The rogue: or The life of Guzman de Alfarache. VVritten in Spanish by Matheo Aleman, seruant to his Catholike Maiestie, and borne in Seuill

CHAP. I.

Guzman discourseth of Pouertie, and of the wrongs and outrages, which a poore man indureth; As also of Riches, and of the honours that are done vnto the Rich: As likewise of the naughtinesse of this present world: And how not finding his Kindred, which he sought for in Genoa, he went to Rome; and of a iest that was put vpon him, before he left that Citie.

WIth Flatterers, no rich man is a foole; nor no Poore man wise. For they still weare Specta∣cles * 1.1 of the largest sight; by reason whereof, things represent them selues far greater then indeed they are. It may truly bee called, Wealths-Moth, and Truths-Worme. Flat∣terie resideth most with the Poore, being the greatest enemie that he hath: For that Pouer∣tie, which is not the Daughter of the Spirit, is but the Mother of shame and reproach; it is a dis-reputation, that drownes all the other good parts that are in man; it is a Dispositi∣on to all kinde of euill; it is mans most Foe; it is a Leprosie, full of anguish; it is a way that leads vnto Hell; it is a Sea, wherein our Patience is ouer∣whelmed, our honour is consumed, our liues are ended, and our soules vtter∣ly lost and cast away for euer.

The Poore man is a kinde of money, that is not currant; the subiect of eue∣ry * 1.2 idle Huswiues chat; the off-scumme of the people; the dust of the street,

first trampled vnder foot, and then throwne on the dung-hill; In conclusion, the Poore man is the Rich mans Asse. He dineth with the last, fareth of the worst, and payeth dearest: His Six-pence will not goe so farre, as a Rich mans three-pence; His opinion is Ignorance; His discretion foolishnesse; His suf∣frage, scorne; His Stocke vpon the Common; abused by many, and abhorred of all. If he come in Companie, he is not heard; If any chance to meet him, they seeke to shunne him; If he aduise (though neuer so wisely) they grudge and murmure at him; If he worke Miracles, they say, he is a Witch; If ver∣tuous, that he goeth about to deceiue; His veniall sinne, is a blasphemie; His thought, is made treason; His cause, be it neuer so iust, it is not regarded; and to haue his wrongs righted, he must appeale to that other life. All men crush him; no man fauoureth him; There is no man, that will relieue his wants; No man that will comfort him in his miseries; nor no man, that will beare him Companie, when he is all alone, and oppressed with griefe. None helpe him, all hinder him; none giue him, all take from him; he is Debtour to none, and yet must make payment to all. O the vnfortunate and poore condition of him that is poore, to whom euen the very houres are sold, which the Clocke striketh, and paies Custome for the Sun-shine in August!

And as your rotten and refuse-flesh, comes to be meat for dogs; so, as an vnprofitable piece of flesh, the discreet poore man comes to be eaten vp and deuoured by a company of ignorant Chuffes. But it is quite otherwise with * 1.3 the rich: How smooth doth the Wool goe on their side? What a fresh gale of winde is still in the poope of them? In how calme a Sea doe they saile? What faire weather, free from the least cloud of care? And what carelesnesse in those stormes, which other men suffer? Their Granaries are full of corne; their a 1.4 Butts of Wine; their iarres of Oyle; their Chests of money. In the Summer, he keepes himselfe from the heats; And in the Winter he clothes himselfe warme to defend him from the cold. Of all men he is well receiued. His fantasticall tricks, are gentleman-like carriage; His foolish speeches, are wise sentences; If he be malicious and hath a pestilent pate to plot mischiefe, then is he said to be subtill, and to haue a shrewd head of his owne; If he be prodigall, they stile him liberall; if couetous, a warie wise fellow; if giuen to 〈◊〉〈◊〉, he is a wittie Gentleman; if foole-hardie, of a braue daring spirit; if •…•…udent and full of ribaldrie, he is a merry man, and a fine Companion; if 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in his taunts, and giuen to detraction, an admirable Courtier; if in∣corrigible, all m•…•…tall▪ if scoffing, pleasant-witted; if babbling and full of prate, they tearme him sociable; if vicious, affable; if a Tyrant, a powerfull man; if obstinate▪ constant; if blasphemous and full of oathes, a very vali∣ant fellow; if dull graue and fit to make a Counsellour. His errours the earth couereth; all are afraid of him; none dare offend him; Euery mans eare is t•…•…d to his tongue seeking by their attention to please his palate; and not a word that comes from him, but is entertained by them with as much solem∣nitie, as if an Oracle had spoken vnto them. He will not be said nay, but will haue what he list, making himselfe both Partie, Iudge, and Witnesse. When he will countenance a lie, his power makes it to passe for a truth, and, as if it were so indeed, it is so receiued. How is he accompanied, how visited, how feasted, how magnified of all men?

