{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_45859/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_45859","id":"gutenberg_45859","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45859","summary":null,"tags":["Adventure stories","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Short Stories","Children's stories","Kings and rulers -- Juvenile fiction","Spain -- Civilization -- African influences -- Juvenile fiction","Spain -- Civilization -- Classical influences -- Juvenile fiction","Spain -- History -- Juvenile fiction","Spain -- Social life and customs -- Juvenile fiction"],"text":"Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project\nGutenberg (This book was produced from scanned images of\npublic domain material from the Google Print project.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n PATRA\u00d1AS;\n OR\n SPANISH STORIES,\n Legendary and Traditional.\n\n\n\n BY\n THE AUTHOR OF \"TRADITIONS OF TIROL.\"\n\n WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY E. H. CORBOULD.\n\n\n\n LONDON:\n GRIFFITH AND FARRAN,\n SUCCESSORS TO NEWBERY AND HARRIS,\n CORNER OF ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD.\n MDCCCLXX.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n PAGE\n Introduction 1\n\n\nPOPULAR.\n\n Carlo Magno and the Giant 6\n El Conde Sol 20\n Simple Johnny and the Spell-bound Princesses 24\n Turian and Floreta 45\n The Blood-stain of the Alc\u00e1zar of Seville 63\n The Adventures of Do\u00f1a Josefa Ramirez y Marmolejo 67\n The Steeple of Cove\u00f1a 89\n Another Fair Maid of Zaragoza 96\n Juanita the Bald; or, A Daughter's Love 107\n Starving John the Doctor 123\n Ramon the Discontented 131\n The Ballad-maker and the Boot-maker 140\n El Clavel 143\n The Ill-tempered Princess 148\n The Hermit and the Fig-tree 159\n Too Clever by Half 171\n The Wind's Story 173\n What Ana saw in the Sunbeam 181\n The Pedro Jimenez Grape 201\n St. Martin in Spain 209\n Marvellous Stories. --I. St. Michael's Feather 213\n Marvellous Stories. II. \"Eyes to the Blind\" 214\n Marvellous Stories. III. The Floating Chest 215\n Marvellous Stories. IV. The Whale of the Manzan\u00e1res 216\n The Sun of Wittenburg 218\n Merino 219\n\n\nLEGENDARY.\n\n King Vamba 221\n Do\u00f1a Terea 228\n The Irish Princess 234\n El Conde Fernan Gonzalez 245\n The First Tunny Fishing 249\n \"Where One can Dine, Two can Dine\" 254\n\n\nCABALLERESCO.\n\n Hormesinda 261\n Filial Love before all 265\n Raguel; or, The Jewess of Toledo 276\n Don Jaime de Aragon 283\n Don Alonso de Aguilar 286\n The Black Charger of Hernando 291\n The Infante Don Henrique and the Lions 299\n Blanca the Haughty 303\n\n\nMORESQUE.\n\n Moorish Remnants. --I. Issy-ben-Aran 323\n Moorish Remnants. II. M\u00f3stafa Alvil\u00e1 326\n Moorish Remnants. III. The Emir in search of an Eye 329\n Moorish Remnants. IV. Yussuf's Friend 332\n Moorish Remnants. V. The Sultana's Perfumer-in-Chief 335\n El Moro Santon 337\n\n\nDE ULTRAMAR [1].\n\n Hernan Cortes in Sanctuary 340\n\n Araucania the Indomitable. --I 343\n Araucania the Indomitable. II. Tegualda 351\n Araucania the Indomitable. III. Fiton's Cave 360\n Matanzas 370\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n PATRA\u00d1AS;\n OR,\n Spanish Stories, Legendary and Traditional.\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nYou will often have it said to you, when smarting under a\ndisappointment, \"Never mind! it is all for the best!\" I dare say you\nare sometimes inclined to doubt the truth of this maxim; I remember\nwhen I was a child I did, but I have found out in life, that it does\nvery often prove true. And if you like, I will tell you one instance\nin which this was the case.\n\nIn the course of one of my rambles in Spain it happened one day that\nI was tempted by an old longing to make acquaintance with one of her\nmost out-of-the-way and primitive villages, to separate from my party\nat the comfortable hotel at C---- and make my way with only one young\ncompanion to a place some five miles west, called Guadaxox, a name\nwhich I dare say in your longest geography lesson you have never been\ncalled on to pronounce; and you would find it no easy matter to do so,\nunless I wrote it for you thus: Guadakquoth.\n\nFive miles' walk through the clear bright air of Spain, and the fresh\nspring breeze charged with all the perfume from the mountains, is a\npleasant prospect enough; and as I can usually adapt myself to any\nquarters which may fall to my lot on a march, I had little fear of\nnot being sufficiently rested to perform the return journey easily\nbefore sunset. My companion was a hearty lad of fourteen, who had\njoined us for his Easter vacation from Eton, and the prospect proposed\neven less difficulties to him.\n\nI think you would be amused with our little adventures by the way\nthrough a country in which every outline of foreground or horizon,\nevery tree and plant, every beast or fowl, every implement of\nhusbandry, every article of dress of the people, every individual\nthing you meet, will probably prove new to an English eye. But I must\nnot dwell on these things now. I will only tell you that we had such\na bright and pleasant day as I have hardly ever known out of Spain;\nthat we found so much to sketch and so much to interest us altogether,\nthat we never noticed how the time passed, nor how the wind from the\nmountains had covered the fair sky with angry clouds. It was only\nwhen the first great drops of the storm patted us on the shoulder\nthat we realized the extent of our difficulty. We looked at the\nbanks of clouds and then at each other, for we each felt there was\nlittle chance of holding up that evening, and if it did, some of the\nmountain paths we had to traverse would be rendered too slippery by\nthe torrent to be pleasant, not to say safe, for our lowland-bred feet.\n\nIt was a contretemps which disconcerted us not a little; but we turned\nwith what courage remained to see after a shelter for the night. Time\nforbids me to describe the only venta, or inn, the place boasted,\nit will suffice to say it wanted for every comfort. It only expected\nto have hardy peasants to house who would not object to the earthen\nfloor or the companionship of pigs and fowls in their slumbers. My Eton\ncompanion thought it rather manly to roll himself up in his great coat\nand compose himself to sleep on a board sloped from a low bench on to\nthe floor. For myself I preferred sitting up, and established myself\nbravely in a chair, having previously taken the precaution to replenish\nthe lamp. The first stage of weariness was just coming on when the\ndoor, which there was no means of locking, was thrown rudely open, and\na couple of rough carters were ushered in to take up their quarters in\nthe same apartment. I remonstrated at the intrusion without success,\nand something of an altercation ensued, in the midst of which another\ndoor, which I had not before noticed, was opened by a lady in black,\nwho beckoned me into her room. I followed her, glad of an escape, but\nwith a misgiving, lest I had not mended the matter. At first sight I\nhad felt inclined to set her down as \"an old hag;\" but as she talked\nI saw intelligent benevolence in her dark eye, and traced remnants of\nearly beauty in her shrivelled countenance. We were soon friends. She\nwas travelling from place to place with her daughter, who supported\nthem both by her exertions on the stage; she had gone on with friends\nto another village that evening, so her bed was free; it did not look\ninviting, and I excused myself as delicately as I could. She had the\ntact not to press the matter; and we continued sitting up, talking\nabout the customs and legends of the people, a matter in which the\nold lady was well versed, and which had always had a special charm\nfor me. She was delighted to have some one who would listen to her\n\"long yarn;\" and I was delighted to have found a source at which to\nsatisfy some of my curiosity about Spanish Traditions.\n\nThe next day, as I sat in the hotel at C---- writing down the substance\nof what she had told me, and which I have embodied in the following\ncollection of tales, I could not help saying to myself, \"Well, it was\nall for the best. I thought that storm a great annoyance yesterday,\nbut it has procured me an acquaintance with the very subjects after\nwhich I had had many fruitless researches before.\"\n\nThe store thus begun has been added to since in many various ways\nwhich I will not detain you by narrating, as I sincerely hope you\nare anxious to plunge into them, and still more that they will answer\nyour expectations and entertain you as they did me.\n\nI dare say they will seem to you at first very like other stories\nyou have read, but if you follow them attentively you will trace many\nsingular national characteristics. One in particular to which I would\ncall your attention is the spirit of humour of which the Spanish and\nparticularly the Andalusian people are so fond. This will sometimes\nlead them to what we should be inclined to consider irreverence; but\nit is nothing of the sort with them; and if you find them speaking\nwith playfulness on a sacred subject [2], it is because such a vein\nof faith underlies all they say that the notion of being irreverent\nnever occurs to them.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCARLO MAGNO AND THE GIANT.\n\n\nMany tales of Spain are full of memories of Charlemagne. It is strange\nthat history says comparatively little of his doings there; but his\nwas a character such as the Spanish Romancers were sure to seize,\nand, with their habit of heaping all perfections on their heroes,\nascribe to him all manner of fabulous achievements. Here is one of\nthe exploits they tell of him:--\n\nOne of the Moorish kings, who sought his alliance in the internecine\nturmoils in which the chiefs of their race were at the time engaged,\nhad an only and beautiful daughter, the apple of his eye, who was\nguarded with jealous care, indulged in every wish, waited on by the\nmost beautiful maidens in a fairy-like palace, and suffered to know\nnothing of her father's wars and dangers. Life seemed all smoothness\nand pleasure to her; and every one, who at any time met her eye,\nmade it their delight to obey her faintest sign.\n\nBut life passed even amid continual sunshine, flowers, and harmony may\nbecome monotonous. When the Moorish princess had had fifteen years of\nit, she began to seek some pleasure newer and more exciting. Her fond\nfather, only glad to hear her express a wish, that he might have the\nsatisfaction of gratifying it, promised to give her a fresh diversion\nsuch as she had never before seen.\n\nFor this purpose he ordered a great f\u00eate, and chose out all the\nmightiest men of his forces, to perform feats of arms and mock combats\nbefore her.\n\nThe princess, who had never witnessed any combat more serious than that\nof her pet doves, was delighted beyond measure with the new sensation,\nand thought she could never tire of seeing the brave horsemen contend;\ndealing each other such heavy blows, and all the while seeming so\nindifferent to danger. Nevertheless the time came when the sameness\nof these shows struck her too, and she began to crave for something\nnewer yet.\n\nThe king then ordered that valiant men out of other countries should\nbe invited to come and contend before her, each after the fashion\nof their own country; and many warriors of renown were content to\ncome and display their prowess; the Moslem in the hope of winning\nthe bright smile of the king's daughter; Christians, to have the\nopportunity of displaying their might before the infidel horde.\n\nAmong the strangers, but belonging to neither of these categories,\ncame one day a powerful giant, five cubits high, who rode on a horse\nas tall as a house. All the mighty men of the king's army turned pale\nwhen they saw him; and the king regretted that his invitations to all\ncomers had been so unlimited that he could find no courteous excuse\nfor excluding him; to prefer an unfair one would have been dangerous,\nas his ire would have been terrible if provoked. So he received him\nas smilingly as his trepidation would permit; and the giant seemed\na very good-natured person, too full of his own consequence to think\nof any thing else, even of picking a quarrel with any one.\n\nHe challenged every one to fight with him, but no one would venture;\nand this testimony to his might put him in still better humour. Then\nhe showed off all his feats of strength, to the great delight of\nthe court, and of none more than the princess, who was so astonished\nat the prodigies he rehearsed, that she leant out from her balcony,\nand suffered the veil to blow away from her face.\n\nThe giant happened to be looking towards her at the moment, and that\nmoment sufficed to make him fall in love with her. For the rest of\nthe day he exhibited his surprising strength with renewed energy;\nbut the evening was no sooner come, than he stole up to her window,\nwhich, though it was in a very high tower of the alc\u00e1zar [3], was\njust at a convenient height for his head to reach as he stood upon the\nground. Putting his face against the lattice, he whispered very softly\nthat he must speak to her. The poor little princess was dreadfully\nfrightened, and could not guess what he wanted, but thought it would\nnot be dignified to show any fear; so she went near enough to the\nwindow to be heard by him, and asked him his pleasure. The giant\ntold her that he loved her, and she must marry him. The princess\nwas dreadfully terrified when she heard this, for she knew she had\nno possible means of resisting him if he chose to carry her off by\nforce; and she reflected, too, that her father himself would have\nvery little chance if he attempted to fight him: and what a dreadful\nthing it would be if he should kill her father--her dear father, who\nwas so fond of her! Yet in the fright she was in, she could think of\nno better stratagem than to stammer forth that he must give her time\nto think about it.\n\nThe giant was not very dissatisfied with this reply, and promised he\nwould leave her quite to herself till the next day. All that night,\nand all the next day, the little princess thought and thought of\nwhat excuse she could make; but she could think of nothing but to\nask him to give her another day; and then again she sat and thought,\nand no invention would come: and she durst not tell, her father,\nlest he should in his indignation challenge the giant to fight,\nand be killed by him. But when he came the third time, and she could\nstill think of no stratagem for getting rid of him, she was obliged\nto tell him plainly that she could not make up her mind to marry him.\n\nAt first the giant tried all sorts of clumsy persuasions and\nentreaties; but the maiden held firm; and at last, finding she would\nnot yield, he grew fiercely angry, seized the alc\u00e1zar by the roof,\nand made it rock backwards and forwards, tore up the trees, and threw\nthem on the ground, and stamped upon the soil with a noise like peals\nof thunder. The poor little princess was so terrified she hardly knew\nwhat was happening, only she heard him swear that he would come back\nand take her by a way she could not escape him; and after repeating\nthat threat several times at length disappeared.\n\nIt was a long time before the princess came to her senses again,\nfor she had fainted with the dire terror, and when she did, she began\nto wonder what the terrible trouble was which had so shattered her;\nby degrees the memory of the stormy scenes lately passed came back\nto her, but all was now so calm and still, she could hardly realize\nthe truth of what she had gone through. It was a great relief to find\nthe giant was quite gone--far away; and she learnt that he lived a\nlong, long way off, in a valley as far below the level of the plain\nas the height on which her father's alc\u00e1zar stood was above it. She\nremembered, indeed, his threat that he would come back, but it seemed\nthat it would have been so easy for him to have taken her then had\nhe been so minded, that she could not think he was serious in the\nintention to carry her off at all. Why should he come back to do what\nhe might just as well have done at once?\n\nTime passed on, and she heard no more of the giant; people left\noff talking of his feats of strength, and she began to forget all\nabout him. A matter happened, too, which gave another direction to\nher thoughts. A neighbouring king made war upon her father, and with\nsuch overwhelming preparations, that this time he could not conceal\nthe fact from her. Every one was full of apprehensions, and the king,\ndistracted with the fear of losing his kingdom, had no time even to\nthink of the fancies of his beloved daughter. The princess heard from\none and another of the attendants that things were going very wrong,\nthat the enemy were getting the upper hand, and advancing nearer and\nnearer; but she learnt more from their anxious looks than from their\nlips, for every one was afraid to distress her by giving her details\nof the truth.\n\nWe must now go back to the giant, whom we left marching off in no\ngood humour. The truth about him was, that with all his strength he\nwas not very courageous--he was more of a bully than a warrior. He\nhad heard a great deal of the bravery and more particularly of the\nexcellent arms of the Moors, and as he knew they would rise as one\nman to defend their princess if he carried her off, he did not like\nthe idea of their making pincushions of his legs with their fine sharp\nswords, even if they could not reach to do him further damage. So he\nresolved to carry out his plan in a way which would be less fraught\nwith danger to himself.\n\nComing down from the alc\u00e1zar, he went on to the neighbouring sovereign,\nand treacherously gave him a description of all he had seen at\nthe court where he had just been staying; told him the number and\nsituation of the army, and the condition of the defences, and pointed\nout the least protected points of the country by which an incursion\ncould be made. Having received a rich guerdon for this information,\nhe continued his way homewards, and then set all his people to work\nto cut a long cave, which he made them extend further and further\nin a sloping direction till it should come out opposite the alc\u00e1zar\nwhere the Moorish princess dwelt, by means of which he could reach\nher unperceived, and carry her off without danger to his own skin,\nwhile the city was in the midst of the tumult which he thought\nwould be brought about by the inroad of the inimical power he had\nperfidiously invoked.\n\nVarious underground rumblings had been observed for some time past by\nthe country people, but as they held little communication with each\nother it did not strike them that the sounds continually advanced in\nthe direction of the capital. Indeed, all minds were too much filled\nwith apprehensions of the destruction the advancing foe above ground\nwas likely to reek upon their property, to have time to give way to\nfears of a chimerical foe in the regions below the soil.\n\nThus the giant worked on steadily and without hindrance, while\nthe poor little princess was far from thinking of her tormentor\notherwise than as at a safe distance; much less did she dream of his\ncontinually nearing approach! Enough she had to excite her anxiety\nwithout this. And she sat crying over her father's danger till her\nface became quite pale and her eyes worn with tears.\n\nAt last a day came when every one seemed bright with fresh hope;\nand they ran hastily enough to tell her the good news. The youthful\nconqueror, Carlo Magno, had been appealed to by the king to help\nhim. His advent had entirely turned the tide of affairs: the enemy\nhad been completely repulsed, and the victorious army was returning\nin triumph to the city.\n\nThe news spread like wildfire; every one hasted to deck their\nhouses festively, and put on their best attire, to do honour to the\nconquerors; and when they appeared, shouted their thanks in loud\nacclamations. The little princess was very desirous to see the young\nhero who had saved her father's life; and, though it is not the custom\nfor Moorish women to appear in public, she contrived to see him as he\npassed by, and thought in the silence of her heart how nice it would\nhave been if it had been the handsome Christian who had wanted to marry\nher instead of the monstrous giant. Having once seen him, she was so\ndesirous to see him again that she sent to ask him to come, that she\nmight thank him for having saved her father's kingdom; but it was\nnot entirely for her father's sake that she contrived the interview.\n\nWhen he came, however, though he was very courteous towards her,\nhe was also very reserved, and stayed a very short time; assured\nher that what he had done was nothing at all; that his sword was\never ready to defend the right, whoever it might be invoked his aid;\nand with that took his leave without paying her any compliments. The\nMoorish princess was sad when she saw him go out so; and sadder still\nwhen she learnt that no Christian prince cared to know a Moorish\nmaid. Carlo Magno himself, however, was sorry for the poor child,\nas he had seen that she wanted to be better acquainted with him;\nbut he could hold no intimacy with the unbeliever.\n\nThe giant, meantime, had gone on boring away; and, though he had now\ngot quite under the alc\u00e1zar, every one was so full of festivity and\nrejoicing that nobody heeded the sound of his pickaxe. On his part,\nhe had not been altogether unmindful to listen for the sounds which\nmight keep him informed of what was going on in the upper world,\nhe had been very well satisfied with what he heard. There had been\nunmistakable clashings of battle, and he never doubted that the\nprincess's father must be getting the worst of it; and now, when he\nheard the sounds of busy running to and fro in the festive palace,\nhe made sure it was his allies pillaging the place.\n\nAt last the tunnel was complete; he crept out in the first fall of\nthe darkness of night, threaded the familiar way up to the princess's\nwindow, rested his foot on the cornice of the first story for a\nstepping-stone, and with one grasp of his hand had swept her off her\ncouch before she had time to open her eyes. Then closing her mouth,\nso that she might not cry and raise an alarm, walked quietly back\nwith her to his subterranean passage, down the sloping path of which\nhe carried her in exultation.\n\nQuickly and silently as the feat had been performed, the keen bright\neyes of a little black slave had followed the whole affair, as she\nlay at the foot of her mistress's couch. She had seen the huge hand\nspread over the room,--the nail of its little finger had indeed sadly\ngrazed her forehead. She recognized it at once as belonging to the\ngiant, her mistress's dread of whom she had so often shared. And no\nsooner was her helplessness to rescue her apparent, than she rushed\nmadly into the banqueting-hall, tearing her clothes and plucking out\nher hair, and crying out in wailing accents what had befallen. It was\nnot easy to gain credence to so strange a story; and when at last her\nearnestness induced belief in her sincerity, the princess's room had\nto be searched to afford the necessary proof that she was gone. When\nthis was found to be indeed but too true, the wail was taken up by\nall the people. The banquet was broken up, and every one went hither\nand thither, not knowing what to do; for, withal that the giant was\nso big, none had seen him pass to tell which way he had gone.\n\nBut Carlo Magno, brave and self-possessed in the midst of all, saw\nan occasion to be of service to the poor Moorish princess, and make\nup for the disappointment he had caused her in the morning. It was\nplain to him that if the giant had stood under the window, as the\nlittle black slave had said, he must have left his foot-prints there;\nand that he could thence be tracked whithersoever he had gone. So he\nraised a loud voice, and bid all the people be still: and that if they\nwould all remain without stirring, he would deliver their princess;\nfor he wanted them not to stir up the soil any more, lest they should\ndestroy the track.\n\nThe voice of Carlo Magno, after what he had already done for them,\npossessed great authority with the people; and so all stood quite\nstill, while he bade the little black slave guide him to the window;\nand there, under it, sure enough he found the giant's footprints,\ntwo great holes in the sand, like dry tanks for water. Allowing due\nspace for his prodigious stride, the prince readily found another\nand another, till they brought him to the mouth of the tunnel, where\nhe had indeed passed. When all the people saw the great gaping hole\nwhich had never appeared there before that night, and gazed down its\ndescending gullet, no wonder they thought it was the mouth of hell\nopened to vomit forth its monster.\n\nBut Carlo Magno said he would deliver the princess though his\nenterprise should indeed lead him into the realms of Hades. And all the\npeople applauded his courage, but he went down the black path alone.\n\nThough he travelled at all speed, the giant had now good start,\nand the length of his step was equal to several of the Christian\nprince's charger; but Carlo Magno made such good haste that he had\nnot got above a hundred miles before he heard the giant's laugh,\nexulting over his prize, resounding through the gloomy passage,\nthough still at some considerable distance. This roused the Christian\nprince's indignation, and made him urge his steed yet faster, till at\nlast he came within sight of him. And then, when he saw his monstrous\narms bearing the little helpless princess, his compassion made him use\nyet greater speed, till at length just as he reached the mouth of the\ncave, Carlo Magno managed to overstep him by one bound of his horse,\nand then wheeling round confronted him with fearless eye.\n\nThe giant I have already said was more of a bully than a warrior. When\nhe saw the Christian knight so brave and firm, and withal encased in\nsuch strong armour, and brandishing his trenchant sword, he felt his\nbest defence lay in hectoring and boasting, and thereby frightening\nthe Christian hero from attempting to fight him.\n\nWith a terrible voice, therefore, which made the rocks resound,\nhe asked his opponent, on whom he lavished every startling epithet,\nwhat he meant by venturing to appear before him; following up the\nquestion by such a volley of imprecations and threats as he fancied\nwould suffice to make him wish to escape with a whole skin.\n\nCarlo Magno, however, who knew that the dogs who bark most bite least,\nwaited unmoved till he had exhausted his whole repertory of violent\nlanguage, and then quite undismayed summoned him to surrender the\nmaiden.\n\nAnother loud and angry volley followed upon this demand, with further\nthreats of the terrible vengeance he intended to take on the intruder.\n\n\"Then,\" said Carlo Magno, \"if you will not give her up quietly, I\nmust even take her by force.\" And with that he dismounted and drew\nhis sword. The giant saw now that he must defend his life, or he\nwould lose it; and so, forced to fight, he drew his clumsy sword and\nbegan laying about him in right-determined fashion; but all his blows\nalighted far and wide of the Christian prince. Furious at finding his\nawkward efforts ineffectual, while the highly trained agility of the\nprince saved him from all his strokes, he began laying about him with\nsuch untempered violence that at last his weapon dropped from his\nhand. Fully expecting that Carlo Magno would try to possess himself\nof it, he hastily bent down to regain it. But Carlo Magno had other\nthoughts. Waiting calmly till the monster had bent him sufficiently\nlow, he swung his fine sharp blade and buried it deep in his heart\nwith the unerring dexterity with which the matador lays low his\nbull--at one thrust.\n\nOf course he severed the giant's head afterwards to bear away as his\ntrophy; and raising the princess in his arms, who had swooned away\nat sight of the horrid combat, bore her swiftly upwards through the\nsubterranean path and delivered her, yet unconscious, to her father.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEL CONDE SOL.\n\n\nA great war was proclaimed between Spain and Portugal, and the king\ncalled all his knights to arms to follow him into the field.\n\n\"Tell me, Conde,\" said the wife of Conde Sol, \"how many years will\nyou be absent in this campaign?\"\n\n\"If I am not back, Condesa, in six years, reckon me dead, and forget\nme, and take another husband.\"\n\nSix years pass, and eight, and ten, and one more yet, and the Conde\nSol is not come back, nor has any news been heard of him. Men say\nhe has fallen in the wars; but the Countess believes them not; her\nheart tells her that her husband lives, and she will take no rest and\nno diversion. Her father comes to see her, and he finds her always\nin tears.\n\n\"What ails thee, daughter dear? Why are thy eyes ever filled with\ntears?\"\n\n\"Father, let me go to seek the Count; for my heart tells me he lives,\nand that I shall find him.\"\n\n\"Do all thou wilt, daughter, and my blessing go with thee!\"\n\nThe next morning the Countess sets out and goes to seek the Count,\nbowed down with sadness, by land and by sea, through all Spain\nand Italy and France. One day she comes to a vast plain shaded by\npine-trees, and in the shade a herd of kine grazing.\n\n\"Tell me, I pray you, vaquerita [4], and tell me now in truth, whose\nare the kine grazing in these pastures?\"\n\n\"They belong to the Conde Sol, lady, who commands all this country.\"\n\n\"And all these wheat crops that they are just garnering in, vaquerita;\ntell me in truth, whose are they?\"\n\n\"The Conde Sol's, lady; for it is he sows these fields.\"\n\n\"And whose are all those sheep, vaquerita, all with their little\nlambs gathered round them so tenderly?\"\n\n\"The Conde Sol's, lady; for it is he who has them bred.\"\n\n\"And whose these gardens and this royal-seeming palace, vaquerita? Tell\nme the truth, I pray.\"\n\n\"Also the Conde Sol's, lady; for it is there he has his abode.\"\n\n\"And whose are those horses, vaquerita, which I hear neighing in\nthe stall?\"\n\n\"They belong to the Conde Sol, lady; for he goes with them to the\nhunt.\"\n\n\"And whose is that fair dame, vaquerita, who stands so near that\nknight?\"\n\n\"That is the affianced of the Conde Sol, lady, whom he is just going\nto make his bride.\"\n\n\"Now, vaquerita, vaquerita, by the love of our Lord's sufferings,\ngive me here thy poor dress, and take my robe of silk, and let me go,\nfor I have found him I seek!\"\n\nThen she put on the poor dress, and went and stood where the Count\nmust pass, begging charity. When the Count came by, he bent down over\nhis saddle-bow, and gave her an alms, and asked her,--\n\n\"Good stranger woman, whence are you?\"\n\n\"In Spain was I born,\" answered the Countess, with a faltering voice.\n\n\"And why do you come hither?\"\n\n\"I go over all countries seeking my long lost husband, and so by\nchance I came here too. I have gone through perils on the sea, and\nhardships on the land; my feet are cut by the stony rocks; and--will\nyou believe me, Conde?--when at last I find him I learn that he is\nabout to be married, Conde; that he had so forgotten his fond and\nlawful spouse who had come so far for love of him!\"\n\n\"Romerica, romerica [5]! Hush now, say not so. Confess that the evil\none has sent you to tempt me with a false story.\"\n\n\"Neither has the evil one sent me, Conde, neither do I seek to tempt\nthee; but nevertheless I am thy true wife, Conde, who has come so\nfar to seek thee.\"\n\nThen the Conde Sol, when he heard that, sent to fetch a light-footed\npalfrey wearing a breast-band covered with silver bells, and with\nstirrups and spurs of gold; and on to this he sprang, and rode back\nto the castle bearing his good wife in his arms, and presenting her\nto all his people, bade them honour her as their lawful mistress.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nSIMPLE JOHNNY AND THE SPELL-BOUND PRINCESSES.\n\n\nWhen Ferdinand King of Spain drove the Moors out of his dominions with\nhis invincible sword, there were among their chiefs many descended from\nright noble lineage. Among them was one, of whose ancestor Clotaldo\nthe following story was told, who for his prowess was elected king of\nthe fertile provinces of that part of the East which is called Syria.\n\nClotaldo had three beautiful daughters, who were so beautiful that\nmen said they were divinities and not women. The King thought that as\nthey were so very beautiful they ought not to be given in marriage\nin the ordinary way, but that whoso would marry them should perform\nsome great deed of valour. So he called together all the masons of\nthe kingdom and made them build an immense castle, so high that it\nseemed to reach up to heaven. And more than this, he gathered all\nthe magicians and made them enchant it with all their enchantments,\nso that no one might ever be able to get at them or see them unless\nthe King himself should admit him.\n\nSo the magicians enchanted the castle with all their spells, and set\nthree enchanted horses to guard the enclosure so that no one might\nbreak through.\n\nMeantime the King sent heralds round into all countries to proclaim\nthat every noble, or knight of high degree, who could make his\nway into the castle should have one of his daughters in marriage;\nthey were likewise at the same time to set forth their beauty, to\nlet all men know the worth of the prize for which they were asked to\ncontend. And he did this because he thought that none but one worthy\nof them would be able to overcome all the obstacles he had interposed.\n\nMany were the adventurous and valorous knights and nobles and princes\nwho were drawn to try their fortune at this high enterprise. But\nnone could find any way into the castle, and they all came back\ncrest-fallen, without having effected any thing.\n\nAt last came three brothers, who though but simple knights and poor\nof estate, yet were of high and noble lineage, and of higher and\nnobler courage. They no sooner heard Clotaldo's heralds pronounce\nthis embassy in their country, which was Denmark, than they set out\nto try whether they might not be fortunate enough to deliver the\nthree princesses from the enchanted tower.\n\nFirst they came to Clotaldo and told him their purpose, who ordered\nthat every thing they asked for should be given them for their\nassistance; so the two elder brothers asked for mettled horses and\nshining arms; but the youngest brother said all he wanted was a waggon\nand two oxen, with provisions for several days, an immeasurably long\nrope, some long nails, and a powerful hammer. Whatever each asked\nfor he received.\n\nThe two elder brothers set off very confidently on their dashing\nsteeds, and in a very short time arrived at an eminence overlooking\nthe castle; but to their dismay they found it was ten times as high\nas they had ever imagined; and then, too, that it had neither door\nnor window, nor the smallest break of any kind in the massive walls.\n\n\"How can we ever get into a place like this?\" said the eldest brother,\nlooking very foolish.\n\n\"It looks to me very like a fool's errand,\" said the other.\n\n\"I vote we go back,\" answered the first.\n\n\"The best thing we can do,\" rejoined the second.\n\n\"And the sooner the better,\" continued the first.\n\n\"Here we go, then,\" added the second; and they turned their horses'\nheads round, like chicken-hearted men, and galloped back by the way\nthey had come.\n\nThey had not gone far when they met their younger brother toiling\nalong in his cart.\n\n\"It is no use your going to the castle,\" said the eldest brother:\n\"we have been there, and find the game is impossible.\"\n\n\"We shall see,\" answered the youth.\n\n\"But I tell you the thing can't be done!\" ejaculated the second.\n\n\"When I go out to do a thing I don't go back without doing it,\" said\nthe youngest, quietly. \"But as there is a considerable distance to\nbe got over yet, I am going to have some dinner: you had better do\nthe same.\"\n\nThe other brothers, who had not had the foresight to bring any\nprovisions themselves, were very glad of the invitation, so they all\nsat down and dined. When they had done, the youngest brother set out to\ncontinue his journey in his waggon, and the two horsemen were going to\npursue theirs homewards, when suddenly one of them said to the other,\n\"Suppose we stop and see what he does; may-be he will succeed, and\nthen, as we are two to one, who knows but that we may be able to\novercome him, and take the merit to ourselves?\"\n\n\"Well thought!\" exclaimed the eldest, heartily; and they turned\ntheir horses' heads again, and followed behind the cart; telling\ntheir younger brother they had come to see if they could not be of\nany service in case his temerity led him into danger.\n\nThe younger had overheard their conversation; but he saw no way of\ngetting rid of the brothers, who were well armed and well mounted;\nso he could but continue his way and trust to his wits to save him\nfrom their intentions afterwards. As he rode along he measured the\nvast height of the castle with his eye, and laid all his plans in his\nhead. Arrived under the wall, he bound the nails and hammer into his\ngirdle, and, tying one end of the rope round his arm, proceeded to\nscale the wall of the castle.\n\nThe brothers sat on their horses watching him, expecting every minute\nto see him fall to the ground; but on he went, steady and lithe,\nwith the tenacity of a cat or squirrel, till he got so high that he\nlooked like a little speck, and at last was lost from sight altogether.\n\nScarcely had he attained the battlements of the wall, and trod a few\nsteps upon the flat, than three most beautiful nymphs, who seemed more\ndivine than human, came out to meet him. At first he was so dazzled\nwith the sight of their exceeding beauty, that he could not speak,\nbut stood gazing at them while they said,--\n\n\"Who art thou, young man, who venturest to profane the decorum of this\nalc\u00e1zar [6], the abode of three virgin princesses? With thy life must\nthou expiate this temerity.\"\n\n\"To die at your command, fair ladies, and in your sight, would be\njoy enough for me,\" stammered forth the young knight; \"but yet I have\nfirst a work to accomplish, which is your liberation. So tell me now,\nwhat is it I have to do to set you free?\"\n\n\"Since thou art so stout-hearted and so well-spoken,\" responded the\nsisters, \"we will even tell thee what thou hast to do, and great shall\nbe thy reward. Know, then, in this castle are three noble horses, and\nthou hast to take one hair from the tail of each, for in this lies\nthe spell which binds us. But they are fierce and shy of approach;\nnevertheless fear not if they even breathe out fire upon thee; for\nif thou art bold, thou shalt succeed.\"\n\nThe young knight went out to meet the three enchanted horses without\nfearing or flinching; and though they breathed out fire upon him,\nhe took the three hairs from their tails, and destroyed the spell of\nthe princesses.\n\nThen he bound the cord round the first princess, and with much care and\naddress he lowered her gently and safely on to the ground below. He\ndid the same with the second. But when he would have parted from the\nthird, she turned and thanked him with gentle words, and said,--\n\n\"Take this necklace, noble youth, which for both workmanship and power\nhas no other like to it on earth. Never part from it, and may-be that\none day it may deliver thee from as great strait as that from which\nthou hast delivered us.\"\n\nWith that she waved her hand to him, and prepared to descend as her\nsisters had done.\n\nAs soon as the young knight had watched her reach the ground in safety,\nhe turned to drive the strong nails into the tower to make fast the\nrope for his own descent; but scarcely was he thus occupied than his\nwicked brothers, seeing the moment of their advantage had arrived,\ngave a violent pull to the rope, and down it came, leaving him no\nmeans of escape!\n\nThen they made haste and carried off the princesses, riding on without\nstopping till they came to the king.\n\nClotaldo, seeing his daughters free, never doubted but that those\nwho had brought them were their true deliverers, and therefore\nloaded them with honour and favour, and married them to the two\nelder princesses. It was in vain that the youngest princess tried to\nexplain the deceit: there were four living witnesses against her;\nfor the elder princesses took the part of their promised husbands,\nand said that the long imprisonment had turned their younger sister's\nmind, and no one listened to her. So there was a great rejoicing,\nand a noble marriage-feast; but she sat in her chamber apart, weeping.\n\nMeantime the youngest brother was left full of terror and dismay on\ntop of the exceeding high tower, with no means of ever getting away\nfrom it, and, which was worst of all, with the prospect of never again\nseeing his little princess. He did not care about the others, but she\nwho alone had thanked him, and that so prettily, and who had had a\nthought for his future welfare in giving him the splendid necklace,\nhe could not give her up.\n\nHe took it out and looked at it: it was indeed of curious workmanship,\nand the bright gems sparkled like rays of hope. He kissed it because\nit reminded him of the kind little princess, but he could not see how\nit was to help him; so after gazing at it for a long time, he at last\nwrapped it up, and put it by in his bosom again. But as he continued\nto think of all that had lately taken place, he remembered how the\nsisters had spoken of the wonderful qualities of the horses who held\ntheir spell, and at last he began to wonder whether with their aid\nhe could not make his escape.\n\nTo remain where he was was certain death, and a shameful, pusillanimous\ndeath to boot. He was never wanting in clear thoughts, or fair courage\nto execute them, and a plan now ripened rapidly in his mind which he\ndetermined to put into execution.\n\n\"If thou art bold, thou shalt succeed.\" The words rang in his ears,\nand seemed an omen of good fortune. He went back to the place where\nhe had found the horses before: there they stood, all three abreast\nof each other, as if waiting a word of command from him.\n\nResolutely the young knight sprang on the back of the centre one,\nand gathering the floating manes of the three in his hand, all started\ntogether, and with one fearful bound, which seemed to shiver the tower\nto atoms behind them, they dashed off the battlements, the wild career\nthrough the air depriving him of the use of his senses.\n\nWhen he came to, he found himself lying on the ground in a wild\nwood so full of thick trunks of withered trees that daylight hardly\npenetrated. He walked on for a long lonesome way, till at last he\ncame to a place where cattle were feeding. Of the herd tending them\nhe asked where he was, and found he was on the borders of Clotaldo's\nkingdom; \"but,\" said the herd, \"you are not of this people, by your\ndress and speech.\"\n\n\"No, friend,\" replied the young knight; \"I am a poor foreigner, who am\ncome out to seek fortune, and she has reduced me to a sad plight. But\nI have one favour to ask, which is that you will exchange clothes\nwith me.\"\n\nThe cattle-herd was pleased enough at the proposal, and asked no\nfurther questions. He had soon arrayed himself in the knight's fine\nclothes, and he in turn found a complete disguise in the rough clothing\nof undressed skins which made up the peasant's attire.\n\nThus he walked on eight hundred leagues, begging alms to sustain\nhis life by the way; and with all the fatigues, and privations, and\nhardships he had endured, he was quite altered, so that his brothers\nwould not know him again. That he might appear still more different\nfrom his former self, he assumed the manners of a half-silly person,\nand took the name of Juan; and all the people called him \"Juanillo\nel loco [7].\"\n\nAll this time Clotaldo had been urging his youngest daughter that she\nshould marry like her sisters, but she never would look at any of the\nprinces he named to her. She had determined to belong to no one but the\nyoung knight her deliverer, and she felt all confidence in his valour,\nthat he would find means to make his way to her. At last, one day, when\nthe king had been persuading her very urgently to follow his counsel,\nshe brought out a drawing she had made in secret of the necklace she\nhad bestowed on her knight, and told her father that when he could find\nany one who could produce a necklace like that, she would be his wife.\n\nThe king was very glad to have her consent on any conditions,\nand forthwith set clever draughtsmen to copy the drawing, and sent\nheralds abroad over the whole earth, to proclaim that whoever could\nmake the necklet to the required pattern should have the hand of\nhis daughter. But the workmanship was so fine, and the setting of\nthe jewels so cunningly devised, that no goldsmith on earth could\nproduce it.\n\nIt was just about the time that Juan reached the kingdom that all the\npeople were full of excitement about this subject, and thus it came\nto his ears also. So when he heard the conditions the princess had\nmade, and remembered her words when she gave him the necklet--\"that\nthe earth could not produce such another\"--he was beside himself for\njoy, for he knew that she was waiting for his return.\n\nHowever, not to betray himself too soon, he continued his silly\nways, and, as if he knew nothing of the matter, asked to see the\ndesign. The guards and people told him to go away, but the king was\na very just man, and said there was no exception named in his decree,\nand therefore whoever applied must be allowed a fair trial.\n\n\"But,\" he added, when he saw the rough, uncouth form of the suppliant,\n\"remember, fellow, if you fail, your throat shall pay the forfeit of\nyour impudence.\"\n\nThe feigned Juanillo played his part perfectly; he gave his assent by\na silly grin, and a nod of his head to all the remonstrances used to\ndissuade him; and at last they shut him up in a tower, with a furnace\nand crucible, and much gold, and priceless diamonds, and emeralds,\nand rubies.\n\nSo the knight let them fasten the gate as if he were going to set to\nwork in earnest. And at the end of three days, when they came to see\nwhat he had done, he brought out the original necklet; and every one\nwas in amazement, because all could see that it presented the perfect\nimage of the design.\n\nWhen the princess heard by the cries of all the people that some one\nhad succeeded in producing the necklet, she came forward to see who\nit was; and in an instant, through all the disguise, she knew her\ndeliverer again; and she turning to the king said,--\n\n\"Well, the conditions are fulfilled: I am ready to do your bidding!\"\n\nHer father was amazed at her readiness to marry the rough, silly\nman Juanillo appeared, and tried all he could to dissuade her; but,\nas she would not change her mind, there was no excuse for him to\ngo back from the word plighted by his proclamation. So the princess\nand the knight were married; though Clotaldo was so ashamed of the\nbridegroom, he had the ceremony performed in the quietest way, and\nassigned them a little house outside the walls of the town to live in,\nwhere no one should see or hear any thing more of them.\n\nClotaldo had had a very prosperous career hitherto; but the troubles\nof life were beginning to press round him, and the first trouble he\nhad was failing eyesight. His physicians could not understand the\nmalady, or do any thing for him; and at last he became quite blind. In\ndespair at the loss of his sight, he sent into all countries to call\ntogether the wisest mediciners; but none could help him; till one\nday an ancient man appeared, who said that the only remedy for his\ncase was the water of a fountain flowing out of a sharp rock in the\nmountains of Sclavonia; but that it was a perilous journey to fetch\nit, on account of the fierce beasts inhabiting the surrounding country.\n\nAs there was no one with sufficient courage to run the great risks,\nthe king called his two sons-in-law, and said, as they had been\nso valiant in overcoming the spells of the great castle, they could\ndoubtless help him now; and that they would not shrink from the perils\nof the journey, which was to procure the means of restoring his sight.\n\nThe knights did not dare to show any hesitation, as it would have\nbetrayed their former deception. So they set out on the journey,\nbut with heavy hearts, and plotting as they went what excuse they\ncould make for coming back without success.\n\nBut Juanillo, the moment he had heard the old physician's sentence,\nhad taken counsel with his princess, and at her bidding went out into\nthe wilderness, and called one of the enchanted horses, and vaulting\non to him, sped away like a whirlwind. After passing through ten\nthousand perils, he filled his flask with the water of the fountain\nwhich sprang out of the sharp rock in the mountains of Sclavonia,\nand made the best of his way back again.\n\nAs he had nearly reached home he met his two brothers riding out,\nlooking very doleful and in great perplexity. When they saw him\nspeeding along like the wind, they were very curious to know who\nhe was and whence he came; so they called to him to stop and tell\nthem. And he answered, courteously,--\n\n\"I have been to fill my flask with water which flows over the sharp\nrock in the mountains of Sclavonia!\"\n\nWhen they heard that, their first impulse was to spring upon him\nand take the prize from him; but when they saw his impetuous horse,\nand reflected that he had come back unscathed from all the perils of\nthe adventure, they perceived who he was, and feared to measure their\nstrength against his, therefore they assumed a different tone. Instead,\nhowever, of making up for past faults, and cheerfully acquiescing\nand rejoicing in his success, they still followed their selfish aim,\nbut in a more covert way than they had at first meditated. Thus they\noffered him any bribe he liked to name if he would give them the\nflask of water.\n\nJuanillo gave them the flask, but refused their bribes, naming as\nhis only guerdon two golden pears which the king had given them off\na tree in his garden, which only produced two every year, and which\nnone might pluck but he.\n\nThe bargain was thus settled. Juanillo returned to tell all to the\nlittle princess; and the two knights bore the flask exulting to the\nking, and vaunting the deeds of valour by which they pretended they\nhad won it, taking care to say nothing about poor Juanillo.\n\nThe king recovered his sight, and loaded them with rewards and\nhonours. But before long he was stricken with another infirmity:\ngradually his hearing began to fail; and getting no relief from his\nphysicians, he very soon became quite deaf. A proclamation of great\nreward attracted the learned in the medical art again to his court,\nand among the men of science came once more the old doctor who had\ngiven effectual counsel before.\n\nIn the deserts of Albania, he said, under the shade of the highest\nmountains, live, among their many wild beasts, a race of lionesses,\nmore fierce than the rest of their kind: if any one can by artifice\nprocure the milk of one of these, without injury to her life, that\nwould be the sovereign remedy.\n\nJuanillo no sooner heard the sentence than he went out into the\nwilderness and called another of the enchanted horses, and started\noff on him like the wind, to the desert of Albania; and, armed with\nthe words of magic the little princess had taught him, he could get\nup to the lioness without being perceived by her, and fill his flask\nwith her milk.\n\nMeantime the king had called his two elder sons-in-law, and not\ndoubting that, as they had acquitted themselves so well before, they\nwould be able to accomplish this feat also, despatched them to the\nmountains of Albania. They, suspecting that their brother would do the\nwork as before, set out with less concern than on former occasions,\nand only plotted how they should cajole him this time. Nor had they\nadvanced many leagues when they met him coming back at full speed\non his brave steed, and the bottle of lioness' milk in a flask at\nhis girdle.\n\n\"Good morrow, friend!\" they cried, as he came near: \"whence ride ye,\nso fast and so early?\"\n\n\"I have been to the desert of Albania, to fetch the lioness' milk to\nbathe the ears of our good king,\" replied the younger brother.\n\n\"At what price do ye put it, friend?\"\n\n\"Nay, this I sell not.\"\n\n\"But we have come out to fetch it, and how shall we return to the\nking without it?\" And they pleaded so wheedlingly, that Juanillo was\nfain to give them the flask, but exacting this time the penalty of\nan ear of each of them.\n\nThe condition was hard, but the game was desperate now. If they\nreturned empty-handed this time, it was an acknowledgment of their\nperfidy before; and after all it was a much less injury than might\nhave befallen them in the deserts of Albania if they had pursued the\njourney, or from the anger of the king and the populace if they had\nremained at home. So they combed the hair over their ears to conceal\nthe loss, and pushed their way home to the king with their trophy,\nwhile Juanillo returned to his little princess.\n\nClotaldo recovered his hearing by the use of the lioness' milk. But\na direr danger awaited him now; for a powerful neighbouring sovereign\nsuddenly declared war against him, while he was quite unprepared. His\nprowess in battle in his younger days it was which had procured him the\nthrone; but now, in his declining years, he feared to take the field,\nnot through any coward fear for his life, but lest the glory of his\ncountry should be tarnished by his waning energy. So he called his two\nsons-in-law to him, and said that their valour, which had been proved\nin so many enterprises, had now a signal occasion for manifesting\nitself; and he gave them the command of Captains-General of his forces,\nand sent them out as if they had been his own sons, to meet the foe.\n\nThis order gave them greater trepidation than any of the preceding,\nfor there appeared no way out of it. How was Juanillo himself to fight\nthe battle for them without an army? and how could they transfer the\ncommand of the army to him without betraying all?\n\nWhile they were going along, then, sad of heart, to put themselves\nat the head of the forces and trust to good luck to extricate them\nfrom the fray, they met Juanillo, coming along at fiery speed, with\ntwo of the enemy's standards planted on his stirrups, and they saw by\nthe colours that the enemy had been laid low. For at the first threat\nof war he had taken soft leave of the little princess, had gone out\ninto the wilderness and called the third of the enchanted horses,\nand with him had ridden with such impetuosity against the enemy,\nimitating Saint Jago, that he had put the whole army to flight,\nand borne off their banners as trophies.\n\nBut the brothers talked and persuaded him, with soft words, into\ngiving these up also; and the payment he exacted this time was, that\nthey should let him brand them on the shoulder as if they had been\nhis slaves of war.\n\nAfter this he returned home to the little princess, and his brothers\ncarried the banners to the king's feet. When the king saw this fresh\ntestimony to their merit, his indignation rose high against his third\nson-in-law, whom he supposed to be living in shameful indolence,\nand doing nothing for the honour of the dynasty and nation. So he\npronounced a decree banishing him from his kingdom, and forbidding\nhim ever to appear before him again. The brothers, who had always\nlived in fear that their treachery would come out some day, upheld\nhim in his intention, as they thought they would breathe easier when\nhe was removed to a distance.\n\nNow Juanillo had been very forbearing and very generous all this time,\nbut this was rather too much. He could not bear that his little\nprincess should be banished from her friends and country without\nany fault; and she, too, represented to him how sad it would be for\nthe people when the old king died, if they were to live under the\ngovernance of the two wicked brothers. So Juanillo went up to the\nking, and begged him with great humility on his knees that he would\ngrant him one last favour before he went away for good and all; and\nthat was, to have a famous banquet on the last day, and invite all\nthe kingdom to it.\n\nThe good king granted the request; and a day was appointed when all\nthe great men and small of the kingdom met for a famous banquet.\n\nSimple Johnny dressed himself for this occasion in his true\ncharacter. His massive chestnut curls were parted on his lofty\nforehead, and every one was struck by the dignity with which his\nbroad shoulders carried the crimson and ermine mantle; in fact, few\nsuspected that it was Simple Johnny at all, and the most inclined to\nbelieve it were still doubtful. But he, as one who had a great duty\nto perform, went up with earnest mien to the king, and laying down\nthe two pears and the ears before him said,--\n\n\"The time is come, O King, to make known the truth to thee. Long have I\nsuffered in secret; but if my silence is to occasion my banishment and\nthat of my dear wife, I must make known that it was I who delivered\nthe princesses, I who fetched the water from the sharp rock in the\nmountains of Sclavonia, I who brought the milk of the lioness from\nthe deserts of Albania, I who overcame thine enemies and brought\nhome the two standards. Here are my proofs; and if more are needed,\nbid the princes uncover their shoulders, and they shall be found\nbranded as my slaves taken in war.