A moment of madness, and other stories (vol. 3 of 3)Marryat, Florence
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A moment of madness, and other stories (vol. 3 of 3)
Marryat, Florence
English fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, English
One day I met some children bearing a bier, upon which was stretched the
corpse of a little girl clothed in white garments, and with a wreath of
flowers placed upon the placid brow. The children, apparently quite
unaware of the reverence due to their sacred burden, carelessly laughed
and chatted as they bore it along the highway, sometimes sitting down
to rest, and then hurrying forward with unseemly haste, as though to
make up for lost time. A tall man, wrapped in a huge cloak, and who
evidently belonged to the little _cortège_, followed at a distance, but
he too performed the duty at his leisure, and seemed to find nothing
extraordinary or out of the way in the children’s want of decorum.
With the exception of periodical visits to the Church of Consolation
before mentioned, the people of Utrera rarely seemed to leave their
houses. To walk for the sake of walking is an idea which finds little
favour with a Spanish lady, and my friends and myself were looked upon as
very strange beings for taking so much exercise and caring to explore the
surrounding country.
But to our English taste it was pleasant to stroll up the Cadiz road
until we reached a small mound situated thereon, which was belted with
shady trees and amply provided with stone seats. This elevation commanded
the view of a vast extent of country, with the grand frowning hills of
the Sierra Nevada in the far distance, which the gorgeous sunsets always
invested with a strange, unearthly beauty. The intense solitude of the
scene, too, was not without its own peculiar charm. At intervals the
silence would be broken by the approach of a picturesque-looking peasant
bestriding a mule, the silvery jangle of whose bells had been heard in
the calm atmosphere for some time before he made his personal appearance.
These muleteers never failed to interrupt the monotonous chants they
are so fond of singing, to wish us a friendly ‘Buenas tardes’ (‘Good
evening’) while proceeding on their way, and then we would listen to the
sound of the mule’s bells and the low rich voice of his master until both
died away in the distance, and the scene resumed its normal condition of
undisturbed tranquility.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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