A Legend of Seville
Originally published in Reynolds's Miscellany of Romance, General Literature, Science, and Art (John Dicks) vol.8 #197 (17 Apr 1852).
Don Diego de la Barra lived in Seville at the opening of the street which leads to the beautiful walk of the Christina, by the side of the romantic Guadalquivir. He was rich, courageous, and, of course, in love. He was moreover young, handsome, gallant, and desperately stricken by the charms of Donna Candelaria, the daughter of the old gobernador (governor), the remains of whose palace are still to be seen a little distance from the city. But, though he was rather wild, and spent his money foolishly, and disposed of his heart without his father's leave, he was a good lad in the main. The old gobernador was in a great fury when he heard that Don Diego was enamoured of his daughter, as he had contracted her in marriage to the old Duke of Medina,—a man of many years and many virtues; an excellent grandfather, but an indifferent bridegroom—being well qualified to give away the hand of the beautiful Candelaria, but totally unworthy of claiming it himself.
The senorita had seen the young hero of our tale, and had been captivated by him at first sight. Tender passages of love passed between the giddy pair; letters were introduced and answered; and, to cut the courtship short—which, though very pleasant to be engaged in, is very fastidioso to hear of—they agreed to run away with each other, to be married in secret, and to take the chance of subduing the old governor's heart when it was too late to refuse his consent.
A night was fixed when there was no moonlight to disclose the blushes of the foolish maid; and, punctual to the appointed hour, Don Diego sallied forth, wrapped up. in his large cloak, and with no other arms than his trusty sword. Silently he stole through the lanes which then led to the suburbs of Seville, and gladly did he congratulate himself on not being observed by the patrol, when the cold night air touched his cheek, and he was safe beyond the last avenue of the city. He traced his way by the well-known path along the river-bank, thinking only of the beautiful creature who was to elope with him that hour, when he was startled by a voice which came in the most sepulchral tone—"Don Diego—Don Diego! Cut me down—cut me down!"
The young man stopped for an instant; but, imagining that it was fancy which distracted him, as quickly resumed his way. But the silence of the night was again broken by the same unearthly voice—"For the love of St. Francisco, cut me down—cut me down!"
A moment's fear blanched Don Diego's cheek, but he shook it off, grasped his sword by the handle, and determined to pursue his road, when the same sepulchral note again smote his heart—"Cut me down—cut me down!"
Don Diego now arrested his step, determined to push the mystery to the end; and there he saw a gibbet standing by the river-side a ladder placed against it, and the figure of a man swinging in the wind, hanging from it by a rope. "Cut me down—cut me down!" continued the spectre.
This appeal determined the young man; and, steeling his heart to the consequences, he mounted the ladder, and with his sword cut the rope which held the body, and allowed it to drop to the ground. He then descended himself; but what was his surprise to see the body standing upright at his side, and to hear it exclaim, "Thanks, Don Diego--many thanks, Don Diego!"
Don Diego faltered not; but, wrapping his cloak around him, pursued his road, after giving the usual parting benediction, which was rather an equivocal one, to his companion, considering the circumstances under which they met. The young man passed on, and had just reached the rising ground which overlooked the governor's garden, when he again heard the same unearthly voice at his elbow, exclaiming, "Where art thou going?" He started at the sound; and lo! at his side stood the same spectral form--the rope by which the body had been hung still hanging from his neck, and the links of the chain which bound his hands clanking in the air.
"Diavolo!" exclaimed Don Diego, forgetting his prudence in his impatience. The spectre placed its fingers on its lips, and Diego did not repeat the exclamation.
"Where art thou going?" again he cried.
"Pray, leave me," returned the young lover, resuming his good humour, and adopting a coaxing tone.
"No, I can't do that--I will follow you wherever you go."
"Nonsense, my good friend; recollect I cut you down from that ugly gibbet, where the crows were making free with your carcass. I am going to a place where you will be a most unwelcome guest."
"Don Diego! Don Diego! I am under orders, and must accompany you."
"Then you must run fast," said the youth, starting at the top of his speed, and darting down the hill in the direction of the governor's garden. He glanced around him for a moment, and the spectre was not to be seen. He gaily approached the spot where the vision of his love was to bless his sight--drew forth the silken ladder he had prepared--threw it up, and made it fast to the wall; and was preparing to ascend, when he felt a cold hand placed on his shoulder, which chilled him to the heart. It was the spectre's hand which arrested him.
"You are mad!" exclaimed the same deep voice. "You are mad, and rushing on destruction!"
Don Diego's indignation mastered his fears--the blood again circulated in his veins he threw open his cloak, grasped his trusty sword, and made a blow at the unsightly form which held him. The sword passed through the air--appeared to divide the body in two--stuck deep into the ground--and the same unearthly voice again was heard from the same unearthly form,--"Don Diego! Don Diego!" Diego started back, the hair stood on his head, and cold drops of sweat fell from his brow. The spectre was unconcerned, and repeated, in the same tone, "Don Diego! Don Diego! Where art thou going? Rash boy, beware!"
Don Diego, naturally bold, plucked up his courage for the third time; and, finding he had to deal with a body which neither hanging could choke, nor a sword put an end to, he was determined to make the matter an affair of honour; and with strict injunctions to secrecy, confessed to the ghost that he was going to run away with the governor's daughter.
"Caramba!" chuckled the spectre; "I should like to see your love!"
"Wait a few minutes," replied the youth, "and I will fetch her hither."
"Chico!" returned the ghost. "I think I will step before you to announce your coming;" and with these words Don Diego felt himself put aside, and saw the spectre standing on the ladder.
Diego, petrified, knew not what to do; but he thought of his favourite saint, and called San Francisco to his aid. "That will do!" exclaimed the ghost, winking at our hero as he tripped up the steps.
Don Diego rushed after to pull him back, but in vain he clutched at the unsubstantial form. The spectre ran on, put his head above the garden-wall, and at that instant a dozen shots were heard, and the spectre and Don Diego dropped to the ground, the latter happily unhurt.
"Well, what do you think of that?" said the ghost. "Who is your friend now?"
"Oh, Candelaria! Candelaria!" sobbed the youth.
"I will finish you!" exclaimed the old gobernador, appearing at the top of the garden-wall, with a bevy of his servants, and all aiming their muskets at Diego and his friend. But scarcely had they pulled the trigger when the spectre caught up Don Diego in his arms and carried him safely beyond the reach of the vindictive gobernador and his satellites. The ghost then acquainted the young man with the motives of his interference. It was his patron saint who, aware of the folly he was about to commit, in running away with Donna Candelaria, and that the old gobernador had discovered the plot, and laid a plan to assassinate him in the very act, had sent him to try the young man's piety. The appeal which Diego had made to the name of San Francisco had decided the matter in his favour. Had he not cut down the corpse from the gibbet, he would himself have been a dead man. Don Diego poured out his thanks to the ghost, and his prayers to the patron saint; and in a week after he managed to elude the gobernador's watchfulness, ran away with the beautiful Candelaria, and married her at the cathedral church of Seville.