I
I had always suspected the geographers of not knowing what they were
talking about when they placed the battle-field of Munda in the country
of the Bastuli-Pœni, near the modern Monda, some two leagues north of
Marbella. According to my own conjectures concerning the text of the
anonymous author of the _Bellum Hispaniense_, and in view of certain
information collected in the Duke of Ossuna’s excellent library, I
believed that we should seek in the vicinity of Montilla the memorable
spot where for the last time Cæsar played double or quits against
the champions of the republic. Happening to be in Andalusia in the
early autumn of 1830, I made quite a long excursion for the purpose of
setting at rest such doubts as I still entertained. A memoir which I
propose to publish ere long will, I trust, leave no further uncertainty
in the minds of all honest archæologists. Pending the time when my
deliverance shall solve at last the geographical problem which is now
holding all the learning of Europe in suspense, I propose to tell you a
little story; it has no bearing on the question of the actual location
of Munda.
I had hired a guide and two horses at Cordova, and had taken the
field with no other impedimenta than Cæsar’s _Commentaries_ and a
shirt or two. On a certain day, as I wandered over the more elevated
portion of the plain of Cachena, worn out with fatigue, dying with
thirst, and scorched by a sun of molten lead, I was wishing with all
my heart that Cæsar and Pompey’s sons were in the devil’s grip, when
I spied, at a considerable distance from the path I was following,
a tiny greensward, studded with reeds and rushes, which indicated
the proximity of a spring. In fact, as I drew nearer, I found that
what had seemed to be a greensward was a marshy tract through which a
stream meandered, issuing apparently from a narrow ravine between two
high buttresses of the Sierra de Cabra. I concluded that by ascending
the stream I should find cooler water, fewer leeches and frogs, and
perhaps a bit of shade among the cliffs. As we rode into the gorge my
horse whinnied, and another horse, which I could not see, instantly
answered. I had ridden barely a hundred yards when the gorge, widening
abruptly, disclosed a sort of natural amphitheatre, entirely shaded by
the high cliffs which surrounded it. It was impossible to find a spot
which promised the traveller a more attractive sojourn. At the foot
of perpendicular cliffs, the spring came bubbling forth and fell into
a tiny basin carpeted with sand as white as snow. Five or six fine
live-oaks, always sheltered from the wind and watered by the spring,
grew upon its brink and covered it with their dense shade; and all
about the basin, a fine, sheeny grass promised a softer bed than one
could find at any inn within a radius of ten leagues.
The honour of discovering so attractive a spot did not belong to me.
A man was already reposing there, and was asleep in all probability
when I rode in. Roused by the neighing of the horses, he had risen,
and had walked towards his horse, which had taken advantage of his
master’s slumber to make a hearty meal on the grass in the immediate
neighbourhood. He was a young fellow, of medium height, but of robust
aspect, and with a proud and distrustful expression. His complexion,
which might once have been fine, had become darker than his hair
through the action of the sun. He held his horse’s halter in one hand
and in the other a blunderbuss with a copper barrel. I will admit
that at first blush the blunderbuss and the forbidding air of its
bearer took me a little by surprise; but I had ceased to believe in
robbers, because I had heard so much said about them and had never
met one. Moreover, I had seen so many honest farmers going to market
armed to the teeth that the sight of a firearm did not justify me in
suspecting the stranger’s moral character.--“And then, too,” I said to
myself, “what would he do with my shirts and my Elzevir Cæsar?” So I
saluted the man with the blunderbuss with a familiar nod, and asked him
smilingly if I had disturbed his sleep.
He eyed me from head to foot without replying; then, as if satisfied
by his examination, he scrutinised no less closely my guide, who rode
up at that moment. I saw that the latter turned pale and stopped in
evident alarm. “An unfortunate meeting!” I said to myself. But prudence
instantly counselled me to betray no uneasiness. I dismounted, told the
guide to remove the horses’ bridles, and, kneeling by the spring, I
plunged my face and hands in the water; then I took a long draught and
lay flat on my stomach, like the wicked soldiers of Gideon.
