Pablo de Segovia, the Spanish Sharper by Francisco de Quevedo (e book reading free TXT) 📕
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Francisco de Quevedo holds the status of a man-of-letters in the same pantheon as Cervantes; but despite that, Pablo de Segovia is his only novel. Quevedo had circulated the manuscript privately for several years before it was published in 1626 without his permission. The novel is partly a satire of contemporary Spanish life, and a caricature of the various social strata Pablo encounters and emulates.
Pablo himself is a low-born person who aspires to become a gentleman, but despite his best efforts he repeatedly fails and is eventually forced to become a “sharper,” or rogue. His failures give Quevedo an avenue to expound on his belief that attempting to break past your social class can only lead to disorder; and that despite one’s best efforts, bettering oneself is largely impossible. Pablo’s stumbling from misfortune to misfortune is a farce that helped cement Quevedo’s reputation as a literary giant.
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- Author: Francisco de Quevedo
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I must confess, I was much troubled at this fresh disgrace, and yet, in some measure, I was glad of it, for the scandalous lives of parents make their greatest misfortunes a comfort to their children. I went away hastily to Don Diego, who was then reading his father’s letter, in which he ordered him to leave the university and return home, but not to take me with him, because of the account he had received of my trickiness. He told me he must be gone, and how his father commanded him to part with me, which he was sorry for; and I was so much more. He added, he would recommend me to another gentleman, his friend, to serve him. I smiled, and answered, “Sir, the case is altered; I have other designs in my head, and aim at greater matters, so that I must take another course; for though hitherto I was at the foot of the ladder, in order to mount, you must understand that my father has got up to the top of it.” With this I told how bravely he had died, at his full stretch; how he was carved out, and served up as a feast to the birds of the air. That my good uncle, the executioner, had sent me the whole account, and acquainted me with my mammy’s confinement; for I could be plain with him, because he knew all my pedigree. He seemed to be much concerned, and asked how I intended to bestow myself. I informed him of all my resolutions, and so the very next day he went away for Segovia, very melancholy, and I stayed in the house, without taking the least notice of my misfortune. I burned the letter, for fear it might be dropped, and somebody read it, and began to provide for my journey to Segovia, designing to take possession of what was my due, and to know my kindred, that I might shun them.
VIIIMy journey from Alcalá to Segovia, and what happened by the way till I came to Rejas, where I lay that night.
At length the day came when I left the sweetest life I have ever known. I cannot express how much it troubled me to leave so many friends and dear acquaintance, for they were very numerous. I sold what little I had got underhand, to bear my charges on the way; and with some tricks and sleights of hand, made up about forty crowns, hired a mule, and left my lodging, where I had nothing to leave behind. The Lord alone knows what a hue and cry there was after me; the shoemaker roared for the shoes he had trusted me with; the old housekeeper scolded for her wages; the landlord fretted for his rent. One cried, “My heart always misgave me that I should be so served”; another said, “They were much in the right who told me that this fellow was a cheat.”
In short, I was so generally beloved that I left half the town in tears for me when I came away, and the other half laughing at those that bemoaned themselves. I diverted myself with these thoughts along the road, when having passed through the town of Torote, I overtook a man riding on a he-mule, with a pannel. He talked to himself very rapidly, and was so wrapt in imagination that he did not perceive me, though I was close by his side. I saluted him, and he returned the courtesy; then I asked which way he was travelling; and after a few such questions and answers had passed between us, began to discourse about the Turks coming down, and the king’s forces. Then he began to lay a scheme for recovering of the Holy Land, and the taking of Algiers; by which discourse I perceived that he was mad upon politics and government. We went on with our dialogue as became a couple of pleasant fellows, and skipping from one subject to another, fell last upon Flanders. There I hit his vein, for he fetched up a deep sigh, and said, “That country has cost me more than it has done the king; for I have been upon a project about these fourteen years, which were it not impracticable, as it is, would have set all right there long ago.” “What can that be,” answered I, “which is so convenient and useful, and yet at the same time impracticable, and not to be put in execution?” “Who told you,” replied he, very hastily, “that it cannot be put in execution? It can be executed, for its being impracticable is another matter; and were it not for fear of being troublesome, I would tell you what is; but it will all out; for I design very suddenly to print it, with some other small works of mine, among which I propose to the king two several methods for recovering Ostend.”12 I entreated him to acquaint me with them; and he, pulling some papers out of his pocket, showed me a draught of the enemy’s works and of ours, and said, “Sir, you plainly see that all this difficulty lies in this inlet of the sea; now, my contrivance is to suck it dry with sponges, and so to remove that obstacle.” This wild notion made me burst into a loud fit of laughter, and he,
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