PERUVIAN TRADITIONS:

Ricardo Palma ’s Latin American Historic and Folkloric Tales

Written by

Ricardo Palma

Edited by

Merlin D. Compton

Translated by

Merlin D. Compton and and Timothy G. Compton

Copyright © 2003 by Merlin D. Compton

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems with out permission in writing from the copyright holder.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

There are many I need to recognize for their help in making this volume possible. In so many ways my son Dr. Timothy Compton, Professor of Spanish at Northern Michigan University , provided essential assistance. He translated some of the traditions and proofread all of the ones I translated. His translation skills and his many suggestions have been invaluable. Thanks to my eldest son, Dr. Todd Compton for all of his help and advice. To my daughter Tina Compton go my heartfelt thanks for helping me with the computer work. It would have been very difficult to complete the project without her knowledge and encouragement. My other children, Terry Ann Harward and Tamara Anderson have always shown interest in my research and have always wanted to see the published results of that research. My wife, Avon Allen Compton, provided the original ink sketches that she did in Peru while I was researching the works of Ricardo Palma. For her support and love my deepest gratitude. Professor Oswaldo Holguín, Professor of History at the Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú, Lima , Peru, accomplished Palmista, has given me continued encouragement and has never let me forget that Palma ’s works deserve to be made available to those who read English.

This work would not have been possible without the time for research made available to me by Brigham Young University while I was a Professor of Spanish and Portuguese at that institution. And finally, thanks to Tim Murphy and 1stBooks Library for making this book a published reality.

Merlin Compton

St. George , Utah

August, 2003

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INTRODUCTION TO THE TRANSLATED TRADITIONS

The world of the Peru of the colonial years is one that the pages of this volume open up in a way that makes of the reader a spectator of one of the most fascinating periods in the history of the Americas . Ricardo Palma, an illustrious Peruvian writer who was born in 1833 and died in 1919, set about to make that world come to life by transforming history into short prose pieces which he called “traditions.” What are “traditions”? They are history and they are not history. They are short stories and they are not short stories. They are anecdotes and they are not anecdotes. And yet they may include all of these and much, much more. In fact, we may say that an accurate definition would require a long paragraph and even then the definition would not be complete. The problem we face here is that Palma did not set out to clothe his thoughts in any particular literary genre or in any genres. When he began his literary career he was writing poetry and dramas and dabbling in history. His great dream was to write successful Romantic dramas and poetry. When he was about eighteen years of age, the idea of writing “traditions” was apparently far from his mind. At this early age he had published articles in many newspapers, had written two dramas and had published a number of poems. His first prose piece, “Consolación,” a Romantic memoir, he sketched in 1851. It is evident that this piece is completely unlike the prose pieces Palma years later called “traditions.” It is merely a sentimental story told in a serious, not very attractive style. The history of Peru is not treated in any way and the satirical, the ironic, the sprightly humorous style, hallmarks of his mature productions, are nowhere in evidence. Many years would pass before what we know as the typical “tradition” would come into existence.

The “tradition” treats history, but in an oblique way, for important events are rarely the focus of the author’s interest. Thus, he portrays incidents which relate to historical events which bring to light human foibles and idiosyncrasies on one hand and examples of courage and integrity on the other. In this manner Palma is able to paint a remarkable panorama of life in Peru ’s colonial years. Depicted is a wide range of the members of the society of that period, from viceroys and their courts to criminals and their milieu. In between we find just about every social type, including nobles, priests, soldiers, merchants, beggars, nuns, housewives and prostitutes. As we see these people in their daily pursuits we are permitted to understand what were the important values in their lives and what motivated them. By so doing Palma has made it possible for us to feel the spirit of Peru by his recreation of the past. But as previously suggested, this is no boring, dusty recounting of history; this is literature based often, but ever so slightly, on a historical foundation. In fact, this type of literature fits into no recognized category, thus it is considered to be a new genre, the “tradition,” created by Ricardo Palma.

In order to characterize the genre we must pay attention to the style, which is unique. Palma ’s “traditions” continue to be printed and one of the reasons for their popularity is their style. Although Palma is at times completely serious his most celebrated pieces are light in tone, even playful, as he pokes fun at the pompous, the overbearing, the egotistical. Targets of his satirical pen are institutions such as the Catholic Church, the monarchy, the courts, education, etc. However, he does not attack these institutions head on, but rather prefers to point out the human weaknesses of individuals who make up these institutions.

In the “tradition” we find poetry, some of which is original, slang, proverbs, archaic words, humor and a rich vocabulary. It is to his credit that hundreds of words now a part of the dictionary of the Royal Spanish Academy were first submitted by him to that body for their consideration.

II

This is a world about which many Americans are not very knowledgeable. It is a world in which the monarchy and the Catholic Church are the two most powerful institutions and honor is the concept on which all Spaniards, especially those of the nobility, based their behavior. It is a world of hierarchy and privileges, which arbitrarily set limits to political achievements. Race and blood were determining factors in the worth of an individual. Moors and Jews were infidels and were driven from Spain . No one could aspire to any political office if there was even one drop of Moorish or Jewish blood in his veins. Thus the need for establishing one’s genealogy became critical and certificates of lineage were zealously sought and zealously preserved. And if a researcher had to be bribed to expunge from a certificate some Jewish or Moorish blood four generations back—well, who would know the difference? And here the concept of honor impinges upon the question of race. Theoretically a person whose blood was not “pure” could not possess honor, nor could he be of the nobility. But to complicate matters even further, a person could have the purest blood and even be born into a noble family and yet be denied being considered for important government positions if he had the misfortune of being born in the New World instead of in Spain . In the hierarchy of privilege a person born in the mother country was called a peninsular and the person who was born in the New World was a criollo, and thus was automatically inferior, a source of jealousy and bitterness which played an important role in the wars for Independence . Of course mestizos, those who possessed a mixture of Spanish and Indian blood could claim no privileges at all and Indians and blacks were at the bottom of the heap. They were the servants and the workers and they really had no social status.

In this world where honor was all-important, even the slightest suspicion could stain one’s reputation and call for violent means to regain lost honor. Many “traditions” turn on the question of honor because the concept of honor permeated all of society. In the code of honor, which was not a written one, more important than what happened was whether it was made public and what people thought of the situation. Cervantes expressed this idea very well in one of his stories from Novelas exemplares (Exemplary Novels) entitled “Call of the Blood,” when a father says the following to his daughter who has been abducted and raped by a reckless young nobleman, “...and know, my child, that an ounce of public dishonor weighs more than a bushel of secret infamy.” This concept is expressed by the words ¿qué dirán,? a question which translates to the English “What will people say?” One would not be far off the mark by saying that in those days and to a certain extent even today in the Hispanic world that it would be better to be dead than to lose one’s honor. Thus the reader of these “traditions” should pay particular attention to the way in which the concept of honor plays itself out in the lives of Palma ’s characters. Many died because of sullied honor, real or just suspected or imagined.

In view of the fact that the history of Peru attracted Palma with a very strong pull, we are not surprised to see what an important role historical events play in his “traditions.” However, some readers may be a little disconcerted to find inserted in the middle of some of the stories a section that has nothing to do with the developing plot. Its purpose is to provide a historical background for the period in which the story takes place. One of Palma’s purposes for writing “traditions” was to expose his fellow Peruvians to their country’s history, of which he felt far too many were ignorant, or almost so. Therefore, if the reader of these “traditions” wishes to, he or she should feel at liberty to skip these historical sections, which Palma at times referred to as the “obligado parrafillo histórico” (“obligatory short historical paragraph”). Let the reader be assured that by so doing nothing in the plot will be lost. We have identified these historical sections by the word HISTORY as shown. The reader may wish to skip over these sections if he or she is interested only in the main narrative.

Related to the question of the “historical paragraph” is that of digressions in general. There are many of them. that are not a resume of the reign of the viceroy of the period under consideration. Palma felt that they added interest to his works; in fact, in a long poem (“Flor de los cielos” [1852]) he expressed his idea this way:

Pardon me if I return to my customary

Habit of inserting digressions;

Without digressions a story is no good,

It’s like a drama without any scoundrels.

The use of digressions may do violence to the desire on the part of some readers to read a plot, which is neatly structured. That attitude is understandable. However I would suggest that in the case of Palma ’s “traditions” the digressions relate to the story line in some way and add variety and spice to his works.

If the monarchy and the related hierarchy of the nobility are over-arching in the lives of colonial Peruvians, just a tiny bit less important is the role of the Catholic Church and its most feared instrumentality—the Inquisition. And to be completely accurate, at times the Church and the Inquisition were more powerful than the viceregal government. Only one religion, the Christian religion, was allowed and only one church, the Catholic Church, had the right to exist. Life revolved around Masses, christenings, marriages and funerals, not to mention confession and processions and feast days, usually to honor some saint. The Inquisition’s influence was felt everywhere, including on reading material. The Holy Office determined which books could be imported into the New World and kept a list of prohibited works, some of ones which portrayed immoral life (novels in general), some of which raised unwelcome questions about Church dogma or those who ran the affairs of that institution, and others which treated political theories or actions which attacked the monarchy and advanced the cause for independence from the mother country. In addition, the Inquisition was on the lookout for heretics and members of the Church who were accused of practicing witchcraft, of immoral behavior or of religious views, which were at variance with accepted Church doctrine and practice. Just about every person in Peru feared a knock at the door at midnight which would precede a surprise arrest and being carried off in the infamous green carriage to, at the very least, incarceration, which could result in sequestration of goods and property, torture and even death. This fear was well founded for many reasons, but especially because the accused was never told which charge or charges had been leveled against him and who had leveled the charge. It should be noted, however, that Indians, considered to be innocent creatures, were not victims of the Inquisition, and that the Holy Office’s activities were not as severe as they were in the peninsula. Further, relatively few heretics were burned at the stake in the New World .

In addition to the Inquisition the Church possessed one other tool to enforce conformity—excommunication. To lose one’s membership in the Church and at the same time lose all hope for salvation and for any social standing was indeed a heavy blow. Little wonder that even the threat of excommunication could force a person to get into line.

