LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume VII, Issue 700, 16 September 1876, Page 3

LITERATURE.

BLUE BLOOD AND BED. A Tale of Madrid in the Olden Times. chapter I. One fine evening, in the spring, some years ago—how many it imports nobody to know, I was sauntering along the Puerta del Sol, near the Casa de Oorreos, in the Spanish capital, the good city of Madrid. Of all the localities in the city in which a stranger can best study the lives and manners of the Madrilenos, commend me to the Puerta del Sol. There you will find every grade of society, every class of citizen—men of all businesses, and men of no business at alltraders, idlers, beggars, readers of journals, talkers of gossip, loungers, lovers—men, women, and children. Well, as 1 sauntered along with nothing particular to do or think of, I heard my name pronounced with an exclamation of surprise—'Hola! Senor Slingsby! Is that you? Valgame dios ! what brings you here ? Ave Maria Purissima ! but I am glad to see you.' I turned round and encountered the person whom of all in the world I least expected to see.

'My dear Don Baltasar, what a happy rencontre! Why, I thought you were in New York by this time.' ' Oh, no, I had to change my plans and eonie home. But what brings you here ?'

' Quien sabe,' said I. * God knows.' ' And what are you doing just now ?' 'Nose sabe. Nothing.' • Well, then, come along with me, and we shall dine at my club at the Casino in the Carrera San Jeronimo. Es casa de mucho aseo. It is a very comfortable house, I can assure you. Vamos.' • ' Con todo mi alma. With all my heart,' said I. So off we went. My friend, Don Baltazar de M , was a merchant, a partner of a very distinguished house in Madrid, an intelligent and wellinformed man, whose acquaintance I had made in London. He had travelled much, and had learned to divest himself of much of national prejudice and national vain-glory, to detect the shortcomings and failings of his own countrymen, as well as to discover things in which other lands were superior to Spain ; and should these pages meet his eye —as it is not at all unlikely they may, seeing that he is a great lover of English periodical literature-I beg he will accept my best acknowledgments for the many favours he has accorded me, and will not consider the disclosures in the following tale as any breach of confidence. Amongst other obligations to Don Baltazar, I owe him that of procuring me admission as an honorary member into his club during my stay in Madrid. I found it a very agreeable lounge —a good table d'hote—English and French journals, and some very conversable people. Many a time, as the shades of evening were deepening around us, Don Baltasar and I sat into the window which looked into the patio, in all the indolent luxury of Spanish life, inhaling tranquilly the mildest of cigaritos, and sipping the purest of red Valdepenas, or a cool, delicious draught; of Agrat mixed with Manzanilla wine. Ay de mi! that is all past and gone—a thing of memory, tinged with more or less sadness. Well, on one of those evenings our conversation turned upon the pride of the Spanish noblesse and the great estimation in which a Spanish hidalgo holds pure blood. ' Aye, Penor Slingsby,' said my friend, ' we Castilians believe our sangre ami, our blue blood, to be the purest in the world. \. Castellann vi/jo y ranch would not taint his stock with a drop from plebeian veins.' 'Well,' said I, 'this is not, after all, a healthy state, of things. Blood is a very good tning, it may want renovating. We in England never let it grow too thick or stagnate ; and the noble constantly renovates the vigour of his race by intermarriage with the healthful daughter of the class below him.'

Don Baltasar smiled. ' And you do well,' paid he. 'Such things will now happen amongst us occasionally, and the progress of human thought is making inroads upon our ancient prejudices. But long ago a mesalliance of this kind was a rare occurrence. And a hidalgo who loved beneath him scarcely ever had the courage to sacrifice his pride to his passion, and many a tragic result followed from affection.so placed.'

My friend paused for a moment, and lapsed into thought—then he resumed : ' I will tell you a story, for the truth of which I can vouch ; so fill your glass, and let us make another cigar— Echrmog vn cigarito. Don Baltasar took out his little book of papel de kilo and rolled up a couple of cigaritos, as a Spaniard alone can do, and handing me one, he proceeded with his narration.

' I presume, Senor Slingsby, you have made yourself tolerably well acquainted with the Puerta del S<d before this ? It is hard by, at the end of the street.' ' That I have, Don Baltasar. It was my daily lounge before I met you there. I used to go there to learn life.' ' Just so. Well, in the place that the Puerta del Sol now occupies there stood nearly two centuries ago, the church of San Felipe, with its flight of steps in front. Then, as now, this spot was the great point of reunion for all the idlers and sharpers of the city—the gossiping corner for the whole court. In those days, I doubt not, San Felipe sufficed pretty well for such purposes ; but now-days, my dear friend, our requirements are much greater. Every fafe in our capital, every gablnete de lectu-a, every office of a public journal, may now, in a sense, be considered as a Puerta del So'. I think, indeed, I may, affirm without scruple of conscience, that the breaches of the Eighth Commandment (and I might throw in two or three others) which are committed at the present time within this our "muy noble, leal, imperial, coronada, y muy herioca villa de Madrid,' as we pompously call it, are far more nume rous than in the days to which I refer.' •A pleasant picture of your progress in mDrality, Don Baltasar. I suppose it must be set down to the account of civilisation.'

