carmen(卡门)

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CARMEN

by PROSPER MERIMEE

CARMEN

CHAPTER I

I had always suspected the geographical authorities did not know what

they were talking about when they located the battlefield of Munda in the

county of the Bastuli-Poeni, close to the modern Monda, some two

leagues north of Marbella.

According to my own surmise, founded on the text of the anonymous

author of the /Bellum Hispaniense/, and on certain information culled

from the excellent library owned by the Duke of Ossuna, I believed the

site of the memorable struggle in which Caesar played double or quits,

once and for all, with the champions of the Republic, should be sought in

the neighbourhood of Montilla.

Happening to be in Andalusia during the autumn of 1830, I made a

somewhat lengthy excursion, with the object of clearing up certain doubts

which still oppressed me. A paper which I shall shortly publish will, I trust,

remove any hesitation that may still exist in the minds of all honest

archaeologists. But before that dissertation of mine finally settles the

geographical problem on the solution of which the whole of learned

Europe hangs, I desire to relate a little tale. It will do no prejudice to the

interesting question of the correct locality of Monda.

I had hired a guide and a couple of horses at Cordova, and had started

on my way with no luggage save a few shirts, and Caesar's

/Commentaries/. As I wandered, one day, across the higher lands of the

Cachena plain, worn with fatigue, parched with thirst, scorched by a

burning sun, cursing Caesar and Pompey's sons alike, most heartily, my

eye lighted, at some distance from the path I was following, on a little

stretch of green sward dotted with reeds and rushes. That betokened the

neighbourhood of some spring, and, indeed, as I drew nearer I perceived

that what had looked like sward was a marsh, into which a stream, which

seemed to issue from a narrow gorge between two high spurs of the Sierra

di Cabra, ran and disappeared.

If I rode up that stream, I argued, I was likely to find cooler water,

fewer leeches and frogs, and mayhap a little shade among the rocks.

CARMEN

At the mouth of the gorge, my horse neighed, and another horse,

invisible to me, neighed back. Before I had advanced a hundred paces, the

gorge suddenly widened, and I beheld a sort of natural amphitheatre,

thoroughly shaded by the steep cliffs that lay all around it. It was

impossible to imagine any more delightful halting place for a traveller. At

the foot of the precipitous rocks, the stream bubbled upward and fell into a

little basin, lined with sand that was as white as snow. Five or six splendid

evergreen oaks, sheltered from the wind, and cooled by the spring, grew

beside the pool, and shaded it with their thick foliage. And round about it a

close and glossy turf offered the wanderer a better bed than he could have

found in any hostelry for ten leagues round.

The honour of discovering this fair spot did not belong to me. A man

was resting there already--sleeping, no doubt--before I reached it. Roused

by the neighing of the horses, he had risen to his feet and had moved over

to his mount, which had been taking advantage of its master's slumbers to

make a hearty feed on the grass that grew around. He was an active young

fellow, of middle height, but powerful in build, and proud and sullen-

looking in expression. His complexion, which may once have been fine,

had been tanned by the sun till it was darker than his hair. One of his

hands grasped his horse's halter. In the other he held a brass blunderbuss.

At the first blush, I confess, the blunderbuss, and the savage looks of

the man who bore it, somewhat took me aback. But I had heard so much

about robbers, that, never seeing any, I had ceased to believe in their

existence. And further, I had seen so many honest farmers arm themselves

to the teeth before they went out to market, that the sight of firearms gave

me no warrant for doubting the character of any stranger. "And then,"

quoth I to myself, "what could he do with my shirts and my Elzevir edition

of Caesar's /Commentaries/?" So I bestowed a friendly nod on the man

with the blunderbuss, and inquired, with a smile, whether I had disturbed

his nap. Without any answer, he looked me over from head to foot. Then,

as if the scrutiny had satisfied him, he looked as closely at my guide, who

was just coming up. I saw the guide turn pale, and pull up with an air of

evident alarm. "An unlucky meeting!" thought I to myself. But prudence

instantly counselled me not to let any symptom of anxiety escape me. So I

CARMEN

dismounted. I told the guide to take off the horses' bridles, and kneeling

down beside the spring, I laved my head and hands and then drank a long

draught, lying flat on my belly, like Gideon's soldiers.

Meanwhile, I watched the stranger, and my own guide. This last

seemed to come forward unwillingly. But the other did not appear to have

any evil designs upon us. For he had turned his horse loose, and the

blunderbuss, which he had been holding horizontally, was now dropped

earthward.

