Patrañas

“He dwells in the heart of a bleak mountain where the glad sun never penetrates, and whence the foot of man is shut out. But his wisdom and power are so great that he can by his one word perform any of nature’s operations. In the blazing heat and dazzling light of noonday he can cover the heavens with the darkness of night. When the sky is one even blue, without assistance of wind or clouds, he can draw rain from a barren heaven. He can arrest the course of the bounding rivers, and of the birds in the midst of their flight. The burnt-up grasses of August at his word raise their withered blades, and resume their verdant hues; the tides of the sea obey his voice, and forget the commands of the moon. And, much more than all this, he can tell the destinies of men, and foresee the fate of nations. It would be impossible for words of mine to overstate his mighty and irresistible power.”

While he had been speaking they had passed through a long tract of forest, where the trees grew so thickly, and were so encumbered with brushwood, that Don Ercilla was obliged to tie his horse up and proceed on foot. At last they reached a low opening in a rock, through which was a long dark passage, where they could hardly walk upright, and at the end of it a door garnished all round with heads of wild beasts. Guaticolo opened the door, and led Don Ercilla by the hand into a spacious vault, in the centre of which burnt a strange and perpetual light; in the walls of the cave were cut many stone shelves, on which were ranged jars of ointments, essences, and herbs. There were preserved the far-piercing eyes of the lynx and that of the venomous basilisk; red gore of angry men, and foam from the mouth of rabid dogs; parts of the wing of the harpy, the venom of the amphisbena, and the tail of the treacherous asp, which gives death wrapt up in a pleasant dream; mould off a truncated head unworthy of burial, and the tongue of the horrid hemorreo, whose puncture can never be staunched, but whosoever it wounds must bleed to death. In a huge transparent vase was a griffin’s heart, pierced through with an arrow, and the ashes of an eastern phoenix. Stings of serpents, and tails of scorpions, and whatsoever is deadly and venomous in nature.

While Don Ercilla was engaged in examining this strange repertory, a hidden door gave entrance to a lean old man, whom he at once recognized for him who had run away from him with such exceeding rapidity, who said, —

“It is no little boldness in you, so young, to have dared to come thus unbidden to my presence, and to pursue me in my occult habitation, where it is not permitted to foot of man to tread; nevertheless, as I know all things, I know that in your heart you mean no harm, therefore I allow you to live, and will now listen to your intent.”

Then Guaticolo took upon himself to explain his errand for him in a long speech, in which he commenced by lauding the wizard’s influence, then detailed Don Ercilla’s fame, and finally told him of his dream, in which he had learnt that he might gain from Fiton supernatural information of the fate of the contest in which his Spanish brethren in arms were at the time engaged with the Turks in Europe.

Fiton, in great good humour with Guaticolo’s dexterously-administered flattery, took Don Ercilla by the hand, and led him through the secret door by which he had himself entered. It opened into a very different apartment from the other. No mortal tongue could describe its beauty and costliness; the floor was paved with crystal tiles all lustrous with cunning radiance, while the roof was studded with brilliant stones, so that the whole place sparkled with dazzling splendour. Supported on pillars of shining gold a hundred statues of heroes were ranged round the room, so life-like in design that a deaf man might have thought they spoke. On the broad medallions behind were pictured forth the valiant deeds of each, displaying the designer’s acquaintance with the history of all nations.

In the midst of the spacious hall, which measured half a mile every way, swung a globe of light, balanced in the air by supernatural power.

When Don Ercilla had spent some time examining all these wonders, Fiton came to him, and, with his wand pointing to the globe of light, explained to him that it contained an epitome of the world, and had cost him forty years of labour; but contained the representation of all that was happening, or ever would happen, in any part or time of the world. “And,” he added, “as it seems you are a poet, whose business it is to chronicle the great deeds of the fighting men of your country, and you have already celebrated their achievements by land, I will now show you what they are doing at sea.”

Then he touched the bright globe with his wand, and Don Ercilla saw it represented the world with all its parts delineated, and all the people on it seen as clearly as he might have seen his own face in a mirror.

Then Fiton pointed to the Mediterranean sea, and conducted his eyes to that part of it which washes113 the Ausonian shore, and he saw it was all covered with galleys bearing the devices of the Pope, and Philip II., and the Venetian Republic; and from the port of Lepanto there came out to meet them the galleys of the Crescent. Then with a hoarse and terrible voice, Fiton invoked the infernal powers, crying, “O terrible Can-Cerberus, Charon, weary boatman, yellow Orcus, and irresistible Pluto! O chilly Styx, O lake Avernus, O seething waters of Acheron, Lethe, Cocytus, and ruddy Phlegethon! O Furies who with relentless cruelty torment the souls of the lost, and Gorgons, whose hair of wriggling snakes the shades tremble as they behold! compelled by my all-powerful word, afford to this earth-born youth a clear vision of the work now accomplishing in the waters of Lepanto.” As he spoke he frantically waved his wand.

