At a certain inn I met with a company of strolling players, who were going to Toledo, and had three carts with them. It pleased God that among the gang I found one who had been my fellow-student at Alcalá, who had played the wag, and was turned actor. I told him what a mind I had to go to Toledo, and he scarce knew me for the scar across my face, and he could not forbear crossing himself at the sign of my cross.21 In conclusion, for a small spill of money, he was so much my friend as to prevail with the rest to let me go with them. We were a scratch lot, men and women together, and I was mightily taken with one of the crew, who was the chief dancer, and acted the queen and other great parts in plays, for she was a notable jilt. Her husband happened to sit next to me, and not thinking to whom I spoke, but following my inclination, I asked him, “How could a man do to have a little talk with this woman, that I might spend twenty crowns upon her, for I have a great liking to her?” “It does not become me to answer your question, as I am her husband,” replied the man, “nor is it fit I should talk of any such thing; but to speak without feeling, for I have none, she deserves to have any money spent upon her, for there is not a more dainty bit of flesh upon the earth, nor such a playsome wench.” This said, he leaped out of the cart, and got into another, in all likelihood that I might have an opportunity of making my addresses to her. I was pleased with the man’s answer, and perceived it may be said of such men, that they had wives as if they had none. I laid hold of the opportunity; she asked me whither I was going, and some questions concerning my life and circumstances; and in conclusion, after much talk, postponed the affair to Toledo.

We diverted ourselves by the way as best we could, and I happened to act a piece out of a play of San Alejo that I had borne a part in when I was a boy, which I did so well, that they took a liking to me, and learning of my friend, who was in the company, of all my misfortunes and hard circumstances which I had made him acquainted with, she asked me whether I would make one among them? They so highly extolled their strolling course of life, and I was then in such want of some support, and so fond of the wench, that I agreed with the manager for two years. Writings were signed between us to oblige me to stay with them, so they gave me my allowance, and allotted my parts, and thus we came to Toledo. They gave me two or three prologues to get by heart, and some other grave parts, which suited well with my voice. I applied myself to it, and spoke the first prologue in the town, which was about a ship in distress, as they all are, and wanting provisions, which put into that port. I called the folks a “Senate,” begging their attentions, pardon for all faults, and so went off. There was great clapping of hands, and in fine I was liked on the stage. We acted a play, written by one of our actors, and I wondered how they should come to be poets, for I thought it belonged only to very learned and ingenious men, and not to persons so extremely ignorant. But it is now come to such a pass that every head of them writes plays, and every actor makes drolls and farces; though formerly I remember no plays would go down but such as were written by the good Lope de Vega and Doctor Ramon. In short, the play was acted the first day, and no soul could make anything of it. The second day we began it again, and as God would have it, there was some warlike exploit to begin with; and I came upon the stage in armour, and with a target on my arm, which was a great mercy, or else I had infallibly been pelted to death with cabbage-stalks and pumpkins, and all things that came to hand. Such a storm of hail was never seen, and the play deserved it, for it represented a king of Normandy in a hermit’s habit, without any sense or reason, had two scoundrel footmen to make sport, and when they came to unravel the plot, there was nothing but marrying of all the company, and there was an end; so that, to say the truth, we got but what we deserved. We all fell foul of our companion, the pretended poet, and I bade him consider what a danger we had escaped, and take warning by it; he answered, he had not made one word of the play, but only picked up bits and scraps, some from one and some from another, as they came in his way, which he had jumbled together, like a beggar’s cloak made of all sorts of rags; and the ill luck was, that it had not been neatly joined. He owned, that all the players who wrote plays, were obliged to make restitution, because they only stole from all the parts they acted, which was easily done, and they were willing to run all hazards in hopes of getting ten or twenty crowns. Besides that, going about all the country, and being shown plays by several persons, they borrowed them to read, and then stole them, to which, when they had done, they only added some scurvy part, and left out another better, and so they called it their own; protesting that no player ever knew how to write a scene any other way.

