Part 12

_N._ Yes, for so 'twas my intent To trust you with my charities, And for the love of God you spent, Nor asked I how the money went.

90 _C._ For the three years of which I speak I'll tell you now without ado: To a blind man a farthing you Once bade me give in Holy Week.

_N._ I'm not denying that it's true.

_C._ And then just one year afterward, An orphan's dower to help to find, You bade give cloth--the roughest kind Of Alcobaça--half a yard. And also, perhaps you bear in mind, 100 Three lots of fish you bade divide Among the convents round about During these first three years: supplied Were they from Pederneira, out Of that same fund must I provide. Now in three years I did receive One hundred réis, and at this rate Just this one halfpenny they leave.

_N._ I see you are most accurate. But come now, without more debate, 110 Make one account of everything And give't my secretary, he Will the matter to my notice bring.

_C._ O Sir, leave all that for the King Our master, and speak seriously. My services your promise was, Sir, when we were at Santarem, That you would pay right well for them.

_N._ How often saw you me at Mass? --I mean when 'twas you said the same.

120 _C._ If that was so am _I_ to blame? They have been said on your behalf.

_N._ O keep them, keep them for yourself, You're very welcome to them--so, God will your due reward bestow. My money I waste not that way On masses muttered anyhow.

_C._ What, would you have your mummeries now And think you need no fiddler pay? This is presumption's height, I trow. 130 Unless your lordship's purse possesses Means for pomp and state so high To reduce them and spend less is Merely not a hawk to buy If you are without its jesses. Pages six in cloaks arrayed Wait upon you in the street In state that for a king were meet. Yet you have not, I'm afraid, The Pope's lands nor Guinea's trade. 140 For your revenues shrink and shrink Much like Alcobaça cloth.

_N._ Even so every noble doth Who to high birth small means must link. There's no other way, I think. But I see, padre, what you want, And my wish has always been To give you to the King or Queen.

_C._ That would be good wheat, I grant, If its flour could be seen. 150 Sir, if that should come to pass At your kindness I'll rejoice.

_N._ Well then, without more ado, That so I may judge your voice, Sing a preface of the Mass.

_C._ That will I most gladly do, But who will the responses say?

_N._ I. _C._ _Per omnia secula._

_N._ _Amen._ _C._ _Dominus vobiscum._

_N._ Sing on, padre. _C._ _Sursum corda._

160 _N._ Your voice, less soft than a recorder, Is thick as an elephant's that has fed Its fill of soup--and no more said.

_C._ Worse voice has Simão Vaz, I ween, Yet he's Treasurer and King's Chaplain, worse voice has the Dean --Like a pelican _he_ sings-- And others that may be seen In the palace. Let me end My singing and great things you'll see.

170 _N._ I think I'm rather tired, friend. But the King's you'll surely be, Nor need we further effort spend.

_C._ Sir, the difficulty's this: For you'll say: 'My chaplain he,' The King knows what your income is And he'll laugh right merrily And send me to the Treasury.

_N._ If you had but a good ear!

_C._ How sing well when 'tis your use 180 To give me everlasting cheer Of stockfish salted yesteryear, The worst that all the seas produce?

_One of the nobleman's pages comes and says:_

_Page._ My lord, the goldsmith's at the door.

_N._ Show him in.--He's come for more Money.--Come in, Sir, good-day. Put your hat on, I implore, I'm your great friend, you may say, Since I e'er your praises sing. Only last night to the King 190 You most highly I commended And I know that he intended To employ you. I'll insist Every time I see him, for Such mention oft advances more Than directly to assist, And these little things, you know, May to a great value grow As your name and fame have grown.

_G._ No other patron would I own, 200 Sir, I'll serve him with all zest.

_N._ Know you what I like the best In you? (To the King I said it And it's greatly to your credit) That you ne'er for payment pressed Nor your creditors molest. Ne'er such patience did I see, Such superiority And anxiety to please.

_G._ Our account's so small a thing 210 And is so long overdue, 'Tis half dead of promises, So that when I bring it you I but a dead promise bring.

_N._ How most cunningly inlaid And enamelled is each word! I rejoice not to have paid For the sake of having heard Phrases with such skill arrayed.

_G._ Sir, I kiss your hands, but still 220 What is mine would see in mine.

_N._ Another courtier's phrase so fine! 'Sir, I kiss your hands, but still What is mine would see in mine!' Fair flowers of speech are yours at will. What did the salt-cellar weigh?

_G._ A good two marks, most accurately.

_N._ The silver. And your work, I pray?

_G._ That may almost be ignored.

_N._ In all what may its value be?

230 _G._ Just nine thousand réis, my lord. And I can no longer wait For I'm killed by your delay.

_N._ Your insistence, Sir, is great And I shall have told a lie For quite differently I Praised you. Praise may turn to gibe: you Surely will not gain thereby.

