B0040702LQ EBOK (8 page)

`Recalling a little of the Latin I knew as a youth, I have
managed finally to decipher the inscription on the tomb,' the
latter replied, `and from what I gather, it is the tomb of a
Castilian nobleman, a famous warrior who fought against the
French in Italy with the Gran Capitan, Gonzalo Fernandez de
Cordoba. His name I have forgotten, but his wife, whom you
see here, is named Dona Elvira de Castaiieda, and by my faith,
if the copy resembles the original she must have been the
most beautiful woman of her century.'

After this brief explanation, the guests, who had not lost
sight of the principal object of the gathering, proceeded to
uncork some of the bottles and, as they sat around the fire, the
wine began to circulate.

As the libations grew more frequent and the fumes from
the sparkling champagne began to go to their heads, the
excitement, noise and jubilation grew amongst the young
men, some of whom began to throw the empty bottles at
the granite monks standing before the pillars, while others
sang drunken, indecent songs, and yet others guffawed or
applauded or quarrelled amongst themselves, uttering oaths
and blasphemies.

The captain drank in silence, with an air of desperation, and
his eyes never left the statue of Dona Elvira.

Through the veil that inebriation had drawn over his eyes,
he seemed to see the marble statue, in the red light from the
bonfire, transformed into a real woman; he seemed to see her
lips move as though in prayer, to see her breast stir as though
she sighed, her hands clench, and finally her cheeks blush, as
though she were shocked by that sacrilegious and offensive
spectacle.

The officers, noticing their companion's silence, shook
him out of his trance and, giving him a goblet, they
chorused:

`Come on, propose a toast, you are the only one who has
not done so all night!'

The young man took the goblet and, standing up, he raised
it on high and defiantly addressed the statue of the warrior
kneeling by Dona Elvira:

`I propose a toast to the Emperor and his feats of arms,
which have enabled us to march to the heart of Castile, to
court the wife of one of the victors of Cerignola, on his very
tomb.'

The soldiers greeted the toast with a round of applause and
the captain staggered a few steps towards the grave.

`No,' he said, still addressing the statue and wearing the
stupid smile common to drunkards, `don't think I hold a
grudge because I see you as a rival. On the contrary, I
admire you as a long-suffering husband, an example of
broadmindedness and tolerance, and I wish to be generous in
turn. Since you were a soldier, you must surely have been a
drinker ... Never let it be said that I let you die of thirst
watching us empty twenty bottles ... Have a drink!'

So saying, he lifted the goblet to his lips and, after wetting
them with the liquor it contained, he threw the rest over the
statue's face, roaring with laughter when he saw the wine
spilling onto the tomb as it trickled down the stone beard of
the motionless warrior.

`Have a care, Captain!' cried one of his companions in a
bantering tone. `Don't forget that these jokes with people of
stone tend to be paid dear. Remember what happened to the
hussars of the Fifth in the monastery at Poblet ... They say
the warriors in the cloisters one night laid hold of their
granite swords and set about the soldiers who were amusing
themselves drawing-charcoal moustaches on them.'

The young men greeted this sally with loud guffaws, but
the captain, paying no heed to the laughter, doggedly pursued
the notion:

`Do you think I would have offered him wine if I hadn't
thought he would at least swallow the drops that fell into his
mouth? Certainly not! I don't believe, as you do, that these
statues are pieces of marble, as lifeless now as the day they were
wrested from the quarry. Unquestionably, the artist, who is
almost a god, breathes some vitality into his work, not enough
for it to move and walk, yet enough to instil a strange,
incomprehensible form of life, not one I can explain, yet I feel
it, especially when I have drunk a little.'

`Magnificent!' said his companions. `Have some more to
drink and carry on.'

The officer drank and, fixing his gaze on Dona Elvira, he
continued with growing exaltation:

`Look at her! Look at her! Can't you see the changing reds
in her delicate, transparent flesh? Doesn't it appear as though,
below that smooth, bluish alabaster skin, there glides a rosecoloured fluid of light? What more life could you want? What
more reality?'

`A great deal more' said one of his listeners. `We would like
her to be made of flesh and blood.'

`Flesh and blood! Misery and decay!' said the captain. 'During an orgy, I have felt my lips and my head burning. I have
felt the fire that runs through the veins like boiling lava from a
volcano, whose misty vapours confuse and disorder the brain
and make us see strange visions. Then, the kisses of those
tangible women seared me like a red-hot iron, and I thrust
them aside in distaste, in disgust, even in horror, for then, as
now, I needed a touch of sea-breeze for my fevered brow, to
drink ice and kiss snow ... snow tinged with faint light, snow
coloured by a golden ray of sun ... A beautiful, cold, white
woman, like this stone woman who seems to incite me with
her fantastic beauty, who seems to stir with the flickering of
the torchlight and provoke me by half-opening her lips and
offering me a token of love ... Yes! A kiss ... only your kiss
can quell the ardour that consumes me ..

`Captain!' some of his companions exclaimed, seeing him
advance towards the statue as though half-mad, with wandering gaze and stumbling gait. `What madness is this? Stop
joking and leave the dead in peace!'