Not thinking it necessary to take offence at the scant attention paid me,

I stretched myself full length upon the grass, and calmly asked the owner

of the blunderbuss whether he had a light about him. At the same time I

pulled out my cigar-case. The stranger, still without opening his lips, took

out his flint, and lost no time in getting me a light. He was evidently

growing tamer, for he sat down opposite to me, though he still grasped his

weapon. When I had lighted my cigar, I chose out the best I had left, and

asked him whether he smoked.

"Yes, senor," he replied. These were the first words I had heard him

speak, and I noticed that he did not pronounce the letter /s/* in the

Andalusian fashion, whence I concluded he was a traveller, like myself,

though, maybe, somewhat less of an archaeologist.

* The Andalusians aspirate the /s/, and pronounce it like the soft

/c/ and the /z/, which Spaniards pronounce like the English /th/. An

Andalusian may always be recognised by the way in which he says

/senor/.

"You'll find this a fairly good one," said I, holding out a real Havana

regalia.

He bowed his head slightly, lighted his cigar at mine, thanked me with

another nod, and began to smoke with a most lively appearance of

enjoyment.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, as he blew his first puff of smoke slowly out of

his ears and nostrils. "What a time it is since I've had a smoke!"

In Spain the giving and accepting of a cigar establishes bonds of

hospitality similar to those founded in Eastern countries on the partaking

of bread and salt. My friend turned out more talkative than I had hoped.

CARMEN

However, though he claimed to belong to the /partido/ of Montilla, he

seemed very ill-informed about the country. He did not know the name of

the delightful valley in which we were sitting, he could not tell me the

names of any of the neighbouring villages, and when I inquired whether

he had not noticed any broken-down walls, broad-rimmed tiles, or carved

stones in the vicinity, he confessed he had never paid any heed to such

matters. On the other hand, he showed himself an expert in horseflesh,

found fault with my mount--not a difficult affair--and gave me a pedigree

of his own, which had come from the famous stud at Cordova. It was a

splendid creature, indeed, so tough, according to its owner's claim, that it

had once covered thirty leagues in one day, either at the gallop or at full

trot the whole time. In the midst of his story the stranger pulled up short,

as if startled and sorry he had said so much. "The fact is I was in a great

hurry to get to Cordova," he went on, somewhat embarrassed. "I had to

petition the judges about a lawsuit." As he spoke, he looked at my guide

Antonio, who had dropped his eyes.

The spring and the cool shade were so delightful that I bethought me

of certain slices of an excellent ham, which my friends at Montilla had

packed into my guide's wallet. I bade him produce them, and invited the

stranger to share our impromptu lunch. If he had not smoked for a long

time, he certainly struck me as having fasted for eight-and-forty hours at

the very least. He ate like a starving wolf, and I thought to myself that my

appearance must really have been quite providential for the poor fellow.

Meanwhile my guide ate but little, drank still less, and spoke never a word,

although in the earlier part of our journey he had proved himself a most

unrivalled chatterer. He seemed ill at ease in the presence of our guest, and

a sort of mutual distrust, the cause of which I could not exactly fathom,

seemed to be between them.

The last crumbs of bread and scraps of ham had disappeared. We had

each smoked our second cigar; I told the guide to bridle the horses, and

was just about to take leave of my new friend, when he inquired where I

was going to spend the night.

Before I had time to notice a sign my guide was making to me I had

replied that I was going to the Venta del Cuervo.

CARMEN

"That's a bad lodging for a gentleman like you, sir! I'm bound there

myself, and if you'll allow me to ride with you, we'll go together."

"With pleasure!" I replied, mounting my horse. The guide, who was

holding my stirrup, looked at me meaningly again. I answered by

shrugging my shoulders, as though to assure him I was perfectly easy in

my mind, and we started on our way.

Antonio's mysterious signals, his evident anxiety, a few words dropped

by the stranger, above all, his ride of thirty leagues, and the far from

plausible explanation he had given us of it, had already enabled me to

form an opinion as to the identity of my fellow-traveller. I had no doubt at

all I was in the company of a smuggler, and possibly of a brigand. What

cared I? I knew enough of the Spanish character to be very certain I had

nothing to fear from a man who had eaten and smoked with me. His very

presence would protect me in case of any undesirable meeting. And

besides, I was very glad to know what a brigand was really like. One

doesn't come across such gentry every day. And there is a certain charm

about finding one's self in close proximity to a dangerous being, especially

when one feels the being in question to be gentle and tame.

I was hoping the stranger might gradually fall into a confidential mood,

and in spite of my guide's winks, I turned the conversation to the subject

of highwaymen. I need scarcely say that I spoke of them with great respect.

