I remained for some time leaning against the wall of a vineyard, very pale and much weakened by the retchings that I was making. A muleteer passed by with some unladen mules; he stopped to look at me, and seeing me in such a condition, asked what ailed me: I told him what had happened to me, but no sooner had I said that I imputed my illness to the omelet that I had eaten at the inn, than he began to laugh so violently, that if he had not held himself fast on his mule with both hands, he must infallibly have fallen to the ground.
When one is afflicted, it is by no means agreeable to be laughed at. My face, which just before was as pale as death, became as red as fire in an instant, and I looked with so ill an eye upon this rascal, as sufficiently gave him to understand that I was far from being pleased at his behaviour; but this only made him laugh the more; so that perceiving that the more I vexed myself, the more he laughed, I allowed him to go on until he was completely exhausted: besides, I had neither sword nor stick, and at fisticuffs I should have fared but badly; I was, therefore, prudent enough to speak him fair. A wise man, however much he may be offended, never sets up for a bravo when the party is too strong against him; besides, I did not think fit to disoblige my man, for the sake of his mules. I could not, however, entirely refrain from mentioning it to him. “Well, my friend,” said I, “and why all this violent mirth? does my nose stand awry?” But the only answer I could obtain to these questions, was a renewal of his immoderate laughter.
It pleased God, however, that he at length gave over; and recovering himself by degrees, he said to me, gasping for breath all the while, “It is not at your adventure, my little gentleman, that I laugh, for it is certainly very unfortunate for you; but your relating it reminded me of another which has just happened to that same old hag that treated you so ill. Two soldiers whom she regaled in the same manner, have sufficiently revenged you all three. As we are going the same way,” added he, “jump up on one of my mules, and I will tell you the story as we ride along.” Without waiting to be twice asked, I mounted one of his beasts, and was ready to hear what he had to tell me respecting these two soldiers, whom I recollected to have met entering the inn just as I left it.
“These two wags,” said he, “asked the hostess what she had to give them. She told them in the same manner as she did you, that she had nothing but eggs; they bade her make ready an omelet, which the old woman soon brought them; but in cutting it their knives found resistance from something which they proceeded to examine with attention, and discovered three small lumps, much resembling the heads of unformed chickens, whose beaks were already so hard as plainly to shew what they were. The soldiers, after having made so rare a discovery, without taking any notice of it, covered the omelet with a plate, and asked the hostess if she had nothing else she could give them; she proposed to broil them two or three slices of shad-fish, which they accepted, and soon dispatched, with the assistance of white sauce; after which, one of these rogues, going up to the old woman, as if for the purpose of paying the reckoning, with the omelet concealed in his hand, clapped it full in her face, and so completely rubbed it all over her eyes and nose, that she bawled out for help most lustily; whereupon the other soldier, seeming to blame his comrade and pity the poor old woman, ran up to her under the pretence of consoling her, and stroked her over the face with his hands all bedaubed with soot. This done, they both left the house, still continuing to abuse your old acquaintance, who got no other payment for her entertainment. I assure you,” said the muleteer, “it was a high treat to see mine hostess in this delicate condition, with the agreeable distortions of countenance that she made, crying and laughing at the same moment.”
The recital of this ridiculous story somewhat consoled me for my own adventure, and inclined me to forgive the laughter of the muleteer, who did not fail to set to again as soon as he had ended his narration. All this while we were trotting onwards; we overtook two friars, who, having seen us from afar off, had waited till we came up, that they might have the benefit of the mules. They quickly agreed with the muleteer to carry them to Cazalla, whither he also was going; and, having mounted their mules, we continued our journey.
The muleteer was still too much taken up with the recollection of his pleasure at the inn, to give up speaking of it so soon. He could not resist telling us that there was sufficient in that adventure to serve him for laughter for the remainder of his days; “and I,” cried I, interrupting him abruptly, “shall have cause to repent all my life that I did not serve that poisonous old hag even worse than the soldiers did; but she is not yet dead,” added I, “and I may have my revenge still.” The friars, remarking with what eagerness I uttered these words, were curious to know what had been the occasion of it. The muleteer, who desired no better sport, that he might have another excuse for a good hearty laugh, related the story anew to these gentlemen: and in the course of it introduced my misfortune also, which was no small mortification to me.
The friars condemned exceedingly the conduct of the old hostess, and blamed my resentment no less. “My son,” said the elder of the two to me, “you are but young; hot blood carries you away, and deprives you of the use of your reason; know that you have sinned as much in having regretted that you have lost the opportunity of committing a crime, as if you had really committed one.” The holy man did not finish his remonstrance here, but held a long discourse upon anger, and the desire of revenge. It appeared to me so like a sermon, that I was persuaded he had preached it more than once, and that he was glad to have the opportunity of refreshing his memory by repeating it. Certain it is, that the most part of what he addressed to me was far above my comprehension, as well as that of our muleteer, who thinking of nothing but the old woman, was laughing in his sleeve, all the time that the preacher was throwing away his time upon us. At length we arrived at Cantillana, where the two friars took leave of us until the next morning, and went to take up their night’s lodging at a friend’s house.
For my part I did not leave the muleteer, who told me that he would undertake to carry me to one of the best inns in the town: where the host was an excellent cook, and where I need not be afraid of having hatched eggs passed upon me. This assurance pleased me exceedingly, for I required a good meal to set me to rights: and we proceeded to the door of a house of tolerable good appearance, the master of which received us with great civility. This was perhaps the completest knave in that part of the country; and I only got out of the fryingpan into the fire, as the saying is. The muleteer led his beasts to the stable, where he remained for some time to provide for their wants, and as I was much fatigued, the soles of my feet being much swollen, and my thighs feeling as if they were broken, from riding three or four hours without stirrups, I laid myself down and rested until the muleteer returned, who asked me whether I was not ready for my supper; for that he had resolved to set out next morning at break of day, that he might reach Cazalla before night, and should therefore be glad to get to bed early. I answered that there was nothing would give me greater satisfaction than to sit down to table, provided he would assist me to rise and even to walk, as I could scarcely support my own weight. He did me this service so readily that I felt much obliged to him.
We then called the landlord, and told him that we wished for a good supper. “Gentlemen,” answered he, “I have such excellent provisions in the house, that you will have yourselves only to blame if you do not fare well, for you have only to say what you would like.” This answer pleased me exceedingly, but I was afraid that he exaggerated, for I fancied that he had the looks of a rogue; no matter, said I to myself, let him be as much a rogue as he pleases, so he use us but well; he was a pleasant sort of fellow, and a man of some humour. “Will you allow me,” said he, “to dress you a part of the pluck of a calf that I killed yesterday? I will make you a ragout of it fit for the Gods; it was the prettiest little calf,” added he, taking me kindly by the hand, “that you perhaps ever saw. I was extremely mortified that I was obliged to kill it, but the drought of the season would not allow me to keep it.” We begged that if our supper was ready, he would let us have it quickly; “it is not only ready dressed,” said he, “but well seasoned also;” upon which he skipped into the kitchen, and returned in a few minutes with two plates, in one of which was a sallad, and in the other a part of the pluck of this much-lamented calf.
