{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_415/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_415","id":"gutenberg_415","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/415","summary":null,"tags":["Borrow, George, 1803-1881 -- Travel -- Spain","Category: History - Modern (1750+)","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Category: Travel Writing","Spain -- Description and travel","Spain -- History -- 19th century"],"text":"THE BIBLE IN SPAIN\n\n\n              or The Journeys, Adventures, and Imprisonments\n                    of an Englishman, in an Attempt to\n                circulate the Scriptures in the Peninsula\n\n                                    BY\n                              GEORGE BORROW\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                        CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD.\n                         LONDON, PARIS, NEW YORK,\n                           TORONTO & MELBOURNE\n                                 MCMVIII\n\n\n\n\nEDITOR\u2019S NOTE\n\n\nBlessed with a magnificent physique, and an unswerving belief in God\u2019s\nbeneficence; endowed with \u201cthe gift of tongues\u201d and a cheerful\ndisposition, George Borrow was well equipped for life.  That he was\ncalled to be a Bible Society missionary was surely a curious turn of\nfortune.  The son of a Militia captain, whose duties took him about the\ncountry, Borrow early acquired the taste for a roving life, and it must\nhave been a severe hardship to him when, at the age of sixteen, he was\narticled to a Norwich firm of solicitors.  Indeed, it would almost appear\nthat the gypsy spirit was quenched, for on the completion of his five\nyears he was engaged as literary hack to Phillips, the London publisher.\nBut after a year or so the \u201ccall of the wild\u201d came, and Borrow eagerly\nresponded.  What happened is not really known, though much of his gypsy\nlife is pictured in _Lavengro_.\n\nIn 1832 he commenced his work for the Bible Society, and the next year\nwent as its representative to Russia.  He stayed there until 1835, when\nhe was ordered to Spain and Portugal.  In spite of their adventurous\nnature, the five years there spent were described by Borrow as \u201cthe most\nhappy years of my life.\u201d  _The Bible in Spain_ consists largely of his\nletters to the Society, and the vigour and directness of his language\nmust ofttimes have startled the officials.  The book was published in\nDecember, 1842.\n\nGeorge Henry Borrow was born July 5, 1803, and died July 26, 1881.\n\n\n\n\nAUTHOR\u2019S PREFACE\n\n\nIt is very seldom that the preface of a work is read; indeed, of late\nyears, most books have been sent into the world without any.  I deem it,\nhowever, advisable to write a preface, and to this I humbly call the\nattention of the courteous reader, as its perusal will not a little tend\nto the proper understanding and appreciation of these volumes.\n\nThe work now offered to the public, and which is styled _The Bible in\nSpain_, consists of a narrative of what occurred to me during a residence\nin that country, to which I was sent by the Bible Society, as its agent\nfor the purpose of printing and circulating the Scriptures.  It\ncomprehends, however, certain journeys and adventures in Portugal, and\nleaves me at last in \u201cthe land of the Corahai,\u201d to which region, after\nhaving undergone considerable buffeting in Spain, I found it expedient to\nretire for a season.\n\nIt is very probable that had I visited Spain from mere curiosity, or with\na view of passing a year or two agreeably, I should never have attempted\nto give any detailed account of my proceedings, or of what I heard and\nsaw.  I am no tourist, no writer of books of travels; but I went there on\na somewhat remarkable errand, which necessarily led me into strange\nsituations and positions, involved me in difficulties and perplexities,\nand brought me into contact with people of all descriptions and grades;\nso that, upon the whole, I flatter myself that a narrative of such a\npilgrimage may not be wholly uninteresting to the public, more especially\nas the subject is not trite; for though various books have been published\nabout Spain, I believe that the present is the only one in existence\nwhich treats of missionary labour in that country.\n\nMany things, it is true, will be found in the following volume which have\nlittle connexion with religion or religious enterprise; I offer, however,\nno apology for introducing them.  I was, as I may say, from first to last\nadrift in Spain, the land of old renown, the land of wonder and mystery,\nwith better opportunities of becoming acquainted with its strange secrets\nand peculiarities than perhaps ever yet were afforded to any individual,\ncertainly to a foreigner; and if in many instances I have introduced\nscenes and characters perhaps unprecedented in a work of this\ndescription, I have only to observe, that, during my sojourn in Spain, I\nwas so unavoidably mixed up with such, that I could scarcely have given a\nfaithful narrative of what befell me had I not brought them forward in\nthe manner which I have done.\n\nIt is worthy of remark that, called suddenly and unexpectedly \u201cto\nundertake the adventure of Spain,\u201d I was not altogether unprepared for\nsuch an enterprise.  In the daydreams of my boyhood, Spain always bore a\nconsiderable share, and I took a particular interest in her, without any\npresentiment that I should at a future time be called upon to take a\npart, however humble, in her strange dramas; which interest, at a very\nearly period, led me to acquire her noble language, and to make myself\nacquainted with her literature (scarcely worthy of the language), her\nhistory and traditions; so that when I entered Spain for the first time I\nfelt more at home than I should otherwise have done.\n\nIn Spain I passed five years, which, if not the most eventful, were, I\nhave no hesitation in saying, the most happy years of my existence.  Of\nSpain, at the present time, now that the daydream has vanished, never,\nalas! to return, I entertain the warmest admiration: she is the most\nmagnificent country in the world, probably the most fertile, and\ncertainly with the finest climate.  Whether her children are worthy of\ntheir mother, is another question, which I shall not attempt to answer;\nbut content myself with observing, that, amongst much that is lamentable\nand reprehensible, I have found much that is noble and to be admired;\nmuch stern heroic virtue; much savage and horrible crime; of low vulgar\nvice very little, at least amongst the great body of the Spanish nation,\nwith which my mission lay; for it will be as well here to observe, that I\nadvance no claim to an intimate acquaintance with the Spanish nobility,\nfrom whom I kept as remote as circumstances would permit me; _en\nrevanche_, however, I have had the honour to live on familiar terms with\nthe peasants, shepherds, and muleteers of Spain, whose bread and bacalao\nI have eaten; who always treated me with kindness and courtesy, and to\nwhom I have not unfrequently been indebted for shelter and protection.\n\n    \u201cThe generous bearing of Francisco Gonzales, and the high deeds of\n    Ruy Diaz the Cid, are still sung amongst the fastnesses of the Sierra\n    Morena.\u201d {8}\n\nI believe that no stronger argument can be brought forward in proof of\nthe natural vigour and resources of Spain, and the sterling character of\nher population, than the fact that, at the present day, she is still a\npowerful and unexhausted country, and her children still, to a certain\nextent, a high-minded and great people.  Yes, notwithstanding the misrule\nof the brutal and sensual Austrian, the doting Bourbon, and, above all,\nthe spiritual tyranny of the court of Rome, Spain can still maintain her\nown, fight her own combat, and Spaniards are not yet fanatic slaves and\ncrouching beggars.  This is saying much, very much: she has undergone far\nmore than Naples had ever to bear, and yet the fate of Naples has not\nbeen hers.  There is still valour in Astruria; generosity in Aragon;\nprobity in Old Castile; and the peasant women of La Mancha can still\nafford to place a silver fork and a snowy napkin beside the plate of\ntheir guest.  Yes, in spite of Austrian, Bourbon, and Rome, there is\nstill a wide gulf between Spain and Naples.\n\nStrange as it may sound, Spain is not a fanatic country.  I know\nsomething about her, and declare that she is not, nor has ever been;\nSpain never changes.  It is true that, for nearly two centuries, she was\nthe she-butcher, _La Verduga_, of malignant Rome; the chosen instrument\nfor carrying into effect the atrocious projects of that power; yet\nfanaticism was not the spring which impelled her to the work of butchery;\nanother feeling, in her the predominant one, was worked upon\u2014her fatal\npride.  It was by humouring her pride that she was induced to waste her\nprecious blood and treasure in the Low Country wars, to launch the\nArmada, and to many other equally insane actions.  Love of Rome had ever\nslight influence over her policy; but flattered by the title of\nGonfaloniera of the Vicar of Jesus, and eager to prove herself not\nunworthy of the same, she shut her eyes and rushed upon her own\ndestruction with the cry of \u201cCharge, Spain.\u201d\n\nBut the arms of Spain became powerless abroad, and she retired within\nherself.  She ceased to be the tool of the vengeance and cruelty of Rome.\nShe was not cast aside, however.  No! though she could no longer wield\nthe sword with success against the Lutherans, she might still be turned\nto some account.  She had still gold and silver, and she was still the\nland of the vine and olive.  Ceasing to be the butcher, she became the\nbanker of Rome; and the poor Spaniards, who always esteem it a privilege\nto pay another person\u2019s reckoning, were for a long time happy in being\npermitted to minister to the grasping cupidity of Rome, who during the\nlast century, probably extracted from Spain more treasure than from all\nthe rest of Christendom.\n\nBut wars came into the land.  Napoleon and his fierce Franks invaded\nSpain; plunder and devastation ensued, the effects of which will probably\nbe felt for ages.  Spain could no longer pay pence to Peter so freely as\nof yore, and from that period she became contemptible in the eyes of\nRome, who has no respect for a nation, save so far as it can minister to\nher cruelty or avarice.  The Spaniard was still willing to pay, as far as\nhis means would allow, but he was soon given to understand that he was a\ndegraded being,\u2014a barbarian; nay, a beggar.  Now, you may draw the last\ncuarto from a Spaniard, provided you will concede to him the title of\ncavalier, and rich man, for the old leaven still works as powerfully as\nin the time of the first Philip; but you must never hint that he is poor,\nor that his blood is inferior to your own.  And the old peasant, on being\ninformed in what slight estimation he was held, replied, \u201cIf I am a\nbeast, a barbarian, and a beggar withal, I am sorry for it; but as there\nis no remedy, I shall spend these four bushels of barley, which I had\nreserved to alleviate the misery of the holy father, in procuring bull\nspectacles, and other convenient diversions, for the queen my wife, and\nthe young princes my children.  Beggar! carajo!  The water of my village\nis better than the wine of Rome.\u201d\n\nI see that in a late pastoral letter directed to the Spaniards, the\nfather of Rome complains bitterly of the treatment which he has received\nin Spain at the hands of naughty men.  \u201cMy cathedrals are let down,\u201d he\nsays, \u201cmy priests are insulted, and the revenues of my bishops are\ncurtailed.\u201d  He consoles himself, however, with the idea that this is the\neffect of the malice of a few, and that the generality of the nation love\nhim, especially the peasantry, the innocent peasantry, who shed tears\nwhen they think of the sufferings of their pope and their religion.\nUndeceive yourself, Batuschca, undeceive yourself!  Spain was ready to\nfight for you so long as she could increase her own glory by doing so;\nbut she took no pleasure in losing battle after battle on your account.\nShe had no objection to pay money into your coffers in the shape of alms,\nexpecting, however, that the same would be received with the gratitude\nand humility which becomes those who accept charity.  Finding, however,\nthat you were neither humble nor grateful; suspecting, moreover, that you\nheld Austria in higher esteem than herself, even as a banker, she\nshrugged up her shoulders, and uttered a sentence somewhat similar to\nthat which I have already put into the mouth of one of her children,\n\u201cThese four bushels of barley,\u201d etc.\n\nIt is truly surprising what little interest the great body of the Spanish\nnation took in the late struggle, and yet it has been called, by some who\nought to know better, a war of religion and principle.  It was generally\nsupposed that Biscay was the stronghold of Carlism, and that the\ninhabitants were fanatically attached to their religion, which they\napprehended was in danger.  The truth is, that the Basques cared nothing\nfor Carlos or Rome, and merely took up arms to defend certain rights and\nprivileges of their own.  For the dwarfish brother of Ferdinand they\nalways exhibited supreme contempt, which his character, a compound of\nimbecility, cowardice, and cruelty, well merited.  If they made use of\nhis name, it was merely as a _cri de guerre_.  Much the same may be said\nwith respect to his Spanish partisans, at least those who appeared in the\nfield for him.  These, however, were of a widely different character from\nthe Basques, who were brave soldiers and honest men.  The Spanish armies\nof Don Carlos were composed entirely of thieves and assassins, chiefly\nValencians and Manchegans, who, marshalled under two cut-throats, Cabrera\nand Palillos, took advantage of the distracted state of the country to\nplunder and massacre the honest part of the community.  With respect to\nthe Queen Regent Christina, of whom the less said the better, the reins\nof government fell into her hands on the decease of her husband, and with\nthem the command of the soldiery.  The respectable part of the Spanish\nnation, and more especially the honourable and toilworn peasantry,\nloathed and execrated both factions.  Oft when I was sharing at nightfall\nthe frugal fare of the villager of Old or New Castile, on hearing the\ndistant shot of the Christino soldier or Carlist bandit, he would invoke\ncurses on the heads of the two pretenders, not forgetting the holy father\nand the goddess of Rome, Maria Santissima.  Then, with the tiger energy\nof the Spaniard when roused, he would start up and exclaim: \u201cVamos, Don\nJorge, to the plain, to the plain!  I wish to enlist with you, and to\nlearn the law of the English.  To the plain, therefore, to the plain\nto-morrow, to circulate the gospel of Ingalaterra.\u201d\n\nAmongst the peasantry of Spain I found my sturdiest supporters: and yet\nthe holy father supposes that the Spanish labourers are friends and\nlovers of his.  Undeceive yourself, Batuschca!\n\nBut to return to the present work: it is devoted to an account of what\nbefell me in Spain whilst engaged in distributing the Scripture.  With\nrespect to my poor labours, I wish here to observe, that I accomplished\nbut very little, and that I lay claim to no brilliant successes and\ntriumphs; indeed I was sent into Spain more to explore the country, and\nto ascertain how far the minds of the people were prepared to receive the\ntruths of Christianity, than for any other object; I obtained, however,\nthrough the assistance of kind friends, permission from the Spanish\ngovernment to print an edition of the sacred volume at Madrid, which I\nsubsequently circulated in that capital and in the provinces.\n\nDuring my sojourn in Spain, there were others who wrought good service in\nthe Gospel cause, and of whose efforts it were unjust to be silent in a\nwork of this description.  Base is the heart which would refuse merit its\nmeed, and, however insignificant may be the value of any eulogium which\ncan flow from a pen like mine, I cannot refrain from mentioning with\nrespect and esteem a few names connected with Gospel enterprise.  A\nzealous Irish gentleman, of the name of Graydon, exerted himself with\nindefatigable diligence in diffusing the light of Scripture in the\nprovince of Catalonia, and along the southern shores of Spain; whilst two\nmissionaries from Gibraltar, Messrs. Rule and Lyon, during one entire\nyear, preached Evangelic truth in a Church at Cadiz.  So much success\nattended the efforts of these two last brave disciples of the immortal\nWesley, that there is every reason for supposing that, had they not been\nsilenced and eventually banished from the country by the pseudo-liberal\nfaction of the Moderados, not only Cadiz, but the greater part of\nAndalusia, would by this time have confessed the pure doctrines of the\nGospel, and have discarded for ever the last relics of popish\nsuperstition.\n\nMore immediately connected with the Bible Society and myself, I am most\nhappy to take this opportunity of speaking of Luis de Usoz y Rio, the\nscion of an ancient and honourable family of Old Castile, my coadjutor\nwhilst editing the Spanish New Testament at Madrid.  Throughout my\nresidence in Spain, I experienced every mark of friendship from this\ngentleman, who, during the periods of my absence in the provinces, and my\nnumerous and long journeys, cheerfully supplied my place at Madrid, and\nexerted himself to the utmost in forwarding the views of the Bible\nSociety, influenced by no other motive than a hope that its efforts would\neventually contribute to the peace, happiness, and civilisation of his\nnative land.\n\nIn conclusion, I beg leave to state that I am fully aware of the various\nfaults and inaccuracies of the present work.  It is founded on certain\njournals which I kept during my stay in Spain, and numerous letters\nwritten to my friends in England, which they had subsequently the\nkindness to restore: the greater part, however, consisting of\ndescriptions of scenery, sketches of character, etc., has been supplied\nfrom memory.  In various instances I have omitted the names of places,\nwhich I have either forgotten, or of whose orthography I am uncertain.\nThe work, as it at present exists, was written in a solitary hamlet in a\nremote part of England, where I had neither books to consult, nor friends\nof whose opinion or advice I could occasionally avail myself, and under\nall the disadvantages which arise from enfeebled health; I have, however,\non a recent occasion, experienced too much of the lenity and generosity\nof the public, both of Britain and America, to shrink from again exposing\nmyself to its gaze, and trust that, if in the present volumes it finds\nbut little to admire, it will give me credit for good spirit, and for\nsetting down nought in malice.\n\nNov. 26, 1842.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nMan Overboard\u2014The Tagus\u2014Foreign Languages\u2014Gesticulation\u2014Streets of\nLisbon\u2014The Aqueduct\u2014Bible tolerated in Portugal\u2014Cintra\u2014Don Sebastian\u2014John\nde Castro\u2014Conversation with a Priest\u2014Colhares\u2014Mafra\u2014Its Palace\u2014The\nSchoolmaster\u2014The Portuguese\u2014Their Ignorance of Scripture\u2014Rural\nPriesthood\u2014The Alemtejo.\n\nOn the morning of the tenth of November, 1835, I found myself off the\ncoast of Galicia, whose lofty mountains, gilded by the rising sun,\npresented a magnificent appearance.  I was bound for Lisbon; we passed\nCape Finisterre, and standing farther out to sea, speedily lost sight of\nland.  On the morning of the eleventh the sea was very rough, and a\nremarkable circumstance occurred.  I was on the forecastle, discoursing\nwith two of the sailors: one of them, who had but just left his hammock,\nsaid, \u201cI have had a strange dream, which I do not much like, for,\u201d\ncontinued he, pointing up to the mast, \u201cI dreamt that I fell into the sea\nfrom the cross-trees.\u201d  He was heard to say this by several of the crew\nbesides myself.  A moment after, the captain of the vessel perceiving\nthat the squall was increasing, ordered the topsails to be taken in,\nwhereupon this man with several others instantly ran aloft; the yard was\nin the act of being hauled down, when a sudden gust of wind whirled it\nround with violence, and a man was struck down from the cross-trees into\nthe sea, which was working like yeast below.  In a short time he emerged;\nI saw his head on the crest of a billow, and instantly recognised in the\nunfortunate man the sailor who a few moments before had related his\ndream.  I shall never forget the look of agony he cast whilst the steamer\nhurried past him.  The alarm was given, and everything was in confusion;\nit was two minutes at least before the vessel was stopped, by which time\nthe man was a considerable way astern; I still, however, kept my eye upon\nhim, and could see that he was struggling gallantly with the waves.  A\nboat was at length lowered, but the rudder was unfortunately not at hand,\nand only two oars could be procured, with which the men could make but\nlittle progress in so rough a sea.  They did their best, however, and had\narrived within ten yards of the man, who still struggled for his life,\nwhen I lost sight of him, and the men on their return said that they saw\nhim below the water, at glimpses, sinking deeper and deeper, his arms\nstretched out and his body apparently stiff, but that they found it\nimpossible to save him; presently after, the sea, as if satisfied with\nthe prey which it had acquired, became comparatively calm.  The poor\nfellow who perished in this singular manner was a fine young man of\ntwenty-seven, the only son of a widowed mother; he was the best sailor on\nboard, and was beloved by all who were acquainted with him.  This event\noccurred on the eleventh of November, 1835; the vessel was the _London\nMerchant_ steamship.  Truly wonderful are the ways of Providence!\n\nThat same night we entered the Tagus, and dropped anchor before the old\ntower of Belem; early the next morning we weighed, and, proceeding onward\nabout a league, we again anchored at a short distance from the Caesodr\u00e9,\nor principal quay of Lisbon.  Here we lay for some hours beside the\nenormous black hulk of the _Rainha Nao_, a man-of-war, which in old times\nso captivated the eye of Nelson, that he would fain have procured it for\nhis native country.  She was, long subsequently, the admiral\u2019s ship of\nthe Miguelite squadron, and had been captured by the gallant Napier about\nthree years previous to the time of which I am speaking.\n\nThe _Rainha Nao_ is said to have caused him more trouble than all the\nother vessels of the enemy; and some assert that, had the others defended\nthemselves with half the fury which the old vixen queen displayed, the\nresult of the battle which decided the fate of Portugal would have been\nwidely different.\n\nI found disembarkation at Lisbon to be a matter of considerable vexation;\nthe custom-house officers were exceedingly uncivil, and examined every\narticle of my little baggage with most provocating minuteness.\n\nMy first impression on landing in the Peninsula was by no means a\nfavourable one; and I had scarcely pressed the soil one hour before I\nheartily wished myself back in Russia, a country which I had quitted\nabout one month previous, and where I had left cherished friends and warm\naffections.\n\nAfter having submitted to much ill-usage and robbery at the custom-house,\nI proceeded in quest of a lodging, and at last found one, but dirty and\nexpensive.  The next day I hired a servant, a Portuguese, it being my\ninvariable custom on arriving in a country to avail myself of the\nservices of a native; chiefly with the view of perfecting myself in the\nlanguage; and being already acquainted with most of the principal\nlanguages and dialects of the east and the west, I am soon able to make\nmyself quite intelligible to the inhabitants.  In about a fortnight I\nfound myself conversing in Portuguese with considerable fluency.\n\nThose who wish to make themselves understood by a foreigner in his own\nlanguage, should speak with much noise and vociferation, opening their\nmouths wide.  Is it surprising that the English are, in general, the\nworst linguists in the world, seeing that they pursue a system\ndiametrically opposite?  For example, when they attempt to speak Spanish,\nthe most sonorous tongue in existence, they scarcely open their lips, and\nputting their hands in their pockets, fumble lazily, instead of applying\nthem to the indispensable office of gesticulation.  Well may the poor\nSpaniards exclaim, _These English talk so crabbedly_, _that Satan himself\nwould not be able to understand them_.\n\nLisbon is a huge ruinous city, still exhibiting in almost every direction\nthe vestiges of that terrific visitation of God, the earthquake which\nshattered it some eighty years ago.  It stands on seven hills, the\nloftiest of which is occupied by the castle of Saint George, which is the\nboldest and most prominent object to the eye, whilst surveying the city\nfrom the Tagus.  The most frequented and busy parts of the city are those\ncomprised within the valley to the north of this elevation.\n\nHere you find the Plaza of the Inquisition, the principal square in\nLisbon, from which run parallel towards the river three or four streets,\namongst which are those of the gold and silver, so designated from being\ninhabited by smiths cunning in the working of those metals; they are upon\nthe whole very magnificent; the houses are huge and as high as castles;\nimmense pillars defend the causeway at intervals, producing, however,\nrather a cumbrous effect.  These streets are quite level, and are well\npaved, in which respect they differ from all the others in Lisbon.  The\nmost singular street, however, of all is that of the Alemcrin, or\nRosemary, which debouches on the Caesodr\u00e9.  It is very precipitous, and\nis occupied on either side by the palaces of the principal Portuguese\nnobility, massive and frowning, but grand and picturesque, edifices, with\nhere and there a hanging garden, overlooking the streets at a great\nheight.\n\nWith all its ruin and desolation, Lisbon is unquestionably the most\nremarkable city in the Peninsula, and, perhaps, in the south of Europe.\nIt is not my intention to enter into minute details concerning it; I\nshall content myself with remarking, that it is quite as much deserving\nthe attention of the artist as even Rome itself.  True it is that though\nit abounds with churches it has no gigantic cathedral, like St. Peter\u2019s,\nto attract the eye and fill it with wonder, yet I boldly say that there\nis no monument of man\u2019s labour and skill, pertaining either to ancient or\nmodern Rome, for whatever purpose designed, which can rival the\nwater-works of Lisbon; I mean the stupendous aqueduct whose principal\narches cross the valley to the north-east of Lisbon, and which discharges\nits little runnel of cool and delicious water into the rocky cistern\nwithin that beautiful edifice called the Mother of the Waters, from\nwhence all Lisbon is supplied with the crystal lymph, though the source\nis seven leagues distant.  Let travellers devote one entire morning to\ninspecting the Arcos and the Mai das Agoas, after which they may repair\nto the English church and cemetery, P\u00e8re-la-Chaise in miniature, where,\nif they be of England, they may well be excused if they kiss the cold\ntomb, as I did, of the author of _Amelia_, the most singular genius which\ntheir island ever produced, whose works it has long been the fashion to\nabuse in public and to read in secret.  In the same cemetery rest the\nmortal remains of Doddridge, another English author of a different stamp,\nbut justly admired and esteemed.  I had not intended, on disembarking, to\nremain long in Lisbon, nor indeed in Portugal; my destination was Spain,\nwhither I shortly proposed to direct my steps, it being the intention of\nthe Bible Society to attempt to commence operations in that country, the\nobject of which should be the distribution of the Word of God, for Spain\nhad hitherto been a region barred against the admission of the Bible; not\nso Portugal, where, since the revolution, the Bible had been permitted\nboth to be introduced and circulated.  Little, however, had been\naccomplished; therefore, finding myself in the country, I determined, if\npossible, to effect something in the way of distribution, but first of\nall to make myself acquainted as to how far the people were disposed to\nreceive the Bible, and whether the state of education in general would\npermit them to turn it to much account.  I had plenty of Bibles and\nTestaments at my disposal, but could the people read them, or would they?\nA friend of the Society to whom I was recommended was absent from Lisbon\nat the period of my arrival; this I regretted, as he could have afforded\nme several useful hints.  In order, however, that no time might be lost,\nI determined not to wait for his arrival, but at once proceed to gather\nthe best information I could upon those points to which I have already\nalluded.  I determined to commence my researches at some slight distance\nfrom Lisbon, being well aware of the erroneous ideas that I must form of\nthe Portuguese in general, should I judge of their character and opinions\nfrom what I saw and heard in a city so much subjected to foreign\nintercourse.\n\nMy first excursion was to Cintra.  If there be any place in the world\nentitled to the appellation of an enchanted region, it is surely Cintra;\nTivoli is a beautiful and picturesque place, but it quickly fades from\nthe mind of those who have seen the Portuguese Paradise.  When speaking\nof Cintra, it must not for a moment be supposed that nothing more is\nmeant than the little town or city; by Cintra must be understood the\nentire region, town, palace, quintas, forests, crags, Moorish ruin, which\nsuddenly burst on the view on rounding the side of a bleak, savage, and\nsterile-looking mountain.  Nothing is more sullen and uninviting than the\nsouth-western aspect of the stony wall which, on the side of Lisbon,\nseems to shield Cintra from the eye of the world, but the other side is a\nmingled scene of fairy beauty, artificial elegance, savage grandeur,\ndomes, turrets, enormous trees, flowers and waterfalls, such as is met\nwith nowhere else beneath the sun.  Oh! there are strange and wonderful\nobjects at Cintra, and strange and wonderful recollections attached to\nthem.  The ruin on that lofty peak, and which covers part of the side of\nthat precipitous steep, was once the principal stronghold of the\nLusitanian Moors, and thither, long after they had disappeared, at a\nparticular moon of every year, were wont to repair wild santons of\nMaugrabie, to pray at the tomb of a famous Sidi, who slumbers amongst the\nrocks.  That grey palace witnessed the assemblage of the last cortes held\nby the boy king Sebastian, ere he departed on his romantic expedition\nagainst the Moors, who so well avenged their insulted faith and country\nat Alcazarquibir, and in that low shady quinta, embowered amongst those\ntall alcornoques, once dwelt John de Castro, the strange old viceroy of\nGoa, who pawned the hairs of his dead son\u2019s beard to raise money to\nrepair the ruined wall of a fortress threatened by the heathen of Ind;\nthose crumbling stones which stand before the portal, deeply graven, not\nwith \u201crunes,\u201d but things equally dark, Sanscrit rhymes from the Vedas,\nwere brought by him from Goa, the most brilliant scene of his glory,\nbefore Portugal had become a base kingdom; and down that dingle, on an\nabrupt rocky promontory, stand the ruined halls of the English\nMillionaire, who there nursed the wayward fancies of a mind as wild,\nrich, and variegated as the scenes around.  Yes, wonderful are the\nobjects which meet the eye at Cintra, and wonderful are the recollections\nattached to them.\n\nThe town of Cintra contains about eight hundred inhabitants.  The morning\nsubsequent to my arrival, as I was about to ascend the mountain for the\npurpose of examining the Moorish ruins, I observed a person advancing\ntowards me whom I judged by his dress to be an ecclesiastic; he was in\nfact one of the three priests of the place.  I instantly accosted him,\nand had no reason to regret doing so; I found him affable and\ncommunicative.\n\nAfter praising the beauty of the surrounding scenery, I made some inquiry\nas to the state of education amongst the people under his care.  He\nanswered, that he was sorry to say that they were in a state of great\nignorance, very few of the common people being able either to read or\nwrite; that with respect to schools, there was but one in the place,\nwhere four or five children were taught the alphabet, but that even this\nwas at present closed; he informed me, however, that there was a school\nat Colhares, about a league distant.  Amongst other things, he said that\nnothing more surprised him than to see Englishmen, the most learned and\nintelligent people in the world, visiting a place like Cintra, where\nthere was no literature, science, nor anything of utility (_coisa que\npresta_).  I suspect that there was some covert satire in the last speech\nof the worthy priest; I was, however, Jesuit enough to appear to receive\nit as a high compliment, and, taking off my hat, departed with an\ninfinity of bows.\n\nThat same day I visited Colhares, a romantic village on the side of the\nmountain of Cintra, to the north-west.  Seeing some peasants collected\nround a smithy, I inquired about the school, whereupon one of the men\ninstantly conducted me thither.  I went upstairs into a small apartment,\nwhere I found the master with about a dozen pupils standing in a row; I\nsaw but one stool in the room, and to that, after having embraced me, he\nconducted me with great civility.  After some discourse, he showed me the\nbooks which he used for the instruction of the children; they were\nspelling books, much of the same kind as those used in the village\nschools in England.  Upon my asking him whether it was his practice to\nplace the Scriptures in the hands of the children, he informed me that\nlong before they had acquired sufficient intelligence to understand them\nthey were removed by their parents, in order that they might assist in\nthe labours of the field, and that the parents in general were by no\nmeans solicitous that their children should learn anything, as they\nconsidered the time occupied in learning as so much squandered away.  He\nsaid, that though the schools were nominally supported by the government,\nit was rarely that the schoolmasters could obtain their salaries, on\nwhich account many had of late resigned their employments.  He told me\nthat he had a copy of the New Testament in his possession, which I\ndesired to see, but on examining it I discovered that it was only the\nepistles by Pereira, with copious notes.  I asked him whether he\nconsidered that there was harm in reading the Scriptures without notes:\nhe replied that there was certainly no harm in it, but that simple\npeople, without the help of notes, could derive but little benefit from\nScripture, as the greatest part would be unintelligible to them;\nwhereupon I shook hands with him, and on departing said that there was no\npart of Scripture so difficult to understand as those very notes which\nwere intended to elucidate it, and that it would never have been written\nif not calculated of itself to illume the minds of all classes of\nmankind.\n\nIn a day or two I made an excursion to Mafra, distant about three leagues\nfrom Cintra; the principal part of the way lay over steep hills, somewhat\ndangerous for horses; however, I reached the place in safety.\n\nMafra is a large village in the neighbourhood of an immense building,\nintended to serve as a convent and palace, and which is built somewhat\nafter the fashion of the Escurial.  In this edifice exists the finest\nlibrary in Portugal, containing books on all sciences and in all\nlanguages, and well suited to the size and grandeur of the edifice which\ncontains it.  There were no monks, however, to take care of it, as in\nformer times; they had been driven forth, some to beg their bread, some\nto serve under the banners of Don Carlos, in Spain, and many, as I was\ninformed, to prowl about as banditti.  I found the place abandoned to two\nor three menials, and exhibiting an aspect of solitude and desolation\ntruly appalling.  Whilst I was viewing the cloisters, a fine\nintelligent-looking lad came up and asked (I suppose in the hope of\nobtaining a trifle) whether I would permit him to show me the village\nchurch, which he informed me was well worth seeing; I said no, but added,\nthat if he would show me the village school I should feel much obliged to\nhim.  He looked at me with astonishment, and assured me that there was\nnothing to be seen at the school, which did not contain more than half a\ndozen boys, and that he himself was one of the number.  On my telling\nhim, however, that he should show me no other place, he at length\nunwillingly attended me.  On the way I learned from him that the\nschoolmaster was one of the friars who had lately been expelled from the\nconvent, that he was a very learned man, and spoke French and Greek.  We\npassed a stone cross, and the boy bent his head and crossed himself with\nmuch devotion.  I mention this circumstance, as it was the first instance\nof the kind which I had observed amongst the Portuguese since my arrival.\nWhen near the house where the schoolmaster resided, he pointed it out to\nme, and then hid himself behind a wall, where he awaited my return.\n\nOn stepping over the threshold I was confronted by a short stout man,\nbetween sixty and seventy years of age, dressed in a blue jerkin and grey\ntrousers, without shirt or waistcoat; he looked at me sternly, and\nenquired in the French language what was my pleasure.  I apologised for\nintruding upon him, and stated that, being informed he occupied the\nsituation of schoolmaster, I had come to pay my respects to him and to\nbeg permission to ask a few questions respecting the seminary.  He\nanswered that whoever told me he was a schoolmaster lied, for that he was\na friar of the convent and nothing else.  \u201cIt is not then true,\u201d said I,\n\u201cthat all the convents have been broken up and the monks dismissed?\u201d\n\u201cYes, yes,\u201d said he with a sigh, \u201cit is true; it is but too true.\u201d  He\nthen was silent for a minute, and his better nature overcoming his angry\nfeelings, he produced a snuff-box and offered it to me.  The snuff-box is\nthe olive-branch of the Portuguese, and he who wishes to be on good terms\nwith them must never refuse to dip his finger and thumb into it when\noffered.  I took therefore a huge pinch, though I detest the dust, and we\nwere soon on the best possible terms.  He was eager to obtain news,\nespecially from Lisbon and Spain.  I told him that the officers of the\ntroops at Lisbon had, the day before I left that place, gone in a body to\nthe queen and insisted upon her either receiving their swords or\ndismissing her ministers; whereupon he rubbed his hands and said that he\nwas sure matters would not remain tranquil at Lisbon.  On my saying,\nhowever, that I thought the affairs of Don Carlos were on the decline\n(this was shortly after the death of Zumalacarregui), he frowned, and\ncried that it could not possibly be, for that God was too just to suffer\nit.  I felt for the poor man who had been driven out of his home in the\nnoble convent close by, and from a state of affluence and comfort reduced\nin his old age to indigence and misery, for his present dwelling scarcely\nseemed to contain an article of furniture.  I tried twice or thrice to\ninduce him to converse about the school, but he either avoided the\nsubject or said shortly that he knew nothing about it.  On my leaving\nhim, the boy came from his hiding-place and rejoined me; he said that he\nhad hidden himself through fear of his master\u2019s knowing that he had\nbrought me to him, for that he was unwilling that any stranger should\nknow that he was a schoolmaster.\n\nI asked the boy whether he or his parents were acquainted with the\nScripture and ever read it; he did not, however, seem to understand me.\nI must here observe that the boy was fifteen years of age, that he was in\nmany respects very intelligent, and had some knowledge of the Latin\nlanguage; nevertheless he knew not the Scripture even by name, and I have\nno doubt, from what I subsequently observed, that at least two-thirds of\nhis countrymen are on that important point no wiser than himself.  At the\ndoors of village inns, at the hearths of the rustics, in the fields where\nthey labour, at the stone fountains by the wayside where they water their\ncattle, I have questioned the lower class of the children of Portugal\nabout the Scripture, the Bible, the Old and New Testament, and in no one\ninstance have they known what I was alluding to, or could return me a\nrational answer, though on all other matters their replies were sensible\nenough; indeed, nothing surprised me more than the free and unembarrassed\nmanner in which the Portuguese peasantry sustain a conversation, and the\npurity of the language in which they express their thoughts, and yet few\nof them can read or write; whereas the peasantry of England, whose\neducation is in general much superior, are in their conversation coarse\nand dull almost to brutality, and absurdly ungrammatical in their\nlanguage, though the English tongue is upon the whole more simple in its\nstructure than the Portuguese.\n\nOn my return to Lisbon I found our friend ---, who received me very\nkindly.  The next ten days were exceedingly rainy, which prevented me\nfrom making any excursions into the country: during this time I saw our\nfriend frequently, and had long conversations with him concerning the\nbest means of distributing the gospel.  He thought we could do no better\nfor the present than put part of our stock into the hands of the\nbooksellers of Lisbon, and at the same time employ colporteurs to hawk\nthe books about the streets, receiving a certain profit off every copy\nthey sold.  This plan was agreed upon and forthwith put in practice, and\nwith some success.  I had thought of sending colporteurs into the\nneighbouring villages, but to this our friend objected.  He thought the\nattempt dangerous, as it was very possible that the rural priesthood, who\nstill possessed much influence in their own districts, and who were for\nthe most part decided enemies to the spread of the gospel, might cause\nthe men employed to be assassinated or ill-treated.\n\nI determined, however, ere leaving Portugal, to establish d\u00e9pots of\nBibles in one or two of the provincial towns.  I wished to visit the\nAlemtejo, which I had heard was a very benighted region.  The Alemtejo\nmeans the province beyond the Tagus.  This province is not beautiful and\npicturesque, like most other parts of Portugal: there are few hills and\nmountains, the greater part consists of heaths broken by knolls, and\ngloomy dingles, and forests of stunted pine; these places are infested\nwith banditti.  The principal city is Evora, one of the most ancient in\nPortugal, and formerly the seat of a branch of the Inquisition, yet more\ncruel and baneful than the terrible one of Lisbon.  Evora lies about\nsixty miles from Lisbon, and to Evora I determined on going with twenty\nTestaments and two Bibles.  How I fared there will presently be seen.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nBoatmen of the Tagus\u2014Dangers of the Stream\u2014Aldea Gallega\u2014The\nHostelry\u2014Robbers\u2014Sabocha\u2014Adventure of a Muleteer\u2014Estalagem de Ladroes\u2014Don\nGeronimo\u2014Vendas Novas\u2014Royal Residence\u2014Swine of the Alemtejo\u2014Monto\nMoro\u2014Swayne Vonved\u2014Singular Goatherd\u2014Children of the Fields\u2014Infidels and\nSadducees.\n\nOn the afternoon of the sixth of December I set out for Evora,\naccompanied by my servant.  I had been informed that the tide would serve\nfor the regular passage-boats, or felouks, as they are called, at about\nfour o\u2019clock, but on reaching the side of the Tagus opposite to Aldea\nGallega, between which place and Lisbon the boats ply, I found that the\ntide would not permit them to start before eight o\u2019clock.  Had I waited\nfor them I should have probably landed at Aldea Gallega about midnight,\nand I felt little inclination to make my entr\u00e9e in the Alemtejo at that\nhour; therefore, as I saw small boats which can push off at any time\nlying near in abundance, I determined upon hiring one of them for the\npassage, though the expense would be thus considerably increased.  I soon\nagreed with a wild-looking lad, who told me that he was in part owner of\none of the boats, to take me over.  I was not aware of the danger in\ncrossing the Tagus at its broadest part, which is opposite Aldea Gallega,\nat any time, but especially at close of day in the winter season, or I\nshould certainly not have ventured.  The lad and his comrade, a miserable\nlooking object, whose only clothing, notwithstanding the season, was a\ntattered jerkin and trousers, rowed until we had advanced about half a\nmile from the land; they then set up a large sail, and the lad, who\nseemed to direct everything and to be the principal, took the helm and\nsteered.  The evening was now setting in; the sun was not far from its\nbourne in the horizon, the air was very cold, the wind was rising, and\nthe waves of the noble Tagus began to be crested with foam.  I told the\nboy that it was scarcely possible for the boat to carry so much sail\nwithout upsetting, upon which he laughed, and began to gabble in a most\nincoherent manner.  He had the most harsh and rapid articulation that has\never come under my observation in any human being; it was the scream of\nthe hyena blended with the bark of the terrier, though it was by no means\nan index of his disposition, which I soon found to be light, merry, and\nanything but malevolent, for when I, in order to show him that I cared\nlittle about him, began to hum \u201c_Eu que sou Contrabandista_,\u201d he laughed\nheartily and said, clapping me on the shoulder, that he would not drown\nus if he could help it.  The other poor fellow seemed by no means averse\nto go to the bottom; he sat at the fore part of the boat looking the\nimage of famine, and only smiled when the waters broke over the weather\nside and soaked his scanty habiliments.  In a little time I had made up\nmy mind that our last hour was come; the wind was getting higher, the\nshort dangerous waves were more foamy, the boat was frequently on its\nbeam, and the water came over the lee side in torrents; but still the\nwild lad at the helm held on laughing and chattering, and occasionally\nyelling out part of the Miguelite air, \u201c_Quando el Rey chegou_\u201d the\nsinging of which in Lisbon is imprisonment.\n\nThe stream was against us, but the wind was in our favour, and we sprang\nalong at a wonderful rate, and I saw that our only chance of escape was\nin speedily passing the farther bank of the Tagus where the bight or bay\nat the extremity of which stands Aldea Gallega commences, for we should\nnot then have to battle with the waves of the stream, which the adverse\nwind lashed into fury.  It was the will of the Almighty to permit us\nspeedily to gain this shelter, but not before the boat was nearly filled\nwith water, and we were all wet to the skin.  At about seven o\u2019clock in\nthe evening we reached Aldea Gallega, shivering with cold and in a most\ndeplorable plight.\n\nAldea Gallega, or the Galician Village (for the two words are Spanish,\nand have that signification), is a place containing, I should think,\nabout four thousand inhabitants.  It was pitchy dark when we landed, but\nrockets soon began to fly about in all directions, illuming the air far\nand wide.  As we passed along the dirty unpaved street which leads to the\nLargo, or square in which the inn is situated, a horrible uproar of drums\nand voices assailed our ears.  On inquiring the cause of all this bustle,\nI was informed that it was the eve of the Conception of the Virgin.\n\nAs it was not the custom of the people at the inn to furnish provisions\nfor the guests, I wandered about in search of food; and at last seeing\nsome soldiers eating and drinking in a species of wine-house, I went in\nand asked the people to let me have some supper, and in a short time they\nfurnished me with a tolerable meal, for which, however, they charged\nthree crowns.\n\nHaving engaged with a person for mules to carry us to Evora, which were\nto be ready at five next morning, I soon retired to bed, my servant\nsleeping in the same apartment, which was the only one in the house\nvacant.  I closed not my eyes during the whole night.  Beneath us was a\nstable, in which some almocreves, or carriers, slept with their mules; at\nour back, in the yard, was a pigsty.  How could I sleep?  The hogs\ngrunted, the mules screamed, and the almocreves snored most horribly.  I\nheard the village clock strike the hours until midnight, and from\nmidnight till four in the morning, when I sprang up and began to dress,\nand despatched my servant to hasten the man with the mules, for I was\nheartily tired of the place and wanted to leave it.  An old man, bony and\nhale, accompanied by a barefooted lad, brought the beasts, which were\ntolerably good.  He was the proprietor of them, and intended, with the\nlad, who was his nephew, to accompany us to Evora.\n\nWhen we started, the moon was shining brightly, and the morning was\npiercingly cold.  We soon entered on a sandy hollow way, emerging from\nwhich we passed by a strange-looking and large edifice, standing on a\nhigh bleak sand-hill on our left.  We were speedily overtaken by five or\nsix men on horseback, riding at a rapid pace, each with a long gun slung\nat his saddle, the muzzle depending about two feet below the horse\u2019s\nbelly.  I inquired of the old man what was the reason of this warlike\narray.  He answered, that the roads were very bad (meaning that they\nabounded with robbers), and that they went armed in this manner for their\ndefence; they soon turned off to the right towards Palmella.\n\nWe reached a sandy plain studded with stunted pine; the road was little\nmore than a footpath, and as we proceeded, the trees thickened and became\na wood, which extended for two leagues, with clear spaces at intervals,\nin which herds of cattle and sheep were feeding; the bells attached to\ntheir necks were ringing lowly and monotonously.  The sun was just\nbeginning to show itself; but the morning was misty and dreary, which,\ntogether with the aspect of desolation which the country exhibited, had\nan unfavourable effect on my spirits.  I got down and walked, entering\ninto conversation with the old man.  He seemed to have but one theme,\n\u201cthe robbers,\u201d and the atrocities they were in the habit of practising in\nthe very spots we were passing.  The tales he told were truly horrible,\nand to avoid them I mounted again, and rode on considerably in front.\n\nIn about an hour and a half we emerged from the forest, and entered upon\na savage, wild, broken ground, covered with mato, or brushwood.  The\nmules stopped to drink at a shallow pool, and on looking to the right I\nsaw a ruined wall.  This, the guide informed me, was the remains of\nVendas Velhas, or the Old Inn, formerly the haunt of the celebrated\nrobber Sabocha.  This Sabocha, it seems, had, some sixteen years ago, a\nband of about forty ruffians at his command, who infested these wilds,\nand supported themselves by plunder.  For a considerable time Sabocha\npursued his atrocious trade unsuspected, and many an unfortunate\ntraveller was murdered in the dead of night at the solitary inn by the\nwood-side, which he kept; indeed, a more fit situation for plunder and\nmurder I never saw.  The gang were in the habit of watering their horses\nat the pool, and perhaps of washing therein their hands stained with the\nblood of their victims; the lieutenant of the troop was the brother of\nSabocha, a fellow of great strength and ferocity, particularly famous for\nthe skill he possessed in darting a long knife, with which he was in the\nhabit of transfixing his opponents.  Sabocha\u2019s connection with the gang\nat length became known, and he fled, with the greater part of his\nassociates, across the Tagus to the northern provinces.  Himself and his\nbrothers eventually lost their lives on the road to Coimbra, in an\nengagement with the military.  His house was razed by order of the\ngovernment.\n\nThe ruins are still frequently visited by banditti, who eat and drink\namidst them, and look out for prey, as the place commands a view of the\nroad.  The old man assured me, that about two months previous, on\nreturning to Aldea Gallega with his mules from accompanying some\ntravellers, he had been knocked down, stripped naked, and all his money\ntaken from him, by a fellow whom he believed came from this murderers\u2019\nnest.  He said that he was an exceedingly powerful young man, with\nimmense moustaches and whiskers, and was armed with an espingarda, or\nmusket.  About ten days subsequently he saw the robber at Vendas Novas,\nwhere we should pass the night.  The fellow on recognising him took him\naside, and, with horrid imprecations, threatened that he should never be\npermitted to return home if he attempted to discover him; he therefore\nheld his peace, as there was little to be gained and everything to be\nrisked in apprehending him, as he would have been speedily set at liberty\nfor want of evidence to criminate him, and then he would not have failed\nto have had his revenge, or would have been anticipated therein by his\ncomrades.\n\nI dismounted and went up to the place, and saw the vestiges of a fire and\na broken bottle.  The sons of plunder had been there very lately.  I left\na New Testament and some tracts amongst the ruins, and hastened away.\n\nThe sun had dispelled the mists and was beaming very hot; we rode on for\nabout an hour, when I heard the neighing of a horse in our rear, and our\nguide said there was a party of horsemen behind; our mules were good, and\nthey did not overtake us for at least twenty minutes.  The headmost rider\nwas a gentleman in a fashionable travelling dress; a little way behind\nwere an officer, two soldiers, and a boy in livery.  I heard the\nprincipal horseman, on overtaking my servant, inquiring who I was, and\nwhether French or English.  He was told I was an English gentleman,\ntravelling.  He then asked whether I understood Portuguese; the man said\nI understood it, but he believed that I spoke French and Italian better.\nThe gentleman then spurred on his horse and accosted me, not in\nPortuguese, nor in French or Italian, but in the purest English that I\never heard spoken by a foreigner; it had, indeed, nothing of foreign\naccent or pronunciation in it; and had I not known, by the countenance of\nthe speaker, that he was no Englishman, (for there is a peculiarity in\nthe countenance, as everybody knows, which, though it cannot be\ndescribed, is sure to betray the Englishman), I should have concluded\nthat I was in company with a countryman.  We continued discoursing until\nwe arrived at Pegoens.\n\nPegoens consists of about two or three houses and an inn; there is\nlikewise a species of barrack, where half a dozen soldiers are stationed.\nIn the whole of Portugal there is no place of worse reputation, and the\ninn is nick-named _Estalagem de Ladroes_, or the hostelry of thieves; for\nit is there that the banditti of the wilderness, which extends around it\non every side for leagues, are in the habit of coming and spending the\nmoney, the fruits of their criminal daring; there they dance and sing,\neat fricasseed rabbits and olives, and drink the muddy but strong wine of\nthe Alemtejo.  An enormous fire, fed by the trunk of a cork tree, was\nblazing in a niche on the left hand on entering the spacious kitchen.\nClose by it, seething, were several large jars, which emitted no\ndisagreeable odour, and reminded me that I had not broken my fast,\nalthough it was now nearly one o\u2019clock, and I had ridden five leagues.\nSeveral wild-looking men, who if they were not banditti might easily be\nmistaken for such, were seated on logs about the fire.  I asked them some\nunimportant questions, to which they replied with readiness and civility,\nand one of them, who said he could read, accepted a tract which I offered\nhim.\n\nMy new friend, who had been bespeaking dinner, or rather breakfast, now,\nwith great civility, invited me to partake of it, and at the same time\nintroduced me to the officer who accompanied him, and who was his\nbrother, and also spoke English, though not so well as himself.  I found\nI had become acquainted with Don Geronimo Joze D\u2019Azveto, secretary to the\ngovernment at Evora; his brother belonged to a regiment of hussars, whose\nheadquarters were at Evora, but which had outlying parties along the\nroad,\u2014for example, the place where we were stopping.\n\nRabbits at Pegoens seem to be a standard article of food, being produced\nin abundance on the moors around.  We had one fried, the gravy of which\nwas delicious, and afterwards a roasted one, which was brought up on a\ndish entire; the hostess, having first washed her hands, proceeded to\ntear the animal to pieces, which having accomplished, she poured over the\nfragments a sweet sauce.  I ate heartily of both dishes, particularly of\nthe last; owing, perhaps, to the novel and curious manner in which it was\nserved up.  Excellent figs, from the Algarves, and apples concluded our\nrepast, which we ate in a little side room with a mud floor, which sent\nsuch a piercing chill into my system, as prevented me from deriving that\npleasure from my fare and my agreeable companions that I should have\notherwise experienced.\n\nDon Geronimo had been educated in England, in which country he passed his\nboyhood, which in a certain degree accounted for his proficiency in the\nEnglish language, the idiom and pronunciation of which can only be\nacquired by residing in the country at that period of one\u2019s life.  He had\nalso fled thither shortly after the usurpation of the throne of Portugal\nby Don Miguel, and from thence had departed to the Brazils, where he had\ndevoted himself to the service of Don Pedro, and had followed him in the\nexpedition which terminated in the downfall of the usurper and the\nestablishment of the constitutional government in Portugal.  Our\nconversation rolled chiefly on literary and political subjects, and my\nacquaintance with the writings of the most celebrated authors of Portugal\nwas hailed with surprise and delight; for nothing is more gratifying to a\nPortuguese than to observe a foreigner taking an interest in the\nliterature of his nation, of which, in many respects, he is justly proud.\n\nAt about two o\u2019clock we were once more in the saddle, and pursued our way\nin company through a country exactly resembling that which we had\npreviously been traversing, rugged and broken, with here and there a\nclump of pines.  The afternoon was exceedingly fine, and the bright rays\nof the sun relieved the desolation of the scene.  Having advanced about\ntwo leagues, we caught sight of a large edifice towering majestically in\nthe distance, which I learnt was a royal palace standing at the farther\nextremity of Vendas Novas, the village in which we were to pass the\nnight; it was considerably more than a league from us, yet, seen through\nthe clear transparent atmosphere of Portugal it appeared much nearer.\n\nBefore reaching it we passed by a stone cross, on the pedestal of which\nwas an inscription commemorating a horrible murder of a native of Lisbon,\nwhich had occurred on that spot; it looked ancient, and was covered with\nmoss, and the greater part of the inscription was illegible, at least it\nwas to me, who could not bestow much time on its deciphering.  Having\narrived at Vendas Novas, and bespoken supper, my new friend and myself\nstrolled forth to view the palace; it was built by the late king of\nPortugal, and presents little that is remarkable in its exterior; it is a\nlong edifice with wings, and is only two stories high, though it can be\nseen afar off, from being situated on elevated ground; it has fifteen\nwindows in the upper, and twelve in the lower story, with a\npaltry-looking door, something like that of a barn, to which you ascend\nby one single step; the interior corresponds with the exterior, offering\nnothing which can gratify curiosity, if we except the kitchens, which are\nindeed magnificent, and so large that food enough might be cooked in\nthem, at one time, to serve as a repast for all the inhabitants of the\nAlemtejo.\n\nI passed the night with great comfort in a clean bed, remote from all\nthose noises so rife in a Portuguese inn, and the next morning at six we\nagain set out on our journey, which we hoped to terminate before sunset,\nas Evora is but ten leagues from Vendas Novas.  The preceding morning had\nbeen cold, but the present one was far colder, so much so, that just\nbefore sunrise I could no longer support it on horseback, and therefore\ndismounting, ran and walked until we reached a few houses at the\ntermination of these desolate moors.  It was in one of these houses that\nthe commissioners of Don Pedro and Miguel met, and it was there agreed\nthat the latter should resign the crown in favour of Donna Maria, for\nEvora was the last stronghold of the usurper, and the moors of the\nAlemtejo the last area of the combats which so long agitated unhappy\nPortugal.  I therefore gazed on the miserable huts with considerable\ninterest, and did not fail to scatter in the neighbourhood several of the\nprecious little tracts with which, together with a small quantity of\nTestaments, my carpet bag was provided.\n\nThe country began to improve; the savage heaths were left behind, and we\nsaw hills and dales, cork trees, and azinheiras, on the last of which\ntrees grows that kind of sweet acorn called bolotas, which is pleasant as\na chestnut, and which supplies in winter the principal food on which the\nnumerous swine of the Alemtejo subsist.  Gallant swine they are, with\nshort legs and portly bodies of a black or dark red colour; and for the\nexcellence of their flesh I can vouch, having frequently luxuriated upon\nit in the course of my wanderings in this province; the lombo, or loin,\nwhen broiled on the live embers, is delicious, especially when eaten with\nolives.\n\nWe were now in sight of Monte Moro, which, as the name denotes, was once\na fortress of the Moors; it is a high steep hill, on the summit and sides\nof which are ruined walls and towers; at its western side is a deep\nravine or valley, through which a small stream rushes, traversed by a\nstone bridge; farther down there is a ford, over which we passed and\nascended to the town, which, commencing near the northern base, passes\nover the lower ridge towards the north-east.  The town is exceedingly\npicturesque, and many of the houses are very ancient, and built in the\nMoorish fashion.  I wished much to examine the relics of Moorish sway on\nthe upper part of the mountain, but time pressed, and the short period of\nour stay at this place did not permit me to gratify my inclination.\n\nMonte Moro is the head of a range of hills which cross this part of the\nAlemtejo, and from hence they fork east and south-east, towards the\nformer of which directions lies the direct road to Elvas, Badajos, and\nMadrid; and towards the latter that to Evora.  A beautiful mountain,\ncovered to the top with cork trees, is the third of the chain which\nskirts the way in the direction of Elvas.  It is called Monte Almo; a\nbrook brawls at its base, and as I passed it the sun was shining\ngloriously on the green herbage on which flocks of goats were feeding,\nwith their bells ringing merrily, so that the _tout ensemble_ resembled a\nfairy scene; and that nothing might be wanted to complete the picture, I\nhere met a man, a goatherd, beneath an azinheira, whose appearance\nrecalled to my mind the Brute Carle, mentioned in the Danish ballad of\nSwayne Vonved:\u2014\n\n    \u201cA wild swine on his shoulders he kept,\n    And upon his bosom a black bear slept;\n    And about his fingers with hair o\u2019erhung,\n    The squirrel sported and weasel clung.\u201d\n\nUpon the shoulder of the goatherd was a beast, which he told me was a\nlontra, or otter, which he had lately caught in the neighbouring brook;\nit had a string round its neck which was attached to his arm.  At his\nleft side was a bag, from the top of which peered the heads of two or\nthree singular-looking animals, and at his right was squatted the sullen\ncub of a wolf, which he was endeavouring to tame; his whole appearance\nwas to the last degree savage and wild.  After a little conversation such\nas those who meet on the road frequently hold, I asked him if he could\nread, but he made me no answer.  I then inquired if he knew anything of\nGod or Jesus Christ; he looked me fixedly in the face for a moment, and\nthen turned his countenance towards the sun, which was beginning to sink\nin the west, nodded to it, and then again looked fixedly upon me.  I\nbelieve that I understood the mute reply; which probably was, that it was\nGod who made that glorious light which illumes and gladdens all creation;\nand gratified with that belief, I left him and hastened after my\ncompanions, who were by this time a considerable way in advance.\n\nI have always found in the disposition of the children of the fields a\nmore determined tendency to religion and piety than amongst the\ninhabitants of towns and cities, and the reason is obvious, they are less\nacquainted with the works of man\u2019s hands than with those of God; their\noccupations, too, which are simple, and requiring less of ingenuity and\nskill than those which engage the attention of the other portion of their\nfellow-creatures, are less favourable to the engendering of self-conceit\nand sufficiency so utterly at variance with that lowliness of spirit\nwhich constitutes the best foundation of piety.  The sneerers and\nscoffers at religion do not spring from amongst the simple children of\nnature, but are the excrescences of overwrought refinement, and though\ntheir baneful influence has indeed penetrated to the country and\ncorrupted man there, the source and fountainhead was amongst crowded\nhouses, where nature is scarcely known.  I am not one of those who look\nfor perfection amongst the rural population of any country; perfection is\nnot to be found amongst the children of the fall, wherever their abodes\nmay happen to be; but, until the heart discredits the existence of a God,\nthere is still hope for the soul of the possessor, however stained with\ncrime he may be, for even Simon the magician was converted; but when the\nheart is once steeled with infidelity, infidelity confirmed by carnal\nwisdom, an exuberance of the grace of God is required to melt it, which\nis seldom manifested; for we read in the blessed book that the Pharisee\nand the wizard became receptacles of grace, but where is there mention\nmade of the conversion of the sneering Sadducee, and is the modern\ninfidel aught but a Sadducee of later date?\n\nIt was dark night before we reached Evora, and having taken leave of my\nfriends, who kindly requested me to consider their house my home, I and\nmy servant went to the Largo de San Francisco, in which the muleteer\ninformed me was the best hostelry of the town.  We rode into the kitchen,\nat the extreme end of which was the stable, as is customary in Portugal.\nThe house was kept by an aged gypsy-like female and her daughter, a fine\nblooming girl about eighteen years of age.  The house was large; in the\nupper storey was a very long room, like a granary, which extended nearly\nthe whole length of the house; the farther part was partitioned off and\nformed a chamber tolerably comfortable but very cold, and the floor was\nof tiles, as was also that of the large room in which the muleteers were\naccustomed to sleep on the furniture of the mules.  After supper I went\nto bed, and having offered up my devotions to Him who had protected me\nthrough a dangerous journey, I slept soundly till the morning.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\nShopkeeper at Evora\u2014Spanish Contrabandistas\u2014Lion and Unicorn\u2014The\nFountain\u2014Trust in the Almighty\u2014Distribution of Tracts\u2014Library at\nEvora\u2014Manuscript\u2014The Bible as a Guide\u2014The Infamous Mary\u2014The Man of\nPalmella\u2014The Charm\u2014The Monkish System\u2014Sunday\u2014Volney\u2014An Auto-Da-F\u00e9\u2014Men\nfrom Spain\u2014Reading of a Tract\u2014New Arrival\u2014The Herb Rosemary.\n\nEvora is a small city, walled, but not regularly fortified, and could not\nsustain a siege of a day.  It has five gates; before that to the\nsouth-west is the principal promenade of its inhabitants: the fair on St.\nJohn\u2019s day is likewise held there; the houses are in general very\nancient, and many of them unoccupied.  It contains about five thousand\ninhabitants, though twice that number would be by no means\ndisproportionate to its size.  The two principal edifices are the See, or\ncathedral, and the convent of San Francisco, in the square before the\nlatter of which was situated the posada where I had taken up my abode.  A\nlarge barrack for cavalry stands on the right-hand side, on entering the\nsouth-west gate.  To the south-east, at the distance of six leagues, is\nto be seen a blue chain of hills, the highest of which is called Serra\nDorso; it is picturesquely beautiful, and contains within its recesses\nwolves and wild boars in numbers.  About a league and a half on the other\nside of this hill is Estremos.\n\nI passed the day succeeding my arrival principally in examining the town\nand its environs, and, as I strolled about, entering into conversation\nwith various people that I met; several of these were of the middle\nclass, shopkeepers and professional men; they were all\nConstitutionalists, or pretended to be so, but had very little to say\nexcept a few commonplace remarks on the way of living of the friars,\ntheir hypocrisy and laziness.  I endeavoured to obtain some information\nrespecting the state of instruction in the place, and from their answers\nwas led to believe that it must be at the lowest ebb, for it seemed that\nthere was neither book-shop nor school.  When I spoke of religion, they\nexhibited the utmost apathy for the subject, and making their bows left\nme as soon as possible.\n\nHaving a letter of introduction to a person who kept a shop in the\nmarket-place, I went thither and delivered it to him as he stood behind\nhis counter.  In the course of conversation, I found that he had been\nmuch persecuted whilst the old system was in its vigour, and that he\nentertained a hearty aversion for it.  I told him that the ignorance of\nthe people in religious matters had served to nurse that system, and that\nthe surest way to prevent its return was to enlighten their minds: I\nadded that I had brought a small stock of Bibles and Testaments to Evora,\nwhich I wished to leave for sale in the hands of some respectable\nmerchant, and that if he were anxious to help to lay the axe to the root\nof superstition and tyranny, he could not do so more effectually than by\nundertaking the charge of these books.  He declared his willingness to do\nso, and I went away determined to entrust to him half of my stock.  I\nreturned to the hostelry, and sat down on a log of wood on the hearth\nwithin the immense chimney in the common apartment; two surly looking men\nwere on their knees on the stones; before them was a large heap of pieces\nof old iron, brass, and copper; they were assorting it, and stowing it\naway in various bags.  They were Spanish contrabandistas of the lowest\nclass, and earned a miserable livelihood by smuggling such rubbish from\nPortugal into Spain.  Not a word proceeded from their lips, and when I\naddressed them in their native language, they returned no other answer\nthan a kind of growl.  They looked as dirty and rusty as the iron in\nwhich they trafficked; their four miserable donkeys were in the stable in\nthe rear.\n\nThe woman of the house and her daughter were exceedingly civil to me, and\ncoming near crouched down, asking various questions about England.  A man\ndressed somewhat like an English sailor, who sat on the other side of the\nhearth confronting me, said, \u201cI hate the English, for they are not\nbaptized, and have not the law,\u201d meaning the law of God.  I laughed, and\ntold him that according to the law of England, no one who was unbaptized\ncould be buried in consecrated ground; whereupon he said, \u201cThen you are\nstricter than we.\u201d  He then said, \u201cWhat is meant by the lion and the\nunicorn which I saw the other day on the coat of arms over the door of\nthe English consul at St. Ubes?\u201d  I said they were the arms of England!\n\u201cYes,\u201d he replied, \u201cbut what do they represent?\u201d  I said I did not know.\n\u201cThen,\u201d said he, \u201cyou do not know the secrets of your own house.\u201d  I\nsaid, \u201cSuppose I were to tell you that they represent the Lion of\nBethlehem, and the horned monster of the flaming pit in combat, as to\nwhich should obtain the mastery in England, what would you say?\u201d  He\nreplied, \u201cI should say that you gave a fair answer.\u201d  This man and myself\nbecame great friends; he came from Palmella, not far from St. Ubes; he\nhad several mules and horses with him, and dealt in corn and barley.  I\nagain walked out and roamed in the environs of the town.\n\nAbout half a mile from the southern wall is a stone fountain, where the\nmuleteers and other people who visit the town are accustomed to water\ntheir horses.  I sat down by it, and there I remained about two hours,\nentering into conversation with every one who halted at the fountain; and\nI will here observe, that during the time of my sojourn at Evora, I\nrepeated my visit every day, and remained there the same time; and by\nfollowing this plan, I believe that I spoke to at least two hundred of\nthe children of Portugal upon matters relating to their eternal welfare.\nI found that very few of those whom I addressed had received any species\nof literary education, none of them had seen the Bible, and not more than\nhalf a dozen had the slightest inkling of what the holy book consisted.\nI found that most of them were bigoted Papists and Miguelites at heart.\nI therefore, when they told me they were Christians, denied the\npossibility of their being so, as they were ignorant of Christ and His\ncommandments, and placed their hope of salvation on outward forms and\nsuperstitious observances, which were the invention of Satan, who wished\nto keep them in darkness that at last they might stumble into the pit\nwhich he had dug for them.  I said repeatedly that the Pope, whom they\nrevered, was an arch deceiver, and the head minister of Satan here on\nearth, and that the monks and friars, whose absence they so deplored, and\nto whom they had been accustomed to confess themselves, were his\nsubordinate agents.  When called upon for proofs, I invariably cited the\nignorance of my auditors respecting the Scriptures, and said that if\ntheir spiritual guides had been really ministers of Christ, they would\nnot have permitted their flocks to remain unacquainted with His Word.\n\nSince this occurred, I have been frequently surprised that I experienced\nno insult and ill-treatment from the people, whose superstitions I was\nthus attacking; but I really experienced none, and am inclined to believe\nthat the utter fearlessness which I displayed, trusting in the Protection\nof the Almighty, may have been the cause.  When threatened by danger, the\nbest policy is to fix your eye steadily upon it, and it will in general\nvanish like the morning mist before the sun; whereas, if you quail before\nit, it is sure to become more imminent.  I have fervent hope that the\nwords of my mouth sank deep into the hearts of some of my auditors, as I\nobserved many of them depart musing and pensive.  I occasionally\ndistributed tracts amongst them; for although they themselves were unable\nto turn them to much account, I thought that by their means they might\nbecome of service at some future time, and fall into the hands of others,\nto whom they might be of eternal interest.  Many a book which is\nabandoned to the waters is wafted to some remote shore, and there proves\na blessing and a comfort to millions, who are ignorant from whence it\ncame.\n\nThe next day, which was Friday, I called at the house of my friend Don\nGeronimo Azveto.  I did not find him there, but was directed to the see,\nor episcopal palace, in an apartment of which I found him, writing, with\nanother gentleman, to whom he introduced me; it was the governor of\nEvora, who welcomed me with every mark of kindness and affability.  After\nsome discourse, we went out together to examine an ancient edifice, which\nwas reported to have served, in bygone times, as a temple to Diana.  Part\nof it was evidently of Roman architecture, for there was no mistaking the\nbeautiful light pillars which supported a dome, under which the\nsacrifices to the most captivating and poetical divinity of the heathen\ntheocracy had probably been made; but the original space between the\npillars had been filled up with rubbish of a modern date, and the rest of\nthe building was apparently of the architecture of the latter end of the\nMiddle Ages.  It was situated at one end of the building which had once\nbeen the seat of the Inquisition, and had served, before the erection of\nthe present see, as the residence of the bishop.\n\nWithin the see, where the governor now resides, is a superb library,\noccupying an immense vaulted room, like the aisle of a cathedral, and in\na side apartment is a collection of paintings by Portuguese artists,\nchiefly portraits, amongst which is that of Don Sebastian.  I sincerely\nhope it did not do him justice, for it represents him in the shape of an\nawkward lad of about eighteen, with a bloated booby face with staring\neyes, and a ruff round a short apoplectic neck.\n\nI was shown several beautifully illuminated missals and other\nmanuscripts; but the one which most arrested my attention, I scarcely\nneed say why, was that which bore the following title:\u2014\n\n    \u201cForma sive ordinatio Capelli illustrissimi et xianissimi principis\n    Henvici Sexti Regis Anglie et Francie am dm Hibernie descripta\n    serenissio principi Alfonso Regi Portugalie illustri per humilem\n    servitorem sm Willm. Sav. Decanu capelle supradicte.\u201d\n\nIt seemed a voice from the olden times of my dear native land!  This\nlibrary and picture gallery had been formed by one of the latter bishops,\na person of much learning and piety.\n\nIn the evening I dined with Don Geronimo and his brother; the latter soon\nleft us to attend to his military duties.  My friend and myself had now\nmuch conversation of considerable interest; he lamented the deplorable\nstate of ignorance in which his countrymen existed at present.  He said\nthat his friend the governor and himself were endeavouring to establish a\nschool in the vicinity, and that they had made application to the\ngovernment for the use of an empty convent, called the Espinheiro, or\nthorn tree, at about a league\u2019s distance, and that they had little doubt\nof their request being complied with.  I had before told him who I was,\nand after expressing joy at the plan which he had in contemplation, I now\nurged him in the most pressing manner to use all his influence to make\nthe knowledge of the Scripture the basis of the education which the\nchildren were to receive, and added, that half the Bibles and Testaments\nwhich I had brought with me to Evora were heartily at his service; he\ninstantly gave me his hand, said he accepted my offer with the greatest\npleasure, and would do all in his power to forward my views, which were\nin many respects his own.  I now told him that I did not come to Portugal\nwith the view of propagating the dogmas of any particular sect, but with\nthe hope of introducing the Bible, which is the well-head of all that is\nuseful and conducive to the happiness of society,\u2014that I cared not what\npeople called themselves, provided they followed the Bible as a guide;\nfor that where the Scriptures were read, neither priestcraft nor tyranny\ncould long exist, and instanced the case of my own country, the cause of\nwhose freedom and prosperity was the Bible, and that only, as the last\npersecutor of this book, the bloody and infamous Mary, was the last\ntyrant who had sat on the throne of England.  We did not part till the\nnight was considerably advanced, and the next morning I sent him the\nbooks, in the firm and confident hope that a bright and glorious morning\nwas about to rise over the night which had so long cast its dreary\nshadows over the regions of the Alemtejo.\n\nThe day after this interesting event, which was Saturday, I had more\nconversation with the man from Palmella.  I asked him if in his journeys\nhe had never been attacked by robbers; he answered no, for that he\ngenerally travelled in company with others.  \u201cHowever,\u201d said he, \u201cwere I\nalone I should have little fear, for I am well protected.\u201d  I said that I\nsupposed he carried arms with him.  \u201cNo other arms than this,\u201d said he,\npulling out one of those long desperate looking knives, of English\nmanufacture, with which every Portuguese peasant is usually furnished.\nThis knife serves for many purposes, and I should consider it a far more\nefficient weapon than a dagger.  \u201cBut,\u201d said he, \u201cI do not place much\nconfidence in the knife.\u201d  I then inquired in what rested his hope of\nprotection.  \u201cIn this,\u201d said he: and unbuttoning his waistcoat, he showed\nme a small bag, attached to his neck by a silken string.  \u201cIn this bag is\nan oracam, or prayer, written by a person of power, and as long as I\ncarry it about with me, no ill can befall me.\u201d  Curiosity is the leading\nfeature of my character, and I instantly said, with eagerness, that I\nshould feel great pleasure in being permitted to read the prayer.\n\u201cWell,\u201d he replied, \u201cyou are my friend, and I would do for you what I\nwould for few others, I will show it you.\u201d  He then asked for my\npenknife, and having unripped the bag, took out a large piece of paper\nclosely folded up.  I hurried to my apartment and commenced the\nexamination of it.  It was scrawled over in a very illegible hand, and\nwas moreover much stained with perspiration, so that I had considerable\ndifficulty in making myself master of its contents, but I at last\naccomplished the following literal translation of the charm, which was\nwritten in bad Portuguese, but which struck me at the time as being one\nof the most remarkable compositions that had ever come to my knowledge.\n\n\n\nTHE CHARM\n\n\n    \u201cJust Judge and divine Son of the Virgin Maria, who wast born in\n    Bethlehem, a Nazarene, and wast crucified in the midst of all Jewry,\n    I beseech thee, O Lord, by thy sixth day, that the body of me be not\n    caught, nor put to death by the hands of justice at all; peace be\n    with you, the peace of Christ, may I receive peace, may you receive\n    peace, said God to his disciples.  If the accursed justice should\n    distrust me, or have its eyes on me, in order to take me or to rob\n    me, may its eyes not see me, may its mouth not speak to me, may it\n    have ears which may not hear me, may it have hands which may not\n    seize me, may it have feet which may not overtake me; for may I be\n    armed with the arms of St. George, covered with the cloak of Abraham,\n    and shipped in the ark of Noah, so that it can neither see me, nor\n    hear me, nor draw the blood from my body.  I also adjure thee, O\n    Lord, by those three blessed crosses, by those three blessed\n    chalices, by those three blessed clergymen, by those three\n    consecrated hosts, that thou give me that sweet company which thou\n    gavest to the Virgin Maria, from the gates of Bethlehem to the\n    portals of Jerusalem, that I may go and come with pleasure and joy\n    with Jesus Christ, the Son of the Virgin Maria, the prolific yet\n    nevertheless the eternal virgin.\u201d\n\nThe woman of the house and her daughter had similar bags attached to\ntheir necks, containing charms, which, they said, prevented the witches\nhaving power to harm them.  The belief in witchcraft is very prevalent\namongst the peasantry of the Alemtejo, and I believe of other provinces\nof Portugal.  This is one of the relics of the monkish system, the aim of\nwhich, in all countries where it has existed, seems to have been to besot\nthe minds of the people, that they might be more easily misled.  All\nthese charms were fabrications of the monks, who had sold them to their\ninfatuated confessants.  The monks of the Greek and Syrian churches\nlikewise deal in this ware, which they know to be poison, but which they\nwould rather vend than the wholesome balm of the gospel, because it\nbrings them a large price, and fosters the delusion which enables them to\nlive a life of luxury.\n\nThe Sunday morning was fine, and the plain before the church of the\nconvent of San Francisco was crowded with people hastening to or\nreturning from the mass.  After having performed my morning devotion, and\nbreakfasted, I went down to the kitchen; the girl Geronima was seated by\nthe fire.  I inquired if she had heard mass?  She replied in the\nnegative, and that she did not intend to hear it.  Upon my inquiring her\nmotive for absenting herself, she replied, that since the friars had been\nexpelled from their churches and convents she had ceased to attend mass,\nor to confess herself; for that the government priests had no spiritual\npower, and consequently she never troubled them.  She said the friars\nwere holy men and charitable; for that every morning those of the convent\nover the way fed forty poor persons with the relics of the meals of the\npreceding day, but that now these people were allowed to starve.  I\nreplied, that the friars, who lived on the fat of the land, could well\nafford to bestow a few bones upon their poor, and that their doing so was\nmerely a part of their policy, by which they hoped to secure to\nthemselves friends in time of need.  The girl then observed, that as it\nwas Sunday, I should perhaps like to see some books, and without waiting\nfor a reply she produced them.  They consisted principally of popular\nstories, with lives and miracles of saints, but amongst them was a\ntranslation of Volney\u2019s _Ruins of Empires_.  I expressed a wish to know\nhow she became possessed of this book.  She said that a young man, a\ngreat Constitutionalist, had given it to her some months previous, and\nhad pressed her much to read it, for that it was one of the best books in\nthe world.  I replied, that the author of it was an emissary of Satan,\nand an enemy of Jesus Christ and the souls of mankind; that it was\nwritten with the sole aim of bringing all religion into contempt, and\nthat it inculcated the doctrine that there was no future state, nor\nreward for the righteous nor punishment for the wicked.  She made no\nreply, but going into another room, returned with her apron full of dry\nsticks and brushwood, all which she piled upon the fire, and produced a\nbright blaze.  She then took the book from my hand and placed it upon the\nflaming pile; then sitting down, took her rosary out of her pocket and\ntold her beads till the volume was consumed.  This was an _auto da f\u00e9_ in\nthe best sense of the word.\n\nOn the Monday and Tuesday I paid my usual visits to the fountain, and\nlikewise rode about the neighbourhood on a mule, for the purpose of\ncirculating tracts.  I dropped a great many in the favourite walks of the\npeople of Evora, as I felt rather dubious of their accepting them had I\nproffered them with my own hand, whereas, should they be observed lying\non the ground, I thought that curiosity might cause them to be picked up\nand examined.  I likewise, on the Tuesday evening, paid a farewell visit\nto my friend Azveto, as it was my intention to leave Evora on the\nThursday following and return to Lisbon; in which view I had engaged a\ncalash of a man who informed me that he had served as a soldier in the\ngrande arm\u00e9e of Napoleon, and been present in the Russian campaign.  He\nlooked the very image of a drunkard.  His face was covered with\ncarbuncles, and his breath impregnated with the fumes of strong waters.\nHe wished much to converse with me in French, in the speaking of which\nlanguage it seemed he prided himself, but I refused, and told him to\nspeak the language of the country, or I would hold no discourse with him.\n\nWednesday was stormy, with occasional rain.  On coming down, I found that\nmy friend from Palmella had departed: but several contrabandistas had\narrived from Spain.  They were mostly fine fellows, and unlike the two I\nhad seen the preceding week, who were of much lower degree, were chatty\nand communicative; they spoke their native language, and no other, and\nseemed to hold the Portuguese in great contempt.  The magnificent tones\nof the Spanish sounded to great advantage amidst the shrill squeaking\ndialect of Portugal.  I was soon in deep conversation with them, and was\nmuch pleased to find that all of them could read.  I presented the\neldest, a man of about fifty years of age, with a tract in Spanish.  He\nexamined it for some time with great attention; he then rose from his\nseat, and going into the middle of the apartment, began reading it aloud,\nslowly and emphatically; his companions gathered around him, and every\nnow and then expressed their approbation of what they heard.  The reader\noccasionally called upon me to explain passages which, as they referred\nto particular texts of Scripture, he did not exactly understand, for not\none of the party had ever seen either the Old or New Testament.\n\nHe continued reading for upwards of an hour, until he had finished the\ntract; and, at its conclusion, the whole party were clamorous for similar\nones, with which I was happy to be able to supply them.\n\nMost of these men spoke of priestcraft and the monkish system with the\nutmost abhorrence, and said that they should prefer death to submitting\nagain to the yoke which had formerly galled their necks.  I questioned\nthem very particularly respecting the opinion of their neighbours and\nacquaintances on this point, and they assured me that in their part of\nthe Spanish frontier all were of the same mind, and that they cared as\nlittle for the Pope and his monks as they did for Don Carlos; for the\nlatter was a dwarf (_chicotito_) and a tyrant, and the others were\nplunderers and robbers.  I told them they must beware of confounding\nreligion with priestcraft, and that in their abhorrence of the latter\nthey must not forget that there is a God and a Christ to whom they must\nlook for salvation, and whose word it was incumbent upon them to study on\nevery occasion; whereupon they all expressed a devout belief in Christ\nand the Virgin.\n\nThese men, though in many respects more enlightened than the surrounding\npeasantry, were in others as much in the dark; they believed in\nwitchcraft and in the efficacy of particular charms.  The night was very\nstormy, and at about nine we heard a galloping towards the door, and then\na loud knocking; it was opened, and in rushed a wild-looking man mounted\non a donkey; he wore a ragged jacket of sheepskin, called in Spanish\nzamarra, with breeches of the same as far down as his knees; his legs\nwere bare.  Around his sombrero, or shadowy hat, was tied a large\nquantity of the herb which in English is called rosemary, in Spanish\nromero, and in the rustic language of Portugal, alecrim; which last is a\nword of Scandinavian origin (_ellegren_), signifying the elfin plant, and\nwas probably carried into the south by the Vandals.  The man seemed\nfrantic with terror, and said that the witches had been pursuing him and\nhovering over his head for the last two leagues.  He came from the\nSpanish frontier with meal and other articles; he said that his wife was\nfollowing him and would soon arrive, and in about a quarter of an hour\nshe made her appearance, dripping with rain, and also mounted on a\ndonkey.\n\nI asked my friends the contrabandistas why he wore the rosemary in his\nhat; whereupon they told me that it was good against witches and the\nmischances on the road.  I had no time to argue against this\nsuperstition, for, as the chaise was to be ready at five the next\nmorning, I wished to make the most of the short time which I could devote\nto sleep.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\nVexatious Delays\u2014Drunken Driver\u2014The Murdered Mule\u2014The\nLamentation\u2014Adventure on the Heath\u2014Fear of Darkness\u2014Portuguese\nFidalgo\u2014The Escort\u2014Return to Lisbon.\n\nI rose at four, and after having taken some refreshment, I descended and\nfound the strange man and his wife sleeping in the chimney corner by the\nfire, which was still burning; they soon awoke and began preparing their\nbreakfast, which consisted of salt sardinhas, broiled upon the embers.\nIn the meantime the woman sang snatches of the beautiful hymn, very\ncommon in Spain, which commences thus:\u2014\n\n    \u201cOnce of old upon a mountain, shepherds overcome with sleep,\n    Near to Bethlem\u2019s holy tower, kept at dead of night their sheep;\n    Round about the trunk they nodded of a huge ignited oak,\n    Whence the crackling flame ascending bright and clear the darkness\n    broke.\u201d\n\nOn hearing that I was about to depart, she said, \u201cYou shall have some of\nmy husband\u2019s rosemary, which will keep you from danger, and prevent any\nmisfortune occurring.\u201d  I was foolish enough to permit her to put some of\nit in my hat; and the man having by this time arrived with his mules, I\nbade farewell to my friendly hostesses, and entered the chaise with my\nservant.\n\nI remarked at the time, that the mules which drew us were the finest I\nhad ever seen; the largest could be little short of sixteen hands high;\nand the fellow told me in his bad French that he loved them better than\nhis wife and children.  We turned round the corner of the convent and\nproceeded down the street which leads to the south-western gate.  The\ndriver now stopped before the door of a large house, and having alighted,\nsaid that it was yet very early, and that he was afraid to venture forth,\nas it was very probable we should be robbed, and himself murdered, as the\nrobbers who resided in the town would be apprehensive of his discovering\nthem, but that the family who lived in this house were going to Lisbon,\nand would depart in about a quarter of an hour, when we might avail\nourselves of an escort of soldiers which they would take with them, and\nin their company we should run no danger.  I told him I had no fear, and\ncommanded him to drive on; but he said he would not, and left us in the\nstreet.  We waited an hour, when two carriages came to the door of the\nhouse, but it seems the family were not yet ready, whereupon the coachman\nlikewise got down and went away.  At the expiration of about half an hour\nthe family came out, and when their luggage had been arranged they called\nfor the coachman, but he was nowhere to be found.  Search was made for\nhim, but ineffectually, and an hour more was spent before another driver\ncould be procured; but the escort had not yet made its appearance, and it\nwas not before a servant had been twice despatched to the barracks that\nit arrived.  At last everything was ready, and they drove off.\n\nAll this time I had seen nothing of our own coachman, and I fully\nexpected that he had abandoned us altogether.  In a few minutes I saw him\nstaggering up the street in a state of intoxication, attempting to sing\nthe Marseillois hymn.  I said nothing to him, but sat observing him.  He\nstood for some time staring at the mules and talking incoherent nonsense\nin French.  At last he said, \u201cI am not so drunk but I can ride,\u201d and\nproceeded to lead his mules towards the gate.  When out of the town he\nmade several ineffectual attempts to mount the smallest mule which bore\nthe saddle; he at length succeeded, and instantly commenced spurring at a\nfurious rate down the road.  We arrived at a place where a narrow rocky\npath branched off, by taking which we should avoid a considerable circuit\nround the city wall, which otherwise it would be necessary to make before\nwe could reach the road to Lisbon, which lay at the north-east; he now\nsaid, \u201cI shall take this path, for by so doing we shall overtake the\nfamily in a minute\u201d; so into the path we went; it was scarcely wide\nenough to admit the carriage, and exceedingly steep and broken; we\nproceeded; ascending and descending, the wheels cracked, and the motion\nwas so violent that we were in danger of being cast out as from a sling.\nI saw that if we remained in the carriage it must be broken in pieces, as\nour weight must insure its destruction.  I called to him in Portuguese to\nstop, but he flogged and spurred the beasts the more.  My man now\nentreated me for God\u2019s sake to speak to him in French, for, if anything\nwould pacify him, that would.  I did so, and entreated him to let us\ndismount and walk, till we had cleared this dangerous way.  The result\njustified Antonio\u2019s anticipation.  He instantly stopped and said, \u201cSir,\nyou are master, you have only to command and I shall obey.\u201d  We\ndismounted and walked on till we reached the great road, when we once\nmore seated ourselves.\n\nThe family were about a quarter of a mile in advance, and we were no\nsooner reseated, than he lashed the mules into full gallop for the\npurpose of overtaking it; his cloak had fallen from his shoulder, and, in\nendeavouring to readjust it, he dropped the string from his hand by which\nhe guided the large mule, it became entangled in the legs of the poor\nanimal, which fell heavily on its neck, it struggled for a moment, and\nthen lay stretched across the way, the shafts over its body.  I was\npitched forward into the dirt, and the drunken driver fell upon the\nmurdered mule.\n\nI was in a great rage, and cried, \u201cYou drunken renegade, who are ashamed\nto speak the language of your own country, you have broken the staff of\nyour existence, and may now starve.\u201d  \u201cPaciencia,\u201d said he, and began\nkicking the head of the mule, in order to make it rise; but I pushed him\ndown, and taking his knife, which had fallen from his pocket, cut the\nbands by which it was attached to the carriage, but life had fled, and\nthe film of death had begun to cover its eyes.\n\nThe fellow, in the recklessness of intoxication, seemed at first disposed\nto make light of his loss, saying, \u201cThe mule is dead, it was God\u2019s will\nthat she should die, what more can be said?  Paciencia.\u201d  Meanwhile, I\ndespatched Antonio to the town for the purpose of hiring mules, and,\nhaving taken my baggage from the chaise, waited on the roadside until he\nshould arrive.\n\nThe fumes of the liquor began now to depart from the fellow\u2019s brain; he\nclasped his hands and exclaimed, \u201cBlessed Virgin, what is to become of\nme?  How am I to support myself?  Where am I to get another mule!  For my\nmule, my best mule is dead, she fell upon the road, and died of a sudden!\nI have been in France, and in other countries, and have seen beasts of\nall kinds, but such a mule as that I have never seen; but she is dead\u2014my\nmule is dead\u2014she fell upon the road and died of a sudden!\u201d  He continued\nin this strain for a considerable time, and the burden of his lamentation\nwas always, \u201cMy mule is dead, she fell upon the road, and died of a\nsudden.\u201d  At length he took the collar from the creature\u2019s neck, and put\nit upon the other, which with some difficulty he placed in the shafts.\n\nA beautiful boy of about thirteen now came from the direction of the\ntown, running along the road with the velocity of a hare: he stopped\nbefore the dead mule and burst into tears: it was the man\u2019s son, who had\nheard of the accident from Antonio.  This was too much for the poor\nfellow: he ran up to the boy, and said, \u201cDon\u2019t cry, our bread is gone,\nbut it is God\u2019s will; the mule is dead!\u201d  He then flung himself on the\nground, uttering fearful cries.  \u201cI could have borne my loss,\u201d said he,\n\u201cbut when I saw my child cry, I became a fool.\u201d  I gave him two or three\ncrowns, and added some words of comfort; assuring him I had no doubt\nthat, if he abandoned drink, the Almighty God would take compassion on\nhim and repair his loss.  At length he became more composed, and placing\nmy baggage in the chaise, we returned to the town, where I found two\nexcellent riding mules awaiting my arrival at the inn.  I did not see the\nSpanish woman, or I should have told her of the little efficacy of\nrosemary in this instance.\n\nI have known several drunkards amongst the Portuguese, but, without one\nexception, they have been individuals who, having travelled abroad, like\nthis fellow, have returned with a contempt for their own country, and\npolluted with the worst vices of the lands which they have visited.\n\nI would strongly advise any of my countrymen who may chance to read these\nlines, that, if their fate lead them into Spain or Portugal, they avoid\nhiring as domestics, or being connected with, individuals of the lower\nclasses who speak any other language than their own, as the probability\nis that they are heartless thieves and drunkards.  These gentry are\ninvariably saying all they can in dispraise of their native land; and it\nis my opinion, grounded upon experience, that an individual who is\ncapable of such baseness would not hesitate at the perpetration of any\nvillainy, for next to the love of God, the love of country is the best\npreventive of crime.  He who is proud of his country, will be\nparticularly cautious not to do anything which is calculated to disgrace\nit.\n\nWe now journeyed towards Lisbon, and reached Monte Moro about two\no\u2019clock.  After taking such refreshment as the place afforded, we pursued\nour way till we were within a quarter of a league of the huts which stand\non the edge of the savage wilderness we had before crossed.  Here we were\novertaken by a horseman; he was a powerful, middle-sized man, and was\nmounted on a noble Spanish horse.  He had a broad, slouching sombrero on\nhis head, and wore a jerkin of blue cloth, with large bosses of silver\nfor buttons, and clasps of the same metal; he had breeches of yellow\nleather, and immense jackboots: at his saddle was slung a formidable gun.\nHe inquired if I intended to pass the night at Vendas Novas, and on my\nreplying in the affirmative, he said that he would avail himself of our\ncompany.  He now looked towards the sun, whose disk was rapidly sinking\nbeneath the horizon, and entreated us to spur on and make the most of its\nlight, for that the moor was a horrible place in the dusk.  He placed\nhimself at our head, and we trotted briskly on, the boy or muleteer who\nattended us running behind without exhibiting the slightest symptom of\nfatigue.\n\nWe entered upon the moor, and had advanced about a mile when dark night\nfell around us; we were in a wild path, with high brushwood on either\nside, when the rider said that he could not confront the darkness, and\nbegged me to ride on before, and he would follow after: I could hear him\ntrembling.  I asked the reason of his terror, and he replied that at one\ntime darkness was the same thing to him as day, but that of late years he\ndreaded it, especially in wild places.  I complied with his request, but\nI was ignorant of the way, and as I could scarcely see my hand, was\ncontinually going wrong.  This made the man impatient, and he again\nplaced himself at our head.  We proceeded so for a considerable way, when\nhe again stopped, and said that the power of the darkness was too much\nfor him.  His horse seemed to be infected with the same panic, for it\nshook in every limb.  I now told him to call on the name of the Lord\nJesus, who was able to turn the darkness into light, but he gave a\nterrible shout, and, brandishing his gun aloft, discharged it in the air.\nHis horse sprang forward at full speed, and my mule, which was one of the\nswiftest of its kind, took fright and followed at the heels of the\ncharger.  Antonio and the boy were left behind.  On we flew like a\nwhirlwind, the hoofs of the animals illuming the path with the sparks of\nfire they struck from the stones.  I knew not whither we were going, but\nthe dumb creatures were acquainted with the way, and soon brought us to\nVendas Novas, where we were rejoined by our companions.\n\nI thought this man was a coward, but I did him injustice, for during the\nday he was as brave as a lion, and feared no one.  About five years\nsince, he had overcome two robbers who had attacked him on the moors,\nand, after tying their hands behind them, had delivered them up to\njustice; but at night the rustling of a leaf filled him with terror.  I\nhave known similar instances of the kind in persons of otherwise\nextraordinary resolution.  For myself, I confess I am not a person of\nextraordinary resolution, but the dangers of the night daunt me no more\nthan those of midday.  The man in question was a farmer from Evora, and a\nperson of considerable wealth.\n\nI found the inn at Vendas Novas thronged with people, and had some\ndifficulty in obtaining accommodation and refreshment.  It was occupied\nby the family of a certain Fidalgo, from Estremoz; he was on the way to\nLisbon, conveying a large sum of money, as was said\u2014probably the rents of\nhis estates.  He had with him a body guard of four-and-twenty of his\ndependants, each armed with a rifle; they consisted of his swineherds,\nshepherds, cowherds, and hunters, and were commanded by two youths, his\nson and nephew, the latter of whom was in regimentals; nevertheless,\nnotwithstanding the number of his troop, it appeared that the Fidalgo\nlaboured under considerable apprehension of being despoiled upon the\nwaste which lay between Vendas Novas and Pegoens, as he had just\nrequested a guard of four soldiers from the officer who commanded a\ndetachment stationed here: there were many females in his company, who, I\nwas told, were his illegitimate daughters\u2014for he bore an infamous moral\ncharacter, and was represented to me as a staunch friend of Don Miguel.\nIt was not long before he came up to me and my new acquaintance, as we\nsat by the kitchen fire: he was a tall man of about sixty, but stooped\nmuch.  His countenance was by no means pleasing: he had a long hooked\nnose, small twinkling cunning eyes, and, what I liked worst of all, a\ncontinual sneering smile, which I firmly believe to be the index of a\ntreacherous and malignant heart.  He addressed me in Spanish, which, as\nhe resided not far from the frontier, he spoke with fluency, but contrary\nto my usual practice, I was reserved and silent.\n\nOn the following morning I rose at seven, and found that the party from\nEstremoz had started several hours previously.  I breakfasted with my\nacquaintance of the preceding night, and we set out to accomplish what\nremained of our journey.  The sun had now arisen; and all his fears had\nleft him\u2014he breathed defiance against all the robbers of the Alemtejo.\nWhen we had advanced about a league, the boy who attended us said he saw\nheads of men amongst the brushwood.  Our cavalier instantly seized his\ngun, and causing his horse to make two or three lofty bounds, held it in\none hand, the muzzle pointed in the direction indicated, but the heads\ndid not again make their appearance, and it was probably but a false\nalarm.\n\nWe resumed our way, and the conversation turned, as might be expected,\nupon robbers.  My companion, who seemed to be acquainted with every inch\nof ground over which we passed, had a legend to tell of every dingle and\nevery pine-clump.  We reached a slight eminence, on the top of which grew\nthree stately pines: about half a league farther on was another similar\none: these two eminences commanded a view of the road from Pegoens and\nVendas Novas, so that all people going and coming could be descried,\nwhilst yet at a distance.  My friend told me that these heights were\nfavourite stations of robbers.  Some two years since, a band of six\nmounted banditti remained there three days, and plundered whomsoever\napproached from either quarter: their horses, saddled and bridled, stood\npicqueted at the foot of the trees, and two scouts, one for each\neminence, continually sat in the topmost branches and gave notice of the\napproach of travellers: when at a proper distance the robbers below\nsprang upon their horses, and putting them to full gallop, made at their\nprey, shouting _Rendete_, _Picaro_! _Rendete_,_ Picaro_! (Surrender,\nscoundrel, surrender!)  We, however, passed unmolested, and, about a\nquarter of a mile before we reached Pegoens, overtook the family of the\nFidalgo.\n\nHad they been conveying the wealth of Ind through the deserts of Arabia,\nthey could not have travelled with more precaution.  The nephew, with\ndrawn sabre, rode in front; pistols at his holsters, and the usual\nSpanish gun slung at his saddle.  Behind him tramped six men in a rank,\nwith muskets shouldered, and each of them wore at his girdle a hatchet,\nwhich was probably intended to cleave the thieves to the brisket should\nthey venture to come to close quarters.  There were six vehicles, two of\nthem calashes, in which latter rode the Fidalgo and his daughters; the\nothers were covered carts, and seemed to be filled with household\nfurniture; each of these vehicles had an armed rustic on either side; and\nthe son, a lad about sixteen, brought up the rear with a squad equal to\nthat of his cousin in the van.  The soldiers, who by good fortune were\nlight horse, and admirably mounted, were galloping about in all\ndirections, for the purpose of driving the enemy from cover, should they\nhappen to be lurking in the neighbourhood.\n\nI could not help thinking as I passed by, that this martial array was\nvery injudicious, for though it was calculated to awe plunderers, it was\nlikewise calculated to allure them, as it seemed to hint that immense\nwealth was passing through their territories.  I do not know how the\nsoldiers and rustics would have behaved in case of an attack; but am\ninclined to believe that if three such men as Richard Turpin had suddenly\ngalloped forth from behind one of the bush-covered knolls, neither the\nnumbers nor resistance opposed to them would have prevented them from\nbearing away the contents of the strong box jingling in their saddlebags.\n\nFrom this moment nothing worthy of relating occurred till our arrival at\nAldea Gallega, where we passed the night, and next morning at three\no\u2019clock embarked in the passage-boat for Lisbon, where we arrived at\neight\u2014and thus terminates my first wandering in the Alemtejo.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n\nThe College\u2014The Rector\u2014Shibboleth\u2014National Prejudices\u2014Youthful\nSports\u2014Jews of Lisbon\u2014Bad Faith\u2014Crime and Superstition\u2014Strange Proposal.\n\nOne afternoon Antonio said to me, \u201cIt has struck me, Senhor, that your\nworship would like to see the college of the English ---.\u201d  \u201cBy all\nmeans,\u201d I replied, \u201cpray conduct me thither.\u201d  So he led me through\nvarious streets until we stopped before the gate of a large building in\none of the most elevated situations in Lisbon; upon our ringing, a kind\nof porter presently made his appearance, and demanded our business.\nAntonio explained it to him.  He hesitated for a moment; but presently,\nbidding us enter, conducted us to a large gloomy-looking stone hall,\nwhere, begging us to be seated, he left us.  We were soon joined by a\nvenerable personage, seemingly about seventy, in a kind of flowing robe\nor surplice, with a collegiate cap upon his head.  Notwithstanding his\nage there was a ruddy tinge upon his features, which were perfectly\nEnglish.  Coming slowly up he addressed me in the English tongue,\nrequesting to know how he could serve me.  I informed him that I was an\nEnglish traveller, and should be happy to be permitted to inspect the\ncollege, provided it were customary to show it to strangers.  He informed\nme that there could be no objection to accede to my request, but that I\ncame at rather an unfortunate moment, it being the hour of refection.  I\napologised, and was preparing to retire, but he begged me to remain, as,\nin a few minutes, the refection would be over, when the principals of the\ncollege would do themselves the pleasure of waiting on me.\n\nWe sat down on the stone bench, when he commenced surveying me\nattentively for some time, and then cast his eyes on Antonio.  \u201cWhom have\nwe here?\u201d said he to the latter; \u201csurely your features are not unknown to\nme.\u201d  \u201cProbably not, your reverence,\u201d replied Antonio, getting up and\nbowing most profoundly.  \u201cI lived in the family of the Countess ---, at\nCintra, when your venerability was her spiritual guide.\u201d  \u201cTrue, true,\u201d\nsaid the old gentleman, sighing, \u201cI remember you now.  Ah, Antonio,\nthings are strangely changed since then.  A new government\u2014a new system\u2014a\nnew religion, I may say.\u201d  Then looking again at me, he demanded whither\nI was journeying?  \u201cI am going to Spain,\u201d said I, \u201cand have stopped at\nLisbon by the way.\u201d  \u201cSpain, Spain!\u201d said the old man; \u201csurely you have\nchosen a strange time to visit Spain; there is much bloodshedding in\nSpain at present, and violent wars and tumults.\u201d  \u201cI consider the cause\nof Don Carlos as already crushed,\u201d I replied; \u201che has lost the only\ngeneral capable of leading his armies to Madrid.  Zumalacarregui, his\nCid, has fallen.\u201d  \u201cDo not flatter yourself; I beg your pardon, but do\nnot think, young man, that the Lord will permit the powers of darkness to\ntriumph so easily; the cause of Don Carlos is not lost; its success did\nnot depend on the life of a frail worm like him whom you have mentioned.\u201d\nWe continued in discourse some little time, when he arose, saying that by\nthis time he believed the refection was concluded.\n\nHe had scarcely left me five minutes when three individuals entered the\nstone hall, and advanced slowly towards me;\u2014the principals of the\ncollege, said I to myself! and so indeed they were.  The first of these\ngentlemen, and to whom the other two appeared to pay considerable\ndeference, was a thin spare person, somewhat above the middle height; his\ncomplexion was very pale, his features emaciated but fine, his eyes dark\nand sparkling; he might be about fifty\u2014the other two were men in the\nprime of life.  One was of rather low stature; his features were dark,\nand wore that pinched and mortified expression so frequently to be\nobserved in the countenance of the English ---: the other was a bluff,\nruddy, and rather good-looking young man; all three were dressed alike in\nthe usual college cap and silk gown.  Coming up, the eldest of the three\ntook me by the hand and thus addressed me in clear silvery tones:\u2014\n\n\u201cWelcome, Sir, to our poor house; we are always happy to see in it a\ncountryman from our beloved native land; it will afford us extreme\nsatisfaction to show you over it; it is true that satisfaction is\nconsiderably diminished by the reflection that it possesses nothing\nworthy of the attention of a traveller; there is nothing curious\npertaining to it save perhaps its economy, and that as we walk about we\nwill explain to you.  Permit us, first of all, to introduce ourselves to\nyou; I am rector of this poor English house of refuge; this gentleman is\nour professor of humanity, and this (pointing to the ruddy personage) is\nour professor of polite learning, Hebrew, and Syriac.\u201d\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I humbly salute you all; excuse me if I inquire who was the\nvenerable gentleman who put himself to the inconvenience of staying with\nme whilst I was awaiting your leisure.\n\n_Rector_.\u2014O! a most admirable personage, our almoner, our chaplain; he\ncame into this country before any of us were born, and here he has\ncontinued ever since.  Now let us ascend that we may show you our poor\nhouse: but how is this, my dear Sir, how is it that I see you standing\nuncovered in our cold damp hall?\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I can easily explain that to you; it is a custom which has\nbecome quite natural to me.  I am just arrived from Russia, where I have\nspent some years.  A Russian invariably takes off his hat whenever he\nenters beneath a roof, whether it pertain to hut, shop, or palace.  To\nomit doing so would be considered as a mark of brutality and barbarism,\nand for the following reason: in every apartment of a Russian house there\nis a small picture of the Virgin stuck up in a corner, just below the\nceiling\u2014the hat is taken off out of respect to her.\n\nQuick glances of intelligence were exchanged by the three gentlemen.  I\nhad stumbled upon their shibboleth, and proclaimed myself an Ephraimite,\nand not of Gilead.  I have no doubt that up to that moment they had\nconsidered me as one of themselves\u2014a member, and perhaps a priest, of\ntheir own ancient, grand, and imposing religion, for such it is, I must\nconfess\u2014an error into which it was natural that they should fall.  What\nmotives could a Protestant have for intruding upon their privacy?  What\ninterest could he take in inspecting the economy of their establishment?\nSo far, however, from relaxing in their attention after this discovery,\ntheir politeness visibly increased, though, perhaps, a scrutinizing\nobserver might have detected a shade of less cordiality in their manner.\n\n_Rector_.\u2014Beneath the ceiling in every apartment?  I think I understood\nyou so.  How delightful\u2014how truly interesting; a picture of the _Blessed_\nVirgin beneath the ceiling in every apartment of a Russian house!  Truly,\nthis intelligence is as unexpected as it is delightful.  I shall from\nthis moment entertain a much higher opinion of the Russians than\nhitherto\u2014most truly an example worthy of imitation.  I wish sincerely\nthat it was our own practice to place an _image_ of the _Blessed_ Virgin\nbeneath the ceiling in every corner of our houses.  What say you, our\nprofessor of humanity?  What say you to the information so obligingly\ncommunicated to us by this excellent gentleman?\n\n_Humanity Professor_.\u2014It is, indeed, most delightful, most cheering, I\nmay say; but I confess that I was not altogether unprepared for it.  The\nadoration of the Blessed Virgin is becoming every day more extended in\ncountries where it has hitherto been unknown or forgotten.  Dr. W---,\nwhen he passed through Lisbon, gave me some most interesting details with\nrespect to the labours of the propaganda in India.  Even England, our own\nbeloved country. . . .\n\n                                * * * * *\n\nMy obliging friends showed me all over their \u201cpoor house,\u201d it certainly\ndid not appear a very rich one; it was spacious, and rather dilapidated.\nThe library was small, and possessed nothing remarkable; the view,\nhowever, from the roof, over the greater part of Lisbon and the Tagus,\nwas very grand and noble; but I did not visit this place in the hope of\nseeing busts, or books, or fine prospects,\u2014I visited this strange old\nhouse to converse with its inmates, for my favourite, I might say, my\nonly study, is man.  I found these gentlemen much what I had anticipated,\nfor this was not the first time that I had visited an English ---\nestablishment in a foreign land.  They were full of amiability and\ncourtesy to their heretic countryman, and though the advancement of their\nreligion was with them an object of paramount importance, I soon found\nthat, with ludicrous inconsistency, they cherished, to a wonderful\ndegree, national prejudices almost extinct in the mother land, even to\nthe disparagement of those of their own darling faith.  I spoke of the\nEnglish ---, of their high respectability, and of the loyalty which they\nhad uniformly displayed to their sovereign, though of a different\nreligion, and by whom they had been not unfrequently subjected to much\noppression and injustice.\n\n_Rector_.\u2014My dear Sir, I am rejoiced to hear you; I see that you are well\nacquainted with the great body of those of our faith in England.  They\nare as you have well described them, a most respectable and loyal body;\nfrom loyalty, indeed, they never swerved, and though they have been\naccused of plots and conspiracies, it is now well known that such had no\nreal existence, but were merely calumnies invented by their religious\nenemies.  During the civil wars the English --- cheerfully shed their\nblood and squandered their fortunes in the cause of the unfortunate\nmartyr, notwithstanding that he never favoured them, and invariably\nlooked upon them with suspicion.  At present the English --- are the most\ndevoted subjects to our gracious sovereign.  I should be happy if I could\nsay as much for our Irish brethren; but their conduct has been\u2014oh!\ndetestable.  Yet what can you expect?  The true\u2014blush for them.  A\ncertain person is a disgrace to the church of which he pretends to be a\nservant.  Where does he find in our canons sanction for his proceedings,\nhis undutiful expressions towards one who is his sovereign by divine\nright, and who can do no wrong?  And above all, where does he find\nauthority for inflaming the passions of a vile mob against a nation\nintended by nature and by position to command them?\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I believe there is an Irish college in this city?\n\n_Rector_.\u2014I believe there is; but it does not flourish, there are few or\nno pupils.  Oh!\n\nI looked through a window, at a great height, and saw about twenty or\nthirty fine lads sporting in a court below.  \u201cThis is as it should be,\u201d\nsaid I; \u201cthose boys will not make worse priests from a little early\ndevotion to trap-ball and cudgel playing.  I dislike a staid, serious,\npuritanic education, as I firmly believe that it encourages vice and\nhypocrisy.\u201d\n\nWe then went into the Rector\u2019s room, where, above a crucifix, was hanging\na small portrait.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014That was a great and portentous man, honest withal.  I believe\nthe body of which he was the founder, and which has been so much decried,\nhas effected infinitely more good than it has caused harm.\n\n_Rector_.\u2014What do I hear?  You an Englishman, and a Protestant, and yet\nan admirer of Ignatius Loyola?\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I will say nothing with respect to the doctrine of the Jesuits,\nfor, as you have observed, I am a Protestant: but I am ready to assert\nthat there are no people in the world better qualified, upon the whole,\nto be intrusted with the education of youth.  Their moral system and\ndiscipline are truly admirable.  Their pupils, in after life, are seldom\nvicious and licentious characters, and are in general men of learning,\nscience, and possessed of every elegant accomplishment.  I execrate the\nconduct of the liberals of Madrid in murdering last year the helpless\nfathers, by whose care and instruction two of the finest minds of Spain\nhave been evolved\u2014the two ornaments of the liberal cause and modern\nliterature of Spain, for such are Toreno and Martinez de la Rosa. . . .\n\n                                * * * * *\n\nGathered in small clusters about the pillars at the lower extremities of\nthe gold and silver streets in Lisbon, may be observed, about noon in\nevery day, certain strange looking men, whose appearance is neither\nPortuguese nor European.  Their dress generally consists of a red cap,\nwith a blue silken tassel at the top of it, a blue tunic girded at the\nwaist with a red sash, and wide linen pantaloons or trousers.  He who\npasses by these groups generally hears them conversing in broken Spanish\nor Portuguese, and occasionally in a harsh guttural language, which the\noriental traveller knows to be the Arabic, or a dialect thereof.  These\npeople are the Jews of Lisbon.  Into the midst of one of these groups I\none day introduced myself, and pronounced a beraka, or blessing.  I have\nlived in different parts of the world, much amongst the Hebrew race, and\nam well acquainted with their ways and phraseology.  I was rather anxious\nto become acquainted with the state of the Portuguese Jews, and I had now\nan opportunity.  \u201cThe man is a powerful rabbi,\u201d said a voice in Arabic;\n\u201cit behoves us to treat him kindly.\u201d  They welcomed me.  I favoured their\nmistake, and in a few days I knew all that related to them and their\ntraffic in Lisbon.\n\nI found them a vile, infamous rabble, about two hundred in number.  With\na few exceptions, they consist of escapados from the Barbary shore, from\nTetuan, from Tangier, but principally from Mogadore; fellows who have\nfled to a foreign land from the punishment due to their misdeeds.  Their\nmanner of life in Lisbon is worthy of such a goodly assemblage of _amis\nreunis_.  The generality of them pretend to work in gold and silver, and\nkeep small peddling shops; they, however, principally depend for their\nlivelihood on an extensive traffic in stolen goods which they carry on.\nIt is said that there is honour amongst thieves, but this is certainly\nnot the case with the Jews of Lisbon, for they are so greedy and\navaricious, that they are constantly quarrelling about their ill-gotten\ngain, the result being that they frequently ruin each other.  Their\nmutual jealousy is truly extraordinary.  If one, by cheating and roguery,\ngains a cruzado in the presence of another, the latter instantly says I\ncry halves, and if the first refuse he is instantly threatened with an\ninformation.  The manner in which they cheat each other has, with all its\ninfamy, occasionally something extremely droll and ludicrous.  I was one\nday in the shop of a Swiri, or Jew of Mogadore, when a Jew from Gibraltar\nentered, with a Portuguese female, who held in her hand a mantle, richly\nembroidered with gold.\n\n_Gibraltar Jew_ (speaking in broken Arabic).\u2014Good-day, O Swiri; God has\nfavoured me this day; here is a bargain by which we shall both gain.  I\nhave bought this mantle of the woman almost for nothing, for it is\nstolen; but I am poor, as you know, I have not a cruzado; pay her\ntherefore the price, that we may then forthwith sell the mantle and\ndivide the gain.\n\n_Swiri_.\u2014Willingly, brother of Gibraltar; I will pay the woman for the\nmantle; it does not appear a bad one.\n\nThereupon he flung two cruzados to the woman, who forthwith left the\nshop.\n\n_Gibraltar Jew_.\u2014Thanks, brother Swirl, this is very kind of you; now let\nus go and sell the mantle, the gold alone is well worth a moidore; but I\nam poor and have nothing to eat, give me, therefore, the half of that sum\nand keep the mantle; I shall be content.\n\n_Swiri_.\u2014May Allah blot out your name, you thief.  What mean you by\nasking me for money?  I bought the mantle of the woman and paid for it.\nI know nothing of you.  Go out of my doors, dog of a Nazarene, if not I\nwill pay you with a kick.\n\nThe dispute was referred to one of the sabios, or priests; but the sabio,\nwho was also from Mogadore, at once took the part of the Swiri, and\ndecided that the other should have nothing.  Whereupon the Gibraltar Jew\ncursed the sabio, his father, mother, and all his family.  The sabio\nreplied, \u201cI put you in ndui,\u201d a kind of purgatory or hell.  \u201cI put you in\nseven nduis,\u201d retorted the incensed Jew, over whom, however,\nsuperstitious fear speedily prevailed; he faltered, became pale, and\ndropping his voice, retreated, trembling in every limb.\n\nThe Jews have two synagogues in Lisbon, both are small; one is, however,\ntolerably well furnished, it has its reading desk, and in the middle\nthere is a rather handsome chandelier; the other is little better than a\nsty, filthy to a degree, without ornament of any kind.  The congregation\nof this last are thieves to a man; no Jew of the slightest respectability\never enters it.\n\nHow well do superstition and crime go hand in hand.  These wretched\nbeings break the eternal commandments of their Maker without scruple; but\nthey will not partake of the beast of the uncloven foot, and the fish\nwhich has no scales.  They pay no regard to the denunciations of holy\nprophets against the children of sin, but they quake at the sound of a\ndark cabalistic word, pronounced by one perhaps their equal, or superior,\nin villainy, as if God would delegate the exercise of his power to the\nworkers of iniquity.\n\nI was one day sauntering on the Caesodr\u00e9, when a Jew, with whom I had\npreviously exchanged a word or two, came up and addressed me.\n\n_Jew_.\u2014The blessing of God upon you, brother; I know you to be a wise and\npowerful man, and I have conceived much regard for you; it is on that\naccount that I wish to put you in the way of gaining much money.  Come\nwith me, and I will conduct you to a place where there are forty chests\nof tea.  It is a ser\u00e9ka (a robbery), and the thieves are willing to\ndispose of it for a trifle, for there is search being made, and they are\nin much fear.  I can raise one half of what they demand, do you supply\nthe other, we will then divide it, each shall go his own way and dispose\nof his portion.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Wherefore, O son of Arbat, do you propose this to me, who am a\nstranger?  Surely you are mad.  Have you not your own people about you\nwhom you know, and in whom you can confide?\n\n_Jew_.\u2014It is because I know our people here that I do not confide in\nthem; we are in the galoot of sin.  Were I to confide in my brethren\nthere would be a dispute, and perhaps they would rob me, and few of them\nhave any money.  Were I to apply to the sabio he might consent, but when\nI ask for my portion he would put me in ndui!  You I do not fear; you are\ngood and would do me no harm, unless I attempted to deceive you, and that\nI dare not do, for I know you are powerful.  Come with me, master, for I\nwish to gain something, that I may return to Arbat, where I have children\n. . .\n\nSuch are Jews in Lisbon.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n\nCold of Portugal\u2014Extortion prevented\u2014Sensation of Loneliness\u2014The Dog\u2014The\nConvent\u2014Enchanting Landscape\u2014Moorish Fortresses\u2014Prayer for the Sick.\n\nAbout a fortnight after my return from Evora, having made the necessary\npreparations, I set out on my journey for Badajoz, from which town I\nintended to take the diligence to Madrid.  Badajoz lies about a hundred\nmiles distant from Lisbon, and is the principal frontier town of Spain in\nthe direction of the Alemtejo.  To reach this place, it was necessary to\nretravel the road as far as Monte Moro, which I had already passed in my\nexcursion to Evora; I had therefore very little pleasure to anticipate\nfrom novelty of scenery.  Moreover, in this journey I should be a\nsolitary traveller, with no other companion than the muleteer, as it was\nmy intention to take my servant no farther than Aldea Gallega, for which\nplace I started at four in the afternoon.  Warned by former experience, I\ndid not now embark in a small boat, but in one of the regular passage\nfelouks, in which we reached Aldea Gallega, after a voyage of six hours;\nfor the boat was heavy, there was no wind to propel it, and the crew were\nobliged to ply their huge oars the whole way.  In a word, this passage\nwas the reverse of the first,\u2014safe in every respect,\u2014but so sluggish and\ntiresome, that I a hundred times wished myself again under the guidance\nof the wild lad, galloping before the hurricane over the foaming billows.\nFrom eight till ten the cold was truly terrible, and though I was closely\nwrapped in an excellent fur \u201cshoob,\u201d with which I had braved the frosts\nof Russian winters, I shivered in every limb, and was far more rejoiced\nwhen I again set my foot on the Alemtejo, than when I landed for the\nfirst time, after having escaped the horrors of the tempest.\n\nI took up my quarters for the night at a house to which my friend who\nfeared the darkness had introduced me on my return from Evora, and where,\nthough I paid mercilessly dear for everything, the accommodation was\nsuperior to that of the common inn in the square.  My first care now was\nto inquire for mules to convey myself and baggage to Elvas, from whence\nthere are but three short leagues to the Spanish town of Badajoz.  The\npeople of the house informed me that they had an excellent pair at my\ndisposal, but when I inquired the price, they were not ashamed to demand\nfour moidores.  I offered them three, which was too much, but which,\nhowever, they did not accept, for knowing me to be an Englishman, they\nthought they had an excellent opportunity to practise imposition, not\nimagining that a person so rich as an Englishman _must_ be, would go out\nin a cold night for the sake of obtaining a reasonable bargain.  They\nwere, however, much mistaken, as I told them that rather than encourage\nthem in their knavery, I should be content to return to Lisbon; whereupon\nthey dropped their demand to three and a half, but I made them no answer,\nand going out with Antonio, proceeded to the house of the old man who had\naccompanied us to Evora.  We knocked a considerable time, for he was in\nbed; at length he arose and admitted us, but on hearing our object, he\nsaid that his mules were again gone to Evora, under the charge of the\nboy, for the purpose of transporting some articles of merchandise.  He,\nhowever, recommended us to a person in the neighbourhood who kept mules\nfor hire, and there Antonio engaged two fine beasts for two moidores and\na half.  I say he engaged them, for I stood aloof and spoke not, and the\nproprietor, who exhibited them, and who stood half-dressed, with a lamp\nin his hand and shivering with cold, was not aware that they were\nintended for a foreigner till the agreement was made, and he had received\na part of the sum in earnest.  I returned to the inn well pleased, and\nhaving taken some refreshment went to rest, paying little attention to\nthe people, who glanced daggers at me from their small Jewish eyes.\n\nAt five the next morning the mules were at the door; a lad of some\nnineteen or twenty years of age attended them; he was short but\nexceedingly strong built, and possessed the largest head which I ever\nbeheld upon mortal shoulders; neck he had none, at least I could discern\nnothing which could be entitled to that name.  His features were\nhideously ugly, and upon addressing him I discovered that he was an\nidiot.  Such was my intended companion in a journey of nearly a hundred\nmiles, which would occupy four days, and which lay over the most savage\nand ill noted track in the whole kingdom.  I took leave of my servant\nalmost with tears, for he had always served me with the greatest\nfidelity, and had exhibited an assiduity and a wish to please which\nafforded me the utmost satisfaction.\n\nWe started, my uncouth guide sitting tailor-fashion on the sumpter mule\nupon the baggage.  The moon had just gone down, and the morning was\npitchy dark, and, as usual, piercingly cold.  He soon entered the dismal\nwood, which I had already traversed, and through which we wended our way\nfor some time, slowly and mournfully.  Not a sound was to be heard save\nthe trampling of the animals, not a breath of air moved the leafless\nbranches, no animal stirred in the thickets, no bird, not even the owl,\nflew over our heads, all seemed desolate and dead, and during my many and\nfar wanderings, I never experienced a greater sensation of loneliness,\nand a greater desire for conversation and an exchange of ideas than then.\nTo speak to the idiot was useless, for though competent to show the road,\nwith which he was well acquainted, he had no other answer than an uncouth\nlaugh to any question put to him.  Thus situated, like many other persons\nwhen human comfort is not at hand, I turned my heart to God, and began to\ncommune with Him, the result of which was that my mind soon became\nquieted and comforted.\n\nWe passed on our way uninterrupted; no thieves showed themselves, nor\nindeed did we see a single individual until we arrived at Pegoens, and\nfrom thence to Vendas Novas our fortune was the same.  I was welcomed\nwith great kindness by the people of the hostelry of the latter place,\nwho were well acquainted with me on account of my having twice passed the\nnight under their roof.  The name of the keeper of this is, or was, Joz\u00e9\nDias Azido, and unlike the generality of those of the same profession as\nhimself in Portugal, he is an honest man, and a stranger and foreigner\nwho takes up his quarters at his inn, may rest assured that he will not\nbe most unmercifully pillaged and cheated when the hour of reckoning\nshall arrive, as he will not be charged a single r\u00e9 more than a native\nPortuguese on a similar occasion.  I paid at this place exactly one half\nof the sum which was demanded from me at Arroyolos, where I passed the\nensuing night, and where the accommodation was in every respect inferior.\n\nAt twelve next day we arrived at Monte Moro, and, as I was not pressed\nfor time, I determined upon viewing the ruins which cover the top and\nmiddle part of the stately hill which towers above the town.  Having\nordered some refreshment at the inn where we dismounted, I ascended till\nI arrived at a large wall or rampart, which, at a certain altitude\nembraces the whole hill.  I crossed a rude bridge of stones, which\nbestrides a small hollow or trench; and passing by a large tower, entered\nthrough a portal into the enclosed part of the hill.  On the left hand\nstood a church, in good preservation, and still devoted to the purposes\nof religion, but which I could not enter, as the door was locked, and I\nsaw no one at hand to open it.\n\nI soon found that my curiosity had led me to a most extraordinary place,\nwhich quite beggars the scanty powers of description with which I am\ngifted.  I stumbled on amongst ruined walls, and at one time found I was\ntreading over vaults, as I suddenly started back from a yawning orifice\ninto which my next step, as I strolled musing along, would have\nprecipitated me.  I proceeded for a considerable way by the eastern wall,\ntill I heard a tremendous bark, and presently an immense dog, such as\nthose which guard the flocks in the neighbourhood against the wolves,\ncame bounding to attack me \u201cwith eyes that glowed and fangs that\ngrinned.\u201d  Had I retreated, or had recourse to any other mode of defence\nthan that which I invariably practise under such circumstances, he would\nprobably have worried me; but I stooped till my chin nearly touched my\nknee, and looked him full in the eyes, and as John Leyden says, in the\nnoblest ballad which the Land of Heather has produced:\u2014\n\n    \u201cThe hound he yowled and back he fled,\n    As struck with fairy charm.\u201d\n\nIt is a fact known to many people, and I believe it has been frequently\nstated, that no large and fierce dog or animal of any kind, with the\nexception of the bull, which shuts its eyes and rushes blindly forward,\nwill venture to attack an individual who confronts it with a firm and\nmotionless countenance.  I say large and fierce, for it is much easier to\nrepel a bloodhound or bear of Finland in this manner than a dunghill cur\nor a terrier, against which a stick or a stone is a much more certain\ndefence.  This will astonish no one who considers that the calm reproving\nglance of reason, which allays the excesses of the mighty and courageous\nin our own species, has seldom any other effect than to add to the\ninsolence of the feeble and foolish, who become placid as doves upon the\ninfliction of chastisements, which if attempted to be applied to the\nformer would only serve to render them more terrible, and like gunpowder\ncast on a flame, cause them in mad desperation to scatter destruction\naround them.\n\nThe barking of the dog brought out from a kind of alley an elderly man,\nwhom I supposed to be his master, and of whom I made some inquiries\nrespecting the place.  The man was civil, and informed me that he served\nas a soldier in the British army, under the \u201cgreat lord,\u201d during the\nPeninsular war.  He said that there was a convent of nuns a little\nfarther on, which he would show me, and thereupon led the way to the\nsouth-east part of the wall, where stood a large dilapidated edifice.\n\nWe entered a dark stone apartment, at one corner of which was a kind of\nwindow occupied by a turning table, at which articles were received into\nthe convent or delivered out.  He rang the bell, and, without saying a\nword, retired, leaving me rather perplexed; but presently I heard, though\nthe speaker was invisible, a soft feminine voice demanding who I was, and\nwhat I wanted.  I replied that I was an Englishman travelling into Spain,\nand that passing through Monte Moro I had ascended the hill for the\npurpose of seeing the ruins.  The voice then said, \u201cI suppose you are a\nmilitary man going to fight against the king, like the rest of your\ncountrymen.\u201d  \u201cNo,\u201d said I, \u201cI am not a military man, but a Christian,\nand I go not to shed blood but to endeavour to introduce the gospel of\nChrist into a country where it is not known;\u201d whereupon there was a\nstifled titter.  I then inquired if there were any copies of the Holy\nScriptures in the convent, but the friendly voice could give me no\ninformation on that point, and I scarcely believe that its possessor\nunderstood the purport of my question.  It informed me, that the office\nof lady abbess of the house was an annual one, and that every year there\nwas a fresh superior; on my inquiring whether the nuns did not frequently\nfind the time exceedingly heavy on their hands, it stated that, when they\nhad nothing better to do, they employed themselves in making cheesecakes,\nwhich were disposed of in the neighbourhood.  I thanked the voice for its\ncommunications, and walked away.  Whilst proceeding under the wall of the\nhouse towards the south-west, I heard a fresh and louder tittering above\nmy head, and looking up, saw three or four windows crowded with dusky\nfaces, and black waving hair; these belonged to the nuns, anxious to\nobtain a view of the stranger.  After kissing my hand repeatedly, I moved\non, and soon arrived at the south-west end of this mountain of\ncuriosities.  There I found the remains of a large building, which seemed\nto have been originally erected in the shape of a cross.  A tower at its\neastern entrance was still entire; the western side was quite in ruins,\nand stood on the verge of the hill overlooking the valley, at the bottom\nof which ran the stream I have spoken of on a former occasion.\n\nThe day was intensely hot, notwithstanding the coldness of the preceding\nnights; and the brilliant sun of Portugal now illumined a landscape of\nentrancing beauty.  Groves of cork trees covered the farther side of the\nvalley and the distant acclivities, exhibiting here and there charming\nvistas, where various flocks of cattle were feeding; the soft murmur of\nthe stream, which was at intervals chafed and broken by huge stones,\nascended to my ears and filled my mind with delicious feelings.  I sat\ndown on the broken wall and remained gazing, and listening, and shedding\ntears of rapture; for, of all the pleasures which a bountiful God\npermitteth his children to enjoy, none are so dear to some hearts as the\nmusic of forests, and streams, and the view of the beauties of his\nglorious creation.  An hour elapsed, and I still maintained my seat on\nthe wall; the past scenes of my life flitting before my eyes in airy and\nfantastic array, through which every now and then peeped trees and hills\nand other patches of the real landscape which I was confronting; the sun\nburnt my visage, but I heeded it not; and I believe that I should have\nremained till night, buried in these reveries, which, I confess, only\nserved to enervate the mind, and steal many a minute which might be most\nprofitably employed, had not the report of the gun of a fowler in the\nvalley, which awakened the echoes of the woods, hills, and ruins, caused\nme to start on my feet, and remember that I had to proceed three leagues\nbefore I could reach the hostelry where I intended to pass the night.\n\nI bent my steps to the inn, passing along a kind of rampart: shortly\nbefore I reached the portal, which I have already mentioned, I observed a\nkind of vault on my right hand, scooped out of the side of the hill; its\nroof was supported by three pillars, though part of it had given way\ntowards the farther end, so that the light was admitted through a chasm\nin the top.  It might have been intended for a chapel, a dungeon, or a\ncemetery, but I should rather think for the latter; one thing I am\ncertain of, that it was not the work of Moorish hands, and indeed\nthroughout my wanderings in this place I saw nothing which reminded me of\nthat most singular people.  The hill on which the ruins stand was\ndoubtless originally a strong fortress of the Moors, who, upon their\nfirst irruption into the peninsula, seized and fortified most of the\nlofty and naturally strong positions, but they had probably lost it at an\nearly period, so that the broken walls and edifices, which at present\ncover the hill, are probably remains of the labours of the Christians\nafter the place had been rescued from the hands of the terrible enemies\nof their faith.  Monte Moro will perhaps recall Cintra to the mind of the\ntraveller, as it exhibits a distant resemblance to that place;\nnevertheless, there is something in Cintra wild and savage, to which\nMonte Moro has no pretension; its scathed and gigantic crags are piled\nupon each other in a manner which seems to menace headlong destruction to\nwhatever is in the neighbourhood; and the ruins which still cling to\nthose crags seem more like eagles\u2019 nests than the remains of the\nhabitations even of Moors; whereas those of Monte Moro stand\ncomparatively at their ease on the broad back of a hill, which, though\nstately and commanding, has no crags nor precipices, and which can be\nascended on every side without much difficulty: yet I was much gratified\nby my visit, and I shall wander far indeed before I forget the voice in\nthe dilapidated convent, the ruined walls amongst which I strayed, and\nthe rampart where, sunk in dreamy rapture, I sat during a bright sunny\nhour at Monte Moro.\n\nI returned to the inn, where I refreshed myself with tea and very sweet\nand delicious cheesecakes, the handiwork of the nuns in the convent\nabove.  Observing gloom and unhappiness on the countenances of the people\nof the house, I inquired the reason of the hostess, who sat almost\nmotionless, on the hearth by the fire; whereupon she informed me that her\nhusband was deadly sick with a disorder which, from her description, I\nsupposed to be a species of cholera; she added, that the surgeon who\nattended him entertained no hopes of his recovery.  I replied that it was\nquite in the power of God to restore her husband in a few hours from the\nverge of the grave to health and vigour, and that it was her duty to pray\nto that Omnipotent Being with all fervency.  I added, that if she did not\nknow how to pray upon such an occasion, I was ready to pray for her,\nprovided she would join in the spirit of the supplication.  I then\noffered up a short prayer in Portuguese, in which I entreated the Lord to\nremove, if he thought proper, the burden of affliction under which the\nfamily was labouring.\n\nThe woman listened attentively, with her hands devoutly clasped, until\nthe prayer was finished, and then gazed at me seemingly with\nastonishment, but uttered no word by which I could gather that she was\npleased or displeased with what I had said.  I now bade the family\nfarewell, and having mounted my mule, set forward to Arroyolos.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\n\nThe Druids\u2019 Stone\u2014The Young Spaniard\u2014Ruffianly Soldiers\u2014Evils of\nWar\u2014Estremoz\u2014The Brawl\u2014Ruined Watch Tower\u2014Glimpse of Spain\u2014Old Times and\nNew.\n\nAfter proceeding about a league and a half, a blast came booming from the\nnorth, rolling before it immense clouds of dust; happily it did not blow\nin our faces, or it would have been difficult to proceed, so great was\nits violence.  We had left the road in order to take advantage of one of\nthose short cuts, which, though possible for a horse or a mule, are far\ntoo rough to permit any species of carriage to travel along them.  We\nwere in the midst of sands, brushwood, and huge pieces of rock, which\nthickly studded the ground.  These are the stones which form the sierras\nof Spain and Portugal; those singular mountains which rise in naked\nhorridness, like the ribs of some mighty carcass from which the flesh has\nbeen torn.  Many of these stones, or rocks, grew out of the earth, and\nmany lay on its surface unattached, perhaps wrested from their bed by the\nwaters of the deluge.  Whilst toiling along these wild wastes, I\nobserved, a little way to my left, a pile of stones of rather a singular\nappearance, and rode up to it.  It was a druidical altar, and the most\nperfect and beautiful one of the kind which I had ever seen.  It was\ncircular, and consisted of stones immensely large and heavy at the\nbottom, which towards the top became thinner and thinner, having been\nfashioned by the hand of art to something of the shape of scollop shells.\nThese were surmounted by a very large flat stone, which slanted down\ntowards the south, where was a door.  Three or four individuals might\nhave taken shelter within the interior, in which was growing a small\nthorn tree.\n\nI gazed with reverence and awe upon the pile where the first colonies of\nEurope offered their worship to the unknown God.  The temples of the\nmighty and skilful Roman, comparatively of modern date, have crumbled to\ndust in its neighbourhood.  The churches of the Arian Goth, his successor\nin power, have sunk beneath the earth, and are not to be found; and the\nmosques of the Moor, the conqueror of the Goth, where and what are they?\nUpon the rock, masses of hoary and vanishing ruin.  Not so the Druids\u2019\nstone; there it stands on the hill of winds, as strong and as freshly new\nas the day, perhaps thirty centuries back, when it was first raised, by\nmeans which are a mystery.  Earthquakes have heaved it, but its copestone\nhas not fallen; rain floods have deluged it, but failed to sweep it from\nits station; the burning sun has flashed upon it, but neither split nor\ncrumbled it; and time, stern old time, has rubbed it with his iron tooth,\nand with what effect let those who view it declare.  There it stands, and\nhe who wishes to study the literature, the learning, and the history of\nthe ancient Celt and Cymbrian, may gaze on its broad covering, and glean\nfrom that blank stone the whole known amount.  The Roman has left behind\nhim his deathless writings, his history, and his songs; the Goth his\nliturgy, his traditions, and the germs of noble institutions; the Moor\nhis chivalry, his discoveries in medicine, and the foundations of modern\ncommerce; and where is the memorial of the Druidic races?  Yonder: that\npile of eternal stone!\n\nWe arrived at Arroyolos about seven at night.  I took possession of a\nlarge two-bedded room, and, as I was preparing to sit down to supper, the\nhostess came to inquire whether I had any objection to receive a young\nSpaniard for the night.  She said he had just arrived with a train of\nmuleteers, and that she had no other room in which she could lodge him.\nI replied that I was willing, and in about half an hour he made his\nappearance, having first supped with his companions.  He was a very\ngentlemanly, good-looking lad of seventeen.  He addressed me in his\nnative language, and, finding that I understood him, he commenced talking\nwith astonishing volubility.  In the space of five minutes he informed me\nthat, having a desire to see the world, he had run away from his friends,\nwho were people of opulence at Madrid, and that he did not intend to\nreturn until he had travelled through various countries.  I told him that\nif what he said was true, he had done a very wicked and foolish action;\nwicked, because he must have overwhelmed those with grief whom he was\nbound to honour and love, and foolish, inasmuch as he was going to expose\nhimself to inconceivable miseries and hardships, which would shortly\ncause him to rue the step he had taken; that he would be only welcome in\nforeign countries so long as he had money to spend, and when he had none,\nhe would be repulsed as a vagabond, and would perhaps be allowed to\nperish of hunger.  He replied that he had a considerable sum of money\nwith him, no less than a hundred dollars, which would last him a long\ntime, and that when it was spent he should perhaps be able to obtain\nmore.  \u201cYour hundred dollars,\u201d said I, \u201cwill scarcely last you three\nmonths in the country in which you are, even if it be not stolen from\nyou; and you may as well hope to gather money on the tops of the\nmountains as expect to procure more by honourable means.\u201d  But he had not\nyet sufficiently drank of the cup of experience to attend much to what I\nsaid, and I soon after changed the subject.  About five next morning he\ncame to my bedside to take leave, as his muleteers were preparing to\ndepart.  I gave him the usual Spanish valediction (_Vaya usted con\nDios_), and saw no more of him.\n\nAt nine, after having paid a most exorbitant sum for slight\naccommodation, I started from Arroyolos, which is a town or large village\nsituated on very elevated ground, and discernible afar off.  It can boast\nof the remains of a large ancient and seemingly Moorish castle, which\nstands on a hill on the left as you take the road to Estremoz.\n\nAbout a mile from Arroyolos I overtook a train of carts escorted by a\nnumber of Portuguese soldiers, conveying stores and ammunition into\nSpain.  Six or seven of these soldiers marched a considerable way in\nfront; they were villainous looking ruffians upon whose livid and ghastly\ncountenances were written murder, and all the other crimes which the\ndecalogue forbids.  As I passed by, one of them, with a harsh, croaking\nvoice, commenced cursing all foreigners.  \u201cThere,\u201d said he, \u201cis this\nFrenchman riding on horseback\u201d (I was on a mule), \u201cwith a man\u201d (the\nidiot) \u201cto take care of him, and all because he is rich; whilst I, who am\na poor soldier, am obliged to tramp on foot.  I could find it in my heart\nto shoot him dead, for in what respect is he better than I?  But he is a\nforeigner, and the devil helps foreigners and hates the Portuguese.\u201d  He\ncontinued shouting his remarks until I got about forty yards in advance,\nwhen I commenced laughing; but it would have been more prudent in me to\nhave held my peace, for the next moment, with bang\u2014bang, two bullets,\nwell aimed, came whizzing past my ears.  A small river lay just before\nme, though the bridge was a considerable way on my left.  I spurred my\nanimal through it, closely followed by my terrified guide, and commenced\ngalloping along a sandy plain on the other side, and so escaped with my\nlife.\n\nThese fellows, with the look of banditti, were in no respect better; and\nthe traveller who should meet them in a solitary place would have little\nreason to bless his good fortune.  One of the carriers (all of whom were\nSpaniards from the neighbourhood of Badajoz, and had been despatched into\nPortugal for the purpose of conveying the stores), whom I afterwards met\nin the aforesaid town, informed me that the whole party were equally bad,\nand that he and his companions had been plundered by them of various\narticles, and threatened with death if they attempted to complain.  How\nfrightful to figure to oneself an army of such beings in a foreign land,\nsent thither either to invade or defend; and yet Spain, at the time I am\nwriting this, is looking forward to armed assistance from Portugal.  May\nthe Lord in his mercy grant that the soldiers who proceed to her\nassistance may be of a different stamp: and yet, from the lax state of\ndiscipline which exists in the Portuguese army, in comparison with that\nof England and France, I am afraid that the inoffensive population of the\ndisturbed provinces will say that wolves have been summoned to chase away\nfoxes from the sheepfold.  O! may I live to see the day when soldiery\nwill no longer be tolerated in any civilized, or at least Christian,\ncountry!\n\nI pursued my route to Estremoz, passing by Monte Moro Novo, which is a\ntall dusky hill, surmounted by an ancient edifice, probably Moorish.  The\ncountry was dreary and deserted, but offering here and there a valley\nstudded with cork trees and azinheiras.  After midday the wind, which\nduring the night and morning had much abated, again blew with such\nviolence as nearly to deprive me of my senses, though it was still in our\nrear.\n\nI was heartily glad when, on ascending a rising ground, at about four\no\u2019clock, I saw Estremoz on its hill at something less than a league\u2019s\ndistance.  Here the view became wildly interesting; the sun was sinking\nin the midst of red and stormy clouds, and its rays were reflected on the\ndun walls of the lofty town to which we were wending.  Nor far distant to\nthe south-west rose Serra Dorso, which I had seen from Evora, and which\nis the most beautiful mountain in the Alemtejo.  My idiot guide turned\nhis uncouth visage towards it, and becoming suddenly inspired, opened his\nmouth for the first time during the day, I might almost say since we had\nleft Aldea Gallega, and began to tell me what rare hunting was to be\nobtained in that mountain.  He likewise described with great minuteness a\nwonderful dog, which was kept in the neighbourhood for the purpose of\ncatching the wolves and wild boars, and for which the proprietor had\nrefused twenty moidores.\n\nAt length we reached Estremoz, and took up our quarters at the principal\ninn, which looks upon a large plain or market-place occupying the centre\nof the town, and which is so extensive that I should think ten thousand\nsoldiers at least might perform their evolutions there with ease.\n\nThe cold was far too terrible to permit me to remain in the chamber to\nwhich I had been conducted; I therefore went down to a kind of kitchen on\none side of the arched passage, which led under the house to the yard and\nstables.  A tremendous withering blast poured through this passage, like\nthe water through the flush of a mill.  A large cork tree was blazing in\nthe kitchen beneath a spacious chimney; and around it were gathered a\nnoisy crew of peasants and farmers from the neighbourhood, and three or\nfour Spanish smugglers from the frontier.  I with difficulty obtained a\nplace amongst them, as a Portuguese or a Spaniard will seldom make way\nfor a stranger, till called upon or pushed aside, but prefers gazing upon\nhim with an expression which seems to say, I know what you want, but I\nprefer remaining where I am.\n\nI now first began to observe an alteration in the language spoken; it had\nbecome less sibilant, and more guttural; and, when addressing each other,\nthe speakers used the Spanish title of courtesy _usted_, or your\nworthiness, instead of the Portuguese high flowing _vossem se_, or your\nlordship.  This is the result of constant communication with the natives\nof Spain, who never condescend to speak Portuguese, even when in\nPortugal, but persist in the use of their own beautiful language, which,\nperhaps, at some future period, the Portuguese will generally adopt.\nThis would greatly facilitate the union of the two countries, hitherto\nkept asunder by the natural waywardness of mankind.\n\nI had not been seated long before the blazing pile, when a fellow,\nmounted on a fine spirited horse, dashed from the stables through the\npassage into the kitchen, where he commenced displaying his horsemanship,\nby causing the animal to wheel about with the velocity of a millstone, to\nthe great danger of everybody in the apartment.  He then galloped out\nupon the plain, and after half an hour\u2019s absence returned, and having\nplaced his horse once more in the stable, came and seated himself next to\nme, to whom he commenced talking in a gibberish of which I understood\nvery little, but which he intended for French.  He was half intoxicated,\nand soon became three parts so, by swallowing glass after glass of\naguardiente.  Finding that I made him no answer, he directed his\ndiscourse to one of the contrabandistas, to whom he talked in bad\nSpanish.  The latter either did not or would not understand him; but at\nlast, losing patience, called him a drunkard, and told him to hold his\ntongue.  