CHAP. XXXIV.
Guzman leaves Rome, and arrives at his friend Pompey’s house at Sienna, where he hears bad news.
The day subsequent to this sad catastrophe, which was the general subject of conversation in Rome, I took my leave of that city, well mounted, but poorer, alas! than I imagined. Assuming a consequential air, and anticipating much pleasure, I proceeded towards Sienna, where I imagined my friend Pompey would be most anxiously expecting me. Having arrived there, I repaired straightway to his house.
He was at home, and received me in a civil manner, though not without evident embarrassment. “Signor Pompey,” said I, embracing him, “your friend Guzman can scarcely express his extreme joy at being at length introduced to your personal acquaintance.” My very name seemed to astonish him. “How,” answered he with surprise, “can you be that Guzman to whom I am under so many and such great obligations?” I was almost frozen by these words, for I knew they could portend no good. “For what possible reason,” cried I with emotion, “can you be so much astonished at seeing me?” “You will soon know that to your cost,” replied the merchant. “I see plainly that I have been duped, and that you are in reality that Guzman d’Alfarache whom I expected.”
These words were like a thunder-bolt to me, and I instantly foresaw that some accident had happened to my property. Impatient to discover the truth, I intreated Pompey to explain himself more clearly. “Well then,” said he, “you must know that there has passed through Sienna a cavalier calling himself gentleman to the Spanish Ambassador, who came hither from Rome, followed by two servants, on his road to Florence with despatches from his master. This spark introduced himself to me as the Guzman d’Alfarache who had been of so much service to me in my late law-suit, and he had in his possession the keys of your trunks.” I thought I should have fallen into convulsions even at these words, but a more circumstantial detail of the whole adventure drove me almost to madness. I requested to be allowed to inspect my trunks. He conducted me immediately to the chamber prepared for my reception, and pointing out two large ones, “There are the two that are left behind,” said he; “but even these have been in their power as well as the third.” I sighed bitterly when I recollected that my gold and jewels were in the one that was missing. I failed not, however, to open the others, and should have been somewhat appeased if the thieves, satisfied with having my money, had not meddled with my clothes; but no such consolation was in store for me.
In justice to Pompey, I must acknowledge that he was not less afflicted than myself when I informed him that I had been robbed of two thousand crowns. After all, however, his affliction may have been principally caused by the fear that I should hold him accountable for the loss of my property, whatever he might be able to urge in his own justification. So far from thinking of making him uneasy on this point, however, I tried all in my power to conceal the grief which consumed me. It appeared to me that a man who wished to assume the carriage of a gentleman ought not to shew much vexation at the loss of his clothes. Nevertheless, I was really half distracted, and Heaven knows I had reason enough, not being in possession of another coat except the one I had on, nor any linen but two shirts in my portmanteau.
In vain did I rack my brain with conjectures as to who could be the person who had taken the impression of my keys. I knew not whom to suspect. As for Sayavedra, I esteemed him too sincerely to entertain the slightest mistrust of him. It was not Pompey’s fault, however, if I was so long in discovering the thief; for as, in his relation of this affair, he described the person of the false Guzman, he gave me an exact portrait of Sayavedra; the figure, the hair, the voice, and the manners, were all his. So prejudiced was I in his favour, that I should have thought it quite a crime to have suspected him on account of the resemblance. I will say more: though I remembered that I had left him alone in my chamber when the carrier of Sienna came to look at my boxes, my respect for Sayavedra was proof against the recollection of even this circumstance.
While my host and I were making very useless reflections upon my loss, a servant came to tell us that supper was ready. We accordingly went down into the parlour, and sat down to table with gloomy faces, and without much inclination to eat. Pompey, perceiving that this vexatious affair had completely taken away my appetite, said to me, “Signor Guzman, your property is not so entirely lost as to render its recovery quite hopeless. I have not been idle; the Bargello[A], who is a friend of mine, has undertaken the pursuit of the thieves; and I assure you I place great reliance on his exertions. He will return this evening or to-morrow, and I trust he will be the bearer of good news.” “I hope so too,” answered I; “but, between ourselves, I don’t think that much confidence ought to be placed in persons of that kind: especially in an affair where restitution is to be made.”
[A] The Translator has not been able to meet with the word “Bargello” in either of the best Spanish Dictionaries; but presumes that it must signify a Magistrate, or perhaps inferior Officer of Justice.
Though the table was covered with well-dressed dishes and excellent wine, we were so little inclined to eat or drink, that supper was soon over. As I pretended to be very much fatigued, my host conducted me to my chamber, and soon withdrew, to my great satisfaction, for I found his conversation very tiresome. I spent part of the night in pacing my chamber absorbed in meditation: and did not retire to rest till near day-break; when my mind was so overwhelmed and fatigued with the different thoughts that agitated it by turns, that at last I fell asleep. My slumbers were soon disturbed; a loud noise on the staircase awoke me suddenly, and I heard several persons vociferating at the same time, “The thief is taken! the thief is taken!”