Transcribed from the 1896 John Murray edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org
[Picture: Toledo]
THE BIBLE IN SPAIN;
OR, THE JOURNEYS, ADVENTURES, AND
IMPRISONMENTS OF AN ENGLISHMAN
IN AN ATTEMPT TO CIRCULATE
THE SCRIPTURES IN
THE PENINSULA
BY
GEORGE BORROW.
* * * * *
_A NEW EDITION_, _WITH NOTES AND A GLOSSARY_,
BY ULICK RALPH BURKE, M.A.,
AUTHOR OF “A HISTORY OF SPAIN,” ETC.
* * * * *
_IN TWO VOLUMES_.
VOL. II.
* * * * *
WITH MAP AND ENGRAVINGS.
* * * * *
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
1896.
* * * * *
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
PAGE
CHAPTER XXIX.
Arrival at Padron—Projected Enterprise—The Alquilador—Breach 1
of Promise—An Odd Companion—A Plain Story—Rugged Paths—The
Desertion—The Pony—A Dialogue—Unpleasant Situation—The
Estadea—Benighted—The Hut—The Traveller’s Pillow
CHAPTER XXX.
Autumnal Morning—The World’s End—Corcuvion—Duyo—The Cape—A 20
Whale—The Outer Bay—The Arrest—The Fisher-Magistrate—Calros
Rey—Hard of Belief—Where is your Passport?—The Beach—A Mighty
Liberal—The Handmaid—The Grand Baintham—Eccentric
Book—Hospitality
CHAPTER XXXI.
Corunna—Crossing the Bay—Ferrol—The Dock-yard—Where are we 41
now?—Greek Ambassador—Lantern-Light—The
Ravine—Viveiro—Evening—Marsh and Quagmire—Fair Words and Fair
Money—The Leathern Girth—Eyes of Lynx—The Knavish Guide
CHAPTER XXXII.
Martin of Rivadeo—The Factious Mare—Asturians—Luarca—The 57
Seven Bellotas—Hermits—The Asturian’s Tale—Strange Guests—The
Big Servant—Batuschca
CHAPTER XXXIII.
Oviedo—The Ten Gentlemen—The Swiss again—Modest Request—The 70
Robbers—Episcopal Benevolence—The Cathedral—Portrait of
Feijoo
CHAPTER XXXIV.
Departure from Oviedo—Villa Viciosa—The Young Man of the 82
Inn—Antonio’s Tale—The General and his Family—Woful
Tidings—To-morrow we die—San Vicente—Santander—An
Harangue—Flinter the Irishman
CHAPTER XXXV.
Departure from Santander—The Night Alarm—The Black Pass 95
CHAPTER XXXVI.
State of Affairs at Madrid—The New Ministry—Pope of Rome—The 99
Bookseller of Toledo—Sword-blades—Houses of Toledo—The
Forlorn Gypsy—Proceedings at Madrid—Another Servant
CHAPTER XXXVII.
Euscarra—Basque not Irish—Sanscrit and Tartar Dialects—A 111
Vowel Language—Popular Poetry—The Basques—Their
Persons—Basque Women
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
The Prohibition—Gospel Persecuted—Charge of Sorcery—Ofalia 121
CHAPTER XXXIX.
The Two Gospels—The Alguazil—The Warrant—The Good Maria—The 127
Arrest—Sent to Prison—Reflections—The Reception—The Prison
Room—Redress demanded
CHAPTER XL.
Ofalia—The Juez—Carcel de la Corte—Sunday in Prison—Robber 141
Dress—Father and Son—Characteristic Behaviour—The
Frenchman—Prison Allowance—Valley of the Shadow—Pure
Castilian—Balseiro—The Cave—Robber Glory
CHAPTER XLI.
Maria Diaz—Priestly Vituperation—Antonio’s Visit—Antonio at 159
Service—A Scene—Benedict Mol—Wandering in Spain—The Four
Evangelien
CHAPTER XLII.
Liberation from Prison—The Apology—Human Nature—The Greek’s 169
Return—Church of Rome—Light of Scripture—Archbishop of
Toledo—An Interview—Stones of Price—A Resolution—The Foreign
Language—Benedict’s Farewell—Treasure Hunt at
Compostella—Truth and Fiction
CHAPTER XLIII.
