Бесплатный фрагмент - The Devil upon Two Stics

CHAPTER I

WHAT SORT OF A DEVIL HE OF THE TWO STICKS WAS — WHEN AND BY WHAT ACCIDENT DON CLEOPHAS LEANDRO PEREZ ZAMBULLO FIRST GAINED THE HONOUR OF HIS ACQUAINTANCE.

Besides these there were gamesters, marvellously well portrayed; some, elated with joy, filling their hats with pieces of gold and silver; and others, who had lost all but their honour, and willing to stake on that, now turning their sacrilegious eyes to heaven, and now gnawing the very cards in despair. In short, there were as many curious things to be seen on this cloak as on the admirable shield which Vulcan forged for Achilles, at the prayer of his mother Thetis; with this difference however, — the subjects on the buckler of the Grecian hero had no relation to his own exploits, while those on the mantle of Asmodeus were lively images of all that is done in this world at his suggestion.

A night in the month of October covered with its thick darkness the famous city of Madrid. Already the inhabitants, retired to their homes, had left the streets free for lovers who desired to sing their woes or their delights beneath the balconies of their mistresses; already had the tinkling of guitars aroused the care of fathers, or alarmed the jealousy of husbands; in short, it was near midnight, when Don Cleophas Leandro Perez Zambullo, a student of Alcala, suddenly emerged, by the skylight, from a house into which the incautious son of the Cytherean goddess had induced him to enter. He sought to preserve his life and his honour, by endeavouring to escape from three or four hired assassins, who followed him closely, for the purpose of either killing him or compelling him to wed a lady with whom they had just surprised him.

Against such fearful odds he had for some time valiantly defended himself; and had only flown, at last, on losing his sword in the combat. The bravos followed him for some time over the roofs of the neighbouring houses; but, favoured by the darkness, he evaded their pursuit; and perceiving at some distance a light, which Love or Fortune had placed there to guide him through this perilous adventure, he hastened towards it with all his remaining strength. After having more than once endangered his neck, he at length reached a garret, whence the welcome rays proceeded, and without ceremony entered by the window; as much transported with joy as the pilot who safely steers his vessel into port when menaced with the horrors of shipwreck.

He looked cautiously around him; and, somewhat surprised to find nobody in the apartment, which was rather a singular domicile, he began to scrutinize it with much attention. A brass lamp was hanging from the ceiling; books and papers were heaped in confusion on the table; a globe and mariner’s compass occupied one side of the room, and on the other were ranged phials and quadrants; all which made him conclude that he had found his way into the haunt of some astrologer, who, if he did not live there, was in the habit of resorting to this hole to make his observations.

He was reflecting on the dangers he had by good fortune escaped, and was considering whether he should remain where he was until the morning, or what other course he should pursue, when he heard a deep sigh very near him. He at first imagined it was a mere phantasy of his agitated mind, an illusion of the night; so, without troubling himself about the matter, he was in a moment again busied with his reflections.

But having distinctly heard a second sigh, he no longer doubted its reality; and, although he saw no one in the room, he nevertheless called out, — “Who the devil is sighing here?” “It is I, Signor Student,” immediately answered a voice, in which there was something rather extraordinary; “I have been for the last six months enclosed in one of these phials. In this house lodges a learned astrologer, who is also a magician: he it is who, by the power of his art, keeps me confined in this narrow prison.” “You are then a spirit?” said Don Cleophas, somewhat perplexed by this new adventure. “I am a demon,” replied the voice; “and you have come in the very nick of time to free me from slavery. I languish in idleness; for of all the devils in hell, I am the most active and indefatigable.”

These words somewhat alarmed Signor Zambullo; but, as he was naturally brave, he quickly recovered himself, and said in a resolute tone: “Signor Diabolus, tell me, I pray you may hold among your brethren. Are you an aristocrat, or a burgess?” “I am,” replied the voice, “a devil of importance, nay, the one of highest repute in this, as in the other world.” “Perchance,” said Don Cleophas, “you are the renowned Lucifer?” “Bah,” replied the spirit; “why, he is the mountebank’s devil.” “Are you Uriel then?” asked the Student. “For shame!” hastily interrupted the voice; “no, he is the patron of tradesmen; of tailors, butchers, bakers, and other cheats of the middle classes.” “Well, perhaps you are Beelzebub?” said Leandro. “Are you joking?” replied the spirit; “he is the demon of duennas and footmen.” “That astonishes me,” said Zambullo; “I thought Beelzebub one of the greatest persons at your court.” “He is one of the meanest of its subjects,” answered the Demon; “I see you have no very clear notions of our hell.”

“There is no doubt then,” said Don Cleophas, “that you are either Leviathan, Belphegor, or Ashtaroth.” “Ah! those three now,” replied the voice, “are devils of the first order, veritable spirits of diplomacy. They animate the councils of princes, create factions, excite insurrections, and light the [Pg 7] torches of war. They are not such peddling devils as the others you have named.” “By the bye! tell me,” interrupted the Scholar, “what post is assigned to Flagel?” “He is the soul of special pleading, and the spirit of the bar. He composes the rules of court, invented the law of libel, and that for the imprisonment of insolvent debtors; in short, he inspires pleaders, possesses barristers, and besets even the judges.

“For myself, I have other occupations: I make absurd matches; I marry greybeards with minors, masters with servants, girls with small fortunes with tender lovers who have none. It is I who introduced into this world luxury, debauchery, games of chance, and chemistry. I am the author of the first cookery book, the inventor of festivals, of dancing, music, plays, and of the newest fashions; in a word, I am Asmodeus, surnamed The Devil on Two Sticks.”

“What do I hear,” cried Don Cleophas; “are you the famed Asmodeus, of whom such honourable mention is made by Agrippa and in the Clavicula Salamonis? Verily, you have not told me all your amusements; you have forgotten the best of all. I am well aware that you sometimes divert yourself by assisting unhappy lovers: by this token, last year only, a young friend of mine obtained, by your favour, the good graces of the wife of a Doctor in our university, at Alcala.” “That is true,” said the spirit: “I reserved that for my last good quality. I am the Demon of voluptuousness, or, to express it more delicately, Cupid, the god of love; that being the name for which I am indebted to the poets, who, I must confess, have painted me in very flattering colours. They say I have golden wings, a fillet bound over my eyes; that I carry a bow in my hand, a quiver full of arrows on my shoulders, and have withal inexpressible beauty. Of this, however, you may soon judge for yourself, if you will but restore me to liberty.”

“Signor Asmodeus,” replied Leandro Perez, “it is, as you know, long since I have been devoted to you: the perils I have just escaped will prove to you how entirely. I am rejoiced to have an opportunity of serving you; but the vessel in which you are confined is undoubtedly enchanted, and I should vainly strive to open, or to break it: so I do not see clearly in what manner I can deliver you from your bondage. I am not much used to these sorts of disenchantments; and, between ourselves, if, cunning devil as you are, you know not how to gain your freedom, what probability is there that a poor mortal like myself can effect it?” “Mankind has this power,” answered the Demon. “The phial which encloses me is but a mere glass bottle, easy to break. You have only to throw it on the ground, and I shall appear before you in human form.” “In that case,” said the Student, “the matter is easier of accomplishment than I imagined. But tell me in which of the phials you are; I see a great number of them, and all so like one another, that there may be a devil in each, for aught I know.” “It is the fourth from the window,” replied the spirit. “There is the impress of a magical seal on its mouth; but the bottle will break, nevertheless.” “Enough,” said Don Cleophas; “I am ready to do your bidding. There is, however, one little difficulty which deters me: when I shall have rendered you the service you require, how know I that I shall not have to pay the magician, in my precious person, for the mischief I have done?” “No harm shall befall you,” replied the Demon: “on the contrary, I promise to content you with the fruits of my gratitude. I will teach you all you can desire to know; I will discover to you the shifting scenes of this world’s great stage; I will exhibit to you the follies and the vices of mankind; in short, I will be your tutelary demon: and, more wise than the Genius of Socrates, I undertake to render you a greater sage than that unfortunate philosopher. In a word, I am yours, with all my good and bad qualities; and they shall be to you equally useful.”

“Fine promises, doubtless,” replied the Student; “but if report speak truly, you devils are accused of not being religiously scrupulous in the performance of your undertakings.” “Report is not always a liar,” said Asmodeus, “and this is an instance to the contrary. The greater part of my brethren think no more of breaking their word than a minister of state; but for myself, not to mention the service you are about to render me, and which I can never sufficiently repay, I am a slave to my engagements; and I swear by all a devil holds sacred, that I will not deceive you. Rely on my word, and the assurances I offer: and what must be peculiarly pleasing to you, I engage, this night, to avenge your wrongs on Donna Thomasa, the perfidious woman who had concealed within her house the four scoundrels who surprised you, that she might compel you to espouse her, and patch up her damaged reputation.”

The young Zambullo was especially delighted with this last promise. To hasten its accomplishment, he seized the phial; and, without further thought on the event, he dashed it on the floor. It broke into a thousand pieces, inundating the apartment with a blackish liquor: this, evaporating by degrees, was converted into a thick vapour, which, suddenly dissipating, revealed to the astonished sight of the Student the figure of a man in a cloak, about two feet six inches high, and supported by two crutches. This little monster had the legs of a goat, a long visage, pointed chin, a dark sallow complexion, and a very flat nose; his eyes, to all appearance very small, resembled two burning coals; his enormous mouth was surmounted by a pair of red mustachios, and ornamented with two lips of unequalled ugliness.

The head of this graceful Cupid was enveloped in a sort of turban of red crape, relieved by a plume of cock’s and peacock’s feathers. Round his neck was a collar of yellow cloth, upon which were embroidered divers patterns of necklaces and earrings. He wore a short white satin gown, or tunic, encircled about the middle by a large band of parchment of the same colour, covered with talismanic characters. On the gown, also, were painted various bodices, beautifully adapted for the display of the fair wearers’ necks; scarfs of different patterns, worked or coloured aprons, and head-dresses of the newest fashion; — all so extravagant, that it was impossible to admire one more than another.

But all this was nothing as compared with his cloak, the foundation of which was also white satin. Its exterior presented an infinity of figures delicately tinted in Indian ink, and yet with so much freedom and expression that you would have wondered who the devil could have painted it. On one side appeared a Spanish lady covered with her mantilla, and leering at a stranger on the promenade; and on the other a Parisian grisette, who before her mirror was studying new airs to victimize a young abbé, at that moment opening the door. Here, the gay Italian was singing to the guitar beneath the balcony of his mistress; and there, the sottish German, with vest unbuttoned, stupefied with wine, and more begrimed with snuff than a French petit-maître, was sitting, surrounded by his companions, at a table covered with the filthy remnants of their debauch. In one place could be perceived a Turkish bashaw coming from the bath, attended by all the houris of his seraglio, each watchful for the handkerchief; and in another an English gentleman, who was gallantly presenting to his lady-love a pipe and a glass of porter.

CHAPTER II

WHAT FOLLOWED THE DELIVERANCE OF ASMODEUS.

Upon perceiving that his appearance had not prepossessed the student very greatly in his favour, the Demon said to him, smiling: “Well, Signor Don Cleophas Leandro Perez Zambullo, you behold the charming god of love, that sovereign master of the human heart. What think you of my air and beauty? Confess that the poets are excellent painters.” “Frankly!” replied Don Cleophas, “I must say they have a little flattered you. I fancy, it was not in this form that you won the love of Psyche.” “Certainly not,” replied the Devil: “I borrowed the graces of a little French marquis, to make her dote upon me. Vice must be hidden under a pleasing veil, or it wins not even woman. I take what shape best pleases me; and I could have discovered myself to you under the form of the Apollo Belvi, but that as I have nothing to disguise from you, I preferred you should see me under a figure more agreeable to the opinion which the world generally entertains of me and my performances.” “I am not surprised,” said Leandro, “to find you rather ugly — excuse the phrase, I pray you; the transactions we are about to have with each other demand a little frankness: your features indeed almost exactly realise the idea I had formed of you. But tell me, how happens it that you are on crutches?”

“Why,” replied the Demon, “many years ago, I had an unfortunate difference with Pillardoc, the spirit of gain, and the patron of pawnbrokers. The subject of our dispute was a stripling who came to Paris to seek his fortune. As he was capital game, a youth of promising talents, we contested the prize with a noble ardour. We fought in the regions of mid-air; and Pillardoc, who excelled me in strength, cast me on the earth after the mode in which Jupiter is related by the poets to have tumbled Vulcan. The striking resemblance of our mishaps gained me, from my witty comrades, the sobriquet of the Limping Devil, or the Devil on Two Sticks, which has stuck to me from that time to this. Nevertheless, limping as I am, I am tolerably quick in my movements; and you shall witness for my agility.

“But,” added he, “a truce to idle talk; let us get out of this confounded garret. My friend the magician will be here shortly; as he is hard at work on rendering a handsome damsel, who visits him nightly, immortal. If he should surprise us, I shall be snug in a bottle in no time; and it may go hard but he finds one to fit you also. So let us away! But first to throw the pieces, of that which was once my prison, out of the window; for such ‘dead men’ as these do tell tales.”

“What if your friend does find out that you are ‘missing?’” “What!” hastily replied the Demon; “I see you have never studied the Treatise on Compulsions. Were I hidden at the extremity of the earth, or in the region where dwells the fiery salamander; though I sought the murkiest cavern of the gnomes, or plunged in the most unfathomable depths of the ocean, I should vainly strive to evade the terrors of his wrath. Hell itself would tremble at the potency of his spells. In vain should I struggle: despite myself should I be dragged before my master, to feel the weight of his dreaded chains.”

