We entered upon the moor, and had advanced about a mile when dark night fell around us.  We were in a wild path, with high brushwood on either side, when the rider said that he could not confront the darkness, and begged me to ride on before, and he would follow after: I could hear him trembling.  I asked the reason of his terror, and he replied, that at one time darkness was the same thing to him as day, but that of late years he dreaded it, especially in wild places.  I complied with his request, but I was ignorant of the way, and, as I could scarcely see my hand, was continually going wrong.  This made the man impatient, and he again placed himself at our head.  We proceeded so for a considerable way, when he again stopped, and said that the power of the darkness was too much for him.  His horse seemed to be infected with the same panic, for it shook in every limb.  I now told him to call on the name of the Lord Jesus, who was able to turn the darkness into light; but he gave a terrible shout, and, brandishing his gun aloft, discharged it in the air.  His horse sprang forward at full speed, and my mule, which was one of the swiftest of its kind, took fright and followed at the heels of the charger.  Antonio and the boy were left behind.  On we flew like a whirlwind, the hoofs of the animals illuming the path with the sparks of fire they struck from the stones.  I knew not whither we were going, but the dumb creatures were acquainted with the way, and soon brought us to Vendas Novas, where we were rejoined by our companions.

I found the inn at Vendas Novas thronged with people, and had some difficulty in obtaining accommodation and refreshment.  It was occupied by the family of a certain fidalgo [55] from Estremoz; he was on the way to Lisbon, conveying a large sum of money, as was said—probably the rents of his estates.  He had with him a body-guard of four and twenty of his dependants, each armed with a rifle; they consisted of his shepherds, swineherds, cowherds, and hunters, and were commanded by two youths, his son and nephew, the latter of whom was in regimentals.  Nevertheless, notwithstanding the number of his troop, it appeared that the fidalgo laboured under considerable apprehension of being despoiled upon the waste which lay between Vendas Novas and Pegões, as he had just requested a guard of four soldiers from the officer who commanded a detachment stationed here.  There were many females in his company, who, I was told, were his illegitimate daughters—for he bore an infamous moral character, and was represented to me as a staunch friend of Don Miguel.  It was not long before he came up to me and my new acquaintance, as we sat by the kitchen fire: he was a tall man of about sixty, but stooped much.  His countenance was by no means pleasing: he had a long hooked nose, small, twinkling, cunning eyes, and, what I liked worst of all, a continual sneering smile, which I firmly believe to be the index of a treacherous and malignant heart.  He addressed me in Spanish, which, as he resided not far from the frontier, he spoke with fluency; but, contrary to my usual practice, I was reserved and silent.

On the following morning I rose at seven, and found that the party from Estremoz had started several hours previously.  I breakfasted with my acquaintance of the preceding night, and we set out to accomplish what remained of our journey.  The sun had now arisen, and all his fears had left him—he breathed defiance against all the robbers of the Alemtejo.  When we had advanced about a league, the boy who attended us said he saw heads of men amongst the brushwood.  Our cavalier instantly seized his gun, and, causing his horse to make two or three lofty bounds, held it in one hand, the muzzle pointed in the direction indicated; but the heads did not again make their appearance, and it was probably but a false alarm.

We resumed our way, and the conversation turned, as might be expected, upon robbers.  My companion, who seemed to be acquainted with every inch of ground over which we passed, had a legend to tell of every dingle and every pine-clump.  We reached a slight eminence, on the top of which grew three stately pines: about half a league farther on was another similar one.  These two eminences commanded a view of the road from Pegões and Vendas Novas, so that all people going and coming could be descried whilst yet at a distance.  My friend told me that these heights were favourite stations of robbers.  Some two years since, a band of six mounted banditti remained there three days, and plundered whomsoever approached from either quarter.  Their horses, saddled and bridled, stood picqueted at the foot of the trees, and two scouts, one for each eminence, continually sat in the topmost branches, and gave notice of the approach of travellers.  When at a proper distance, the robbers below sprung upon their horses, and putting them to full gallop, made at their prey, shouting, “Rendete, Picaro!  Rendete, Picaro!” [57]  We, however, passed unmolested, and, about a quarter of a mile before we reached Pegões, overtook the family of the fidalgo.

Had they been conveying the wealth of Ind through the deserts of Arabia, they could not have travelled with more precaution.  The nephew, with drawn sabre, rode in front; pistols in his holsters, and the usual Spanish gun slung at his saddle.  Behind him tramped six men in a rank, with muskets shouldered, and each of them wore at his girdle a hatchet, which was probably intended to cleave the thieves to the brisket should they venture to come to close quarters.  There were six vehicles, two of them calashes, in which latter rode the fidalgo and his daughters; the others were covered carts, and seemed to be filled with household furniture.  Each of these vehicles had an armed rustic on either side; and the son, a lad about sixteen, brought up the rear with a squad equal to that of his cousin in the van.  The soldiers, who, by good fortune, were light horse, and admirably mounted, were galloping about in all directions, for the purpose of driving the enemy from cover, should they happen to be lurking in the neighbourhood.

CHAPTER V.