\"\n\nThe good king was much astonished at this revelation; but now something\ncame back to him of what the little princess had said, and how he\nhad thought her mad for the story. And when he had investigated all\npatiently, and was convinced of the truth of Juanillo's statement,\nhe was full of indignation, and commanded the bad brothers to be put\nto death, and his daughters banished for their silent participation in\ntheir infamy. To Simple Johnny he gave a very hearty embrace in the\nsight of the people, and not only made him heir to all the kingdom,\nbut associated him with himself in the government, beginning from\nthat very day.\n\nSimple Johnny, however, would not allow his brothers to be put to\ndeath, but only deprived them of the right to reign, which might have\nbrought misery on the kingdom, and appointed them houses and money\nthat they might spend the rest of their days in harmless retirement.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTURIAN AND FLORETA.\n\n\nThere lived once in very ancient times in Spain a young prince, the\nInfante Turian. He was a very beautiful youth, and the only child\nof his parents, King Canamor and his consort Leonela: they were thus\ntempted to indulge him very much, and, as we should say, to spoil him;\nin fact, he was allowed to have every thing he asked for, and when any\npresent or novel article of merchandise was brought to the palace,\nif it happened to take his fancy, he got into a way of expecting to\nhave it for his own, and no one thought of thwarting him.\n\nOne day there came a foreign merchant to the court, who, instead of\nhaving a train of mules heavily laden with varieties of his wares\nto suit all tastes and fancies, was quite alone and unattended, and\nhimself bore his whole stock. It consisted, indeed, of but one little\nparcel easily stowed away in the folds of his cloak. The servants\nwere scandalized at such a mean apparatus, and would have driven\nhim away without letting him have a chance of addressing himself\nto their masters, telling him if he had nothing more to show than\nthe contents of one little case, it was not worth while to trouble\nthem. It was in vain the merchant urged that what he had to show was\nof priceless value, and in itself alone was worth all the mule-loads\nof other merchants put together: they held it for idle raving, and\nbid him begone.\n\nIt happened, however, that the Infante Turian was coming home at the\nmoment, and hearing the altercation, his curiosity was piqued to know\nwhat it could be that could be counted so precious. He had horses,\nand arms, and trappings, and gay clothes, and games, and baubles\nof every sort, and he had wearied of them all. He had acquired them\nwithout labour, and he consequently held them without esteem. Now there\nappeared a chance of some quite fresh sensation; moreover, the merchant\nhimself had a strange air which fascinated him; again, his accent was\ndifferent from any he had heard before, and suggested that he brought\nthe productions of some climate which had not yet laid its stores at\nhis feet. Proud, too, to show his power in setting the man free from\nthe importunate scorn of the servants, he ordered them to stand back,\nand then gave the strange merchant permission to open his store.\n\nAssuming an air of mystery, which excited the young prince still more,\nthe merchant, however, now told him he must take him to some private\nrecess apart, as what he had to show must be seen only by royal\neyes. The prince accepted all conditions in his eagerness, and was\nindeed rather flattered by this one. As soon as they were quite alone,\nthe strange merchant placed before him a portrait. Yes, nothing but a\nportrait in a very simple frame! But it was such a portrait that it\nquite turned poor Turian's head. He had never before dreamt of any\nthing so beautiful; he went into ecstasies at first sight, kissed\nit, gazed at it, paced up and down the hall with it, raved about it,\nand grew almost frantic, when the strange merchant at last went up\nto him and said it was time for him to go home, and he must have the\nportrait to pack up again.\n\n\"Pack up again!\" cried the prince: \"why, I buy it of you at triple,\ntenfold, an hundredfold its weight in gold.\"\n\nThe merchant assured him it could not be sold; he required, indeed,\na considerable price for suffering it to be seen, but part with it\nhe could not, on any conditions whatever.\n\nThe prince threw his purse to him, and ordered him in no measured\nterms to depart while the way was clear, otherwise he would set on\nhim the myrmidons from whom he had but now released him.\n\nThe strange merchant quietly picked up the purse, counted out\nconscientiously the sum he had named as the price for the sight of the\npicture, and laid down the rest; deliberately stowed away his fee in\nhis belt, and at the same time took from it, unperceived by the prince,\na little box of powder; then suddenly turning round, he scattered its\ncontents over his face, producing instant insensibility. Prepared for\nthe effect, he caught him in his arms, and laid him gently on a bench,\nand then, possessing himself of his picture, he stealthily left the\ncastle, unperceived by all.\n\nWhen the Infante Turian came to himself, some hours afterwards, of\ncourse pursuit was vain; nor could any trace be learnt of the way\nthe stranger had taken.\n\nThe prince was furious that, at least, he had not learnt some clue\nas to the original of the portrait, but there had not been time for\na word of inquiry. And when he set himself to recall every detail,\nall that would come back to his mind was, that on the blue embroidery\nof the white drapery which veiled the matchless form, he had made out\nin curious characters the name Floreta. Armed with this only guide,\nhe determined to roam the world till he discovered the real beauty\nwhose ideal had so absorbed him.\n\nKing Canamor and Queen Leonela were inconsolable at the idea of their\nonly son leaving them on so wild an errand; but they had never taught\nhim obedience and self-control, and they could not move him now. All\ntheir persuasions could obtain was his consent to be accompanied by\nthe Conde Dirlos, an ancient counsellor of great wisdom and authority\nin the kingdom, who would know how to procure him assistance by\nland and sea, in whatever enterprise he might be minded to take in\nhand. But it was stipulated that he was to control him in nothing:\nsimply watch over him, and further his designs, so as to save him\nfrom fatigue and danger.\n\nOn they wandered for a year and a day, meeting many adventures and\nincurring many perils; but no one knew the name of Floreta. Wherever\nthey went it was still a foreign name. At last--it was just the day\nyear that the strange merchant had brought the portrait--their travels\nbrought them to a steep mountain-path, which led down to the sea. At\na turn of the winding road, just below them, a tall figure appeared,\nwrapped in a long cloak, and wearing a high-peaked cap. The prince\ngave a bound of joy, and shouted to the figure to halt. It paid no\nheed, however. \"Stop! or you are dead!\" shouted the prince, at the\nsame time pointing an arrow with unerring aim at a spot a little in\nadvance of the moving figure. As if conscious of what was going on,\nthough he never moved his head, the strange merchant--for it was\nhe, and the prince had instantly recognized him--stood still for an\ninstant, as the bolt rattled in the ground on which he would have\nstood had he pursued his way three steps further, and then passed\non unheeding. The prince shouted more madly than before; but to no\npurpose; and in another moment the wind of the road had taken him\nout of sight.\n\nMadly the prince spurred his horse in pursuit, and reached the turn;\nbut no living form was to be seen. The rocks now resounded with the\ncries and imprecations with which he adjured the magician--for such he\nnow rightly deemed him--to stand forth. At last, when he was silent\nfrom sheer exhaustion, a low but commanding voice from the depths\nof a neighbouring cave bade him listen, but, as he valued his life,\nadvance not.\n\n\"Speak!\" cried the prince; \"nor torture me with longer suspense. What\nmust I do to find Floreta? I am prepared to go to the end of the world,\nto undergo any hardship, any torture, to find her; but find her I\nam determined: if you refuse your help, then by help of some other;\nso you see it is idle to turn a deaf ear.\"\n\n\"By none other help but mine,\" answered the magician, \"can you find\nFloreta; so your threats are vain. But if I had not meant you to see\nher, I should not have shown you the portrait at first, for I knew its\ninfluence could not be other than that it has exercised. I am going to\ninstruct you how to reach her; but first you must give me my guerdon.\"\n\n\"Name it; ask what you will,\" interposed the impetuous prince;\n\"ask my kingdom if you like; but keep me not in suspense.\"\n\n\"I only ask what is reasonable,\" answered the magician; \"the real\nis worth a thousandfold the representation;\" and he named a price\nequivalent to a thousand times the sum he had originally received.\n\nWithout so much as waiting to reply, Turian turned to Conde Dirlos\nand told him now was the time to fulfil his father's behest by\naccomplishing this requirement, and begged him to raise the money\nwithout an instant's loss of time.\n\nThe count remonstrated in vain, and in vain represented the miseries\nhe would be inflicting on the people by requiring, in so sudden a\nmanner, the levy of so large a sum. Turian, blinded by his passion,\nbid him save his words, as nothing could change his purpose; and the\nking's orders to obey him having been unconditional, Conde Dirlos\nset out with a heavy heart to comply.\n\nTen days of anxious suspense during his absence were spent by the\nprince in wandering over the rugged declivities of the coast: the\nardour of his excitement demanded to be fed with deeds of daring\nand danger. When he was not so occupied, he was seated panting on\nthe topmost crags, scouring the whole country with his eager glance\nto descry the first impression of the return of the count, with the\nmeans of pursuing his desperate resolve.\n\nThe day came at last. And afar off, first only like so many black\nspecks, but gradually revealing themselves as Conde Dirlos on\nhis faithful steed, and a long file of heavily-laden mules, came\nthe anxiously expected train. And now he never left his point of\nobservation; but cursed the sluggish hours, as he watched the team now\nsteering over the sandy plain, which seemed interminable in expanse,\nunmeasured by landmarks; now toiling backwards and forwards up the\nzig-zagged steep, with provoking seeming of being further off one\nhour than the last, as at each wind they turned upon their steps;\nnow detached-liked spectres against the sky, as they crossed from\none reach of the lofty sierra to the next.\n\nAll things have an end, even Turian's anxious suspense; and as the\ncount at last neared the magician's cave, he descended at break-neck\npace to meet him.\n\n\"There is the price,\" said the count, in sad and solemn accents;\n\"but before rendering it out of your hands, stop and consider it;\" and\nas he spoke he removed from the treasure the brilliant red and yellow\ncloths, the royal colours of Spain, with which it was covered. \"Here,\nfrom each province of your father's dominions, is the due proportion\nof the tribute you have demanded. See--will you spend it so?\"\n\nThe prince darted forward to glance at the goodly sight of so much\ngold, but drew back with horror.\n\nWhat could he have seen to turn his flushed cheeks so deadly pale?\n\n\"Count!\" he cried, choking with fury, \"what have you brought to\nmock me? This is not coin. You have brought me tears, burning tears,\ninstead of gold.\"\n\n\"It is all the same,\" replied the count; \"I saw you were infatuated,\nand I brought the money in this form, that the sight might warn you of\nwhat you are doing, and by its sad horror arrest you. There is time to\nreturn it back into the bosom of those from whom it has been wrung,\nand no harm will have been done. But if you persist, you will find\nthe magician will take them for current coin.\"\n\n\"Quite so!\" chimed in the voice from the cave; \"it is the money I\nlike best. But I cannot stand dallying thus: if the treasure be not\nhanded over at once, the bargain is at an end, and you never hear of\nme again.\"\n\nIt only wanted this to quench any little spark of pity and misgiving\nwhich the old count's judicious stratagem might have awakened. So\nwithout further loss of time the prince called to the magician to\ncome forth and take the spoil.\n\nHe was not slow to comply, and taking a handful of the weird currency\nout of each mule-load, rang it on the rock, where it sounded like\nthe clanking of a captive's chains.\n\n\"That is good,\" he said in a satisfied tone, when he had concluded his\nscrutiny. \"Now for my part of the bargain. I am not of those who fail\nbecause I am paid beforehand: you will find me as good as my word,\nand even better; for I will supply an item of the bargain which you,\nimpetuous youth, never thought to stipulate for, though the most\nimportant of all. I will not only instruct you how to see Floreta,\nI will give you moreover the means whereby, if she pleases you,\nyou can take her captive and bear her away.\"\n\n\"Nay, interrupt me not,\" he continued, as Turian, nettled at the\nexposure of his want of diplomacy, was about to declare that he had\nnever thought of any other means to captivate her being required but\nhis own smile and his own strong arm; \"I must begin, and have but\ntime to complete my directions. You see yon castle on a rock out at\nsea;\" and as his long bony finger pointed westward, there seemed to be\ntraced against the sky the form of a royal castle at about three days'\njourney, which Turian, who had for ten days been beating about the\ncoast, could have sworn was not to be seen there before. Nevertheless,\nfascinated by the magician's commanding manner, he durst say nothing\nbut a murmur of assent.\n\n\"Then that is your haven; take ship and steer for it. When you reach\nthe land throw down this token,\" and he gave into his hand a fine coil\nof silken chains; \"follow its leadings till it take you to Floreta,\nand if she please you, cast it round her, and she is yours.\"\n\nAs he spoke he disappeared from sight, with the mules and their burden.\n\nTurian now once more reminded Conde Dirlos of his father's command,\nand bid him provide him with the swiftest galley on all the coasts\nof the kingdom, manned with the stoutest rowers, and that with the\nutmost speed.\n\nIf the wise old count shrunk from the former mission, his horror was\nbut the greater at this one. He reminded the prince that when the king\nhad given his consent to the adventure, he had not contemplated any\nother than a loyal undertaking, such as a noble prince might entertain:\nhe would never have trusted him on one of this nature.\n\nTurian felt the force of the reproach, but lacked the strength of\ncharacter to command himself. Hurried on by his uncontrolled desire,\nhe bid the old man remember that the command to fulfil his orders\nwas quite unconditional, and there was no limit whatever named.\n\nThe count owned this was unfortunately true, and as he could prevail\nnothing by argument, set himself to remedy the Infante's headstrong\nwilfulness by making the journey as safe as possible. He not only\ninsisted on having the galley examined as to its seaworthiness by the\nmost experienced shipwrights, and selected the steadiest oarsmen to\nman the banks, but appointed a consultation of all the astronomers of\nthe kingdom to name the day when they might be sure of safe passage,\nfree from winds. It was pronounced that a storm was just then impending\nwhich would last ten days, and after that there would be ten days of\nfair weather, so that if they allowed ten days for their preparations,\nthey would have time to make the journey and return in all security.\n\nThe delay seemed another age to the Infante; nevertheless he was\nnow so near the accomplishment of his object that it passed swiftly\nenough in the enjoyment of the pleasure of anticipation. The count,\ntoo, found some relief to his anxieties in the fact that the storm\ncame on at the predicted moment, giving him great confidence that\nthe halcyon days predicted to succeed might be surely counted on.\n\nThey came duly; and a shout of admiration rose from the people on\nthe shore as the gallant vessel moved out over the face of the blue,\nsunlit waters, which glittered as if showered over with every precious\nstone at each stroke of the countless oars. And those on board were\nequally entranced with the gorgeous sight as they seemed to soar\nalong over the soft bosom of the crystal deep; and the noble outline\nof their native mountains, peak above peak, from the verdant slopes\nwhere the cattle browsed lazily, to the wild steeps where even the\nmountain goats ceased to find a footing, receded with ever-varying\nforms of beauty from their sight.\n\nIt was not on these that Turian's eye rested. His glance was bent on\nthe castle for which they were making, and his thoughts were bound\nup in the beauteous treasure within. Such confidence had he in the\nmagician's word, that he had laid his arms aside and held only the\nsilken chain that was to be his guiding line to happiness; and toyed\nwith it, thinking how he would throw it round the prized form of the\nportrait's original, and how he would gaze on her when she was his.\n\nWhile he was still wrapt in these thoughts they drew near to the\nmysterious shore, and every one was occupied in admiring the strength\nand noble proportions of the castle. But Turian had no thought but for\nthe treasure it contained. Springing lightly on to the land, he lost\nno time in fulfilling the magician's injunctions; and sure enough the\nchain uncoiled itself, and, wriggling with a serpent's motion, went\nstraight before him to a gate in the castle wall. It was unlocked,\nand Turian, pushing it aside, gained entrance to a sumptuous garden,\nat one end of which was a shady arbour, and in a bank of perfumed roses\nFloreta herself lay asleep. How his heart beat at the sight! Just as\nshe had seemed in the portrait; just as he had pictured her in his\nsleeping and waking dreams. Riveted to the spot, he stood contemplating\nher, as well he might, for her complexion was white as snow, or rather\nas pure crystal, and tinted as the fresh rose yet on the rose-tree [8].\n\nThe cautious count, fearful of some ambush, had marshalled the crew of\nthe galley into a guard to track his steps noiselessly and be ready in\ncase of sudden attack. The play of light upon their arms passing in\nsudden reflection over the scene woke the Infante from his reverie,\nand roused him to action. The coiling silken links readily embraced\nFloreta's limbs, and such was their hidden power that, though she\nwoke at the Infante's approach, she was powerless to resist or cry.\n\nThus he bore her to the galley, and the men having resumed their places\non the rowers' banks, in silent order they pushed off unperceived by\nany one on the island, for it was the hour of the noontide rest.\n\nBut soon Floreta's maidens, coming to attend her rising, discovered\nher loss. The king her father and all the people quickly gathered\ntheir arms and ran wildly in every direction, till at last they saw\nthe strange vessel making fast away, and they doubted not it was\ncarrying off their princess, but they could only stand on the shore\nthrowing up their arms and crying in powerless despair.\n\nTurian had in the mean time removed the chain from his prize;\nand thus freed from the spell, Floreta, too, held out her arms\ntowards her parents and countrymen, and cried unavailingly on them\nfor help. Turian, incapable of contradicting her, yet incapable also\nof giving her up, contented himself with admiring her at a distance,\nand let her spend herself in lamentations at first; but when the good\ngalleon had put sufficient distance between itself and the castle\nto destroy the freshness of the impression of parting, the Infante\ncommanded his people to cast anchor that he might try his power\nof consoling her more at ease. And indeed, it was not long before\nhis sweet words of admiration and his protestations of affection and\ndevotion seemed to succeed in reconciling her to her situation; before\nlong they were very good friends and very happy, and the sun shone and\nthe sea sparkled, and nature smiled, and all seemed fair and bright.\n\nNevertheless the prudent old count had his misgivings. True, there were\nyet several more days of the promised calm before them, but he felt\nhe should never be easy till he had his charge safe at home again;\nso he urged the Infante to give orders to put under way once more,\nand right glad was he to feel the bark moving towards the port and\nin good time to reach home before the next storm.\n\nNevertheless,--\n\n\n Quando Dios quiere\n En sereno lluve [9],\n\n\nsays the proverb, and while they were singing and making merry,\nand dancing to amuse Floreta, suddenly the sky became overcast\nand the wind sprang up, and the waves dashed against the bulwarks,\nand instead of being able to row the vessel into port the oarsmen\ncould hardly keep their seats. Then in the midst of their fright\nand horror and piteous cries for help, an ancient seaman stood up,\nand having commanded silence, harangued the crew, and told them that\nthey might be sure the tempest was sent them because they had the\nstrange damsel on board; that if they would save their lives they\nmust bid defiance to the Infante's wishes, and take him from her and\ncast her into the sea. The danger to all was manifest and terrible;\nany way out of it was preferable to succumbing, so the old man found\na willing audience. The dismayed count had but time to rush in to\nthe Infante and tell him of the mutiny before the angry mariners had\nalready burst into his presence. If they were for a moment staggered\nby pity at sight of the exceeding beauty of Floreta, and by Turian's\nagonized assurances that the fearful sacrifice would have no effect\nupon the storm, the old mariner's voice overruled their hesitation\nand rendered them pitiless as the blast.\n\nThen at his command they tore the Infante from off Floreta, to whom\nhe clung declaring that they should not destroy her without him,\nbut that he would go down into the deep with her, and they bound him\nfast hand and foot and took Floreta, too full of terror to resist or\ncry, to throw her into the raging sea. But before they had completed\nthe sacrifice, the cries of the prince, seconded as he was by the\nprudent old count, ever ready to second a middle course, prevailed,\nand instead of committing her to the deep, they set her on an island\npast which the bark was drifting, Turian thinking in his own mind\nthat as soon as the fury of the storm was spent he should be able to\ninduce them to put back and fetch her off.\n\nThe old seaman knew what was in his mind, and he knew that the work\nwas but half done. He inveighed that the half-measure was useless;\nhe predicted that the storm would not thereby be quenched. But it was\ntoo late to listen to him now: they were carried past the land where\nFloreta was; and it was beyond their efforts to go back to fulfil his\npurpose now. Meanwhile, as he had predicted, the tempest raged higher\nand higher; the oarsmen were powerless: but the bark drifted nearer\nand nearer home; and at last, just as a great wave dashed against it\nand broke it up, they were brought just so near to land that they\ncould swim to shore. One young and vigorous oarsman took charge of\nthe old count, who was rendered more unfit for the feat by dismay\nat the ill-success of his mission even than by the weakness of his\nage. But none looked after the Infante, for he was known to be the\nexpertest swimmer of all the country round.\n\nIt was not till the hull had heeled over and gone down that they\nremembered they had bound him hand and foot, and he could not\nescape. And so he, who was the cause of all, alone was lost.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BLOOD-STAIN OF THE ALC\u00c1ZAR OF SEVILLE.\n\n\nOf all the beautiful things which are to be seen at Seville, there is\nperhaps none which engrosses the attention as the alc\u00e1zar--so called\nbecause built after the fashion of a Moorish palace. To the traveller\nunacquainted with the East it affords a practical realization of the\nfamed elaboration of Moorish magnificence. It is not very certain\nwhether in it Pedro the Cruel erected a new foundation, or restored\nan old one remaining from the time of the Moorish occupation; but he\ncertainly left nothing wanting to make it the worthy habitation of one\nof the most powerful monarchs of the time [10]. The present century has\nnot been wanting to the example thus set; and by dint of the artistic\ncare bestowed upon it, its beauties shine now as brilliantly as at\nthe moment of their first completion. The gardens, with their groves\nof plantains, datunas, tunales, myrtles, box-trees, and oranges, may\nappear stiff to an English eye; but be there in the summer, and you\nreadily realize the luxury of paths so contrived as to be always in\nthe shade, and which, when this even is too hot, can be cooled down\nby turning on a flow of icy water over the tiles which pave them.\n\nIt is in the interior, however, that the greatest luxuriance of\nimagination has been displayed. It is all one blaze of dazzling tints,\nsuch as, one would think, no one but some of Aladdin's genii could\nhave produced. The walls are panelled with a delicate embroidery-like\nfretwork of every gorgeous hue; the roofs cieled with seeming liquid\ngold, suspended in burnished drops. It is the dazzling image of all\none has dreamt of Byzantine or Persian colouring; it is like being\nin the fairy palace which was all one large prism. It might have been\nimagined by mad genii, and executed by frantic fairies. It might be the\nlaboratory where tints are prepared for rainbows and tropical sunsets,\nor where the painting of peacocks and butterflies, humming-birds,\nand exotic flowers is devised. Or it might be the jewel-storehouse of\nsome thrice-rich monarch, to whom emeralds and rubies are plentiful\nas figs and peaches, and all in cabinets of wrought gold.\n\nAmid all this splendour there is one sad, dark spot, which has outlived\nthe wear of five centuries, to stand a witness of the judgment of\nHeaven overtaking the tyrant and the oppressor. Pedro the Cruel was\nthe only Christian monarch who ever indulged himself with such a nest;\nand I fear the life he led within it was not what that of a Christian\nmonarch ought to be. Not to speak of his other faults, his thirst for\nblood was so great as to be surpassed only by the atrocities ascribed\nto Nero. Whoever displeased him in any way was summarily put to death,\nand that sometimes amid cruel tortures, without form of trial.\n\nAn old ballad has lately been found, which arranges in rhyming order\nthe whole catalogue of names and qualities of the distinguished people\nwhose lives were forfeited by his hand, or at his behest, which served\nthe people to perpetuate their detestation of his character. There\nwas Don Garcilaso, and his little brothers Don Juan and Don Diego; the\nInfante of Aragon, his cousin; Don Fernando, a knight of high renown;\nthe noble youth Don Luis de Albuquerque; and Peralvarez Osorio,\nwho had injured him in nothing. Then the Queen of Aragon, to whom\nhis father was brother; and Do\u00f1a Blanca, his own wife; Do\u00f1a Juana\nand Do\u00f1a Isabel, high ladies both, of the Asturias; and Gutierrez\nof Toledo, and the Archbishop his brother; Don I\u00f1igo d'Orozco, who\nfought him in the field; and Don Suero, the good prelate, Archbishop\nof Santiago, and also Bermejo de Granada. And besides these many more,\nboth hidalgos and caballeros.\n\nThus at last his wickedness outgrew the people's patience; and when\nthe good Henry of Trastamare rose up against him, and provoked him to\nfight, and slew him, they all hailed the act as the execution of the\nsentence of Divine Justice, and acclaimed Henry as their deliverer\nand their ruler in his stead; for Alonso, the son of his unblessed\nunion with Maria Padilla, whom he had forced the people to acknowledge\nfor his successor, had been carried off by sudden death soon after;\nand though the daughter of his lawful marriage had married our own\nJohn of Gaunt, all his reputation, and that of the Black Prince his\nfather, could not outweigh their disinclination for a foreign king.\n\nWith regard to the mode of Pedro the Cruel's death, the more credited\naccount is that his end was an episode of the siege of Montiel,\nwhere he had sought to hide himself from the victorious pursuit of\nHenry de Trastamare. Local tradition loves to think it found him out\nwith poetical justice, and left its stain in the very hall which had\nbeen the scene of his wanton excesses; where others had fallen at\nhis command, and whence the decree had gone forth for the relentless\nexecution of his victims.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVENTURES OF DO\u00d1A JOSEFA RAMIREZ Y MARMOLEJO.\n\n\nDo\u00f1a Josefa Ramirez was the only child of noble parents of\nValencia. She grew up in every virtue, and joined the wisdom of\na Minerva to the beauty of a Venus. She was hardly eighteen before\nvarious noble youths were contending for her good graces; but of them\nall the only one she favoured was Don Pedro de Valenzuela, who, though\nof noble lineage, yet did not possess the fortune or position that\nher parents thought should entitle him who wedded with the descendant\nof the illustrious houses of Ramirez and Marmolejo.\n\nLittle Do\u00f1a Josefa did not think of all this; she was much attached\nto her boyish playmate, and hoped that as her parents were very fond\nof her she would one day win their consent to receive his attentions;\nin the mean time, she thoughtlessly listened with great delight when he\ncame and sang a love song under her windows, and even, I am afraid,\nsometimes came to the reja [11] to give him a coy look of thanks\nand encouragement.\n\nOne day, as the youthful Don Pedro de Valenzuela was thus pleasantly\noccupied, he had finished his song and was waiting to see if a pair\nof bright eyes would not come sparkling behind the reja, when, his\nthoughts being quite engrossed by this expectation, and his attention\nabstracted from every thing around him, he suddenly found himself\nattacked from behind by two men who were wrapt up in their cloaks and\nmasked so that he could not recognize them, nor indeed had he time\nto think about it, for before he could even draw his sword they had\nstretched him dead upon the ground; he could only cry out Josefa's\nname, and expire.\n\nDo\u00f1a Josefa was thrilled with dread at the tone in which her name\nwas uttered; it seemed to portend something dreadful, such as she had\nnever known before. She flew to the window, and by what remained of\nthe gloaming light, she saw her lover's body stretched lifeless on the\nground, while the assassins had escaped without leaving a trace behind.\n\nThe terrible sight seemed to change Do\u00f1a Josefa's nature: all her\nwoman's weakness was quenched within her, and every thought bound\nup in the one determination of avenging the precious life which had\nbeen so cruelly sacrificed for love of her. She tore off her woman's\ngear with the indignation of an enraged lioness, and arrayed herself\nin a full cavalier's suit, with a montera [12] to cover her head and\nan ample cloak to hide her from scrutiny. Then she took a belt well\nfurnished with arms, and a sword and blunderbuss to boot; and then a\npurse with two hundred doubloons; thus accoutred she wandered forth\nin quest of Don Pedro de Valenzuela's assassins, making her way in\nall haste out of Valencia, for she knew the assassins would not long\nhave remained there.\n\nHiding herself in the mountains by day, and taking the most\nunfrequented paths by night, she wandered on till she came to Murcia,\nand there she resolved to take up her abode for some little time to\nrest, and also to learn what she might chance to hear.\n\nHere, in her cavalier's dress, she walked about on the promenades,\njoined knots of speakers in the public plazas, and at night sat\ndown at the card-tables and other places of resort, every where\nkeeping her ears open to drink in any word any one might let fall\nabout her lover's assassination. One night, as she was sitting at a\ntable carelessly shuffling a pack of cards, she heard two gentlemen\ntalking very earnestly, and some words they dropped made her strain\nall her attention to catch the thread of their discourse.\n\n\"Yes, they are gone on; I am sure of it; and some hours ago,\"\nasseverated the first speaker, as if he had been contradicted before.\n\n\"To be sure,\" rejoined the other, in a tone of yielding conviction;\n\"it was not likely they should remain in the country. No doubt it is\nas you say.\"\n\n\"Excuse me,\" said Do\u00f1a Josefa, approaching the speakers with a courtly\nbow, for she could restrain her curiosity no longer, \"but I think\nyou were speaking of some gentlemen of Seville.... I am of Seville,\nand----\"\n\n\"Of Valencia,\" politely rejoined the gentleman, fairly caught in the\ntrap. Had Josefa said she was of Valencia, his mouth would have been\nsealed for fear of betraying secrets.\n\n\"Oh, indeed, of Valencia!\" she continued, assuming a tone of\ndisappointment; and then, after a moment's pause, she added, as if\nindifferent, \"I think you spoke as if concerned for some friends\nin trouble?\"\n\n\"Oh, not friends,\" answered the person addressed, with a slight\nshudder; \"we had but the most distant acquaintance with them; but they\ncalled on us yesterday to ask us to help them out of a difficulty.\"\n\n\"Ah! that is very often the way of the world,\" replied Do\u00f1a Josefa,\nfor she felt she must keep the conversation going till she could get\nall the information she wanted, though scarcely seeing how to bring\nit to the right point without exciting suspicions. \"I'll warrant\nnow it was a regular piece of Valencian roguery [13]; they came with\nsome pitiful pretence, begging, I'll be bound; and I dare say at this\nmoment are laughing at the ease with which their doleful story loosed\nyour purse-strings; ha, ha, ha!\"\n\nThe silvery laugh and biting tone of the young cavalier stung\nthe Murcians to the quick; it seemed a point of honour to justify\nthemselves from the censure of having been cajoled. The friend who\nhad all this time remained silent, not quite liking the freedom,\nbut now completely reassured by the noble bearing, fair smooth brow,\nand perhaps also by the sad but winning glance of the young stranger,\nhere joined in.\n\n\"You have a fine knowledge of the world, young friend, and such\nwise words do not often come from lips on which the hair is not yet\ngrown. Nevertheless there was no deception on this occasion: I never\nsaw men more blasted with fear and shame.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" pursued Josefa as carelessly as she could, for she saw she was\nnow on the right track, \"it is easy for a Valencian to assume a look\nof shame.\"\n\n\"But, man, these were not men used to shame; these were true men and\ngentlemen of blood--blood as blue as any blood in Spain.\"\n\n\"Pshaw! they told you so!\" rejoined Josefa with an incredulous shrug,\nwhich she knew must bring out the names.\n\n\"Why it was no less than Don Leonardo and Don Gaspar Contreras!\" broke\nin the other speaker.\n\n\"Don Leonardo and Don Gaspar Contreras!\" ejaculated Josefa, this time\nhardly master of her contending emotions; yet knowing the importance\nof playing her part to the end, she added in a tone of thundering\nindignation,--\n\n\"And you can stand there and tell me that Don Leonardo and Don Gaspar\nContreras came before you bowed with a look of shame,--to beg alms?\"\n\n\"Even so, fair sir,\" rejoined the Murcians; \"and if you still have\ndoubts you can go to Valencia, and seek for them; you will not find\nthem there.\"\n\n\"And pray, sir, why should I not find Don Leonardo and Don Gaspar\nContreras in their noble palacio at Valencia?\"\n\n\"Because they dare not show their faces there,\" replied one.\n\n\"Because they are at this moment riding for their lives to the sea\ncoast, and you would be more likely to find them at Cartagena,\"\nexclaimed the other at the same moment.\n\nJosefa had now learnt pretty well all she desired to know;\nnevertheless, to make quite sure of her facts, she sat down again,\npushing chairs towards the Murcians, and continued in a more pacific\nand friendly tone,--\n\n\"You must excuse me, gentlemen, if the idea of coupling shame with\nthe name of Contreras came upon me as so strange and unaccountable a\nconjunction, that I could not bring myself to accept it at first; but\nI am fain to take it on your honourable testimony. But pray tell me,\nwhat can have happened to bring this about? I have a cousin married to\na Contreras, and whatever affects the honour of their house affects\nmy own. It must have been some terrible necessity reduced them to\nthis plight.\"\n\n\"The old story--jealousy working in ill-regulated minds!\" answered the\nelder speaker. \"It seems Valencia possesses some monster of beauty,\nwhich has turned the hearts of all her cavaliers.\"\n\n\"Do\u00f1a Josefa Ramirez y Marmolejo!\" interposed the younger Murcian\napologetically, as though he thought it a reproach not to have the\nname of the beauty of the day on the tip of his lips.\n\n\"Well, the young lady, it seems, preferred to every one else of\nValencia a certain Don Pedro de Valenzuela----\"\n\nJosefa had managed to preserve her composure, in spite of her emotion\nat hearing her attractions canvassed by the two strangers, but at\nmention of Don Pedro's name the blood fairly left her cheeks. To hide\nher embarrassment, she dropped her glove and stooped to pick it up,\ntill she had summoned the colour back.\n\n\"The other gallants,\" continued the speaker, not heeding the\ninterruption, \"were the more nettled at this, that he was not of so\nhigh estate as they----\"\n\nJosefa could hardly refrain from exclaiming that he was better than\nall of them put together; but she coughed and bit her lip, and by a\nsupreme effort kept the tears out of her eyes.\n\n\"And when they found they were slighted, while he was allowed to come\nand strum night after night at the reja, they grew furious. None\nwere more indignant than the two cousins Leonardo and Gaspar de\nContreras. One night, as they were passing casually by Do\u00f1a Josefa's\nhouse, and saw Don Pedro standing under the window, basking in\nthe smiles of the lady, while they had to wander by as unrecognized\noutcasts, their blood was up, and without reflection or premeditation,\nthey set upon him there and then, without calling upon him to defend\nhimself, and killed him like a----\"\n\n\"But what ails you, fair sir?\" ejaculated the speaker, as he observed\npoor Josefa making vain efforts to look indifferent, and trembling\nfrom head to foot.\n\n\"Nothing, sir, thank you,\" stammered Josefa bravely; \"the wind is high\nto-night. With your permission I will e'en close this window.\" The\nmoment's seclusion from the company, and the gasp of air thus gained,\nenabled her to appear once more a not too eager listener.\n\n\"I can now understand why the Contreras are running away like--dogs,\"\nshe replied, not without some little display of feeling, for she\nburned to bandy back against the assassins the epithet which, though\nit had not been breathed, had so nearly been applied to her lover.\n\nA very little more talk elicited that the cousins expected to find a\nship sailing from Cartagena in three days; in the mean time they were\nmaking the best of their way to the coast. Worn out with the long\ntension of suppressed emotion, Josefa was glad to retire as soon as\nthere was a break in the conversation.\n\nNext morning she purchased a horse, fleet as the wind, and arrived\nthe same night at Cartagena; and here she once more set to work to\nfind out the retreat of the assassins. In this, fortune again favoured\nher. For having placed her horse in a stable, and hired a room in the\nprincipal inn for herself, she sat down beside an open window, while\nshe thought upon the plan to pursue. As she sat here, her attention\nwas arrested by a conversation going on between two men seated under\na leafy parral [14], which effectually concealed her from their sight.\n\n\"Where are you going to-night, so finely arrayed?\" inquired one of\nthe voices.\n\n\"Where every one is going,\" responded the other; \"to the house of\nDon Juan Mancilla, for he gives a right noble banquet in honour of\ntwo guests he has staying with him, natives of Valencia. He is to\ngive a representation of a comedy, and many other fine things.\"\n\nDo\u00f1a Josefa held her breath, and leant further out of the window.\n\n\"Something I heard of their arrival yesterday morning,\" rejoined the\nfirst voice. \"But why all this haste? Methinks the comedy would have\nbeen the better got up for one or two days' rehearsal.\"\n\n\"Ah, but you see, the Valencians take ship at half-past twelve this\nvery night,\" replied the other; and then in a lower key, \"They are\neven now running from Valencia for some charge of a duel there----\"\n\n\"Hold, man, hold!\" warily ejaculated the first voice; \"who knows who\nmay overhear you?\"\n\nDo\u00f1a Josefa had overheard enough; her work now up to half-past twelve\nwas but to learn the situation of Don Juan Mancilla's house, and the\nway thence to the harbour; no difficult task, for Don Juan Mancilla's\nwas one of the first names in Cartagena; and near the landing-place\nshe met a garrulous servant of the Contreras, who was easily led to\nspeak of his masters' movements. Between the two points lay an alameda,\nor promenade, planted with poplars, such as adorns the outskirts of\nevery Spanish town, affording a most convenient spot for the rencontre\nfor which she had now with beating heart to lie in wait.\n\nThe tress which on that last sad night she had severed from her\nlover's fair young head, and which now alone remained of him who had\nbeen all to her, in her hand, she paced backwards and forwards under\nthe pollard poplars, like a knight keeping watch before a sacred\nshrine. Her thoughts wrapt in the absorbing memories of the past,\nand the fantastic part fate had assigned to herself, she had taken\nno note of how the hours had sped by, and when the clocks chimed out\nthe hour of mid-night, it came upon her as a sudden warning. Not many\nminutes more had elapsed, before she perceived two cavaliers advancing\ntowards her, whom her eye, practised by long acquaintance, readily\nrecognized as the game she had come so far to seek. Their loud talk,\nswaggering mien, lofty stature, and moreover the clanking of their\nswords as they walked, reminding that in Valencia the Contreras bore\nthe reputation of the most accomplished fencers of all the country\nround, might have made a less resolute heart faint even then, and\ngive up the enterprise. But Do\u00f1a Josefa never flinched. With one foot\nfirmly planted on the path, and resting on the other as a kind of prop,\nplaced in position to support her against any attempt to thrust her\naside, she stood firmly and calmly waiting their approach.\n\n\"Don Leonardo, and you, Don Gaspar Contreras!\" she said, as soon as\nthey had advanced within hearing, \"know ye, who I am?\"\n\n\"Another time, good friend,\" said Don Leonardo impatiently, and tried\nto pass on.\n\n\"We are pressed, and have but time to join our ship,\" said Don Gaspar;\nand he endeavoured, though not without courtesy, to make his way\npast her.\n\n\"You must hear me, Se\u00f1ores de Contreras,\" rejoined Do\u00f1a Josefa in\na hollow voice; \"and when you have heard me, you will never want a\nship more.\"\n\n\"Come, this is more than pleasantry!\" exclaimed Don Leonardo,\ngetting angry.\n\n\"Make way, good sir; you see we are pressed for time,\" said Don Gaspar,\nmore conciliatingly; for he felt it was no time for picking a quarrel.\n\n\"It is no pleasantry, indeed!\" Do\u00f1a Josefa had replied almost before\nhe spoke; \"but most serious earnest. Se\u00f1ores de Contreras, again I ask,\nDo you know me?\"\n\n\"What does this trifling mean?\" exclaimed Don Leonardo, hotly, and\nat the same time putting his hand on his sword.\n\n\"It means,\" replied Josefa, calmly and solemnly--\"It means that you are\ncalled to answer with your vile lives for the noble life of Don Pedro\nValenzuela, whom you treacherously slew without so much as calling on\nhim to draw. My sword is the sword of justice, not of the assassin;\nyet I call on you to defend yourselves, if you dare!\"\n\n\"Good sir, you rave; we are not those you seek; and we know not who\nyou are!\" interposed Don Gaspar, putting his hand on Don Leonardo's\nsword-arm, for he had already drawn.\n\n\"I have twice asked you if you do not know me,\" answered Josefa. \"Now,\nthen, I tell you: I am Do\u00f1a Josefa Ramirez y Marmolejo. Have I not\na right to avenge the blood of Don Pedro Valenzuela?\"\n\n\"Ho! ho! so brave anon, you would now make this pretence of womanhood\na shield. Methinks your tongue knows not the timidity of woman,\nand that your arms are no woman's toys,\" blurted out Don Leonardo\ncontemptuously, despite of Don Gaspar's warnings.\n\n\"Draw! Don Leonardo,\" commanded Josefa; \"nor waste more time in\nwords. I seek no quarter, nor--give any!\"\n\n\"At you then!\" exclaimed Don Leonardo, rendered furious by her\nimpassibility, and breaking away from Don Gaspar's hold.\n\nJosefa awaited his onset firmly, her drawn sword extended in her hand,\nlike a statue of the avenging angel. Don Leonardo rushing at her,\nblind with rage, thrust himself right upon her rapier, which pierced\nhim through and through; and, before he had time to utter a cry,\nhe fell a lifeless corpse at Don Gaspar's feet.\n\nDon Gaspar, who had no idea that there was any truth in Josefa's\ndeclaration of her sex, felt no inclination to measure his sword\nagainst so successful an antagonist; but, in order not to appear to\navoid the fray ignominiously, bent down and busied himself with the\neffort to remove the body of his cousin.\n\n\"It is your turn now, Don Gaspar!\" said the avenging angel calmly,\nhaving just withdrawn her sword from the breast of her prostrate\nvictim. \"Stand on guard, for your hour has come!\"\n\nThis confident assertion, and the conviction that the encounter\ncould not be escaped, excited Don Gaspar almost to the same pitch of\nindignation as Don Leonardo had displayed, notwithstanding that he\nwas by nature less irascible.\n\n\"Think not to find so easy a victory a second time!\" he exclaimed.\n\n\"It matters little,\" replied the lady calmly; \"you have killed my\nlife already, when you killed Don Pedro!\"\n\nWhile she was yet speaking, Don Gaspar had already rushed to the\nencounter; and she, standing with her trusty sword prepared to meet\nhim, sent his body to measure the ground, and his soul to its account,\nafter the same manner that she had served Don Leonardo.\n\nMeantime the bandying of angry words and the clash of steel had not\nbeen unheard by the guests, who were even then traversing the alameda,\nas the banquet of Don Juan Mancilla broke up. Quickly as the contest\nhad been carried through there was still time for many persons to\nassemble, and there was every chance of Josefa being caught and handed\nover to justice. All sank away, however, before the high and innocent\nglance of her flashing eyes and the noble mien, which stood surety\nhers had been no vulgar aim.\n\n\"The Sanctuary of S. Francis may yet be reached,\" whispered an old\nnobleman, who perceived at a glance that the young stranger belonged\nto his order, which he had rather not see subjected to the ordeal\nof a public inquisition. \"Here, boy, follow me. Courage!\" he added,\nas he observed she had hardly energy left to move from the spot;\n\"we shall soon be there.\"\n\nDo\u00f1a Josefa, so courageous anon, felt palsied at the sight of the\nadvancing strangers, and the apprehension of having all her motions\nand manoeuvres sifted in the vulgar sieve of public opinion. She\nknew what she had done could only be judged and appreciated by the\nfew who had felt what she had felt. This very terror at last nerved\nher to take the old man's counsel; and so, wrapping her wide cloak\naround her, she followed at a little distance, delicacy prompting\nher to avoid appearing to belong to him, so that he might not be\ncompromised through his good-nature. All those who were about at\nthe time were men of similar position, who judged that the course\nadopted was the wisest, and so Josefa and her guide proceeded to\ntheir journey's end without molestation. Arrived at the church door,\nthe old nobleman pointed to the entrance and passed on his way.\n\nJosefa began to explain to an old Brother who kept the door the\nmisadventure which had brought her thither, but it was more than she\ncould do to conclude the narrative, her feeble powers were already\noverstrained, and she sank fainting at his feet. For several days she\nwas carefully tended in the hospital; and one day, when the noise\nof the affair had blown over, and the knowledge that she had taken\nrefuge in the Sanctuary had quieted the pursuit of justice, she sent\na messenger to the inn to fetch the swift courser she had left there\non arriving, and under favour of the darkness of the evening set out\nto return to Valencia.\n\nShe had travelled a considerable distance without accident, when\nsuddenly she perceived three travellers coming towards her; the moon\nshone brightly, and her keen eyes, quickened by natural feminine\napprehension, were not slow to make out that they were of the kind\nmost unwelcome under the circumstances, though to meet any one was\nawkward enough.\n\nShe had no time to consider what she should do, for the strangers\nwere advancing at a rapid pace; nor were they slow to declare their\ncharacter. The chief called out to her before they had even come up,\nto 'stand and deliver.' The only circumstance in her favour was that\nthey stood on the narrow ledge of a mountain path, the one closely\npacked behind the other as one man.\n\n\"It is idle to attempt to resist us, young gallant,\" cried the leader\nas he saw her draw her sword; \"we are too many for one even as valiant\nas I dare say you fancy yourself; besides, there are more of us behind\nwho will soon be up.\"\n\nDo\u00f1a Josefa uttered no boast, she took up a firm position; her fine\nwell-tempered rapier extended in her hand received them on its point,\nand threaded them through as they came, one behind the other.\n\nBut, alack! the strong men, in the contortions of their last agony,\noverstepped the narrow footing of the path, and fell over the brink,\ncarrying in their bodies the trusty sword which had stood her in such\ngood stead.\n\n\"There are more of us behind who will soon be up!\" she repeated to\nherself, as with dogged determination she still held up against her\nmisfortunes, and proceeded on her way for a wind or two of the path\nwithout disturbing incidents. One more turn and there stood before\nher three more bandits in the same order as the last. She had her\ntrabuco [15] ready to aim, and her aim was so steady, that before\nthey had time to perceive her purpose, her ball had pierced through\nthe three of them, and they were sent rolling over the precipice,\nto join the bodies of their companions below.\n\nWhether Josefa thought that these exploits might bring her into fresh\nconflict with the arm of the law, or whether the fresh horrors gave\na gloomy turn to her mind, and indisposed her for venturing home, I\nknow not; but whatever her motive, she made up her mind at this point\nof the journey to continue her wanderings only as far as Barcelona,\nand there take ship to make a pilgrimage to Rome.\n\nThe sea was not much more propitious to poor Do\u00f1a Josefa's fortunes\nthan the land had been. The vessel on which she had embarked had not\nbeen two days out before it was attacked by Algerine Corsairs, who\ntook every soul on board prisoners, and carried them off to Africa,\nwhere they were sold as slaves.\n\nIt fell to Josefa's lot to be bought by a rich renegade of Tunis,\nwhom she served under the name of Pedro, a name she deemed she had\na certain right to take. The renegade was much pleased with her\nsoft discreet manners, and general superiority and uprightness of\ncharacter; and soon advanced her to the post of steward over his\nhousehold, having her first instructed in the Arabic tongue. Things\nwent smoothly enough for some time; but when she had been in this\nservice about three years, it happened that one day, when the master\nwas gone out hunting, a maid-servant, who held a high place in the\nhousehold, and whose forwardness the supposed Pedro had often noticed,\ncame and made a free confession of an irrepressible affection for him,\nand entreated him to marry her. Josefa, much annoyed at the incident,\ncould only answer that it was impossible: for she had not confidence\nin the girl to trust her with her secret.\n\nThe enraged girl, furious at the repulse, swore by Mahomet to be\nrevenged; accordingly, no sooner was the master returned, than she\nwent to him with every token of distress and indignation, and accused\nPedro of abusing his power as steward of the house, and having sought\nto force her to marry him although she had resisted because he was\na Christian, and the law of Mahomet forbade such an union.\n\nThe master, highly incensed at the perfidy of the slave he had treated\nwith so much forbearance and indulgence, ordered him to be thrown\ninto a dungeon and starved to death, without hearing any defence.\n\nSuch would indeed have been Josefa's fate, but that one of the slaves\nwho respected her brought her daily the scanty means of subsistence\nshe was able to secure. At the end of several days the master, coming\nto the dungeon to see what had befallen, was greatly provoked to\nfind her not only alive but comparatively well, and took up a cord\nto administer summary chastisement.\n\nThis indignity was more than Josefa could endure; to avert it, she\nbegged him to listen to her; told him she could easily prove the\nfalsity of the accusation under which she was suffering, seeing she\nwas a woman.\n\nThe master was delighted to hear the exculpation of his favourite\nslave, and immediately had her released and reinstated in her\nauthority, and the shameless accuser consigned to the same prison.\n\nFrom this time he continued to extend his favour and confidence towards\nher: of all the people about him who shared his pleasures and his\nriches, she was the only one to whom he could talk of the absorbing\nagony of his soul, the remorse for having renounced his religion and\nbecome a renegade. The result was that he one day announced to her\nthat he had made arrangements for realizing the greater part of his\nfortune, which he divided in two parts, one of which he bestowed on\nher; with the other he had resolved to go to Rome in pilgrimage and\nendow a shrine, where he would pass the remainder of his days in\nprayer and penance.\n\nHe had found a merchant of his acquaintance who would take them\nin his ship to Alicante, whence he would start again for Rome, and\nJosefa would be free either to continue her journey thither or return\nto Valencia.\n\nJosefa's desire of once more embracing her parents made her elect the\nlatter course. Their plan was executed to the letter without hindrance.\n\nArrived once more at Valencia, Josefa was not slow to find her way\nto her father's palace. An old servant who had been in the house\nbefore she was born, and watched her grow up, opened the door, but\ndid not recognize her, which she took for a presage that she might\ncome unknown into her parents' presence also.\n\nShe found them seated side by side, and bewailing the loss of their\nonly child.\n\n\"I have come to tell you,\" she broke in, \"that your child is now in\nthis very city; three years and a half she has been a captive slave\nin Tunis, though not serving as a slave, for she was absolute master\nof the household of her owner. And at the end of that time he gave\nher her liberty together with a large fortune in money.\"\n\n\"Oh, sir, tell us where is she!\" ejaculated Don Juan Ramirez;\n\"let our aged eyes rest on her again before we die, so shall we be\nconsoled for our troubles!\"\n\nThen Do\u00f1a Josefa threw off her disguise, and falling on her knees\nbefore them, entreated their pardon for all her errors and all the\nanxiety she had given them.\n\nHaving received that, she told them she had determined to pass the\nrest of her days in penitence in a convent, which she did with their\nhearty approval; and in this kind of life she spent many years,\naffording a lively and edifying example to all. And thus ended in\npeace the tragic adventures of Do\u00f1a Josefa Ramirez y Marmolejo.