Bab Bab 6 · THE LITTLE GIPSY GIRL

It would almost seem that the Gitanos and Gitanas, or male and female

gipsies, had been sent into the world for the sole purpose of thieving.

Born of parents who are thieves, reared among thieves, and educated as

thieves, they finally go forth perfected in their vocation, accomplished

at all points, and ready for every species of roguery. In them the love

of thieving, and the ability to exercise it, are qualities inseparable

from their existence, and never lost until the hour of their death.

Now it chanced that an old woman of this race, one who had merited

retirement on full pay as a veteran in the ranks of Cacus, brought up a

girl whom she called Preciosa, and declared to be her granddaughter. To

this child she imparted all her own acquirements, all the various tricks

of her art. Little Preciosa became the most admired dancer in all the

tribes of Gipsydom; she was the most beautiful and discreet of all their

maidens; nay she shone conspicuous not only among the gipsies, but even

as compared with the most lovely and accomplished damsels whose praises

were at that time sounded forth by the voice of fame. Neither sun, nor

wind, nor all those vicissitudes of weather, to which the gipsies are

more constantly exposed than any other people, could impair the bloom of

her complexion or embrown her hands; and what is more remarkable, the

rude manner in which she was reared only served to reveal that she must

have sprung from something better than the Gitano stock; for she was

extremely pleasing and courteous in conversation, and lively though she

was, yet in no wise did she display the least unseemly levity; on the

contrary, amidst all her sprightliness, there was at the same time so

much genuine decorum in her manner, that in the presence of Preciosa no

gitana, old or young, ever dared to sing lascivious songs, or utter

unbecoming words.

The grandmother fully perceived what a treasure she had in her

grandchild; and the old eagle determined to set her young eaglet flying,

having been careful to teach her how to live by her talons. Preciosa was

rich in hymns, ballads, seguidillas, sarabands, and other ditties,

especially romances, which she sang with peculiar grace; for the cunning

grandmother knew by experience that such accomplishments, added to the

youth and beauty of her granddaughter, were the best means of increasing

her capital, and therefore she failed not to promote their cultivation

in every way she could. Nor was the aid of poets wanting; for some there

are who do not disdain to write for the gipsies, as there are those who

invent miracles for the pretended blind, and go snacks with them in what

they gain from charitable believers.

During her childhood, Preciosa lived in different parts of Castile; but

in her sixteenth year her grandmother brought her to Madrid, to the

usual camping-ground of the gipsies, in the fields of Santa Barbara.

Madrid seemed to her the most likely place to find customers; for there

everything is bought and sold. Preciosa made her first appearance in the

capital on the festival of Santa Anna, the patroness of the city, when

she took part in a dance performed by eight gitanas, with one gitano, an

excellent dancer, to lead them. The others were all very well, but such

was the elegance of Preciosa, that she fascinated the eyes of all the

spectators. Amidst the sound of the tambourine and castanets, in the

heat of the dance, a murmur of admiration arose for the beauty and grace

of Preciosa; but when they heard her sing--for the dance was accompanied

with song--the fame of the gitana reached its highest point; and by

common consent the jewel offered as the prize of the best dancer in that

festival was adjudged to her. After the usual dance in the church of

Santa Maria, before the image of the glorious Santa Anna, Preciosa

caught up a tambourine, well furnished with bells, and having cleared a

wide circle around her with pirouettes of exceeding lightness, she sang

a hymn to the patroness of the day. It was the admiration of all who

heard her. Some said, "God bless the girl!" Others, "'Tis a pity that

this maiden is a gitana: truly she deserves to be the daughter of some

great lord!" Others more coarsely observed, "Let the wench grow up, and

she will show you pretty tricks; she is closing the meshes of a very

nice net to fish for hearts." Another more good-natured but ill-bred

and stupid, seeing her foot it so lightly, "Keep it up! keep it up!

Courage, darling! Grind the dust to atoms!" "Never fear," she answered,

without losing a step; "I'll grind it to atoms."

At the vespers and feast of Santa Anna Preciosa was somewhat fatigued;

but so celebrated had she become for beauty, wit, and discretion, as

well as for her dancing, that nothing else was talked of throughout the

capital. A fortnight afterwards, she returned to Madrid, with three

other girls, provided with their tambourines and a new dance, besides a

new stock of romances and songs, but all of a moral character; for

Preciosa would never permit those in her company to sing immodest songs,

nor would she ever sing them herself. The old gitana came with her, for

she now watched her as closely as Argus, and never left her side, lest

some one should carry her off. She called her granddaughter, and the

girl believed herself to be her grandchild.

The young gitanas began their dance in the shade, in the Calle de

Toledo, and were soon encircled by a crowd of spectators. Whilst they

danced, the old woman gathered money among the bystanders, and they

showered it down like stones on the highway; for beauty has such power

that it can awaken slumbering charity. The dance over, Preciosa said,

"If you will give me four quartos, I will sing by myself a beautiful

romance about the churching of our lady the Queen Doña Margarita. It is

a famous composition, by a poet of renown, one who may be called a

captain in the battalion of poets." No sooner had she said this, than

almost every one in the ring cried out, "Sing it, Preciosa; here are my

four quartos;" and so many quartos were thrown down for her, that the

old gitana had not hands enough to pick them up. When the gathering was

ended, Preciosa resumed her tambourine, and sang the promised romance,

which was loudly encored, the whole audience crying out with one voice,

"Sing again, Preciosa, sing again, and dance for us, girl: thou shalt

not want quartos, whilst thou hast the ground beneath thy feet."

Whilst more than two hundred persons were thus looking on at the dance,

and listening to the singing of the gitana, one of the lieutenants of

the city passed by; and seeing so many people together, he asked what

was the occasion of the crowd. Being told that the handsome gitana was

singing there, the lieutenant, who was not without curiosity, drew near

also to listen, but in consideration of his dignity, he did not wait for

the end of the romance. The gitanilla, however, pleased him so much,

that he sent his page to tell the old crone to come to his house that

evening with her troop, as he wished his wife Doña Clara to hear them.

The page delivered the message, and the old gitana promised to attend.

After the performance was ended, and the performers were going

elsewhere, a very well-dressed page came up to Preciosa, and giving her

a folded paper, said, "Pretty Preciosa, will you sing this romance? It

is a very good one, and I will give you others from time to time, by

which you will acquire the fame of having the best romances in the

world."

"I will learn this one with much willingness," replied Preciosa; "and be

sure, señor, you bring me the others you speak of, but on condition that

there is nothing improper in them. If you wish to be paid for them, we

will agree for them by the dozen; but do not expect to be paid in

advance; that will be impossible. When a dozen have been sung, the money

for a dozen shall be forthcoming."

"If the Señora Preciosa only pays me for the paper," said the page, "I

shall be content. Moreover, any romance which does not turn out so well

shall not be counted."

"I will retain the right of choice," said Preciosa; and then she

continued her way with her companions up the street, when some gentlemen

called and beckoned to them from a latticed window. Preciosa went up and

looked through the window, which was near the ground, into a cheerful,

well-furnished apartment, in which several cavaliers were walking about,

and others playing at various games. "Will you give me a share of your

winnings, señors?" said Preciosa, in the lisping accent of the gipsies,

which she spoke not by nature but from choice. At the sight of Preciosa,

and at the sound of her voice, the players quitted the tables, the rest

left off lounging, and all thronged to the window, for her fame had

already reached them. "Come in! Let the little gipsies come in," said

the cavaliers, gaily; "we will certainly give them a share of our

winnings."

"But you might make it cost us dear, señors," said Preciosa.

"No, on the honour of gentlemen," said one, "you may come in, niña, in

full security that no one will touch the sole of your shoe. I swear this

to you by the order I wear on my breast;" and as he spoke he laid his

hand on the cross of the order of Calatrava which he wore.

"If you like to go in, Preciosa," said one of the gitanillas who were

with her, "do so by all means; but I do not choose to go where there are

so many men."

"Look you, Christina," answered Preciosa, "what you have to beware of is

one man alone; where there are so many there is nothing to fear. Of one

thing you may be sure, Christina; the woman who is resolved to be

upright may be so amongst an army of soldiers. It is well, indeed, to

avoid occasions of temptation, but it is not in crowded rooms like this

that danger lurks."

"Well then, let us go in, Preciosa," said her companion, "you know more

than a witch."

The old gipsy also encouraged them to go in, and that decided the

question. As soon as they had entered the room, the cavalier of the

order, seeing the paper which Preciosa carried, stretched out his hand

to take it. "Do not take it from me," she said: "It is a romance but

just given to me, and which I have not yet had time to read."

"And do you know how to read, my girl?" said one of the cavaliers.

"Ay, and to write too," said the old woman. "I have brought up my

grandchild as if she was a lawyer's daughter."