Since the Church, in its manifold roles, is one of Palma’s favorite themes, so in this world that Palma created we find the Inquisition, excommunication, many, many miracles and priests and nuns praying and meditating and at times in conflict with each other and with the government and with other religious orders. Palma takes great delight in poking fun, not maliciously, at ecclesiastics who take themselves too seriously and at Church practices that smack of authoritarianism and lack of good judgment.

III

In 1945 Harriet de Onís published an excellent translation of thirty-eight “traditions.” That collection has been out of print for many years. This volume which the reader is now reading contains forty-one “traditions,” some twenty-nine of which did not appear in the De Onís collection. Why another volume of “traditions”? I put forth four reasons: 1) They open up to the reader a fascinating world almost completely unknown to the American reader. 2) They are enjoyable reading because of popular themes, such as: intrigue, treasures, duels, honor, love, vengeance, etc. 3) They make the past come alive. And 4) Even though inevitably something is lost in translation, Palma ’s engaging style shines through. In his “traditions” we see a light tone with a sparkling use of language in which he exhibits a sure hand and a masterful knowledge of every level of written and spoken Spanish in Peru from the erudite to the familiar. Many writers have tried to imitate that style; none have succeeded.

IV

Ricardo Palma’s life began in Lima in 1833 and ended in a suburb of that city, Miraflores, in 1919. In between he pursued a writing career that included writing articles for and directing newspapers, composing poetry and dramas, publishing works on lexicography and the history of Peru , in addition to creating more than 500 “traditions.” He spent several years on the Pacific Ocean serving his country on some of Peru ’s warships and as a liberal opposed the government of President Ramón Castilla and took part in a plot against him which failed and resulted in Palma ’s being exiled to Chile for a period of about three years. In 1865 he began to work with José Gálvez, who was Minister of War. One year later Spanish forces invaded the Chincha Islands and bombarded Callao . Gálvez lost his life when a shell from the attacking Spanish naval force exploded in an ammunition magazine. Palma had been with Gálvez and his life was spared only because just a short time before the bombardment he had left to establish telegraphic communication with Lima .

In 1867 José Balta rebelled against the then president, Mariano Prado. Palma backed Balta and later when the rebel chief overthrew Prado and became President, Palma became Balta’s private secretary and also senator from the district of Loreto. Five years later three colonels rebelled against Balta and assassinated him. At this point Palma turned his back on the present in which he was living and tried to bury his life in the past. From this time on Palma ’s involvement in politics was of little significance. It should be noted that this year, 1872, was a pivotal one in his life for the reason just mentioned and because it was in this same year that he published his first collection of “traditions,” which he entitled Tradiciones.

In 1876 he married Cristina Román and in 1878 he was named corresponding member of the Royal Spanish Academy . The following year hostilities broke out between Peru and Chile in what became known as the War of the Pacific. Palma fought against Chilean troops at Miraflores, where he owned a home. Chile won the war easily and before the invaders had left, Palma ’s home and his private library were in ashes and Peru ’s National Library in Lima had been sacked. Palma had been associated with this Library for some time, so the loss of thousands of books and manuscripts was a deep personal tragedy. After the departure of the Chileans Palma was named Director of the National Library, a position he held for about thirty years. The Library became the home of Palma ’s family and also became his second love, his first love being that of his wife. He became known as the “Bibliotecario Mendigo” (“librarian beggar”) because he asked friends the world over to send books to the Library to replace those, which the Chileans had destroyed or stolen. Another high point in his life was being named Peru ’s official delegate to Spain in 1892 to help celebrate the Fourth Centenary of the discovery of America .

He was dealt a severe blow in 1911 when his beloved wife died and suffered another one in 1912 when for political reasons his resignation as Director of the Library was accepted. In failing health he lived out the rest of his life in his home in Miraflores, dying in full control of his faculties and revered as one of Peru ’s great literary figures.

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PREFACE

Of the more than 500 “traditions” Palma wrote, why have we chosen to translate the forty-one found in this volume? Our criteria fall into three basic categories: 1) Plot; 2) Portrayal of Peruvian colonial society; and 3) Style.

Included are “traditions” which have been our favorites for decades because they treat themes of adventure and intrigue, because they show us what Peruvian society was like, and because they exhibit Palma ’s sprightly style. These, then, are “traditions” which we have selected very subjectively. They are works that give the reader some idea about the nature of these short pieces that breathe life into Peru ’s dusty past.

The translations are ours and ours alone. We fully understand that not all will agree with our interpretation of these “traditions.” That we are willing to accept. We ourselves often disagree on the interpretation of certain passages. However, in spite of any missteps we might have committed we feel that our work faithfully communicates the spirit of Palma ’s “traditions” and for the first time in many years makes the world he created available to everyone who reads the English language.

The editor has supplied all footnotes, unless a note is specifically referred to as “ Palma ’s note.” Since some readers will be reading selected stories, some footnotes repeat.

Because of the historical base on which the majority of the “traditions” were structured, it was felt advisable to arrange the pieces in this volume in chronological order, thus permitting the reader to follow, to a certain extent, the flow of history in Peru . The dates in which the action was supposed to have taken place in the “traditions” have been listed below.

Chapter Year Title 1 1541 The Knights of the Cape 2 1542 Don Alonso the Brawny One 3 1551 The Mayor’s Ears 4 1558 The Singing Letter 5 1561 A Famous Excommunication 6 1561 The Conspiracy of the Saya y manto 7 1575 I Appeal to the Church 8 1587 The Nun of the Key 9 1591 Once on the Donkey, Suffer the Whip Lashes 10 1600 The Governments of Peru 11 1601 Woman and Tiger 12 1604-06 The Viceroy of the Miracles 13 1615 The Goblins of Cuzco 14 1616 Two Friendly Little Doves 15 1619 The Tiles of the Church of San Francisco 16 1620 Happy Barber 17 1625 The Righteous and the Sinners 18 1631 The Powders of the Countess 19 1639 Why Friar Martín of Porres, Limean Saint, Doesn’t Perform Miracles Any Longer 20 1639 Friar Martín’s Mice 21 1640 A Life in Exchange for Honor 22 1656 A Heretic Viceroy and a Cunning Bellringer 23 1668 Drink, Father, This Is a Lifesaver 24 1673 The Christ of the Agony 25 1696 The Love of a Mother 26 1698 An Original Lawsuit 27 17__ An Elegant Preacher 28 1706 Don Dimas de la Tijereta 29 1727 A Limeña’s Whim 30 1765 Margarita’s Chemise 31 1768 “Well, I Am a Beauty and a Castellanos.” 32 1780 The Cigar Vendor of Huacho 33 1788 “Mari Ramos’ Little Kitten That Cajoles with its Tail and Scratches with its Paws.” 34 1790 Ijurra, Don’t Rush the Donkey 35 1796 To Jail with Every Christ 36 1801 An Intimate Drama 37 1806 The Viceroy of the Riddle 38 1816-24 Where and How the Devil Lost His Poncho 39 1821 Conquer We Will with Days and Jars 40 1822 The Calf of the Leg of the Commander 41 1825 The Secret of the Confessional

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CHAPTER 1

THE KNIGHTS OF THE CAPE

(1541)

(The Chronicle of a Civil War)

For Don Juan de la Pezuela, Count of Cheste.

I

WHO THE KNIGHTS OF THE CAPE WERE AND THE OATH THEY SWORE

On the afternoon of June 5, 1541, twelve Spaniards, all of whom had been honored by the king for their exploits in the conquest of Peru , met at the mansion of Pedro de San Millán .

The house that sheltered them consisted of a parlor, five rooms, and a large open area. Six leather chairs, an oak bench and a dirty table flush with the wall constituted the furniture of the parlor. Thus, just like the clothing of the structure’s inhabitants, the house itself proclaimed a poverty that bordered on destitution. And that was the truth.

The twelve noblemen belonged to the number of men who had been defeated April 6, 1538, in the battle of Salinas . The victor had confiscated their goods but they were allowed to breathe the air of Lima , where they survived due to the kindnesses of certain friends. The victor, as was the practice in those days, could have had them hanged without any problem; but Don Francisco Pizarro was ahead of his time, and seemed much more like a man from our age, in which an enemy isn’t always killed or imprisoned, but is deprived either wholly or partially of his ration of bread. Crestfallen yet lifted up, filled up yet starving, that was the Colony, and it has been and is the Republic. As the verse goes:

We leave Guate-mala (mala = bad)

And enter Guate-peor; (peor = worse)

The tambourine changes hands

But not the music.

Or as they say in Italy : Break free of the barbarians only to fall into the hands of the Barbarini.

The names of these twelve knights were Pedro de San Millán, Cristóbal de Sotelo, García de Alvarado, Francisco de Chávez, Martín de Bilbao, Diego Méndez, Juan Rodríguez Barragán, Gómez Pérez, Diego de Hoces, Martín Carrillo, Jerónimo de Almagro and Juan Tello.

Because of the importance of the role they play in this chronicle, we will quickly draw a historical sketch of each of the noblemen, starting with the owner of the house. A tout seigneur, tout honneur.

Pedro de San Millán, Knight of the Order of Santiago , was thirty-eight years old and was among the 170 conquistadors who captured Atahualpa. Upon dividing out the ransom of the Inca, he received 135 weights of silver and 3330 ounces of gold. As a loyal friend of Don Diego de Almagro, he fell in line under Almagro’s standard and fell into disfavor with the Pizarros, who confiscated his fortune, leaving him, as an alm, the dilapidated mansion on Judíos Street . It is said: “A small cage is large enough for a sparrow.” San Millán, when fortune had smiled upon him, had been guilty of ostentatiousness and of excessive spending. He was brave, genteel, and generally popular.

Cristobál de Sotelo was approaching fifty-five years of age, and having served as a soldier in Europe , his opinion was very highly regarded. He was the infantry commander in the battle of Salinas .

García de Alvarado was a dashing young man of twenty-eight, possessing a martial air and an overbearing manner. He was very ambitious and very sure of himself. He also exhibited streaks of roguishness and villainy.

Diego Méndez, of the Order of Santiago , served with the famous general Rodrigo Ordóñez, who died in the battle of Salinas while commanding the losing army. Méndez was forty-three and was better known as a Don Juan and courtier than as a soldier.

The chroniclers tell us little regarding Francisco de Chaves, Martín de Bilbao, Diego de Hoces, Gómez Pérez and Martín Carrillo, only that they were fearless soldiers and beloved of their own men. None of them had reached thirty five years of age.

