Bio

Background

Books

Other work

Bibliography

Interviews

Essays and Academic

Free Classics!

Links

Agent and representation

Mail this site

Download the pdf:

Carmen by Prosper Merimee
Translated by Lady Mary Loyd. NB. Only the first part if printed here: use the PDF link at the end of this section.

Chapter One
I had always suspected the geographical authorities did not know what
they were talking about when they located the battlefield of Munda in
the county of the Bastuli-Poeni, close to the modern Monda, some two
leagues north of Marbella.

According to my own surmise, founded on the text of the anonymous
author of the /Bellum Hispaniense/, and on certain information culled
from the excellent library owned by the Duke of Ossuna, I believed the
site of the memorable struggle in which Caesar played double or quits,
once and for all, with the champions of the Republic, should be sought
in the neighbourhood of Montilla.

Happening to be in Andalusia during the autumn of 1830, I made a
somewhat lengthy excursion, with the object of clearing up certain
doubts which still oppressed me. A paper which I shall shortly publish
will, I trust, remove any hesitation that may still exist in the minds
of all honest archaeologists. But before that dissertation of mine
finally settles the geographical problem on the solution of which the
whole of learned Europe hangs, I desire to relate a little tale. It
will do no prejudice to the interesting question of the correct
locality of Monda.

I had hired a guide and a couple of horses at Cordova, and had started
on my way with no luggage save a few shirts, and Caesar's
/Commentaries/. As I wandered, one day, across the higher lands of the
Cachena plain, worn with fatigue, parched with thirst, scorched by a
burning sun, cursing Caesar and Pompey's sons alike, most heartily, my
eye lighted, at some distance from the path I was following, on a
little stretch of green sward dotted with reeds and rushes. That
betokened the neighbourhood of some spring, and, indeed, as I drew
nearer I perceived that what had looked like sward was a marsh, into
which a stream, which seemed to issue from a narrow gorge between two
high spurs of the Sierra di Cabra, ran and disappeared.

If I rode up that stream, I argued, I was likely to find cooler water,
fewer leeches and frogs, and mayhap a little shade among the rocks.

At the mouth of the gorge, my horse neighed, and another horse,
invisible to me, neighed back. Before I had advanced a hundred paces,
the gorge suddenly widened, and I beheld a sort of natural
amphitheatre, thoroughly shaded by the steep cliffs that lay all
around it. It was impossible to imagine any more delightful halting
place for a traveller. At the foot of the precipitous rocks, the
stream bubbled upward and fell into a little basin, lined with sand
that was as white as snow. Five or six splendid evergreen oaks,
sheltered from the wind, and cooled by the spring, grew beside the
pool, and shaded it with their thick foliage. And round about it a
close and glossy turf offered the wanderer a better bed than he could
have found in any hostelry for ten leagues round.

The honour of discovering this fair spot did not belong to me. A man
was resting there already--sleeping, no doubt--before I reached it.
Roused by the neighing of the horses, he had risen to his feet and had
moved over to his mount, which had been taking advantage of its
master's slumbers to make a hearty feed on the grass that grew around.
He was an active young fellow, of middle height, but powerful in
build, and proud and sullen-looking in expression. His complexion,
which may once have been fine, had been tanned by the sun till it was
darker than his hair. One of his hands grasped his horse's halter. In
the other he held a brass blunderbuss.

At the first blush, I confess, the blunderbuss, and the savage looks
of the man who bore it, somewhat took me aback. But I had heard so
much about robbers, that, never seeing any, I had ceased to believe in
their existence. And further, I had seen so many honest farmers arm
themselves to the teeth before they went out to market, that the sight
of firearms gave me no warrant for doubting the character of any
stranger. "And then," quoth I to myself, "what could he do with my
shirts and my Elzevir edition of Caesar's /Commentaries/?" So I
bestowed a friendly nod on the man with the blunderbuss, and inquired,
with a smile, whether I had disturbed his nap. Without any answer, he
looked me over from head to foot. Then, as if the scrutiny had
satisfied him, he looked as closely at my guide, who was just coming
up. I saw the guide turn pale, and pull up with an air of evident
alarm. "An unlucky meeting!" thought I to myself. But prudence
instantly counselled me not to let any symptom of anxiety escape me.
So I dismounted. I told the guide to take off the horses' bridles, and
kneeling down beside the spring, I laved my head and hands and then
drank a long draught, lying flat on my belly, like Gideon's soldiers.