One afternoon Antonio said to me, “It has struck me, Senhor, [59a] that your worship would like to see the college of the English . . .” [59b]  “By all means,” I replied, “pray conduct me thither.”  So he led me through various streets until we stopped before the gate of a large building, in one of the most elevated situations in Lisbon.  Upon our ringing, a kind of porter presently made his appearance, and demanded our business.  Antonio explained it to him.  He hesitated for a moment; but, presently bidding us enter, conducted us to a large gloomy-looking stone hall, where, begging us to be seated, he left us.  We were soon joined by a venerable personage, seemingly about seventy, in a kind of flowing robe or surplice, with a collegiate cap upon his head.  Notwithstanding his age there was a ruddy tinge upon his features, which were perfectly English.  Coming slowly up he addressed me in the English tongue, requesting to know how he could serve me.  I informed him that I was an English traveller, and should be happy to be permitted to inspect the college, provided it were customary to show it to strangers.  He informed me that there could be no objection to accede to my request, but that I came at rather an unfortunate moment, it being the hour of refection.  I apologized, and was preparing to retire, but he begged me to remain, as in a few minutes the refection would be over, when the principals of the college would do themselves the pleasure of waiting on me.

We sat down on the stone bench, when he commenced surveying me attentively for some time, and then cast his eyes on Antonio.  “Whom have we here?” said he to the latter; “surely your features are not unknown to me.”  “Probably not, your reverence,” replied Antonio, getting up, and bowing most profoundly.  “I lived in the family of the Countess ---, at Cintra, when your venerability was her spiritual guide.”  “True, true,” said the old gentleman, sighing, “I remember you now.  Ah, Antonio, things are strangely changed since then.  A new government—a new system—a new religion, I may say.”  Then, looking again at me, he demanded whither I was journeying.  “I am going to Spain,” said I, “and have stopped at Lisbon by the way.”  “Spain, Spain!” said the old man.  “Surely you have chosen a strange time to visit Spain; there is much blood-shedding in Spain at present, and violent wars and tumults.”  “I consider the cause of Don Carlos as already crushed,” I replied; “he has lost the only general capable of leading his armies to Madrid.  Zumalacarregui, his Cid, has fallen.”  “Do not flatter yourself; I beg your pardon, but do not think, young man, that the Lord will permit the powers of darkness to triumph so easily.  The cause of Don Carlos is not lost: its success did not depend on the life of a frail worm like him whom you have mentioned.”  We continued in discourse some little time, when he arose, saying that by this time he believed the refection was concluded.

“Welcome, sir, to our poor house.  We are always happy to see in it a countryman from our beloved native land; it will afford us extreme satisfaction to show you over it; it is true that satisfaction is considerably diminished by the reflection that it possesses nothing worthy of the attention of a traveller; there is nothing curious pertaining to it save, perhaps, its economy, and that, as we walk about, we will explain to you.  Permit us, first of all, to introduce ourselves to you.  I am rector of this poor English house of refuge; this gentleman is our professor of humanity; and this” (pointing to the ruddy personage) “is our professor of polite learning, Hebrew, and Syriac.”

Quick glances of intelligence were exchanged by the three gentlemen.  I had stumbled upon their shibboleth, and proclaimed myself an Ephraimite, and not of Gilead.  I have no doubt that up to that moment they had considered me as one of themselves—a member, and perhaps a priest, of their own ancient, grand, and imposing religion, for such it is, I must confess—an error into which it was natural that they should fall.  What motives could a Protestant have for intruding upon their privacy?  What interest could he take in inspecting the economy of their establishment?  So far, however, from relaxing in their attention after this discovery, their politeness visibly increased, though, perhaps, a scrutinizing observer might have detected a shade of less cordiality in their manner.

My obliging friends showed me all over their “poor house.”  It certainly did not appear a very rich one; it was spacious, but rather dilapidated.  The library was small, and possessed nothing remarkable; the view, however, from the roof, over the greater part of Lisbon and the Tagus, was very grand and noble.  But I did not visit this place in the hope of seeing busts, or books, or fine prospects,—I visited this strange old house to converse with its inmates; for my favourite, I might say my only, study is man.  I found these gentlemen much what I had anticipated; for this was not the first time that I had visited an English . . . establishment in a foreign land.  They were full of amiability and courtesy to their heretic countryman, and though the advancement of their religion was with them an object of paramount importance, I soon found that, with ludicrous inconsistency, they cherished, to a wonderful degree, national prejudices almost extinct in the mother land, even to the disparagement of those of their own darling faith.  I spoke of the English . . ., of their high respectability, and of the loyalty which they had uniformly displayed to their sovereign, though of a different religion, and by whom they had been not unfrequently subjected to much oppression and injustice.

