The owner of the mill, without being quite so reserved, was equally mysterious; saying that, though in this sceptical age many persons were disposed to regard the wonderful things related of the place as mere cuentas de viejas—i. e. old women’s tales—yet that he could vouch for their truth, and, whilst it would be unbecoming in him (as Herodotus said before him) to disclose all he knew, this much he could say,—that it would be dangerous for most people to dwell as near the enchanted spot as he did. “But,” added he, throwing open his shirt and exposing what I learnt was a piece of a black dog’s skin, that he wore suspended from a rosary at his breast, “this is a sovereign charm against all manner of witchcraft.”
I afterwards discovered that the olive-grinding rogue was a notorious smuggler, and kept his contraband goods concealed in what are supposed to be haunted caverns, under his habitation, secure from the search of superstitious Aduaneros.[99]
My curiosity still further excited by the difficulty experienced in gratifying it, I applied for information touching the Fairy’s Bridge to my friend Don —— ——, who referred me to El Padre Canonigo, Don Apodo Fulano, adding laughingly, “You will be amused at the worthy father’s serious manner of relating the story; but I can assure you,—divesting it of the marvellous,—it is not todo cisco y carbon, como tesoro de duende.”[100]
To the Padre I forthwith bent my steps; and the following chapter contains his account of the Puente del Duende, which I give as nearly as possible in his own words.
CHAPTER VII.
LEGEND OF THE FAIRY’S BRIDGE.
“My companions said to me, ‘Do you visit her monument?’ but I answered, ‘Where but in my heart should she have a tomb?’”
Arabic Elegy.
YOU must know, Don Carlos, commenced the worthy Padre, “con voz reposada y clara”[101]—You must know, that the bridge you have just visited has usurped the name it bears, which was given to a much more extraordinary structure—if such it may be called—that formerly occupied its place; or, I should rather say, that was situated near the present edifice; for the supernatural bridge of which I am about to speak was thrown across the ravine somewhat lower down the stream; where, as you may have observed, the cliff on the left bank falls quite perpendicularly along the river, and is at this day entirely overgrown with ivy.
This bridge was formed of a single tree; a huge acebuche[102]—a tree often employed as an agent in working miracles—which, having grown for ages on the brink of the precipice, was one night marvellously felled to the earth. That it had been prostrated by supernatural means was evident; for the trunk bore no marks of the axe; and though still adhering to the stump by the bark and some slight fibres, yet it had been most curiously blackened and charred; whilst a wild vine, which (having entwined itself gracefully round its wide-spreading branches) had accompanied it in his fall, remained unscorched, and seemed to have been purposely left unhurt, to serve as a hand-rope to steady the footsteps of the venturous passenger over the tremulous bridge.
The further extremity of the tree rested on a ledge that projected slightly from the opposite cliff; above which, a fissure in the rock appeared to lead into a dark cavern. But so curiously was the rustic bridge balanced, that as sure as any mortal attempted to cross by it to the opposite side of the river, so sure was he to be precipitated into the abyss below.