"But the saints," said L'Isle, "knowing that the air of France would not agree with them, wisely staid behind."

As they were coming out of the cathedral, Mrs. Shortridge asked L'Isle the meaning of the words on a tablet near them: "_Oy se sacca animas_."

"They give us notice," said L'Isle, "that to-day souls are released from Purgatory. But surely the notice is incomplete, not specifying whose souls they are. Their friends may go on spending money in ma.s.ses for them after they are in Paradise."

"That would be throwing away their cash," said Mrs. Shortridge. "I have known good folks in London exercise their charity by releasing small debtors from prison. But their bounty bears little fruit, compared with that of the Papist, who, by opening his purse, rescues sinful souls from purgatory. But our works, as our faith, fall far short of theirs."

"And the Spaniards are foremost among the faithful," said L'Isle.

"They are greedy of belief, even beyond what the church commands. Thus the mysterious origin of the Holy Virgin, which once convulsed the Spanish church, is here no longer a disputed point. It is the first article of their creed, as proved by their commonest term of salutation. On entering a Spaniard's house, you must begin with the words, '_Ave Maria Purissima_,' to which will be answered, '_Sin pecado concebida_.' Smithfield fires could not burn this dogma out of them, and they would become schismatics if the rest of Popedom were not treading on their heels. Yet to me this doctrine seems to sap the great Christian truth, that Christ is 'G.o.d made man,' for it pushes his human origin one generation further back. Did Scripture tell the name of the mother of the blessed Virgin, the next age might discover that she too was '_sin pecado concebida_.'"

"Since I have been in this land," said Mrs. Shortridge, "I have seen scarcely a street, or even a house, which is without an image or picture of the blessed Virgin, and the images are often crowned with flowers."

"She is the G.o.ddess of these southern nations," L'Isle answered; "and styled the Mother of G.o.d. Moreover, every pious Spaniard regards the Virgin in the light of his friend, his confidante, his mistress, whose whole attention is directed to himself, and who is perpetually watching over his happiness. With the name of Mary ever on his lips he follows his business, his pleasures, and his sins. It is in the name, too, of Mary," L'Isle continued, with an arch smile, "that the ladies write billetdoux, send their portraits, and entertain their gallants."

"Stop," said Mrs. Shortridge; "you are libeling our s.e.x, and your love of satire makes you as bitter against Popery as old Moodie himself."

"It is, at least, no scandal to say that, under her patronage, small sins are easily absolved here, on the performance of certain duties of atonement."

"What are the duties of atonement?"

"Ave Marias, fasts, and alms. The alms go to the begging friars, or else to buy ma.s.ses for the souls in purgatory."

Walking up the sloping street that leads to the castle, they found this Moorish edifice in a shattered condition, a few towers only standing whole amidst the ruins. From one of these, looking northward across the river which ran three hundred feet below them, they saw the strong fort of San Christoval towering above them, while they, in turn, overlooked the city, and beyond its walls, the plain to the south, not long since covered with vineyards, and olive groves, and the picturesque villas of the richer citizens of Badajoz--now its bare surface was furrowed with trenches, ridged with field works, and spotted with ruins. The devastating blast of war had left it the picture of desolation.

Lady Mabel, turning to ask L'Isle a question, saw him gazing gloomily down into the deep but dry fosse below them.

"What fixes your attention on that spot," she asked.

"Do you see where the earth shows, by its color differing from the adjacent soil, that it has been turned up not long since? Thousands of Britons, Portuguese, and French are buried there. They met but to contend, yet now lie peaceably together. I have more than one friend among them."

Mrs. Shortridge put her hand before her eyes, and Lady Mabel turned pale as she gazed earnestly below. "Come," she said, at length, "we have seen enough of b.l.o.o.d.y Badajoz. There are some feelings that may well kill the idle curiosity that led us. .h.i.ther."

Descending into the town, they walked into the great square, their party attracting much attention from several groups of citizens and of soldiers of the garrison. Captain Don Alonso Melendez stopped them here to point out various objects of interest, being evidently anxious to display himself as the patron and intimate of these distinguished strangers. He brought forward and presented to them two or three more of his brother officers whom he here met.

While he was thus engaged with others of the party, Lady Mabel found leisure to remark to Cranfield: "Short as is the distance from Elvas to Badajoz, I fancy I can perceive, without listening to the language around me, that I am among a new people."

"You may well be struck with the language," said Cranfield, "while listening to our patronizing friend here. But you must not take his discourse for a fair sample of Spanish style or facts."

"Of course not," said Lady Mabel. "Eloquence and intelligence like his are rare everywhere."

"I trust they are," said Cranfield, with a sneer. "But there is already an obvious difference observable here in the people, which becomes more marked as you proceed toward Castile. The Spaniard is taller and yet leaner than the Portuguese. He has a more expressive countenance, a striking sedateness of carriage, and a settled gravity of manner, especially when silent, which makes him seem wiser than he is. With much elegance of form, his meagre person shows that he is the denizen of a dry climate, which, every Spaniard will tell you, gives a peculiar compactness of structure to all its products: the wheat of Spain makes more bread, its beef and mutton are more nourishing, its wines have more body, and the men more enduring vigor than those of other countries. Certain it is that Spanish troops have often proved great marchers; yet of all nations they have the slenderest legs, and indeed they never use their own when they can subst.i.tute those of horse, mule, or _burro_."

