p226-010 THE JOURNEY.

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In the spring of 1829, the author of this work,
whom curiosity had brought into Spain, made a
rambling expedition from Seville to Granada in
company with a friend, a member of the Russian
Embassy at Madrid. Accident had thrown us
together from distant regions of the globe, and a
similarity of taste led us to wander together among
the romantic mountains of Andalusia. Should
these pages meet his eye, wherever thrown by the
duties of his station, whether mingling in the
pageantry of courts, or meditating on the truer
glories of nature, may they recall the scenes of our
adventurous companionship, and with them the
remembrance of one, in whom neither time nor
distance will obliterate the remembrance of his
gentleness and worth.

And here, before setting forth, let me indulge
in a few previous remarks on Spanish scenery and
Spanish travelling. Many are apt to picture
Spain to their imaginations as a soft southern

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region, decked out with all the luxuriant charms
of voluptuous Italy. On the contrary, though
there are exceptions in some of the maritime
provinces, yet, for the greater part, it is a stern,
melancholy country, with rugged mountains, and
long sweeping plains, destitute of trees, and indescribably
silent and lonesome, partaking of the
savage and solitary character of Africa. What
adds to this silence and loneliness, is the absence
of singing-birds, a natural consequence of the want
of groves and hedges. The vulture and the eagle
are seen wheeling about the mountain-cliffs, and
soaring over the plains, and groups of shy bustards
stalk about the heaths; but the myriads of smaller
birds, which animate the whole face of other countries,
are met with in but few provinces in Spain,
and in those chiefly among the orchards and gardens
which surround the habitations of man.

In the interior provinces the traveller occasionally
traverses great tracts cultivated with grain
as far as the eye can reach, waving at times with
verdure, at other times naked and sunburnt, but
he looks round in vain for the hand that has tilled
the soil. At length, he perceives some village on
a steep hill, or rugged crag, with mouldering battlements
and ruined watch-tower; a strong-hold,
in old times, against civil war, or Moorish inroad;

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for the custom among the peasantry of congregating
together for mutual protection, is still kept up in
most parts of Spain, in consequence of the maraudings
of roving freebooters.

But though a great part of Spain is deficient in
the garniture of groves and forests, and the softer
charms of ornamental cultivation, yet its scenery
is noble in its severity, and in unison with the
attributes of its people; and I think that I better
understand the proud, hardy, frugal, and abstemious
Spaniard, his manly defiance of hardships, and
contempt of effeminate indulgences, since I have
seen the country he inhabits.

There is something, too, in the sternly simple
features of the Spanish landscape, that impresses
on the soul a feeling of sublimity. The immense
plains of the Castiles and of La Mancha, extending
as far as the eye can reach, derive an interest
from their very nakedness and immensity, and
possess, in some degree, the solemn grandeur of
the ocean. In ranging over these boundless
wastes, the eye catches sight here and there of a
straggling herd of cattle attended by a lonely
herdsman, motionless as a statue, with his long
slender pike tapering up like a lance into the air;
or, beholds a long train of mules slowly moving
along the waste like a train of camels in the desert;

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or, a single herdsman, armed with blunderbuss and
stiletto, and prowling over the plain. Thus the
country, the habits, the very looks of the people,
have something of the Arabian character. The
general insecurity of the country is evinced in the
universal use of weapons. The herdsman in the
field, the shepherd in the plain, has his musket and
his knife. The wealthy villager rarely ventures
to the market-town without his trabuco, and, perhaps,
a servant on foot with a blunderbuss on his
shoulder; and the most petty journey is undertaken
with the preparation of a warlike enterprise.

The dangers of the road produce also a mode of
travelling, resembling, on a diminutive scale, the
caravans of the east. The arrieros, or carriers,
congregate in convoys, and set off in large and
well-armed trains on appointed days; while additional
travellers swell their number, and contribute
to their strength. In this primitive way is the
commerce of the country carried on. The muleteer
is the general medium of traffic, and the
legitimate traverser of the land, crossing the peninsula
from the Pyrenees and the Asturias to the
Alpuxarras, the Serrania de Ronda, and even to
the gates of Gibraltar. He lives frugally and hardily:
his alforjas of coarse cloth hold his scanty
stock of provisions; a leathern bottle, hanging at

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his saddle-bow, contains wine or water, for a supply
across barren mountains and thirsty plains.
A mule-cloth spread upon the ground, his bed at
night, and his pack-saddle is his pillow. His
low, but clean-limbed and sinewy form betokens
strength; his complexion is dark and sunburnt;
his eye resolute, but quiet in its expression, except
when kindled by sudden emotion; his demeanour
is frank, manly, and courteous, and he never passes
you without a grave salutation: “Dios guarde à
usted!” “Va usted con Dios, Caballero!” “God
guard you!” “God be with you, Cavalier!”

As these men have often their whole fortune at
stake upon the burden of their mules, they have
their weapons at hand, slung to their saddles, and
ready to be snatched out for desperate defence.
But their united numbers render them secure
against petty bands of marauders, and the solitary
bandolero, armed to the teeth, and mounted on his
Andalusian steed, hovers about them, like a pirate
about a merchant convoy, without daring to make
an assault.

The Spanish muleteer has an inexhaustible stock
of songs and ballads, with which to beguile his incessant
wayfaring. The airs are rude and simple,
consisting of but few inflexions. These he chants
forth with a loud voice, and long, drawling

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cadence, seated sideways on his mule, who seems to
listen with infinite gravity, and to keep time, with
his paces, to the tune. The couplets thus chanted,
are often old traditional romances about the Moors,
or some legend of a saint, or some love-ditty; or
what is still more frequent, some ballad about a
bold contrabandista, or hardy bandolero, for the
smuggler and the robber are poetical heroes among
the common people of Spain. Often, the song of
the muleteer is composed at the instant, and relates
to some local scene, or some incident of the journey.
This talent of singing and improvising is
frequent in Spain, and is said to have been inherited
from the Moors. There is something wildly
pleasing in listening to these ditties among the
rude and lonely scenes that they illustrate; accompanied,
as they are, by the occasional jingle of the
mule-bell.

It has a most picturesque effect also to meet a
train of muleteers in some mountain-pass. First
you hear the bells of the leading mules, breaking
with their simple melody the stillness of the airy
height; or, perhaps, the voice of the muleteer
admonishing some tardy or wandering animal, or
chanting, at the full stretch of his lungs, some
traditionary ballad. At length you see the mules
slowly winding along the cragged defile, sometimes

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descending precipitous cliffs, so as to present themselves
in full relief against the sky, sometimes
toiling up the deep arid chasms below you. As
they approach, you descry their gay decorations
of worsted tufts, tassels, and saddle-cloths, while,
as they pass by, the ever-ready trabuco slung behind
the packs and saddles, gives a hint of the
insecurity of the road.

The ancient kingdom of Granada, into which we
were about to penetrate, is one of the most mountainous
regions of Spain. Vast sierras, or chains
of mountains, destitute of shrub or tree, and mottled
with variegated marbles and granites, elevate
their sunburnt summits against a deep blue sky; yet
in their rugged bosoms lie engulfed the most verdant
and fertile valley, where the desert and the garden
strive for mastery, and the very rock is, as it
were, compelled to yield the fig, the orange, and
the citron, and to blossom with the myrtle and the
rose.

