Carmen | Page 3

the earlier part of our journey he had
proved himself a most unrivalled chatterer. He seemed ill at ease in the
presence of our guest, and a sort of mutual distrust, the cause of which I
could not exactly fathom, seemed to be between them.
The last crumbs of bread and scraps of ham had disappeared. We had
each smoked our second cigar; I told the guide to bridle the horses, and
was just about to take leave of my new friend, when he inquired where

I was going to spend the night.
Before I had time to notice a sign my guide was making to me I had
replied that I was going to the Venta del Cuervo.
"That's a bad lodging for a gentleman like you, sir! I'm bound there
myself, and if you'll allow me to ride with you, we'll go together."
"With pleasure!" I replied, mounting my horse. The guide, who was
holding my stirrup, looked at me meaningly again. I answered by
shrugging my shoulders, as though to assure him I was perfectly easy
in my mind, and we started on our way.
Antonio's mysterious signals, his evident anxiety, a few words dropped
by the stranger, above all, his ride of thirty leagues, and the far from
plausible explanation he had given us of it, had already enabled me to
form an opinion as to the identity of my fellow-traveller. I had no doubt
at all I was in the company of a smuggler, and possibly of a brigand.
What cared I? I knew enough of the Spanish character to be very
certain I had nothing to fear from a man who had eaten and smoked
with me. His very presence would protect me in case of any undesirable
meeting. And besides, I was very glad to know what a brigand was
really like. One doesn't come across such gentry every day. And there
is a certain charm about finding one's self in close proximity to a
dangerous being, especially when one feels the being in question to be
gentle and tame.
I was hoping the stranger might gradually fall into a confidential mood,
and in spite of my guide's winks, I turned the conversation to the
subject of highwaymen. I need scarcely say that I spoke of them with
great respect. At that time there was a famous brigand in Andalusia, of
the name of Jose-Maria, whose exploits were on every lip. "Supposing
I should be riding along with Jose-Maria!" said I to myself. I told all
the stories I knew about the hero--they were all to his credit, indeed,
and loudly expressed my admiration of his generosity and his valour.
"Jose-Maria is nothing but a blackguard," said the stranger gravely.

"Is he just to himself, or is this an excess of modesty?" I queried,
mentally, for by dint of scrutinizing my companion, I had ended by
reconciling his appearance with the description of Jose-Maria which I
read posted up on the gates of various Andalusian towns. "Yes, this
must be he--fair hair, blue eyes, large mouth, good teeth, small hands,
fine shirt, a velvet jacket with silver buttons on it, white leather gaiters,
and a bay horse. Not a doubt about it. But his incognito shall be
respected!" We reached the venta. It was just what he had described to
me. In other words, the most wretched hole of its kind I had as yet
beheld. One large apartment served as kitchen, dining-room, and
sleeping chamber. A fire was burning on a flat stone in the middle of
the room, and the smoke escaped through a hole in the roof, or rather
hung in a cloud some feet above the soil. Along the walls five or six
mule rugs were spread on the floor. These were the travellers' beds.
Twenty paces from the house, or rather from the solitary apartment
which I have just described, stood a sort of shed, that served for a
stable.
The only inhabitants of this delightful dwelling visible at the moment,
at all events, were an old woman, and a little girl of ten or twelve years
old, both of them as black as soot, and dressed in loathsome rags.
"Here's the sole remnant of the ancient populations of Munda Boetica,"
said I to myself. "O Caesar! O Sextus Pompeius, if you were to revisit
this earth how astounded you would be!"
When the old woman saw my travelling companion an exclamation of
surprise escaped her. "Ah! Senor Don Jose!" she cried.
Don Jose frowned and lifted his hand with a gesture of authority that
forthwith silenced the old dame.
I turned to my guide and gave him to understand, by a sign that no one
else perceived, that I knew all about the man in whose company I was