Patrañas

Doña Terea, on the other hand, felt the full misery of her situation. No specious arguments blinded her. She felt it both wrong and repugnant; and besides, there was many a gallant, handsome knight ready to risk his life to win her love, and on whom she might have bestowed it in joy to herself and without violence to her conscience. Too young to have fixed her choice, she still had her secret preference dearly nursed, but not yet acknowledged so as to give the object of it the right to stand forth as her defender.

Now, a blight was over all her hopes; her bridal day, instead of an occasion of hope and gladness, was to be a day of desolation and despair. The prelates and great men of the kingdom offered themselves willingly to represent her grief to the king; but they could not move him, and when he sent the envoy who was to conduct her to Toledo, she was found in an agony on her knees, imploring deliverance from on High. Even this, however, did not move the king’s heart; and poor Doña Terea was dragged off, more dead than alive, to be the Moor’s bride.

Her beautiful golden hair – a romance of the time particularly records the tint – hung untended over her shoulders; the colour had fled from her tear-worn cheeks, and the expression from her dark-glancing eyes; for it seemed as if God, on whom she called so passionately to deliver her, had forsaken her in her hour of need.

And thus she was brought to Andalla, King of Toledo, who was too much pleased to have a beautiful Christian maiden for his bride to listen to her appeal to his magnanimity to release her. But when she found that all her gentle supplications were of no avail, she seemed suddenly inspired with a fire of queenly indignation; and, assuming a commanding attitude, she said solemnly, “Moor, of another law far removed from mine, know that I desire not to be united with thee, and thy presence is a burden to me; but if thou art sacrilegiously determined to marry me against my will, know that we Christians each at our baptism have a guardian angel given to us, to defend us from the power of evil; and so sure as thou respectest not the difference there is between thy belief and mine, that guardian spirit shall vindicate me and smite thee with his two-edged sword.”

But Andalla only thought this exhibition of indignation made her look prettier; and laughing at the threatened visitation, persisted in making her his wife. His neighbours counted him singularly lucky in the possession of such a prize; and he thought himself happy indeed. Nevertheless, from the day of his marriage, a strange illness had assailed him. Though still in the prime of manhood, an unaccountable weakness overtook him; first his sight failed, and then his hearing, then his taste, then his strength; and all the clever physicians of the Moorish dominions failed, not only to give him any relief, but even to guess at the cause of the malady.

Driven thus to think within himself, he recalled the solemn warning of Doña Terea, and fear overtook him that her words were coming true. The moment he realized his danger, he sent for her and asked her if she still wished to return to her own country; to which she of course replied, that it was what she must always most desire. So he summoned the most honourable men of his kingdom, and gave Doña Terea in charge to them, and sent them to convey her back to her own country; and, moreover, put in their hands priceless presents of gold and precious stones, to make amends in the best way in his power, and also to testify that he did it to satisfy the scruples of the princess, and not out of any disrespect to the Christian king, of whose religion he now stood in great fear.

And Alfonso the Fifth, what became of him? Had he heard the Moorish king’s embassage, he too might have been brought to the knowledge of his error, and to repentance; but when it arrived at the capital of Leon, he was already gone out on an expedition in which, by his unholy alliance, the infidel forces were mingled with his own. In high spirits, they marched along, crossing the Douro, fearing no opposition, for the Moorish population was at the time divided by many internecine feuds, and were hence precluded from assembling against him in any large numbers. Thus he came to Viseo, a strong place defended by a considerable garrison. Alfonso determined to lay siege to it. The army was accordingly encamped before it, and wise measures for its reduction promulgated, for Alfonso was a skilful general. Never doubting of his luck, however, he neglected those precautions which would have suggested themselves to a less successful man. The weather was sultry, and the heavy armour irksome. Alfonso, unused to restraint, heedlessly cast his cuirass aside, yet, with his accustomed bravery, showed himself under the walls as before, too self-confident to listen to counsel.

A sharp-eyed Moor upon the battlements detected the advantage he had given to his enemies, and letting fly a poisoned arrow aimed with the nice precision which the greatness of the venture inspired, gave him a mortal wound.

Thus he was cut down in early manhood, and the care of the kingdom once more left in the hands of an infant.

