The Life of Lazarillo de Tormes

and he kept such a close account that there was not a man in all the world who could have taken so much as a crumb without his knowing it. [Sidenote: Lazaro finds his way into the blind man’s knapsack.] Well, I had to take the lazar’s allowance which he gave me. It was all despatched in less than two mouthfuls. After he had locked the bag and was not looking out, thinking that I was attending to other things, by a little unstitching I often opened one side of the bag and sewed it up again; bleeding the avaricious knapsack not only of bread but of good pieces of bacon and sausage. Thus I watched for convenient times to make up for the infernal wrong that the wicked blind man inflicted on me. [Sidenote: Lazaro’s adroit contrivance with the half “blancas.”] All that I could pilfer and steal I carried in half “blancas.” When they paid him for saying prayers for them, they gave him a whole “blanca.” But as he could not see, I had got it in my mouth, and put a half blanca in its place, before his hand had reached it, quick as he was, so that he only got half-price. The evil-minded blind man complained when he found that it was not a whole “blanca.” He said to me: “How the devil is it that since you have been with me they only give half ‘blancas,’ and before it used to be a whole ‘blanca’ or even a ‘maravedi’ that they gave me?[15] The ill-luck has come with you.” So he shortened up the prayers and did not give them more than half, ordering me to remind him to stop by pulling his sleeve. Then he began to cry out that they had called for such and such a prayer from him, such as he used to recite, and that he had given it. [15] The copper _maravedi_ was a coin the value of which varied. It may be taken as a penny. The _blanca_ was so called from the whiteness of the metal of which it was made. In the time of Alonso XI. there were three blancas to the maravedi. From 1497 the maravedi was worth two blancas. The great dictionary of the Spanish Academy quotes _Lazarillo de Tormes_ as the authority for the value of the blanca and half blanca, or farthing. The blind man used to have a small jug of wine near him when he dined; and quick as thought I gave it silent kisses when I put it down for him. But it was not long before he noticed the loss in what he drank, so he never let the jug out of his hand, but always kept it by him. [Sidenote: Various ways of getting at the wine.] However, he had no magnet to point to what went on, while I had a long oaten straw which I prepared for this need of mine. Slipping it into the mouth of the jug I sucked up the wine to my heart’s content. The old rascal, being very astute, suspected something. So he put the jug between his knees and, covering the mouth with his hand, drank in security. Seeing the wine go I craved for it. The straw being no longer of any avail, I hit upon another plan. I succeeded in making a tiny hole in the bottom of the jug, and stopped it with a small piece of wax. When dinner-time came I pretended to be cold, and got between the old man’s legs, to warm myself at the poor little light we had. With the same light I melted the wax, and very soon a little fountain began to drain into my mouth, which I placed so that I should not lose a drop. When the poor old man wanted to drink he got nothing. His astonishment was expressed in curses, devoting the wine and the jug to the devil. “You cannot think that I have been drinking, uncle!” I said, “for you have not let the jug out of your hand.” But he gave the jug so many twists and turns that at last he found the hole. He said nothing. [Sidenote: The wicked blind man’s cruel revenge.] Next day I was sucking at my hole as usual, thinking no evil, and little dreaming of what he was getting ready for me. I was seated on the ground, taking in those delicious draughts, my face turned up to heaven, my eyes half closed the better to enjoy the toothsome liquor, when the wicked blind man took his revenge. He raised the jug with both hands, and, with all his might, sent it crashing down on my mouth. Poor Lazaro was quite off his guard, being careless and joyous as at other times. Truly it seemed to me as if the sky and all that was in it had fallen upon me. The blow was so great that the pieces of the jug cut my face in several parts and broke my teeth, so that I remain without them to this day. [Sidenote: A coolness arises between Lazaro and the blind man.] From that time I wished evil to the cruel blind man, and, although he was kind to me afterwards and cured me, I saw very well that he enjoyed my cruel punishment. He washed the bruises and places torn by the bits of the broken jug, but he smiled as he did so, saying, “What would you have, Lazaro? If I wish you ill I cure you and restore you to health,” with other jokes which were not to my taste, when I had only half recovered from my wounds. I now wanted to free myself from him, thinking that a few more such blows might free him from me. He was not much inclined to see to my health and welfare, and even if I had wished to forgive him the blow with the jug, his evil treatment of me from that time would have prevented it. Without cause or reason, the malignant blind man was always beating me and knocking me about. If any one asked him why he treated me so badly, he told the story of the jug, adding: “Think you that my boy is a little innocent? Well, listen and judge whether the devil himself could have played such tricks. Who could believe that such a small boy could be so depraved.” Then they said: “Chastise him in God’s name,” and he never did anything else. So I led him by the worst ways, seeking to do him harm, taking him over stony places and into mud. [Sidenote: Lazaro is beaten, so the blind man is led into the mud.] He always beat me on the back of my head, so that it was covered with