“That being the case,” said the Student, “I fear that our intimacy will not be of long duration: this redoubtable necromancer will doubtless soon discover your flight.” “That is more than I know,” replied the Spirit; “there is no foreseeing what may happen.” “What!” cried Leandro Perez; “a demon, and ignorant of the future!” “Exactly so,” answered the Devil; “and they are only our dupes who think otherwise. However, there are enough of them to find good employment for diviners and fortune-tellers, especially among your women of quality; for those are always most eager about the future who have best reason to be contented with the present, which and the past are all we know or care for. I am ignorant, therefore, whether my master will soon discover my absence; but let us hope he will not: there are plenty of phials similar to the one in which I was enclosed, and he may never miss that. Besides, in his laboratory, I am something like a law-book in the library of a financier. He never thinks of me; or if he does, he would think he did me too great an honour if he condescended to notice me. He is the most haughty enchanter of my acquaintance: long as he has deprived me of my liberty, we have never exchanged a syllable.”

“That is extraordinary!” said Don Cleophas; “what have you done to deserve so much hatred or scorn?” “I crossed him in one of his projects,” replied Asmodeus. “There was a chair vacant in a certain Academy, which he had designed for a friend of his, a professor of necromancy; but which I had destined for a particular friend of my own. The magician set to work with one of the most potent talismans of the Cabala; but I knew better than that: I had placed my man in the service of the prime minister; whose word is worth a dozen talismans, with the Academicians, any day.”

While the Demon was thus conversing, he was busily engaged in collecting every fragment of the broken phial; which having thrown out of the window, “Signor Zambullo,” said he, “let us begone! Hold fast by the end of my mantle, and fear nothing.” However perilous this appeared to Leandro Perez, he preferred the possible danger to the certainty of the magician’s resentment; and, accordingly, he fastened himself as well as he could to the Demon, who in an instant whisked him out of the apartment.

CHAPTER III

WHERE THE DEVIL TRANSLATED THE STUDENT; AND THE FIRST FRUITS OF HIS ECCLESIASTICAL ELEVATION.

Cleophas found that Asmodeus had not vainly boasted of his agility. They darted through the air like an arrow from the bow, and were soon perched on the tower of San Salvador. “Well, Signor Leandro,” said the Demon as they alighted; “what think you now of the justice of those who, as they slowly rumble in some antiquated vehicle, talk of a devilish bad carriage?” “I must, hereafter, think them most unreasonable,” politely replied Zambullo. “I dare affirm that his majesty of Castile has never travelled so easily; and then for speed, at your rate, one might travel round the world nor care to stretch a leg.”

“You are really too polite,” replied the Devil; “but can you guess now why I have brought you here? I intend to show you all that is passing in Madrid; and as this part of the town is as good to begin with as any, you will allow that I could not have chosen a more appropriate situation. I am about, by my supernatural powers, to take away the roofs from the houses of this great city; and notwithstanding the darkness of the night, to reveal to your eyes whatever is doing within them.” As he spake, he extended his right arm, the roofs disappeared, and the Student’s astonished sight penetrated the interior of the surrounding dwellings as plainly as if the noon-day sun shone over them. “It was,” says Luis Velez de Guevara, “like looking into a pasty from which a set of greedy monks had just removed the crust.”

The spectacle was, as you may suppose, sufficiently wonderful to rivet all the Student’s attention. He looked amazedly around him, and on all sides were objects which most intensely excited his curiosity. At length the Devil said to him: “Signor Don Cleophas, this confusion of objects, which you regard with an evident pleasure, is certainly very agreeable to look upon; but I must render useful to you what would be otherwise but a frivolous amusement. To unlock for you the secret chambers of the human heart, I will explain in what all these persons that you see are engaged. All shall be open to you; I will discover the hidden motives of their deeds, and reveal to you their unbidden thoughts.

“Where shall we begin? See! do you observe this house to my right? Observe that old man, who is counting gold and silver into heaps. He is a miserly citizen. His carriage, which he bought for next to nothing at the sale of an alcade of the Cortes, and which to save expense still sport the arms of its late owner, is drawn by a pair of worthless mules, which he feeds according to the law of the Twelve Tables, that is to say, he gives each, daily, one pound of barley: he treats them as the Romans treated their slaves — wisely, but not too well. It is now two years since he returned from the Indies, bringing with him innumerable bars of gold, which he has since converted into coin. Look at the old fool! with what satisfaction he gloats over his riches. And now, see what is passing in an adjoining chamber of the same house. Do you observe two young men with an old woman?” “Yes,” replied Cleophas, “they are probably his children.” “No, no!” said the Devil, “they are his nephews, and, what is better in their opinion, his heirs. In their anxiety for his welfare, they have invited a sorceress to ascertain when death will take from them their dear uncle, and leave to them the division of his spoil. In the next house there are a pair of pictures worth remarking. One is an antiquated coquette who is retiring to rest, after depositing on her toilet, her hair, her eyebrows and her teeth; the other is a gallant sexagenarian, who has just returned from a love campaign. He has already closed one eye, in its case, and placed his whiskers and peruke on the dressing table. His valet is now easing him of an arm and one leg, to put him to bed with the rest.”

“If I may trust my eyes,” cried Zambullo, “I see in the next room a tall young damsel, quite a model for an artist. What a lovely form and air!” “I see,” said the Devil. “Well! that young beauty is an elder sister of the gallant I have just described, and is a worthy pendant to the coquette who is under the same roof. Her figure, that you so much admire, is really good; but then she is indebted for it to an ingenious mechanist, whom I patronise. Her bust and hips are formed after my own patent; and it is only last Sunday that she generously dropped her bustle at the door of this very church, on the occasion of a charity sermon. Nevertheless, as she affects the juvenile, she has two cavaliers who ardently dispute her favour; — nay, they have even come to blows on the occasion. Madmen! two dogs fighting for a bone.

“Prithee, laugh with me at an amateur concert which is performing in a neighbouring mansion; an after-supper offering to Apollo. They are singing cantatas. An old counsellor has composed the air; and the words are by an alguazil, who does the amiable after that fashion among his friends — an ass who writes verses for his own pleasure, and for the punishment of others. A harpsichord and clarionet form the accompaniment; a lanky chorister, who squeaks marvellously, takes the treble, and a young girl with a hoarse voice the bass.” “What a delightful party!” cried Don Cleophas. “Had they tried expressly to get up a musical extravaganza, they could not have succeeded better.”

“Cast your eyes on that superb mansion,” continued the Demon; “and you will perceive a nobleman lying in a splendid apartment. He has, near his couch, a casket filled with billets-doux; in which he is luxuriating, that the sweet nothings they contain may lull his senses gently to repose. They ought to be dear to him, for they are from a signora he adores; and who so well appreciates the value of her favours, that she will soon reduce him to the necessity of soliciting the exile of a viceroyalty, for his own support. Let us leave him to his slumbers, to watch the stir they are making in the next house to the left. Can you distinguish a lady in a bed with red damask furniture? Her name is Donna Fabula. She is of high rank, and is about to present an heir to her spouse, the aged Don Torribio, whom you see by her side, endeavouring to soothe the pangs of his lady until the arrival of the midwife. Is it not delightful to witness so much tenderness? The cries of his dear better-half pierce him to the soul: he is overwhelmed with grief; he suffers as much as his wife. With what care, — with what earnestness does he bend over her!” “Really,” said Leandro, “the man does appear deeply affected; but I perceive, in the room above, a youngster apparently a domestic, who sleeps soundly enough: he troubles himself not for the event.” “And yet it ought to interest him,” replied Asmodeus; “for the sleeper is the first cause of his mistress’s sufferings.

“But see, — a little beyond,” continued the Demon: “in that low room, you may observe an old wretch who is anointing himself with lard. He is about to join an assembly of wizards, which takes place to-night between San Sebastian and Fontarabia. I would carry you thither in a moment, as it would amuse you; but that I fear I might be recognised by the devil who personates the goat.”

“That devil and you then,” said the Scholar, “are not good friends?” “No, indeed! you are right,” replied Asmodeus, “he is that same Pillardoc of whom I told you. The scoundrel would betray me, and soon inform the magician of my flight.” “You have perhaps had some other squabble with this gentleman?” “Precisely so,” said the Demon: “some ten years ago we had a second difference about a young Parisian who was thinking of commencing life. He wanted to make him a banker’s clerk; and I, a lady-killer. Our comrades settled the dispute by making him a wretched monk. This done, they reconciled us: we embraced; and from that time have been mortal foes.”

“But, have done with this belle assemblée,” said Don Cleophas; “I am not at all curious to witness it: let us continue our scrutiny into what is before us. What is the meaning of those sparks of fire which issue from yonder cellar?” “They proceed from one of the most absurd occupations of mankind,” replied the Devil. “The grave personage whom you behold near the furnace is an alchymist; and the flames are gradually consuming his rich patrimony, never to yield him what he seeks in return. Between ourselves, the philosopher’s stone is a chimera that I myself invented to amuse the wit of man, who ever seeks to pass those bounds which the laws of nature have prescribed for his intelligence.

“The alchymist’s neighbour is an honest apothecary, who you perceive is still at his labours, with his aged wife and assistant. You would never guess what they are about. The apothecary is compounding a progenerative pill for an old advocate who is to be married to-morrow; the assistant is mixing a laxative potion; and the old lady is pounding astringent drugs in a mortar.”

“I perceive, in the house facing the apothecary’s,” said Zambullo, “a man who has just jumped out of bed, and is hastily dressing.” “Pshaw!” replied the Spirit, “he need not hurry himself. He is a physician; and has been sent for by a prelate who since he has retired to rest — about an hour — has absolutely coughed two or three times.

“But look a little further, in a garret on the right, and try if you cannot distinguish a man half dressed, who is walking up and down the room, dimly lighted by a single lamp.” “I see,” said the Student; “and so clearly that I would undertake to furnish you with an inventory of his chattels, — to wit, a truckle-bed, a three-legged stool, and a deal table; the walls seem to be daubed all over with black paint.” “That exalted personage,” said Asmodeus, “is a poet; and what appears to you black paint, are tragic verses with which he has ornamented his apartment, being obliged, for want of paper, to commit his effusions to the wall.” “By his agitation and phrenzied air, I conclude he is now busily engaged on some work of importance,” said Don Cleophas. “You are not far out,” replied the Devil: “he only yesterday completed the last act of an interesting tragedy, intitled The Universal Deluge. He cannot be reproached with having violated the unity of place, at all events, as the entire action is limited to Noah’s ark.

“I can assure you it is a first-rate drama: all the animals talk as learnedly as professors. It of course must have a dedication, upon which he has been labouring for the last six hours; and he is, at this moment, turning the last period. It will be indeed a masterpiece of adulatory composition: every social and political virtue; every grace that can adorn; all that tends to render man illustrious, either by his own deeds or those of his ancestors, are attributed to its object; — never was praise more lavishly bestowed, never was incense burnt more liberally.” “For whom, then, of all the world, is so magnificent an apotheosis intended?” “Why,” replied the Demon, “the poet himself has not yet determined that; he has put in every thing but the name. However, he hopes to find some vain noble who may be more liberal than those to whom he has dedicated his former productions; although the purchasers of imaginary virtues are becoming every day more rare. It is not my fault that it is so; for it is a fault corrected in the wealthy patrons of literature, and a great benefit rendered to the public, who were certain to be deluged by trash from the Swiss of the press, so long as books were written merely for the produce of their dedications.

“Apropos of this subject,” added the Demon, “I will relate to you a curious anecdote. It is not long since an illustrious lady accepted the honour of a dedication from a celebrated novelist, who, by the bye, writes so much in praise of other women, that he thinks himself at liberty to abuse the one peculiarly his own. The lady in question was anxious to see the address before it was printed; and not finding herself described to her taste, she wisely undertook the task, and gave herself all those inconvenient virtues, which the world so much admires. She then sent it to the author, who of course had weighty reasons for adopting it.”

“Hollo!” cried Leandro, “surely those are robbers who are entering that house by the balcony.” “Precisely so,” said Asmodeus; “they are brigands, and the house is a banker’s. Watch them! you will be amused. See! they have opened the safe, and are ferreting everywhere; but the banker has been before them. He set out yesterday for Holland, and has taken with him the contents of his coffers for fear of accidents. They may make a merit of their visit, by informing his unfortunate depositors of their loss.”

“There is another thief,” said Zambullo, “mounting by a silken ladder into a neighbouring dwelling.” “You are mistaken there,” replied the Devil; “at all events it is not gold he seeks. He is a marquis, who would rob a young maiden of the name, of which, however, she is not unwilling to part. Never was ‘stand and deliver’ more graciously received: he of course has sworn he will marry her, and she of course believes him; for a marquis’s ‘promises’ have unlimited credit upon Love’s Exchange.”

“I am curious to learn,” interrupted the Student, “what that man in a night-cap and dressing-gown is about. He is writing very studiously, and near him is a little black figure, who occasionally guides his hand.” “He is a registrar of the civil courts,” replied the Demon; “and to oblige a guardian, is, for a consideration, altering a decree made in favour of the ward: the gentleman in black, who seems enjoying the sport, is Griffael the registrars’ devil.” “Griffael, then,” said Don Cleophas, “is a sort of deputy to Flagel; for, as he is the spirit of the bar, the registrars are doubtless included in his department.” “Not so,” replied Asmodeus; “the registrars have been thought deserving of their peculiar demon, and I assure you they find him quite enough to do.”

“Near the registrar’s house, you will perceive a young lady on the first floor. She is a widow; and the man, whom you see in the same room, is her uncle, who lodges in an apartment over hers. Admire the bashfulness of the dame! She is ashamed to put on her chemise before her aged relative; so, modestly seeks the assistance of her lover, who is hidden in her dressing-room.