Rector.—My dear sir, I am rejoiced to hear you; I see that you are well acquainted with the great body of those of our faith in England.  They are, as you have well described them, a most respectable and loyal body; from loyalty, indeed, they never swerved, and though they have been accused of plots and conspiracies, it is now well known that such had no real existence, but were merely calumnies invented by their religious enemies.  During the civil wars the English . . . cheerfully shed their blood and squandered their fortunes in the cause of the unfortunate martyr, notwithstanding that he never favoured them, and invariably looked upon them with suspicion.  At present the English . . . are the most devoted subjects of our gracious sovereign.  I should be happy if I could say as much for our Irish brethren; but their conduct has been—oh, detestable!  Yet what can you expect?  The true . . . blush for them.  A certain person is a disgrace to the church of which he pretends to be the servant.  Where does he find in our canons sanction for his proceedings, his undutiful expressions towards one who is his sovereign by divine right, and who can do no wrong?  And above all, where does he find authority for inflaming the passions of a vile mob against a nation intended by nature and by position to command them?

Rector.—What do I hear?  You, an Englishman, and a Protestant, and yet an admirer of Ignatius Loyola?

Myself.—I will say nothing with respect to the doctrine of the Jesuits, for, as you have observed, I am a Protestant; but I am ready to assert that there are no people in the world better qualified, upon the whole, to be entrusted with the education of youth.  Their moral system and discipline are truly admirable.  Their pupils, in after-life, are seldom vicious and licentious characters, and are in general men of learning, science, and possessed of every elegant accomplishment.  I execrate the conduct of the liberals of Madrid in murdering last year the helpless fathers, by whose care and instruction two of the finest minds of Spain have been evolved—the two ornaments of the liberal cause and modern literature of Spain, for such are Toreno and Martinez de la Rosa. [66] . . .

Gathered in small clusters about the pillars at the lower extremities of the gold and silver streets in Lisbon, may be observed, about noon in every day, certain strange-looking men whose appearance is neither Portuguese nor European.  Their dress generally consists of a red cap, with a blue silken tassel at the top of it, a blue tunic girded at the waist with a red sash, and wide linen pantaloons or trousers.  He who passes by these groups generally hears them conversing in broken Spanish or Portuguese, and occasionally in a harsh guttural language, which the oriental traveller knows to be the Arabic, or a dialect thereof.  These people are the Jews of Lisbon. [67a]  Into the midst of one of these groups I one day introduced myself, and pronounced a beraka, or blessing.  I have lived in different parts of the world, much amongst the Hebrew race, and am well acquainted with their ways and phraseology.  I was rather anxious to become acquainted with the state of the Portuguese Jews, and I had now an opportunity.  “The man is a powerful rabbi,” said a voice in Arabic; “it behoves us to treat him kindly.”  They welcomed me.  I favoured their mistake, and in a few days I knew all that related to them and their traffic in Lisbon. [67b]

The Jews of Europe at the present time are divided into two classes—synagogues, as some call them—the Portuguese and German.  Of these the most celebrated is the Portuguese.  Jews of this class are generally considered as more polished than the others, better educated, and more deeply versed both in the language of Scripture and the traditions of their forefathers.  In London there is a stately edifice which is termed the synagogue of the Portuguese Jews, where the rites of the Hebrew religion are performed with all possible splendour and magnificence.  Knowing all this, one would naturally expect, on arriving in Portugal, to find one’s self in the head-quarters of that Judaism with which the mind has been accustomed to associate so much that is respectable and imposing.  It was, therefore, with feelings of considerable surprise that I heard from the beings, whom I have attempted to describe above, the following account of themselves:—“We are not of Portugal,” said they; “we come from Barbary, some from Algier, some from the Levant, but mostly from Barbary, yonder-away!”  And they pointed to the south-west.

“We know of none but ourselves,” replied the Barbaresques, “though we have heard say that there are others: if so, they do not come near us, and they do right, for we are an evil people, O thou Tsadik, and thieves to a man.  A ship comes every year from Swirah; [68] it brings a cargo of thieves, for it brings Jews.”

“And your wives and families,” said I, “where are they?”

“In Swirah, or Salee, or other places from whence we come.  We bring not our wives with us, nor our families: many of us have escaped hither barely with life, flying from the punishment due to our crimes.  Some live in sin with the daughters of the Nazarene: for we are an evil race, O Tsadik, and do not observe the precepts of the law.”

“And have you synagogues and teachers?”

“Both, O thou righteous one, yet little can be said of either: our chenourain are vile places, and our teachers are like ourselves, bound in the galoot of sin.  One of them keeps in his house a daughter of the Nazarene; he is from Swirah, and what good ever came from that shore?”

“Of course we hearken unto them: how could we do else and live?  Our teachers are evil men, and live by fraud, like ourselves; yet still are they masters, men to be dreaded and obeyed.  Have they not witchcraft at their command, and angels?  Have they not words of power, and the Shem Hamphorash? [69]  Were we not to hearken to them, could they not consign our souls to horror, to mist and vapour, to mire and clay?  Even as thou couldst, O righteous one!”

Such was the extraordinary language in connexion with themselves which they held to me, and which I have no reason to doubt, as it was subsequently corroborated in more ways than one.  How well do superstition and crime go hand in hand!  These wretched beings break the eternal commandments of their Maker without scruple; but they will not partake of the beast of the uncloven foot, and the fish which has no scales.  They pay slight regard to the denunciations of holy prophets against the children of sin, but they quake at the sound of a dark cabalistic word pronounced by one perhaps their equal or superior in villany; as if, as has been well observed, God would delegate the exercise of his power to the workers of iniquity.

