THE DOUBLE GAME. A SPANISH STORY.

Waikato Times, Volume XIX, Issue 1624, 30 November 1882, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE DOUBLE GAME. A SPANISH STORY.

A celebrated painter at Madrid, whose real name it will be more discreet not to disclose, but whom we shall call Morales, had just completed a superb picture for the convent of the Eseurial. He had received a pretty large sum for his work, and by way of a little relaxation after, the long-continued toil and close atten- • tion bestowed upon it, lie assembled around a well-spread table in his studio a few choice spirits from among his fellow-artists. It was a bachelor's entertainment. Not a female was to sit clown with them. The mistress of the house herself, Dona Casilda, had been excluded. Morales had sent her off, with the female attendant, to pass the day, with one of her cousins. ,But tha good dame, haying a little of the curiosity of Mother Eve in her composition, was very anxious to know what was to lake place during her absence, and had a strong desire to find out what so many men could find to talk about when there were no women present. Instead, therefore, of remaining in the house of her cousin, she quickly returned, bringing the latter with her, and presently the twain were snugly ensconced in a little closet adjoining the studio, where, with eye and ear closely applied to the key -hole, they remained eagerly listening to all that passed. " But tell us my friends," said one of the guests," why we are deprived of the pleasure of Senora jMorales's,, company,? Her wit, her pleasantry, and beauty surely would not have diminished the ehaim of this delightful meeting." " There," whispered the lady to her cousin, " that is the first sensible speech I have heard." " l ? ie, fie 1" replied the husband, pouring out a bumper of old golden sherry, "women know nothing of the poetry of life." " That's true," added another. " Women aremore matter-of-fact beings, common-place, essentially prosaic. What do they know about the arts or the enjoyments of artists 1" " Fools !" exclaimed Casilda. " Yes," continued Morales, " take from woman love, intrigues, and household affairs, and they absolutely know not what to think or talk about." • • " Impertinent fellow !" was the comment of the listeners. , " Why," added the painter, " they cannot comprehend one of those rich jokes or capital pieces of humor which the air of the studio inspires. They have no conception of them. When a woman plays, us a trick it is always at the expense of our honor." "Wretch!" This word escaped the two cousins at the same moment, and was. uttered in a loud tone. But the noise of the guests and the rattling of glases prevented its being heard. " Ah I Master Simple, and so you defy us to play you a trick"without touching your honor, ao you? By the Lady of Atocha, I vowi though it is now Shrove Tuesday,that before Lent is over I will have my revenge." „ Casilda set her wits to work, and you shall r hear what, came of it. , On the following .Thursday she engaged' her brother, to, procure' from the Plaza Cabeda, where .they^are^ccustome^'to sell fragments of old buildings, a door of ,the samp dimensions ,' as their own, whicH' rf fronted on the „ She,' charged^ lum to'get.one.'of pn antique pattern^ 'covered with iron-work anjfl heavy l "mp t uldingk| ', Th^is she had conveyed tether house i with'all lecreoy^ ,juid kep^closely u conce»le^. wrjitil'^he^l ayqrable* moment ' She 'had^communioatecL her, design? to her, brother, an'd'-w few female friends in^e l|re|urn|d)/M^e, $1;^? Ifvtej ,-hour |f r&mjij eon:.

