From Malaga to Granada.--Military Escort.--A Beautiful Valley.--A
Dream Realized in the Alhambra.--The Moor in his Glory.--Tangible
Poetry.--A Brief Legend.--The Generalife.--The Moor's Seat.--The
Home of the Gypsies.--A Gold Bearing River.--A Beautiful
Residence.--Early Home of the Ex-Empress Eugenie.--City of
Granada.--Spanish Beggars.--The Remarkable Tomb of Ferdinand and
Isabella.--French Vandals.--The Cathedral.--Precious Relic.--The
Cartuja.--Love of Music.
The distance from Malaga to Granada is about seventy miles, but in
Spanish style it requires eight or nine hours to accomplish it. Needless
delay is the rule here, and forms a national infirmity; but in the
present instance we did not feel in special haste, nor regret the
snail's pace at which the cars were run, as the road lay mostly through
a very beautiful valley, lined on either side by high hills extending
back until they terminated in lofty, snow-clad ranges. The contrast
between these ice-crowned elevations not very far away, and the orchards
of oranges and lemons in full bearing so near to us, was certainly
striking. The dull, dusty green of the olive orchards, of which there
were more than of all other trees combined, gave a rather sombre
appearance to many miles of the route; but the cheerful light verdure of
the occasional grain fields and pastures afforded relief to the eye.
There were but few people to be seen, quite unlike European agricultural
districts generally, where human life is ever so conspicuous. The
cultivated spots seemed to be very far away from the hamlets whence the
owners must come for field labor. It was obvious that for some strong
reason the populace, sparse at best, herd together. There were no
isolated farm-houses or huts. The cultivators must ride or walk long
distances to reach the field of labor. Perhaps mutual protection, as in
the olden time, was the inducing cause of the country people thus
keeping together, and the necessity of congregating for mutual support
in an exigency has by no means entirely ceased. Now and then the cars
would dart suddenly into a dark tunnel, when we skirted the mountain
sides, to emerge again upon a scene of redoubled sunlight, for a moment
quite tantalizing to the vision, reminding one forcibly of some Swiss
and Italian roads where car-lamps are burned all day. As occasional
bands of brigands appear, and, stopping the trains, rob the passengers,
government kindly complimented us with an escort of a dozen soldiers,
and we were told that these redoubtable warriors now accompany each
train, besides which two or three good-looking high privates, in neat
uniforms, were observed at each of the stations where we stopped,
marching up and down before the train and eying the passengers, as
though they half suspected us of being banditti in disguise. It is clear
that the administration is endeavoring to render traveling safe
throughout the country, and if they would only render it comfortable and
expeditious at the same time, the reform would commend itself to
universal approval. Punctuality is not a Spanish word, being neither
practiced nor understood from Malaga to Burgos. You take your seat
trustingly for some objective point, but when you will reach it is a
profound and subtle mystery which time alone can solve.
Perhaps no one ever read Washington Irving's description of the
Alhambra without experiencing an ardent desire to visit Granada.
Although that exquisite pen-portrait reads more like romance than
veritable history, yet it is minutely correct and absolutely literal,
teeming with local color and atmospheric effect like the canvas of a
Claude Lorraine or a Bierstadt. As we approached the ancient city, all
early recollections of the glowing text were revived; nor had months of
constant travel rendered us so blase but that an eager anticipation
thrilled every nerve. The train crept slowly along in the twilight with
provoking deliberation, until we were finally deposited in the depot of
the gray old capital, so intimately connected with the most romantic
chapters of Spanish history. How vividly the days of Ferdinand and
Isabella flashed before the mind's eye, mingled with which was the
abortive career of Charles V. Here set the sun of Moorish glory. This
was Granada, and here, close at hand, was that embodiment of poetry, the
Alhambra.
