The Pass of Mirabete—Wolves and Shepherds—Female Subtlety—Death by
Wolves—The Mystery solved—The Mountains—The Dark Hour—The Traveller of
the Night—Abarbenel—Hoarded Treasure—Force of Gold—The Archbishop—Arrival
at Madrid.
I proceeded down the pass of Mirabete, occasionally ruminating on the
matter which had brought me to Spain, and occasionally admiring one of
the finest prospects in the world. Before me outstretched lay immense
plains, bounded in the distance by huge mountains, whilst at the foot of
the hill which I was now descending rolled the Tagus, in a deep narrow
stream, between lofty banks; the whole was gilded by the rays of the
setting sun, for the day, though cold and wintry, was bright and clear.
In about an hour I reached the river at a place where stood the remains
of what had once been a magnificent bridge, which had, however, been
blown up in the Peninsular war and never since repaired.
I crossed the river in a ferry-boat; the passage was rather difficult,
the current very rapid and swollen, owing to the latter rains.
“Am I in New Castile?” I demanded of the ferryman, on reaching the
further bank. “The _raya_ is many leagues from hence,” replied the
ferryman; “you seem a stranger. Whence do you come?” “From England,” I
replied, and without waiting for an answer, I sprang on the _burra_, and
proceeded on my way. The _burra_ plied her feet most nimbly, and shortly
after nightfall, brought me to a village at about two leagues’ distance
from the river’s bank.
I sat down in the _venta_ where I put up; there was a huge fire,
consisting of the greater part of the trunk of an olive-tree. The
company was rather miscellaneous: a hunter with his _escopeta_; a brace
of shepherds with immense dogs, of that species for which Estremadura
{146} is celebrated; a broken soldier, just returned from the wars; and a
beggar, who, after demanding charity for the seven wounds of _Maria
Santísima_, took a seat amidst us, and made himself quite comfortable.
The hostess was an active, bustling woman, and busied herself in cooking
my supper, which consisted of the game which I had purchased at
Jaraicejo, and which, on my taking leave of the gypsy, he had counselled
me to take with me. In the mean time, I sat by the fire listening to the
conversation of the company.
“I would I were a wolf,” said one of the shepherds; “or, indeed, anything
rather than what I am. A pretty life is this of ours, out in the
_campo_, among the _carrascales_, suffering heat and cold for a _peseta_
a day. I would I were a wolf; he fares better, and is more respected
than the wretch of a shepherd.”
“But he frequently fares scurvily,” said I; “the shepherd and dogs fall
upon him, and then he pays for his temerity with the loss of his head.”
“That is not often the case, _señor_ traveller,” said the shepherd; “he
watches his opportunity, and seldom runs into harm’s way. And as to
attacking him, it is no very pleasant task; he has both teeth and claws,
and dog or man, who has once felt them, likes not to venture a second
time within his reach. These dogs of mine will seize a bear singly with
considerable alacrity, though he is a most powerful animal; but I have
seen them run howling away from a wolf, even though there were two or
three of us at hand to encourage them.”
“A dangerous person is the wolf,” said the other shepherd, “and cunning
as dangerous. Who knows more than he? He knows the vulnerable point of
every animal; see, for example, how he flies at the neck of a bullock,
tearing open the veins with his grim teeth and claws. But does he attack
a horse in this manner? I trow not.”
“Not he,” said the other shepherd, “he is too good a judge; but he
fastens on the haunches, and hamstrings him in a moment. Oh, the fear of
the horse when he comes near the dwelling of the wolf! My master was the
other day riding in the _despoblado_, above the pass, on his fine
Andalusian steed, which had cost him five hundred dollars. Suddenly the
horse stopped, and sweated and trembled like a woman in the act of
fainting. My master could not conceive the reason, but presently he
heard a squealing and growling in the bushes, whereupon he fired off his
gun and scared the wolves, who scampered away; but he tells me, that the
horse has not yet recovered from his fright.”
“Yet the mares know, occasionally, how to balk him,” replied his
companion. “There is great craft and malice in mares, as there is in all
females. See them feeding in the _campo_ with their young _cria_ about
them; presently the alarm is given that the wolf is drawing near; they
start wildly and run about for a moment, but it is only for a
moment—amain they gather together, forming themselves into a circle, in
the centre of which they place the foals. Onward comes the wolf, hoping
to make his dinner on horseflesh. He is mistaken, however; the mares
have balked him, and are as cunning as himself. Not a tail is to be
seen—not a hinder quarter—but there stand the whole troop, their fronts
towards him ready to receive him, and as he runs round them barking and
howling, they rise successively on their hind legs, ready to stamp him to
the earth, should he attempt to hurt their _cria_ or themselves.”
