Chapter III: Part 3

Attached to the convent, she resumed, and surrounded by its walls, was a large garden in which the sisters took the air, and also, when they felt so inclined, did a little gardening. But the real work was done by an old man, who as he became aged, had asked and obtained leave to have the assistance of his son, a young boy, who getting older in due course was dismissed, and a succession of boys took his place. I was too listless and too miserable to do any work in the garden, which perhaps, would have been better for me than my continual brooding. But I used to walk in it, though always accompanied by a sister; for they had, as it seems, taken notice of my increasing melancholy, and feared that I might either make some desperate effort to escape or perchance attempt my own life. Upon one of these occasions I had my attention attracted for a moment by hearing the sister say to the gardener, ‘You have a new boy; why did you dismiss the last? He was not old, and moreover, it seems to me that your new one is somewhat older.’ The gardener replied that the other boy was not dismissed, but that he was on a visit to some relatives, and the new boy was only taking his work during his absence; and then we passed on. This boy was busy at the time in pruning some vines by the side of the walk, and, as I passed by, methought that I heard him whisper the word ‘Baptisto.’ Instantly I turned my head towards him, for we had already passed, whereupon he made a sign which showed me he had something to say. As we came round again, I brushed past him as close as I could, and with great dexterity he slipped a note into my hand. If I had not had leisure after I had passed him the first time to compose myself as I walked round the garden, my agitation might have betrayed me; but as it was, I was prepared, and hastily concealing the note in my bosom I presently told the sister that I was fatigued and would retire into my cell. It was indeed from Baptisto: a letter of passionate love. He informed me that I could communicate with him in the same way that I received this; and he even had the forethought to enclose a sheet of paper and a tiny piece of Indian ink, for whence could I have procured writing materials without drawing down upon me the suspicion of the sisters? He further begged me to consent to a secret marriage: if I would do so he had already arranged a plan for my escape; but since he could not take me to his own relations for fear of pursuit, so he could not ask me to fly with him without having the right to protect me. I was greatly troubled, for it is a terrible thing to marry without the consent of one’s parents, nay, against their express will; while on the other hand there was the prospect of the happiness of having Baptisto ever by my side. I had told my father that I would never marry without his consent, provided that he would not force me to marry without my own, and he had not listened to me; so that I now feared every day that I should be forced into a hateful union with one I could never love. You who know the world and weak human nature will guess which way this conflict within me ended: I wrote the words ‘I consent,’ and passed it to the messenger the next day. Perhaps it was fortunate for me that my anxiety and grief at disobeying my parents prevented the joy which I should otherwise have felt, and did in part feel, from manifesting itself in my face; and so without being suspected by the sisters, who still watched me vigilantly, and every few days under pretext of cleaning diligently searched my cell, I got another note full of rapture, and containing instructions concerning the method of my escape. I kissed it again and again, and fearing lest it might be discovered, I ate it, for I knew it by heart. Baptisto had been informed by his messenger of the position of the convent and all other necessary matters, and he had laid his plans accordingly. Now, every evening the sister who acted as janitor took her keys into my aunt’s cell, where they remained until required for matins. These I was to procure, but the key of the priest’s door which gave access to the chapel from outside, was at present in the hands of the gardener in order that he might give the masons access who were at work there, without troubling the nuns every morning: and this Baptisto was himself to get. Oh, how I trembled when the appointed night came! for I well knew that if I failed this time good care would be taken that I never had the opportunity again. The sisters noticed my agitation, which I could not conceal, and thinking that I had the fever, I was nearly prevented from my purpose by being sent to my cell before the evening meal; but I assured them that I could not sleep, and begged them so earnestly to let me stay that they gave way. I soon slipped into the buttery, and there, noting my aunt’s flagon of wine, which was different from those the sisters used, I put a few drops of opium into it, which Baptisto had sent me for that purpose. Instead, however, of feeling sleepy after it, as I had expected her to do, my aunt appeared to be more lively than usual, and also in a better temper, for she bantered me on my obstinacy as she called it, and made the sisters laugh. I was in despair, and still more when, as we were retiring to our cells after the meal, my aunt called to me and bade me follow her. For the first time since I had been in the convent, she talked kindly to me, and put before me the advantage of such an alliance as that with Prince Mazzapiglio, my duty to my father, and many other things of a like nature. While she was talking, the janitress brought in the keys, which I looked at with hungry eyes, for I feared that my aunt might remain awake the whole night; but to my great relief, after a little longer her mind seemed to begin to wander, she paused in her talk as if to gather her thoughts together, and these pauses gradually grew longer until her head, which she rested on her hands, gradually sank down upon the table, and she slept. I seized the keys, extinguished the lamp, and quietly retired to my own cell. There I waited for what seemed to me ages, until I thought all the sisters were asleep; then stealing down the corridor, starting at every sound, I picked out the key of the chapel door without much difficulty, and hurrying through in an agony of fear lest the marble effigies of my relations should rise up against me, I made my way to the other door, where I expected to find Baptisto waiting. I tried it, but found it locked. I listened, but could hear no sound. In trembling accents I whispered the name of Baptisto, but there was no reply save the sighing of the wind. I sank down on the stone floor and wept, for I felt that some untoward accident must have happened: the gardener had gone out with his key, Baptisto had been seen, or I knew not what! I only knew that all my chances were gone; that the hope which had so newly cheered me was but a bitter mockery; and that henceforward I was doomed to a life of misery and living entombment. But just as I was on the point of returning to my cell I heard the key turning in the lock, and with a cry of joy and relief I found myself in Baptisto’s arms. I could not restrain my tears, so great was the revulsion of my feelings from the lowest depths of despair to the height of happiness; but Baptisto, after a tender embrace, hurried me out, and at a short distance we came to the horses he had in waiting, and then dismissing the servant we two rode away alone. It did not take us long to reach San Martino, where Baptisto had arranged with the priest to marry us and ask no questions. In his poor chamber, therefore, and at midnight, I was married, the priest’s housekeeper holding our horses the while; and