The city once contained over half a million of people, but to-day it has
scarcely sixty thousand,--like everything else material in Spain,
growing smaller by degrees and beautifully less. After leaving the
centre of the town, we drove some distance until the ground began to
rise sharply, and we passed through a dense grove of tall elms planted
many years ago by the Duke of Wellington. These trees have grown in such
a rank, wild fashion, hung with ivy from the highest branches to the low
interlacing stems, as to recall a Singapore jungle or the densely wooded
district near Jeypore, in India. The trees have never been trimmed or
thinned out since they were planted, and cannot, therefore, become
individually grand, but they appear all the more natural for this
seeming neglect. Presently the hotel, named the Washington Irving, was
reached, an extremely neat and comfortable establishment. It was
necessary to suppress our ardor and impatience, as night had settled
down over Granada; and there being no moon, nothing could be seen to
advantage outside of the house. We retired early, more fatigued by the
slow, dragging railroad journey of seventy miles than after
accomplishing the same distance over the primitive roads of California,
behind four dashing horses in a jolting stage, between Madeira and
Coarse Gold Gulch.
It is not for us to describe in detail so well-known a monument as this
royal palace of the Moors, those regal sovereigns who had not only a
love for the beautiful in art, but also the means of indulging it. With
all preconceived ideas it was still a revelation, and, next to the Taj
at Agra, the most poetical embodiment of architecture we had ever seen.
Surprises met us at every turn within its enchanting precincts. The
names of its various halls and courts, the Hall of Justice, Court of
Blessings, Hall of the Abencerrages, Court of the Lions, Hall of the Two
Sisters, etc., were all familiar, but only so in pictured dreams. Here
was the tangible reality; it was no disillusion. As we passed from court
to court, from hall to hall, lingering here and there, how the very
atmosphere teemed with historical reminiscences of that most romantic
period of history, the mediaeval days, when the Moors held regal court
and lorded it in Andalusia. A lurking sympathy stole over us for that
exiled people who could render life such a terrestrial paradise.
Surrounded by fruit, flowers, and dark-eyed houris, the Mohammedan but
typified his idea of a higher heaven. In the Alhambra he might have
closed his eyes to the outer world, and fancied that he was already in
that sensuous and perpetual home which the Arabian poets so glowingly
describe. It is difficult to realize that the Moors possessed such
admirable architectural skill, and produced such splendid palaces,
centuries upon centuries ago; and quite as remarkable that Time, the
great iconoclast, should have spared for our admiration such delicate,
lace-like carvings and such brilliant mosaics. Magnificence with them
was an art in itself, and, combined with beauty, was one of their
highest aims. Minuteness of finish and perfection of detail were
lavished with Oriental profuseness. If we carefully examine the
fret-work upon the walls of the various corridors and apartments, it
becomes evident that it represents flowers and geometrical lines, though
at a casual glance it has rather a confused appearance. The various
spaces are filled with lines from the Koran; the words "There is no
conqueror but God" occurring many hundred times in the various parts of
the structure, in the delicately lined work over the horse-shoe arches,
upon the plainer side walls and over latticed jalousies, and along the
architraves.
Out of a gracefully arched window, with stucco work framing it about
like curtains of crystallized lace, from whence the beauties of the
harem must have often gazed upon the court below, we looked upon a
setting of leafy verdure in white marble, surrounded by fountains, like
an emerald set in diamonds upon a lady's hand. We looked from the
boudoir of the Sultana, the Chosen of the Harem. Here were thriving
orange and fig-trees mingled with glistening, dark-leaved myrtles,
which were bordered by an edging of box so high and stout of limb that
the main stems were more like trees than shrubs. The guide told us they
were centuries old. Here were also clusters of hawthorn in blossom, and
little patches of blue star-like flowers looking up from the ground like
human eyes, as though having hardly the courage to assert themselves
amid the more pretentious bloom. The sun lay warm and lovingly in this
fragrant area of the grand old palace, and the air was very soft and
sweet. It was the same scene which had gladdened witching eyes centuries
ago, when the notes of the lute mingled with the careless, happy voices
of the beauties of the harem.
