Chapter I: Lazaro Relates the Way of His Birth and Tells Whose Son He Is (2)

I was wandering about from door to door, without any settled purpose, when I came upon an esquire,[24] who was walking down the street, fairly well dressed and groomed. He looked at me and I at him. [Sidenote: The esquire.] He then said, “Boy! are you seeking for a master?” I replied, “Yes, sir!” “Then come along behind me,” he said, “for God has shown mercy to you by letting you meet with me.” So I followed him, giving thanks to God. Judging from his dress and manner I thought he was the sort of master of whom I stood in need.

[24] Escudero. The English equivalent is _esquire_; Latin,
_armiger_. Selden says that the original of this title was the
office or function of _armiger_ or _scutifer_. Our _esquire_ and
the French _escuyer_ are derived from Scutarius. In Froissart
we have knights and esquires, in Spain cavalleros (knights) and
escuderos (esquires).

[Sidenote: Lazaro enters the service of an esquire.]

It was in the morning when I met with my third master, and I followed him over a great part of the city. He passed by the place where they sell bread and other provisions, and I thought and desired that he would employ me to carry what he bought, for it was the time for marketing. But, with a slow step, he passed by all these things. Perhaps, I thought, he is not satisfied with them and intends to make his purchases in some other place. In this way we walked about until eleven in the forenoon, when he entered the principal church, and I at his heels. I saw him hear Mass and the other divine offices very devoutly until the service was all finished, and the people had gone. Then we left the church and began to walk down the street. I was the happiest boy in the world to see that my master had not troubled himself about marketing, for I deduced from that the belief that he had everything at home, where I should find all that I desired. At last we came to a house before which my master stopped, and I with him.

[Sidenote: The esquire takes Lazaro to his house.]

Throwing the end of his cloak over his left shoulder, he took a key out of his sleeve and opened the door. We entered the house. It was so dark and dismal that it might cause fear to any one coming in. Within there was a small court and fair-sized rooms. He then took off his cloak and, first asking whether I had clean hands, he shook it and folded it. Then, after very carefully blowing the dust off a bench that was there, he put the cloak on it. Having done this he sat upon it and began to ask me questions, in great detail, as to where I came from and how I reached the city. I had to give him a much longer account than I cared for, as it seemed to me that it was a more convenient time for laying the cloth and getting the meal ready than for answering what he asked. Nevertheless, I satisfied his curiosity with the best lies I could invent, relating all I had done well, and holding my tongue about the rest, which did not appear to me to be appropriate. [Sidenote: Nothing to eat in the esquire’s house.] This done, we remained in the same place for a while. It was now nearly two o’clock in the afternoon, and there was no more sign of anything to eat than there would be for the dead.

After this my master closed the door and locked it, and neither above nor below was there a sign of any other person in the house. All I had seen was walls, without chairs or table, or even a chest, like that of the rats and snake. It was like a house bewitched. At this juncture he said to me, “You, my boy! have you eaten?” “No, sir,” said I, “for it was not eight o’clock when I met your worship.” “Well,” he said, “although I have breakfasted this morning, I shall be fasting until night, so you must hold on, and afterwards we will have supper.” [Sidenote: Lazaro sees trouble ahead about food, but he dissimulates.] When I heard this I was very much depressed, not so much from hunger, as from the knowledge that the luck was continuing to be against me. For my hardships seemed to be coming back. I mourned over my troubles, and remembered what I once thought, when I was meditating on leaving the priest, that ill-fortune might bring me to something worse. Finally, I began to weep over my miserable past life, and over my approaching death. At the same time I dissimulated as well as I could.

“Sir,” I said, “I am a boy who does not trouble much about eating, blessed be God! So that I am able to receive praise among all my equals, as the one who has the most moderate appetite, and for this I have even been praised, up to this time, by my former masters.” “This is a virtue,” he replied, “and for this I like you better. Gluttony is for pigs and to eat with moderation for respectable people.” “Well do I understand you,” said I to myself, “and cursed be such medicine, and such kindness as I have had from my masters, who give me nothing but starvation.”

[Sidenote: The esquire and Lazaro sup on the boy’s three pieces of bread.]

