A Deep-Rooted Hostility Exists Between The Inhabitants
Of This Place And Those Of A Neighbouring Village, Called Vargas;
They Rarely Speak When They Meet, And Never Intermarry.
There is a
vague tradition that the people of the latter place are old
Christians, and it is highly probable that these neighbours were
originally of widely different blood; those of Villa Seca being of
particularly dark complexions, whilst the indwellers of Vargas are
light and fair.
Thus the old feud between Moor and Christian is
still kept up in the nineteenth century in Spain.
Drenched in perspiration, which fell from our brows like rain, we
arrived at the door of Juan Lopez, the husband of Maria Diaz.
Having heard of our intention to pay him a visit, he was expecting
us, and cordially welcomed us to his habitation, which, like a
genuine Moorish house, consisted only of one story. It was amply
large, however, with a court and stable. All the apartments were
deliciously cool. The floors were of brick or stone, and the
narrow and trellised windows, which were without glass, scarcely
permitted a ray of sun to penetrate into the interior.
A puchera had been prepared in expectation of our arrival; the heat
had not taken away my appetite, and it was not long before I did
full justice to this the standard dish of Spain. Whilst I ate,
Lopez played upon the guitar, singing occasionally snatches of
Andalusian songs. He was a short, merry-faced, active fellow, whom
I had frequently seen at Madrid, and was a good specimen of the
Spanish labrador or yeoman.
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