The Life and Adventures of Guzman D'Alfarache: The Spanish Rogue (Complete‪)‬

I was so desirous, curious reader, to relate to you my own adventures, that I had almost commenced speaking of myself without making any mention of my family, with which some sophist or other would not have failed to accuse me: “Be not so hasty, friend Guzman,” would he have said; “let us begin, if you please, from the definition, before we proceed to speak of the thing defined. Inform us, in the first place, who were your parents; you can then relate to us at your pleasure those exploits which you have so immoderate a desire to entertain us with.”

To proceed, therefore, in due course, I will introduce my parents to your notice. Were I to relate their history, I doubt not that you would find it more entertaining than my own; but think not that I am going so far to enlarge at their expence as to reveal all that I know of them: let any other that pleases rake up the ashes of the dead, and regale himself on their bodies, like the hyena; for my part, I shall so far respect the memory of my parents, as to pass over in silence such things as it would not become me to speak of; and it is even my wish so to set off such as I shall recount to you, that it may be said of me, “Blessed be the man who thus glosses over the crimes of his ancestors.”

Their conduct, however, has certainly not always been blameless, and some of their actions have made so much noise in the world, that it were in vain for me to attempt to make them appear spotless. I shall only give the lie to the numerous comments that have been made upon the truth; for, God be praised! it is the fashion now-a-days to disguise truth by such comments. Every man who relates a story, whether from malice or ostentation, is sure to interlard with it some portion of slander, more or less; such is the good disposition of our nature, that something of our own invention must be added to that which is expected of us. I will relate to you an example of this.

I knew a gentleman at Madrid, a stranger, who was a great lover of Spanish horses. He possessed two of a remarkably fine shape, a sorrel and a dapple grey, which he would willingly have transported to his own country; but it not being lawful, and, besides, scarcely possible, on account of the very great distance, he resolved to have them painted, that he might at least have the pleasure of shewing their pictures to his friends. With this view he employed two celebrated painters, to each of whom he gave a horse to paint; promising, over and above the price agreed on, to recompense handsomely the one whose performance should excel the other’s.

The first painted the sorrel almost to the life, and filled up the rest of his canvas with light strokes and shades. The other painter was not so perfect in the dapple-grey; but, to make amends, he adorned the upper part of his picture with trees, clouds, a beautiful perspective and venerable ruins, and he represented, at the lower part, an open country abounding with shrubs, meadows, and waterfalls. In the corner of his piece he had suspended all manner of horse-furniture on the trunk of a tree, with a hunting-saddle, which for workmanship could not be excelled.