The Life of Lazarillo of Tormes: His Fortunes and Misfortunes as Told by HimselfAnonymous
General
The Life of Lazarillo of Tormes: His Fortunes and Misfortunes as Told by Himself
Anonymous
Picaresque literature, Spanish; Spain -- Social conditions -- 16th century -- Fiction; Spanish fiction -- Translations into English
Near the town of Illescas, I ran into a fellow who I knew was an
archpicaro by the way he looked. I went up to him the way I
would to an oracle to ask him how I should act in this new life
of mine so I wouldn't be arrested. He said that if I wanted to
keep free of the law I should combine Mary's idleness with
Martha's work. In other words, if I was going to be a picaro I
should also be a kitchenhelper, a brothel servant, a
slaughterhouse boy, or a baggage carrier, which was a way of
covering up for the picaresque life. Furthermore, he said that
because he hadn't done this, even after the twenty years he'd
been following his profession, they had just yesterday whipped
him up one side and down the other for being a tramp.
I thanked him for the warning and took his advice. When I got to
Madrid I bought a porter's strap and stood in the middle of the
square, happier than a cat with gibblets. As luck would have it,
the first person to put me to work was a maiden (God forgive my
lie) about eighteen years old, but more primped up than a novice
in a convent. She told me to follow her. She took me down so
many streets that I thought she was getting paid for walking or
was playing a trick on me. After a while we came to a house that
I recognized as one of ill repute when I saw the side door, the
patio, and the beastly old maids dancing there.
We went into her cell, and she asked me if I wanted her to pay me
for my work before we left. I told her I would wait until we got
to the place where I was taking the bundle. I loaded it on my
back and started down the road to the Guadalajara gate. She told
me to put it in a carriage to go to the Nagera fair. The load
was light since it was mainly made up of mortars, cosmetics, and
perfume bottles. On the way I found out that she had been in
that profession for eight years.
"The first one to prick me," she said, "was the Father Rector at
Seville, where I'm from, and he did it with such devotion that
from that day to this I'm very devoted to them. He put me in the
charge of a holy woman, and she provided me with everything I
needed for more than six months. Then a captain took me from
there. And since that time I've been led from pillar to post
until here I am, like this. I wish to God I had never left that
good father who treated me like a daughter and loved me like his
sister. Anyway, I've had to work just to be able to eat."
At this time we came up to a carriage that was about to leave. I
put the things I was carrying in it and asked her to pay me for
my work. The chatterbox said she would be glad to, and she
hauled off and hit me so hard she knocked me to the ground.
Then she said, "Are you so stupid that you ask someone of my
profession for money? Didn't I tell you before we left the brothel
that I would give you satisfaction there for your work if you wanted?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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