He was
not a man to be trifled with, and although they refused at
first, they presently submitted. He then overtook the third,
and at once accused him of the theft. The man swore he knew
nothing of the lost weapon, and brought his gun to the
charge. As he did so, Cayley caught sight of the pistol
under the fellow's sheepskin jacket, and with characteristic
promptitude seized it, while he presented a revolver at the
thief's head. All this he told me with great glee a minute
or two later.
When we got back to Argamasilla the Medico was already
awaiting us. He conducted us to the house of the Quijanas,
where an old woman-servant, lamp in hand, showed the way down
a flight of steps into the dungeon. It was a low vaulted
chamber, eight feet high, ten broad, and twenty-four long,
dimly lighted by a lancet window six feet from the ground.
She confidently informed us that Cervantes was in the habit
of writing at the farthest end, and that he was allowed a
lamp for the purpose. We accepted the information with
implicit faith; silently picturing on our mental retinas the
image of him whose genius had brightened the dark hours of
millions for over three hundred years. One could see the
spare form of the man of action pacing up and down his cell,
unconscious of prison walls, roaming in spirit through the
boundless realms of Fancy, his piercing eyes intent upon the
conjured visions of his brain. One noted his vast expanse of
brow, his short, crisp, curly hair, his high cheek-bones and
singularly high-bridged nose, his refined mouth, small
projecting chin and pointed beard. One noticed, too, as he
turned, the stump of the left wrist clasped by the remaining
hand. Who could stand in such a presence and fail to bow
with veneration before this insulted greatness! Potentates
pass like Ozymandias, but not the men who, through the ages,
help to save us from this tread-mill world, and from
ourselves.
We visited Cuenca, Segovia, and many an out-of-the-way spot.
If it be true, as Don Quixote declares, that 'No hay libro
tan malo que no tenga alguna cosa buena' ('there is no book
so worthless that has not some good in it'), still more true
is this of a country like Spain. And the pleasantest places
are just those which only by-roads lead to. In and near the
towns every other man, if not by profession still by
practice, is a beggar. From the seedy-looking rascal in the
street, of whom you incautiously ask the way, and who
piteously whines 'para zapatos' - for the wear and tear of
shoe leather, to the highest official, one and all hold out
their hands for the copper CUARTO or the eleemosynary
sinecure. As it was then, so is it now; the Government wants
support, and it is always to be had, at a price; deputies
always want 'places.' For every duty the functionary
performs, or ought to perform, he receives his bribe. The
Government is too poor to keep him honest, but his POUR-
BOIRES are not measured by his scruples. All is winked at,
if the Ministry secures a vote.
Away in the pretty rural districts, in the little villages
amid the woods and the mountains, with their score or so of
houses and their little chapel with its tinkling old bell and
its poverty-stricken curate, the hard-working, simple-minded
men are too proud and too honest to ask for more than a pinch
of tobacco for the CIGARILLO. The maidens are comely, and as
chaste as - can reasonably be expected.
Madrid is worth visiting - not for its bull-fights, which are
disgusting proofs of man's natural brutality, but for its
picture gallery. No one knows what Velasquez could do, or
has done, till he has seen Madrid; and Charles V. was
practically master of Europe when the collection was in his
hands. The Escurial's chief interests are in its
associations with Charles V. and Philip II. In the dark and
gloomy little bedroom of the latter is a small window opening
into the church, so that the King could attend the services
in bed if necessary.
It cannot be said of Philip that he was nothing if not
religious, for Nero even was not a more indefatigable
murderer, nor a more diabolical specimen of cruelty and
superstition. The very thought of the wretch tempts one to
revolt at human piety, at any rate where priestcraft and its
fabrications are at the bottom of it.
When at Madrid we met Mr. Arthur Birch. He had been with
Cayley at Eton, as captain of the school. While we were
together, he received and accepted the offer of an Eton
mastership. We were going by diligence to Toledo, and Birch
agreed to go with us. I mention the fact because the place
reminds me of a clever play upon its name by the Eton
scholar. Cayley bought a Toledo sword-blade, and asked Birch
for a motto to engrave upon it. In a minute or two he hit
off this: TIMETOLETUM, which reads Time Toletum=Honour
Toledo, or Timeto Letum=Fear death. Cayley's attempts,
though not so neat, were not bad. Here are a couple of
them:-
Though slight I am, no slight I stand,
Saying my master's sleight of hand.
or:-
Come to the point; unless you do,
The point will shortly come to you.
Birch got the Latin poem medal at Cambridge the same year
that Cayley got the English one.
Before we set forth again upon our gipsy tramp, I received a
letter from Mr. Ellice bidding me hasten home to contest the
Borough of Cricklade in the General Election of 1852.