But I kept my eyes on my guide and the stranger. The former drew near,
sorely against his will; the other seemed to have no evil designs upon
us, for he had set his horse at liberty once more, and his blunderbuss,
which he had held at first in a horizontal position, was now pointed
towards the ground.
As it seemed to me inexpedient to take umbrage at the small amount of
respect shown to my person, I stretched myself out on the grass, and
asked the man with the blunderbuss, in a careless tone, if he happened
to have a flint and steel about him. At the same time I produced my
cigar-case. The stranger, still without a word, felt in his pocket,
took out his flint and steel and courteously struck a light for me.
Evidently he was becoming tamer, for he sat down opposite me, but did
not lay aside his weapon. When my cigar was lighted, I selected the
best of those that remained and asked him if he smoked.
“Yes, señor,” he replied.
Those were the first words that he had uttered, and I noticed that
he did not pronounce the s after the Andalusian fashion,[1] whence I
concluded that he was a traveller like myself, minus the archæologist.
“You will find this rather good,” I said, offering him a genuine Havana
regalia.
He bent his head slightly, lighted his cigar by mine, thanked me with
another nod, then began to smoke with every appearance of very great
enjoyment.
“Ah!” he exclaimed, as he discharged the first puff slowly through his
mouth and his nostrils, “how long it is since I have had a smoke!”
In Spain, a cigar offered and accepted establishes hospitable
relations, just as the sharing of bread and salt does in the East.
My man became more talkative than I had hoped. But, although he
claimed to live in the _partido_ of Montilla, he seemed to be but
ill-acquainted with the country. He did not know the name of the
lovely valley where we were; he could not mention any village in the
neighbourhood; and, lastly, when I asked him whether he had seen any
ruined walls thereabouts, or any tiles with raised edges, or any carved
stones, he admitted that he had never paid any attention to such
things. By way of compensation he exhibited much expert knowledge of
horses. He criticised mine, which was not very difficult; then he gave
me the genealogy of his, which came from the famous stud of Cordova;
a noble animal in very truth, and so proof against fatigue, according
to his master, that he had once travelled thirty leagues in a day, at
a gallop or a fast trot. In the middle of his harangue the stranger
paused abruptly, as if he were surprised and angry with himself for
having said too much.
“You see, I was in a hurry to get to Cordova,” he added, with some
embarrassment. “I had to present a petition to the judges in the matter
of a lawsuit.”
As he spoke, he glanced at my guide, Antonio, who lowered his eyes.
The cool shade and the spring were so delightful to me that I
remembered some slices of excellent ham which my friends at Montilla
had put in my guide’s wallet. I bade him produce them, and I invited
the stranger to join me in my impromptu collation. If he had not smoked
for a long while, it seemed probable to me that he had not eaten for
at least forty-eight hours. He devoured the food like a starved wolf.
It occurred to me that our meeting was a providential affair for the
poor fellow. My guide meanwhile ate little, drank still less, and did
not talk at all, although from the very beginning of our journey he had
revealed himself to me in the guise of an unparalleled chatterbox. Our
guest’s presence seemed to embarrass him, and a certain distrust kept
them at arm’s length from each other, but I was unable to divine its
cause.
The last crumbs of the bread and ham had vanished; each of us had
smoked a second cigar; I ordered the guide to put the bridles on our
horses, and I was about to take leave of my new friend, when he asked
me where I intended to pass the night.
I replied, before I had noticed a signal from my guide, that I was
going on to the Venta del Cuervo.
“A wretched place for a man like you, señor. I am going there, and if
you will allow me to accompany you, we will ride together.”
“With great pleasure,” I replied, mounting my horse.
My guide, who was holding my stirrup, made another signal with his
eyes. I answered it with a shrug of my shoulders, as if to assure him
that I was perfectly unconcerned, and we set forth.