as if racked by grievous pain. ' ' "Holy Mother!" exclaimed she, "I am 'dying. My poor husband, my last hour is come; let them bring' a confessor, and quickly, for I'm going fast," She accompanied these words with grimaces. ( and violent contortions, which women, .when the humour takes them, so well know how to counterfeit. Her husband, in a condoling tone, inquired where she felt the pain. "Blessed Virgin!" was all the answer, " get me a confessor I the sacrament 1 I can bear it no longer, it is almost all over with me !" At these cries, the domestic, a young girl, hastened to the assistance of her mistress, applied warm napkins to her stomach, and made her swallow draughts of hot, spiced wine, and similar remedies. But the malady yielded not. Poor Morales, though sorely against his will, was forced at length to quit his bed. " Ah 1" cried his wife, in a piteous tone, as he slowly drew on hia garments, "it is a colic of the most dangerous nature." f No, my mistress," said the servant girl, " I know what it is that ails you ; it is that" vinegar you mixed with the salad that causes the pain. You know it served you the same way the last time you took it. Dame Castinoja then cured you." . The painter on this, began to scold his wife, because experience had not made her more careful. But she only sobbed out in half-suiiocated words : "What ia done cannot be undone. Formercy's sake go for Dame Oastinoja. She knows my constitution ; she is the only one that can ♦give me relief from the dreadful pains I suffer. For Heaven's sake bring her quickly, or there will be nothing left you but to open my grave." "My little wife," replied the husband, in a dismal tone, "My dearest wife, Dame Oastinoja, you know, has removed to the other end of the city, near the gate of Foncarral, and we are in the quarter Lavapie ; the night is very cold, and if the gutters do not deceive me, the rain is pouring in torrents. Even should I find Dame Castinoja, do you think she would come to see you, through this terrible storm? I remember the last time you had this terrible complaint, she cured you with two ounces of treacle boiled in the rind of half an orange. Let me go to the apothecary's and get it for you. Compose your&elf a liLtle, and do not force me to take such a long journey, which I am sure will be of no use, and I shall only get a worse malady than yours." At this, Casilda began to pour forth the most bitter lamentations. " Good heavens 1 see what a husband 'the Fates have given me 1 To hear him, would not one suppose that I was demanding impossibilities; that I was asking him to be buried with me; that I was claiming the sacrifice of his blood, or of half his fortune ? I only ask him to go for a nurse, at the risk of wetting his shoes, and he refuses. But I well know what it is you want ; you wish to be a widower ; you long to live over again your bachelor's life. At every cry that pain forces from me, your heart leaps with joy} Ah 1 I'm dying ! a priest 1 the confession ! I am poisoned 1" Morales, really believing that his wife was at tlic last extremity, and fearing, if she died, "that the accusations she had thrown out against him might have serious consequences, endeavoured to soothe her by a few caresses, and proceeded to light a lantern, » which the darkness of the night rendered very necessary. He then drew on a pair of stout boots, threw a large cloak over his shoulders, pulled the cape over Ms head, and manfully set forth on his nocturnal expedition in search of Dame Castinoja. The painter knew that the dame in question, dwelt somewhere in the Calle Foncarral, but of the precise location of her residence, he was totally ignorant. The rain fell in torrents, and he met not a soul from the time he left the Calle Lavapie, until he reached the quarter to which his steps were directed. The night was as dark as Egypt, and Morales cursed from the bottom of his heart, the day on which he had married. It may readily be imagined, that in such a mood he was not likely soon to find the object of his search. % But while he is groping along the streets, and getting soaked to the skin, let us return to the sick lady. No sooner did she see her husband fairly off upon his expedition, than she summoned her brother and a few chosen friends, who were lying hid in the cellar. * In a twinkling they had the old street-door off its hinges, and its place supplied by the one bought for the occasion, which fitted as if it had been made on purpose. Above it, they placed a huge white sign, on which was displayed, in large letters, the following inscription : " Hotel of the Cid. Good entertainment for man and horse." This done, a large party of friends from the neighborhood, who had been let into the secret, were speedily assembled. Castanets and guitars were put into requisition, a repast was prepared, and the merry guests began to eat, and drink, and dance, by way of celebrating the dismal expedition of the poor husband, who had gone in search of Dame Castinoja. Meanwhile, having proceeded from street to street, knocked at more than fifty doors, and roused and angered the whole neighborhood 1 , our po,or painter was at length obliged to return homeward without the nurse. He was drenched to the skin, and his patience was completely exhausted. On approaching his home, the sounds of musical instruments, and singing, and peals of laughter burst upon his astonished ears. Thinking he had made a mistake, he raised the lantern, and discovering a different door from his own, with the sign of an hotel over it? he became completely bewildered, and began to traverse the pavement anew. " It is indeed the Calle Lavapie," said he. "Here is the book-store of Pgdro Trappal; there is the fruiterer's shop ; and this is the ,house .of Diego the cripple, and then surely comes mine, for on the other side there is that of Lucas Merino, the money-changer." He recognized the doors of all his neighbors ; each one was familiar ; his* alone was changed. ' ■ '"Heaven help me I" said he, making fifty signs of the cross, " this indeed, must be my house. It is but an hour and a hah 5 since I left it. My wife was then weeping 1 and groaning with pain, and now they are singing and dancing. q And yet wo were living alone' "in the house. The door, it 'is true, needed a little repair, but I am certain it was not' changed when I left home. Beside, I 'have never noticed a tavern in this street, and s'urely 'it is not in my house that they would establish one. Am I dreaming? That cannot be. My eyes are wide open, and I hear plainly enough. The rain is pelting furiously, ' yet this illusion cannot ■be the effect of the little drop pi wine I took before • setting 4 ipnt." " < ' - < He^began to make a clos.er examination, carefnlly passing has 'hand over the "door," but could jipt'firuf the 1 knocker in its .accustomed place>. Determined , id -heard*' jn'^'nopes^^^^ ' ahf fenteanc^He^s]ttould|:learn ifM ;ca'urie*,xjf ' .the; ■mygrer|bnM he^'be^an^ti/ untfmttl|afe f^ifie"'>'doo? ?<witK' 'blows jTjenotigh"