I then put myself in one corner of the doorway, and took some pieces of bread out of my bosom, which remained from what had been given me. When he saw it he said to me, “Come here, my boy, what is it you are eating?” I came to him and showed him. He took for himself the largest of the three pieces I had, and said to me, “By my life! this bread seems good.” “And sir,” said I, “it is good.” “Yes, by my faith!” said he, “where did you get it from--are you sure it was kneaded with clean hands?” “I do not know that,” said I, “but the smell of it does not turn my stomach.” “Please God!” said my poor master, and, putting it to his mouth, he began to take as voracious mouthfuls as I did with mine. “It is most delicious,” he said. I feared he would finish first, and that he would want to help me with what was left of mine, so we both came to an end at the same time. [Sidenote: A meagre supper and a wretched bed.] My master then began to collect with his hand a few crumbs which had remained on our breasts. Then he went into a small room and brought out a jug without a spout, and not very new. After he had had a drink he offered it to me. I said, “Sir! I do not drink wine.” “It is water,” he replied, “and you can well drink it.” Then I took the jug and drank, but not very much, as thirst was not my complaint. So we remained until the night, talking about things he had asked me, while I gave the best answers I could.

He took me into the chamber out of which he had brought the jug of water, and said, “Boy, stay here, and see how we make this bed, that you may know how to make it henceforward.” He put me at one end and himself at the other, and he made the miserable bed. There was not much to make. He had a sort of hurdle on trestles. Over this he spread clothes. They did not look very like a mattress, but served as one, with much less blanket than was necessary. What there was we spread out, but it was impossible to soften the bed. It was too hard.

When the bed was made, and the night being come, he said to me: “Lazaro, it is now too late, it is a long way to the market-place, and in this city there are many thieves who prowl about at night. We must do the best we can, and to-morrow, when it is light, God will have mercy. Being alone I am not provided, for I have been in the habit of having my meals outside, but now we will arrange things in another way.” [Sidenote: The esquire’s apology for no supper. His philosophical view of starvation.] “Sir,” I replied, “do not trouble about me, for I can pass a night like this.” “You will become more and more healthy,” he then told me, “for there is nothing in the world that lives long but it eats little.” “If that is so,” I said to myself, “I shall never die, for I have always been obliged to observe that rule by force, and even, if my ill-luck continues, it may be so all my life.”

He lay down on the bed, using his hose and doublet for a pillow, and ordered me to put myself at his feet. I did so, but not to go to sleep, for the canes of the hurdle and my protruding bones struggled with each other without ceasing. What with my hardships, misery, and starvation I do not think there was a pound’s weight of flesh on my body. [Sidenote: A very bad night.] As I had scarcely eaten anything all day I was wild with hunger, which is not a friend of sleep. I cursed my fate and my ill-luck a thousand times, may God pardon me! I was like that most of the night, not daring to turn for fear of awakening my master; and I prayed to God many times for death.

[Sidenote: The esquire attends to his outward appearance.]

When morning came we got up and began to shake and brush the doublet and hose, the coat and cloak. My master dressed himself very carefully, combed his hair, washed his hands, and put his sword on. As he did so he said to me: “Ah, my boy, if you only knew what a weapon this sword is. There is not a mark of gold in the whole world for which I would give it. Moreover, there is not a sword among all that Antonio ever made that has the steel so tempered as this one.” Then he drew it out and tried it with his finger, saying, “Look here, I am obliged to use a ball of wool for it.” I said to myself, “And I need a piece of bread for my teeth, though they are not made of steel.” He put his sword back, and with a stately pace, his body erect, his head turned gently from side to side, throwing the end of his cloak over his shoulder, and putting his right hand on his side, he said, “Lazaro, take care of the house, make the bed, fetch water from the river for the jug, as it is getting low. I am going to hear Mass. Lock the door that nothing may be stolen, placing the key on the hook by the hinge, that I may be able to come in when I return.”

[Sidenote: Stately appearance of the esquire when he walked abroad.]

He then marched down the street with such a contained and noble air that any one who did not know the contrary would have thought that he was a very near relation to the Count of Arcos,[25] or at least his chamberlain who had been clothed by him. “A blessing on you, my lord,” I was left saying, “who gives the disease and provides the remedy.” Who would meet my master, and, judging from his satisfied look, not suppose that he had supped well and slept in a comfortable bed, and that in the morning he had had a good breakfast? [Sidenote: Lazaro’s reflections on the secrets hidden under the esquire’s cloak.] Great secrets, sir, are those which you keep and of which the world is ignorant. Who would not be deceived by that fair presence and decent cloak? And who would think that the same gentleman passed all that day without eating anything but the bit of bread which his servant Lazaro had carried all day in his bosom, where it was not likely to find much cleanliness? To-day, washing his hands and face, he had to wipe them with the end of his cloak for want of a towel. Certainly no one would have suspected it. O Lord! how many such as him must be scattered over the world, who suffer for the jade they call honour that which they would not suffer for a friend.