In the wild passes of these mountains the sight
of walled towns and villages, built like eagles'
nests among the cliffs, and surrounded by Moorish
battlements, or of ruined watch-towers perched on
lofty peaks, carries the mind back to the chivalric
days of Christian and Moslem warfare, and to the
romantic struggle for the conquest of Granada. In

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traversing these lofty sierras the traveller is often
obliged to alight and lead his horse up and down the
steep and jagged ascents and descents, resembling
the broken steps of a staircase. Sometimes the road
winds along dizzy precipices, without parapet to
guard him from the gulfs below, and then will
plunge down steep, and dark, and dangerous declivities.
Sometimes it straggles through rugged
barrancos, or ravines, worn by winter torrents, the
obscure path of the contrabandista; while, ever and
anon, the ominous cross, the monument of robbery
and murder, erected on a mound of stones at some
lonely part of the road, admonishes the traveller
that he is among the haunts of banditti, perhaps at
that very moment under the eye of some lurking
bandolero. Sometimes, in winding through the
narrow valleys, he is startled by a hoarse bellowing,
and beholds above him on some green
fold of the mountain side a herd of fierce Andalusian
bulls, destined for the combat of the arena.
I have felt, if I may so express it, an agreeable
horror in thus contemplating, near at hand, these
terrific animals, clothed with tremendous strength,
and ranging their native pastures in untamed wildness,
strangers almost to the face of man: they
know no one but the solitary herdsman who
attends upon them, and even he at times dares not

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venture to approach them. The low bellowing of
these bulls, and their menacing aspect as they look
down from their rocky height, give additional
wildness to the savage scenery.

I have been betrayed unconsciously into a
longer disquisition than I had intended on the
general features of Spanish travelling; but there
is a romance about all the recollections of the
Peninsula that is dear to the imagination.

It was on the first of May that my companion
and myself set forth from Seville on our route to
Granada. We had made all due preparations for
the nature of our journey, which lay through
mountainous regions, where the roads are little better
than mere mule-paths, and too frequently beset
by robbers. The most valuable part of our luggage
had been forwarded by the arrieros; we retained
merely clothing and necessaries for the
journey, and money for the expenses of the road,
with a sufficient surplus of the latter to satisfy the
expectations of robbers should we be assailed, and
to save ourselves from the rough treatment that
awaits the too wary and empty-handed traveller.
A couple of stout hired steeds were provided for
ourselves, and a third for our scanty luggage, and
for the conveyance of a sturdy Biscayan lad of
about twenty years of age, who was to guide us

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through the perplexed mazes of the mountain
roads, to take care of the horses, to act occasionally
as our valet, and at all times as our guard,
for he had a formidable trabuco or carbine, to
defend us from rateros, or solitary footpads, about
which weapon he made much vain-glorious boast,
though, to the discredit of his generalship, I must
say that it generally hung unloaded behind his
saddle. He was, however, a faithful, cheery, kind-hearted
creature, as full of saws and proverbs as that
miracle of squires the renowned Sancho himself,
whose name we bestowed upon him; and, like a
true Spaniard, though treated by us with companionable
familiarity, he never for a moment, in
his utmost hilarity, overstepped the bounds of
respectful decorum.

Thus equipped and attended, we set out on our
journey, with a genuine disposition to be pleased.
With such a disposition, what a country is Spain
for a traveller, where the most miserable inn is
as full of adventure as an enchanted castle, and
every meal is in itself an achievement! Let
others repine at the lack of turnpike roads and
sumptuous hotels, and all the elaborate comforts
of a country cultivated into tameness and common-place;
but give me the rude mountain scramble,
the roving, hap-hazard wayfaring, the frank,

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hospitable, though half-wild manners, that impart
such a true game flavour to romantic Spain!

Our first evening's entertainment had a relish
of the kind. We arrived after sunset at a little
town, among the hills, after a fatiguing journey
over a wide houseless plain, where we had been
repeatedly drenched with showers. In the inn
were a party of Miqueletes, who were patrolling
the country in pursuit of robbers. The appearance
of foreigners like ourselves, was unusual in
this remote town; mine host, with two or three
old gossiping comrades in brown cloaks, studied
our passports in a corner of the posada, while an
Alguazil took notes by the dim light of a lamp.
The passports were in foreign languages and
perplexed them, but our Squire Sancho assisted
them in their studies, and magnified our importance
with the grandiloquence of a Spaniard.
In the mean time the magnificent distribution of
a few cigars had won the hearts of all around us;
in a little while the whole community seemed put
in agitation to make us welcome. The corregidor
himself waited upon us, and a great rush-bottomed
arm-chair was ostentatiously bolstered into our
room by our landlady, for the accommodation of
that important personage. The commander of the
patrol took supper with us; a lively, talking,

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laughing Andaluz, who had made a campaign in
South America, and recounted his exploits in love
and war with much pomp of phrase, vehemence
of gesticulation, and mysterious rolling of the eye.
He told us that he had a list of all the robbers in
the country, and meant to ferret out every mother's
son of them; he offered us at the same time some
of his soldiers as an escort. “One is enough to
protect you, Señors; the robbers know me and
know my men; the sight of one is enough to
spread terror through a whole sierra.” We
thanked him for his offer, but assured him in his
own strain, that with the protection of our redoubtable
Squire, Sancho, we were not afraid of all the
ladrones of Andalusia.

While we were supping with our Drawcansir
friend, we heard the notes of a guitar, and the
click of castañets, and presently a chorus of voices
singing a popular air. In fact mine host had
gathered together the amateur singers and musicians,
and the rustic belles of the neighbourhood,
and on going forth, the court-yard of the inn presented
a scene of true Spanish festivity. We took
our seats with mine host and hostess and the commander
of the patrol, under the archway of the
court; the guitar passed from hand to hand, but
a jovial shoemaker was the Orpheus of the place.

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He was a pleasant-looking fellow, with huge
black whiskers; his sleeves were rolled up to his
elbows, he touched the guitar with masterly skill,
and sang little amorous ditties with an expressive
leer at the women, with whom he was evidently a
favourite. He afterwards danced a fandango with
a buxom Andalusian damsel, to the great delight
of the spectators. But none of the females present
could compare with mine host's pretty daughter,
Pepita, who had slipped away and made her
toilette for the occasion, and had covered her head
with roses; and who distinguished herself in a
bolero with a handsome young dragoon. We had
ordered our host to let wine and refreshment circulate
freely among the company, yet, though
there was a motley assembly of soldiers, muleteers,
and villagers, no one exceeded the bounds
of sober enjoyment. The scene was a study for
a painter: the picturesque group of dancers, the
troopers in their half military dresses, the peasantry
wrapped in their brown cloaks; nor must I
omit to mention the old meagre Alguazil, in a
short black cloak, who took no notice of any thing
going on, but sat in a corner diligently writing by
the dim light of a huge copper lamp, that might
have figured in the days of Don Quixote.

I am not writing a regular narrative, and do not

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pretend to give the varied events of several days'
rambling, over hill and dale, and moor and mountain.
We travelled in true contrabandista style,
taking every thing rough and smooth, as we found
it, and mingling with all classes and conditions in
a kind of vagabond companionship. It is the true
way to travel in Spain. Knowing the scanty larders
of the inns, and the naked tracts of country
which the traveller has often to traverse, we had
taken care, on starting, to have the alforgas, or
saddle-bags, of our Squire well stocked with cold
provisions, and his bota, or leathern bottle, which
was of portly dimensions, filled to the neck with
choice Valdepeñas wine. As this was a munition
for our campaign more important than even his
trabuco, we exhorted him to have an eye to it;
and I will do him the justice to say that his namesake,
the trencher-loving Sancho himself, could
not excel him as a provident purveyor. Though
the alforjas and bota were repeatedly and vigorously
assailed throughout the journey, they appeared
to have a miraculous property of being
never empty; for our vigilant Squire took care
to sack every thing that remained from our evening
repasts at the inns, to supply our next day's
luncheon.

