CHAPTER XXII.

After a sojourn of about ten days at Valladolid, we directed our course towards Leon.  We arrived about noon at Dueñas, [303] a town at the distance of six short leagues from Valladolid.  It is in every respect a singular place: it stands on a rising ground, and directly above it towers a steep conical mountain of calcareous earth, crowned by a ruined castle.  Around Dueñas are seen a multitude of caves scooped in the high banks and secured with strong doors.  These are cellars, in which is deposited the wine, of which abundance is grown in the neighbourhood, and which is chiefly sold to the Navarrese and the mountaineers of Santander, who arrive in cars drawn by oxen, and convey it away in large quantities.  We put up at a mean posada in the suburb for the purpose of refreshing our horses.  Several cavalry soldiers were quartered there, who instantly came forth, and began, with the eyes of connoisseurs, to inspect my Andalusian entero.  “A capital horse that would be for our troop,” said the corporal; “what a chest he has!  By what right do you travel with that horse, señor, when so many are wanted for the queen’s service?  He belongs to the requiso.” [304a]  “I travel with him by right of purchase, and being an Englishman,” I replied.  “Oh, your worship is an Englishman,” answered the corporal; “that, indeed, alters the matter.  The English in Spain are allowed to do what they please with their own, which is more than the Spaniards are.  Cavalier, I have seen your countrymen [304b] in the Basque provinces; vaya, what riders! what horses!  They do not fight badly either.  But their chief skill is in riding: I have seen them dash over barrancos to get at the factious, who thought themselves quite secure, and then they would fall upon them on a sudden and kill them to a man.  In truth, your worship, this is a fine horse; I must look at his teeth.”

I looked at the corporal—his nose and eyes were in the horse’s mouth: the rest of the party, who might amount to six or seven, were not less busily engaged.  One was examining his fore feet, another his hind; one fellow was pulling at his tail with all his might, while another pinched the windpipe, for the purpose of discovering whether the animal was at all touched there.  At last, perceiving that the corporal was about to remove the saddle, that he might examine the back of the animal, I exclaimed—

“Stay, ye chabés of Egypt, ye forget that ye are hundunares, [304c] and are no longer paruguing grastes in the chardí.”

The corporal at these words turned his face full upon me, and so did all the rest.  Yes, sure enough, there were the countenances of Egypt, and the fixed filmy stare of eye.  We continued looking at each other for a minute at least, when the corporal, a villanous-looking fellow, at last said, in the richest gypsy whine imaginable, “The erray knows us, the poor Caloré!  And he an Englishman!  Bullati!  I should not have thought that there was e’er a Busnó would know us in these parts, where Gitanos are never seen.  Yes, your worship is right; we are all here of the blood of the Caloré.  We are from Melegrana, your worship; they took us from thence and sent us to the wars.  Your worship is right; the sight of that horse made us believe we were at home again in the mercado of Granada; he is a countryman of ours, a real Andalou.  Por dios, your worship, sell us that horse; we are poor Caloré, but we can buy him.”

“We are soldiers, your worship,” said the corporal, “but we are still Caloré.  We buy and sell bestis; the captain of our troop is in league with us.  We have been to the wars, but not to fight; we left that to the Busné.  We have kept together, and, like true Caloré, have stood back to back.  We have made money in the wars, your worship.  No tenga usted cuidao. [305a]  We can buy your horse.”

Here he pulled out a purse, which contained at least ten ounces [305b] of gold.

“If I were willing to sell,” I replied, “what would you give me for that horse?”

“Then your worship wishes to sell your horse—that alters the matter.  We will give ten dollars for your worship’s horse.  He is good for nothing.”

“What do you mean by showing me this wretched creature?” said I.

I took the halter in my hand and mounted.  I was no sooner on his back than the creature, who had before stood stone still, without displaying the slightest inclination to move, and who in fact gave no farther indication of existence than occasionally rolling his eyes and pricking up an ear, sprang forward like a racehorse, at a most desperate gallop.  I had expected that he might kick or fling himself down on the ground, in order to get rid of his burden, but for this escapade I was quite unprepared.  I had no difficulty, however, in keeping on his back, having been accustomed from my childhood to ride without a saddle.  To stop him, however, baffled all my endeavours, and I almost began to pay credit to the words of the gypsy, who had said that he would run on until he reached the sea.  I had, however, a strong arm, and I tugged at the halter until I compelled him to turn slightly his neck, which from its stiffness might almost have been of wood; he, however, did not abate his speed for a moment.  On the left side of the road down which he was dashing was a deep trench, just where the road took a turn towards the right, and over this he sprang in a sideward direction.  The halter broke with the effort; the pony shot forward like an arrow, whilst I fell back into the dust.

