The Exemplary Novels of CervantesCervantes Saavedra, Miguel de
General
The Exemplary Novels of Cervantes
Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de
Spanish fiction -- Translations into English
believe that they have ascertained the truth of what I state.
"I should like, my son, to shake off this sin, and I have exerted
myself to that end. I have got myself appointed matron to this hospital;
I tend the poor, and some die who afford me a livelihood either by what
they leave me, or by what I find among their rags, through the great
care I always take to examine them well. I say but few prayers, and only
in public, but grumble a good deal in secret. It is better for me to be
a hypocrite than an open sinner; for my present good works efface from
the memory of those who know me the bad ones of my past life. After all,
pretended sanctity injures no one but the person who practises it. Look
you, Montiel, my son, my advice to you is this: be good all you can; but
if you must be wicked, contrive all you can not to appear so. I am a
witch, I do not deny it, and your mother was one likewise; but the
appearances we put on were always enough to maintain our credit in the
eyes of the whole world. Three days before she died, we were both
present at a grand sabbath of witches in a valley of the Pyrenees; and
yet when she died it was with such calmness and serenity, that were it
not for some grimaces she made a quarter of an hour before she gave up
the ghost, you would have thought she lay upon a bed of flowers. But her
two children lay heavy at her heart, and even to her last gasp she never
would forgive Camacha, such a resolute spirit she had. I closed her eyes
and followed her to the grave, and there took my last look at her;
though, indeed, I have not lost the hope of seeing her again before I
die, for they say that several persons have met her going about the
churchyards and the cross-roads in various forms, and who knows but I
may fall in with her some time or other, and be able to ask her whether
I can do anything for the relief of her conscience?"
Every word that the old hag uttered in praise of her she called my
mother went like a knife to my heart; I longed to fall upon her and tear
her to pieces, and only refrained from unwillingness that death should
find her in such a wicked state. Finally she told me that she intended
to anoint herself that night and go to one of their customary
assemblies, and inquire of her master as to what was yet to befal me. I
should have liked to ask her what were the ointments she made use of;
and it seemed as though she read my thoughts, for she replied to my
question as though it had been uttered.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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