* Manana sera otro dia.—A Spanish proverb.
“She pulled her mantilla across her nose, and there we were in the street, without my knowing in the least whither I was bound.
“‘Senorita,’ said I, ‘I think I have to thank you for a present I had while I was in prison. I’ve eaten the bread; the file will do for sharpening my lance, and I keep it in remembrance of you. But as for the money, here it is.’
“‘Why, he’s kept the money!’ she exclaimed, bursting out laughing. ‘But, after all, that’s all the better—for I’m decidedly hard up! What matter! The dog that runs never starves!* Come, let’s spend it all! You shall treat.’
* Chuquel sos pirela, cocal terela. “The dog that runs
finds a bone.”—Gipsy proverb.
“We had turned back toward Seville. At the entrance of the Calle de la Serpiente she bought a dozen oranges, which she made me put into my handkerchief. A little farther on she bought a roll, a sausage, and a bottle of manzanilla. Then, last of all, she turned into a confectioner’s shop. There she threw the gold coin I had returned to her on the counter, with another she had in her pocket, and some small silver, and then she asked me for all the money I had. All I possessed was one peseta and a few cuartos, which I handed over to her, very much ashamed of not having more. I thought she would have carried away the whole shop. She took everything that was best and dearest, yemas,* turon,** preserved fruits—as long as the money lasted. And all these, too, I had to carry in paper bags. Perhaps you know the Calle del Candilejo, where there is a head of Don Pedro the Avenger.*** That head ought to have given me pause. We stopped at an old house in that street. She passed into the entry, and knocked at a door on the ground floor. It was opened by a gipsy, a thorough-paced servant of the devil. Carmen said a few words to her in Romany. At first the old hag grumbled. To smooth her down Carmen gave her a couple of oranges and a handful of sugar-plums, and let her have a taste of wine. Then she hung her cloak on her back, and led her to the door, which she fastened with a wooden bar. As soon as we were alone she began to laugh and caper like a lunatic, singing out, ‘You are my rom, I’m your romi.‘****
* Sugared yolks of eggs.
** A sort of nougat.
*** This king, Don Pedro, whom we call “the Cruel,” and whom
Queen Isabella, the Catholic, never called anything but “the
Avenger,” was fond of walking about the streets of Seville
at night in search of adventures, like the Caliph Haroun al
Raschid. One night, in a lonely street, he quarrelled with a
man who was singing a serenade. There was a fight, and the
king killed the amorous caballero. At the clashing of
their swords, an old woman put her head out of the window
and lighted up the scene with a tiny lamp (candilejo) which
she held in her hand. My readers must be informed that King
Don Pedro, though nimble and muscular, suffered from one
strange fault in his physical conformation. Whenever he
walked his knees cracked loudly. By this cracking the old
woman easily recognised him. The next day the veintiquatro in charge came to make his report to the king. “Sir, a duel
was fought last night in such a street—one of the
combatants is dead.” “Have you found the murderer?” “Yes,
sir.” “Why has he not been punished already?” “Sir, I await
your orders!” “Carry out the law.” Now the king had just
published a decree that every duellist was to have his head
cut off, and that head was to be set up on the scene of the
fight. The veintiquatro got out of the difficulty like a
clever man. He had the head sawed off a statue of the king,
and set that up in a niche in the middle of the street in
which the murder had taken place. The king and all the
Sevillians thought this a very good joke. The street took
its name from the lamp held by the old woman, the only
witness of the incident. The above is the popular tradition.
Zuniga tells the story somewhat differently. However that
may be, a street called Calle del Candilejo still exists
in Seville, and in that street there is a bust which is said
to be a portrait of Don Pedro. This bust, unfortunately, is
a modern production. During the seventeenth century the old
one had become very much defaced, and the municipality had
it replaced by that now to be seen.
**** Rom, husband. Romi, wife.
“There I stood in the middle of the room, laden with all her purchases, and not knowing where I was to put them down. She tumbled them all onto the floor, and threw her arms round my neck, saying:
“‘I pay my debts, I pay my debts! That’s the law of the Cales.‘*
* Calo, feminine calli, plural cales. Literally
“black,” the name the gipsies apply to themselves in their
own language.