The guide had twice to summon us before we left the spot. Then we
climbed up the winding, marble steps, lighted here and there by little
loop-hole windows, to a balcony that commanded a view far and near over
the village-dotted plain of Granada, backed by the snowy summits of the
Sierra Nevada. The city, in all its brown, turreted, and tiled confusion
of buildings, lay in the foreground. The Darro and the Xenil, joined
together, were seen winding their silvery way through the verdant
fields, where broad patches of yellow grain added a thrifty aspect to
the view. Quaint little hamlets clustered together; mulberry and olive
groves, a tall hay-stack here and there, and groups of domestic cattle,
enlivened the whole. It was an exceptional picture for Spain, and would
convey the idea of a well-cultivated and thriving agricultural country;
but it was natural irrigation, not the hand of industrious labor, which
was here so agreeably represented.
One never wearied in wandering about the courts and luxurious
apartments; luxurious, not because of their furniture, for there was
none; but because of what they suggested, for the possibilities they
presented, and the exquisite architectural workmanship displayed in each
detail, and everywhere. It was like enchantment verified. Nothing seemed
too extravagant to the imagination thus stimulated. If we had suddenly
come upon a throng of the dark-eyed favorites of the harem diaphanously
clad, on their way to the marble baths, with Nubian slaves perfuming
their way by burning incense, it would not have seemed to us at all
strange.
Alhambra signifies "Red Castle," and the vermilion-tinted structure,
with its outlying towers, was thus appropriately named. In the days of
its glory it was half palace, half fortress; indeed, a city within
itself, capable of accommodating quite an army, and containing within
its walls an immense cistern as a water supply, armories, store-houses,
foundries, and every appliance of a large military cantonment. A
considerable portion of the far-reaching walls are still extant, as well
as the outlying towers; and all are remarkable for the excellent
engineering skill displayed in their construction. Under good
generalship, and properly manned, the place must have been impregnable
to attack with such arms as were in use at the period of its completion.
For a long time after the expulsion of the Moors, the Castilian monarchs
made it their royal residence, and held high and regal court within its
splendid walls; but they finally deserted it, and left desolate those
unequaled halls and courts. The place was next infested by a lawless
community of contrabandists and banditti, who made it, for a long
period, their headquarters, whence to sally forth and lay the
neighboring plains under contribution, on the principle that might makes
right. Then came the French as conquerors, who expelled the lawless
intruders, perhaps themselves quite as deserving of the title; but they
did a good work by clearing what had become an Augean stable of its
worst filth, and partially restoring the choicest work of the Moorish
builders. To-day the Spanish government guards with jealous care a
monumental treasure which cannot be equaled in historic interest
elsewhere in the kingdom.
Visiting the Court of the Lions on the last day of our stay at Granada,
watching its beautiful shadows, columns, and fret-work, with its mammoth
vase of Oriental alabaster fed by water brought from the mountains
through the old Moorish aqueduct, it seemed as if so much of tangible
poetry could nowhere else be found. Over a hundred light and graceful
columns of marble surround this one court, supporting arches of perfect
loveliness, and a Moorish arcade of aerial lightness and beauty. The
rich stucco and the arabesque decorations of the inner walls and
ceilings, finished in gold and blue, the original colors still there
after centuries of exposure, together form perhaps the gem of the
Alhambra. Yet one hesitates to pronounce any one hall, chamber, or court
as excelling another where all are so transcendently beautiful. The
characteristic embodiment of the architecture seemed to be its perfect
harmony throughout. There are no jarring elements, no false notes, in
the marvelous anthem which it articulates. It does not impress one as
representing power or grandeur, but rather sensuousness and human love.
The inspiration it imparts to the thoughtful beholder is less of awe
than of tenderness, and exquisite poetical delight, causing one, as he
gazes upon its accumulated loveliness, almost to tremble with excess of
gratification.