Juan Tello, the Sevillian, was one of the twelve founders of Lima . The others were Marquis Pizarro, the Treasurer Alonso Riquelme, the Inspector García de Salcedo, the Sevillian Nicolás de Rivera the elder, Ruiz Diáz, Rodrigo Mazuelas, Cristobál Palomino, the Salamancan Nicolás de Rivera the younger, and Picado, the secretary. The first mayors of Lima ’s town council were Rivera the elder and Juan Tello. It is obvious that the latter had been an important person, and at the time of our story was forty six years old.

Jerónimo de Almagro was born in the same city as Marshal Almagro. Because of this detail and their last names that were in common, they referred to each other as cousin. Such a relationship did not exist, for Don Diego was an impoverished orphan. Jerónimo was about 40 years old.

It is common knowledge that just as in our day nobody who considers himself to be anybody will be seen in the street in shirtsleeves, likewise, in days past, nobody who was aspiring to be held as a decent man would dare show his face publicly without a cape. Whether it was hot or cold, on a walk, at a banquet or in a church ceremony, the Spaniard and his cape formed an inseparable partnership. Because of this, I suspect that the decree issued in 1822 by Minister Monteagudo prohibiting the Spaniards the use of the cape was as important for Peru ’s independence as winning any battle. With its cape outlawed, Spain disappeared.

To compound the misery of our twelve noblemen, between them there was only one cape. And when one of them was compelled to leave, the eleven who remained were unable to set foot outside the mansion because they lacked the indispensable garment.

Antonio Picado, Marquis Don Francisco Pizarro’s secretary, or stated more aptly, his demon of perdition, referred one day to the noblemen as the “Knights of the Cape .” The nickname became famous and before long was on everyone’s lips.

This is a convenient spot for a brief biographical note about Picado.

He came to Peru in 1534 as secretary to Marshal Don Pedro de Alvarado, he of the famous leap in Mexico . Alvarado claimed that certain territories in the North were not included in the territories conceded by the Emperor to Pizarro as part of the conquest and just as he was about to take up arms against Don Diego de Almagro’s forces, Picado sold Alvarado’s secrets to Almagro. One night, suspecting that this infamy would soon be discovered, Picado fled to the enemy camp. Alvarado sent forces in his pursuit, but after failing to overtake him, wrote Don Diego saying that he would not enter into any treaty unless they first sent back the traitor. The gallant Almagro rejected the proposal, thus saving the life of a man who later proved to be traitorous to him and his men.

Don Francisco Pizarro made Picado his secretary, and in this office he exercised a fatal, decisive influence over the Marquis. It was Picado who, stifling the governor’s generous impulses, made him hostile towards those whose only crime had been losing the battle of Salinas .

By 1541 it was known that the monarch, informed of what was happening in these kingdoms, was sending the lawyer Don Cristóbal Vaca de Castro to impeach the governor; and the followers of Almagro, preparing to demand justice for the death of Don Diego, sent captains Alonso Portocarrero and Juan Balsa to receive the man commissioned by the crown and give him reports to bias his opinion. But the investigating judge did not arrive when expected. Sickness and maritime setbacks delayed his arrival at the City of Kings .

Pizarro, meanwhile, decided to win friends, even those of the Knights of the Cape . He sent messages to Sotelo, Chaves, and others, offering to help them out of their indigent situation. But to the credit of the followers of Almagro, they did not stoop to receive the crust of bread being cast to them.

With things in this state, Picado’s insolence increased by the day, and he did not miss any opportunity to insult “the Chileans,” as Almagro’s supporters were called. Angered one night, these followers hung three ropes from the gallows with signs stating: “For Pizarro,” “For Picado,” and “For Velázquez.”

When Pizarro learned of this irreverent act, he was far from being upset, and said while smiling: “Poor wretches! We need to allow them some way to vent their frustrations. They are in such a bind that we need bother them no longer. They are allowing their frustrations to surface.”

But Picado felt, as his name implies, pricked, and that afternoon, June 5, put on a small French cape embroidered with silver amulets, mounted a magnificent horse, and rode back and forth in front of the house of Juan de Rada, the guardian of the youthful Almagro, and the mansion of Pedro de San Millán, the home of our twelve knights. He carried his provocation to the point that, when some of them looked on, he flaunted an insulting gesture, by saying, “For the Chileans,” as he applied his spurs to the animal.

The Knights of the Cape immediately sent for Juan de Rada.

Pizarro had offered to be the second father of the young Almagro, who was orphaned at age nineteen, and as a result accommodated him in the place, but it nettled the young man to hear words discrediting the memory of his father and his friends so he left the Marquis to come under the tutelage of Juan de Rada. The latter was a very spirited and respected old man who belonged to a noble family from Castile , and he was esteemed as a man of great prudence and experience. He lived in some rooms on the street off the Arcade of Botoneros that is known today as “Callejón de los Clerigos”. Rada saw in the youthful Almagro a son and a rallying standard to avenge the Marshal’s death. And all the Chileans, whose number exceeded 200, while recognizing young Don Diego as their leader, looked to Rada for the call to arms and to organize the revolutionary efforts.

Rada quickly responded to the summons of the knights. The old man arrived seething with indignation because of Picado’s most recent offense, and the council resolved not to wait for the justice the crown was sending through this representative, but to take upon themselves the punishment of the Marquis and his insolent secretary.

García de Alvarado, who was wearing the company’s cape that afternoon, threw it to the ground and, standing on it, said: “Let us swear by the salvation of our souls to die in the defense of the rights of young Almagro, and to cut from this cape the death shroud for Antonio Picado!”

II

OF THE DARING EXPLOIT CARRIED OUT BY THE KNIGHTS OF THE CAPE

The matter could not be carried out so secretly that Pizarro did not find out that the Chileans were holding frequent clandestine meetings, that a restless excitement reigned among them, that they were buying arms, and that when Rada and the young Almagro went out into the street they were followed at a distance by a group of supporters under the guise of escorts. Nevertheless, he did not take any measures to defend himself.

During this time of inaction Pizarro received letters from several dignitaries telling him that the Chileans were openly preparing an uprising throughout the country. These, and other reports, forced him one morning to send for Juan de Rada.

Rada found Pizarro in the palace garden, at the foot of a fig tree which is still in existence, and according to Herrera’s Decadas, the following dialogue ensued:

“What is this all about, Juan de Rada, that it is said that you are buying guns with which to kill me?”

“It is true, sire, that I have purchased two breastplates and a coat of mail to defend myself.”

“And what has made you feel the need to thus equip yourself at this time?”

“We are told, sir, and it is no secret, that your lordship is gathering lances to kill all of us. Let your lordship put an end to us now and do with us what he pleases, because if one starts with the head there is no reason to respect the feet. It is also said that your lordship intends to kill the judge sent by the king. If this is your disposition and you are determined to administer death to the Chileans, stop short of killing them all. Send Don Diego off in a ship, for he is innocent, and I will go with him wherever fortune may carry us.”

“Who has led you to believe such great evil and treason as this? I have never thought of any such thing, and am more anxious than you are for the judge to arrive. He would be here now had he come on the galleon I sent for him to Panama . Regarding the arms, be it known that the other day I went hunting, and among our company there was not a single lance; I ordered my servants to buy one and they bought four. I hope to God, Juan de Rada, that the judge will come and these matters will be put to rest, and may God assist the right.”

It has been rightly said that “good advice comes from the enemy.” Perhaps Pizarro would have avoided his unhappy end if, as the astute Rada had indicated, he would have banished Almagro at the moment.

The discussion continued in a friendly tone, and when Rada bid him farewell, Pizarro gave him six figs that he cut from the tree, among the first grown in Lima .

After this interview Don Francisco thought he had averted all danger, and he continued to ignore the warnings he constantly received.

On the afternoon of June 25, a clergyman secretly told Pizarro that he had become aware that the followers of Almagro were going to attempt to assassinate him, and very soon.

“That priest wants to be a bishop,” replied the Marquis, and with usual confidence, went unescorted on a walk and then bowling with the elder Nicolás de Rivera.

When he retired to bed, the little page who aided him with his clothes told him: “Marquis, sire, all that is being said in the streets is that the Chileans are seeking to kill your lordship.”

“Bah! Leave that nonsense alone, youngster, that kind of thing isn’t for you,” Pizarro said, interrupting him.

With the dawning of Sunday, June 26, the Marquis arose somewhat troubled.

At nine o’clock he called the mayor, Juan de Velázquez, and recommended that he stay informed as to the plans of the Chileans, and if he sensed anything unusual to imprison them without delay. Velázquez gave him the following answer, which is made humorous by the ensuing events:

“Fear not, your lordship, for as long as I hold this staff in my hand, I swear to God no harm will befall you!”

Departing from his usual custom, Pizarro did not go out to mass, and ordered it said in the palace chapel.

Apparently Velázquez did not show prudence, as he should have, regarding the Marquis’ order, and talked it over with the treasurer, Alonso Riquelme, and others. Thus the news reached Pedro San Millán, who went to Rada’s house where a group of the conspirators were gathered. He shared with them what he knew and added: “The time has come to act. If we leave this for tomorrow we will be massacred this very day.”

While the others were scattering throughout the city to carry out different assignments, Juan de Rada, Martín de Bilbao, Diego Méndez, Gómez Pérez, Arbolancha, Narváez and others, nineteen conspirators in all, hastily left the Callejón de los Clerigos (and not from Petateros Street, as is commonly believed) for the palace. Gómez Pérez went around a puddle of water to avoid stepping into it, and Juan de Rada chastised him saying: “We shall be swimming in human blood, and you are taking precautions to keep your feet dry? Turn around and go back--you aren’t meant for this business.”

More than 500 persons who were passing by or were going to noon mass were in the square at that time, and indifferently looked at the group. Some of the suspicious ventured to say: “Those men are going to kill the Marquis or Picado.”

The Marquis, governor, and captain general of Peru, Don Francisco Pizarro, was in one of the rooms of the palace chatting with the bishop elect of Quito, Mayor Velázquez and some fifteen other friends, when a page burst in, shouting “The Chileans are coming to kill my lord the Marquis!”