What luxurious noontide repasts have we made,

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on the green sward by the side of a brook or
fountain, under a shady tree! and then what
delicious siestas, on our cloaks, spread out on the
herbage!

We paused one day at noon, for a repast of the
kind. It was in a pleasant little green meadow
surrounded by hills covered with olive trees. Our
cloaks were spread on the grass under an elm-tree,
by the side of a bubbling rivulet; our horses were
tethered where they might crop the herbage; and
Sancho produced his alforjas with an air of triumph.
They contained the contributions of four
days' journeying, but had been signally enriched
by the foraging of the previous evening in a plenteous
inn at Antequera. Our Squire drew forth
the heterogeneous contents, one by one, and these
seemed to have no end. First came forth a shoulder
of roasted kid, very little the worse for wear;
then an entire partridge; then a great morsel of
salted codfish wrapped in paper; then the residue
of a ham; then the half of a pullet, together with
several rolls of bread, and a rabble rout of oranges,
figs, raisins, and walnuts. His bota also had been
recruited with some excellent wine of Malaga.
At every fresh apparition from his larder, he would
enjoy our ludicrous surprise, throwing himself
back on the grass, and shouting with laughter.

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Nothing pleased the simple-hearted varlet more
than to be compared, for his devotion to the
trencher, to the renowned Squire of Don Quixote.
He was well versed in the history of the Don, and,
like most of the common people of Spain, he
firmly believed it to be a true history.

“All that, however, happened a long time ago,
señor?” said he to me one day with an inquiring
look.

“A very long time,” was the reply.

“I dare say more than a thousand years?” still
looking dubiously.

“I dare say, not less.”

The Squire was satisfied.

As we were making the repast above described,
and diverting ourselves with the simple drollery
of our Squire, a solitary beggar approached us,
who had almost the look of a pilgrim. He was
evidently very old, with a grey beard, and supported
himself on a staff, yet age had not bowed
him down; he was tall and erect, and had the
wreck of a fine form. He wore a round Andalusian
hat, a sheep-skin jacket, and leathern
breeches, gaiters and sandals. His dress, though
old and patched, was decent, his demeanour manly,
and he addressed us with that grave courtesy that
is to be remarked in the lowest Spaniard. We

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were in a favourable mood for such a visiter; and
in a freak of capricious charity, gave him some
silver, a loaf of fine wheaten bread, and a goblet
of our choice wine of Malaga. He received them
thankfully, but without any grovelling tribute of
gratitude. Tasting the wine, he held it up to the
light, with a slight beam of surprise in his eye,
then quaffing it off at a draught; “It is many
years,” said he, “since I have tasted such wine.
It is a cordial to an old man's heart.” Then,
looking at the beautiful wheaten loaf, “bendito sea
tal pan!” “blessed be such bread!” So saying,
he put it in his wallet. We urged him to eat it on
the spot. “No, señors,” replied he, “the wine I
had to drink or leave; but the bread I must take
home to share with my family.”

Our man Sancho sought our eye, and reading
permission there, gave the old man some of
the ample fragments of our repast, on condition,
however, that he should sit down and make a
meal.

He accordingly took his seat at some little distance
from us, and began to eat slowly and with a
sobriety and decorum that would have become a
hidalgo. There was altogether a measured manner
and a quiet self-possession about the old man, that
made me think that he had seen better days: his

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language, too, though simple, had occasionally something
picturesque and almost poetical in the
phraseology. I set him down for some brokendown
cavalier. I was mistaken; it was nothing
but the innate courtesy of a Spaniard, and the
poetical turn of thought and language often to be
found in the lowest classes of this clear-witted
people. For fifty years, he told us he had been a
shepherd, but now he was out of employ and destitute.
“When I was a young man,” said he,
“nothing could harm or trouble me; I was
always well, always gay; but now I am seventynine
years of age, and a beggar, and my heart
begins to fail me.”

Still he was not a regular mendicant: it was not
until recently that want had driven him to this
degradation; and he gave a touching picture of
the struggle between hunger and pride, when abject
destitution first came upon him. He was
returning from Malaga without money; he had
not tasted food for some time, and was crossing
one of the great plains of Spain, where there were
but few habitations. When almost dead with
hunger, he applied at the door of a venta or country
inn. “Perdon usted por Dios hermano!”
(Excuse us, brother, for God's sake!) was the
reply—the usual mode in Spain of refusing a

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beggar. “I turned away,” said he, “with shame
greater than my hunger, for my heart was yet too
proud. I came to a river with high banks and
deep rapid current, and felt tempted to throw myself
in: `What should such an old, worthless,
wretched man as I live for?' But when I was on
the brink of the current, I thought on the blessed
Virgin and turned away. I travelled on until I
saw a country-seat at a little distance from the
road, and entered the outer gate of the court-yard.
The door was shut, but there were two young
señoras at a window. I approached and begged:—
`Perdon usted por Dios hermano!'—and the window
closed. I crept out of the court-yard, but
hunger overcame me, and my heart gave way:
I thought my hour at hand, so I laid myself down
at the gate, commended myself to the Holy Virgin,
and covered my head to die. In a little while
afterwards the master of the house came home:
seeing me lying at his gate, he uncovered my head,
had pity on my grey hairs, took me into his
house, and gave me food. So, señors, you see that
one should always put confidence in the protection
of the Virgin.”

The old man was on his way to his native
place, Archidona, which was close by, on the summit
of a steep and rugged mountain. He pointed

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to the ruins of its old Moorish castle: “That
castle,” he said, “was inhabited by a Moorish
king at the time of the wars of Granada. Queen
Isabella invaded it with a great army; but the
king looked down from his castle among the
clouds, and laughed her to scorn! Upon this the
Virgin appeared to the queen, and guided her and
her army up a mysterious path in the mountains,
which had never before been known. When the
Moor saw her coming, he was astonished, and
springing with his horse from a precipice, was
dashed to pieces! The marks of his horse's hoofs,”
said the old man, “are to be seen in the margin of
the rock to this day. And see, señors, yonder is
the road by which the queen and her army
mounted: you see it like a riband up the mountain
side; but the miracle is, that, though it can
be seen at a distance, when you come near, it disappears!”

The ideal road to which he pointed was undoubtedly
a sandy ravine of the mountain, which
looked narrow and defined at a distance, but
became broad and indistinct on an approach.

As the old man's heart warmed with wine and
wassail, he went on to tell us a story of the buried
treasure left under the castle by the Moorish king.
His own house was next to the foundations of the

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castle. The curate and notary dreamed three
times of the treasure, and went to work at the
place pointed out in their dreams. His own son-in-law
heard the sound of their pickaxes and
spades at night. What they found nobody knows;
they became suddenly rich, but kept their own
secret. Thus the old man had once been next
door to fortune, but was doomed never to get
under the same roof.

I have remarked, that the stories of treasure
buried by the Moors, which prevail throughout
Spain, are most current among the poorest people.
It is thus, kind nature consoles with shadows for
the lack of substantials. The thirsty man dreams
of fountains and running streams; the hungry man
of ideal banquets; and the poor man of heaps of
hidden gold: nothing certainly is more magnificent
than the imagination of a beggar.

