Carmen

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CARMEN

by Prosper Merimee


Translated by Lady Mary Loyd




CHAPTER I

I had always suspected the geographical authorities did not know what
they were talking about when they located the battlefield of Munda in
the county of the Bastuli-Poeni, close to the modern Monda, some two
leagues north of Marbella.

According to my own surmise, founded on the text of the anonymous author
of the _Bellum Hispaniense_, and on certain information culled from the
excellent library owned by the Duke of Ossuna, I believed the site of
the memorable struggle in which Caesar played double or quits, once and
for all, with the champions of the Republic, should be sought in the
neighbourhood of Montilla.

Happening to be in Andalusia during the autumn of 1830, I made a
somewhat lengthy excursion, with the object of clearing up certain
doubts which still oppressed me. A paper which I shall shortly publish
will, I trust, remove any hesitation that may still exist in the minds
of all honest archaeologists. But before that dissertation of mine
finally settles the geographical problem on the solution of which the
whole of learned Europe hangs, I desire to relate a little tale. It will
do no prejudice to the interesting question of the correct locality of
Monda.

I had hired a guide and a couple of horses at Cordova, and had
started on my way with no luggage save a few shirts, and Caesar's
_Commentaries_. As I wandered, one day, across the higher lands of the
Cachena plain, worn with fatigue, parched with thirst, scorched by a
burning sun, cursing Caesar and Pompey's sons alike, most heartily, my
eye lighted, at some distance from the path I was following, on a little
stretch of green sward dotted with reeds and rushes. That betokened the
neighbourhood of some spring, and, indeed, as I drew nearer I perceived
that what had looked like sward was a marsh, into which a stream, which
seemed to issue from a narrow gorge between two high spurs of the Sierra
di Cabra, ran and disappeared.

If I rode up that stream, I argued, I was likely to find cooler water,
fewer leeches and frogs, and mayhap a little shade among the rocks.

At the mouth of the gorge, my horse neighed, and another horse,
invisible to me, neighed back. Before I had advanced a hundred paces,
the gorge suddenly widened, and I beheld a sort of natural amphitheatre,
thoroughly shaded by the steep cliffs that lay all around it. It was
impossible to imagine any more delightful halting place for a traveller.
At the foot of the precipitous rocks, the stream bubbled upward and fell
into a little basin, lined with sand that was as white as snow. Five or
six splendid evergreen oaks, sheltered from the wind, and cooled by the
spring, grew beside the pool, and shaded it with their thick foliage.
And round about it a close and glossy turf offered the wanderer a better
bed than he could have found in any hostelry for ten leagues round.

The honour of discovering this fair spot did not belong to me. A man was
resting there already--sleeping, no doubt--before I reached it. Roused
by the neighing of the horses, he had risen to his feet and had moved
over to his mount, which had been taking advantage of its master's
slumbers to make a hearty feed on the grass that grew around. He was an
active young fellow, of middle height, but powerful in build, and proud
and sullen-looking in expression. His complexion, which may once have
been fine, had been tanned by the sun till it was darker than his hair.
One of his hands grasped his horse's halter. In the other he held a
brass blunderbuss.

At the first blush, I confess, the blunderbuss, and the savage looks
of the man who bore it, somewhat took me aback. But I had heard so much
about robbers, that, never seeing any, I had ceased to believe in their
existence. And further, I had seen so many honest farmers arm themselves
to the teeth before they went out to market, that the sight of firearms
gave me no warrant for doubting the character of any stranger. "And
then," quoth I to myself, "what could he do with my shirts and my
Elzevir edition of Caesar's _Commentaries_?" So I bestowed a friendly
nod on the man with the blunderbuss, and inquired, with a smile, whether
I had disturbed his nap. Without any answer, he looked me over from
head to foot. Then, as if the scrutiny had satisfied him, he looked as
closely at my guide, who was just coming up. I saw the guide turn pale,
and pull up with an air of evident alarm. "An unlucky meeting!" thought
I to myself. But prudence instantly counselled me not to let any symptom
of anxiety escape me. So I dismounted. I told the guide to take off the
horses' bridles, and kneeling down beside the spring, I laved my head
and hands and then drank a long draught, lying flat on my belly, like
Gideon's soldiers.

Meanwhile, I watched the stranger, and my own guide. This last seemed to
come forward unwillingly. But the other did not appear to have any evil
designs upon us. For he had turned his horse loose, and the blunderbuss,
which he had been holding horizontally, was now dropped earthward.

