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 pitching it along their summits,till it was lost in interminable space.Other flashes and peals succeeded,but slight in comparison,and a few drops of rain;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.Half-way 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 billow,down on which they are gazing in horror,whilst above them rise still higher and giddier heights to which they seem unable to climb.Built on the very rim 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 driven 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.'I asked him the reason of his antipathy to the friars,to which 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 also belonged to the CANALLA (rabble)above.
The sun was setting fast,and,eager to reach Villafranca,where Ihad 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.Ilooked up the pass and on the hills on both sides.Far above on my right,but standing out bold and clear,and catching the last rays of the sun,was 'the Convent of the Precipices';whilst directly over against it,on the further 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,probably at that [time]
swollen by the recent rains,which I now saw hurrying to the ocean from its cradle in the heart of the Asturian hills.Its fury,its roar,and the savage grandeur of the surrounding scenery which was worthy of the pencil of Salvator recalled to my mind the powerful lines of Stolberg addressed to a mountain torrent -'The pine-trees are shaken,they yield to thy shocks,And,crashing,they tumble in wild disarray;The rocks fly before thee -thou seizest the rocks And whirlst them,like pebbles,contemptuous away.'
Hours again passed away.It was now night,and we were in the midst of woodlands,feeling our way,for the darkness was so great that I could scarcely see the length of a yard before my horse's head.The animal seemed uneasy,and would frequently stop short,prick up his ears,and utter a low mournful whine.Flashes of sheet-lightning frequently illumed the black sky and flung a momentary glare over our path.No sound interrupted the stillness of the night save the slow tramp of the horses'hoofs,and occasionally the croaking of frogs from some pool or morass.I now bethought me that I was in Spain,the chosen land of the two fiends,assassination and plunder,and how easily two tired unarmed wanderers might become their victims.We at last cleared the woodlands,and after proceeding a short distance the horse gave a joyous neigh and broke into a smart trot.A barking of dogs speedily reached my ears,and we seemed to be approaching some town or village.In effect we were close to Cacabelos,a town about five miles distant from Villafranca.