_G._ With the cellar must I bribe you?

_N._ 'Tis of salt-cellars the worst 240 For which I e'er gave a shilling.

_G._ Though three years have passed since first I let you have it I am willing To retake it even now.

_N._ No, no, that I won't allow For I would not have you lose.

_G._ Why then pay me not my dues? For myself the charcoal bought With which you turn my hopes to nought.

_N._ Boy, go see what does the King, 250 And if there are ladies to be seen, The whole day shall not pass, I ween, In pay and won't pay: no such thing. And you return some other day: And if you find that I'm away Then speak unto my Chamberlain, He of all moneys that accrue Has charge and of the revenue That yearly comes from tithe and grain: And from him you will obtain 260 Most certainly what is your due.

_G._ And do you pay me with parade Of words and other bounties vain?

_N._ See to it you that you are paid.

_As the chaplain goes out he says:_

_C._ Shall such men go to paradise? If so I'll not believe in it. But I'll be even with them yet: Henceforth, proof against each device, I'll countermine them by my wit.

_The page comes with a message and says:_

_P._ The King be in the palace, Sir.

270 _N._ In what room?

_P._ No more I know.

_N._ Low-born villain, is it so That a message you deliver?

_P._ Arrah, I know what I'm about.

_N._ Arrah! just listen to the lout! Are any ladies present there?

_P._ Yes, I saw ladies, I aver, For they upon the terrace were.

_N._ Who were they?

_P._ They were ladies, Sir.

_N._ How called?

_P._ My lord, no one was calling.

280 _N._ These rustic churls are too appalling. And serve me right for keeping such. Henceforth I really must contrive To have a page of better stuff.

_P._ Sir, I'll grow speedily enough To please you, yes and will do much Provided God leaves me alive: And the rest I'll quickly learn As others who good wages earn.

_N._ Well do so, and then I will see 290 How you may come to serve the King And even page of the Chamber be.

_P._ So I did well to leave my home. Since even shepherds may become Attendants on the King, the King! So thrives with corn the land, bereft Of labourers, whom their fathers send To Court their fortunes for to mend, And soon there'll be no peasants left, For all will on the King attend.

300 _N._ What mockery's this?

_P._ Nay, Sir, I know That some poor Christians even so From toil shall have deliverance.

_Re-enter the Chaplain._

_C._ Have you, my lord, by any chance Yet spoken to the King of me?

_N._ I've had no opportunity.

_C._ The remedy may be delayed Another three years, I'm afraid.

_N._ The King's so busy, now with France, Now with the Turk, and now the Pope, 310 And other matters of high scope, And with such careful secrecy That I can see but little hope. I'm always there at the levée, But get no long talk with the King In which to settle anything. Meanwhile you may still serve with me Until I find an opening.

_C._ Sir, I would have the matter brought To a conclusion.

_N._ To conclusion? 320 Yes, and perhaps better than you thought.

_C._ Conclusion here I see in nought, In everything only confusion. Sir, a cope and a chasuble too Have I in your service quite worn out: Pay me the wages that are due.

_N._ Could you now but from East to West Discover us the latitude So, since your voice's not of the best, You might win the King's gratitude.

330 _C._ Sir, I perceive you do but jest: Would you pay me with a platitude?

(_He goes out._)

_P._ The King should take him, since he's cheap At any price, is such a fighter: He's from our village, and the sheep Was in his boyhood wont to keep, And now he's searching for a mitre. But there's no chaplain of them all Could ever bring him to a fall, And Labaredas is his name.

340 _N._ But here Cotão's yclept the same, The noblest in the land withal. Now he demands what's his by right As though 'twere not as easy quite For me all Turkey's lands to burn, Since any service to requite Gives one a melancholy turn.

_Pero Vaz, a carrier, comes with a parcel of clothes for the nobleman and enters with jingling of bells, singing:_

The snow is on the hills, the hills so cold and high, I saw a maiden of the hills, graceful and fair, pass by.

(_Speaking:_)

Go on there, _arré_, my fine mule, 350 You cost me in the market-place Seven thousand and nine hundred réis And a kick in the eye for the tax-gatherer fool. Get on, my roan. And add thereto The portion of five hundred too That Nuno Ribeiro had to pay: All this, my mule, was paid for you. Get on, _arré_, upon your way, For the afternoons now are the best of the day, Get on, you brute, get on, I say, 360 Look you the crupper's all awry And see, right round is pulled the girth: Candosa wines bring little mirth To any such poor fool as I.

(_He sings:_)

The snow is on the hills, the hills so cold and high, I saw a maiden of the hills, graceful and fair, pass by.

(_He speaks:_)

Curse you, go on, _arré_, I say, And now you're going all askew As one who would at skittles play: Come up, my mule, _arré_, _arré_. 370 But if I once begin with you I'll make you groan upon your way. By my Theresa, you'd lose your load, You would, would you, upon the road? But I'll not give you any rest Nor leave flies leisure to molest.