Meanwhile, I watched the stranger, and my own guide. This last seemed
to come forward unwillingly. But the other did not appear to have any
evil designs upon us. For he had turned his horse loose, and the
blunderbuss, which he had been holding horizontally, was now dropped
earthward.

Not thinking it necessary to take offence at the scant attention paid
me, I stretched myself full length upon the grass, and calmly asked
the owner of the blunderbuss whether he had a light about him. At the
same time I pulled out my cigar-case. The stranger, still without
opening his lips, took out his flint, and lost no time in getting me a
light. He was evidently growing tamer, for he sat down opposite to me,
though he still grasped his weapon. When I had lighted my cigar, I
chose out the best I had left, and asked him whether he smoked.

"Yes, senor," he replied. These were the first words I had heard him
speak, and I noticed that he did not pronounce the letter /s/* in the
Andalusian fashion, whence I concluded he was a traveller, like
myself, though, maybe, somewhat less of an archaeologist.

* The Andalusians aspirate the /s/, and pronounce it like the soft
/c/ and the /z/, which Spaniards pronounce like the English /th/.
An Andalusian may always be recognised by the way in which he says
/senor/.

"You'll find this a fairly good one," said I, holding out a real
Havana regalia.

He bowed his head slightly, lighted his cigar at mine, thanked me with
another nod, and began to smoke with a most lively appearance of
enjoyment.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, as he blew his first puff of smoke slowly out of
his ears and nostrils. "What a time it is since I've had a smoke!"

In Spain the giving and accepting of a cigar establishes bonds of
hospitality similar to those founded in Eastern countries on the
partaking of bread and salt. My friend turned out more talkative than
I had hoped. However, though he claimed to belong to the /partido/ of
Montilla, he seemed very ill-informed about the country. He did not
know the name of the delightful valley in which we were sitting, he
could not tell me the names of any of the neighbouring villages, and
when I inquired whether he had not noticed any broken-down walls,
broad-rimmed tiles, or carved stones in the vicinity, he confessed he
had never paid any heed to such matters. On the other hand, he showed
himself an expert in horseflesh, found fault with my mount--not a
difficult affair--and gave me a pedigree of his own, which had come
from the famous stud at Cordova. It was a splendid creature, indeed,
so tough, according to its owner's claim, that it had once covered
thirty leagues in one day, either at the gallop or at full trot the
whole time. In the midst of his story the stranger pulled up short, as
if startled and sorry he had said so much. "The fact is I was in a
great hurry to get to Cordova," he went on, somewhat embarrassed. "I
had to petition the judges about a lawsuit." As he spoke, he looked at
my guide Antonio, who had dropped his eyes.

The spring and the cool shade were so delightful that I bethought me
of certain slices of an excellent ham, which my friends at Montilla
had packed into my guide's wallet. I bade him produce them, and
invited the stranger to share our impromptu lunch. If he had not
smoked for a long time, he certainly struck me as having fasted for
eight-and-forty hours at the very least. He ate like a starving wolf,
and I thought to myself that my appearance must really have been quite
providential for the poor fellow. Meanwhile my guide ate but little,
drank still less, and spoke never a word, although in the earlier part
of our journey he had proved himself a most unrivalled chatterer. He
seemed ill at ease in the presence of our guest, and a sort of mutual
distrust, the cause of which I could not exactly fathom, seemed to be
between them.

The last crumbs of bread and scraps of ham had disappeared. We had
each smoked our second cigar; I told the guide to bridle the horses,
and was just about to take leave of my new friend, when he inquired
where I was going to spend the night.

Before I had time to notice a sign my guide was making to me I had
replied that I was going to the Venta del Cuervo.

"That's a bad lodging for a gentleman like you, sir! I'm bound there
myself, and if you'll allow me to ride with you, we'll go together."