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE STEEPLE OF COVE\u00d1A.\n\n\nAt a very little distance from Madrid you may already discern against\nthe horizon the outline of the steeple of Cove\u00f1a, which is one of the\nhandsomest edifices of New Castile; and all the thitherward way it\nis before you, standing against the sky as a landmark to the traveller.\n\nThe people are so proud of having a church which bears so unusual a\nproportion to the size of their village, that they will not allow it\nwas designed by any architect of less renown than Juan de Herrera,\nthe architect of the Escorial, whom another tradition declares to\nhave had a hand in the works at St. Peter's, in Rome.\n\nNor are they satisfied with the mere statement; they are also very\ncircumstantial in their account of his connexion with it, though\nboth are declared to be quite apocryphal. They say he was so pleased\nwith this work of his genius that he had it produced entirely under\nhis own eye. He watched while the foundations were laid, while the\nmaterials were collected round the spot, while every stone was laid\nin its place; in fact, he was never tired of looking at it: now he\nwould take a long walk into the country to enjoy its appearance in\nthe distant view; now he would stand in the plaza beneath, and gaze\nup at the storied decorations with which his fancy had invested it;\nnow he would mount the interior staircase of the tower, and look down\nfrom the monument he had raised, upon the insignificant dwellings\nwith which it was surrounded.\n\nOn one of these latter expeditions he observed that he was one day\nfollowed by Andres, his son, a boy of some fifteen years of age. The\ncircumstance pleased him, because he had noticed with growing sorrow\nthat Andres on many occasions had failed to display that fearless\ndisposition which is the characteristic of a brave and generous\nspirit. Through an opening in the tracery he turned to watch, from\na higher stage, the boy's proceedings. For a certain distance he\nmounted steadily enough, but in proportion as he got higher and had\ncompleted more turnings, giddiness seemed to overcome him. Juan de\nHerrera began to lose patience. The boy wiped the perspiration from\nhis forehead, and sat down in a recess. Herrera felt so provoked\nthat he could not restrain an impetuous movement; slight as was the\nattendant noise, it struck upon the boy's excited nerves; he started\nfrom his resting-place, trembling like an aspen leaf.\n\n\"What's the matter, Andres, my boy?\" cried his father, to reassure him:\n\"it is only I, your father.\"\n\n\"I'm all right!\" replied Andres, ashamed to be caught under a display\nof weakness.\n\n\"Then come on, boy; and don't sit panting like a broken-winded\nhorse. There, put your head out of that slit in the wall, and look\ndown and see what a fine height I have made this tower. You'll see\nDolores and Pepito and Luis and Mariquilla playing in the plaza,\nand they will look like ants from this high tower.\"\n\nAndres somewhat recovered from his exertions and his alarm, and,\ncurious to see his playmates looking \"like ants,\" summoned sufficient\ncourage to put his head through the loophole.\n\nFor the first time the boy experienced the effect of the giddy height;\nhe hung back and turned pale, then pressed his hands against the wall\nfor support.\n\n\"Coward! you don't mean to say you are afraid!\" exclaimed Juan\nde Herrera.\n\n\"Oh--no--I'm not afraid,\" stammered poor Andres, making a convulsive\neffort to look out through the slit once more.\n\nThis time he remained so long opposite the opening and so steadily,\nthat his father hoped he had got over the first fears; but, watching\nhim anxiously, he observed, as he at length turned away, that he had\nhis eyes closed.\n\nIndignant that his son should not have as robust courage as the\npeasant boys of the village, and still more that he should not be\nin a condition to enjoy his favourite structure, Juan de Herrera,\nunable to master his irritation, loaded the boy with reproaches;\nand Andres slunk away, grieved at having distressed his father,\nyet unable to summon courage sufficient to satisfy his wishes.\n\nSome days after this, the consecration of the church took place, and\nthe municipal functionaries invited the architect and his son to a\nbanquet on the occasion, at which were assembled all the notabilities\nof the place, as well as many from neighbouring villages, and even\nfrom Madrid. Juan de Herrera deemed, with more zeal than judgment,\nthat this would be a favourable opportunity for curing his son of his\nweakness, and to effect this narrated to the company the circumstance\nstated above.\n\n\"Father, it was a passing folly,\" cried the boy, burning with shame;\n\"give me an opportunity, and I will show you that I do not deserve\nyour opinion.\"\n\nThere was a pause, for the boy spoke with such thrilling earnestness\nthat the smile of derision which had been raised at his expense died\naway from every lip.\n\n\"The galera [16] has just brought down the cross and ball for the\nsummit of the steeple,\" continued Andres; \"let me go up and place it,\nand I shall have had the merit of crowning your work.\"\n\n\"You will never dare it!\" answered Juan de Herrera contemptuously.\n\n\"Let me show you I am not so bad,\" pleaded Andres.\n\n\"Bear in mind, boy, that if your courage fails when you get to that\nheight it will cost you your life.\"\n\n\"Don't be afraid; my courage will not be wanting,\" replied Andres.\n\n\"Be it so then,\" rejoined Juan de Herrera; \"to-morrow you shall show\nwhat you are worth,\" and he clasped the boy's hand to encourage him in\nhis courageous resolution, and all round the table applauded his pluck.\n\nThe next morning found all who were at the banquet, and many more\nwhose curiosity the report of the story had excited, gathered in the\nplaza round the Church of Cove\u00f1a. There at the foot of the steeple lay\nshining the huge cross and ball, newly clad with gilding and bound\nwith strong ropes, by means of which it was to be hoisted over the\nready adjusted pulleys into its place.\n\n\"If you don't feel up to the mark, you had better give in, even\nnow!\" whispered Juan de Herrera, under the porch. \"It is still time;\nand, mind, it is no easy task!\"\n\n\"My head is quite steady,\" answered Andres, piqued to find his father\nstill doubted his daring; and, his head erect, without waiting to\nhear another word of warning, he commenced the ascent of the spiral\nstair at a rapid pace.\n\nNot altogether free from uneasiness, Juan de Herrera went out to watch\nthe result from the stone cross in the centre of the plaza. The whole\ncrowd was nearly as breathless and anxious as the father, but before\ntwo minutes had elapsed Andres was seen emerging from behind one of\nthe pinnacles of a platform, level with the beam on which the bell\nhad been hung a few days before.\n\nA shudder seized the throng, for some one whispered that he had\nheard the bell sound as the youth passed by, and the rest took up\nthe words and repeated under their breath with superstitious terror,\n\"La campana ha tocado \u00e1 muerto [17]!\"\n\nHerrera, meantime, stood leaning against the cross a little way from\nthe crowd, and too much absorbed to catch the report. He seemed quite\ntranquil and had heard no sound.\n\nMost probably the lad had touched the clapper as he passed it.\n\nMeantime Andres was steadily mounting a step-ladder placed on the\nroof by which the final stage was to be reached, and from the steps\nwas engaged in arranging the support that was to receive the ball.\n\nThe workmen below were drawing the pulleys, and the ornament had\nnearly reached the summit; as it rose, Andres had to mount two steps\nmore. He raised his foot, but his courage failed.\n\n\"My son is lost, for he hesitates!\" cried the terror-stricken father,\nin a hoarse voice.\n\nThe multitude took up the cry; but, simultaneously with its utterance,\nthe luckless boy was precipitated to the ground, dashing against one\nof the buttresses as he fell.\n\n\n\nJuan de Herrera, adds the tradition, was never seen to smile again.\n\n\n\nOne day he went up to the top of the lantern of St. Lorenzo of the\nEscorial, and gazed over towards Cove\u00f1a. It seemed to him that he saw\ntwo fiery eyes glaring upon him from the steeple which had once been\nhis pride.\n\nEight days after he was found a corpse. It was the anniversary of\nthe death of his son.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nANOTHER FAIR MAID OF ZARAGOZA.\n\n\nThe title of the courageous maid who helped to defend the walls\nof her native Zaragoza against the assault of the French invaders,\nhas already become a household word among us. The troubles of the\nearly part of Queen Isabella's reign elicited another instance of\nfeminine constancy, which has likewise received its tribute of local\ncelebration, though exhibited in a more confined and womanly sphere.\n\nTwo sisters, Jacinta and Isabella, lived in Zaragoza with their\nbrother, Don Froilan. Among their acquaintance were two intimate\nfriends, Don Pablo and Don Matias, who both held commissions in\nthe National Militia. Don Matias was a handsome, generous young\nman, and a general favourite, but also somewhat light-hearted and\nunscrupulous. Don Pablo, on the other hand, was of a more solid,\nthoughtful character, rather respected after long acquaintance than\nliked at first sight. Now the characters of the two sisters, Jacinta\nand Isabella, were very much like those of their two friends; Jacinta\nbeing light and thoughtless, and Isabella steady and reflective;\nyet in spite of this, Don Pablo was more fascinated by Jacinta's\nbrilliant qualities than by Isabella's good and careful ways; while\nIsabella's good sense had taught her to prefer such a character as Don\nPablo's. And it was with a bleeding heart she saw it agreed between\nhim and her giddy sister that they were to be united for ever. Her\nsisterly affection, however, forbid her to do more than sigh in secret,\nand sigh she did many a day; not only for her own loss, but for Don\nPablo, whom she sincerely respected. For her light-hearted sister,\nin spite of her engagement to him, used to continue to be very merry\nwith Don Matias too.\n\nJust before the day appointed for the wedding, an \u00e9meute broke out\nat some little distance, and the Zaragoza Militia was ordered out to\nquell the disturbance. The world of Zaragoza turned out to see the\nmilitary array; and Don Froilan took his sisters on to the Cosa [18],\nalong with the rest; and while Jacinta chatted merrily with both Don\nPablo and Don Matias, as if they were going out to a review instead\nof to fight, Isabella, impressed with the danger of the situation,\nand the chance of never seeing her dear friend again, could hardly\nbring herself to bid them adieu.\n\nTime passed on, and no certain tidings came of the fate of the two\nofficers. Every day there were conflicting reports, but nothing\nreliable as to individual results.\n\nAt last a day came when the Zaragoza regiment returned, covered with\nlaurels and with hardly any losses from its ranks.\n\nThe Cosa was thronged with people welcoming the safe return of their\nfellow townsmen. Jacinta was soon in earnest conversation with Don\nMatias, while Isabella leant against a tree for support, as her gazing\neyes vainly sought Don Pablo.\n\nSoon the truth was learnt from Don Matias. After waiting about in the\ncover of houses and trees and hillocks for the insurgents for some\ntime, they had come to an open engagement with them, in which they\nwere in a short time entirely routed by the gallant Militia, who came\noff with only two killed and half a dozen wounded--but one of those\ntwo left for dead on the field was no other than Don Pablo! It needed\nall Isabella's fortitude and self-command to avoid showing greater\nagony at this announcement than was consistent with her having no\nnearer tie than that of an intended sister-in-law, while Jacinta,\nwho had no self-control, burst into a fearful excitement of grief.\n\nTaking Isabella's assumed calmness of manner for indifference towards\nthe absent, the young officer within a few hours of his return began\npaying her attentions. Jacinta's jealousy at this quenched all her\nlight grief for Don Pablo, and Don Matias soon found that his suit\nwould have far more chance of fortune with her. With characteristic\nfickleness he lost no time in urging it in the quarter where it met\nwith favour, and pushed it so warmly that their marriage was fixed\nfor an early day, being but a month from that on which Don Pablo was\nbelieved to have fallen.\n\nTo faithful Isabella's intense disgust, not only was the wedding so\nhurried on, but all Zaragoza was invited to a grand ball to celebrate\nthe occasion. Dressed in deep mourning she refused to have any thing\nto do with the festivity; but, on the contrary, ordered a funeral\nservice to be celebrated in the church to the memory of her lost hero.\n\nIt was just at this juncture, while the music of the marriage-ball [19]\nwas sounding merrily through the open windows of Don Froilan's house,\nand the solemn doble [20] was ringing from a neighbouring church,\nthat Don Pablo, healed of his wounds, and choosing the cool of the\nevening for his journey, came through the streets of Zaragoza, well\nwrapt up in his military cloak, intending to make straight for the\nhouse of his affianced bride. He stopped, however, at the barbiere's\nto have his hair and beard, long neglected during the campaign, made\npresentable. The barbiere is an institution in Spain which almost\nsupplies the place of an English club. Men go in to submit to the\nbarber's attentions, and while they are under his hands, or waiting\ntheir turn, they have leisure to discuss with each other the news\nand gossip of the day.\n\nDon Pablo was, as we have said, a serious man; his habits were\nreserved and homely, he had never cared for the barber's gossip,\nand his habit had been to manage his shaving arrangements at home,\nso he was no acquaintance of the barber. Accordingly, he came in on\nthis occasion unrecognized.\n\n\"Strange are the vicissitudes of human life!\" he exclaimed, as\nhe seated himself in the barber's chair--for he was somewhat of a\nphilosopher. \"Marriage-music and funeral-bells sounding at the same\ntime--what a strange lesson!\"\n\n\"Stranger still,\" broke in the prattling barber, \"if your worship\nknew what reference each bears to the same person!\"\n\n\"To the same person!\" rejoined Don Pablo; \"how can that possibly be?\"\n\n\"Why, the bells are for a funeral service for a distinguished officer,\nlost in the late encounter; and the merry music is for the marriage\nof his betrothed to a brother-officer!\"\n\nDon Pablo started as if he had been shot. The barber noticed his\nemotion. \"Your worship doubtless knows the officer of whom I speak,\"\nreplied the barber.\n\n\"Ye--es, I do--o!\" stammered Don Pablo, relieved to find the barber\nhad not hit nearer the mark. \"You speak of Don Pablo, of course?\"\n\n\"Of course I do!\" exclaimed the barber; \"no one has spoken of any\none else these last days. And here come some of his friends round\nthe corner; if you want to hear them speak of him you have only to\nlisten. I'll warrant he is the subject of their talk.\"\n\n\"I should like to hear what they say,\" said Don Pablo, whose curiosity\nwas strongly excited by these revelations about himself; \"but it\nmight embarrass them to see so near a friend to him as I was, here.\"\n\n\"Step to this unlighted window, and you will hear all without being\nseen.\"\n\nDon Pablo did as he was bid, and readily distinguished a group of\nhis acquaintances, with Don Froilan in their midst, standing at the\nbarber's door, lighting their cigars [21].\n\n\"How now, Don Froilan!\" exclaimed Don Lupercio; \"a ball at your own\nhouse in honour of your sister's wedding, and you out here!\"\n\n(\"Ah, poor fellow!\" said Don Pablo to himself, \"he won't countenance\nhis sister's fickleness. He was always a great friend of mine.\")\n\n\"Why, to tell you the truth,\" replied Don Froilan, \"the first part\nof a ball is always dull work. I have set them going, and I'm off to\nthe opera. I always enjoy the second act of an opera; it's the cream\nof the whole. I shall just skim that off, and then run back to the\nbest of the ball.\"\n\n(\"So,\" said Don Pablo, sadly, \"this is the man I have so often helped\nthrough his difficulties! And I really thought he cared for me!\")\n\n\"Now, really!\" said Don Mariano, \"I thought you were going to say\nthat you had come out to attend the funeral service for your friend\nDon Pablo----\"\n\n(\"Ah, yes, that would have been more like a friend!\" sighed Don Pablo.)\n\n\"A--a--funeral service? no--no, I'm not fond of that sort of thing,\nit's so melancholy! And then what's the use--if the fellow died,\nas I've no doubt he did, without so much as saying an 'Our Father,'\nwhat's the use of praying for him?\"\n\n(\"The atrocious calumny!\" exclaimed Don Pablo; \"and not one of them\nto say a word in my defence!\")\n\nAn awkward pause ensued, which was broken by the gallant young Don\nAntonio: \"And while we are wasting our time here, your sisters are\ndancing away and charming every one, as usual!\"\n\n(\"Dancing away while the church bells are tolling for poor me!\")\n\n\"My sisters--eh? No--o, not exactly; that is, only one of them. Jacinta\nis dancing, of course; but Isabella--a--won't--a--come in. I believe\nshe's gone to the church instead.\"\n\n(\"So, indeed, there's one of them at least who hasn't forgotten me! And\none, too, whose remembrance is more worth having than all the others'\nput together!\")\n\n\"Indeed!\" replied Don Lupercio; \"but I thought it was the other sister\nwho had been more attached to him.\"\n\n\"Attached? ah, yes--in one way; that is, she was engaged to him;\nbut as to attachment, that is, of the heart--between you and me--it\nwas Isabella who cared for him. Jacinta, you see, only wanted to be\nmarried, and Don Matias will do just as well for that--ha, ha, ha!\"\n\n\"You don't surprise me,\" responded young Don Antonio, who generally\nknew which way the ladies' inclination turned. \"Something of this I\nsuspected too.\"\n\n\"And I,\" added Don Mariano.\n\n(\"Fool that I was!\" growled Don Pablo; \"all these butterflies saw it,\nand I never ventured to think of it! I looked on her as a priestess,\na goddess--I never ventured to think of her in any other way. She\nwas always so grand and grave; and Jacinta was so accessible.\")\n\n\"But, good evening, gentlemen! I shall really miss the opera, if I\nstand chatting any longer,\" broke in Don Froilan.\n\nThey dispersed: Don Froilan bending his steps towards the opera, and\nthe rest towards the ball-room. Meantime, sadly veiled in black, and\nattended by Ramon, the old and trusty family-servant, Isabella crossed\nthe street, and entered the church as the last tolls were sounding.\n\n\"There she goes to pray for me--it is true enough!--while others are\ndancing!\" exclaimed Don Pablo, rapturously. \"But I'll have my joke\nwith Don Froilan yet.\"\n\n\"Barber!\" he cried, \"send me a notary, quick! I've some important\nbusiness which must be transacted instantly.\"\n\n\"On the instant, your worship!\" replied the barber. \"There is one\nlodging, luckily, in the sixth floor of this very house.\"\n\nTen minutes' conference with the notary settled the affair. Then he\nbid him run with the paper to Don Froilan's box at the theatre [22],\nand took up his station again at the window, to have the happiness\nof seeing Isabella once more as she came out of the church, and also\nto take the chance of enjoying the effect of the paper he had sent\nto Don Froilan. Nor did he wait long. In less time than he would\nhave thought possible, Don Froilan came running out of the opera,\nhurrying to take his place at the funeral service, and give a public\ntoken of his attention to the deceased. But the doors were closed,\nand Don Pablo's thoughts were diverted from her brother by the sight\nof Isabella, pale and haggard, her eyes worn with tears, coming out\nof the church, leaning on Ramon's arm.\n\n\"What! is it too late?\" cried Don Froilan, stumbling against her on the\nsteps in the dark. \"Oh dear, how hard! and I made such haste to come!\"\n\n\"But why this sudden haste, brother?\" replied Isabella,\ncontemptuously. \"This morning you chid me for disturbing the ball!\"\n\n\"Hush, child! if I did it, it was to please Jacinta--it was quite,\nquite against my own inclination. Oh, why wasn't I by to assist him\nin his last moments?\"\n\n\"But why all this sudden grief now?\"\n\n\"Sudden! it's not sudden; you know I always loved him as a brother;\nand here's the proof of how well he loved me. A notary has just brought\nme a will he left with him before he went to the war, constituting\nme his heir to all he had, dear fellow!\"\n\nIsabella pushed by him with a movement of disdain, which perfectly\ndelighted Don Pablo, and made her way mournfully into the house,\nattended as before by Ramon.\n\nDon Pablo lost little time in following her. Who could be proof\nagainst so much constancy? If he had looked on her as an inaccessible\ndivinity before, he felt sufficient encouragement now to tell her\nthat he thought so.\n\nThe faithful Ramon was very ready to lend his assistance, and Don\nPablo having taken him into confidence he dexterously managed to\nbreak the good news of his resurrection to his young mistress, who\nconsented to come down to the ball-room and confront her brother and\nsister on Don Pablo's presenting himself there too. The consternation\ncaused by his appearance was of course very great. Some of the ladies\nnearly fainted. Don Froilan guessed the trap he had fallen into,\nand turned away to cover his shame as well as disappointment at the\nloss of the inheritance. Jacinta and Matias hid their faces behind\nher fan; while Isabella and Pablo joined their loving hands amid the\njoyful congratulations of their assembled friends.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nJUANITA THE BALD; OR, A DAUGHTER'S LOVE.\n\n\nThere lived once upon a time on the banks of the Tagus a poor shepherd\nnamed Juan; and he was as honest as he was poor, and as contented as\nhe was honest. He had just enough wages to buy the coarse meal which\nsupported him and his hard-working wife, Consolacion. A zamarra, or\nsuit of rough sheepskin, which served to keep out the cold for several\nyears together, was afforded him from the flock, and with weaving\nand knitting Consolacion provided the rest of their scanty wardrobe.\n\nNow Juan had a large flock confided to his care, and his master\nreposed entire trust in him; but if he never had the provocation of\nbeing looked after, neither had he ever the satisfaction of being\npraised. Yet, notwithstanding this lack of all earthly stimulus,\nJuan was always faithful to his trust: no sheep ever strayed that he\ndid not seek out over the barren waste and the steep mountain-side;\nno little lamb was ever left by any sad accident without its dam,\nbut he brought it home to Consolacion, and the honest pair reared it\nas tenderly as if it had been their own infant.\n\nBut if Juan's master neglected to commend his integrity, there\nwas One who did not forget him, but kept a just account of all his\nactions. Thus it chanced one day, when after a long drought the herbage\nwas dried up, and he had had endless trouble in keeping his flock\ntogether, as the poor things would wander hither and thither while\nseeking pasture, that at last he got led away far from home, along\na wild path he had never trodden before, and the country all around\nhim looked strange, and yet there was the track of his runaway sheep\nbefore him, and on and on he went. The way was sandy, and the sun was\nfierce, and at last his strength failed him; footsore and dispirited\nhe sank down at the foot of a tree, whose shelter he vainly sought,\nas its foliage had long been burnt up by the parching sun, and only\nthe bleached trunk and thirsty branches remained. Half maddened with\nthirst and heat, he fell into a sort of trance, and he thought he\nsaw an ancient hermit of severe aspect standing before him, who chid\nhim that he lay there taking his rest while his master's sheep were\nastray, calling him only a zagal (or shepherd's helper).\n\nJuan did not lose his temper at the reprimand, but meekly begged\nforgiveness, and endeavoured to rise that he might get him upon his\nway again. His strength failed him, however, and he sank once more\nupon the ground. Then, in the place of the hermit, he saw before him\na beautiful child with a shepherd's crook in his hand, and carrying a\nlamb in his bosom, who told him to be comforted, for he had found his\nsheep, and fed them, and led them safely home to the fold. He commended\ntoo his faithful service, and told him that he was come to offer him a\nreward, and gave him the choice of three. The first was a large sum\nof money, with which he could go down to one of the rich seaports\nof Spain and trade. The second was a grand castle in the mountains,\nwhere he would have ease and luxury and plenty of retainers to do\nhis bidding. The third was to retain his present humble condition,\nwhile to his hearth was added the presence of a gentle daughter.\n\nThen honest Juan did not hesitate which to choose. \"Give me not money,\"\nsaid he, \"for money begets covetousness, and codicia rompe el saco\n[23]. Give me not power, for I was not born to it, and the proverb\nof our forefathers says, A fallen rich man may make a good master,\nbut not an enriched poor man (Sierve \u00e1 un rico empobrecido y no\n\u00e1 un pobre enriquecido). But give me--oh, give me a child to love\nme in my old age! I am but a poor, worthless servant to ask this\nthing--nevertheless, it is the bounty of God.\"\n\nWhen Juan woke to consciousness, the great heat of the day had\npassed away, and his shaggy dog was licking his face, as if to warn\nhim that he had but little time to get home before dark. Trusting\nto the animal's sagacity for guidance, he soon found his way home,\nwhere the sheep were safely folded, as the beautiful shepherd-child\nhad promised, and Consolacion was waiting on the threshold of the hut,\nto welcome him home to supper.\n\nTo his other virtues Juan added humility, and, indeed, without it they\nwould have been of little value; and it seemed so much like vanity\nto talk of his vision that he never mentioned a word of it, till it\nslipped off his tongue unawares years after. Nevertheless, before a\ntwelvemonth was out, a dear little baby was found in Consolacion's\narms, completing their simple happiness.\n\nJuanita (little Janey)--so they called her--was beautiful as a child\nof promise should be, but her chief glory was the rich profusion of\nwaving hair which covered her like a veil, and rested gracefully on\nthe ground as she knelt in prayer. She grew up the joy of her parents,\nand being very docile soon learnt all the domestic arts of her mother,\nand was never so happy as when she was relieving her of her household\ncares. If they had any thing to complain of with her it was that she\nhad quite a passion for admiring her beautiful hair; and when she\nwas sent to the fountain she would sometimes waste hours looking at\nherself, and arranging it according to various fancies. But when her\nmother looked grave on her return, it was quite sufficient to keep\nher from offending so again for many days.\n\nThus many years of tranquil, homely joy passed away. Peace and\ngladness is not of long continuance in this world for the good, and\nJuan's time of trouble was at hand. First, it pleased Providence to\ntake Consolacion to Himself; then, as a result of much weeping over\nher, and his great privations and long exposure to sun and weather,\nhis eyes grew dim, and then his sight failed him entirely. Then the\nold dog, by whose help he still managed to keep the sheep together,\nin spite of his blindness, died too; and he was of no use any longer\nas a shepherd, and he had nothing left to him but Juanita. Juanita,\nit is true, fulfilled all a daughter's part, and by her industry\nsupported him above actual want.\n\nBut her little head was always running on how his sight\ncould be regained; and one day she revealed the result of her\ncogitations. \"Father dear, do not all the wise people live in great\ncities? Let us now get us down to prosperous Segovia, or noble Toledo,\nor beautiful Sevilla, and let us find some of the cunning men to heal\nof whom we have heard, and get you back your sight.\"\n\nBut Juan lacked the courage to undertake so great a journey and\nexpose his little daughter to all the attendant risks by the way;\nand he was a man of great patience to endure what the Lord sent; and\nso they remained in the mountain-hut for five years more. By that\ntime Juanita was fifteen, and quite a little woman, and her advice\nbegan to have the weight of a woman's authority with her father,\nand at last she got him to consent to her often-urged prayer that\nthey should journey to seek a doctor.\n\nJuanita's ears had been ever open to learn every story of healing from\nevery traveller who chanced to pass their cot, and in this way she\nhad learnt the fame of a certain Jew mediciner, who dwelt at Toledo,\nand to Toledo therefore she was bent on directing their steps.\n\nA beautiful sight it was to see the venerable old man leaning his hand,\nwithered with honest labour, on the silken tresses of his courageous\nchild. The way was long, but there was no lack of hospitality; the\nadmiration of the peasants they passed was every where kindled by\nJuan's patience and Juanita's devotion, and a bite and a sup never\nfailed them. At last they came to Toledo; and in a great city it was\nnot so easy to find shelter, but God warmed to them the heart of an\nold woman who had herself suffered and learnt compassion by suffering;\nshe gave them a bed, and Juanita's busy fingers, before long, provided\nmeans of subsistence.\n\nHer next care was to make out the Hebrew doctor, which was not of the\neasiest, as those of his race were scarcely tolerated, and did not care\nto make themselves ostensible. However, a daughter's love overcomes\nall obstacles, and at last she found the means to bring her father\nbefore the wise man. Imagine her joy, when after all her labours, he\npronounces with confidence that he can restore her father's sight! For\na moment of joy, a twelve-month of anxiety, however. In another minute\nshe has learnt that he demands 500 maravedis for the cure!\n\n\"Abate something for charity? What! charity to a dog of a\nChristian! Why, it was enough that he soiled his fingers with healing\nhim, but to forego his pitiful fee too,--never! by the Holy City,\nnever!\"\n\nJuanita could speak no word more for tears. In silence she placed her\nfather's hand on her glittering hair, and in sadness guided his weak\nfootsteps back to their poor shelter.\n\nHard work it had been to provide subsistence for them both, and to\nmake a little extra to have something to offer to the lone widow,\nwho had taken them in--but how hope ever to make up 500 maravedis? If\nin the first days of their arrival she had wasted some precious hours\nover her old favourite pastime of arranging her luxuriant tresses,\nand had taken pleasure when people called out in admiration--all that\nwas gone by now. She sat at her little loom, work, work, work!--she\nnever took her hands off, never lifted her eyes, never even saw that\nthe barber who lived opposite was constantly gazing upon her. The only\nthing to cheer her was the placid voice of Juan, who would continually\nbid her be of good comfort and put her trust in God.\n\nOne day, in the midst of her toil, there came a messenger from the\nCorregidor of the city. His aunt had died that day, and as she died\nunmarried, a procession of girls equal in number to the years of her\nlife must follow her to the grave, draped in white. She numbered\neighty years, and Juanita was required to make up the eightieth\nattendant. Juanita could not say \"Nay,\" even though it cost her such\nprecious hours.\n\nWhen she came into the hall where the mourners were assembled\nshe found to her no slight disgust that the dress she had to wear\nconsisted in part of a great white hood. It was hard, on the only day\nshe suffered herself to part from her work, to have to cover up her\nglorious hair! At all events, till the procession began to move she\nwould throw it back. She did so, and it made her look the picture\nof an angel, as it fell in rich curls over the white dress. At the\nsame moment the Corregidor's wife passed through the hall. Though\nyounger than her defunct sister-in-law she had arrived at that age\nwhen nature sometimes thinks it right to withdraw her gift of hair,\nand sorely did she lament the loss. For a long time past she had left\nan order with a clever barber of the city to manufacture her a wig\nwhich should make good the defect, and he was to swear it was no dead\nperson's hair. She had a superstition that in wearing the hair of a\ndead person, you assumed the responsibility of all their sins, and,\nthe good lady being sufficiently satisfied with her own position in the\nscale of grace, had no desire to run the risk of getting a worse one,\neven for the sake of the coveted wig. But a wig made of the hair of\na living person was not an order easy to execute. The moment her eyes\nfell on Juanita's magnificent cabellera (head of hair) she determined\nthat it should not be long before it should decorate her own head.\n\nAccordingly, she hastened to call the Corregidor aside and assure him\nhe must procure it for her. The Corregidor knowing the attachment\na maiden was likely to have for such an adornment, endeavoured to\nconvince her of the impossibility of the task. All was of no use,\nsave to render her more resolute. The Corregidor knew that in disputes\nwith his wife he always had to give in at last, and so, to pacify her,\npromised he would do his best, and to satisfy her that he did so the\ninterview was arranged to take place in her presence.\n\nThe funeral was no sooner over than the Corregidor beckoned Juanita\nto follow him into his wife's room.\n\nPoor little Juanita never thought of resisting an order from so great\na functionary, but tripped along lightly behind him.\n\nWhat was her surprise to find herself severely chid for wasting\nthe time she might spend in working for her father in the vanity of\ndecking out her hair! Juanita did not grow angry, or deny her fault,\nbut could not forbear asking, with great simplicity, \"Was it her\nfault if God had given her a great mass of hair to comb out?\"\n\n\"Not your fault at all, my dear child,\" said the Corregidor, much\nrelieved to find she took his admonitions so meekly. \"Not your fault\nat all, so long as you keep it on your head; but you might cut it\nall off.\"\n\n\"Cut it off!\" repeated poor Juanita, mechanically; \"what would be\nthe use of that?\"\n\n\"Why, you might sell it, child. I myself would give you fifty maravedis\nfor it.\"\n\n\"Give me fifty maravedis for it!\" exclaimed the child, wondering what\nhe could possibly want it for.\n\nThe Corregidor, fancying her surprise was dictated by indignation at\nthe smallness of his offer, and incited by a gesture from his wife,\nimpatient lest she should lose the prize, hastened to reply, \"Well,\nif that does not content you, I'll give you 100 maravedis.\"\n\nBut Juanita's astonishment only increased; so she stared at him\ninstead of answering.\n\n\"I'd even say 150,\" continued the Corregidor.\n\nBut Juanita only looked the more surprised. And so they went on, his\nanxiety bidding against her bewilderment, till at last he got up to\n500 maravedis!\n\n\"500 maravedis!\" echoed the child, as if waking from a trance at the\nwords which brought back to memory the fee required to restore her\nfather's sight. \"Oh, yes! give me 500 maravedis, it is all yours\nat that!\" And then the thought of her great loss made her burst\ninto a flood of tears. It was a thought which for a moment almost\noverpowered her strong sense of filial piety, and in the depth of\nher little heart she half wished the Corregidor would repent of his\nbargain. But no such luck; at her first sign of yielding the lady had\nrun off to fetch her largest scissors, and in a trice she had begun\nshearing at the glittering spoil. Down the bright silken masses fell\non the snowy drapery, and beside them fell the child's pearly tears\nover her lost treasure. At last the sacrifice was complete; and poor\nJuanita stood in the midst of the ruin more dead than alive.\n\nThen the Corregidor counted into her lap the promised sum, and the\nreckoning once more woke a sensation of joy. Wrapping her hood close\nround her, Juanita lost not a moment in flying to conduct her father\nto the house of the Jew.\n\nHer thoughts were now entirely fixed on the moment of his restoration,\nbut even this thought was embittered by the reflection that his one\nreason for desiring to have his sight back was to look on her--and\nshe was no longer what she had been!\n\nThe strange alteration in her appearance soon got whispered about among\nthe neighbours; and she got so much stared at that she never ventured\ninto the street but when forced by sheer necessity, and then she ran\nalong, looking neither to the right hand nor the left, and not even\nperceiving how considerately her opposite neighbour the barber followed\nher steps, and defended her from the rudeness of the street boys.\n\nAt last her father's tedious cure was completed, and she was admitted\nto see him. Some one had, unperceived by her, followed her respectfully\nall the way, ready to protect her at all hazards. In the zaguan (sort\nof vestibule) of the Jew's house this faithful follower confronted\nher, and she recognized the gallant barber at once. Gently pushing\nback her hood he substituted another covering for her head. Juanita\nput up her hand, and, to her surprise, found it tangled in the masses\nof her own rich hair! She stroked it with both hands, and found it all\nthere, just as if by enchantment. Finding her dumb with astonishment,\nthe barber hastened to explain that the wife of the Corregidor having\nsent the hair to him to make up, he had resolved no one should wear\nit but herself, and for the Corregidora he had put together the best\nmatch he could from the store he kept by him for such purposes. They\nwere now interrupted by a summons from the Jew, who was ready to remove\nJuan's bandages. They no sooner reached the room where he was, than\nhe ran and clasped Juanita in his arms, exclaiming, \"God be praised\nthat I can see you, my child--a few years' blindness are well repaid\nwhen it is reserved to one to see such a daughter as you!\" Then,\nperceiving the barber, he embraced him too, and said, \"God be praised\nfor my sight! since I can now work for my living again, and repay you,\nmy benefactor, for well I know, though I would never tell Juanita\nto increase her burden, that it is you who have paid the rent of our\nlodging all this time! My son, my dear son, what can I do for you?\"\n\n\"There is one thing, father, you can do for me--one only thing,\nbut it is too great to ask!\"\n\n\"Nothing is too great to-day--ask away, boy, never fear!\" The\nbarber looked towards Juanita to gain courage, and, seeing her\napproving smile, fell on his knees and begged Juan to let him marry\nher. \"With all my heart, if the wench so will,\" replied the old man;\n\"I cannot see her wedded to an honester fellow!\" Juan was not slow to\nread in her eyes what her sentiments were, and so, without more ado,\nhe took the hand of each to place them in one another. But both drew\nback. The barber, with all his charity and delicacy and taste, was\nvery ugly, and he could not believe in his good fortune; and Juanita\nhad one condition to lay down first. \"How now! what's this?\" said\nthe father. \"Come, friend barber, explain yourself.\"\n\n\"Well, sir, I think it is but fair to give Juanita time to consider it\nall. I know I'm not so good-looking as her husband ought to be. Long\nago should I have told her how I loved her but for this--but I dared\nnot! I longed to offer the 500 maravedis over and over again, but I\ndared not speak to her; and now the joy is all so strange I feel I\nmust not hurry her.\"\n\n\"Well spoken, young man! but, Juanita, what do you hang back for?\"\n\n\"I--I have one little condition to make;\" and she turned to the\nbarber. \"I have been thinking that we have not acted quite honestly\nwith the Corregidora. She has a superstition against wearing dead\npeople's hair, and she has paid honourably for that of a living\nperson--so what she has bought must be taken back to her. Moreover,\nI recognize that all my life this hair has been a snare to me, and\nwhenever I have been led from the path of duty it has been by its\nmeans--so I am resolved never to wear it again, and to be known in\nfuture by no other name but that of Juanita the Bald! What say you,\nare you content to marry me now?\" The honest barber--perhaps on the\nwhole not very sorry for a stipulation which put them somewhat nearer\non a condition of equality in regard to personal appearance--only\nanswered by clasping her in his embrace.\n\n\"What! what is all this,\" fell in the old man, \"about hair and the\nCorregidora, and Juanita the--the Bald!--eh?\" Then the barber was\nobliged to explain to him the sacrifice Juanita had made, first to\nobtain his cure, and again to her sense of honour, and her delicacy of\nconscience. The old man was quite unnerved by the recital. At first\nhe was determined to resist her resolution; but his own mind was too\nwell regulated not to acknowledge on reflection that she had chosen\nthe good part.\n\nThen, after blessing solemnly, both her and her betrothed, he\nexclaimed, \"Did I not choose rightly from among the three gifts?\" (in\nhis humility he would not say rewards). \"If I had chosen riches, they\nwould have burst the bag and run away. And if I had chosen power,\nmy retainers would have mocked my want of knowledge, and forsaken\nme. But a daughter's love--what can compare with it?\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nSTARVING JOHN THE DOCTOR.\n\n\nNo one was ever more appropriately named than 'Starving John.' He had\nnothing to live upon, yet he had a wife and a whole tribe of children\nto support: how to feed them all he knew not; and as for himself it\nwas seldom enough he got a morsel to eat!\n\nOne day the cat caught a hare, and John's wife managed to take it from\nhim; and having made a savoury mess of it, she put it into a wallet\nand said to John, \"Here, take this hato [24]; it's a lucky taste of\nsomething nice, such as you don't often get; and go out into the fields\nwith it before those sharks of children snatch it out of your mouth.\"\n\nJohn, who was ready to die of hunger, didn't wait to be told twice,\nbut set off running as fast as his legs would carry him. At last he\ncame to an olive-grove; and there, making an easy-chair of a hollow\nolive-tree, he sat down to eat his hare, as happy as a king.\n\nSomehow however--he could never tell how--there suddenly stood before\nhim a dreadful old woman, all dressed in black: she had sunken eyes\nas dull as a blown-out candle, or a lamp-wick when the oil fails;\nher skin was as withered and yellow as a Simancas [25] parchment;\nher mouth like a clothes-basket; and her nose I don't know how to\ndescribe--for she had no nose at all to speak of.\n\n\"A pretty figure this to fall from heaven, like God's rain, on a poor\nfellow!\" said John to himself; but as he was polite and hospitable,\nas a Spanish peasant always is, he nevertheless asked if she would\nshare his meal.\n\nThis was just what the old creature wanted; down she sat, and at\nonce attacked the hare. But it was not like ordinary eating, it was\nregular devouring; and, en un decir tilin [26], she had stowed away\nthe whole mess between her heart and her shoulders!\n\nJohn was too polite to grumble out aloud, but he said to himself,\n\"Why, the children had better have had the hare than this old hag! but\n\u00a1el que tiene mala fortuna nada le sale derecho [27]!\"\n\nWhen his visitor had finished her meal--not leaving so much as the\ntail of the hare in the ollita [28]--she exclaimed, \"Do you know,\nJohn, your hare was very good!\"\n\n\"So I see,\" said John, who could not repress a little bitterness. And\nhe added, ironically, in honour of her decrepit appearance, \"\u00a1viva\nUsted mil a\u00f1os [29]!\"\n\n\"So I shall,\" answered the hag; \"I have lived many thousands already,\nfor I have to tell you I am no less a person than Death!\"\n\nJohn gave a start, and was like one struck dumb at this announcement.\n\n\"Don't be afraid, John,\" she continued, \"I don't want to hurt you;\nand what is more, as you have treated me so well, I'll give you a\ngood counsel in return. Make yourself a doctor--there's nothing like\nit for making money!\"\n\n\"I am much obliged to you, Mistress Death,\" answered John, very\nrespectfully, \"but it will be quite return enough, if you'll promise\nto leave me alone for a good number of years. As to being a doctor,\nI've no notion how to set about it. I know neither Latin nor Greek;\nI can't write because my hand is palsied; and I can't read because\nI hate poring over those little black figures!\"\n\n\"Go along with you, you silly fellow!\" answered Mrs. Death; \"you don't\nsuppose any of this is necessary? It's I who lead the doctors, not\nthey me. You are not such a goose as to think I go and come because\nthey hiss me or call me, are you? when I get tired of any one, I take\nhim by the ear and drag him off, doctor or no doctor. When the world\nbegan there were no doctors, and men lived to a good old age. But\nsince they invented doctors there have been no more Methuselahs! You\nmake yourself a doctor, as I advise you; and if you are perverse\nand obstinate, I'll carry you off with me, mas fijo que el reloj\n[30]! Don't prate!\" she added, as she saw he was going to urge some\nobjection; \"this is all you have to do--when they call you into a\nbed-room look out for me. If you see me standing at the head of the\nbed, you'll know it's all up--you have only to say so, and they'll\nfind you're a wise prophet. If, on the other hand, you don't see me,\nyou have only to prescribe a dose of clean water, with any thing\nharmless you like in it, and the sick person will recover.\"\n\nWith that the ugly old lady took herself off, courtesying like a\nFrench dancing-mistress.\n\n\"I hope your worship won't forget, Mistress Death, what I asked\nyou!\" John cried after her--\"your worship won't visit me again for\na long time to come, eh?\"\n\n\"Don't be afraid, John,\" she answered, as she disappeared, \"until\nyour house crumbles to pieces you won't have a visit from me.\"\n\nJohn returned home to his wife, and told her all that had happened;\nand his wife, being sharper than he, determined to make use of\nMrs. Death's advice, and in spite of his remonstrances spread about\nevery where the news that her husband was a famous doctor--that he\nhad only to look at a patient to tell whether he would live or die.\n\nAll the neighbours, however, only laughed at the idea of Starving John\nturning doctor in his old age, and called him \"Don John\" in ridicule.\n\nOne Sunday they went so far as to arrange a practical joke to show off\nhis ignorance. A number of girls were to sit round a basket of figs,\nas they often did of a holiday afternoon in the fruit season, when,\nall of a sudden, one of them was to give a terrible cry as if taken\nill, and some of the others were to carry her off to bed, while the\nrest ran for Starving John the Doctor.\n\nJohn had no great faith in Mrs. Death's promises, and was loath to\nexpose himself to the ridicule of the girls, but at his wife's urging\nhe went along with them, when, lo and behold, he no sooner entered the\nroom of the pretended patient, than he saw Mrs. Death herself standing\nat the head of the bed! \"The girl is very ill indeed--too ill for\nme to save. She'll die before night!\" pronounced John, in a knowing\ntone. And he went home amid the laughter of the assembled neighbours,\nwho knew what the girls were playing at. But it so happened that the\nunfortunate girl had been eating the fruit too freely--that she was\ntaken ill and died that very night!\n\nAs you will readily guess, this made Starving John's fortune.\n\nFar or near, there was no patient slightly or dangerously ill to\nwhom he was not called; fees flowed in like rain. No longer was he\ndressed in rags; his clothes were properly made by a tailor. Instead\nof his pinched, woebegone look, his face grew as ruddy as the sun;\nhis withered hands, as smooth as pork-sausages; his shaking legs, as\nfirm as marble columns; and his empty stomach assumed dimensions to\nvie with the dome of a church. For his children he bought honourable\nemployments, and badges of office to sew on in front, and keys [31]\nto hang out behind.\n\nBut what he spared least of all was the money required to keep his\nhouse in good repair. He even salaried a bricklayer, whose business\nit was to see there was never so much as a tile loose, remembering\nthat Mrs. Death had said she would never come to visit him till his\nhouse crumbled to pieces.\n\nYears rolled by as John's fortune increased, but as prosperous years\nalways roll away--fast; and then came less fortunate years. First his\nhair fell off, and then he lost his teeth; then his spine got curved\nlike a reaping-hook; and then he grew halt in one of his legs. One\nday, when he was ill, Mrs. Death sent him a bat, with her compliments,\nto inquire after him; but John didn't like the look of the creature,\nand drove it away. After that he had a cough; and Mrs. Death sent\nan owl, to say she would come and see him very soon, and John drove\nhim away too. After that he had a fit; and Mrs. Death sent a dog,\nto give him to understand, by howling at his door, that she was on\nher way, and John drove him away also. But he got ill for all that,\nand then he got worse, and then Mrs. Death knocked at the door, so\nJohn hobbled out of bed, and locked it and put up the bar; but Death\ncontrived to creep in under the door.\n\n\"Mrs. Death!\" said John, indignantly, \"this isn't fair. You told me\nyou wouldn't come so long as my house was not crumbling to pieces.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" answered Death, \"isn't your body your house--and hasn't that\nbeen crumbling to pieces? Didn't your strength fail first, and then\nyour hair, and then your teeth, and then your limbs; haven't they\nall been crumbling away?\"\n\n\"I certainly didn't understand you so!\" answered John, dolefully,\n\"and relying on your word, your coming now takes me by surprise.\"\n\n\"That is your fault, John,\" answered Death. \"Men ought to be always\nprepared for my coming, and then I should never take them by surprise.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nRAMON THE DISCONTENTED.\n\n\nRamon was a discontented man. Instead of thanking Providence for\nall the good gifts of earth, and the promise of the joys of heaven,\nhe was always repining at the hardships of his life, and finding out\none thing after another to grumble at. Work he specially objected\nto. He wanted a cottage, and a pig, and a stock of poultry, and a\nvine, and a wife, a smoking cazuela [32], and plenty of tobacco; but\nwhen it came to working to pay for them, then it was quite another\nstory. He was an only son; his hard-working parents had spoilt him\nby letting him have his own way, supplying him with all he wanted out\nof their own earnings; and so he grew up idle and apathetic, finding\nfault with fate, instead of putting his shoulder to the wheel: \"Estan\nlas cosas en este mundo como cuernos en un costal--todas de punta\"\nwas a favourite proverb of his, meaning that the events of this life\nare like packing horns into a bag, the points of those first put in\nare always making their way through and obstructing the others. And\nindeed, if people indulge a discontented disposition, every thing\nmust go wrong with them.\n\nStrange, that any one can find pleasure in such an ugly habit as\ngrumbling. Ramon had been made by nature a good-looking boy; but a\nsour, gloomy expression soon superseded the engaging smile of youth;\nand as he had never a pleasant word, his society was gradually shunned\nby all the village. The last to give him up was Carmen, the bright\nlittle playmate of his childhood, but he wore out even her patience,\nand then, when he was left to himself, he grew more and more sour\nand morose.\n\nIn the meantime, his good old father and mother had died, and for a\ntime he had been living on the savings they had left him; but this\nwas soon at an end, and hunger forced home the reflection, \"What was\nto become of him?\" Then every thing seemed gloomier than ever before\neven--he sat down to think under the old patriarchal vine, which had\nshaded his father, and his grandfather, and his great-grandfather\nbefore him; but the fierce sun came through the withered branches and\nmaddened him. He had neglected to tend it, and it had no shelter for\nhim. Instead of blaming his own neglect, he turned with an imprecation\nupon the vine, and his ill-humour overflowed on to the old house,\nagainst the wall of which he leant and which was also crumbling to\ndecay because he had left it without repair; and upon Carmen, whose\npatience he had wearied, and upon fortune, whose gifts he had left\nwaste. And in his fury he said that he would die. \"Die!\" echoed a\nlittle leaf of the withered vine, as it fell rustling past him, \"You\ncan't die when you will, you must fulfil the work God has set you,\nwhatever it be.\"\n\n\"Work! I will do no work. I will die!\" he answered fiercely.\n\n\"You cannot die when you will!\" whispered another rustling leaf.\n\n\"We shall see!\" said Ramon; and with that he took up the rope of the\nwell, and, stalking wildly upstairs, he deliberately made a noose,\ninto which he inserted his throat, tied one end over a beam in the\nloft, and placed himself on an old chest, ready to jump off and so\nswing tight the fatal knot which was to end his days.\n\nHe shut his eyes, and took a desperate leap ... but ... instead of\ndrawing the noose tight, the beam above broke in twain, and the two\nends came with him to the ground. He had scarcely recovered from one\nsurprise, when he had to encounter another. On each side of him a\nstream of golden coins came running through the broken ends of the\nhollowed beam. What a sight for a lazy, self-indulgent man! Ramon\nthought no more of hanging now. He untied the knot, gathered up the\ngold, and secured it in chests and hiding-places, and came down to\nenjoy himself once more in his old idle way.\n\nHe trod on a dry leaf of the old vine, as he passed through the garden,\nand it whispered,--\n\n\"What a chance for you, Ramon! Buy yourself a patch of land, and set\nto work like a man, and show Carmen you are worthy of her.\"\n\n\"Work! while I have gold enough to last for ever? Not I, indeed!\"\n\n\"It won't last for ever, Ramon,\" rustled out another falling leaf.\n\nBut Ramon heeded not. Some of his treasure he spent rationally enough,\nI must say, in having the old cottage repaired, and the old vine\ntended; but the bulk he squandered in excesses, and in a few years\nwas as badly off as ever.\n\nWant once more stared him in the face, and once more he resolved to\nput an end to his existence.\n\n\"You are not fit to die!\" said the patriarchal vine; but Ramon hastened\naway, he had not the courage to encounter the dreadful thought.\n\nHe snatched up a rusty, disused spade--he was out of conceit with\nhanging. This time he would dig a deep hole in the ground, and thrust\nhimself in head foremost, and stifle himself that way.\n\nDigging was hard work for arms so unused to labour, but he had never\nthought to find it so hard as it proved. He had not taken out a dozen\nspadefuls when the spade seemed to refuse to enter the ground any\nmore. Had his arms grown so stiff they could not move? Or was the\nearth so hard he could not break it?\n\nThe evening breeze rustled by, bearing with it some leaves of the\nold vine; and as they passed they whispered,--\n\n\"You can't die when you will, Ramon! Only be content to work as hard as\nnow in a good cause, and you won't want to die till your time comes.\"\n\nProvoked into energy by what he considered a taunt, instead of being\nsoftened by the fatherly counsel, he made one more desperate thrust\nof the spade into the hole. Instead of entering deeper, its rusty\npan broke short off, but with a sound which showed him it had struck\nagainst something made of metal; and putting his hand down to the\nplace whence the sound came, he distinctly made out the shape of a\ncopper vessel.\n\nHere was a discovery which gave him a presentiment of another chance\nof good fortune. Partly with the broken spade and partly with his\nown hands, he succeeded in tearing up the soil around, and bringing\nto light a large jar heavy enough to be full of gold; and so it proved.\n\nThus provided with means, Ramon once more commenced a new lease of\nhis dissipated life.\n\n\"Take my advice,\" said the old vine, \"and put your treasure in\nsomething that will last, this time.\"\n\nThis was too much trouble for Ramon. He went on in his old reckless\nway, spending and taking no heed.