“In the same house with the registrar lives a stout graduate, who has been lame from his birth, but who has not his equal in the world for pleasantry. Volumnius, so highly spoken of by Cicero for his delicate yet pungent wit, was a fool to him. He is known throughout Madrid as ‘the bachelor Donoso,” or ‘the facetious graduate;' and his company is sought by old and young, at the court and in the town: in short, wherever there is, or should be, conviviality, he is so much the rage, that he has discharged his cook, as he never dines at home; to which he seldom returns until long after midnight. He is at present with the marquis of Alcazinas, who is indebted for this visit to chance only.” “How, to chance?” interrupted Leandro. “Why,” replied the Demon, “this morning, about noon, the graduate’s door was besieged by at least half-a-dozen carriages, each sent for the especial honour of securing his society. The bachelor received the assembled pages in his apartment, and, displaying a pack of cards, thus addressed them: — “My friends, as it is impossible for me to dine in six places at one time, and as it would not appear polite to show an undue preference, these cards shall decide the matter. Draw! I will dine with the king of clubs.””

“What object,” said Don Cleophas, “has yonder cavalier, who is sitting at a door on the other side of the street? Is he waiting for some pretty waiting-woman to usher him to his lady’s chamber?” “No, no,” answered Asmodeus; “he is a young Castilian, whose modesty exceeds his love; so, after the fashion of the gallants of antiquity, he has come to pass the night at his mistress’s portal. Listen to the twang of that wretched guitar, with which he accompanies his tender strains! On the second floor you may behold his inamorata: she is weeping as she hears him; — but it is for the absence of his rival.

“You observe that new building, which is divided into two wings. One is occupied by the proprietor, the old gentleman whom you see now pacing the apartment, now throwing himself into an easy chair.” “He is evidently immersed in some grand project,” said Zambullo: “who is he? If one may judge by the splendour which is displayed in his mansion, he is a grandee of the first order.” “Nevertheless,” said Asmodeus, “he is but an ancient clerk of the treasury, who has grown old in such lucrative employment as to enable him to amass four millions of reals. As he has some compunctions of conscience for the means by which all this wealth has been acquired, and as he expects shortly to be called upon to render his account in another world, where bribery is impracticable, he is about to compound for his sins in this, by building a monastery; which done, he flatters himself that peace will revisit his heart. He has already obtained the necessary permission; but, as he has resolved that the establishment shall consist of monks who are extremely chaste, sober, and of the most Christian humility, he is much embarrassed in the selection. He need not build a very extensive convent.

“The other wing is inhabited by a fair lady, who has just retired to rest after the luxury of a milk bath. This voluptuary is widow of a knight of the order of Saint James, who left her at his death her title only; but fortunately her charms have secured for her valuable friends in the persons of two members of the council of Castile, who generously divide her favours and the expenses of her household.”

“Hark!” cried the Student; “surely I hear the cries of distress. What dreadful misfortune has occurred?” “A very common one,” said the Demon: “two young cavaliers have been gambling in a hell (the name is a scandal on the infernal regions), which you perceive so brilliantly illuminated. They quarrelled upon an interesting point of the game, and I naturally drew their swords to settle it: unluckily, they were equally skilful with their weapons, and are both mortally wounded. The elder is married, which is unfortunate; and the younger an only son. The wife and father have just come in time to receive their last sighs; and it is their lamentations that you hear. ‘Unhappy boy,’ cries the fond parent over the still breathing body of his son, ‘how often have I conjured thee to renounce this dreadful vice! — how often have I warned thee it would one day cost thee thy life. Heaven is my witness, that the fault is none of mine!’ Men,” added the Demon, “are always selfish, even in their griefs. Meanwhile the wife is in despair. Although her husband has dissipated the fortune she brought him on their marriage; although he has sold, to maintain his shameful excesses, her jewels, and even her clothes, not a word of reproach escapes her lips. She is inconsolable for her loss. Her grief is vented in frantic exclamations, mixed with curses on the cards, and the devil who invented them; on the place in which her husband fell, and on the people who surround her, and to whom she fondly attributes his ruin.”

“How much to be lamented,” interrupted the Student, “is the love of gaming which possesses so large a portion of mankind; in what an awful state of excitement does it plunge its victim. Heaven be praised! I am not included in their legion.” “You are in high feather,” replied the Demon, “in another, whose exploits are not much more ennobling, and scarcely less dangerous. Is the conquest of a courtezan a glory worth achievement? Is the possession of charms common to a whole city worth the peril of a life? Man is an amusing animal! The vision of a mole would enable him to discover the vices of his fellows, while that of the vulture could scarce detect a folly of his own. But let us turn to another affecting spectacle. You can discern, in the house just beyond the one we have been contemplating, a fat old man extended on a bed: he is a canon, who is now in a fit of apoplexy. The two persons, whom you see in his room, are said to be his nephew and niece: they are too much affected by his situation to be able to assist him; so, are securing his valuable effects. By the time this is accomplished, he will be dead; and they will be sufficiently recovered, and at leisure, to weep over his remains.

“Close by, you may perceive the funeral of two brothers; who, seized with the same disorder, took equally successful but different means of ensuring its fatality. One of them had the most utter confidence in his apothecary; the other eschewed the aid of medicine: the first died because he took all the trash his doctor sent him; the last because he would take nothing.” “Well! that is very perplexing,” said Leandro; “what is a poor sick devil to do?” “Why,” replied Asmodeus, “that is more than the one who has the honour of addressing you can determine. I know, for certain, that there are remedies for most ills; but I am not so sure that there are good physicians to administer them when necessary.”

“And now I have something more amusing to unriddle. Do you not hear a frightful din in the next street? A widow of sixty was married this morning to an Adonis of seventeen; and all the merry fellows of that part of the town have assembled to celebrate the wedding by a concert of pots and pans, marrow-bones and cleavers.” “You told me,” said the Student, “that these matches were under your control: at all events, you had no hand in this.” “No, truly,” answered the Demon, “not I. Had I been free, I should not have meddled with them. The widow had her scruples; and has married for no better reason than that she may enjoy, without remorse, the pleasures she so dearly loves. These are not the unions I care to form; I prefer troubling people’s consciences to setting them at rest.”

“Notwithstanding this charming serenade,” said Zambullo, “it seems to me that it is not the only concert performing in the neighbourhood.” “No,” said the cripple; “in a tavern in the same street, a lusty Flemish captain, a chorister of the French opera, and an officer of the German guard are singing a trio. They have been drinking since eight in the morning; and each deems it a duty to his country, to see the others under the table.”

“Look for a moment on the house which stands by itself, nearly opposite to that of the apoplectic canon: you will see three very pretty but very notorious courtezans enjoying themselves with as many young courtiers.” “They are, indeed, lovely!” exclaimed Don Cleophas. “I am not surprised that they should be notorious: happy are the lovers who possess them! They seem, however, very partial to their present companions: I envy them their good fortune.” “Why, you are very green!” replied the Demon: “their faces are not disguised with greater skill than are their hearts. However prodigal of their caresses, they have not the slightest tenderness for their foolish swains; their affection is bounded to the purses of their lovers. One of them has just secured the promise of a liberal establishment; and the others are prepared with settlements which they are in expectation of securing ere they part. It is the same with them all. Men vainly ruin themselves for the sex: gold buys not love. The well-paid mistress soon treats her lover as a husband: that is a rule which I found necessary to establish in my code of intrigue. But we will leave these fools to taste the pleasures they so dearly purchase; while their valets, who are waiting in the street, console themselves with the pleasing anticipation of enjoying them gratis.”

“Tell me,” interrupted Leandro Perez, “what is passing in that splendid mansion on the left. The house is filled with well-dressed cavaliers and ladies; and all seems dancing and conviviality. It is indeed a joyous festival.” “It is another wedding,” said Asmodeus; “and happy as they now are, it is not three days since that house witnessed the deepest affliction. It is a story worth hearing: it is rather long, certainly; but it will repay your patience.” The Devil then began as follows.

CHAPTER IV

STORY OF THE LOVES OF THE COUNT DE BELFLOR AND LEONORA DE CESPEDES.

Leonora de Cespedes was passionately beloved by the young Count de Belflor, one of the most distinguished nobles of the court. He had, however, no thoughts of suing for her hand; the daughter of a private gentleman might command his love, but had no pretensions in his eyes to rank above his mistress; and such was the honour he designed for her.

Accordingly, he followed her everywhere; and lost no opportunity of testifying by his glances the extent of his affection for her person; but he was unable to converse with her, or even to communicate by letter, so incessantly and vigilantly was she guarded by an austere duenna, the lady Marcella. He was almost in despair; yet, incited by the obstacles which were thus opposed to his desires, he was constantly occupied in devising means for their attainment, and for deceiving the Argus who so carefully watched his Io.

In the meanwhile, Leonora had perceived the attention with which the Count regarded her; and flattered by that first homage, so delightful to the unworn heart, she soon yielded to the soft persuasion of his eyes, and insensibly formed for him a passion as violent as his own. The flames of love are seldom kindled at the altar but they burn the temple. I did not, however, fan those thus lighted in her bosom, for the magician had put a stopper on my operations; but Nature, and woman’s nature especially, is generally potent enough in such cases, without my assistance. Indeed, I doubt if she does not manage these matters best by herself; the only difference in our modes of procedure being, that Nature saps the heart by slow degrees, while I love to carry it by storm.

Affairs were in this posture, when Leonora, and her eternal governante, going one morning to church, were accosted by an old woman, carrying in her hand one of the largest chaplets ever framed by hypocrisy. “Heaven bless you!” said she, addressing herself, with a saintly smile, to the duenna, “the peace of God be with you! Have I not the honour of speaking to the lady Marcella, the chaste widow of the lamented Signor Martin Rosetta?” “You have,” replied the governante. “How fortunate!” exclaimed the old hypocrite; “I have a relation, at this moment lying at my house, who would see you ere he dies. He was intimately acquainted with your dear husband, and has matters of the utmost importance to communicate to you. It is only three days since he arrived in Madrid, from Flanders, for the express purpose of seeing you; but scarcely had he entered my house when he was stretched on a bed of sickness, and he has now, I fear, but a few hours to live. Let us hasten, while there is yet time, to soothe the pangs of his passing spirit: a few steps will bring us to his side.”

The wary duenna, who had seen enough of the world to be suspicious of the best even of her own sex, still, however, hesitated to follow: which the old lady perceiving, “My dear lady Marcella,” said she, “surely you do not doubt me. You must have heard of La Chichona. Why! the licentiate Marcos de Figuerna and the bachelor Mira de Mesqua would answer for me as for their grandmothers. If I desire that you accompany me to my house, it is for your good only. Heaven forbid that I should touch the smallest portion of that which is your due, and which my poor relation is so anxious to repay to the wife of his friend!” At the word “repay,” the lady Marcella hesitated no longer: “Let us go, my child,” said she to Leonora; “we will see this good woman’s relation; — to visit the sick is among the first of our duties.” “Verily,” said the Demon, “charity does cover a multitude of sins!”

They soon arrived at the house of La Chichona, who introduced them to a mean apartment, where they found a man in bed: he had a long beard, and if he were not really desperately ill, he at least appeared to be so. “See, cousin!” said the old woman, presenting the governante; “behold the person whom you sought so anxiously; this is the lady Marcella, the respected widow of your friend Rosetta.” At these words, the old man raised himself on his pillow with apparent difficulty; and, making signs for the duenna to approach him, said with a feeble voice, — “Heaven be praised, for its mercy in permitting me to live till now! — to see you, my dear lady, was all that I desired upon earth. Indeed, I feared to die, without the satisfaction of seeing you, and of rendering into your hands the hundred ducats which your late husband, my dearest friend, so kindly lent me in my dire necessity, at Bruges, when but for that assistance my honour had been for ever lost: — but you must have often heard of me and my adventures.”

“Alas! no,” replied Marcella, “he never mentioned it to me. God rest his soul! he was ever so generous as to forget the services he rendered to his friends; and so far from boasting of such kindnesses as these, I can declare that I even never heard of his doing a good action in his life.” “His was indeed a noble mind,” replied the sick man, “as I have perhaps better reason to know than most persons; and to prove this to you I must relate the history of the unfortunate affair from which his liberality so happily released me. But as I shall have to speak of things which should be disclosed to no other ears than thine, honourable as they are to the memory of my deceased friend, it were better that we should be alone.”

“Oh, certainly!” cried Chichona, “though it would delight me to hear of the good Rosetta, whom you are always praising, we will retire to my closet;" saying which, she led Leonora into the next apartment. No sooner had she done so, and closed the door, than without ceremony the old woman thus addressed her companion: — “Charming Leonora, our moments are too precious to be wasted. You know the young Count de Belflor, at least by sight. Need I say how long he has loved you, and how ardently he desires to tell you so? Driven to despair by the vigilance and austerity of Marcella, he has had recourse to my assistance to procure him an interview; and I, who could refuse nothing to so handsome a cavalier, have dressed up his valet as the sick man you have just seen, that I might engage your governante’s attention and bring you hither.”

As she finished speaking, the Count, who was concealed by the drapery of a little window, discovered himself, and, falling at the feet of Leonora: “Madam,” said he, “pardon the stratagem of a lover, who could no longer conceal from you the passion that is destroying the life to which it alone gives value: — but for this good woman’s kindness, I had perished in despair.” These words, uttered with respectful earnestness, by a man whose appearance was far from displeasing, affected, while they perplexed Leonora, and she remained for some time speechless. But at length recovering herself, she looked, or endeavoured to look, haughtily on her prostrate lover, and replied: “Truly you are deeply indebted to your obliging confidante for this attention, but I am not so sure that I have equal reason to be thankful, or that you will gain by her kindness the object you desire.”

In saying these words, she moved towards the door; but the Count, gently detaining her, exclaimed: “Stay, adorable Leonora! deign to listen to me but for an instant. Be not alarmed! my affection for you is pure as your own thoughts. I feel that the artifice to which I have descended must revolt you; but consider how vainly I have striven by more honourable means to address you. You cannot be ignorant that for many months, at the church, in the public walk, at the theatre, I have vainly sought to confirm with my lips that passion which my eyes could not disguise. Alas! while I implore pardon for a crime to which the cruelty of the merciless duenna has compelled me, let me also entreat your pity for the torments I have endured; and judge, by the charms which your happy mirror discloses, of the extent of his wretchedness who is banished from their sight.”