Villa Seca—Moorish House—The Puchera—The Rustic 185
Council—Polite Ceremonial—The Flower of Spain—The Bridge of
Azeca—The Ruined Castle—Taking the Field—Demand for the
Word—The Old Peasant—The Curate and Blacksmith—Cheapness of
the Scriptures
CHAPTER XLIV.
Aranjuez—A Warning—A Night Adventure—A Fresh 202
Expedition—Segovia—Abades—Factious Curas—Lopez in
Prison—Rescue of Lopez
CHAPTER XLV.
Return to Spain—Seville—A Hoary Persecutor—Manchegan 214
Prophetess—Antonio’s Dream
CHAPTER XLVI.
Work of Distribution resumed—Adventure at Cobeña—Power of the 220
Clergy—Rural Authorities—Fuente la Higuera—Victoriano’s
Mishap—Village Prison—The Rope—Antonio’s Errand—Antonio at
Mass
CHAPTER XLVII.
Termination of our Rural Labours—Alarm of the Clergy—A New 232
Experiment—Success at Madrid—Goblin-Alguazil—Staff of
Office—The Corregidor—An Explanation—The Pope in England—New
Testament expounded—Works of Luther
CHAPTER XLVIII.
Projected Journey—A Scene of Blood—The Friar—Seville—Beauties 245
of Seville—Orange Trees and Flowers—Murillo—The Guardian
Angel—Dionysius—My Coadjutors—Demand for the Bible
CHAPTER XLIX.
The Solitary House—The Dehesa—Johannes 258
Chrysostom—Manuel—Bookselling at Seville—Dionysius and the
Priests—Athens and Rome—Proselytism—Seizure of
Testaments—Departure from Seville
CHAPTER L.
Night on the Guadalquivir—Gospel Light—Bonanza—Strand of San 271
Lucar—Andalusian Scenery—History of a Chest—Cosas de los
Ingleses—The Two Gypsies—The Driver—The Red Nightcap—The
Steam-Boat—Christian Language
CHAPTER LI.
Cadiz—The Fortifications—The Consul-General—Characteristic 286
Anecdote—Catalan Steamer—Trafalgar—Alonzo Guzman—Gibil
Muza—Orestes Frigate—The Hostile Lion—Works of the
Creator—Lizard of the Rock—The Concourse—Queen of the
Waters—Broken Prayer
CHAPTER LII.
The Jolly Hosteler—Aspirants for Glory—A 305
Portrait—Hamáles—Solomons—An Expedition—The Yeoman
Soldier—The Excavations—The Pull by the Skirt—Judah and his
Father—Judah’s Pilgrimage—The Bushy Beard—The False
Moors—Judah and the King’s Son—Premature Old Age
CHAPTER LIII.
Genoese Mariners—Saint Michael’s Cave—Midnight Abysses—Young 326
American—A Slave Proprietor—The Fairy Man—Infidelity
CHAPTER LIV.
Again on Board—The Strange Visage—The Haji—Setting Sail—The 335
Two Jews—American Vessel—Tangier—Adun Oulem—The Struggle—The
Forbidden Thing
CHAPTER LV.
The Mole—The Two Moors—Djmah of Tangier—House of God—British 348
Consul—Curious Spectacle—The Moorish House—Joanna Correa—Ave
Maria
CHAPTER LVI.
The Mahasni—Sin Samani—The Bazaar—Moorish Saints—See the 359
Ayana!—The Prickly Fig—Jewish Graves—The Place of
Carcases—The Stable Boy—Horses of the Moslem—Dar-dwag
CHAPTER LVII.
Strange Trio—The Mulatto—The Peace-offering—Moors of 373
Granada—Vive la Guadeloupe—The Moors—Pascual Fava—Blind
Algerine—The Retreat
GLOSSARY 385
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
VOL. II.
TOLEDO. _Etched by_ MANESSE _Frontispiece_
SEGOVIA. _From a Sketch by_ A. H. HALLAM MURRAY _To face_ 210
_Engraved by_ MANESSE
CHAPTER XXIX.
Arrival at Padron—Projected Enterprise—The Alquilador—Breach of
Promise—An Odd Companion—A Plain Story—Rugged Paths—The Desertion—The
Pony—A Dialogue—Unpleasant Situation—The Estadea—Benighted—The Hut—The
Traveller’s Pillow.
