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The JourneyPart II
Part II
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 watchtowers 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 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 struggles 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 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
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
intended on the general features of Spanish travelling; but there is a romance
about all the recollections of the Peninsula dear to the imagination.
As our proposed route to Granada lay through mountainous regions, where
the roads are little better than mule paths, and said to be frequently beset
by robbers, we took due travelling precautions. Forwarding the most valuable
part of our luggage a day or two in advance by the arrieros, we retained
merely clothing and necessaries for the journey and money for the expenses of
the road, with a little surplus of hard dollars by way of robber purse, to
satisfy the gentlemen of the road should we be assailed. Unlucky is the too
wary traveller who, having grudged this precaution, falls into their clutches
empty handed: they are apt to give him a sound ribroasting for cheating them
out of their dues. "Caballeros like them cannot afford to scour the roads and
risk the gallows for nothing."
A couple of stout steeds were provided for our own mounting, and a third
for our scanty luggage and the conveyance of a sturdy Biscayan lad, about
twenty years of age, who was to be our guide, our groom, our valet, and at all
times our guard. For the latter office he was provided with a formidable
trabuco or carbine, with which he promised to defend us against rateros or
solitary footpads; but as to powerful bands, like that of the "sons of Ecija,"
he confessed they were quite beyond his prowess. He made much vainglorious
boast about his weapon at the outset of the journey, though, to the discredit
of his generalship, it was suffered to hang unloaded behind his saddle.
According to our stipulations, the man from whom we hired the horses was
to be at the expense of their feed and stabling on the journey, as well as of
the maintenance of our Biscayan squire, who of course was provided with funds
for the purpose; we took care, however, to give the latter a private hint,
that, though we made a close bargain with his master, it was all in his
favor, as, if he proved a good man and true, both he and the horses should
live at our cost, and the money provided for their maintenance remain in his
pocket. This unexpected largess, with the occasional present of a cigar, won
his heart completely. He was, in truth, a faithful, cheery, kind-hearted
creature, as full of saws and proverbs as that miracle of squires, the
renowned Sancho himself, whose name, by the by, 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.
Such were our minor preparations for the journey, but above all we laid
in an ample stock of good humor, and a genuine disposition to be pleased,
determining to travel in true contrabandista style, taking things as we found
them, rough or smooth, and mingling with all classes and conditions in a kind
of vagabond companionship. It is the true way to travel in Spain. With such
disposition and determination, what a country is it 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 and civilized into tameness and commonplace; but give me the rude
mountain scramble; the roving, haphazard, wayfaring; the half wild, yet frank
and hospitable manners, which impart such a true game flavor to dear old
romantic Spain!
Thus equipped and attended, we cantered out of "Fair Seville city" at
half-past six in the morning of a bright May day, in company with a lady and
gentleman of our acquaintance, who rode a few miles with us, in the Spanish
mode of taking leave. Our route lay through old Alcala de Guadaira (Alcala on
the river Aira), the benefactress of Seville, that supplies it with bread and
water. Here live the bakers who furnish Seville with that delicious bread for
which it is renowned; here are fabricated those roscas well known by the
well-merited appellation of pan de Dios (bread of God), with which, by the
way, we ordered our man, Sancho, to stock his alforjas for the journey. Well
has this beneficent little city been denominated the "Oven of Seville"; well
has it been called Alcala de los Panaderos (Alcala of the bakers), for a great
part of its inhabitants are of that handicraft, and the highway hence to
Seville is constantly traversed by lines of mules and donkeys laden with great
panniers of loaves and roscas.
I have said Alcala supplies Seville with water. Here are great tanks or
reservoirs, of Roman and Moorish construction, whence water is conveyed to
Seville by noble aqueducts. The springs of Alcala are almost as much vaunted
as its ovens; and to the lightness, sweetness, and purity of its water is
attributed in some measure the delicacy of its bread.