In a word, Pouertie is the poore mans portion, and riches, that of the rich. And therfore, where good bloud boyleth, & the Pulse of honour beats strong∣ly want is held a greater losse then life; death is not so hurtfull, nor seemeth halfe so terrible vnto him, as Necessitie. For money warmeth the bloud, and makes it quicke and actiue: Whereas he that is without it, is but a dead bo∣dy * 1.5 that walkes vp and downe like a ghost amongst the liuing. A man cannot without it doe any thing in it's opportune and fit time, he cannot execute his desires, nor accomplish any thing, whereunto he hath a liking.

This is the course of the world, it hath alwaies kept this tracke, it is no new thing, but euen from the beginning, to see a 1.6 men of base birth, and meaner parts, to waxe proud and arrogant. There is no helpe nor remedie for it; So we found it, and so we shall leaue it; we must not looke for a better time, nor thinke that it was otherwise heretofore. All whatsoeuer, either hath bin, is, or shall be, is still one and the selfe-same thing. Our first Father was credulous and light of beliefe; our first mother a Lyer, and false of her word; The first sonne that was borne into the world, a thiefe and a Fratricide, one that kild his owne and only brother.

What is there now, that was not heretofore? Or what can we hope for in that which is to come? If what is past seemeth better vnto vs, it consisteth only in this, that we are more sensible of the ill that is present; and call to re∣membrance those good things of old, which being so farre off, are quite ab∣sented from vs: yet when our troubles are once ouer-passed, we are so glad, when we finde our selues to be well rid of them, as if they had neuer beene. So your Medowes beheld from a farr, are very pleasant to the eye, and de∣lightfull to looke vpon, but when thou drawest neerer vnto them, thou doest not finde so much as one hands breadth of ground, where thou mayst conue∣niently sit thee downe, all that thou seest, being nothing else but bogs, pits, and stones. We see the one, but neuer thinke on the other: it is as common, as ancient in the world, for euery man to loue prosperitie, to follow after riches, to seeke for fulnesse, to procure preferment, to pursue plentie, and to hazard our liues to get where withall to liue, and to grow into money (which is the mother of abundance;) For where that is wanting, the father towards the sonne, the sonne towards the father, brother towards brother, and I my selfe, euen towards my selfe, breake my faith and my word, and abhorre mine owne selfe.

This lesson, time hath taught me, out of the discipline of his experimon∣tall discourses, hauing punished me with an infinite number of miseries and afflictions.

I plainely now perceiue, that if (when I arriued at Genoa,) I had conside∣red what I was, and but looked well into my selfe, I would not haue ventured so farre as I did. And if I had had but the wit to haue reserued that occasion to some better fortune, I should not happely haue beene ruin'd and vndone by it, as you shall heare here-after.

