The Life of Lazarillo of Tormes, Parts One and Two

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All the time that master of mine was on his knees up in the
pulpit with his hands and eyes fixed on heaven, caught up by the
Holy Spirit. And all the noise in the church--the crying and
shouting--couldn't bring him out of that mystical trance.

Those good men went up to him, and by shouting they aroused him
and begged him to help that poor man who was dying. They told
him to forget about the things that had happened before and the
other man's awful words because he had been paid back for them.
But if he could somehow do something that would take that man out
of his misery and suffering, to do it--for God's sake--because it
was obvious that the other man was guilty and that the pardoner
was innocent and had been telling the truth, since the Lord had
shown His punishment right there when he'd asked for revenge.

The pardoner, as if waking from a sweet dream, looked at them and
looked at the guilty man and all the people there, and very
slowly he said to them: "Good men, you do not need to pray for a
man in whom God has given such a clear sign of Himself. But
since He commands us not to return evil for evil and to forgive
those who harm us, we may confidently ask Him to do what He
commands us to do. We may ask His Majesty to forgive this man
who offended Him by putting such an obstacle in the way of the
holy faith. Let us all pray to Him."

And so he got down from the pulpit and urged them to pray very
devoutly to Our Lord, asking Him to forgive that sinner and bring
back his health and sanity and to cast the devil out of him if,
because of his great sins, His Majesty had permitted one to go in.

They all got down on their knees in front of the altar, and with
the clergy there they began to softly chant a litany. My master
brought the cross and the holy water, and after he had chanted
over him, he held his hands up to heaven and tilted his eyes
upward so that the only thing you could see was a little of their
whites. Then he began a prayer that was as long as it was pious.
And it made all the people cry (just like the sermons at Holy
Week, when the preacher and the audience are both fervent). And
he prayed to God, saying that it was not the Lord's will to give
that sinner death but to bring him back to life and make him
repent. And since the man had been led astray by the devil but
was now filled with the thought of death and his sins, he prayed
to God to forgive him and give him back his life and his health
so he could repent and confess his sins.

And when this was finished, he told them to bring over the
indulgence, and he put it on the man's head. And right away that
sinner of a constable got better, and little by little he began
to come to. And when he was completely back in his senses, he
threw himself down at the pardoner's feet and asked his
forgiveness. He confessed that the devil had commanded him to
say what he did and had put the very words in his mouth. First,
to hurt him and get revenge. Secondly--and mainly--because the
devil himself would really be hurt by all the good that could be
done here if the pardons were bought up.

My master forgave him, and they shook hands. And there was such
a rush to buy up the pardons that there was hardly a soul in the
whole place that didn't get one: husbands and wives, sons and
daughters, boys and girls.

The news of what had happened spread around to the neighboring
towns, and when we got to them, he didn't have to give a sermon
or even go to the church. People came right up to the inn to get
them as if they were going out of style. So in the ten or twelve
places we went to around there, my master sold a good thousand
indulgences in each place without even preaching a sermon.

While the "miracle" was happening, I have to admit that I was
astonished, too, and I got taken in just like the others. But
when I saw the way my master and the constable laughed and joked
about the business later, I realized that it had all been cooked
up by my sharp and clever master.

And even though I was only a boy, it really amused me, and I said
to myself: I'll bet these shysters do this all the time to
innocent people.

Well, to be brief, I stayed with my fifth master about four
months, and I had some hard times with him, too.

VI. How Lazaro Went to Work for a Chaplain and What Happened to Him Then

After this I took up with a man who painted tambourines. He wanted me
to grind the colors for him, and I had my trials with him, too.

By now I was pretty well grown up. And one day when I went into
the cathedral, a chaplain there gave me a job. He put me in
charge of a donkey, four jugs, and a whip, and I began to sell
water around the city. This was the first step I took up the
ladder to success: my dreams were finally coming true. On
weekdays I gave my master sixty coppers out of what I earned,
while I was able to keep everything I got above that. And on
Saturdays I got to keep everything I made.

I did so well at the job that after four years of it, watching my
earnings very carefully, I saved enough to buy myself a good
secondhand suit of clothes. I bought a jacket made out of old
cotton, a frayed coat with braid on the sleeves and an open
collar, a cape that had once been velvety, and an old sword--one
of the first ones ever made in Cuellar. When I saw how good I
looked in my gentleman's clothes, I told my master to take back
his donkey: I wasn't about to do that kind of work any more.

