars taken compassion on me, and prevented me from getting myself well thrashed. These gentlemen set themselves up for umpires in the case, and after having heard both parties, condemned me to pay the muleteer a fourth part of what he demanded. I was obliged to obey this decree, which, favorable as it was towards me, reduced my finances so low, that I had scarcely sufficient remaining in my purse to defray the expences of a supper and night’s lodging at another Inn, whither I repaired after having taken leave of the two Friars, and the unlucky muleteer, who had no great reason, in my opinion, to thank his stars that he ever met with me.

CHAP. X.

_Guzman becomes an Innkeeper’s Boy._

Behold me now, friendly reader, in the best inn at Cazalla, twelve leagues from Seville, where the money I had left was sufficient to pay for a good supper and a good bed to lie down on. Instead, however, of enjoying a profound sleep, which such excellent fare was calculated to procure me, the state of my affairs presented itself to my imagination in a thousand distressing forms, and prevented me from sleeping a wink the whole of the night. “Hitherto,” said I to myself, “I have always had plenty to eat and drink. But this will now soon be over. When a man has bread to eat he may support himself under any affliction. ’Tis well to have a father; ’tis well to have a mother; but nothing is to be compared to a good bellyful.”

Necessity, with her heretic visage, now stared me full in the face, and occasioned the most terrible apprehensions in my mind; and I would gladly have returned to Seville, had I not considered that money was quite as necessary to repair my folly as to pursue my fortune. I could compare myself to nothing but some half-starved cur, who having lost his way, finds himself surrounded by a number of larger dogs barking and growling at him on all sides. In addition to this, how could I, without shame, return to my mother’s house after having left it with so much resolution. The loss of my cloak also recurred to my remembrance, which I imagined would be a fine subject for ridicule on my return. This last consideration was sufficient to determine me not to return to Seville; in addition to which, I was not less concerned that I must stop when I was in so fair a way. A point of honour then seized me, and I resolved to continue my journey, abandoning myself to Providence. I took the direct road to Madrid, the ordinary residence of our Kings, hoping to see something of the Court, which I had been told was most brilliant, from the great number of noblemen that composed it, and above all from the presence of a young king newly married. All this excited my curiosity, and I encouraged the most flattering ideas, building castles in the air without number. I fancied that a lad of my air and figure would soon be noticed in such a country, where I should soon make friends, and could not fail of making my fortune. Full of these deceitful visions, I had little inclination to sleep, and lay expecting the day with impatience. But no sooner had it arrived, and I had set out for Madrid, than all these chimeras vanished, leaving nothing before my eyes but a long and tedious journey.

“Courage, Signor Guzman,” said I to myself; “consider that you cannot now retreat. Keep up your spirits, therefore, my friend, and do your best whatever may happen. Instead of having a cloak upon your shoulders, which would only incommode you at this time of the year, be content that you have a good stick, which will assist you in walking.” I passed the whole day without eating, and at night lay myself down on the grass at the foot of a large tree, where I fell asleep from fatigue, and did not wake until the sun had risen the next morning, when I began to feel that I could have made a very hearty breakfast if I had had any provisions; but not having even a morsel of the coarsest bread, I found myself obliged to set forward again upon an empty stomach, and with an appetite increasing every moment. Towards night, my hunger became such, that I could scarcely walk from weakness. In vain did my stomach plead its emptiness; my legs seemed unwilling to support my weight any farther.