At that time there was a famous brigand in Andalusia, of the name of Jose-

Maria, whose exploits were on every lip. "Supposing I should be riding

along with Jose-Maria!" said I to myself. I told all the stories I knew about

the hero--they were all to his credit, indeed, and loudly expressed my

admiration of his generosity and his valour.

"Jose-Maria is nothing but a blackguard," said the stranger gravely.

"Is he just to himself, or is this an excess of modesty?" I queried,

mentally, for by dint of scrutinizing my companion, I had ended by

reconciling his appearance with the description of Jose-Maria which I read

posted up on the gates of various Andalusian towns. "Yes, this must be he-

-fair hair, blue eyes, large mouth, good teeth, small hands, fine shirt, a

velvet jacket with silver buttons on it, white leather gaiters, and a bay

horse. Not a doubt about it. But his /incognito/ shall be respected!" We

CARMEN

reached the /venta/. It was just what he had described to me. In other

words, the most wretched hole of its kind I had as yet beheld. One large

apartment served as kitchen, dining-room, and sleeping chamber. A fire

was burning on a flat stone in the middle of the room, and the smoke

escaped through a hole in the roof, or rather hung in a cloud some feet

above the soil. Along the walls five or six mule rugs were spread on the

floor. These were the travellers' beds. Twenty paces from the house, or

rather from the solitary apartment which I have just described, stood a sort

of shed, that served for a stable.

The only inhabitants of this delightful dwelling visible at the moment,

at all events, were an old woman, and a little girl of ten or twelve years old,

both of them as black as soot, and dressed in loathsome rags. "Here's the

sole remnant of the ancient populations of Munda Boetica," said I to

myself. "O Caesar! O Sextus Pompeius, if you were to revisit this earth

how astounded you would be!"

When the old woman saw my travelling companion an exclamation of

surprise escaped her. "Ah! Senor Don Jose!" she cried.

Don Jose frowned and lifted his hand with a gesture of authority that

forthwith silenced the old dame.

I turned to my guide and gave him to understand, by a sign that no one

else perceived, that I knew all about the man in whose company I was

about to spend the night. Our supper was better than I expected. On a little

table, only a foot high, we were served with an old rooster, fricasseed with

rice and numerous peppers, then more peppers in oil, and finally a

/gaspacho/--a sort of salad made of peppers. These three highly spiced

dishes involved our frequent recourse to a goatskin filled with Montella

wine, which struck us as being delicious.

After our meal was over, I caught sight of a mandolin hanging up

against the wall--in Spain you see mandolins in every corner--and I asked

the little girl, who had been waiting on us, if she knew how to play it.

"No," she replied. "But Don Jose does play well!"

"Do me the kindness to sing me something," I said to him, "I'm

passionately fond of your national music."

"I can't refuse to do anything for such a charming gentleman, who

CARMEN

gives me such excellent cigars," responded Don Jose gaily, and having

made the child give him the mandolin, he sang to his own accompaniment.

His voice, though rough, was pleasing, the air he sang was strange and sad.

As to the words, I could not understand a single one of them.

"If I am not mistaken," said I, "that's not a Spanish air you have just

been singing. It's like the /zorzicos/ I've heard in the Provinces,* and the

words must be in the Basque language."

* The /privileged Provinces/, Alava, Biscay, Guipuzcoa, and a part

of Navarre, which all enjoy special /fueros/. The Basque language is

spoken in these countries.

"Yes," said Don Jose, with a gloomy look. He laid the mandolin down

on the ground, and began staring with a peculiarly sad expression at the

dying fire. His face, at once fierce and noble-looking, reminded me, as the

firelight fell on it, of Milton's Satan. Like him, perchance, my comrade

was musing over the home he had forfeited, the exile he had earned, by

some misdeed. I tried to revive the conversation, but so absorbed was he

in melancholy thought, that he gave me no answer.

The old woman had already gone to rest in a corner of the room,

behind a ragged rug hung on a rope. The little girl had followed her into

this retreat, sacred to the fair sex. Then my guide rose, and suggested that I

should go with him to the stable. But at the word Don Jose, waking, as it

were, with a start, inquired sharply whither he was going.

"To the stable," answered the guide.

"What for? The horses have been fed! You can sleep here. The senor

will give you leave."

"I'm afraid the senor's horse is sick. I'd like the senor to see it. Perhaps

he'd know what should be done for it."

It was quite clear to me that Antonio wanted to speak to me apart.

But I did not care to rouse Don Jose's suspicions, and being as we were,

I thought far the wisest course for me was to appear absolutely confident.