VII. How Lazaro Went to Work for a Constable and Then What
Happened to Him

After I left the chaplain I was taken on as bailiff by a
constable. But I didn't stay with him very long: the job as too
dangerous for me. That's what I decided after some escaped
criminals chased me and my master with clubs and rocks. My
master stood there and faced them, and they beat him up, but they
never did catch me. So I quit that job.

And while I was trying to think of what sort of a life I could
lead so that I could have a little peace and quiet and save up
something for my old age, God lit up my path and put me on the
road to success. With the help of some friends and other people,
all the trials and troubles I'd gone through up till then were
finally compensated for, seeing as how I got what I wanted: a
government job. And no one ever gets ahead without a job like
that.

And that's what I've been doing right up to now: I work in God's
service--and yours, too. What I do is announce the wines
that are being sold around the city. Then, too, I call out
at auctions and whenever anything lost. And I go along with
the people who are suffering for righteousness' sake and call
out their crimes: I'm a town crier, to put it plainly.

It's been a good job, and I've done so well at it that almost all
of this sort of work comes to me. In fact, it's gotten to the
point where if someone in the city has wine or anything else to
put up for sale, they know it won't come to anything unless
Lazarillo of Tormes is in on it.

About this time that gentleman, the Archpriest of San Salvador
(your friend and servant), began to notice my abilities and how I
was making a good living. He knew who I was because I'd been
announcing his wines, and he said he wanted me to marry a maid of
his. And I saw that only good, profitable things could come from
a man like him, so I agreed to go along with it.

So I married her, and I've never regretted it. Because besides
the fact that she's a good woman and she's hardworking and
helpful, through my lord, the archpriest, I have all the help and
favors I need. During the year he always gives her a few good-
sized sacks of wheat, meat on the holidays, a couple loaves of
bread sometimes, and his socks after he's through with them. He
had us rent a little house right next to his, and on Sundays and
almost every holiday we eat at his place.

But there have always been scandalmongers, and I guess there
always will be, and they won't leave us in peace. They talk
about I don't know what all--they say that they've seen my wife
go and make up his bed and do his cooking for him. And God
bless them, but they're a bunch of liars.

Because, besides the fact that she's the kind of woman who's
hardly happy about these gibes, my master made me a promise, and
I think he'll keep it. One day he talked to me for a long time
in front of her, and he said to me: "Lazaro of Tormes, anyone who
pays attention to what gossips say will never get ahead. I'm
telling you this because I wouldn't be at all surprised if
someone did see your wife going in and out of my house. In fact,
the reason she goes in is very much to your honor and to hers:
and that's the truth. So forget what people say. Just think of
how it concerns you--I mean, how it benefits you."

"Sir," I said, "I've decided to be on the side of good men. It
is true that some of my friends have told me something of that.
The truth is, they've sworn for a fact that my wife had three
children before she married me, speaking with reverence to your
grace since she's here with us."

Then my wife began to scream and carry on so much that I thought
the house with us in it was going to fall in. Then she took to
crying, and she cursed the man who had married us. It got so bad
that I'd rather I'd died than have let those words of mine slip
out. But with me on one side and my master on the other, we
talked to her and begged her so much that she finally quit her
crying. And I swore to her that as long as I lived I'd never
mention another word about the business. And I told her I
thought it was perfectly all right--in fact, that it made me
happy--for her to go in and out of his house both day and night
because I was so sure of her virtue. And so we were all three in
complete agreement.

So, right up to today we've never said another word about the
affair. In fact, when I see that someone wants to even start
talking about it, I cut him short, and I tell him: "Look, if
you're my friend, don't tell me something that will make me mad
because anyone who does that isn't my friend at all. Especially
if they're trying to cause trouble between me and my wife.
There's nothing and nobody in the world that I love more than
her. And because of her, God gives me all sorts of favors--many
more than I deserve. So I'll swear to God that she's as good a
woman as any here in Toledo, and if anyone tells me otherwise,
I'm his enemy until I die."

So no one ever says anything to me, and I keep peace in my house.

That was the same year that our victorious emperor came to this
illustrious city of Toledo and held his court here, and there
were all sorts of celebrations and festivities, as you must have
heard.

