Badajoz Was Now In View, At The Distance Of Little More Than Half A
League.
We soon took a turn to the left, towards a bridge of many
arches across the Guadiana, which, though
So famed in song and
ballad, is a very unpicturesque stream, shallow and sluggish,
though tolerably wide; its banks were white with linen which the
washer-women had spread out to dry in the sun, which was shining
brightly; I heard their singing at a great distance, and the theme
seemed to be the praises of the river where they were toiling, for
as I approached, I could distinguish Guadiana, Guadiana, which
reverberated far and wide, pronounced by the clear and strong
voices of many a dark-checked maid and matron. I thought there was
some analogy between their employment and my own: I was about to
tan my northern complexion by exposing myself to the hot sun of
Spain, in the humble hope of being able to cleanse some of the foul
stains of Popery from the minds of its children, with whom I had
little acquaintance, whilst they were bronzing themselves on the
banks of the river in order to make white the garments of
strangers: the words of an eastern poet returned forcibly to my
mind.
"I'll weary myself each night and each day,
To aid my unfortunate brothers;
As the laundress tans her own face in the ray,
To cleanse the garments of others."
Having crossed the bridge, we arrived at the northern gate, when
out rushed from a species of sentry box a fellow wearing on his
head a high-peaked Andalusian hat, with his figure wrapped up in
one of those immense cloaks so well known to those who have
travelled in Spain, and which none but a Spaniard can wear in a
becoming manner:
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