Spain, v. 2 (of 2)

As on arriving at Madrid by way of the north, so on leaving it by way of the south, one must pass through a desolate country that resembles the poorest provinces of Arragon and Old Castile. There are vast plains, parched and yellow, which look as though they would echo like a hollow passageway if one were to strike them, or crumble like the crust of a crisp tart. And through the plains are scattered a few wretched villages of the same color as the soil, which seem as though they would take fire like a pile of dry leaves if one were to touch a torch to the corner of one of the huts. After an hour of travel my shoulders sought the cushions of the carriage, my elbow sought for a support, my head sought my hand, and I fell into a deep sleep like a member of Leopardi's "Assembly of Listeners." A few minutes after I had closed my eyes I was rudely awakened by a desperate cry from the women and children, and leaped to my feet, demanding of my neighbors what had occurred.

But before I had ended my question a general burst of laughter reassured me. A company of huntsmen, scattered over the plain, on noticing the approach of the train, had planned to give the travellers a little scare. At that time there was a rumor that a band of Carlists had appeared in the vicinity of Aranjuez. The huntsmen, pretending to be the vanguard of the band, had given a loud shout while the train was passing, as if to call the great body of their comrades to their assistance, and as they shouted they went through the motions of firing at the railway-carriages; hence arose the fright and the cries of my fellow-travellers. And then the huntsmen suddenly threw the butts of their guns into the air to show that it was all a joke.