The ensuing confusion was astonishing. Some rushed through the halls out to the garden, others lowered themselves out the windows to the street. Among the latter was Velázquez, who, to get a better grip on the balustrade, placed his staff between his teeth. Thus he did not break the oath he had made three hours earlier, for if the Marquis found himself in trouble, it was because Velazquez did not have his staff in his hand, but in his mouth.

Pizarro, with his armor poorly adjusted, for he didn’t have time to finish dressing, his cape folded around his arm as a shield, and sword in hand, went out to meet the conspirators, who had already killed a captain and wounded three or four servants. Accompanying the Marquis were his half-brother on his mother’s side, Martín de Alcántara, Juan Ortiz de Zárate, and two pages.

In spite of his sixty-four years, the Marquis fought with youthful vigor, and the conspirators could not get past the threshold of a door defended by Pizarro and his four companions, who resembled him in vigor and courage.

“Traitors! Why do you desire to kill me? Shame! Attacking my house as outlaws!” shouted Pizarro, furious and brandishing his sword. And just as the Marquis struck one of the conspirators pushed forward by Rada, Martín de Bilbao thrust Pizarro through the neck.

The conqueror of Peru pronounced but one word, “Jesus!”, and fell to the floor. He drew a cross in the blood on the ground with his finger, then kissed it.

Juan Rodríguez Barragán then broke a clay pot from Guadalajara over his head, and Don Francisco Pizarro took his last breath.

Martín de Alcántara and the two pages died with him, and Ortiz de Zárate was gravely wounded.

Later on they wanted to drag Pizarro’s body through the square but the pleadings of the bishop of Quito and Juan de Rada’s authority prevented this act of barbaric savageness. That night two of the Marquis’ humble servants washed his body, dressed him in the habit of Santiago without the golden spurs, which had disappeared, opened a tomb on the grounds on which the cathedral stands today, in the patio still known as Naranjos, and buried the body. Pizarro’s bones are now enclosed in a gold-clasped velvet coffin under the high altar of the cathedral. At least that is the general belief.

Once the assassination had been carried out, the authors of the same went out to the square shouting, “Long live the king! The tyrant is dead! Long live Almagro! May justice reign in the land!” And Juan de Rada rubbed his hands together in satisfaction, saying, “Happy is this day on which it shall be known that the Marshall had friends loyal enough to avenge his murder.”

Jerónimo de Aliaga, Illán Suárez de Carbajal the Factor, Nicolás de Rivera the Elder, the council mayor, and many of the other prominent citizens of Lima were immediately taken prisoner. The homes of the Marquis, his brother Martín de Alcántara, and Picado were looted. The value of the booty of the first was estimated at 100,000 pesos; the second, 15,000; and the last, 40,000.

By three in the afternoon more than two hundred Almagrists had created a new town council; had installed Almagro the Younger in the palace with the title of governor, until the king should make other arrangements; had recognized Cristóbal de Sotelo as Lieutenant Governor and had made Juan de Rada commander of the army.

The monks of the Order of La Merced , who were Almagrists in both Lima and Cuzco , bore the monstrance in a procession and hastened to recognize the new government. The friars always played an important part in the quarrels between conquerors. There were those who turned the pulpit into a rostrum for slander against any group not to their liking. And as proof of the influence sermons had over troops, we will copy a letter from Francisco Girón to Father Baltasar Melgarejo in 1553. It reads as follows:

“Very Excellent and Reverend Sir:

“I have learned that your Reverence is waging more of a war against me than the soldiers with their arms. I should be pleased to learn of a change in the matter, because otherwise, God granting me victory, I shall be forced by your Reverence to overlook our friendship and the position your Reverence holds. May your most excellent and Reverend person be preserved.

“From my army tent in Pachacamac, your servant kisses your Reverence’s hand.

“Francisco Hernández Girón.”

A historical observation in passing. Rada was always the soul of the conspiracy and young Almagro was unaware of his followers’ plans. He was not consulted on the matter of the assassination of Pizarro, and the youthful leader had no more involvement in it than to accept the completed fact.

After Mayor Velázquez had been imprisoned, his brother, the Bishop of Cuzco, Friar Vicente Valverde, the fanatic of the Dominican Order who had such an important role in the capture, torture and execution of Atahualpa, found the way for him to escape. The two brothers then left to go join with Vaca de Castro, but on the island of Puna the Indians killed them as well as sixteen other Spaniards with their arrows. We are not certain whether the Church reveres Father Valverde as one of its martyrs.

Velázquez jumped from the frying pan into the fire. The Knights of the Cape would not have pardoned him anyway.

From the very first signs of the revolution Antonio Picado hid in the house of Riquelme the treasurer, and when his hiding place was discovered the next day they went to take him captive. Riquelme told the Almagrists: “I don’t know where Picado is,” while making clear with his eyes for them to look under the bed. The pen refuses to comment on such an act of treason.

The Knights of the Cape , presided over by Juan de Rada and with the consent of Don Diego, formed a court of justice. Each reproached Picado with the injury he had received when Picado had been so powerful with Pizarro. They then tortured him so he would tell where the Marquis had placed hidden treasures. Finally, on September 29, they cut off his head in the main square with the following proclamation voiced in Spanish by Cosme Ledesma, a black man who spoke Spanish, accompanied by drums and four soldiers carrying his lances and two others holding harquebuses with the fuses lit: “His Majesty commands that this man die for being a trouble-maker in these kingdoms, and because he wrongfully seized and burned many royal orders, concealing the same due to the damage it constituted to the Marquis, and because he was extorting and had extorted a great sum of gold from the land.”

The oath of the Knights of the Cape ran true to the letter. The famous cape became Antonio Picado’s death shroud.

III

THE DEMISE OF ALMAGRO THE YOUNGER AND THE TWELVE KNIGHTS

We do not pretend to go into detail concerning the fourteen and a half months young Almagro was in power, nor to give the history of the campaign which Vaca de Castro had to undertake to overthrow him. We shall only speak of the events without dwelling on the details.

With only a few sympathizers in Lima ’s environs, Don Diego was forced to flee the city to gather strength in Guamanga and Cuzco , where he had numerous supporters. A few days before his retreat, Francisco de Chaves came to him with a complaint. When he received no redress he said, “I desire to be your friend no longer, and I now return to you my sword and my horse.” Juan de Rada arrested him for insubordination and had him beheaded. Thus one of the Knights of the Cape met his end.

Juan de Rada, stricken by age and fatigue, died in Jauja at the beginning of the campaign. This was a fatal blow to the revolutionary cause. García de Alvarado replaced him as general, and Cristóbal de Sotelo was named Field Marshal.

Before long discord broke out between the two army leaders, and while Sotelo was lying sick in bed, García de Alvarado went to him seeking an explanation for certain gossip which had reached his ears. “I do not recall saying anything about you or any member of the Alvarado family,” the Field Marshal answered. “But if I did say something, I’ll say it again; because, being who I am, I couldn’t care less about the Alvarados. And just wait until this fever subsides and you can demand an explanation with the point of your sword.” At that point the impetuous García de Alvarado committed the vile deed of wounding him and one of his followers finished him off. Thus, the death of the second Knight of the Cape .

Young Almagro would have liked to punish the treacherous killer in the act, but that undertaking wasn’t feasible. García de Alvarado, now haughty because of his prestige in military matters, conspired to do away with Don Diego, and then, depending on which suited his interests, either fight Vaca de Castro or reach an agreement with him. Almagro, giving the impression that all was well between them, inspired the confidence of Alvarado, and found the way to lure him to a feast Pedro de San Millán was giving in Cuzco . There, while the party was in full sway, a confidant of Don Diego threw himself upon Don García while saying:

“You are under arrest!”

“Not under arrest, but dead,” added Almagro, delivering a thrust of his sword. The other guests finished him off.

Thus three of the Knights of the Cape disappeared before even facing the enemy in the battle. The handwriting was on the wall that they would all die a violent death, bathed in their own blood.

In the meantime, the crucial moment was drawing near, and Vaca de Castro made peace proposals to Almagro and offered general amnesty, from which only the remaining nine Knights of the Cape , along with two or three other Spaniards, would be accepted.

The civil war ended on Sunday, September 16, 1542, with the bloody battle at Chupas. Almagro, leading 500 men, was almost the conqueror of the 800 following Vaca de Castro’s standard. During the first hour the victory seemed to be all but certain for the young leader; Diego de Hoces, who was commanding one wing of the army, thoroughly routed an opposing division. Without the daring of Francisco de Carbajal, who reestablished order in Vaca de Castro’s battle lines, and more importantly, without the inexperience or treachery of Pedro de Candia, who commanded the Almagrist artillery, the Chileans’ triumph would have been certain.

The number of dead on both sides exceeded two hundred and forty, and that of the wounded was also considerable. With such a small number of soldiers it is only possible to explain such butchery by remembering that the Almagrists held the same enthusiastic fanaticism for their leader that they had professed for his father, the Marshal. And it is no secret that fanaticism for a cause has always produced heroes and martyrs.

Those certainly were times in which entering into battle required a stout heart. The conflicts ended in hand-to-hand combat, and strength, skill and courage were the factors governing success.

Firearms were about three centuries away from guns with firing pins, and were a hindrance for a soldier, who was unable to use a musket or harquebus if he wasn’t equipped with flint, steel and tinder to light the fuse. Artillery was in the diaper stage, for if the stone-throwing mortars or falconets, were good for anything, it was to make noise like bombs. And while we are on the subject, gunpowder was wasted in salvos, for as the gunners were not skilled in range-finding, the balls would scatter wherever the devil guided them. Nowadays it is a pleasure for both the cowardly and the bold to die on the field of battle, for they are felled with the cleanliness with which a complex equation is solved. One dies mathematically, according to the rules, without an error in addition or in writing. And that ought to be comforting for any soul being taken to the other side. Without a doubt, nowadays a cannonball is a scientific matter, for it is born well educated, knowing exactly where it is to go. This is real progress, and to deny it is nonsense.

When all hopes of victory had vanished, Martín de Bilbao and Jerónimo de Almagro refused to flee the battlefield, so they rushed out among their enemies shouting, “Here I am! I killed the Marquis!” In a few moments they fell lifeless. Their bodies were sliced up the following day.

Pedro de San Millán, Martín Carrillo and Juan Tello were taken captive, and Vaca de Castro immediately ordered that they be beheaded.