Belflor did not fail to accompany these words with all the arts of persuasion commonly practised with so much success by my devotees: tender looks, heart-broken sighs, and even [Pg 52] a few tears were not wanting; and Leonora was of course affected. Despite herself, she began to feel those little flutterings of the heart, which are the usual preludes of capitulation with woman; but far from yielding without a struggle to her tenderness, or pity, or weakness, the more sensible she became of treason in the garrison, the more hastily she resolved to vacate the place. “Count,” she exclaimed, “it is in vain you tell me this. I will listen no longer. Do not attempt to detain me: let me leave a house in which my honour is exposed to suspicion; or my cries shall alarm the neighbourhood, and expose your audacity which has dared to insult me.” This she uttered with so resolute an air that Chichona, who was on very punctilious terms with the police, prayed the Count not to push matters to extremity. Finding his entreaties useless, he released Leonora, who hastened from the apartment, and, what never happened to any maiden before, left it as she had entered it.

“Let us quit this dangerous house,” said Leonora, on rejoining her governante: “finish this idle talk, — we are deceived.” “What ails you, child?” cried Marcella in reply; “and why should we leave this poor man so hastily?” “I will tell you,” said Leonora; “but let us fly: every instant I remain here but adds to my affliction.” However desirous was the duenna to learn the cause of her ward’s anxiety, she saw that the best way to be satisfied was to yield to her entreaties; and they quitted the apartment with a celerity which quite discomposed the stately governante, leaving Chichona, the Count, and his valet as much disconcerted as a company of comedians, when the curtain falls on a wretched farce, which the presiding deities of the pit have consigned to a lower deep.

When Leonora found herself safely in the street, she related, as well as her extreme agitation, and Marcella’s exclamations of astonishment, would permit, all that had passed in the chamber with the Count and Chichona. “I must confess, child,” said the duenna, when they had reached home, “that I am exceedingly mortified to hear what you have just been telling me. To think that I have been the dupe of that wicked woman! You will allow, however, that I was not without my doubts. Why did I yield them? I should have been suspicious of so much kindness and honesty. I have committed a folly which is absolutely inexcusable in a person of my sagacity and experience. Ah! why did you not tell me this in her presence? I would have torn her eyes out: I would have loaded the Count de Belflor with reproaches for his perfidy: and as for the scoundrel with his ducats and his beard, he should not have had a hair left on his head. But I will return, this instant, with the money which I have received as a real restitution; and if I find them still together, they shall not have waited for nothing.” So saying, the enraged widow of the generous Rosetta folded her mantilla around her, and left Leonora to weep over the treachery of mankind.

Marcella found the Count with Chichona, in despair at the failure of his design. Most of my pupils, in his place, would have been abashed at seeing her: it is extraordinary what scruples I have to overcome. But Belflor was of another stamp: to a thousand good qualities, he added that of yielding implicit obedience to my inspirations. When he loved, nothing could exceed the ardour with which he followed the devoted object of his affections; and though naturally what the world calls an honourable man, he was then capable of violating the most sacred duties for the attainment of his desires. No sooner, therefore, did he perceive Marcella, than, as he saw that their fulfilment could only be completed through the duenna’s agency, he resolved to spare nothing to win her to his interests. He shrewdly guessed that, rigidly virtuous as the lady appeared, she, like her betters, had her price; and as he was disposed to bid pretty liberally, you will own he did no great injustice to a duenna’s fidelity: for so rare a commodity will only be found where lovers are not over-rich, or not sufficiently liberal.

The instant Marcella entered the room, and perceived the three persons she sought, her tongue went as though possessed; and while she poured a torrent of abuse on the Count and Chichona, she sent the restitution flying at the head of the valet. The Count patiently endured the storm; and throwing himself on his knees before the duenna, to render the scene more moving, he pressed her to take back the purse she had rejected; and offering to add to it a thousand pistoles, he besought her compassion on his sufferings. As Marcella had never before been so earnestly entreated, it is no wonder that she was, on this occasion, not inexorable: her invectives, therefore, speedily ceased; and on comparing the tempting sum now offered to her, with the paltry recompence she expected from Don Luis de Cespedes, she was not slow in discovering that it would be much more profitable to turn Leonora from her duty, than to keep her in its path. Accordingly, after some little affectation, she again received the purse, accepted the offer of the thousand pistoles, promised to assist the Count in his designs, and departed at once to labour for their accomplishment.

As she knew Leonora to be strictly virtuous, she was extremely cautious of exciting the least suspicion of her intelligence with the Count, lest the plot should be discovered to Don Luis, her father; so, desirous of skilfully effecting her ruin, she thus addressed her on her return: “My dear Leonora, I have revenged myself on the wretches who deceived us. I found them quite confounded at your virtuous resolution; and, threatening the infamous Chichona with your father’s resentment, and the most rigorous severity of the law, I bestowed on the Count de Belflor all the insulting epithets that my anger could suggest. I warrant that the Signor will make no more attempts of this kind on you; and that henceforth his gallantries will cease to engage my attention. I thank Heaven that, by your firmness, you have escaped the snare that was laid for you. I could weep for joy to think that the deceiver has gained nothing by his stratagem; for these noble signors make it their amusement to seduce the young and innocent. Indeed, the greater part even of those who pique themselves on their honourable conduct have no scruples on this point, as though it were no disgrace to carry ruin into virtuous families. Not that I think the Count absolutely of this character, nor even that he intends studiously to deceive you: we should not judge too harshly of our neighbours; and perhaps, after all, he meant you honourably. Although his rank would give him pretensions to the hand of the noblest at our court, your beauty may yet have induced him to resolve on marriage with yourself. In fact, I recollect that in his answers to my reproaches, which I heeded not at the time, I might have perceived something of the sort.”

“What say you, dear Marcella?” interrupted Leonora. “If that were his intention, he would have sought me of my father, who would never have refused his daughter to a person of his rank.” “What you say is perfectly just,” replied the governante, “and I am quite of your opinion; the Count’s proceedings are certainly suspicious, or rather his designs cannot be good: for a trifle, I would return and scold him again.” “No, good Marcella,” replied Leonora, “we had better forget the past, and revenge ourselves by contempt.” “Very true,” said the duenna; “I believe that is the best plan: you are more prudent than myself. But, after all, may we not do the Count injustice? Who knows that he has not been actuated by the purest and most delicate motives? It is possible that, before obtaining your father’s consent, he may have resolved to deserve and to please you; to render your union more delightful by first gaining your heart. If that were so, child, would it be a very great sin to listen to him? Tell me your thoughts, love; you know my affection: does your heart incline towards the Count, or would it be very disagreeable to marry such a man?”

To this malicious question, the too-sincere Leonora replied, with down-cast eyes, and face suffused with blushes, by avowing that she had no aversion to the Count; but, as modesty prevented her explaining herself more openly, the duenna still pressed her to conceal nothing from her; and at last succeeded, by affected tenderness, in obtaining a full confession of her love. “Dearest Marcella,” said the unsuspicious girl, “since you desire me to speak to you without disguise, I must confess that Belflor has appeared to me not unworthy of my love. I was struck by his appearance; and I have heard him so much praised, that I could not remain insensible to the affection he displayed for me. Your watchful care to guard me from his addresses has cost me many a sigh: nay, I will own I have in secret wept his absence; and repaid with my tears the sufferings your vigilance has caused him. Even at this moment, instead of hating him for the insult he has offered to my honour, my heart against my will excuses him, and throws his fault on your severity.”

“My child,” said the governante, “since you give me reason to believe that his attentions are pleasing to you, I will endeavour to secure this lover.” “I am very sensible,” replied Leonora, “of the kindness you intend me. It is not that the Count holds the first place at court; were he but an honourable private gentleman, I should prefer him to all others upon earth, but let us not flatter ourselves: Belflor is a noble signor, destined, without doubt, for one of the richest heiresses in our kingdom. Let us not expect that he would descend to ally himself with Don Luis, who has but a moderate fortune to offer with his daughter. No, no,” she added, “he entertains for me no such favourable thoughts: he thinks not of me as one worthy to bear his name, but seeks only my dishonour.”

“Ah! wherefore,” said the duenna, “will you insist he loves you not well enough to seek your hand? Love daily works much greater miracles. One would imagine, to hear you, that Heaven had made some infinite distinction between you and the Count. Do yourself more justice, Leonora! He would not condescend, in uniting his destiny with yours. You are of an ancient and noble family, and your alliance would never call a blush upon his cheek. However, you love him,” continued she; “and I must therefore see him, and sound him on the subject; and if I find his designs as honourable as they should be, I will indulge him with some slight hopes.” “Not for the world!” cried Leonora; “on no account would I have you seek him: should he but suspect my knowledge of your proceedings, he must cease even to esteem me.” “Oh! I am more cunning than you think me,” answered Marcella. “I shall begin by accusing him of a design to seduce you. He of course will not fail to defend himself; I shall listen to his excuses, and shall mark the event: in short, my dear child, leave it to me; I will be as careful of your honour as of my own.”

Towards night, the duenna left the house, and found Belflor watching in the neighbourhood. She informed him of her conversation with his mistress, not forgetting to boast of the address with which she had elicited from Leonora the confession of her love. Nothing could more agreeably surprise the Count than this discovery; and accordingly his gratitude was displayed in the most ardent manner; that is to say, he promised to Marcella the thousand ducats on the morrow, and to himself the most complete success of his enterprise; well knowing, as he did, that a woman prepossessed is half seduced. They then separated, extremely well satisfied with each other, and the duenna returned to her home.

Leonora, who had waited for her with extreme anxiety, timidly inquired if she brought any news of the Count. “The best news you could hear,” replied the governante. “I have seen him, and I can assure you of the purity of his intentions: he declared that his only object is to marry you; and this he confirmed by every oath that man holds sacred. I did not, however, as you may suppose, yield implicitly to these protestations. “If you are sincere,” said I to him, ‘why do you not at once apply to Don Luis, her father?” “Ah! my dear Marcella,” replied he, without appearing in the least embarrassed by this question, ‘could you, even, approve that, without assuring myself of Leonora’s affection, and following, blindly, the dictates of a devouring passion, I should seek her of Don Luis as a slave? No! her happiness is dearer to me than my own desires; and I have too nice a sense of honour, even to endanger that happiness by an indiscreet avowal.”

“While he thus spoke,” continued the duenna, “I observed him with extreme attention; and employed all my experience to discover in his eyes if he were really possessed of all the love that he expressed. What shall I say? — He appeared to me penetrated by the truest love; I felt elated with joy, which I took good care, however, to conceal: nevertheless, when I felt persuaded of his sincerity, I thought that, in order to secure for you so important a conquest, it would be but proper to give him some faint idea of your feelings towards him. “Signor,” said I, “Leonora has no aversion for you; I know that she esteems you; and, as far as I can judge, her heart would not be grieved by your addresses.” “Great God,” he [cried, transported with delight, ‘what do I hear? Is it possible, that the charming Leonora should be disposed so favourably towards me? What do I not owe to you, kindest Marcella, for thus relieving me from such torturing suspense? I am the more rejoiced, too, that this should be announced by you; — you, who have ever opposed my love; you, who have inflicted on me such lengthened suffering. But, my dear Marcella, complete my bliss! let me see my divine Leonora, and pledge to her my faith; let me swear, in your presence, to be hers only for ever.”

“To all these expressions of his devotion,” continued the governante, “he added others still more touching. At last, my dear child, he entreated me in so pressing a manner to procure for him a secret interview, that I could not forbear promising he should see you.” “Ah! why have you done so?” exclaimed Leonora, with emotion. “How often have you told me, that a virtuous girl should ever shun such secret conversations, — always wrong, and almost always dangerous?” “Certainly,” replied the duenna, “I acknowledge to have said so, and a very good maxim it is; but you are not obliged to adhere to it strictly on this occasion; for you may look upon the Count as your husband.” “He is not so yet,” said Leonora, “and I ought not to see him until my father permits his addresses.”

Marcella, at this moment, repented of having imbued the mind of her pupil with those notions of propriety which she found so much trouble to overcome. Determined, however, at any rate to effect her object, she thus recommenced her attack: “My dear Leonora! I am proud to witness so much virtuous delicacy. Happy fruit of all my cares! You have truly profited by the lessons I have taught you. I am delighted with the result of my labours. But, child, you have read rather too literally; you construe my maxims too rigidly; your susceptibility is indeed somewhat prudish. However much I pique myself on my severity, I do not quite approve of that precise chastity which arms itself indifferently against guilt or innocence. A girl ceases not to be virtuous who yields her ear only to her lover, especially when she is conscious of the purity which chastens his desires; and she is then no more wrong in responding to his love, than she is for her sensibility to the passion. Rely upon me, Leonora; I have too much experience, and am too much interested in your welfare, to suffer you to take a step that might be prejudicial to it.”

“But where would you have me see the Count?” said Leonora. “In this room, to be sure,” replied the duenna. “Where could you see him so safely? I will introduce him to-morrow evening.” “You are not surely serious, Marcella!” exclaimed Leonora. “What! think you I would permit a man — —” “To be sure you will!” interrupted the duenna; “there is nothing so wonderful in that, as you imagine. It happens daily; and would to heaven that every damsel who receives such visits, had desires as pure as those by which you are animated! Besides, what have you to fear? shall not I be with you?” “Alas!” said Leonora, “should my father surprise us!” “Do not trouble yourself about that,” replied Marcella. “Your father is perfectly satisfied as to your conduct: he knows my fidelity, and would not do me so much wrong as to suspect it.” Poor Leonora, thus artfully instigated by the duenna, and secretly moved by her own feelings, could withstand no longer; and at last yielded, although unwillingly, to her governante’s proposal.

The Count was soon informed of Marcella’s success, of which he was so well satisfied, that he at once gave her five hundred pistoles, and a ring of equal value. The duenna, finding his promises so well performed, was determined to be as scrupulously exact in the fulfilment of her own; and, accordingly, on the following night, when she felt assured that every one in the house was fast asleep, she fastened to the balcony a silken ladder, which the Count had provided, and introduced his lordship to the chamber of his mistress.