But Doña Terea reached home in peace; and passed the rest of her days praying for the brother who had so sadly wronged her, in the Convent of Las Huelgas – one of the present architectural glories of Spain.

THE IRISH PRINCESS77

I was born in Venice the renowned. When I had completed my twenty Aprils, my father called me to him one day, and said to me, “Dear son, I have overflowing wealth of possessions, and in silver and gold twenty thousand doubloons fully told; you are my only heir, and I am infirm and stricken in years. I am thinking of selling the good ship, that even now lies anchored in port.”

To which I replied, “Father and lord, observe, the possessions, silver and gold, may all in an instant be reduced to nothing. But freight the good ship now with rich merchandise and wares which shall profit in exchange.”

A few days after this, I sailed forth in the good ship, well freighted with precious stores; her linen sails filled out with the soft wind, and her keel ploughing the berdinegros78 waters of the crystal main.

Thus to Tunis we came, where my affairs succeeded prosperously. My merchandise was all disposed of to great advantage in a short time, and before leaving the port I wandered forth to see the town. Passing by one of the great public squares, I saw some Turkish sentinels walking up and down, guarding a dead body; I addressed them, asking why they did not inter it.

“Because,” said they, “he was of the Christian people, and in his days of life traded with his ship, wherefore a Turk of great consideration in our city, and a friend of his, entrusted to him a thousand ducats in silver, with which he bought great provision of cloth, and sent his servants to trade with it, while he remained in Tunis. The ship left the port with a prosperous wind, but before four days were out, a balandra79 came in, bearing the news that the ship had been overtaken by a tempest, and all the merchandise had gone down into the boiling deep. With that the Christian merchant was so overcome, that he fainted and fell down dead, and we hold his body in bail for the thousand ducats he owed the Turk.”

To which I replied, “I will pay the sum you have named.” And then, taking the body on my shoulders, I carried it to the church of Serafic Francis, which there is in Tunis, to give it burial, and paid the stipend of the priest who should say a hundred masses for the soul’s rest. Then I returned to pay the debt to the Turk.

Scarcely had I passed the threshold of his house, when I heard the sound of great wailing and lamentation, as of one taking leave of life.

So I turned and asked two turbaned renegades who stood in waiting, what meant the wail. And they said, “There came to Tunis a female slave, a captive Christian, causing envy to all the womanhood of this place, so beauteously had Heaven arrayed her. Her our master bought, with the intention of making her recant and marrying her. But she said to him, ‘Señor, it is vain you weary yourself, to persuade me to do this thing, for never will I deny my God and His laws, though to lay down my life I am ready.’

“When the master heard this he was wroth, and taking her by the shoulders let her down into a mazmorra80 under his house, binding her with a heavy chain, and feeding her day by day with but six ounces of coarse bread and half a pint of water.”

Hearing that, I said I would buy the maid, and redeem her; but they answered it was vain. The Turk would not part with her to any one, and in mockery he had set her price at a hundred millions. So I saw I must have recourse to stratagem, and asked accordingly whether the maid had declared herself a Christian, and they answered, “No, she had only spoken of her God and of His law,” then, while I bethought me how to arrange my plan, they exclaimed suddenly, “Here comes the master;” and the moment that he entered the house, eagerly prostrating themselves at his feet, they said: —

“Great lord of this mighty alcázar81, behold a man who comes to pay the debt of the dead Christian, and who is also desirous to buy the maiden, the slave.”

Nor was I sorry to find myself thus launched into the middle of the business, but I stood perplexed, praying in my own mind that God would give me some well-conceived idea which should serve for the redemption of the maiden.

Meantime, I counted out the sum that was due from the dead man; and then I said, “Know you that this Mustafa, my sister, whom you keep in your mazmorra, feeding her with the bread of affliction, is the most pious Jewess of our nation, and that in this you do a great wrong?”

I could proceed no further, for the Moors think it a terrible discredit to have any Jew within their precincts; and this one flew into an ungovernable rage at the bare idea that he had been harbouring one; plucking out his beard by handfuls, he cried out with a loud voice of desolation, —

“Woe is me, for my fame and my honour before my people is gone, now that I have suffered this scum of the earth to be with me! Let her be thrust forth from my gates.”

