But here again "if the house of God is rich that of man is poor," pauperous in fact. When once the traveler has forced himself to believe that León was not many centuries since the rich capital of a vast empire he must surely fall sad and pensive reflecting how mutable and fleeting indeed are the things of earth. The León of to-day is a large village, a dried-up, dirty, dilapidated, depopulated, cobble-streeted village of snarling, meretricious-minded inhabitants jumbled together inside a wall that with the cathedral is the only remaining proof of former importance. Here once more was the beggar with his distressing whine, his brow of bronze, and his all too evident injuries; not numerously but constituting a large percentage of the population. In all Spain the devise of insurance companies on the fronts of buildings is more than frequent; in León there was barely a hovel without one or more. Which could not but awaken profound wonder, for not only are there no wooden houses within her walls to make danger of fire imminent, but a greater blessing could hardly be imagined for León than a general and all-embracing conflagration.
It was, perhaps, because of the unbroken misery with which they were surrounded that the Leónese were individually crabbed and cynical. Not a courteous word do I remember having received in all the town, and in vitriolic remarks the keepers and guests of the tumble-down parador where I was forced to put up outdid all others.
I was off in the morning at the first opportunity, again by train, which, passing in the early afternoon through a blinding sand-storm near the village of Cisneros, landed me soon after at Palencia. This was a counterpart of León; a trifle less sulky and universally miserable, but as sprawling, sun-parched, and slovenly. Its surrounding plains were utterly verdureless, their flanking hills ossified, its gardens, promenades, and Alameda past all hope of relief by sprinkling even had its river not long since gone desert-dry as the rest. I left the place quickly, riding into the night and descending at length to march to the inspiriting music of a military band along a broad, thick-peopled Alameda, at the end of which a giant statue of Columbus bulked massive against the moonlit sky, into Valladolid.
I had come again upon a real city, almost the first since leaving Madrid; whence accommodations, while in no sense lacking, were high in price. In the course of an hour of prowling, however, I was apprised of the existence of a modest casa eta huéspedes in a canyon-like side street. I rang the great doorbell below several times in vain; which was as I had expected, for foolish indeed would have been the Spaniard who remained within doors on such a night, while the band played and the city strolled in the Alameda. I dropped my bundle at my feet and leaned against the lintel of the massive doorway.
Within an hour there arrived another seeker after quarters, a slender Spaniard in the early summer of life, who carried two heavy portmanteaus and a leather swordcase. Almost at the opening of our conversation he surprised me by inquiring, "You are a foreigner, verdad, señor?" I commended his penetration and, as we chatted, sought for some sign of his profession or place in society. All at once the long, slender swordcase caught my eye.
"Ah! Es usted torero, señor," I observed with assurance.
The youth awakened the echoes of the narrow street with his laughter.
"Bullfighter! No, indeed! I am happy to say no. I am a student in the national cavalry school here, just returned from my month's furlough. But your error is natural," he went on, "and my fault. I have really no right to appear in civilian garb. It would mean a month of bread and water at least if one of our officers caught a glimpse of me. But carajo! The family above may not be back by midnight. We can leave our baggage with the portier next door."
We strolled slowly back to the brilliantly lighted Plaza de la Constitutión. Suddenly the youth interrupted an anecdote of the tan-bark to exclaim in a calm but earnest voice:
"Caramba! There come my commandante and the first lieutenant."