My companion seemed to fancy the sallad, for which I cared but little, but fell on the pluck, which looked tolerably good. All that I complained of was, that there was but very little of it for two such hungry fellows; for no sooner had I touched a bit, than I bolted it down, and I was so hungry that I had no time to judge of what I was eating. The muleteer, observing from the manner in which I set to, that I should soon empty the plate, quitted his sallad that he might at all events dispute the last mouthfuls with me, which were demolished in a moment. We called for another plate, but our provoking host brought us less than before to sharpen our appetites, so that we might still wish for more; this second plate, therefore, amused us but a very short time, and was followed by a third.
Being by this time, however, about half satisfied, I found myself obliged to slacken my pace; neither did I think it so good as before. I desired our host, therefore, to let me have any thing else that he might have in the house; he answered, that if we pleased, he would make an exquisite ragout of the calf’s brains in an instant; in the mean time he sent us up an andouille made of the tripe and caul of the same beast, which he told us we should find most delicious eating; but I could not entertain so favorable an opinion of it when I had tasted it, for it savoured so strongly of rotten straw that I was fain to leave it to my companion, who still went on at the same rate, and demolished the whole of the andouille in the twinkling of an eye.
At length the ragout of brains was served up, which I hoped would have revived my appetite; it was dressed with eggs, so that it was a kind of omelet, which the impudent muleteer had no sooner noticed, than he set up another of his hearty laughs; this offended me, for I thought that he wished to disgust me with this omelet, by putting me in mind of the one I had dined off. I gave him to understand as much, at which he only laughed the more, which produced a pleasant scene enough; for our host, who neither knew why he laughed, nor why I was so angry, listened to us attentively, thinking himself concerned in the affair. Not feeling his conscience quite at rest respecting either the brains, the andouille, or the other dish with which he had regaled us, he was under as much apprehension as a criminal who is afraid of every thing he hears; and his fears redoubled when he heard me threaten the muleteer, if he continued laughing at me, to throw the brains against the wall. Our host turned pale at these words, thinking that we meant to accuse him; but wishing to appear firm and resolute, he came up to us, cocking his bonnet with a most furious look, and said: “Before God, gentlemen, I will not submit to so much laughing; I do maintain, and ever will maintain it to be good calf’s brains. If you will not believe me, I can produce evidence to prove the fact, of more than a hundred persons who saw me kill the calf.”
My companion and I were not a little surprised at the passion of a man whom we had not so much as thought of. The muleteer redoubled his laughter; and I could not refrain from following his example on the occasion, though, from another cause, I felt no great inclination for it at that time. This put our host completely out of countenance, who, doubting no longer that we had detected his villany, became more furious, and, snatching the plate rudely from the table, “You may go laugh and eat elsewhere,” said he, “for I will no longer entertain people who make a jest of me to my face; you have only to pay me, therefore, and leave my house; after which, you have my permission to laugh as long as you please.”
My comrade, who was still hungry, and did not see the plate handed off without regret, finding it no joke, said to the host, in a voice not the most agreeable, “What ails you, friend? has any one been asking your age? has any one been calling you chucklehead?” “Chucklehead or not,” replied our host, “I affirm it is a most excellent calf’s head.” He pronounced these words as if he intended to thrash us both; but the muleteer, who knew him better than I, and who was a good match for him, rose from the table, and, taking upon himself the braggadocio in his turn, “S’death!” cried he, “is there any law that prescribes how much a man may laugh in this inn? or is there any tax laid upon laughing?” “I never said that there was,” replied the host, apparently somewhat more mild. “I only say that I will not be turned into ridicule in my own house, nor be made to pass for one who treats his guests ill.” “Who says any thing of ill treatment?” replied the muleteer; “who thinks of turning you into ridicule? Be quick, and replace the ragout of brains on the table, and you shall soon see that it was not that we laughed at. I cannot see, however, what objection you can have to allow persons to laugh or cry as much as they please in your house as well as elsewhere.”
The muleteer’s speech had its effect; the delicious ragout which had been thus torn from us was returned, and we were all very friendly again. My companion resumed his seat, and continuing to address himself to the host,—“be assured,” said he, “that had I been laughing at you, my character is such that I should not have concealed the cause from you:—we were not laughing at you; but the sort of omelet you have dressed us reminded me of an adventure my little comrade here had to day in an inn where he dined.” If the muleteer had been content to stop there, I should have got well off; but I was obliged to listen patiently, for the third time, to his relation of the history of the two soldiers, together with my adventure, which he recited to our host with such glee, that he seemed never to be in his element but when telling that story.
Our host had time enough to recover his temper before this long story was finished; and judging that he had been alarmed without cause, he thought proper to commence playing another character, and interrupted the muleteer every moment, while his story was telling, by—Holy Virgin! Great God of Heaven! and other such exclamations, which made the house to ring again, and which were accompanied by the most hypocritical grimaces. “May God punish,” said he, when the muleteer had done speaking, “all who do not perform their duty!” As his duty was to thieve, and he could not be accused of neglecting it, he did not appear to consider himself at all concerned in this imprecation. After this he continued silent for some time, walking up and down the room; but suddenly breaking forth with a thundering voice, “How is it possible,” cried he, “that the earth hath not yet opened itself to swallow up that house, and the wretched woman that keeps it? I have never met with any traveller yet but complained both of her and her provisions: not a passenger goes out of her doors but curses her, and makes oath never to stop at her inn again. If the officers of justice, whose duty it is to put a stop to her practices, suffer her to go on without notice, they know very well what they are about. Good God! in what times do we live!”
Here this honest man sighed deeply and kept silent, to give us to understand that he thought more than he chose to say, and I was in hopes that he would not have annoyed us any longer in this manner; but I was much mistaken. He went on again more violently than before upon the old woman’s knavery, in an harangue which occupied a long half hour; after which, he finished by saying, “I return a thousand thanks to Heaven, that I bear no resemblance to that cursed old hag, and that I am a man of probity and honour, that I may hold up my head in any part of the world, without fearing the least reproach from any man. Poor as I am, nothing of that sort goes on in my house; every thing, thank God, is here sold for what it really is, and not a cat for a hare, nor a sheep for a lamb. Let no one give up his mind to cheating others, for he only cheats himself in the end. He who deals ill must expect ill treatment in return.”