Diego de Hoces, the fierce captain who caused such great destruction to come upon the loyalist troops, was able to flee the battlefield, but was beheaded a few days later in Guamanga.

Juan Rodríguez Barragán, who had been made lieutenant governor of Cuzco , was taken prisoner in the city and executed. When the same authorities that Don Diego had appointed learned of his defeat, they declared their support for the conqueror hoping for pardons and favors.

Diego Méndez and Gómez Pérez were able to take refuge with the Inca Manco, who in a protest against the conquest maintained a good-sized Indian army in the peaks of the Andes . They lived there until the end of 1544. One day after having an altercation with the Inca Manco, Gómez Pérez killed him by stabbing him, and in turn the Indians killed the two knights and four other Spaniards who had taken refuge with them.

Young Almagro fought desperately until the last moment, when, with the outcome of the battle decided, he spurred his horse to gallop towards Pedro de Candia, and while shouting at him “Traitor!”, ran him through with his lance. Diego de Méndez then forced him to take flight with him in order to take refuge with the Inca. And they would have been successful had it not occurred to Méndez to go into Cuzco to bid his mistress farewell. Because of this act of folly Almagro was taken prisoner, and while Méndez did manage to escape, he later died at the hands of the Indians.

A trial was held, and Don Diego was found guilty. He appealed the judgment to the court at Panama and to the king, but in vain, for the appeal was denied. He then said with integrity: “I summon Vaca de Castro to appear before the judgment seat of God, where we will be tried without bias. And since I will now die where my father was beheaded, my only request is that I be placed in the same grave, underneath his corpse.”

He met death, says a chronicler who witnessed the execution, with courage. He refused to have his eyes covered so he could fix them, up until the last moment, on the image of the Christ crucified. And as he had requested, he was placed in the same tomb in which his father the Marshal had been interred.

This young man was twenty-four years old, born to a noble Indian woman from Panama . He was of medium height and winning countenance, a fine cavalryman, very courageous and skilled in the use of arms. He inherited the shrewdness of his father, and was even more generous, although his father was a very giving person, and like him, he knew how to command the utmost allegiance of his followers.

Thus, with the sad end of their leader and of the Knights of the Cape , the band of Chileans ceased to exist.

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CHAPTER 2

DON ALONSO THE BRAWNY ONE

The story is told about the Venezuelan General Páez, the hero of the plains, who during the epoch of war to the death with the mother country, took a fat Spanish soldier prisoner, a man who had a reputation of possessing Herculean strength, and said to him, “Listen, you terrible excuse for a horseman. I will spare your life if you are able to throw me to the ground.”

The prisoner smiled and accepted the challenge, sure that victory was certain, but Páez, who as a wrestler was more clever and more agile than he was strong, was able to put the Spaniard down in two minutes. Then the winner said, “Now, you trembling nincompoop, prepare yourself to be shot.”

Whereupon the soldier said, “Agreed, my general. You have played me the same way that a cat plays with a mouse. Now, swallow me up.”

We can guess that the reply found favor with Páez because he pardoned the prisoner.

In the Royal Army there was also a very strong man, Commander Santalla, of whom it was said that he would take a small book of forty pages, that is a deck of cards, and tear it in two, saying, “This a lot of people do.” He then would do the same with the resulting eighty pieces, saying, “This, very few can do.” Then he would take the 160 pieces and tear them in two, exclaiming triumphantly, “This only one person can do, and he is Commander Santalla!”

But in the matter of powerful men, Páez, Santalla and all the modern Samsons are babes in arms compared with Don Alonso, a person of whom one chronicler said that when his horse got tired he would hoist it onto his shoulders without removing the harnesses or the gear and would continue on his way as if he were doing nothing worthy of comment.

Don Alonso el Membrudo is the nickname the conquistadors gave to Captain Alonso Díaz, a relative of the Governor of Panama, Don Pedro Arias Dávila.

An inhabitant of Cuzco when the rebellion broke out, which in the early stages favored Almagro the Younger, he was very devoted to Marquis Pizarro and refused to abandon the city, hiding there and conspiring to aid the efforts of the lawyer Vaca de Castro, who had been sent to Peru to put an end to the turmoil.

Upon receiving notice that 800 Royalist soldiers had departed from Guamanga in order to do battle with 600 of Almagro’s troops, Don Alonso decided to abandon his hiding place and make his way to Chupas, anxious to arrive in time to take part in the battle which took place on September 16, 1542.

He was still several leagues from Vaca de Castro’s encampment when he saw coming toward him three horsemen on spirited horses at full gallop, who were carrying to Cuzco news of the disaster suffered by the armed forces of Almagro the Younger.

Alonso Díaz stopped one of the emissaries, and the latter, upon recognizing one of the original conquistadors to come to Peru with Pizarro, dismounted, exclaiming, “Good news, Captain! Long live the king! The tyrant has been defeated!”

So great was Don Alonso’s satisfaction upon hearing the welcome news that he embraced the soldier, saying, “Long live the king! Give me a real embrace!”

And so powerful was that embrace that the soldier let out a cry and fell down, blood spurting from his mouth.

Alonso Díaz, who in the battles of the conquest killed not with his sword but by applying a bear hug to his Indian adversaries, forgot in the enthusiasm of his glee that his arms were lethal weapons when they embraced—causing death in friend or foe.

Having been found guilty of involuntary manslaughter, he was pardoned by Vaca de Castro, but he was forbidden to embrace anyone, under pain of death—man or woman, friend or foe.

In the article that Manuel de Mendiburu wrote about Alonso Díaz in his Diccionario histórico del Perú he states that a royal order came from Spain taking from the braggart the right to embrace. I assume that this royal order was the approbation of the sentence decreed by Vaca de Castro.

That skill is worth more than strength is proved by the sword duel between Alonso Díaz and Francisco de Villacastín. The latter was one of the companions of Francisco Pizarro, who considered him such a loyal supporter and good friend that he made him one of the first governors of Cuzco , giving him for his wife Doña Leonor, a ñusta, daughter of Huayna Capac. By virtue of this marriage Villacastín came to be the lord of Ayaviri, an encomienda which boasted 8,000 Indians who paid tribute.

Villacastín, because of his ugliness, was a grotesque person in appearance. He was missing two front teeth and the reason for such a defect was indeed something that caused people to laugh. It happened this way. One day, Don Francisco was walking through a jungle in Panama when a monkey that was in the top of a tree threw a rock at him and knocked out four teeth. Villacastín, after having recovered from the blow, cocked his crossbow and killed the creature that had disfigured him for life. How fortunate we are to live in a time when we have not only false individual teeth but also false sets of teeth. If I’m not mistaken, Garcilaso, who knew him well, tells about the monkey that threw the rock.

Alonso Díaz, who was a great joker, made fun of Villacastín one day, saying to him, “You only have the courage to challenge a swaggering monkey, and then come out toothless for the eternities.”

This stung Villacastín, whereupon he unsheathed his sword. Alonso Díaz put himself on guard and the two of them began to fight. But Don Francisco, who although not as strong nor as vigorous as his adversary, was superior to him in agility and after a few moments of dueling dealt him such a vicious blow that for a period of eight days it was uncertain whether Don Alonso would recover from his wound.

Having fought with Girón in his rebellion, in which this rebel chief was defeated and executed, Díaz took advantage of the pardon extended by the Royal Audience and returned to Cuzco to live out his last days peacefully in Cuzco , where he was one of the wealthiest inhabitants. But in 1556, suspecting that Díaz would take part in new uprisings, the Viceroy, the Marquis de Cañete, had him garroted in secret.

One day, someone who was curious about the death of Alonso Díaz asked the Viceroy why he had executed such an outstanding Spaniard. The Viceroy replied, “I did it to cure that crazy person of the bad habit he had of embracing people. In spite of the fact that he knew his caresses were dangerous and forbidden, one night in a dance he defied the royal order and embraced one of his female acquaintances according to the testimony of ten of the most notable inhabitants of Cuzco.”

Whatever may be the truth in the case, I don’t know which is the right version and I am not in the mood to write more on the subject. Embracer or revolutionary, the fact is that Don Alonso el Membrudo died an ignoble death.

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CHAPTER 3

THE MAYOR’S EARS

HISTORY OF THE TIME OF THE SECOND VICEROY OF PERU

The imperial city Potosí was the place where adventurers preferred to seek their fortune. This explains why five years after silver was discovered there its population exceeded 20,000.

There is a saying that states: “A mining village is a village of depravity and altercations.” And never was there a more accurate saying than this one, which could certainly apply to Potosí in the first two centuries of the Conquest.

The year 1550 was ending and the Mayor of Potosí, Don Diego de Esquivel, was a bad-tempered and greedy fellow who was capable of putting justice up for sale at auction in exchange for silver bars.

His Honor was also attracted by the apple in the Garden of Eden and in the imperial city there was much tongue-wagging about his philandering.

Since he had never been placed in the peril of having the parish priest read to him St. Paul’s famous epistle, Don Diego de Esquivel prided himself on the fact that he belonged to the fraternity of bachelors, which in my opinion constitutes, if not a social plague, a threat against the property of one’s fellow man. There are those who maintain that communists and bachelors are bipeds that have much in common.

At that time His Honor was head over heels in love with a girl who was living in Potosí, but she didn’t want anything to do with him and had given him the brush-off, very courteously of course, and had placed herself under the protection of a soldier of the Tucumán regiments, a handsome young man who was enchanted by the young lady’s considerable charms. The Mayor, therefore, anxiously awaited the opportunity to avenge himself on the favored young man and at the same time on the disdain of the ungrateful young woman.

Because the Devil never sleeps it happened one night that there was a row in one of the many gambling houses that flourished on Quintu Mayo Street in violation of the law. One gambler, inexperienced in prestidigitation and lacking in skill, had allowed three dice to drop on to the table while a bet of considerable value was being disputed and another of the gamblers, an ill-humored fellow, pulled out his dagger and pinned the cheater’s hand to the table. With all of the uproar that followed, the night patrol soon arrived and with it the Mayor with his sword and staff of office.

“That’s enough; everybody to jail!” he said. The constables, buddy, buddy with the gamblers, turned the other way and let most of them escape through the loft, a common practice in those times, contenting themselves with satisfying the law by detaining two of the least agile.

