Ramon The Discontented

Ramon was a discontented man. Instead of thanking Providence for
all the good gifts of earth, and the promise of the joys of heaven,
he was always repining at the hardships of his life, and finding out
one thing after another to grumble at. Work he specially objected
to. He wanted a cottage, and a pig, and a stock of poultry, and a
vine, and a wife, a smoking cazuela , and plenty of tobacco; but
when it came to working to pay for them, then it was quite another
story. He was an only son; his hard-working parents had spoilt him
by letting him have his own way, supplying him with all he wanted out
of their own earnings; and so he grew up idle and apathetic, finding
fault with fate, instead of putting his shoulder to the wheel: "Estan
las cosas en este mundo como cuernos en un costal--todas de punta"
was a favourite proverb of his, meaning that the events of this life
are like packing horns into a bag, the points of those first put in
are always making their way through and obstructing the others. And
indeed, if people indulge a discontented disposition, every thing
must go wrong with them.

Strange, that any one can find pleasure in such an ugly habit as
grumbling. Ramon had been made by nature a good-looking boy; but a
sour, gloomy expression soon superseded the engaging smile of youth;
and as he had never a pleasant word, his society was gradually shunned
by all the village. The last to give him up was Carmen, the bright
little playmate of his childhood, but he wore out even her patience,
and then, when he was left to himself, he grew more and more sour
and morose.

In the meantime, his good old father and mother had died, and for a
time he had been living on the savings they had left him; but this
was soon at an end, and hunger forced home the reflection, "What was
to become of him?" Then every thing seemed gloomier than ever before
even--he sat down to think under the old patriarchal vine, which had
shaded his father, and his grandfather, and his great-grandfather
before him; but the fierce sun came through the withered branches and
maddened him. He had neglected to tend it, and it had no shelter for
him. Instead of blaming his own neglect, he turned with an imprecation
upon the vine, and his ill-humour overflowed on to the old house,
against the wall of which he leant and which was also crumbling to
decay because he had left it without repair; and upon Carmen, whose
patience he had wearied, and upon fortune, whose gifts he had left
waste. And in his fury he said that he would die. "Die!" echoed a
little leaf of the withered vine, as it fell rustling past him, "You
can't die when you will, you must fulfil the work God has set you,
whatever it be."

"Work! I will do no work. I will die!" he answered fiercely.

"You cannot die when you will!" whispered another rustling leaf.

"We shall see!" said Ramon; and with that he took up the rope of the
well, and, stalking wildly upstairs, he deliberately made a noose,
into which he inserted his throat, tied one end over a beam in the
loft, and placed himself on an old chest, ready to jump off and so
swing tight the fatal knot which was to end his days.

He shut his eyes, and took a desperate leap ... but ... instead of
drawing the noose tight, the beam above broke in twain, and the two
ends came with him to the ground. He had scarcely recovered from one
surprise, when he had to encounter another. On each side of him a
stream of golden coins came running through the broken ends of the
hollowed beam. What a sight for a lazy, self-indulgent man! Ramon
thought no more of hanging now. He untied the knot, gathered up the
gold, and secured it in chests and hiding-places, and came down to
enjoy himself once more in his old idle way.

He trod on a dry leaf of the old vine, as he passed through the garden,
and it whispered,--

"What a chance for you, Ramon! Buy yourself a patch of land, and set
to work like a man, and show Carmen you are worthy of her."

"Work! while I have gold enough to last for ever? Not I, indeed!"

"It won't last for ever, Ramon," rustled out another falling leaf.

But Ramon heeded not. Some of his treasure he spent rationally enough,
I must say, in having the old cottage repaired, and the old vine
tended; but the bulk he squandered in excesses, and in a few years
was as badly off as ever.

Want once more stared him in the face, and once more he resolved to
put an end to his existence.

"You are not fit to die!" said the patriarchal vine; but Ramon hastened
away, he had not the courage to encounter the dreadful thought.

He snatched up a rusty, disused spade--he was out of conceit with
hanging. This time he would dig a deep hole in the ground, and thrust
himself in head foremost, and stifle himself that way.

Digging was hard work for arms so unused to labour, but he had never
thought to find it so hard as it proved. He had not taken out a dozen
spadefuls when the spade seemed to refuse to enter the ground any
more. Had his arms grown so stiff they could not move? Or was the
earth so hard he could not break it?

The evening breeze rustled by, bearing with it some leaves of the
old vine; and as they passed they whispered,--

"You can't die when you will, Ramon! Only be content to work as hard as
now in a good cause, and you won't want to die till your time comes."