no power on earth, not even the Holy Father himself, could undo it. We immediately mounted again and rode on some distance, carefully avoiding the larger places, such as Castelfiorentino, where Baptisto was known, and towards dawn we reached Montajone, a mountain village, where we sought the hospitality of a cottager. Here we gave our horses a rest; and I, who was dying with fatigue, not being used to exercise during my long imprisonment in the convent, after a hasty meal, such as the place afforded, retired to an inner room and was soon fast asleep. Baptisto, who seemed to be made of iron, meanwhile looked to the horses, procured some food to take with us, and made other necessary preparations. In a couple of hours he awoke me, and we resumed our flight. We felt pretty sure that we should not be immediately followed, because I should not be missed until the morning, as I did not usually attend the midnight mass, and no one saw us depart; nor, unless they inquired of the priest of San Martino (if they chanced to come there, and he chanced to break his oath) would they obtain any tidings of the direction which we had taken; for all the country we had passed through was wrapped in slumber. For these reasons, and for the sake of our horses, and perhaps too because we liked to ride hand in hand, we did not urge our beasts along too fast. We rode the greater part of the day, with but two hours’ rest at noon in a wood, and were looking out for some place to halt for the night, when in the neighbourhood of a mountain town called Chianni, I chanced to see a troop of armed men riding down upon us. I called to Baptisto to fly, at the same time turning my horse off the track into a wood, and sped on as fast as I could make my way among the trees; but Baptisto, who was busier in looking on my face than in looking out along the road, did not follow quickly. I fled on some distance, and then halted for Baptisto, but the woods were silent and I was afraid to cry out. I searched hither and thither, but to no purpose, and by-and-by the shades of night began to fall and my horse gave evident signs of being tired out. I dismounted and led it along, stumbling at every step, and as the darkness fell thick, as it soon did among those trees, my fears grew stronger. Every shadow methought to be a wild beast, and the soughing of the wind sounded to me as the nearing cries of the wolves. Tired as I was, it seemed that I had walked for hours when at length I saw a light in the distance, for which I made at once, and found to proceed from a humble cottage. I knocked at the door, and an old man came out, shading the lamp with his hand, while his old wife peered over his shoulder. I asked him if it was yet far to Quirico, for that was the port we had been making for, and whence we had intended to sail for Sicily. The man appeared to be greatly amazed at seeing me, and replied that it was a day’s journey from hence, and now too dark to seek the way, nor was there, he added, any village in the neighbourhood. I asked him therefore if he would give me shelter for the night; at which he sighed, and said ‘Alas! this wood is haunted by bands of evil men, and should they come upon me, as they often do, they might do thee an injury, and I could not protect thee.’ Thereupon I said, ‘Father, I have no choice; if I go on, I shall lose my way and perhaps be torn to pieces by wolves, or even meet some of those bands you fear. If I stay with you, I shall only run one risk, and moreover, both I and my horse are exhausted: therefore I pray you, give me food and shelter for this night.’ The old couple then gave me permission to enter, and the best that their cottage afforded. My horse was stabled in a little shed, and we retired early to rest. But my fears for Baptisto and the thought of my misfortunes kept sleep far from me. How hard had been our lot, and how happy we might have been but for our absurd Italian pride! I had been nearly driven mad by my fears lest I should be forced into a marriage that I detested; I had lost my father’s love, a splendid home, and been banished to the gloomy imprisonment of the convent; and now, when I thought that some chance of happiness was dawning for me in my Baptisto’s arms, I had again lost him: nay, he was perhaps killed, and I had lost him for ever! Tormented by these thoughts, I tossed about and wooed sleep in vain. Just as it grew dawn, methought I heard the distant trampling of many horses and men. Hastily rising, I looked forth, and saw many armed men coming towards the cottage, which greatly terrified me, and seeking to save myself, I went out to the yard at the back of the cottage for concealment if it were possible. There I was fortunate enough to find a great heap of coarse hay, in which I completely buried myself. Hardly had I done so, when they entered the cottage, and after looking round, entered the shed, where they found my horse and saddle; upon which they asked the old man whom he had with him, and he, not seeing me, declared that there was no one there saving himself and his wife; but as for the horse, he said he had found it grazing outside his cottage the evening before, and for fear lest it might be killed by the wolves, he had stabled it. They appeared to be satisfied with this explanation, and said that since the horse had no owner they would give it one and take it with them. Then they dispersed themselves through the cottage, many of them coming out into the yard, where building a fire, they cooked themselves some goatsflesh and other food that they had brought with them, and producing an abundance of wine, they made merry and grew very riotous; and had I not then escaped another very great danger which convinced me that I was under the Divine protection, I should have been even more terrified than I was. For when the men came out into the yard, they tossed aside their arms, and one out of very wantonness threw his spear into the heap of hay in which I lay concealed, and so close did it pass to my right side that it even tore my gown. I was so afraid that I nearly cried out, but mercifully was able to restrain myself; and there I lay a-trembling while they rested and ate and drank their fill: and it then growing light, they went away, taking my horse with them. As soon as they were gone, the old man asked his wife if she knew where I was, for he was troubled concerning me; and I then came forth and related to them how I had concealed myself and what had passed, at which they greatly marvelled. Now that it was daylight, the old man told me that I might safely proceed on my journey. At about ten miles distance, there was, he told me, a castle to which he would conduct me, called Castellina Maritima, where I could be safely lodged, and thither he guided me. After resting there a day, and not getting any tidings of Baptisto, I proceeded to Quirico, where to my despair I still could hear nothing of him. And then came the night in which we were attacked in the manner you wot. While the fighting was going on and I was watching and praying from my refuge, methought I saw Baptisto among the few who had stayed and were defending the place from the Turks; and I have seen him here on board this galley rowing among the slaves. How relieved, and at the same time how miserable I felt when I recognised him you will readily imagine: relieved that he had escaped from the robbers, and miserable that through me, and in my defence, he should have been condemned to this slavery. I trust in you to help to communicate with him in order that we may endeavour to form some plan of escape, and failing that, I am resolved to put an end to this life which seems destined to be nought but a source of unhappiness to its owner and to all who come in contact with her.