I arrived at Padron late in the evening, on my return from Pontevedra and
Vigo. It was my intention at this place to send my servant and horses
forward to Santiago, and to hire a guide to Cape Finisterre. It would be
difficult to assign any plausible reason for the ardent desire which I
entertained to visit this place; but I remembered that last year I had
escaped almost by a miracle from shipwreck and death on the rocky sides
of this extreme point of the Old World, and I thought that to convey the
Gospel to a place so wild and remote might perhaps be considered an
acceptable pilgrimage in the eyes of my Maker. True it is that but one
copy remained of those which I had brought with me on this last journey;
but this reflection, far from discouraging me in my projected enterprise,
produced the contrary effect, as I called to mind that, ever since the
Lord revealed Himself to man, it has seemed good to Him to accomplish the
greatest ends by apparently the most insufficient means; and I reflected
that this one copy might serve as an instrument for more good than the
four thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine copies of the edition of
Madrid.
I was aware that my own horses were quite incompetent to reach
Finisterre, as the roads or paths lie through stony ravines, and over
rough and shaggy hills, and therefore determined to leave them behind
with Antonio, whom I was unwilling to expose to the fatigues of such a
journey. I lost no time in sending for an _alquilador_, or person who
lets out horses, and informing him of my intention. He said he had an
excellent mountain pony at my disposal, and that he himself would
accompany me; but at the same time observed, that it was a terrible
journey for man and horse, and that he expected to be paid accordingly.
I consented to give him what he demanded, but on the express condition
that he would perform his promise of attending me himself, as I was
unwilling to trust myself four or five days amongst the hills with any
low fellow of the town whom he might select, and who it was very possible
might play me some evil turn. He replied by the term invariably used by
the Spaniards when they see doubt or distrust exhibited: “_No tenga usted
cuidado_, {2} I will go myself.” Having thus arranged the matter
perfectly satisfactorily, as I thought, I partook of a slight supper, and
shortly afterwards retired to repose.
I had requested the _alquilador_ to call me the next morning at three
o’clock; he, however, did not make his appearance till five, having, I
suppose, overslept himself, which was indeed my own case. I arose in a
hurry, dressed, put a few things in a bag, not forgetting the Testament,
which I had resolved to present to the inhabitants of Finisterre. I then
sallied forth and saw my friend the _alquilador_, who was holding by the
bridle the pony or _jaca_ which was destined to carry me in my
expedition. It was a beautiful little animal, apparently strong and full
of life, without one single white hair in its whole body, which was black
as the plumage of the crow.
Behind it stood a strange-looking figure of the biped species, to whom,
however, at the moment, I paid little attention, but of whom I shall have
plenty to say in the sequel.
Having asked the horse-lender whether he was ready to proceed, and being
answered in the affirmative, I bade adieu to Antonio, and putting the
pony in motion, we hastened out of the town, taking at first the road
which leads towards Santiago. Observing that the figure which I have
previously alluded to was following close at our heels, I asked the
_alquilador_ who it was, and the reason of its following us; to which he
replied that it was a servant of his, who would proceed a little way with
us and then return. So on we went at a rapid rate, till we were within a
quarter of a mile of the Convent of the Esclavitud, a little beyond which
he had informed me that we should have to turn off from the high-road;
but here he suddenly stopped short, and in a moment we were all at a
standstill. I questioned the guide as to the reason of this, but
received no answer. The fellow’s eyes were directed to the ground, and
he seemed to be counting with the most intense solicitude the prints of
the hoofs of the oxen, mules, and horses in the dust of the road. I
repeated my demand in a louder voice; when, after a considerable pause,
he somewhat elevated his eyes, without, however, looking me in the face,
and said that he believed that I entertained the idea that he himself was
to guide me to Finisterre, which if I did, he was very sorry for, the
thing being quite impossible, as he was perfectly ignorant of the way,
and, moreover, incapable of performing such a journey over rough and
difficult ground, as he was no longer the man he had been; and, over and
above all that, he was engaged that day to accompany a gentleman to
Pontevedra, who was at that moment expecting him. “But,” continued he,
“as I am always desirous of behaving like a _caballero_ to everybody, I
have taken measures to prevent your being disappointed. This person,”
pointing to the figure, “I have engaged to accompany you. He is a most
trustworthy person, and is well acquainted with the route to Finisterre,
having been thither several times with this very _jaca_ on which you are
mounted. He will, besides, be an agreeable companion to you on the way,
as he speaks French and English very well, and has been all over the
world.” The fellow ceased speaking at last; and I was so struck with his
craft, impudence, and villany, that some time elapsed before I could find
an answer. I then reproached him in the bitterest terms for his breach
of promise, and said that I was much tempted to return to the town
instantly, complain of him to the _alcalde_, and have him punished at any
expense. To which he replied, “Sir Cavalier, by so doing you will be
nothing nearer Finisterre, to which you seem so eager to get. Take my
advice, spur on the _jaca_, for you see it is getting late, and it is
twelve long leagues from hence to Corcuvion, where you must pass the
night; and from thence to Finisterre is no trifle. As for the man, _no
tenga usted cuidado_, he is the best guide in Galicia, speaks English and
French, and will bear you pleasant company.”