Many of the outlying towers of the main structure, now partly isolated
by the crumbling of the connecting walls and passages, are well worth
attention. We visited them with great satisfaction, but they have been
too often described to require special mention here. The guide related a
legend connected with one of them which was new to us. It related to
that known as La Cautiva, the inner walls of which are famous for their
Moorish tracery. Here, it seems, a lovely Christian maiden was
imprisoned, whom Yousuf I., then reigning monarch, desired to add to his
harem. In vain were her pleadings, and her assurance that she was the
affianced bride of a noble knight. The king still importuned the maiden,
though fruitlessly. She would not for one moment listen to his suit.
Finally, pressed to the last extreme of resistance, she sought
protection in death, and threw herself from the lofty battlements of the
tower upon the jagged rocks at its base. Here her mangled body was found
by her knightly lover, who had come, but too late, with a band of daring
followers, to rescue his beloved. His revenge was swift and terrible. In
the little mosque hard by Yousuf I. paid the penalty for his persecution
of the gentle maiden, for there he was killed by the disconsolate knight
while he was kneeling in prayer.
Crossing the glen beyond the tower of La Cautiva and ascending the hill
beyond we came upon what is called the Generalife, the summer palace of
the Alhambra, with which, in the olden time, it was connected by an
underground passage, which is still traceable though filled in by decay
and debris. This structure has been scarcely less noted than the main
edifice, but one is rather disappointed at its simplicity and want of
finish as compared with the Alhambra itself. The view from it is so fine
that one feels amply repaid for the visit, though probably but a very
small portion of the original structure remains, since it is now nothing
more or less than a moderate-sized white villa, located in a wilderness
of laurel, myrtle, and cypresses. Through its court-yards and gardens
rushes a branch of the gold-bearing river, the Darro, spending itself in
scores of fountains, tiny falls, cascades, and lakes. The grounds are
full of venerable cypresses of great age and beauty, the only ones we
had seen in Spain except in the English burial-ground at Malaga. Nor had
we observed any elms except those of the grove planted by Wellington.
The gardens of the Generalife form its principal attraction, and the
number of exotic trees and plants gathered here is remarkable. The place
is now owned and cared for by the Genoese family of Grimaldi, who keep a
few people on the premises to protect the property and cultivate the
gardens. We were told the owner had never visited Granada. Passing
through a small rear door of the Generalife, the guide conducted us by a
steep path to what is called the Moor's Seat, the apex of the
neighboring heights, and between which and the mountain range of
snow-clad peaks lies the heavily-wooded valley of the Darro on one side,
and on the other the wide-spread vega of Granada. The view includes some
fifteen villages, dotting plains more fertile than any other we had seen
in the country. The atmosphere was clear, rendering the comprehensive
view very fine, taking in as its foreground both the Alhambra and the
Generalife. The visit to the Moor's Seat was not hurried. Time was taken
to impress the outspread picture it afforded lastingly on the memory,
for we could not reasonably expect to ever behold it again.
After coming down we reviewed the picture gallery of the Generalife,
though hardly a "gallery," made up as it is of a series of daubs
representing the kings and queens of Spain, with other members of the
royal family, of some possible historic interest, but otherwise not
worth the canvas on which they are painted. The guide was well supplied
with legends about the Generalife as to the Sultana Zoraya and her
guilty Abencerrage lover, and so forth; but we had listened to one about
the tower not far away, and had so much occupation for the eyes that the
ears were permitted to rest. All show places, and especially royal
palaces, have their romantic legends: what would guides and guide-books
otherwise amount to? But without exception let it be understood, these
stories are a tissue of nonsense, founded on a modicum of truth. Take as
a fair example the universally accepted Byronic legends of the Bridge of
Sighs at Venice, which Mr. Howells so quietly but thoroughly explodes by
adducing the simplest historical facts.