Here we halted for a time, at the ruins of the old Moorish castle, a
favorite resort for picnic parties from Seville, where we had passed many a
pleasant hour. The walls are of great extent, pierced with loopholes;
inclosing a huge square tower or keep, with the remains of masmoras, or
subterranean granaries. The Guadaira winds its stream round the hill, at the
foot of these ruins, whimpering among reeds, rushes, and pond-lilies, and
overhung with rhododendron, eglantine, yellow myrtle, and a profusion of wild
flowers and aromatic shrubs; while along its banks are groves of oranges,
citrons, and pomegranates, among which we heard the early note of the
nightingale.
A picturesque bridge was thrown across the little river, at one end of
which was the ancient Moorish mill of the castle, defended by a tower of
yellow stone; a fisherman`s net hung against the wall to dry, and hard by in
the river was his boat; a group of peasant women in bright-colored dresses,
crossing the arched bridge, were reflected in the placid stream. Altogether
it was an admirable scene for a landscape painter.
The old Moorish mills, so often found on secluded streams, are
characteristic objects in Spanish landscape, and suggestive of the perilous
times of old. They are of stone, and often in the form of towers with
loopholes and battlements, capable of defence in those warlike days when the
country on both sides of the border was subject to sudden inroad and hasty
ravage, and when men had to labor with their weapons at hand, and some place
of temporary refuge.
Our next halting place was at Gandul, where were the remains of another
Moorish castle, with its ruined tower, a nestling place for storks, and
commanding a view over a vast campina or fertile plain, with the mountains of
Ronda in the distance. These castles were strong-holds to protect the plains
from the lalas on forays to which they were subject, when the fields of corn
would be laid waste, the flocks and herds swept from the vast pastures, and,
together with captive peasantry, hurried off in long cavalgadas across the
borders.
At Gandul we found a tolerable posada; the good folks could not tell us
what time of day it was - the clock only struck once in the day, two hours
after noon; until that time it was guesswork. We guessed it was full time to
eat; so, alighting, we ordered a repast. While that was in preparation we
visited the palace once the residence of the Marquis of Gandul. All was gone
to decay; there were but two or three rooms habitable, and very poorly
furnished. Yet here were the remains of grandeur: a terrace, where fair dames
and gentle cavaliers may once have walked; a fish-pond and ruined garden, with
grape-vines and date-bearing palm-trees. Here we were joined by a fat
curate, who gathered a bouquet of roses and presented it, very gallantly, to
the lady who accompanied us.
Below the palace was the mill, with orange-trees and aloes in front, and
a pretty stream of pure water. We took a seat in the shade, and the millers,
all leaving their work, sat down and smoked with us; for the Andalusians
are always ready for a gossip. They were waiting for the regular visit of the
barber, who came once a week to put all their chins in order. He arrived
shortly afterwards: a lad of seventeen, mounted on a donkey, eager to display
his new alforjas or saddle-bags, just bought at a fair; price one dollar, to
be paid on St. John`s day (in June), by which time he trusted to have mown
beards enough to put him in funds.
By the time the laconic clock of the castle had struck two we had
finished our dinner. So, taking leave of our Seville friends, and leaving
the millers still under the hands of the barber, we set off on our ride
across the campina. It was one of those vast plains, common in Spain, where
for miles and miles there is neither house nor tree. Unlucky the traveller who
has to traverse it, exposed as we were to heavy and repeated showers of rain.
There is no escape nor shelter. Our only protection was our Spanish cloaks,
which nearly covered man and horse, but grew heavier every mile. By the
time we had lived through one shower we would see another slowly but
inevitably approaching; fortunately in the interval there would be an outbreak
of bright, warm, Andalusian sunshine, which would make our cloaks send up
wreaths of steam, but which partially dried them before the next drenching.
Shortly after sunset we arrived at Arahal, a little town among the hills.
We found it in a bustle with a party of miquelets, who were patrolling the
country to ferret out robbers. The appearance of foreigners like ourselves was
an unusual circumstance in an interior country town; and little Spanish towns
of the kind are easily put in a state of gossip and wonderment by such an
occurrence. Mine host, with two or three old wiseacre 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, 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,
senores; 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 castanets, 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 neighborhood, and, on going
forth, the courtyard or patio 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 an archway opening into the court; the guitar passed from
hand to hand, but a jovial shoemaker was the Orpheus of the place. 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 a
little amorous ditty with an expressive leer at the women, with whom he was
evidently a favorite. 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 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.