"With pleasure!" I replied, mounting my horse. The guide, who was
holding my stirrup, looked at me meaningly again. I answered by
shrugging my shoulders, as though to assure him I was perfectly easy
in my mind, and we started on our way.

Antonio's mysterious signals, his evident anxiety, a few words dropped
by the stranger, above all, his ride of thirty leagues, and the far
from plausible explanation he had given us of it, had already enabled
me to form an opinion as to the identity of my fellow-traveller. I had
no doubt at all I was in the company of a smuggler, and possibly of a
brigand. What cared I? I knew enough of the Spanish character to be
very certain I had nothing to fear from a man who had eaten and smoked
with me. His very presence would protect me in case of any undesirable
meeting. And besides, I was very glad to know what a brigand was
really like. One doesn't come across such gentry every day. And there
is a certain charm about finding one's self in close proximity to a
dangerous being, especially when one feels the being in question to be
gentle and tame.

I was hoping the stranger might gradually fall into a confidential
mood, and in spite of my guide's winks, I turned the conversation to
the subject of highwaymen. I need scarcely say that I spoke of them
with great respect. At that time there was a famous brigand in
Andalusia, of the name of Jose-Maria, whose exploits were on every
lip. "Supposing I should be riding along with Jose-Maria!" said I to
myself. I told all the stories I knew about the hero--they were all to
his credit, indeed, and loudly expressed my admiration of his
generosity and his valour.

"Jose-Maria is nothing but a blackguard," said the stranger gravely.

"Is he just to himself, or is this an excess of modesty?" I queried,
mentally, for by dint of scrutinizing my companion, I had ended by
reconciling his appearance with the description of Jose-Maria which I
read posted up on the gates of various Andalusian towns. "Yes, this
must be he--fair hair, blue eyes, large mouth, good teeth, small
hands, fine shirt, a velvet jacket with silver buttons on it, white
leather gaiters, and a bay horse. Not a doubt about it. But his
/incognito/ shall be respected!" We reached the /venta/. It was just
what he had described to me. In other words, the most wretched hole of
its kind I had as yet beheld. One large apartment served as kitchen,
dining-room, and sleeping chamber. A fire was burning on a flat stone
in the middle of the room, and the smoke escaped through a hole in the
roof, or rather hung in a cloud some feet above the soil. Along the
walls five or six mule rugs were spread on the floor. These were the
travellers' beds. Twenty paces from the house, or rather from the
solitary apartment which I have just described, stood a sort of shed,
that served for a stable.

The only inhabitants of this delightful dwelling visible at the
moment, at all events, were an old woman, and a little girl of ten or
twelve years old, both of them as black as soot, and dressed in
loathsome rags. "Here's the sole remnant of the ancient populations of
Munda Boetica," said I to myself. "O Caesar! O Sextus Pompeius, if you
were to revisit this earth how astounded you would be!"

When the old woman saw my travelling companion an exclamation of
surprise escaped her. "Ah! Senor Don Jose!" she cried.

Don Jose frowned and lifted his hand with a gesture of authority that
forthwith silenced the old dame.

I turned to my guide and gave him to understand, by a sign that no one
else perceived, that I knew all about the man in whose company I was
about to spend the night. Our supper was better than I expected. On a
little table, only a foot high, we were served with an old rooster,
fricasseed with rice and numerous peppers, then more peppers in oil,
and finally a /gaspacho/--a sort of salad made of peppers. These three
highly spiced dishes involved our frequent recourse to a goatskin
filled with Montella wine, which struck us as being delicious.

After our meal was over, I caught sight of a mandolin hanging up
against the wall--in Spain you see mandolins in every corner--and I
asked the little girl, who had been waiting on us, if she knew how to
play it.

"No," she replied. "But Don Jose does play well!"

"Do me the kindness to sing me something," I said to him, "I'm
passionately fond of your national music."

"I can't refuse to do anything for such a charming gentleman, who
gives me such excellent cigars," responded Don Jose gaily, and having
made the child give him the mandolin, he sang to his own
accompaniment. His voice, though rough, was pleasing, the air he sang
was strange and sad. As to the words, I could not understand a single
one of them.

