Chapter 2 carmen--two

two I lived in Córdoba for several days.I was told that there was a manuscript in the Dominican library which would furnish me with some useful information on ancient Menda.Those good priests received me very warmly, and I spent the day in their monastery, and in the evening I walked in the town.In Córdoba there are always crowds of idlers congregating on the right bank of the Guadalquivir at sunset.Here, one breathes the smell of the tannery that still maintains the local area's ancient reputation for fine leather goods.On the other hand, one can enjoy a scene here that is well worth admiring.A few minutes before the bells for Vespers, a large group of women gathered by the river and stood below the embankment.The embankment is quite high.No man dares to mingle with them.As soon as the bells for Vespers ring, the night has come.After the last bell, all the women undressed and went into the water.Then there were shouts, laughter, and uproar.On the embankment, the men admired the bathing women, their eyes wide open, but they couldn't see anything.However, these white and indistinct figures displayed on the dark blue water can stir some poetic minds. It is not difficult to present a picture of Diana and her with a little imagination. narcissus bathing without fearing the fate of Actoan ②.I am told that a sum of money was raised one day by some unscrupulous persons, with which they bribed the bell-ringer of the cathedral to ring the bell for vespers twenty minutes before the appointed time.Although it was very bright then.The narcissus of the Guadalquivir, who believed in the bells for Vespers and not in the sun, did not hesitate at all, and calmly changed into their bathing attire, which was always very simple.I wasn't there then.When I was there, the bell ringer was unbridled, and the evening was so dark that only a cat's eye could tell the oldest old orange woman from the most beautiful working woman in Cordoba.

-------- ①The Dominican Church is a Catholic organization founded by the Spanish priest Dominican (1170-1221); the monasteries of the Church generally have a large collection of books and manuscripts, mainly from the confiscation of apostates suspected of being heresy from his private collection. ②Diana is the god of hunting in Greek mythology.The hunter Actaeon watched Diana bathing with her nymphs, and Diana transformed Actaeon into a fawn, only to be killed by his own hounds. One evening, when I could no longer see anything, I was leaning on the railing of the embankment to smoke a cigarette, when a woman came up the ladder leading to the river and sat beside me.On her head was a large bouquet of jasmine flowers, whose petals gave off an intoxicating fragrance at night.She was dressed plainly, perhaps shabby, in black, like most nighttime women.Noble women wear black only in the morning; in the evening they dress in the French fashion.As soon as she came to me, my bather let the turban that covered her head slide off and fell on her shoulders.In "the twilight of the stars" I saw that she was small, young, and slender, with very large eyes.I'll throw the cigar away right away.Knowing that this was French politeness, she hastened to tell me that she liked the smell of cigars very much, and sometimes she would even take a few puffs when she encountered a mild cigarette.Fortunately, there were still a few of these cigarettes in my cigarette case, so I hurriedly dedicated them to her.She actually stooped to take one, and lit a stick of incense that a child offered me, and I gave the child a sou.We smoked and talked, and the pretty bather and I talked so long that we were almost alone on the pier.I don't think it would be presumptuous to invite her to drink ice at a "Neveria".She accepted after some humility; but first she wanted to know what time it was.I rang the chime, and the sound seemed to amaze her.

"What a wonderful invention you have, Mr. Foreigner! What country are you from, sir? You must be English?" -------- ① This is a verse in the tragedy "The Cid" by Corneille (1606-1684), the 17th-century French tragedian (Act IV, Scene 1, 273). ②The original text is Spanish. ③This is a cafe with an ice cellar, which actually stores snow.In Spain, there is no village that does not have a "Neveria". ——Original note. ④ In Spain, anyone who does not bring samples of cotton or silk is considered an Englishman.I once had the honor of being called "the English gentleman of France" in Chalcis. ——Original note.

"I am a Frenchman. And you, madam, or madam, you are probably from Cordoba?" "no." "At least you're Andalusian. I can tell from your soft accent." "If you can hear people's accents, you can definitely guess who I am." "I believe you are from Jesus' kingdom, two steps away from heaven." (This metaphor refers to Andalusia, and I heard it from my friend Francisco Seville, the famous bullfighter). "Bah! The kingdom of heaven... people here say that we have no part in the kingdom of heaven." "Then you may be a Moor, or..." I stopped, not daring to say that she was Jewish.

"Forget it! You know I'm a bohemian; do you want me to count Bucky with you? You've heard of little Carmen? She's me." It's been 15 years since this happened, and I was a non-religious person back then, and I wouldn't be put off by a witch sitting next to me. "Well!" I thought to myself, "I had dinner with a charlatan last week, and today I drank ice with a protégé of the devil. When you travel, you should see everything." I There was another plan to get acquainted with her.I can only confess with shame now that after leaving college I spent a little time studying the occult, and I even made a few attempts to subdue ghosts from the underworld.Although I have given up this hobby long ago, I still have a considerable interest in superstition, and I would certainly like to know how far the Bohemian sorcery has developed.

