These
letters at my request were made out not in my own name but in that
of 'Diego d'Aila,' for I did not wish it to be known that I was an
Englishman. Nor, indeed, was this likely, except my speech should betray
me, for, as I have said, in appearance I was very Spanish, and the
hindrance of the language was one that lessened every day, since having
already learned it from my mother, and taking every opportunity to read
and speak it, within six months I could talk Castilian except for some
slight accent, like a native of the land. Also I have a gift for the
acquiring of languages.
When I was come to Seville, and had placed my baggage in an inn, not one
of the most frequented, I set out to deliver a letter of recommendation
to a famous physician of the town whose name I have long forgotten. This
physician had a fine house in the street of Las Palmas, a great avenue
planted with graceful trees, that has other little streets running into
it. Down one of these I came from my inn, a quiet narrow place having
houses with patios or courtyards on either side of it. As I walked
down this street I noticed a man sitting in the shade on a stool in the
doorway of his patio. He was small and withered, with keen black eyes
and a wonderful air of wisdom, and he watched me as I went by. Now the
house of the famous physician whom I sought was so placed that the man
sitting at this doorway could command it with his eyes and take note
of all who went in and came out.
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