By this time I had reflected that by returning to Padron I should indeed
be only wasting time, and that by endeavouring to have the fellow
punished no benefit would accrue to me; moreover, as he seemed to be a
scoundrel in every sense of the word, I might as well proceed in the
company of any person as in his. I therefore signified my intention of
proceeding, and told him to go back, in the Lord’s name, and repent of
his sins. But having gained one point, he thought he had best attempt
another; so placing himself about a yard before the _jaca_, he said that
the price which I had agreed to pay him for the loan of his horse (which,
by-the-by, was the full sum he had demanded) was by no means sufficient,
and that before I proceeded I must promise him two dollars more, adding
that he was either drunk or mad when he had made such a bargain. I was
now thoroughly incensed, and without a moment’s reflection, spurred the
_jaca_, which flung him down in the dust, and passed over him. Looking
back at the distance of a hundred yards, I saw him standing in the same
place, his hat on the ground, gazing after us, and crossing himself most
devoutly. His servant, or whatever he was, far from offering any
assistance to his principal, no sooner saw the _jaca _in motion than he
ran on by its side, without word or comment, further than striking
himself lustily on the thigh with his right palm. We soon passed the
Esclavitud, and presently afterwards turned to the left into a stony
broken path leading to fields of maize. We passed by several
farm-houses, and at last arrived at a dingle, the sides of which were
plentifully overgrown with dwarf oaks, and which slanted down to a small
dark river shaded with trees, which we crossed by a rude bridge. By this
time I had had sufficient time to scan my odd companion from head to
foot. His utmost height, had he made the most of himself, might perhaps
have amounted to five feet one inch; but he seemed somewhat inclined to
stoop. Nature had gifted him with an immense head, and placed it clean
upon his shoulders, for amongst the items of his composition it did not
appear that a neck had been included. Arms long and brawny swung at his
sides, and the whole of his frame was as strong built and powerful as a
wrestler’s; his body was supported by a pair of short but very nimble
legs. His face was very long, and would have borne some slight
resemblance to a human countenance had the nose been more visible, for
its place seemed to have been entirely occupied by a wry mouth and large
staring eyes. His dress consisted of three articles: an old and tattered
hat of the Portuguese kind, broad at the crown and narrow at the eaves,
something which appeared to be a shirt, and dirty canvas trousers.
Willing to enter into conversation with him, and remembering that the
_alquilador_ had informed me that he spoke languages, I asked him, in
English, if he had always acted in the capacity of guide. Whereupon he
turned his eyes with a singular expression upon my face, gave a loud
laugh, a long leap, and clapped his hands thrice above his head.
