Mountains were now withdrawing to the distant horizon where they stood around, a mighty2 and beautiful wall. I was coming down into the plain of Granada, that once had been a garden. Now, north, south, east, west, it lay war-trampled. Old owners were dead, men and women, or were mudexares, vassals3, or were fled, men and women, all who could flee, to their kindred in Africa. Or they yet cowered4, men and women, in the broken garden, awaiting individual disaster. The Kingdom of Granada had sins, and the Kingdom of Castile, and the Kingdom of Leon. The Moor5 was stained, and the Spaniard, the Moslem6 and the Christian7 and the Jew. Who had stains the least or the most God knew—and it was a poor inquiry8. Seek the virtues9 and bind10 them with love, each in each!
If the mountain road had been largely solitary11, it was not so of this road. There were folk enough in the wide Vega of Granada. Clearly, as though the one party had been dressed in black and the other in red, they divided into vanquished12 and victor. Bit by bit, now through years, all these towns and villages, all these fertile fields and bosky places, rich and singing, had left the hand of the Moor for the hand of the Spaniard.
In all this part of his old kingdom the Moor lay low in defeat. In had swarmed13 the Christian and with the Christian the Jew, though now the Jew must leave. The city of Granada was not yet surrendered, and the Queen and King held all soldiery that they might at Santa Fe, built as it were in a night before Granada walls. Yet there seemed at large bands enough, licentious14 and loud, the scum of soldiery. Ere I reached the village that I now saw before me I had met two such bands, I wondered, and then wondered at my own wonder.
The chief house of the village was become an inn. Two long tables stood in the patio15 where no fountain now flowed nor orange trees grew nor birds sang in corners nor fine awning16 kept away the glare. Twenty of these wild and base fighting men crowded one table, eating and drinking, clamorous17 and spouting18 oaths. At the other table sat together at an end three men whom by a number of tokens might be robbers of the mountains. They sat quiet, indifferent to the noise, talking low among themselves in a tongue of their own, kin1 enough to the soldiery not to fear them. The opposite end of the long table was given to a group to which I now joined myself. Here sat two Franciscan friars, and a man who seemed a lawyer; and one who had the air of the sea and turned out to be master of a Levantine; and a brisk, talkative, important person, a Catalan, and as it presently appeared alcalde once of a so-so village; and a young, unhealthy-looking man in black with an open book beside him; and a strange fellow whose Spanish was imperfect.
I sat down near the friars, crossed myself, and cut a piece of bread from the loaf before me. The innkeeper and his wife, a gaunt, extraordinarily19 tall woman, served, running from table to table. The place was all heat and noise. Presently the soldiers, ending their meal, got up with clamor and surged from the court to their waiting horses. After them ran the innkeeper, appealing for pay. Denials, expostulation, anger and beseeching20 reached the ears of the patio, then the sound of horses going down stony21 ways. "O God of the poor!" cried the gaunt woman. "How are we robbed!"
"Why are they not before Granada?" demanded the lawyer and alertly provided the answer to his own question. "Take locusts22 and give them leave to eat, being careful to say, 'This fellow's fields only!' But the locusts have wings and their nature is to eat!"
The mountain robbers, if robbers they were, dined quietly, the gaunt woman promptly23 and painstakingly24 serving them. They were going to pay, I was sure, though it might not be this noon.
The two friars seemed, quiet, simple men, dining as dumbly as if they sat in Saint Francis's refectory. The sometime alcalde and the shipmaster were the talkers, the student sitting as though he were in the desert, eating bread and cheese and onions and looking on his book. The lawyer watched all, talked to make them talk, then came in and settled matters. The alcalde was the politician, knowing the affairs of the world and speaking familiarly of the King and the Queen and the Marquis of Cadiz.
The shipmaster said, "This time last year I was in London, and I saw their King. His name is Henry. King Henry the Seventh, and a good carrier of his kingship!"
"That for him!" said the alcalde. "Let him stay in his foggy island! But Spain is too small for King Ferdinand." "All kings find their lands too small," said the lawyer.