The fellow, enraged at this contempt, flung the glass out of\nwhich he was drinking at the Spaniard\u2019s head, who sprang up like a tiger,\nand unsheathing instantly a snick and snee knife, made an upward cut at\nthe fellow\u2019s cheek, and would have infallibly laid it open, had I not\npulled his arm down just in time to prevent worse effects than a scratch\nabove the lower jawbone, which, however, drew blood.\n\nThe smuggler\u2019s companions interfered, and with much difficulty led him\noff to a small apartment in the rear of the house, where they slept, and\nkept the furniture of their mules.  The drunkard then commenced singing,\nor rather yelling, the Marseillois hymn; and after having annoyed every\none for nearly an hour, was persuaded to mount his horse and depart,\naccompanied by one of his neighbours.  He was a pig merchant of the\nvicinity, but had formerly been a trooper in the army of Napoleon, where,\nI suppose, like the drunken coachman of Evora, he had picked up his\nFrench and his habits of intoxication.\n\nFrom Estremoz to Elvas the distance is six leagues.  I started at nine\nnext morning; the first part of the way lay through an enclosed country,\nbut we soon emerged upon wild bleak downs, over which the wind, which\nstill pursued us, howled most mournfully.  We met no one on the route;\nand the scene was desolate in the extreme; the heaven was of a dark grey,\nthrough which no glimpse of the sun was to be perceived.  Before us, at a\ngreat distance, on an elevated ground, rose a tower\u2014the only object which\nbroke the monotony of the waste.  In about two hours from the time when\nwe first discovered it, we reached a fountain, at the foot of the hill on\nwhich it stood; the water, which gushed into a long stone trough, was\nbeautifully clear and transparent, and we stopped here to water the\nanimals.\n\nHaving dismounted, I left the guide, and proceeded to ascend the hill on\nwhich the tower stood.  Though the ascent was very gentle I did not\naccomplish it without difficulty; the ground was covered with sharp\nstones, which, in two or three instances, cut through my boots and\nwounded my feet; and the distance was much greater than I had expected.\nI at last arrived at the ruin, for such it was.  I found it had been one\nof those watch towers or small fortresses called in Portuguese\n_atalaias_; it was square, and surrounded by a wall, broken down in many\nplaces.  The tower itself had no door, the lower part being of solid\nstone work; but on one side were crevices at intervals between the\nstones, for the purpose of placing the feet, and up this rude staircase I\nclimbed to a small apartment, about five feet square, from which the top\nhad fallen.  It commanded an extensive view from all sides, and had\nevidently been built for the accommodation of those whose business it was\nto keep watch on the frontier, and at the appearance of an enemy to alarm\nthe country by signals\u2014probably by a fire.  Resolute men might have\ndefended themselves in this little fastness against many assailants, who\nmust have been completely exposed to their arrows or musketry in the\nascent.\n\nBeing about to leave the place, I heard a strange cry behind a part of\nthe wall which I had not visited, and hastening thither, I found a\nmiserable object in rags, seated upon a stone.  It was a maniac\u2014a man\nabout thirty years of age, and I believe deaf and dumb; there he sat,\ngibbering and mowing, and distorting his wild features into various\ndreadful appearances.  There wanted nothing but this object to render the\nscene complete; banditti amongst such melancholy desolation would have\nbeen by no means so much in keeping.  But the maniac, on his stone, in\nthe rear of the wind-beaten ruin, overlooking the blasted heath, above\nwhich scowled the leaden heaven, presented such a picture of gloom and\nmisery as I believe neither painter nor poet ever conceived in the\nsaddest of their musings.  This is not the first instance in which it has\nbeen my lot to verify the wisdom of the saying, that truth is sometimes\nwilder than fiction.\n\nI remounted my mule, and proceeded till, on the top of another hill, my\nguide suddenly exclaimed, \u201cthere is Elvas.\u201d  I looked in the direction in\nwhich he pointed, and beheld a town perched on the top of a lofty hill.\nOn the other side of a deep valley towards the left rose another hill,\nmuch higher, on the top of which is the celebrated fort of Elvas,\nbelieved to be the strongest place in Portugal.  Through the opening\nbetween the fort and the town, but in the background and far in Spain, I\ndiscerned the misty sides and cloudy head of a stately mountain, which I\nafterwards learned was Albuquerque, one of the loftiest of Estremadura.\n\nWe now got into a cultivated country, and following the road, which wound\namongst hedgerows, we arrived at a place where the ground began gradually\nto shelve down.  Here, on the right, was the commencement of an aqueduct\nby means of which the town on the opposite hill was supplied; it was at\nthis point scarcely two feet in altitude, but, as we descended, it became\nhigher and higher, and its proportions more colossal.  Near the bottom of\nthe valley it took a turn to the left, bestriding the road with one of\nits arches.  I looked up, after passing under it; the water must have\nbeen flowing near a hundred feet above my head, and I was filled with\nwonder at the immensity of the structure which conveyed it.  There was,\nhowever, one feature which was no slight drawback to its pretensions to\ngrandeur and magnificence; the water was supported not by gigantic single\narches, like those of the aqueduct of Lisbon, which stalk over the valley\nlike legs of Titans, but by three layers of arches, which, like three\ndistinct aqueducts, rise above each other.  The expense and labour\nnecessary for the erection of such a structure must have been enormous;\nand, when we reflect with what comparative ease modern art would confer\nthe same advantage, we cannot help congratulating ourselves that we live\nin times when it is not necessary to exhaust the wealth of a province to\nsupply a town on a hill with one of the first necessaries of existence.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\n\nElvas\u2014Extraordinary Longevity\u2014The English Nation\u2014Portuguese\nIngratitude\u2014Illiberality\u2014Fortifications\u2014Spanish Beggar\u2014Badajoz\u2014The Custom\nHouse.\n\nArrived at the gate of Elvas, an officer came out of a kind of guard\nhouse, and, having asked me some questions, despatched a soldier with me\nto the police office, that my passport might be vis\u00e9ed, as upon the\nfrontier they are much more particular with respect to passports than in\nother parts.  This matter having been settled, I entered an hostelry near\nthe same gate, which had been recommended to me by my host at Vendas\nNovas, and which was kept by a person of the name of Joze Rosado.  It was\nthe best in the town, though, for convenience and accommodation, inferior\nto a hedge alehouse in England.  The cold still pursued me, and I was\nglad to take refuge in an inner kitchen, which, when the door was not\nopen, was only lighted by a fire burning somewhat dimly on the hearth.\nAn elderly female sat beside it in her chair, telling her beads: there\nwas something singular and extraordinary in her look, as well as I could\ndiscern by the imperfect light of the apartment.  I put a few unimportant\nquestions to her, to which she replied, but seemed to be afflicted to a\nslight degree with deafness.  Her hair was becoming grey, and I said that\nI believed she was older than myself, but that I was confident she had\nless snow on her head.\n\n\u201cHow old may you be, cavalier?\u201d said she, giving me that title which in\nSpain is generally used when an extraordinary degree of respect is wished\nto be exhibited.  I answered that I was near thirty.  \u201cThen,\u201d said she,\n\u201cyou were right in supposing that I am older than yourself; I am older\nthan your mother, or your mother\u2019s mother: it is more than a hundred\nyears since I was a girl, and sported with the daughters of the town on\nthe hillside.\u201d  \u201cIn that case,\u201d said I, \u201cyou doubtless remember the\nearthquake.\u201d  \u201cYes,\u201d she replied, \u201cif there is any occurrence in my life\nthat I remember, it is that: I was in the church of Elvas at the moment,\nhearing the mass of the king, and the priest fell on the ground, and let\nfall the Host from his hands.  I shall never forget how the earth shook;\nit made us all sick; and the houses and walls reeled like drunkards.\nSince that happened I have seen fourscore years pass by me, yet I was\nolder then than you are now.\u201d\n\nI looked with wonder at this surprising female, and could scarcely\nbelieve her words.  I was, however, assured that she was in fact upwards\nof a hundred and ten years of age, and was considered the oldest person\nin Portugal.  She still retained the use of her faculties in as full a\ndegree as the generality of people who have scarcely attained the half of\nher age.  She was related to the people of the house.\n\nAs the night advanced, several persons entered for the purpose of\nenjoying the comfort of the fire and for the sake of conversation, for\nthe house was a kind of news room, where the principal speaker was the\nhost, a man of some shrewdness and experience, who had served as a\nsoldier in the British army.  Amongst others was the officer who\ncommanded at the gate.  After a few observations, this gentleman, who was\na good-looking young man of five-and-twenty, began to burst forth in\nviolent declamation against the English nation and government, who, he\nsaid, had at all times proved themselves selfish and deceitful, but that\ntheir present conduct in respect to Spain was particularly infamous, for\nthough it was in their power to put an end to the war at once, by sending\na large army thither, they preferred sending a handful of troops, in\norder that the war might be prolonged, for no other reason than that it\nwas of advantage to them.  Having paid him an ironical compliment for his\npoliteness and urbanity, I asked whether he reckoned amongst the selfish\nactions of the English government and nation, their having expended\nhundreds of millions of pounds sterling, and an ocean of precious blood,\nin fighting the battles of Spain and Portugal against Napoleon.\n\u201cSurely,\u201d said I, \u201cthe fort of Elvas above our heads, and still more the\ncastle of Badajoz over the water, speak volumes respecting English\nselfishness, and must, every time you view them, confirm you in the\nopinion which you have just expressed.  And then, with respect to the\npresent combat in Spain, the gratitude which that country evinced to\nEngland after the French, by means of English armies, had been\nexpelled,\u2014gratitude evinced by discouraging the trade of England on all\noccasions, and by offering up masses in thanksgiving when the English\nheretics quitted the Spanish shores,\u2014ought now to induce England to\nexhaust and ruin herself, for the sake of hunting Don Carlos out of his\nmountains.  In deference to your superior judgment,\u201d continued I to the\nofficer, \u201cI will endeavour to believe that it would be for the advantage\nof England were the war prolonged for an indefinite period; nevertheless,\nyou would do me a particular favour by explaining by what process in\nchemistry blood shed in Spain will find its way into the English treasury\nin the shape of gold.\u201d\n\nAs he was not ready with his answer, I took up a plate of fruit which\nstood on the table beside me, and said, \u201cWhat do you call these fruits?\u201d\n\u201cPomegranates and bolotas,\u201d he replied.  \u201cRight,\u201d said I, \u201ca home-bred\nEnglishman could not have given me that answer; yet he is as much\nacquainted with pomegranates and bolotas as your lordship is with the\nline of conduct which it is incumbent upon England to pursue in her\nforeign and domestic policy.\u201d\n\nThis answer of mine, I confess, was not that of a Christian, and proved\nto me how much of the leaven of the ancient man still pervaded me; yet I\nmust be permitted to add, that I believe no other provocation would have\nelicited from me a reply so full of angry feeling: but I could not\ncommand myself when I heard my own glorious land traduced in this\nunmerited manner.  By whom?  A Portuguese!  A native of a country which\nhas been twice liberated from horrid and detestable thraldom by the hands\nof Englishmen.  But for Wellington and his heroes, Portugal would have\nbeen French at this day; but for Napier and his mariners, Miguel would\nnow be lording it in Lisbon.  To return, however, to the officer; every\none laughed at him, and he presently went away.\n\nThe next day I became acquainted with a respectable tradesman of the name\nof Almeida, a man of talent, though rather rough in his manners.  He\nexpressed great abhorrence of the papal system, which had so long spread\na darkness like that of death over his unfortunate country, and I had no\nsooner informed him that I had brought with me a certain quantity of\nTestaments, which it was my intention to leave for sale at Elvas, than he\nexpressed a great desire to undertake the charge, and said that he would\ndo the utmost in his power to procure a sale for them amongst his\nnumerous customers.  Upon showing him a copy, I remarked, your name is\nupon the title page; the Portuguese version of the Holy Scriptures,\ncirculated by the Bible Society, having been executed by a Protestant of\nthe name of Almeida, and first published in the year 1712; whereupon he\nsmiled, and observed that he esteemed it an honour to be connected in\nname at least with such a man.  He scoffed at the idea of receiving any\nremuneration, and assured me that the feeling of being permitted to\nco-operate in so holy and useful a cause as the circulation of the\nScriptures was quite a sufficient reward.\n\nAfter having accomplished this matter, I proceeded to survey the environs\nof the place, and strolled up the hill to the fort on the north side of\nthe town.  The lower part of the hill is planted with azinheiras, which\ngive it a picturesque appearance, and at the bottom is a small brook,\nwhich I crossed by means of stepping stones.  Arrived at the gate of the\nfort, I was stopped by the sentry, who, however, civilly told me, that if\nI sent in my name to the commanding officer he would make no objection to\nmy visiting the interior.  I accordingly sent in my card by a soldier who\nwas lounging about, and, sitting down on a stone, waited his return.  He\npresently appeared, and inquired whether I was an Englishman; to which,\nhaving replied in the affirmative, he said, \u201cIn that case, sir, you\ncannot enter; indeed, it is not the custom to permit any foreigners to\nvisit the fort.\u201d  I answered that it was perfectly indifferent to me\nwhether I visited it or not; and, having taken a survey of Badajoz from\nthe eastern side of the hill, descended by the way I came.\n\nThis is one of the beneficial results of protecting a nation and\nsquandering blood and treasure in its defence.  The English, who have\nnever been at war with Portugal, who have fought for its independence on\nland and sea, and always with success, who have forced themselves by a\ntreaty of commerce to drink its coarse and filthy wines, which no other\nnation cares to taste, are the most unpopular people who visit Portugal.\nThe French have ravaged the country with fire and sword, and shed the\nblood of its sons like water; the French buy not its fruits and loathe\nits wines, yet there is no bad spirit in Portugal towards the French.\nThe reason of this is no mystery; it is the nature not of the Portuguese\nonly, but of corrupt and unregenerate man, to dislike his benefactors,\nwho, by conferring benefits upon him, mortify in the most generous manner\nhis miserable vanity.\n\nThere is no country in which the English are so popular as in France;\nbut, though the French have been frequently roughly handled by the\nEnglish, and have seen their capital occupied by an English army, they\nhave never been subjected to the supposed ignominy of receiving\nassistance from them.\n\nThe fortifications of Elvas are models of their kind, and, at the first\nview, it would seem that the town, if well garrisoned, might bid defiance\nto any hostile power; but it has its weak point: the western side is\ncommanded by a hill, at the distance of half a mile, from which an\nexperienced general would cannonade it, and probably with success.  It is\nthe last town in this part of Portugal, the distance to the Spanish\nfrontier being barely two leagues.  It was evidently built as a rival to\nBadajoz, upon which it looks down from its height across a sandy plain\nand over the sullen waters of the Guadiana; but, though a strong town, it\ncan scarcely be called a defence to the frontier, which is open on all\nsides, so that there would not be the slightest necessity for an invading\narmy to approach within a dozen leagues of its walls, should it be\ndisposed to avoid them.  Its fortifications are so extensive that ten\nthousand men at least would be required to man them, who, in the event of\nan invasion, might be far better employed in meeting the enemy in the\nopen field.  The French, during their occupation of Portugal, kept a\nsmall force in this place, who, at the approach of the British, retreated\nto the fort, where they shortly after capitulated.\n\nHaving nothing farther to detain me at Elvas, I proceeded to cross the\nfrontier into Spain.  My idiot guide was on his way back to Aldea\nGallega; and, on the fifth of January, I mounted a sorry mule without\nbridle or stirrups, which I guided by a species of halter, and followed\nby a lad who was to attend me on another, I spurred down the hill of\nElvas to the plain, eager to arrive in old chivalrous romantic Spain.\nBut I soon found that I had no need to quicken the beast which bore me,\nfor though covered with sores, wall-eyed, and with a kind of halt in its\ngait, it cantered along like the wind.\n\nIn little more than half an hour we arrived at a brook, whose waters ran\nvigorously between steep banks.  A man who was standing on the side\ndirected me to the ford in the squeaking dialect of Portugal; but whilst\nI was yet splashing through the water, a voice from the other bank hailed\nme, in the magnificent language of Spain, in this guise: \u201c_O Senor\nCaballero_, _que me de usted una limosna por amor de Dios_, _una\nlimosnita para que io me compre un traguillo de vino tinto_\u201d (Charity,\nSir Cavalier, for the love of God, bestow an alms upon me, that I may\npurchase a mouthful of red wine).  In a moment I was on Spanish ground,\nas the brook, which is called Acaia, is the boundary here of the two\nkingdoms, and having flung the beggar a small piece of silver, I cried in\necstasy \u201c_Santiago y cierra Espana_!\u201d and scoured on my way with more\nspeed than before, paying, as Gil Blas says, little heed to the torrent\nof blessings which the mendicant poured forth in my rear: yet never was\ncharity more unwisely bestowed, for I was subsequently informed that the\nfellow was a confirmed drunkard, who took his station every morning at\nthe ford, where he remained the whole day for the purpose of extorting\nmoney from the passengers, which he regularly spent every night in the\nwine-shops of Badajoz.  To those who gave him money he returned\nblessings, and to those who refused, curses; being equally skilled and\nfluent in the use of either.\n\nBadajoz was now in view, at the distance of little more than half a\nleague.  We soon took a turn to the left, towards a bridge of many arches\nacross the Guadiana, which, though so famed in song and ballad, is a very\nunpicturesque stream, shallow and sluggish, though tolerably wide; its\nbanks were white with linen which the washer-women had spread out to dry\nin the sun, which was shining brightly; I heard their singing at a great\ndistance, and the theme seemed to be the praises of the river where they\nwere toiling, for as I approached, I could distinguish Guadiana,\nGuadiana, which reverberated far and wide, pronounced by the clear and\nstrong voices of many a dark-cheeked maid and matron.  I thought there\nwas some analogy between their employment and my own: I was about to tan\nmy northern complexion by exposing myself to the hot sun of Spain, in the\nhumble hope of being able to cleanse some of the foul stains of Popery\nfrom the minds of its children, with whom I had little acquaintance,\nwhilst they were bronzing themselves on the banks of the river in order\nto make white the garments of strangers: the words of an eastern poet\nreturned forcibly to my mind.\n\n    \u201cI\u2019ll weary myself each night and each day,\n       To aid my unfortunate brothers;\n    As the laundress tans her own face in the ray,\n       To cleanse the garments of others.\u201d\n\nHaving crossed the bridge, we arrived at the northern gate, when out\nrushed from a species of sentry box a fellow wearing on his head a\nhigh-peaked Andalusian hat, with his figure wrapped up in one of those\nimmense cloaks so well known to those who have travelled in Spain, and\nwhich none but a Spaniard can wear in a becoming manner: without saying a\nword, he laid hold of the halter of the mule, and began to lead it\nthrough the gate up a dirty street, crowded with long-cloaked people like\nhimself.  I asked him what he meant, but he deigned not to return an\nanswer, the boy, however, who waited upon me said that it was one of the\ngate-keepers, and that he was conducting us to the Custom House or\nAlfandega, where the baggage would be examined.  Having arrived there,\nthe fellow, who still maintained a dogged silence, began to pull the\ntrunks off the sumpter mule, and commenced uncording them.  I was about\nto give him a severe reproof for his brutality, but before I could open\nmy mouth a stout elderly personage appeared at the door, who I soon found\nwas the principal officer.  He looked at me for a moment and then asked\nme, in the English language, if I was an Englishman.  On my replying in\nthe affirmative, he demanded of the fellow how he dared to have the\ninsolence to touch the baggage, without orders, and sternly bade him cord\nup the trunks again and place them on the mule, which he performed\nwithout uttering a word.  The gentleman then asked what the trunks\ncontained: I answered clothes and linen; when he begged pardon for the\ninsolence of the subordinate, and informed him that I was at liberty to\nproceed where I thought proper.  I thanked him for his exceeding\npoliteness, and, under guidance of the boy, made the best of my way to\nthe Inn of the Three Nations, to which I had been recommended at Elvas.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\n\nBadajoz\u2014Antonio the Gypsy\u2014Antonio\u2019s Proposal\u2014The Proposal Accepted\u2014Gypsy\nBreakfast\u2014Departure from Badajoz\u2014The Gypsy Donkey\u2014Merida\u2014The Ruined\nWall\u2014The Crone\u2014The Land of the Moor\u2014The Black Men\u2014Life in the Desert\u2014The\nSupper.\n\nI was now at Badajoz in Spain, a country which for the next four years\nwas destined to be the scene of my labour: but I will not anticipate.\nThe neighbourhood of Badajoz did not prepossess me much in favour of the\ncountry which I had just entered; it consists chiefly of brown moors,\nwhich bear little but a species of brushwood, called in Spanish\n_carrasco_; blue mountains are however seen towering up in the far\ndistance, which relieve the scene from the monotony which would otherwise\npervade it.\n\nIt was at this town of Badajoz, the capital of Estremadura, that I first\nfell in with those singular people, the Zincali, Gitanos, or Spanish\ngypsies.  It was here I met with the wild Paco, the man with the withered\narm, who wielded the cachas (_shears_) with his left hand; his shrewd\nwife, Antonia, skilled in hokkano baro, or the great trick; the fierce\ngypsy, Antonio Lopez, their father-in-law; and many other almost equally\nsingular individuals of the Errate, or gypsy blood.  It was here that I\nfirst preached the gospel to the gypsy people, and commenced that\ntranslation of the New Testament in the Spanish gypsy tongue, a portion\nof which I subsequently printed at Madrid.\n\nAfter a stay of three weeks at Badajoz, I prepared to depart for Madrid:\nlate one afternoon, as I was arranging my scanty baggage, the gypsy\nAntonio entered my apartment, dressed in his zamarra and high-peaked\nAndalusian hat.\n\n_Antonio_.\u2014Good evening, brother; they tell me that on the callicaste\n(_day after to-morrow_) you intend to set out for Madrilati.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Such is my intention; I can stay here no longer.\n\n_Antonio_.\u2014The way is far to Madrilati: there are, moreover, wars in the\nland and many chories (_thieves_) walk about; are you not afraid to\njourney?\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I have no fears; every man must accomplish his destiny: what\nbefalls my body or soul was written in a gabicote (_book_) a thousand\nyears before the foundation of the world.\n\n_Antonio_.\u2014I have no fears myself, brother; the dark night is the same to\nme as the fair day, and the wild carrascal as the market-place or the\nchardy (_fair_); I have got the bar lachi in my bosom, the precious stone\nto which sticks the needle.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014You mean the loadstone, I suppose.  Do you believe that a\nlifeless stone can preserve you from the dangers which occasionally\nthreaten your life?\n\n_Antonio_.\u2014Brother, I am fifty years old, and you see me standing before\nyou in life and strength; how could that be unless the bar lachi had\npower?  I have been soldier and contrabandista, and I have likewise slain\nand robbed the Busn\u00e9.  The bullets of the Gabin\u00e9 (_French_) and of the\njara canallis (_revenue officers_) have hissed about my ears without\ninjuring me, for I carried the bar lachi.  I have twenty times done that\nwhich by Busn\u00e9e law should have brought me to the filimicha (_gallows_),\nyet my neck has never yet been squeezed by the cold garrote.  Brother, I\ntrust in the bar lachi, like the Calor\u00e9 of old: were I in the midst of\nthe gulph of Bombardo (_Lyons_), without a plank to float upon, I should\nfeel no fear; for if I carried the precious stone, it would bring me safe\nto shore: the bar lachi has power, brother.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I shall not dispute the matter with you, more especially as I\nam about to depart from Badajoz: I must speedily bid you farewell, and we\nshall see each other no more.\n\n_Antonio_.\u2014Brother, do you know what brings me hither?\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I cannot tell, unless it be to wish me a happy journey: I am\nnot gypsy enough to interpret the thoughts of other people.\n\n_Antonio_.\u2014All last night I lay awake, thinking of the affairs of Egypt;\nand when I arose in the morning I took the bar lachi from my bosom, and\nscraping it with a knife, swallowed some of the dust in aguardiente, as I\nam in the habit of doing when I have made up my mind; and I said to\nmyself, I am wanted on the frontiers of Castumba (_Castile_) on a certain\nmatter.  The strange Caloro is about to proceed to Madrilati; the journey\nis long, and he may fall into evil hands, peradventure into those of his\nown blood; for let me tell you, brother, the Cal\u00e9s are leaving their\ntowns and villages, and forming themselves into troops to plunder the\nBusn\u00e9, for there is now but little law in the land, and now or never is\nthe time for the Calor\u00e9 to become once more what they were in former\ntimes; so I said, the strange Caloro may fall into the hands of his own\nblood and be ill-treated by them, which were shame: I will therefore go\nwith him through the Chim del Manro (_Estremadura_) as far as the\nfrontiers of Castumba, and upon the frontiers of Castumba I will leave\nthe London Caloro to find his own way to Madrilati, for there is less\ndanger in Castumba than in the Chim del Manro, and I will then betake me\nto the affairs of Egypt which call me from hence.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014This is a very hopeful plan of yours, my friend; and in what\nmanner do you propose that we shall travel?\n\n_Antonio_.\u2014I will tell you, brother; I have a gras in the stall, even the\none which I purchased at Oliven\u00e7as, as I told you on a former occasion;\nit is good and fleet, and cost me, who am a gypsy, fifty chul\u00e9\n(_dollars_); upon that gras you shall ride.  As for myself, I will\njourney upon the macho.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Before I answer you, I shall wish you to inform me what\nbusiness it is which renders your presence necessary in Castumba; your\nson-in-law, Paco, told me that it was no longer the custom of the gypsies\nto wander.\n\n_Antonio_.\u2014It is an affair of Egypt, brother, and I shall not acquaint\nyou with it; peradventure it relates to a horse or an ass, or\nperadventure it relates to a mule or a macho; it does not relate to\nyourself, therefore I advise you not to inquire about it\u2014Dosta\n(_enough_).  With respect to my offer, you are free to decline it; there\nis a drungruje (_royal road_) between here and Madrilati, and you can\ntravel it in the birdoche (_stage-coach_) or with the dromale\n(_muleteers_); but I tell you, as a brother, that there are chories upon\nthe drun, and some of them are of the Errate.\n\nCertainly few people in my situation would have accepted the offer of\nthis singular gypsy.  It was not, however, without its allurements for\nme; I was fond of adventure, and what more ready means of gratifying my\nlove of it than by putting myself under the hands of such a guide.  There\nare many who would have been afraid of treachery, but I had no fears on\nthis point, as I did not believe that the fellow harboured the slightest\nill intention towards me; I saw that he was fully convinced that I was\none of the Errate, and his affection for his own race, and his hatred for\nthe Busn\u00e9, were his strongest characteristics.  I wished, moreover, to\nlay hold of every opportunity of making myself acquainted with the ways\nof the Spanish gypsies, and an excellent one here presented itself on my\nfirst entrance into Spain.  In a word, I determined to accompany the\ngypsy.  \u201cI will go with you,\u201d I exclaimed; \u201cas for my baggage, I will\ndespatch it to Madrid by the birdoche.\u201d  \u201cDo so, brother,\u201d he replied,\n\u201cand the gras will go lighter.  Baggage, indeed!\u2014what need of baggage\nhave you?  How the Busn\u00e9 on the road would laugh if they saw two Cal\u00e9s\nwith baggage behind them.\u201d\n\nDuring my stay at Badajoz, I had but little intercourse with the\nSpaniards, my time being chiefly devoted to the gypsies, with whom, from\nlong intercourse with various sections of their race in different parts\nof the world, I felt myself much more at home than with the silent,\nreserved men of Spain, with whom a foreigner might mingle for half a\ncentury without having half a dozen words addressed to him, unless he\nhimself made the first advances to intimacy, which, after all, might be\nrejected with a shrug and a _no intendo_; for, among the many deeply\nrooted prejudices of these people, is the strange idea that no foreigner\ncan speak their language; an idea to which they will still cling though\nthey hear him conversing with perfect ease; for in that case the utmost\nthat they will concede to his attainments is, _Habla quatro palabras y\nnada mas_ (he can speak four words, and no more).\n\nEarly one morning, before sunrise, I found myself at the house of\nAntonio; it was a small mean building, situated in a dirty street.  The\nmorning was quite dark; the street, however, was partially illumined by a\nheap of lighted straw, round which two or three men were busily engaged,\napparently holding an object over the flames.  Presently the gypsy\u2019s door\nopened, and Antonio made his appearance; and, casting his eye in the\ndirection of the light, exclaimed, \u201cThe swine have killed their brother;\nwould that every Busno was served as yonder hog is.  Come in, brother,\nand we will eat the heart of that hog.\u201d  I scarcely understood his words,\nbut, following him, he led me into a low room in which was a brasero, or\nsmall pan full of lighted charcoal; beside it was a rude table, spread\nwith a coarse linen cloth, upon which was bread and a large pipkin full\nof a mess which emitted no disagreeable savour.  \u201cThe heart of the\nbalichow is in that puchera,\u201d said Antonio; \u201ceat, brother.\u201d  We both sat\ndown and ate, Antonio voraciously.  When we had concluded he arose:\u2014\u201cHave\nyou got your _li_?\u201d he demanded.  \u201cHere it is,\u201d said I, showing him my\npassport.  \u201cGood,\u201d said he, \u201cyou may want it; I want none, my passport is\nthe bar lachi.  Now for a glass of repani, and then for the road.\u201d\n\nWe left the room, the door of which he locked, hiding the key beneath a\nloose brick in a corner of the passage.  \u201cGo into the street, brother,\nwhilst I fetch the caballerias from the stable.\u201d  I obeyed him.  The sun\nhad not yet risen, and the air was piercingly cold; the grey light,\nhowever, of dawn enabled me to distinguish objects with tolerable\naccuracy; I soon heard the clattering of the animals\u2019 feet, and Antonio\npresently stepped forth leading the horse by the bridle; the macho\nfollowed behind.  I looked at the horse and shrugged my shoulders: as far\nas I could scan it, it appeared the most uncouth animal I had ever\nbeheld.  It was of a spectral white, short in the body, but with\nremarkably long legs.  I observed that it was particularly high in the\ncruz or withers.  \u201cYou are looking at the grasti,\u201d said Antonio; \u201cit is\neighteen years old, but it is the very best in the Chim del Manro; I have\nlong had my eye upon it; I bought it for my own use for the affairs of\nEgypt.  Mount, brother, mount and let us leave the foros\u2014the gate is\nabout being opened.\u201d\n\nHe locked the door, and deposited the key in his faja.  In less than a\nquarter of an hour we had left the town behind us.  \u201cThis does not appear\nto be a very good horse,\u201d said I to Antonio, as we proceeded over the\nplain.  \u201cIt is with difficulty that I can make him move.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe is the swiftest horse in the Chim del Manro, brother,\u201d said Antonio;\n\u201cat the gallop and at the speedy trot there is no one to match him; but\nhe is eighteen years old, and his joints are stiff, especially of a\nmorning; but let him once become heated and the genio del viejo (_spirit\nof the old man_) comes upon him and there is no holding him in with bit\nor bridle.  I bought that horse for the affairs of Egypt, brother.\u201d\n\nAbout noon we arrived at a small village in the neighbourhood of a high\nlumpy hill.  \u201cThere is no Calo house in this place,\u201d said Antonio; \u201cwe\nwill therefore go to the posada of the Busn\u00e9, and refresh ourselves, man\nand beast.\u201d  We entered the kitchen and sat down at the boards, calling\nfor wine and bread.  There were two ill-looking fellows in the kitchen,\nsmoking cigars; I said something to Antonio in the Calo language.\n\n\u201cWhat is that I hear?\u201d said one of the fellows, who was distinguished by\nan immense pair of moustaches.  \u201cWhat is that I hear? is it in Calo that\nyou are speaking before me, and I a Chalan and national?  Accursed gypsy,\nhow dare you enter this posada and speak before me in that speech?  Is it\nnot forbidden by the law of the land in which we are, even as it is\nforbidden for a gypsy to enter the mercado?  I tell you what, friend, if\nI hear another word of Calo come from your mouth, I will cudgel your\nbones and send you flying over the house-tops with a kick of my foot.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou would do right,\u201d said his companion; \u201cthe insolence of these gypsies\nis no longer to be borne.  When I am at Merida or Badajoz I go to the\nmercado, and there in a corner stand the accursed gypsies jabbering to\neach other in a speech which I understand not.  \u2018Gypsy gentleman,\u2019 say I\nto one of them, \u2018what will you have for that donkey?\u2019  \u2018I will have ten\ndollars for it, Caballero nacional,\u2019 says the gypsy; \u2018it is the best\ndonkey in all Spain.\u2019  \u2018I should like to see its paces,\u2019 say I.  \u2018That\nyou shall, most valorous!\u2019 says the gypsy, and jumping upon its back, he\nputs it to its paces, first of all whispering something into its ears in\nCalo, and truly the paces of the donkey are most wonderful, such as I\nhave never seen before.  \u2018I think it will just suit me,\u2019 and after\nlooking at it awhile, I take out the money and pay for it.  \u2018I shall go\nto my house,\u2019 says the gypsy; and off he runs.  \u2018I shall go to my\nvillage,\u2019 say I, and I mount the donkey.  \u2018Vamonos,\u2019 say I, but the\ndonkey won\u2019t move.  I give him a switch, but I don\u2019t get on the better\nfor that.  \u2018How is this?\u2019 say I, and I fall to spurring him.  What\nhappens then, brother?  The wizard no sooner feels the prick than he\nbucks down, and flings me over his head into the mire.  I get up and look\nabout me; there stands the donkey staring at me, and there stand the\nwhole gypsy canaille squinting at me with their filmy eyes.  \u2018Where is\nthe scamp who has sold me this piece of furniture?\u2019 I shout.  \u2018He is gone\nto Granada, Valorous,\u2019 says one.  \u2018He is gone to see his kindred among\nthe Moors,\u2019 says another.  \u2018I just saw him running over the field, in the\ndirection of ---, with the devil close behind him,\u2019 says a third.  In a\nword, I am tricked.  I wish to dispose of the donkey; no one, however,\nwill buy him; he is a Calo donkey, and every person avoids him.  At last\nthe gypsies offer thirty rials for him; and after much chaffering I am\nglad to get rid of him at two dollars.  It is all a trick, however; he\nreturns to his master, and the brotherhood share the spoil amongst them.\nAll which villainy would be prevented, in my opinion, were the Calo\nlanguage not spoken; for what but the word of Calo could have induced the\ndonkey to behave in such an unaccountable manner?\u201d\n\nBoth seemed perfectly satisfied with the justness of this conclusion, and\ncontinued smoking till their cigars were burnt to stumps, when they\narose, twitched their whiskers, looked at us with fierce disdain, and\ndashing the tobacco-ends to the ground, strode out of the apartment.\n\n\u201cThose people seem no friends to the gypsies,\u201d said I to Antonio, when\nthe two bullies had departed, \u201cnor to the Calo language either.\u201d\n\n\u201cMay evil glanders seize their nostrils,\u201d said Antonio; \u201cthey have been\njonjabadoed by our people.  However, brother, you did wrong to speak to\nme in Calo, in a posada like this; it is a forbidden language; for, as I\nhave often told you, the king has destroyed the law of the Cal\u00e9s.  Let us\naway, brother, or those juntunes (_sneaking scoundrels_) may set the\njusticia upon us.\u201d\n\nTowards evening we drew near to a large town or village.  \u201cThat is\nMerida,\u201d said Antonio, \u201cformerly, as the Busn\u00e9 say, a mighty city of the\nCorahai.  We shall stay here to-night, and perhaps for a day or two, for\nI have some business of Egypt to transact in this place.  Now, brother,\nstep aside with the horse, and wait for me beneath yonder wall.  I must\ngo before and see in what condition matters stand.\u201d\n\nI dismounted from the horse, and sat down on a stone beneath the ruined\nwall to which Antonio had motioned me; the sun went down, and the air was\nexceedingly keen; I drew close around me an old tattered gypsy cloak with\nwhich my companion had provided me, and being somewhat fatigued, fell\ninto a doze which lasted for nearly an hour.\n\n\u201cIs your worship the London Caloro?\u201d said a strange voice close beside\nme.\n\nI started and beheld the face of a woman peering under my hat.\nNotwithstanding the dusk, I could see that the features were hideously\nugly and almost black; they belonged, in fact, to a gypsy crone, at least\nseventy years of age, leaning upon a staff.\n\n\u201cIs your worship the London Caloro?\u201d repeated she.\n\n\u201cI am he whom you seek,\u201d said I; \u201cwhere is Antonio?\u201d\n\n\u201c_Curelando_, _curelando_, _baribustres curelos terela_,\u201d {90} said the\ncrone: \u201ccome with me, Caloro of my garlochin, come with me to my little\nker, he will be there anon.\u201d\n\nI followed the crone, who led the way into the town, which was ruinous\nand seemingly half deserted; we went up the street, from which she turned\ninto a narrow and dark lane, and presently opened the gate of a large\ndilapidated house; \u201cCome in,\u201d said she.\n\n\u201cAnd the gras?\u201d I demanded.\n\n\u201cBring the gras in too, my chabo, bring the gras in too; there is room\nfor the gras in my little stable.\u201d  We entered a large court, across\nwhich we proceeded till we came to a wide doorway.  \u201cGo in, my child of\nEgypt,\u201d said the hag; \u201cgo in, that is my little stable.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe place is as dark as pitch,\u201d said I, \u201cand may be a well for what I\nknow; bring a light or I will not enter.\u201d\n\n\u201cGive me the solabarri (_bridle_),\u201d said the hag, \u201cand I will lead your\nhorse in, my chabo of Egypt, yes, and tether him to my little manger.\u201d\nShe led the horse through the doorway, and I heard her busy in the\ndarkness; presently the horse shook himself: \u201c_Grasti terelamos_,\u201d said\nthe hag, who now made her appearance with the bridle in her hand; \u201cthe\nhorse has shaken himself, he is not harmed by his day\u2019s journey; now let\nus go in, my Caloro, into my little room.\u201d\n\nWe entered the house and found ourselves in a vast room, which would have\nbeen quite dark but for a faint glow which appeared at the farther end;\nit proceeded from a brasero, beside which were squatted two dusky\nfigures.\n\n\u201cThese are Callees,\u201d said the hag; \u201cone is my daughter and the other is\nher chabi; sit down, my London Caloro, and let us hear you speak.\u201d\n\nI looked about for a chair, but could see none; at a short distance,\nhowever, I perceived the end of a broken pillar lying on the floor; this\nI rolled to the brasero and sat down upon it.\n\n\u201cThis is a fine house, mother of the gypsies,\u201d said I to the hag, willing\nto gratify the desire she had expressed of hearing me speak; \u201ca fine\nhouse is this of yours, rather cold and damp, though; it appears large\nenough to be a barrack for hundunares.\u201d\n\n\u201cPlenty of houses in this foros, plenty of houses in Merida, my London\nCaloro, some of them just as they were left by the Corahanoes; ah, a fine\npeople are the Corahanoes; I often wish myself in their chim once more.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow is this, mother,\u201d said I, \u201chave you been in the land of the Moors?\u201d\n\n\u201cTwice have I been in their country, my Caloro,\u2014twice have I been in the\nland of the Corahai; the first time is more than fifty years ago, I was\nthen with the Sese (_Spaniards_), for my husband was a soldier of the\nCrallis of Spain, and Oran at that time belonged to Spain.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou were not then with the real Moors,\u201d said I, \u201cbut only with the\nSpaniards who occupied part of their country.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have been with the real Moors, my London Caloro.  Who knows more of\nthe real Moors than myself?  About forty years ago I was with my ro in\nCeuta, for he was still a soldier of the king, and he said to me one day,\n\u2018I am tired of this place where there is no bread and less water, I will\nescape and turn Corahano; this night I will kill my sergeant and flee to\nthe camp of the Moor.\u2019  \u2018Do so,\u2019 said I, \u2018my chabo, and as soon as may be\nI will follow you and become a Corahani.\u2019  That same night he killed his\nsergeant, who five years before had called him Calo and cursed him, then\nrunning to the wall he dropped from it, and amidst many shots he escaped\nto the land of the Corahai, as for myself, I remained in the presidio of\nCeuta as a suttler, selling wine and repani to the soldiers.  Two years\npassed by and I neither saw nor heard from my ro; one day there came a\nstrange man to my cachimani (_wine-shop_), he was dressed like a\nCorahano, and yet he did not look like one, he looked like more a\ncallardo (_black_), and yet he was not a callardo either, though he was\nalmost black, and as I looked upon him I thought he looked something like\nthe Errate, and he said to me, \u2018Zincali; chachip\u00e9!\u2019 and then he whispered\nto me in queer language, which I could scarcely understand, \u2018Your ro is\nwaiting, come with me, my little sister, and I will take you unto him.\u2019\n\u2018Where is he?\u2019 said I, and he pointed to the west, to the land of the\nCorahai, and said, \u2018He is yonder away; come with me, little sister, the\nro is waiting.\u2019  For a moment I was afraid, but I bethought me of my\nhusband and I wished to be amongst the Corahai; so I took the little\nparn\u00e9 (_money_) I had, and locking up the cachimani went with the strange\nman; the sentinel challenged us at the gate, but I gave him repani\n(_brandy_) and he let us pass; in a moment we were in the land of the\nCorahai.  About a league from the town beneath a hill we found four\npeople, men and women, all very black like the strange man, and we joined\nourselves with them and they all saluted me and called me little sister.\nThat was all I understood of their discourse, which was very crabbed; and\nthey took away my dress and gave me other clothes, and I looked like a\nCorahani, and away we marched for many days amidst deserts and small\nvillages, and more than once it seemed to me that I was amongst the\nErrate, for their ways were the same: the men would hokkawar (_cheat_)\nwith mules and asses, and the women told baji, and after many days we\ncame before a large town, and the black man said, \u2018Go in there, little\nsister, and there you will find your ro;\u2019 and I went to the gate, and an\narmed Corahano stood within the gate, and I looked in his face, and lo!\nit was my ro.\n\n\u201cO what a strange town it was that I found myself in, full of people who\nhad once been Candor\u00e9 (_Christians_) but had renegaded and become\nCorahai.  There were Sese and Lalor\u00e9 (_Portuguese_), and men of other\nnations, and amongst them were some of the Errate from my own country;\nall were now soldiers of the Crallis of the Corahai and followed him to\nhis wars; and in that town I remained with my ro a long time,\noccasionally going out with him to the wars, and I often asked him about\nthe black men who had brought me thither, and he told me that he had had\ndealings with them, and that he believed them to be of the Errate.  Well,\nbrother, to be short, my ro was killed in the wars, before a town to\nwhich the king of the Corahai laid siege, and I became a piuli (_widow_),\nand I returned to the village of the renegades, as it was called, and\nsupported myself as well as I could; and one day as I was sitting\nweeping, the black man, whom I had never seen since the day he brought me\nto my ro, again stood before me, and he said, \u2018Come with me, little\nsister, come with me, the ro is at hand\u2019; and I went with him, and beyond\nthe gate in the desert was the same party of black men and women which I\nhad seen before.  \u2018Where is my ro?\u2019 said I.  \u2018Here he is, little sister,\u2019\nsaid the black man, \u2018here he is; from this day I am the ro and you the\nromi; come, let us go, for there is business to be done.\u2019\n\n\u201cAnd I went with him, and he was my ro, and we lived amongst the deserts,\nand hokkawar\u2019d and choried and told baji; and I said to myself, this is\ngood, sure I am amongst the Errate in a better chim than my own; and I\noften said that they were of the Errate, and then they would laugh and\nsay that it might be so, and that they were not Corahai, but they could\ngive no account of themselves.\n\n\u201cWell, things went on in this way for years, and I had three chai by the\nblack man, two of them died, but the youngest, who is the Calli who sits\nby the brasero, was spared; so we roamed about and choried and told baji;\nand it came to pass that once in the winter time our company attempted to\npass a wide and deep river, of which there are many in the Chim del\nCorahai, and the boat overset with the rapidity of the current and all\nour people were drowned, all but myself and my chabi, whom I bore in my\nbosom.  I had now no friends amongst the Corahai, and I wandered about\nthe despoblados howling and lamenting till I became half lili (_mad_),\nand in this manner I found my way to the coast, where I made friends with\nthe captain of a ship and returned to this land of Spain.  And now I am\nhere, I often wish myself back again amongst the Corahai.\u201d\n\nHere she commenced laughing loud and long, and when she had ceased, her\ndaughter and grandchild took up the laugh, which they continued so long\nthat I concluded they were all lunatics.\n\nHour succeeded hour, and still we sat crouching over the brasero, from\nwhich, by this time, all warmth had departed; the glow had long since\ndisappeared, and only a few dying sparks were to be distinguished.  The\nroom or hall was now involved in utter darkness; the women were\nmotionless and still; I shivered and began to feel uneasy.  \u201cWill Antonio\nbe here to-night?\u201d at length I demanded.\n\n\u201c_No tenga usted cuidao_, my London Caloro,\u201d said the Gypsy mother, in an\nunearthly tone; \u201cPepindorio {93a} has been here some time.\u201d\n\nI was about to rise from my seat and attempt to escape from the house,\nwhen I felt a hand laid upon my shoulder, and in a moment I heard the\nvoice of Antonio.\n\n\u201cBe not afraid, \u2019tis I, brother; we will have a light anon, and then\nsupper.\u201d\n\nThe supper was rude enough, consisting of bread, cheese, and olives.\nAntonio, however, produced a leathern bottle of excellent wine; we\ndespatched these viands by the light of an earthen lamp which was placed\nupon the floor.\n\n\u201cNow,\u201d said Antonio to the youngest female, \u201cbring me the pajandi, and I\nwill sing a gachapla.\u201d\n\nThe girl brought the guitar, which, with some difficulty, the Gypsy\ntuned, and then strumming it vigorously, he sang:\n\n    \u201cI stole a plump and bonny fowl,\n       But ere I well had dined,\n    The master came with scowl and growl,\n       And me would captive bind.\n\n    \u201cMy hat and mantle off I threw,\n       And scour\u2019d across the lea,\n    Then cried the beng {93b} with loud halloo,\n       Where does the Gypsy flee?\u201d\n\nHe continued playing and singing for a considerable time, the two younger\nfemales dancing in the meanwhile with unwearied diligence, whilst the\naged mother occasionally snapped her fingers or beat time on the ground\nwith her stick.  At last Antonio suddenly laid down the instrument:\u2014\n\n\u201cI see the London Caloro is weary; enough, enough, to-morrow more\nthereof\u2014we will now to the charip\u00e9 (_bed_).\u201d\n\n\u201cWith all my heart,\u201d said I; \u201cwhere are we to sleep?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn the stable,\u201d said he, \u201cin the manger; however cold the stable may be\nwe shall be warm enough in the bufa.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\n\nThe Gypsy\u2019s Granddaughter\u2014Proposed Marriage\u2014The Algnazil\u2014The\nAssault\u2014Speedy Trot\u2014Arrival at Trujillo\u2014Night and Rain\u2014The Forest\u2014The\nBivouac\u2014Mount and Away!\u2014Jaraicejo\u2014The National\u2014The Cavalier\nBalmerson\u2014Among the Thickets\u2014Serious Discourse\u2014What is Truth?\u2014Unexpected\nIntelligence.\n\nWe remained three days at the Gypsies\u2019 house, Antonio departing early\nevery morning, on his mule, and returning late at night.  The house was\nlarge and ruinous, the only habitable part of it, with the exception of\nthe stable, being the hall, where we had supped, and there the Gypsy\nfemales slept at night, on some mats and mattresses in a corner.\n\n\u201cA strange house is this,\u201d said I to Antonio, one morning as he was on\nthe point of saddling his mule and departing, as I supposed, on the\naffairs of Egypt; \u201ca strange house and strange people; that Gypsy\ngrandmother has all the appearance of a sowanee (_sorceress_).\u201d\n\n\u201cAll the appearance of one!\u201d said Antonio; \u201cand is she not really one?\nShe knows more crabbed things and crabbed words than all the Errate\nbetwixt here and Catalonia.  She has been amongst the wild Moors, and can\nmake more drows, poisons, and philtres than any one alive.  She once made\na kind of paste, and persuaded me to taste, and shortly after I had done\nso my soul departed from my body, and wandered through horrid forests and\nmountains, amidst monsters and duendes, during one entire night.  She\nlearned many things amidst the Corahai which I should be glad to know.\u201d\n\n\u201cHave you been long acquainted with her?\u201d said I; \u201cyou appear to be quite\nat home in this house.\u201d\n\n\u201cAcquainted with her!\u201d said Antonio.  \u201cDid not my own brother marry the\nblack Calli, her daughter, who bore him the chabi, sixteen years ago,\njust before he was hanged by the Busn\u00e9?\u201d\n\nIn the afternoon I was seated with the Gypsy mother in the hall, the two\nCallees were absent telling fortunes about the town and neighbourhood,\nwhich was their principal occupation.  \u201cAre you married, my London\nCaloro?\u201d said the old woman to me.  \u201cAre you a ro?\u201d\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Wherefore do you ask, O Dai de los Cales?\n\n_Gypsy Mother_.\u2014It is high time that the lacha of the chabi were taken\nfrom her, and that she had a ro.  You can do no better than take her for\nromi, my London Caloro.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I am a stranger in this land, O mother of the Gypsies, and\nscarcely know how to provide for myself, much less for a romi.\n\n_Gypsy Mother_.\u2014She wants no one to provide for her, my London Caloro,\nshe can at any time provide for herself and her ro.  She can hokkawar,\ntell baji, and there are few to equal her at stealing a pastesas.  Were\nshe once at Madrilati, where they tell me you are going, she would make\nmuch treasure; therefore take her thither, for in this foros she is nahi\n(_lost_), as it were, for there is nothing to be gained; but in the foros\nbaro it would be another matter; she would go dressed in lachipi and\nsonacai (_silk and gold_), whilst you would ride about on your\nblack-tailed gra; and when you had got much treasure, you might return\nhither and live like a Crallis, and all the Errate of the Chim del Manro\nshould bow down their heads to you.  What, say you, my London Caloro,\nwhat say you to my plan?\n\nMyself.\u2014Your plan is a plausible one, mother, or at least some people\nwould think so; but I am, as you are aware, of another chim, and have no\ninclination to pass my life in this country.\n\n_Gypsy Mother_.\u2014Then return to your own country, my Caloro, the chabi can\ncross the pani.  Would she not do business in London with the rest of the\nCalor\u00e9?  Or why not go to the land of the Corahai?  In which case I would\naccompany you; I and my daughter, the mother of the chabi.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014And what should we do in the land of the Corahai?  It is a poor\nand wild country, I believe.\n\n_Gypsy Mother_.\u2014The London Caloro asks me what we could do in the land of\nthe Corahai!  Aromali!  I almost think that I am speaking to a lilipendi\n(_simpleton_).  Are there not horses to chore?  Yes, I trow there are,\nand better ones than in this land, and asses and mules.  In the land of\nthe Corahai you must hokkawar and chore even as you must here, or in your\nown country, or else you are no Caloro.  Can you not join yourselves with\nthe black people who live in the despoblados?  Yes, surely; and glad they\nwould be to have among them the Errate from Spain and London.  I am\nseventy years of age, but I wish not to die in this chim, but yonder, far\naway, where both my roms are sleeping.  Take the chabi, therefore, and go\nto Madrilati to win the parn\u00e9, and when you have got it, return, and we\nwill give a banquet to all the Busn\u00e9 in Merida, and in their food I will\nmix drow, and they shall eat and burst like poisoned sheep. . . . And\nwhen they have eaten we will leave them, and away to the land of the\nMoor, my London Caloro.\n\nDuring the whole time that I remained at Merida I stirred not once from\nthe house; following the advice of Antonio, who informed me that it would\nnot be convenient.  My time lay rather heavily on my hands, my only\nsource of amusement consisting in the conversation of the women, and in\nthat of Antonio when he made his appearance at night.  In these tertulias\nthe grandmother was the principal spokeswoman, and astonished my ears\nwith wonderful tales of the Land of the Moors, prison escapes, thievish\nfeats, and one or two poisoning adventures, in which she had been\nengaged, as she informed me, in her early youth.\n\nThere was occasionally something very wild in her gestures and demeanour;\nmore than once I observed her, in the midst of much declamation, to stop\nshort, stare in vacancy, and thrust out her palms as if endeavouring to\npush away some invisible substance; she goggled frightfully with her\neyes, and once sank back in convulsions, of which her children took no\nfarther notice than observing that she was only lili, and would soon come\nto herself.\n\nLate in the afternoon of the third day, as the three women and myself sat\nconversing as usual over the brasero, a shabby looking fellow in an old\nrusty cloak walked into the room: he came straight up to the place where\nwe were sitting, produced a paper cigar, which he lighted at a coal, and\ntaking a whiff or two, looked at me: \u201cCarracho,\u201d said he, \u201cwho is this\ncompanion?\u201d\n\nI saw at once that the fellow was no Gypsy: the women said nothing, but I\ncould hear the grandmother growling to herself, something after the\nmanner of an old grimalkin when disturbed.\n\n\u201cCarracho,\u201d reiterated the fellow, \u201chow came this companion here?\u201d\n\n\u201c_No le penela chi min chaboro_,\u201d said the black Callee to me, in an\nundertone; \u201c_sin un balicho de los chineles_ {97};\u201d then looking up to\nthe interrogator she said aloud, \u201che is one of our people from Portugal,\ncome on the smuggling lay, and to see his poor sisters here.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen let him give me some tobacco,\u201d said the fellow, \u201cI suppose he has\nbrought some with him.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe has no tobacco,\u201d said the black Callee, \u201che has nothing but old iron.\nThis cigar is the only tobacco there is in the house; take it, smoke it,\nand go away!\u201d\n\nThereupon she produced a cigar from out her shoe, which she presented to\nthe alguazil.\n\n\u201cThis will not do,\u201d said the fellow, taking the cigar, \u201cI must have\nsomething better; it is now three months since I received anything from\nyou; the last present was a handkerchief, which was good for nothing;\ntherefore hand me over something worth taking, or I will carry you all to\nthe Carcel.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe Busno will take us to prison,\u201d said the black Callee, \u201cha! ha! ha!\u201d\n\n\u201cThe Chinel will take us to prison,\u201d giggled the young girl \u201che! he! he!\u201d\n\n\u201cThe Bengui will carry us all to the estaripel,\u201d grunted the Gypsy\ngrandmother, \u201cho! ho! ho!\u201d\n\nThe three females arose and walked slowly round the fellow, fixing their\neyes steadfastly on his face; he appeared frightened, and evidently\nwished to get away.  Suddenly the two youngest seized his hands, and\nwhilst he struggled to release himself, the old woman exclaimed: \u201cYou\nwant tobacco, hijo\u2014you come to the Gypsy house to frighten the Callees\nand the strange Caloro out of their plako\u2014truly, hijo, we have none for\nyou, and right sorry I am; we have, however, plenty of the dust _a su\nservicio_.\u201d\n\nHere, thrusting her hand into her pocket, she discharged a handful of\nsome kind of dust or snuff into the fellow\u2019s eyes; he stamped and roared,\nbut was for some time held fast by the two Callees; he extricated\nhimself, however, and attempted to unsheath a knife which he bore at his\ngirdle; but the two younger females flung themselves upon him like\nfuries, while the old woman increased his disorder by thrusting her stick\ninto his face; he was soon glad to give up the contest, and retreated,\nleaving behind him his hat and cloak, which the chabi gathered up and\nflung after him into the street.\n\n\u201cThis is a bad business,\u201d said I, \u201cthe fellow will of course bring the\nrest of the justicia upon us, and we shall all be cast into the\nestaripel.\u201d\n\n\u201cCa!\u201d said the black Callee, biting her thumb nail, \u201che has more reason\nto fear us than we him, we could bring him to the filimicha; we have,\nmoreover, friends in this town, plenty, plenty.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d mumbled the grandmother, \u201cthe daughters of the baji have friends,\nmy London Caloro, friends among the Busnees, baributre, baribu (_plenty_,\n_plenty_).\u201d\n\nNothing farther of any account occurred in the Gypsy house; the next day,\nAntonio and myself were again in the saddle, we travelled at least\nthirteen leagues before we reached the Venta, where we passed the night;\nwe rose early in the morning, my guide informing me that we had a long\nday\u2019s journey to make.  \u201cWhere are we bound to?\u201d I demanded.  \u201cTo\nTrujillo,\u201d he replied.\n\nWhen the sun arose, which it did gloomily and amidst threatening\nrain-clouds, we found ourselves in the neighbourhood of a range of\nmountains which lay on our left, and which, Antonio informed me, were\ncalled the Sierra of San Selvan; our route, however, lay over wide\nplains, scantily clothed with brushwood, with here and there a melancholy\nvillage, with its old and dilapidated church.  Throughout the greater\npart of the day, a drizzling rain was falling, which turned the dust of\nthe roads into mud and mire, considerably impeding our progress.  Towards\nevening we reached a moor, a wild place enough, strewn with enormous\nstones and rocks.  Before us, at some distance, rose a strange conical\nhill, rough and shaggy, which appeared to be neither more nor less than\nan immense assemblage of the same kind of rocks which lay upon the moor.\nThe rain had now ceased, but a strong wind rose and howled at our backs.\nThroughout the journey, I had experienced considerable difficulty in\nkeeping up with the mule of Antonio; the walk of the horse was slow, and\nI could discover no vestige of the spirit which the Gypsy had assured me\nlurked within him.  We were now upon a tolerably clear spot of the moor:\n\u201cI am about to see,\u201d I said, \u201cwhether this horse has any of the quality\nwhich you have described.\u201d  \u201cDo so,\u201d said Antonio, and spurred his beast\nonward, speedily leaving me far behind.  I jerked the horse with the bit,\nendeavouring to arouse his dormant spirit, whereupon he stopped, reared,\nand refused to proceed.  \u201cHold the bridle loose and touch him with your\nwhip,\u201d shouted Antonio from before.  I obeyed, and forthwith the animal\nset off at a trot, which gradually increased in swiftness till it became\na downright furious speedy trot; his limbs were now thoroughly lithy, and\nhe brandished his fore legs in a manner perfectly wondrous; the mule of\nAntonio, which was a spirited animal of excellent paces, would fain have\ncompeted with him, but was passed in a twinkling.  This tremendous trot\nendured for about a mile, when the animal, becoming yet more heated,\nbroke suddenly into a gallop.  Hurrah! no hare ever ran so wildly or\nblindly; it was, literally, _ventre a terre_; and I had considerable\ndifficulty in keeping him clear of rocks, against which he would have\nrushed in his savage fury, and dashed himself and rider to atoms.\n\nThis race brought me to the foot of the hill, where I waited till the\nGypsy rejoined me: we left the hill, which seemed quite inaccessible, on\nour right, passing through a small and wretched village.  The sun went\ndown, and dark night presently came upon us; we proceeded on, however,\nfor nearly three hours, until we heard the barking of dogs, and perceived\na light or two in the distance.  \u201cThat is Trujillo,\u201d said Antonio, who\nhad not spoken for a long time.  \u201cI am glad of it,\u201d I replied; \u201cI am\nthoroughly tired; I shall sleep soundly in Trujillo.\u201d  \u201cThat is as it may\nbe,\u201d said the Gypsy, and spurred his mule to a brisker pace.  We soon\nentered the town, which appeared dark and gloomy enough; I followed close\nbehind the Gypsy, who led the way I knew not whither, through dismal\nstreets and dark places, where cats were squalling.  \u201cHere is the house,\u201d\nsaid he at last, dismounting before a low mean hut; he knocked, no answer\nwas returned;\u2014he knocked again, but still there was no reply; he shook\nthe door and essayed to open it, but it appeared firmly locked and\nbolted.  \u201cCaramba!\u201d said he, \u201cthey are out\u2014I feared it might be so.  Now\nwhat are we to do?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere can be no difficulty,\u201d said I, \u201cwith respect to what we have to\ndo; if your friends are gone out, it is easy enough to go to a posada.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou know not what you say,\u201d replied the Gypsy, \u201cI dare not go to the\nmesuna, nor enter any house in Trujillo save this, and this is shut;\nwell, there is no remedy, we must move on, and, between ourselves, the\nsooner we leave this place the better; my own planoro (_brother_) was\ngarroted at Trujillo.\u201d\n\nHe lighted a cigar, by means of a steel and yesca, sprang on his mule,\nand proceeded through streets and lanes equally dismal as those which we\nhad already traversed till we again found ourselves out of the, town.\n\nI confess I did not much like this decision of the Gypsy; I felt very\nslight inclination to leave the town behind and to venture into unknown\nplaces in the dark night: amidst rain and mist, for the wind had now\ndropped, and the rain began again to fall briskly.  I was, moreover, much\nfatigued, and wished for nothing better than to deposit myself in some\ncomfortable manger, where I might sink to sleep, lulled by the pleasant\nsound of horses and mules despatching their provender.  I had, however,\nput myself under the direction of the Gypsy, and I was too old a\ntraveller to quarrel with my guide under the present circumstances.  I\ntherefore followed close at his crupper; our only light being the glow\nemitted from the Gypsy\u2019s cigar; at last he flung it from his mouth into a\npuddle, and we were then in darkness.\n\nWe proceeded in this manner for a long time; the Gypsy was silent; I\nmyself was equally so; the rain descended more and more.  I sometimes\nthought I heard doleful noises, something like the hooting of owls.\n\u201cThis is a strange night to be wandering abroad in,\u201d I at length said to\nAntonio.\n\n\u201cIt is, brother,\u201d said he, \u201cbut I would sooner be abroad in such a night,\nand in such places, than in the estaripel of Trujillo.\u201d\n\nWe wandered at least a league farther, and appeared now to be near a\nwood, for I could occasionally distinguish the trunks of immense trees.\nSuddenly Antonio stopped his mule; \u201cLook, brother,\u201d said he, \u201cto the\nleft, and tell me if you do not see a light; your eyes are sharper than\nmine.\u201d  I did as he commanded me.  At first I could see nothing, but\nmoving a little farther on I plainly saw a large light at some distance,\nseemingly amongst the trees.  \u201cYonder cannot be a lamp or candle,\u201d said\nI; \u201cit is more like the blaze of a fire.\u201d  \u201cVery likely,\u201d said Antonio.\n\u201cThere are no queres (_houses_) in this place; it is doubtless a fire\nmade by durotunes (_shepherds_); let us go and join them, for, as you\nsay, it is doleful work wandering about at night amidst rain and mire.\u201d\n\nWe dismounted and entered what I now saw was a forest, leading the\nanimals cautiously amongst the trees and brushwood.  In about five\nminutes we reached a small open space, at the farther side of which, at\nthe foot of a large cork tree, a fire was burning, and by it stood or sat\ntwo or three figures; they had heard our approach, and one of them now\nexclaimed Quien Vive?  \u201cI know that voice,\u201d said Antonio, and leaving the\nhorse with me, rapidly advanced towards the fire: presently I heard an\nOla! and a laugh, and soon the voice of Antonio summoned me to advance.\nOn reaching the fire I found two dark lads, and a still darker woman of\nabout forty; the latter seated on what appeared to be horse or mule\nfurniture.  I likewise saw a horse and two donkeys tethered to the\nneighbouring trees.  It was in fact a Gypsy bivouac. . . . \u201cCome forward,\nbrother, and show yourself,\u201d said Antonio to me; \u201cyou are amongst\nfriends; these are of the Errate, the very people whom I expected to find\nat Trujillo, and in whose house we should have slept.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what,\u201d said I, \u201ccould have induced them to leave their house in\nTrujillo and come into this dark forest in the midst of wind and rain, to\npass the night?\u201d\n\n\u201cThey come on business of Egypt, brother, doubtless,\u201d replied Antonio;\n\u201cand that business is none of ours, Calla boca!  It is lucky we have\nfound them here, else we should have had no supper, and our horses no\ncorn.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy ro is prisoner at the village yonder,\u201d said the woman, pointing with\nher hand in a particular direction; \u201che is prisoner yonder for choring a\nmailla (_stealing a donkey_); we are come to see what we can do in his\nbehalf; and where can we lodge better than in this forest, where there is\nnothing to pay?  It is not the first time, I trow, that Calor\u00e9 have slept\nat the root of a tree.\u201d\n\nOne of the striplings now gave us barley for our animals in a large bag,\ninto which we successively introduced their heads, allowing the famished\ncreatures to regale themselves till we conceived that they had satisfied\ntheir hunger.  There was a puchero simmering at the fire, half full of\nbacon, garbanzos, and other provisions; this was emptied into a large\nwooden platter, and out of this Antonio and myself supped; the other\nGypsies refused to join us, giving us to understand that they had eaten\nbefore our arrival; they all, however, did justice to the leathern bottle\nof Antonio, which, before his departure from Merida, he had the\nprecaution to fill.\n\nI was by this time completely overcome with fatigue and sleep.  Antonio\nflung me an immense horse-cloth, of which he bore more than one beneath\nthe huge cushion on which he rode; in this I wrapped myself, and placing\nmy head upon a bundle, and my feet as near as possible to the fire, I lay\ndown.\n\nAntonio and the other Gypsies remained seated by the fire conversing.  I\nlistened for a moment to what they said, but I did not perfectly\nunderstand it, and what I did understand by no means interested me: the\nrain still drizzled, but I heeded it not, and was soon asleep.\n\nThe sun was just appearing as I awoke.  I made several efforts before I\ncould rise from the ground; my limbs were quite stiff, and my hair was\ncovered with rime; for the rain had ceased and a rather severe frost set\nin.  I looked around me, but could see neither Antonio nor the Gypsies;\nthe animals of the latter had likewise disappeared, so had the horse\nwhich I had hitherto rode; the mule, however, of Antonio still remained\nfastened to the tree! this latter circumstance quieted some apprehensions\nwhich were beginning to arise in my mind.  \u201cThey are gone on some\nbusiness of Egypt,\u201d I said to myself, \u201cand will return anon.\u201d  I gathered\ntogether the embers of the fire, and heaping upon them sticks and\nbranches, soon succeeded in calling forth a blaze, beside which I placed\nthe puchero, with what remained of the provision of last night.  I waited\nfor a considerable time in expectation of the return of my companions,\nbut as they did not appear, I sat down and breakfasted.  Before I had\nwell finished I heard the noise of a horse approaching rapidly, and\npresently Antonio made his appearance amongst the trees, with some\nagitation in his countenance.  He sprang from the horse, and instantly\nproceeded to untie the mule.  \u201cMount, brother, mount!\u201d said he, pointing\nto the horse; \u201cI went with the Callee and her chab\u00e9s to the village where\nthe ro is in trouble; the chinobaro, however, seized them at once with\ntheir cattle, and would have laid hands also on me, but I set spurs to\nthe grasti, gave him the bridle, and was soon far away.  Mount, brother,\nmount, or we shall have the whole rustic canaille upon us in a\ntwinkling.\u201d\n\nI did as he commanded: we were presently in the road which we had left\nthe night before.  Along this we hurried at a great rate, the horse\ndisplaying his best speedy trot; whilst the mule, with its ears pricked\nup, galloped gallantly at his side.  \u201cWhat place is that on the hill\nyonder?\u201d said I to Antonio, at the expiration of an hour, as we prepared\nto descend a deep valley.\n\n\u201cThat is Jaraicejo,\u201d said Antonio; \u201ca bad place it is and a bad place it\nhas ever been for the Calo people.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf it is such a bad place,\u201d said I, \u201cI hope we shall not have to pass\nthrough it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe must pass through it,\u201d said Antonio, \u201cfor more reasons than one:\nfirst, forasmuch is the road lies through Jaraicejo; and second,\nforasmuch as it will be necessary to purchase provisions there, both for\nourselves and horses.  On the other side of Jaraicejo there is a wild\ndesert, a despoblado, where we shall find nothing.\u201d\n\nWe crossed the valley, and ascended the hill, and as we drew near to the\ntown the Gypsy said, \u201cBrother, we had best pass through that town singly.\nI will go in advance; follow slowly, and when there purchase bread and\nbarley; you have nothing to fear.  I will await you on the despoblado.\u201d\n\nWithout waiting for my answer he hastened forward, and was speedily out\nof sight.\n\nI followed slowly behind, and entered the gate of the town; an old\ndilapidated place, consisting of little more than one street.  Along this\nstreet I was advancing, when a man with a dirty foraging cap on his head,\nand holding a gun in his hand, came running up to me: \u201cWho are you?\u201d said\nhe, in rather rough accents, \u201cfrom whence do you come?\u201d\n\n\u201cFrom Badajoz and Trujillo,\u201d I replied; \u201cwhy do you ask?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am one of the national guard,\u201d said the man, \u201cand am placed here to\ninspect strangers; I am told that a Gypsy fellow just now rode through\nthe town; it is well for him that I had stepped into my house.  Do you\ncome in his company?\u201d\n\n\u201cDo I look a person,\u201d said I, \u201clikely to keep company with Gypsies?\u201d\n\nThe national measured me from top to toe, and then looked me full in the\nface with an expression which seemed to say, \u201clikely enough.\u201d  In fact,\nmy appearance was by no means calculated to prepossess people in my\nfavour.  Upon my head I wore an old Andalusian hat, which, from its\ncondition, appeared to have been trodden under foot; a rusty cloak, which\nhad perhaps served half a dozen generations, enwrapped my body.  My\nnether garments were by no means of the finest description; and as far as\ncould be seen were covered with mud, with which my face was likewise\nplentifully bespattered, and upon my chin was a beard of a week\u2019s growth.\n\n\u201cHave you a passport?\u201d at length demanded the national.\n\nI remembered having read that the best way to win a Spaniard\u2019s heart is\nto treat him with ceremonious civility.  I therefore dismounted, and\ntaking off my hat, made a low bow to the constitutional soldier, saying,\n\u201cSe\u00f1or nacional, you must know that I am an English gentleman, travelling\nin this country for my pleasure; I bear a passport, which, on inspecting,\nyou will find to be perfectly regular; it was given me by the great Lord\nPalmerston, minister of England, whom you of course have heard of here;\nat the bottom you will see his own handwriting; look at it and rejoice;\nperhaps you will never have another opportunity.  As I put unbounded\nconfidence in the honour of every gentleman, I leave the passport in your\nhands whilst I repair to the posada to refresh myself.  When you have\ninspected it, you will perhaps oblige me so far as to bring it to me.\nCavalier, I kiss your hands.\u201d\n\nI then made him another low bow, which he returned with one still lower,\nand leaving him now staring at the passport and now looking at myself, I\nwent into a posada, to which I was directed by a beggar whom I met.\n\nI fed the horse, and procured some bread and barley, as the Gypsy had\ndirected me; I likewise purchased three fine partridges of a fowler, who\nwas drinking wine in the posada.  He was satisfied with the price I gave\nhim, and offered to treat me with a copita, to which I made no objection.\nAs we sat discoursing at the table, the national entered with the\npassport in his hand, and sat down by us.\n\n_National_.\u2014Caballero!  I return you your passport, it is quite in form;\nI rejoice much to have made your acquaintance; I have no doubt that you\ncan give me some information respecting the present war.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I shall be very happy to afford so polite and honourable a\ngentleman any information in my power.\n\n_National_.\u2014What is England doing,\u2014is she about to afford any assistance\nto this country?  If she pleased she could put down the war in three\nmonths.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Be under no apprehension, Se\u00f1or nacional; the war will be put\ndown, don\u2019t doubt.  You have heard of the English legion, which my Lord\nPalmerston has sent over?  Leave the matter in their hands, and you will\nsoon see the result.\n\n_National_.\u2014It appears to me that this Caballero Balmerson must be a very\nhonest man.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014There can be no doubt of it.\n\n_National_.\u2014I have heard that he is a great general.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014There can be no doubt of it.  In some things neither Napoleon\nnor the sawyer {104} would stand a chance with him for a moment.  _Es\nmucho hombre_.\n\n_National_.\u2014I am glad to hear it.  Does he intend to head the legion\nhimself?\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I believe not; but he has sent over, to head the fighting men,\na friend of his, who is thought to be nearly as much versed in military\nmatters as himself.\n\n_National_.\u2014I am rejoiced to hear it.  I see that the war will soon be\nover.  Caballero, I thank you for your politeness, and for the\ninformation which you have afforded me.  I hope you will have a pleasant\njourney.  I confess that I am surprised to see a gentleman of your\ncountry travelling alone, and in this manner, through such regions as\nthese.  The roads are at present very bad; there have of late been many\naccidents, and more than two deaths in this neighbourhood.  The\ndespoblado out yonder has a particularly evil name; be on your guard,\nCaballero.  I am sorry that Gypsy was permitted to pass; should you meet\nhim and not like his looks, shoot him at once, stab him, or ride him\ndown.  He is a well known thief, contrabandista, and murderer, and has\ncommitted more assassinations than he has fingers on his hands.\nCaballero, if you please, we will allow you a guard to the other side of\nthe pass.  You do not wish it?  Then, farewell.  Stay, before I go I\nshould wish to see once more the signature of the Caballero Balmerson.\n\nI showed him the signature, which he looked upon with profound reverence,\nuncovering his head for a moment; we then embraced and parted.\n\nI mounted the horse and rode from the town, at first proceeding very\nslowly; I had no sooner, however, reached the moor, than I put the animal\nto his speedy trot, and proceeded at a tremendous rate for some time,\nexpecting every moment to overtake the Gypsy.  I, however, saw nothing of\nhim, nor did I meet with a single human being.  The road along which I\nsped was narrow and sandy, winding amidst thickets of broom and\nbrushwood, with which the despoblado was overgrown, and which in some\nplaces were as high as a man\u2019s head.  Across the moor, in the direction\nin which I was proceeding, rose a lofty eminence, naked and bare.  The\nmoor extended for at least three leagues; I had nearly crossed it, and\nreached the foot of the ascent.  I was becoming very uneasy, conceiving\nthat I might have passed the Gypsy amongst the thickets, when I suddenly\nheard his well known Ola! and his black savage head and staring eyes\nsuddenly appeared from amidst a clump of broom.\n\n\u201cYou have tarried long, brother,\u201d said he; \u201cI almost thought you had\nplayed me false.\u201d\n\nHe bade me dismount, and then proceeded to lead the horse behind the\nthicket, where I found the mule picqueted to the ground.  I gave him the\nbarley and provisions, and then proceeded to relate to him my adventure\nwith the national.\n\n\u201cI would I had him here,\u201d said the Gypsy, on hearing the epithets which\nthe former had lavished upon him.  \u201cI would I had him here, then should\nmy chulee and his carlo become better acquainted.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what are you doing here yourself,\u201d I demanded, \u201cin this wild place,\namidst these thickets?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am expecting a messenger down yon pass,\u201d said the Gypsy; \u201cand till\nthat messenger arrive I can neither go forward nor return.  It is on\nbusiness of Egypt, brother, that I am here.\u201d\n\nAs he invariably used this last expression when he wished to evade my\ninquiries, I held my peace, and said no more; the animals were fed, and\nwe proceeded to make a frugal repast on bread and wine.\n\n\u201cWhy do you not cook the game which I brought?\u201d I demanded; \u201cin this\nplace there is plenty of materials for a fire.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe smoke might discover us, brother,\u201d said Antonio, \u201cI am desirous of\nlying escondido in this place until the arrival of the messenger.\u201d\n\nIt was now considerably past noon; the gypsy lay behind the thicket,\nraising himself up occasionally and looking anxiously towards the hill\nwhich lay over against us; at last, with an exclamation of disappointment\nand impatience, he flung himself on the ground, where he lay a\nconsiderable time, apparently ruminating; at last he lifted up his head\nand looked me in the face.\n\n_Antonio_.\u2014Brother, I cannot imagine what business brought you to this\ncountry.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Perhaps the same which brings you to this moor\u2014business of\nEgypt.\n\n_Antonio_.\u2014Not so, brother; you speak the language of Egypt, it is true,\nbut your ways and words are neither those of the Cales nor of the Busn\u00e9.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Did you not hear me speak in the foros about God and Tebleque?\nIt was to declare his glory to the Cales and Gentiles that I came to the\nland of Spain.\n\n_Antonio_.\u2014And who sent you on this errand?\n\n_Myself_.\u2014You would scarcely understand me were I to inform you.  Know,\nhowever, that there are many in foreign lands who lament the darkness\nwhich envelops Spain, and the scenes of cruelty, robbery, and murder\nwhich deform it.\n\n_Antonio_.\u2014Are they Calor\u00e9 or Busn\u00e9?\n\n_Myself_.\u2014What matters it?  Both Calor\u00e9 and Busn\u00e9 are sons of the same\nGod.\n\n_Antonio_.\u2014You lie, brother, they are not of one father nor of one\nErrate.  You speak of robbery, cruelty, and murder.  There are too many\nBusn\u00e9, brother; if there were no Busn\u00e9 there would be neither robbery nor\nmurder.  The Calor\u00e9 neither rob nor murder each other, the Busn\u00e9 do; nor\nare they cruel to their animals, their law forbids them.  When I was a\nchild I was beating a burra, but my father stopped my hand, and chided\nme.  \u201cHurt not the animal,\u201d said he; \u201cfor within it is the soul of your\nown sister!\u201d\n\n_Myself_.\u2014And do you believe in this wild doctrine, O Antonio?\n\n_Antonio_.\u2014Sometimes I do, sometimes I do not.  There are some who\nbelieve in nothing; not even that they live!  Long since, I knew an old\nCaloro, he was old, very old, upwards of a hundred years,\u2014and I once\nheard him say, that all we thought we saw was a lie; that there was no\nworld, no men nor women, no horses nor mules, no olive trees.  But\nwhither are we straying?  I asked what induced you to come to this\ncountry\u2014you tell me the glory of God and Tebleque.  Disparate! tell that\nto the Busn\u00e9.  You have good reasons for coming, no doubt, else you would\nnot be here.  Some say you are a spy of the London\u00e9, perhaps you are; I\ncare not.  Rise, brother, and tell me whether any one is coming down the\npass.\n\n\u201cI see a distant object,\u201d I replied; \u201clike a speck on the side of the\nhill.\u201d\n\nThe Gypsy started up, and we both fixed our eyes on the object: the\ndistance was so great that it was at first with difficulty that we could\ndistinguish whether it moved or not.  A quarter of an hour, however,\ndispelled all doubts, for within this time it had nearly reached the\nbottom of the hill, and we could descry a figure seated on an animal of\nsome kind.\n\n\u201cIt is a woman,\u201d said I, at length, \u201cmounted on a grey donkey.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen it is my messenger,\u201d said Antonio, \u201cfor it can be no other.\u201d\n\nThe woman and the donkey were now upon the plain, and for some time were\nconcealed from us by the copse and brushwood which intervened.  They were\nnot long, however, in making their appearance at the distance of about a\nhundred yards.  The donkey was a beautiful creature of a silver grey, and\ncame frisking along, swinging her tail, and moving her feet so quick that\nthey scarcely seemed to touch the ground.  The animal no sooner perceived\nus than she stopped short, turned round, and attempted to escape by the\nway she had come; her rider, however, detained her, whereupon the donkey\nkicked violently, and would probably have flung the former, had she not\nsprung nimbly to the ground.  The form of the woman was entirely\nconcealed by the large wrapping man\u2019s cloak which she wore.  I ran to\nassist her, when she turned her face full upon me, and I instantly\nrecognized the sharp clever features of Antonia, whom I had seen at\nBadajoz, the daughter of my guide.  She said nothing to me, but advancing\nto her father, addressed something to him in a low voice, which I did not\nhear.  He started back, and vociferated \u201cAll!\u201d  \u201cYes,\u201d said she in a\nlouder tone, probably repeating the words which I had not caught before,\n\u201cAll are captured.\u201d\n\nThe Gypsy remained for some time like one astounded and, unwilling to\nlisten to their discourse, which I imagined might relate to business of\nEgypt, I walked away amidst the thickets.  I was absent for some time,\nbut could occasionally hear passionate expressions and oaths.  In about\nhalf an hour I returned; they had left the road, but I found then behind\nthe broom clump, where the animals stood.  Both were seated on the\nground; the features of the Gypsy were peculiarly dark and grim; he held\nhis unsheathed knife in his hand, which he would occasionally plunge into\nthe earth, exclaiming, \u201cAll! All!\u201d\n\n\u201cBrother,\u201d said he at last, \u201cI can go no farther with you; the business\nwhich carried me to Castumba is settled; you must now travel by yourself\nand trust to your baji (_fortune_).\u201d\n\n\u201cI trust in Undevel,\u201d I replied, \u201cwho wrote my fortune long ago.  But how\nam I to journey?  I have no horse, for you doubtless want your own.\u201d\n\nThe Gypsy appeared to reflect: \u201cI want the horse, it is true, brother,\u201d\nhe said, \u201cand likewise the macho; but you shall not go _en pindre_ (on\nfoot); you shall purchase the burra of Antonia, which I presented her\nwhen I sent her upon this expedition.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe burra,\u201d I replied, \u201cappears both savage and vicious.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe is both, brother, and on that account I bought her; a savage and\nvicious beast has generally four excellent legs.  You are a Calo,\nbrother, and can manage her; you shall therefore purchase the savage\nburra, giving my daugher Antonia a baria of gold.  If you think fit, you\ncan sell the beast at Talavera or Madrid, for Estremenian bestis are\nhighly considered in Castumba.\u201d\n\nIn less than an hour I was on the other side of the pass, mounted on the\nsavage burra.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\n\nThe Pass of Mirab\u00e9te\u2014Wolves and Shepherds\u2014Female Subtlety\u2014Death by\nWolves\u2014The Mystery Solved\u2014The Mountains\u2014The Dark Hour\u2014The Traveller of\nthe Night\u2014Abarbenel\u2014Hoarded Treasure\u2014Force of Gold\u2014The Archbishop\u2014Arrival\nat Madrid.\n\nI proceeded down the pass of Mirab\u00e9te, occasionally ruminating on the\nmatter which had brought me to Spain, and occasionally admiring one of\nthe finest prospects in the world; before me outstretched lay immense\nplains, bounded in the distance by huge mountains, whilst at the foot of\nthe hill which I was now descending, rolled the Tagus, in a deep narrow\nstream, between lofty banks; the whole was gilded by the rays of the\nsetting sun; for the day, though cold and wintry, was bright and clear.\nIn about an hour I reached the river at a place where stood the remains\nof what had once been a magnificent bridge, which had, however, been\nblown up in the Peninsular war and never since repaired.\n\nI crossed the river in a ferry-boat; the passage was rather difficult,\nthe current very rapid and swollen, owing to the latter rains.\n\n\u201cAm I in New Castile?\u201d I demanded of the ferryman, on reaching the\nfurther bank.  \u201cThe raya is many leagues from hence,\u201d replied the\nferryman; \u201cyou seem a stranger.  Whence do you come?\u201d  \u201cFrom England,\u201d I\nreplied, and without waiting for an answer, I sprang on the burra, and\nproceeded on my way.  The burra plied her feet most nimbly, and, shortly\nafter nightfall, brought me to a village at about two leagues\u2019 distance\nfrom the river\u2019s bank.\n\nI sat down in the venta where I put up; there was a huge fire, consisting\nof the greater part of the trunk of an olive tree; the company was rather\nmiscellaneous: a hunter with his escopeta; a brace of shepherds with\nimmense dogs, of that species for which Estremadura is celebrated; a\nbroken soldier, just returned from the wars; and a beggar, who, after\ndemanding charity for the seven wounds of Maria Santissima, took a seat\namidst us, and made himself quite comfortable.  The hostess was an active\nbustling woman, and busied herself in cooking my supper, which consisted\nof the game which I had purchased at Jaraicejo, and which, on my taking\nleave of the Gypsy, he had counselled me to take with me.  In the\nmeantime, I sat by the fire listening to the conversation of the company.\n\n\u201cI would I were a wolf,\u201d said one of the shepherds; \u201cor, indeed, anything\nrather than what I am.  A pretty life is this of ours, out in the campo,\namong the carascales, suffering heat and cold for a peseta a day.  I\nwould I were a wolf; he fares better and is more respected than the\nwretch of a shepherd.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut he frequently fares scurvily,\u201d said I; \u201cthe shepherd and dogs fall\nupon him, and then he pays for his temerity with the loss of his head.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is not often the case, se\u00f1or traveller,\u201d said the shepherd; \u201che\nwatches his opportunity, and seldom runs into harm\u2019s way.  And as to\nattacking him, it is no very pleasant task; he has both teeth and claws,\nand dog or man, who has once felt them, likes not to venture a second\ntime within his reach.  These dogs of mine will seize a bear singly with\nconsiderable alacrity, though he is a most powerful animal, but I have\nseen them run howling away from a wolf, even though there were two or\nthree of us at hand to encourage them.\u201d\n\n\u201cA dangerous person is the wolf,\u201d said the other shepherd, \u201cand cunning\nas dangerous; who knows more than he?  He knows the vulnerable point of\nevery animal; see, for example, how he flies at the neck of a bullock,\ntearing open the veins with his grim teeth and claws.  But does he attack\na horse in this manner?  I trow not.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot he,\u201d said the other shepherd, \u201che is too good a judge; but he\nfastens on the haunches, and hamstrings him in a moment.  O the fear of\nthe horse when he comes near the dwelling of the wolf.  My master was the\nother day riding in the despoblado, above the pass, on his fine\nAndalusian steed, which had cost him five hundred dollars; suddenly the\nhorse stopped, and sweated and trembled like a woman in the act of\nfainting; my master could not conceive the reason, but presently he heard\na squealing and growling in the bushes, whereupon he fired off his gun\nand scared the wolves, who scampered away; but he tells me, that the\nhorse has not yet recovered from his fright.\u201d\n\n\u201cYet the mares know, occasionally, how to balk him,\u201d replied his\ncompanion; \u201cthere is great craft and malice in mares, as there is in all\nfemales; see them feeding in the campo with their young cria about them;\npresently the alarm is given that the wolf is drawing near; they start\nwildly and run about for a moment, but it is only for a moment\u2014amain they\ngather together, forming themselves into a circle, in the centre of which\nthey place the foals.  Onward comes the wolf, hoping to make his dinner\non horse-flesh; he is mistaken, however, the mares have balked him, and\nare as cunning as himself: not a tail is to be seen\u2014not a hinder\nquarter\u2014but there stands the whole troop, their fronts towards him ready\nto receive him, and as he runs around them barking and howling, they rise\nsuccessively on their hind legs, ready to stamp him to the earth, should\nhe attempt to hurt their cria or themselves.\u201d\n\n\u201cWorse than the he-wolf,\u201d said the soldier, \u201cis the female, for as the\nse\u00f1or pastor has well observed, there is more malice in women than in\nmales: to see one of these she-demons with a troop of the males at her\nheels is truly surprising: where she turns, they turn, and what she does\nthat do they; for they appear bewitched, and have no power but to imitate\nher actions.  I was once travelling with a comrade over the hills of\nGalicia, when we heard a howl.  \u2018Those are wolves,\u2019 said my companion,\n\u2018let us get out of the way;\u2019 so we stepped from the path and ascended the\nside of the hill a little way, to a terrace, where grew vines, after the\nmanner of Galicia: presently appeared a large grey she-wolf,\n_deshonesta_, snapping and growling at a troop of demons, who followed\nclose behind, their tails uplifted, and their eyes like fire-brands.\nWhat do you think the perverse brute did?  Instead of keeping to the\npath, she turned in the very direction in which we were; there was now no\nremedy, so we stood still.  I was the first upon the terrace, and by me\nshe passed so close that I felt her hair brush against my legs; she,\nhowever, took no notice of me, but pushed on, neither looking to the\nright nor left, and all the other wolves trotted by me without offering\nthe slightest injury or even so much as looking at me.  Would that I\ncould say as much for my poor companion, who stood farther on, and was, I\nbelieve, less in the demon\u2019s way than I was; she had nearly passed him,\nwhen suddenly she turned half round and snapped at him.  I shall never\nforget what followed: in a moment a dozen wolves were upon him, tearing\nhim limb from limb, with howlings like nothing in this world; in a few\nmoments he was devoured; nothing remained but a skull and a few bones;\nand then they passed on in the same manner as they came.  Good reason had\nI to be grateful that my lady wolf took less notice of me than my poor\ncomrade.\u201d\n\nListening to this and similar conversation, I fell into a doze before the\nfire, in which I continued for a considerable time, but was at length\naroused by a voice exclaiming in a loud tone, \u201cAll are captured!\u201d  These\nwere the exact words which, when spoken by his daughter, confounded the\nGypsy upon the moor.  I looked around me, the company consisted of the\nsame individuals to whose conversation I had been listening before I sank\ninto slumber; but the beggar was now the spokesman, and he was haranguing\nwith considerable vehemence.\n\n\u201cI beg your pardon, Caballero,\u201d said I, \u201cbut I did not hear the\ncommencement of your discourse.  Who are those who have been captured?\u201d\n\n\u201cA band of accursed Gitanos, Caballero,\u201d replied the beggar, returning\nthe title of courtesy, which I had bestowed upon him.  \u201cDuring more than\na fortnight they have infested the roads on the frontier of Castile, and\nmany have been the gentleman travellers like yourself whom they have\nrobbed and murdered.  It would seem that the Gypsy canaille must needs\ntake advantage of these troublous times, and form themselves into a\nfaction.  It is said that the fellows of whom I am speaking expected many\nmore of their brethren to join them, which is likely enough, for all\nGypsies are thieves: but praised be God, they have been put down before\nthey became too formidable.  I saw them myself conveyed to the prison at\n---.  Thanks be to God.  _Todos estan presos_.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe mystery is now solved,\u201d said I to myself, and proceeded to despatch\nmy supper, which was now ready.\n\nThe next day\u2019s journey brought me to a considerable town, the name of\nwhich I have forgotten.  It is the first in New Castile, in this\ndirection.  I passed the night as usual in the manger of the stable,\nclose beside the Caballeria; for, as I travelled upon a donkey, I deemed\nit incumbent upon me to be satisfied with a couch in keeping with my\nmanner of journeying, being averse, by any squeamish and over delicate\nairs, to generate a suspicion amongst the people with whom I mingled that\nI was aught higher than what my equipage and outward appearance might\nlead them to believe.  Rising before daylight, I again proceeded on my\nway, hoping ere night to be able to reach Talavera, which I was informed\nwas ten leagues distant.  The way lay entirely over an unbroken level,\nfor the most part covered with olive trees.  On the left, however, at the\ndistance of a few leagues, rose the mighty mountains which I have already\nmentioned.  They run eastward in a seemingly interminable range, parallel\nwith the route which I was pursuing; their tops and sides were covered\nwith dazzling snow, and the blasts which came sweeping from them across\nthe wide and melancholy plains were of bitter keenness.\n\n\u201cWhat mountains are those?\u201d I inquired of a barber-surgeon, who, mounted\nlike myself on a grey burra, joined me about noon, and proceeded in my\ncompany for several leagues.  \u201cThey have many names, Caballero,\u201d replied\nthe barber; \u201caccording to the names of the neighbouring places so they\nare called.  Yon portion of them is styled the Serrania of Plasencia; and\nopposite to Madrid they are termed the Mountains of Guadarama, from a\nriver of that name, which descends from them; they run a vast way,\nCaballero, and separate the two kingdoms, for on the other side is Old\nCastile.  They are mighty mountains, and though they generate much cold,\nI take pleasure in looking at them, which is not to be wondered at,\nseeing that I was born amongst them, though at present, for my sins, I\nlive in a village of the plain.  Caballero, there is not another such\nrange in Spain; they have their secrets too\u2014their mysteries\u2014strange tales\nare told of those hills, and of what they contain in their deep recesses,\nfor they are a broad chain, and you may wander days and days amongst them\nwithout coming to any termino.  Many have lost themselves on those hills,\nand have never again been heard of.  Strange things are told of them: it\nis said that in certain places there are deep pools and lakes, in which\ndwell monsters, huge serpents as long as a pine tree, and horses of the\nflood, which sometimes come out and commit mighty damage.  One thing is\ncertain, that yonder, far away to the west, in the heart of those hills,\nthere is a wonderful valley, so narrow that only at midday is the face of\nthe sun to be descried from it.  That valley lay undiscovered and unknown\nfor thousands of years; no person dreamed of its existence, but at last,\na long time ago, certain hunters entered it by chance, and then what do\nyou think they found, Caballero?  They found a small nation or tribe of\nunknown people, speaking an unknown language, who, perhaps, had lived\nthere since the creation of the world, without intercourse with the rest\nof their fellow creatures, and without knowing that other beings besides\nthemselves existed!  Caballero, did you never hear of the valley of the\nBatuecas?  Many books have been written about that valley and those\npeople.  Caballero, I am proud of yonder hills; and were I independent,\nand without wife or children, I would purchase a burra like that of your\nown, which I see is an excellent one, and far superior to mine, and\ntravel amongst them till I knew all their mysteries, and had seen all the\nwondrous things which they contain.\u201d\n\nThroughout the day I pressed the burra forward, only stopping once in\norder to feed the animal; but, notwithstanding that she played her part\nvery well, night came on, and I was still about two leagues from\nTalavera.  As the sun went down, the cold became intense; I drew the old\nGypsy cloak, which I still wore, closer around me, but I found it quite\ninadequate to protect me from the inclemency of the atmosphere.  The\nroad, which lay over a plain, was not very distinctly traced, and became\nin the dusk rather difficult to find, more especially as cross roads\nleading to different places were of frequent occurrence.  I, however,\nproceeded in the best manner I could, and when I became dubious as to the\ncourse which I should take, I invariably allowed the animal on which I\nwas mounted to decide.  At length the moon shone out faintly, when\nsuddenly by its beams I beheld a figure moving before me at a slight\ndistance.  I quickened the pace of the burra, and was soon close at its\nside.  It went on, neither altering its pace nor looking round for a\nmoment.  It was the figure of a man, the tallest and bulkiest that I had\nhitherto seen in Spain, dressed in a manner strange and singular for the\ncountry.  On his head was a hat with a low crown and broad brim, very\nmuch resembling that of an English waggoner; about his body was a long\nloose tunic or slop, seemingly of coarse ticken, open in front, so as to\nallow the interior garments to be occasionally seen; these appeared to\nconsist of a jerkin and short velveteen pantaloons.  I have said that the\nbrim of the hat was broad, but broad as it was, it was insufficient to\ncover an immense bush of coal-black hair, which, thick and curly,\nprojected on either side; over the left shoulder was flung a kind of\nsatchel, and in the right hand was held a long staff or pole.\n\nThere was something peculiarly strange about the figure, but what struck\nme the most was the tranquillity with which it moved along, taking no\nheed of me, though of course aware of my proximity, but looking straight\nforward along the road, save when it occasionally raised a huge face and\nlarge eyes towards the moon, which was now shining forth in the eastern\nquarter.\n\n\u201cA cold night,\u201d said I at last.  \u201cIs this the way to Talavera?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is the way to Talavera, and the night is cold.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am going to Talavera,\u201d said I, \u201cas I suppose you are yourself.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am going thither, so are you, _Bueno_.\u201d\n\nThe tones of the voice which delivered these words were in their way\nquite as strange and singular as the figure to which the voice belonged;\nthey were not exactly the tones of a Spanish voice, and yet there was\nsomething in them that could hardly be foreign; the pronunciation also\nwas correct; and the language, though singular, faultless.  But I was\nmost struck with the manner in which the last word, _bueno_, was spoken.\nI had heard something like it before, but where or when I could by no\nmeans remember.  A pause now ensued; the figure stalking on as before\nwith the most perfect indifference, and seemingly with no disposition\neither to seek or avoid conversation.\n\n\u201cAre you not afraid,\u201d said I at last, \u201cto travel these roads in the dark?\nIt is said that there are robbers abroad.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre you not rather afraid,\u201d replied the figure, \u201cto travel these roads\nin the dark?\u2014you who are ignorant of the country, who are a foreigner, an\nEnglishman!\u201d\n\n\u201cHow is it that you know me to be an Englishman?\u201d demanded I, much\nsurprised.\n\n\u201cThat is no difficult matter,\u201d replied the figure; \u201cthe sound of your\nvoice was enough to tell me that.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou speak of voices,\u201d said I; \u201csuppose the tone of your own voice were\nto tell me who you are?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat it will not do,\u201d replied my companion; \u201cyou know nothing about\nme\u2014you can know nothing about me.\u201d\n\n\u201cBe not sure of that, my friend; I am acquainted with many things of\nwhich you have little idea.\u201d\n\n\u201cPor exemplo,\u201d said the figure.\n\n\u201cFor example,\u201d said I; \u201cyou speak two languages.\u201d\n\nThe figure moved on, seemed to consider a moment, and then said slowly\n_bueno_.\n\n\u201cYou have two names,\u201d I continued; \u201cone for the house and the other for\nthe street; both are good, but the one by which you are called at home is\nthe one which you like best.\u201d\n\nThe man walked on about ten paces, in the same manner as he had\npreviously done; all of a sudden he turned, and taking the bridle of the\nburra gently in his hand, stopped her.  I had now a full view of his face\nand figure, and those huge features and Herculean form still occasionally\nrevisit me in my dreams.  I see him standing in the moonshine, staring me\nin the face with his deep calm eyes.  At last he said:\n\n\u201cAre you then one of us?\u201d\n\n                                * * * * *\n\nIt was late at night when we arrived at Talavera.  We went to a large\ngloomy house, which my companion informed me was the principal posada of\nthe town.  We entered the kitchen, at the extremity of which a large fire\nwas blazing.  \u201cPepita,\u201d said my companion to a handsome girl, who\nadvanced smiling towards us; \u201ca brasero and a private apartment; this\ncavalier is a friend of mine, and we shall sup together.\u201d  We were shown\nto an apartment in which were two alcoves containing beds.  After supper,\nwhich consisted of the very best, by the order of my companion, we sat\nover the brasero and commenced talking.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Of course you have conversed with Englishmen before, else you\ncould not have recognized me by the tone of my voice.\n\n_Abarbenel_.\u2014I was a young lad when the war of the Independence broke\nout, and there came to the village in which our family lived an English\nofficer in order to teach discipline to the new levies.  He was quartered\nin my father\u2019s house, where he conceived a great affection for me.  On\nhis departure, with the consent of my father, I attended him through the\nCastiles, partly as companion, partly as domestic.  I was with him nearly\na year, when he was suddenly summoned to return to his own country.  He\nwould fain have taken me with him, but to that my father would by no\nmeans consent.  It is now five-and-twenty years since I last saw an\nEnglishman; but you have seen how I recognized you even in the dark\nnight.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014And what kind of life do you pursue, and by what means do you\nobtain support?\n\n_Abarbenel_.\u2014I experience no difficulty.  I live much in the same way as\nI believe my forefathers lived; certainly as my father did, for his\ncourse has been mine.  At his death I took possession of the herencia,\nfor I was his only child.  It was not requisite that I should follow any\nbusiness, for my wealth was great; yet, to avoid remark, I followed that\nof my father, who was a longanizero.  I have occasionally dealt in wool:\nbut lazily, lazily\u2014as I had no stimulus for exertion.  I was, however,\nsuccessful in many instances, strangely so; much more than many others\nwho toiled day and night, and whose whole soul was in the trade.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Have you any children?  Are you married?\n\n_Abarbenel_.\u2014I have no children though I am married.  I have a wife and\nan amiga, or I should rather say two wives, for I am wedded to both.  I\nhowever call one my amiga, for appearance sake, for I wish to live in\nquiet, and am unwilling to offend the prejudices of the surrounding\npeople.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014You say you are wealthy.  In what does your wealth consist?\n\n_Abarbenel_.\u2014In gold and silver, and stones of price; for I have\ninherited all the hoards of my forefathers.  The greater part is buried\nunder ground; indeed, I have never examined the tenth part of it.  I have\ncoins of silver and gold older than the times of Ferdinand the Accursed\nand Jezebel; I have also large sums employed in usury.  We keep ourselves\nclose, however, and pretend to be poor, miserably so; but on certain\noccasions, at our festivals, when our gates are barred, and our savage\ndogs are let loose in the court, we eat our food off services such as the\nQueen of Spain cannot boast of, and wash our feet in ewers of silver,\nfashioned and wrought before the Americas were discovered, though our\ngarments are at all times coarse, and our food for the most part of the\nplainest description.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Are there more of you than yourself and your two wives?\n\n_Abarbenel_.\u2014There are my two servants, who are likewise of us; the one\nis a youth, and is about to leave, being betrothed to one at some\ndistance; the other is old; he is now upon the road, following me with a\nmule and car.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014And whither are you bound at present?\n\n_Abarbenel_.\u2014To Toledo, where I ply my trade occasionally of longanizero.\nI love to wander about, though I seldom stray far from home.  Since I\nleft the Englishman my feet have never once stepped beyond the bounds of\nNew Castile.  I love to visit Toledo, and to think of the times which\nhave long since departed; I should establish myself there, were there not\nso many accursed ones, who look upon me with an evil eye.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Are you known for what you are?  Do the authorities molest you?\n\n_Abarbenel_.\u2014People of course suspect me to be what I am; but as I\nconform outwardly in most respects to their ways, they do not interfere\nwith me.  True it is that sometimes, when I enter the church to hear the\nmass, they glare at me over the left shoulder, as much as to say\u2014\u201cWhat do\nyou here?\u201d  And sometimes they cross themselves as I pass by; but as they\ngo no further, I do not trouble myself on that account.  With respect to\nthe authorities, they are not bad friends of mine.  Many of the higher\nclass have borrowed money from me on usury, so that I have them to a\ncertain extent in my power, and as for the low alguazils and corchetes,\nthey would do any thing to oblige me in consideration of a few dollars,\nwhich I occasionally give them; so that matters upon the whole go on\nremarkably well.  Of old, indeed, it was far otherwise; yet, I know not\nhow it was, though other families suffered much, ours always enjoyed a\ntolerable share of tranquillity.  The truth is, that our family has\nalways known how to guide itself wonderfully.  I may say there is much of\nthe wisdom of the snake amongst us.  We have always possessed friends;\nand with respect to enemies, it is by no means safe to meddle with us;\nfor it is a rule of our house never to forgive an injury, and to spare\nneither trouble nor expense in bringing ruin and destruction upon the\nheads of our evil doers.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Do the priests interfere with you?\n\n_Abarbenel_.\u2014They let me alone, especially in our own neighbourhood.\nShortly after the death of my father, one hot-headed individual\nendeavoured to do me an evil turn, but I soon requited him, causing him\nto be imprisoned on a charge of blasphemy, and in prison he remained a\nlong time, till he went mad and died.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Have you a head in Spain, in whom is rested the chief\nauthority?\n\n_Abarbenel_.\u2014Not exactly.  There are, however, certain holy families who\nenjoy much consideration; my own is one of these\u2014the chiefest, I may say.\nMy grandsire was a particularly holy man; and I have heard my father say,\nthat one night an archbishop came to his house secretly, merely to have\nthe satisfaction of kissing his head.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014How can that be; what reverence could an archbishop entertain\nfor one like yourself or your grandsire?\n\n_Abarbenel_.\u2014More than you imagine.  He was one of us, at least his\nfather was, and he could never forget what he had learned with reverence\nin his infancy.  He said he had tried to forget it, but he could not;\nthat the _ruah_ was continually upon him, and that even from his\nchildhood he had borne its terrors with a troubled mind, till at last he\ncould bear himself no longer; so he went to my grandsire, with whom he\nremained one whole night; he then returned to his diocese, where he\nshortly afterwards died, in much renown for sanctity.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014What you say surprises me.  Have you reason to suppose that\nmany of you are to be found amongst the priesthood?\n\n_Abarbenel_.\u2014Not to suppose, but to know it.  There are many such as I\namongst the priesthood, and not amongst the inferior priesthood either;\nsome of the most learned and famed of them in Spain have been of us, or\nof our blood at least, and many of them at this day think as I do.  There\nis one particular festival of the year at which four dignified\necclesiastics are sure to visit me; and then, when all is made close and\nsecure, and the fitting ceremonies have been gone through, they sit down\nupon the floor and curse.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Are you numerous in the large towns?\n\n_Abarbenel_.\u2014By no means; our places of abode are seldom the large towns;\nwe prefer the villages, and rarely enter the large towns but on business.\nIndeed we are not a numerous people, and there are few provinces of Spain\nwhich contain more than twenty families.  None of us are poor, and those\namong us who serve, do so more from choice than necessity, for by serving\neach other we acquire different trades.  Not unfrequently the time of\nservice is that of courtship also, and the servants eventually marry the\ndaughters of the house.\n\nWe continued in discourse the greater part of the night; the next morning\nI prepared to depart.  My companion, however, advised me to remain where\nI was for that day.  \u201cAnd if you respect my counsel,\u201d said he, \u201cyou will\nnot proceed farther in this manner.  To-night the diligence will arrive\nfrom Estremadura, on its way to Madrid.  Deposit yourself therein; it is\nthe safest and most speedy mode of travelling.  As for your animal, I\nwill myself purchase her.  My servant is here, and has informed me that\nshe will be of service to us.  Let us, therefore, pass the day together\nin communion, like brothers, and then proceed on our separate journeys.\u201d\nWe did pass the day together; and when the diligence arrived I deposited\nmyself within, and on the morning of the second day arrived at Madrid.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\n\nLodging at Madrid\u2014My Hostess\u2014British\nAmbassador\u2014Mendizabal\u2014Baltasar\u2014Duties of a National\u2014Young Blood\u2014The\nExecution\u2014Population of Madrid\u2014The Higher Orders\u2014The Lower Classes\u2014The\nBull-fighter\u2014The Crabbed Git\u00e1no.\n\nIt was the commencement of February when I reached Madrid.  After staying\na few days at a posada, I removed to a lodging which I engaged at No. 3,\nin the Calle de la Zarza, a dark dirty street, which, however, was close\nto the Puerta del Sol, the most central point of Madrid, into which four\nor five of the principal streets debouche, and which is, at all times of\nthe year, the great place of assemblage for the idlers of the capital,\npoor or rich.\n\nIt was rather a singular house in which I had taken up my abode.  I\noccupied the front part of the first floor; my apartments consisted of an\nimmense parlour, and a small chamber on one side in which I slept; the\nparlour, notwithstanding its size, contained very little furniture: a few\nchairs, a table, and a species of sofa, constituted the whole.  It was\nvery cold and airy, owing to the draughts which poured in from three\nlarge windows, and from sundry doors.  The mistress of the house,\nattended by her two daughters, ushered me in.  \u201cDid you ever see a more\nmagnificent apartment?\u201d demanded the former; \u201cis it not fit for a king\u2019s\nson?  Last winter it was occupied by the great General Espartero.\u201d\n\nThe hostess was an exceedingly fat woman, a native of Valladolid, in Old\nCastile.  \u201cHave you any other family,\u201d I demanded, \u201cbesides these\ndaughters?\u201d  \u201cTwo sons,\u201d she replied; \u201cone of them an officer in the\narmy, father of this urchin,\u201d pointing to a wicked but clever looking boy\nof about twelve, who at that moment bounded into the room; \u201cthe other is\nthe most celebrated national in Madrid: he is a tailor by trade, and his\nname is Baltasar.  He has much influence with the other nationals, on\naccount of the liberality of his opinions, and a word from him is\nsufficient to bring them all out armed and furious to the Puerta del Sol.\nHe is, however, at present confined to his bed, for he is very dissipated\nand fond of the company of bull-fighters and people still worse.\u201d\n\nAs my principal motive for visiting the Spanish capital was the hope of\nobtaining permission from the government to print the New Testament in\nthe Castilian language, for circulation in Spain, I lost no time, upon my\narrival, in taking what I considered to be the necessary steps.\n\nI was an entire stranger at Madrid, and bore no letters of introduction\nto any persons of influence, who might have assisted me in this\nundertaking, so that, notwithstanding I entertained a hope of success,\nrelying on the assistance of the Almighty, this hope was not at all times\nvery vivid, but was frequently overcast with the clouds of despondency.\n\nMendizabal was at this time prime minister of Spain, and was considered\nas a man of almost unbounded power, in whose hands were placed the\ndestinies of the country.  I therefore considered that if I could by any\nmeans induce him to favour my views, I should have no reason to fear\ninterruption from other quarters, and I determined upon applying to him.\n\nBefore talking this step, however, I deemed it advisable to wait upon Mr.\nVilliers, the British ambassador at Madrid; and with the freedom\npermitted to a British subject, to ask his advice in this affair.  I was\nreceived with great kindness, and enjoyed a conversation with him on\nvarious subjects before I introduced the matter which I had most at\nheart.  He said that if I wished for an interview with Mendizabal, he\nwould endeavour to procure me one, but, at the same time, told me frankly\nthat he could not hope that any good would arise from it, as he knew him\nto be violently prejudiced against the British and Foreign Bible Society,\nand was far more likely to discountenance than encourage any efforts\nwhich they might be disposed to make for introducing the Gospel into\nSpain.  I, however, remained resolute in my desire to make the trial, and\nbefore I left him, obtained a letter of introduction to Mendizabal.\n\nEarly one morning I repaired to the palace, in a wing of which was the\noffice of the Prime Minister; it was bitterly cold, and the Guadarama, of\nwhich there is a noble view from the palace-plain, was covered with snow.\nFor at least three hours I remained shivering with cold in an ante-room,\nwith several other aspirants for an interview with the man of power.  At\nlast his private secretary made his appearance, and after putting various\nquestions to the others, addressed himself to me, asking who I was and\nwhat I wanted.  I told him that I was an Englishman, and the bearer of a\nletter from the British Minister.  \u201cIf you have no objection, I will\nmyself deliver it to His Excellency,\u201d said he; whereupon I handed it to\nhim and he withdrew.  Several individuals were admitted before me; at\nlast, however, my own turn came, and I was ushered into the presence of\nMendizabal.\n\nHe stood behind a table covered with papers, on which his eyes were\nintently fixed.  He took not the slightest notice when I entered, and I\nhad leisure enough to survey him: he was a huge athletic man, somewhat\ntaller than myself, who measure six feet two without my shoes; his\ncomplexion was florid, his features fine and regular, his nose quite\naquiline, and his teeth splendidly white: though scarcely fifty years of\nage, his hair was remarkably grey; he was dressed in a rich morning gown,\nwith a gold chain round his neck, and morocco slippers on his feet.\n\nHis secretary, a fine intellectual looking man, who, as I was\nsubsequently informed, had acquired a name both in English and Spanish\nliterature, stood at one end of the table with papers in his hands.\n\nAfter I had been standing about a quarter of an hour, Mendizabal suddenly\nlifted up a pair of sharp eyes, and fixed them upon me with a peculiarly\nscrutinizing glance.\n\n\u201cI have seen a glance very similar to that amongst the Beni Israel,\u201d\nthought I to myself. . . .\n\n                                * * * * *\n\nMy interview with him lasted nearly an hour.  Some singular discourse\npassed between us: I found him, as I had been informed, a bitter enemy to\nthe Bible Society, of which he spoke in terms of hatred and contempt, and\nby no means a friend to the Christian religion, which I could easily\naccount for.  I was not discouraged, however, and pressed upon him the\nmatter which brought me thither, and was eventually so far successful, as\nto obtain a promise, that at the expiration of a few months, when he\nhoped the country would be in a more tranquil state, I should be allowed\nto print the Scriptures.\n\nAs I was going away he said, \u201cYours is not the first application I have\nhad; ever since I have held the reins of government I have been pestered\nin this manner, by English calling themselves Evangelical Christians, who\nhave of late come flocking over into Spain.  Only last week a hunchbacked\nfellow found his way into my cabinet whilst I was engaged in important\nbusiness, and told me that Christ was coming. . . . And now you have made\nyour appearance, and almost persuaded me to embroil myself yet more with\nthe priesthood, as if they did not abhor me enough already.  What a\nstrange infatuation is this which drives you over lands and waters with\nBibles in your hands.  My good sir, it is not Bibles we want, but rather\nguns and gunpowder, to put the rebels down with, and above all, money,\nthat we may pay the troops; whenever you come with these three things you\nshall have a hearty welcome, if not, we really can dispense with your\nvisits, however great the honour.\u201d\n\n_Myself_.\u2014There will be no end to the troubles of this afflicted country\nuntil the gospel have free circulation.\n\n_Mendizabal_.\u2014I expected that answer, for I have not lived thirteen years\nin England without forming some acquaintance with the phraseology of you\ngood folks.  Now, now, pray go; you see how engaged I am.  Come again\nwhenever you please, but let it not be within the next three months.\n\n\u201cDon Jorge,\u201d said my hostess, coming into my apartment one morning,\nwhilst I sat at breakfast with my feet upon the brasero, \u201chere is my son\nBaltasarito, the national; he has risen from his bed, and hearing that\nthere is an Englishman in the house, he has begged me to introduce him,\nfor he loves Englishmen on account of the liberality of their opinions;\nthere he is, what do you think of him?\u201d\n\nI did not state to his mother what I thought; it appeared to me, however,\nthat she was quite right calling him Baltasarito, which is the diminutive\nof Baltasar, forasmuch as that ancient and sonorous name had certainly\nnever been bestowed on a more diminutive personage: he might measure\nabout five feet one inch, though he was rather corpulent for his height;\nhis face looked yellow and sickly, he had, however, a kind of\nfanfaronading air, and his eyes, which were of dark brown, were both\nsharp and brilliant.  His dress, or rather his undress, was somewhat\nshabby: he had a foraging cap on his head, and in lieu of a morning gown,\nhe wore a sentinel\u2019s old great coat.\n\n\u201cI am glad to make your acquaintance, se\u00f1or nacional,\u201d said I to him,\nafter his mother had departed, and Baltasar had taken his seat, and of\ncourse lighted a paper cigar at the brasero.  \u201cI am glad to have made\nyour acquaintance, more especially as your lady mother has informed me\nthat you have great influence with the nationals.  I am a stranger in\nSpain, and may want a friend; fortune has been kind to me in procuring me\none who is a member of so powerful a body.\u201d\n\n_Baltasar_.\u2014Yes, I have a great deal to say with the other nationals;\nthere is none in Madrid better known than Baltasar, or more dreaded by\nthe Carlists.  You say you may stand in need of a friend; there is no\nfear of my failing you in any emergency.  Both myself and any of the\nother nationals will be proud to go out with you as padrinos, should you\nhave any affair of honour on your hands.  But why do you not become one\nof us?  We would gladly receive you into our body.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Is the duty of a national particularly hard?\n\n_Baltasar_.\u2014By no means; we have to do duty about once every fifteen\ndays, and then there is occasionally a review, which does not last long.\nNo! the duties of a national are by no means onerous, and the privileges\nare great.  I have seen three of my brother nationals walk up and down\nthe Prado of a Sunday, with sticks in their hands, cudgelling all the\nsuspicious characters, and it is our common practice to scour the streets\nat night, and then if we meet any person who is obnoxious to us, we fall\nupon him, and with a knife or a bayonet generally leave him wallowing in\nhis blood on the pavement: no one but a national would be permitted to do\nthat.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Of course none but persons of liberal opinions are to be found\namongst the nationals?\n\n_Baltasar_.\u2014Would it were so!  There are some amongst us, Don Jorge, who\nare no better than they should be; they are few, however, and for the\nmost part well known.  Theirs is no pleasant life, for when they mount\nguard with the rest they are scouted, and not unfrequently cudgelled.\nThe law compels all of a certain age either to serve in the army or to\nbecome national soldiers on which account some of these Godos are to be\nfound amongst us.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Are there many in Madrid of the Carlist opinion?\n\n_Baltasar_.\u2014Not among the young people; the greater part of the\nMadrilenian Carlists capable of bearing arms departed long ago to join\nthe ranks of the factious in the Basque provinces.  Those who remain are\nfor the most part grey-beards and priests, good for nothing but to\nassemble in private coffee-houses, and to prate treason together.  Let\nthem prate, Don Jorge; let them prate; the destinies of Spain do not\ndepend on the wishes of ojalateros and pasteleros, but on the hands of\nstout gallant nationals like myself and friends, Don Jorge.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I am sorry to learn from your lady mother, that you are\nstrangely dissipated.\n\n_Baltasar_.\u2014Ho, ho, Don Jorge, she has told you that, has she; what would\nyou have, Don Jorge?  I am young, and young blood will have its course.\nI am called Baltasar the gay by all the other nationals, and it is on\naccount of my gaiety and the liberality of my opinions that I am so\npopular among them.  When I mount guard I invariably carry my guitar with\nme, and then there is sure to be a function at the guard-house.  We send\nfor wine, Don Jorge, and the nationals become wild, Don Jorge, dancing\nand drinking through the night, whilst Baltasarito strums the guitar and\nsings them songs of Germania:\n\n    \u201cUna romi sin pachi\n    Le peno \u00e1 su chindomar,\u201d &c., &c.\n\nThat is Gitano, Don Jorge; I learnt it from the toreros of Andalusia, who\nall speak Gitano, and are mostly of Gypsy blood.  I learnt it from them;\nthey are all friends of mine, Montes Sevilla and Poquito Pan.  I never\nmiss a function of bulls, Don Jorge.  Baltasar is sure to be there with\nhis amiga.  Don Jorge, there are no bull-functions in the winter, or I\nwould carry you to one, but happily to-morrow there is an execution, a\nfuncion de la horca; and there we will go, Don Jorge.\n\nWe did go to see this execution, which I shall long remember.  The\ncriminals were two young men, brothers; they suffered for a most\natrocious murder, having in the dead of night broke open the house of an\naged man, whom they put to death, and whose property they stole.\nCriminals in Spain are not hanged as they are in England, or guillotined\nas in France, but strangled upon a wooden stage.  They sit down on a kind\nof chair with a post behind, to which is affixed an iron collar with a\nscrew; this iron collar is made to clasp the neck of the prisoner, and on\na certain signal it is drawn tighter and tighter by means of the screw,\nuntil life becomes extinct.  After we had waited amongst the assembled\nmultitude a considerable time, the first of the culprits appeared; he was\nmounted on an ass, without saddle or stirrups, his legs being allowed to\ndangle nearly to the ground.  He was dressed in yellow sulphur-coloured\nrobes, with a high-peaked conical red hat on his head, which was shaven.\nBetween his hands he held a parchment, on which was written something, I\nbelieve the confession of faith.  Two priests led the animal by the\nbridle; two others walked on either side, chanting litanies, amongst\nwhich I distinguished the words of heavenly peace and tranquillity, for\nthe culprit had been reconciled to the church, had confessed and received\nabsolution, and had been promised admission to heaven.  He did not\nexhibit the least symptom of fear, but dismounted from the animal and was\nled, not supported, up the scaffold, where he was placed on the chair,\nand the fatal collar put round his neck.  One of the priests then in a\nloud voice commenced saying the Belief, and the culprit repeated the\nwords after him.  On a sudden, the executioner, who stood behind,\ncommenced turning the screw, which was of prodigious force, and the\nwretched man\u2014was almost instantly a corpse; but, as the screw went round,\nthe priest began to shout, \u201c_pax et misericordia et tranquillitas_,\u201d and\nstill as he shouted, his voice became louder and louder, till the lofty\nwalls of Madrid rang with it: then stooping down, he placed his mouth\nclose to the culprit\u2019s ear, still shouting, just as if he would pursue\nthe spirit through its course to eternity, cheering it on its way.  The\neffect was tremendous.  I myself was so excited that I involuntarily\nshouted \u201c_misericordia_,\u201d and so did many others.  God was not thought\nof; Christ was not thought of; only the priest was thought of, for he\nseemed at that moment to be the first being in existence, and to have the\npower of opening and shutting the gates of heaven or of hell, just as he\nshould think proper.  A striking instance of the successful working of\nthe Popish system, whose grand aim has ever been to keep people\u2019s minds\nas far as possible from God, and to centre their hopes and fears in the\npriesthood.  The execution of the second culprit was precisely similar;\nhe ascended the scaffold a few minutes after his brother had breathed his\nlast.\n\nI have visited most of the principal capitals of the world, but upon the\nwhole none has ever so interested me as this city of Madrid, in which I\nnow found myself.  I will not dwell upon its streets, its edifices, its\npublic squares, its fountains, though some of these are remarkable\nenough: but Petersburg has finer streets, Paris and Edinburgh more\nstately edifices, London far nobler squares, whilst Shiraz can boast of\nmore costly fountains, though not cooler waters.  But the population!\nWithin a mud wall, scarcely one league and a half in circuit, are\ncontained two hundred thousand human beings, certainly forming the most\nextraordinary vital mass to be found in the entire world; and be it\nalways remembered that this mass is strictly Spanish.  The population of\nConstantinople is extraordinary enough, but to form it twenty nations\nhave contributed; Greeks, Armenians, Persians, Poles, Jews, the latter,\nby the by, of Spanish origin, and speaking amongst themselves the old\nSpanish language; but the huge population of Madrid, with the exception\nof a sprinkling of foreigners, chiefly French tailors, glove-makers and\nperuquiers, is strictly Spanish, though a considerable portion are not\nnatives of the place.  Here are no colonies of Germans, as at Saint\nPetersburg; no English factories, as at Lisbon; no multitudes of insolent\nYankees lounging through the streets as at the Havannah, with an air\nwhich seems to say, the land is our own whenever we choose to take it;\nbut a population which, however strange and wild, and composed of various\nelements, is Spanish, and will remain so as long as the city itself shall\nexist.  Hail, ye aguadores of Asturia! who, in your dress of coarse\nduffel and leathern skull-caps, are seen seated in hundreds by the\nfountain sides, upon your empty water-casks, or staggering with them\nfilled to the topmost stories of lofty houses.  Hail, ye caleseros of\nValencia! who, lolling lazily against your vehicles, rasp tobacco for\nyour paper cigars whilst waiting for a fare.  Hail to you, beggars of La\nMancha! men and women, who, wrapped in coarse blankets, demand charity\nindifferently at the gate of the palace or the prison.  Hail to you,\nvalets from the mountains, mayordomos and secretaries from Biscay and\nGuipuscoa, toreros from Andalusia, riposteros from Galicia, shopkeepers\nfrom Catalonia!  Hail to ye, Castilians, Estremenians and Aragonese, of\nwhatever calling!  And lastly, genuine sons of the capital, rabble of\nMadrid, ye twenty thousand manolos, whose terrible knifes, on the second\nmorning of May, worked such grim havoc amongst the legions of Murat!\n\nAnd the higher orders\u2014the ladies and gentlemen, the cavaliers and\nse\u00f1oras; shall I pass them by in silence?  The truth is I have little to\nsay about them; I mingled but little in their society, and what I saw of\nthem by no means tended to exalt them in my imagination.  I am not one of\nthose who, wherever they go, make it a constant practice to disparage the\nhigher orders, and to exalt the populace at their expense.  There are\nmany capitals in which the high aristocracy, the lords and ladies, the\nsons and daughters of nobility, constitute the most remarkable and the\nmost interesting part of the population.  This is the case at Vienna, and\nmore especially at London.  Who can rival the English aristocrat in lofty\nstature, in dignified bearing, in strength of hand, and valour of heart?\nWho rides a nobler horse?  Who has a firmer seat?  And who more lovely\nthan his wife, or sister, or daughter?  But with respect to the Spanish\naristocracy, the ladies and gentlemen, the cavaliers and se\u00f1oras, I\nbelieve the less that is said of them on the points to which I have just\nalluded the better.  I confess, however, that I know little about them;\nthey have, perhaps, their admirers, and to the pens of such I leave their\npanegyric.  Le Sage has described them as they were nearly two centuries\nago.  His description is anything but captivating, and I do not think\nthat they have improved since the period of the sketches of the immortal\nFrenchman.  I would sooner talk of the lower class, not only of Madrid\nbut of all Spain.  The Spaniard of the lower class has much more interest\nfor me, whether manolo, labourer, or muleteer.  He is not a common being;\nhe is an extraordinary man.  He has not, it is true, the amiability and\ngenerosity of the Russian mujik, who will give his only rouble rather\nthan the stranger shall want; nor his placid courage, which renders him\ninsensible to fear, and at the command of his Tsar, sends him singing to\ncertain death. {127}  There is more hardness and less self-devotion in\nthe disposition of the Spaniard; he possesses, however, a spirit of proud\nindependence, which it is impossible but to admire.  He is ignorant, of\ncourse; but it is singular that I have invariably found amongst the low\nand slightly educated classes far more liberality of sentiment than\namongst the upper.  It has long been the fashion to talk of the bigotry\nof the Spaniards, and their mean jealousy of foreigners.  This is true to\na certain extent: but it chiefly holds good with respect to the upper\nclasses.  If foreign valour or talent has never received its proper meed\nin Spain, the great body of the Spaniards are certainly not in fault.  I\nhave heard Wellington calumniated in this proud scene of his triumphs,\nbut never by the old soldiers of Aragon and the Asturias, who assisted to\nvanquish the French at Salamanca and the Pyrenees.  I have heard the\nmanner of riding of an English jockey criticized, but it was by the\nidiotic heir of Medina Celi, and not by a picador of the Madrilenian bull\nring.\n\nApropos of bull-fighters:\u2014Shortly after my arrival, I one day entered a\nlow tavern in a neighbourhood notorious for robbery and murder, and in\nwhich for the last two hours I had been wandering on a voyage of\ndiscovery.  I was fatigued, and required refreshment.  I found the place\nthronged with people, who had all the appearance of ruffians.  I saluted\nthem, upon which they made way for me to the bar, taking off their\nsombreros with great ceremony.  I emptied a glass of val de pe\u00f1as, and\nwas about to pay for it and depart, when a horrible looking fellow,\ndressed in a buff jerkin, leather breeches, and jackboots, which came\nhalf way up his thighs, and having on his head a white hat, the rims of\nwhich were at least a yard and a half in circumference, pushed through\nthe crowd, and confronting me, roared:\u2014\n\n\u201c_Otra copita_! _vamos Inglesito_: _Otra copita_!\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you, my good sir, you are very kind, you appear to know me, but I\nhave not the honour of knowing you.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot know me!\u201d replied the being.  \u201cI am Sevilla, the torero.  I know you\nwell; you are the friend of Baltasarito, the national, who is a friend of\nmine, and a very good subject.\u201d\n\nThen turning to the company, he said in a sonorous tone, laying a strong\nemphasis on the last syllable of every word, according to the custom of\nthe gente rufianesca throughout Spain:\n\n\u201cCavaliers, and strong men, this cavalier is the friend of a friend of\nmine.  _Es mucho hombre_.  There is none like him in Spain.  He speaks\nthe crabbed Gitano though he is an Inglesito.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe do not believe it,\u201d replied several grave voices.  \u201cIt is not\npossible.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is not possible, say you?  I tell you it is.  Come forward, Balseiro,\nyou who have been in prison all your life, and are always boasting that\nyou can speak the crabbed Gitano, though I say you know nothing of\nit\u2014come forward and speak to his worship in the crabbed Gitano.\u201d\n\nA low, slight, but active figure stepped forward.  He was in his shirt\nsleeves, and wore a montero cap; his features were handsome, but they\nwere those of a demon.\n\nHe spoke a few words in the broken Gypsy slang of the prison, inquiring\nof me whether I had ever been in the condemned cell, and whether I knew\nwhat a Gitana {128} was?\n\n\u201cVamos Inglesito,\u201d shouted Sevilla in a voice of thunder; \u201canswer the\nmonro in the crabbed Gitano.\u201d\n\nI answered the robber, for such he was, and one, too, whose name will\nlive for many a year in the ruffian histories of Madrid; I answered him\nin a speech of some length, in the dialect of the Estremenian Gypsies.\n\n\u201cI believe it is the crabbed Gitano,\u201d muttered Balseiro.  \u201cIt is either\nthat or English, for I understand not a word of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid I not say to you,\u201d cried the bull-fighter, \u201cthat you knew nothing of\nthe crabbed Gitano?  But this Inglesito does.  I understood all he said.\nVaya, there is none like him for the crabbed Gitano.  He is a good\nginete, too; next to myself, there is none like him, only he rides with\nstirrup leathers too short.  Inglesito, if you have need of money, I will\nlend you my purse.  All I have is at your service, and that is not a\nlittle; I have just gained four thousand chul\u00e9s by the lottery.  Courage,\nEnglishman!  Another cup.  I will pay all.  I, Sevilla!\u201d\n\nAnd he clapped his hand repeatedly on his breast, reiterating \u201cI,\nSevilla!  I\u2014\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\n\nIntrigues at Court\u2014Quesada and Galiano\u2014Dissolution of the Cortes\u2014The\nSecretary\u2014Aragonese Pertinacity\u2014The Council of Trent\u2014The Asturian\u2014The\nThree Thieves\u2014Benedict Mol\u2014The Men of Lucerne\u2014The Treasure.\n\nMendizabal had told me to call upon him again at the end of three months,\ngiving me hopes that he would not then oppose himself to the publication\nof the New Testament; before, however, the three months had elapsed, he\nhad fallen into disgrace, and had ceased to be prime minister.\n\nAn intrigue had been formed against him, at the head of which were two\nquondam friends of his, and fellow-townsmen, Gaditanians, Isturitz and\nAlcala Galiano; both of them had been egregious liberals in their day,\nand indeed principal members of those cortes which, on the Angouleme\ninvasion, had hurried Ferdinand from Madrid to Cadiz, and kept him\nprisoner there until that impregnable town thought proper to surrender,\nand both of them had been subsequently refugees in England, where they\nhad spent a considerable number of years.\n\nThese gentlemen, however, finding themselves about this time exceedingly\npoor, and not seeing any immediate prospect of advantage from supporting\nMendizabal; considering themselves, moreover, quite as good men as he,\nand as capable of governing Spain in the present emergency; determined to\nsecede from the party of their friend, whom they had hitherto supported,\nand to set up for themselves.\n\nThey therefore formed an opposition to Mendizabal in the cortes; the\nmembers of this opposition assumed the name of moderados, in\ncontradistinction to Mendizabal and his followers, who were ultra\nliberals.  The moderados were encouraged by the Queen Regent Christina,\nwho aimed at a little more power than the liberals were disposed to allow\nher, and who had a personal dislike to the minister.  They were likewise\nencouraged by Cordova, who at that time commanded the army, and was\ndispleased with Mendizabal, inasmuch as the latter did not supply the\npecuniary demands of the general with sufficient alacrity, though it is\nsaid that the greater part of what was sent for the payment of the troops\nwas not devoted to that purpose, but, was invested in the French funds in\nthe name and for the use and behoof of the said Cordova.\n\nIt is, however, by no means my intention to write an account of the\npolitical events which were passing around me at this period; suffice it\nto say, that Mendizabal finding himself thwarted in all his projects by\nthe regent and the general, the former of whom would adopt no measure\nwhich he recommended, whilst the latter remained inactive and refused to\nengage the enemy, which by this time had recovered from the check caused\nby the death of Zumalacarregui, and was making considerable progress,\nresigned and left the field for the time open to his adversaries, though\nhe possessed an immense majority in the cortes, and had the voice of the\nnation, at least the liberal part of it, in his favour.\n\nThereupon, Isturitz became head of the cabinet, Galiano minister of\nmarine, and a certain Duke of Rivas minister of the interior.  These were\nthe heads of the moderado government, but as they were by no means\npopular at Madrid, and feared the nationals, they associated with\nthemselves one who hated the latter body and feared nothing, a man of the\nname of Quesada, a very stupid individual, but a great fighter, who, at\none period of his life, had commanded a legion or body of men called the\nArmy of the Faith, whose exploits both on the French and Spanish side of\nthe Pyrenees are too well known to require recapitulation.  This person\nwas made captain general of Madrid.\n\nBy far the most clever member of this government was Galiano, whose\nacquaintance I had formed shortly after my arrival.  He was a man of\nconsiderable literature, and particularly well versed in that of his own\ncountry.  He was, moreover, a fluent, elegant, and forcible speaker, and\nwas to the moderado party within the cortes what Quesada was without,\nnamely, their horses and chariots.  Why he was made minister of marine is\ndifficult to say, as Spain did not possess any; perhaps, however, from\nhis knowledge of the English language, which he spoke and wrote nearly as\nwell as his own tongue, having indeed during his sojourn in England\nchiefly supported himself by writing for reviews and journals, an\nhonourable occupation, but to which few foreign exiles in England would\nbe qualified to devote themselves.\n\nHe was a very small and irritable man, and a bitter enemy to every person\nwho stood in the way of his advancement.  He hated Mendizabal with\nundisguised rancour, and never spoke of him but in terms of unmeasured\ncontempt.  \u201cI am afraid that I shall have some difficulty in inducing\nMendizabal to give me permission to print the Testament,\u201d said I to him\none day.  \u201cMendizabal is a jackass,\u201d replied Galiano.  \u201cCaligula made his\nhorse consul, which I suppose induced Lord\u2014to send over this huge burro\nof the Stock Exchange to be our minister.\u201d\n\nIt would be very ungrateful on my part were I not to confess my great\nobligations to Galiano, who assisted me to the utmost of his power in the\nbusiness which had brought me to Spain.  Shortly after the ministry was\nformed, I went to him and said, \u201cthat now or never was the time to make\nan effort in my behalf.\u201d  \u201cI will do so,\u201d said he, in a waspish tone; for\nhe always spoke waspishly whether to friend or foe; \u201cbut you must have\npatience for a few days, we are very much occupied at present.  We have\nbeen outvoted in the cortes, and this afternoon we intend to dissolve\nthem.  It is believed that the rascals will refuse to depart, but Quesada\nwill stand at the door ready to turn them out, should they prove\nrefractory.  Come along, and you will perhaps see a funcion.\u201d\n\nAfter an hour\u2019s debate, the cortes were dissolved without it being\nnecessary to call in the aid of the redoubtable Quesada, and Galiano\nforthwith gave me a letter to his colleague the Duke of Rivas, in whose\ndepartment he told me was vested the power either of giving or refusing\nthe permission to print the book in question.  The duke was a very\nhandsome young man, of about thirty, an Andalusian by birth, like his two\ncolleagues.  He had published several works, tragedies, I believe, and\nenjoyed a certain kind of literary reputation.  He received me with the\ngreatest affability; and having heard what I had to say, he replied with\na most captivating bow, and a genuine Andalusian grimace: \u201cGo to my\nsecretary; go to my secretary\u2014_el hara por usted el gusio_.\u201d  So I went\nto the secretary, whose name was Oliban, an Aragonese, who was not\nhandsome, and whose manners were neither elegant nor affable.  \u201cYou want\npermission to print the Testament?\u201d  \u201cI do,\u201d said I.  \u201cAnd you have come\nto His Excellency about it,\u201d continued Oliban.  \u201cVery true,\u201d I replied.\n\u201cI suppose you intend to print it without notes.\u201d  \u201cYes.\u201d  \u201cThen His\nExcellency cannot give you permission,\u201d said the Aragonese secretary: \u201cit\nwas determined by the Council of Trent that no part of the Scripture\nshould be printed in any Christian country without the notes of the\nchurch.\u201d  \u201cHow many years was that ago?\u201d I demanded.  \u201cI do not know how\nmany years ago it was,\u201d said Oliban; \u201cbut such was the decree of the\nCouncil of Trent.\u201d  \u201cIs Spain at present governed according to the\ndecrees of the Council of Trent?\u201d I inquired.  \u201cIn some points she is,\u201d\nanswered the Aragonese, \u201cand this is one.  But tell me who are you?  Are\nyou known to the British minister?\u201d  \u201cO yes, and he takes a great\ninterest in the matter.\u201d  \u201cDoes he?\u201d said Oliban; \u201cthat indeed alters the\ncase: if you can show me that His Excellency takes in interest in this\nbusiness, I certainly shall not oppose myself to it.\u201d\n\nThe British minister performed all I could wish, and much more than I\ncould expect; he had an interview with the Duke of Rivas, with whom he\nhad much discourse upon my affair: the duke was all smiles and courtesy.\nHe moreover wrote a private letter to the duke, which he advised me to\npresent when I next paid him a visit, and, to crown all, he wrote a\nletter directed to myself, in which he did me the honour to say that he\nhad a regard for me, and that nothing would afford him greater pleasure\nthan to hear that I had obtained the permission which I was seeking.  So\nI went to the duke, and delivered the letter.  He was ten times more kind\nand affable than before: he read the letter, smiled most sweetly, and\nthen, as if seized with sudden enthusiasm, he extended his arms in a\nmanner almost theatrical, exclaiming, \u201c_Al secretario_, _el hara por\nusted el gusto_.\u201d  Away I hurried to the secretary, who received me with\nall the coolness of an icicle: I related to him the words of his\nprincipal, and then put into his hand the letter of the British minister\nto myself.  The secretary read it very deliberately, and then said that\nit was evident His Excellency did take an interest in the matter.  He\nthen asked me my name, and taking a sheet of paper, sat down as if for\nthe purpose of writing the permission.  I was in ecstasy\u2014all of a sudden,\nhowever, he stopped, lifted up his head, seemed to consider a moment, and\nthen putting his pen behind his ear, he said, \u201cAmongst the decrees of the\nCouncil of Trent is one to the effect\u201d . . .\n\n\u201cOh dear!\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cA singular person is this Oliban,\u201d said I to Galiano; \u201cyou cannot\nimagine what trouble he gives me: he is continually talking about the\nCouncil of Trent.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish he was in the Trent up to the middle,\u201d said Galiano, who, as I\nhave observed already, spoke excellent English; \u201cI wish he was there for\ntalking such nonsense.  However,\u201d said he, \u201cwe must not offend Oliban, he\nis one of us, and has done us much service; he is, moreover, a very\nclever man, but he is an Aragonese, and when one of that nation once gets\nan idea into his head, it is the most difficult thing in the world to\ndislodge it; however, we will go to him; he is an old friend of mine, and\nI have no doubt but that we shall be able to make him listen to reason.\u201d\nSo the next day I called upon Galiano, at his marine or admiralty office\n(what shall I call it?), and from thence we proceeded to the bureau of\nthe interior, a magnificent edifice, which had formerly been the casa of\nthe Inquisition, where we had an interview with Oliban, whom Galiano took\naside to the window, and there held with him a long conversation, which,\nas they spoke in whispers, and the room was immensely large, I did not\nhear.  At length Galiano came to me and said, \u201cThere is some difficulty\nwith respect to this business of yours, but I have told Oliban that you\nare a friend of mine, and he says that that is sufficient; remain with\nhim now, and he will do anything to oblige you; your affair is\nsettled\u2014farewell\u201d; whereupon he departed and I remained with Oliban, who\nproceeded forthwith to write something, which having concluded, he took\nout a box of cigars, and having lighted one and offered me another, which\nI declined as I do not smoke, he placed his feet against the table, and\nthus proceeded to address me, speaking in the French language.\n\n\u201cIt is with great pleasure that I see you in this capital, and, I may\nsay, upon this business.  I consider it a disgrace to Spain that there is\nno edition of the Gospel in circulation, at least such a one as would be\nwithin the reach of all classes of society, the highest or poorest; one\nunencumbered with notes and commentaries, human devices, swelling it to\nan unwieldy bulk.  I have no doubt that such an edition as you propose to\nprint, would have a most beneficial influence on the minds of the people,\nwho, between ourselves, know nothing of pure religion; how should they?\nseeing that the Gospel has always been sedulously kept from them, just as\nif civilization could exist where the light of the Gospel beameth not.\nThe moral regeneration of Spain depends upon the free circulation of the\nScriptures; to which alone England, your own happy country, is indebted\nfor its high state of civilization, and the unmatched prosperity which it\nat present enjoys; all this I admit, in fact, reason compels me to do so,\nbut\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cNow for it,\u201d thought I.\n\n\u201cBut\u201d\u2014and then he began to talk once more of the wearisome Council of\nTrent, and I found that his writing in the paper, the offer of the cigar,\nand the long and prosy harangue were\u2014what shall I call it?\u2014mere \u03c6\u03bb\u03c5\u03b1\u03c1\u03af\u03b1.\n\nBy this time the spring was far advanced, the sides though not the tops\nof the Guadarama hills had long since lost their snows; the trees of the\nPrado had donned their full foliage, and all the Campina in the\nneighbourhood of Madrid smiled and was happy: the summer heats had not\ncommenced, and the weather was truly delicious.\n\nTowards the west, at the foot of the hill on which stands Madrid, is a\ncanal running parallel with the Manzanares for some leagues, from which\nit is separated by pleasant and fertile meadows.  The banks of this\ncanal, which was begun by Carlos Tercero, and has never been completed,\nare planted with beautiful trees, and form the most delightful walk in\nthe neighbourhood of the capital.  Here I would loiter for hours looking\nat the shoals of gold and silver fish which basked on the surface of the\ngreen sunny waters, or listening, not to the warbling of birds\u2014for Spain\nis not the land of feathered choristers\u2014but to the prattle of the\nnarangero or man who sold oranges and water by a little deserted watch\ntower just opposite the wooden bridge that crosses the canal, which\nsituation he had chosen as favourable for his trade, and there had placed\nhis stall.  He was an Asturian by birth, about fifty years of age, and\nabout five feet high.  As I purchased freely of his fruit, he soon\nconceived a great friendship for me, and told me his history; it\ncontained, however, nothing very remarkable, the leading incident being\nan adventure which had befallen him amidst the mountains of Granada,\nwhere, falling into the hands of certain Gypsies, they stripped him\nnaked, and then dismissed him with a sound cudgelling.  \u201cI have wandered\nthroughout Spain,\u201d said he, \u201cand I have come to the conclusion that there\nare but two places worth living in, Malaga and Madrid.  At Malaga\neverything is very cheap, and there is such an abundance of fish, that I\nhave frequently seen them piled in heaps on the sea-shore: and as for\nMadrid, money is always stirring at the Corte, and I never go supperless\nto bed; my only care is to sell my oranges, and my only hope that when I\ndie I shall be buried yonder.\u201d\n\nAnd he pointed across the Manzanares, where, on the declivity of a gentle\nhill, at about a league\u2019s distance, shone brightly in the sunshine the\nwhite walls of the Campo Santo, or common burying ground of Madrid.\n\nHe was a fellow of infinite drollery, and, though he could scarcely read\nor write, by no means ignorant of the ways of the world; his knowledge of\nindividuals was curious and extensive, few people passing his stall with\nwhose names, character, and history he was not acquainted.  \u201cThose two\ngentry,\u201d said he, pointing to a magnificently dressed cavalier and lady,\nwho had dismounted from a carriage, and arm in arm were coming across the\nwooden bridge, followed by two attendants; \u201cthose gentry are the Infante\nFrancisco Paulo, and his wife the Neapolitana, sister of our Christina;\nhe is a very good subject, but as for his wife\u2014vaya\u2014the veriest scold in\nMadrid; she can say carrajo with the most ill-conditioned carrier of La\nMancha, giving the true emphasis and genuine pronunciation.  Don\u2019t take\noff your hat to her, amigo\u2014she has neither formality nor politeness\u2014I\nonce saluted her, and she took no more notice of me than if I had not\nbeen what I am, an Asturian and a gentleman, of better blood than\nherself.  Good day, Se\u00f1or Don Francisco.  Que tal (_how goes it_)? very\nfine weather this\u2014_vaya su merced con Dios_.  Those three fellows who\njust stopped to drink water are great thieves, true sons of the prison; I\nam always civil to them, for it would not do to be on ill terms; they pay\nme or not, just as they think proper.  I have been in some trouble on\ntheir account: about a year ago they robbed a man a little farther on\nbeyond the second bridge.  By the way, I counsel you, brother, not to go\nthere, as I believe you often do\u2014it is a dangerous place.  They robbed a\ngentleman and ill-treated him, but his brother, who was an escribano, was\nsoon upon their trail, and had them arrested; but he wanted someone to\nidentify them, and it chanced that they had stopped to drink water at my\nstall, just as they did now.  