[25] The Duke of Arcos was a very grand nobleman. The title
belonged to the family of Ponce de Leon, but before this was
written the head of the family had become Duke of Cadiz, a title
which was afterwards changed to that of Duke of Arcos. The second
Duke was flourishing at this time, and died in 1590. Count, in
the text, is a mistake. It should be Duke.

[Sidenote: Lazaro’s reflections. He goes for water and finds his master flirting on the river bank.]

I was standing at the door, looking out and thinking of these and many other things until my master disappeared down the long and narrow street. Then I went back into the house, and in the time that it would take to say a _credo_ I had run all over it without finding anything. I made the hard bed, took up the jug and went with it to the river. There I saw my master in great request with two fair ladies in a garden. There were other ladies, for many think it fashionable to go and refresh themselves on summer mornings by those pleasant banks. In confidence that they will be well received, several gentlemen of the place also frequent the river-side. As I have said, my master was among them, saying the sweetest things that Ovid ever wrote. They had no shame in asking him to pay for their breakfasts, but he, finding that he was as cold in the purse as he was empty in the stomach, began to have that feeling which robs the face of its colour, and to make not very valid excuses. When they saw his infirmity, they went to those who were not suffering from it. I was breaking my fast with some stalks of vegetables with great diligence, and not seeing any more of my master I went back to the house.

I thought of sweeping some part of it, which was very necessary, but I could find nothing with which to do it; so I set myself to think what I should do next. [Sidenote: Lazaro waits long for his master to bring food, but he never came.] I thought I would wait for my master until noon. When he came he might by good luck bring something for us to eat. But there was no such experience for me. It was two o’clock, my master had not come, and I was desperately hungry. So I shut the door, put the key where I was told, and gave all my attention to my own necessities.

[Sidenote: Lazaro’s successful begging expedition.]

With a low and feeble voice, and my hands in my bosom, the good God before my eyes, and my tongue repeating His Name, I began to pray for bread at the largest houses and doors I came upon. As this method was sucked in with my mother’s milk, or I should say that I learnt it from that great master of it, the blind man, so good a disciple was I that, although in this city little is known of charity, nor had it been an abundant year, I made such a good haul that, before the clock struck four, I had several pounds of bread inside me, and two loaves up my sleeve and in my bosom. I returned to the house, and, in passing a tripe-shop, I begged of one of the shopwomen, who gave me a piece of a cow’s foot and several pieces of boiled tripe.

When I got back to the house my good master was already there. The cloak was folded and put on the bench, and he was pacing up and down. He came up to me, and I thought he was going to scold me for being late. He asked me where I had been, and I said, “Sir! I was here until it struck two. But when I saw that you were not coming, I went over the city, to commend myself to the kind people, and they have given me what you see.” I showed him the bread and the tripe, which I carried in the end of my skirt. At this he seemed well pleased and said, “Well, I waited for you to eat, and when you did not come I ate what there was, but you have done well in this, for it is better to beg in the name of God than to steal. He helps me as He sees fit. [Sidenote: What touches the esquire’s honour.] I merely charge you that people must not be told that you live with me, for it touches my honour; though I well believe that it will be kept secret, because very few people know me here.”

“Do not be troubled about that, sir,” I replied to him, “for cursed be he who asks the question, and myself if I tell him anything. No, we shall soon be free from want. When I saw that nothing good came into this house I went out. Surely the ground must be bad, or there must be unlucky houses which bring ill-luck to those who live in them.” “This one must be so without doubt,” he replied. “I promise you that after a month I will not stay in it, even if it is given me as my own.”

I sat down at the end of the bench, and, that he might not take me for a glutton, I said nothing about the meal. I began supper, and to bite my bread and tripe. [Sidenote: The esquire longs for a share of Lazaro’s supper.] Looking stealthily I saw that my unhappy master could not take his eyes off my skirt, which served as a plate. May God have as much pity for me as I had for him! I could feel what he felt, and have been feeling so every day. I thought whether it would be right for me to invite him to share, for as he had told me that he had dined, he might decline the invitation. Finally, I asked that sinner to help me in my work, and to break his fast as he did the day before. He had a better chance, the food being better and my hunger less. It pleased God to comply with my wish, and I even think with his. For as he passed, in walking up and down, he came to me and said: “I assure you, Lazaro, that you have the best grace in eating that I ever saw in any one, and that no one can see you doing it, without having a longing to eat, even when he had no such longing before.” “The great longing that you have makes you think my way of eating so beautiful,” I said to myself, “and causes your wish to help me.”