As soone then as I had left the Captaine my Master, hauing made of all my totter'd rags and other old clouts, a kinde of Scar-crow (for they would scarce serue for any other vse) to fray away birds from the Fig-trees, I would needs boast my selfe to be descended of the b 1.7 Gothes, an ancient Gentleman, and neerely ally'd to most of the Nobilitie of that Citie, giuing out, that I was such a one, and come of such a house; and making farther inquirie of my Fathers ancient Familie, and his great Alliance in that Citie, it caused such distastefulnes, & such a loathing in them towards me, that they did hate me to the death. And it is to be supposed, that if they could haue done it without any preiudice to themselues, they would haue giuen it me; And thou also wouldst haue done the like, if such a guest should haue come within thy doores. But they manifested their good meaning by those actions, which they vsed

towards me. There was not that man to whom I made my selfe knowne, that did not relieue me with a boxe on the eare, a flirt on the lips, a kicke on the breech; and he that did least hurt or disgrace me, did not sticke to spit in my face, vpbraiding me with the name of Villaine, Rogue, a 1.8 Moore, and the like. Art thou a Genoues? Thou art the sonne of some vile lewd woman, no better can be conceiued of thee. And as if my father had beene terra filius, a sonne of the earth, a mis-begotten Bastard, or as if he had been dead some two hundred yeeres agoe, I could not finde so much as a foot-step of any friend or kinsman of his. Nor could I discouer any thing, till one came vnto me, and greeting me with a Serpents tayle, like a crafty old Scabbe; (O that accursed old Villaine, that sonne of a Whore; O how did he coozen me!) clozing fairely with me, vp and told me:

I haue heard much talke (my Boy) of your Father, and I can bring you ac∣quainted with those that shall render you a large relation of your Parents, and those none of the meanest; but (if I be not deceiued) euen the best, and no∣blest in all the Citie.

And because I suppose you haue supt already, come and take a bed with me at my house, (for now the time is fit for nothing else) and to morrow mor∣ning we will walke a turne or two about the Towne, and I shall bring you to those (as I told you) that knew him very well, and had long conuersed with him. The good presence that he carried, the grauitie wherewith he vttered his words, his good proportion of body, his decent attire, his bald-head, his white Beard, which reached almost downe to his Girdle, and the Staffe which he bare in his hand, represented (me thought) vnto me another Saint Paul. I trusted my selfe with him, I followed him to his house, with a great deale more desire to sup, then to sleepe: for that day I had made but a bad dinner, as well for that I had beene chafte and angred; as also that it must haue been at mine owne cost, which made me to quake, as oft as I did but thinke vpon spending but a farthing.

But because that which the rich giue vs, is but little, and what we call for, must cost vs money, we eate but little bread, and that (God knowes) stale, and hard; though to vs, that are almost hunger-staru'd, it seemes a great deale, and soft inough. Besides, I was now growne a pinch-belly, and a very miser to my selfe.

I went along, but with feeble legges, ready to faint for hunger, after that I saw what an Host I was like to haue, & how (like a Cordouese) he told me by way of preuention, that I had already supt: And had it not bin out of the feare that I had to lose so faire an opportunity, I would not haue gone with him, vntill I had first visited some tippling house. But the hope of that good which seemed to weight for me, made me too leaue the Bird that I had in my hand, for to follow the Oxe, which fled too fast from me, for me to catch him. As soone as we were come into his house, a seruant came to take off his Cloake; he will'd him to let it alone; and they twaine hauing talked together a while in their owne language, he sent him forth: So that now being left all alone to our selues, we walked many a turne, and sometimes talked of one thing, some∣times of another. At last, he drew neerer vnto me, asking me diuers questions concerning Spaine; and amongst the rest, more particularly of my Mother, as how she was left, what was her Estate, how many brothers she had, and in what street she liu'd? I gaue him a full account of all, as wisely, and as adui∣sedly as I could for my life.

In this discourse I intertain'd my selfe the better part of an houre, vntill such time as his seruant was returned. I know not what was his arrand, nor what message he brought him backe; but my old Foxe turn'd about vnto me, and said vnto me; So, it is well, inough for this bout, it is time for you to take your rest, get you to bed, and to morrow we shall see one another againe, and

then we shall inlarge our minds more freely to each other. Then he cals, O la Antonio, Maria, doe you heare there? Come away, and conduct this Gen∣tleman to his lodging. I went along with him from lodging to lodging, through this roome, and that roome, I know not whither my selfe; it was a great large house, wrought with many goodly faire Pillars, whose pauement was all of Alabaster, hewne foure-square.