The shipmaster spoke25 again. "The King of Portugal's ship sails ahead of ours in that matter. He's stuck his banner in the new islands, Maderia and the Hawk26 Islands and where not! I was talking in Cadiz with one who was with Bartholomew Diaz when he turned Africa and named it Good Hope. Which is to say, King John has Good Hope of seeing Portugal swell27. Portugal! Well, I say, 'Why not Spain'?"
The student looked up from his book. "It is a great Age!" he said and returned to his reading.
When we had finished dinner, we paid the tall, gaunt woman and leaving the robbers, if robbers they were, still at table, went out into the street. Here the friars, the alcalde and the lawyer moved in the direction of the small, staring white and ruined mosque28 that was to be transformed into the church of San Jago the Deliverer. That was the one thing of which the friars had spoken. A long bench ran by inn wall and here the shipmaster took his seat and began to discourse29 with those already there. Book under arm, the student moved dreamily down the opposite lane. Juan Lepe walked away alone.
Through the remainder of this day he had now company and adventure without, now solitude30 and adventure within. That night he spent in a ruined tower where young trees grew and an owl31 was his comrade and he read the face of a glorious moon. Dawn. He bathed in a stream that ran by the mound32 of the tower and ate a piece of bread from his wallet and took the road.
The sun mounted above the trees. A man upon a mule33 came up behind me and was passing. "There is a stone wedged in his shoe," I said. The rider drew rein34 and I lifted the creature's foreleg and took out the pebble35. The rider made search for a bit of money. I said that the deed was short and easy and needed no payment, whereupon he put up the coin and regarded me out of his fine blue eyes. He was quite fair, a young man still, and dressed after a manner of his own in garments not at all new but with a beauty of fashioning and putting on. He and his mule looked a corner out of a great painting. And I had no sooner thought that than he said, "I see in you, friend, a face and figure for my 'Draught36 of Fishes.' And by Saint Christopher, there is water over yonder and just the landscape!" He leaned from the saddle and spoke persuasively37, "Come from the road a bit down to the water and let me draw you! You are not dressed like the kin of Midas! I will give you the price of dinner." As he talked he drew out of a richly worked bag a book of paper and pencils. I thought, "This beard and the clothes of Juan Lepe. He can hardly make it so that any may recognize." It was resting time and the man attracted. I agreed, if he would take no more than an hour.
"The drawing, no!—Bent far over, gathering38 the net strongly—Andrew or Mark perhaps, since, traditionally, John must have youth."
He had continued to study me all this time, and now we left the road and moved over the plain to the stream that here widened into a pool fringed with rushes and a few twisted trees. An ancient, half-sunken boat drowsing under the bank he hailed again in the name of Saint Christopher. Dismounting, he fastened his mule to a willow39 and proceeded to place me, then himself found a root of a tree, and taking out his knife fell to sharpening pencil. This done, he rested book against knee and began to draw.
Having made his figure in one posture40 he rose and showed me another and drew his fisherman so. Then he demonstrated a third way and drew again. Now he was silent, working hard, and now he dropped his hand, threw back his head and talked. He himself made a picture, paly gold of locks, subtle and quick of face, plastered against a blue shield with a willow wreath going around.
I stood so or so, drawing hard upon the net with the fishes. Then at his command I approached more nearly, and he drew full face and three-quarter and profile. It was between these accomplishings that he talked more intimately.
"Seamen41 go to Italy," he said. "Were you ever in Milan? But that is inland."
I answered that I had been from Genoa to Milan.
"It is not likely that you saw a great painter there Messer Leonardo?"
It happened that I had done this, and moreover had seen him at work and heard him put right thought into most right words. I was so tired of lying that after a moment I said that I had seen and heard Messer Leonardo.
"Did you see the statue?"
"The first time I saw him he was at work upon it. The next time he was painting in the church of Santa Maria. The third time he sat in a garden, sipped42 wine and talked."
"I hold you," he said, "to be a fortunate fisherman! Just as this fisher I am painting, and whether it is Andrew or Mark, I do not yet know, was a most fortunate fisherman!" He ended meditatively44, "Though whoever it is, probably he was crucified or beheaded or burned."