“Worse than the he-wolf,” said the soldier, “is the female; for, as the
_señor pastor_ has well observed, there is more malice in women than in
males. To see one of these she-demons with a troop of the males at her
heels is truly surprising: where she turns they turn, and what she does
that do they; for they appear bewitched, and have no power but to imitate
her actions. I was once travelling with a comrade over the hills of
Galicia, when we heard a howl. ‘Those are wolves,’ said my companion;
‘let us get out of the way.’ So we stepped from the path and ascended
the side of the hill a little way, to a terrace, where grew vines, after
the manner of Galicia. Presently appeared a large grey she-wolf,
_deshonesta_, snapping and growling at a troop of demons, who followed
close behind, their tails uplifted, and their eyes like firebrands. What
do you think the perverse brute did? Instead of keeping to the path, she
turned in the very direction in which we were; there was now no remedy,
so we stood still. I was the first upon the terrace, and by me she
passed so close that I felt her hair brush against my legs; she, however,
took no notice of me, but pushed on, neither looking to the right nor
left, and all the other wolves trotted by me without offering the
slightest injury, or even so much as looking at me. Would that I could
say as much for my poor companion, who stood farther on, and was, I
believe, less in the demon’s way than I was; she had nearly passed him,
when suddenly she turned half round and snapped at him. I shall never
forget what followed: in a moment a dozen wolves were upon him, tearing
him limb from limb, with howlings like nothing in this world. In a few
moments he was devoured; nothing remained but the skull and a few bones;
and then they passed on in the same manner as they came. Good reason had
I to be grateful that my lady wolf took less notice of me than my poor
comrade.”
Listening to this and similar conversation, I fell into a doze before the
fire, in which I continued for a considerable time, but was at length
roused by a voice exclaiming in a loud tone, “All are captured!” These
were the exact words which, when spoken by his daughter, confounded the
gypsy upon the moor. I looked around me. The company consisted of the
same individuals to whose conversation I had been listening before I sank
into slumber; but the beggar was now the spokesman, and he was haranguing
with considerable vehemence.
“I beg your pardon, _Caballero_” said I, “but I did not hear the
commencement of your discourse. Who are those who have been captured?”
“A band of accursed _Gitanos_, _Caballero_,” replied the beggar,
returning the title of courtesy which I had bestowed upon him. “During
more than a fortnight they have infested the roads on the frontier of
Castile, and many have been the gentlemen travellers like yourself whom
they have robbed and murdered. It would seem that the gypsy _canaille_
must needs take advantage of these troublous times, and form themselves
into a faction. It is said that the fellows of whom I am speaking
expected many more of their brethren to join them, which is likely
enough, for all gypsies are thieves: but praised be God, they have been
put down before they became too formidable. I saw them myself conveyed
to the prison at ---. Thanks be to God. _Todos estan presos_.” {150a}
“The mystery is now solved,” said I to myself, and proceeded to despatch
my supper, which was now ready.
The next day’s journey brought me to a considerable town, the name of
which I have forgotten. It is the first in New Castile, in this
direction. {150b} I passed the night as usual in the manger of the
stable, close beside the _caballeria_; for, as I travelled upon a donkey,
I deemed it incumbent upon me to be satisfied with a couch in keeping
with my manner of journeying, being averse, by any squeamish and
over-delicate airs, to generate a suspicion amongst the people with whom
I mingled that I was aught higher than what my equipage and outward
appearance might lead them to believe. Rising before daylight, I again
proceeded on my way, hoping ere night to be able to reach Talavera, which
I was informed was ten leagues distant. The way lay entirely over an
unbroken level, for the most part covered with olive-trees. On the left,
however, at the distance of a few leagues, rose the mighty mountains
which I have already mentioned. They run eastward in a seemingly
interminable range, parallel with the route which I was pursuing; their
tops and sides were covered with dazzling snow, and the blasts which came
sweeping from them across the wide and melancholy plains were of bitter
keenness.
