The average Spaniard regards it as a sort of tax
to be as readily satisfied as a toll-fee. He will often stop and give a
beggar a cent, and wait for the change in maravedises. One day, at the
railway station, a muscular rogue approached me and begged for alms. I
offered him my _sac-de-nuit_ to carry a block or two. He drew himself up
proudly and said, "I beg your pardon, sir; I am no Gallician." An old
woman came up with a basket on her arm. "Can it be possible in this far
country," said La Senora, "or are these--yes, they are, deliberate
peanuts." With a penny we bought unlimited quantities of this levelling
edible, and with them the devoted adherence of the aged merchant. She
immediately took charge of our education. We must see Santa Maria la
Blanca,--it was a beautiful thing; so was the Transito. Did we see those
men and women grubbing in the hillside? They were digging bones to sell
at the station. Where did the bones come from? Quien sabe? Those
dust-heaps have been there since King Wamba. Come, we must go and see
the Churches of Mary before it grew dark. And the zealous old creature
marched away with us to the synagogue built by Samuel Ben Levi,
treasurer to that crowned panther, Peter the Cruel. This able financier
built this fine temple to the God of his fathers out of his own purse.
He was murdered for his money by his ungrateful lord, and his synagogue
stolen by the Church. It now belongs to the order of Cala-trava.
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