Just at this moment two gentlemen, who by their looks seemed to be rich merchants, trotted briskly past me upon mules. “Thank God!” thought I, “here are two gentlemen who will in all probability defray my charges to-day.” The hope of obtaining a good meal at their expense inspired me with fresh strength, and I resolved not to lose sight of them. A meal was now of the most serious consideration for me. With this impression I followed them so closely that we arrived together at the inn where they stopped. I looked more dead than alive when I came up with them; yet, tired as I was, I shewed myself disposed to make myself useful by holding the bridles of their mules while they alighted, and offering my services to carry their portmanteau, with a bag containing their provisions, into their apartments. But, whether my officiousness rendered me suspected by them, or that they were naturally rough and distrustful, no sooner had I laid my hands on the bag, than one of them called out to me, in a voice which made me tremble from head to foot, “Out of the way, boy! stand off!” I obeyed without making any answer to this disagreeable reception, and formed but a bad presage in favour of the gratification of my appetite; but determined not to be so easily got rid of. I therefore walked behind them to their room, in a very humble manner, with my hat in my hand. They had brought good provisions with them, as is customary in Spain. I saw a roast shoulder of mutton drawn from their bags, with part of a ham, some bread and wine. This only increased my extreme desire to serve them. To obtain their favour, therefore, I advanced towards the table, and took up a glass, intending to rinse it for their use, but the other merchant, who had not yet spoken, snatched it from me, saying, in a rougher manner than his friend, “No, no, leave that glass alone. We have no occasion for your services.”

“O traitors!” thought I, “enemies to God and man! hearts of flint! I find that I have exhausted my breath and strength to little purpose in following you hither.” I resolved, however, not to leave them, in the hope that they might feel more charitably disposed when their bellies were full, and throw me a bone to pick, or even a bit of bread, out of compassion. I was again mistaken; they continued eating without deigning to cast a look towards me. I devoured their provisions with my eyes all this time; but this would not satisfy my craving appetite. To complete my mortification, I saw these monsters put up the remains of their dinner in their wallet, even to the smallest bit of bread, with which they left the inn. What barbarity! what a sight for a lad starving with hunger! I was ready to run distracted with grief and inanition, when a friar of the order of St. Francis entered the room in which I stood.

I conceived but little hope of relief from this quarter. What assistance could I expect from a poor monk, who travelled on foot, from a begging friar, who seemed himself to stand in need of assistance? He perspired freely, and appeared much fatigued. He brought a wallet with him, which he placed on the table, and upon which I fixed the most attentive and eager looks. I could have stolen it even from the altar; it made my mouth water before I knew its contents. When his reverence took out his provisions, which consisted of a large loaf of white bread, and a piece of salt beef, which I should have longed for even at my mother’s table, I fixed my eyes upon them, and stood in an ecstacy with my mouth wide open. How did I wish that I had been his little brother! I fancied that I felt in my own throat every morsel that he swallowed.

He happened to look at me by chance in the course of his meal, and perceiving what I wanted, for my looks spoke, “Good God!” cried he, animated by a holy zeal, “approach, my child, I will not allow thee to languish from want; though I had but this bit of bread, it should be thine. Here, my son,” added he, giving me half his bread and meat, “take a little nourishment. I were unworthy to exist did I not share with thee.”

O Providence! who makest many of thy creatures to subsist even in stone, thy divine goodness never forsakes us! I implored blessings on the head of the reverend father, for this act of charity towards me; and began to shew him that he was not deceived in my half-starved appearance; and being now pretty well replenished, I returned thanks to Heaven for this fortunate rencounter. How pleased should I have been had I been doomed to travel any distance with this friar! My fate would have been enviable; but, as chance would have it, he was going to Seville, so that we parted immediately after dinner. Before we separated, he put his hand into his wallet, and gave me half of another small loaf, saying, that I should have my full share of all he had. I put up this last half-loaf in my pocket, and after having eaten the first with the beef, and drunk some good fresh water, for the good friar had nothing better to offer me, I set out again in good spirits towards Madrid.