This the escribano heard of, and forthwith\nhad me away to the prison to confront me with them.  I knew them well\nenough, but I had learnt in my travels when to close my eyes and when to\nopen them; so I told the escribano that I could not say that I had ever\nseen them before.  He was in a great rage and threatened to imprison me;\nI told him he might and that I cared not.  Vaya, I was not going to\nexpose myself to the resentment of those three and to that of their\nfriends; I live too near the Hay Market for that.  Good day, my young\nmasters.\u2014Murcian oranges, as you see; the genuine dragon\u2019s blood.  Water\nsweet and cold.  Those two boys are the children of Gabiria, comptroller\nof the queen\u2019s household, and the richest man in Madrid; they are nice\nboys, and buy much fruit.  It is said their father loves them more than\nall his possessions.  The old woman who is lying beneath yon tree is the\nTia Lucilla; she has committed murders, and as she owes me money, I hope\none day to see her executed.  This man was of the Walloon guard;\u2014Se\u00f1or\nDon Benito Mol, how do you do?\u201d\n\nThis last named personage instantly engrossed my attention; he was a\nbulky old man, somewhat above the middle height, with white hair and\nruddy features; his eyes were large and blue, and whenever he fixed them\non any one\u2019s countenance, were full of an expression of great eagerness,\nas if he were expecting the communication of some important tidings.  He\nwas dressed commonly enough, in a jacket and trousers of coarse cloth of\na russet colour, on his head was an immense sombrero, the brim of which\nhad been much cut and mutilated, so as in some places to resemble the\njags or denticles of a saw.  He returned the salutation of the\norange-man, and bowing to me, forthwith produced two scented wash-balls\nwhich he offered for sale in a rough dissonant jargon, intended for\nSpanish, but which seemed more like the Valencian or Catalan.\n\nUpon my asking him who he was, the following conversation ensued between\nus:\n\n\u201cI am a Swiss of Lucerne, Benedict Mol by name, once a soldier in the\nWalloon guard, and now a soap-boiler, at your service.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou speak the language of Spain very imperfectly,\u201d said I; \u201chow long\nhave you been in the country?\u201d\n\n\u201cForty-five years,\u201d replied Benedict; \u201cbut when the guard was broken up,\nI went to Minorca, where I lost the Spanish language without acquiring\nthe Catalan.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have been a soldier of the king of Spain,\u201d said I; \u201chow did you like\nthe service?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so well, but that I should have been glad to leave it forty years\nago; the pay was bad, and the treatment worse.  I will now speak Swiss to\nyou, for, if I am not much mistaken, you are a German man, and understand\nthe speech of Lucerne; I should soon have deserted from the service of\nSpain, as I did from that of the Pope, whose soldier I was in my early\nyouth before I came here; but I had married a woman of Minorca, by whom I\nhad two children; it was this that detained me in those parts so long;\nbefore, however, I left Minorca, my wife died, and as for my children,\none went east, the other west, and I know not what became of them; I\nintend shortly to return to Lucerne, and live there like a duke.\u201d\n\n\u201cHave you, then, realized a large capital in Spain?\u201d said I, glancing at\nhis hat and the rest of his apparel.\n\n\u201cNot a cuart, not a cuart; these two wash-balls are all that I possess.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps you are the son of good parents, and have lands and money in\nyour own country wherewith to support yourself.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot a heller, not a heller; my father was hangman of Lucerne, and when\nhe died, his body was seized to pay his debts.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen doubtless,\u201d said I, \u201cyou intend to ply your trade of soap-boiling\nat Lucerne; you are quite right, my friend, I know of no occupation more\nhonourable or useful.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have no thoughts of plying my trade at Lucerne,\u201d replied Bennet; \u201cand\nnow, as I see you are a German man, Lieber Herr, and as I like your\ncountenance and your manner of speaking, I will tell you in confidence\nthat I know very little of my trade, and have already been turned out of\nseveral fabriques as an evil workman; the two wash-balls that I carry in\nmy pocket are not of my own making.  _In kurtzen_, I know little more of\nsoap-boiling than I do of tailoring, horse-farriery, or shoe-making, all\nof which I have practised.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I know not how you can hope to live like a hertzog in your native\ncanton, unless you expect that the men of Lucerne, in consideration of\nyour services to the Pope and to the king of Spain, will maintain you in\nsplendour at the public expense.\u201d\n\n\u201cLieber Herr,\u201d said Benedict, \u201cthe men of Lucerne are by no means fond of\nmaintaining the soldiers of the Pope and the king of Spain at their own\nexpense; many of the guard who have returned thither beg their bread in\nthe streets, but when I go, it shall be in a coach drawn by six mules,\nwith a treasure, a mighty schatz which lies in the church of Saint James\nof Compostella, in Galicia.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hope you do not intend to rob the church,\u201d said I; \u201cif you do,\nhowever, I believe you will be disappointed.  Mendizabal and the liberals\nhave been beforehand with you.  I am informed that at present no other\ntreasure is to be found in the cathedrals of Spain than a few paltry\nornaments and plated utensils.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy good German Herr,\u201d said Benedict, \u201cit is no church schatz, and no\nperson living, save myself, knows of its existence: nearly thirty years\nago, amongst the sick soldiers who were brought to Madrid, was one of my\ncomrades of the Walloon Guard, who had accompanied the French to\nPortugal; he was very sick and shortly died.  Before, however, he\nbreathed his last, he sent for me, and upon his deathbed told me that\nhimself and two other soldiers, both of whom had since been killed, had\nburied in a certain church at Compostella a great booty which they had\nmade in Portugal: it consisted of gold moidores and of a packet of huge\ndiamonds from the Brazils; the whole was contained in a large copper\nkettle.  I listened with greedy ears, and from that moment, I may say, I\nhave known no rest, neither by day nor night, thinking of the schatz.  It\nis very easy to find, for the dying man was so exact in his description\nof the place where it lies, that were I once at Compostella, I should\nhave no difficulty in putting my hand upon it; several times I have been\non the point of setting out on the journey, but something has always\nhappened to stop me.  When my wife died, I left Minorca with a\ndetermination to go to Saint James, but on reaching Madrid, I fell into\nthe hands of a Basque woman, who persuaded me to live with her, which I\nhave done for several years; she is a great hax, {138} and says that if I\ndesert her she will breathe a spell which shall cling to me for ever.\n_Dem Got sey dank_,\u2014she is now in the hospital, and daily expected to\ndie.  This is my history, Lieber Herr.\u201d\n\nI have been the more careful in relating the above conversation, as I\nshall have frequent occasion to mention the Swiss in the course of these\njournals; his subsequent adventures were highly extraordinary, and the\nclosing one caused a great sensation in Spain.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\n\nState of Spain\u2014Isturitz\u2014Revolution of the Granja\u2014The Disturbance\u2014Signs of\nMischief\u2014Newspaper Reporters\u2014Quesada\u2019s Onslaught\u2014The Closing Scene\u2014Flight\nof the Moderados\u2014The Coffee Bowl.\n\nIn the meantime the affairs of the moderados did not proceed in a very\nsatisfactory manner; they were unpopular at Madrid, and still more so in\nthe other large towns of Spain, in most of which juntas had been formed,\nwhich, taking the local administration into their own hands, declared\nthemselves independent of the queen and her ministers, and refused to pay\ntaxes; so that the government was within a short time reduced to great\nstraits for money; the army was unpaid, and the war languished; I mean on\nthe part of the Christinos, for the Carlists were pushing it on with\nconsiderable vigour; parties of their guerillas scouring the country in\nall directions, whilst a large division, under the celebrated Gomez, was\nmaking the entire circuit of Spain.  To crown the whole, an insurrection\nwas daily expected at Madrid, to prevent which the nationals were\ndisarmed, which measure tended greatly to increase their hatred against\nthe moderado government, and especially against Quesada, with whom it was\nsupposed to have originated.\n\nWith respect to my own matters, I lost no opportunity of pushing forward\nmy application; the Aragonese secretary, however, still harped upon the\nCouncil of Trent, and succeeded in baffling all my efforts.  He appeared\nto have inoculated his principal with his own ideas upon the subject, for\nthe duke, when he beheld me at his levees, took no farther notice of me\nthan by a contemptuous glance; and once, when I stepped up for the\npurpose of addressing him, disappeared through a side door, and I never\nsaw him again, for I was disgusted with the treatment which I had\nreceived, and forebore paying any more visits at the Casa de la\nInquisicion.  Poor Galiano still proved himself my unshaken friend, but\ncandidly informed me that there was no hope of my succeeding in the above\nquarter.  \u201cThe duke,\u201d said he, \u201csays that your request cannot be granted;\nand the other day, when I myself mentioned it in the council, began to\ntalk of the decision of Trent, and spoke of yourself as a plaguy\npestilent fellow; whereupon I answered him with some acrimony, and there\nensued a bit of a function between us, at which Isturitz laughed\nheartily.  By the by,\u201d continued he, \u201cwhat need have you of a regular\npermission, which it does not appear that any one has authority to grant.\nThe best thing that you can do under all circumstances is to commit the\nwork to the press, with an understanding that you shall not be interfered\nwith when you attempt to distribute it. I strongly advise you to see\nIsturitz himself upon the matter.  I will prepare him for the interview,\nand will answer that he receives you civilly.\u201d\n\nIn fact, a few days afterwards, I had an interview with Isturitz at the\npalace, and for the sake of brevity I shall content myself with saying\nthat I found him perfectly well disposed to favour my views.  \u201cI have\nlived long in England,\u201d said he; \u201cthe Bible is free there, and I see no\nreason why it should not be free in Spain also.  I am not prepared to say\nthat England is indebted for her prosperity to the knowledge which all\nher children, more or less, possess of the sacred writings; but of one\nthing I am sure, namely, that the Bible has done no harm in that country,\nnor do I believe that it will effect any in Spain; print it, therefore,\nby all means, and circulate it as extensively as possible.\u201d  I retired,\nhighly satisfied with my interview, having obtained, if not a written\npermission to print the sacred volume, what, under all circumstances, I\nconsidered as almost equivalent, an understanding that my biblical\npursuits would be tolerated in Spain; and I had fervent hope that\nwhatever was the fate of the present ministry, no future one,\nparticularly a liberal one, would venture to interfere with me, more\nespecially as the English ambassador was my friend, and was privy to all\nthe steps I had taken throughout the whole affair.\n\nTwo or three things connected with the above interview with Isturitz\nstruck me as being highly remarkable.  First of all, the extreme facility\nwith which I obtained admission to the presence of the prime minister of\nSpain.  I had not to wait, or indeed to send in my name, but was\nintroduced at once by the door-keeper.  Secondly, the air of loneliness\nwhich pervaded the place, so unlike the bustle, noise, and activity which\nI observed when I waited on Mendizabal.  In this instance, there were no\neager candidates for an interview with the great man; indeed, I did not\nbehold a single individual, with the exception of Isturitz and the\nofficial.  But that which made the most profound impression upon me, was\nthe manner of the minister himself, who, when I entered, sat upon a sofa,\nwith his arms folded, and his eyes directed to the ground.  When he spoke\nthere was extreme depression in the tones of his voice, his dark features\nwore an air of melancholy, and he exhibited all the appearance of a\nperson meditating to escape from the miseries of this life by the most\ndesperate of all acts\u2014suicide.\n\nAnd a few days showed that he had, indeed, cause for much melancholy\nmeditation: in less than a week occurred the revolution of the Granja, as\nit is called.  The Granja, or Grange, is a royal country seat, situated\namongst pine forests, on the other side of the Guadarama hills, about\ntwelve leagues distant from Madrid.  To this place the queen regent\nChristina had retired, in order to be aloof from the discontent of the\ncapital, and to enjoy rural air and amusements in this celebrated\nretreat, a monument of the taste and magnificence of the first Bourbon\nwho ascended the throne of Spain.  She was not, however, permitted to\nremain long in tranquillity; her own guards were disaffected, and more\ninclined to the principles of the constitution of 1823 than to those of\nabsolute monarchy, which the moderados were attempting to revive again in\nthe government of Spain.  Early one morning, a party of these soldiers,\nheaded by a certain Sergeant Garcia, entered her apartment, and proposed\nthat she should subscribe her hand to this constitution, and swear\nsolemnly to abide by it.  Christina, however, who was a woman of\nconsiderable spirit, refused to comply with this proposal, and ordered\nthem to withdraw.  A scene of violence and tumult ensued, but the regent\nstill continuing firm, the soldiers at length led her down to one of the\ncourts of the palace, where stood her well-known paramour, Mu\u00f1os, bound\nand blindfolded.  \u201cSwear to the constitution, you she-rogue,\u201d vociferated\nthe swarthy sergeant.  \u201cNever!\u201d said the spirited daughter of the\nNeapolitan Bourbons.  \u201cThen your cortejo shall die!\u201d replied the\nsergeant.  \u201cHo! ho! my lads; get ready your arms, and send four bullets\nthrough the fellow\u2019s brain.\u201d  Mu\u00f1os was forthwith led to the wall, and\ncompelled to kneel down, the soldiers levelled their muskets and another\nmoment would have consigned the unfortunate wight to eternity, when\nChristina, forgetting everything but the feelings of her woman\u2019s heart,\nsuddenly started forward with a shriek, exclaiming: \u201cHold, hold!  I sign,\nI sign!\u201d\n\nThe day after this event I entered the Puerta del Sol at about noon.\nThere is always a crowd there about this hour, but it is generally a very\nquiet motionless crowd, consisting of listless idlers calmly smoking\ntheir cigars, or listening to or retailing the\u2014in general\u2014very dull news\nof the capital; but on the day of which I am speaking the mass was no\nlonger inert.  There was much gesticulation and vociferation, and several\npeople were running about shouting, \u201c_Viva la constitucion_!\u201d\u2014a cry\nwhich, a few days previously, would have been visited on the utterer with\ndeath, the city having for some weeks past been subjected to the rigour\nof martial law.  I occasionally heard the words, \u201c_La Granja_!  _La\nGranja_!\u201d  Which words were sure to be succeeded by the shout of \u201c_Viva\nla constitucion_!\u201d  Opposite the Casa de Postas were drawn up in a line\nabout a dozen mounted dragoons, some of whom were continually waving\ntheir caps in the air and joining the common cry, in which they were\nencouraged by their commander, a handsome young officer, who flourished\nhis sword, and more than once cried out with great glee, \u201cLong live the\nconstitutional queen!  Long live the constitution!\u201d\n\nThe crowd was rapidly increasing, and several nationals made their\nappearance in their uniforms, but without their arms, of which they had\nbeen deprived, as I have already stated.  \u201cWhat has become of the\nmoderado government?\u201d said I to Baltasar, whom I suddenly observed\namongst the crowd, dressed as when I had first seen him, in his old\nregimental great coat and foraging cap; \u201chave the ministers been deposed\nand others put in their place?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot yet, Don Jorge,\u201d said the little soldier-tailor; \u201cnot yet; the\nscoundrels still hold out, relying on the brute bull Quesada and a few\ninfantry, who still continue true to them; but there is no fear, Don\nJorge; the queen is ours, thanks to the courage of my friend Garcia, and\nif the brute bull should make his appearance\u2014ho! ho! Don Jorge, you shall\nsee something\u2014I am prepared for him, ho! ho!\u201d and thereupon he half\nopened his great coat, and showed me a small gun, which he bore beneath\nit in a sling, and then moving away with a wink and a nod, disappeared\namongst the crowd.\n\nPresently I perceived a small body of soldiers advancing up the Calle\nMayor, or principal street which runs from the Puerta del Sol in the\ndirection of the palace; they might be about twenty in number, and an\nofficer marched at their head with a drawn sword; the men appeared to\nhave been collected in a hurry, many of them being in fatigue dress, with\nforaging caps on their heads.  On they came, slowly marching; neither\ntheir officer nor themselves paying the slightest attention to the cries\nof the crowd which thronged about them, shouting \u201cLong live the\nconstitution!\u201d save and except by an occasional surly side glance: on\nthey marched with contracted brows and set teeth, till they came in front\nof the cavalry, where they halted and drew up in a rank.\n\n\u201cThose men mean mischief,\u201d said I to my friend D---, of the _Morning\nChronicle_, who at this moment joined me; \u201cand depend upon it, that if\nthey are ordered they will commence firing, caring nothing whom they\nhit,\u2014but what can those cavalry fellows behind them mean, who are\nevidently of the other opinion by their shouting, why don\u2019t they charge\nat once this handful of foot people and overturn them?  Once down, the\ncrowd would wrest from them their muskets in a moment.  You are a\nliberal, which I am not; why do you not go to that silly young man who\ncommands the horse and give him a word of counsel in time?\u201d\n\nD--- turned upon me his broad red good-humoured English countenance, with\na peculiarly arch look, as much as to say\u2014(whatever you think most\napplicable, gentle reader), then taking me by the arm, \u201cLet us get,\u201d said\nhe, \u201cout of this crowd and mount to some window, where I can write down\nwhat is about to take place, for I agree with you that mischief is\nmeant.\u201d  Just opposite the post office was a large house, in the topmost\nstory of which we beheld a paper displayed, importing that apartments\nwere to let; whereupon we instantly ascended the common stair, and having\nagreed with the mistress of the \u00e9tage for the use of the front room for\nthe day, we bolted the door, and the reporter, producing his pocket-book\nand pencil, prepared to take notes of the coming events, which were\nalready casting their shadow before.\n\nWhat most extraordinary men are these reporters of newspapers in general,\nI mean English newspapers; surely if there be any class of individuals\nwho are entitled to the appellation of cosmopolites, it is these; who\npursue their avocation in all countries indifferently, and accommodate\nthemselves at will to the manners of all classes of society: their\nfluency of style as writers is only surpassed by their facility of\nlanguage in conversation, and their attainments in classical and polite\nliterature only by their profound knowledge of the world, acquired by an\nearly introduction into its bustling scenes.  The activity, energy, and\ncourage which they occasionally display in the pursuit of information are\ntruly remarkable.  I saw them during the three days at Paris, mingled\nwith canaille and gamins behind the barriers, whilst the mitraille was\nflying in all directions, and the desperate cuirassiers were dashing\ntheir fierce horses against these seemingly feeble bulwarks.  There stood\nthey, dotting down their observations in their pocket-books as\nunconcernedly as if reporting the proceedings of a reform meeting in\nCovent Garden or Finsbury Square; whilst in Spain, several of them\naccompanied the Carlist and Christino guerillas in some of their most\ndesperate raids and expeditions, exposing themselves to the danger of\nhostile bullets, the inclemency of winter, and the fierce heat of the\nsummer sun.\n\nWe had scarcely been five minutes at the window, when we suddenly heard\nthe clattering of horses\u2019 feet hastening down the street called the Calle\nde Carretas.  The house in which we had stationed ourselves was, as I\nhave already observed, just opposite to the post office, at the left of\nwhich this street debouches from the north into the Puerta del Sol: as\nthe sounds became louder and louder, the cries of the crowd below\ndiminished, and a species of panic seemed to have fallen upon all: once\nor twice, however, I could distinguish the words Quesada! Quesada!  The\nfoot soldiers stood calm and motionless, but I observed that the cavalry,\nwith the young officer who commanded them, displayed both confusion and\nfear, exchanging with each other some hurried words; all of a sudden that\npart of the crowd which stood near the mouth of the Calle de Carretas\nfell back in great disorder, leaving a considerable space unoccupied, and\nthe next moment Quesada, in complete general\u2019s uniform, and mounted on a\nbright bay thorough bred English horse, with a drawn sword in his hand,\ndashed at full gallop into the area, in much the same manner as I have\nseen a Manchegan bull rush into the amphitheatre when the gates of his\npen are suddenly flung open.\n\nHe was closely followed by two mounted officers, and at a short distance\nby as many dragoons.  In almost less time than is sufficient to relate\nit, several individuals in the crowd were knocked down and lay sprawling\nupon the ground, beneath the horses of Quesada and his two friends, for\nas to the dragoons, they halted as soon as they had entered the Puerta\ndel Sol.  It was a fine sight to see three men, by dint of valour and\ngood horsemanship, strike terror into at least as many thousands: I saw\nQuesada spur his horse repeatedly into the dense masses of the crowd, and\nthen extricate himself in the most masterly manner.  The rabble were\ncompletely awed and gave way, retiring by the Calle del Comercio and the\nstreet of Alcala.  All at once, Quesada singled out two nationals, who\nwere attempting to escape, and setting spurs to his horse, turned them in\na moment, and drove them in another direction, striking them in a\ncontemptuous manner with the flat of his sabre.  He was crying out, \u201cLong\nlive the absolute queen!\u201d when, just beneath me, amidst a portion of the\ncrowd which had still maintained its ground, perhaps from not having the\nmeans of escaping, I saw a small gun glitter for a moment, then there was\na sharp report, and a bullet had nearly sent Quesada to his long account,\npassing so near to the countenance of the general as to graze his hat.  I\nhad an indistinct view for a moment of a well-known foraging cap just\nabout the spot from whence the gun had been discharged, then there was a\nrush of the crowd, and the shooter, whoever he was, escaped discovery\namidst the confusion which arose.\n\nAs for Quesada, he seemed to treat the danger from which he had escaped\nwith the utmost contempt.  He glared about him fiercely for a moment,\nthen leaving the two nationals, who sneaked away like whipped hounds, he\nwent up to the young officer who commanded the cavalry, and who had been\nactive in raising the cry of the constitution, and to him he addressed a\nfew words with an air of stern menace; the youth evidently quailed before\nhim, and probably in obedience to his orders, resigned the command of the\nparty, and rode slowly away with a discomfited air; whereupon Quesada\ndismounted and walked slowly backwards and forwards before the Casa de\nPostas with a mien which seemed to bid defiance to mankind.\n\nThis was the glorious day of Quesada\u2019s existence, his glorious and last\nday.  I call it the day of his glory, for he certainly never before\nappeared under such brilliant circumstances, and he never lived to see\nanother sun set.  No action of any conqueror or hero on record is to be\ncompared with this closing scene of the life of Quesada, for who, by his\nsingle desperate courage and impetuosity, ever before stopped a\nrevolution in full course?  Quesada did: he stopped the revolution at\nMadrid for one entire day, and brought back the uproarious and hostile\nmob of a huge city to perfect order and quiet.  His burst into the Puerta\ndel Sol was the most tremendous and successful piece of daring ever\nwitnessed.  I admired so much the spirit of the \u201cbrute bull\u201d that I\nfrequently, during his wild onset, shouted \u201cViva Quesada!\u201d for I wished\nhim well.  Not that I am of any political party or system.  No, no!  I\nhave lived too long with Rommany Chals and Petulengres {145} to be of any\npolitics save Gypsy politics; and it is well known that, during\nelections, the children of Roma side with both parties so long as the\nevent is doubtful, promising success to each; and then when the fight is\ndone, and the battle won, invariably range themselves in the ranks of the\nvictorious.  But I repeat that I wished well to Quesada, witnessing, as I\ndid, his stout heart and good horsemanship.  Tranquillity was restored to\nMadrid throughout the remainder of the day; the handful of infantry\nbivouacked in the Puerta del Sol.  No more cries of long live the\nconstitution were heard; and the revolution in the capital seemed to have\nbeen effectually put down.  It is probable, indeed, that had the chiefs\nof the moderado party but continued true to themselves for forty-eight\nhours longer, their cause would have triumphed, and the revolutionary\nsoldiers at the Granja would have been glad to restore the Queen Regent\nto liberty, and to have come to terms, as it was well known that several\nregiments, who still continued loyal, were marching upon Madrid.  The\nmoderados, however, were not true to themselves; that very night their\nhearts failed them, and they fled in various directions.  Isturitz and\nGaliano to France; and the Duke of Rivas to Gibraltar: the panic of his\ncolleagues even infected Quesada, who, disguised as a civilian, took to\nflight.  He was not, however, so successful as the rest, but was\nrecognised at a village about three leagues from Madrid, and cast into\nprison by some friends of the constitution.  Intelligence of his capture\nwas instantly transmitted to the capital, and a vast mob of the\nnationals, some on foot, some on horseback, and others in cabriolets,\ninstantly set out.  \u201cThe nationals are coming,\u201d said a paisano to\nQuesada.  \u201cThen,\u201d said he, \u201cI am lost,\u201d and forthwith prepared himself\nfor death.\n\nThere is a celebrated coffee-house in the Calle d\u2019Alcala at Madrid,\ncapable of holding several hundred individuals.  On the evening of the\nday in question, I was seated there, sipping a cup of the brown beverage,\nwhen I heard a prodigious noise and clamour in the street; it proceeded\nfrom the nationals, who were returning from their expedition.  In a few\nminutes I saw a body of them enter the coffee-house marching arm in arm,\ntwo by two, stamping on the ground with their feet in a kind of measure,\nand repeating in loud chorus as they walked round the spacious apartment,\nthe following grisly stanza:\u2014\n\n    \u201cQue es lo que abaja\n    Por aquel cerro?\n    Ta ra ra ra ra.\n    Son los huesos de Quesada,\n    Que los trae un perro\u2014\n    Ta ra ra ra ra.\u201d {146}\n\nA huge bowl of coffee was then called for, which was placed upon a table,\naround which gathered the national soldiers: there was silence for a\nmoment, which was interrupted by a voice roaring out, \u201c_el panuelo_!\u201d  A\nblue kerchief was forthwith produced, which appeared to contain a\nsubstance of some kind; it was untied, and a gory hand and three or four\ndissevered fingers made their appearance, and with these the contents of\nthe bowl were stirred up.  \u201cCups! cups!\u201d cried the nationals.\n\n\u201cHo, ho, Don Jorge,\u201d cried Baltasarito, coming up to me with a cup of\ncoffee, \u201cpray do me the favour to drink upon this glorious occasion.\nThis is a pleasant day for Spain, and for the gallant nationals of\nMadrid.  I have seen many a bull funcion, but none which has given me so\nmuch pleasure as this.  Yesterday the brute had it all his own way, but\nto-day the toreros have prevailed, as you see, Don Jorge.  Pray drink;\nfor I must now run home to fetch my pajandi to play my brethren a tune,\nand sing a copla.  What shall it be?  Something in Gitano?\n\n    \u201cUna noche sinava en tucue.\u201d\n\nYou shake your head, Don Jorge.  Ha, ha; I am young, and youth is the\ntime for pleasure; well, well, out of compliment to you, who are an\nEnglishman and a monro, it shall not be that, but something liberal,\nsomething patriotic, the Hymn of Riego\u2014Hasta despues, Don Jorge!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\n\nThe Steamer\u2014Cape Finisterre\u2014The Storm\u2014Arrival at Cadiz\u2014The New\nTestament\u2014Seville\u2014Italica\u2014The Amphitheatre\u2014The Prisoners\u2014The\nEncounter\u2014Baron Taylor\u2014The Street and Desert.\n\nAt the commencement of November, I again found myself on the salt water,\non my way to Spain.  I had returned to England shortly after the events\nwhich have been narrated in the last chapter, for the purpose of\nconsulting with my friends, and for planning the opening of a biblical\ncampaign in Spain.  It was now determined by us to print the New\nTestament, with as little delay as possible, at Madrid; and I was to be\nentrusted with the somewhat arduous task of its distribution.  My stay in\nEngland was very short, for time was precious, and I was eager to return\nto the field of action.\n\nI embarked in the Thames, on board the M--- steamer.  We had a most\nunpleasant passage to Falmouth; the ship was crowded with passengers,\nmost of them poor consumptive individuals, and other invalids fleeing\nfrom the cold blasts of England\u2019s winter to the sunny shores of Portugal\nand Madeira.  In a more uncomfortable vessel, especially steam ship, it\nhas never been my fate to make a voyage.  The berths were small and\ninsupportably close, and of these wretched holes mine was amongst the\nworst, the rest having been bespoken before I arrived on board; so that\nto avoid the suffocation which seemed to threaten me should I enter it, I\nlay upon the floor of one of the cabins throughout the voyage.  We\nremained at Falmouth twenty-four hours, taking in coal, and repairing the\nengine, which had sustained considerable damage.\n\nOn Monday, the seventh, we again started, and made for the Bay of Biscay.\nThe sea was high and the wind strong and contrary; nevertheless, on the\nmorning of the fourth day, we were in sight of the rocky coast to the\nnorth of Cape Finisterre.  I must here observe, that this was the first\nvoyage that the captain who commanded the vessel had ever made on board\nof her, and that he knew little or nothing of the coast towards which we\nwere bearing.  He was a person picked up in a hurry, the former captain\nhaving resigned his command on the ground that the ship was not\nseaworthy, and that the engines were frequently unserviceable.  I was not\nacquainted with these circumstances at the time, or perhaps I should have\nfelt more alarmed than I did, when I saw the vessel approaching nearer\nand nearer the shore, till at last we were only a few hundred yards\ndistant.  As it was, however, I felt very much surprised; for having\npassed it twice before, both times in steam vessels, and having seen with\nwhat care the captains endeavoured to maintain a wide offing, I could not\nconceive the reason of our being now so near this dangerous region.  The\nwind was blowing hard towards the shore, if that can be called a shore\nwhich consists of steep abrupt precipices, on which the surf was breaking\nwith the noise of thunder, tossing up clouds of spray and foam to the\nheight of a cathedral.  We coasted slowly along, rounding several tall\nforelands, some of them piled up by the hand of nature in the most\nfantastic shapes.  About nightfall Cape Finisterre was not far ahead,\u2014a\nbluff, brown, granite mountain, whose frowning head may be seen far away\nby those who traverse the ocean.  The stream which poured round its\nbreast was terrific, and though our engines plied with all their force,\nwe made little or no way.\n\nBy about eight o\u2019clock at night the wind had increased to a hurricane,\nthe thunder rolled frightfully, and the only light which we had to guide\nus on our way was the red forked lightning, which burst at times from the\nbosom of the big black clouds which lowered over our heads.  We were\nexerting ourselves to the utmost to weather the cape, which we could\ndescry by the lightning on our lee, its brow being frequently brilliantly\nlighted up by the flashes which quivered around it, when suddenly, with a\ngreat crash, the engine broke, and the paddles, on which depended our\nlives, ceased to play.\n\nI will not attempt to depict the scene of horror and confusion which\nensued; it may be imagined, but never described.  The captain, to give\nhim his due, displayed the utmost coolness and intrepidity; he and the\nwhole crew made the greatest exertions to repair the engine, and when\nthey found their labour in vain, endeavoured, by hoisting the sails, and\nby practising all possible man\u0153uvres, to preserve the ship from impending\ndestruction; but all was of no avail, we were hard on a lee shore, to\nwhich the howling tempest was impelling us.  About this time I was\nstanding near the helm, and I asked the steersman if there was any hope\nof saving the vessel, or our lives.  He replied, \u201cSir, it is a bad\naffair, no boat could live for a minute in this sea, and in less than an\nhour the ship will have her broadside on Finisterre, where the strongest\nman-of-war ever built must go to shivers instantly\u2014none of us will see\nthe morning.\u201d  The captain, likewise, informed the other passengers in\nthe cabin to the same effect, telling them to prepare themselves; and\nhaving done so, he ordered the door to be fastened, and none to be\npermitted to come on deck.  I, however, kept my station, though almost\ndrowned with water, immense waves continually breaking over our windward\nside and flooding the ship.  The water casks broke from their lashings,\nand one of them struck me down, and crushed the foot of the unfortunate\nman at the helm, whose place was instantly taken by the captain.  We were\nnow close to the rocks, when a horrid convulsion of the elements took\nplace.  The lightning enveloped us as with a mantle, the thunders were\nlouder than the roar of a million cannon, the dregs of the ocean seemed\nto be cast up, and in the midst of all this turmoil, the wind, without\nthe slightest intimation, _veered right about_, and pushed us from the\nhorrible coast faster than it had previously driven us towards it.\n\nThe oldest sailors on board acknowledged that they had never witnessed so\nprovidential an escape.  I said, from the bottom of my heart, \u201cOur\nFather\u2014hallowed be thy name.\u201d\n\nThe next day we were near foundering, for the sea was exceedingly high,\nand our vessel, which was not intended for sailing, laboured terribly,\nand leaked much.  The pumps were continually working.  She likewise took\nfire, but the flames were extinguished.  In the evening the steam-engine\nwas partially repaired, and we reached Lisbon on the thirteenth, where in\na few days we completed our repairs.\n\nI found my excellent friend W--- in good health.  During my absence he\nhad been doing everything in his power to further the sale of the sacred\nvolume in Portuguese: his zeal and devotedness were quite admirable.  The\ndistracted state of the country, however, during the last six months, had\nsadly impeded his efforts.  The minds of the people had been so engrossed\nwith politics, that they found scarcely any time to think of the welfare\nof their souls.  The political history of Portugal had of late afforded a\nstriking parallel to that of the neighbouring country.  In both a\nstruggle for supremacy had arisen between the court and the democratic\nparty; in both the latter had triumphed, whilst two distinguished\nindividuals had fallen a sacrifice to the popular fury\u2014Freire in\nPortugal, and Quesada in Spain.  The news which reached me at Lisbon from\nthe latter country was rather startling.  The hordes of Gomez were\nravaging Andalusia, which I was about to visit on my way to Madrid;\nCordova had been sacked and abandoned after a three days\u2019 occupation by\nthe Carlists.  I was told that if I persisted in my attempt to enter\nSpain in the direction which I proposed, I should probably fall into\ntheir hands at Seville.  I had, however, no fears, and had full\nconfidence that the Lord would open the path before me to Madrid.\n\nThe vessel being repaired, we again embarked, and in two days arrived in\nsafety at Cadiz.  I found great confusion reigning there; numerous bands\nof the factious were reported to be hovering in the neighbourhood.  An\nattack was not deemed improbable, and the place had just been declared in\na state of siege.  I took up my abode at the French hotel in the Calle de\nla Niveria, and was allotted a species of cockloft, or garret, to sleep\nin, for the house was filled with guests, being a place of much resort,\non account of the excellent table d\u2019hote which is kept there.  I dressed\nmyself and walked about the town.  I entered several coffee-houses: the\ndin of tongues in all was deafening.  In one no less than six orators\nwere haranguing at the same time on the state of the country, and the\nprobability of an intervention on the part of England and France.  As I\nwas listening to one of them, he suddenly called upon me for my opinion,\nas I was a foreigner, and seemingly just arrived.  I replied that I could\nnot venture to guess what steps the two governments would pursue under\nthe present circumstances, but thought that it would be as well if the\nSpaniards would exert themselves more and call less on Jupiter.  As I did\nnot wish to engage in any political conversation, I instantly quitted the\nhouse, and sought those parts of the town where the lower classes\nprincipally reside.\n\nI entered into discourse with several individuals, but found them very\nignorant; none could read or write, and their ideas respecting religion\nwere anything but satisfactory,\u2014most professing a perfect indifference.\nI afterwards went into a bookseller\u2019s shop and made inquiries respecting\nthe demand for literature, which, he informed me, was small.  I produced\na London edition of the New Testament in Spanish, and asked the\nbookseller whether he thought a book of that description would sell in\nCadiz.  He said that both the type and paper were exceedingly beautiful,\nbut that it was a work not sought after, and very little known.  I did\nnot pursue my inquiries in other shops, for I reflected that I was not\nlikely to receive a very favourable opinion from booksellers respecting a\npublication in which they had no interest.  I had, moreover, but two or\nthree copies of the New Testament with me, and could not have supplied\nthem had they even given me an order.\n\nEarly on the twenty-fourth, I embarked for Seville in the small Spanish\nsteamer the _Betis_: the morning was wet, and the aspect of nature was\nenveloped in a dense mist, which prevented my observing surrounding\nobjects.  After proceeding about six leagues, we reached the\nnorth-eastern extremity of the Bay of Cadiz, and passed by Saint Lucar,\nan ancient town near to the spot where the Guadalquivir disembogues\nitself.  The mist suddenly disappeared, and the sun of Spain burst forth\nin full brilliancy, enlivening all around, and particularly myself, who\nhad till then been lying on the deck in a dull melancholy stupor.  We\nentered the mouth of \u201cThe Great River,\u201d for that is the English\ntranslation of Oued al Kiber, as the Moors designated the ancient Betis.\nWe came to anchor for a few minutes at a little village called Bonan\u00e7a,\nat the extremity of the first reach of the river, where we received\nseveral passengers, and again proceeded.  There is not much in the\nappearance of the Guadalquivir to interest the traveller: the banks are\nlow and destitute of trees, the adjacent country is flat, and only in the\ndistance is seen a range of tall blue sierras.  The water is turbid and\nmuddy, and in colour closely resembling the contents of a duck-pool; the\naverage width of the stream is from a hundred and fifty to two hundred\nyards, but it is impossible to move along this river without remembering\nthat it has borne the Roman, the Vandal, and the Arab, and has been the\nwitness of deeds which have resounded through the world and been the\nthemes of immortal songs.  I repeated Latin verses and fragments of old\nSpanish ballads till we reached Seville, at about nine o\u2019clock of a\nlovely moonlight night.\n\nSeville contains ninety thousand inhabitants, and is situated on the\neastern bank of the Guadalquivir, about eighteen leagues from its mouth;\nit is surrounded with high Moorish walls, in a good state of\npreservation, and built of such durable materials that it is probable\nthey will for many centuries still bid defiance to the encroachments of\ntime.  The most remarkable edifices are the cathedral and Alcazar, or\npalace of the Moorish kings; the tower of the former, called La Giralda,\nbelongs to the period of the Moors, and formed part of the grand mosque\nof Seville: it is computed to be one hundred ells in height, and is\nascended not by stairs or ladders but by a vaulted pathway, in the manner\nof an inclined plane: this path is by no means steep, so that a cavalier\nmight ride up to the top, a feat which Ferdinand the Seventh is said to\nhave accomplished.  The view from the summit is very extensive, and on a\nfine clear day the mountain ridge, called the Sierra de Ronda, may be\ndiscovered, though upwards of twenty leagues distant.  The cathedral\nitself is a noble Gothic structure, reputed the finest of the kind in\nSpain.  In the chapels allotted to the various saints are some of the\nmost magnificent paintings which Spanish art has produced; indeed the\nCathedral of Seville is at the present time far more rich in splendid\npaintings than at any former period; possessing many very recently\nremoved from some of the suppressed convents, particularly from the\nCapuchin and San Francisco.\n\nNo one should visit Seville without paying particular attention to the\nAlcazar, that splendid specimen of Moorish architecture.  It contains\nmany magnificent halls, particularly that of the ambassadors, so called,\nwhich is in every respect more magnificent than the one of the same name\nwithin the Alhambra of Granada.  This palace was a favourite residence of\nPeter the Cruel, who carefully repaired it without altering its Moorish\ncharacter and appearance.  It probably remains in much the same state as\nat the time of his death.\n\nOn the right side of the river is a large suburb, called Triana,\ncommunicating with Seville by means of a bridge of boats; for there is no\npermanent bridge across the Guadalquivir, owing to the violent\ninundations to which it is subject.  This suburb is inhabited by the\ndregs of the populace, and abounds with Gitanos or Gypsies.  About a\nleague and a half to the north-west stands the village of Santo Ponce: at\nthe foot and on the side of some elevated ground higher up are to be seen\nvestiges of ruined walls and edifices, which once formed part of Italica,\nthe birth-place of Silius Italicus and Trajan, from which latter\npersonage Triana derives its name.\n\nOne fine morning I walked thither, and having ascended the hill, I\ndirected my course northward.  I soon reached what had once been bagnios,\nand a little farther on, in a kind of valley between two gentle\ndeclivities, the amphitheatre.  This latter object is by far the most\nconsiderable relic of ancient Italica; it is oval in its form, with two\ngateways fronting the east and west.\n\nOn all sides are to be seen the time-worn broken granite benches, from\nwhence myriads of human beings once gazed down on the area below, where\nthe gladiator shouted, and the lion and the leopard yelled: all around,\nbeneath these flights of benches, are vaulted excavations from whence the\ncombatants, part human part bestial, darted forth by their several doors.\nI spent many hours in this singular place, forcing my way through the\nwild fennel and brushwood into the caverns, now the haunts of adders and\nother reptiles, whose hissings I heard.  Having sated my curiosity, I\nleft the ruins, and returning by another way, reached a place where lay\nthe carcass of a horse half devoured; upon it, with lustrous eyes, stood\nan enormous vulture, who, as I approached, slowly soared aloft till he\nalighted on the eastern gate of the amphitheatre, from whence he uttered\na hoarse cry, as if in anger that I had disturbed him from his feast of\ncarrion.\n\nGomez had not hitherto paid a visit to Seville: when I arrived he was\nsaid to be in the neighbourhood of Ronda.  The city was under watch and\nward: several gates had been blocked up with masonry, trenches dug, and\nredoubts erected, but I am convinced that the place would not have held\nout six hours against a resolute attack.  Gomez had proved himself to be\na most extraordinary man, and with his small army of Aragonese and\nBasques had, within the last four months, made the tour of Spain.  He had\nvery frequently been hemmed in by forces three times the number of his\nown, in places whence escape appeared impossible, but he had always\nbattled his enemies, whom he seemed to laugh at.  The most absurd\naccounts of victories gained over him were continually issuing from the\npress at Seville; amongst others, it was stated that his army had been\nutterly defeated, himself killed, and that twelve hundred prisoners were\non their way to Saville.  I saw these prisoners: instead of twelve\nhundred desperadoes, they consisted of about twenty poor lame ragged\nwretches, many of them boys from fourteen to sixteen years of age.  They\nwere evidently camp followers, who, unable to keep up with the army, had\nbeen picked up straggling in the plains and amongst the hills.\n\nIt subsequently appeared that no battle had occurred, and that the death\nof Gomez was a fiction.  The grand defect of Gomez consisted in not\nknowing how to take advantage of circumstances: after defeating Lopez, he\nmight have marched to Madrid and proclaimed Don Carlos there, and after\nsacking Cordova he might have captured Seville.\n\nThere were several booksellers\u2019 shops at Seville, in two of which I found\ncopies of the New Testament in Spanish, which had been obtained from\nGibraltar about two years before, since which time six copies had been\nsold in one shop and four in the other.  The person who generally\naccompanied me in my walks about the town and the neighbourhood, was an\nelderly Genoese, who officiated as a kind of valet de place in the Posada\ndel Turco, where I had taken up my residence.  On learning from me that\nit was my intention to bring out an edition of the New Testament at\nMadrid, he observed that copies of the work might be extensively\ncirculated in Andalusia.  \u201cI have been accustomed to bookselling,\u201d he\ncontinued, \u201cand at one time possessed a small shop of my own in this\nplace.  Once having occasion to go to Gibraltar, I procured several\ncopies of the Scriptures; some, it is true, were seized by the officers\nof the customs, but the rest I sold at a high price, and with\nconsiderable profit to myself.\u201d\n\nI had returned from a walk in the country, on a glorious sunshiny morning\nof the Andalusian winter, and was directing my steps towards my lodging:\nas I was passing by the portal of a large gloomy house near the gate of\nXeres, two individuals dressed in zamarras emerged from the archway, and\nwere about to cross my path, when one, looking in my face, suddenly\nstarted back, exclaiming in the purest and most melodious French: \u201cWhat\ndo I see?  If my eyes do not deceive me\u2014it is himself.  Yes, the very\nsame as I saw him first at Bayonne; then long subsequently beneath the\nbrick wall at Novogorod; then beside the Bosphorus; and last at\u2014at\u2014Oh, my\nrespectable and cherished friend, where was it that I had last the\nfelicity of seeing your well-remembered and most remarkable physiognomy?\u201d\n\n_Myself_.\u2014It was in the south of Ireland, if I mistake not.  Was it not\nthere that I introduced you to the sorcerer who tamed the savage horses\nby a single whisper into their ear?  But tell me what brings you to Spain\nand Andalusia, the last place where I should have expected to find you?\n\n_Baron Taylor_.\u2014And wherefore, my most respectable B---?  Is not Spain\nthe land of the arts; and is not Andalusia of all Spain that portion\nwhich has produced the noblest monuments of artistic excellence and\ninspiration?  Surely you know enough of me to be aware that the arts are\nmy passion; that I am incapable of imagining a more exalted enjoyment\nthan to gaze in adoration on a noble picture.  O come with me! for you\ntoo have a soul capable of appreciating what is lovely and exalted; a\nsoul delicate and sensitive.  Come with me, and I will show you a\nMurillo, such as ---.  But first allow me to introduce you to your\ncompatriot.  My dear Monsieur W., turning to his companion (an English\ngentleman from whom and from his family I subsequently experienced\nunbounded kindness and hospitality on various occasions, and at different\nperiods at Seville), allow me to introduce to you my most cherished and\nrespectable friend, one who is better acquainted with Gypsy ways than the\nChef des Boh\u00e9miens \u00e0 Triana, one who is an expert whisperer and\nhorse-sorcerer, and who, to his honour I say it, can wield hammer and\ntongs, and handle a horse-shoe with the best of the smiths amongst the\nAlpujarras of Granada.\n\nIn the course of my travels I have formed various friendships and\nacquaintances, but no one has more interested me than Baron Taylor, and\nthere is no one for whom I entertain a greater esteem and regard.  To\npersonal and mental accomplishments of the highest order he unites a\nkindness of heart rarely to be met with, and which is continually\ninducing him to seek for opportunities of doing good to his fellow\ncreatures, and of contributing to their happiness; perhaps no person in\nexistence has seen more of the world and life in its various phases than\nhimself.  His manners are naturally to the highest degree courtly, yet he\nnevertheless possesses a disposition so pliable that he finds no\ndifficulty in accommodating himself to all kinds of company, in\nconsequence of which he is a universal favourite.  There is a mystery\nabout him, which, wherever he goes, serves not a little to increase the\nsensation naturally created by his appearance and manner.  Who he is, no\none pretends to assert with downright positiveness: it is whispered,\nhowever, that he is a scion of royalty; and who can gaze for a moment\nupon that most graceful figure, that most intelligent but singularly\nmoulded countenance, and those large and expressive eyes, without feeling\nas equally convinced that he is of no common lineage, as that he is no\ncommon man.  Though possessed of talents and eloquence which would\nspeedily have enabled him to attain to an illustrious position in the\nstate, he has hitherto, and perhaps wisely, contented himself with\ncomparative obscurity, chiefly devoting himself to the study of the arts\nand of literature, of both of which he is a most bounteous patron.\n\nHe has, notwithstanding, been employed by the illustrious house to which\nhe is said to be related in more than one delicate and important mission,\nboth in the East and the West, in which his efforts have uniformly been\ncrowned with complete success.  He was now collecting masterpieces of the\nSpanish school of painting, which were destined to adorn the saloons of\nthe Tuileries.\n\nHe has visited most portions of the earth, and it is remarkable enough\nthat we are continually encountering each other in strange places and\nunder singular circumstances.  Whenever he descries me, whether in the\nstreet or the desert, the brilliant hall or amongst Bedouin haimas, at\nNovogorod or Stambul, he flings up his arms and exclaims, \u201cO ciel!  I\nhave again the felicity of seeing my cherished and most respectable\nB---.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\n\nDeparture for Cordova\u2014Carmona\u2014German Colonies\u2014Language\u2014The Sluggish\nHorse\u2014Nocturnal Welcome\u2014Carlist Landlord\u2014Good Advice\u2014Gomez\u2014The Old\nGenoese\u2014The Two Opinions.\n\nAfter a sojourn of about fourteen days at Seville, I departed for\nCordova.  The diligence had for some time past ceased running, owing to\nthe disturbed state of the province.  I had therefore no resource but to\nproceed thither on horseback.  I hired a couple of horses, and engaged\nthe old Genoese, of whom I have already had occasion to speak, to attend\nme as far as Cordova, and to bring them back.  Notwithstanding we were\nnow in the depths of winter, the weather was beautiful, the days sunny\nand brilliant, though the nights were rather keen.  We passed by the\nlittle town of Alcala, celebrated for the ruins of an immense Moorish\ncastle, which stand on a rocky hill, overhanging a picturesque river.\nThe first night we slept at Carmona, another Moorish town, distant about\nseven leagues from Seville.  Early in the morning we again mounted and\ndeparted.  Perhaps in the whole of Spain there is scarcely a finer\nMoorish monument of antiquity than the eastern side of this town of\nCarmona, which occupies the brow of a lofty hill, and frowns over an\nextensive vega or plain, which extends for leagues unplanted and\nuncultivated, producing nothing but brushwood and carasco.  Here rise\ntall and dusky walls, with square towers at short distances, of so\nmassive a structure that they would seem to bid defiance alike to the\ntooth of time and the hand of man.  This town, in the time of the Moors,\nwas considered the key to Seville, and did not submit to the Christian\narms till after a long and desperate siege: the capture of Seville\nfollowed speedily after.  The vega upon which we now entered forms a part\nof the grand despoblado or desert of Andalusia, once a smiling garden,\nbut which became what it now is on the expulsion of the Moors from Spain,\nwhen it was drained almost entirely of its population.  The towns and\nvillages from hence to the Sierra Morena, which divides Andalusia from La\nMancha, are few and far between, and even of these several date from the\nmiddle of the last century, when an attempt was made by a Spanish\nminister to people this wilderness with the children of a foreign land.\n\nAt about midday we arrived at a place called Moncloa, which consisted of\na venta, and a desolate-looking edifice which had something of the\nappearance of a chateau: a solitary palm tree raised its head over the\nouter wall.  We entered the venta, tied our horses to the manger, and\nhaving ordered barley for them, we sat down before a large fire, which\nburned in the middle of the venta.  The host and hostess also came and\nsat down beside us.  \u201cThey are evil people,\u201d said the old Genoese to me\nin Italian, \u201cand this is an evil house; it is a harbouring place for\nthieves, and murders have been committed here, if all tales be true.\u201d  I\nlooked at these two people attentively; they were both young, the man\napparently about twenty-five years of age.  He was a short thick-made\nchurl, evidently of prodigious strength; his features were rather\nhandsome, but with a gloomy expression, and his eyes were full of sullen\nfire.  His wife somewhat resembled him, but had a countenance more open\nand better tempered; but what struck me as most singular in connexion\nwith these people, was the colour of their hair and complexion; the\nlatter was fair and ruddy, and the former of a bright auburn, both in\nstriking contrast to the black hair and swarthy visages which in general\ndistinguish the natives of this province.  \u201cAre you an Andalusian?\u201d said\nI to the hostess.  \u201cI should almost conclude you to be a German.\u201d\n\n_Hostess_.\u2014And your worship would not be very wrong.  It is true that I\nam a Spaniard, being born in Spain, but it is equally true that I am of\nGerman blood, for my grandparents came from Germany, even like those of\nthis gentleman, my lord and husband.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014And what chance brought your grandparents into this country?\n\n_Hostess_.\u2014Did your worship never hear of the German colonies?  There are\nmany of them in these parts.  In old times the land was nearly deserted,\nand it was very dangerous for travellers to journey along the waste,\nowing to the robbers.  So along time ago, nearly a hundred years, as I am\ntold, some potent lord sent messengers to Germany, to tell the people\nthere what a goodly land there was in these parts uncultivated for want\nof hands, and to promise every labourer who would consent to come and\ntill it, a house and a yoke of oxen, with food and provision for one\nyear.  And in consequence of this invitation a great many poor families\nleft the German land and came hither, and settled down in certain towns\nand villages which had been prepared for them, which places were called\nGerman colonies, and this name they still retain.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014And how many of these colonies may there be?\n\n_Hostess_.\u2014There are several, both on this side of Cordova and the other.\nThe nearest is Luisiana, about two leagues from hence, from which place\nboth my husband and myself come; the next is Carlota, which is some ten\nleagues distant, and these are the only colonies of our people which I\nhave seen; but there are others farther on, and some, as I have heard\nsay, in the very heart of the Sierra Morena.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014And do the colonists still retain the language of their\nforefathers?\n\n_Hostess_.\u2014We speak Spanish, or rather Andalusian, and no other language.\nA few, indeed, amongst the very old people, retain a few words of German,\nwhich they acquired from their fathers, who were born in the other\ncountry: but the last person amongst the colonists who could understand a\nconversation in German, was the aunt of my mother, who came over when a\ngirl.  When I was a child I remember her conversing with a foreign\ntraveller, a countryman of hers, in a language which I was told was\nGerman, and they understood each other, though the old woman confessed\nthat she had lost many words: she has now been dead several years.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Of what religion are the colonists?\n\n_Hostess_.\u2014They are Christians, like the Spaniards, and so were their\nfathers before them.  Indeed, I have heard that they came from a part of\nGermany where the Christian religion is as much practised as in Spain\nitself.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014The Germans are the most honest people in the world: being\ntheir legitimate descendants you have of course no thieves amongst you.\n\nThe hostess glanced at me for a moment, then looked at her husband and\nsmiled: the latter, who had hitherto been smoking without uttering a\nword, though with a peculiarly surly and dissatisfied countenance, now\nflung the remainder of his cigar amongst the embers, then springing up he\nmuttered \u201cDisparate!\u201d and \u201cConversacion!\u201d and went abroad.\n\n\u201cYou touched them in the sore place, Signor,\u201d said the Genoese, after we\nhad left Moncloa some way behind us.  \u201cWere they honest people they would\nnot keep that venta; and as for the colonists, I know not what kind of\npeople they might be when they first came over, but at present their ways\nare not a bit better than those of the Andalusians, but rather worse, if\nthere is any difference at all.\u201d\n\nA short time before sunset of the third day after our departure from\nSeville, we found ourselves at the Cuesta del Espinal, or hill of the\nthorn tree, at about two leagues from Cordova;\u2014we could just descry the\nwalls of the city, upon which the last beams of the descending luminary\nwere resting.  As the neighbourhood in which we were was, according to\nthe account of my guide, generally infested with robbers, we used our\nbest endeavours to reach the town before the night should have entirely\nclosed in.  We did not succeed, however, and before we had proceeded half\nthe distance, pitchy darkness overtook us.  Throughout the journey we had\nbeen considerably delayed by the badness of our horses, especially that\nof my attendant, which appeared to pay no regard to whip or spur; his\nrider also was no horseman, it being thirty years, as he at length\nconfessed to me, since he last mounted in a saddle.  Horses soon become\naware of the powers of their riders, and the brute in question was\ndisposed to take great advantage of the fears and weakness of the old\nman.  There is a remedy, however, for most things in this world.  I\nbecame so wearied at last at the snail\u2019s pace at which we were\nproceeding, that I fastened the bridle of the sluggish horse to the\ncrupper of mine, then sparing neither spur nor cudgel, I soon forced my\nown horse into a kind of trot, which compelled the other to make some use\nof his legs.  He twice attempted to fling himself down, to the great\nterror of his aged rider, who frequently entreated me to stop and permit\nhim to dismount.  I, however, took no notice of what he said, but\ncontinued spurring and cudgelling with unabated activity, and with such\nsuccess, that in less than half an hour we saw lights close before us,\nand presently came to a river and a bridge, which crossing, we found\nourselves at the gate of Cordova, without having broken either our\nhorses\u2019 knees or our own necks.\n\nWe passed through the entire length of the town ere we reached the\nposada; the streets were dark and almost entirely deserted.  The posada\nwas a large building, the windows of which were well fenced with rejas,\nor iron grating: no light gleamed from them, and the silence of death not\nonly seemed to pervade the house, but the street in which it was\nsituated.  We knocked for a long time at the gate without receiving any\nanswer; we then raised our voices and shouted.  At last some one from\nwithin inquired what we wanted.  \u201cOpen the door and you will see,\u201d we\nreplied.  \u201cI shall do no such thing,\u201d answered the individual from\nwithin, \u201cuntil I know who you are.\u201d  \u201cWe are travellers,\u201d said I, \u201cfrom\nSeville.\u201d  \u201cTravellers, are you,\u201d said the voice; \u201cwhy did you not tell\nme so before?  I am not porter at this house to keep out travellers.\nJesus Maria knows we have not so many of them that we need repulse any.\nEnter, cavalier, and welcome, you and your company.\u201d\n\nHe opened the gate and admitted us into a spacious courtyard, and then\nforthwith again secured the gate with various bolts and bars.  \u201cAre you\nafraid that the Carlists should pay you a visit,\u201d I demanded, \u201cthat you\ntake so much precaution?\u201d  \u201cIt is not the Carlists we are afraid of,\u201d\nreplied the porter; \u201cthey have been here already, and did us no damage\nwhatever.  It is certain scoundrels of this town that we are afraid of,\nwho have a spite against the master of the house, and would murder both\nhim and his family, could they but find an opportunity.\u201d\n\nI was about to inquire the cause of this enmity, when a thick bulky man,\nbearing a light in his hand, came running down a stone staircase, which\nled into the interior of the building.  Two or three females, also\nbearing lights, followed him.  He stopped on the lowest stair.  \u201cWhom\nhave we here?\u201d he exclaimed; then advancing the lamp which he bore, the\nlight fell full upon my face.  \u201cOla!\u201d he exclaimed; \u201cIs it you?  Only\nthink,\u201d said he, turning to the female who stood next him, a\ndark-featured person, stout as himself, and about his own age, which\nmight border upon fifty; \u201cOnly think, my dear, that at the very moment we\nwere wishing for a guest an Englishman should be standing before our\ndoors; for I should know an Englishman at a mile\u2019s distance, even in the\ndark.  Juanito,\u201d cried he to the porter, \u201copen not the gate any more\nto-night, whoever may ask for admission.  Should the nationals come to\nmake any disturbance, tell them that the son of Belington (_Wellington_)\nis in the house ready to attack them sword in hand unless they retire;\nand should other travellers arrive, which is not likely, inasmuch as we\nhave seen none for a month past, say that we have no room, all our\napartments being occupied by an English gentleman and his company.\u201d\n\nI soon found that my friend the posadero was a most egregious Carlist.\nBefore I had finished supper\u2014during which both himself and all his family\nwere present, surrounding the little table at which I sat, and observing\nmy every motion, particularly the manner in which I handled my knife and\nfork and conveyed the food to my mouth\u2014he commenced talking politics: \u201cI\nam of no particular opinion, Don Jorge,\u201d said he, for he had inquired my\nname in order that he might address me in a suitable manner; \u201cI am of no\nparticular opinion, and I hold neither for King Carlos nor for the Chica\nIsabel: nevertheless, I lead the life of a dog in this accursed Christino\ntown, which I would have left long ago, had it not been the place of my\nbirth, and did I but know whither to betake myself.  Ever since the\ntroubles have commenced, I have been afraid to stir into the street, for\nno sooner do the canaille of the town see me turning round a corner, than\nthey forthwith exclaim, \u2018Halloo, the Carlist!\u2019 and then there is a run\nand a rush, and stones and cudgels are in great requisition: so that\nunless I can escape home, which is no easy matter, seeing that I weigh\neighteen stone, my life is poured out in the street, which is neither\ndecent nor convenient, as I think you will acknowledge, Don Jorge!  You\nsee that young man,\u201d he continued, pointing to a tall swarthy youth who\nstood behind my chair, officiating as waiter; \u201che is my fourth son, is\nmarried, and does not live in the house, but about a hundred yards down\nthe street.  He was summoned in a hurry to wait upon your worship, as is\nhis duty: know, however, that he has come at the peril of his life:\nbefore he leaves this house he must peep into the street to see if the\ncoast is clear, and then he must run like a partridge to his own door.\nCarlists! why should they call my family and myself Carlists?  It is true\nthat my eldest son was a friar, and when the convents were suppressed\nbetook himself to the royal ranks, in which he has been fighting upwards\nof three years; could I help that?  Nor was it my fault, I trow, that my\nsecond son enlisted the other day with Gomez and the royalists when they\nentered Cordova.  God prosper him, I say; but I did not bid him go!  So\nfar from being a Carlist, it was I who persuaded this very lad who is\npresent to remain here, though he would fain have gone with his brother,\nfor he is a brave lad and a true Christian.  Stay at home, said I, for\nwhat can I do without you?  Who is to wait upon the guests when it\npleases God to send them.  Stay at home, at least till your brother, my\nthird son, comes back, for, to my shame be it spoken, Don Jorge, I have a\nson a soldier and a sergeant in the Christino armies, sorely against his\nown inclination, poor fellow, for he likes not the military life, and I\nhave been soliciting his discharge for years; indeed, I have counselled\nhim to maim himself, in order that he might procure his liberty\nforthwith; so I said to this lad, Stay at home, my child, till your\nbrother comes to take your place and prevent our bread being eaten by\nstrangers, who would perhaps sell me and betray me; so my son staid at\nhome as you see, Don Jorge, at my request, and yet they call me a\nCarlist?\u201d\n\n\u201cGomez and his bands have lately been in Cordova,\u201d said I; \u201cof course you\nwere present at all that occurred: how did they comport themselves?\u201d\n\n\u201cBravely well,\u201d replied the innkeeper, \u201cbravely well, and I wish they\nwere here still.  I hold with neither side, as I told you before, Don\nJorge, but I confess I never felt greater pleasure in my life than when\nthey entered the gate; and then to see the dogs of nationals flying\nthrough the streets to save their lives\u2014that was a sight, Don Jorge\u2014those\nwho met me then at the corner forgot to shout \u2018Halloo, Carlista!\u2019 and I\nheard not a word about cudgelling; some jumped from the wall and ran no\none knows where, whilst the rest retired to the house of the Inquisition,\nwhich they had fortified, and there they shut themselves up.  Now you\nmust know, Don Jorge, that all the Carlist chiefs lodged at my house,\nGomez, Cabrera, and the Sawyer; and it chanced that I was talking to my\nLord Gomez in this very room in which we are now, when in came Cabrera in\na mighty fury\u2014he is a small man, Don Jorge, but he is as active as a wild\ncat and as fierce.  \u2018The canaille,\u2019 said he, \u2018in the Casa of the\nInquisition refuse to surrender; give but the order, General, and I will\nscale the walls with my men and put them all to the sword\u2019; but Gomez\nsaid, \u2018No, we must not spill blood if we can avoid it; order a few\nmuskets to be fired at them, that will be sufficient!\u2019  And so it proved,\nDon Jorge, for after a few discharges their hearts failed them, and they\nsurrendered at discretion: whereupon their arms were taken from them and\nthey were permitted to return to their own houses; but as soon as ever\nthe Carlists departed, these fellows became as bold as ever, and it is\nnow once more, \u2018Halloo, Carlista!\u2019 when they see me turning the corner,\nand it is for fear of them that my son must run like a partridge to his\nown home, now that he has done waiting on your worship, lest they meet\nhim in the street and kill him with their knives!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou tell me that you were acquainted with Gomez: what kind of man might\nhe be?\u201d\n\n\u201cA middle-sized man,\u201d replied the innkeeper; \u201cgrave and dark.  But the\nmost remarkable personage in appearance of them all was the Sawyer: he is\na kind of giant, so tall, that when he entered the doorway he invariably\nstruck his head against the lintel.  The one I liked least of all was one\nPalillos, who is a gloomy savage ruffian whom I knew when he was a\npostillion.  Many is the time that he has been at my house of old; he is\nnow captain of the Manchegan thieves, for though he calls himself a\nroyalist, he is neither more nor less than a thief: it is a disgrace to\nthe cause that such as he should be permitted to mix with honourable and\nbrave men; I hate that fellow, Don Jorge: it is owing to him that I have\nso few customers.  Travellers are, at present, afraid to pass through La\nMancha, lest they fall into his hands.  I wish he were hanged, Don Jorge,\nand whether by Christinos or Royalists, I care not.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou recognized me at once for an Englishman,\u201d said I, \u201cdo many of my\ncountrymen visit Cordova?\u201d\n\n\u201c_Toma_!\u201d said the landlord, \u201cthey are my best customers; I have had\nEnglishmen in this house of all grades, from the son of Belington to a\nyoung medico, who cured my daughter, the chica here, of the ear-ache.\nHow should I not know an Englishman?  There were two with Gomez, serving\nas volunteers.  _Vaya que gente_; what noble horses they rode, and how\nthey scattered their gold about; they brought with them a Portuguese, who\nwas much of a gentleman but very poor; it was said that he was one of Don\nMiguel\u2019s people, and that these Englishmen supported him for the love\nthey bore to royalty; he was continually singing\n\n    \u2018El Rey chegou\u2014El Rey chegou,\n    E en Belem desembarcou!\u2019 {163}\n\nThose were merry days, Don Jorge.  By the by, I forgot to ask your\nworship of what opinion you are?\u201d\n\nThe next morning, whilst I was dressing, the old Genoese entered my room:\n\u201cSignore,\u201d said he, \u201cI am come to bid you farewell.  I am about to return\nto Seville forthwith with the horses.\u201d\n\n\u201cWherefore in such a hurry,\u201d I replied; \u201cassuredly you had better tarry\ntill to-morrow; both the animals and yourself require rest; repose\nyourselves to-day and I will defray the expense.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you, Signore, but we will depart forthwith, for there is no\ntarrying in this house.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is the matter with the house?\u201d I inquired.\n\n\u201cI find no fault with the house,\u201d replied the Genoese, \u201cit is the people\nwho keep it of whom I complain.  About an hour since, I went down to get\nmy breakfast, and there, in the kitchen, I found the master and all his\nfamily: well, I sat down and called for chocolate, which they brought me,\nbut ere I could dispatch it, the master fell to talking politics.  He\ncommenced by telling me that he held with neither side, but he is as rank\na Carlist as Carlos Quinto: for no sooner did he find that I was of the\nother opinion, than he glared at me like a wild beast.  You must know,\nSignore, that in the time of the old constitution I kept a coffee-house\nat Seville, which was frequented by all the principal liberals, and was,\nindeed, the cause of my ruin: for as I admired their opinions, I gave my\ncustomers whatever credit they required, both with regard to coffee and\nliqueurs, so that by the time the constitution was put down and despotism\nre-established, I had trusted them with all I had.  It is possible that\nmany of them would have paid me, for I believe they harboured no evil\nintention; but the persecution came, the liberals took to flight, and, as\nwas natural enough, thought more of providing for their own safety than\nof paying me for my coffee and liqueurs; nevertheless, I am a friend to\ntheir system, and never hesitate to say so.  So the landlord, as I told\nyour worship before, when he found that I was of this opinion, glared at\nme like a wild beast: \u2018Get out of my house,\u2019 said he, \u2018for I will have no\nspies here,\u2019 and thereupon he spoke disrespectfully of the young Queen\nIsabel and of Christina, who, notwithstanding she is a Neapolitan, I\nconsider as my countrywoman.  Hearing this, your worship, I confess that\nI lost my temper and returned the compliment, by saying that Carlos was a\nknave and the Princess of Beira no better than she should be.  I then\nprepared to swallow the chocolate, but ere I could bring it to my lips,\nthe woman of the house, who is a still ranker Carlist than her husband,\nif that be possible, coming up to me struck the cup into the air as high\nas the ceiling, exclaiming, \u2018Begone, dog of a negro, you shall taste\nnothing more in my house; may you be hanged even as a swine is hanged.\u2019\nSo your worship sees that it is impossible for me to remain here any\nlonger.  I forgot to say that the knave of a landlord told me that you\nhad confessed yourself to be of the same politics as himself, or he would\nnot have harboured you.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy good man,\u201d said I, \u201cI am invariably of the politics of the people at\nwhose table I sit, or beneath whose roof I sleep, at least I never say\nanything which can lead them to suspect the contrary; by pursuing which\nsystem I have more than once escaped a bloody pillow, and having the wine\nI drank spiced with sublimate.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\n\nCordova\u2014Moors of Barbary\u2014The English\u2014An Old Priest\u2014The Roman Breviary\u2014The\nDovecote\u2014The Holy Office\u2014Judaism\u2014Desecration of Dovecotes\u2014The Innkeeper\u2019s\nProposal.\n\nLittle can be said with respect to the town of Cordova, which is a mean\ndark gloomy place, full of narrow streets and alleys, without squares or\npublic buildings worthy of attention, save and except its far-famed\ncathedral; its situation, however, is beautiful and picturesque.  Before\nit runs the Guadalquivir, which, though in this part shallow and full of\nsandbanks, is still a delightful stream; whilst behind it rise the steep\nsides of the Sierra Morena, planted up to the top with olive groves.  The\ntown or city is surrounded on all sides by lofty Moorish walls, which may\nmeasure about three quarters of a league in circumference; unlike\nSeville, and most other towns in Spain, it has no suburbs.\n\nI have said that Cordova has no remarkable edifices, save its cathedral;\nyet this is perhaps the most extraordinary place of worship in the world.\nIt was originally, as is well known, a mosque, built in the brightest\ndays of Arabian dominion in Spain; in shape it was quadrangular, with a\nlow roof, supported by an infinity of small and delicately rounded marble\npillars, many of which still remain, and present at first sight the\nappearance of a marble grove; the greater part, however, were removed\nwhen the Christians, after the expulsion of the Moslems, essayed to\nconvert the mosque into a cathedral, which they effected in part by the\nerection of a dome, and by clearing an open space for a choir.  As it at\npresent exists, the temple appears to belong partly to Mahomet, and\npartly to the Nazarene; and though this jumbling together of massive\nGothic architecture with the light and delicate style of the Arabians\nproduces an effect somewhat bizarre, it still remains a magnificent and\nglorious edifice, and well calculated to excite feelings of awe and\nveneration within the bosoms of those who enter it.\n\nThe Moors of Barbary seem to care but little for the exploits of their\nancestors: their minds are centred in the things of the present day, and\nonly so far as those things regard themselves individually.\nDisinterested enthusiasm, that truly distinguishing mark of a noble mind,\nand admiration for what is great, good, and grand, they appear to be\ntotally incapable of feeling.  It is astonishing with what indifference\nthey stray amongst the relics of ancient Moorish grandeur in Spain.  No\nfeelings of exultation seem to be excited by the proof of what the Moor\nonce was, nor of regret at the consciousness of what he now is.  More\ninteresting to them are their perfumes, their papouches, their dates, and\ntheir silks of Fez and Maraks, to dispose of which they visit Andalusia;\nand yet the generality of these men are far from being ignorant, and have\nboth heard and read of what was passing in Spain in the old time.  I was\nonce conversing with a Moor at Madrid, with whom I was very intimate,\nabout the Alhambra of Granada, which he had visited.  \u201cDid you not weep,\u201d\nsaid I, \u201cwhen you passed through the courts, and thought of the,\nAbencerrages?\u201d  \u201cNo,\u201d said he, \u201cI did not weep; wherefore should I weep?\u201d\n\u201cAnd why did you visit the Alhambra?\u201d I demanded.  \u201cI visited it,\u201d he\nreplied, \u201cbecause being at Granada on my own affairs, one of your\ncountrymen requested me to accompany him thither, that I might explain\nsome of the inscriptions.  I should certainly not have gone of my own\naccord, for the hill on which it stands is steep.\u201d  And yet this man\ncould compose verses, and was by no means a contemptible poet.  Once at\nCordova, whilst I was in the cathedral, three Moors entered it, and\nproceeded slowly across its floor in the direction of a gate, which stood\nat the opposite side; they took no farther notice of what was around them\nthan by slightly glancing once or twice at the pillars, one of them\nexclaiming, \u201c_Huaije del Mselmeen_, _huaije del Mselmeen_\u201d (things of the\nMoors, things of the Moors); and showed no other respect for the place\nwhere Abderrahman the Magnificent prostrated himself of old, than facing\nabout on arriving at the farther door and making their egress backwards;\nyet these men were hajis and talebs, men likewise of much gold and\nsilver, men who had read, who had travelled, who had seen Mecca, and the\ngreat city of Negroland.\n\nI remained in Cordova much longer than I had originally intended, owing\nto the accounts which I was continually hearing of the unsafe state of\nthe roads to Madrid.  I soon ransacked every nook and cranny of this\nancient town, formed various acquaintances amongst the populace, which is\nmy general practice on arriving at a strange place.  I more than once\nascended the side of the Sierra Morena, in which excursions I was\naccompanied by the son of my host,\u2014the tall lad of whom I have already\nspoken.  The people of the house, who had imbibed the idea that I was of\nthe same way of thinking as themselves, were exceedingly courteous; it is\ntrue, that in return I was compelled to listen to a vast deal of Carlism,\nin other words, high treason against the ruling powers in Spain, to\nwhich, however, I submitted with patience.  \u201cDon Jorgito,\u201d said the\nlandlord to me one day, \u201cI love the English; they are my best customers.\nIt is a pity that there is not greater union between Spain and England,\nand that more English do not visit us.  Why should there not be a\nmarriage?  The king will speedily be at Madrid.  Why should there not be\nbodas between the son of Don Carlos and the heiress of England?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt would certainly tend to bring a considerable number of English to\nSpain,\u201d said I, \u201cand it would not be the first time that the son of a\nCarlos has married a Princess of England.\u201d\n\nThe host mused for a moment, and then exclaimed, \u201cCarracho, Don Jorgito,\nif this marriage could be brought about, both the king and myself should\nhave cause to fling our caps in the air.\u201d\n\nThe house or posada in which I had taken up my abode was exceedingly\nspacious, containing an infinity of apartments, both large and small, the\ngreater part of which were, however, unfurnished.  The chamber in which I\nwas lodged stood at the end of an immensely long corridor, of the kind so\nadmirably described in the wondrous tale of Udolfo.  For a day or two\nafter my arrival I believed myself to be the only lodger in the house.\nOne morning, however, I beheld a strange-looking old man seated in the\ncorridor, by one of the windows, reading intently in a small thick\nvolume.  He was clad in garments of coarse blue cloth, and wore a loose\nspencer over a waistcoat adorned with various rows of small buttons of\nmother of pearl; he had spectacles upon his nose.  I could perceive,\nnotwithstanding he was seated, that his stature bordered upon the\ngigantic.  \u201cWho is that person?\u201d said I to the landlord, whom I presently\nmet; \u201cis he also a guest of yours?\u201d  \u201cNot exactly, Don Jorge de mi alma,\u201d\nreplied he, \u201cI can scarcely call him a guest, inasmuch as I gain nothing\nby him, though he is staying at my house.  You must know, Don Jorge, that\nhe is one of two priests who officiate at a large village at some slight\ndistance from this place.  So it came to pass, that when the soldiers of\nGomez entered the village, his reverence went to meet them, dressed in\nfull canonicals, with a book in his hand, and he, at their bidding,\nproclaimed Carlos Quinto in the market-place.  The other priest, however,\nwas a desperate liberal, a downright negro, and upon him the royalists\nlaid their hands, and were proceeding to hang him.  His reverence,\nhowever, interfered, and obtained mercy for his colleague, on condition\nthat he should cry _Viva Carlos Quinto_! which the latter did in order to\nsave his life.  Well; no sooner had the royalists departed from these\nparts than the black priest mounts his mule, comes to Cordova, and\ninforms against his reverence, notwithstanding that he had saved his\nlife.  So his reverence was seized and brought hither to Cordova, and\nwould assuredly have been thrown into the common prison as a Carlist, had\nI not stepped forward and offered to be surety that he should not quit\nthe place, but should come forward at any time to answer whatever charge\nmight be brought against him; and he is now in my house, though guest I\ncannot call him, for he is not of the slightest advantage to me, as his\nvery food is daily brought from the country, and that consists only of a\nfew eggs and a little milk and bread.  As for his money, I have never\nseen the colour of it, notwithstanding they tell me that he has buenas\npesetas.  However, he is a holy man, is continually reading and praying\nand is, moreover, of the right opinion.  I therefore keep him in my\nhouse, and would be bail for him were he twenty times more of a skinflint\nthan he seems to be.\u201d\n\nThe next day, as I was again passing through the corridor, I observed the\nold man in the same place, and saluted him.  He returned my salutation\nwith much courtesy, and closing the book, placed it upon his knee as if\nwilling to enter into conversation.  After exchanging a word or two, I\ntook up the book for the purpose of inspecting it.\n\n\u201cYou will hardly derive much instruction from that book, Don Jorge,\u201d said\nthe old man; \u201cyou cannot understand it, for it is not written in\nEnglish.\u201d\n\n\u201cNor in Spanish,\u201d I replied.  \u201cBut with respect to understanding the\nbook, I cannot see what difficulty there can be in a thing so simple; it\nis only the Roman breviary written in the Latin tongue.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo the English understand Latin?\u201d exclaimed he.  \u201cVaya!  Who would have\nthought that it was possible for Lutherans to understand the language of\nthe church?  Vaya! the longer one lives the more one learns.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow old may your reverence be?\u201d I inquired.\n\n\u201cI am eighty years, Don Jorge; eighty years, and somewhat more.\u201d\n\nSuch was the first conversation which passed between his reverence and\nmyself.  He soon conceived no inconsiderable liking for me, and favoured\nme with no little of his company.  Unlike our friend the landlord, I\nfound him by no means inclined to talk politics, which the more surprised\nme, knowing, as I did, the decided and hazardous part which he had taken\non the late Carlist irruption into the neighbourhood.  He took, however,\ngreat delight in discoursing on ecclesiastical subjects and the writings\nof the fathers.\n\n\u201cI have got a small library at home, Don Jorge, which consists of all the\nvolumes of the fathers which I have been able to pick up, and I find the\nperusal of them a source of great amusement and comfort.  Should these\ndark days pass by, Don Jorge, and you should be in these parts, I hope\nyou will look in upon me, and I will show you my little library of the\nfathers, and likewise my dovecote, where I rear numerous broods of\npigeons, which are also a source of much solace and at the same time of\nprofit.\u201d\n\n\u201cI suppose by your dovecote,\u201d said I, \u201cyou mean your parish, and by\nrearing broods of pigeons, you allude to the care you take of the souls\nof your people, instilling therein the fear of God, and obedience to his\nrevealed law, which occupation must of course afford you much solace and\nspiritual profit.\u201d\n\n\u201cI was not speaking metaphorically, Don Jorge,\u201d replied my companion;\n\u201cand by rearing doves, I mean neither more nor less than that I supply\nthe market of Cordova with pigeons, and occasionally that of Seville; for\nmy birds are very celebrated, and plumper or fatter flesh than theirs I\nbelieve cannot be found in the whole kingdom.  Should you come into my\nvillage, you will doubtless taste them, Don Jorge, at the venta where you\nwill put up, for I suffer no dovecotes but my own within my district.\nWith respect to the souls of my parishioners, I trust I do my duty\u2014I\ntrust I do, as far as in my power lies.  I always took great pleasure in\nthese spiritual matters, and it was on that account that I attached\nmyself to the Santa Casa of Cordova, the duties of which I assisted to\nperform for a long period.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour reverence has been an inquisitor?\u201d I exclaimed, somewhat startled.\n\n\u201cFrom my thirtieth year until the time of the suppression of the holy\noffice in these afflicted kingdoms.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou both surprise and delight me,\u201d I exclaimed.  \u201cNothing could have\nafforded me greater pleasure than to find myself conversing with a father\nformerly attached to the holy house of Cordova.\u201d\n\nThe old man looked at me steadfastly; \u201cI understand you, Don Jorge.  I\nhave long seen that you are one of us.  You are a learned and holy man;\nand though you think fit to call yourself a Lutheran and an Englishman, I\nhave dived into your real condition.  No Lutheran would take the interest\nin church matters which you do, and with respect to your being an\nEnglishman, none of that nation can speak Castilian, much less Latin.  I\nbelieve you to be one of us\u2014a missionary priest, and I am especially\nconfirmed in that idea by your frequent conversations and interviews with\nthe Gitanos; you appear to be labouring among them.  Be, however, on your\nguard, Don Jorge, trust not to Egyptian faith; they are evil penitents,\nwhom I like not.  I would not advise you to trust them.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not intend,\u201d I replied; \u201cespecially with money.  But to return to\nmore important matters:\u2014of what crimes did this holy house of Cordova\ntake cognizance?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are of course aware of the matters on which the holy office\nexercises its functions.  I need scarcely mention sorcery, Judaism, and\ncertain carnal misdemeanours.\u201d\n\n\u201cWith respect to sorcery,\u201d said I, \u201cwhat is your opinion of it?  Is there\nin reality such a crime?\u201d\n\n\u201c_Que se io_ {170}?\u201d said the old man, shrugging up his shoulders.  \u201cHow\nshould I know?  The church has power, Don Jorge, or at least it had\npower, to punish for anything, real or unreal; and as it was necessary to\npunish in order to prove that it had the power of punishing, of what\nconsequence whether it punished for sorcery or any other crime.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid many cases of sorcery occur within your own sphere of knowledge?\u201d\n\n\u201cOne or two, Don Jorge; they were by no means frequent.  The last that I\nremember was a case which occurred in a convent at Seville: a certain nun\nwas in the habit of flying through the windows and about the garden over\nthe tops of the orange trees; declarations of various witnesses were\ntaken, and the process was arranged with much formality; the fact, I\nbelieve, was satisfactorily proved: of one thing I am certain, that the\nnun was punished.\u201d\n\n\u201cWere you troubled with much Judaism in these parts?\u201d\n\n\u201cWooh!  Nothing gave so much trouble to the Santa Casa as this same\nJudaism.  Its shoots and ramifications are numerous, not only in these\nparts, but in all Spain; and it is singular enough, that even among the\npriesthood, instances of Judaism of both kinds were continually coming to\nour knowledge, which it was of course our duty to punish.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs there more than one species of Judaism?\u201d I demanded.\n\n\u201cI have always arranged Judaism under two heads,\u201d said the old man, \u201cthe\nblack and the white: by the black, I mean the observance of the law of\nMoses in preference to the precepts of the church; then there is the\nwhite Judaism, which includes all kinds of heresy, such as Lutheranism,\nfreemasonry, and the like.\u201d\n\n\u201cI can easily conceive,\u201d said I, \u201cthat many of the priesthood favoured\nthe principles of the reformation, and that the minds of not a few had\nbeen led astray by the deceitful lights of modern philosophy, but it is\nalmost inconceivable to me that there should be Jews amongst the\npriesthood who follow in secret the rites and observances of the old law,\nthough I confess that I have been assured of the fact ere now.\u201d\n\n\u201cPlenty of Judaism amongst the priesthood, whether of the black or white\nspecies; no lack of it, I assure you, Don Jorge; I remember once\nsearching the house of an ecclesiastic who was accused of the black\nJudaism, and after much investigation, we discovered beneath the floor a\nwooden chest, in which was a small shrine of silver, inclosing three\nbooks in black hogskin, which, on being opened, were found to be books of\nJewish devotion, written in Hebrew characters, and of great antiquity;\nand on being questioned, the culprit made no secret of his guilt, but\nrather gloried in it, saying that there was no God but one, and\ndenouncing the adoration of Maria Santissima as rank idolatry.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd between ourselves, what is your own opinion of the adoration of this\nsame Maria Santissima?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is my opinion!  _Que se io_?\u201d said the old man, shrugging up his\nshoulders still higher than on the former occasion; \u201cbut I will tell you;\nI think, on consideration, that it is quite right and proper; why not?\nLet any one pay a visit to my church, and look at her as she stands\nthere, _tan bonita_, _tan guapita_\u2014so well dressed and so genteel\u2014with\nsuch pretty colours, such red and white, and he would scarcely ask me why\nMaria Santissima should not be adored.  Moreover, Don Jorgito mio, this\nis a church matter and forms an important part of the church system.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd now, with respect to carnal misdemeanours.  Did you take much\ncognizance of them?\u201d\n\n\u201cAmongst the laity, not much; we, however, kept a vigilant eye upon our\nown body, but, upon the whole, were rather tolerant in these matters,\nknowing that the infirmities of human nature are very great indeed: we\nrarely punished, save in cases where the glory of the church and loyalty\nto Maria Santissima made punishment absolutely imperative.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what cases might those be?\u201d I demanded.\n\n\u201cI allude to the desecration of dovecotes, Don Jorge, and the\nintroduction therein of strange flesh, for purposes neither seemly nor\nconvenient.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour reverence will excuse me for not yet perfectly understanding.\u201d\n\n\u201cI mean, Don Jorge, certain acts of flagitiousness practised by the\nclergy in lone and remote palomares (_dovecotes_) in olive grounds and\ngardens; actions denounced, I believe, by the holy Pablo in his first\nletter to Pope Sixtus. {171}  You understand me now, Don Jorge, for you\nare learned in church matters.\u201d\n\n\u201cI think I understand you,\u201d I replied.\n\nAfter remaining several days more at Cordova, I determined to proceed on\nmy journey to Madrid, though the roads were still said to be highly\ninsecure.  I, however, saw but little utility in tarrying and awaiting a\nmore tranquil state of affairs, which might never arrive.  I therefore\nconsulted with the landlord respecting the best means of making the\njourney.  \u201cDon Jorgito,\u201d he replied, \u201cI think I can tell you.  You say\nyou are anxious to depart, and I never wish to keep guests in my house\nlonger than is agreeable to them; to do so, would not become a Christian\ninnkeeper: I leave such conduct to Moors, Christinos, and Negroes.  I\nwill further you on your journey, Don Jorge: I have a plan in my head,\nwhich I had resolved to propose to you before you questioned me.  There\nis my wife\u2019s brother, who has two horses which he occasionally lets out\nfor hire; you shall hire them, Don Jorge, and he himself shall attend you\nto take care of you, and to comfort you, and to talk to you, and you\nshall pay him forty dollars for the journey.  Moreover, as there are\nthieves upon the route, and _malos sujetos_, such as Palillos and his\nfamily, you shall make an engagement and a covenant, Don Jorge, that\nprovided you are robbed and stripped on the route, and the horses of my\nwife\u2019s brother are taken from him by the thieves, you shall, on arriving\nat Madrid, make good any losses to which my wife\u2019s brother may be subject\nin following you.  This is my plan, Don Jorge, which no doubt will meet\nwith your worship\u2019s approbation, as it is devised solely for your\nbenefit, and not with any view of lucre or interest either to me or mine.\nYou will find my wife\u2019s brother pleasant company on the route: he is a\nvery respectable man, and one of the right opinion, and has likewise\ntravelled much; for between ourselves, Don Jorge, he is something of a\nContrabandista and frequently smuggles diamonds and precious stones from\nPortugal, which he disposes of sometimes in Cordova and sometimes at\nMadrid.  He is acquainted with all the short cuts, all the atajos, Don\nJorge, and is much respected in all the ventas and posadas on the way; so\nnow give me your hand upon the bargain, and I will forthwith repair to my\nwife\u2019s brother to tell him to get ready to set out with your worship the\nday after to-morrow.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\n\nDeparture from Cordova\u2014The Contrabandista\u2014Jewish Cunning\u2014Arrival at\nMadrid.\n\nOne fine morning, I departed from Cordova, in company with the\nContrabandista; the latter was mounted on a handsome animal, something\nbetween a horse and a pony, which he called a jaca, of that breed for\nwhich Cordova is celebrated.  It was of a bright bay colour, with a star\nin its forehead, with strong but elegant limbs, and a long black tail,\nwhich swept the ground.  The other animal, which was destined to carry me\nto Madrid, was not quite so prepossessing in its appearance: in more than\none respect it closely resembled a hog, particularly in the curving of\nits back, the shortness of its neck, and the manner in which it kept its\nhead nearly in contact with the ground: it had also the tail of a hog,\nand meandered over the ground much like one.  Its coat more resembled\ncoarse bristles than hair, and with respect to size, I have seen many a\nWestphalian hog quite as tall.  I was not altogether satisfied with the\nidea of exhibiting myself on the back of this most extraordinary\nquadruped, and looked wistfully on the respectable animal on which my\nguide had thought proper to place himself; he interpreted my glances, and\ngave me to understand that as he was destined to carry the baggage, he\nwas entitled to the best horse; a plea too well grounded on reason for me\nto make any objection to it.\n\nI found the Contrabandista by no means such pleasant company on the road\nas I had been led to suppose he would prove from the representation of my\nhost of Cordova.  Throughout the day he sat sullen and silent, and rarely\nreplied to my questions, save by a monosyllable; at night, however, after\nhaving eaten well and drank proportionably at my expense, he would\noccasionally become more sociable and communicative.  \u201cI have given up\nsmuggling,\u201d said he, on one of these occasions, \u201cowing to a trick which\nwas played upon me the last time that I was at Lisbon: a Jew whom I had\nbeen long acquainted with palmed upon me a false brilliant for a real\nstone.  He effected it in the most extraordinary manner, for I am not\nsuch a novice as not to know a true diamond when I see one; but the Jew\nappears to have had two, with which he played most adroitly, keeping the\nvaluable one for which I bargained, and substituting therefor another\nwhich, though an excellent imitation, was not worth four dollars.  I did\nnot discover the trick until I was across the border, and upon my\nhurrying back, the culprit was not to be found; his priest, however, told\nme that he was just dead and buried, which was of course false, as I saw\nhim laughing in the corners of his eyes.  I renounced the contraband\ntrade from that moment.\u201d\n\nIt is not my intention to describe minutely the various incidents of this\njourney.  Leaving at our right the mountains of Jaen, we passed through\nAndujar and Bailen, and on the third day reached Carolina, a small but\nbeautiful town on the skirts of the Sierra Morena, inhabited by the\ndescendants of German colonists.  Two leagues from this place, we entered\nthe defile of Despe\u00f1a Perros, which, even in quiet times, has an evil\nname, on account of the robberies which are continually being perpetrated\nwithin its recesses, but at the period of which I am speaking, it was\nsaid to be swarming with banditti.  We of course expected to be robbed,\nperhaps stripped and otherwise ill-treated; but Providence here\nmanifested itself.  It appeared that, the day before our arrival, the\nbanditti of the pass had committed a dreadful robbery and murder, by\nwhich they gained forty thousand rials.  This booty probably contented\nthem for a time; certain it is that we were not interrupted: we did not\neven see a single individual in the pass, though we occasionally heard\nwhistles and loud cries.  We entered La Mancha, where I expected to fall\ninto the hands of Palillos and Orejita.  Providence again showed itself.\nIt had been delicious weather, suddenly the Lord breathed forth a frozen\nblast, the severity of which was almost intolerable; no human beings but\nourselves ventured forth.  We traversed snow-covered plains, and passed\nthrough villages and towns to all appearance deserted.  The robbers kept\nclose in their caves and hovels, but the cold nearly killed us.  We\nreached Aranjuez late on Christmas Day, and I got into the house of an\nEnglishman, where I swallowed nearly a pint of brandy; it affected me no\nmore than warm water.\n\nOn the following day we arrived at Madrid, where we had the good fortune\nto find everything tranquil and quiet.  The Contrabandista continued with\nme for two days, at the end of which time he returned to Cordova upon the\nuncouth animal on which I had ridden throughout the journey.  I had\nmyself purchased the jaca, whose capabilities I had seen on the route,\nand which I imagined might prove useful in future journeys.  The\nContrabandista was so satisfied with the price which I gave him for his\nbeast, and the general treatment which he had experienced at my hands\nduring the time of his attendance upon me, that he would fain have\npersuaded me to retain him as a servant, assuring me that, in the event\nof my compliance, he would forget his wife and children and follow me\nthrough the world.  I declined, however, to accede to his request, though\nI was in need of a domestic; I therefore sent him back to Cordova, where,\nas I subsequently learned, he died suddenly, about a week after his\nreturn.\n\nThe manner of his death was singular: one day he took out his purse, and,\nafter counting his money, said to his wife, \u201cI have made ninety-five\ndollars by this journey with the Englishman and by the sale of the jaca;\nthis I could easily double by one successful venture in the smuggling\nlay.  To-morrow I will depart for Lisbon to buy diamonds.  I wonder if\nthe beast requires to be shod?\u201d  He then started up and made for the\ndoor, with the intention of going to the stable; ere, however, his foot\nhad crossed the threshold, he fell dead on the floor.  Such is the course\nof the world.  Well said the wise king: Let no one boast of the morrow.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\n\nArrival at Madrid\u2014Maria Diaz\u2014Printing of the Testament\u2014My\nProject\u2014Andalusian Steed\u2014Servant Wanted\u2014An Application\u2014Antonio\nBuchini\u2014General Cordova\u2014Principles of Honour.\n\nOn my arrival at Madrid I did not repair to my former lodgings in the\nCalle de la Zarza, but took others in the Calle de Santiago, in the\nvicinity of the palace.  The name of the hostess (for there was, properly\nspeaking, no host) was Maria Diaz, of whom I shall take the present\nopportunity of saying something in particular.\n\nShe was a woman of about thirty-five years of age, rather good-looking,\nand with a physiognomy every lineament of which bespoke intelligence of\nno common order.  Her eyes were keen and penetrating, though occasionally\nclouded with a somewhat melancholy expression.  There was a particular\ncalmness and quiet in her general demeanour, beneath which, however,\nslumbered a firmness of spirit and an energy of action which were\ninstantly displayed whenever necessary.  A Spaniard and, of course, a\nCatholic, she was possessed of a spirit of toleration and liberality\nwhich would have done honour to individuals much her superior in station.\nIn this woman, during the remainder of my sojourn in Spain, I found a\nfirm and constant friend, and occasionally a most discreet adviser: she\nentered into all my plans, I will not say with enthusiasm, which, indeed,\nformed no part of her character, but with cordiality and sincerity,\nforwarding them to the utmost of her ability.  She never shrank from me\nin the hour of danger and persecution, but stood my friend,\nnotwithstanding the many inducements which were held out to her by my\nenemies to desert or betray me.  Her motives were of the noblest kind,\nfriendship and a proper feeling of the duties of hospitality; no\nprospect, no hope of self-interest, however remote, influenced this\nadmirable woman in her conduct towards me.  Honour to Maria Diaz, the\nquiet, dauntless, clever Castilian female.  I were an ingrate not to\nspeak well of her, for richly has she deserved an eulogy in the humble\npages of _The Bible in Spain_.\n\nShe was a native of Villa Seca, a hamlet of New Castile, situated in what\nis called the Sagra, at about three leagues\u2019 distance from Toledo: her\nfather was an architect of some celebrity, particularly skilled in\nerecting bridges.  At a very early age she married a respectable yeoman\nof Villa Seca, Lopez by name, by whom she had three sons.  On the death\nof her father, which occurred about five years previous to the time of\nwhich I am speaking, she removed to Madrid, partly for the purpose of\neducating her children, and partly in the hope of obtaining from the\ngovernment a considerable sum of money for which it stood indebted to her\nfather, at the time of his decease, for various useful and ornamental\nworks, principally in the neighbourhood of Aranjuez.  The justness of her\nclaim was at once acknowledged; but, alas! no money was forthcoming, the\nroyal treasury being empty.  Her hopes of earthly happiness were now\nconcentrated in her children.  The two youngest were still of a very\ntender age; but the eldest, Juan Jos\u00e9 Lopez, a lad of about sixteen, was\nbidding fair to realize the warmest hopes of his affectionate mother; he\nhad devoted himself to the arts, in which he made such progress that he\nhad already become the favourite pupil of his celebrated namesake Lopez,\nthe best painter of modern Spain.  Such was Maria Diaz, who, according to\na custom formerly universal in Spain, and still very prevalent, retained\nthe name of her maidenhood though married.  Such was Maria Diaz and her\nfamily.\n\nOne of my first cares was to wait on Mr. Villiers, who received me with\nhis usual kindness.  I asked him whether he considered that I might\nventure to commence printing the Scriptures without any more applications\nto government.  His reply was satisfactory: \u201cYou obtained the permission\nof the government of Isturitz,\u201d said he, \u201cwhich was a much less liberal\none than the present.  I am a witness to the promise made to you by the\nformer ministers, which I consider sufficient.  You had best commence and\ncomplete the work as soon as possible, without any fresh application; and\nshould any one attempt to interrupt you, you have only to come to me,\nwhom you may command at any time.\u201d  So I went away with a light heart,\nand forthwith made preparation for the execution of the object which had\nbrought me to Spain.\n\nI shall not enter here into unnecessary details, which could possess but\nlittle interest for the reader; suffice it to say that, within three\nmonths from this time, an edition of the New Testament, consisting of\nfive thousand copies, was published at Madrid.  The work was printed at\nthe establishment of Mr. Borrego, a well-known writer on political\neconomy, and proprietor and editor of an influential newspaper called El\nEspa\u00f1ol.  To this gentleman I had been recommended by Isturitz himself,\non the day of my interview with him.  That unfortunate minister had,\nindeed, the highest esteem for Borrego, and had intended raising him to\nthe station of minister of finance, when the revolution of the Granja\noccurring, of course rendered abortive this project, with perhaps many\nothers of a similar kind which he might have formed.\n\nThe Spanish version of the New Testament which was thus published, had\nbeen made many years before by a certain Padre Filipe Scio, confessor of\nFerdinand the Seventh, and had even been printed, but so encumbered by\nnotes and commentaries as to be unfitted for general circulation, for\nwhich, indeed, it was never intended.  In the present edition, the notes\nwere of course omitted, and the inspired word, and that alone, offered to\nthe public.  It was brought out in a handsome octavo volume, and\npresented, upon the whole, a rather favourable specimen of Spanish\ntypography.\n\nThe mere printing, however, of the New Testament at Madrid could be\nattended with no utility whatever, unless measures, and energetic ones,\nwere taken for the circulation of the sacred volume.\n\nIn the case of the New Testament, it would not do to follow the usual\nplan of publication in Spain, namely, to entrust the work to the\nbooksellers of the capital, and rest content with the sale which they and\ntheir agents in the provincial towns might be able to obtain for it, in\nthe common routine of business; the result generally being, the\ncirculation of a few dozen copies in the course of the year; as the\ndemand for literature of every kind in Spain was miserably small.\n\nThe Christians of England had already made considerable sacrifices in the\nhope of disseminating the word of God largely amongst the Spaniards, and\nit was now necessary to spare no exertion to prevent that hope becoming\nabortive.  Before the book was ready, I had begun to make preparations\nfor putting a plan into execution, which had occupied my thoughts\noccasionally during my former visit to Spain, and which I had never\nsubsequently abandoned.  I had mused on it when off Cape Finisterre in\nthe tempest; in the cut-throat passes of the Morena; and on the plains of\nLa Mancha, as I jogged along a little way ahead of the Contrabandista.\n\nI had determined, after depositing a certain number of copies in the\nshops of the booksellers of Madrid, to ride forth, Testament in hand, and\nendeavour to circulate the word of God amongst the Spaniards, not only of\nthe towns but of the villages; amongst the children not only of the\nplains but of the hills and mountains.  I intended to visit Old Castile,\nand to traverse the whole of Galicia and the Asturias,\u2014to establish\nScripture d\u00e9pots in the principal towns, and to visit the people in\nsecret and secluded spots,\u2014to talk to them of Christ, to explain to them\nthe nature of his book, and to place that book in the hands of those whom\nI should deem capable of deriving benefit from it.  I was aware that such\na journey would be attended with considerable danger, and very possibly\nthe fate of St. Stephen might overtake me; but does the man deserve the\nname of a follower of Christ who would shrink from danger of any kind in\nthe cause of Him whom he calls his Master?  \u201cHe who loses his life for my\nsake, shall find it,\u201d are words which the Lord himself uttered.  These\nwords were fraught with consolation to me, as they doubtless are to every\none engaged in propagating the gospel in sincerity of heart, in savage\nand barbarian lands.\n\nI now purchased another horse; for these animals, at the time of which I\nam speaking, were exceedingly cheap.  A royal requisition was about to be\nissued for five thousand, the consequence being, that an immense number\nwere for sale, for, by virtue of this requisition, the horses of any\nperson not a foreigner could be seized for the benefit of the service.\nIt was probable that, when the number was made up, the price of horses\nwould be treble what it then was, which consideration induced me to\npurchase this animal before I exactly wanted him.  He was a black\nAndalusian stallion of great power and strength, and capable of\nperforming a journey of a hundred leagues in a week\u2019s time, but he was\nunbroke, savage, and furious.  A cargo of Bibles, however, which I hoped\noccasionally to put on his back, would, I had no doubt, thoroughly tame\nhim, especially when labouring up the flinty hills of the north of Spain.\nI wished to have purchased a mule, but, though I offered thirty pounds\nfor a sorry one, I could not obtain her; whereas the cost of both the\nhorses, tall powerful stately animals, scarcely amounted to that sum.\n\nThe state of the surrounding country at this time was not very favourable\nfor venturing forth: Cabrera was within nine leagues of Madrid, with an\narmy nearly ten thousand strong; he had beaten several small detachments\nof the queen\u2019s troops, and had ravaged La Mancha with fire and sword,\nburning several towns; bands of affrighted fugitives were arriving every\nhour, bringing tidings of woe and disaster, and I was only surprised that\nthe enemy did not appear, and by taking Madrid, which was almost at his\nmercy, put an end to the war at once.  But the truth is, that the Carlist\ngenerals did not wish the war to cease, for as long as the country was\ninvolved in bloodshed and anarchy, they could plunder and exercise that\nlawless authority so dear to men of fierce and brutal passions.  Cabrera,\nmoreover, was a dastardly wretch, whose limited mind was incapable of\nharbouring a single conception approaching to grandeur; whose heroic\ndeeds were confined to cutting down defenceless men, and to forcing and\ndisembowelling unhappy women; and yet I have seen this wretched fellow\ntermed by French journals (Carlist of course) the young, the heroic\ngeneral.  Infamy on the cowardly assassin!  The shabbiest corporal of\nNapoleon would have laughed at his generalship, and half a battalion of\nAustrian grenadiers would have driven him and his rabble army headlong\ninto the Ebro.\n\nI now made preparations for my journey into the north.  I was already\nprovided with horses well calculated to support the fatigues of the road\nand the burdens which I might deem necessary to impose upon them.  One\nthing, however, was still lacking, indispensable to a person about to\nengage on an expedition of this description; I mean a servant to attend\nme.  Perhaps there is no place in the world where servants more abound\nthan at Madrid, or at least fellows eager to proffer their services in\nthe expectation of receiving food and wages, though, with respect to the\nactual service which they are capable of performing, not much can be\nsaid; but I was in want of a servant of no common description, a shrewd\nactive fellow, of whose advice, in cases of emergency, I could\noccasionally avail myself; courageous withal, for it certainly required\nsome degree of courage to follow a master bent on exploring the greater\npart of Spain, and who intended to travel, not under the protection of\nmuleteers and carmen, but on his own cabalgaduras.  Such a servant,\nperhaps, I might have sought for years without finding; chance, however,\nbrought one to my hand at the very time I wanted him, without it being\nnecessary for me to make any laborious perquisitions.  I was one day\nmentioning the subject to Mr. Borrego, at whose establishment I had\nprinted the New Testament, and inquiring whether he thought that such an\nindividual was to be found in Madrid, adding that I was particularly\nanxious to obtain a servant who, besides Spanish, could speak some other\nlanguage, that occasionally we might discourse without being understood\nby those who might overhear us.  \u201cThe very description of person,\u201d he\nreplied, \u201cthat you appear to be in need of, quitted me about half an hour\nago, and, it is singular enough, came to me in the hope that I might be\nable to recommend him to a master.  He has been twice in my service: for\nhis talent and courage I will answer; and I believe him to be\ntrustworthy, at least to masters who may chime in with his humour, for I\nmust inform you that he is a most extraordinary fellow, full of strange\nlikes and antipathies, which he will gratify at any expense, either to\nhimself or others.  Perhaps he will attach himself to you, in which case\nyou will find him highly valuable; for if he please he can turn his hand\nto any thing, and is not only acquainted with two but half a dozen\nlanguages.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs he a Spaniard?\u201d I inquired.\n\n\u201cI will send him to you to-morrow,\u201d said Borrego, \u201cyou will best learn\nfrom his own mouth who and what he is.\u201d\n\nThe next day, as I had just sat down to my \u201csopa,\u201d my hostess informed me\nthat a man wished to speak to me.  \u201cAdmit him,\u201d said I, and he almost\ninstantly made his appearance.  He was dressed respectably in the French\nfashion, and had rather a juvenile look, though I subsequently learned\nthat he was considerably above forty.  He was somewhat above the middle\nstature, and might have been called well made, had it not been for his\nmeagreness, which was rather remarkable.  His arms were long and bony,\nand his whole form conveyed an idea of great activity united with no\nslight degree of strength: his hair was wiry, but of jetty blackness; his\nforehead low; his eyes small and grey, expressive of much subtlety and no\nless malice, strangely relieved by a strong dash of humour; the nose was\nhandsome, but the mouth was immensely wide, and his under jaw projected\nconsiderably.  A more singular physiognomy I had never seen, and I\ncontinued staring at him for some time in silence.  \u201cWho are you?\u201d I at\nlast demanded.\n\n\u201cDomestic in search of a master,\u201d answered the man in good French, but in\na strange accent.  \u201cI come recommended to you, my Lor, by Monsieur B.\u201d\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Of what nation may you be?  Are you French or Spanish?\n\n_Man_.\u2014God forbid that I should be either, mi Lor, _j\u2019ai l\u2019honneur d\u2019etre\nde la nation Grecque_, my name is Antonio Buchini, native of Pera the\nBelle near to Constantinople.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014And what brought you to Spain?\n\n_Buchini_.\u2014_Mi Lor_, _je vais vous raconter mon histoire du commencement\njusqu\u2019ici_:\u2014my father was a native of Sceira in Greece, from whence at an\nearly age he repaired to Pera, where he served as janitor in the hotels\nof various ambassadors, by whom he was much respected for his fidelity.\nAmongst others of these gentlemen, he served him of your own nation: this\noccurred at the time that there was war between England and the Porte.\n{181}  Monsieur the Ambassador had to escape for his life, leaving the\ngreater part of his valuables to the care of my father, who concealed\nthem at his own great risk, and when the dispute was settled, restored\nthem to Monsieur, even to the most inconsiderable trinket.  I mention\nthis circumstance to show you that I am of a family which cherishes\nprinciples of honour, and in which confidence may be placed.  My father\nmarried a daughter of Pera, _et moi je suis l\u2019unique fruit de ce\nmariage_.  Of my mother I know nothing, as she died shortly after my\nbirth.  A family of wealthy Jews took pity on my forlorn condition and\noffered to bring me up, to which my father gladly consented; and with\nthem I continued several years, until I was a _beau garcon_; they were\nvery fond of me, and at last offered to adopt me, and at their death to\nbequeath me all they had, on condition of my becoming a Jew.  _Mais la\ncirconcision n\u2019etoit guere a mon gout_; especially that of the Jews, for\nI am a Greek, am proud, and have principles of honour.  I quitted them,\ntherefore, saying that if ever I allowed myself to be converted, it\nshould be to the faith of the Turks, for they are men, are proud, and\nhave principles of honour like myself.  I then returned to my father, who\nprocured me various situations, none of which were to my liking, until I\nwas placed in the house of Monsieur Zea.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014You mean, I suppose, Zea Bermudez, who chanced to be at\nConstantinople.\n\n_Buchini_.\u2014Just so, mi Lor, and with him I continued during his stay.  He\nput great confidence in me, more especially as I spoke the pure Spanish\nlanguage, which I acquired amongst the Jews, who, as I have heard\nMonsieur Zea say, speak it better than the present natives of Spain.\n\nI shall not follow the Greek step by step throughout his history, which\nwas rather lengthy: suffice it to say, that he was brought by Zea\nBermudez from Constantinople to Spain, where he continued in his service\nfor many years, and from whose house he was expelled for marrying a\nGuipuscoan damsel, who was fille de chambre to Madame Zea; since which\ntime it appeared that he had served an infinity of masters; sometimes as\nvalet, sometimes as cook, but generally in the last capacity.  He\nconfessed, however, that he had seldom continued more than three days in\nthe same service, on account of the disputes which were sure to arise in\nthe house almost immediately after his admission, and for which he could\nassign no other reason than his being a Greek, and having principles of\nhonour.  Amongst other persons whom he had served was General Cordova,\nwho he said was a bad paymaster, and was in the habit of maltreating his\ndomestics.  \u201cBut he found his match in me,\u201d said Antonio, \u201cfor I was\nprepared for him; and once, when he drew his sword against me, I pulled\nout a pistol and pointed it in his face.  He grew pale as death, and from\nthat hour treated me with all kinds of condescension.  It was only\npretence, however, for the affair rankled in his mind; he had determined\nupon revenge, and on being appointed to the command of the army, he was\nparticularly anxious that I should attend him to the camp.  _Mais je lui\nris au nez_, made the sign of the cortamanga\u2014asked for my wages, and left\nhim; and well it was that I did so, for the very domestic whom he took\nwith him he caused to be shot upon a charge of mutiny.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am afraid,\u201d said I, \u201cthat you are of a turbulent disposition, and that\nthe disputes to which you have alluded are solely to be attributed to the\nbadness of your temper.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat would you have, Monsieur?  _Moi je suis Grec_, _je suis fier et\nj\u2019ai des principes d\u2019honneur_.  I expect to be treated with a certain\nconsideration, though I confess that my temper is none of the best, and\nthat at times I am tempted to quarrel with the pots and pans in the\nkitchen.  I think, upon the whole, that it will be for your advantage to\nengage me, and I promise you to be on my guard.  There is one thing that\npleases me relating to you, you are unmarried.  Now, I would rather serve\na young unmarried man for love and friendship, than a Benedict for fifty\ndollars per month.  Madame is sure to hate me, and so is her waiting\nwoman; and more particularly the latter, because I am a married man.  I\nsee that mi Lor is willing to engage me.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you say you are a married man,\u201d I replied; \u201chow can you desert your\nwife, for I am about to leave Madrid, and to travel into the remote and\nmountainous parts of Spain.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy wife will receive the moiety of my wages, while I am absent, mi Lor,\nand therefore will have no reason to complain of being deserted.\nComplain! did I say; my wife is at present too well instructed to\ncomplain.  She never speaks nor sits in my presence unless I give her\npermission.  Am I not a Greek, and do I not know how to govern my own\nhouse?  Engage me, mi Lor, I am a man of many capacities: a discreet\nvalet, an excellent cook, a good groom and light rider; in a word, I am\n\u03a1\u03c9\u03bc\u03b1\u03ca\u03ba\u03cc\u03c2.  What would you more?\u201d\n\nI asked him his terms, which were extravagant, notwithstanding his\n_principes d\u2019honneur_.  I found, however, that he was willing to take one\nhalf.\n\nI had no sooner engaged him, than seizing the tureen of soup, which had\nby this time become quite cold, he placed it on the top of his\nforefinger, or rather on the nail thereof, causing it to make various\ncircumvolutions over his head, to my great astonishment, without spilling\na drop, then springing with it to the door, he vanished, and in another\nmoment made his appearance with the puchera, which, after a similar bound\nand flourish, he deposited on the table; then suffering his hands to sink\nbefore him, he put one over the other and stood at his ease with\nhalf-shut eyes, for all the world as if he had been in my service twenty\nyears.\n\nAnd in this manner Antonio Buchini entered upon his duties.  Many was the\nwild spot to which he subsequently accompanied me; many the wild\nadventure of which he was the sharer.  His behaviour was frequently in\nthe highest degree extraordinary, but he served me courageously and\nfaithfully: such a valet, take him for all in all,\n\n    \u201cHis like I ne\u2019er expect to see again.\u201d\n\n    _Kosko bakh Anton_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\n\nIllness\u2014Nocturnal Visit\u2014A Master Mind\u2014The Whisper\u2014Salamanca\u2014Irish\nHospitality\u2014Spanish Soldiers\u2014The Scriptures advertised.\n\nBut I am anxious to enter upon the narrative of my journey, and shall\ntherefore abstain from relating to my readers a great many circumstances\nwhich occurred previously to my leaving Madrid on this expedition.  About\nthe middle of May I had got everything in readiness, and I bade farewell\nto my friends.  Salamanca was the first place which I intended to visit.\n\nSome days previous to my departure I was very much indisposed, owing to\nthe state of the weather, for violent and biting winds had long\nprevailed.  I had been attacked with a severe cold, which terminated in a\ndisagreeable cough, which the many remedies I successively tried seemed\nunable to subdue.  I had made preparations for departing on a particular\nday, but, owing to the state of my health, I was apprehensive that I\nshould be compelled to defer my journey for a time.  The last day of my\nstay in Madrid, finding myself scarcely able to stand, I was fain to\nsubmit to a somewhat desperate experiment, and by the advice of the\nbarber-surgeon who visited me, I determined to be bled.  Late on the\nnight of that same day he took from me sixteen ounces of blood, and\nhaving received his fee left me, wishing me a pleasant journey, and\nassuring me, upon his reputation, that by noon the next day I should be\nperfectly recovered.\n\nA few minutes after his departure, whilst I was sitting alone, meditating\non the journey which I was about to undertake, and on the ricketty state\nof my health, I heard a loud knock at the street door of the house, on\nthe third floor of which I was lodged.  In another minute Mr. S--- of the\nBritish Embassy entered my apartment.  After a little conversation, he\ninformed me that Mr. Villiers had desired him to wait upon me to\ncommunicate a resolution which he had come to.  Being apprehensive that,\nalone and unassisted, I should experience great difficulty in propagating\nthe gospel of God to any considerable extent in Spain, he was bent upon\nexerting to the utmost his own credit and influence to further my views,\nwhich he himself considered, if carried into proper effect, extremely\nwell calculated to operate beneficially on the political and moral state\nof the country.  To this end it was his intention to purchase a very\nconsiderable number of copies of the New Testament, and to dispatch them\nforthwith to the various British consuls established in different parts\nof Spain, with strict and positive orders to employ all the means which\ntheir official situation should afford them to circulate the books in\nquestion and to assure their being noticed.  They were, moreover, to be\ncharged to afford me, whenever I should appear in their respective\ndistricts, all the protection, encouragement, and assistance which I\nshould stand in need of.\n\nI was of course much rejoiced on receiving this information, for though I\nhad long been aware that Mr. Villiers was at all times willing to assist\nme, he having frequently given me sufficient proof, I could never expect\nthat he would come forward in so noble, and, to say the least of it,\nconsidering his high diplomatic situation, so bold and decided a manner.\nI believe that this was the first instance of a British ambassador having\nmade the cause of the Bible Society a national one, or indeed of having\nfavoured it directly or indirectly.  What renders the case of Mr.\nVilliers more remarkable is, that on my first arrival at Madrid I found\nhim by no means well disposed towards the Society.  The Holy Spirit had\nprobably illumined his mind on this point.  I hoped that by his means our\ninstitution would shortly possess many agents in Spain, who, with far\nmore power and better opportunities than I myself could ever expect to\npossess, would scatter abroad the seed of the gospel, and make of a\nbarren and thirsty wilderness a green and smiling corn-field.\n\nA word or two about the gentleman who paid me this nocturnal visit.\nThough he has probably long since forgotten the humble circulator of the\nBible in Spain, I still bear in mind numerous acts of kindness which I\nexperienced at his hands.  Endowed with an intellect of the highest\norder, master of the lore of all Europe, profoundly versed in the ancient\ntongues, and speaking most of the modern dialects with remarkable\nfacility,\u2014possessed, moreover, of a thorough knowledge of mankind,\u2014he\nbrought with him into the diplomatic career advantages such as few, even\nthe most highly gifted, can boast of.  During his sojourn in Spain he\nperformed many eminent services for the government which employed him;\nservices which, I believe, it had sufficient discernment to see, and\ngratitude to reward.  He had to encounter, however, the full brunt of the\nlow and stupid malignity of the party who, shortly after the time of\nwhich I am speaking, usurped the management of the affairs of Spain.\nThis party, whose foolish man\u0153uvres he was continually discomfiting,\nfeared and hated him as its evil genius, taking every opportunity of\nshowering on his head calumnies the most improbable and absurd.  Amongst\nother things, he was accused of having acted as an agent to the English\ngovernment in the affair of the Granja, bringing about that revolution by\nbribing the mutinous soldiers, and more particularly the notorious\nSergeant Garcia.  Such an accusation will of course merely extract a\nsmile from those who are at all acquainted with the English character,\nand the general line of conduct pursued by the English government.  It\nwas a charge, however, universally believed in Spain, and was even\npreferred in print by a certain journal, the official organ of the silly\nDuke of Frias, one of the many prime ministers of the moderado party who\nfollowed each other in rapid succession towards the latter period of the\nCarlist and Christino struggle.  But when did a calumnious report ever\nfall to the ground in Spain by the weight of its own absurdity?  Unhappy\nland, not until the pure light of the Gospel has illumined thee wilt thou\nlearn that the greatest of all gifts is charity.\n\nThe next day verified the prediction of the Spanish surgeon; I had to a\nconsiderable degree lost my cough and fever, though, owing to the loss of\nblood, I was somewhat feeble.  Precisely at twelve o\u2019clock the horses\nwere led forth before the door of my lodging in the Calle de Santiago,\nand I prepared to mount: but my black entero of Andalusia would not\npermit me to approach his side, and whenever I made the attempt,\ncommenced wheeling round with great rapidity.\n\n\u201c_C\u2019est un mauvais signe_, _mon maitre_,\u201d said Antonio, who, dressed in a\ngreen jerkin, a Montero cap, booted and spurred, stood ready to attend\nme, holding by the bridle the horse which I had purchased from the\ncontrabandista.  \u201cIt is a bad sign, and in my country they would defer\nthe journey till to-morrow.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre there whisperers in your country?\u201d I demanded; and taking the horse\nby the mane, I performed the ceremony after the most approved fashion:\nthe animal stood still, and I mounted the saddle, exclaiming\u2014\n\n    \u201cThe Rommany Chal to his horse did cry,\n    As he placed the bit in his horse\u2019s jaw;\n    Kosko gry! Rommany gry!\n    Muk man kistur tute knaw.\u201d\n\nWe then rode forth from Madrid by the gate of San Vincente, directing our\ncourse to the lofty mountains which separate Old from New Castile.  That\nnight we rested at Guadarama, a large village at their foot, distant from\nMadrid about seven leagues.  Rising early on the following morning, we\nascended the pass and entered into Old Castile.\n\nAfter crossing the mountains, the route to Salamanca lies almost entirely\nover sandy and arid plains, interspersed here and there with thin and\nscanty groves of pine.  No adventure worth relating occurred during this\njourney.  We sold a few Testaments in the villages through which we\npassed, more especially at Pe\u00f1aranda.  About noon of the third day, on\nreaching the brow of a hillock, we saw a huge dome before us, upon which\nthe fierce rays of the sun striking, produced the appearance of burnished\ngold.  It belonged to the cathedral of Salamanca, and we flattered\nourselves that we were already at our journey\u2019s end; we were deceived,\nhowever, being still four leagues distant from the town, whose churches\nand convents, towering up in gigantic masses, can be distinguished at an\nimmense distance, flattering the traveller with an idea of propinquity\nwhich does not in reality exist.  It was not till long after nightfall\nthat we arrived at the city gate, which we found closed and guarded, in\napprehension of a Carlist attack; and having obtained admission with some\ndifficulty, we led our horses along dark, silent, and deserted streets,\ntill we found an individual who directed us to a large, gloomy, and\ncomfortless posada, that of the Bull, which we, however, subsequently\nfound was the best which the town afforded.\n\nA melancholy town is Salamanca; the days of its collegiate glory are long\nsince past by, never more to return: a circumstance, however, which is\nlittle to be regretted; for what benefit did the world ever derive from\nscholastic philosophy?  And for that alone was Salamanca ever famous.\nIts halls are now almost silent, and grass is growing in its courts,\nwhich were once daily thronged by at least eight thousand students; a\nnumber to which, at the present day, the entire population of the city\ndoes not amount.  Yet, with all its melancholy, what an interesting, nay,\nwhat a magnificent place is Salamanca!  How glorious are its churches,\nhow stupendous are its deserted convents, and with what sublime but\nsullen grandeur do its huge and crumbling walls, which crown the\nprecipitous bank of the Tormes, look down upon the lovely river and its\nvenerable bridge.\n\nWhat a pity that, of the many rivers in Spain, scarcely one is navigable.\nThe beautiful but shallow Tormes, instead of proving a source of blessing\nand wealth to this part of Castile, is of no further utility than to turn\nthe wheels of various small water mills, standing upon weirs of stone,\nwhich at certain distances traverse the river.\n\nMy sojourn at Salamanca was rendered particularly pleasant by the kind\nattentions and continual acts of hospitality which I experienced from the\ninmates of the Irish College, to the rector of which I bore a letter of\nrecommendation from my kind and excellent friend Mr. O\u2019Shea, the\ncelebrated banker of Madrid.  It will be long before I forget these\nIrish, more especially their head, Dr. Gartland, a genuine scion of the\ngood Hibernian tree, an accomplished scholar, and a courteous and\nhigh-minded gentleman.  Though fully aware who I was, he held out the\nhand of friendship to the wandering heretic missionary, although by so\ndoing he exposed himself to the rancorous remarks of the narrow-minded\nnative clergy, who, in their ugly shovel hats and long cloaks, glared at\nme askance as I passed by their whispering groups beneath the piazzas of\nthe Plaza.  But when did the fear of consequences cause an Irishman to\nshrink from the exercise of the duties of hospitality?  However attached\nto his religion\u2014and who is so attached to the Romish creed as the\nIrishman?\u2014I am convinced that not all the authority of the Pope or the\nCardinals would induce him to close his doors on Luther himself, were\nthat respectable personage at present alive and in need of food and\nrefuge.\n\nHonour to Ireland and her \u201chundred thousand welcomes!\u201d  Her fields have\nlong been the greenest in the world; her daughters the fairest; her sons\nthe bravest and most eloquent.  May they never cease to be so.\n\nThe posada where I had put up was a good specimen of the old Spanish inn,\nbeing much the same as those described in the time of Philip the Third or\nFourth.  The rooms were many and large, floored with either brick or\nstone, generally with an alcove at the end, in which stood a wretched\nflock bed.  Behind the house was a court, and in the rear of this a\nstable, full of horses, ponies, mules, machos, and donkeys, for there was\nno lack of guests, who, however, for the most part slept in the stable\nwith their caballerias, being either arrieros or small peddling merchants\nwho travelled the country with coarse cloth or linen.  Opposite to my\nroom in the corridor lodged a wounded officer, who had just arrived from\nSan Sebastian on a galled broken-kneed pony; he was an Estrimenian, and\nwas returning to his own village to be cured.  He was attended by three\nbroken soldiers, lame or maimed, and unfit for service: they told me that\nthey were of the same village as his worship, and on that account he\npermitted them to travel with him.  They slept amongst the litter, and\nthroughout the day lounged about the house smoking paper cigars.  I never\nsaw them eating, though they frequently went to a dark cool corner, where\nstood a bota or kind of water pitcher, which they held about six inches\nfrom their black filmy lips, permitting the liquid to trickle down their\nthroats.  They said they had no pay, and were quite destitute of money,\nthat _su merced_ the officer occasionally gave them a piece of bread, but\nthat he himself was poor and had only a few dollars.  Brave guests for an\ninn, thought I; yet, to the honour of Spain be it spoken, it is one of\nthe few countries in Europe where poverty is never insulted nor looked\nupon with contempt.  Even at an inn, the poor man is never spurned from\nthe door, and if not harboured, is at least dismissed with fair words,\nand consigned to the mercies of God and his mother.  This is as it should\nbe.  I laugh at the bigotry and prejudices of Spain; I abhor the cruelty\nand ferocity which have cast a stain of eternal infamy on her history;\nbut I will say for the Spaniards, that in their social intercourse no\npeople in the world exhibit a juster feeling of what is due to the\ndignity of human nature, or better understand the behaviour which it\nbehoves a man to adopt towards his fellow beings.  I have said that it is\none of the few countries in Europe where poverty is not treated with\ncontempt, and I may add, where the wealthy are not blindly idolized.  In\nSpain the very beggar does not feel himself a degraded being, for he\nkisses no one\u2019s feet, and knows not what it is to be cuffed or spitten\nupon; and in Spain the duke or the marquis can scarcely entertain a very\noverweening opinion of his own consequence, as he finds no one, with\nperhaps the exception of his French valet, to fawn upon or flatter him.\n\nDuring my stay at Salamanca, I took measures that the word of God might\nbecome generally known in this celebrated city.  The principal bookseller\nof the town, Blanco, a man of great wealth and respectability, consented\nto become my agent here, and I in consequence deposited in his shop a\ncertain number of New Testaments.  He was the proprietor of a small\nprinting press, where the official bulletin of the place was published.\nFor this bulletin I prepared an advertisement of the work, in which,\namongst other things, I said that the New Testament was the only guide to\nsalvation; I also spoke of the Bible Society, and the great pecuniary\nsacrifices which it was making with the view of proclaiming Christ\ncrucified, and of making his doctrine known.  This step will perhaps be\nconsidered by some as too bold, but I was not aware that I could take any\nmore calculated to arouse the attention of the people\u2014a considerable\npoint.  I also ordered numbers of the same advertisement to be struck off\nin the shape of bills, which I caused to be stuck up in various parts of\nthe town.  I had great hope that by means of these a considerable number\nof New Testaments would be sold.  I intended to repeat this experiment in\nValladolid, Leon, St. Jago, and all the principal towns which I visited,\nand to distribute them likewise as I rode along: the children of Spain\nwould thus be brought to know that such a work as the New Testament is in\nexistence, a fact of which not five in one hundred were then aware,\nnotwithstanding their so frequently-repeated boasts of their Catholicity\nand Christianity.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\n\nDeparture from Salamanca\u2014Reception at Pitiegua\u2014The Dilemma\u2014Sudden\nInspiration\u2014The Good Presbyter\u2014Combat of Quadrupeds\u2014Irish\nChristians\u2014Plains of Spain\u2014The Catalans\u2014The Fatal\nPool\u2014Valladolid\u2014Circulation of the Scriptures\u2014Philippine Missions\u2014English\nCollege\u2014A Conversation\u2014The Gaoleress.\n\nOn Saturday, the tenth of June, I left Salamanca for Valladolid.  As the\nvillage where we intended to rest was only five leagues distant, we did\nnot sally forth till midday was past.  There was a haze in the heavens\nwhich overcast the sun, nearly hiding his countenance from our view.  My\nfriend, Mr. Patrick Cantwell, of the Irish College, was kind enough to\nride with me part of the way.  He was mounted on a most sorry-looking\nhired mule, which, I expected would be unable to keep pace with the\nspirited horses of myself and man, for he seemed to be twin brother of\nthe mule of Gil Perez, on which his nephew made his celebrated journey\nfrom Oviedo to Pe\u00f1aflor.  I was, however, very much mistaken.  The\ncreature on being mounted instantly set off at that rapid walk which I\nhave so often admired in Spanish mules, and which no horse can emulate.\nOur more stately animals were speedily left in the rear, and we were\ncontinually obliged to break into a trot to follow the singular\nquadruped, who, ever and anon, would lift his head high in the air, curl\nup his lip, and show his yellow teeth, as if he were laughing at us, as\nperhaps he was.  It chanced that none of us was well acquainted with the\nroad; indeed, I could see nothing which was fairly entitled to that\nappellation.  The way from Salamanca to Valladolid is amongst a medley of\nbridle-paths and drift-ways, where discrimination is very difficult.  It\nwas not long before we were bewildered, and travelled over more ground\nthan was strictly necessary.  However, as men and women frequently passed\non donkeys and little ponies, we were not too proud to be set right by\nthem, and by dint of diligent inquiry we at length arrived at Pitiegua,\nfour leagues from Salamanca, a small village, containing about fifty\nfamilies, consisting of mud huts, and situated in the midst of dusty\nplains, where corn was growing in abundance.  We asked for the house of\nthe cura, an old man whom I had seen the day before at the Irish College,\nand who, on being informed that I was about to depart for Valladolid, had\nexacted from me a promise that I would not pass through his village\nwithout paying him a visit and partaking of his hospitality.\n\nA woman directed us to a cottage somewhat superior in appearance to those\ncontiguous.  It had a small portico, which, if I remember well, was\novergrown with a vine.  We knocked loud and long at the door, but\nreceived no answer; the voice of man was silent, and not even a dog\nbarked.  The truth was, that the old curate was taking his siesta, and so\nwere his whole family, which consisted of one ancient female and a cat.\nThe good man was at last disturbed by our noise and vociferation, for we\nwere hungry, and consequently impatient.  Leaping from his couch, he came\nrunning to the door in great hurry and confusion, and perceiving us, he\nmade many apologies for being asleep at a period when, he said, he ought\nto have been on the lookout for his invited guest.  He embraced me very\naffectionately and conducted me into his parlour, an apartment of\ntolerable size, hung round with shelves, which were crowded with books.\nAt one end there was a kind of table or desk covered with black leather,\nwith a large easy chair, into which he pushed me, as I, with the true\neagerness of a bibliomaniac, was about to inspect his shelves; saying,\nwith considerable vehemence, that there was nothing there worthy of the\nattention of an Englishman, for that his whole stock consisted of\nbreviaries and dry Catholic treatises on divinity.\n\nHis care now was to furnish us with refreshments.  In a twinkling, with\nthe assistance of his old attendant, he placed on the table several\nplates of cakes and confectionery, and a number of large uncouth glass\nbottles, which I thought bore a strong resemblance to those of Schiedam,\nand indeed they were the very same.  \u201cThere,\u201d said he, rubbing his hands;\n\u201cI thank God that it is in my power to treat you in a way which will be\nagreeable to you.  In those bottles there is Hollands thirty years old\u201d;\nand producing two large tumblers, he continued, \u201cfill, my friends, and\ndrink, drink it every drop if you please, for it is of little use to\nmyself, who seldom drink aught but water.  I know that you islanders love\nit, and cannot live without it; therefore, since it does you good, I am\nonly sorry that there is no more.\u201d\n\nObserving that we contented ourselves with merely tasting it, he looked\nat us with astonishment, and inquired the reason of our not drinking.  We\ntold him that we seldom drank ardent spirits; and I added, that as for\nmyself, I seldom tasted even wine, but like himself, was content with the\nuse of water.  He appeared somewhat incredulous, but told us to do\nexactly what we pleased, and to ask for what was agreeable to us.  We\ntold him that we had not dined, and should be glad of some substantial\nrefreshment.  \u201cI am afraid,\u201d said he, \u201cthat I have nothing in the house\nwhich will suit you; however, we will go and see.\u201d\n\nThereupon he led us through a small yard at the back part of his house,\nwhich might have been called a garden, or orchard, if it had displayed\neither trees or flowers; but it produced nothing but grass, which was\ngrowing in luxuriance.  At one end was a large pigeon-house, which we all\nentered: \u201cfor,\u201d said the curate, \u201cif we could find some nice delicate\npigeons they would afford you an excellent dinner.\u201d  We were, however,\ndisappointed; for after rummaging the nests, we only found very young\nones, unfitted for our purpose.  The good man became very melancholy, and\nsaid he had some misgivings that we should have to depart dinnerless.\nLeaving the pigeon-house, he conducted us to a place where there were\nseveral skeps of bees, round which multitudes of the busy insects were\nhovering, filling the air with their music.  \u201cNext to my fellow\ncreatures,\u201d said he, \u201cthere is nothing which I love so dearly as these\nbees; it is one of my delights to sit watching them, and listening to\ntheir murmur.\u201d  We next went to several unfurnished rooms, fronting the\nyard, in one of which were hanging several flitches of bacon, beneath\nwhich he stopped, and looking up, gazed intently upon them.  We told him\nthat if he had nothing better to offer, we should be very glad to eat\nsome slices of this bacon, especially if some eggs were added.  \u201cTo tell\nthe truth,\u201d said he, \u201cI have nothing better, and if you can content\nyourselves with such fare I shall be very happy; as for eggs you can have\nas many as you wish, and perfectly fresh, for my hens lay every day.\u201d\n\nSo, after every thing was prepared and arranged to our satisfaction, we\nsat down to dine on the bacon and eggs, in a small room, not the one to\nwhich he had ushered us at first, but on the other side of the doorway.\nThe good curate, though he ate nothing, having taken his meal long\nbefore, sat at the head of the table, and the repast was enlivened by his\nchat.  \u201cThere, my friends,\u201d said he, \u201cwhere you are now seated, once sat\nWellington and Crawford, after they had beat the French at Arapiles, and\nrescued us from the thraldom of those wicked people.  I never respected\nmy house so much as I have done since they honoured it with their\npresence.  They were heroes, and one was a demigod.\u201d  He then burst into\na most eloquent panegyric of El Gran Lord, as he termed him, which I\nshould be very happy to translate, were my pen capable of rendering into\nEnglish the robust thundering sentences of his powerful Castilian.  I had\ntill then considered him a plain uninformed old man, almost simple, and\nas incapable of much emotion as a tortoise within its shell; but he had\nbecome at once inspired: his eyes were replete with a bright fire, and\nevery muscle of his face was quivering.  The little silk skull-cap which\nhe wore, according to the custom of the Catholic clergy, moved up and\ndown with his agitation, and I soon saw that I was in the presence of one\nof those remarkable men who so frequently spring up in the bosom of the\nRomish church, and who to a child-like simplicity unite immense energy\nand power of mind,\u2014equally adapted to guide a scanty flock of ignorant\nrustics in some obscure village in Italy or Spain, as to convert millions\nof heathens on the shores of Japan, China, and Paraguay.\n\nHe was a thin spare man, of about sixty-five, and was dressed in a black\ncloak of very coarse materials, nor were his other garments of superior\nquality.  This plainness, however, in the appearance of his outward man\nwas by no means the result of poverty; quite the contrary.  The benefice\nwas a very plentiful one, and placed at his disposal annually a sum of at\nleast eight hundred dollars, of which the eighth part was more than\nsufficient to defray the expenses of his house and himself; the rest was\ndevoted entirely to the purest acts of charity.  He fed the hungry\nwanderer, and dispatched him singing on his way, with meat in his wallet\nand a peseta in his purse, and his parishioners, when in need of money,\nhad only to repair to his study and were sure of an immediate supply.  He\nwas, indeed, the banker of the village, and what he lent he neither\nexpected nor wished to be returned.  Though under the necessity of making\nfrequent journeys to Salamanca, he kept no mule, but contented himself\nwith an ass, borrowed from the neighbouring miller.  \u201cI once kept a\nmule,\u201d said he, \u201cbut some years since it was removed without my\npermission by a traveller whom I had housed for the night: for in that\nalcove I keep two clean beds for the use of the wayfaring, and I shall be\nvery much pleased if yourself and friend will occupy them, and tarry with\nme till the morning.\u201d\n\nBut I was eager to continue my journey, and my friend was no less anxious\nto return to Salamanca.  Upon taking leave of the hospitable curate, I\npresented him with a copy of the New Testament.  He received it without\nuttering a single word, and placed it on one of the shelves of his study;\nbut I observed him nodding significantly to the Irish student, perhaps as\nmuch as to say, \u201cYour friend loses no opportunity of propagating his\nbook\u201d; for he was well aware who I was.  I shall not speedily forget the\ntruly good presbyter, Anthonio Garcia de Aguilar, Cura of Pitiegua.\n\nWe reached Pedroso shortly before nightfall.  It was a small village\ncontaining about thirty houses, and intersected by a rivulet, or as it is\ncalled a regata.  On its banks women and maidens were washing their linen\nand singing couplets; the church stood lone and solitary on the farther\nside.  We inquired for the posada, and were shown a cottage differing\nnothing from the rest in general appearance.  We called at the door in\nvain, as it is not the custom of Castile for the people of these halting\nplaces to go out to welcome their visitors: at last we dismounted and\nentered the house, demanding of a sullen-looking woman where we were to\nplace the horses.  She said there was a stable within the house, but we\ncould not put the animals there as it contained malos machos (_savage\nmules_) belonging to two travellers who would certainly fight with our\nhorses, and then there would be a funcion, which would tear the house\ndown.  She then pointed to an outhouse across the way, saying that we\ncould stable them there.  We entered this place, which we found full of\nfilth and swine, with a door without a lock.  I thought of the fate of\nthe cura\u2019s mule, and was unwilling to trust the horses in such a place,\nabandoning them to the mercy of any robber in the neighbourhood.  I\ntherefore entered the house, and said resolutely, that I was determined\nto place them in the stable.  Two men were squatted on the ground, with\nan immense bowl of stewed hare before them, on which they were supping;\nthese were the travelling merchants, the masters of the mutes.  I passed\non to the stable, one of the men saying softly, \u201cYes, yes, go in and see\nwhat will befall.\u201d  I had no sooner entered the stable than I heard a\nhorrid discordant cry, something between a bray and a yell, and the\nlargest of the machos, tearing his head from the manger to which he was\nfastened, his eyes shooting flames, and breathing a whirlwind from his\nnostrils, flung himself on my stallion.  The horse, as savage as himself,\nreared on his hind legs, and after the fashion of an English pugilist,\nrepaid the other with a pat on the forehead, which nearly felled him.  A\ncombat instantly ensued, and I thought that the words of the sullen woman\nwould be verified by the house being torn to pieces.  It ended by my\nseizing the mute by the halter, at the risk of my limbs, and hanging upon\nhim with all my weight, whilst Antonio, with much difficulty, removed the\nhorse.  The man who had been standing at the entrance now came forward,\nsaying, \u201cThis would not have happened if you had taken good advice.\u201d\nUpon my stating to him the unreasonableness of expecting that I would\nrisk horses in a place where they would probably be stolen before the\nmorning, he replied, \u201cTrue, true, you have perhaps done right.\u201d  He then\nrefastened his macho, adding for additional security a piece of whipcord,\nwhich he said rendered escape impossible.\n\nAfter supper I roamed about the village.  I addressed two or three\nlabourers whom I found standing at their doors; they appeared, however,\nexceedingly reserved, and with a gruff \u201c_buenas noches_\u201d turned into\ntheir houses without inviting me to enter.  I at last found my way to the\nchurch porch, where I continued some time in meditation.  At last I\nbethought myself of retiring to rest; before departing, however, I took\nout and affixed to the porch of the church an advertisement to the effect\nthat the New Testament was to be purchased at Salamanca.  On returning to\nthe house, I found the two travelling merchants enjoying profound slumber\non various mantas or mule-cloths stretched on the floor.  \u201cYou are a\nFrench merchant, I suppose, Caballero,\u201d said a man, who it seemed was the\nmaster of the house, and whom I had not before seen.  \u201cYou are a French\nmerchant, I suppose, and are on the way to the fair of Medina.\u201d  \u201cI am\nneither Frenchman nor merchant,\u201d I replied, \u201cand though I purpose passing\nthrough Medina, it is not with the view of attending the fair.\u201d  \u201cThen\nyou are one of the Irish Christians from Salamanca, Caballero,\u201d said the\nman; \u201cI hear you come from that town.\u201d  \u201cWhy do you call them _Irish\nChristians_?\u201d I replied.  \u201cAre there pagans in their country?\u201d  \u201cWe call\nthem Christians,\u201d said the man, \u201cto distinguish them from the Irish\nEnglish, who are worse than pagans, who are Jews and heretics.\u201d  I made\nno answer, but passed on to the room which had been prepared for me, and\nfrom which, the door being ajar, I heard the following conversation\npassing between the innkeeper and his wife:\u2014\n\n_Innkeeper_.\u2014Muger, it appears to me that we have evil guests in the\nhouse.\n\n_Wife_.\u2014You mean the last comers, the Caballero and his servant.  Yes, I\nnever saw worse countenances in my life.\n\n_Innkeeper_.\u2014I do not like the servant, and still less the master.  He\nhas neither formality nor politeness: he tells me that he is not French,\nand when I spoke to him of the Irish Christians, he did not seem to\nbelong to them.  I more than suspect that he is a heretic or a Jew at\nleast.\n\n_Wife_.\u2014Perhaps they are both.  Maria Santissima! what shall we do to\npurify the house when they are gone?\n\n_Innkeeper_.\u2014O, as for that matter, we must of course charge it in the\ncuenta.\n\nI slept soundly, and rather late in the morning arose and breakfasted,\nand paid the bill, in which, by its extravagance, I found the\npurification had not been forgotten.  The travelling merchants had\ndeparted at daybreak.  We now led forth the horses, and mounted; there\nwere several people at the door staring at us.  \u201cWhat is the meaning of\nthis?\u201d said I to Antonio.\n\n\u201cIt is whispered that we are no Christians,\u201d said Antonio; \u201cthey have\ncome to cross themselves at our departure.\u201d\n\nIn effect, the moment that we rode forward a dozen hands at least were\nbusied in this evil-averting ceremony.  Antonio instantly turned and\ncrossed himself in the Greek fashion,\u2014much more complex and difficult\nthan the Catholic.\n\n\u201c_Mirad que Santiguo_! _que Santiguo de los demonios_!\u201d {196} exclaimed\nmany voices, whilst for fear of consequences we hastened away.\n\nThe day was exceedingly hot, and we wended our way slowly along the\nplains of Old Castile.  With all that pertains to Spain, vastness and\nsublimity are associated: grand are its mountains, and no less grand are\nits plains, which seem of boundless extent, but which are not tame\nunbroken flats, like the steppes of Russia.  Rough and uneven ground is\ncontinually occurring: here a deep ravine and gully worn by the wintry\ntorrent; yonder an eminence not unfrequently craggy and savage, at whose\ntop appears the lone solitary village.  There is little that is\nblithesome and cheerful, but much that is melancholy.  