My father’s name was Antonio Fraxado de Castañeda, and he occupied the office of master of the mint in the ancient town of Segovia. My mother came of the noble family of Ribadeneyra, but her I cannot remember, for she died while I was yet an infant, so that my only experience of a mother’s love was from my old Catalan nurse, who also served as housekeeper to my father in his modest dwelling on the banks of the Eresma, hard by the mint, whose name was Christiana Irurosqui, which was shortened into la Cria. The household was completed by a boy of Moorish blood of about my own age, who came the Lord knows whence, called Pedro el Moro, who served as my playfellow when young, and my servant when he grew older. My father was a man of retired habits who seemed to have no friends save a priest called Dom Vicente, who used to sup with him at least once in the seven days, and with whom he loved to talk of the nature of the things of this earth, and their virtues and qualities; for, indeed, it was shrewdly suspected that my father sought for the philosophers stone, and even dabbled a little in the black art. Nay, some went so far as to assert that el Moro was a devil that he had called up, and who now was only biding his time to fly away with his soul. And yet my father was a pious man who faithfully fulfilled all the duties of our holy church, and fasted when there were fast days (which, alas! I thought, came with undue frequency); but nevertheless it was fortunate for him that no accident had happened at the mill, or it might have gone hard with him. I loved him greatly, but perhaps feared him more, for he seldom took any notice of me, and never unbent before me, or played with me, much less fondled me. Yet when he had occasion to speak to me he was always kind, and I never had a harsh word from him.

When I had arrived at the age of nine years, Dom Vicente suggested to him that it was time that my education should be seen to, and himself undertook to instruct me in the rudiments of the Latin tongue, for I was a great favourite of his, and he hoped to make a priest of me. Moreover he taught me of the hidden secrets of nature, of the precious stones, and how they engender of the sap or juice of other stones distilled within crevices; though some, as he told me, who take upon themselves to sift more narrowly the secrets of nature, affirm that they are sublimed from the sap or marrow of the precious metals. Of their divers properties he told me that which they call Nicolaus maketh him that weareth it sad and melancholic, and so wrests the spirits and inward parts that it stirs up wonderful passions in the mind. He also talked of a stone called Opal, most fickle and changing in colour, which maketh as many perish as wear it; and also of another called Natron, which, as is wonderful to relate, being cast upon the water straightway kindles into flame without the help of fire; a thing rather mystical than agreeing with our capacity. There is also the Ruby, which chaseth away melancholy, prevents dreams and illusions at night, and serves as a counterpoison against corrupt air. The Sapphire represents fire in its most vehement heat, as also the azure sky, being most calm and clear. For the use of physic, there is no stone of greater price, seeing that it is of so great virtue by reason of its coldness that it presently staunches bleeding of the nose, heals the eyes, and, if placed on the tongue of them that suffer from fever, mortifies the disease. It also serves as a counterpoison against all venoms, and defends all infections of the air from such as wear it in pestilent times. The Hyacinth defends from thunders. The Turquoise chaseth away all troubles from the brain. He also told me many wonderful things of fishes: one of the most wondrous things, so miraculous as to be almost incredible, is that those dumb creatures do lift themselves out of their moist element to pierce the air as birds do with their wings. There is also the fish which is called in Latin the Torpedo, which hath a hidden property which is very strange, for if a man do touch it with an angle rod, she enchanteth forthwith his arm, so that often time he is constrained to abandon his prize. There are also fish of the likeness of men, saving that their skin is like to the slough of an eel; they have two little horns on the head, and on either hand have but two fingers. The feet end in a tail, and on the arms are two wings as a bald mouse hath. Furthermore, he taught of the nature of plants, as, for instance, of the herb Basil, which, if a man chew and place under a stone, will straightway engender a scorpion. Also the herb called Pulicaris hath such a cold virtue that being cast into boiling water it will kill the heat thereof. The Squilla, if hanged in a house, delivereth men from charms and sorceries, and the Parsley, by a certain secret property, engendereth in us the falling sickness. Furthermore, the Consyre hath so great a virtue to knit and make to grow together fresh hurts, that being put into a pot with fresh pieces of flesh, it will knit and join them together. These and many other things he taught me, very curious, but which I cannot now call to mind; and being thus well tutored in all learning by Dom Vicente, yet unwilling to take orders as he wished, my father set me to work in the mill in the purification of the metals, in which the knowledge that I had gained was of use. But I liked not the occupation, and would steal away whenever I was able to the more congenial pursuit of a fair face that had caught my roving sight through a window grill, the lovely Dolores Escañuela, who was unfortunately an heiress, and therefore sought after by all the gallants of Segovia. Scarcely a night passed but what she was serenaded by some young blade, so that the town musicians had no rest, neither had she, without she stopped her ears with wool, and what young maiden would do that to shut out the sweet incense of a serenade? Frequent were the brawls which took place under her window, insomuch that her father made complaint to the alcalde; but the alguazils durst not interfere, for many had their heads broken. As for the young gallants, it was almost an act of suicide to serenade her unless in a party of ten or twelve, when some very pretty fighting generally took place. For my part, I had no friends; for besides the bad odour in which my father was held for his reputed dealings in the black art, his retired habits prevented him from making the acquaintance of his fellow-townsmen, and therefore prevented me from being on familiar terms with their sons. Nevertheless, so great were the attractions of Dolores’ charms, that I too, alone as I was, ventured to serenade her in the following verses:

As I came to the last verse, what was my joy to see a white flower drop at my feet! I caught it up and covered it with kisses, and was about to depart in the seventh heaven of happiness, when a band of the retainers of the Count de Villegas, who was also one of Dolores’ suitors, rushed upon me, so that I had scarce time to draw my sword to defend myself. However, I set my back to the wall and did what I could. El Moro had fled at the first onset, so there was I alone to thrust and parry as best I could against six; but the odds were too great, and in a short time I fell covered with blood from several wounds. Undoubtedly I should have been killed had not several alguazils, hearing the noise of clashing steel, come just at that moment to the end of the street, taking good care to leave the other end free for escape, and letting their presence be known by their flashing lanterns, by striking their wands on the pavement, and their shouts of ‘Seize the peacebreakers!’ and the like; when, seeing that the Count de Villegas’ men had fled, and there finding me stretched upon the ground for dead, they were for carrying me to prison for a brawler. Fortunately for me, Dolores’ father just then came out, who, after examining me, bound up my wounds with his daughter’s assistance; and recognising me, ordered some of his servants to carry me home. My father was much grieved at the calamity which had befallen me, and showed more tenderness than I had hitherto thought he had. After applying some healing balsam, he and la Cria set themselves to watching by my bedside in turns, where I was soon in a raging fever. By the great care of my father, and with the aid of a good constitution, in about ten days I had so far recovered as to be out of danger of my life; and as soon as I was strong enough, I searched through the garments that I had worn on that fateful night to find my guerdon, the flower which I had thrust into my bosom before the attack; and though my search was in vain, I nevertheless found to my great joy a handkerchief embroidered with the first letter of Dolores’ name, which I supposed she had used for staunching my wounds. My father still watched by me, and great was my desire to embrace him and open my heart to him. I think that he would have been pleased had I done so; but as I grew better, so his stiffness grew upon him again, and before I could muster courage to address him the opportunity was lost, he had returned to his ordinary occupations, and the old relation between us of outward coldness was resumed. It was not so with la Cria. She was never tired of fondling me, and wishing all the foulest deaths she could think of to fall on the house of Villegas, to be followed by eternal punishment in the lowest hell hereafter. To Dom Vicente, who was a frequent visitor, she would confess her sin of uncharitableness as he told her that it was; I say, she would confess it to him every time, in order that she might have a free conscience to sin again in the same manner directly afterwards. My father wished to complain before the corregidor of the unprovoked attack, but Dom Vicente with much ado dissuaded him; for, as he pointed out, in any case the Count de Villegas would bring all his influence to bear, and it was not likely that the corregidor would withstand that at the suit of a plain citizen. He forbore to tell him his more potent reason, that the vulgar of the town looked askaunt upon him for his supposed magical powers, and disliked him while they feared him. My father, who was a man of sense, acknowledged that the advice was good; nevertheless he fretted that he could not be avenged, and all the more since anything that disturbed the usual placid course of his life made him quite unable to follow those pursuits which he so much loved. Had his means been sufficiently great, he would say, to supply those costly earths, precious stones, and alembics, and so forth, that he found needful for his studies, he had left the neighbourhood of cities, and would have retired to some quiet mountain hermitage, where, undisturbed by the distractions of the world and the necessity of mingling with vulgar souls, he might commune with Nature, and win those secrets from her reluctant hand for which he so greatly thirsted and so patiently laboured. But, what avails talk like this, he added; there is no peace in this world. He who hath no relations to distract him, no one to consider but himself, will pine for the sympathy of his kind. The work he has done, even the fame he may win, turns to bitterness and gall. He will ask himself of what use to him is a name known far and wide, to be remembered even after its bearer is no more, a mere breath associated with the idea that once a living man owned it, and that too would die in a few years and be forgotten, only to be remembered now and again by the curious delvers in the history of the forgotten past. If, on the other hand, our unfortunate lot gave us friends or relatives to love, did not their pains, their accidents, their griefs or their misdoings, fall upon us as though we had the capacity to bear the ills of many with the physical body of but one? But la Cria had no patience with him when he was in one of these moods. It is not for us, she would say, to ask why we are here more than anywhere else, or to repine at the position in which we are placed. Cry when you are moved to tears, laugh when you are moved to mirth, hate your enemies and love your friends. These were the maxims upon which she acted, and accordingly made el Moro’s life a burden to him with her gibes against him for running away, in spite of his oaths that he went but to obtain succour, perceiving that so he might do his master the greater service. On the other hand, she scraped acquaintance with Dolores’ duenna, and would bring me news of my mistress which so gladdened my heart that I made a rapid recovery.