I therefore told Antonio that I knew nothing on earth about horses, and

that I was desperately sleepy. Don Jose followed him to the stable, and

soon returned alone. He told me there was nothing the matter with the

horse, but that my guide considered the animal such a treasure that he was

CARMEN

scrubbing it with his jacket to make it sweat, and expected to spend the

night in that pleasing occupation. Meanwhile I had stretched myself out on

the mule rugs, having carefully wrapped myself up in my own cloak, so as

to avoid touching them. Don Jose, having begged me to excuse the liberty

he took in placing himself so near me, lay down across the door, but not

until he had primed his blunderbuss afresh and carefully laid it under the

wallet, which served him as a pillow.

I had thought I was so tired that I should be able to sleep even in such

a lodging. But within an hour a most unpleasant itching sensation roused

me from my first nap. As soon as I realized its nature, I rose to my feet,

feeling convinced I should do far better to spend the rest of the night in the

open air than beneath that inhospitable roof. Walking tiptoe I reached the

door, stepped over Don Jose, who was sleeping the sleep of the just, and

managed so well that I got outside the building without waking him. Just

beside the door there was a wide wooden bench. I lay down upon it, and

settled myself, as best I could, for the remainder of the night. I was just

closing my eyes for a second time when I fancied I saw the shadow of a

man and then the shadow of a horse moving absolutely noiselessly, one

behind the other. I sat upright, and then I thought I recognised Antonio.

Surprised to see him outside the stable at such an hour, I got up and went

toward him. He had seen me first, and had stopped to wait for me.

"Where is he?" Antonio inquired in a low tone.

"In the /venta/. He's asleep. The bugs don't trouble him. But what are

you going to do with that horse?" I then noticed that, to stifle all noise as

he moved out of the shed, Antonio had carefully muffled the horse's feet in

the rags of an old blanket.

"Speak lower, for God's sake," said Antonio. "You don't know who

that man is. He's Jose Navarro, the most noted bandit in Andalusia. I've

been making signs to you all day long, and you wouldn't understand."

"What do I care whether he's a brigand or not," I replied. "He hasn't

robbed us, and I'll wager he doesn't want to."

"That may be. But there are two hundred ducats on his head. Some

lancers are stationed in a place I know, a league and a half from here, and

before daybreak I'll bring a few brawny fellows back with me. I'd have

CARMEN

taken his horse away, but the brute's so savage that nobody but Navarro

can go near it."

"Devil take you!" I cried. "What harm has the poor fellow done you

that you should want to inform against him? And besides, are you certain

he is the brigand you take him for?"

"Perfectly certain! He came after me into the stable just now, and said,

'You seem to know me. If you tell that good gentleman who I am, I'll blow

your brains out!' You stay here, sir, keep close to him. You've nothing to

fear. As long as he knows you are there, he won't suspect anything."

As we talked, we had moved so far from the /venta/ that the noise of

the horse's hoofs could not be heard there. In a twinkling Antonio snatched

off the rags he had wrapped around the creature's feet, and was just about

to climb on its back. In vain did I attempt with prayers and threats to

restrain him.

"I'm only a poor man, senor," quoth he, "I can't afford to lose two

hundred ducats--especially when I shall earn them by ridding the country

of such vermin. But mind what you're about! If Navarro wakes up, he'll

snatch at his blunderbuss, and then look out for yourself! I've gone too far

now to turn back. Do the best you can for yourself!"

The villain was in his saddle already, he spurred his horse smartly, and

I soon lost sight of them both in the darkness.

I was very angry with my guide, and terribly alarmed as well. After a

moment's reflection, I made up my mind, and went back to the /venta/.

Don Jose was still sound asleep, making up, no doubt, for the fatigue and

sleeplessness of several days of adventure. I had to shake him roughly

before I could wake him up. Never shall I forget his fierce look, and the

spring he made to get hold of his blunderbuss, which, as a precautionary

measure, I had removed to some distance from his couch.

"Senor," I said, "I beg your pardon for disturbing you. But I have a

silly question to ask you. Would you be glad to see half a dozen lancers

walk in here?"

He bounded to his feet, and in an awful voice he demanded:

"Who told you?"

"It's little matter whence the warning comes, so long as it be good."

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CARMEN1CARMENbyPROSPERMERIMEECARMEN2CHAPTERIIhadalwayssuspectedthegeographicalauthoritiesdidnotknowwhattheyweretalkingaboutwhentheylocatedthebattlefieldofMundainthecountyoftheBastuli-Poeni,closetothemodernMonda,sometwoleaguesnorthofMarbella.Accordingtomyownsurmise,foundedonthetextoftheanonymousautho...

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