Martin of Rivadeo—The Factious Mare—Asturians—Luarca—The Seven
Bellotas—Hermits—The Asturian’s Tale—Strange Guests—The Big
Servant—Batuschca.
“What may your business be?” said I to a short, thick, merry-faced fellow
in a velveteen jerkin and canvas pantaloons, who made his way into my
apartment in the dusk of the evening.
“I am Martin of Rivadeo, your worship,” replied the man, “an _alquilador_
by profession. I am told that you want a horse for your journey into the
Asturias to-morrow, and of course a guide: now, if that be the case, I
counsel you to hire myself and mare.”
“I am become tired of guides,” I replied; “so much so that I was thinking
of purchasing a pony, and proceeding without any guide at all. The last
which we had was an infamous character.”
“So I have been told, your worship, and it was well for the _bribon_ that
I was not in Rivadeo when the affair to which you allude occurred. But
he was gone with the pony Perico before I came back, or I would have bled
the fellow to a certainty with my knife. He is a disgrace to the
profession, which is one of the most honourable and ancient in the world.
Perico himself must have been ashamed of him, for Perico, though a pony,
is a gentleman, one of many capacities, and well known upon the roads.
He is only inferior to my mare.”
“Are you well acquainted with the road to Oviedo?” I demanded.
“I am not, your worship; that is, no farther than Luarca, {58a} which is
the first day’s journey. I do not wish to deceive you, therefore let me
go with you no farther than that place; though perhaps I might serve for
the whole journey, for though I am unacquainted with the country, I have
a tongue in my head, and nimble feet to run and ask questions. I will,
however, answer for myself no farther than Luarca, where you can please
yourselves. Your being strangers is what makes me wish to accompany you,
for I like the conversation of strangers, from whom I am sure to gain
information both entertaining and profitable. I wish, moreover, to
convince you that we guides of Galicia are not all thieves, which I am
sure you will not suppose if you only permit me to accompany you as far
as Luarca.”
I was so much struck with the fellow’s good humour and frankness, and
more especially by the originality of character displayed in almost every
sentence which he uttered, that I readily engaged him to guide us to
Luarca; whereupon he left me, promising to be ready with his mare at
eight next morning.
Rivadeo is one of the principal seaports of Galicia, and is admirably
situated for commerce, on a deep firth, into which the river Mirando
{58b} debouches. It contains many magnificent buildings, and an
extensive square or _plaza_, which is planted with trees. I observed
several vessels in the harbour; and the population, which is rather
numerous, exhibited none of those marks of misery and dejection which I
had lately observed among the Ferrolese.
On the morrow Martin of Rivadeo made his appearance at the appointed hour
with his mare. It was a lean haggard animal, not much larger than a
pony; it had good points, however, and was very clean in its hinder legs,
and Martin insisted that it was the best animal of its kind in all Spain.
“It is a factious mare,” said he, “and I believe an Alavese. When the
Carlists came here it fell lame, and they left it behind, and I purchased
it for a dollar. It is not lame now, however, as you shall soon see.”
We had now reached the firth which divides Galicia from the Asturias. A
kind of barge was lying about two yards from the side of the quay,
waiting to take us over. Towards this Martin led his mare, and giving an
encouraging shout, the creature without any hesitation sprang over the
intervening space into the barge. “I told you she was a _facciosa_,”
said Martin; “none but a factious animal would have taken such a leap.”
We all embarked in the barge and crossed over the firth, which is in this
place nearly a mile broad, to Castro Pol, {59} the first town in the
Asturias. I now mounted the factious mare, whilst Antonio followed on my
own horse. Martin led the way, exchanging jests with every person whom
he met on the road, and occasionally enlivening the way with an
extemporaneous song.
We were now in the Asturias, and about noon we reached Navias, a small
fishing-town, situate on a _ria_ or firth: in the neighbourhood are
ragged mountains called the Sierra de Buron, which stand in the shape of
a semicircle. We saw a small vessel in the harbour, which we
subsequently learned was from the Basque provinces, come for a cargo of
cider or _sagadua_, the beverage so dearly loved by the Basques. As we
passed along the narrow street, Antonio was hailed with an “_Ola_!” from
a species of shop in which three men, apparently shoemakers, were seated.
He stopped for some time to converse with them, and when he joined us at
the _posada_ where we halted, I asked him who they were: “_Mon maître_,”
said he, “_ce sont des messieurs de ma connoissance_. I have been
fellow-servant at different times with all three; and I tell you
beforehand, that we shall scarcely pass through a village in this country
where I shall not find an acquaintance. All the Asturians, at some
period of their lives, make a journey to Madrid, where, if they can
obtain a situation, they remain until they have scraped up sufficient to
turn to advantage in their own country; and as I have served in all the
great houses in Madrid, I am acquainted with the greatest part of them.