The cavalier opened the paper, and finding a gold crown inclosed in it,

said, "Truly, Preciosa, the contents of this letter are worth the

postage. Here is a crown inclosed in the romance."

"The poet has treated me like a beggar," said Preciosa; "but it is

certainly a greater marvel for one of his trade to give a crown than for

one of mine to receive it. If his romances come to me with this

addition, he may transscribe the whole _Romancero General_ and send me

every piece in it one by one. I will weigh their merit; and if I find

there is good matter in them, I will not reject them. Read the paper

aloud, señor, that we may see if the poet is as wise as he is liberal."

The cavalier accordingly read as follows:--

Sweet gipsy girl, whom envy's self

Must own of all fair maids the fairest,

Ah! well befits thy stony heart

The name thou, Preciosa,[66] bearest.

If as in beauty, so in pride

And cruelty thou grow to sight,

Woe worth the land, woe worth the age

Which brought thy fatal charms to light.

A basilisk in thee we see,

Which fascinates our gaze and kills.

No empire mild is thine, but one

That tyrannises o'er our wills.

How grew such charms 'mid gipsy tribes,

From roughest blasts without a shield?

How such a perfect chrysolite

Could humble Manzanares yield?

River, for this thou shalt be famed,

Like Tagus with its golden show,

And more for Preciosa prized

Than Ganges with its lavish flow.

In telling fortunes who can say

What dupes to ruin thou beguilest?

Good luck thou speak'st with smiling lips.

But luckless they on whom thou smilest!

Tis said they're witches every one,

The women of the gipsy race;

And all men may too plainly see

That thou hast witchcraft in thy face.

A thousand different modes are thine

To turn the brain; for rest or move,

Speak, sing, be mute, approach, retire,

Thou kindlest still the fire of love.

The freest hearts bend to thy sway,

And lose the pride of liberty;

Bear witness mine, thy captive thrall,

Which would not, if it could, be free.

These lines, thou precious gem of love,

Whose praise all power of verse transcend,

He who for thee will live or die,

Thy poor and humble lover sends.

[66] Piedra preciosa, precious stone.

"The poem ends with 'poor' in the last line," said Preciosa; "and that

is a bad sign. Lovers should never begin by saying that they are poor,

for poverty, it strikes me, is a great enemy to love."

"Who teaches you these things, girl?" said one of the cavaliers.

"Who should teach me?" she replied. "Have I not a soul in my body? Am I

not fifteen years of age? I am neither lame, nor halt, nor maimed in my

understanding. The wit of a gipsy girl steers by a different compass

from that which guides other people. They are always forward for their

years. There is no such thing as a stupid gitano, or a silly gitana.

Since it is only by being sharp and ready that they can earn a

livelihood, they polish their wits at every step, and by no means let

the moss grow under their feet. You see these girls, my companions, who

are so silent. You may think they are simpletons, but put your fingers

in their mouths to see if they have cut their wise teeth; and then you

shall see what you shall see. There is not a gipsy girl of twelve who

does not know as much as one of another race at five-and-twenty, for

they have the devil and much practice for instructors, so that they

learn in one hour what would otherwise take them a year."

The company were much amused by the gitana's chat, and all gave her

money. The old woman sacked thirty reals, and went off with her flock as

merry as a cricket to the house of the señor lieutenant, after promising

that she would return with them another day to please such liberal

gentlemen. Doña Clara, the lieutenant's lady, had been apprised of the

intended visit of the gipsies, and she and her doncellas and dueñas, as

well as those of another señora, her neighbour, were expecting them as

eagerly as one looks for a shower in May. They had come to see Preciosa.

She entered with her companions, shining among them like a torch among

lesser lights, and all the ladies pressed towards her. Some kissed her,

some gazed at her; others blessed her sweet face, others her graceful

carriage. "This, indeed, is what you may call golden hair," cried Doña

Clara; "these are truly emerald eyes."[67] The señora, her neighbour,

examined the gitanilla piecemeal. She made a _pepetoria_[68] of all her

joints and members, and coming at last to a dimple in her chin, she

said, "Oh, what a dimple! it is a pit into which all eyes that behold it

must fall." Thereupon an esquire in attendance on Doña Clara, an elderly

gentleman with a long beard, exclaimed, "Call you this a dimple, señora?

I know little of dimples then if this be one. It is no dimple, but a

grave of living desires. I vow to God the gitanilla is such a dainty

creature, she could not be better if she was made of silver or sugar

paste. Do you know how to tell fortunes, niña?"

[67] It is hard to say what "exquisite reason" Cervantes can have had

for likening a girl's eyes to emeralds above all other gems. He uses the

phrase elsewhere, apparently without any ironical meaning.

[68] A dish, in which a fowl is served up disjointed.

"That I do, and in three or four different manners," replied Preciosa.

"You can do that too?" exclaimed Doña Clara. "By the life of my lord the

lieutenant, you must tell me mine, niña of gold, niña of silver, niña of

pearls, niña of carbuncles, niña of heaven, and more than that cannot be

said."

"Give the niña the palm of your hand, señora, and something to cross it

with," said the old gipsy; "and you will see what things she will tell

you, for she knows more than a doctor of medicine."

The señora Tenienta[69] put her hand in her pocket, but found it empty;

she asked for the loan of a quarto from her maids, but none of them had

one, neither had the señora her neighbour. Preciosa seeing this, said,

"For the matter of crosses all are good, but those made with silver or

gold are best. As for making the sign of the cross with copper money,

that, ladies, you must know lessens the luck, at least it does mine. I

always like to begin by crossing the palm with a good gold crown, or a

piece of eight, or at least a quarto, for, I am like the sacristans who

rejoice when there is a good collection."

[69] The wife of the _teniente_, or lieutenant. "

and you ask

for two-and-twenty maravedis? Go your ways, Contreras, for a tiresome

blockhead, as you always were."

"How witty you are," said the lady visitor; then turning to the squire,

"Do you happen to have a quarto about you, Señor Contreras? if you have,

give it me, and when my husband the doctor comes you shall have it

again."

"I have one," replied Contreras, "but it is pledged for two-and-twenty

maravedis for my supper; give me so much and I will fly to fetch it."

"We have not a quarto amongst us all," said Doña Clara, "and you ask

for two-and-twenty maravedis? Go your ways, Contreras, for a tiresome

blockhead, as you always were."

One of the damsels present, seeing the penury of the house, said to

Preciosa, "Niña, will it be of any use to make the cross with a silver

thimble?"

"Certainly," said Preciosa; "the best crosses in the world are made with

silver thimbles, provided there are plenty of them."

"I have one," said the doncella; "if that is enough, here it is, on

condition that my fortune be told too."

"So many fortunes to be told for a thimble!" exclaimed the old gipsy.

"Make haste, granddaughter, for it will soon be night." Preciosa took

the thimble, and began her sooth saying.

Pretty lady, pretty lady,

With a hand as silver fair,

How thy husband dearly loves thee

'Tis superfluous to declare.

Thou'rt a dove, all milk of kindness;

Yet at times too thou canst be

Wrathful as a tiger, or a

Lioness of Barbary.

Thou canst show thy teeth when jealous;

Truly the lieutenant's sly;

Loves with furtive sports to vary

Magisterial gravity.

What a pity! One worth having

Woo'd thee when a maiden fair.

Plague upon all interlopers!

You'd have made a charming pair.

Sooth, I do not like to say it,

Yet it may as well be said;

Thou wilt be a buxom widow;

Twice again shalt thou be wed.

Do not weep, my sweet senora;

We gitanas, you must know,

Speak not always true as gospel

Weep not then sweet lady so.

If the thought is too distressing,

Losing such a tender mate,

Thou hast but to die before him,

To escape a widow's fate.

Wealth abundant thou'lt inherit,

And that quickly, never fear:

Thou shalt have a son, a canon,

--Of what church does not appear;

Not Toledo; no, that can't be;

And a daughter--let me see--

Ay, she'll rise to be an abbess;

--That is, if a nun she be.

If thy husband do not drop off

From this moment in weeks four,

Burgos him, or Salamanca,

Shall behold corregidor.

Meanwhile keep thyself from tripping:

Where thou walkest, many a snare

For the feet of pretty ladies

Naughty gallants lay: beware!

Other things still more surprising

Shall on Friday next be told,

Things to startle and delight thee,

When I've crossed thy palm with gold.

Preciosa having finished this oracular descant for the lady of the

house, the rest of the company were all eager to have their fortunes

told likewise, but she put them off till the next Friday, when they

promised to have silver coin ready for crossing their palms. The señor

lieutenant now came in, and heard a glowing account of the charms and

accomplishments of the leading gitana. Having made her and her

companions dance a little, he emphatically confirmed the encomiums

bestowed on Preciosa; and putting his hand in his pocket he groped and

rummaged about in it for a while, but at last drew his hand out empty,

saying, "Upon my life I have not a doit. Give Preciosa a real, Doña

Clara; I will give it you by and by."