Not thinking it necessary to take offence at the scant attention paid
me, I stretched myself full length upon the grass, and calmly asked the
owner of the blunderbuss whether he had a light about him. At the same
time I pulled out my cigar-case. The stranger, still without opening his
lips, took out his flint, and lost no time in getting me a light. He was
evidently growing tamer, for he sat down opposite to me, though he still
grasped his weapon. When I had lighted my cigar, I chose out the best I
had left, and asked him whether he smoked.

"Yes, senor," he replied. These were the first words I had heard him
speak, and I noticed that he did not pronounce the letter _s_* in the
Andalusian fashion, whence I concluded he was a traveller, like myself,
though, maybe, somewhat less of an archaeologist.

* The Andalusians aspirate the _s_, and pronounce it like
the soft _c_ and the _z_, which Spaniards pronounce like the
English _th_. An Andalusian may always be recognised by the
way in which he says _senor_.

"You'll find this a fairly good one," said I, holding out a real Havana
regalia.

He bowed his head slightly, lighted his cigar at mine, thanked me
with another nod, and began to smoke with a most lively appearance of
enjoyment.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, as he blew his first puff of smoke slowly out of his
ears and nostrils. "What a time it is since I've had a smoke!"

In Spain the giving and accepting of a cigar establishes bonds of
hospitality similar to those founded in Eastern countries on the
partaking of bread and salt. My friend turned out more talkative than
I had hoped. However, though he claimed to belong to the _partido_ of
Montilla, he seemed very ill-informed about the country. He did not know
the name of the delightful valley in which we were sitting, he could
not tell me the names of any of the neighbouring villages, and when I
inquired whether he had not noticed any broken-down walls, broad-rimmed
tiles, or carved stones in the vicinity, he confessed he had never paid
any heed to such matters. On the other hand, he showed himself an expert
in horseflesh, found fault with my mount--not a difficult affair--and
gave me a pedigree of his own, which had come from the famous stud at
Cordova. It was a splendid creature, indeed, so tough, according to
its owner's claim, that it had once covered thirty leagues in one day,
either at the gallop or at full trot the whole time. In the midst of his
story the stranger pulled up short, as if startled and sorry he had said
so much. "The fact is I was in a great hurry to get to Cordova," he
went on, somewhat embarrassed. "I had to petition the judges about a
lawsuit." As he spoke, he looked at my guide Antonio, who had dropped
his eyes.

The spring and the cool shade were so delightful that I bethought me
of certain slices of an excellent ham, which my friends at Montilla had
packed into my guide's wallet. I bade him produce them, and invited the
stranger to share our impromptu lunch. If he had not smoked for a long
time, he certainly struck me as having fasted for eight-and-forty hours
at the very least. He ate like a starving wolf, and I thought to myself
that my appearance must really have been quite providential for the poor
fellow. Meanwhile my guide ate but little, drank still less, and spoke
never a word, although in the earlier part of our journey he had proved
himself a most unrivalled chatterer. He seemed ill at ease in the
presence of our guest, and a sort of mutual distrust, the cause of which
I could not exactly fathom, seemed to be between them.

The last crumbs of bread and scraps of ham had disappeared. We had each
smoked our second cigar; I told the guide to bridle the horses, and was
just about to take leave of my new friend, when he inquired where I was
going to spend the night.

Before I had time to notice a sign my guide was making to me I had
replied that I was going to the Venta del Cuervo.

"That's a bad lodging for a gentleman like you, sir! I'm bound there
myself, and if you'll allow me to ride with you, we'll go together."

"With pleasure!" I replied, mounting my horse. The guide, who was
holding my stirrup, looked at me meaningly again. I answered by
shrugging my shoulders, as though to assure him I was perfectly easy in
my mind, and we started on our way.

Antonio's mysterious signals, his evident anxiety, a few words dropped
by the stranger, above all, his ride of thirty leagues, and the far from
plausible explanation he had given us of it, had already enabled me
to form an opinion as to the identity of my fellow-traveller. I had
no doubt at all I was in the company of a smuggler, and possibly of a
brigand. What cared I? I knew enough of the Spanish character to be very
certain I had nothing to fear from a man who had eaten and smoked
with me. His very presence would protect me in case of any undesirable
meeting. And besides, I was very glad to know what a brigand was really
like. One doesn't come across such gentry every day. And there is a
certain charm about finding one's self in close proximity to a dangerous
being, especially when one feels the being in question to be gentle and
tame.

