CHAPTER I.

A tale whispered and told to children all Spain through. And why should not a statue have power to speak?

Don Juan lived in a city of Castille, lived a godless, reckless life; and as for that matter so did his factotum Leporello. If the don climbed a ladder, Leporello held it; if the don had to be thrashed, Leporello often caught the blows. He might have had a better service, and he frequently complained of the don’s, but he did not leave it till the don had no further need of a factotum.

One night he was watching as usual, and grumbling as usual, “what a life was his, to be harassed day and night, blown by the wind, cut at by the rain, robbed of sleep, and all for what? no wages paid, and half starvation.” For the thousandth time he had resolved to get him a new master, when the noise of footsteps made him discreetly retire.

Next moment where he had been standing, was a woman striving to detain a cavalier, and calling all the time for help.

“Let me go, I say, for thine own sake, let me go.”

“Help, help.”

A quick, heavy step, and a third person was there, an old man, his white hair streaming in the moonlight.

The lady let go her hold, as the new comer ran forward, his sword bravely out before him.

Yet he did not at once fall on this thief coming in the night time. He called on him to defend himself.

Said the other, placing himself, so that the golden braid about him glistened in the moonlight, “Begone, my sword is not crossed with such as yours.”

“Defend yourself, I say.”

“Ah! dotard, if thou bravest me.”

A little sawing of the swords, a click or two, and the white hair is touching the dust.

“Dead, by the rood!” exclaimed the cavalier, wiping his sword. “Here, Leporello, here!”

“Sinner that I am--behold me, master. Thou art not killed--then the old man is?”

“Surely, the old can better be spared than the young.”

“Rare, rare, my master, to break into the chamber of the daughter, and to kill the father, both in one night. Rare, oh! rare.”

“By my faith, he thrust himself upon my sword. Come, let us go. See, torches are flickering near.”

And without fear or hurry, the young don moved away, not swaggeringly, yet audaciously, followed by the trembling Leporello.

Another moment, and the light of torches was gleaming on the face of the dead. The old man’s daughter, Donna Anna, had hastened away for assistance, and returned with it but to find her father slain, the warm blood gurgling out from his heart on to the cold and thirsty ground.

With her was the Don Ottavio, her betrothed, but he was nothing to her in her grief, as she leant over her dead father.

Then came the solitary procession, bearing one dead into his house, who but a little while agone was hale and strong, even in his age.

Meanwhile, the don was forgetting the tragedy.

Even the next evening he was in the streets with Leporello, seeking some new adventures.

“Well, Leporello, and pray what is it thou hast to tell me?”

“It is important--it is grave.”

“Better and better.”

“Now good master, promise not to be wrath.”

“So that it doth not relate to Don Pedro.”

“Unless thou art Don Pedro, it doth not relate to him.”

“Speak out!”

“Verily, thy life is infamous!”

“Rapscallion.”

“And thy promise, good master, thy promise.”

“What! thou darst to suppose _I_ keep promises.”

“To _me_, yes, of a verity, I’m dumb, I’m dumb.”

“The way to friendship. Now, why am I here?”

“An affair. The name of the damsel, for my list, good master, for the perfectioning of my list.”

“Write her down Venus, for she hath her form. I shall whisper her at the Casino; but tarry a little, here cometh one--whom--”

“In truth my master hath a good eye.”

“At a glance, I see she is handsome.”

“And also she hath a brave eye!”

“Let us retire a little.”

“He hath fired already. O rare.”

Into the shadow they crept (the don dealt largely in shadows.)

’Twas a Spanish beauty, and a pensive beauty, who came slowly along.

“Lepo, ’tis a damsel who hath need of condolement.”

“He hath condoled with many of them, this master of mine.”

“Senorita, Senorita. Heaven!”

“Ha! ’tis Donna Elvira; O rare--rare.”

“‘Tis you, Don Juan--monster, robber!”

“‘Tis an old acquaintance, as one shall read by the tongue.”

“Donna! quiet, quiet (what misfortune); if thou wilt not believe me, thou’lt believe this worthy gentleman.”

“In faith! that’s Leporello--”

“He’ll tell thee all; I pray thee turn to him.”

And the lady doing so, the don took advantage of the shadow, and was off anywhere.

“Well, villain, speak!”

“In faith, good lady, it may be declared, seeing the world we live in, that a square is ne’er a round, or equally a round a square; and yet--”

“Cease, scrub; and thou, Don Juan--gone! The monster hath gone! Which way?”

“Ah! marry, which way! though wherefore shouldst thou care; he is not worth the kindness of so considerable a lady.”

“Ah, he leaves me!”

“By your leave, lady, ’tis not the first lady he hath fled from. Have I not here a book, which hath weight in it, I warrant thee; and if it be not filled with the names of the ladies he hath fled from, with the particulars of their birth, parentage, and residences, the evil one hath played false with my handwriting, or some good angel hath, in pity to my master, wiped out the faithful record. See now, in Italy he flies me six hundred and forty; in Germany, he hath ruined two hundred and thirty-one; one hundred in France; thou shalt repeat me that number for Turkey; but here in Spain he hath destroyed the peace of one thousand and three.”

Here the serving man dutifully followed his master into shadow, and scudded away harder and harder when he heard the pattering of little feet behind him.