It is quite certain that at one period the Jews of Portugal were deservedly celebrated for wealth, learning, and polished manners; the Inquisition, however, played sad havoc with them.  Those who escaped the auto da fé, without becoming converts to Popish idolatry, took refuge in foreign lands, particularly in England, where they still retain their original designation.  At present, notwithstanding all religions are tolerated in Portugal, the genuine Jews of the country do not show themselves; [70] in their stead are seen the rabble of Barbary, and these only in the streets of Lisbon—outcasts who make no secret of their own degradation.

CHAPTER VI.

About a fortnight after my return from Evora, having made the necessary preparations, I set out on my journey for Badajoz, from which town I intended to take the diligence to Madrid.  Badajoz lies about a hundred miles distant from Lisbon, and is the principal frontier town of Spain in the direction of the Alemtejo.  To reach this place, it was necessary to re-travel the road as far as Monte Moro, which I had already passed in my excursion to Evora; I had therefore very little pleasure to anticipate from novelty of scenery.  Moreover, in this journey I should be a solitary traveller, with no other companion than the muleteer, as it was my intention to take my servant no farther than Aldea Gallega, for which place I started at four in the afternoon.  Warned by former experience, I did not now embark in a small boat, but in one of the regular passage felouks, in which we reached Aldea Gallega, after a voyage of six hours; for the boat was heavy, there was no wind to propel it, and the crew were obliged to ply their huge oars the whole way.  In a word, this passage was the reverse of the first—safe in every respect, but so sluggish and tiresome, that I a hundred times wished myself again under the guidance of the wild lad, galloping before the hurricane over the foaming billows.  From eight till ten the cold was truly terrible, and though I was closely wrapped in an excellent fur shoob, with which I had braved the frosts of Russian winters, I shivered in every limb, and was far more rejoiced when I again set my foot on the Alemtejo, than when I landed for the first time, after having escaped the horrors of the tempest.

I took up my quarters for the night at a house to which my friend who feared the darkness had introduced me on my return from Evora, and where, though I paid mercilessly dear for everything, the accommodation was superior to that of the common inn in the square.  My first care now was to inquire for mules to convey myself and baggage to Elvas, from whence there are but three short leagues to the Spanish town of Badajoz.  The people of the house informed me that they had an excellent pair at my disposal, but when I inquired the price, they were not ashamed to demand four moidores.  I offered them three, which was too much, but which, however, they did not accept; for, knowing me to be an Englishman, they thought they had an excellent opportunity to practise imposition, not imagining that a person so rich as an Englishman must be, would go out in a cold night for the sake of obtaining a reasonable bargain.  They were, however, much mistaken, as I told them that rather than encourage them in their knavery I should be content to return to Lisbon; whereupon they dropped their demand to three and a half; but I made them no answer, and, going out with Antonio, proceeded to the house of the old man who had accompanied us to Evora.  We knocked a considerable time, for he was in bed; at length he arose and admitted us, but on hearing our object, he said that his mules were again gone to Evora, under the charge of the boy, for the purpose of transporting some articles of merchandize.  He, however, recommended us to a person in the neighbourhood who kept mules for hire, and there Antonio engaged two fine beasts for two moidores and a half.  I say he engaged them, for I stood aloof and spoke not, and the proprietor, who exhibited them, and who stood half dressed, with a lamp in his hand, and shivering with cold, was not aware that they were intended for a foreigner till the agreement was made, and he had received a part of the sum in earnest.  I returned to the inn well pleased, and having taken some refreshment, went to rest, paying little attention to the people, who glanced daggers at me from their small Jewish eyes.

At five the next morning the mules were at the door.  A lad of some nineteen or twenty years of age attended them.  He was short, but exceedingly strong built, and possessed the largest head which I ever beheld upon mortal shoulders; neck he had none, at least I could discern nothing which could be entitled to that name.  His features were hideously ugly, and upon addressing him I discovered that he was an idiot.  Such was my intended companion in a journey of nearly a hundred miles, which would occupy four days, and which lay over the most savage and ill-noted track in the whole kingdom.  I took leave of my servant almost with tears, for he had always served me with the greatest fidelity, and had exhibited an assiduity and a wish to please which afforded me the utmost satisfaction.

We passed on our way uninterrupted; no thieves showed themselves, nor indeed did we see a single individual until we arrived at Pegões, and from thence to Vendas Novas our fortune was the same.  I was welcomed with great kindness by the people of the hostelry of the latter place, who were well acquainted with me on account of my having twice passed the night under their roof.  The name of the keeper of this inn is, or was, Jozé Dias Azido, and, unlike the generality of those of the same profession as himself in Portugal, he is an honest man; and a stranger and foreigner who takes up his quarters at his inn may rest assured that he will not be most unmercifully pillaged and cheated when the hour of reckoning shall arrive, as he will not be charged a single ré [75] more than a native Portuguese on a similar occasion.  I paid at this place exactly one-half of the sum which was demanded from me at Arroyolos, where I passed the ensuing night, and where the accommodation was in every respect inferior.