We can imagine the delight of the Mayor when he discovered that his rival, the soldier of the Tucumán regiments, was now a prisoner in the city jail. He exclaimed, “Well, what do you know? Look at this fine fellow! And a gambler on top of everything else!”

“You’ve got it all wrong, sir. A miserable toothache was driving me crazy last night and in order to get some relief I went to that gambling house in search of a friend of mine who always carries in his pouch a couple of Saint Appolonia’s molars, which, they say, cure toothaches as if by magic.”

“You rascal! I’ll perform some magic on you!” muttered the Mayor, and turning to the other prisoner added, “Both of you know how the law reads. One hundred duros or twelve lashes. I’ll return at 12 and, take care!”

The companion of our soldier sent a message to his home and received in return the money to pay the fine. When the Mayor returned he freed the prisoner who had paid the fine and then said to the soldier, “And you, you troublemaker, are you going to pay or not?”

“Your Honor, I am as poor as a church mouse. I warn you, however, that you should be careful how you treat me because, even though you cut me to ribbons you won’t get a red cent from me. I’m very sorry, but I have no money to pay the fine.”

“Well, a good whipping will do you a lot of good.”

“That’s not possible, Mayor, because even though I am a soldier I am an hidalgo of a well-known family and my father is an alderman in Seville . If you don’t believe me, contact my captain, Don Alvaro de Castrillón and he will vouch for me. I am as noble as the King, God bless him.”

“You, an hidalgo ! You scoundrel! Antúnez give this prince twelve lashes right now!”

“You better be careful, your Honor, for by Christ, you can’t treat a Spanish hidalgo in such a despicable way.”

“ Hidalgo ! Hidalgo ! Tell me that in my other ear!”

“Don Diego,” the soldier replied vehemently, “if this cowardly infamy takes place I will avenge myself on the Mayor’s ears.”

His Honor gave him a disdainful look and walked out of the room into the patio of the jail.

Shortly thereafter Antúnez, with the help of four of his underlings, took the soldier, who was in irons, into the patio, where, in the presence of the Mayor, the prisoner suffered twelve soundly administered lashes. The victim endured the pain without uttering the slightest complaint. The punishment at an end, Antúnez set him free.

“I bear you no ill will, Antúnez,” said the soldier, “but inform the Mayor that from this moment on his ears belong to me and I will let him use them for one year, but be sure to tell him to take good care of them for they are what I value most.”

The jailer let out a stupid laugh and muttered, “This fellow is off his rocker. If he has really lost his mind all the Mayor has to do is give me the order and we will see if the saying is true that says that a crazy person becomes sane when he suffers enough pain.”

II

HISTORY

Let’s pause a moment, kind reader, and enter the labyrinth of history, because in this Series of Traditions we have committed ourselves to write a few lines about the viceroy with whose reign our narrative is related.

After the tragic fate that befell the first Viceroy, Don Blasco Núñez de Vela, the Spanish government decided that it was not appropriate to send another official of such high rank to Peru, so for the time being, it would be governed by the lawyer La Gasca, who arrived with the title of governor, possessing ample authority and armed with the signature of Charles V, which gave him carte blanche to do anything he felt necessary. The historical accounts indicate that his victory over Gonzalo Pizarro was due more to his talent and sound judgment than to superior arms.

The country having been pacified, La Gasca himself pointed out to the Emperor that it was necessary to have a viceroy in Peru and recommended for the position Don Antonio de Mendoza, Marquis of Mondéjar, Count of Tendilla, a man who was well trained because he had served as Viceroy in Mexico.

The Marquis of Mondéjar, the second Viceroy in Peru , made his modest entry into Lima on September 23, 1551. The viceroyalty had just passed through a long and disastrous war. Passions of the different factions were still running high, immorality was rampant and Francisco Girón was preparing to begin the bloody revolution of 1553.

Certainly the times were not the most promising for the beginning of Viceroy Mendoza’s reign. He started out by adopting a conciliatory policy, rejecting, wrote one historian, the accusations that feed persecution. Recorded Lorente: “It is said of him that when a captain accused two soldiers of living among the Indians, sustaining themselves by hunting and making gunpowder for their own use, Mendoza said to him with a stern countenance, ‘These crimes really deserve gratitude instead of punishment because for two Spaniards to live among Indians and live from what their harquebuses killed, and make gunpowder for their own use and not to sell it—what kind of crime is that? I am persuaded that what they have done is very praiseworthy and something that should be emulated. Go with God. I don’t want anyone to come to me in the future with this kind of idle talk because I don’t like to listen to it.’”

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if government officials would give similar responses to court busybodies and troublemakers? The world would certainly be better off.

Full of great plans for the future, Viceroy Mendoza was able to accomplish very little. He commissioned his son Francisco to travel to Cuzco, Chucuito, Potosí and Arequipa in order to write a report concerning the needs of the Indians; he named Juan Betanzos to write a history of the Incas; he created the guard of the halberdiers; put into effect some well-thought-out ordinances dealing with the municipal police in Lima and punished duelers and their seconds severely. Challenges to duel, even for ridiculous reasons, were common and many duels ended with blood staining the tunics of the combatants.

The good Mendoza intended to institute beneficial reforms but unfortunately his afflictions sapped the energy of his spirit and death took him in July of 1582 before completing ten months as Viceroy. Eight days before his death, July 21, a terrifying clap of thunder was heard, accompanied by flashes of lightning, something that had not been witnessed in Lima since it was founded.

III

The next day Don Cristóbal de Agüero, for that was the name of the soldier, reported to the captain of the Tucumán regiments, Don Alvaro Castrillón, saying, “My captain, I request that you give me permission to leave the service. His Majesty wants soldiers with honor and I have lost mine.”

Don Alvaro, who was very pleased with Agüero’s performance, tried to persuade him to change his mind, but the soldier was determined. Finally, the Captain gave his permission.

The affront suffered by Agüero had been kept a secret because the Mayor gave orders to the jailers that they were not to mention the whipping. Perhaps Don Diego’s conscience whispered to him that he had used his mayor’s staff of office to make the gambler pay for the insult he had suffered when the young lady rejected him in favor of the soldier.

Three months later Don Diego received some papers informing him that his presence was required in Lima in order to take possession of an inheritance. After obtaining permission from the corregidor he began to make preparations for the journey.

The night before his departure he was walking along Cantumarca Street when someone whose face was hidden in his cloak approached him and asked, “Do you leave tomorrow?”

“And what business is it of yours, you impertinent fellow?”

“It’s my business because I have to see that those ears are well taken care of.” Then he slipped away, leaving Don Diego in deep thought over what had happened.

Early the next morning the Mayor set out for Cuzco . After arriving at the city of the Incas he went to visit a friend and upon turning a corner he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. Don Diego, surprised, turned around and found himself face to face with his victim.

“Don’t be frightened, your Honor. I see that your ears are where they ought to be, and that pleases me greatly.”

The Mayor was petrified. Three weeks later he arrived in Guamanga and had closed the door of his room in an inn when, just at dusk, someone knocked at the door.

“Who is there?” asked the magistrate.

“Blessed be the Lord,” replied the person outside the door.

“Blessed be He forever, amen,” said Don Diego and opened the door.

Neither Banquo’s ghost during Macbeth’s banquet, nor the statue of the commander in Don Juan’s room could have produced more astonishment than he experienced when he saw the soldier he had ordered whipped in Potosí.

“Be calm. Are those ears still in good condition? Apparently they show no deterioration. Well, I’ll see you later.” Terror and remorse struck Don Diego dumb.

Finally he arrived in Lima and the first time he walked through the streets there he encountered our phantom soldier, who, on this occasion, merely stared at the Mayor’s ears without uttering a word. From then on, Don Diego could not avoid him. Wherever he went, in the cathedral or just on the streets the soldier was his shadow, a never-ending nightmare.

Esquivel was so nervous that the slightest sound made him tremble. Not his money, the Viceroy’s attention nor the consideration shown him by the society of Lima nor anything he did could calm his nerves. It seemed that the image of his persecutor was always stamped on the pupil of his eye. And so the anniversary of the whipping arrived.

It was 10 o’clock at night and Don Diego, feeling well protected because he knew that the doors to his quarters were locked and well secured, was sitting comfortably in his armchair writing a letter with the help of a lamp that was giving off a dying light when suddenly a man slipped in through a window from the adjoining room and pinned the Mayor to his chair, stuffed a gag in his mouth and tied him up. The hidalgo then stood in front of Don Diego with a sharp dagger in his hand.

“Mayor Esquivel,” he said, “today I have come to regain my honor.” And with savage serenity he sliced off the ears of the unfortunate mayor.

IV

Don Cristóbal de Agüero escaped to Spain , evading Viceroy Mendoza’s royal agents who tried to arrest him. He requested an audience with Charles V and explained to him what had happened to him in Peru . Upon hearing what the soldier told him, the King not only pardoned him but named him captain of a regiment that was being readied to serve in Mexico .

Mayor Esquivel died one month after the attack, more because of shame than of his wounds. He was deathly afraid that people would ridicule him by calling him “The Earless One.”

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CHAPTER 4

THE SINGING LETTER

Until the middle of the 16th century we see an expression used by the most correct prose writers—“letters relate”—in the sense that such and such a fact is related in letters. But suddenly letters were not satisfied with just “relating,” but they began to “sing,” and even today, in order to put an end to a dispute, we are accustomed to taking a missive out of our pockets and saying, “Well, sir, the letter sings.” And we read in public the truths or the lies contained therein and the field of battle is ours. As for the upper crust of the criollos, they don’t say the letter “relates” or the letter “sings”; they say, “The little paper speaks.”

Last night while I was reading the works of Father Acosta, a man, as you know, who wrote at great length about what happened during the Conquest, I stumbled upon a particular episode and said to myself, “That’s how it came about.” Although Father Acosta may not have said it the same way, behold the origin of the expression in question, which I am going to bring to the notice of the Royal Academy and claim as an authentic Peruvianism.

Having said this, we need to stop beating around the bush and get to the matter at hand.