As soon as I was able I went to the Church of the Seven Sorrows, which I knew was frequented by Dolores, and to my great joy I saw her, recognising her in spite of her veil, for what veil will not a lover’s eye pierce? I knelt beside her, and had hardly the patience to let pass one quarter of an hour before I addressed her. I saw by her mantling blush that she recognised me as I spoke. ‘Fair lady,’ I began, ‘it seems that the Saints take pity on those that truly love, since I have the felicity to meet you here, the sight of whom is life. I beseech you excuse me if, having ended my devotions, I begin to pray you to take pity upon me, whose flame is so ardent and affection so passionate, as either I must live yours or not die my own.’ To this Dolores answered: ‘Sir, since your devotions can neither be pleasing to God nor profitable to your soul if you come here merely to have speech with me, so it would be equally sinful in me to reply to your civil speeches either as your present action or real merit deserves.’ I was not so great a novice in the art of love as to be put off with the first rebuff, but rather seeing that the perfection of her mind corresponded with the beauty of her form, resolved to return to the charge, and therefore boarded her thus: ‘Sweet lady, where can truth be more fitly spoken than in the temple of truth, or where else could my hard lot afford me an opportunity of speech with one who hath the power, so great is my devotion, to make me brave all the evil of this world or the next? If you will not have me speak to you here, until, as I ardently hope, you condescend to plight your vows to me before the altar, at least give an opportunity of speaking to you elsewhere, that I may assure you of my unfeigned love and undying devotion.’ At this, Dolores, repenting her of her harshness towards me, replied: ‘Noble sir, when I am as well acquainted with your heart as with your speeches I may perhaps pardon your indiscretion in thus addressing me, and since I may have wronged your merits and virtues, if you will be at the wicket gate of my father’s house soon after the first watch of the night, I will give you then an opportunity to explain your intent at greater length.’ So saying, she bowed to me, and going forth, left me in so happy and eager a state that I scarce knew what I did, but only that the day seemed to be the longest that I had ever passed.

It is needless to say that the hour found me at the wicket gate, but I had hardly got there when there was a great bruit or noise of clashing of naked weapons in the same street at its further end, and I clearly perceived that it was a brawl between two parties of pretenders to Dolores’ favour, who, being on the same errand intent, had there met. In haste to escape their observation I knocked at the gate, but scarcely had I done so than one being hurt in the skirmish broke out of the press, and fleeing towards the place where I stood, fell down dead at my feet, even as the duenna, the confidante of Dolores, opened the wicket to let me enter. She straightway conducted me into a garderobe or inner chamber, where I hardly passed three words to my dear mistress, whom I found there awaiting me, when we heard a great noise and hurly-burly in the street of the alguazils, who, finding the dead body at the door, inquiring of the neighbours were told that the murderer had but now slipped into the house before which the body lay. Whereupon the captain began to bounce at the door with such assistance of his company that we were struck with fear at the uproar, I for her honour, while she was in terror for my safety lest they might search the house and take me for the murderer, notwithstanding that I knew nothing of it. With her ready woman’s wit Dolores bade me instantly follow her, and leading me into a manservant’s chamber then disused, showed me how I might mount to the midst of the chimney, which I did just as her father was parleying with the officers who insisted on searching the house. I had nothing to support me but a narrow bar of iron upon which there was barely space to stand, while Dolores retired to her chamber, from which she presently issued, feigning to be disturbed from her slumber, and exclaiming at the indecency of such a disturbance at such an hour. But the captain was forced by what the neighbours had said (though half against his will) to continue his search, and receiving the keys from Señor Escañuela, began to ransack each corner and cabinet in the house, in which he omitted nothing, for no coffer escaped without its bottom turned upward, and every bed and bolster was tried with the point of a sharp poignard. When they came to the chamber where I was hid in the chimney I would have cursed my folly, had my love not been so great, for venturing thus upon one of the most dangerous enterprises that can be undertaken in Spain, and risking the honour of my mistress by my discovery; and, as evils never come alone, after they had well searched the chamber, which had very little furniture in it, though fortunately not bethinking them that one might be perched up in the chimney, that being the last part of the house examined, the captain was dissatisfied at not having found anyone, and so proposed to set a guard for the night and to continue his search at the return of daylight. To that end, despite the protestations of Dolores’ father, two men were left on guard, and what was worse, these men quartered themselves in the very chamber where I hung up in the chimney, as being one of those in the house not at present in use. You may well imagine that Dolores was terribly distressed at this, and all the more that she feared, as I did, that since the night was cold the men would desire to kindle a fire, wherefore she gave special charge that no fuel should be supplied to them, but that if they wished it a pan of hot coal, after the manner of us Spaniards, could be placed in the midst of their chamber. Hearing these two wretches establish themselves, I had almost given myself up for lost, but that I might not for the reputation of my mistress which I valued more than my life. I had grown during this time exceedingly tired of standing upon my perch, hardly recovered in strength as I was from my severe wounds; moreover, the smell of the soot and the cold air excited in me a very great desire to sneeze, which I durst not gratify and yet scarce could stay it. Soon after I heard my mistress enter the chamber again with two of her women, and proffer wine to the men, in reward, as she said, for their services in guarding her. This they took very graciously, but knowing what I did, methought she had put a sleeping-draught therein, which, indeed, turned out to be the case, for presently they slept and soundly, but I durst not come down until her duenna, whom she had sent there to spy, seeing that the guards were governed by the potion, bade me descend, which I joyfully did, and withdrew quietly to another chamber where I found my dear mistress. Our common adventure had brought us nearer together, for the danger we had mutually suffered and were not yet escaped from, had swept away the artifices of coyness, our hearts seemed already to sympathise and burn in the flame of mutual affection. She entertained my vows and speeches of unalterable love with many blushes which came and went, casting a roseate veil over the milk-white lilies of her complexion, which, together with her soft eyes, her delicate stature, and the many perfections of her beauty, confirmed the subserviency of my zeal and wedded constancy to my love. With many protestations we took our leaves, but, impatient of delay, the very next day I waited upon her father, and in due terms requisite for me to give and him to receive, demanded his daughter in marriage. Señor Escañuela, while thanking me for the honour, which, as he protested, I had done him, replied: ‘Señor, our family is much beholden to you for the flattering proposal which you make, and words hardly suffice me to express the pleasure I should experience by the union of our two families in marriage, which is as much an honour to me as a condescension in you. Nevertheless, much as I may regret it, I have already pledged my daughter Dolores to the Count de Villegas, and my pledged word will not permit me to alter my decision in your favour. Therefore, señor, I am your humble servant, and must beg you in future to put away from your thoughts all notion of my daughter.’ To this I could only answer: ‘Illustrissimo, I am your humble and obedient servant,’ and so take my leave, knowing full well that he preferred the titled and rich Count de Villegas to poor me, who had nothing, no title and no riches. Nevertheless my love was so great and the encouragement my mistress had given me was such, that I was resolved not to give her up without a struggle, and therefore I indited an epistle to her as follows, which I entrusted to el Moro to deliver to her, who, however cowardly he might be, possessed a discretion and a subtlety that few could equal.