[Sidenote: Lazaro’s courtesy, tact, and kindness.]

He longed to join me, and I opened a way by saying, “Sir, the good tools make the good craftsman. This bread is delicious, and this cow’s foot is so well cooked and seasoned that there is no one that would not be drawn to it by the smell alone.” “Cow’s foot, is it?” he said. “Yes, sir!” “I tell you that is the best mouthful in the world, there is not even a pheasant that is so good.” “Try it, sir!” said I, “and see whether it is as good as you think.” [Sidenote: Lazaro generously provides his master with a supper.] I put on one side the cow’s foot and three or four pieces of bread, and he sat down by my side, and began to eat as if he would like to devour every little bone. “This wonderful food is like a hotch-potch,” he said. “You eat with the best kind of sauce,” I replied. “Before God,” said he, “if I had known I would not have eaten a mouthful all day.” “Thus the good years avenge me,” I said to myself. He asked me for the jug of water, and I gave it to him just as I had brought it. My master had not over-eaten, and it is a sign of this that there was no want of water. We both drank, and went to bed in the same way as the night before, well contented. To avoid prolixity I may say that the same thing went on for the next eight or ten days.

In the mornings my master went out to take the air in the streets with the same satisfied look, leaving poor Lazaro with the head of a wolf. I often reflected on my misfortune that, escaping from the evil masters I had served, and seeking to better myself, I should have found one who not only did not maintain me, but whom I had to support. With all that I liked him well enough, seeing that he could not do better. My feeling was rather of sorrow than of enmity. Often I fared ill in bringing to the house that with which he might be satisfied.

[Sidenote: Lazaro examines the esquire’s clothes, and finds nothing.]

One morning the sad esquire got out of bed in his shirt and went up to the roof of the house. I quickly searched the hose and doublet at the head of the bed, and found a small purse of velvet, but there had not been so much as a blanca in it for many a day. “This man,” I said to myself, “is really poor, and cannot give what he has not got. The avaricious blind man and the ill-conditioned clergyman, may God reward them both! nearly killed me with hunger, the one with a kiss on the hand, the other with a deceitful tongue. Those it is right for me to detest, but for this poor man to have a tender feeling.” God is my witness that even now when I meet with any one dressed like this, and walking with the same pompous air, it makes me sad to think that he might be suffering what I saw my poor master suffer. [Sidenote: Lazaro has a kindly feeling for his third master.] With all his poverty I liked serving him; but not the other two masters. I only felt some discontent, for I should have liked him not to be quite so proud, and to have lowered his pretensions just a little when his necessities were so great. But it seems to me that it is a well-established rule among such people to march with their caps well cocked, though they have not a blanca to their names. The Lord have mercy on those who have to die of this disease!

[Sidenote: Begging prohibited.]

I was in this condition, passing the life I have described, when my ill-luck again began to pursue me. In that land the year was one which only yielded a bad harvest, so the municipal authorities resolved that all mendicants should leave the town; with the addition that any who remained after four days should be punished by whipping. Then the law took effect, and there were processions of poor people being whipped down the four streets.

This so frightened me that I did not dare to transgress by begging. So you may imagine the abstinence of our house, and the sadness and silence of its inmates. We were two or three days without eating a mouthful or speaking a word. [Sidenote: Lazaro is kept alive by some kind shop-girls.] Some young women, sewers of cotton who made caps and lived near us, kept me alive, for I had made friends with them. From the little they had, they gave me enough to keep body and soul together. I was not so unhappy for myself as for my forlorn master, who in eight days never ate a mouthful, at least in the house. I do not know where he went or what he had to eat when he went out. I used to see him come back at noon, walking along the street with dignified carriage, thinner than a greyhound of good breed, and with regard to what touched the nonsense he called honour, he brought a straw of which we had not enough in the house. [Sidenote: Master and boy in a miserable and starving condition.] Coming to the door he would grind his teeth with nothing between them, complaining all the time of his bad lodging and saying: “It is a bad thing to see, and a most unlucky place to have to live in, and while we have to be here it will always be wretchedly sad. We have got to endure it, but I wish that this month was over, so that we might leave it.”

[Sidenote: The esquire brings home a real, but bemoans his fate.]

Being in this miserable and starving condition, one day, I know not through what good-fortune or chance, my poor master became possessed of a real. He came to the house with it, as delighted as if he had got all the riches of Venice, and smiling at me with a very joyous expression, he said: “Take it, Lazaro, for God has at length begun to open His hand. Go to the market for bread, meat, and wine, for we will break the Devil’s eye. I would further have you to know that I have taken another house, and that we shall not have to be in this wretched one for more than another month. May it be accursed, and he who placed the first tile to build it! O Lord! how have I lived here! Scarcely a drop of wine have I drunk nor a morsel of bread have I eaten, nor have I ever had any rest here, and it looks so sad and forbidding. Go and return quickly, for to-day we will eat like counts.”

