On the next day we pursued our journey, a dreary one, for the most part, over bleak and barren plains, interspersed with silent and cheerless towns and villages, which stood at the distance of two or three leagues from each other.About midday we obtained a dim and distant view of an immense range of mountains, which are in fact those which bound Castile on the north.The day, however, became dim and obscure, and we speedily lost sight of them.A hollow wind now arose and blew over these desolate plains with violence, wafting clouds of dust into our faces; the rays of the sun were few, and those red and angry.I was tired of my journey, and when about four we reached -, a large village, half way between Palencia and Leon, I declared my intention of stopping for the night.Iscarcely ever saw a more desolate place than this same town or village of -.The houses were for the most part large, but the walls were of mud, like those of barns.We saw no person in the long winding street to direct us to the venta, or posada, till at last, at the farther end of the place, we descried two black figures standing at a door, of whom, on making inquiry, we learned that the door at which they stood was that of the house we were in quest of.There was something strange in the appearance of these two beings, who seemed the genii of the place.One was a small slim man, about fifty, with sharp, ill-natured features.He was dressed in coarse black worsted stockings, black breeches, and an ample black coat with long trailing skirts.I should at once have taken him for an ecclesiastic, but for his hat, which had nothing clerical about it, being a pinched diminutive beaver.His companion was of low stature, and a much younger man.He was dressed in similar fashion, save that he wore a dark blue cloak.Both carried walking sticks in their hands, and kept hovering about the door, now within and now without, occasionally looking up the road, as if they expected some one.
"Trust me, mon maitre," said Antonio to me, in French, "those two fellows are Carlist priests, and are awaiting the arrival of the Pretender.LES IMBECILES!"We conducted our horses to the stable, to which we were shown by the woman of the house."Who are those men?" said Ito her.
"The eldest is head curate to our pueblo," said she; "the other is brother to my husband.Pobrecito! he was a friar in our convent before it was shut up and the brethren driven forth."We returned to the door."I suppose, gentlemen," said the curate, "that you are Catalans.Do you bring any news from that kingdom?""Why do you suppose we are Catalans?" I demanded.
"Because I heard you this moment conversing in that language.""I bring no news from Catalonia," said I."I believe, however, that the greater part of that principality is in the hands of the Carlists.""Ahem, brother Pedro! This gentleman says that the greater part of Catalonia is in the hands of the royalists.
Pray, sir, where may Don Carlos be at present with his army?""He may be coming down the road this moment," said I, "for what I know;" and, stepping out, I looked up the way.
The two figures were at my side in a moment; Antonio followed, and we all four looked intently up the road.
"Do you see anything?" said I at last to Antonio.
"NON, MON MAITRE."
"Do you see anything, sir?" said I to the curate.
"I see nothing," said the curate, stretching out his neck.
"I see nothing," said Pedro, the ex-friar; "I see nothing but the dust, which is becoming every moment more blinding.""I shall go in, then," said I."Indeed, it is scarcely prudent to be standing here looking out for the Pretender:
should the nationals of the town hear of it, they might perhaps shoot us.""Ahem," said the curate, following me; "there are no nationals in this place: I would fain see what inhabitant would dare become a national.When the inhabitants of this place were ordered to take up arms as nationals, they refused to a man, and on that account we had to pay a mulet; therefore, friend, you may speak out if you have anything to communicate;we are all of your opinion here."
"I am of no opinion at all," said I, "save that I want my supper.I am neither for Rey nor Roque.You say that I am a Catalan, and you know that Catalans think only of their own affairs."In the evening I strolled by myself about the village, which I found still more forlorn and melancholy than it at first appeared; perhaps, however, it had been a place of consequence in its time.In one corner of it I found the ruins of a large clumsy castle, chiefly built of flint stones: into these ruins I attempted to penetrate, but the entrance was secured by a gate.From the castle I found my way to the convent, a sad desolate place, formerly the residence of mendicant brothers of the order of St.Francis.I was about to return to the inn, when I heard a loud buzz of voices, and, following the sound, presently reached a kind of meadow, where, upon a small knoll, sat a priest in full canonicals, reading in a loud voice a newspaper, while around him, either erect or seated on the grass, were assembled about fifty vecinos, for the most part dressed in long cloaks, amongst whom I discovered my two friends the curate and friar.A fine knot of Carlist quid-nuncs, said I to myself, and turned away to another part of the meadow, where the cattle of the village were grazing.
The curate, on observing me, detached himself instantly from the group, and followed."I am told you want a pony," said he;"there now is mine feeding amongst those horses, the best in all the kingdom of Leon." He then began with all the volubility of a chalan to descant on the points of the animal.
Presently the friar joined us, who, observing his opportunity, pulled me by the sleeve and whispered, "Have nothing to do with the curate, master, he is the greatest thief in the neighbourhood; if you want a pony, my brother has a much better, which he will dispose of cheaper." "I shall wait till I arrive at Leon," I exclaimed, and walked away, musing on priestly friendship and sincerity.