A few solitary\nrustics are occasionally seen toiling in the fields\u2014fields without limit\nor boundary, where the green oak, the elm or the ash are unknown; where\nonly the sad and desolate pine displays its pyramid-like form, and where\nno grass is to be found.  And who are the travellers of these districts?\nFor the most part arrieros, with their long trains of mules hung with\nmonotonous tinkling bells.  Behold them with their brown faces, brown\ndresses, and broad slouched hats;\u2014the arrieros, the true lords of the\nroads of Spain, and to whom more respect is paid in these dusty ways than\nto dukes and condes;\u2014the arrieros, sullen, proud, and rarely courteous,\nwhose deep voices may be sometimes heard at the distance of a mile,\neither cheering the sluggish animals, or shortening the dreary way with\nsavage and dissonant songs.\n\nLate in the afternoon, we reached Medina del Campo, formerly one of the\nprincipal cities of Spain, though at present an inconsiderable place.\nImmense ruins surround it in every direction, attesting the former\ngrandeur of this \u201ccity of the plain.\u201d  The great square or market-place\nis a remarkable spot, surrounded by a heavy massive piazza, over which\nrise black buildings of great antiquity.  We found the town crowded with\npeople awaiting the fair, which was to be held in a day or two.  We\nexperienced some difficulty in obtaining admission into the posada, which\nwas chiefly occupied by Catalans from Valladolid.  These people not only\nbrought with them their merchandise but their wives and children.  Some\nof them appeared to be people of the worst description: there was one in\nparticular, a burly savage-looking fellow, of about forty, whose conduct\nwas atrocious; he sat with his wife, or perhaps concubine, at the door of\na room which opened upon the court: he was continually venting horrible\nand obscene oaths, both in Spanish and Catalan.  The woman was remarkably\nhandsome, but robust and seemingly as savage as himself; her conversation\nlikewise was as frightful as his own.  Both seemed to be under the\ninfluence of an incomprehensible fury.  At last, upon some observation\nfrom the woman, he started up, and drawing a long knife from his girdle,\nstabbed at her naked bosom; she, however, interposed the palm of her\nhand, which was much cut.  He stood for a moment viewing the blood\ntrickling upon the ground, whilst she held up her wounded hand, then with\nan astounding oath he hurried up the court to the Plaza.  I went up to\nthe woman and said, \u201cWhat is the cause of this?  I hope the ruffian has\nnot seriously injured you.\u201d  She turned her countenance upon me with the\nglance of a demon, and at last with a sneer of contempt exclaimed,\n\u201c_Carals_, _que es eso_?  Cannot a Catalan gentleman be conversing with\nhis lady upon their own private affairs without being interrupted by\nyou?\u201d  She then bound up her hand with a handkerchief, and going into the\nroom brought a small table to the door, on which she placed several\nthings as if for the evening\u2019s repast, and then sat down on a stool:\npresently returned the Catalan, and without a word took his seat on the\nthreshold; then, as if nothing had occurred, the extraordinary couple\ncommenced eating and drinking, interlarding their meal with oaths and\njests.\n\nWe spent the night at Medina, and departing early next morning, passed\nthrough much the same country as the day before, until about noon we\nreached a small venta, distant half a league from the Duero; here we\nreposed ourselves during the heat of the day, and then remounting,\ncrossed the river by a handsome stone bridge, and directed our course to\nValladolid.  The banks of the Duero in this place have much beauty: they\nabound with trees and brushwood, amongst which, as we passed along,\nvarious birds were singing melodiously.  A delicious coolness proceeded\nfrom the water, which in some parts brawled over stones or rippled\nfleetly over white sand, and in others glided softly over blue pools of\nconsiderable depth.  By the side of one of these last, sat a woman of\nabout thirty, neatly dressed as a peasant; she was gazing upon the water\ninto which she occasionally flung flowers and twigs of trees.  I stopped\nfor a moment to ask a question; she, however, neither looked up nor\nanswered, but continued gazing at the water as if lost to consciousness\nof all beside.  \u201cWho is that woman?\u201d said I to a shepherd, whom I met the\nmoment after.  \u201cShe is mad, _la pobrecita_,\u201d said he; \u201cshe lost her child\nabout a month ago in that pool, and she has been mad ever since; they are\ngoing to send her to Valladolid, to the Casa de los Locos.  There are\nmany who perish every year in the eddies of the Duero; it is a bad river;\n_vaya usted con la Virgen_, _Caballero_.\u201d  So I rode on through the\npinares, or thin scanty pine forests, which skirt the way to Valladolid\nin this direction.\n\nValladolid is seated in the midst of an immense valley, or rather hollow\nwhich seems to have been scooped by some mighty convulsion out of the\nplain ground of Castile.  The eminences which appear in the neighbourhood\nare not properly high grounds, but are rather the sides of this hollow.\nThey are jagged and precipitous, and exhibit a strange and uncouth\nappearance.  Volcanic force seems at some distant period to have been\nbusy in these districts.  Valladolid abounds with convents, at present\ndeserted, which afford some of the finest specimens of architecture in\nSpain.  The principal church, though rather ancient, is unfinished: it\nwas intended to be a building of vast size, but the means of the founders\nwere insufficient to carry out their plan: it is built of rough granite.\nValladolid is a manufacturing town, but the commerce is chiefly in the\nhands of the Catalans, of whom there is a colony of nearly three hundred\nestablished here.  It possesses a beautiful alameda, or public walk,\nthrough which flows the river Escurva.  The population is said to amount\nto sixty thousand souls.\n\nWe put up at the Posada de las Diligencias, a very magnificent edifice:\nthis posada, however, we were glad to quit on the second day after our\narrival, the accommodation being of the most wretched description, and\nthe incivility of the people great; the master of the house, an immense\ntall fellow, with huge moustaches and an assumed military air, being far\ntoo high a cavalier to attend to the wants of his guests, with whom, it\nis true, he did not appear to be overburdened, as I saw no one but\nAntonio and myself.  He was a leading man amongst the national guards of\nValladolid, and delighted in parading about the city on a clumsy steed,\nwhich he kept in a subterranean stable.\n\nOur next quarters were at the Trojan Horse, an ancient posada, kept by a\nnative of the Basque provinces, who at least was not above his business.\nWe found everything in confusion at Valladolid, a visit from the factious\nbeing speedily expected.  All the gates were blockaded, and various forts\nhad been built to cover the approaches to the city.  Shortly after our\ndeparture the Carlists actually did arrive, under the command of the\nBiscayan chief, Zariategui.  They experienced no opposition; the\nstaunchest nationals retiring to the principal fort, which they, however,\nspeedily surrendered, not a gun being fired throughout the affair.  As\nfor my friend the hero of the inn, on the first rumour of the approach of\nthe enemy, he mounted his horse and rode off, and was never subsequently\nheard of.  On our return to Valladolid, we found the inn in other and\nbetter hands, those of a Frenchman from Bayonne, from whom we received as\nmuch civility as we had experienced rudeness from his predecessor.\n\nIn a few days I formed the acquaintance of the bookseller of the place, a\nkind-hearted simple man, who willingly undertook the charge of vending\nthe Testaments which I brought.\n\nI found literature of every description at the lowest ebb at Valladolid.\nMy newly-acquired friend merely carried on bookselling in connexion with\nother business; it being, as he assured me, in itself quite insufficient\nto afford him a livelihood.  During the week, however, that I continued\nin this city, a considerable number of copies were disposed of, and a\nfair prospect opened that many more would be demanded.  To call attention\nto my books, I had recourse to the same plan which I had adopted at\nSalamanca, the affixing of advertisements to the walls.  Before leaving\nthe city, I gave orders that these should be renewed every week; from\npursuing which course I expected that much manifold good would accrue, as\nthe people would have continual opportunities of learning that a book\nwhich contains the living word was in existence, and within their reach,\nwhich might induce them to secure it and consult it even unto salvation.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\nIn Valladolid I found both an English and Scotch College.  From my\nobliging friends, the Irish at Salamanca, I bore a letter of introduction\nto the rector of the latter.  I found this college an old gloomy edifice,\nsituated in a retired street.  The rector was dressed in the habiliments\nof a Spanish ecclesiastic, a character which he was evidently ambitious\nof assuming.  There was something dry and cold in his manner, and nothing\nof that generous warmth and eager hospitality which had so captivated me\nin the fine Irish rector of Salamanca; he was, however, civil and polite,\nand offered to show me the curiosities of the place.  He evidently knew\nwho I was, and on that account was, perhaps, more reserved than he\notherwise would have been: not a word passed between us on religious\nmatters, which we seemed to avoid by common consent.  Under the auspices\nof this gentleman, I visited the college of the Philippine Missions,\nwhich stands beyond the gate of the city, where I was introduced to the\nsuperior, a fine old man of seventy, very stout, in the habiliments of a\nfriar.  There was an air of placid benignity on his countenance which\nhighly interested me: his words were few and simple, and he seemed to\nhave bid adieu to all worldly passions.  One little weakness was,\nhowever, still clinging to him.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014This is a noble edifice in which you dwell, Father; I should\nthink it would contain at least two hundred students.\n\n_Rector_.\u2014More, my son; it is intended for more hundreds than it now\ncontains single individuals.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I observe that some rude attempts have been made to fortify it;\nthe walls are pierced with loopholes in every direction.\n\n_Rector_.\u2014The nationals of Valladolid visited us a few days ago, and\ncommitted much useless damage; they were rather rude, and threatened me\nwith their clubs: poor men, poor men.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I suppose that even these missions, which are certainly\nintended for a noble end, experience the sad effects of the present\nconvulsed state of Spain?\n\n_Rector_.\u2014But too true: we at present receive no assistance from the\ngovernment, and are left to the Lord and ourselves.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014How many aspirants for the mission are you at present\ninstructing?\n\n_Rector_.\u2014Not one, my son; not one.  They are all fled.  The flock is\nscattered and the shepherd left alone.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Your reverence has doubtless taken an active part in the\nmission abroad?\n\n_Rector_.\u2014I was forty years in the Philippines, my son, forty years\namongst the Indians.  Ah me! how I love those Indians of the Philippines.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Can your reverence discourse in the language of the Indians?\n\n_Rector_.\u2014No, my son.  We teach the Indians Castilian.  There is no\nbetter language, I believe.  We teach them Castilian, and the adoration\nof the Virgin.  What more need they know?\n\n_Myself_.\u2014And what did your reverence think of the Philippines as a\ncountry?\n\n_Rector_.\u2014I was forty years in the Philippines, but I know little of the\ncountry.  I do not like the country.  I love the Indians.  The country is\nnot very bad; it is, however, not worth Castile.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Is your reverence a Castilian?\n\n_Rector_.\u2014I am an _Old_ Castilian, my son.\n\nFrom the house of the Philippine Missions my friend conducted me to the\nEnglish college; this establishment seemed in every respect to be on a\nmore magnificent scale than its Scottish sister.  In the latter there\nwere few pupils, scarcely six or seven, I believe, whilst in the English\nseminary I was informed that between thirty and forty were receiving\ntheir education.  It is a beautiful building, with a small but splendid\nchurch, and a handsome library.  The situation is light and airy: it\nstands by itself in an unfrequented part of the city, and, with genuine\nEnglish exclusiveness, is surrounded by a high wall, which encloses a\ndelicious garden.  This is by far the most remarkable establishment of\nthe kind in the Peninsula, and I believe the most prosperous.  From the\ncursory view which I enjoyed of its interior, I of course cannot be\nexpected to know much of its economy.  I could not, however, fail to be\nstruck with the order, neatness, and system which pervaded it.  There\nwas, however, an air of severe monastic discipline, though I am far from\nasserting that such actually existed.  We were attended throughout by the\nsub-rector, the principal being absent.  Of all the curiosities of this\ncollege, the most remarkable is the picture gallery, which contains\nneither more nor less than the portraits of a variety of scholars of this\nhouse who eventually suffered martyrdom in England, in the exercise of\ntheir vocation in the angry times of the Sixth Edward and fierce\nElizabeth.  Yes, in this very house were many of those pale smiling\nhalf-foreign priests educated, who, like stealthy grimalkins, traversed\ngreen England in all directions; crept into old halls beneath umbrageous\nrookeries, fanning the dying embers of Popery, with no other hope nor\nperhaps wish than to perish disembowelled by the bloody hands of the\nexecutioner, amongst the yells of a rabble as bigoted as themselves:\npriests like Bedingfield and Garnet, and many others who have left a name\nin English story.  Doubtless many a history, only the more wonderful for\nbeing true, could be wrought out of the archives of the English Popish\nseminary at Valladolid.\n\nThere was no lack of guests at the Trojan Horse, where we had taken up\nour abode at Valladolid.  Amongst others who arrived during my sojourn\nwas a robust buxom dame, exceedingly well dressed in black silk, with a\ncostly mantilla.  She was accompanied by a very handsome, but sullen and\nmalicious-looking urchin of about fifteen, who appeared to be her son.\nShe came from Toro, a place about a day\u2019s journey from Valladolid, and\ncelebrated for its wine.  One night, as we were seated in the court of\nthe inn enjoying the fresco, the following conversation ensued between\nus.\n\n_Lady_.\u2014Vaya, vaya, what a tiresome place is Valladolid!  How different\nfrom Toro.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I should have thought that it is at least as agreeable as Toro,\nwhich is not a third part so large.\n\n_Lady_.\u2014As agreeable as Toro!  Vaya, vaya!  Were you ever in the prison\nof Toro, Sir Cavalier?\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I have never had that honour; the prison is generally the last\nplace which I think of visiting.\n\n_Lady_.\u2014See the difference of tastes: I have been to see the prison of\nValladolid, and it seems as tiresome as the town.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Of course, if grief and tediousness exist anywhere, you will\nfind them in the prison.\n\n_Lady_.\u2014Not in that of Toro.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014What does that of Toro possess to distinguish it from all\nothers?\n\n_Lady_.\u2014What does it possess?  Vaya!  Am I not the carcelera?  Is not my\nhusband the alcayde?  Is not that son of mine a child of the prison?\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I beg your pardon, I was not aware of that circumstance; it of\ncourse makes much difference.\n\n_Lady_.\u2014I believe you.  I am a daughter of that prison, my father was\nalcayde, and my son might hope to be so, were he not a fool.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014His countenance then belies him strangely: I should be loth to\npurchase that youngster for a fool.\n\n_Gaoleress_.\u2014You would have a fine bargain if you did; he has more\npicardias than any Calabozero in Toro.  What I mean is, that he does not\ntake to the prison as he ought to do, considering what his fathers were\nbefore him.  He has too much pride\u2014too many fancies; and he has at length\npersuaded me to bring him to Valladolid, where I have arranged with a\nmerchant who lives in the Plaza to take him on trial.  I wish he may not\nfind his way to the prison: if he do, he will find that being a prisoner\nis a very different thing from being a son of the prison.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014As there is so much merriment at Toro, you of course attend to\nthe comfort of your prisoners.\n\n_Gaoleress_.\u2014Yes, we are very kind to them; I mean to those who are\ncaballeros; but as for those with vermin and miseria, what can we do?  It\nis a merry prison that of Toro; we allow as much wine to enter as the\nprisoners can purchase and pay duty for.  This of Valladolid is not half\nso gay: there is no prison like Toro.  I learned there to play on the\nguitar.  An Andalusian cavalier taught me to touch the guitar and to sing\n\u00e0 la Gitana.  Poor fellow, he was my first novio.  Juanito, bring me the\nguitar, that I may play this gentleman a tune of Andalusia.\n\nThe carcelera had a fine voice, and touched the favourite instrument of\nthe Spaniards in a truly masterly manner.  I remained listening to her\nperformance for nearly an hour, when I retired to my apartment and my\nrepose.  I believe that she continued playing and singing during the\ngreater part of the night, for as I occasionally awoke I could still hear\nher; and, even in my slumbers, the strings were ringing in my ears.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\n\nDue\u00f1as\u2014Children of Egypt\u2014Jockeyism\u2014The Baggage Pony\u2014The\nFall\u2014Palencia\u2014Carlist Priests\u2014The Lookout\u2014Priestly Sincerity\u2014Leon\u2014Antonio\nalarmed\u2014Heat and Dust.\n\nAfter a sojourn of about ten days at Valladolid, we directed our course\ntowards Leon.  We arrived about noon at Due\u00f1as, a town at the distance of\nsix short leagues from Valladolid.  It is in every respect a singular\nplace: it stands on a rising ground, and directly above it towers a steep\nconical mountain of calcareous earth, crowned by a ruined castle.  Around\nDue\u00f1as are seen a multitude of caves scooped in the high banks and\nsecured with strong doors.  These are cellars, in which is deposited the\nwine, of which abundance is grown in the neighbourhood, and which is\nchiefly sold to the Navarrese and the mountaineers of Santander, who\narrive in cars drawn by oxen, and convey it away in large quantities.  We\nput up at a mean posada in the suburb for the purpose of refreshing our\nhorses.  Several cavalry soldiers were quartered there, who instantly\ncame forth, and began, with the eyes of connoisseurs, to inspect my\nAndalusian entero.  \u201cA capital horse that would be for our troop,\u201d said\nthe corporal; \u201cwhat a chest he has.  By what right do you travel with\nthat horse, Se\u00f1or, when so many are wanted for the Queen\u2019s service?  He\nbelongs to the requiso.\u201d  \u201cI travel with him by right of purchase, and\nbeing an Englishman,\u201d I replied.  \u201cOh, your worship is an Englishman,\u201d\nanswered the corporal; \u201cthat, indeed, alters the matter; the English in\nSpain are allowed to do what they please with their own, which is more\nthan the Spaniards are.  Cavalier, I have seen your countrymen in the\nBasque provinces; Vaya, what riders! what horses!  They do not fight\nbadly either.  But their chief skill is in riding: I have seen them dash\nover barrancos to get at the factious, who thought themselves quite\nsecure, and then they would fall upon them on a sudden and kill them to a\nman.  In truth, your worship, this is a fine horse, I must look at his\nteeth.\u201d\n\nI looked at the corporal\u2014his nose and eyes were in the horse\u2019s mouth: the\nrest of the party, who might amount to six or seven, were not less busily\nengaged.  One was examining his forefeet, another his hind; one fellow\nwas pulling at his tail with all his might, while another pinched the\nwindpipe, for the purpose of discovering whether the animal was at all\ntouched there.  At last perceiving that the corporal was about to remove\nthe saddle that he might examine the back of the animal, I exclaimed:\u2014\n\n\u201cStay, ye chab\u00e9s of Egypt, ye forget that ye are hundunares, and are no\nlonger paruguing grastes in the chardy.\u201d\n\nThe corporal at these words turned his face full upon me, and so did all\nthe rest.  Yes, sure enough, there were the countenances of Egypt, and\nthe fixed filmy stare of eye.  We continued looking at each other for a\nminute at least, when the corporal, a villainous-looking fellow, at last\nsaid, in the richest gypsy whine imaginable, \u201cthe erray know us, the poor\nCalor\u00e9!  And he an Englishman!  Bullati!  I should not have thought that\nthere was e\u2019er a Busno would know us in these parts, where Gitanos are\nnever seen.  Yes, your worship is right; we are all here of the blood of\nthe Calor\u00e9; we are from Melegrana (Granada), your worship; they took us\nfrom thence and sent us to the wars.  Your worship is right, the sight of\nthat horse made us believe we were at home again in the mercado of\nGranada; he is a countryman of ours, a real Andalou.  Por dios, your\nworship, sell us that horse; we are poor Calor\u00e9, but we can buy him.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou forget that you are soldiers,\u201d said I.  \u201cHow should you buy my\nhorse?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe are soldiers, your worship,\u201d said the corporal, \u201cbut we are still\nCalor\u00e9; we buy and sell bestis; the captain of our troop is in league\nwith us.  We have been to the wars, but not to fight; we left that to the\nBusn\u00e9.  We have kept together, and like true Calor\u00e9, have stood back to\nback.  We have made money in the wars, your worship.  _No tenga usted\ncuidao_ (be under no apprehension).  We can buy your horse.\u201d\n\nHere he pulled out a purse, which contained at least ten ounces of gold.\n\n\u201cIf I were willing to sell,\u201d I replied, \u201cwhat would you give me for that\nhorse?\u201d\n\n\u201cThen your worship wishes to sell your horse\u2014that alters the matter.  We\nwill give ten dollars for your worship\u2019s horse.  He is good for nothing.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow is this?\u201d said I.  \u201cYou this moment told me he was a fine horse\u2014an\nAndalusian, and a countryman of yours.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, Se\u00f1or! we did not say that he was an Andalou.  We said he was an\nEstremou, and the worst of his kind.  He is eighteen years old, your\nworship, short-winded and galled.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not wish to sell my horse,\u201d said I; \u201cquite the contrary; I had\nrather buy than sell.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour worship does not wish to sell your horse,\u201d said the Gypsy.  \u201cStay,\nyour worship, we will give sixty dollars for your worship\u2019s horse.\u201d\n\n\u201cI would not sell him for two hundred and sixty.  Meclis! Meclis! say no\nmore.  I know your Gypsy tricks.  I will have no dealings with you.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid I not hear your worship say that you wished to buy a horse?\u201d said\nthe Gypsy.\n\n\u201cI do not want to buy a horse,\u201d said I; \u201cif I need any thing, it is a\npony to carry our baggage; but it is getting late.  Antonio, pay the\nreckoning.\u201d\n\n\u201cStay, your worship, do not be in a hurry,\u201d said the Gypsy: \u201cI have got\nthe very pony which will suit you.\u201d\n\nWithout waiting for my answer, he hurried into the stable, from whence he\npresently returned, leading an animal by a halter.  It was a pony of\nabout thirteen hands high, of a dark red colour; it was very much galled\nall over, the marks of ropes and thongs being visible on its hide.  The\nfigure, however, was good, and there was an extraordinary brightness in\nits eye.\n\n\u201cThere, your worship,\u201d said the Gypsy; \u201cthere is the best pony in all\nSpain.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you mean by showing me this wretched creature?\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cThis wretched creature,\u201d said the Gypsy, \u201cis a better horse than your\nAndalou!\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps you would not exchange,\u201d said I, smiling.\n\n\u201cSe\u00f1or, what I say is, that he shall run with your Andalou, and beat\nhim!\u201d\n\n\u201cHe looks feeble,\u201d said I; \u201chis work is well nigh done.\u201d\n\n\u201cFeeble as he is, Se\u00f1or, you could not manage him; no, nor any Englishman\nin Spain.\u201d\n\nI looked at the creature again, and was still more struck with its\nfigure.  I was in need of a pony to relieve occasionally the horse of\nAntonio in carrying the baggage which we had brought from Madrid, and\nthough the condition of this was wretched, I thought that by kind\ntreatment I might possibly soon bring him round.\n\n\u201cMay I mount this animal?\u201d I demanded.\n\n\u201cHe is a baggage pony, Se\u00f1or, and is ill to mount.  He will suffer none\nbut myself to mount him, who am his master.  When he once commences\nrunning, nothing will stop him but the sea.  He springs over hills and\nmountains, and leaves them behind in a moment.  If you will mount him,\nSe\u00f1or, suffer me to fetch a bridle, for you can never hold him in with\nthe halter.\u201d\n\n\u201cThis is nonsense,\u201d said I.  \u201cYou pretend that he is spirited in order to\nenhance the price.  I tell you his work is done.\u201d\n\nI took the halter in my hand and mounted.  I was no sooner on his back\nthan the creature, who had before stood stone still, without displaying\nthe slightest inclination to move, and who in fact gave no farther\nindication of existence than occasionally rolling his eyes and pricking\nup an ear, sprang forward like a racehorse, at a most desperate gallop.\nI had expected that he might kick or fling himself down on the ground, in\norder to get rid of his burden, but for this escapade I was quite\nunprepared.  I had no difficulty, however, in keeping on his back, having\nbeen accustomed from my childhood to ride without a saddle.  To stop him,\nhowever, baffled all my endeavours, and I almost began to pay credit to\nthe words of the Gypsy, who had said that he would run on until he\nreached the sea.  I had, however, a strong arm, and I tugged at the\nhalter until I compelled him to turn slightly his neck, which from its\nstiffness might almost have been of wood; he, however, did not abate his\nspeed for a moment.  On the left side of the road down which he was\ndashing was a deep trench, just where the road took a turn towards the\nright, and over this he sprang in a sideward direction; the halter broke\nwith the effort, the pony shot forward like an arrow, whilst I fell back\ninto the dust.\n\n\u201cSe\u00f1or!\u201d said the Gypsy, coming up with the most serious countenance in\nthe world, \u201cI told you not to mount that animal unless well bridled and\nbitted.  He is a baggage pony, and will suffer none to mount his back,\nwith the exception of myself who feed him.\u201d  (Here he whistled, and the\nanimal, who was scurring over the field, and occasionally kicking up his\nheels, instantly returned with a gentle neigh.)  \u201cNow, your worship, see\nhow gentle he is.  He is a capital baggage pony, and will carry all you\nhave over the hills of Galicia.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you ask for him?\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cSe\u00f1or, as your worship is an Englishman, and a good ginete, and,\nmoreover, understands the ways of the Calor\u00e9, and their tricks and their\nlanguage also, I will sell him to you a bargain.  I will take two hundred\nand sixty dollars for him and no less.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is a large sum,\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cNo, Se\u00f1or, not at all, considering that he is a baggage pony, and\nbelongs to the troop, and is not mine to sell.\u201d\n\nTwo hours\u2019 ride brought us to Palencia, a fine old town, beautifully\nsituated on the Carrion, and famous for its trade in wool.  We put up at\nthe best posada which the place afforded, and I forthwith proceeded to\nvisit one of the principal merchants of the town, to whom I was\nrecommended by my banker in Madrid.  I was told, however, that he was\ntaking his siesta.  \u201cThen I had better take my own,\u201d said I, and returned\nto the posada.  In the evening I went again, when I saw him.  He was a\nshort bulky man about thirty, and received me at first with some degree\nof bluntness; his manner, however, presently became more kind, and at\nlast he scarcely appeared to know how to show me sufficient civility.\nHis brother had just arrived from Santander, and to him he introduced me.\nThis last was a highly-intelligent person, and had passed many years of\nhis life in England.  They both insisted upon showing me the town, and,\nindeed, led me all over it, and about the neighbourhood.  I particularly\nadmired the cathedral, a light, elegant, but ancient Gothic edifice.\nWhilst we walked about the aisles, the evening sun, pouring its mellow\nrays through the arched windows, illumined some beautiful paintings of\nMurillo, with which the sacred edifice is adorned.  From the church my\nfriends conducted me to a fulling mill in the neighbourhood, by a\npicturesque walk.  There was no lack either of trees or water, and I\nremarked, that the environs of Palencia were amongst the most pleasant\nplaces that I had ever seen.\n\nTired at last with rambling, we repaired to a coffee-house, where they\nregaled me with chocolate and sweet-meats.  Such was their hospitality;\nand of hospitality of this simple and agreeable kind there is much in\nSpain.\n\nOn the next day we pursued our journey, a dreary one, for the most part,\nover bleak and barren plains, interspersed with silent and cheerless\ntowns and villages, which stood at the distance of two or three leagues\nfrom each other.  About midday we obtained a dim and distant view of an\nimmense range of mountains, which are in fact those which bound Castile\non the north.  The day, however, became dim and obscure, and we speedily\nlost sight of them.  A hollow wind now arose and blew over these desolate\nplains with violence, wafting clouds of dust into our faces; the rays of\nthe sun were few, and those red and angry.  I was tired of my journey,\nand when about four we reached ---, a large village, half way between\nPalencia and Leon, I declared my intention of stopping for the night.  I\nscarcely ever saw a more desolate place than this same town or village of\n---.  The houses were for the most part large, but the walls were of mud,\nlike those of barns.  We saw no person in the long winding street to\ndirect us to the venta, or posada, till at last, at the farther end of\nthe place, we descried two black figures standing at a door, of whom, on\nmaking inquiry, we learned that the door at which they stood was that of\nthe house we were in quest of.  There was something strange in the\nappearance of these two beings, who seemed the genii of the place.  One\nwas a small slim man, about fifty, with sharp, ill-natured features.  He\nwas dressed in coarse black worsted stockings, black breeches, and an\nample black coat with long trailing skirts.  I should at once have taken\nhim for an ecclesiastic, but for his hat, which had nothing clerical\nabout it, being a pinched diminutive beaver.  His companion was of low\nstature, and a much younger man.  He was dressed in similar fashion, save\nthat he wore a dark blue cloak.  Both carried walking sticks in their\nhands, and kept hovering about the door, now within and now without,\noccasionally looking up the road, as if they expected some one.\n\n\u201cTrust me, mon ma\u00eetre,\u201d said Antonio to me, in French, \u201cthose two fellows\nare Carlist priests, and are awaiting the arrival of the Pretender.  _Les\nimbeciles_!\u201d\n\nWe conducted our horses to the stable, to which we were shown by the\nwoman of the house.  \u201cWho are those men?\u201d said I to her.\n\n\u201cThe eldest is head curate to our pueblo,\u201d said she; \u201cthe other is\nbrother to my husband.  Pobrecito! he was a friar in our convent before\nit was shut up and the brethren driven forth.\u201d\n\nWe returned to the door.  \u201cI suppose, gentlemen,\u201d said the curate, \u201cthat\nyou are Catalans.  Do you bring any news from that kingdom?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy do you suppose we are Catalans?\u201d I demanded.\n\n\u201cBecause I heard you this moment conversing in that language.\u201d\n\n\u201cI bring no news from Catalonia,\u201d said I.  \u201cI believe, however, that the\ngreater part of that principality is in the hands of the Carlists.\u201d\n\n\u201cAhem, brother Pedro!  This gentleman says that the greater part of\nCatalonia is in the hands of the royalists.  Pray, sir, where may Don\nCarlos be at present with his army?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe may be coming down the road this moment,\u201d said I, \u201cfor what I know;\u201d\nand, stepping out, I looked up the way.\n\nThe two figures were at my side in a moment; Antonio followed, and we all\nfour looked intently up the road.\n\n\u201cDo you see anything?\u201d said I at last to Antonio.\n\n\u201c_Non_, _mon maitre_.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you see anything, sir?\u201d said I to the curate.\n\n\u201cI see nothing,\u201d said the curate, stretching out his neck.\n\n\u201cI see nothing,\u201d said Pedro, the ex-friar; \u201cI see nothing but the dust,\nwhich is becoming every moment more blinding.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall go in, then,\u201d said I.  \u201cIndeed, it is scarcely prudent to be\nstanding here looking out for the Pretender: should the nationals of the\ntown hear of it, they might perhaps shoot us.\u201d\n\n\u201cAhem,\u201d said the curate, following me; \u201cthere are no nationals in this\nplace: I would fain see what inhabitant would dare become a national.\nWhen the inhabitants of this place were ordered to take up arms as\nnationals, they refused to a man, and on that account we had to pay a\nmulet; therefore, friend, you may speak out if you have anything to\ncommunicate; we are all of your opinion here.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am of no opinion at all,\u201d said I, \u201csave that I want my supper.  I am\nneither for Rey nor Roque.  You say that I am a Catalan, and you know\nthat Catalans think only of their own affairs.\u201d\n\nIn the evening I strolled by myself about the village, which I found\nstill more forlorn and melancholy than it at first appeared; perhaps,\nhowever, it had been a place of consequence in its time.  In one corner\nof it I found the ruins of a large clumsy castle, chiefly built of flint\nstones: into these ruins I attempted to penetrate, but the entrance was\nsecured by a gate.  From the castle I found my way to the convent, a sad\ndesolate place, formerly the residence of mendicant brothers of the order\nof St. Francis.  I was about to return to the inn, when I heard a loud\nbuzz of voices, and, following the sound, presently reached a kind of\nmeadow, where, upon a small knoll, sat a priest in full canonicals,\nreading in a loud voice a newspaper, while around him, either erect or\nseated on the grass, were assembled about fifty vecinos, for the most\npart dressed in long cloaks, amongst whom I discovered my two friends the\ncurate and friar.  A fine knot of Carlist quid-nuncs, said I to myself,\nand turned away to another part of the meadow, where the cattle of the\nvillage were grazing.  The curate, on observing me, detached himself\ninstantly from the group, and followed.  \u201cI am told you want a pony,\u201d\nsaid he; \u201cthere now is mine feeding amongst those horses, the best in all\nthe kingdom of Leon.\u201d  He then began with all the volubility of a chalan\nto descant on the points of the animal.  Presently the friar joined us,\nwho, observing his opportunity, pulled me by the sleeve and whispered,\n\u201cHave nothing to do with the curate, master, he is the greatest thief in\nthe neighbourhood; if you want a pony, my brother has a much better,\nwhich he will dispose of cheaper.\u201d  \u201cI shall wait till I arrive at Leon,\u201d\nI exclaimed, and walked away, musing on priestly friendship and\nsincerity.\n\nFrom --- to Leon, a distance of eight leagues, the country rapidly\nimproved: we passed over several small streams, and occasionally found\nourselves amongst meadows in which grass was growing in the richest\nluxuriance.  The sun shone out brightly, and I hailed his re-appearance\nwith joy, though the heat of his beams was oppressive.  On arriving\nwithin two leagues of Leon, we passed numerous cars and waggons, and\nbands of people with horses and mules, all hastening to the celebrated\nfair which is held in the city on St. John\u2019s or Mid-summer day, and which\ntook place within three days after our arrival.  This fair, though\nprincipally intended for the sale of horses, is frequented by merchants\nfrom many parts of Spain, who attend with goods of various kinds, and\namongst them I remarked many of the Catalans whom I had previously seen\nat Medina and Valladolid.\n\nThere is nothing remarkable in Leon, which is an old gloomy town, with\nthe exception of its cathedral, in many respects a counterpart of the\nchurch of Palencia, exhibiting the same light and elegant architecture,\nbut, unlike its beautiful sister, unadorned with splendid paintings.  The\nsituation of Leon is highly pleasant, in the midst of a blooming country,\nabounding with trees, and watered by many streams, which have their\nsource in the mighty mountains in the neighbourhood.  It is, however, by\nno means a healthy place, especially in summer, when the heats raise\nnoxious exhalations from the waters, generating many kinds of disorders,\nespecially fevers.\n\nI had scarcely been at Leon three days when I was seized with a fever,\nagainst which I thought the strength even of my constitution would have\nyielded, for it wore me almost to a skeleton, and when it departed, at\nthe end of about a week, left me in such a deplorable state of weakness\nthat I was scarcely able to make the slightest exertion.  I had, however,\npreviously persuaded a bookseller to undertake the charge of vending the\nTestaments, and had published my advertisements as usual, though without\nvery sanguine hope of success, as Leon is a place where the inhabitants,\nwith very few exceptions, are furious Carlists, and ignorant and blinded\nfollowers of the old papal church.  It is, moreover, a bishop\u2019s see,\nwhich was once enjoyed by the prime counsellor of Don Carlos, whose\nfierce and bigoted spirit still seems to pervade the place.  Scarcely had\nthe advertisements appeared, when the clergy were in motion.  They went\nfrom house to house, banning and cursing, and denouncing misery to\nwhomsoever should either purchase or read \u201cthe accursed books,\u201d which had\nbeen sent into the country by heretics for the purpose of perverting the\ninnocent minds of the population.  They did more; they commenced a\nprocess against the bookseller in the ecclesiastical court.  Fortunately\nthis court is not at present in the possession of much authority; and the\nbookseller, a bold and determined man, set them at defiance, and went so\nfar as to affix an advertisement to the gate of the very cathedral.\nNotwithstanding the cry raised against the book, several copies were sold\nat Leon: two were purchased by ex-friars, and the same number by\nparochial priests from neighbouring villages.  I believe the whole number\ndisposed of during my stay amounted to fifteen; so that my visit to this\ndark corner was not altogether in vain, as the seed of the gospel has\nbeen sown, though sparingly.  But the palpable darkness which envelops\nLeon is truly lamentable, and the ignorance of the people is so great,\nthat printed charms and incantations against Satan and his host, and\nagainst every kind of misfortune, are publicly sold in the shops, and are\nin great demand.  Such are the results of Popery, a delusion which, more\nthan any other, has tended to debase and brutalize the human mind.\n\nI had scarcely risen from my bed where the fever had cast me, when I\nfound that Antonio had become alarmed.  He informed me that he had seen\nseveral soldiers in the uniform of Don Carlos lurking at the door of the\nposada, and that they had been making inquiries concerning me.\n\nIt was indeed a singular fact connected with Leon, that upwards of fifty\nof these fellows, who had on various accounts left the ranks of the\nPretender, were walking about the streets dressed in his livery, and with\nall the confidence which the certainty of protection from the local\nauthorities could afford them should any one be disposed to interrupt\nthem.\n\nI learned moreover from Antonio, that the person in whose house we were\nliving was a notorious \u201calcahuete,\u201d or spy to the robbers in the\nneighbourhood, and that unless we took our departure speedily and\nunexpectedly, we should to a certainty be plundered on the road.  I did\nnot pay much attention to these hints, but my desire to quit Leon was\ngreat, as I was convinced that as long as I continued there I should be\nunable to regain my health and vigour.\n\nAccordingly, at three in the morning, we departed for Galicia.  We had\nscarcely proceeded half a league when we were overtaken by a\nthunder-storm of tremendous violence.  We were at that time in the midst\nof a wood which extends to some distance in the direction in which we\nwere going.  The trees were bowed almost to the ground by the wind or\ntorn up by the roots, whilst the earth was ploughed up by the lightning,\nwhich burst all around and nearly blinded us.  The spirited Andalusian on\nwhich I rode became furious, and bounded into the air as if possessed.\nOwing to my state of weakness, I had the greatest difficulty in\nmaintaining my seat, and avoiding a fall which might have been fatal.  A\ntremendous discharge of rain followed the storm, which swelled the brooks\nand streams and flooded the surrounding country, causing much damage\namongst the corn.  After riding about five leagues, we began to enter the\nmountainous district which surrounds Astorga: the heat now became almost\nsuffocating; swarms of flies began to make their appearance, and settling\ndown upon the horses, stung them almost to madness, whilst the road was\nvery flinty and trying.  It was with great difficulty that we reached\nAstorga, covered with mud and dust, our tongues cleaving to our palates\nwith thirst.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\n\nAstorga\u2014The Inn\u2014The Maragatos\u2014The Habits of the Maragatos\u2014The Statue.\n\nWe went to a posada in the suburbs, the only one, indeed, which the place\nafforded.  The courtyard was full of arrieros and carriers, brawling\nloudly; the master of the house was fighting with two of his customers,\nand universal confusion reigned around.  As I dismounted I received the\ncontents of a wineglass in my face, of which greeting, as it was probably\nintended for another, I took no notice.  Antonio, however, was not so\npatient, for on being struck with a cudgel, he instantly returned the\nsalute with his whip, scarifying the countenance of a carman.  In my\nendeavours to separate these two antagonists, my horse broke loose, and\nrushing amongst the promiscuous crowd, overturned several individuals and\ncommitted no little damage.  It was a long time before peace was\nrestored: at last we were shown to a tolerably decent chamber.  We had,\nhowever, no sooner taken possession of it, than the waggon from Madrid\narrived on its way to Coru\u00f1a, filled with dusty travellers, consisting of\nwomen, children, invalid officers and the like.  We were now forthwith\ndislodged, and our baggage flung into the yard.  On our complaining of\nthis treatment, we were told that we were two vagabonds whom nobody knew;\nwho had come without an arriero, and had already set the whole house in\nconfusion.  As a great favour, however, we were at length permitted to\ntake up our abode in a ruinous building down the yard, adjoining the\nstable, and filled with rats and vermin.  Here there was an old bed with\na tester, and with this wretched accommodation we were glad to content\nourselves, for I could proceed no farther, and was burnt with fever.  The\nheat of the place was intolerable, and I sat on the staircase with my\nhead between my hands, gasping for breath: soon appeared Antonio with\nvinegar and water, which I drank and felt relieved.\n\nWe continued in this suburb three days, during the greatest part of which\ntime I was stretched on the tester bed.  I once or twice contrived to\nmake my way into the town, but found no bookseller, nor any person\nwilling to undertake the charge of disposing of my Testaments.  The\npeople were brutal, stupid, and uncivil, and I returned to my tester bed\nfatigued and dispirited.  Here I lay listening from time to time to the\nsweet chimes which rang from the clock of the old cathedral.  The master\nof the house never came near me, nor indeed, once inquired about me.\nBeneath the care of Antonio, however, I speedily waxed stronger.  \u201c_Mon\nma\u00eetre_,\u201d said he to me one evening, \u201cI see you are better; let us quit\nthis bad town and worse posada to-morrow morning.  _Allons_, _mon\nmaitre_!  _Il est temps de nous mettre en chemin pour Lugo et Galice_.\u201d\n\nBefore proceeding, however, to narrate what befell us in this journey to\nLugo and Galicia, it will perhaps not be amiss to say a few words\nconcerning Astorga and its vicinity.  It is a walled town, containing\nabout five or six thousand inhabitants, with a cathedral and college,\nwhich last is, however, at present deserted.  It is situated on the\nconfines, and may be called the capital of a tract of land called the\ncountry of the Maragatos, which occupies about three square leagues, and\nhas for its north-western boundary a mountain called Telleno, the\nloftiest of a chain of hills which have their origin near the mouth of\nthe river Minho, and are connected with the immense range which\nconstitutes the frontier of the Asturias and Guipuscoa.\n\nThe land is ungrateful and barren, and niggardly repays the toil of the\ncultivator, being for the most part rocky, with a slight sprinkling of\nred brick earth.\n\nThe Maragatos are perhaps the most singular caste to be found amongst the\nchequered population of Spain.  They have their own peculiar customs and\ndress, and never intermarry with the Spaniards.  Their name is a clue to\ntheir origin, as it signifies, \u201cMoorish Goths,\u201d and at the present day\ntheir garb differs but little from that of the Moors of Barbary, as it\nconsists of a long tight jacket, secured at the waist by a broad girdle,\nloose short trousers which terminate at the knee, and boots and gaiters.\nTheir heads are shaven, a slight fringe of hair being only left at the\nlower part.  If they wore the turban or barret, they could scarcely be\ndistinguished from the Moors in dress, but in lieu thereof they wear the\nsombrero, or broad slouching hat of Spain.  There can be little doubt\nthat they are a remnant of those Goths who sided with the Moors on their\ninvasion of Spain, and who adopted their religion, customs, and manner of\ndress, which, with the exception of the first, are still to a\nconsiderable degree retained by them.  It is, however, evident that their\nblood has at no time mingled with that of the wild children of the\ndesert, for scarcely amongst the hills of Norway would you find figures\nand faces more essentially Gothic than those of the Maragatos.  They are\nstrong athletic men, but loutish and heavy, and their features, though\nfor the most part well formed, are vacant and devoid of expression.  They\nare slow and plain of speech, and those eloquent and imaginative sallies\nso common in the conversation of other Spaniards, seldom or never escape\nthem; they have, moreover, a coarse thick pronunciation, and when you\nhear them speak, you almost imagine that it is some German or English\npeasant attempting to express himself in the language of the Peninsula.\nThey are constitutionally phlegmatic, and it is very difficult to arouse\ntheir anger; but they are dangerous and desperate when once incensed; and\na person who knew them well, told me that he would rather face ten\nValencians, people infamous for their ferocity and blood-thirstiness,\nthan confront one angry Maragato, sluggish and stupid though he be on\nother occasions.\n\nThe men scarcely ever occupy themselves in husbandry, which they abandon\nto the women, who plough the flinty fields and gather in the scanty\nharvests.  Their husbands and sons are far differently employed: for they\nare a nation of arrieros or carriers, and almost esteem it a disgrace to\nfollow any other profession.  On every road of Spain, particularly those\nnorth of the mountains which divide the two Castiles, may be seen gangs\nof fives and sixes of these people lolling or sleeping beneath the\nbroiling sun, on gigantic and heavily laden mutes and mules.  In a word,\nalmost the entire commerce of nearly one half of Spain passes through the\nhands of the Maragatos, whose fidelity to their trust is such, that no\none accustomed to employ them would hesitate to confide to them the\ntransport of a ton of treasure from the sea of Biscay to Madrid; knowing\nwell that it would not be their fault were it not delivered safe and\nundiminished, even of a grain, and that bold must be the thieves who\nwould seek to wrest it from the far feared Maragatos, who would cling to\nit whilst they could stand, and would cover it with their bodies when\nthey fell in the act of loading or discharging their long carbines.\n\nBut they are far from being disinterested, and if they are the most\ntrustworthy of all the arrieros of Spain, they in general demand for the\ntransport of articles a sum at least double to what others of the trade\nwould esteem a reasonable recompense: by this means they accumulate large\nsums of money, notwithstanding that they indulge themselves in far\nsuperior fare to that which contents in general the parsimonious\nSpaniard;\u2014another argument in favour of their pure Gothic descent; for\nthe Maragatos, like true men of the north, delight in swilling liquors\nand battening upon gross and luscious meats, which help to swell out\ntheir tall and goodly figures.  Many of them have died possessed of\nconsiderable riches, part of which they have not unfrequently bequeathed\nto the erection or embellishment of religious houses.\n\nOn the east end of the cathedral of Astorga, which towers over the lofty\nand precipitous wall, a colossal figure of lead may be seen on the roof.\nIt is the statue of a Maragato carrier who endowed the cathedral with a\nlarge sum.  He is in his national dress, but his head is averted from the\nlands of his fathers, and whilst he waves in his hand a species of flag,\nhe seems to be summoning his race from their unfruitful region to other\nclimes, where a richer field is open to their industry and enterprise.\n\nI spoke to several of these men respecting the all-important subject of\nreligion; but I found \u201ctheir hearts gross, and their ears dull of\nhearing, and their eyes closed.\u201d  There was one in particular to whom I\nshowed the New Testament, and whom I addressed for a considerable time.\nHe listened or seemed to listen patiently, taking occasionally copious\ndraughts from an immense jug of whitish wine which stood between his\nknees.  After I had concluded he said, \u201cTo-morrow I set out for Lugo,\nwhither, I am told, yourself are going.  If you wish to send your chest,\nI have no objection to take it at so much (naming an extravagant price).\nAs for what you have told me, I understand little of it, and believe not\na word of it; but in respect to the books which you have shown me, I will\ntake three or four.  I shall not read them, it is true, but I have no\ndoubt that I can sell them at a higher price than you demand.\u201d\n\nSo much for the Maragatos.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\n\nDeparture from Astorga\u2014The Venta\u2014The By-path\u2014Narrow Escape\u2014The Cup of\nWater\u2014Sun and Shade\u2014Bembibre\u2014Convent of the\nRocks\u2014Sunset\u2014Cacabelos\u2014Midnight Adventure\u2014Villafrancs.\n\nIt was four o\u2019clock of a beautiful morning when we sallied from Astorga,\nor rather from its suburbs, in which we had been lodged: we directed our\ncourse to the north, in the direction of Galicia.  Leaving the mountain\nTelleno on our left, we passed along the eastern skirts of the land of\nthe Maragatos, over broken uneven ground, enlivened here and there by\nsmall green valleys and runnels of water.  Several of the Maragatan\nwomen, mounted on donkeys, passed us on their way to Astorga, whither\nthey were carrying vegetables.  We saw others in the fields handling\ntheir rude ploughs, drawn by lean oxen.  We likewise passed through a\nsmall village, in which we, however, saw no living soul.  Near this\nvillage we entered the high road which leads direct from Madrid to\nCoru\u00f1a, and at last, having travelled near four leagues, we came to a\nspecies of pass, formed on our left by a huge lumpish hill (one of those\nwhich descend from the great mountain Telleno), and on our right by one\nof much less altitude.  In the middle of this pass, which was of\nconsiderable breadth, a noble view opened itself to us.  Before us, at\nthe distance of about a league and a half, rose the mighty frontier\nchain, of which I have spoken before; its blue sides and broken and\npicturesque peaks still wearing a thin veil of the morning mist, which\nthe fierce rays of the sun were fast dispelling.  It seemed an enormous\nbarrier, threatening to oppose our farther progress, and it reminded me\nof the fables respecting the children of Magog, who are said to reside in\nremotest Tartary, behind a gigantic wall of rocks, which can only be\npassed by a gate of steel a thousand cubits in height.\n\nWe shortly after arrived at Manzanal, a village consisting of wretched\nhuts, and exhibiting every sign of poverty and misery.  It was now time\nto refresh ourselves and horses, and we accordingly put up at a venta,\nthe last habitation in the village, where, though we found barley for the\nanimals, we had much difficulty in procuring anything for ourselves.  I\nwas at length fortunate enough to obtain a large jug of milk, for there\nwere plenty of cows in the neighbourhood, feeding in a picturesque valley\nwhich we had passed by, where was abundance of grass, and trees, and a\nrivulet broken by tiny cascades.  The jug might contain about half a\ngallon, but I emptied it in a few minutes, for the thirst of fever was\nstill burning within me, though I was destitute of appetite.  The venta\nhad something the appearance of a German baiting-house.  It consisted of\nan immense stable, from which was partitioned a kind of kitchen and a\nplace where the family slept.  The master, a robust young man, lolled on\na large solid stone bench, which stood within the door.  He was very\ninquisitive respecting news, but I could afford him none; whereupon he\nbecame communicative, and gave me the history of his life, the sum of\nwhich was, that he had been a courier in the Basque provinces, but about\na year since had been dispatched to this village, where he kept the\npost-house.  He was an enthusiastic liberal, and spoke in bitter terms of\nthe surrounding population, who, he said, were all Carlists and friends\nof the friars.  I paid little attention to his discourse, for I was\nlooking at a Maragato lad of about fourteen, who served in the house as a\nkind of ostler.  I asked the master if we were still in the land of the\nMaragatos; but he told me that we had left it behind nearly a league, and\nthat the lad was an orphan and was serving until he could rake up a\nsufficient capital to become an arriero.  I addressed several questions\nto the boy, but the urchin looked sullenly in my face, and either\nanswered by monosyllables or was doggedly silent.  I asked him if he\ncould read.  \u201cYes,\u201d said he, \u201cas much as that brute of yours who is\ntearing down the manger.\u201d\n\nQuitting Manzanal, we continued our course.  We soon arrived at the verge\nof a deep valley amongst mountains, not those of the chain which we had\nseen before us, and which we now left to the right, but those of the\nTelleno range, just before they unite with that chain.  Round the sides\nof this valley, which exhibited something of the appearance of a\nhorse-shoe, wound the road in a circuitous manner; just before us,\nhowever, and diverging from the road, lay a footpath which seemed, by a\ngradual descent, to lead across the valley, and to rejoin the road on the\nother side, at the distance of about a furlong; and into this we struck\nin order to avoid the circuit.\n\nWe had not gone far before we met two Galicians, on their way to cut the\nharvests of Castile.  One of them shouted, \u201cCavalier, turn back: in a\nmoment you will be amongst precipices, where your horses will break their\nnecks, for we ourselves could scarcely climb them on foot.\u201d  The other\ncried, \u201cCavalier, proceed, but be careful, and your horses, if\nsure-footed, will run no great danger: my comrade is a fool.\u201d  A violent\ndispute instantly ensued between the two mountaineers, each supporting\nhis opinion with loud oaths and curses; but without stopping to see the\nresult, I passed on, but the path was now filled with stones and huge\nslaty rocks, on which my horse was continually slipping.  I likewise\nheard the sound of water in a deep gorge, which I had hitherto not\nperceived, and I soon saw that it would be worse than madness to proceed.\nI turned my horse, and was hastening to regain the path which I had left,\nwhen Antonio, my faithful Greek, pointed out to me a meadow by which, he\nsaid, we might regain the high road much lower down than if we returned\non our steps.  The meadow was brilliant with short green grass, and in\nthe middle there was a small rivulet of water.  I spurred my horse on,\nexpecting to be in the high road in a moment; the horse, however, snorted\nand stared wildly, and was evidently unwilling to cross the seemingly\ninviting spot.  I thought that the scent of a wolf, or some other wild\nanimal might have disturbed him, but was soon undeceived by his sinking\nup to the knees in a bog.  The animal uttered a shrill sharp neigh, and\nexhibited every sign of the greatest terror, making at the same time\ngreat efforts to extricate himself, and plunging forward, but every\nmoment sinking deeper.  At last he arrived where a small vein of rock\nshowed itself: on this he placed his fore feet, and with one tremendous\nexertion freed himself, from the deceitful soil, springing over the\nrivulet and alighting on comparatively firm ground, where he stood\npanting, his heaving sides covered with a foamy sweat.  Antonio, who had\nobserved the whole scene, afraid to venture forward, returned by the path\nby which we came, and shortly afterwards rejoined me.  This adventure\nbrought to my recollection the meadow with its footpath which tempted\nChristian from the straight road to heaven, and finally conducted him to\nthe dominions of the giant Despair.\n\nWe now began to descend the valley by a broad and excellent carretera or\ncarriage road, which was cut out of the steep side of the mountain on our\nright.  On our left was the gorge, down which tumbled the runnel of water\nwhich I have before mentioned.  The road was tortuous, and at every turn\nthe scene became more picturesque.  The gorge gradually widened, and the\nbrook at its bottom, fed by a multitude of springs, increased in volume\nand in sound, but it was soon far beneath us, pursuing its headlong\ncourse till it reached level ground, where it flowed in the midst of a\nbeautiful but confined prairie.  There was something sylvan and savage in\nthe mountains on the farther side, clad from foot to pinnacle with trees,\nso closely growing that the eye was unable to obtain a glimpse of the\nhill sides, which were uneven with ravines and gulleys, the haunts of the\nwolf, the wild boar, and the corso, or mountain-stag; the latter of\nwhich, as I was informed by a peasant who was driving a car of oxen,\nfrequently descended to feed in the prairie, and were there shot for the\nsake of their skins, for their flesh, being strong and disagreeable, is\nheld in no account.\n\nBut notwithstanding the wildness of these regions, the handiworks of man\nwere visible.  The sides of the gorge, though precipitous, were yellow\nwith little fields of barley, and we saw a hamlet and church down in the\nprairie below, whilst merry songs ascended to our ears from where the\nmowers were toiling with their scythes, cutting the luxuriant and\nabundant grass.  I could scarcely believe that I was in Spain, in general\nso brown, so arid and cheerless, and I almost fancied myself in Greece,\nin that land of ancient glory, whose mountain and forest scenery\nTheocritus has so well described.\n\nAt the bottom of the valley we entered a small village, washed by the\nbrook, which had now swelled almost to a stream.  A more romantic\nsituation I had never witnessed.  It was surrounded, and almost overhung\nby mountains, and embowered in trees of various kinds; waters sounded,\nnightingales sang, and the cuckoo\u2019s full note boomed from the distant\nbranches, but the village was miserable.  The huts were built of slate\nstones, of which the neighbouring hills seemed to be principally\ncomposed, and roofed with the same, but not in the neat tidy manner of\nEnglish houses, for the slates were of all sizes, and seemed to be flung\non in confusion.  We were spent with heat and thirst, and sitting down on\na stone bench, I entreated a woman to give me a little water.  The woman\nsaid she would, but added that she expected to be paid for it.  Antonio,\non hearing this, became highly incensed, and speaking Greek, Turkish, and\nSpanish, invoked the vengeance of the Panhagia on the heartless woman,\nsaying, \u201cIf I were to offer a Mahometan gold for a draught of water he\nwould dash it in my face; and you are a Catholic, with the stream running\nat your door.\u201d  I told him to be silent, and giving the woman two\ncuartos, repeated my request, whereupon she took a pitcher, and going to\nthe stream filled it with water.  It tasted muddy and disagreeable, but\nit drowned the fever which was devouring me.\n\nWe again remounted and proceeded on our way, which, for a considerable\ndistance, lay along the margin of the stream, which now fell in small\ncataracts, now brawled over stones, and at other times ran dark and\nsilent through deep pools overhung with tall willows,\u2014pools which seemed\nto abound with the finny tribe, for large trout frequently sprang from\nthe water, catching the brilliant fly which skimmed along its deceitful\nsurface.  The scene was delightful.  The sun was rolling high in the\nfirmament, casting from its orb of fire the most glorious rays, so that\nthe atmosphere was flickering with their splendour, but their fierceness\nwas either warded off by the shadow of the trees or rendered innocuous by\nthe refreshing coolness which rose from the waters, or by the gentle\nbreezes which murmured at intervals over the meadows, \u201cfanning the cheek\nor raising the hair\u201d of the wanderer.  The hills gradually receded, till\nat last we entered a plain where tall grass was waving, and mighty\nchestnut trees, in full blossom, spread out their giant and umbrageous\nboughs.  Beneath many stood cars, the tired oxen prostrate on the ground,\nthe crossbar of the poll which they support pressing heavily on their\nheads, whilst their drivers were either employed in cooking, or were\nenjoying a delicious siesta in the grass and shade.  I went up to one of\nthe largest of these groups and demanded of the individuals whether they\nwere in need of the Testament of Jesus Christ.  They stared at one\nanother, and then at me, till at last a young man, who was dangling a\nlong gun in his hands as he reclined, demanded of me what it was, at the\nsame time inquiring whether I was a Catalan, \u201cfor you speak hoarse,\u201d said\nhe, \u201cand are tall and fair like that family.\u201d  I sat down amongst them\nand said that I was no Catalan, but that I came from a spot in the\nWestern Sea, many leagues distant, to sell that book at half the price it\ncost; and that their souls\u2019 welfare depended on their being acquainted\nwith it.  I then explained to them the nature of the New Testament, and\nread to them the parable of the Sower.  They stared at each other again,\nbut said that they were poor, and could not buy books.  I rose, mounted,\nand was going away, saying to them: \u201cPeace bide with you.\u201d  Whereupon the\nyoung man with the gun rose, and saying, \u201c_Caspita_! this is odd,\u201d\nsnatched the book from my hand and gave me the price I had demanded.\n\nPerhaps the whole world might be searched in vain for a spot whose\nnatural charms could rival those of this plain or valley of Bembibre, as\nit is called, with its wall of mighty mountains, its spreading chestnut\ntrees, and its groves of oaks and willows, which clothe the banks of its\nstream, a tributary to the Minho.  True it is, that when I passed through\nit, the candle of heaven was blazing in full splendour, and everything\nlighted by its rays looked gay, glad, and blessed.  Whether it would have\nfilled me with the same feelings of admiration if viewed beneath another\nsky, I will not pretend to determine; but it certainly possesses\nadvantages which at no time could fail to delight, for it exhibits all\nthe peaceful beauties of an English landscape blended with something wild\nand grand, and I thought within myself that he must be a restless\ndissatisfied man, who, born amongst those scenes, would wish to quit\nthem.  At the time I would have desired no better fate than that of a\nshepherd on the prairies, or a hunter in the hills of Bembibre.\n\nThree hours passed away and we were in another situation.  We had halted\nand refreshed ourselves and horses at Bembibre, a village of mud and\nslate, and which possessed little to attract attention: we were now\nascending, for the road was over one of the extreme ledges of those\nfrontier hills which I have before so often mentioned; but the aspect of\nheaven had blackened, clouds were rolling rapidly from the west over the\nmountains, and a cold wind was moaning dismally.  \u201cThere is a storm\ntravelling through the air,\u201d said a peasant, whom we overtook, mounted on\na wretched mule; \u201cand the Asturians had better be on the lookout, for it\nis speeding in their direction.\u201d  He had scarce spoken, when a light, so\nvivid and dazzling that it seemed as if the whole lustre of the fiery\nelement were concentrated in it, broke around us, filling the whole\natmosphere, and covering rock, tree and mountain with a glare not to be\ndescribed.  The mule of the peasant tumbled prostrate, while the horse I\nrode reared himself perpendicularly, and turning round, dashed down the\nhill at headlong speed, which for some time it was impossible to cheek.\nThe lightning was followed by a peal almost as terrible, but distant, for\nit sounded hollow and deep; the hills, however, caught up its voice,\nseemingly repeating it from summit to summit, till it was lost in\ninterminable space.  Other flashes and peals succeeded, but slight in\ncomparison, and a few drops of rain descended.  The body of the tempest\nseemed to be over another region.  \u201cA hundred families are weeping where\nthat bolt fell,\u201d said the peasant when I rejoined him, \u201cfor its blaze has\nblinded my mule at six leagues\u2019 distance.\u201d  He was leading the animal by\nthe bridle, as its sight was evidently affected.  \u201cWere the friars still\nin their nest above there,\u201d he continued, \u201cI should say that this was\ntheir doing, for they are the cause of all the miseries of the land.\u201d\n\nI raised my eyes in the direction in which he pointed.  Half way up the\nmountain, over whose foot we were wending, jutted forth a black frightful\ncrag, which at an immense altitude overhung the road, and seemed to\nthreaten destruction.  It resembled one of those ledges of the rocky\nmountains in the picture of the Deluge, up to which the terrified\nfugitives have scrambled from the eager pursuit of the savage and\ntremendous billows, and from whence they gaze down in horror, whilst\nabove them rise still higher and giddier heights, to which they seem\nunable to climb.  Built on the very edge of this crag, stood an edifice,\nseemingly devoted to the purposes of religion, as I could discern the\nspire of a church rearing itself high over wall and roof.  \u201cThat is the\nhouse of the Virgin of the Rocks,\u201d said the peasant, \u201cand it was lately\nfull of friars, but they have been thrust out, and the only inmates now\nare owls and ravens.\u201d  I replied, that their life in such a bleak exposed\nabode could not have been very enviable, as in winter they must have\nincurred great risk of perishing with cold.  \u201cBy no means,\u201d said he;\n\u201cthey had the best of wood for their braseros and chimneys, and the best\nof wine to warm them at their meals, which were not the most sparing.\nMoreover, they had another convent down in the vale yonder, to which they\ncould retire at their pleasure.\u201d  On my asking him the reason of his\nantipathy to the friars, he replied, that he had been their vassal, and\nthat they had deprived him every year of the flower of what he possessed.\nDiscoursing in this manner, we reached a village just below the convent,\nwhere he left me, having first pointed out to me a house of stone, with\nan image over the door, which, he said, once also belonged to the canalla\n(_rabble_) above.\n\nThe sun was setting fast, and eager to reach Villafranca, where I had\ndetermined on resting, and which was still distant three leagues and a\nhalf, I made no halt at this place.  The road was now down a rapid and\ncrooked descent, which terminated in a valley, at the bottom of which was\na long and narrow bridge; beneath it rolled a river, descending from a\nwide pass between two mountains, for the chain was here cleft, probably\nby some convulsion of nature.  I looked up the pass, and on the hills on\nboth sides.  Far above, on my right, but standing forth bold and clear,\nand catching the last rays of the sun, was the Convent of the Precipices,\nwhilst directly over against it, on the farther side of the valley, rose\nthe perpendicular side of the rival hill, which, to a considerable extent\nintercepting the light, flung its black shadow over the upper end of the\npass, involving it in mysterious darkness.  Emerging from the centre of\nthis gloom, with thundering sound, dashed a river, white with foam, and\nbearing along with it huge stones and branches of trees, for it was the\nwild Sil hurrying to the ocean from its cradle in the heart of the\nAsturian hills, and probably swollen by the recent rains.\n\nHours again passed away.  It was now night, and we were in the midst of\nwoodlands, feeling our way, for the darkness was so great that I could\nscarcely see the length of a yard before my horse\u2019s head.  The animal\nseemed uneasy, and would frequently stop short, prick up his ears, and\nutter a low mournful whine.  Flashes of sheet lightning frequently\nillumined the black sky, and flung a momentary glare over our path.  No\nsound interrupted the stillness of the night, except the slow tramp of\nthe horses\u2019 hoofs, and occasionally the croaking of frogs from some pool\nor morass.  I now bethought me that I was in Spain, the chosen land of\nthe two fiends, assassination and plunder, and how easily two tired and\nunarmed wanderers might become their victims.\n\nWe at last cleared the woodlands, and after proceeding a short distance,\nthe horse gave a joyous neigh, and broke into a smart trot.  A barking of\ndogs speedily reached my ears, and we seemed to be approaching some town\nor village.  In effect we were close to Cacabelos, a town about five\nmiles distant from Villafranca.\n\nIt was near eleven at night, and I reflected that it would be far more\nexpedient to tarry in this place till the morning than to attempt at\npresent to reach Villafranca, exposing ourselves to all the horrors of\ndarkness in a lonely and unknown road.  My mind was soon made up on this\npoint; but I reckoned without my host, for at the first posada which I\nattempted to enter, I was told that we could not be accommodated, and\nstill less our horses, as the stable was full of water.  At the second,\nand there were but two, I was answered from the window by a gruff voice,\nnearly in the words of the Scripture: \u201cTrouble me not; the door is now\nshut, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot arise to let you in.\u201d\nIndeed, we had no particular desire to enter, as it appeared a wretched\nhovel, though the poor horses pawed piteously against the door, and\nseemed to crave admittance.\n\nWe had now no choice but to resume our doleful way to Villafranca, which,\nwe were told, was a short league distant, though it proved a league and a\nhalf.  We found it no easy matter to quit the town, for we were\nbewildered amongst its labyrinths, and could not find the outlet.  A lad\nabout eighteen was, however, persuaded, by the promise of a peseta, to\nguide us: whereupon he led us by many turnings to a bridge, which he told\nus to cross, and to follow the road, which was that of Villafranca; he\nthen, having received his fee, hastened from us.\n\nWe followed his directions, not, however, without a suspicion that he\nmight be deceiving us.  The night had settled darker down upon us, so\nthat it was impossible to distinguish any object, however nigh.  The\nlightning had become more faint and rare.  We heard the rustling of\ntrees, and occasionally the barking of dogs, which last sound, however,\nsoon ceased, and we were in the midst of night and silence.  My horse,\neither from weariness, or the badness of the road, frequently stumbled;\nwhereupon I dismounted, and leading him by the bridle, soon left Antonio\nfar in the rear.\n\nI had proceeded in this manner a considerable way, when a circumstance\noccurred of a character well suited to the time and place.\n\nI was again amidst trees and bushes, when the horse stopping short,\nnearly pulled me back.  I know not how it was, but fear suddenly came\nover me, which, though in darkness and in solitude, I had not felt\nbefore.  I was about to urge the animal forward, when I heard a noise at\nmy right hand, and listened attentively.  It seemed to be that of a\nperson or persons forcing their way through branches and brushwood.  It\nsoon ceased, and I heard feet on the road.  It was the short staggering\nkind of tread of people carrying a very heavy substance, nearly too much\nfor their strength, and I thought I heard the hurried breathing of men\nover-fatigued.  There was a short pause, during which I conceived they\nwere resting in the middle of the road; then the stamping recommenced,\nuntil it reached the other side, when I again heard a similar rustling\namidst branches; it continued for some time and died gradually away.\n\nI continued my road, musing on what had just occurred, and forming\nconjectures as to the cause.  The lightning resumed its flashing, and I\nsaw that I was approaching tall black mountains.\n\nThis nocturnal journey endured so long that I almost lost all hope of\nreaching the town, and had closed my eyes in a doze, though I still\ntrudged on mechanically, leading the horse.  Suddenly a voice at a slight\ndistance before me roared out, \u201c_Quien vive_?\u201d for I had at last found my\nway to Villafranca.  It proceeded from the sentry in the suburb, one of\nthose singular half soldiers half guerillas, called Miguelets, who are in\ngeneral employed by the Spanish government to clear the roads of robbers.\nI gave the usual answer, \u201c_Espana_,\u201d and went up to the place where he\nstood.  After a little conversation, I sat down on a stone, awaiting the\narrival of Antonio, who was long in making his appearance.  On his\narrival, I asked if any one had passed him on the road, but he replied\nthat he had seen nothing.  The night, or rather the morning, was still\nvery dark, though a small corner of the moon was occasionally visible.\nOn our inquiring the way to the gate, the Miguelet directed us down a\nstreet to the left, which we followed.  The street was steep, we could\nsee no gate, and our progress was soon stopped by houses and wall.  We\nknocked at the gates of two or three of these houses (in the upper\nstories of which lights were burning), for the purpose of being set\nright, but we were either disregarded or not heard.  A horrid squalling\nof cats, from the tops of the houses and dark corners, saluted our ears,\nand I thought of the night arrival of Don Quixote and his squire at\nToboso, and their vain search amongst the deserted streets for the palace\nof Dulcinea.  At length we saw light and heard voices in a cottage at the\nother side of a kind of ditch.  Leading the horses over, we called at the\ndoor, which was opened by an aged man, who appeared by his dress to be a\nbaker, as indeed he proved, which accounted for his being up at so late\nan hour.  On begging him to show us the way into the town, he led us up a\nvery narrow alley at the end of his cottage, saying that he would\nlikewise conduct us to the posada.\n\nThe alley led directly to what appeared to be the market-place, at a\ncorner house of which our guide stopped and knocked.  After a long pause\nan upper window was opened, and a female voice demanded who we were.  The\nold man replied, that two travellers had arrived who were in need of\nlodging.  \u201cI cannot be disturbed at this time of night,\u201d said the woman;\n\u201cthey will be wanting supper, and there is nothing in the house; they\nmust go elsewhere.\u201d  She was going to shut the window, but I cried that\nwe wanted no supper, but merely resting place for ourselves and\nhorses\u2014that we had come that day from Astorga, and were dying with\nfatigue.  \u201cWho is that speaking?\u201d cried the woman.  \u201cSurely that is the\nvoice of Gil, the German clock-maker from Pontevedra.  Welcome, old\ncompanion; you are come at the right time, for my own is out of order.  I\nam sorry I have kept you waiting, but I will admit you in a moment.\u201d\n\nThe window was slammed to, presently a light shone through the crevices\nof the door, a key turned in the lock, and we were admitted.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV\n\n\nVillafranca\u2014The Pass\u2014Gallegan Simplicity\u2014The Frontier Guard\u2014The\nHorse-shoe\u2014Gallegan Peculiarities\u2014A Word on Language\u2014The Courier\u2014Wretched\nCabins\u2014Host and Guests\u2014Andalusians.\n\n\u201cAve Maria,\u201d said the woman; \u201cwhom have we here?  This is not Gil the\nclock-maker.\u201d  \u201cWhether it be Gil or Juan,\u201d said I, \u201cwe are in need of\nyour hospitality, and can pay for it.\u201d  Our first care was to stable the\nhorses, who were much exhausted.  We then went in search of some\naccommodation for ourselves.  The house was large and commodious, and\nhaving tasted a little water, I stretched myself on the floor of one of\nthe rooms on some mattresses which the woman produced, and in less than a\nminute was sound asleep.\n\nThe sun was shining bright when I awoke.  I walked forth into the\nmarket-place, which was crowded with people, I looked up, and could see\nthe peaks of tall black mountains peeping over the tops of the houses.\nThe town lay in a deep hollow, and appeared to be surrounded by hills on\nalmost every side.  \u201c_Quel pays barbare_!\u201d said Antonio, who now joined\nme; \u201cthe farther we go, my master, the wilder everything looks.  I am\nhalf afraid to venture into Galicia; they tell me that to get to it we\nmust clamber up those hills: the horses will founder.\u201d  Leaving the\nmarket-place I ascended the wall of the town, and endeavoured to discover\nthe gate by which we should have entered the preceding night; but I was\nnot more successful in the bright sunshine than in the darkness.  The\ntown in the direction of Astorga appeared to be hermetically sealed.\n\nI was eager to enter Galicia, and finding that the horses were to a\ncertain extent recovered from the fatigue of the journey of the preceding\nday, we again mounted and proceeded on our way.  Crossing a bridge, we\npresently found ourselves in a deep gorge amongst the mountains, down\nwhich rushed an impetuous rivulet, overhung by the high road which leads\ninto Galicia.  We were in the far-famed pass of Fuencebadon.\n\nIt is impossible to describe this pass or the circumjacent region, which\ncontains some of the most extraordinary scenery in all Spain; a feeble\nand imperfect outline is all that I can hope to effect.  The traveller\nwho ascends it follows for nearly a league the course of the torrent,\nwhose banks are in some places precipitous, and in others slope down to\nthe waters, and are covered with lofty trees, oaks, poplars, and\nchestnuts.  Small villages are at first continually seen, with low walls,\nand roofs formed of immense slates, the eaves nearly touching the ground;\nthese hamlets, however, gradually become less frequent as the path grows\nmore steep and narrow, until they finally cease at a short distance\nbefore the spot is attained where the rivulet is abandoned, and is no\nmore seen, though its tributaries may yet be heard in many a gully, or\ndescried in tiny rills dashing down the steeps.  Everything here is wild,\nstrange, and beautiful: the hill up which winds the path towers above on\nthe right, whilst on the farther side of a profound ravine rises an\nimmense mountain, to whose extreme altitudes the eye is scarcely able to\nattain; but the most singular feature of this pass are the hanging fields\nor meadows which cover its sides.  In these, as I passed, the grass was\ngrowing luxuriantly, and in many the mowers were plying their scythes,\nthough it seemed scarcely possible that their feet could find support on\nground so precipitous: above and below were drift-ways, so small as to\nseem threads along the mountain side.  A car, drawn by oxen, is creeping\nround yon airy eminence; the nearer wheel is actually hanging over the\nhorrid descent; giddiness seizes the brain, and the eye is rapidly\nwithdrawn.  A cloud intervenes, and when again you turn to watch their\nprogress, the objects of your anxiety have disappeared.  Still more\nnarrow becomes the path along which you yourself are toiling, and its\nturns more frequent.  You have already come a distance of two leagues,\nand still one-third of the ascent remains unsurmounted.  You are not yet\nin Galicia; and you still hear Castilian, coarse and unpolished, it is\ntrue, spoken in the miserable cabins placed in the sequestered nooks\nwhich you pass by in your route.\n\nShortly before we reached the summit of the pass thick mists began to\nenvelop the tops of the hills, and a drizzling rain descended.  \u201cThese\nmists,\u201d said Antonio, \u201care what the Gallegans call bretima; and it is\nsaid there is never any lack of them in their country.\u201d  \u201cHave you ever\nvisited the country before?\u201d I demanded.  \u201cNon, mon ma\u00eetre; but I have\nfrequently lived in houses where the domestics were in part Gallegans, on\nwhich account I know not a little of their ways, and even something of\ntheir language.\u201d  \u201cIs the opinion which you have formed of them at all in\ntheir favour?\u201d I inquired.  \u201cBy no means, mon ma\u00eetre; the men in general\nseem clownish and simple, yet they are capable of deceiving the most\nclever filou of Paris; and as for the women, it is impossible to live in\nthe same house with them, more especially if they are Camareras, and wait\nupon the Se\u00f1ora; they are continually breeding dissensions and disputes\nin the house, and telling tales of the other domestics.  I have already\nlost two or three excellent situations in Madrid, solely owing to these\nGallegan chambermaids.  We have now come to the frontier, mon ma\u00eetre, for\nsuch I conceive this village to be.\u201d\n\nWe entered the village, which stood on the summit of the mountain, and as\nour horses and ourselves were by this time much fatigued, we looked round\nfor a place in which to obtain refreshment.  Close by the gate stood a\nbuilding which, from the circumstance of a mule or two and a wretched\npony standing before it, we concluded was the posada, as in effect it\nproved to be.  We entered: several soldiers were lolling on heaps of\ncoarse hay, with which the place, which much resembled a stable, was half\nfilled.  All were exceedingly ill-looking fellows, and very dirty.  They\nwere conversing with each other in a strange-sounding dialect, which I\nsupposed to be Gallegan.  Scarcely did they perceive us when two or three\nof them, starting from their couch, ran up to Antonio, whom they welcomed\nwith much affection, calling him _companheiro_.  \u201cHow came you to know\nthese men?\u201d I demanded in French.  \u201c_Ces messieurs sont presque tous de\nma connoissance_,\u201d he replied, \u201c_et_, _entre nous_, _ce sont des\nveritables vauriens_; they are almost all robbers and assassins.  That\nfellow, with one eye, who is the corporal, escaped a little time ago from\nMadrid, more than suspected of being concerned in an affair of poisoning;\nbut he is safe enough here in his own country, and is placed to guard the\nfrontier, as you see; but we must treat them civilly, mon ma\u00eetre; we must\ngive them wine, or they will be offended.  I know them, mon ma\u00eetre\u2014I know\nthem.  Here, hostess, bring an azumbre of wine.\u201d\n\nWhilst Antonio was engaged in treating his friends, I led the horses to\nthe stable; this was through the house, inn, or whatever it might be\ncalled.  The stable was a wretched shed, in which the horses sank to\ntheir fetlocks in mud and puddle.  On inquiring for barley, I was told\nthat I was now in Galicia, where barley was not used for provender, and\nwas very rare.  I was offered in lieu of it Indian corn, which, however,\nthe horses ate without hesitation.  There was no straw to be had; coarse\nhay, half green, being the substitute.  By trampling about in the mud of\nthe stable my horse soon lost a shoe, for which I searched in vain.  \u201cIs\nthere a blacksmith in the village?\u201d I demanded of a shock-headed fellow\nwho officiated as ostler.\n\n_Ostler_.\u2014Si, Senhor; but I suppose you have brought horse-shoes with\nyou, or that large beast of yours cannot be shod in this village.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014What do you mean?  Is the blacksmith unequal to his trade?\nCannot he put on a horse-shoe?\n\n_Ostler_.\u2014Si, Senhor; he can put on a horse-shoe if you give it him; but\nthere are no horse-shoes in Galicia, at least in these parts.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Is it not customary then to shoe the horses in Galicia?\n\n_Ostler_.\u2014Senhor, there are no horses in Galicia, there are only ponies;\nand those who bring horses to Galicia, and none but madmen ever do, must\nbring shoes to fit them; only shoes of ponies are to be found here.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014What do you mean by saying that only madmen bring horses to\nGalicia?\n\n_Ostler_.\u2014Senhor, no horse can stand the food of Galicia and the\nmountains of Galicia long, without falling sick; and then if he does not\ndie at once, he will cost you in farriers more than he is worth; besides,\na horse is of no use here, and cannot perform amongst the broken ground\nthe tenth part of the service which a little pony mare can.  By the by,\nSenhor, I perceive that yours is an entire horse; now out of twenty\nponies that you see on the roads of Galicia, nineteen are mares; the\nmales are sent down into Castile to be sold.  Senhor, your horse will\nbecome heated on our roads, and will catch the bad glanders, for which\nthere is no remedy.  Senhor, a man must be mad to bring any horse to\nGalicia, but twice mad to bring an entero, as you have done.\n\n\u201cA strange country this of Galicia,\u201d said I, and went to consult with\nAntonio.\n\nIt appeared that the information of the ostler was literally true with\nregard to the horse-shoe; at least the blacksmith of the village, to whom\nwe conducted the animal, confessed his inability to shoe him, having none\nthat would fit his hoof: he said it was very probable that we should be\nobliged to lead the animal to Lugo, which, being a cavalry station, we\nmight perhaps find there what we wanted.  He added, however, that the\ngreatest part of the cavalry soldiers were mounted on the ponies of the\ncountry, the mortality amongst the horses brought from the level ground\ninto Galicia being frightful.  Lugo was ten leagues distant: there\nseemed, however, to be no remedy at hand but patience, and, having\nrefreshed ourselves, we proceeded, leading our horses by the bridle.\n\nWe were now on level ground, being upon the very top of one of the\nhighest mountains in Galicia.  This level continued for about a league,\nwhen we began to descend.  Before we had crossed the plain, which was\novergrown with furze and brushwood, we came suddenly upon half a dozen\nfellows armed with muskets and wearing a tattered uniform.  We at first\nsupposed them to be banditti: they were, however, only a party of\nsoldiers who had been detached from the station we had just quitted to\nescort one of the provincial posts or couriers.  They were clamorous for\ncigars, but offered us no farther incivility.  Having no cigars to\nbestow, I gave them in lieu thereof a small piece of silver.  Two of the\nworst looking were very eager to be permitted to escort us to Nogales,\nthe village where we proposed to spend the night.  \u201cBy no means permit\nthem, mon ma\u00eetre,\u201d said Antonio, \u201cthey are two famous assassins of my\nacquaintance; I have known them at Madrid: in the first ravine they will\nshoot and plunder us.\u201d  I therefore civilly declined their offer and\ndeparted.  \u201cYou seem to be acquainted with all the cut-throats in\nGalicia,\u201d said I to Antonio, as we descended the hill.\n\n\u201cWith respect to those two fellows,\u201d he replied, \u201cI knew them when I\nlived as cook in the family of General Q---, who is a Gallegan: they were\nsworn friends of the repostero.  All the Gallegans in Madrid know each\nother, whether high or low makes no difference; there, at least, they are\nall good friends, and assist each other on all imaginable occasions; and\nif there be a Gallegan domestic in a house, the kitchen is sure to be\nfilled with his countrymen, as the cook frequently knows to his cost, for\nthey generally contrive to eat up any little perquisites which he may\nhave reserved for himself and family.\u201d\n\nSomewhat less than half way down the mountain we reached a small village.\nOn observing a blacksmith\u2019s shop, we stopped, in the faint hope of\nfinding a shoe for the horse, who, for want of one, was rapidly becoming\nlame.  To our great joy we found that the smith was in possession of one\nsingle horse-shoe, which some time previously he had found upon the way.\nThis, after undergoing much hammering and alteration, was pronounced by\nthe Gallegan vulcan to be capable of serving in lieu of a better;\nwhereupon we again mounted, and slowly continued our descent.\n\nShortly ere sunset we arrived at Nogales, a hamlet situate in a narrow\nvalley at the foot of the mountain, in traversing which we had spent the\nday.  Nothing could be more picturesque than the appearance of this spot:\nsteep hills, thickly clad with groves and forests of chestnuts,\nsurrounded it on every side; the village itself was almost embowered in\ntrees, and close beside it ran a purling brook.  Here we found a\ntolerably large and commodious posada.\n\nI was languid and fatigued, but felt little desire to sleep.  Antonio\ncooked our supper, or rather his own, for I had no appetite.  I sat by\nthe door, gazing on the wood-covered heights above me, or on the waters\nof the rivulet, occasionally listening to the people who lounged about\nthe house, conversing in the country dialect.  What a strange tongue is\nthe Gallegan, with its half singing half whining accent, and with its\nconfused jumble of words from many languages, but chiefly from the\nSpanish and Portuguese.  \u201cCan you understand this conversation?\u201d I\ndemanded of Antonio, who had by this time rejoined me.  \u201cI cannot, mon\nma\u00eetre,\u201d he replied; \u201cI have acquired at various times a great many words\namongst the Gallegan domestics in the kitchens where I have officiated as\ncook, but am quite unable to understand any long conversation.  I have\nheard the Gallegans say that in no two villages is it spoken in one and\nthe same manner, and that very frequently they do not understand each\nother.  The worst of this language is, that everybody on first hearing it\nthinks that nothing is more easy than to understand it, as words are\ncontinually occurring which he has heard before: but these merely serve\nto bewilder and puzzle him, causing him to misunderstand everything that\nis said; whereas, if he were totally ignorant of the tongue, he would\noccasionally give a shrewd guess at what was meant, as I myself\nfrequently do when I hear Basque spoken, though the only word which I\nknow of that language is _jaunguicoa_.\u201d\n\nAs the night closed in I retired to bed, where I remained four or five\nhours, restless and tossing about; the fever of Leon still clinging to my\nsystem.  It was considerably past midnight when, just as I was sinking\ninto a slumber, I was aroused by a confused noise in the village, and the\nglare of lights through the lattice of the window of the room where I\nlay; presently entered Antonio, half dressed.  \u201cMon ma\u00eetre,\u201d said he,\n\u201cthe grand post from Madrid to Coru\u00f1a has just arrived in the village,\nattended by a considerable escort, and an immense number of travellers.\nThe road they say, between here and Lugo, is infested with robbers and\nCarlists, who are committing all kinds of atrocities; let us, therefore,\navail ourselves of the opportunity, and by midday to-morrow we shall find\nourselves safe in Lugo.\u201d  On hearing these words, I instantly sprang out\nof bed and dressed myself, telling Antonio to prepare the horses with all\nspeed.\n\nWe were soon mounted and in the street, amidst a confused throng of men\nand quadrupeds.  The light of a couple of flambeaux, which were borne\nbefore the courier, shone on the arms of several soldiers, seemingly\ndrawn up on either side of the road; the darkness, however, prevented me\nfrom distinguishing objects very clearly.  The courier himself was\nmounted on a little shaggy pony; before and behind him were two immense\nportmanteaux, or leather sacks, the ends of which nearly touched the\nground.  For about a quarter of an hour there was much hubbub, shouting,\nand trampling, at the end of which period the order was given to proceed.\nScarcely had we left the village when the flambeaux were extinguished,\nand we were left in almost total darkness; for some time we were amongst\nwoods and trees, as was evident from the rustling of leaves on every\nside.  My horse was very uneasy and neighed fearfully, occasionally\nraising himself bolt upright.  \u201cIf your horse is not more quiet,\ncavalier, we shall be obliged to shoot him,\u201d said a voice in an\nAndalusian accent; \u201che disturbs the whole cavalcade.\u201d  \u201cThat would be a\npity, sergeant,\u201d I replied, \u201cfor he is a Cordovese by the four sides; he\nis not used to the ways of this barbarous country.\u201d  \u201cOh, he is a\nCordovese,\u201d said the voice, \u201cvaya, I did not know that; I am from Cordova\nmyself.  Pobrecito! let me pat him\u2014yes, I know by his coat that he is my\ncountryman\u2014shoot him, indeed! vaya, I would fain see the Gallegan devil\nwho would dare to harm him.  Barbarous country, _io lo creo_: neither oil\nnor olives, bread nor barley.  You have been at Cordova.  Vaya; oblige\nme, cavalier, by taking this cigar.\u201d\n\nIn this manner we proceeded for several hours, up hill and down dale, but\ngenerally at a very slow pace. The soldiers who escorted us from time to\ntime sang patriotic songs, breathing love and attachment to the young\nQueen Isabel, and detestation of the grim tyrant Carlos.  One of the\nstanzas which reached my ears, ran something in the following style:\u2014\n\n    \u201cDon Carlos is a hoary churl,\n       Of cruel heart and cold;\n    But Isabel\u2019s a harmless girl,\n       Of only six years old.\u201d\n\nAt last the day began to break, and I found myself amidst a train of two\nor three hundred people, some on foot, but the greater part mounted,\neither on mules or the pony mares: I could not distinguish a single horse\nexcept my own and Antonio\u2019s.  A few soldiers were thinly scattered along\nthe road.  The country was hilly, but less mountainous and picturesque\nthan the one which we had traversed the preceding day; it was for the\nmost part partitioned into small fields, which were planted with maize.\nAt the distance of every two or three leagues we changed our escort, at\nsome village where was stationed a detachment.  The villages were mostly\nan assemblage of wretched cabins; the roofs were thatched, dank, and\nmoist, and not unfrequently covered with rank vegetation.  There were\ndunghills before the doors, and no lack of pools and puddles.  Immense\nswine were stalking about, intermingled with naked children.  The\ninterior of the cabins corresponded with their external appearance: they\nwere filled with filth and misery.\n\nWe reached Lugo about two hours past noon: during the last two or three\nleagues, I became so overpowered with weariness, the result of want of\nsleep and my late illness, that I was continually dozing in my saddle, so\nthat I took but little notice of what was passing.  We put up at a large\nposada without the wall of the town, built upon a steep bank, and\ncommanding an extensive view of the country towards the east.  Shortly\nafter our arrival, the rain began to descend in torrents, and continued\nwithout intermission during the next two days, which was, however, to me\nbut a slight source of regret, as I passed the entire time in bed, and I\nmay almost say in slumber.  On the evening of the third day I arose.\n\nThere was much bustle in the house, caused by the arrival of a family\nfrom Coru\u00f1a; they came in a large jaunting car, escorted by four\ncarabineers.  The family was rather numerous, consisting of a father,\nson, and eleven daughters, the eldest of whom might be about eighteen.  A\nshabby-looking fellow, dressed in a jerkin and wearing a high-crowned\nhat, attended as domestic.  They arrived very wet and shivering, and all\nseemed very disconsolate, especially the father, who was a well-looking\nmiddle-aged man.  \u201cCan we be accommodated?\u201d he demanded in a gentle voice\nof the man of the house; \u201ccan we be accommodated in this fonda?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly, your worship,\u201d replied the other; \u201cour house is large.  How\nmany apartments does your worship require for your family?\u201d\n\n\u201cOne will be sufficient,\u201d replied the stranger.\n\nThe host, who was a gouty personage and leaned upon a stick, looked for a\nmoment at the traveller, then at every member of his family, not\nforgetting the domestic, and, without any farther comment than a slight\nshrug, led the way to the door of an apartment containing two or three\nflock beds, and which on my arrival I had objected to as being small,\ndark, and incommodious; this he flung open, and demanded whether it would\nserve.\n\n\u201cIt is rather small,\u201d replied the gentleman; \u201cI think, however, that it\nwill do.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am glad of it,\u201d replied the host.  \u201cShall we make any preparations for\nthe supper of your worship and family?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I thank you,\u201d replied the stranger, \u201cmy own domestic will prepare\nthe slight refreshment we are in need of.\u201d\n\nThe key was delivered to the domestic, and the whole family ensconced\nthemselves in their apartment: before, however, this was effected, the\nescort were dismissed, the principal carabineer being presented with a\npeseta.  The man stood surveying the gratuity for about half a minute, as\nit glittered in the palm of his hand; then with an abrupt _Vamos_! he\nturned upon his heel, and without a word of salutation to any person,\ndeparted with the men under his command.\n\n\u201cWho can these strangers be?\u201d said I to the host, as we sat together in a\nlarge corridor open on one side, and which occupied the entire front of\nthe house.\n\n\u201cI know not,\u201d he replied, \u201cbut by their escort I suppose they are people\nholding some official situation.  They are not of this province, however,\nand I more than suspect them to be Andalusians.\u201d\n\nIn a few minutes the door of the apartment occupied by the strangers was\nopened, and the domestic appeared bearing a cruse in his hand.  \u201cPray,\nSe\u00f1or Patron,\u201d demanded he, \u201cwhere can I buy some oil?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is oil in the house,\u201d replied the host, \u201cif you want to purchase\nany; but if, as is probable, you suppose that we shall gain a cuarto by\nselling it, you will find some over the way.  It is as I suspected,\u201d\ncontinued the host, when the man had departed on his errand, \u201cthey are\nAndalusians, and are about to make what they call gaspacho, on which they\nwill all sup.  Oh, the meanness of these Andalusians! they are come here\nto suck the vitals of Galicia, and yet envy the poor innkeeper the gain\nof a cuarto in the oil which they require for their gaspacho.  I tell you\none thing, master, when that fellow returns, and demands bread and garlic\nto mix with the oil, I will tell him there is none in the house: as he\nhas bought the oil abroad, so he may the bread and garlic; aye, and the\nwater too for that matter.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI\n\n\nLugo\u2014The Baths\u2014A Family History\u2014Miguelets\u2014The Three Heads\u2014A\nFarrier\u2014English Squadron\u2014Sale of Testaments\u2014Coruna\u2014The Recognition\u2014Luigi\nPiozzi\u2014The Speculation\u2014A Blank Prospect\u2014John Moore.\n\nAt Lugo I found a wealthy bookseller, to whom I brought a letter of\nrecommendation from Madrid.  He willingly undertook the sale of my books.\nThe Lord deigned to favour my feeble exertions in his cause at Lugo.  I\nbrought thither thirty Testaments, all of which were disposed of in one\nday; the bishop of the place, for Lugo is an episcopal see, purchasing\ntwo copies for himself, whilst several priests and ex-friars, instead of\nfollowing the example of their brethren at Leon, by persecuting the work,\nspoke well of it and recommended its perusal.  I was much grieved that my\nstock of these holy books was exhausted, there being a great demand; and\nhad I been able to supply them, quadruple the quantity might have been\nsold during the few days that I continued at Lugo.\n\nLugo contains about six thousand inhabitants.  It is situated on lofty\nground, and is defended by ancient walls.  It possesses no very\nremarkable edifice, and the cathedral church itself is a small mean\nbuilding.  In the centre of the town is the principal square, a light\ncheerful place, not surrounded by those heavy cumbrous buildings with\nwhich the Spaniards both in ancient and modern times have encircled their\nplazas.  It is singular enough that Lugo, at present a place of very\nlittle importance, should at one period have been the capital of Spain:\nyet such it was in the time of the Romans, who, as they were a people not\nmuch guided by caprice, had doubtless very excellent reasons for the\npreference which they gave to the locality.\n\nThere are many Roman remains in the vicinity of this place, the most\nremarkable of which are the ruins of the ancient medicinal baths, which\nstand on the southern side of the river Minho, which creeps through the\nvalley beneath the town.  The Minho in this place is a dark and sullen\nstream, with high, precipitous, and thickly wooded banks.\n\nOne evening I visited the baths, accompanied by my friend the bookseller.\nThey had been built over warm springs which flow into the river.\nNotwithstanding their ruinous condition, they were crowded with sick,\nhoping to derive benefit from the waters, which are still famed for their\nsanative power.  These patients exhibited a strange spectacle as, wrapped\nin flannel gowns much resembling shrouds, they lay immersed in the tepid\nwaters amongst disjointed stones, and overhung with steam and reek.\n\nThree or four days after my arrival I was seated in the corridor which,\nas I have already observed, occupied the entire front of the house.  The\nsky was unclouded, and the sun shone most gloriously, enlivening every\nobject around.  Presently the door of the apartment in which the\nstrangers were lodged opened, and forth walked the whole family, with the\nexception of the father, who, I presumed, was absent on business.  The\nshabby domestic brought up the rear, and on leaving the apartment,\ncarefully locked the door, and secured the key in his pocket.  The one\nson and the eleven daughters were all dressed remarkably well: the boy\nsomething after the English fashion, in jacket and trousers, the young\nladies in spotless white: they were, upon the whole, a very good-looking\nfamily, with dark eyes and olive complexions, but the eldest daughter was\nremarkably handsome.  They arranged themselves upon the benches of the\ncorridor, the shabby domestic sitting down amongst them without any\nceremony whatever.  They continued for some time in silence, gazing with\ndisconsolate looks upon the houses of the suburb and the dark walls of\nthe town, until the eldest daughter, or se\u00f1orita as she was called, broke\nsilence with an \u201c_Ay Dios mio_!\u201d\n\n_Domestic_.\u2014_Ay Dios mio_! we have found our way to a pretty country.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I really can see nothing so very bad in the country, which is\nby nature the richest in all Spain, and the most abundant.  True it is\nthat the generality of the inhabitants are wretchedly poor, but they\nthemselves are to blame, and not the country.\n\n_Domestic_.\u2014Cavalier, the country is a horrible one, say nothing to the\ncontrary.  We are all frightened, the young ladies, the young gentleman,\nand myself; even his worship is frightened, and says that we are come to\nthis country for our sins.  It rains every day, and this is almost the\nfirst time that we have seen the sun since our arrival, it rains\ncontinually, and one cannot step out without being up to the ankles in\nfango; and then, again, there is not a house to be found.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I scarcely understand you.  There appears to be no lack of\nhouses in this neighbourhood.\n\n_Domestic_.\u2014Excuse me, sir.  His worship hired yesterday a house, for\nwhich he engaged to pay fourteen pence daily; but when the se\u00f1orita saw\nit, she wept, and said it was no house, but a hog-sty, so his worship\npaid one day\u2019s rent and renounced his bargain.  Fourteen pence a day!\nwhy, in our country, we can have a palace for that money.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014From what country do you come?\n\n_Domestic_.\u2014Cavalier, you appear to be a decent gentleman, and I will\ntell you our history.  We are from Andalusia, and his worship was last\nyear receiver-general for Granada: his salary was fourteen thousand\nrials, with which we contrived to live very commodiously\u2014attending the\nbull funcions regularly, or if there were no bulls, we went to see the\nnovillos, and now and then to the opera.  In a word, sir, we had our\ndiversions and felt at our ease; so much so, that his worship was\nactually thinking of purchasing a pony for the young gentleman, who is\nfourteen, and must learn to ride now or never.  Cavalier, the ministry\nwas changed, and the new comers, who were no friends to his worship,\ndeprived him of his situation.  Cavalier, they removed us from that\nblessed country of Granada, where our salary was fourteen thousand rials,\nand sent us to Galicia, to this fatal town of Lugo, where his worship is\ncompelled to serve for ten thousand, which is quite insufficient to\nmaintain us in our former comforts.  Good-bye, I trow, to bull funcions,\nand novillos, and the opera.  Good-bye to the hope of a horse for the\nyoung gentleman.  Cavalier, I grow desperate: hold your tongue, for God\u2019s\nsake! for I can talk no more.\n\nOn hearing this history I no longer wondered that the receiver-general\nwas eager to save a cuarto in the purchase of the oil for the gaspacho of\nhimself and family of eleven daughters, one son, and a domestic.\n\nWe staid one week at Lugo, and then directed our steps to Coru\u00f1a, about\ntwelve leagues distant.  We arose before daybreak in order to avail\nourselves of the escort of the general post, in whose company we\ntravelled upwards of six leagues.  There was much talk of robbers, and\nflying parties of the factious, on which account our escort was\nconsiderable.  At the distance of five or six leagues from Lugo, our\nguard, in lieu of regular soldiers, consisted of a body of about fifty\nMiguelets.  They had all the appearance of banditti, but a finer body of\nferocious fellows I never saw.  They were all men in the prime of life,\nmostly of tall stature, and of Herculean brawn and limbs.  They wore huge\nwhiskers, and walked with a fanfaronading air, as if they courted danger,\nand despised it.  In every respect they stood in contrast to the soldiers\nwho had hitherto escorted us, who were mere feeble boys from sixteen to\neighteen years of age, and possessed of neither energy nor activity.  The\nproper dress of the Miguelet, if it resembles anything military, is\nsomething akin to that anciently used by the English marines.  They wear\na peculiar kind of hat, and generally leggings, or gaiters, and their\narms are the gun and bayonet.  The colour of their dress is mostly dark\nbrown.  They observe little or no discipline whether on a march or in the\nfield of action.  They are excellent irregular troops, and when on actual\nservice are particularly useful as skirmishers.  Their proper duty,\nhowever, is to officiate as a species of police, and to clear the roads\nof robbers, for which duty they are in one respect admirably calculated,\nhaving been generally robbers themselves at one period of their lives.\nWhy these people are called Miguelets it is not easy to say, but it is\nprobable that they have derived this appellation from the name of their\noriginal leader.  I regret that the paucity of my own information will\nnot allow me to enter into farther particulars with respect to this\ncorps, concerning which I have little doubt that many remarkable things\nmight be said.\n\nBecoming weary of the slow travelling of the post, I determined to brave\nall risk, and to push forward.  In this, however, I was guilty of no\nslight imprudence, as by so doing I was near falling into the hands of\nrobbers.  Two fellows suddenly confronted me with presented carbines,\nwhich they probably intended to discharge into my body, but they took\nfright at the noise of Antonio\u2019s horse, who was following a little way\nbehind.  The affair occurred at the bridge of Castellanos, a spot\nnotorious for robbery and murder, and well adapted for both, for it\nstands at the bottom of a deep dell surrounded by wild desolate hills.\nOnly a quarter of an hour previous I had passed three ghastly heads stuck\non poles standing by the wayside; they were those of a captain of\nbanditti and two of his accomplices, who had been seized and executed\nabout two months before.  Their principal haunt was the vicinity of the\nbridge, and it was their practice to cast the bodies of the murdered into\nthe deep black water which runs rapidly beneath.  Those three heads will\nalways live in my remembrance, particularly that of the captain, which\nstood on a higher pole than the other two: the long hair was waving in\nthe wind, and the blackened, distorted features were grinning in the sun.\nThe fellows whom I met were the relics of the band.\n\nWe arrived at Betanzos late in the afternoon.  This town stands on a\ncreek at some distance from the sea, and about three leagues from Coru\u00f1a.\nIt is surrounded on three sides by lofty hills.  The weather during the\ngreater part of the day had been dull and lowering, and we found the\natmosphere of Betanzos insupportably close and heavy.  Sour and\ndisagreeable odours assailed our olfactory organs from all sides.  The\nstreets were filthy\u2014so were the houses, and especially the posada.  We\nentered the stable; it was strewed with rotten sea-weeds and other\nrubbish, in which pigs were wallowing; huge and loathsome flies were\nbuzzing around.  \u201cWhat a pest-house!\u201d I exclaimed.  But we could find no\nother stable, and were therefore obliged to tether the unhappy animals to\nthe filthy mangers.  The only provender that could be obtained was Indian\ncorn.  At nightfall I led them to drink at a small river which passes\nthrough Betanzos.  My entero swallowed the water greedily; but as we\nreturned towards the inn, I observed that he was sad, and that his head\ndrooped.  He had scarcely reached the stall, when a deep hoarse cough\nassailed him.  I remembered the words of the ostler in the mountains,\n\u201cthe man must be mad who brings a horse to Galicia, and doubly so he who\nbrings an entero.\u201d  During the greater part of the day the animal had\nbeen much heated, walking amidst a throng of at least a hundred pony\nmares.  He now began to shiver violently.  I procured a quart of anise\nbrandy, with which, assisted by Antonio, I rubbed his body for nearly an\nhour, till his coat was covered with a white foam; but his cough\nincreased perceptibly, his eyes were becoming fixed, and his members\nrigid.  \u201cThere is no remedy but bleeding,\u201d said I.  \u201cRun for a farrier.\u201d\nThe farrier came.  \u201cYou must bleed the horse,\u201d I shouted; \u201ctake from him\nan azumbre of blood.\u201d  The farrier looked at the animal, and made for the\ndoor.  \u201cWhere are you going?\u201d I demanded.  \u201cHome,\u201d he replied.  \u201cBut we\nwant you here.\u201d  \u201cI know you do,\u201d was his answer; \u201cand on that account I\nam going.\u201d  \u201cBut you must bleed the horse, or he will die.\u201d  \u201cI know he\nwill,\u201d said the farrier, \u201cbut I will not bleed him.\u201d  \u201cWhy?\u201d I demanded.\n\u201cI will not bleed him, but under one condition.\u201d  \u201cWhat is that?\u201d  \u201cWhat\nis it!\u2014that you pay me an ounce of gold.\u201d  \u201cRun for the red morocco\ncase,\u201d said I to Antonio.  It was brought; I took out a large fleam, and\nwith the assistance of a stone, drove it into the principal artery\nhorse\u2019s leg.  The blood at first refused to flow; with much rubbing, it\nbegan to trickle, and then to stream; it continued so for half an hour.\n\u201cThe horse is fainting, mon ma\u00eetre,\u201d said Antonio.  \u201cHold him up,\u201d said\nI, \u201cand in another ten minutes we will stop the vein.\u201d\n\nI closed the vein, and whilst doing so I looked up into the farrier\u2019s\nface, arching my eyebrows.\n\n\u201cCarracho! what an evil wizard,\u201d muttered the farrier, as he walked away.\n\u201cIf I had my knife here I would stick him.\u201d  We bled the horse again,\nduring the night, which second bleeding I believe saved him.  Towards\nmorning he began to eat his food.\n\nThe next day we departed for Coru\u00f1a, leading our horses by the bridle:\nthe day was magnificent, and our walk delightful.  We passed along\nbeneath tall umbrageous trees, which skirted the road from Betanzos to\nwithin a short distance of Coru\u00f1a.  Nothing could be more smiling and\ncheerful than the appearance of the country around.  Vines were growing\nin abundance in the vicinity of the villages through which we passed,\nwhilst millions of maize plants upreared their tall stalks and displayed\ntheir broad green leaves in the fields.  After walking about three hours,\nwe obtained a view of the bay of Coru\u00f1a, in which, even at the distance\nof a league, we could distinguish three or four immense ships riding at\nanchor.  \u201cCan these vessels belong to Spain?\u201d  I demanded of myself.  In\nthe very next village, however, we were informed that the preceding\nevening an English squadron had arrived, for what reason nobody could\nsay.  \u201cHowever,\u201d continued our informant, \u201cthey have doubtless some\ndesign upon Galicia.  These foreigners are the ruin of Spain.\u201d\n\nWe put up in what is called the Calle Real, in an excellent fonda, or\nposada, kept by a short, thick, comical-looking person, a Genoese by\nbirth.  He was married to a tall, ugly, but good-tempered Basque woman,\nby whom he had been blessed with a son and daughter.  His wife, however,\nhad it seems of late summoned all her female relations from Guipuscoa,\nwho now filled the house to the number of nine, officiating as\nchambermaids, cooks, and scullions: they were all very ugly, but\ngood-natured, and of immense volubility of tongue.  Throughout the whole\nday the house resounded with their excellent Basque and very bad\nCastilian.  The Genoese, on the contrary, spoke little, for which he\nmight have assigned a good reason; he had lived thirty years in Spain,\nand had forgotten his own language without acquiring Spanish, which he\nspoke very imperfectly.\n\nWe found Coru\u00f1a full of bustle and life, owing to the arrival of the\nEnglish squadron.  On the following day, however, it departed, being\nbound for the Mediterranean on a short cruise, whereupon matters\ninstantly returned to their usual course.\n\nI had a d\u00e9pot of five hundred Testaments at Coru\u00f1a, from which it was my\nintention to supply the principal towns of Galicia.  Immediately on my\narrival I published advertisements, according to my usual practice, and\nthe book obtained a tolerable sale\u2014seven or eight copies per day on the\naverage.  Some people, perhaps, on perusing these details, will be\ntempted to exclaim, \u201cThese are small matters, and scarcely worthy of\nbeing mentioned.\u201d  But let such bethink them, that till within a few\nmonths previous to the time of which I am speaking, the very existence of\nthe gospel was almost unknown in Spain, and that it must necessarily be a\ndifficult task to induce a people like the Spaniards, who read very\nlittle, to purchase a work like the New Testament, which, though of\nparamount importance to the soul, affords but slight prospect of\namusement to the frivolous and carnally minded.  I hoped that the present\nwas the dawning of better and more enlightened times, and rejoiced in the\nidea that Testaments, though but few in number, were being sold in\nunfortunate benighted Spain, from Madrid to the furthermost parts of\nGalicia, a distance of nearly four hundred miles.\n\nCoru\u00f1a stands on a peninsula, having on one side the sea, and on the\nother the celebrated bay, generally called the Groyne.  It is divided\ninto the old and new town, the latter of which was at one time probably a\nmere suburb.  The old town is a desolate ruinous place, separated from\nthe new by a wide moat.  The modern town is a much more agreeable spot,\nand contains one magnificent street, the Calle Real, where the principal\nmerchants reside.  One singular feature of this street is, that it is\nlaid entirely with flags of marble, along which troop ponies and cars as\nif it were a common pavement.\n\nIt is a saying amongst the inhabitants of Coru\u00f1a, that in their town\nthere is a street so clean, that puchera may be eaten off it without the\nslightest inconvenience.  This may certainly be the fact after one of\nthose rains which so frequently drench Galicia, when the appearance of\nthe pavement of the street is particularly brilliant.  Coru\u00f1a was at one\ntime a place of considerable commerce, the greater part of which has\nlatterly departed to Santander, a town which stands a considerable\ndistance down the Bay of Biscay.\n\n\u201cAre you going to Saint James, Giorgio?  If so, you will perhaps convey a\nmessage to my poor countryman,\u201d said a voice to me one morning in broken\nEnglish, as I was standing at the door of my posada, in the royal street\nof Coru\u00f1a.\n\nI looked round and perceived a man standing near me at the door of a shop\ncontiguous to the inn.  He appeared to be about sixty-five, with a pale\nface and remarkably red nose.  He was dressed in a loose green great\ncoat, in his mouth was a long clay pipe, in his hand a long painted\nstick.\n\n\u201cWho are you, and who is your countryman?\u201d I demanded; \u201cI do not know\nyou.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know you, however,\u201d replied the man; \u201cyou purchased the first knife\nthat I ever sold in the market-place of N---.\u201d\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Ah, I remember you now, Luigi Piozzi; and well do I remember\nalso, how, when a boy, twenty years ago, I used to repair to your stall,\nand listen to you and your countrymen discoursing in Milanese.\n\n_Luigi_.\u2014Ah, those were happy times to me.  Oh, how they rushed back on\nmy remembrance when I saw you ride up to the door of the posada.  I\ninstantly went in, closed my shop, lay down upon my bed and wept.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I see no reason why you should so much regret those times.  I\nknew you formerly in England as an itinerant pedlar, and occasionally as\nmaster of a stall in the market-place of a country town.  I now find you\nin a seaport of Spain, the proprietor, seemingly, of a considerable shop.\nI cannot see why you should regret the difference.\n\n_Luigi_ (dashing his pipe on the ground).\u2014Regret the difference!  Do you\nknow one thing?  England is the heaven of the Piedmontese and Milanese,\nand especially those of Como.  We never lie down to rest but we dream of\nit, whether we are in our own country or in a foreign land, as I am now.\nRegret the difference, Giorgio!  Do I hear such words from your lips, and\nyou an Englishman?  I would rather be the poorest tramper on the roads of\nEngland, than lord of all within ten leagues of the shore of the lake of\nComo, and much the same say all my countrymen who have visited England,\nwherever they now be.  Regret the difference!  I have ten letters, from\nas many countrymen in America, who say they are rich and thriving, and\nprincipal men and merchants; but every night, when their heads are\nreposing on their pillows, their souls _auslandra_, hurrying away to\nEngland, and its green lanes and farm-yards.  And there they are with\ntheir boxes on the ground, displaying their looking-glasses and other\ngoods to the honest rustics and their dames and their daughters, and\nselling away and chaffering and laughing just as of old.  And there they\nare again at nightfall in the hedge alehouses, eating their toasted\ncheese and their bread, and drinking the Suffolk ale, and listening to\nthe roaring song and merry jest of the labourers.  Now, if they regret\nEngland so who are in America, which they own to be a happy country, and\ngood for those of Piedmont and of Como, how much more must I regret it,\nwhen, after the lapse of so many years, I find myself in Spain, in this\nfrightful town of Coru\u00f1a, driving a ruinous trade, and where months pass\nby without my seeing a single English face, or hearing a word of the\nblessed English tongue.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014With such a predilection for England, what could have induced\nyou to leave it and come to Spain?\n\n_Luigi_.\u2014I will tell you: about sixteen years ago a universal desire\nseized our people in England to become something more than they had\nhitherto been, pedlars and trampers; they wished, moreover, for mankind\nare never satisfied, to see other countries: so the greater part forsook\nEngland.  Where formerly there had been ten, at present scarcely lingers\none.  Almost all went to America, which, as I told you before, is a happy\ncountry, and specially good for us men of Como.  Well, all my comrades\nand relations passed over the sea to the West.  I, too, was bent on\ntravelling; but whither?  Instead of going towards the West with the\nrest, to a country where they have all thriven, I must needs come by\nmyself to this land of Spain; a country in which no foreigner settles\nwithout dying of a broken heart sooner or later.  I had an idea in my\nhead that I could make a fortune at once, by bringing a cargo of common\nEnglish goods, like those which I had been in the habit of selling\namongst the villagers of England.  So I freighted half a ship with such\ngoods, for I had been successful in England in my little speculations,\nand I arrived at Coru\u00f1a.  Here at once my vexations began: disappointment\nfollowed disappointment.  It was with the utmost difficulty that I could\nobtain permission to land my goods, and this only at a considerable\nsacrifice in bribes and the like; and when I had established myself here,\nI found that the place was one of no trade, and that my goods went off\nvery slowly, and scarcely at prime cost.  I wished to remove to another\nplace, but was informed that, in that case, I must leave my goods behind,\nunless I offered fresh bribes, which would have ruined me; and in this\nway I have gone on for fourteen years, selling scarcely enough to pay for\nmy shop and to support myself.  And so I shall doubtless continue till I\ndie, or my goods are exhausted.  In an evil day I left England and came\nto Spain.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Did you not say that you had a countryman at St. James?\n\n_Luigi_.\u2014Yes, a poor honest fellow, who, like myself, by some strange\nchance found his way to Galicia.  I sometimes contrive to send him a few\ngoods, which he sells at St. James at a greater profit than I can here.\nHe is a happy fellow, for he has never been in England, and knows not the\ndifference between the two countries.  Oh, the green English hedgerows!\nand the alehouses! and, what is much more, the fair dealing and security.\nI have travelled all over England and never met with ill usage, except\nonce down in the north amongst the Papists, upon my telling them to leave\nall their mummeries and go to the parish church as I did, and as all my\ncountrymen in England did; for know one thing, Signor Giorgio, not one of\nus who have lived in England, whether Piedmontese or men of Como, but\nwished well to the Protestant religion, if he had not actually become a\nmember of it.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014What do you propose to do at present, Luigi?  What are your\nprospects?\n\n_Luigi_.\u2014My prospects are a blank, Giorgio; my prospects are a blank.  I\npropose nothing but to die in Coru\u00f1a, perhaps in the hospital, if they\nwill admit me.  Years ago I thought of fleeing, even if I left all behind\nme, and either returning to England, or betaking myself to America; but\nit is too late now, Giorgio, it is too late.  When I first lost all hope,\nI took to drinking, to which I was never before inclined, and I am now\nwhat I suppose you see.\n\n\u201cThere is hope in the Gospel,\u201d said I, \u201ceven for you.  I will send you\none.\u201d\n\nThere is a small battery of the old town which fronts the east, and whose\nwall is washed by the waters of the bay.  It is a sweet spot, and the\nprospect which opens from it is extensive.  The battery itself may be\nabout eighty yards square; some young trees are springing up about it,\nand it is rather a favourite resort of the people of Coru\u00f1a.\n\nIn the centre of this battery stands the tomb of Moore, built by the\nchivalrous French, in commemoration of the fall of their heroic\nantagonist.  It is oblong and surmounted by a slab, and on either side\nbears one of the simple and sublime epitaphs for which our rivals are\ncelebrated, and which stand in such powerful contrast with the bloated\nand bombastic inscriptions which deform the walls of Westminster Abbey:\n\n                                 \u201cJOHN MOORE,\n                        LEADER OF THE ENGLISH ARMIES,\n                               SLAIN IN BATTLE,\n                                    1809.\u201d\n\nThe tomb itself is of marble, and around it is a quadrangular wall,\nbreast high, of rough Gallegan granite; close to each corner rises from\nthe earth the breech of an immense brass cannon, intended to keep the\nwall compact and close.  These outer erections are, however, not the work\nof the French, but of the English government.\n\nYes, there lies the hero, almost within sight of the glorious hill where\nhe turned upon his pursuers like a lion at bay and terminated his career.\nMany acquire immortality without seeking it, and die before its first ray\nhas gilded their name; of these was Moore.  The harassed general, flying\nthrough Castile with his dispirited troops before a fierce and terrible\nenemy, little dreamed that he was on the point of attaining that for\nwhich many a better, greater, though certainly not braver man, had sighed\nin vain.  His very misfortunes were the means which secured him immortal\nfame; his disastrous route, bloody death, and finally his tomb on a\nforeign strand, far from kin and friends.  There is scarcely a Spaniard\nbut has heard of this tomb, and speaks of it with a strange kind of awe.\nImmense treasures are said to have been buried with the heretic general,\nthough for what purpose no one pretends to guess.  The demons of the\nclouds, if we may trust the Gallegans, followed the English in their\nflight, and assailed them with water-spouts as they toiled up the steep\nwinding paths of Fuencebadon; whilst legends the most wild are related of\nthe manner in which the stout soldier fell.  Yes, even in Spain,\nimmortality has already crowned the head of Moore;\u2014Spain, the land of\noblivion, where the Guadalete {245} flows.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII\n\n\nCompostella\u2014Rey Romero\u2014The Treasure-seeker\u2014Hopeful Project\u2014The Church of\nRefuge\u2014Hidden Riches\u2014The Canon\u2014Spirit of Localism\u2014The Leper\u2014Bones of St.\nJames.\n\nAt the commencement of August, I found myself at St. James of\nCompostella.  To this place I travelled from Coru\u00f1a with the courier or\nweekly post, who was escorted by a strong party of soldiers, in\nconsequence of the distracted state of the country, which was overrun\nwith banditti.  From Coru\u00f1a to St. James, the distance is but ten\nleagues; the journey, however, endured for a day and a half.  It was a\npleasant one, through a most beautiful country, with a rich variety of\nhill and dale; the road was in many places shaded with various kinds of\ntrees clad in most luxuriant foliage.  Hundreds of travellers, both on\nfoot and on horseback, availed themselves of the security which the\nescort afforded: the dread of banditti was strong.  During the journey\ntwo or three alarms were given; we, however, reached Saint James without\nhaving been attacked.\n\nSaint James stands on a pleasant level amidst mountains: the most\nextraordinary of these is a conical hill, called the Pico Sacro, or\nSacred Peak, connected with which are many wonderful legends.  A\nbeautiful old town is Saint James, containing about twenty thousand\ninhabitants.  Time has been when, with the single exception of Rome, it\nwas the most celebrated resort of pilgrims in the world; its cathedral\nbeing said to contain the bones of Saint James the elder, the child of\nthe thunder, who, according to the legend of the Romish church, first\npreached the Gospel in Spain.  Its glory, however, as a place of\npilgrimage is rapidly passing away.\n\nThe cathedral, though a work of various periods, and exhibiting various\nstyles of architecture, is a majestic venerable pile, in every respect\ncalculated to excite awe and admiration; indeed, it is almost impossible\nto walk its long dusky aisles, and hear the solemn music and the noble\nchanting, and inhale the incense of the mighty censers, which are at\ntimes swung so high by machinery as to smite the vaulted roof, whilst\ngigantic tapers glitter here and there amongst the gloom, from the shrine\nof many a saint, before which the worshippers are kneeling, breathing\nforth their prayers and petitions for help, love, and mercy, and\nentertain a doubt that we are treading the floor of a house where God\ndelighteth to dwell.  Yet the Lord is distant from that house; he hears\nnot, he sees not, or if he do, it is with anger.  What availeth that\nsolemn music, that noble chanting, that incense of sweet savour?  What\navaileth kneeling before that grand altar of silver, surmounted by that\nfigure with its silver hat and breast-plate, the emblem of one who,\nthough an apostle and confessor, was at best an unprofitable servant?\nWhat availeth hoping for remission of sin by trusting in the merits of\none who possessed none, or by paying homage to others who were born and\nnurtured in sin, and who alone, by the exercise of a lively faith granted\nfrom above, could hope to preserve themselves from the wrath of the\nAlmighty?\n\nRise from your knees, ye children of Compostella, or if ye bend, let it\nbe to the Almighty alone, and no longer on the eve of your patron\u2019s day\naddress him in the following strain, however sublime it may sound:\n\n    \u201cThou shield of that faith which in Spain we revere,\n    Thou scourge of each foeman who dares to draw near;\n    Whom the Son of that God who the elements tames,\n    Called child of the thunder, immortal Saint James!\n\n    \u201cFrom the blessed asylum of glory intense,\n    Upon us thy sovereign influence dispense;\n    And list to the praises our gratitude aims\n    To offer up worthily, mighty Saint James.\n\n    \u201cTo thee fervent thanks Spain shall ever outpour;\n    In thy name though she glory, she glories yet more\n    In thy thrice-hallowed corse, which the sanctuary claims\n    Of high Compostella, O, blessed Saint James.\n\n    \u201cWhen heathen impiety, loathsome and dread,\n    With a chaos of darkness our Spain overspread,\n    Thou wast the first light which dispell\u2019d with its flames\n    The hell-born obscurity, glorious Saint James!\n\n    \u201cAnd when terrible wars had nigh wasted our force,\n    All bright \u2019midst the battle we saw thee on horse,\n    Fierce scattering the hosts, whom their fury proclaims\n    To be warriors of Islam, victorious Saint James.\n\n    \u201cBeneath thy direction, stretch\u2019d prone at thy feet,\n    With hearts low and humble, this day we intreat\n    Thou wilt strengthen the hope which enlivens our frames,\n    The hope of thy favour and presence, Saint James.\n\n    \u201cThen praise to the Son and the Father above,\n    And to that Holy Spirit which springs from their love;\n    To that bright emanation whose vividness shames\n    The sun\u2019s burst of splendour, and praise to Saint James.\u201d\n\nAt Saint James I met with a kind and cordial coadjutor in my biblical\nlabours in the bookseller of the place, Rey Romero, a man of about sixty.\nThis excellent individual, who was both wealthy and respected, took up\nthe matter with an enthusiasm which doubtless emanated from on high,\nlosing no opportunity of recommending my book to those who entered his\nshop, which was in the Azabacheria, and was a very splendid and\ncommodious establishment.  In many instances, when the peasants of the\nneighbourhood came with an intention of purchasing some of the foolish\npopular story-books of Spain, he persuaded them to carry home Testaments\ninstead, assuring them that the sacred volume was a better, more\ninstructive, and even far more entertaining book than those they came in\nquest of.  He speedily conceived a great fancy for me, and regularly came\nto visit me every evening at my posada, and accompanied me in my walks\nabout the town and the environs.  He was a man of considerable\ninformation, and though of much simplicity, possessed a kind of\ngood-natured humour which was frequently highly diverting.\n\nI was walking late one night alone in the Alameda of Saint James,\nconsidering in what direction I should next bend my course, for I had\nbeen already ten days in this place; the moon was shining gloriously, and\nillumined every object around to a considerable distance.  The Alameda\nwas quite deserted; everybody, with the exception of myself, having for\nsome time retired.  I sat down on a bench and continued my reflections,\nwhich were suddenly interrupted by a heavy stumping sound.  Turning my\neyes in the direction from which it proceeded, I perceived what at first\nappeared a shapeless bulk slowly advancing: nearer and nearer it drew,\nand I could now distinguish the outline of a man dressed in coarse brown\ngarments, a kind of Andalusian hat, and using as a staff the long peeled\nbranch of a tree.  He had now arrived opposite the bench where I was\nseated, when, stopping, he took off his hat and demanded charity in\nuncouth tones and in a strange jargon, which had some resemblance to the\nCatalan.  The moon shone on grey locks and on a ruddy weather-beaten\ncountenance which I at once recognized: \u201cBenedict Mol,\u201d said I, \u201cis it\npossible that I see you at Compostella?\u201d\n\n\u201cOch, mein Gott, es ist der Herr!\u201d replied Benedict.  \u201cOch, what good\nfortune, that the Herr is the first person I meet at Compostella.\u201d\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I can scarcely believe my eyes.  Do you mean to say that you\nhave just arrived at this place?\n\n_Benedict_.\u2014Ow yes, I am this moment arrived.  I have walked all the long\nway from Madrid.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014What motive could possibly bring you such a distance?\n\n_Benedict_.\u2014Ow, I am come for the schatz\u2014the treasure.  I told you at\nMadrid that I was coming; and now I have met you here, I have no doubt\nthat I shall find it, the schatz.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014In what manner did you support yourself by the way?\n\n_Benedict_.\u2014Ow, I begged, I bettled, and so contrived to pick up some\ncuartos; and when I reached Toro, I worked at my trade of soap-making for\na time, till the people said I knew nothing about it, and drove me out of\nthe town.  So I went on and begged and bettled till I arrived at Orense,\nwhich is in this country of Galicia.  Ow, I do not like this country of\nGalicia at all.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Why not?\n\n_Benedict_.\u2014Why! because here they all beg and bettle, and have scarce\nanything for themselves, much less for me whom they know to be a foreign\nman.  O the misery of Galicia.  When I arrive at night at one of their\npigsties, which they call posadas, and ask for bread to eat in the name\nof God, and straw to lie down in, they curse me, and say there is neither\nbread nor straw in Galicia; and sure enough, since I have been here I\nhave seen neither, only something that they call broa, and a kind of\nreedy rubbish with which they litter the horses: all my bones are sore\nsince I entered Galicia.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014And yet you have come to this country, which you call so\nmiserable, in search of treasure?\n\n_Benedict_.\u2014Ow yaw, but the schatz is buried; it is not above ground;\nthere is no money above ground in Galicia.  I must dig it up; and when I\nhave dug it up I will purchase a coach with six mules, and ride out of\nGalicia to Lucerne; and if the Herr pleases to go with me, he shall be\nwelcome to go with me and the schatz.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I am afraid that you have come on a desperate errand.  What do\nyou propose to do?  Have you any money?\n\n_Benedict_.\u2014Not a cuart; but I do not care now I have arrived at Saint\nJames.  The schatz is nigh; and I have, moreover, seen you, which is a\ngood sign; it tells me that the schatz is still here.  I shall go to the\nbest posada in the place, and live like a duke till I have an opportunity\nof digging up the schatz, when I will pay all scores.\n\n\u201cDo nothing of the kind,\u201d I replied; \u201cfind out some place in which to\nsleep, and endeavour to seek some employment.  In the mean time, here is\na trifle with which to support yourself; but as for the treasure which\nyou have come to seek, I believe it only exists in your own imagination.\u201d\nI gave him a dollar and departed.\n\nI have never enjoyed more charming walks than in the neighbourhood of\nSaint James.  In these I was almost invariably accompanied by my friend\nthe good old bookseller.  The streams are numerous, and along their\nwooded banks we were in the habit of straying and enjoying the delicious\nsummer evenings of this part of Spain.  Religion generally formed the\ntopic of our conversation, but we not unfrequently talked of the foreign\nlands which I had visited, and at other times of matters which related\nparticularly to my companion.  \u201cWe booksellers of Spain,\u201d said he, \u201care\nall liberals; we are no friends to the monkish system.  How indeed should\nwe be friends to it?  It fosters darkness, whilst we live by\ndisseminating light.  We love our profession, and have all more or less\nsuffered for it; many of us, in the times of terror, were hanged for\nselling an innocent translation from the French or English.  Shortly\nafter the Constitution was put down by Angouleme and the French bayonets,\nI was obliged to flee from Saint James and take refuge in the wildest\npart of Galicia, near Corcuvion.  Had I not possessed good friends, I\nshould not have been alive now; as it was, it cost me a considerable sum\nof money to arrange matters.  Whilst I was away, my shop was in charge of\nthe ecclesiastical officers.  They frequently told my wife that I ought\nto be burnt for the books which I had sold.  Thanks be to God, those\ntimes are past, and I hope they will never return.\u201d\n\nOnce, as we were walking through the streets of Saint James, he stopped\nbefore a church and looked at it attentively.  As there was nothing\nremarkable in the appearance of this edifice, I asked him what motive he\nhad for taking such notice of it.  \u201cIn the days of the friars,\u201d said he,\n\u201cthis church was one of refuge, to which if the worst criminals escaped,\nthey were safe.  All were protected there save the negros, as they called\nus liberals.\u201d  \u201cEven murderers, I suppose?\u201d said I.  \u201cMurderers!\u201d he\nanswered, \u201cfar worse criminals than they.  By the by, I have heard that\nyou English entertain the utmost abhorrence of murder.  Do you in reality\nconsider it a crime of very great magnitude?\u201d  \u201cHow should we not,\u201d I\nreplied; \u201cfor every other crime some reparation can be made; but if we\ntake away life, we take away all.  A ray of hope with respect to this\nworld may occasionally enliven the bosom of any other criminal, but how\ncan the murderer hope?\u201d  \u201cThe friars were of another way of thinking,\u201d\nreplied the old man; \u201cthey always looked upon murder as a friolera; but\nnot so the crime of marrying your first cousin without dispensation, for\nwhich, if we believe them, there is scarcely any atonement either in this\nworld or the next.\u201d\n\nTwo or three days after this, as we were seated in my apartment in the\nposada, engaged in conversation, the door was opened by Antonio, who,\nwith a smile on his countenance, said that there was a foreign\n_gentleman_ below, who desired to speak with me.  \u201cShow him up,\u201d I\nreplied; whereupon almost instantly appeared Benedict Mol.\n\n\u201cThis is a most extraordinary person,\u201d said I to the bookseller.  \u201cYou\nGalicians, in general, leave your country in quest of money; he, on the\ncontrary, is come hither to find some.\u201d\n\n_Rey Romero_.\u2014And he is right.  Galicia is by nature the richest province\nin Spain, but the inhabitants are very stupid, and know not how to turn\nthe blessings which surround them to any account; but as a proof of what\nmay be made out of Galicia, see how rich the Catalans become who have\nsettled down here and formed establishments.  There are riches all around\nus, upon the earth and in the earth.\n\n_Benedict_.\u2014Ow yaw, in the earth, that is what I say.  There is much more\ntreasure below the earth than above it.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Since I last saw you, have you discovered the place in which\nyou say the treasure is deposited?\n\n_Benedict_.\u2014O yes, I know all about it now.  It is buried \u2019neath the\nsacristy in the church of San Roque.\n\nMyself.\u2014How have you been able to make that discovery?\n\n_Benedict_.\u2014I will tell you: the day after my arrival I walked about all\nthe city in quest of the church, but could find none which at all\nanswered to the signs which my comrade who died in the hospital gave me.\nI entered several, and looked about, but all in vain; I could not find\nthe place which I had in my mind\u2019s eye.  At last the people with whom I\nlodge, and to whom I told my business, advised me to send for a meiga.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014A meiga!  What is that?\n\n_Benedict_.\u2014Ow! a haxweib, a witch; the Gallegos call them so in their\njargon, of which I can scarcely understand a word.  So I consented, and\nthey sent for the meiga.  Och! what a weib is that meiga!  I never saw\nsuch a woman; she is as large as myself, and has a face as round and red\nas the sun.  She asked me a great many questions in her Gallegan, and\nwhen I had told her all she wanted to know, she pulled out a pack of\ncards and laid them on the table in a particular manner, and then she\nsaid that the treasure was in the church of San Roque; and sure enough,\nwhen I went to that church, it answered in every respect to the signs of\nmy comrade who died in the hospital.  O she is a powerful hax, that\nmeiga; she is well known in the neighbourhood, and has done much harm to\nthe cattle.  I gave her half the dollar I had from you for her trouble.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Then you acted like a simpleton; she has grossly deceived you.\nBut even suppose that the treasure is really deposited in the church you\nmention, it is not probable that you will be permitted to remove the\nfloor of the sacristy to search for it.\n\n_Benedict_.\u2014Ow, the matter is already well advanced.  Yesterday I went to\none of the canons to confess myself and to receive absolution and\nbenediction; not that I regard these things much, but I thought this\nwould be the best means of broaching the matter, so I confessed myself,\nand then I spoke of my travels to the canon, and at last I told him of\nthe treasure, and proposed that if he assisted me we should share it\nbetween us.  Ow, I wish you had seen him; he entered at once into the\naffair, and said that it might turn out a very profitable speculation:\nand he shook me by the hand, and said that I was an honest Swiss and a\ngood Catholic.  And I then proposed that he should take me into his house\nand keep me there till we had an opportunity of digging up the treasure\ntogether.  This he refused to do.\n\n_Rey Romero_.\u2014Of that I have no doubt: trust one of our canons for not\ncommitting himself so far until he sees very good reason.  These tales of\ntreasure are at present rather too stale: we have heard of them ever\nsince the time of the Moors.\n\n_Benedict_.\u2014He advised me to go to the Captain General and obtain\npermission to make excavations, in which case he promised to assist me to\nthe utmost of his power.\n\nThereupon the Swiss departed, and I neither saw nor heard anything\nfarther of him during the time that I continued at Saint James.\n\nThe bookseller was never weary of showing me about his native town, of\nwhich he was enthusiastically fond.  Indeed, I have never seen the spirit\nof localism, which is so prevalent throughout Spain, more strong than at\nSaint James.  If their town did but flourish, the Santiagians seemed to\ncare but little if all others in Galicia perished.  Their antipathy to\nthe town of Coru\u00f1a was unbounded, and this feeling had of late been not a\nlittle increased from the circumstance that the seat of the provincial\ngovernment had been removed from Saint James to Coru\u00f1a.  Whether this\nchange was advisable or not, it is not for me, who am a foreigner, to\nsay; my private opinion, however, is by no means favourable to the\nalteration.  Saint James is one of the most central towns in Galicia,\nwith large and populous communities on every side of it, whereas Coru\u00f1a\nstands in a corner, at a considerable distance from the rest.  \u201cIt is a\npity that the vecinos of Coru\u00f1a cannot contrive to steal away from us our\ncathedral, even as they have done our government,\u201d said a Santiagian;\n\u201cthen, indeed, they would be able to cut some figure.  As it is, they\nhave not a church fit to say mass in.\u201d  \u201cA great pity, too, that they\ncannot remove our hospital,\u201d would another exclaim; \u201cas it is, they are\nobliged to send us their sick, poor wretches.  I always think that the\nsick of Coru\u00f1a have more ill-favoured countenances than those from other\nplaces; but what good can come from Coru\u00f1a?\u201d\n\nAccompanied by the bookseller, I visited this hospital, in which,\nhowever, I did not remain long; the wretchedness and uncleanliness which\nI observed speedily driving me away.  Saint James, indeed, is the grand\nlazar-house for all the rest of Galicia, which accounts for the\nprodigious number of horrible objects to be seen in its streets, who have\nfor the most part arrived in the hope of procuring medical assistance,\nwhich, from what I could learn, is very scantily and inefficiently\nadministered.  Amongst these unhappy wretches I occasionally observed the\nterrible leper, and instantly fled from him with a \u201cGod help thee,\u201d as if\nI had been a Jew of old.  Galicia is the only province of Spain where\ncases of leprosy are still frequent; a convincing proof this, that the\ndisease is the result of foul feeding, and an inattention to cleanliness,\nas the Gallegans, with regard to the comforts of life and civilized\nhabits, are confessedly far behind all the other natives of Spain.\n\n\u201cBesides a general hospital we have likewise a leper-house,\u201d said the\nbookseller.  \u201cShall I show it you?  We have everything at Saint James.\nThere is nothing lacking; the very leper finds an inn here.\u201d  \u201cI have no\nobjection to your showing me the house,\u201d I replied, \u201cbut it must be at a\ndistance, for enter it I will not.\u201d  Thereupon he conducted me down the\nroad which leads towards Padron and Vigo, and pointing to two or three\nhuts, exclaimed \u201cThat is our leper-house.\u201d  \u201cIt appears a miserable\nplace,\u201d I replied: \u201cwhat accommodation may there be for the patients, and\nwho attends to their wants?\u201d  \u201cThey are left to themselves,\u201d answered the\nbookseller, \u201cand probably sometimes perish from neglect: the place at one\ntime was endowed and had rents which were appropriated to its support,\nbut even these have been sequestered during the late troubles.  At\npresent, the least unclean of the lepers generally takes his station by\nthe road side, and begs for the rest.  See there he is now.\u201d\n\nAnd sure enough the leper in his shining scales, and half naked, was\nseated beneath a ruined wall.  We dropped money into the hat of the\nunhappy being, and passed on.\n\n\u201cA bad disorder that,\u201d said my friend.  \u201cI confess that I, who have seen\nso many of them, am by no means fond of the company of lepers.  Indeed, I\nwish that they would never enter my shop, as they occasionally do to beg.\nNothing is more infectious, as I have heard, than leprosy: there is one\nvery virulent species, however, which is particularly dreaded here, the\nelephantine: those who die of it should, according to law, be burnt, and\ntheir ashes scattered to the winds: for if the body of such a leper be\ninterred in the field of the dead, the disorder is forthwith communicated\nto all the corses even below the earth.  Such, at least, is our idea in\nthese parts.  Lawsuits are at present pending from the circumstance of\nelephantides having been buried with the other dead.  Sad is leprosy in\nall its forms, but most so when elephantine.\u201d\n\n\u201cTalking of corses,\u201d said I, \u201cdo you believe that the bones of St. James\nare veritably interred at Compostella?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat can I say,\u201d replied the old man; \u201cyou know as much of the matter as\nmyself.  Beneath the high altar is a large stone slab or lid, which is\nsaid to cover the mouth of a profound well, at the bottom of which it is\nbelieved that the bones of the saint are interred; though why they should\nbe placed at the bottom of a well, is a mystery which I cannot fathom.\nOne of the officers of the church told me that at one time he and another\nkept watch in the church during the night, one of the chapels having\nshortly before been broken open and a sacrilege committed.  At the dead\nof night, finding the time hang heavy on their hands, they took a crowbar\nand removed the slab and looked down into the abyss below; it was dark as\nthe grave; whereupon they affixed a weight to the end of a long rope and\nlowered it down.  At a very great depth it seemed to strike against\nsomething dull and solid like lead: they supposed it might be a coffin;\nperhaps it was, but whose is the question.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII\n\n\nSkippers of Padron\u2014Caldas de los Reyes\u2014Pontevedra\u2014The Notary\nPublic\u2014Insane Barber\u2014An Introduction\u2014Gallegan Language\u2014Afternoon\nRide\u2014Vigo\u2014The Stranger\u2014Jews of the Desert\u2014Bay of Vigo\u2014Sudden\nInterruption\u2014The Governor.\n\nAfter a stay of about a fortnight at Saint James, we again mounted our\nhorses and proceeded in the direction of Vigo.  As we did not leave Saint\nJames till late in the afternoon, we travelled that day no farther than\nPadron, a distance of only three leagues.  This place is a small port,\nsituate at the extremity of a firth which communicates with the sea.  It\nis called for brevity\u2019s sake, Padron, but its proper appellation is Villa\ndel Padron, or the town of the patron saint; it having been, according to\nthe legend, the principal residence of Saint James during his stay in\nGalicia.  By the Romans it was termed Iria Flavia.  It is a flourishing\nlittle town, and carries on rather an extensive commerce, some of its\ntiny barks occasionally finding their way across the Bay of Biscay, and\neven so far as the Thames and London.\n\nThere is a curious anecdote connected with the skippers of Padron, which\ncan scarcely be considered as out of place here, as it relates to the\ncirculation of the Scriptures.  I was one day in the shop of my friend\nthe bookseller at Saint James, when a stout good-humoured-looking priest\nentered.  He took up one of my Testaments, and forthwith burst into a\nviolent fit of laughter.  \u201cWhat is the matter?\u201d demanded the bookseller.\n\u201cThe sight of this book reminds me of a circumstance\u201d: replied the other,\n\u201cabout twenty years ago, when the English first took it into their heads\nto be very zealous in converting us Spaniards to their own way of\nthinking, they distributed a great number of books of this kind amongst\nthe Spaniards who chanced to be in London; some of them fell into the\nhands of certain skippers of Padron, and these good folks, on their\nreturn to Galicia, were observed to have become on a sudden exceedingly\nopinionated and fond of dispute.  It was scarcely possible to make an\nassertion in their hearing without receiving a flat contradiction,\nespecially when religious subjects were brought on the carpet.  \u2018It is\nfalse,\u2019 they would say; \u2018Saint Paul, in such a chapter and in such a\nverse, says exactly the contrary.\u2019  \u2018What can you know concerning what\nSaint Paul or any other saint has written?\u2019 the priests would ask them.\n\u2018Much more than you think,\u2019 they replied; \u2018we are no longer to be kept in\ndarkness and ignorance respecting these matters:\u2019 and then they would\nproduce their books and read paragraphs, making such comments that every\nperson was scandalized; they cared nothing about the Pope, and even spoke\nwith irreverence of the bones of Saint James.  However, the matter was\nsoon bruited about, and a commission was dispatched from our see to\ncollect the books and burn them.  This was effected, and the skippers\nwere either punished or reprimanded, since which I have heard nothing\nmore of them.  I could not forbear laughing when I saw these books; they\ninstantly brought to my mind the skippers of Padron and their religious\ndisputations.\u201d\n\nOur next day\u2019s journey brought us to Pontevedra.  As there was no talk of\nrobbers in these parts, we travelled without any escort and alone.  The\nroad was beautiful and picturesque, though somewhat solitary, especially\nafter we had left behind us the small town of Caldas.  There is more than\none place of this name in Spain; the one of which I am speaking is\ndistinguished from the rest by being called Caldas de los Reyes, or the\nwarm baths of the kings.  It will not be amiss to observe that the\nSpanish _Caldas_ is synonymous with the Moorish _Alhama_, a word of\nfrequent occurrence both in Spanish and African topography.  Caldas\nseemed by no means undeserving of its name: it stands on a confluence of\nsprings, and the place when we arrived was crowded with people who had\ncome to enjoy the benefit of the waters.  In the course of my travels I\nhave observed that wherever warm springs are found, vestiges of volcanoes\nare sure to be nigh; the smooth black precipice, the divided mountain, or\nhuge rocks standing by themselves on the plain or on the hill side, as if\nTitans had been playing at bowls.  This last feature occurs near Caldas\nde los Reyes, the side of the mountain which overhangs it in the\ndirection of the south being covered with immense granite stones,\napparently at some ancient period eructed from the bowels of the earth.\nFrom Caldas to Pontevedra the route was hilly and fatiguing, the heat was\nintense, and those clouds of flies, which constitute one of the pests of\nGalicia, annoyed our horses to such a degree that we were obliged to cut\ndown branches from the trees to protect their heads and necks from the\ntormenting stings of these bloodthirsty insects.  Whilst travelling in\nGalicia at this period of the year on horseback, it is always advisable\nto carry a fine net for the protection of the animal, a sure and\ncommodious means of defence, which appears, however, to be utterly\nunknown in Galicia, where, perhaps, it is more wanted than in any other\npart of the world.\n\nPontevedra, upon the whole, is certainly entitled to the appellation of a\nmagnificent town, some of its public edifices, especially the convents,\nbeing such as are nowhere to be found but in Spain and Italy.  It is\nsurrounded by a wall of hewn stone, and stands at the end of a creek into\nwhich the river Levroz disembogues.  It is said to have been founded by a\ncolony of Greeks, whose captain was no less a personage than Teucer the\nTelemonian.  It was in former times a place of considerable commerce; and\nnear its port are to be seen the ruins of a farol, or lighthouse, said to\nbe of great antiquity.  The port, however, is at a considerable distance\nfrom the town, and is shallow and incommodious.  The whole country in the\nneighbourhood of Pontevedra is inconceivably delicious, abounding with\nfruits of every description, especially grapes, which in the proper\nseason are seen hanging from the \u201cparras\u201d in luscious luxuriance.  An old\nAndalusian author has said that it produces as many oranges and citron\ntrees as the neighbourhood of Cordova.  