I also had an old horse named Juanillo, which I borrowed from a coachman
in San Sebastian, but I never liked horses.
The horse seems to me to be a militaristic, antipathetic animal. Neither
Robinson Crusoe nor Cyrus Harding rode horse-back.
I committed no blunders while I was a village doctor. I had already
grown prudent, and my sceptical temperament was a bar to any great
mistakes.
I first began to realize that I was a Basque in Cestona, and I recovered
my pride of race there, which I had lost.
XI
AS A BAKER
I have been asked frequently: "How did you ever come to go into the
baking business?" I shall now proceed to answer the question, although
the story is a long one.
My mother had an aunt, Juana Nessi, who was a sister of her father's.
This lady was reasonably attractive when young, and married a rich
gentleman just returned from America, whose name was Don Matias Lacasa.
Once settled in Madrid, Don Matias, who deemed himself an eagle, when,
in reality, he was a common barnyard rooster, embarked upon a series of
undertakings that failed with truly extraordinary unanimity. About 1870,
a physician from Valencia by the name of Marti, who had visited Vienna,
gave him an account of the bread they make there, and of the yeast they
use to raise it, enlarging upon the profits which lay ready to hand in
that line.
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