I liked the contrivance and took a great fancy to try it myself, as having some small turn for poetry, and being somewhat versed in poets, for I had read Garcilaso, and others, and so I resolved to fall into that trade; so that with this, and my actress, and my own playing, I made a shift to live. By that time we had been a month at Toledo, acting several new plays, and endeavouring to retrieve our first failure, and they had come to call me little Alonso, for I had given out that my name was Alonso, to which the generality added the title of “the Cruel,” because I had acted a part of that nature, to the great liking of the pit and upper galleries. I had now got several new suits of clothes, and there were some heads of other strollers who endeavoured to inveigle me away from my company. I set up for a critic of comedy, commented on the famous actors, reprehended the attitudes of Pinedo, gave my vote for Sanchez’s natural sedateness, called Morales pretty good, so that my advice was always taken in contriving the scenes and adorning the stage; and if any play came to be offered, it was left to me to examine it. Being encouraged by this applause, I made my maiden effort as a poet in a little ballad, and then wrote a small farce, which was well approved of. Next I ventured a play, and that it might not escape being a thing divine, made it all of devotion, and full of the Blessed Virgin. It began with music, had fine shows of souls in purgatory, and devils appearing, as was the fashion then, with old gibberish when they appeared, and strange shrieks when they vanished. The mob was mightily pleased with my rhymes about Satan, and my long discourses about his falling from Heaven, and suchlike. In short the play was acted, and well liked. I had more business than I could turn my hands to, for all sorts of lovers flocked to me, some would have songs on their mistress’s eyes, others on their foreheads, others on their white hands, and others on their golden locks. There was a set price for everything; but I sold cheap to draw the more custom, because there were other shops besides mine. As for godly ballads, I supplied all the country clerks and runners of monasteries; and the blind men were my best friends, for they never allowed less than eighty reals, and I always took care they should be bombastic, and stuffed with cramp words, which neither they nor I understood. I brought up many new fashions in verse, as tailors do in clothes, and was the first that concluded my songs like sermons, praying for grace in this world and glory in the next.

Thus was I happy, with the wind blowing fair as I could wish, my pockets full of money, highly in vogue, and in such a prosperous condition that I aimed at being chief of a company of strollers. My house was handsomely furnished, for the devil put into my head to buy the old mouldy tapestry of taverns to hang my rooms at a cheap rate, all which cost me about five or six crowns; for they afforded a better prospect than any the king has, for being so ragged you might see through any part of them, which you cannot do through any of his. The oddest thing happened to me one day that ever was heard of, which I will not forbear to make known, though it be to my shame. When I was writing a play, I used to shut myself up at home in the garret, where I kept close and dined. The maid used to bring up my dinner, and leave it there; and it was my way to act all I wrote, and talk aloud, as if I had been upon the stage. As the devil would have it, when the maid was coming up the stairs, which were dark and steep, with the dish of meat and plates in her hand, I was composing a scene of hunting a bear, and, being wholly intent upon my play, cried out as loud as I could:

“Fly, fly, the bloody bear; take heed, I say,
Alas, I’m killed, and you’ll become its prey.”

The poor wench, who was a silly Galician, hearing me roar that I was killed, and she in danger to become a prey to the bear, thought it had been real matter of fact, and that I called to her to save herself. Upon this conceit she took to her heels, and treading on her coats in the confusion, tumbled down all the stairs. The soup was spilt, the plates were broken, and she run out roaring into the street, “that a bear was killing a man.” I could not be so nimble but that all the neighbours were about me, asking where the bear was? and I could scarce make them believe me, though I told them it was the maid’s foolish mistake, for I was only acting a part of a play. I lost my dinner that day; my companions were told of it, and all the town made sport with it. Many such accidents befell me whilst I followed the trade of poetising, and would not forsake that wicked course of life.

It happened, as frequently does to that sort of people, that the chief of our company, being known to have done very well at Toledo, was arrested for some old debts and thrown into gaol, which broke up our gang, and everyone went his own way. As for my part, though my comrades would have introduced me into other companies, having no great inclination to that calling, for I had followed it out of mere necessity; I thought of nothing but taking my pleasure, being then well dressed and in no want of money. I took my leave of them all, they went their ways; and I, who had proposed to quit an ill course of life, by desisting from being a stroller, to mend the matter, dropped out of the frying-pan into the fire, for I fell into much worse. I became a candidate for Antichrist; to speak plainly, I became a gallant of nuns. The encouragement I had to commit this madness, was, that I understood there was a nun, the goddess Venus herself, at whose request I had written abundance of little devout pastorals; and she had taken some liking to me on that account, and seeing me act Saint John the Evangelist in a Sacramental play. The good lady made very much of me, and told me there was nothing troubled her so much as my being a player; for I had pretended to her that I was the son of a gentleman of quality, and therefore she pitied me, and I at last resolved to send her the following lines:

“I have quitted the company of players, rather to comply with your desires, than because it was otherwise convenient for me so to do; but to me all the company in the world, without yours, is solitude. I shall now have the more opportunity of being yours, as being absolutely my own master. Let me know when I may have speech with you, and when I shall know when I may be happy, etc.”