Happily for the muleteer and myself, our host was obliged to stop here, from want of breath. I took advantage of this opportunity to ask if he had any fruit? He answered that he had got some very fine olives. During the time that he was gone to fetch them, my comrade made an end of the dish of calf’s brains, which I could not much relish, thinking it too much like the andouille; but this did not prevent its being entirely demolished. No hungry wolf ever fed more greedily than the muleteer, whose appetite seemed never to be appeased; we had been at least an hour at table, and his appetite seemed to continue as sharp as when we first sat down. For my part, I relished the olives extremely, which, as well as the wine, were excellent; as to the bread, though bad enough, it was much better than what I had met with at dinner.
Such was our supper; and as we intended to set out early the next morning, we desired our host to get our breakfast ready in time: we then laid ourselves down on some straw, after having spread thereon some of our mule furniture, to serve to cover us and keep us warm. The fatigue of our journey, and the quantity of wine I had drank, made me sleep so soundly, that though I was bit by the fleas that fed on me all night, they were not able to rouse me, and I verily believe I should have slept till the next evening, if the muleteer had not awaked me at break of day, giving me notice that it was time to think of our departure. I was soon ready, having only to shake off the bits of straw that were sticking about my hair; but the fleas had left me in such a condition that I looked like a young monster, having so disfigured my face that I might well have been taken for one who had just recovered from the small-pox; if I had been transported to the market-place of Seville, I doubt whether any of my friends would have recognized me.
It being Sunday, we began the day by going to mass; after which we returned to the inn, where my hungry companion had not forgotten to order breakfast; it was the first thing he thought of after he was up. “Gentlemen,” said our landlord, “I have stewed you a piece of the same veal that you supped off last night, and I have taken great pains to cook it to your satisfaction.” The muleteer, whose mouth watered at this speech, placed himself at table in a trice, and commenced an attack upon the ragout, which appeared to him as delicate as peacock’s flesh. For my part, either because I had no appetite so early in the morning, or that I had eaten too much supper the preceding night, I did nothing for some time but look at him, without feeling the least inclination to follow his example; but finding that he enjoyed it as if it were the finest dish in the world, and fearing that I might possibly have reason to repent at dinner of not having partaken of so good a breakfast, I made an effort to swallow a few mouthfuls; but instead of finding them so savoury as my companion seemed to fancy them, there was something in them extremely disagreeable to my palate; as for the seasoning, as our host had good reasons for being prodigal of his pepper and salt, it seized hold of the throat, so that I was obliged to give over as soon as I had tasted it; in addition to which, the flesh was so hard that I could not help remarking that I thought the meat as tough as leather; adding, that I did not consider that it had altogether the taste of veal. “Don’t you see,” said our host, who heard what I said, and who, in spite of his impudence, could not refrain from blushing a little, “don’t you see,” said he, “that it has not been kept long enough to be tender?” The muleteer, who believed what the landlord advanced, or at least thought that I was too delicate, answered, in a jeering tone of voice, “that is not the reason;—but our young gentleman of Seville has always been accustomed to be fed with new laid eggs and cracknels, so that he finds fault with every thing else.”
I contented myself by shrugging up my shoulders at this bantering of my comrade’s, and said not a word; not knowing whether I was not actually too dainty, or, what is more probable, beginning to feel so queer that I almost fancied myself in the other world. I could not make up my mind to touch this meat again, but was occupied with numerous thoughts far above my age. I recollected the passionate behaviour of our host at our laughter at supper the evening before; the unnecessary oaths that he made on the occasion; and as a man undoubtedly renders himself suspected who is anxious to justify himself before he is accused, I considered that there must be some knavery in the business. When my imagination was once thus prepossessed against him, the very sight and smell of his veal ragout quite turned my stomach; so that not being able to remain much longer, I rose from table, and waited patiently until the muleteer did the same, which was very shortly afterwards. Although the piece of veal was such as required a most determined assailant to get through it, my companion appeared to have made but a slight repast of it; after which I requested him to get the reckoning of our host, to ascertain what each had to pay; but he answered me in an obliging manner, that it was such a trifle that I was not to think of it, for that he would take care to see it settled.
This generous behaviour from a man of his rank in life surprised me extremely, or rather charmed me: had I been in different circumstances, I could not in honour have allowed this man to pay for me; but my purse was so low, that it did not either become or suit me to refuse his generosity. I allowed him, therefore, without ceremony, to discharge the reckoning, and, by way of return, I assisted him in every way in my power in getting his mules ready for our journey. I would have done almost any thing for him, so much was I affected by his noble behaviour towards me.
To enable myself the better to assist my friend the muleteer in getting his mules ready for our journey, I threw my cloak off, which I folded up, and placed on a bench; but, about a quarter of an hour afterwards, happening to look that way, I perceived that my cloak was no longer there. This alarmed me at first; but I did not vex myself extremely about it, thinking that either our host or the muleteer had concealed it from me for the purpose of amusing themselves by observing the anxiety it would occasion me.
I could not suspect any one else of having played me this trick, for no other person had entered the stable, whence my cloak had been taken. I enquired first of the muleteer, who told me that he never amused himself in that way. I then addressed myself to our host, who instantly had recourse to oaths to persuade me that he had no hand in the theft I complained of. Upon that I determined to search the house for it, and went over it from top to bottom, without forgetting the least corner in which it might be secreted, feeling firmly convinced in my own mind that our host was the one guilty of the theft, whose physiognomy alone sufficiently justified my presumption.
I came at last, by chance, to a back yard, the door of which I found some difficulty in opening, and the objects that I perceived there were sufficient to turn my mind for some minutes from thinking of my cloak. I observed upon the pavement a large pool of blood that had been but newly spilt, at the side of which lay the skin of a young mule, spread out, with the four feet still hanging to it, as well as the ears and head, which had been opened to take out the brains and the tongue. I beheld this sight not without horror, and said to myself, “there, there lie the remains of our excellent veal; it is but proper that my companion should witness this sight with his own eyes, being at least as much interested in it as myself.” I ran to the stables where he was, and whispered to him, that if he would accompany me I would shew him something that would be well worth his trouble. He followed me to the back court, where I pointed out to him the remains of the two fine repasts that we had made. “Well, my friend,” said I, “and what do you say to all this? Do you still think that I feed upon nothing but fresh eggs and cracknels? Contemplate with voluptuousness this delicate calf, of which our host made for us those ragouts which you found so savoury. You now see how that skilful cook of your’s has regaled us.”
The good muleteer was so ashamed that he had not a word to answer. “This is, then,” continued I, “the man of probity, who never sells cats for hares, sheep for lambs; but who, at the same time, makes no scruple of giving us a mule instead of a calf.” My companion, sad and pensive, returned to the stable, and I went to look for our host, to speak to him more stoutly, thinking that, to oblige him to restore my cloak, I had only to apprise him that I had discovered all his villany, and to threaten to give notice to the magistrates; for it was prohibited by an express law, and under heavy penalties, for any person to have a mule in his possession, the breeding of that animal being unlawful in Andalusia. Our host had cared but little about observing this law; for having, about eight days before, had a young mule out of an ass and a little Gallatian mare, whom he had trusted in the same stable together, he thought he might safely venture to pass it off upon travellers, who are generally very hungry, for veal.