I travelled about three leagues further during the day, and in the evening reached Campanis, a large village in New Castile, where I entered an inn, and supped upon the half-loaf I brought with me, having nothing better to eat. This inn was where the muleteers of Tuxillo lodged, for whom all the beds were engaged, and who came in towards night. The landlord allotted me a lodge in the hay-loft, whither I mounted very contentedly, not being in a situation to make any difficulties. I stretched myself on the straw, and slept soundly until day-break, when I rose with a light stomach, which, as you will recollect, was by no means overloaded the preceding night, and had already got out of the inn, when the rascally landlord was uncivil enough to stop me, demanding payment for my night’s lodging, for which he charged four marvedis. As I had not even one in the world, I struggled to escape from his grasp; but he held me fast, and perceiving that my coat was made of good cloth, he was on the point of taking it off, by way of settling the dispute, had not a muleteer, who was standing by, taken pity on me. “Leave the lad alone,” said he to the host, “I will pay for him. I see how the matter stands; this young man has run away either from his father’s or his master’s house.” At these words the landlord looked at me, and asked me if I was disposed to serve him, having occasion for the assistance of a boy like me in his inn.

At any other time such a proposal would have appeared ridiculous to me, and I should even have been offended at it; but misery relieves one from such scruples, and reconciles the greatest hardships. After having considered for a few moments, the prospect of starvation made me accept his offer. “Enter my house, then,” said he; “there are but two things I shall require of you: to give out the oats and straw to the passengers, and to be sure to render me a good and faithful account.” I promised to acquit myself in this noble post to the utmost of my abilities; after which I was engaged beyond the power of retracting.

However hard service was to me, who had hitherto been accustomed to be waited upon myself, I was at first tolerably well contented with my situation. Very few gentlemen passed that way in the course of the day, so that, generally, I had nothing to do but to eat and drink until night, when the muleteers arrived. I soon learnt all the manœuvres of inns: how to swell the corn to three times its quantity with boiling water, and how to measure it out afterwards to the best advantage. There was no occasion to point out to me more than once the peculiar construction of the mangers, for, after one attempt, I well knew how to watch my opportunity to deprive the passengers of at least a third part of the corn they paid for; and even the muleteers did not always escape; but when by chance any young cavaliers, distinguished by their insignia and the nice cut of their whiskers, happened to stop at our house without servants, we were particularly assiduous in our attentions. No sooner did we perceive them than we ran out to assist them to alight. These young gentlemen, for the most part, affecting to be persons of great importance, would not condescend to enter the stable, but were content to recommend their horses or mules to our care; which recommendation had so powerful an effect that we never failed to lead the poor beasts where there was neither hay nor a single grain of corn. We tied them to the rack, and left them to their meditations. Occasionally, however, out of pity, we gave them a handful of corn, just by way of a bon-bouche, before their departure, though of this scanty pittance the poultry in the yard caught up half, and sometimes even the jackass got his share of it.

In this manner were all those cavaliers served who relied upon our honesty; and if we made them pay well for what their beasts had never eaten, judge in what manner we charged them for their own expences. I was overjoyed when it fell to my lot to reckon with them: “your bill amounts to so many reals,” said I, “and so many maravedis,” adding in a graceful manner: _Y haga les buen provecho_,--“Much good may it do you:”--a compliment which always procured me something for myself. You will very easily believe that we always charged this sort of customers twice as much as they owed, in spite of all the regulations of the Police, to which my master paid little attention, though they were fixed up all over his house. He was satisfied with having them in his possession, and so long as he was able to pay the officers their dues, he cared but little about observing their ordinances.

The more experienced travellers always paid without hesitation whatever was demanded, knowing that it was useless to contend; but others who thought themselves more cunning, would frequently have the landlord called, that they might reckon with him. On these occasions, our master, for fear of doing himself wrong, always increased the price of every article; and when he had once taxed the bill at a certain amount, his sentence was without appeal, and they were obliged to draw their purse-strings. Woe to that traveller who presumes to complain of his treatment, and to threaten an innkeeper in Spain for having cheated him. As they are almost all of them members of the Holy Brotherhood, he will be sure to cause him to be arrested at the first village through which he passes, accusing him either of a design to burn his house to the ground, of having assaulted him, or of having violated his wife or his daughter; so that the poor traveller may esteem himself more than ordinarily happy if he got off by paying double what was before demanded of him, after having begged pardon of his landlord into the bargain.