It was already late when she had finished her narrative, and we therefore agreed to meet the next night to consider what were best to be done. The next day, as I dressed Baptisto’s wounds, I whispered to him that I knew his story; but we could come to no plan of escape. We were steering up towards Genoa, and as we neared the place a galley came out flying a flag of truce, and our fleet halted to parley. All the captains assembled on board our vessel, and the embassy from Genoa, several grave and reverend signors, came on board too. They were come to offer the exchange of Mahometan captives for Christians, which was accepted of, but only a few, and those that had been lately taken, were exchanged: for most of the slaves had no friends in these parts. Among the rest of the embassy was a man of consideration, who when he was come on board and his eyes fell on Gabriella could not restrain the hot tears from coursing down his wrinkled cheeks. She also recognising him seemed to fall into a swoon; and I soon discovered that this was her father. The Turks at the beginning would not listen to any offer of ransom, but at length, being tempted by a large sum, they gave way, and Gabriella was free to go. But this she refused without Baptisto being also ransomed; for, as she told her father, he was her husband, and she intended rather to die than be ransomed and leave him, who was become a slave for her sake. The old general had a terrible struggle betwixt his pride and his love for his only daughter, yet in the end he could not choose but give way: for was it not a greater dishonour to leave his daughter in captivity among the Turks than to acknowledge her marriage with Baptisto, who, if poor, at least came of noble family? Moreover, she was married to him and the marriage could not be undone, so that even if Baptisto remained in captivity she could never make a great alliance. Therefore it was that he gave way, and the last I saw of them was the three going away very lovingly together. I was enraged that there could be so much ingratitude in the world as to leave me, whom they seemed not to think of, behind. Had I guessed at it, I would have informed the Turks of the great riches of the Capellini. But it was too late, and I was left on board the galley without hope of release, with the agony of disappointment, and the fear that as soon as we returned to Algiers I should be recognised and punished for my attempted escape.