\n\nBut during all the years of neglect, the brambles had overgrown his\nground; and his uncultivated place afforded a cover for idlers and\nvagabonds. So it happened that when he was making one of his nightly\nvisits to his treasure he was overlooked, and, as you may readily\nimagine, by the next occasion the treasure was gone.\n\nHis rage at this discovery was unbounded: he resolved now once for\nall to have done with life, and let nothing interfere to prevent him.\n\nAs he lay in bed that night, he contrived a plan to prevent all\npossibility of escape, and with the first rays of the morning sun he\nsallied out fully equipped.\n\nHe bore a rope and a blunderbuss, and he bent his steps to a crag which\noverhung the sea, where he had marked a tree whose branches spread over\nthe briny waves. Tying his cord to a branch, he held his blunderbuss\nready to blow out his brains if the noose was too slack, while, if the\nrope should break, he would at least have a good chance of drowning.\n\nOff he leapt with the rope round his neck; but the noose did not draw\nitself tight. Faithful to his plan, he pulled the rusty trigger, but,\nlike every thing else belonging to Ramon, the gun was out of order,\nand didn't go off; but as he hung struggling in the air the old\nwell-rope broke, and down he fell splashing into the sea. There was\nno easy drowning for him, however; the water was not so deep as he\nhad imagined, and he was left floundering in the waves, and bruised\nabout among the sunken rocks.\n\nRamon had no fortitude; at each bump he could not restrain an\nexclamation of pain, and the distressful cries attracted the attention\nof no less a person than Carmen, who was gathering esparto grass [33]\non the wild coast at no great distance.\n\nAll her former womanly compassion returned when she saw her poor\nRamon in suffering and distress. Without an instant's hesitation,\nshe caught up a hank of strong esparto rope, which she used to tie\nup her bundles, and hurried to the water's edge. Making one end of\nit fast to a rock, with the vigorous exertion of an arm strengthened\nby labour and directed by intelligence and affection, she contrived\nto throw the other end within reach of his grasp.\n\nRamon, who by this time had been long enough within sight of the\nterrors of death to feel his wish to encounter it considerably\ncooled, no sooner saw who was steadying the line, than he felt all\nthe love of life which is implanted in the heart of man revive with\nits full vigour.\n\nHe caught the rope and twisted it round his arm, and with its aid\nbreasted the breakers. By the time he reached the shore, however,\nthe exhaustion consequent on so much excitement and exertion overcame\nhim so completely, that every remaining spark of ill-will in Carmen's\nbosom was extinguished, and her only thought was how to restore him\nto strength.\n\nHer exertions were blessed with success, and his weakness found scope\nfor all her womanly sympathies, while her tender care roused all\nthe better qualities of his nature into action. Her smile mingled\nwith the visions of his feeble state, and warmed all his prospects\nof the future.\n\nWhen he dreamt of the dreary old house and its haunting associations\nwith the guilty past, he fancied he saw the sunny halo of her presence\ndispelling all its gloomy phantasms, and her playful innocence\nsilencing even the convicting warnings of the stern old vine. Shared\nwith her, even labour seemed to lose its repugnance.\n\nAs soon as he was well enough, he opened to her his resolutions full of\nrepentance, which, with a woman's instinct, she was forward to foster.\n\nYou will be pleased to hear that after all these lessons, crowned\nby Carmen's winning confidence in his promised amendment, Ramon set\nhimself seriously to follow a new line of conduct. Carmen showed her\nfaith in his penitence by marrying him, and he took honest care that\nshe should never repent her generosity.\n\nThe old cottage once more looked homely and inviting; and in the\nsummer evening, when Ramon and Carmen sat resting beneath the shadow of\nthe old vine, now sturdy and fruitful under the culture it received,\nand watching the gambols of a troop of chiquillos [34] whom God had\ngiven them, the leaves, as they fell rustling about them, whispered\nplayfully in Ramon's ear, \"You don't want to die now?\" And Ramon in\nrevenge plucked a bunch of ruddy grapes, and distributed it among\nthe happy party.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BALLAD-MAKER AND THE BOOT-MAKER.\n\n\nThere was a minstrel who went travelling about the country from time to\ntime singing sweet songs which people loved to hear. His music was not\nlike the music of the Spanish people, for he came from the kingdom of\nProvence, and every one thronged to hear the strange sweet melody. And\nwhen he had passed on, and there was no one left to sing as he sang,\npeople tried to remember his words and his tones, and to sing like him.\n\nAt one of the towns where he passed there was a boot-maker, who, as he\nsat all day alone at his last, diverted himself with singing; and as he\nhad sung a good deal, he thought he could sing very well. He was much\ndelighted with the minstrel's songs, caught up a good many of them,\nand never tired of singing them--after his fashion. But from being\nquite ignorant both of music and of the Proven\u00e7al language, he made,\nas we should say, a great mess of it. Yet, as the people knew no more\nabout it than himself, they were very well pleased to listen to him.\n\nSo, a long time after, when the Proven\u00e7al minstrel came back that\nway, they would not admit him, but cried out, \"We have one of our\nown people who sings your songs for us as well as you, and we need\nno Frenchman here.\"\n\nNow the minstrel was one greatly devoted to his art, he did not\nmerely sing for sordid gain; so instead of being angry because he\nwas supplanted, he was really pleased to hear that the people in that\nfar-off town had learnt the language and melody of his dear Provence;\nand he said he would hear the boot-maker himself.\n\nImagine how great was his annoyance and mortification, when he heard\nthe beautiful ballads lamed and spoilt by the rude, unlearned attempts\nof the boot-maker!\n\n\"Is it possible,\" he said, \"that this man has been deluding all\nthe people into the idea that what he sings is like my songs? And\nhow can I prevent his going on keeping them under this error?\" Then\nhe bethought him what to do. He went by night to the boot-maker's\nworkshop, and putting all the wrong pieces of leather together,\nhe sewed them up into all sorts of foolish, useless shapes.\n\nWhen daylight returned, and the boot-maker came to his work, he was in\na great fury at what was done, and began shouting to the neighbours to\ncome and avenge him, for the Frenchman had spoilt all his work. Then\nthey all came running helter-skelter to exercise summary justice on\nthe minstrel.\n\nBut the minstrel stood up and confronted them, and said, \"Good\npeople! first hear me. This man is a maker of boots and I am a maker\nof ballads. True I have spoilt his boots, I do not deny it; but he\nfirst spoilt my ballads: what I have done is but fair. If you will\nhear us sing one after the other, you will yourselves give judgment in\nmy favour.\" So the people told the boot-maker to stand up and sing,\nwhich he did in his clumsy droning way, with plenty of false notes\nand mispronunciations. After him the minstrel stood up and warbled his\nsong in tones so soft and sweet, that the people wondered how they ever\ncould have listened to the other, and with one voice they cried out,\n\"The minstrel is right! The minstrel is right!\"\n\nThen the minstrel, who bore no malice, and had only acted out of\nlove for his art, repaid the boot-maker amply for all the damage to\nhis leather, but took a promise of him that he would never sing his\nsongs again.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEL CLAVEL [35].\n\n\nThe carnation is the flower of predilection of the Andalusian\npeasant. His cottage does not seem like home without its scent; nor\nis the maiden's toilet complete without one of its glorious blossoms\nplaced behind her ear, in the ebon setting of her massive hair-braids:\nit is the token of gladness in their festivals; of love, where coyly\noffered with a trembling hand. The people sing of its perfections\nand its meaning in a thousand little ditties.\n\n\n Among all the trees of the wood\n The laurel bears questionless sway.\n What maid can compete with my Anna?\n What flower, with carnations, I pray [36]?\n\n\nThey always speak of it, thus, as only next in order to female beauty,\nand the amorous swain is continually raising the comparison.\n\n\n To January's biting frost\n No carnation trusts its charms,\n The tints that Heav'n thy cheeks has given,\n Are dyed ingrain and fear no harms [37],\n\n\nhe sings; or perhaps,--\n\n\n My carnation was raising a plaint,\n I ask'd it to tell me its grief,\n And it said that thy lips were so fair,\n Of their charms it would e'en be the thief [38].\n\n\nThe one his fair has given him he declares binds him to her for ever.\n\n\n The carnation which thou gav'st me,\n On holy Thursday last,\n Was no flower, but a fetter\n To bind me to thee fast [39].\n\n\nThe one she nurtures he watches as a token of all that is dearest\nand most beautiful in her.\n\n\n My maid has a fav'rite carnation\n Which she watches both early and late;\n I give it a kiss on its petals,\n Whenever I pass by her gate [40].\n\n\nAnd she in her turn guards her charge with a jealous eye.\n\n\n A ruddy carnation have I,\n But I keep it secure from the cold,\n And I shade off the gaze of the sun,\n Lest it tarnish, if he were too bold [41].\n\n\nSuch a carnation was once thus tended by a poor village girl: it had\ngrown up and blossomed and put forth its deep, rich hues under her\ncare, though she was so poor that she had nothing to grow it in but\na broken olla [42]. Nevertheless when she thought of the happy day\nwhen it should become a love-token to one worthy of her, she took\nsuch care of it, covering it up when the sun was too hot, watering\nit with water from the purest spring, sheltering it from the wind,\nbringing it into her room to guard through the night, lest any evil\nshould befall it, that never carnation flourished so gloriously;\nit was her only flower, the object of her whole care.\n\nOne day there came into the garden a maja [43] in her gala\ncostume. According to the pretty Andalusian custom, she carried a\nbunch of bright, sparkling flowers twisted into her raven hair behind\nher left ear.\n\n\"Ah!\" cried the handsome carnation from the depths of its broken olla,\n\"why should it not be my lot to adorn the head of this lovely creature,\ninstead of being abandoned to the care of a penniless peasant?\"\n\nThe maja smiled, and passed round the garden two or three times,\nto see if the carnation persisted in his idea. Every time her black\nveil caught, as she passed, in the sharp edge of the broken pipkin,\nthe carnation wafted a soft sigh,--\n\n\"Ah, why was I not born to adorn that shining hair?\"\n\nThe maja deferred no longer to fulfil his wish: throwing the bunch of\nshowy flowers on to the ground, she plucked the carnation and plaited\nit into her hair.\n\nRight proud was the carnation to find himself thus grandly enthroned;\nfar too proud to have a thought of compassion for the other flowers\ncast away for his sake; too triumphant even to smart under the puncture\nof the hair-pin which fixed him on the maja's head. Many a scornful\nglance he cast at the broken olla which had been his nursery, and\nthe cot of the lowly child who had nurtured him.\n\nThus he was borne about, displaying his beautiful hues in the sun,\nand charming every one with his perfume all day. Then night came:\nthe maja stood at her reja [44], looking out for her serenader. He\ncame at last, and brought in his hand a beautiful white rose; the\nmaja stretched out her hand to receive it with delight; with loud\nand joyous thanks she placed it on her head, flinging the hapless\ncarnation from her without a thought.\n\nInstead of blooming on his lordly stalk as at the first, the pride\nand pet of the peasant maid, he was soon trampled to atoms by a drove\nof pigs, passing on their way to market!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE ILL-TEMPERED PRINCESS.\n\n\nThere was once a poor young knight, and he went out into the world,\nto seek adventures and do knightly deeds. As he went, he met a man\nstanding in front of a long narrow tunnel in a rock, and blowing\nthrough it with his cheeks stretched like two ripe pomegranates,\nto whom the knight called out, \"Halloa! fellow, what do you do there?\"\n\nAnd the man made reply, \"Disturb me not, your worship, for with my\nbreath I am turning five hundred and thirty-two mills.\"\n\nSo the knight asked, \"Then who are you?\"\n\nAnd the man made answer, \"I am Blowo, son of Blowon [45], the good\nblower.\"\n\nThen the knight said, \"Will you come out with me to seek fortune?\"\n\nAnd the man made answer, \"Your worship is not readier to ask than\nI to accept, for I am tired enough of blowing.\" So he gave one more\ngood strong blow, enough to set the mills twirling for a long time,\nand walked on behind the knight.\n\nA little farther along they came upon a man toiling up the hill-side,\nwith a load of a hundred and thirty-two hundred-weight upon his back.\n\nTo whom the knight called out, \"Halloa! man, you carry more than a\nwaggon with two yoke of oxen! Who are you?\"\n\nAnd the man made answer, \"I am Porto, son of Porton, the strong\nporter.\"\n\nThen the knight said, \"Will you come out with me to seek fortune?\"\n\nAnd the man made answer, \"Your worship is not more ready to ask,\nthan I to accept, for I am weary of this burden.\" So he laid the\nweight down by the road-side, and walked along behind the knight.\n\nA little farther on they came to a long stretch where the road was\nvery straight, and by the side a man walked up and down twisting a\nrope, to whom the knight cried out,--\n\n\"Halloa! fellow, what do you there? and who are you?\"\n\nAnd the man made answer, \"I am Ropo, son of Ropon, the cunning\nrope-maker, and I make ropes which none can break.\"\n\nThen the knight said, \"Will you come out with me to seek fortune?\"\n\nAnd the man made answer, \"Your worship is not more ready to ask than\nI to accept, for I am weary of twisting this rope.\" So he left there\nhis rope by the road-side, and walked along behind the knight.\n\nA little farther on they came upon a man crouched down by the way-side.\n\nTo whom the knight called out, \"Halloa! fellow, what do you there? and\nwho are you?\"\n\nAnd the man made answer, \"I am Listeno, son of Listenon, the ready\nlistener.\"\n\nSo the knight said, \"What are you listening for?\"\n\nAnd the man made answer, \"Blowo has left off turning the mills, and\nI am listening for the wind to come down from the mountains of Burgos.\"\n\n\"Fellow! the mountains of Burgos are a hundred leagues off.\"\n\n\"What does that signify, if my hearing reaches as far?\"\n\nThen the knight said, \"Will you come along with me and seek fortune?\"\n\nAnd the man made answer, \"Your worship is not more ready to ask than\nI to accept, for I am weary of straining my ears.\" So he set up three\nflags, that all the country might know the wind would be there in\nthree days, and walked along behind the knight.\n\nThen, after three days' journey, they came in sight of a magnificent\ncastle, extending half a mile every way over the top of a mountain,\nbut all desolate and in ruins; and the way up to it was overgrown\nwith interlacing brambles and briars, so that they could hardly pass\nthrough. Then to increase their difficulty, a heavy storm came on,\nwhich would soon have wetted them through; but Blowo cried out,--\n\n\"Never fear, your worship; for I will soon clear the air.\"\n\nSo he blew a mighty blast, and sent all the big thunder-clouds\ntravelling back to the Sierra; and they went on toiling up the brake.\n\nWhen they came up to the castle, they found there was no door or\nopening, nor any way in. Porto, Ropo, Listeno, and Blowo wanted to\ngive up the attempt, and pass on farther; but the knight would not\nhear of abandoning the adventure.\n\n\"If your worship is so determined,\" said Porto, \"I'll open a way\nfor you.\"\n\nSo he broke off a huge piece of rock as big as two men, and, standing\na hundred yards off, he flung it against the wall, with a noise that\ncould be heard a hundred miles off. The wall trembled and clattered;\nbut it was held together by a stronger than human power, and all\nPorto's great strength could produce no effect on it.\n\n\"Let us go away from here, Master,\" pleaded Ropo, \"this is no place\nfor us. There is something wrong about this place; and the blessing\nof God is not here.\"\n\n\"No,\" replied the knight, \"we will first learn all about it; there\nmay be work for us.\"\n\nSo they continued walking round the walls to see where they might\neffect an entrance, and all to no purpose. By and by Listeno\nexclaimed, \"I hear some one cry;\" and they all listened, but could\nhear nothing. So Listeno made them follow him in the direction whence\nthe sound proceeded till at last they were near enough for the others\nto hear the sound also; and they went on following it up, till they\ncame to the mouth of a great well all grown over with climbing-plants;\nwhen they had cleared these away, the hole looked so black and deep,\nit seemed as if it went down to the centre of the earth, and up the\nshaft there came sounds of a woman's wailing, so loud and pitiful,\nthey were all moved to pity, and anxious to run to the relief of the\ndistressed person; but there was no means of telling how to reach\nthe bottom. Then Ropo came forward, and said, \"We will all go abroad,\nand gather five thousand bundles of esparto, and palmito [46] grass,\nand all five shall set to work to make a long rope; and with that we\nwill reach the bottom.\"\n\nSo said, so done. They gathered five thousand bundles of esparto, and\npalmito grass, and they all five set to work under Ropo's directions\nand twisted away at the rope; and now and then they tied a fragment of\nrock to the end and let it down, to see if it reached the bottom. They\nwent on thus for five years, and at last it splashed the water, and\nwhen they let it down again it sounded on the rock, and they found\nonly a few feet of the rope was wet, for the water was not deep.\n\nThen Listeno put his ear to the top and told them it was not standing\nwater, but that a brook ran through, along the bottom of the cave. As\nthey were twisting the rope, they talked away about the great deeds\neach would do; and each had a conjecture as to what they might find at\nthe bottom of the well. They all thought they should find a treasure,\nand Porto said he would take it up on his shoulders and carry it home\nfor them, though it should weigh as much as all the lead of the Sierra\nAlmagrera [47].\n\nBut when the rope was finished, and it was a question of who should\ngo down, not one of the knight's followers, though they had been\nboasting so loudly before, would venture down into the well. So the\nknight laughed, and said he was not afraid; and one end of the rope\nhaving been lashed tightly to a rock, the four followers undertook\nto pay it out steadily, and down the knight descended into the black,\ngloomy depth.\n\nDay and night he went on steadily descending for three days and\nthree nights, and at the end he came into the water. It was not more\nthan breast high, so he waded through it for several yards till he\ncame to a place where the bank widened sufficiently for him to get\nout and walk along it; and then he came to some trees, and through\nthe trees was an open space lighted by a lurid light which came\nfrom a deeper cave. On a sloping bank, covered with shining grass\nand strange flowers, lay a beautiful princess all dressed in white,\nand decked with shining jewels; and as she lay, she moaned and cried\nand prayed for deliverance. So the knight was hastening towards her,\nand drew his sword to cut the bonds which confined her, but at that\ninstant up started a fierce demon whom he had not observed before,\nas he lay coiled up at the mouth of the cave.\n\n\"Not so fast, fine caballero!\" he cried, \"for she is mine, and you will\nhave to fight me before you can touch her.\" The knight disregarded\nthe menace, and continued his way towards the princess, but the air\nwas stiff all around him--though he could see no hindrance, he found\nhe could not make any way towards her.\n\n\"Ha! ha!\" roared the demon, \"my fine caballero, you'll find you will\nhave to do with me at last!\"\n\n\"And who are you?\" shouted the baffled knight, \"and what is this\nbeautiful princess to you?\"\n\n\"I am bound to answer the knight who asks that question,\" answered\nthe demon, \"or it is little you would have learnt from me. Know,\nthen, that this princess was the only daughter of King Eur\u00edc, to\nwhom belonged all the country as far as eye can see; and she would\nhave succeeded to his kingdom, but her temper was so violent, no one\ncould bear with her. Upon the least contradiction she would order a\nsubject to be executed; and her arbitrary conduct was continually\ninvolving the kingdom in discontent and trouble. Her father, who\ntenderly loved her, used to coax her and use every endeavour to\nsoften her, but with no avail. At last, one day she provoked him so\nsore that in his anger he exclaimed, 'Go to the horned one!' When I\nheard myself called, I hastened to seize her, but, notwithstanding\nall my speed, before I could arrive he had revoked the curse, and\nso I was tricked out of her. This happened several times, but each\ntime fatherly fondness was quicker than my utmost haste. At last,\na day came when she excited him greatly, and he said again, 'Go to\nthe horned one!' and before he could recall the words that time,\nhe had fallen down a lifeless corpse. So now she is mine, and mine\nshe must remain till some knight will win her in arms from me, and\nmarry her, and restore her to her castle and her kingdom.\"\n\n\"That will I!\" said the knight stoutly; for though he feared the\nlady's violent temper after what he had heard, his devotion to chivalry\nbound him to use his best endeavours to deliver her.\n\nAccordingly he drew his sword, and called to the demon to come\non. \"Remember one thing,\" said the demon, \"if you should win her,\nshe is yours for ever; I take her back no more.\"\n\nMeantime, Listeno, at the top of the well, had been reporting to\nhis companions all that he heard going on below, and their curiosity\ngetting the better of their fears, they let themselves down by the\nrope, and all four arrived in time to witness the terrible contest.\n\nNever was such a fight seen in this world as that between this\nknight and the demon; and at last the knight cut off the demon's\near. No tongue could describe the demon's rage at finding his ear in\npossession of a mortal.\n\n\"Give me my ear!\" he cried in tones so sharp that they almost stunned\nListeno's sensitive hearing powers.\n\n\"Never,\" replied the knight, \"or at least not without a heavy\nransom. In the first place I exact that without further ado you\nreinstate the Princess in her castle and all her power.\" The demon\nstamped and raged, but the knight was firm. The demon was ashamed to\ngo home without his ear, so he thought it best to comply.\n\nThe Princess was restored to her throne, the castle was restored to\nits strength, the garrison was restored to the ramparts, the servants\nwere restored to the halls. The knight married the princess; great\nrejoicings and festivities were celebrated, and to his four followers\nwere given places of trust and consequence in the palace.\n\nThe demon often came to beg for his ear, but the knight felt that at\nsome time or other he might have need of him, so he would not lose\nhis hold over him.\n\nFor a time all went well enough, but by little and little the Princess\nforgot her years of adversity and the debt she owed the knight: she\ngrew more and more wilful, and before a year was out she had become so\nviolent again, that he grew weary of his life, and declared he could\nno longer endure the continual turmoil. Remonstrance and coaxing were\nalike unheeded, and it was vain that he tried her father's remedy,\nfor the demon had sworn never to take her back.\n\nIn this strait Porto reminded him of the ear he held in hostage,\nadding, \"I will take it upon myself to deliver you of her.\" So putting\nthe bottle of brine in which the ear was kept into his pocket, he\nswung the Princess over his shoulder, and all her struggling was\nuseless against \"the son of the strong porter.\"\n\nThus laden he went to find out the demon. \"You are to take back this\nprincess, she is only fit for your company,\" he said, when he had\nfound him.\n\n\"Not I!\" answered the demon, grinning: \"I told your master when he\nwould have her he must take her for good and all.\"\n\n\"Do you know this ear?\" then asked Porto, showing him the bottle.\n\nThe demon clutched at it.\n\n\"Not so fast!\" cried Porto. \"If you want to have it back, this is my\nmaster's condition: you must take back the princess along with it.\"\n\nSo, crest-fallen and glad to get his ear back on any condition,\nthe demon accepted the bargain as it was dictated to him; and the\nprincess who could not command her temper never found another knight\nto deliver her.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE HERMIT AND THE FIG-TREE.\n\n\nThere was an old man of Toledo who had one son, whom he brought up\nin the fear of God. Now it happened that this old man had to go to\na distant town of Estramadura, to receive some money of a creditor,\nand the creditor dying, his heirs disputed the debt, and drove the\nold man to a lawsuit which kept him absent many years. When at last\nthe suit was just decided in his favour, the old man fell ill and\ndied. Meantime the son, growing uneasy at his father's prolonged\nabsence, arranged his affairs as well as he could, and prepared to take\nthe journey to see after him. Calling in his three clerks, Jacinto,\nGonzalo, and Diego, who were all men whom his father trusted, and\nwhom he therefore respected, he divided his property in three parts,\nand to each he gave charge of one part, leaving it to each to do the\nbest he could for him, saying, \"The wisdom of your grey hairs will\ndo better for me than any instructions my inexperience could give you.\"\n\n\"If the Lord bless it, it shall increase; and if He curse it, it shall\nnot prosper,\" answered Jacinto, the eldest; \"behold I am nothing in\nthe matter;\" and he shook his venerable head, and raised his eyes\nto heaven.\n\n\"Whatever I have done for your father I will continue to do for you,\"\nsaid Gonzalo, the second in order, and hurried back to his papers as\nif it was wrong to waste a moment in talking.\n\n\"I will endeavour that you shall have nothing to complain of,\"\nquietly replied Diego, the third.\n\nThe young man was pleased with what they said, and without further\nloss of time set out on his journey.\n\nThe weather was fair, and his father's friends by the way received\nhim hospitably; but crossing the Sierra [48], a violent storm came\non, and he would soon have been drenched with rain. Right glad he\nwas to see, perched on the mountain-ledge, a hermit's cell, where he\nreadily found shelter. In the morning, when the sky was serene again,\nhe rose to take his leave; and as he stood on the threshold thanking\nthe hermit for his care of him, he could not forbear pausing to\nadmire the beauties around him. Far away stretched the plains below,\nstudded with smiling cities and watered by the mazy windings of the\nrivers, and shaded by dark groves of ancient cork-trees; behind him\nwere rocky heights reaching to the sky, presenting every degree of\nrich vegetation and solemn barrenness. But what attracted his sight\nmost of all was a luxuriant plantation of fig-trees, which made a\ncomplete bower of the hermit's cell.\n\n\"How successful you are with your fig-trees!\" said the traveller; \"I\nnever saw so fine a show. You have three, one as fine as the other--it\nis impossible to say which of them is most flourishing; and to judge by\nthe fruit you gave me, which doubtless is their produce, they are the\nfinest trees in Spain, and that is saying a great deal. I must add too,\nafter your liberality with them, that you put to shame the proverb,--\n\n\n \"En tiempo de higos\n No hay amigos [49].\"\n\n\n\"For what you say of the proverb, son,\" replied the hermit, \"I have\nno merit, for it is the very essence of my rule of life to call\nnothing my own, according to our Lord's counsel. These figs are\nthe gift of God, to me, or to you, or to whomsoever is here to need\nthem. But for the rest, you judge according to the measure of the\ninconsiderateness of your years. Nevertheless, you seem to me a good\nyouth, and I will therefore show you something which may be of use to\nyou in your dealings with the world. Know then that but one of these\nfig-trees is really what it seems; the other two are worthless. That\nis, worthless,\" he added, \"as bearers of fruit, for there is nothing\nthat God makes but has its worth, and even these trees which bear no\nfruit are useful to give shade, and for other purposes besides.\"\n\n\"You surprise me,\" said the young man; \"I never saw trees of more\nequal promise!\"\n\n\"Nevertheless, it is as I say; and if the season of figs were\nnot just over, according to our Lord's saying, by their fruit you\nshould know them, or, as you say in the world, \"al freir, lo vereis\n[50].\" Meantime, learn, my son, not to judge of men and things by\ntheir appearance, but wait and see what their fruit is like.\"\n\nThe sun was now beginning to make way above the horizon, and, fearing\nto be overtaken by the heat, the young man was obliged to set out on\nhis journey without further parley than promising to visit the hermit\non his return.\n\nGreat was his grief, when he arrived at the end of his journey, to\nfind his good father had been so suddenly called away, and instead of\nbeing clasped to his bosom, to find the last earthly communication\nhe could ever receive from him was a scrap of paper, on which, at\nintervals of his death agony, he had convulsively written down a few\ndirections to guide him in entering into possession of his worldly\ngoods, mingled with counsels to him to continue to direct all his\ndealings according to the fear of God.\n\nThis sudden death had thrown matters into some confusion, and it took\na considerable time to set all straight again; it was some ten or\neleven months before the young merchant had to re-cross the Sierra\nin a homeward direction.\n\nIt was a brilliant summer evening when he came upon the hermit's\ncell again. The old man was sitting making his meditation before\nthe door. Occupied with grief and care, as he had been during his\nabsence, the bereaved son had forgotten all about the fig-trees;\nbut, on looking around, he saw that something was changed, and soon\nhad a clear demonstration of what the hermit had told him. One noble\ntree was laden with the ripe green and purple fruit; the soft, downy\nskins seeming ready to burst with the rich and luscious burden within,\nwhile the broad leaves spread out their hands and shaded them from\nthe too great heat, and fanned them gently when the day was sultry.\n\nThe second tree was covered with luxuriant leaves as before, but not\na single ripe fig was on it--there were a few young green beginnings,\nbut too small and sickly to have a chance of ripening that season.\n\nThe third tree was in lamentable plight; its attenuated climbers\nclung by habit to the rock, but the sap and life and energy were gone,\nand it seemed only fit to be cut down.\n\n\"Well, father, I see you were right as to the figs,\" said the young\nman, candidly. \"There is only one of them that is a good tree after\nall--but it is wonderful how well favoured they looked last year!\"\n\n\"Learn, my son, the counsel of the aged and the words of the wise,\"\nreplied the hermit; \"for as it is with trees, even so it is with\nmen. There are many who seem to you alike honest and worthy to\nbe esteemed, while their inner life is as different as was the\nfruit-bearing principle of these trees.\"\n\n\"But, father, will not the good be known by their good deeds and\nmaxims, and the bad by their evil lives and counsels?\"\n\n\"Even so, my son, but the difficulty is to discern which are good and\nwhich evil. This is not so easy as you seem to think; for instance,\nyou see two men both apparently pious and charitable, while the one who\nappears most so, very possibly only gives his money to the poor that\nhe may stand well with the world, that the poor may look up to him,\nand say, 'There goes one who is like a king among us;' the other,\nwhose liberality you noticed less, drops his hardly-spared coin\nnoiselessly into the capillo [51], and sallies forth perhaps in dead\nof night to carry his alms to those who would blush to receive such\nassistance by day. One man appears to you calm and placid because\nhe is of a phlegmatic nature, and has no effort to make in order to\nappear equable and ever patient; while another, whom you judge to be\nhasty and passionate, may be all the while struggling to conquer a\nhot and violent temperament which requires the courage of a hero to\nkeep it within bounds.\"\n\n\"I see your moral, father,\" replied the young man; \"and I have no\ndoubt I often judge of men as I judged your fig-trees.\"\n\n\"That one,\" continued the hermit, pointing to the one whose fruit\nwas even then affording a delicious meal to the birds, for the hermit\ncalled nothing his own, and the birds of heaven were welcome to share\nhis stock, \"that one was always a good and fruitful tree, and its\npraise is among its people, for you will find many a village about\nhere which boasts a graft from the hermit's fig. The second one, which\npresented so fair a show, has something amiss which it hitherto has\npassed my skill to find out--though I have one remedy more to try,\nwhich may recover it. And the third had a worm at the root which\ndestroyed its vital power.\"\n\nThe young man passed on his way next day, and, as he journeyed, the\nfigs of which the good hermit had given him ample provision put him\nin mind of his parable, and set him musing on its application. These\nmusings weaving themselves in with his anticipations of the condition\nof his affairs at home, he began to consider whether the three\nclerks, to whom he had entrusted his property, were in any way like\nthe fig-trees, and whether Providence had not sent him this lesson\nto be his guide in his future conduct.\n\nPossessed with this idea, he resolved to put them to the test. The\nsun and air of the mountains had dyed his skin; sorrow had marked his\nface with lines of care and tinged his hair with grey. By means of a\nfalse beard and a travelling merchant's dress he reckoned he could\nbe safe from recognition, and as a stranger learn their respective\nworth from their own lips.\n\nEquipped in his disguise he presented himself at his own house,\nand found all three in their place, with every evidence of diligent\napplication. So he opened the terms of his pretended business to\nthem, and found them all ready to negotiate with him, each in his\ndegree--each conducted his matter with every token of due shrewdness\nand integrity.\n\nIt had been part of his plan to tell them the news of their master's\ndeath, and try them by watching the effect of this intelligence upon\nthem, but when he saw all so well-ordered he judged there was no\nneed for further trial, and so contented himself with resuming his\nown attire and returning in his own person to the house.\n\nThe clerks greeted him with a joyful welcome, and received the news of\nhis father's death with becoming expressions of sorrow, and the young\nman congratulated himself on having such trusty stewards of his goods.\n\nAfter he had been back a day or two, he requested them to prepare\nfor him the account of what they had done since he left, so that he\nmight know how his affairs stood, and once more assume the direction\nof them. The proposal received a ready assent, and a day was fixed\nfor going into the matter. But when the appointed day came, what\nwas his astonishment to find only Diego in his place? His accounts\nwere ready and all in good order; he had administered faithfully the\nportion of property entrusted to him, and handed it back increased\nby the efforts of his prudence and skill.\n\nFrom Gonzalo he found a letter informing him that he had had the\nmisfortune to be unlucky in his speculations with his property, and had\nlost the whole of it, consequently he had no account to render. Losing\npatience at this attempt at deceit, the young man had him brought\nbefore him, and asked him how he dared tell him so, when he knew that\nonly so many days before he had been negotiating with a merchant he\nknew, and he named the name he had assumed in his disguise. Gonzalo\nwas not at all disconcerted: \"Oh, that business was done with my own\nmoney; though I was unlucky with yours, fate would have it that I\nshould be very successful with my own, and out of my own earnings I\nhave created a capital which I have multiplied an hundredfold.\"\n\nWhen the young man heard this unblushing statement, he was filled\nwith indignation, and insisted on taking him before the judge. But\nit was all to no purpose, Gonzalo had managed his fraud so cleverly\nthat it could not be proved against him; he had to be let go scotfree.\n\nAs for Jacinto, he never showed himself at all, nor left any\nexplanation. He had remained up to the hour, trading with the benefit\nof his master's name and capital, but the moment there had been talk\nof giving up accounts he had gathered up all that was in his charge,\nand fled with it out of the country.\n\nMore grieved by the faithlessness of those he had trusted than by\nthe loss of his gold, the young man shut himself into his chamber,\nto muse upon what had befallen him, and upon the uncertainty both of\nfriendship and riches. When he reflected on the temptations which money\nhad offered to Gonzalo and Jacinto, he was appalled at the thought of\nthose which might be in store for him, if he continued in the pursuit\nof business. He thought of the peaceful hermit, whose warning parable\nhad just received such a striking illustration. He thought of his\nplacid content with the weather--such as God sends it--to warm him,\nand the fruits of the earth--such as God gives them--to nourish\nhim. He thought of him far removed from contentions and greed of\ngain, and sharing his frugal meal with the stranger, the wayfarer,\nand the birds of heaven.\n\nWhen he came down from his chamber, he called Diego to him, and\ncommended him for his faithfulness and diligence. \"And,\" said he,\n\"I now give you full possession of all that you have so justly\nadministered. For me, I have chosen a life free from care, where I\nshall have no use for money.\"\n\nBut when Diego heard it, he said, \"Nay, but I will go with thee. To\nsave my master's goods for his son was my work on earth; now that is\nfulfilled, no desire have I to continue amid its weariness and perils.\"\n\nSo they left the money to found an hospital where poor orphan children\nmight be taken in and taught the way that is right. And they went\ninto the Sierra, and built them huts and planted them fig-trees,\nand passed their time in holy meditation and in praising God.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTOO CLEVER BY HALF.\n\n\nA blind beggar, who, like all other blind beggars, was led by a\nlazarillo [52], was once going his rounds, and directed his guide to\ntake him past a house where he was in the habit of receiving help.\n\nThe good wife of the house gave him a fried sprat [53]. The lazarillo\nwas a mischievous urchin, and on this occasion very hungry, so he\nate the sprat himself, and told the blind man they had given him\nnothing. The blind beggar, however, who knew the smell of fried fish\nwell enough, charged him with the theft, and gave him a good drubbing\nin punishment.\n\nPresently, as they went along, the mischievous lazarillo led him\nthrough a troop of children, running about at their play: one of them,\ndarting between the legs of the blind man, tripped him up. \"You young\nrascal!\" exclaimed the provoked beggar; \"why didn't you take better\ncare where you led me?\"\n\n\n \"If you were so clever at smelling the sprat,\n How came it you couldn't, too, smell out the brat?\"\n\n\ncried the lazarillo, running off to escape a second drubbing.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE WIND'S STORY.\n\n\n\"I wish you would not be so fond of choosing this nasty old ruined\nhouse for our playground, Lolita!\"\n\n\"Oh, don't you like it, Ana? I do so love to come here and listen\nto the tales the Wind tells me, as it moans through these crumbling\nwalls!\"\n\n\"The tales the Wind tells you, hermana [54] dear! what can you mean?\"\n\n\"Oh, I forgot! you don't know the Wind's language; but I do, and I\nlove to listen to it.\"\n\n\"Oh, Lolita dear, do tell me what the Wind tells you! What does it\nsay about this ruined cottage?\"\n\n\"Why, it told me such a strange story, Ana! It said to me, 'A long,\nlong while ago, when I was one day dancing happily this way on\na sunbeam, this old ruined cottage was then just built; all was\nthen bright and new within and without; the cock strutted about\nthe yard, keeping his fowls in order, and shouting, \"Qui quirri\nqui!\" the hens gathered their chickens under their wings, crying,\n\"C\u00e1, c\u00e1, c\u00e1, c\u00e1!\" the cat sunned himself on the projecting roof,\nand frightened the birds from the cherry-tree that shaded it; and\nthe dog ran about wagging his tail, and keeping them all in order,\nwith one eye at least ever open for the rabbit that would poach in the\nlettuce-bed. On the sunny side of the house was a magnificent parral\n[55], where every evening might be seen Pepito and Dolores sitting\ntogether in newly-wedded bliss. Pepito would be sawing or nailing wood,\nwhich was to make a cradle, and Dolores, stitching away at little fine\nbits of clothes that looked as if they were meant for a fairy. They\nwere so happy, that whenever I was sent that way I used to step aside\nand ask my sister the Breeze to sweep round that corner for me, because\nI am rough and she is gentle; and I used to love to watch how pleased\nthey were with her refreshing visit, after the burning heat of the day.\n\n\"'But it happened one day that I had to go a long, long journey: some\npirates were ravaging the sea, and I was to kick up a storm which would\nfrighten them away from some poor and hardy sailors who were not strong\nenough to encounter them; and then I had to sweep round the north of\nAfrica, to disperse an army of locusts that were preparing to ravage\nthe land and destroy the work of the husbandman. So I passed through\nthe parral as gently as I could, and kissed the young couple under it,\nand went lightly on my way.\n\n\"'It was some months before I was sent to Spain again, but the first\nchance I had I went as near as I could to this cottage; and as I came\nalong, my attention was attracted by another cottage, which seemed to\nme something like it, so I looked in: there was only one cheery old\nman inside it, and he was making preparations for a journey. \"Won't\nthey be pleased to see me? How little they think I could come so\nsoon!\" he muttered, as he put his bundle together. I made the air\nclear and fresh for his journey, and passed along.\n\n\"'As I went over the mountains, I came upon a couple of muleteers\ndirecting a file of laden mules; they looked hot and wayworn, so\nI blew the dust off them, and cooled their feet, and the hoofs of\ntheir beasts. As I came near I recognized my friend Pepito, but he no\nlonger looked so happy as of old; his expression was dark and anxious,\nand it grew gloomier as he listened to some sombre tale his companion\nwas telling.\n\n\"'\"Are you sure--certain sure?\" he exclaimed.\n\n\"'\"Mas cierto que el reloj, hombre [56],\" replied the sinister\ncompanion, whom I now also recognized for a fellow of very bad\nreputation in Pepito's village, and who was said to have vowed\nvengeance on Dolores because she had married Pepito instead of him.\n\n\"'\"And if I turn back to-night, I shall find him of whom you speak\nin my cottage?\" continued Pepito, in an agonized tone.\n\n\"'\"No doubt of it,\" returned the other.\n\n\"'Now I would not believe any ill of Dolores, so I tried what I could\nto divert their attention. I threw myself so violently against the\nface of the leading mule as to make her miss her way, and nearly step\nover the brink of the precipice which the path they were travelling\nbordered; but Pepito was a practised muleteer, and caught her head\nin time to prevent an accident. Then I blew his hat over the edge,\nbut he was as good a mountaineer as muleteer, and readily climbed\ndown the steep side after it. I could do no more.\n\n\"'Damp mists were gathering along the banks of the Guadalquivir:\nmy mission was to disperse them before they became injurious to\nhealth. I might not tarry, so I passed on my way, sighing through\nthe tall trees. But before the sun rose next morning, I contrived to\nreach Pepito's cottage. No one was stirring, but I easily made my\nway in through the open windows. There lay in the bed in calm and\npeaceful slumber, the old man whom I had seen making up his bundle\nin glad expectation of his visit proving a joyful surprise. The doors\nand casements rattled for fear, as they always will do when they see\nme coming, and I was vexed to find my curiosity had thus disturbed\nthe old man's sleep. But there was something worse than my coming to\nrouse him. First there was a noise of footsteps under the window,\nthen the barking of the watchful dog, then the sound of some one\nclimbing up the wall, then groping his way through the window. The\nold man started in his bed, nerved with the consciousness that he was\nthe guardian for the time of his son-in-law's property; he hastily\ndisengaged his navaja [57] from his belt by the bedside, and stood up\nto grapple with the intruder, who, similarly armed, advanced straight\ninto the room with an assurance which showed he was no stranger.\n\n\"'Then I perceived that Pepito, misled by his perfidious friend, had\nreturned in the night-time, so as to prove the truth of the report\ngiven him. When he found himself confronted by a man's arm, he felt no\nlonger any doubt, but closed upon him in rage and fury. I had no heart\nto stay and see the result of a fight between two armed and desperate\nmen, but I set up my loudest and most desolate howl, and swept madly\nthrough the pueblo [58]. I made the branches of the trees crack, and\nthe fittings of the houses clatter; wherever I saw a door or gate open,\nI set it banging to and fro, and by a supreme effort, I even moved the\ngreat church-bell so that it gave one or two deep tolls. Thus wakened,\nthe people soon heard the cries and recriminations of the combatants,\nand ran out of their houses in numbers to track the sound.\n\n\"'It is part of my fate that I must ever be moving onward; I can\nnever stand still and never go back, though I can make a grand sweep\nover a large tract of country, and so come round again to a place\nafter a time. It was a long time, however, before I was able to\nwork my way round after this, but one day I happened to overtake my\nsister the Breeze, and knowing the interest I had taken in the young\ncouple under the parral, she immediately began telling me about them;\nI desired nothing more than to learn what had befallen them.\n\n\"'\"Oh,\" she said, \"I hope you will never have to go by there again,\nyou couldn't bear it!\"\n\n\"'I began to suspect what had happened that fatal night. \"Then the\nneighbours were not in time to part the men after all?\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"'\"They were parted, but both died of their wounds next day.\"\n\n\"'\"And Dolores?\"\n\n\"'\"Dolores was so horror-stricken at the dreadful sight, that she\nentirely lost her reason. Some good people have taken her quite away,\nfar, far off, thinking she may get better in an entirely different\nscene. But all the time she was here, I used to stir gently through\nthe room to fan her burning forehead when the air was sultry; and I\noften looked deep into her eyes when they stared so wildly, seeking\nfor Pepito and her father, who she always thought were coming to see\nher, and I always saw there a look which told me she was not long\nfor this world.\"\n\n\"'\"God take her in His mercy!\" I exclaimed. \"And the parral and the\ncottage, what of them?\"\n\n\"'\"All left desolate. The hares and the foxes have the grapes to\nthemselves. No one will go to live in the house. No one will even\npass by it if they can any how avoid going that way; and I hope you\nwill keep away from it too, brother, for the sight would make you\nsad indeed.\"\n\n\"'Our ways parted here; and I was not sorry, for my heart was too full\nfor more talk. I need hardly say that on the first opportunity I went\nto see how the old place looked. And sad enough it seemed; sadder even\nthan now, because the memory of Pepito and Dolores was fresher upon it.\n\n\"'I feel so sad whenever I am there, that I moan and sigh, and\nthe simple people say it is Pepito and his father-in-law crying out\nagainst each other. Sometimes, wild with anger, I feel ready to crumble\nthe whole place to atoms--and then I dash down beams and stones and\nbranches of trees; and then, again, I fear to lose all the traces I\nhave loved so well, and I blow sand and mould and seeds of creeping\nplants to bind the scattered portions together, and root them again\nto the spot.'\n\n\"That's a dreadfully sad story, Lolita; it has made me feel shyer\nthan ever of this dreary place.\"\n\n\"The Wind's stories are always melancholy, Ana dear; though you don't\nknow his language, you hear that his tone is always plaintive.\"\n\n\"Then I don't want any more of the Wind's stories. I'll tell you what\nI like. I like the sights I see in the Sunbeam.\"\n\n\"Oh, tell me what you see in the Sunbeam!\"\n\n\"Then you must come out of this dreary place, and sit down with me\non the sunny bank yonder, and I'll tell you what I have seen.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nWHAT ANA SAW IN THE SUNBEAM.\n\n\n\"When I lie on the tomillar [59] and look through the sunbeams,\" said\nAna, \"I see all the little sprites getting ready the beautiful colours\nto paint the flowers and the insects, and the clouds, and others that\ndye the tree-leaves green and gild the old walls, and others that teach\nthe insects to hum and the birds to sing, and little children to smile.\n\n\"Do you know, Lolita,\" pursued Ana, \"when a little baby is put into the\ncradle for the first, very first time, if the Sunbeam plays upon it,\nthe little sprites always look after that baby, and never forget it,\nbut when it is grown up into a big man or woman they still continue\ntheir care. There was once such a little baby, Lolita, born in a poor\nlittle cottage; such a poor little cottage, Lolita, that there were\nno shutters to the windows of any kind, when it was ever so hot the\nsun all came in, and made the air suffocating, unless the poor mother\ncould pin up an old dress; but it was not often she had one besides the\none she had on. So it happened that when this little baby was born,\nLolita, the sunbeams were streaming in, with the little sprites all\nbasking in them, and the sprites kissed this little baby, and said,\n'Dear little girl, we will never leave you; only be good, and so long\nas you are good we will see that you shall want for nothing at all.'\n\n\"A very little while after, Lolita, that little baby's father died,\nand you might have said the sprites had forgotten her; but it was\nnot so. They kept their word exactly. She did not know her father\nhad died. Her mother was there, and took care of her, and she was\ntoo little to know that other children had more pleasure, so she\nwanted nothing.\n\n\"She did not even know, Lolita, the labour her poor mother had to\nwork for them both, and even when she sang her to sleep with her sad,\nceaseless song,--\n\n\n \"En los brazos te tengo,\n Y considero,\n \u00a1Qu\u00e9 ser\u00e1 de ti, ni\u00f1o,\n Si yo me muero [60]!\"\n\n\nshe knew nothing of its meaning; her little face was pressed close\nand warm against her mother's breast, and a flower or a fruit, which\nthe sprites had painted for her, was enough to complete her happiness.\n\n\"Before Pura--such was her name--was two years old, her mother died\ntoo. But the sprites had not forgotten her, Lolita: her mother had\na sister, and when this sister came to the funeral, they had painted\nPura's cheeks with such fresh, clear tints, and lit up her baby face\nwith such a bright, sweet smile, that her aunt would not part from\nher, but took her home and brought her up as her own child, and was\nto her as a mother.\n\n\"The sprites played with her now just as before; and when she was\nasleep they used to dance on her bed, and say, 'Dear little girl,\nwe will never leave you; only be good, and so long as you are good\nwe will see that you shall want for nothing at all.'\n\n\"Meantime, Pura grew up to learn to be useful: she worked in the\ngarden, and kept the house tidy, and fetched the water from the\nfountain, and did all that Tia [61] Trinidad wanted. She was very\ngood and very obedient, and never wasted her time; her only amusement\nwas lying on the thyme-bed in the sunshine, because then the sprites\npainted such pretty dreams for her.\n\n\"But Tia Trinidad was growing old, and after her there was no other\naunt, nor any relation to look after Pura; and though she would not\nsay it aloud to vex Pura, who was always bright and gay, she yet\ncontinually repeated in her own mind, just as the poor mother used\nto sing,--\n\n\n \"En los brazos te tengo,\n Y considero,\n \u00a1Qu\u00e9 ser\u00e1 de ti, ni\u00f1o,\n Si yo me muero!\"\n\n\n\"So things looked very bad again, Lolita; but the sprites had not\nforgotten Pura, as you shall see.\n\n\"Tia Trinidad earned her living by waiting on strangers at the little\ninn down in the village, and as few people came that way, she was\noften many days without earning a 'chavo [62]. One day, however, there\ncame a great gentleman who had returned from the Indies with a great\nlot of money; he said he had roamed the world long enough, and seen\nenough of great cities; he meant now to settle himself in some quiet,\nremote village, and the only thing he wanted in this world was a nice,\ngood, industrious wife, who would make his home smiling and happy.\n\n\"'Then I can fit you to a nicety!' broke in Tia Trinidad, who had been\nseized with a most diligent dusting fit all the time the traveller\nhad been detailing his plans to the Cura [63] of the village, and\nhad not missed a word.\n\n\"'Can you?' said the traveller, not at all displeased at her boldness.\n\n\"'That can I,' continued Tia Trinidad, earnestly; 'and there isn't\na girl to match her in Madrid, and the Padre Cura will bear me out!'\n\n\"'What ... Pura, you mean ... I suppose?' said the Cura, somewhat\nembarrassed between his desire to speak the truth, and his fear\nof crushing the--as it seemed to him--exaggerated ideas of his poor\nparishioner. 'Yes, Pura is a good girl enough;' and he paused to think\nhow much he could say in her favour; 'young, and--pretty, and--simple,\nand--lively, and--notable altogether, but----'\n\n\"'Well,' interrupted the traveller, hastily, 'out with your but! for\nyou have named the very qualities which go to make up my ideal of a\nwife; speak, hombre [64]!'\n\n\"'Well, I mean--I mean, only that she is a little--a little--what\nshall I say?--a little homely for your wife----'\n\n\"'Homely, is it? Oh! if that's all, we sha'n't quarrel. I don't want\nany of your fine ladies who are only thinking of setting themselves\noff, and attend to nothing but their toilet! Come, good woman, ask\nyour young friend to allow me to come and see her to-morrow.'\n\n\"Too overjoyed to answer, Tia Trinidad set off on the instant at\nfull speed, and ran so fast you could not have told what her gown\nwas made of as she passed. When she reached home, out of breath,\nshe told her niece to adorn the house, and dress herself in her best,\nfor she expected a visitor next morning.\n\n\"Pura--who, though now seventeen, still kept up her simple habit of\ndoing whatever she was bid with alacrity--fulfilled the directions\ngiven her with great exactness and success, and never thought of\nasking who or what the visitor was, or what business brought him.\n\n\"When the traveller called next morning, and found the room so\nsmiling, the sunbeams playing through the muslin blinds upon the\nsnow-white curtains, the brightly-tinted flowers--which, by the way,\nthe sprites had painted on purpose--so tastefully arranged, and Pura\nherself looking so neat, and with no thought of display in her head,\nhe was delighted, and left with an air of satisfaction, which convinced\nTia Trinidad that all was going on right. Only, as he was going away,\nhe turned and asked Tia Trinidad if Pura could make lace; and Tia\nTrinidad, who deemed her niece such a pearl that there was nothing\nshe could not do, without thinking, answered \"Yes.\" Nevertheless,\npoor Pura had had too much labour with the garden and the house-work\nall her young life to have had leisure for indoor occupation. She\ncould take a turn, indeed, at her aunt's spinning-wheel; but such an\naccomplishment as making lace she had never practised.