A tale whispered and told to children all Spain through. And why should not a statue have power to speak?
Don Juan lived in a city of Castille, lived a godless, reckless life; and as for that matter so did his factotum Leporello. If the don climbed a ladder, Leporello held it; if the don had to be thrashed, Leporello often caught the blows. He might have had a better service, and he frequently complained of the don’s, but he did not leave it till the don had no further need of a factotum.
One night he was watching as usual, and grumbling as usual, “what a life was his, to be harassed day and night, blown by the wind, cut at by the rain, robbed of sleep, and all for what? no wages paid, and half starvation.” For the thousandth time he had resolved to get him a new master, when the noise of footsteps made him discreetly retire.
Next moment where he had been standing, was a woman striving to detain a cavalier, and calling all the time for help.
“Let me go, I say, for thine own sake, let me go.”
“Help, help.”
A quick, heavy step, and a third person was there, an old man, his white hair streaming in the moonlight.
The lady let go her hold, as the new comer ran forward, his sword bravely out before him.
Yet he did not at once fall on this thief coming in the night time. He called on him to defend himself.
Said the other, placing himself, so that the golden braid about him glistened in the moonlight, “Begone, my sword is not crossed with such as yours.”