At twelve next day we arrived at Monte Moro, and, as I was not pressed for time, I determined upon viewing the ruins which cover the top and middle part of the stately hill which towers above the town.  Having ordered some refreshment at the inn where we dismounted, I ascended till I arrived at a large wall or rampart, which, at a certain altitude, embraces the whole hill.  I crossed a rude bridge of stones, which bestrides a small hollow or trench; and passing by a large tower, entered through a portal into the enclosed part of the hill.  On the left hand stood a church, in good preservation, and still devoted to the purposes of religion, but which I could not enter, as the door was locked, and I saw no one at hand to open it.

I soon found that my curiosity had led me to a most extraordinary place, which quite beggars the scanty powers of description with which I am gifted.  I stumbled on amongst ruined walls, and at one time found I was treading over vaults, as I suddenly started back from a yawning orifice into which my next step, as I strolled musing along, would have precipitated me.  I proceeded for a considerable way by the eastern wall, till I heard a tremendous bark, and presently an immense dog, such as those which guard the flocks in the neighbourhood against the wolves, came bounding to attack me “with eyes that glowed, and fangs that grinned.”  Had I retreated, or had recourse to any other mode of defence than that which I invariably practise under such circumstances, he would probably have worried me; but I stooped till my chin nearly touched my knee, and looked him full in the eyes, and, as John Leyden says, in the noblest ballad which the Land of Heather has produced:—

“The hound he yowled, and back he fled,
   As struck with fairy charm.” [76]

It is a fact known to many people, and I believe it has been frequently stated, that no large and fierce dog or animal of any kind, with the exception of the bull, which shuts its eyes and rushes blindly forward, will venture to attack an individual who confronts it with a firm and motionless countenance.  I say large and fierce, for it is much easier to repel a bloodhound or bear of Finland in this manner than a dung-hill cur or a terrier, against which a stick or a stone is a much more certain defence.  This will astonish no one who considers that the calm reproving glance of reason, which allays the excesses of the mighty and courageous in our own species, has seldom any other effect than to add to the insolence of the feeble and foolish, who become placid as doves upon the infliction of chastisements, which, if attempted to be applied to the former, would only serve to render them more terrible, and, like gunpowder cast on a flame, cause them, in mad desperation, to scatter destruction around them.

We entered a dark stone apartment, at one corner of which was a kind of window occupied by a turning table, at which articles were received into the convent or delivered out.  He rang the bell, and, without saying a word, retired, leaving me rather perplexed; but presently I heard, though the speaker was invisible, a soft feminine voice demanding who I was, and what I wanted.  I replied, that I was an Englishman travelling into Spain; and that, passing through Monte Moro, I had ascended the hill for the purpose of seeing the ruins.  The voice then said, “I suppose you are a military man going to fight against the king, like the rest of your countrymen?”  “No,” said I, “I am not a military man, but a Christian; and I go not to shed blood, but to endeavour to introduce the gospel of Christ into a country where it is not known;” whereupon there was a stifled titter.  I then inquired if there were any copies of the Holy Scriptures in the convent; but the friendly voice could give me no information on that point, and I scarcely believe that its possessor understood the purport of my question.  It informed me, that the office of lady abbess of the house was an annual one, and that every year there was a fresh superior.  On my inquiring whether the nuns did not frequently find the time exceedingly heavy on their hands, it stated that, when they had nothing better to do, they employed themselves in making cheesecakes, which were disposed of in the neighbourhood.  I thanked the voice for its communications, and walked away.  Whilst proceeding under the wall of the house towards the south-west, I heard a fresh and louder tittering above my head, and, looking up, saw three or four windows crowded with dusky faces, and black waving hair; these belonged to the nuns, anxious to obtain a view of the stranger.  After kissing my hand repeatedly, I moved on, and soon arrived at the south-west end of this mountain of curiosities.  There I found the remains of a large building, which seemed to have been originally erected in the shape of a cross.  A tower at its eastern entrance was still entire; the western side was quite in ruins, and stood on the verge of the hill overlooking the valley, at the bottom of which ran the stream I have spoken of on a former occasion.

The day was intensely hot, notwithstanding the coldness of the preceding nights; and the brilliant sun of Portugal now illumined a landscape of entrancing beauty.  Groves of cork-trees covered the farther side of the valley and the distant acclivities, exhibiting here and there charming vistas, where various flocks of cattle were feeding; the soft murmur of the stream, which was at intervals chafed and broken by huge stones, ascended to my ears and filled my mind with delicious feelings.  I sat down on the broken wall and remained gazing, and listening, and shedding tears of rapture; for of all the pleasures which a bountiful God permitteth his children to enjoy, none are so dear to some hearts as the music of forests and streams, and the view of the beauties of his glorious creation.  An hour elapsed, and I still maintained my seat on the wall; the past scenes of my life flitting before my eyes in airy and fantastic array, through which every now and then peeped trees and hills, and other patches of the real landscape which I was confronting.  The sun burnt my visage, but I heeded it not; and I believe that I should have remained till night, buried in these reveries, which, I confess, only serve to enervate the mind and steal many a minute which might be more profitably employed, had not the report of the gun of a fowler in the valley, which awakened the echoes of the woods, hills, and ruins, caused me to start on my feet, and remember that I had to proceed three leagues before I could reach the hostelry where I intended to pass the night.