In the meanwhile, the fair Leonora was immersed in reflections of the most painfully agitating nature. Notwithstanding her affection for the Count, and despite her governante’s assurances, she bitterly reproached herself for her weakness, in yielding a consent to an interview which she still felt was in violation of her duty; nor could a knowledge of the purity of her intentions bring comfort to her bosom. To receive, by night, in her apartment, a man whose love was unsanctioned by her parent, and not certainly known even by herself, now appeared to her not only criminal, but calculated to degrade her in the estimation of her lover also; and this last thought tortured her almost to madness, when that lover entered.

He threw himself on his knees before her; and, apparently penetrated by love and gratitude, thanked her for that confidence in his honour, which had permitted this visit, and assured her of his determination to merit it, by shortly espousing her. However, as he was not as explicit upon this point as Leonora desired, “Count,” said she to him, “I am too anxious to believe that you have no other views than those you express to me; but whatever assurances you may offer must always appear to me suspicious, so long as my father is ignorant of your designs, and has not ratified them by his consent.”

“Madam,” replied Belflor, “that would have been long since demanded by me, had I not feared to have obtained it at the sacrifice of your repose.” “Alas!” said Leonora, “I do not reproach you that you have not yet sought Don Luis, — I cannot but be sensible of your delicacy; but nothing now restrains you, and you must at once resolve to see my father, or never to see me more.”

“What do I hear?” exclaimed the Count, — “never to see you more! Beauteous Leonora! how little sensible are you to the charms of love! Did you know how to love like me, you would delight in secret to receive my vows; and, for some time at least, to conceal them from your father as from all the world. Oh! who can paint the charms of that mysterious intercourse, in which two hearts indulge, united by a passion as intense as pure.” “It may have charms for you,” replied Leonora; “to me, such intercourse would bring but sorrow: this refinement of tenderness but ill becomes a virtuous maiden. Speak not to me of such impure delights! Did you esteem me, you had not dared to do so; and were your intentions such as you would persuade me, you would, from your soul, reproach me that I could listen to you with patience. But, alas!” she added, while tears filled her eyes, “my weakness alone has exposed me to this outrage: I have indeed deserved it, that I see you here.”

“Adorable Leonora!” cried the Count, “you wrong my love most cruelly! Your virtue, too scrupulous, is causelessly alarmed. What! can you conceive that, because I have been so happy as to prevail on you to favour my passion, I should cease to esteem you? What injustice! No, madam, I know, too well, the value of your kindness; it can never deprive you of my esteem; and I am ready to do as you require me. I will, to-morrow, see Don Luis; and nothing shall be wanting on my part to ensure my happiness: but I cannot conceal from you, that I scarcely indulge a hope.” “How!” replied; Leonora, with extreme surprise; “is it possible that my father should refuse me to the Count de Belflor?” — “Ah! it is that very title which gives me cause for alarm. But I see this surprises you: your astonishment, however, will soon cease.

“Only a few days ago,” continued he, “the King was pleased to declare his will, that I should marry: you know how these matters are managed at our Court. He has not, however, named the lady for whom I am intended; but has contented himself with intimating that she is one who will do me honour, and that he has set his mind upon our union. As I was then ignorant of your disposition towards me, — for, as you well know, your rigorous severity has never until now, permitted me to divine it, — I did not let him perceive in me any aversion to the accomplishment of his desires. You may now therefore, judge, madam, whether Don Luis would hazard the King’s displeasure, by accepting me as his son-in-law.”

“No, doubtless,” said Leonora; “I know my father well: however desirable he might esteem your alliance, he would not hesitate to renounce it, rather than expose himself to the anger of his Majesty. But, even though my father had consented to our union, we should not be less unfortunate; for, Belflor, how could you possibly bestow on me a hand which the King has destined for another?” “Madam,” replied the Count, “I will not disguise that your question embarrasses me. Still, I am not without hope that, by prudent management with the King, and by availing myself of the influence which his friendship for me secures, I should find means to avoid the misfortune which threatens me; and yourself, lovely Leonora, might assist me in so doing, did you but deem me worthy of the happiness of being yours.” “I assist you!” she exclaimed; “how could I possibly enable you to avert an union which the King proposes for you?” “Ah! madam,” he replied, with impassioned looks, “would you deign to receive my vows of eternal fidelity to you, I should have no difficulty in preserving my faith inviolate, without offending my sovereign. Permit, charming Leonora,” he continued, throwing himself at her feet, “permit me to espouse you in the presence of our friend Marcella; she is a witness who will vouch for the sanctity of our engagements. I shall thus escape the hateful bonds they would impose upon me; for, should the King still press me to accept the lady he designs for me, I will prostrate myself before him, and, on my knees, confess how long and ardently my love has been devoted to you, and that we are secretly married. However desirous he may be to unite me with another, he is too gracious to think of tearing me from the object I adore, and too just to offer so grievous an affront to your honourable family.

“What is your opinion, discreet Marcella?” added he, turning towards the governante; “what think you of this project with which love has so opportunely inspired me?” “I am charmed with it,” said the duenna; “the rogue, Cupid, is never at a loss for an expedient.” “And you, dearest Leonora,” resumed the Count, “what do you say to it? Can your heart, always mistrustful, refuse its assent to my proposal?” “No,” she replied, “provided my father consent to it; and I do not doubt that he will, when you have explained to him your reasons for secrecy.” “You must be very cautious how you consult him upon the subject,” interrupted the abominable duenna; “you do not know Don Luis: his notions of honour are too scrupulous to permit him to engage himself with secret amours. The proposal of a private marriage would shock him; besides which, he is too prudent not to foresee the possible consequences of one which interfered with the designs of the King. And, once proposed to him, and his suspicion aroused, his eyes will be constantly upon you; and he will take good care to prevent your marriage, by separating you for ever.”

“And I should die with grief and despair,” cried our courtier. “But madam,” continued he, addressing himself to Marcella, with an air of profound disappointment, “do you really think, then, that there is no chance of Don Luis yielding to our prayer?” “Not the slightest!” replied the governante. “But suppose he should! Exact and scrupulous as he is, he would never consent to the omission of a single religious ceremony on the occasion; and if they are all to be observed in your marriage, the secret will be soon known in Madrid.”

“Ah! my dear Leonora,” said the Count, taking her hand, and tenderly pressing it within his own, “must we, then, to satisfy a vain notion of decorum, expose ourselves to the frightful danger of an eternal separation? Our happiness is in your hands; since it depends on you alone to bestow yourself on me. A father’s consent might, perhaps, spare you some uneasiness; but since our kind Marcella has convinced us of the impossibility of obtaining it, yield yourself, without further scruple, to my innocent desires. Receive my heart and hand; and when the time shall have arrived, that we may inform Don Luis of our union, we shall have no difficulty in satisfying him as to our reasons for its concealment.” “Well, Count,” said Leonora, “I consent to your not at once speaking to my father, but that you first sound the King upon the subject. Before, however, I receive thus secretly your hand, I would have this done. See his Majesty; tell him even, if necessary, that we are married. Let us endeavour, by this show of confidence, — —” “Alas! madam,” interrupted Belflor, “what do you ask of me? No, my soul revolts at the thoughts of falsehood. I cannot lie; and you would despise me, could I thus dissemble with the King; — besides, how could I hope for pardon at his hands, should he discover the meanness of which I had been guilty?”

“I should never have done, Signor Don Cleophas,” continued the Demon, “were I to repeat word for word all that Belflor said, in order to seduce his lovely mistress; I will only add, that he repeated, without my assistance, all those passionate phrases with which I usually inspire gallants upon similar occasions. But in vain did he swear he would publicly confirm, as soon as possible, the faith which he proposed to pledge in secret: Leonora’s virtue was proof against his oaths; and the blushing day, which surprised him while he called Heaven to witness for his fidelity, compelled him to retire less triumphant than he had anticipated.”

On the following morning, the duenna, conceiving that her honour, or rather her interest, engaged her not to abandon the enterprise, took an opportunity of reverting to the subject. “Leonora,” said she, “I am confounded by what passed last evening; you appear to disdain the Count’s affection, or to regard it as inspired by an unworthy motive. Perhaps, however, after all, you remarked something in his person or manner that displeased you?” “No, good governante,” replied Leonora; “he never appeared to me more amiable; and his conversation discovered to me a thousand new charms.” “If that be the case,” said the duenna, “I am still more perplexed. You acknowledge to be strongly prepossessed in his favour, and yet refuse to yield in a point, the absolute necessity of which he has so clearly demonstrated.”

“My dear Marcella,” replied her ward, “you are wiser, and have had more experience in these matters, than myself; but have you sufficiently reflected on the consequences of a marriage contracted without my father’s knowledge?” “Yes, certainly,” answered the duenna, “I have maturely considered all that; and I regret to find you oppose yourself, with an obstinacy of which I deemed you incapable, to the brilliant establishment which fortune presents so uselessly. Have a care that your perverseness does not weary and repel your lover; remember that he may discover the inequality of your station and fortune, which his passion overlooks. While he offers you his faith, receive it without hesitation. His word is his bond; there is no tie more sacred with a man of honour, like Belflor: besides, I am witness that he acknowledges you as his wife; and I need not tell you that a testimony like mine would be more than sufficient to condemn a lover who should dare to perjure himself, and attempt to evade a legal contract.”

By this and similar conversations, the resolution of the artless Leonora was at last shaken; and the perils which surrounded her were so adroitly concealed by her perfidious governante, that, some days afterwards, she abandoned herself, without further reflection, to the will of the Count. Belflor was introduced nightly, by the balcony, into his mistress’s apartment; which he left again before daybreak, when summoned by the duenna.

One morning, the old lady overslept herself; and Aurora had already half opened the golden chambers of the east, when the Count hastily departed, as usual. Unfortunately, in his hurry to descend the ladder, his foot missed, and he fell heavily on the ground.

Don Luis de Cespedes, who slept in the room over Leonora’s, had that morning risen earlier than usual to attend to some important engagements; and hearing the noise of Belflor’s fall he opened his window to learn whence it proceeded. To his astonishment, he perceived a man just raising himself, with difficulty, from the earth, while Marcella was busily engaged in the balcony with the silken ladder, of which the Count had made such bad use in his descent. Scarcely believing his eyes, and rubbing them to make sure that he was awake, Don Luis stood for some time in amazement; but he was too soon convinced that what he saw was no illusion; and that the light of day, although just breaking, was bright enough to discover to him, too clearly, his disgrace.

Afflicted at this fatal sight, transported by a just wrath, he instantly sought the apartment of Leonora, holding the light by which he had been writing in one hand, and his sword in the other. With a frantic determination of sacrificing his daughter and her governante to his resentment, he struck the door of their chamber violently, and commanded them to [Pg 71] admit him. Trembling, they obeyed his summons; when he entered with infuriated looks, and displaying his naked sword: “I come,” he cried, “to wash out, in the blood of an infamous child, the stains on the wounded honour of her father; and to punish the crime of a perfidious wretch, who has betrayed his confidence.”

They were in a moment on their knees before him; and, as he raised his arm, the trembling duenna exclaimed: “In mercy hold, Signor! Before you inflict on us the punishment you meditate, deign but to listen to me for a moment.” “Speak, then, unhappy woman,” said Don Luis; “I will retard my vengeance but for the instant you require: speak, I repeat! tell me all the circumstances of my misfortune. But what do I say, — all the circumstances? Alas! I am ignorant but of one; it is, the name of the villain who has dishonoured me.” “Signor,” replied Marcella, “the cavalier who has just left us is the Count de Belflor.” “The Count de Belflor!” repeated Don Luis; “and where did he see my daughter? By what means has he seduced her? On your life, hide nothing from me!” “Signor,” replied the governante, “I will relate the whole history to you, with all the sincerity of which I am capable.”

She then related, with infinite art, all the conversations she had previously narrated to Leonora, as having passed between herself and the Count; whom she painted in the most flattering colours, as a lover tender, delicate, and sincere, beyond description. As, however, there was no escaping the event in which this heroic love most naturally terminated, she was obliged to avow the truth. But she managed this so adroitly, insisting on the weighty reasons which Belflor had for secrecy in his nuptials, and on the regret he had always expressed for its necessity, that she gradually appeased the fury of her master. This she was not slow to perceive; and, to completely soften the old man, she wound up by a peroration that would have done as much honour to a wig as to a gown: — “Signor,” said she, “I have thus told you the simple truth: now punish us if you will, and plunge your sword into your daughter’s bosom! But what say I? No! Leonora is innocent; she has but followed the faithful counsels of her to whom you confided the guidance of her conduct. It is my heart against which your sword should be directed; it was I who first introduced the Count to her apartment; it is I who formed those ties which bind him to your daughter. I would not perceive the irregularity of his engagement, although unauthorised by you: I saw in him but a son-in-law, whom I was anxious to secure to you; but the channel through which the favours of our Court might reach you. I forgot all but the happiness of Leonora, and the advancement of your family, in the brilliant alliance of the Count. I have erred: the excess of my zeal has made me forgetful of my duty.”

While the subtle Marcella was speaking thus, poor Leonora was not sparing of her tears; and her grief appeared so excessive that the good old man could not resist it. He was affected. His anger was changed into compassion; his sword fell on the ground; and, quitting the air of an irritated parent: “Ah! my daughter,” he cried, while tears sprung from his aged eyes, like water from the rock of Horeb, “what a fatal passion is love! Alas! you know not yet all the causes it will bring you for affliction. The shame which a father’s presence alone excites, can bring tears to your eyes at this moment; but you foresee not the woes which your lover is, perhaps even now, preparing for the future. And you, imprudent Marcella, what have you done? Into what an abyss has your indiscreet zeal for my family plunged us! I allow that an alliance with a man like Belflor might dazzle you, and it is that which alone excuses and saves you; but, miserable that you are, why were you not more cautious with a lover of his station? The greater his credit and favour at court, the more guarded should you have been against his approaches. Should he not scruple to break his faith with my daughter, how shall I avenge the insult? Shall I implore the power of our laws? A person of his rank can easily shelter himself from its severity. I will suppose that, faithful to his oaths, he would abide by his engagements with my daughter: if the King, as you say, has decreed that he shall marry with another, is it likely that our sovereign will fail to be obeyed?”