The Rais, or Captain-general, was now satisfied with the success of the expedition, and accordingly the fleet set sail for their respective ports. But my estate was of the most miserable, for I greatly feared that I should be recognised when I arrived, and punished, as I have already related. There was a great concourse at the landing place, of men quiet and dignified, and of women giving their shrill cries of joy or ululations. As soon as the prisoners were taken ashore, I observed the same renegado that deceived so many when I was first taken; and who, I found, had been on board one of the galleys buying the slaves from their captors, now busy among the prisoners marshalling his purchases: and in the bitterness of my heart I bethought me of a tale to relate whereby I might revenge the Christians he had deceived. Accordingly, chained at the oar as I was, I cried out in a loud voice (for by this time I had learned to speak their language so as to be understood), that I had something to say unto the Dey; at which no man durst affront me, but my chains were knocked off, and I was led into the Presence. After that I had made my salaam, I was bidden to speak; whereupon I said: O Dey! this slave of thine, this Emir Hassan, hath deceived thee, for there was a great beauty among the prisoners, whose face was as the full moon, with joined eyebrows, and a body like the willow wand, so that the sight of her would ravish all beholders. And then one stood forward, whom I had instructed, and recited the following verses, which I will do into English:

Her cheeks were smooth and tender, she was delicate and fair,
Like to a pearl hid in its shell, suffused with colour rare;
Her shape like to an Alif, and her smile a medial Mim,
Her body like a willow wand, slender, tall and slim.

Like arrows sharp her glances shot to search out every part,
To water turned the liver, and made roast meat of the heart;
Her eyebrows like inverted Nouns, and arched as Rustem’s bow,
Like Sad beneath her eyes shone out in dulcet tender glow.

Hair in abundance decked her head, and hung down to her feet;
None e’er created lovelier, or for a king more meet!
Praise Allah, who created her a creature of such grace,
And those who sold her for a price, may their lot be disgrace!

This one, I continued, was reserved for thee, O Dey! but the Emir Hassan loved gold better than thee, and he permitted her to be ransomed. At this the Dey was very angry, and straightway ordered that the renegado should be cast into prison, and all his goods plundered, for none could gainsay what I had said. As for me, the Dey took me into his particular service, and so I escaped the penalty that my old master, who had recognised me, was prepared to impose upon me through the cadi or magistrate of the town.

And here I saw several of the prisoners who were wicked or weak of heart abjure their religion; and the manner thereof was this. The renegado is set upon a horse, with his face towards the tail and a bow and arrow in his hand. After him is carried a picture of the Nazarene Christ, as they call Him, feet upwards, at which he draws his bow with the arrow therein; and thus he rides to the place of abjuration, cursing the father that begat him, the mother that bore him, his kindred, and his country. Then, coming to the place of oath-taking, he says: ‘Allah il Allah, Mahomet Rasoul Allah’; and afterwards he is called a renegado, that is a Christian denying Christ, and turned Turk; of which sort there are more in Algiers and in Barbary than natural Turks.