Antonio’s mysterious signs, his evident uneasiness, a few words that
had escaped from the stranger, and, above all, his gallop of thirty
leagues, and the far from plausible explanation of it which he had
offered, had already formed my opinion concerning our travelling
companion. I had no doubt that I had fallen in with a smuggler,
perhaps a highwayman; but what did it matter to me? I was sufficiently
acquainted with the Spanish character to be very sure that I had
nothing to fear from a man who had broken bread and smoked with me. His
very presence was a certain protection against any unpleasant meetings.
Furthermore, I was very glad to know what manner of man a brigand
is. One does not see them every day, and there is a certain charm in
finding oneself in the company of a dangerous individual, especially
when one finds him to be gentle and tame.
I hoped to lead the stranger by degrees to the point of making me
his confidant, and despite my guide’s meaning winks, I turned the
conversation to the subject of highway robbers. Be it understood that I
spoke of them with great respect. There was in Andalusia at that time
a celebrated brigand named José Maria, whose exploits were on every
tongue.
“Suppose I were riding beside José Maria!” I said to myself.
I told such stories as I knew concerning that hero--all to his credit,
by the way,--and I expressed in warm terms my admiration for his
gallantry and his generosity.
“José Maria is a villain pure and simple,” observed the stranger,
coldly.
“Is he doing himself justice?” I thought; “or is this merely an excess
of modesty on his part?” For, by dint of observing my companion
closely, I had succeeded in applying to him the description of José
Maria which I had seen placarded on the gates of many a town in
Andalusia. “Yes, it is certainly he: fair hair, blue eyes, large mouth,
fine teeth, small hands; a shirt of fine linen, velvet jacket with
silver buttons, white leather gaiters, a bay horse. There is no doubt
of it! But I will respect his incognito.”
We arrived at the _venta_. It was the sort of place that he had
described, that is to say, one of the vilest taverns that I had seen as
yet. A large room served as kitchen, dining-room, and bedroom. The fire
was kindled on a flat stone in the middle of the room, and the smoke
emerged through a hole in the roof, or rather hung about it, forming a
dense cloud a few feet from the floor. Stretched on the ground along
the walls could be seen some five or six worn mule-blankets; they were
the beds of the guests. Some twenty yards from the house, or rather
from the single room which I have described, was a sort of shed, which
did duty as a stable. In this attractive abode there were no other
human beings, for the moment at least, than an old woman and a little
girl of eight or ten years, both as black as soot and clad in shocking
rags.
“Behold,” I said to myself, “all that remains of the population of the
ancient Munda Bœtica! O Cæsar! O Sextus Pompey! how surprised you would
be, should you return to earth!”
At sight of my companion, the old woman uttered an exclamation of
surprise.
“Ah! Señor Don José!” she cried.
Don José frowned and raised his hand with an authoritative gesture
which instantly silenced the old woman. I turned to my guide, and with
an imperceptible sign gave him to understand that there was nothing
that he could tell me concerning the man with whom I was about to pass
the night.
The supper was better than I anticipated. On a small table about a
foot high we were served with an aged rooster, fricasseed with rice
and an abundance of peppers; then with peppers in oil; and lastly with
_gaspacho_, a sort of pepper salad. Three dishes thus highly seasoned
compelled us to have frequent recourse to a skin of Montilla wine,
which was delicious. After we had eaten, happening to spy a mandolin
hanging on the wall,--there are mandolins everywhere in Spain,--I asked
the little girl who waited on us if she knew how to play it.
“No,” she replied, “but Don José plays it so well!”
“Be good enough,” I said to him, “to sing me something; I am
passionately fond of your national music.”
“I can refuse no request of such a gallant gentleman, who gives me such
excellent cigars,” said Don José, good-naturedly.
And, having asked for the mandolin, he sang to his own accompaniment.
His voice was rough, but very agreeable, the tune melancholy and weird;
as for the words, I did not understand a syllable.
“If I am not mistaken,” I said, “that is not a Spanish air. It
resembles the _zorzicos_ which I have heard in the Provinces,[2] and
the words must be Basque.”