“Oh! my father,” replied Leonora, “that need not alarm us. The Count has assured us that the King would never do so great a violence to his feelings — » “Of which I am convinced,” interrupted the duenna; “for, besides that the monarch loves Belflor too much to exercise so great a tyranny upon his favourite, he is of too noble a character to afflict so grievously the valiant Don Luis de Cespedes, who has devoted to the service of the state the best years of his life.”

“Heaven grant,” exclaimed the old man, sighing, “that all my fears are vain! I will seek the Count, and demand a full explanation of his conduct: the eyes of a father, alarmed for a daughter’s welfare, will pierce his very soul. If I find him what I would hope, and what you would persuade me he is, I will pardon what has passed; but,” added he firmly, “if in his discourse I discern the perfidy of his heart, you go, both of you, to bewail in retirement, for the rest of your days, the imprudence of which you have been guilty.” As he finished, he took up his sword, and retired to his own room, leaving his daughter and her governante to recover themselves from the fright into which this discovery had so unexpectedly thrown them.

Asmodeus was at this moment interrupted in his recital by the Student, who thus addressed him: — “My dear Devil, interesting as is the history you are relating to me, my eyes have wandered to an object which prevents my listening to you as attentively as I could wish. I see a lady, who is rather good-looking, seated between a young man and a gentleman old enough to be his grandfather. They seem to enjoy the liqueurs which are on the table near them, but what amuses me, is, that as from time to time the amorous old dotard embraces his mistress, the deceiver conveys her hand to the lips of the other, who covers it with silent kisses. He is doubtless her gallant.” “On the contrary,” replied the cripple, “he is her husband, and the old fool is her lover. He is a man of consequence, — no less than a commandant of the military order of Calatrava; and is ruining himself for the lady, whose complaisant husband holds some inferior place at court She bestows her caresses on the sighing knight, for the sake of his gold; and is unfaithful to him in favour of her husband, from inclination.”

“That is a marvellously pretty picture,” said Zambullo. “The husband of course is French?” “No, no,” replied the Demon: “he is a Spaniard. Oh! the good city of Madrid can boast within its walls a fair proportion of such well-bred spouses: still, they do not swarm here as in Paris, which is, beyond contradiction, the most fruitful city of the world in such inhabitants.” “I thought so,” said Don Cleophas; “but pardon me, Signor Asmodeus, if I have broken the thread of the fair Leonora’s story. Continue it, I pray you; it interests me exceedingly; and exhibits such variety in the art of seduction as transports me with admiration.”

CHAPTER V

CONTINUATION OF THE STORY OF THE LOVES OF THE COUNT DE BELFLOR AND LEONORA DE CESPEDES.

Don Luis, (continued Asmodeus), on returning to his apartment, dressed himself hastily, and, while it was still early, repaired to the Count; who, not suspecting a discovery, was much surprised by this visit. On the old man’s entrance, however, Belflor ran to meet him, and, embracing him cordially, exclaimed, “Ah Signor Don Luis; I am delighted to see you. To what do I owe this happiness? Am I so fortunate as to have an opportunity of serving you?” “Signor,” replied Don Luis sternly, “I would speak with you alone.”

Belflor desired his attendants to withdraw; and as soon as they were seated, “Signor,” said Cespedes, “I come to ask of you an explanation of circumstances in which my honour and happiness are deeply interested. I saw you this morning leaving the apartment of my daughter. She has disguised nothing from me: she informed that — —” “She has told you that I love her,” interrupted the Count, to avoid hearing what he knew could not be very agreeable; “but she can but have feebly described all that I feel for her. I am enchanted with her; she is an adorable creature: beauty, wit, virtue, — nothing is wanting to perfect her charms. I am told you have a son, too, who is finishing his studies at Alcala: does he resemble his sister? If he have her beauty, and have at all inherited the noble bearing of his father, he must be a perfect cavalier. I die with anxiety to see him; and I assure you that I shall be proud to advance his fortunes.”

“I am obliged to you for so kind an offer,” gravely replied Don Luis; “but to return to the subject of — —” “He must enter the service at once,” again interrupted the Count: “I charge myself with the care of his interests: he shall not grow old among the crowd of subalterns; on that you may depend.” “Answer me, Count!” replied the old man vehemently, “and cease these interruptions. Do you intend, or not, to fulfil the promise — —?” “Yes, certainly,” interrupted Belflor for the third time; “I engage faithfully to support your son with all the interest I possess: rely on me; I am a man of my word.” “This is too much, Count,” cried Cespedes, rising: “after having seduced my daughter, you dare thus to insult me! But I also am a noble; and the injury you have done me shall not remain unpunished.” In finishing these words, he left the Count, his heart swelling with anger, and his mind tormented with a thousand projects of revenge.

On arriving at home, still greatly agitated, he immediately went to Leonora’s apartment, where he found her with Marcella. “It was not without reason,” said he, addressing them, “that I was suspicious of the Count: he is a traitor; but I will avenge myself. For you, you shall at once hide your shame within a convent: both of you, prepare to leave this house to-morrow; and thank Heaven that my wrath contents itself with so moderate a punishment.” He then left them, to shut himself in his cabinet, that he might maturely reflect on the conduct it would be proper to observe in so delicate a conjuncture.

How poignant was the grief of Leonora, when thus informed of Belflor’s perfidy! She remained for some time motionless; a death-like paleness overspread her lovely features; life itself seemed about to abandon her, and she fell senseless into the arms of her governante. The alarmed duenna at first thought that the victim of her intrigues was really dead; but, on perceiving that she still breathed, used every effort to restore her to consciousness, and at last succeeded. Existence, however, had no longer charms for Leonora; and when, somewhat recovered, she unclosed her eyelids, and perceived the officious governante busy about her person, “Cruel Marcella!” she exclaimed, sighing deeply; “wherefore have you drawn me from the happy state in which I was? Then, I felt not the horror of my destiny. Why did you not let me perish? You, who know so well that life henceforth must be but one long misery, why have you sought to preserve it?”

The duenna endeavoured to console her, but her words only added to Leonora’s sufferings. “It is in vain you would comfort me,” she cried, “I will not hear you: strive not to combat my despair. Rather seek to add to its profundity; you, who have plunged me into the frightful gulph in which all my hopes are swallowed: — you it was who assured me of the Count’s sincerity; but for you I had never yielded to my passion for him; I should have insensibly triumphed over it, or at least, he would never have had cause to boast of my weakness. But no! I will not,” she continued, “attribute to you my misfortunes; it is myself alone I should accuse. I ought not to have followed your advice, in accepting the faith of a man, without the sanction of my father. However flattering to me were the attentions of Count de Belflor, I should have despised them, rather than have endeavoured to secure them at the price of my honour: I should have mistrusted him, you! Marcella, and myself. For my folly in listening to his perfidious oaths, for the affliction I have caused to the unhappy Don Luis, and for the dishonour I have brought upon my family, I detest myself; and, far from fearing the state of seclusion with which I am menaced, I would willingly conceal my guilt and shame in the most frightful dungeon in the world.”

While her grief thus vented itself in exclamations, and tears streamed from her eyes, she frantically tore her clothes, and revenged the injustice of her lover on the beautiful locks which fell around her neck. The duenna, also, to appear in keeping with her mistress’s grief, was not sparing of grimaces; she managed to squeeze out some convenient tears, and directed a thousand imprecations against mankind in general, and against Belflor in particular. “Is it possible,” she cried, “that the Count, who had all the semblance of amiability and rectitude, should be so great a villain as to have deceived us both? I cannot get over my surprise, or rather, I cannot even yet persuade myself that he is so.”

“Indeed,” said Leonora, “when I picture him myself at my feet, what maiden could but have confided to so much tenderness, — to his oaths, which he so daringly called on Heaven to witness, — to his boundless transports, which seemed so sincere? His eyes to me discovered a love far more intense than his lips could express; and the very sight of me appeared to charm him: — no, he did not deceive me; I cannot believe it. My father has not spoken to him with sufficient caution; they have quarrelled, and the Count has replied to his reproaches less as the lover than the lord. Still, may I not deceive myself? I will, however, end this horrible suspense. I will write to Belflor, — tell him I expect him here this night: I am resolved he comes to reassure my troubled heart, or to confirm, himself, his treachery.”

Marcella loudly applauded this resolution; she even conceived a hope that the Count, all ambitious as he was, might yet be affected by the tears of his Leonora, which could not fail at this interview, and that he might determine on espousing her in truth.

Meanwhile, Belflor, relieved of the presence of Don Luis, was revolving in his mind the probable consequences of the reception he had given to the good old man. He felt certain that all the Cespedes, enraged at the injury he had done their family, would unite to avenge it: this, however, gave him but little trouble; the possible loss of Leonora occasioned him far greater anxiety. She would, he imagined, at once be placed in a convent, or, at least, that she would be carefully guarded from his sight; and that she was consequently lost to him for ever. This thought afflicted him; and he was occupied in devising some means to prevent so great a misfortune, when his valet entered the apartment, and presented a letter which Marcella had placed in his hands. It was from Leonora, and ran as follows:—

“My still dearest Belflor, “I shall to-morrow quit the world, to bury myself in a convent. Dishonoured, odious to my family and to myself, such is the deplorable condition to which I am reduced by listening to you. Still I will expect you to-night. In my despair, I seek new tortures: come, and avow to me that your heart disowned the protestations which your lips have made to me; or come to confirm them by your sympathy, which alone can soften the harshness of my destiny. As there may, however, be some danger in this meeting, after what has passed between you and my father, be sure you are accompanied by a friend. Although you have rendered life worthless to me, I cannot cease to interest myself in thine. “Leonora.”

While the Count perused this letter, which he read over several times, his imagination depicted the situation of Leonora, in colours more sombre even than the reality, and he was deeply affected. He bitterly reflected on his past conduct: reason, probity, honour, all whose laws he had violated in the phrenzy of his passion, now regained their empire in his breast. The blindness which selfishness inflicts upon its victims was dissipated; and as the fevered convalescent blushes for the follies which, in the access of his disorder, he has committed, so was Belflor ashamed of the meanness and artifice of which he had been guilty to satisfy his lust.

“What have I done?” he cried; “wretch that I am, what demon has possessed me? I promised Leonora to espouse her, and called on Heaven to witness for the lie; I falsely told her that the King had designed me for another; lying, treachery, perjury, — I have hesitated at nothing to corrupt innocence itself. What madness! Oh! had I used, to control it, the efforts I have made to gratify my passion! To seduce one of whose beauty and virtue I was unworthy, to abandon her to the wrath of her relations, whom I have equally dishonoured, and to plunge her in misery as a return for the happiness she bestowed on me, — what ingratitude! Ought I not then to repair the injury I have inflicted? Yes, I ought, and I will; my hand shall at the altar fulfil the pledge I gave for it. Who shall oppose me in so righteous a determination? Should her tenderness for me at all prejudice her virtue? No, I know too well what that cost me to vanquish. She yielded less to my love than to her confidence in my integrity, and to my vows of fidelity. But, on the other hand, if I resolve on this marriage, I make a great sacrifice, — I, who may pretend to the heiresses of the richest and most noble houses in the kingdom, shall I content myself with the daughter of a respectable gentleman, of small fortune? What will they think of me at court? They will say that I have made a splendid alliance indeed!”

Belflor, thus divided between love and ambition, knew not how to resolve; but although undetermined whether he should marry Leonora or not, he had no difficulty in making up his mind to see her that evening, and at once directed his valet so to inform Marcella.

Don Luis was all this time in his cabinet, engaged in reflections on the mode he should adopt to vindicate his honour; and he was not a little embarrassed in his choice. To have recourse to the laws, was to publish his disgrace, besides which, he suspected with great reason that justice was likely to be one side, and the judges on the other. Again, he dared not to seek reparation of the King himself; as he believed that prince had views with regard to Belflor which must render such an application useless. There remained, then, but his own sword and those of his friends, and on these he concluded to rely.

In the heat of his resentment, he at first meditated a challenge to the Count; but on consideration of his great age and weakness, he feared to trust his arm; so resolved to confide the matter to his son, whose thrust he thought was likely to be surer than his own. He therefore sent one of his domestics to Alcala, with a letter commanding his son’s immediate presence in Madrid, to revenge, as he stated it, an insult offered to the family of the Cespedes.

“This son, Don Pedro, is a cavalier of eighteen years of age, perfectly handsome, and so brave, that he passes at Alcala for the most valiant student of that university; but you know him,” added the Devil, “and I need not enlarge on the subject.” “I can answer,” said Don Cleophas, “for his having all the valour and all the merit that can adorn a gentleman.”

“But this young man,” resumed Asmodeus, “was not then at Alcala, as his father imagined. Love had brought him also to Madrid, where the object of his passion resided; and where he had met her for the first time, on the Prado, on the occasion of his last visit to his family. Who she was, he knew not: and his fair conquest had exacted of him a pledge that he would take no steps to inform himself on this head, — and although he was as good as his word, it cost him some trouble to keep it. I need hardly add, that she was of higher rank than her lover; and that, wisely mistrusting the discretion and constancy of a student — no offence to your highness — she thought proper to test him as to these necessary qualifications for a suitor, before she disclosed to him her station or name.”

