The sun on my wayIn his golden arrayIs my fellow and guide.He casts my shadowO’er flowery meadow.I wander world-wide.
The sun on my wayIn his golden arrayIs my fellow and guide.He casts my shadowO’er flowery meadow.I wander world-wide.
The sun on my wayIn his golden arrayIs my fellow and guide.He casts my shadowO’er flowery meadow.I wander world-wide.
As we passed on our way, the houses of the village became smaller and smaller. We soon left the last tree behind, and our path led over sweet green slopes, till they too were lost under the stony debris of rocky giants. There was a hunting-lodge close to the foot of the Peña vieja cliff which the king of Spain visits nearly every year when chamois hunting.
The day drew slowly to its end. Great streamers curled round the Peña vieja, pale shadows floated by like silver grey cobwebs, and the mist rose and fell with every breath of wind. The billowing fog had already wrapped us in its mighty veil when we reached the miners’ inn at Lloroza. An overseer invited us to spend the night there. And we were right glad to find shelter, in spite of the fact that both the hut and its furniture looked like the first attempts of primitive man to scale the ladder of civilization. The night we spent on the hard ground was not a very restful one, and we were glad when the approach of day called us from our layer.
When we left the hut a surprising spectacle met our eyes. The fog which had deprived us of any possibility of obtaining a view the evening before now lay at our feet in the valley. The summits of the mountain rose like islands in the sea of mist.
The moment had arrived when day struggled with night for predominance. The full-moon’s silver disc hung in the deep blue of the western sky, and the morning star held its own for a while against the rising light in the east. At last both moon and star turned to pale glass when the sun sent forth his herald rays. The horizon was tinged with pink; long red streamers fluttered from the windows of heaven to greet us, and then the sun rose above the misty expanse, gilded the crests, flooded the eastern pinnacles with the glory of his light, and glowed on the rocky wall to which our hut clung. O wonderful silence of that hour!
“A new day beckons us to other shores.”
For yet a short distance the beaten path used by the king when stalking showed us the way. Then we bent our steps over pathless boulders, sharp edged rocks, mounds of debris, snow-fields strewn among the stony desert with its jagged rock walls and towers.
Whole herds of chamois stared in astonishment at the strange intruders in their paradise. For the rest, they showed little inclination to run away. The mountain fastness became progressively more barren and wild in its aspect. An infinitely dismal mood seemed to brood o’er the scene. Yet the magnificence of these mountains augmented from minute to minute. Grotesque stone giants—cast in burning ore by the furnace of high heaven—stood guarding this great grave of nature.
Woe to the wanderer whose ignorant footsteps err here! Death lies in ambush in the deep crevices and chasms.
At last we halted in front of the monarch of the magnificent mountain empire. His throne stands high in everlasting snow; a golden crown is on his head. His picture is known to all from the most distant mountain valley to the shores of the restless ocean. All admire his beauty, all know his name: Naranjo de Balnes.
This huge rock colossus rises 600 metres over its surroundings. Its perpendicular walls show hardly a crevice. And it seems incredible that nevertheless that bold mountaineer the Marqués de Villaviciosa de Asturia climbed to its summit.
On our wanderings round this mighty and stubborn rock tower we seemed to be lightened of all earthly burdens high up there in the solitude above the depths of humanity.
We climbed up to the Ceredo tower. The rocks were as sharp as knives. Again the ghostly mist rose from the valleys and whirled spectrally around us.
It was 5 o’clock and the Cares valley with Cain to where our steps were directed were not yet in sight.—I asked my companion: “How far yet?” “A few hours more” was the not very consoling reply.—The mist, that enemy of mountaineers was getting thicker. And ere long we could not see twenty paces ahead. The feeling of insecurity grew apace. And the sensation of climbing with mist-bound eyes was terrible. Again I questioned my guide. “Severo, is there no hut or shelter on the way?”—“I don’t think so.” Once more long minutes of silent groping. At last we were, at any rate for a while, rid of the stony region. Here and there a rocky projection, but it was quite impossible to tell if we were not suspended on it hundreds of meters over a yawning abyss. It was impossible to see anything through that fog. And at a quarter past six it was pitch dark.
Suddenly we came across a few low rough huts of unhewn stone huts sheltered by a rock-wall. There at last we could spend the night. But my guide wanted to go on. “Stop!” I cried. “Can we get to Cain to night?”—“I don’t know.” “Well then we’ll stay here!” Suiting the action to the word, we crept into one of the huts, crouched down, and slept fitfully through ten endless hours of night. But even they passed. The morning meant a dangerous and nasty descent. We waded knee-deep in wet grass, clambered over ledges with fog all around us. Woe to us had we slipped! Then we got lost and had to stop and climb back with the greatest care. Then we slid down a stony gully in which nearly every step set rocks thundering to the depths below.