‘Madam,’ I wrote, ‘though your father prove obdurate in entertaining the hope with which I burn, yet so great and inextinguishable are the flames of my desire, that I cannot tamely acquiesce in his decision to give you to another whom I cannot think worthy of those transcendent beauties. That your charms have vanquished me is nothing, and would give me no claim to your consideration; but you have deigned to distinguish me from the common crowd, and in so doing have raised me to that degree among the competitors to your favour, that I now consider myself the equal and even superior of any grandee in Spain. Oh, grant me, divine being, some confirmation of my pretensions, that my fainting heart be again raised by thy word, for without thee nothing is left to me to live for, while the hope of thy favour will give me strength to fight against paternal objections, my superiors in rank or riches, or even the devil himself.’ This letter I despatched by el Moro, who, by feigning an attachment to Dolores’ maid, had no great difficulty in delivering it to her own hand without the observation of her parents. By the same means I received the following answer: ‘Señor, it is with blushes and hesitation that I so far transgress maidenly decorum as to answer your letter; and the more since I fear that my conduct in giving you an opportunity of private converse may be misconstrued. Nevertheless, it would show ill manners in me to pass over your letter in silence, since it plainly comes from the heart of an honourable gentleman. I may freely confess that your person is not unpleasing to me, and that, were it my parents’ wish, I might be prepared to entertain your flattering proposal; but since you have not succeeded in obtaining from them the confirmation of your wishes, it only remains for me to say that I will never consent to a union with the Count de Villegas.’ To this I replied by the same means as follows: ‘Fair mistress! Ah, madam, though I be not so fortunate as to please thy parents, yet love is no crime to be visited by thy divine displeasure, when thou thyself art the bright object of my affection. Though thy parents, swayed rather by their ambition than by dislike to me, do not favour my suit, yet the union of two souls should not be governed by Mammon, but rather by Cupid, the gentle god of love. Hymen ever joyfully confirms the union of them that are invited to join themselves by Cupid, and as constantly refuses to bless those introduced to him by pride or avarice. Give then scope to thy gentle heart, dear lady, that hath already rescued me from the death nearly brought upon me by rivals for thy affection, and confirm my life, which is otherwise valueless, by the hope of thy dear hand.’