There were several pretty servant-maids in our inn, but it was dangerous to have any thing to say to them. It was well for those who had their wits about them when they left the house; for whatever happened by chance to be forgotten and left behind, was sure never to be heard of again. What roguery! what infamous trick! what wickedness is constantly going on at these inns! God is not feared, and Justice is compounded with. One would think that when a man becomes an innkeeper he is at liberty to do what he pleases, and has an absolute power over the property as well as the persons of such as are obliged to stop at his house.

CHAP. XI.

_Guzman becomes disgusted with his situation, leaves the Inn, and repairs to Madrid, where he associates with some beggars._

Besides that I was of too flighty a disposition to be long contented in the same way of life, I could not consider the one that I now led by any means suitable to a spirited lad who had left his mother’s house, for the sole purpose of seeing the world. In addition to this, the servant of an innkeeper ranked lower, in my opinion, than that of a blind beggar. I saw every day boys of about my own age and size pass our door, who, after having asked alms, went gaily along the road again. This sight roused my feelings: “what,” said I to myself, “does the dread of hunger hold me here, while these young fellows, who have no more resolution than I ought to be master of, expose themselves courageously to hunger and thirst? I am in all probability as well deserving as they, and ought not, therefore, to be less courageous.” These reflections inspired me with resolution, and, defying fortune, I again set out for Madrid, after having demanded my dismissal of my master, who gave me three reals for my services during the time I had been with him.

With this money and the little I had saved from the liberality of our customers, I was able to advance as far as the celebrated bridge of Arcolis upon Zagus, whence I pursued my route as the others had done, by holding out my hand in every village through which I passed, and to every gentleman I met; but the harvest had been so extremely bad that year, that people in general were but little disposed to be charitable. I was therefore soon obliged to sell my clothes; so that I cut a most elegant figure when I reached that celebrated capital of Spain. I was reduced to a tattered pair of breeches, with a shirt black and torn, a pair of stockings with a thousand holes in them, and shoes which had no other soles than those of my feet. I looked more like a fellow just escaped from the galleys, than a gentleman’s son of good family; and could not possibly hope to be employed in any gentleman’s service, which was now the height of my ambition. My miserable appearance was not calculated to prepossess any one in my favour, and he must have been a bold man indeed who could have made up his mind to admit me into his house. No one could look at me attentively without saying in his own mind, there is a young chap who only wants the opportunity to perform some desperate trick. At length, finding that my appearance was such, that no one would receive me either as page, footman, or even as a turnspit, I turned my eyes towards a company of beggars whom I perceived at a church door. I considered them with attention, and they seemed so healthy and void of care, that I thought I could not do better than enrol myself in their company. I joined them accordingly, and was received by them as a member whose mien and equipage were not unworthy of their fraternity.

Before I reached Madrid I had taken good care to leave all my modesty on the road, as a load too heavy for a foot passenger to carry about with him. If I had not ere this got rid of this cruel enemy to hunger, I should soon have lost every spark of it in the company of these good folks, who were severally and collectively the most complete birds of prey. I followed them every where, acting as a sort of assistant to them, until I should become sufficiently experienced to contribute my share towards making the pot boil, in which there never failed to be plenty. Twice a day we had a fine dish of soup, of which I was sure to partake, provided I attended punctually to the hours of dinner and supper, otherwise being only an underling, I should have found nothing but the empty turine for my share.

After supper we generally sat down to play; I soon learned the games of Quince, one and thirty, quinola and primera, with a thousand tricks on the cards. I had so happy a knack, and my disposition was so well suited to this science, that I made visible progress under these excellent masters. Little as I was, I felt desirous to imitate some of my companions, who, lest they should be punished as vagrants, posted themselves with baskets in the different markets, offering the citizens to carry home for them the provisions they might purchase. This employment appeared rather laborious to me at first, but I soon got so well accustomed to it, that I thought no man’s lot preferable to my own. “How charming,” thought I, “to live thus in plenty, without being obliged to use either needle or thread, the hammer or the thimble; nothing but a basket and a little industry being necessary for subsistence! The life of a beggar is a delicacy without bone, an uninterrupted stream of pleasure, an employment exempt from trouble and vexation. How void of sense must my ancestors have been to have taken so much pains to live in wretchedness! In how many perplexities have they been involved for the sake of supporting their commerce and reputation! O absurd honour of this world, thou art but a millstone to sink such fools as consent to be burdened with thee!”