At last the moist grey mist began to lift. A rift showed the bed of the valley far beneath us, and, as we thought, houses. But no, we were mistaken. They were huge boulders, the wreckage of some avalanche that filled the upper hollow. Down and down we scrambled till finally we broke through the foggy screen. Our goal was at our feet. Cain, strangely walled in by precipitous rocky cliffs rising sheer 1500 metres high. We were there! And we could rest. Some bread and butter was all we could find in the whole village to appease our hunger. We would gladly have rested there a day, but the place was too inhospitable. We had therefore to shoulder ourrucksacksagain. The distance we had climbed down the day before, we had to climb up again on the opposite rocks of the Peña santa. Hours and hours of strenuous efforts passed till we reached the ridge. We re-descended valleywards in a drizzling rain. Lake Enol was the last spot of beauty to be hidden from our view. It was there we struck the main road, and then marched another 10 kilometres down to Covadonga which we reached as tired as dogs.
Night had already cast her shadow over the valley, and the stars were beginning to shine forth. Welcoming lights were seen burning in Covadonga. But it seemed as though we should never reach them. However the prospect of a bed lent us strength, and at half past eight we stumbled painfully over the threshold of a clean hospitable house. I went to bed exhausted, and my restless dreams were haunted with the beautiful and terrible wanderings in the Picos de Europa (266-274).
O
My pilgrimage to the Yuste Convent (153).—I left soon after midnight, for marching is delightful in southern nights when the glittering stars shed their soft light from the great vault of heaven. In the south the cool night is succeeded by summer days that are the misery of the pedestrian.—The hours melted by but slowly in the furnace heat of the day. I was beset with all possible ills: infernal heat, thirst, and no water. Not a tree or a shrub was to be seen for miles; no shade; hours without passing a house; not a soul abroad; the melancholy mood that comes in the train of solitude. My path was obstructed by a river—at any rate, water—but nary a bridge! So I had to wade, and continue my journey. At last I spied a shepherd. What joy to feel that I was no longer alone!
“Is this the right road to Yuste?” I enquired of him.—“Yes, but where doest thou come from, and what countryman art thou?” The good fellow addressed me with the fraternaltutoyer, as though we were brothers.
When he heard that I was a German he was quite surprised. He willingly agreed to accompany me to the next village, and was quite curious to hear something about my country. The news of the war had penetrated to this remote part of the world. It was charming to listen to the questions of this child of nature. He knew nothing of the three Rs; had never seen a railway, had never left the neighbourhood of his village. We soon met another shepherd on the mountain-side who was just as pleased and interested as the other. And I must say, that wherever I was in Spain, all classes of the population were friendly towards Germans.
It was not long before we encountered other wayfarers who joined us, for Sunday enticed them into the village. My entrance was therefore almost a triumphal procession. We entered the inn, ordered some wine, and sat down to a well-earned rest. When I wanted to pay the landlord, he refused, telling me that Pepa had settled the bill. However, this wouldn’t do. And at last he agreed to my paying on condition that the next time I returned I should be his guest. They all shook hands with me most-heartily and I continued joyfully on my way.
At last I stood in front of the monastery gates. They were opened, and the white haired abbot rode out on a little donkey, holding a green parasol over his head. I saluted the venerable Father and enquired of him whether I could stay at the monastery for the night. “No”, he replied, “impossible.”—Discomfitted I exclaimed: “But where am I to go to-day? I have travelled fifty kilometres and have come from Navalmoral.”—“What, on foot? Impossible!” “Yes, but I have. I am a German and want to see the spot which the emperor Charles V. exchanged for all the crowns in the world, and where he closed his eyes.”—“You are a German? Of course you can’t continue your journey.”
I was most kindly and touchingly taken care of.
I was shown the monastery which had once been destroyed by the French. Decay and mould have continued the work of destruction. But nature’s eternal youth triumphs victoriously amongst the ruins and beautifies the decay of age. And yet this is a place to think about the everlastingness of all things, of the end of all terrestrial happiness.—Once that great monarch who had fled from the turmoil of the world had paced these halls.
At supper, I, the infidel sat at the monks’ board and was treated like a brother.
The next morning I was awakened long hours before sunrise. A lay brother lit me with a lantern through the dark and ancient park. The monastery gate swung on its hinges, the latch fell heavily, and I was again out in the world all silvery with the moonlight. For a moment I stood entranced.—I heard the mass bell calling the monks to prayers. And the gates of Paradise were closed behind me.
O
The last echoes.—My wanderings through Spain filled me with the joy of life. She had become my second home. It was with a heavy heart that I left.
“O follow me ye southern days’Neath colder skies and paler stars.And fill my thoughts with golden rays!”
“O follow me ye southern days’Neath colder skies and paler stars.And fill my thoughts with golden rays!”
“O follow me ye southern days’Neath colder skies and paler stars.And fill my thoughts with golden rays!”
