At Last We Dismounted And Entered
The House, Demanding Of A Sullen-Looking Woman Where We Were To
Place The Horses.
She said there was a stable within the house,
but we could not put the animals there as it contained malos machos
(savage mules) belonging to two travellers who would certainly
fight with our horses, and then there would be a funcion, which
would tear the house down.
She then pointed to an outhouse across
the way, saying that we could stable them there. We entered this
place, which we found full of filth and swine, with a door without
a lock. I thought of the fate of the cura's mule, and was
unwilling to trust the horses in such a place, abandoning them to
the mercy of any robber in the neighbourhood. I therefore entered
the house, and said resolutely, that I was determined to place them
in the stable. Two men were squatted on the ground, with an
immense bowl of stewed hare before them, on which they were
supping; these were the travelling merchants, the masters of the
mutes. I passed on to the stable, one of the men saying softly,
"Yes, yes, go in and see what will befall." I had no sooner
entered the stable than I heard a horrid discordant cry, something
between a bray and a yell, and the largest of the machos, tearing
his head from the manger to which he was fastened, his eyes
shooting flames, and breathing a whirlwind from his nostrils, flung
himself on my stallion. The horse, as savage as himself, reared on
his hind legs, and after the fashion of an English pugilist, repaid
the other with a pat on the forehead, which nearly felled him. A
combat instantly ensued, and I thought that the words of the sullen
woman would be verified by the house being torn to pieces. It
ended by my seizing the mute by the halter, at the risk of my
limbs, and hanging upon him with all my weight, whilst Antonio,
with much difficulty, removed the horse. The man who had been
standing at the entrance now came forward, saying, "This would not
have happened if you had taken good advice." Upon my stating to
him the unreasonableness of expecting that I would risk horses in a
place where they would probably be stolen before the morning, he
replied, "True, true, you have perhaps done right." He then
refastened his macho, adding for additional security a piece of
whipcord, which he said rendered escape impossible.
After supper I roamed about the village. I addressed two or three
labourers whom I found standing at their doors; they appeared,
however, exceedingly reserved, and with a gruff "buenas noches"
turned into their houses without inviting me to enter. I at last
found my way to the church porch, where I continued some time in
meditation. At last I bethought myself of retiring to rest; before
departing, however, I took out and affixed to the porch of the
church an advertisement to the effect that the New Testament was to
be purchased at Salamanca. On returning to the house, I found the
two travelling merchants enjoying profound slumber on various
mantas or mule-cloths stretched on the floor. "You are a French
merchant, I suppose, Caballero," said a man, who it seemed was the
master of the house, and whom I had not before seen. "You are a
French merchant, I suppose, and are on the way to the fair of
Medina." "I am neither Frenchman nor merchant," I replied, "and
though I purpose passing through Medina, it is not with the view of
attending the fair." "Then you are one of the Irish Christians
from Salamanca, Caballero," said the man; "I hear you come from
that town." "Why do you call them Irish Christians?" I replied.
"Are there pagans in their country?" "We call them Christians,"
said the man, "to distinguish them from the Irish English, who are
worse than pagans, who are Jews and heretics." I made no answer,
but passed on to the room which had been prepared for me, and from
which, the door being ajar, I heard the following conversation
passing between the innkeeper and his wife:-
Innkeeper. - Muger, it appears to me that we have evil guests in the
house.
Wife. - You mean the last comers, the Caballero and his servant.
Yes, I never saw worse countenances in my life.
Innkeeper. - I do not like the servant, and still less the master.
He has neither formality nor politeness: he tells me that he is
not French, and when I spoke to him of the Irish Christians, he did
not seem to belong to them. I more than suspect that he is a
heretic or a Jew at least.
Wife. - Perhaps they are both. Maria Santissima! what shall we do
to purify the house when they are gone?
Innkeeper. - O, as for that matter, we must of course charge it in
the cuenta.
I slept soundly, and rather late in the morning arose and
breakfasted, and paid the bill, in which, by its extravagance, I
found the purification had not been forgotten. The travelling
merchants had departed at daybreak. We now led forth the horses,
and mounted; there were several people at the door staring at us.
"What is the meaning of this?" said I to Antonio.
"It is whispered that we are no Christians," said Antonio; "they
have come to cross themselves at our departure."
In effect, the moment that we rode forward a dozen hands at least
were busied in this evil-averting ceremony. Antonio instantly
turned and crossed himself in the Greek fashion, - much more complex
and difficult than the Catholic.
"Mirad que Santiguo! que Santiguo de los demonios!" {15} exclaimed
many voices, whilst for fear of consequences we hastened away.
The day was exceedingly hot, and we wended our way slowly along the
plains of Old Castile. With all that pertains to Spain, vastness
and sublimity are associated:
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