"That is all very well, señor," the lady replied; "but where is the real

to come from? Amongst us all we could not find a quarto to cross our

hands with."

"Well, give her some trinket or another, that Preciosa may come another

day to see us, when we will treat her better."

"No," said Doña Clara, "I will give her nothing to-day, and I shall be

sure she will come again."

"On the contrary," said Preciosa, "if you give me nothing. I will never

come here any more. Sell justice, señor lieutenant, sell justice, and

then you will have money. Do not introduce new customs, but do as other

magistrates do, or you will die of hunger. Look you, señor, I have heard

say that money enough may be made of one's office to pay any mulets that

may be incurred,[70] and to help one to other appointments."

[70] It was formerly the custom in Spain that a civil officer on giving

up his post, should remain for a certain time in the place where he had

served, to answer any charges of maladministration that might be brought

against him.

"So say and do those who have no conscience," said the lieutenant; "but

the judge who does his duty will have no mulet to pay; and to have well

discharged his office, will be his best help to obtain another."

"Your worship speaks like a very saint," replied Preciosa; "proceed

thus, and we shall snip pieces off your old coats for relics."

"You know a great deal, Preciosa," said the lieutenant; "say no more,

and I will contrive that their majesties shall see you, for you are fit

to be shown to a king."

"They will want me for a court fool," said the gitanilla, "and as I

never shall learn the trade, your pains will be all for nothing. If they

wanted me for my cleverness, they might have me; but in some palaces

fools thrive better than the wise. I am content to be a gitana, and

poor, and let Heaven dispose of me as it pleases."

"Come along, niña," said the old gipsy; "say no more, you have said a

great deal already, and know more than I ever taught you. Don't put too

fine a point to your wit for fear it should get blunted; speak of things

suitable to your years; and don't set yourself on the high ropes, lest

you should chance to have a fall."

"The deuce is in these gitanas," said the delighted lieutenant, as they

were taking their leave. The doncella of the thimble stopped them for a

moment, saying to Preciosa, "Tell me my fortune, or give me back my

thimble, for I have not another to work with."

"Señora doncella," replied Preciosa, "count upon your fortune as if it

were already told, and provide yourself with another; or else sew no

more gussets until I come again on Friday, when I will tell you more

fortunes and adventures than you could read in any book of knight

errantry."

The gipsies went away, and falling in with numerous workwomen returning

from Madrid to their villages as usual at the Ave Maria, they joined

company with them, as they always did for the greater security; for the

old gipsy lived in perpetual terror lest some one should run away with

her granddaughter.

One morning after this as they were returning to Madrid to levy black

mail along with other gitanas, in a little valley about five hundred

yards from the city, they met a handsome young gentleman richly dressed;

his sword and dagger were a blazo of gold; his hat was looped with a

jewelled band, and was adorned with plumes of various colours. The

gitanas stopped on seeing him, and set themselves to observe his

movements at their leisure, wondering much that so fine a cavalier

should be alone and on foot in such a place at that early hour. He came

up to them, and addressing the eldest gitana, said, "On your life,

friend, I entreat you do me the favour to let me say two words in

private to you and Preciosa. It shall be for your good."

"With all my heart," said the old woman, "so you do not take us much out

of our way, or delay us long;" and calling Preciosa, they withdrew to

some twenty paces distance, where they stopped, and the young gentleman

thus addressed them: "I am so subdued by the wit and beauty of Preciosa,

that after having in vain endeavoured to overcome my admiration, I have

at last found the effort impossible. I, señoras (for I shall always give

you that title if heaven favours my pretensions), am a knight, as this

dress may show you;" and opening his cloak he displayed the insignia of

one of the highest orders in Spain; "I am the son of----" (here he

mentioned a personage whose name we suppress for obvious reasons), "and

am still under tutelage and command. I am an only son, and expect to

inherit a considerable estate. My father is here in the capital, looking

for a certain post which by all accounts he is on the point of

obtaining. Being then of the rank and condition which I have declared to

you, I should yet wish to be a great lord for the sake of Preciosa, that

I might raise her up to my own level, and make her my equal and my lady.

I do not seek to deceive; the love I bear her is too deep for any kind

of deception; I only desire to serve her in whatever way shall be most

agreeable to her; her will is mine; for her my heart is wax to be

moulded as she pleases but enduring as marble to retain whatever

impression she shall make upon it. If you believe me I shall fear no

discouragement from any other quarter, but if you doubt me, I shall

despond. My name is----; my father's I have already given you; he lives

in such a house in such a street and you may inquire about him and me of

the neighbours, and of others also; for our name and quality are not so

obscure but that you may hear of us about the court, and every, where in

the capital. I have here a hundred crowns in gold to present to you, as

earnest of what I mean to give you hereafter; for a man will be no

niggard of his wealth who has given away his very soul."

Whilst the cavalier was speaking, Preciosa watched him attentively, and

doubtless she saw nothing to dislike either in his language or his

person. Turning to the old woman, she said, "Pardon me, grandmother, if

I take the liberty of answering this enamoured señor myself."

"Make whatever answer you please, granddaughter," said the old woman,

"for I know you have sense enough for anything." So Preciosa began.

"Señor cavalier," she said, "though I am but a poor gitana and humbly

born, yet I have a certain fantastic little spirit within me, which

moves me to great things. Promises do not tempt me, nor presents sap my

resolution, nor obsequiousness allure, nor amorous wiles ensnare me; and

although by my grandmother's reckoning I shall be but fifteen next

Michaelmas, I am already old in thought, and have more understanding

than my years would seem to promise. This may, perhaps, be more from

nature than from experience; but be that as it may, I know that the

passion of love is an impetuous impulse, which violently distorts the

current of the will, makes it dash furiously against all impediments,

and recklessly pursue the desired object. But not unfrequently when the

lover believes himself on the point of gaining the heaven of his wishes,

he falls into the hell of disappointment. Or say that the object is

obtained, the lover soon becomes wearied of his so much desired

treasure, and opening the eyes of his understanding he finds that what

before was so devoutly adored is now become abhorrent to him. The fear

of such a result inspires me with so great a distrust, that I put no

faith in words, and doubt many deeds. One sole jewel I have, which I

prize more than life, and that is my virgin purity, which I will not

sell for promises or gifts, for sold it would be in that case, and if it

could be bought, small indeed would be its value. Nor is it to be

filched from me by wiles or artifices; rather will I carry it with me to

my grave, and perhaps to heaven, than expose it to danger by listening

to specious tales and chimeras. It is a flower which nothing should be

allowed to sully, even in imagination if it be possible. Nip the rose

from the spray, and how soon it fades! One touches it, another smells

it, a third plucks its leaves, and at last the flower perishes in vulgar

hands. If you are come then, señor, for this booty, you shall never bear

it away except bound in the ties of wedlock. If you desire to be my

spouse, I will be yours; but first there are many conditions to be

fulfilled, and many points to be ascertained.

"In the first place I must know if you are the person you declare

yourself to be. Next, should I find this to be true, you must

straightway quit your father's mansion, and exchange it for our tents,

where, assuming the garb of a gipsy, you must pass two years in our

schools, during which I shall be able to satisfy myself as to your

disposition, and you will become acquainted with mine. At the end of

that period, if you are pleased with me and I with you, I will give

myself up to you as your wife; but till then I will be your sister and

your humble servant, and nothing more. Consider, señor, that during the

time of this novitiate you may recover your sight, which now seems lost,

or at least disordered, and that you may then see fit to shun what now

you pursue with so much ardour. You will then be glad to regain your

lost liberty, and having done so, you may by sincere repentance obtain

pardon of your family for your faults. If on these conditions you are

willing to enlist in our ranks, the matter rests in your own hands; but

if you fail in any one of them, you shall not touch a finger of mine."

The youth was astounded at Preciosa's decision, and remained as if

spell-bound, with his eyes bent on the ground, apparently considering

what answer he should return. Seeing this, Preciosa said to him, "This

is not a matter of such light moment that it can or ought to be

resolved on the spot. Return, señor, to the city, consider maturely what

is best for you to do; and you may speak with me in this same place any

week-day you please, as we are on our way to or from Madrid."

"When Heaven disposed me to love you, Preciosa," replied the cavalier,

"I determined to do for you whatever it might be your will to require of

me, though it never entered my thoughts that you would make such a

demand as you have now done; but since it is your pleasure that I should

comply with it, count me henceforth as a gipsy, and put me to all the

trials you desire, you will always find me the same towards you as I now

profess myself. Fix the time when you will have me change my garb. I

will leave my family under pretext of going to Flanders, and will bring

with me money for my support for some time. In about eight days I shall

be able to arrange for my departure, and I will contrive some means to

get rid of my attendants, so as to be free to accomplish my purpose.