' Well, partly so, I believe. In fact, it is due to several causes. We have, for instance, in our days more Andalucians, more diplomat lens, more pratenders, more hunger, in fine, more population, and, as you say, morn civilisation, and therefore, more who are forced to live by their wits, than we had in those good old times I was speaking of. But pido a usted mil perdones, Senor Slingsby ; I am philosophising, instead of telling my story.

' Well then, nearly two centuries ago, when, as I said, Madrid could boast of fewer scoundrels than she can now, a man walked slowly and thoughtfully one morning up the flight of steps that led to the portico of the church of San Felipe. He was somewhat advanced in years, with hard and sharp features, so far as one could see them, for the upper part of his face was concealed by the leaf of his broad sombrero, which had neither ribbon nor lace, as a fashionable sombrero should have had, moreover, what could be seen of his face was anything but clean. His capa was of common baize, h ; s doublet was of black cloth of a coarse, strong fabric, and his nether garments of the. snine, with a patch on each knee, very skilfully put on. Upon the whole, Senor Slingsby. you will admit that he had not nmoli the appearance of a man of fashion, Th« beggars. «.r fxudio'iroi, MS we call them, who plied their vocation then upon the steps of San Ffehpe. as they do now at Puerta del Hoi, t<. the rKagiift and annoyance of all p-isscs. Inured tit tlie old man coniemptu Italy, as they a«ked him for alms, lie gav n smal coin tn *hu most ancient of those uuiaauoes, who searctjly deigned to acknowledge*) th< charity with ft /Wttnt. As he parsed v.wSi iv the oth r meudk'fttlte!, he donate-hihlv excused him elf in tho eouvetithrtial plua* with which a Spaniard from time i'Minrtn > rial is wont, to soften hi* tvftgal. " Vord m vueatra mereed por I'ioa. het'tnlnn" " Brothnr. lot your worship pardon Hie f • God's s ka." In i- turn he recoivfil from each aco itrilmti in in fcltu w*y of n)>i\ e ' >n< call d hi a a r hirer, utltibhi.fi' ft J w ft third p, miaer, and the est, with tIIWS opl>»\jb; tolls

epithets, chanted in chorus a complete litany of maledictions. He of the patched knees received, these complimentary notices with profound silence, and wended his way to the top of the flight of steps. Upon the open space before the church stood a group of young fellows, evidently gentlemen of quality—fast young men, some of them lounging against the pillars of the portico, and all listening to the discourse of a brother worthy, a youth of very fashionable appearance, though his apparel looked a little the worse of the wear. The old man paused for a moment somewhat hesitatingly, then he advanced six or seven paces, with his sombrero in his hand, towards the orator; then he stepped back again, convinced that the caballeros did not, or would not, take any notice of him. The subject of discussion was the merits of a comedy of Calderon, which had been performed a day or two before at the palace of Buen Retire The speaker was delivering himself of a critical analysis of the chief features of the composition, and pointing out, at the same time, at least as many faults in it as he discovered beauties. To prove all this satisfactorily to his auditory, he began to repeat some verses of the play, which he he had picked up from the actors, and, designing to give an imitation of the action and style of one of the performers in a most effective passage in the drama, he suddenly stepped two paces backwards, and flung out his right hand violently as if in the act of drawing his sword. The old man at the instant had just again approached him, and was patiently awaiting the conclusion of the criticil dissertation. Accordingly, he had the good fortune to receive the booted heel of the caball-n-o on a very tender corn that studded one of his toes, and to catch a blow from a clenched fist;, emphatically planted between his nose and beard. The young critic turned round his face to see the person he had encountered, and beheld the old man, evidently the worse of the very impressive lecture on the drama. ' The youth recognised his presence with an oath.

" 'Ahi! Moncada? was it thou that interrupted me ? The devil take thee for a churl —thou art always ready enough with the ell-wand to measure a lace ruffle, but it is plain thou canst not calculate the distance that should be kept between me and thyself." ' The old man gulped down a sigh, for he felt keenly the double meaning of the youth's remark; however, he contented himself with answering the caballero in a very submissive manner. ' " Senor don Guzman, if your worship will be so good as to inform me where and when it will be possible for me to have the honour of an interview with you, without causing you any inconvenience, you will do me a favour for which I shall be grateful with all my heart." ' " »'or Dios !" replied the youtb, " I had some notion, Moncada, of paying thee a visit this very day, because, in fact, I must have a hundred ducats by night." •"I shall have them ready for your worship without fail," said Moncada, this time giving vent to the groan which he had swallowed just before. "I presume your worship will honor me with a visit at night. I know very well that you would not be seen entering my house by day." „ ' " I will go to thee at night," replied Guzman, turning his shoulder coolly upon the old man.

'"And hark'ee, Moncada, tell Beatriz I should wish to hear her sing a new song." (To be continued.)