Then behold, the waters of the sea boiled over, and the sterile north-east wind rounding the white sails, the rival fleets were tossed in sudden motion, the gallant Spanish vessels bearing down proudly on the Pagan galleys. Mighty warriors were there, whose names and deeds of fame were borne in characters of flame around their brows; many, whom he had known as companions of his own in childhood, now bronzed with the hardships of many a bold campaign. Suddenly the signal of the fight resounded, and then the Christian hosts, following the sign of their redemption, poured down with resistless ardour on their Pagan foes. With breathless interest Don Ercilla watched the fortunes of his friends, shouted to them – so present was the scene – to bear them bravely, nor waver in their courage. For hours the fight raged, and many a brave servant of Christ fell deadly wounded into the deep waves, and tinged the blue waters with his generous blood. Don Ercilla wept and exulted by turns, as, one after another, he saw dear friends lost to him for ever in this life, and yet the Christian arms prevailing inch by inch, till at last, successful and triumphant, they swept the encroaching Turk from the face of the sea, inflicting an irreparable wound on his power, and setting a bound to his aggressions which he might not pass.

MATANZAS

Matanzas is at the present day one of the most populous and important towns of the island of Cuba: second to Havannah, it goes on ever increasing in commercial activity; it has a railroad and a well-sheltered harbour, and is surrounded by an extent of sugar and coffee cultivation which promises, with a never-failing supply of exports, to maintain and constantly increase its prosperity.

Nevertheless Matanzas has an ugly name; for, though euphonious enough to our ears, its meaning is neither more nor less than “Slaughterings,” and the ugly name is connected with an ugly history, and, it would seem, an inseparable association of ugliness in every detail. Its situation is flat and unpicturesque; the buildings – unlike, and indeed in strong contrast with the beautiful outlines which, imitating those prevalent in Spain at the time of her greatest colonial eminence, were spread by her all over the new world – are mean and bare, and, while too solidly built of stone to offer any hope that the venerable-making hand of time will ever clothe them with any even adventitious interest, they are yet altogether deficient in a grand or imposing character.

The following story of the circumstances of its origin may be taken to account for the absence of those softening influences of family life and home traditions, which in the other colonies reproduced many of the most beautiful features of the old country.

There once lived, in a village of Castille, a man who thought only of enjoying himself, and who spent all his money without taking any account of how much he had got left for the future; so that at last a day came when he had nothing at all left, and not a bite of any thing but his nails. When he came home without a maravedi, his wife and children dinned him so for food that they drove him distracted; and he borrowed a rope of a neighbour, and went to an olive-tree to hang himself.

He had hardly fastened the rope to the tree, when a little sprite appeared, sitting astride on one of its branches, who called out to him, “What are you going to do? You, a Christian, going to hang yourself like Judas! Give up such an idea; here, take this purse, which is never empty, and go home.”

So Perrico (that was the name of our man) caught at the purse to see if such good fortune could be true, and drew out one duro114 after another without stopping, like words out of a woman’s mouth. When he saw that the store was so bountiful, he untied the rope and coiled it up, and made the best of his way home. But passing by the way a tavern where he had been accustomed to take refreshment, he could not resist the temptation of turning in; nor, when he was in, the temptation of ordering the best drinks and viands, till at last he took more than was good for him, and passed the night under the table, drunk, and as insensible as the dead in the churchyard.

The host, who had observed that he payed for every thing he ordered, duro after duro out of his little purse, and that there was always a duro left, determined to possess himself of the treasure, and so told his wife to make another exactly like it, and then changed it against the magic purse in Perrico’s pocket.

In the morning Perrico woke, and suspecting nothing, ran home to his wife as joyous as a holiday.

“No more hunger! no more misery!” he cried; “here’s money enough to last our lives – here’s enough for every one; come, come all and be merry!”

Then he pulled out his purse, and flung the one duro in it on the table, but when he expected to find another, it continued empty; then he turned it inside out, and threw it up in the air, and flung it on the floor. But no more duros appeared. And his wife, thinking it all a trick, grew more provoked than before, and rated him with an angrier voice than ever.

Perrico, now quite desperate, took up his rope again, and returned to his olive-tree. No sooner had he tied the rope to the branch than the goblin appeared, and reproached him as before.

“But what am I to do?” pleaded Perrico; “I’ve nothing to eat.”

