Tales from the Lands of Nuts and Grapes Part 14

Pedro hurried away with the princess; and after they had been married and crowned, the princess, who was now queen, one day said to him-

"Pedro, the magician who held me captive from you was Rank, and therefore were the balconies so high. When you saw me on the beach fed by pigeons, it was that you should know my power; on the sh.o.r.e I was attended by winged messengers, and on the sea I sailed about at pleasure."

"But what about the wounded pigeon?" asked Pedro.

"Recollect, Pedro, what you said to me in the garden," answered the princess-"that you would rather slay me than do me a more grievous injury. That poor pigeon with its broken wing could no more hope to soar aloft than an injured woman to mix with her former a.s.sociates."

"And what about the seven wives who were waiting outside, and who so frightened the old magician, Rank?" continued Pedro.

"They are the seven deadly sins, who would each have a tongue for itself, and yet without tongues are enough to frighten Rank," answered the princess.

"And who am I, then," asked Pedro, "to be so exalted now?"

"You are the wise man who strove to do his best, yet tried not to exalt himself above his position," sweetly answered the princess.

"So that the magician Rank has unwillingly raised the poor fisherman to be king," whispered Pedro.

"Not Rank alone, but much more so thy own worth."

LADY CLARE.

TRANSLATION.

Lady Clare was in her garden overlooking the sea. It was a summer's day, and the many coloured b.u.t.terflies flitted about under the trees and among the sweet smelling flowers.

Lady Clare was combing her golden tresses with an ivory comb, seated on a crimson velvet cus.h.i.+on. She looked towards the sea, and she saw a gallant fleet making for the land.

He who was in command stepped on sh.o.r.e. He was a belted knight, but his features could not be seen as his vizor was down.

Approaching Lady Clare, he saluted her, and she thus addressed him-

"Hast thou, n.o.ble knight, seen my husband, who bid me good-bye many years ago when he sailed for the Holy Land?"

"I know not thy husband, fair lady. By what should I know him?"

"He took his white charger with its golden trappings with him," answered Lady Clare. "On his lance he bore a red pennon; a tress of my hair served him for a belt, from which hung his sword. But if thou hast not seen him, Knight of the Cross, then woe be to me, lonely widow, for I have three daughters, and they are all unmarried."

"I am a soldier," continued the knight; "war is my employment. But what wouldst thou give, fair lady, to have thy husband near?"

"I would give thee more money than thou couldst count, as well as the roof of my house, which is made of gold and ivory," answered Lady Clare.

"I care not for gold nor money; they are of no use to me, for I am a soldier and engaged in war, and I never saw thy husband. But what wouldst thou give, fair lady, to have him here?" inquired the knight.

"I would give thee my jewels, which cannot be weighed nor measured; I would give thee my golden loom and my distaff of burnished silver," said Lady Clare.

"I neither wish for gold nor for silver: with steel is my hand better acquainted, for I am a warrior, and I never saw thy husband. But what wouldst thou give to have him near thee?" cried the knight.

"I would let thee choose one of my daughters; they are as fair as the moon, or as the sun when rising," urged Lady Clare.

"I do not want thy daughters; they may not marry me, for I am a soldier and engaged in warfare, and I never cast eyes on thy husband. But what wouldst thou give to have thy own knight here?" exclaimed the warrior.

"I cannot give thee more, nor hast thou more to ask of me," replied Lady Clare.

"Thou hast still more to give, for thou hast not yet offered thyself, fair lady," said the knight.

"A belted knight who dare so speak deserves to be dragged around my garden, tied to the tails of my horses. Come hither, my va.s.sals, and punish this rude soldier!" exclaimed Lady Clare.

"Do not call for thy va.s.sals, for they are mine also," said the knight; "and do not be angry with me, for I have already kissed thee."

"Then thou art surely my brave lord," said Lady Clare; "but how wilt thou prove thyself?"

"By the golden ring with seven gems which I divided with thee when I left," answered the knight. "Here is my half; where is thine?"

"My daughters," cried the Lady Clare, "bring hither my half of the ring, for your father is here to claim it! But, oh, my husband, joy at seeing thee again had nigh made thee a widower."

