Numerous cars were
creaking along it, and both horsemen and pedestrians were
continually passing us. The villages were frequent. Vines,
supported on parras, were growing, if possible, in still greater
abundance than in the neighbourhood of Pontevedra. Life and
activity seemed to pervade everything. The hum of insects, the
cheerful bark of dogs, the rude songs of Galicia, were blended
together in pleasant symphony. So delicious was my ride, that I
almost regretted when we entered the gate of Vigo.
The town occupies the lower part of a lofty hill, which, as it
ascends, becomes extremely steep and precipitous, and the top of
which is crowned with a strong fort or castle. It is a small
compact place, surrounded with low walls, the streets are narrow,
steep, and winding, and in the middle of the town is a small
square.
There is rather an extensive faubourg extending along the shore of
the bay. We found an excellent posada, kept by a man and woman
from the Basque provinces, who were both civil and intelligent.
The town seemed to be crowded, and resounded with noise and
merriment. The people were making a wretched attempt at an
illumination, in consequence of some victory lately gained, or
pretended to have been gained, over the forces of the Pretender.
Military uniforms were glancing about in every direction. To
increase the bustle, a troop of Portuguese players had lately
arrived from Oporto, and their first representation was to take
place this evening. "Is the play to be performed in Spanish?" I
demanded. "No," was the reply; "and on that account every person
is so eager to go; which would not be the case if it were in a
language which they could understand."
On the morning of the next day I was seated at breakfast in a large
apartment which looked out upon the Plaza Mayor, or great square of
the good town of Vigo. The sun was shining very brilliantly, and
all around looked lively and gay. Presently a stranger entered,
and bowing profoundly, stationed himself at the window, where he
remained a considerable time in silence. He was a man of very
remarkable appearance, of about thirty-five. His features were of
perfect symmetry, and I may almost say, of perfect beauty. His
hair was the darkest I had ever seen, glossy and shining; his eyes
large, black, and melancholy; but that which most struck me was his
complexion. It might be called olive, it is true, but it was a
livid olive. He was dressed in the very first style of French
fashion. Around his neck was a massive gold chain, while upon his
fingers were large rings, in one of which was set a magnificent
ruby. Who can that man be? thought I; - Spaniard or Portuguese,
perhaps a Creole. I asked him an indifferent question in Spanish,
to which he forthwith replied in that language, but his accent
convinced me that he was neither Spaniard nor Portuguese.
"I presume I am speaking to an Englishman, sir?" said he, in as
good English as it was possible for one not an Englishman to speak.
Myself. - You know me to be an Englishman; but I should find some
difficulty in guessing to what country you belong.
Stranger. - May I take a seat?
Myself. - A singular question. Have you not as much right to sit in
the public apartment of an inn as myself?
Stranger. - I am not certain of that. The people here are not in
general very gratified at seeing me seated by their side.
Myself. - Perhaps owing to your political opinions, or to some crime
which it may have been your misfortune to commit?
Stranger. - I have no political opinions, and I am not aware that I
ever committed any particular crime, - I am hated for my country and
my religion.
Myself. - Perhaps I am speaking to a Protestant, like myself?
Stranger. - I am no Protestant. If I were, they would be cautious
here of showing their dislike, for I should then have a government
and a consul to protect me. I am a Jew - a Barbary Jew, a subject
of Abderrahman.
Myself. - If that be the case, you can scarcely complain of being
looked upon with dislike in this country, since in Barbary the Jews
are slaves.
Stranger. - In most parts, I grant you, but not where I was born,
which was far up the country, near the deserts. There the Jews are
free, and are feared, and are as valiant men as the Moslems
themselves; as able to tame the steed, or to fire the gun. The
Jews of our tribe are not slaves, and I like not to be treated as a
slave either by Christian or Moor.
Myself. - Your history must be a curious one, I would fain hear it.
Stranger. - My history I shall tell to no one. I have travelled
much, I have been in commerce and have thriven. I am at present
established in Portugal, but I love not the people of Catholic
countries, and least of all these of Spain. I have lately
experienced the most shameful injustice in the Aduana of this town,
and when I complained, they laughed at me and called me Jew.
Wherever he turns, the Jew is reviled, save in your country, and on
that account my blood always warms when I see an Englishman. You
are a stranger here. Can I do aught for you? You may command me.
Myself. - I thank you heartily, but I am in need of no assistance.
Stranger. - Have you any bills, I will accept them if you have?
Myself. - I have no need of assistance; but you may do me a favour
by accepting of a book.
Stranger. - I will receive it with thanks. I know what it is. What
a singular people?