(_He sings:_)

I saw a maiden of the hills, graceful and fair, pass by, And towards her then went I with great courtesy.

(_He speaks:_)

Yes, and I would have you sigh For the Aveiro bakeress, 380 For the inn you'll come to by and by And then we'll off with the packsaddle And the innkeeper we'll straddle If he have not, to slake our thirstiness, Good wine at threepence and kid at less, And for hard bread soft buttermilk, A fair wench to serve and sheets of silk, If the floor's strewn with rushes the night be long, If it hails, be the roof both new and strong, When the lamp burns dim welcome fiddler's strain. 390 Hold up, there! At your tricks again? Bandy-legged brute, shall I prevail, If I rain down barnacles on your tail, To make you look where you are going. To the Devil with you! He'll be knowing How to handle your like without fail. 'And towards her then went I with great courtesy: Will you, said I, lady, of my company?'

_Vasco Afonso, another carrier, comes along and they meet on the road, and Pero Vaz says:_

_P._ Ho, Vasco Afonso, where goest thou?

_V._ Look you, I go along the road.

400 _P._ Without thy bells nor any load?

_V._ They were stolen from me even now By a cursed robber at the inn.

_P._ We had a drink there as we came.

_V._ Whose, Pero Vaz, is all this stuff?

_P._ A nobleman's, Devil take the same, Him and his suit of clothes and all.

_V._ Yes, 'tis a bundle large enough.

_P._ It takes the mule from head to tail.

_V._ One cannot say it's load is small.

410 _P._ Look you, now they will not graze And when through open moors we pass They nibble at the heather roots.

_V._ Leave them, Pero Vaz, to go their ways, For very parched is here the grass, And they won't touch the broom's green shoots. What is to thee for carriage given?

_P._ I do not know, so help me Heaven.

_V._ What! didst thou not then fix a price? Thou'st caught then in a pretty vice.

420 _P._ I left it to his good faith to pay Whate'er he saw was due to me.

_V._ Left it to his good faith, you say! And what then if he hasn't any And has to go to look for it? O thou hast done most foolishly: I'll wager thee an honest penny That thou'lt repent thy coming yet.

_P._ He put his hand--see here how-- Upon his beard and swore that I 430 Should be paid my money faithfully.

_V._ Was it a proper beard, look you now, On which this oath of his was heard, Or a mere straggling moustache?

_P._ Nay, as there is a God above, A judge who will the right approve, A nobleman will keep his word.

_V._ Thou knowest right well, Pero Vaz, There are nobles now who scarcely know Whether they're noblemen or no. 440 How is thy wife now? Is she well? And thy other property?

_P._ That's there all right.

_V._ Well, and she?

_P._ She ran away. _V._ Impossible! How sad thou must be feeling, why Bad luck to it. _P._ In faith not I. [_To his mule_] Come up there, must you ever go Just where the cork-trees come so low?-- What has it to do with me?

_V._ Thou must needs be hurt thereby 450 When the innkeepers laugh at thee.

_P._ No, that doesn't make me tremble. Vasco Afonso, look to thy mule, It's going to lie down on the ground.

_V._ Thou feelest it but canst dissemble.

_P._ O no, I don't. Thou know'st as a rule What women are all the summer round: So much for any regret that I Might feel for her now she is gone. 460 And as for people's laughter, why As was her will so has she done: She went away to her own loss And leaves me not one tooth the worse. I'm hale and hearty as I was, Vasco Afonso, no change there is: The son still of Afonso Vaz, Grandson of the mason Jan Diz And Branca Annes my grandmother Of Abrantes: nor one way nor the other 470 It touches me. And yet I grieve That she was partly in the right And was not utterly to blame, For I was ever wont to leave Her lonely there while every night To sleep at the inn with my mules I came. I wished thus that she might remain As a refuge for my old age, Like a Medina counterpane, But she saw through me and alack 480 Must view the matter in a rage And go off on another track.

_V._ And what wilt thou do now, I pray?

_P._ I'll sleep at Cornaga's inn to-day And at Cucanha's to-morrow. So get thee on upon thy way, And I'll on this errand to my sorrow And we'll see how it will pay.

_He goes singing:_

'Will you,' said I, 'lady, of my company?' But 'Sir knight, pass on your way,' said she unto me.

490 _Page._ Sir, the carrier is here, He has brought the clothes for you, For the sound of the bells I hear.

_N._ Look to it all of you with care.

_Pero._ Hold up mule, you son of a Jew. Where shall I put the clothes, say, where?

_P._ Good morrow to you, good Pero.

_Pe._ God keep your worship even so.

_P._ By the Folgosas did you go?