“Yes,” replied Don José, with a gloomy air.
He placed the mandolin on the floor, and sat with folded arms, gazing
at the dying fire with a strange expression of melancholy. His face at
once noble and fierce, lighted by a lamp that stood on the low table,
reminded me of Milton’s Satan. Perhaps, like him, my companion was
thinking of the sojourn that he had left, of the banishment that he
had incurred by a sin. I tried to revive the conversation, but he did
not answer, absorbed as he was in his sad thoughts. The old woman had
already retired in one corner of the room, behind an old torn blanket
suspended by a cord. The little girl had followed her to that retreat,
reserved for the fair sex. Thereupon my guide rose and invited me to
accompany him to the stable; but at that suggestion Don José, as if
suddenly awakened, asked him roughly where he was going.
“To the stable,” was the guide’s reply.
“What for? The horses have their feed. Sleep here; the señor will not
object.”
“I am afraid the señor’s horse is sick; I would like the señor to see
him; perhaps he will know what to do for him.”
It was evident that Antonio wished to speak to me in private; but I had
no desire to arouse Don José’s suspicions, and, in view of the footing
on which we then stood, it seemed to me that the wisest course was to
show the most entire confidence. So I told Antonio that I understood
nothing about horses, and that I wished to sleep. Don José went with
him to the stable, whence he soon returned alone. He told me that
nothing was the matter with the horse, but that my guide considered him
such a valuable beast that he was rubbing him with his jacket to make
him sweat, and that he proposed to pass the night in that delectable
occupation. Meanwhile I had stretched myself out on the mule-blankets,
carefully wrapped in my cloak, in order not to come in contact with
them. After apologising for the liberty he took in taking his place
beside me, Don José lay down before the door, not without renewing
the priming of his blunderbuss, which he took care to place under the
wallet which served him for a pillow. Five minutes after we had bade
each other good-night we were both sound asleep.
I had believed that I was tired enough to be able to sleep even on such
a couch; but after about an hour, a very unpleasant itching roused me
from my first nap. As soon as I realised the nature of it, I rose,
convinced that it would be better to pass the night in the open air
than beneath that inhospitable roof. I walked to the door on tiptoe,
stepped over Don José, who was sleeping the sleep of the just, and
exerted such care that I left the house without waking him. Near the
door was a broad wooden bench; I lay down upon it, and bestowed myself
as comfortably as possible to finish the night. I was just closing my
eyes for the second time, when it seemed to me that I saw the shadows
of a man and a horse pass me, both moving without the slightest sound.
I sat up, and fancied that I recognised Antonio. Surprised to find him
outside of the stable at that time of night, I rose and walked toward
him. He had halted, having seen me first.
“Where is he?” he asked in a whisper.
“In the _venta_; he is asleep; he has no fear of fleas. Why are you
taking that horse away?”
I noticed then that to avoid making any noise on leaving the shed,
Antonio had carefully wrapped the animal’s feet in the remnants of an
old blanket.
“Speak lower, in God’s name!” said Antonio. “Don’t you know who that
man is? He’s José Navarro, the most celebrated bandit in Andalusia. I
have been making signs to you all day, but you wouldn’t understand.”
“Bandit or not, what do I care?” said I; “he has not robbed us, and
I’ll wager that he has no inclination to do so.”
“Very good! but there’s a reward of two hundred ducats for whoever
causes his capture. I know that there’s a detachment of lancers
stationed a league and a half from here, and before daybreak I will
bring up some stout fellows to take him. I would have taken his horse,
but the beast is so vicious that no one but Navarro can go near him.”
“The devil take you!” said I. “What harm has the poor fellow done to
you that you should denounce him? Besides, are you quite sure that he
is the brigand you say he is?”
“Perfectly sure; he followed me to the stable just now and said to me:
‘You act as if you knew me; if you tell that honest gentleman who I
am, I’ll blow your brains out!’--Stay, señor, stay with him; you have
nothing to fear. So long as he knows you are here he won’t suspect
anything.”