Its oranges are, however, by no\nmeans good, and cannot compete with those of Andalusia.  The\nPontevedrians boast that their land produces two crops every year, and\nthat whilst they are gathering in one they may be seen ploughing and\nsowing another.  They may well be proud of their country, which is\ncertainly a highly favoured spot.\n\nThe town itself is in a state of great decay, and notwithstanding the\nmagnificence of its public edifices, we found more than the usual amount\nof Galician filth and misery.  The posada was one of the most wretched\ndescription, and to mend the matter, the hostess was a most intolerable\nscold and shrew.  Antonio having found fault with the quality of some\nprovision which she produced, she cursed him most immoderately in the\ncountry language, which was the only one she spoke, and threatened, if he\nattempted to breed any disturbance in her house, to turn the horses,\nhimself, and his master forthwith out of doors.  Socrates himself,\nhowever, could not have conducted himself on this occasion with greater\nforbearance than Antonio, who shrugged his shoulders, muttered something\nin Greek, and then was silent.\n\n\u201cWhere does the notary public live?\u201d I demanded.  Now the notary public\nvended books, and to this personage I was recommended by my friend at\nSaint James.  A boy conducted me to the house of Se\u00f1or Garcia, for such\nwas his name.  I found him a brisk, active, talkative little man of\nforty.  He undertook with great alacrity the sale of my Testaments, and\nin a twinkling sold two to a client who was waiting in the office, and\nappeared to be from the country.  He was an enthusiastic patriot, but of\ncourse in a local sense, for he cared for no other country than\nPontevedra.\n\n\u201cThose fellows of Vigo,\u201d said he, \u201csay their town is a better one than\nours, and that it is more deserving to be the capital of this part of\nGalicia.  Did you ever hear such folly?  I tell you what, friend, I\nshould not care if Vigo were burnt, and all the fools and rascals within\nit.  Would you ever think of comparing Vigo with Pontevedra?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d I replied; \u201cI have never been at Vigo, but I have heard\nsay that the bay of Vigo is the finest in the world.\u201d\n\n\u201cBay! my good sir.  Bay! yes, the rascals have a bay, and it is that bay\nof theirs which has robbed us all our commerce.  But what needs the\ncapital of a district with a bay?  It is public edifices that it wants,\nwhere the provincial deputies can meet to transact their business; now,\nso far from there being a commodious public edifice, there is not a\ndecent house in all Vigo.  Bay! yes, they have a bay, but have they water\nfit to drink?  Have they a fountain?  Yes, they have, and the water is so\nbrackish that it would burst the stomach of a horse.  I hope, my dear\nsir, that you have not come all this distance to take the part of such a\ngang of pirates as those of Vigo.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am not come to take their part,\u201d I replied; \u201cindeed, I was not aware\nthat they wanted my assistance in this dispute.  I am merely carrying to\nthem the New Testament, of which they evidently stand in much need, if\nthey are such knaves and scoundrels as you represent them.\u201d\n\n\u201cRepresent them, my dear sir.  Does not the matter speak for itself?  Do\nthey not say that their town is better than ours, more fit to be the\ncapital of a district, _que disparate_! _que briboneria_! (what folly!\nwhat rascality!)\u201d\n\n\u201cIs there a bookseller\u2019s shop at Vigo?\u201d I inquired.\n\n\u201cThere was one,\u201d he replied, \u201ckept by an insane barber.  I am glad, for\nyour sake, that it is broken up, and the fellow vanished; he would have\nplayed you one of two tricks; he would either have cut your throat with\nhis razor, under pretence of shaving you, or have taken your books and\nnever have accounted to you for the proceeds.  Bay! I never could see\nwhat right such an owl\u2019s nest as Vigo has to a bay.\u201d\n\nNo person could exhibit greater kindness to another, than did the notary\npublic to myself, as soon as I had convinced him that I had no intention\nof siding with the men of Vigo against Pontevedra.  It was now six\no\u2019clock in the evening, and he forthwith conducted me to a confectioner\u2019s\nshop, where he treated me with an iced cream and a small cup of\nchocolate.  From hence we walked about the city, the notary showing the\nvarious edifices, especially, the Convent of the Jesuits: \u201cSee that\nfront,\u201d said he, \u201cwhat do you think of it?\u201d\n\nI expressed to him the admiration which I really felt, and by so doing\nentirely won the good notary\u2019s heart: \u201cI suppose there is nothing like\nthat at Vigo?\u201d said I.  He looked at me for a moment, winked, gave a\nshort triumphant chuckle, and then proceeded on his way, walking at a\ntremendous rate.  The Se\u00f1or Garcia was dressed in all respects as an\nEnglish notary might be: he wore a white hat, brown frock coat, drab\nbreeches buttoned at the knees, white stockings, and well blacked shoes.\nBut I never saw an English notary walk so fast: it could scarcely be\ncalled walking: it seemed more like a succession of galvanic leaps and\nbounds.  I found it impossible to keep up with him: \u201cWhere are you\nconducting me?\u201d I at last demanded, quite breathless.\n\n\u201cTo the house of the cleverest man in Spain,\u201d he replied, \u201cto whom I\nintend to introduce you; for you must not think that Pontevedra has\nnothing to boast of but its splendid edifices and its beautiful country;\nit produces more illustrious minds than any other town in Spain.  Did you\never hear of the grand Tamerlane?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, yes,\u201d said I, \u201cbut he did not come from Pontevedra or its\nneighbourhood: he came from the steppes of Tartary, near the river Oxus.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know he did,\u201d replied the notary, \u201cbut what I mean to say is, that\nwhen Enrique the Third wanted an ambassador to send to that African, the\nonly man he could find suited to the enterprise was a knight of\nPontevedra, Don --- by name.  Let the men of Vigo contradict that fact if\nthey can.\u201d\n\nWe entered a large portal and ascended a splendid staircase, at the top\nof which the notary knocked at a small door: \u201cWho is the gentleman to\nwhom you are about to introduce me?\u201d demanded I.\n\n\u201cIt is the advocate ---,\u201d replied Garcia; \u201che is the cleverest man in\nSpain, and understands all languages and sciences.\u201d\n\nWe were admitted by a respectable-looking female, to all appearance a\nhousekeeper, who, on being questioned, informed us that the Advocate was\nat home, and forthwith conducted us to an immense room, or rather\nlibrary, the walls being covered with books, except in two or three\nplaces, where hung some fine pictures of the ancient Spanish school.\nThere was a rich mellow light in the apartment, streaming through a\nwindow of stained glass, which looked to the west.  Behind the table sat\nthe Advocate, on whom I looked with no little interest: his forehead was\nhigh and wrinkled, and there was much gravity on his features, which were\nquite Spanish.  He was dressed in a long robe, and might be about sixty;\nhe sat reading behind a large table, and on our entrance half raised\nhimself and bowed slightly.\n\nThe notary public saluted him most profoundly, and, in an under voice,\nhoped that he might be permitted to introduce a friend of his, an English\ngentleman, who was travelling through Galicia.\n\n\u201cI am very glad to see him,\u201d said the Advocate, \u201cbut I hope he speaks\nCastilian, else we can have but little communication; for, although I can\nread both French and Latin, I cannot speak them.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe speaks, sir, almost as good Spanish,\u201d said the notary, \u201cas a native\nof Pontevedra.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe natives of Pontevedra,\u201d I replied, \u201cappear to be better versed in\nGallegan than in Castilian, for the greater part of the conversation\nwhich I hear in the streets is carried on in the former dialect.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe last gentleman which my friend Garcia introduced to me,\u201d said the\nAdvocate, \u201cwas a Portuguese, who spoke little or no Spanish.  It is said\nthat the Gallegan and Portuguese are very similar, but when we attempted\nto converse in the two languages, we found it impossible.  I understood\nlittle of what he said, whilst my Gallegan was quite unintelligible to\nhim.  Can you understand our country dialect?\u201d he continued.\n\n\u201cVery little of it,\u201d I replied; \u201cwhich I believe chiefly proceeds from\nthe peculiar accent and uncouth enunciation of the Gallegans, for their\nlanguage is certainly almost entirely composed of Spanish and Portuguese\nwords.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo you are an Englishman,\u201d said the Advocate.  \u201cYour countrymen have\ncommitted much damage in times past in these regions, if we may trust our\nhistories.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said I, \u201cthey sank your galleons and burnt your finest men-of-war\nin Vigo Bay, and, under old Cobham, levied a contribution of forty\nthousand pounds sterling on this very town of Pontevedra.\u201d\n\n\u201cAny foreign power,\u201d interrupted the notary public, \u201chas a clear right to\nattack Vigo, but I cannot conceive what plea your countrymen could urge\nfor distressing Pontevedra, which is a respectable town, and could never\nhave offended them.\u201d\n\n\u201cSe\u00f1or Cavalier,\u201d said the Advocate, \u201cI will show you my library.  Here\nis a curious work, a collection of poems, written mostly in Gallegan, by\nthe curate of Fruime.  He is our national poet, and we are very proud of\nhim.\u201d\n\nWe stopped upwards of an hour with the Advocate, whose conversation, if\nit did not convince me that he was the cleverest man in Spain, was, upon\nthe whole, highly interesting, and who certainly possessed an extensive\nstore of general information, though he was by no means the profound\nphilologist which the notary had represented him to be.\n\nWhen I was about to depart from Pontevedra in the afternoon of the next\nday, the Se\u00f1or Garcia stood by the side of my horse, and having embraced\nme, thrust a small pamphlet into my hand: \u201cThis book,\u201d said he, \u201ccontains\na description of Pontevedra.  Wherever you go, speak well of Pontevedra.\u201d\nI nodded.  \u201cStay,\u201d said he, \u201cmy dear friend, I have heard of your\nsociety, and will do my best to further its views.  I am quite\ndisinterested, but if at any future time you should have an opportunity\nof speaking in print of Se\u00f1or Garcia, the notary public of\nPontevedra,\u2014you understand me,\u2014I wish you would do so.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will,\u201d said I.\n\nIt was a pleasant afternoon\u2019s ride from Pontevedra to Vigo, the distance\nbeing only four leagues.  As we approached the latter town, the country\nbecame exceedingly mountainous, though scarcely anything could exceed the\nbeauty of the surrounding scenery.  The sides of the hills were for the\nmost part clothed with luxuriant forests, even to the very summits,\nthough occasionally a flinty and naked peak would present itself, rising\nto the clouds.  As the evening came on, the route along which we advanced\nbecame very gloomy, the hills and forests enwrapping it in deep shade.\nIt appeared, however, to be well frequented: numerous cars were creaking\nalong it, and both horsemen and pedestrians were continually passing us.\nThe villages were frequent.  Vines, supported on parras, were growing, if\npossible, in still greater abundance than in the neighbourhood of\nPontevedra.  Life and activity seemed to pervade everything.  The hum of\ninsects, the cheerful bark of dogs, the rude songs of Galicia, were\nblended together in pleasant symphony.  So delicious was my ride, that I\nalmost regretted when we entered the gate of Vigo.\n\nThe town occupies the lower part of a lofty hill, which, as it ascends,\nbecomes extremely steep and precipitous, and the top of which is crowned\nwith a strong fort or castle.  It is a small compact place, surrounded\nwith low walls, the streets are narrow, steep, and winding, and in the\nmiddle of the town is a small square.\n\nThere is rather an extensive faubourg extending along the shore of the\nbay.  We found an excellent posada, kept by a man and woman from the\nBasque provinces, who were both civil and intelligent.  The town seemed\nto be crowded, and resounded with noise and merriment.  The people were\nmaking a wretched attempt at an illumination, in consequence of some\nvictory lately gained, or pretended to have been gained, over the forces\nof the Pretender.  Military uniforms were glancing about in every\ndirection.  To increase the bustle, a troop of Portuguese players had\nlately arrived from Oporto, and their first representation was to take\nplace this evening.  \u201cIs the play to be performed in Spanish?\u201d I\ndemanded.  \u201cNo,\u201d was the reply; \u201cand on that account every person is so\neager to go; which would not be the case if it were in a language which\nthey could understand.\u201d\n\nOn the morning of the next day I was seated at breakfast in a large\napartment which looked out upon the Plaza Mayor, or great square of the\ngood town of Vigo.  The sun was shining very brilliantly, and all around\nlooked lively and gay.  Presently a stranger entered, and bowing\nprofoundly, stationed himself at the window, where he remained a\nconsiderable time in silence.  He was a man of very remarkable\nappearance, of about thirty-five.  His features were of perfect symmetry,\nand I may almost say, of perfect beauty.  His hair was the darkest I had\never seen, glossy and shining; his eyes large, black, and melancholy; but\nthat which most struck me was his complexion.  It might be called olive,\nit is true, but it was a livid olive.  He was dressed in the very first\nstyle of French fashion.  Around his neck was a massive gold chain, while\nupon his fingers were large rings, in one of which was set a magnificent\nruby.  Who can that man be? thought I;\u2014Spaniard or Portuguese, perhaps a\nCreole.  I asked him an indifferent question in Spanish, to which he\nforthwith replied in that language, but his accent convinced me that he\nwas neither Spaniard nor Portuguese.\n\n\u201cI presume I am speaking to an Englishman, sir?\u201d said he, in as good\nEnglish as it was possible for one not an Englishman to speak.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014You know me to be an Englishman; but I should find some\ndifficulty in guessing to what country you belong.\n\n_Stranger_.\u2014May I take a seat?\n\n_Myself_.\u2014A singular question.  Have you not as much right to sit in the\npublic apartment of an inn as myself?\n\n_Stranger_.\u2014I am not certain of that.  The people here are not in general\nvery gratified at seeing me seated by their side.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Perhaps owing to your political opinions, or to some crime\nwhich it may have been your misfortune to commit?\n\n_Stranger_.\u2014I have no political opinions, and I am not aware that I ever\ncommitted any particular crime,\u2014I am hated for my country and my\nreligion.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Perhaps I am speaking to a Protestant, like myself?\n\n_Stranger_.\u2014I am no Protestant.  If I were, they would be cautious here\nof showing their dislike, for I should then have a government and a\nconsul to protect me.  I am a Jew\u2014a Barbary Jew, a subject of\nAbderrahman.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014If that be the case, you can scarcely complain of being looked\nupon with dislike in this country, since in Barbary the Jews are slaves.\n\n_Stranger_.\u2014In most parts, I grant you, but not where I was born, which\nwas far up the country, near the deserts.  There the Jews are free, and\nare feared, and are as valiant men as the Moslems themselves; as able to\ntame the steed, or to fire the gun.  The Jews of our tribe are not\nslaves, and I like not to be treated as a slave either by Christian or\nMoor.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Your history must be a curious one, I would fain hear it.\n\n_Stranger_.\u2014My history I shall tell to no one.  I have travelled much, I\nhave been in commerce and have thriven.  I am at present established in\nPortugal, but I love not the people of Catholic countries, and least of\nall these of Spain.  I have lately experienced the most shameful\ninjustice in the Aduana of this town, and when I complained, they laughed\nat me and called me Jew.  Wherever he turns, the Jew is reviled, save in\nyour country, and on that account my blood always warms when I see an\nEnglishman.  You are a stranger here.  Can I do aught for you?  You may\ncommand me.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I thank you heartily, but I am in need of no assistance.\n\n_Stranger_.\u2014Have you any bills, I will accept them if you have?\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I have no need of assistance; but you may do me a favour by\naccepting of a book.\n\n_Stranger_.\u2014I will receive it with thanks.  I know what it is.  What a\nsingular people?  The same dress, the same look, the same book.  Pelham\ngave me one in Egypt.  Farewell!  Your Jesus was a good man, perhaps a\nprophet; but . . . farewell!\n\nWell may the people of Pontevedra envy the natives of Vigo their bay,\nwith which, in many respects, none other in the world can compare.  On\nevery side it is defended by steep and sublime hills, save on the part of\nthe west, where is the outlet to the Atlantic; but in the midst of this\noutlet, up towers a huge rocky wall, or island, which breaks the swell,\nand prevents the billows of the western sea from pouring through in full\nviolence.  On either side of this island is a passage, so broad, that\nnavies might pass through at all times in safety.  The bay itself is\noblong, running far into the land, and so capacious, that a thousand sail\nof the line might ride in it uncrowded.  The waters are dark, still, and\ndeep, without quicksands or shallows, so that the proudest man-of-war\nmight lie within a stone\u2019s throw of the town ramparts without any fear of\ninjuring her keel.\n\nOf many a strange event, and of many a mighty preparation has this bay\nbeen the scene.  It was here that the bulky dragons of the grand armada\nwere mustered, and it was from hence that, fraught with the pomp, power,\nand terror of old Spain, the monster fleet, spreading its enormous sails\nto the wind, and bent on the ruin of the Lutheran isle, proudly\nsteered;\u2014that fleet, to build and man which half the forests of Galicia\nhad been felled, and all the mariners impressed from the thousand bays\nand creeks of the stern Cantabrian shore.  It was here that the united\nflags of Holland and England triumphed over the pride of Spain and\nFrance; when the burning timbers of exploded war-ships soared above the\ntops of the Gallegan hills, and blazing galleons sank with their treasure\nchests whilst drifting in the direction of Sampayo.  It was on the shores\nof this bay that the English guards first emptied Spanish bodegas, whilst\nthe bombs of Cobham were crushing the roofs of the castle of Castro, and\nthe vecinos of Pontevedra buried their doubloons in cellars, and flying\nposts were conveying to Lugo and Orensee the news of the heretic invasion\nand the disaster of Vigo.  All these events occurred to my mind as I\nstood far up the hill, at a short distance from the fort, surveying the\nbay.\n\n\u201cWhat are you doing there, Cavalier?\u201d roared several voices.  \u201cStay,\nCarracho! if you attempt to run we will shoot you!\u201d  I looked round and\nsaw three or four fellows in dirty uniforms, to all appearance soldiers,\njust above me, on a winding path, which led up the hill.  Their muskets\nwere pointed at me.  \u201cWhat am I doing?  Nothing, as you see,\u201d said I,\n\u201csave looking at the bay; and as for running, this is by no means ground\nfor a course.\u201d  \u201cYou are our prisoner,\u201d said they, \u201cand you must come\nwith us to the fort.\u201d  \u201cI was just thinking of going there,\u201d I replied,\n\u201cbefore you thus kindly invited me.  The fort is the very spot I was\ndesirous of seeing.\u201d  I thereupon climbed up to the place where they\nstood, when they instantly surrounded me, and with this escort I was\nmarched into the fort, which might have been a strong place in its time,\nbut was now rather ruinous.  \u201cYou are suspected of being a spy,\u201d said the\ncorporal, who walked in front.  \u201cIndeed,\u201d said I.  \u201cYes,\u201d replied the\ncorporal, \u201cand several spies have lately been taken and shot.\u201d\n\nUpon one of the parapets of the fort stood a young man, dressed as a\nsubaltern officer, and to this personage I was introduced.  \u201cWe have been\nwatching you this half hour,\u201d said he, \u201cas you were taking observations.\u201d\n\u201cThen you gave yourselves much useless trouble,\u201d said I.  \u201cI am an\nEnglishman, and was merely looking at the bay.  Have the kindness now to\nshow me the fort.\u201d . . .\n\nAfter some conversation, he said, \u201cI wish to be civil to people of your\nnation, you may therefore consider yourself at liberty.\u201d  I bowed, made\nmy exit, and proceeded down the hill.  Just before I entered the town,\nhowever, the corporal, who had followed me unperceived, tapped me on the\nshoulder.  \u201cYou must go with me to the governor,\u201d said he.  \u201cWith all my\nheart,\u201d I replied.  The governor was shaving, when we were shown up to\nhim.  He was in his shirt sleeves, and held a razor in his hand.  He\nlooked very ill-natured, which was perhaps owing to his being thus\ninterrupted in his toilet.  He asked me two or three questions, and on\nlearning that I had a passport, and was the bearer of a letter to the\nEnglish consul, he told me that I was at liberty to depart.  So I bowed\nto the governor of the town, as I had done to the governor of the fort,\nand making my exit proceeded to my inn.\n\nAt Vigo I accomplished but little in the way of distribution, and after a\nsojourn of a few days, I returned in the direction of Saint James.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX\n\n\nArrival at Padron\u2014Projected Enterprise\u2014The Alquilador\u2014Breach of\nPromise\u2014An Odd Companion\u2014A Plain Story\u2014Rugged Paths\u2014The Desertion\u2014The\nPony\u2014A Dialogue\u2014Unpleasant Situation\u2014The Estadea\u2014Benighted\u2014The Hut\u2014The\nTraveller\u2019s Pillow.\n\nI arrived at Padron late in the evening, on my return from Pontevedra and\nVigo.  It was my intention at this place to send my servant and horses\nforward to Santiago, and to hire a guide to Cape Finisterra.  It would be\ndifficult to assign any plausible reason for the ardent desire which I\nentertained to visit this place; but I remembered that last year I had\nescaped almost by a miracle from shipwreck and death on the rocky sides\nof this extreme point of the Old World, and I thought that to convey the\nGospel to a place so wild and remote, might perhaps be considered an\nacceptable pilgrimage in the eyes of my Maker.  True it is that but one\ncopy remained of those which I had brought with me on this last journey,\nbut this reflection, far from discouraging me in my projected enterprise,\nproduced the contrary effect, as I called to mind that ever since the\nLord revealed himself to man, it has seemed good to him to accomplish the\ngreatest ends by apparently the most insufficient means; and I reflected\nthat this one copy might serve as an instrument of more good than the\nfour thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine copies of the edition of\nMadrid.\n\nI was aware that my own horses were quite incompetent to reach\nFinisterra, as the roads or paths lie through stony ravines, and over\nrough and shaggy hills, and therefore determined to leave them behind\nwith Antonio, whom I was unwilling to expose to the fatigues of such a\njourney.  I lost no time in sending for an alquilador, or person who lets\nout horses, and informing him of my intention.  He said he had an\nexcellent mountain pony at my disposal, and that he himself would\naccompany me, but at the same time observed, that it was a terrible\njourney for man and horse, and that he expected to be paid accordingly.\nI consented to give him what he demanded, but on the express condition\nthat he would perform his promise of attending me himself, as I was\nunwilling to trust myself four or five days amongst the hills with any\nlow fellow of the town whom he might select, and who it was very possible\nmight play me some evil turn.  He replied by the term invariably used by\nthe Spaniards when they see doubt or distrust exhibited.  \u201c_No tenga\nusted cuidao_,\u201d I will go myself.  Having thus arranged the matter\nperfectly satisfactorily, as I thought, I partook of a slight supper, and\nshortly afterwards retired to repose.\n\nI had requested the alquilador to call me the next morning at three\no\u2019clock; he however did not make his appearance till five, having, I\nsuppose, overslept himself, which was indeed my own case.  I arose in a\nhurry, dressed, put a few things in a bag, not forgetting the Testament\nwhich I had resolved to present to the inhabitants of Finisterra.  I then\nsallied forth and saw my friend the alquilador, who was holding by the\nbridle the pony or jaco which was destined to carry me in my expedition.\nIt was a beautiful little animal, apparently strong and full of life,\nwithout one single white hair in its whole body, which was black as the\nplumage of the crow.\n\nBehind it stood a strange-looking figure of the biped species, to whom,\nhowever, at the moment, I paid little attention, but of whom I shall have\nplenty to say in the sequel.\n\nHaving asked the horse-lender whether he was ready to proceed, and being\nanswered in the affirmative, I bade adieu to Antonio, and putting the\npony in motion, we hastened out of the town, taking at first the road\nwhich leads towards Santiago.  Observing that the figure which I have\npreviously alluded to was following close at our heels, I asked the\nalquilador who it was, and the reason of its following us; to which he\nreplied that it was a servant of his, who would proceed a little way with\nus and then return.  So on we went at a rapid rate, till we were within a\nquarter of a mile of the Convent of the Esclavitud, a little beyond which\nhe had informed me that we should have to turn off from the high road;\nbut here he suddenly stopped short, and in a moment we were all at a\nstandstill.  I questioned the guide as to the reason of this, but\nreceived no answer.  The fellow\u2019s eyes were directed to the ground, and\nhe seemed to be counting with the most intense solicitude the prints of\nthe hoofs of the oxen, mules, and horses in the dust of the road.  I\nrepeated my demand in a louder voice; when, after a considerable pause,\nhe somewhat elevated his eyes, without however looking me in the face,\nand said that he believed that I entertained the idea that he himself was\nto guide me to Finisterra, which if I did, he was very sorry for, the\nthing being quite impossible, as he was perfectly ignorant of the way,\nand, moreover, incapable of performing such a journey over rough and\ndifficult ground, as he was no longer the man he had been, and over and\nabove all that, he was engaged that day to accompany a gentleman to\nPontevedra, who was at that moment expecting him.  \u201cBut,\u201d continued he,\n\u201cas I am always desirous of behaving like a caballero to everybody, I\nhave taken measures to prevent your being disappointed.  This person,\u201d\npointing to the figure, \u201cI have engaged to accompany you.  He is a most\ntrustworthy person, and is well acquainted with the route to Finisterra,\nhaving been thither several times with this very jaco on which you are\nmounted.  He will, besides, be an agreeable companion to you on the way,\nas he speaks French and English very well, and has been all over the\nworld.\u201d  The fellow ceased speaking at last; and I was so struck with his\ncraft, impudence, and villainy, that some time elapsed before I could\nfind an answer.  I then reproached him in the bitterest terms for his\nbreach of promise, and said that I was much tempted to return to the town\ninstantly, complain of him to the alcalde, and have him punished at any\nexpense.  To which he replied, \u201cSir Cavalier, by so doing you will be\nnothing nearer Finisterra, to which you seem so eager to get.  Take my\nadvice, spur on the jaco, for you see it is getting late, and it is\ntwelve long leagues from hence to Corcuvion, where you must pass the\nnight; and from thence to Finisterra is no trifle.  As for the man, _no\ntenga usted cuidao_, he is the best guide in all Galicia, speaks English\nand French, and will bear you pleasant company.\u201d\n\nBy this time I had reflected that by returning to Padron I should indeed\nbe only wasting time, and that by endeavouring to have the fellow\npunished, no benefit would accrue to me; moreover, as he seemed to be a\nscoundrel in every sense of the word, I might as well proceed in the\ncompany of any person as in his.  I therefore signified my intention of\nproceeding, and told him to go back in the Lord\u2019s name, and repent of his\nsins.  But having gained one point, he thought he had best attempt\nanother; so placing himself about a yard before the jaco, he said that\nthe price which I had agreed to pay him for the loan of his horse (which\nby the by was the full sum he had demanded) was by no means sufficient,\nand that before I proceeded I must promise him two dollars more, adding\nthat he was either drunk or mad when he had made such a bargain.  I was\nnow thoroughly incensed, and without a moment\u2019s reflection, spurred the\njaco, which flung him down in the dust, and passed over him.  Looking\nback at the distance of a hundred yards, I saw him standing in the same\nplace, his hat on the ground, gazing after us, and crossing himself most\ndevoutly.  His servant, or whatever he was, far from offering any\nassistance to his principal, no sooner saw the jaco in motion than he ran\non by its side, without word or comment, farther than striking himself\nlustily on the thigh with his right palm.  We soon passed the Esclavitud,\nand presently afterwards turned to the left into a stony broken path\nleading to fields of maize.  We passed by several farm-houses, and at\nlast arrived at a dingle, the sides of which were plentifully overgrown\nwith dwarf oaks, and which slanted down to a small dark river shaded with\ntrees, which we crossed by a rude bridge.  By this time I had had\nsufficient time to scan my odd companion from head to foot.  His utmost\nheight, had he made the most of himself, might perhaps have amounted to\nfive feet one inch; but he seemed somewhat inclined to stoop.  Nature had\ngifted him with an immense head and placed it clean upon his shoulders,\nfor amongst the items of his composition it did not appear that a neck\nhad been included.  Arms long and brawny swung at his sides, and the\nwhole of his frame was as strong built and powerful as a wrestler\u2019s; his\nbody was supported by a pair of short but very nimble legs.  His face was\nvery long, and would have borne some slight resemblance to a human\ncountenance, had the nose been more visible, for its place seemed to have\nbeen entirely occupied by a wry mouth and large staring eyes.  His dress\nconsisted of three articles: an old and tattered hat of the Portuguese\nkind, broad at the crown and narrow at the eaves, something which\nappeared to be a shirt, and dirty canvas trousers.  Willing to enter into\nconversation with him, and remembering that the alquilador had informed\nme that he spoke languages, I asked him, in English, if he had always\nacted in the capacity of guide?  Whereupon he turned his eyes with a\nsingular expression upon my face, gave a loud laugh, a long leap, and\nclapped his hands thrice above his head.  Perceiving that he did not\nunderstand me, I repeated my demand in French, and was again answered by\nthe laugh, leap, and clapping.  At last he said in broken Spanish,\n\u201cMaster mine, speak Spanish in God\u2019s name, and I can understand you, and\nstill better if you speak Gallegan, but I can promise no more.  I heard\nwhat the alquilador told you, but he is the greatest embustero in the\nwhole land, and deceived you then as he did when he promised to accompany\nyou.  I serve him for my sins; but it was an evil hour when I left the\ndeep sea and turned guide.\u201d  He then informed me that he was a native of\nPadron, and a mariner by profession, having spent the greater part of his\nlife in the Spanish navy, in which service he had visited Cuba and many\nparts of the Spanish Americas, adding, \u201cwhen my master told you that I\nshould bear you pleasant company by the way, it was the only word of\ntruth that has come from his mouth for a month; and long before you reach\nFinisterra you will have rejoiced that the servant, and not the master,\nwent with you: he is dull and heavy, but I am what you see.\u201d  He then\ngave two or three first-rate summersets, again laughed loudly, and\nclapped his hands.  \u201cYou would scarcely think,\u201d he continued, \u201cthat I\ndrove that little pony yesterday heavily laden all the way from Coru\u00f1a.\nWe arrived at Padron at two o\u2019clock this morning; but we are nevertheless\nboth willing and able to undertake a fresh journey.  _No tenga usted\ncuidao_, as my master said, no one ever complains of that pony or of me.\u201d\nIn this kind of discourse we proceeded a considerable way through a very\npicturesque country, until we reached a beautiful village at the skirt of\na mountain.  \u201cThis village,\u201d said my guide, \u201cis called Los Angeles,\nbecause its church was built long since by the angels; they placed a beam\nof gold beneath it, which they brought down from heaven, and which was\nonce a rafter of God\u2019s own house.  It runs all the way under the ground\nfrom hence to the cathedral of Compostella.\u201d\n\nPassing through the village, which he likewise informed me possessed\nbaths, and was much visited by the people of Santiago, we shaped our\ncourse to the north-west, and by so doing doubled a mountain which rose\nmajestically over our heads, its top crowned with bare and broken rocks,\nwhilst on our right, on the other side of a spacious valley, was a high\nrange, connected with the mountains to the northward of Saint James.  On\nthe summit of this range rose high embattled towers, which my guide\ninformed me were those of Altamira, an ancient and ruined castle,\nformerly the principal residence in this province of the counts of that\nname.  Turning now due west, we were soon at the bottom of a steep and\nrugged pass, which led to more elevated regions.  The ascent cost us\nnearly half an hour, and the difficulties of the ground were such, that I\nmore than once congratulated myself on having left my own horses behind,\nand being mounted on the gallant little pony which, accustomed to such\npaths, scrambled bravely forward, and eventually brought us in safety to\nthe top of the ascent.\n\nHere we entered a Gallegan cabin, or choza, for the purpose of refreshing\nthe animal and ourselves.  The quadruped ate some maize, whilst we two\nbipeds regaled ourselves on some broa and aguardiente, which a woman whom\nwe found in the hut placed before us.  I walked out for a few minutes to\nobserve the aspect of the country, and on my return found my guide fast\nasleep on the bench where I had left him.  He sat bolt upright, his back\nsupported against the wall, and his legs pendulous, within three inches\nof the ground, being too short to reach it.  I remained gazing upon him\nfor at least five minutes, whilst he enjoyed slumbers seemingly as quiet\nand profound as those of death itself.  His face brought powerfully to my\nmind some of those uncouth visages of saints and abbots which are\noccasionally seen in the niches of the walls of ruined convents.  There\nwas not the slightest gleam of vitality in his countenance, which for\ncolour and rigidity might have been of stone, and which was as rude and\nbattered as one of the stone heads at Icolmkill, which have braved the\nwinds of twelve hundred years.  I continued gazing on his face till I\nbecame almost alarmed, concluding that life might have departed from its\nharassed and fatigued tenement.  On my shaking him rather roughly by the\nshoulder he slowly awoke, opening his eyes with a stare and then closing\nthem again.  For a few moments he was evidently unconscious of where he\nwas.  On my shouting to him, however, and inquiring whether he intended\nto sleep all day instead of conducting me to Finisterra, he dropped upon\nhis legs, snatched up his hat, which lay on the table, and instantly ran\nout of the door, exclaiming, \u201cYes, yes, I remember\u2014follow me, captain,\nand I will lead you to Finisterra in no time.\u201d  I looked after him, and\nperceived that he was hurrying at a considerable pace in the direction in\nwhich we had hitherto been proceeding.  \u201cStop,\u201d said I, \u201cstop! will you\nleave me here with the pony?  Stop, we have not paid the reckoning.\nStop!\u201d  He, however, never turned his head for a moment, and in less than\na minute was out of sight.  The pony, which was tied to a crib at one end\nof the cabin, began now to neigh terrifically, to plunge, and to erect\nits tail and mane in a most singular manner.  It tore and strained at the\nhalter till I was apprehensive that strangulation would ensue.  \u201cWoman,\u201d\nI exclaimed, \u201cwhere are you, and what is the meaning of all this?\u201d  But\nthe hostess had likewise disappeared, and though I ran about the choza,\nshouting myself hoarse, no answer was returned.  The pony still continued\nto scream and to strain at the halter more violently than ever.  \u201cAm I\nbeset with lunatics?\u201d I cried, and flinging down a peseta on the table,\nunloosed the halter, and attempted to introduce the bit into the mouth of\nthe animal.  This, however, I found impossible to effect.  Released from\nthe halter, the pony made at once for the door, in spite of all the\nefforts which I could make to detain it.  \u201cIf you abandon me,\u201d said I, \u201cI\nam in a pretty situation; but there is a remedy for everything!\u201d with\nwhich words I sprang into the saddle, and in a moment more the creature\nwas bearing me at a rapid gallop in the direction, as I supposed, of\nFinisterra.  My position, however diverting to the reader, was rather\ncritical to myself.  I was on the back of a spirited animal, over which I\nhad no control, dashing along a dangerous and unknown path.  I could not\ndiscover the slightest vestige of my guide, nor did I pass anyone from\nwhom I could derive any information.  Indeed, the speed of the animal was\nso great, that even in the event of my meeting or overtaking a passenger,\nI could scarcely have hoped to exchange a word with him.  \u201cIs the pony\ntrained to this work?\u201d said I mentally.  \u201cIs he carrying me to some den\nof banditti, where my throat will be cut, or does he follow his master by\ninstinct?\u201d  Both of these suspicions I however soon abandoned; the pony\u2019s\nspeed relaxed, he appeared to have lost the road.  He looked about\nuneasily: at last, coming to a sandy spot, he put his nostrils to the\nground, and then suddenly flung himself down, and wallowed in true pony\nfashion.  I was not hurt, and instantly made use of this opportunity to\nslip the bit into his mouth, which previously had been dangling beneath\nhis neck; I then remounted in quest of the road.\n\nThis I soon found, and continued my way for a considerable time.  The\npath lay over a moor, patched heath and furze, and here and there strewn\nwith large stones, or rather rocks.  The sun had risen high in the\nfirmament, and burned fiercely.  I passed several people, men and women,\nwho gazed at me with surprise, wondering, probably, what a person of my\nappearance could be about without a guide in so strange a place.  I\ninquired of two females whom I met whether they had seen my guide; but\nthey either did not or would not understand me, and exchanging a few\nwords with each other, in one of the hundred dialects of the Gallegan,\npassed on.  Having crossed the moor, I came rather abruptly upon a\nconvent, overhanging a deep ravine, at the bottom of which brawled a\nrapid stream.\n\nIt was a beautiful and picturesque spot: the sides of the ravine were\nthickly clothed with wood, and on the other side a tall, black hill\nuplifted itself.  The edifice was large, and apparently deserted.\nPassing by it, I presently reached a small village, as deserted, to all\nappearance, as the convent, for I saw not a single individual, nor so\nmuch as a dog to welcome me with his bark.  I proceeded, however, until I\nreached a fountain, the waters of which gushed from a stone pillar into a\ntrough.  Seated upon this last, his arms folded, and his eyes fixed upon\nthe neighbouring mountain, I beheld a figure which still frequently\nrecurs to my thoughts, especially when asleep and oppressed by the\nnightmare.  This figure was my runaway guide.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Good day to you, my gentleman.  The weather is hot, and yonder\nwater appears delicious.  I am almost tempted to dismount and regale\nmyself with a slight draught.\n\n_Guide_.\u2014Your worship can do no better.  The day is, as you say, hot; you\ncan do no better than drink a little of this water.  I have myself just\ndrunk.  I would not, however, advise you to give that pony any, it\nappears heated and blown.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014It may well be so.  I have been galloping at least two leagues\nin pursuit of a fellow who engaged to guide me to Finisterra, but who\ndeserted me in a most singular manner, so much so, that I almost believe\nhim to be a thief, and no true man.  You do not happen to have seen him?\n\n_Guide_.\u2014What kind of a man might he be?\n\n_Myself_.\u2014A short, thick fellow, very much like yourself, with a hump\nupon his back, and, excuse me, of a very ill-favoured countenance.\n\n_Guide_.\u2014Ha, ha!  I know him.  He ran with me to this fountain, where he\nhas just left me.  That man, Sir Cavalier, is no thief.  If he is any\nthing at all, he is a Nuveiro,\u2014a fellow who rides upon the clouds, and is\noccasionally whisked away by a gust of wind.  Should you ever travel with\nthat man again, never allow him more than one glass of anise at a time,\nor he will infallibly mount into the clouds and leave you, and then he\nwill ride and run till he comes to a water brook, or knocks his head\nagainst a fountain\u2014then one draught, and he is himself again.  So you are\ngoing to Finisterra, Sir Cavalier.  Now it is singular enough, that a\ncavalier much of your appearance engaged me to conduct him there this\nmorning.  I however lost him on the way.  So it appears to me our best\nplan to travel together until you find your own guide and I find my own\nmaster.\n\nIt might be about two o\u2019clock in the afternoon, that we reached a long\nand ruinous bridge, seemingly of great antiquity, and which, as I was\ninformed by my guide, was called the bridge of Don Alonzo.  It crossed a\nspecies of creek, or rather frith, for the sea was at no considerable\ndistance, and the small town of Noyo lay at our right.  \u201cWhen we have\ncrossed that bridge, captain,\u201d said my guide, \u201cwe shall be in an unknown\ncountry, for I have never been farther than Noyo, and as for Finisterra,\nso far from having been there, I never heard of such a place; and though\nI have inquired of two or three people since we have been upon this\nexpedition, they know as little about it as I do.  Taking all things,\nhowever, into consideration, it appears to me that the best thing we can\ndo is to push forward to Corcuvion, which is five mad leagues from hence,\nand which we may perhaps reach ere nightfall, if we can find the way or\nget any one to direct us; for, as I told you before, I know nothing about\nit.\u201d  \u201cTo fine hands have I confided myself,\u201d said I: \u201chowever, we had\nbest, as you say, push forward to Corcuvion, where, peradventure, we may\nhear something of Finisterra, and find a guide to conduct us.\u201d\nWhereupon, with a hop, skip, and a jump, he again set forward at a rapid\npace, stopping occasionally at a choza, for the purpose, I suppose, of\nmaking inquiries, though I understood scarcely anything of the jargon in\nwhich he addressed the people, and in which they answered him.\n\nWe were soon in an extremely wild and hilly country, scrambling up and\ndown ravines, wading brooks, and scratching our hands and faces with\nbrambles, on which grew a plentiful crop of wild mulberries, to gather\nsome of which we occasionally made a stop.  Owing to the roughness of the\nway we made no great progress.  The pony followed close at the back of\nthe guide, so near, indeed, that its nose almost touched his shoulder.\nThe country grew wilder and wilder, and since we had passed a water mill,\nwe had lost all trace of human habitation.  The mill stood at the bottom\nof a valley shaded by large trees, and its wheels were turning with a\ndismal and monotonous noise.  \u201cDo you think we shall reach Corcuvion\nto-night?\u201d said I to the guide, as we emerged from this valley to a\nsavage moor, which appeared of almost boundless extent.\n\n_Guide_.\u2014I do not, I do not.  We shall in no manner reach Corcuvion\nto-night, and I by no means like the appearance of this moor.  The sun is\nrapidly sinking, and then, if there come on a haze, we shall meet the\nEstad\u00e9a.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014What do you mean by the Estad\u00e9a?\n\n_Guide_.\u2014What do I mean by the Estad\u00e9a?  My master asks me what I mean by\nthe Estadinha. {274}  I have met the Estadinha but once, and it was upon\na moor something like this.  I was in company with several women, and a\nthick haze came on, and suddenly a thousand lights shone above our heads\nin the haze, and there was a wild cry, and the women fell to the ground\nscreaming Estad\u00e9a!  Estad\u00e9a! and I myself fell to the ground crying out\nEstadinha!  The Estad\u00e9a are the spirits of the dead which ride upon the\nhaze, bearing candles in their hands.  I tell you frankly, my master,\nthat if we meet the assembly of the souls, I shall leave you at once, and\nthen I shall run and run till I drown myself in the sea, somewhere about\nMuros.  We shall not reach Corcuvion this night; my only hope is that we\nmay find some choza upon these moors, where we may hide our heads from\nthe Estadinha.\n\nThe night overtook us ere we had traversed the moor; there was, however,\nno haze, to the great joy of my guide, and a corner of the moon partially\nillumined our steps.  Our situation, however, was dreary enough: we were\nupon the wildest heath of the wildest province of Spain, ignorant of our\nway, and directing our course we scarcely knew whither, for my guide\nrepeatedly declared to me, that he did not believe that such a place as\nFinisterra existed, or if it did exist, it was some bleak mountain\npointed out in a map.  When I reflected on the character of this guide, I\nderived but little comfort or encouragement: he was at best evidently\nhalf witted, and was by his own confession occasionally seized with\nparoxysms which differed from madness in no essential respect; his wild\nescapade in the morning of nearly three leagues, without any apparent\ncause, and lastly his superstitious and frantic fears of meeting the\nsouls of the dead upon this heath, in which event he intended, as he\nhimself said, to desert me and make for the sea, operated rather\npowerfully upon my nerves.  I likewise considered that it was quite\npossible that we might be in the route neither of Finisterra nor\nCorcuvion, and I therefore determined to enter the first cabin at which\nwe should arrive, in preference to running the risk of breaking our necks\nby tumbling down some pit or precipice.  No cabin, however, appeared in\nsight: the moor seemed interminable, and we wandered on until the moon\ndisappeared, and we were left in almost total darkness.\n\nAt length we arrived at the foot of a steep ascent, up which a rough and\nbroken pathway appeared to lead.\n\n\u201cCan this be our way?\u201d said I to the guide.\n\n\u201cThere appears to be no other for us, captain,\u201d replied the man; \u201clet us\nascend it by all means, and when we are at the top, if the sea be in the\nneighbourhood we shall see it.\u201d\n\nI then dismounted, for to ride up such a pass in such darkness would have\nbeen madness.  We clambered up in a line, first the guide, next the pony,\nwith his nose as usual on his master\u2019s shoulder, of whom he seemed\npassionately fond, and I bringing up the rear, with my left hand grasping\nthe animal\u2019s tail.  We had many a stumble, and more than one fall: once,\nindeed, we were all rolling down the side of the hill together.  In about\ntwenty minutes we reached the summit, and looked around us, but no sea\nwas visible: a black moor, indistinctly seen, seemed to spread on every\nside.\n\n\u201cWe shall have to take up our quarters here till morning,\u201d said I.\n\nSuddenly my guide seized me by the hand: \u201cThere is lume, Senhor,\u201d said\nhe, \u201cthere is lume.\u201d  I looked in the direction in which he pointed, and,\nafter straining my eyes for some time, imagined that I perceived, far\nbelow and at some distance, a faint glow.  \u201cThat is lume,\u201d shouted the\nguide, \u201cand it proceeds from the chimney of a choza.\u201d\n\nOn descending the eminence, we roamed about for a considerable time,\nuntil we at last found ourselves in the midst of about six or eight black\nhuts.  \u201cKnock at the door of one of these,\u201d said I to the guide, \u201cand\ninquire of the people whether they can shelter us for the night.\u201d  He did\nso, and a man presently made his appearance, bearing in his hand a\nlighted firebrand.\n\n\u201cCan you shelter a Cavalheiro from the night and the Estad\u00e9a?\u201d said my\nguide.\n\n\u201cFrom both, I thank God,\u201d said the man, who was an athletic figure,\nwithout shoes and stockings, and who, upon the whole, put me much in mind\nof a Munster peasant from the bogs.  \u201cPray enter, gentlemen, we can\naccommodate you both and your cavalgadura besides.\u201d\n\nWe entered the choza, which consisted of three compartments; in the first\nwe found straw, in the second cattle and ponies, and in the third the\nfamily, consisting of the father and mother of the man who admitted us,\nand his wife and children.\n\n\u201cYou are a Catalan, sir Cavalier, and are going to your countryman at\nCorcuvion,\u201d said the man in tolerable Spanish.  \u201cAh, you are brave\npeople, you Catalans, and fine establishments you have on the Gallegan\nshores; pity that you take all the money out of the country.\u201d\n\nNow, under all circumstances, I had not the slightest objection to pass\nfor a Catalan; and I rather rejoiced that these wild people should\nsuppose that I had powerful friends and countrymen in the neighbourhood\nwho were, perhaps, expecting me.  I therefore favoured their mistake, and\nbegan with a harsh Catalan accent to talk of the fish of Galicia, and the\nhigh duties on salt.  The eye of my guide was upon me for an instant,\nwith a singular expression, half serious, half droll; he however said\nnothing, but slapped his thigh as usual, and with a spring nearly touched\nthe roof of the cabin with his grotesque head.  Upon inquiry, I\ndiscovered that we were still two long leagues distant from Corcuvion,\nand that the road lay over moor and hill, and was hard to find.  Our host\nnow demanded whether we were hungry, and upon being answered in the\naffirmative, produced about a dozen eggs and some bacon.  Whilst our\nsupper was cooking, a long conversation ensued between my guide and the\nfamily, but as it was carried on in Gallegan, I tried in vain to\nunderstand it.  I believe, however, that it principally related to\nwitches and witchcraft, as the Estad\u00e9a was frequently mentioned.  After\nsupper I demanded where I could rest: whereupon the host pointed to a\ntrap-door in the roof, saying that above there was a loft where I could\nsleep by myself, and have clean straw.  For curiosity\u2019s sake, I asked\nwhether there was such a thing as a bed in the cabin.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d replied the man; \u201cnor nearer than Corcuvion.  I never entered one\nin my life, nor any one of my family: we sleep around the hearth, or\namong the straw with the cattle.\u201d\n\nI was too old a traveller to complain, but forthwith ascended by a ladder\ninto a species of loft, tolerably large and nearly empty, where I placed\nmy cloak beneath my head, and lay down on the boards, which I preferred\nto the straw, for more reasons than one.  I heard the people below\ntalking in Gallegan for a considerable time, and could see the gleams of\nthe fire through the interstices of the floor.  The voices, however,\ngradually died away, the fire sank low and could no longer be\ndistinguished.  I dozed, started, dozed again, and dropped finally into a\nprofound sleep, from which I was only roused by the crowing of the second\ncock.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX\n\n\nAutumnal Morning\u2014The World\u2019s End\u2014Corcuvion\u2014Duyo\u2014The Cape\u2014A Whale\u2014The\nOuter Bay\u2014The Arrest\u2014The Fisher-Magistrate\u2014Calros Rey\u2014Hard of\nBelief\u2014Where is your Passport?\u2014The Beach\u2014A Mighty Liberal\u2014The\nHandmaid\u2014The Grand Baintham\u2014Eccentric Book\u2014Hospitality.\n\nIt was a beautiful autumnal morning when we left the choza and pursued\nour way to Corcuvion.  I satisfied our host by presenting him with a\ncouple of pesetas, and he requested as a favour, that if on our return we\npassed that way, and were overtaken by the night, we would again take up\nour abode beneath his roof.  This I promised, at the same time\ndetermining to do my best to guard against the contingency; as sleeping\nin the loft of a Gallegan hut, though preferable to passing the night on\na moor or mountain, is anything but desirable.\n\nSo we again started at a rapid pace along rough bridle-ways and\nfootpaths, amidst furze and brushwood.  In about an hour we obtained a\nview of the sea, and directed by a lad, whom we found on the moor\nemployed in tending a few miserable sheep, we bent our course to the\nnorth-west, and at length reached the brow of an eminence, where we\nstopped for some time to survey the prospect which opened before us.\n\nIt was not without reason that the Latins gave the name of Finnisterr\u00e6 to\nthis district.  We had arrived exactly at such a place as in my boyhood I\nhad pictured to myself as the termination of the world, beyond which\nthere was a wild sea, or abyss, or chaos.  I now saw far before me an\nimmense ocean, and below me a long and irregular line of lofty and\nprecipitous coast.  Certainly in the whole world there is no bolder coast\nthan the Gallegan shore, from the debouchement of the Minho to Cape\nFinisterra.  It consists of a granite wall of savage mountains, for the\nmost part serrated at the top, and occasionally broken, where bays and\nfirths like those of Vigo and Pontevedra intervene, running deep into the\nland.  These bays and firths are invariably of an immense depth, and\nsufficiently capacious to shelter the navies of the proudest maritime\nnations.\n\nThere is an air of stern and savage grandeur in everything around, which\nstrongly captivates the imagination.  This savage coast is the first\nglimpse of Spain which the voyager from the north catches, or he who has\nploughed his way across the wide Atlantic: and well does it seem to\nrealize all his visions of this strange land.  \u201cYes,\u201d he exclaims, \u201cthis\nis indeed Spain\u2014stern flinty Spain\u2014land emblematic of those spirits to\nwhich she has given birth.  From what land but that before me could have\nproceeded those portentous beings, who astounded the Old World and filled\nthe New with horror and blood: Alba and Philip, Cortez and Pizarro: stern\ncolossal spectres looming through the gloom of bygone years, like yonder\ngranite mountains through the haze, upon the eye of the mariner.  Yes,\nyonder is indeed Spain; flinty, indomitable Spain; land emblematic of its\nsons!\u201d\n\nAs for myself, when I viewed that wide ocean and its savage shore, I\ncried, \u201cSuch is the grave, and such are its terrific sides; those moors\nand wilds, over which I have passed, are the rough and dreary journey of\nlife.  Cheered with hope, we struggle along through all the difficulties\nof moor, bog, and mountain, to arrive at\u2014what?  The grave and its dreary\nsides.  Oh, may hope not desert us in the last hour: hope in the Redeemer\nand in God!\u201d\n\nWe descended from the eminence, and again lost sight of the sea amidst\nravines and dingles, amongst which patches of pine were occasionally\nseen.  Continuing to descend, we at last came, not to the sea, but to the\nextremity of a long narrow firth, where stood a village or hamlet; whilst\nat a small distance, on the Western side of the firth, appeared one\nconsiderably larger, which was indeed almost entitled to the appellation\nof town.  This last was Corcuvion; the first, if I forget not, was called\nRia de Silla.  We hastened on to Corcuvion, where I bade my guide make\ninquiries respecting Finisterra.  He entered the door of a wine-house,\nfrom which proceeded much noise and vociferation, and presently returned,\ninforming me that the village of Finisterra was distant about a league\nand a half.  A man, evidently in a state of intoxication, followed him to\nthe door: \u201cAre you bound for Finisterra, Cavalheiros?\u201d he shouted.\n\n\u201cYes, my friend,\u201d I replied, \u201cwe are going thither.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen you are going amongst a flock of drunkards (_fato de barrachos_),\u201d\nhe answered.  \u201cTake care that they do not play you a trick.\u201d\n\nWe passed on, and striking across a sandy peninsula at the back of the\ntown, soon reached the shore of an immense bay, the north-westernmost end\nof which was formed by the far-famed cape of Finisterra, which we now saw\nbefore us stretching far into the sea.\n\nAlong a beach of dazzling white sand, we advanced towards the cape, the\nbourne of our journey.  The sun was shining brightly, and every object\nwas illumined by his beams.  The sea lay before us like a vast mirror,\nand the waves which broke upon the shore were so tiny as scarcely to\nproduce a murmur.  On we sped along the deep winding bay, overhung by\ngigantic hills and mountains.  Strange recollections began to throng upon\nmy mind.  It was upon this beach that, according to the tradition of all\nancient Christendom, Saint James, the patron saint of Spain, preached the\nGospel to the heathen Spaniards.  Upon this beach had once stood an\nimmense commercial city, the proudest in all Spain.  This now desolate\nbay had once resounded with the voices of myriads, when the keels and\ncommerce of all the then known world were wafted to Duyo.\n\n\u201cWhat is the name of this village?\u201d said I to a woman, as we passed by\nfive or six ruinous houses at the bend of the bay, ere we entered upon\nthe peninsula of Finisterra.\n\n\u201cThis is no village,\u201d said the Gallegan, \u201cthis is no village, Sir\nCavalier, this is a city, this is Duyo.\u201d\n\nSo much for the glory of the world!  These huts were all that the roaring\nsea and the tooth of time had left of Duyo, the great city!  Onward now\nto Finisterra.\n\nIt was midday when we reached the village of Finisterra, consisting of\nabout one hundred houses, and built on the southern side of the\npeninsula, just before it rises into the huge bluff head which is called\nthe Cape.  We sought in vain for an inn or venta, where we might stable\nour beast; at one moment we thought that we had found one, and had even\ntied the animal to the manger.  Upon our going out, however, he was\ninstantly untied and driven forth into the street.  The few people whom\nwe saw appeared to gaze upon us in a singular manner.  We, however, took\nlittle notice of these circumstances, and proceeded along the straggling\nstreet until we found shelter in the house of a Castilian shopkeeper,\nwhom some chance had brought to this corner of Galicia,\u2014this end of the\nworld.  Our first care was to feed the animal, who now began to exhibit\nconsiderable symptoms of fatigue.  We then requested some refreshment for\nourselves; and in about an hour a tolerably savoury fish, weighing about\nthree pounds, and fresh from the bay, was prepared for us by an old woman\nwho appeared to officiate as housekeeper.  Having finished our meal, I\nand my uncouth companion went forth and prepared to ascend the mountain.\n\nWe stopped to examine a small dismantled fort or battery facing the bay;\nand whilst engaged in this examination, it more than once occurred to me\nthat we were ourselves the objects of scrutiny and investigation: indeed\nI caught a glimpse of more than one countenance peering upon us through\nthe holes and chasms of the walls.  We now commenced ascending\nFinisterra; and making numerous and long detours, we wound our way up its\nflinty sides.  The sun had reached the top of heaven, whence he showered\nupon us perpendicularly his brightest and fiercest rays.  My boots were\ntorn, my feet cut, and the perspiration streamed from my brow.  To my\nguide, however, the ascent appeared to be neither toilsome nor difficult.\nThe heat of the day for him had no terrors, no moisture was wrung from\nhis tanned countenance; he drew not one short breath; and hopped upon the\nstones and rocks with all the provoking agility of a mountain goat.\nBefore we had accomplished one half of the ascent, I felt myself quite\nexhausted.  I reeled and staggered.  \u201cCheer up, master mine, be of good\ncheer, and have no care,\u201d said the guide.  \u201cYonder I see a wall of\nstones; lie down beneath it in the shade.\u201d  He put his long and strong\narm round my waist, and though his stature compared with mine was that of\na dwarf, he supported me, as if I had been a child, to a rude wall which\nseemed to traverse the greatest part of the hill, and served probably as\na kind of boundary.  It was difficult to find a shady spot: at last he\nperceived a small chasm, perhaps scooped by some shepherd as a couch, in\nwhich to enjoy his siesta.  In this he laid me gently down, and taking\noff his enormous hat, commenced fanning me with great assiduity.  By\ndegrees I revived, and after having rested for a considerable time, I\nagain attempted the ascent, which, with the assistance of my guide, I at\nlength accomplished.\n\nWe were now standing at a great altitude between two bays: the wilderness\nof waters before us.  Of all the ten thousand barks which annually plough\nthose seas in sight of that old cape, not one was to be descried.  It was\na blue shiny waste, broken by no object save the black head of a\nspermaceti whale, which would occasionally show itself at the top,\ncasting up thin jets of brine.  The principal bay, that of Finisterra, as\nfar as the entrance, was beautifully variegated by an immense shoal of\nsardinhas, on whose extreme skirts the monster was probably feasting.\nFrom the northern side of the cape we looked down upon a smaller bay, the\nshore of which was overhung by rocks of various and grotesque shapes;\nthis is called the outer bay, or, in the language of the country, _Praia\ndo mar de fora_: a fearful place in seasons of wind and tempest, when the\nlong swell of the Atlantic pouring in, is broken into surf and foam by\nthe sunken rocks with which it abounds.  Even in the calmest day there is\na rumbling and a hollow roar in that bay which fill the heart with uneasy\nsensations.\n\nOn all sides there was grandeur and sublimity.  After gazing from the\nsummit of the Cape for nearly an hour we descended.\n\nOn reaching the house where we had taken up our temporary habitation, we\nperceived that the portal was occupied by several men, some of whom were\nreclining on the floor drinking wine out of small earthen pans, which are\nmuch used in this part of Galicia.  With a civil salutation I passed on,\nand ascended the staircase to the room in which we had taken our repast.\nHere there was a rude and dirty bed, on which I flung myself, exhausted\nwith fatigue.  I determined to take a little repose, and in the evening\nto call the people of the place together, to read a few chapters of the\nScripture, and then to address them with a little Christian exhortation.\nI was soon asleep, but my slumbers were by no means tranquil.  I thought\nI was surrounded with difficulties of various kinds amongst rocks and\nravines, vainly endeavouring to extricate myself; uncouth visages showed\nthemselves amidst the trees and in the hollows, thrusting out cloven\ntongues and uttering angry cries.  I looked around for my guide, but\ncould not find him; methought, however, that I heard his voice down a\ndeep dingle.  He appeared to be talking of me.  How long I might have\ncontinued in these wild dreams I know not.  I was suddenly, however,\nseized roughly by the shoulder and nearly dragged from the bed.  I looked\nup in amazement, and by the light of the descending sun I beheld hanging\nover me a wild and uncouth figure; it was that of an elderly man, built\nas strong as a giant, with much beard and whiskers, and huge bushy\neyebrows, dressed in the habiliments of a fisherman; in his hand was a\nrusty musket.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Who are you and what do you want?\n\n_Figure_.\u2014Who I am matters but little.  Get up and follow me; it is you I\nwant.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014By what authority do you thus presume to interfere with me?\n\n_Figure_.\u2014By the authority of the justicia of Finisterra.  Follow me\npeaceably, Calros, or it will be the worse for you.\n\n\u201cCalros,\u201d said I, \u201cwhat does the person mean?\u201d  I thought it, however,\nmost prudent to obey his command, and followed him down the staircase.\nThe shop and the portal were now thronged with the inhabitants of\nFinisterra, men, women, and children; the latter for the most part in a\nstate of nudity, and with bodies wet and dripping, having been probably\nsummoned in haste from their gambols in the brine.  Through this crowd\nthe figure whom I have attempted to describe pushed his way with an air\nof authority.\n\nOn arriving in the street, he laid his heavy hand upon my arm, not\nroughly however.  \u201cIt is Calros! it is Calros!\u201d said a hundred voices;\n\u201che has come to Finisterra at last, and the justicia have now got hold of\nhim.\u201d  Wondering what all this could mean, I attended my strange\nconductor down the street.  As we proceeded, the crowd increased every\nmoment, following and vociferating.  Even the sick were brought to the\ndoor to obtain a view of what was going forward and a glance at the\nredoubtable Calros.  I was particularly struck by the eagerness displayed\nby one man, a cripple, who, in spite of the entreaties of his wife, mixed\nwith the crowd, and having lost his crutch, hopped forward on one leg,\nexclaiming,\u2014\u201c_Carracho_! _tambien voy yo_!\u201d\n\nWe at last reached a house of rather larger size than the rest; my guide\nhaving led me into a long low room, placed me in the middle of the floor,\nand then hurrying to the door, he endeavoured to repulse the crowd who\nstrove to enter with us.  This he effected, though not without\nconsiderable difficulty, being once or twice compelled to have recourse\nto the butt of his musket, to drive back unauthorized intruders.  I now\nlooked round the room.  It was rather scantily furnished: I could see\nnothing but some tubs and barrels, the mast of a boat, and a sail or two.\nSeated upon the tubs were three or four men coarsely dressed, like\nfishermen or shipwrights.  The principal personage was a surly\nill-tempered-looking fellow of about thirty-five, whom eventually I\ndiscovered to be the alcalde of Finisterra, and lord of the house in\nwhich we now were.  In a corner I caught a glimpse of my guide, who was\nevidently in durance, two stout fishermen standing before him, one with a\nmusket and the other with a boat-hook.  After I had looked about me for a\nminute, the alcalde, giving his whiskers a twist, thus addressed me:\u2014\n\n\u201cWho are you, where is your passport, and what brings you to Finisterra?\u201d\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I am an Englishman.  Here is my passport, and I came to see\nFinisterra.\n\nThis reply seemed to discomfit them for a moment.  They looked at each\nother, then at my passport.  At length the alcalde, striking it with his\nfinger, bellowed forth:\n\n\u201cThis is no Spanish passport; it appears to be written in French.\u201d\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I have already told you that I am a foreigner.  I of course\ncarry a foreign passport.\n\n_Alcalde_.\u2014Then you mean to assert that you are not Calros Rey.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I never heard before of such a king, nor indeed of such a name.\n\n_Alcalde_.\u2014Hark to the fellow: he has the audacity to say that he has\nnever heard of Calros the pretender, who calls himself king.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014If you mean by Calros, the pretender Don Carlos, all I can\nreply is, that you can scarcely be serious.  You might as well assert\nthat yonder poor fellow, my guide, whom I see you have made prisoner, is\nhis nephew, the infante Don Sebastian.\n\n_Alcalde_.\u2014See, you have betrayed yourself; that is the very person we\nsuppose him to be.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014It is true that they are both hunchbacks.  But how can I be\nlike Don Carlos?  I have nothing the appearance of a Spaniard, and am\nnearly a foot taller than the pretender.\n\n_Alcalde_.\u2014That makes no difference; you of course carry many waistcoats\nabout you, by means of which you disguise yourself, and appear tall or\nlow according to your pleasure.\n\nThis last was so conclusive an argument that I had of course nothing to\nreply to it.  The alcalde looked around him in triumph, as if he had made\nsome notable discovery.  \u201cYes, it is Calros; it is Calros,\u201d said the\ncrowd at the door.  \u201cIt will be as well to have these men shot\ninstantly,\u201d continued the alcalde; \u201cif they are not the two pretenders,\nthey are at any rate two of the factious.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am by no means certain that they are either one or the other,\u201d said a\ngruff voice.\n\nThe justicia of Finisterra turned their eyes in the direction from which\nthese words proceeded, and so did I.  Our glances rested upon the figure\nwho held watch at the door.  He had planted the barrel of his musket on\nthe floor, and was now leaning his chin against the butt.\n\n\u201cI am by no means certain that they are either one or the other,\u201d\nrepeated he, advancing forward.  \u201cI have been examining this man,\u201d\npointing to myself, \u201cand listening whilst he spoke, and it appears to me\nthat after all he may prove an Englishman; he has their very look and\nvoice.  Who knows the English better than Antonio de la Trava, and who\nhas a better right?  Has he not sailed in their ships; has he not eaten\ntheir biscuit; and did he not stand by Nelson when he was shot dead?\u201d\n\nHere the alcalde became violently incensed.  \u201cHe is no more an Englishman\nthan yourself,\u201d he exclaimed; \u201cif he were an Englishman would he have\ncome in this manner, skulking across the land?  Not so I trow.  He would\nhave come in a ship, recommended to some of us, or to the Catalans.  He\nwould have come to trade, to buy; but nobody knows him in Finisterra, nor\ndoes he know anybody: and the first thing, moreover, that he does when he\nreaches this place is to inspect the fort, and to ascend the mountain\nwhere, no doubt, he has been marking out a camp.  What brings him to\nFinisterra if he is neither Calros nor a bribon of a faccioso?\u201d\n\nI felt that there was a good deal of justice in some of these remarks,\nand I was aware, for the first time, that I had, indeed, committed a\ngreat imprudence in coming to this wild place, and among these barbarous\npeople, without being able to assign any motive which could appear at all\nvalid in their eyes.  I endeavoured to convince the alcalde that I had\ncome across the country for the purpose of making myself acquainted with\nthe many remarkable objects which it contained, and of obtaining\ninformation respecting the character and condition of the inhabitants.\nHe could understand no such motives.  \u201cWhat did you ascend the mountain\nfor?\u201d  \u201cTo see prospects.\u201d  \u201cDisparate! I have lived at Finisterra forty\nyears and never ascended that mountain.  I would not do it in a day like\nthis for two ounces of gold.  You went to take altitudes, and to mark out\na camp.\u201d  I had, however, a staunch friend in old Antonio, who insisted,\nfrom his knowledge of the English, that all I had said might very\npossibly be true.  \u201cThe English,\u201d said he, \u201chave more money than they\nknow what to do with, and on that account they wander all over the world,\npaying dearly for what no other people care a groat for.\u201d  He then\nproceeded, notwithstanding the frowns of the alcalde, to examine me in\nthe English language.  His own entire knowledge of this tongue was\nconfined to two words\u2014_knife_ and _fork_, which words I rendered into\nSpanish by their equivalents, and was forthwith pronounced an Englishman\nby the old fellow, who, brandishing his musket, exclaimed:\u2014\n\n\u201cThis man is not Calros; he is what he declares himself to be, an\nEnglishman, and whosoever seeks to injure him, shall have to do with\nAntonio de la Trava el valiente de Finisterra.\u201d  No person sought to\nimpugn this verdict, and it was at length determined that I should be\nsent to Corcuvion, to be examined by the alcalde mayor of the district.\n\u201cBut,\u201d said the alcalde of Finisterra, \u201cwhat is to be done with the other\nfellow?  He at least is no Englishman.  Bring him forward, and let us\nhear what he has to say for himself.  Now, fellow, who are you, and what\nis your master?\u201d\n\n_Guide_.\u2014I am Sebastianillo, a poor broken mariner of Padron, and my\nmaster for the present is the gentleman whom you see, the most valiant\nand wealthy of all the English.  He has two ships at Vigo laden with\nriches.  I told you so when you first seized me up there in our posada.\n\n_Alcalde_.\u2014Where is your passport?\n\n_Guide_.\u2014I have no passport.  Who would think of bringing a passport to\nsuch a place as this, where I don\u2019t suppose there are two individuals who\ncan read?  I have no passport; my master\u2019s passport of course includes\nme.\n\n_Alcalde_.\u2014It does not.  And since you have no passport, and have\nconfessed that your name is Sebastian, you shall be shot.  Antonio de la\nTrava, do you and the musketeers lead this Sebastianillo forth, and shoot\nhim before the door.\n\n_Antonio de la Trava_.\u2014With much pleasure, Se\u00f1or Alcalde, since you order\nit.  With respect to this fellow, I shall not trouble myself to\ninterfere.  He at least is no Englishman.  He has more the look of a\nwizard or nuveiro; one of those devils who raise storms and sink\nlaunches.  Moreover, he says he is from Padron, and those of that place\nare all thieves and drunkards.  They once played me a trick, and I would\ngladly be at the shooting of the whole pueblo.\n\nI now interfered, and said that if they shot the guide they must shoot me\ntoo; expatiating at the same time on the cruelty and barbarity of taking\naway the life of a poor unfortunate fellow who, as might be seen at the\nfirst glance, was only half witted; adding, moreover, that if any person\nwas guilty in this case it was myself, as the other could only be\nconsidered in the light of a servant acting under my orders.\n\n\u201cThe safest plan after all,\u201d said the alcalde, \u201cappears to be, to send\nyou both prisoners to Corcuvion, where the head alcalde can dispose of\nyou as he thinks proper.  You must, however, pay for your escort; for it\nis not to be supposed that the housekeepers of Finisterra have nothing\nelse to do than to ramble about the country with every chance fellow who\nfinds his way to this town.\u201d  \u201cAs for that matter,\u201d said Antonio, \u201cI will\ntake charge of them both.  I am the valiente of Finisterra, and fear no\ntwo men living.  Moreover, I am sure that the captain here will make it\nworth my while, else he is no Englishman.  Therefore let us be quick and\nset out for Corcuvion at once, as it is getting late.  First of all,\nhowever, captain, I must search you and your baggage.  You have no arms,\nof course?  But it is best to make all sure.\u201d\n\nLong ere it was dark I found myself again on the pony, in company with my\nguide, wending our way along the beach in the direction of Corcuvion.\nAntonio de la Trava tramped heavily on before, his musket on his\nshoulder.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Are you not afraid, Antonio, to be thus alone with two\nprisoners, one of whom is on horseback?  If we were to try, I think we\ncould overpower you.\n\n_Antonio de la Trava_.\u2014I am the valiente de Finisterra, and I fear no\nodds.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Why do you call yourself the valiente of Finisterra?\n\n_Antonio de la Trava_.\u2014The whole district call me so.  When the French\ncame to Finisterra, and demolished the fort, three perished by my hand.\nI stood on the mountain, up where I saw you scrambling to-day.  I\ncontinued firing at the enemy, until three detached themselves in pursuit\nof me.  The fools! two perished amongst the rocks by the fire of this\nmusket, and as for the third, I beat his head to pieces with the stock.\nIt is on that account that they call me the valiente of Finisterra.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014How came you to serve with the English fleet?  I think I heard\nyou say that you were present when Nelson fell.\n\n_Antonio de la Trava_.\u2014I was captured by your countrymen, captain; and as\nI had been a sailor from my childhood, they were glad of my services.  I\nwas nine months with them, and assisted at Trafalgar.  I saw the English\nadmiral die.  You have something of his face, and your voice, when you\nspoke, sounded in my ears like his own.  I love the English, and on that\naccount I saved you.  Think not that I would toil along these sands with\nyou if you were one of my own countrymen.  Here we are at Duyo, captain.\nShall we refresh?\n\nWe did refresh, or rather Antonio de la Trava refreshed, swallowing pan\nafter pan of wine, with a thirst which seemed unquenchable.  \u201cThat man\nwas a greater wizard than myself,\u201d whispered Sebastian, my guide, \u201cwho\ntold us that the drunkards of Finisterra would play us a trick.\u201d  At\nlength the old hero of the Cape slowly rose, saying, that we must hasten\non to Corcuvion, or the night would overtake us by the way.\n\n\u201cWhat kind of person is the alcalde to whom you are conducting me?\u201d said\nI.\n\n\u201cOh, very different from him of Finisterra,\u201d replied Antonio.  \u201cThis is a\nyoung Se\u00f1orito, lately arrived from Madrid.  He is not even a Gallegan.\nHe is a mighty liberal, and it is owing chiefly to his orders that we\nhave lately been so much on the alert.  It is said that the Carlists are\nmeditating a descent on these parts of Galicia.  Let them only come to\nFinisterra, we are liberals there to a man, and the old valiente is ready\nto play the same part as in the time of the French.  But, as I was\ntelling you before, the alcalde to whom I am conducting you is a young\nman, and very learned, and if he thinks proper, he can speak English to\nyou, even better than myself, notwithstanding I was a friend of Nelson,\nand fought by his side at Trafalgar.\u201d\n\nIt was dark night before we reached Corcuvion.  Antonio again stopped to\nrefresh at a wine-shop, after which he conducted us to the house of the\nalcalde.  His steps were by this time not particularly steady, and on\narriving at the gate of the house, he stumbled over the threshold and\nfell.  He got up with an oath, and instantly commenced thundering at the\ndoor with the stock of his musket.  \u201cWho is it?\u201d at length demanded a\nsoft female voice in Gallegan.  \u201cThe valiente of Finisterra,\u201d replied\nAntonio; whereupon the gate was unlocked, and we beheld before us a very\npretty female with a candle in her hand.  \u201cWhat brings you here so late,\nAntonio?\u201d she inquired.  \u201cI bring two prisoners, mi pulida,\u201d replied\nAntonio.  \u201cAve Maria!\u201d she exclaimed, \u201cI hope they will do no harm.\u201d  \u201cI\nwill answer for one,\u201d replied the old man; \u201cbut, as for the other, he is\na nuveiro, and has sunk more ships than all his brethren in Galicia.  But\nbe not afraid, my beauty,\u201d he continued, as the female made the sign of\nthe cross: \u201cfirst lock the gate, and then show me the way to the alcalde.\nI have much to tell him.\u201d  The gate was locked, and bidding us stay below\nin the courtyard, Antonio followed the young woman up a stone stair,\nwhilst we remained in darkness below.\n\nAfter the lapse of about a quarter of an hour we again saw the candle\ngleam upon the staircase, and the young female appeared.  Coming up to\nme, she advanced the candle to my features, on which she gazed very\nintently.  After a long scrutiny she went to my guide, and having\nsurveyed him still more fixedly, she turned to me, and said, in her best\nSpanish, \u201cSenhor Cavalier, I congratulate you on your servant.  He is the\nbest-looking mozo in all Galicia.  Vaya! if he had but a coat to his\nback, and did not go barefoot, I would accept him at once as a novio; but\nI have unfortunately made a vow never to marry a poor man, but only one\nwho has got a heavy purse and can buy me fine clothes.  So you are a\nCarlist, I suppose?  Vaya! I do not like you the worse for that.  But,\nbeing so, how went you to Finisterra, where they are all Christinos and\nnegros?  Why did you not go to my village?  None would have meddled with\nyou there.  Those of my village are of a different stamp to the drunkards\nof Finisterra.  Those of my village never interfere with honest people.\nVaya! how I hate that drunkard of Finisterra who brought you, he is so\nold and ugly; were it not for the love which I bear to the Senhor\nAlcalde, I would at once unlock the gate and bid you go forth, you and\nyour servant, the buen mozo.\u201d\n\nAntonio now descended.  \u201cFollow me,\u201d said he; \u201chis worship the alcalde\nwill be ready to receive you in a moment.\u201d  Sebastian and myself followed\nhim upstairs to a room where, seated behind a table, we beheld a young\nman of low stature but handsome features and very fashionably dressed.\nHe appeared to be inditing a letter, which, when he had concluded, he\ndelivered to a secretary to be transcribed.  He then looked at me for a\nmoment fixedly, and the following conversation ensued between us:\u2014\n\n_Alcalde_.\u2014I see that you are an Englishman, and my friend Antonio here\ninforms me that you have been arrested at Finisterra.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014He tells you true; and but for him I believe that I should have\nfallen by the hands of those savage fishermen.\n\n_Alcalde_.\u2014The inhabitants of Finisterra are brave, and are all liberals.\nAllow me to look at your passport?  Yes, all in form.  Truly it was very\nridiculous that they should have arrested you as a Carlist.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Not only as a Carlist, but as Don Carlos himself.\n\n_Alcalde_.\u2014Oh! most ridiculous; mistake a countryman of the grand\nBaintham for such a Goth!\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Excuse me, Sir, you speak of the grand somebody.\n\n_Alcalde_.\u2014The grand Baintham.  He who has invented laws for all the\nworld.  I hope shortly to see them adopted in this unhappy country of\nours.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Oh! you mean Jeremy Bentham.  Yes! a very remarkable man in his\nway.\n\n_Alcalde_.\u2014In his way!  In all ways.  The most universal genius which the\nworld ever produced:\u2014a Solon, a Plato, and a Lope de Vega.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I have never read his writings.  I have no doubt that he was a\nSolon; and as you say, a Plato.  I should scarcely have thought, however,\nthat he could be ranked as a poet with Lope de Vega.\n\n_Alcalde_.\u2014How surprising!  I see, indeed, that you know nothing of his\nwritings, though an Englishman.  Now, here am I, a simple alcalde of\nGalicia, yet I possess all the writings of Baintham on that shelf, and I\nstudy them day and night.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014You doubtless, Sir, possess the English Language.\n\n_Alcalde_.\u2014I do.  I mean that part of it which is contained in the\nwritings of Baintham.  I am most truly glad to see a countryman of his in\nthese Gothic wildernesses.  I understand and appreciate your motives for\nvisiting them: excuse the incivility and rudeness which you have\nexperienced.  But we will endeavour to make you reparation.  You are this\nmoment free: but it is late; I must find you a lodging for the night.  I\nknow one close by which will just suit you.  Let us repair thither this\nmoment.  Stay, I think I see a book in your hand.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014The New Testament.\n\n_Alcalde_.\u2014What book is that?\n\n_Myself_.\u2014A portion of the sacred writings, the Bible.\n\n_Alcalde_.\u2014Why do you carry such a book with you?\n\n_Myself_.\u2014One of my principal motives in visiting Finisterra was to carry\nthis book to that wild place.\n\n_Alcalde_.\u2014Ha, ha! how very singular.  Yes, I remember.  I have heard\nthat the English highly prize this eccentric book.  How very singular\nthat the countrymen of the grand Baintham should set any value upon that\nold monkish book.\n\nIt was now late at night, and my new friend attended me to the lodging\nwhich he had destined for me, and which was at the house of a respectable\nold female, where I found a clean and comfortable room.  On the way I\nslipped a gratuity into the hand of Antonio, and on my arrival, formally,\nand in the presence of the alcalde, presented him with the Testament,\nwhich I requested he would carry back to Finisterra, and keep in\nremembrance of the Englishman in whose behalf he had so effectually\ninterposed.\n\n_Antonio_.\u2014I will do so, your worship; and when the winds blow from the\nnorth-west, preventing our launches from putting to sea, I will read your\npresent.  Farewell, my captain, and when you next come to Finisterra I\nhope it will be in a valiant English bark, with plenty of contrabando on\nboard, and not across the country on a pony, in company with nuveiros and\nmen of Padron.\n\nPresently arrived the handmaid of the alcalde with a basket, which she\ntook into the kitchen, where she prepared an excellent supper for her\nmaster\u2019s friend.  On its being served up the alcalde bade me farewell,\nhaving first demanded whether he could in any way forward my plans.\n\n\u201cI return to Saint James to-morrow,\u201d I replied, \u201cand I sincerely hope\nthat some occasion will occur which will enable me to acquaint the world\nwith the hospitality which I have experienced from so accomplished a\nscholar as the Alcalde of Corcuvion.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI\n\n\nCoruna\u2014Crossing the Bay\u2014Ferrol\u2014The Dockyard\u2014Where are we now?\u2014Greek\nAmbassador\u2014Lantern-light\u2014The Ravine\u2014Viveiro\u2014Evening\u2014Marsh and\nQuagmire\u2014Fair Words and Fair Money\u2014The Leathern Girth\u2014Eyes of Lynx\u2014The\nKnavish Guide.\n\nFrom Corcuvion I returned to Saint James and Coru\u00f1a, and now began to\nmake preparation for directing my course to the Asturias.  In the first\nplace I parted with my Andalusian horse, which I considered unfit for the\nlong and mountainous journey I was about to undertake; his constitution\nhaving become much debilitated from his Gallegan travels.  Owing to\nhorses being exceedingly scarce at Coru\u00f1a, I had no difficulty in\ndisposing of him at a far higher price than he originally cost me.  A\nyoung and wealthy merchant of Coru\u00f1a, who was a national guardsman,\nbecame enamoured of his glossy skin and long mane and tail.  For my own\npart, I was glad to part with him for more reasons than one; he was both\nvicious and savage, and was continually getting me into scrapes in the\nstables of the posadas where we slept or baited.  An old Castilian\npeasant, whose pony he had maltreated, once said to me, \u201cSir Cavalier, if\nyou have any love or respect for yourself, get rid I beseech you of that\nbeast, who is capable of proving the ruin of a kingdom.\u201d  So I left him\nbehind at Coru\u00f1a, where I subsequently learned that he became glandered\nand died.  Peace to his memory!\n\nFrom Coru\u00f1a I crossed the bay to Ferrol, whilst Antonio with our\nremaining horse followed by land, a rather toilsome and circuitous\njourney, although the distance by water is scarcely three leagues.  I was\nvery sea-sick during the passage, and lay almost senseless at the bottom\nof the small launch in which I had embarked, and which was crowded with\npeople.  The wind was adverse, and the water rough.  We could make no\nsail, but were impelled along by the oars of five or six stout mariners,\nwho sang all the while Gallegan ditties.  Suddenly the sea appeared to\nhave become quite smooth, and my sickness at once deserted me.  I rose\nupon my feet and looked around.  We were in one of the strangest places\nimaginable.  A long and narrow passage overhung on either side by a\nstupendous barrier of black and threatening rocks.  The line of the coast\nwas here divided by a natural cleft, yet so straight and regular that it\nseemed not the work of chance but design.  The water was dark and sullen,\nand of immense depth.  This passage, which is about a mile in length, is\nthe entrance to a broad basin, at whose farther extremity stands the town\nof Ferrol.\n\nSadness came upon me as soon as I entered this place.  Grass was growing\nin the streets, and misery and distress stared me in the face on every\nside.  Ferrol is the grand naval arsenal of Spain, and has shared in the\nruin of the once splendid Spanish navy: it is no longer thronged with\nthose thousand shipwrights who prepared for sea the tremendous\nthree-deckers and long frigates, the greater part of which were destroyed\nat Trafalgar.  Only a few ill-paid and half-starved workmen still linger\nabout, scarcely sufficient to repair any guarda costa which may put in\ndismantled by the fire of some English smuggling schooner from Gibraltar.\nHalf the inhabitants of Ferrol beg their bread; and amongst these, as it\nis said, are not unfrequently found retired naval officers, many of them\nmaimed or otherwise wounded, who are left to pine in indigence; their\npensions or salaries having been allowed to run three or four years in\narrear, owing to the exigencies of the times.  A crowd of importunate\nbeggars followed me to the posada, and even attempted to penetrate to the\napartment to which I was conducted.  \u201cWho are you?\u201d said I to a woman who\nflung herself at my feet, and who bore in her countenance evident marks\nof former gentility.  \u201cA widow, sir,\u201d she replied, in very good French;\n\u201ca widow of a brave officer, once admiral of this port.\u201d  The misery and\ndegradation of modern Spain are nowhere so strikingly manifested as at\nFerrol.\n\nYet even here there is still much to admire.  Notwithstanding its present\nstate of desolation, it contains some good streets, and abounds with\nhandsome houses.  The alameda is planted with nearly a thousand elms, of\nwhich almost all are magnificent trees, and the poor Ferrolese, with the\ngenuine spirit of localism so prevalent in Spain, boast that their town\ncontains a better public walk than Madrid, of whose prado, when they\ncompare the two, they speak in terms of unmitigated contempt.  At one end\nof this alameda stands the church, the only one in Ferrol.  To this\nchurch I repaired the day after my arrival, which was Sunday.  I found it\nquite insufficient to contain the number of worshippers who, chiefly from\nthe country, not only crowded the interior, but, bare-headed, were upon\ntheir knees before the door to a considerable distance down the walk.\n\nParallel with the alameda extends the wall of the naval arsenal and dock.\nI spent several hours in walking about these places, to visit which it is\nnecessary to procure a written permission from the captain-general of\nFerrol.  They filled me with astonishment.  I have seen the royal\ndockyards of Russia and England, but for grandeur of design and\ncostliness of execution, they cannot for a moment compare with these\nwonderful monuments of the bygone naval pomp of Spain.  I shall not\nattempt to describe them, but content myself with observing, that the\noblong basin, which is surrounded with a granite mole, is capacious\nenough to permit a hundred first-rates to lie conveniently in ordinary:\nbut instead of such a force, I saw only a sixty-gun frigate and two brigs\nlying in this basin, and to this inconsiderable number of vessels is the\npresent war marine of Spain reduced.\n\nI waited for the arrival of Antonio two or three days at Ferrol, and\nstill he came not: late one evening, however, as I was looking down the\nstreet, I perceived him advancing, leading our only horse by the bridle.\nHe informed me that, at about three leagues from Coru\u00f1a, the heat of the\nweather and the flies had so distressed the animal that it had fallen\ndown in a kind of fit, from which it had been only relieved by copious\nbleeding, on which account he had been compelled to halt for a day upon\nthe road.  The horse was evidently in a very feeble state; and had a\nstrange rattling in its throat, which alarmed me at first.  I however\nadministered some remedies, and in a few days deemed him sufficiently\nrecovered to proceed.\n\nWe accordingly started from Ferrol; having first hired a pony for myself,\nand a guide who was to attend us as far as Rivadeo, twenty leagues from\nFerrol, and on the confines of the Asturias.  The day at first was fine,\nbut ere we reached Novales, a distance of three leagues, the sky became\novercast, and a mist descended, accompanied by a drizzling rain.  The\ncountry through which we passed was very picturesque.  At about two in\nthe afternoon we could descry through the mist the small fishing town of\nSanta Marta on our left, with its beautiful bay.  Travelling along the\nsummit of a line of hills, we presently entered a chestnut forest, which\nappeared to be without limit: the rain still descended, and kept up a\nceaseless pattering among the broad green leaves.  \u201cThis is the\ncommencement of the autumnal rains,\u201d said the guide.  \u201cMany is the\nwetting that you will get, my masters, before you reach Oviedo.\u201d  \u201cHave\nyou ever been as far as Oviedo?\u201d I demanded.  \u201cNo,\u201d he replied, \u201cand once\nonly to Rivadeo, the place to which I am now conducting you, and I tell\nyou frankly that we shall soon be in wildernesses where the way is hard\nto find, especially at night, and amidst rain and waters.  I wish I were\nfairly back to Ferrol, for I like not this route, which is the worst in\nGalicia, in more respects than one; but where my master\u2019s pony goes,\nthere must I go too; such is the life of us guides.\u201d  I shrugged my\nshoulders at this intelligence, which was by no means cheering, but made\nno answer.  At length, about nightfall, we emerged from the forest, and\npresently descended into a deep valley at the foot of lofty hills.\n\n\u201cWhere are we now?\u201d I demanded of the guide, as we crossed a rude bridge\nat the bottom of the valley, down which a rivulet swollen by the rain\nfoamed and roared.  \u201cIn the valley of Coisa doiro,\u201d he replied; \u201cand it\nis my advice that we stay here for the night, and do not venture among\nthose hills, through which lies the path to Viveiro; for as soon as we\nget there, adios!  I shall be bewildered, which will prove the\ndestruction of us all.\u201d  \u201cIs there a village nigh?\u201d  \u201cYes, the village is\nright before us, and we shall be there in a moment.\u201d  We soon reached the\nvillage, which stood amongst some tall trees at the entrance of a pass\nwhich led up amongst the hills.  Antonio dismounted and entered two or\nthree of the cabins, but presently came to me, saying, \u201cWe cannot stay\nhere, mon ma\u00eetre, without being devoured by vermin; we had better be\namongst the hills than in this place; there is neither fire nor light in\nthese cabins, and the rain is streaming through the roofs.\u201d  The guide,\nhowever, refused to proceed: \u201cI could scarcely find my way amongst those\nhills by daylight,\u201d he cried, surlily, \u201cmuch less at night, midst storm\nand bretima.\u201d  We procured some wine and maize bread from one of the\ncottages.  Whilst we were partaking of these, Antonio said, \u201cMon ma\u00eetre,\nthe best thing we can do in our present situation, is to hire some fellow\nof this village to conduct us through the hills to Viveiro.  There are no\nbeds in this place, and if we lie down in the litter in our damp clothes\nwe shall catch a tertian of Galicia.  Our present guide is of no service,\nwe must therefore find another to do his duty.\u201d  Without waiting for a\nreply, he flung down the crust of broa which he was munching and\ndisappeared.  I subsequently learned that he went to the cottage of the\nalcalde, and demanded, in the Queen\u2019s name, a guide for the Greek\nambassador, who was benighted on his way to the Asturias.  In about ten\nminutes I again saw him, attended by the local functionary, who, to my\nsurprise, made me a profound bow, and stood bare-headed in the rain.\n\u201cHis excellency,\u201d shouted Antonio, \u201cis in need of a guide to Viveiro.\nPeople of our description are not compelled to pay for any service which\nthey may require; however, as his excellency has bowels of compassion, he\nis willing to give three pesetas to any competent person who will\naccompany him to Viveiro, and as much bread and wine as he can eat and\ndrink on his arrival.\u201d  \u201cHis excellency shall be served,\u201d said the\nalcalde; \u201chowever, as the way is long and the path is bad, and there is\nmuch bretima amongst the hills, it appears to me that, besides the bread\nand wine, his excellency can do no less than offer four pesetas to the\nguide who may be willing to accompany him to Viveiro; and I know no one\nbetter than my own son-in-law, Juanito.\u201d  \u201cContent, se\u00f1or alcalde,\u201d I\nreplied; \u201cproduce the guide, and the extra peseta shall be forthcoming in\ndue season.\u201d\n\nSoon appeared Juanito with a lantern in his hand.  We instantly set\nforward.  The two guides began conversing in Gallegan.  \u201cMon ma\u00eetre,\u201d\nsaid Antonio, \u201cthis new scoundrel is asking the old one what he thinks we\nhave got in our portmanteaus.\u201d  Then, without awaiting my answer, he\nshouted, \u201cPistols, ye barbarians!  Pistols, as ye shall learn to your\ncost, if you do not cease speaking in that gibberish and converse in\nCastilian.\u201d  The Gallegans were silent, and presently the first guide\ndropped behind, whilst the other with the lantern moved before.  \u201cKeep in\nthe rear,\u201d said Antonio to the former, \u201cand at a distance: know one thing\nmoreover, that I can see behind as well as before.  Mon ma\u00eetre,\u201d said he\nto me, \u201cI don\u2019t suppose these fellows will attempt to do us any harm,\nmore especially as they do not know each other; it is well, however, to\nseparate them, for this is a time and place which might tempt any one to\ncommit robbery and murder too.\u201d\n\nThe rain still continued to fall uninterruptedly, the path was rugged and\nprecipitous, and the night was so dark that we could only see\nindistinctly the hills which surrounded us.  Once or twice our guide\nseemed to have lost his way: he stopped, muttered to himself, raised his\nlantern on high, and would then walk slowly and hesitatingly forward.  In\nthis manner we proceeded for three or four hours, when I asked the guide\nhow far we were from Viveiro.  \u201cI do not know exactly where we are, your\nworship,\u201d he replied, \u201cthough I believe we are in the route.  We can\nscarcely, however, be less than two mad leagues from Viveiro.\u201d  \u201cThen we\nshall not arrive there before morning,\u201d interrupted Antonio, \u201cfor a mad\nleague of Galicia means at least two of Castile; and perhaps we are\ndoomed never to arrive there, if the way thither leads down this\nprecipice.\u201d  As he spoke, the guide seemed to descend into the bowels of\nthe earth.  \u201cStop,\u201d said I, \u201cwhere are you going?\u201d  \u201cTo Viveiro, Senhor,\u201d\nreplied the fellow; \u201cthis is the way to Viveiro, there is no other; I now\nknow where we are.\u201d  The light of the lantern shone upon the dark red\nfeatures of the guide, who had turned round to reply, as he stood some\nyards down the side of a dingle or ravine overgrown with thick trees,\nbeneath whose leafy branches a frightfully steep path descended.  I\ndismounted from the pony, and delivering the bridle to the other guide,\nsaid, \u201cHere is your master\u2019s horse, if you please you may lead him down\nthat abyss, but as for myself I wash my hands of the matter.\u201d  The\nfellow, without a word of reply, vaulted into the saddle, and with _a\nvamos_, _Perico_! to the pony, impelled the creature to the descent.\n\u201cCome, Senhor,\u201d said he with the lantern, \u201cthere is no time to be lost,\nmy light will be presently extinguished, and this is the worst bit in the\nwhole road.\u201d  I thought it very probable that he was about to lead us to\nsome den of cut-throats, where we might be sacrificed; but taking\ncourage, I seized our own horse by the bridle, and followed the fellow\ndown the ravine amidst rocks and brambles.  The descent lasted nearly ten\nminutes, and ere we had entirely accomplished it, the light in the\nlantern went out, and we remained in nearly total darkness.\n\nEncouraged, however, by the guide, who assured us there was no danger, we\nat length reached the bottom of the ravine; here we encountered a rill of\nwater, through which we were compelled to wade as high as the knee.  In\nthe midst of the water I looked up and caught a glimpse of the heavens\nthrough the branches of the trees, which all around clothed the shelving\nsides of the ravine and completely embowered the channel of the stream:\nto a place more strange and replete with gloom and horror no benighted\ntraveller ever found his way.  After a short pause we commenced scaling\nthe opposite bank, which we did not find so steep as the other, and a few\nminutes\u2019 exertion brought us to the top.\n\nShortly afterwards the rain abated, and the moon arising cast a dim light\nthrough the watery mists; the way had become less precipitous, and in\nabout two hours we descended to the shore of an extensive creek, along\nwhich we proceeded till we reached a spot where many boats and barges lay\nwith their keels upward upon the sand.  Presently we beheld before us the\nwalls of Viveiro, upon which the moon was shedding its sickly lustre.  We\nentered by a lofty and seemingly ruinous archway, and the guide conducted\nus at once to the posada.\n\nEvery person in Viveiro appeared to be buried in profound slumber; not so\nmuch as a dog saluted us with his bark.  After much knocking we were\nadmitted into the posada, a large and dilapidated edifice.  We had\nscarcely housed ourselves and horses when the rain began to fall with yet\nmore violence than before, attended with much thunder and lightning.\nAntonio and I, exhausted with fatigue, betook ourselves to flock beds in\na ruinous chamber, into which the rain penetrated through many a cranny,\nwhilst the guides ate bread and drank wine till the morning.\n\nWhen I arose I was gladdened by the sight of a fine day.  Antonio\nforthwith prepared a savoury breakfast of stewed fowl, of which we stood\nin much need after the ten league journey of the preceding day over the\nways which I have attempted to describe.  I then walked out to view the\ntown, which consists of little more than one long street, on the side of\na steep mountain thickly clad with forests and fruit trees.  At about ten\nwe continued our journey, accompanied by our first guide, the other\nhaving returned to Coisa doiro some hours previously.\n\nOur route throughout this day was almost constantly within sight of the\nshores of the Cantabrian sea, whose windings we followed.  The country\nwas barren, and in many parts covered with huge stones: cultivated spots,\nhowever, were to be seen, where vines were growing.  We met with but few\nhuman habitations.  We however journeyed on cheerfully, for the sun was\nonce more shining in full brightness, gilding the wild moors, and shining\nupon the waters of the distant sea, which lay in unruffled calmness.\n\nAt evening fall we were in the neighbourhood of the shore, with a range\nof wood-covered hills on our right.  Our guide led us towards a creek\nbordered by a marsh, but he soon stopped and declared that he did not\nknow whither he was conducting us.\n\n\u201cMon ma\u00eetre,\u201d said Antonio, \u201clet us be our own guides; it is, as you see,\nof no use to depend upon this fellow, whose whole science consists in\nleading people into quagmires.\u201d\n\nWe therefore turned aside and proceeded along the marsh for a\nconsiderable distance, till we reached a narrow path which led us into a\nthick wood, where we soon became completely bewildered.  On a sudden,\nafter wandering about a considerable time, we heard the noise of water,\nand presently the clack of a wheel.  Following the sound, we arrived at a\nlow stone mill, built over a brook; here we stopped and shouted, but no\nanswer was returned.  \u201cThe place is deserted,\u201d said Antonio; \u201chere,\nhowever, is a path, which, if we follow it, will doubtless lead us to\nsome human habitation.\u201d  So we went along the path, which, in about ten\nminutes, brought us to the door of a cabin, in which we saw lights.\nAntonio dismounted and opened the door: \u201cIs there any one here who can\nconduct us to Rivadeo?\u201d he demanded.\n\n\u201cSenhor,\u201d answered a voice, \u201cRivadeo is more than five leagues from here,\nand, moreover, there is a river to cross!\u201d\n\n\u201cThen to the next village,\u201d continued Antonio.\n\n\u201cI am a vecino of the next village, which is on the way to Rivadeo,\u201d said\nanother voice, \u201cand I will lead you thither, if you will give me fair\nwords, and, what is better, fair money.\u201d\n\nA man now came forth, holding in his hand a large stick.  He strode\nsturdily before us, and in less than half an hour led us out of the wood.\nIn another half hour he brought us to a group of cabins situated near the\nsea; he pointed to one of these, and having received a peseta, bade us\nfarewell.\n\nThe people of the cottage willingly consented to receive us for the\nnight: it was much more cleanly and commodious than the wretched huts of\nthe Gallegan peasantry in general.  The ground floor consisted of a\nkeeping room and stable, whilst above was a long loft, in which were some\nneat and comfortable flock beds.  I observed several masts and sails of\nboats.  The family consisted of two brothers with their wives and\nfamilies; one was a fisherman, but the other, who appeared to be the\nprincipal person, informed me that he had resided for many years in\nservice at Madrid, and having amassed a small sum, he had at length\nreturned to his native village, where he had purchased some land which he\nfarmed.  All the family used the Castilian language in their common\ndiscourse, and on inquiry I learned that the Gallegan was not much spoken\nin that neighbourhood.  I have forgotten the name of this village, which\nis situated on the estuary of the Foz, which rolls down from Mondonedo.\nIn the morning we crossed this estuary in a large boat with our horses,\nand about noon arrived at Rivadeo.\n\n\u201cNow, your worship,\u201d said the guide who had accompanied us from Ferrol,\n\u201cI have brought you as far as I bargained, and a hard journey it has\nbeen; I therefore hope you will suffer Perico and myself to remain here\nto-night at your expense, and to-morrow we will go back; at present we\nare both sorely tired.\u201d\n\n\u201cI never mounted a better pony than Perico,\u201d said I, \u201cand never met with\na worse guide than yourself.  You appear to be perfectly ignorant of the\ncountry, and have done nothing but bring us into difficulties.  You may,\nhowever, stay here for the night, as you say you are tired, and to-morrow\nyou may return to Ferrol, where I counsel you to adopt some other trade.\u201d\nThis was said at the door of the posada of Rivadeo.\n\n\u201cShall I lead the horses to a stable?\u201d said the fellow.\n\n\u201cAs you please,\u201d said I.\n\nAntonio looked after him for a moment, as he was leading the animals\naway, and then shaking his head followed slowly after.  In about a\nquarter of an hour he returned, laden with the furniture of our own\nhorse, and with a smile upon his countenance: \u201cMon ma\u00eetre,\u201d said he, \u201cI\nhave throughout the journey had a bad opinion of this fellow, and now I\nhave detected him: his motive in requesting permission to stay, was a\ndesire to purloin something from us.  He was very officious in the stable\nabout our horse, and I now miss the new leathern girth which secured the\nsaddle, and which I observed him looking at frequently on the road.  He\nhas by this time doubtless hid it somewhere; we are quite secure of him,\nhowever, for he has not yet received the hire for the pony, nor the\ngratuity for himself.\u201d\n\nThe guide returned just as he had concluded speaking.  Dishonesty is\nalways suspicious.  The fellow cast a glance upon us, and probably\nbeholding in our countenances something which he did not like, he\nsuddenly said, \u201cGive me the horse-hire and my own propina, for Perico and\nI wish to be off instantly.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow is this?\u201d said I; \u201cI thought you and Perico were both fatigued, and\nwished to rest here for the night; you have soon recovered from your\nweariness.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have thought over the matter,\u201d said the fellow, \u201cand my master will be\nangry if I loiter here: pay us, therefore, and let us go.\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly,\u201d said I, \u201cif you wish it.  Is the horse furniture all right?\u201d\n\n\u201cQuite so,\u201d said he; \u201cI delivered it all to your servant.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is all here,\u201d said Antonio, \u201cwith the exception of the leathern\ngirth.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have not got it,\u201d said the guide.\n\n\u201cOf course not,\u201d said I.  \u201cLet us proceed to the stable, we shall perhaps\nfind it there.\u201d\n\nTo the stable we went, which we searched through: no girth, however, was\nforthcoming.  \u201cHe has got it buckled round his middle beneath his\npantaloons, mon ma\u00eetre,\u201d said Antonio, whose eyes were moving about like\nthose of a lynx; \u201cI saw the protuberance as he stooped down.  However,\nlet us take no notice: he is here surrounded by his countrymen, who, if\nwe were to seize him, might perhaps take his part.  As I said before, he\nis in our power, as we have not paid him.\u201d\n\nThe fellow now began to talk in Gallegan to the by-standers (several\npersons having collected), wishing the Denho to take him if he knew\nanything of the missing property.  Nobody, however, seemed inclined to\ntake his part; and those who listened, only shrugged their shoulders.  We\nreturned to the portal of the posada, the fellow following us, clamouring\nfor the horse-hire and propina.  We made him no answer, and at length he\nwent away, threatening to apply to the justicia; in about ten minutes,\nhowever, he came running back with the girth in his hand: \u201cI have just\nfound it,\u201d said he, \u201cin the street: your servant dropped it.\u201d\n\nI took the leather and proceeded very deliberately to count out the sum\nto which the horse-hire amounted, and having delivered it to him in the\npresence of witnesses, I said, \u201cDuring the whole journey you have been of\nno service to us whatever; nevertheless, you have fared like ourselves,\nand have had all you could desire to eat and drink.  I intended, on your\nleaving us, to present you, moreover, with a propina of two dollars; but\nsince, notwithstanding our kind treatment, you endeavoured to pillage us,\nI will not give you a cuarto: go, therefore, about your business.\u201d\n\nAll the audience expressed their satisfaction at this sentence, and told\nhim that he had been rightly served, and that he was a disgrace to\nGalicia.  Two or three women crossed themselves, and asked him if he was\nnot afraid that the Denho, whom he had invoked, would take him away.  At\nlast, a respectable-looking man said to him: \u201cAre you not ashamed to have\nattempted to rob two innocent strangers?\u201d\n\n\u201cStrangers!\u201d roared the fellow, who was by this time foaming with rage;\n\u201cInnocent strangers, carracho! they know more of Spain and Galicia too\nthan the whole of us.  Oh, Denho, that servant is no man but a wizard, a\nnuveiro.\u2014Where is Perico?\u201d\n\nHe mounted Perico, and proceeded forthwith to another posada.  The tale,\nhowever, of his dishonesty had gone before him, and no person would house\nhim; whereupon he returned on his steps, and seeing me looking out of the\nwindow of the house, he gave a savage shout, and shaking his fist at me,\ngalloped out of the town, the people pursuing him with hootings and\nrevilings.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII\n\n\nMartin of Rivadeo\u2014The Factious Mare\u2014Asturians\u2014Luarca\u2014The Seven\nBellotas\u2014Hermits\u2014The Asturian\u2019s Tale\u2014Strange Guests\u2014The Big\nServant\u2014Batuschca.\n\n\u201cWhat may your business be?\u201d said I to a short, thick, merry-faced fellow\nin a velveteen jerkin and canvas pantaloons, who made his way into my\napartment, in the dusk of the evening.\n\n\u201cI am Martin of Rivadeo, your worship,\u201d replied the man, \u201can alquilador\nby profession; I am told that you want a horse for your journey into the\nAsturias to-morrow, and of course a guide: now, if that be the case, I\ncounsel you to hire myself and mare.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am become tired of guides,\u201d I replied; \u201cso much so that I was thinking\nof purchasing a pony, and proceeding without any guide at all.  The last\nwhich we had was an infamous character.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo I have been told, your worship, and it was well for the bribon that I\nwas not in Rivadeo when the affair to which you allude occurred.  But he\nwas gone with the pony Perico before I came back, or I would have bled\nthe fellow to a certainty with my knife.  He is a disgrace to the\nprofession, which is one of the most honourable and ancient in the world.\nPerico himself must have been ashamed of him, for Perico, though a pony,\nis a gentleman, one of many capacities, and well known upon the roads.\nHe is only inferior to my mare.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre you well acquainted with the road to Oviedo?\u201d I demanded.\n\n\u201cI am not, your worship; that is, no farther than Luarca, which is the\nfirst day\u2019s journey.  I do not wish to deceive you, therefore let me go\nwith you no farther than that place; though perhaps I might serve for the\nwhole journey, for though I am unacquainted with the country, I have a\ntongue in my head, and nimble feet to run and ask questions.  I will,\nhowever, answer for myself no farther than Luarca, where you can please\nyourselves.  Your being strangers is what makes me wish to accompany you,\nfor I like the conversation of strangers, from whom I am sure to gain\ninformation both entertaining and profitable.  I wish, moreover, to\nconvince you that we guides of Galicia are not all thieves, which I am\nsure you will not suppose if you only permit me to accompany you as far\nas Luarca.\u201d\n\nI was so much struck with the fellow\u2019s good humour and frankness, and\nmore especially by the originality of character displayed in almost every\nsentence which he uttered, that I readily engaged him to guide us to\nLuarca; whereupon he left me, promising to be ready with his mare at\neight next morning.\n\nRivadeo is one of the principal seaports of Galicia, and is admirably\nsituated for commerce, on a deep firth, into which the river Mirando\ndebouches.  It contains many magnificent buildings, and an extensive\nsquare or plaza, which is planted with trees.  I observed several vessels\nin the harbour; and the population, which is rather numerous, exhibited\nnone of those marks of misery and dejection which I had lately observed\namong the Ferrolese.\n\nOn the morrow Martin of Rivadeo made his appearance at the appointed hour\nwith his mare.  It was a lean haggard animal, not much larger than a\npony; it had good points, however, and was very clean in its hinder legs,\nand Martin insisted that it was the best animal of its kind in all Spain.\n\u201cIt is a factious mare,\u201d said he, \u201cand I believe an Alavese.  When the\nCarlists came here it fell lame, and they left it behind, and I purchased\nit for a dollar.  It is not lame now, however, as you shall soon see.\u201d\n\nWe had now reached the firth which divides Galicia from the Asturias.  A\nkind of barge was lying about two yards from the side of the quay,\nwaiting to take us over.  Towards this Martin led his mare, and giving an\nencouraging shout, the creature without any hesitation sprang over the\nintervening space into the barge.  \u201cI told you she was a facciosa,\u201d said\nMartin; \u201cnone but a factious animal would have taken such a leap.\u201d\n\nWe all embarked in the barge and crossed over the firth, which is in this\nplace nearly a mile broad, to Castro Pol, the first town in the Asturias.\nI now mounted the factious mare, whilst Antonio followed on my own horse.\nMartin led the way, exchanging jests with every person whom he met on the\nroad, and occasionally enlivening the way with an extemporaneous song.\n\nWe were now in the Asturias, and about noon we reached Navias, a small\nfishing town, situate on a ria or firth; in the neighbourhood are ragged\nmountains, called the Sierra de Buron, which stand in the shape of a\nsemi-circle.  We saw a small vessel in the harbour, which we subsequently\nlearned was from the Basque provinces, come for a cargo of cider or\nsagadua, the beverage so dearly loved by the Basques.  As we passed along\nthe narrow street, Antonio was hailed with an \u201cOla\u201d from a species of\nshop in which three men, apparently shoemakers, were seated.  He stopped\nfor some time to converse with them, and when he joined us at the posada\nwhere we halted, I asked him who they were: \u201cMon ma\u00eetre,\u201d said he, \u201c_ce\nsont des messieurs de ma connoissance_.  I have been fellow servant at\ndifferent times with all three; and I tell you beforehand, that we shall\nscarcely pass through a village in this country where I shall not find an\nacquaintance.  All the Asturians, at some period of their lives, make a\njourney to Madrid, where, if they can obtain a situation, they remain\nuntil they have scraped up sufficient to turn to advantage in their own\ncountry; and as I have served in all the great houses in Madrid, I am\nacquainted with the greatest part of them.  I have nothing to say against\nthe Asturians, save that they are close and penurious whilst at service;\nbut they are not thieves, neither at home nor abroad, and though we must\nhave our wits about us in their country, I have heard we may travel from\none end of it to the other without the slightest fear of being either\nrobbed or ill treated, which is not the case in Galicia, where we were\nalways in danger of having our throats cut.\u201d\n\nLeaving Navias, we proceeded through a wild desolate country, till we\nreached the pass of Baralla, which lies up the side of a huge wall of\nrocks, which at a distance appear of a light green colour, though\nperfectly bare of herbage or plants of any description.\n\n\u201cThis pass,\u201d said Martin of Rivadeo, \u201cbears a very evil reputation, and I\nshould not like to travel it after sunset.  It is not infested by\nrobbers, but by things much worse, the duendes of two friars of Saint\nFrancis.  It is said that in the old time, long before the convents were\nsuppressed, two friars of the order of Saint Francis left their convent\nto beg; it chanced that they were very successful, but as they were\nreturning at nightfall, by this pass, they had a quarrel about what they\nhad collected, each insisting that he had done his duty better than the\nother; at last, from high words they fell to abuse, and from abuse to\nblows.  What do you think these demons of friars did?  They took off\ntheir cloaks, and at the end of each they made a knot, in which they\nplaced a large stone, and with these they thrashed and belaboured each\nother till both fell dead.  Master, I know not which are the worst\nplagues, friars, curates, or sparrows:\n\n    \u201cMay the Lord God preserve us from evil birds three:\n    From all friars and curates and sparrows that be;\n    For the sparrows eat up all the corn that we sow,\n    The friars drink down all the wine that we grow,\n    Whilst the curates have all the fair dames at their nod:\n    From these three evil curses preserve us, Lord God.\u201d\n\nIn about two hours from this time we reached Luarca, the situation of\nwhich is most singular.  It stands in a deep hollow, whose sides are so\nprecipitous that it is impossible to descry the town until you stand just\nabove it.  At the northern extremity of this hollow is a small harbour,\nthe sea entering it by a narrow cleft.  We found a large and comfortable\nposada, and by the advice of Martin, made inquiry for a fresh guide and\nhorse; we were informed, however, that all the horses of the place were\nabsent, and that if we waited for their return, we must tarry for two\ndays.  \u201cI had a presentiment,\u201d said Martin, \u201cwhen we entered Luarca, that\nwe were not doomed to part at present.  You must now hire my mare and me\nas far as Giyon, from whence there is a conveyance to Oviedo.  To tell\nyou the truth, I am by no means sorry that the guides are absent, for I\nam pleased with your company, as I make no doubt you are with mine.  I\nwill now go and write a letter to my wife at Rivadeo, informing her that\nshe must not expect to see me back for several days.\u201d  He then went out\nof the room singing the following stanza:\n\n    \u201cA handless man a letter did write,\n    A dumb dictated it word for word:\n    The person who read it had lost his sight,\n    And deaf was he who listened and heard.\u201d\n\nEarly the next morning we emerged from the hollow of Luarca; about an\nhour\u2019s riding brought us to Caneiro, a deep and romantic valley of rocks,\nshaded by tall chestnut trees.  Through the midst of this valley rushes a\nrapid stream, which we crossed in a boat.  \u201cThere is not such a stream\nfor trout in all the Asturias,\u201d said the ferryman; \u201clook down into the\nwaters and observe the large stones over which it flows; now in the\nproper season and in fine weather, you cannot see those stones for the\nmultitude of fish which cover them.\u201d\n\nLeaving the valley behind us, we entered into a wild and dreary country,\nstony and mountainous.  The day was dull and gloomy, and all around\nlooked sad and melancholy.  \u201cAre we in the way for Giyon and Oviedo?\u201d\ndemanded Martin of an ancient female, who stood at the door of a cottage.\n\n\u201cFor Giyon and Oviedo!\u201d replied the crone; \u201cmany is the weary step you\nwill have to make before you reach Giyon and Oviedo.  You must first of\nall crack the bellotas: you are just below them.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat does she mean by cracking the bellotas?\u201d demanded I of Martin of\nRivadeo.\n\n\u201cDid your worship never hear of the seven bellotas?\u201d replied our guide.\n\u201cI can scarcely tell you what they are, as I have never seen them; I\nbelieve they are seven hills which we have to cross, and are called\nbellotas from some resemblance to acorns which it is fancied they bear.\nI have often heard of these acorns, and am not sorry that I have now an\nopportunity of seeing them, though it is said that they are rather hard\nthings for horses to digest.\u201d\n\nThe Asturian mountains in this part rise to a considerable altitude.\nThey consist for the most part of dark granite, covered here and there\nwith a thin layer of earth.  They approach very near to the sea, to which\nthey slope down in broken ridges, between which are deep and precipitous\ndefiles, each with its rivulet, the tribute of the hills to the salt\nflood.  The road traverses these defiles.  There are seven of them, which\nare called, in the language of the country, _Las siete bellotas_.  Of all\nthese, the most terrible is the midmost, down which rolls an impetuous\ntorrent.  At the upper end of it rises a precipitous wall of rock, black\nas soot, to the height of several hundred yards; its top, as we passed,\nwas enveloped with a veil of bretima.  From this gorge branch off, on\neither side, small dingles or glens, some of them so overgrown with trees\nand copse-wood, that the eye is unable to penetrate the obscurity beyond\na few yards.\n\n\u201cFine places would some of these dingles prove for hermitages,\u201d said I to\nMartin of Rivadeo.  \u201cHoly men might lead a happy life there on roots and\nwater, and pass many years absorbed in heavenly contemplation, without\never being disturbed by the noise and turmoil of the world.\u201d\n\n\u201cTrue, your worship,\u201d replied Martin; \u201cand perhaps on that very account\nthere are no hermitages in the barrancos of the seven bellotas.  Our\nhermits had little inclination for roots and water, and had no kind of\nobjection to be occasionally disturbed in their meditations.  Vaya! I\nnever yet saw a hermitage that was not hard by some rich town or village,\nor was not a regular resort for all the idle people in the neighbourhood.\nHermits are not fond of living in dingles, amongst wolves and foxes; for\nhow in that case could they dispose of their poultry?  A hermit of my\nacquaintance left, when he died, a fortune of seven hundred dollars to\nhis niece, the greatest part of which he scraped up by fattening\nturkeys.\u201d\n\nAt the top of this bellota we found a wretched venta, where we refreshed\nourselves, and then continued our journey.  Late in the afternoon we\ncleared the last of these difficult passes.  The wind began now to rise,\nbearing on its wings a drizzling rain.  We passed by Soto Luino, and\nshaping our course through a wild but picturesque country, we found\nourselves about nightfall at the foot of a steep hill, up which led a\nnarrow bridle-way, amidst a grove of lofty trees.  Long before we had\nreached the top it had become quite dark, and the rain had increased\nconsiderably.  We stumbled along in the obscurity, leading our horses,\nwhich were occasionally down on their knees, owing to the slipperiness of\nthe path.  At last we accomplished the ascent in safety, and pushing\nbriskly forward, we found ourselves, in about half an hour, at the\nentrance of Muros, a large village situated just on the declivity of the\nfarther side of the hill.\n\nA blazing fire in the posada soon dried our wet garments, and in some\ndegree recompensed us for the fatigues which we had undergone in\nscrambling up the bellotas.  A rather singular place was this same posada\nof Muros.  It was a large rambling house, with a spacious kitchen, or\ncommon room, on the ground floor.  Above stairs was a large\ndining-apartment, with an immense oak table, and furnished with cumbrous\nleathern chairs with high backs, apparently three centuries old at least.\nCommunicating with this apartment was a wooden gallery, open to the air,\nwhich led to a small chamber, in which I was destined to sleep, and which\ncontained an old-fashioned tester-bed with curtains.  It was just one of\nthose inns which romance writers are so fond of introducing in their\ndescriptions, especially when the scene of adventure lies in Spain.  The\nhost was a talkative Asturian.\n\nThe wind still howled, and the rain descended in torrents.  I sat before\nthe fire in a very drowsy state, from which I was presently aroused by\nthe conversation of the host.  \u201cSe\u00f1or,\u201d said he, \u201cit is now three years\nsince I beheld foreigners in my house.  I remember it was about this time\nof the year, and just such a night as this, that two men on horseback\narrived here.  What was singular, they came without any guide.  Two more\nstrange-looking individuals I never yet beheld with eye-sight.  I shall\nnever forget them.  The one was as tall as a giant, with much tawny\nmoustache, like the coat of a badger, growing about his mouth.  He had a\nhuge ruddy face, and looked dull and stupid, as he no doubt was, for when\nI spoke to him, he did not seem to understand, and answered in a jabber,\nvalgame Dios! so wild and strange, that I remained staring at him with\nmouth and eyes open.  The other was neither tall nor red-faced, nor had\nhe hair about his mouth, and, indeed, he had very little upon his head.\nHe was very diminutive, and looked like a jorobado (_hunchback_); but,\nvalgame Dios! such eyes, like wild cats\u2019, so sharp and full of malice.\nHe spoke as good Spanish as I myself do, and yet he was no Spaniard.  A\nSpaniard never looked like that man.  He was dressed in a zamarra, with\nmuch silver and embroidery, and wore an Andalusian hat, and I soon found\nthat he was master, and that the other was servant.\n\n\u201cValgame Dios! what an evil disposition had that same foreign jorobado,\nand yet he had much grace, much humour, and said occasionally to me such\ncomical things, that I was fit to die of laughter.  So he sat down to\nsupper in the room above, and I may as well tell you here, that he slept\nin the same chamber where your worship will sleep to-night, and his\nservant waited behind his chair.  Well, I had curiosity, so I sat myself\ndown at the table too, without asking leave.  Why should I?  I was in my\nown house, and an Asturian is fit company for a king, and is often of\nbetter blood.  Oh, what a strange supper was that.  If the servant made\nthe slightest mistake in helping him, up would start the jorobado, jump\nupon his chair, and seizing the big giant by the hair, would cuff him on\nboth sides of the face, till I was afraid his teeth would have fallen\nout.  The giant, however, did not seem to care about it much.  He was\nused to it, I suppose.  Valgame Dios! if he had been a Spaniard, he would\nnot have submitted to it so patiently.  But what surprised me most was,\nthat after beating his servant, the master would sit down, and the next\nmoment would begin conversing and laughing with him as if nothing had\nhappened, and the giant also would laugh and converse with his master,\nfor all the world as if he had not been beaten.\n\n\u201cYou may well suppose, Se\u00f1or, that I understood nothing of their\ndiscourse, for it was all in that strange unchristian tongue in which the\ngiant answered me when I spoke to him; the sound of it is still ringing\nin my ears.  It was nothing like other languages.  Not like Bascuen, not\nlike the language in which your worship speaks to my namesake Signor\nAntonio here.  Valgame Dios!  I can compare it to nothing but the sound a\nperson makes when he rinses his mouth with water.  There is one word\nwhich I think I still remember, for it was continually proceeding from\nthe giant\u2019s lips, but his master never used it.\n\n\u201cBut the strangest part of the story is yet to be told.  The supper was\nended, and the night was rather advanced, the rain still beat against the\nwindows, even as it does at this moment.  Suddenly the jorobado pulled\nout his watch.  Valgame Dios! such a watch!  I will tell you one thing,\nSe\u00f1or, that I could purchase all the Asturias, and Muros besides, with\nthe brilliants which shone about the sides of that same watch: the room\nwanted no lamp, I trow, so great was the splendour which they cast.  So\nthe jorobado looked at his watch, and then said to me, I shall go to\nrest.  He then took the lamp and went through the gallery to his room,\nfollowed by his big servant.  Well, Se\u00f1or, I cleared away the things, and\nthen waited below for the servant, for whom I had prepared a comfortable\nbed, close by my own.  Se\u00f1or, I waited patiently for an hour, till at\nlast my patience was exhausted, and I ascended to the supper apartment,\nand passed through the gallery till I came to the door of the strange\nguest.  Se\u00f1or, what do you think I saw at the door?\u201d\n\n\u201cHow should I know?\u201d I replied.  \u201cHis riding boots perhaps.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, Se\u00f1or, I did not see his riding boots; but, stretched on the floor\nwith his head against the door, so that it was impossible to open it\nwithout disturbing him, lay the big servant fast asleep, his immense legs\nreaching nearly the whole length of the gallery.  I crossed myself, as\nwell I might, for the wind was howling even as it is now, and the rain\nwas rushing down into the gallery in torrents; yet there lay the big\nservant fast asleep, without any covering, without any pillow, not even a\nlog, stretched out before his master\u2019s door.\n\n\u201cSe\u00f1or, I got little rest that night, for I said to myself, I have evil\nwizards in my house, folks who are not human.  Once or twice I went up\nand peeped into the gallery, but there still lay the big servant fast\nasleep, so I crossed myself and returned to my bed again.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said I, \u201cand what occurred next day?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing particular occurred next day: the jorobado came down and said\ncomical things to me in good Spanish, and the big servant came down, but\nwhatever he said, and he did not say much, I understood not, for it was\nin that disastrous jabber.  They stayed with me throughout the day till\nafter supper-time, and then the jorobado gave me a gold ounce, and\nmounting their horses, they both departed as strangely as they had come,\nin the dark night, I know not whither.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs that all?\u201d I demanded.\n\n\u201cNo, Se\u00f1or, it is not all; for I was right in supposing them evil brujos:\nthe very next day an express arrived and a great search was made after\nthem, and I was arrested for having harboured them.  This occurred just\nafter the present wars had commenced.  It was said they were spies and\nemissaries of I don\u2019t know what nation, and that they had been in all\nparts of the Asturias, holding conferences with some of the disaffected.\nThey escaped, however, and were never heard of more, though the animals\nwhich they rode were found without their riders, wandering amongst the\nhills; they were common ponies, and were of no value.  As for the brujos,\nit is believed that they embarked in some small vessel which was lying\nconcealed in one of the rias of the coast.\u201d\n\n_Myself_.\u2014What was the word which you continually heard proceeding from\nthe lips of the big servant, and which you think you can remember?\n\n_Host_.\u2014Se\u00f1or, it is now three years since I heard it, and at times I can\nremember it and at others not; sometimes I have started up in my sleep\nrepeating it.  Stay, Se\u00f1or, I have it now at the point of my tongue: it\nwas Patusca.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Batuschca, you mean; the men were Russians.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII\n\n\nOviedo\u2014The Ten Gentlemen\u2014The Swiss again\u2014Modest Request\u2014The\nRobbers\u2014Episcopal Benevolence\u2014The Cathedral\u2014Portrait of Feijoo.\n\nI must now take a considerable stride in my journey, no less than from\nMuros to Oviedo, contenting myself with observing, that we proceeded from\nMuros to Velez, and from thence to Giyon, where our guide Martin bade us\nfarewell, and returned with his mare to Rivadeo.  The honest fellow did\nnot part without many expressions of regret, indeed he even expressed a\ndesire that I should take him and his mare into my service; \u201cfor,\u201d said\nhe, \u201cI have a great desire to run through all Spain, and even the world;\nand I am sure I shall never have a better opportunity than by attaching\nmyself to your worship\u2019s skirts.\u201d  On my reminding him, however, of his\nwife and family, for he had both, he said, \u201cTrue, true, I had forgotten\nthem: happy the guide whose only wife and family are a mare and foal.\u201d\n\nOviedo is about three leagues from Giyon.  Antonio rode the horse, whilst\nI proceeded thither in a kind of diligence which runs daily between the\ntwo towns.  The road is good, but mountainous.  I arrived safely at the\ncapital of the Asturias, although at a rather unpropitious season, for\nthe din of war was at the gate, and there was the cry of the captains and\nthe shouting.  Castile, at the time of which I am writing, was in the\nhands of the Carlists, who had captured and plundered Valladolid in much\nthe same manner as they had Segovia some time before.  They were every\nday expected to march on Oviedo, in which case they might perhaps have\nexperienced some resistance, a considerable body of troops being\nstationed there, who had erected some redoubts, and strongly fortified\nseveral of the convents, especially that of Santa Clara de la Vega.  All\nminds were in a state of feverish anxiety and suspense, more especially\nas no intelligence arrived from Madrid, which by the last accounts was\nsaid to be occupied by the bands of Cabrera and Palillos.\n\nSo it came to pass that one night I found myself in the ancient town of\nOviedo, in a very large, scantily-furnished, and remote room in an\nancient posada, formerly a palace of the counts of Santa Cruz.  It was\npast ten, and the rain was descending in torrents.  I was writing, but\nsuddenly ceased on hearing numerous footsteps ascending the creaking\nstairs which led to my apartment.  The door was flung open, and in walked\nnine men of tall stature, marshalled by a little hunchbacked personage.\nThey were all muffled in the long cloaks of Spain, but I instantly knew\nby their demeanour that they were caballeros, or gentlemen.  They placed\nthemselves in a rank before the table where I was sitting.  Suddenly and\nsimultaneously they all flung back their cloaks, and I perceived that\nevery one bore a book in his hand; a book which I knew full well.  After\na pause, which I was unable to break, for I sat lost in astonishment, and\nalmost conceived myself to be visited by apparitions, the hunchback,\nadvancing somewhat before the rest, said in soft silvery tones, \u201cSe\u00f1or\nCavalier, was it you who brought this book to the Asturias?\u201d  I now\nsupposed that they were the civil authorities of the place come to take\nme into custody, and, rising from my seat, I exclaimed, \u201cIt certainly was\nI, and it is my glory to have done so; the book is the New Testament of\nGod: I wish it was in my power to bring a million.\u201d  \u201cI heartily wish so\ntoo,\u201d said the little personage with a sigh.  \u201cBe under no apprehension,\nSir Cavalier, these gentlemen are my friends; we have just purchased\nthese books in the shop where you placed them for sale, and have taken\nthe liberty of calling upon you, in order to return you our thanks for\nthe treasure you have brought us.  I hope you can furnish us with the Old\nTestament also.\u201d  I replied that I was sorry to inform him that at\npresent it was entirely out of my power to comply with his wish, as I had\nno Old Testaments in my possession, but did not despair of procuring some\nspeedily from England.  He then asked me a great many questions\nconcerning my biblical travels in Spain, and my success, and the views\nentertained by the Society, with respect to Spain, adding that he hoped\nwe should pay particular attention to the Asturias, which he assured me\nwas the best ground in the Peninsula for our labour.  After about half an\nhour\u2019s conversation, he suddenly said, in the English language, \u201cGood\nnight, Sir,\u201d wrapped his cloak around him, and walked out as he had come.\nHis companions, who had hitherto not uttered a word, all repeated \u201cGood\nnight, Sir,\u201d and, adjusting their cloaks, followed him.\n\nIn order to explain this strange scene, I must state that in the morning\nI had visited the petty bookseller of the place, Longoria, and having\narranged preliminaries with him, I sent him in the evening a package of\nforty Testaments, all I possessed, with some advertisements.  At the time\nhe assured me that, though he was willing to undertake the sale, there\nwas, nevertheless, not a prospect of success, as a whole month had\nelapsed since he had sold a book of any description, on account of the\nuncertainty of the times, and the poverty which pervaded the land; I\ntherefore felt much dispirited.  This incident, however, admonished me\nnot to be cast down when things look gloomiest, as the hand of the Lord\nis generally then most busy; that men may learn to perceive, that\nwhatever good is accomplished is not their work but his.\n\nTwo or three days after this adventure, I was once more seated in my\nlarge scantily-furnished room; it was about ten, of a dark melancholy\nmorning, and the autumnal rain was again falling.  I had just\nbreakfasted, and was about to sit down to my journal, when the door was\nflung open and in bounded Antonio.\n\n\u201cMon ma\u00eetre,\u201d said he, quite breathless, \u201cwho do you think has arrived?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe pretender, I suppose,\u201d said I, in some trepidation; \u201cif so, we are\nprisoners.\u201d\n\n\u201cBah, bah!\u201d said Antonio, \u201cit is not the pretender, but one worth twenty\nof him; it is the Swiss of Saint James.\u201d\n\n\u201cBenedict Mol, the Swiss!\u201d said I, \u201cWhat! has he found the treasure?  But\nhow did he come?  How is he dressed?\u201d\n\n\u201cMon ma\u00eetre,\u201d said Antonio, \u201che came on foot if we may judge by his\nshoes, through which his toes are sticking; and as for his dress, he is\nin most villainous apparel.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere must be some mystery in this,\u201d said I; \u201cwhere is he at present?\u201d\n\n\u201cBelow, mon ma\u00eetre,\u201d replied Antonio; \u201che came in quest of us.  But I no\nsooner saw him, than I hurried away to let you know.\u201d\n\nIn a few minutes Benedict Mol found his way up stairs; he was, as Antonio\nhad remarked, in most villainous apparel, and nearly barefooted; his old\nAndalusian hat was dripping with rain.\n\n\u201cOch, lieber herr,\u201d said Benedict, \u201chow rejoiced I am to see you again.\nOh, the sight of your countenance almost repays me for all the miseries I\nhave undergone since I parted with you at Saint James.\u201d\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I can scarcely believe that I really see you here at Oviedo.\nWhat motive can have induced you to come to such an out-of-the-way place\nfrom such an immense distance?\n\n_Benedict_.\u2014Lieber herr, I will sit down and tell you all that has\nbefallen me.  Some few days after I saw you last, the canonigo persuaded\nme to go to the captain-general to apply for permission to disinter the\nschatz, and also to crave assistance.  So I saw the captain-general, who\nat first received me very kindly, asked me several questions, and told me\nto come again.  So I continued visiting him till he would see me no\nlonger, and do what I might I could not obtain a glance of him.  The\ncanon now became impatient, more especially as he had given me a few\npesetas out of the charities of the church.  He frequently called me a\nbribon and impostor.  At last, one morning I went to him, and said that I\nhad proposed to return to Madrid, in order to lay the matter before the\ngovernment, and requested that he would give me a certificate to the\neffect that I had performed a pilgrimage to Saint James, which I imagined\nwould be of assistance to me upon the way, as it would enable me to beg\nwith some colour of authority.  He no sooner heard this request, than,\nwithout saying a word or allowing me a moment to put myself on my\ndefence, he sprang upon me like a tiger, grasping my throat so hard that\nI thought he would have strangled me.  I am a Swiss, however, and a man\nof Lucerne, and when I had recovered myself a little, I had no difficulty\nin flinging him off; I then threatened him with my staff and went away.\nHe followed me to the gate with the most horrid curses, saying that if I\npresumed to return again, he would have me thrown at once into prison as\na thief and a heretic.  So I went in quest of yourself, lieber herr, but\nthey told me that you were departed for Coru\u00f1a; I then set out for Coru\u00f1a\nafter you.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014And what befell you on the road?\n\n_Benedict_.\u2014I will tell you: about half-way between Saint James and\nCoru\u00f1a, as I was walking along, thinking of the schatz, I heard a loud\ngalloping, and looking around me I saw two men on horseback coming across\nthe field with the swiftness of the wind, and making directly for me.\nLieber Gott, said I, these are thieves, these are factious; and so they\nwere.  They came up to me in a moment and bade me stand, so I flung down\nmy staff, took off my hat and saluted them.  \u201cGood day, caballeros,\u201d said\nI to them.  \u201cGood day, countryman,\u201d said they to me, and then we stood\nstaring at each other for more than a minute.  Lieber himmel, I never saw\nsuch robbers; so finely dressed, so well armed, and mounted so bravely on\ntwo fiery little hakkas, that looked as if they could have taken wing and\nflown up into the clouds!  So we continued staring at each other, till at\nlast one asked me who I was, whence I came, and where I was going.\n\u201cGentlemen,\u201d said I, \u201cI am a Swiss, I have been to Saint James to perform\na religious vow, and am now returning to my own country.\u201d  I said not a\nword about the treasure, for I was afraid that they would have shot me at\nonce, conceiving that I carried part of it about me.  \u201cHave you any\nmoney?\u201d they demanded.  \u201cGentlemen,\u201d I replied, \u201cyou see how I travel on\nfoot, with my shoes torn to pieces; I should not do so if I had money.  I\nwill not deceive you, however, I have a peseta and a few cuartos,\u201d and\nthereupon I took out what I had and offered it to them.  \u201cFellow,\u201d said\nthey, \u201cwe are caballeros of Galicia, and do not take pesetas, much less\ncuartos.  Of what opinion are you?  Are you for the queen?\u201d  \u201cNo,\ngentlemen,\u201d said I, \u201cI am not for the queen, but, at the same time, allow\nme to tell you that I am not for the king either; I know nothing about\nthe matter; I am a Swiss, and fight neither for nor against anybody\nunless I am paid.\u201d  This made them laugh, and then they questioned me\nabout Saint James, and the troops there, and the captain-general; and not\nto disoblige them, I told them all I knew and much more.  Then one of\nthem, who looked the fiercest and most determined, took his trombone in\nhis hand, and pointing it at me, said, \u201cHad you been a Spaniard, we would\nhave blown your head to shivers, for we should have thought you a spy,\nbut we see you are a foreigner, and believe what you have said; take,\ntherefore, this peseta and go your way, but beware that you tell nobody\nany thing about us, for if you do, carracho!\u201d  He then discharged his\ntrombone just over my head, so that for a moment I thought myself shot,\nand then with an awful shout, they both galloped away, their horses\nleaping over the barrancos, as if possessed with many devils.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014And what happened to you on your arrival at Coru\u00f1a?\n\n_Benedict_.\u2014When I arrived at Coru\u00f1a, I inquired after yourself, lieber\nherr, and they informed me that, only the day before my arrival, you had\ndeparted for Oviedo: and when I heard that, my heart died within me, for\nI was now at the far end of Galicia, without a friend to help me.  For a\nday or two I knew not what to do; at last I determined to make for the\nfrontier of France, passing through Oviedo in the way, where I hoped to\nsee you and ask counsel of you.  So I begged and bettled among the\nGermans of Coru\u00f1a.  I, however, got very little from them, only a few\ncuarts, less than the thieves had given me on the road from Saint James,\nand with these I departed for the Asturias by the way of Mondonedo.  Och,\nwhat a town is that, full of canons, priests, and pfaffen, all of them\nmore Carlist than Carlos himself.\n\nOne day I went to the bishop\u2019s palace and spoke to him, telling him I was\na pilgrim from Saint James, and requesting assistance.  He told me,\nhowever, that he could not relieve me, and as for my being a pilgrim from\nSaint James, he was glad of it, and hoped that it would be of service to\nmy soul.  So I left Mondonedo, and got amongst the wild mountains,\nbegging and bettling at the door of every choza that I passed, telling\nall I saw that I was a pilgrim from Saint James, and showing my passport\nin proof that I had been there.  Lieber herr, no person gave me a cuart,\nnor even a piece of broa, and both Gallegans and Asturians laughed at\nSaint James, and told me that his name was no longer a passport in Spain.\nI should have starved if I had not sometimes plucked an ear or two out of\nthe maize fields; I likewise gathered grapes from the parras and berries\nfrom the brambles, and in this manner I subsisted till I arrived at the\nbellotas, where I slaughtered a stray kid which I met, and devoured part\nof the flesh raw, so great was my hunger.  It made me, however, very ill,\nand for two days I lay in a barranco half dead and unable to help myself;\nit was a mercy that I was not devoured by the wolves.  I then struck\nacross the country for Oviedo: how I reached it I do not know; I was like\none walking in a dream.  Last night I slept in an empty hog-sty about two\nleagues from here, and ere I left it, I fell down on my knees and prayed\nto God that I might find you, lieber herr, for you were my last hope.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014And what do you propose to do at present?\n\n_Benedict_.\u2014What can I say, lieber herr?  I know not what to do.  I will\nbe guided in everything by your counsel.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014I shall remain at Oviedo a few days longer, during which time\nyou can lodge at this posada, and endeavour to recover from the fatigue\nof your disastrous journeys; perhaps before I depart, we may hit on some\nplan to extricate you from your present difficulties.\n\nOviedo contains about fifteen thousand inhabitants.  It is picturesquely\nsituated between two mountains, Morcin and Naranco; the former is very\nhigh and rugged, and during the greater part of the year is covered with\nsnow; the sides of the latter are cultivated and planted with vines.  The\nprincipal ornament of the town is the cathedral, the tower of which is\nexceedingly lofty, and is perhaps one of the purest specimens of Gothic\narchitecture at present in existence.  The interior of the cathedral is\nneat and appropriate, but simple and unadorned.  I observed but one\npicture, the Conversion of Saint Paul.  One of the chapels is a cemetery,\nin which rest the bones of eleven Gothic kings; to whose souls be peace.\n\nI bore a letter of recommendation from Coru\u00f1a to a merchant of Oviedo.\nThis person received me very courteously, and generally devoted some\nportion of every day to showing me the remarkable things of Oviedo.\n\nOne morning he thus addressed me: \u201cYou have doubtless heard of Feijoo,\nthe celebrated philosophic monk of the order of Saint Benedict, whose\nwritings have so much tended to remove the popular fallacies and\nsuperstitions so long cherished in Spain; he is buried in one of our\nconvents, where he passed a considerable portion of his life.  Come with\nme and I will show you his portrait.  Carlos Tercero, our great king,\nsent his own painter from Madrid to execute it.  It is now in the\npossession of a friend of mine, Don Ramon Valdez, an advocate.\u201d\n\nThereupon he led me to the house of Don Ramon Valdez, who very politely\nexhibited the portrait of Feijoo.  It was circular in shape, about a foot\nin diameter, and was surrounded by a little brass frame, something like\nthe rim of a barber\u2019s basin.  The countenance was large and massive but\nfine, the eyebrows knit, the eyes sharp and penetrating, nose aquiline.\nOn the head was a silken skull-cap; the collar of the coat or vest was\njust perceptible.  The painting was decidedly good, and struck me as\nbeing one of the very best specimens of modern Spanish art which I had\nhitherto seen.\n\nA day or two after this I said to Benedict Mol, \u201cto-morrow I start from\nhence for Santander.  It is therefore high time that you decide upon some\ncourse, whether to return to Madrid or to make the best of your way to\nFrance, and from thence proceed to your own country.\u201d\n\n\u201cLieber herr,\u201d said Benedict, \u201cI will follow you to Santander by short\njourneys, for I am unable to make long ones amongst these hills; and when\nI am there, peradventure I may find some means of passing into France.\nIt is a great comfort, in my horrible journeys, to think that I am\ntravelling over the ground which yourself have trodden, and to hope that\nI am proceeding to rejoin you once more.  This hope kept me alive in the\nbellotas, and without it I should never have reached Oviedo.  I will quit\nSpain as soon as possible, and betake me to Lucerne, though it is a hard\nthing to leave the schatz behind me in the land of the Gallegans.\u201d\n\nThereupon I presented him with a few dollars.\n\n\u201cA strange man is this Benedict,\u201d said Antonio to me next morning, as,\naccompanied by a guide, we sallied forth from Oviedo; \u201ca strange man, mon\nma\u00eetre, is this same Benedict.  A strange life has he led, and a strange\ndeath he will die,\u2014it is written on his countenance.  That he will leave\nSpain I do not believe, or if he leave it, it will be only to return, for\nhe is bewitched about this treasure.  Last night he sent for a sorciere,\nwhom he consulted in my presence; and she told him that he was doomed to\npossess it, but that first of all he must cross water.  She cautioned him\nlikewise against an enemy, which he supposes must be the canon of Saint\nJames.  I have often heard people speak of the avidity of the Swiss for\nmoney, and here is a proof of it.  I would not undergo what Benedict has\nsuffered in these last journeys of his, to possess all the treasures in\nSpain.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV\n\n\nDeparture from Oviedo\u2014Villa Viciosa\u2014The Young Man of the Inn\u2014Antonio\u2019s\nTale\u2014The General and his Family\u2014Woful Tidings\u2014To-morrow we Die\u2014San\nVincente\u2014Santander\u2014An Harangue\u2014Flinter the Irishman.\n\nSo we left Oviedo and directed our course towards Santander.  The man who\naccompanied us as guide, and from whom I hired the pony on which I rode,\nhad been recommended to me by my friend the merchant of Oviedo.  He\nproved, however, a lazy indolent fellow; he was generally loitering two\nor three hundred yards in our rear, and instead of enlivening the way\nwith song and tale, like our late guide, Martin of Rivadeo, he scarcely\never opened his lips, save to tell us not to go so fast, or that I should\nburst his pony if I spurred him so.  He was thievish withal, and though\nhe had engaged to make the journey _seco_, that is, to defray the charges\nof himself and beast, he contrived throughout to keep both at our\nexpense.  When journeying in Spain, it is invariably the cheapest plan to\nagree to maintain the guide and his horse or mule, for by so doing the\nhire is diminished at least one third, and the bills upon the road are\nseldom increased: whereas, in the other case, he pockets the difference,\nand yet goes shot free, and at the expense of the traveller, through the\nconnivance of the innkeepers, who have a kind of fellow feeling with the\nguides.\n\nLate in the afternoon we reached Villa Viciosa, a small dirty town, at\nthe distance of eight leagues from Oviedo: it stands beside a creek which\ncommunicates with the Bay of Biscay.  It is sometimes called La Capital\nde las Avellanas, or the capital of the Filberts, from the immense\nquantity of this fruit which is grown in the neighbourhood; and the\ngreatest part of which is exported to England.  As we drew nigh we\novertook numerous cars laden with avellanas proceeding in the direction\nof the town.  I was informed that several small English vessels were\nlying in the harbour.  Singular as it may seem, however, notwithstanding\nwe were in the capital of the Avellanas, it was with the utmost\ndifficulty that I procured a scanty handful for my dessert, and of these\nmore than one half were decayed.  The people of the house informed me\nthat the nuts were intended for exportation, and that they never dreamt\neither of partaking of them themselves or of offering them to their\nguests.\n\nAt an early hour on the following day we reached Colunga, a beautiful\nvillage on a rising ground, thickly planted with chestnut trees.  It is\ncelebrated, at least in the Asturias, as being the birth-place of\nArguelles, the father of the Spanish constitution.\n\nAs we dismounted at the door of the posada, where we intended to refresh\nourselves, a person who was leaning out of an upper window uttered an\nexclamation and disappeared.  We were yet at the door, when the same\nindividual came running forth and cast himself on the neck of Antonio.\nHe was a good-looking young man, apparently about five and twenty,\ngenteelly dressed, with a Montero cap on his head.  Antonio looked at him\nfor a moment, and then with a _Ah_, _Monsieur_, _est ce bien vous_? shook\nhim affectionately by the hand.  The stranger then motioned him to follow\nhim, and they forthwith proceeded to the room above.\n\nWondering what this could mean, I sat down to my morning repast.  Nearly\nan hour elapsed, and still Antonio did not make his appearance; through\nthe boards, however, which composed the ceiling of the kitchen where I\nsat, I could hear the voices of himself and his acquaintance, and thought\nthat I could occasionally distinguish the sound of broken sobs and\ngroans; at last there was a long pause.  I became impatient, and was\nabout to summon Antonio, when he made his appearance, but unaccompanied\nby the stranger.  \u201cWhat, in the name of all that is singular,\u201d I\ndemanded, \u201chave you been about?  Who is that man?\u201d  \u201cMon ma\u00eetre,\u201d said\nAntonio, \u201c_c\u2019est un monsieur de ma connoissance_.  With your permission I\nwill now take a mouthful, and as we journey along I will tell you all\nthat I know of him.\u201d\n\n\u201cMonsieur,\u201d said Antonio, as we rode out of Colunga, \u201cyou are anxious to\nknow the history of the gentleman whom you saw embrace me at the inn.\nKnow, mon ma\u00eetre, that these Carlist and Christino wars have been the\ncause of much misery and misfortune in this country, but a being so\nthoroughly unfortunate as that poor young gentleman of the inn, I do not\nbelieve is to be found in Spain, and his misfortunes proceed entirely\nfrom the spirit of party and faction which for some time past has been so\nprevalent.\n\n\u201cMon ma\u00eetre, as I have often told you, I have lived in many houses and\nserved many masters, and it chanced that about ten years ago I served the\nfather of this gentleman, who was then a mere boy.  It was a very high\nfamily, for monsieur the father was a general in the army, and a man of\nlarge possessions.  The family consisted of the general, his lady, and\ntwo sons; the youngest of whom is the person you have just seen, the\nother was several years older.  