A Story of the Fourteenth
Century, on Justice and Equity
Visconde de Figanière
Part of the story, as published by the “Daily
Alta California”
A 2016 Editorial Note:
The Visconde (Viscount) de Figanière, a Portuguese author, diplomat and
historian, was a personal friend and student of Helena P. Blavatsky. Born in
New York in 1827, he lived and worked in Brazil, Russia, Spain, England, and France.
Figanière is quoted in the work “The Secret Doctrine”, by Ms. Blavatsky,
and has his articles published in the two magazines founded by her. His great 1889 book “Estudos Esotéricos” (“Esoteric
Studies”) remains the main classical work of theosophical literature in
Portuguese language.
Short stories are not uncommon in theosophical literature. Helena
Blavatsky wrote a number of them, some of which involve murder. An assassination
also occurs in “The Shoemaker of Seville”. However, the story by Figanière has
less blood in its paragraphs than many a scene in Shakespeare’s plays.
This is a story about justice. It describes human despair in social
injustice. It offers the reader a moral
portrait of Christianity in the late Middle Ages, including its clergy. While
it is an illusion to think that violence can bring about justice, sometimes justice
is made in ironical ways, and equity and compassion can often emerge as
surprises.
“The Shoemaker of Seville” was published several years before Figanière
went to Madrid in April 1867 to work for one year as a diplomatic
representative of Portugal in Spain.
The story is historical: Pedro of Castile was born 30 August 1334 and
died on 23 March 1369. He was the king of Castile and León from 1350 to 1369.
“The Shoemaker of Seville” is reproduced from the “Daily Alta California”, San Francisco, USA, Volume 13, Number
4,132, dated 9 June 1861.
The investigation made by Joana Maria Pinho reveals it was first published
in “New York Ledger”, USA, number 8,
April 27, 1861. In both occasions the story appeared with no name of author,
but there is no doubt about who wrote it. The authorship is indicated in
various places, including Figanière’s biography on p. 198 of the book “Portugal e os Estrangeiros”, second
part, by Manuel Bernardes Branco, vol. II, Imprensa Nacional, Lisbon, Portugal,
1893, 703 pages.
(Carlos Cardoso Aveline)
The Shoemaker of Seville
Visconde de Figanière
Chapter I
In a wretched hovel in the city of Seville, were seated a woman, whose
wrinkles seemed rather the legacy of misfortune than of years, and a youth, but
just emerging from boyhood, both busy at work upon a pair of shoes. The scanty furniture
and ruined state of the habitation, devoid of aught in the shape of ornament,
except a cross carved in black wood, and none the better for age, were tangible
proofs of the utterly destitute state of the inmates.
“Gil”, said the woman.
“What is it, mother?” replied the youth.
The former wiped her eyes, suffused with tears, and proceeded in a
melancholy tone:
“ ’Tis a sad anniversary this! Today three years ago our home was not so
poor, nor our bread to sour; I was not a widow, nor wert thou an orphan! Alas! Today
Antonio Peres sleeps in the cemetery of the poor, beside the despised Moor and
Jew; we were even deprived of the luxury of giving him a decent burial.”
“And thus”, said the orphan, in a voice of stifled rage, “and thus are
my father’s ashes dishonored, and we are living in want, whilst-----”
“Whilst his murderer liveth in the fullness of plenty and prosperity”,
added the mother, breaking in upon her son’s speech. “He is a canon of the
Cathedral, and the pious people of Seville flock to hear his sermons; he enjoys
the King’s favor, and the nobles kneel to him - all pay their respects to the assassin,
because he took away the life neither of a noble, nor a priest - he killed a
poor artisan, a nobody - thy father!”
Gill sprang up, and seizing an old rusty dagger which lay near him, he
went and sat by his mother, saying:
“Mother do let me hear all the particulars of that tragic event.”
“And what good will it do?” said
the mother. “Grief is no consolation; tears cannot satisfy vengeance.”
“True: but ’tis well to let wounds
bleed, and hate fret itself!” replied the youth, with a grim smile.
The mother perceived her son’s meaning, and seizing one of his hands,
gave it a tender pressure.
“Three years ago”, said she, “abundance reigned in the home of Peres,
the shoemaker. We were not rich; but cravings of want and the heart-burnings of
poverty were unknown to us. Thy father, skilled in his craft, worked night and
day, in order to increase his earnings; and we enjoyed that simple, unaspiring
state of happiness, which is neither the fruit of idleness, nor of baseness.
Meanwhile, Don Pedro came to the throne, ushered in by crimes of the deepest
dye. In Seville, there were two enraged factions tearing each other to pieces
in the streets and public squares; but obscurity was our shield, and we were
left unmolested. There was not a family more united, or more happy than that of
the shoemaker, Antonio Peres.”
