Unable to view our Advertisement at all? [1]Go ahead and click here. [2]Explore Solar Panel Options [3][12z7MOa3dyCA3h97DVmKinvVvjiKydtOiOKyjtvnVndsjmWhFmjjVnYOL0Mjhb9e] [4][24cBJ7az3qd4n97vVmKinvVvjiKydtOiOKyjtvnVndsjmWhFmjjVnYOL0MjhWd5] Explore Solar Panel Options In this country he is only known as Jose Navarro, but he has another Basque name, which neither your nor I will ever be able to pronounce. By the way, the man is worth seeing, and you, who like to study the peculiar features of each country, shouldn't lose this chance of noting how a rascal bids farewell to this world in Spain. He is in jail, and Father Martinez will take you to him." So bent was my Dominican friend on my seeing the preparations for this "neat little hanging job" that I was fain to agree. I went to see the prisoner, having provided myself with a bundle of cigars, which I hoped might induce him to forgive my intrusion I was ushered into Don Jose's presence just as he was sitting at table. He greeted me with a rather distant nod, and thanked me civilly for the present I had brought him. Having counted the cigars in the bundle I had placed in his hand, he took out a certain number and returned me the rest, remarking that he would not need any more of them. I inquired whether by laying out a little money, or by applying to my friends, I might not be able to do something to soften his lot. He shrugged his shoulders, to begin with, smiling sadly. Soon, as by an after-thought, he asked me to have a mass said for the repose of his soul. Then he added nervously: "Would you--would you have another said for a person who did you a wrong?" "Assuredly I will, my dear fellow," I answered. "But no one in this country has wronged me so far as I know." He took my hand and squeezed it, looking very grave. After a moment's silence, he spoke again. "Might I dare to ask another service of you? When you go back to your own country perhaps you will pass through Navarre. At all events you'll go by Vittoria, which isn't very far off." "Yes," said I, "I shall certainly pass through Vittoria. But I may very possibly go round by Pampeluna, and for your sake, I believe I should be very glad to do it." "Well, if you do go to Pampeluna, you'll see more than one thing that will interest you. It's a fine town. I'll give you this medal," he showed me a little silver medal that he wore hung around his neck. "You'll wrap it up in paper"--he paused a moment to master his emotion --"and you'll take it, or send it, to an old lady whose address I'll give you. Tell her I am dead--but don't tell her how I died." I promised to perform his commission. I saw him the next day, and spent part of it in his company From his lips I learned the sad incidents that follow. CHAPTER III "I was born," he said, "at Elizondo, in the valley of Baztan. My name is Don Jose Lizzarrabengoa, and you know enough of Spain, sir, to know at once, by my name, that I come of an old Christian and Basque stock. I call myself Don, because I have a right to it, and if I were at Elizondo I could show you my parchment genealogy. My family wanted me to go into the church, and made me study for it, but I did not like work. I was too fond of playing tennis, and that was my ruin. When we Navarrese begin to play tennis, we forget everything else. One day, when I had won the game, a young fellow from Alava picked a quarrel with me. We took to our /maquilas/,* and I won again. But I had to leave the neighbourhood. I fell in with some dragoons, and enlisted in the Almanza Cavalry Regiment. Mountain folks like us soon learn to be soldiers. Before long I was a corporal, and I had been told I should soon be made a sergeant, when, to my misfortune, I was put on guard at the Seville Tobacco Factory. If you have been to Seville you have seen the great building, just outside the ramparts, close to the Guadalquivir; I can fancy I see the entrance, and the guard room just beside it, even now. When Spanish soldiers are on duty, they either play cards or go to sleep. I, like an honest Navarrese, always tried to keep myself busy. I was making a chain to hold my priming-pin, out of a bit of wire: all at once, my comrades said, 'there's the bell ringing, the girls are coming back to work.' You must know, sir, that there are quite four or five hundred women employed in the factory. They roll the cigars in a great room into which no man can go without a permit from the /Veintiquatro/,** because when the weather is hot they make themselves at home, especially the young ones. When the work-girls come back after their dinner, numbers of young men go down to see them pass by, and talk all sorts of nonsense to them. Very few of those young ladies will refuse a silk mantilla, and men who care for that sort of sport have nothing to do but bend down and pick their fish up. While the others watched the girls go by, I stayed on my bench near the door. I was a young fellow then--my heart was still in my own country, and I didn't believe in any pretty girls who hadn't blue skirts and long plaits of hair falling on their shoulders.