“Señor, as your worship is an Englishman, and a good ginete, and, moreover, understands the ways of the Caloré, and their tricks and their language also, I will sell him to you a bargain.  I will take two hundred and sixty dollars for him, and no less.”

Two hours’ ride brought us to Palencia, [309a] a fine old town, beautifully situated on the Carrion, and famous for its trade in wool.  We put up at the best posada which the place afforded, and I forthwith proceeded to visit one of the principal merchants of the town, to whom I was recommended by my banker in Madrid.  I was told, however, that he was taking his siesta.  “Then I had better take my own,” said I, and returned to the posada.  In the evening I went again, when I saw him.  He was a short bulky man, about thirty, and received me at first with some degree of bluntness; his manner, however, presently became more kind, and at last he scarcely appeared to know how to show me sufficient civility.  His brother had just arrived from Santander, and to him he introduced me.  This last was a highly intelligent person, and had passed many years of his life in England.  They both insisted upon showing me the town, and, indeed, led me all over it, and about the neighbourhood.  I particularly admired the cathedral, a light, elegant, but ancient Gothic edifice. [309b]  Whilst we walked about the aisles, the evening sun, pouring its mellow rays through the arched windows, illumined some beautiful paintings of Murillo, [310a] with which the sacred edifice is adorned.  From the church my friends conducted me to a fulling mill in the neighbourhood, by a picturesque walk.  There was no lack either of trees or water, and I remarked, that the environs of Palencia were amongst the most pleasant places that I had ever seen.

Tired at last with rambling, we repaired to a coffee-house, where they regaled me with chocolate and sweetmeats.  Such was their hospitality; and of hospitality of this simple and agreeable kind there is much in Spain.

On the next day we pursued our journey, a dreary one, for the most part, over bleak and barren plains, interspersed with silent and cheerless towns and villages, which stood at the distance of two or three leagues from each other.  About midday we obtained a dim and distant view of an immense range of mountains, [310b] which are in fact those which bound Castile on the north.  The day, however, became dim and obscure, and we speedily lost sight of them.  A hollow wind now arose and blew over these desolate plains with violence, wafting clouds of dust into our faces; the rays of the sun were few, and those red and angry.  I was tired of my journey, and when about four we reached ---, [311] a large village, halfway between Palencia and Leon, I declared my intention of stopping for the night.  I scarcely ever saw a more desolate place than this same town or village of ---.  The houses were for the most part large, but the walls were of mud, like those of barns.  We saw no person in the long winding street to direct us to the venta, or posada, till at last, at the farther end of the place, we descried two black figures standing at a door, of whom, on making inquiry, we learned that the door at which they stood was that of the house we were in quest of.  There was something strange in the appearance of these two beings, who seemed the genii of the place.  One was a small slim man, about fifty, with sharp ill-natured features.  He was dressed in coarse black worsted stockings, black breeches, and an ample black coat with long trailing skirts.  I should at once have taken him for an ecclesiastic, but for his hat, which had nothing clerical about it, being a pinched diminutive beaver.  His companion was of low stature, and a much younger man.  He was dressed in similar fashion, save that he wore a dark blue cloak.  Both carried walking-sticks in their hands, and kept hovering about the door, now within and now without, occasionally looking up the road, as if they expected some one.

“Trust me, mon maître,” said Antonio to me, in French, “those two fellows are Carlist priests, and are awaiting the arrival of the Pretender.  Les imbeciles!”

We conducted our horses to the stable, to which we were shown by the woman of the house.  “Who are those men?” said I to her.

“I bring no news from Catalonia,” [312] said I.  “I believe, however, that the greater part of that principality is in the hands of the Carlists.”

“Ahem, brother Pedro!  This gentleman says that the greater part of Catalonia is in the hands of the royalists.  Pray, sir, where may Don Carlos be at present with his army?”

“He may be coming down the road this moment,” said I, “for what I know;” and, stepping out, I looked up the way.

The two figures were at my side in a moment.  Antonio followed, and we all four looked intently up the road.

“Do you see anything?” said I at last to Antonia.

“Non, mon maître.”

“Do you see anything, sir?” said I to the curate.

“I see nothing,” said the curate, stretching out his neck.

“I see nothing,” said Pedro, the ex-friar; “I see nothing but the dust, which is becoming every moment more blinding.”

“I am of no opinion at all,” said I, “save that I want my supper.  I am neither for Rey nor Roque. [313]  You say that I am a Catalan, and you know that Catalans think only of their own affairs.”