While we were talking, we went into the "Neveria" and sat down at a small table where there was a glass ball with a candle burning in it.Now I have plenty of leisure to observe my Gidana carefully.Several gentlemen expressed astonishment while drinking ice when they saw me accompanied by such a female companion. -------- ①Francisco Seville is a Spanish bullfighter, and Merimee met him when he traveled to Spain for the first time (1829-1830).Merrime spoke of him in his first letter to the Spanish Correspondence. ② refers to fortune-telling. ——Original note. ③The original text is Spanish, and the Spaniards call the Bohemian girl Jidana.

I very much doubt that Miss Carmen is a pure-blood, at least she is much more beautiful than the women of her race I have seen.According to the Spaniards, for a woman to be called beautiful, she must meet 30 conditions, or in other words, must use 10 adjectives, each applicable to 3 parts of her body.Let's say she must have 3 blacks: black eyes, black eyelids, black eyebrows; 3 delicate: fingers, lips, hair, etc.For the rest of the conditions, see Brontom ①.My bohemian girl can't say it's perfect like this.Her skin, though smooth, was very close to copper.Her eyes, though squinting, were large and beautiful; her lips, though thick, were well lined, showing teeth whiter than a peeled almond.Although her hair was a bit thick, it was dark in color, with blue reflections, long and shiny like a crow's wings.In order not to bore the reader with lengthy descriptions, I shall say in general terms: every defect of hers is accompanied by an advantage which, by contrast, becomes all the more remarkable.Her beauty was a strange, wild beauty; her face surprised you at first sight, but was never forgotten.Especially her eyes have a sensual and fierce expression, which I have never seen in other people's eyes since then. "The eyes of a Bohemian are the eyes of a wolf." This Spanish idiom is the conclusion after careful observation.If you don't have time to go to the zoo and look into the eyes of a wolf, when your cat is about to hunt a sparrow, look into a cat's eyes.

-------- ① Brantome (1540-1614), French writer and politician, author of "Life of Famous Women", "Life of Merry Women" and so on. Asking someone to tell a fortune in a coffee shop would be ridiculous.So I asked the pretty witch to let me see her home; she said yes without hesitation, but she still wanted to know what time it was, and begged me to take out the watch and press it again. "Is this watch really gold?" she asked, looking at it very carefully for a while. It was dark when we set off; most shops were closed and the streets were almost deserted.When we crossed the Guadalquivir bridge and reached the end of the suburb, we stopped in front of a house that looked nothing like a palace.A child opened the door for us.The Bohemian woman said a few words to him in a language I didn't understand, which I later learned was a Bohemian dialect called Romani or Hichon Garri.The kid walked away right away, leaving us in a fairly spacious room.The only furniture in this room is a small table, two stools and a box.I should not forget: there is also a jug of water, a bunch of oranges and a handful of shallots.

-------- ①The majority of the people living in this suburb are gypsies or poor people. When we were alone, the bohemian woman took out of the box a deck of cards that seemed to have been used many times, a lodestone, a withered lizard, and other tools necessary for the fortune-telling.Then she asked me to make a sign of the cross on my left hand with a coin, and the mysterious ceremony began.It is not necessary for me to repeat to the reader her prophecies; but as to the means by which she employs them, she is evidently superior to the average witch. It's a pity that we were disturbed before long.The door was suddenly opened violently, and a man walked in wearing a brown cloak with only a pair of eyes showing, and spoke to the bohemian woman in a rather impolite manner.I couldn't understand what he was saying, but the tone of voice suggested that he was losing his temper.Gidana expressed neither surprise nor anger when she saw him, but ran to meet him, and babbled to him in the mysterious language she had used before me.I only understood one word: "Peylo" because it was repeated so many times.I know Bohemians use this term for strangers who are not of their race.Assuming they were talking about me, I was going to make some troublesome explanations; I had already grasped the leg of a stool, and was watching furtively to see when it would be easier to throw it over the head of an intruding stranger. Suitable.The stranger roughly pushed the bohemian woman away, walked towards me, and then suddenly took a step back:

"Ah, sir," said he, "it is you!" So I looked at him too, and I recognized him as my friend Don Jose. At this time, I regretted not letting him be caught and hanged. "Why! It's you, old friend!" I cried, trying to hide my displeasure with a forced smile. "You interrupted the lady, who was about to tell me something interesting." "It's the same old thing again! Sooner or later I'll have to tell her to change it," he said through gritted teeth, and at the same time glared at her fiercely. Yet the bohemian woman continued to speak to him in tongues.The more she spoke, the more angry she became, her eyes filled with blood, and she became terribly frightened.The muscles in her face tensed and she stomped her feet like she was forcing him to do something he was hesitant to do.I already understood what this matter was, but seeing her repeatedly pulling her small hands around her neck, I couldn't help thinking that she was trying to cut off a person's head, and it was probably mine.