Well, at this time I was prosperous and at the height of all good
fortune.

END OF PART ONE

(The following is the first chapter of an anonymous sequel to
Lazarillo of Tormes, published in 1555. This chapter became
attached to the original work in later editions, but is not to be
considered part of the first Lazarillo. It is presented here
because it serves as a bridge between the first Lazarillo of
Tormes and the second part by Juan de Luna--R.S.R.)

VIII. In Which Lazaro Tells of the Friendship He Struck up in
Toledo with Some Germans and What Happened to Them

At this time I was prosperous and at the height of all good
fortune. And because I always carried a good-sized pan full of
some of the good fruit that is raised in this land as a sign of
what I was announcing, I gathered so many friends and benefactors
around me, both natives and foreigners, that wherever I went no
door was closed to me. The people were so kind to me that I
believe if I had killed a man then, or had found myself in
difficult straits, everyone would have come to my side, and those
benefactors would have given me every sort of aid and assistance.
But I never left them with their mouths dry because I took them
to the places where they could find the best of what I spread
throughout the city. And there we lived the good life and had
fine times together: we would often walk into a place on our own
two feet and go out on the feet of other people. And the best
part of it was that all this time Lazaro of Tormes didn't spend a
damned cent, and his friends wouldn't let him spend anything. If
I ever started to open my purse, pretending that I wanted to pay,
they were offended, and they would look at me angrily and say,
"Nite, nite, Asticot, lanz." They were scolding me, saying that
when they were there no one would have to pay a cent.

I was, frankly, in love with those people. And not only because
of that, but because whenever we got together they were always
filling my pockets and my shirt full of ham and legs of mutton--
cooked in those good wines--along with many spices and huge
amounts of beef and bread. So in my house my wife and I always
had enough for an entire week. With all this, I remembered the
past times when I was hungry, and I praised God and gave thanks
that things and times like those pass away. But, as the saying
goes, all good things must come to an end. And that's how this
turned out. Because they moved the great court, as they do now
and then, and when they were leaving, those good friends of mine
urged me to go with them, and they said they would give me their
help. But I remembered the proverb: Better certain evil than
doubtful good.

So I thanked my friends for their good wishes, and with a great
deal of clapping on the shoulders and sadness, I said goodbye to
them. And I know that if I hadn't been married I would never
have left their company because they were the salt of the earth
and the kind of people that were really to my liking. The life
they lead is a pleasant one. They aren't conceited or
presumptuous; they have no hesitation or dislike for going into
any wine cellar, with their hats off if the wine deserves it.
They are simple, honest people, and they always have so much that
I hope God gives me no less when I'm really thirsty.

But the love I had for my wife and my land ("The land you are
born in, . . ." as they say) held me back. So I stayed in this
city, and although I was well known by the people who lived here,
I missed the pleasure of my friends and the court. Still, I was
happy, and even happier when my family line was extended by the
birth of a beautiful little girl that my wife had then. And
although I was a little suspicious, she swore to me that the
child was mine. But then fortune thought it had forgotten me
long enough, and it decided to show me its cruel, angry, harsh
face once more and disturb these few years of good, peaceful
living by bringing others of affliction and bitterness. Oh,
almighty God! Who could write about such a terrible misfortune
and such a disastrous fall without letting the inkwell rest and
wiping his eyes with the quill?

THE SECOND PART OF THE LIFE OF LAZARILLO OF TORMES

Juan de Luna

SECOND PART
OF THE LIFE OF
L A Z A R I L L O
OF TORMES

Drawn Out Of The
Old Chronicles
Of Toledo

By J. DE LUNA, Castilian
and Interpreter of the
Spanish Language

Dedicated to the Most Illustrious
Princess
HENRIETTE DE ROHAN

In PARIS

In the House of ROLET BOUTONNE,
in the Palace, in the Gallery of the Prisoners;
Near the Chancery

M. DC. XX.
By Grant of the King

LETTER OF DEDICATION
TO THE
MOST ILLUSTRIOUS
PRINCESS
HENRIETTE DE ROHAN

MOST ILLUSTRIOUS AND EXCELLENT PRINCESS.