I bent my steps to the inn, passing along a kind of rampart.  Shortly before I reached the portal, which I have already mentioned, I observed a kind of vault on my right hand, scooped out of the side of the hill; its roof was supported by three pillars, though part of it had given way towards the farther end, so that the light was admitted through a chasm in the top.  It might have been intended for a chapel, a dungeon, or a cemetery, but I should rather think for the latter.  One thing I am certain of, that it was not the work of Moorish hands; and indeed throughout my wandering in this place I saw nothing which reminded me of that most singular people.  The hill on which the ruins stand was doubtless originally a strong fortress of the Moors, who, upon their first irruption into the peninsula, seized and fortified most of the lofty and naturally strong positions, but they had probably lost it at an early period, so that the broken walls and edifices, which at present cover the hill, are probably remains of the labours of the Christians after the place had been rescued from the hands of the terrible enemies of their faith.  Monte Moro will perhaps recall Cintra to the mind of the traveller, as it exhibits a distant resemblance to that place; nevertheless, there is something in Cintra wild and savage, to which Monte Moro has no pretension.  Its scathed and gigantic crags are piled upon each other in a manner which seems to menace headlong destruction to whatever is in the neighbourhood; and the ruins which still cling to those crags seem more like eagles’ nests than the remains of the habitations even of Moors; whereas those of Monte Moro stand comparatively at their ease on the broad back of a hill, which, though stately and commanding, has no crags nor precipices, and which can be ascended on every side without much difficulty.  Yet I was much gratified by my visit, and I shall wander far indeed before I forget the voice in the dilapidated convent, the ruined walls amongst which I strayed, and the rampart, where, sunk in dreamy rapture, I sat during a bright sunny hour at Monte Moro.

I returned to the inn, where I refreshed myself with tea and very sweet and delicious cheesecakes, the handiwork of the nuns in the convent above.  Observing gloom and unhappiness on the countenances of the people of the house, I inquired the reason of the hostess, who sat almost motionless on the hearth by the fire; whereupon she informed me that her husband was deadly sick with a disorder which, from her description, I supposed to be a species of cholera; she added, that the surgeon who attended him entertained no hopes of his recovery.  I replied that it was quite in the power of God to restore her husband in a few hours from the verge of the grave to health and vigour, and that it was her duty to pray to that Omnipotent Being with all fervency.  I added, that if she did not know how to pray upon such an occasion, I was ready to pray for her, provided she would join in the spirit of the supplication.  I then offered up a short prayer in Portuguese, in which I entreated the Lord to remove, if he thought proper, the burden of affliction under which the family was labouring.

The woman listened attentively, with her hands devoutly clasped, until the prayer was finished, and then gazed at me seemingly with astonishment, but uttered no word by which I could gather that she was pleased or displeased with what I had said.  I now bade the family farewell, and having mounted my mule, set forward to Arroyolos. [81]

CHAPTER VII.

After proceeding about a league and a half, a blast came booming from the north, rolling before it immense clouds of dust; happily it did not blow in our faces, or it would have been difficult to proceed, so great was its violence.  We had left the road in order to take advantage of one of those short cuts, which, though passable for a horse or a mule, are far too rough to permit any species of carriage to travel along them.  We were in the midst of sands, brushwood, and huge pieces of rock, which thickly studded the ground.  These are the stones which form the sierras of Spain and Portugal; those singular mountains which rise in naked horridness, like the ribs of some mighty carcass from which the flesh has been torn.  Many of these stones, or rocks, grew out of the earth, and many lay on its surface unattached, perhaps wrested from their beds by the waters of the deluge.  Whilst toiling along these wild wastes, I observed, a little way to my left, a pile of stones of rather a singular appearance, and rode up to it.  It was a Druidical altar, and the most perfect and beautiful one of the kind which I had ever seen.  It was circular, and consisted of stones immensely large and heavy at the bottom, which towards the top became thinner and thinner, having been fashioned by the hand of art to something of the shape of scollop shells.  These were surmounted by a very large flat stone, which slanted down towards the south, where was a door.  Three or four individuals might have taken shelter within the interior, in which was growing a small thorn-tree.