In the evening I strolled by myself about the village, which I found still more forlorn and melancholy that it at first appeared; perhaps, however, it had been a place of consequence in its time.  In one corner of it I found the ruins of a large clumsy castle, chiefly built of flint stones: into these ruins I attempted to penetrate, but the entrance was secured by a gate.  From the castle I found my way to the convent, a sad desolate place, formerly the residence of mendicant brothers of the order of St. Francis.  I was about to return to the inn, when I heard a loud buzz of voices, and, following the sound, presently reached a kind of meadow, where, upon a small knoll, sat a priest in full canonicals, reading in a loud voice a newspaper, while around him, either erect or seated on the grass, were assembled about fifty vecinos, for the most part dressed in long cloaks, amongst whom I discovered my two friends the curate and friar.  A fine knot of Carlist quidnuncs, said I to myself, and turned away to another part of the meadow, where the cattle of the village were grazing.  The curate, on observing me, detached himself instantly from the group, and followed.  “I am told you want a pony,” said he; “there now is mine feeding amongst those horses, the best in the kingdom of Leon.”  He then began with all the volubility of a chalan to descant on the points of the animal.  Presently the friar joined us, who, observing his opportunity, pulled me by the sleeve and whispered, “Have nothing to do with the curate, master; he is the greatest thief in the neighbourhood.  If you want a pony, my brother has a much better, which he will dispose of cheaper.”  “I shall wait till I arrive at Leon,” I exclaimed, and walked away, musing on priestly friendship and sincerity.

From --- to Leon, a distance of eight leagues, the country rapidly improved: we passed over several small streams, and occasionally found ourselves amongst meadows in which grass was growing in the richest luxuriance.  The sun shone out brightly, and I hailed his reappearance with joy, though the heat of his beams was oppressive.  On arriving within two leagues of Leon, we passed numerous cars and waggons, and bands of people with horses and mules, all hastening to the celebrated fair which is held in the city on St. John’s or Midsummer day, and which took place within three days after our arrival.  This fair, though principally intended for the sale of horses, is frequented by merchants from many parts of Spain, who attend with goods of various kinds, and amongst them I remarked many of the Catalans whom I had previously seen at Medina and Valladolid.

There is nothing remarkable in Leon, [315] which is an old gloomy town, with the exception of its cathedral, in many respects a counterpart of the church of Palencia, exhibiting the same light and elegant architecture, but, unlike its beautiful sister, unadorned with splendid paintings.  The situation of Leon is highly pleasant, in the midst of a blooming country, abounding with trees, and watered by many streams, which have their source in the mighty mountains in the neighbourhood.  It is, however, by no means a healthy place, especially in summer, when the heats raise noxious exhalations from the waters, generating many kinds of disorders, especially fevers.

I had scarcely been at Leon three days when I was seized with a fever, against which I thought the strength even of my constitution would have yielded, for it wore me almost to a skeleton, and when it departed, at the end of about a week, left me in such a deplorable state of weakness that I was scarcely able to make the slightest exertion.  I had, however, previously persuaded a bookseller to undertake the charge of vending the Testaments, and had published my advertisements as usual, though without very sanguine hope of success, as Leon is a place where the inhabitants, with very few exceptions, are furious Carlists, and ignorant and blinded followers of the old papal church.  It is, moreover, a bishop’s see, which was once enjoyed by the prime counsellor of Don Carlos, whose fierce and bigoted spirit still seems to pervade the place.  Scarcely had the advertisements appeared, when the clergy were in motion.  They went from house to house, banning and cursing, and denouncing misery to whomsoever should either purchase or read “the accursed books,” which had been sent into the country by heretics for the purpose of perverting the innocent minds of the population.  They did more; they commenced a process against the bookseller in the ecclesiastical court.  Fortunately this court is not at present in the possession of much authority; and the bookseller, a bold and determined man, set them at defiance, and went so far as to affix an advertisement to the gate of the very cathedral.  Notwithstanding the cry raised against the book, several copies were sold at Leon: two were purchased by ex-friars, and the same number by parochial priests from neighbouring villages.  I believe the whole number disposed of during my stay amounted to fifteen; so that my visit to this dark corner was not altogether in vain, as the seed of the Gospel has been sown, though sparingly.  But the palpable darkness which envelops Leon is truly lamentable, and the ignorance of the people is so great, that printed charms and incantations against Satan and his host, and against every kind of misfortune, are publicly sold in the shops, and are in great demand.  Such are the results of Popery, a delusion which, more than any other, has tended to debase and brutalize the human mind.

Accordingly, at three in the morning, we departed for Galicia.  We had scarcely proceeded half a league when we were overtaken by a thunderstorm of tremendous violence.  We were at that time in the midst of a wood which extends to some distance in the direction in which we were going.  The trees were bowed almost to the ground by the wind or torn up by the roots, whilst the earth was ploughed up by the lightning, which burst all around and nearly blinded us.  The spirited Andalusian on which I rode became furious, and bounded into the air as if possessed.  Owing to my state of weakness, I had the greatest difficulty in maintaining my seat, and avoiding a fall which might have been fatal.  A tremendous discharge of rain followed the storm, which swelled the brooks and streams and flooded the surrounding country, causing much damage amongst the corn.  After riding about five leagues, we began to enter the mountainous district which surrounds Astorga.  The heat now became almost suffocating; swarms of flies began to make their appearance, and settling down upon the horses, stung them almost to madness, whilst the road was very flinty and trying.  It was with great difficulty that we reached Astorga, [318] covered with mud and dust, our tongues cleaving to our palates with thirst.

