BALTASAR.- Ho, ho, Don Jorge, she has told you that, has she; what would you have, Don Jorge? I am young, and young blood will have its course.I am called Baltasar the gay by all the other nationals, and it is on account of my gaiety and the liberality of my opinions that I am so popular among them.
When I mount guard I invariably carry my guitar with me, and then there is sure to be a function at the guardhouse.We send for wine, Don Jorge, and the nationals become wild, Don Jorge, dancing and drinking through the night, whilst Baltasarito strums the guitar and sings them songs of Germania:
"Una romi sin pachi Le peno a su chindomar," &c., &c.
That is Gitano, Don Jorge; I learnt it from the toreros of Andalusia, who all speak Gitano, and are mostly of Gypsy blood.I learnt it from them; they are all friends of mine, Montes Sevilla and Poquito Pan.I never miss a function of bulls, Don Jorge.Baltasar is sure to be there with his amiga.
Don Jorge, there are no bull-functions in the winter, or Iwould carry you to one, but happily to-morrow there is an execution, a funcion de la horca; and there we will go, Don Jorge.
We did go to see this execution, which I shall long remember.The criminals were two young men, brothers; they suffered for a most atrocious murder, having in the dead of night broke open the house of an aged man, whom they put to death, and whose property they stole.Criminals in Spain are not hanged as they are in England, or guillotined as in France, but strangled upon a wooden stage.They sit down on a kind of chair with a post behind, to which is affixed an iron collar with a screw; this iron collar is made to clasp the neck of the prisoner, and on a certain signal it is drawn tighter and tighter by means of the screw, until life becomes extinct.
After we had waited amongst the assembled multitude a considerable time, the first of the culprits appeared; he was mounted on an ass, without saddle or stirrups, his legs being allowed to dangle nearly to the ground.He was dressed in yellow sulphur-coloured robes, with a high-peaked conical red hat on his head, which was shaven.Between his hands he held a parchment, on which was written something, I believe the confession of faith.Two priests led the animal by the bridle;two others walked on either side, chanting litanies, amongst which I distinguished the words of heavenly peace and tranquillity, for the culprit had been reconciled to the church, had confessed and received absolution, and had been promised admission to heaven.He did not exhibit the least symptom of fear, but dismounted from the animal and was led, not supported, up the scaffold, where he was placed on the chair, and the fatal collar put round his neck.One of the priests then in a loud voice commenced saying the Belief, and the culprit repeated the words after him.On a sudden, the executioner, who stood behind, commenced turning the screw, which was of prodigious force, and the wretched man - was almost instantly a corpse; but, as the screw went round, the priest began to shout, "PAX ET MISERICORDIA ET TRANQUILLITAS,"and still as he shouted, his voice became louder and louder, till the lofty walls of Madrid rang with it: then stooping down, he placed his mouth close to the culprit's ear, still shouting, just as if he would pursue the spirit through its course to eternity, cheering it on its way.The effect was tremendous.I myself was so excited that I involuntarily shouted "MISERICORDIA," and so did many others.God was not thought of; Christ was not thought of; only the priest was thought of, for he seemed at that moment to be the first being in existence, and to have the power of opening and shutting the gates of heaven or of hell, just as he should think proper.Astriking instance of the successful working of the Popish system, whose grand aim has ever been to keep people's minds as far as possible from God, and to centre their hopes and fears in the priesthood.The execution of the second culprit was precisely similar; he ascended the scaffold a few minutes after his brother had breathed his last.
I have visited most of the principal capitals of the world, but upon the whole none has ever so interested me as this city of Madrid, in which I now found myself.I will not dwell upon its streets, its edifices, its public squares, its fountains, though some of these are remarkable enough: but Petersburg has finer streets, Paris and Edinburgh more stately edifices, London far nobler squares, whilst Shiraz can boast of more costly fountains, though not cooler waters.But the population! Within a mud wall, scarcely one league and a half in circuit, are contained two hundred thousand human beings, certainly forming the most extraordinary vital mass to be found in the entire world; and be it always remembered that this mass is strictly Spanish.The population of Constantinople is extraordinary enough, but to form it twenty nations have contributed; Greeks, Armenians, Persians, Poles, Jews, the latter, by the by, of Spanish origin, and speaking amongst themselves the old Spanish language; but the huge population of Madrid, with the exception of a sprinkling of foreigners, chiefly French tailors, glove-makers and peruquiers, is strictly Spanish, though a considerable portion are not natives of the place.Here are no colonies of Germans, as at Saint Petersburg; no English factories, as at Lisbon; no multitudes of insolent Yankees lounging through the streets as at the Havannah, with an air which seems to say, the land is our own whenever we choose to take it; but a population which, however strange and wild, and composed of various elements, is Spanish, and will remain so as long as the city itself shall exist.