It is common among all writers to dedicate their works to someone
who may shelter those works with their authority and defend them
with their power. Having decided to bring to light the Second
Part of the life of the great Lazaro of Tormes, a mirror and
standard of Spanish sobriety, I have dedicated and do dedicate it
to Your Excellency, whose authority and power may shelter this
poor work (poor, since it treats of Lazaro) and to prevent its
being torn apart and abused by biting, gossiping tongues which
with their infernal wrath attempt to wound and stain the most
sincere and simple wills. I confess my boldness in dedicating
such a small work to such a great princess; but its sparseness
brings its own excuse--which is the necessity for greater and
more effective shelter--and the kindness of Your Excellency, the
pardon. So I humbly beseech Your Excellency to take this small
service, putting your eyes on the desire of him who offers it,
which is and will be to use my life and strength in your service.

Of whom I am a very humble servant,

J. DE LUNA

TO THE READER

The reason, dear reader, that the Second Part of Lazarillo of
Tormes is going into print is that a little book has come into my
hands that touches on his life but has not one word of truth in
it. Most of it tells how Lazaro fell into the sea, where he
changed into a fish called a tuna. He lived in the sea for many
years and married another tuna, and they had children who were
fishes like their father and mother. It also tells about the
wars of the tuna, in which Lazaro was the captain, and about
other foolishness both ridiculous and erroneous, stupid and with
no basis in truth. The person who wrote it undoubtedly wanted to
relate a foolish dream or a dreamed-up foolishness.

This book, I repeat, was the prime motivation for my bringing to
light this Second Part, exactly as I saw it written in some
notebooks in the rogues' archives in Toledo, without adding or
subtracting anything. And it is in conformity with what I heard
my grandmother and my aunts tell, and on which I was weaned, by
the fireside on cold winter nights. And as further evidence,
they and the other neighbors would often argue over how Lazaro
could have stayed under water so long (as my Second Part relates)
without drowning. Some said he could have done it, others said
he could not: those who said he could cited Lazaro himself, who
says the water could not go into him because his stomach was full
all the way up to his mouth. One good old man who knew how to
swim, and who wanted to prove that it was feasible, interposed
his authority and said he had seen a man who went swimming in the
Tagus, and who dived and went into some caverns where he stayed
from the time the sun went down until it came up again, and he
found his way out by the sun's glow; and when all his friends and
relatives had grown tired of weeping over him and looking for his
body to give him a burial, he came out safe and sound.

The other difficulty they saw about his life was that nobody
recognized that Lazaro was a man, and everyone who saw him took
him for a fish. A good canon (who, since he was a very old man,
spent all day in the sun with the weavers) answered that this
was even more possible basing his statement on the opinion of
many ancient and modern writers, including Pliny, Phaedo,
Aristotle, and Albertus Magnus, who testify that in the sea there
are some fish of which the males are called Tritons, and the
females Nereids, and they are all called mermen: from the waist
up they look exactly like men, and from the waist down they are
like fish. And I say that even if this opinion were not held by
such well-qualified writers, the license that the fishermen had
from the Inquisitors would be a sufficient excuse for the
ignorance of the Spanish people, because it would be a matter for
the Inquisition if they doubted something that their lordships
had consented to be shown as such.

About this point (even though it lies outside of what I am
dealing with now) I will tell of something that occurred to a
farmer from my region. It happened that an Inquisitor sent for
him, to ask for some of his pears, which he had been told were
absolutely delicious. The poor country fellow didn't know what
his lordship wanted of him, and it weighed so heavily on him that
he fell ill until a friend of his told him what was wanted. He
jumped out of bed, ran to his garden, pulled up the tree by the
roots, and sent it along with the fruit, saying that he didn't
want anything at his house that would make his lordship send for
him again. People are so afraid of them--and not only laborers
and the lower classes, but lords and grandees--that they
all tremble more than leaves on trees when a soft, gentle breeze
is blowing, when they hear these names: Inquisitor, Inquisition.
This is what I have wanted to inform the reader about so that he
can answer when such questions are aired in his presence, and
also I beg him to think of me as the chronicler and not the
author of this work, which he can spend an hour of his time with.
If he enjoys it, let him wait for the Third Part about the death
and testament of Lazarillo, which is the best of all. And if
not, I have nevertheless done my best. Vale.

