The little town is a very ancient spot. It must once have been the seat of many a knightly family. This is attested to by the various Spanish coats of arms on the houses. But those times are now no more. Where once Spanish grandees strutted by with buckled shoes and sword, clodhopping peasants plod along. And the present generation is hardly aware of the plentitude of beauty surrounding it. Bold bridges span the glen. Narrow colonades with overhanging balconies cling to the steep river bank. A multitude of archways offer innumerable enchanting glimpses. A high watch-tower guards the houses clustering at its base.
Before the sun had risen on the morrow I had set out. Dark and dismal-looking clouds hung low over the landscape. But the Picos pinnacles had rent them asunder, and suddenly they stood forth in the glory of the rising sun. Dark night lay behind me as I marched towards the sunlight.
My guide met me by arrangement at Espinama. He was a grey-headed man with weather-beaten face and smiling eyes. His feet were clad in leather sandals, and under his arm was an ancient umbrella. We soon discussed the itinerary, filled our rucksacks and started for the Puerto de Aliva. The old song came back to me:—
The sun on my way
In his golden array
Is my fellow and guide.
He casts my shadow
O’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.