I was hoping the stranger might gradually fall into a confidential
mood, and in spite of my guide's winks, I turned the conversation to
the subject of highwaymen. I need scarcely say that I spoke of them with
great respect. At that time there was a famous brigand in Andalusia, of
the name of Jose-Maria, whose exploits were on every lip. "Supposing I
should be riding along with Jose-Maria!" said I to myself. I told all
the stories I knew about the hero--they were all to his credit, indeed,
and loudly expressed my admiration of his generosity and his valour.

"Jose-Maria is nothing but a blackguard," said the stranger gravely.

"Is he just to himself, or is this an excess of modesty?" I queried,
mentally, for by dint of scrutinizing my companion, I had ended by
reconciling his appearance with the description of Jose-Maria which I
read posted up on the gates of various Andalusian towns. "Yes, this must
be he--fair hair, blue eyes, large mouth, good teeth, small hands, fine
shirt, a velvet jacket with silver buttons on it, white leather gaiters,
and a bay horse. Not a doubt about it. But his _incognito_ shall be
respected!" We reached the _venta_. It was just what he had described
to me. In other words, the most wretched hole of its kind I had as yet
beheld. One large apartment served as kitchen, dining-room, and sleeping
chamber. A fire was burning on a flat stone in the middle of the room,
and the smoke escaped through a hole in the roof, or rather hung in a
cloud some feet above the soil. Along the walls five or six mule rugs
were spread on the floor. These were the travellers' beds. Twenty paces
from the house, or rather from the solitary apartment which I have just
described, stood a sort of shed, that served for a stable.

The only inhabitants of this delightful dwelling visible at the moment,
at all events, were an old woman, and a little girl of ten or twelve
years old, both of them as black as soot, and dressed in loathsome rags.
"Here's the sole remnant of the ancient populations of Munda Boetica,"
said I to myself. "O Caesar! O Sextus Pompeius, if you were to revisit
this earth how astounded you would be!"

When the old woman saw my travelling companion an exclamation of
surprise escaped her. "Ah! Senor Don Jose!" she cried.

Don Jose frowned and lifted his hand with a gesture of authority that
forthwith silenced the old dame.

I turned to my guide and gave him to understand, by a sign that no one
else perceived, that I knew all about the man in whose company I was
about to spend the night. Our supper was better than I expected. On
a little table, only a foot high, we were served with an old rooster,
fricasseed with rice and numerous peppers, then more peppers in oil,
and finally a _gaspacho_--a sort of salad made of peppers. These three
highly spiced dishes involved our frequent recourse to a goatskin filled
with Montella wine, which struck us as being delicious.

After our meal was over, I caught sight of a mandolin hanging up against
the wall--in Spain you see mandolins in every corner--and I asked the
little girl, who had been waiting on us, if she knew how to play it.

"No," she replied. "But Don Jose does play well!"

"Do me the kindness to sing me something," I said to him, "I'm
passionately fond of your national music."

"I can't refuse to do anything for such a charming gentleman, who gives
me such excellent cigars," responded Don Jose gaily, and having made
the child give him the mandolin, he sang to his own accompaniment. His
voice, though rough, was pleasing, the air he sang was strange and sad.
As to the words, I could not understand a single one of them.

"If I am not mistaken," said I, "that's not a Spanish air you have just
been singing. It's like the _zorzicos_ I've heard in the Provinces,* and
the words must be in the Basque language."

* The _privileged Provinces_, Alava, Biscay, Guipuzcoa, and a part of
Navarre, which all enjoy special _fueros_. The Basque language is spoken
in these countries.

"Yes," said Don Jose, with a gloomy look. He laid the mandolin down on
the ground, and began staring with a peculiarly sad expression at the
dying fire. His face, at once fierce and noble-looking, reminded me,
as the firelight fell on it, of Milton's Satan. Like him, perchance,
my comrade was musing over the home he had forfeited, the exile he had
earned, by some misdeed. I tried to revive the conversation, but so
absorbed was he in melancholy thought, that he gave me no answer.

The old woman had already gone to rest in a corner of the room, behind
a ragged rug hung on a rope. The little girl had followed her into this
retreat, sacred to the fair sex. Then my guide rose, and suggested that
I should go with him to the stable. But at the word Don Jose, waking, as
it were, with a start, inquired sharply whither he was going.

"To the stable," answered the guide.

"What for? The horses have been fed! You can sleep here. The senor will
give you leave."