\n\n\"'Why did you tell the gentleman I knew how to make lace, when I\ndon't, aunt?' she exclaimed, for she could not bear an untruth about\nthe least matter.\n\n\"'Well, I did not know what to say, all in the surprise,' replied\nthe good aunt. 'It seemed as if I should give a false impression of\nyour habits, which are so industrious, if I said you could not do\nany thing he expected of you.'\n\n\"'Then why didn't you say that I could spin, and scour, and\ndig?' answered Pura, ingenuously.\n\n\"'Dig, and scour, and spin, indeed! Fine recommendations for his\npurpose,' rejoined the aunt, mysteriously; and before Pura could\nask what on earth this 'purpose' was, a messenger brought in three\nbobbins of fine black silk, for her to make into a piece of lace,\nas a proof of her skill.\n\n\"'Oh, aunt, what shall we do? What shall we do?' sobbed poor Pura,\nwho could not endure to be thought a deceiver.\n\n\"'Don't worry, child,' returned the aunt, 'something or other will\nturn up. There's nothing so easy as making lace, after all, and\nthree bobbins are gone like winking. You must get through it somehow,\nfor your fate depends upon it.'\n\n\"Pura went to bed that night crying; and cried herself to sleep. But\nvery early in the morning, very early indeed, Lolita, the sunbeams woke\nher--you see the sprites never lost sight of her. And three beautiful\nsprites--the three who had most care of her--came floating down the\nSunbeam. Without saying a word, they took up the bobbins of silk,\nfor they had brought every thing with them that was wanted for making\nlace, as if they had known all about it, and, rattling them about,\nen un dos por tres [65], they turned off a splendid mantilla, all\nmade out with flowers, and birds, and every thing you can think of,\nand then threw it on the bed, and disappeared before Pura had time\nto recover from her surprise.\n\n\"When the stranger called next day, and saw this extraordinary proof\nof industry and skill, he could hardly believe his eyes, and went\naway more pleased than the day before.\n\n\"'Didn't I tell \u00e1 su merc\u00e9 [66] that she was a jewel?' whispered the\nold lady.\n\n\"'I begin to think you did not exaggerate,' answered the traveller.\n\n\"And then, turning to Pura, he asked her if she was as perfect in\nhousehold duties as in accomplishments; whether, for instance, she\nunderstood cooking.\n\n\"'\u00a1Pues no ha de saber cocer [67]!' interposed the aunt, without\nallowing Pura time to speak; for she knew the good girl would have\nanswered the strict truth; and she thought as the sprites had got\nher out of one scrape, they might be trusted to get her out of another.\n\n\"In the evening, the messenger came again, this time followed by two\nother porters, each carrying baskets of provisions, which they set\ndown, with the message that Pura was to make a famous olla podrida,\nand the gentleman would come in and dine off it the next day.\n\n\"Pura's tears fell fast on the beautiful market spoil, on which\nTia Trinidad stood feasting her gaze. Never had such a provision\nof generous diet stood within sight of her hearth! But Pura only\nreflected on her incapacity to deal with such choice materials, and\nshe knew there was no help to be got from her aunt, to whose cuisine\neven a piece of bacon was a rare delicacy.\n\n\"Pura went to bed that night as sad as the night before, for she kept\nsaying to herself, 'Suppose the gentleman should think it is I who\nhave been deceiving him!'\n\n\"But the sprites did not forget her, Lolita. Very early in the\nmorning--very early!--they came in on the Sunbeam, as bright and\nas beautiful as before; and in a trice they had laid the fire in the\nstove and blown the charcoal into a fine red glow; then, while one took\ndown the large ollas [68] from the shelf, and filled them with water\nat the well, one was busy plucking the fowls, and another washing and\npreparing the vegetables. The vegetables were soon put on in one olla\nwith the bacon; and then the fowls, the ham, the sausages, the tripe,\nthe pigs'-fry, the rolls of lean meat nicely larded and stuffed, all\nset to stew in another, and all seasoned with the greatest care and\ndelicacy. The whole morning Pura watched the sprites. And though Tia\nTrinidad saw nothing but the Sunbeam playing about the kitchen, Pura\nsaw them, as they carefully skimmed the pots, added to the liquor or\nthe flavouring, made up or slackened the fire; then, an hour before\ndinner-time the contents of the two ollas were mingled with care,\nand once more set on to simmer, while with herbs, and bread-crumbs,\nand garlic, pimento, and parsley, certain alb\u00f3ndigas gruesas [69] were\nbeing made ready, and fried in sparkling oil to a fine golden hue,\nready to drop into the olla the moment before serving up.\n\n\"The traveller came, faithful to his appointment, and the delicious\nodours of the olla met him directly he entered the garden-gate,\noverpowering the perfume of the carnations on the window-sills. Proudly\nTia Trinidad bore in the lordly dish, for she knew that never in\nthe palace was a more perfect stew served. The traveller dined with\nundisguised satisfaction; he confessed it was the ne plus ultra of\ncooking. Nothing was wanting, of nothing was there too much, every\nthing was in its due proportion and proved the handiwork of a true\nartist in cooking.\n\n\"'As you understand so well how to prepare this homely dish,' he said,\nat the close of many compliments, as he took leave, 'I am sure your\ndelicate taste must be equally faultless at confections--I shall ask\nyou to make me a turron [70] to-morrow.'\n\n\"Pura, struck dumb with perplexity, was vainly striving to frame some\nspeech by means of which to explain how little part she had had in\nthe performances he had been led to ascribe to her; but while she\nwas yet thinking, her admirer had already plucked a carnation for\nher hair, and, raising his hand in affectionate farewell, had taken\nhis departure.\n\n\"Tia Trinidad busied herself with putting by the remains of the\nabundant meal: there was meat enough to last her frugal needs a week,\nand more, and some to spare for a poor neighbour besides.\n\nWhile she schemed and portioned, Pura, torn by conflicting thoughts,\nstood still, with the carnation in her hand, gazing after the form\nof the stranger as he disappeared among the trees, and wondering why\nshe had not courage to run after him and explain all.\n\n\"She stood thus leaning against the window-pane, and still gazing,\nperplexed, hours afterwards, when the same messenger who had visited\nher on the two evenings before, again appeared, with a load of almonds\nand filberts, pine-kernels and walnuts, honey and eggs. Pura took the\nthings from him with a heavy heart, for she was much too humble and\nsimple to expect that the sprites could be so kind as to help her\nagain; so she went to bed in as great distress as on the preceding\nnights. Nevertheless, early in the morning--very early, very soon\nafter sunrise, that is as soon as the sun was up high enough for\nhis beams to get in at her window--in came the three sprites, and,\nwithout saying a word, set to work, just as they had the day before;\nthen began such a wonderful bruising, and pounding, and mixing, that\nPura soon lost all fear of the work not being performed as perfectly\nas on the two former occasions. They had not yet half finished their\nmixing, when all of a sudden she noticed a soft buzzing sound, like\nthe humming of bees, but all in beautiful melody; and then she saw\nthe Sunbeam full of sprites of every hue like living flowers. They\nwere the genii of the flowers, and they wore the very forms of the\nflowers, their bright petals making so many wings, and they came and\npoured each its own perfumed nectar into the confection, giving it\na flavour such as no turron, of earth at least, ever possessed before.\n\n\"'We have done all these things for you,' said the sprites, when\nthey had completed their handiwork; 'now, we want you to do one thing\nfor us.'\n\n\"'Oh, whatever you like! only tell me any thing I can do!' answered\nPura, with a ready grace.\n\n\"'Well, it is this. We know three poor girls, very poor and very sick;\nthey are all terribly deformed cripples. They are so deformed and so\nugly that they live in the hospital, and never get asked any where. It\nwould be such a pleasure to them to come to your wedding-f\u00eate. They\nwill be no ornament to it, I know; but still, will you let them come?'\n\n\"'Oh, yes; to be sure, poor things;' answered Pura, with grateful and\ncharitable alacrity; 'that is, whenever I get married. But who would\nmarry a poor penniless orphan-girl, who can do nothing? More likely\nI shall have to go to the hospital too, when aunt dies.'\n\n\"'Oh, no; you're going to be married very soon, to that traveller\nwho has been here so often.'\n\n\"'What; to that kind, handsome gentleman!' cried Pura, in raptures. But\na moment after, a cloud stole over her joyous countenance; and,\nhiding her face in her hands, she said, sadly, 'No; that can never\nbe. I dread even to meet him again, because we have been deceiving\nhim. Oh, it was very wrong; I would not have done it for the world\nif I had had time to speak. If he wants to marry me, it's because he\nthinks I'm so clever; and when he finds I can do nothing he will turn\nhis back, and that is not the worst. When he finds he is deceived, and\nI can do nothing, oh, how he will despise me!' And she sobbed again.\n\n\"'No, it is not because you are clever,' answered the sprites; 'it\nis because you are good. If you have not learned more, it is because\nyou had not the opportunity. You have always been industrious at doing\nwhat you did understand; and as to deceiving him, that has never been\nyour will and intention. So cheer up! we will make it all right. Only\ndon't forget to invite the three poor girls from the hospital to the\nfeast.' And the sprites floated away on the sunbeam.\n\n\"'Be sure I shall not forget them, poor things!' cried Pura after them.\n\n\"The next day the stranger came again; and having tasted the exquisite\nturron, which seemed indeed to have been perfumed by no ordinary\ntaste, he told Tia Trinidad he hoped she would let him marry her\nniece at once.\n\n\"There was nothing the old lady desired more; for she had inquired\nabout him meantime, and found he was a worthy man, as well as\nabundantly supplied with this world's goods; so all was speedily\narranged.\n\n\"To her surprise, when she came to announce her good fortune to her\nniece, and to arrange preliminaries with her, she found she was any\nthing but pleased, and only burst into tears.\n\n\"'Why, child! what ever is the matter with you?' she exclaimed. 'You\ndon't mean you don't like him? I'm sure he has spoken kindly and\nfondly enough to you. And what is more, he has spoken kindly and\nfondly enough behind your back, too; which shows his esteem is genuine,\nand no mere flattery.'\n\n\"'That's it. That's just what makes me so wretched,' sobbed Pura.\n\n\"'What, wretched to think a good man loves you!'\n\n\"'No, aunt, no; but to think that he is so good and so kind, and we\nhave been deceiving him. When he finds I can do none of the things he\nhas fancied I am so clever at, what will he think of me? With what\nface can I meet him? Will he ever respect me again?' and she sobbed\nharder than ever.\n\n\"'Nonsense, child, don't take on like that,' responded the\naunt. 'You've got through it all so far. Do as I bid you, and it will\nall come right in the end.'\n\n\"Pura, used to obey, and trusting in great measure also to the\npromises of the sunbeam-sprites, prepared to do her aunt's bidding,\nthough with somewhat mixed feelings.\n\n\"When the wedding-day was fixed, and all preparations made, Pura did\nnot forget to go out early into the tomillar, and ask the sprites of\nthe sunbeam how she should find their prot\u00e9g\u00e9es, the three cripples of\nthe hospital. 'Leave that to us,' said the sprites. 'You have done your\npart in remembering them. We will take care they have the invitation;\nonly give us the token by which they may be sure of being admitted.'\n\n\"'A red and white carnation will suffice,' answered Pura; and a cloud\novershadowed the sunbeam.\n\n\"The wedding came, and the f\u00eates, and the cripples. A pitiable sight\nthey were, indeed. They were still young; but their distorted forms\nonly made their youth a motive for greater compassion. The back of\none was curled over so that her chin touched her waist, and her arms\nwere so short they were no longer than the fins of a fish. Those of\nthe second were so swollen that each was the size of her whole body,\nand you could scarcely tell which was which; and on her forehead was\na great swelling like the horn of a rhinoceros. The skin of the third\nwas all shrivelled and seamed with scars, and her eyes were red all\nround, and stood out from her head worse than those of a lobster.\n\n\"'Pura!' exclaimed the bridegroom, as they made their approach,\n'how on earth did these three scarecrows get in? they are almost\nenough to cast an evil eye on our happiness.'\n\n\"'Say not so, beloved,' replied Pura; 'they are three poor girls who\nmight have been as happy as you and I, but that misfortune overtook\nthem. Their life is sad enough, shall we not try to make them glad\nfor once, on our own happy day?'\n\n\"'Sweet child, you are right, and I was hasty,' answered the\nbridegroom; 'but how did you come to know them?'\n\n\"'Some one who was very kind to me seemed to take an interest in them\ntoo, and asked me to invite them, that they might have one bright\nday at least.'\n\n\"'Then, if that is the case, they have my heartiest welcome; I had\nrather see them here than if they were the highest duchesses of\nthe land.'\n\n\"And with that he sent the friend who attended to marshalling the\nguests, to put them in the best places, nearest to the bride and\nhimself.\n\n\"Nevertheless, he could not get over his curiosity, to know why they\nwere formed in such an extraordinary manner; and when the conversation\nbegan to get sufficiently general and familiar, he went up to the\nfirst, and after an exchange of ordinary compliments, and feeling\nhis way by little and little, at last allowed himself to say in the\npolitest tone,--\n\n\"'May I ask, dear friend, how it is your back comes to be so bent,\nand your arms so very short?'\n\n\"And while he waited in great perturbation, lest he should have\noffended or hurt the poor thing, she answered cheerfully enough,--\n\n\"'By all means, I am not at all ashamed of it. I used to be a famous\nhand at making lace, and my step-mother, finding she could make a\nlot of money out of my work, kept me at it so hard that from bending\nover it so much my back never came straight again; and my arms, from\ncontinually twisting the bobbins, got quite worn away and screwed\nlike into the sockets, and never would come out any more.'\n\n\"'Indeed!' exclaimed the bridegroom, almost abruptly, for his alarm\ngot the better of his courtesy; and with that he sprang to the side\nof his bride, and exacted from her a promise that she would never\nnever make any lace from that day forward.\n\n\"Pura gave the promise willingly enough; and, his composure somewhat\nrestored, her husband before long found his curiosity lead him to\nthe side of the second 'scarecrow' guest, to ask her why her arms\nwere so very thick, and why she had such a bump on her forehead.\n\n\"'Because,' she answered, in a tone which seemed to show she was\npleased to have the opportunity of explaining the circumstance,\n'because I used to be a rare hand at making almendrado [71] and\nturrones of every kind, and from continually pounding, pounding at\nthe almonds and nuts, my arms grew as thick as you see; and as I often\nknocked my forehead with the big pestle we used, I got this ugly bump.'\n\n\"With greater trepidation than before, he darted, at hearing this,\nto Pura's side, and taking her hand in his, required her to promise\nhim with the greatest solemnity that she would never touch any\nconfectionary again.\n\n\"Encouraged by the good-natured reception his curiosity had met\nwith in the two former cases, he soon found himself by the side of\nthe third cripple, asking her why her eyes were so red and goggled,\nand her skin so scarred.\n\n\"'Because I was a famous cook,' was the answer. 'I was married very\nyoung, and my husband was very particular about his dinner. I never\ncould be away from the cooking-stove, there was always something\nto be got ready; and that injured my eyes. And worse than that,\none day I had a frying-pan in my hand, full of boiling oil, and I\nwas just going to drop in the chops, when bang went a pane of glass.\nSome one had frightened the cat, and in he had bounded through the\nwindow, scattering the glass right and left. The noise gave me such\na start, that I upset the frying-pan over the heated stove, the oil\nflared up in my face, and burnt me all over as you see me.'\n\n\"Without retaining sufficient self-command to say the few words of\nsympathy and consolation which would not have failed him at another\ntime, he hasted back to Pura, and insisted that then and there she\nwould promise him never to touch a frying-pan or an olla more.\n\n\"Then Pura understood why the sprites had bid her invite the cripples\nto her wedding; and she had her reward for her charity. And you see,\nLolita, dear, how they kept their promise. So no wonder I am fond of\nlooking into the sunbeam.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE PEDRO JIMENEZ GRAPE.\n\n\nThere was a well-to-do vine-grower named Pedro Jimenez, who cultivated\na small tract of land on which his fathers had lived for many\ngenerations before him, and had been known throughout the district\nfor men of undoubted pundonor, by which word Spaniards express the\nmost scrupulous nicety of honourable conduct. Blessed with all other\nworldly advantages, Pedro Jimenez had one great trial--he had no child\nto whom to transmit the name he had received from his predecessors,\nand himself borne so creditably. When he reflected on this, there was\none thought in the background which used to distress him. There was\nliving at a sufficient distance to be quite unknown to his neighbours,\na poor relation of his wife, whom he assisted frequently in secret;\nbut he had never let the knowledge of the humiliating circumstance\ntranspire. Yet he knew that this poor hard-working man with difficulty\nkept his family above want; that the greatest delicacy in which they\ncould ever indulge was the dish popularly called duelos y quebrantos\n(sorrows and troubles), a stew made up of the poorest odds and ends and\nleavings [72], in bitter mockery of the favourite Spanish olla podrida,\nwhich is a compound of the most succulent meats and vegetables.\n\nConscience would whisper in Pedro Jimenez's ear, \"Here, in this poor\nfellow's son, is an heir whom you may adopt; take him from the present\ntemptations to discontent and dishonesty with which privations ply\nhim, and bring him up according to the traditional maxims of your\nhouse.\" But when he thought of the details of bringing the ragged lad\nto his respectable homestead, and the neighbours pointing to him as\nthe relation of the wealthy Pedro Jimenez, his courage failed him, and\nhe turned from the idea. So years passed by, and this thought remained\nthe weak point of Pedro Jimenez's otherwise irreproachable character.\n\nOne evening, as he was strolling through his vineyard, admiring the\nbeautiful clusters of grapes which were his riches for the coming\nyear, he was disturbed by the mournful howling of a dog, proceeding\nfrom the road-side at no great distance. His kind heart prompted him\nimmediately to follow up the sound, and he was not long before he\ncame upon a saddening sight. On the ground lay the prostrate form of a\ndelicate youth, foot-sore and travel-worn, and now brought to a state\nof unconsciousness through exhaustion; by his side there lay a large\nshaggy dog of pitiable aspect; his bones almost protruded through his\nskin, his eyes were glassy and wild, and he trembled in every limb. His\nmelancholy howling grew fainter and fainter, and by the time Pedro\nJimenez got up to the group, he saw he was past the reach of help;\nwith one more distressful howl, he rolled on his back and expired,\nhaving spent his last breath in summoning aid to his young master!\n\nPedro Jimenez lost no time in raising the youth in his arms, and\nbearing him to his own comfortable home, where his wife's kindly\ncare soon restored him to animation. Refreshed by her attentions,\nhe was soon able to tell his tale; and what was the surprise of\nthe good couple when they learnt that the poor child they had so\ncharitably entertained, was no other than the son of their poor\nrelation. Nevertheless his history was a sad one. His father and mother\nhad both fallen victims to an epidemic disorder in their village; kind\nneighbours had taken in the younger children, a convent had provided\nfor two older girls; and the eldest boy, having been used to labour\nall his life, had manfully resolved to be a charge to no stranger, but\nhad set out to seek the advice and direction of the only relation he\nhad to look up to, in finding work by which he could support himself,\nand lay by enough to portion his younger sisters. As the weary boy\ntold his tale of domestic heroism, Pedro Jimenez's better nature\nstirred within him. He no longer stifled the dictates of conscience,\nno longer suffered himself to be governed by a false and foolish fear\nof human respect, but took his young kinsman by the hand, told him\nhe was proud of his spirit, and that as Heaven had denied him direct\nheirs, he would henceforth make it depend entirely on his own good\nconduct to become the heir to his comfortable competence.\n\nThe orphan lad was overjoyed at the prospect. In his little world\nthe name of Pedro Jimenez had all his life stood as the embodiment of\nall that was respectable, and desirable, and worthy of imitation. To\nbe suddenly elevated to the position of aspiring to one day himself\ninheriting that honoured name, with all its contingent advantages,\nwas greater happiness than he had ever dared to entertain in his\nwildest dreams.\n\nPedro Jimenez had every reason to be satisfied with the decision he\nhad come to. All the neighbours who were sufficiently men of worth\nto make their opinion a matter of consequence, far from looking down\non him for the disclosure, warmly applauded his generosity; and in\nreturn for the few worthless ones whose acquaintance he lost by it,\nhe won for himself the affection of a devoted son. The old man had\nnever known a greater pleasure than that he now found in taking his\nadopted child out with him day by day, and instructing him in all the\nvarious arts of treating the vine--the mode of planting and culture,\nthe vintage, the pressing of the grape, and the disposal of the wine;\nand to all this, his young charge listened with an earnestness and\nintelligence that repaid all his care. His frugality, and industry,\nand straightforward manly conduct on all occasions--his almost feminine\nkindliness of manner in supplying to the best of his power the offices\nof the old wife, when God took her home, all rendered the old man\nquite easy as to the future successor to his name.\n\nAt last the time came when Pedro Jimenez the elder, full of years and\nhonour, was called to his account; and as his adopted son turned to\nmeet the desolation of the lonely house, there was one thought of\nconsolation to gild his bereavement, the sense that he could make\nhis whole after-life a token of obedience to the upright maxims of\nhis benefactor, in whose stead he now stood.\n\nWhile our hero had been living in rustic tranquillity in the\nremotest part of the south of Spain, great events had been stirring\nEurope. The tumultuous tide of the French Revolution had overflowed\nthe Peninsula. I will not detain you with any thing you can consider\na dry epitome of history. Suffice it to say, that in consequence of\nthe troubles in which his country was involved, young Pedro Jimenez\nwas called to join the army.\n\nHaving felt, as I hope you have, some interest in the honest pride\nwith which he was on the point of entering on his inheritance,\nI am sure you will sympathize with the sadness of heart which now\novershadowed him as he was obliged to abandon his fair homestead just\nas it had become his own. \"It is well the old man never suspected\nit would come to this! ... and then peace must come and restore me\nto my home some time or other,\" he used to say to comfort himself\nduring the weary march or tedious drill. There was, however, yet a\nheavier trial in store. It was the policy of the intruded French ruler\nto send away the native troops out of their country, and replace\nthem with French troops. Now it happened that Pedro Jimenez was\nattached to the regiment of General Romano, which was one of those\nselected for foreign service. Ordered to the banks of the Rhine,\npoor Pedro Jimenez seemed farther than ever from the fulfilment of\nhis darling hopes. He had perhaps felt the defence of his country\nsome compensation for the separation from home; but to fight for the\nunjust aggressions of one who was the usurper of the throne of his\nnative land was surpassingly hard. When not joining his comrades in\nlamenting their hard fate, he would wander over the country, trying to\nfind any incident which might remind him of his beloved Andalusia. His\nattention was thus arrested by the vines which he found growing on the\nheights around. The knowledge of the subject he had acquired during\nso many years' apprenticeship, and under so experienced a master,\nnow proved invaluable. His practised eye readily distinguished among\nthe varieties presented to it a superior variety adapted to the soil\nand climate of Andalusia, and he determined, whenever Providence was\npleased to give him an opportunity of returning, that he would provide\nhimself with the means of propagating this stock in his own plantation.\n\nNor was this opportunity very long withheld. General Romano, though\nscarcely taller than the length of an ordinary man's arm [73] bore\nin his little body a large and loyal heart: by dint of persevering\nefforts, he succeeded in making a way of escape for his whole regiment,\nshipped them, and carried them safely round to a friendly port of\nPortugal, and thence draughted them all back into Spain, where they\ndid good service under Wellington.\n\nPedro could hardly believe his ears for joy, when the mysterious\norder was transmitted to him, to prepare for the secret return: yet\nhe did not in his transports forget the coveted vine. The plant thus\nobtained, tended and preserved with much care and anxiety through\nthe voyage, might still have been condemned to perish, had he been\ncalled to active service; but the rough life and the long voyage\nhad impaired his health. After several months in hospital, during\nwhich time, you may be sure, he did not neglect his precious plant,\nhe was sent home invalided.\n\nHe found his own vi\u00f1a in a sad state of neglect; but his native air\nhaving soon restored his strength, he was able within a few years more,\nnot only to bring it round again, but also to produce a goodly show\nfrom his newly imported vine-stock. And from this vintage it is--the\nRhenish stock planted in Andalusian soil, and cultivated with tender\ncare and intelligence--that we get the choice variety of sherry wine\n(you can ask Papa to let you taste it some day at dessert) called\n\"Pedro Jimenez.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nST. MARTIN IN SPAIN.\n\n\nAbout the time that the Pedro Jim\u00e9nez vintage was coming into growth,\na favourite old vintage of Spain was just becoming exhausted, or\nfor some reason going out of fashion,--the white wine of San Martin,\nso called from the locality of its production in Castilla la Vieja,\nnot far from Toledo.\n\nNow it happens that in Spain--where Christianity has woven itself\nmore familiarly perhaps than any where else into the home traditions\nof the people, and every class and state of man has assigned to it\na special patron--that St. Martin is counted the patron Saint of\ndrunkards. \"Patron Saint of drunkards!\" you will perhaps exclaim;\n\"what have Saints got to do with drunkards?\" But think a little,\nand remember how mercifully our Lord associated \"with publicans\nand sinners,\" that He might reclaim them, and then you will say\nit is not so strange after all. Drunkards are very few in Spain,\nso few that there is no idiomatic word to call them by--nothing but\nthe popular mocking expression borracho, which is simply formed by\nputting a masculine termination to the word borracha, a wine-skin;\nfor you know it is the common practice in Spain, to store all the wine\nthat is intended for use within a short period, in skins instead of\nbarrels. And very curious it is, I assure you, when you are travelling\nin Spain, to see great skins of pigs and goats, sometimes with the\nhair still on, hanging up in the wine-shops, swelled out to their\nutmost extent with wine.\n\nI was curious to find out how St. Martin came to be reckoned the\nmale-wineskin's patron; and in course of my inquiries, came upon two\nor three little traditions which may amuse you.\n\nOne was, that in a church much frequented by large numbers of the\npoorer peasantry, there was, among other pictures, one representing\nSt. Martin dividing his cloak with the beggar, according to the legend\nyou have all heard. But it happened that the painter, in the plenitude\nof his idealism, had made a slight alteration in the usual treatment of\nthe figures. Instead of putting a beggar kneeling by the wayside and\nsturdily asking alms, he had drawn one lying down in the extremity of\nexhaustion, and with scarcely a rag to cover him. St. Martin, instead\nof being in the act of cutting his cloak in halves with his sword, as\nyou usually see him, was tenderly placing the already severed portion\nof his garment over the shivering form of the beggar. But the execution\nof the picture was not equal to the conception: the livid face, with\nits red and purple lines, by which the painter had thought to depict\nthe effect of cold and want, was taken by the people to show forth\nthe swollen features of a drunkard, and the attitude of exhaustion,\nfor one of helpless intoxication. St. Martin's part in the picture was\nreckoned to be the saving him from the ridicule of the passengers,\nby covering him up. This act of patronage, so assumed, was reckoned\nto extend to all victims of drunkenness.\n\nAnother story told me, was, that it arose from a waggish remark\nmade by an Andalusian on another and more normal picture of\nSt. Martin. Andalusians are famous for their wit. It is said that\nthe soil of Spain is adapted to produce every thing required for both\nthe necessity and luxurious enjoyment of human life, except spices;\nbut that this is supplied by the spice of Andalusian wit, for an\nAndalusian hardly opens his mouth but to say something witty.\n\nAn Andalusian, then, being asked what he thought of a certain picture\nof the legend of St. Martin replied, it represented such a piece\nof folly that none but a drunken man could have committed it. And\nthe connexion thus once set up between a Saint and the condition\nof inebriety, though in jest, was sufficient to fasten on him the\npatronage of the inebriate.\n\nBut for my own part, I am inclined to think that the vintage of San\nMartin, though now seldom spoken of, having at one time been regarded\nall over Spain as the first vintage of the world, popular tradition\nnaturally ascribed the care of those who partook of it to the Saint\nwhose name it fortuitously bore.\n\nIn inquiring thus about St. Martin, I found that Spaniards have\na jesting way of calling one San Rorro also, patron of drunkards;\nand this puzzled me, as I could find nothing like San Rorro in the\nCalendar. Then I learnt that rorro means a child just beginning to\nwalk. Now a drunken man staggers much in the same way as an infant\nfirst learning to support its own weight; and thus \"San Rorro\" is\nmerely a punning allusion to this similarity. But the Spaniard, who,\nas I have said, weaves his Christianity and--I may add--his innocent\njest into every thing, remembering that the Divine Infant must have\ntottered too in His first early efforts to walk, sees a connexion here\nwhich may suggest an occasion for Divine pity and patronage. Certainly\nthe common immunity from bad consequences of their falls, has led\nall countries to fable about a \"special Providence for drunkards.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMARVELLOUS STORIES.\n\n\nAfter recording so many marvellous stories, it seems not out of\nplace to give two or three instances of how marvellous stories rise\nin popular imagination; from which it is not difficult to infer how\nother stories have received their marvellous dress.\n\n\n\n\nI.\n\nST. MICHAEL'S FEATHER.\n\nThere is a town in Spain where a feather is preserved which is reported\nby the common people to have been shed by the Archangel Michael on\nthe occasion of a miraculous visit to the place. An arch\u00e6ologist who\nwas at great pains to investigate this matter, after spending much\ntime over the inquiry, traced it very satisfactorily to an occasion\nin which, some hundreds of years ago, an Auto Sacramentale, or, as we\nsay in English, a Mystery Play--that is, a dramatic representation of\na religious subject--was being shown, in which St. Michael was one of\nthe dramatis person\u00e6. A feather having fallen from the wings employed\non the occasion, was picked up and preserved with the care which\nso religious a people naturally bestowed on any thing connected,\nhowever remotely, with a sacred matter; and in process of time,\nthe local circumstances being forgotten, the feather was ascribed to\nSt. Michael the Archangel himself.\n\n\n\n\nII.\n\n\"EYES TO THE BLIND.\"\n\nAlfonso Tostato, an Archbishop of Alcal\u00e1 de Hen\u00e1res in the Middle Ages,\nwrote some commentaries on the Bible which were regarded as a work of\ngreat piety and erudition. Difficult passages were elucidated with so\nmuch plainness, that it was said metaphorically in his epitaph, that\nhis works enabled the blind to see [74], which sentence getting to be\nreported among the common people, it was confidently believed that\nin virtue of the services rendered by his works to the Word of God,\nany blind person who could be brought within reach of his writings\nwould be instantly restored to sight.\n\n\n\n\nIII.\n\nTHE FLOATING CHEST.\n\nCardinal Xim\u00e9nez, who founded the celebrated University of Alcal\u00e1,\nwas desirous to spread the knowledge of these commentaries, which were\nfalling into oblivion; and he thought to render a service to religion\nby having a new edition of them published. As the art of printing was\nat that time more developed in the Republic of Venice than in Spain,\nhe found he could bring it out more advantageously there; accordingly\nthe manuscripts were packed and sent thither.\n\nIt happened, however, that crossing the Mediterranean, the ship in\nwhich they were was overtaken by a tremendous gale; and to save the\nlives of the passengers, the captain ordered all the merchandize to\nbe thrown overboard, so as to lighten the ship. The chest containing\nAlfonso Tostato's works was cast into the sea with the rest.\n\nNext morning, when the danger was past, the person who had been\nentrusted by Xim\u00e9nez with the care of the manuscripts was in great\ndistress at the irreparable loss: not daring to return to Spain,\nhe wandered along the shore, hardly knowing what he did, when,\nlo and behold! to his intense delight, there appeared suddenly,\nfloating in the sea, the identical chest, the loss of which was\nthe cause of his mortification. A boat was quickly despatched to\nhaul it in with great joy, and the event was commonly regarded as a\nmarvellous interposition. But it would seem that the sagacious Xim\u00e9nez,\nforeseeing the possible calamity, had ordered that the chest should\nbe constructed of the lightest wood; and all who have ever had a swim\nin the Mediterranean know the peculiar buoyancy of its waters. Perhaps\nwe may now account for the chest floating.\n\n\n\n\nIV.\n\nTHE WHALE OF THE MANZAN\u00c1RES.\n\nA modern Spanish writer gives the following solution of a\npopular tradition that a whale was once seen making its way up the\nManzan\u00e1res. The Manzan\u00e1res is a singularly shallow river, at certain\ntimes of the year not half covering its bed, which rendered the\ntradition still more marvellous [75].\n\nThe solution is this: \"A wine-merchant living on its banks was once\nunfortunate enough to have an accident in his storehouse or cellar,\nby which a number of wine-skins were sent floating down the stream. The\nwine-merchant ran along the bank, calling on the neighbours to arrest\nthe float, the rather that one of the skins was full of wine; and as\nthe danger of losing them increased, he went on crying frantically,\n\"Una va llena!\" (\"One of them is full!\")\n\nNow Spaniards make but a scarcely perceptible difference between the\nsound of b and v, so that his cry sounded in the people's ears like\nuna ballena, which would have meant a whale!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE SUN OF WITTENBURG.\n\n\nAmong the engagements fought by the Duke of Alva in the Low Countries,\nno victory was more hotly contested and more hardly won than the battle\nof Wittenburg, in 1548. Some who were present at it, when they came\nback to Spain, magnified, as old soldiers are wont, the wonders of\nthe day; and among other extravagant exaggerations, it was reported\nthat the sun had stood still to give the victorious Spaniards time\nto pursue their enemies.\n\nWhen the Duke of Alva returned, Charles Quint inquired of him his\naccount of the event. The Duke, who did not wish either to compromise\nhis veracity or diminish the honours of the day, replied, \"Sire,\nI had too much occupation on earth for my thoughts to have leisure\nto observe what took place in the heavens.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMERINO.\n\n\nYou have often had to wear a merino frock and merino socks, I dare\nsay; but perhaps you do not know that the fine soft wool of which\nthese are made comes from Spain. It is more interesting to know that\nthere is a tradition which says that the particular breed of sheep\nfrom which this wool is taken, came originally from England; their\ncoats improved greatly in quality under the genial climate of Spain,\nand some people have supposed that the name merino is a corruption\nof trans marino, because they came from over the sea. Others derive\nit from the word Merino, an old title in use in the kingdom of Leon,\nmeaning an overseer, and think that the sheep, having on their first\narrival been given into the care of a Merino, or overseer, the name\ncontinued to be applied to the animals after it had ceased to denote\nthe office.\n\nOthers, again, derive it from the word merino, which denotes the\nmigration to which these sheep are subjected; for in the hot weather,\nwhen the grass of the lowlands gets withered up, they have to be\ndriven into the mountain pastures.\n\nThere is some doubt as to the date of the importation of the sheep;\nbut most probably they were taken as part of the dowry of Catherine,\ndaughter of John of Gaunt, when she went to marry Don Enrique III.,\nKing of Leon and Castille.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nKING VAMBA.\n\n\nDuring the time that the Goths governed Spain, there was once an\ninterregnum. The stock of the last dynasty was extinct, and every one\nwho could collect a few supporters set himself up to rule over the\nrest, so that there were several calling themselves kings at once,\nand fighting with each other for the mastery. Of course this led to\nthe greatest confusion, for there was no one to keep order.\n\nAt last, as they found they could not agree among themselves, they sent\nto Rome to ask the Pope to decide for them. So the Pope went into his\noratory, and prayed God to tell him which of all the candidates should\nbe King of Spain. But when he came out again to the envoys, he told\nthem that none of the pretenders were worthy to wear the crown; that\nhe who was to be King of Spain would be found ploughing his land with\na grey and white ox, and a priest walking by his side; that he would\nbe found somewhere in Andalusia, and that his name would be Vamba.\n\nThe envoys came back to Spain in no very cheerful mood; for they said,\n\"How shall we find this man?\" And then they searched Andalusia over,\nand could find no one whose name was Vamba. Just as they were going\nto give up the search in despair, as they were passing through a\nbank planted with canes they heard a woman with a basket on her\nshoulder call out, \"Come and dine, Vamba! You seem to forget it is\ntwelve o'clock!\"\n\nWhen the envoys heard that, they turned round again, and saw a man\nploughing in a field with a grey and white ox. So they went back, and\nthrew themselves on their knees before him, and spoke in this manner,\n\n\"Give us your hands to kiss, your majesty!\"\n\nBut Vamba, full of astonishment, and at a loss to understand them,\nthought they must want to kill him; and exclaimed, trembling, \"Spare\nmy life, Se\u00f1ores! Why do you seek to take it?\"\n\nBut they answered, \"We have no such thought, Vamba. Far from it. The\nPope who now reigns in Rome told us that you were to be our king;\nand our king you must therefore be.\"\n\nBut Vamba, who could not believe they were serious, stuck the vara [76]\nhe held in his hand for a goad, into the ground; and said, laughing,\n\"When my vara shall take root, and bring forth flowers, then will I\nbelieve that I am King of Spain!\"\n\nThen, behold! before he had finished speaking, the vara became covered\nwith leaves, and from its branches sprang beautiful flowers.\n\nWhen Vamba saw that, he hesitated no longer; but called his wife\nSancha, and his children, and went along with the envoys to Toledo,\nwhich was the capital of the kingdom of the Goths.\n\nThe envoys sent messengers on before, to tell the Council of the\nkingdom that the king was coming. The Council rose in a body, and\nwent out to meet him; and all the people followed behind, and the\njoy-bells were set ringing.\n\nThus King Vamba made his entrance by the Gate of Cambron, the noblest\ngate adorning great Toledo; but when he saw the Alcaide of his palace\nbearing the sword before him according to custom, he begged, in his\nhumility, that he would not bear a sword, but that his children might\ngo before him to show that he loved peace and love, rather than war\nand strife; and so he went on into the city.\n\nAnd all the people looked out of their balconies, and cried,--\n\n\n \"Toledo and Spain for Vamba!\n And also for Queen Sancha!\"\n\n\nBut as the cry swept over the bosom of old father Tagus, the golden\nTagus who reflects the glories of all Spain, he bore the cry along\ngladly and soft, but yet inverting the order,--\n\n\n \"All Spain hails thee first,\n And then her chief city Toledo!\"\n\n\nThus they conducted the good king to the palace, and there they led him\nto the bath; and then they trimmed his red melena [77], and arranged\nit so that it might not fall into his eyes; and they combed out the\nhair of his beard, but left it long and noble; and they put on him\na royal robe with gold embroidery and an ermine collar, though he\nwould have it sober in colour, and on his breast a blood-red cross.\n\nQueen Sancha, too, they arrayed in a robe of green velvet, with\ngold and jewels round the border, her beautiful golden hair unbound,\nfalling loose over her shoulders and reaching down to her palfrey.\n\nThe ladies went before, and strewed the ground with flowers, and\nfilled the air with benedictions.\n\nAnd thus they went forth to the cathedral to be crowned. And all the\npeople ran to their balconies as they passed along, and cried,--\n\n\n \"Toledo and Spain for Vamba!\n And also for Queen Sancha!\"\n\n\nBut as the cry swept over the bosom of old father Tagus, the golden\nTagus, who reflects the glories of all Spain, he bore the cry along,\ngladly and soft, but inverting the order,--\n\n\n \"All Spain hails thee first!\n And then her chief city Toledo!\"\n\n\nLike King David, taken from the sheep-fold to be ruler of the people,\nVamba made a very good king. His reign is spoken of in history as\n\"the era of wisdom and justice.\" He had not, like later sovereigns\nof Spain, to fight the Saracen intruder on his own soil; but he did\nmore, he crossed the sea to check his advancing power on the African\ncoast, and returned towing two hundred and seventy vessels which his\nprowess had taken from the enemy. If equal determination had been\nshown in succeeding reigns, the Moslem had never obtained a footing\non Christian soil.\n\nNevertheless, though respected and beloved by his subjects, Vamba\nwas destined not long to enjoy the peace he so ardently loved. The\nambitious men who had been contending for the crown before his\naccession, continued unyielding and restless. Pretenders rose up in\nNavarre and the Asturias, and Ilderic, Count of Nimes, at the same\ntime set up the standard of revolt in the Gaulish provinces. Vamba\nmarched in person against Navarre, and sent Paulo his general to\nNimes. But Paulo, instead of going to chastise the rebel, procured,\non his own behalf, the assistance of Remismundo, Duke of Cantabria,\nand proclaimed himself king. Vamba, though he had been made king\nwithout his own seeking, determined that the sceptre entrusted to him\nshould lose none of its authority by his remissness, and had no sooner\nrestored peace within the kingdom, than he set out against the more\ndistant insurgents, whom he soon reduced to obedience also. Paulo was\ntaken prisoner at Narbonne, together with the bulk of his adherents;\nat the intercession of the Archbishop they were all pardoned, except\nPaulo himself, who was found hidden in a cave.\n\nWhen brought before him, Vamba said to him, \"I conjure you now before\nGod to tell me, have you any complaint against me, have I ever done\nany thing to justify your revolt?\"\n\n\"Since you ask me in God's Name,\" replied Paulo, \"I cannot but speak\nthe truth. And I must therefore say, that never have I received evil\nat your hands, but on the contrary signal favours. I was always highly\nhonoured by you, and it was the devil who led me astray.\"\n\nThen the king forgave him the penalty of death, but he had his eyes\nput out, and took him captive to Toledo with a rope round his neck.\n\nYou might think that Vamba would have had peace, now that he had\nsubdued all his enemies, but it was not so; another noble, Erviga,\nrose up against him and usurped his authority. By this time Vamba\nwas old and worn down with care. Sancha was dead, and his race seemed\nwell-nigh run. Erviga, though unjust in seeking to take the crown by\nforce, was a brave leader and had the qualities necessary for a good\nruler, therefore the good Vamba, instead of spending the blood of his\nsubjects in fighting for a position which he had so little strength\nleft to maintain, settled the question by retiring into a monastery\nand recommending the people to accept the rule of Erviga.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nDO\u00d1A TEREA.\n\n\nAlfonso the Fifth of Leon was but an infant when his father's death\nlaid on him the charge of resisting the advance of the Moslem,\nwhich was the inheritance of all Spanish sovereigns for so many\ncenturies. His mother, Elvira, ruled the kingdom during his minority\nwith great prudence and courage, defeated the Infidels in several\nencounters, and cultivated in her son all the qualities of a great\nsovereign. So well did her instructions prosper, that at the age of\nfifteen he was called to reign in his own name; and from the seclusion\nof a convent, whither she retired when the country no longer required\nher, his mother had frequent occasion to return thanks to heaven for\nthe noble qualities her boy exhibited. For many years he continued the\npride of the nation and the dread of its enemies; prosperity blessed\nthe people at home, and their borders were continually enlarged by\nthe success of his arms.\n\nSuccess, though pleasant, is not always good. Alfonso, under\nits influence, at one time grew heedless of the dictates of his\nreligion. On one occasion, being about to conclude a treaty of peace\nwith Andalla, the Moorish king of Toledo, that prince asked the hand\nof his sister, Do\u00f1a Terea, as one of the conditions of the treaty. The\nking's counsellors were struck with horror, at the thought of handing\nover a Christian maiden to an Infidel husband, the people expressed\ntheir indignation aloud, and Do\u00f1a Terea herself implored piteously\nto be spared.\n\nAs I have said, success had spoiled Alfonso's nature; he was so\naccustomed to succeed in every thing, that he could not bear to be\ncrossed even by righteous counsel. It seemed something fine to do\nwhat every one else was afraid of; he would not show himself so weak,\nnot he. He would give his sister to the Moorish king in spite of\nthem all, and show them he was superior to their prejudices. Besides,\nhe further justified it to himself, because Andalla undertook on this\ncondition to help him in his campaign against the other Moorish kings;\nforgetting that we must never do a wrong action for the sake of any\nadvantageous result we may fancy it will bring.\n\nDo\u00f1a Terea, on the other hand, felt the full misery of her\nsituation. No specious arguments blinded her. She felt it both wrong\nand repugnant; and besides, there was many a gallant, handsome\nknight ready to risk his life to win her love, and on whom she\nmight have bestowed it in joy to herself and without violence to her\nconscience. Too young to have fixed her choice, she still had her\nsecret preference dearly nursed, but not yet acknowledged so as to\ngive the object of it the right to stand forth as her defender.\n\nNow, a blight was over all her hopes; her bridal day, instead of\nan occasion of hope and gladness, was to be a day of desolation and\ndespair. The prelates and great men of the kingdom offered themselves\nwillingly to represent her grief to the king; but they could not move\nhim, and when he sent the envoy who was to conduct her to Toledo,\nshe was found in an agony on her knees, imploring deliverance from on\nHigh. Even this, however, did not move the king's heart; and poor Do\u00f1a\nTerea was dragged off, more dead than alive, to be the Moor's bride.\n\nHer beautiful golden hair--a romance of the time particularly records\nthe tint--hung untended over her shoulders; the colour had fled from\nher tear-worn cheeks, and the expression from her dark-glancing eyes;\nfor it seemed as if God, on whom she called so passionately to deliver\nher, had forsaken her in her hour of need.\n\nAnd thus she was brought to Andalla, King of Toledo, who was too\nmuch pleased to have a beautiful Christian maiden for his bride to\nlisten to her appeal to his magnanimity to release her. But when she\nfound that all her gentle supplications were of no avail, she seemed\nsuddenly inspired with a fire of queenly indignation; and, assuming\na commanding attitude, she said solemnly, \"Moor, of another law far\nremoved from mine, know that I desire not to be united with thee,\nand thy presence is a burden to me; but if thou art sacrilegiously\ndetermined to marry me against my will, know that we Christians each\nat our baptism have a guardian angel given to us, to defend us from\nthe power of evil; and so sure as thou respectest not the difference\nthere is between thy belief and mine, that guardian spirit shall\nvindicate me and smite thee with his two-edged sword.\"\n\nBut Andalla only thought this exhibition of indignation made her\nlook prettier; and laughing at the threatened visitation, persisted\nin making her his wife. His neighbours counted him singularly lucky\nin the possession of such a prize; and he thought himself happy\nindeed. Nevertheless, from the day of his marriage, a strange\nillness had assailed him. Though still in the prime of manhood,\nan unaccountable weakness overtook him; first his sight failed,\nand then his hearing, then his taste, then his strength; and all the\nclever physicians of the Moorish dominions failed, not only to give\nhim any relief, but even to guess at the cause of the malady.\n\nDriven thus to think within himself, he recalled the solemn warning\nof Do\u00f1a Terea, and fear overtook him that her words were coming\ntrue. The moment he realized his danger, he sent for her and asked\nher if she still wished to return to her own country; to which she\nof course replied, that it was what she must always most desire. So\nhe summoned the most honourable men of his kingdom, and gave Do\u00f1a\nTerea in charge to them, and sent them to convey her back to her\nown country; and, moreover, put in their hands priceless presents\nof gold and precious stones, to make amends in the best way in his\npower, and also to testify that he did it to satisfy the scruples of\nthe princess, and not out of any disrespect to the Christian king,\nof whose religion he now stood in great fear.\n\nAnd Alfonso the Fifth, what became of him? Had he heard the Moorish\nking's embassage, he too might have been brought to the knowledge\nof his error, and to repentance; but when it arrived at the capital\nof Leon, he was already gone out on an expedition in which, by his\nunholy alliance, the infidel forces were mingled with his own. In\nhigh spirits, they marched along, crossing the Douro, fearing no\nopposition, for the Moorish population was at the time divided by\nmany internecine feuds, and were hence precluded from assembling\nagainst him in any large numbers. Thus he came to Viseo, a strong\nplace defended by a considerable garrison. Alfonso determined to lay\nsiege to it. The army was accordingly encamped before it, and wise\nmeasures for its reduction promulgated, for Alfonso was a skilful\ngeneral. Never doubting of his luck, however, he neglected those\nprecautions which would have suggested themselves to a less successful\nman. The weather was sultry, and the heavy armour irksome. Alfonso,\nunused to restraint, heedlessly cast his cuirass aside, yet, with\nhis accustomed bravery, showed himself under the walls as before,\ntoo self-confident to listen to counsel.\n\nA sharp-eyed Moor upon the battlements detected the advantage he had\ngiven to his enemies, and letting fly a poisoned arrow aimed with the\nnice precision which the greatness of the venture inspired, gave him\na mortal wound.\n\nThus he was cut down in early manhood, and the care of the kingdom\nonce more left in the hands of an infant.\n\nBut Do\u00f1a Terea reached home in peace; and passed the rest of her days\npraying for the brother who had so sadly wronged her, in the Convent\nof Las Huelgas--one of the present architectural glories of Spain.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE IRISH PRINCESS [78].\n\n\nI was born in Venice the renowned. When I had completed my twenty\nAprils, my father called me to him one day, and said to me, \"Dear\nson, I have overflowing wealth of possessions, and in silver and gold\ntwenty thousand doubloons fully told; you are my only heir, and I am\ninfirm and stricken in years. I am thinking of selling the good ship,\nthat even now lies anchored in port.\"\n\nTo which I replied, \"Father and lord, observe, the possessions,\nsilver and gold, may all in an instant be reduced to nothing. But\nfreight the good ship now with rich merchandise and wares which shall\nprofit in exchange.\"\n\nA few days after this, I sailed forth in the good ship, well freighted\nwith precious stores; her linen sails filled out with the soft wind,\nand her keel ploughing the berdinegros [79] waters of the crystal main.\n\nThus to Tunis we came, where my affairs succeeded prosperously. My\nmerchandise was all disposed of to great advantage in a short time,\nand before leaving the port I wandered forth to see the town. Passing\nby one of the great public squares, I saw some Turkish sentinels\nwalking up and down, guarding a dead body; I addressed them, asking\nwhy they did not inter it.\n\n\"Because,\" said they, \"he was of the Christian people, and in his days\nof life traded with his ship, wherefore a Turk of great consideration\nin our city, and a friend of his, entrusted to him a thousand ducats\nin silver, with which he bought great provision of cloth, and sent\nhis servants to trade with it, while he remained in Tunis. The ship\nleft the port with a prosperous wind, but before four days were out,\na balandra [80] came in, bearing the news that the ship had been\novertaken by a tempest, and all the merchandise had gone down into\nthe boiling deep. With that the Christian merchant was so overcome,\nthat he fainted and fell down dead, and we hold his body in bail for\nthe thousand ducats he owed the Turk.\"\n\nTo which I replied, \"I will pay the sum you have named.\" And then,\ntaking the body on my shoulders, I carried it to the church of Serafic\nFrancis, which there is in Tunis, to give it burial, and paid the\nstipend of the priest who should say a hundred masses for the soul's\nrest. Then I returned to pay the debt to the Turk.