But I never saw an English
notary walk so fast: it could scarcely be called walking: it
seemed more like a succession of galvanic leaps and bounds. I
found it impossible to keep up with him: "Where are you conducting
me?" I at last demanded, quite breathless.
"To the house of the cleverest man in Spain," he replied, "to whom
I intend to introduce you; for you must not think that Pontevedra
has nothing to boast of but its splendid edifices and its beautiful
country; it produces more illustrious minds than any other town in
Spain. Did you ever hear of the grand Tamerlane?"
"Oh, yes," said I, "but he did not come from Pontevedra or its
neighbourhood: he came from the steppes of Tartary, near the river
Oxus."
"I know he did," replied the notary, "but what I mean to say is,
that when Enrique the Third wanted an ambassador to send to that
African, the only man he could find suited to the enterprise was a
knight of Pontevedra, Don - by name. Let the men of Vigo contradict
that fact if they can."
We entered a large portal and ascended a splendid staircase, at the
top of which the notary knocked at a small door: "Who is the
gentleman to whom you are about to introduce me?" demanded I.
"It is the advocate -," replied Garcia; "he is the cleverest man in
Spain, and understands all languages and sciences."
We were admitted by a respectable-looking female, to all appearance
a housekeeper, who, on being questioned, informed us that the
Advocate was at home, and forthwith conducted us to an immense
room, or rather library, the walls being covered with books, except
in two or three places, where hung some fine pictures of the
ancient Spanish school. There was a rich mellow light in the
apartment, streaming through a window of stained glass, which
looked to the west. Behind the table sat the Advocate, on whom I
looked with no little interest: his forehead was high and
wrinkled, and there was much gravity on his features, which were
quite Spanish. He was dressed in a long robe, and might be about
sixty; he sat reading behind a large table, and on our entrance
half raised himself and bowed slightly.
The notary public saluted him most profoundly, and, in an under
voice, hoped that he might be permitted to introduce a friend of
his, an English gentleman, who was travelling through Galicia.
"I am very glad to see him," said the Advocate, "but I hope he
speaks Castilian, else we can have but little communication; for,
although I can read both French and Latin, I cannot speak them."
"He speaks, sir, almost as good Spanish," said the notary, "as a
native of Pontevedra."
"The natives of Pontevedra," I replied, "appear to be better versed
in Gallegan than in Castilian, for the greater part of the
conversation which I hear in the streets is carried on in the
former dialect."
"The last gentleman which my friend Garcia introduced to me," said
the Advocate, "was a Portuguese, who spoke little or no Spanish.
It is said that the Gallegan and Portuguese are very similar, but
when we attempted to converse in the two languages, we found it
impossible. I understood little of what he said, whilst my
Gallegan was quite unintelligible to him. Can you understand our
country dialect?" he continued.
"Very little of it," I replied; "which I believe chiefly proceeds
from the peculiar accent and uncouth enunciation of the Gallegans,
for their language is certainly almost entirely composed of Spanish
and Portuguese words."
"So you are an Englishman," said the Advocate. "Your countrymen
have committed much damage in times past in these regions, if we
may trust our histories."
"Yes," said I, "they sank your galleons and burnt your finest men-
of-war in Vigo Bay, and, under old Cobham, levied a contribution of
forty thousand pounds sterling on this very town of Pontevedra."
"Any foreign power," interrupted the notary public, "has a clear
right to attack Vigo, but I cannot conceive what plea your
countrymen could urge for distressing Pontevedra, which is a
respectable town, and could never have offended them."
"Senor Cavalier," said the Advocate, "I will show you my library.
Here is a curious work, a collection of poems, written mostly in
Gallegan, by the curate of Fruime. He is our national poet, and we
are very proud of him."
We stopped upwards of an hour with the Advocate, whose
conversation, if it did not convince me that he was the cleverest
man in Spain, was, upon the whole, highly interesting, and who
certainly possessed an extensive store of general information,
though he was by no means the profound philologist which the notary
had represented him to be.
When I was about to depart from Pontevedra in the afternoon of the
next day, the Senor Garcia stood by the side of my horse, and
having embraced me, thrust a small pamphlet into my hand: "This
book," said he, "contains a description of Pontevedra. Wherever
you go, speak well of Pontevedra." I nodded. "Stay," said he, "my
dear friend, I have heard of your society, and will do my best to
further its views. I am quite disinterested, but if at any future
time you should have an opportunity of speaking in print of Senor
Garcia, the notary public of Pontevedra, - you understand me, - I
wish you would do so."
"I will," said I.
It was a pleasant afternoon's ride from Pontevedra to Vigo, the
distance being only four leagues. As we approached the latter
town, the country became exceedingly mountainous, though scarcely
anything could exceed the beauty of the surrounding scenery. The
sides of the hills were for the most part clothed with luxuriant
forests, even to the very summits, though occasionally a flinty and
naked peak would present itself, rising to the clouds.
