But Plaséncia should not strictly be included in the Castilian family circle; she has married into Estremadura, and the mountains part her from her kind. The picturesque Estremenian peasantry lounge about her squares and plazas, but her site and her buildings seem still to proclaim her kinship. Like other Spanish wives, she has not quite dropped her maiden name.
There is not much traffic in the streets of{217} Plaséncia, neither is much expected. The workmen patching the cathedral roof were heaving over the broken tiles on to the pavement without so much as a prefatory “Heads below!” Yet the place looks far from dead, for the balconies are gay with flower-boxes, and the numerous old palaces still wear a comparatively prosperous air. The cathedral stands right upon the ancient walls, which form a sort of terrace to it upon the southern side. Internally its effect is marred by a transverse partition; but externally, though (like Mr Mantelini’s countesses) it has no outline, it is decked with a fanciful miscellaneous finery which makes it inordinately picturesque. Moreover, it is an educational centre, and we are indebted to it for constant processions of demure little students, clad in black cassocks with a burning heart worked in crimson upon the breast. They are beyond comparison the best-behaved children in the Peninsula, and make most appropriate figures in the quiet and shady square.
The Fonda where I brought myself to anchor was situated entirely upon the first floor; and this waste of good space was gratuitous, for the ground floor was all empty vaults. My bedroom was at the back. To reach it I had to pass through the{218} kitchen; and incidentally to make myself amiable to the cook, who was manipulating her pots over a range of strictly classical construction which might have been imported from Pompeii. Beyond was a tiny patio where Maria and the Señora were busy at their household duties under the shade of the vines; and then came my room. There was no window except the glazed upper panel of the door; and no ventilation when the door was shut, so it was usually open. I could shut it without getting out of bed. Our meals were served in the little comedor adjoining the kitchen. Maria waited, handing round the viands in their native earthenware pipkins, piping hot from the fire. Also she led the conversation, being a notable authority on all the latest gossip and scandal; and the cook popped her head through the serving-hatch and chimed in volubly at every suitable opening. There is a homeliness about these little hostels which is very delightful; but it is always a puzzle to me how the women get their meals. They seldom dine with their men-folk, and, so far as my observation goes, must subsist entirely on “tasters.”