Pablo de Segovia, the Spanish Sharper by Francisco de Quevedo (e book reading free TXT) 📕

to him for his instructions, because they led me into abundance of secrets, and put me into the way of sharping. I acquainted him with my designs before we went to bed, which he returned with a thousand embraces, telling me he had always been in hopes since he met me that his words would work some good effect on a person of my capacity. He offered me his service towards introducing me at Madrid into the society of the tricking brotherhood, and a lodging among them. I accepted of his kindness, without letting him know what was my treasure in ducats, which was only an hundred reals, which, with the kindness I had done, and was still continuing, purchased his friendship. I bought him three points from our landlord; he tied up his hose, we rested that night, got up early in the morning, and away we went to Madrid. Book II I

Of what happened to me at my coming to Madrid as soon as I arrived there, until nightfall.

We got to Madrid at ten o’clock in the morning, and went lovingly together by consent to the house where Don Toribio’s friends lived. A very old woman miserably clad opened the door; he inquired for his friends, and she answered, they were gone out a-seeking. We continued by ourselves until noon, diverting the time, he encouraging me to follow the sponging course of life, and I listening carefully to his advice. Half an hour after twelve in came a scarecrow, clad in black baize down to his heels, more threadbare than his conscience. They talked to one another in the thieves’ cant, the result whereof was his embracing me and offering his service. We discoursed awhile, and then he pulled out a glove, in which were sixteen reals, and a letter, by virtue of which he had collected that money, pretending it was a licence to beg for a woman in distress. He took the money out of the glove, drew another to it out of his pocket, and folded them together as physicians do. I asked him why he did not wear them? And he answered, because they were both for one hand, and that way they served as well as if they had been fellows. All this while I observed he did not let go his cloak, which was wrapped about him; and, being but a novice, for my better information took the liberty to inquire why he still hugged himself up so close in his cloak? He replied, “My friend, there is a great rent down my back, made up with a patch of old stuff, besides a great spot of oil; this piece of a cloak hides all, and thus I can appear abroad.” At length he unwrapped himself, and under his cassock I perceived a great bulk sticking out, which I took to have been trunk-breeches, for it looked like them, until he, going in to louse himself, tucked up his coats, and I perceived there were only two hoops of pasteboard tied to his waist, and joined to his thighs, which stuck out under his mourning, for he wore neither shirt nor breeches, but was so naked that he had scarce anything to lose. He went into the lousing room, and turned a little board that hung at the door, on which was written, “One is lousing,” that no other might go in until he had done. I blessed God with all my heart to see how he had provided for men, giving them ingenuity if they wanted riches. “For my part,” said my friend, “I have something the matter with my breeches with travelling, and therefore must withdraw to mend.” He asked whether there were any rags? The old woman, who gathered them twice a week about the streets, as the rag-women do for the paper mills, to cure the incurable diseases of those gentlemen, answered there were none; and that Don Lorenzo Yñiguez del Pedroso had kept his bed a fortnight for want of them, being bad of his coat. At this time in came one booted, in a travelling garb, a grey suit, and a hat bridled up on both sides. The others told him who I was, and he, saluting me very lovingly, laid down his cloak; and it appeared⁠—who would imagine it?⁠—that the fore part of his coat was of grey cloth, and the back of white linen, well stained with sweat. I could not forbear laughing, and he very demurely said, “You’ll come into action, and then you won’t laugh; I’ll lay a wager you don’t know why I wear my hat with the brims bridled up.” I answered, “Out of gallantry, and that they may the better see your face.” “That’s your mistake,” said he, “I do it to prevent them seeing; it is because I have no hatband, and this hides it.” This said, he pulled out about twenty letters, and as many reals, saying, he could not deliver those. Every one was marked a real postage, and they were all folded alike. He signed any name that came into his head, writ news of his own making, and delivered them in that habit to people of fashion, receiving the postage, which he practised once a month; all which to me was very amazing.

Next came two others, one of them with a cloth coat, reaching but half way down his wide Walloon trunks, and a cloak of the same, with his band ruffled up to hide the lining, which was rent. The breeches were of camlet, but only as far as appeared, for all the rest was of red baize. This man was jangling and wrangling with the other, who wore a ruff for want of a band, a hanging coat for want of a cloak, and went upon a crutch, with one leg bound up in rags and furs, because he had but one stocking.