His thoughts were, of course, more occupied by his lovely incognita than with the philosophy of Aristotle; and the vicinity of Alcala to Madrid occasioned the youthful Pedro to play truant to his studies as frequent as yourself; but, I must say, with a better excuse than your Donna Thomasa afforded. To conceal from his father, Don Luis, his amorous excursions, he usually lodged at a tavern at the other end of the town, where he passed under a borrowed name; and only went abroad at a certain hour in the morning, that he might repair to a house where the lady, for the love of whom he neglected his Ovid, did him the honour to wait, in company with a trusty female attendant. During the rest of the day he shut himself up in his hotel; but as soon as night was come, he wandered fearlessly throughout the city.

He happened one evening, as he was traversing a bye-street, to hear the sound of instruments and voices, which attracted his attention, and he stopped to listen. It was a serenade, and tolerably performed; but the cavalier, who was drunk, and naturally brutish, no sooner perceived our student than he hurried towards him, and, without preface, — “Friend,” said he, with an insolent air, “make yourself scarce; or your curiosity may find you more than you expect.” “I would have withdrawn,” replied Don Pedro, proudly, “had you requested me to do so with civility; but I shall now stay, to teach you better manners.” “We shall see, then,” said the serenading gallant, drawing his sword, “which of us two will give place to the other.”

Don Pedro also drew his sword, their weapons were crossed in a moment, and a furious combat ensued; but although the Student’s adversary was not wanting in skill, he could not parry a mortal thrust of Don Pedro, and fell dead upon the pavement. The musicians, who had already quitted their instruments, or stopped their singing, and had drawn their swords to protect their patron, now came in a body to avenge his death, and attacked Don Pedro all together. He, however, gave them satisfactory proofs of what he could do upon occasion; for, besides parrying, with surprising dexterity, all the thrusts which they designed for him, he dealt furiously among them, and found work for them all to protect themselves.

Still, they were so numerous, and apparently so determined on the Student’s death, that, skilful as he was with his weapon, they would have most probably accomplished their object, had not the Count de Belflor, who was accidentally passing through the street, come to his assistance. The Count was of too noble a nature to see so many armed men striving against one man to hesitate upon the part he should take. His sword was therefore instantly directed against the musicians, and with so much vigour that they were soon put to flight, some wounded, and the others for fear they should be.

The field thus cleared, the Student, with what breath remained to him, began to express his sense of the valuable service he had so seasonably received; but Belflor at once stopped him: “Not a word, my dear Sir,” said he; “are you not wounded?” “No,” replied Don Pedro. “Then let us leave this place at once,” said the Count: “I see you have killed your man; and it will be dangerous to stay in his company, lest the officers of justice surprise you.” They immediately decamped as quickly as possible, and did not stop until they had gained a street at some distance from the field of battle.

Don Pedro, filled with a natural gratitude, then begged the Count not to conceal from him the name of a person to whom he owed so great an obligation. Belflor made no difficulty in complying with this request; but when in turn he asked that of the Student, the latter, unwilling to discover himself to any person in Madrid, replied, that he was Don Juan de Maros, and that he should eternally bear in his remembrance the debt of gratitude which he owed to the Count.

“Well,” said Belflor to him, “I will this night give you an opportunity of repaying it in full. I have an appointment, which is not without risk; and I was about, when I fell in with you, to seek the protection of a friend. However, I know your valour, Don Juan: will you accompany me?” “To doubt it, were to insult me,” replied the Student: “I cannot better employ the life you have preserved, than in exposing it in your defence. Go! I am ready to follow you.” Accordingly, Belflor conducted Don Pedro to the house of Don Luis, and they both entered, by the balcony, the apartment of Leonora.

Here Don Cleophas interrupted the Devil: “Signor Asmodeus,” said he, “impossible! What! not know his own father’s house? No, no, no; that will never do.” “It was not possible he should know it,” replied the Demon; “for it was a new one: Don Luis had lately changed his habitation, and had only taken this house a week before; which was just what Don Pedro did not know, and was what I was just going to tell you when you stopped me. You are too sharp; and have that shocking habit of displaying your intelligence by interrupting people in their stories: get rid of that fault, I pray you.”

“Well,” continued the Devil, “Don Pedro did not think he was in his father’s house; nor did he even perceive that it was Marcella who let him into it; since she received him without a light, in an antechamber, where Belflor requested his companion to remain while he was in the next room with his mistress. To this the Student made no demur; so quietly sat himself down in a chair, with his drawn sword in his hand for fear of surprise, while his thoughts ran on the favours which he suspected love was heaping on the Count, and his wishes that he might be as happy with his incognita, — for although he had no great cause of complaint as to her kindness, still it was not exactly paid after the kind of that of Leonora for the Count.”

While he was making, upon this subject, all those pleasing reflections which occur so readily to an impassioned lover, he heard some one endeavouring quietly to open a door, which was not that of The Delights, but one which discovered a light through the keyhole. He rose quickly, and advanced towards it; and, as the door opened, presented the point of his sword to his father; for he it was who entered Leonora’s apartments, for the purpose of seeing that the Count was not there. The good old man did not exactly suppose, after what had passed, that his daughter and Marcella would dare to receive him again, which had prevented his assigning to them other chambers; but he had thought it probable that, as they were to go to a nunnery on the following day, they might desire to converse with him, for the last time, ere they left his roof.

“Whoever thou art,” said the Student, “enter not this room, or it may cost thee thy life.” At these words, Don Luis stared at Don Pedro, who also regarding the old man with attention, they soon recognised each other. “Ah! my son,” cried the old man, “with what impatience have I expected you: why did you not inform me of your arrival? Did you fear to disturb my rest? Alas! that is for ever banished, in the cruel situation in which I am placed.” “Ah, my father!” said Don Pedro, utterly amazed, “is it you whom I behold? Are not my eyes deceived by some fantastic vision?” “Whence this astonishment?” replied Don Luis; “are you not within your father’s house? Have I not, a week ago, informed you where to find me?” “Just Heaven!” cried the Student, “what do I hear? — and this then is my sister’s apartment.”

As he finished these words, the Count, whom the noise had alarmed, and who expected that his escort was attacked, came out, sword in hand, from Leonora’s chamber. No sooner did the old man perceive him than, with fury in his eyes, he pointed to Belflor, and exclaimed to his son, — “There is the villain who has robbed me of my happiness, and who has stained our honour with a mortal taint. Revenge! Let us hasten to punish the traitor!” As he thus vented his rage, he opened his dressing-gown, and drew from beneath it his sword, with which he was about to fall on the Count, when Don Pedro restrained him. “Stay, my father,” said he; “moderate, I entreat you, the fury of your wrath: what are you about to do?” “My son,” replied the old man, “you withhold my arm. You doubtless think it is too weak to revenge our wrongs. Be it so! Do you then exact full satisfaction for the injury he has done us: it was for this purpose that I summoned you to Madrid. Should you perish, I will take your place; for either shall the Count fall beneath our arms, or he shall take from both of us our lives, after having blasted our reputation.”

“My father,” said Don Pedro, “I cannot yield to your impatience that which it requires of me. Far from attempting the life of the Count, I am now here to defend it. For that my word is pledged, — to that my honour is assured. Let us depart, Count,” continued he, addressing himself to Belflor. “Ah! wretch,” interrupted Don Luis, while he surveyed his son with anger and astonishment, — “thus to oppose thyself to a vengeance, which it should be the business of thy life to accomplish! My son, my own son, is leagued, then, with the villain who has corrupted my daughter! But think not to escape my resentment: I will place a sword in the hand of every servant in my house, to punish his treachery and thy despicable meanness.”

“Signor,” replied Don Pedro, “be more just towards your son. Call him not despicable or mean — he merits not those odious appellations. The Count this night saved my life. He proposed to me, in ignorance of my real name, to accompany him here; and I freely consented to share the perils he might run, without knowing that my gratitude imprudently engaged my arm against the honour of my family. My word is passed, then, here to defend his life; that done, I stand acquitted of my obligation towards him: but I am not the less insensible of the wrong that he has done to you and to us all; and to-morrow you shall find that I will as readily shed his blood, as you behold me now determined to preserve it from your hands.”

The Count had witnessed in silence all that passed, so much was he surprised at this extraordinary adventure; he now, however, thus addressed the Student: “It is possible that the injury I have inflicted might be but imperfectly avenged by your sword; I will, therefore, present to you a means much more certain of repairing it. I will confess to you that, until this day, I did not intend to marry Leonora; but I this morning received from her a letter which touched my heart, and her tears have finished what her letter began. The happiness of being united to your sister is now my dearest hope.” “But if the King has destined you for another,” said Don Luis, “how can you dispense — —?” “The King has not troubled himself upon the subject,” interrupted Belflor, blushing: “pardon, I beseech you, that fiction, to a man whose reason was deranged by love; it is a crime that the violence of my passion incited me to commit, and which I expiate in avowing to you my shame.”

“Signor,” replied the old man, “after this frankness, which belongs only to noble minds, I cannot doubt your sincerity. I see, with joy, that you are anxious to repair the injury you have done us; my anger yields to this assurance of your contrition; I will forget it for ever in your arms.” He advanced towards the Count, who rushed to meet him, and they embraced each other cordially. Then, turning towards Don Pedro, “And you, false Don Juan,” said Belflor, — “you, who have already gained my esteem by your valour, come, let me vow to you a brother’s love.” Don Pedro received the Count’s embraces with a submissive and respectful air, saying, “Signor, in offering to me so valuable a friendship, you secure mine for yourself: rely on me, as one devoted to your service to the last moment of his life.”

While these cavaliers were thus discoursing, Leonora was at the door of her chamber, intently listening to every syllable they uttered. She had been, at the first, tempted to discover herself, and to throw herself in the midst of their swords; but fear, and Marcella, had withheld her. But when the adroit duenna saw that matters were arranging very amicably, she guessed that the presence of her mistress, and her own, would spoil nothing. Accordingly, she appeared, her handkerchief in one hand and her ward in the other; and, with tears in their eyes, they prostrated themselves before Don Luis. Neither of them, indeed, felt perfectly assured; for they recollected the surprise of the previous night, and feared the old man’s reproaches for this renewal of their disobedience. However, raising Leonora, — “My child,” said he, “dry your tears; I will not upbraid you now: since your lover is disposed to keep the faith he has sworn to you, it is fitting that I should forget the past.”

“Yes, Signor Don Luis,” interrupted Belflor, “I will indeed keep my faith with Leonora; and as some amends for the insult I had intended, as the fullest satisfaction I can give to you, and as a pledge of that friendship I have vowed to Don Pedro, I offer him in marriage my sister Eugenia.” “Signor!” cried [Pg 96] Don Luis, “how can I express my satisfaction at the honour you confer upon my son? Was ever father happier than myself? You overpay me, in joy, for the grief you have caused me.”

Though the old man was charmed with the Count’s proposals, I cannot say as much for his son. Being sincerely taken with love for his incognita, he was so overcome with surprise and chagrin at Belflor’s offer, that he had not a word to say for himself; when the latter, who did not observe his embarrassment, took leave, stating that he should at once order the necessary preparations for this double union, and that he was impatient to be bound to them eternally, by ties so endearing.

After his departure, Don Luis left Leonora with the duenna, taking with him his son, who, when they had reached his father’s apartment, said, with all the frankness of a student: “Signor, do not insist, I pray you, on my marriage with the Count’s sister; it is enough for the honour of our family, that he should espouse Leonora.” “What! my son,” replied the old man, “can you have any objection to an union with Eugenia de Belflor?” “Yes, my father,” said Don Pedro; “I must confess to you, that union would prove to me the most cruel of punishments; and I will not disguise from you the reason. I love, or, rather, I adore another: for the last six months she has listened to my vows: and now, on her alone depends the happiness of my life.”

“How miserable is the condition of a father!” exclaimed Don Luis: “how rarely does he find his children disposed to do as he desires them. But who is this lady that has made such deep impression on your heart?” “That, I do not yet know,” replied Don Pedro. “She has promised to inform me of her name when I shall have satisfied her of my constancy and discretion; but I doubt not she does honour to one of the noblest houses of Spain.”

“And you think then,” said the old man, changing his tone, “that I shall be so obliging as to sanction this romantic love! — that I shall permit you to renounce an alliance, as glorious as fortune could offer to you, that you may remain faithful to an illustrious lady of whose very name you are ignorant! Do not expect so much of my kindness. No, rather strive to vanquish feelings that are inspired by an object which is most probably unworthy of them; and seek, in so doing, to merit the honour which the Count proposes for you.” “You speak to me in vain, my father,” replied the Student; “I feel that I can never forget her whom I have sworn to love — unknown though she be, — and that nothing can tear me from her. Were [Pg 98] the Infanta proposed to me — —” “Hold!” cried the old man angrily; “it is too much to boast thus insolently of a constancy which excites my displeasure: leave me, and let me not see you again until you are prepared to obey my will.”

Don Pedro did not dare to reply to these words, for fear of hearing others more unpleasant still; so he retired to his chamber, where he passed the remainder of the night in reflections in which sorrow was not all unmixed with joy. He thought with grief that he was about to estrange himself from his family, by refusing the hand of Belflor’s sister; but then he was consoled, when he reflected that his incognita would worthily esteem the greatness of the sacrifice. He even flattered himself that, after so convincing a proof of his fidelity, she would no longer conceal from him her station, which he imagined also must be equal at least to that of Eugenia.

In this hope, as soon as day appeared, he went out, and directed his steps towards the Prado, that he might pass away the time until the hour of his meeting with his mistress. With what impatience did he count the minutes as they lingered, — with what joy did he hail the happy moment when it arrived!

He found his fair unknown with Donna Juanna, the lady at whose house they met; but alas, he found her in tears, and apparently in the deepest affliction. What a sight for a lover! His own grief was forgotten: he approached her with tenderness; and throwing himself on his knees before her, “Madam,” he exclaimed, “what must I think of the condition in which I see you? What dreadful misfortune do these tears, which pierce my heart, forbode?” “You dream not,” she replied, “of the fatal news I bring you. Cruel fortune is about to separate us for ever; — yes! we shall meet no more.”