I took the jug and the real, and giving speed to my feet, I began to run up the street to the market, very joyful and contented. But of what avail if evil fortune always brought anxiety with my joy. So it was on this occasion.

As I ran up the street I was calculating how I could spend the money to the best advantage and most profitably, giving thanks to God that my master had got something to spend. [Sidenote: Terror of Lazaro, thinking they were bringing a dead body to his house.] Suddenly I met a funeral with many priests and mourners. I got up against the wall to let them pass. Presently they came, one in deep mourning, apparently the wife of the deceased, with other women. She was crying with a loud voice and saying, “O my lord and husband, whither are they taking you, to the sad and empty house, to the dark and wretched place, to the house where there is nothing to eat and drink.” When I heard this the heaven and earth seemed to be joined together. I exclaimed, “O unhappy me! it is to our house that they are taking this dead body.” I turned back, slipped through the crowd of people, and ran down the street as fast as I could to our house. [Sidenote: Lazaro bars the door to keep out the dead body.] When I got there I began to close the door in great haste, calling on my master to come and help, and to defend the entrance. He was rather surprised, thinking it was something else, and said to me, “What is this, my boy, what are you making a noise about, what are you doing, why are you shutting the door in such a fury?” “Oh sir,” I cried, “they are bringing a dead body here!” “How do you know?” he said. “I met it in the street,” I replied, “and the dead man’s wife was crying and shouting, ‘My lord and husband, whither do they take you, to the dark and dismal house, to the sad and wretched place, to the house where they never eat nor drink.’ It must be here, sir, that they are bringing it.” Certainly when my master heard this, though he had no great reason to be merry, he laughed so heartily that it was a long time before he could speak. By this time I had got the beam across the door and put my shoulder against it, to make it more secure.

[Sidenote: Lazaro barring the door.]

The people passed with their corpse, and all the time I pushed against the door, to prevent them from getting into the house. At last, when he had had much more of laughing than of eating, my good master said to me, “In truth, Lazaro, seeing what the widow was saying, you were right to think as you did. But God has been good to us, and they have passed. So open, open, and go and get the food.” “Let me wait, sir, until they are out of the street,” I begged. [Sidenote: At last the esquire unbars the door, and Lazaro does his marketing.] At last my master came and opened the door in spite of me, which was necessary, because I was so upset with fear and excitement. I then went out. We ate well on that day, but I took no pleasure in it, nor did my colour come back for three more days, while my master smiled a good deal, whenever he noticed the state I had been in.

In this way I continued with my third and poorest master, the esquire, for several succeeding days, always longing to know the reason of his coming and remaining in this place. For, from the first day that I took service with him, I saw that he was a stranger, from the little intercourse he had with the inhabitants. [Sidenote: The esquire tells his story to Lazaro.] At last I accomplished my desire, and came to know what I wanted. It was one day when we had eaten reasonably well, and were rather well satisfied. He told me about his affairs, and said that he came from Old Castille. He said he had left his home for no other reason than that he had not taken off his cap to a knight who was his neighbour. “Sir,” I said, “if that was what happened, and he was greater than you, were you not wrong in not having doffed your cap first? but he ought to have taken his off as well.” He went on to say that the knight did take off his cap to him; but that he had taken his off first so many times, that it was well to see what the other would do. “It seems to me, sir,” said I, “that you should have doffed to one greater and richer than yourself.” [Sidenote: The esquire expounds his views of honour to Lazaro.] “You are only a boy,” he replied, “and cannot understand the things appertaining to honour in which, at the present time, is all the wealth of respectable people. You must remember that I am, as you know, an esquire. I swear to God that if I met a count in the street and he did not salute me, I would not salute him if I met him again. I should enter some house as if I had business there, or turn down another street before he came near me. For a gentleman owes nothing to any one but God and the king; nor is it right for a man of honour to forego his self-respect. I remember that one day, in my country, I affronted and nearly came to blows with an officer, because whenever I saluted him he said, ‘May God preserve your honour!’ ‘You are a wretch,’ I said, ‘for you are not well bred. You said to me “God preserve you,” as if I was nobody.’ From that time he took off his cap, and behaved properly.” [Sidenote: The esquire continues to discourse on the same subject.] “Is it not good manners for one man to salute another,” I asked, “or to say ‘God preserve you’?” He answered, “It is only underbred people who talk thus. To gentlemen like myself, it should be not less than ‘I kiss the hands of your honour!’ or at the very least, ‘I kiss your hand, sir!’ if he who speaks is a knight. In my own land I would not suffer a mere ‘God preserve you,’ nor will I suffer it from any man in the world, from the king downwards.” “Sinner that I am,” said I, “for having taken so little care about it. But will you not suffer any one to pray for you?”