Perceiving that he did not understand me, I repeated my demand in French,
and was again answered by the laugh, leap, and clapping. At last he
said, in broken Spanish, “Master mine, speak Spanish in God’s name, and I
can understand you, and still better if you speak Gallegan, but I can
promise no more. I heard what the _alquilador_ told you, but he is the
greatest _embustero_ in the whole land, and deceived you then as he did
when he promised to accompany you. I serve him for my sins; but it was
an evil hour when I left the deep sea and turned guide.” He then
informed me that he was a native of Padron, and a mariner by profession,
having spent the greater part of his life in the Spanish navy, in which
service he had visited Cuba and many parts of the Spanish Americas,
adding, “when my master told you that I should bear you pleasant company
by the way, it was the only word of truth that has come from his mouth
for a month; and long before you reach Finisterre you will have rejoiced
that the servant, and not the master, went with you: he is dull and
heavy, but I am what you see.” He then gave two or three first-rate
somersaults, again laughed loudly, and clapped his hands. “You would
scarcely think,” he continued, “that I drove that little pony yesterday,
heavily laden, all the way from Corunna. We arrived at Padron at two
o’clock this morning; but we are nevertheless both willing and able to
undertake a fresh journey. _No tenga usted cuidado_, as my master said,
no one ever complains of that pony or of me.” In this kind of discourse
we proceeded a considerable way through a very picturesque country, until
we reached a beautiful village at the skirt of a mountain. “This
village,” said my guide, “is called Los Angeles, because its church was
built long since by the angels; they placed a beam of gold beneath it,
which they brought down from heaven, and which was once a rafter of God’s
own house. It runs all the way under the ground from hence to the
cathedral of Compostella.”
Passing through the village, which he likewise informed me possessed
baths, and was much visited by the people of Santiago, we shaped our
course to the north-west, and by so doing doubled a mountain which rose
majestically over our heads, its top crowned with bare and broken rocks,
whilst on our right, on the other side of a spacious valley, was a high
range connected with the mountains to the northward of Saint James. On
the summit of this range rose high embattled towers, which my guide
informed me were those of Altamira, an ancient and ruined castle,
formerly the principal residence in this province of the counts of that
name. Turning now due west, we were soon at the bottom of a steep and
rugged pass, which led to more elevated regions. The ascent cost us
nearly half an hour, and the difficulties of the ground were such that I
more than once congratulated myself on having left my own horses behind,
and being mounted on the gallant little pony, which, accustomed to such
paths, scrambled bravely forward, and eventually brought us in safety to
the top of the ascent.
Here we entered a Gallegan cabin, or _choza_, for the purpose of
refreshing the animal and ourselves. The quadruped ate some maize,
whilst we two bipeds regaled ourselves on some _broa_ and _aguardiente_,
which a woman whom we found in the hut placed before us. I walked out
for a few minutes to observe the aspect of the country, and on my return
found my guide fast asleep on the bench where I had left him. He sat
bolt upright, his back supported against the wall, and his legs
pendulous, within three inches of the ground, being too short to reach
it. I remained gazing upon him for at least five minutes, whilst he
enjoyed slumbers seemingly as quiet and profound as those of death
itself. His face brought powerfully to my mind some of those uncouth
visages of saints and abbots which are occasionally seen in the niches of
the walls of ruined convents. There was not the slightest gleam of
vitality in his countenance, which for colour and rigidity might have
been of stone, and which was as rude and battered as one of the stone
heads at Icolmkill, which have braved the winds of twelve hundred years.
I continued gazing on his face till I became almost alarmed, concluding
that life might have departed from its harassed and fatigued tenement.
On my shaking him rather roughly by the shoulder he slowly awoke, opening
his eyes with a stare, and then closing them again. For a few moments he
was evidently unconscious of where he was. On my shouting to him,
however, and inquiring whether he intended to sleep all day, instead of
conducting me to Finisterre, he dropped upon his legs, snatched up his
hat, which lay on the table, and instantly ran out of the door,
exclaiming, “Yes, yes, I remember; follow me, captain, and I will lead
you to Finisterre in no time.” I looked after him, and perceived that he
was hurrying at a considerable pace in the direction in which we had
hitherto been proceeding. “Stop,” said I, “stop! will you leave me here
with the pony? Stop; we have not paid the reckoning. Stop!” He,
however, never turned his head for a moment, and in less than a minute
was out of sight. The pony, which was tied to a crib at one end of the
cabin, began now to neigh terrifically, to plunge, and to erect its tail