CHAPTER XXIII.

We went to a posada in the suburbs, the only one, indeed, which the place afforded.  The courtyard was full of arrieros and carriers, brawling loudly; the master of the house was fighting with two of his customers, and universal confusion reigned around.  As I dismounted I received the contents of a wine-glass in my face, of which greeting, as it was probably intended for another, I took no notice.  Antonio, however, was not so patient, for on being struck with a cudgel, he instantly returned the salute with his whip, scarifying the countenance of a carman.  In my endeavours to separate these two antagonists, my horse broke loose, and rushing amongst the promiscuous crowd, overturned several individuals, and committed no little damage.  It was a long time before peace was restored: at last we were shown to a tolerably decent chamber.  We had, however, no sooner taken possession of it, than the waggon from Madrid arrived on its way to Corunna, [319] filled with dusty travellers, consisting of women, children, invalid officers, and the like.  We were now forthwith dislodged, and our baggage flung into the yard.  On our complaining of this treatment, we were told that we were two vagabonds whom nobody knew; who had come without an arriero, and had already set the whole house in confusion.  As a great favour, however, we were at length permitted to take up our abode in a ruinous building down the yard, adjoining the stable, and filled with rats and vermin.  Here there was an old bed with a tester, and with this wretched accommodation we were glad to content ourselves, for I could proceed no farther, and was burnt with fever.  The heat of the place was intolerable, and I sat on the staircase with my head between my hands, gasping for breath: soon appeared Antonio with vinegar and water, which I drank, and felt relieved.

Before proceeding, however, to narrate what befell us in this journey to Lugo and Galicia, it will, perhaps, not be amiss to say a few words concerning Astorga and its vicinity.  It is a walled town, containing about five or six thousand inhabitants, with a cathedral and college, which last is, however, at present deserted.  It is situated on the confines, and may be called the capital, of a tract of land called the country of the Maragatos, which occupies about three square leagues, and has for its north-western boundary a mountain called Telleno, the loftiest of a chain of hills which have their origin near the mouth of the river Minho, and are connected with the immense range which constitutes the frontier of the Asturias and Guipuzcoa.

The Maragatos [321] are perhaps the most singular caste to be found amongst the chequered population of Spain.  They have their own peculiar customs and dress, and never intermarry with the Spaniards.  Their name is a clue to their origin, as it signifies “Moorish Goths,” and at the present day their garb differs but little from that of the Moors of Barbary, as it consists of a long tight jacket, secured at the waist by a broad girdle, loose short trousers which terminate at the knee, and boots and gaiters.  Their heads are shaven, a slight fringe of hair being only left at the lower part.  If they wore the turban, or barret, [322] they could scarcely be distinguished from the Moors in dress; but in lieu thereof they wear the sombrero, or broad slouching hat of Spain.  There can be little doubt that they are a remnant of those Goths who sided with the Moors on their invasion of Spain, and who adopted their religion, customs, and manner of dress, which, with the exception of the first, are still to a considerable degree retained by them.  It is, however, evident that their blood has at no time mingled with that of the wild children of the desert, for scarcely amongst the hills of Norway would you find figures and faces more essentially Gothic than those of the Maragatos.  They are strong athletic men, but loutish and heavy, and their features, though for the most part well formed, are vacant and devoid of expression.  They are slow and plain of speech, and those eloquent and imaginative sallies so common in the conversation of other Spaniards seldom or never escape them; they have, moreover, a coarse, thick pronunciation, and when you hear them speak, you almost imagine that it is some German or English peasant attempting to express himself in the language of the Peninsula.  They are constitutionally phlegmatic, and it is very difficult to arouse their anger; but they are dangerous and desperate when once incensed; and a person who knew them well told me that he would rather face ten Valencians, people infamous for their ferocity and blood-thirstiness, than confront one angry Maragato, sluggish and stupid though he be on other occasions.

The men scarcely ever occupy themselves in husbandry, which they abandon to the women, who plough the flinty fields and gather in the scanty harvests.  Their husbands and sons are far differently employed: for they are a nation of arrieros, or carriers, and almost esteem it a disgrace to follow any other profession.  On every road of Spain, particularly those north of the mountains which divide the two Castiles, may be seen gangs of fives and sixes of these people lolling or sleeping beneath the broiling sun, on gigantic and heavily laden mutes and mules. [323]  In a word, almost the entire commerce of nearly one-half of Spain passes through the hands of the Maragatos, whose fidelity to their trust is such, that no one accustomed to employ them would hesitate to confide to them the transport of a ton of treasure from the sea of Biscay to Madrid; knowing well that it would not be their fault were it not delivered safe and undiminished, even of a grain, and that bold must be the thieves who would seek to wrest it from the far-feared Maragatos, who would cling to it whilst they could stand, and would cover it with their bodies when they fell in the act of loading or discharging their long carbines.

