THE SKETCH-BOOK
EL BORRACHO.[3]
Not long since, a couple resided in the suburbs of Madrid, named Perez and Juana Donilla; and a happy couple they might have been, had not Perez contracted a sad habit of drinking, which became more and more confirmed after every draught of good wine; and such draughts were certainly more frequent than his finances were in a state to allow. Night after night was spent at the tavern; fairly might he be said to swallow all that he earned by his daily labour; and Juana and himself (fortunately they had no children to maintain) must have been reduced to absolute mendicity, but for the exemplary conduct of the former, who contrived to support her spouse and herself upon the scanty produce of her unwearied industry. If ever a sentiment of gratitude for undeserved favours animated the bosom of Perez Donilla, he took, it must be confessed, a strange method of declaring it; not only would he, upon his return from his lawless carousals, grumble over that humble fare, the possession of which at all he ought to have considered as scarce less than a miracle, but, in his madness, unmerciful strappings were sure to be the portion of his miserable wife. Poor Juana bore these cruelties with a patience that ought to have canonized her under the title of St. Grizzle: she could not, indeed, forbear crying out, under these frequent and severe castigations; nor could she refrain from soliciting the aid of three or four favourite gentlemen saints, who, little to the credit of their gallantry and good-nature, always turned a deaf ear upon her plaints and entreaties; not a word, however, of the inhuman conduct of her worser half did she breathe to mortal ear. Neighbours, however, have auricular organs like walls and little pitchers, tongues like bells, and a spice of meddling and mischief in them like asses; so that no wise person will suppose the conduct of Perez Donilla to his wife was long a secret in Madrid. Juana had two brothers and a cousin resident in the city—Gomez Arias, chief cook to his reverence the Canon Fernando; Hernan Arias, head groom to Don Miguel de Corcoba, a knight of Calatrava; and Pedro Pedrillo, a young barber-surgeon, in business for himself. Gomez and Hernan, hearing of Juana's misfortunes, said, like affectionate brothers. "God help our poor sister, and may her own relations help her also; for if they do not, nobody else will, and she certainly can't help herself." The like words they repeated to Pedro Pedrillo, until he, being a sharp, handsome young fellow, and particularly fond of showing forth his fine person and finer wit, agreed to visit his cousin, and contrive some plan to extricate her from the cruelty of Perez. Making himself, therefore, as fascinating as possible, he marched directly to the house, or rather cabin, of Juana Donilla, and stood before her, smiling and watching her small, thin fingers plaitting straw for hats, some minutes ere she was aware of his presence. "Pedro!" exclaimed she, with a countenance and voice of pleasure, as she recognised the intruder.—"Ay, Pedro it is, indeed, Juana; but, improved as I am. O, mercy upon me, how black you are looking!"—"Black, cousin? Nay, then, I'm sure 'tis not for want of washing. Come, come, Pedro, no jokes, if you please."—"By St. Jago, fair cousin, I'm as far from a joke as I am from a diploma; and my business in this house, as in most houses, is no jest, I assure you. In a word, the cries which you utter when suffering from the insane fury of your sottish husband have reached even me, and I'm come to offer you a little advice and assistance. No denial of the fact, Juana; those black bruises avouch it without a tongue."—Juana held down her head, colour mounted into her cheeks, tears suffused her eyes, her bosom heaved convulsively, and for some moments she was silent from confusion, shame, grief, and gratitude. At length, withdrawing her hand from the affectionate grasp of Pedro, and dashing it athwart her eyes, she looked up and said mildly, "Thanks, many thanks, dear cousin, for your kindness. I cannot dissemble with you; what would you have me do? I could not beat him in return; and, oh! save him from the arm of my brothers!"—"What have you always done?"—"Borne his stripes, and called for help upon St. Jago, St. Francis Xavier, St. Benedict, and St. Nicholas!"—"And did you never invoke the three holy Maries?"—"Never."—Then that's what you ought to have done," returned Senor Pedrillo, with the utmost gravity. "Now mind me,—call upon them for aid next time your husband maltreats you."—"Alas!" sighed the afflicted wife, "that will most surely be to-night. I've not much faith in your remedy, Pedro; but may be there's no harm in trying it."—"Farewell, then, my poor, pretty, patient, black-bruised cousin," cried Pedrillo; "next time you see the doctor, let him know how his remedy has sped;" and with a comical expression of countenance, half melancholy, half mirthful, the "trusty and well-beloved cousin" departed.