At last we crosse through a Court, and enter into a lodging, that stood at the one end thereof, which was very well furnished, and fairely hung vvith Hangings of sundry sorts of colours, like vnto your a 1.9 Arambales, but that they seemed to be some-what better then they. The Beds-head lean'd against the wall, and close adioyning therevnto stood a little low Stoole. And as if he would haue me to make my selfe vnready, the seruant that was appointed to attend me, offred his seruice to pull off my cloathes. But they were such, and so ragged, that my selfe knew not very vvell how to put them either off, or on, vnlesse I tooke a great deale of care, disposing of one piece after another, for there was not any one part that was whole, or put in it's proper place, so that it was impossible to discern or know, which was the Ierkin, or the Bree∣ches, when you saw them layd abroad, and stretched out vpon the ground. So that I hauing vndone some few knots, with the which I had fastened them together for want of points, I let them slide off from me at the beds feet. And thus soule and slouenly as I was, and so lowsie, as no man could well be worse, I crept me in between the sheetes. The Bed was soft & good, the sheetes cleane and sweet. And when I was laid, I began to think with my selfe, sure, this good old man is my kinsman, that he vses me thus kindly, but will not make him∣selfe knowne vnto me, till to morrow morning. It is a good beginning, it cannot be, but that he will giue me new Cloathes, and deale kindly with me, since being in that poore and miserable estate as I was, he had giuen me such good entertainment. Questionlesse it is so, & now wil some faire fortune befall me. I was but yong, I did not diue to the bottome of his drift, I only lookt vpon the Superficies, I went no farther then the outward appearance. For, if I had had either wit or experience, I might haue considered with my selfe, that great offers, haue great ends, and that he that is full of courtesie, is full of craft. * 1.10 For such kindnesses as these, are not done for nothing, there is some mysterie more in it, then a man is aware of. And alwaies obserue this for a Maxime, or generall rule, That when a man shall offer the courtesies of an extraordinary nature, and such as heretofore he hath not been accustomed to doe, eyther he meanes to put a tricke vpon thee, or else he stands in neede of thee. The Ser∣uant, when he had me to bed, went forth of the Chamber, leauing a candle burning by me, I spake vnto him, wishing him to put it out. He told me, I must hold him excused, and that he would not doe so, for in the night time, there flye vp and downe in that Countrey (almost in euerie corner) certaine Bats, or Reare-Mise of an extraordinarie bignesse to those in other places, which are very offensiue, and doe much hurt, and that the only remedy against them, is to haue a light standing by ones bed side, for they can by no meanes indure it, but seeke to auoid it by flying away from it into some blind corner or other.

He likewise told me, that this their Country was full of Hob-gobblins, and Robin-good-fellowes, which were all great enemies to the light, but in your dark lodgings, they did now and then play their parts, and do many a shrewd turne. All which I did beleeue with the greatest simplicitie in the world.

This said, he went his wayes; and he was no sooner gone, but I presently got me vp, and made fast the doore, not that I was afraid of robbing (for I had nothing to lose) but out of a suspition and iealousie that I had, that some one mischance or other might befall me; being yong, vnfriended, vnknowne, and in a strange place, where I neuer was before.

Hauing (as I thought) made all sure, I returned back againe to my bed, fell presently asleepe, inioying (to my great content) a sweet and quiet rest; for the Pillowes, the a 1.11 Colchones, the Couerlets, and the Sheetes did drinke a Health vnto me, and I (with a very good will) did soundly pledge them.

The better part of the night was now ouer-past, the beame of mid-nights ballance began to decline, and leaned a little towards the breake of day, whi∣lest I, being in a dead sleepe, was wakened on the sudden with a confused noise of foure parts: Diuels they seemed to be by their shape, their habit, their blacke curled haire, and by those fearefull vgly vizards, which they had vpon their faces.