and mane in a most singular manner. It tore and strained at the halter
till I was apprehensive that strangulation would ensue. “Woman,” I
exclaimed, “where are you, and what is the meaning of all this?” But the
hostess had likewise disappeared, and though I ran about the _choza_,
shouting myself hoarse, no answer was returned. The pony still continued
to scream and to strain at the halter more violently than ever. “Am I
beset with lunatics?” I cried, and flinging down a _peseta_ on the table,
unloosed the halter, and attempted to introduce the bit into the mouth of
the animal. This, however, I found impossible to effect. Released from
the halter, the pony made at once for the door, in spite of all the
efforts which I could make to detain it. “If you abandon me,” said I, “I
am in a pretty situation; but there is a remedy for everything!” with
which words I sprang into the saddle, and in a moment more the creature
was bearing me at a rapid gallop in the direction, as I supposed, of
Finisterre. My position, however diverting to the reader, was rather
critical to myself. I was on the back of a spirited animal, over which I
had no control, dashing along a dangerous and unknown path. I could not
discover the slightest vestige of my guide, nor did I pass any one from
whom I could derive any information. Indeed, the speed of the animal was
so great, that even in the event of my meeting or overtaking a passenger,
I could scarcely have hoped to exchange a word with him. “Is the pony
trained to this work?” said I, mentally. “Is he carrying me to some den
of banditti, where my throat will be cut, or does he follow his master by
instinct?” Both of these suspicions I, however, soon abandoned. The
pony’s speed relaxed; he appeared to have lost the road. He looked about
uneasily: at last, coming to a sandy spot, he put his nostrils to the
ground, and then suddenly flung himself down, and wallowed in true pony
fashion. I was not hurt, and instantly made use of this opportunity to
slip the bit into his mouth, which previously had been dangling beneath
his neck; I then remounted in quest of the road.
This I soon found, and continued my way for a considerable time. The
path lay over a moor, patched with heath and furze, and here and there
strewn with large stones, or rather rocks. The sun had risen high in the
firmament, and burned fiercely. I passed several people, men and women,
who gazed at me with surprise, wondering, probably, what a person of my
appearance could be about, without a guide, in so strange a place. I
inquired of two females whom I met whether they had seen my guide; but
they either did not or would not understand me, and, exchanging a few
words with each other in one of the hundred dialects of the Gallegan,
passed on. Having crossed the moor, I came rather abruptly upon a
convent, overhanging a deep ravine, at the bottom of which brawled a
rapid stream.
It was a beautiful and picturesque spot: the sides of the ravine were
thickly clothed with wood, and on the other side a tall black hill
uplifted itself. The edifice was large, and apparently deserted.
Passing by it, I presently reached a small village, as deserted, to all
appearance, as the convent, for I saw not a single individual, nor so
much as a dog to welcome me with his bark. I proceeded, however, until I
reached a fountain, the waters of which gushed from a stone pillar into a
trough. Seated upon this last, his arms folded, and his eyes fixed upon
the neighbouring mountain, I beheld a figure which still frequently
recurs to my thoughts, especially when asleep and oppressed by the
nightmare. This figure was my runaway guide.
_Myself_.—Good day to you, my gentleman. The weather is hot, and yonder
water appears delicious. I am almost tempted to dismount and regale
myself with a slight draught.
_Guide_.—Your worship can do no better. The day is, as you say, hot; you
can do no better than drink a little of this water. I have myself just
drunk. I would not, however, advise you to give that pony any; it
appears heated and blown.
_Myself_.—It may well be so. I have been galloping at least two leagues
in pursuit of a fellow who engaged to guide me to Finisterre, but who
deserted me in a most singular manner; so much so, that I almost believe
him to be a thief, and no true man. You do not happen to have seen him?
_Guide_.—What kind of a man might he be?
_Myself_.—A short, thick fellow, very much like yourself, with a hump
upon his back, and, excuse me, of a very ill-favoured countenance.
_Guide_.—Ha, ha! I know him. He ran with me to this fountain, where he
has just left me. That man, Sir Cavalier, is no thief. If he is
anything at all, he is a _Nuveiro_ {12}—a fellow who rides upon the
clouds, and is occasionally whisked away by a gust of wind. Should you
ever travel with that man again, never allow him more than one glass of
anise at a time, or he will infallibly mount into the clouds and leave
you, and then he will ride and run till he comes to a water-brook, or
knocks his head against a fountain—then one draught, and he is himself
again. So you are going to Finisterre, Sir Cavalier. Now it is singular
enough, that a cavalier much of your appearance engaged me to conduct him
there this morning; I, however, lost him on the way; so it appears to me
our best plan to travel together until you find your own guide and I find
my own master.