*** And besides, I was rather afraid of the Andalusian women. I had not got used to their ways yet; they were always jeering one--never spoke a single word of sense. So I was sitting with my nose down upon my chain, when I heard some bystanders say, 'Here comes the /gitanella/!' Then I lifted up my eyes, and I saw her! It was that very Carmen you know, and in whose rooms I met you a few months ago. * Iron-shod sticks used by the Basques. ** Magistrate in charge of the municipal police arrangements, and local government regulations. *** The costume usually worn by peasant women in Navarre and the Basque Provinces. "She was wearing a very short skirt, below which her white silk stockings--with more than one hole in them--and her dainty red morocco shoes, fastened with flame-coloured ribbons, were clearly seen. She had thrown her mantilla back, to show her shoulders, and a great bunch of acacia that was thrust into her chemise. She had another acacia blossom in the corner of her mouth, and she walked along, swaying her hips, like a filly from the Cordova stud farm. In my country anybody who had seen a woman dressed in that fashion would have crossed himself. At Seville every man paid her some bold compliment on her appearance. She had an answer for each and all, with her hand on her hip, as bold as the thorough gipsy she was. At first I didn't like her looks, and I fell to my work again. But she, like all women and cats, who won't come if you call them, and do come if you don't call them, stopped short in front of me, and spoke to me. " '/Compadre/,' said she, in the Andalusian fashion, 'won't you give me your chain for the keys of my strong box?' " 'It's for my priming-pin,' said I. " 'Your priming-pin!' she cried, with a laugh. 'Oho! I suppose the gentleman makes lace, as he wants pins!' "Everybody began to laugh, and I felt myself getting red in the face, and couldn't hit on anything in answer. " 'Come, my love!' she began again, 'make me seven ells of lace for my mantilla, my pet pin-maker!' "And taking the acacia blossom out of her mouth she flipped it at me with her thumb so that it hit me just between the eyes. I tell you, sir, I felt as if a bullet had struck me. I didn't know which way to look. I sat stock-still, like a wooden board. When she had gone into the factory, I saw the acacia blossom, which had fallen on the ground between my feet. I don't know what made me do it, but I picked it up, unseen by any of my comrades, and put it carefully inside my jacket. That was my first folly. "Two or three hours later I was still thinking about her, when a panting, terrified-looking porter rushed into the guard-room. He told us a woman had been stabbed in the great cigar-room, and that the guard must be sent in at once. The sergeant told me to take two men, and go and see to it. I took my two men and went upstairs. Imagine, sir, that when I got into the room, I found, to begin with, some three hundred women, stripped to their shifts, or very near it, all of them screaming and yelling and gesticulating, and making such a row that you couldn't have heard God's own thunder. On one side of the room one of the women was lying on the broad of her back, streaming with blood, with an X newly cut on her face by two strokes of a knife. Opposite the wounded woman, whom the best-natured of the band were attending, I saw Carmen, held by five or six of her comrades. The wounded woman was crying out, 'A confessor, a confessor! I'm killed!' Carmen said nothing at all. She clinched her teeth and rolled her eyes like a chameleon. 'What's this?' I asked. I had hard work to find out what had happened, for all the work-girls talked at once. It appeared that the injured girl had boasted she had money enough in her pocket to buy a donkey at the Triana Market. 'Why,' said Carmen, who had a tongue of her own, 'can't you do with a broom?' Stung by this taunt, it may be because she felt herself rather unsound in that particular, the other girl replied that she knew nothing about brooms, seeing she had not the honour of being either a gipsy or one of the devil's godchildren, but that the Senorita Carmen would shortly make acquaintance with her donkey, when the /Corregidor/ took her out riding with two lackeys behind her to keep the flies off. 'Well,' retorted Carmen, 'I'll make troughs for the flies to drink out of on your cheeks, and I'll paint a draught-board on them!'