I believe I have already written about this, but in order to make sure I haven’t left it out, I want to include it here. When the conquistadors conquered Peru, the following were not grown in this part of the world: wheat, rice, barley, sugar cane, lettuce, radishes, cabbage, asparagus, garlic, onions, eggplant, mint, garbanzos, lentils, broad beans, mustard, anise, lavender, cumin, oregano, sesame seed and many other foods too numerous to mention. As for the common bean, we already knew what that was. We were cultivating many other vegetables and fruits that had the Spaniards licking their chops.

Some of the new seeds gave better results in Peru than in Spain and very seriously and with self-assurance some very highly-respected chroniclers and historians report that in the Valley of Azapa, in the jurisdiction of Arica, a radish was produced that was so huge that no one could put his arms completely around it, and that Don García Hurtado de Mendoza, who at the time wasn’t the Viceroy of Peru, but Governor of Chile, was so ecstatic that his mouth was wide open in amazement when he saw such a wonder. Take it from me, that radish was nothing to sneeze at!

About the year 1558 Don Antonio Solar was one of the most affluent citizens of this City of the Kings. Although he was not one of Pizarro’s companions in Cajamarca, he arrived in time to be able to obtain a goodly share of the booty of the Conquest, which consisted of a large area on which he built his home in Lima, about 300 acres of fertile land in the Supe and Barranca valleys and fifty Indians to serve as laborers.

For our grandfathers the following saying had the value of an aphorism or an article from the Constitution: “A house to live in, a vineyard for making wine and all the land you can see and get your hands on.”

Don Antonio established a valuable agricultural operation in Barranca and in order to speed up the work he imported two yokes of oxen from Spain , an action which in those days gave to the owners the same importance now enjoyed by steam ships which come to Peru from London or New York . Says one chronicler: “The Indians in awe went to see the huge animals plow, and reported that the Spaniards were so averse to work that they made their animals do their work for them.”

Don Antonio Solar was that wealthy encomendero whom Viceroy Blasco Núñez de Vela wanted to hang, because a certain lampoon was attributed to him, alluding to the mission of reform that His Excellency was committed to carry out. It was written on a wall of an inn in Barranca and read as follows: “I will throw out of this world the one who throws me out of my house and my property.”

Since I have used the term encomendero it would not be out of place to indicate its origin. In the documents in which each conquistador was assigned land, the following clause could be found: “Item, commended to you are (a certain number of) Indians which you are to instruct in matters pertaining to our holy faith.”

Together with the oxen there arrived melon seeds or plants, noseberries, pomegranates, citron, lemons, apples, apricots, quince, sour cherries, cherries, almonds, walnuts and other fruit from Castile unknown to the natives of our country, who gorged themselves to such an extent on them that not a few died. More than a century later, under the government of the Viceroy, the Duke of Palata, a decree was published which the priests read to their parishioners after Sunday Mass, prohibiting the eating of cucumbers by Indians, a vegetable which because of its fatal effects was called “mata serrano”.

The time came when the first harvest of melons was taking place in the Barranca melon fields and that marks the beginning of our story.

The overseer selected ten of the best melons, packed them in two boxes and put them on the shoulders of two of the Indians serving there and gave them a letter for the master.

The two Indians had carried the melons a few leagues when they sat down to rest near a wall. As one would expect, the aroma of the fruit awakened the curiosity of the Indians and a battle began between fear and their appetite.

“Do you know something, brother?” said one of them to the other in his Indian dialect. “I have discovered a way to eat some melons without anyone finding out. All we have to do is hide the letter behind the wall. It won’t be able to see us eat so it won’t be able to accuse us of anything.”

The naiveté of the Indians attributed to writing a diabolical and marvelous prestige. They didn’t believe that the letters were only symbols but that they were spirits, which functioned not only as messengers but also as watchmen or spies.

The second Indian thought that his companion’s idea was a very good one, so without saying a word, he placed the letter behind the wall, put a rock on top of it and then the two proceeded to devour, not eat, the inviting and delicious fruit.

As they were nearing Lima the second Indian gave himself a blow to the head and said, “Brother, we are making a big mistake. We need to make our burdens equal, because if you carry four and I carry five our master will suspect something.”

“Well said,” replied the other Indian.

And so once again they hid the letter and then they ate a second melon, that delicious fruit that according to the saying is gold before breakfast, silver at noon and death in the evening, for it is true that there is nothing more indigestible and causes more upset stomachs after a full meal.

After the Indians arrived at Don Antonio’s home they delivered to him the letter that announced the fact that the overseer was sending ten melons.

Don Antonio, who had promised to give some of the first melons of the harvest to the archbishop and several other individuals, began to examine what the Indians had brought.

“What do you think you are trying to do, you good-for-nothing thieves?” bellowed the irate landowner. “The overseer sent ten melons and two are missing.” Whereupon Don Antonio read the letter once more.

“There were only eight, master,” protested the two Indians.

“The letter says ten and you have eaten two of them on the road. You over there! Give these scoundrels a good beating—a dozen blows for each one.”

And the poor Indians, after receiving a thorough thrashing, sat in the corner of the patio gloomily considering what had happened to them.

Then one of them said, “You see, brother? The letter sings.”

Don Antonio happened to hear what the Indian had said, whereupon he shouted, “Yes, you rascals. And you better watch your step and not try any more funny business because now you know the letter sings.”

And Don Antonio related the incident to his friends at the next tertulia. The saying became popular and eventually made its way to the Mother Country.

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CHAPTER 5

A FAMOUS EXCOMMUNICATION

I

Without a doubt, the period in which Don Hurtado de Mendoza, Marquis de Cañete and the king’s master of the hounds, governed these kingdoms of Peru for Philip II was a time of religious fanaticism. And I don’t say this because of the abundance of religious foundations or for the sumptuousness of religious holidays or because the wealthy left their fortunes to convents, leaving their heirs poverty-stricken or because, as the conquistadors thought, every crime or foul deed could be cleansed on their deathbeds by making a handsome bequest for masses, but rather because the Church had taken it upon itself to intervene in anything or everything and for the slightest indiscretion it slapped a person with an excommunication which left him stupefied.

In spite of the fact that frequent were the spectacles of churches draped in mourning and filled with snuffed-out candles, our forefathers were impressed more and more by the show that accompanied excommunications. In some of my traditional legends I have had the opportunity to speak at greater length about many of the excommunications that were laid on sacrilegious thieves and on mayors and law enforcement officers who dared to violate the sanctity of asylum by arresting delinquents in church buildings. But all of these are piddling matters and celestial froth compared with one that was handed down by the first archbishop of Lima , Don Friar Jerónimo de Loyaza. It is true that his most illustrious lordship was never lax in handing out interdictions, censures and other frightening sentences, as proved by the fact that before the Inquisition was established here, Archbishop Loyaza celebrated three autos da fe. Another proof of my statement is that he threatened the sursum corda himself, that is to say the viceroy of Peru , with a brick from Rome (a nickname given for an excommunication). This is how it happened:

The story is that when Viceroy Don Francisco de Toledo came from Spain he brought with him as a house and personal chaplain a cleric who was very stuck on himself and was ready to dispute just about anything and was possessed of a very peevish disposition. This individual the Archbishop had the temerity to jail, to bring to trial and to sentence to return to the Mother Country. The Viceroy raised a hue and cry and said in a fit of anger that if his chaplain was sent packing he would not make the trip alone; he would be accompanied by the Archbishop. The latter found out about the Viceroy’s threat because all gossip reached his ears. It is said that His Excellency backed down as soon as he heard that the Archbishop had met with some of the theologians and that, as a result, the Viceroy wore a furrowed brow because in secret black pieces of material were being made ready. The unfortunate cleric, abandoned by his godfather, the Viceroy, was sent off to Spain under official orders.

But the excommunication that has made me pick up my pen is an excommunication with a capital E! Therefore it deserves a chapter all to itself.

II

The decade from 1550-1560 could bring a lot of attention to itself in a century that we could call without hesitation the century of hens, of bread, of wine, of oil and of mice. Let me explain.

According to tradition the Indians gave the name hualpa to hens, thus abbreviating the name of the last Inca, Atahualpa. Father Valera (of Cuzco ) says that when the roosters crowed they were crying because of the death of the last Inca and that is why they gave the name hualpa to roosters. The same chronicler tells us that no Spanish hens were able to have any chicks in Cuzco , but they were successful in valleys with a more moderate climate. As for turkeys, they were brought from Mexico .

Garcilaso, Zárate, Gómara and many other historians and chroniclers say that it was during that decade that Doña María de Escobar, wife of the conquistador Diego de Chávez, brought from Spain half a bushel of wheat which she distributed at the rate of twenty or thirty kernels each among her neighbors. From the first harvest of wheat several bushels were sent to Chile and other locations in the Americas .

At about the same time the wheat arrived mice also arrived in a ship that sailed through the Strait of Magellan and docked at Callao . The Indians gave the name hucuchas to this plague of destructive immigrants, a name meaning “coming from the sea.” Fortunately a Spaniard by the name of Montenegro had brought some cats in 1537 and it is common knowledge that Don Diego de Almagro bought one from him for 600 pesos. The Indians in Peru couldn’t pronounce the Spanish words miz miz, so they called them michitus.

And at this point, by way of illustration, we will note that in the first twenty years of the Conquest the minimum price for a horse was 4,000 pesos, 300 for a cow, 500 for a donkey, 200 for a pig, 100 for a she goat or a ewe, and for a dog the price varied. On the eve of the battle of Chuquinga a wealthy captain offered 10,000 pesos to a soldier for his horse, an offer to which the soldier indignantly replied, “Although I don’t have a red cent, I value my companion more than all the treasures of Potosí.”

Such was the scarcity of wine that in 1555 an arroba cost 500 pesos. Francisco Carabantes brought from the Canary Islands the first cuttings of black grapes planted in Peru . In the Tacaraca district in Ica (wrote Córdova y Urrutia in 1840), there is this very day a vine of black grapes which is purported to be one of the cuttings Carabantes planted. It still produces a good harvest. Human injustice! Drunks always bless Father Noah, who planted grape vines and there is not one single word of gratitude for Carabantes, who was the Noah of our country.

Bread and wine having been obtained, oil was still lacking. That lack of oil must have been on Don Antonio de Ribera’s mind as he boarded a ship in Seville , for he brought with him 100 cuttings of olive trees.