“What mountains are those?” I inquired of a barber-surgeon who, mounted
like myself on a grey _burra_, joined me about noon, and proceeded in my
company for several leagues. “They have many names, _Caballero_,”
replied the barber; “according to the names of the neighbouring places,
so they are called. Yon portion of them is styled the Serrania of
Plasencia; and opposite to Madrid they are termed the Mountains of
Guadarrama, from a river of that name, which descends from them. They
run a vast way, _Caballero_, and separate the two kingdoms, for on the
other side is Old Castile. They are mighty mountains, and, though they
generate much cold, I take pleasure in looking at them, which is not to
be wondered at, seeing that I was born amongst them, though at present,
for my sins, I live in a village of the plain. _Caballero_, there is not
another such range in Spain; they have their secrets, too—their
mysteries. Strange tales are told of those hills, and of what they
contain in their deep recesses, for they are a broad chain, and you may
wander days and days amongst them without coming to any _termino_. Many
have lost themselves on those hills, and have never again been heard of.
Strange things are told of them: it is said that in certain places there
are deep pools and lakes, in which dwell monsters, huge serpents as long
as a pine-tree, and horses of the flood, which sometimes come out and
commit mighty damage. One thing is certain, that yonder, far away to the
west, in the heart of those hills, there is a wonderful valley, so narrow
that only at mid-day is the face of the sun to be descried from it. That
valley lay undiscovered and unknown for thousands of years; no person
dreamed of its existence. But at last, a long time ago, certain hunters
entered it by chance, and then what do you think they found, _Caballero_?
They found a small nation or tribe of unknown people, speaking an unknown
language, who, perhaps, had lived there since the creation of the world,
without intercourse with the rest of their fellow-creatures, and without
knowing that other beings besides themselves existed! _Caballero_, did
you never hear of the valley of the Batuecas? {152} Many books have been
written about that valley and those people. _Caballero_, I am proud of
yonder hills; and were I independent, and without wife or children, I
would purchase a _burra_ like that of your own—which I see is an
excellent one, and far superior to mine—and travel amongst them till I
knew all their mysteries, and had seen all the wondrous things which they
contain.”
Throughout the day I pressed the _burra_ forward, only stopping once in
order to feed the animal; but, notwithstanding that she played her part
very well, night came on, and I was still about two leagues from
Talavera. As the sun went down, the cold became intense; I drew the old
gypsy cloak, which I still wore, closer around me, but I found it quite
inadequate to protect me from the inclemency of the atmosphere. The
road, which lay over a plain, was not very distinctly traced, and became
in the dusk rather difficult to find, more especially as cross-roads
leading to different places were of frequent occurrence. I, however,
proceeded in the best manner I could, and when I became dubious as to the
course which I should take, I invariably allowed the animal on which I
was mounted to decide. At length the moon shone out faintly, when
suddenly by its beams I beheld a figure moving before me at a slight
distance. I quickened the pace of the _burra_, and was soon close at its
side. It went on, neither altering its pace nor looking round for a
moment. It was the figure of a man, the tallest and bulkiest that I had
hitherto seen in Spain, dressed in a manner strange and singular for the
country. On his head was a hat with a low crown and broad brim, very
much resembling that of an English waggoner; about his body was a long
loose tunic or slop, seemingly of coarse ticken, {153} open in front, so
as to allow the interior garments to be occasionally seen. These
appeared to consist of a jerkin and short velveteen pantaloons. I have
said that the brim of the hat was broad, but broad as it was, it was
insufficient to cover an immense bush of coal-black hair, which, thick
and curly, projected on either side. Over the left shoulder was flung a
kind of satchel, and in the right hand was held a long staff or pole.
There was something peculiarly strange about the figure; but what struck
me the most was the tranquillity with which it moved along, taking no
heed of me, though of course aware of my proximity, but looking straight
forward along the road, save when it occasionally raised a huge face and
large eyes towards the moon, which was now shining forth in the eastern
quarter.
“A cold night,” said I at last. “Is this the way to Talavera?”
“It is the way to Talavera, and the night is cold.”
“I am going to Talavera,” said I, “as I suppose you are yourself.”
“I am going thither, so are you, _bueno_.”
The tones of the voice which delivered these words were in their way
quite as strange and singular as the figure to which the voice belonged.
They were not exactly the tones of a Spanish voice, and yet there was
something in them that could hardly be foreign; the pronunciation also
was correct, and the language, though singular, faultless. But I was
most struck with the manner in which the last word, _bueno_, was spoken.
I had heard something like it before, but where or when I could by no
means remember. {154} A pause now ensued, the figure stalking on as
before with the most perfect indifference, and seemingly with no
disposition either to seek or avoid conversation.
“Are you not afraid,” said I at last, “to travel these roads in the dark?
It is said that there are robbers abroad.”