The following morning was bright and balmy, as a May morning ought to be,
according to the poets. Leaving Arahal at seven o`clock, with all the posada
at the door to cheer us off we pursued our way through a fertile country,
covered with grain and beautifully verdant; but which in summer, when the
harvest is over and the fields parched and brown, must be monotonous and
lonely; for, as in our ride of yesterday, there were neither houses nor people
to be seen. The latter all congregate in villages and strong-holds among the
hills, as if these fertile plains were still subject to the ravages of the
Moor.
At noon we came to where there was a group of trees, beside a brook in a
rich meadow. Here we alighted to make our midday meal. It was really a
luxurious spot, among wild flowers and aromatic herbs, with birds singing
around us. Knowing the scanty larders of Spanish inns, and the houseless
tracts we might have to traverse, we had taken care to have the alforjas of
our squire well stocked with cold provisions, and his bota, or leathern
bottle, which might hold a gallon, filled to the neck with choice Valdepenas
wine. As we depended more upon these for our well-being than even his
trabuco, we exhorted him to be more attentive in keeping them well charged;
and I must do him the justice to say that his namesake, the trencher-loving
Sancho Panza, was never a more provident purveyor. Though the alforjas and the
bota were frequently and vigorously assailed throughout the journey, they had
a wonderful power of repletion, our vigilant squire sacking every thing that
remained from our repasts at the inns, to supply these junketings by the
road-side, which were his delight.
On the present occasion he spread quite a sumptuous variety of remnants
on the green-sward before us, graced with an excellent ham brought from
Seville; then, taking his seat at a little distance, he solaced himself with
what remained in the alforjas. A visit or two to the bota made him as merry
and chirruping as a grasshopper filled with dew. On my comparing his contents
of the alforjas to Sancho`s skimming of the flesh-pots at the wedding of
Camacho, I found he was well versed in the history of Don Quixote, but, like
many of the common people of Spain, firmly believed it to be a true history.
"All that happened a long time ago, senor," said he, with an inquiring
look.
"A very long time," I replied.
"I dare say more than a thousand years" - still looking dubiously.
"I dare say not less."
The squire was satisfied. Nothing pleased the simple-hearted varlet more
than my comparing him to the renowned Sancho for devotion to the trencher, and
he called himself by no other name throughout the journey.
Our repast being finished, we spread our cloaks on the green-sward under
the tree, and took a luxurious siesta in the Spanish fashion. The clouding up
of the weather, however, warned us to depart, and a harsh wind sprang up from
the southeast. Towards five o`clock we arrived at Osuna, a town of fif-teen
thousand inhabitants, situated on the side of a hill, with a church and a
ruined castle. The posada was outside of the walls; it had a cheerless look.
The evening being cold, the inhabitants were crowded round a brasero in a
chimney corner; and the hostess was a dry old woman, who looked like a mummy.
Every one eyed us askance as we entered, as Spaniards are apt to regard
strangers; a cheery, respectful salutation on our part, caballeroing them and
touching our sombreros, set Spanish pride at ease; and when we took our seat
among them, lit our cigars, and passed the cigar-box round among them, our
victory was complete. I have never known a Spaniard, whatever his rank or
condition, who would suffer himself to be outdone in courtesy; and to the
common Spaniard the present of a cigar (puro) is irresistible. Care, however,
must be taken never to offer him a present with an air of superiority and
condescension; he is too much of a caballero to receive favors at the cost of
his dignity.
Leaving Osuna at an early hour the next morning, we entered the sierra
or range of mountains. The road wound through picturesque scenery, but lonely;
and a cross here and there by the road side, the sign of a murder, showed that
we were now coming among the "robber haunts." This wild and intricate country,
with its silent plains and valleys intersected by mountains, has ever been
famous for banditti. It was here that Omar Ibn Hassan, a robber-chief among
the Moslems, held ruthless sway in the ninth century, disputing dominion even
with the caliphs of Cordova. This too was a part of the regions so often
ravaged during the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella by Ali Atar, the old
Moorish alcayde of Loxa, father-in-law of Boabdil, so that it was called Ali
Atar`s garden, and here "Jose Maria," famous in Spanish brigand story, had
his favorite lurking places.