Pardieu! I felt myself very comfortable\nin that house, and every individual of the family had all kind of\ncomplaisance for me.  It is singular enough, that though I have been\nturned out of so many families, I was never turned out of that; and\nthough I left it thrice, it was of my own free will.  I became\ndissatisfied with the other servants or with the dog or the cat.  The\nlast time I left was on account of the quail which was hung out of the\nwindow of madame, and which waked me in the morning with its call.  _Eh\nbien_, _mon maitre_, things went on in this way during the three years\nthat I continued in the family, out and in; at the end of which time it\nwas determined that the young gentleman should travel, and it was\nproposed that I should attend him as valet; this I wished very much to\ndo.  However, par malheur, I was at this time very much dissatisfied with\nmadame his mother about the quail, and I insisted that before I\naccompanied him the bird should be slaughtered for the kitchen.  To this\nmadame would by no means consent; and even the young gentleman, who had\nalways taken my part on other occasions, said that I was unreasonable: so\nI left the house in a huff, and never entered it again.\n\n\u201c_Eh bien_, _mon maitre_, the young gentleman went upon his travels, and\ncontinued abroad several years; and from the time of his departure until\nwe met him at Colunga, I have not set eyes upon, nor indeed heard of him.\nI have heard enough, however, of his family; of monsieur the father, of\nmadame, and of the brother, who was an officer of cavalry.  A short time\nbefore the troubles, I mean before the death of Ferdinand, monsieur the\nfather was appointed captain-general of Coru\u00f1a.  Now monsieur, though a\ngood master, was rather a proud man, and fond of discipline and all that\nkind of thing, and of obedience.  He was, moreover, no friend to the\npopulace, to the canaille, and he had a particular aversion to the\nnationals.  So when Ferdinand died, it was whispered about at Coru\u00f1a,\nthat the general was no liberal, and that he was a better friend to\nCarlos than to Christina.  _Eh bien_, it chanced that there was a grand\nfete, or festival at Coru\u00f1a, on the water; and the nationals were there,\nand the soldiers.  And I know not how it befell, but there was an emeute,\nand the nationals laid hands on monsieur the general, and tying a rope\nround his neck, flung him overboard from the barge in which he was, and\nthen dragged him astern about the harbour until he was drowned.  They\nthen went to his house and pillaged it, and so ill-treated madame, who at\nthat time happened to be enceinte, that in a few hours she expired.\n\n\u201cI tell you what, mon ma\u00eetre, when I heard of the misfortune of madame\nand the general, you would scarcely believe it, but I actually shed\ntears, and was sorry that I had parted with them in unkindness on account\nof that pernicious quail.\n\n\u201c_Eh bien_, _mon maitre_, _nous poursuivrons notre histoire_.  The eldest\nson, as I told you before, was a cavalry officer and a man of resolution,\nand when he heard of the death of his father and mother, he vowed\nrevenge.  Poor fellow! but what does he do but desert, with two or three\ndiscontented spirits of his troop, and going to the frontier of Galicia,\nhe raised a small faction, and proclaimed Don Carlos.  For some little\ntime he did considerable damage to the liberals, burning and destroying\ntheir possessions, and putting to death several nationals that fell into\nhis hands.  However, this did not last long, his faction was soon\ndispersed, and he himself taken and hanged, and his head stuck on a pole.\n\n\u201c_Nous sommes deja presque au bout_.  When we arrived at the inn, the\nyoung man took me above, as you saw, and there for some time he could do\nnothing but weep and sob.  His story is soon told:\u2014he returned from his\ntravels, and the first intelligence which awaited him on his arrival in\nSpain was, that his father was drowned, his mother dead, and his brother\nhanged, and, moreover, all the possessions of his family confiscated.\nThis was not all: wherever he went, he found himself considered in the\nlight of a factious and discontented person, and was frequently assailed\nby the nationals with blows of sabres and cudgels.  He applied to his\nrelations, and some of these, who were of the Carlist persuasion, advised\nhim to betake himself to the army of Don Carlos, and the Pretender\nhimself, who was a friend of his father, and remembered the services of\nhis brother, offered to give him a command in his army.  But, mon ma\u00eetre,\nas I told you before, he was a pacific young gentleman, and as mild as a\nlamb, and hated the idea of shedding blood.  He was, moreover, not of the\nCarlist opinion, for during his studies he had read books written a long\ntime ago by countrymen of mine, all about republics and liberties, and\nthe rights of man, so that he was much more inclined to the liberal than\nthe Carlist system; he therefore declined the offer of Don Carlos,\nwhereupon all his relations deserted him, whilst the liberals hunted him\nfrom one place to another like a wild beast.  At last, he sold some\nlittle property which still remained to him, and with the proceeds he\ncame to this remote place of Colunga, where no one knew him, and where he\nhas been residing for several months, in a most melancholy manner, with\nno other amusement than that which he derives from a book or two, or\noccasionally hunting a leveret with his spaniel.\n\n\u201cHe asked me for counsel, but I had none to give him, and could only weep\nwith him.  At last he said, \u2018Dear Antonio, I see there is no remedy.  You\nsay your master is below, beg him, I pray, to stay till to-morrow, and we\nwill send for the maidens of the neighbourhood, and for a violin and a\nbagpipe, and we will dance and cast away care for a moment.\u2019  And then he\nsaid something in old Greek, which I scarcely understood, but which I\nthink was equivalent to, \u2018Let us eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow\nwe die!\u2019\n\n\u201c_Eh bien_, _mon maitre_, I told him that you were a serious gentleman\nwho never took any amusement, and that you were in a hurry.  Whereupon he\nwept again, and embraced me and bade me farewell.  And now, mon ma\u00eetre, I\nhave told you the history of the young man of the inn.\u201d\n\nWe slept at Ribida de Sela, and the next day, at noon, arrived at Llanes.\nOur route lay between the coast and an immense range of mountains, which\nrose up like huge ramparts at about a league\u2019s distance from the sea.\nThe ground over which we passed was tolerably level, and seemingly well\ncultivated.  There was no lack of vines and trees, whilst at short\nintervals rose the cortijos of the proprietors,\u2014square stone buildings\nsurrounded with an outer wall.  Llanes is an old town, formerly of\nconsiderable strength.  In its neighbourhood is the convent of San\nCilorio, one of the largest monastic edifices in all Spain.  It is now\ndeserted, and stands lone and desolate upon one of the peninsulas of the\nCantabrian shore.  Leaving Llanes, we soon entered one of the most dreary\nand barren regions imaginable, a region of rock and stone, where neither\ngrass nor trees were to be seen.  Night overtook us in these places.  We\nwandered on, however, until we reached a small village, termed Santo\nColombo.  Here we passed the night, in the house of a carabineer of the\nrevenue, a tall athletic figure who met us at the gate armed with a gun.\nHe was a Castilian, and with all that ceremonious formality and grave\npoliteness for which his countrymen were at one time so celebrated.  He\nchid his wife for conversing with her handmaid about the concerns of the\nhouse before us.  \u201cBarbara,\u201d said he, \u201cthis is not conversation\ncalculated to interest the strange cavaliers; hold your peace, or go\naside with the muchacha.\u201d  In the morning he refused any remuneration for\nhis hospitality.  \u201cI am a caballero,\u201d said he, \u201ceven as yourselves.  It\nis not my custom to admit people into my house for the sake of lucre.  I\nreceived you because you were benighted and the posada distant.\u201d\n\nRising early in the morning, we pursued our way through a country equally\nstony and dreary as that which we had entered upon the preceding day.  In\nabout four hours we reached San Vincente, a large dilapidated town,\nchiefly inhabited by miserable fishermen.  It retains, however, many\nremarkable relics of former magnificence: the bridge, which bestrides the\nbroad and deep firth, on which stands the town, has no less than\nthirty-two arches, and is built of grey granite.  It is very ancient, and\nin some part in so ruinous a condition as to be dangerous.\n\nLeaving San Vincente behind us, we travelled for some leagues on the\nsea-shore, crossing occasionally a narrow inlet or firth.  The country at\nlast began to improve, and in the neighbourhood of Santillana was both\nbeautiful and fertile.  About a league before we reached the country of\nGil Blas, we passed through an extensive wood, in which were rocks and\nprecipices; it was exactly such a place as that in which the cave of\nRolando was situated, as described in the novel.  This wood has an evil\nname, and our guide informed us that robberies were occasionally\ncommitted in it.  No adventure, however, befell us, and we reached\nSantillana at about six in the evening.\n\nWe did not enter the town, but halted at a large venta or posada at the\nentrance, before which stood an immense ash tree.  We had scarcely housed\nourselves when a tremendous storm of rain and wind commenced, accompanied\nwith thunder and lightning, which continued without much interruption for\nseveral hours, and the effects of which were visible in our journey of\nthe following day, the streams over which we passed being much swollen,\nand several trees lying uptorn by the wayside.  Santillana contains four\nthousand inhabitants, and is six short leagues\u2019 distance from Santander,\nwhere we arrived early the next day.\n\nNothing could exhibit a stronger contrast to the desolate tracts and the\nhalf ruined towns through which we had lately passed, than the bustle and\nactivity of Santander, which, though it stands on the confines of the\nBasque provinces, the stronghold of the Pretender, is almost the only\ncity in Spain which has not suffered by the Carlist wars.  Till the close\nof the last century it was little better than an obscure fishing town,\nbut it has of late years almost entirely engrossed the commerce of the\nSpanish transatlantic possessions, especially of the Havannah.  The\nconsequence of which has been, that whilst Santander has rapidly\nincreased in wealth and magnificence, both Coru\u00f1a and Cadiz have been as\nrapidly hastening to decay.  At present it possesses a noble quay, on\nwhich stands a line of stately edifices, far exceeding in splendour the\npalaces of the aristocracy at Madrid.  These are built in the French\nstyle, and are chiefly occupied by the merchants.  The population of\nSantander is estimated at sixty thousand souls.\n\nOn the day of my arrival I dined at the table d\u2019hote of the principal\ninn, kept by a Genoese.  The company was very miscellaneous, French,\nGermans, and Spaniards, all speaking in their respective languages,\nwhilst at the ends of the table, confronting each other, sat two Catalan\nmerchants, one of whom weighed nearly twenty stone, grunting across the\nboard in their harsh dialect.  Long, however, before dinner was\nconcluded, the conversation was entirely engrossed and the attention of\nall present directed to an individual who sat on one side of the bulky\nCatalan.  He was a thin man of about the middle height, with a remarkably\nred face, and something in his eyes which, if not a squint, bore a\nstriking resemblance to it.  He was dressed in a blue military frock, and\nseemed to take much more pleasure in haranguing than in the fare which\nwas set before him.  He spoke perfectly good Spanish, yet his voice\nbetrayed something of a foreign accent.  For a long time he descanted\nwith immense volubility on war and all its circumstances, freely\ncriticising the conduct of the generals, both Carlists and Christinos, in\nthe present struggle, till at last he exclaimed, \u201cHad I but twenty\nthousand men allowed me by the government, I would bring the war to a\nconclusion in six months.\u201d\n\n\u201cPardon me, Sir,\u201d said a Spaniard who sat at the table, \u201cthe curiosity\nwhich induces me to request the favour of your distinguished name.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am Flinter,\u201d replied the individual in the military frock, \u201ca name\nwhich is in the mouth of every man, woman, and child in Spain.  I am\nFlinter the Irishman, just escaped from the Basque provinces and the\nclaws of Don Carlos.  On the decease of Ferdinand I declared for\nIsabella, esteeming it the duty of every good cavalier and Irishman in\nthe Spanish service to do so.  You have all heard of my exploits, and\npermit me to tell you they would have been yet more glorious had not\njealousy been at work and cramped my means.  Two years ago I was\ndespatched to Estremadura, to organize the militias.  The bands of Gomez\nand Cabrera entered the province and spread devastation around.  They\nfound me, however, at my post; and had I been properly seconded by those\nunder my command, the two rebels would never have returned to their\nmaster to boast of their success.  I stood behind my intrenchments.  A\nman advanced and summoned us to surrender.  \u2018Who are you?\u2019 I demanded.\n\u2018I am Cabrera,\u2019 he replied; \u2018and I am Flinter,\u2019 I retorted, flourishing\nmy sabre; \u2018retire to your battalions or you will forthwith die the\ndeath.\u2019  He was awed and did as I commanded.  In an hour we surrendered.\nI was led a prisoner to the Basque provinces; and the Carlists rejoiced\nin the capture they had made, for the name of Flinter had long sounded\namongst the Carlist ranks.  I was flung into a loathsome dungeon, where I\nremained twenty months.  I was cold; I was naked; but I did not on that\naccount despond, my spirit was too indomitable for such weakness.  My\nkeeper at last pitied my misfortunes.  He said that \u2018it grieved him to\nsee so valiant a man perish in inglorious confinement.\u2019  We laid a plan\nto escape together; disguises were provided, and we made the attempt.  We\npassed unobserved till we arrived at the Carlist lines above Bilbao;\nthere we were stopped.  My presence of mind, however, did not desert me.\nI was disguised as a carman, as a Catalan, and the coolness of my answers\ndeceived my interrogators.  We were permitted to pass, and soon were safe\nwithin the walls of Bilbao.  There was an illumination that night in the\ntown, for the lion had burst his toils, Flinter had escaped, and was once\nmore returned to re-animate a drooping cause.  I have just arrived at\nSantander on my way to Madrid, where I intend to ask of the government a\ncommand, with twenty thousand men.\u201d\n\nPoor Flinter! a braver heart and a more gasconading mouth were surely\nnever united in the same body.  He proceeded to Madrid, and through the\ninfluence of the British ambassador, who was his friend, he obtained the\ncommand of a small division, with which he contrived to surprise and\ndefeat, in the neighbourhood of Toledo, a body of the Carlists, commanded\nby Orejita, whose numbers more than trebled his own.  In reward for this\nexploit he was persecuted by the government, which, at that time, was the\nmoderado or juste milieu, with the most relentless animosity; the prime\nminister, Ofalia, supporting with all his influence numerous and\nridiculous accusations of plunder and robbery brought against the\ntoo-successful general by the Carlist canons of Toledo.  He was likewise\ncharged with a dereliction of duty, in having permitted, after the battle\nof Valdepe\u00f1as, which he likewise won in the most gallant manner, the\nCarlist force to take possession of the mines of Almaden, although the\ngovernment, who were bent on his ruin, had done all in their power to\nprevent him from following up his successes by denying him the slightest\nsupplies and reinforcements.  The fruits of victory thus wrested from\nhim, his hopes blighted, a morbid melancholy seized upon the Irishman; he\nresigned his command, and in less than ten months from the period when I\nsaw him at Santander, afforded his dastardly and malignant enemies a\ntriumph which satisfied even them, by cutting his own throat with a\nrazor.\n\nArdent spirits of foreign climes, who hope to distinguish yourselves in\nthe service of Spain, and to earn honours and rewards, remember the fate\nof Columbus, and of another as brave and as ardent\u2014Flinter!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXV\n\n\nDeparture from Santander\u2014The Night Alarm\u2014The Black Pass.\n\nI had ordered two hundred Testaments to be sent to Santander from Madrid:\nI found, however, to my great sorrow, that they had not arrived, and I\nsupposed that they had either been seized on the way by the Carlists, or\nthat my letter had miscarried.  I then thought of applying to England for\na supply, but I abandoned the idea for two reasons.  In the first place,\nI should have to remain idly loitering, at least a month, before I could\nreceive them, at a place where every article was excessively dear; and,\nsecondly, I was very unwell, and unable to procure medical advice at\nSantander.  Ever since I left Coru\u00f1a, I had been afflicted with a\nterrible dysentery, and latterly with an ophthalmia, the result of the\nother malady.  I therefore determined on returning to Madrid.  To effect\nthis, however, seemed no very easy task.  Parties of the army of Don\nCarlos, which, in a partial degree, had been routed in Castile, were\nhovering about the country through which I should have to pass, more\nespecially in that part called \u201cThe Mountains,\u201d so that all communication\nhad ceased between Santander and the southern districts.  Nevertheless, I\ndetermined to trust as usual in the Almighty and to risk the danger.  I\npurchased, therefore, a small horse, and sallied forth with Antonio.\n\nBefore departing, however, I entered into conference with the booksellers\nas to what they should do in the event of my finding an opportunity of\nsending them a stock of Testaments from Madrid; and, having arranged\nmatters to my satisfaction, I committed myself to Providence.  I will not\ndwell long on this journey of three hundred miles.  We were in the midst\nof the fire, yet, strange to say, escaped without a hair of our heads\nbeing singed.  Robberies, murders, and all kinds of atrocities were\nperpetrated before, behind, and on both sides of us, but not so much as a\ndog barked at us, though in one instance a plan had been laid to\nintercept us.  About four leagues from Santander, whilst we were baiting\nour horses at a village hostelry, I saw a fellow run off after having\nheld a whispering conversation with a boy who was dealing out barley to\nus.  I instantly inquired of the latter what the man had said to him, but\nonly obtained an evasive answer.  It appeared afterwards that the\nconversation was about ourselves.  Two or three leagues farther there was\nan inn and village where we had proposed staying, and indeed had\nexpressed our intention of doing so; but on arriving there, finding that\nthe sun was still far from its bourne, I determined to proceed farther,\nexpecting to meet with a resting-place at the distance of a league;\nthough I was mistaken, as we found none until we reached Montaneda, nine\nleagues and a half from Santander, where was stationed a small detachment\nof soldiers.  At the dead of night we were aroused from our sleep by a\ncry that the factious were not far off.  A messenger had arrived from the\nalcalde of the village where we had previously intended staying, who\nstated that a party of Carlists had just surprised that place, and were\nsearching for an English spy, whom they supposed to be at the inn.  The\nofficer commanding the soldiers upon hearing this, not deeming his own\nsituation a safe one, instantly drew off his men, falling back on a\nstronger party stationed in a fortified village near at hand.  As for\nourselves, we saddled our horses and continued our way in the dark.  Had\nthe Carlists succeeded in apprehending me, I should instantly have been\nshot, and my body cast on the rocks to feed the vultures and wolves.  But\n\u201cit was not so written,\u201d said Antonio, who, like many of his countrymen,\nwas a fatalist.  The next night we had another singular escape: we had\narrived near the entrance of a horrible pass called \u201cEl puerto de la\npuente de las tablas,\u201d or the pass of the bridge of planks, which wound\nthrough a black and frightful mountain, on the farther side of which was\nthe town of O\u00f1as, where we meant to tarry for the night.  The sun had set\nabout a quarter of an hour.  Suddenly a man, with his face covered with\nblood, rushed out of the pass.  \u201cTurn back, sir,\u201d he said, \u201cin the name\nof God; there are murderers in that pass; they have just robbed me of my\nmule and all I possess, and I have hardly escaped with life from their\nhands.\u201d  I scarcely know why, but I made him no answer and proceeded;\nindeed I was so weary and unwell that I cared not what became of me.  We\nentered; the rocks rose perpendicularly, right and left, entirely\nintercepting the scanty twilight, so that the darkness of the grave, or\nrather the blackness of the valley of the shadow of death reigned around\nus, and we knew not where we went, but trusted to the instinct of the\nhorses, who moved on with their heads close to the ground.  The only\nsound which we heard was the plash of a stream, which tumbled down the\npass.  I expected every moment to feel a knife at my throat, but \u201c_it was\nnot so written_.\u201d  We threaded the pass without meeting a human being,\nand within three quarters of an hour after the time we entered it, we\nfound ourselves within the posada of the town of O\u00f1as, which was filled\nwith troops and armed peasants expecting an attack from the grand Carlist\narmy, which was near at hand.\n\nWell, we reached Burgos in safety; we reached Valladolid in safety; we\npassed the Guadarama in safety; and were at length safely housed in\nMadrid.  People said we had been very lucky; Antonio said, \u201cIt was so\nwritten\u201d; but I say, Glory be to the Lord for his mercies vouchsafed to\nus.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVI\n\n\nState of Affairs at Madrid\u2014The New Ministry\u2014Pope of Rome\u2014The Bookseller\nof Toledo\u2014Sword Blades\u2014Houses of Toledo\u2014The Forlorn Gypsy\u2014Proceedings at\nMadrid\u2014Another Servant.\n\nDuring my journey in the northern provinces of Spain, which occupied a\nconsiderable portion of the year 1837, I had accomplished but a slight\nportion of what I proposed to myself to effect in the outset.\nInsignificant are the results of man\u2019s labours compared with the swelling\nideas of his presumption; something, however, had been effected by the\njourney, which I had just concluded.  The New Testament of Christ was now\nenjoying a quiet sale in the principal towns of the north, and I had\nsecured the friendly interest and co-operation of the booksellers of\nthose parts, particularly of him the most considerable of them all, old\nRey of Compostella.  I had, moreover, disposed of a considerable number\nof Testaments with my own hands, to private individuals, entirely of the\nlower class, namely, muleteers, carmen, contrabandistas, etc., so that\nupon the whole I had abundant cause for gratitude and thanksgiving.\n\nI did not find our affairs in a very prosperous state at Madrid, few\ncopies having been sold in the booksellers\u2019 shops, yet what could be\nrationally expected during these latter times?  Don Carlos, with a large\narmy, had been at the gates; plunder and massacre had been expected; so\nthat people were too much occupied in forming plans to secure their lives\nand property, to give much attention to reading of any description.\n\nThe enemy, however, had now retired to his strongholds in Alava and\nGuipuscoa.  I hoped that brighter days were dawning, and that the work,\nunder my own superintendence, would, with God\u2019s blessing, prosper in the\ncapital of Spain.  How far the result corresponded with my expectations\nwill be seen in the sequel.  During my absence in the north, a total\nchange of ministers had occurred.  The liberal party had been ousted from\nthe cabinet, and in their place had entered individuals attached to the\nmoderado or court party: unfortunately, however, for my prospects, they\nconsisted of persons with whom I had no acquaintance whatever, and with\nwhom my former friends, Galiano and Isturitz, had little or no influence.\nThese gentlemen were now regularly laid on the shelf, and their political\ncareer appeared to be terminated for ever.\n\nFrom the present ministry I could expect but little; they consisted of\nmen, the greater part of whom had been either courtiers or employ\u00e9s of\nthe deceased King Ferdinand, who were friends to absolutism, and by no\nmeans inclined to do or to favour anything calculated to give offence to\nthe court of Rome, which they were anxious to conciliate, hoping that\neventually it might be induced to recognize the young queen, not as the\nconstitutional but as the absolute Queen Isabella the Second.\n\nSuch was the party which continued in power throughout the remainder of\nmy sojourn in Spain, and which persecuted me less from rancour and malice\nthan from policy.  It was not until the conclusion of the war of the\nsuccession that it lost the ascendancy, when it sank to the ground with\nits patroness the queen-mother, before the dictatorship of Espartero.\n\nThe first step which I took after my return to Madrid, towards\ncirculating the Scriptures, was a very bold one.  It was neither more nor\nless than the establishment of a shop for the sale of Testaments.  This\nshop was situated in the Calle del Principe, a respectable and\nwell-frequented street in the neighbourhood of the Square of Cervantes.\nI furnished it handsomely with glass cases and chandeliers, and procured\nan acute Gallegan of the name of Pepe Calzado, to superintend the\nbusiness, who gave me weekly a faithful account of the copies sold.\n\n\u201cHow strangely times alter,\u201d said I, the second day subsequent to the\nopening of my establishment, as I stood on the opposite side of the\nstreet, leaning against the wall with folded arms, surveying my shop, on\nthe windows of which were painted in large yellow characters, _Despacho\nde la Sociedad Biblica y Estrangera_; \u201chow strangely times alter; here\nhave I been during the last eight months running about old Popish Spain,\ndistributing Testaments, as agent of what the Papists call an heretical\nsociety, and have neither been stoned nor burnt; and here am I now in the\ncapital, doing that which one would think were enough to cause all the\ndead inquisitors and officials buried within the circuit of the walls to\nrise from their graves and cry abomination; and yet no one interferes\nwith me.  Pope of Rome!  Pope of Rome! look to thyself.  That shop may be\nclosed; but oh! what a sign of the times, that it has been permitted to\nexist for one day.  It appears to me, my Father, that the days of your\nsway are numbered in Spain; that you will not be permitted much longer to\nplunder her, to scoff at her, and to scourge her with scorpions, as in\nbygone periods.  See I not the hand on the wall?  See I not in yonder\nletters a \u2018Mene, mene, Tekel, Upharsin\u2019?  Look to thyself, Batuschca.\u201d\n\nAnd I remained for two hours, leaning against the wall, staring at the\nshop.\n\nA short time after the establishment of the despacho at Madrid, I once\nmore mounted the saddle, and, attended by Antonio, rode over to Toledo,\nfor the purpose of circulating the Scriptures, sending beforehand by a\nmuleteer a cargo of one hundred Testaments.  I instantly addressed myself\nto the principal bookseller of the place, whom from the circumstance of\nhis living in a town so abounding with canons, priests, and ex-friars as\nToledo, I expected to find a Carlist, or a _servile_ at least.  I was\nnever more mistaken in my life; on entering the shop, which was very\nlarge and commodious, I beheld a stout athletic man, dressed in a kind of\ncavalry uniform, with a helmet on his head, and an immense sabre in his\nhand: this was the bookseller himself, who I soon found was an officer in\nthe national cavalry.  Upon learning who I was, he shook me heartily by\nthe hand, and said that nothing would give him greater pleasure than\ntaking charge of the books, which he would endeavour to circulate to the\nutmost of his ability.\n\n\u201cWill not your doing so bring you into odium with the clergy?\u201d\n\n\u201cCa!\u201d said he; \u201cwho cares?  I am rich, and so was my father before me.  I\ndo not depend on them, they cannot hate me more than they do already, for\nI make no secret of my opinions.  I have just returned from an\nexpedition,\u201d said he; \u201cmy brother nationals and myself have, for the last\nthree days, been occupied in hunting down the factious and thieves of the\nneighbourhood; we have killed three and brought in several prisoners.\nWho cares for the cowardly priests?  I am a liberal, Don Jorge, and a\nfriend of your countryman, Flinter.  Many is the Carlist guerilla-curate\nand robber-friar whom I have assisted him to catch.  I am rejoiced to\nhear that he has just been appointed captain-general of Toledo; there\nwill be fine doings here when he arrives, Don Jorge.  We will make the\nclergy shake between us, I assure you.\u201d\n\nToledo was formerly the capital of Spain.  Its population at present is\nbarely fifteen thousand souls, though, in the time of the Romans, and\nalso during the Middle Ages, it is said to have amounted to between two\nand three hundred thousand.  It is situated about twelve leagues (forty\nmiles) westward of Madrid, and is built upon a steep rocky hill, round\nwhich flows the Tagus, on all sides but the north.  It still possesses a\ngreat many remarkable edifices, notwithstanding that it has long since\nfallen into decay.  Its cathedral is the most magnificent of Spain, and\nis the see of the primate.  In the tower of this cathedral is the famous\nbell of Toledo, the largest in the world with the exception of the\nmonster bell of Moscow, which I have also seen.  It weighs 1,543 arrobes,\nor 37,032 pounds.  It has, however, a disagreeable sound, owing to a\ncleft in its side.  Toledo could once boast the finest pictures in Spain,\nbut many were stolen or destroyed by the French during the Peninsular\nwar, and still more have lately been removed by order of the government.\nPerhaps the most remarkable one still remains; I allude to that which\nrepresents the burial of the Count of Orgaz, the masterpiece of Domenico,\nthe Greek, a most extraordinary genius, some of whose productions possess\nmerit of a very high order.  The picture in question is in the little\nparish church of San Tome, at the bottom of the aisle, on the left side\nof the altar.  Could it be purchased, I should say it would be cheap at\nfive thousand pounds.\n\nAmongst the many remarkable things which meet the eye of the curious\nobserver at Toledo, is the manufactory of arms, where are wrought the\nswords, spears, and other weapons intended for the army, with the\nexception of fire-arms, which mostly come from abroad.\n\nIn old times, as is well known, the sword-blades of Toledo were held in\ngreat estimation, and were transmitted as merchandise throughout\nChristendom.  The present manufactory, or fabrica, as it is called, is a\nhandsome modern edifice, situated without the wall of the city, on a\nplain contiguous to the river, with which it communicates by a small\ncanal.  It is said that the water and the sand of the Tagus are essential\nfor the proper tempering of the swords.  I asked some of the principal\nworkmen whether, at the present day, they could manufacture weapons of\nequal value to those of former days, and whether the secret had been\nlost.\n\n\u201cCa!\u201d said they, \u201cthe swords of Toledo were never so good as those which\nwe are daily making.  It is ridiculous enough to see strangers coming\nhere to purchase old swords, the greater part of which are mere rubbish,\nand never made at Toledo, yet for such they will give a large price,\nwhilst they would grudge two dollars for this jewel, which was made but\nyesterday\u201d; thereupon putting into my hand a middle-sized rapier.  \u201cYour\nworship,\u201d said they, \u201cseems to have a strong arm, prove its temper\nagainst the stone wall;\u2014thrust boldly and fear not.\u201d\n\nI _have_ a strong arm and dashed the point with my utmost force against\nthe solid granite: my arm was numbed to the shoulder from the violence of\nthe concussion, and continued so for nearly a week, but the sword\nappeared not to be at all blunted, or to have suffered in any respect.\n\n\u201cA better sword than that,\u201d said an ancient workman, a native of Old\nCastile, \u201cnever transfixed Moor out yonder on the sagra.\u201d\n\nDuring my stay at Toledo, I lodged at the Posada de los Caballeros, which\nsignifies the inn of the gentlemen, which name, in some respects, is\ncertainly well deserved, for there are many palaces far less magnificent\nthan this inn of Toledo.  By magnificence it must not be supposed,\nhowever, that I allude to costliness of furniture, or any kind of luxury\nwhich pervaded the culinary department.  The rooms were as empty as those\nof Spanish inns generally are, and the fare, though good in its kind, was\nplain and homely; but I have seldom seen a more imposing edifice.  It was\nof immense size, consisting of several stories, and was built something\nin the Moorish taste, with a quadrangular court in the centre, beneath\nwhich was an immense algibe or tank, serving as a reservoir for\nrain-water.  All the houses in Toledo are supplied with tanks of this\ndescription, into which the waters in the rainy season flow from the\nroofs through pipes.  No other water is used for drinking; that of the\nTagus, not being considered salubrious, is only used for purposes of\ncleanliness, being conveyed up the steep narrow streets on donkeys in\nlarge stone jars.  The city, standing on a rocky mountain, has no wells.\nAs for the rain-water, it deposits a sediment in the tank, and becomes\nvery sweet and potable: these tanks are cleaned out twice every year.\nDuring the summer, at which time the heat in this part of Spain is\nintense, the families spend the greater part of the day in the courts,\nwhich are overhung with a linen awning, the heat of the atmosphere being\ntempered by the coolness arising from the tank below, which answers the\nsame purpose as the fountain in the southern provinces of Spain.\n\nI spent about a week at Toledo, during which time several copies of the\nTestament were disposed of in the shop of my friend the bookseller.\nSeveral priests took it up from the mostrador on which it lay, examined\nit, but made no remarks; none of them purchased it.  My friend showed me\nthrough his house, almost every apartment of which was lined from roof to\nfloor with books, many of which were highly valuable.  He told me that he\npossessed the best collection in Spain of the ancient literature of the\ncountry.  He was, however, less proud of his library than his stud;\nfinding that I had some acquaintance with horses, his liking for me and\nalso his respect considerably increased.  \u201cAll I have,\u201d said he, \u201cis at\nyour service; I see you are a man after my own heart.  When you are\ndisposed to ride out upon the sagra, you have only to apply to my groom,\nwho will forthwith saddle you my famed Cordovese entero; I purchased him\nfrom the stables at Aranjuez, when the royal stud was broken up.  There\nis but one other man to whom I would lend him, and that man is Flinter.\u201d\n\nAt Toledo I met with a forlorn Gypsy woman and her son, a lad of about\nfourteen years of age; she was not a native of the place, but had come\nfrom La Mancha, her husband having been cast into the prison of Toledo on\na charge of mule-stealing: the crime had been proved against him, and in\na few days he was to depart for Malaga, with the chain of galley slaves.\nHe was quite destitute of money, and his wife was now in Toledo, earning\na few cuartos by telling fortunes about the streets, to support him in\nprison.  She told me that it was her intention to follow him to Malaga,\nwhere she hoped to be able to effect his escape.  What an instance of\nconjugal affection; and yet the affection here was all on one side, as is\ntoo frequently the case.  Her husband was a worthless scoundrel, who had\npreviously abandoned her and betaken himself to Madrid, where he had long\nlived in concubinage with the notorious she-thug Aurora, at whose\ninstigation he had committed the robbery for which he was now held in\ndurance.  \u201cShould your husband escape from Malaga, in what direction will\nhe fly?\u201d I demanded.\n\n\u201cTo the chim of the Corahai, my son; to the land of the Moors, to be a\nsoldier of the Moorish king.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what will become of yourself?\u201d  I inquired; \u201cthink you that he will\ntake you with him?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe will leave me on the shore, my son, and as soon as he has crossed the\nblack pawnee, he will forget me and never think of me more.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd knowing his ingratitude, why should you give yourself so much\ntrouble about him?\u201d\n\n\u201cAm I not his romi, my son, and am I not bound by the law of the Cales to\nassist him to the last?  Should he return from the land of the Corahai at\nthe end of a hundred years, and should find me alive, and should say, I\nam hungry, little wife, go forth and steal or tell bahi, I must do it,\nfor he is the rom and I the romi.\u201d\n\nOn my return to Madrid, I found the despacho still open: various\nTestaments had been sold, though the number was by no means considerable:\nthe work had to labour under great disadvantage, from the ignorance of\nthe people at large with respect to its tenor and contents.  It was no\nwonder, then, that little interest was felt respecting it.  To call,\nhowever, public attention to the despacho, I printed three thousand\nadvertisements on paper, yellow, blue, and crimson, with which I almost\ncovered the sides of the streets, and besides this, inserted an account\nof it in all the journals and periodicals; the consequence was, that in a\nshort time almost every person in Madrid was aware of its existence.\nSuch exertions in London or Paris would probably have ensured the sale of\nthe entire edition of the New Testament within a few days.  In Madrid,\nhowever, the result was not quite so flattering; for after the\nestablishment had been open an entire month, the copies disposed of\nbarely amounted to one hundred.\n\nThese proceedings of mine did not fail to cause a great sensation: the\npriests and their partisans were teeming with malice and fury, which, for\nsome time, however, they thought proper to exhibit only in words; it\nbeing their opinion that I was favoured by the ambassador and by the\nBritish government; but there was no attempt, however atrocious, that\nmight not be expected from their malignity; and were it right and seemly\nfor me, the most insignificant of worms, to make such a comparison, I\nmight say, like Paul at Ephesus, I was fighting with wild beasts.\n\nOn the last day of the year 1837, my servant Antonio thus addressed me:\n\u201cMon ma\u00eetre, it is necessary that I leave you for a time.  Ever since we\nhave returned from our journeys, I have become unsettled and dissatisfied\nwith the house, the furniture, and with Donna Marequita.  I have\ntherefore engaged myself as cook in the house of the Count of ---, where\nI am to receive four dollars per month less than what your worship gives\nme.  I am fond of change, though it be for the worse.  Adieu, mon ma\u00eetre,\nmay you be as well served as you deserve; should you chance, however, to\nhave any pressing need _de mes soins_, send for me without hesitation,\nand I will at once give my new master warning, if I am still with him,\nand come to you.\u201d\n\nThus was I deprived for a time of the services of Antonio.  I continued\nfor a few days without a domestic, at the end of which time I hired a\ncertain Cantabrian or Basque, a native of the village of Hernani, in\nGuipuscoa, who was strongly recommended to me.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVII\n\n\nEuscarra\u2014Basque not Irish\u2014Sanskrit and Tartar Dialects\u2014A Vowel\nLanguage\u2014Popular Poetry\u2014The Basques\u2014Their Persons\u2014Basque Women.\n\nI now entered upon the year 1838, perhaps the most eventful of all those\nwhich I passed in Spain.  The despacho still continued open, with a\nsomewhat increasing sale.  Having at this time little of particular\nmoment with which to occupy myself, I committed to the press two works,\nwhich for some time past had been in the course of preparation.  These\nwere the Gospel of St. Luke in the Spanish Gypsy and the Euscarra\nlanguages.\n\nWith respect to the Gypsy Gospel I have little to say, having already\nspoken of it in a former work (_The Zincali_): it was translated by\nmyself, together with the greater part of the New Testament, during my\nlong intercourse with the Spanish Gypsies.  Concerning the Luke in\nEuscarra, however, it will be as well to be more particular, and to avail\nmyself of the present opportunity to say a few words concerning the\nlanguage in which it was written, and the people for whom it was\nintended.\n\nThe Euscarra, then, is the proper term for a certain speech or language,\nsupposed to have been at one time prevalent throughout Spain, but which\nis at present confined to certain districts, both on the French and\nSpanish side of the Pyrenees, which are laved by the waters of the\nCantabrian Gulf or Bay of Biscay.  This language is commonly known as the\nBasque or Biscayan, which words are mere modifications of the word\nEuscarra, the consonant B having been prefixed for the sake of euphony.\nMuch that is vague, erroneous, and hypothetical, has been said and\nwritten concerning this tongue.  The Basques assert that it was not only\nthe original language of Spain, but also of the world, and that from it\nall other languages are derived; but the Basques are a very ignorant\npeople, and know nothing of the philosophy of language.  Very little\nimportance, therefore, need be attached to any opinion of theirs on such\na subject.  A few amongst them, however, who affect some degree of\nlearning, contend, that it is neither more nor less than a dialect of the\nPhoenician, and, that the Basques are the descendants of a Phoenician\ncolony, established at the foot of the Pyrenees at a very remote period.\nOf this theory, or rather conjecture, as it is unsubstantiated by the\nslightest proof, it is needless to take further notice than to observe\nthat, provided the Phoenician language, as many of the _truly learned_\nhave supposed and almost proved, was a dialect of the Hebrew, or closely\nallied to it, it were as unreasonable to suppose that the Basque is\nderived from it, as that the Kamschatdale and Cherokee are dialects of\nthe Greek or Latin.\n\nThere is, however, another opinion with respect to the Basque which\ndeserves more especial notice, from the circumstance of its being\nextensively entertained amongst the literati of various countries of\nEurope, more especially England.  I allude to the Celtic origin of this\ntongue, and its close connexion with the most cultivated of all the\nCeltic dialects, the Irish.  People who pretend to be well conversant\nwith the subject, have even gone so far as to assert, that so little\ndifference exists between the Basque and Irish tongues, that individuals\nof the two nations, when they meet together, find no difficulty in\nunderstanding each other, with no other means of communication than their\nrespective languages; in a word, that there is scarcely a greater\ndifference between the two than between the French and the Spanish\nBasque.  Such similarity, however, though so strongly insisted upon, by\nno means exists in fact, and perhaps in the whole of Europe it would be\ndifficult to discover two languages which exhibit fewer points of mutual\nresemblance than the Basque and Irish.\n\nThe Irish, like most other European languages, is a dialect of the\nSanskrit, a _remote_ one, as may well be supposed.  The corner of the\nwestern world in which it is still preserved being, of all countries in\nEurope, the most distant from the proper home of the parent tongue.  It\nis still, however, a dialect of that venerable and most original speech,\nnot so closely resembling it, it is true, as the English, Danish, and\nthose which belong to what is called the Gothic family, and far less than\nthose of the Sclavonian; for, the nearer we approach to the East, in\nequal degree the assimilation of languages to this parent stock becomes\nmore clear and distinct; but still a dialect, agreeing with the Sanskrit\nin structure, in the arrangement of words, and in many instances in the\nwords themselves, which, however modified, may still be recognized as\nSanskrit.  But what is the Basque, and to what family does it properly\npertain?\n\nTo two great Asiatic languages, all the dialects spoken at present in\nEurope may be traced.  These two, if not now spoken, still exist in\nbooks, and are, moreover, the languages of two of the principal religions\nof the East.  I allude to the Tibetian and Sanskrit\u2014the sacred languages\nof the followers of Buddh and Bramah.  These tongues, though they possess\nmany words in common, which is easily to be accounted for by their close\nproximity, are properly distinct, being widely different in structure.\nIn what this difference consists, I have neither time nor inclination to\nstate; suffice it to say that the Celtic, Gothic, and Sclavonian dialects\nin Europe belong to the Sanskrit family, even as in the East the Persian,\nand to a less degree the Arabic, Hebrew, etc.; whilst to the Tibetian or\nTartar family in Asia pertain the Mandchou and Mongolian, the Calmuc and\nthe Turkish of the Caspian Sea; and in Europe, the Hungarian and the\nBasque _partially_.\n\nIndeed this latter language is a strange anomaly, so that upon the whole\nit is less difficult to say what it is not, than what it is.  It abounds\nwith Sanskrit words to such a degree that its surface seems strewn with\nthem.  Yet would it be wrong to term it a Sanskrit dialect, for in the\ncollocation of these words the Tartar form is most decidedly observable.\nA considerable proportion of Tartar words is likewise to be found in this\nlanguage, though perhaps not in equal number to the terms derived from\nthe Sanskrit.  Of these Tartar etymons I shall at present content myself\nwith citing one, though, if necessary, it were easy to adduce hundreds.\nThis word is _Jauna_, or as it is pronounced, _Khauna_, a word in\nconstant use amongst the Basques, and which is the _Khan_ of the Mongols\nand Mandchous, and of the same signification\u2014Lord.\n\nHaving closely examined the subject in all its various bearings, and\nhaving weighed what is to be said on one side against what is to be\nadvanced on the other, I am inclined to rank the Basque rather amongst\nthe Tartar than the Sanskrit dialects.  Whoever should have an\nopportunity of comparing the enunciation of the Basques and Tartars\nwould, from that alone, even if he understood them not, come to the\nconclusion that their respective languages were formed on the same\nprinciples.  In both occur periods seemingly interminable, during which\nthe voice gradually ascends to a climax, and then gradually sinks down.\n\nI have spoken of the surprising number of Sanskrit words contained in the\nBasque language, specimens of some of which will be found below.  It is\nremarkable enough, that in the greater part of the derivatives from the\nSanskrit the Basque has dropped the initial consonant, so that the word\ncommences with a vowel.  The Basque, indeed, may be said to be almost a\nvowel language; the number of consonants employed being comparatively\nfew: perhaps eight words out of ten commence and terminate with a vowel,\nowing to which it is a language to the highest degree soft and melodious,\nfar excelling in this respect any other language in Europe, not even\nexcepting the Italian.\n\nHere follow a few specimens of Basque words with the Sanskrit roots in\njuxtaposition:\u2014\n\nBASQUE.          SANSKRIT.\nArdoa            Sandh\u00e1na        _Wine_.\nArratsa          Ratri           _Night_.\nBeguia           Akshi           _Eye_.\nChoria           Chiria          _Bird_.\nChacurra         Cucura          _Dog_.\nErregui\u00f1a        Rani            _Queen_.\nIcusi            Iksha           _To see_.\nIru              Treya           _Three_.\nJan (Khan)       Khana           _To eat_.\nUria             Puri            _City_.\nUrruti           Dura            _Far_.\n\nSuch is the tongue in which I brought out Saint Luke\u2019s Gospel at Madrid.\nThe translation I procured originally from a Basque physician of the name\nof Oteiza.  Previous to being sent to the press, the version had lain\nnearly two years in my possession, during which time, and particularly\nduring my travels, I lost no opportunity of submitting it to the\ninspection of those who were considered competent scholars in the\nEuscarra.  It did not entirely please me; but it was in vain to seek for\na better translation.\n\nIn my early youth I had obtained a slight acquaintance with the Euscarra,\nas it exists in books.  This acquaintance I considerably increased during\nmy stay in Spain; and by occasionally mingling with Basques, was enabled\nto understand the spoken language to a certain extent, and even to speak\nit, but always with considerable hesitation; for to speak Basque, even\ntolerably, it is necessary to have lived in the country from a very early\nperiod.  So great are the difficulties attending it, and so strange are\nits peculiarities, that it is very rare to find a foreigner possessed of\nany considerable skill in the oral language, and the Spaniards consider\nthe obstacles so formidable that they have a proverb to the effect that\nSatan once lived seven years in Biscay, and then departed, finding\nhimself unable either to understand or to make himself understood.\n\nThere are few inducements to the study of this language.  In the first\nplace, the acquisition of it is by no means necessary even to those who\nreside in the countries where it is spoken; the Spanish being generally\nunderstood throughout the Basque provinces pertaining to Spain, and the\nFrench in those pertaining to France.\n\nIn the second place, neither dialect is in possession of any peculiar\nliterature capable of repaying the toil of the student.  There are\nvarious books extant both in French and Spanish Basque, but these consist\nentirely of Popish devotion, and are for the most part translations.\n\nIt will, perhaps, here be asked whether the Basques do not possess\npopular poetry, like most other nations, however small and\ninconsiderable.  They have certainly no lack of songs, ballads, and\nstanzas, but of a character by no means entitled to the appellation of\npoetry.  I have noted down from recitation a considerable portion of what\nthey call their poetry, but the only tolerable specimen of verse which I\never discovered amongst them was the following stanza, which, after all,\nis not entitled to very high praise:\u2014\n\n    \u201cIchasoa urac aundi,\n    Estu ondoric agueri\u2014\n    Pasaco ninsaqueni andic\n    Maitea icustea gatic.\u201d\n\n_i.e._ \u201cThe waters of the sea are vast, and their bottom cannot be seen:\nbut over them I will pass, that I may behold my love.\u201d\n\nThe Basques are a singing rather than a poetical people.  Notwithstanding\nthe facility with which their tongue lends itself to the composition of\nverse, they have never produced among them a poet with the slightest\npretensions to reputation; but their voices are singularly sweet, and\nthey are known to excel in musical composition.  It is the opinion of a\ncertain author, the Abb\u00e9 D\u2019Ilharce, who has written about them, that they\nderived the name _Cantabri_, by which they were known to the Romans, from\n_Khantor-ber_, signifying sweet singers.  They possess much music of\ntheir own, some of which is said to be exceedingly ancient.  Of this\nmusic specimens were published at Donostian (San Sebastian) in the year\n1826, edited by a certain Juan Ignacio Iztueta.  These consist of wild\nand thrilling marches, to the sound of which it is believed that the\nancient Basques were in the habit of descending from their mountains to\ncombat with the Romans, and subsequently with the Moors.  Whilst\nlistening to them it is easy to suppose oneself in the close vicinity of\nsome desperate encounter.  We seem to hear the charge of cavalry on the\nsounding plain, the clash of swords, and the rushing of men down the\ngorges of hills.  This music is accompanied with words, but such words!\nNothing can be imagined more stupid, commonplace, and uninteresting.  So\nfar from being martial, they relate to everyday incidents and appear to\nhave no connexion whatever with the music.  They are evidently of modern\ndate.\n\nIn person the Basques are of the middle size, and are active and\nathletic.  They are in general of fair complexions and handsome features,\nand in appearance bear no slight resemblance to certain Tartar tribes of\nthe Caucasus.  Their bravery is unquestionable, and they are considered\nas the best soldiery belonging to the Spanish crown: a fact highly\ncorroborative of the supposition that they are of Tartar origin, the\nTartars being of all races the most warlike, and amongst whom the most\nremarkable conquerors have been produced.  They are faithful and honest,\nand capable of much disinterested attachment; kind and hospitable to\nstrangers; all of which points are far from being at variance with the\nTartar character.  But they are somewhat dull, and their capacities are\nby no means of a high order, and in these respects they again resemble\nthe Tartars.\n\nNo people on earth are prouder than the Basques, but theirs is a kind of\nrepublican pride.  They have no nobility amongst them, and no one will\nacknowledge a superior.  The poorest carman is as proud as the governor\nof Tolosa.  \u201cHe is more powerful than I,\u201d he will say, \u201cbut I am of as\ngood blood; perhaps hereafter I may become a governor myself.\u201d  They\nabhor servitude, at least out of their own country; and though\ncircumstances frequently oblige them to seek masters, it is very rare to\nfind them filling the places of common domestics; they are stewards,\nsecretaries, accountants, etc.  True it is, that it was my own fortune to\nobtain a Basque domestic; but then he always treated me more as an equal\nthan a master, would sit down in my presence, give me his advice unasked,\nand enter into conversation with me at all times and occasions.  Did I\ncheck him!  Certainly not!  For in that case he would have left me, and a\nmore faithful creature I never knew.  His fate was a mournful one, as\nwill appear in the sequel.\n\nI have said that the Basques abhor servitude, and are rarely to be found\nserving as domestics amongst the Spaniards.  I allude, however, merely to\nthe males.  The females, on the contrary, have no objection whatever to\nenter houses as servants.  Women, indeed, amongst the Basques are not\nlooked upon with all the esteem which they deserve, and are considered as\nfitted for little else than to perform menial offices, even as in the\nEast, where they are viewed in the light of servants and slaves.  The\nBasque females differ widely in character from the men; they are quick\nand vivacious, and have in general much more talent.  They are famous for\ntheir skill as cooks, and in most respectable houses of Madrid a Biscayan\nfemale may be found in the kitchen, queen supreme of the culinary\ndepartment.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVIII\n\n\nThe Prohibition\u2014Gospel Persecuted\u2014Charge of Sorcery\u2014Ofalia.\n\nAbout the middle of January a swoop was made upon me by my enemies, in\nthe shape of a peremptory prohibition from the political governor of\nMadrid to sell any more New Testaments.  This measure by no means took me\nby surprise, as I had for some time previously been expecting something\nof the kind, on account of the political sentiments of the ministers then\nin power.  I forthwith paid a visit to Sir George Villiers, informing him\nof what had occurred.  He promised to do all he could to cause the\nprohibition to be withdrawn.  Unfortunately at this time he had not much\ninfluence, having opposed with all his might the entrance of the moderado\nministry to power, and the nomination of Ofalia to the presidency of the\ncabinet.  I, however, never lost confidence in the Almighty, in whose\ncause I was engaged.\n\nMatters were going on very well before this check.  The demand for\nTestaments was becoming considerable, so much so, that the clergy were\nalarmed, and this step was the consequence.  But they had previously\nrecourse to another, well worthy of them, they attempted to act upon my\nfears.  One of the ruffians of Madrid, called Manolos, came up to me one\nnight, in a dark street, and told me that unless I discontinued selling\nmy \u201cJewish books,\u201d I should have a knife \u201c_nailed in my heart_\u201d; but I\ntold him to go home, say his prayers, and tell his employers that I\npitied them; whereupon he turned away with an oath.  A few days after, I\nreceived an order to send two copies of the Testament to the office of\nthe political governor, with which I complied, and in less than\ntwenty-four hours an alguazil arrived at the shop with a notice\nprohibiting the further sale of the work.\n\nOne circumstance rejoiced me.  Singular as it may appear, the authorities\ntook no measures to cause my little despacho to be closed, and I received\nno prohibition respecting the sale of any work but the New Testament, and\nas the Gospel of Saint Luke, in Romany and Basque, would within a short\ntime be ready for delivery, I hoped to carry on matters in a small way\ntill better times should arrive.\n\nI was advised to erase from the shop windows the words \u201cDespacho of the\nBritish and Foreign Bible Society.\u201d  This, however, I refused to do.\nThose words had tended very much to call attention, which was my grand\nobject.  Had I attempted to conduct things in an underhand manner, I\nshould, at the time of which I am speaking, scarcely have sold thirty\ncopies in Madrid, instead of nearly three hundred.  People who know me\nnot, may be disposed to call me rash; but I am far from being so, as I\nnever adopt a venturous course when any other is open to me.  I am not,\nhowever, a person to be terrified by any danger, when I see that braving\nit is the only way to achieve an object.\n\nThe booksellers were unwilling to sell my work; I was compelled to\nestablish a shop of my own.  Every shop in Madrid has a name.  What name\ncould I give it but the true one?  I was not ashamed of my cause or my\ncolours.  I hoisted them, and fought beneath them not without success.\n\nThe priestly party in Madrid, in the meantime, spared no effort to vilify\nme.  They started a publication called _The Friend of the Christian\nReligion_, in which a stupid but furious attack upon me appeared, which\nI, however, treated with the contempt it deserved.  But not satisfied\nwith this, they endeavoured to incite the populace against me, by telling\nthem that I was a sorcerer, and a companion of Gypsies and witches, and\ntheir agents even called me so in the streets.  That I was an associate\nof Gypsies and fortune-tellers I do not deny.  Why should I be ashamed of\ntheir company when my Master mingled with publicans and thieves?  Many of\nthe Gypsy race came frequently to visit me; received instruction, and\nheard parts of the Gospel read to them in their own language, and when\nthey were hungry and faint, I gave them to eat and drink.  This might be\ndeemed sorcery in Spain, but I am not without hope that it will be\notherwise estimated in England, and had I perished at this period, I\nthink there are some who would have been disposed to acknowledge that I\nhad not lived altogether in vain (always as an instrument of the \u201cMost\nHighest\u201d), having been permitted to turn one of the most valuable books\nof God into the speech of the most degraded of his creatures.\n\nIn the meantime I endeavoured to enter into negotiations with the\nministry, for the purpose of obtaining permission to sell the New\nTestament in Madrid, and the nullification of the prohibition.  I\nexperienced, however, great opposition, which I was unable to surmount.\nSeveral of the ultra-popish bishops, then resident in Madrid, had\ndenounced the Bible, the Bible Society, and myself.  Nevertheless,\nnotwithstanding their powerful and united efforts, they were unable to\neffect their principal object, namely, my expulsion from Madrid and\nSpain.  The Count Ofalia, notwithstanding he had permitted himself to be\nmade the instrument, to a certain extent, of these people, would not\nconsent to be pushed to such a length.  Throughout this affair, I cannot\nfind words sufficiently strong to do justice to the zeal and interest\nwhich Sir George Villiers displayed in the cause of the Testament.  He\nhad various interviews with Ofalia on the subject, and in these he\nexpressed to him his sense of the injustice and tyranny which had been\npractised in this instance towards his countryman.\n\nOfalia had been moved by these remonstrances, and more than once promised\nto do all in his power to oblige Sir George; but then the bishops again\nbeset him, and playing upon his political if not religious fears,\nprevented him from acting a just, honest, and honourable part.  At the\ndesire of Sir George Villiers, I drew up a brief account of the Bible\nSociety, and an exposition of its views, especially in respect to Spain,\nwhich he presented with his own hands to the Count.  I shall not trouble\nthe reader by inserting this memorial, but content myself with observing,\nthat I made no attempts to flatter and cajole, but expressed myself\nhonestly and frankly, as a Christian ought.  Ofalia, on reading it, said,\n\u201cWhat a pity that this is a Protestant society, and that all its members\nare not Catholics.\u201d\n\nA few days subsequently, to my great astonishment, he sent a message to\nme by a friend, requesting that I would send him a copy of my Gypsy\nGospel.  I may as well here state, that the fame of this work, though not\nyet published, had already spread like wildfire through Madrid, and every\nperson was passionately eager to possess a copy; indeed, several grandees\nof Spain sent messages with similar requests, all of which I however\ndenied.  I instantly resolved to take advantage of this overture on the\npart of Count Ofalia, and to call on him myself.  I therefore caused a\ncopy of the Gospel to be handsomely bound, and proceeding to the palace,\nwas instantly admitted to him.  He was a dusky, diminutive person,\nbetween fifty and sixty years of age, with false hair and teeth, but\nexceedingly gentlemanly manners.  He received me with great affability,\nand thanked me for my present; but on my proceeding to speak of the New\nTestament, he told me that the subject was surrounded with difficulties,\nand that the great body of the clergy had taken up the matter against me;\nhe conjured me, however, to be patient and peaceable, in which case he\nsaid he would endeavour to devise some plan to satisfy me.  Amongst other\nthings, he observed that the bishops hated a sectarian more than an\nAtheist.  Whereupon I replied, that, like the Pharisees of old, they\ncared more for the gold of the temple than the temple itself.  Throughout\nthe whole of our interview he evidently laboured under great fear, and\nwas continually looking behind and around him, seemingly in dread of\nbeing overheard, which brought to my mind an expression of a friend of\nmine, that if there be any truth in metempsychosis, the soul of Count\nOfalia must have originally belonged to a mouse.  We parted in kindness,\nand I went away, wondering by what strange chance this poor man had\nbecome prime minister of a country like Spain.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIX\n\n\nThe Two Gospels\u2014The Alguazil\u2014The Warrant\u2014The Good Maria\u2014The Arrest\u2014Sent\nto Prison\u2014Reflections\u2014The Reception\u2014The Prison Room\u2014Redress Demanded.\n\nAt length the Gospel of Saint Luke in the Gypsy language was in a state\nof readiness.  I therefore deposited a certain number of copies in the\ndespacho, and announced them for sale.  The Basque, which was by this\ntime also printed, was likewise advertised.  For this last work there was\nlittle demand.  Not so, however, for the Gypsy Luke, of which I could\nhave easily disposed of the whole edition in less than a fortnight.\nLong, however, before this period had expired, the clergy were up in\narms.  \u201cSorcery!\u201d said one bishop.  \u201cThere is more in this than we can\ndive into,\u201d exclaimed a second.  \u201cHe will convert all Spain by means of\nthe Gypsy language,\u201d cried a third.  And then came the usual chorus on\nsuch occasions, of _Que infamia_!  _Que picardia_!  At last, having\nconsulted together, away they hurried to their tool the corregidor, or,\naccording to the modern term, the gefe politico of Madrid.  I have\nforgotten the name of this worthy, of whom I had myself no personal\nknowledge whatever.  Judging from his actions, however, and from common\nreport, I should say that he was a stupid wrong-headed creature, savage\nwithal\u2014a melange of borrico, mule, and wolf.  Having an inveterate\nantipathy to all foreigners, he lent a willing ear to the complaint of my\naccusers, and forthwith gave orders to make a seizure of all the copies\nof the Gypsy Gospel which could be found in the despacho.  The\nconsequence was, that a numerous body of alguazils directed their steps\nto the Calle del principe; some thirty copies of the book in question\nwere pounced upon, and about the same number of Saint Luke in Basque.\nWith this spoil these satellites returned in triumph to the gefatura\npolitica, where they divided the copies of the Gypsy volume amongst\nthemselves, selling subsequently the greater number at a large price, the\nbook being in the greatest demand, and thus becoming unintentionally\nagents of an heretical society.  But every one must live by his trade,\nsay these people, and they lose no opportunity of making their words\ngood, by disposing to the best advantage of any booty which falls into\ntheir hands.  As no person cared about the Basque Gospel, it was safely\nstowed away, with other unmarketable captures, in the warehouses of the\noffice.\n\nThe Gypsy Gospels had now been seized, at least as many as were exposed\nfor sale in the despacho.  The corregidor and his friends, however, were\nof opinion that many more might be obtained by means of a little\nmanagement.  Fellows, therefore, hangers-on of the police office, were\ndaily dispatched to the shop in all kinds of disguises, inquiring, with\ngreat seeming anxiety, for \u201cGypsy books,\u201d and offering high prices for\ncopies.  They, however, returned to their employers empty-handed.  My\nGallegan was on his guard, informing all who made inquiries, that books\nof no description would be sold at the establishment for the present.\nWhich was in truth the case, as I had given him particular orders to sell\nno more under any pretence whatever.\n\nI got no credit, however, for my frank dealing.  The corregidor and his\nconfederates could not persuade themselves but that by some means\nmysterious and unknown to them, I was daily selling hundreds of these\nGypsy books, which were to revolutionize the country, and annihilate the\npower of the Father of Rome.  A plan was therefore resolved upon, by\nmeans of which they hoped to have an opportunity of placing me in a\nposition which would incapacitate me for some time from taking any active\nmeasures to circulate the Scriptures, either in Gypsy or in any other\nlanguage.\n\nIt was on the morning of the first of May, if I forget not, that an\nunknown individual made his appearance in my apartment as I was seated at\nbreakfast; he was a mean-looking fellow, about the middle stature, with a\ncountenance on which knave was written in legible characters.  The\nhostess ushered him in, and then withdrew.  I did not like the appearance\nof my visitor, but assuming some degree of courtesy, I requested him to\nsit down, and demanded his business.  \u201cI come from his excellency the\npolitical chief of Madrid,\u201d he replied, \u201cand my business is to inform you\nthat his excellency is perfectly aware of your proceedings, and is at any\ntime able to prove that you are still disposing of in secret those evil\nbooks which you have been forbidden to sell.\u201d  \u201cIs he so,\u201d I replied;\n\u201cpray let him do so forthwith, but what need of giving me information?\u201d\n\u201cPerhaps,\u201d continued the fellow, \u201cyou think his worship has no witnesses;\nknow, however, that he has many, and respectable ones too.\u201d  \u201cDoubtless,\u201d\nI replied, \u201cand from the respectability of your own appearance, you are\nperhaps one of them.  But you are occupying my time unprofitably; begone,\ntherefore, and tell whoever sent you, that I have by no means a high\nopinion of his wisdom.\u201d  \u201cI shall go when I please,\u201d retorted the fellow;\n\u201cdo you know to whom you are speaking?  Are you aware that if I think fit\nI can search your apartment, yes, even below your bed?  What have we\nhere,\u201d he continued; and commenced with his stick poking a heap of papers\nwhich lay upon a chair; \u201cwhat have we here; are these also papers of the\nGypsies?\u201d  I instantly determined upon submitting no longer to this\nbehaviour, and taking the fellow by the arm, led him out of the\napartment, and then still holding him, conducted him downstairs from the\nthird floor in which I lived, into the street, looking him steadfastly in\nthe face the whole while.\n\nThe fellow had left his sombrero on the table, which I dispatched to him\nby the landlady, who delivered it into his hand as he stood in the street\nstaring with distended eyes at the balcony of my apartment.\n\n\u201cA trampa has been laid for you, Don Jorge,\u201d said Maria Diaz, when she\nhad reascended from the street; \u201cthat corchete came here with no other\nintention than to have a dispute with you; out of every word you have\nsaid he will make a long history, as is the custom with these people:\nindeed he said, as I handed him his hat, that ere twenty-four hours were\nover, you should see the inside of the prison of Madrid.\u201d\n\nIn effect, during the course of the morning, I was told that a warrant\nhad been issued for my apprehension.  The prospect of incarceration,\nhowever, did not fill me with much dismay; an adventurous life and\ninveterate habits of wandering having long familiarized me to situations\nof every kind, so much so as to feel myself quite as comfortable in a\nprison as in the gilded chamber of palaces; indeed more so, as in the\nformer place I can always add to my store of useful information, whereas\nin the latter, ennui frequently assails me.  I had, moreover, been\nthinking for some time past of paying a visit to the prison, partly in\nthe hope of being able to say a few words of Christian instruction to the\ncriminals, and partly with the view of making certain investigations in\nthe robber language of Spain, a subject about which I had long felt much\ncuriosity; indeed, I had already made application for admittance into the\nCarcel de la Corte, but had found the matter surrounded with\ndifficulties, as my friend Ofalia would have said.  I rather rejoiced\nthen in the opportunity which was now about to present itself of entering\nthe prison, not in the character of a visitor for an hour, but as a\nmartyr, and as one suffering in the holy cause of religion.  I was\ndetermined, however, to disappoint my enemies for that day at least, and\nto render null the threat of the alguazil, that I should be imprisoned\nwithin twenty-four hours.  I therefore took up my abode for the rest of\nthe day in a celebrated French tavern in the Calle del Caballero de\nGracia, which, as it was one of the most fashionable and public places in\nMadrid, I naturally concluded was one of the last where the corregidor\nwould think of seeking me.\n\nAbout ten at night, Maria Diaz, to whom I had communicated the place of\nmy retreat, arrived with her son, Juan Lopez.  \u201cO se\u00f1or,\u201d said she on\nseeing me, \u201cthey are already in quest of you; the alcalde of the barrio,\nwith a large comitiva of alguazils and such like people, have just been\nat our house with a warrant for your imprisonment from the corregidor.\nThey searched the whole house, and were much disappointed at not finding\nyou.  Wo is me, what will they do when they catch you?\u201d  \u201cBe under no\napprehensions, good Maria,\u201d said I; \u201cyou forget that I am an Englishman,\nand so it seems does the corregidor.  Whenever he catches me, depend upon\nit he will be glad enough to let me go.  For the present, however, we\nwill permit him to follow his own course, for the spirit of folly seems\nto have seized him.\u201d\n\nI slept at the tavern, and in the forenoon of the following day repaired\nto the embassy, where I had an interview with Sir George, to whom I\nrelated every circumstance of the affair.  He said that he could scarcely\nbelieve that the corregidor entertained any serious intentions of\nimprisoning me: in the first place, because I had committed no offence;\nand in the second, because I was not under the jurisdiction of that\nfunctionary, but under that of the captain-general, who was alone\nempowered to decide upon matters which relate to foreigners, and before\nwhom I must be brought in the presence of the consul of my nation.\n\u201cHowever,\u201d said he, \u201cthere is no knowing to what length these jacks in\noffice may go.  I therefore advise you, if you are under any\napprehension, to remain as my guest at the embassy for a few days, for\nhere you will be quite safe.\u201d  I assured him that I was under no\napprehension whatever, having long been accustomed to adventures of this\nkind.  From the apartment of Sir George, I proceeded to that of the first\nsecretary of embassy, Mr. Southern, with whom I entered into\nconversation.  I had scarcely been there a minute when my servant\nFrancisco rushed in, much out of breath, and in violent agitation,\nexclaiming in Basque, \u201cNiri jauna (_master mine_), the alguaziloac and\nthe corchetoac, and all the other lapurrac (_thieves_) are again at the\nhouse.  They seem half mad, and not being able to find you, are searching\nyour papers, thinking, I suppose, that you are hid among them.\u201d  Mr.\nSouthern here interrupting him, inquired of me what all this meant.\nWhereupon I told him, saying at the same time, that it was my intention\nto proceed at once to my lodgings.  \u201cBut perhaps these fellows will\narrest you,\u201d said Mr. S., \u201cbefore we can interfere.\u201d  \u201cI must take my\nchance as to that,\u201d I replied, and presently afterwards departed.\n\nEre, however, I had reached the middle of the street of Alcala, two\nfellows came up to me, and telling me that I was their prisoner,\ncommanded me to follow them to the office of the corregidor.  They were\nin fact alguazils, who, suspecting that I might enter or come out of the\nembassy, had stationed themselves in the neighbourhood.  I instantly\nturned round to Francisco, and told him in Basque to return to the\nembassy and to relate there to the secretary what had just occurred.  The\npoor fellow set off like lightning, turning half round, however, to shake\nhis fist, and to vent a Basque execration at the two lapurrac, as he\ncalled the alguazils.\n\nThey conducted me to the gefatura or office of the corregidor, where they\nushered me into a large room, and motioned me to sit down on a wooden\nbench.  They then stationed themselves on each side of me: there were at\nleast twenty people in the apartment beside ourselves, evidently from\ntheir appearance officials of the establishment.  They were all well\ndressed, for the most part in the French fashion, in round hats, coats,\nand pantaloons, and yet they looked what in reality they were, Spanish\nalguazils, spies, and informers, and Gil Blas, could he have waked from\nhis sleep of two centuries, would, notwithstanding the change of fashion,\nhave had no difficulty in recognizing them.  They glanced at me as they\nstood lounging about the room; they gathered themselves together in a\ncircle and began conversing in whispers.  I heard one of them say, \u201che\nunderstands the seven Gypsy jargons.\u201d  Then presently another, evidently\nfrom his language an Andalusian, said, \u201c_Es muy diestro_ (he is very\nskilful), and can ride a horse and dart a knife full as well as if he\ncame from my own country.\u201d  Thereupon they all turned round and regarded\nme with a species of interest, evidently mingled with respect, which most\nassuredly they would not have exhibited had they conceived that I was\nmerely an honest man bearing witness in a righteous cause.\n\nI waited patiently on the bench at least one hour, expecting every moment\nto be summoned before my lord the corregidor.  I suppose, however, that I\nwas not deemed worthy of being permitted to see so exalted a personage,\nfor at the end of that time, an elderly man, one however evidently of the\nalguazil genus, came into the room and advanced directly towards me.\n\u201cStand up,\u201d said he.  I obeyed.  \u201cWhat is your name?\u201d he demanded.  I\ntold him.  \u201cThen,\u201d he replied, exhibiting a paper which he held in his\nhand, \u201cSe\u00f1or, it is the will of his excellency the corregidor that you be\nforthwith sent to prison.\u201d\n\nHe looked at me steadfastly as he spoke, perhaps expecting that I should\nsink into the earth at the formidable name of prison; I however only\nsmiled.  He then delivered the paper, which I suppose was the warrant for\nmy committal, into the hand of one of my two captors, and obeying a sign\nwhich they made, I followed them.\n\nI subsequently learned that the secretary of legation, Mr. Southern, had\nbeen dispatched by Sir George, as soon as the latter had obtained\ninformation of my arrest, and had been waiting at the office during the\ngreater part of the time that I was there.  He had demanded an audience\nof the corregidor, in which he had intended to have remonstrated with\nhim, and pointed out to him the danger to which he was subjecting himself\nby the rash step which he was taking.  The sullen functionary, however,\nhad refused to see him, thinking, perhaps, that to listen to reason would\nbe a dereliction of dignity: by this conduct, however, he most\neffectually served me, as no person, after such a specimen of\nuncalled-for insolence, felt disposed to question the violence and\ninjustice which had been practised towards me.\n\nThe alguazils conducted me across the Plaza Mayor to the Carcel de la\nCorte, or prison of the court, as it is called.  Whilst going across the\nsquare, I remembered that this was the place where, in \u201cthe good old\ntimes,\u201d the Inquisition of Spain was in the habit of holding its solemn\n_Autos da fe_, and I cast my eye to the balcony of the city hall, where\nat the most solemn of them all, the last of the Austrian line in Spain\nsat, and after some thirty heretics, of both sexes, had been burnt by\nfours and by fives, wiped his face, perspiring with heat, and black with\nsmoke, and calmly inquired, \u201cNo hay mas?\u201d for which exemplary proof of\npatience he was much applauded by his priests and confessors, who\nsubsequently poisoned him.  \u201cAnd here am I,\u201d thought I, \u201cwho have done\nmore to wound Popery, than all the poor Christian martyrs that ever\nsuffered in this accursed square, merely sent to prison, from which I am\nsure to be liberated in a few days, with credit and applause.  Pope of\nRome! I believe you to be as malicious as ever, but you are sadly\ndeficient in power.  You are become paralytic, Batuschca, and your club\nhas degenerated to a crutch.\u201d\n\nWe arrived at the prison, which stands in a narrow street not far from\nthe great square.  We entered a dusky passage, at the end of which was a\nwicket door.  My conductors knocked, a fierce visage peered through the\nwicket; there was an exchange of words, and in a few moments I found\nmyself within the prison of Madrid, in a kind of corridor which\noverlooked at a considerable altitude what appeared to be a court, from\nwhich arose a hubbub of voices, and occasionally wild shouts and cries.\nWithin the corridor which served as a kind of office, were several\npeople; one of them sat behind a desk, and to him the alguazils went up,\nand after discoursing with him some time in low tones, delivered the\nwarrant into his hands.  He perused it with attention, then rising he\nadvanced to me.  What a figure!  He was about forty years of age, and his\nheight might have amounted to some six feet two inches, had he not been\ncurved much after the fashion of the letter S.  No weazel ever appeared\nlanker, and he looked as if a breath of air would have been sufficient to\nblow him away; his face might certainly have been called handsome, had it\nnot been for its extraordinary and portentous meagreness; his nose was\nlike an eagle\u2019s bill, his teeth white as ivory, his eyes black (Oh how\nblack!) and fraught with a strange expression, his skin was dark, and the\nhair of his head like the plumage of the raven.  A deep quiet smile dwelt\ncontinually on his features; but with all the quiet it was a cruel smile,\nsuch a one as would have graced the countenance of a Nero.  \u201c_Mais en\nrevanche personne n\u2019etoit plus honnete_.\u201d  \u201cCaballero,\u201d said he, \u201callow\nme to introduce myself to you as the alcayde of this prison.  I perceive\nby this paper that I am to have the honour of your company for a time, a\nshort time doubtless, beneath this roof; I hope you will banish every\napprehension from your mind.  I am charged to treat you with all the\nrespect which is due to the illustrious nation to which you belong, and\nwhich a cavalier of such exalted category as yourself is entitled to\nexpect.  A needless charge, it is true, as I should only have been too\nhappy of my own accord to have afforded you every comfort and attention.\nCaballero, you will rather consider yourself here as a guest than a\nprisoner; you will be permitted to roam over every part of this house\nwhenever you think proper.  You will find matters here not altogether\nbelow the attention of a philosophic mind!  Pray, issue whatever commands\nyou may think fit to the turnkeys and officials, even as if they were\nyour own servants.  I will now have the honour of conducting you to your\napartment\u2014the only one at present unoccupied.  We invariably reserve it\nfor cavaliers of distinction.  I am happy to say that my orders are again\nin consonance with my inclination.  No charge whatever will be made for\nit to you, though the daily hire of it is not unfrequently an ounce of\ngold.  I entreat you, therefore, to follow me, cavalier, who am at all\ntimes and seasons the most obedient and devoted of your servants.\u201d  Here\nhe took off his hat and bowed profoundly.\n\nSuch was the speech of the alcayde of the prison of Madrid; a speech\ndelivered in pure sonorous Castilian, with calmness, gravity, and almost\nwith dignity; a speech which would have done honour to a gentleman of\nhigh birth, to Monsieur Basompierre, of the Old Bastile, receiving an\nItalian prince, or the high constable of the Tower an English duke\nattainted of high treason.  Now, who in the name of wonder was this\nalcayde?\n\nOne of the greatest rascals in all Spain.  A fellow who had more than\nonce by his grasping cupidity, and by his curtailment of the miserable\nrations of the prisoners, caused an insurrection in the court below only\nto be repressed by bloodshed, and by summoning military aid; a fellow of\nlow birth, who, only five years previous, had been _drummer_ to a band of\nroyalist volunteers!\n\nBut Spain is the land of extraordinary characters.\n\nI followed the alcayde to the end of the corridor, where was a massive\ngrated door, on each side of which sat a grim fellow of a turnkey.  The\ndoor was opened, and turning to the right we proceeded down another\ncorridor, in which were many people walking about, whom I subsequently\ndiscovered to be prisoners like myself, but for political offences.  At\nthe end of this corridor, which extended the whole length of the patio,\nwe turned into another, and the first apartment in this was the one\ndestined for myself.  It was large and lofty, but totally destitute of\nevery species of furniture, with the exception of a huge wooden pitcher,\nintended to hold my daily allowance of water.  \u201cCaballero,\u201d said the\nalcayde, \u201cthe apartment is without furniture, as you see.  It is already\nthe third hour of the tarde, I therefore advise you to lose no time in\nsending to your lodgings for a bed and whatever you may stand in need of,\nthe llavero here shall do your bidding.  Caballero, adieu till I see you\nagain.\u201d\n\nI followed his advice, and writing a note in pencil to Maria Diaz, I\ndispatched it by the llavero, and then sitting down on the wooden\npitcher, I fell into a reverie, which continued for a considerable time.\n\nNight arrived, and so did Maria Diaz, attended by two porters and\nFrancisco, all loaded with furniture.  A lamp was lighted, charcoal was\nkindled in the brasero, and the prison gloom was to a certain degree\ndispelled.\n\nI now left my seat on the pitcher, and sitting down on a chair, proceeded\nto dispatch some wine and viands, which my good hostess had not forgotten\nto bring with her.  Suddenly Mr. Southern entered.  He laughed heartily\nat finding me engaged in the manner I have described.  \u201cB---,\u201d said he,\n\u201cyou are the man to get through the world, for you appear to take all\nthings coolly, and as matters of course.  That, however, which most\nsurprises me with respect to you is, your having so many friends; here\nyou are in prison, surrounded by people ministering to your comforts.\nYour very servant is your friend, instead of being your worst enemy, as\nis usually the case.  That Basque of yours is a noble fellow.  I shall\nnever forget how he spoke for you, when he came running to the embassy to\ninform us of your arrest.  He interested both Sir George and myself in\nthe highest degree: should you ever wish to part with him, I hope you\nwill give me the refusal of his services.  But now to other matters.\u201d  He\nthen informed me that Sir George had already sent in an official note to\nOfalia, demanding redress for such a wanton outrage on the person of a\nBritish subject.  \u201cYou must remain in prison,\u201d said he, \u201cto-night, but\ndepend upon it that to-morrow, if you are disposed, you may quit in\ntriumph.\u201d  \u201cI am by no means disposed for any such thing,\u201d I replied.\n\u201cThey have put me in prison for their pleasure, and I intend to remain\nhere for my own.\u201d  \u201cIf the confinement is not irksome to you,\u201d said Mr.\nSouthern, \u201cI think, indeed, it will be your wisest plan; the government\nhave committed themselves sadly with regard to you; and, to speak\nplainly, we are by no means sorry for it.  They have on more than one\noccasion treated ourselves very cavalierly, and we have now, if you\ncontinue firm, an excellent opportunity of humbling their insolence.  I\nwill instantly acquaint Sir George with your determination, and you shall\nhear from us early on the morrow.\u201d  He then bade me farewell; and\nflinging myself on my bed, I was soon asleep in the prison of Madrid.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XL\n\n\nOfalia\u2014The Juez\u2014Carcel de la Corte\u2014Sunday in Prison\u2014Robber Dress\u2014Father\nand Son\u2014Characteristic Behaviour\u2014The Frenchman\u2014Prison Allowance\u2014Valley of\nthe Shadow\u2014Pure Castilian\u2014Balseiro\u2014The Cave\u2014Robber Glory.\n\nOfalia quickly perceived that the imprisonment of a British subject in a\nmanner so illegal as that which had attended my own, was likely to be\nfollowed by rather serious consequences.  Whether he himself had at all\nencouraged the corregidor in his behaviour towards me, it is impossible\nto say; the probability is that he had not: the latter, however, was an\nofficer of his own appointing, for whose actions himself and the\ngovernment were to a certain extent responsible.  Sir George had already\nmade a very strong remonstrance upon the subject, and had even gone so\nfar as to state in an official note that he should desist from all\nfarther communication with the Spanish government until full and ample\nreparation had been afforded me for the violence to which I had been\nsubjected.  Ofalia\u2019s reply was, that immediate measures should be taken\nfor my liberation, and that it would be my own fault if I remained in\nprison.  He forthwith ordered a juez de la primera instancia, a kind of\nsolicitor-general, to wait upon me, who was instructed to hear my account\nof the affair, and then to dismiss me with an admonition to be cautious\nfor the future.  My friends of the embassy, however, had advised me how\nto act in such a case.  Accordingly, when the juez on the second night of\nmy imprisonment made his appearance at the prison, and summoned me before\nhim, I went, but on his proceeding to question me, I absolutely refused\nto answer.  \u201cI deny your right to put any questions to me,\u201d said I; \u201cI\nentertain, however, no feelings of disrespect to the government or to\nyourself, Caballero Juez; but I have been illegally imprisoned.  So\naccomplished a jurist as yourself cannot fail to be aware that, according\nto the laws of Spain, I, as a foreigner, could not be committed to prison\nfor the offence with which I had been charged, without previously being\nconducted before the captain-general of this royal city, whose duty it is\nto protect foreigners, and see that the laws of hospitality are not\nviolated in their persons.\u201d\n\n_Juez_.\u2014Come, come, Don Jorge, I see what you are aiming at; but listen\nto reason: I will not now speak to you as a juez but as a friend who\nwishes you well, and who entertains a profound reverence for the British\nnation.  This is a foolish affair altogether; I will not deny that the\npolitical chief acted somewhat hastily on the information of a person not\nperhaps altogether worthy of credit.  No great damage, however, has been\ndone to you, and to a man of the world like yourself, a little adventure\nof this kind is rather calculated to afford amusement than anything else.\nNow be advised, forget what has happened; you know that it is the part\nand duty of a Christian to forgive; so, Don Jorge, I advise you to leave\nthis place forthwith.  I dare say you are getting tired of it.  You are\nthis moment free to depart; repair at once to your lodgings, where, I\npromise you, that no one shall be permitted to interrupt you for the\nfuture.  It is getting late, and the prison doors will speedily be closed\nfor the night.  _Vamos_, _Don Jorge_, _a la casa_, _a la posada_!\n\n_Myself_.\u2014\u201cBut Paul said unto them, they have beaten us openly\nuncondemned, being Romans, and have cast us into prison; and now do they\nthrust us out privily?  Nay, verily: but let them come themselves and\nfetch us out.\u201d\n\nI then bowed to the juez, who shrugged his shoulders and took snuff.  On\nleaving the apartment I turned to the alcayde, who stood at the door:\n\u201cTake notice,\u201d said I, \u201cthat I will not quit this prison till I have\nreceived full satisfaction for being sent hither uncondemned.  You may\nexpel me if you please, but any attempt to do so shall be resisted with\nall the bodily strength of which I am possessed.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour worship is right,\u201d said the alcayde with a bow, but in a low voice.\n\nSir George, on hearing of this affair, sent me a letter in which he\nhighly commended my resolution not to leave the prison for the present,\nat the same time begging me to let him know if there were anything that\nhe could send me from the embassy to render my situation more tolerable.\n\nI will now leave for the present my own immediate affairs, and proceed to\ngive some account of the prison of Madrid and its inmates.\n\nThe Carcel de la Corte, where I now was, though the principal prison of\nMadrid, is one which certainly in no respect does credit to the capital\nof Spain.  Whether it was originally intended for the purpose to which it\nis at present applied, I have no opportunity of knowing.  The chances,\nhowever, are, that it was not; indeed it was not till of late years that\nthe practice of building edifices expressly intended and suited for the\nincarceration of culprits came at all into vogue.  Castles, convents, and\ndeserted palaces, have in all countries, at different times, been\nconverted into prisons, which practice still holds good upon the greater\npart of the continent, and more particularly in Spain and Italy, which\naccounts, to a certain extent, for the insecurity of the prisons, and the\nmisery, want of cleanliness, and unhealthiness which in general pervade\nthem.\n\nI shall not attempt to enter into a particular description of the prison\nof Madrid, indeed it would be quite impossible to describe so irregular\nand rambling an edifice.  Its principal features consisted of two courts,\nthe one behind the other, intended for the great body of the prisoners to\ntake air and recreation in.  Three large vaulted dungeons or calabozos\noccupied three sides of this court, immediately below the corridors of\nwhich I have already spoken.  These dungeons were roomy enough to contain\nrespectively from one hundred to one hundred and fifty prisoners, who\nwere at night secured therein with lock and bar, but during the day were\npermitted to roam about the courts as they thought fit.  The second court\nwas considerably larger than the first, though it contained but two\ndungeons, horribly filthy and disgusting places; this second court being\nused for the reception of the lower grades of thieves.  Of the two\ndungeons one was, if possible, yet more horrible than the other; it was\ncalled the gallineria, or chicken coop, and within it every night were\npent up the young fry of the prison, wretched boys from seven to fifteen\nyears of age, the greater part almost in a state of nudity.  The common\nbed of all the inmates of these dungeons was the ground, between which\nand their bodies nothing intervened, save occasionally a manta or\nhorse-cloth, or perhaps a small mattress; this latter luxury was,\nhowever, of exceedingly rare occurrence.\n\nBesides the calabozos connected with the courts, were other dungeons in\nvarious parts of the prison; some of them quite dark, intended for the\nreception of those whom it might be deemed expedient to treat with\npeculiar severity.  There was likewise a ward set apart for females.\nConnected with the principal corridor were many small apartments, where\nresided prisoners confined for debt or for political offences.  And,\nlastly, there was a small capilla or chapel, in which prisoners cast for\ndeath passed the last three days of their existence in company of their\nghostly advisers.\n\nI shall not soon forget my first Sunday in prison.  Sunday is the gala\nday of the prison, at least of that of Madrid, and whatever robber finery\nis to be found within it, is sure to be exhibited on that day of\nholiness.  There is not a set of people in the world more vain than\nrobbers in general, more fond of cutting a figure whenever they have an\nopportunity, and of attracting the eyes of their fellow creatures by the\ngallantry of their appearance.  The famous Sheppard of olden times\ndelighted in sporting a suit of Genoese velvet, and when he appeared in\npublic generally wore a silver-hilted sword at his side; whilst Vaux and\nHayward, heroes of a later day, were the best dressed men on the pav\u00e9 of\nLondon.  Many of the Italian bandits go splendidly decorated, and the\nvery Gypsy robber has a feeling for the charms of dress; the cap alone of\nthe Haram Pasha, or leader of the cannibal Gypsy band which infested\nHungary towards the conclusion of the last century, was adorned with gold\nand jewels to the value of four thousand guilders.  Observe, ye vain and\nfrivolous, how vanity and crime harmonize.  The Spanish robbers are as\nfond of this species of display as their brethren of other lands, and,\nwhether in prison or out of it, are never so happy as when, decked out in\na profusion of white linen, they can loll in the sun, or walk jauntily up\nand down.\n\nSnow-white linen, indeed, constitutes the principal feature in the robber\nfoppery of Spain.  Neither coat nor jacket is worn over the shirt, the\nsleeves of which are wide and flowing, only a waistcoat of green or blue\nsilk, with an abundance of silver buttons, which are intended more for\nshow than use, as the vest is seldom buttoned.  Then there are wide\ntrousers, something after the Turkish fashion; around the waist is a\ncrimson faja or girdle, and about the head is tied a gaudily coloured\nhandkerchief from the loom of Barcelona; light pumps and silk stockings\ncomplete the robber\u2019s array.  This dress is picturesque enough, and well\nadapted to the fine sunshiny weather of the Peninsula; there is a dash of\neffeminacy about it, however, hardly in keeping with the robber\u2019s\ndesperate trade.  It must not, however, be supposed that it is every\nrobber who can indulge in all this luxury; there are various grades of\nthieves, some poor enough, with scarcely a rag to cover them.  Perhaps in\nthe crowded prison of Madrid, there were not more than twenty who\nexhibited the dress which I have attempted to describe above; these were\n_jente de reputacion_, tip-top thieves, mostly young fellows, who, though\nthey had no money of their own, were supported in prison by their majas\nand amigas, females of a certain class, who form friendships with\nrobbers, and whose glory and delight it is to administer to the vanity of\nthese fellows with the wages of their own shame and abasement.  These\nfemales supplied their cortejos with the snowy linen, washed, perhaps, by\ntheir own hands in the waters of the Manzanares, for the display of the\nSunday, when they would themselves make their appearance dressed \u00e0 la\nmaja, and from the corridors would gaze with admiring eyes upon the\nrobbers vapouring about in the court below.\n\nAmongst those of the snowy linen who most particularly attracted my\nattention, were a father and son; the former was a tall athletic figure\nof about thirty, by profession a housebreaker, and celebrated throughout\nMadrid for the peculiar dexterity which he exhibited in his calling.  He\nwas now in prison for a rather atrocious murder committed in the dead of\nnight, in a house at Caramanchel, in which his only accomplice was his\nson, a child under seven years of age.  \u201cThe apple,\u201d as the Danes say,\n\u201chad not fallen far from the tree\u201d; the imp was in every respect the\ncounterpart of the father, though in miniature.  He, too, wore the robber\nshirt sleeves, the robber waistcoat with the silver buttons, the robber\nkerchief round his brow, and, ridiculous enough, a long Manchegan knife\nin the crimson faja.  He was evidently the pride of the ruffian father,\nwho took all imaginable care of this chick of the gallows, would dandle\nhim on his knee, and would occasionally take the cigar from his own\nmoustached lips and insert it in the urchin\u2019s mouth.  The boy was the pet\nof the court, for the father was one of the valientes of the prison, and\nthose who feared his prowess, and wished to pay their court to him, were\nalways fondling the child.  What an enigma is this world of ours!  How\ndark and mysterious are the sources of what is called crime and virtue!\nIf that infant wretch become eventually a murderer like his father, is he\nto blame?  Fondled by robbers, already dressed as a robber, born of a\nrobber, whose own history was perhaps similar.  Is it right? . . .\n\nO, man, man, seek not to dive into the mystery of moral good and evil;\nconfess thyself a worm, cast thyself on the earth, and murmur with thy\nlips in the dust, Jesus, Jesus!\n\nWhat most surprised me with respect to the prisoners, was their good\nbehaviour; I call it good when all things are taken into consideration,\nand when I compare it with that of the general class of prisoners in\nforeign lands.  They had their occasional bursts of wild gaiety, their\noccasional quarrels, which they were in the habit of settling in a corner\nof the inferior court with their long knives; the result not unfrequently\nbeing death, or a dreadful gash in the face or the abdomen; but, upon the\nwhole, their conduct was infinitely superior to what might have been\nexpected from the inmates of such a place.  Yet this was not the result\nof coercion, or any particular care which was exercised over them; for\nperhaps in no part of the world are prisoners so left to themselves and\nso utterly neglected as in Spain: the authorities having no farther\nanxiety about them, than to prevent their escape; not the slightest\nattention being paid to their moral conduct and not a thought bestowed\nupon their health, comfort or mental improvement, whilst within the\nwalls.  Yet in this prison of Madrid, and I may say in Spanish prisons in\ngeneral, for I have been an inmate of more than one, the ears of the\nvisitor are never shocked with horrid blasphemy and obscenity, as in\nthose of some other countries, and more particularly in civilized France;\nnor are his eyes outraged and himself insulted, as he would assuredly be,\nwere he to look down upon the courts from the galleries of the Bicetre.\nAnd yet in this prison of Madrid were some of the most desperate\ncharacters in Spain: ruffians who had committed acts of cruelly and\natrocity sufficient to make the flesh shudder.  But gravity and\nsedateness are the leading characteristics of the Spaniards, and the very\nrobber, except in those moments when he is engaged in his occupation, and\nthen no one is more sanguinary, pitiless, and wolfishly eager for booty,\nis a being who can be courteous and affable, and who takes pleasure in\nconducting himself with sobriety and decorum.\n\nHappily, perhaps, for me, that my acquaintance with the ruffians of Spain\ncommenced and ended in the towns about which I wandered, and in the\nprisons into which I was cast for the Gospel\u2019s sake, and that,\nnotwithstanding my long and frequent journeys, I never came in contact\nwith them on the road or in the despoblado.\n\nThe most ill-conditioned being in the prison was a Frenchman, though\nprobably the most remarkable.  He was about sixty years of age, of the\nmiddle stature, but thin and meagre, like most of his countrymen; he had\na villainously-formed head, according to all the rules of craniology, and\nhis features were full of evil expression.  He wore no hat, and his\nclothes, though in appearance nearly new, were of the coarsest\ndescription.  He generally kept aloof from the rest, and would stand for\nhours together leaning against the walls with his arms folded, glaring\nsullenly on what was passing before him.  He was not one of the professed\nvalientes, for his age prevented his assuming so distinguished a\ncharacter, and yet all the rest appeared to hold him in a certain awe:\nperhaps they feared his tongue, which he occasionally exerted in pouring\nforth withering curses on those who incurred his displeasure.  He spoke\nperfectly good Spanish, and to my great surprise excellent Basque, in\nwhich he was in the habit of conversing with Francisco, who, lolling from\nthe window of my apartment, would exchange jests and witticisms with the\nprisoners in the court below, with whom he was a great favourite.\n\nOne day when I was in the patio, to which I had free admission whenever I\npleased, by permission of the alcayde, I went up to the Frenchman, who\nstood in his usual posture, leaning against the wall, and offered him a\ncigar.  I do not smoke myself, but it will never do to mix among the\nlower classes of Spain unless you have a cigar to present occasionally.\nThe man glared at me ferociously for a moment, and appeared to be on the\npoint of refusing my offer with perhaps a hideous execration.  I repeated\nit, however, pressing my hand against my heart, whereupon suddenly the\ngrim features relaxed, and with a genuine French grimace, and a low bow,\nhe accepted the cigar, exclaiming, \u201c_Ah_, _Monsieur_, _pardon_, _mais\nc\u2019est faire trop d\u2019honneur a un pauvre diable comme moi_.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot at all,\u201d said I, \u201cwe are both fellow prisoners in a foreign land,\nand being so we ought to countenance each other.  I hope that whenever I\nhave need of your co-operation in this prison you will afford it me.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, Monsieur,\u201d exclaimed the Frenchman in rapture, \u201c_vous avez bien\nraison_; _il faut que les \u00e9trangers se donnent la main dans ce . . . pays\nde barbares_.  _Tenez_,\u201d he added, in a whisper, \u201cif you have any plan\nfor escaping, and require my assistance, I have an arm and a knife at\nyour service: you may trust me, and that is more than you could any of\nthese _sacres gens ici_,\u201d glancing fiercely round at his fellow\nprisoners.\n\n\u201cYou appear to be no friend to Spain and the Spaniards,\u201d said I.  \u201cI\nconclude that you have experienced injustice at their hands.  For what\nhave they immured you in this place?\u201d\n\n\u201c_Pour rien du tout_, _c\u2019est a dire pour une bagatelle_; but what can you\nexpect from such animals?  For what are you imprisoned?  Did I not hear\nsay for Gypsyism and sorcery?\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps you are here for your opinions?\u201d\n\n\u201c_Ah_, _mon Dieu_, _non_; _je ne suis pas homme a semblable betise_.  I\nhave no opinions.  _Je faisois . . . mais ce n\u2019importe_; _je me trouve\nici_, _ou je creve de faim_.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am sorry to see a brave man in such a distressed condition,\u201d said I;\n\u201chave you nothing to subsist upon beyond the prison allowance?  Have you\nno friends?\u201d\n\n\u201cFriends in this country, you mock me; here one has no friends, unless\none buy them.  I am bursting with hunger; since I have been here I have\nsold the clothes off my back, that I might eat, for the prison allowance\nwill not support nature, and of half of that we are robbed by the Batu,\nas they call the barbarian of a governor.  _Les haillons_ which now cover\nme were given by two or three devotees who sometimes visit here.  I would\nsell them if they would fetch aught.  I have not a sou, and for want of a\nfew crowns I shall be garroted within a month unless I can escape,\nthough, as I told you before, I have done nothing, a mere bagatelle; but\nthe worst crimes in Spain are poverty and misery.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have heard you speak Basque, are you from French Biscay?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am from Bordeaux, Monsieur; but I have lived much on the Landes and in\nBiscay, _travaillant a mon metier_.  I see by your look that you wish to\nknow my history.  I shall not tell it you.  It contains nothing that is\nremarkable.  See, I have smoked out your cigar; you may give me another,\nand add a dollar if you please, _nous sommes creves ici de faim_.  I\nwould not say as much to a Spaniard, but I have a respect for your\ncountrymen; I know much of them; I have met them at Maida and the other\nplace.\u201d {359}\n\n\u201cNothing remarkable in his history!\u201d  Why, or I greatly err, one chapter\nof his life, had it been written, would have unfolded more of the wild\nand wonderful than fifty volumes of what are in general called adventures\nand hairbreadth escapes by land and sea.  A soldier! what a tale could\nthat man have told of marches and retreats, of battles lost and won,\ntowns sacked, convents plundered; perhaps he had seen the flames of\nMoscow ascending to the clouds, and had \u201ctried his strength with nature\nin the wintry desert,\u201d pelted by the snow-storm, and bitten by the\ntremendous cold of Russia: and what could he mean by plying his trade in\nBiscay and the Landes, but that he had been a robber in those wild\nregions, of which the latter is more infamous for brigandage and crime\nthan any other part of the French territory.  Nothing remarkable in his\nhistory! then what history in the world contains aught that is\nremarkable?\n\nI gave him the cigar and dollar: he received them, and then once more\nfolding his arms, leaned back against the wall and appeared to sink\ngradually into one of his reveries.  I looked him in the face and spoke\nto him, but he did not seem either to hear or see me.  His mind was\nperhaps wandering in that dreadful valley of the shadow, into which the\nchildren of earth, whilst living, occasionally find their way; that\ndreadful region where there is no water, where hope dwelleth not, where\nnothing lives but the undying worm.  This valley is the facsimile of\nhell, and he who has entered it, has experienced here on earth for a time\nwhat the spirits of the condemned are doomed to suffer through ages\nwithout end.\n\nHe was executed about a month from this time.  The bagatelle for which he\nwas confined was robbery and murder by the following strange device.  In\nconcert with two others, he hired a large house in an unfrequented part\nof the town, to which place he would order tradesmen to convey valuable\narticles, which were to be paid for on delivery; those who attended paid\nfor their credulity with the loss of their lives and property.  Two or\nthree had fallen into the snare.  I wished much to have had some private\nconversation with this desperate man, and in consequence begged of the\nalcayde to allow him to dine with me in my own apartment; whereupon\nMonsieur Basompierre, for so I will take the liberty of calling the\ngovernor, his real name having escaped my memory, took off his hat, and,\nwith his usual smile and bow, replied in purest Castilian, \u201cEnglish\nCavalier, and I hope I may add friend, pardon me, that it is quite out of\nmy power to gratify your request, founded, I have no doubt, on the most\nadmirable sentiments of philosophy.  Any of the other gentlemen beneath\nmy care shall, at any time you desire it, be permitted to wait upon you\nin your apartment.  I will even go so far as to cause their irons, if\nirons they wear, to be knocked off in order that they may partake of your\nrefection with that comfort which is seemly and convenient: but to the\ngentleman in question I must object; he is the most evil disposed of the\nwhole of this family, and would most assuredly breed a funcion either in\nyour apartment or in the corridor, by an attempt to escape.  Cavalier,\n_me pesa_, but I cannot accede to your request.  But with respect to any\nother gentleman, I shall be most happy, even Balseiro, who, though\nstrange things are told of him, still knows how to comport himself, and\nin whose behaviour there is something both of formality and politeness,\nshall this day share your hospitality if you desire it, Cavalier.\u201d\n\nOf Balseiro I have already had occasion to speak in the former part of\nthis narrative.  He was now confined in an upper story of the prison, in\na strong room, with several other malefactors.  He had been found guilty\nof aiding and assisting one Pepe Candelas, a thief of no inconsiderable\nrenown, in a desperate robbery perpetrated in open daylight upon no less\na personage than the queen\u2019s milliner, a Frenchwoman, whom they bound in\nher own shop, from which they took goods and money to the amount of five\nor six thousand dollars.  Candelas had already expiated his crime on the\nscaffold, but Balseiro, who was said to be by far the worst ruffian of\nthe two, had by dint of money, an ally which his comrade did not possess,\ncontrived to save his own life; the punishment of death, to which he was\noriginally sentenced, having been commuted to twenty years\u2019 hard labour\nin the presidio of Malaga.  I visited this worthy and conversed with him\nfor some time through the wicket of the dungeon.  He recognized me, and\nreminded me of the victory which I had once obtained over him, in the\ntrial of our respective skill in the crabbed Gitano, at which Sevilla the\nbull-fighter was umpire.\n\nUpon my telling him that I was sorry to see him in such a situation, he\nreplied that it was an affair of no manner of consequence, as within six\nweeks he should be conducted to the presidio, from which, with the\nassistance of a few ounces distributed among the guards, he could at any\ntime escape.  \u201cBut whither would you flee?\u201d I demanded.  \u201cCan I not flee\nto the land of the Moors,\u201d replied Balseiro, \u201cor to the English in the\ncamp of Gibraltar; or, if I prefer it, cannot I return to this foro\n(_city_), and live as I have hitherto done, choring the gachos (_robbing\nthe natives_); what is to hinder me?  Madrid is large, and Balseiro has\nplenty of friends, especially among the lumias (_women_),\u201d he added with\na smile.  I spoke to him of his ill-fated accomplice Candelas; whereupon\nhis face assumed a horrible expression.  \u201cI hope he is in torment,\u201d\nexclaimed the robber.  The friendship of the unrighteous is never of long\nduration; the two worthies had it seems quarrelled in prison; Candelas\nhaving accused the other of bad faith and an undue appropriation to his\nown use of the _corpus delicti_ in various robberies which they had\ncommitted in company.\n\nI cannot refrain from relating the subsequent history of this Balseiro.\nShortly after my own liberation, too impatient to wait until the presidio\nshould afford him a chance of regaining his liberty, he in company with\nsome other convicts broke through the roof of the prison and escaped.  He\ninstantly resumed his former habits, committing several daring robberies,\nboth within and without the walls of Madrid.  I now come to his last, I\nmay call it his master crime, a singular piece of atrocious villainy.\nDissatisfied with the proceeds of street robbery and house-breaking, he\ndetermined upon a bold stroke, by which he hoped to acquire money\nsufficient to support him in some foreign land in luxury and splendour.\n\nThere was a certain comptroller of the queen\u2019s household, by name\nGabiria, a Basque by birth, and a man of immense possessions: this\nindividual had two sons, handsome boys, between twelve and fourteen years\nof age, whom I had frequently seen, and indeed conversed with, in my\nwalks on the bank of the Manzanares, which was their favourite promenade.\nThese children, at the time of which I am speaking, were receiving their\neducation at a certain seminary in Madrid.  Balseiro, being well\nacquainted with the father\u2019s affection for his children, determined to\nmake it subservient to his own rapacity.  He formed a plan which was\nneither more nor less than to steal the children, and not to restore them\nto their parent until he had received an enormous ransom.  This plan was\npartly carried into execution: two associates of Balseiro well dressed\ndrove up to the door of the seminary, where the children were, and, by\nmeans of a forged letter, purporting to be written by the father, induced\nthe schoolmaster to permit the boys to accompany them for a country\njaunt, as they pretended.  About five leagues from Madrid, Balseiro had a\ncave in a wild unfrequented spot between the Escurial and a village\ncalled Torre Lodones: to this cave the children were conducted, where\nthey remained in durance under the custody of the two accomplices;\nBalseiro in the meantime remaining in Madrid for the purpose of\nconducting negotiations with the father.  The father, however, was a man\nof considerable energy, and instead of acceding to the terms of the\nruffian, communicated in a letter, instantly took the most vigorous\nmeasures for the recovery of his children.  Horse and foot were sent out\nto scour the country, and in less than a week the children were found\nnear the cave, having been abandoned by their keepers, who had taken\nfright on hearing of the decided measures which had been resorted to;\nthey were, however, speedily arrested and identified by the boys as their\nravishers.  Balseiro perceiving that Madrid was becoming too hot to hold\nhim, attempted to escape, but whether to the camp of Gibraltar or to the\nland of the Moor, I know not; he was recognized, however, at a village in\nthe neighbourhood of Madrid, and being apprehended, was forthwith\nconducted to the capital, where he shortly after terminated his existence\non the scaffold, with his two associates; Gabiria and his children being\npresent at the ghastly scene, which they surveyed from a chariot at their\nease.\n\nSuch was the end of Balseiro, of whom I should certainly not have said so\nmuch, but for the affair of the crabbed Gitano.  Poor wretch! he acquired\nthat species of immortality which is the object of the aspirations of\nmany a Spanish thief, whilst vapouring about in the patio, dressed in the\nsnowy linen; the rape of the children of Gabiria made him at once the pet\nof the fraternity.  A celebrated robber, with whom I was subsequently\nimprisoned at Seville, spoke his eulogy in the following manner.\u2014\n\n\u201cBalseiro was a very good subject, and an honest man.  He was the head of\nour family, Don Jorge; we shall never see his like again; pity that he\ndid not sack the parn\u00e9 (_money_), and escape to the camp of the Moor, Don\nJorge.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLI\n\n\nMaria Diaz\u2014Priestly Vituperation\u2014Antonio\u2019s Visit\u2014Antonio at Service\u2014A\nScene\u2014Benedict Mol\u2014Wandering in Spain\u2014The Four Evangiles.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said I to Maria Diaz on the third morning after my imprisonment,\n\u201cwhat do the people of Madrid say to this affair of mine?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not know what the people of Madrid in general say about it,\nprobably they do not take much interest in it; indeed, imprisonments at\nthe present time are such common matters that people seem to be quite\nindifferent to them; the priests, however, are in no slight commotion,\nand confess that they have committed an imprudent thing in causing you to\nbe arrested by their friend the corregidor of Madrid.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow is that?\u201d I inquired.  \u201cAre they afraid that their friend will be\npunished?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so, Se\u00f1or,\u201d replied Maria; \u201cslight grief indeed would it cause them,\nhowever great the trouble in which he had involved himself on their\naccount; for this description of people have no affection, and would not\ncare if all their friends were hanged, provided they themselves escaped.\nBut they say that they have acted imprudently in sending you to prison,\ninasmuch as by so doing they have given you an opportunity of carrying a\nplan of yours into execution.  \u2018This fellow is a bribon,\u2019 say they, \u2018and\nhas commenced tampering with the prisoners; they have taught him their\nlanguage, which he already speaks as well as if he were a son of the\nprison.  As soon as he comes out he will publish a thieves\u2019 gospel, which\nwill still be a more dangerous affair than the Gypsy one, for the Gypsies\nare few, but the thieves! woe is us; we shall all be Lutheranized.  What\ninfamy, what rascality!  It was a trick of his own.  He was always eager\nto get into prison, and now in evil hour we have sent him there, _el\nbribonazo_; there will be no safety for Spain until he is hanged; he\nought to be sent to the four hells, where at his leisure he might\ntranslate his fatal gospels into the language of the demons.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cI but said three words to the alcayde of the prison,\u201d said I, \u201crelative\nto the jargon used by the children of the prison.\u201d\n\n\u201cThree words!  Don Jorge; and what may not be made out of three words?\nYou have lived amongst us to little purpose if you think we require more\nthan three words to build a system with: those three words about the\nthieves and their tongue were quite sufficient to cause it to be reported\nthroughout Madrid that you had tampered with the thieves, had learnt\ntheir language, and had written a book which was to overturn Spain, open\nto the English the gates of Cadiz, give Mendizabal all the church plate\nand jewels, and to Don Martin Luther the archiepiscopal palace of\nToledo.\u201d\n\nLate in the afternoon of a rather gloomy day, as I was sitting in the\napartment which the alcayde had allotted me, I heard a rap at the door.\n\u201cWho is that?\u201d I exclaimed.  \u201c_C\u2019est moi_, _mon maitre_,\u201d cried a\nwell-known voice, and presently in walked Antonio Buchini, dressed in the\nsame style as when I first introduced him to the reader, namely, in a\nhandsome but rather faded French surtout, vest and pantaloons, with a\ndiminutive hat in one hand, and holding in the other a long and slender\ncane.\n\n\u201c_Bon jour_, _mon maitre_,\u201d said the Greek; then glancing around the\napartment, he continued, \u201cI am glad to find you so well lodged.  If I\nremember right, mon ma\u00eetre, we have slept in worse places during our\nwanderings in Galicia and Castile.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are quite right, Antonio,\u201d I replied; \u201cI am very comfortable.  Well,\nthis is kind of you to visit your ancient master, more especially now he\nis in the toils; I hope, however, that by so doing you will not offend\nyour present employer.  His dinner hour must be at hand; why are not you\nin the kitchen?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf what employer are you speaking, mon ma\u00eetre?\u201d demanded Antonio.\n\n\u201cOf whom should I speak but Count ---, to serve whom you abandoned me,\nbeing tempted by an offer of a monthly salary less by four dollars than\nthat which I was giving you.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour worship brings an affair to my remembrance which I had long since\nforgotten.  I have at present no other master than yourself, Monsieur\nGeorges, for I shall always consider you as my master, though I may not\nenjoy the felicity of waiting upon you.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have left the Count, then,\u201d said I, \u201cafter remaining three days in\nthe house, according to your usual practice.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot three hours, mon ma\u00eetre,\u201d replied Antonio; \u201cbut I will tell you the\ncircumstances.  Soon after I left you I repaired to the house of Monsieur\nle Comte; I entered the kitchen, and looked about me.  I cannot say that\nI had much reason to be dissatisfied with what I saw; the kitchen was\nlarge and commodious, and every thing appeared neat and in its proper\nplace, and the domestics civil and courteous; yet I know not how it was,\nthe idea at once rushed into my mind that the house was by no means\nsuited to me, and that I was not destined to stay there long; so hanging\nmy haversac upon a nail, and sitting down on the dresser, I commenced\nsinging a Greek song, as I am in the habit of doing when dissatisfied.\nThe domestics came about me asking questions; I made them no answer,\nhowever, and continued singing till the hour for preparing the dinner\ndrew nigh, when I suddenly sprang on the floor and was not long in\nthrusting them all out of the kitchen, telling them that they had no\nbusiness there at such a season; I then at once entered upon my\nfunctions.  I exerted myself, mon ma\u00eetre, I exerted myself, and was\npreparing a repast which would have done me honour; there was, indeed,\nsome company expected that day, and I therefore determined to show my\nemployer that nothing was beyond the capacity of his Greek cook.  _Eh\nbien_, mon ma\u00eetre, all was going on remarkably well, and I felt almost\nreconciled to my new situation, when who should rush into the kitchen but\n_le fils de la maison_, my young master, an ugly urchin of thirteen years\nor thereabouts; he bore in his hand a manchet of bread, which, after\nprying about for a moment, he proceeded to dip in the pan where some\ndelicate woodcocks were in the course of preparation.  You know, mon\nma\u00eetre, how sensitive I am on certain points, for I am no Spaniard but a\nGreek, and have principles of honour.  Without a moment\u2019s hesitation I\ntook my young master by the shoulders, and hurrying him to the door,\ndismissed him in the manner which he deserved; squalling loudly, he\nhurried away to the upper part of the house.  I continued my labours, but\nere three minutes had elapsed, I heard a dreadful confusion above stairs,\n_on faisoit une horrible tintamarre_, and I could occasionally\ndistinguish oaths and execrations: presently doors were flung open, and\nthere was an awful rushing downstairs, a gallopade.  It was my lord the\ncount, his lady, and my young master, followed by a regular bevy of women\nand filles de chambre.  Far in advance of all, however, was my lord with\na drawn sword in his hand, shouting, \u2018Where is the wretch who has\ndishonoured my son, where is he?  He shall die forthwith.\u2019  I know not\nhow it was, mon ma\u00eetre, but I just then chanced to spill a large bowl of\ngarbanzos, which were intended for the puchera of the following day.\nThey were uncooked, and were as hard as marbles; these I dashed upon the\nfloor, and the greater part of them fell just about the doorway.  _Eh\nbien_, mon ma\u00eetre, in another moment in bounded the count, his eyes\nsparkling like coals, and, as I have already said, with a rapier in his\nhand.  \u2018_Tenez_, _gueux enrage_,\u2019 he screamed, making a desperate lunge\nat me, but ere the words were out of his mouth, his foot slipping on the\npease, he fell forward with great violence at his full length, and his\nweapon flew out of his hand, _comme une fleche_.  You should have heard\nthe outcry which ensued\u2014there was a terrible confusion: the count lay\nupon the floor to all appearance stunned; I took no notice, however,\ncontinuing busily employed.  They at last raised him up, and assisted him\ntill he came to himself, though very pale and much shaken.  He asked for\nhis sword: all eyes were now turned upon me, and I saw that a general\nattack was meditated.  Suddenly I took a large caserolle from the fire in\nwhich various eggs were frying; this I held out at arm\u2019s length peering\nat it along my arm as if I were curiously inspecting it; my right foot\nadvanced and the other thrown back as far as possible.  All stood still,\nimagining, doubtless, that I was about to perform some grand operation,\nand so I was; for suddenly the sinister leg advancing, with one rapid\n_coup de pied_, I sent the caserolle and its contents flying over my\nhead, so that they struck the wall far behind me.  This was to let them\nknow that I had broken my staff and had shaken the dust off my feet; so\ncasting upon the count the peculiar glance of the Sceirote cooks when\nthey feel themselves insulted, and extending my mouth on either side\nnearly as far as the ears, I took down my haversac and departed, singing\nas I went the song of the ancient Demos, who, when dying, asked for his\nsupper, and water wherewith to lave his hands:\n\n    \u038c \u03b7\u03bb\u03b9\u03bf\u03c2 \u03ad\u03b2\u03b1\u03c3\u03af\u03bb\u03b5\u03c5\u03b5, \u03ba\u03b9 \u03cc \u0394\u03b7\u03bc\u03bf\u03c2 \u03b4\u03b9\u03b1\u03c4\u03ac\u03b6\u03b5.\n    \u03a3\u03cd\u03c1\u03c4\u03b5, \u03c0\u03b1\u03b9\u03b4\u03b9\u03ac \u03bc\u03bf\u03c5, \u2019\u03c3 \u03c4\u03cc \u03bd\u03b5\u03c1\u03cc\u03bd \u03c8\u03c9\u03bc\u03b9 \u03bd\u03b1 \u03c6\u03ac\u03c4' \u03b1\u03c0\u03cc\u03c8\u03b5.\n\nAnd in this manner, mon ma\u00eetre, I left the house of the Count of ---.\u201d\n\n_Myself_.\u2014And a fine account you have given of yourself; by your own\nconfession, your behaviour was most atrocious.  Were it not for the many\nmarks of courage and fidelity which you have exhibited in my service, I\nwould from this moment hold no farther communication with you.\n\n_Antonio_.\u2014_Mais qu\u2019est ce que vous voudriez_, _mon maitre_?  Am I not a\nGreek, full of honour and sensibility?  Would you have the cooks of\nSceira and Stambul submit to be insulted here in Spain by the sons of\ncounts rushing into the temple with manchets of bread.  Non, non, mon\nma\u00eetre, you are too noble to require that, and what is more, _too just_.\nBut we will talk of other things.  Mon ma\u00eetre, I came not alone; there is\none now waiting in the corridor anxious to speak to you.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Who is it?\n\n_Antonio_.\u2014One whom you have met, mon ma\u00eetre, in various and strange\nplaces.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014But who is it?\n\n_Antonio_.\u2014One who will come to a strange end, _for so it is written_.\nThe most extraordinary of all the Swiss, he of Saint James,\u2014_Der schatz\ngraber_.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Not Benedict Mol?\n\n\u201c_Yaw_, _mein lieber herr_,\u201d said Benedict, pushing open the door which\nstood ajar; \u201cit is myself.  I met Herr Anton in the street, and hearing\nthat you were in this place, I came with him to visit you.\u201d\n\n_Myself_.\u2014And in the name of all that is singular, how is it that I see\nyou in Madrid again?  I thought that by this time you were returned to\nyour own country.\n\n_Benedict_.\u2014Fear not, lieber herr, I shall return thither in good time;\nbut not on foot, but with mules and coach.  The schatz is still yonder,\nwaiting to be dug up, and now I have better hope than ever: plenty of\nfriends, plenty of money.  See you not how I am dressed, lieber herr?\n\nAnd verily his habiliments were of a much more respectable appearance\nthan any which he had sported on former occasions.  His coat and\npantaloons, which were of light green, were nearly new.  On his head he\nstill wore an Andalusian hat, but the present one was neither old nor\nshabby, but fresh and glossy, and of immense altitude of cone: whilst in\nhis hand, instead of the ragged staff which I had observed at Saint James\nand Oviedo, he now carried a huge bamboo rattan, surmounted by the grim\nhead of either a bear or lion, curiously cut out of pewter.\n\n\u201cYou have all the appearance of a treasure seeker returned from a\nsuccessful expedition,\u201d I exclaimed.\n\n\u201cOr rather,\u201d interrupted Antonio, \u201cof one who has ceased to trade on his\nown bottom, and now goes seeking treasures at the cost and expense of\nothers.\u201d\n\nI questioned the Swiss minutely concerning his adventures since I last\nsaw him, when I left him at Oviedo to pursue my route to Santander.  From\nhis answers I gathered that he had followed me to the latter place; he\nwas, however, a long time in performing the journey, being weak from\nhunger and privation.  At Santander he could hear no tidings of me, and\nby this time the trifle which he had received from me was completely\nexhausted.  He now thought of making his way into France, but was afraid\nto venture through the disturbed provinces, lest he should fall into the\nhands of the Carlists, who he conceived might shoot him as a spy.  No one\nrelieving him at Santander, he departed and begged his way till he found\nhimself in some part of Aragon, but where he scarcely knew.  \u201cMy misery\nwas so great,\u201d said Bennet, \u201cthat I nearly lost my senses.  Oh, the\nhorror of wandering about the savage hills and wide plains of Spain,\nwithout money and without hope!  Sometimes I became desperate, when I\nfound myself amongst rocks and barrancos, perhaps after having tasted no\nfood from sunrise to sunset, and then I would raise my staff towards the\nsky and shake it, crying, lieber herr Gott, ach lieber herr Gott, you\nmust help me now or never; if you tarry, I am lost; you must help me now,\nnow!  And once when I was raving in this manner, methought I heard a\nvoice, nay I am sure I heard it, sounding from the hollow of a rock,\nclear and strong; and it cried, \u2018Der schatz, der schatz, it is not yet\ndug up; to Madrid, to Madrid.  The way to the schatz is through Madrid.\u2019\nAnd then the thought of the schatz once more rushed into my mind, and I\nreflected how happy I might be, could I but dig up the schatz.  No more\nbegging, then, no more wandering amidst horrid mountains and deserts; so\nI brandished my staff, and my body and my limbs became full of new and\nsurprising strength, and I strode forward, and was not long before I\nreached the high road; and then I begged and bettled as I best could,\nuntil I reached Madrid.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what has befallen you since you reached Madrid?\u201d I inquired.  \u201cDid\nyou find the treasure in the streets?\u201d\n\nOn a sudden Bennet became reserved and taciturn, which the more surprised\nme, as, up to the present moment, he had at all times been remarkably\ncommunicative with respect to his affairs and prospects.  From what I\ncould learn from his broken hints and innuendoes, it appeared that, since\nhis arrival at Madrid, he had fallen into the hands of certain people who\nhad treated him with kindness, and provided him with both money and\nclothes; not from disinterested motives, however, but having an eye to\nthe treasure.  \u201cThey expect great things from me,\u201d said the Swiss; \u201cand\nperhaps, after all, it would have been more profitable to have dug up the\ntreasure without their assistance, always provided that were possible.\u201d\nWho his new friends were, he either knew not or would not tell me, save\nthat they were people in power.  He said something about Queen Christina\nand an oath which he had taken in the presence of a bishop on the\ncrucifix and \u201cthe four Evangiles.\u201d  I thought that his head was turned,\nand forbore questioning.  Just before taking his departure, he observed\n\u201cLieber herr, pardon me for not being quite frank towards you, to whom I\nowe so much, but I dare not; I am not now my own man.  It is, moreover,\nan evil thing at all times to say a word about treasure before you have\nsecured it.  There was once a man in my own country, who dug deep into\nthe earth until he arrived at a copper vessel which contained a schatz.\nSeizing it by the handle, he merely exclaimed in his transport, \u2018I have\nit\u2019; that was enough, however: down sank the kettle, though the handle\nremained in his grasp.  That was all he ever got for his trouble and\ndigging.  Farewell, lieber herr, I shall speedily be sent back to Saint\nJames to dig up the schatz; but I will visit you ere I go\u2014farewell.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLII\n\n\nLiberation from Prison\u2014The Apology\u2014Human Nature\u2014The Greek\u2019s Return\u2014Church\nof Rome\u2014Light of Scripture\u2014Archbishop of Toledo\u2014An Interview\u2014Stones of\nPrice\u2014A Resolution\u2014The Foreign Language\u2014Benedict\u2019s Farewell\u2014Treasure Hunt\nat Compostella\u2014Truth and Fiction.\n\nI remained about three weeks in the prison of Madrid, and then left it.\nIf I had possessed any pride, or harboured any rancour against the party\nwho had consigned me to durance, the manner in which I was restored to\nliberty would no doubt have been highly gratifying to those evil\npassions; the government having acknowledged, by a document transmitted\nto Sir George, that I had been incarcerated on insufficient grounds, and\nthat no stigma attached itself to me from the imprisonment I had\nundergone; at the same time agreeing to defray all the expenses to which\nI had been subjected throughout the progress of this affair.\n\nIt moreover expressed its willingness to dismiss the individual owing to\nwhose information I had been first arrested, namely, the corchete or\npolice officer who had visited me in my apartments in the Calle de\nSantiago, and behaved himself in the manner which I have described in a\nformer chapter.  I declined, however, to avail myself of this\ncondescension of the government, more especially as I was informed that\nthe individual in question had a wife and family, who, if he were\ndisgraced, would be at once reduced to want.  I moreover considered that,\nin what he had done and said, he had probably only obeyed some private\norders which he had received; I therefore freely forgave him, and if he\ndoes not retain his situation at the present moment, it is certainly no\nfault of mine.\n\nI likewise refused to accept any compensation for my expenses, which were\nconsiderable.  It is probable that many persons in my situation would\nhave acted very differently in this respect, and I am far from saying\nthat herein I acted discreetly or laudably; but I was averse to receive\nmoney from people such as those of which the Spanish government was\ncomposed, people whom I confess I heartily despised, and I was unwilling\nto afford them an opportunity of saying that after they had imprisoned an\nEnglishman unjustly, and without a cause, he condescended to receive\nmoney at their hands.  In a word, I confess my own weakness; I was\nwilling that they should continue my debtors, and have little doubt that\nthey had not the slightest objection to remain so; they kept their money,\nand probably laughed in their sleeves at my want of common sense.\n\nThe heaviest loss which resulted from my confinement, and for which no\nindemnification could be either offered or received, was in the death of\nmy affectionate and faithful Basque Francisco, who having attended me\nduring the whole time of my imprisonment, caught the pestilential typhus\nor gaol fever, which was then raging in the Carcel de la Corte, of which\nhe expired within a few days subsequent to my liberation.  His death\noccurred late one evening; the next morning as I was lying in bed\nruminating on my loss, and wondering of what nation my next servant would\nbe, I heard a noise which seemed to be that of a person employed\nvigorously in cleaning boots or shoes, and at intervals a strange\ndiscordant voice singing snatches of a song in some unknown language:\nwondering who it could be, I rang the bell.\n\n\u201cDid you ring, mon ma\u00eetre,\u201d said Antonio, appearing at the door with one\nof his arms deeply buried in a boot.\n\n\u201cI certainly did ring,\u201d said I, \u201cbut I scarcely expected that you would\nhave answered the summons.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Mais pourquoi non_, _mon maitre_?\u201d cried Antonio.  \u201cWho should serve\nyou now but myself?  _N\u2019est pas que le sieur Francois est mort_?  And did\nI not say, as soon as I heard of his departure, I shall return to my\nfunctions _chez mon maitre_, Monsieur Georges?\u201d\n\n\u201cI suppose you had no other employment, and on that account you came.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Au contraire_, _mon maitre_,\u201d replied the Greek, \u201cI had just engaged\nmyself at the house of the Duke of Frias, from whom I was to receive ten\ndollars per month more than I shall accept from your worship; but on\nhearing that you were without a domestic, I forthwith told the Duke,\nthough it was late at night, that he would not suit me, and here I am.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall not receive you in this manner,\u201d said I; \u201creturn to the Duke,\napologize for your behaviour, request your dismission in a regular way;\nand then if his grace is willing to part with you, as will most probably\nbe the case, I shall be happy to avail myself of your services.\u201d\n\nIt is reasonable to expect that after having been subjected to an\nimprisonment which my enemies themselves admitted to be unjust, I should\nin future experience more liberal treatment at their hands than that\nwhich they had hitherto adopted towards me.  The sole object of my\nambition at this time was to procure toleration for the sale of the\nGospel in this unhappy and distracted kingdom, and to have attained this\nend I would not only have consented to twenty such imprisonments in\nsuccession, as that which I had undergone, but would gladly have\nsacrificed life itself.  I soon perceived, however, that I was likely to\ngain nothing by my incarceration; on the contrary, I had become an object\nof personal dislike to the government since the termination of this\naffair, which it was probable I had never been before; their pride and\nvanity were humbled by the concessions which they had been obliged to\nmake in order to avoid a rupture with England.  This dislike they were\nnow determined to gratify, by thwarting my views as much as possible.  I\nhad an interview with Ofalia on the subject uppermost in my mind: I found\nhim morose and snappish.  \u201cIt will be for your interest to be still,\u201d\nsaid he; \u201cbeware! you have already thrown the whole corte into confusion;\nbeware, I repeat; another time you may not escape so easily.\u201d  \u201cPerhaps\nnot,\u201d I replied, \u201cand perhaps I do not wish it; it is a pleasant thing to\nbe persecuted for the Gospel\u2019s sake.  I now take the liberty of inquiring\nwhether, if I attempt to circulate the word of God, I am to be\ninterrupted.\u201d  \u201cOf course,\u201d exclaimed Ofalia; \u201cthe church forbids such\ncirculation.\u201d  \u201cI shall make the attempt, however,\u201d I exclaimed.  \u201cDo you\nmean what you say?\u201d demanded Ofalia, arching his eyebrows and elongating\nhis mouth.  \u201cYes,\u201d I continued, \u201cI shall make the attempt in every\nvillage in Spain to which I can penetrate.\u201d\n\nThroughout my residence in Spain the clergy were the party from which I\nexperienced the strongest opposition; and it was at their instigation\nthat the government originally adopted those measures which prevented any\nextensive circulation of the sacred volume through the land.  I shall not\ndetain the course of my narrative with reflections as to the state of a\nchurch, which, though it pretends to be founded on Scripture, would yet\nkeep the light of Scripture from all mankind, if possible.  But Rome is\nfully aware that she is not a Christian church, and having no desire to\nbecome so, she acts prudently in keeping from the eyes of her followers\nthe page which would reveal to them the truths of Christianity.  Her\nagents and minions throughout Spain exerted themselves to the utmost to\nrender my humble labours abortive, and to vilify the work which I was\nattempting to disseminate.  All the ignorant and fanatical clergy (the\ngreat majority) were opposed to it, and all those who were anxious to\nkeep on good terms with the court of Rome were loud in their cry against\nit.  There was, however, one section of the clergy, a small one, it is\ntrue, rather favourably disposed towards the circulation of the Gospel\nthough by no means inclined to make any particular sacrifice for the\naccomplishment of such an end: these were such as professed liberalism,\nwhich is supposed to mean a disposition to adopt any reform both in civil\nand church matters, which may be deemed conducive to the weal of the\ncountry.  Not a few amongst the Spanish clergy were supporters of this\nprinciple, or at least declared themselves so, some doubtless for their\nown advancement, hoping to turn the spirit of the times to their own\npersonal profit; others, it is to be hoped, from conviction, and a pure\nlove of the principle itself.  Amongst these were to be found, at the\ntime of which I am speaking, several bishops.  It is worthy of remark,\nhowever, that of all these not one but owed his office, not to the Pope,\nwho disowned them one and all, but to the Queen Regent, the professed\nhead of liberalism throughout all Spain.  It is not, therefore,\nsurprising that men thus circumstanced should feel rather disposed than\nnot to countenance any measure or scheme at all calculated to favour the\nadvancement of liberalism; and surely such an one was a circulation of\nthe Scriptures.  I derived but little assistance from their good will,\nhowever, supposing that they entertained some, as they never took any\ndecided stand nor lifted up their voices in a bold and positive manner,\ndenouncing the conduct of those who would withhold the light of Scripture\nfrom the world.  At one time I hoped by their instrumentality to\naccomplish much in Spain in the Gospel cause; but I was soon undeceived,\nand became convinced that reliance on what they would effect, was like\nplacing the hand on a staff of reed which will only lacerate the flesh.\nMore than once some of them sent messages to me, expressive of their\nesteem, and assuring me how much the cause of the Gospel was dear to\ntheir hearts.  I even received an intimation that a visit from me would\nbe agreeable to the Archbishop of Toledo, the Primate of Spain.\n\nOf this personage I can say but little, his early history being entirely\nunknown to me.  At the death of Ferdinand, I believe, he was Bishop of\nMallorca, a small insignificant see, of very scanty revenues, which\nperhaps he had no objection to exchange for one more wealthy; it is\nprobable, however, that had he proved a devoted servant of the Pope, and\nconsequently a supporter of legitimacy, he would have continued to the\nday of his death to fill the episcopal chair of Mallorca; but he was said\nto be a liberal, and the Queen Regent thought fit to bestow upon him the\ndignity of Archbishop of Toledo, by which he became the head of the\nSpanish church.  The Pope, it is true, had refused to ratify the\nnomination, on which account all good Catholics were still bound to\nconsider him as Bishop of Mallorca, and not as Primate of Spain.  He\nhowever received the revenues belonging to the see, which, though only a\nshadow of what they originally were, were still considerable, and lived\nin the primate\u2019s palace at Madrid, so that if he were not archbishop _de\njure_, he was what many people would have considered much better,\narchbishop _de facto_.\n\nHearing that this personage was a personal friend of Ofalia, who was said\nto entertain a very high regard for him, I determined upon paying him a\nvisit, and accordingly one morning betook myself to the palace in which\nhe resided.  I experienced no difficulty in obtaining an interview, being\nforthwith conducted to his presence by a common kind of footman, an\nAsturian, I believe, whom I found seated on a stone bench in the entrance\nhall.  When I was introduced the Archbishop was alone, seated behind a\ntable in a large apartment, a kind of drawing-room; he was plainly\ndressed, in a black cassock and silken cap; on his finger, however,\nglittered a superb amethyst, the lustre of which was truly dazzling.  He\nrose for a moment as I advanced, and motioned me to a chair with his\nhand.  He might be about sixty years of age; his figure was very tall,\nbut he stooped considerably, evidently from feebleness, and the pallid\nhue of ill health overspread his emaciated features.  When he had\nreseated himself, he dropped his head, and appeared to be looking on the\ntable before him.\n\n\u201cI suppose your lordship knows who I am?\u201d said I, at last breaking\nsilence.\n\nThe Archbishop bent his head towards the right shoulder, in a somewhat\nequivocal manner, but said nothing.\n\n\u201cI am he whom the Manolos of Madrid call Don Jorgito el Ingles; I am just\ncome out of prison, whither I was sent for circulating my Lord\u2019s Gospel\nin this kingdom of Spain?\u201d\n\nThe Archbishop made the same equivocal motion with his head, but still\nsaid nothing.\n\n\u201cI was informed that your lordship was desirous of seeing me, and on that\naccount I have paid you this visit.\u201d\n\n\u201cI did not send for you,\u201d said the Archbishop, suddenly raising his head\nwith a startled look.\n\n\u201cPerhaps not: I was, however, given to understand that my presence would\nbe agreeable; but as that does not seem to be the case, I will leave.\u201d\n\n\u201cSince you are come, I am very glad to see you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am very glad to hear it,\u201d said I, reseating myself; \u201cand since I am\nhere, we may as well talk of an all-important matter, the circulation of\nthe Scripture.  Does your lordship see any way by which an end so\ndesirable might be brought about?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said the Archbishop faintly.\n\n\u201cDoes not your lordship think that a knowledge of the Scripture would\nwork inestimable benefit in these realms?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs it probable that the government may be induced to consent to the\ncirculation?\u201d\n\n\u201cHow should I know?\u201d and the Archbishop looked me in the face.\n\nI looked in the face of the Archbishop; there was an expression of\nhelplessness in it, which almost amounted to dotage.  \u201cDear me,\u201d thought\nI, \u201cwhom have I come to on an errand like mine?  Poor man, you are not\nfitted to play the part of Martin Luther, and least of all in Spain.  I\nwonder why your friends selected you to be Archbishop of Toledo; they\nthought perhaps that you would do neither good nor harm, and made choice\nof you, as they sometimes do primates in my own country, for your\nincapacity.  You do not seem very happy in your present situation; no\nvery easy stall this of yours.  You were more comfortable, I trow, when\nyou were the poor Bishop of Mallorca; could enjoy your puchera then\nwithout fear that the salt would turn out sublimate.  No fear then of\nbeing smothered in your bed.  A siesta is a pleasant thing when one is\nnot subject to be disturbed by \u2018the sudden fear.\u2019  I wonder whether they\nhave poisoned you already,\u201d I continued, half aloud, as I kept my eyes\nfixed on his countenance, which methought was becoming ghastly.\n\n\u201cDid you speak, Don Jorge?\u201d demanded the Archbishop.\n\n\u201cThat is a fine brilliant on your lordship\u2019s hand,\u201d said I.\n\n\u201cYou are fond of brilliants, Don Jorge,\u201d said the Archbishop, his\nfeatures brightening up; \u201cvaya! so am I; they are pretty things.  Do you\nunderstand them?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do,\u201d said I, \u201cand I never saw a finer brilliant than your own, one\nexcepted; it belonged to an acquaintance of mine, a Tartar Khan.  He did\nnot bear it on his finger, however; it stood in the frontlet of his\nhorse, where it shone like a star.  He called it Daoud Scharr, which,\nbeing interpreted, meaneth _light of war_.\u201d\n\n\u201cVaya!\u201d said the Archbishop, \u201chow very extraordinary; I am glad you are\nfond of brilliants, Don Jorge.  Speaking of horses, reminds me that I\nhave frequently seen you on horseback.  Vaya! how you ride; it is\ndangerous to be in your way.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs your lordship fond of equestrian exercise?\u201d\n\n\u201cBy no means, Don Jorge; I do not like horses; it is not the practice of\nthe church to ride on horseback.  We prefer mules: they are the quieter\nanimals; I fear horses, they kick so violently.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe kick of a horse is death,\u201d said I, \u201cif it touches a vital part.  I\nam not, however, of your lordship\u2019s opinion with respect to mules: a good\nginete may retain his seat on a horse however vicious, but a mule\u2014vaya!\nwhen a false mule _tira por detras_, I do not believe that the Father of\nthe Church himself could keep the saddle a moment, however sharp his\nbit.\u201d\n\nAs I was going away, I said, \u201cAnd with respect to the Gospel, your\nlordship; what am I to understand?\u201d\n\n\u201c_No se_,\u201d said the Archbishop, again bending his head towards the right\nshoulder, whilst his features resumed their former vacant expression.\nAnd thus terminated my interview with the Archbishop of Toledo.\n\n\u201cIt appears to me,\u201d said I to Maria Diaz, on returning home; \u201cit appears\nto me, Marequita mia, that if the Gospel in Spain is to wait for\ntoleration until these liberal bishops and archbishops come forward\nboldly in its behalf, it will have to tarry a considerable time.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am much of your worship\u2019s opinion,\u201d answered Maria; \u201ca fine thing,\ntruly, it would be to wait till they exerted themselves in its behalf.\nCa! the idea makes me smile: was your worship ever innocent enough to\nsuppose that they cared one tittle about the Gospel or its cause?  Vaya!\nthey are true priests, and had only self-interest in view in their\nadvances to you.  The Holy Father disowns them, and they would now fain,\nby awaking his fears and jealousy, bring him to some terms; but let him\nonce acknowledge them and see whether they would admit you to their\npalaces or hold any intercourse with you: \u2018Forth with the fellow,\u2019 they\nwould say; \u2018vaya! is he not a Lutheran?  Is he not an enemy to the\nChurch?  _A la horca_, _a la horca_!\u2019  I know this family better than you\ndo, Don Jorge.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is useless tarrying,\u201d said I; \u201cnothing, however, can be done in\nMadrid.  I cannot sell the work at the despacho, and I have just received\nintelligence that all the copies exposed for sale in the libraries in the\ndifferent parts of Spain which I visited, have been sequestrated by order\nof the government.  My resolution is taken: I shall mount my horses,\nwhich are neighing in the stable, and betake myself to the villages and\nplains of dusty Spain.  _Al campo_, _al campo_: \u2018Ride forth because of\nthe word of righteousness, and thy right hand shall show thee terrible\nthings.\u2019  I will ride forth, Maria.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour worship can do no better; and allow me here to tell you, that for\nevery single book you might sell in a despacho in the city, you may\ndispose of one hundred amongst the villages, always provided you offer\nthem cheap: for in the country money is rather scant.  Vaya! should I not\nknow? am I not a villager myself, a villana from the Sagra?  Ride forth,\ntherefore; your horses are neighing in the stall, as your worship says,\nand you might almost have added that the Se\u00f1or Antonio is neighing in the\nhouse.  He says he has nothing to do, on which account he is once more\ndissatisfied and unsettled.  He finds fault with everything, but more\nparticularly with myself.  This morning I saluted him, and he made me no\nreply, but twisted his mouth in a manner very uncommon in this land of\nSpain.\u201d\n\n\u201cA thought strikes me,\u201d said I; \u201cyou have mentioned the Sagra; why should\nnot I commence my labours amongst the villages of that district?\u201d\n\n\u201cYour worship can do no better,\u201d replied Maria; \u201cthe harvest is just over\nthere, and you will find the people comparatively unemployed, with\nleisure to attend and listen to you; and if you follow my advice, you\nwill establish yourself at Villa Seca, in the house of my fathers, where\nat present lives my lord and husband.  Go, therefore, to Villa Seca in\nthe first place, and from thence you can sally forth with the Se\u00f1or\nAntonio upon your excursions.  Peradventure, my husband will accompany\nyou; and if so, you will find him highly useful.  The people of Villa\nSeca are civil and courteous, your worship; when they address a foreigner\nthey speak to him at the top of their voice and in Gallegan.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn Gallegan!\u201d I exclaimed.\n\n\u201cThey all understand a few words of Gallegan, which they have acquired\nfrom the mountaineers, who occasionally assist them in cutting the\nharvest, and as Gallegan is the only foreign language they know, they\ndeem it but polite to address a foreigner in that tongue.  Vaya! it is\nnot a bad village, that of Villa Seca, nor are the people; the only\nill-conditioned person living there is his reverence the curate.\u201d\n\nI was not long in making preparations for my enterprise.  A considerable\nstock of Testaments were sent forward by an arriero, I myself followed\nthe next day.  Before my departure, however, I received a Benedict Mol.\n\n\u201cI am come to bid you farewell, lieber herr; I return to Compostella.\u201d\n\n\u201cOn what errand?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo dig up the schatz, lieber herr.  For what else should I go?  For what\nhave I lived until now, but that I may dig up the schatz in the end?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou might have lived for something better,\u201d I exclaimed.  \u201cI wish you\nsuccess, however.  But on what grounds do you hope?  Have you obtained\npermission to dig?  Surely you remember your former trials in Galicia?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have not forgotten them, lieber herr, nor the journey to Oviedo, nor\n\u2018the seven acorns,\u2019 nor the fight with death in the barranco.  But I must\naccomplish my destiny.  I go now to Galicia, as is becoming a Swiss, at\nthe expense of the government, with coach and mule, I mean in the galera.\nI am to have all the help I require, so that I can dig down to the\nearth\u2019s centre if I think fit.  I\u2014but I must not tell your worship, for I\nam sworn on \u2018the four Evangiles\u2019 not to tell.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, Benedict, I have nothing to say, save that I hope you will succeed\nin your digging.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you, lieber herr, thank you; and now farewell.  Succeed!  I shall\nsucceed!\u201d  Here he stopped short, started, and looking upon me with an\nexpression of countenance almost wild, he exclaimed: \u201cHeiliger Gott!  I\nforgot one thing.  Suppose I should not find the treasure after all.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery rationally said; pity, though, that you did not think of that\ncontingency till now.  I tell you, my friend, that you have engaged in a\nmost desperate undertaking.  It is true that you may find a treasure.\nThe chances are, however, a hundred to one that you do not, and in that\nevent, what will be your situation?  You will be looked upon as an\nimpostor, and the consequences may be horrible to you.  Remember where\nyou are, and amongst whom you are.  The Spaniards are a credulous people,\nbut let them once suspect that they have been imposed upon, and above all\nlaughed at, and their thirst for vengeance knows no limit.  Think not\nthat your innocence will avail you.  That you are no impostor I feel\nconvinced; but they would never believe it.  It is not too late.  Return\nyour fine clothes and magic rattan to those from whom you had them.  Put\non your old garments, grasp your ragged staff, and come with me to the\nSagra, to assist in circulating the illustrious Gospel amongst the\nrustics on the Tagus\u2019 bank.\u201d\n\nBenedict mused for a moment, then shaking his head, he cried, \u201cNo, no, I\nmust accomplish my destiny.  The schatz is not yet dug up.  So said the\nvoice in the barranco.  To-morrow to Compostella.  I shall find it\u2014the\nschatz\u2014it is still there\u2014it _must_ be there.\u201d\n\nHe went, and I never saw him more.  What I heard, however, was\nextraordinary enough.  It appeared that the government had listened to\nhis tale, and had been so struck with Bennet\u2019s exaggerated description of\nthe buried treasure, that they imagined that, by a little trouble and\noutlay, gold and diamonds might be dug up at Saint James sufficient to\nenrich themselves and to pay off the national debt of Spain.  The Swiss\nreturned to Compostella \u201clike a duke,\u201d to use his own words.  The affair,\nwhich had at first been kept a profound secret, was speedily divulged.\nIt was, indeed, resolved that the investigation, which involved\nconsequences of so much importance, should take place in a manner the\nmost public and imposing.  A solemn festival was drawing nigh, and it was\ndeemed expedient that the search should take place on that day.  The day\narrived.  All the bells in Compostella pealed.  The whole populace\nthronged from their houses, a thousand troops were drawn up in the\nsquare, the expectation of all was wound up to the highest pitch.  A\nprocession directed its course to the church of San Roque; at its head\nwas the captain-general and the Swiss, brandishing in his hand the magic\nrattan, close behind walked the _meiga_, the Gallegan witch-wife, by whom\nthe treasure-seeker had been originally guided in the search; numerous\nmasons brought up the rear, bearing implements to break up the ground.\nThe procession enters the church, they pass through it in solemn march,\nthey find themselves in a vaulted passage.  The Swiss looks around.  \u201cDig\nhere,\u201d said he suddenly.  \u201cYes, dig here,\u201d said the meiga.  The masons\nlabour, the floor is broken up,\u2014a horrible and fetid odour arises. . . .\n\nEnough; no treasure was found, and my warning to the unfortunate Swiss\nturned out but too prophetic.  He was forthwith seized and flung into the\nhorrid prison of Saint James, amidst the execrations of thousands, who\nwould have gladly torn him limb from limb.\n\nThe affair did not terminate here.  The political opponents of the\ngovernment did not allow so favourable an opportunity to escape for\nlaunching the shafts of ridicule.  The Moderados were taunted in the\ncortes for their avarice and credulity, whilst the liberal press wafted\non its wings through Spain the story of the treasure-hunt at Saint James.\n\n\u201cAfter all, it was a _trampa_ of Don Jorge\u2019s,\u201d said one of my enemies.\n\u201cThat fellow is at the bottom of half the picardias which happen in\nSpain.\u201d\n\nEager to learn the fate of the Swiss, I wrote to my old friend Rey\nRomero, at Compostella.  In his answer he states: \u201cI saw the Swiss in\nprison, to which place he sent for me, craving my assistance, for the\nsake of the friendship which I bore to you.  But how could I help him?\nHe was speedily after removed from Saint James, I know not whither.  It\nis said that he disappeared on the road.\u201d\n\nTruth is sometimes stranger than fiction.  Where in the whole cycle of\nromance shall we find anything more wild, grotesque, and sad, than the\neasily-authenticated history of Benedict Mol, the treasure-digger of\nSaint James?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLIII\n\n\nVilla Seca\u2014Moorish House\u2014The Puchera\u2014The Rustic Council\u2014Polite\nCeremonial\u2014The Flower of Spain\u2014The Bridge of Azeca\u2014The Ruined\nCastle\u2014Taking the Field\u2014Demand for the Word\u2014The Old Peasant\u2014The Curate\nand Blacksmith\u2014Cheapness of the Scriptures.\n\nIt was one of the most fiercely hot days in which I ever braved the sun,\nwhen I arrived at Villa Seca.  The heat in the shade must have amounted\nat least to one hundred degrees, and the entire atmosphere seemed to\nconsist of flickering flame.  At a place called Leganez, six leagues from\nMadrid, and about half way to Toledo, we diverged from the highway,\nbending our course seemingly towards the south-east.  We rode over what\nare called plains in Spain, but which, in any other part of the world,\nwould be called undulating and broken ground.  The crops of corn and\nbarley had already disappeared.  The last vestiges discoverable being\nhere and there a few sheaves, which the labourers were occupied in\nremoving to their garners in the villages.  The country could scarcely be\ncalled beautiful, being perfectly naked, exhibiting neither trees nor\nverdure.  It was not, however, without its pretensions to grandeur and\nmagnificence, like every part of Spain.  The most prominent objects were\ntwo huge calcareous hills or rather one cleft in twain, which towered up\non high; the summit of the nearest being surmounted by the ruins of an\nancient castle, that of Villaluenga.  About an hour past noon we reached\nVilla Seca.\n\nWe found it a large village, containing about seven hundred inhabitants,\nand surrounded by a mud wall.  A plaza, or market-place, stood in the\nmidst, one side of which is occupied by what is called a palace, a clumsy\nquadrangular building of two stories, belonging to some noble family, the\nlords of the neighbouring soil.  It was deserted, however, being only\noccupied by a kind of steward, who stored up in its chambers the grain\nwhich he received as rent from the tenants and villanos who farmed the\nsurrounding district.\n\nThe village stands at the distance of about a quarter of a league from\nthe bank of the Tagus, which even here, in the heart of Spain, is a\nbeautiful stream, not navigable, however, on account of the sandbanks,\nwhich in many places assume the appearance of small islands, and are\ncovered with trees and brushwood.  The village derives its supply of\nwater entirely from the river, having none of its own; such at least as\nis potable, the water of its wells being all brackish, on which account\nit is probably termed Villa Seca, which signifies \u201cthe dry hamlet.\u201d  The\ninhabitants are said to have been originally Moors; certain it is, that\nvarious customs are observable here highly favourable to such a\nsupposition.  Amongst others, a very curious one; it is deemed infamous\nfor a woman of Villa Seca to go across the market-place, or to be seen\nthere, though they have no hesitation in showing themselves in the\nstreets and lanes.  A deep-rooted hostility exists between the\ninhabitants of this place and those of a neighbouring village, called\nVargas; they rarely speak when they meet, and never intermarry.  There is\na vague tradition that the people of the latter place are old Christians,\nand it is highly probable that these neighbours were originally of widely\ndifferent blood; those of Villa Seca being of particularly dark\ncomplexions, whilst the indwellers of Vargas are light and fair.  Thus\nthe old feud between Moor and Christian is still kept up in the\nnineteenth century in Spain.\n\nDrenched in perspiration, which fell from our brows like rain, we arrived\nat the door of Juan Lopez, the husband of Maria Diaz.  Having heard of\nour intention to pay him a visit, he was expecting us, and cordially\nwelcomed us to his habitation, which, like a genuine Moorish house,\nconsisted only of one story.  It was amply large, however, with a court\nand stable.  All the apartments were deliciously cool.  The floors were\nof brick or stone, and the narrow and trellised windows, which were\nwithout glass, scarcely permitted a ray of sun to penetrate into the\ninterior.\n\nA puchera had been prepared in expectation of our arrival; the heat had\nnot taken away my appetite, and it was not long before I did full justice\nto this the standard dish of Spain.  Whilst I ate, Lopez played upon the\nguitar, singing occasionally snatches of Andalusian songs.  He was a\nshort, merry-faced, active fellow, whom I had frequently seen at Madrid,\nand was a good specimen of the Spanish labrador or yeoman.  Though far\nfrom possessing the ability and intellect of his wife, Maria Diaz, he was\nby no means deficient in shrewdness and understanding.  He was, moreover,\nhonest and disinterested, and performed good service in the Gospel cause,\nas will presently appear.\n\nWhen the repast was concluded, Lopez thus addressed me:\u2014\u201cSe\u00f1or Don Jorge,\nyour arrival in our village has already caused a sensation, more\nespecially as these are times of war and tumult, and every person is\nafraid of another, and we dwell here close on the confines of the\nfactious country; for, as you well know, the greater part of La Mancha is\nin the hands of the Carlinos and thieves, parties of whom frequently show\nthemselves on the other side of the river: on which account the alcalde\nof this city, with the other grave and notable people thereof, are\ndesirous of seeing your worship, and conversing with you, and of\nexamining your passport.\u201d  \u201cIt is well,\u201d said I; \u201clet us forthwith pay a\nvisit to these worthy people.\u201d  Whereupon he conducted me across the\nplaza, to the house of the alcalde, where I found the rustic dignitary\nseated in the passage, enjoying the refreshing coolness of a draught of\nair which rushed through.  He was an elderly man, of about sixty, with\nnothing remarkable in his appearance or his features, which latter were\nplacid and good-humoured.  There were several people with him, amongst\nwhom was the surgeon of the place, a tall and immensely bulky man, an\nAlavese by birth, from the town of Vitoria.  There was also a red\nfiery-faced individual, with a nose very much turned on one side, who was\nthe blacksmith of the village, and was called in general El Tuerto, from\nthe circumstance of his having but one eye.  Making the assembly a low\nbow, I pulled out my passport, and thus addressed them:\u2014\n\n\u201cGrave men and cavaliers of this city of Villa Seca, as I am a stranger,\nof whom it is not possible that you should know anything, I have deemed\nit my duty to present myself before you, and to tell you who I am.  Know,\nthen, that I am an Englishman of good blood and fathers, travelling in\nthese countries for my own profit and diversion, and for that of other\npeople also.  I have now found my way to Villa Seca, where I propose to\nstay some time, doing that which may be deemed convenient; sometimes\nriding across the plain, and sometimes bathing myself in the waters of\nthe river, which are reported to be of advantage in times of heat, I\ntherefore beg that, during my sojourn in this capital, I may enjoy such\ncountenance and protection from its governors as they are in the habit of\naffording to those who are of quiet and well-ordered life, and are\ndisposed to be buxom and obedient to the customs and laws of the\nrepublic.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe speaks well,\u201d said the alcalde, glancing around.\n\n\u201cYes, he speaks well,\u201d said the bulky Alavese; \u201cthere is no denying it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI never heard any one speak better,\u201d cried the blacksmith, starting up\nfrom a stool on which he was seated.  \u201cVaya! he is a big man and a fair\ncomplexioned like myself.  I like him, and have a horse that will just\nsuit him; one that is the flower of Spain, and is eight inches above the\nmark.\u201d\n\nI then, with another bow, presented my passport to the alcalde, who, with\na gentle motion of his hand, appeared to decline taking it, at the same\ntime saying, \u201cIt is not necessary.\u201d  \u201cOh, not at all,\u201d exclaimed the\nsurgeon.  \u201cThe housekeepers of Villa Seca know how to comport themselves\nwith formality,\u201d observed the blacksmith.  \u201cThey would be very loth to\nharbour any suspicion against a cavalier so courteous and well spoken.\u201d\nKnowing, however, that this refusal amounted to nothing, and that it\nmerely formed part of a polite ceremonial, I proffered the passport a\nsecond time, whereupon it was instantly taken, and in a moment the eyes\nof all present were bent upon it with intense curiosity.  It was examined\nfrom top to bottom, and turned round repeatedly, and though it is not\nprobable that an individual present understood a word of it, it being\nwritten in French, it gave nevertheless universal satisfaction; and when\nthe alcalde, carefully folding it up, returned it to me, they all\nobserved that they had never seen a better passport in their lives, or\none which spake in higher terms of the bearer.\n\nWho was it said that \u201cCervantes sneered Spain\u2019s chivalry away?\u201d  I know\nnot; and the author of such a line scarcely deserves to be remembered.\nHow the rage for scribbling tempts people at the present day to write\nabout lands and nations of which they know nothing, or worse than\nnothing.  Vaya!  It is not from having seen a bull-fight at Seville or\nMadrid, or having spent a handful of ounces at a posada in either of\nthose places, kept perhaps by a Genoese or a Frenchman, that you are\ncompetent to write about such a people as the Spaniards, and to tell the\nworld how they think, how they speak, and how they act!  Spain\u2019s chivalry\nsneered away!  Why, there is every probability that the great body of the\nSpanish nation speak, think, and live precisely as their forefathers did\nsix centuries ago.\n\nIn the evening the blacksmith, or, as he would be called in Spanish, El\nHerrador, made his appearance at the door of Lopez on horseback.  \u201cVamos,\nDon Jorge,\u201d he shouted.  \u201cCome with me, if your worship is disposed for a\nride.  I am going to bathe my horse in the Tagus by the bridge of Azeca.\u201d\nI instantly saddled my jaca Cordovesa, and joining him, we rode out of\nthe village, directing our course across the plain towards the river.\n\u201cDid you ever see such a horse as this of mine, Don Jorge?\u201d he demanded.\n\u201cIs he not a jewel\u2014an alaja?\u201d And in truth the horse was a noble and\ngallant creature, in height at least sixteen hands, broad-chested, but of\nclean and elegant limbs.  His neck was superbly arched, and his head\ntowered on high like that of a swan.  In colour he was a bright chestnut,\nsave his flowing mane and tail, which were almost black.  I expressed my\nadmiration, whereupon the herrador, in high spirits, pressed his heels to\nthe creature\u2019s sides, and flinging the bridle on its neck, speeded over\nthe plain with prodigious swiftness, shouting the old Spanish cry,\nCierra!  I attempted to keep up with him, but had not a chance.  \u201cI call\nhim the flower of Spain,\u201d said the herrador, rejoining me.  \u201cPurchase\nhim, Don Jorge, his price is but three thousand reals. {384}  I would not\nsell him for double that sum, but the Carlist thieves have their eyes\nupon him, and I am apprehensive that they will some day make a dash\nacross the river and break into Villa Seca, all to get possession of my\nhorse, \u2018The Flower of Spain.\u2019\u201d\n\nIt may be as well to observe here, that within a month from this period,\nmy friend the herrador, not being able to find a regular purchaser for\nhis steed, entered into negotiations with the aforesaid thieves\nrespecting him, and finally disposed of the animal to their leader,\nreceiving not the three thousand reals he demanded, but an entire herd of\nhorned cattle, probably driven from the plains of La Mancha.  For this\ntransaction, which was neither more nor less than high treason, he was\ncast into the prison of Toledo, where, however, he did not continue long;\nfor during a short visit to Villa Seca, which I made in the spring of the\nfollowing year, I found him alcalde of that \u201crepublic.\u201d\n\nWe arrived at the bridge of Azeca, which is about half a league from\nVilla Seca; close beside it is a large water-mill, standing upon a dam\nwhich crosses the river.  Dismounting from his steed, the herrador\nproceeded to divest it of the saddle, then causing it to enter the\nmill-pool, he led it by means of a cord to a particular spot, where the\nwater reached half way up its neck, then fastening a cord to a post on\nthe bank, he left the animal standing in the pool.  I thought I could do\nno better than follow his example, and accordingly procuring a rope from\nthe mill, I led my own horse into the water.  \u201cIt will refresh their\nblood, Don Jorge,\u201d said the herrador; \u201clet us leave them there for an\nhour, whilst we go and divert ourselves.\u201d\n\nNear the bridge, on the side of the river on which we were, was a kind of\nguard-house, where were three carbineers of the revenue, who collected\nthe tolls of the bridge; we entered into conversation with them: \u201cIs not\nthis a dangerous position of yours,\u201d said I to one of them, who was a\nCatalan; \u201cclose beside the factious country?  Surely it would not be\ndifficult for a body of the Carlinos or bandits to dash across the bridge\nand make prisoners of you all.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt would be easy enough at any moment, Cavalier,\u201d replied the Catalan;\n\u201cwe are, however, all in the hands of God, and he has preserved us\nhitherto, and perhaps still will.  True it is that one of our number, for\nthere were four of us originally, fell the other day into the hands of\nthe canaille: he had wandered across the bridge amongst the thickets with\nhis gun in search of a hare or rabbit, when three or four of them fell\nupon him and put him to death in a manner too horrible to relate.  But\npatience! every man who lives must die.  I shall not sleep the worse\nto-night because I may chance to be hacked by the knives of these\nmalvados to-morrow.  Cavalier, I am from Barcelona, and have seen there\nmariners of your nation; this is not so good a country as Barcelona.\nPaciencia!  Cavalier, if you will step into our house, I will give you a\nglass of water; we have some that is cool, for we dug a deep hole in the\nearth and buried there our pitcher; it is cool, as I told you, but the\nwater of Castile is not like that of Catalonia.\u201d\n\nThe moon had arisen when we mounted our horses to return to the village,\nand the rays of the beauteous luminary danced merrily on the rushing\nwaters of the Tagus, silvered the plain over which we were passing, and\nbathed in a flood of brightness the bold sides of the calcareous hill of\nVillaluenga and the antique ruins which crowned its brow.  \u201cWhy is that\nplace called the Castle of Villaluenga?\u201d I demanded.\n\n\u201cFrom a village of that name, which stands on the other side of the hill,\nDon Jorge,\u201d replied the herrador.  \u201cVaya! it is a strange place, that\ncastle; some say it was built by the Moors in the old times, and some by\nthe Christians when they first laid siege to Toledo.  It is not inhabited\nnow, save by rabbits, which breed there in abundance amongst the long\ngrass and broken stones, and by eagles and vultures, which build on the\ntops of the towers; I occasionally go there with my gun to shoot a\nrabbit.  On a fine day you may descry both Toledo and Madrid from its\nwalls.  I cannot say I like the place, it is so dreary and melancholy.\nThe hill on which it stands is all of chalk, and is very difficult of\nascent.  I heard my grandame say that once, when she was a girl, a cloud\nof smoke burst from that hill, and that flames of fire were seen, just as\nif it contained a volcano, as perhaps it does, Don Jorge.\u201d\n\nThe grand work of Scripture circulation soon commenced in the Sagra.\nNotwithstanding the heat of the weather, I rode about in all directions.\nIt was well that heat agrees with my constitution, otherwise it would\nhave been impossible to effect anything in this season, when the very\narrieros frequently fall dead from their mules, smitten by sun-stroke.  I\nhad an excellent assistant in Antonio, who, disregarding the heat like\nmyself, and afraid of nothing, visited several villages with remarkable\nsuccess.  \u201cMon ma\u00eetre,\u201d said he, \u201cI wish to show you that nothing is\nbeyond my capacity.\u201d  But he who put the labours of us both to shame, was\nmy host, Juan Lopez, whom it had pleased the Lord to render favourable to\nthe cause.  \u201cDon Jorge,\u201d said he, \u201c_io quiero engancharme con usted_ (I\nwish to enlist with you); I am a liberal, and a foe to superstition; I\nwill take the field, and, if necessary, will follow you to the end of the\nworld; _Viva Ingalaterra_; _viva el Evangelio_.\u201d  Thus saying, he put a\nlarge bundle of Testaments into a satchel, and springing upon the crupper\nof his grey donkey, he cried \u201c_Arrhe burra_,\u201d and hastened away.  I sat\ndown to my journal.\n\nEre I had finished writing, I heard the voice of the burra in the\ncourtyard, and going out, I found my host returned.  He had disposed of\nhis whole cargo of twenty Testaments at the village of Vargas, distant\nfrom Villa Seca about a league.  Eight poor harvest men, who were\nrefreshing themselves at the door of a wine-house, purchased each a copy,\nwhilst the village schoolmaster secured the rest for the little ones\nbeneath his care, lamenting, at the same time, the great difficulty he\nhad long experienced in obtaining religious books, owing to their\nscarcity and extravagant price.  Many other persons were also anxious to\npurchase Testaments, but Lopez was unable to supply them: at his\ndeparture, they requested him to return within a few days.\n\nI was aware that I was playing rather a daring game, and that it was very\npossible that, when I least expected it, I might be seized, tied to the\ntail of a mule, and dragged either to the prison of Toledo or Madrid.\nYet such a prospect did not discourage me in the least, but rather urged\nme to persevere; for at this time, without the slightest wish to gratify\nmyself, I could say that I was eager to lay down my life for the cause,\nand whether a bandit\u2019s bullet, or the gaol fever brought my career to a\nclose, was a matter of indifference to me; I was not then a stricken man:\n\u201cRide on because of the word of righteousness,\u201d was my cry.\n\nThe news of the arrival of the book of life soon spread like wildfire\nthrough the villages of the Sagra of Toledo, and wherever my people and\nmyself directed our course we found the inhabitants disposed to receive\nour merchandize; it was even called for where not exhibited.  One night\nas I was bathing myself and horse in the Tagus, a knot of people gathered\non the bank, crying, \u201cCome out of the water, Englishman, and give us\nbooks; we have got our money in our hands.\u201d  The poor creatures then held\nout their hands, filled with cuartos, a copper coin of the value of the\nfarthing, but unfortunately I had no Testaments to give them.  Antonio,\nhowever, who was at a short distance, having exhibited one, it was\ninstantly torn from his hands by the people, and a scuffle ensued to\nobtain possession of it.  It very frequently occurred, that the poor\nlabourers in the neighbourhood, being eager to obtain Testaments, and\nhaving no money to offer us in exchange, brought various articles to our\nhabitation as equivalents; for example, rabbits, fruit and barley, and I\nmade a point never to disappoint them, as such articles were of utility\neither for our own consumption or that of the horses.\n\nIn Villa Seca there was a school in which fifty-seven children were\ntaught the first rudiments of education.  One morning the schoolmaster, a\ntall slim figure of about sixty, bearing on his head one of the peaked\nhats of Andalusia, and wrapped, notwithstanding the excessive heat of the\nweather, in a long cloak, made his appearance; and having seated himself,\nrequested to be shown one of our books.  Having delivered it to him, he\nremained examining it for nearly half an hour, without uttering a word.\nAt last he laid it down with a sigh, and said that he should be very\nhappy to purchase some of these books for his school, but from their\nappearance, especially from the quality of the paper and binding, he was\napprehensive that to pay for them would exceed the means of the parents\nof his pupils, as they were almost destitute of money, being poor\nlabourers.  He then commenced blaming the government, which he said\nestablished schools without affording the necessary books, adding that in\nhis school there were but two books for the use of all his pupils, and\nthese he confessed contained but little good.  I asked him what he\nconsidered the Testaments were worth?  He said, \u201cSe\u00f1or Cavalier, to speak\nfrankly, I have in other times paid twelve reals for books inferior to\nyours in every respect, but I assure you that my poor pupils would be\nutterly unable to pay the half of that sum.\u201d  I replied, \u201cI will sell you\nas many as you please for three reals each, I am acquainted with the\npoverty of the land, and my friends and myself, in affording the people\nthe means of spiritual instruction have no wish to curtail their scanty\nbread.\u201d  He replied: \u201cBendito sea Dios,\u201d (_blessed be God_,) and could\nscarcely believe his ears.  He instantly purchased a dozen, expending, as\nhe said, all the money he possessed, with the exception of a few cuartos.\nThe introduction of the word of God into the country schools of Spain is\ntherefore begun, and I humbly hope that it will prove one of those\nevents, which the Bible Society, after the lapse of years, will have most\nreason to remember with joy and gratitude to the Almighty.\n\nAn old peasant is reading in the portico.  Eighty-four years have passed\nover his head, and he is almost entirely deaf; nevertheless he is reading\naloud the second of Matthew: three days since he bespoke a Testament, but\nnot being able to raise the money, he has not redeemed it until the\npresent moment.  He has just brought thirty farthings; as I survey the\nsilvery hair which overshadows his sunburnt countenance, the words of the\nsong occurred to me, \u201cLord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace\naccording to thy word, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.\u201d\n\nI experienced much grave kindness and simple hospitality from the good\npeople of Villa Seca during my sojourn amongst them.  I had at this time\nso won their hearts by the \u201cformality\u201d of my behaviour and language, that\nI firmly believe they would have resisted to the knife any attempt which\nmight have been made to arrest or otherwise maltreat me.  He who wishes\nto become acquainted with the genuine Spaniard, must seek him not in\nseaports and large towns, but in lone and remote villages, like those of\nthe Sagra.  There he will find all that gravity of deportment and\nchivalry of disposition which Cervantes is said to have sneered away; and\nthere he will hear, in everyday conversation, those grandiose\nexpressions, which, when met with in the romances of chivalry, are\nscoffed at as ridiculous exaggerations.\n\nI had one enemy in the village\u2014it was the curate.\n\n\u201cThe fellow is a heretic and a scoundrel,\u201d said he one day in the\nconclave.  \u201cHe never enters the church, and is poisoning the minds of the\npeople with his Lutheran books.  Let him be bound and sent to Toledo, or\nturned out of the village at least.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will have nothing of the kind,\u201d said the alcalde, who was said to be a\nCarlist.  \u201cIf he has his opinions, I have mine too.  He has conducted\nhimself with politeness.  Why should I interfere with him?  He has been\ncourteous to my daughter, and has presented her with a volume.  Que viva!\nand with respect to his being a Lutheran, I have heard say that amongst\nthe Lutherans there are sons of as good fathers as here.  He appears to\nme a caballero.  He speaks well.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is no denying it,\u201d said the surgeon.\n\n\u201cWho speaks _so_ well?\u201d shouted the herrador.  \u201cAnd, who has more\nformality?  Vaya! did he not praise my horse, \u2018The Flower of Spain\u2019?  Did\nhe not say that in the whole of Ingalaterra there was not a better?  Did\nhe not assure me, moreover, that if he were to remain in Spain he would\npurchase it, giving me my own price?  Turn him out, indeed!  Is he not of\nmy own blood, is he not fair-complexioned?  Who shall turn him out when\nI, \u2018the one-eyed,\u2019 say no?\u201d\n\nIn connection with the circulation of the Scriptures I will now relate an\nanecdote not altogether divested of singularity.  I have already spoken\nof the water-mill by the bridge of Azeca.  I had formed acquaintance with\nthe tenant of this mill, who was known in the neighbourhood by the name\nof Don Antero.  One day, taking me into a retired place, he asked me, to\nmy great astonishment, whether I would sell him a thousand Testaments at\nthe price at which I was disposing of them to the peasantry; saying, if I\nwould consent he would pay me immediately.  In fact, he put his hand into\nhis pocket, and pulled it out filled with gold ounces.  I asked him what\nwas his reason for wishing to make so considerable a purchase.  Whereupon\nhe informed me that he had a relation in Toledo whom he wished to\nestablish, and that he was of opinion that his best plan would be to hire\nhim a shop there and furnish it with Testaments.  I told him that he must\nthink of nothing of the kind, as probably the books would be seized on\nthe first attempt to introduce them into Toledo, as the priests and\ncanons were much averse to their distribution.\n\nHe was not disconcerted, however, and said his relation could travel, as\nI myself was doing, and dispose of them to the peasants with profit to\nhimself.  I confess I was inclined at first to accept his offer, but at\nlength declined it, as I did not wish to expose a poor man to the risk of\nlosing money, goods, and perhaps liberty and life.  I was likewise averse\nto the books being offered to the peasantry at an advanced price, being\naware that they could not afford it, and the books, by such an attempt,\nwould lose a considerable part of that influence which they then enjoyed;\nfor their cheapness struck the minds of the people, and they considered\nit almost as much in the light of a miracle as the Jews the manna which\ndropped from heaven at the time they were famishing, or the spring which\nsuddenly gushed from the flinty rocks to assuage their thirst in the\nwilderness.\n\nAt this time a peasant was continually passing and repassing between\nVilla Seca and Madrid, bringing us cargoes of Testaments on a burrico.\nWe continued our labours until the greater part of the villages of the\nSagra were well supplied with books, more especially those of Vargas,\nCoveja, Mocejon, Villaluenga, Villa Seca, and Yungler.  Hearing at last\nthat our proceedings were known at Toledo, and were causing considerable\nalarm, we returned to Madrid.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLIV\n\n\nAranjuez\u2014A Warning\u2014A Night Adventure\u2014A Fresh\nExpedition\u2014Segovia\u2014Abades\u2014Factious Curas\u2014Lopez in Prison\u2014Rescue of Lopez.\n\nThe success which had attended our efforts in the Sagra of Toledo\nspeedily urged me on to a new enterprise.  I now determined to direct my\ncourse to La Mancha, and to distribute the word amongst the villages of\nthat province.  Lopez, who had already performed such important services\nin the Sagra, had accompanied us to Madrid, and was eager to take part in\nthis new expedition.  We determined in the first place to proceed to\nAranjuez, where we hoped to obtain some information which might prove of\nutility in the further regulation of our movements; Aranjuez being but a\nslight distance from the frontier of La Mancha and the high road into\nthat province passing directly through it.  We accordingly sallied forth\nfrom Madrid, selling from twenty to forty Testaments in every village\nwhich lay in our way, until we arrived at Aranjuez, to which place we had\nforwarded a large supply of books.\n\nA lovely spot is Aranjuez, though in desolation: here the Tagus flows\nthrough a delicious valley, perhaps the most fertile in Spain; and here\nupsprang, in Spain\u2019s better days, a little city, with a small but\nbeautiful palace shaded by enormous trees, where royalty delighted to\nforget its cares.  Here Ferdinand the Seventh spent his latter days,\nsurrounded by lovely se\u00f1oras and Andalusian bull-fighters: but as the\nGerman Schiller has it in one of his tragedies:\n\n    \u201cThe happy days in fair Aranjuez,\n    Are past and gone.\u201d\n\nWhen the sensual king went to his dread account, royalty deserted it, and\nit soon fell into decay.  Intriguing courtiers no longer crowd its halls;\nits spacious circus, where Manchegan bulls once roared in rage and agony,\nis now closed, and the light tinkling of guitars is no longer heard\namidst its groves and gardens.\n\nAt Aranjuez I made a sojourn of three days, during which time Antonio,\nLopez, and myself visited every house in the town.  We found a vast deal\nof poverty and ignorance amongst the inhabitants, and experienced some\nopposition: nevertheless it pleased the Almighty to permit us to dispose\nof about eighty Testaments, which were purchased entirely by the very\npoor people; those in easier circumstances paying no attention to the\nword of God, but rather turning it to scoff and ridicule.\n\nOne circumstance was very gratifying and cheering to me, namely, the\nocular proof which I possessed that the books which I had disposed of\nwere read, and with attention, by those to whom I sold them; and that\nmany others participated in their benefit.  In the streets of Aranjuez,\nand beneath the mighty cedars and gigantic elms and plantains which\ncompose its noble woods, I have frequently seen groups assembled\nlistening to individuals who, with the New Testament in their hands, were\nreading aloud the comfortable words of salvation.\n\nIt is probable that, had I remained a longer period at Aranjuez, I might\nhave sold many more of these divine books, but I was eager to gain La\nMancha and its sandy plains, and to conceal myself for a season amongst\nits solitary villages, for I was apprehensive that a storm was gathering\naround me; but when once through Oca\u00f1a, the frontier town, I knew well\nthat I should have nothing to fear from the Spanish authorities, as their\npower ceased there, the rest of La Mancha being almost entirely in the\nhands of the Carlists, and overrun by small parties of banditti, from\nwhom, however, I trusted that the Lord would preserve me.  I therefore\ndeparted for Oca\u00f1a, distant three leagues from Aranjuez.\n\nI started with Antonio at six in the evening, having early in the morning\nsent forward Lopez with between two and three hundred Testaments.  We\nleft the high road, and proceeded by a shorter way through wild hills and\nover very broken and precipitous ground: being well mounted we found\nourselves just after sunset opposite Oca\u00f1a, which stands on a steep hill.\nA deep valley lay between us and the town: we descended, and came to a\nsmall bridge, which traverses a rivulet at the bottom of the valley, at a\nvery small distance from a kind of suburb.  We crossed the bridge, and\nwere passing by a deserted house on our left hand, when a man appeared\nfrom under the porch.\n\nWhat I am about to state will seem incomprehensible, but a singular\nhistory and a singular people are connected with it: the man placed\nhimself before my horse so as to bar the way, and said \u201c_Schophon_,\u201d\nwhich, in the Hebrew tongue, signifies a rabbit.  I knew this word to be\none of the Jewish countersigns, and asked the man if he had any thing to\ncommunicate?  He said, \u201cYou must not enter the town, for a net is\nprepared for you.  The corregidor of Toledo, on whom may all evil light,\nin order to give pleasure to the priests of Maria, in whose face I spit,\nhas ordered all the alcaldes of these parts, and the escribanos and the\ncorchetes to lay hands on you wherever they may find you, and to send\nyou, and your books, and all that pertains to you to Toledo.  Your\nservant was seized this morning in the town above, as he was selling the\nwritings in the streets, and they are now awaiting your arrival in the\nposada; but I knew you from the accounts of my brethren, and I have been\nwaiting here four hours to give you warning in order that your horse may\nturn his tail to your enemies, and neigh in derision of them.  Fear\nnothing for your servant, for he is known to the alcalde, and will be set\nat liberty, but do you flee, and may God attend you.\u201d  Having said this,\nhe hurried towards the town.\n\nI hesitated not a moment to take his advice, knowing full well that, as\nmy books had been taken possession of, I could do no more in that\nquarter.  We turned back in the direction of Aranjuez, the horses,\nnotwithstanding the nature of the ground, galloping at full speed; but\nour adventures were not over.  Midway, and about half a league from the\nvillage of Antigola, we saw close to us on our left hand three men on a\nlow bank.  As far as the darkness would permit us to distinguish, they\nwere naked, but each bore in his hand a long gun.  These were rateros, or\nthe common assassins and robbers of the roads.  We halted and cried out,\n\u201cWho goes there?\u201d  They replied, \u201cWhat\u2019s that to you? pass by.\u201d  Their\ndrift was to fire at us from a position from which it would be impossible\nto miss.  We shouted, \u201cIf you do not instantly pass to the right side of\nthe road, we will tread you down between the horses\u2019 hoofs.\u201d  They\nhesitated and then obeyed, for all assassins are dastards, and the least\nshow of resolution daunts them.  As we galloped past, one cried, with an\nobscene oath, \u201cShall we fire?\u201d  But another said, \u201cNo, no! there\u2019s\ndanger.\u201d  We reached Aranjuez, where early next morning Lopez rejoined\nus, and we returned to Madrid.\n\nI am sorry to state that two hundred Testaments were seized at Oca\u00f1a,\nfrom whence, after being sealed up, they were despatched to Toledo.\nLopez informed me, that in two hours he could have sold them all, the\ndemand was so great.  As it was, twenty-seven were disposed of in less\nthan ten minutes.\n\n\u201cRide on because of the word of righteousness.\u201d  Notwithstanding the\ncheck which we had experienced at Oca\u00f1a, we were far from being\ndiscouraged, and forthwith prepared ourselves for another expedition.  As\nwe returned from Aranjeuz to Madrid, my eyes had frequently glanced\ntowards the mighty wall of mountains dividing the two Castiles, and I\nsaid to myself, \u201cWould it not be well to cross those hills, and commence\noperations on the other side, even in Old Castile?  There I am unknown,\nand intelligence of my proceedings can scarcely have been transmitted\nthither.  Peradventure the enemy is asleep, and before he has roused\nhimself, I may have sown much of the precious seed amongst the villages\nof the Old Castilians.  To Castile, therefore, to Castile la Vieja!\u201d\nAccordingly, on the day after my arrival, I despatched several cargoes of\nbooks to various places which I proposed to visit, and sent forward Lopez\nand his donkey, well laden, with directions to meet me on a particular\nday beneath a particular arch of the aqueduct of Segovia.  I likewise\ngave him orders to engage any persons willing to co-operate with us in\nthe circulation of the Scriptures, and who might be likely to prove of\nutility in the enterprise.  A more useful assistant than Lopez in an\nexpedition of this kind it was impossible to have.  He was not only well\nacquainted with the country, but had friends, and even connexions on the\nother side of the hills, in whose houses he assured me that we should at\nall times find a hearty welcome.  He departed in high spirits,\nexclaiming, \u201cBe of good cheer, Don Jorge; before we return we will have\ndisposed of every copy of your evangelic library.  Down with the friars!\nDown with superstition!  Viva Ingalaterra, viva el Evangelio!\u201d\n\nIn a few days I followed with Antonio.  We ascended the mountains by the\npass called Pe\u00f1a Cerrada, which lies about three leagues to the eastward\nof that of Guadarama.  It is very unfrequented, the high road between the\ntwo Castiles passing through Guadarama.  It has, moreover, an evil name,\nbeing, according to common report, infested with banditti.  The sun was\njust setting when we reached the top of the hills, and entered a thick\nand gloomy pine forest, which entirely covers the mountains on the side\nof Old Castile.  The descent soon became so rapid and precipitous, that\nwe were fain to dismount from our horses and to drive them before us.\nInto the woods we plunged deeper and deeper still; night-birds soon began\nto hoot and cry, and millions of crickets commenced their shrill chirping\nabove, below, and around us.  Occasionally, amidst the trees at a\ndistance, we could see blazes, as if from immense fires.  \u201cThey are those\nof the charcoal-burners, mon ma\u00eetre!\u201d said Antonio; \u201cwe will not go near\nthem, however, for they are savage people, and half bandits.  Many is the\ntraveller whom they have robbed and murdered in these horrid\nwildernesses.\u201d\n\nIt was blackest night when we arrived at the foot of the mountains; we\nwere still, however, amidst woods and pine forests, which extended for\nleagues in every direction.  \u201cWe shall scarcely reach Segovia to-night,\nmon ma\u00eetre,\u201d said Antonio.  And so indeed it proved, for we became\nbewildered, and at last arrived where two roads branched off in different\ndirections, we took not the left hand road, which would have conducted us\nto Segovia, but turned to the right, in the direction of La Granja, where\nwe arrived at midnight.\n\nWe found the desolation of La Granja far greater than that of Aranjuez;\nboth had suffered from the absence of royalty, but the former to a degree\nwhich was truly appalling.  Nine-tenths of the inhabitants had left this\nplace, which, until the late military revolution, had been the favourite\nresidence of Christina.  So great is the solitude of La Granja, that wild\nboars from the neighbouring forests, and especially from the beautiful\npine-covered mountain which rises like a cone directly behind the palace,\nfrequently find their way into the streets and squares, and whet their\ntusks against the pillars of the porticos.\n\n\u201cRide on because of the word of righteousness.\u201d  After a stay of\ntwenty-four hours at La Granja, we proceeded to Segovia.  The day had\narrived on which I had appointed to meet Lopez.  I repaired to the\naqueduct, and sat down beneath the hundred and seventh arch, where I\nwaited the greater part of the day, but he came not, whereupon I rose and\nwent into the city.\n\nAt Segovia I tarried two days in the house of a friend, still I could\nhear nothing of Lopez.  At last, by the greatest chance in the world, I\nheard from a peasant that there were men in the neighbourhood of Abades\nselling books.\n\nAbades is about three leagues distant from Segovia, and upon receiving\nthis intelligence, I instantly departed for the former place, with three\ndonkeys laden with Testaments.  I reached Abades at nightfall, and found\nLopez, with two peasants whom he had engaged, in the house of the surgeon\nof the place, where I also took up my residence.  He had already disposed\nof a considerable number of Testaments in the neighbourhood, and had that\nday commenced selling at Abades itself; he had, however, been interrupted\nby two of the three curas of the village, who, with horrid curses\ndenounced the work, threatening eternal condemnation to Lopez for selling\nit, and to any person who should purchase it; whereupon Lopez, terrified,\nforbore until I should arrive.  The third cura, however, exerted himself\nto the utmost to persuade the people to provide themselves with\nTestaments, telling them that his brethren were hypocrites and false\nguides, who, by keeping them in ignorance of the word and will of Christ,\nwere leading them to the abyss.  Upon receiving this information, I\ninstantly sallied forth to the market-place, and that same night\nsucceeded in disposing of upwards of thirty Testaments.  The next morning\nthe house was entered by the two factious curas, but upon my rising to\nconfront them, they retreated, and I heard no more of them, except that\nthey publicly cursed me in the church more than once, an event which, as\nno ill resulted from it, gave me little concern.\n\nI will not detail the events of the next week; suffice it to say that\narranging my forces in the most advantageous way, I succeeded, by God\u2019s\nassistance, in disposing of from five to six hundred Testaments amongst\nthe villages from one to seven leagues\u2019 distance from Abades.  At the\nexpiration of that period I received information that my proceedings were\nknown in Segovia, in which province Abades is situated, and that an order\nwas about to be sent to the alcalde to seize all books in my possession.\nWhereupon, notwithstanding that it was late in the evening, I decamped\nwith all my people, and upwards of three hundred Testaments, having a few\nhours previously received a fresh supply from Madrid.  That night we\npassed in the fields, and next morning proceeded to Labajos, a village on\nthe high road from Madrid to Valladolid.  In this place we offered no\nbooks for sale, but contented ourselves with supplying the neighbouring\nvillages with the word of God: we likewise sold it in the highways.\n\nWe had not been at Labajos a week, during which time we were remarkably\nsuccessful, when the Carlist chieftain, Balmaseda, at the head of his\ncavalry, made his desperate inroad into the southern part of Old Castile,\ndashing down like an avalanche from the pine-woods of Soria.  I was\npresent at all the horrors which ensued,\u2014the sack of Arrevalo, and the\nforcible entry into Martin Mu\u00f1oz.  Amidst these terrible scenes we\ncontinued our labours.  Suddenly I lost Lopez for three days, and\nsuffered dreadful anxiety on his account, imagining that he had been shot\nby the Carlists; at last I heard that he was in prison at Villallos,\nthree leagues distant.  The steps which I took to rescue him will be\nfound detailed in a communication, which I deemed it my duty to transmit\nto Lord William Hervey, who, in the absence of Sir George Villiers, now\nbecame Earl of Clarendon, fulfilled the duties of minister at Madrid:\u2014\n\n                                             LABAJOS, PROVINCE OF SEGOVIA,\n                                                        _August_ 23, 1838.\n\n    MY LORD,\u2014I beg leave to call your attention to the following facts.\n    On the 21st inst. I received information that a person in my employ,\n    of the name of Juan Lopez, had been thrown into the prison of\n    Villallos, in the province of Avila, by order of the cura of that\n    place.  The crime with which he was charged was selling the New\n    Testament.  I was at that time at Labajos, in the province of\n    Segovia, and the division of the factious chieftain Balmaseda was in\n    the immediate neighbourhood.  On the 22nd, I mounted my horse and\n    rode to Villallos, a distance of three leagues.  On my arrival there,\n    I found that Lopez had been removed from the prison to a private\n    house.  An order had arrived from the corregidor of Avila, commanding\n    that the person of Lopez should be set at liberty, and that the books\n    which had been found in his possession should be alone detained.\n    Nevertheless, in direct opposition to this order, (a copy of which I\n    herewith transmit,) the alcalde of Villallos, at the instigation of\n    the cura, refused to permit the said Lopez to quit the place, either\n    to proceed to Avila or in any other direction.  It had been hinted to\n    Lopez that as the factious were expected, it was intended on their\n    arrival to denounce him to them as a liberal, and to cause him to be\n    sacrificed.  Taking these circumstances into consideration, I deemed\n    it my duty as a Christian and a gentleman, to rescue my unfortunate\n    servant from such lawless hands, and in consequence, defying\n    opposition, I bore him off, though entirely unarmed, through a crowd\n    of at least one hundred peasants.  On leaving the place I shouted,\n    \u201c_Viva Isabel Segunda_.\u201d\n\n    As it is my belief that the cura of Villallos is a person capable of\n    any infamy, I beg leave humbly to intreat your Lordship to cause a\n    copy of the above narration to be forwarded to the Spanish\n    government.\u2014I have the honour to remain, My Lord, Your Lordship\u2019s\n    most obedient,\n\n                                                            GEORGE BORROW.\n\n    To the Right Honourable\n       LORD WILLIAM HERVEY.\n\nAfter the rescue of Lopez we proceeded in the work of distribution.\nSuddenly, however, the symptoms of an approaching illness came over me,\nwhich compelled us to return in all haste to Madrid.  Arrived there, I\nwas attacked by a fever which confined me to my bed for several weeks;\noccasional fits of delirium came over me, during one of which, I imagined\nmyself in the market-place of Martin Mu\u00f1os, engaged in deadly struggle\nwith the chieftain Balmaseda.\n\nThe fever had scarcely departed, when a profound melancholy took\npossession of me, which entirely disqualified me for active exertion.\nChange of scene and air was recommended; I therefore returned to England.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLV\n\n\nReturn to Spain\u2014Seville\u2014A Hoary Persecutor\u2014Manchegan Prophetess\u2014Antonio\u2019s\nDream.\n\nOn the 31st of December, 1838, I again visited Spain for the third time.\nAfter staying a day or two at Cadiz I repaired to Seville, from which\nplace I proposed starting for Madrid with the mail post.  Here I tarried\nabout a fortnight, enjoying the delicious climate of this terrestrial\nParadise, and the balmy breezes of the Andalusian winter, even as I had\ndone two years previously.  Before leaving Seville, I visited the\nbookseller, my correspondent, who informed me that seventy-six copies of\nthe hundred Testaments entrusted to his care had been placed in embargo\nby the government last summer, and that they were at the present time in\nthe possession of the ecclesiastical governor, whereupon I determined to\nvisit this functionary also, with the view of making inquiries concerning\nthe property.\n\nHe lived in a large house in the Pajaria, or straw-market.  He was a very\nold man, between seventy and eighty, and, like the generality of those\nwho wear the sacerdotal habit in this city, was a fierce persecuting\nPapist.  I imagine that he scarcely believed his ears when his two\ngrand-nephews, beautiful black-haired boys who were playing in the\ncourtyard, ran to inform him that an Englishman was waiting to speak with\nhim, as it is probable that I was the first heretic who ever ventured\ninto his habitation.  I found him in a vaulted room, seated on a lofty\nchair, with two sinister-looking secretaries, also in sacerdotal habits,\nemployed in writing at a table before him.  He brought powerfully to my\nmind the grim old inquisitor who persuaded Philip the Second to slay his\nown son as an enemy to the church.\n\nHe rose as I entered, and gazed upon me with a countenance dark with\nsuspicion and dissatisfaction.  He at last condescended to point me to a\nsofa, and I proceeded to state to him my business.  He became much\nagitated when I mentioned the Testaments to him; but I no sooner spoke of\nthe Bible Society and told him who I was, than he could contain himself\nno longer: with a stammering tongue, and with eyes flashing fire like hot\ncoals, he proceeded to rail against the society and myself, saying that\nthe aims of the first were atrocious, and that, as to myself, he was\nsurprised that, being once lodged in the prison of Madrid, I had ever\nbeen permitted to quit it; adding, that it was disgraceful in the\ngovernment to allow a person of my character to roam about an innocent\nand peaceful country, corrupting the minds of the ignorant and\nunsuspicious.  Far from allowing myself to be disconcerted by his rude\nbehaviour, I replied to him with all possible politeness, and assured him\nthat in this instance he had no reason to alarm himself, as my sole\nmotive in claiming the books in question, was to avail myself of an\nopportunity which at present presented itself, of sending them out of the\ncountry, which, indeed, I had been commanded to do by an official notice.\nBut nothing would soothe him, and he informed me that he should not\ndeliver up the books on any condition, save by a positive order of the\ngovernment.  As the matter was by no means an affair of consequence, I\nthought it wise not to persist, and also prudent to take my leave before\nhe requested me.  I was followed even down into the street by his niece\nand grand-nephews, who, during the whole of the conversation, had\nlistened at the door of the apartment and heard every word.\n\nIn passing through La Mancha, we staid for four hours at Manzanares, a\nlarge village.  I was standing in the market-place conversing with a\ncurate, when a frightful ragged object presented itself; it was a girl\nabout eighteen or nineteen, perfectly blind, a white film being spread\nover her huge staring eyes.  Her countenance was as yellow as that of a\nMulatto.  I thought at first that she was a Gypsy, and addressing myself\nto her, inquired in Gitano if she were of that race; she understood me,\nbut shaking her head, replied, that she was something better than a\nGitana, and could speak something better than that jargon of witches;\nwhereupon she commenced asking me several questions in exceedingly good\nLatin.  I was of course very much surprised, but summoning all my\nLatinity, I called her Manchegan Prophetess, and expressing my admiration\nfor her learning, begged to be informed by what means she became\npossessed of it.  I must here observe that a crowd instantly gathered\naround us, who, though they understood not one word of our discourse, at\nevery sentence of the girl shouted applause, proud in the possession of a\nprophetess who could answer the Englishman.\n\nShe informed me that she was born blind, and that a Jesuit priest had\ntaken compassion on her when she was a child, and had taught her the holy\nlanguage, in order that the attention and hearts of Christians might be\nmore easily turned towards her.  I soon discovered that he had taught her\nsomething more than Latin, for upon telling her that I was an Englishman,\nshe said that she had always loved Britain, which was once the nursery of\nsaints and sages, for example Bede and Alcuin, Columba and Thomas of\nCanterbury; but she added those times had gone by since the re-appearance\nof Semiramis (Elizabeth).  Her Latin was truly excellent, and when I,\nlike a genuine Goth, spoke of Anglia and Terra Vandalica (Andalusia), she\ncorrected me by saying, that in her language those places were called\nBritannia and Terra Betica.  When we had finished our discourse, a\ngathering was made for the prophetess, the very poorest contributing\nsomething.\n\nAfter travelling four days and nights, we arrived at Madrid, without\nhaving experienced the slightest accident, though it is but just to\nobserve, and always with gratitude to the Almighty, that the next mail\nwas stopped.  A singular incident befell me immediately after my arrival;\non entering the arch of the posada called La Reyna, where I intended to\nput up, I found myself encircled in a person\u2019s arms, and on turning round\nin amazement, beheld my Greek servant, Antonio.  He was haggard and\nill-dressed, and his eyes seemed starting from their sockets.\n\nAs soon as we were alone he informed that since my departure he had\nundergone great misery and destitution, having, during the whole period,\nbeen unable to find a master in need of his services, so that he was\nbrought nearly to the verge of desperation; but that on the night\nimmediately preceding my arrival he had a dream, in which he saw me,\nmounted on a black horse, ride up to the gate of the posada, and that on\nthat account he had been waiting there during the greater part of the\nday.  I do not pretend to offer an opinion concerning this narrative,\nwhich is beyond the reach of my philosophy, and shall content myself with\nobserving that only two individuals in Madrid were aware of my arrival in\nSpain.  I was very glad to receive him again into my service, as,\nnotwithstanding his faults, he had in many instances proved of no slight\nassistance to me in my wanderings and biblical labours.\n\nI was soon settled in my former lodgings, when one my first cares was to\npay a visit to Lord Clarendon.  Amongst other things, he informed me that\nhe had received an official notice from the government, stating the\nseizure of the New Testaments at Oca\u00f1a, the circumstances relating to\nwhich I have described on a former occasion, and informing him that\nunless steps were instantly taken to remove them from the country, they\nwould be destroyed at Toledo, to which place they had been conveyed.  I\nreplied that I should give myself no trouble about the matter; and that\nif the authorities of Toledo, civil or ecclesiastic, determined upon\nburning these books, my only hope was that they would commit them to the\nflames with all possible publicity, as by so doing they would but\nmanifest their own hellish rancour and their hostility to the word of\nGod.\n\nBeing eager to resume my labours, I had no sooner arrived at Madrid than\nI wrote to Lopez at Villa Seca, for the purpose of learning whether he\nwas inclined to co-operate in the work, as on former occasions.  In\nreply, he informed me that he was busily employed in his agricultural\npursuits: to supply his place, however, he sent over an elderly villager,\nVictoriano Lopez by name, a distant relation of his own.\n\nWhat is a missionary in the heart of Spain without a horse?  Which\nconsideration induced me now to purchase an Arabian of high caste, which\nhad been brought from Algiers by an officer of the French legion.  The\nname of this steed, the best I believe that ever issued from the desert,\nwas Sidi Habismilk.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLVI\n\n\nWork of Distribution resumed\u2014Adventure at Cobenna\u2014Power of the\nClergy\u2014Rural Authorities\u2014Fuente la Higuera\u2014Victoriano\u2019s Mishap\u2014Village\nPrison\u2014The Rope\u2014Antonio\u2019s Errand\u2014Antonio at Mass.\n\nIn my last chapter, I stated that, immediately after my arrival at\nMadrid, I proceeded to get everything in readiness for commencing\noperations in the neighbourhood; and I soon entered upon my labours in\nreality.  Considerable success attended my feeble efforts in the good\ncause, for which at present, after the lapse of some years, I still look\nback with gratitude to the Almighty.\n\nAll the villages within the distance of four leagues to the east of\nMadrid, were visited in less than a fortnight, and Testaments to the\nnumber of nearly two hundred disposed of.  These villages for the most\npart are very small, some of them consisting of not more than a dozen\nhouses, or I should rather say miserable cabins.  I left Antonio, my\nGreek, to superintend matters in Madrid, and proceeded with Victoriano,\nthe peasant from Villa Seca, in the direction which I have already\nmentioned.  We, however, soon parted company, and pursued different\nroutes.\n\nThe first village at which I made an attempt was Cobenna, about three\nleagues from Madrid.  I was dressed in the fashion of the peasants in the\nneighbourhood of Segovia, in Old Castile; namely, I had on my head a\nspecies of leather helmet or montera, with a jacket and trousers of the\nsame material.  I had the appearance of a person between sixty and\nseventy years of age, and drove before me a borrico with a sack of\nTestaments lying across its back.  On nearing the village, I met a\ngenteel-looking young woman leading a little boy by the hand: as I was\nabout to pass her with the customary salutation of _vaya usted con Dios_,\nshe stopped, and after looking at me for a moment, she said: \u201cUncle\n(_Tio_), what is that you have got on your borrico?  Is it soap?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d I replied: \u201cit is soap to wash souls clean.\u201d\n\nShe demanded what I meant; whereupon I told her that I carried cheap and\ngodly books for sale.  On her requesting to see one, I produced a copy\nfrom my pocket and handed it to her.  She instantly commenced reading\nwith a loud voice, and continued so for at least ten minutes,\noccasionally exclaiming: \u201c_Que lectura tan bonita_, _que lectura tan\nlinda_!  What beautiful, what charming readings!\u201d  At last, on my\ninforming her that I was in a hurry, and could not wait any longer, she\nsaid, \u201ctrue, true,\u201d and asked me the price of the book: I told her \u201cbut\nthree reals,\u201d whereupon she said, that though what I asked was very\nlittle, it was more than she could afford to give, as there was little or\nno money in those parts.  I said I was sorry for it, but that I could not\ndispose of the books for less than I had demanded, and accordingly,\nresuming it, wished her farewell, and left her.  I had not, however,\nproceeded thirty yards, when the boy came running behind me, shouting,\nout of breath: \u201cStop, uncle, the book, the book!\u201d  Upon overtaking me, he\ndelivered the three reals in copper, and seizing the Testament, ran back\nto her, who I suppose was his sister, flourishing the book over his head\nwith great glee.\n\nOn arriving at the village, I directed my steps to a house, around the\ndoor of which I saw several people gathered, chiefly women.  On my\ndisplaying my books, their curiosity was instantly aroused, and every\nperson had speedily one in his hand, many reading aloud; however, after\nwaiting nearly an hour, I had disposed of but one copy, all complaining\nbitterly of the distress of the times, and the almost total want of\nmoney, though, at the same time, they acknowledged that the books were\nwonderfully cheap, and appeared to be very good and Christian-like.  I\nwas about to gather up my merchandise and depart, when on a sudden the\ncurate of the place made his appearance.  After having examined the book\nfor some time with considerable attention, he asked me the price of a\ncopy, and upon my informing him that it was three reals, he replied that\nthe binding was worth more, and that he was much afraid that I had stolen\nthe books, and that it was perhaps his duty to send me to prison as a\nsuspicious character; but added, that the books were good books, however\nthey might be obtained, and concluded by purchasing two copies.  The poor\npeople no sooner heard their curate recommend the volumes, than all were\neager to secure one, and hurried here and there for the purpose of\nprocuring money, so that between twenty and thirty copies were sold\nalmost in an instant.  This adventure not only affords an instance of the\npower still possessed by the Spanish clergy over the minds of the people,\nbut proves that such influence is not always exerted in a manner\nfavourable to the maintenance of ignorance and superstition.\n\nIn another village, on my showing a Testament to a woman, she said that\nshe had a child at school for whom she would like to purchase one, but\nthat she must first know whether the book was calculated to be of service\nto him.  She then went away, and presently returned with the\nschoolmaster, followed by all the children under his care; she then,\nshowing the schoolmaster a book, inquired if it would answer for her son.\nThe schoolmaster called her a simpleton for asking such a question, and\nsaid that he knew the book well, and there was not its equal in the world\n(_no hay otro en el mundo_).  He instantly purchased five copies for his\npupils, regretting that he had no more money, \u201cfor if I had,\u201d said he, \u201cI\nwould buy the whole cargo.\u201d  Upon hearing this, the woman purchased four\ncopies, namely, one for her living son, another for her _deceased\nhusband_, a third for herself, and a fourth for her brother, whom she\nsaid she was expecting home that night from Madrid.\n\nIn this manner we proceeded; not, however, with uniform success.  In some\nvillages the people were so poor and needy, that they had literally no\nmoney; even in these, however, we managed to dispose of a few copies in\nexchange for barley or refreshments.  On entering one very small hamlet,\nVictoriano was stopped by the curate, who, on learning what he carried,\ntold him that unless he instantly departed, he would cause him to be\nimprisoned, and would write to Madrid in order to give information of\nwhat was going on.  The excursion lasted about eight days.  Immediately\nafter my return, I dispatched Victoriano to Caramanchal, a village at a\nshort distance from Madrid, the only one towards the west which had not\nbeen visited last year.  He staid there about an hour, and disposed of\ntwelve copies, and then returned, as he was exceedingly timid, and was\nafraid of being met by the thieves who swarm on that road in the evening.\n\nShortly after these events, a circumstance occurred which will perhaps\ncause the English reader to smile, whilst, at the same time, it will not\nfail to prove interesting, as affording an example of the feeling\nprevalent in some of the lone villages of Spain with respect to\ninnovation and all that savours thereof, and the strange acts which are\nsometimes committed by the real authorities and the priests, without the\nslightest fear of being called to account; for as they live quite apart\n{403} from the rest of the world, they know no people greater than\nthemselves, and scarcely dream of a higher power than their own.\n\nI was about to make an excursion to Guadalajara, and the villages of\nAlcarria, about seven leagues distant from Madrid; indeed I merely\nawaited the return of Victoriano to sally forth; I having dispatched him\nin that direction with a few Testaments, as a kind of explorer, in order\nthat, from his report as to the disposition manifested by the people for\npurchasing, I might form a tolerably accurate opinion as to the number of\ncopies which it might be necessary to carry with me.  However, I heard\nnothing of him for a fortnight, at the end of which period a letter was\nbrought to me by a peasant, dated from the prison of Fuente la Higuera, a\nvillage eight leagues from Madrid, in the Campi\u00f1a of Alcala: this letter,\nwritten, by Victoriano, gave me to understand that he had been already\neight days imprisoned, and that unless I could find some means to\nextricate him, there was every probability of his remaining in durance\nuntil he should perish with hunger, which he had no doubt would occur as\nsoon as his money was exhausted.  From what I afterwards learned, it\nappeared that, after passing the town of Alcala, he had commenced\ndistributing, and with considerable success.  His entire stock consisted\nof sixty-one Testaments, twenty-five of which he sold without the\nslightest difficulty or interruption in the single village of Arganza;\nthe poor labourers showering blessings on his head for providing them\nwith such good books at an easy price.\n\nNot more than eighteen of his books remained, when he turned off the high\nroad towards Fuente la Higuera.  This place was already tolerably well\nknown to him, he having visited it of old, when he travelled the country\nin the capacity of a vendor of cacharras or earthen pans.  He\nsubsequently stated that he felt some misgiving whilst on the way, as the\nvillage had invariably borne a bad reputation.  On his arrival, after\nhaving put up his cavallejo or little pony at a posada, he proceeded to\nthe alcalde for the purpose of asking permission to sell the books, which\nthat dignitary immediately granted.  He now entered a house and sold a\ncopy, and likewise a second.  Emboldened by success, he entered a third,\nwhich, it appeared, belonged to the barber-surgeon of the village.  This\npersonage having just completed his dinner, was seated in an arm chair\nwithin his doorway, when Victoriano made his appearance.  He was a man\nabout thirty-five, of a savage truculent countenance.  On Victoriano\u2019s\noffering him a Testament, he took it in his hand to examine it, but no\nsooner did his eyes glance over the title-page than he burst out into a\nloud laugh, exclaiming:\u2014\u201cHa, ha, Don Jorge Borrow, the English heretic,\nwe have encountered you at last.  Glory to the Virgin and the Saints!  We\nhave long been expecting you here, and at length you are arrived.\u201d  He\nthen inquired the price of the book, and on being told three reals, he\nflung down two, and rushed out of the house with the Testament in his\nhand.\n\nVictoriano now became alarmed, and determined upon leaving the place as\nsoon as possible.  He therefore hurried back to the posada, and having\npaid for the barley which his pony had consumed, went into the stable,\nand placing the packsaddle on the animal\u2019s back, was about to lead it\nforth, when the alcalde of the village, the surgeon, and twelve other\nmen, some of whom were armed with muskets, suddenly presented themselves.\nThey instantly made Victoriano prisoner, and after seizing the books and\nlaying an embargo on the pony, proceeded amidst much abuse to drag the\ncaptive to what they denominated their prison, a low damp apartment with\na little grated window, where they locked him up and left him.  At the\nexpiration of three quarters of an hour, they again appeared, and\nconducted him to the house of the curate, where they sat down in\nconclave; the curate, who was a man stone blind, presiding, whilst the\nsacristan officiated as secretary.  The surgeon having stated his\naccusation against the prisoner, namely, that he had detected him in the\nfact of selling a version of the Scriptures in the vulgar tongue, the\ncurate proceeded to examine Victoriano, asking him his name and place of\nresidence, to which he replied that his name was Victoriano Lopez, and\nthat he was a native of Villa Seca, in the Sagra of Toledo.  The curate\nthen demanded what religion he professed? and whether he was a Mohometan,\nor freemason? and received for answer that he was a Roman Catholic.  I\nmust here state, that Victoriano, though sufficiently shrewd in his way,\nwas a poor old labourer of sixty-four; and until that moment had never\nheard either of Mahometans or freemasons.  The curate becoming now\nincensed, called him a _tunante_ or scoundrel, and added, you have sold\nyour soul to a heretic; we have long been aware of your proceedings, and\nthose of your master.  You are the same Lopez, whom he last year rescued\nfrom the prison of Villallos, in the province of Avila; I sincerely hope\nthat he will attempt to do the same thing here.  \u201cYes, yes,\u201d shouted the\nrest of the conclave, \u201clet him but venture here, and we will shed his\nheart\u2019s blood on our stones.\u201d  In this manner they went on for nearly\nhalf an hour.  At last they broke up the meeting, and conducted\nVictoriano once more to his prison.\n\nDuring his confinement he lived tolerably well, being in possession of\nmoney.  His meals were sent him twice a day from the posada, where his\npony remained in embargo.  Once or twice he asked permission of the\nalcalde, who visited him every night and morning with his armed guard, to\npurchase pen and paper, in order that he might write to Madrid; but this\nfavour was peremptorily refused him, and all the inhabitants of the\nvillage were forbidden under terrible penalties to afford him the means\nof writing, or to convey any message from him beyond the precincts of the\nplace, and two boys were stationed before the window of his cell for the\npurpose of watching everything which might be conveyed to him.\n\nIt happened one day that Victoriano, being in need of a pillow, sent word\nto the people of the posada to send him his alforjas or saddlebags, which\nthey did.  In these bags there chanced to be a kind of rope, or, as it is\ncalled in Spanish, _soga_, with which he was in the habit of fastening\nhis satchel to the pony\u2019s back.  The urchins seeing an end of this rope,\nhanging from the alforjas, instantly ran to the alcalde to give him\ninformation.  Late at evening, the alcalde again visited the prisoner at\nthe head of his twelve men as usual.  \u201c_Buenas noches_,\u201d said the\nalcalde.  \u201c_Buenas noches tenga usted_,\u201d replied Victoriano.  \u201cFor what\npurpose did you send for the soga this afternoon?\u201d demanded the\nfunctionary.  \u201cI sent for no soga,\u201d said the prisoner, \u201cI sent for my\nalforjas to serve as a pillow, and it was sent in them by chance.\u201d  \u201cYou\nare a false malicious knave,\u201d retorted the alcalde; \u201cyou intend to hang\nyourself, and by so doing ruin us all, as your death would be laid at our\ndoor.  Give me the soga.\u201d  No greater insult can be offered to a Spaniard\nthan to tax him with an intention of committing suicide.  Poor Victoriano\nflew into a violent rage, and after calling the alcalde several very\nuncivil names, he pulled the soga from his bags, flung it at his head,\nand told him to take it home and use it for his own neck.\n\nAt length the people of the posada took pity on the prisoner, perceiving\nthat he was very harshly treated for no crime at all; they therefore\ndetermined to afford him an opportunity of informing his friends of his\nsituation, and accordingly sent him a pen and inkhorn, concealed in a\nloaf of bread, and a piece of writing paper, pretending that the latter\nwas intended for cigars.  So Victoriano wrote the letter; but now ensued\nthe difficulty of sending it to its destination, as no person in the\nvillage dare have carried it for any reward.  The good people, however,\npersuaded a disbanded soldier from another village, who chanced to be at\nFuente la Higuera in quest of work, to charge himself with it, assuring\nhim that I would pay him well for his trouble.  The man, watching his\nopportunity, received the letter from Victoriano at the window: and it\nwas he who, after travelling on foot all night, delivered it to me in\nsafety at Madrid.\n\nI was now relieved from my anxiety, and had no fears for the result.  I\ninstantly went to a friend who is in possession of large estates about\nGuadalajara, in which province Fuente la Higuera is situated, who\nfurnished me with letters to the civil governor of Guadalajara and all\nthe principal authorities; these I delivered to Antonio, whom, at his own\nrequest, I despatched on the errand of the prisoner\u2019s liberation.  He\nfirst directed his course to Fuente la Higuera, where, entering the\nalcalde\u2019s house, he boldly told him what he had come about.  The alcalde\nexpecting that I was at hand, with an army of Englishmen, for the purpose\nof rescuing the prisoner, became greatly alarmed, and instantly\ndespatched his wife to summon his twelve men; however, on Antonio\u2019s\nassuring him that there was no intention of having recourse to violence,\nhe became more tranquil.  In a short time Antonio was summoned before the\nconclave and its blind sacerdotal president.  They at first attempted to\nfrighten him by assuming a loud bullying tone, and talking of the\nnecessity of killing all strangers, and especially the detested Don Jorge\nand his dependents.  Antonio, however, who was not a person apt to allow\nhimself to be easily terrified, scoffed at their threats, and showing\nthem his letters to the authorities of Guadalajara, said that he should\nproceed there on the morrow and denounce their lawless conduct, adding\nthat he was a Turkish subject, and that should they dare to offer him the\nslightest incivility, he would write to the sublime Porte, in comparison\nwith whom the best kings in the world were but worms, and who would not\nfail to avenge the wrongs of any of his children, however distant, in a\nmanner too terrible to be mentioned.  He then returned to his posada.\nThe conclave now proceeded to deliberate amongst themselves, and at last\ndetermined to send their prisoner on the morrow to Guadalajara, and\ndeliver him into the hands of the civil governor.\n\nNevertheless, in order to keep up a semblance of authority, they that\nnight placed two men armed at the door of the posada where Antonio was\nlodged, as if he himself were a prisoner.  These men, as often as the\nclock struck the hour, shouted \u201cAve Maria!  Death to the heretics.\u201d\nEarly in the morning the alcalde presented himself at the posada, but\nbefore entering he made an oration at the door to the people in the\nstreet, saying, amongst other things, \u201cBrethren, these are the fellows\nwho have come to rob us of our religion.\u201d  He then went into Antonio\u2019s\napartment, and after saluting him with great politeness, said, that as a\nroyal or high mass was about to be celebrated that morning, he had come\nto invite him to go to church with him.  Whereupon Antonio, though by no\nmeans a mass-goer, rose and accompanied him, and remained two hours, as\nhe told me, on his knees on the cold stones, to his great discomfort; the\neyes of the whole congregation being fixed upon him during the time.\n\nAfter mass and breakfast, he departed for Guadalajara, Victoriano having\nbeen already despatched under a guard.  On his arrival, he presented his\nletters to the individuals for whom they were intended.  The civil\ngovernor was convulsed with merriment on hearing Antonio\u2019s account of the\nadventure.  Victoriano was set at liberty, and the books were placed in\nembargo at Guadalajara; the governor stating, however, that though it was\nhis duty to detain them at present, they should be sent to me whenever I\nchose to claim them; he moreover said that he would do his best to cause\nthe authorities of Fuente la Higuera to be severely punished, as in the\nwhole affair they had acted in the most cruel tyrannical manner, for\nwhich they had no authority.  Thus terminated this affair, one of those\nlittle accidents which chequer missionary life in Spain.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLVII\n\n\nTermination of our Rural Labours\u2014Alarm of the Clergy\u2014A New\nExperiment\u2014Success at Madrid\u2014Goblin-Alguazil\u2014Staff of Office\u2014The\nCorregidor\u2014An Explanation\u2014The Pope in England\u2014New Testament\nexpounded\u2014Works of Luther.\n\nWe proceeded in our task of distributing the Scriptures with various\nsuccess, until the middle of March, when I determined upon starting for\nTalavera, for the purpose of seeing what it was possible to accomplish in\nthat town and the neighbourhood.  I accordingly bent my course in that\ndirection, accompanied by Antonio and Victoriano.  On our way thither we\nstopped at Naval Carnero, a large village five leagues to the west of\nMadrid, where I remained three days, sending forth Victoriano to the\ncircumjacent hamlets with small cargoes of Testaments.  Providence,\nhowever, which had hitherto so remarkably favoured us in these rural\nexcursions, now withdrew from us its support, and brought them to a\nsudden termination; for in whatever place the sacred writings were\noffered for sale, they were forthwith seized by persons who appeared to\nbe upon the watch; which events compelled me to alter my intention of\nproceeding to Talavera and to return forthwith to Madrid.\n\nI subsequently learned that our proceedings on the other side of Madrid\nhaving caused alarm amongst the heads of the clergy, they had made a\nformal complaint to the government, who immediately sent orders to all\nthe alcaldes of the villages, great and small, in New Castile, to seize\nthe New Testament wherever it might be exposed for sale; but at the same\ntime enjoining them to be particularly careful not to detain or maltreat\nthe person or persons who might be attempting to vend it.  An exact\ndescription of myself accompanied these orders, and the authorities both\ncivil and military were exhorted to be on their guard against me and my\narts and machinations; for, I as the document stated, was to-day in one\nplace, and to-morrow at twenty leagues\u2019 distance.\n\nI was not much discouraged by this blow, which indeed did not come\nentirely unexpected.  I, however, determined to change the sphere of\naction, and not expose the sacred volume to seizure at every step which I\nshould take to circulate it.  In my late attempts, I had directed my\nattention exclusively to the villages and small towns, in which it was\nquite easy for the government to frustrate my efforts by means of\ncirculars to the local authorities, who would of course be on the alert,\nand whose vigilance it would be impossible to baffle as every novelty\nwhich occurs in a small place is forthwith bruited about.  But the case\nwould be widely different amongst the crowds of the capital, where I\ncould pursue my labours with comparative secrecy.  My present plan was to\nabandon the rural districts, and to offer the sacred volume at Madrid,\nfrom house to house, at the same low price as in the country.  This plan\nI forthwith put into execution.\n\nHaving an extensive acquaintance amongst the lower orders, I selected\neight intelligent individuals to co-operate with me, amongst whom were\nfive women.  All these I supplied with Testaments, and then sent them\nforth to all the parishes in Madrid.  The result of their efforts more\nthan answered my expectations.  In less than fifteen days after my return\nfrom Naval Carnero, nearly six hundred copies of the life and words of\nHim of Nazareth had been sold in the streets and alleys of Madrid; a fact\nwhich I hope I may be permitted to mention with gladness and with decent\ntriumph in the Lord.\n\nOne of the richest streets is the Calle Montera, where reside the\nprincipal merchants and shopkeepers of Madrid.  It is, in fact, the\nstreet of commerce, in which respect, and in being a favourite promenade,\nit corresponds with the far-famed \u201cNefsky\u201d of Saint Petersburg.  Every\nhouse in this street was supplied with its Testament, and the same might\nbe said with respect to the Puerto del Sol.  Nay, in some instances,\nevery individual in the house, man and child, man-servant and\nmaid-servant, was furnished with a copy.  My Greek, Antonio, made\nwonderful exertions in this quarter; and it is but justice to say that,\nbut for his instrumentality, on many occasions, I might have been by no\nmeans able to give so favourable an account of the spread of \u201cthe Bible\nin Spain.\u201d  There was a time when I was in the habit of saying \u201cdark\nMadrid,\u201d an expression which, I thank God, I could now drop.  It were\nscarcely just to call a city, \u201cdark,\u201d in which thirteen hundred\nTestaments at least were in circulation, and in daily use.\n\nIt was now that I turned to account a supply of Bibles which I had\nreceived from Barcelona, in sheets, at the commencement of the preceding\nyear.  The demand for the entire Scriptures was great; indeed far greater\nthan I could answer, as the books were disposed of faster than they could\nbe bound by the man whom I employed for that purpose.  Eight-and-twenty\ncopies were bespoken and paid for before delivery.  Many of these Bibles\nfound their way into the best houses in Madrid.  The Marquis of --- had a\nlarge family, but every individual of it, old and young, was in\npossession of a Bible, and likewise a Testament, which, strange to say,\nwere recommended by the chaplain of the house.  One of my most zealous\nagents in the propagation of the Bible was an ecclesiastic.  He never\nwalked out without carrying one beneath his gown, which he offered to the\nfirst person he met whom he thought likely to purchase.  Another\nexcellent assistant was an elderly gentleman of Navarre, enormously rich,\nwho was continually purchasing copies on his own account, which he, as I\nwas told, sent into his native province, for distribution amongst his\nfriends and the poor.\n\nOn a certain night I had retired to rest rather more early than usual,\nbeing slightly indisposed.  I soon fell asleep, and had continued so for\nsome hours, when I was suddenly aroused by the opening of the door of the\nsmall apartment in which I lay.  I started up, and beheld Maria Diaz,\nwith a lamp in her hand, enter the room.  I observed that her features,\nwhich were in general peculiarly calm and placid, wore a somewhat\nstartled expression.  \u201cWhat is the hour, and what brings you here?\u201d I\ndemanded.\n\n\u201cSe\u00f1or,\u201d said she, closing the door, and coming up to the bedside.  \u201cIt\nis close upon midnight; but a messenger belonging to the police has just\nentered the house and demanded to see you.  I told him that it was\nimpossible, for that your worship was in bed.  Whereupon he sneezed in my\nface, and said that he would see you if you were in your coffin.  He has\nall the look of a goblin, and has thrown me into a tremor.  I am far from\nbeing a timid person, as you are aware, Don Jorge; but I confess that I\nnever cast my eyes on these wretches of the police, but my heart dies\naway within me!  I know them but too well, and what they are capable of.\u201d\n\n\u201cPooh,\u201d said I, \u201cbe under no apprehension, let him come in, I fear him\nnot, whether he be alguazil or hobgoblin.  Stand, however, at the\ndoorway, that you may be a witness of what takes place, as it is more\nthan probable that he comes at this unreasonable hour to create a\ndisturbance, that he may have an opportunity of making an unfavourable\nreport to his principals, like the fellow on the former occasion.\u201d\n\nThe hostess left the apartment, and I heard her say a word or two to some\none in the passage, whereupon there was a loud sneeze, and in a moment\nafter a singular figure appeared at the doorway.  It was that of a very\nold man, with long white hair, which escaped from beneath the eaves of an\nexceedingly high-peaked hat.  He stooped considerably, and moved along\nwith a shambling gait.  I could not see much of his face, which, as the\nlandlady stood behind him with the lamp, was consequently in deep shadow.\nI could observe, however, that his eyes sparkled like those of a ferret.\nHe advanced to the foot of the bed, in which I was still lying, wondering\nwhat this strange visit could mean; and there he stood gazing at me for a\nminute, at least, without uttering a syllable.  Suddenly, however, he\nprotruded a spare skinny hand from the cloak in which it had hitherto\nbeen enveloped, and pointed with a short staff, tipped with metal, in the\ndirection of my face, as it he were commencing an exorcism.  He appeared\nto be about to speak, but his words, if he intended any, were stifled in\ntheir birth by a sudden sternutation which escaped him, and which was so\nviolent that the hostess started back, exclaiming, \u201cAve Maria purissima!\u201d\nand nearly dropped the lamp in her alarm.\n\n\u201cMy good person,\u201d said I, \u201cwhat do you mean by this foolish hobgoblinry?\nIf you have anything to communicate do so at once, and go about your\nbusiness.  I am unwell, and you are depriving me of my repose.\u201d\n\n\u201cBy the virtue of this staff,\u201d said the old man, \u201cand the authority which\nit gives me to do and say that which is convenient, I do command, order,\nand summon you to appear to-morrow, at the eleventh hour at the office of\nmy lord the corregidor of this village of Madrid, in order that, standing\nbefore him humbly, and with befitting reverence, you may listen to\nwhatever he may have to say, or if necessary, may yield yourself up to\nreceive the castigation of any crimes which you may have committed,\nwhether trivial or enormous.  _Tenez_, _compere_,\u201d he added, in most\nvillainous French, \u201c_voila mon affaire_; _voila ce que je viens vous\ndire_.\u201d\n\nThereupon he glared at me for a moment, nodded his head twice, and\nreplacing his staff beneath is cloak, shambled out of the room, and with\na valedictory sneeze in the passage left the house.\n\nPrecisely at eleven on the following day, I attended at the office of the\ncorregidor.  He was not the individual whose anger I had incurred on a\nformer occasion, and who had thought proper to imprison me, but another\nperson, I believe a Catalan, whose name I have also forgotten.  Indeed,\nthese civil employments were at this period given to-day and taken away\nto-morrow, so that the person who held one of them for a month might\nconsider himself a functionary of long standing.  I was not kept waiting\na moment, but as soon as I had announced myself, was forthwith ushered\ninto the presence of the corregidor, a good-looking, portly, and\nwell-dressed personage, seemingly about fifty.  He was writing at a desk\nwhen I entered, but almost immediately arose and came towards me.  He\nlooked me full in the face, and I, nothing abashed, kept my eyes fixed\nupon his.  He had, perhaps, expected a less independent bearing, and that\nI should have quaked and crouched before him; but now, conceiving himself\nbearded in his own den, his old Spanish leaven was forthwith stirred up.\nHe plucked his whiskers fiercely.  \u201cEscuchad,\u201d said he, casting upon me a\nferocious glance, \u201cI wish to ask you a question.\u201d\n\n\u201cBefore I answer any question of your excellency,\u201d said I, \u201cI shall take\nthe liberty of putting one myself.  What law or reason is there that I, a\npeaceable individual and a foreigner, should have my rest disturbed by\n_duendes_ and hobgoblins sent at midnight to summon me to appear at\npublic offices like a criminal?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou do not speak the truth,\u201d shouted the corregidor; \u201cthe person sent to\nsummon you was neither duende nor hobgoblin, but one of the most ancient\nand respectable officers of this casa, and so far from being dispatched\nat midnight, it wanted twenty-five minutes to that hour by my own watch\nwhen he left this office, and as your lodging is not distant, he must\nhave arrived there at least ten minutes before midnight, so that you are\nby no means accurate, and are found wanting in regard to truth.\u201d\n\n\u201cA distinction without a difference,\u201d I replied.  \u201cFor my own part, if I\nam to be disturbed in my sleep, it is of little consequence whether at\nmidnight or ten minutes before that time; and with respect to your\nmessenger, although he might not be a hobgoblin, he had all the\nappearance of one, and assuredly answered the purpose, by frightening the\nwoman of the house almost into fits by his hideous grimaces and sneezing\nconvulsions.\u201d\n\n_Corregidor_.\u2014You are a\u2014I know not what.  Do you know that I have the\npower to imprison you?\n\n_Myself_.\u2014You have twenty alguazils at your beck and call, and have of\ncourse the power, and so had your predecessor, who nearly lost his\nsituation by imprisoning me; but you know full well that you have not the\nright, as I am not under your jurisdiction, but that of the\ncaptain-general.  If I have obeyed your summons, it was simply because I\nhad a curiosity to know what you wanted with me, and from no other motive\nwhatever.  As for imprisoning me, I beg leave to assure you, that you\nhave my full consent to do so; the most polite society in Madrid is to be\nfound in the prison, and as I am at present compiling a vocabulary of the\nlanguage of the Madrilenian thieves, I should have, in being imprisoned,\nan excellent opportunity of completing it.  There is much to be learnt\neven in the prison, for, as the Gypsies say, \u201cThe dog that trots about\nfinds a bone.\u201d\n\n_Corregidor_.\u2014Your words are not those of a Caballero.  Do you forget\nwhere you are, and in whose presence?  Is this a fitting place to talk of\nthieves and Gypsies in?\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Really I know of no place more fitting, unless it be the\nprison.  But we are wasting time, and I am anxious to know for what I\nhave been summoned; whether for crimes trivial or enormous, as the\nmessenger said.\n\nIt was a long time before I could obtain the required information from\nthe incensed corregidor; at last, however, it came.  It appeared that a\nbox of Testaments, which I had despatched to Naval Carnero, had been\nseized by the local authorities, and having been detained there for some\ntime, was at last sent back to Madrid, intended as it now appeared, for\nthe hands of the corregidor.  One day as it was lying at the\nwaggon-office, Antonio chanced to enter on some business of his own and\nrecognised the box, which he instantly claimed as my property, and having\npaid the carriage, removed it to my warehouse.  He had considered the\nmatter as of so little importance, that he had not as yet mentioned it to\nme.  The poor corregidor, however, had no doubt that it was a deep-laid\nscheme to plunder and insult him.  And now, working himself up into\nalmost a frenzy of excitement, he stamped on the ground, exclaiming,\n\u201c_Que picardia_!  _Que infamia_!\u201d\n\nThe old system, thought I, of prejudging people and imputing to them\nmotives and actions of which they never dreamed.  I then told him frankly\nthat I was entirely ignorant of the circumstance by which he had felt\nhimself aggrieved; but that if upon inquiry I found that the chest had\nactually been removed by my servant from the office to which it had been\nforwarded, I would cause it forthwith to be restored, although it was my\nown property.  \u201cI have plenty more Testaments,\u201d said I, \u201cand can afford\nto lose fifty or a hundred.  I am a man of peace, and wish not to have\nany dispute with the authorities for the sake of an old chest and a cargo\nof books, whose united value would scarcely amount to forty dollars.\u201d\n\nHe looked at me for a moment, as if in doubt of my sincerity, then, again\nplucking his whiskers, he forthwith proceeded to attack me in another\nquarter: \u201c_Pero que infamia_, _que picardia_! to come into Spain for the\npurpose of overturning the religion of the country.  What would you say\nif the Spaniards were to go to England and attempt to overturn the\nLutheranism established there?\u201d\n\n\u201cThey would be most heartily welcome,\u201d I replied; \u201cmore especially if\nthey would attempt to do so by circulating the Bible, the book of\nChristians, even as the English are doing in Spain.  But your excellency\nis not perhaps aware that the Pope has a fair field and fair play in\nEngland, and is permitted to make as many converts from Lutheranism every\nday in the week as are disposed to go over to him.  He cannot boast,\nhowever, of much success; the people are too fond of light to embrace\ndarkness, and would smile at the idea of exchanging their gospel\nprivileges for the superstitious ceremonies and observances of the church\nof Rome.\u201d\n\nOn my repeating my promise that the books and chest should be forthwith\nrestored, the corregidor declared himself satisfied, and all of a sudden\nbecame excessively polite and condescending: he even went so far as to\nsay that he left it entirely with myself, whether to return the books or\nnot; \u201cand,\u201d continued he, \u201cbefore you go, I wish to tell you that my\nprivate opinion is, that it is highly advisable in all countries to allow\nfull and perfect tolerance in religious matters, and to permit every\nreligious system to stand or fall according to its own merits.\u201d\n\nSuch were the concluding words of the corregidor of Madrid, which,\nwhether they expressed his private opinion or not, were certainly\ngrounded on sense and reason.  I saluted him respectfully and retired,\nand forthwith performed my promise with regard to the books; and thus\nterminated this affair.\n\nIt almost appeared to me at this time, that a religious reform was\ncommencing in Spain; indeed, matters had of late come to my knowledge,\nwhich, had they been prophesied only a year before, I should have\nexperienced much difficulty in believing.\n\nThe reader will be surprised when I state that in two churches of Madrid\nthe New Testament was regularly expounded every Sunday evening by the\nrespective curates, to about twenty children who attended, and who were\nall provided with copies of the Society\u2019s edition of Madrid, 1837.  The\nchurches which I allude to, were those of San Gines and Santo Cruz.  Now\nI humbly conceive that this fact alone is more than equivalent to all the\nexpense which the Society had incurred in the efforts which it had been\nmaking to introduce the Gospel into Spain; but be this as it may, I am\ncertain that it amply recompensed me for all the anxiety and unhappiness\nwhich I had undergone.  I now felt that whenever I should be compelled to\ndiscontinue my labours in the Peninsula, I should retire without the\nslightest murmur, my heart being filled with gratitude to the Lord for\nhaving permitted me, useless vessel as I was, to see at least some of the\nseed springing up, which during two years I had been casting on the stony\nground of the interior of Spain.\n\nWhen I recollected the difficulties which had encompassed our path, I\ncould sometimes hardly credit all that the Almighty had permitted us to\naccomplish within the last year.  A large edition of the New Testament\nhad been almost entirely disposed of in the very centre of Spain, in\nspite of the opposition and the furious cry of the sanguinary priesthood\nand the edicts of a deceitful government, and a spirit of religious\ninquiry excited, which I had fervent hope would sooner or later lead to\nblessed and most important results.  Till of late the name most abhorred\nand dreaded in these parts of Spain, was that of Martin Luther, who was\nin general considered as a species of demon, a cousin-german to Belial\nand Beelzebub, who, under the guise of a man, wrote and preached\nblasphemy against the Highest; yet, now strange to say, this once\nabominated personage was spoken of with no slight degree of respect.\nPeople with Bibles in their hands not unfrequently visited me, inquiring\nwith much earnestness, and with no slight degree of simplicity, for the\nwritings of the great Doctor Martin, whom, indeed, some supposed to be\nstill alive.\n\nIt will be as well here to observe, that of all the names connected with\nthe Reformation, that of Luther is the only one known in Spain; and let\nme add, that no controversial writings but his are likely to be esteemed\nas possessing the slightest weight or authority, however great their\nintrinsic merit may be.  The common description of tracts, written with\nthe view of exposing the errors of popery, are therefore not calculated\nto prove of much benefit in Spain, though it is probable that much good\nmight be accomplished by well-executed translations of judicious\nselections from the works of Luther.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLVIII\n\n\nProjected Journey\u2014A Scene of Blood\u2014The Friar\u2014Seville\u2014Beauties of\nSeville\u2014Orange Trees and Flowers\u2014Murillo\u2014The Guardian Angel\u2014Dionysius\u2014My\nCoadjutors\u2014Demand for the Bible.\n\nBy the middle of April I had sold as many Testaments as I thought Madrid\nwould bear; I therefore called in my people, for I was afraid to\noverstock the market, and to bring the book into contempt by making it\ntoo common.  I had, indeed, by this time, barely a thousand copies\nremaining of the edition which I had printed two years previously; and\nwith respect to Bibles, every copy was by this time disposed of, though\nthere was still a great demand for them, which, of course, I was unable\nto satisfy.\n\nWith the remaining copies of the Testament, I now determined to betake\nmyself to Seville, where little had hitherto been effected in the way of\ncirculation: my preparations were soon made.  The roads were at this time\nin a highly dangerous state, on which account I thought to go along with\na convoy, which was about to start for Andalusia.  Two days, however,\nbefore its departure, understanding that the number of people who\nlikewise proposed to avail themselves of it was likely to be very great,\nand reflecting on the slowness of this way of travelling, and moreover\nthe insults to which civilians were frequently subjected from the\nsoldiers and petty officers, I determined to risk the journey with the\nmail.  This resolutions I carried into effect.  Antonio, whom I had\nresolved to take with me, and my two horses, departed with the convoy,\nwhilst in a few days I followed with the mail courier.  We travelled all\nthe way without the slightest accident, my usual wonderful good fortune\naccompanying us.  I might well call it wonderful, for I was running into\nthe den of the lion; the whole of La Mancha, with the exception of a few\nfortified places, being once more in the hands of Palillos and his\nbanditti, who, whenever it pleased them, stopped the courier, burnt the\nvehicle and letters, murdered the paltry escort, and carried away any\nchance passenger to the mountains, where an enormous ransom was demanded,\nthe alternative being four shots through the head, as the Spaniards say.\n\nThe upper part of Andalusia was becoming rapidly nearly as bad as La\nMancha.  The last time the mail had passed, it was attacked at the defile\nof La Rumblar by six mounted robbers; it was guarded by an escort of as\nmany soldiers, but the former suddenly galloped from behind a solitary\nvenda, and dashed the soldiers to the ground, who were taken quite by\nsurprise, the hoofs of the robbers\u2019 horses making no noise on account of\nthe sandy nature of the ground.  The soldiers were instantly disarmed and\nbound to olive trees, with the exception of two, who escaped amongst the\nrocks; they were then mocked and tormented by the robbers, or rather\nfiends, for nearly half an hour, when they were shot; the head of the\ncorporal who commanded being blown to fragments with a blunderbuss.  The\nrobbers then burned the coach, which they accomplished by igniting the\nletters by means of the tow with which they light their cigars.  The life\nof the courier was saved by one of them, who had formerly been his\npostillion; he was, however, robbed and stripped.  As we passed by the\nscene of the butchery, the poor fellow wept, and, though a Spaniard,\ncursed Spain and the Spaniards, saying that he intended shortly to pass\nover to the Moreria, to confess Mahomet, and to learn the law of the\nMoors, for that any country and religion were better than his own.  He\npointed to the tree where the corporal had been tied; though much rain\nhad fallen since, the ground around was still saturated with blood, and a\ndog was gnawing a piece of the unfortunate wretch\u2019s skull.  A friar\ntravelled with us the whole way from Madrid to Seville; he was of the\nmissionaries, and was going to the Philippine islands, to conquer (_para\nconquistar_), for such was his word, by which I suppose he meant\npreaching to the Indians.  During the whole journey he exhibited every\nsymptom of the most abject fear, which operated upon him so that he\nbecame deadly sick, and we were obliged to stop twice in the road and lay\nhim amongst the green corn.  He said that if he fell into the hands of\nthe factious, he was a lost priest, for that they would first make him\nsay mass, and then blow him up with gunpowder.  He had been professor of\nphilosophy, as he told me, in one of the convents (I think it was San\nThomas) of Madrid before their suppression, but appeared to be grossly\nignorant of the Scriptures, which he confounded with the works of Virgil.\n\nWe stopped at Manzanares as usual; it was Sunday morning, and the\nmarket-place was crowded with people.  I was recognised in a moment, and\ntwenty pair of legs instantly hurried away in quest of the prophetess,\nwho presently made her appearance in the house to which we had retired to\nbreakfast.  After many greetings on both sides, she proceeded, in her\nLatin, to give me an account of all that had occurred in the village\nsince I had last been there, and of the atrocities of the factious in the\nneighbourhood.  I asked her to breakfast, and introduced her to the\nfriar, whom she addressed in this manner: \u201c_Anne Domine Reverendissime\nfacis adhuc sacrificium_?\u201d  But the friar did not understand her, and\nwaxing angry, anathematized her for a witch, and bade her begone.  She\nwas, however, not to be disconcerted, and commenced singing, in\nextemporary Castilian verse, the praises of friars and religious houses\nin general.  On departing I gave her a peseta, upon which she burst into\ntears, and intreated that I would write to her if I reached Seville in\nsafety.\n\nWe did arrive at Seville in safety, and I took leave of the friar,\ntelling him that I hoped to meet him again at Philippi.  As it was my\nintention to remain at Seville for some months, I determined to hire a\nhouse, in which I conceived I could live with more privacy, and at the\nsame time more economically than in a posada.  It was not long before I\nfound one in every respect suited to me.  It was situated in the Plazuela\nde la Pila Seca, a retired part of the city, in the neighbourhood of the\ncathedral, and at a short distance from the gate of Xeres; and in this\nhouse, on the arrival of Antonio and the horses, which occurred within a\nfew days, I took up my abode.\n\nI was now once more in beautiful Seville and had soon ample time and\nleisure to enjoy its delights and those of the surrounding country;\nunfortunately, at the time of my arrival, and indeed for the next ensuing\nfortnight, the heaven of Andalusia, in general so glorious, was overcast\nwith black clouds, which discharged tremendous showers of rain, such as\nfew of the Sevillians, according to their own account, had ever seen\nbefore.  This extraordinary weather had wrought no little damage in the\nneighbourhood, causing the Guadalquivir, which, during the rainy season,\nis a rapid and furious stream, to overflow its banks and to threaten an\ninundation.  It is true that intervals were occurring when the sun made\nhis appearance from his cloudy tabernacle, and with his golden rays\ncaused everything around to smile, enticing the butterfly forth from the\nbush, and the lizard from the hollow tree, and I invariably availed\nmyself of these intervals to take a hasty promenade.\n\nO how pleasant it is, especially in springtide, to stray along the shores\nof the Guadalquivir.  Not far from the city, down the river, lies a grove\ncalled Las Delicias, or the Delights.  It consists of trees of various\nkinds, but more especially of poplars and elms, and is traversed by long\nshady walks.  This grove is the favourite promenade of the Sevillians,\nand there one occasionally sees assembled whatever the town produces of\nbeauty or gallantry.  There wander the black-eyed Andalusian dames and\ndamsels, clad in their graceful silken mantillas; and there gallops the\nAndalusian cavalier, on his long-tailed thick-maned steed of Moorish\nancestry.  As the sun is descending, it is enchanting to glance back from\nthis place in the direction of the city; the prospect is inexpressibly\nbeautiful.  Yonder in the distance, high and enormous, stands the Golden\nTower, now used as a toll-house, but the principal bulwark of the city in\nthe time of the Moors.  It stands on the shore of the river, like a giant\nkeeping watch, and is the first edifice which attracts the eye of the\nvoyager as he moves up the stream to Seville.  On the other side,\nopposite the tower, stands the noble Augustine convent, the ornament of\nthe faubourg of Triana, whilst between the two edifices rolls the broad\nGuadalquivir, bearing on its bosom a flotilla of barks from Catalonia and\nValencia.  Farther up is seen the bridge of boats which traverses the\nwater.  The principal object of this prospect, however, is the Golden\nTower, where the beams of the setting sun seem to be concentrated as in a\nfocus, so that it appears built of pure gold, and probably from that\ncircumstance received the name which it now bears.  Cold, cold must the\nheart be which can remain insensible to the beauties of this magic scene,\nto do justice to which the pencil of Claude himself were barely equal.\nOften have I shed tears of rapture whilst I beheld it, and listened to\nthe thrush and the nightingale piping forth their melodious songs in the\nwoods, and inhaled the breeze laden with the perfume of the thousand\norange gardens of Seville:\n\n    \u201cKennst du das land wo die citronen bluhen?\u201d\n\nThe interior of Seville scarcely corresponds with the exterior: the\nstreets are narrow, badly paved, and full of misery and beggary.  The\nhouses are for the most part built in the Moorish fashion, with a\nquadrangular patio or court in the centre, where stands a marble\nfountain, constantly distilling limpid water.  These courts, during the\ntime of the summer heats, are covered over with a canvas awning, and\nbeneath this the family sit during the greater part of the day.  In many,\nespecially those belonging to the houses of the wealthy, are to be found\nshrubs, orange trees, and all kinds of flowers, and perhaps a small\naviary, so that no situation can be conceived more delicious than to lie\nhere in the shade, hearkening to the song of the birds and the voice of\nthe fountain.\n\nNothing is more calculated to interest the stranger as he wanders through\nSeville, than a view of these courts obtained from the streets, through\nthe iron-grated door.  Oft have I stopped to observe them, and as often\nsighed that my fate did not permit me to reside in such an Eden for the\nremainder of my days.  On a former occasion, I have spoken of the\ncathedral of Seville, but only in a brief and cursory manner.  It is\nperhaps the most magnificent cathedral in all Spain, and though not so\nregular in its architecture as those of Toledo and Burgos, is far more\nworthy of admiration when considered as a whole.  It is utterly\nimpossible to wander through the long aisles, and to raise one\u2019s eyes to\nthe richly inlaid roof, supported by colossal pillars, without\nexperiencing sensations of sacred awe, and deep astonishment.  It is true\nthat the interior, like those of the generality of the Spanish\ncathedrals, is somewhat dark and gloomy; yet it loses nothing by this\ngloom, which, on the contrary, rather increases the solemnity of the\neffect.  Notre Dame of Paris is a noble building, yet to him who has seen\nthe Spanish cathedrals, and particularly this of Seville, it almost\nappears trivial and mean, and more like a town-hall than a temple of the\nEternal.  The Parisian cathedral is entirely destitute of that solemn\ndarkness and gloomy pomp which so abound in the Sevillian, and is thus\ndestitute of the principal requisite to a cathedral.\n\nIn most of the chapels are to be found some of the very best pictures of\nthe Spanish school; and in particular many of the masterpieces of\nMurillo, a native of Seville.  Of all the pictures of this extraordinary\nman, one of the least celebrated is that which has always wrought on me\nthe most profound impression.  I allude to the Guardian Angel (_Angel de\nla Guardia_), a small picture which stands at the bottom of the church,\nand looks up the principal aisle.  The angel, holding a flaming sword in\nhis right hand, is conducting the child.  This child is, in my opinion,\nthe most wonderful of all the creations of Murillo; the form is that of\nan infant about five years of age, and the expression of the countenance\nis quite infantine, but the tread\u2014it is the tread of a conqueror, of a\nGod, of the Creator of the universe; and the earthly globe appears to\ntremble beneath its majesty.\n\nThe service of the cathedral is in general well attended, especially when\nit is known that a sermon is to be preached.  All these sermons are\nextemporaneous; some of them are edifying and faithful to the Scriptures.\nI have often listened to them with pleasure, though I was much surprised\nto remark, that when the preachers quoted from the Bible, their\nquotations were almost invariably taken from the apocryphal writings.\nThere is in general no lack of worshippers at the principal shrines\u2014women\nfor the most part\u2014many of whom appear to be animated with the most\nfervent devotion.\n\nI had flattered myself, previous to my departure from Madrid, that I\nshould experience but little difficulty in the circulation of the Gospel\nin Andalusia, at least for a time, as the field was new, and myself and\nthe object of my mission less known and dreaded than in New Castile.  It\nappeared, however, that the government at Madrid had fulfilled its\nthreat, transmitting orders throughout Spain for the seizure of my books\nwherever found.  The Testaments that arrived from Madrid were seized at\nthe custom-house, to which place all goods on their arrival, even from\nthe interior, are carried, in order that a duty be imposed upon them.\nThrough the management of Antonio, however, I procured one of the two\nchests, whilst the other was sent down to San Lucar, to be embarked for a\nforeign land as soon as I could make arrangements for that purpose.\n\nI did not permit myself to be discouraged by this slight _contretemps_,\nalthough I heartily regretted the loss of the books which had been\nseized, and which I could no longer hope to circulate in these parts,\nwhere they were so much wanted; but I consoled myself with the\nreflection, that I had still several hundred at my disposal, from the\ndistribution of which, if it pleased the Lord, a blessed harvest might\nstill proceed.\n\nI did not commence operations for some time, for I was in a strange\nplace, and scarcely knew what course to pursue.  I had no one to assist\nme but poor Antonio, who was as ignorant of the place as myself.\nProvidence, however, soon sent me a coadjutor, in rather a singular\nmanner.  I was standing in the courtyard of the Reyna Posada, where I\noccasionally dined, when a man, singularly dressed and gigantically tall,\nentered.  My curiosity was excited, and I inquired of the master of the\nhouse who he was.  He informed me that he was a foreigner, who had\nresided a considerable time in Seville, and he believed a Greek.  Upon\nhearing this, I instantly went up to the stranger, and accosted him in\nthe Greek language, in which, though I speak it very ill, I can make\nmyself understood.  He replied in the same idiom, and, flattered by the\ninterest which I, a foreigner, expressed for his nation, was not slow in\ncommunicating to me his history.  He told me that his name was Dionysius,\nthat he was a native of Cephalonia, and had been educated for the church,\nwhich, not suiting his temper, he had abandoned, in order to follow the\nprofession of the sea, for which he had an early inclination.  That after\nmany adventures and changes of fortune, he found himself one morning on\nthe coast of Spain, a shipwrecked mariner, and that, ashamed to return to\nhis own country in poverty and distress, he had remained in the\nPeninsula, residing chiefly at Seville, where he now carried on a small\ntrade in books.  He said that he was of the Greek religion, to which he\nprofessed strong attachment, and soon discovering that I was a\nProtestant, spoke with unbounded abhorrence of the papal system; nay of\nits followers in general, whom he called Latins, and whom he charged with\nthe ruin of his own country, inasmuch as they sold it to the Turk.  It\ninstantly struck me, that this individual would be an excellent assistant\nin the work which had brought me to Seville, namely, the propagation of\nthe eternal Gospel, and accordingly, after some more conversation, in\nwhich he exhibited considerable learning, I explained myself to him.  He\nentered into my views with eagerness, and in the sequel I had no reason\nto regret my confidence, he having disposed of a considerable number of\nNew Testaments, and even contrived to send a certain number of copies to\ntwo small towns at some distance from Seville.\n\nAnother helper in the circulation of the Gospel I found in an aged\nprofessor of music, who, with much stiffness and ceremoniousness, united\nmuch that was excellent and admirable.  This venerable individual, only\nthree days after I had made his acquaintance, brought me the price of six\nTestaments and a Gypsy Gospel, which he had sold under the heat of an\nAndalusian sun.  What was his motive?  A Christian one truly.  He said\nthat his unfortunate countrymen, who were then robbing and murdering each\nother, might probably be rendered better by the reading of the Gospel,\nbut could never be injured.  Adding, that many a man had been reformed by\nthe Scriptures, but that no one ever yet became a thief or assassin from\nits perusal.\n\nBut my most extraordinary agent, was one whom I occasionally employed in\ncirculating the Scriptures amongst the lower classes.  I might have\nturned the services of this individual to far greater account had the\nquantity of books at my disposal been greater; but they were now\ndiminishing rapidly, and as I had no hopes of a fresh supply, I was\nalmost tempted to be niggard of the few which remained.  This agent was a\nGreek bricklayer, by name Johannes Chrysostom, who had been introduced to\nme by Dionysius.  He was a native of the Morea, but had been upwards of\nthirty-five years in Spain, so that he had almost entirely lost his\nnative language.  Nevertheless, his attachment to his own country was so\nstrong that he considered whatever was not Greek as utterly barbarous and\nbad.  Though entirely destitute of education, he had, by his strength of\ncharacter, and by a kind of rude eloquence which he possessed, obtained\nsuch a mastery over the minds of the labouring classes of Seville, that\nthey assented to almost everything he said, notwithstanding the shocks\nwhich their prejudices were continually receiving.  So that, although he\nwas a foreigner, he could at any time have become the Massaniello of\nSeville.  A more honest creature I never saw, and I soon found that if I\nemployed him, notwithstanding his eccentricities, I might entertain\nperfect confidence that his actions would be no disparagement to the book\nhe vended.\n\nWe were continually pressed for Bibles, which of course we could not\nsupply.  Testaments were held in comparatively little esteem.  I had by\nthis time made the discovery of a fact which it would have been well had\nI been aware of three years before; but we live and learn.  I mean the\ninexpediency of printing Testaments, and Testaments alone, for Catholic\ncountries.  The reason is plain: the Catholic, unused to Scripture\nreading, finds a thousand things which he cannot possibly understand in\nthe New Testament, the foundation of which is the Old.  \u201cSearch the\nScriptures, for they bear witness of me,\u201d may well be applied to this\npoint.  It may be replied, that New Testaments separate are in great\ndemand, and of infinite utility in England, but England, thanks be to the\nLord, is not a papal country; and though an English labourer may read a\nTestament, and derive from it the most blessed fruit, it does not follow\nthat a Spanish or Italian peasant will enjoy similar success, as he will\nfind many dark things with which the other is well acquainted, and\ncompetent to understand, being versed in the Bible history from his\nchildhood.  I confess, however, that in my summer campaign of the\npreceding year, I could not have accomplished with Bibles what Providence\npermitted me to effect with Testaments, the former being far too bulky\nfor rural journeys.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLIX\n\n\nThe Solitary House\u2014The Dehesa\u2014Johannes Chrysostom\u2014Manuel\u2014Bookselling at\nSeville\u2014Dionysius and the Priests\u2014Athens and Rome\u2014Proselytism\u2014Seizure of\nTestaments\u2014Departure from Seville.\n\nI have already stated, that I had hired an empty house in Seville,\nwherein I proposed to reside for some months.  It stood in a solitary\nsituation, occupying one side of a small square.  It was built quite in\nthe beautiful taste of Andalusia, with a court paved with small slabs of\nwhite and blue marble.  In the middle of this court was a fountain well\nsupplied with the crystal lymph, the murmur of which, as it fell from its\nslender pillar into an octangular basin, might be heard in every\napartment.  The house itself was large and spacious, consisting of two\nstories, and containing room sufficient for at least ten times the number\nof inmates which now occupied it.  I generally kept during the day in the\nlower apartments, on account of the refreshing coolness which pervaded\nthem.  In one of these was an immense stone water-trough, ever\noverflowing with water from the fountain, in which I immersed myself\nevery morning.  Such were the premises to which, after having provided\nmyself with a few indispensable articles of furniture, I now retreated\nwith Antonio and my two horses.\n\nI was fortunate in the possession of these quadrupeds, inasmuch as it\nafforded me an opportunity of enjoying to a greater extent the beauties\nof the surrounding country.  I know of few things in this life more\ndelicious than a ride in the spring or summer season in the neighbourhood\nof Seville.  My favourite one was in the direction of Xerez, over the\nwide Dehesa, as it is called, which extends from Seville to the gates of\nthe former town, a distance of nearly fifty miles, with scarcely a town\nor village intervening.  The ground is irregular and broken, and is for\nthe most part covered with that species of brushwood called carrasco,\namongst which winds a bridle-path, by no means well defined, chiefly\ntrodden by the arrieros, with their long train of mules and borricos.  It\nis here that the balmy air of beautiful Andalusia is to be inhaled in\nfull perfection.  Aromatic herbs and flowers are growing in abundance,\ndiffusing their perfume around.  Here dark and gloomy cares are dispelled\nas if by magic from the bosom, as the eyes wander over the prospect,\nlighted by unequalled sunshine, in which gaily-painted butterflies\nwanton, and green and golden Salamanquesas lie extended, enjoying the\nluxurious warmth, and occasionally startling the traveller, by springing\nup and making off with portentous speed to the nearest coverts, whence\nthey stare upon him with their sharp and lustrous eyes.  I repeat, that\nit is impossible to continue melancholy in regions like these, and the\nancient Greeks and Romans were right in making them the site of their\nElysian fields.  Most beautiful they are even in their present\ndesolation, for the hand of man has not cultivated them since the fatal\nera of the expulsion of the Moors, which drained Andalusia of at least\ntwo thirds of its population.\n\nEvery evening it was my custom to ride along the Dedesa, until the\ntopmost towers of Seville were no longer in sight.  I then turned about,\nand pressing my knees against the sides of Sidi Habismilk, my Arabian,\nthe fleet creature, to whom spur or lash had never been applied, would\nset off in the direction of the town with the speed of a whirlwind,\nseeming in his headlong course to devour the ground of the waste, until\nhe had left it behind, then dashing through the elm-covered road of the\nDelicias, his thundering hoofs were soon heard beneath the vaulted\narchway of the Puerta de Xerez, and in another moment he would stand\nstone still before the door of my solitary house in the little silent\nsquare of the Pila Seca.\n\nIt is eight o\u2019clock at night, I am returned from the Dehesa, and am\nstanding on the sotea, or flat roof of my house, enjoying the cool\nbreeze.  Johannes Chrysostom has just arrived from his labour.  I have\nnot spoken to him, but I hear him below in the courtyard, detailing to\nAntonio the progress he has made in the last two days.  He speaks\nbarbarous Greek, plentifully interlarded with Spanish words; but I gather\nfrom his discourse, that he has already sold twelve Testaments among his\nfellow labourers.  I hear copper coin falling on the pavement, and\nAntonio, who is not of a very Christian temper, reproving him for not\nhaving brought the proceeds of the sale in silver.  He now asks for\nfifteen more, as he says the demand is becoming great, and that he shall\nhave no difficulty in disposing of them in the course of the morrow,\nwhilst pursuing his occupations.  Antonio goes to fetch them, and he now\nstands alone by the marble fountain, singing a wild song, which I believe\nto be a hymn of his beloved Greek church.  Behold one of the helpers\nwhich the Lord has sent me in my Gospel labours on the shores of the\nGuadalquivir.\n\nI lived in the greatest retirement during the whole time that I passed at\nSeville, spending the greater part of each day in study, or in that\nhalf-dreamy state of inactivity which is the natural effect of the\ninfluence of a warm climate.  There was little in the character of the\npeople around to induce me to enter much into society.  The higher class\nof the Andalusians are probably upon the whole the most vain and foolish\nof human beings, with a taste for nothing but sensual amusements, foppery\nin dress, and ribald discourse.  Their insolence is only equalled by\ntheir meanness, and their prodigality by their avarice.  The lower\nclasses are a shade or two better than their superiors in station:\nlittle, it is true, can be said for the tone of their morality; they are\noverreaching, quarrelsome, and revengeful, but they are upon the whole\nmore courteous, and certainly not more ignorant.\n\nThe Andalusians are in general held in the lowest estimation by the rest\nof the Spaniards, even those in opulent circumstances finding some\ndifficulty at Madrid in procuring admission into respectable society,\nwhere, if they find their way, they are invariably the objects of\nridicule, from the absurd airs and grimaces in which they indulge,\u2014their\ntendency to boasting and exaggeration, their curious accent, and the\nincorrect manner in which they speak and pronounce the Castilian\nlanguage.\n\nIn a word, the Andalusians, in all estimable traits of character, are as\nfar below the other Spaniards as the country which they inhabit is\nsuperior in beauty and fertility to the other provinces of Spain.\n\nYet let it not for a moment be supposed that I have any intention of\nasserting, that excellent and estimable individuals are not to be found\namongst the Andalusians; it was amongst _them_ that I myself discovered\none, whom I have no hesitation in asserting to be the most extraordinary\ncharacter that has ever come within my sphere of knowledge; but this was\nno scion of a noble or knightly house, \u201cno wearer of soft clothing,\u201d no\nsleek highly-perfumed personage, none of the romanticos who walk in\nlanguishing attitudes about the streets of Seville, with long black hair\nhanging upon their shoulders in luxuriant curls; but one of those whom\nthe proud and unfeeling style the dregs of the populace, a haggard,\nhouseless, penniless man, in rags and tatters: I allude to Manuel,\nthe\u2014what shall I call him?\u2014seller of lottery tickets, driver of death\ncarts, or poet laureate in Gypsy songs?  I wonder whether thou art still\nliving, my friend Manuel; thou gentleman of Nature\u2019s forming\u2014honest,\npure-minded, humble, yet dignified being!  Art thou still wandering\nthrough the courts of beautiful Safacoro, or on the banks of the Len\nBaro, thine eyes fixed in vacancy, and thy mind striving to recall some\nhalf-forgotten couplet of Luis Lobo; or art thou gone to thy long rest,\nout beyond the Xeres gate within the wall of the Campo Santo, to which in\ntimes of pest and sickness thou wast wont to carry so many, Gypsy and\nGentile, in thy cart of the tinkling bell?  Oft in the _reunions_ of the\nlettered and learned in this land of universal literature, when weary of\nthe display of pedantry and egotism, have I recurred with yearning to our\nGypsy recitations at the old house in the Pila Seca.  Oft, when sickened\nby the high-wrought professions of those who bear the cross in gilded\nchariots, have I thought on thee, thy calm faith, without pretence,\u2014thy\npatience in poverty, and fortitude in affliction; and as oft, when\nthinking of my speedily approaching end, have I wished that I might meet\nthee once again, and that thy hands might help to bear me to \u201cthe dead\nman\u2019s acre\u201d yonder on the sunny plain, O Manuel!\n\nMy principal visitor was Dionysius, who seldom failed to make his\nappearance every forenoon: the poor fellow came for sympathy and\nconversation.  It is difficult to imagine a situation more forlorn and\nisolated than that of this man,\u2014a Greek at Seville, with scarcely a\nsingle acquaintance, and depending for subsistence on the miserable\npittance to be derived from selling a few books, for the most part hawked\nabout from door to door.  \u201cWhat could have first induced you to commence\nbookselling in Seville?\u201d said I to him, as he arrived one sultry day,\nheated and fatigued, with a small bundle of books secured together by a\nleather strap.\n\n_Dionysius_.\u2014For want of a better employment, Kyrie, I have adopted this\nmost unprofitable and despised one.  Oft have I regretted not having been\nbred up as a shoe-maker, or having learnt in my youth some other useful\nhandicraft, for gladly would I follow it now.  Such, at least, would\nprocure me the respect of my fellow-creatures inasmuch as they needed me;\nbut now all avoid me and look upon me with contempt; for what have I to\noffer in this place that any one cares about?  Books in Seville! where no\none reads, or at least nothing but new romances, translated from the\nFrench, and obscenity.  Books!  Would I were a Gypsy and could trim\ndonkeys, for then I were at least independent and were more respected\nthan I am at present.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Of what kind of books does your stock in trade consist?\n\n_Dionysius_.\u2014Of those not likely to suit the Seville market, Kyrie; books\nof sterling and intrinsic value; many of them in ancient Greek, which I\npicked up upon the dissolution of the convents, when the contents of the\nlibraries were hurled into the courtyards, and there sold by the arrobe.\nI thought at first that I was about to make a fortune, and in fact my\nbooks would be so in any other place; but here I have offered an Elzevir\nfor half a dollar in vain.  I should starve were it not for the strangers\nwho occasionally purchase of me.\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Seville is a large cathedral city, abounding with priests and\ncanons; surely one of these occasionally visit you to make purchases of\nclassic works, and books connected with ecclesiastical literature.\n\n_Dionysius_.\u2014If you think so, Kyrie, you know little respecting the\necclesiastics of Seville.  I am acquainted with many of them, and can\nassure you that a tribe of beings can scarcely be found with a more\nconfirmed aversion to intellectual pursuits of every kind.  Their reading\nis confined to newspapers, which they take up in the hope of seeing that\ntheir friend Don Carlos is at length reinstated at Madrid; but they\nprefer their chocolate and biscuits, and nap before dinner, to the wisdom\nof Plato and the eloquence of Tully.  They occasionally visit me, but it\nis only to pass away a heavy hour in chattering nonsense.  Once on a\ntime, three of them came, in the hope of making me a convert to their\nLatin superstition.  \u201cSignior Donatio,\u201d said they, (for so they called\nme,) \u201chow is it that an unprejudiced person like yourself, a man really\nwith some pretension to knowledge, can still cling to this absurd\nreligion of yours?  Surely, after having resided so many years in a\ncivilised country like this of Spain, it is high time to abandon your\nhalf-pagan form of worship, and to enter the bosom of the church; now\npray be advised, and you shall be none the worse for it.\u201d  \u201cThank you,\ngentlemen,\u201d I replied, \u201cfor the interest you take in my welfare; I am\nalways open to conviction; let us proceed to discuss the subject.  What\nare the points of my religion which do not meet your approbation?  You\nare of course well acquainted with all our dogmas and ceremonies.\u201d  \u201cWe\nknow nothing about your religion, Signior Donatio, save that it is a very\nabsurd one, and therefore it is incumbent upon you, as an unprejudiced\nand well-informed man, to renounce it.\u201d  \u201cBut, gentlemen, if you know\nnothing of my religion, why call it absurd?  Surely it is not the part of\nunprejudiced people to disparage that of which they are ignorant.\u201d  \u201cBut,\nSignior Donatio, it is not the Catholic Apostolic Roman religion, is it?\u201d\n\u201cIt may be, gentlemen, for what you appear to know of it; for your\ninformation, however, I will tell you that it is not; it is the Greek\nApostolic religion.  I do not call it catholic, for it is absurd to call\nthat catholic which is not universally acknowledged.\u201d  \u201cBut, Signior\nDonatio, does not the matter speak for itself?  What can a set of\nignorant Greek barbarians know about religion?  If they set aside the\nauthority of Rome, whence should they derive any rational ideas of\nreligion? whence should they get the gospel?\u201d  \u201cThe Gospel, gentlemen?\nAllow me to show you a book, here it is, what is your opinion of it?\u201d\n\u201cSignior Donatio, what does this mean?  What characters of the devil are\nthese, are they Moorish?  Who is able to understand them?\u201d  \u201cI suppose\nyour worships, being Roman priests, know something of Latin; if you\ninspect the title-page to the bottom, you will find, in the language of\nyour own church, the Gospel of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ,\u2019 in the\noriginal Greek, of which your vulgate is merely a translation, and not a\nvery correct one.  With respect to the barbarism of Greece, it appears\nthat you are not aware that Athens was a city, and a famed one, centuries\nbefore the first mud cabin of Rome was thatched, and the Gypsy vagabonds\nwho first peopled it, had escaped from the hands of justice.\u201d  \u201cSignior\nDonatio, you are an ignorant heretic, and insolent withal, _what nonsense\nis this_! . . . \u201d  But I will not weary your ears, Kyrie, with all the\nabsurdities which the poor Latin _Papas_ poured into mine; the burden of\ntheir song being invariably, _what nonsense is this_! which was certainly\napplicable enough to what they themselves were saying.  Seeing, however,\nthat I was more than their match in religious controversy, they fell foul\nof my country.  \u201cSpain is a better country than Greece,\u201d said one.  \u201cYou\nnever tasted bread before you came to Spain,\u201d cried another.  \u201cAnd little\nenough since,\u201d thought I.  \u201cYou never before saw such a city as Seville,\u201d\nsaid the third.  But then ensued the best part of the comedy: my visitors\nchanced to be natives of three different places; one was of Seville,\nanother of Utrera, and the third of Miguel Turra, a miserable village in\nLa Mancha.  At the mention of Seville, the other two instantly began to\nsing the praises of their respective places of birth; this brought on\ncomparisons, and a violent dispute was the consequence.  Much abuse\npassed between them, whilst I stood by, shrugged my shoulders, and said\n_tipotas_. {429}  At last, as they were leaving the house, I said, \u201cWho\nwould have thought, gentlemen, that the polemics of the Greek and Latin\nchurches were so closely connected with the comparative merits of\nSeville, Utrera, and Miguel Turra?\u201d\n\n_Myself_.\u2014Is the spirit of proselytism very prevalent here?  Of what\ndescription of people do their converts generally consist?\n\n_Dionysius_.\u2014I will tell you, Kyrie: the generality of their converts\nconsist of German or English Protestant adventurers, who come here to\nsettle, and in course of time take to themselves wives from among the\nSpanish, prior to which it is necessary to become members of the Latin\nchurch.  A few are vagabond Jews, from Gibraltar or Tangier, who have\nfled for their crimes into Spain, and who renounce their faith to escape\nfrom starvation.  These gentry, however, it is necessary to pay, on which\naccount the priests procure for them padrinos or godfathers; these\ngenerally consist of rich devotees over whom the priests have influence,\nand who esteem it a glory and a meritorious act to assist in bringing\nback lost souls to the church.  The neophyte allows himself to be\nconvinced on the promise of a peseta a day, which is generally paid by\nthe godfathers for the first year, but seldom for a longer period.  About\nforty years ago, however, they made a somewhat notable convert.  A civil\nwar arose in Morocco, caused by the separate pretensions of two brothers\nto the throne.  One of these being worsted, fled over to Spain, imploring\nthe protection of Charles the Fourth.  He soon became an object of\nparticular attention to the priests, who were not slow in converting him,\nand induced Charles to settle upon him a pension of a dollar per day.  He\ndied some few years since in Seville, a despised vagabond.  He left\nbehind him a son, who is at present a notary, and outwardly very devout,\nbut a greater hypocrite and picaroon does not exist.  I would you could\nsee his face, Kyrie, it is that of Judas Iscariot.  I think you would say\nso, for you are a physiognomist.  He lives next door to me, and\nnotwithstanding his pretensions to religion, is permitted to remain in a\nstate of great poverty.\n\nAnd now nothing farther for the present about Dionysius.\n\nAbout the middle of July our work was concluded at Seville, and for the\nvery efficient reason, that I had no more Testaments to sell; somewhat\nmore than two hundred having been circulated since my arrival.\n\nAbout ten days before the time of which I am speaking, I was visited by\nvarious alguazils, accompanied by a kind of headborough, who made a small\nseizure of Testaments and Gypsy Gospels, which happened to be lying\nabout.  This visit was far from being disagreeable to me, as I considered\nit to be a very satisfactory proof of the effect of our exertions in\nSeville.  I cannot help here relating an anecdote\u2014A day or two\nsubsequent, having occasion to call at the house of the headborough\nrespecting my passport, I found him lying on his bed, for it was the hour\nof siesta, reading intently one of the Testaments which he had taken\naway, all of which, if he had obeyed his orders, would have been\ndeposited in the office of the civil governor.  So intently, indeed, was\nhe engaged in reading, that he did not at first observe my entrance; when\nhe did, however, he sprang up in great confusion, and locked the book up\nin his cabinet, whereupon I smiled, and told him to be under no alarm, as\nI was glad to see him so usefully employed.  Recovering himself, he said\nthat he had read the book nearly through, and that he had found no harm\nin it, but, on the contrary, everything to praise.  Adding, he believed\nthat the clergy must be possessed with devils (_endemoniados_) to\npersecute it in the manner they did.\n\nIt was Sunday when the seizure was made, and I happened to be reading the\nLiturgy.  One of the alguazils, when going away, made an observation\nrespecting the very different manner in which the Protestants and\nCatholics keep the Sabbath; the former being in their own houses reading\ngood books, and the latter abroad in the bull-ring, seeing the wild bulls\ntear out the gory bowels of the poor horses.  The bull amphitheatre at\nSeville is the finest in all Spain, and is invariably on a Sunday (the\nonly day on which it is open) filled with applauding multitudes.\n\nI now made preparations for leaving Seville for a few months, my\ndestination being the coast of Barbary.  Antonio, who did not wish to\nleave Spain, in which were his wife and children, returned to Madrid,\nrejoicing in a handsome gratuity with which I presented him.  As it was\nmy intention to return to Seville, I left my house and horses in charge\nof a friend in whom I could confide, and departed.  The reasons which\ninduced me to visit Barbary will be seen in the following chapters.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER L\n\n\nNight on the Guadalquivir\u2014Gospel Light\u2014Bonanza\u2014Strand of San\nLucar\u2014Andalusian Scenery\u2014History of a Chest\u2014Cosas de los Ingleses\u2014The Two\nGypsies\u2014The Driver\u2014The Red Nightcap\u2014The Steam Boat\u2014Christian Language.\n\nOn the night of the 31st of July I departed from Seville upon my\nexpedition, going on board one of the steamers which ply on the\nGuadalquivir between Seville and Cadiz.\n\nIt was my intention to stop at San Lucar, for the purpose of recovering\nthe chest of Testaments which had been placed in embargo there, until\nsuch time as they could be removed from the kingdom of Spain.  These\nTestaments I intended for distribution amongst the Christians whom I\nhoped to meet on the shores of Barbary.  San Lucar is about fifteen\nleagues distant from Seville, at the entrance of the bay of Cadiz, where\nthe yellow waters of the Guadalquivir unite with the brine.  The steamer\nshot from the little quay, or wharf, at about half-past nine, and then\narose a loud cry,\u2014it was the voices of those on board and on shore\nwishing farewell to their friends.  Amongst the tumult I thought I could\ndistinguish the accents of some friends of my own who had accompanied me\nto the bank, and I instantly raised my own voice louder than all.  The\nnight was very dark, so much so, indeed, that as we passed along we could\nscarcely distinguish the trees which cover the eastern shore of the river\nuntil it takes its first turn.  A calmazo had reigned during the day at\nSeville, by which is meant, exceedingly sultry weather, unenlivened by\nthe slightest breeze.  The night likewise was calm and sultry.  As I had\nfrequently made the voyage of the Guadalquivir, ascending and descending\nthis celebrated river, I felt nothing of that restlessness and curiosity\nwhich people experience in a strange place, whether in light or darkness,\nand being acquainted with none of the other passengers, who were talking\non the deck, I thought my best plan would be to retire to the cabin and\nenjoy some rest, if possible.  The cabin was solitary and tolerably cool,\nall its windows on either side being open for the admission of air.\nFlinging myself on one of the cushioned benches, I was soon asleep, in\nwhich state I continued for about two hours, when I was aroused by the\ncurious biting of a thousand bugs, which compelled me to seek the deck,\nwhere, wrapping myself in my cloak, I again fell asleep.  It was near\ndaybreak when I awoke; we were then about two leagues from San Lucar.  I\narose and looked towards the east, watching the gradual progress of dawn,\nfirst the dull light, then the streak, then the tinge, then the bright\nflush, till at last the golden disk of that orb which giveth day emerged\nfrom the abyss of immensity, and in a moment the whole prospect was\ncovered with brightness and glory.  The land smiled, the waters sparkled,\nthe birds sang, and men arose from their resting places and rejoiced: for\nit was day, and the sun was gone forth on the errand of its Creator, the\ndiffusion of light and gladness, and the dispelling of darkness and\nsorrow.\n\n    \u201cBehold the morning sun\n       Begins his glorious way;\n    His beams through all the nations run,\n       And life and light convey.\n\n    \u201cBut where the Gospel comes,\n       It spreads diviner light;\n    It calls dead sinners from their tombs,\n       And gives the blind their sight.\u201d\n\nWe now stopped before Bonanza: this is properly speaking the port of San\nLucar, although it is half a league distant from the latter place.  It is\ncalled Bonanza on account of its good anchorage, and its being secured\nfrom the boisterous winds of the ocean; its literal meaning is \u201cfair\nweather.\u201d  It consists of several large white buildings, principally\ngovernment store-houses, and is inhabited by the coast-guard, dependents\non the custom-house, and a few fishermen.  A boat came off to receive\nthose passengers whose destination was San Lucar, and to bring on board\nabout half a dozen who were bound for Cadiz: I entered with the rest.  A\nyoung Spaniard of very diminutive stature addressed some questions to me\nin French as to what I thought of the scenery and climate of Andalusia.\nI replied that I admired both, which evidently gave him great pleasure.\nThe boatman now came demanding two reals for conveying me on shore.  I\nhad no small money, and offered him a dollar to change.  He said that it\nwas impossible.  I asked him what was to be done; whereupon he replied\nuncivilly that he knew not, but could not lose time, and expected to be\npaid instantly.  The young Spaniard, observing my embarrassment, took out\ntwo reals and paid the fellow.  I thanked him heartily for this act of\ncivility, for which I felt really grateful; as there are few situations\nmore unpleasant than to be in a crowd in want of change, whilst you are\nimportuned by people for payment.  A loose character once told me that it\nwas far preferable to be without money at all, as you then knew what\ncourse to take.  I subsequently met the young Spaniard at Cadiz, and\nrepaid him with thanks.\n\nA few cabriolets were waiting near the wharf, in order to convey us to\nSan Lucar.  I ascended one, and we proceeded slowly along the Playa or\nstrand.  This place is famous in the ancient novels of Spain, of that\nclass called Picaresque, or those devoted to the adventures of notorious\nscoundrels, the father of which, as also of all others of the same kind,\nin whatever language, is Lazarillo de Tormes.  Cervantes himself has\nimmortalized this strand in the most amusing of his smaller tales, La\nIlustre Fregona.  In a word, the strand of San Lucar in ancient times, if\nnot in modern, was a rendezvous for ruffians, contrabandistas, and\nvagabonds of every, description, who nested there in wooden sheds, which\nhave now vanished.  San Lucar itself was always noted for the thievish\npropensities of its inhabitants\u2014the worst in all Andalusia.  The roguish\ninnkeeper in _Don Quixote_ perfected his education at San Lucar.  All\nthese recollections crowded into my mind as we proceeded along the\nstrand, which was beautifully gilded by the Andalusian sun.  We at last\narrived nearly opposite to San Lucar, which stands at some distance from\nthe water side.  Here a lively spectacle presented itself to us: the\nshore was covered with a multitude of females either dressing or\nundressing themselves, while (I speak within bounds) hundreds were in the\nwater sporting and playing; some were close by the beach, stretched at\ntheir full length on the sand and pebbles, allowing the little billows to\ndash over their heads and bosoms; whilst others were swimming boldly out\ninto the firth.  There was a confused hubbub of female cries, thin\nshrieks and shrill laughter; couplets likewise were being sung, on what\nsubject it is easy to guess, for we were in sunny Andalusia, and what can\nits black-eyed daughters think, speak, or sing of but _amor_, _amor_,\nwhich now sounded from the land and the waters.  Farther on along the\nbeach we perceived likewise a crowd of men bathing; we passed not by\nthem, but turned to the left up an alley or avenue which leads to San\nLucar, and which may be a quarter of a mile long.  The view from hence\nwas truly magnificent; before us lay the town, occupying the side and top\nof a tolerably high hill, extending from east to west.  It appeared to be\nof considerable size, and I was subsequently informed that it contained\nat least twenty thousand inhabitants.  Several immense edifices and walls\ntowered up in a style of grandeur, which can be but feebly described by\nwords; but the principal object was an ancient castle towards the left.\nThe houses were all white, and would have shone brilliantly in the sun\nhad it been higher, but at this early hour they lay comparatively in\nshade.  The _tout ensemble_ was very Moorish and oriental, and indeed in\nancient times San Lucar was a celebrated stronghold of the Moors, and\nnext to Almeria, the most frequented of their commercial places in Spain.\nEverything, indeed, in these parts of Andalusia, is perfectly oriental.\nBehold the heavens, as cloudless and as brightly azure as those of Ind;\nthe fiery sun which tans the fairest cheek in a moment, and which fills\nthe air with flickering flame; and O, remark the scenery and the\nvegetable productions.  The alley up which we were moving was planted on\neach side with that remarkable tree or plant, for I know not which to\ncall it, the giant aloe, which is called in Spanish, _pita_, and in\nMoorish, _gurs\u00e9an_.  It rises here to a height almost as magnificent as\non the African shore.  Need I say that the stem, which springs up from\nthe middle of the bush of green blades, which shoot out from the root on\nall sides, is as high as a palm-tree; and need I say, that those blades,\nwhich are of an immense thickness at the root, are at the tip sharper\nthan the point of a spear, and would inflict a terrible wound on any\nanimal which might inadvertently rush against them?\n\nOne of the first houses at San Lucar was the posada at which we stopped.\nIt confronted, with some others, the avenue up which we had come.  As it\nwas still early, I betook myself to rest for a few hours, at the end of\nwhich time I went out to visit Mr. Phillipi, the British vice-consul, who\nwas already acquainted with me by name, as I had been recommended to him\nin a letter from a relation of his at Seville.  Mr. Phillipi was at home\nin his counting-house, and received me with much kindness and civility.\nI told him the motive of my visit to San Lucar, and requested his\nassistance towards obtaining the books from the custom-house, in order to\ntransport them out of the country, as I was very well acquainted with the\ndifficulties which every one has to encounter in Spain, who has any\nbusiness to transact with the government authorities.  He assured me that\nhe should be most happy to assist me, and accordingly despatched with me\nto the custom-house his head clerk, a person well known and much\nrespected at San Lucar.\n\nIt may be as well here at once to give the history of these books, which\nmight otherwise tend to embarrass the narrative.  They consisted of a\nchest of Testaments in Spanish, and a small box of Saint Luke\u2019s Gospel in\nthe Gitano or language of the Spanish Gypsies.  I obtained them from the\ncustom-house at San Lucar, with a pass for that of Cadiz.  At Cadiz I was\noccupied two days, and also a person whom I employed, in going through\nall the formalities, and in procuring the necessary papers.  The expense\nwas great, as money was demanded at every step I had to take, though I\nwas simply complying in this instance with the orders of the Spanish\ngovernment in removing prohibited books from Spain.  The farce did not\nend until my arrival at Gibraltar, where I paid the Spanish consul a\ndollar for certifying on the back of the pass, which I had to return to\nCadiz, that the books were arrived at the former place.  It is true that\nhe never saw the books nor inquired about them, but he received the\nmoney, for which he alone seemed to be anxious.\n\nWhilst at the custom-house of San Lucar I was asked one or two questions\nrespecting the books contained in the chests: this afforded me some\nopportunity of speaking of the New Testaments and the Bible Society.\nWhat I said excited attention, and presently all the officers and\ndependents of the house, great and small, were gathered around me, from\nthe governor to the porter.  As it was necessary to open the boxes to\ninspect their contents, we all proceeded to the courtyard, where, holding\na Testament in my hand, I recommended my discourse.  I scarcely know what\nI said; for I was much agitated, and hurried away by my feelings, when I\nbethought me of the manner in which the word of God was persecuted in\nthis unhappy kingdom.  My words evidently made impression, and to my\nastonishment every person present pressed me for a copy.  I sold several\nwithin the walls of the custom-house.  The object, however, of most\nattention was the Gypsy Gospel, which was minutely examined amidst smiles\nand exclamations of surprise; an individual every now and then crying,\n\u201c_Cosas de los Ingleses_.\u201d  A bystander asked me whether I could speak\nthe Gitano language.  I replied that I could not only speak it, but write\nit, and instantly made a speech of about five minutes in the Gypsy\ntongue, which I had no sooner concluded than all clapped their hands and\nsimultaneously shouted, \u201c_Cosas de Ingalaterra_,\u201d \u201c_Cosas de los\nIngleses_.\u201d  I disposed of several copies of the Gypsy Gospel likewise,\nand having now settled the business which had brought me to the\ncustom-house, I saluted my new friends and departed with my books.\n\nI now revisited Mr. Phillipi, who, upon learning that it was my intention\nto proceed to Cadiz next morning by the steamer, which would touch at\nBonanza at four o\u2019clock, despatched the chests and my little luggage to\nthe latter place, where he likewise advised me to sleep, in order that I\nmight be in readiness to embark at that early hour.  He then introduced\nme to his family, his wife an English woman, and his daughter an amiable\nand beautiful girl of about eighteen years of age, whom I had previously\nseen at Seville; three or four other ladies from Seville were likewise\nthere on a visit, and for the purpose of sea-bathing.  After a few words\nin English between the lady of the house and myself, we all commenced\nchatting in Spanish, which seemed to be the only language understood or\ncared for by the rest of the company; indeed, who would be so\nunreasonable as to expect Spanish females to speak any language but their\nown, which, flexible and harmonious as it is, (far more so I think than\nany other,) seemed at times quite inadequate to express the wild sallies\nof their luxuriant imagination.  Two hours fled rapidly away in\ndiscourse, interrupted occasionally by music and song, when I bade\nfarewell to this delightful society, and strolled out to view the town.\n\nIt was now past noon, and the heat was exceedingly fierce: I saw scarcely\na living being in the streets, the stones of which burnt my feet through\nthe soles of my boots.  I passed through the square of the Constitution,\nwhich presents nothing particular to the eye of the stranger, and\nascended the hill to obtain a nearer view of the castle.  It is a strong\nheavy edifice of stone, with round towers, and, though deserted, appears\nto be still in a tolerable state of preservation.  I became tired of\ngazing, and was retracing my steps, when I was accosted by two Gypsies,\nwho by some means had heard of my arrival.  We exchanged some words in\nGitano, but they appeared to be very ignorant of the dialect, and utterly\nunable to maintain a conversation in it.  They were clamorous for a\ngabicote, or book in the Gypsy tongue.  I refused it them, saying that\nthey could turn it to no profitable account; but finding that they could\nread, I promised them each a Testament in Spanish.  This offer, however,\nthey refused with disdain, saying that they cared for nothing written in\nthe language of the Busn\u00e9 or Gentiles.  They then persisted in their\ndemand, to which I at last yielded, being unable to resist their\nimportunity; whereupon they accompanied me to the inn, and received what\nthey so ardently desired.\n\nIn the evening I was visited by Mr. Phillipi, who informed me that he had\nordered a cabriolet to call for me at the inn at eleven at night, for the\npurpose of conveying me to Bonanza, and that a person there who kept a\nsmall wine-house, and to whom the chests and other things had been\nforwarded, would receive me for the night, though it was probable that I\nshould have to sleep on the floor.  We then walked to the beach, where\nthere were a great number of bathers, all men.  Amongst them were some\ngood swimmers; two, in particular, were out at a great distance in the\nfirth of the Guadalquivir, I should say at least a mile; their heads\ncould just be descried with the telescope.  I was told that they were\nfriars.  I wondered at what period of their lives they had acquired their\ndexterity at natation.  I hoped it was not at a time when, according to\ntheir vows, they should have lived for prayer, fasting, and mortification\nalone.  Swimming is a noble exercise, but it certainly does not tend to\nmortify either the flesh or the spirit.  As it was becoming dusk, we\nreturned to the town, when my friend bade me a kind farewell.  I then\nretired to my apartment, and passed some hours in meditation.\n\nIt was night, ten o\u2019clock;\u2014eleven o\u2019clock, and the cabriolet was at the\ndoor.  I got in, and we proceeded down the avenue and along the shore,\nwhich was quite deserted.  The waves sounded mournfully; everything\nseemed to have changed since the morning.  I even thought that the\nhorse\u2019s feet sounded differently, as it trotted slowly over the moist\nfirm sand.  The driver, however, was by no means mournful, nor inclined\nto be silent long: he soon commenced asking me an infinity of questions\nas to whence I came and whither I was bound.  Having given him what\nanswers I thought most proper, I, in return, asked him whether he was not\nafraid to drive along that beach, which had always borne so bad a\ncharacter, at so unseasonable an hour.  Whereupon, he looked around him,\nand seeing no person, he raised a shout of derision, and said that a\nfellow with his whiskers feared not all the thieves that ever walked the\nplaya, and that no dozen men in San Lucar dare to waylay any traveller\nwhom they knew to be beneath his protection.  He was a good specimen of\nthe Andalusian braggart.  We soon saw a light or two shining dimly before\nus; they proceeded from a few barks and small vessels stranded on the\nsand close below Bonanza: amongst them I distinguished two or three dusky\nfigures.  We were now at our journey\u2019s end, and stopped before the door\nof the place where I was to lodge for the night.  The driver,\ndismounting, knocked loud and long, until the door was opened by an\nexceedingly stout man of about sixty years of age; he held a dim light in\nhis hand, and was dressed in a red nightcap and dirty striped shirt.  He\nadmitted us, without a word, into a very large long room with a clay\nfloor.  A species of counter stood on one side near the door; behind it\nstood a barrel or two, and against the wall, on shelves, many bottles of\nvarious sizes.  The smell of liquors and wine was very powerful.  I\nsettled with the driver and gave him a gratuity, whereupon he asked me\nfor something to drink to my safe journey.  I told him he could call for\nwhatever he pleased; whereupon he demanded a glass of aguardiente, which\nthe master of the house, who had stationed himself behind the counter,\nhanded him without saying a word.  The fellow drank it off at once, but\nmade a great many wry faces after having swallowed it, and, coughing,\nsaid that he made no doubt it was good liquor, as it burnt his throat\nterribly.  He then embraced me, went out, mounted his cabriolet, and\ndrove off.\n\nThe old man with the red nightcap now moved slowly to the door, which he\nbolted and otherwise secured; he then drew forward two benches, which he\nplaced together, and pointed to them as if to intimate to me that there\nwas my bed: he then blew out the candle and retired deeper into the\napartment, where I heard him lay himself down sighing and snorting.\nThere was now no farther light than what proceeded from a small earthen\npan on the floor, filled with water and oil, on which floated a small\npiece of card with a lighted wick in the middle, which simple species of\nlamp is called \u201cmariposa.\u201d  I now laid my carpet bag on the bench as a\npillow, and flung myself down.  I should have been asleep instantly, but\nhe of the red nightcap now commenced snoring awfully, which brought to my\nmind that I had not yet commended myself to my friend and Redeemer: I\ntherefore prayed, and then sank to repose.\n\nI was awakened more than once during the night by cats, and I believe\nrats, leaping upon my body.  At the last of these interruptions I arose,\nand, approaching the mariposa, looked at my watch; it was half-past three\no\u2019clock.  I opened the door and looked out; whereupon some fishermen\nentered clamouring for their morning draught: the old man was soon on his\nfeet serving them.  One of the men said to me that, if I was going by the\nsteamer, I had better order my things to the wharf without delay, as he\nhad heard the vessel coming down the river.  I dispatched my luggage, and\nthen demanded of the red nightcap what I owed him.  He replied \u201cOne\nreal.\u201d  These were the only two words which I heard proceed from his\nmouth: he was certainly addicted to silence, and perhaps to philosophy,\nneither of which are much practised in Andalusia.  I now hurried to the\nwharf; the steamer was not yet arrived, but I heard its thunder up the\nriver every moment becoming more distinct: there was mist and darkness\nupon the face of the waters, and I felt awe as I listened to the approach\nof the invisible monster booming through the stillness of the night.  It\ncame at last in sight, plashed its way forward, stopped, and I was soon\non board.  It was the Peninsula, the best boat on the Guadalquivir.\n\nWhat a wonderful production of art is a steamboat; and yet why should we\ncall it wonderful, if we consider its history.  More than five hundred\nyears have elapsed since the idea of making one first originated; but it\nwas not until the close of the last century that the first, worthy of the\nname, made its appearance on a Scottish river.\n\nDuring this long period of time, acute minds and skilful hands were\noccasionally busied in attempting to remove those imperfections in the\nmachinery, which alone prevented a vessel being made capable of\npropelling itself against wind and tide.  All these attempts were\nsuccessively abandoned in despair, yet scarcely one was made which was\nperfectly fruitless; each inventor leaving behind him some monument of\nhis labour, of which those who succeeded him took advantage, until at\nlast a fortunate thought or two, and a few more perfect arrangements,\nwere all that were wanting.  The time arrived, and now, at length, the\nvery Atlantic is crossed by haughty steamers.  Much has been said of the\nutility of steam in spreading abroad civilization, and I think justly.\nWhen the first steam vessels were seen on the Guadalquivir, about ten\nyears ago, the Sevillians ran to the banks of the river, crying \u201csorcery,\nsorcery,\u201d which idea was not a little favoured by the speculation being\nan English one, and the boats, which were English built, being provided\nwith English engineers, as, indeed, they still are; no Spaniard having\nbeen found capable of understanding the machinery.  They soon however,\nbecame accustomed to them, and the boats are in general crowded with\npassengers.  Fanatic and vain as the Sevillians still are, and bigoted as\nthey remain to their own customs, they know that good, in one instance at\nleast, can proceed from a foreign land, and that land a land of heretics;\ninveterate prejudice has been shaken, and we will hope that this is the\ndawn of their civilization.\n\nWhilst passing over the bay of Cadiz, I was reclining on one of the\nbenches on the deck, when the captain walked by in company with another\nman; they stopped a short distance from me, and I heard the captain ask\nthe other, in a low voice, how many languages he spoke; he replied \u201conly\none.