And Don Gil, after enumerating the beauties of La Corredera, terminated his article with the following lament: “One more reason we have for thanking our much-boasted-of progress!”
Quentin had been told that nearly all of the pawn shops in Cordova were situated in La Corredera, and the morning after his conversation with Rafaela, he appeared there, resolved to leave no stone unturned until he had discovered the little box which he had been entrusted to find.
He entered La Corredera through the Arco Alto. From this spot, the plaza presented a pleasing and picturesque spectacle. It was like a harbour filled with yellow and white sails shaking in the breeze, shining with light, and filling the whole extent of the plaza. Under the dark and sombre porticos, in the tiny shops and booths, there were little piles of black objects.
Quentin walked through the centre of the plaza. He saw permanent booths, like large huts, where they sold grains and vegetables; and some that were portable, like great umbrellas with long sticks, which belonged to green-grocers and fruit-sellers. Other booths were a bit more simple, being merely wide, awningless tables upon which walnuts and hazelnuts were heaped. Others, simpler still, were upon the ground, “upon the stone counters,” as the itinerant pedlars called them.
Quentin left the centre of the plaza and entered the arcade, resolved to leave no second-hand store or pawn-broker’s establishment unvisited. Each space beneath the arcade was occupied by a booth, and each column had[134] a little stand at its base. On the inside of the covered walk were the gateways of inns with their classic patios, and their splendid old names; such as the Posada de la Puya, or the Posada del Toro.... The sandal stores displayed coils of plaited grass as signs; the drink establishments, shelves full of coloured bottles; the saddleries, headstalls, cinchas, and cruppers; the tripe shops, bladders, and sieves made of the skins of Lucena donkeys. Here a cane weaver was making baskets; there, a pawnbroker was piling up several greasy books; and near him, an old fright of a woman was taking a piece of hakefish from a frying-pan and placing it upon a tin plate.
Even the sidewalks were occupied; a vendor of Andújar ware was pacing up and down before his dishes: large water-jars, and small, green jugs which were arranged in squares upon the stones. An old countrywoman was selling rolls of tinder for smokers; a man with a cap was exhibiting cigar cases and shell combs upon a folding table.
At each column there was a grinder with his machine, or a hatter with his caps in a large basket, or a fritter-maker with his caldron, or a cobbler with his bench and cut leather and a basin to dampen it in. There were notes of gaiety which were struck by stockings and handkerchiefs of vivid colours; and sinister notes: rows of different sized knives tied to a wall, on whose blades were engraved mottoes as suggestive as the following:
Si esta víbora te pica,
No hay remedio en la botica.
(If this viper should sting thee, there is no cure for it in the drugstore.)[135]
Or as that other legend, laconic in its fidelity, written below a heart graven in the steel:
Soy de mi due?o y se?or.
(I am of my lord and master.)
Although he visited every pawn shop and second-hand dealer in the plaza, Quentin failed to find the jewel-case. Somewhat dazed by the sun and the noise, he stopped and leaned against a column for a moment. It was a babel of shouts and voices and songs—of a thousand sounds. The hardware dealers struck horse-shoes with their hammers in a queer sort of rhythm; the knife-grinders whistled on their flutes; the vendor of medicinal herbs emitted a melancholy cry; the pine-nut seller shouted like a madman: “Boys and girls, weep for pine-nuts!”
There were cries that were languid and sad; others that were rapid and despairing. Some vendors devoted themselves to humour; like the seller of rolled wafers who began his advertisement by saying: “Here’s where you get your wafers ... they came from El Puerto—all the way for you!” and then mixed up a lot of sayings and refrains. Other merchants added a scientific touch; like the seller of tortoises, who dragged the little animals along the ground tied to a string, and shouted in a voice made husky by brandy: “Come and buy my little sea-roosters!”
All this rabble of vendors, of farmers, of women, of naked children, and of beggars; talked, shouted, laughed, gesticulated; it flowed from the Arco Alto to the Calle de la Espartería, where the orchardists from El Ruedo waited to bargain with the farmers; it entered the Plaza de las Ca?as, and while the multitude moved about, the[136] winter sun, yellow, brilliant as gold, fell upon and reverberated from the white awnings.
Quentin went through the Arco Bajo to a plazoleta where a group of old men were sunning themselves, with their cloaks tied to their bodies and their stiff, broad-brimmed hats pulled down over their eyes. The majority of them were so preoccupied in their noble task of doing nothing, that Quentin dared not bother them with questions, so he made his way toward a lupine-seller who was seated beneath a small awning which sheltered him from the sun.
The man had fastened a frame to the wall which served him as an awning. As the red disk of the sun descended in the heavens, the man changed the angle of the frame, always keeping himself in the shade.
This wise fellow, who was reading a paper at the moment through a pair of glasses, wore a high-crowned, sugar-loaf hat; he had the small, gentle eyes of a drunkard, a long, twisted, red nose, and a white, pointed beard. When Quentin accosted him, he lifted his eyes with indifference, looked over his glasses, and said:
“Sweetmeats? Lupine?”
“No; I would like you to tell me if there is a pawn shop around here besides those in La Corredera.”
“Sí, Se?or; there is one in the Plaza de la Almagra.”
“Where is that?”
“Near here. Would you like me to go with you?”
“No, thanks. They might steal your wares.”
“Pish! What would they want them for?” And the ingenious chap with the sugar-loaf hat came out from behind his awning, tipped his hat toward one ear, caressed his goatee, and flourishing a white stick, abandoned his basket of lupine to fate, and accompanied[137] Quentin until he left him in front of a second-hand store.
“Thank you very much, caballero,” said Quentin.
The wise man smiled, shifted his high-crowned hat from his left ear to his right, swung his stick, and, after bowing ceremoniously, departed.
Quentin entered the shop and explained to the clerk what he was looking for. The man, after listening to him, said:
“I’ve got that jewel-case.”
“Will you show it to me?”
“I don’t know why I shouldn’t.”
The man opened a writing-desk, and from the bottom of one of the drawers took out a small, blackened box. It had a coronet upon the cover, but the lining had been torn out, so they could not see the initials that Rafaela had mentioned to Quentin. Nevertheless, it was probably the right box. Quentin wished to make sure.
“Do you mind telling me,” he asked, “where this box came from?”
“Are you so interested in it?” questioned the pawnbroker rather sarcastically.
“Yes; but it is because I wish to make sure that it is the one I am looking for.”
“Well, I don’t mind saying where it came from, for I am sure that the man who sold it to me owned it.”
“Is it from the house of a marquis?”
“Sí, Se?or.”
“Of one who lives on the Calle del Sol?”
“Sí, Se?or.”
“How much do you want for it?”
“Seventy dollars.”
“The devil! That’s a good deal.[138]”
“It’s worth it. A man who knew about such things would give me a hundred dollars for it; perhaps more....”
“Very well. If I cannot come and get it today, I shall be here tomorrow.”
“Very well.”
Quentin went home deep in thought. Where was he going to get those seventy dollars? He entered the store and went to see Palomares.
“Could you let me have seventy dollars today?” he inquired.
“Seventy dollars! Where am I going to get it?”
“Don’t you know any one who lends money?”
“You’ve got to have a guarantee if you want any one to lend you money; and what guarantee are you going to give?”
“The fact is, I’ve got to have the money today.”
“Look here; come to the store on the Calle de la Espartería this evening, and we’ll see what we can do.”
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CHAPTER XIII A PICNIC AND A RIDE
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