On the east end of the cathedral of Astorga, [324a] which towers over the lofty and precipitous wall, a colossal figure of lead may be seen on the roof.  It is the statue of a Maragato carrier, who endowed the cathedral with a large sum. [324b]  He is in his national dress, but his head is averted from the land of his fathers, and whilst he waves in his hand a species of flag, he seems to be summoning his race from their unfruitful region to other climes, where a richer field is open to their industry and enterprise.

I spoke to several of these men respecting the all-important subject of religion; but I found “their hearts gross, and their ears dull of hearing, and their eyes closed.”  There was one in particular to whom I showed the New Testament, and whom I addressed for a considerable time.  He listened, or seemed to listen, patiently, taking occasionally copious draughts from an immense jug of whitish wine which stood between his knees.  After I had concluded, he said, “To-morrow I set out for Lugo, whither, I am told, yourself are going.  If you wish to send your chest, I have no objection to take it at so much” (naming an extravagant price).  “As for what you have told me, I understand little of it, and believe not a word of it; but in respect to the books which you have shown me, I will take three or four.  I shall not read them, it is true, but I have no doubt that I can sell them at a higher price than you demand.”

CHAPTER XXIV.

It was four o’clock of a beautiful morning when we sallied from Astorga, or rather from its suburbs, in which we had been lodged: we directed our course to the north, in the direction of Galicia.  Leaving the mountain Telleno on our left, we passed along the eastern skirts of the land of the Maragatos, over broken uneven ground, enlivened here and there by small green valleys and runnels of water.  Several of the Maragatan women, mounted on donkeys, passed us on their way to Astorga, whither they were carrying vegetables.  We saw others in the fields handling their rude ploughs, drawn by lean oxen.  We likewise passed through a small village, in which we, however, saw no living soul.  Near this village we entered the high-road which leads direct from Madrid to Corunna, and at last, having travelled near four leagues, we came to a species of pass, formed on our left by a huge lumpish hill (one of those which descend from the great mountain Telleno), and on our right by one of much less altitude.  In the middle of this pass, which was of considerable breadth, a noble view opened itself to us.  Before us, at the distance of about a league and a half, rose the mighty frontier chain, of which I have spoken before; its blue sides and broken and picturesque peaks still wearing a thin veil of the morning mist, which the fierce rays of the sun were fast dispelling.  It seemed an enormous barrier, threatening to oppose our further progress, and it reminded me of the fables respecting the children of Magog, [327a] who are said to reside in remotest Tartary, behind a gigantic wall of rocks, which can only be passed by a gate of steel a thousand cubits in height.

We shortly after arrived at Manzanal, [327b] a village consisting of wretched huts, and exhibiting every sign of poverty and misery.  It was now time to refresh ourselves and horses, and we accordingly put up at a venta, the last habitation in the village, where, though we found barley for the animals, we had much difficulty in procuring anything for ourselves.  I was at length fortunate enough to obtain a large jug of milk, for there were plenty of cows in the neighbourhood, feeding in a picturesque valley which we had passed by, where was abundance of grass, and trees, and a rivulet broken by tiny cascades.  The jug might contain about half a gallon, but I emptied it in a few minutes, for the thirst of fever was still burning within me, though I was destitute of appetite.  The venta had something the appearance of a German baiting-house.  It consisted of an immense stable, from which was partitioned a kind of kitchen and a place where the family slept.  The master, a robust young man, lolled on a large solid stone bench, which stood within the door.  He was very inquisitive respecting news, but I could afford him none, whereupon he became communicative, and gave me the history of his life, the sum of which was, that he had been a courier in the Basque provinces, but about a year since had been dispatched to this village, where he kept the post-house.  He was an enthusiastic liberal, and spoke in bitter terms of the surrounding population, who, he said, were all Carlists and friends of the friars.  I paid little attention to his discourse, for I was looking at a Maragato lad of about fourteen, who served in the house as a kind of ostler.  I asked the master if we were still in the land of the Maragatos; but he told me that we had left it behind nearly a league, and that the lad was an orphan, and was serving until he could rake up sufficient capital to become an arriero.  I addressed several questions to the boy, but the urchin looked sullenly in my face, and either answered by monosyllables or was doggedly silent.  I asked him if he could read.  “Yes,” said he, “as much as that brute of yours which is tearing down the manger.”