\n\nScarcely had I passed the threshold of his house, when I heard the\nsound of great wailing and lamentation, as of one taking leave of life.\n\nSo I turned and asked two turbaned renegades who stood in waiting, what\nmeant the wail. And they said, \"There came to Tunis a female slave,\na captive Christian, causing envy to all the womanhood of this place,\nso beauteously had Heaven arrayed her. Her our master bought, with the\nintention of making her recant and marrying her. But she said to him,\n'Se\u00f1or, it is vain you weary yourself, to persuade me to do this thing,\nfor never will I deny my God and His laws, though to lay down my life\nI am ready.'\n\n\"When the master heard this he was wroth, and taking her by the\nshoulders let her down into a mazmorra [81] under his house, binding\nher with a heavy chain, and feeding her day by day with but six ounces\nof coarse bread and half a pint of water.\"\n\nHearing that, I said I would buy the maid, and redeem her; but they\nanswered it was vain. The Turk would not part with her to any one,\nand in mockery he had set her price at a hundred millions. So I saw\nI must have recourse to stratagem, and asked accordingly whether\nthe maid had declared herself a Christian, and they answered,\n\"No, she had only spoken of her God and of His law,\" then, while\nI bethought me how to arrange my plan, they exclaimed suddenly,\n\"Here comes the master;\" and the moment that he entered the house,\neagerly prostrating themselves at his feet, they said:--\n\n\"Great lord of this mighty alc\u00e1zar [82], behold a man who comes to\npay the debt of the dead Christian, and who is also desirous to buy\nthe maiden, the slave.\"\n\nNor was I sorry to find myself thus launched into the middle of the\nbusiness, but I stood perplexed, praying in my own mind that God\nwould give me some well-conceived idea which should serve for the\nredemption of the maiden.\n\nMeantime, I counted out the sum that was due from the dead man; and\nthen I said, \"Know you that this Mustafa, my sister, whom you keep in\nyour mazmorra, feeding her with the bread of affliction, is the most\npious Jewess of our nation, and that in this you do a great wrong?\"\n\nI could proceed no further, for the Moors think it a terrible discredit\nto have any Jew within their precincts; and this one flew into an\nungovernable rage at the bare idea that he had been harbouring one;\nplucking out his beard by handfuls, he cried out with a loud voice\nof desolation,--\n\n\"Woe is me, for my fame and my honour before my people is gone, now\nthat I have suffered this scum of the earth to be with me! Let her\nbe thrust forth from my gates.\"\n\nSo his servants ran and took her up, more dead than alive, and putting\nher into my arms drove us forth with ignominy and imprecations.\n\nI was no sooner in the street, than I gave great thanks to God for\nthe rescue He had provided, and then I bore her along to the church,\nthinking she needed the rites of sepulture; but I had scarcely entered\nthe sacred place, than she opened her eyes and breathed. So I gave\nher such means of refreshment as I had about me, and by degrees the\nsad lady came to herself; and to give her greater consolation, I bid\nher observe she was no longer in the estate of a slave, but that by\nthe mercy of Heaven she was redeemed and free.\n\nAs soon as her strength had begun to return, I deemed it prudent to\nrun no risk of danger from the Turk, and therefore used every possible\ndiligence to conduct her to the harbour, where at once we went down\ninto my good ship, and giving the crew word to get to sea with all\ndespatch, we were soon steering swiftly between two azure fields.\n\nThus we came to Venice, my country, where I found that during my\nabsence my dear old father had died; and I should well-nigh have died\nof sorrow too, but that I had the charge of the beautiful captive\nlady upon me, and I had to provide for her welfare.\n\nOne day I took her aside, and asked her respectfully to tell me what\ncountry she was of, and who were her people; but she shook her head\nin a melancholy way, and bid me ask her nothing, but that with time\nI should learn all her eventful history. For she came from a far\ncountry, and she was not bold enough to propose to me the travail\nand peril of bearing her home.\n\n\"But,\" I replied, \"most beauteous Diana, I asked the question that\nin the end I might have become thy beloved husband, and if I am not\nworthy to know thy country, what shall become of my hope.\"\n\nAnd she--\"From this day I will be thy beloved wife, for it is thus\nmeet that love should be paid with love.\"\n\nWhen I heard this answer, I was beside myself with joy, and instantly\narranged every thing for the marriage festival, which was celebrated\nwith great pomp and rejoicing, ca\u00f1as [83] and alcanc\u00edas [84], music,\njousts, and dancing. Among the people who collected from all parts to\nenjoy the sports, was the captain of one of the ships in port, and he\nfastened himself on to me with every exterior token of friendship:\nI too was taken with him, and we were soon inseparable. Nothing\nwould satisfy him, but that one fair bright morning when our f\u00eates\nwere over, we should come down to this vessel that he might give us\na banquet there.\n\nAfter this there was dancing, and singing, and much merry-making;\nand while we were enchanted with the dulcet tones of the marvellous\ninstruments his minstrels played, we failed to perceive we were being\ncarried out to sea.\n\nIt was about six in the evening when my beloved bride came and took\nme by the hand, and said, \"Without doubt there is some perfidy,\nfor my heart is filled with fear, and my soul is troubled.\"\n\nSo I took her hand, thinking to reassure her by taking her on\nshore. But when we came upon the deck, there was nothing to be seen\nall around but sea and sky, and sea and sky.\n\nMy bride, when she saw that, fell into my arms in a swoon; and the\ncruel captain and half-a-dozen of his men urged by his command,\nfell upon me, and tore her from me, and cast me into the sea.\n\n\"O Holy Virgin of Carmel,\" I cried, \"and thou S. Anthony of Padua,\nand Santa Barbara the glorious, and thou my guardian angel, pray for\nme now, that I perish not in this dire distress!\"\n\nAs I uttered this petition, I felt a plank of wood strike against my\nbreast; and on it I skimmed the waters all night, and by the first\nstreak of dawn merciful Heaven commanded the waves to throw me upon a\nsoft sandy shore. I could not refrain from kissing the ground which\nbrought me safety; and as I rose up again, I beheld a holy hermit\ncoming towards me, who led me to a little hut, where every day he\nbrought me a basket of sufficient food.\n\nAt the end of six months, the hermit came to me very early one morning,\nand bid me go stand upon the shore, for there a vessel awaited me in\nwhich my passage-money was paid.\n\nAt the shore I found the vessel, and embarked as the hermit had\ndirected me, not knowing whither we were bound.\n\nAt last, after six months' sailing, we came opposite the coast of\nIreland, and as we drew near shore, \"Friends,\" said the captain, \"it\nis necessary that this letter and this folded paper be taken to the\nillustrious King of Ireland; which of you will undertake the charge?\"\n\nThe crew answered, \"Se\u00f1or, let the Venetian take them.\"\n\nAnd I, having no aim before me, cheerfully undertook the commission;\nand springing on shore, went straight to the royal palace, where I\nfound myself in presence of C\u00e6sar's majesty, into whose august hands\nI delivered the folded paper.\n\nThis having opened, he read aloud these words:--\"Illustrious Lord! most\npowerful King of Ireland, the bearer of this letter is a physician\nof great renown; the sickness of thy daughter, which none can cure,\nshall flee away at the very sight of him.\"\n\nThen I was troubled, and would have explained to the King how I was no\nphysician, and the way in which the lot had fallen upon me to bring\nthe letter, which might equally have fallen on the most ignorant\nsea-boy aboard; and in truth I knew no more of medicaments than the\nlowest sea-boy of them all.\n\nBut the King was overjoyed at the prospect of the healing of his\ndaughter, and would listen to no explanations. And in proportion as\nhe manifested his joy, my dismay increased, for I feared his anger\nwhen the undeception came.\n\nMeantime, at his command, I was ushered into a vast hall, where were\nassembled a thousand lords. But, gentle reader, you will well believe\nme, it was not upon one of them I looked, for at first entering my\neye lighted upon a casket covered with emeralds and brilliants which\nI had given to my beloved bride on the day of our espousals.\n\nI threw myself upon it, crying, \"Beautiful Isabela! Ah! where art\nthou? Where art thou mourning over my grief, as I mourn over thine?\"\n\nShe, who lay sunk down in the depths of her white couch, at hearing\nthese words darted up from it, and flinging her arms round me,\nembraced me.\n\nI knew her as our lips met; and full of a thousand joys, we sat\ntalking over the past, forgetful of all present.\n\nAnd first, I asked what had become of the wicked captain.\n\n\"Oh, he!\" she said, \"when I told my father what he had done, he sent\nand had him put to death.\n\n\"And now,\" she continued, \"did I not tell you that time would reveal\nto you all about my history? For now that you have seen who and where\nI am, there is little left to tell. While I was yet little more than\na child, my father would have married me against my inclination to\na prince of Scotland; and I, knowing his intention, went out from\nthe palace in the night, disguised, upon a swift mare, and when I had\nridden a long way, I came to the sea-coast. I found a ship into which,\nthoughtless child, I sought refuge, only caring to get away from the\nprince of Scotland.\n\n\"But they were corsairs who manned the vessel; and they carried me\noff with them to Tunis, where you found me, and set me free from that\nterrible suffering.\"\n\nWhile we were talking, the king came up; and as I was yet musing on\nthe marvellous direction of Providence, by which the lot had fallen\non me, rather than another, to come on the embassage to the palace,\nwithout which I had been like never again to have met my bride, it\nfell into my mind that I had yet the letter to give to his Majesty,\nwhich having reached to him, he read thus aloud:--\n\n\"That I rest in holy ground, my soul at peace, is due to thee;\ntherefore, when the perfidious captain threw thee into the deep sea,\nI was there; I provided the plank which carried thee to shore; I\nwas the hermit that received and nourished thee; I was captain of\nthe ship that brought thee to Ireland. And now live long with thy\ngood spouse, and rest after many misfortunes, even as I rest in the\neternal habitations.\"\n\nThen I knew that it was the soul of him I buried at Tunis that had\nthus befriended me.\n\nNot very long after this the king died, and all the people acclaimed\nme as their sovereign, where I have been reigning ever since, full\nof happiness and glory.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEL CONDE FERNAN GONZALEZ.\n\n\nConde Fernan Gonzalez was a bold lance. Restless as brave; when not\nengaged in chasing the Moors, he kept his appetite for noble exploits\nwhetted with the dangers of the chase.\n\nOne day, the furious course of a wild boar, and his own impetuosity\nin the pursuit, led him far away from his companions, and the hills\nand leafy oaks of Lara soon hid him from sight. On went the boar,\nand on went the Conde after him, till, in the thickest of the forest,\nthe brute took refuge in a hermit's cell long deserted and forgotten,\nand overgrown with ivy. The trees grew so close round the spot, that\nthe horse could not go through for the low interlacing branches, so\nGonzalez dismounted, taking his sword in his hand, and wrapping his\ncloak round his arm by way of shield [85]. Cutting his way through\nto the low doorway, he found the boar lying panting at the foot of\na little altar which was there.\n\nThe good Count would not hurt the animal under such circumstances,\nso he put up his sword into the sheath, and, before he turned to go,\nknelt to offer up a prayer upon the sacred spot.\n\nSuddenly, as he knelt, there appeared before him a vision of the\nformer inhabitant of the place. He was a venerable man, dressed in\nwhite, with bald head and a long grey beard, his feet were bare and\nhe leant upon a crook.\n\n\"Good Conde Fernan Gonzales,\" he said, \"Behold, the King Almanzor\n[86] is even now preparing to come out to meet thee. Now, go out and\ngive him battle, and be of good heart; for though thou shalt be badly\nwounded, and the infidels shall spill much of thy blood, yet shall a\nhundred of them fall for one of thine. God guard thee, Conde, and that\nwhich thou shalt do this day shall resound throughout all Spain. But\nthis sign must come to pass first; and when it is fulfilled do not\nlose courage, for all that are with thee shall be stricken with fear\nand ready to flee away; but only stand thou fast, and the day shall\nbe given thee. After that shall come days of peace; and a good wife\nshall be given thee, who shall be called Sancha. And now return to\nLara, for thy people are seeking thee with fear and anxiety; and when\nthese things come to pass, remember the hermit who foretold them.\"\n\nThen, without answering him a word, the good Count rose from his\nknees, and, mounting his horse, rode back to Lara. There he found\nhis people, all running hither and thither in search of him. But he,\nwithout telling them what had befallen, ranged them in order of battle,\nand went out to meet King Almanzor.\n\nThus they went their way, and sure enough they were none too soon; for\neven as the hermit had said, King Almanzor was on his way to meet him.\n\nWhen the followers of Gonzalez saw the host that was marching towards\nthem, they were stricken with fear, for they were but a handful. But\nGonzalez, seeing their disorder, turned and said to them, \"It is a\nshame, noble Castilian knights, to flee at sight of an infidel host;\nfor who is there that can stand against our banner and our arms? At\nthem! my friends, at them! Let there be not one of us wanting!\"\n\nWith that he set spurs to his charger, and rode into the midst of\nthe Moors; and he did so valiantly, that all his followers dashed\ninto them with like impetuosity, and none could stand before them;\nand for one of them that was slain, a hundred of the infidels lay\nstretched upon the ground. But the good Conde was wounded, and his\nblood was poured out upon the ground; yet they pushed their way into\nthe camp, where they found much precious spoil.\n\nAnd when they divided the treasure, Gonzalez remembered the hermit,\nand set aside a portion of his share; and with it he built the church\nof San Pedro de Arlanza.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIRST TUNNY FISHING.\n\n\nThere was once a fisherman named Pepe; he was very good, and very\npoor. He never went out to fish without first kneeling down and asking\na blessing on his labours; he never lost his time in drinking-bouts;\nhe brought his children up to be as honest and industrious as himself;\nyet nothing prospered with him. He toiled the livelong day, and\noften far into the night, yet he could scarcely earn enough to keep\nhis family above want. If ever there was a storm, it was sure to be\nPepe's boat that would be swamped. And if ever there was a rich shoal\nof fish came within his ordinary fishing-ground, it would be sure\nto happen when he was ill, or his gear was out of order, or when,\nfor some reason, he could not avail himself of the blessing.\n\nWhat was most remarkable was, that under all this misfortune Pepe was\nalways cheerful. As the beautiful Spanish proverb says, he was like\nthe sandal-wood, perfuming the axe which strikes it low [87]. He not\nonly never complained, and continued at his toil steadily day by day,\nbut he was always praising God for what He had given him--his wife,\nhis children, his humble hut, his strong arms. \"Put your trust in God,\nand your feet diligently along the road [88];\" so he used to say,\nand so he used to act.\n\nOne day he had gone out as usual, and, as often happened, had taken\nnothing. It was no use going back with an empty bag; he persevered\nanother day, and another, though he had nothing but a loaf to live\non. The sun above was like a furnace, the sea below like a lake of\nfire. Pepe crept under the shadow of his sails, and was so exhausted\nwith heat and hunger that he fell into a swoon.\n\nHe saw himself lying at the bottom of his boat, but not alone. There\nwas One lying there also, who slept too. His raiment glistened,\nand a light of glory surrounded Him, which paled that of the blazing\nsun. By and by the sun went down, and it seemed that night came on,\nbut He was still there; and the wind rose, and Pepe's little boat was\ntossed and buffeted, and Pepe was ready to cry out with alarm. Then\nhe thought, \"While He is here, no harm can come; I will keep His\nslumber sacred.\" So he looked out on the fury of the storm, and\nwaited. Then that shining One arose and waved His hands abroad towards\nthe winds, and there came a sweet melody from His mouth, which said,\n\"Peace! peace!\" Then suddenly all was still and bright again, and the\nsoft breeze echoed back the music of \"Peace! peace!\" Then Pepe, when\nhe saw what He had done, fell on his knees before Him, and said, \"Lord,\nas Thou hast done this, send me now a draft of fishes, that my net may\nbe full.\" Then the Bright One stretched out His hands over the sea;\nand there rose out of the rippling waves great handsome fishes such\nas Pepe had never seen the like. They were of the height of a man in\nlength, and their skin shone like silver interwoven with many colours,\nand their fins of gold. Docile at His gesture, they rose gently over\nthe side of the boat, and laid them obedient at His feet. One by one,\non they came till--appalling sight!--the boat began to sink under\ntheir priceless weight.\n\nFor one moment Pepe's heart almost fainted within him at seeing the\nrich prize sink away again just as it was within grasp, and with it\nhis boat, his tackle, all that he had to call his own! But his eye\nrested on the Bright One who stood there, and his faith and confidence\nreturned. He observed that some folds of His glistening mantle, as\nit hung loosely from His shoulders, floated on the waves which were\nnow meeting over the place where he stood. Confident that it would\nbear him up, Pepe stepped on to it, as on to dry land, while all his\nearthly treasure sunk out of sight.\n\nThen Pepe woke. The sun had nearly set; a light breeze was gently\ncarrying off the superfluous heat of the day; but his bark was\nempty, no Bright One sat in it, no beautiful fish lay there. Pepe\nlistlessly looked over the side of his boat; the influence of his\ndream was yet upon him, and he could not restrain a look after his\nsunken prize. What was that? Something large and shining swam under\nhis boat, surely! Hastily Pepe detached a little lamp which always\nburnt under a cross hung on the mast, and looked down into the clear\nblue waters, when lo! as if attracted by the light, the shining fish\nturned their small bright eyes towards it, as if they took the unwonted\nlight for the rising sun, and swam straight at it almost within arm's\nlength. Pepe was now at no loss what to do. Taking a large hook which\nlay in the bottom of his boat, he lashed it firmly to a long spar, and\nthen hanging the lamp over the side of the boat, he prepared to seize\nthe finny prey with his improvised harpoon. The lamp attracted them as\nbefore, and now came the struggle. Pepe was a small man, and the first\nfish he tackled was a foot taller than himself and well-nigh pulled\nhim over the side of his boat. Pepe was glad enough to let him go,\neven at the cost of his weapon, which the fish carried down into the\ndeep with him. Pepe was, as you know by now, one who never lost heart;\nhe pulled out his narvaja (or long-bladed knife with a cross-hilt),\nand tied it to another long piece of wood. Pepe was gaining experience;\nthis time he selected a smaller antagonist, and great was his joy\nwhen, after a brief encounter, he landed him safely in the bottom\nof the boat. Pepe was not avaricious, more anxious to share the good\nnews with his family than to obtain a large haul, he only waited to\ntake one moderate-sized fish more, and then he was off to his home.\n\nGreat was the joy in the village next morning, as the news of the new\nsource of industry spread. Some were frightened, and said there must\nbe witchcraft in it; but when they saw the trade prosper, they were\nglad enough to take it as the good gift of God, and from that time\nto this the Tunny fishery has never failed to enrich the dwellers on\nall the shores of the Mediterranean.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\"WHERE ONE CAN DINE, TWO CAN DINE [89].\"\n\n\nIn the days when our Lord walked on earth, it happened that one night\nHe and St. Peter found themselves far from any city or village, on a\nbleak and desolate plain. Weary and footsore, it was with great delight\nSt. Peter descried at last a light from a woodman's cot. \"Lord, let us\nrest here, let us pass the night under this shelter,\" said St. Peter.\n\nThey knocked at the woodman's door; he was a good-hearted old man, and\nhe welcomed the belated travellers with no grudging greeting. He heaped\nup the dry fagots and made the hut shine like a gilded palace with that\nbrilliant blaze which no wood throws out like that of the olive-root;\nand such humble fare as he had he set before them without stint.\n\nThe bleak wind moaned without, through the lofty alcorn\u00f3ques\n[90], and rattled the ill-fitting door. But presently, above the\nmoaning of the wind and the clatter of the planks, they heard a hand\nknocking outside. The woodman opened, and was rather taken aback to\nfind two more wayfarers at the door. \"Never mind,\" said St. Peter,\n\"it's only some of our people, it's all right, 'Where one can dine,\ntwo can dine.'\" A little embarrassed, the woodman scratched his\nhead, as he thought of the slenderness of his stores, but made\nno opposition, and the strangers passed in. The wind moaned on,\nand another knocking came. The woodman opened, and found two more\nguests standing without. St. Peter, who had fancied he heard the\nsoft voice of St. John murmuring a favourite canticle as he passed,\nrose to see who it was, and soon recognized the waving hair of gold\nof the youngest Apostle. \"All right,\" said St. Peter, \"let them in,\nthey belong to our party too, 'Where one can dine, two can dine.'\" The\nwoodman, more and more puzzled, stood by and let them pass. He had\nhardly sat down when another knock was heard above the storm. With his\nhabitual readiness, the woodman opened, and found two more strangers\nbegging admittance. St. Peter, who seemed to have a natural aptitude\nfor the office of doorkeeper, once more encouraged him to let them in,\nassuring him they all belonged to the same party; and after another\nknock, the number of the Apostolic college was complete.\n\nThe woodman looked wistfully at the empty table. He was the most\nhospitable of woodmen, and gave his last crumb without a grudge;\nbut he was aghast at the thought that for the thirteen guests who\nhad honoured his roof, there was not sufficient to help round; and\nhe slunk away quite ashamed at the apparent but unavoidable stint.\n\nThen He who first came in with St. Peter, rose and gave thanks, then\nbroke the bread and passed it round, and called on the woodman to come\nand take his place among them. With fear and trembling the woodman\nsat down, and with fear and trembling he saw his few barley-loaves and\nhis few grapes and fruits pass round and round till all were filled,\nand there remained over and above to them that had eaten a larger\nprovision than he had ever seen under his roof before; but he durst\nnot ask who was his guest, knowing it must be the Lord.\n\nThen they lay down and slept, each wrapped in his travelling mantle,\nand in the blaze of the olive-root fire. In the morning when they\nrose to depart, the woodman, alarmed at what he had seen the night\nbefore, durst not ask them whither they went, but let them depart\nin silence. St. Peter, however, remained behind, and after thanking\nhim for his hospitality, told him to ask what boon he would, and he\nwould grant it. The woodman was a man of few wants, and after he had\nthought a minute, he answered that he was content with his humble lot;\nhe did not want it changed. His only amusement was now and then a\ngame at cards, when the season of wood-felling or any other chance\nbrought an accession of companions to his hut for a few nights;\nand it would be a pleasure if he might always win whenever he played.\n\nSt. Peter looked grave; he did not much like giving an encouragement to\ncard-playing; but then he considered the poor fellow's irreproachable\ncharacter, his life of privations, and moreover his own unconditioned\npromise to grant his request, and finally, that each success, while\nit would do no harm to the well-regulated old man, would serve as a\ndiscouragement to all the other players; so he ended by giving his\nconsent, only reserving one condition, that he should never play for\nstakes sufficiently high to injure his companions; and then hasted\non to join the rest of his party, who had made some way while he\nwas parleying.\n\n\"'Fortune is certainly for those to whom she comes,'\" moralized the\nwoodman when he was left alone, \"'and not for those who seek her\n[91].' How many are there who would have given their ears for such\na chance as I have had to-day; and it is given to me, who, being\nalready gifted with content, want for nothing!\"\n\nTime passed on, and the woodman, being a just man, never abused the\nfavour he had received, which however served, by the satisfaction which\nsuccess always confers, to cheer his solitary life. At last the time\ncame when the measure of his days was full; and resigning his spirit to\nthe care of his Lord, it was carried by his angel to the realms above.\n\nNow, all through his life it had rankled in his mind that he might\nhave made a better and less selfish use of the gift St. Peter had\nbestowed on him, when now, for the first time, it occurred to him how\nto apply it. Then he turned to his angel, and begged him to stop on\nhis way, at the bedside of the first poor dying man they passed whose\nsoul was most in danger of being lost. The angel, who descried some\ncharitable design in the request, bore him to a room in a great city\nwhere an escribano [92] lay at the last gasp. The demon of avarice\nsat on his pillow, straining to clutch the passing soul, while his\nyoung son and a clergyman knelt beside him, entreating him to be\nreconciled to God. \"Caramba!\" exclaimed the woodman, \"surely, our\nLord died for all, without even excluding escribanos!\" As the good\nangel hovered over the bed, a gentle sleep fell on the dying man,\nand the demon relaxed his watch.\n\n\"Come, now,\" said the woodman, \"you can't do any thing while the man's\nasleep, let's have a game at cards to wile away the time.\" \"Agreed,\"\nsaid the demon, for cards being invented by his crew, he thought\nhimself safe to win; \"but how shall we manage about the stakes? You\nsee you've had to leave your pocket behind you, so how will you\npay me?\" \"I'll stake you something better than money,\" replied the\nwoodman. \"What say you to staking my soul, which is on its way to\nglory, against this escribano's soul, of which at best you are only\nthree parts sure?\" \"All right,\" said the demon, who thought it one\nof the best chances he had ever had.\n\nThe woodman let him cut and shuffle and play what tricks he liked\nwith the pack, secure of his success; and in less than half an hour\nhis triumph was secure. The demon could not believe his eyes, but\ncould not, either, deny his defeat; so, putting his tail between his\nlegs, he laid his ears back [93] and disappeared through the floor,\nquite ashamed of himself.\n\nWhile this was going on, the escribano had awoke from his refreshing\nsleep; freed from the solicitations of the demon of avarice, he no\nlonger refused the ministrations of the minister of the Church, but\nhad expressed his contrition for the sins of the past, and was ready\nto depart in peace with God and all the world.\n\nWhen the woodman arrived at the gate of Paradise, accompanied by the\nsoul of the escribano, St. Peter called out, \"Who goes there?\" \"I,\nof the hut on the bleak moor,\" replied the woodman.\n\n\"Yes, you I know,\" replied St. Peter; \"but you don't come alone--who\nis that black soul with you?\"\n\n\"No, Se\u00f1or, I don't come alone, because I thought God loved to see\nmen in good fellowship. This poor soul is only black because, being\nan escribano, some of his ink has stuck to him.\"\n\n\"There's no admittance here for escribanos,\" replied St. Peter,\n\"so creep in alone.\"\n\n\"Nay, Se\u00f1or; but I said not so when you came to my hut on the bleak\nmoor and brought other twelve with you. Doesn't 'Where one can dine,\ntwo can dine,' hold good here also?\"\n\nSt. Peter could not say nay, so he turned his back while the woodman\ntook up the soul of the escribano on his shoulders and crept in under\nthe shade of the eternal groves.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nHORMESINDA.\n\n\nAt the period of the Moors' most complete dominion over Spain,\nPelayo, the noble scion of her ancient kings, stood almost alone in\nthe defence of his country. Undismayed by the misfortunes of his race\nand people, or by the oppressive rigours of the conquerors, he never\ntired of rousing his brethren to a sense of their shameful condition,\nand stirring them up to the desire of again restoring their religion\nand the throne of their native rulers.\n\nMeantime, his sister Hormesinda, no less ardent and patriotic, but\nweaker and more short-sighted, had thought to benefit her people by\nsealing a compromise with the invaders. Forgetful of the religious\nlaws which forbid such a union, she married Munuza, one of the Moorish\nchiefs who reigned at Gijon, and for a few years imagined she had\neffected wonders because she had induced the conqueror to mitigate\nhis oppressions.\n\nPelayo, however, was almost more distressed at the contamination\nof his sister, married to an unbeliever, than by the bondage of his\nfellow-countrymen; and being on the point of leading the people he\nhad collected to an attack on the Moorish Alc\u00e1zar, he first obtained\nan interview with her, within the king's private apartments, with\nthe view of inducing her to abandon her infidel lord.\n\nHormesinda, however, had chosen her path, and could not now escape\nits leadings; the interview was both stormy and touching. Pelayo,\nunflinching in his morality and patriotism, could find nothing to say\nto her but words of reproach. And Hormesinda could only urge, that\nthough she might have been wrong in marrying the Moor, yet, now her\nword, and life, and love were pledged to him, she could not leave him.\n\nMunuza despised the Christians, and so Pelayo had no difficulty in\ngaining access to Hormesinda accompanied by the venerable Veremundo,\nhis father; but a Jew in Munuza's service having betrayed the\ninformation that he had no less a person than Pelayo himself in his\npower, he ordered him to be captured and thrown into a dismal dungeon\ncalled a mazmorra.\n\nNo sooner did Munuza know that he had nothing to fear from Pelayo,\nthan it became evident his moderation towards the Christians had been\ndictated less by Hormesinda's representations than by dread of Pelayo's\nreprisals, for he now began to add to the burdens of the conquered,\nwithout mercy. To crown all, he issued a decree by which all who\nwould not make themselves Mohammedans were declared to be slaves.\n\nThis measure completed the indignation of the Christians; and when it\nbecame known where Pelayo was held in durance, it needed but little\nurging of Leandro, his brother, to lead the outraged population to\nthe assault of the Alc\u00e1zar of Gijon.\n\nThe impetuosity of the despairing population was irresistible. Munuza,\ninclined to despise them at first, found himself surrounded before\nhe was aware, and sallied out with his reserve to give life to his\ntroops and repel the insurgents. He had no sooner left the precincts\nof the palace than Hormesinda took advantage of the circumstance to\nset free her brother, who was thus enabled to show himself at the\nhead of his people like a miraculous apparition, inspiring them with\ncourage to drive all before them.\n\nMunuza, obliged to escape for his life, re-entered the Alc\u00e1zar, where\nHormesinda awaited him with feminine tenderness, desirous only to\nmake a bulwark of her body between him and Pelayo's fury. Munuza,\nhowever, had doubtless courage, though it was the courage of an\ninfidel; and not only refused to owe his life to the protection of\na woman, but recognizing that it was her hand alone could have set\nhis captive free, stabbed her and himself just in time to die at the\nentering feet of Pelayo and his victorious host.\n\nThis victory of the Christian arms was the first-fruits of many others,\nwhich, hardly fought through succeeding centuries, restored at last\nthe whole of Spain to Christendom.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nFILIAL LOVE BEFORE ALL.\n\n\nAmong the countless romantic chronicles of heroism which form the basis\nof the popular literature of Spain, there are none more multiplied\nor more interesting than those relating to the Cid Don Rodrigo. His\nvalorous services against the Moorish oppressors of his country were\nnever forgotten by its grateful people; and every campaign, every act\nof his life became the theme of a chronicle or a ballad. It is scarcely\nremarkable that one so noted for his dauntless demeanour through life\nshould have been a good and dutiful son in his youth; nor that one of\nhis most celebrated deeds was prompted by the dictates of filial duty.\n\nHis father, Don Diego Lainez, was one of the most valiant knights of\nKing Fernando of Castille. The king valued the old man, and loved to\ndistinguish him with his special favour; but when he chose him for\nthe governor of the young prince his son, he did it not so much to\nsecure him the wisest counsellor of his kingdom as to honour the old\nman before his people.\n\nNow at King Fernando's court there was a noble, the Conde Lozano,\nas valiant and celebrated as Don Diego, but far from possessing\nhis virtues.\n\nConde Lozano no sooner heard of Don Diego's elevation than his heart\nwas filled with rage and envy, which blinded his reason. Without\nstopping to consider the folly and wickedness of the action, he\nhastened to meet the venerable Don Diego, and loaded him with\nvituperation. Don Diego, with Christian moderation, strove to\nappease him.\n\nConde Lozano had a daughter who had all her life been the playmate\nof Don Diego's son Rodrigo. Nothing could be more devoted than the\nlove of the two children for each other; and their union had been\nlong looked upon by both as only waiting their coming of due age for\nits celebration.\n\nThis consideration Don Diego at last resorted to, thinking that\nthe Conde had only to be reminded of such a tie to staunch his\nindignation. But it was far otherwise. \"Indeed no,\" he replied with\nbitter irony, \"now that his father has received such a distinguished\nposition, the youth ought to have very different ideas. There is\nnothing to which he may not aspire now; and his flight shall certainly\nnot be cut short by being tied to my poor daughter.\"\n\n\"It is not his father's position that can make any difference in his\nprospects,\" firmly responded Don Diego; \"he must win his own claim\nto honour by defending his country against its invaders, as all his\nancestors have done.\"\n\nThe Conde was in that state of unreasonable humour which takes offence\nat every word.\n\n\"His ancestors, indeed!\" he exclaimed. \"Why do you remind me of\nthem? Have they done more than I?\"\n\n\"All Spain speaks of their valour.\"\n\n\"Then Spain unjustly lavishes on them praise due to me!\"\n\n\"The king acknowledges it in the honour he has conferred on my person!\"\n\n\"It is your old age, not your merit, that moved him; had he thought\nof merit, he would have given the office to me!\"\n\n\"The best proof of where he considered merit to be, is seen by looking\nwhere he conferred the reward!\"\n\n\"You mean to say, that I have no merit!\" cried the Count, now losing\nall command of himself; and before Don Diego could show him that\nwas not what he had said, he dealt him a blow on the face, and at\nthe same time threw his sword on the ground, to show that it was a\npremeditated affront, and he had done it rather than afford him the\nsatisfaction of a fair fight.\n\nIt is hardly possible in these days to realize the full extent of\nsuch an insult. In the semi-barbarous code which a life of continual\nwarfare kept up, nothing but the life-blood of the offender could wipe\nout such a stain. Rodrigo came in while his father was yet chafing\nunder the affront, which was not only regarded as personal, but as an\ninjury to his whole house and lineage. It needed only to tell young\nRodrigo, to rouse his choler, for the blood of his ancestors flowed\nwarm within him, and young as he was, he knew that upon him devolved\nthe duty of asserting the honour of his house. His father had no need\nto urge him. \"You shall see, father, that I am not unworthy of the\nblood I inherit from you.\"\n\n\"But there is one thing I have to tell you; yet one thing, which is\nlike to cool your courage more than the fear of essaying your first\narms against a tried warrior. Know that he who, with the five darts\nof his right hand, struck through the grey beard of my old age,\nwas none other than----\"\n\n\"Tell me but his name, and I will smite him, whoever it may\nbe!\" interposed the impetuous youth.\n\n\"He was none other than Xim\u00e9na's father!\"\n\nThe shock, so unexpected, was almost more than Rodrigo could bear. The\nmantling colour fled from his cheek. What were now to become of all\nthe hopes of his young life? Either he must suffer the affront to\nremain a stain on the honour of his house, or he must avenge it,\nand for ever give up Xim\u00e9na. No! his father's honour was before any\nother consideration. Whatever it might cost him, he must, must assert\nthat. And he hesitated no longer.\n\nThe Conde Lozano received him with all his superciliousness, asked\nhim what he wanted with him, called him a \"plucky little boy,\" and\nbid him do what his \"dad\" had told him, \"like a good child.\"\n\nRodrigo felt too deeply the force of his wrongs and sufferings to have\nany heart to bandy words with him; he had come to demand satisfaction,\nand, by his knightly honour, the Conde could not refuse.\n\nSo they went out into the open, and drew their swords, leaving it\nto God to declare the right, for indeed, \"the battle is not to the\nstrong;\" and so the sword of the stripling prevailed that day, and\nthe bold, proud man fell vanquished at his feet.\n\nThe lifeless body of her father was brought in to Xim\u00e9na. Helpless and\nfilled with horror, she hastened to the presence of the king, to demand\njustice, little dreaming it was her Rodrigo she was denouncing. The\nking, equally ignorant of Rodrigo's part in the matter, readily\npromised it, and gave orders for the arrest of the offender. But in\nthe meantime Don Diego came in to denounce himself as the instigator\nof the deed. In his own manly way, he detailed the provocation he had\nreceived and the prowess of his son, and offered his own grey head in\nreparation, if the king judged that blood so shed called for justice.\n\nThe king refused to decide a matter of so great moment without\nhis council, and put off considering the case till it should meet;\nmeantime Diego was suffered to go at large, on parole that he would\nnot leave Burgos.\n\nThe knight immediately sought out his gallant boy, whom he found\ntrying to make his peace with and console Xim\u00e9na; but Xim\u00e9na would\nnot be comforted. Only when he told her how miserable he was, she\nconsented to listen to him; and then he reasoned with her, and asked\nher, Spaniard as he was, what could he have done otherwise? Had he\npreferred his own love for her to his father's honour, would she have\nsmiled on him then? Would she not have spurned him with contempt? She\ncould not deny that. She admired his filial love and bravery; but\nher loss was fresh upon her, and she could not bear to see the sword\nwhich had executed her father hanging by his side.\n\nThen it was Don Diego came in; and the meeting between the aged\nsire, proud of his noble son, and the son who had preferred filial\nduty before every other consideration, was a touching one; but fate\nrequired it should be brief. Don Diego was obliged to tear himself from\nhis arms, and advise his leaving Burgos immediately; for, he said,\n\"prudent and pious as you are, it is well you should not be taken;\nfor when a man is taken and placed on trial, there is at least an\nidea of guilt passes upon him. It is better, my son, to avoid even\nthis.\" And so he sent him to the wars and told him to come back\nconqueror of the Moors, and the brightness of his fame should thus\ndisperse the cloud which now hung over him.\n\nRodrigo was loth to part from Xim\u00e9na without a sign of reconciliation;\nbut his father urged his immediate departure, and his filial piety\nagain prevailed. \"I hear and obey,\" he meekly answered, and so he\nwent to fight the Moors.\n\n\n\nA year and a day had passed away, and Count Lozano was quite forgotten,\nwhen all Burgos was set rejoicing at the deliverance which a young\nknight had effected over the Moors.\n\nThe king was keeping high court, when one day the venerable Don\nDiego came before him, bringing the standards which the young knight,\nhis son Rodrigo, had taken. He told of how he had overcome hardship\nand peril, had cleared the roads of marauders, had fought his way up\nto Celin, the Moorish King of M\u00e9rida, had called him to meet him in\nsingle combat, had overcome him, and set free five Christian kings\nwhom he held in cruel chains.\n\nThe narrative was received with joyful acclamations, the trumpets\nsounded, and, at a sign from the king, admission was given to the\nyouthful hero, who threw himself at the monarch's feet. Fernando\nraised him in his arms, and presented him with honour to his court. His\npardon was assured, and old Don Diego was radiant with joy.\n\nSuddenly, however, there was a commotion in the assembly; Xim\u00e9na\ndemanded audience of the king. She had come to ask whether any\namount of honourable service could neutralize a sentence of death\nincurred--and if not, why was Rodrigo treated with honour, instead\nof being imprisoned as a criminal?\n\nNow, Fernando could have explained to her the motives on which he had\nacted--could have bid her remember how it was Conde Lozano who had\ncalled down on himself the retribution he had suffered--could have\npointed out the dangers that surrounded the kingdom, and the need\nin which it stood of men of fearless mind, such as Rodrigo; but,\nwith the wisdom of a Solomon, he took a line which was better than\nargument. \"If such is your will, maiden,\" he replied, \"I have nothing\nto say. You are the only living representative of the deceased Conde:\nif you maintain your charge against him, it is not for me to withstand\nit. Guards, lead Don Rodrigo to prison!\"\n\nDon Diego, with all his fortitude, could not keep himself from falling\non his son's neck in an agony of despair. Rodrigo himself was shaken\nby his father's grief. And all the nobles gave signs of compassion\nat the misfortune of one so young and brave.\n\nXim\u00e9na had kept herself proud and erect while the gladsome welcome had\nsounded in her ears as an injury to Conde Lozano's memory. But when\nshe saw the scene of mourning around her, despair took possession of\nher too, and she fell into Urraca the Infanta's arms.\n\n\"It is because you would not take my advice, and look at him,\"\nwhispered Urraca. \"Had you looked on his noble face, you never could\nhave done it.\"\n\n\"I knew it, and therefore I dared not look,\" she replied.\n\n\"Look at him now,\" pleaded Urraca.\n\nThe guards were leading him out, and his head was bent to the ground;\nbut at that moment their eyes met, and both felt that he must not die.\n\nThat night he was in his prison. She could not rest in her chamber:\nthe guard had respect for her orders, for she was an earl's daughter,\nand he let her stand behind an arch where she could hear him talking\nwith his faithful esquire.\n\n\"Think no more of Xim\u00e9na,\" said the esquire: \"she loves you not.\"\n\n\"Nay, say not so,\" he answered. \"Wrong her not. I know she loved me,\nand she could not change; therefore she loves me yet. As she was to me\nwhen I encountered the Conde, so was I to her when she denounced me\nto the king; and in what she has done to honour her father's memory,\nshe has shown her true nobility.\"\n\n\"It may be very grand,\" said the esquire, \"but it is yet hard you\nshould have to die.\"\n\n\"Hard! Of what use would life be to me if Xim\u00e9na will not be mine? I\nhave only one use for it; and if she requires it of me, it is a joy\nto yield it up at her behest.\"\n\nWhen Xim\u00e9na heard him express so much devotion for her, and judge her\nso justly and tenderly, she could bear to hear no more, lest her tears\nshould betray her. She withdrew to her chamber, but could not sleep;\nbut when her tired eyelids, weary with watching, closed, there seemed\nto come a sweet, soft voice, as of an angel, which spoke of pardon\nand forgiveness, and of mercy more sweet than justice. And before her\neyes there floated visions of terrible Moorish hordes encompassing\nher native land, spreading fire and sword over its smiling plains;\nand there rode out against them a single youth, clad in bright armour,\nand wherever he raised his flashing sword the ranks of the enemy gave\nway and fled before him.\n\nAnd when the morning light came in, and chased these phantasms away,\nshe rose and went to the king, and asked the liberation of him whose\ncondemnation she had sought yesterday.\n\nThen the king saw that his stratagem had answered well, and that he\nhad done right to trust to her woman's heart. So he ordered Rodrigo to\nbe brought forth, and pronounced him free. And then he joined their\nhands and gave them to each other, and told them they were worthy of\neach other, for each had preferred a father's honour before the love\nof their own heart; and now it was his royal will that they should\nforget the past, and live for each other in the future.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nRAGUEL; OR, THE JEWESS OF TOLEDO.\n\n\nAlfonso VIII., King of Castille, succeeded to his throne in troublous\ntimes. His native country was overrun and subjugated by a people\nalien in nationality and religion, and his own particular dominions\nwere a prey to civil dissensions, which had gathered strength during\nhis minority. The Pope, Innocent III., seeing how he was beset,\nhad called on other Christian nations to assist him in resisting the\nencroachments of the Moors; and these auxiliaries had unhappily shown\nthemselves disorderly and rapacious, wasting the territory they had\ncome to protect. By his prudence, Alfonso found the means to remedy\nall these disorders in turn. His French, German, and English allies he\ndismissed to their own homes without involving himself in any quarrel\nwith them. He established tolerable order and harmony among the rival\nfamilies of the nobility, and he struck a blow against the Moors which\nthey never recovered, and which deserves to be remembered as one of\nthe noblest achievements in the history of Christendom. After driving\ntheir hordes before him across the Sierra Morena, he gave them battle\nat a place called Las Navas de Tolosa, undismayed by their overpowering\nnumbers. During the early part of the day, it had seemed impossible to\nresist their countless hordes. \"Father,\" said Alfonso, turning to the\nArchbishop of Toledo, \"here are we called upon to lay down our life\nfor the Faith.\" \"Nay,\" answered the prelate, with almost prophetic\ninstinct, \"say, rather, here are we called to establish the triumph\nof the Faith.\" The cross-bearer, filled with ardour at the words,\nrushed into the thickest of the fray; the Christian soldiery hastened\nto protect the venerated sign, and so great was the enthusiasm which\nAlfonso's bravery kindled, that the infidel host was entirely routed,\nand its commander ran away into Africa.\n\nYet, notwithstanding his bravery and his wisdom, Alfonso, like King\nSolomon of old, found it a harder matter to govern himself than to\ngovern his kingdom; and though he had vanquished his adversaries,\nhe suffered himself to be led away by his passions.\n\nAt Toledo, now a splendid ruin, then the magnificent capital of\nhis kingdom, was a beautiful Jewish maiden, named Raguel or Rachel,\nfor whom he conceived a strong attachment. Now the precepts alike\nof his religion and of his high position precluded his union with a\nJewess and an obscure person, yet for all this he refused to part from\nher. The voice of the Archbishop, which had so notably animated his\ndrooping spirits on the field of battle, was powerless with him now;\nand he warned him in vain for seven years.\n\nMindful of the services he had rendered them, and for which they\nhad awarded him the appellation of \"the Noble,\" the people bore with\nthe scandal all these years in silence, though with averted faces;\nbut at last, when they found him gradually more and more unmindful\nof his former virtues, and all his prowess forgotten that he might\nsquander his time and his revenues on the fancies of the Jewish maiden,\nmurmurs began to arise, and they determined to deliver their noble\nking from her enchantments.\n\nHernan Garc\u00eda de Castro and Alvar Fa\u00f1ez, two of the highest nobles\nof Castille, were foremost in leading the resolve of the people,\nand urging it on the king. They had never failed his summons in the\nhour of danger, they had fought bravely by his side against their\ncountry's enemies, and their virtue and valour gave weight to their\nwords. Yet the king was so tardy in attending to them that the people\nlost all patience.\n\nThe king was keeping his court in the sumptuous Alc\u00e1zar, the\npalatial fortress whose ruins even yet strike the traveller with\nadmiration. Abandoning himself to the enjoyments of the delightful\nspot, Raguel and he sat one day, surrounded by their favourites and\nflatterers. \"May divine Raguel's surpassing beauty ever continue to\nbe the aurora of Toledo, ever enamel its brilliant sunlight!\" said\none of their minstrels, to the accompaniment of his joyous instrument.\n\n\"May she rejoice in her surpassing beauty as many ages as there\nare sands of gold [94] under the limpid torrent of crystal\nTagus!\" responded another.\n\nSuddenly there burst on their affrighted ears the noise of a tumultuous\ngathering of people. The venal minions fled. The king, still worthy\nof himself, rose to show himself to his people, and Raguel was left\nalone to hear her sentence pronounced in ominous shouts from without:--\n\n\n \"Muera Raguel, para que Alfonso viva!\"\n \"Rachel must die, that Alfonso may live!\"\n\n\nGarc\u00eda de Castro stood between the king and his angry people. The king\ncalled him a traitor; and he knelt and laid his sword at his feet,\noffering willingly to receive sentence of death if he could be proved\na traitor, but insisting on being heard first. He then exposed to the\nking the wrongs of which his people complained. He asked him of what\nuse were all the laurels he had gathered in the earlier part of his\nreign, if they were to be hung up to wither out of sight.\n\n\"Corn cannot ripen if the sun withhold its rays, flowers will not\nflourish if the gardener neglect to water them, neither can the\nCastilian people prosper if their king hide himself from them.\" So\nwell did the intrepid Garc\u00eda plead the right cause, that the king,\novercome by his righteous arguments, promised to be himself again,\nto dismiss Raguel, and live once more for his subjects.\n\nDelighted with his promise, the people returned peaceably to their\nhomes.\n\nThe king, however, was not so strong as he thought. He imagined he\nhad conquered himself, and went to take leave of Raguel. But the\nbeautiful Jewess had no idea of letting him off so easily. Decked in\nher most captivating attire, she came out to meet him, and with her\ngraces and tears succeeded so well in undermining his determination,\nthat his promise was forgotten; and, like the phoenix from its ashes,\nRaguel rose more powerful than ever, and more dangerous too, for now\na struggle had begun between her and the people--one or the other\nmust be vanquished.\n\nInfatuated by her entreaties, the king went so far as to place\nher on the throne. The indignation of the Castilians at seeing a\nlow-born Jewess on the ancient seat of their monarchs, can scarcely\nbe conceived; but it overflowed all bounds, when decree after decree\nwent forth, heaping taxes on the Christian population and exemptions\non the Jews--when proscriptions and executions of the highest in the\nland were threatened, and the noble Garc\u00eda himself was sent into exile.\n\nIn this last step Raguel had outwitted herself. Garc\u00eda gone, there\nwas no one to act as moderator of the people. They rose in mass\nand stormed the palace; assembling in the basilica, they solemnly\npronounced her worthy of death as an enemy of their king and country,\nand with desperate resolve drew their swords and turned to execute\ntheir award on the spot.\n\nThe king was absent on a hunting expedition; but Garc\u00eda, who had\nheard of the new rising of the people, risked his life by infringing\nthe sentence of banishment in order to save the life of his persecutor.\n\nHe succeeded in reaching her before the people had made their way into\nher apartment, and telling her of her danger, urged her to fly. But,\nloth to lose her high position, she refused, calling on her guards to\ndefend her. The Castilian guards, however, refused to draw on their\ncountrymen in defence of a Jewess. Meantime the people streamed in,\nand rushed upon her.\n\n\"Stay,\" said Garc\u00eda, \"stain not the bright steel of your Toledan\nblades with blood which belongs only to the sword of the executioner.\"\n\nAnd his voice acted for a moment like the spell upon them.\n\nBut they were determined not again to leave it in her power to trample\non their ancient institutions, and once more turned to slay her.\n\nThen Alvar Fa\u00f1ez drew from his hiding-place behind the throne,\na trembling Jew, who had been Raguel's minister in her elevation,\nbut had not the courage to defend her now, and compelled him to be\nher executioner.\n\nThe king, hastily recalled from the chase, arrived but in time to\nsee her expire. In the first burst of grief and fury he would have\nsteeped his sword deep in the blood of his subjects; but once more\nthe good Garc\u00eda interposed, and by his temperate counsels recalled\nhim to reason. When the violent throbbing of his agony had subsided,\nhe acknowledged that his people had acted as a wise surgeon, that he\nalone had been in fault, that his punishment was deserved, and once\nmore he was hailed as\n\n\n Alfonso el Noble.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nDON JAIME DE ARAGON.\n\n\nThe good King of Aragon whom men call Jaime, was wondrous brave. Day\nand night he bethought him by what new means he could increase the\nglory of the Christian faith, and lay low the power of the usurping\nMoor.\n\nHe called together the nobles of every degree belonging to his\nkingdom, the archbishops and prelates, and all the orders of knights,\nand summoned them to meet him in his good town of Zaragoza on a\ncertain day.\n\nWhen they had all come together, he spoke thus to them:--\"My soul is\ngreatly grieved that our fair Island of Mallorca [95] should remain in\nthe hand of the Moor; the voice of our Divine religion is silenced,\nand Al Kor\u00e1n is openly taught. The noble seaport of Valencia, too,\nso rich and flourishing, which the Cid won back for us once, to\nour shame is now retaken by the infidel. Now I have resolved that\nI will spare nothing, not even my own life, to recover these two\nstrongholds. For I trust in the protection of Christ, that He will\ngive us the victory according to our prayers. To this end, then,\nI have called you together, to tell you this my resolve, and to seek\nyour counsel as to the means of compassing it.\"\n\nTo which they all responded with a shout of confident joy:--\"Be it\ndone in the Name of God, that which his Highness desires; for in an\nundertaking so honourable our goods and our lives shall not fail him!\"\n\nThe bearers of all the noble names of Aragon sent forth their sons\nthat day; and Barcelona by the sea welcomed them, and gave them all\nprovisions for the undertaking with no measured hand. She found them\nships too to take over their arms and men. And when the king found\nall was ready and nothing wanting, he took his place on the ship,\nand his nobles followed round him. At break of day next morning the\ntrumpet gave a blast, and so they set sail, that gallant host, with\nshouts and tears of joy, all the brave colours waving which they had\nborne in many a fight. The cross they bore aloft, and the Virgin Mary's\nimage, and that, too, of St. George, who always watched over Aragon.