"If I am not mistaken," said I, "that's not a Spanish air you have
just been singing. It's like the /zorzicos/ I've heard in the
Provinces,* and the words must be in the Basque language."

* The /privileged Provinces/, Alava, Biscay, Guipuzcoa, and a part
of Navarre, which all enjoy special /fueros/. The Basque language
is spoken in these countries.

"Yes," said Don Jose, with a gloomy look. He laid the mandolin down on
the ground, and began staring with a peculiarly sad expression at the
dying fire. His face, at once fierce and noble-looking, reminded me,
as the firelight fell on it, of Milton's Satan. Like him, perchance,
my comrade was musing over the home he had forfeited, the exile he had
earned, by some misdeed. I tried to revive the conversation, but so
absorbed was he in melancholy thought, that he gave me no answer.

The old woman had already gone to rest in a corner of the room, behind
a ragged rug hung on a rope. The little girl had followed her into
this retreat, sacred to the fair sex. Then my guide rose, and
suggested that I should go with him to the stable. But at the word Don
Jose, waking, as it were, with a start, inquired sharply whither he
was going.

"To the stable," answered the guide.

"What for? The horses have been fed! You can sleep here. The senor
will give you leave."

"I'm afraid the senor's horse is sick. I'd like the senor to see it.
Perhaps he'd know what should be done for it."

It was quite clear to me that Antonio wanted to speak to me apart.

But I did not care to rouse Don Jose's suspicions, and being as we
were, I thought far the wisest course for me was to appear absolutely
confident.

I therefore told Antonio that I knew nothing on earth about horses,
and that I was desperately sleepy. Don Jose followed him to the
stable, and soon returned alone. He told me there was nothing the
matter with the horse, but that my guide considered the animal such a
treasure that he was scrubbing it with his jacket to make it sweat,
and expected to spend the night in that pleasing occupation. Meanwhile
I had stretched myself out on the mule rugs, having carefully wrapped
myself up in my own cloak, so as to avoid touching them. Don Jose,
having begged me to excuse the liberty he took in placing himself so
near me, lay down across the door, but not until he had primed his
blunderbuss afresh and carefully laid it under the wallet, which
served him as a pillow.

I had thought I was so tired that I should be able to sleep even in
such a lodging. But within an hour a most unpleasant itching sensation
roused me from my first nap. As soon as I realized its nature, I rose
to my feet, feeling convinced I should do far better to spend the rest
of the night in the open air than beneath that inhospitable roof.
Walking tiptoe I reached the door, stepped over Don Jose, who was
sleeping the sleep of the just, and managed so well that I got outside
the building without waking him. Just beside the door there was a wide
wooden bench. I lay down upon it, and settled myself, as best I could,
for the remainder of the night. I was just closing my eyes for a
second time when I fancied I saw the shadow of a man and then the
shadow of a horse moving absolutely noiselessly, one behind the other.
I sat upright, and then I thought I recognised Antonio. Surprised to
see him outside the stable at such an hour, I got up and went toward
him. He had seen me first, and had stopped to wait for me.

"Where is he?" Antonio inquired in a low tone.

"In the /venta/. He's asleep. The bugs don't trouble him. But what are
you going to do with that horse?" I then noticed that, to stifle all
noise as he moved out of the shed, Antonio had carefully muffled the
horse's feet in the rags of an old blanket.

"Speak lower, for God's sake," said Antonio. "You don't know who that
man is. He's Jose Navarro, the most noted bandit in Andalusia. I've
been making signs to you all day long, and you wouldn't understand."

"What do I care whether he's a brigand or not," I replied. "He hasn't
robbed us, and I'll wager he doesn't want to."

"That may be. But there are two hundred ducats on his head. Some
lancers are stationed in a place I know, a league and a half from
here, and before daybreak I'll bring a few brawny fellows back with
me. I'd have taken his horse away, but the brute's so savage that
nobody but Navarro can go near it."

"Devil take you!" I cried. "What harm has the poor fellow done you
that you should want to inform against him? And besides, are you
certain he is the brigand you take him for?"