The last travelling sketch I shall give, is an
evening scene at the little city of Loxa. This
was a famous belligerent frontier-post in the time
of the Moors, and repulsed Ferdinand from its
walls. It was the strong-hold of old Aliatar, the
father-in-law of Boabdil, when that fiery veteran
sallied forth with his son-in-law on their disastrous
inroad, that ended in the death of the chieftain
and the capture of the monarch. Loxa is wildly

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situated in a broken mountain-pass, on the banks
of the Genil, among rocks and groves, and meadows
and gardens. The people seem still to
retain the bold fiery spirit of the olden time.
Our inn was suited to the place. It was kept by
a young and handsome Andalusian widow, whose
trim basquiña of black silk, fringed with bugles,
set off the play of a graceful form and round pliant
limbs. Her step was firm and elastic; her dark
eye was full of fire, and the coquetry of her air,
and varied ornaments of her person, showed that
she was accustomed to be admired.

She was well matched by a brother, nearly
about her own age; they were perfect models of
the Andalusian Majo and Maja. He was tall,
vigorous, and well-formed, with a clear olive-complexion,
a dark-beaming eye, and curling chesnut
whiskers that met under his chin. He was gallantly
dressed in a short green velvet jacket,
fitted to his shape, profusely decorated with silver
buttons, with a white handkerchief in each pocket.
He had breeches of the same, with rows of buttons
from the hips to the knees; a pink silk handkerchief
round his neck, gathered through a ring, on
the bosom of a neatly-plaited shirt; a sash round
the waste to match; bottinas, or spatterdashes, of
the finest russet-leather, elegantly worked, and

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open at the calf to show his stocking; and russetshoes,
setting off a well-shaped foot.

As he was standing at the door, a horseman
rode up and entered into low and earnest conversation
with him. He was dressed in similar style,
and almost with equal finery; a man about thirty,
square-built, with strong Roman features, handsome,
though slightly pitted with the small-pox;
with a free, bold, and somewhat daring air. His
powerful black horse was decorated with tassels
and fanciful trappings, and a couple of broadmouthed
blunderbusses hung behind the saddle.
He had the air of one of those contrabandistas
that I have seen in the mountains of Ronda, and
evidently had a good understanding with the
brother of mine hostess; nay, if I mistake not, he
was a favoured admirer of the widow. In fact,
the whole inn and its inmates had something of
a contrabandista aspect, and the blunderbuss stood
in a corner beside the guitar. The horseman
I have mentioned, passed his evening in the posada,
and sang several bold mountain romances
with great spirit. As we were at supper, two
poor Asturians put-in in distress, begging food
and a night's lodging. They had been waylaid
by robbers as they came from a fair among the
mountains, robbed of a horse, which carried all

[figure description] Page 030.[end figure description]

their stock in trade, stripped of their money, and
most of their apparel, beaten for having offered
resistance, and left almost naked in the road.
My companion, with a prompt generosity, natural
to him, ordered them a supper and a bed, and gave
them a sum of money to help them forward
towards their home.

As the evening advanced, the dramatis personæ
thickened. A large man, about sixty years of
age, of powerful frame, came strolling in, to gossip
with mine hostess. He was dressed in the ordinary
Andalusian costume, but had a huge sabre
tucked under his arm; wore large moustaches,
and had something of a lofty swaggering air.
Every one seemed to regard him with great
deference.

Our man Sancho whispered to us that he was
Don Ventura Rodriguez, the hero and champion
of Loxa, famous for his prowess and the strength
of his arm. In the time of the French invasion he
surprised six troopers who were asleep: he first
secured their horses, then attacked them with his
sabre, killed some, and took the rest prisoners.
For this exploit the king allows him a poseta (the
fifth of a duro, or dollar) per day, and has dignified
him with the title of Don.

I was amused to notice his swelling language

[figure description] Page 031.[end figure description]

and demeanour. He was evidently a thorough
Andalusian, boastful as he was brave. His sabre
was always in his hand or under his arm. He
carries it always about with him as a child does
her doll, calls it his Santa Teresa, and says that
when he draws it, tiembla la terra! the earth
trembles!

I sat until a late hour listening to the varied
themes of this motley group, who mingled together
with the unreserve of a Spanish posada.
We had contrabandista songs, stories of robbers,
guerilla exploits, and Moorish legends. The last
were from our handsome landlady, who gave a
poetical account of the Infiernos, or infernal regions
of Loxa, dark caverns, in which subterranean
streams and waterfalls make a mysterious sound.
The common people say that there are moneycoiners
shut up there from the time of the Moors;
and that the Moorish kings kept their treasures in
those caverns.

Were it the purport of this work, I could fill
its pages with the incidents and scenes of our
rambling expedition; but other themes invite me.
Journeying in this manner, we at length emerged
from the mountains, and entered upon the beautiful
Vega of Granada. Here we took our last
midday's repast under a grove of olive-trees, on

[figure description] Page 032.[end figure description]

the borders of a rivulet, with the old Moorish
capital in the distance, surmounted by the ruddy
towers of the Alhambra; while far above it, the
snowy summits of the Sierra Nevada shone like silver.
The day was without a cloud, and the heat of
the sun tempered by cool breezes from the mountains;
after our repast, we spread our cloaks and
took our last siesta, lulled by the humming of bees
among the flowers, and the notes of ring-doves
from the neighbouring olive-trees. When the
sultry hours were past, we resumed our journey;
and after passing between hedges of aloes and
Indian figs, and through a wilderness of gardens,
arrived about sunset, at the Gates of Granada.

To the traveller imbued with a feeling for the
historical and poetical, the Alhambra of Granada
is as much an object of veneration, as is the
Kaaba, or sacred house of Mecca, to all true Moslem
pilgrims. How many legends and traditions,
true and fabulous; how many songs and romances,
Spanish and Arabian, of love and war and chivalry,
are associated with this romantic pile! The
reader may judge, therefore, of our delight, when,
shortly after our arrival in Granada, the governor
of the Alhambra gave us his permission to occupy

[figure description] Page 033.[end figure description]

his vacant apartments in the Moorish palace. My
companion was soon summoned away by the duties
of his station; but I remained for several
months, spell-bound in the old enchanted pile.
The following papers are the result of my reveries
and researches during that delicious thraldom. If
they have the power of imparting any of the
witching charms of the place to the imagination of
the reader, he will not repine at lingering with
me for a season in the legendary halls of the
Alhambra.

[figure description] Blank Page.[end figure description]

p226-038 GOVERNMENT OF THE ALHAMBRA.

[figure description] Page 035.[end figure description]

The Alhambra is an ancient fortress or castellated
palace of the Moorish kings of Granada, where they
held dominion over this their boasted terrestrial paridise,
and made their last stand for empire in Spain.
The palace occupies but a portion of the fortress,
the walls of which, studded with towers, stretch
irregularly round the whole crest of a lofty hill
that overlooks the city, and forms a spur of the
Sierra Nevada, or snowy mountain.

In the time of the Moors the fortress was capable
of containing an army of forty thousand men
within its precincts, and served occasionally as a
strong hold of the sovereigns against their rebellious
subjects. After the kingdom had passed into
the hands of the Christians, the Alhambra continued
a royal demesne, and was occasionally inhabited
by the Castilian monarchs. The Emperor
Charles V. began a sumptuous palace within its

[figure description] Page 036.[end figure description]

walls, but was deterred from completing it by
repeated shocks of earthquakes. The last royal
residents were Philip V. and his beautiful queen
Elizabetta of Parma, early in the eighteenth century.
Great preparations were made for their reception.
The palace and gardens were placed in a
state of repair, and a new suite of apartments
erected, and decorated by artists brought from
Italy. The sojourn of the sovereigns was transient,
and after their departure the palace once
more became desolate. Still the palace was maintained
with some military state. The governor
held it immediately from the crown, its jurisdiction
extended down into the suburbs of the city,
and was independent of the captain-general of
Granada. A considerable garrison was kept up,
the governor had his apartments in the front of the
old Moorish palace, and never descended into
Granada without some military parade. The fortress
in fact was a little town of itself, having
several streets of houses within its walls, together
with a Franciscan convent and a parochial church.