“Are you not rather afraid,” replied the figure, “to travel these roads
in the dark?—you who are ignorant of the country, who are a foreigner, an
Englishman?”
“How is it that you know me to be an Englishman?” demanded I, much
surprised.
“That is no difficult matter,” replied the figure; “the sound of your
voice was enough to tell me that.”
“You speak of voices,” said I; “suppose the tone of your own voice were
to tell me who you are?”
“That it will not do,” replied my companion; “you know nothing about
me—you can know nothing about me.
“Be not sure of that, my friend; I am acquainted with many things of
which you have little idea.”
“_Por exemplo_,” said the figure.
“For example,” said I, “you speak two languages.”
The figure moved on, seemed to consider a moment and then said slowly,
“_Bueno_.”
“You have two names,” I continued; “one for the house, and the other for
the street; both are good, but the one by which you are called at home is
the one which you like best.”
The man walked on about ten paces, in the same manner as he had
previously done; all of a sudden he turned, and taking the bridle of the
_burra_ gently in his hand, stopped her. I had now a full view of his
face and figure, and those huge features and Herculean form still
occasionally revisit me in my dreams. I see him standing in the
moonshine, staring me in the face with his deep calm eyes. At last he
said—
“Are you then _one of us_?”
* * * * *
It was late at night when we arrived at Talavera. We went to a large
gloomy house, which my companion informed me was the principle _posada_
of the town. We entered the kitchen, at the extremity of which a large
fire was blazing. “Pepita,” {156a} said my companion to a handsome girl
who advanced smiling towards us, “a _brasero_ and a private apartment.
This cavalier is a friend of mine, and we shall sup together.” We were
shown to an apartment, in which were two alcoves containing beds. After
supper, which consisted of the very best, by the order of my companion,
we sat over the _brasero_, and commenced talking.
_Myself_.—Of course you have conversed with Englishmen before, else you
could not have recognized me by the tone of my voice.
_Abarbenel_. {156b}—I was a young lad when the war of the Independence
broke out, and there came to the village in which our family lived an
English officer, in order to teach discipline to the new levies. He was
quartered in my father’s house, where he conceived a great affection for
me. On his departure, with the consent of my father, I attended him
through both the Castiles, partly as companion, partly as domestic. I
was with him nearly a year, when he was suddenly summoned to return to
his own country. He would fain have taken me with him, but to that my
father would by no means consent. It is now five and twenty years since
I last saw an Englishman; but you have seen how I recognized you, even in
the dark night.
_Myself_.—And what kind of life do you pursue, and by what means do you
obtain support?
_Abarbenel_.—I experience no difficulty. I live much in the same way as
I believe my forefathers lived: certainly as my father did, for his
course has been mine. At his death I took possession of the _herencia_,
for I was his only child. It was not requisite that I should follow any
business, for my wealth was great; yet, to avoid remark, I followed that
of my father, who was a _longanizero_. I have occasionally dealt in
wool, but lazily—lazily—as I had no stimulus for exertion. I was,
however, successful; in many instances strangely so; much more than many
others who toiled day and night, and whose whole soul was in the trade.
_Myself_.—Have you any children? Are you married?
_Abarbenel_.—I have no children, though I am married. I have a wife, and
an _amiga_, or I should rather say two wives, for I am wedded to both.
{157a} I however call one my _amiga_, for appearance sake, for I wish to
live in quiet, and am unwilling to offend the prejudices of the
surrounding people.
_Myself_.—You say you are wealthy. In what does your wealth consist?
_Abarbenel_.—In gold and silver, and stones of price; for I have
inherited all the hoards of my forefathers. The greater part is buried
underground; indeed, I have never examined the tenth part of it. I have
coins of silver and gold older than the times of Ferdinand the Accursed
and Jezebel; {157b} I have also large sums employed in usury. We keep
ourselves close, however, and pretend to be poor, miserably so; but on
certain occasions, at our festivals, when our gates are barred, and our
savage dogs are let loose in the court, we eat our food off services such
as the Queen of Spain cannot boast of, and wash our feet in ewers of
silver, fashioned and wrought before the Americas were discovered, though
our garments are at all times coarse, and our food for the most part of
the plainest description.
_Myself_.—Are there more of you than yourself and your two wives?
_Abarbenel_.—There are my two servants, who are likewise of us—the one is
a youth, and is about to leave, being betrothed to one at some distance;
the other is old: he is now upon the road, following me with a mule and
car.
_Myself_.—And whither are you bound at present?