The widow’s countenance had become animated, as she dwelt upon the
pleasing recollections; but now it relapsed into its wonted expression of
melancholy, and, resting her head upon the shoulder of her attentive son, she
continued:
“That period of happiness proved of short duration. The canon Don
Henriquez accompanied the King, Don Pedro, to Seville; he was cemented by blood
with the Albuquerques; he was a favorite of the King’s; he was the assassin of
Jaques de Calatrava, and born of an illustrious family; he could therefore act
with impunity. Don Henriquez led a dissipated life; but this passed unnoticed,
because he had sufficient power to keep gossip within bounds, and wealth wherewith
to purchase the good graces of justice; he had, however, the misfortune to be
lame, and this afflicted him beyond measure. He heard of thy father as being
very skillful in his trade, and, thinking that Antonio might succeed in
concealing his deformity, he sent for him. Thy father did his best to please
the canon; but all in vain. He would not be pleased, and such was his rage on
one occasion, that he flung the shoes at thy father’s face, saying that for his
want of aptitude he deserved to be sent to the gallows. Although Peres was but
a shoemaker, yet possessing as much self-respect as those of a higher station,
he ventured to say in reply, that nature had given a bad shape to his
reverence’s foot. Stung to the quick, and giving a loose rein to his fury, Don
Henriquez seized a staff which stood by, and struck thy father such a violent
blow on the head, that he fell never to rise more. The consequences of this
murder did not, however, cause him much disquietude, as he relied upon his
influence and opulence for safety.”
The son of Peres gnashed hit teeth and the muscles of his face moved
convulsively. Sobs and tears choked the utterance of his mother; but after a
slight pause she proceeded with her narrative:
“How can I express the emotions that oppressed my bosom when thy father’s
corpse was brought home? I had no sooner learnt the name of his murderer, than,
frantic with despair, I laid hold of a dagger - this very one”, and she laid
her hand on the weapon covered with rust, which her son was sharpening, as he
listened to the story. “My design was to revenge the death of my husband; but I
remembered that I was a mother, and thought there was a court, where justice
would be done, and an executioner to carry its sentence into effect. I presented
myself to the Chapter, threw myself on my knees, and with tears in my eyes laid
my pitiable case before the canons: and the Lord knows what humble entreaties I
addressed to the judges, with what vehemence I endeavored to move them to pity.
The judges listened attentively, promised me the most ample satisfaction, and a
week later Don Henriquez was condemned-----”
“To be quartered alive?” asked the youth, interrupting.
“No: to be deprived from assisting in the choir with the other members
of the Chapter during a whole year”, continued the widow.
Chapter II
It was Corpus Christi day; the people of Seville were collected in dense
crowds in the vicinity of the cathedral, in order to view the procession. The
churches were adorned with all the grandeur of Catholic pomp; the streets were
strewed with flowers; in a word, the city which was so often deluged in blood
by the broils of the nobles and the savage despotism of the king, had assumed
an unusual appearance of gaiety and festivity. In the midst of the general stir
and bustle, there was one, seated on the steps of the alcazar, who seemed to take
no interest in the tumultuous joy of the crowd. He was still young, but his
austere and wrinkled face showed the ravages brought on by harrowing thoughts
and premature sorrow. On beholding the disheveled state of his hair, the
melancholy glance of his eye, the convulsive vivacity of his gestures, the anomalous
combination of feebleness and energy, of wildness and despondency, which discomposed
his features, it was easy to guess that his heart was lacerated by the vehemence
of his passions, and that the bloom of youth had been withered by misfortunes
of no ordinary nature. He remained for several hours buried in thought, his head
leaning against one of the columns of the alcazar. [1]
The glimmer of twilight had gradually increased, and the minarets and
steeples, which stood in various directions near the alcazar, were now shrouded
in darkness. The young man woke from his lethargy, arose, and, casting around
him a searching look, murmured to himself:
“Am I again to be doomed to disappointment?”
He had hardly pronounced the words, when he perceived a priest advancing
at a slow pace in the direction of the cathedral. The young man rushed upon
him, like a tiger upon its prey, and while seizing him by the hand and shaking
him, cried out:
“Dost thou know me, Don Henriquez?”
“No”, answered the priest, starting back, and endeavoring to free
himself from the grasp of his assailant.
“I am a poor orphan, a workman, one of the people, who can be beaten,
trodden upon, insulted, and killed with impunity. I am the son of Antonio
Peres!”
At that name the canon turned pale and trembled.
“Dost thou not know me?” continued Gil. “Overloaded with crimes and
wealth, thou hast forsooth been neglectful of thy memory! Condemned to put off
the cassock for a year, in expiation of the blood shed by thy hands, thou hast
not given evidence of the slightest remorse; nay, thou didst seek consolation
for this ridiculous sentence in bacchanalian revels. But if God hath delayed
chastisement - if the judges, bribed by thy gold, allowed my father’s murderer
to go unpunished - Providence hath an avenger in store. Didst thou not
remember, Don Henriquez, that thy victim had a son - that this son might grow
up to manhood - and that hatred would increase with his years? Didst thou
forget that the unhappy man left vengeance as my sole inheritance, or didst
thou think that the son of the shoemaker would refuse the legacy?”
