Here she wept bitterly, wrung her hands, and begged to know the abbot’s opinion of her case.
“In truth, good woman,” replied he, “It will be difficult for me to relieve you without knowing what is the matter with you. You have forgotten to tell me what has happened, and what it is you want.”
“Let me die,” cried Jacintha, “but your sanctity is in the right! This then is the fact stated briefly. A lodger of mine is lately dead, a very good sort of woman that I must needs say for her as far as my knowledge of her went, though that was not a great way: she kept me too much at a distance; for indeed she was given to be upon the high ropes, and whenever I ventured to speak to her, she had a look with her which always made me feel a little queerish, God forgive me for saying so. However, though she was more stately than needful, and affected to look down upon me (though if I am well informed, I come of as good parents as she could do for her ears, for her father was a shoemaker at Cordova, and mine was an hatter at Madrid, aye, and a very creditable hatter too, let me tell you); yet for all her pride, she was a quiet well-behaved body, and I never wish to have a better lodger. This makes me wonder the more at her not sleeping quietly in her grave: but there is no trusting to people in this world! For my part, I never saw her do amiss, except on the Friday before her death. To be sure, I was then much scandalized by seeing her eat the wing of a chicken! ‘How, Madonna Flora!’ quoth I; (Flora, may it please your reverence, is the name of the waiting maid)—‘How, Madonna Flora!’ quoth I; ‘Does your mistress eat flesh upon Fridays? Well! Well! See the event, and then remember that dame Jacintha warned you of it!’ These were my very words, but alas! I might as well have held my tongue! Nobody minded me; and Flora, who is somewhat pert and snappish (more is the pity, say I) told me that there was no more harm in eating a chicken than the egg from which it came. Nay, she even declared that if her lady added a slice of bacon, she would not be an inch nearer damnation, God protect us! A poor ignorant sinful soul! I protest to your holiness, I trembled to hear her utter such blasphemies, and expected every moment to see the ground open and swallow her up, chicken and all! For you must know, worshipful father, that while she talked thus, she held the plate in her hand, on which lay the identical roast fowl. And a fine bird it was, that I must say for it! Done to a turn, for I superintended the cooking of it myself: it was a little Gallician of my own raising, may it please your holiness, and the flesh was as white as an eggshell, as indeed Donna Elvira told me herself. ‘Dame Jacintha,’ said she, very good-humouredly, though to say the truth, she was always very polite to me. …”
Here Ambrosio’s patience failed him. Eager to know Jacintha’s business in which Antonia seemed to be concerned, he was almost distracted while listening to the rambling of this prosing old woman. He interrupted her, and protested that if she did not immediately tell her story and have done with it, he should quit the parlour, and leave her to get out of her difficulties by herself. This threat had the desired effect. Jacintha related her business in as few words as she could manage; but her account was still so prolix that Ambrosio had need of his patience to bear him to the conclusion.
“And so, your reverence,” said she, after relating Elvira’s death and burial, with all their circumstances; “And so, your reverence, upon hearing the shriek, I put away my work, and away posted I to Donna Antonia’s chamber. Finding nobody there, I passed on to the next; but I must own, I was a little timorous at going in, for this was the very room where Donna Elvira used to sleep. However, in I went, and sure enough, there lay the young lady at full length upon the floor, as cold as a stone, and as white as a sheet. I was surprised at this, as your holiness may well suppose; but oh me! how I shook when I saw a great tall figure at my elbow whose head touched the ceiling! The face was Donna Elvira’s, I must confess; but out of its mouth came clouds of fire, its arms were loaded with heavy chains which it rattled piteously, and every hair on its head was a serpent as big as my arm! At this I was frightened enough, and began to say my Ave-Maria: but the ghost interrupting me uttered three loud groans, and roared out in a terrible voice, ‘Oh! That chicken’s wing! My poor soul suffers for it!’ As soon as she had said this, the ground opened, the spectre sank down, I heard a clap of thunder, and the room was filled with a smell of brimstone. When I recovered from my fright, and had brought Donna Antonia to herself,