Between the Alhambra and the Generalife, but not in a direct line, were
located the headquarters of the gypsies of Spain, some four or five
thousand of whom live in the rock caves adjoining the city, where the
valley of the Darro affords a warm, sunny shelter. Holes excavated in
the sloping mountain side form the homes of this singular and strongly
individualized people, where they have had a recognized habitation for
centuries. They are just the same renegade race that are found in other
parts of Europe and the British Isles: picturesque in their rags,
lawless in the extreme, and living almost entirely in the open air. In
the faces of the men, who are as coarse and uncultured as men can
possibly be, there was expressed much of the same savage instinct that
marked the features of those captured tigers exhibited at Jeypore. They
are lazy and reckless, but fiery if roused to anger. Terrible domestic
tragedies sometimes occur among them, as the guide explained to us. They
observe certain principles of what has been termed "wild justice,"
having their king or queen as the case may be, and to such self-elected
control only do they yield obedience. The men, like the women, affect
gaudy colors, and both toss their loose, ragged garments about them
after a graceful style all their own. The bronzed features, profuse
black hair, and very dark eyes of these gypsies, often render them
strikingly handsome; and when this dangerous heritage falls to the share
of the young women, it often leads to experiences too tragic to record.
Many of the men wear embroidered velvet jackets, with hanging silver
buttons, like a Basque postilion, and add a scarlet sash about the
waist, the legs being bound up in sheep's skins with fancy-colored
ribbons, and the feet covered with crude sandals,--altogether quite a
theatrical costume.
Gypsies worship high colors and cheap jewelry, and would spend their
last farthing for either, though the question of whence the next meal
was to come from might be an unsolved problem. They roam idly about the
grounds of the Alhambra, but are not permitted to enter its walls, and
no exterior picture of the structure would be true which did not
introduce one or more of them in the foreground. Strangers generally
visit their quarters in the valley, and for their entertainment they
dance, tell fortunes, play tricks, and, if possible, steal from them.
Indeed it is hardly safe, without an experienced guide, to go among
them. Their domestic life is represented to be of so objectionable a
character that it will not bear discussing. Gypsies will not work unless
driven to do so by absolute want, but necessity sometimes compels them;
and so occasionally they may be found manipulating the waters of the
swift-running Darro for gold, which is often found in paying quantities.
There is a local jeweler within the precincts of the Alhambra who makes
the gold from this stream into mementos, which are a favorite investment
with visitors, in the form of pins and brooches. The river Darro rises
in a rocky gorge of the neighboring mountains, and comes tumbling down
the valley within a stone's-throw of the gypsies' cave-dwellings, thence
flows through the town, and is joined by the Xenil on the plain of
Granada.
Close by the Alhambra, indeed almost within the walls, we visited the
delightful villa of Madame Calderon de la Barca, who was once a resident
of Boston, and who was well known and highly esteemed by our best
people. This fine estate was presented to her, for valuable services, by
the Spanish government. It is remarkable for its spacious and
beautifully arranged grounds, combining ornamentation and usefulness in
a striking degree, and extending over some twenty acres of ground. Here
are vineyards, fruit orchards, choice flower gardens, trees of various
tropical species, among which we saw dates, cocoanuts, and figs, in
thrifty condition, besides orchards of pears, plums, peaches, and
apricots. Miniature waterfalls, lakes, and rivers, shaded walks,
aviaries, and many other attractions showed a lavish expenditure in
beautifying the place. The villa itself was closed, Madame Calderon
being absent in England. At the keeper's lodge we found a Spanish family
who carried on a large dairy, the cattle on the estate being of the
choicest breed, and their management a favorite idea with the mistress
of the estate. Butter of good quality is scarce in Spain. That which was
here produced found a ready market at the Washington Irving Hotel.
In strolling about the town many spacious squares were seen, old
palaces, houses in ruins, and deserted convents, all in apparent keeping
with the general aspect of this faded and fading old city. We were taken
by our intelligent guide to several notable localities, and among them
to the humble dwelling-house where the ex-empress Eugenie was born, and
where her childhood was passed. A conspicuous tablet set in the facade
of the house makes formal mention of the circumstance, observing which
it was natural to recall, in one comprehensive thought, the strange,
romantic, and tragic story of the now childless mother and unhonored
widow of Chiselhurst. There would have been no Franco-Prussian War but
for her reckless machinations; the Prince Imperial would not, in
consequence of reverses thereby induced, have gone to Zululand to throw
away his life; the map of Europe would not have been changed by the
division of Alsace-Lorraine; and there would probably have been no
Republic in France to-day.