GOOD ST. JAMES, AND THE MERRY BARBER OF COMPOSTELLA.

Just close to the cathedral of Compostella lived a barber whose real name was Pedro Moreno, but who was better known by that of El Macho, "the mule," because he was so stubborn that if he happened to be playing the guitar, he would not leave off though a dozen customers were waiting to be shaved. But in Spain a barber also applies leeches, draws teeth, and extracts corns, so that it was very annoying for a man who was suffering from tooth-ache, and wanted his tooth taken out or stopped, to have to wait until the barber had finished playing on the guitar.

He was also a soothsayer, and could repeat the whole of the prophetical _Buena Dicha_ by heart. He was, in fact, the most useful man in Compostella, and had cultivated the art of shaving the face and head from the commencement which consists in watching the flies when standing close to the master who is showing off his skill on a customer, to being able to play the guitar with such proficiency that, holding the neck in his left hand and pressing the cords with the fingers, he shall, by thumping the instrument on the big toe of his left foot, cause it to vibrate the air of the immortal _Cachucha_ or the _Bolero_, while with his right hand he plays the castanets.

A barber may have his bra.s.s chin-basins, which hang outside the door, burnished every day; his fly-catcher renovated every month; his bottles containing leeches nice and clean; and he may know all the scandal of the town, which is decidedly a part of his duty; but if he cannot play the guitar and the castanets at the same time-which he can only do by calling the big toe of his left foot into requisition-he must not be considered a barber of the first cla.s.s. He may do for shaving poor priests and water-carriers; but he may not shave an abbot, nor an archbishop, still less a grandee of Spain, who may sit before the king with his hat on.

In other countries the position of a barber is somewhat less important than it used to be when cleanliness required of a man that he should appear at early ma.s.s on the Sunday well shaved; but in Spain, cleanliness of the face is a great recommendation, for a rough chin never earned kisses. Therefore is a barber still held in great respect in the land of the Cid; and although Don Pedro Moreno was known by the name of "El Macho," no one would have dared address him thus.

One day the archbishop called on El Macho to request of him to come and look at the image of St. James in the cathedral, to whom the edifice is dedicated, because this miraculous figure, who had wrought so many miracles, had, strange to say, commenced letting his beard grow, much to the astonishment of all the priesthood and of the common people, and to the dismay of several knights who had been knighted at the altar of St.

James, because in those days knights did not use beards.

The barber, seeing the archbishop enter his house, advanced, knelt, and kissed his ring; and, knowing on what errand he was come, he was so solicitous of securing the archbishop's favour, that he put aside his guitar, and respectfully awaited the prelate's commands.

The archbishop having informed Pedro of the state of St. James's chin, proceeded to inform him that it had been decided, at a meeting of the clergy, to entrust the shaving of the saint to him, Pedro Moreno; but that, as this growth of hair was most exceptional, seeing that the image was of wood, it was probable that the usual process of shaving might not be sufficient.

"And you are quite right, most excellent sir, in your supposition,"

exclaimed the barber; "for unless I obtain some of the holy water in which the good saint was baptized, and a piece of the soap with which Judas Iscariot greased the rope with which he hanged himself, it will be useless to try and shave him, for the hair will grow as fast as it is taken off."

"But that is impossible," answered the archbishop; "for we do not even know where the good saint was baptized; and as for the soap last used by the arch-traitor, I should not be astonished to hear that Satan had taken it away with him when he came to fetch Judas. No, good Pedro; you must help me out of this difficulty in some other manner."

"Then we must do with St. James of Compostella what the men of Burgos did with their alcaide, who persisted in getting drunk when he ought to have been getting sober. They got another alcaide as much like the other as possible, excepting that he was not a _borracho_. We must get another St. James like this one, but without a beard, and the people will be none the wiser."

"But," whispered the venerable archbishop, "what are we to do without our real, own, good, sweet St. James, whose miracles have been the means of restoring so many erring ones to the fold, and bringing in so much money to the Church? How can we replace him? And then, again, where can we hide him?"