The Wanderings of Persiles and Sigismunda: A Northern StoryCervantes Saavedra, Miguel de
General
The Wanderings of Persiles and Sigismunda: A Northern Story
Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de
Spanish fiction -- Translations into English; Voyages and travels -- Fiction
Until this moment the duke had not known that his adversary was the
Prince Arnoldo.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER III.
_They enter Rome, and lodge in the house of a Jew named Manasseh._
It aroused the envy and indignation of the three French ladies to
find how much more Auristella's portrait was valued by the duke than
theirs, which they knew had been brought to him by the servant who was
sent to get their pictures for his lord, as has been already related.
They heard from him that theirs were much esteemed, but that hers was
idolized, a thing which dwelt very heavily upon their hearts, for
it is well-known that no beauty can bear to be excelled by another
without mortal displeasure; they cannot even bear comparisons, for
as the common saying goes, "That all comparisons are odious" in the
case of rival beauty, they become doubly odious, unless friendship,
relationship, quality, and high station, stand in the way of this
accursed jealousy and envy, for such it may well be called.
The servant also told them that the duke, his master, enamoured of the
beautiful portrait, had quitted Paris in order to seek out the pilgrim
Auristella; that he had seated himself that morning at the foot of a
tree, with the picture in his hand, and was discoursing with it as if
it had been the living original. That, whilst he was thus occupied,
another pilgrim passed by, and looking over his shoulder, could hear
what the duke said; "without," said he, "myself or the other servants
being able to prevent it, for we were a good way off. We came up at
last, and hastened to warn the duke that he was overheard. He turned
his head, and saw the pilgrim, who, without speaking a word, snatched
the picture from his hand, who, taken unawares, had not time to defend
himself, and what I heard him say, at least, all I could make out, was,
'Robber of this celestial prize, profane not with those sacrilegious
hands this precious thing. Give up the picture whereon that heavenly
beauty is portrayed, both because thou dost not deserve to possess it,
and also because it belongs to me.'
"'I say that it does not,' answered the other; 'and if I cannot now
find any one to bear witness to the truth of what I say, I will leave
it to be decided by the edge of the sword, which I wear concealed
within this pilgrim's staff. I am the true and sole possessor of that
incomparable beauty, for in far distant lands from these where we
now are, I purchased her with my treasures, and worshipped her with
my whole heart, and I have served the original of that picture with
faithful service, and through many perils and wanderings.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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