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 Guadarama, 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
midday 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? 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, 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.
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