I gazed with reverence and awe upon the pile where the first colonies of Europe offered their worship to the unknown God. [83]  The temples of the mighty and skilful Roman, comparatively of modern date, have crumbled to dust in its neighbourhood.  The churches of the Arian Goth, his successor in power, have sunk beneath the earth, and are not to be found; and the mosques of the Moor, the conqueror of the Goth, where and what are they?  Upon the rock, masses of hoary and vanishing ruin.  Not so the Druid’s stone; there it stands on the hill of winds, as strong and as freshly new as the day, perhaps thirty centuries back, when it was first raised, by means which are a mystery.  Earthquakes have heaved it, but its cope-stone has not fallen; rain floods have deluged it, but failed to sweep it from its station; the burning sun has flashed upon it, but neither split nor crumbled it; and time, stern old time, has rubbed it with his iron tooth, and with what effect let those who view it declare.  There it stands, and he who wishes to study the literature, the learning, and the history of the ancient Celt and Cymbrian, may gaze on its broad covering, and glean from that blank stone the whole known amount.  The Roman has left behind him his deathless writings, his history, and his songs; the Goth his liturgy, his traditions, and the germs of noble institutions; the Moor his chivalry, his discoveries in medicine, and the foundations of modern commerce; and where is the memorial of the Druidic races?  Yonder: that pile of eternal stone!

We arrived at Arroyolos about seven at night.  I took possession of a large two-bedded room, and, as I was preparing to sit down to supper, the hostess came to inquire whether I had any objection to receive a young Spaniard for the night.  She said he had just arrived with a train of muleteers, and that she had no other room in which she could lodge him.  I replied that I was willing, and in about half an hour he made his appearance, having first supped with his companions.  He was a very gentlemanly, good-looking lad of seventeen.  He addressed me in his native language, and, finding that I understood him, he commenced talking with astonishing volubility.  In the space of five minutes he informed me that, having a desire to see the world, he had run away from his friends, who were people of opulence at Madrid, and that he did not intend to return until he had travelled through various countries.  I told him that if what he said was true, he had done a very wicked and foolish action; wicked, because he must have overwhelmed those with grief whom he was bound to honour and love, and foolish, inasmuch as he was going to expose himself to inconceivable miseries and hardships, which would shortly cause him to rue the step he had taken; that he would be only welcome in foreign countries so long as he had money to spend, and when he had none, he would be repulsed as a vagabond, and would perhaps be allowed to perish of hunger.  He replied that he had a considerable sum of money with him, no less than a hundred dollars, which would last him a long time, and that when it was spent he should perhaps be able to obtain more.  “Your hundred dollars,” said I, “will scarcely last you three months in the country in which you are, even if it be not stolen from you; and you may as well hope to gather money on the tops of the mountains as expect to procure more by honourable means.”  But he had not yet sufficiently drank of the cup of experience to attend much to what I said, and I soon after changed the subject.  About five next morning he came to my bedside to take leave, as his muleteers were preparing to depart.  I gave him the usual Spanish valediction, Vaya usted con Dios, [85] and saw no more of him.

At nine, after having paid a most exorbitant sum for slight accommodation, I started from Arroyolos, which is a town or large village situated on very elevated ground, and discernible afar off.  It can boast of the remains of a large ancient and seemingly Moorish castle, which stands on a hill on the left as you take the road to Estremoz.

About a mile from Arroyolos I overtook a train of carts, escorted by a number of Portuguese soldiers conveying stores and ammunition into Spain.  Six or seven of these soldiers marched a considerable way in front; they were villanous-looking ruffians, upon whose livid and ghastly countenances were written murder, and all the other crimes which the Decalogue forbids.  As I passed by, one of them, with a harsh, croaking voice, commenced cursing all foreigners.  “There,” said he, “is this Frenchman riding on horseback” (I was on a mule), “with a man” (the idiot) “to take care of him, and all because he is rich; whilst I, who am a poor soldier, am obliged to tramp on foot.  I could find it in my heart to shoot him dead, for in what respect is he better than I?  But he is a foreigner, and the devil helps foreigners and hates the Portuguese.”  He continued shouting his remarks until I got about forty yards in advance, when I commenced laughing; but it would have been more prudent in me to have held my peace, for the next moment, with bang—bang, two bullets, well aimed, came whizzing past my ears.  A small river lay just before me, though the bridge was a considerable way on my left.  I spurred my animal through it, closely followed by the terrified guide, and commenced galloping along a sandy plain on the other side, and so escaped with my life.

These fellows, with the look of banditti, were in no respect better; and the traveller who should meet them in a solitary place would have little reason to bless his good fortune.  One of the carriers (all of whom were Spaniards from the neighbourhood of Badajoz, and had been despatched into Portugal for the purpose of conveying the stores), whom I afterwards met in the aforesaid town, informed me that the whole party were equally bad, and that he and his companions had been plundered by them of various articles, and threatened with death if they attempted to complain.  How frightful to figure to one’s self an army of such beings in a foreign land, sent thither either to invade or defend; and yet Spain at the time I am writing this is looking forward to armed assistance from Portugal!  May the Lord in his mercy grant that the soldiers who proceed to her assistance may be of a different stamp: and yet, from the lax state of discipline which exists in the Portuguese army, in comparison with that of England and France, I am afraid that the inoffensive population of the disturbed provinces will say that wolves have been summoned to chase away foxes from the sheep-fold.  Oh, may I live to see the day when soldiery will no longer be tolerated in any civilized, or at least Christian country!