Quitting Manzanal, we continued our course.  We soon arrived at the verge of a deep valley amongst mountains—not those of the chain which we had seen before us, and which we now left to the right, but those of the Telleno range, just before they unite with that chain.  Round the sides of this valley, which exhibited something of the appearance of a horse-shoe, wound the road in a circuitous manner; just before us, however, and diverging from the road, lay a footpath, which seemed, by a gradual descent, to lead across the valley, and to rejoin the road on the other side, at the distance of about a furlong, and into this we struck, in order to avoid the circuit.

We had not gone far before we met two Galicians on their way to cut the harvests of Castile.  One of them shouted, “Cavalier, [329] turn back: in a moment you will be amongst precipices, where your horses will break their necks, for we ourselves could scarcely climb them on foot.”  The other cried, “Cavalier, proceed, but be careful, and your horses, if surefooted, will run no great danger: my comrade is a fool.”  A violent dispute instantly ensued between the two mountaineers, each supporting his opinion with loud oaths and curses; but without stopping to see the result, I passed on.  But the path was now filled with stones and huge slaty rocks, on which my horse was continually slipping.  I likewise heard the sound of water in a deep gorge, which I had hitherto not perceived, and I soon saw that it would be worse than madness to proceed.  I turned my horse, and was hastening to regain the path which I had left, when Antonio, my faithful Greek, pointed out to me a meadow by which, he said, we might regain the highroad much lower down than if we returned on our steps.  The meadow was brilliant with short green grass, and in the middle there was a small rivulet of water.  I spurred my horse on, expecting to be in the high-road in a moment; the horse, however, snorted and stared wildly, and was evidently unwilling to cross the seemingly inviting spot.  I thought that the scent of a wolf or some other wild animal might have disturbed him, but was soon undeceived by his sinking up to the knees in a bog.  The animal uttered a shrill sharp neigh, and exhibited every sign of the greatest terror, making at the same time great efforts to extricate himself, and plunging forward, but every moment sinking deeper.  At last he arrived where a small vein of rock showed itself: on this he placed his fore feet, and with one tremendous exertion freed himself from the deceitful soil, springing over the rivulet and alighting on comparatively firm ground, where he stood panting, his heaving sides covered with a foamy sweat.  Antonio, who had observed the whole scene, afraid to venture forward, returned by the path by which we came, and shortly afterwards rejoined me.  This adventure brought to my recollection the meadow with its footpath which tempted Christian from the straight road to heaven, and finally conducted him to the dominions of the giant Despair.

We now began to descend the valley by a broad and excellent carretera or carriage-road, which was cut out of the steep side of the mountain on our right.  On our left was the gorge, down which tumbled the runnel of water which I have before mentioned.  The road was tortuous, and at every turn the scene became more picturesque.  The gorge gradually widened, and the brook at its bottom, fed by a multitude of springs, increased in volume and in sound; but it was soon far beneath us, pursuing its headlong course till it reached level ground, where it flowed in the midst of a beautiful but confined prairie.  There was something sylvan and savage in the mountains on the farther side, clad from foot to pinnacle with trees, so closely growing that the eye was unable to obtain a glimpse of the hillsides, which were uneven with ravines and gulleys, the haunts of the wolf, the wild boar, and the corso, [331a] or mountain stag; the latter of which, as I was informed by a peasant who was driving a car of oxen, frequently descended to feed in the prairie, and were there shot for the sake of their skins, for the flesh, being strong and disagreeable, is held in no account.

But notwithstanding the wildness of these regions, the handiworks of man were visible.  The sides of the gorge, though precipitous, were yellow with little fields of barley, and we saw a hamlet and church down in the prairie below, whilst merry songs ascended to our ears from where the mowers were toiling with their scythes, cutting the luxuriant and abundant grass.  I could scarcely believe that I was in Spain, in general so brown, so arid and cheerless, and I almost fancied myself in Greece, in that land of ancient glory, whose mountain and forest scenery Theocritus [331b] has so well described.

At the bottom of the valley we entered a small village, washed by the brook, which had now swelled almost to a stream.  A more romantic situation I had never witnessed.  It was surrounded, and almost overhung, by mountains, and embowered in trees of various kinds; waters sounded, nightingales sang, and the cuckoo’s full note boomed from the distant branches, but the village was miserable.  The huts were built of slate stones, of which the neighbouring hills seemed to be principally composed, and roofed with the same, but not in the neat tidy manner of English houses, for the slates were of all sizes and seemed to be flung on in confusion.  We were spent with heat and thirst, and sitting down on a stone bench, I entreated a woman to give me a little water.  The woman said she would, but added that she expected to be paid for it.  Antonio, on hearing this, became highly incensed, and speaking Greek, Turkish, and Spanish, invoked the vengeance of the Panhagia on the heartless woman, saying, “If I were to offer a Mahometan gold for a draught of water he would dash it in my face; and you are a Catholic, with the stream running at your door.”  I told him to be silent, and giving the woman two cuartos, repeated my request, whereupon she took a pitcher, and going to the stream, filled it with water.  It tasted muddy and disagreeable, but it drowned the fever which was devouring me.

