The ADVENTURES of ALPHONSO and MARINA;
AN INTERESTING SPANISH TALE.
(Continued from [page 336].)
‘Alas! Madam,’ answered the goatherd, ‘I wish it were in my power to conduct you to the village of Gadara, behind these rocks: but you will not ask me to return thither, when you are informed that my mistress is this day to be married to my rival. I am going to leave these mountains, never to behold them more; and I carry nothing with me but my flute, a change of dress, which I have in this parcel, and the memory of the happiness which I have lost.’
This short account suggested a new project to Marina.
‘My friend,’ said she to the goatherd ‘you have no money, which you will certainly want, when you have left this country. I have a few ducats, which I will divide with you, if you let me have the dress in your parcel.’
The goatherd accepted the offer. Marina gave him a dozen ducats, and, having learned the road to Gadara, took her leave of the despairing lover, and returned into the grotto to put on her disguise.
She came out habited in a vest of chamois skin, with a shepherd’s wallet hanging by her side, and, on her head, a hat ornamented with ribbands. In this attire she appeared yet more beautiful than when adorned with brocades and jewels. She took the road to the village, and, stopping in the market-place, enquired of the peasants, if they knew of any farmer who wanted a servant.
The inhabitants surround her, and survey the stranger with admiration. The girls express their surprise at the beauty of her flowing ringlets. Her elegant form, her graceful manner, the brilliancy of her eyes, even though dejected, their superior intelligence and mild benignity, astonish and delight all beholders. No one could conceive from whence came this beautiful youth. One imagines him a person of high distinction in disguise; another, a prince in love with some shepherdess; while the schoolmaster, who was at the same time the poet of the village, declared it must be Apollo, sent down, a second time, to keep sheep among mortals!
Marina, who assumed the name of Marcello, was not long in want of a master. She was hired by an aged alcaid, or judge of the village, esteemed one of the worthiest men in the whole province.
This honest countryman soon contracted the warmest friendship for Marina. He scarcely suffered her to tend his flock for a month before he gave her an employment within his house, in which the pretended Marcello behaved with so much propriety and fidelity, that he was equally beloved by his master, and the servants.
Before he had lived here six months, the alcaid, who was more than eighty, left the management of all his affairs to Marcello: he even asked his opinion in all the causes that came before him, and never had any alcaid decided with so much justice as he, from the time he permitted himself to be guided by the advice of Marcello, who was proposed as an example to all the village: his affability, his pleasing manner, and his good sense, gained every heart. ‘See the excellent Marcello,’ cried the mothers to their sons, ‘he is perpetually employed in rendering his old master’s age happy, and never neglects his duty, to run after the shepherdesses!’
Two years passed away in this manner. Marina, whose thoughts were continually employed on her lover, had sent a shepherd, in whom she could confide, to Granada, to procure information concerning Don Alphonso, Alonzo, and Henriquez. The shepherd brought word back, that Alonzo was dead, Henriquez married; and that Alphonso had not been seen or heard of for two years.
Marina now lost all hope of again beholding her lover, and, happy in being able to pass her days in that village, in the bosom of peace and friendship, had resolved to bid an eternal adieu to love, when the old alcaid, her master, fell dangerously ill. Marcello attended his last moments with all the affection of a son, and the good old man behaved to him like a grateful father: he died and left all he possessed to the faithful Marcello. But his will was far from being a consolation to his heir.
The whole village lamented the alcaid, and, after his funeral rites were celebrated, the inhabitants assembled to choose a successor. In Spain certain villages have the right of nominating their own alcaid, whose office it is to decide their differences, and take cognizance of greater crimes by arresting and examining the offenders, and delivering them over to the superior judges, who generally confirm the sentence of those rustic magistrates; for good laws are always perfectly consonant to simple reason.
The assembled villagers unanimously agreed, that no one could be so proper to succeed the late alcaid as the youth whom he seemed to have designed for his successor. The old men, therefore, followed by their sons, came with the usual ceremonies to offer Marina the wand, the ensign of the office. Marina accepted, and sensibly touched by such a proof of esteem and affection from these good people, resolved to consecrate to their happiness a life which she had formerly intended to dedicate to love.
While the new alcaid is engaged with the duties of her office, let us return to the unfortunate Don Alphonso, whom we left galloping towards Portugal, and continually removing farther from the beloved object of his pursuit.
Don Alphonso arrived at Lisbon, without obtaining any intelligence of Marina, and immediately returned, by the same road, to search every place he had before in vain examined; again he returned to Lisbon, but without success.
After six months ineffectual enquiry, being convinced that Marina had never returned to Granada, he imagined she might perhaps be at Seville, where, he knew, she had relations. He immediately hastened to Seville, and there found that Marina’s relations had just embarked for Mexico.
Don Alphonso no longer doubted that his mistress was gone with them, and directly went on board the last ship which remained to sail. He arrived at Mexico, where he found the relations, but alas! no Marina: they had heard nothing of her: he, therefore, returned to Spain. And now the ship is attacked by a violent storm, and cast away on the coast of Granada; he, and a few of the passengers, save themselves by swimming; they land, and make their way to the mountains, to procure assistance, and, by accident or love, are conducted to Gadara.
Don Alphonso and his unfortunate companions, took refuge in the first inn, congratulating each other on the danger they had escaped. While they were discoursing on their adventures, one of the passengers began to quarrel with a soldier, concerning a box, which the passenger asserted belonged to him.
Don Alphonso desirous to put an end to the contention, obliged the passenger to declare what it contained, opening it, at the some time, to discover whether he spoke truth.
How great was his surprise to find in it the jewels of Marina, and, among them the very emerald he had given her. For a moment he stood motionless, examining attentively the casket, and fixing his eyes, sparkling with rage, on the claimant, ‘how came you by these jewels?’ said he, with a terrible voice.
‘What does it signify,’ replied the passenger, haughtily, ‘how I came by them? It is sufficient that they are mine.’
He then endeavoured to snatch the casket from Don Alphonso; but the latter, pushing him back, instantly drew his sword, and exclaiming, ‘Wretch, confess your crime, or you die this moment,’ attacked him with great fury: his antagonist defended himself desperately, but presently received a mortal wound, and fell.
Don Alphonso was immediately surrounded by the people of the house. They take him to prison, and the master of the inn sends his wife to fetch the clergyman of the parish, that he may administer spiritual comfort to the dying man, while he runs himself, to the alcaid to carry the casket and inform him of the whole adventure.
How great was the surprise, the joy, and the anxiety of Marina on perceiving her diamonds, and hearing the behaviour of the noble stranger!
She immediately hastened to the inn: the minister was already there; and the dying man, induced by his exhortations, declared, in presence of the alcaid, that, two years before, as he was one night passing through a street in Granada, a lady had given him that box, through a lattice, desiring him to hold it till she came down, but that he immediately made off with the jewels; for which theft he asked pardon of God, and of the unknown lady he had injured. He immediately expired, and Marina hastened to the prison.
Imagine the palpitations of her heart: she could no longer doubt but she should again see Don Alphonso, but he was apprehensive of being known by him: she therefore pulled her hat over her eyes, wrapped herself up in her cloak, and preceded by her clerk and the gaoler, entered the dungeon.
(To be concluded in our next.)