He continued: “Above all, I am not so poor but that I possess, in my own country, an estate of houses which are well-built, sixteen leagues from where I was born, in the vicinity of Valladolid. They would be worth two hundred times a thousand maravedis if they were in good repair; and I also have a pigeon-cote which, if it was not demolished, would give out two hundred pigeons every year, as well as other things about which I am silent, as it might touch my honour.

[Sidenote: The esquire’s honour makes him fastidious in accepting employment.]

“I came to this city because I expected to find a good appointment, but things have not turned out as I thought. Canons and other Churchmen find plenty, because their profession is not overcrowded. Careless gentlemen also seek me, but to serve with such people involves great trouble, for a man must lose his self-respect with them. If not they tell you to go in God’s name, while the pay is usually at long intervals; when they wish to clear their consciences, and pay for your work, they make you free of a wardrobe containing a worn doublet and a frayed cloak. [Sidenote: Service with a great lord is not to the esquire’s liking.] When a man takes service with a titled lord there is also misery. I cannot undertake to serve or content such. By the Lord! if I should engage myself to one, I think that I should be a great favourite, and that he would confer great favours on me; but I should have to like his habits and customs though not the best in the world; I should be expected never to say a word that would displease, to be very careful in word and deed, not to kill myself in doing things which the great man would not see, never to consort with those who would do him disservice because it would behove me to guard his interests. If some servant of his excites his anger by neglecting his duties, and it should appear that something might be said for the accused, on the contrary you must scoff at the poor fellow maliciously. It is a duty to inform against those in the house, and to find out what is done outside, so as to report it. Many other things of a like kind are the custom in a palace, and with the lord of it, who appears honourable. But such lords do not want to see virtuous men in their houses. On the contrary, they hate and despise them, calling them useless and unacquainted with business. I do not wish to trust my fortunes with such people.”

[Sidenote: When the people came for their rent, the esquire disappeared.]

In this way my master was lamenting his ill-fortune, and giving me an account of his valorous person. While he was thus employed a man and an old woman came in by the door. The man asked for the rent of the house, and the old woman for the rent of the bed, saying that they were hired from two months to two months. I think the sum required was twelve to thirteen reals. My master gave them a very civil answer, saying that he would go out and get change, and return in the afternoon.

But his departure was without any return. They returned in the afternoon when it was late, and I told them that he had not yet come back. The night came, but he did not. I was afraid to stay in the house alone, so I went to my girl-friends, told them what had happened, and slept there. When morning came the creditors returned and asked for the lodger. The girls answered that his boy was there, and that the key was in the door. They asked me where my master was, and I answered that I did not know where he was, but that he had gone out to get change. I thought that he had gone with the change from me as well as from them.

[Sidenote: Creditors search for the esquire’s effects, but there are none.]

When they had heard what I had to say they went for an officer and a scrivener. Presently they returned with them. They took the key, called me and some witnesses, opened the door and went in to take possession of my master’s effects until he had paid his debts. They went all over the house and found it empty. Then they asked me where my master’s effects were, his chest, clothes, and jewelry. I said that I did not know. No doubt, they said, they have got up in the night and taken them somewhere else. [Sidenote: Lazaro is taken into custody.] “Sir,” they said to the officer, “take this boy into custody, for he knows where the effects are.” On this the officer came and took me by the collar, saying, “Boy, you are my prisoner if you do not show us the goods of your master.”

I never was in such a plight as this, though I had been taken by the collar many times. I was dreadfully frightened and began to cry, promising to tell them all they might ask. “That is well,” they said, “tell all you know and you have nothing to fear.”

The scrivener then sat down on the bench to write out the inventory, asking me what there was. I said, “What my master has, according to what he told me, is a very good estate consisting of houses and a demolished pigeon-cote.” “This is worth little,” they said, “but it will do for the payment of his debts. In what part of the town is it?” “In his own country,” I replied. “By the Lord! this is a fine business,” they exclaimed, “and where is his country?” “He told me that it was in Old Castille,” I said. The officer and the scrivener laughed a good deal, and said, “This is a good story to cover your debts!”