What I would beg of you (if I might make bold to ask any favour) is

that, except to-day for the purpose of inquiring about me and my family,

you go no more to Madrid, for I would not that any of the numerous

occasions that present themselves there, should deprive me of the good

fortune I prize so dearly."

"Not so, señor gallant," said Preciosa: "wherever I go I must be free

and unfettered; my liberty must not be restrained or encumbered by

jealousy. Be assured, however, that I will not use it to such excess,

but that any one may see from a mile off that my honesty is equal to my

freedom. The first charge, therefore, I have to impose upon you is, that

you put implicit confidence in me; for lovers who begin by being

jealous, are either silly or deficient in confidence."

"You must have Satan himself within you, little one," said the old

gipsy; "why you talk like a bachelor of Salamanca. You know all about

love and jealousy and confidence. How is this? You make me look like a

fool, and I stand listening to you as to a person possessed, who talks

Latin without knowing it."

"Hold your peace, grandmother," replied Preciosa; "and know that all the

things you have heard me say are mere trifles to the many greater truths

that remain in my breast."

All that Preciosa said, and the sound sense she displayed, added fuel

to the flame that burned in the breast of the enamoured cavalier.

Finally, it was arranged that they should meet in the same place on that

day sennight, when he would report how matters stood with him, and they

would have had time to inquire into the truth of what he had told them.

The young gentleman then took out a brocaded purse in which he said

there were a hundred gold crowns, and gave it to the old woman; but

Preciosa would by no means consent that she should take them.

"Hold your tongue, niña," said her grandmother; "the best proof this

señor has given of his submission, is in thus having yielded up his arms

to us in token of surrender. To give, upon whatever occasion it may be,

is always the sign of a generous heart. Moreover, I do not choose that

the gitanas should lose, through my fault, the reputation they have had

for long ages of being greedy of lucre. Would you have me lose a hundred

crowns, Preciosa? A hundred crowns in gold that one may stitch up in the

hem of a petticoat not worth two reals, and keep them there as one holds

a rent-charge on the pastures of Estramadura! Suppose that any of our

children, grandchildren, or relations should fall by any mischance into

the hands of justice, is there any eloquence so sure to touch the ears

of the judge as the music of these crowns when they fall into his purse?

Three times, for three different offences, I have seen myself all but

mounted on the ass to be whipped; but once I got myself off by means of

a silver mug, another time by a pearl necklace, and the third time with

the help of forty pieces of eight, which I exchanged for quartos,

throwing twenty reals into the bargain. Look you, niña, ours is a very

perilous occupation, full of risks and accidents; and there is no

defence that affords us more ready shelter and succour than the

invincible arms of the great Philip: nothing beats the _plus ultra_.[71]

For the two faces of a doubloon, a smile comes over the grim visage of

the procurator and of all the other ministers of mischief, who are

downright harpies to us poor gitanas, and have more mercy for highway

robbers than for our poor hides. Let us be ever so ragged and wretched

in appearance, they will not believe that we are poor, but say that we

are like the doublets of the gavachos of Belmont, ragged and greasy and

full of doubloons."

[71] After the discovery of America the Spanish dollar was marked with

the pillars of Hercules and the legend "PLUS ULTRA."

"Say no more, for heaven's sake, grandmother," said Preciosa; "do not

string together so many arguments for keeping the money, but keep it,

and much good may it do you. I wish to God you would bury it in a grave

out of which it may never return to the light, and that there may never

be any need of it. We must, however, give some of it to these companions

of ours, who must be tired of waiting so long for us."

"They shall see one coin out of this purse as soon as they will see the

Grand Turk," the old woman replied. "The good señor will try if he has

any silver coin or a few coppers remaining, to divide amongst them, for

they will be content with a little."

"Yes, I have," he said, and he took from his pocket three pieces of

eight which he divided among the gitanas, with which they were more

delighted than the manager of a theatre when he is placarded as victor

in a contest with a rival. Finally it was settled that the party should

meet there again in a week, as before mentioned, and that the young

man's gipsy name should be Andrew Caballero, for that was a surname not

unknown among the gipsies. Andrew (as we shall henceforth call him)

could not find courage to embrace Preciosa, but darting his very soul

into her with a glance, he went away without it, so to speak, and

returned to Madrid. The gipsies followed soon after; and Preciosa, who

already felt a certain interest in the handsome and amiable Andrew, was

anxious to learn if he was really what he said.

They had not gone far before they met the page of the verses and the

gold crown. "Welcome, Preciosa," he said, coming up to her. "Have you

read the lines I gave you the other day?"

"Before I answer you a word," said she, "you must, by all you love best,

tell me one thing truly."

"Upon that adjuration," he replied, "I could not refuse an answer to any

question, though it should cost me my head."

"Well, then, what I want to know is this: are you, perchance, a poet?"

"If I were one, it would certainly be perchance," said the page; "but

you must know, Preciosa, that the name of poet is one which very few

deserve. Thus I am not a poet, but only a lover of poetry; yet for my

own use I do not borrow of others. The verses I gave you were mine, as

are these also which I give you now; but I am not a poet for all

that--God forbid."

"Is it such a bad thing to be a poet?" Preciosa asked.

"It is not a bad thing," he answered; "but to be a poet and nothing else

I do not hold to be very good. We should use poetry like a rich jewel,

the owner of which does not wear it every day, or show it to all people,

but displays it only at suitable times. Poetry is a beautiful maiden,

chaste, honest, discreet, reserved, and never overstepping the limits of

perfect refinement. She is fond of solitude; she finds pleasure and

recreation among fountains, meadows, trees, and flowers; and she

delights and instructs all who are conversant with her."

"I have heard for all that," said Preciosa, "that she is exceedingly

poor; something of a beggar in short."

"It is rather the reverse," said the page, "for there is no poet who is

not rich, since they all live content with their condition; and that is

a piece of philosophy which few understand. But what has moved you,

Preciosa, to make this inquiry?"

"I was moved to it, because, as I believe all poets, or most of them, to

be poor, that crown which you gave me wrapped up with the verses caused

me some surprise; but now that I know that you are not a poet, but only

a lover of poetry, it may be that you are rich, though I doubt it, for

your propensity is likely to make you run through all you have got. It

is a well-known saying, that no poet can either keep or make a fortune."

"But the saying is not applicable to me," said the page. "I make verses,

and I am neither rich nor poor; and without feeling it or making a talk

about it, as the Genoese do of their invitations, I can afford to give a

crown, or even two, to whom I like. Take then, precious pearl, this

second paper, and this second crown enclosed in it, without troubling

yourself with the question whether I am a poet or not. I only beg you to

think and believe that he who gives you this would fain have the wealth

of Midas to bestow upon you."

Preciosa took the paper, and feeling a crown within it, she said, "This

paper bids fair to live long, for it has two souls within it, that of

the crown and that of the verses, which, of course, are full of souls

and hearts as usual. But please to understand, Señor Page, that I do not

want so many souls; and that unless you take back one of them, I will

not receive the other on any account. I like you as a poet and not as a

giver of gifts; and thus we may be the longer friends, for your stock of

crowns may run out sooner than your verses."

"Well," said the page, "since you will have it that I am poor, do not

reject the soul I present to you in this paper, and give me back the

crown, which, since it has been touched by your hand, shall remain with

me as a hallowed relic as long as I live."

Preciosa gave him the crown, and kept the paper, but would not read it

in the street. The page went away exulting in the belief that Preciosa's

heart was touched, since she had treated him with such affability.

It being now her object to find the house of Andrew's father, she went

straight to the street, which she well knew, without stopping anywhere

to dance. About half way down it, she saw the gilded iron balcony which

Andrew had mentioned to her, and in it a gentleman of about fifty years

of age, of noble presence, with a red cross on his breast. This

gentleman seeing the gitanilla, called out, "Come up here, niñas, and we

will give you something." These words brought three other gentlemen to

the balcony, among whom was the enamoured Andrew. The instant he cast

his eyes on Preciosa he changed colour, and well nigh swooned, such was

the effect her sudden appearance had upon him. The girls went up stairs,

whilst the old woman remained below to pump the servants with respect to

Andrew. As they entered the room, the elder gentleman was saying to the

others, "This is no doubt the handsome gitanilla who is so much talked

of in Madrid."

"It is," said Andrew; "and she is unquestionably the most beautiful

creature that ever was seen."

"So they say," said Preciosa, who had overheard these remarks as she

came in; "but indeed they must be half out in the reckoning. I believe I

am pretty well, but as handsome as they say--not a bit of it!"

"By the life of Don Juanico, my son," said the elder gentleman, "you are

far more so, fair gitana."

"And who is Don Juanico, your son?" said Preciosa.

"That gallant by your side," said the cavalier.