“You ought to find work,” answered the goblin; “nevertheless I’ll give you another chance. Take this table-cloth, and with it you’ll never want for a meal; for whenever you spread it, you’ll find a meal ready cooked, upon it.” So saying, he disappeared.

Perrico took the cloth, and spread it out in the shade of the olive-tree, and immediately it was covered with dishes of choice food, and wine, and fruits, and flowers; so he made the best meal he had ever eaten in his life, folded his table-cloth, and started for home.

Meantime it had got late, and as he passed the tavern, the idea of a comfortable bed seemed more inviting than a long walk, so he turned in and went to bed.

The host, who had made such a fortunate prize out of him the day before, suspected sagaciously that he might have brought some other wonderful gift along with him this time; so while he was sound asleep he turned over his things, and finding the new table-cloth, easily guessed this was what he was searching for, and so replaced it with another like it, and carried Perrico’s off.

In the morning Perrico woke, and, suspecting nothing, ran home to his wife as joyous as a holiday.

“Come wife, come children!” he exclaimed, “no more hunger! no more misery! here’s food to last our lives.”

And with that he spread the table-cloth out on the table; to his chagrin, however, instead of eatables, it was only covered with ugly patches.

Then followed an outcry such as never had been heard before; mother and children set upon him without mercy, and glad enough he was to escape from them, his rope safely tucked under his arm.

Once more he secured the rope, and once more the goblin appeared. “Christian!” he exclaimed, “where is your patience?”

“All beaten out of me by my wife’s blows,” replied Perrico.

“That’s no excuse,” said the sprite; “nevertheless I’ll help you once more. Here’s a stick for you – take this, and when you’re armed with it no one will venture to interfere with you.”

Perrico caught at the stick, and walked home with as much importance as a beadle bearing his mace; and when the children came clamouring round him, as they had seen their mother do, he only said, “At them! good stick!” and the stick flew out of his hand, and sent them all running helter-skelter. Then his wife came to the defence of her children, and Perrico had only to say, “At her! good stick!” and the stick soon disposed of her also.

But the neighbours, hearing her cries, sent for the Alcalde and his Aguaciles, who prepared to take him; but Perrico cried once more, “At them! good stick!” and straightway the stick sent them all flying in every direction.

Then they sent an express messenger to the king, to tell him how his officers were being treated, and he sent a regiment of grenadiers. But Perrico had one remedy against all: “At them! good stick!” he cried, and in a trice the stick belaboured away, leaving one with a broken arm, another with his eye knocked out, the colonel sprawling in the dust, and every musket or side-arm rendered totally unfit for use, till the soldiers, thinking Lucifer had been let loose among them, were glad to get away as fast as their legs would carry them.

So Perrico was left alone, and was glad to rest after all the excitement, but took care when he went to sleep to hide his stick in his breast, that it might not be taken from him.

When he woke in the morning he found his hands and feet manacled, and an officer of justice standing over him, reading aloud the sentence of death which had been passed upon him. Perrico said nothing, but as soon as they loosened his bonds on the scaffold he took out his stick, and crying, “At them! good stick!” soon delivered himself of executioners, guards, gaolers, and all who stood in his way.

“Leave the fellow alone!” cried the king, “or all my subjects will be killed – only let’s get rid of him.” So to bribe him to go he promised him a large tract of land in America, and shipped him off to the island of Cuba. Here he founded a town; but his stick did so much execution on the inhabitants, that people gave it the name of Matanzas.

THE END

1

The Story “Where One may Dine Two may Dine” is a particular illustration of this.

2

Moorish palace.

3

Good Cowherdess.

4

Female pilgrim.

5

Moorish castle.

6

Silly Johnny.

7

Mirandola está mirandoQue bien era de mirar;Blanca es como la nieveY como lo claro cristal,Colorada como la rosaY como rosa de rosal.

8

If God so will, it may rain with a clear sky.

9

It was completed 1364.

10

Ornamented iron-work in front of the lower windows of Spanish houses.

11

A warm hunting-cap, with flaps to cover the forehead and ears, capable therefore of serving, in some sort, as a disguise.

12

The Sevillians to the present day give a very bad character to the Valencians.

13

A spreading vine, trained along a horizontal trellis, so as to form a shady arbour; an unfailing adjunct to most houses in the south of Spain.

14

Blunderbuss.

15

A large covered waggon drawn by mules, in which luggage and passengers were conveyed together in Spain. Still in use in out-of-the-way places.

16

The bell tolled a death knell.

17

In some parts of Spain where there is no arena for the bull fights, they are held in some large open space, called a Cosa. The Cosa at Zaragoza is a broad open street of the best houses, planted with trees.

18

Marriages are celebrated in the evening in Spain.

19

Toll – for a funeral service.