I met him at the well in the yard, washing another piece of this supposed veal, which he endeavoured to hide as soon as he perceived me. I came up to him with a resolute air, and desired him, in a determined tone, to return me my cloak, or that I should immediately make my complaint elsewhere; but at these words, which did not frighten him in the least, he looked at me disdainfully, called me a little jackanapes, and threatened to whip me.
The loss of my cloak had not provoked me so much as this behaviour of his; so that giving myself up to my resentment, without considering the inequality of our strength, I answered, that he was nothing but a thief and a knave, and that I dared him to touch me. He appeared stung by my answer, and made up to me, as if to put his threat in execution; but without waiting for this giant (for he was one in comparison with myself), I took up a large stone, and threw it at his head, but fortunately for him it only just grazed one of his ears. Instead, however, of closing with me, and crushing me with the weight of his body, he ran to his chamber, whence he returned in an instant with a long naked sword in his hand. Far from flying before this bravo, I began to reproach him in the most abusive terms, upbraiding him as a coward and poltroon, for not being ashamed to make use of a sword against a young boy, who had no other weapon than a stone to defend himself with.
All the servants ran out to see what was the matter, and were not a little frightened to see their master with a drawn sword in his hand. My comrade, who bore a spite against the scoundrel for the abominable ragout that he had been made to eat, came up to my assistance with a pitchfork; so that (the muleteer and I, of the one part, the host, his wife, children, and servants, of the other) we made such an uproar between us, that any one passing must have thought there was some desperate work going forward in the inn. All the neighbours were alarmed, and came to the house, where they knocked at the door, but, not waiting for its being opened from within, they broke it open, that they might the sooner ascertain the cause of the horrid tumult they heard: then entered a troop of the police, with numerous armed attendants, and the alcaids; for, on account of the wickedness of the inhabitants, there were two alcaids in this town of Cantillana.
These two alcaids had no sooner got into the house, with their followers, than each of them pretended that the cognizance of this affair belonged to him alone, which formed two parties. The armed attendants were also divided according to their different interests, and their division excited a furious dispute amongst them. As the quarrel grew worse, the noise grew louder, till at last no one could hear himself speak; the two parties grew so warm, that they no longer scrupled to betray each other’s feelings, but allowed the most unpleasing truths to escape them. From these revilings they would probably have proceeded to blows, if some honest inhabitants of the town, who had entered the inn at the same time with them, had not interfered and reconciled them; which being accomplished, God knows how, nothing remained but to ascertain the cause of our quarrel, and as a cord always breaks first where it is weakest, they began by seizing hold of me. I was a stranger, without favour, and without acquaintance—Justice, therefore, could not fail to begin with me.
Let me, however, give these alcaids their due; for they certainly did not send me to prison without a hearing. I related to them in a simple manner the subject of my dispute with our host respecting my cloak; then taking them apart, I added the story of the mule, informing them, that they would still find that animal’s skin in the back court, and some pieces stewing in the kitchen. Upon this last article of my deposition, my judges forgot all about my cloak, and repaired to the back court, after having, by way of precaution, seized our host, who did nothing but laugh, thinking that it was all about the cloak, which no one had seen him take; but when the mule’s hide and other appurtenances were brought forward in judgment against him, he became in an instant as pale as a condemned criminal, and during his examination, confessed even more than he was accused of; unluckily for me, however, my cloak was the only subject on which he remained firm; the rascal, from a spirit of revenge, would not confess he had stolen it.
The alcaids sent this rogue to prison, which gave me some pleasure in the midst of my troubles; I say in the midst, for I had not yet got over them. The alcaids’ clerks, a sort of people quite as humane as they are disinterested, thinking that I was of a good family, and might have a rich father, recommended the alcaids, in the most christian manner, to detain me also at all chances. This advice, which was much approved of by my judges, would certainly have been followed, had not the citizens who were present opposed so great an injustice, by saying aloud, that if that were done, I should be punished merely for having done my duty. The murmurs of these honest men prevailed for this once over the good will of the officers of justice, who pardoned me through policy.
The muleteer, who had been witness to all that had passed, and was not a little apprehensive that they would seize his mules and him, whispered me to leave, as quickly as I was able, this blessed part of the country, where a man need not think himself badly off if he escaped with the loss of his cloak only. I approved of his advice; we mounted our beasts in haste, and rode out of the inn-yard.
We were so anxious to get clear of the city, that at our setting out we spurred on our mules, which was almost unnecessary, for they seemed as impatient as ourselves, and to have taken an equal aversion to the inn, fearing perhaps lest they should leave their skins there behind them; but when we had got a little way into the country, we slackened our pace again, both keeping a profound silence, and each occupied by his own thoughts. It was a fine treat to observe the countenance of my friend the muleteer; all desire for laughing had entirely forsaken him since I had pointed out to him the remains of the mule, and he dared not venture to jeer me on our admirable repast, fearing the repartees that I might have made, as he had eaten at least six times the quantity that I had, both of the andouille and the brains, and the whole of the morning’s ragout was still on his stomach; so that, had he thought proper to rally me again, which, by the bye, was very far from his thoughts, I could have easily silenced him.
If my companion had cause for disagreeable reflections, I was not more satisfied with the images that presented themselves to my imagination. “O Heavens!” said I, “what unlucky star prevailed on me to quit my mother’s house; no sooner had I left it than every thing became contrary with me; one misfortune has only been the presage of another: the first night I was forced to lie down to sleep at a chapel-door, and that without supper; the next day I had nothing but a chick omelet for dinner, and in the evening was regaled with several ragouts made of a mule travestied into veal; at night I was devoured by fleas, which happily I was not aware of; and to day I had like to have fared equally well, and what is worse, have lost my cloak; nothing was wanting to complete my misfortune but that I should have been sent to prison in company with the man who stole it, and it was not the fault of my judges that was not the case.”
Whenever I thought of this theft I sighed bitterly, for this loss afflicted me more than all the other unfortunate occurrences; in fact, I had more reason to regret it: the stomach may recover itself from the effects of a bad meal, and an uneasy night may be made amends for by the following one; but how was the loss of a cloak to be repaired, with so little money as I had in my pocket? Nevertheless, the evil being without remedy, I resolved to bear it patiently. I had heard it said, that the life of man is a compound of happiness and misery, of pleasure and pain; “if so,” said I, “be comforted, friend Guzman, for you are assuredly on the brink of some good fortune, since you have as yet met with nothing but mischances since your departure from Seville.”