Though I succeeded in corresponding with Dolores without the knowledge of her parents, yet this correspondence could not be so subtle as to hope for concealment from the eyes of a lover, and so the Count de Villegas was not without intelligence of what was going on, of which he took good care that Señor Escañuela should be informed, who thereupon gave instructions that el Moro should be prevented from coming to his house. At the same time the Count de Villegas sent me the following challenge:

‘Since I am given to understand that thy baseness doth not fear to aspire to the incomparable beauty of the phœnix of her sex and bright star of beauty, my mistress Dolores, if thou dost not instantly give up all pretension to her hand, doubt not that my sword is prepared to chastise thy insolence. Either, therefore, return me an answer under thy hand, that thou art prepared henceforth to avoid all communication with my mistress, or be prepared to-morrow morning to meet me without the walls with rapier and sword, if thou hast any pretence to be thought to have the breeding of a gentleman, to justify thy audacious resolution.—Villegas.’

To this I bade the messenger reply that I would not fail to meet him according to his desire and appointment. I bore this challenge privately from my father, and all the world except a young gentleman, one of my few acquaintances, whom I chose to be my second in the quarrel, named Señor Velasco, a valiant and true friend, who very readily engaged himself to me, so that he and the Marquis de Campofrio, the second of the Count de Villegas, with as much friendship as secrecy, met in the city and resolved on the rapiers and other ceremonies requisite in the duello. As soon as the morning appeared, both parties were early astir, and showed themselves on the field of battle a little before six, which was the hour appointed. The seconds duly performed their allotted office in visiting the principals, who cast off their doublets and drew, and so we fell to deeds. The Count de Villegas played the first close with great wariness and coolness, but presently warming to the business, he wounded me in the right arm, while I gave him a thrust in the left side which did but little hurt as it glanced along a rib. At the second encounter, the Count wounded me betwixt the breast and shoulder, while I thrust him clean through the left arm, which piercing his sinews and arteries, he was no longer able to hold his poignard, and despite his resolution and courage, it fell out of his hand, an unlooked-for disaster which did much perplex and afflict him. Upon seeing this, disdaining to fight upon unequal terms, I threw away my poignard also, and after a short breathing space we again closed, when running in upon him I ran him through the right flank and withdrawing my rapier leapt back to put myself upon a defensive guard, but my foot slipping, I could not prevent myself from falling to the ground. The Count following me close, and being eager in pursuit, could not forego his advantage, and being bloodthirsty in his revenge and forgetful of all honour, working upon the misfortune of my fortune, he right then and there nailed me to the ground, and withdrawing his rapier was preparing to pierce me through the heart and so act a perpetual divorce betwixt my body and soul, when his second unable to look on at so base an act, ran forward and turned aside his weapon. My own second coming forward at the same time, raised me from the ground, and the chirurgeon advancing examined my wounds, so that the combat was put an end to.

I was conveyed to my home, and lay betwixt life and death for the space of about a week, when an alguazil of the Inquisition came to cite me before the Holy Tribunal upon certain charges of heresy, and I was conveyed to a noisome cell of their prison, which, as my father afterwards learnt, was at the instance of the false Count, who repenting him of my life had thus accused me.

My dungeon was situated close beneath the roof, and since it was winter I was almost perished with cold. Yet, withal, that was better than the extreme heat of summer that I had to look forward to, for the stink and noisomeness of the air was less in the winter. The cell was narrow, and for that reason belike, and also perhaps because I had not yet been put to the question, I had no fellow-prisoner. No light entered therein save for a narrow rift in the wall high up, and no wider than a man’s finger, but I might have had a worse apartment if it had not been expected that my father would be willing to pay for my better accommodation. For the same reason the order of my diet was better than the common, for my father paid very large fees to the Holy Office for it, and had it not been for this, in my then state of weakness with my wounds scarcely healed, I had surely perished. And yet, easy as it is to get into the prison of the Inquisition, few go out, for if they have not already perished from the hardships of their imprisonment and the torture of the question, yet they seldom go forth but clad in the San Benito for the stake, or at the least to a life-long slavery in the galleys. It was far otherwise with the ordinary prisoners who had no money to bless themselves withal. Those poor creatures have a daily allowance of half a rial from the king for their diet, which is about equal to two sous French, out of which poor pittance is to be defrayed their steward and laundress’s wages, and whatsoever other necessary charges grow besides must be from thence discharged. Moreover, of this allowance given to them by the king, not one half comes to their use, for it passes through two or three men’s hands, to whose fingers some of it sticks. First there is the treasurer, and then comes the steward, then the cook, and lastly, the jailor, all of whom will have their fees. But if the prisoner be a rich man then is his lot even worse, for they do not suffer him in any case to better his condition out of his own goods, which they look to for plunder, nor do they allow him to have other than a little brown bread and cold water. No sound is heard in those sorrowful walls, for no prisoner is allowed to raise his voice, and some heretics that would be singing of psalms in the vulgar tongue, for fear that they should thereby solace themselves or let others know of their presence, had wooden bits fastened upon their tongues, and were so compelled to silence. For this reason it happens that father and son, husband and wife, or brother and sister, may be in the prison-house for the space of two or three years, and neither of them know of the other being there until the time comes of meeting on the scaffold—if it ever comes, for the most perish in prison as I have said, from the great filth and stench, and their corrupt and naughty diet, or they become altered in their wits from their prolonged and lonely imprisonment, or perchance some fever consumes them little by little, making their living life worse than any death they could die. Yea, so great are the cruelties of this prison, and so easily are men cast therein at the mere whisper of an enemy, that it would confirm these Turks in their false religion did they know and understand thereof. Indeed, there was a certain Turk who had voluntarily forsaken and abjured the Mahometan idolatry and was newly come into Spain to be confirmed in the true religion, who, finding more faults and worse sins among the Christians than he had left behind him among his own countrymen the Moors, happening to say one day that the Mahometan law was better than the Christian, was immediately denounced by some, and lodged forthwith in a dungeon of the Inquisition, whence he never again issued forth but to one of their Acts, and that only after the torture of the rack, when he was burnt at the stake, which is a thing that the Turks, pagans as they are, will not do, save that you revile their religion or so-called saints.