To her chatter, Don Jose simply answered with two or three words.So the Bohemian woman gave him a look of extreme disdain, went to a corner of the room and sat down cross-legged, picked an orange, peeled it, and ate it. Don Jose grabbed my arm, opened the door and led me into the street.We walked about two hundred steps in silence, and then he pointed out: "Go straight," he said, "and you'll see the bridge." Then he turned around and walked away quickly.I went back to the inn, a little perplexed and unhappy.Worst of all, when I undressed, I found that my watch had disappeared. Various considerations prevented me from going to the police the next day or asking Mr. Mayor to search around for me.I finished my manuscript research in the Dominican library and set off for Seville.After wandering around Andalusia for a few months, I wanted to go back to Madrid via Córdoba.I didn't want to stay there long because I had an unconscious aversion to this beautiful city and the bathers of the Guadalquivir.But there I had some friends to visit, some business to do, and I had to stay three or four days in this ancient capital of the Mohammedan princes. -------- ①Cordoba was conquered by the Moors in the 8th century and has been the capital of the Islamic kingdom in Spain for 4 consecutive centuries. On my return to the Dominican monastery, a priest, who had always been interested in my work on the ruins of Menda, welcomed me with open arms and exclaimed: "Thank God! You are welcome, my dear friend. We all thought you were dead; and I who am speaking to you have said the Our Father and the Hail Mary many times to save your soul, but I have never No regrets. You were not killed because we knew you were robbed." "How do you know?" I asked him a little surprised. "Of course, you know very well that your beautiful chiming watch, which you used to strike when you were working in the library every time we told you it was time to go to the choir. Now , it has been found, you go and get it back." "You mean," I interrupted him with some embarrassment, "that I lost my watch..." "That wretch is locked up. You know the kind of guy who would shoot a Christian for a penny, so we're terrified that he'll kill you. I'm with you Go to the mayor and bring back your beautiful watch. Then you won't be able to say that the Spanish judiciary is incompetent!" "I tell you the truth," I said to him, "that I would rather lose my watch than testify before the judiciary and have a poor poor man hanged, especially because... because..." "Ah! Don't worry, because many people have already proved his guilt. Even if you have more proofs, he will not be hanged twice. I said hanged, I was wrong. Yours The robber is a nobleman, to be hanged the day after tomorrow, and there will be no pardon. You see, stealing one more thing or one less thing makes no difference to his fate. Thank God if he only steals! He has committed several murders, each more violent than the other." "What's his name?" "Here they call him José Navarro; but he has another Basque name, which neither you nor I can pronounce. I say, he's a man to see, if you like Knowing the peculiarities of a place, you should not miss the opportunity to know how the Spanish scoundrel died. He is shut up in the chapel, and Father Martinez can take you there." My Dominican priest repeatedly urged me to see the preparations for that "beautiful little hanging," which I could not refuse.I am going to visit the prisoner with a box of cigars and hope he will forgive me for being an uninvited visitor. -------- ①This sentence has both pronunciation and spelling mistakes. It comes from the third scene of the third act of Molière's comedy "Mr. de Poursoni". It is a sentence spoken by a Swiss guard in foreign French. I was taken to Don Jose's place while he was eating.He nodded at me rather nonchalantly, and thanked me politely for the present I had brought him.He counted the number of cigars in the box I put in his hand, picked out a few, and returned the rest, saying he didn't need any more. I asked him if I could get him a reduced sentence for some money, or through the influence of my friends.At first he just shrugged his shoulders and smiled wryly; after a while he changed his mind and begged me to offer him a Mass to save his soul. "Will you," he added timidly, "will you offer another Mass for someone who has offended you?" "Of course, my dear friend," I said to him, "but as far as I know, no one has ever offended me here." He grabbed my hand and squeezed it tightly with a serious expression.After a while of silence, he said again: "May I ask you to do one more thing for me? . . . When you return home, perhaps you will pass through Navarro, at least you must pass through Victoria, which is not far from there." "Yes," I said to him, "I will certainly pass through Jidoria; but it is not impossible for me to make a detour to Pamplona, ​​which I would do for you. -------- ① Both Pamplona and Victoria are cities in northern Spain, and Pamplona is to the east of Victoria. "Well! If you go to Pamplona, ​​you will see many things that will interest you...it is a beautiful city...I will give you this medallion (he showed me where he hung it) A small silver medal around the neck), you wrap it in paper..." He paused for a moment to suppress his excitement... "You give it to an old woman yourself or have it delivered to an old lady, and I will tell you Her address.—Tell her I'm dead, but don't tell her how I died." I promised to do well what he entrusted.I went to see him again the next day and spent half a day with him.It was from his lips that the tragic story which follows is told.