Buoyed up by this flattering hope, I was just beginning to recover myself, when I perceived two men upon mules, who had very much the appearance of what they really were, riding up at a quick trot behind us, who having come up to us, examined us attentively, as if they were looking for some one who very much resembled me. Their very looks were enough to make me uneasy; the holy Brotherhood, of which they had the honour to be members, probably had not any among them of a more terrific appearance. They looked earnestly at me, and as I appeared rather surprised, and even a little alarmed, they leapt from their mules without wanting any further proof, and falling upon me both together, they threw me from my mule to the ground, then seizing me by the arm, one of them said, “Ah! Mr. Rogue, have we caught you at last? come, little wretch, give up the money; give up the jewels that you have stolen, or we will immediately hang you up on the tree that you see a few paces off.” At these words, they set to and pulled and cuffed me about so unmercifully that it was in vain for me to attempt to defend myself.
The good-natured muleteer, touched with compassion to see me so cruelly treated, represented to them that they were certainly mistaken in me; but he was but ill-paid for his remonstrance, for they turned upon him, and when they were tired of thumping him, accused him of being the receiver of the goods I had stolen, and seized both him and his mules, asking him how he had disposed of the money and jewels; and as he could answer them in no other manner than that he was entirely ignorant of what money and jewels they alluded to, a fresh shower of blows fell upon him without mercy. I must confess here my bad disposition; I could not help feeling a malignant satisfaction in seeing this poor devil, upon whom I had brought this ill-luck, so unmercifully banged; for it was to him that I attributed the loss of my cloak, and our infernal repast at supper. After having well pummelled us both, they rummaged out our pockets, and searched us carefully; and not finding what they were in search of, they bound our hands with cords, designing to conduct us in this state to Seville. We were already leashed together like greyhounds, when one of the constables who had bound my hands, said with surprise to his companion: “God forgive me, comrade, but I think that we have been too precipitate, and are deceived; the fellow that we are in pursuit of has no thumb on his left hand, and this chap has all his fingers perfect.” The constable hearing this, drew forth his instructions, and read them aloud. The thief was there described in a manner very different from my appearance; for besides that he wanted a thumb, it was there stated that he was nineteen or twenty years of age, and had long black hair falling over his back like a horse’s tail; instead of which, no one could take me to be more than fourteen, and my hair was very short, of a reddish colour, and much curled. Finding, therefore, that they had made a mistake, they unbound us, and taking possession of a few reals, by way of fee, which the muleteer had in his pocket, they apologized to us by laughing in our faces, and remounted their mules, leaving us all covered with bruises, particularly my friend the muleteer, whose thick built, robust shoulders, had been less spared than mine. To make amends, my mouth was full of blood, and almost all my teeth loosened by the several fisty-cuffs I had received.
This did not prevent us, however, from getting upon our mules again, and continuing our route; but in as sorrowful a plight as any one would have done on such an occasion. When we had got within a quarter of a league from the village del Pédoro, we perceived and soon joined the two friars, who were walking on slowly, waiting till we came up.
I related to them the cause of our delay; for the muleteer was in such a condition that he had not courage to speak a word. These good men much pitied us: the last adventure appeared to them the most distressing, and one of these gentlemen took occasion to say: “God keep every honest man from three Holies that are at this time in Spain; viz. the holy Inquisition, the holy Brotherhood, and the holy Crusado. Especially, if he be innocent, God keep him from the holy Brotherhood: there may be some hope of justice with the two others, but all that can be said in favour of this latter is, happy are they who do not fall into its hands.”
The friar who had treated me with a sermon the day before, and who was quite upon the itch to be preaching again, managed to turn the conversation upon the vanities of the world, that he might take the opportunity of informing us we could look for none but false pleasures in this world, and that true pleasure is in heaven, where only it is to be found; that even such diversions as promise the greatest possible pleasure, are sure to be either accompanied or followed by some mortification or other. “Have you any objection,” added he, addressing himself to his comrade, “that I should relate to you a fable on this subject, which I think well worthy to be listened to? you will not be sorry to hear it.” At the same time, without waiting for his companion’s answer, he began in these words.
“Jupiter, not content with having created all things on earth for man, through an excess of love for them, sent the God of Pleasure, in early times, to reside here below, solely to make them joyful. But man, and more especially woman, attaching themselves to this new deity, whose attractions completely charmed them, resolved to look up to him only as their divinity; they believed that he was able to gratify all their wishes: thus, thinking that they could dispense with all the other Gods in Heaven, they began to forget them: no prayers, sacrifices, or victims, were offered up to any but the God of Pleasure. Jupiter, being the one most offended, felt this ingratitude of his creatures so sensibly, that he considered he ought to avenge himself on them, and called a council of the immortals to consult with them, fearing that he might be accused of having listened to nothing but his anger.
“All the Gods condemned this behaviour of man more or less, according to the sentiments that each entertained for them: the most good-natured amongst them represented to Jupiter that men were but men, that is to say, weak and faulty creatures, from whom he could expect nothing but imprudence and indiscretion; that, in their opinion, the Father of Heaven, instead of viewing their weakness with severity, ought rather to have pity on them than think of punishing them. Were we men, as they are, added they, we might conduct ourselves in the same manner, perhaps even worse; besides, consider what God it is that you have given them? see in what manner he uses them; he never leaves them, he flatters their desires, and enchants them with his seducing manners. You, on the contrary, are seen by them but seldom, and almost always with thunder in your hand, which frightens them; you ought not, therefore, to be surprised if they fear you more than they love you; they may hereafter, perhaps, reflect seriously upon their fault, and make atonement, as soon as they are informed how much their blind attachment to this divinity, has caused them to wrong the immortals, and particularly yourself.
“When the Gods, thus peaceably inclined, had thus remonstrated with Jupiter, Momus, who hated man, wished to give advice directly opposite; but he began in such free terms, that he was silenced, and told that he should be heard in his turn. The other Gods who were not better inclined towards the human race than Momus, did all they could to persuade the son of Saturn to extirpate mankind, alleging, that they were useless beings, for whom the Gods had no manner of occasion. Others, not so violent, thinking they gave admirable advice, recommended Jupiter to reduce such as had been culpable into dust again, and create others more perfect in their place, which would be an easy matter for him to do; upon which Apollo requested permission to speak, and, with that air of sweetness which has ever been attributed to him, addressed himself to the Father of the Gods in these words.
“ ‘Supreme Jupiter, full of love and goodness, thou art so justly irritated against man, that whatever cruel revenge you may be disposed to take on him, no inhabitant of Olympus will pretend to oppose thy will; it being not less the interest of all the Gods in general, than thine in particular, that mortals should not prove ungrateful for the favours and benefits they daily receive at our hands. Suffer me, however, to make it appear to you that if thou destroyest man, thou destroyest thine own work. This world, which thou hast created and embellished with a thousand wonderful things which thou hast bestowed upon it, will be no longer of any use, for we shall not any of us leave Heaven to reside there. If thou destroyest man to make a new race, that will do thee no honour, for it will rather be said that thou couldst not make thy work perfect in less than two trials: suffer, therefore, the human race to remain as it is; for it greatly concerns thy glory to maintain what thou hast created. Perhaps I may go so far as to say, that I do not think it would be to the honour of the Gods if men were without imperfection; if they were not weak and full of wants, what occasion would they have for our assistance?