The walls of my dungeon were written all over with the sad complaints of prisoners that had been there before me, and though in some cases there were blasphemous inscriptions by heretics, denying the divinity of our Lady, or even the reality of the Blessed Host, yet for the most part they were but the expression of their hopelessness, their trust in God, a farewell to the world, or an invocation to death. Some of these I remember, for I had leisure to impress them upon my memory during my long imprisonment; and since they help to show the horror of my suffering, and the mutability of human affairs, I will repeat them to you. One of them ran as follows:

And another:—

And again:

And again:

About the third week of my imprisonment, when I had almost recovered from my wounds, but was like to fall ill from the irksomeness of my confinement and distress for my separation from Dolores, the keeper of the prison began to question me upon the subject of my arrest, and to ask me if I could suspect either the cause or my accuser? Having heard my father, when he was alone with me, talking upon the wiles of the Inquisitors, and bethinking me that the keeper would have far greater cause to assist his masters than to take pity upon me, I answered very guardedly, though with seeming ingenuousness, that I was entirely ignorant of both the one and the other. Upon this he urged me to confess anything that I could think of, and to petition the Holy Fathers for a day of hearing, in order that my case might be disposed of. But knowing somewhat of their tricks, and of how they ensnare the unwary, I replied that I was at their disposal, for them to do with me as they pleased. At this reply he could not conceal his displeasure, and it was not until fourteen days afterwards that I was cited before the Consistory. They then spoke to me as though I was merely before them to discharge a pro-forma accusation, and bade me tell them all I knew, in order that they might send me back to my own house. This they did, hoping that I might unawares confess to some fault, or accuse some other, perhaps my father; and they earnestly charged me therefore to disburden my conscience, as they called it, persuading me that they went about nought else but to do me good for the very love and mere compassion which they had for me. When I humbly replied that I could think of no reasonable cause why anyone should denounce me to them, they answered that they could mete out sharp justice to the contumacious, and so sent me back to my cell. In the meanwhile they sent an officer to me called the ‘tutor,’ whom they appoint, as they pretend, to advise with the prisoner how he may best defend his case, but who in reality is only a spy who betrays many, and even the innocent, to his masters. I merely repeated to him what I had said before, and although he urged me to put my trust in him for that he was appointed to defend me, which he could not do unless I would deal candidly with him, yet I knew better, even had I been guilty, than to trust him. On the third day I was called before the Inquisitors again, who demanded of me if I was now resolved to make a clean breast of the affair, with an earnest request of me to do so for my own welfare, after their accustomed manner. If I would not, they threatened to use extremity towards me of what they could do by law, by which they mean extreme tormenting and mangling of men, but finding that I had nothing to confess, or, as they would have it, that I would confess nothing, they remitted me again to prison, and upon some information of my intended escape, which I discovered from the keepers’ inquiries, I was now put into an underground dungeon, which was even worse than the one in which I had been hitherto confined. As the Inquisitors could get no confession out of me, and moreover had no witnesses against me save the Count de Villegas, whom they knew to bear a grudge against me, for the reasons known to you, and since they had heard of the duello between us, and therefore suspected his testimony the more, they forbore to put me to the question, as they call it, that is to the rack and other tortures, though they rehearsed all the several torments to me as terribly as they could; and, indeed, I had almost fainted at their description, and the sight thereof. The place is a deep dungeon beneath the earth, with many doors to pass through ere we came to it, in order that those who are put to it should not be heard to shriek or cry. On the one side are raised seats with a canopy, where the Inquisitors are seated with their clerks, and the links being lighted in their sockets on the walls, they take their seats, and the prisoners are brought forth. Here he sees, as I did, in that dim and flickering light, the Inquisitors sitting in their red robes on the one side, flanked by their familiars in their gowns of white, with hoods which cover their faces, making them to resemble so many spirits or devils come to enjoy his tortures. The executioner, a brawny knave, stands hard by his instrument, which is in the midst of the apartment, clad all over in a close-fitting garment of black canvas, with a long black hood which reaches over so as to cover his face. The chief Inquisitor then urges him to speak the truth freely and voluntarily, otherwise it will be at his own peril. For if his arm or leg be broken in the rack, or if he receive other injuries so that he die thereof (for they mean not to deal gently with him), let him blame no one but himself; and so they think to salve their consciences. Then is he stripped to the skin, and his hands bound with a cord which passes over a pulley, so that he may be hoisted up. His feet likewise are weighted with heavy weights, and in this plight is he again summoned to tell them all he knows, which nevertheless does not satisfy them, but they sign to the executioner to hoist the poor wretch, and while he thus hangs, they fall to their persuasions once again, commanding the executioner to hoist him to the very beam till his head touch the pulley. Then, if he will not accuse both himself and all his acquaintance, they command to let him down again, and twice the weight that was afore to be affixed to his feet, when he is again hoisted, and suffered to hang a good while, which seems every minute an age to him, such is his great and momentarily increasing agony; every sinew in his body being strained, until, as most often happens, he swoons for his intolerable pain. Then the leech who stands by, not to cure, indeed, as is their office in less holy places, but merely to prolong his capacity for suffering, the leech, I say, gives orders to lower him down again, and after sousing him with cold water, administers a cordial, and then is the wretch again questioned. In his then state, though he be innocent, yet racked and dazed as he is, if he be able to speak at all he will now say anything that they wish, and one of the familiars leaning over him repeats aloud after him the confession that he can scarce whisper. If he be rich and they merely require an excuse to plunder him of all his possessions, this will satisfy them; but if, as is more often the case, they hope through him to get others within their net, they again give orders to hoist him, and bid the executioners so to jog the ropes that every limb is disjointed: arms, shoulders, back, and legs torn from their sockets, and the afflicted parts then swelling, the weights tell with more excruciating force. Then they begin to rail upon him, calling him dog and heretic, that will stand so obstinately in concealing the truth; and in this pitiful plight, half dead and more, if he pray them to let him down, promising to tell them somewhat, after he has said what he can, he is worse handled than before, because they think that now only he begins to broach his matters. For as soon as his tale is at an end they begin afresh to exhort, to threat, and to rack him, giving charge to haul him up and let him down again as I have already described, until the leech signifies by a private sign that if he suffer any more now his spirit will presently depart, and so he will escape out of their hands; when they leave him and let him down for that time, demanding of the executioner (to fright him), whether his other instruments be ready? To which the executioner answers that they be ready, but that he has not brought them with him. ‘Then see,’ they say, ‘that they be ready by to-morrow, and look that nothing be wanting, for we shall try one way or another to get the truth from this heretic.’ Thereupon they rise and go their way, while the leech restores the sufferer’s limbs as best he may, putting his arms and legs in their right joints again (if the swelling permit) and so he is carried back into his cell.