We again remounted and proceeded on our way, which, for a considerable distance, lay along the margin of the stream, which now fell in small cataracts, now brawled over stones, and at other times ran dark and silent through deep pools overhung with tall willows,—pools which seemed to abound with the finny tribe, for large trout frequently sprang from the water, catching the brilliant fly which skimmed along its deceitful surface.  The scene was delightful.  The sun was rolling high in the firmament, casting from its orb of fire the most glorious rays, so that the atmosphere was flickering with their splendour; but their fierceness was either warded off by the shadow of the trees, or rendered innocuous by the refreshing coolness which rose from the waters, or by the gentle breezes which murmured at intervals over the meadows, “fanning the cheek or raising the hair” of the wanderer.  The hills gradually receded, till at last we entered a plain where tall grass was waving, and mighty chestnut trees, in full blossom, spread out their giant and umbrageous boughs.  Beneath many stood cars, the tired oxen prostrate on the ground, the cross-bar of the pole which they support pressing heavily on their heads, whilst their drivers were either employed in cooking, or were enjoying a delicious siesta in the grass and shade.  I went up to one of the largest of these groups and demanded of the individuals whether they were in need of the Testament of Jesus Christ.  They stared at one another, and then at me, till at last a young man, who was dangling a long gun in his hands as he reclined, demanded of me what it was, at the same time inquiring whether I was a Catalan, “for you speak hoarse,” said he, “and are tall and fair like that family.”  I sat down amongst them, and said that I was no Catalan, but that I came from a spot in the Western Sea, many leagues distant, to sell that book at half the price it cost; and that their souls’ welfare depended on their being acquainted with it.  I then explained to them the nature of the New Testament, and read to them the parable of the Sower.  They stared at each other again, but said that they were poor, and could not buy books.  I rose, mounted, and was going away, saying to them, “Peace bide with you.”  Whereupon the young man with the gun rose, and saying, “Caspita! this is odd,” snatched the book from my hand, and gave me the price I had demanded.

Perhaps the whole world might be searched in vain for a spot whose natural charms could rival those of this plain or valley of Bembibre, [333] as it is called, with its wall of mighty mountains, its spreading chestnut trees, and its groves of oaks and willows, which clothe the banks of its stream, a tributary to the Minho.  True it is, that when I passed through it the candle of heaven was blazing in full splendour, and everything lighted by its rays looked gay, glad, and blessed.  Whether it would have filled me with the same feelings of admiration if viewed beneath another sky, I will not pretend to determine; but it certainly possesses advantages which at no time could fail to delight, for it exhibits all the peaceful beauties of an English landscape blended with something wild and grand, and I thought within myself that he must be a restless, dissatisfied man, who, born amongst those scenes, would wish to quit them.  At the time I would have desired no better fate than that of a shepherd on the prairies, or a hunter on the hills of Bembibre.

Three hours passed away, and we were in another situation.  We had halted and refreshed ourselves and horses at Bembibre, a village of mud and slate, and which possessed little to attract attention.  We were now ascending, for the road was over one of the extreme ledges of those frontier hills which I have before so often mentioned; but the aspect of heaven had blackened, clouds were rolling rapidly from the west over the mountains, and a cold wind was moaning dismally.  “There is a storm travelling through the air,” said a peasant, whom we overtook mounted on a wretched mule, “and the Asturians had better be on the look-out, for it is speeding in their direction.”  He had scarce spoken when a light, so vivid and dazzling that it seemed as if the whole lustre of the fiery element were concentrated in it, broke around us, filling the whole atmosphere, and covering rock, tree, and mountain with a glare not to be described.  The mule of the peasant tumbled prostrate, while the horse I rode reared himself perpendicularly, and, turning round, dashed down the hill at headlong speed, which for some time it was impossible to check.  The lightning was followed by a peal almost as terrible, but distant, for it sounded hollow and deep; the hills, however, caught up its voice, seemingly repeating it from summit to summit, till it was lost in interminable space.  Other flashes and peals succeeded, but slight in comparison, and a few drops of rain descended.  The body of the tempest seemed to be over another region.  “A hundred families are weeping where that bolt fell,” said the peasant when I rejoined him, “for its blaze has blinded my mule at six leagues’ distance.”  He was leading the animal by the bridle, as its sight was evidently affected.  “Were the friars still in their nest above there,” he continued, “I should say that this was their doing, for they are the cause of all the miseries of the land.”