The desertion of the court, however, was a fatal
blow to the Alhambra. Its beautiful halls became
desolate, and some of them fell to ruin; the gardens
were destroyed, and the fountains ceased to
play. By degrees the dwellings became filled

[figure description] Page 037.[end figure description]

with a loose and lawless population; contrabandistas,
who availed themselves of its independent
jurisdiction to carry on a wide and daring course
of smuggling, and thieves and rogues of all sorts,
who made this their place of refuge from whence
they might depredate upon Granada and its vicinity.
The strong arm of government at length
interfered: the whole community was thoroughly
sifted; none were suffered to remain but such as
were of honest character, and had legitimate right
to a residence; the greater part of the houses were
demolished and a mere hamlet left, with the parochial
church and the Franciscan convent. During
the recent troubles in Spain, when Granada was in
the hands of the French, the Alhambra was garrisoned
by their troops, and the palace was occasionly
inhabited by the French commander. With
that enlightened taste which has ever distinguished
the French nation in their conquests, this monument
of Moorish elegance and grandeur was
rescued from the absolute ruin and desolation that
were overwhelming it. The roofs were repaired,
the saloons and galleries protected from the weather,
the gardens cultivated, the watercourses
restored, the fountains once more made to throw
up their sparkling showers; and Spain may thank
her invaders for having preserved to her the most

[figure description] Page 038.[end figure description]

beautiful and interesting of her historical monuments.

On the departure of the French they blew up
several towers of the outer wall, and left the fortifications
scarcely tenable. Since that time the
military importance of the post is at an end. The
garrison is a handful of invalid soldiers, whose
principal duty is to guard some of the outer
towers, which serve occasionally as a prison of
state; and the governor, abandoning the lofty hill
of the Alhambra, resides in the centre of Granada,
for the more convenient despatch of his official
duties. I cannot conclude this brief notice
of the state of the fortress without bearing testimony
to the honourable exertions of its present
commander, Don Francisco de Serna, who is tasking
all the limited resources at his command to put
the palace in a state of repair, and, by his judicious
precautions, has for some time arrested its too certain
decay. Had his predecessors discharged the
duties of their station with equal fidelity, the Alhambra
might yet have remained in almost its
pristine beauty: were government to second him
with means equal to his zeal, this edifice might
still be preserved to adorn the land, and to attract
the curious and enlightened of every clime for
many generations.

p226-042 INTERIOR OF THE ALHAMBRA.

[figure description] Page 039.[end figure description]

The Alhambra has been so often and so minutely
described by travellers, that a mere sketch
will, probably, be sufficient for the reader to refresh
his recollection; I will give, therefore, a brief account
of our visit to it the morning after our arrival
in Granada.

Leaving our posada of La Espada, we traversed
the renowned square of the Vivarrambla, once the
scene of Moorish jousts and tournaments, now a
crowded market-place. From thence we proceeded
along the Zacatin, the main street of what, in the
time of the Moors, was the Great Bazaar, where
the small shops and narrow alleys still retain the
Oriental character. Crossing an open place in
front of the palace of the captain-general, we ascended
a confined and winding street, the name of
which reminded us of the chivalric days of Granada.
It is called the Calle, or street of the

[figure description] Page 040.[end figure description]

Gomeres, from a Moorish family famous in chronicle
and song. This street led up to a massive gateway
of Grecian architecture, built by Charles V.,
forming the entrance to the domains of the Alhambra.

At the gate were two or three ragged and superannuated
soldiers, dozing on a stone bench, the
successors of the Zegris and the Abencerrages;
while a tall, meagre varlet, whose rusty-brown
cloak was evidently intended to conceal the ragged
state of his nether garments, was lounging in the
sunshine and gossiping with an ancient sentinel on
duty. He joined us as we entered the gate, and
offered his services to show us the fortress.

I have a traveller's dislike to officious ciceroni,
and did not altogether like the garb of the applicant.

“You are well acquainted with the place, I presume?”

“Ninguno mas; pues senor, soy hijo de la
Alhambra.”—(Nobody better; in fact, sir, I am
a son of the Alhambra!)

The common Spaniards have certainly a most
poetical way of expressing themselves. “A son
of the Alhambra!” the appellation caught me at
once; the very tattered garb of my new acquaintance
assumed a dignity in my eyes. It was

[figure description] Page 041.[end figure description]

emblematic of the fortunes of the place, and befitted
the progeny of a ruin.

I put some farther questions to him, and found
that his title was legitimate. His family had lived
in the fortress from generation to generation ever
since the time of the conquest. His name was
Mateo Ximenes. “Then, perhaps,” said I, “you
may be a descendant from the great Cardinal
Ximenes?”—“Dios Sabe! God knows, Señor!
It may be so. We are the oldest family in the
Alhambra,—Christianos Viejos, old Christians,
without any taint of Moor or Jew. I know we
belong to some great family or other, but I forget
whom. My father knows all about it: he has the
coat-of-arms hanging up in his cottage, up in the
fortress.”—There is not any Spaniard, however
poor, but has some claim to high pedigree. The
first title of this ragged worthy, however, had
completely captivated me, so I gladly accepted the
services of the “son of the Alhambra.”

We now found ourselves in a deep narrow ravine,
filled with beautiful groves, with a steep
avenue, and various footpaths winding through it,
bordered with stone seats, and ornamented with
fountains. To our left, we beheld the towers of
the Alhambra beetling above us; to our right, on
the opposite side of the ravine, we were equally

[figure description] Page 042.[end figure description]

dominated by rival towers on a rocky eminence
These, we were told, were the Torres Vermejos,
or vermillion towers, so called from their ruddy
hue. No one knows their origin. They are of a
date much anterior to the Alhambra: some suppose
them to have been built by the Romans;
others, by some wandering colony of Phœnicians.
Ascending the steep and shady avenue, we arrived
at the foot of a huge square Moorish tower, forming
a kind of barbican, through which passed the
main entrance to the fortress. Within the barbican
was another group of veteran invalids, one
mounting guard at the portal, while the rest,
wrapped in their tattered cloaks, slept on the stone
benches. This portal is called the Gate of Justice,
from the tribunal held within its porch during the
Moslem domination, for the immediate trial of
petty causes: a custom common to the Oriental
nations, and occasionally alluded to in the Sacred
Scriptures.

The great vestibule, or porch of the gate, is
formed by an immense Arabian arch, of the horseshoe
form, which springs to half the height of the
tower. On the key-stone of this arch is engraven
a gigantic hand. Within the vestibule, on the
key-stone of the portal, is sculptured, in like manner,
a gigantic key. Those who pretend to some

[figure description] Page 043.[end figure description]

knowledge of Mahometan symbols, affirm that
the hand is the emblem of doctrine, and the key
of faith; the latter, they add, was emblazoned on
the standard of the Moslems when they subdued
Andalusia in opposition to the Christian emblem
of the Cross. A different explanation, however, was
given by the legitimate son of the Alhambra, and
one more in unison with the notions of the common
people, who attach something of mystery and magic
to every thing Moorish, and have all kind of
superstitions connected with this old Moslem fortress.