After two or three days are past he is again put to the question, and finds all ready as before; when, being bound to the rack, they again straitly fall to persuade him to utter somewhat, wherein, if he answers nothing, they carry him back to prison, but if he says ought, then in the hopes of getting more from him they again put him to the rack, and while he hangs bind his thighs and mid-leg together tightly with small but very strong cord, and then drive in wedges betwixt until the cords are hidden in the flesh; a very extreme and terrible torment. In this plight the poor soul is left for some hours until his legs almost mortify and the pain is beyond endurance. Nevertheless, they cease not to persuade and to entreat him, but if he still prove obstinate they employ another device the name of which is ‘Buriorum Aselli,’ and the manner of it is this: he is laid upon his back upon a trough of massy timber, across which just below his shoulders is a bar, so that his back may not settle to the bottom and he may have the less ease. When he is laid thereon, his arms, legs, and thighs are bound with very stout small cords, which they afterwards strain with sticks so that they pierce the flesh almost to the bone, insomuch that the cords can no longer be seen. Then they take a piece of fine linen, large enough to cover both his mouth and nose, and pour upon it water in a thin stream which bears down the linen into his mouth and throat so as to suffocate him, and yet he cannot move, so that when they pluck it out from the bottom of his throat, as they do many times to see whether he will answer their questions, the cloth is dyed with his blood and he suffers death by this torment many times over. All this was shown and explained to me, and I was led back to my cell almost dead with fear.

