VII
In which the story is continued, with other incidents and notable misfortunes.
In the morning we got up to provide the plate, servants, and collation; and there being nothing in this world that money cannot command, as being a thing worshipped by all men, I found a nobleman’s butler that furnished plate, and undertook to wait himself with three of his fellow-servants. The forenoon was spent in arranging affairs, and after dinner I hired a nag and at the appointed time set out for the summerhouse. I had abundance of papers sticking out of my pockets; besides that, my coat being unbuttoned, some peeped out at my bosom, as if I had been a man of mighty business. When I came to the place the ladies and gentlemen were there; the former received me with much show of love, and the latter talked to me by plain “thee” and “thou,” in token of familiarity. I had told them my name was Don Philip Tristan, and nothing was to be heard in all their mouths but Don Philip and Don Philip; but I told them I had been so entirely taken up with some business of the king’s and the accounts of my estate, that I had much ado to be as good as my word, and therefore they must expect a hurried repast. By this time the butler came with all his tackle, plate and servants; the gentlemen and ladies looked at me and held their peace. I ordered him to go into the eating-room and lay the cloth, whilst we went to divert ourselves at the fishponds. The old women drew near to fawn and flatter, and I was glad to see the young girls unveiled, for since I was born I never saw so delicate a creature as that was whom I designed for my wife. A skin as white as alabaster, delicate fair hair, a singular fresh colour in her cheeks, a little mouth, fine, small teeth standing close together, a well-shaped nose, large black eyes, tall of stature, charming hands, with a delicate little lisp. The other was not amiss, but more wanton, and I suspected she had been handled. We went to the fishponds, saw all that could be seen, and by her talk I found that my intended bride would have been in danger in Herod’s days of being included among the innocents. In short, she had not a grain of sense; however, as I never love them for counsellors or jesters, but only to take my pleasure with them—and if they are ugly and clever it is like lying with Aristotle or Seneca or a book—I always pitch upon those that are properest for the use I would make of them. This consideration comforted me; we went towards the banqueting-house, and as we passed along a branch of the hedge got hold of the lace of my band, and tore it a little; the young lady stepped up and pinned it with a silver pin, and her mother bade me send it to her house the next day, and Donna Anna, so the maiden was called, would mend it. All the repast was in excellent order, hot and cold, fruit and sweetmeats.
When the cloth was taken away, I spied a gentleman coming along the garden with two servants after him, and who should this be but my old master, Don Diego Coronel. He drew near, and, seeing me in this habit, could not take his eyes off me, talked to the women, calling them cousins, and all the time turned to look again and again. I kept talking to the butler, while the other two gentlemen, my master’s friends, were in deep discourse with him. He asked them, as afterwards appeared, my name, and they answered, it was Don Philip Tristan, a very honest gentleman of a great estate. I saw him cross himself, and at length he came up to me before them all, and said, “Sir, will you pardon me, for, by the Lord, till I heard your name, I took you for a different person from what you are; in my life I never saw anything so like a servant I had at Segovia, called little Pablo, the son of a barber in that town.” They all laughed heartily, and I used all the art I could to forbear betraying myself by blushing, and said, “I long mightily to see that man, because abundance of people had told me I was extremely like him.” “Good God,” cried Don Diego, “like him! I never saw such a resemblance, his very shape, voice and mien. I declare to you, sir, it is a marvel, and I never beheld any two so exactly alike.” The old women, mother and aunt, asked how it was possible that a gentleman of such quality should be so like that mean scoundrel. And that there should be no suspicion on them, one said, “I know Don Philip very well, it was he that entertained us at Ocaña, by my husband’s order.” I took the cue, and answered, “I should always be ready to do them all the service I could everywhere.” Don Diego offered his service and begged pardon for the affront of taking me for the barber’s son, adding, “Sir, you will scarce believe it, but his mother was a witch, his father a thief, his uncle the hangman, and he himself the wickedest base fellow in the world.” It is easy to guess what I felt, hearing such scandalous things said of me to my face; I sat upon thorns, though I did all I could to dissemble my uneasiness. My two new acquaintance and I took our leave, and Don Diego went into the