Late that night, Perez Donilla entered his own habitation as intoxicated and belligerent as ever. "Where's my supper?"—"Here," said his wife, trembling, as she placed before him a few heads of garlic, a piece of salted trout, a little oil, and a crust of barley bread. "What's all this, woman?" exclaimed Perez, in a voice of thunder; and with glaring eyes and demoniacal fury he dashed the fish at her head, and the rest of his supper upon the floor. "Wretch! how durst you fatten upon olios and ragouts, and set trash like this before your husband?"—"My dear," replied Juana, meekly, "I am starving; nothing have I tasted since breakfast."—"Don't lie, you jade! Where's the wild-fowl and the Bologna sausage sent you by that rogue, Gomez? Stolen were they from the canon's kitchen, and you know it! And where's the skin of excellent Calcavella, from the Caballero's overflowing vaults? Give it to me this instant, you hussy, you vixen, you—"—"Indeed, indeed," cried the unfortunate wife in deep anguish, "I take all the saints in heaven to witness—."—"That, and that, and that," interrupted the furious tyrant, lashing her severely, according to custom, with a thick thong of leather, and now and then adding a blow with his fist; "let's see if that will bring me a supper fit for a Christian, and a draught of Don Miguel's Calcavella!" Juana remembered Pedrillo's advice, and after roaring out more loudly than usual for aid from St. Jago, St. Francis, St. Benedict, and St. Nicholas, shrieked at the highest pitch of her voice, "May the three blessed Maries help me!" No sooner were the words uttered, than in rushed three apparitions, arrayed in white, but so enfolded in lined, that it was impossible to determine whether they represented men or women; of their visages, only their eyes were visible, peering frightfully from the white covering of their heads; each brandished a good stout cudgel, and each, without uttering a word, falling quick as thought upon Perez Donilla, repaid him the blows he had lavished on his unhappy wife with such interest, as would have sealed his fate indubitably, had not she interposed; but upon the entreaties of that exemplary wife, the three holy Maries remitted the remainder of their flagellation, and retired, leaving Perez senseless on the floor. Poor Juana was agonized at beholding the state to which her graceless partner was reduced, and hauling him, as well as her own exhausted strength would permit, upon his miserable pallet, washed the blood and dust from his wounds, and watched his return to consciousness with unexampled tenderness and dutiful fidelity. Perez at length opened his eyes, and said, in the mild voice which was natural to him when sober, "My poor Juana, I wish you could fetch your cousin Pedro to see me; I think I shall die." Juana was half distracted at this speech; and running to the next house, bribed a neighbour's child by the promise of a broad-brimmed straw hat, to shade his complexion from the sun, to run for Doctor Pedrillo. Pedro soon arrived, and was evidently more puzzled respecting his deportment than the case of his patient. Sundry "nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles," and sundry eloquent glances of his bright black eyes, were covertly bestowed upon his fair cousin; anon, with ludicrous solemnity, he felt the pulse of Perez, shook his head, and, in short, imitated with inimitable exactness all the technical airs and graces of a regular graduate of Salamanca.—"Cousin," cried he at length, with a sly look at Juana, "I pity your plight—from my soul I do; but your case is, I am grieved to say, desperate, unless I am informed of the cause of these monstrous weals, bruises, slashes, and chafings, in order that my prescription, may—"—"The cause of them," said Perez, almost frightened to death, "is, having to my cost a saint of a wife."—"How! that a misfortune? explain yourself, my poor fellow."—"Readily," replied Donilla, "if that will help to heal me."—He then explained minutely the circumstances of the case, concluding thus:—"Not but what I am, after all, remarkably indebted to Juana, for had she only called the eleven thousand Virgins to her assistance, their zeal would undoubtedly have divided my body amongst them; since, then, my wife has such friends in heaven; I shall henceforth be careful how I enrage them again."—Perez Donilla kept to his resolution, and the Three Maries, whom, without doubt, the intelligent reader has recognised through their disguise, lived for many years to rejoice in the blessed effects of a severe, but merited infliction. M. L. B.