I felt a certain shiver of premonition. The day that had been warm and bright turned in a flash ashy and chill. Then it swung back to its first fair seeming, or not to its first, but to a deeper, brighter yet. The Fisherman by Galilee was fortunate. Whoever perceived truth and beauty was fortunate, fortunate now and forever!
We came back to Messer Leonardo. "I spent six months at the court in Milan," said the fair man. "I painted the Duke and the Duchess and two great courtiers. Messer Leonardo was away. He returned, and I visited him and found a master. Since that time I study light and shadow and small things and seek out inner action."
He worked in silence, then again began to speak of painters, Italian and Spanish. He asked me if I had seen such and such pictures in Seville.
"Yes. They are good."
"Do you know Monsalvat?"
I said that I had climbed there one day. "I dream a painting!" he said, "The Quest of the Grail. Now I see it running over the four walls of a church, and now I see it all packed into one man who rides. Then again it has seemed to me truer to have it in a man and woman who walk, or perhaps even are seated. What do you think?"
I was thinking of Isabel who died in my arms twenty years ago. "I would have it man and woman," I said. "Unless, like Messer Leonardo, you can put both in one."
He sat still, his mind working, while in a fair inner land Isabel and I moved together; then in a meditative43 quiet he finished his drawing. He himself was admirable, fine gold and bronze, sapphire-eyed, with a face where streams of visions moved the muscles, and all against the blue and the willow tree.
At last he put away pencil, and at his gesture I came from the boat and the reeds. I looked at what he had drawn45, and then he shut book and, the mule following us, we moved back to the road.
"My dear fisherman," he said, "you are trudging46 afoot and your dress exhibits poverty. Painters may paint Jove descending47 in showers of golden pesos and yet have few pesos in purse. I have at present ten. I should like to share them with you who have done me various good turns to-day."
I said that he was generous but that he had done me good turns. Moreover I was not utterly48 without coin, and certainly the hour had paid for itself. So he mounted his mule and wished me good fortune, and I wished him good fortune.
"Are you going to Santa Fe?"
"Yes. I have a friend in the camp."
"I go there to paint her Highness the Queen for his Highness the King. Perhaps we shall meet again. I am Manuel Rodriguez."
"I guessed that," I answered, "an hour ago! Be so good, great painter, as not to remember me. It will serve me better."
The light played again over his face. "The Disguised Hidalgo. Excellent pictures come to me like that, in a great warm light, and excellent names for pictures.—Very good. In a way, so to speak, I shall completely forget you!"
Two on horseback, a churchman and a knight49, with servants following, came around a bend of the dusty road and recognizing Manuel Rodriguez, called to him by name. Away he rode upon his mule, keeping company with them. The dozen in their train followed, raising as they went by such a dust cloud that presently all became like figures upon worn arras. They rode toward Santa Fe, and I followed on foot.
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1
kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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vassals
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| n.奴仆( vassal的名词复数 )；（封建时代）诸侯；从属者；下属 | |
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cowered
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| v.畏缩，抖缩( cower的过去式 ) | |
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moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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Moslem
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| n.回教徒，穆罕默德信徒；adj.回教徒的，回教的 | |
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7
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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8
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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11
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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12
vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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13
swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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licentious
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| adj.放纵的，淫乱的 | |
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patio
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| n.庭院，平台 | |
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awning
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| n.遮阳篷；雨篷 | |
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clamorous
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| adj.吵闹的，喧哗的 | |
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spouting
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| n.水落管系统v.（指液体）喷出( spout的现在分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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21
stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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locusts
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| n.蝗虫( locust的名词复数 )；贪吃的人；破坏者；槐树 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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painstakingly
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| adv. 费力地 苦心地 | |
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25
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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hawk
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| n.鹰，骗子；鹰派成员 | |
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swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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mosque
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| n.清真寺 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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30
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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pebble
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| n.卵石，小圆石 | |
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draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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persuasively
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| adv.口才好地；令人信服地 | |
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38
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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40
posture
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| n.姿势，姿态，心态，态度；v.作出某种姿势 | |
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41
seamen
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| n.海员 | |
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42
sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
meditative
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| adj.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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45
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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46
trudging
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的现在分词形式） | |
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47
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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48
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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49
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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