Lying thus in my new cell, which, as I have said, was changed, for some suspicion of my jailors, from the attics to a deep underground dungeon, trembling for the fear of what I had seen which I had too much reason to dread might be my fate, with but the cold hard stone for my pillow, I had nought to sustain me but the memory of the moments I had passed with Dolores, tormenting myself with the doubt lest she might give way to the wishes of her father and the importunities of the Count de Villegas. I went over in my mind all her words, and still more her looks and involuntary signs of love, torturing myself with the idea that they were but signs of common politeness, and that, though she might like me, yet did she not care for me to that degree that she would sacrifice her peace for my sake. How long I lay thus I had lost count, but it was certainly night, for my jailor had long since brought me my evening meal of beans or chickpeas boiled in oil, and also my pipkin of water; when presently I heard, as it were beneath me, a sound as of a pick plied with regular blows. To be sure I had heard it for some time, but it had not arrested my attention until now when I began to wonder as it came nearer what it might portend. Then I heard a mighty blow upon a stone at my feet; my heart leapt to my mouth, for, indeed, the terrors I had gone through and my long imprisonment had somewhat wasted my mettle, and I had almost shrieked aloud when the stone without further warning disappeared, leaving merely a cavity where it had been. I gazed intently, waiting to see what might happen, but all was silent for a time, and then I thought that indeed my wits had left me, for the sufferings I had gone through, for I seemed to hear my father’s voice, and lo! his head appeared as if it were rising through the pavement. I think that it was the indescribable look of tender pity that his face bore which quieted me and drove away my fear; I began to think that I had died and that my father had come to deliver me from the persecutors of this earth and to bring me to heavenly bliss, but my senses left me, and I knew no more until I found myself in a little dark chamber hardly illumined by a solitary candle, which only served to show my father’s face bending over me. I closed my eyes again, and then I heard his voice bidding me to remain quiet, and assuring me that I was now in safety and with him. Then he held a cordial to my lips, which revived me so that I could sit up and partake of food which he had prepared for me. When I had finished, I begged him to tell me where I was, and he answered me as follows.

‘You know, my son, that I have long studied the secrets handed down to us by the Moors, who once were all-powerful in this country; secrets which, so learnedly and skilfully are the books of their philosophers written, only those who have themselves studied much can hope to decipher. The Sierras which we see so close to us are veined with gold and silver; but I sought less to find the old mines which were formerly worked there and which our unskilful forefathers left to be forgotten, than the hiding-places which I felt sure the Moors had digged about this town, and in which they must have left from time to time much treasure in gold and jewels, and still more in those priceless works of their philosophers, which they alone of all the nations of the world in those barbarous days encouraged and honoured. From the works of one Abucaçim, I was led to believe that our house together with the mint had at one time been one of the defences of the town, the prison on the opposite banks of the stream being another, and, if that were the case, there should be a secret passage beneath the river communicating between the two. By much study I fixed upon the point, found the passage and chamber in which we now are, but alas! no sign of books or treasure. However, as I began to suspect that a hiding-place in time of need might be useful, I studied the whole of these underground workings, and found that while on the one hand they communicate with the mint and your prison-house, on the other a longer branch goes to a cavern situated in the hill which, you know, lies to the south of our city; a cavern only known to a few goatherds who have never dared to penetrate its depths. In this place I stored a few necessaries, and when you were arrested I made it my business to inquire as to the plan of your prison; when, finding that the passage had formerly opened into what is now an underground dungeon, and hearing that the cell you were in was situated beneath the roof, I spread abroad rumours that there was a plan of escape prepared for you, and so procured your removal to the cell from which I rescued you. I then learned that it was resolved also to arrest me, and therefore retired at once to my hiding-place to which I have now happily brought you; it only remains for us to fly the country, for I need not remind you that henceforth we shall never be safe in Spain. Your cell shows no sign of having been entered, the stone is replaced and is well filled in beneath so that it will not yield a hollow sound. Probably your jailor will be suspected of having assisted you, and will be tortured; such men must learn that there is not always safety in evil-doing, and that he who serves the devil will be rewarded with hell.’

We lay there perdue in our hiding-place for some three weeks until the hue and cry after us was somewhat abated; and then stole forth in the disguise of peasants, hiding by day in the vineyards, and only faring on by night, and so made our way to Tortosa, where my father had a friend, a merchant, who traded with Marseilles. To our joy, we found that he had a vessel now in harbour upon the point of sailing, to which he conveyed us in the guise of factors, and we got safely away without being discovered by the familiars of the Inquisition. You may guess, however, that I did not depart without leaving a letter for Dolores, which I gave into the hands of a muleteer who was just starting for Segovia. The letter was couched in the following words: ‘One who was unjustly persecuted has now escaped, but in leaving thee, he leaves all behind him that makes life valuable in his eyes. Oh, grant that he may look forward to the time when in a secure asylum he may hope to hear from thee!’ I have not much more to tell you. We were scarcely out of sight of the coast of Spain, when we were attacked by a couple of Sallee pirates, and though we fought desperately, we proved to be no match for them and were overpowered. My father, alas! was among the slain, and I was sold for the slave you see before you.

This story amused me: indeed, it always gave me pleasure to hear the stories of the slaves who were my fellows in captivity, and this not only for the tale, though all men love to hear stories of adventure, but also they served to remind me how many Turks were daily sent out of the world in their fights, which could not but be pleasing in the sight of God and man. Also it served to show how few men there are in this world equal to me in the virtues of manhood—skill, bravery, and quickness of resource. Most of these tales, indeed, were nought; for most of the slaves had been taken in the pursuit of their daily bread, sordid churls, who had lived their mechanic lives like the cattle of the fields. Nevertheless there was one story related to me by a Kurd from Hakkarieh which was entertaining enough to remain fixed in my memory, and which I shall call after its narrator, the ‘Story of Yousef ibn Ali.’