The runner carried the note, the good nun was wonderfully pleased to hear of my change of life, and answered me as follows:⁠—

“I rather expect to be congratulated than to congratulate you on your good fortune; for my wishes and your prosperity are inseparable. You may be looked upon as recovered out of a desperate estate; it only remains that you persevere, as I shall do. I question whether there will be any liberty at the grate today; but do not fail to come at evensong, for there at least we shall see one another, and perhaps I may find means to put some trick upon the lady abbess.

I liked the note, for the woman was really witty, and very handsome. After dinner I put on the best suit I used to act the gallant in on the stage, went to church, pretended to pray, and then began to examine every inch of the grating and veil before the choir, to see if I could discover her. At length it pleased God I had the good fortune, or rather the devil contrived me the ill luck, that I heard the old sign; I began to cough, she answered⁠—it was a cough of Barabbas. We followed each other in the catarrh, and it seemed as if they had strewn pepper in the church. At last, when I was quite weary of coughing, a wheezy old woman appeared at the grate, and I discovered my mistake; for this is a very uncertain sign in a convent, because, as it serves for a sign among young ones, it is habitual with old ones, and when a man thinks it a call to catch a nightingale, he finds nothing but an owl. I stayed a long time in the church, till evensong began, which I heard out, for the admirers of nuns have this madness, besides all the rest, that they must play the hypocrite and pray against their will; besides that, they never go beyond the eve, being ever in expectation, but the day of enjoyment never comes. I never failed being at evensong, and stretched out my neck a handful longer than it was, to endeavour to see into the choir. The sacristan and clerk were my constant companions, and I was well received by the vicar, who was a pleasant man, and walked as stiff and upright as if a spit had been run through him. I went by times to take my place in a court the nuns’ windows looked into, where it was comical to see the strange postures of others, as mad pretenders as myself. One gazed without ever so much as winking; another stood with one hand on his sword, and his beads on the other, like a statue upon a tomb; another with his arms stretched out as if he were flying; some gaping, as if they would have had their hearts fly out at their mouths; some leaning against the walls, as if they had come to support them; some walking as if to be bought for their pacing, like horses; and others with billets doux in their hands, like falconers, to bring the hawk to the lure. The jealous lovers were in another band; some smiling, and gazing up at their mistresses; others reading verses, and showing them; one, pacing the terrace with a damsel in hand out of pique; another, talking to a suborned servant-maid, who was giving him a letter. All this was below where we were, but above the place for the nuns was a little old tower, all full of cracks, chinks, and peeping holes, where appeared nothing but a confusion⁠—here a hand, there a foot, in another place a head, in another a handkerchief, a glove, or the like; some walked, others coughed, and so everyone had her particular way. In summer it is pleasant enough to see the men so parched and the women so cool. In winter some of us stay so long in the wet that we are mouldy, and the moss grows upon us; neither snow nor rain can drive us away; and all this is only to see a woman through a grate and a glass, like some holy relic, or curious piece of workmanship, for that is all we can ever expect. It is just like falling in love with a blackbird in a cage, if ever she talks; or with a fine picture, if she does not. The greatest favour ever to be attained is to touch the ends of the fingers. They lean their heads against the double grates, and shoot volleys of fine conceits through those loopholes. ’Tis perfect love at hide and seek, and yet for this we study to talk fine and whisper, must endure every old woman that chides, every doorkeeper that commands, and everyone at the wheel that gives what answer she pleases.

I had followed this cursed employment so long that I was well looked upon by the lady abbess, civilly treated by the good priest, and a familiar with the clerk, for we hid our folly from them; and this is all the happiness such madmen can aspire to. I began to be weary of the doorkeeper’s turning me away, and of the nuns begging, and methought how dear I endeavoured to purchase a place in hell, which others have at so easy a rate, and that I even anticipated to take share of it in this world by such extravagant means. It was plain that I rode post to perdition, and threw away my soul only for a few looks. When I talked to her, for fear of being overheard by the rest, I used to thrust my head so close to the grate, that the print of it would not come out in two days, and at the same time spoke so low that she could not understand one word without a trumpet at her ear. Everybody that saw me, cried, “A curse on thee, thou wicked, nun-hunting dog!” besides many other worse compliments. All these things brought me to my senses, and I resolved to quit my nun, even though it cost me my living; and this I determined to do on St. John’s Day. I had come to know what nuns were. I need not tell you, sir, how the she-votaries of St. John get themselves hoarse of spite, so that, instead of chanting the mass, they groan it; nor do they wash their faces, but don their old garments. I got off her the value of fifty crowns of her work, in silk stockings, rich purses, and sweetmeats, pretending to have them raffled for; but as soon as I had them in possession, I set out for Seville to try my fortune there, as the greater city. The pious reader may guess how much the nun was concerned, not for me, but what I cheated her of.