bruises, and although I cried out that I did not do it on purpose, but only because there was no better road, he did not believe me, such was the astuteness and intelligence of the old ruffian. In order that your Honour may judge of the cleverness of this knowing old man I will relate one thing out of many that happened while I was with him. When we left Salamanca his intention was to go to Toledo, for he said that the people there were richer, though not very charitable. He repeated this saying, “The hard man gives more than the penniless man.” We took the road by the best places, where we were well received. It happened that we came to a place called Almorox[16] at the time of the vintage. A grape-gatherer gave us a bunch out of charity. As the baskets are knocked about, and the grapes at that time are very hard, the blind man kept the bunch in his hand and, to content me, he determined to have a banquet with it, instead of putting it in his bag. For on that day he had given me many blows and kicks. [16] Almorox is a village with three hundred houses formed in irregular streets and an open square. The church of San Cristoval has a fine north door. The place belonged to the Duke of Escalona. Its vineyards produce wine like Valdepeñas. It is about twelve miles from the town of Escalona. We sat down in an enclosed place and he said: “Now I am going to treat you with liberality. [Sidenote: The way Lazaro and the blind man shared a bunch of grapes.] We will both eat this bunch of grapes in equal shares, and it shall be in this way. You take one and I will take another. You must only take one at a time, and I will take another until it is finished. In this way there can be no trick.” So we began. At the second turn the old traitor began to take two at a time. As he had broken the agreement I thought that I ought to do the same. Not content to do as he did, I began to take three at a time. When the bunch was finished, he sat for some time with the stalk in his hand. [Sidenote: An example of the blind man’s cleverness.] Then he said, “Lazaro, you have deceived me. I would swear to God that you have been eating three at a time.” “I did not eat so,” I declared. “Why do you suspect me?” “Would you know how I am certain that you took three at a time?” he replied. “It is because when I began to take two at a time you said nothing.” Though only a boy I noted the cleverness of the old man. But to avoid being dull I will leave out many things both curious and remarkable that happened to me while I was with my first master, for I wish to come to the leave-taking, and with that there is an end of him. We were at Escalona,[17] a town belonging to the Duke of that name, lodging at an inn. [17] The Duke of Escalona was the maternal grandfather of the author. The town of Escalona is on the right bank of the river Alberche, and about one hundred feet above it. Escalona is twenty-five miles north-west of Toledo. It was surrounded by a wall ten feet thick and thirty feet high, with two gates. In the principal square there were arcades and a stone cross. Juan II. gave Escalona to the Constable Alvaro de Luna in 1424, who built a great palace there, which was demolished by the French under Marshal Soult. King Henry IV. gave Escalona to Juan Pacheco, the Master of Santiago. In Lazarillo’s time it belonged to Don Diego Lopez de Pacheco, second Duke of Escalona and Marquis of Villena. He distinguished himself in the last Moorish war in Granada, and died in 1529. He resided in the old palace built by the Constable Alvaro de Luna, where he dispensed hospitality, among many others to Don Alonzo Enriquez de Guzman (see translation of that young adventurer’s life and acts, p. 71, Hakluyt Society, 1862). Madoz states that, in his time, Escalona consisted of 190 houses, population 580. [Sidenote: Lazaro falls into temptation and eats the sausage.] The blind man gave me a piece of sausage to roast. When the sausage had been basted and the toasted bread on which the grease was poured had been eaten, he took a maravedi out of his bag and sent me to fetch wine from a tavern. The devil put the temptation before my eyes, which, as they say, is how a thief is made. There was also a long piece of colewort[18] on the fire, which, being unfit for the pot, ought to have been thrown away. There was nobody but the blind man and myself, and I became very greedy under the delicious smell of the sausage. I only thought of present enjoyment, without considering what might happen afterwards. As the blind man took the money out of his bag, I took the sausage, and quickly put the colewort to be cooked in its place. When my master handed the money to me I took it, and went for the wine, not failing to eat the sausage. [18] _Nabo_, called colewort in the Neuman and Baretti dictionary. More likely what Gervase Markham (_Country Farm_, p. 185) calls “navet,” a sort of small turnip. When the sinful blind man found the colewort in the pot, of which he knew nothing, he thought it was the sausage and bit it. Then he said, “What is this, Lazaro?” I said “Had I not gone for the wine? Some one else has been here and has done it for fun.” “No! No!” he cried, “that is impossible, for I have never let the pan out of my hand.” I then turned to swear, and swore again, that it was not me. But it availed me nothing. From the cunning of the cursed blind man nothing could be hidden. [Sidenote: Dreadful trouble about the sausage.] My master got up and took me by the head. Presently he began to smell me, and forcing my mouth open, he put his nose in. It was a long pointed nose. What with the turn I had, the choke in my throat, and the fright I was in, the sausage would not stay on my stomach, and the whole thing came back to its owner. The evil blind man so worked my inside that the half-masticated sausage and the long nose came out of