Throwing the end of his cloak over his left shoulder, he took a key out of his sleeve and opened the door. We entered the house. It was so dark and dismal that it might cause fear to anyone coming in. Within there was a small court and fair-sized rooms. He then took off his cloak and, first asking whether I had clean hands, he shook it and folded it. Then, after very carefully blowing the dust off a bench that was there, he put the cloak on it. Having done this he sat upon it and began to ask me questions, in great detail, as to where I came from and how I reached the city. I had to give him a much longer account than I cared for, as it seemed to me that it was a more convenient time for laying the cloth and getting the meal ready than for answering what he asked. Nevertheless, I satisfied his curiosity with the best lies I could invent, relating all I had done well, and holding my tongue about the rest, which did not appear to me to be appropriate. This done, we remained in the same place for a while. It was now nearly , and there was no more sign of anything to eat than there would be for the dead.
After this my master closed the door and locked it, and neither above nor below was there a sign of any other person in the house. All I had seen was walls, without chairs or table, or even a chest, like that of the rats and snake. It was like a house bewitched. At this juncture he said to me, “You, my boy! have you eaten?” “No, sir,” said I, “for it was not when I met your worship.” “Well,” he said, “although I have breakfasted this morning, I shall be fasting until night, so you must hold on, and afterwards we will have supper.” When I heard this I was very much depressed, not so much from hunger, as from the knowledge that the luck was continuing to be against me. For my hardships seemed to be coming back. I mourned over my troubles, and remembered what I once thought, when I was meditating on leaving the priest, that ill-fortune might bring me to something worse. Finally, I began to weep over my miserable past life, and over my approaching death. At the same time I dissimulated as well as I could.
“Sir,” I said, “I am a boy who does not trouble much about eating, blessed be God! So that I am able to receive praise among all my equals, as the one who has the most moderate appetite, and for this I have even been praised, up to this time, by my former masters.” “This is a virtue,” he replied, “and for this I like you better. Gluttony is for pigs and to eat with moderation for respectable people.” “Well do I understand you,” said I to myself, “and cursed be such medicine, and such kindness as I have had from my masters, who give me nothing but starvation.”
I then put myself in one corner of the doorway, and took some pieces of bread out of my bosom, which remained from what had been given me. When he saw it he said to me, “Come here, my boy, what is it you are eating?” I came to him and showed him. He took for himself the largest of the three pieces I had, and said to me, “By my life! this bread seems good.” “And sir,” said I, “it is good.” “Yes, by my faith!” said he, “where did you get it from—are you sure it was kneaded with clean hands?” “I do not know that,” said I, “but the smell of it does not turn my stomach.” “Please God!” said my poor master, and, putting it to his mouth, he began to take as voracious mouthfuls as I did with mine. “It is most delicious,” he said. I feared he would finish first, and that he would want to help me with what was left of mine, so we both came to an end at the same time. My master then began to collect with his hand a few crumbs which had remained on our breasts. Then he went into a small room and brought out a jug without a spout, and not very new. After he had had a drink he offered it to me. I said, “Sir! I do not drink wine.” “It is water,” he replied, “and you can well drink it.” Then I took the jug and drank, but not very much, as thirst was not my complaint. So we remained until the night, talking about things he had asked me, while I gave the best answers I could.
He took me into the chamber out of which he had brought the jug of water, and said, “Boy, stay here, and see how we make this bed, that you may know how to make it henceforward.” He put me at one end and himself at the other, and he made the miserable bed. There was not much to make. He had a sort of hurdle on trestles. Over this he spread clothes. They did not look very like a mattress, but served as one, with much less blanket than was necessary. What there was we spread out, but it was impossible to soften the bed. It was too hard.
When the bed was made, and the night being come, he said to me: “Lazaro, it is now too late, it is a long way to the marketplace, and in
