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. 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.
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