“ ‘Nevertheless,’ continued he, ‘these ingrates ought to be punished; thou hast given them the God Pleasure, to whom they are too much attached; thou hast only, therefore, to oblige them to give up the idol, and send them down his brother in his room: thus thou wilt chastise them by the same means as they have offended thee; they will, I am convinced, soon acknowledge their fault, and have recourse to thy mercy to pardon their blindness; thou wilt then be fully avenged, and thou canst either forgive them or abandon them to the tyranny of their new divinity. This, great Jupiter! is what seems to me most becoming thy glory on this occasion; but the Lord of Heaven and Earth knows best what is fit to be done.’
“Apollo ceased to speak, and Momus, who was prepared with a discourse which his hatred for man had suggested, began to aggravate their offence; but he was but the dupe of his ill-will; all the other Immortals, who well knew his prejudice, rejected his advice, and agreed in opinion with Apollo. Agreeably to the decision of the celestial assembly, Mercury cut through the air in a moment, and descended upon earth, where he found man completely busied and charmed with the God Pleasure. No sooner did he begin to put in execution his orders to deprive them of him, than a general insurrection took place among the women as well as the men. Such fury was never known before; they ranged themselves round about their cherished deity, protesting they would rather die than be deprived of him.
“Mercury returned quickly up to Heaven, to inform Jupiter of this disorder, whose wrath towards man was increased by this intelligence; but Apollo, who always favoured them, interceded once more in their behalf so effectually, that he prevented the thunder from being hurled upon them. ‘Lord of Olympus,’ said he, ‘have pity on these poor weak creatures, and, instead of suffering your thunder to fall upon them, allow me to propose a milder method of bringing them to their senses: let us deceive them by a skilful trick, by withdrawing from them the God of Pleasure without their perceiving it, and placing under the same shape the God Dissatisfaction in his stead.’
“This stratagem was approved of, and Apollo himself undertook the execution of it. He descended upon earth with the God Dissatisfaction disguised, and found men and women all up in arms to protect their idol, whom they had placed in the midst of them; he dazzled their eyes and easily made the intended exchange; after which, he returned to the Immortals again, to enjoy with them the trick that he had just played upon mankind, who from that time, believing themselves still to have Pleasure among them, have sacrificed to his brother, without knowing it, in his place.”
This fable was much applauded by the bachelor, who agreed with his friend who had related it, that assuredly the pleasures of life seduce us by fine appearances, without there being any reality to be found in them. “Alas!” thought I to myself, while the gentlemen were thus reasoning, “that is but too true. When I first took it into my head to travel, I formed a most delightful idea of my journey, and flattered my imagination with a thousand agreeable fancies, the fallacy of which I am already but too well acquainted with.” After the friars had moralized for a considerable time upon this subject, the bachelor said to his companion, “To enliven the conversation a little, and to amuse us on the road, I purpose, with your permission, to relate you a story, which is to be found in the history of our wars with the Moors.” The other friar appeared curious to hear it, and, as well as I can remember, the bachelor recited it nearly in the following words.
Whilst their Catholic Majesties Ferdinand and Isabella were at the siege of Baza, the Moors kept the Christians in full employment, and prodigies of valour were performed on both sides. The place was well situated and in good condition, and was defended by a garrison composed of the choicest troops of the King of Granada. Mahomet, surnamed El Chiquito—the diminutive—the governor, was a man skilful and experienced in war. Isabella was at Jaen, where she took care to supply the Christian troops, which Ferdinand commanded in person, with provisions. The army was divided into two bodies, one of which besieged the town, while the other covered the siege.
As the Moors had spared nothing to prevent the possibility of communication between the two camps, scarcely a day passed without some furious skirmish. On one of these occasions the besieged fought so desperately that they would have decisively defeated their besiegers if any valour could have made it possible; but the latter, animated by the presence and example of their king, and reinforced by frequent succours, obliged the Infidels at length to take flight, and pursued them so closely that they entered with them pell-mell into the suburbs of Baza.
The governor would not have failed to take advantage of this indiscreet ardour of the Christians had his troops been sufficient to support him in a vigorous sally; but finding his garrison too much weakened to undertake such an enterprize, he prudently contented himself with firing on the enemy from the walls, that they might not effect a lodgment in the suburbs; he then caused the gates of the town to be closed, fearing lest it should be carried by assault. In vain was he informed that his only daughter had unfortunately left the town to take the air in a garden in the suburbs, and that it was much feared she had fallen into the hands of the Christians; he answered like the Roman Consul, that he had rather lose his daughter than a fortress which the king had confided to his defence.
Among the noblemen in the Christian army who entered the suburbs with the Moors, Don Alonso de Zuniga was one who had particularly signalized himself. This cavalier, who was about eighteen years of age, was now making his first campaign; his aim was glory, and his only object in coming to the siege of Baza was to deserve the esteem of Ferdinand by the performance of some remarkable feat. Fortune favoured his wishes, for while in pursuit of the enemy, putting all who offered resistance to the sword, he approached a magnificent looking house, which appeared to belong to some person of quality. Resolved to ascertain whether there was any one within, he caused the door to be forced open with his soldiers’ axes. About a dozen men, armed with sabres only, presented themselves to dispute their entrance; but four or five of these being overthrown damped the courage of the rest, who saved themselves by flight over the walls of the garden.
Don Alonso’s soldiers, delighted to find a house elegantly furnished, thought of nothing but plundering it; for himself, who wished for nothing but an opportunity of signalizing himself, he examined the house from top to bottom, sword in hand, with five or six of his followers, breaking open every door, to see if there were any other Moors prepared to oppose him. Passing thus from room to room, he at length came to the last, at the door of which he heard a loud shriek from within, and at the same time perceived five women, four of whom, all in tears, and almost senseless with fear, threw themselves at his feet, imploring him to save their honour and their lives; but the fifth, who by her air and majestic appearance was evidently the mistress of the rest, instead of kneeling with the others, held a poniard in her hand with a determined countenance. “Stop!” said she, in the Castilian language, upon Don Alonso’s approaching her, “this dagger shall protect me from any one who presumes to touch me.”
