A word or two about the gentleman who paid me this nocturnal visit.Though he has probably long since forgotten the humble circulator of the Bible in Spain, I still bear in mind numerous acts of kindness which I experienced at his hands.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 Iprepared 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 Imounted 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.