According to Mateo, it was a tradition handed
down from the oldest inhabitants, and which he
had from his father and grandfather, that the hand
and key were magical devices on which the fate
of the Alhambra depended. The Moorish king
who built it was a great magician, or, as some believed,
had sold himself to the devil, and had laid
the whole fortress under a magic spell. By this
means it had remained standing for several hundred
years, in defiance of storms and earthquakes,
while almost all other buildings of the Moors had
fallen to ruin, and disappeared. This spell, the tradition
went on to say, would last until the hand on
the outer arch should reach down and grasp the
key, when the whole pile would tumble to pieces,

[figure description] Page 044.[end figure description]

and all the treasures buried beneath it by the
Moors would be revealed.

Notwithstanding this ominous prediction, we
ventured to pass through the spell-bound gateway,
feeling some little assurance against magic art in
the protection of the Virgin, a statue of whom we
observed above the portal.

After passing through the barbican, we ascended
a narrow lane, winding between walls, and came
on an open esplanade within the fortress, called
the Plaza de los Algibes, or Place of the Cisterns,
from great reservoirs which undermine it, cut in
the living rock by the Moors for the supply of the
fortress. Here, also, is a well of immense depth,
furnishing the purest and coldest of water; another
monument of the delicate taste of the Moors,
who were indefatigable in their exertions to obtain
that element in its chrystal purity.

In front of this esplanade is the splendid pile
commenced by Charles V., intended, it is said, to
eclipse the residences of the Moslem kings. With
all its grandeur and architectural merit, it appeared
to us like an arrogant intrusion, and passing by it,
we entered a simple, unostentatious portal, opening
into the interior of the Moorish palace.

The transition was almost magical: it seemed
as if we were at once transported into other times

[figure description] Page 045.[end figure description]

and another realm, and were treading the scenes
of Arabian story. We found ourselves in a great
court, paved with white marble, and decorated at
each end with light Moorish peristyles; it is
called the Court of the Alberca. In the centre
was an immense basin or fish-pond, a hundred and
thirty feet in length by thirty in breadth, stocked
with gold-fish, and bordered by hedges of roses.
At the upper end of this court rose the great
Tower of Comares.

From the lower end we passed through a
Moorish archway into the renowned Court of
Lions. There is no part of the edifice that gives
a more complete idea of its original beauty and
magnificence than this, for none has suffered so
little from the ravages of time. In the centre
stands the fountain famous in song and story.
The alabaster basins still shed their diamond
drops; and the twelve lions, which support them,
cast forth their crystal streams as in the days of
Boabdil. The court is laid out in flower-beds, and
surrounded by light Arabian arcades of open filigree-work,
supported by slender pillars of white
marble. The architecture, like that of all the other
parts of the palace, is characterized by elegance
rather than grandeur; bespeaking a delicate and
graceful taste, and a disposition to indolent

[figure description] Page 046.[end figure description]

enjoyment. When one looks upon the fairy traces of
the peristyles, and the apparently fragile fretwork
of the walls, it is difficult to believe that so much
has survived the wear and tear of centuries, the
shocks of earthquakes, the violence of war, and
the quiet, though no less baneful, pilferings of the
tasteful traveller: it is almost sufficient to excuse
the popular tradition, that the whole is protected
by a magic charm.

On one side of the court, a portal, richly adorned,
opens into a lofty hall, paved with white marble,
and called the Hall of the Two Sisters. A cupola,
or lantern, admits a tempered light from above,
and a free circulation of air. The lower part of
the walls is encrusted with beautiful Moorish tiles,
on some of which are emblazoned the escutcheons
of the Moorish monarchs: the upper part is faced
with the fine stucco-work invented at Damascus,
consisting of large plates, cast in moulds, and artfully
joined, so as to have the appearance of being
laboriously sculptured by the hand into light relievos
and fanciful arabesques, intermingled with
texts of the Koran, and poetical inscriptions in
Arabian and Cufic characters. These decorations
of the walls and cupolas are richly gilded, and the
instertices pencilled with lapis-lazuli, and other
brilliant and enduring colours. On each side of

[figure description] Page 047.[end figure description]

the hall are recesses for ottomans and couches.
Above an inner porch is a balcony, which communicated
with the women's apartment. The latticed
`jalousies' still remain, from whence the dark-eyed
beauties of the haram might gaze unseen upon the
entertainments of the hall below.

It is impossible to contemplate this once favourite
abode of Oriental manners, without feeling the
early associations of Arabian romance, and almost
expecting to see the white arm of some mysterious
princess beckoning from the balcony, or some dark
eye sparkling through the lattice. The abode of
beauty is here, as if it had been inhabited but
yesterday; but where are the Zoraydas and Lindaraxas!

On the opposite side of the Court of Lions, is
the Hall of the Abencerrages; so called from the
gallant cavaliers of that illustrious line who were
here perfidiously massacred. There are some
who doubt the whole truth of this story; but our
humble attendant Mateo pointed out the very
wicket of the portal through which they are said
to have been introduced, one by one, and the
white marble fountain in the centre of the hall,
where they were beheaded. He showed us also
certain broad ruddy stains in the pavement, traces
of their blood, which, according to popular belief,

[figure description] Page 048.[end figure description]

can never be effaced. Finding we listened to him
with easy faith, he added, that there was often
heard at night, in the Court of Lions, a low,
confused sound, resembling the murmuring of a
multitude; with now and then a faint tinkling,
like the distant clank of chains. These noises are
probably produced by the bubbling currents and
tinkling falls of water, conducted under the pavement,
through pipes and channels, to supply the
fountains; but, according to the legend of the son
of the Alhambra, they are made by the spirits of
the murdered Abencerrages, who nightly haunt
the scene of their suffering, and invoke the vengeance
of heaven on their destroyer.

From the Court of Lions we retraced our steps
through the Court of the Alberca, or Great Fishpool;
crossing which, we proceeded to the Tower
of Comares, so called from the name of the Arabian
architect. It is of massive strength and lofty
height, domineering over the rest of the edifice,
and overhanging the steep hill-side, which descends
abruptly to the banks of the Darro. A Moorish
archway admitted us into a vast and lofty hall,
which occupies the interior of the tower, and was
the grand audience-chamber of the Moslem monarchs,
thence called the Hall of Ambassadors.
It still bears the traces of past magnificence. The

[figure description] Page 049.[end figure description]

walls are richly stuccoed and decorated with arabesques;
the vaulted ceiling of cedar-wood, almost
lost in obscurity, from its height, still gleams with
rich gilding, and the brilliant tints of the Arabian
pencil. On three sides of the saloon are deep
windows cut through the immense thickness of
the walls, the balconies of which look down upon
the verdant valley of the Darro, the streets and
convents of the Albaycin, and command a prospect
of the distant vega.

I might go on to describe minutely the other
delightful apartments of this side of the palace;
the Tocador, or toilet of the queen, an open belvidere,
on the summit of a tower, where the Moorish
sultanas enjoyed the pure breezes from the
mountain, and the prospect of the surrounding
paradise; the secluded little patio, or garden of
Lindaraxa, with its alabaster fountain, its thickets
of roses and myrtles, of citrons and oranges; the
cool halls and grottoes of the baths, where the
glare and heat of day are tempered into a soft mysterious
light, and a pervading freshness. But I
forbear to dwell minutely on those scenes; my
object is merely to give the reader a general introduction
into an abode, where, if so disposed, he
may linger and loiter with me through the

[figure description] Page 050.[end figure description]

remainder of this work, gradually becoming familiar
with all its localities.