\n\nProudly they skimmed the water, the oars of the galleys cut the waves,\nand the white sails cut the air; for they knew that there gazed upon\nthem, from out Monjuy so high, the ladies fair they had left behind,\npraying for victory.\n\nNow as they neared Mallorca, the Moors were all amazed; to their\nshores they rushed in sudden haste, striving vainly to drive back the\nChristian host. So a bloody fight ensued; but the Christians won the\nday; and with the help of God the cross was raised once more on all\nthe islands near.\n\nThey then came back by Valencia, laid siege to its strong walls;\nnor could its fortifications stand before their impetuous onset. So\ngood King Jaime of Aragon came home covered with glory and renown.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nDON ALONSO DE AGUILAR.\n\n\nThe hosts of King Don Ferdinand were gathered under his banner to\ngo out and recover Granada from the dominion of the Moors. All the\nnobles of Spain were there in their strong shining armour of wrought\nsteel inlaid with gold. It was St. Michael's day in the morning,\nand the king called the principal of them into his tent, and thus\nsaid to them:--\"Who will be the knight who, to show his prowess and\nto cover his name with glory in succeeding generations, will go up\nfor me to the Snowy Sierra [96].\"\n\nBut the nobles looked one on the other, and no one said \"I will;\"\nfor if it was a perilous adventure to go, the return was utterly\nuncertain. And for the fear that filled them, you could see their\nvery beards tremble.\n\nThen arose Don Alonso, who was called \"of Aguilar,\" and said, \"Good\nKing, I will go. This enterprise is such as I seek. I have no desire\nin life but to die defending my country from the infidel folk; and\nmay Christ give me the mastery!\"\n\nSo he put on his armour before the king--his armour all damascened with\ngold, and bestrode his noble steed, and slung his broad shield on his\narm, and took in his hand a stout lance with a sharp iron head. Right\nvaliant he looked in his might as he rode at the head of his troop.\n\nAnd they crossed the Snowy Sierra and soon came in sight of the\nMoors. And the Moors poured down upon them so closely that they were\nwell-nigh overwhelmed by numbers. Then the Christian ranks gave way,\nand began to fly from the face of the Moor.\n\nNow, when brave Don Alonso saw them give way, he called to them\nwith a mighty voice and said, \"Turn! caballeros, turn! Turn back to\nthe battle; for though they against us be many, a coward still is\nhe who shows fear! Remember the mighty deeds of your old Castilian\nfathers. Better is it here to die in the noble profession of arms,\nthan to crawl back to your firesides and live a dishonoured life. Thus\ndying you will live, for your fame shall be sung throughout Spain;\nfor life soon comes to an end, but honour dieth never!\"\n\nAt these generous words they felt their hearts come back; each seemed\nfilled with a giant's strength, and fought till the Moors stretched\nhim dead.\n\nDon Alonso remained the last, still brandishing his gory lance, and\never and anon charging the Moors with an impetuosity none could resist.\n\nBut when the Moors saw their heroes thus mown down, wounded and\ndead, with one consent they agreed to attack him on all sides at\nonce. There he sat erect on his charger; his eye was full of fire,\nhis shield shone bright on his arm--dented, indeed, but not pierced,\nand in his hand his stout, unbroken lance. But though his horse was so\nhigh, there lay round him such a heap of slain, that when the Moors\ncame to the attack, as they climbed on the fallen bodies they found\nthemselves raised to his level.\n\nOn they came with frightful algazara [97]; and, stout in each other's\npresence, they charged, and thrust, and charged again. The boldest\nventured in front, but before they came within reach of his lance\ntheir brethren had pierced him from behind; and before he could turn\nto repay them, those who had been in front thrust him in the side. And\nthey thrust his bonny horse, too; and the horse and his rider fell\nthere, where they stood, crowning the mound of the slain. Sixteen\nlances had pierced Don Alonso--pierced him through and through.\n\nBut Don Alonso that day had inflicted a loss on the Moors which filled\nthem with confusion and dismay. Then, from out their ill-guarded camp,\ncame running a Christian captive; it was she who in days gone by had\nbrought up the young Don Alonso.\n\nGuided by the instinct of a mother, she at once descried his form as\nit lay crowning the heap of the victims of his prowess.\n\nSo she fell on his neck and wept, and wept till she swooned away,\nand wept when she woke again. And she stroked his long, dark hair,\nand his cheek that was ashy pale; and his eyes, that could never more\nsee her, she closed with a mother's care. Then she wrung her fair,\nwhite hands, and she raised her cry to God; and her cry must have\npierced the clouds as it pierced the hearts of men.\n\n\"Don Alonso! my Alonso!\" she cried. \"Now, God receive thy soul; for\nthe cruel Moors have killed thee, the Moors of Alpujarra! And now all\nSpain shall mourn thee, mourn thee as a mother mourns, lamenting thine\nearly death! And King Ferdinand shall mourn thee, for he has never a\nknight like thee! Aguilar and Montilla shall mourn thee, for they'll\nne'er have a lord like thee! And all the host shall mourn thee, for\nnot one has a comrade like thee! But the angels in heaven mourn not,\nfor my boy is among them with joy; for he died resisting the pagans\nwho devoured his country fair.\"\n\nSo she tried, but in vain, to smile, for her mother's heart was weak;\nand in the effort it broke, and she fell icy cold at his feet.\n\nNow an ancient Moor came by, whose beard was long and grey; and she\nlay so helpless there, he saw he had nothing to fear, so he drew his\nscimitar, and with stealthy steps crept near and severed her dying\nhead, holding it up by the long dark hair.\n\nBy the long dark hair he bore it, to lay at the feet of the king. Now\nthe Moorish king rejoiced when he knew Don Alonso was dead, Don Alonso\nof Aguilar; so he told them to take his body, and that of his mother\nas well, and bear to Don Fernando, the king.\n\nAnd Don Fernando said, \"Good service this day was done by Alonso of\nAguilar; and though by the Moors he has died, his memory yet shall\nlive; his deeds shall clothe every knight, in the fancy of every Moor,\nwith power to equal the prowess of Alonso of Aguilar.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE BLACK CHARGER OF HERNANDO.\n\n\nHernando was a poor knight, who had spent all in the service of\nhis country. He had nothing to call his own but his stout armour,\nhis high-couraged black charger, and his bold lance; and with these\nhe was ever in the thickest of the fray against the Moors. But at\nlast his turn came; and in return for the losses he had caused them,\nthe Moors contrived to surround and slay him.\n\nNow, when his black charger knew that his master was wounded to death,\nlike a valiant steed true to his Christian master, he turned and bore\nhim out of the fight to a lonely dell, where a pious hermit might\nminister the last consolations of religion to his parting soul. But a\nsordid Moor, seeing the helpless dying man thus borne along, determined\nto possess himself of his stout armour and his bold black charger;\nhe followed with fruitless attempts to arrest the gallant beast until\nit pleased him to stop before the hermit's cell, where it waited\npatiently while they lifted the sacred burden down--the hermit and\nthe Moor together; for the Moor desired to possess himself of the\nouter shell of his armour, and the hermit, the inner shell, namely,\nhis body, that the kernel, that is his soul, might go up holy and\nclean before God. Then his soul had scarcely passed away, when the\nMoor stripped him of his armour, and packed it all safely on the back\nof the black charger, and prepared to lead him home, for he was afraid\nhimself to mount him. But the black charger no sooner perceived his\ndear master's remains safe in the care of the hermit, to bury them,\nand his armour safe in his own, than he started off at his wildest\nspeed, leaving the Moor who had ventured to lay his infidel hands on\nthe reins, to measure his length in the dust. And on and on he went,\nnor stopped till he reached Hernando's hillside home.\n\nDo\u00f1a Teresa, his wife, had never ceased every day to look out for her\nHernando's return. And when she saw his black charger, bearing his\nempty armour, she knew at once all that had come to pass; and like a\nnoble Christian spouse, she had the strength to thank God that her\nHernando had spent his life in the service of his religion and his\ncountry. Then she took his precious armour and laid it safely by,\nand she caressed the gallant black charger, and led him away to his\nfresh-littered stall.\n\nThen every day she tried the armour on the young Hernando, and made\nhim bestride the black charger, that he might be a valiant slayer of\nMoors like his father.\n\nNow young Hernando was slight, and young Hernando was pale. And he\nshrank from the cold, hard armour, and the tall, snorting steed. But\nhis mother Teresa was brave, brave as became a Christian spouse,\nand she listened not to his fears; but bade him be of good heart,\nand put his trust in Christ.\n\nAnd at last the day came when she bade him go forth and do battle to\nthe Moors. Young Hernando's heart beat high, for his spirit indeed\nwas willing; and he burned to add his name to the long traditions of\nprowess which his mother told him of his house. But his arm was all\nuntried, and he shrank from the thought of pain, for the young tender\nflesh was weak. But he would not belie his mother, so he crossed\nthe bold black charger; and the noble charger snorted, when he felt\nthat once more he bore a Christian to the battle. By night they\ntravelled on; and by day they slept in the shade. In the morning,\nwhen the sun began to dawn, they rose, and set out on their way;\nand as they crossed a plain, young Hernando saw a tall Moor coming\ntowards them. And his heart smote him for fear; and he would gladly\nhave turned out of the way. But he bethought him it became not a\nChristian to shrink away before a Moor; so he nerved him with what\ncourage he might, and rode on steadily along his way.\n\nNow, when the bold black charger scented the Pagan hound, he snorted,\nand shook his mane, and darted to the encounter. So young Hernando\nwas borne along, and found himself face to face with his foe. Then his\nfather's shield rose to protect him; and the lance lifted up his arm;\nand the black charger rode at the Moor; and the lance cast him down\nfrom his seat. Then the sword leaped from its scabbard, and planting\nitself in young Hernando's grasp, struck off the pagan's head.\n\nSo Hernando tied the head to his saddle and bound the body upon its\nmule. Thus he rode on to the town--to the town of Royal Burgos. And\nwhen the people saw him bestriding the bold black charger, the\ngrisly head hanging from his saddle, and the headless body following\nbehind, bound fast to the African mule, they cried, \"All hail to the\nvictor! All hail to young Hernando, who conquered the pagan Moor!\"\n\nAnd so they brought him to the king, and his ghastly burden with him,\nand the headless rider behind. And the king rose and embraced him, and\nthe queen held her fair white hand and gave it the youth to kiss. And\nshe said, \"A youth so comely and valiant should have armour rich and\nbright, and a steed with a shining coat.\" So she called a page to\nbring a suit of polished steel, and a horse from the royal stables,\nand present them to young Hernando. Then they took off his ancient\narmour and laid it on the old black charger, and Hernando donned the\nnew, and sprang into the saddle of the horse from the royal stall.\n\nNow the bold black charger was grieved to be thus set aside, so he\nsnorted and turned his head and rode back to Do\u00f1a Teresa. When Do\u00f1a\nTeresa saw him ride back with the empty armour, she thought that her\nson was dead, and rejoiced as a Christian mother, that the Moors had\nsent him to glory. So she laid up the ancient armour, and caressed\nthe bold black charger, and led him to his fresh-littered stall.\n\nYoung Hernando meantime feared, as he sat on the fiery steed; for in\nhis far-off hillside home he had but that black charger tried. Nor\nhad he learnt to handle the weapons they gave him to bear.\n\nBut the king, who had seen him come in bearing along such goodly\nspoils, took him for a practised warrior, and gave him a work to do\nwhich needed a valiant heart. \"Now keep this pass,\" he said, \"for\nthe rocks are narrow and high, and one at a time, as the enemy comes,\nwith your sword you will strike them down.\"\n\nYoung Hernando durst not say 'Nay;' for his spirit within him was bold,\nthough his young tender flesh was weak. And as he watched there alone,\nwith only the moon for guide, \"Oh, had I my old black charger, and\nmy father's armour!\" he cried. And the bold black charger felt, as he\nstood in his far-off stall, that his master's son was in danger, and he\nsnorted to get away. And Do\u00f1a Teresa knew when she heard him snort and\nsnort there was work to do far away. So she bound the armour on him,\nand away he fled like the wind, nor stopped till he reached Hernando.\n\n\"To me! my bold black charger! To me! 'tis yet in time! To me!\" And\nhe mounted the charger bold, in his father's armour clad.\n\nThen stealthily came the Moors, all creeping through the pass, and\nHernando's lance and Hernando's sword laid them low on the ground\nthat night. And when the king came up, Hernando sat at his post,\nand his prostrate foes around him.\n\nWhen the king saw he had done so bravely, he would have given him a\nnew suit of armour, and a new bright-coated steed. But Hernando said,\n\"Good king! pray leave me my father's armour and my father's charger\nbold, for I am but a stripling, and my hand and my arm are weak, but\nmy father's arms and my father's steed alone put the foe to flight.\"\n\nSo the king let him have his will; and as he found him so brave\nand successful against the Moors, he sent him to carry a message of\nencouragement to Don Diaz, to whom the Moors had laid siege. Now,\nas he came back from the errand, he was crossing the lonely plain,\nwhen anon it was covered with horsemen--Moorish horsemen, arrayed\nin their might. He knew that his trust was sacred, and he might not\nendanger the letter he bore by encountering so overpowering a host. But\n'twas vain that he tried to turn, for the bold black charger refused;\nbut, as if he had been spurred, with his might he dashed right into\nthe Pagan midst. The lance sprang in Hernando's hand and pierced\nthrough the Moorish king. Then the host, dismayed, exclaimed, \"This\none rider alone in his strength, no mortal man is he: it is one of\ntheir Christian saints come down to scatter the Prophet's band.\" So\nthey turned and fled apace, and on the black charger rode behind;\nand Hernando's lance and Hernando's sword laid low the straggling host.\n\nAnd such fear had fallen on all the Prophet's children that day, that\non bended knee they sent to sue a truce of the Christian king. And\nto purchase a term of rest, they set all their captives free, and\nwith tribute and with hostages made peace with the Christian king.\n\nSo young Hernando rode home--to his home by the steep hillside. And\nDo\u00f1a Teresa came out to greet her boy on his gallant steed. And with\nher, fair Melisenda walked, who a gentler greeting gave; she was his\nbride betrothed, and she knew that now peace was made, they would\nlovingly live together, in that far-off hillside home.\n\nAnd they stroked the bold black charger, and led him to his\nfresh-littered stall. And 'tis said that while yet the land was\nblighted by one strange [98] Moor, that bold black charger never died;\nbut whenever the fight raged high, or the Christian host needed aid,\nthere he bore his rider to turn the day. But where he died or when\nhe fell, no mortal ever knew.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE INFANTE DON HENRIQUE AND THE LIONS.\n\n\nThe Infante Don Henrique had a dispute with his brother, King\nAlfonso. And, as he wished not to fight with him, thought it most\nprudent to go over to Barbary. As the King of Tunis had been in great\nawe of his father, and was very desirous not to run any risk of a\ncollision with the Christians, he took pains to treat Don Henrique\nwell, and entertained him honourably for more than four years, and\ninstructed all his people to behave to him kindly.\n\nMean time, Don Henrique's princely bearing won all hearts. In all\ngames, and feats of strength and horsemanship, and trials of arms,\nhe bore away the palm; so that all men admired him and cried, \"God\nsave him!\" till at last the advisers of the King of Tunis feared that\nthey would want next to make him their king, and they would all be\nunder power of the Christians, and the name of the Prophet be put out.\n\nDon Henrique was so valiant, however, and so were all the Christians,\nhis companions, that they dared not attack him openly. And the king\nsaw the danger full well, but durst not interfere either to attack\nor defend him, for he was divided between love for the young prince\nand alarm for his own safety.\n\nAt last, an astute old Moor devised a plan which should rid them of\nthe young prince without putting them in any danger of suffering from\nhis resistance or the vengeance of his followers, for it should not\nappear that they of the Moorish sect had any thing to do with it,\nbut it should seem a natural calamity.\n\nThe old Moor poured it into the king's ear, and the king could not but\nsay it was well found; and, for all his love for the young prince,\nhe could not resist taking so easy a way for ridding himself of a\ngreat danger.\n\nThe young prince, in his ingenuousness, suspected nothing. He was\nused to go out hunting with the king; and now that he invited him to\na hunting party, he was only glad to join the gallant sport.\n\nThe Moorish king led him on, away from the rest of the party, into\na wild part of the thicket, which, according to the plan of the\nold Moor, had been turned into a corral, or enclosed ground having\nno outlet, but so overgrown with bushes, that the prince could\nnot perceive the trap. Then the old Moor, who was on the watch, as\nsoon as they entered the fatal precincts, gave a signal to his men,\nwho let loose and turned in two fierce hungry lions. The prince,\nnot at all dismayed, drew his sword, and rode right up to them. The\nlions cowered before his prowess, and did not attempt to attack him,\nso he drove them before him across the corral, and then he saw it was\nclosed in and had no opening but into the den where the lions had been\nkept; he shut them in and made it fast, and knew now it was a snare;\nbut the king, not daring to face him, had turned and ridden away.\n\nThe prince's heart was grieved, for he had thought the king was his\nfriend, but he said, \"I will not remain where my presence is considered\na burden.\" The Spanish companions with him wanted him to wreak signal\nvengeance on the treacherous pagans, but Don Henrique said, \"As I am\na Christian, I shed no man's blood in personal vengeance; but neither\nwill I leave this ungrateful land without one stroke for Christ. Now\nthese pagans hold in bondage a multitude of Christian captives; go,\ntell their king that if he fears our presence, we will go, but we\nleave not our brethren behind.\"\n\nWhen the king found that his plan had failed, he was filled with\nanger at the old man who had invented it, that he sent and cut\noff his head, and then he sat trembling with fear at the vengeance\nDon Henrique might take. So, when they brought him his message, he\nreceived it with gladness, and ordered that all who had Christian\nslaves in their house should give them up to Don Henrique. And, as\nDon Henrique's galleys were not enough to contain all the multitude\nof captives he had saved, the king ordered others to be lent him,\nso that only the danger might be removed from his coast.\n\nThen the Christian fleet set sail, and God sent them a prosperous\nwind; and so they came to Rome, where Don Henrique joined the banner\nof Charles of Anjou, and did deeds of valour in his cause.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nBLANCA THE HAUGHTY.\n\n\nThe Count of Tolosa had a beautiful daughter called Blanca, and he had\npromised her in marriage to the son of the Count of Barcelona. Both\nwere young, and rich, and noble; and all the people from both provinces\ngathered together to celebrate the wedding with every testimony of\ninterest in their happiness. But Blanca was very self-willed; she had\nalways had every thing her own way--a noble palace in the midst of an\nenchanting country, plenty of servitors to do her bidding, many knights\nto contend for her favour; and she seemed to fancy that the whole earth\nand all who lived in it were made for her, and that all must conform\nthemselves to her desires. Nothing was ever good enough to please her.\n\nHer father had thought she would grow out of these foolish ways as she\nbecame older and wiser, and had never duly corrected her; and she,\nmeanwhile, became more practised in them, and chose the occasion of\nher marriage-f\u00eate for the wildest of all her pranks.\n\nWhile all were seated in the great hall of the castle at the high\nbanquet, and all lips were overflowing with praises, perhaps also\nwith envy at her happiness, the young count, offering her a basket of\nrich fruits, proposed to divide with her a fine pomegranate. Blanca\ncondescended to give him permission to do so, but the count with all\nhis dexterity could not avoid letting one of the luscious ruby pips\nfall upon the table; then, as if afraid of leaving a spot before her\neyes as a testimony of his awkwardness, he hastily took up the pip,\nand put it to his mouth.\n\nBlanca, who had all the morning been on the look out in vain for\nsome captious pretext on which to found a quarrel, and show off her\nhaughty, petulant airs, immediately caught at this one, and exclaimed,\nshe would never be bound to such a parsimonious husband; it was an\nact unworthy of a noble; a man who was afraid of losing the value of\na pomegranate pip must be a sorry mate indeed; he would not do for her!\n\nIt was vain, the young count tried to pacify her by explaining how\nutterly false was the view she had taken. Equally vain, that her father\nreasoned with her on the childishness of her conduct, or that her\ncompanions pleaded in favour of the disconcerted bridegroom. Blanca\nwould not listen to reason, and the poor young count found himself\nat last left alone, an object of derision, or at least of pity,\nto the whole assembly.\n\nHe really loved Blanca, and had before this day put up with many\ncaprices out of his affection for her; but this was not only a tax on\nhis patience and good temper, it was an affront on his name and lineage\nwhich must not be borne. And yet he loved Blanca too much to resort\nto any act of hostility which might put a further barrier between\nthem. Uncertain how to act, he went out and rode away, spurring his\nhorse, not caring whither he went, so that he could go far away from\nthe face of his fellow-men and muse over his grief. But all the time\nthere ran ringing in his head,--\n\n\n \"No more a noble count, I trow,\n A humble shepherd seem I now!\"\n\n\nthough he could not think what the lines meant, yet he went on till he\nhad got far away into a distant forest, where all was savage and wild,\nand where there was nothing to remind him of the scenes he had passed\nthrough. There he alighted from his good steed, and threw himself on\nthe hard ground. The sword which he had been wont to raise so bravely\nagainst the enemies of his country clanked listlessly by his side,\nthe sharp rocks cut his cheeks, and his noble blood flowed from the\nrents, while he felt them not, for his heart bled with other and\ndeeper wounds; but all the time there ran in his head the lines,--\n\n\n \"No more a noble count, I trow,\n A humble shepherd seem I now!\"\n\n\nAfter he had lain there some time, and the passion of his sorrow\nhad so far cooled down that he began to take notice of the objects\naround him, he observed two milk-white doves perched lovingly side by\nside on the branches over his head, yet fluttering full of fear and\ntrouble. Full of his own recent suffering, he felt singular compassion\nfor the two frightened birds; and searching for the cause of their\ndistress, he perceived a great hawk hovering in the air above, in\never-nearing circles, and with glaring eyes preparing to pounce on\nhis luckless prey. The count at once understood their danger, and\npicking up a stone, threw it with such force and dexterous aim, that\nit brought down the greedy hawk dead upon the ground. The doves no\nsooner found themselves delivered from their pursuer, than they gave\nevery token of gladness and delight, hopping from branch to branch,\nfluttering away and pursuing each other, and then again loving each\nother in the gentlest way.\n\nThe count could not bear to see their happiness, it reminded him\nof his loss; so he got up and wandered on into a dark cave where he\ncould see nothing, and there laid him down; and the lines running in\nhis head lulled him to sleep,--\n\n\n \"No more a noble count, I trow,\n A humble shepherd seem I now!\"\n\n\nThen in his dream he saw one of the fair doves appear to him in the\nform of a beautiful woman; her face was of the softest pink and white,\nlike the face of the sky at sunrise, and her eyes were so bright and\nlustrous that they illumined the whole cave.\n\n\"Caballero, caballero!\" said the bright vision; \"you do not recognize\nme, I fear; nevertheless, I am indeed one of those poor doves whose\nlives you saved from the wicked hawk but now; and if I and my mate\nlive in love of each other, it is to you we owe the boon. I am come\nto pay the debt I owe you, and I know there is only one way in which\nI can do it, and that is by telling you how to get for your mate\nBlanca, for whose sake you are now so sad. I promise you that in a\nvery little time you shall have it all your own way with her, and\nshe shall become as humble as she now is haughty. Meanwhile, take\nthis ring, which I have enchanted on purpose for you, and whatever\nyou ask of it, you will find that it will do it for you.\"\n\nThen the beautiful vision disappeared, and the cave immediately became\ndark and gloomy as before.\n\nThe moment the count woke, the memory of his vision rose up before him,\nand he lost no time in feeling whether he had the ring safe. There it\nwas all right on his finger; and when he felt it, he put his confidence\nin the promise of the vision, and hastened to go back out of the cave\nand set to work. He had no sooner found his way again into daylight,\nthan he took off his ring, and thus addressed it:--\n\n\"Aniellico, aniellico [99]! now is the time come to show your devotion\nto me. You know how Blanca has scorned me, and how I fear to go near\nher again, lest she should put some fresh affront in her wilfulness\nupon me, and yet I cannot bear to stay away from her. Tell me, ring,\nwhat I shall do.\"\n\n\"Attend, attend,\" answered the ring; \"watch now what you see passing\nbefore your eyes.\"\n\nAs the ring spoke, the count saw a moor-hen scudding away across the\nplain, and a cock as fast as he could following after her. The hen\nseemed determined to have nothing to say to the cock; but the cock\nwas so persevering that he came up to her, and made her stand still\nand listen to him, and then he first knocked her about a good deal,\nand then soothed her down, and at last they both went off together\nquite amicably; and the ring sang,--\n\n\n \"The cock o'ercomes, though somewhat rough,\n So man, no less, the coy rebuff\n Of woman!\"\n\n\n\"I see,\" said the count, \"what you mean; but I do not at all see how\nyou mean me to carry out your plan.\"\n\n\"Leave that to me,\" said the ring; \"only do as I advise you, and\naccording to the instructions of my lady the dove, I will give you\nall you wish. And now, in the first instance, you must take off all\nthis fine armour, and all your noble dress, and put on this disguise\nof a shepherd; and then take this loom, as if you were going, like the\npoor shepherd, to weave the wool of your flock; and now come along.\"\n\nThen, as they went along together, the ring told him all that he was\nto do, and what to say, and it had hardly completed its instructions\nwhen they arrived at the gate of the gardens of the Count of Tolosa,\nevery now and then interrupting its discourse to sing,--\n\n\n \"The cock o'ercomes, though somewhat rough,\n So man, no less, the coy rebuff\n Of woman!\"\n\n\nA gruff old gardener came out to see who called; and when he saw it\nwas only a country bumpkin of a shepherd, he was gruffer than ever,\nand bid him begone.\n\n\"Gardener, gardener!\" said the disguised count in his most insinuating\naccents, \"don't you think, now, if you were to let me come in and help\nyou, you would get through your work much more easily? You have a hard\ntime of it, and get little rest. I am young and strong, and should\nsoon accomplish what you have to do, and then you need not turn out so\nearly in the morning, nor sit up so late at night watching this gate.\"\n\n\"Pastorcillo, pastorcillo [100]!\" rejoined the old gardener, quite\ntamed by this appeal, \"I cannot say Nay to such an offer; so come in.\"\n\nThe count lost no time in obeying; and at once began fulfilling his\npromise, by taking the sheep out of the fold and leading them out to\npasture. In doing this, he took care to direct them straight towards\nthe windows of the palace. Arrived there, he sat down and placed\nhis loom, and began weaving away diligently after the manner of poor\nshepherds, and singing the while,--\n\n\n \"The cock o'ercomes, though somewhat rough,\n So man, no less, the coy rebuff\n Of woman!\"\n\n\nHe had not been sitting there long, before he observed a postern in\nthe wall which separated the castle-keep from the private gardens,\nopen. How his heart beat! Might it not be Blanca coming out for a\nwalk? No, it was only one of her attendants, who had come to see what\nthe shepherd was weaving.\n\n\"Tell me, Don Villano [101],\" she cried, as she came near him, \"what\nwondrous kind of stuff, is that you are weaving? Is it a heavenly or\nan earthly texture?\"\n\n\"It is a stuff much too fine for such as you. It is such a stuff\nas has not its like in all the world, and cannot be bartered for\ncloth of gold; for whoever wears this stuff, however old they may\nbe, immediately appears young, and if already young, it makes them\nbeautiful too.\"\n\nAnd then he went on weaving, without paying any attention to her,\nany more than if he had not seen her, nor seeming to hear any of her\nquestions or entreaties, and singing the while,--\n\n\n \"The cock o'ercomes, though somewhat rough,\n So man, no less, the coy rebuff\n Of woman!\"\n\n\nWhen the due\u00f1a found she could make no impression on him she ran off at\nlast to call Blanca, who was not yet out of bed, crying long before she\ngot within hearing, \"Infantina, Infantina [102]! get up and come down\nquickly, for here in your gardens is a shepherd who is weaving a stuff\nwhich cannot be matched in all the world, and cannot be bartered for\ncloth of gold; for whoever puts on a garment made of it will instantly\nappear young, how old soever they may have been before; and if they\nare already young and beautiful, it will make them much more so.\"\n\nNow the waiting-maid, it must be observed, was neither young nor\npretty, and she was most desirous to get possession of the stuff;\nand as the shepherd would not give it to her, she was dying to make\nher young mistress get it from him.\n\nBlanca's curiosity was sufficiently whetted by the description, to get\nup in all haste and come down, and see the strange shepherd herself.\n\nThe count's heart beat indeed, as she came near; and she looked so\nhandsome, and so haughty, that the sight brought back the memory of\nall her cruelty, so that he was divided between the inclination to\nthrow himself at her feet and beg her to come and be reasonable, and\nthe resolve to follow the advice of the ring, and give her a lesson\nthat should make her a good wife. But the ring adjured him to keep\nquite quiet, and not even look up at her.\n\n\"God be with you, this morning, villano!\" she exclaimed, rather loud,\nwith a little sharp cough, to attract his attention.\n\n\"May He have you in His good keeping, ni\u00f1a [103]!\" rejoined the\ndisguised shepherd, without looking up from his loom.\n\nBlanca was not accustomed to be treated in this way; and she felt very\nmuch inclined to call some of the servants to chastise the supposed\nshepherd for his rudeness. Nevertheless, there was something about his\nmanner that both awed as well as interested her to an unaccountable\ndegree, and far too much to let her give up diving farther into the\nmystery that surrounded him without another attempt.\n\n\"Villano, villano!\" she said, at last, \"tell me, I pray, the tissue\nyou are weaving, who taught you to weave it?\"\n\n\"Seven fairies, lady,\" replied the feigned shepherd, \"who live in\nseven towers, and who never sleep or dine; but are constantly weaving\nand singing this refrain, which I sing continually too, lest I should\nforget it:--\n\n\n \"The cock o'ercomes, though somewhat rough,\n So man, no less, the coy rebuff\n Of woman!\"\n\n\nAnd with that he went on working away as before.\n\n\"I suppose you want to sell it, don't you, villano,\" continued Blanca,\ntrying not to look vexed. \"Now if you like, I'll buy it of you, and\nyou may ask what you like; money, or jewels, or whatever you will,\nand I will pay the price.\" And when she had said that, she thought\nsuch a bait would be sufficient to make him obsequious.\n\nBut far from this, he drew himself up proudly, and told her that all\nher money and jewels were useless to him; that whoever makes up his\nmind to contemn riches is richer than all the world; and he who is\ncontent with the food and raiment earned by his daily toil cannot\nbe bribed by gold. \"But,\" he continued, speaking a little lower and\nmore softly, \"there is one condition on which I part with my fine\nweft, and only one. The woman I give it to must be my wife!\" and\nthen he resumed his indifferent manner again, and went on weaving,\nand singing the while,--\n\n\n \"The cock o'ercomes, though somewhat rough,\n So man, no less, the coy rebuff\n Of woman!\"\n\n\nBlanca seemed riveted to the spot. She had long mourned--quite in\nsecret and in silence, the loss of her fond admirer, the Count of\nBarcelona, and often her heart was--quite in secret and in silence--cut\nto the quick with the thought, \"Suppose he should never come back to\nme!\" Though she appeared outwardly gay and haughty as before, this\ncare was continually preying on her mind; she treasured up, quite in\nsecret and in silence, every little thing that could remind her of\nhim; and whenever a stranger came to her father's castle, though she\npretended scarcely to look at him, she scrutinized him through and\nthrough, to see if he could be bearer of any tidings from the absent\ncount. Now there was something about the shepherd that re-awakened\nall her sorrows, and all her hopes. She did not know what it was. She\nwas too agitated to suspect that it was he himself, and yet she felt\nso drawn towards him, she could not tear herself away. The audacity\nof such words was great, however, coming from one in his humble garb;\nand she felt she must administer some strong reproof; so, assuming a\nshow of all the indignation she could call to her aid, she half turned\naway, exclaiming, \"Begone, villano! nor dare to approach me. If you\ncome but one step nearer, I will call my father's men to kill you!\"\n\n\"Soperbica, soperbica [104]!\" replied the shepherd, with most provoking\ncoolness. \"You are very proud now; but I swear to you that you will\nnot always take that tone. You will talk to me very differently\nsome day. For so the seven fairies promised me when they taught me\nthe song,--\n\n\n \"The cock o'ercomes, though somewhat rough,\n So man, no less, the coy rebuff\n Of woman!\"\n\n\nThe due\u00f1a, who had been standing by, watching this scene with the\ngreatest anxiety, intent only on getting a chance of possessing\nsome of the weft which was to make her young and beautiful, was\ndriven beyond endurance by the turn matters were now taking. So\nshe called her young mistress aside and descanted so earnestly on\nthe incomparable powers of the cloth and the little probability of\never meeting with such a chance again if she neglected this one,\nand threw in, too, such clever hints about easy ways of getting over\nthe difficulty,--that the simple shepherd could easily be deceived,\nthat she could pretend she was going to listen to his attentions,\nthough it need only be pretence, and in the meantime she would get\nhis priceless treasure out of him,--that poor little Blanca was quite\nbewildered. She was, indeed, so anxious to see more of the mysterious\nshepherd, and so possessed with the vague fancy that there was some\nconnexion between him and the Count of Barcelona, that it was no very\ndifficult matter to overcome her scruples, particularly as the due\u00f1a\npromised to smooth the way a little for her.\n\nThe count, who had also been a little frightened, lest he had spoken\ntoo abruptly, was also willing to receive the due\u00f1a's mediation, and\nin a very little time Blanca had obtained possession of the texture;\nbut the count had also played his game so successfully, that Blanca\nwas quite under his influence, and could think and dream of nothing\nelse, nor rest till she had an opportunity of meeting him again. Of\ncourse this was not difficult, and the due\u00f1a was ready enough to assist\nher, as she thought the shepherd might have some other precious gift\nto impart.\n\nNor was she mistaken. The count consulted his ring as to what he\nshould do next, and the ring gave him a fowl which laid pearls for\neggs, and the chickens that came out of them had feathers like gold.\n\nWhen Blanca saw this, she could not forbear coming down into the\ngarden to ask for the beautiful fowl. The shepherd was feeding her\nwith gold corn, and he went on throwing down the grains without taking\nany notice of her approach, but singing,--\n\n\n \"My fair begins to yield;\n I'm safe to win the field!\"\n\n\n\"Pastorcillo, pastorcillo! give me the beautiful fowl!\" said Blanca\nimploringly. \"I should so like to have her. I shall cry if you won't\ngive her pastorcillo;\" she continued, as the count turned on his heels,\nand continued singing,--\n\n\n \"My fair begins to yield;\n I'm safe to win the field!\"\n\n\n\"Pastorcillo! listen,\" repeated the poor child sadly, for though\nshe did not recognize the count, he had so enthralled her, that she\nfelt towards the supposed shepherd as she had never felt towards any\nbut him.\n\n\"Oh, cease that horrid song, and speak to me,\" she said at last,\nand so humbly, that the count thought it was time to put in a word.\n\n\"Will you come away with me? because otherwise it is no use talking,\"\nhe said, somewhat abruptly.\n\n\"Never!\" retorted Blanca, indignantly; \"and you had better take care,\nand not talk so loud, for if my father overheard you, he would send\nand have you strung up.\"\n\nBut the shepherd did not care a bit, he had in the meantime spoken to\nher father, and told him what his plan was; and received from him the\nhearty approval of his scheme for bringing his incorrigible daughter\nto reason; so he sang out louder than before,--\n\n\n \"My fair begins to yield;\n I'm safe to win the field!\"\n\n\nBlanca had never been treated in this way, and did not know what to\nmake of it. She turned to go away, but then the dread stole over her,\nsuppose the shepherd should go away as mysteriously as he had come,\nand then there would be no one left to remind her of the count. She\ncould not bear to think of it: she turned, and said faintly,--\n\n\"Pastorcillo! give me the beautiful fowl; you must give it me.\"\n\n\"I am going away, Blanca,\" he replied, but less sternly than before. It\nwas the first time he had called her by her name, and it seemed as\nif she heard the count speaking.\n\n\"Going away!\" she exclaimed, in blank despair; \"oh, you must take me\nwith you!\"\n\n\"Take you with me!\" repeated the shepherd. \"No, you said you wouldn't\ncome.\"\n\n\"Oh, but I did not know what I was saying!\"\n\n\"It's too late now,\" replied the count.\n\n\"Oh, but I shall come, whether you will or no,\" she said pertly;\nfor every time he spoke his words seemed to rivet more firmly the\nchain which bound her to her affianced husband, it seemed as if he\nwas his spectre come to avenge him.\n\n\"I cannot help it, if you choose to do that,\" was all his answer,\nand he turned to go.\n\n\"Take me, Pastorcillo!\" she said once more.\n\n\"You would not like to come where I have to go,\" answered the supposed\nshepherd. \"My dwelling is a dark cave, where no light ever enters. My\nbed is the sharp rock, which cuts through to the bones. My drink is\nwater, muddy and cold; and my meat is grief and mourning. No companions\nare there where I live, for all men and women hold my way of living\nin dread.\"\n\nWhen Blanca heard this, she turned pale; nevertheless, she could not\nsee him go without her, and still asked to go.\n\nThe shepherd walked on without saying a word. Blanca followed him as\nif drawn by magic.\n\nAway they went, sad and silent: far, far away; over rocks and\ndeclivities, through streams and torrents, past briars and brakes. For\nmonths they went on thus; the count going on before,--Blanca, sad and\nsilent, after him. They never entered any town; and their only food\nwas the berries they found in the wood, and the water of the brooks\nthey crossed. Blanca's fair soft skin was burnt brown by the sun and\nparched up by the wind; her hands were torn by the thorns, and her\nfeet bleeding from the unevennesses of the way. At last a day came when\nshe could go no farther. She sank down fainting on the earth, but she\nwas so humble now, she did not so much as proffer a word of complaint.\n\n\"What is the matter, Blanca?\" inquired the count. \"Do you give up\nfollowing me any farther?\"\n\n\"Pastorcillo! mock me not. You see I would follow you gladly, but you\nsee too my strength is at an end; I can go no farther;\" and with that\nher senses failed.\n\nWhen the count saw her in this condition, he took pity on her, and,\nlifting her up in his arms, carried her to a shepherd's hut at no\ngreat distance along the moor, and there the good wife attended to\nher, putting her in her poor bed, and gently trying to bring her to\nagain. But it was all of no use, she continued in the swoon, and the\npoor peasant's restoratives were of no avail.\n\nWhen the count saw this, he was in despair, and sitting down under\nshadow of a rock, he took out his ring to ask it what was to be\ndone, now being almost ready to reproach it for having led him to be\nso cruel.\n\nBut the ring told him to be of good heart, and all the promises of\nthe milk-white dove would be fulfilled. \"Blanca has now learnt a\nlesson, and acquired a habit of submission which she will not forget\nall through her life. And besides, after she has given such strong\nproofs of love and devotion towards you, she will have no inclination\nto resume the provoking ways with which she tormented you before,\nso you may safely discover yourself to her now.\"\n\nThen the good ring suddenly pronounced some words near the peasant's\nhut, and it became a fine palace, and the bed on which Blanca was\nlying became covered with beautiful embroidered coverlets, and all\naround were clothes fit for a countess to wear. The Count, too,\nwas provided with a shining suit of armour and a prancing charger,\nand by its side a palfrey for his bride, and a train of noble knights\nand dames to attend them. Over Blanca, too, the ring said some words,\nand her consciousness came back to her, and when she saw the Count\nstanding by her side, looking just as he did the day he dropped the\npomegranate pip, it seemed as if she had never seen him in any other\ngarb, only that he kept singing a verse the ring had taught him--\n\n\n \"She spurned me, bridegroom, in her pride!\n Then with a shepherd would abide;\n Yet loved me still, for I have tried\n Her love, as gold is purified!\"\n\n\ntill she begged him not to sing it, but so gently and submissively,\nthat he could not resist. So he lifted her on to her palfrey, and\nthe whole noble train moved on towards his father's palace, where\nshe lived by his side all her life, a model of a devoted wife.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMOORISH REMNANTS.\n\nI.\n\nISSY-BEN-ARAN.\n\n\nThough the Moors were always hated in Spain, first as a conquering\nand afterwards as a conquered race, yet many poetical traces of their\ntraditions and maxims remain in the popular literature of the country;\nand in some of these they appear in a very advantageous light, though,\nof course, the national hatred loved rather to record those of a\ncontrary import.\n\nIssy-ben-Aran was a venerable muleteer, well-known in all the towns\nof Granada for his worth and integrity--an elder and a father among\nhis tribe.\n\nOne day, as he was journeying over a wild and sequestered track\nof the Sierra Nevada, he heard a cry of pain proceeding from the\nroad-side. The good old man immediately turned back to render help\nto the unfortunate. He found a young man lying among the sharp points\nof an aloe hedge, groaning as if at the last gasp.\n\n\"What ails thee? Son, speak,\" said Issy-ben-Aran.\n\n\"I was journeying along the road, father, an hour agone, as full of\nhealth as you may be, when I was set upon by six robbers, who knocked\nme off my mule, and not satisfied with carrying off all I possessed\nin the world, beat me till they thought I was dead, and then flung\nmy body into this aloe hedge.\"\n\nIssy-ben-Aran gave him a draught of water from his own bota [105]\nand bound his head with linen cloths steeped in fresh water, then he\nset him on his own beast to carry him at a gentle pace to the nearest\ntown and further care for him, with great strain of his feeble arms\nlifting him tenderly into the saddle.\n\nNo sooner was the stranger well mounted, with his feet firmly set in\nthe stirrups, than, drawing himself up with no further appearance of\nweakness, he dug his heels into the horse's side, and setting up a\nloud laugh, started off at a rapid gallop.\n\nIssy-ben-Aran, to whom every stone of the road was known as the lines\nupon his right hand, immediately scrambled down the mountain-side,\nso as to confront the stranger at the turning of the road.\n\n\"Hold!\" he cried. And the nag, who loved his master well, stood still\nand refused to move for all the stranger's urging.\n\n\"Son! think not I am come to reproach you,\" said the old man. \"If\nyou desire the horse, even take it at a gift; you shall not burden\nyour conscience with a theft on my account.\"\n\n\"Thank you!\" scoffed the heartless stranger. \"It is fine to make a\nmerit of necessity; but I have nothing to do but ride to the nearest\ntown, and sell the brute.\"\n\n\"Beware! and do it not,\" said the old man. \"The nag of Issy-ben-Aran\nis known at every market in the kingdom, and any man of all our tribes\nwho frequents them, finding you with him, will reckon you have killed\nme, and slay you in turn. Even for this have I come to you: take this\nscroll to show that you have it of me as a free gift, and so no harm\nshall come to you.\n\n\"Only one condition I exact. Bind yourself to me, that you tell no man\nof what has passed between us; lest peradventure, should it become\nknown, a man hearing his brother cry out in distress might say,\n'This man is feigning, that he may take my horse like the horse of\nIssy-ben-Aran,' and the man who is really in danger be thus left to\nperish miserably.\"\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMOORISH REMNANTS.\n\nII.\n\nM\u00d3STAFA ALVIL\u00c1.\n\n\nM\u00f3stafa Alvil\u00e1 was califf of a conquered province in Spain, where he\nreigned with oriental state. The tributary people were ground down\nwith hard work to minister to his treasury, and the vast sums he\namassed were spent in beautifying his Alc\u00e1zar, and filling it with\ncostly productions from all parts. Merchants from every climate under\nheaven were encouraged to come and offer him their choicest wares.\n\nOne day, a merchant of Persia brought a large pack of shawls and\ncarpets, all woven in gold and pearls, and wools and silks of brilliant\ncolours, but among them all the most beautiful was one carpet of great\nprice, on which M\u00f3stafa Alvil\u00e1's choice was immediately set; but in all\nhis treasury there was not found the price of it. Nothing would do,\nhe must possess it: then Ali Bab\u00e1 his vizier came forward and said,\n\"Let ten thousand dogs of Christians be sold, and with the price of\nthem you shall purchase the carpet.\"\n\nM\u00f3stafa Alvil\u00e1 answered and said, \"The advice is good!\" So they sent\nand sold ten thousand Christians, and with the price of them the\ncarpet was bought.\n\nM\u00f3stafa Alvil\u00e1 sat contemplating the curious devices, and tracing\nthe wonderful arabesque patterns with which the carpet was covered;\nand there was one pattern, all shining with gold and pearls, quite\nprominent in the centre, which had a likeness to the characters of\nan inscription; and when M\u00f3stafa Alvil\u00e1 saw it, he was very curious\nto know if it was an inscription, and what it meant, so he sent to\nrecall the merchant; but he was gone from the Alc\u00e1zar. Then he sent\nhis servants after him, and though they travelled three days' journey\nby every road, they could neither find him nor obtain any tidings\nof whither he had passed. Then M\u00f3stafa Alvil\u00e1 was more curious, and\nsent and gathered all the learned men in his califate, and inquired\nof them what the inscription might mean. They all looked troubled,\nand said they could not tell, they had never seen such letters. But\none there was who concealed the difficulty he was in so ill, that\nM\u00f3stafa Alvil\u00e1 saw he knew what the writing meant, so he looked very\nseverely upon him and threatened him with instant death if he did\nnot tell him exactly what the writing was.\n\nThen the interpreter, when he found there was no other way to save\nhis life, with great fear and trembling said, this is the meaning\nthereof:--\n\n\n \"Shiroes, son of Chosroes, killed his father; and he died six\n months after.\"\n\n\nM\u00f3stafa Alvil\u00e1 was greatly troubled when he heard the sentence;\nfor he had ascended the califate by killing his father, and he had\nreigned six months all but one day. So he sent and commanded that the\ninterpreter and all who had heard the sentence should be put to death,\nthat no one might know the omen.\n\nBut that night, in the middle of the dark hours, when M\u00f3stafa Alvil\u00e1\nwas alone in his chamber, a horrible vision came to him. He thought\nhe saw the body of his father whom he had murdered rise up to convict\nhim. He sunk down in his bed, and covered his face in fear and horror.\n\nIn the morning, when they came to call him, they found only his\nlifeless corpse.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMOORISH REMNANTS.\n\nIII.\n\nTHE EMIR IN SEARCH OF AN EYE.\n\n\nThe Emir Abu-Bekir lost an eye in battle against the Christians. \"The\nChristians shall pay me what they have taken from me,\" he said; and\nhe sent for a number of Christian captives, and had one of their eyes\ntaken out, in the idea of replacing his own; but it was found that\nnone of them agreed with his in size, and form, and colour. The Emir\nAbu-Bekir was of very comely person, and his eyes had been so mild\nand soft, that it was at last thought only the eye of a woman could\nreplace the missing one; the choice fell upon a beautiful maiden named\nSancha. Sancha was brought into the Emir's presence, and his physician\nwas ordered to take out her eye, and place it in the vacant socket.\n\nNow Sancha stood trembling and wailing, and by her very crying\ndamaging the perfection of the coveted feature. Then there stood\nup a travelling doctor who was in great fame among the people,\nand begged a hearing of the Emir; for albeit he was a Turk, yet he\npossessed pity and gratitude. He knew that the operation, while a\ntorment to the Christian maiden, would be of no service to the Emir;\nand he pitied the waste of pain. It happened further, that once, when\non a journey he had sunk fainting by the way-side, this very Sancha\nhad comforted and relieved him; and now he determined to rescue her.\n\nAccordingly, he stepped up to the Emir, and told him that he had\neyes made of crystal, and coloured by cunning art, which no one could\ntell from living eyes, and which would be of much greater service and\nornament than those of the Christian dogs, whose eyes he might have\nobserved lost all their lustre and consistency the moment they were\ntaken from their natural place. The Emir admitted the truth of the\nlast statement, and being marvellously pleased with the glass eyes\nthe travelling doctor displayed, asked him the price.\n\n\"The maiden for a slave,\" replied the doctor.\n\nThe Emir gladly consented to so advantageous a bargain, and suffered\nthe glass eye to be fixed in his head. All the Court applauded the\nappearance.\n\n\"But I cannot see with it!\" cried the Emir.\n\n\"Oh! you must give it a little time to get used to your ways,\"\nanswered the doctor, readily; \"you can't expect it all of a sudden\nto do as well as the other, that you have had in use so long.\"\n\nSo the Emir was content to wait; meantime, the doctor made off with\nhis fair prize, whom he conducted safely back to Spain, and restored\nher faithfully to her friends and her liberty.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMOORISH REMNANTS.\n\nIV.\n\nYUSSUF'S FRIEND.\n\n\nThe merchant Yussuf took great pains to train up his only son in\nprudence, that he might be able, when he was no more, to carry on his\nbusiness, as he had done before him, with credit and success. But\nin spite of all his lessons, he would be continually putting his\nconfidence in worthless persons; and in particular he fostered an\nintimacy with a young Jew of dangerous character, who had several\ntimes, by fraud and cunning, cheated him out of large sums, all the\nwhile leading young Yussuf to believe that what he had done was fair\nand just; nor would he listen to his father's suspicion of him.\n\nThe merchant Yussuf had to take a journey to Africa with his son;\nand while preparing for it, he lamented loudly over the difficulty\nhe was in as to placing his money in safety during his absence.\n\n\"Now, if you had not been so suspicious of my friend the Jew,\" said\nyoung Yussuf, \"there's a man who would have taken care of it for you!\"\n\n\"You know my opinion of him,\" replied his father.\n\n\"Ah! you're so suspicious,\" replied young Yussuf, \"I know him better.\"\n\n\"Well, if you think so well of him, I will on your advice ask him to\ntake care of a strong-box for me.\"\n\n\"Well done, father!\" replied the young man; \"you'll see you'll never\nrepent it.\"\n\nThe same evening, the merchant Yussuf sent a large chest, heavy enough\nto contain a vast amount of treasure, to the Jew, by the hand of his\nson; and the next day they set out for Africa.\n\nHaving brought their affairs to a prosperous termination, the two\nYussufs returned home to Granada.\n\nOn the morrow of their arrival, the merchant sent his son to the\nJew, to reclaim the strong-box. Young Yussuf returned presently,\nfull of indignation.\n\n\"Father, you have insulted my friend beyond all possibility of\nreconciliation. He tells me it was not money you entrusted to his\nkeeping, but a parcel of broken stones!\"\n\n\"And pray,\" replied his father, \"how did your honourable friend\ndiscover what was in my strong-box? To find this out, he must have\nbroken my locks; which will, I think, show you it was very well I\ngave no greater value into his keeping.\"\n\nYoung Yussuf hung his head, and suffered himself to be guided after\nthat by his father's experience in his judgment of mankind.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMOORISH REMNANTS.\n\nV.\n\nTHE SULTANA'S PERFUMER-IN-CHIEF.\n\n\nOf all the luxurious appointments of the Moorish houses, none were\nmore prominent than the baths. And you must not think that means\na bath just big enough to get into, like those in our houses. At\nSeville and Granada, and wherever the Moors lived and built, you may\nsee remains of the vast constructions which served them for baths,\nall of white marble, and situated in the midst of scented shrubs and\nsweet and brilliant flowers.\n\nIn their own hotter country, their baths received a still greater\ndevelopment. There was once a sultana, Moorka-Hama, who had a fancy\nto have her baths always filled with rose-water. One day, when she\ncame to bathe, she found the air perfumed to a most unusual degree;\nand on her causing an inquiry into it, they found that the heat of\nthe sun had expressed the essential oil, which was floating on the\nsurface. The process thus suggested by accident, was immediately\nimitated by art; and by it is produced the delicious scent which is\nnow an article of commerce, and which we call attar of roses.