Tales of the Alhambra | Page 9

Plain), but it was still a greater toil to descend from this mountain city
on the other side.
At noon we halted in sight of Archidona, in a pleasant little meadow
among hills covered with olive-trees. Our cloaks were spread on the
grass, under an elm by the side of a bubbling rivulet; our horses were
tethered where they might crop the herbage, and Sancho was told to
produce his alforjas. He had been unusually silent this morning ever
since the laugh raised at his expense, but now his countenance
brightened, and he produced his alforjas with an air of triumph. They
contained the contributions of four days' journeying, but had been
signally enriched by the foraging of the previous evening in the
plenteous inn at Antiquera; and this seemed to furnish him with a
set-off to the banter of mine host.

EN FRENTE DEL TORO
SE HALLEN TESORO
would he exclaim, with a chuckling laugh, as he drew forth the
heterogeneous contents one by one, in a series which seemed to have
no end. First came forth a shoulder of roasted kid, very little the worse
for wear; then an entire partridge; then a great morsel of salted codfish
wrapped in paper; then the residue of a ham; then the half of a pullet,
together with several rolls of bread, and a rabble rout of oranges, figs,
raisins, and walnuts. His bota also had been recruited with some
excellent wine of Malaga. At every fresh apparition from his larder, he
would enjoy our ludicrous surprise, throwing himself back on the grass,
shouting with laughter, and exclaiming "Frente del toro!--frente del
toro! Ah, senores, they thought Sancho a simpleton at Antiquera; but
Sancho knew where to find the tesoro."
While we were diverting ourselves with his simple drollery, a solitary
beggar approached, who had almost the look of a pilgrim. He had a
venerable gray beard, and was evidently very old, supporting himself
on a staff, yet age had not bowed him down; he was tall and erect, and
had the wreck of a fine form. He wore a round Andalusian hat, a
sheep-skin jacket, and leathern breeches, gaiters, and sandals. His dress,
though old and patched, was decent, his demeanor manly, and he
addressed us with the grave courtesy that is to be remarked in the
lowest Spaniard. We were in a favorable mood for such a visitor; and in
a freak of capricious charity gave him some silver, a loaf of fine
wheaten bread, and a goblet of our choice wine of Malaga. He received
them thankfully, but without any grovelling tribute of gratitude. Tasting
the wine, he held it up to the light, with a slight beam of surprise in his
eye, then quaffing it off at a draught, "It is many years," said he, "since
I have tasted such wine. It is a cordial to an old man's heart." Then,
looking at the beautiful wheaten loaf, "Bendito sea tal pan!" "Blessed
be such bread!" So saying, he put it in his wallet. We urged him to eat it
on the spot. "No, senores," replied he, "the wine I had either to drink or
leave; but the bread I may take home to share with my family."
Our man Sancho sought our eye, and reading permission there, gave the

old man some of the ample fragments of our repast, on condition,
however, that he should sit down and make a meal.
He accordingly took his seat at some little distance from us, and began
to eat slowly, and with a sobriety and decorum that would have become
a hidalgo. There was altogether a measured manner and a quiet
self-possession about the old man, that made me think that he had seen
better days; his language too, though simple, had occasionally
something picturesque and almost poetical in the phraseology. I set him
down for some broken-down cavalier. I was mistaken; it was nothing
but the innate courtesy of a Spaniard, and the poetical turn of thought
and language often to be found in the lowest classes of this clear-witted
people. For fifty years, he told us, he had been a shepherd, but now he
was out of employ and destitute. "When I was a young man," said he,
"nothing could harm or trouble me; I was always well, always gay; but
now I am seventy-nine years of age, and a beggar, and my heart begins
to fail me."
Still he was not a regular mendicant: it was not until recently that want
had driven him to this degradation; and he gave a touching picture of
the struggle between hunger and pride, when abject destitution first
came upon him. He was returning from Malaga without money; he had
not tasted food for some time, and was crossing one of the great