So his servants ran and took her up, more dead than alive, and putting her into my arms drove us forth with ignominy and imprecations.

I was no sooner in the street, than I gave great thanks to God for the rescue He had provided, and then I bore her along to the church, thinking she needed the rites of sepulture; but I had scarcely entered the sacred place, than she opened her eyes and breathed. So I gave her such means of refreshment as I had about me, and by degrees the sad lady came to herself; and to give her greater consolation, I bid her observe she was no longer in the estate of a slave, but that by the mercy of Heaven she was redeemed and free.

As soon as her strength had begun to return, I deemed it prudent to run no risk of danger from the Turk, and therefore used every possible diligence to conduct her to the harbour, where at once we went down into my good ship, and giving the crew word to get to sea with all despatch, we were soon steering swiftly between two azure fields.

Thus we came to Venice, my country, where I found that during my absence my dear old father had died; and I should well-nigh have died of sorrow too, but that I had the charge of the beautiful captive lady upon me, and I had to provide for her welfare.

One day I took her aside, and asked her respectfully to tell me what country she was of, and who were her people; but she shook her head in a melancholy way, and bid me ask her nothing, but that with time I should learn all her eventful history. For she came from a far country, and she was not bold enough to propose to me the travail and peril of bearing her home.

“But,” I replied, “most beauteous Diana, I asked the question that in the end I might have become thy beloved husband, and if I am not worthy to know thy country, what shall become of my hope.”

And she – “From this day I will be thy beloved wife, for it is thus meet that love should be paid with love.”

When I heard this answer, I was beside myself with joy, and instantly arranged every thing for the marriage festival, which was celebrated with great pomp and rejoicing, cañas82 and alcancías83, music, jousts, and dancing. Among the people who collected from all parts to enjoy the sports, was the captain of one of the ships in port, and he fastened himself on to me with every exterior token of friendship: I too was taken with him, and we were soon inseparable. Nothing would satisfy him, but that one fair bright morning when our fêtes were over, we should come down to this vessel that he might give us a banquet there.

After this there was dancing, and singing, and much merry-making; and while we were enchanted with the dulcet tones of the marvellous instruments his minstrels played, we failed to perceive we were being carried out to sea.

It was about six in the evening when my beloved bride came and took me by the hand, and said, “Without doubt there is some perfidy, for my heart is filled with fear, and my soul is troubled.”

So I took her hand, thinking to reassure her by taking her on shore. But when we came upon the deck, there was nothing to be seen all around but sea and sky, and sea and sky.

My bride, when she saw that, fell into my arms in a swoon; and the cruel captain and half-a-dozen of his men urged by his command, fell upon me, and tore her from me, and cast me into the sea.

“O Holy Virgin of Carmel,” I cried, “and thou S. Anthony of Padua, and Santa Barbara the glorious, and thou my guardian angel, pray for me now, that I perish not in this dire distress!”

As I uttered this petition, I felt a plank of wood strike against my breast; and on it I skimmed the waters all night, and by the first streak of dawn merciful Heaven commanded the waves to throw me upon a soft sandy shore. I could not refrain from kissing the ground which brought me safety; and as I rose up again, I beheld a holy hermit coming towards me, who led me to a little hut, where every day he brought me a basket of sufficient food.

At the end of six months, the hermit came to me very early one morning, and bid me go stand upon the shore, for there a vessel awaited me in which my passage-money was paid.

At the shore I found the vessel, and embarked as the hermit had directed me, not knowing whither we were bound.

At last, after six months’ sailing, we came opposite the coast of Ireland, and as we drew near shore, “Friends,” said the captain, “it is necessary that this letter and this folded paper be taken to the illustrious King of Ireland; which of you will undertake the charge?”

The crew answered, “Señor, let the Venetian take them.”

And I, having no aim before me, cheerfully undertook the commission; and springing on shore, went straight to the royal palace, where I found myself in presence of Cæsar’s majesty, into whose august hands I delivered the folded paper.

This having opened, he read aloud these words: – “Illustrious Lord! most powerful King of Ireland, the bearer of this letter is a physician of great renown; the sickness of thy daughter, which none can cure, shall flee away at the very sight of him.”