"Truly, I thought your worship had sworn by some bantling of two years

old," said Preciosa. "What a pretty little pet of a Don Juanico![72] Why

he is old enough to be married; and by certain lines on his forehead, I

foresee that married he will be before three years are out, and much to

his liking too, if in the meantime he be neither lost nor changed."

[72] Juanico, diminutive of Juan; Johnny.

"Ay, ay," said one of the company; "the gitanilla can tell the meaning

of a wrinkle."

During this time, the three gipsy girls, who accompanied Preciosa, had

got their heads together and were whispering each other. "Girls," said

Christina, "that is the gentleman that gave us the three pieces of eight

this morning."

"Sure enough," said they; "but don't let us say a word about it unless

he mentions it. How do we know but he may wish to keep it secret?"

Whilst the three were thus conferring together, Preciosa replied to the

last remark about wrinkles. "What I see with my eyes, I divine with my

fingers. Of the Señor Don Juanico, I know without lines that he is

somewhat amorous, impetuous, and hasty; and a great promiser of things

that seem impossible. God grant he be not a deceiver, which would be

worse than all. He is now about to make a long journey; but the bay

horse thinks one thing, and the man that saddles him thinks another

thing. Man proposes and God disposes. Perhaps he may think he is bound

for Oñez, and will find himself on the way to Gaviboa."

"In truth, gitana," said Don Juan, "you have guessed right respecting me

in several points. I certainly intend, with God's will, to set out for

Flanders in four or five days, though you forebode that I shall have to

turn out of my road; yet I hope no obstacle will occur to frustrate my

purpose."

"Say no more, señorito," the gipsy replied; "but commend yourself to

God, and all will be well. Be assured I know nothing at all of what I

have been saying. It is no wonder if I sometimes hit the mark, since I

talk so much and always at random. I wish I could speak to such good

purpose as to persuade you not to leave home, but remain quietly with

your parents to comfort their old age; for I am no friend to these

Flanders expeditions, especially for a youth of your tender years. Wait

till you are grown a little more and better able to bear the toils of

war; and the rather as you have war enough at home, considering all the

amorous conflicts that are raging in your bosom. Gently, gently with

you, madcap! Look what you are doing before you marry; and now give us a

little dole for God's sake and for the name you bear; for truly I

believe you are well born, and if along with this you are loyal and

true, then I will sing jubilee for having hit the mark in all I have

said to you."

"I told you before, niña," said Don Juan, otherwise Andrew Caballero,

"that you were right on every point except as to the fear you entertain

that I am not quite a man of my word. In that respect you are certainly

mistaken. The word that I pledge in the field I fulfil in the town, or

wherever I may be, without waiting to be asked; for no man can esteem

himself a gentleman, who yields in the least to the vice of falsehood.

My father will give you alms for God's sake and for mine; for in truth I

gave all I had this morning to some ladies, of whom I would not venture

to assert that they are as obliging as they are beautiful, one of them

especially."

Hearing this, Christina said to her companions, "May I be hanged, girls,

if he is not talking of the three pieces of eight he gave us this

morning."

"No, that can't be," one of them observed; "for he said they were

ladies, and we are none; and being so true-spoken as he says he is, he

would not lie in this matter."

"Oh, but," said Christina, "that is not a lie of any moment that is told

without injury to anybody, but for the advantage and credit of him who

tells it. Be that as it may, I see he neither gives us anything, nor

asks us to dance."

The old gipsy now came into the room and said, "Make haste,

granddaughter; for it is late, and there is much to be done, and more to

be said."

"What is it, grandmother?" said Preciosa, "A boy or a girl?"

"A boy, and a very fine one. Come along, Preciosa, and you shall hear

marvels."

"God grant the mother does not die of her after pains," said the

granddaughter.

"We will take all possible care of her. She has had a very good time,

and the child is a perfect beauty."

"Has any lady been confined?" said Andrew's father.

"Yes, señor," replied the old Gitana: "but it is such a secret, that no

one knows of it except Preciosa, myself, and one other person. So we

cannot mention the lady's name."

"Well, we don't want to know it," said one of the gentlemen present;

"but God help the lady who trusts her secret to your tongues, and her

honour to your aid."

"We are not all bad," replied Preciosa; "perhaps there may be one among

us who piques herself on being as trusty and as true as the noblest man

in this room. Let us begone, grandmother; for here we are held in little

esteem, though in truth we are neither thieves nor beggars."

"Do not be angry, Preciosa," said Andrew's father. "Of you at least I

imagine no one can presume anything ill, for your good looks are warrant

for your good conduct. Do me the favour to dance a little with your

companions. I have here a doubloon for you with two faces, and neither

of them as good as your own, though they are the faces of two kings."

The moment the old woman heard this she cried, "Come along, girls: tuck

up your skirts, and oblige these gentlemen." Preciosa took the

tambourine, and they all danced with so much grace and freedom, that the

eyes of all the spectators were riveted upon their steps, especially

those of Andrew, who gazed upon Preciosa as if his whole soul was

centred in her; but an untoward accident turned his delight into

anguish. In the exertion of the dance, Preciosa let fall the paper given

her by the page. It was immediately picked up by the gentleman who had

no good opinion of the gipsies. He opened it, and said, "What have we

here? A madrigal? Good! Break off the dance, and listen to it; for, as

far as I can judge from the beginning, it is really not bad." Preciosa

was annoyed at this, as she did not know the contents of the paper; and

she begged the gentleman not to read it, but give it back to her. All

her entreaties, however, only made Andrew more eager to hear the lines,

and his friend read them out as follows:--

Who hath Preciosa seen

Dancing like the Fairy Queen?

Ripplets on a sunlit river

Like her small feet glance and quiver.

When she strikes the timbrel featly,

When she warbles, oh how sweetly!

Pearls from her white hands she showers,

From her rosy lips drop flowers.

Not a ringlet of her hair

But doth thousand souls ensnare.

Not a glance of her bright eyes

But seems shot from Love's own skies.

He in obeisance to this sovereign maid,

His bow and quiver at her feet hath laid.

"Por dios!" exclaimed the reader, "he is a dainty poet who wrote this."

"He is not a poet, señor," said Preciosa, "but a page, and a very

gallant and worthy man."

"Mind what you say, Preciosa," returned the other; "for the praises you

bestow on the page are so many lance-thrusts through Andrew's heart.

Look at him as he sits aghast, thrown back on his chair, with a cold

perspiration breaking through all his pores. Do not imagine, maiden,

that he loves you so lightly but that the least slight from you

distracts him. Go to him, for God's sake, and whisper a few words in his

ear, that may go straight to his heart, and recall him to himself. Go on

receiving such madrigals as this every day, and just see what will come

of it."

It was just as he had said. Andrew had been racked by a thousand

jealousies on hearing the verses; and was so overcome that his father

observed it, and cried out, "What ails you, Don Juan? You are turned

quite pale, and look as if you were going to faint."

"Wait a moment," said Preciosa, "let me whisper certain words in his

ear, and you will see that he will not faint." Then bending over him she

said, almost without moving her lips, "A pretty sort of gitano you will

make! Why, Andrew, how will you be able to bear the torture with

gauze,[73] when you are overcome by a bit of paper?" Then making

half-a-dozen signs of the cross over his heart, she left him, after

which Andrew breathed a little, and told his friends that Preciosa's

words had done him good.

[73] One of the ways in which the torture was formerly administered in

Spain, was by making the patient swallow pieces of gauze in water.

Finally, the two-faced doubloon was given to Preciosa, who told her

companions that she would change it, and share the amount honourably

with them. Andrew's father intreated her to leave him in writing the

words she had spoken to his son, as he wished by all means to know them.

She said she would repeat them with great pleasure; and that though they

might appear to be mere child's play, they were of sovereign virtue to

preserve from the heartache and dizziness of the head. The words were

these:--

Silly pate, silly pate,

Why run on at this rate?

No tripping, or slipping, or sliding!

Have trusty assurance,

And patient endurance

And ever be frank and confiding.

To ugly suspicion

Refuse all admission,

Nor let it your better sense twist over.

All this if you do

You'll not rue,

For excellent things will ensue,

With the good help of God and St. Christopher.

"Only say these words," she continued, "over any person who has a

swimming in the head, making at the same time six signs of the cross

over his heart, and he will soon be as sound as an apple."

When the old woman heard the charm, she was amazed at the clever trick

played by her granddaughter; and Andrew was still more so when he found

that the whole was an invention of her quick wit. Preciosa left the

madrigal in the hands of the gentleman, not liking to ask for it, lest

she should again distress Andrew; for she knew, without any one teaching

her, what it was to make a lover feel the pangs of jealousy. Before she

took her leave, she said to Don Juan, "Every day of the week, señor, is

lucky for beginning a journey: not one of them is black. Hasten your

departure, therefore, as much as you can; for there lies before you a

free life of ample range and great enjoyment, if you choose to

accommodate yourself to it."