There are some very odd and very ancient stone fountains in the city,
supported by grotesque animals and impossible fishes, erected far back
in the regal days of Ferdinand and Isabella. The sort of fancy which
could have induced these unartistic designs it is difficult to conceive
of; they only require a dragon's head on a human body to make them quite
Chinese. The little, narrow, winding streets recalled the older portions
of Genoa and Marseilles; yet people live in them, do business there, go
shopping, and generally transact the usual affairs of town life, though
the space between the buildings which line these passages is not
sufficient to allow two donkeys to pass each other with loads on their
backs. Now one comes upon a broken stone bridge spanning the Darro on a
single broad arch of great sweep, under which the noisy river rushes
tumultuously down hill, and wonders how long the toppling houses, which
overhang the rapids, will maintain their equilibrium. The ruthless
finger of Time seems to have touched everything, neglect being only too
manifest everywhere; and yet no facade is so crumbled as not to sustain
a flower-bedecked balcony. If the houses are inhabited, they bristle all
over their whitewashed fronts with clusters of green and blossoming
flowers, strongly relieved by the snowy background. The cloth doors of
the Catholic churches swing invitingly at the touch, and over the door
you are informed in good plain Spanish that plenary indulgences are
retailed within. Shovel-hatted priests in goodly numbers dodge out and
in, but there seem to be few customers from among the people. Persons,
whom by their dress and appearance one would suppose to be in
comfortable circumstances, come boldly up to tourists and ask for a few
cents, seeming to have no feelings of pride or delicacy. Travelers are
looked upon as fair game in Spain; and still one is rather nonplused to
be importuned for coppers by well-dressed strangers, and is apt to
conclude that sturdy beggars can bear stout denials. Now we come upon
the ruins of a square stone tower, which anciently formed a portion of
the public baths; and here an old Arabian gate, arch and battlement
still standing. Near the Alameda another is seen, and gardens, once
connected by a subterranean passage with the distant Alhambra, away on
the hill. Here an arch and there a crumbling column, all souvenirs of
the exiled Moor.
We visited the Royal Chapel which adjoins the Cathedral, where the
magnificent tomb of Ferdinand and Isabella is the chief object of
interest. The effigies of the two lie side by side, hewn from the marble
in life-like proportions, and rest upon a lofty sarcophagus in front of
the great altar. Close by these is a similar tomb in white marble,
representing, in the same position and style, Joanna and her husband,
Philip of Burgundy. In the vault below were seen the four coffins
containing the several bodies of the royal dead, the leaden covering to
one of which had been pried off by French bayonets in search of
treasures supposed to have been buried with the body. But this
sacrilegious injury to the casket has been carefully repaired. Close at
hand, in a corner of this vault, was seen the metallic coffin which
contains the remains of Prince Miguel of Portugal,--the little fellow
who was thrown from his pony while riding in the streets of Granada and
killed. Had this boy lived to grow to man's estate, he would doubtless
have united and reigned over both Spain and Portugal. The cathedral,
which adjoins the chapel, is one of the glories of Spain, so to speak,
and is a very grand and noble structure, full of superb workmanship, art
treasures in oil paintings, and sculpture; among which are examples from
Alonzo Cano and Torrigiano. The architectural effect of the interior is
harmonious and beautiful, and was the work, or rather design, of Diego
de Siloe, whose father was a famous sculptor, and, if we mistake not,
was the author of that marvelous alabaster tomb at the convent of
Miraflores, in Burgos. This cathedral was finished three hundred and
sixty odd years ago, a year after the death of Ferdinand, who survived
Isabella some twelve years.