In Lima Don Antonio de Ribera was a very prominent individual, possessing a coat of arms that boasted two wolves with two wolf cubs on a field of gold. He married the widow of Francisco Martín de Alcántara, half brother of Francisco Pizarro, who died at his side defending him. She brought with her a considerable dowry. He played a very important role in the civil wars in which the conquistadors engaged, and after Giron’s rebellion went off to Spain in 1557 with the title of solicitor for Peru .

Ribera was the owner of a spacious cultivated area that we in Lima know as the “Huerta perdida”. He possessed a fortune of 300,000 duros, acquired by having his Indians sell figs, melons, oranges, cucumbers, peaches and other fruit unknown at that time to Peruvians. The first pomegranate that was grown in Lima was displayed in a procession on a float on which the Holy Sacrament was placed. It is said that this pomegranate was a huge one.

Unfortunately for Ribera, the voyage from Spain lasted nine months due to dangerous situations and many misfortunes; therefore, in spite of his precautions he found that when he arrived in Peru only three cuttings had survived. The rest served only as firewood.

He planted them and then he gave them the most attentive care, even more than he gave to his bags of duros; this in spite of the fact that his reputation as a miser was very well deserved. And in order that not for an instant would they escape his vigilance he planted the cuttings in a small garden which had walls on all sides and was guarded by two massive blacks and a pack of fierce dogs.

But put your faith in walls, like those of Peking , and in giants like Polyphemus and in canines like Cerberus and you will find yourself believing the impossible. The blessed cuttings had more admirers than a beautiful young lady. It is well known that for men who covet the property of others, whether it be one of Eve’s daughters or something which is really worth the trouble, there is no obstacle which would be spared a concerted attack.

One morning Don Antonio got up at the crack of dawn. He hadn’t been able to sleep the whole nightlong. He had a presentiment that some major disgrace had befallen him.

After crossing himself he put on his slippers and wrapped in his cape he headed toward the walled garden. Suddenly his heart started to pound and almost burst as he shouted, “Great Scott. I’ve been robbed!” And he fell to the ground, the victim of a seizure.

The truth was that one of the cuttings had disappeared. That day Ribera took a stick and beat half of the pack of dogs unmercilessly and whipped the poor slaves severely. He was beside himself with rage.

Weary with the punishment he administered and searches he undertook and seeing that his efforts were fruitless he went off to inform the Archbishop, a friend of his, concerning his misfortune, compared with which Job’s ordeal was just froth and a piddling matter.

Now, reader, what you are going to read is not fiction; it really happened, and any chronicler whose works you leaf through will tell you the same thing.

That day the bells put up a clamor like you’ve never heard before and finally, after some very impressive ceremonies, the most illustrious Archbishop thundered a terrifying excommunication against the thief of the cutting.

But that didn’t produce any results either. The reader must think that the thief must have been some unbeliever or some free spirit like those that run rampant in this century of gas and steam. If so, you couldn’t be more mistaken. During that day and age an excommunication pressed down on the conscience with the weight of many tons.

III

Three years went by and the cutting did not appear. The truth is, of course, that not even a tiny bit did Ribera miss the cutting because he saw the two remaining ones multiply many times over and he had enough to sell and even to give away. I assume that the famous olive groves of Camaná, a land famous for its olives and other things that I prudently fail to mention because I don’t want to get into a row with the people from Camaná, had their start with a cutting from the “Huerta perdida.”

One day a gentleman who had recently arrived on a ship from Valparaíso that had docked in Callao presented himself to the Archbishop with letters of recommendation. Under secrecy of the confessional he confessed that he was the thief who had stolen the highly celebrated cutting, which he had carried off to his estate in Chile with the utmost cunning. In spite of the excommunication the cutting had become acclimated and had transformed itself into a grove of olive trees.

Because the matter took place under the secrecy of the confessional I don’t feel authorized to divulge the name of the sinner, the trunk from which has sprung a wealthy family of our neighboring republic.

All that I can tell you, reader, is that the gnawing away of the excommunication had the thief in constant anguish. The Archbishop agreed to lift it on the condition that the cutting be replaced as mysteriously as it had been stolen.

How was this excommunicated person able to accomplish what he did with the Archbishop? I can only say that one morning when Don Antonio visited his little garden he found a cutting which had traveled from Chile and at the foot of it a bag of 1,000 duros with a note without a signature asking in a Christian-like manner for pardon, which Ribera did give with great good will in view of the fact that so much shiny money had fallen out of the sky.

Also receiving alms in the amount of 2,000 pesos was the Hospital of Santa Anna , whose construction Archbishop Loyaza was in charge of. All this took place without anyone learning the name of the very generous benefactor, except of course for the Archbishop.

The upshot of the whole matter was that Don Antonio de Ribera came out of the transaction a definite winner. In Seville the cutting had cost half a peseta.

IV

Upon the death of Commander Don Antonio de Ribera, who wore the habit of the Order of Santiago , his widow, Doña Inés de Muñoz, founded the convent of Concepción, taking the veil of a nun in it and bestowing upon it her immense fortune. The painting of the lady still hangs in the presbytery of the church and on her sepulchre the following can be read:

This sunlit spot is where

A sun is deposited, a sun

Which is a great mother,

The generous Doña Inés de Muñoz de Ribera.

She was the wife of an encomendero

Whose name was Don Antonio de Ribera,

He who waved with a spirited hand

The royal banner of the Alférez Real.

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CHAPTER 6

THE CONSPIRACY OF THE SAYA Y MANTO

Many are the hours I’ve spent poring over ancient manuscripts, and in the process singeing my eyelashes with the flame of a lamp trying to uncover the origin of that graceful and original disguise called the saya y manto. Unfortunately, burning the midnight oil has been in vain and I am still beset by the same curiosity. It was easier for Columbus to discover America than for me to determine the year in which the saya made its first appearance. I must resign myself to the fact that the date has been lost forever. The wheat is not mine, neither are the husks; and so let whoever wishes grind away.

What I do know without any doubt is that around 1561 the Count of Nieva, fourth Viceroy of Peru and founder of Chancay, dictated certain regulations relative to the cape of the men and the mantle of the women. For the Count’s sinful obsession with sayas, an uncompromising husband cut out for him a coat that was so tight that it sent him to the grave.

Of course, for the limeñas of our day that garment, which was worn exclusively in Lima , is a ridiculous outfit. Those who might come along later will say the same thing about certain Paris fashions and the fake ones that are in vogue now.

Our grandmothers, who were very good natured, knew how to make a constant carnival out of life. All of the limeñas of the past appeared to be cut out of the same cloth. They were slim, with plump, dimpled arms, small waists, dainty feet, large black eyes and were very articulate. They gave off more sparks than a volcano in eruption. And finally, what hands they had! Saint Christ of Puruchuco.

on those hands

but they were carnations,

five to a stem.

One more detail, they possessed protuberances so irresistible and so appetizing that if they provided everything they promised I maintain that the houris of Mohammed could not compare with them.

Whether the canutillo, the encarrujada, the vuelo, the politrica, or the filipense, as soon as a daughter of Eve set foot in the street disguised thus, not only was the most jealous husband unable to recognize her, for husbands are known for their poor vision, but her own father wasn’t able to recognize her.

Wearing the saya y manto, one limeña appeared just like any other, as much alike as two drops of dew or two violets. I’ll stop now and put an end to this sentence, for I don’t know how far these poetic comparisons will carry me.

In addition, the picaresque saya y manto had the hidden virtue of sharpening the ingenuity of the female species. There would be enough material to fill a large volume with the mischief and the subtleties for which they are reported to be responsible.

But as if the saya alone were not sufficient to cause Satan himself to beat his head against a wall, suddenly there appeared the fashion of the saya de tiritas, a disguise used by the beautiful aristocratic limeñas when they would promenade on the Alameda the Thursday of the Assumption, the day of Saint Jerónimo and two others my notes don’t mention. The Alameda on those days had the appearance of a gathering of ragged beggars, but as the saying goes: “Under a poor cape is hidden a good drinker.” So the gallants of the time, bloodhounds with a well-developed sense of smell, knew the most ragged saya and the most mended manto covered up a most attractive young lady.

The ill-starred count of Nieva wasn’t the only one to issue regulations against the tapadas (women whose faces were covered, except for one eye). Other viceroys, among them the Count of Chinchón, the Marquis of Malagón and the devout Count of Lemos didn’t hesitate to follow his example. It is superfluous to say that the limeñas sustained splendidly the honor of their position and that the viceroys were always defeated, that this business of legislating concerning feminine matters requires more intestinal fortitude than is necessary to storm the barricades. It is true that behind the scenes, we, the ugly sex, gave help and moral support to the limeñas, encouraging them to make curling papers or paper cones of the paper on which the regulations were printed.

II

But there was one time when the saya y manto was in serious trouble. It was going to die a violent death, as one might put it, of a violent heart attack.

Such scandalous stories the friars would hear in the confessionals, and such pretexts for sinning would the saya y manto provide, that in one of the Councils of Lima presided over by Saint Toribio, the proposition was presented that every daughter of Eve who should go to a church meeting or be a spectator at a procession wearing the saya y manto would incur ipso facto the punishment of excommunication. You are anathema and—too bad, like it or lump it, little daughters.

Although the matter was treated in a secret session, it was precisely this circumstance that caused it to be more noised about than if it had been spread by kettledrums and announced by the town crier. The limeñas knew immediately, with all the jots and tittles, all the details of the session.

The principal matter was that several prelates had severely castigated the saya y manto, which was defended only by Bishop Don Sebastián de Lartahun, who was in that Council what canonists called the lawyer of the Devil.

With such a defender, who was always at odds with the Archbishop and his Cabildo, the matter could be given up for lost, but fortunately for the limeñas the vote was not to be taken until the following session.

Do you remember the feminine turmoil that in our republican times was whipped up because of the campanillas and the scenes that have taken place in Congress when legislation to make freedom of religion a constitutional article was debated? Well, those frays were insignificant compared with the fracas that took place in 1561.

Which proves to us that since there has been a Lima , my beautiful compatriots have been fond of rows.

And to top it off, what is really great is that they have always come out winners, and they have always managed to outwit us poor hen-pecked husbands.

The limeñas of that century didn’t know how to make fly specks (what can you expect if they were not taught to write out of fear that they would write