Hauing walkt their Stations a while about the Chamber, they came at last vnto the bed, vvherein I lay, putting me in such a fright, that I lost my sences for a time, and vvithout any vvord speaking, off they plucke the Couerlets from me, anon after the Sheetes. I wondred what a Gods name would become of me; I fell as fast as I could for my life, to crossing and blessing of my selfe; I ranne ouer my prayers, I called a thousand times vpon the name of I•…•…svs; but they vvere Daemonij baptizati, Christen Diuels, and therefore drew still neerer and neerer vnto me; They had put vpon the Colchone, vnder the ne∣ther sheet, a Blanket; euery one tooke hold of his corner, and haled me forth into the middle of the roome. I was much amazed, and extremely troubled, when I saw that my prayers could not preuaile; insomuch, that I did neither dare; and if I durst, yet I was not able to open my mouth, nor to speake so much as one word▪ if I might haue all the world for my labour.

The roome was high-roofed, and fitted for their purpose; where, when they had me out amongst them, they began to blanket me, and to tosse me vp in the aire, as they vse to doe dogges at Shroue-tide, till growing so weary, that they could hold out no longer, they left winnowing of me (being suffici∣ently fanned already) and laid me downe there againe, where they found me; and leauing me for dead, they couered me with the cloathes, and went out that way they came in, hauing first put out the light. I was so dis-ioynted, and so broken as it were in pieces, and so beside my selfe, that when it was day, I did not know, whether I were in heauen, or heere vpon earth: God, who was pleased to preserue me, knew for what end he did it.

It vvas now about eight of the Morning, and I was vvilling to rise, for that I found my selfe reasonably able to get vp. Me thought, I did not smell so sweet as I should, my body cleauing to the Sheetes, no clay could be more clammy, nor any plaister cling closer.

This put me in minde of my old Masters Wife, the Cooke. And although there are no perturbations, vvithout some one disorder or other, yet this did much afflict me. But now the Crow could bee no blacker, then vvere his vvings: And therefore I rubb'd ouer all my body with the cleanest places, that I could meet vvithall in the sheetes; vvhich vvhen, I had done, I beganne to buckle my harneys vnto me, and fall a knitting of my old knots, to my older cloathes. And the longer I vvas in making of me ready, the more I did con∣sider vvith my selfe, vvhat a Diuell that should be, that had befalne mee this last night: And if when I rose vp, I had not found my limm's almost shaken in pieces, my bones bruized, and in a manner out of ioynt, I should verily haue thought, that it had beene but a dreame. I look't round about the roome, but could by no meanes finde vvhich vvay they should come in. By the doore it vvas impossible, for I had shut that sure vvith mine owne hands, and found it 〈◊〉〈◊〉 lockt, as I left it.

Then I began to cast with my selfe, vvhether they might not be those Hob∣gobblins, and Robin-good-fellowes, vvhich the Yong-man told mee of ouer∣night. But that (me thought) could not be; for if it vvere so, then had hee done very ill, that he did not aduise me before-hand, that there vvere some

of these same mad merry sprites, that delighted as much in light, as other more melancholly Diuels did in darknesse.

Whilest I was musing on this businesse, and deuising with my selfe, how or vvhich way they could get in; I lifted vp the Hangings, to see, if behind them I could espy any little out-let; at last I lighted on an open window, which did butt out vpon the Court, thorow which we crost. Then I presently said with my selfe; This way were the Bulls brought in, my hurt came in at this Win∣dow; And albeit euery rib in my bodie, and all my bones throughout, did rattle in my skinne, making such a noise for all the world as your Chesse-men doe, when you shake them together in the bag, yet I did dissemble it all that I could (in regard of that slouenly part, which I had plaid against my will) till I should see my selfe quite cleare of the house: I threw vp the bed as hand∣somely as I could, couering all as close as might be, that if any should come in, they might not smell out my fault, and finde out the feeblenesse of my re∣tentiue faculties, and so the same Deuils be brought in againe, and torment me anew.

The seruant, that brought me thither, came to mee towards nine of the clocke, and told me, that his Master expected me in the Church, and that I must goe thither vnto him; And because I would not willingly haue his man stay behinde in the chamber, that I might get the start of him, I intreated him that he would doe me the kindnesse to bring me to the doore, because I was vnacquainted with the house, and knew not the way out. So he brought me forth into the street, and returned backe againe.