As we talked we had walked so far from the _venta_ that the noise of
the horse’s shoes could not be heard there. Antonio, in a twinkling,
removed the rags in which he had wrapped them, and prepared to mount. I
tried to detain him by entreaties and threats.
“I am a poor devil, señor,” he said; “two hundred ducats aren’t to be
thrown away, especially when it’s a question of ridding the province
of such vermin. But beware! if Navarro wakes, he’ll jump for his
blunderbuss, and then look out for yourself! I have gone too far to go
back; take care of yourself as best you can.”
The rascal was already in the saddle; he dug both spurs into the horse,
and I soon lost sight of him in the darkness.
I was very angry with my guide, and decidedly uneasy. After a moment’s
reflection, I decided what to do, and returned to the _venta_. Don José
was still asleep, repairing doubtless the effects of the fatigue and
vigils of several days of peril. I was obliged to shake him violently
in order to rouse him. I shall never forget his fierce glance and
the movement that he made to grasp his blunderbuss, which, as a
precautionary measure, I had placed at some distance from his couch.
“Señor,” I said, “I ask your pardon for waking you; but I have a
foolish question to ask you: would you be greatly pleased to see half a
dozen lancers ride up to this door?”
He sprang to his feet and demanded in a terrible voice:
“Who told you?”
“It matters little whence the warning comes, provided that it be well
founded.”
“Your guide has betrayed me, but he shall pay me for it! Where is he?”
“I don’t know; in the stable, I think.--But some one told me----”
“Who told you? It couldn’t have been the old woman.”
“Some one whom I do not know.--But without more words, have you any
reason for not awaiting the soldiers, yes or no? If you have, waste no
time; if not, good-night, and I ask your pardon for disturbing your
sleep.”
“Ah! your guide! your guide! I suspected him from the first; but--his
account is made up! Farewell, señor! God will repay you for the
service you have rendered me. I am not altogether so bad as you think;
no, there is still something in me which deserves a gallant man’s
compassion.--Farewell, señor! I have but one regret, and that is that I
cannot pay my debt to you.”
“In payment of the service I have rendered you, promise, Don José, to
suspect no one, and not to think of revenge. Here, take these cigars,
and a pleasant journey to you!”
And I offered him my hand.
He pressed it without replying, took his blunderbuss and his wallet,
and after exchanging a few words with the old woman, in an argot which
I could not understand, he ran to the shed. A few moments later I heard
him galloping across country.
I lay down again on my bench, but I slept no more. I wondered whether
I had done right to save a highwayman, perhaps a murderer, from the
gibbet, simply because I had eaten ham and rice _à la Valenciennes_
with him. Had I not betrayed my guide, who was upholding the cause of
the law? Had I not exposed him to the vengeance of a miscreant? But
the duties of hospitality!--“The prejudice of a savage!” I said to
myself; “I shall be responsible for all the crimes that bandit may
commit.”--But after all, is it really a prejudice, that instinct of
the conscience which is impervious to all argument? Perhaps, in the
delicate situation in which I found myself, I could not have taken
either course without remorse. I was still in a maze of uncertainty
concerning the moral aspect of my action, when I saw half a dozen
horsemen approaching, with Antonio, who remained prudently with the
rear-guard. I went to meet them and informed them that the brigand had
taken flight more than two hours before. The old woman, when questioned
by the officer in command, admitted that she knew Navarro, but said
that, living alone as she did, she should never have dared to risk her
life by denouncing him. She added that it was his custom, whenever he
visited her house, to leave in the middle of the night. For my part, I
was obliged to go to a place a few leagues away, to show my passport
and sign a declaration before an alcalde, after which I was allowed
to resume my archæological investigations. Antonio bore me a grudge,
suspecting that it was I who had prevented him from earning the two
hundred ducats. However, we parted on friendly terms at Cordova, where
I gave him a gratuity as large as the state of my finances would permit.