I have nothing to say against the Asturians, save that they are close and
penurious whilst at service; but they are not thieves, neither at home
nor abroad, and though we must have our wits about us in their country, I
have heard we may travel from one end of it to the other without the
slightest fear of being either robbed or ill-treated, which is not the
case in Galicia, where we were always in danger of having our throats
cut.”
Leaving Navias, we proceeded through a wild desolate country, till we
reached the pass of Baralla, which lies up the side of a huge wall of
rocks, which at a distance appear of a light green colour, though
perfectly bare of herbage or plants of any description.
“This pass,” said Martin of Rivadeo, “bears a very evil reputation, and I
should not like to travel it after sunset. It is not infested by
robbers, but by things much worse, the _duendes_ of two friars of Saint
Francis. It is said that in the old time, long before the convents were
suppressed, two friars of the order of Saint Francis left their convent
to beg. It chanced that they were very successful, but as they were
returning at nightfall by this pass, they had a quarrel about what they
had collected, each insisting that he had done his duty better than the
other; at last, from high words they fell to abuse, and from abuse to
blows. What do you think these demons of friars did? They took off
their cloaks, and at the end of each they made a knot, in which they
placed a large stone, and with these they thrashed and belaboured each
other till both fell dead. Master, I know not which are the worst
plagues, friars, curates, or sparrows:
‘May the Lord God preserve us from evil birds three:
From all friars and curates and sparrows that be;
For the sparrows eat up all the corn that we sow,
The friars drink down all the wine that we grow,
Whilst the curates have all the fair dames at their nod:
From these three evil curses preserve us, Lord God.’”
In about two hours from this time we reached Luarca, the situation of
which is most singular. It stands in a deep hollow, whose sides are so
precipitous that it is impossible to descry the town until you stand just
above it. At the northern extremity of this hollow is a small harbour,
the sea entering by a narrow cleft. We found a large and comfortable
_posada_, and by the advice of Martin, made inquiry for a fresh guide and
horse; we were informed, however, that all the horses of the place were
absent, and that if we waited for their return, we must tarry for two
days. “I had a presentiment,” said Martin, “when we entered Luarca, that
we were not doomed to part at present. You must now hire my mare and me
as far as Gijon, {62a} from whence there is a conveyance to Oviedo. To
tell you the truth, I am by no means sorry that the guides are absent,
for I am pleased with your company, as I make no doubt you are with mine.
I will now go and write a letter to my wife at Rivadeo, informing her
that she must not expect to see me back for several days.” He then went
out of the room, singing the following stanza:—
“A handless man a letter did write,
A dumb dictated it word for word:
The person who read it had lost his sight,
And deaf was he who listened and heard.” {62b}
Early the next morning we emerged from the hollow of Luarca; about an
hour’s riding brought us to Caneiro, a deep and romantic valley of rocks,
shaded by tall chestnut trees. Through the midst of this valley rushes a
rapid stream, which we crossed in a boat. “There is not such a stream
for trout in all the Asturias,” said the ferryman. “Look down into the
waters and observe the large stones over which it flows; now in the
proper season, and in fine weather, you cannot see those stones for the
multitudes of fish which cover them.”
Leaving the valley behind us, we entered into a wild and dreary country,
stony and mountainous. The day was dull and gloomy, and all around
looked sad and melancholy. “Are we in the way for Gijon and Oviedo?”
demanded Martin of an ancient female, who stood at the door of a cottage.
“For Gijon and Oviedo!” replied the crone; “many is the weary step you
will have to make before you reach Gijon and Oviedo. You must first of
all crack the _bellotas_: you are just below them.”
“What does she mean by cracking the _bellotas_?” demanded I of Martin of
Rivadeo.
“Did your worship never hear of the seven _bellotas_?” replied our guide.
“I can scarcely tell you what they are, as I have never seen them; I
believe they are seven hills which we have to cross, and are called
_bellotas_ from some resemblance to acorns which it is fancied they bear.
I have often heard of these acorns, and am not sorry that I have now an
opportunity of seeing them, though it is said that they are rather hard
things for horses to digest.”
The Asturian mountains in this part rise to a considerable altitude.
