Endowed With An
Intellect Of The Highest Order, Master Of The Lore Of All Europe,
Profoundly Versed In The Ancient
Tongues, and speaking most of the
modern dialects with remarkable facility, - possessed, moreover, of
a thorough knowledge of mankind, - he
Brought with him into the
diplomatic career advantages such as few, even the most highly
gifted, can boast of. During his sojourn in Spain he performed
many eminent services for the government which employed him;
services which, I believe, it had sufficient discernment to see,
and gratitude to reward. He had to encounter, however, the full
brunt of the low and stupid malignity of the party who, shortly
after the time of which I am speaking, usurped the management of
the affairs of Spain. This party, whose foolish manoeuvres he was
continually discomfiting, feared and hated him as its evil genius,
taking every opportunity of showering on his head calumnies the
most improbable and absurd. Amongst other things, he was accused
of having acted as an agent to the English government in the affair
of the Granja, bringing about that revolution by bribing the
mutinous soldiers, and more particularly the notorious Sergeant
Garcia. Such an accusation will of course merely extract a smile
from those who are at all acquainted with the English character,
and the general line of conduct pursued by the English government.
It was a charge, however, universally believed in Spain, and was
even preferred in print by a certain journal, the official organ of
the silly Duke of Frias, one of the many prime ministers of the
moderado party who followed each other in rapid succession towards
the latter period of the Carlist and Christino struggle. But when
did a calumnious report ever fall to the ground in Spain by the
weight of its own absurdity? Unhappy land, not until the pure
light of the Gospel has illumined thee wilt thou learn that the
greatest of all gifts is charity.
The next day verified the prediction of the Spanish surgeon; I had
to a considerable degree lost my cough and fever, though, owing to
the loss of blood, I was somewhat feeble. Precisely at twelve
o'clock the horses were led forth before the door of my lodging in
the Calle de Santiago, and I prepared to mount: but my black
entero of Andalusia would not permit me to approach his side, and
whenever I made the attempt, commenced wheeling round with great
rapidity.
"C'est un mauvais signe, mon maitre," said Antonio, who, dressed in
a green jerkin, a Montero cap, booted and spurred, stood ready to
attend me, holding by the bridle the horse which I had purchased
from the contrabandista. "It is a bad sign, and in my country they
would defer the journey till to-morrow."
"Are there whisperers in your country?" I demanded; and taking the
horse by the mane, I performed the ceremony after the most approved
fashion: the animal stood still, and I mounted the saddle,
exclaiming -
"The Rommany Chal to his horse did cry,
As he placed the bit in his horse's jaw;
Kosko gry! Rommany gry!
Muk man kistur tute knaw."
We then rode forth from Madrid by the gate of San Vincente,
directing our course to the lofty mountains which separate Old from
New Castile. That night we rested at Guadarama, a large village at
their foot, distant from Madrid about seven leagues. Rising early
on the following morning, we ascended the pass and entered into Old
Castile.
After crossing the mountains, the route to Salamanca lies almost
entirely over sandy and arid plains, interspersed here and there
with thin and scanty groves of pine. No adventure worth relating
occurred during this journey. We sold a few Testaments in the
villages through which we passed, more especially at Penaranda.
About noon of the third day, on reaching the brow of a hillock, we
saw a huge dome before us, upon which the fierce rays of the sun
striking, produced the appearance of burnished gold. It belonged
to the cathedral of Salamanca, and we flattered ourselves that we
were already at our journey's end; we were deceived, however, being
still four leagues distant from the town, whose churches and
convents, towering up in gigantic masses, can be distinguished at
an immense distance, flattering the traveller with an idea of
propinquity which does not in reality exist. It was not till long
after nightfall that we arrived at the city gate, which we found
closed and guarded, in apprehension of a Carlist attack; and having
obtained admission with some difficulty, we led our horses along
dark, silent, and deserted streets, till we found an individual who
directed us to a large, gloomy, and comfortless posada, that of the
Bull, which we, however, subsequently found was the best which the
town afforded.
A melancholy town is Salamanca; the days of its collegiate glory
are long since past by, never more to return: a circumstance,
however, which is little to be regretted; for what benefit did the
world ever derive from scholastic philosophy? And for that alone
was Salamanca ever famous. Its halls are now almost silent, and
grass is growing in its courts, which were once daily thronged by
at least eight thousand students; a number to which, at the present
day, the entire population of the city does not amount. Yet, with
all its melancholy, what an interesting, nay, what a magnificent
place is Salamanca! How glorious are its churches, how stupendous
are its deserted convents, and with what sublime but sullen
grandeur do its huge and crumbling walls, which crown the
precipitous bank of the Tormes, look down upon the lovely river and
its venerable bridge.
What a pity that, of the many rivers in Spain, scarcely one is
navigable. The beautiful but shallow Tormes, instead of proving a
source of blessing and wealth to this part of Castile, is of no
further utility than to turn the wheels of various small water
mills, standing upon weirs of stone, which at certain distances
traverse the river.
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