Pablo de Segovia, the Spanish Sharper by Francisco de Quevedo (e book reading free TXT) 📕

I should talk of any such thing; but to speak without feeling, for I have none, she deserves to have any money spent upon her, for there is not a more dainty bit of flesh upon the earth, nor such a playsome wench.” This said, he leaped out of the cart, and got into another, in all likelihood that I might have an opportunity of making my addresses to her. I was pleased with the man’s answer, and perceived it may be said of such men, that they had wives as if they had none. I laid hold of the opportunity; she asked me whither I was going, and some questions concerning my life and circumstances; and in conclusion, after much talk, postponed the affair to Toledo.

We diverted ourselves by the way as best we could, and I happened to act a piece out of a play of San Alejo that I had borne a part in when I was a boy, which I did so well, that they took a liking to me, and learning of my friend, who was in the company, of all my misfortunes and hard circumstances which I had made him acquainted with, she asked me whether I would make one among them? They so highly extolled their strolling course of life, and I was then in such want of some support, and so fond of the wench, that I agreed with the manager for two years. Writings were signed between us to oblige me to stay with them, so they gave me my allowance, and allotted my parts, and thus we came to Toledo. They gave me two or three prologues to get by heart, and some other grave parts, which suited well with my voice. I applied myself to it, and spoke the first prologue in the town, which was about a ship in distress, as they all are, and wanting provisions, which put into that port. I called the folks a “Senate,” begging their attentions, pardon for all faults, and so went off. There was great clapping of hands, and in fine I was liked on the stage. We acted a play, written by one of our actors, and I wondered how they should come to be poets, for I thought it belonged only to very learned and ingenious men, and not to persons so extremely ignorant. But it is now come to such a pass that every head of them writes plays, and every actor makes drolls and farces; though formerly I remember no plays would go down but such as were written by the good Lope de Vega and Doctor Ramon. In short, the play was acted the first day, and no soul could make anything of it. The second day we began it again, and as God would have it, there was some warlike exploit to begin with; and I came upon the stage in armour, and with a target on my arm, which was a great mercy, or else I had infallibly been pelted to death with cabbage-stalks and pumpkins, and all things that came to hand. Such a storm of hail was never seen, and the play deserved it, for it represented a king of Normandy in a hermit’s habit, without any sense or reason, had two scoundrel footmen to make sport, and when they came to unravel the plot, there was nothing but marrying of all the company, and there was an end; so that, to say the truth, we got but what we deserved. We all fell foul of our companion, the pretended poet, and I bade him consider what a danger we had escaped, and take warning by it; he answered, he had not made one word of the play, but only picked up bits and scraps, some from one and some from another, as they came in his way, which he had jumbled together, like a beggar’s cloak made of all sorts of rags; and the ill luck was, that it had not been neatly joined. He owned, that all the players who wrote plays, were obliged to make restitution, because they only stole from all the parts they acted, which was easily done, and they were willing to run all hazards in hopes of getting ten or twenty crowns. Besides that, going about all the country, and being shown plays by several persons, they borrowed them to read, and then stole them, to which, when they had done, they only added some scurvy part, and left out another better, and so they called it their own; protesting that no player ever knew how to write a scene any other way.

I liked the contrivance and took a great fancy to try it myself, as having some small turn for poetry, and being somewhat versed in poets, for I had read Garcilaso, and others, and so I resolved to fall into that trade; so that with this, and my actress, and my own playing, I made a shift to live. By that time we had been a month at Toledo, acting several new plays, and endeavouring to retrieve our first failure, and they had come to call me little Alonso, for I had given out that my name was Alonso, to which the generality added the title of “the Cruel,” because I had acted a part of that nature, to the great liking of the pit and upper galleries. I had now got several new suits of clothes, and there were some heads of other strollers who endeavoured to inveigle me away from my company. I set up for a critic of comedy, commented on the famous actors, reprehended the attitudes of Pinedo, gave my vote for Sanchez’s natural sedateness, called Morales pretty good, so that my advice was always taken in contriving the scenes and adorning the stage; and if any play came to be offered, it was left to me to examine it. Being encouraged by this applause, I made my maiden