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

upon us, but there he was like to die a martyr, without being guilty of the least piety or religion, he cried out, begging they would let him get out of that place, and he would pay immediately, delivering up his clothes in pledge. The persecutors consented, and though his companions would have held him, because he sheltered them, he got up the best he could, all battered, and came over to my side. The rest were not so quick at promising the same, but that they had as many knocks as hairs on their heads, yet offered up their clothes towards paying the garnish; thinking it was better to lie abed for want of clothes than for broken bones. Accordingly they were let go for that night, but in the morning they had orders to strip; they did so, and it appeared that all their clothes put together would not bring one halfpenny loaf. They lay abed, that is, wrapped up in a blanket belonging to the public.

I slipped out of the dungeon, desiring them to excuse me for not bearing them company, because it was not convenient. I greased the gaoler over again with three pieces of eight, and being informed who the clerk was that had the charge of prosecuting us, sent for him by a young running thief. He came, I got into a room with him, and after some discourse concerning our business in general, I told him I had some little money, which I desired him to keep for me; and that as far as might be done with safety, he would favour an unfortunate young gentleman who had been unadvisedly drawn into that offence. “Believe me, sir,” said he, when he had grasped the ready, “the whole matter depends upon us; and he that has a mind to be a knave, may do a great deal of mischief. I have sent more men to the gallows without any cause, but for my pleasure, than there are words in an indictment. Leave it to me, and do not question but I’ll bring you off safe and sound.” This said, he made as if he was going away, but came back again from the door to ask something for honest Diego García, the constable, for it was convenient to stop his mouth with a silver gag; something more he hinted at concerning the clerk of the court; saying, “It is in this clerk’s power, sir, to undo a man by turning up the whites of his eyes, raising his voice, making a noise to rouse a magistrate or recorder when they are asleep, as it often happens, and many other such dangerous actions.” I apprehended him, and lugged out fifty reals more; in return for which he bid me set my cloak right, taught me two cures for a cold I had got in the prison; and to conclude, said, “Make yourself easy, the gaoler will be kind to you, if you give him but a piece of eight, for these sort of people do nothing out of good nature, but all for interest.” I could not but smile at his hint, he went his way, and I gave the gaoler a crown; he knocked off my irons, and gave me leave to go to his house. He had a wife like a whale, and two daughters as ugly as the devil, and as wicked, yet of the game, in spite of their faces.

It happened that the gaoler, whose name was one Blandones de San Pablo, and his wife’s Donna Anna Moraez, came home to dinner one day, when I was there, in a great rage, fuming, and would not eat. His wife dreading some mighty thing had happened, drew near, and tormented him so long with the usual importunities, that at last he said, “What the devil d’ye think ails me? That scoundrel dog of Almendros, the lodging-house keeper, having some words with me about farming the gaol, told me you are not spotless.” “Has the villain ever scoured me?” cried she. “By my grandame’s soul, you don’t deserve to be called man since you did not tear his beard for him. Did I ever employ his servants to clean me?” Then turning to me, she went on, “By the Lord, he cannot call me Jew, like himself, for of the four parts he has, two are villain and two are Jew. By my troth, Don Pablo, had I heard him, I would have put him in mind that the Inquisition had laid the St. Andrew’s cross upon his back.” The gaoler in very doleful manner replied, “Alas, wife! I held my peace because he told me you were doubly and trebly allied to that race; for he did not talk of your not being spotless on account of swine, but for not eating their flesh.” “Then he called me Jew,” quoth she, “and you could take it so calmly. Brave times! is that the regard you have for the honour of Donna Anna Moraez, the daughter of Estefania Rubio and Juan de Madrid, both of them well known to God and all the world.” “Daughter to Juan de Madrid?” said I. “To Juan de Madrid of Auñon,” cried she. “By the Lord,” quoth I, “the rogue that spoke so is a whoreson Jew and a cuckold.” Then turning to them, I went on: “The honoured Juan de Madrid, whose soul rest in peace, was my father’s own cousin-german, and I will make it appear what he was, and whence he came, for it concerns me; and if once I get out of prison, I’ll make the dog eat his words. I have my pedigree here in town in gold letters, which makes out both families.” They were all overjoyed with their new relation, and much encouraged to hear of the pedigree; and at the same time I had no such thing, nor did I know who they were. The husband began to sift out