_Pe._ Yes, that way was my journey made 500 And to-day is just a week ago Since in your aunts' house there I stayed.

_P._ What was my father doing now?

_Pe._ Hoeing the vines in the sweat of his brow, In great heat and weariness.

_P._ And my mother?

_Pe._ She was up the dale Driving the herd--all in tatters her dress-- Out towards Cobelo's Vale. [_To the mule_] Be quiet there. The greedy brute. And yourself how do these times suit?

510 _P._ I'm flourishing like anything.

_Pe._ In faith you're growing fine and tall, And may God give you health withal.

_P._ I'm my lord's page and may advance To be the page who bears the lance.

_Pe._ What, is a nobleman so great? That's for an Emperor, and the King Of France, I see, must mind his state.

_P._ And more, I may go on to be A knight of the nobility.

520 _Pe._ Nay, by the Lord, John, listen to me: That were t'expect without good ground A watch-dog to become a hound. To the peasant far more honour doth Coarse sacking than your flimsy cloth. And to set his hand to till the soil And for the nobleman by birth To have men on his ways to toil And let the rustic plough the earth. For in Flanders and in Germany, 530 In Venice and the whole of France, They live well and reasonably And thus win deliverance From the woes that are here to hand. For there the peasant on the land Doth the peasant's daughter wed, Nor further seeks to raise his head, And even so the skilled workmen too Those only of their own class woo, By law is it so orderèd. 540 And there the nobility Serve kings and lords of high degree And do so with a lowly heart And simple, for their needs are small, And the sons of the peasants for their part Sow and reap the crops for all.

_P._ I'll go and announce you now.

_Pe._ Go and announce to your heart's fill: By the solemn God of Heaven I vow There are gods here more solemn still.

550 _P._ Sir, they've brought the clothes for you, And the carrier's at the door; Please to tell me, Sir, therefore, Who is to pay him what is due.

_N._ That's what I should like to know. What business is it of yours? You go And look to what they've brought for me: Stow it away in safety And trouble about nothing more.

_P._ From over against Viseu is he 560 And properly belongs to me Since I it was answered the door.

_The carrier comes in and says:_

_Pe._ Sir, I've brought the goods, you see, For your worship, they're not small, Here they are, pack-mules and all.

_N._ This is the strangest carrier's jargon That has ever come my way. A thousand crowns for you, a bargain.

_Pe._ Nay, Sir, I would have you pay Simply what you owe to me, 570 For I must straightway be gone.

_N._ And what may the carriage be?

_Pe._ Sixteen hundred reis: you alone Would I charge so little, Sir.

_N._ Go speak with my head messenger For he's master of the horses And the mules' astrologer: Let him in a neat account Fairly reckon the amount, What is due, and how bought, how sold, 580 For this customary course is Ever followed in my household. And if he's absent by some chance, And I _believe_ he is in France, Then return some other day And for the present go your way. And your pay is in your hand.

_Pe._ I wish I had it in my feet. O woe is me, O by my mother!

_N._ And have you a father and a brother?

590 _Pe._ Jest not but pay me as is meet, For I come from beyond the moor, Return I cannot to the Court.

_N._ Whenever you come to town my door Is open: lodge with my men you must.

_Pe._ Never again will I put trust In any noble of this sort, Not though St Matthew himself exhort.

_N._ To making friends your thoughts incline, Such friends as I especially, 600 For money is but vanity.

_Pe._ To the devil with such friends, say I, Who cozen me of what is mine.

_The carrier goes away and another nobleman comes and the first nobleman says:_

_1st N._ O how well you time your visit And your coming is most kind.

_2nd N._ Sir, it is not doubtful, is it?, That to serve you I'm inclined. And I would not have it said Out of sight is out of mind.

_1st N._ A large sum of money I 610 To a goldsmith have just paid For some silver he inlaid. To a carrier too, though why I should pay him scarce appears, Or how he won what he obtains.

_2nd N._ So ill-gotten are their gains That they rob your very ears.

_1st N._ Nay by the consecrated Host And the Holy God of Heaven Their onslaught is more fierce almost 620 Than that of wolves on a sheepfold even. Why my very chaplain too For the little work he does for me By whatever saints there be Yea and by the Gospels true For his prayers I must be willing To give him for each mass a shilling. There's not in Portugal a man More liable to pay than I: Nor one who is from love so free.

630 _2nd N._ Ah keep yourself from its fell ban, For lovers' joys and misery I think will be the end of me.

_1st N._ For all the ladies upon earth I would not give a halfpenny: Frankly I say that's what they're worth.

_2nd N._ A lover gentle, you must know, As I excels in delicacy, By my faith 'tis even so. And who should a fair lady's eyes 640 Behold and not be lost in sighs? And their pretty ways that lead You to toils in which indeed You will find no thoroughfare: Only infinite thorns and care.