[Sidenote: Lazaro is released, at the intercession of his girl-friends.]

The girls who were my neighbours, and who were present, then said: “Sirs! this is an innocent child, and has only been a few days with that esquire, and knows no more than your worships. He used to come to our house and we gave him to eat what we could spare, for the love of God, and at night he went to sleep with the esquire.”

Seeing that I was innocent they let me go. Then the officer and the scrivener asked for their fees from the man and the old woman, over which there was much contention and noise. They declared that they ought not to be forced to pay, for they had got nothing to pay with, and that the seizure of goods had not been made. The others maintained that they had been taken away from other business of more consequence. Finally, after making a great noise, they went away, and I do not know how it ended.

[Sidenote: Lazaro finds himself deserted by his master.]

Having rested from my past troubles I went about to seek employment. Thus I left my poor third master, and know not his unhappy fate. Looking back at all that had gone against me, I found that I had managed my affairs in a reverse way. Masters are usually deserted by their boys, but with me it was not so. For my master deserted and fled from me.

FOURTH MASTER

HOW LAZARO TOOK SERVICE WITH A FRIAR OF THE ORDER OF MERCY, AND WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM.

I had to seek for my fourth master. He was a friar of the Order of Mercy, who was pointed out to me by my girl-friends. They called him a relation. He was a great enemy of the choir, and of having his meals in the convent. He was fond of walking about, of secular business, and of paying visits, so much so that I think he wore out more shoes than any one else in the convent. The friar gave me the first shoes I ever burst in my life. They did not last eight days. I could not endure so much trotting about. For this reason, and some other little things I will not mention, I left him.

FIFTH MASTER

HOW LAZARO TOOK SERVICE WITH A SELLER OF PAPAL INDULGENCES

My fifth master chanced to be a man engaged in the sale of Papal Indulgences.[26] He was the most shameless and impudent distributor of them that ever I saw or hope to see, nor do I believe that any one else ever saw one like him. For he had and sought out his own modes and methods, and very cunning inventions. Coming to the place where he wanted to effect the sales, he began by making trifling presents to the clergy, but nothing of any great value: a lettuce of Murcia if it was the season, a couple of lemons or oranges, a peach, a couple of nectarines, or some green pears. In this way he got them into good humour for favouring his business, and inducing their parishioners to buy his Indulgences.

[26] The “Pardoner,” or seller of Indulgences, was also
caricatured in Chaucer’s _Canterbury Tales_, a century and a half
earlier.

[Sidenote: Subtle contrivances of the seller of Indulgences.]

If they said that they understood Latin, he did not say a word in that language, for fear of stumbling, but he resorted a gentle and well-considered way of telling his story, with a most seductive tongue. If he found that the clergy were of the reverend class, he talked to them in Latin for two hours, at least what appeared like Latin, though it might not have been so. When the people did not buy the Indulgences freely, he sought how to make them do so by bringing trouble on their village. At other times he tried cunning tricks. But as all his devices would take long to relate, I will only recount one that was specially subtle, and proved his sufficiency.

He had preached for two or three days in a village near Toledo, using all his accustomed arts, but no one had bought an Indulgence, nor was there any sign of an intention to do so. He had devoted them all to the Devil, and was meditating what to do next, when he determined to call the parishioners together the next morning and make a last effort. [Sidenote: Sham quarrel between the seller of Indulgences and the constable.] That night he and the constable,[27] after supper, sat down to play at cards, and they began to quarrel over the game, and make use of bad language. The seller of Indulgences called the constable a thief, and the constable called him a liar. On this my master took up a lance which was in the doorway. The constable put his hand on his sword. At the row they were making the guests and neighbours came and got between them. In great fury the combatants struggled to free themselves and get at each other. But as the place was full of people they saw that they would be prevented from fighting, so they again resorted to abusive language. Among other things the constable said to my master that he was a liar, and that the Indulgences about which he preached were false. At last the people, as they could not pacify the disputants, determined to take the constable away. Thus my master was left in a great rage. Later on the guests and neighbours entreated him to moderate his anger and go to bed, which in the end we all did.

[27] A pardoner always had a sergeant or constable with him, to
help him in such houses as refused to pay for their pardons at
the appointed time.