One day as I was carrying home a quarter of mutton in my basket for an honest shoemaker who walked before me, I picked up a paper which I perceived lying in the street, containing some verses of an old ballad, which I began to read and sing to myself. The shoe-maker, surprised to hear me, said with a smile: “what, you ill-looking little dog, can you read?” “And write too,” answered I. “Is it possible?” cried he, much astonished. “If you will teach me merely to sign my name, I will pay you well for your trouble.” I asked of what possible use the knowing how to sign his name only could be to him, and he told me that having obtained a good situation through the influence of a certain person, whom he named, whose family he had supplied with shoes gratis, he should be glad to be able to sign his name when necessary, that he might not be obliged to confess that he could not write.

As soon as we entered his house he caused pen, ink, and paper to be brought, and I commenced my occupation of writing-master, showing my scholar how to hold his pen, and guiding his hand. I then made him form the letters that composed his name so many times over, that he fancied he had already acquired the elements of the art of writing. After having scribbled over and blotted five or six sheets of paper, he was so well satisfied, that he made me try on a pair of new shoes, which fitted as if they had been made for me, and which he presented me with: I then took leave of him, assuring him, that whenever I wanted a new pair of shoes, I would call and give some further lessons to make him quite perfect in his writing.

CHAP. XII.

_Guzman is engaged by a Cook._

I was well content in this new way of life, in which I enjoyed that _liberty_ so eagerly desired by all the world, so boasted of by philosophers, and so often sung of by poets: I possessed that precious treasure which is preferable to gold or silver; but unfortunately I did not long retain it, for a cursed cook soon deprived me of it. This cook was one of my most constant employers: “My friend,” said he one day, “I am well pleased with you, and am willing to put you in the way of making your fortune; quit your idle companions, and come and fill the place of scullion at my master’s which is now vacant; I will myself teach you the duties of the kitchen out of friendship, and qualify you to become cook to the King himself. Happen what may, the very least advantage you can derive from a knowledge of this fine art, is to enable you to return to your own country a rich man.” In short, he so completely cajoled me, that I willingly accepted his proposal.

He then conducted me to the hotel of the nobleman whom he served, where I took my post and my scullion’s cap, that is a nightcap, with a white apron. The first thing that was given me was some parsley to shred; which is always considered like the alphabet to those who aspire to the higher degrees in the kitchen. The cook my master was a married man: he had a house in the neighbourhood where his wife lived, and where we both went home to sleep every night; but I passed the principal part of the day at the Hotel, where I was always ready to oblige every body. My activity and good-nature soon gained me the esteem of my fellow servants of both sexes. I performed their commissions with punctuality, secresy and fidelity, and was rewarded by many small gratifications in return. In the kitchen I performed my duty to admiration, and my master was so well satisfied with me, that he often said I was born to tread in his footsteps.

I grant that all this cost me no small trouble, but then I was amply recompensed by the many advantages that my exertions procured me. Next to the profession of begging, which is undoubtedly the most charming condition of civilized society, I could not possibly fare better than I did in this kitchen; having been bred to good cheer, I felt myself completely in my element. No plate came in or went out of the kitchen but I had a lick at it, no sauce but what I tasted, and I can assure you my master made most exquisite ragouts. The cooks of St. Giles’s, of St. Dominick, of the Gate of the Sun, the great Market-place and Toledo Street, must excuse me if I rank him far above them in this art, notwithstanding the high reputation they have established.