"Perfectly certain! He came after me into the stable just now, and
said, 'You seem to know me. If you tell that good gentleman who I am,
I'll blow your brains out!' You stay here, sir, keep close to him.
You've nothing to fear. As long as he knows you are there, he won't
suspect anything."

As we talked, we had moved so far from the /venta/ that the noise of
the horse's hoofs could not be heard there. In a twinkling Antonio
snatched off the rags he had wrapped around the creature's feet, and
was just about to climb on its back. In vain did I attempt with
prayers and threats to restrain him.

"I'm only a poor man, senor," quoth he, "I can't afford to lose two
hundred ducats--especially when I shall earn them by ridding the
country of such vermin. But mind what you're about! If Navarro wakes
up, he'll snatch at his blunderbuss, and then look out for yourself!
I've gone too far now to turn back. Do the best you can for yourself!"

The villain was in his saddle already, he spurred his horse smartly,
and I soon lost sight of them both in the darkness.

I was very angry with my guide, and terribly alarmed as well. After a
moment's reflection, I made up my mind, and went back to the /venta/.
Don Jose was still sound asleep, making up, no doubt, for the fatigue
and sleeplessness of several days of adventure. I had to shake him
roughly before I could wake him up. Never shall I forget his fierce
look, and the spring he made to get hold of his blunderbuss, which, as
a precautionary measure, I had removed to some distance from his
couch.

"Senor," I said, "I beg your pardon for disturbing you. But I have a
silly question to ask you. Would you be glad to see half a dozen
lancers walk in here?"

He bounded to his feet, and in an awful voice he demanded:

"Who told you?"

"It's little matter whence the warning comes, so long as it be good."

"Your guide has betrayed me--but he shall pay for it! Where is he?"

"I don't know. In the stable, I fancy. But somebody told me--"

"Who told you? It can't be the old hag--"

"Some one I don't know. Without more parleying, tell me, yes or no,
have you any reason for not waiting till the soldiers come? If you
have any, lose no time! If not, good-night to you, and forgive me for
having disturbed your slumbers!"

"Ah, your guide! Your guide! I had my doubts of him at first--but--
I'll settle with him! Farewell, senor. May God reward you for the
service I owe you! I am not quite so wicked as you think me. Yes, I
still have something in me that an honest man may pity. Farewell,
senor! I have only one regret--that I can not pay my debt to you!"

"As a reward for the service I have done you, Don Jose, promise me
you'll suspect nobody--nor seek for vengeance. Here are some cigars
for your journey. Good luck to you." And I held out my hand to him.

He squeezed it, without a word, took up his wallet and blunderbuss,
and after saying a few words to the old woman in a lingo that I could
not understand, he ran out to the shed. A few minutes later, I heard
him galloping out into the country.

As for me, I lay down again on my bench, but I did not go to sleep
again. I queried in my own mind whether I had done right to save a
robber, and possibly a murderer, from the gallows, simply and solely
because I had eaten ham and rice in his company. Had I not betrayed my
guide, who was supporting the cause of law and order? Had I not
exposed him to a ruffian's vengeance? But then, what about the laws of
hospitality?

"A mere savage prejudice," said I to myself. "I shall have to answer
for all the crimes this brigand may commit in future." Yet is that
instinct of the conscience which resists every argument really a
prejudice? It may be I could not have escaped from the delicate
position in which I found myself without remorse of some kind. I was
still tossed to and fro, in the greatest uncertainty as to the
morality of my behaviour, when I saw half a dozen horsemen ride up,
with Antonio prudently lagging behind them. I went to meet them, and
told them the brigand had fled over two hours previously. The old
woman, when she was questioned by the sergeant, admitted that she knew
Navarro, but said that living alone, as she did, she would never have
dared to risk her life by informing against him. She added that when
he came to her house, he habitually went away in the middle of the
night. I, for my part, was made to ride to a place some leagues away,
where I showed my passport, and signed a declaration before the
/Alcalde/. This done, I was allowed to recommence my archaeological
investigations. Antonio was sulky with me; suspecting it was I who had
prevented his earning those two hundred ducats. Nevertheless, we
parted good friends at Cordova, where I gave him as large a gratuity
as the state of my finances would permit.

Read more? Download the pdf: