There was no lack of guests at the Trojan Horse, where we had taken up our abode at Valladolid.Amongst others who arrived during my sojourn was a robust buxom dame, exceedingly well dressed in black silk, with a costly mantilla.She was accompanied by a very handsome, but sullen and malicious-looking urchin of about fifteen, who appeared to be her son.
She came from Toro, a place about a day's journey from Valladolid, and celebrated for its wine.One night, as we were seated in the court of the inn enjoying the fresco, the following conversation ensued between us.
LADY.- Vaya, vaya, what a tiresome place is Valladolid!
How different from Toro.
MYSELF.- I should have thought that it is at least as agreeable as Toro, which is not a third part so large.
LADY.- As agreeable as Toro! Vaya, vaya! Were you ever in the prison of Toro, Sir Cavalier?
MYSELF.- I have never had that honour; the prison is generally the last place which I think of visiting.
LADY.- See the difference of tastes: I have been to see the prison of Valladolid, and it seems as tiresome as the town.
MYSELF.- Of course, if grief and tediousness exist anywhere, you will find them in the prison.
LADY.- Not in that of Toro.
MYSELF.- What does that of Toro possess to distinguish it from all others?
LADY.- What does it possess? Vaya! Am I not the carcelera? Is not my husband the alcayde? Is not that son of mine a child of the prison?
MYSELF.- I beg your pardon, I was not aware of that circumstance; it of course makes much difference.
LADY.- I believe you.I am a daughter of that prison, my father was alcayde, and my son might hope to be so, were he not a fool.
MYSELF.- His countenance then belies him strangely: Ishould be loth to purchase that youngster for a fool.
GAOLERESS.- You would have a fine bargain if you did; he has more picardias than any Calabozero in Toro.What I mean is, that he does not take to the prison as he ought to do, considering what his fathers were before him.He has too much pride - too many fancies; and he has at length persuaded me to bring him to Valladolid, where I have arranged with a merchant who lives in the Plaza to take him on trial.I wish he may not find his way to the prison: if he do, he will find that being a prisoner is a very different thing from being a son of the prison.
MYSELF.- As there is so much merriment at Toro, you of course attend to the comfort of your prisoners.
GAOLERESS.- Yes, we are very kind to them; I mean to those who are caballeros; but as for those with vermin and miseria, what can we do? It is a merry prison that of Toro; we allow as much wine to enter as the prisoners can purchase and pay duty for.This of Valladolid is not half so gay: there is no prison like Toro.I learned there to play on the guitar.
An Andalusian cavalier taught me to touch the guitar and to sing a la Gitana.Poor fellow, he was my first novio.
Juanito, bring me the guitar, that I may play this gentleman a tune of Andalusia.
The carcelera had a fine voice, and touched the favourite instrument of the Spaniards in a truly masterly manner.Iremained listening to her performance for nearly an hour, when I retired to my apartment and my repose.I believe that she continued playing and singing during the greater part of the night, for as I occasionally awoke I could still hear her; and, even in my slumbers, the strings were ringing in my ears.