20

Every one smokes at all hours in Spain. It is the custom at many barbers’ and tobacconists’ shops to have a piece of lighted mecha, or plaited tow, hanging outside the door for the convenience of their customers, who may want to light their cigars.

21

It is a common custom in Spain to receive friends, and even transact business in your box at the theatre.

22

Covetousness bursts the money-bag.

23

Hato, a portion of provisions taken out with them by shepherds when they have to be absent from home in the mountains for several days together.

24

Simancas is situated at the confluence of the Douro and Pisuergo, not far from Valladolid. The archives of Spain were kept there for centuries, in a strong alcázar originally built by the Moors.

25

An equivalent for our “Before you could say ‘Jack Robinson,’” though I have never been able to make out the derivation of either tilin or “Jack Robinson.”

26

“Nothing goes right with the unlucky.”

27

Little earthen pot.

28

“May your worship live a thousand years!” – a common salutation, equivalent to “God grant you long life!”

29

“More surely than the clock,” i.e., as irrevocably as time as we should say, “as sure as a gun.”

30

There used to be several sinecure offices in Spain, the symbol of which was a silver key slung over the pocket-flap on the left side.

31

Large earthen pot, used by the Spanish peasants for cooking.

32

Esparto grass is a fibrous plant which grows in great abundance in the south of Spain; it is imported into this country under the name of Spanish broom, and is used for making rope, canvas, mats, paper, and for many other useful purposes.

33

Nice little children.

34

The Carnation.

35

Entre los árboles todosse señorea el laurelentre las mujeres, Anaentre los flores, el clavel.

36

En énero no hay clavelesporque los marchita el hieloen tu cara los hay siempreporque lo permite el cielo.

37

El encarnado clavelviene publicando agraviosporque no le han hecho á elhermoso como tus labios.

38

El clavel que tu mi disteel día de la Ascensionno fué clavel, sino clavoque clavó mi corazon.

39

En una teja de su casacrió mi niño un clavely quando á su vera pasale da un besito en la sien.

40

Tengo un clavel encarnadoá la sombra y bajo llavepara que el sol no lo veay con mirarlo lo aje.

41

Pipkin.

42

A name employed in Andalusia to designate a person who wears the national costume with great ostentation of correctness, and is altogether what we should term showy.

43

See p. 68 and note.

44

On is the Spanish augmentative.

45

A tall fibrous plant, which covers whole plains in the south of Spain, so called because its spreading leaves give it a certain resemblance to dwarf palms.

46

The Sierra Almagrera is near Cartagena. The mine whose riches have been thus celebrated in a popular tale for many a century, is just now being vigorously worked by an Anglo-French company.

47

Literally, a saw. Spaniards call a ridge of mountains so, from the resemblance of the outline to the teeth of a saw.

48

“In the season of figs no one remembers his friends.” In other words, though when in want men gladly remember their acquaintance that they may apply to them for assistance, in prosperity they are as anxious to forget them, that they may not be called upon to spend for them.

49

“In the frying, you shall see.” Equivalent to our “The proof of the pudding’s in the eating.” The following is told as the origin of this Spanish proverb: – A good housewife having frequently had occasion to find fault with the quality of the charcoal the village dealer sold her, was highly delighted when another one set up who professed to sell a better kind. “But how am I to know yours is any better?” inquired she. “Al freir, lo vereis” (“when you come to fry with it you will see if it doesn’t give a clear fire”), he replied, for as his wares were good they needed only to be proved: taberna vieja no necesita rama: good wine, or, more literally, an old established tavern, needs no bush.

50

A short wooden column supporting an alms-box in Spanish churches.

51

The name given to a boy serving as guide to a blind man.

52

The Spanish sprat found in great abundance in the Mediterranean, called sardina, much larger than ours, those selected for frying being generally five or six inches long.

53

Sister.

54

A vine trained so as to make an out-door sitting-room.

55

“More certain than the clock, man.”

56

Large folding dagger-knife.

57

Little town.

58

Bank of wild thyme.

59

“While in my arms I hold thee,I ask myself alway,What fate I leave thee to, child,If call’d by death away.”

60

Aunt. It is also a title of respect and endearment, much in use between intimate friends, especially among the lower orders in Spain.

61

Ochavo, a coin about equal to a farthing.

62

Clergyman of the parish.

63

Man. An ejaculation with which the Spaniard frequently interlards his conversation.

64

As we should say, “like winking.”

65

Your worship.

66

“I should think she did know how to cook indeed!”

67

Earthen pots.

68

Something like our forcemeat-balls.

69

A sweetmeat in as general adoption in Spain as our toffy.

70

Sweetmeat composed of pounded almonds and honey.

71

There is so little trace of flesh meat in it that it was allowed on fast-days.