Part 4 (1/2)
”'Lillas,' she said, as soon as she saw me. 'I'm not going to work any more to-day. To-morrow will be a day, too.* Come, fellow-countryman, let us go for a walk!'
* _Manana sera otro dia._--A Spanish proverb.
”She pulled her mantilla across her nose, and there we were in the street, without my knowing in the least whither I was bound.
”'Senorita,' said I, 'I think I have to thank you for a present I had while I was in prison. I've eaten the bread; the file will do for sharpening my lance, and I keep it in remembrance of you. But as for the money, here it is.'
”'Why, he's kept the money!' she exclaimed, bursting out laughing.
'But, after all, that's all the better--for I'm decidedly hard up! What matter! The dog that runs never starves!* Come, let's spend it all! You shall treat.'
* _Chuquel sos pirela, cocal terela_. ”The dog that runs finds a bone.”--Gipsy proverb.
”We had turned back toward Seville. At the entrance of the _Calle de la Serpiente_ she bought a dozen oranges, which she made me put into my handkerchief. A little farther on she bought a roll, a sausage, and a bottle of manzanilla. Then, last of all, she turned into a confectioner's shop. There she threw the gold coin I had returned to her on the counter, with another she had in her pocket, and some small silver, and then she asked me for all the money I had. All I possessed was one peseta and a few cuartos, which I handed over to her, very much ashamed of not having more. I thought she would have carried away the whole shop. She took everything that was best and dearest, _yemas_,*
_turon_,** preserved fruits--as long as the money lasted. And all these, too, I had to carry in paper bags. Perhaps you know the _Calle del Candilejo_, where there is a head of Don Pedro the Avenger.*** That head ought to have given me pause. We stopped at an old house in that street.
She pa.s.sed into the entry, and knocked at a door on the ground floor.
It was opened by a gipsy, a thorough-paced servant of the devil. Carmen said a few words to her in Romany. At first the old hag grumbled. To smooth her down Carmen gave her a couple of oranges and a handful of sugar-plums, and let her have a taste of wine. Then she hung her cloak on her back, and led her to the door, which she fastened with a wooden bar. As soon as we were alone she began to laugh and caper like a lunatic, singing out, 'You are my _rom_, I'm your _romi_.'****
* Sugared yolks of eggs.
** A sort of nougat.
*** This king, Don Pedro, whom we call ”the Cruel,” and whom Queen Isabella, the Catholic, never called anything but ”the Avenger,” was fond of walking about the streets of Seville at night in search of adventures, like the Caliph Haroun al Raschid. One night, in a lonely street, he quarrelled with a man who was singing a serenade. There was a fight, and the king killed the amorous _caballero_. At the clas.h.i.+ng of their swords, an old woman put her head out of the window and lighted up the scene with a tiny lamp (candilejo) which she held in her hand. My readers must be informed that King Don Pedro, though nimble and muscular, suffered from one strange fault in his physical conformation. Whenever he walked his knees cracked loudly. By this cracking the old woman easily recognised him. The next day the _veintiquatro_ in charge came to make his report to the king. ”Sir, a duel was fought last night in such a street--one of the combatants is dead.” ”Have you found the murderer?” ”Yes, sir.” ”Why has he not been punished already?” ”Sir, I await your orders!” ”Carry out the law.” Now the king had just published a decree that every duellist was to have his head cut off, and that head was to be set up on the scene of the fight. The _veintiquatro_ got out of the difficulty like a clever man. He had the head sawed off a statue of the king, and set that up in a niche in the middle of the street in which the murder had taken place. The king and all the Sevillians thought this a very good joke. The street took its name from the lamp held by the old woman, the only witness of the incident. The above is the popular tradition.
Zuniga tells the story somewhat differently. However that may be, a street called _Calle del Candilejo_ still exists in Seville, and in that street there is a bust which is said to be a portrait of Don Pedro. This bust, unfortunately, is a modern production. During the seventeenth century the old one had become very much defaced, and the munic.i.p.ality had it replaced by that now to be seen.
**** _Rom_, husband. _Romi_, wife.
”There I stood in the middle of the room, laden with all her purchases, and not knowing where I was to put them down. She tumbled them all onto the floor, and threw her arms round my neck, saying:
”'I pay my debts, I pay my debts! That's the law of the _Cales_.'*
* _Calo_, feminine _calli_, plural _cales_. Literally ”black,” the name the gipsies apply to themselves in their own language.
”Ah, sir, that day! that day! When I think of it I forget what to-morrow must bring me!”
For a moment the bandit held his peace, then, when he had relighted his cigar, he began afresh.
”We spent the whole day together, eating, drinking, and so forth. When she had stuffed herself with sugar-plums, like any child of six years old, she thrust them by handfuls into the old woman's water-jar.
'That'll make sherbet for her,' she said. She smashed the _yemas_ by throwing them against the walls. 'They'll keep the flies from bothering us.' There was no prank or wild frolic she didn't indulge in. I told her I should have liked to see her dance, only there were no castanets to be had. Instantly she seized the old woman's only earthenware plate, smashed it up, and there she was dancing the _Romalis_, and making the bits of broken crockery rattle as well as if they had been ebony and ivory castanets. That girl was good company, I can tell you! Evening fell, and I heard the drums beating tattoo.
”'I must get back to quarters for roll-call,' I said.
”'To quarters!' she answered, with a look of scorn. 'Are you a negro slave, to let yourself be driven with a ramrod like that! You are as silly as a canary bird. Your dress suits your nature.* Pshaw! you've no more heart than a chicken.'
* Spanish dragoons wear a yellow uniform.
”I stayed on, making up my mind to the inevitable guard-room. The next morning the first suggestion of parting came from her.
”'Hark ye, Joseito,' she said. 'Have I paid you? By our law, I owed you nothing, because you're a _payllo_. But you're a good-looking fellow, and I took a fancy to you. Now we're quits. Good-day!'