I was heartily glad when, on ascending a rising ground, at about four o’clock, I saw Estremoz on its hill at something less than a league’s distance.  Here the view became wildly interesting; the sun was sinking in the midst of red and stormy clouds, and its rays were reflected on the dun walls of the lofty town to which we were wending.  Not far distant to the south-west rose Serra Dorso, which I had seen from Evora, and which is the most beautiful mountain in the Alemtejo.  My idiot guide turned his uncouth visage towards it, and, becoming suddenly inspired, opened his mouth for the first time during the day, I might almost say since we had left Aldea Gallega, and began to tell me what rare hunting was to be obtained in that mountain.  He likewise described with great minuteness a wonderful dog, which was kept in the neighbourhood for the purpose of catching the wolves and wild boars, and for which the proprietor had refused twenty moidores.

I now first began to observe an alteration in the language spoken; it had become less sibilant, and more guttural; and, when addressing each other, the speakers used the Spanish title of courtesy usted, or your worthiness, instead of the Portuguese high-flowing vossem se, [89] or your lordship.  This is the result of constant communication with the natives of Spain, who never condescend to speak Portuguese, even when in Portugal, but persist in the use of their own beautiful language, which, perhaps, at some future period, the Portuguese will generally adopt.  This would greatly facilitate the union of the two countries, hitherto kept asunder by the natural waywardness of mankind.

I had not been seated long before the blazing pile, when a fellow, mounted on a fine spirited horse, dashed from the stables through the passage into the kitchen, where he commenced displaying his horsemanship, by causing the animal to wheel about with the velocity of a mill-stone, to the great danger of everybody in the apartment.  He then galloped out upon the plain, and after half an hour’s absence returned, and having placed his horse once more in the stable, came and seated himself next to me, to whom he commenced talking in a gibberish of which I understood very little, but which he intended for French.  He was half intoxicated, and soon became three parts so, by swallowing glass after glass of aguardiente.  Finding that I made him no answer, he directed his discourse to one of the contrabandistas, to whom he talked in bad Spanish.  The latter either did not or would not understand him; but at last, losing patience, called him a drunkard, and told him to hold his tongue.  The fellow, enraged at this contempt, flung the glass out of which he was drinking at the Spaniard’s head, who sprang up like a tiger, and unsheathing instantly a “snick and snee” knife, made an upward cut at the fellow’s cheek, and would have infallibly laid it open, had I not pulled his arm down just in time to prevent worse effects than a scratch above the lower jaw-bone, which, however, drew blood.

The smuggler’s companions interfered, and with much difficulty led him off to a small apartment in the rear of the house, where they slept, and kept the furniture of their mules.  The drunkard then commenced singing, or rather yelling, the Marseillois hymn; and after having annoyed every one for nearly an hour, was persuaded to mount his horse and depart, accompanied by one of his neighbours.  He was a pig merchant of the vicinity, but had formerly been a trooper in the army of Napoleon, where, I suppose, like the drunken coachman of Evora, he had picked up his French and his habits of intoxication. [90]

From Estremoz to Elvas the distance is six leagues.  I started at nine next morning; the first part of the way lay through an inclosed country, but we soon emerged upon wild bleak downs, over which the wind, which still pursued us, howled most mournfully.  We met no one on the route; and the scene was desolate in the extreme; the heaven was of a dark grey, through which no glimpse of the sun was to be perceived.  Before us, at a great distance, on an elevated ground, rose a tower—the only object which broke the monotony of the waste.  In about two hours from the time when we first discovered it, we reached a fountain, at the foot of the hill on which it stood; the water, which gushed into a long stone trough, was beautifully clear and transparent, and we stopped here to water the animals.

Being about to leave the place, I heard a strange cry behind a part of the wall which I had not visited, and hastening thither, I found a miserable object in rags, seated upon a stone.  It was a maniac—a man about thirty years of age, and I believe deaf and dumb; there he sat, gibbering and mowing, and distorting his wild features into various dreadful appearances.  There wanted nothing but this object to render the scene complete; banditti amongst such melancholy desolation would have been by no means so much in keeping.  But the maniac, on his stone, in the rear of the wind-beaten ruin, overlooking the blasted heath, above which scowled the leaden heaven, presented such a picture of gloom and misery as I believe neither painter nor poet ever conceived in the saddest of their musings.  This is not the first instance in which it has been my lot to verify the wisdom of the saying, that truth is sometimes wilder than fiction.

Near the bottom of the valley it took a turn to the left, bestriding the road with one of its arches.  I looked up, after passing under it; the water must have been flowing near a hundred feet above my head, and I was filled with wonder at the immensity of the structure which conveyed it.  There was, however, one feature which was no slight drawback to its pretensions to grandeur and magnificence: the water was supported not by gigantic single arches, like those of the aqueduct of Lisbon, which stalk over the valley like legs of Titans, but by three layers of arches, which, like three distinct aqueducts, rise above each other.  The expense and labour necessary for the erection of such a structure must have been enormous; and when we reflect with what comparative ease modern art would confer the same advantage, we cannot help congratulating ourselves that we live in times when it is not necessary to exhaust the wealth of a province to supply a town on a hill with one of the first necessaries of existence.