_Abarbenel_.—To Toledo, where I ply my trade occasionally of
_longanizero_. I love to wander about, though I seldom stray far from
home. Since I left the Englishman my feet have never once stepped beyond
the bounds of New Castile. I love to visit Toledo, and to think of the
times which have long since departed. I should establish myself there,
were there not so many accursed ones, who look upon me with an evil eye.
_Myself_.—Are you known for what you are? Do the authorities molest you?
_Abarbenel_.—People of course suspect me to be what I am; but as I
conform outwardly in most respects to their ways, they do not interfere
with me. True it is that sometimes, when I enter the church to hear the
mass, they glare at me over the left shoulder, as much as to say—“What do
you here?” And sometimes they cross themselves as I pass by; but as they
go no further, I do not trouble myself on that account. With respect to
the authorities, they are not bad friends of mine. Many of the higher
class have borrowed money from me on usury, so that I have them to a
certain extent in my power; and as for the low _alguazils_ and
_corchetes_, they would do anything to oblige me, in consideration of a
few dollars which I occasionally give them; so that matters upon the
whole go on remarkably well. Of old, indeed, it was far otherwise; yet,
I know not how it was, though other families suffered much, ours always
enjoyed a tolerable share of tranquillity. The truth is, that our family
has always known how to guide itself wonderfully. I may say there is
much of the wisdom of the snake amongst us. We have always possessed
friends; and with respect to enemies, it is by no means safe to meddle
with us, for it is a rule of our house never to forgive an injury, and to
spare neither trouble nor expense in bringing ruin and destruction upon
the heads of our evil-doers.
_Myself_.—Do the priests interfere with you?
_Abarbenel_.—They let me alone, especially in our own neighbourhood.
Shortly after the death of my father one hot-headed individual
endeavoured to do me an evil turn; but I soon requited him, causing him
to be imprisoned on a charge of blasphemy, and in prison he remained a
long time, till he went mad and died.
_Myself_.—Have you a head in Spain, in whom is vested the chief
authority?
_Abarbenel_.—Not exactly. There are, however, certain holy families who
enjoy much consideration; my own is one of these—the chiefest, I may say.
My grandsire was a particularly holy man; and I have heard my father say,
that one night an archbishop came to his house secretly, merely to have
the satisfaction of kissing his head.
_Myself_.—How can that be? What reverence could an archbishop entertain
for one like yourself or your grandsire?
_Abarbenel_.—More than you imagine. He was one of us, at least his
father was, and he could never forget what he had learned with reverence
in his infancy. He said he had tried to forget it, but he could not;
that the _ruah_ was continually upon him, and that even from his
childhood he had borne its terrors with a troubled mind, till at last he
could bear himself no longer; so he went to my grandsire, with whom he
remained one whole night; he then returned to his diocese, where he
shortly afterwards died, in much renown for sanctity.
_Myself_.—What you say surprises me. Have you reason to suppose that
many of you are to be found amongst the priesthood?
_Abarbenel_.—Not to suppose, but to know it. There are many such as I
amongst the priesthood, and not amongst the inferior priesthood either;
some of the most learned and famed of them in Spain have been of us, or
of our blood at least, and many of them at this day think as I do. There
is one particular festival of the year at which four dignified
ecclesiastics are sure to visit me; and then, when all is made close and
secure, and the fitting ceremonies have been gone through, they sit down
upon the floor and curse.
_Myself_.—Are you numerous in the large towns?
_Abarbenel_.—By no means; our places of abode are seldom the large towns;
we prefer the villages, and rarely enter the large towns but on business.
Indeed, we are not a numerous people, and there are few provinces of
Spain which contain more than twenty families. None of us are poor, and
those among us who serve, do so more from choice than necessity, for by
serving each other we acquire different trades. Not unfrequently the
time of service is that of courtship also, and the servants eventually
marry the daughters of the house.
We continued in discourse the greater part of the night; the next morning
I prepared to depart. My companion, however, advised me to remain where
I was for that day. “And if you respect my counsel,” said he, “you will
not proceed farther in this manner. To-night the diligence will arrive
from Estremadura, on its way to Madrid. Deposit yourself therein; it is
the safest and most speedy mode of travelling. As for your animal, I
will myself purchase her. My servant is here, and has informed me that
she will be of service to us. Let us, therefore, pass the day together
in communion, like brothers, and then proceed on our separate journeys.”
We did pass the day together; and when the diligence arrived I deposited
myself within, and on the morning of the second day arrived at Madrid.