The hour of departure had arrived.—It was a wonderful moonlight night in which the little Spanish steamer which was to bear me homewards sailed slowly out of Ferrol harbour. The moon cast a silver bridge over the water, and along it my thoughts fled back to other moonlight nights when she had often shown me the way in picturesque Spain.
The lights along the coast shone like the eyes of anxious friends looking a last farewell before darkness closed their lids. And then the little ship ploughed homeward through the eternal waters with the eternal sky above us, and the old old song of the waves accompanied me back to my familiar home.
And now that days and weeks of cloudy skies hang heavily over my country where the sun is not so generous as in southern climes, my heart is filled with yearning for Spain, with nostalgia for the sun.—Then I look at my pictures, and we hold converse together, and re-live those unfettered days spent in wanderings in sun-kissed Spain.
In this volume I send forth my sun harvest. May it cast its light in the hearts of many! May it tell of my love of Spain, and of my heartfelt thanks to her chivalrous people for all their kind hospitality!
Albarracin192-194Albufera116Alcala de Guadaira71Aldeanueva de la Vera154Algatocin76Alhambra1-16,22Almazan227Alquezar210-212Andújar44,115Antequera64-66Aranjuez136-138Arcos de la Frontera48,49,72Arranda de Duero240Autol224,225Avila165-169Barcelona200Batuecas260,261,263Bielsa213Bilbao284Burgo de Osma226Burgos234-238Butron277Brachimañasee216Caceres83,84Candelario252,253Cangas de Onis274Carmona43,70Castellbó208Castellfullit204Cave Dwellings92-99Cenaruza282Cepeda155Chorro73Ciudad Rodrigo250,251Coca184-187Cordoba50-60Cuenca120,121Daroca195-197Debotes Valley207Durango279,283Ecija68,69Elché101-103Elorrio285Escorial129-135Fuenterabia298Gerona202,203Granada1-25Guadalajara178-181Guadalest118Guadix100Güejar-Sierra77Hermida266Hurdes259Jativa111-113Javea108Jerez de la Frontera67Jerica191La Alberca254,256,257Lagartera150,151Madrid126-128Maladeta219Mañaria278Manzanera42Martos74,75Medinaceli176,177Mochagar91Mogarraz258Mombeltran183Monte Agudo119Montserrat201Niebla80,81Nuria206Ondarroa276Orihuela104-107Oviedo264,265Pancorbo231-233Pasages291-296,304Peñafiel182Peña Montañesa214Pic de Aneto217,218Pic du midi216Picos de Europa266-274Pontevedra301Potes270-273Pyrenees205-219Ronda62,63Sagunt109,110Salamanca246-249San Esteban de Gormaz229,230San Juan de Plan209San Sebastian286-290Santander275Santiago de Campostela300Sarragoza220,221Segovia157-164Segretal205Sepulveda172-175Seville28-41Sierra Nevada79Sigüenza188-190Soria228Tarifa45,46Tarazona223Tarragona198,199Toledo139-148Toro244Trujillo85-87Turrégano170,171Valencia114,117Valladolid241-243Vigo303Yuste153Zafra82Zamora245
Towns:2,4,16,21,28,62-64,72,74,80,91-99,120,128,139,157,166,172,191,192,195,202,204,210,223,226,227,232,246,276,286,287,290,293.
Gateways, Towers, Fortified Walls:5,29,75,80,81,85-87,143,167-169,186-188,193,196.
Streets, Squares:24,25,31,60,65,66,75-77,83,85,86,147,148,154,155,163,170,173,174,175,176,189,190,193,197,198,203,208,209,211-213,231-233,247,251,253,270-273,278,295,296.
Churches, Convents, Chapels, Cemeteries, etc.:23,31,41,50-59,66,67,86,108,146,147,152,153,158,164,165,169,177,199,220,221,228,229,234-241,244-246,260-262,264,265,282-285,300.
Squares, Public Buildings, Typical Houses:6-15,17-21,30,32,33,36-40,68,69,114,116,117,126,127,129,130,132,134-137,144,162,178-181,250,279,280,298.
Courts (Patios) and Gardens:6-8,12-15,17,34,35,37,40,42-49,58,69,82,90,131,138,145,179-181,200,238,242,243,249,298.
Stairways, Lattice Windows:39,68,115,144,200,203,248.
Fountains:9,12-15,20,37,49,60,197,232.
Bridges:63,140-143,268,270,274,276.
Castles (Castillos):1-5,22,70,71,110-112,118,119,141,161,170,171,182-186,277.
Views of Landscapes:2-4,21,62,63,72,73,79,88,92-99,101-107,113,116,194,201,204-207,214-219,224,225,230,260,263,266-269,274,275,286-289,291,292,294,299,301-304.
Costumes and Life of the People:26,27,61,78,84,90,122-125,149,150,151,155,156,160,174,175,222,252,254-259,262,281,296,297.