In the sacristy we were shown portraits of Philip and Joanna, and, in
one of the chapels, admirable pictures of Ferdinand and Isabella. The
relics in the sacristy are of special interest. Here we saw the golden
crown of Isabella, and, above all in interest, the precious box of pure
gold from which she sold her jewels, to purchase an outfit to enable
Columbus to sail on his first voyage to the new world. The box is
exquisitely engraved, and has a few precious stones inlaid upon it: we
see no such engraving nowadays. It was very heavy, as pure ore always
is, and was some twelve inches long, half as wide, and about five inches
in depth. It was impossible not to feel a thrill of emotion upon taking
in one's hand this sacred relic. We were also shown the state sword of
Ferdinand, and the royal sceptre carried by Isabella. Everything
relating to this "queen of earthly queens" is of vital interest, and
especially so to Americans. It was she whom Bacon described as "an
honor to her sex and the corner-stone of the greatness of Spain." We
were reminded, while looking upon these precious objects belonging to
the king and queen, of the Bridge of Pinos, which was pointed out to us
on the previous day as the spot from whence Columbus, quite discouraged
and brokenhearted, was recalled by Isabella, after having been denied
and dismissed, as both supposed, for the last time. It was at this
bridge that the messenger of the relenting queen overtook the great
Pilot, and brought him back to arrange the expedition which resulted in
the discovery of America. We had previously seen in the Alhambra the
Hall of the Ambassadors, where the queen gave audience to Columbus, and
now the jewel-box served more strongly to emphasize the historical
association.
A visit in the environs of the city to a place bearing the Moorish name
of Hinadamar should not be forgotten, nor should any traveler who finds
himself in Granada neglect to go there. Here we were shown through the
convent known as the Cartuja, which has been virtually abandoned since
monastic rule in Spain was deposed. It is now in charge of civil
officers of the government, and one service is held each week in the
chapel. It is really wonderful in the minuteness and splendid finish of
its ornamentation. Here is seen an endless amount of jasper, marble,
ivory, ebony, and tortoise-shell, in the form of carved and inlaid work,
curious beyond description. Most of theses ornamentations, as well as
the paintings, were the work of brothers of the order, who must have
spent half a life-time in their consummation. The cloisters are
surrounded by a wretched series of life-size paintings in fresco of the
mystic type, also the work of brothers attached to the convent,
representing Carthusians tormented by the English in the time of Henry
VIII. But here and there was seen the work of an artistic hand shining
out conspicuously above its surroundings. Apparently hanging high up on
the bare wall of the sacristy is a large wooden cross, of such
statuesque effect, so perfectly foreshortened and shaded, that it was
difficult to believe it to be a painting, however carefully examined
from the floor. The old sacristan told us that it was painted by a
brother of the order named Juan Sanchez Cotan, who certainly had a
painter's genius and a master's skill with the brush. Alonzo Cano has
here one or two remarkable statuettes in marble, though we think of him
rather as a painter than a sculptor. Some of the large pieces of
variegated marble which form the base work, fonts, and tables of the
chapel, are beautiful examples of the natural stone as quarried in the
neighboring mountains. Indeed, larger, or finer agates cannot be found
in Europe than those which ornament the Cartuja. In the natural veins of
the large marbles the guide takes pleasure in suggesting likenesses to
various objects, which, when once mentioned, easily form themselves to
the imagination, as a wayward fancy sometimes depicts forms in the
fleeting clouds at twilight.
There is a dearth of song-birds in Granada. We heard of, but not from,
the nightingales in the sacred precincts of the Alhambra. Perhaps it was
not the favored season, however, for this purpose. The people themselves
are naturally musical and music-loving. Even the street-cries uttered by
youthful and middle-aged vendors are rendered in such harmonious notes
as to strike the ear agreeably. This was noticed in Malaga, and also
claimed our attention here. On the road one not infrequently meets some
roughly-dressed muleteer at the head of his string of heavily-laden
animals, caroling forth luscious notes in a fine tenor voice which a
Brignoli might envy. A taste for music is born in the people, few of
whom are too poor to own and play upon a guitar or some musical
instrument. The only difference between Spain and Italy in this respect
is that here one does not recognize the music, while in Italy we usually
hear the strains of some familiar opera.