Villafranca - The Pass - Gallegan Simplicity - The Frontier Guard -The Horse-shoe - Gallegan Peculiarities - A Word on Language -The Courier - Wretched Cabins - Host and Guests - Andalusians.
"Ave Maria," said the woman; "whom have we here? This is not Gil the clock-maker." "Whether it be Gil or Juan," said I, "we are in need of your hospitality, and can pay for it." Our first care was to stable the horses, who were much exhausted.
We then went in search of some accommodation for ourselves.
The house was large and commodious, and having tasted a little water, I stretched myself on the floor of one of the rooms on some mattresses which the woman produced, and in less than a minute was sound asleep.
The sun was shining bright when I awoke.I walked forth into the market-place, which was crowded with people, I looked up, and could see the peaks of tall black mountains peeping over the tops of the houses.The town lay in a deep hollow, and appeared to be surrounded by hills on almost every side.
"QUEL PAYS BARBARE!" said Antonio, who now joined me; "the farther we go, my master, the wilder everything looks.I am half afraid to venture into Galicia; they tell me that to get to it we must clamber up those hills: the horses will founder."Leaving the market-place I ascended the wall of the town, and endeavoured to discover the gate by which we should have entered the preceding night; but I was not more successful in the bright sunshine than in the darkness.The town in the direction of Astorga appeared to be hermetically sealed.
I was eager to enter Galicia, and finding that the horses were to a certain extent recovered from the fatigue of the journey of the preceding day, we again mounted and proceeded on our way.Crossing a bridge, we presently found ourselves in a deep gorge amongst the mountains, down which rushed an impetuous rivulet, overhung by the high road which leads into Galicia.We were in the far-famed pass of Fuencebadon.
It is impossible to describe this pass or the circumjacent region, which contains some of the most extraordinary scenery in all Spain; a feeble and imperfect outline is all that I can hope to effect.The traveller who ascends it follows for nearly a league the course of the torrent, whose banks are in some places precipitous, and in others slope down to the waters, and are covered with lofty trees, oaks, poplars, and chestnuts.Small villages are at first continually seen, with low walls, and roofs formed of immense slates, the eaves nearly touching the ground; these hamlets, however, gradually become less frequent as the path grows more steep and narrow, until they finally cease at a short distance before the spot is attained where the rivulet is abandoned, and is no more seen, though its tributaries may yet be heard in many a gully, or descried in tiny rills dashing down the steeps.Everything here is wild, strange, and beautiful: the hill up which winds the path towers above on the right, whilst on the farther side of a profound ravine rises an immense mountain, to whose extreme altitudes the eye is scarcely able to attain; but the most singular feature of this pass are the hanging fields or meadows which cover its sides.
In these, as I passed, the grass was growing luxuriantly, and in many the mowers were plying their scythes, though it seemed scarcely possible that their feet could find support on ground so precipitous: above and below were drift-ways, so small as to seem threads along the mountain side.A car, drawn by oxen, is creeping round yon airy eminence; the nearer wheel is actually hanging over the horrid descent; giddiness seizes the brain, and the eye is rapidly withdrawn.A cloud intervenes, and when again you turn to watch their progress, the objects of your anxiety have disappeared.Still more narrow becomes the path along which you yourself are toiling, and its turns more frequent.You have already come a distance of two leagues, and still one-third of the ascent remains unsurmounted.You are not yet in Galicia; and you still hear Castilian, coarse and unpolished, it is true, spoken in the miserable cabins placed in the sequestered nooks which you pass by in your route.
Shortly before we reached the summit of the pass thick mists began to envelop the tops of the hills, and a drizzling rain descended."These mists," said Antonio, "are what the Gallegans call bretima; and it is said there is never any lack of them in their country." "Have you ever visited the country before?" I demanded."Non, mon maitre; but I have frequently lived in houses where the domestics were in part Gallegans, on which account I know not a little of their ways, and even something of their language." "Is the opinion which you have formed of them at all in their favour?" I inquired."By no means, mon maitre; the men in general seem clownish and simple, yet they are capable of deceiving the most clever filou of Paris; and as for the women, it is impossible to live in the same house with them, more especially if they are Camareras, and wait upon the Senora; they are continually breeding dissensions and disputes in the house, and telling tales of the other domestics.I have already lost two or three excellent situations in Madrid, solely owing to these Gallegan chambermaids.We have now come to the frontier, mon maitre, for such I conceive this village to be."We entered the village, which stood on the summit of the mountain, and as our horses and ourselves were by this time much fatigued, we looked round for a place in which to obtain refreshment.Close by the gate stood a building which, from the circumstance of a mule or two and a wretched pony standing before it, we concluded was the posada, as in effect it proved to be.We entered: several soldiers were lolling on heaps of coarse hay, with which the place, which much resembled a stable, was half filled.All were exceedingly ill-looking fellows, and very dirty.They were conversing with each other in a strange-sounding dialect, which I supposed to be Gallegan.