An abundant supply of water, brought from the
mountains by old Moorish aqueducts, circulates
throughout the palace, supplying its baths and
fishpools, sparkling in jets within its halls, or
murmuring in channels along the marble pavements.
When it has paid its tribute to the royal
pile, and visited its gardens and parterres, it flows
down the long avenue leading to the city, tinkling
in rills, gushing in fountains, and maintaining a
perpetual verdure in those groves that imbower
and beautify the whole hill of the Alhambra.

Those only who have sojourned in the ardent
climates of the South, can appreciate the delights
of an abode, combining the breezy coolness of the
mountain with the freshness and verdure of the
valley. While the city below pants with the
noontide heat, and the parched vega trembles to
the eye, the delicate airs from the Sierra Nevada
play through these lofty halls, bringing with them
the sweetness of the surrounding gardens. Every
thing invites to that indolent repose, the bliss
of southern climes; and while the half-shut eye
looks out from shaded balconies upon the glittering
landscape, the ear is lulled by the rustling of
groves, and the murmur of running streams.

p226-054 THE TOWER OF COMARES.

[figure description] Page 051.[end figure description]

The reader has had a sketch of the interior of
the Alhambra, and may be desirous of a general
idea of its vicinity. The morning is serene and
lovely; the sun has not gained sufficient power to
destroy the freshness of the night; we will mount
to the summit of the Tower of Comares, and take
a bird's eye view of Granada and its environs.

Come then, worthy reader and comrade, follow
my steps into this vestibule, ornamented with rich
tracery, which opens to the Hall of Ambassadors.
We will not enter the hall, however, but turn to
the left, to this small door opening in the wall.
Have a care! here are steep winding steps and
but scanty light; yet up this narrow, obscure, and
winding staircase, the proud monarchs of Granada
and their queens have often ascended to the battlements
of the Tower to watch the approach of
Christian armies; or to gaze on the battles in
the Vega. At length we are on the terraced roof,

[figure description] Page 052.[end figure description]

and may take breath for a moment, while we cast
a general eye over the splendid panorama of city
and country; of rocky mountain, verdant valley,
and fertile plain; of castle, cathedral, Moorish
towers, and Gothic domes, crumbling ruins, and
blooming groves. Let us approach the battlements,
and cast our eyes immediately below. See,
on this side we have the whole plan of the Alhambra
laid open to us, and can look down into its
courts and gardens. At the foot of the tower is
the Court of the Alberca, with its great tank or
fishpool, bordered with flowers; and yonder is
the Court of Lions, with its famous fountains, and
its light Moorish arcades; and in the centre of
the pile is the little garden of Lindaraxa, buried
in the heart of the building, with its roses and
citrons, and shrubbery of emerald green.

That belt of battlements, studded with square
towers, straggling round the whole brow of the
hill, is the outer boundary of the fortress. Some
of the towers, you may perceive, are in ruins, and
their massive fragments are buried among vines,
fig-trees, and aloes.

Let us look on this northern side of the tower.
It is a giddy height; the very foundations of the
tower rise above the groves of the steep hill-side.
And see! a long fissure in the massive walls,

[figure description] Page 053.[end figure description]

shows that the tower has been rent by some of
the earthquakes, which from time to time have
thrown Granada into consternation; and which,
sooner or later, must reduce this crumbling pile to
a mere mass of ruin. The deep, narrow glen below
us, which gradually widens as it opens from
the mountains, is the valley of the Darro; you see
the little river winding its way under imbowered
terraces, and among orchards and flower-gardens.
It is a stream famous in old times for yielding
gold, and its sands are still sifted occasionally, in
search of the precious ore. Some of those white
pavilions, which here and there gleam from among
groves and vineyards, were rustic retreats of
the Moors, to enjoy the refreshment of their
gardens.

The airy palace, with its tall white towers and
long arcades, which breasts yon mountain, among
pompous groves and hanging gardens, is the Generalife,
a summer palace of the Moorish kings, to
which they resorted during the sultry months to
enjoy a still more breezy region than that of the
Alhambra. The naked summit of the height
above it, where you behold some shapeless ruins,
is the Silla del Moro, or seat of the Moor, so
called, from having been a retreat of the unfortunate
Boabdil, during the time of an insurrection,

[figure description] Page 054.[end figure description]

where he seated himself, and looked down mournfully
upon his rebellious city.

A murmuring sound of water now and then
rises from the valley. It is from the aqueduct of
yon Moorish mill, nearly at the foot of the hill.
The avenue of trees beyond is the Alameda, along
the bank of the Darro, a favourite resort in evenings,
and a rendezvous of lovers in the summer
nights, when the guitar may be heard at a late
hour from the benches along its walks. At present
there are but a few loitering monks to be
seen there, and a group of water-carriers from the
fountain of Avellanos.

You start! 'tis nothing but a hawk that we
have frightened from his nest. This old tower is
a complete breeding-place for vagrant birds; the
swallow and martlet abound in every chink and
cranny, and circle about it the whole day long;
while at night, when all other birds have gone to
rest, the moping owl comes out of its lurkingplace,
and utters its boding cry from the battlements.
See how the hawk we have dislodged
sweeps away below us, skimming over the tops
of the trees, and sailing up to the ruins above the
Generalife!

Let us leave this side of the tower, and turn our
eyes to the west. Here you behold in the

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distance, a range of mountains bounding the Vega,
the ancient barrier between Moslem Granada and
the land of the Christians. Among their heights
you may still discern warrior towns, whose grey
walls and battlements seem of a piece with the
rocks on which they are built; while here and
there is a solitary Atalaya, or watch tower,
mounted on some lofty point, and looking down,
as it were, from the sky, into the valleys on either
side. It was down the defiles of these mountains,
by the pass of Lope, that the Christian armies
descended into the Vega. It was round the base
of yon grey and naked mountain, almost insulated
from the rest, and stretching its bold rocky promontory
into the bosom of the plain, that the
invading squadrons would come bursting into
view, with flaunting banners, and the clangour of
drums and trumpets. How changed is the scene!
Instead of the glittering line of male warriors, we
behold the patient train of the toilful muleteer,
slowly moving along the skirts of the mountain.
Behind that promontory, is the eventful bridge
of Pinos, renowned for many a bloody strife
between Moors and Christians; but still more
renowned as being the place where Columbus was
overtaken and called back by the messenger of
Queen Isabella, just as he was departing in

[figure description] Page 056.[end figure description]

despair, to carry his project of discovery to the court
of France.

Behold another place famous in the history of
the discoverer. Yon line of walls and towers,
gleaming in the morning sun, in the very centre
of the Vega, is the city of Santa Fe, built by the
Catholic sovereigns during the siege of Granada,
after a conflagration had destroyed their camp.
It was to these walls that Columbus was called
back by the heroic queen; and within them the
treaty was concluded, that led to the discovery of
the western world.

Here, towards the south, the eye revels on the
luxuriant beauties of the Vega; a blooming wilderness
of grove and garden, and teeming orchard,
with the Xenil winding through it in silver links,
and feeding innumerable rills, conducted through
ancient Moorish channels, which maintain the
landscape in perpetual verdure. Here are the
beloved bowers and gardens and rural retreats, for
which the Moors fought with such desperate
valour. The very farmhouses and hovels which
are now inhabited by boors, retain traces of arabesques
and other tasteful decorations, which show
them to have been elegant residences in the days
of the Moslems.