When morning came my master went to the church to arrange about the Mass, and about preaching the sermon to announce the Indulgences. The people assembled, but they came murmuring at the Indulgences, saying that they were false, and that the constable himself had found it out. If before they disliked buying them they now detested the idea. [Sidenote: The seller of Indulgences begins his sermon.] The commissary or seller of Indulgences went up into the pulpit, and began his sermon by urging the people not to fail in getting the benefit of such a blessing and such Indulgences as the sacred Bull brought them. When he was in the middle of his sermon the constable entered by the door of the church, and when he had said a prayer, he got up and addressed the people in a loud voice. “Good people,” he said, “hear one word from me, and then listen to any one you like. I came here with this cheat who is preaching to you, and he deceived me. He said that I should help him in this business, and that we would divide the profits. Now see the harm he would have done to my conscience and to your pockets. [Sidenote: Sham denunciation of the Indulgences by the constable.] I plainly declare to you that the Indulgences he is preaching about are false, and that you should not believe in them nor buy them. I will not be a party to it, directly nor indirectly. From this time I give up the wand of office and put it on the ground. If hereafter this man is punished for his falsehoods, you must be my witness that I am not a party to them, and have neither aided nor abetted them. On the contrary, I have undeceived you and exposed his imposture.” Then he concluded his speech.

Some respectable men wanted to take the constable and turn him out of the church to avoid scandal. But my master raised his hand and ordered that no one should molest him on pain of excommunication. He declared that the constable must be allowed to say whatever he liked. When the constable had finished, my master asked him whether he wanted to say anything more. The constable replied, “I could say a good deal more about your falsehoods, but this will do for the present.”

The commissary then knelt down in the pulpit, clasped his hands, turned his eyes up, and said: “O Lord! from whom nothing is hidden, and to whom all things are known, to whom nothing is impossible but all things are possible, Thou knowest the truth and how unjustly I have been accused. All that concerns myself I freely pardon, as Thou, Lord, hast pardoned me. Look not at this man who knows not what he does or says. I only pray for justice. Some who are present may perchance have intended to take these holy Indulgences, and on hearing the false words of that man they may have changed their minds. So I pray to Thee, O Lord, that Thou wilt work a miracle in this way. [Sidenote: Sham miracle worked on the constable.] If what my accuser says is true, that I am evil and false, let this pulpit sink from me forty feet under ground, and never appear again. But if what I say is true, and that man is persuaded by the Devil to try to deprive those present of such great benefits, let him be punished, that all may know his malice.”

Scarcely had my devout master finished his speech when the bad constable fell to the ground with such a noise that the church resounded. Then he began to groan and foam at the mouth, making hideous faces, throwing about his arms and legs, and rolling about on the ground. The noise made by the people was so great that they could not hear each other speak. Some were astounded and terrified. Others cried to God for help. A few, not without trepidation, took his arms and held his legs, for there is not a mule in the world that could have given fiercer kicks. So they held him for a long time, there being more than fifteen men keeping him down, and to all he gave blows, and, if they were not careful, kicks also.

All this time my master was on his knees in the pulpit, with hands and eyes raised to heaven, transported by the divine essence. The noise and disturbance in the church had no effect on his sacred contemplations. [Sidenote: The people intercede for the constable.] Some good men came to him, and, speaking loudly to arouse him, entreated him to succour that poor creature who was dying. They besought him not to dwell upon things that were past, and not to consider his evil deeds, as he had been punished. They prayed to him that, if he could do any good, he would deliver the man from his sufferings for the love of God. They declared that they clearly saw the sin of the culprit, and my master’s truth and goodness, but entreated him to pray to the Lord not to prolong the man’s punishment. [Sidenote: All the people pray for the constable to be forgiven.] The commissary, like one awaking from a delicious dream, looking long at the culprit and at those who were round him, then said: “My good friends, you have interceded for a man on whom God has so signally laid his Hands. But He has enjoined us not to return evil for evil, and to pardon injuries. We may confidently pray that His goodness will pardon this offender who has tried to put obstacles into the working of His holy faith. Let us all pray for this.”

He then came down from the pulpit, and desired that all should pray very devoutly to our Lord to pardon that sinner, and restore him to health and sound judgment, delivering him from the Devil, if, for his great sin, the Evil One had been permitted to enter into him. All went down on their knees before the altar, while the clergy began to chant a litany in a low voice, coming with a cross and the holy water, after singing over it. My master raised his hands to heaven, and turned his eyes up until scarcely anything could be seen but the whites. [Sidenote: The farce is carried on to completion.] He then commenced an address not less long than devout, which made the people weep as they do over a sermon on the Passion delivered by a famous preacher. He prayed to the Lord not to require the death of the sinner, but rather to give his life back to one who had been led away by the Devil, that, being convinced of his sin unto death, he might receive pardon, life, and health, and that he might repent and confess. This done, he would receive the Indulgence.