* And thereupon, slap, bank! She began making St. Andrew's crosses on the girl's face with a knife she had been using for cutting off the ends of the cigars. * /Pintar un javeque/, "paint a xebec," a particular type of ship. Most Spanish vessels of this description have a checkered red and white stripe painted around them. "The case was quite clear. I took hold of Carmen's arm 'Sister mine,' I said civilly, 'you must come with me.' She shot a glance of recognition at me, but she said, with a resigned look: 'Let's be off. Where is my mantilla?' She put it over her head so that only one of her great eyes was to be seen, and followed my two men, as quiet as a lamb. When we got to the guardroom the sergeant said it was a serious job, and he must send her to prison. I was told off again to take her there. I put her between two dragoons, as a corporal does on such occasions. We started off for the town. The gipsy had begun by holding her tongue. But when we got to the /Calle de la Serpiente/--you know it, and that it earns its name by its many windings--she began by dropping her mantilla on to her shoulders, so as to show me her coaxing little face, and turning round to me as well as she could, she said: " '/Oficial mio/, where are you taking me to?' " 'To prison, my poor child,' I replied, as gently as I could, just as any kind-hearted soldier is bound to speak to a prisoner, and especially to a woman. " 'Alack! What will become of me! Senor Oficial, have pity on me! You are so young, so good-looking.' Then, in a lower tone, she said, 'Let me get away, and I'll give you a bit of the /bar lachi/, that will make every woman fall in love with you!' "The /bar lachi/, sir, is the loadstone, with which the gipsies declare one who knows how to use it can cast any number of spells. If you can make a woman drink a little scrap of it, powdered, in a glass of white wine, she'll never be able to resist you. I answered, as gravely as I could: " 'We are not here to talk nonsense. You'll have to go to prison. Those are my orders, and there's no help for it!' "We men from the Basque country have an accent which all Spaniards easily recognise; on the other hand, not one of them can ever learn to say /Bai, jaona/!* * Yes, sir. "So Carmen easily guessed I was from the Provinces. You know, sir, that the gipsies, who belong to no particular country, and are always moving about, speak every language, and most of them are quite at home in Portugal, in France, in our Provinces, in Catalonia, or anywhere else. They can even make themselves understood by Moors and English people. Carmen knew Basque tolerably well. " '/Laguna ene bihotsarena/, comrade of my heart,' said she suddenly. 'Do you belong to our country?' "Our language is so beautiful, sir, that when we hear it in a foreign country it makes us quiver. I wish," added the bandit in a lower tone, "I could have a confessor from my own country." After a silence, he began again. " 'I belong to Elizondo,' I answered in Basque, very much affected by the sound of my own language. " 'I come from Etchalar,' said she (that's a district about four hours' journey from my home). 'I was carried off to Seville by the gipsies. I was working in the factory to earn enough money to take me back to Navarre, to my poor old mother, who has no support in the world but me, besides her little /barratcea/* with twenty cider-apple trees in it. Ah! if I were only back in my own country, looking up at the white mountains! I have been insulted here, because I don't belong to this land of rogues and sellers of rotten oranges; and those hussies are all banded together against me, because I told them that not all their Seville /jacques/,** and all their knives, would frighten an honest lad from our country, with his blue cap and his /maquila/! Good comrade, won't you do anything to help your own countrywoman?' * Field, garden. ** Bravos, boasters. "She was lying then, sir, as she has always lied. I don't know that that girl ever spoke a word of truth in her life, but when she did speak, I believed her--I couldn't help myself. She mangled her Basque words, and I believed she came from Navarre. But her eyes and her mouth and her skin were enough to prove she was a gipsy. I was mad, I paid no more attention to anything, I thought to myself that if the Spaniards had dared to speak evil of my country, I would have slashed their faces just as she had slashed her comrade's. In short, I was like a drunken man, I was beginning to say foolish things, and I was very near doing them. ___________________________________ Change your options by visiting [5]here 2220 Meridian Blvd.,Suite #763, Minden, NV 89423 References 1. http://www.kittylovestore.com/b3386JGXA3d0Nj97gVmKinvVvjiKydtOiOKyjtvnVndsjmWhFmjjVnYOL0Mjh54a/scaffolding-boisterously 2. http://www.kittylovestore.com/b3386JGXA3d0Nj97gVmKinvVvjiKydtOiOKyjtvnVndsjmWhFmjjVnYOL0Mjh54a/scaffolding-boisterously 3. http://www.kittylovestore.com/b3386JGXA3d0Nj97gVmKinvVvjiKydtOiOKyjtvnVndsjmWhFmjjVnYOL0Mjh54a/scaffolding-boisterously 4. http://www.kittylovestore.com/bowel-specie/7748_F63EdS1K97UVmKinvVvjiKydtOiOKyjtvnVndsjmWhFmjjVnYOL0Mjhd41 5. http://www.kittylovestore.com/greying-grovels/5588h9TT3d2m97iVmKinvVvjiKydtOiOKyjtvnVndsjmWhFmjjVnYOL0Mjh200