“Villain!” exclaimed Don Henriquez, in a faltering tone.
“Assassin!” was the retort. “Long, long have I been wishing to have thee
alone in my presence, that I might tell thee thou wert the murderer of my
father, that thou wert the cause that my mother died worn down by grief and
affliction; thou hast poisoned my existence, and blasted in me the freshness of
youth! For three years this has been my nourishment. ’Tis hate that has
sustained me in my resolution, while subject to abject poverty; ’tis hate that
has kept me from despair! More than twenty times has this dagger been aimed at
thy heart; but as often has chance protected thee, and delayed my vengeance.
But now neither soldiers nor precautions can save thee! thy calls will not be
heard! darkness will conceal thy blood from view, nor could a more appropriate
moment be selected for the expiation of thy crime; on this day, six years back,
did my father die at thy vile hands!”
The priest had hoped that his clerical office would be a safeguard
against violence; but when he heard the youth’s virulent expressions, when he saw
the glistening of his eyes and his colorless lips - unmistakable symptoms of merciless
wrath - he became aware that hope lay not that way, and that he now must have recourse
to humility and entreaty, in order to save his life.
“Involuntary homicide is no crime”, said he. “It is true, I killed thy
father; but God knows that I sought not his death. There is no error but that
it may be atoned for, no crime which remorse may not purge us of. Young man, say
what thou wouldst have - what can I do for thee? Speak! To whatever height thy
ambition may aspire, I can satisfy it. I will redeem thee from thy present
state of penury; thou shalt rise to prosperity. I will make thee powerful,
respected-----”
“And happy?”
“Perhaps.”
“But will thy gifts restore my poor father to life?”
“If they cannot bring him back, they will at least enable thee to raise
a monument to his memory, and to have masses said for the repose of his soul.”
“And dost thou dare to hope that such offers as these will move me to
pardon my father’s murderer?”
“Our lord forgave those who put him to death. Forget the crime, and accept
the repentance: if prayers have touched thy heart with pity, tears -----”
“Never!” exclaimed Gil; “tears shall not wipe out thy crime! My father’s
blood shall be no object of barter! Thy money succeeded in corrupting justice;
Heaven has spared thee a while; but I will prove less venal than thy judges,
for I am the instrument of Divine justice!”
As he said these last words, he sheathed his poniard in his victim’s
breast; then, whilst he wiped the blood from the weapon with the folds of his
cloak, he gazed unmoved upon the lifeless body.
“Thou hast paid the debt”, said he; “I am satisfied!”
Chapter III
No name in the annals of Spain can be compared with that of Don Pedro of
Castile in the enormity of his crimes. The poisoning of his wife, Donna Branca,
and of his brother Frederic; the murder of Albuquerque, of the Jew Levi, of
Mohammed, King of Granada, and of many others; the butcheries of Toledo, the
taxes under which he made the people groan, the confiscations he devised, the
torments[2] he invented, and the
licentiousness of his conduct have all helped to give to the name of this
prince a fearful celebrity.
Yet, notwithstanding the monstrous crimes with which he tainted the
throne, Don Pedro of Castile evinced, on a great many occasions, a certain
regard for justice; and, although it never proved a barrier to his own
passions, he seldom allowed others to follow his example. The Spaniards call
him indifferently Pedro the Cruel, or Pedro the Just.
Immediately after he had killed Don Henriquez, Gil gave himself to the
authorities of his own accord, confessing the deed he had committed; and, being
brought to trial, was condemned. The case, however came to the ears of the
king, then at Seville, who gave orders that the matter should be left in his
hands, and the culprit brought before him.
“Thou art accused of having assassinated the canon Don Henriquez”, said
the king to the prisoner.
“And I most assuredly did kill him”, he replied.
“For what cause?”
“To avenge Antonio Peres, who was murdered by the canon.”
“And why didst thou not apply to the judicial authorities?”
“Because at Seville the scales of justice are not equally balanced.
Unable to obtain a judgment against my father’s murderer, I took upon myself
the duty of both judge and executioner.”
“But wert thou not aware of the penalty of the deed?”
“Most assuredly I was; the disparity between my position and that of
Henriquez was alone sufficient to dispel all doubts as to the consequences.”
The king turned round to the Corregidor, and said to him:
“What sentence was passed upon the assassin of the shoemaker, Peres?”
“He was deprived of the privilege of sitting in the choir during a whole
year.”
“And to what has the murderer of the canon Don Henriquez been condemned?”
“To be quartered alive.”
“Por Dios y la Virgin Santa!” exclaimed
Don Pedro; “justice should eschew all distinctions of rank, nor admit any claim
for privileges. We annul the sentence passed by the court, and are pleased to
condemn the son of the shoemaker to the penalty of not making shoes during a
whole year.”
NOTES:
[1] The Alcazar of
Seville is a royal palace in Seville, Spain, originally developed by Moorish
Muslim kings. The palace is renowned as one of the most beautiful in the
country. (CCA)
[2] Forms of physical
torture used to torment prisoners. (CCA)
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