When we Spaniards get a silver coin,we're princes,and even if we don't have one we still have the vanity that goes with it.If you ask some shabby beggar who he is,he'll tell you at the very least that he is of noble blood and that his bad luck has him backed into a corner,and that's how this mad world is:it raises those who are on the bottom and lowers those who are on top.But even though it is that way,he won't give in to anyone,he puts only the highest value on himself,and he will die of hunger before he'll work.And if Spaniards do take a job or learn something,they have such contempt for it that either they won't work or,if they do,their work is so bad that you can hardly find a good craftsman anywhere in Spain.
I remember there was a cobbler in Salamanca,and whenever anyone brought him something to fix,he would deliver a soliloquy,complaining that fate had put him in such straits that he had to work in this lowly position when the good name of his family was so well known all over Spain.One day I asked one of his neighbors who that bragger's parents were.They told me his father was a grape stomper,and in winter a hogkiller,and that his mother was a belly washer (I mean the maid for a tripe merchant).
I bought a worn-out velvet suit and a ragged cast-off cape from Segovia.The sword I wore was so enormous that its tip would unpave the streets as I walked.I didn't want to go and see my wife when I got out of jail so that she would want to see me even more,and also to take revenge for the disdain for me that she was carrying around inside herself.I really thought that when she saw me so well-dressed she would repent and greet me with open arms.But obstinate she was,and obstinate she remained.I found her with a new baby and a new husband.When she saw me she shouted,"Get that damn drenched fish--that plucked goose--out of my sight because,if you don't,I swear on my father's grave that I'll get up and poke his eyes out!"
And I answered very coolly,"Not so fast,Mrs.Streetwalker.If you won't admit I'm your husband,then you're not my wife either.Give me my daughter,and we'll still be friends.I have enough of a fortune now,"I went on,"to marry her to a very honorable man."
I thought those two hundred pieces of silver would turn out to be like the fifty silver coins of little Blessed John who,every time he spent them,would find fifty more in his purse.But since I was little Bedeviled Lazaro,it didn't turn out that way with me,as you will see in the next chapter.
The archpriest contested my demand.He said she wasn't mine,and to prove it he showed me the baptismal book,and when it was compared to the marriage records,it was evident that the child had been born four months after I knew my wife.Up to then I had felt as spirited as a stallion,but I suddenly realized they had made an ass of me:my daughter wasn't mine at all.I shook the dust off my feet and washed my hands to show my innocence and that I was leaving for good.I turned my back on them,feeling as content as if I had never known them.I went looking for my friends and told them what had happened;they consoled me--which wasn't hard for them to do.
I didn't want to go back to my job as a town crier because my new velvet clothes had changed my self-esteem.While I was taking a walk to the Visagra gate I met an old woman,a friend of mine,at the gate of the convent of San Juan de los Reyes.After she greeted me she told me that my wife had softened when she'd found out about all the money I had,especially now that that Frenchman had chastened her.
I begged her to tell me what had happened.She said the archpriest and my wife had talked one day about whether it would be a good idea to take me back in and throw Frenchy out;and they discussed the pros and cons of it.But their discussion was not so secret that the bridegroom didn't hear it.He pretended he hadn't heard a thing,and the next morning he went to work at the olive grove.At noon,when his wife and mine brought his lunch out to him,he pulled off all her clothes,tied her to the trunk of a tree,and gave her more than a hundred lashes.And still not satisfied,he made all her clothes into a bundle,took off her jewelry,and walked away with it all,leaving her tied up,naked and bleeding.She would undoubtedly have died there if the archpriest hadn't sent someone looking for her.
The lady also told me she was absolutely sure that if I arranged for somebody to ask her,she would welcome me back,because she had heard my Elvira say,"Poor me,why didn't I take back my good Lazaro?He was as good as could be.He was never critical or particular,and I could do whatever I wanted."
This was the touch that turned me,and I was thinking of taking the good old woman's advice,but first I wanted to talk it over with my friends.