Provoked into energy by what he considered a taunt, instead of being
softened by the fatherly counsel, he made one more desperate thrust
of the spade into the hole. Instead of entering deeper, its rusty
pan broke short off, but with a sound which showed him it had struck
against something made of metal; and putting his hand down to the
place whence the sound came, he distinctly made out the shape of a
copper vessel.

Here was a discovery which gave him a presentiment of another chance
of good fortune. Partly with the broken spade and partly with his
own hands, he succeeded in tearing up the soil around, and bringing
to light a large jar heavy enough to be full of gold; and so it proved.

Thus provided with means, Ramon once more commenced a new lease of
his dissipated life.

"Take my advice," said the old vine, "and put your treasure in
something that will last, this time."

This was too much trouble for Ramon. He went on in his old reckless
way, spending and taking no heed.

But during all the years of neglect, the brambles had overgrown his
ground; and his uncultivated place afforded a cover for idlers and
vagabonds. So it happened that when he was making one of his nightly
visits to his treasure he was overlooked, and, as you may readily
imagine, by the next occasion the treasure was gone.

His rage at this discovery was unbounded: he resolved now once for
all to have done with life, and let nothing interfere to prevent him.

As he lay in bed that night, he contrived a plan to prevent all
possibility of escape, and with the first rays of the morning sun he
sallied out fully equipped.

He bore a rope and a blunderbuss, and he bent his steps to a crag which
overhung the sea, where he had marked a tree whose branches spread over
the briny waves. Tying his cord to a branch, he held his blunderbuss
ready to blow out his brains if the noose was too slack, while, if the
rope should break, he would at least have a good chance of drowning.

Off he leapt with the rope round his neck; but the noose did not draw
itself tight. Faithful to his plan, he pulled the rusty trigger, but,
like every thing else belonging to Ramon, the gun was out of order,
and didn't go off; but as he hung struggling in the air the old
well-rope broke, and down he fell splashing into the sea. There was
no easy drowning for him, however; the water was not so deep as he
had imagined, and he was left floundering in the waves, and bruised
about among the sunken rocks.

Ramon had no fortitude; at each bump he could not restrain an
exclamation of pain, and the distressful cries attracted the attention
of no less a person than Carmen, who was gathering esparto grass
on the wild coast at no great distance.

All her former womanly compassion returned when she saw her poor
Ramon in suffering and distress. Without an instant's hesitation,
she caught up a hank of strong esparto rope, which she used to tie
up her bundles, and hurried to the water's edge. Making one end of
it fast to a rock, with the vigorous exertion of an arm strengthened
by labour and directed by intelligence and affection, she contrived
to throw the other end within reach of his grasp.

Ramon, who by this time had been long enough within sight of the
terrors of death to feel his wish to encounter it considerably
cooled, no sooner saw who was steadying the line, than he felt all
the love of life which is implanted in the heart of man revive with
its full vigour.

He caught the rope and twisted it round his arm, and with its aid
breasted the breakers. By the time he reached the shore, however,
the exhaustion consequent on so much excitement and exertion overcame
him so completely, that every remaining spark of ill-will in Carmen's
bosom was extinguished, and her only thought was how to restore him
to strength.

Her exertions were blessed with success, and his weakness found scope
for all her womanly sympathies, while her tender care roused all
the better qualities of his nature into action. Her smile mingled
with the visions of his feeble state, and warmed all his prospects
of the future.

When he dreamt of the dreary old house and its haunting associations
with the guilty past, he fancied he saw the sunny halo of her presence
dispelling all its gloomy phantasms, and her playful innocence
silencing even the convicting warnings of the stern old vine. Shared
with her, even labour seemed to lose its repugnance.

As soon as he was well enough, he opened to her his resolutions full of
repentance, which, with a woman's instinct, she was forward to foster.

You will be pleased to hear that after all these lessons, crowned
by Carmen's winning confidence in his promised amendment, Ramon set
himself seriously to follow a new line of conduct. Carmen showed her
faith in his penitence by marrying him, and he took honest care that
she should never repent her generosity.

The old cottage once more looked homely and inviting; and in the
summer evening, when Ramon and Carmen sat resting beneath the shadow of
the old vine, now sturdy and fruitful under the culture it received,
and watching the gambols of a troop of chiquillos whom God had
given them, the leaves, as they fell rustling about them, whispered
playfully in Ramon's ear, "You don't want to die now?" And Ramon in
revenge plucked a bunch of ruddy grapes, and distributed it among
the happy party.