They consist for the most part of dark granite, covered here and there
with a thin layer of earth. They approach very near to the sea, to which
they slope down in broken ridges, between which are deep and precipitous
defiles, each with its rivulet, the tribute of the hills to the salt
flood. The road traverses these defiles. There are seven of them, which
are called, in the language of the country, _Las siete bellotas_. Of all
these the most terrible is the midmost, down which rolls an impetuous
torrent. At the upper end of it rises a precipitous wall of rock, black
as soot, to the height of several hundred yards; its top, as we passed,
was enveloped with a veil of _bretima_. From this gorge branch off, on
either side, small dingles or glens, some of them so overgrown with trees
and copsewood, that the eye is unable to penetrate the obscurity beyond a
few yards.
“Fine places would some of these dingles prove for hermitages,” said I to
Martin of Rivadeo. “Holy men might lead a happy life there on roots and
water, and pass many years absorbed in heavenly contemplation without
ever being disturbed by the noise and turmoil of the world.”
“True, your worship,” replied Martin; “and perhaps on that very account
there are no hermitages in the _barrancos_ of the seven _bellotas_. Our
hermits had little inclination for roots and water, and had no kind of
objection to be occasionally disturbed in their meditations. _Vaya_! I
never yet saw a hermitage that was not hard by some rich town or village,
or was not a regular resort for all the idle people in the neighbourhood.
Hermits are not fond of living in dingles, amongst wolves and foxes; for
how in that case could they dispose of their poultry? A hermit of my
acquaintance left, when he died, a fortune of seven hundred dollars to
his niece, the greatest part of which he scraped up by fattening
turkeys.”
At the top of this _bellota_ we found a wretched _venta_, where we
refreshed ourselves, and then continued our journey. Late in the
afternoon we cleared the last of these difficult passes. The wind began
now to rise, bearing on its wings a drizzling rain. We passed by Soto
Luino, and shaping our course through a wild but picturesque country, we
found ourselves about nightfall at the foot of a steep hill, up which led
a narrow bridle-way, amidst a grove of lofty trees. Long before we had
reached the top it had become quite dark, and the rain had increased
considerably. We stumbled along in the obscurity, leading our horses,
which were occasionally down on their knees, owing to the slipperiness of
the path. At last we accomplished the ascent in safety, and pushing
briskly forward, we found ourselves in about half an hour at the entrance
of Muros, a large village situated just on the declivity of the farther
side of the hill.
A blazing fire in the _posada_ soon dried our wet garments, and in some
degree recompensed us for the fatigues which we had undergone in
scrambling up the _bellotas_. A rather singular place was this same
_posada_ of Muros. It was a large rambling house, with a spacious
kitchen, or common room, on the ground floor. Above stairs was a large
dining apartment, with an immense oak table, and furnished with cumbrous
leathern chairs with high backs, apparently three centuries old at least.
Communicating with this apartment was a wooden gallery, open to the air,
which led to a small chamber, in which I was destined to sleep, and which
contained an old-fashioned tester-bed with curtains. It was just one of
those inns which romance writers are so fond of introducing in their
descriptions, especially when the scene of adventure lies in Spain. The
host was a talkative Asturian.
The wind still howled, and the rain descended in torrents. I sat before
the fire in a very drowsy state, from which I was presently aroused by
the conversation of the host. “_Señor_,” said he, “it is now three years
since I beheld foreigners in my house. I remember it was about this time
of the year, and just such a night as this, that two men on horseback
arrived here. What was singular, they came without any guide. Two more
strange-looking individuals I never yet beheld with eye-sight. I shall
never forget them. The one was as tall as a giant, with much tawny
moustache, like the coat of a badger, growing about his mouth. He had a
huge ruddy face, and looked dull and stupid, as he no doubt was, for when
I spoke to him he did not seem to understand, and answered in a jabber,
_valgame Dios_! {66} so wild and strange, that I remained staring at him
with mouth and eyes open. The other was neither tall nor red-faced, nor
had he hair about his mouth, and indeed he had very little upon his head.
He was very diminutive, and looked like a _jorobado_; but, _valgame
Dios_! such eyes, like wild cats’, so sharp and full of malice. He spoke
as good Spanish as I myself do, and yet he was no Spaniard. Spaniard
never looked like that man. He was dressed in a _zamarra_, with much
silver and embroidery, and wore an Andalusian hat, and I soon found that
he was master, and that the other was servant.