"I'm afraid the senor's horse is sick. I'd like the senor to see it.
Perhaps he'd know what should be done for it."

It was quite clear to me that Antonio wanted to speak to me apart.

But I did not care to rouse Don Jose's suspicions, and being as we
were, I thought far the wisest course for me was to appear absolutely
confident.

I therefore told Antonio that I knew nothing on earth about horses, and
that I was desperately sleepy. Don Jose followed him to the stable, and
soon returned alone. He told me there was nothing the matter with the
horse, but that my guide considered the animal such a treasure that he
was scrubbing it with his jacket to make it sweat, and expected to spend
the night in that pleasing occupation. Meanwhile I had stretched myself
out on the mule rugs, having carefully wrapped myself up in my own
cloak, so as to avoid touching them. Don Jose, having begged me to
excuse the liberty he took in placing himself so near me, lay down
across the door, but not until he had primed his blunderbuss afresh and
carefully laid it under the wallet, which served him as a pillow.

I had thought I was so tired that I should be able to sleep even in such
a lodging. But within an hour a most unpleasant itching sensation roused
me from my first nap. As soon as I realized its nature, I rose to my
feet, feeling convinced I should do far better to spend the rest of
the night in the open air than beneath that inhospitable roof. Walking
tiptoe I reached the door, stepped over Don Jose, who was sleeping the
sleep of the just, and managed so well that I got outside the building
without waking him. Just beside the door there was a wide wooden
bench. I lay down upon it, and settled myself, as best I could, for the
remainder of the night. I was just closing my eyes for a second time
when I fancied I saw the shadow of a man and then the shadow of a horse
moving absolutely noiselessly, one behind the other. I sat upright, and
then I thought I recognised Antonio. Surprised to see him outside the
stable at such an hour, I got up and went toward him. He had seen me
first, and had stopped to wait for me.

"Where is he?" Antonio inquired in a low tone.

"In the _venta_. He's asleep. The bugs don't trouble him. But what are
you going to do with that horse?" I then noticed that, to stifle all
noise as he moved out of the shed, Antonio had carefully muffled the
horse's feet in the rags of an old blanket.

"Speak lower, for God's sake," said Antonio. "You don't know who that
man is. He's Jose Navarro, the most noted bandit in Andalusia. I've been
making signs to you all day long, and you wouldn't understand."

"What do I care whether he's a brigand or not," I replied. "He hasn't
robbed us, and I'll wager he doesn't want to."

"That may be. But there are two hundred ducats on his head. Some lancers
are stationed in a place I know, a league and a half from here, and
before daybreak I'll bring a few brawny fellows back with me. I'd have
taken his horse away, but the brute's so savage that nobody but Navarro
can go near it."

"Devil take you!" I cried. "What harm has the poor fellow done you that
you should want to inform against him? And besides, are you certain he
is the brigand you take him for?"

"Perfectly certain! He came after me into the stable just now, and said,
'You seem to know me. If you tell that good gentleman who I am, I'll
blow your brains out!' You stay here, sir, keep close to him. You've
nothing to fear. As long as he knows you are there, he won't suspect
anything."

As we talked, we had moved so far from the _venta_ that the noise of the
horse's hoofs could not be heard there. In a twinkling Antonio snatched
off the rags he had wrapped around the creature's feet, and was just
about to climb on its back. In vain did I attempt with prayers and
threats to restrain him.

"I'm only a poor man, senor," quoth he, "I can't afford to lose two
hundred ducats--especially when I shall earn them by ridding the country
of such vermin. But mind what you're about! If Navarro wakes up, he'll
snatch at his blunderbuss, and then look out for yourself! I've gone too
far now to turn back. Do the best you can for yourself!"

The villain was in his saddle already, he spurred his horse smartly, and
I soon lost sight of them both in the darkness.

I was very angry with my guide, and terribly alarmed as well. After a
moment's reflection, I made up my mind, and went back to the _venta_.
Don Jose was still sound asleep, making up, no doubt, for the fatigue
and sleeplessness of several days of adventure. I had to shake him
roughly before I could wake him up. Never shall I forget his fierce
look, and the spring he made to get hold of his blunderbuss, which, as a
precautionary measure, I had removed to some distance from his couch.

"Senor," I said, "I beg your pardon for disturbing you. But I have a
silly question to ask you. Would you be glad to see half a dozen lancers
walk in here?"

He bounded to his feet, and in an awful voice he demanded:

"Who told you?"