\u201d  \u201cThat one,\u201d said the captain, \u201cis of course the Christian\u201d; by\nwhich name the Spaniards style their own language in contradistinction to\nall others.  \u201cThat fellow,\u201d continued the captain, \u201cwho is lying on the\ndeck, can speak Christian too, when it serves his purpose, but he speaks\nothers, which are by no means Christian: he can talk English, and I\nmyself have heard him chatter in Gitano with the Gypsies of Triana; he is\nnow going amongst the Moors, and when he arrives in their country, you\nwill hear him, should he be there, converse as fluently in their\ngibberish as in Christiano, nay, better, for he is no Christian himself.\nHe has been several times on board my vessel already, but I do not like\nhim, as I consider that he carries something about with him which is not\ngood.\u201d\n\nThis worthy person, on my coming aboard the boat, had shaken me by the\nhand and expressed his joy at seeing me again.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LI\n\n\nCadiz\u2014The Fortifications\u2014The Consul-General\u2014Characteristic\nAnecdote\u2014Catalan Steamer\u2014Trafalgar\u2014Alonzo Guzman\u2014Gibil Muza\u2014Orestes\nFrigate\u2014The Hostile Lion\u2014Works of the Creator\u2014Lizard of the Rock\u2014The\nConcourse\u2014Queen of the Waters\u2014Broken Prayer.\n\nCadiz stands, as is well known, upon a long narrow neck of land\nstretching out into the ocean, from whose bosom the town appears to rise,\nthe salt waters laving its walls on all sides save the east, where a\nsandy isthmus connects it with the coast of Spain.  The town, as it\nexists at the present day, is of modern construction, and very unlike any\nother town which is to be found in the Peninsula, being built with great\nregularity and symmetry.  The streets are numerous, and intersect each\nother, for the most part, at right angles.  They are very narrow in\ncomparison to the height of the houses, so that they are almost\nimpervious to the rays of the sun, except when at its midday altitude.\nThe principal street, however, is an exception, it being of some width.\nThis street, in which stands the Bolsa, or exchange, and which contains\nthe houses of the chief merchants and nobility, is the grand resort of\nloungers as well as men of business during the early part of the day, and\nin that respect resembles the Puerta del Sol at Madrid.  It is connected\nwith the great square, which, though not of very considerable extent, has\nmany pretensions to magnificence, it being surrounded with large imposing\nhouses, and planted with fine trees, with marble seats below them for the\naccommodation of the public.  There are few public edifices worthy of\nmuch attention: the chief church, indeed, might be considered a fine\nmonument of labour in some other countries, but in Spain, the land of\nnoble and gigantic cathedrals, it can be styled nothing more than a\ndecent place of worship; it is still in an unfinished state.  There is a\npublic walk or alameda on the northern ramparts, which is generally\nthronged in summer evenings: the green of its trees, when viewed from the\nbay, affords an agreeable relief to the eye, dazzled with the glare of\nthe white buildings, for Cadiz is also a bright city.  It was once the\nwealthiest place in all Spain, but its prosperity has of late years sadly\ndiminished, and its inhabitants are continually lamenting its ruined\ntrade; on which account many are daily abandoning it for Seville, where\nliving at least is cheaper.  There is still, however, much life and\nbustle in the streets, which are adorned with many splendid shops,\nseveral of which are in the style of Paris and London.  The present\npopulation is said to amount to eighty thousand souls.\n\nIt is not without reason that Cadiz has been called a strong town: the\nfortifications on the land side, which were partly the work of the French\nduring the sway of Napoleon, are perfectly admirable, and seem\nimpregnable: towards the sea it is defended as much by nature as by art,\nwater and sunken rocks being no contemptible bulwarks.  The defences of\nthe town, however, except the landward ones, afford melancholy proofs of\nSpanish apathy and neglect, even when allowance is made for the present\npeculiarly unhappy circumstances of the country.  Scarcely a gun, except\na few dismounted ones, is to be seen on the fortifications, which are\nrapidly falling to decay, so that this insulated stronghold is at present\nalmost at the mercy of any foreign nation which, upon any pretence, or\nnone at all, should seek to tear it from the grasp of its present\nlegitimate possessors, and convert it into a foreign colony.\n\nA few hours after my arrival, I waited upon Mr. B., the British\nconsul-general at Cadiz.  His house, which is the corner one at the\nentrance of the alameda, commands a noble prospect of the bay, and is\nvery large and magnificent.  I had of course long been acquainted with\nMr. B. by reputation; I knew that for several years he had filled, with\nadvantage to his native country and with honour to himself, the\ndistinguished and highly responsible situation which he holds in Spain.\nI knew, likewise, that he was a good and pious Christian, and, moreover,\nthe firm and enlightened friend of the Bible Society.  Of all this I was\naware, but I had never yet enjoyed the advantage of being personally\nacquainted with him.  I saw him now for the first time, and was much\nstruck with his appearance.  He is a tall, athletic, finely built man,\nseemingly about forty-five or fifty; there is much dignity in his\ncountenance, which is, however, softened by an expression of good humour\ntruly engaging.  His manner is frank and affable in the extreme.  I am\nnot going to enter into minute details of our interview, which was to me\na very interesting one.  He knew already the leading parts of my history\nsince my arrival in Spain, and made several comments upon it, which\ndisplayed his intimate knowledge of the situation of the country as\nregards ecclesiastical matters, and the state of opinion respecting\nreligious innovation.\n\nI was pleased to find that his ideas in many points accorded with my own,\nand we were both decidedly of opinion that, notwithstanding the great\npersecution and outcry which had lately been raised against the Gospel,\nthe battle was by no means lost, and that the holy cause might yet\ntriumph in Spain, if zeal united with discretion and Christian humility\nwere displayed by those called upon to uphold it.\n\nDuring the greater part of this and the following day, I was much\noccupied at the custom-house, endeavouring to obtain the documents\nnecessary for the exportation of the Testaments.  On the afternoon of\nSaturday, I dined with Mr. B. and his family, an interesting group,\u2014his\nlady, his beautiful daughters, and his son, a fine intelligent young man.\nEarly the next morning, a steamer, the _Balear_, was to quit Cadiz for\nMarseilles, touching on the way at Algeciras, Gibraltar, and various\nother ports of Spain.  I had engaged my passage on board her as far as\nGibraltar, having nothing farther to detain me at Cadiz; my business with\nthe custom-house having been brought at last to a termination, though I\nbelieve I should never have got through it but for the kind assistance of\nMr. B.  I quitted this excellent man and my other charming friends at a\nlate hour with regret.  I believe that I carried with me their very best\nwishes; and, in whatever part of the world I, a poor wanderer in the\nGospel\u2019s cause, may chance to be, I shall not unfrequently offer up\nsincere prayers for their happiness and well-being.\n\nBefore taking leave of Cadiz, I shall relate an anecdote of the British\nconsul, characteristic of him and the happy manner in which he contrives\nto execute the most disagreeable duties of his situation.  I was in\nconversation with him in a parlour of his house, when we were interrupted\nby the entrance of two very unexpected visitors: they were the captain of\na Liverpool merchant vessel and one of the crew.  The latter was a rough\nsailor, a Welshman, who could only express himself in very imperfect\nEnglish.  They looked unutterable dislike and defiance at each other.  It\nappeared that the latter had refused to work, and insisted on leaving the\nship, and his master had in consequence brought him before the consul, in\norder that, if he persisted, the consequences might be detailed to him,\nwhich would be the forfeiture of his wages and clothes.  This was done;\nbut the fellow became more and more dogged, refusing ever to tread the\nsame deck again with his captain, who, he said, had called him \u201cGreek,\nlazy lubberly Greek,\u201d which he would not bear.  The word Greek rankled in\nthe sailor\u2019s mind, and stung him to the very core.  Mr. B., who seemed to\nbe perfectly acquainted with the character of Welshmen in general, who\nare proverbially obstinate when opposition is offered to them, and who\nsaw at once that the dispute had arisen on foolish and trivial grounds,\nnow told the man, with a smile, that he would inform him of a way by\nwhich he might gain the weather-gage of every one of them, consul and\ncaptain and all, and secure his wages and clothes; which was by merely\ngoing on board a brig of war of her Majesty, which was then lying in the\nbay.  The fellow said he was aware of this, and intended to do so.  His\ngrim features, however, instantly relaxed in some degree, and he looked\nmore humanely upon his captain.  Mr. B. then, addressing himself to the\nlatter, made some observations on the impropriety of using the word Greek\nto a British sailor; not forgetting, at the same time, to speak of the\nabsolute necessity of obedience and discipline on board every ship.  His\nwords produced such an effect, that in a very little time the sailor held\nout his hand towards his captain, and expressed his willingness to go on\nboard with him and perform his duty, adding, that the captain, upon the\nwhole, was the best man in the world.  So they departed mutually pleased;\nthe consul making both of them promise to attend divine service at his\nhouse on the following day.\n\nSunday morning came, and I was on board the steamer by six o\u2019clock.  As I\nascended the side, the harsh sound of the Catalan dialect assailed my\nears.  In fact, the vessel was Catalan built, and the captain and crew\nwere of that nation; the greater part of the passengers already on board,\nor who subsequently arrived, appeared to be Catalans, and seemed to vie\nwith each other in producing disagreeable sounds.  A burly merchant,\nhowever, with a red face, peaked chin, sharp eyes, and hooked nose,\nclearly bore off the palm; he conversed with astonishing eagerness on\nseemingly the most indifferent subjects, or rather on no subject at all;\nhis voice would have sounded exactly like a coffee-mill but for a vile\nnasal twang: he poured forth his Catalan incessantly till we arrived at\nGibraltar.  Such people are never sea-sick, though they frequently\nproduce or aggravate the malady in others.  We did not get under way\nuntil past eight o\u2019clock, for we waited for the Governor of Algeciras,\nand started instantly on his coming on board.  He was a tall, thin, rigid\nfigure of about seventy, with a long, grave, wrinkled countenance; in a\nword, the very image of an old Spanish grandee.  We stood out of the bay,\nrounding the lofty lighthouse, which stands on a ledge of rocks, and then\nbent our course to the south, in the direction of the straits.  It was a\nglorious morning, a blue sunny sky and blue sunny ocean; or, rather, as\nmy friend Oehlenschl\u00e6ger has observed on a similar occasion, there\nappeared two skies and two suns, one above and one below.\n\nOur progress was rather slow, notwithstanding the fineness of the\nweather, probably owing to the tide being against us.  In about two hours\nwe passed the Castle of Santa Petra, and at noon were in sight of\nTrafalgar.  The wind now freshened and was dead ahead; on which account\nwe hugged closely to the coast, in order to avoid as much as possible the\nstrong heavy sea which was pouring down from the Straits.  We passed\nwithin a very short distance of the Cape, a bold bluff foreland, but not\nof any considerable height.\n\nIt is impossible for an Englishman to pass by this place\u2014the scene of the\nmost celebrated naval action on record\u2014without emotion.  Here it was that\nthe united navies of France and Spain were annihilated by a far inferior\nforce; but that force was British, and was directed by one of the most\nremarkable men of the age, and perhaps the greatest hero of any time.\nHuge fragments of wreck still frequently emerge from the watery gulf\nwhose billows chafe the rocky sides of Trafalgar: they are relics of the\nenormous ships which were burnt and sunk on that terrible day, when the\nheroic champion of Britain concluded his work and died.  I never heard\nbut one individual venture to say a word in disparagement of Nelson\u2019s\nglory: it was a pert American, who observed, that the British admiral was\nmuch overrated.  \u201cCan that individual be overrated,\u201d replied a stranger,\n\u201cwhose every thought was bent on his country\u2019s honour, who scarcely ever\nfought without leaving a piece of his body in the fray, and who, not to\nspeak of minor triumphs, was victorious in two such actions as Aboukir\nand Trafalgar?\u201d\n\nWe were now soon in sight of the Moorish coast, Cape Spartel appearing\ndimly through mist and vapour on our right.  A regular Levanter had now\ncome on, and the vessel pitched and tossed to a very considerable degree.\nMost of the passengers were sea-sick; the governor, however, and myself\nheld out manfully: we sat on a bench together, and entered into\nconversation respecting the Moors and their country.  Torquemada himself\ncould not have spoken of both with more abhorrence.  He informed me that\nhe had been frequently in several of the principal Moorish towns of the\ncoast, which he described as heaps of ruins: the Moors themselves he\ncalled Caffres and wild beasts.  He observed that he had never been even\nat Tangier, where the people were most civilised, without experiencing\nsome insult, so great was the abhorrence of the Moors to anything in the\nshape of a Christian.  He added, however, that they treated the English\nwith comparative civility, and that they had a saying among them to the\neffect that Englishman and Mahometan were one and the same; he then\nlooked particularly grave for a moment, and, crossing himself, was\nsilent.  I guessed what was passing in his mind:\n\n    \u201cFrom heretic boors,\n    And Turkish Moors,\n    Star of the sea,\n    Gentle Marie,\n    Deliver me!\u201d\n\nAt about three we were passing Tarifa, so frequently mentioned in the\nhistory of the Moors and Christians.  Who has not heard of Alonzo Guzman\nthe faithful, who allowed his only son to be crucified before the walls\nof the town rather than submit to the ignominy of delivering up the keys\nto the Moorish monarch, who, with a host which is said to have amounted\nto nearly half a million of men, had landed on the shores of Andalusia,\nand threatened to bring all Spain once more beneath the Moslem yoke?\nCertainly if there be a land and a spot where the name of that good\npatriot is not sometimes mentioned and sung, that land, that spot is\nmodern Spain and modern Tarifa.  I have heard the ballad of Alonzo Guzman\nchanted in Danish, by a hind in the wilds of Jutland; but once speaking\nof \u201cthe Faithful\u201d to some inhabitants of Tarifa, they replied that they\nhad never heard of Guzman the faithful of Tarifa, but were acquainted\nwith Alonzo Guzman, \u201cthe one-eyed\u201d (_el tuerto_), and that he was one of\nthe most villainous arrieros on the Cadiz road.\n\nThe voyage of these narrow seas can scarcely fail to be interesting to\nthe most apathetic individual, from the nature of the scenery which\npresents itself to the eye on either side.  The coasts are exceedingly\nhigh and bold, especially that of Spain, which seems to overthrow the\nMoorish; but opposite to Tarifa, the African continent, rounding towards\nthe south-west, assumes an air of sublimity and grandeur.  A hoary\nmountain is seen uplifting its summits above the clouds: it is Mount\nAbyla, or as it is called in the Moorish tongue, Gibil Muza, or the hill\nof Muza, from the circumstance of its containing the sepulchre of a\nprophet of that name.  This is one of the two excrescences of nature on\nwhich the Old World bestowed the title of the Pillars of Hercules.  Its\nskirts and sides occupy the Moorish coast for many leagues in more than\none direction, but the broad aspect of its steep and stupendous front is\nturned full towards that part of the European continent where Gibraltar\nlies like a huge monster stretching far into the brine.  Of the two hills\nor pillars, the most remarkable, when viewed from afar, is the African\none, Gibil Muza.  It is the tallest and bulkiest, and is visible at a\ngreater distance; but scan them both from near, and you feel that all\nyour wonder is engrossed by the European column.  Gibil Muza is an\nimmense shapeless mass, a wilderness of rocks, with here and there a few\ntrees and shrubs nodding from the clefts of its precipices; it is\nuninhabited, save by wolves, wild swine, and chattering monkeys, on which\nlast account it is called by the Spaniards, _Montana de las Monas_ (the\nhill of the baboons); whilst, on the contrary, Gibraltar, not to speak of\nthe strange city which covers part of it, a city inhabited by men of all\nnations and tongues, its batteries and excavations, all of them miracles\nof art, is the most singular-looking mountain in the world\u2014a mountain\nwhich can neither be described by pen nor pencil, and at which the eye is\nnever satiated with gazing.\n\nIt was near sunset, and we were crossing the bay of Gibraltar.  We had\nstopped at Algeciras, on the Spanish side, for the purpose of landing the\nold governor and his suite, and delivering and receiving letters.\n\nAlgeciras is an ancient Moorish town, as the name denotes, which is an\nArabic word, and signifies \u201cthe place of the islands.\u201d  It is situated at\nthe water\u2019s edge, with a lofty range of mountains in the rear.  It seemed\na sad deserted place, as far as I could judge at the distance of half a\nmile.  In the harbour, however, lay a Spanish frigate and French war\nbrig.  As we passed the former, some of the Spaniards on board our\nsteamer became boastful at the expense of the English.  It appeared that,\na few weeks before, an English vessel, suspected to be a contraband\ntrader, was seen by this frigate hovering about a bay on the Andalusian\ncoast, in company with an English frigate, the _Orestes_.  The Spaniard\ndogged them for some time, till one morning observing that the _Orestes_\nhad disappeared, he hoisted English colours, and made a signal to the\ntrader to bear down; the latter, deceived by the British ensign, and\nsupposing that the Spaniard was the friendly _Orestes_, instantly drew\nnear, was fired at and boarded, and proving in effect to be a contraband\ntrader, she was carried into port and delivered over to the Spanish\nauthorities.  In a few days the captain of the _Orestes_ hearing of this,\nand incensed at the unwarrantable use made of the British flag, sent a\nboat on board the frigate demanding that the vessel should be instantly\nrestored, as, if she was not, he would retake her by force; adding that\nhe had forty cannons on board.  The captain of the Spanish frigate\nreturned for answer, that the trader was in the hands of the officers of\nthe customs, and was no longer at his disposal; that the captain of the\n_Orestes_ however, could do what he pleased, and that if he had forty\nguns, he himself had forty-four; whereupon the _Orestes_ thought proper\nto bear away.  Such at least was the Spanish account as related by the\njournals.  Observing the Spaniards to be in great glee at the idea of one\nof their nation having frightened away the Englishman, I exclaimed,\n\u201cGentlemen, all of you who suppose that an English sea captain has been\ndeterred from attacking a Spaniard, from an apprehension of a superior\nforce of four guns, remember, if you please, the fate of the _Santissima\nTrinidad_, and be pleased also not to forget that we are almost within\ncannon\u2019s sound of Trafalgar.\u201d\n\nIt was neat sunset, I repeat, and we were crossing the bay of Gibraltar.\nI stood on the prow of the vessel, with my eyes intently fixed on the\nmountain fortress, which, though I had seen it several times before,\nfilled my mind with admiration and interest.  Viewed from this situation,\nit certainly, if it resembles any animate object in nature, has something\nof the appearance of a terrible couchant lion, whose stupendous head\nmenaces Spain.  Had I been dreaming, I should almost have concluded it to\nbe the genius of Africa, in the shape of its most puissant monster, who\nhad bounded over the sea from the clime of sand and sun, bent on the\ndestruction of the rival continent, more especially as the hue of its\nstony sides, its crest and chine, is tawny even as that of the hide of\nthe desert king.  A hostile lion has it almost invariably proved to\nSpain, at least since it first began to play a part in history, which was\nat the time when Tarik seized and fortified it.  It has for the most part\nbeen in the hands of foreigners: first the swarthy and turbaned Moor\npossessed it, and it is now tenanted by a fair-haired race from a distant\nisle.  Though a part of Spain, it seems to disavow the connexion, and at\nthe end of a long narrow sandy isthmus, almost level with the sea,\nraising its blasted and perpendicular brow to denounce the crimes which\ndeform the history of that fair and majestic land.\n\nIt was near sunset, I say it for the third time, and we were crossing the\nbay of Gibraltar.  Bay! it seemed no bay, but an inland sea, surrounded\non all sides by enchanted barriers, so strange, so wonderful was the\naspect of its coasts.  Before us lay the impregnable hill; on our right\nthe African continent, with its grey Gibil Muza, and the crag of Ceuta,\nto which last a solitary bark seemed steering its way; behind us the town\nwe had just quitted, with its mountain wall; on our left the coast of\nSpain.  The surface of the water was unruffled by a wave, and as we\nrapidly glided on, the strange object which we were approaching became\nmomentarily more distinct and visible.  There, at the base of the\nmountain, and covering a small portion of its side, lay the city, with\nits ramparts garnished with black guns pointing significantly at its\nmoles and harbours; above, seemingly on every crag which could be made\navailable for the purpose of defence or destruction, peered batteries,\npale and sepulchral-looking, as if ominous of the fate which awaited any\nintrusive foe; whilst east and west towards Africa and Spain, on the\nextreme points, rose castles, towers, or atalaias which overcrowded the\nwhole, and all the circumjacent region, whether land or sea.  Mighty and\nthreatening appeared the fortifications, and doubtless, viewed in any\nother situation, would have alone occupied the mind and engrossed its\nwonder; but the hill, the wondrous hill, was everywhere about them,\nbeneath them, or above them, overpowering their effect as a spectacle.\nWho, when he beholds the enormous elephant, with his brandished trunk,\ndashing impetuously to the war, sees the castle which he bears, or fears\nthe javelins of those whom he carries, however skilful and warlike they\nmay be?  Never does God appear so great and powerful as when the works of\nhis hands stand in contrast with the labours of man.  Survey the\nEscurial, it is a proud work, but wonder if you can when you see the\nmountain mocking it behind; survey that boast of Moorish kings, survey\nGranada from its plain, and wonder if you can, for you see the Alpujarra\nmocking it from behind.  O what are the works of man compared with those\nof the Lord?  Even as man is compared with his creator.  Man builds\npyramids, and God builds pyramids: the pyramids of man are heaps of\nshingles, tiny hillocks on a sandy plain; the pyramids of the Lord are\nAndes and Indian hills.  Man builds walls and so does his Master; but the\nwalls of God are the black precipices of Gibraltar and Horneel, eternal,\nindestructible, and not to be scaled; whilst those of man can be climbed,\ncan be broken by the wave or shattered by the lightning or the powder\nblast.  Would man display his power and grandeur to advantage, let him\nflee far from the hills; for the broad pennants of God, even his clouds,\nfloat upon the tops of the hills, and the majesty of God is most manifest\namong the hills.  Call Gibraltar the hill of Tarik or Hercules if you\nwill, but gaze upon it for a moment and you will call it the hill of God.\nTarik and the old giant may have built upon it; but not all the dark race\nof whom Tarik was one, nor all the giants of old renown of whom the other\nwas one, could have built up its crags or chiseled the enormous mass to\nits present shape.\n\nWe dropped anchor not far from the mole.  As we expected every moment to\nhear the evening gun, after which no person is permitted to enter the\ntown, I was in trepidation lest I should be obliged to pass the night on\nboard the dirty Catalan steamer, which, as I had no occasion to proceed\nfarther in her, I was in great haste to quit.  A boat now drew nigh, with\ntwo individuals at the stern, one of whom, standing up, demanded, in an\nauthoritative voice, the name of the vessel, her destination and cargo.\nUpon being answered, they came on board.  After some conversation with\nthe captain, they were about to depart, when I inquired whether I could\naccompany them on shore.  The person I addressed was a tall young man,\nwith a fustian frock coat.  He had a long face, long nose, and wide\nmouth, with large restless eyes.  There was a grin on his countenance\nwhich seemed permanent, and had it not been for his bronzed complexion, I\nshould have declared him to be a cockney, and nothing else.  He was,\nhowever, no such thing, but what is called a rock lizard, that is, a\nperson born at Gibraltar of English parents.  Upon hearing my question,\nwhich was in Spanish, he grinned more than ever, and inquired, in a\nstrange accent, whether I was a son of Gibraltar.  I replied that I had\nnot that honour, but that I was a British subject.  Whereupon he said\nthat he should make no difficulty in taking me ashore.  We entered the\nboat, which was rapidly rowed towards the land by four Genoese sailors.\nMy two companions chattered in their strange Spanish, he of the fustian\noccasionally turning his countenance full upon me, the last grin\nappearing ever more hideous than the preceding ones.  We soon reached the\nquay, where my name was noted down by a person who demanded my passport,\nand I was then permitted to advance.\n\nIt was now dusk, and I lost no time in crossing the drawbridge and\nentering the long low archway which, passing under the rampart,\ncommunicates with the town.  Beneath this archway paced with measured\ntread, tall red-coated sentinels with shouldered guns.  There was no\nstopping, no sauntering in these men.  There was no laughter, no exchange\nof light conversation with the passers by, but their bearing was that of\nBritish soldiers, conscious of the duties of their station.  What a\ndifference between them and the listless loiterers who stand at guard at\nthe gate of a Spanish garrisoned town.\n\nI now proceeded up the principal street, which runs with a gentle ascent\nalong the base of the hill.  Accustomed for some months past to the\nmelancholy silence of Seville, I was almost deafened by the noise and\nbustle which reigned around.  It was Sunday night, and of course no\nbusiness was going on, but there were throngs of people passing up and\ndown.  Here was a military guard proceeding along; here walked a group of\nofficers, there a knot of soldiers stood talking and laughing.  The\ngreater part of the civilians appeared to be Spaniards, but there was a\nlarge sprinkling of Jews in the dress of those of Barbary, and here and\nthere a turbaned Moor.  There were gangs of sailors likewise, Genoese,\njudging from the patois which they were speaking, though I occasionally\ndistinguished the sound of \u201ctou logou sas,\u201d by which I knew there were\nGreeks at hand, and twice or thrice caught a glimpse of the red cap and\nblue silken petticoats of the mariner from the Romaic isles.  On still I\nhurried, till I arrived at a well known hostelry, close by a kind of\nsquare, in which stands the little exchange of Gibraltar.  Into this I\nran and demanded lodging, receiving a cheerful welcome from the genius of\nthe place, who stood behind the bar, and whom I shall perhaps have\noccasion subsequently to describe.  All the lower rooms were filled with\nmen of the rock, burly men in general, with swarthy complexions and\nEnglish features, with white hats, white jean jerkins, and white jean\npantaloons.  They were smoking pipes and cigars, and drinking porter,\nwine and various other fluids, and conversing in the rock Spanish, or\nrock English as the fit took them.  Dense was the smoke of tobacco, and\ngreat the din of voices, and I was glad to hasten up stairs to an\nunoccupied apartment, where I was served with some refreshment, of which\nI stood much in need.\n\nI was soon disturbed by the sound of martial music close below my\nwindows.  I went down and stood at the door.  A military band was\nmarshalled upon the little square before the exchange.  It was preparing\nto beat the retreat.  After the prelude, which was admirably executed,\nthe tall leader gave a flourish with his stick, and strode forward up the\nstreet, followed by the whole company of noble looking fellows and a\ncrowd of admiring listeners.  The cymbals clashed, the horns screamed,\nand the kettle-drum emitted its deep awful note, till the old rock echoed\nagain, and the hanging terraces of the town rang with the stirring noise:\n\n    \u201cDub-a-dub, dub-a-dub\u2014thus go the drums,\n    Tantara, tantara, the Englishman comes.\u201d\n\nO England! long, long may it be ere the sun of thy glory sink beneath the\nwave of darkness!  Though gloomy and portentous clouds are now gathering\nrapidly around thee, still, still may it please the Almighty to disperse\nthem, and to grant thee a futurity longer in duration and still brighter\nin renown than thy past!  Or if thy doom be at hand, may that doom be a\nnoble one, and worthy of her who has been styled the Old Queen of the\nwaters!  May thou sink, if thou dost sink, amidst blood and flame, with a\nmighty noise, causing more than one nation to participate in thy\ndownfall!  Of all fates, may it please the Lord to preserve thee from a\ndisgraceful and a slow decay; becoming, ere extinct, a scorn and a\nmockery for those selfsame foes who now, though they envy and abhor thee,\nstill fear thee, nay, even against their will, honour and respect thee.\n\nArouse thee, whilst yet there is time, and prepare thee for the combat of\nlife and death!  Cast from thee the foul scurf which now encrusts thy\nrobust limbs, which deadens their force, and makes them heavy and\npowerless!  Cast from thee thy false philosophers, who would fain decry\nwhat, next to the love of God, has hitherto been deemed most sacred, the\nlove of the mother land!  Cast from thee thy false patriots, who, under\nthe pretext of redressing the wrongs of the poor and weak, seek to\npromote internal discord, so that thou mayest become only terrible to\nthyself!  And remove from thee the false prophets, who have seen vanity\nand divined lies; who have daubed thy wall with untempered mortar, that\nit may fall; who see visions of peace where there is no peace; who have\nstrengthened the hands of the wicked, and made the heart of the righteous\nsad.  O, do this, and fear not the result, for either shall thy end be a\nmajestic and an enviable one, or God shall perpetuate thy reign upon the\nwaters, thou old Queen!\n\nThe above was part of a broken prayer for my native land, which, after my\nusual thanksgiving, I breathed to the Almighty ere retiring to rest that\nSunday night at Gibraltar.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LII\n\n\nThe Jolly Hosteler\u2014Aspirants for Glory\u2014A Portrait\u2014Hamalos\u2014Solomons\u2014An\nExpedition\u2014The Yeoman Soldier\u2014The Excavations\u2014The Pull by the Skirt\u2014Judah\nand his Father\u2014Judah\u2019s Pilgrimage\u2014The Bushy Beard\u2014The False Moors\u2014Judah\nand the King\u2019s Son\u2014Premature Old Age.\n\nPerhaps it would have been impossible to have chosen a situation more\nadapted for studying at my ease Gibraltar and its inhabitants, than that\nwhich I found myself occupying about ten o\u2019clock on the following\nmorning.  Seated on a small bench just opposite the bar, close by the\ndoor, in the passage of the hostelry at which I had taken up my temporary\nabode, I enjoyed a view of the square of the exchange and all that was\ngoing on there, and by merely raising my eyes, could gaze at my leisure\non the stupendous hill which towers above the town to an altitude of some\nthousand feet.  I could likewise observe every person who entered or left\nthe house, which is one of great resort, being situated in the\nmost-frequented place of the principal thoroughfare of the town.  My eyes\nwere busy and so were my ears.  Close beside me stood my excellent friend\nGriffiths, the jolly hosteler, of whom I take the present opportunity of\nsaying a few words, though I dare say he has been frequently described\nbefore, and by far better pens.  Let those who know him not figure to\nthemselves a man of about fifty, at least six feet in height, and\nweighing some eighteen stone, an exceedingly florid countenance and good\nfeatures, eyes full of quickness and shrewdness, but at the same time\nbeaming with good nature.  He wears white pantaloons, white frock, and\nwhite hat, and is, indeed, all white, with the exception of his polished\nWellingtons and rubicund face.  He carries a whip beneath his arm, which\nadds wonderfully to the knowingness of his appearance, which is rather\nmore that of a gentleman who keeps an inn on the Newmarket road, \u201cpurely\nfor the love of travellers, and the money which they carry about them,\u201d\nthan of a native of the rock.  Nevertheless, he will tell you himself\nthat he is a rock lizard; and you will scarcely doubt it when, besides\nhis English, which is broad and vernacular, you hear him speak Spanish,\nay, and Genoese too, when necessary, and it is no child\u2019s play to speak\nthe latter, which I myself could never master.  He is a good judge of\nhorse-flesh, and occasionally sells a \u201cbit of a blood,\u201d or a Barbary\nsteed to a young hand, though he has no objection to do business with an\nold one; for there is not a thin, crouching, liver-faced lynx-eyed Jew of\nFez capable of outwitting him in a bargain: or cheating him out of one\nsingle pound of the fifty thousand sterling which he possesses; and yet\never bear in mind that he is a good-natured fellow to those who are\ndisposed to behave honourably to him, and know likewise that he will lend\nyou money, if you are a gentleman, and are in need of it; but depend upon\nit, if he refuse you, there is something not altogether right about you,\nfor Griffiths knows _his world_, and is not to be made a fool of.\n\nThere was a prodigious quantity of porter consumed in my presence during\nthe short hour that I sat on the bench of that hostelry of the rock.  The\npassage before the bar was frequently filled with officers, who lounged\nin for a refreshment which the sultry heat of the weather rendered\nnecessary, or at least inviting; whilst not a few came galloping up to\nthe door on small Barbary horses, which are to be found in great\nabundance at Gibraltar.  All seemed to be on the best terms with the\nhost, with whom they occasionally discussed the merits of particular\nsteeds, and whose jokes they invariably received with unbounded\napprobation.  There was much in the demeanour and appearance of these\nyoung men, for the greater part were quite young, which was highly\ninteresting and agreeable.  Indeed, I believe it may be said of English\nofficers in general, that in personal appearance, and in polished\nmanners, they bear the palm from those of the same class over the world.\nTrue it is, that the officers of the royal guard of Russia, especially of\nthe three noble regiments styled the Priberjensky, Simeonsky, and\nFinlansky polks might fearlessly enter into competition in almost all\npoints with the flower of the British army; but it must be remembered,\nthat those regiments are officered by the choicest specimens of the\nSclavonian nobility, young men selected expressly for the splendour of\ntheir persons, and for the superiority of their mental endowments;\nwhilst, probably, amongst all the fair-haired Anglo-Saxons youths whom I\nnow saw gathered near me, there was not a single one of noble ancestry,\nnor of proud and haughty name; and certainly, so far from having been\nselected to flatter the pride and add to the pomp of a despot, they had\nbeen taken indiscriminately from a mass of ardent aspirants for military\nglory, and sent on their country\u2019s service to a remote and unhealthy\ncolony.  Nevertheless, they were such as their country might be proud of,\nfor gallant boys they looked, with courage on their brows, beauty and\nhealth on their cheeks, and intelligence in their hazel eyes.\n\nWho is he who now stops before the door without entering, and addresses a\nquestion to my host, who advances with a respectful salute?  He is no\ncommon man, or his appearance belies him strangely.  His dress is simple\nenough; a Spanish hat, with a peaked crown and broad shadowy brim\u2014the\nveritable sombrero\u2014jean pantaloons and blue hussar jacket;\u2014but how well\nthat dress becomes one of the most noble-looking figures I ever beheld.\nI gazed upon him with strange respect and admiration as he stood\nbenignantly smiling and joking in good Spanish with an impudent rock\nrascal, who held in his hand a huge bogamante, or coarse carrion lobster,\nwhich he would fain have persuaded him to purchase.  He was almost\ngigantically tall, towering nearly three inches above the burly host\nhimself, yet athletically symmetrical, and straight as the pine tree of\nDovrefeld.  He must have counted eleven lustres, which cast an air of\nmature dignity over a countenance which seemed to have been chiseled by\nsome Grecian sculptor, and yet his hair was black as the plume of the\nNorwegian raven, and so was the moustache which curled above his\nwell-formed lip.  In the garb of Greece, and in the camp before Troy, I\nshould have taken him for Agamemnon.  \u201cIs that man a general?\u201d said I to\na short queer-looking personage, who sat by my side, intently studying a\nnewspaper.  \u201cThat gentleman,\u201d he whispered in a lisping accent, \u201cis, sir,\nthe Lieutenant-Governor of Gibraltar.\u201d\n\nOn either side outside the door, squatting on the ground, or leaning\nindolently against the walls, were some half dozen men of very singular\nappearance.  Their principal garment was a kind of blue gown, something\nresembling the blouse worn by the peasants of the north of France, but\nnot so long; it was compressed around their waists by a leathern girdle,\nand depended about half way down their thighs.  Their legs were bare, so\nthat I had an opportunity of observing the calves, which appeared\nunnaturally large.  Upon the head they wore small skull-caps of black\nwool.  I asked the most athletic of these men, a dark-visaged fellow of\nforty, who they were.  He answered, \u201chamalos.\u201d  This word I knew to be\nArabic, in which tongue it signifies a porter; and, indeed, the next\nmoment, I saw a similar fellow staggering across the square under an\nimmense burden, almost sufficient to have broken the back of a camel.  On\nagain addressing my swarthy friend, and enquiring whence he came, he\nreplied, that he was born at Mogadore, in Barbary, but had passed the\ngreatest part of his life at Gibraltar.  He added, that he was the\n\u201ccapitaz,\u201d or head man of the \u201chamalos\u201d near the door.  I now addressed\nhim in the Arabic of the East, though with scarcely the hope of being\nunderstood, more especially as he had been so long from his own country.\nHe however answered very pertinently, his lips quivering with eagerness,\nand his eyes sparkling with joy, though it was easy to perceive that the\nArabic, or rather the Moorish, was not the language in which he was\naccustomed either to think or speak.  His companions all gathered round\nand listened with avidity, occasionally exclaiming, when anything was\nsaid which they approved of: \u201c_Wakhud rajil shereef hada_, _min beled bel\nscharki_.\u201d  (A holy man this from the kingdoms of the East.)  At last I\nproduced the shekel, which I invariably carry about me as a pocket-piece,\nand asked the capitaz whether he had ever seen that money before.  He\nsurveyed the censer and olive-branch for a considerable time, and\nevidently knew not what to make of it.  At length he fell to inspecting\nthe characters round about it on both sides, and giving a cry, exclaimed\nto the other hamalos: \u201cBrothers, brothers, these are the letters of\nSolomon.  This silver is blessed.  We must kiss this money.\u201d  He then put\nit upon his head, pressed it to his eyes, and finally kissed it with\nenthusiasm as did successively all his brethren.  Then regaining it, he\nreturned it to me, with a low reverence.  Griffiths subsequently informed\nme, that the fellow refused to work during all the rest of the day, and\ndid nothing but smile, laugh, and talk to himself.\n\n\u201cAllow me to offer you a glass of bitters, sir,\u201d said the queer-looking\npersonage before mentioned; he was a corpulent man, very short, and his\nlegs particularly so.  His dress consisted of a greasy snuff-coloured\ncoat, dirty white trousers, and dirtier stockings.  On his head he wore a\nrusty silk hat, the eaves of which had a tendency to turn up before and\nbehind.  I had observed that, during my conversation with the hamalos, he\nhad several times uplifted his eyes from the newspaper, and on the\nproduction of the shekel had grinned very significantly, and had\ninspected it when in the hand of the capitaz.  \u201cAllow me to offer you a\nglass of bitters,\u201d said he; \u201cI guessed you was one of our people before\nyou spoke to the hamalos.  Sir, it does my heart good to see a gentleman\nof your appearance not above speaking to his poor brethren.  It is what I\ndo myself not unfrequently, and I hope God will blot out my name, and\nthat is Solomons, when I despise them.  I do not pretend to much Arabic\nmyself, yet I understood you tolerably well, and I liked your discourse\nmuch.  You must have a great deal of shillam eidri, nevertheless you\nstartled me when you asked the hamalo if he ever read the Torah; of\ncourse you meant with the meforshim; poor as he is, I do not believe him\nbecoresh enough to read the Torah without the commentators.  So help me,\nsir, I believe you to be a Salamancan Jew; I am told there are still some\nof the old families to be found there.  Ever at Tudela, sir? not very far\nfrom Salamanca, I believe; one of my own kindred once lived there: a\ngreat traveller, sir, like yourself; went over all the world to look for\nthe Jews,\u2014went to the top of Sinai.  Anything that I can do for you at\nGibraltar, sir?  Any commission; will execute it as reasonably, and more\nexpeditiously than any one else.  My name is Solomons.  I am tolerably\nwell known at Gibraltar; yes, sir, and in the Crooked Friars, and, for\nthat matter, in the Neuen Stein Steg, at Hamburgh; so help me, sir, I\nthink I once saw your face at the fair at Bremen.  Speak German, sir?\nthough of course you do.  Allow me, sir, to offer you a glass of bitters.\nI wish, sir, they were mayim, hayim for your sake, I do indeed, sir, I\nwish they were living waters.  Now, sir, do give me your opinion as to\nthis matter (lowering his voice and striking the newspaper).  Do you not\nthink it is very hard that one Yudken should betray the other?  When I\nput my little secret beyad peluni,\u2014you understand me, sir?\u2014when I entrust\nmy poor secret to the custody of an individual, and that individual a\nJew, a Yudken, sir, I do not wish to be blown, indeed, I do not expect\nit.  In a word, what do you think of the _gold dust robbery_, and what\nwill be done to those unfortunate people, who I see are convicted?\u201d\n\nThat same day I made enquiry respecting the means of transferring myself\nto Tangier, having no wish to prolong my stay at Gibraltar, where, though\nit is an exceedingly interesting place to an observant traveller, I had\nno particular business to detain me.  In the evening I was visited by a\nJew, a native of Barbary, who informed me that he was secretary to the\nmaster of a small Genoese bark which plied between Tangier and Gibraltar.\nUpon his assuring me that the vessel would infallibly start for the\nformer place on the following evening, I agreed with him for my passage.\nHe said that as the wind was blowing from the Levant quarter, the voyage\nwould be a speedy one.  Being desirous now of disposing to the most\nadvantage of the short time which I expected to remain at Gibraltar, I\ndetermined upon visiting the excavations, which I had as yet never seen,\non the following morning, and accordingly sent for and easily obtained\nthe necessary permission.\n\nAbout six on Tuesday morning, I started on this expedition, attended by a\nvery intelligent good-looking lad of the Jewish persuasion, one of two\nbrothers who officiated at the inn in the capacity of valets de place.\n\nThe morning was dim and hazy, yet sultry to a degree.  We ascended a\nprecipitous street, and proceeding in an easterly direction, soon arrived\nin the vicinity of what is generally known by the name of the Moorish\nCastle, a large tower, but so battered by the cannon balls discharged\nagainst it in the famous siege, that it is at present little better than\na ruin; hundreds of round holes are to be seen in its sides, in which, as\nit is said, the shot are still imbedded; here, at a species of hut, we\nwere joined by an artillery sergeant, who was to be our guide.  After\nsaluting us, he led the way to a huge rock, where he unlocked a gate at\nthe entrance of a dark vaulted passage which passed under it, emerging\nfrom which passage we found ourselves in a steep path, or rather\nstaircase, with walls on either side.\n\nWe proceeded very leisurely, for hurry in such a situation would have\nbeen of little avail, as we should have lost our breath in a minute\u2019s\ntime.  The soldier, perfectly well acquainted with the locality, stalked\nalong with measured steps, his eyes turned to the ground.\n\nI looked fully as much at that man as at the strange place where we now\nwere, and which was every moment becoming stranger.  He was a fine\nspecimen of the yeoman turned soldier; indeed, the corps to which he\nbelonged consists almost entirely of that class.  There he paces along,\ntall, strong, ruddy, and chestnut-haired, an Englishman every inch;\nbehold him pacing along, sober, silent, and civil, a genuine English\nsoldier.  I prize the sturdy Scot, I love the daring and impetuous\nIrishman; I admire all the various races which constitute the population\nof the British isles; yet I must say that, upon the whole, none are so\nwell adapted to ply the soldier\u2019s hardy trade as the rural sons of old\nEngland, so strong, so cool, yet, at the same time, animated with so much\nhidden fire.  Turn to the history of England and you will at once\nperceive of what such men are capable; even at Hastings, in the grey old\ntime, under almost every disadvantage, weakened by a recent and terrible\nconflict, without discipline, comparatively speaking, and uncouthly\narmed, they all but vanquished the Norman chivalry.  Trace their deeds in\nFrance, which they twice subdued; and even follow them to Spain, where\nthey twanged the yew and raised the battle-axe, and left behind them a\nname of glory at Inglis Mendi, a name that shall last till fire consumes\nthe Cantabrian hills.  And, oh, in modern times, trace the deeds of these\ngallant men all over the world, and especially in France and Spain, and\nadmire them, even as I did that sober, silent, soldier-like man who was\nshowing me the wonders of a foreign mountain fortress, wrested by his\ncountrymen from a powerful and proud nation more than a century before,\nand of which he was now a trusty and efficient guardian.\n\nWe arrived close to the stupendous precipice, which rises abruptly above\nthe isthmus called the neutral ground, staring gauntly and horridly at\nSpain, and immediately entered the excavations.  They consist of\ngalleries scooped in the living rock at the distance of some twelve feet\nfrom the outside, behind which they run the whole breadth of the hill in\nthis direction.  In these galleries, at short distances, are ragged\nyawning apertures, all formed by the hand of man, where stand the cannon\nupon neat slightly-raised pavements of small flint stones, each with its\npyramid of bullets on one side, and on the other a box, in which is\nstowed the gear which the gunner requires in the exercise of his craft.\nEverything was in its place, everything in the nicest English order,\neverything ready to scathe and overwhelm in a few moments the proudest\nand most numerous host which might appear marching in hostile array\nagainst this singular fortress on the land side.\n\nThere is not much variety in these places, one cavern and one gun\nresembling the other.  As for the guns, they are not of large calibre,\nindeed, such are not needed here, where a pebble discharged from so great\nan altitude would be fraught with death.  On descending a shaft, however,\nI observed, in one cave of special importance, two enormous carronades\nlooking with peculiar wickedness and malignity down a shelving rock,\nwhich perhaps, although not without tremendous difficulty, might be\nscaled.  The mere wind of one of these huge guns would be sufficient to\ntopple over a thousand men.  What sensations of dread and horror must be\nawakened in the breast of a foe when this hollow rock, in the day of\nsiege, emits its flame, smoke, and thundering wind from a thousand\nyawning holes; horror not inferior to that felt by the peasant of the\nneighbourhood when Mongibello belches forth from all its orifices its\nsulphureous fires.\n\nEmerging from the excavations, we proceeded to view various batteries.  I\nasked the sergeant whether his companions and himself were dexterous at\nthe use of the guns.  He replied that these cannons were to them what the\nfowling-piece is to the fowler, that they handled them as easily, and, he\nbelieved, pointed them with more precision, as they seldom or never\nmissed an object within range of the shot.  This man never spoke until he\nwas addressed, and then the answers which he gave were replete with good\nsense, and in general well worded.  After our excursion, which lasted at\nleast two hours, I made him a small present, and took leave with a hearty\nshake of the hand.\n\nIn the evening I prepared to go on board the vessel bound for Tangier,\ntrusting in what the Jewish secretary had told me as to its sailing.\nMeeting him, however, accidentally in the street, he informed me that it\nwould not start until the following morning, advising me at the same time\nto be on board at an early hour.  I now roamed about the streets until\nnight was beginning to set in, and becoming weary, I was just about to\ndirect my steps to the inn, when I felt myself gently pulled by the\nskirt.  I was amidst a concourse of people who were gathered around some\nIrish soldiers who were disputing, and I paid no attention; but I was\npulled again more forcibly than before, and I heard myself addressed in a\nlanguage which I had half forgotten, and which I scarcely expected ever\nto hear again.  I looked round, and lo! a tall figure stood close to me\nand gazed in my face with anxious inquiring eyes.  On its head was the\nkauk or furred cap of Jerusalem; depending from its shoulders, and almost\ntrailing on the ground, was a broad blue mantle, whilst kandrisa or\nTurkish trousers enveloped its nether limbs.  I gazed on the figure as\nwistfully as it gazed upon me.  At first the features appeared perfectly\nstrange, and I was about to exclaim, I know you not, when one or two\nlineaments struck me, and I cried, though somewhat hesitatingly, \u201cSurely\nthis is Judah Lib.\u201d\n\nI was in a steamer in the Baltic in the year \u201934, if I mistake not.\nThere was a drizzling rain and a high sea, when I observed a young man of\nabout two and twenty leaning in a melancholy attitude against the side of\nthe vessel.  By his countenance I knew him to be one of the Hebrew race,\nnevertheless there was something very singular in his appearance,\nsomething which is rarely found amongst that people, a certain air of\nnobleness which highly interested me.  I approached him, and in a few\nminutes we were in earnest conversation.  He spoke Polish and Jewish\nGerman indiscriminately.  The story which he related to me was highly\nextraordinary, yet I yielded implicit credit to all his words, which came\nfrom his mouth with an air of sincerity which precluded doubt; and,\nmoreover, he could have no motive for deceiving me.  One idea, one\nobject, engrossed him entirely: \u201cMy father,\u201d said he, in language which\nstrongly marked his race, \u201cwas a native of Galatia, a Jew of high caste,\na learned man, for he knew Zohar, {459} and he was likewise skilled in\nmedicine.  When I was a child of some eight years, he left Galatia, and\ntaking his wife, who was my mother, and myself with him, he bent his way\nunto the East, even to Jerusalem; there he established himself as a\nmerchant, for he was acquainted with trade and the arts of getting money.\nHe was much respected by the Rabbins of Jerusalem, for he was a Polish\nman, and he knew more Zohar and more secrets than the wisest of them.  He\nmade frequent journeys, and was absent for weeks and for months, but he\nnever exceeded six moons.  My father loved me, and he taught me part of\nwhat he knew in the moments of his leisure.  I assisted him in his trade,\nbut he took me not with him in his journeys.  We had a shop at Jerusalem,\neven a shop of commerce, where we sold the goods of the Nazarene, and my\nmother and myself, and even a little sister who was born shortly after\nour arrival at Jerusalem, all assisted my father in his commerce.  At\nlength it came to pass, that on a particular time he told us that he was\ngoing on a journey, and he embraced us and bade us farewell, and he\ndeparted, whilst we continued at Jerusalem attending to the business.  We\nawaited his return, but months passed, even six months, and he came not,\nand we wondered; and months passed, even other six passed, but still he\ncame not, nor did we hear any tidings of him, and our hearts were filled\nwith heaviness and sorrow.  But when years, even two years, were expired,\nI said to my mother, \u2018I will go and seek my father\u2019; and she said, \u2018Do\nso,\u2019 and she gave me her blessing, and I kissed my little sister, and I\nwent forth as far as Egypt, and there I heard tidings of my father, for\npeople told me he had been there, and they named the time, and they said\nthat he had passed from thence to the land of the Turk; so I myself\nfollowed to the land of the Turk, even unto Constantinople.  And when I\narrived there I again heard of my father, for he was well known amongst\nthe Jews, and they told me the time of his being there, and they added\nthat he had speculated and prospered, and departed from Constantinople,\nbut whither he went they knew not.  So I reasoned within myself and said,\nperhaps he may have gone to the land of his fathers, even unto Galatia,\nto visit his kindred; so I determined to go there myself, and I went, and\nI found our kindred, and I made myself known to them, and they rejoiced\nto see me; but when I asked them for my father, they shook their heads\nand could give me no intelligence; and they would fain have had me tarry\nwith them, but I would not, for the thought of my father was working\nstrong within me, and I could not rest.  So I departed and went to\nanother country, even unto Russia, and I went deep into that country,\neven as far as Kazan, and of all I met, whether Jew, or Russ, or Tartar,\nI inquired for my father; but no one knew him, nor had heard of him.  So\nI turned back and here thou seest me; and I now purpose going through all\nGermany and France, nay, through all the world, until I have received\nintelligence of my father, for I cannot rest until I know what is become\nof my father, for the thought of him burneth in my brain like fire, even\nlike the fire of Jehinnim.\u201d\n\nSuch was the individual whom I now saw again, after a lapse of five\nyears, in the streets of Gibraltar, in the dusk of the evening.  \u201cYes,\u201d\nhe replied, \u201cI am Judah, surnamed the Lib.  Thou didst not recognise me,\nbut I knew thee at once.  I should have known thee amongst a million, and\nnot a day has passed since I last saw thee, but I have thought on thee.\u201d\nI was about to reply, but he pulled me out of the crowd and led me into a\nshop where, squatted on the floor, sat six or seven Jews cutting leather;\nhe said something to them which I did not understand, whereupon they\nbowed their heads and followed their occupation, without taking any\nnotice of us.  A singular figure had followed us to the door; it was a\nman dressed in exceedingly shabby European garments, which exhibited\nnevertheless the cut of a fashionable tailor.  He seemed about fifty; his\nface, which was very broad, was of a deep bronze colour; the features\nwere rugged, but exceedingly manly, and, notwithstanding they were those\nof a Jew, exhibited no marks of cunning, but, on the contrary, much\nsimplicity and good nature.  His form was about the middle height, and\ntremendously athletic, the arms and back were literally those of a\nHercules squeezed into a modern surtout; the lower part of his face was\ncovered with a bushy beard, which depended half way down his breast.\nThis figure remained at the door, his eyes fixed upon myself and Judah.\n\nThe first inquiry which I now addressed was \u201cHave you heard of your\nfather?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have,\u201d he replied.  \u201cWhen we parted, I proceeded through many lands,\nand wherever I went I inquired of the people respecting my father, but\nstill they shook their heads, until I arrived at the land of Tunis; and\nthere I went to the head rabbi, and he told me that he knew my father\nwell, and that he had been there, even at Tunis, and he named the time,\nand he said that from thence he departed for the land of Fez; and he\nspoke much of my father and of his learning, and he mentioned the Zohar,\neven that dark book which my father loved so well; and he spoke yet more\nof my father\u2019s wealth and his speculations, in all of which it seems he\nhad thriven.  So I departed and I mounted a ship, and I went into the\nland of Barbary, even unto Fez, and when I arrived there I heard much\nintelligence of my father, but it was intelligence which perhaps was\nworse than ignorance.  For the Jews told me that my father had been\nthere, and had speculated and had thriven, and that from thence he\ndeparted for Tafilaltz, which is the country of which the Emperor, even\nMuley Abderrahman, is a native; and there he was still prosperous, and\nhis wealth in gold and silver was very great; and he wished to go to a\nnot far distant town, and he engaged certain Moors, two in number, to\naccompany him and defend him and his treasures: and the Moors were strong\nmen, even makhasniah or soldiers; and they made a covenant with my\nfather, and they gave him their right hands, and they swore to spill\ntheir blood rather than his should be shed.  And my father was encouraged\nand he waxed bold, and he departed with them, even with the two false\nMoors.  And when they arrived in the uninhabited place, they smote my\nfather, and they prevailed against him, and they poured out his blood in\nthe way, and they robbed him of all he had, of his silks and his\nmerchandise, and of the gold and silver which he had made in his\nspeculations, and they went to their own villages, and there they sat\nthemselves down and bought lands and houses, and they rejoiced and they\ntriumphed, and they made a merit of their deed, saying, \u2018We have killed\nan infidel, even an accursed Jew\u2019; and these things were notorious in\nFez.  And when I heard these tidings my heart was sad, and I became like\na child, and I wept; but the fire of Jehinnim burned no longer in my\nbrain, for I now knew what was become of my father.  At last I took\ncomfort and I reasoned with myself, saying, \u2018Would it not be wise to go\nunto the Moorish king and demand of him vengeance for my father\u2019s death,\nand that the spoilers be despoiled, and the treasure, even my father\u2019s\ntreasure, be wrested from their hands and delivered up to me who am his\nson?\u2019  And the king of the Moors was not at that time in Fez, but was\nabsent in his wars; and I arose and followed him, even unto Arbat, which\nis a seaport, and when I arrived there, lo!  I found him not, but his son\nwas there, and men said unto me that to speak unto the son was to speak\nunto the king, even Muley Abderrahman; so I went in unto the king\u2019s son,\nand I kneeled before him, and I lifted up my voice and I said unto him\nwhat I had to say, and he looked courteously upon me and said, \u2018Truly thy\ntale is a sorrowful one, and it maketh me sad; and what thou asketh, that\nwill I grant, and thy father\u2019s death shall be avenged and the spoilers\nshall be despoiled; and I will write thee a letter with my own hand unto\nthe Pasha, even the Pasha of Tafilaltz, and I will enjoin him to make\ninquiry into thy matter, and that letter thou shalt thyself carry and\ndeliver unto him.\u2019  And when I heard these words, my heart died within my\nbosom for very fear, and I replied, \u2018Not so, my lord; it is good that\nthou write a letter unto the Pasha, even unto the Pasha of Tafilaltz, but\nthat letter will I not take, neither will I go to Tafilaltz, for no\nsooner should I arrive there, and my errand be known, than the Moors\nwould arise and put me to death, either privily or publicly, for are not\nthe murderers of my father Moors; and am I aught but a Jew, though I be a\nPolish man?\u2019  And he looked benignantly, and he said, \u2018Truly, thou\nspeakest wisely; I will write the letter, but thou shalt not take it, for\nI will send it by other hands; therefore set thy heart at rest, and doubt\nnot that, if thy tale be true, thy father\u2019s death shall be avenged, and\nthe treasure, or the value thereof, be recovered and given up to thee;\ntell me, therefore, where wilt thou abide till then?\u2019  And I said unto\nhim, \u2018My lord, I will go into the land of Suz and will tarry there.\u2019  And\nhe replied: \u2018Do so, and thou shalt hear speedily from me.\u2019  So I arose\nand departed and went into the land of Suz, even unto Sweerah, which the\nNazarenes call Mogadore; and waited with a troubled heart for\nintelligence from the son of the Moorish king, but no intelligence came,\nand never since that day have I heard from him, and it is now three years\nsince I was in his presence.  And I sat me down at Mogadore, and I\nmarried a wife, a daughter of our nation, and I wrote to my mother, even\nto Jerusalem, and she sent me money, and with that I entered into\ncommerce, even as my father had done, and I speculated, and I was not\nsuccessful in my speculations, and I speedily lost all I had.  And now I\nam come to Gibraltar to speculate on the account of another, a merchant\nof Mogadore, but I like not my occupation, he has deceived me; I am going\nback, when I shall again seek the presence of the Moorish king and demand\nthat the treasure of my father be taken from the spoilers and delivered\nup to me, even to me his son.\u201d\n\nI listened with mute attention to the singular tale of this singular man,\nand when he had concluded I remained a considerable time without saying a\nword; at last he inquired what had brought me to Gibraltar.  I told him\nthat I was merely a passer through on my way to Tangier, for which place\nI expected to sail the following morning.  Whereupon he observed, that in\nthe course of a week or two he expected to be there also, when he hoped\nthat we should meet, as he had much more to tell me.  \u201cAnd peradventure,\u201d\nhe added, \u201cyou can afford me counsel which will be profitable, for you\nare a person of experience, versed in the ways of many nations; and when\nI look in your countenance, heaven seems to open to me, for I think I see\nthe countenance of a friend, even of a brother.\u201d  He then bade me\nfarewell, and departed; the strange bearded man, who during our\nconversation had remained patiently waiting at the door, following him.\nI remarked that there was less wildness in his look than on the former\noccasion, but at the same time, more melancholy, and his features were\nwrinkled like those of an aged man, though he had not yet passed the\nprime of youth.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LIII\n\n\nGenoese Mariners\u2014St. Michael\u2019s Cave\u2014Midnight Abysses\u2014Young American\u2014A\nSlave Proprietor\u2014The Fairy Man\u2014Infidelity.\n\nThroughout the whole of that night it blew very hard, but as the wind was\nin the Levant quarter, I had no apprehension of being detained longer at\nGibraltar on that account.  I went on board the vessel at an early hour,\nwhen I found the crew engaged in hauling the anchor close, and making\nother preparations for sailing.  They informed me that we should probably\nstart in an hour.  That time however passed, and we still remained where\nwe were, and the captain continued on shore.  We formed one of a small\nflotilla of Genoese barks, the crews of which seemed in their leisure\nmoments to have no better means of amusing themselves than the exchange\nof abusive language; a furious fusillade of this kind presently\ncommenced, in which the mate of our vessel particularly distinguished\nhimself; he was a grey-haired Genoese of sixty.  Though not able to speak\ntheir patois, I understood much of what was said; it was truly shocking,\nand as they shouted it forth, judging from their violent gestures and\ndistorted features, you would have concluded them to be bitter enemies;\nthey were, however, nothing of the kind, but excellent friends all the\ntime, and indeed very good-humoured fellows at bottom.  Oh, the\ninfirmities of human nature!  When will man learn to become truly\nChristian?\n\nI am upon the whole very fond of the Genoese; they have, it is true, much\nribaldry and many vices, but they are a brave and chivalrous people, and\nhave ever been so, and from them I have never experienced aught but\nkindness and hospitality.\n\nAfter the lapse of another two hours, the Jew secretary arrived and said\nsomething to the old mate, who grumbled much; then coming up to me, he\ntook off his hat and informed me that we were not to start that day,\nsaying at the same time that it was a shame to lose such a noble wind,\nwhich would carry us to Tangier in three hours.  \u201cPatience,\u201d said I, and\nwent on shore.\n\nI now strolled towards Saint Michael\u2019s cave, in company with the Jewish\nlad whom I have before mentioned.\n\nThe way thither does not lie in the same direction as that which leads to\nthe excavations; these confront Spain, whilst the cave yawns in the face\nof Africa.  It lies nearly at the top of the mountain, several hundred\nyards above the sea.  We passed by the public walks, where there are\nnoble trees, and also by many small houses, situated delightfully in\ngardens, and occupied by the officers of the garrison.  It is wrong to\nsuppose Gibraltar a mere naked barren rock; it is not without its\nbeautiful spots\u2014spots such as these, looking cool and refreshing, with\nbright green foliage.  The path soon became very steep, and we left\nbehind us the dwellings of man.  The gale of the preceding night had\nentirely ceased, and not a breath of air was stirring; the midday sun\nshone in all its fierce glory, and the crags up which we clambered were\nnot unfrequently watered with the perspiration drops which rained from\nour temples: at length we arrived at the cavern.\n\nThe mouth is a yawning cleft in the side of the mountain, about twelve\nfeet high and as many wide; within there is a very rapid precipitous\ndescent for some fifty yards, where the cavern terminates in an abyss\nwhich leads to unknown depths.  The most remarkable object is a natural\ncolumn, which rises up something like the trunk of an enormous oak, as if\nfor the purpose of supporting the roof; it stands at a short distance\nfrom the entrance, and gives a certain air of wildness and singularity to\nthat part of the cavern which is visible, which it would otherwise not\npossess.  The floor is exceedingly slippery, consisting of soil which the\ncontinual drippings from the roof have saturated, so that no slight\nprecaution is necessary for him who treads it.  It is very dangerous to\nenter this place without a guide well acquainted with it, as, besides the\nblack pit at the extremity, holes which have never been fathomed present\nthemselves here and there, falling into which the adventurer would be\ndashed to pieces.  Whatever men may please to say of this cave, one thing\nit seems to tell to all who approach it, namely, that the hand of man has\nnever been busy about it; there is many a cave of nature\u2019s forming, old\nas the earth on which we exist, which nevertheless exhibits indications\nthat man has turned it to some account, and that it has been subjected\nmore or less to his modifying power; not so this cave of Gibraltar, for,\njudging from its appearance, there is not the slightest reason for\nsupposing that it ever served for aught else than a den for foul night\nbirds, reptiles, and beasts of prey.  It has been stated by some to have\nbeen used in the days of paganism as a temple to the god Hercules, who,\naccording to the ancient tradition, raised the singular mass of crags now\ncalled Gibraltar, and the mountain which confronts it on the African\nshores, as columns which should say to all succeeding times that he had\nbeen there, and had advanced no farther.  Sufficient to observe, that\nthere is nothing within the cave which would authorize the adoption of\nsuch an opinion, not even a platform on which an altar could have stood,\nwhilst a narrow path passes before it, leading to the summit of the\nmountain.  As I have myself never penetrated into its depths, I can of\ncourse not pretend to describe them.  Numerous have been the individuals\nwho, instigated by curiosity, have ventured down to immense depths,\nhoping to discover an end, and indeed scarcely a week passes without\nsimilar attempts being made either by the officers or soldiers of the\ngarrison, all of which have proved perfectly abortive.  No termination\nhas ever been reached, nor any discoveries made to repay the labour and\nfrightful danger incurred; precipice succeeds precipice, and abyss\nsucceeds abyss, in apparently endless succession, with ledges at\nintervals, which afford the adventurers opportunities for resting\nthemselves and affixing their rope-ladders for the purpose of descending\nyet farther.  What is, however, most mortifying and perplexing is to\nobserve that these abysses are not only before, but behind you, and on\nevery side; indeed, close within the entrance of the cave, on the right,\nthere is a gulf almost equally dark and full as threatening as that which\nexists at the nether end, and perhaps contains within itself as many\ngulfs and horrid caverns branching off in all directions.  Indeed, from\nwhat I have heard, I have come to the opinion, that the whole hill of\nGibraltar is honeycombed, and I have little doubt that, were it cleft\nasunder, its interior would be found full of such abysses of Erebus as\nthose to which Saint Michael\u2019s cave conducts.  Many valuable lives are\nlost every year in these horrible places; and only a few weeks before my\nvisit, two sergeants, brothers, had perished in the gulf on the right\nhand side of the cave, having, when at a great depth, slipped down a\nprecipice.  The body of one of these adventurous men is even now rotting\nin the bowels of the mountain, preyed upon by its blind and noisome\nworms; that of his brother was extricated.  Immediately after this\nhorrible accident, a gate was placed before the mouth of the cave, to\nprevent individuals, and especially the reckless soldiers, from indulging\nin their extravagant curiosity.  The lock, however, was speedily forced,\nand at the period of my arrival the gate swung idly upon its hinges.\n\nAs I left the place, I thought that perhaps similar to this was the cave\nof Horeb, where dwelt Elijah, when he heard the still small voice, after\nthe great and strong wind which rent the mountains and brake in pieces\nthe rocks before the Lord; the cave to the entrance of which he went out\nand stood with his face wrapped in his mantle, when he heard the voice\nsay unto him, \u201cWhat doest thou here, Elijah?\u201d (1 Kings xix. 11\u201313.)\n\nAnd what am I doing here, I inquired of myself as, vexed at my detention,\nI descended into the town.\n\nThat afternoon I dined in the company of a young American, a native of\nSouth Carolina.  I had frequently seen him before, as he had been staying\nfor some time at the inn previous to my arrival at Gibraltar.  His\nappearance was remarkable: he was low of stature, and exceedingly\nslightly made; his features were pale but very well formed; he had a\nmagnificent head of crispy black hair, and as superb a pair of whiskers\nof the same colour as I ever beheld.  He wore a white hat, with broad\nbrim and particularly shallow crown, and was dressed in a light yellow\ngingham frock striped with black, and ample trousers of calico, in a\nword, his appearance was altogether queer and singular.  On my return\nfrom my ramble to the cave, I found that he had himself just descended\nfrom the mountain, having since a very early hour been absent exploring\nits wonders.\n\nA man of the rock asked him how he liked the excavations.  \u201cLiked them,\u201d\nsaid he; \u201cyou might just as well ask a person who has just seen the\nNiagara Falls how he liked them\u2014like is not the word, mister.\u201d  The heat\nwas suffocating, as it almost invariably is in the town of Gibraltar,\nwhere rarely a breath of air is to be felt, as it is sheltered from all\nwinds.  This led another individual to inquire of him whether he did not\nthink it exceedingly hot?  \u201cHot, sir,\u201d he replied, \u201cnot at all: fine\ncotton gathering weather as a man could wish for.  We couldn\u2019t beat it in\nSouth Carolina, sir.\u201d  \u201cYou live in South Carolina, sir\u2014I hope, sir, you\nare not a slave proprietor,\u201d said the short fat Jewish personage in the\nsnuff-coloured coat, who had offered me the bitters on a previous\noccasion; \u201cit is a terrible thing to make slaves of poor people, simply\nbecause they happen to be black; don\u2019t you think so, sir?\u201d  \u201cThink so,\nsir\u2014no, sir, I don\u2019t think so\u2014I glory in being a slave proprietor; have\nfour hundred black niggers on my estate\u2014own estate, sir, near\nCharleston\u2014flog half a dozen of them before breakfast, merely for\nexercise.  Niggers only made to be flogged, sir: try to escape sometimes;\nset the blood-hounds in their trail, catch them in a twinkling; used to\nhang themselves formerly: the niggers thought that a sure way to return\nto their own country and get clear of me: soon put a stop to that: told\nthem that if any more hanged themselves I\u2019d hang myself too, follow close\nbehind them, and flog them in their own country ten times worse than in\nmine.  What do you think of that, friend?\u201d  It was easy to perceive that\nthere was more of fun than malice in this eccentric little fellow, for\nhis large grey eyes were sparkling with good humour whilst he poured out\nthese wild things.  He was exceedingly free of his money; and a dirty\nIrish woman, a soldier\u2019s wife, having entered with a basketful of small\nboxes and trinkets, made of portions of the rock of Gibraltar, he\npurchased the greatest part of her ware, giving her for every article the\nprice (by no means inconsiderable) which she demanded.  He had glanced at\nme several times, and at last I saw him stoop down and whisper something\nto the Jew, who replied in an undertone, though with considerable\nearnestness \u201cO dear no, sir; perfectly mistaken, sir: is no American,\nsir:\u2014from Salamanca, sir; the gentleman is a Salamancan Spaniard.\u201d  The\nwaiter at length informed us that he had laid the table, and that perhaps\nit would be agreeable to us to dine together: we instantly assented.  I\nfound my new acquaintance in many respects a most agreeable companion: he\nsoon told me his history.  He was a planter, and, from what he hinted,\njust come to his property.  He was part owner of a large vessel which\ntraded between Charleston and Gibraltar, and the yellow fever having just\nbroken out at the former place, he had determined to take a trip (his\nfirst) to Europe in this ship; having, as he said, already visited every\nstate in the Union, and seen all that was to be seen there.  He described\nto me, in a very na\u00efve and original manner, his sensations on passing by\nTarifa, which was the first walled town he had ever seen.  I related to\nhim the history of that place, to which he listened with great attention.\nHe made divers attempts to learn from me who I was; all of which I\nevaded, though he seemed fully convinced that I was an American; and\namongst other things asked me whether my father had not been American\nconsul at Seville.  What, however, most perplexed him was my\nunderstanding Moorish and Gaelic, which he had heard me speak\nrespectively to the hamalos and the Irish woman, the latter of whom, as\nhe said, had told him that I was a fairy man.  At last he introduced the\nsubject of religion, and spoke with much contempt of revelation, avowing\nhimself a deist; he was evidently very anxious to hear my opinion, but\nhere again I evaded him, and contented myself with asking him, whether he\nhad ever read the Bible.  He said he had not; but that he was well\nacquainted with the writings of Volney and Mirabeau.  I made no answer;\nwhereupon he added, that it was by no means his habit to introduce such\nsubjects, and that there were very few persons to whom he would speak so\nunreservedly, but that I had very much interested him, though our\nacquaintance had been short.  I replied, that he would scarcely have\nspoken at Boston in the manner that I had just heard him, and that it was\neasy to perceive that he was not a New Englander.  \u201cI assure you,\u201d said\nhe, \u201cI should as little have thought of speaking so at Charleston, for if\nI held such conversation there, I should soon have had to speak to\nmyself.\u201d\n\nHad I known less of deists than it has been my fortune to know, I should\nperhaps have endeavoured to convince this young man of the erroneousness\nof the ideas which he had adopted; but I was aware of all that he would\nhave urged in reply, and as the believer has no carnal arguments to\naddress to carnal reason upon this subject, I thought it best to avoid\ndisputation, which I felt sure would lead to no profitable result.  Faith\nis the free gift of God, and I do not believe that ever yet was an\ninfidel converted by means of after-dinner polemics.  This was the last\nevening of my sojourn in Gibraltar.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LIV\n\n\nAgain on Board\u2014The Strange Visage\u2014The Hadji\u2014Setting Sail\u2014The Two\nJews\u2014American Vessel\u2014Tangier\u2014Adun Oulem\u2014The Struggle\u2014The Forbidden Thing.\n\nOn Thursday, the 8th of August, I was again on board the Genoese bark, at\nas early an hour as on the previous morning.  After waiting, however, two\nor three hours without any preparation being made for departing, I was\nabout to return to the shore once more, but the old Genoese mate advised\nme to stay, assuring me that he had no doubt of our sailing speedily, as\nall the cargo was on board, and we had nothing further to detain us.  I\nwas reposing myself in the little cabin, when I heard a boat strike\nagainst the side of the vessel, and some people come on board.  Presently\na face peered in at the opening, strange and wild.  I was half asleep,\nand at first imagined I was dreaming, for the face seemed more like that\nof a goat or an orge than of a human being; its long beard almost\ntouching my face as I lay extended in a kind of berth.  Starting up,\nhowever, I recognised the singular-looking Jew whom I had seen in the\ncompany of Judah Lib.  He recognised me also, and nodding, bent his huge\nfeatures into a smile.  I arose and went upon deck, where I found him in\ncompany with another Jew, a young man in the dress of Barbary.  They had\njust arrived in the boat.  I asked my friend of the beard who he was,\nfrom whence he came, and where he was going?  He answered, in broken\nPortuguese, that he was returning from Lisbon, where he had been on\nbusiness, to Mogadore, of which place he was a native.  He then looked me\nin the face and smiled, and taking out a book from his pocket, in Hebrew\ncharacters, fell to reading it; whereupon a Spanish sailor on board\nobserved that with such a beard and book he must needs be a sabio, or\nsage.  His companion was from Mequinez, and spoke only Arabic.\n\nA large boat now drew nigh, the stern of which was filled with Moors;\nthere might be about twelve, and the greater part evidently consisted of\npersons of distinction, as they were dressed in all the pomp and\ngallantry of the East, with snow-white turbans, jabadores of green silk\nor scarlet cloth, and bedeyas rich with gold galloon.  Some of them were\nexceedingly fine men, and two amongst them, youths, were strikingly\nhandsome, and so far from exhibiting the dark swarthy countenance of\nMoors in general, their complexions were of a delicate red and white.\nThe principal personage, and to whom all the rest paid much deference,\nwas a tall athletic man of about forty.  He wore a vest of white quilted\ncotton, and white kandrisa, whilst gracefully wound round his body, and\nswathing the upper part of his head, was the haik, or white flannel\nwrapping plaid always held in so much estimation by the Moors from the\nearliest period of their history.  His legs were bare and his feet only\nprotected from the ground by yellow slippers.  He displayed no farther\nornament than one large gold ear-ring, from which depended a pearl,\nevidently of great price.  A noble black beard, about a foot in length,\ntouched his muscular breast.  His features were good, with the exception\nof the eyes, which were somewhat small; their expression, however, was,\nevil; their glances were sullen; and malignity and ill-nature were\npainted in every lineament of his countenance, which seemed never to have\nbeen brightened with a smile.  The Spanish sailor, of whom I have already\nhad occasion to speak, informed me in a whisper, that he was a santuron,\nor big saint, and was so far back on his way from Mecca; adding, that he\nwas a merchant of immense wealth.  It soon appeared that the other Moors\nhad merely attended him on board through friendly politeness, as they all\nsuccessively came to bid him adieu, with the exception of two blacks, who\nwere his attendants.  I observed that these blacks, when the Moors\npresented them their hands at departing, invariably made an effort to\npress them to their lips, which effort was as uniformly foiled, the Moors\nin every instance, by a speedy and graceful movement, drawing back their\nhand locked in that of the black, which they pressed against their own\nheart; as much as to say, \u201cthough a negro and a slave you are a Moslem,\nand being so, you art our brother\u2014Allah knows no distinctions.\u201d  The\nboatman now went up to the hadji, demanding payment, stating, at the same\ntime, that he had been on board three times on his account, conveying his\nluggage.  The sum which he demanded appeared exorbitant to the hadji,\nwho, forgetting that he was a saint, and fresh from Mecca, fumed\noutrageously, and in broken Spanish called the boatman thief.  If there\nbe any term of reproach which stings a Spaniard (and such was the\nboatman) more than another, it is that one; and the fellow no sooner\nheard it applied to himself, than with eyes sparkling with fury, he put\nhis fist to the hadji\u2019s nose, and repaid the one opprobrious name by at\nleast ten others equally bad or worse.  He would perhaps have proceeded\nto acts of violence had he not been pulled away by the other Moors, who\nled him aside, and I suppose either said or gave him something which\npacified him, as he soon got into his boat, and returned with them on\nshore.  The captain now arrived with his Jewish secretary, and orders\nwere given for setting sail.\n\nAt a little past twelve we were steering out of the bay of Gibraltar; the\nwind was in the right quarter, but for some time we did not make much\nprogress, lying almost becalmed beneath the lee of the hill; by degrees,\nhowever, our progress became brisker, and in about an hour we found\nourselves careering smartly towards Tarifa.\n\nThe Jew secretary stood at the helm, and indeed appeared to be the person\nwho commanded the vessel, and who issued out all the necessary orders,\nwhich were executed under the superintendence of the old Genoese mate.  I\nnow put some questions to the hadji, but he looked at me askance with his\nsullen eye, pouted with his lip, and remained silent; as much as to say,\n\u201cSpeak not to me, I am holier than thou.\u201d  I found his negroes, however,\nfar more conversable.  One of them was old and ugly, the other about\ntwenty, and as well looking as it is possible for a negro to be.  His\ncolour was perfect ebony, his features exceedingly well formed and\ndelicate, with the exception of the lips, which were too full.  The shape\nof his eyes was peculiar; they were rather oblong than round, like those\nof an Egyptian figure.  Their expression was thoughtful and meditative.\nIn every respect he differed from his companion, even in colour, (though\nboth were negroes,) and was evidently a scion of some little known and\nsuperior race.  As he sat beneath the mast gazing at the sea, I thought\nhe was misplaced, and that he would have appeared to more advantage\namidst boundless sands, and beneath a date tree, and then he might have\nwell represented a Jhin.  I asked him from whence he came, he replied\nthat he was a native of Fez, but that he had never known his parents.  He\nhad been brought up, he added, in the family of his present master, whom\nhe had followed in the greater part of his travels, and with whom he had\nthrice visited Mecca.  I asked him if he liked being a slave?  Whereupon\nhe replied, that he was a slave no longer, having been made free for some\ntime past, on account of his faithful services, as had likewise his\ncompanion.  He would have told me much more, but the hadji called him\naway, and otherwise employed him, probably to prevent his being\ncontaminated by me.\n\nThus avoided by the Moslems, I betook myself to the Jews, whom I found\nnowise backward in cultivating an intimacy.  The sage of the beard told\nme his history, which in some respects reminded me of that of Judah Lib,\nas it seemed that, a year or two previous, he had quitted Mogadore in\npursuit of his son, who had betaken himself to Portugal.  On the arrival,\nhowever, of the father at Lisbon, he discovered that the fugitive had, a\nfew days before, shipped himself for the Brazils.  Unlike Judah in quest\nof his father, he now became weary, and discontinued the pursuit.  The\nyounger Jew from Mequinez was exceedingly gay and lively as soon as he\nperceived that I was capable of understanding him, and made me smile by\nhis humorous account of Christian life, as he had observed it at\nGibraltar, where he had made a stay of about a month.  He then spoke of\nMequinez, which, he said, was a Jennut, or Paradise, compared with which\nGibraltar was a sty of hogs.  So great, so universal is the love of\ncountry.  I soon saw that both these people believed me to be of their\nown nation; indeed, the young one, who was much the most familiar, taxed\nme with being so, and spoke of the infamy of denying my own blood.\nShortly before our arrival off Tarifa, universal hunger seemed to prevail\namongst us.  The hadji and his negroes produced their store, and feasted\non roast fowls, the Jews ate grapes and bread, myself bread and cheese,\nwhilst the crew prepared a mess of anchovies.  Two of them speedily came,\nwith a large portion, which they presented to me with the kindness of\nbrothers: I made no hesitation in accepting their present, and found the\nanchovies delicious.  As I sat between the Jews, I offered them some, but\nthey turned away their heads with disgust, and cried _haloof_\n(hogsflesh).  They at the same time, however, shook me by the hand, and,\nuninvited, took a small portion of my bread.  I had a bottle of Cognac,\nwhich I had brought with me as a preventive to sea sickness, and I\npresented it to them; but this they also refused, exclaiming, _Haram_ (it\nis forbidden).  I said nothing.\n\nWe were now close to the lighthouse of Tarifa, and turning the head of\nthe bark towards the west, we made directly for the coast of Africa.  The\nwind was now blowing very fresh, and as we had it almost in our poop, we\nsprang along at a tremendous rate, the huge lateen sails threatening\nevery moment to drive us beneath the billows, which an adverse tide\nraised up against us.  Whilst scudding along in this manner, we passed\nclose under the stern of a large vessel bearing American colours; she was\ntacking up the straits, and slowly winning her way against the impetuous\nLevanter.  As we passed under her, I observed the poop crowded with\npeople gazing at us; indeed, we must have offered a singular spectacle to\nthose on board, who, like my young American friend at Gibraltar, were\nvisiting the Old World for the first time.  At the helm stood the Jew;\nhis whole figure enveloped in a gabardine, the cowl of which, raised\nabove his head, gave him almost the appearance of a spectre in its\nshroud; whilst upon the deck, mixed with Europeans in various kinds of\ndresses, all of them picturesque with the exception of my own, trod the\nturbaned Moors, the haik of the hadji flapping loosely in the wind.  The\nview they obtained of us, however, could have been but momentary, as we\nbounded past them literally with the speed of a racehorses so that in\nabout an hour\u2019s time we were not more than a mile\u2019s distance from the\nforeland on which stands the fortress Almin\u00e0r, and which constitutes the\nboundary point of the bay of Tangier towards the east.  There the wind\ndropped and our progress was again slow.\n\nFor a considerable time Tangier had appeared in sight.  Shortly after\nstanding away from Tarifa, we had descried it in the far distance, when\nit showed like a white dove brooding on its nest.  The sun was setting\nbehind the town when we dropped anchor in its harbour, amidst half a\ndozen barks and felouks about the size of our own, the only vessels which\nwe saw.  There stood Tangier before us, and a picturesque town it was,\noccupying the sides and top of two hills, one of which, bold and bluff,\nprojects into the sea where the coast takes a sudden and abrupt turn.\nFrowning and battlemented were its walls, either perched on the top of\nprecipitous rocks, whose base was washed by the salt billows, or rising\nfrom the narrow strand which separates the hill from the ocean.\n\nYonder are two or three tiers of batteries, displaying heavy guns which\ncommand the harbour; above them you see the terraces of the town rising\nin succession like steps for giants.  But all is white, perfectly white,\nso that the whole seems cut out of an immense chalk rock, though true it\nis that you behold here and there tall green trees springing up from\namidst the whiteness: perhaps they belong to Moorish gardens, and beneath\nthem even now peradventure is reclining many a dark-eyed Leila, akin to\nthe houries.  Right before you is a high tower or minaret, not white but\ncuriously painted, which belongs to the principal mosque of Tangier; a\nblack banner waves upon it, for it is the feast of Ashor.  A noble beach\nof white sand fringes the bay from the town to the foreland of Almin\u00e0r.\nTo the east rise prodigious hills and mountains; they are Gibil Muza and\nhis chain; and yon tall fellow is the peak of Tetuan; the grey mists of\nevening are enveloping their sides.  Such was Tangier, such its vicinity,\nas it appeared to me whilst gazing from the Genoese bark.\n\nA boat was now lowered from the vessel, in which the captain, who was\ncharged with the mail from Gibraltar, the Jew secretary, and the hadji\nand his attendant negroes departed for the shore.  I would have gone with\nthem, but I was told that I could not land that night, as ere my passport\nand bill of health could be examined, the gates would be closed; so I\nremained on board with the crew and the two Jews.  The former prepared\ntheir supper, which consisted simply of pickled tomatoes, the other\nprovisions having been consumed.  The old Genoese brought me a portion,\napologizing at the same time, for the plainness of the fare.  I accepted\nit with thanks, and told him that a million better men than myself had a\nworse super.  I never ate with more appetite.  As the night advanced, the\nJews sang Hebrew hymns, and when they had concluded, demanded of me why I\nwas silent, so I lifted up my voice and chanted Adun Oulem:\u2014\n\n    \u201cReigned the Universe\u2019s Master, ere were earthly things begun;\n    When His mandate all created, Ruler was the name He won;\n    And alone He\u2019ll rule tremendous when all things are past and gone,\n    He no equal has, nor consort, He, the singular and lone,\n    Has no end and no beginning; His the sceptre, might and throne.\n    He\u2019s my God and living Saviour, rock to whom in need I run;\n    He\u2019s my banner and my refuge, fount of weal when called upon;\n    In His hand I place my spirit at nightfall and rise of sun,\n    And therewith my body also; God\u2019s my God\u2014I fear no one.\u201d\n\nDarkness had now fallen over land and sea; not a sound was heard save\noccasionally the distant barking of a dog from the shore, or some\nplaintive Genoese ditty, which arose from a neighbouring bark.  The town\nseemed buried in silence and gloom, no light, not even that of a taper,\ncould be descried.  Turning our eyes in the direction of Spain, however,\nwe perceived a magnificent conflagration seemingly enveloping the side\nand head of one of the lofty mountains northward of Tarifa; the blaze was\nredly reflected in the waters of the strait; either the brushwood was\nburning or the Carboneros were plying their dusky toil.  The Jews now\ncomplained, of weariness, and the younger, uncording a small mattress,\nspread it on the deck and sought repose.  The sage descended into the\ncabin, but he had scarcely time to lie down ere the old mate, darting\nforward, dived in after him, and pulled him out by the heels, for it was\nvery shallow, and the descent was effected by not more than two or three\nsteps.  After accomplishing this, he called him many opprobrious names,\nand threatened him with his foot, as he lay sprawling on the deck.\n\u201cThink you,\u201d said he, \u201cwho are a dog and a Jew, and pay as a dog and a\nJew; think you to sleep in the cabin?  Undeceive yourself, beast; that\ncabin shall be slept in by none to-night but this Christian Cavallero.\u201d\nThe sage made no reply, but arose from the deck and stroked his beard,\nwhilst the old Genoese proceeded in his philippic.  Had the Jew been\ndisposed, he could have strangled the insulter in a moment, or crushed\nhim to death in his brawny arms, as I never remember to have seen a\nfigure so powerful and muscular; but he was evidently slow to anger, and\nlong-suffering; not a resentful word escaped him, and his features\nretained their usual expression of benignant placidity.\n\nI now assured the mate that I had not the slightest objection to the\nJew\u2019s sharing the cabin with me, but rather wished it, as there was room\nfor us both and for more.  \u201cExcuse me, Sir Cavalier,\u201d replied the\nGenoese, \u201cbut I swear to permit no such thing; you are young and do not\nknow this canaille as I do, who have been backward and forward to this\ncoast for twenty years; if the beast is cold, let him sleep below the\nhatches as I and the rest shall, but that cabin he shall not enter.\u201d\nObserving that he was obstinate I retired, and in a few minutes was in a\nsound sleep which lasted till daybreak.  Twice or thrice, indeed, I\nthought that a struggle was taking place near me, but I was so\noverpowered with weariness, or \u201csleep drunken,\u201d as the Germans call it,\nthat I was unable to arouse myself sufficiently to discover what was\ngoing on; the truth is, that three times during the night, the sage\nfeeling himself uncomfortable in the open air by the side of his\ncompanion, penetrated into the cabin, and was as many times dragged out\nby his relentless old enemy, who, suspecting his intentions, kept his eye\nupon him throughout the night.\n\nAbout five I arose; the sun was shining brightly and gloriously upon\ntown, bay, and mountain; the crew were already employed upon deck\nrepairing a sail which had been shivered in the wind of the preceding\nday.  The Jews sat disconsolate on the poop; they complained much of the\ncold they had suffered in their exposed situation.  Over the left eye of\nthe sage I observed a bloody cut, which he informed me he had received\nfrom the old Genoese after he had dragged him out of the cabin for the\nlast time.  I now produced my bottle of Cognac, begging that the crew\nwould partake of it as a slight return for their hospitality.  They\nthanked me, and the bottle went its round; it was last in the hands of\nthe old mate, who, after looking for a moment at the sage, raised it to\nhis mouth, where he kept it a considerable time longer than any of his\ncompanions, after which he returned it to me with a low bow.  The sage\nnow inquired what the bottle contained: I told him Cognac or aguardiente,\nwhereupon with some eagerness he begged that I would allow him to take a\ndraught.  \u201cHow is this?\u201d said I; \u201cyesterday you told me that it was a\nforbidden thing, an abomination.\u201d  \u201cYesterday,\u201d said he, \u201cI was not aware\nthat it was brandy; I thought it wine, which assuredly is an abomination,\nand a forbidden thing.\u201d  \u201cIs it forbidden in the Torah?\u201d I inquired.  \u201cIs\nit forbidden in the law of God?\u201d  \u201cI know not,\u201d said he, \u201cbut one thing I\nknow, that the sages have forbidden it.\u201d  \u201cSages like yourself,\u201d cried I\nwith warmth; \u201csages like yourself, with long beards and short\nunderstandings: the use of both drinks is permitted, but more danger\nlurks in this bottle than in a tun of wine.  Well said my Lord the\nNazarene, \u2018ye strain at a gnat, and swallow a camel\u2019; but as you are cold\nand shivering, take the bottle and revive yourself with a small portion\nof its contents.\u201d  He put it to his lips and found not a single drop.\nThe old Genoese grinned.\n\n\u201cBestia,\u201d said he, \u201cI saw by your looks that you wished to drink of that\nbottle, and I said within me, even though I suffocate, yet will I not\nleave one drop of the aguardiente of the Christian Cavalier to be wasted\non that Jew, on whose head may evil lightnings fall.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow, Sir Cavalier,\u201d he continued, \u201cyou can go ashore; these two sailors\nshall row you to the Mole, and convey your baggage where you think\nproper; may the Virgin bless you wherever you go.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LV\n\n\nThe Mole\u2014The Two Moors\u2014Djmah of Tangier\u2014House of God\u2014British\nConsul\u2014Curious Spectacle\u2014The Moorish House\u2014Joanna Correa\u2014Ave Maria.\n\nSo we rode to the Mole and landed.  This Mole consists at present of\nnothing more than an immense number of large loose stones, which run\nabout five hundred yards into the bay; they are part of the ruins of a\nmagnificent pier which the English, who were the last foreign nation\nwhich held Tangier, destroyed when they evacuated the place.  The Moors\nhave never attempted to repair it; the surf at high water breaks over it\nwith great fury.  I found it a difficult task to pick my way over the\nslippery stones, and should once or twice have fallen but for the\nkindness of the Genoese mariners.  At last we reached the beach, and were\nproceeding towards the gate of the town, when two persons, Moors, came up\nto us.  I almost started at sight of the first; he was a huge old\nbarbarian with a white uncombed beard, dirty turban, haik, and trousers,\nnaked legs, and immense splay feet, the heels of which stood out a couple\nof inches at least behind his rusty black slippers.\n\n\u201cThat is the captain of the port,\u201d said one of the Genoese; \u201cpay him\nrespect.\u201d  I accordingly doffed my hat and cried, \u201c_Sba alkheir a sidi_\u201d\n(Good-morning, my lord).  \u201cAre you Englishmans?\u201d shouted the old grisly\ngiant.  \u201cEnglishmans, my lord,\u201d I replied, and, advancing, presented him\nmy hand, which he nearly wrung off with his tremendous gripe.  The other\nMoor now addressed me in a jargon composed of English, Spanish, and\nArabic.  A queer-looking personage was he also, but very different in\nmost respects from his companion, being shorter by a head at least, and\nless complete by one eye, for the left orb of vision was closed, leaving\nhim, as the Spaniards style it, _tuerto_; he, however, far outshone the\nother in cleanliness of turban, haik, and trousers.  From what he\njabbered to me, I collected that he was the English consul\u2019s mahasni or\nsoldier; that the consul, being aware of my arrival, had dispatched him\nto conduct me to his house.  He then motioned me to follow him, which I\ndid, the old port captain attending us to the gate, when he turned aside\ninto a building, which I judged to be a kind of custom-house from the\nbales and boxes of every description piled up before it.  We passed the\ngate and proceeded up a steep and winding ascent; on our left was a\nbattery full of guns, pointing to the sea, and on our right a massive\nwall, seemingly in part cut out of the hill; a little higher up we\narrived at an opening where stood the mosque which I have already\nmentioned.  As I gazed upon the tower I said to myself, \u201cSurely we have\nhere a younger sister of the Giralda of Seville.\u201d\n\nI know not whether the resemblance between the two edifices has been\nobserved by any other individual; and perhaps there are those who would\nassert that no resemblance exists, especially if, in forming an opinion,\nthey were much swayed by size and colour: the hue of the Giralda is red,\nor rather vermilion, whilst that which predominates in the Djmah of\nTangier is green, the bricks of which it is built being of that colour;\nthough between them, at certain intervals, are placed others of a light\nred tinge, so that the tower is beautifully variegated.  With respect to\nsize, standing beside the giant witch of Seville, the Tangerine Djmah\nwould show like a ten-year sapling in the vicinity of the cedar of\nLebanon, whose trunk the tempests of five hundred years have worn.  And\nyet I will assert that the towers in other respects are one and the same,\nand that the same mind and the same design are manifested in both; the\nsame shape do they exhibit, and the same marks have they on their walls,\neven those mysterious arches graven on the superficies of the bricks,\nemblematic of I know not what.  The two structures may, without any\nviolence, be said to stand in the same relation to each other as the\nancient and modern Moors.  The Giralda is the world\u2019s wonder, and the old\nMoor was all but the world\u2019s conqueror.  The modern Moor is scarcely\nknown, and who ever heard of the Tower of Tangier?  Yet examine it\nattentively, and you will find in that tower much, very much, to admire,\nand certainly, if opportunity enable you to consider the modern Moor as\nminutely, you will discover in him, and in his actions, amongst much that\nis wild, uncouth, and barbarous, not a little capable of amply rewarding\nlaborious investigation.\n\nAs we passed the mosque I stopped for a moment before the door, and\nlooked in upon the interior: I saw nothing but a quadrangular court paved\nwith painted tiles and exposed to the sky; on all sides were arched\npiazzas, and in the middle was a fountain, at which several Moors were\nperforming their ablutions.  I looked around for the abominable thing,\nand found it not; no scarlet strumpet with a crown of false gold sat\nnursing an ugly changeling in a niche.  \u201cCome here,\u201d said I, \u201cpapist, and\ntake a lesson; here is a house of God, in externals at least, such as a\nhouse of God should be: four walls, a fountain, and the eternal firmament\nabove, which mirrors his glory.  Dost thou build such houses to the God\nwho hast said, \u2018Thou shalt make to thyself no graven image\u2019?  Fool, thy\nwalls are stuck with idols; thou callest a stone thy Father, and a piece\nof rotting wood the Queen of Heaven.  Fool, thou knowest not even the\nAncient of Days, and the very Moor can instruct thee.  He at least knows\nthe Ancient of Days who has said, \u2018Thou shalt have no other gods but\nme.\u2019\u201d\n\nAnd as I said these words, I heard a cry like the roaring of a lion, and\nan awful voice in the distance exclaim, \u201c_Kapul Udbagh_\u201d (there is no god\nbut one).\n\nWe now turned to the left through a passage which passed under the tower,\nand had scarcely proceeded a few steps, when I heard a prodigious hubbub\nof infantine voices: I listened for a moment, and distinguished verses of\nthe Koran; it was a school.  Another lesson for thee, papist.  Thou\ncallest thyself a Christian, yet the book of Christ thou persecutest;\nthou huntest it even to the sea-shore, compelling it to seek refuge upon\nthe billows of the sea.  Fool, learn a lesson from the Moor, who teaches\nhis child to repeat with its first accents the most important portions of\nthe book of his law, and considers himself wise or foolish, according as\nhe is versed in or ignorant of that book; whilst thou, blind slave,\nknowest not what the book of thy own law contains, nor wishest to know:\nyet art thou not to be judged by thy own law?  Idolmonger, learn\nconsistency from the Moor: he says that he shall be judged after his own\nlaw, and therefore he prizes and gets by heart the entire book of his\nlaw.\n\nWe were now at the consul\u2019s house, a large roomy habitation, built in the\nEnglish style.  The soldier led me through a court into a large hall hung\nwith the skins of all kinds of ferocious animals, from the kingly lion to\nthe snarling jackal.  Here I was received by a Jew domestic, who\nconducted me at once to the consul, who was in his library.  He received\nme with the utmost frankness and genuine kindness, and informed me that,\nhaving received a letter from his excellent friend Mr. B., in which I was\nstrongly recommended, he had already engaged me a lodging in the house of\na Spanish woman, who was, however, a British subject, and with whom he\nbelieved that I should find myself as comfortable as it was possible to\nbe in such a place as Tangier.  He then inquired if I had any particular\nmotive for visiting the place, and I informed him without any hesitation\nthat I came with the intention of distributing a certain number of copies\nof the New Testament in the Spanish language amongst the Christian\nresidents of the place.  He smiled, and advised me to proceed with\nconsiderable caution, which I promised to do.  We then discoursed on\nother subjects, and it was not long before I perceived that I was in the\ncompany of a most accomplished scholar, especially in the Greek and Latin\nclassics; he appeared likewise to be thoroughly acquainted with the\nBarbary empire and with the Moorish character.\n\nAfter half an hour\u2019s conversation, exceedingly agreeable and instructive\nto myself, I expressed a wish to proceed to my lodging: whereupon he rang\nthe bell, and the same Jewish domestic entering who had introduced me, he\nsaid to him in the English language, \u201cTake this gentleman to the house of\nJoanna Correa, the Mahonese widow, and enjoin her, in my name, to take\ncare of him and attend to his comforts; by doing which she will confirm\nme in the good opinion which I at present entertain of her, and will\nincrease my disposition to befriend her.\u201d\n\nSo, attended by the Jew, I now bent my steps to the lodging prepared for\nme.  Having ascended the street in which the house of the consul was\nsituated, we entered a small square which stands about half way up the\nhill.  This, my companion informed me, was the soc, or market-place.  A\ncurious spectacle here presented itself.  All round the square were small\nwooden booths, which very much resembled large boxes turned on their\nsides, the lid being supported above by a string.  Before each of these\nboxes was a species of counter, or rather one long counter ran in front\nof the whole line, upon which were raisins, dates, and small barrels of\nsugar, soap, and butter, and various other articles.  Within each box, in\nfront of the counter, and about three feet from the ground, sat a human\nbeing, with a blanket on its shoulders, a dirty turban on its head, and\nragged trousers, which descended as far as the knee, though in some\ninstances, I believe, these were entirely dispensed with.  In its hand it\nheld a stick, to the end of which was affixed a bunch of palm leaves,\nwhich it waved incessantly as a fan, for the purpose of scaring from its\ngoods the million flies which, engendered by the Barbary sun, endeavoured\nto settle upon them.  Behind it, and on either side, were piles of the\nsame kind of goods.  _Shrit hinai_, _shrit hinai_, (buy here, buy here),\nwas continually proceeding from its mouth.  Such are the grocers of\nTangier, such their shops.\n\nIn the middle of the soc, upon the stones, were pyramids of melons and\nsandias, (the water species), and also baskets filled with other kinds of\nfruit, exposed for sale, whilst round cakes of bread were lying here and\nthere upon the stones, beside which sat on their hams the wildest-looking\nbeings that the most extravagant imagination ever conceived, the head\ncovered with an enormous straw hat, at least two yards in circumference,\nthe eaves of which, flapping down, completely concealed the face, whilst\nthe form was swathed in a blanket, from which occasionally were thrust\nskinny arms and fingers.  These were Moorish women, who were, I believe,\nin all instances, old and ugly, judging from the countenances of which I\ncaught a glimpse as they lifted the eaves of their hats to gaze on me as\nI passed, or to curse me for stamping on their bread.  The whole soc was\nfull of peoples and there was abundance of bustle, screaming, and\nvociferation, and as the sun, though the hour was still early, was\nshining with the greatest brilliancy, I thought that I had scarcely ever\nwitnessed a livelier scene.\n\nCrossing the soc we entered a narrow street with the same kind of\nbox-shops on each side, some of which, however, were either unoccupied or\nnot yet opened, the lid being closed.  We almost immediately turned to\nthe left, up a street somewhat similar, and my guide presently entered\nthe door of a low house, which stood at the corner of a little alley, and\nwhich he informed me was the abode of Joanna Correa.  We soon stood in\nthe midst of this habitation.  I say the midst, as all the Moorish houses\nare built with a small court in the middle.  This one was not more than\nten feet square.  It was open at the top, and around it on three sides\nwere apartments; on the fourth a small staircase, which communicated with\nthe upper story, half of which consisted of a terrace looking down into\nthe court, over the low walls of which you enjoyed a prospect of the sea\nand a considerable part of the town.  The rest of the story was taken up\nby a long room, destined for myself, and which opened upon the terrace by\na pair of folding-doors.  At either end of this apartment stood a bed,\nextending transversely from wall to wall, the canopy touching the\nceiling.  A table and two or three chairs completed the furniture.\n\nI was so occupied in inspecting the house of Joanna Correa, that at first\nI paid little attention to that lady herself.  She now, however, came up\nupon the terrace where my guide and myself were standing.  She was a\nwoman about five and forty, with regular features, which had once been\nhandsome, but had received considerable injury from time, and perhaps\nmore from trouble.  Two of her front teeth had disappeared, but she still\nhad fine black hair.  As I looked upon her countenance, I said within\nmyself, if there be truth in physiognomy, thou art good and gentle, O\nJoanna; and, indeed, the kindness I experienced from her during the six\nweeks which I spent beneath her roof would have made me a convert to that\nscience had I doubted in it before.  I believe no warmer and more\naffectionate heart ever beat in human bosom than in that of Joanna\nCorrea, the Mahonese widow, and it was indexed by features beaming with\nbenevolence and good nature, though somewhat clouded with melancholy.\n\nShe informed me that she had been married to a Genoese, the master of a\nfelouk which passed between Gibraltar and Tangier, who had been dead\nabout four years, leaving her with a family of four children, the eldest\nof which was a lad of thirteen; that she had experienced great difficulty\nin providing for her family and herself since the death of her husband,\nbut that Providence had raised her up a few excellent friends, especially\nthe British consul; that besides letting lodgings to such travellers as\nmyself, she made bread which was in high esteem with the Moors, and that\nshe was likewise in partnership in the sale of liquors with an old\nGenoese.  She added, that this last person lived below in one of the\napartments; that he was a man of great ability and much learning, but\nthat she believed he was occasionally somewhat touched here, pointing\nwith her finger to her forehead, and she therefore hoped that I would not\nbe offended at anything extraordinary in his language or behaviour.  She\nthen left me, as she said, to give orders for my breakfast; whereupon the\nJewish domestic, who had accompanied me from the consul, finding that I\nwas established in the house, departed.\n\nI speedily sat down to breakfast in an apartment on the left side of the\nlittle wustuddur, the fare was excellent; tea, fried fish, eggs, and\ngrapes, not forgetting the celebrated bread of Joanna Correa.  I was\nwaited upon by a tall Jewish youth of about twenty years, who informed me\nthat his name was Haim Ben Atar, that he was a native of Fez, from whence\nhis parents brought him at a very early age to Tangier, where he had\npassed the greater part of his life principally in the service of Joanna\nCorrea, waiting upon those who, like myself, lodged in the house.  I had\ncompleted my meal, and was seated in the little court, when I heard in\nthe apartment opposite to that in which I had breakfasted several sighs,\nwhich were succeeded by as many groans, and then came \u201c_Ave Maria_,\n_gratia plena_, _ora pro me_,\u201d and finally a croaking voice chanted:\u2014\n\n    \u201cGentem auferte perfidam\n    Credentium de finibus,\n    Ut Christo laudes debitas\n    Persolvamus alacriter.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is the old Genoese,\u201d whispered Haim Ben Atar, \u201cpraying to his God,\nwhich he always does with particular devotion when he happens to have\ngone to bed the preceding evening rather in liquor.  He has in his room a\npicture of Maria Buckra, before which he generally burns a taper, and on\nher account he will never permit me to enter his apartment.  He once\ncaught me looking at her, and I thought he would have killed me, and\nsince then he always keeps his chamber locked, and carries the key in his\npocket when he goes out.  He hates both Jew and Moor, and says that he is\nnow living amongst them for his sins.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey do not place tapers before pictures,\u201d said I, and strolled forth to\nsee the wonders of the land.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LVI\n\n\nThe Mahasni\u2014Sin Samani\u2014The Bazaar\u2014Moorish Saints\u2014See the Ayana!\u2014The\nPrickly Fig\u2014Jewish Graves\u2014The Place of Carcases\u2014The Stable Boy\u2014Horses of\nthe Moslem\u2014Dar Dwag.\n\nI was standing in the market-place, a spectator of much the same scene as\nI have already described, when a Moor came up to me and attempted to\nutter a few words in Spanish.  He was a tall elderly man, with sharp but\nrather whimsical features, and might have been called good-looking, had\nhe not been one-eyed, a very common deformity in this country.  His body\nwas swathed in an immense haik.  Finding that I could understand Moorish,\nhe instantly began talking with immense volubility, and I soon learned\nthat he was a Mahasni.  He expatiated diffusely on the beauties of\nTangier, of which he said he was a native, and at last exclaimed, \u201cCome,\nmy sultan, come, my lord, and I will show you many things which will\ngladden your eyes, and fill your heart with sunshine; it were a shame in\nme, who have the advantage of being a son of Tangier, to permit a\nstranger who comes from an island in the great sea, as you tell me you\ndo, for the purpose of seeing this blessed land, to stand here in the soc\nwith no one to guide him.  By Allah, it shall not be so.  Make room for\nmy sultan, make room for my lord,\u201d he continued, pushing his way through\na crowd of men and children who had gathered round us; \u201cit is his\nhighness\u2019 pleasure to go with me.  This way, my lord, this way\u201d; and he\nled the way up the hill, walking at a tremendous rate and talking still\nfaster.  \u201cThis street,\u201d said he, \u201cis the Siarrin, and its like is not to\nbe found in Tangier; observe how broad it is, even half the breadth of\nthe soc itself; here are the shops of the most considerable merchants,\nwhere are sold precious articles of all kinds.  Observe those two men,\nthey are Algerines and good Moslems; they fled from Zair (_Algiers_) when\nthe Nazarenes conquered it, not by force of fighting, not by valour, as\nyou may well suppose, but by gold; the Nazarenes only conquer by gold.\nThe Moor is good, the Moor is strong, who so good and strong? but he\nfights not with gold, and therefore he lost Zair.\n\n\u201cObserve you those men seated on the benches by those portals: they are\nMahasniah, they are my brethren.  See their haiks how white, see their\nturbans how white.  O that you could see their swords in the day of war,\nfor bright, bright are their swords.  Now they bear no swords.  Wherefore\nshould they?  Is there not peace in the land?  See you him in the shop\nopposite?  That is the Pasha of Tangier, that is the Hamed Sin Samani,\nthe under Pasha of Tangier; the elder Pasha, my lord, is away on a\njourney; may Allah send him a safe return.  Yes, that is Hamed; he sits\nin his hanutz as were he nought more than a merchant, yet life and death\nare in his hands.  There he dispenses justice, even as he dispenses the\nessence of the rose and cochineal, and powder of cannon and sulphur; and\nthese two last he sells on the account of Abderrahman, my lord and\nsultan, for none can sell powder and the sulphur dust in his land but the\nsultan.  Should you wish to purchase atar del nuar, should you wish to\npurchase the essence of the rose, you must go to the hanutz of Sin\nSamani, for there only you will get it pure; you must receive it from no\ncommon Moor, but only from Hamed.  May Allah bless Hamed.  The Mahasniah,\nmy brethren, wait to do his orders, for wherever sits the Pasha, there is\na hall of judgment.  See, now we are opposite the bazaar; beneath yon\ngate is the court of the bazaar; what will you not find in that bazaar?\nSilks from Fez you will find there; and if you wish for sibat, if you\nwish for slippers for your feet, you must seek them there, and there also\nare sold curious things from the towns of the Nazarenes.  Those large\nhouses on our left are habitations of Nazarene consuls; you have seen\nmany such in your own land, therefore why should you stay to look at\nthem?  Do you not admire this street of the Siarrin?  Whatever enters or\ngoes out of Tangier by the land passes through this street.  Oh, the\nriches that pass through this street!  Behold those camels, what a long\ntrain; twenty, thirty, a whole cafila descending the street.  Wullah!  I\nknow those camels, I know the driver.  Good day, O Sidi Hassim, in how\nmany days from Fez?  And now we are arrived at the wall, and we must pass\nunder this gate.  This gate is called Bab del Faz; we are now in the Soc\nde Barra.\u201d\n\nThe Soc de Barra is an open place beyond the upper wall of Tangier, on\nthe side of the hill.  The ground is irregular and steep; there are,\nhowever, some tolerably level spots.  In this place, every Thursday and\nSunday morning, a species of mart is held, on which account it is called\nSoc de Barra, or the outward market-place.  Here and there, near the town\nditch, are subterranean pits with small orifices, about the circumference\nof a chimney, which are generally covered with a large stone, or stuffed\nwith straw.  These pits are granaries, in which wheat, barley, and other\nspecies of grain intended for sale are stored.  On one side are two or\nthree rude huts, or rather sheds, beneath which keep watch the guardians\nof the corn.  It is very dangerous to pass over this hill at night, after\nthe town gates are closed, as at that time numerous large and ferocious\ndogs are let loose, who would to a certainty pull down, and perhaps\ndestroy, any stranger who should draw nigh.  Half way up the hill are\nseen four white walls, inclosing a spot about ten feet square, where rest\nthe bones of Sidi Mokhfidh, a saint of celebrity, who died some fifteen\nyears ago.  Here terminates the soc; the remainder of the hill is called\nEl Kawar, or the place of graves, being the common burying ground of\nTangier; the resting places of the dead are severally distinguished by a\nfew stones arranged so as to form an oblong circle.  Near Mokhfidh sleeps\nSidi Gali; but the principal saint of Tangier lies interred on the top of\nthe hill, in the centre of a small plain.  A beautiful chapel or mosque,\nwith vaulted roof, is erected there in his honour, which is in general\nadorned with banners of various dyes.  The name of this saint is Mohammed\nel Hadge, and his memory is held in the utmost veneration in Tangier and\nits vicinity.  His death occurred at the commencement of the present\ncentury.\n\nThese details I either gathered at the time or on subsequent occasions.\nOn the north side of the soc, close by the town, is a wall with a gate.\n\u201cCome,\u201d said the old Mahasni, giving a flourish with his hand; \u201cCome, and\nI will show you the garden of a Nazarene consul.\u201d  I followed him through\nthe gate, and found myself in a spacious garden laid out in the European\ntaste, and planted with lemon and pear trees, and various kinds of\naromatic shrubs.  It was, however, evident that the owner chiefly prided\nhimself on his flowers, of which there were numerous beds.  There was a\nhandsome summerhouse, and art seemed to have exhausted itself in making\nthe place complete.\n\nOne thing was wanting, and its absence was strangely remarkable in a\ngarden at this time of the year; scarcely a leaf was to be seen.  The\ndirest of all the plagues which devastated Egypt was now busy in this\npart of Africa\u2014the locust was at work, and in no place more fiercely than\nin the particular spot where I was now standing.  All around looked\nblasted.  The trees were brown and bald as in winter.  Nothing green save\nthe fruits, especially the grapes, huge clusters of which were depending\nfrom the \u201cparras\u201d; for the locust touches not the fruit whilst a single\nleaf remains to be devoured.  As we passed along the walks these horrible\ninsects flew against us in every direction, and perished by hundreds\nbeneath our feet.  \u201cSee the ayanas,\u201d said the old Mahasni, \u201cand hear them\neating.  Powerful is the ayana, more powerful than the sultan or the\nconsul.  Should the sultan send all his Mahasniah against the ayana,\nshould he send me with them, the ayana would say, \u2018Ha! ha!\u2019  Powerful is\nthe ayana!  He fears not the consul.  A few weeks ago the consul said, \u2018I\nam stronger than the ayana, and I will extirpate him from the land.\u2019  So\nhe shouted through the city, \u2018O Tangerines! speed forth to fight the\nayana,\u2014destroy him in the egg; for know that whosoever shall bring me one\npound weight of the eggs of the ayana, unto him will I give five reals of\nSpain; there shall be no ayanas this year.\u2019  So all Tangier rushed forth\nto fight the ayana, and to collect the eggs which the ayana had laid to\nhatch beneath the sand on the sides of the hills, and in the roads, and\nin the plains.  And my own child, who is seven years old, went forth to\nfight the ayana, and he alone collected eggs to the weight of five\npounds, eggs which the ayana had placed beneath the sand, and he carried\nthem to the consul, and the consul paid the price.  And hundreds carried\neggs to the consul, more or less, and the consul paid them the price, and\nin less than three days the treasure chest of the consul was exhausted.\nAnd then he cried, \u2018Desist, O Tangerines! perhaps we have destroyed the\nayana, perhaps we have destroyed them all.\u2019  Ha! ha!  Look around you,\nand beneath you, and above you, and tell me whether the consul has\ndestroyed the ayana.  Oh, powerful is the ayana!  More powerful than the\nconsul, more powerful than the sultan and all his armies.\u201d\n\nIt will be as well to observe here, that within a week from this time all\nthe locusts had disappeared, no one knew how, only a few stragglers\nremained.  But for this providential deliverance, the fields and gardens\nin the vicinity of Tangier would have been totally devastated.  These\ninsects were of an immense size, and of a loathly aspect.\n\nWe now passed over the soc to the opposite side, where stand the huts of\nthe guardians.  Here a species of lane presents itself, which descends to\nthe sea-shore; it is deep and precipitous, and resembles a gully or\nravine.  The banks on either side are covered with the tree which bears\nthe prickly fig, called in Moorish, _Kermous del Inde_.  There is\nsomething wild and grotesque in the appearance of this tree or plant, for\nI know not which to call it.  Its stem, though frequently of the\nthickness of a man\u2019s body, has no head, but divides itself, at a short\ndistance from the ground, into many crooked branches, which shoot in all\ndirections, and bear green and uncouth leaves, about half an inch in\nthickness, and which, if they resemble anything, present the appearance\nof the fore fins of a seal, and consist of multitudinous fibres.  The\nfruit, which somewhat resembles a pear, has a rough tegument covered with\nminute prickles, which instantly enter the hand which touches them,\nhowever slightly, and are very difficult to extract.  I never remember to\nhave seen vegetation in ranker luxuriance than that which these fig-trees\nexhibited, nor upon the whole a more singular spot.  \u201cFollow me,\u201d said\nthe Mahasni, \u201cand I will show you something which you will like to see.\u201d\nSo he turned to the left, leading the way by a narrow path up the steep\nbank, till we reached the summit of a hillock, separated by a deep ditch\nfrom the wall of Tangier.  The ground was thickly covered with the trees\nalready described, which spread their strange arms along the surface, and\nwhose thick leaves crushed beneath our feet as we walked along.  Amongst\nthem I observed a large number of stone slabs lying horizontally; they\nwere rudely scrawled over with odd characters, which I stooped down to\ninspect.  \u201cAre you Talib enough to read those signs?\u201d exclaimed the old\nMoor.  \u201cThey are letters of the accursed Jews; this is their mearrah, as\nthey call it, and here they inter their dead.  Fools, they trust in Muza,\nwhen they might believe in Mohammed, and therefore their dead shall burn\neverlastingly in Jehinnim.  See, my sultan, how fat is the soil of this\nmearrah of the Jews; see what kermous grow here.  When I was a boy I\noften came to the mearrah of the Jews to eat kermous in the season of\ntheir ripeness.  The Moslem boys of Tangier love the kermous of the\nmearrah of the Jews; but the Jews will not gather them.  They say that\nthe waters of the springs which nourish the roots of these trees, pass\namong the bodies of their dead, and for that reason it is an abomination\nto taste of these fruits.  Be this true, or be it not, one thing is\ncertain, in whatever manner nourished, good are the kermous which grow in\nthe mearrah of the Jews.\u201d\n\nWe returned to the lane by the same path by which we had come: as we were\ndescending it he said, \u201cKnow, my sultan, that the name of the place where\nwe now are, and which you say you like much, is Dar Sinah (_the house of\nthe trades_).  You will ask me why it bears that name, as you see neither\nhouse nor man, neither Moslem, Nazarene, nor Jew, only our two selves; I\nwill tell you, my sultan, for who can tell you better than myself?\nLearn, I pray you, that Tangier was not always what it is now, nor did it\noccupy always the place which it does now.  It stood yonder (pointing to\nthe east) on those hills above the shore, and ruins of houses are still\nto be seen there, and the spot is called Old Tangier.  So in the old\ntime, as I have heard say, this Dar Sinah was a street, whether without\nor within the wall matters not, and there resided men of all trades;\nsmiths of gold and silver, and iron, and tin, and artificers of all\nkinds: you had only to go to the Dar Sinah if you wished for anything\nwrought, and there instantly you would find a master of the particular\ncraft.  My sultan tells me he likes the look of Dar Sinah at the present\nday; truly I know not why, especially as the kermous are not yet in their\nripeness nor fit to eat.  If he likes Dar Sinah now, how would my sultan\nhave liked it in the olden time, when it was filled with gold and silver,\nand iron and tin, and was noisy with the hammers, and the masters and the\ncunning men?  We are now arrived at the Chali del Bahar (sea-shore).\nTake care, my sultan, we tread upon bones.\u201d\n\nWe had emerged from the Dar Sinah, and the sea-shore was before us; on a\nsudden we found ourselves amongst a multitude of bones of all kinds of\nanimals, and seemingly of all dates; some being blanched with time and\nexposure to sun and wind, whilst to others the flesh still partly clung;\nwhole carcases were here, horses, asses, and even the uncouth remains of\na camel.  Gaunt dogs were busy here, growling, tearing, and gnawing;\namongst whom, unintimidated, stalked the carrion vulture, fiercely\nbattening and even disputing with the brutes the garbage; whilst the crow\nhovered overhead and croaked wistfully, or occasionally perched upon some\nupturned rib bone.  \u201cSee,\u201d said the Mahasni, \u201cthe kawar of the animals.\nMy sultan has seen the kawar of the Moslems and the mearrah of the Jews;\nand he sees here the kawar of the animals.  All the animals which die in\nTangier by the hand of God, horse, dog, or camel, are brought to this\nspot, and here they putrefy or are devoured by the birds of the heaven or\nthe wild creatures that prowl on the chali.  Come, my sultan, it is not\ngood to remain long in this place.\u201d\n\nWe were preparing to leave the spot, when we heard a galloping down the\nDar Sinah, and presently a horse and rider darted at full speed from the\nmouth of the lane and appeared upon the strand; the horseman, when he saw\nus, pulled up his steed with much difficulty, and joined us.  The horse\nwas small but beautiful, a sorrel with long mane and tail; had he been\nhoodwinked he might perhaps have been mistaken for a Cordovese jaca; he\nwas broad-chested, and rotund in his hind quarters, and possessed much of\nthe plumpness and sleekness which distinguish that breed, but looking in\nhis eyes you would have been undeceived in a moment; a wild savage fire\ndarted from the restless orbs, and so far from exhibiting the docility of\nthe other noble and loyal animal, he occasionally plunged desperately,\nand could scarcely be restrained by a strong curb and powerful arm from\nresuming his former headlong course.  The rider was a youth, apparently\nabout eighteen, dressed as a European, with a Montero cap on his head: he\nwas athletically built, but with lengthy limbs, his feet, for he rode\nwithout stirrups or saddle, reaching almost to the ground; his complexion\nwas almost as dark as that of a Mulatto; his features very handsome, the\neyes particularly so, but filled with an expression which was bold and\nbad; and there was a disgusting look of sensuality about the mouth.  He\naddressed a few words to the Mahasni, with whom he seemed to be well\nacquainted, inquiring who I was.  The old man answered, \u201cO Jew, my sultan\nunderstands our speech, thou hadst better address thyself to him.\u201d  The\nlad then spoke to me in Arabic, but almost instantly dropping that\nlanguage proceeded to discourse in tolerable French.  \u201cI suppose you are\nFrench,\u201d said he with much familiarity, \u201cshall you stay long in Tangier?\u201d\nHaving received an answer, he proceeded, \u201cas you are an Englishman, you\nare doubtless fond of horses, know, therefore, whenever you are disposed\nfor a ride, I will accompany you, and procure you horses.  My name is\nEphraim Fragey: I am stable-boy to the Neapolitan consul, who prizes\nhimself upon possessing the best horses in Tangier; you shall mount any\nyou please.  Would you like to try this little aoud (_stallion_)?\u201d  I\nthanked him, but declined his offer for the present, asking him at the\nsame time how he had acquired the French language, and why he, a Jew, did\nnot appear in the dress of his brethren?  \u201cI am in the service of a\nconsul,\u201d said he, \u201cand my master obtained permission that I might dress\nmyself in this manner; and as to speaking French, I have been to\nMarseilles and Naples, to which last place I conveyed horses, presents\nfrom the Sultan.  Besides French, I can speak Italian.\u201d  He then\ndismounted, and holding the horse firmly by the bridle with one hand,\nproceeded to undress himself, which having accomplished, he mounted the\nanimal and rode into the water.  The skin of his body was much akin in\ncolour to that of a frog or toad, but the frame was that of a young\nTitan.  The horse took to the water with great unwillingness, and at a\nsmall distance from the shore commenced struggling with his rider, whom\nhe twice dashed from his back; the lad, however, clung to the bridle, and\ndetained the animal.  All his efforts, however, being unavailing to ride\nhim deeper in, he fell to washing him strenuously with his hands, then\nleading him out, he dressed himself and returned by the way he came.\n\n\u201cGood are the horses of the Moslems,\u201d said my old friend, \u201cwhere will you\nfind such?  They will descend rocky mountains at full speed and neither\ntrip nor fall, but you must be cautious with the horses of the Moslems,\nand treat them with kindness, for the horses of the Moslems are proud,\nand they like not being slaves.  When they are young and first mounted,\njerk not their mouths with your bit, for be sure if you do they will kill\nyou; sooner or later, you will perish beneath their feet.  Good are our\nhorses; and good our riders, yea, very good are the Moslems at mounting\nthe horse; who are like them?  I once saw a Frank rider compete with a\nMoslem on this beach, and at first the Frank rider had it all his own\nway, and he passed the Moslem, but the course was long, very long, and\nthe horse of the Frank rider, which was a Frank also, panted; but the\nhorse of the Moslem panted not, for he was a Moslem also, and the Moslem\nrider at last gave a cry and the horse sprang forward and he overtook the\nFrank horse, and then the Moslem rider stood up in his saddle.  How did\nhe stand?  Truly he stood on his head, and these eyes saw him; he stood\non his head in the saddle as he passed the Frank rider; and he cried ha!\nha! as he passed the Frank rider; and the Moslem horse cried ha! ha! as\nhe passed the Frank breed, and the Frank lost by a far distance.  Good\nare the Franks; good their horses; but better are the Moslems, and better\nthe horses of the Moslems.\u201d\n\nWe now directed our steps towards the town, but not by the path we came:\nturning to the left under the hill of the mearrah, and along the strand,\nwe soon came to a rudely paved way with a steep ascent, which wound\nbeneath the wall of the town to a gate, before which, on one side, were\nvarious little pits like graves, filled with water or lime.  \u201cThis is Dar\nDwag,\u201d said the Mahasni; \u201cthis is the house of the bark, and to this\nhouse are brought the hides; all those which are prepared for use in\nTangier are brought to this house, and here they are cured with lime, and\nbran, and bark, and herbs.  And in this Dar Dwag there are one hundred\nand forty pits; I have counted them myself; and there were more which\nhave now ceased to be, for the place is very ancient.  And these pits are\nhired not by one, nor by two, but by many people, and whosoever list can\nrent one of these pits and cure the hides which he may need; but the\nowner of all is one man, and his name is Cado Ableque.  And now my sultan\nhas seen the house of the bark, and I will show him nothing more this\nday; for to-day is Youm al Jumal (_Friday_), and the gates will be\npresently shut whilst the Moslems perform their devotions.  So I will\naccompany my sultan to the guest house, and there I will leave him for\nthe present.\u201d\n\nWe accordingly passed through a gate, and ascending a street found\nourselves before the mosque where I had stood in the morning; in another\nminute or two we were at the door of Joanna Correa.  I now offered my\nkind guide a piece of silver as a remuneration for his trouble, whereupon\nhe drew himself up and said:\u2014\n\n\u201cThe silver of my sultan I will not take, for I consider that I have done\nnothing to deserve it.  We have not yet visited all the wonderful things\nof this blessed town.  On a future day I will conduct my sultan to the\ncastle of the governor, and to other places which my sultan will be glad\nto see; and when we have seen all we can, and my sultan is content with\nme, if at any time he see me in the soc of a morning, with my basket in\nmy hand, and he see nothing in that basket, then is my sultan at liberty\nas a friend to put grapes in my basket, or bread in my basket, or fish or\nmeat in my basket.  That will I not refuse of my sultan, when I shall\nhave done more for him than I have now.  But the silver of my sultan will\nI not take now nor at any time.\u201d  He then waved his hand gently and\ndeparted.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER LVII\n\n\nStrange Trio\u2014The Mulatto\u2014The Peace-offering\u2014Moors of Granada\u2014Vive la\nGuadeloupe\u2014The Moors\u2014Pascual Fava\u2014Blind Algerine\u2014The Retreat.\n\nThree men were seated in the wustuddur of Joanna Correa, when I entered;\nsingular-looking men they all were, though perhaps three were never\ngathered together more unlike to each other in all points.  The first on\nwhom I cast my eye was a man about sixty, dressed in a grey kerseymere\ncoat with short lappets, yellow waistcoat, and wide coarse canvas\ntrousers; upon his head was a very broad dirty straw hat, and in his hand\nhe held a thick cane with ivory handle; his eyes were bleared and\nsquinting, his face rubicund, and his nose much carbuncled.  Beside him\nsat a good-looking black, who perhaps appeared more negro than he really\nwas, from the circumstance of his being dressed in spotless white\njean\u2014jerkin, waistcoat, and pantaloons being all of that material: his\nhead gear consisted of a blue Montero cap.  His eyes sparkled like\ndiamonds, and there was an indescribable expression of good humour and\nfun upon his countenance.  The third man was a Mulatto, and by far the\nmost remarkable personage of the group: he might be between thirty and\nforty; his body was very long, and though uncouthly put together,\nexhibited every mark of strength and vigour; it was cased in a ferioul of\nred wool, a kind of garment which descends below the hips.  His long\nmuscular and hairy arms were naked from the elbow, where the sleeves of\nthe ferioul terminate; his under limbs were short in comparison with his\nbody and arms; his legs were bare, but he wore blue kandrisa as far as\nthe knee; every feature of his face was ugly, exceedingly and bitterly\nugly, and one of his eyes was sightless, being covered with a white film.\nBy his side on the ground was a large barrel, seemingly a water-cask,\nwhich he occasionally seized with a finger and thumb, and waved over his\nhead as if it had been a quart pot.  Such was the trio who now occupied\nthe wustuddur of Joanna Correa: and I had scarcely time to remark what I\nhave just recorded, when that good lady entered from a back court with\nher handmaid Johar, or the pearl, an ugly fat Jewish girl with an immense\nmole on her cheek.\n\n\u201c_Que Dios remate tu nombre_,\u201d exclaimed the Mulatto; \u201cmay Allah blot out\nyour name, Joanna, and may he likewise blot out that of your maid Johar.\nIt is more than fifteen minutes that I have been seated here, after\nhaving poured out into the tinaja the water which I brought from the\nfountain, and during all that time I have waited in vain for one single\nword of civility from yourself or from Johar.  _Usted no tiene modo_, you\nhave no manner with you, nor more has Johar.  This is the only house in\nTangier where I am not received with fitting love and respect, and yet I\nhave done more for you than for any other person.  Have I not filled your\ntinaja with water when other people have gone without a drop?  When even\nthe consul and the interpreter of the consul had no water to slake their\nthirst, have you not had enough to wash your wustuddur?  And what is my\nreturn?  When I arrive in the heat of the day, I have not one kind word\nspoken to me, nor so much as a glass of makhiah offered to me; must I\ntell you all that I do for you, Joanna?  Truly I must, for you have no\nmanner with you.  Do I not come every morning just at the third hour; and\ndo I not knock at your door; and do you not arise and let me in, and then\ndo I not knead your bread in your presence, whilst you lie in bed, and\nbecause I knead it, is not yours the best bread in Tangier?  For am I not\nthe strongest man in Tangier, and the most noble also?\u201d  Here he\nbrandished his barrel over his head, and his face looked almost\ndemoniacal.  \u201cHear me, Joanna,\u201d he continued, \u201cyou know that I am the\nstrongest man in Tangier, and I tell you again, for the thousandth time,\nthat I am the most noble.  Who are the consuls?  Who is the Pasha?  They\nare pashas and consuls now, but who were their fathers?  I know not, nor\ndo they.  But do I not know who my fathers were?  Were they not Moors of\nGarnata (_Granada_), and is it not on that account that I am the\nstrongest man in Tangier?  Yes, I am of the old Moors of Garnata, and my\nfamily has lived here, as is well known, since Garnata was lost to the\nNazarenes, and now I am the only one of my family of the blood of the old\nMoors in all this land, and on that account I am of nobler blood than the\nsultan, for the sultan is not of the blood of the Moors of Garnata.  Do\nyou laugh, Joanna?  Does your maid Johar laugh?  Am I not Hammin Widdir,\n_el hombre mas valido de Tanger_?  And is it not true that I am of the\nblood of the Moors of Garnata?  Deny it, and I will kill you both, you\nand your maid Johar.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have been eating hashish and majoon, Hammin,\u201d said Joanna Correa,\n\u201cand the Shaitan has entered into you, as he but too frequently does.  I\nhave been busy, and so has Johar, or we should have spoken to you before;\nhowever, mai doorshee (_it does not signify_), I know how to pacify you\nnow and at all times, will you take some gin-bitters, or a glass of\ncommon makhiah?\u201d\n\n\u201cMay you burst, O Joanna,\u201d said the Mulatto, \u201cand may Johar also burst; I\nmean, may you both live many years, and know neither pain nor sorrow.  I\nwill take the gin-bitters, O Joanna, because they are stronger than the\nmakhiah, which always appears to me like water; and I like not water,\nthough I carry it.  Many thanks to you, Joanna, here is health to you,\nJoanna, and to this good company.\u201d\n\nShe had handed him a large tumbler filled to the brim; he put it to his\nnostrils, snuffed in the flavour, and then applying it to his mouth,\nremoved it not whilst one drop of the fluid remained.  His features\ngradually relaxed from their former angry expression, and looking\nparticularly amiable at Joanna, he at last said:\n\n\u201cI hope that within a little time, O Joanna, you will be persuaded that I\nam the strongest man in Tangier, and that I am sprung from the blood of\nthe Moors of Garnata, as then you will no longer refuse to take me for a\nhusband, you and your maid Johar, and to become Moors.  What a glory to\nyou, after having been married to a Genoui, and given birth to\nGenouillos, to receive for a husband a Moor like me, and to bear him\nchildren of the blood of Garnata.  What a glory too for Johar, how much\nbetter than to marry a vile Jew, even like Hayim Ben Atar, or your cook\nSabia, both of whom I could strangle with two fingers, for am I not\nHammin Widdir Moro de Garnata, _el hombre mas valido be Tanger_?\u201d  He\nthen shouldered his barrel and departed.\n\n\u201cIs that Mulatto really what he pretends to be?\u201d said I to Joanna; \u201cis he\na descendant of the Moors of Granada?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe always talks about the Moors of Granada when he is mad with majoon or\naguardiente,\u201d interrupted, in bad French, the old man whom I have before\ndescribed, and in the same croaking voice which I had heard chanting in\nthe morning.  \u201cNevertheless it may be true, and if he had not heard\nsomething of the kind from his parents, he would never have imagined such\na thing, for he is too stupid.  As I said before, it is by no means\nimpossible: many of the families of Granada settled down here when their\ntown was taken by the Christians, but the greater part went to Tunis.\nWhen I was there, I lodged in the house of a Moor who called himself\nZegri, and was always talking of Granada and the things which his\nforefathers had done there.  He would moreover sit for hours singing\nromances of which I understood not one word, praised be the mother of\nGod, but which he said all related to his family; there were hundreds of\nthat name in Tunis, therefore why should not this Hammin, this drunken\nwater-carrier, be a Moor of Granada also?  He is ugly enough to be\nemperor of all the Moors.  O the accursed canaille, I have lived amongst\nthem for my sins these eight years, at Oran and here.  Monsieur, do you\nnot consider it to be a hard case for an old man like myself, who am a\nChristian, to live amongst a race who know not God, nor Christ, nor\nanything holy?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you mean,\u201d said I, \u201cby asserting that the Moors know not God?\nThere is no people in the world who entertain sublimer notions of the\nuncreated eternal God than the Moors, and no people have ever shown\nthemselves more zealous for his honour and glory; their very zeal for the\nglory of God has been and is the chief obstacle to their becoming\nChristians.  They are afraid of compromising his dignity by supposing\nthat he ever condescended to become man.  And with respect to Christ,\ntheir ideas even of him are much more just than those of the Papists,\nthey say he is a mighty prophet, whilst, according to the others, he is\neither a piece of bread or a helpless infant.  In many points of religion\nthe Moors are wrong, dreadfully wrong, but are the Papists less so?  And\none of their practices sets them immeasurably below the Moors in the eyes\nof any unprejudiced person: they bow down to idols, Christian idols if\nyou like, but idols still, things graven of wood and stone and brass, and\nfrom these things, which can neither hear, nor speak, nor feel, they ask\nand expect to obtain favours.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Vive la France_, _Vive la Guadeloupe_,\u201d said the black, with a good\nFrench accent.  \u201cIn France and in Guadeloupe there is no superstition,\nand they pay as much regard to the Bible as to the Koran; I am now\nlearning to read in order that I may understand the writings of Voltaire,\nwho, as I am told, has proved that both the one and the other were\nwritten with the sole intention of deceiving mankind.  _O vive la\nFrance_! where will you find such an enlightened country as France; and\nwhere will you find such a plentiful country as France?  Only one in the\nworld, and that is Guadeloupe.  Is it not so, Monsieur Pascual?  Were you\never at Marseilles?  _Ah quel bon pays est celui-la pour les vivres_,\n_pour les petits poulets_, _pour les poulardes_, _pour les perdrix_,\n_pour les perdreaux_, _pour les alouettes_, _pour les becasses_, _pour\nles becassines_, _enfin_, _pour tout_.\u201d\n\n\u201cPray, sir, are you a cook?\u201d demanded I.\n\n\u201c_Monsieur_, _je le suis pour vous rendre service_, _mon nom c\u2019est\nGerard_, _et j\u2019ai l\u2019honneur d\u2019etre chef de cuisine chez monsieur le\nconsul Hollandois_.  _A present je prie permission de vous saluer_; _il\nfaut que j\u2019aille a la maison pour faire le diner de mon maitre_.\u201d\n\nAt four I went to dine with the British consul.  Two other English\ngentlemen were present, who had arrived at Tangier from Gibraltar about\nten days previously for a short excursion, and were now detained longer\nthan they wished by the Levant wind.  They had already visited the\nprincipal towns in Spain, and proposed spending the winter either at\nCadiz or Seville.  One of them, Mr. ---, struck me as being one of the\nmost remarkable men I had ever conversed with; he travelled not for\ndiversion nor instigated by curiosity, but merely with the hope of doing\nspiritual good, chiefly by conversation.  The consul soon asked me what I\nthought of the Moors and their country.  I told him that what I had\nhitherto seen of both highly pleased me.  He said that were I to live\namongst them ten years, as he had done, he believed I should entertain a\nvery different opinion; that no people in the world were more false and\ncruel; that their government was one of the vilest description, with\nwhich it was next to an impossibility for any foreign power to hold\namicable relations, as it invariably acted with bad faith, and set at\nnought the most solemn treaties.  That British property and interests\nwere every day subjected to ruin and spoliation, and British subjects\nexposed to unheard-of vexations, without the slightest hope of redress\nbeing afforded, save recourse was had to force, the only argument to\nwhich the Moors were accessible.  He added, that towards the end of the\npreceding year an atrocious murder had been perpetrated in Tangier: a\nGenoese family of three individuals had perished, all of whom were\nBritish subjects, and entitled to the protection of the British flag.\nThe murderers were known, and the principal one was even now in prison\nfor the fact, yet all attempts to bring him to condign punishment had\nhitherto proved abortive, as he was a Moor, and his victims Christians.\nFinally he cautioned me, not to take walks beyond the wall unaccompanied\nby a soldier, whom he offered to provide for me should I desire it, as\notherwise I incurred great risk of being ill-treated by the Moors of the\ninterior whom I might meet, or perhaps murdered, and he instanced the\ncase of a British officer who not long since had been murdered on the\nbeach for no other reason than being a Nazarene, and appearing in a\nNazarene dress.  He at length introduced the subject of the Gospel, and I\nwas pleased to learn that, during his residence in Tangier, he had\ndistributed a considerable quantity of Bibles amongst the natives in the\nArabic language, and that many of the learned men, or Talibs, had read\nthe holy volume with great interest, and that by this distribution,\nwhich, it is true, was effected with much caution, no angry or unpleasant\nfeeling had been excited.  He finally asked whether I had come with the\nintention of circulating the Scripture amongst the Moors.\n\nI replied that I had no opportunity of doing so, as I had not one single\ncopy either in the Arabic language or character.  That the few Testaments\nwhich were in my possession were in the Spanish language, and were\nintended for circulation amongst the Christians of Tangier, to whom they\nmight be serviceable, as they all understood the language.\n\nIt was night, and I was seated in the wustuddur of Joanna Correa, in\ncompany with Pascual Fava the Genoese.  The old man\u2019s favourite subject\nof discourse appeared to be religion, and he professed unbounded love for\nthe Saviour, and the deepest sense of gratitude for his miraculous\natonement for the sins of mankind.  I should have listened to him with\npleasure had he not smelt very strongly of liquor, and by certain\nincoherence of language and wildness of manner given indications of being\nin some degree the worse for it.  Suddenly two figures appeared beneath\nthe doorway; one was that of a bare-headed and bare-legged Moorish boy of\nabout ten years of age, dressed in a gelaba; he guided by the hand an old\nman, whom I at once recognised as one of the Algerines, the good Moslems\nof whom the old Mahasni had spoken in terms of praise in the morning\nwhilst we ascended the street of the Siarrin.  He was very short of\nstature and dirty in his dress; the lower part of his face was covered\nwith a stubbly white beard; before his eyes he wore a large pair of\nspectacles, from which he evidently received but little benefit, as he\nrequired the assistance of the guide at every step.  The two advanced a\nlittle way into the wustuddur and there stopped.  Pascual Fava no sooner\nbeheld them, than assuming a jovial air he started nimbly up, and leaning\non his stick, for he had a bent leg, limped to a cupboard, out of which\nhe took a bottle and poured out a glass of wine, singing in the broken\nkind of Spanish used by the Moors of the coast:\n\n    \u201cArgelino,\n    Moro fino,\n    No beber vino,\n    Ni comer tocino.\u201d\n\n    (Algerine,\n    Moor so keen,\n    No drink wine,\n    No taste swine.)\n\nHe then handed the wine to the old Moor, who drank it off, and then, led\nby the boy, made for the door without saying a word.\n\n\u201c_Hade mushe halal_,\u201d (that is not lawful,) said I to him with a loud\nvoice.\n\n\u201c_Cul shee halal_,\u201d (everything is lawful,) said the old Moor, turning\nhis sightless and spectacled eyes in the direction from which my voice\nreached him.  \u201cOf everything which God has given, it is lawful for the\nchildren of God to partake.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho is that old man?\u201d said I to Pascual Fava, after the blind and the\nleader of the blind had departed.  \u201cWho is he!\u201d said Pascual; \u201cwho is he!\nHe is a merchant now, and keeps a shop in the Siarrin, but there was a\ntime when no bloodier pirate sailed out of Algier.  That old blind wretch\nhas cut more throats than he has hairs in his beard.  Before the French\ntook the place he was the rais or captain of a frigate, and many was the\npoor Sardinian vessel which fell into his hands.  After that affair he\nfled to Tangier, and it is said that he brought with him a great part of\nthe booty which he had amassed in former times.  Many other Algerines\ncame hither also, or to Tetuan, but he is the strangest guest of them\nall.  He keeps occasionally very extraordinary company for a Moor, and is\nrather over intimate with the Jews.  Well, that\u2019s no business of mine;\nonly let him look to himself.  If the Moors should once suspect him, it\nwere all over with him.  Moors and Jews, Jews and Moors!  Oh my poor\nsins, my poor sins, that brought me to live amongst them!\u2014\n\n    \u201c\u2018Ave Maris stella,\n    Dei Mater alma,\n    Atque semper virgo,\n    Felix c\u0153li porta!\u2019\u201d\n\nHe was proceeding in this manner when I was startled by the sound of a\nmusket.\n\n\u201cThat is the retreat,\u201d said Pascual Fava.  \u201cIt is fired every night in\nthe soc at half-past eight, and it is the signal for suspending all\nbusiness, and shutting up.  I am now going to close the doors, and\nwhosoever knocks, I shall not admit them till I know their voice.  Since\nthe murder of the poor Genoese last year, we have all been particularly\ncautious.\u201d\n\nThus had passed Friday, the sacred day of the Moslems, and the first\nwhich I had spent in Tangier.  I observed that the Moors followed their\noccupations as if the day had nothing particular in it.  Between twelve\nand one, the hour of prayer in the mosque, the gates of the town were\nclosed, and no one permitted either to enter or go out.  There is a\ntradition, current amongst them, that on this day, and at this hour,\ntheir eternal enemies, the Nazarenes, will arrive to take possession of\ntheir country; on which account they hold themselves prepared against a\nsurprisal.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                                 THE END.\n\n                                * * * * *\n\n                   Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.\n                            Edinburgh & London\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes\n\n\n{8}  \u201cOm Frands Gonzales, og Rodrik Cid.\nEnd siunges i Sierra Murene!\u201d\n\n_Kr\u00f6nike Riim_.  By Severin Grundtvig.  Copenhagen, 1829.\n\n{90}  Doing business, doing business\u2014he has much business to do.\n\n{93a}  The Gypsy word for Antonio.\n\n{93b}  Devil.\n\n{97}  \u201cSay nothing to him, my lad, he is a hog of an alguazil.\u201d\n\n{104}  El Serrador, a Carlist partisan, who about this period was much\ntalked of in Spain.\n\n{127}  At the last attack on Warsaw, when the loss of the Russians\namounted to upwards of twenty thousand men, the soldiery mounted the\nbreach, repeating in measured chant, one of their popular songs: \u201cCome,\nlet us cut the cabbage,\u201d &c.\n\n{128}  Twelve ounces of bread, small pound, as given in the prison.\n\n{138}  Witch.  Ger. Hexe.\n\n{145}  A compound of the modern Greek \u03c0\u03ad\u03c4\u03b1\u03bb\u03bf\u03bd, and the Sanskrit _kara_,\nthe literal meaning being _Lord_ of the horse-shoe (i.e. _maker_); it is\none of the private cognominations of \u201cThe Smiths,\u201d an English Gypsy clan.\n\n{146}  Of these lines the following translation, in the style of the old\nEnglish ballad, will, perhaps, not be unacceptable:\u2014\n\n    \u201cWhat down the hill comes hurrying there?\u2014\n       With a hey, with a ho, a sword, and a gun!\n    Quesada\u2019s bones, which a hound doth bear.\u2014\n       Hurrah, brave brothers!\u2014the work is done.\u201d\n\n{163}  \u201cThe king arrived, the king arrived, and disembarked at\nBelem.\u201d\u2014_Miguelite song_.\n\n{170}  \u201cHow should I know?\u201d\n\n{171}  Qu. The Epistle to the Romans.\n\n{181}  This was possibly the period when Admiral Duckworth attempted to\nforce the passage of the Dardanelles.\n\n{196}  \u201cSee the crossing! see what devilish crossing!\u201d\n\n{245}  The ancient Lethe.\n\n{274}  _Inha_, when affixed to words, serves as a diminutive.  It is much\nin use amongst the Gallegans.\n\n{359}  Perhaps Waterloo.\n\n{384}  About thirty pounds.\n\n{403}  \u039a\u03b1\u03c4\u03b1 \u03c4\u03cc\u03bd \u03c4\u03cc\u03c0\u03bf\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03b1 \u03c4\u03c1\u03cc\u03c0\u03bf\u03c2, as Antonio said.\n\n{429}  Nothing at all.\n\n{459}  A Rabbinical book, very difficult to be understood, though written\navowedly for the purpose of elucidating many points connected with the\nreligious ceremonies of the Hebrews.","title":"The Bible in Spain: Or, the Journeys, Adventures, and Imprisonments of an Englishman, in an Attempt to Circulate the Scriptures in the Peninsula","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":221153}