"It strikes me that a soldier's life is not so free as you say,"

replied Andrew, "but one of submission rather than liberty. However, I

will see what I can do."

"You will see more than you think for," said Preciosa; "and may God have

you in his keeping, and lead you to happiness, as your goodly presence

deserves."

These farewell words filled Andrew with delight; the gitanas went away

no less gratified, and shared the doubloon between them, the old woman

as usual taking a part and a half, both by reason of her seniority, as

because she was the compass by which they steered their course on the

wide sea of their dances, pleasantry, and tricks.

At last the appointed day of meeting came, and Andrew arrived in the

morning at the old trysting place, mounted on a hired mule, and without

any attendant. He found Preciosa and her grandmother waiting for him,

and was cordially welcomed by them. He begged they would take him at

once to the rancho,[74] before it was broad day, that he might not be

recognised should he be sought for. The two gitanas, who had taken the

precaution to come alone, immediately wheeled round, and soon arrived

with him at their huts. Andrew entered one of them, which was the

largest in the rancho, where he was forthwith assisted by ten or twelve

gitanos, all handsome strapping young fellows, whom the old woman had

previously informed respecting the new comrade who was about to join

them. She had not thought it necessary, to enjoin them to secrecy; for,

as we have already said, they habitually observed it with unexampled

sagacity and strictness. Their eyes were at once on the mule, and said

one of them, "We can sell this on Thursday in Toledo."

[74] Gipsy encampment.

"By no means," said Andrew; "for there is not a hired mule in Madrid, or

any other town, but is known to all the muleteers that tramp the roads

of Spain."

"Por dios, Señor Andrew," said one of the gang, "if there were more

signs and tokens upon the mule than are to precede the day of judgment,

we will transform it in such a manner that it could not be known by the

mother that bore it, or the master that owned it."

"That maybe," said Andrew; "but for this time you must do as I

recommend. This mule must be killed, and buried where its bones shall

never be seen."

"Put the innocent creature to death!" cried another gipsy. "What a sin!

Don't say the word, good Andrew; only do one thing. Examine the beast

well, till you have got all its marks well by heart; then let me take it

away, and if in two hours from this time you are able to know, it again,

let me be basted like a runaway negro."

"I must insist upon the mule's being put to death," said Andrew, "though

I were ever so sure of its transformation. I am in fear of being

discovered unless it is put under ground. If you object for sake of the

profit to be made by selling it, I am not come so destitute to this

fraternity but that I can pay my footing with more than the price of

four mules."

"Well, since the Señor Andrew Caballero will have it so," said the other

gitano, "let the sinless creature die, though God knows how much it goes

against me, both because of its youth, for it has not yet lost mark of

mouth, a rare thing among hired mules, and because it must be a good

goer, for it has neither scars on its flank nor marks of the spur."

The slaughter of the mule was postponed till night, and the rest of the

day was spent in the ceremonies of Andrew's initiation. They cleared out

one of the best huts in the encampment, dressed it with boughs and

rushes, and seating Andrew in it on the stump of a cork tree, they put a

hammer and tongs in his hands, and made him cut two capers to the sound

of two guitars. They then bared one of his arms, tied round it a new

silk ribbon through which they passed a short stick, and gave it two

turns gently, after the manner of the garotte with which criminals are

strangled. Preciosa was present at all this, as were many other gitanas,

old and young, some of whom gazed at Andrew with admiration, others with

love, and such was his good humour, that even the gitanos took most

kindly to him.

These ceremonies being ended, an old gipsy took Preciosa by the hand,

and setting her opposite Andrew, spoke thus: "This girl, who is the

flower and cream of all beauty among the gitanas of Spain, we give to

you either for your wife or your mistress, for in that respect you may

do whatever shall be most to your liking, since our free and easy life

is not subject to squeamish scruples or to much ceremony. Look at her

well, and see if she suits you, or if there is anything in her you

dislike; if there is, choose from among the maidens here present the one

you like best, and we will give her to you. But bear in mind that once

your choice is made, you must not quit it for another, nor make or

meddle either with the married women or the maids. We are strict

observers of the law of good fellowship; none among us covets the good

that belongs to another. We live free and secure from the bitter plague

of jealousy; and though incest is frequent amongst us there is no

adultery. If a wife or a mistress is unfaithful, we do not go ask the

courts of justice to punish; but we ourselves are the judges and

executioners of our wives and mistresses, and make no more ado about

killing and burying them in the mountains and desert places than if they

were vermin. There are no relations to avenge them, no parents to call

us to account for their deaths. By reason of this fear and dread, our

women learn to live chaste; and we, as I have said, feel no uneasiness

about their virtue.

"We have few things which are not common to us all, except wives and

mistresses, each of whom we require to be his alone to whom fortune has

allotted her. Among us divorce takes place, because of old age as well

as by death. Any man may if he likes leave a woman who is too old for

him, and choose one more suitable to his years. By means of these and

other laws and statutes we contrive to lead a merry life. We are lords

of the plains, the corn fields, the woods, mountains, springs, and

rivers. The mountains yield us wood for nothing, the orchards fruit, the

vineyards grapes, the gardens vegetables, the fountains water, the

rivers fish, the parks feathered game; the rocks yield us shade, the

glades and valleys fresh air, and the caves shelter. For us the

inclemencies of the weather are zephyrs, the snow refreshment, the rain

baths, the thunder music, and the lightning torches. For us the hard

ground is a bed of down; the tanned skin of our bodies is an

impenetrable harness to defend us; our nimble limbs submit to no

obstacle from iron bars, or trenches, or walls; our courage is not to be

twisted out of us by cords, or choked by gauze,[75] or quelled by the

rack.

[75] See note [73], p. 200.

"Between yes and no we make no difference when it suits our convenience

to confound them; we always pride ourselves more on being martyrs than

confessors. For us the beasts of burden are reared in the fields, and

pockets are filled in the cities. No eagle or other bird of prey pounces

more swiftly on its quarry than we upon opportunities that offer us

booty. And finally, we possess many qualities which promise us a happy

end; for we sing in prison, are silent on the rack, work by day, and by

night we thieve, or rather we take means to teach all men that they

should exempt themselves from the trouble of seeing where they put their

property. We are not distressed by the fear of losing our honour, or

kept awake by ambition to increase it. We attach ourselves to no

parties; we do not rise by day-light to attend levees and present

memorials, or to swell the trains of magnates, or to solicit favours.

Our gilded roofs and sumptuous palaces are these portable huts; our

Flemish pictures and landscapes are those which nature presents to our

eyes at every step in the rugged cliffs and snowy peaks, the spreading

meads and leafy groves. We are rustic astronomers, for as we sleep

almost always under the open sky, we can tell every hour by day or

night. We see how Aurora extinguishes and sweeps away the stars from

heaven, and how she comes forth with her companion the dawn, enlivening

the air, refreshing the water, and moistening the earth; and after her

appears the sun gilding the heights, as the poet sings, and making the

mountains smile. We are not afraid of being left chilly by his absence,

when his rays fall aslant upon us, or of being roasted when they blaze

down upon us perpendicularly. We turn the same countenance to sun and

frost, to dearth and plenty. In conclusion, we are people who live by

our industry and our wits, without troubling ourselves with the old

adage, 'The church, the sea, or the king's household.' We have all we

want, for we are content with what we have.

"All these things have I told you, generous youth, that you may not be

ignorant of the life to which you are come, and the manners and customs

you will have to profess, which I have here sketched for you in the

rough. Many other particulars, no less worthy of consideration, you will

discover for yourself in process of time."

Here the eloquent old gitano closed his discourse, and the novice

replied, that he congratulated himself much on having been made

acquainted with such laudable statutes; that he desired to make

profession of an order so based on reason and politic principles; that

his only regret was that he had not sooner come to the knowledge of so

pleasant a life; and that from that moment he renounced his knighthood,

and the vain glory of his illustrious lineage, and placed them beneath

the yoke, or beneath the laws under which they lived, forasmuch as they

so magnificently recompensed the desire he had to serve them, in

bestowing upon him the divine Preciosa, for whom he would surrender many

crowns and wide empires, or desire them only for her sake.