I raised my eyes in the direction in which he pointed.  Halfway up the mountain, over whose foot we were wending, jutted forth a black frightful, crag, which, at an immense altitude, overhung the road, and seemed to threaten destruction.  It resembled one of those ledges of the rocky mountains in the picture of the Deluge, up to which the terrified fugitives have scrambled from the eager pursuit of the savage and tremendous billows, and from whence they gaze down in horror, whilst above them rise still higher and giddier heights, to which they seem unable to climb.  Built on the very edge of this crag stood an edifice, seemingly devoted to the purposes of religion, as I could discern the spire of a church rearing itself high over wall and roof.  “That is the house of the Virgin of the Rocks,” said the peasant, “and it was lately full of friars, but they have been thrust out, and the only inmates now are owls and ravens.”  I replied, that their life in such a bleak, exposed abode could not have been very enviable, as in winter they must have incurred great risk of perishing with cold.  “By no means,” said he; “they had the best of wood for their braseros and chimneys, and the best of wine to warm them at their meals, which were not the most sparing.  Moreover, they had another convent down in the vale yonder, to which they could retire at their pleasure.”  On my asking him the reason of his antipathy to the friars, he replied, that he had been their vassal, and that they had deprived him every year of the flower of what he possessed.  Discoursing in this manner, we reached a village just below the convent, where he left me, having first pointed out to me a house of stone, with an image over the door, which, he said, once belonged to the canalla [337a] above.

The sun was setting fast, and, eager to reach Villafranca, [337b] where I had determined on resting, and which was still distant three leagues and a half, I made no halt at this place.  The road was now down a rapid and crooked descent, which terminated in a valley, at the bottom of which was a long and narrow bridge; beneath it rolled a river, descending from a wide pass between two mountains, for the chain was here cleft, probably by some convulsion of nature.  I looked up the pass, and on the hills on both sides.  Far above on my right, but standing forth bold and clear, and catching the last rays of the sun, was the Convent of the Precipices, whilst directly over against it, on the farther side of the valley, rose the perpendicular side of the rival hill, which, to a considerable extent intercepting the light, flung its black shadow over the upper end of the pass, involving it in mysterious darkness.  Emerging from the centre of this gloom, with thundering sound, dashed a river, white with foam, and bearing along with it huge stones and branches of trees, for it was the wild Sil hurrying to the ocean from its cradle in the heart of the Asturian hills, and probably swollen by the recent rains.

It was near eleven at night, and I reflected that it would be far more expedient to tarry in this place till the morning than to attempt at present to reach Villafranca, exposing ourselves to all the horrors of darkness in a lonely and unknown road.  My mind was soon made up on this point; but I reckoned without my host, for at the first posada which I attempted to enter I was told that we could not be accommodated, and still less our horses, as the stable was full of water.  At the second, and there were but two, I was answered from the window by a gruff voice, nearly in the words of Scripture: “Trouble me not: the door is now shut, and my children are with me in bed; I cannot arise to let you in.”  Indeed, we had no particular desire to enter, as it appeared a wretched hovel, though the poor horses pawed piteously against the door, and seemed to crave admittance.

I had proceeded in this manner a considerable way, when a circumstance occurred of a character well suited to the time and place.

This nocturnal journey endured so long that I almost lost all hope of reaching the town, and had closed my eyes in a doze, though I still trudged on mechanically, leading the horse.  Suddenly a voice at a slight distance before me roared out, “Quien vive?” for I had at last found my way to Villafranca.  It proceeded from the sentry in the suburb, one of those singular half soldiers, half guerillas, [340] called Miguelets, who are in general employed by the Spanish government to clear the roads of robbers.  I gave the usual answer, “España,” and went up to the place where he stood.  After a little conversation, I sat down on a stone, awaiting the arrival of Antonio, who was long in making his appearance.  On his arrival, I asked if any one had passed him on the road, but he replied that he had seen nothing.  The night, or rather the morning, was still very dark, though a small corner of the moon was occasionally visible.  On our inquiring the way to the gate, the Miguelet directed us down a street to the left, which we followed.  The street was steep, we could see no gate, and our progress was soon stopped by houses and wall.  We knocked at the gates of two or three of these houses (in the upper stories of which lights were burning), for the purpose of being set right, but we were either disregarded or not heard.  A horrid squalling of cats, from the tops of the houses and dark corners, saluted our ears, and I thought of the night arrival of Don Quixote and his squire at Toboso, and their vain search amongst the deserted streets for the palace of Dulcinea. [341]  At length we saw light and heard voices in a cottage at the other side of a kind of ditch.  Leading the horses over, we called at the door, which was opened by an aged man, who appeared by his dress to be a baker, as indeed he proved, which accounted for his being up at so late an hour.  On begging him to show us the way into the town, he led us up a very narrow alley at the end of his cottage, saying that he would likewise conduct us to the posada.