After that the doctor gave an inspired and stirring speech in the ceremonial hall. I just met, he said in a joking voice, a man who claimed to have seen the devil in a dream and that the devil drove him to give up tobacco. The public reacted to this with condescending laughter, which Mr. Frampton and I joined in as well. “Look,” the doctor noted, “what superstition leads to!” Then he spoke of modern times, of the fact that we need to leave medieval superstitions behind and to embrace science’s new discoveries, to rush towards those limitless horizons which science opens before us. We live in a new time, the doctor said, in which science has triumphantly stepped over the prejudices of the past (I thought of that bum lying on the streets of Sevilla), an exciting and volatile time, in which new foundations are being laid, whose golden fruits will be harvested by future generations; a time — the doctor continued — of rebirth, of Renaissance, of the triumphant might of knowledge and of science, that sun that rends the darkness, which you — he turned towards the audience — my young friends, have been nobly called to dedicate yourselves to, under the deft guidance of your wise teachers and especially Mr. Whittaker, one of the age’s brightest minds. Wild, long-lasting applause ensued, as the public got to its feet. Smiling, with hand on heart, Dr. Monardes took a slight bow from time to time in various directions. Then he spoke of new medicines that had come to us from the Indies, and particularly about tobacco and the huge number of illnesses this newly discovered substance could cure. He predicted a long and distinguished life for this new medicine. Some day, the doctor said, even the lowliest peasant in the Old World will know what tobacco is and perhaps will even use it himself, tobacco will be everywhere — on the streets, in the alehouses, in the inns, in the homes of the rich and the poor, in the houses of the nobility, of merchants, tradesmen, villagers — everywhere. It will become the most celebrated plant in the world, more famous even than tomatoes and peppers, mark my words. It will triumph as very few things in the world ever have, the doctor said, and this will come about far sooner than most think. We are already seeing the first harbingers of this eminent epoch, he said. The spirit of the new knowledge will spread gradually, little by little and invisibly at first — it will spring up here, it will spring up there, in this college, in that city, on that street. And so on until that day when suddenly and seemingly out of the blue the world will change completely. The self-satisfied ignoramuses of the past will see how it comes crashing down on their heads, how the habitual routine of the life they know flows away like water running through their fingers, they will look on bewildered and ask themselves: How so? What’s going on? And they will have to trace the answer far back into the past. But we know. “The world will change completely some day,” the doctor concluded. “And thanks to us in no small part.”
A magnificent, superb, stirring speech by Dr. Monardes! I was proud to be the student of such a man. With the power of an ancient orator, he stood before an unfamiliar audience and conquered them with his mighty speech, his extraordinary knowledge, and his sharp insight. Mr. Frampton was beside himself with ecstasy. I was, too, in a certain sense. Bravo, Dr. Monardes!
“Dr. Monardes is my teacher!” I turned to a tutor standing near me, involuntarily pointing a finger at my own chest. “I am a student of Dr. Monardes!”
“An enviable fate!” he replied. “I truly envy you, sir!” the man added, applauding all the while.
That night, perhaps as a result of the excitement and impressions of the day, I also dreamed of the so-called “devil.” But I dreamed of him in the gardens of Alhambra, standing where two pathways met under a right angle; they were lined with green hedges like a high curbstone, leveled off at knee height. Behind him I could see rose bushes with dark red roses, as well as lighter ones, whose color I cannot see how to define other than as rosy-pink roses. Above them, scattered about a dozen yards apart, towered tall palm trees, and along the length of the pathway the “devil” had come up, just in front of the hedge, red poppies and some purple flowers whose name I don’t know were growing in long stone flowerpots. To the right, perhaps a hundred yards from me, rose the high walls of the labyrinth covered in greenery. A magnificent place, indeed, very picturesque.
But the so-called “devil” was no less picturesque. He bore no resemblance whatsoever to the one Thomas Jollie saw in his dream. On the contrary, this one was dressed in the latest fashions popular with Spanish aristocrats — in green and white striped “pumpkins,” as those greatly puffed-up pants reaching to mid-thigh were sneeringly called, with silk stockings beneath them reaching just to his hooves; on top he wore a black jacket with gold embroidery, cinched at the waist and cropped at the shoulders; from beneath it flowed the sleeves of a loose shirt in the same green and white stripes, with a high pleated collar that reached to his chin; he also wore a short mantel that hung to his waist, gloves, a sword, a cap with a pheasant feather, and a large gold cross on his chest. No, he did not look anything like Señor Jollie’s devil, and if it weren’t for the hooves, I would have taken him for some Spanish courtier. In my dream, everything was bathed in bright colors, as if sparkling in the light of the noonday sun. But there was not a living soul in sight, it was just me and that picturesque figure before me. To my credit, I must stress that I was not frightened in the least.
“You must be an apparition,” I said to him. “The devil does not exist.”
“That’s true,” he replied. “I do not exist.”
And as he said this, he leapt up and spun around in a circle.
“How absurd!” I said. “And what is that cross on your chest?”
“What, don’t you like it?” he replied, lifting it with his fingers. “If so, then you have no taste. This is an exquisite work of goldsmithing.”
I snorted derisively. This was some kind of clown!
Believing in the devil was as absurd as believing in anything whatsoever.
“I can read your thoughts,” he said and pointed his finger at me before continuing: “I’ll test out my new sword on you. Try to defend yourself. This is no joke!” And with that, he hopped twice like a fencer, bringing first his left leg forward and then his right, with the sword in one hand and the other hand clapped on his waist behind him.
“Don’t go looking for trouble!” I said and reached under my jacket to the left where my Spanish dagger was.
“Can you imagine how strange it sounds to be run through by someone who does not exist? In the morning they’ll find you dead in bed, but with no trace of a wound.”