When I saw I was come off cleere from him, as if I had beene borne with wings at my feet, and my body had been sound & whole, I tooke a 1.12 Villa diego his Breeches, and tript away so nimbly, that he that had runne Post, should hardly haue ouertaken me. Hee runnes fast that flies: Feare addeth wings and strength; thought was not swifter then my flight. I bought something by the way to satisfie hunger, and for to gaine time, I eate as I went, and made no stay, till I was out of the Citie. Where in a Tauerne I call'd for a Cup of Wine, where-with I refresht my selfe, that I might walke the stronger to∣wards Rome, whither I had directed my iourney, thinking all the way as I went vpon that grosse scorne, whereby they sought to banish me out of Ge∣noa, to the end that my pouertie might not disgrace them; but I did not re∣maine their Debtor, nor had they any great cause to bragge thereof in the end, as you shall see in the second part.

Notes

• * 1.1

  The nature of 〈◊〉〈◊〉.
• * 1.2

  The Poore mans Epith•…•…, and his wretched condi∣tion.
• * 1.3

  The rich mans Epit•…•…ices, and his condition.
• a 1.4

  The Spanish 〈◊〉〈◊〉, Cub•…•…. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 v•…•…o 〈◊〉〈◊〉 de •…•…las de Ma•…•…ra del gad•…•…, que se çinne conar•…•… y cercos y commune∣mente se 〈◊〉〈◊〉 las cub•…•…s, par•…•… echa•…•… en ellas el V•…•…no. Couarruuia•…•….
• * 1.5

  A man without money, is a body without lif•…•….
• a 1.6

  The Spanish phrase, is, Que de atras le vi∣ene al garban∣ço el pico. Which is rendred as I haue here set it downe. Vide Couarruuias. Verb: Garban∣ço.
• b 1.7

  The e•…•…y∣mologie of this word Godo, or Gothe is diuers: and comes of Gathia, a Pro∣uince so called Got, also signi∣fies a Father, which is a phrase properly belonging vnto God. If from bence we deriue the name of Gothes, they must be men of esteeme, as Heroes, or good men. Goet, is as much as Good, from Got; qua voce Deum vocamus, quia bonum à Deo descendit, & ad Deum deducit. It is not a•…•…isse to thinke that Godo in it's Language, signifies Good. Some would haue it come of the Hebrew word Goi, which is by interpreta∣tion, Gens, or Natio. But fetch it whence you will, I am sure of this, that the Gothes were Lords of innumerable Prouinces, and particularly of Spaine, where they ruled a long time, till the vnfortunate raigne of Don Rodrigo, and of the Reliques of those, which had retyred themselues into the Mountaines, the Nobilitie of Spaine began anew to lift vp their heads, which conti∣•…•…th to this day; and is still in such estimation amongst them, that when they will set forth the presumption of some vaine∣gl•…•…us fellow, they will aske him, Si deciende de la casta de los Godos. Whether he bee •…•…ineally descended of the race of the Gothes.
• a 1.8

  Couarruu. The Spanish word is, Marra∣no. i. Porcus vn•…•…s anni. Et Iudaeus recen∣ter conuer•…•…s ad Christia∣nismum, cum Hispanis, voca∣t•…•…r Marrano. A notable plea∣sant trick put vpon Guzman, by a Genoes.
• a 1.9

  Arambal: is a Moorish word: and is a 〈◊〉〈◊〉 sort of Hangings.
• * 1.10

  A grande of∣ferta, grande pensamiento.
• a 1.11

  Your Spanish Colchones, are like our finer sort of English Ma∣tresses; quilted with Wooll, or Flaxe; for in your 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Coun∣tries they vse no feather-beds.
• a 1.12

  Tomar las calças de Villa diego. Vale huyr mas que de passo, This Prouerbe is in Celestine, but it's originall vn∣knowne: But it should seeme Villa Diego was driuen to his shifts, and not hauing time to put on his bree∣ches, was forced to flye away with them in his hand. Couarr. verb. Calças. Guzman, leaues Genoa, and goes for Rome.