The young man did not even hear his friends' words and,
staggering, he managed to approach the tomb and draw near
to the statue; but as he held out his arms, a cry of horror rang
through the church. With blood gushing from his eyes, nose
and mouth he had fallen flat on the floor at the base of the
statue, his face disfigured.

The soldiers, struck dumb with terror, dared not move a
muscle to help him.

At the very moment that their companion tried to place his
fevered lips on those of Dona Elvira, they had seen the
motionless warrior raise his hand and knock him down with
one massive blow from his stone gauntlet.

Translated by Annella McDermott

Gustavo Adolfo Becquer (Seville, 1836-Madrid, 1870) is
Spain's best-known Romantic poet, author of the Rimas,
poems on the themes of love, solitude and the nature of
poetry, which were published after his death. Becquer also
wrote prose, letters, essays and legends, of which this story is
an example. (A translation by R. M. Fedorchek is available as
Legends and Letters, Bucknell University Press, 1996).

9

A servant arrived at midday, in a state of profound anxiety, at
the home of his master, a rich merchant, and recounted what
had happened to him in the following words:

`Master, this morning when I went to the market to buy
cloth for a new garment, I met Death, and she asked after you.
She also inquired if you were usually at home in the afternoons, as she intended shortly to pay you a visit. I wonder,
Master, if it would not be better to leave everything and flee
this house, so that she will not find us here if she chances to
call.'

The merchant thought hard.

`Did she look you in the face, did you see her eyes?' he
asked, without losing his habitual composure.

`No, Master. Her face was covered with a linen cloth, rather
an old one, as it happens.'

`And did she also have a handkerchief over her mouth?'

`Yes, Master. It was a cheap and rather dirty handkerchief, as
it happens.'

`Then there can be no doubt, it was she,' said the merchant
and, after reflecting for a few moments, he added: `Listen, we
are not going to do what you suggest; tomorrow you are to
return to the cloth market and visit the same shops and if you
should chance to meet her in the same or a similar place, try to
greet her and get her to speak to you. And if she does speak
and asks after me in the same or a similar manner, you are to
tell her that I am always at home in the hour before nightfall
and that it will be a pleasure to receive her and offer the
hospitality appropriate to a great lady.'

The servant did as he was bidden and, the following day at
midday, he was back in the home of his master, in a state of
uncontrollable agitation.

`Master, again I met Death in the cloth market and I gave
her your message, which she heard, so far as I was able to
observe, with great satisfaction. She confessed that she is
usually received with such reluctance that she can never visit
any person more than once and, since your invitation is so
unusual, she intends to respond to it as soon as the opportunity arises. And she hopes to repay your kindness by demonstrating that there is a great deal of myth in what people say
about her. Would it not be better to flee from here and avoid
this demonstration?'

`You see?' said the merchant, with visible satisfaction. `We
have frightened her off. I can assure you it will be a long time
before she comes here, if indeed she ever comes at all. It is this
lady's boast that she never makes the first move, that everyone
- voluntarily or involuntarily - summons and solicits her.
Moreover, what she enjoys above all are surprises and what
she loathes above all are prearranged appointments. I am sure
you know the ancient story of the encounter she had with a
man who was endeavouring to flee from an appointment she
had never made. Well, I have no hesitation in affirming that,
because we have invited her, she will not come to this house,
unless one of us loses his composure and surrenders to one of
her cunning stratagems.'

That afternoon, Death - in a sincerely friendly and relaxed
mood - called at the merchant's home, aiming to take advantage of a few hours' leisure to show her appreciation of him
and enjoy his company and conversation. But when the servant opened the door he could not suppress his fear at seeing
her on the threshold, her face covered with an ancient linen
cloth and her mouth protected by a dirty handkerchief, and
believing that it was a plot between his master and the lady to
destroy him, he rushed, incandescent with rage, to his master's
office, where his master was resting, and, without even
announcing the visitor, stabbed him to death and escaped by
another door.

Death, surprised by the silence that reigned in the house,
and the negligence of the merchant, who had not even invited
her in, made her own way to the merchant's office and, seeing
his lifeless body lying in a pool of blood, she could not suppress a gesture of astonishment, soon replaced by a habitual
sigh of resignation:

`Oh, well, the usual story. Better luck next time.'

10 and 10a

A famous general of antiquity, known to all the armies of the
civilised world for the systematic care with which he planned
even the smallest military operation, was entrusted by his king
with a very important campaign in which he must defeat and
disarm his country's historical enemy and win a period of
peace lasting at least several generations.

The general asked the monarch for time to rearm his troops
and, more especially, to plan the campaign down to the last
detail, persuading him that the longer the time spent on
developing a plan of operations, the shorter and less bloody
would be the war. The king gave him a year, by the end of
which time the army was perfectly prepared and equipped.
Then the ruler sent for the general and asked him if he was
prepared to begin the campaign. However, the general
answered that he was not, for he had only had time to elaborate half of his plans, requesting therefore an extension of one
year to complete them.

At the end of that second year, the king sent once again for
his general who, in response to his sovereign's enquiries, again
apologised, assuring him that as there remained only a few
more details to be resolved, he would be ready in just
six months and could begin the campaign which, after such
careful preparations, would be short-lived.