Beyond the imbowered region of the Vega, you

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behold to the south a line of arid hills, down which
a long train of mules is slowly moving. It was
from the summit of one of those hills that the
unfortunate Boabdil cast back his last look upon
Granada, and gave vent to the agony of his soul.
It is the spot famous in song and story, “The last
sigh of the Moor.”

Now raise your eyes to the snowy summit of
yon pile of mountains, shining like a white summer
cloud in the blue sky. It is the Sierra Nevada,
the pride and delight of Granada; the source of
her cooling breezes and perpetual verdure, of her
gushing fountains and perennial streams. It is this
glorious pile of mountains that gives to Granada
that combination of delights so rare in a southern
city: the fresh vegetation and temperate airs of a
northern climate, with the vivifying ardour of a
tropical sun, and the cloudless azure of a southern
sky. It is this aerial treasury of snow, which,
melting in proportion to the increase of the summer
heat, sends down rivulets and streams through
every glen and gorge of the Alpuxarras, diffusing
emerald verdure and fertility throughout a chain
of happy and sequestered valleys.

Those mountains may well be called the glory
of Granada. They dominate the whole extent of
Andalusia, and may be seen from its most distant

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parts. The muleteer hails them, as he views their
frosty peaks from the sultry level of the plain;
and the Spanish mariner on the deck of his bark,
far, far off on the bosom of the blue Mediterranean,
watches them with a pensive eye, thinks of delightful
Granada, and chants, in low voice, some
old romance about the Moors.

But enough—the sun is high above the mountains,
and is pouring his full fervour upon our
heads. Already the terraced roof of the tower is
hot beneath our feet: let us abandon it, and descend
and refresh ourselves under the arcades by
the fountain of the Lions.

p226-062 REFLECTIONS ON THE MOSLEM DOMINATION IN SPAIN.

[figure description] Page 059.[end figure description]

One of my favourite resorts is the balcony of
the central window of the Hall of Ambassadors,
in the lofty tower of Comares. I have just been
seated there, enjoying the close of a long brilliant
day. The sun, as he sank behind the purple
mountains of Alhama, sent a stream of effulgence
up the valley of the Darro, that spread a melancholy
pomp over the ruddy towers of the Alhambra;
while the Vega, covered with a slight sultry
vapour that caught the setting ray, seemed spread
out in the distance like a golden sea. Not a breath
of air disturbed the stillness of the hour, and
though the faint sound of music and merriment
now and then arose from the gardens of the Darro,
it but rendered more impressive the monumental
silence of the pile which overshadowed me. It
was one of those hours and scenes in which memory
asserts an almost magical power; and, like

[figure description] Page 060.[end figure description]

the evening sun beaming on these mouldering
towers, sends back her retrospective rays to light
up the glories of the past.

As I sat watching the effect of the declining
day-light upon this Moorish pile, I was led into a
consideration of the light, elegant, and voluptuous
character, prevalent throughout its internal architecture;
and to contrast it with the grand but
gloomy solemnity of the gothic edifices, reared by
the Spanish conquerors. The very architecture
thus bespeaks the opposite and irreconcilable natures
of the two warlike people who so long battled
here for the mastery of the peninsula. By
degrees, I fell into a course of musing upon the
singular fortunes of the Arabian or MorescoSpaniards,
whose whole existence is as a tale that
is told, and certainly forms one of the most anomalous,
yet splendid episodes in history. Potent
and durable as was their dominion, we scarcely
know how to call them. They were a nation
without a legitimate country or a name. A remote
wave of the great Arabian inundation, cast upon
the shores of Europe, they seem to have all the
impetus of the first rush of the torrent. Their
career of conquest, from the rock of Gibraltar to
the cliffs of the Pyrenees, was as rapid and brilliant
as the Moslem victories of Syria and Egypt.

[figure description] Page 061.[end figure description]

Nay, had they not been checked on the plains of
Tours, all France, all Europe, might have been
overrun with the same facility as the empires
of the East, and the crescent might at this day
have glittered on the fanes of Paris and of London.

Repelled within the limits of the Pyrenees, the
mixed hordes of Asia and Africa, that formed this
great irruption, gave up the Moslem principle of
conquest, and sought to establish in Spain a peaceful
and permanent dominion. As conquerors,
their heroism was only equalled by their moderation;
and in both, for a time, they excelled the
nations with whom they contended. Severed
from their native homes, they loved the land given
them as they supposed by Allah, and strove to
embellish it with every thing that could administer
to the happiness of man. Laying the foundations
of their power in a system of wise and
equitable laws, diligently cultivating the arts and
sciences, and promoting agriculture, manufactures,
and commerce; they gradually formed an empire
unrivalled for its prosperity by any of the empires
of Christendom; and diligently drawing round
them the graces and refinements that marked the
Arabian empire in the East, at the time of its
greatest civilization, they diffused the light of

[figure description] Page 062.[end figure description]

Oriental knowledge, through the Western regions
of benighted Europe.

The cities of Arabian Spain became the resort
of Christian artisans, to instruct themselves in the
useful arts. The universities of Toledo, Cordova,
Seville, and Granada, were sought by the pale student
from other lands to acquaint himself with the
sciences of the Arabs, and the treasured lore of
antiquity; the lovers of the gay science, resorted
to Cordova and Granada, to imbibe the poetry and
music of the East; and the steel-clad warriors of
the North hastened thither to accomplish themselves
in the graceful exercises and courteous
usages of chivalry.

If the Moslem monuments in Spain, if the
mosque of Cordova, the alcazar of Seville, and
the Alhambra of Granada, still bear inscriptions
fondly boasting of the power and permanency of
their dominion; can the boast be derided as arrogant
and vain? Generation after generation, century
after century, had passed away, and still they maintained
possession of the land. A period had elapsed
longer than that which has passed since England
was subjugated by the Norman Conqueror, and
the descendants of Musa and Taric might as little
anticipate being driven into exile across the same
straits, traversed by their triumphant ancestors, as

[figure description] Page 063.[end figure description]

the descendants of Rollo and William, and their
veteran peers, may dream of being driven back to
the shores of Normandy.

With all this, however, the Moslem empire in
Spain was but a brilliant exotic, that took no per
manent root in the soil it embellished. Severed
from all their neighbours in the West, by impassable
barriers of faith and manners, and separated by
seas and deserts from their kindred of the East,
they were an isolated people. Their whole existence
was a prolonged, though gallant and chivalric
struggle, for a foothold in a usurped land.

They were the outposts and frontiers of Islamism.
The peninsula was the great battleground
where the Gothic conquerors of the North
and the Moslem conquerors of the East, met and
strove for mastery; and the fiery courage of the
Arab was at length subdued by the obstinate and
persevering valour of the Goth.

Never was the annihilation of a people more
complete than that of the Moresco-Spaniards.
Where are they? Ask the shores of Barbary and
its desert places. The exiled remnant of their
once powerful empire disappeared among the barbarians
of Africa, and ceased to be a nation.
They have not even left a distinct name behind
them, though for nearly eight centuries they were

[figure description] Page 064.[end figure description]

a distinct people. The home of their adoption
and of their occupation for ages, refuses to acknowledge
them, except as invaders and usurpers
A few broken monuments are all that remain to
bear witness to their power and dominion, as solitary
rocks left far in the interior, bear testimony
to the extent of some vast inundation. Such is
the Alhambra. A Moslem pile, in the midst of a
Christian land; an Oriental palace amidst the
Gothic edifices of the West; an elegant memento
of a brave, intelligent, and graceful people, who
conquered, ruled, and passed away.