Preciosa spoke next: "Whereas these señores, our lawgivers," she said,

"have determined, according to their laws that I should be yours, and as

such have given me up to you, I have decreed, in accordance with the law

of my own will, which is the strongest of all, that I will not be so

except upon the conditions heretofore concerted between us two. You must

live two years in our company before you enjoy mine, so that you may

neither repent through fickleness, nor I be deceived through

precipitation. Conditions supersede laws; those which I have prescribed

you know; if you choose to keep them, I may be yours, and you mine; if

not, the mule is not dead, your clothes are whole, and not a doit of

your money is spent. Your absence from home has not yet extended to the

length of a day; what remains you may employ in considering what best

suits you. These señores may give up my body to you, but not my soul,

which is free, was born free, and shall remain free. If you remain, I

shall esteem you much; if you depart, I shall do so no less; for I hold

that amorous impulses run with a loose rein, until they are brought to a

halt by reason or disenchantment. I would not have you be towards me

like the sportsman, who when he has bagged a hare thinks no more of it,

but runs after another. The eyes are sometimes deceived; at first sight

tinsel looks like gold; but they soon recognise the difference between

the genuine and the false metal. This beauty of mine, which you say I

possess, and which you exalt above the sun, and declare more precious

than gold, how do I know but that at a nearer view it will appear to you

a shadow, and when tested will seem but base metal? I give you two years

to weigh and ponder well what will be right to choose or reject. Before

you buy a jewel, which you can only get rid of by death, you ought to

take much time to examine it, and ascertain its faults or its merits. I

do not assent to the barbarous licence which these kinsmen of mine have

assumed, to forsake their wives or chastise them when the humour takes

them; and as I do not intend to do anything which calls for punishment,

I will not take for my mate one who will abandon me at his own caprice."

"You are right, Preciosa," said Andrew; "and so if you would have me

quiet your fears and abate your doubts, by swearing not to depart a jot

from the conditions you prescribe, choose what form of oath I shall

take, or what other assurance I shall give you, and I will do exactly as

you desire."

"The oaths and promises which the captive makes to obtain his liberty

are seldom fulfilled when he is free," returned Preciosa; "and it is

just the same, I fancy, with the lover, who to obtain his desire will

promise the wings of Mercury, and the thunderbolts of Jove; and indeed a

certain poet promised myself no less, and swore it by the Stygian lake.

I want no oaths or promises, Señor Andrew, but to leave everything to

the result of this novitiate. It will be my business to take care of

myself, if at any time you should think of offending me."

"Be it so," said Andrew. "One request I have to make of these señores

and comrades mine, and that is that they will not force me to steal

anything for a month or so; for it strikes me that it will take a great

many lessons to make me a thief."

"Never fear, my son," said the old gipsy; "for we will instruct you in

such a manner that you will turn out an eagle in our craft; and when you

have learned it, you will like it so much, that you will be ready to eat

your hand, it will so itch after it. Yes, it is fine fun to go out

empty-handed in the morning, and to return loaded at night to the

rancho."

"I have seen some return with a whipping," said Andrew.

"One cannot catch trouts dry shod," the old man replied: "all things in

this life have their perils: the acts of the thief are liable to the

galleys, whipping, and the scragging-post; but it is not because one

ship encounters a storm, or springs a leak, that others should cease to

sail the seas. It would be a fine thing if there were to be no soldiers,

because war consumes men and horses. Besides, a whipping by the hand of

justice is for us a badge of honour, which becomes us better worn on the

shoulders than on the breast. The main point is to avoid having to dance

upon nothing in our young days and for our first offences; but as for

having our shoulders dusted, or thrashing the water in a galley, we

don't mind that a nutshell. For the present, Andrew, my son, keep snug

in the nest under the shelter of our wings; in due time, we will take

you out to fly, and that where you will not return without a prey; and

the short and the long of it is, that by and by you will lick your

fingers after every theft."

"Meanwhile," said Andrew, "as a compensation for what I might bring in

by thieving during the vacation allowed me, I will divide two hundred

gold crowns among all the members of the rancho."

The words were no sooner out of his mouth, than several gitanos caught

him up in their arms, hoisted him upon their shoulders, and bore him

along, shouting, "Long life to the great Andrew, and long life to

Preciosa his beloved!" The gitanas did the same with Preciosa, not

without exciting the envy of Christina, and the other gitanillas

present; for envy dwells alike in the tents of barbarians, the huts of

shepherds, and the palaces of princes; and to see another thrive who

seems no better than oneself is a great weariness to the spirit.

This done, they ate a hearty dinner, made an equitable division of the

gift money, repeated their praises of Andrew, and exalted Preciosa's

beauty to the skies. When night fell, they broke the mule's neck, and

buried it, so as to relieve Andrew of all fear of its leading to his

discovery; they likewise buried with it the trappings, saddle, bridle,

girths and all, after the manner of the Indians, whose chief ornaments

are laid in the grave with them.

Andrew was in no small astonishment at all he had seen and heard, and

resolved to pursue his enterprise without meddling at all with the

customs of his new companions, so far as that might be possible.

Especially he hoped to exempt himself, at the cost of his purse, from

participating with them in any acts of injustice. On the following day,

Andrew requested the gipsies to break up the camp, and remove to a

distance from Madrid; for he feared that he should be recognised if he

remained there. They told him they had already made up their minds to go

to the mountains of Toledo, and thence to scour all the surrounding

country, and lay it under contribution. Accordingly they struck their

tents, and departed, offering Andrew an ass to ride; but he chose rather

to travel on foot, and serve as attendant to Preciosa, who rode

triumphantly another ass, rejoicing in her gallant esquire; whilst he

was equally delighted at finding himself close to her whom he had made

the mistress of his freedom.

O potent force of him who is called the sweet god of bitterness--a title

given him by our idleness and weakness--how effectually dost thou

enslave us! Here was Andrew, a knight, a youth of excellent parts,

brought up at court, and maintained in affluence by his noble parents;

and yet since yesterday such a change has been wrought in him that he

has deceived his servants and friends; disappointed the hopes of his

parents; abandoned the road to Flanders, where he was to have exercised

his valour and increased the honours of his line; and he has prostrated

himself at the feet of a girl, made himself the lackey of one who,

though exquisitely beautiful, is after all a gitana! Wondrous

prerogative of beauty, which brings down the strongest will to its feet,

in spite of all its resistance!

In four days' march, the gipsies arrived at a pleasant village, within

two leagues of the great Toledo, where they pitched their camp, having

first given some articles of silver to the alcalde of the district, as a

pledge that they would steal nothing within all his bounds, nor do any

other damage that might give cause of complaint against them. This done,

all the old gitanas, some young ones, and the men, spread themselves all

over the country, to the distance of four or five leagues from the

encampment. Andrew went with them to take his first lesson in thievery;

but though they gave him many in that expedition, he did not profit by

any of them. On the contrary, as was natural in a man of gentle blood,

every theft committed by his masters wrung his very soul, and sometimes

he paid for them out of his own pocket, being moved by the tears of the

poor people who had been despoiled. The gipsies were in despair at this

behavior: it was in contravention, they said, of their statutes and

ordinances, which prohibited the admission of compassion into their

hearts; because if they had any they must cease to be thieves,--a thing

which was not to be thought of on any account. Seeing this, Andrew said

he would go thieving by himself; for he was nimble enough to run from

danger, and did not lack courage to encounter it; so that the prize or

the penalty of his thieving would be exclusively his own.

The gipsies tried to dissuade him from this good purpose, telling him

that occasions might occur in which he would have need of companions, as

well to attack as to defend; and that one person alone could not make

any great booty. But in spite of all they could say, Andrew was

determined to be a solitary robber; intending to separate from the gang,

and purchase for money something which he might say he had stolen, and

thus burden his conscience as little as possible. Proceeding in this

way, in less than a month, he brought more gain to the gang than four of

the most accomplished thieves in it. Preciosa rejoiced not a little to

see her tender lover become such a smart and handy thief; but for all

that she was sorely afraid of some mischance, and would not have seen

him in the hands of justice for all the treasures of Venice; such was

the good feeling towards him which she could not help entertaining, in

return for his many good offices and presents. After remaining about a

month in the Toledan district, where they reaped a good harvest, the

gipsies entered the wealthy region of Estramadura.

Meanwhile Andrew frequently held honourable and loving converse with

Preciosa, who was gradually becoming enamoured of his good qualities;

while, in like manner, his love for her went on increasing, if that were

possible: such were the virtues, the good sense and beauty of his

Preciosa. Whenever the gipsies engaged in athletic games, he carried off

the prize for running and leaping: he played admirably at skittles and

at ball, and pitched the bar with singular strength and dexterity. In a

short while, his fame spread through all Estramadura, and there was no

part of it where they did not speak of the smart young gitano Andrew,

and his graces and accomplishments. As his fame extended, so did that of

Preciosa's beauty; and there was no town, village, or hamlet, to which

they were not invited, to enliven their patron saints' days, or other

festivities. The tribe consequently became rich, prosperous, and

contented, and the lovers were happy in the mere sight of each other.

It happened one night, when the camp was pitched among some evergreen

oaks, a little off the highway, they heard their dogs barking about the

middle watch, with unusual vehemence. Andrew and some others got up to

see what was the matter, and found a man dressed in white battling with

them, whilst one of them held him by the leg. "What the devil brought

you here, man," said one of the gipsies, after they had released him,

"at such an hour, away from the high road? Did you come to thieve? If

so, you have come to the right door?"