Then I was troubled, and would have explained to the King how I was no physician, and the way in which the lot had fallen upon me to bring the letter, which might equally have fallen on the most ignorant sea-boy aboard; and in truth I knew no more of medicaments than the lowest sea-boy of them all.

But the King was overjoyed at the prospect of the healing of his daughter, and would listen to no explanations. And in proportion as he manifested his joy, my dismay increased, for I feared his anger when the undeception came.

Meantime, at his command, I was ushered into a vast hall, where were assembled a thousand lords. But, gentle reader, you will well believe me, it was not upon one of them I looked, for at first entering my eye lighted upon a casket covered with emeralds and brilliants which I had given to my beloved bride on the day of our espousals.

I threw myself upon it, crying, “Beautiful Isabela! Ah! where art thou? Where art thou mourning over my grief, as I mourn over thine?”

She, who lay sunk down in the depths of her white couch, at hearing these words darted up from it, and flinging her arms round me, embraced me.

I knew her as our lips met; and full of a thousand joys, we sat talking over the past, forgetful of all present.

And first, I asked what had become of the wicked captain.

“Oh, he!” she said, “when I told my father what he had done, he sent and had him put to death.

“And now,” she continued, “did I not tell you that time would reveal to you all about my history? For now that you have seen who and where I am, there is little left to tell. While I was yet little more than a child, my father would have married me against my inclination to a prince of Scotland; and I, knowing his intention, went out from the palace in the night, disguised, upon a swift mare, and when I had ridden a long way, I came to the sea-coast. I found a ship into which, thoughtless child, I sought refuge, only caring to get away from the prince of Scotland.

“But they were corsairs who manned the vessel; and they carried me off with them to Tunis, where you found me, and set me free from that terrible suffering.”

While we were talking, the king came up; and as I was yet musing on the marvellous direction of Providence, by which the lot had fallen on me, rather than another, to come on the embassage to the palace, without which I had been like never again to have met my bride, it fell into my mind that I had yet the letter to give to his Majesty, which having reached to him, he read thus aloud: —

“That I rest in holy ground, my soul at peace, is due to thee; therefore, when the perfidious captain threw thee into the deep sea, I was there; I provided the plank which carried thee to shore; I was the hermit that received and nourished thee; I was captain of the ship that brought thee to Ireland. And now live long with thy good spouse, and rest after many misfortunes, even as I rest in the eternal habitations.”

Then I knew that it was the soul of him I buried at Tunis that had thus befriended me.

Not very long after this the king died, and all the people acclaimed me as their sovereign, where I have been reigning ever since, full of happiness and glory.

EL CONDE FERNAN GONZALEZ

Conde Fernan Gonzalez was a bold lance. Restless as brave; when not engaged in chasing the Moors, he kept his appetite for noble exploits whetted with the dangers of the chase.

One day, the furious course of a wild boar, and his own impetuosity in the pursuit, led him far away from his companions, and the hills and leafy oaks of Lara soon hid him from sight. On went the boar, and on went the Conde after him, till, in the thickest of the forest, the brute took refuge in a hermit’s cell long deserted and forgotten, and overgrown with ivy. The trees grew so close round the spot, that the horse could not go through for the low interlacing branches, so Gonzalez dismounted, taking his sword in his hand, and wrapping his cloak round his arm by way of shield84. Cutting his way through to the low doorway, he found the boar lying panting at the foot of a little altar which was there.

The good Count would not hurt the animal under such circumstances, so he put up his sword into the sheath, and, before he turned to go, knelt to offer up a prayer upon the sacred spot.

Suddenly, as he knelt, there appeared before him a vision of the former inhabitant of the place. He was a venerable man, dressed in white, with bald head and a long grey beard, his feet were bare and he leant upon a crook.