Among the slaves of the Emir Hassan who were seized by the Dey was one, a Spaniard, with whom I became intimate in this wise. We two, with many others, were employed as ferrashes, that is as carpet spreaders, sweepers, and so forth; for in the summer the Dey would desert his palace and live in tents in airy places where he could best catch the cooler breezes that blew from the north, and then the whole work of the camp would be carried on by us. Now, the Ferrash Bashi, or chief of the Ferrashes, was a Dutchman who had been a pirate, mainly preying upon those Spanish vessels which came richly laden from the settlements of Peru, and which, when they had passed all the dangers of the sea and were near their port, were cruelly taken almost within sight of land: and these pirates having fast ships, the heavy Spanish men-of-war could seldom come up with them before they had taken their prizes. I suppose from the nature of his former vocation the Dutchman looked upon all Spaniards as his enemies: but whatever might be the reason, he treated my friend Pablo with a cruelty and brutishness that must have been hard to bear, as without doubt it was hard for me with the blood of a free Englishman in me to look upon with coolness. One day this man, who was called Hendrik vander Stok, being in a more surly mood than usual, found some fault with the manner in which Pablo had discharged those duties which appertained to him; and with his courbash or whip of hide chastised him so terribly that he lay there in his blood without sense or motion. When I saw this, and saw that even then he would not give over his blows, I spoke to him and bade him desist; whereupon in his blind rage he turned and spat in my face, at the same time striking me with his whip. But the next moment he lay without motion on the ground, for I had given him a blow behind the ear, and he fell like an ox. He never moved again, but none but the slaves saw him fall, and therefore I escaped punishment, for they all hated him, and gave the Turks to understand that he had died of an apoplexy (and, indeed, he had died of a stroke) which they the more readily believed seeing that he had no wound; and moreover they would not be troubled to inquire more nearly, for they held a slave’s life as a thing of nought. When Pablo recovered, and learnt that it was I who of my generosity and disregard of danger of my life had bravely saved his, his gratitude knew no bounds. Thenceforth he would endeavour to do all my work for me, and to give him satisfaction, I let him do as much as he could without observation of the Turks. He would also bring me what food he was able, which was very acceptable, seeing that our allowance was but scanty, and would talk with me in his own tongue, which was the only one he understood, but which I soon picked up by the help of the Italian which I already knew. He had a lute, which he may have brought with him for all I know, upon which he played not without skill; and in this he was encouraged by the Turks; for, although the music of these heathens (if it may be called by that name) resembles not at all those sweet sounds which ever delight the ears of polite men and Christians, yet the music of the Spaniards is somewhat betwixt that of Christians and of Turks.

One day I heard him discourse these verses:

How long, O Death, must I then on thee call?
To most, alas! thou comest all too soon:
To young, to old, to rich and poor, to all
Thou art a curse--to me alone a boon.
Yet, nathless, I’d not have thee take me here:
For if my country I may never see,
That beauteous land that still I hold most dear,
Let it at least afford a grave to me!
My bones can never rest in foreign earth;
If death be sleep, ’tis therefore I can’t die,
Enshrined in that dear soil that gave me birth
Alone ’tis possible for me to lie!
In mine own land the seasons come and go,
Spring blossoms bloom, and autumn leaves do fall;
The Sun still shines, the gentle rivers flow,
And birds still make the woodlands musical.
My absence makes no discontinuance there,
The waters of oblivion close me o’er:
Friends I had once that used to speak me fair--
Now I am gone, they think of me no more.
And yet, not all--there’s one still thinks of me,
Still weeps for me, still watches, and still prays;
And, in my dreams, her tear-dimmed face I see,
That gives me strength to bear my evil days.

This made me curious to hear his history, which without much pressing he related as follows.

_THE STORY OF PABLO FRAXADO Y RIBADENEYRA_

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

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

Alas, arise!
And cast thy eyes
On me, love stricken, that dares thy feet to kiss;
Ah, pity take!
And for love’s sake
List to my suit, and drown me all in bliss

I scarce dare raise
My voice in praise
Of the charms with which so richly thou’rt endued;
Thou wilt not deign
A humble swain
That of so many gallant swains are wooed!

Nathless a youth,
That loves in truth,
Beyond what words can e’er to thee express,
Can never find
Thy heart unkind
To leave him in such dire unhappiness!

Ah, sweetest one!
I am undone:
Give me some sign that thou wilt look on me!
I cannot live
If thou’lt not give
Some token of thy gentle charity!

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

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