I. Where Lazaro Tells about How He Left Toledo to Go to the War
of Algiers

"A prosperous man who acts unwisely should not be angry when
misfortune comes." I'm writing this epigram for a reason: I
never had the mentality or the ability to keep myself in a good
position when fortune had put me there. Change was a fundamental
part of my life that remained with me both in good, prosperous
times and in bad, disastrous ones. As it was, I was living as
good a life as any patriarch ever had, eating more than a friar
who has been invited out to dinner, drinking more than a thirsty
quack doctor, better dressed than a priest, and in my pocket were
two dozen pieces of silver--more reliable than a beggar in
Madrid. My house was as well stocked
as a beehive filled with honey, my daughter was born with the
odor of saintliness about her, and I had a job that even a pew
opener in the church at Toledo would have envied.

Then I heard about the fleet making ready to sail for Algiers.
The news intrigued me, and like a good son I decided to follow in
the footsteps of my good father Tome Gonzalez (may he rest in
peace). I wanted to be an example--a model--for posterity.

I didn't want to be remembered for leading that crafty blind man,
or for nibbling on the bread of the stingy priest, or for serving
that penniless squire, or even for calling out other people's
crimes. The kind of example I wanted to be was one who would
show those blind Moors the error of their ways, tear open and
sink those arrogant pirate ships, serve under a valiant captain
who belonged to the Order of Saint John (and I did enlist with a
man like that as his valet, with the condition that everything I
took from the Moors I would be able to keep, and it turned out
that way). Finally, what I wanted to do was to be a model for
shouting at and rousing the troops with our war cry: "Saint James
be with us.... Attack, Spaniards!"

I said good-by to my adoring wife and my dear daughter. My
daughter begged me not to forget to bring her back a nice Moorish
boy, and my wife told me to be sure to send, by the first
messenger, a slave girl to wait on her and some Barbary gold to
console her while I was gone. I asked my lord the archpriest's
permission, and I put my wife and daughter in his charge so he
would take care of them and provide for them. He promised me he
would treat them as his very own.

I left Toledo happy, proud, and content, full of high hopes--the
way men are when they go to war. With me were a great number of
friends and neighbors who were going on the same expedition,
hoping to better their fortunes. We arrived at Murcia with the
intention of going to Cartagena to embark. And there something
happened me that I had no desire for. I saw that fortune had put
me at the top of its whimsical wheel and with its usual swiftness
had pushed me to the heights of worldly prosperity, and now it
was beginning to throw me down to the very bottom.

It happened that when I went to an inn, I saw a half-man who,
with all the loose and knotted threads hanging from his clothes,
had more the appearance of an old goat than a man. His hat was
pulled down so far you couldn't see his face, his cheek was
resting on his hand, and one leg was lying on his sword, which
was in a half scabbard made of strips of cloth. He had his hat
cocked jauntily over one ear (there was no crown on it, so all
the hot air coming out of his head could evaporate). His jacket
was cut in the French style--so slashed there wasn't a piece big
enough to wrap a mustard seed in. His shirt was skin: you could
see it through the lattice work of his clothes. His pants were
the same material. As for his stockings, one was green and the
other red, and they barely covered his ankles. His shoes were
in the barefoot style: worn both up and down. By a feather sewn
in his hat, the way soldiers dressed, I suspected that he was, in
fact, a soldier.

With this thought in mind, I asked him where he was from and
where he was going. He raised his eyes to see who was asking,
and we both recognized each other: it was the squire I had served
under at Toledo. I was astonished to see him in that suit.

When the squire saw my look of amazement, he said: "I'm not
surprised to see how startled you are to see me this way, but you
won't be when I tell you what happened to me from that day I left
you in Toledo until today. As I was going back to the house with
the change from the doubloon to pay my creditors, I came across a
veiled woman who pulled at my cloak and, sighing and sobbing,
pleaded with me to help her out of the plight she was in. I
begged her to tell me her troubles, saying that it would take her
longer to tell them than for me to take care of them. Still
crying, and with a maidenly blush, she told me that the favor I
could do for her (and she prayed that I would do it) was to go
with her to Madrid where, according to what people had told her,
the man was staying who had not only dishonored her but had taken
all her jewelry without fulfilling his promise to marry her. She
said that if I would do this for her, she would do for me what a
grateful woman should. I consoled her as best I could, raising
her hopes by telling her that if her enemy were to be found
anywhere in this world, she would be avenged.

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