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEL MORO SANTON [106].\n\n\nJust as it was permitted to the heathen soothsayer Balaam to foretell\ntrue things to the Lord's people, so it is narrated that, a little\nbefore the taking of Granada by the Christians, great consternation\nwas produced among the infidel population by the predictions of a\nMoorish dervish who was held in great veneration.\n\nHe was an ancient man, more than a hundred years old; his long white\nbeard seemed to be falling snow, it was more than a yard long, and\nhe could gird it round his waist. He lived out on the mountains of\nGranada a life of great austerity; though it was long since he had\nnever a hair left, he wore no covering on his head, and the action\nof the sun and rain had worn it into the appearance of a skull; his\neyebrows grew long and bushy, and served as a protection to his eyes;\nand no clothing wore he but a tunic of camel's hide; his feet, too,\nwere bare, and his skin was yellow and shrivelled by long exposure. He\nslept in a cave upon the cold ground, with a stone for his pillow. And\nfor all the hundred years of his life, he had never taken but one\nmeal a day, nor tasted aught but honey and milk, which other Moors\nbrought him by orders of the king.\n\nAll looked up to him as to a saint, in all Andalusia; and whatever\nwords he uttered, they respected it as Al Kor\u00e1n, and next to the\nwords of Mahomet himself.\n\nOne day, when the king and many people were gathered together to hear\nhim, he spoke to them these words: \"When you shall see joined together\nAragon and Castille, then know for certain that Granada shall be taken.\n\n\"And the king who shall take it, know that his name shall begin with\nF., for in his time faith [107] shall reign throughout his kingdom.\n\n\"And the queen his wife, her name will begin with Y., which may be\ntaken to stand for ygual; for his equal she shall be, in courage\nand prudence.\n\n\"These two shall likewise turn Judaism out of Spain, and set up the\nInquisition, by which the wicked shall be sentenced to death.\n\n\"They shall acquire three kingdoms, and conquer the Indies.\n\n\"And they shall have a grandson, who shall be called Emperor of\nGermany, also King of Hungary, who shall lay siege to the city of\nthe Pope, and lay low the three lilies of France in the field of Pavia.\n\n\"Of the three laws now prevailing in Spain, one only shall remain,\nand that shall be that one which commences with the font and blessed\nwater, and ends with blessed oils [108].\n\n\"And thus they will make an end of the sect of Mahomet; for it had but\na thousand years given it, and as more than eight hundred are past,\nit will soon now come to its end.\"\n\nThis is said to have been pronounced about fifty years before its\nfulfilment, in the persons of Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of\nCastille.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTRADITIONS DE ULTRAMAR.\n\nHERNAN CORTES IN SANCTUARY.\n\n\nHernan Cortes was a Spanish gentleman whose achievements in the new\nworld earned him a fame almost as great and almost as fantastic\nas that of any of the medi\u00e6val heroes. He was first taken out to\nthe West Indies as secretary to Diego Velasquez, Governor of Cuba,\nwhose arbitrary acts excited so much discontent, that a commission of\ninquiry was sent out from Spain, which established its head-quarters\nat Hispaniola [109]. It was a perilous enterprise to carry the\ncomplaint of Cuba over to the commission; and as no one could be\nfound to undertake the service, Hernan Cortes resolved to go himself,\nthough he had to cross the straits in an open boat. The governor had\nbeen on the watch, and one of the swiftest boats under his orders\nsucceeded in overtaking Cortes's boat, and putting him in irons to\nbring him back to shore.\n\nHernan Cortes was one of the handsomest of men; and his beauty and\nmisfortunes exciting the sympathy of his keepers, he was not very\nvigilantly watched. Possessing great natural pluck and dexterity, he\nmanaged in the night, as they neared the land, to slip his chains and\ngain the shore. Here he hid himself in the jungle till daybreak, when\nhe found sanctuary in a little church. For several days he remained\nhere in safety, but among the frequenters of the shrine was Melinda\nXuares, whose piety, and modest demeanour in spite of her exceeding\nbeauty, attracted his attention and won his heart. Her brother, Juan\nXuares, with whom she lived, for she was an orphan, was delighted to\ncultivate the acquaintance of a man he admired so much, and therefore\nreceived him cordially.\n\nIn his remote retreat he thought himself so safe that he ventured\ndaily to spend some hours at Juan Xuares' house; but the governor's\nspies were down upon him. They caught him one day outside the limits\nof the sanctuary, and clapped him in prison.\n\nWhen he had been seized before, it was by an arbitrary stretch of\npower: now there was a formal charge against him, for having broken\nprison; and he was liable to be hanged.\n\nMelinda's grief was indescribable: but she was brave as beautiful;\nshe no sooner heard of Hernan's imprisonment than she hastened to\nthe governor, and so successfully pleaded her lover's cause, that he\nordered him to be set free and restored to her.\n\nThus a noble life was spared; and Hernan Cortes afterwards became\nthe conqueror of Mexico.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nARAUCANIA THE INDOMITABLE.\n\nI.\n\n\nAmong the many traditions of Spanish adventures in the West Indies\nand Americas, none are more interesting than those concerning\nAraucania. Araucania is a province of Chili, which was inhabited by the\nbravest and noblest tribe of aborigines. Their courage and patriotism\npreserved them from ever succumbing to the invaders. When the rule\nof Spain was at length effected, it was through the conversion of the\nnatives and their voluntary acceptance of a Christian government--never\nby their subjugation; so much so, that for years it was commonly\nknown by the name of \"El Estado indomito\" (the unconquered province).\n\nVarious stories are told of heroism on both sides which deserve a\nplace beside the noblest and most celebrated deeds of any history. Don\nAlonso de Ercilla y Zu\u00f1iga was a page in attendance on Philip II. at\nthe Court of our Queen Mary, when news came of a fresh outbreak\nof the indomitable Araucanians. Though a mere lad, he pleaded for\npermission to join the expedition which was immediately formed to\nquell the insurrection. He presents a marked instance of the best\ntype of Spanish character--brave and patriotic, and at the same time\nchivalrous and generous. The intervals of leisure he could snatch from\nthe business of the campaign were spent in recording in a heroic poem\n(which he wrote on any scraps of paper he could procure, and when\nthese failed on dried skins of animals) the incidents of the war\nwhich struck his poetic fancy. Far from attributing all the merit to\nthose of his own side with the spirit of a partisan, he has left a\nseries of most touching pictures of the nobleness and bravery of his\nantagonists. His poem begins, after the manner of the Iliad, with\na list of all the valiant chiefs, detailing their qualities and the\nnumbers they commanded. Then it goes on to give a stirring description\nof their meeting to excite each other to rise in the defence of their\ncountry. There was no hanging back or cowardly fear, every one was\nanxious to be foremost to the fray. When they had well eaten, and\nwarmed their courage with deep potations from their tinajas [110]\nof wine, up rose Tuc\u00e1pel the audacious, and declared he was ready\nto head the expedition. The universe knew he was the bravest of them\nall; and if any one disputed the boast, he was ready there and then\nto make it good. Not suffering him to conclude his speech, Elicura\nbroke in full of boldness, \"To me it is given to lead the affair;\nand if any one dispute the claim, he must taste the point of my lance.\"\n\n\"To my arm! to my arm,\" cried Ongolmo, \"it behoves to brandish the\niron club.\"\n\n\"Folly!\" shouted Lincoya, mad with rage. \"It is mine to be lord of\nthe world, as certainly as my hand holds the oaken staff.\"\n\n\"None surely,\" interposed Argol, \"is so vain as to put his prowess\non a par with mine.\"\n\nBut Cayocupil, shaking his heavy spear, cleared a free space around\nhim, and roared, \"Who will dispute my right to be first? Let him come\non, come on! I can match you, one or all.\"\n\n\"I accept the challenge!\" responded Lemolemo, darting towards him,\n\"it is no effort to me to prove what is already mine of right.\"\n\nBut Puren [111], who was drinking at a distance, here dashed furiously\nthrough the crowd, and proudly asked who dared harbour so insane\na thought; declaring that where Puren stood no one else could bear\ncommand. When the storm was at its highest, all shouting and shaking\ntheir spears, the venerable Col\u00f3colo, the most ancient of all the\ncaciques, came forward, and silence was made before him.\n\n\"Caciques, defenders of the State!\" he said, \"no desire of command\nanimates me; already by my great age I half belong to the other world;\nmy love of you all alone impels me to give you the counsel of the\nwhite-haired. But spend not against one another the courage which is\nneeded against our common foe; fight not as to which of you is most\nvaliant, for you are all equal in prowess as in birth and possessions,\nand any one of you is worthy to govern the world. But as to which shall\nlead in this present expedition, be advised by me: there must be one,\nand let the choice be decided by a trial of endurance. Whichever\nof you shall longest support a baulk of timber of exceeding weight\nwithout wearying, he shall take the lead.\"\n\nHe spoke, and not one voice was raised against the voice of the\nancient. So the baulk of timber was brought--a vast trunk of ebony\nwhich a man could scarcely clasp round with his arms. Paycabi came\nforward to make the essay, and planted it on his broad shoulders;\nsix hours he bore it with a steady strain, but he could not complete\nthe seventh. Cayocupil with an agile step walked up to the beam, and\nbore it five hours; Gualemo, a well-grown youth, tried it after him,\nbut could not endure it so long; Argol took it next, but gave way\nat the sixth hour, and Ongolmo only kept it half an hour more. Puren\nafter him bore it half a day; Lebopia, four hours and a half. Elicura\nstood up under it manfully longer than any, but at the ninth hour he\ngave in. Tuc\u00e1pel supported it fourteen hours, and went round to all\nthe caciques boasting of the feat; which, when Lincoya perceived, he\ntore the cloak from his terrible shoulders, and raising the ponderous\nbulk without the least apparent strain, planted it on his back curved\nready to receive it. Then he ran hither and thither to show how slight\nwas the effort to him. He took it up at the rising sun, and he bore\nit till the sun had returned to his rest, and through the dread night\nDiana kept watch with him; and the sun rose again upon his labours, yet\nhe laid it not down till mid-day. And all the people were astonished\nto find there was one so powerful among them, and they began already\nto attribute to him the honours of the generalship.\n\nThen Caup\u00f3lican came up to take his turn quietly and alone--from his\nbirth one of his eyes had been deprived of light; but what was wanting\nin his power of vision was made up to him in his surpassing strength.\n\nHe was a noble fellow, comely and strong, dignified in his bearing\nand made for command, upright and unflinching, and a strict\nmaintainer of that which is right. His form was muscular, lithe\nand agile, deep-chested and erect. With the ready confidence of\nassured superiority, he lifted the wood as if it had been a straw,\nand poised it gracefully on his shoulders. And all the people praised\nthe movement with a shout of admiration; then Lincoya quailed, for he\nbegan to fear the victory would be taken from him. But how much more,\nwhen the hours passed by and the hero gave no sign of weariness: he\npaced up and down, conquering fatigue by resistance, and increasing his\npower by the habit of endurance. Thus through two days and two nights\nhe never flinched, and then, as if because he had done enough--not\nbecause he was exhausted, he lifted down the weight and flung it from\nhim to a mighty distance, showing his strength still unimpaired.\n\nThen all the people shouted and said Caup\u00f3lican was their leader,\nand the fear of him was so great, that even those at a distance\nobeyed his word as if he had been present. Caup\u00f3lican first exerted\nhis command in setting order among his ranks, and assigning a place\nto each cacique and his followers. Then he made out a sagacious plan\nof attack on the Spaniards, and stirred up the brave Araucanians to\nthe contest by assuring them of a speedy victory. Some advised this,\nand some that, but Caup\u00f3lican, with his serene word of command,\nreduced all to willing obedience.\n\nThe Spaniards had set up three forts to strengthen their hold on\nthe territory, and against the most formidable of these the first\nattack was directed. The rising being quite unsuspected, the natives\napproached the fort easily; but when the Spaniards saw the horde\napproaching, they quickly raised the cry to arms, and sallied out to\nmeet them with supercilious impetuosity. They soon found, however,\nthey had no mean foes to deal with; though weary and footsore with\ntheir hasty march, the Araucanians no sooner came in presence of the\nfoe, than they fought with all the pride and confidence of assured\nvictory. Resistance met resistance, for hours neither side wavered,\ntill at last the Spaniards were glad to secure their retreat in good\norder into the fort.\n\nNow there was in the Spanish army a brave youth, who, seeing his\ncountrymen give way before the barbarians, was moved to indignation;\nand when the gate of the fort had closed on the last of them, he\nstood alone [112] on the drawbridge, and cried to the insurgents,\n\"Come on! come on, the most valiant of you! One at a time, I will\nmatch thirty of you--nay I refuse not to a thousand.\"\n\nMore than a hundred Araucanians ran hotly to the encounter; but\nundismayed, that Spanish youth stood boldly on the bridge, and yet\nhe called to them to come on. Firm and erect he met them, and with a\nwell-placed stroke of his trusty sword laid one and again another and\nanother on the ground. His comrades, watching the unequal contest,\nsallied through a postern of the fort, and made a diversion for his\nrelief. Many such devoted deeds were done on both sides that day;\nbut it was vain the Spaniards fought like lions, for on and on the\nAraucanians poured, and for every Spaniard they were twenty. Then,\nwhen it was useless to resist longer against their overpowering\nnumbers, they agreed during the night-time to abandon the fort; and\ntrusting to the swiftness of their steeds, they rode away to a place\nof greater safety. So Caup\u00f3lican and his caciques with great rejoicing\ntook possession of the place, and laid the fort even with the ground.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nARAUCANIA.\n\nII.\n\nTEGUALDA.\n\n\nIt happened once, after there had been a desperate encounter between\nthe Spaniards and Araucanians, that Don Alonso de Ercilla went\nout late at night to meditate on the lessons of the battle-field\nstrewn with the bodies of those who had been well and brave but a\nfew hours before. The night was dark and gloomy, and yet he thought\nhe discerned indistinctly a form moving from place to place, quietly\nand noiselessly as a spirit might move; and anon there came from it\nsighs and groans dismal to hear. Bending down, and hiding himself in\nthe long grass, he tracked the figure, not without some fear at heart;\nbut clasping his trusty sword, he came swiftly upon it. Then it rose\nerect, and addressed him in humble, timorous accents: \"Se\u00f1or, Se\u00f1or,\nhave pity on me; I am but a woman, and never have I offended you! If\nmy misery does not move you to spare me, at least consider that there\nis no glory to be gained by killing a woman--or rather, slay me,\nbut first let me fulfil my work.\" Then Don Ercilla asked her what it\nwas had brought her there. And she in dolorous tones answered, \"Never\nwas grief like mine; I loved him with true love and purest constancy,\nand to-day he was taken from me, and slain. Let me but seek the body\nof him who was my soul, and let me lay it in a decent grave, and then\ntake my life, lay my body beside his, for so great is my grief that\nI dread living without him more than lying beside him in death.\"\n\nDon Ercilla was greatly moved by her sorrow, but still he had his duty\nas a soldier to consider; she might have come to spy the situation\nof the Spanish camp, under the idea that, as a woman, she would be\nless easily suspected; and her grief might be assumed in order to\ninduce him to release her. Yet his compassion swayed him at last,\nso he let her live, and moreover assisted her in her search, leading\nher to relieve her oppressed heart by pouring out all her story.\n\n\"Woe is me!\" she said, \"for no relief is possible for me, no rest till\ndeath. He is gone, and if I open now the old wounds by thinking of him,\nit is but in the hope that in the violent effort I may sink and die.\n\n\"Know then, that I am Tegualda, daughter of the Cacique Brancol. Vain\nof the attentions that were paid me through many young years, I\nrefused to listen to the suits of any of the young Caciques whom my\nfather presented to me; nor when they danced or wrestled before me\nwould I regard them with favour.\n\n\"One day my father took me to the shady thicket where gentle Gualebo\npours its limpid stream into the floods of broad Itata with a soothing\nmurmur, and where the sunlight playing through the thick foliage of\nthe breeze-shaken trees, diapered the perfumed air.\n\n\"Scarcely had we sat down, when there entered on the plain that\nspread away before us a band of youths, earnest and silent. At a\nsign from Brancol various games began, in which each exerted himself\nto the utmost only to win a glance from me. To me, however, it was\na greater pleasure to stand detached from them all, and while they\nran, and fought, and showed strange feats of endurance, rather than\ngratify them by a look, to rest my eyes on the murmuring stream,\nwatching the polished stones, now bathed in snow-like foam, now\npiercing, black and stark through the mimic waves; or on the waving\ntrees, flinging their lithesome limbs in every graceful attitude,\nnow wide apart, now interlaced in one another's thrall; or on the\nfar-off sky, sparkling and peering through the leafy shade; on any\nthing rather than on the contending youths; and thus I sat there,\ndisdaining all interest in the games, and, as I deemed, fancy-free,\nwhen all at once a loud cry rose from the contending throng: this was\nno unusual occurrence, but it was so exulting and prolonged that I\ncould not choose but ask the cause. The youth who stood nearest me\nmade answer, 'Did you not observe, Se\u00f1ora, how the brave Mareguano\nhas won the victory over every other combatant? and now when, with\njoyous haste, we were leading him to receive the conqueror's wreath\nfrom your hand, to gird his temples in token that he is the first\nand bravest of our company--all at once that handsome lad yonder,\nwearing green and scarlet for his device, suddenly confronted him,\nand at their first contest laid him low on the green sward. Mareguano\nno sooner regained his feet than he required to be allowed another\ntrial; but as this is against all our rules, it was refused him. So\nthe stranger youth comes to be crowned by you, unless you, whose\npower is absolute over us, suffer them to renew the contest.'\n\n\"As he spoke the shouting crowd led him up to me; but before I could\ntake the wreath to crown him, he placed himself modestly before me\non his knees, and thus spoke:--\n\n\"'Lady, I seek one favour, though I be a stranger, and have no claim\nto your regard, yet I have the boldness to prefer my request, having\nno greater desire than to live and die in your service. Let me then\nhave your permission to try another fall with Mareguano; ay, and\nanother and another, even to a hundred, till he is satisfied of my\nsuperiority; for here striving in your presence, I know I am certain\nto come off with greater and greater glory in every trial.'\n\n\"And I, who cared little about the matter, carelessly granted what\nhe asked.\n\n\"On the instant the two darted off to meet each other: then came a\nprolonged struggle, fought out with desperate resolve; now lithely\nbending, now strained to their utmost height, they wrestled for a\nlong space, grasping each other in such iron fashion that it would\nseem they scarce could breathe; at last the stranger youth ended the\ncontest by seizing Mareguano round the body, then lifting him high\nin the air, and flinging him headlong on the ground.\n\n\"No sooner had he accomplished the feat than the assembled people,\ndelighted at this exhibition of manly strength, bore him along in\ntriumph to receive his reward at my hand.\n\n\"When I looked at him, kneeling before me again, flushed with success,\npraised and applauded by all around, yet waiting for my word, as\nif he prized it more than all the rest, I felt a new emotion take\npossession of me, I perceived an interest in him which I had never\nexperienced for any of the others, and it was with difficulty I could\ncommand myself sufficiently to conceal what I felt. However, I rose\nwith all the dignity I could summon, placed the crown on his brow,\nand announced that the prize I held for the next contest was a ring\nornamented with a fine emerald, and that it was for the winner in the\nrace immediately to follow. I could not help saying it in such a way\nas to betray I expected it would be on him I should have to confer\nit. Nor was I mistaken.\n\n\"The competitors, forty in number, were ranged in a long row, panting\nwith anxiety to start. The signal scarcely given, the whole forty\nset off as one man, and so swiftly that their feet scarcely seemed to\ntouch the sand; but Crepino (such was the name of the young stranger)\npursued the sport with so much ardour that he distanced the very wind,\nand touched the red Palio [113] before the others were near it. But\nI, when he was brought back to me, was more troubled than before;\nso that when I handed him the ring, I gave him as it were my liberty\nenclosed in it. And he no sooner had received the ring than, holding\nit still before me, said,--\n\n\"'Se\u00f1ora, I pray you accept it of me; for though it be but little to\noffer to you, yet it is offered with entire devotion, and the favour\nyou will confer on me in accepting it will be so great, that it will\nmake me rich, and shall so strengthen and animate me, that there will\nthenceforth be no undertaking so arduous that I shall not be able to\naccomplish it; and so you will have added the bravest heart and the\nstoutest arm to the Araucanian band.'\n\n\"I could not but accept what was so gracefully proffered; and now,\nthe games being concluded, the meeting was broken up, and I had to\nreturn home with my father.\n\n\"For three weeks I concealed what I felt, that I might not appear\nto change too suddenly from what had been a life-long resolve. But I\ncould not overcome the desire to see him again. When next my father,\ntherefore, urged me to make my choice among the young Caciques,\nI told him that I had resolved to attend to his bidding, and that\nmy choice had fallen on Crepino, who was of honourable name, brave,\nwell-mannered, and well-grown.\n\n\"My father was all rejoiced at this announcement, and, kissing me\non the forehead, he confirmed my choice; he told me how on Crepino\nof all the others his own heart yearned, and how Crepino himself had\nsued for me, and yet had urged him in no way to overrule my will.\n\n\"With joyful haste the nuptial ceremonies were performed over us,\nand all was mirth and gladness. That was but one short month ago, and\nto-day your people have slain him who was all my joy; and all our hopes\nof happiness are poured out like water on the ground. What comfort is\nthere for so great misery! There is nothing left to hope for now, since\nearth contains no good which could be measured against such a grief!\n\n\"Now, therefore, let me seek my lord, and bury him; for it is not meet\nthat his dear body should fall a prey to voracious beasts and birds.\"\n\nDon Ercilla was so much moved by her recital that he no longer\ndoubted her, but helped her to search for Crepino's body. When the\nmorning dawned they found it, stark and cold, and disfigured by a\ncannon-ball. Tegualda's agony revived when she came in sight of his\nshattered form. She threw herself on him, placed her heart on his\nheart, and her lips on his, that so she might perchance yet call back\nthe life; and then she struck her face, and tore her long dark hair,\nand pressed her fingers tightly round her throat, and threw herself\nagain upon the ground, not knowing what she did for very grief. Don\nErcilla looked on compassionating, knowing it was but distressing her\nto interfere till the first violence of her agony was past. Then,\nat peril of treachery towards him, alone in their midst, he bade\nher make a signal to call her people, and ordered them to bear away\nCrepino's body in decent order.\n\nThen he composed her mantle round her, and, supporting her, gently\nled her along behind it till they reached the sierra where her own\npeople dwelt, and then he delivered her over to her father's keeping.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nARAUCANIA.\n\nIII.\n\nFITON'S CAVE.\n\n\nDuring the course of the war an exploring party of Spaniards had been\nsent to bring a report of the chances of success to an expedition for\nrecovering the coast-line of the Araucanian province. Time passed on,\nand the party failing to return, great anxiety was felt as to their\nfate by the Christians; at last some of the bravest volunteered to go\nand look after them in various directions, and as great caution was\nnecessary, it was agreed the volunteers should go out separately,\ntravelling by night, and keeping themselves concealed by day. It\nwas a perilous enterprize, and Don Alonzo de Ercilla, who was always\nforemost at any brave deed, was the first to offer himself; and he\ngives us the following account of an adventure that befell him.\n\nHe was making his way through a wild brake, helped by the scanty light\nof the moon, when he found himself on the edge of a steep descent\nleading to a vast plain; a narrow path cut the steep, down which a\ntall, lank native of great age was threading his way. His back was\nbowed, he was so feeble that he trembled as he walked, and his legs\nwere so fleshless that they looked like dry roots of trees. Don Ercilla\nadvanced to offer his assistance down the rugged descent, and thought\nat the same time to gather some information of his missing friends,\nor as to the best means of tracing them. No sooner, however, was the\nold man conscious of his approach, than, darting into another path\nat a sharp angle with the first, he turned and fled up the steep side\nfaster than a hunted deer. Don Ercilla spurred his horse, and thought\nto overtake him easily, but in a moment he was out of sight, neither\nwas it possible for a stranger to find his way so as to proceed with\nany rapidity over the overgrown crag. Giving up the pursuit, he came\nat last to the bottom of the declivity, where the stream Rauco flowed\nturbulently, its course being closed in by sharp rocks on both sides;\nbut a little way down it, on the near bank, was a grove of shady\ntrees, and under them an antelope grazing. The sight reminded him\nhe had once dreamt that this meeting an antelope should be a sign\nof something important to befall him, so, rejoicing at the incident,\nhe made his way up to the gentle beast.\n\nThe antelope had been feeding undisturbed by the sound of the rushing\ntorrent, but no sooner became conscious of a man's presence than,\nleaving the verdant pasture, she struck wildly into a steep and narrow\npath, dashing through briar and jungle and close-grown trees; wherever\nshe led, however, Don Ercilla followed, though he had need to spur\nhis horse hard to keep up with her. At last she brought him in sight\nof a poor little hut, piled up at the foot of an ancient oak. At the\nsound of their hasty steps an old man came out, to whom, panting,\nthe antelope approached as for protection. The old man tenderly\nstroked her reeking sides, and then, addressing Don Ercilla, asked\nhim what fate or misadventure had brought him to his remote retreat,\nwhich strangers' steps had never yet found out. \"If,\" he said,\n\"you have had the misfortune to get separated from your company,\nyou will find welcome here, and all that my humble roof can offer to\nrestore strength; and fear nothing from your enemies while you are\nunder my protection.\"\n\nFinding him so affable and pleasant, Don Ercilla gave him his\nconfidence, and not only told him his errand, but also opened to\nhim a wish he had long harboured of visiting the cave of Fiton,\nthe great Araucanian Wizard. The kind old man, without waiting so\nmuch as to answer him, took his hand, and at once leaving his seat\nset out to lead him. It was the season of early summer, and, as the\nsun was by this time well risen, they picked their way through the\nshadiest paths. As they went along, the old man spoke thus:--\n\n\"My lands were in Araucania. I am called Guaticolo the Unhappy, who, in\nmy robust years, was a valiant fighting man, and in office predecessor\nto Col\u00f3colo. Seven several times have I led our people on to victory\non the battle-field, and a thousand times have my now hairless temples\nbeen girt with the tokens of success. But as in this life no state is\npermanent, so fortune was inconstant to me also. After success came\ndefeat; after honour, shame. At Aynavillo I had the misfortune to be\nloser in a wagered contest, on which my position had been set. Finding\nmyself burdened with a dishonoured life, I could devise no better end\nto it than to bury myself in this retreat, where, for twenty years,\nno mortal foot has tracked me; and by strange help it is, I ween,\nthat you have been brought so far; who am I, therefore, to resist the\ndirection you have received from above? How intractable soever Fiton\nmay be, I will urge the claims of relationship, as he is my uncle,\nand thus induce him to admit you.\n\n\"He dwells in the heart of a bleak mountain where the glad sun never\npenetrates, and whence the foot of man is shut out. But his wisdom and\npower are so great that he can by his one word perform any of nature's\noperations. In the blazing heat and dazzling light of noonday he can\ncover the heavens with the darkness of night. When the sky is one even\nblue, without assistance of wind or clouds, he can draw rain from a\nbarren heaven. He can arrest the course of the bounding rivers, and of\nthe birds in the midst of their flight. The burnt-up grasses of August\nat his word raise their withered blades, and resume their verdant hues;\nthe tides of the sea obey his voice, and forget the commands of the\nmoon. And, much more than all this, he can tell the destinies of men,\nand foresee the fate of nations. It would be impossible for words of\nmine to overstate his mighty and irresistible power.\"\n\nWhile he had been speaking they had passed through a long tract of\nforest, where the trees grew so thickly, and were so encumbered\nwith brushwood, that Don Ercilla was obliged to tie his horse up\nand proceed on foot. At last they reached a low opening in a rock,\nthrough which was a long dark passage, where they could hardly walk\nupright, and at the end of it a door garnished all round with heads\nof wild beasts. Guaticolo opened the door, and led Don Ercilla by the\nhand into a spacious vault, in the centre of which burnt a strange and\nperpetual light; in the walls of the cave were cut many stone shelves,\non which were ranged jars of ointments, essences, and herbs. There were\npreserved the far-piercing eyes of the lynx and that of the venomous\nbasilisk; red gore of angry men, and foam from the mouth of rabid dogs;\nparts of the wing of the harpy, the venom of the amphisbena, and the\ntail of the treacherous asp, which gives death wrapt up in a pleasant\ndream; mould off a truncated head unworthy of burial, and the tongue\nof the horrid hemorreo, whose puncture can never be staunched, but\nwhosoever it wounds must bleed to death. In a huge transparent vase\nwas a griffin's heart, pierced through with an arrow, and the ashes\nof an eastern phoenix. Stings of serpents, and tails of scorpions,\nand whatsoever is deadly and venomous in nature.\n\nWhile Don Ercilla was engaged in examining this strange repertory,\na hidden door gave entrance to a lean old man, whom he at once\nrecognized for him who had run away from him with such exceeding\nrapidity, who said,--\n\n\"It is no little boldness in you, so young, to have dared to come thus\nunbidden to my presence, and to pursue me in my occult habitation,\nwhere it is not permitted to foot of man to tread; nevertheless,\nas I know all things, I know that in your heart you mean no harm,\ntherefore I allow you to live, and will now listen to your intent.\"\n\nThen Guaticolo took upon himself to explain his errand for him in a\nlong speech, in which he commenced by lauding the wizard's influence,\nthen detailed Don Ercilla's fame, and finally told him of his dream,\nin which he had learnt that he might gain from Fiton supernatural\ninformation of the fate of the contest in which his Spanish brethren\nin arms were at the time engaged with the Turks in Europe.\n\nFiton, in great good humour with Guaticolo's dexterously-administered\nflattery, took Don Ercilla by the hand, and led him through the\nsecret door by which he had himself entered. It opened into a very\ndifferent apartment from the other. No mortal tongue could describe\nits beauty and costliness; the floor was paved with crystal tiles\nall lustrous with cunning radiance, while the roof was studded with\nbrilliant stones, so that the whole place sparkled with dazzling\nsplendour. Supported on pillars of shining gold a hundred statues\nof heroes were ranged round the room, so life-like in design that\na deaf man might have thought they spoke. On the broad medallions\nbehind were pictured forth the valiant deeds of each, displaying the\ndesigner's acquaintance with the history of all nations.\n\nIn the midst of the spacious hall, which measured half a mile every\nway, swung a globe of light, balanced in the air by supernatural power.\n\nWhen Don Ercilla had spent some time examining all these wonders,\nFiton came to him, and, with his wand pointing to the globe of light,\nexplained to him that it contained an epitome of the world, and had\ncost him forty years of labour; but contained the representation of\nall that was happening, or ever would happen, in any part or time\nof the world. \"And,\" he added, \"as it seems you are a poet, whose\nbusiness it is to chronicle the great deeds of the fighting men of\nyour country, and you have already celebrated their achievements by\nland, I will now show you what they are doing at sea.\"\n\nThen he touched the bright globe with his wand, and Don Ercilla saw it\nrepresented the world with all its parts delineated, and all the people\non it seen as clearly as he might have seen his own face in a mirror.\n\nThen Fiton pointed to the Mediterranean sea, and conducted his eyes\nto that part of it which washes [114] the Ausonian shore, and he saw\nit was all covered with galleys bearing the devices of the Pope, and\nPhilip II., and the Venetian Republic; and from the port of Lepanto\nthere came out to meet them the galleys of the Crescent. Then with a\nhoarse and terrible voice, Fiton invoked the infernal powers, crying,\n\"O terrible Can-Cerberus, Charon, weary boatman, yellow Orcus, and\nirresistible Pluto! O chilly Styx, O lake Avernus, O seething waters\nof Acheron, Lethe, Cocytus, and ruddy Phlegethon! O Furies who with\nrelentless cruelty torment the souls of the lost, and Gorgons, whose\nhair of wriggling snakes the shades tremble as they behold! compelled\nby my all-powerful word, afford to this earth-born youth a clear\nvision of the work now accomplishing in the waters of Lepanto.\" As\nhe spoke he frantically waved his wand.\n\nThen behold, the waters of the sea boiled over, and the sterile\nnorth-east wind rounding the white sails, the rival fleets were tossed\nin sudden motion, the gallant Spanish vessels bearing down proudly on\nthe Pagan galleys. Mighty warriors were there, whose names and deeds\nof fame were borne in characters of flame around their brows; many,\nwhom he had known as companions of his own in childhood, now bronzed\nwith the hardships of many a bold campaign. Suddenly the signal of the\nfight resounded, and then the Christian hosts, following the sign of\ntheir redemption, poured down with resistless ardour on their Pagan\nfoes. With breathless interest Don Ercilla watched the fortunes of\nhis friends, shouted to them--so present was the scene--to bear them\nbravely, nor waver in their courage. For hours the fight raged, and\nmany a brave servant of Christ fell deadly wounded into the deep waves,\nand tinged the blue waters with his generous blood. Don Ercilla wept\nand exulted by turns, as, one after another, he saw dear friends lost\nto him for ever in this life, and yet the Christian arms prevailing\ninch by inch, till at last, successful and triumphant, they swept the\nencroaching Turk from the face of the sea, inflicting an irreparable\nwound on his power, and setting a bound to his aggressions which he\nmight not pass.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMATANZAS.\n\n\nMatanzas is at the present day one of the most populous and\nimportant towns of the island of Cuba: second to Havannah, it goes\non ever increasing in commercial activity; it has a railroad and a\nwell-sheltered harbour, and is surrounded by an extent of sugar and\ncoffee cultivation which promises, with a never-failing supply of\nexports, to maintain and constantly increase its prosperity.\n\nNevertheless Matanzas has an ugly name; for, though euphonious enough\nto our ears, its meaning is neither more nor less than \"Slaughterings,\"\nand the ugly name is connected with an ugly history, and, it would\nseem, an inseparable association of ugliness in every detail. Its\nsituation is flat and unpicturesque; the buildings--unlike, and indeed\nin strong contrast with the beautiful outlines which, imitating those\nprevalent in Spain at the time of her greatest colonial eminence, were\nspread by her all over the new world--are mean and bare, and, while\ntoo solidly built of stone to offer any hope that the venerable-making\nhand of time will ever clothe them with any even adventitious interest,\nthey are yet altogether deficient in a grand or imposing character.\n\nThe following story of the circumstances of its origin may be taken\nto account for the absence of those softening influences of family\nlife and home traditions, which in the other colonies reproduced many\nof the most beautiful features of the old country.\n\nThere once lived, in a village of Castille, a man who thought only\nof enjoying himself, and who spent all his money without taking any\naccount of how much he had got left for the future; so that at last\na day came when he had nothing at all left, and not a bite of any\nthing but his nails. When he came home without a maravedi, his wife\nand children dinned him so for food that they drove him distracted;\nand he borrowed a rope of a neighbour, and went to an olive-tree to\nhang himself.\n\nHe had hardly fastened the rope to the tree, when a little sprite\nappeared, sitting astride on one of its branches, who called out\nto him, \"What are you going to do? You, a Christian, going to hang\nyourself like Judas! Give up such an idea; here, take this purse,\nwhich is never empty, and go home.\"\n\nSo Perrico (that was the name of our man) caught at the purse to see\nif such good fortune could be true, and drew out one duro [115] after\nanother without stopping, like words out of a woman's mouth. When he\nsaw that the store was so bountiful, he untied the rope and coiled\nit up, and made the best of his way home. But passing by the way a\ntavern where he had been accustomed to take refreshment, he could\nnot resist the temptation of turning in; nor, when he was in, the\ntemptation of ordering the best drinks and viands, till at last he\ntook more than was good for him, and passed the night under the table,\ndrunk, and as insensible as the dead in the churchyard.\n\nThe host, who had observed that he payed for every thing he ordered,\nduro after duro out of his little purse, and that there was always\na duro left, determined to possess himself of the treasure, and so\ntold his wife to make another exactly like it, and then changed it\nagainst the magic purse in Perrico's pocket.\n\nIn the morning Perrico woke, and suspecting nothing, ran home to his\nwife as joyous as a holiday.\n\n\"No more hunger! no more misery!\" he cried; \"here's money enough\nto last our lives--here's enough for every one; come, come all and\nbe merry!\"\n\nThen he pulled out his purse, and flung the one duro in it on the\ntable, but when he expected to find another, it continued empty;\nthen he turned it inside out, and threw it up in the air, and flung\nit on the floor. But no more duros appeared. And his wife, thinking\nit all a trick, grew more provoked than before, and rated him with\nan angrier voice than ever.\n\nPerrico, now quite desperate, took up his rope again, and returned\nto his olive-tree. No sooner had he tied the rope to the branch than\nthe goblin appeared, and reproached him as before.\n\n\"But what am I to do?\" pleaded Perrico; \"I've nothing to eat.\"\n\n\"You ought to find work,\" answered the goblin; \"nevertheless I'll\ngive you another chance. Take this table-cloth, and with it you'll\nnever want for a meal; for whenever you spread it, you'll find a meal\nready cooked, upon it.\" So saying, he disappeared.\n\nPerrico took the cloth, and spread it out in the shade of the\nolive-tree, and immediately it was covered with dishes of choice food,\nand wine, and fruits, and flowers; so he made the best meal he had\never eaten in his life, folded his table-cloth, and started for home.\n\nMeantime it had got late, and as he passed the tavern, the idea of a\ncomfortable bed seemed more inviting than a long walk, so he turned\nin and went to bed.\n\nThe host, who had made such a fortunate prize out of him the day\nbefore, suspected sagaciously that he might have brought some other\nwonderful gift along with him this time; so while he was sound asleep\nhe turned over his things, and finding the new table-cloth, easily\nguessed this was what he was searching for, and so replaced it with\nanother like it, and carried Perrico's off.\n\nIn the morning Perrico woke, and, suspecting nothing, ran home to\nhis wife as joyous as a holiday.\n\n\"Come wife, come children!\" he exclaimed, \"no more hunger! no more\nmisery! here's food to last our lives.\"\n\nAnd with that he spread the table-cloth out on the table; to his\nchagrin, however, instead of eatables, it was only covered with\nugly patches.\n\nThen followed an outcry such as never had been heard before; mother\nand children set upon him without mercy, and glad enough he was to\nescape from them, his rope safely tucked under his arm.\n\nOnce more he secured the rope, and once more the goblin\nappeared. \"Christian!\" he exclaimed, \"where is your patience?\"\n\n\"All beaten out of me by my wife's blows,\" replied Perrico.\n\n\"That's no excuse,\" said the sprite; \"nevertheless I'll help you once\nmore. Here's a stick for you--take this, and when you're armed with\nit no one will venture to interfere with you.\"\n\nPerrico caught at the stick, and walked home with as much importance as\na beadle bearing his mace; and when the children came clamouring round\nhim, as they had seen their mother do, he only said, \"At them! good\nstick!\" and the stick flew out of his hand, and sent them all running\nhelter-skelter. Then his wife came to the defence of her children,\nand Perrico had only to say, \"At her! good stick!\" and the stick soon\ndisposed of her also.\n\nBut the neighbours, hearing her cries, sent for the Alcalde and his\nAguaciles, who prepared to take him; but Perrico cried once more,\n\"At them! good stick!\" and straightway the stick sent them all flying\nin every direction.\n\nThen they sent an express messenger to the king, to tell him how his\nofficers were being treated, and he sent a regiment of grenadiers. But\nPerrico had one remedy against all: \"At them! good stick!\" he cried,\nand in a trice the stick belaboured away, leaving one with a broken\narm, another with his eye knocked out, the colonel sprawling in the\ndust, and every musket or side-arm rendered totally unfit for use,\ntill the soldiers, thinking Lucifer had been let loose among them,\nwere glad to get away as fast as their legs would carry them.\n\nSo Perrico was left alone, and was glad to rest after all the\nexcitement, but took care when he went to sleep to hide his stick in\nhis breast, that it might not be taken from him.\n\nWhen he woke in the morning he found his hands and feet manacled, and\nan officer of justice standing over him, reading aloud the sentence\nof death which had been passed upon him. Perrico said nothing, but\nas soon as they loosened his bonds on the scaffold he took out his\nstick, and crying, \"At them! good stick!\" soon delivered himself of\nexecutioners, guards, gaolers, and all who stood in his way.\n\n\"Leave the fellow alone!\" cried the king, \"or all my subjects will be\nkilled--only let's get rid of him.\" So to bribe him to go he promised\nhim a large tract of land in America, and shipped him off to the\nisland of Cuba. Here he founded a town; but his stick did so much\nexecution on the inhabitants, that people gave it the name of Matanzas.\n\n\n THE END.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNOTES\n\n\n[1] Colonial.\n\n[2] The Story \"Where One may Dine Two may Dine\" is a particular\nillustration of this.\n\n[3] Moorish palace.\n\n[4] Good Cowherdess.\n\n[5] Female pilgrim.\n\n[6] Moorish castle.\n\n[7] Silly Johnny.\n\n[8] Mirandola est\u00e1 mirando\n Que bien era de mirar;\n Blanca es como la nieve\n Y como lo claro cristal,\n Colorada como la rosa\n Y como rosa de rosal.\n\n[9] If God so will, it may rain with a clear sky.\n\n[10] It was completed 1364.\n\n[11] Ornamented iron-work in front of the lower windows of Spanish\nhouses.\n\n[12] A warm hunting-cap, with flaps to cover the forehead and ears,\ncapable therefore of serving, in some sort, as a disguise.\n\n[13] The Sevillians to the present day give a very bad character to\nthe Valencians.\n\n[14] A spreading vine, trained along a horizontal trellis, so as to\nform a shady arbour; an unfailing adjunct to most houses in the south\nof Spain.\n\n[15] Blunderbuss.\n\n[16] A large covered waggon drawn by mules, in which luggage\nand passengers were conveyed together in Spain. Still in use in\nout-of-the-way places.\n\n[17] The bell tolled a death knell.\n\n[18] In some parts of Spain where there is no arena for the bull\nfights, they are held in some large open space, called a Cosa. The\nCosa at Zaragoza is a broad open street of the best houses, planted\nwith trees.\n\n[19] Marriages are celebrated in the evening in Spain.\n\n[20] Toll--for a funeral service.\n\n[21] Every one smokes at all hours in Spain. It is the custom at many\nbarbers' and tobacconists' shops to have a piece of lighted mecha,\nor plaited tow, hanging outside the door for the convenience of their\ncustomers, who may want to light their cigars.\n\n[22] It is a common custom in Spain to receive friends, and even\ntransact business in your box at the theatre.\n\n[23] Covetousness bursts the money-bag.\n\n[24] Hato, a portion of provisions taken out with them by shepherds\nwhen they have to be absent from home in the mountains for several\ndays together.\n\n[25] Simancas is situated at the confluence of the Douro and Pisuergo,\nnot far from Valladolid. The archives of Spain were kept there for\ncenturies, in a strong alc\u00e1zar originally built by the Moors.\n\n[26] An equivalent for our \"Before you could say 'Jack Robinson,'\"\nthough I have never been able to make out the derivation of either\ntilin or \"Jack Robinson.\"\n\n[27] \"Nothing goes right with the unlucky.\"\n\n[28] Little earthen pot.\n\n[29] \"May your worship live a thousand years!\"--a common salutation,\nequivalent to \"God grant you long life!\"\n\n[30] \"More surely than the clock,\" i.e., as irrevocably as time as\nwe should say, \"as sure as a gun.\"\n\n[31] There used to be several sinecure offices in Spain, the symbol\nof which was a silver key slung over the pocket-flap on the left side.\n\n[32] Large earthen pot, used by the Spanish peasants for cooking.\n\n[33] Esparto grass is a fibrous plant which grows in great abundance\nin the south of Spain; it is imported into this country under the\nname of Spanish broom, and is used for making rope, canvas, mats,\npaper, and for many other useful purposes.\n\n[34] Nice little children.\n\n[35] The Carnation.\n\n[36] Entre los \u00e1rboles todos\n se se\u00f1orea el laurel\n entre las mujeres, Ana\n entre los flores, el clavel.\n\n[37] En \u00e9nero no hay claveles\n porque los marchita el hielo\n en tu cara los hay siempre\n porque lo permite el cielo.\n\n[38] El encarnado clavel\n viene publicando agravios\n porque no le han hecho \u00e1 el\n hermoso como tus labios.\n\n[39] El clavel que tu mi diste\n el d\u00eda de la Ascension\n no fu\u00e9 clavel, sino clavo\n que clav\u00f3 mi corazon.\n\n[40] En una teja de su casa\n cri\u00f3 mi ni\u00f1o un clavel\n y quando \u00e1 su vera pasa\n le da un besito en la sien.\n\n[41] Tengo un clavel encarnado\n \u00e1 la sombra y bajo llave\n para que el sol no lo vea\n y con mirarlo lo aje.\n\n[42] Pipkin.\n\n[43] A name employed in Andalusia to designate a person who wears\nthe national costume with great ostentation of correctness, and is\naltogether what we should term showy.\n\n[44] See p. 68 and note.\n\n[45] On is the Spanish augmentative.\n\n[46] A tall fibrous plant, which covers whole plains in the south\nof Spain, so called because its spreading leaves give it a certain\nresemblance to dwarf palms.\n\n[47] The Sierra Almagrera is near Cartagena. The mine whose riches\nhave been thus celebrated in a popular tale for many a century,\nis just now being vigorously worked by an Anglo-French company.\n\n[48] Literally, a saw. Spaniards call a ridge of mountains so, from\nthe resemblance of the outline to the teeth of a saw.\n\n[49] \"In the season of figs no one remembers his friends.\" In other\nwords, though when in want men gladly remember their acquaintance\nthat they may apply to them for assistance, in prosperity they are\nas anxious to forget them, that they may not be called upon to spend\nfor them.\n\n[50] \"In the frying, you shall see.\" Equivalent to our \"The proof of\nthe pudding's in the eating.\" The following is told as the origin\nof this Spanish proverb:--A good housewife having frequently had\noccasion to find fault with the quality of the charcoal the village\ndealer sold her, was highly delighted when another one set up who\nprofessed to sell a better kind. \"But how am I to know yours is any\nbetter?\" inquired she. \"Al freir, lo vereis\" (\"when you come to fry\nwith it you will see if it doesn't give a clear fire\"), he replied,\nfor as his wares were good they needed only to be proved: taberna vieja\nno necesita rama: good wine, or, more literally, an old established\ntavern, needs no bush.\n\n[51] A short wooden column supporting an alms-box in Spanish churches.\n\n[52] The name given to a boy serving as guide to a blind man.\n\n[53] The Spanish sprat found in great abundance in the Mediterranean,\ncalled sardina, much larger than ours, those selected for frying\nbeing generally five or six inches long.\n\n[54] Sister.\n\n[55] A vine trained so as to make an out-door sitting-room.\n\n[56] \"More certain than the clock, man.\"\n\n[57] Large folding dagger-knife.\n\n[58] Little town.\n\n[59] Bank of wild thyme.\n\n[60] \"While in my arms I hold thee,\n I ask myself alway,\n What fate I leave thee to, child,\n If call'd by death away.\"\n\n[61] Aunt. It is also a title of respect and endearment, much in use\nbetween intimate friends, especially among the lower orders in Spain.\n\n[62] Ochavo, a coin about equal to a farthing.\n\n[63] Clergyman of the parish.\n\n[64] Man. An ejaculation with which the Spaniard frequently interlards\nhis conversation.\n\n[65] As we should say, \"like winking.\"\n\n[66] Your worship.\n\n[67] \"I should think she did know how to cook indeed!\"\n\n[68] Earthen pots.\n\n[69] Something like our forcemeat-balls.\n\n[70] A sweetmeat in as general adoption in Spain as our toffy.\n\n[71] Sweetmeat composed of pounded almonds and honey.\n\n[72] There is so little trace of flesh meat in it that it was allowed\non fast-days.\n\n[73] Tama\u00f1o como del codo \u00e1 la mano.\n\n[74] \"... Su dotrina as\u00ed alumbro\n Que hace ver \u00e1 los ciegos.\"\n\n[75] Dumas has indulged his wit at the expense of the unfortunate\nriver, and tells us that his son, being overcome by heat one day\nat the opera, the bystanders brought him a glass of water; but he\nrefused it with admirable self-sacrifice, exclaiming, \"Take it to\nthe poor Manzan\u00e1res, its necessities are greater than mine.\"\n\n[76] A long, thin, pointed stick.\n\n[77] Melena is used to signify shaggy hair, when peasants or others\nleave it uncut and uncombed.\n\n[78] Though neither of the persons in this piece are Spanish, nor the\nscene laid in the Peninsula, it is thoroughly Spanish in character,\nand the subject of one or two popular ballads, and several dramas,\nby the best authors.\n\n[79] Dark green (lit. black-green).\n\n[80] A small coasting-boat, carrying only a boom sail.\n\n[81] A word borrowed from the Turkish, to signify a dungeon, and used\nwhen speaking of a Turkish prison.\n\n[82] Moorish palace.\n\n[83] A Spanish game, forming a sort of mock tournament, the combatants\nbeing armed with canes instead of lances.\n\n[84] A Spanish game, consisting in pelting each other with alcanc\u00edas,\nor round earthen pots, in which flowers and other things were enclosed\nbefore they were baked (in the sun), and which fell out when broken\nagainst the shield of those at whom they were thrown. I do not know\nif these games were also in use in Venice, or if their introduction\nhere is a vulgar error.\n\n[85] A common practice of Spaniards, even in street fights, to the\npresent day.\n\n[86] A formidable leader of the Moors in Spain of the tenth and\neleventh centuries.\n\n[87] Como el s\u00e1ndalo que perfuma el hacha que le hiere.\n\n[88] La confianza en Dios y los pies en la calle.\n\n[89] \"Un convidado convida a ciento.\"\n\n[90] Cork-trees.\n\n[91] \"La fortuna es por quien la encuentra y no por quien la busca.\"\n\n[92] A kind of notary or attorney, who is spoken of in the popular\nlanguage of Spain with as much abhorrence as the \"publican\" in\nthe Gospel.\n\n[93] Agach\u00f3 las orejas--a metaphor which readily suggests itself in\na country where donkeys and mules are so much in use.\n\n[94] The soil of the bed of the Tagus is a yellow sand, which gives\nits water rather a muddy appearance. Poets, however, see things with\na different eye from ordinary mortals, and have turned it to gold\nin their verses: \"el dorado Tajo,\" the golden Tagus, is their common\nappellation for it.\n\n[95] Majorca.\n\n[96] La Sierra Nevada traverses the centre of Granada.\n\n[97] The noise and tumult of the Moors' war-cry.\n\n[98] Foreign.\n\n[99] Dear little ring.\n\n[100] Good little shepherd.\n\n[101] Sir Country-bumpkin.\n\n[102] Little princess.\n\n[103] Child.\n\n[104] Proud little thing.\n\n[105] Small leathern bottle, hung from the saddle in travelling.\n\n[106] Santon is a term used in Spanish for a person professing a life\nof austerity among the Moors.\n\n[107] The letter F in Spanish is pronounced f\u00e9, and f\u00e9 is the Spanish\nfor faith.\n\n[108] Baptism and Extreme Unction, taken to typify the Christian law.\n\n[109] Now Hayti.\n\n[110] Large jars.\n\n[111] Puren distinguished himself so much by his courage in these wars,\nthat Alv\u00e1rez de Toledo, a captain in the Spanish army in Araucania,\ncomposed a poem on him, entitled, \"Puren indomito.\"\n\n[112] It is possible Don Ercilla here celebrates some feat of his own.\n\n[113] Palio, a banner of bright-coloured silk or cloth, hung across the\nend of the race-course among Spaniards, and given to the winner. Don\nErcilla, all through the story, seems to fill up his incidents from\nSpanish manners and ideas.\n\n[114] The Adriatic.\n\n[115] A dollar.","title":"Patra\u00f1as; or, Spanish Stories, Legendary and Traditional","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":82063}