room for you here. Go seek a lodging elsewhere." " But I wish to enter my own house." " My friend, it is not our custom to open our doors at this unusual hour." v ■ "But -I tell you this is my house; my father, Diego Morales, paid a round sum for 1 it with his own deniers." " Hark ye," my.fine fellow. I know not if the wine which disturbs your noddle was Val de Penas or Logroquo, but I'll be sworn it was capital, and the waters from the gutters will not hurt you. So go your way. , Cease knocking at the door, or I will let loose my mastiff, whose teeth will make a dozen buttonholes in your hide in quick time. Goodnight." Thus saying, he closed the window. The singing and laughter were renewed again, and the poor painter gave himself to all the furies, fully persuaded that some sorcerer was playing him this cruel trick. Meanwhile the rain continued, and flakes of falling snow came thick upon the face of Morales. The candle in his lantern had burned out, and his patience had long since been completely exhausted. v He commenced knocking anew, when presently he heard some one within the house call out : " Halloa, Antonio, unloose the dogs; bring a cudgel, and give the shoulders of this drunken fellow a taste of it ; it will relieve his muddy brain a little." At this the door was thrown open, and forth came a man with two huge dogs, which might have made the joke rather a serious one, had they not been held back by their keeper. " You cursed fellow," said the latter, " what ,do you mean by making this clamor? Were you not told there was no room for you here ?" " But, my good friend, this is my house, and I cannot comprehend what piece of sorcery has converted it into a tavern. This is indeed, I assure you, the very house I received as a heritage from Diego Morales, my father." "My good man, you are certainly under a strange delusion, There are neither Morales nor mulberries in this neighbourhood." " I am a painter, well known in this city, and of some celebrity in this quarter. I have lived twenty years in this house. Call my wife, Casilda. If she is not transformed into a landlady, she will doubtlessly extricate me from this labyrinth." " How can you talk in this foolish manner ? For more than six years this house has been one of the most frequented and best-known hotels in Madrid. Its master is Piedro Carasco. The landlady is Herez; and I, who speak to you, am Antonio, their valet. And now take yourself off, in heaven's name, without any more noise, or this oudgel will speedily restore you to your senses." , The poor painter, not knowing to. what saint to turn for succor, made the best of his way, by groping along through the darkness, to the house of one of his friends. It was four o'clock in the morning when he reached it. From the lamentable voice in which Morales claimed admittance, the friend thought that some serious calamity had be'allen thepainter f and baa&ened to lei him ia. Morales related his adventure ; but his friend listened to it with incredulity. He, however, lighted a fire to dry the well-soaked garments of his guest, and, jiaving prepared him a bed, advised him to go to sleep, for he doubted not that Morales had been making a little too free with the bottle. In the morning, however, the painter still persisted in maintaining the truth of the story he had told on the previous evening ; and his friend, curious to behold the enchanted mansion, accompanied him home. But, to the utter astonishment of the mystified artist, another change had come over the spirit of his dream. The marvellous sign had disappeared, the "house was secured by its accustomed portal, and everything had assumed its former quiet and peaceful appearance. " Come, Morales," said his friend, tapping him on the shoulder, " confess that you had taken a drop too much last night, and was afraid to return home." " On my honour as a man and an artist," replied Morales, " I have told you nothing but the truth." " But, my dear fellow, it is no such great crime to be overcome by a cup of good wine." Morales heeded not the remark, but commenced rapping smartly at the door. Bridget, the maid-servant, half-dressed, hastened to open it. " Oh, Senor Morales," cried she, in tones of well-feigned astonishment, "how could you have the heart to stay out all night in the city, carousing with your friends, and your wife lying here at death's door ? And to go off, too, under pretence of finding Dame Castinoja ! Fie upon you ! fie upon you I " Fie upon you, Senor Morales 1", cried out in chorus half-a-dozen shrill voices from the neighbouring windows. " You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you cruel manl You have an angel for a wife, and here you leave her in this shameful manner to die without assistance." "Ah, indeed I And where have you been all night? In some filthy tavern, I. dare say, drinking with your good-for-nothing companions, What an 'abominable thing is a husband who plays the bachelor ! If I had such a one, I warrant you I'd go to the magistrate, and soon have a divorce." " But it is with me that he has the ac count to settle," cried Gasilda, who now came up, looking pale and wan, as was natural after a night of dancing and revelry. "And so you believed I was dead, and you thought to come back and squander my dower on your bachelor parties. But you did not reckon on the good services of these kind neighbours, by whose timely aid I have been restored to life." " My dear little wife," said Morales soothingly, "if you will only listen to me, you will find that I am much more to be pitied than to be found fault with. J> And here the poor artist began to Mate what had happened to him. But his story was received with shouts of laughter. "Tell that nonsense to others, Morales. Do you take us for idiots, to whom you are telling some of your silly stories of the studio ? Confess the truth, man. You have fallen in with some of your scapegrace companions, with whom you have passed the night in drinking and carousing. Tell the truth, and beg -pardon for your'fault. That will be much better than' to stand here telling such a nonsensical tale, which nobody will believe." And) in truth, Morales had -to come to this at last. Crest-fallen, overwhelmed by ridicule, jeered by the whole neighborhood, he was forced humbly to sue for pardon, which was only granted on the condition, that he 'should give no more bachelor parties. , '

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