It might be about two o’clock in the afternoon that we reached a long and
ruinous bridge, seemingly of great antiquity, and which, as I was
informed by my guide, was called the bridge of Don Alonzo. It crossed a
species of creek, or rather frith, for the sea was at no considerable
distance, and the small town of Noyo lay at our right. “When we have
crossed that bridge, captain,” said my guide, “we shall be in an unknown
country, for I have never been farther than Noyo, and as for Finisterre,
so far from having been there, I never heard of such a place; and though
I have inquired of two or three people since we have been upon this
expedition, they know as little about it as I do. Taking all things,
however, into consideration, it appears to me that the best thing we can
do is to push forward to Corcuvion, which is five mad leagues from hence,
and which we may perhaps reach ere nightfall, if we can find the way or
get any one to direct us; for, as I told you before, I know nothing about
it.” “To fine hands have I confided myself,” said I: “however, we had
best, as you say, push forward to Corcuvion, where, peradventure, we may
hear something of Finisterre, and find a guide to conduct us.”
Whereupon, with a hop, skip, and a jump, he again set forward at a rapid
pace, stopping occasionally at a _choza_, for the purpose, I suppose, of
making inquiries, though I understood scarcely anything of the jargon in
which he addressed the people, and in which they answered him.
We were soon in an extremely wild and hilly country, scrambling up and
down ravines, wading brooks, and scratching our hands and faces with
brambles, on which grew a plentiful crop of wild mulberries, to gather
some of which we occasionally made a stop. Owing to the roughness of the
way, we made no great progress. The pony followed close at the back of
the guide, so near, indeed, that its nose almost touched his shoulder.
The country grew wilder and wilder, and, since we had passed a
water-mill, we had lost all trace of human habitation. The mill stood at
the bottom of a valley shaded by large trees, and its wheels were turning
with a dismal and monotonous noise. “Do you think we shall reach
Corcuvion tonight?” said I to the guide, as we emerged from this valley
to a savage moor, which appeared of almost boundless extent.
_Guide_.—I do not, I do not. We shall in no manner reach Corcuvion
to-night, and I by no means like the appearance of this moor. The sun is
rapidly sinking, and then, if there come on a haze, we shall meet the
_Estadéa_.
_Myself_.—What do you mean by the _Estadéa_?
_Guide_.—What do I mean by the _Estadéa_? My master asks me what I mean
by the _Estadinha_. {14} I have met the _Estadinha_ but once, and it was
upon a moor something like this. I was in company with several women,
and a thick haze came on, and suddenly a thousand lights shone above our
heads in the haze, and there was a wild cry, and the women fell to the
ground screaming, ‘_Estadéa_! _Estadéa_!’ and I myself fell to the
ground crying out, ‘_Estadinha_!’ The _Estadéa_ are the spirits of the
dead which ride upon the haze, bearing candles in their hands. I tell
you frankly, my master, that if we meet the assembly of the souls, I
shall leave you at once, and then I shall run and run till I drown myself
in the sea, somewhere about Muros. We shall not reach Corcuvion this
night; my only hope is that we may find some _choza_ upon these moors,
where we may hide our heads from the _Estadinha_.”
The night overtook us ere we had traversed the moor; there was, however,
no haze, to the great joy of my guide, and a corner of the moon partially
illumined our steps. Our situation, however, was dreary enough: we were
upon the wildest heath of the wildest province of Spain, ignorant of our
way, and directing our course we scarcely knew whither, for my guide
repeatedly declared to me that he did not believe that such a place as
Finisterre existed, or if it did exist, it was some bleak mountain
pointed out in a map. When I reflected on the character of this guide, I
derived but little comfort or encouragement: he was at best evidently
half-witted, and was by his own confession occasionally seized with
paroxysms which differed from madness in no essential respect; his wild
escapade in the morning of nearly three leagues, without any apparent
cause, and lastly his superstitious and frantic fears of meeting the
souls of the dead upon this heath, in which event he intended, as he
himself said, to desert me and make for the sea, operated rather
powerfully upon my nerves. I likewise considered that it was quite
possible that we might be in the route neither of Finisterre nor
Corcuvion, and I therefore determined to enter the first cabin at which
we should arrive, in preference to running the risk of breaking our necks
by tumbling down some pit or precipice. No cabin, however, appeared in
sight: the moor seemed interminable, and we wandered on until the moon
disappeared, and we were left in almost total darkness.