In the course of the day we passed through Fuente la Piedra near a little
salt lake of the same name, a beautiful sheet of water, reflecting like a
mirror the distant mountains. We now came in sight of Antiquera, that old city
of warlike reputation, lying in the lap of the great sierra which runs through
Andalusia. A noble vega spread out before it, a picture of mild fertility set
in a frame of rocky mountains. Crossing a gentle river we approached the city
between hedges and gardens, in which nightingales were pouring forth their
evening song. About nightfall we arrived at the gates. Every thing in this
venerable city has a decidedly Spanish stamp. It lies too much out of the
frequented track of foreign travel to have its old usages trampled out. Here I
observed old men still wearing the montero, or ancient hunting cap, once
common throughout Spain; while the young men wore the little round-crowned
hat, with brim turned up all round, like a cup turned down in its saucer,
while the brim was set off with little black tufts like cockades. The women,
too, were all in mantillas and basquinas. The fashions of Paris had not
reached Antiquera.
Pursuing our course through a spacious street, we put up at the posada
of San Fernando. As Antiquera, though a considerable city, is, as I observed,
somewhat out of the track of travel, I had anticipated bad quarters and poor
fare at the inn. I was agreeably disappointed, therefore, by a supper table
amply supplied, and what were still more acceptable, good clean rooms and
comfortable beds. Our man, Sancho, felt himself as well off as his namesake,
when he had the run of the duke`s kitchen, and let me know, as I retired for
the night, that it had been a proud time for the alforjas.
Early in the morning (May 4th) I strolled to the ruins of the old Moorish
castle, which itself had been reared on the ruins of a Roman fortress. Here,
taking my seat on the remains of a crumbling tower, I enjoyed a grand and
varied landscape, beautiful in itself, and full of storied and romantic
associations; for I was now in the very heart of the country famous for the
chivalrous contests between Moor and Christian. Below me, in its lap of hills,
lay the old warrior city so often mentioned in chronicle and ballad. Out of
yon gate and down yon hill paraded the band of Spanish cavaliers, of highest
rank and bravest bearing, to make that foray during the war and conquest of
Granada, which ended in the lamentable massacre among the mountains of Malaga,
and laid all Andalusia in mourning. Beyond spread out the vega, covered with
gardens and orchards and fields of grain and enamelled meadows, inferior only
to the famous vega of Granada. To the right the Rock of the Lovers stretched
like a cragged promontory into the plain, whence the daughter of the Moorish
alcayde and her lover, when closely pursued, threw themselves in despair.
The matin peal from church and convent below me rang sweetly in the
morning air as I descended. The market-place was beginning to throng with the
populace, who traffic in the abundant produce of the vega; for this is the
mart of an agricultural region. In the market-place were abundance of freshly
plucked roses for sale; for not a dame or damsel of Andalusia thinks her gala
dress complete without a rose shining like a gem among her raven tresses.
On returning to the inn I found our man Sancho, in high gossip with the
landlord and two or three of his hangers-on. He had just been telling some
marvellous story about Seville, which mine host seemed piqued to match with
one equally marvellous about Antiquera. There was once a fountain, he said, in
one of the public squares called Il fuente del toro, the fountain of the bull,
because the water gushed from the mouth of a bull`s head, carved of stone.
Underneath the head was inscribed:
En Frente Del Toro
Se Hallen Tesoro.
(In front of the bull there is treasure.) Many digged in front of the
fountain, but lost their labor and found no money. At last one knowing fellow
construed the motto a different way. It is in the forehead (frente) of the
bull that the treasure is to be found, said he to himself, and I am the man to
find it. Accordingly he came late at night, with a mallet, and knocked the
head to pieces; and what do you think he found?
"Plenty of gold and diamonds!" cried Sancho eagerly.
"He found nothing," rejoined mine host dryly; "and he ruined the
fountain."
Here a great laugh was set up by the landlord`s hangers-on; who
considered Sancho completely taken in by what I presume was one of mine host`s
standing jokes.
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