“_Valgame Dios_! what an evil disposition had that same foreign
_jorobado_! and yet he had much grace, much humour, and said occasionally
to me such comical things, that I was fit to die of laughter. So he sat
down to supper in the room above, and I may as well tell you here, that
he slept in the same chamber where your worship will sleep to-night, and
his servant waited behind his chair. Well, I had curiosity, so I sat
myself down at the table too, without asking leave. Why should I? I was
in my own house, and an Asturian is fit company for a king, and is often
of better blood. Oh, what a strange supper was that. If the servant
made the slightest mistake in helping him, up would start the _jorobado_,
jump upon his chair, and seizing the big giant by the hair, would cuff
him on both sides of his face till I was afraid his teeth would have
fallen out. The giant, however, did not seem to care about it much. He
was used to it, I suppose. _Valgame Dios_! if he had been a Spaniard he
would not have submitted to it so patiently. But what surprised me most
was, that after beating his servant the master would sit down, and the
next moment would begin conversing and laughing with him as if nothing
had happened, and the giant also would laugh and converse with his
master, for all the world as if he had not been beaten.
“You may well suppose, _Señor_, that I understood nothing of their
discourse, for it was all in that strange unchristian tongue in which the
giant answered me when I spoke to him; the sound of it is still ringing
in my ears. It was nothing like other languages. Not like Bascuen, {67}
not like the language in which your worship speaks to my namesake
_Signor_ Antonio here. _Valgame Dios_! I can compare it to nothing but
the sound a person makes when he rinses his mouth with water. There is
one word which I think I still remember, for it was continually
proceeding from the giant’s lips, but his master never used it.
“But the strangest part of the story is yet to be told. The supper was
ended, and the night was rather advanced; the rain still beat against the
windows, even as it does at this moment. Suddenly the _jorobado_ pulled
out his watch. _Valgame Dios_! such a watch! I will tell you one thing,
_Señor_, that I could purchase all the Asturias, and Muros besides, with
the brilliants which shone about the sides of that same watch; the room
wanted no lamp, I trow, so great was the splendour which they cast. So
the _jorobado_ looked at his watch, and then said to me, ‘I shall go to
rest.’ He then took the lamp, and went through the gallery to his room,
followed by his big servant. Well, _Señor_, I cleared away the things,
and then waited below for the servant, for whom I had prepared a
comfortable bed, close by my own. _Señor_, I waited patiently for an
hour, till at last my patience was exhausted, and I ascended to the
supper apartment, and passed through the gallery till I came to the door
of the strange guest. _Señor_, what do you think I saw at the door?”
“How should I know?” I replied. “His riding-boots, perhaps.”
“No, _Señor_, I did not see his riding-boots; but, stretched on the floor
with his head against the door, so that it was impossible to open it
without disturbing him, lay the big servant fast asleep, his immense legs
reaching nearly the whole length of the gallery. I crossed myself, as
well I might, for the wind was howling even as it is now, and the rain
was rushing down into the gallery in torrents; yet there lay the big
servant fast asleep, without any covering, without any pillow, not even a
log, stretched out before his master’s door.
“_Señor_, I got little rest that night, for I said to myself, I have evil
wizards in my house, folks who are not human. Once or twice I went up
and peeped into the gallery, but there still lay the big servant fast
asleep; so I crossed myself, and returned to my bed again.”
“Well,” said I, “and what occurred next day?”
“Nothing particular occurred next day: the _jorobado_ came down and said
comical things to me in good Spanish; and the big servant came down, but
whatever he said, and he did not say much, I understood not, for it was
in that disastrous jabber. They stayed with me throughout the day till
after supper-time, and then the _jorobado_ gave me a gold ounce, and
mounting their horses, they both departed as strangely as they had come,
in the dark night, I know not whither.”
“Is that all?” I demanded.
“No, _Señor_, it is not all; for I was right in supposing them evil
_brujos_: the very next day an express arrived, and a great search was
made after them, and I was arrested for having harboured them. This
occurred just after the present wars had commenced. It was said they
were spies and emissaries of I don’t know what nation, and that they had
been in all parts of the Asturias, holding conferences with some of the
disaffected. They escaped, however, and were never heard of more, though
the animals which they rode were found without their riders, wandering
amongst the hills; they were common ponies, and were of no value. As for
the _brujos_, it is believed that they embarked in some small vessel
which was lying concealed in one of the _rias_ of the coast.”
_Myself_.—What was the word which you continually heard proceeding from
the lips of the big servant, and which you think you can remember?
_Host_.—_Señor_, it is now three years since I heard it, and at times I
can remember it, and at others not; sometimes I have started up in my
sleep repeating it. Stay, _Señor_, I have it now at the point of my
tongue: it was _Patusca_.
_Myself_.—_Batuschca_, you mean; the men were Russians.