She accompanied these words with so many and such heart-rending [Pg 99] sighs, that I know not if Don Pedro was more affected at what she told him, than at the affliction with which she appeared oppressed in telling it. “Just Heaven!” he cried, in a transport of fury, which he could not control, “is it thy will that they prevent an union whose innocence is worthy of thy protection? But, Madam,” he continued, “you are perhaps falsely alarmed! Is it certain that they would snatch you from the most faithful of lovers? Can it be possible that I should be so unhappy?” “Our misfortune is but too certain,” answered the Unknown; “my brother, upon whom my hand depends, has bestowed it this very day; he has this moment announced to me his decision.” “And who is the happy man?” exclaimed Don Pedro. “Tell me! In my despair I will seek him, and — —” “I do not know his name,” interrupted the Unknown. “I cared not to ask, nor did my brother inform me; he told me indeed that it was his wish that I should first see the cavalier.”

“But, Madam,” said Don Pedro, “will you then yield without resistance to your brother’s will? Will you be dragged to the altar, without complaint? Will you go, a willing sacrifice, and abandon me so easily? Alas! I have not hesitated to expose myself to the anger of a father for love of you; nor could his menaces for a moment shake my fidelity. No! nor threats, nor persuasion, could move me to espouse another, although the lady he proposed for me was one to whom I had hardly dared aspire.” “And who is this lady?” asked the Unknown. “She is the sister of the Count de Belflor,” replied the scholar. “Ah, Don Pedro!” cried the Unknown, with extreme surprise, “surely, you are mistaken; it cannot be she whom they propose to you. What! Eugenia, the sister of Belflor? Are you sure of what you say?” “Yes, Madam,” replied the Student; “the Count himself offered me her hand.” “How!” cried she, “is it possible that you are the cavalier for whom my brother designs me?” “What do I hear?” cried the Student in his turn, “is it possible that my incognita is the Count de Belflor’s sister?” “Yes, Don Pedro,” replied Eugenia. “But I can hardly believe it myself, at this moment; so difficult do I find it to persuade myself of the happiness you assure to me.”

Don Pedro now fell again at her feet, and seizing her hand, he kissed it with all the transport that lovers only can feel who pass suddenly from the depths of despair to the highest pinnacle of hope and joy. While he abandoned himself to the feelings of his heart, Eugenia for the first time forgot her reserve, and freely returned his caress — she felt that her love was sanctioned, and gave, her lips where her heart had long been engaged. “Alas!” said she, when her love could form itself into words, “what tortures had my brother spared me, had he but here named the husband of his choice! What aversion had I already conceived for my future lord! Ah, my dear Don Pedro, how I have hated you!” “Lovely Eugenia,” replied he, “what charms has that hatred for me now! I will endeavour to merit it by adoring you for ever.”

After the happy pair had exhausted love’s vocabulary, and the tumult of their hearts was somewhat calmed, Eugenia was anxious to know by what means the Student had gained her brother’s friendship. Don Pedro did not conceal from her the amours of the Count and his sister, and related all that had passed the night before. It was for Eugenia an additional pleasure to learn that Belflor was to marry the sister of her own lover. Donna Juanna was too much interested in the welfare of her friend not to partake of her joy for this happy event, and warmly congratulated her, as also Don Pedro thereon. At last the lovers separated, after having agreed that they should not appear to know each other when they met before the Count and Don Luis.

Don Pedro returned to his father, who, finding his son disposed to obey him, was the more pleased, inasmuch as he attributed this ready compliance to the firm manner in which he had spoken to him overnight. They presently received a note from Belflor, in which he informed them that he had obtained the King’s consent to his marriage, as also for that of his sister with Don Pedro, on whom his Majesty had been pleased to confer a considerable appointment. He added, so diligently had his orders for the nuptials been executed, that everything was arranged for their taking place on the following day; and he came soon after they had received his letter, to confirm what he had written, and to present to them his sister Eugenia.

Don Luis received the lady with every mark of affection, and Leonora kissed her so much that her brother was almost jealous — although, whatever he might feel, he managed to constrain his love and delight, so as not to give the Count the least suspicion of their intelligence.

As Belflor remarked his sister with great attention, he thought he could discover, notwithstanding her reserve, which he attributed to modesty, that Don Pedro was by no means displeasing to her. To be certain, however, he took an opportunity of speaking to her aside, and drew from her an avowal of her entire satisfaction. He then informed her of the name and rank of her intended, which he would not before communicate, lest the inequality of the stations should prejudice her against him; all which she feigned, marvellously well, to hear as for the first time.

At last, after many compliments, which were remarkable for their sincerity, it was resolved that the weddings should take place at the house of Don Luis the next day, as Belflor had arranged. They were accordingly celebrated this evening, the rejoicing still continues, and now you know why they are so merry in that house. Every one is delighted — except the lady Marcella: she, while all else are laughing, is at this moment in tears. They are real tears too, this time! for the Count de Belflor, after the ceremony, informed Don Luis of the facts which preceded it; and the old gentleman has sent the duenna to the Monasterio de las Arrepentidas, where the thousand pistoles she received for seducing Leonora will enable her to repent having done so for the rest of her days.

CHAPTER VI

NEW OBJECTS DISPLAYED TO DON CLEOPHAS; AND HIS REVENGE ON DONNA THOMASA.

The Demon now directed the Student’s attention to another part of the city. “You see,” he continued, “that house which is directly under us: it contains something curious enough, — a man loaded with debt and sleeping profoundly.” “Of course then,” said Leandro, “he is a person of distinction?” “Precisely so,” answered Asmodeus: “he is a marquis, possessed of a hundred thousand ducats per annum, but whose expenses, nevertheless, exceed his income. His table and his mistresses require that he should support them with credit, but that causes him no anxiety; on the contrary, when he opens an account with a tradesman, he thinks that the latter is indebted to him. “It is you,” said he the other day to a draper, ‘it is you, that I shall henceforth trust with the execution of my orders; it is a preference which you owe to my esteem.”

“While the marquis enjoys so tranquilly the sweet repose of which he deprives his creditors, look at a man who — —” “Stay, Signor Asmodeus,” interrupted Don Cleophas hastily; “I perceive a carriage in the street, and cannot let it pass without asking what it contains.” “Hush,” said the Cripple, lowering his voice, as though he feared he should be heard: — “learn that that vehicle conceals one of the most dignified personages in this kingdom, a president, who is going to amuse himself with an elderly lady of Asturia, who is devoted to his pleasures. That he may not be known, he has taken the precaution of imitating Caligula, who on a similar occasion disguised himself in a wig.

“But, — to return to the picture I was about to present to your sight when you interrupted me, — observe, in the very highest part of the mansion, where sleeps the marquis, a man who is writing in a chamber filled with books and manuscripts.” “He is probably,” said Zambullo, “the steward, labouring to devise some means for discharging his master’s obligations.” “Excellent,” exclaimed the Devil; “that, indeed, forms a great part of the amusement of such gentry in the service of noblemen! They seek rather to profit from derangement of their masters’ affairs than to put them in order. He is not, then, the steward whom you see; he is an author: the marquis keeps him in his house, to obtain the reputation of a patron of literature.’ ‘This author,’ replied Don Cleophas, ‘is apparently a man of eminence.’ ‘Judge for yourself!’ replied the Demon. ‘He is surrounded by a thousand volumes, and is composing one, on Natural History, in which there will not be a line of his own. He pillages these books and manuscripts without mercy; and, although he does nothing but arrange and connect his larcenies, he has more vanity than the most original writer upon earth.

“You are not aware,” continued the Spirit, “who lives three doors from this mansion: it is La Chichona, the very lady who acted so honourable a part in the story of the Count de Belflor.” “Ah!” said Leandro, “I am delighted to behold her. The dear creature, so considerate for youth, is doubtless one of the two old ladies whom I perceive in that room. One of them is leaning with both her elbows on the table, looking attentively at the other, who is counting out some money. Which of them is La Chichona?” “Not the one who is counting,” said the Demon; “her name is La Pebrada, and she is a distinguished member of the same profession: they are, indeed, partners; and are at this moment dividing the profits of an adventure which, by their assistance, has terminated favourably.

“La Pebrada is the more successful of the two: she has [Pg 108] among her clients several rich widows, who subscribe to her daily register.” “What do you mean by her register?” interrupted the Student. “Why,” replied Asmodeus, “it contains the names of all handsome foreigners, and particularly Frenchmen, who come to Madrid. The instant La Pebrada hears of an arrival, away she posts to the hotel of the new comer, to learn every particular as to his country, birth, parentage, and education, — his age, form, and appearance, all which are duly reported to her subscribers; and if, on reflection, the heart of any of her widows is inclined to an acquaintance, she adroitly manages a speedy interview with the stranger.”

“That is extremely convenient,” replied Zambullo, smiling, “and in some sort very proper; for, in truth, without these kind ladies and their agents, the youthful foreigner, who comes without introductions to Madrid, would lose an immense deal of time in gaining them. But, tell me, are there in other countries widows as generous and women as intriguing?” “Capital!” exclaimed the Devil — “if there are? Why! can you doubt it? I should be unworthy of my demonship if I neglected to provide all large towns with them in plenty.”

“Cast your eyes upon Chichona’s neighbour, — yon printer, who is working at his press, alone. He has dismissed the devils in his employ these three hours; and he is now engaged, for the night, on a work which he is printing privately.” “Ah! what may it be?” said Leandro. “It treats of insults,” replied the Demon; “and endeavours to prove that Religion is preferable to Honour; and that it is better to pardon than to avenge an affront.” “Oh! the scoundrel!” exclaimed the Student “Well may he print in secret his infamous book. Its author had better not acknowledge his production: I would be one of the first to answer it with a horsewhip. What! can Religion forbid the preservation of one’s honour?”

“Let us not discuss that point,” interrupted Asmodeus, with a malicious smile. “It appears that you have made the most of the lectures on morality you listened to at Alcala; and I give you joy of the result.” “You may say what you please,” interrupted Cleophas in his turn, “and so may the writer of this wretched absurdity: but though his reasonings were clear as the noon-day sun, I should despise him and them. I am a Spaniard, and nothing is to me so delightful as revenge; and, by the by, since you have pledged yourself to satisfy me for the perfidy of my mistress, I call on you at once to keep your promise.”

“I yield with pleasure,” replied the Demon, “to the wrath which agitates your breast. Oh! how I love those noble spirits who follow without scruple the dictates of their passions! I will obey your will at once; and indeed, the hour to avenge your wrongs is come: but first I wish to show you something which will amuse you vastly. Look beyond the printing-office, and observe with attention what is passing in an apartment, hung with drab cloth.” “I perceive,” said Leandro, “five or six women, who are with eagerness offering phials of something to a sort of valet, and they appear desperately agitated.”

“They are,” replied Asmodeus, “devotees, who have great reason to be agitated. There is in the next room a sick inquisitor. This venerable personage, who is about thirty-five years old, is attended by two of his dearest penitents, with untiring watchfulness. One is concocting his gruel, while the other at his pillow is employed in keeping his head warm, and is covering his stomach with a kind of blanket made of at least fifty lamb-skins.” “What on earth is the matter with him, then?” asked Zambullo. “He has a cold in his head,” answered the Devil; “and there is danger lest the disorder should extend to his lungs.”

The ladies whom you see in his antechamber have hastened, on the alarm of his indisposition, with all sorts of remedies. One brings, to allay his apprehended cough, syrups of jujubes, mallows, coral, and coltsfoot; another, to preserve the said lungs of his reverence, syrups of long-life, speedwell, amaranth, and the elixir vitæ; this one, to fortify his brain and stomach, has brought balm, cinnamon, and treacle waters, besides gutta vitæ, and the essences of nutmegs and ambergris; that offers anacardine and bezoardic confections; while a fifth carries tinctures of cloves, gilly-flowers, sunflowers, and of coral and emeralds. All these zealous penitents are boasting to the valet of the virtues of the medicines they offer; and each by turns, drawing him aside, and slipping a ducat in his hand, whispers in his ear: “Laurence, my dear Laurence, manage so, I beg of you, that what I bring for the dear man may have the preference.””

“By Jupiter!” cried Don Cleophas, “it must be allowed that inquisitors — even sick inquisitors — are happy mortals.” “I can answer for that,” replied Asmodeus; “I almost envy them their lot, myself; and, like the son of Philip of Macedon, who once said that he would have been Diogenes, if he had not been Alexander, I can unhesitatingly say, that, if I were not a devil I would be an inquisitor.”

“But, Signor Student,” continued he, “let us go! Let us away, to punish the ingrate who so ill-requited your tenderness.” Zambullo instantly seized the end of the Demon’s cloak, and a second time was whirled with him through the air, until they alighted on the house of Donna Thomasa.

This frail damsel was seated at table, with the four gentlemen who, a few hours before, had so eagerly sought the acquaintance of Don Cleophas on the roof of her house. He trembled with rage, as he beheld them feasting on a brace of partridges and a rabbit, which, with some choice wine, he had sent to the traitress for his own supper; and, to add to his mortification, he perceived that joy reigned in the repast; and that it was evident, by the deportment of the lady, that the company of these scoundrels was much more agreeable to her than that of himself. “Oh! the wretches!” he cried, in a perfect fury, “to see them enjoying themselves at my expense! Vastly pleasant, is it not?”

“Why, I must confess,” replied the Demon, “that you have witnessed spectacles more pleasing; but he who rejoices in the favours of such fair ones must expect to share them. This sort of thing has happened a thousand times; especially in France, among the abbés, the gentlemen of the long robe, and the financiers.” “If I had a sword, though,” said Leandro, “I would fall upon the villains, and spoil their sport for them.” “You would be hardly matched,” replied the Demon; — “what were one among so many? Leave your revenge to me! I will manage it better than you could. I will soon set them together by the ears, in inspiring each of them with a fit of tenderness for your mistress: their swords will be out in no time, and you will be delighted with the uproar.”