No sooner did Don Alonso behold the face of the lady who addressed him in these courageous terms, than he was quite captivated by her beauty, and felt the emotions that love creates in a heart for the first time subjected to its dominion: already enraptured by his rising passion, he raised the visor of his helmet, sheathed his sword, and told the lady, in the most mild and respectful manner, that she need not be apprehensive of any violence from one who felt extremely concerned at the alarm he had caused her, but at the same time he felt most truly happy that fate had conducted him into her presence, to save her from the misfortunes that threatened her; he entreated her, therefore, to confide herself to his protection, and to accompany him at once, for fear of the fury of the soldiers, who, not being accustomed on such occasions as these to acknowledge any controul, might put it out of his power to preserve her from their outrages.
At these words, the truth of which she but too well felt, she accepted his proffered assistance; upon which he desired his followers to take care of the other women, and let them carry away with them whatever they wished; after which he offered his hand to his captive, who, in spite of her uneasiness, was somewhat divested of her fears by the attention and appearance of the young cavalier; armed as he was, to behold his beautiful face, and his long hair which flowed in curls over his cuirass, he had more the appearance of a beautiful girl than of a soldier.
This charming Moor, who, without exception, was the most engaging beauty in the kingdom of Granada, was named Daraxa; she was the daughter of the governor; and having learnt that the Moors had been driven back into the suburbs, she had endeavoured to regain the town, but finding the gates closed, had been obliged to return to this garden.
Though she was very fortunate in having fallen into the hands of Don Alonso, yet the thoughts of becoming a captive to the Christians sadly afflicted her. In spite of her courage she could not refrain from tears; she was not able to make any other reply to the obliging offers of her generous enemy than by giving him her hand, to shew the confidence she reposed in him. The young warrior, moved by the tears of his fair prisoner, tried all he could to console her; and as he spoke from the abundance of his heart, what he said was so tenderly expressive, that in any other situation it might have had more effect on the beautiful Moor; but, although she felt most sensibly his endeavours to sooth her under her misfortune, the acknowledgments that she made were but very inadequate as a return for the lively interest he took in her behalf.
As soon as he was informed that a retreat was sounded by order of the king, and that the Christians were already filing off to regain the camp, he yielded his own horse to the lady, who vaulted into the saddle entirely unassisted, and knew well how to manage her steed. He then assembled his soldiers in haste, in the midst of whom he placed the beautiful Moor and her women; and putting himself at the head of this little corps, which looked more like a cavalcade than an escort, he followed the other troops in the retreat.
The king was already acquainted with his adventure before he arrived at the camp, and was the more rejoiced at it as he entertained a particular regard for this cavalier, whom he considered to be a young man of great promise. Impatient to see so illustrious a prisoner, he did her the honour to advance to receive her, as soon as he perceived Don Alonso approaching his tent to conduct her into his presence. She advanced towards his Majesty with so majestic a mien, and so gracefully, as to charm all who beheld her; and would have fallen on her knees before him, but he prevented her so politely, and received her in such a manner, that she uttered, in a sort of extasy, “Ah! my lord, what charms would the honour of saluting the great Ferdinand have had, had it not been annexed by fate to one of the most cruel misfortunes that could have happened to me!” “Madam,” answered the King, in a most gracious manner, “you have no reason to consider it a misfortune to have become the prisoner of Don Alonso de Zuniga, who is an amiable young man, and who will pay you every attention, and spare nothing which may alleviate your misfortune; and, for my own part, I will take care you shall be so well entertained that you shall soon cease to have occasion to repine at fortune.”
His Majesty added, that she might write to her father the Governor, assuring him she should meet with the treatment due to her birth. He then desired Don Alonso, with a smile, to continue to take good care of Daraxa. “Conduct her,” said he, “to my own tent, where she can rest this night with her women, and to-morrow you shall yourself escort her to Jaen, where she will be better received and entertained by the Queen than she can be in a camp.”
Those officers in the army who had seen the beautiful Moor spoke of her to the others in such high terms that they were all curious to see her, and applied to Zuniga, to whom she was confided, to gratify their curiosity; but Don Alonso, jealous of his happiness, would not grant their requests, but managed to keep them from the royal tent by all sorts of excuses; for they persecuted him in such a manner, to afford them this satisfaction, that he was much troubled to resist their importunities. The next morning, according to the King’s orders, he set out for Jaen, where he arrived in the evening with his charming captive, whom he presented to the Queen. Her Majesty, to whom the King had dispatched a courier the preceding evening, was already informed of every thing. She received Daraxa most graciously, and was extremely pleased to see her. She was particularly struck with the elegance of her appearance; and when she had conversed with her for some time, was convinced that her good sense and wit were at least equal to her beauty.
In the mean time, Don Alonso, having performed his commission, and being obliged to return to the army, found now for the first time, that if love has its sweets, it is not unaccompanied by chagrin; and that that deity makes us pay dearly for the least favor. He could not reflect without extreme pain that he was on the point of leaving his beautiful Moor; but what most afflicted him was, that he had not yet disclosed his sentiments to her, though he had had more than one favourable opportunity; either from a timidity, which the bravest lovers sometimes feel, or from want of experience, he had resolved to take no other mode of declaring his passion than by his actions; nevertheless, as he knew that men ought to speak first on such occasions, he made up his mind at length to declare himself. He had only now to think of the manner in which he should make this avowal; and having reflected for a long time on the subject, but not being content with any thing he could think of, he resolved to leave it entirely to his passion to inspire him with words.
With this intention he repaired to the Queen to receive her commands, and asked permission to take leave of Daraxa. The Queen, who well knew that this young lord could not have passed two days with so lovely a person as the beautiful Moor with impunity, wished to have the pleasure of witnessing their separation: “What you desire is reasonable,” said she to Don Alonso, “since Daraxa is your prisoner; but as she is under my protection, I must watch over all her actions; you can only converse with her, therefore, in my presence.” This embarrassed him, and he now almost despaired of being able to acquaint his captive, that in leaving her he quitted what was dearest in the world to him.
What he viewed as so great an obstacle to the accomplishment of his desires, served, however, to promote them. The Queen having sent for the beautiful Moor, said to her: “My daughter,” (for so she already called her from friendship) “behold a young warrior, who I fear is more to be pitied, and more a prisoner than you are; he has considered it a duty to take leave of his captive previous to his departure for the army; I am his friend, and I permit him to disclose, in my presence, the tender sentiments that he cannot but have conceived for you.” Daraxa blushed: she had been till now so much taken up with her own misfortunes, that she had not once thought of endeavouring to distinguish the motives of Don Alonso’s actions, or if she had observed any attention more than ordinary in his behaviour, she had attributed it solely to pity, which is never without a degree of tenderness: besides which, her heart was already prepossessed in favor of another, so that she could but look upon Zuniga with an indifferent eye.