"I do not come to thieve; and I don't know whether or not I am off the

road, though I see well enough that I am gone astray," said the wounded

man. "But tell me, señores, is there any venta or place of entertainment

where I can get a night's lodging, and dress the wounds which these dogs

have given me?"

"There is no venta or public place to which we can take you," replied

Andrew; "but as for a night's lodging, and dressing your wounds, that

you can have at our ranchos. Come along with us; for though we are

gipsies, we are not devoid of humanity."

"God reward you!" said the man: "take me whither you please, for my leg

pains me greatly." Andrew lifted him up, and carried him along with the

help of some of the other compassionate gipsies; for even among the

fiends there are some worse than others, and among many bad men you may

find one good.

It was a clear moonlight night, so that they could see that the person

they carried was a youth of handsome face and figure. He was dressed all

in white linen, with a sort of frock of the same material belted round

his waist. They arrived at Andrew's hut or shed, quickly kindled a fire,

and fetched Preciosa's grandmother to attend to the young man's hurts.

She took some of the dogs' hairs, fried them in oil, and after washing

with wine the two bites she found on the patient's left leg, she put the

hairs and the oil upon them, and over this dressing a little chewed

green rosemary. She then bound the leg up carefully with clean bandages,

made the sign of the cross over it, and said, "Now go to sleep, friend

and with the help of God your hurts will not signify."

Whilst they were attending to the wounded man, Preciosa stood by, eyeing

him with great curiosity, whilst he did the same by her, insomuch that

Andrew took notice of the eagerness with which he gazed; but he

attributed this to the extraordinary beauty of Preciosa, which naturally

attracted all eyes. Finally, having done all that was needful for the

youth, they left him alone on a bed of dry hay, not caring to question

him then as to his road, or any other matter.

As soon as all the others were gone, Preciosa called Andrew aside, and

said to him, "Do you remember, Andrew, a paper I let fall in your house,

when I was dancing with my companions, and which caused you, I think,

some uneasiness?"

"I remember it well," said Andrew; "it was a madrigal in your praise,

and no bad one either."

"Well, you must know, Andrew, that the person who wrote those verses is

no other than the wounded youth we have left in the hut. I cannot be

mistaken, for he spoke to me two or three times in Madrid, and gave me

too a very good romance. He was then dressed, I think, as a page,--not

an ordinary one, but like a favourite of some prince. I assure you,

Andrew, he is a youth of excellent understanding, and remarkably well

behaved; and I cannot imagine what can have brought him hither, and in

such a garb."

"What should you imagine, Preciosa, but that the same power which has

made me a gitano, has made him put on the dress of a miller, and come in

search of you? Ah, Preciosa! Preciosa! how plain it begins to be that

you pride yourself on having more than one adorer. If this be so, finish

me first, and then kill off this other, but do not sacrifice both at the

same time to your perfidy."

"God's mercy, Andrew, how thin-skinned you are! On how fine a thread you

make your hopes and my reputation hang, since you let the cruel sword of

jealousy so easily pierce your soul. Tell me, Andrew, if there were any

artifice or deceit in this case, could I not have held my tongue about

this youth, and concealed all knowledge of him? Am I such a fool that I

cannot help telling you what should make you doubt my integrity and good

behaviour? Hold your tongue, Andrew, in God's name, and try to-morrow to

extract from this cause of your alarm whither he is bound, and why he

is come hither. It may be that you are mistaken in your suspicion,

though I am not mistaken in what I told you of the stranger. And now for

your greater satisfaction--since it is come to that pass with me that I

seek to satisfy you--whatever be the reason of this youth's coming, send

him away at once. All our people obey you, and none of them will care to

receive him into their huts against your wish. But if this fails, I give

you my word not to quit mine, or let myself be seen by him, or by

anybody else from whom you would have me concealed. Look you, Andrew, I

am not vexed at seeing you jealous, but it would vex me much to see you

indiscreet."

"Unless you see me mad, Preciosa," said Andrew, "any other demonstration

would be far short of showing you what desperate havoc jealousy can make

of a man's feelings. However, I will do as you bid me, and find out what

this señor page-poet wants, whither he is going, and whom he is in

search of. It may be, that unawares he may let me get hold of some end

of thread which shall lead to the discovery of the whole snare which I

fear he is come to set for me."

"Jealousy, I imagine," said Preciosa, "never leaves the understanding

clear to apprehend things as they really are. Jealousy always looks

through magnifying glasses, which make mountains of molehills, and

realities of mere suspicions. On your life, Andrew, and on mine, I

charge you to proceed in this matter, and all that touches our concerns,

with prudence and discretion; and if you do, I know that you will have

to concede the palm to me, as honest, upright, and true to the very

utmost."

With these words she quitted Andrew, leaving him impatient for daylight,

that he might receive the confession of the wounded man, and distracted

in mind by a thousand various surmises. He could not believe but that

this page had come thither attracted by Preciosa's beauty; for the thief

believes that all men are such as himself. On the other hand, the pledge

voluntarily made to him by Preciosa appeared so highly satisfactory,

that he ought to set his mind quite at ease, and commit all his

happiness implicitly to the keeping of her good faith. At last day

appeared: he visited the wounded man; and after inquiring how he was,

and did his bites pain him, he asked what was his name, whither he was

going, and how it was he travelled so late and so far off the road. The

youth replied that he was better, and felt no pain so that he was able

to resume his journey. His name was Alonzo Hurtado; he was going to our

Lady of the Peña de Francia, on a certain business; he travelled by

night for the greater speed; and having missed his way, he had come upon

the encampment, and been worried by the dogs that guarded it. Andrew did

not by any means consider this a straightforward statement: his

suspicions returned to plague him; and, said he, "Brother, if I were a

judge, and you had been brought before me upon any charge which would

render necessary such questions as those I have put to you, the reply

you have given would oblige me to apply the thumb-screw. It is nothing

to me who you are, what is your name, or whither you are going: I only

warn you, that if it suits your convenience to lie on this journey, you

should lie with more appearance of truth. You say you are going to La

Peña de Francia, and you leave it on the right hand more than thirty

leagues behind this place. You travel by night for sake of speed, and

you quit the high road, and strike into thickets and woods where there

is scarcely a footpath. Get up, friend, learn to lie better, and go your

ways, in God's name. But in return for this good advice I give you, will

you not tell me one truth? I know you will, you are such a bad hand at

lying. Tell me, are you not one I have often seen in the capital,

something between a page and a gentleman? One who has the reputation of

being a great poet, and who wrote a romance and a sonnet upon a

gitanilla who some time ago went about Madrid, and was celebrated for

her surpassing beauty? Tell me, and I promise you, on the honour of a

gentleman gipsy, to keep secret whatever you may wish to be so kept.

Mind you, no denial that you are the person I say will go down with me;

for the face I see before me is unquestionably the same I saw in Madrid.

The fame of your talents made me often stop to gaze at you as a

distinguished man, and therefore your features are so strongly impressed

on my memory, though your dress is very different from that in which I

formerly saw you. Don't be alarmed, cheer up, and don't suppose you have

fallen in with a tribe of robbers, but with an asylum, where you may be

guarded and defended from all the world. A thought strikes me; and if

it be as I conjecture, you have been lucky in meeting me above all men.

What I conjecture is, that being in love with Preciosa--that beautiful

young gipsy, to whom you addressed the verses--you have come in search

of her; for which I don't think a bit the worse of you, but quite the

reverse: for gipsy though I am, experience has shown me how far the

potent force of love reaches, and the transformations it makes those

undergo whom it brings beneath its sway and jurisdiction. If this be so,

as I verily believe it is, the fair gitanilla is here."

"Yes, she is here; I saw her last night," said the stranger. This was

like a death-blow to Andrew; for it seemed at once to confirm all his

suspicions.

"I saw her last night," the young man repeated; "but I did not venture

to tell her who I was, for it did not suit my purpose."

"So, then," said Andrew, "you are indeed the poet of whom I spoke."

"I am: I neither can nor will deny it. Possibly it may be that where I

thought myself lost I have come right to port, if, as you say, there is

fidelity in the forests, and hospitality in the mountains."

"That there is, beyond doubt," said Andrew; "and among us gipsies the

strictest secrecy in the world. On that assurance, señor, you may

unburden your breast to me: you will find in mine no duplicity whatever.

The gitanilla is my relation, and entirely under my control. If you

desire her for a wife, myself and all other relations will be quite

willing; and if for a mistress, we will not make any squeamish

objections, provided you have money, for covetousness never departs from

our ranchos."

"I have money," the youth replied; "in the bands of this frock, which I

wear girt round my body, there are four hundred gold crowns."

This was another mortal blow for Andrew, who assumed that the stranger

could carry so large a sum about him for no other purpose than to

purchase possession of the beloved object. With a faltering tongue he

replied, "That is a good lump of money; you have only to discover