"The heat of the climate discourages exercise on foot," said Lady Mabel.

"Or labor of any kind," said Cranfield. "The universal cloak sufficiently proves that they are not a working people."

"And imperfectly conceals that they are a ragged one," said she. "Had I old Moodie at my elbow, he would remind me that 'drowsiness shall clothe a man in rags.'"

Observing Cranfield gazing round the square with much interest, she said: "You must be quite familiar with this place."

"I shall never forget the occasion on which I saw it first," he answered. "I was one of two engineers attached on the a.s.sault to General Walker's brigade. While Picton was scaling the castle walls, and crowds of our brave fellows were dying in the breaches, we succeeded in forcing our way into the place over the bastion of San Vincente. Hard work we had of it, and the fight did not end there; for the enemy stubbornly disputed bastion after bastion on our flank, and our commander fell on the ramparts covered with so many wounds that his living seemed a miracle. The detachment I was with pushed forward into the town. The streets were empty, but brilliantly illuminated, and no person was to be seen; yet a low buzz and whisper was heard around; lattices were now and then opened, and from time to time shots were fired from underneath the doors by the Spaniards--"

"The French, you mean," said Lady Mabel.

"No; the Spaniards," persisted Cranfield. "And perhaps our talking friend there was one of them."

"Don Alonso is an Andalusian and a patriot," said Lady Mabel; "and I will not have him so traduced."

"Be it so," replied Cranfield. "It is lucky for your patriot that he was not here. However, the troops, with bugles sounding, advanced up yonder street into this square, and we captured several mules going with ammunition to the trenches. But the square was empty and silent as the streets, and the houses as bright with lamps; a terrible enchantment seemed to be in operation; for we saw nothing but light, and heard nothing but the low whispers around us, while the tumult at the breach was like the crashing thunder. There, though the place was already carried on two sides, by Picton's column and ours, the murderous conflict still raged; we still heard the shots, and shouts, and infernal uproar, while hundreds and hundreds fell and died after fierce a.s.sault and desperate resistance were alike vain. We pushed on that way to take the garrison in reserve, but our weak battalion was repulsed by their reserve, and some time elapsed before the French found out that Badajoz had changed hands."

"But it was ours!" exclaimed Lady Mabel, "though too dearly bought."

"The carnage was dreadful," said Cranfield; "and when the full extent of that night's havoc became known to Lord Wellington, the firmness of his nature gave way for a moment, and the pride of conquest yielded to a pa.s.sionate burst of grief at the loss of his gallant soldiers.--Then came the _voe victis_," continued Cranfield. "We do not like to dwell on the wild and desperate wickedness which Badajoz witnessed on becoming ours. By the by, just where we stand stood the gallows."

"The gallows!" Lady Mabel exclaimed, stepping back from the polluted spot. "You could not hang the French. Did you hang the Spaniards who had fired on you."

"No; but Lord Wellington was compelled to hang some of his own heroes for making too free with what was theirs by right of conquest."

The young surgeon, who had been listening to Cranfield, now thought it time to lay some of his coloring on this picture of the siege, storming and sack of this unhappy city. He told some curious and thrilling incidents, but his profession getting the mastery of him, he soon got to the hospital, and, amidst ghastly wounds, horrid disfigurations, and dismembered limbs, began to bandage, slash, and saw, until Lady Mabel sickened at the tale. "Pray stop there; you make me shudder at your hospital scenes, which, in their endless variety of suffering are too like the Popish pictures of souls in Purgatory. I prefer going to dine at the posada, to stopping here to sup full of horrors."

They now returned to the posada and had their Spanish friends to dine with them--Lady Mabel seating Don Alonso beside her, and losing not a word of his grandiloquence. After the meal the party dispersed--most of them taking a siesta in order to get rid of two or three hot hours of the afternoon before they set out on their way back to Elvas. Their Spanish friends however, returned and persuaded them to postpone their ride until they had taken an evening promenade on the bridge, the favorite resort of the ladies of Badajoz and their cavaliers during the hot weather. Here they enjoy an extended prospect, and the cooling breezes that attend the current of a great river.

They found here many of the first people of Badajoz and many of the Spanish officers and their fair friends. Leaning against the parapet of the bridge, Lady Mabel forgot the idlers walking by, while she gazed on the scenery around, or watched the gliding stream below, and listened to L'Isle speaking of the Guadiana; of its mysterious disappearance near its source, its course betrayed only by the rich pastures overlying the subterranean streams, of its return to daylight in the lakes called its eyes: _Ojos de la Guadiana_; and following it to Portugal, to the _Salto de Lobo_, so called because a wolf might leap across the deep but narrow chasm between the overhanging rocks, he named the noted places on its banks, and quoted many a ballad of which it was the theme. Presently, finding themselves almost alone they followed their companions, to the bridge head, and joined the large company a.s.sembled in this outwork. The Spanish officers had provided music for their entertainment, and oranges and confectionary were handed about. Of the latter, the Spanish and Portuguese ladies, according to national habit, eat a great quant.i.ty. After a pause the musicians struck up a lively seguidilla, the gentlemen secured partners, Lady Mabel declining a dozen applications, and with difficulty ridding herself of Don Alonso, who could not understand how a lady who delighted so much in his conversation could refuse to dance with him.

The level s.p.a.ce within this outwork was now crowded with couples, the Portuguese ladies entering fully into the spirit of the hour. Mrs.

Shortridge and Lady Mabel stood aside, with L'Isle, and had the pleasure of witnessing a genuine _impromptu_ Spanish ball in the open air. They were at once struck with the sudden gayety and activity of a people habitually so grave and inert. But as one dance followed another, the vivacity of the party increased. Many of the officers and some of their fair friends were from Andalusia, where music and the castinets are never heard in vain. Presently the tune was changed, and the excited dancers slid over into the fandango and volero, danced out to the life in so demonstrative, voluptuous and seducing a style, that Mrs. Shortridge declared such exhibitions abominable, and that they should be prohibited by law; while Lady Mabel shrinkingly looked on in bewildered astonishment. She had herself danced many a time, though not as often as she wished; but such dancing she had never dreamed of before.

At this moment the sun set, and the bells of the churches and convents across the water gave the signal for repeating the evening prayer to the Virgin. In an instant the gay crowd was arrested as if by magic. The music ceased; the dancers stood still; the women veiled their faces with their fans; the men took off their hats; and all breathed out or seemed to breathe a prayer to the protecting power who had brought them to the close of another day--all but the English officers, who, mingled with the devout dancers, stood looking like profane fools caught without a prayer for the occasion. After a short solemn pause, the men put on their hats, the women uncovered their faces, the music again struck up, and the throng glided off into gayety and revelry as before.

"I would not have lost this for any thing," Lady Mabel exclaimed; "It is so sudden and extraordinary a transition from the wild abandonment of revelry to absorbing devotion and back again to the revels. Without seeing it, I could not have imagined it. I have before witnessed and, at times, been impressed with this solemn call to the evening prayer, misdirected though it be. But here the effect is utterly ridiculous, to say the least."

"This may give you an insight into the Spanish character on more than one point," said L'Isle. "As to their love of dancing, and of the fandango in particular, it is said, though I do not vouch for it, that the Church of Rome, scandalized that a country so renowned for the purity of its faith, had not long ago proscribed so profane a dance, resolved to p.r.o.nounce the solemn condemnation of it. A consistory a.s.sembled; the prosecution of the fandango was begun according to rule, and a sentence was about to be thundered against it. But there was a wise Spanish prelate present who knew his countrymen, and dreaded a schism, should they be driven to choose between the fandango and the faith. He stepped forward and objected to the criminal's being condemned without being heard.

"The observation had weight with the a.s.sembly. He was allowed to produce before them a _majo_ and a _maja_ of Seville, who, to the sound of voluptuous music, displayed all the seductive graces of the dance. The severity of the judges was not proof against the exhibition. Their austere countenances began to relax; they rose from their seats; their legs and arms soon found their former suppleness; the consistory-hall was changed into a dancing-room, and the fandango acquitted."

Both ladies laughed heartily at this story, and L'Isle went on to say; "In spite of the exhibition before us, these people, in their serious hours, retain all the gravity and ceremonious stateliness in language and manner of their forefathers, in the time of Charles the Fifth and his glooming son, when the Spaniard was the admiration and dread of Europe.

"I have been told," said Lady Mabel, "that you may, at this day, find many a Spaniard who might sit for the portrait of Alva himself."

"Yes," answered L'Isle, "It has been well said that the Spaniard of the sixteenth century has vanished, but his mask remains."

Twilight was now failing them, and the party from Elvas hastened back to the posada. The horses had been brought out, and some of the ladies were already mounted, when Don Alonso Melendez came hastily up, having followed them to take a ceremonious leave. His parting words with his new friends, and especially his compliments to Lady Mabel, who did not allow herself to remain in his debt, delayed them some time. As they rode off, he waved his hat, and called out: "_Con todo el mondo guerra, y paz con Inglaterra!_"

"We taught them that proverb long ago," said Cranfield, "by taking their galleons laden with plate from the New World."

"The Spaniard has a treasury of wisdom locked up in his proverbs,"

said L'Isle. "What a pity it is he will not take some of it out to meet the current demands on him."

They soon again crossed the bridge, and entered the _tete du point_--but the dancers had vanished; their music was hushed; nor was its place supplied by the song of the morning. The chorus of "Guadiana--Guadiana," no longer arose from its banks. All was still, dark and desolate before them.