She replied to the Queen: That she should never forget her obligations to that cavalier; and that not having it in her power to acknowledge them, otherwise than by her wishes, she hoped that it would not be his fate to be taken prisoner; or should he be so unfortunate, she trusted that he would meet with as kind treatment as she had experienced. The Queen, curious to hear what answer Don Alonso would make to this compliment, made no reply, to afford him an opportunity of speaking. But this young nobleman, whose quick repartees, on other occasions, had been much admired at Court, now stood confused, either because he felt too violently the emotions of love, or under restraint in the presence of the Queen. He replied only to Daraxa, that whatever misfortunes might befal him, he should consider himself but too happy under them, if he might presume to call himself her champion, and that the object of his visit was to solicit this honor. “This is a favor never refused in this country,” said the Queen, desirous of keeping up the conversation to gratify Zuniga, “and Daraxa will surely find more reasons than one for granting this request.” “Madam,” answered the beautiful Moor, “I should be well content to have for my champion a man of Don Alonso’s high birth and accomplishments; but if the laws of Chivalry are the same among the Christians as with us Moors, how can I thus strongly interest myself in favor of a warrior who hears arms against my country?”
Although the Queen felt the force of this reply, she did not therefore conclude here, but represented to her fair prisoner, that this was a particular case; that she need have no scruple in feeling an interest and participating in the glory and fortune of a cavalier, to whom she was under such obligations as would be more than a sufficient excuse for her; and that she would thereby engage Don Alonso to treat the Moors that might fall into his power, more kindly. Zuniga was overjoyed to find the Queen espouse his cause with so much earnestness: and Daraxa, fearing that she might betray herself if she persisted in refusing the Queen’s request, thought it more advisable to make no further answer, since silence might imply that she did not object to what was desired of her.
“This will not suffice,” continued the Queen, who was determined to finish the matter, “for when any lady amongst us makes choice of a particular champion, it is usual to bestow on him some token of her preference, such as a scarf, her portrait, a handkerchief, a ribbon, or the like.” This was likewise a custom among the Moors; but Daraxa did not wish to engage herself so far; as, however, the desires of the Queen were laws to her, she presented Don Alonso with a knot of ribbon which she wore on her head, interwoven in the Moorish fashion. Zuniga received this gift with bended knees, and kissing the hand that bestowed it, as lovers were wont to do in those days, he swore never to do any thing to render himself unworthy his mistress’ favor. After this ceremony, the Queen, who was exceedingly pleased at the sight, told Don Alonso that she doubted not he would soon signalize himself by such feats of arms as would evince that he was well deserving of the honor that had just been conferred on him. He answered that he must be dependant on Fortune to furnish him with opportunities, and that it should not be the fault of his heart if he neglected them, or if they terminated unfortunately for him.
After having thus spoken, he returned her Majesty thanks for all her kindness; then addressing himself to the beautiful Moor, he implored her to deign sometimes to bestow a thought on a cavalier whose only glory was to serve his Catholic Majesty, and to render himself worthy of her esteem. After this he departed for the army.
Upon his arrival at the camp, he learned that king Ferdinand and king Mahomet had had an interview, that Baza had capitulated, and that it was stipulated in the articles, that all prisoners made during the siege should be restored on both sides. This news afflicted the amorous Don Alonso, who from that moment believed himself debarred from the sight of the object of his affection: but the Queen, who appeared to have undertaken to complete the happiness of this cavalier, could not make up her mind to think of ever parting with Daraxa, for whom she had conceived so sincere a friendship, that she could scarcely have lived without her company. The Moorish Governor, her father, applied for her return in the most urgent manner, but the Queen wrote to him in such kind and pressing terms, requesting him to allow his daughter to remain with her, that notwithstanding the excess of his love for her, he could not refuse to grant such a request, well persuaded that he should not have reason to repent of his complaisance.
The campaign being thus ended, the King resolved to pass the winter at Seville. He wrote to the Queen to this effect, who accordingly repaired there two or three days before he arrived. Never had the court of that monarch been more magnificent, the lords endeavoured to eclipse each other in splendour, and no expence was spared to make a brilliant figure. Don Alonso, who was one of the richest amongst them, and whose absence had only served to increase his love, spared nothing to make his equipage and train worthy of the Champion of the beautiful Moor, which title he had given himself, and upon which he much prided himself at Court, and the knot of ribbon he had received from that lady was elegantly attached to his breast.
All this, however, signified little with Daraxa, who treated him with the same indifference as the other lords who had professed themselves her lovers, among whom were Don Roderigo de Padilla, Don Juan d’Alsenna, and Don Diego de Castro. The only advantage that Don Alonso had over his rivals was, that he was permitted to visit and converse with his mistress more frequently than the others; for which he was indebted to the Queen’s kindness, who, ardently wishing to make the fair Moor a Christian, that she might marry and retain her at Court, had fixed upon him as the most advantageous match for her.
The Queen tried every means to prevail upon her to change her religion. One day she said to her: “My dear Daraxa, I have a great curiosity and wish to see you dressed in a Spanish habit; as I think that dress will become your beauty better than your own, and as I will make you a present of one I have myself worn, I am sure you will try it on to oblige me.” The Queen hoped by this means to influence her mind by degrees. Daraxa, who was well pleased with the dress of the Spanish women, and rejoiced at being able to please her Majesty, willingly consented to afford her that satisfaction. When she first made her appearance in her new dress, the King and the whole Court were delighted, and she completely eclipsed the numerous beauties that had hitherto charmed them. What jealousies and infidelities did she not cause! For, in proportion as she pleased the men, she became the envy of the women, who of course discovered more imperfections than charms in her.
Although she was not unconscious of the envy that she occasioned, she was rather vexed at it than conceited, and even became careless in her dress. The Queen sometimes quarrelled with her on this subject, and sent her daily new ornaments to prevail upon her to take more pains with her person; but she dressed herself once or twice with these, and thought of them no more. Every one was surprised to observe that she was plunged in a profound melancholy, which nothing could dispel. She sought to be alone, and was often surprised in tears, the report of which much affected the Queen, who, however, considered that she was only unhappy at being so far from her relations, and that her sadness would soon be at an end.
The King, wishing to contribute towards diverting his illustrious prisoner, as well as the numerous officers who had served under him so ably in the late campaign, proposed a solemn bull-fight, and the sports of canes, in some places called carousals: the day fixed on for these amusements was proclaimed, that such cavaliers as chose might prepare for them.
It is now time that I should inform you of the cause of the melancholy of the beautiful Moor; she was enamoured of a young nobleman of Granada, who was descended, as she herself was, from Moorish kings, and whose valour had been proved on several occasions; he was possessed of the most amiable personal qualities; in short, he was one of the most accomplished cavaliers at the Court of Granada. His name was Ozmin. They had been attached to each other from their infancy, and their fathers, who were most intimate friends, had resolved to preserve their amity indissoluble by marriage. On the eve of these nuptials, when Ozmin, who was at Granada, was expected at Baza to celebrate them, Ferdinand suddenly besieged this place with so much secresy and precaution, that there was not the slightest suspicion of it at the Court of king Mahomet.