“Good Conde Fernan Gonzales,” he said, “Behold, the King Almanzor85 is even now preparing to come out to meet thee. Now, go out and give him battle, and be of good heart; for though thou shalt be badly wounded, and the infidels shall spill much of thy blood, yet shall a hundred of them fall for one of thine. God guard thee, Conde, and that which thou shalt do this day shall resound throughout all Spain. But this sign must come to pass first; and when it is fulfilled do not lose courage, for all that are with thee shall be stricken with fear and ready to flee away; but only stand thou fast, and the day shall be given thee. After that shall come days of peace; and a good wife shall be given thee, who shall be called Sancha. And now return to Lara, for thy people are seeking thee with fear and anxiety; and when these things come to pass, remember the hermit who foretold them.”

Then, without answering him a word, the good Count rose from his knees, and, mounting his horse, rode back to Lara. There he found his people, all running hither and thither in search of him. But he, without telling them what had befallen, ranged them in order of battle, and went out to meet King Almanzor.

Thus they went their way, and sure enough they were none too soon; for even as the hermit had said, King Almanzor was on his way to meet him.

When the followers of Gonzalez saw the host that was marching towards them, they were stricken with fear, for they were but a handful. But Gonzalez, seeing their disorder, turned and said to them, “It is a shame, noble Castilian knights, to flee at sight of an infidel host; for who is there that can stand against our banner and our arms? At them! my friends, at them! Let there be not one of us wanting!”

With that he set spurs to his charger, and rode into the midst of the Moors; and he did so valiantly, that all his followers dashed into them with like impetuosity, and none could stand before them; and for one of them that was slain, a hundred of the infidels lay stretched upon the ground. But the good Conde was wounded, and his blood was poured out upon the ground; yet they pushed their way into the camp, where they found much precious spoil.

And when they divided the treasure, Gonzalez remembered the hermit, and set aside a portion of his share; and with it he built the church of San Pedro de Arlanza.

THE FIRST TUNNY FISHING

There was once a fisherman named Pepe; he was very good, and very poor. He never went out to fish without first kneeling down and asking a blessing on his labours; he never lost his time in drinking-bouts; he brought his children up to be as honest and industrious as himself; yet nothing prospered with him. He toiled the livelong day, and often far into the night, yet he could scarcely earn enough to keep his family above want. If ever there was a storm, it was sure to be Pepe’s boat that would be swamped. And if ever there was a rich shoal of fish came within his ordinary fishing-ground, it would be sure to happen when he was ill, or his gear was out of order, or when, for some reason, he could not avail himself of the blessing.

What was most remarkable was, that under all this misfortune Pepe was always cheerful. As the beautiful Spanish proverb says, he was like the sandal-wood, perfuming the axe which strikes it low86. He not only never complained, and continued at his toil steadily day by day, but he was always praising God for what He had given him – his wife, his children, his humble hut, his strong arms. “Put your trust in God, and your feet diligently along the road87;” so he used to say, and so he used to act.

One day he had gone out as usual, and, as often happened, had taken nothing. It was no use going back with an empty bag; he persevered another day, and another, though he had nothing but a loaf to live on. The sun above was like a furnace, the sea below like a lake of fire. Pepe crept under the shadow of his sails, and was so exhausted with heat and hunger that he fell into a swoon.

He saw himself lying at the bottom of his boat, but not alone. There was One lying there also, who slept too. His raiment glistened, and a light of glory surrounded Him, which paled that of the blazing sun. By and by the sun went down, and it seemed that night came on, but He was still there; and the wind rose, and Pepe’s little boat was tossed and buffeted, and Pepe was ready to cry out with alarm. Then he thought, “While He is here, no harm can come; I will keep His slumber sacred.” So he looked out on the fury of the storm, and waited. Then that shining One arose and waved His hands abroad towards the winds, and there came a sweet melody from His mouth, which said, “Peace! peace!” Then suddenly all was still and bright again, and the soft breeze echoed back the music of “Peace! peace!” Then Pepe, when he saw what He had done, fell on his knees before Him, and said, “Lord, as Thou hast done this, send me now a draft of fishes, that my net may be full.” Then the Bright One stretched out His hands over the sea; and there rose out of the rippling waves great handsome fishes such as Pepe had never seen the like. They were of the height of a man in length, and their skin shone like silver interwoven with many colours, and their fins of gold. Docile at His gesture, they rose gently over the side of the boat, and laid them obedient at His feet. One by one, on they came till – appalling sight! – the boat began to sink under their priceless weight.