THE PEDRO JIMENEZ GRAPE.
There was a well-to-do vine-grower named Pedro Jimenez, who cultivateda small tract of land on which his fathers had lived for manygenerations before him, and had been known throughout the districtfor men of undoubted pundonor, by which word Spaniards express themost scrupulous nicety of honourable conduct. Blessed with all otherworldly advantages, Pedro Jimenez had one great trial--he had no childto whom to transmit the name he had received from his predecessors,and himself borne so creditably. When he reflected on this, there wasone thought in the background which used to distress him. There wasliving at a sufficient distance to be quite unknown to his neighbours,a poor relation of his wife, whom he assisted frequently in secret;but he had never let the knowledge of the humiliating circumstancetranspire. Yet he knew that this poor hard-working man with difficultykept his family above want; that the greatest delicacy in which theycould ever indulge was the dish popularly called duelos y quebrantos(sorrows and troubles), a stew made up of the poorest odds and ends andleavings [72], in bitter mockery of the favourite Spanish olla podrida,which is a compound of the most succulent meats and vegetables.
Conscience would whisper in Pedro Jimenez's ear, "Here, in this poorfellow's son, is an heir whom you may adopt; take him from the presenttemptations to discontent and dishonesty with which privations plyhim, and bring him up according to the traditional maxims of yourhouse." But when he thought of the details of bringing the ragged ladto his respectable homestead, and the neighbours pointing to him asthe relation of the wealthy Pedro Jimenez, his courage failed him, andhe turned from the idea. So years passed by, and this thought remainedthe weak point of Pedro Jimenez's otherwise irreproachable character.
One evening, as he was strolling through his vineyard, admiring thebeautiful clusters of grapes which were his riches for the comingyear, he was disturbed by the mournful howling of a dog, proceedingfrom the road-side at no great distance. His kind heart prompted himimmediately to follow up the sound, and he was not long before hecame upon a saddening sight. On the ground lay the prostrate form of adelicate youth, foot-sore and travel-worn, and now brought to a stateof unconsciousness through exhaustion; by his side there lay a largeshaggy dog of pitiable aspect; his bones almost protruded through hisskin, his eyes were glassy and wild, and he trembled in every limb. Hismelancholy howling grew fainter and fainter, and by the time PedroJimenez got up to the group, he saw he was past the reach of help;with one more distressful howl, he rolled on his back and expired,having spent his last breath in summoning aid to his young master!
Pedro Jimenez lost no time in raising the youth in his arms, andbearing him to his own comfortable home, where his wife's kindlycare soon restored him to animation. Refreshed by her attentions,he was soon able to tell his tale; and what was the surprise ofthe good couple when they learnt that the poor child they had socharitably entertained, was no other than the son of their poorrelation. Nevertheless his history was a sad one. His father and motherhad both fallen victims to an epidemic disorder in their village; kindneighbours had taken in the younger children, a convent had providedfor two older girls; and the eldest boy, having been used to labourall his life, had manfully resolved to be a charge to no stranger, buthad set out to seek the advice and direction of the only relation hehad to look up to, in finding work by which he could support himself,and lay by enough to portion his younger sisters. As the weary boytold his tale of domestic heroism, Pedro Jimenez's better naturestirred within him. He no longer stifled the dictates of conscience,no longer suffered himself to be governed by a false and foolish fearof human respect, but took his young kinsman by the hand, told himhe was proud of his spirit, and that as Heaven had denied him directheirs, he would henceforth make it depend entirely on his own goodconduct to become the heir to his comfortable competence.
The orphan lad was overjoyed at the prospect. In his little worldthe name of Pedro Jimenez had all his life stood as the embodiment ofall that was respectable, and desirable, and worthy of imitation. Tobe suddenly elevated to the position of aspiring to one day himselfinheriting that honoured name, with all its contingent advantages,was greater happiness than he had ever dared to entertain in hiswildest dreams.
Pedro Jimenez had every reason to be satisfied with the decision hehad come to. All the neighbours who were sufficiently men of worthto make their opinion a matter of consequence, far from looking downon him for the disclosure, warmly applauded his generosity; and inreturn for the few worthless ones whose acquaintance he lost by it,he won for himself the affection of a devoted son. The old man hadnever known a greater pleasure than that he now found in taking hisadopted child out with him day by day, and instructing him in all thevarious arts of treating the vine--the mode of planting and culture,the vintage, the pressing of the grape, and the disposal of the wine;and to all this, his young charge listened with an earnestness andintelligence that repaid all his care. His frugality, and industry,and straightforward manly conduct on all occasions--his almost femininekindliness of manner in supplying to the best of his power the officesof the old wife, when God took her home, all rendered the old manquite easy as to the future successor to his name.
At last the time came when Pedro Jimenez the elder, full of years andhonour, was called to his account; and as his adopted son turned tomeet the desolation of the lonely house, there was one thought ofconsolation to gild his bereavement, the sense that he could makehis whole after-life a token of obedience to the upright maxims ofhis benefactor, in whose stead he now stood.
While our hero had been living in rustic tranquillity in theremotest part of the south of Spain, great events had been stirringEurope. The tumultuous tide of the French Revolution had overflowedthe Peninsula. I will not detain you with any thing you can considera dry epitome of history. Suffice it to say, that in consequence ofthe troubles in which his country was involved, young Pedro Jimenezwas called to join the army.
Having felt, as I hope you have, some interest in the honest pridewith which he was on the point of entering on his inheritance,I am sure you will sympathize with the sadness of heart which nowovershadowed him as he was obliged to abandon his fair homestead justas it had become his own. "It is well the old man never suspectedit would come to this! ... and then peace must come and restore meto my home some time or other," he used to say to comfort himselfduring the weary march or tedious drill. There was, however, yet aheavier trial in store. It was the policy of the intruded French rulerto send away the native troops out of their country, and replacethem with French troops. Now it happened that Pedro Jimenez wasattached to the regiment of General Romano, which was one of thoseselected for foreign service. Ordered to the banks of the Rhine,poor Pedro Jimenez seemed farther than ever from the fulfilment ofhis darling hopes. He had perhaps felt the defence of his countrysome compensation for the separation from home; but to fight for theunjust aggressions of one who was the usurper of the throne of hisnative land was surpassingly hard. When not joining his comrades inlamenting their hard fate, he would wander over the country, trying tofind any incident which might remind him of his beloved Andalusia. Hisattention was thus arrested by the vines which he found growing on theheights around. The knowledge of the subject he had acquired duringso many years' apprenticeship, and under so experienced a master,now proved invaluable. His practised eye readily distinguished amongthe varieties presented to it a superior variety adapted to the soiland climate of Andalusia, and he determined, whenever Providence waspleased to give him an opportunity of returning, that he would providehimself with the means of propagating this stock in his own plantation.
Nor was this opportunity very long withheld. General Romano, thoughscarcely taller than the length of an ordinary man's arm [73] borein his little body a large and loyal heart: by dint of perseveringefforts, he succeeded in making a way of escape for his whole regiment,shipped them, and carried them safely round to a friendly port ofPortugal, and thence draughted them all back into Spain, where theydid good service under Wellington.
He found his own vina in a sad state of neglect; but his native airhaving soon restored his strength, he was able within a few years more,not only to bring it round again, but also to produce a goodly showfrom his newly imported vine-stock. And from this vintage it is--theRhenish stock planted in Andalusian soil, and cultivated with tendercare and intelligence--that we get the choice variety of sherry wine(you can ask Papa to let you taste it some day at dessert) called"Pedro Jimenez."
Patrañas; or, Spanish Stories, Legendary and Traditional Page 21