At length we arrived at the foot of a steep ascent, up which a rough and
broken pathway appeared to lead. “Can this be our way?” said I to the
guide.
“There appears to be no other for us, captain,” replied the man; “let us
ascend it by all means, and when we are at the top, if the sea be in the
neighbourhood we shall see it.”
I then dismounted, for to ride up such a pass in such darkness would have
been madness. We clambered up in a line, first the guide, next the pony,
with his nose as usual on his master’s shoulder, of whom he seemed
passionately fond, and I bringing up the rear, with my left hand grasping
the animal’s tail. We had many a stumble, and more than one fall: once,
indeed, we were all rolling down the side of the hill together. In about
twenty minutes we reached the summit, and looked around us, but no sea
was visible: a black moor, indistinctly seen, seemed to spread on every
side.
“We shall have to take up our quarters here till morning,” said I.
Suddenly my guide seized me by the hand. “There is _lúme_, _senhor_,”
said he; “there is _lúme_.” I looked in the direction in which he
pointed, and after straining my eyes for some time, imagined that I
perceived, far below and at some distance, a faint glow. “That is
_lúme_,” shouted the guide, “and it proceeds from the chimney of a
_choza_.”
On descending the eminence, we roamed about for a considerable time,
until we at last found ourselves in the midst of about six or eight black
huts. “Knock at the door of one of these,” said I to the guide, “and
inquire of the people whether they can shelter us for the night.” He did
so, and a man presently made his appearance, bearing in his hand a
lighted firebrand.
“Can you shelter a _Cavalheiro_ from the night and the _Estadéa_?” said
my guide.
“From both, I thank God,” said the man, who was an athletic figure,
without shoes and stockings, and who, upon the whole, put me much in mind
of a Munster peasant from the bogs. “Pray enter, gentlemen, we can
accommodate you both and your _cavalgadura_ besides.”
We entered the _choza_, which consisted of three compartments; in the
first we found straw, in the second cattle and ponies, and in the third
the family, consisting of the father and mother of the man who admitted
us, and his wife and children.
“You are a Catalan, sir Cavalier, and are going to your countrymen at
Corcuvion,” said the man in tolerable Spanish. “Ah, you are brave
people, you Catalans, and fine establishments you have on the Gallegan
shores; pity that you take all the money out of the country.”
Now, under all circumstances, I had not the slightest objection to pass
for a Catalan; and I rather rejoiced that these wild people should
suppose that I had powerful friends and countrymen in the neighbourhood
who were, perhaps, expecting me. I therefore favoured their mistake, and
began with a harsh Catalan accent to talk of the fish of Galicia, and the
high duties on salt. The eye of my guide was upon me for an instant,
with a singular expression, half serious, half droll; he, however, said
nothing, but slapped his thigh as usual, and with a spring nearly touched
the roof of the cabin with his grotesque head. Upon inquiry, I
discovered that we were still two long leagues distant from Corcuvion,
and that the road lay over moor and hill, and was hard to find. Our host
now demanded whether we were hungry, and, upon being answered in the
affirmative, produced about a dozen eggs and some bacon. Whilst our
supper was cooking, a long conversation ensued between my guide and the
family, but as it was carried on in Gallegan, I tried in vain to
understand it. I believe, however, that it principally related to
witches and witchcraft, as the _Estadéa_ was frequently mentioned. After
supper I demanded where I could rest: whereupon the host pointed to a
trapdoor in the roof, saying that above there was a loft where I could
sleep by myself, and have clean straw. For curiosity’s sake, I asked
whether there was such a thing as a bed in the cabin.
“No,” replied the man; “nor nearer than Corcuvion. I never entered one
in my life, nor any one of my family; we sleep around the hearth, or
among the straw with the cattle.”
I was too old a traveller to complain, but forthwith ascended by a ladder
into a species of loft, tolerably large and nearly empty, where I placed
my cloak beneath my head, and lay down on the boards, which I preferred
to the straw, for more reasons than one. I heard the people below
talking in Gallegan for a considerable time, and could see the gleams of
the fire through the interstices of the floor. The voices, however,
gradually died away, the fire sank low and could no longer be
distinguished. I dozed, started, dozed again, and dropped finally into a
profound sleep, from which I was only roused by the crowing of the second
cock.