"It's little matter whence the warning comes, so long as it be good."

"Your guide has betrayed me--but he shall pay for it! Where is he?"

"I don't know. In the stable, I fancy. But somebody told me--"

"Who told you? It can't be the old hag--"

"Some one I don't know. Without more parleying, tell me, yes or no, have
you any reason for not waiting till the soldiers come? If you have
any, lose no time! If not, good-night to you, and forgive me for having
disturbed your slumbers!"

"Ah, your guide! Your guide! I had my doubts of him at first--but--I'll
settle with him! Farewell, senor. May God reward you for the service
I owe you! I am not quite so wicked as you think me. Yes, I still have
something in me that an honest man may pity. Farewell, senor! I have
only one regret--that I can not pay my debt to you!"

"As a reward for the service I have done you, Don Jose, promise me
you'll suspect nobody--nor seek for vengeance. Here are some cigars for
your journey. Good luck to you." And I held out my hand to him.

He squeezed it, without a word, took up his wallet and blunderbuss, and
after saying a few words to the old woman in a lingo that I could not
understand, he ran out to the shed. A few minutes later, I heard him
galloping out into the country.

As for me, I lay down again on my bench, but I did not go to sleep
again. I queried in my own mind whether I had done right to save a
robber, and possibly a murderer, from the gallows, simply and solely
because I had eaten ham and rice in his company. Had I not betrayed my
guide, who was supporting the cause of law and order? Had I not
exposed him to a ruffian's vengeance? But then, what about the laws of
hospitality?

"A mere savage prejudice," said I to myself. "I shall have to answer for
all the crimes this brigand may commit in future." Yet is that instinct
of the conscience which resists every argument really a prejudice? It
may be I could not have escaped from the delicate position in which I
found myself without remorse of some kind. I was still tossed to and
fro, in the greatest uncertainty as to the morality of my behaviour,
when I saw half a dozen horsemen ride up, with Antonio prudently lagging
behind them. I went to meet them, and told them the brigand had fled
over two hours previously. The old woman, when she was questioned by the
sergeant, admitted that she knew Navarro, but said that living alone,
as she did, she would never have dared to risk her life by informing
against him. She added that when he came to her house, he habitually
went away in the middle of the night. I, for my part, was made to ride
to a place some leagues away, where I showed my passport, and signed a
declaration before the _Alcalde_. This done, I was allowed to recommence
my archaeological investigations. Antonio was sulky with me; suspecting
it was I who had prevented his earning those two hundred ducats.
Nevertheless, we parted good friends at Cordova, where I gave him as
large a gratuity as the state of my finances would permit.



CHAPTER II

I spent several days at Cordova. I had been told of a certain manuscript
in the library of the Dominican convent which was likely to furnish me
with very interesting details about the ancient Munda. The good fathers
gave me the most kindly welcome. I spent the daylight hours within their
convent, and at night I walked about the town. At Cordova a great many
idlers collect, toward sunset, in the quay that runs along the right
bank of the Guadalquivir. Promenaders on the spot have to breathe the
odour of a tan yard which still keeps up the ancient fame of the country
in connection with the curing of leather. But to atone for this, they
enjoy a sight which has a charm of its own. A few minutes before the
Angelus bell rings, a great company of women gathers beside the river,
just below the quay, which is rather a high one. Not a man would dare
to join its ranks. The moment the Angelus rings, darkness is supposed to
have fallen. As the last stroke sounds, all the women disrobe and step
into the water. Then there is laughing and screaming and a wonderful
clatter. The men on the upper quay watch the bathers, straining
their eyes, and seeing very little. Yet the white uncertain outlines
perceptible against the dark-blue waters of the stream stir the poetic
mind, and the possessor of a little fancy finds it not difficult to
imagine that Diana and her nymphs are bathing below, while he himself
runs no risk of ending like Acteon.

I have been told that one day a party of good-for-nothing fellows banded
themselves together, and bribed the bell-ringer at the cathedral to ring
the Angelus some twenty minutes before the proper hour. Though it was
still broad daylight, the nymphs of the Guadalquivir never hesitated,
and putting far more trust in the Angelus bell than in the sun, they
proceeded to their bathing toilette--always of the simplest--with an
easy conscience. I was not present on that occasion. In my day, the
bell-ringer was incorruptible, the twilight was very dim, and nobody but
a cat could have distinguished the difference between the oldest orange
woman, and the prettiest shop-girl, in Cordova.