or range of mountains. The road wound through picturesque scenery, but
lonely; and a cross here and there by the roadside, 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 califs 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 favourite lurking-places.
[Illustration]
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. Everything 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.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
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_.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
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.
[Illustration]
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 the
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 labour 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?
[Illustration]
"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.
Leaving Antiquera at eight o'clock, we had a delightful ride along the
little river, and by gardens and orchards fragrant with the odours of
spring and vocal with the nightingale. Our road passed round the Rock of
the Lovers (_el peñon de los enamorados_), which rose in a precipice above
us. In the course of the morning we passed through Archidona, situated
in the breast of a high hill, with a three-pointed mountain towering
above it, and the ruins of a Moorish fortress. It was a great toil to
ascend a steep stony street leading up into the city, although it bore
the encouraging name of _Calle Real del Llano_ (the royal street of the
plain), but it was a still greater toil to descend from this mountain city
on the other side.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
At noon we halted in sight of Archidona, in a pleasant little meadow
among hills covered with olive-trees. Our cloaks were spread on the grass,
under an elm by the side of a bubbling rivulet; our horses were tethered
where they might crop the herbage, and Sancho was told to produce his
_alforjas_. He had been unusually silent this morning ever since the laugh
raised at his expense, but now his countenance brightened, and he 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 the plenteous inn at Antiquera; and this seemed
to furnish him with a set-off to the banter of mine host.
_En frente del toro
Se hallen tesoro_
would he exclaim, with a chuckling laugh, as he drew forth the
heterogeneous contents one by one, in a series which 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,
shouting with laughter, and exclaiming, "_Frente del toro!--frente del
toro!_ Ah, _señors_, they thought Sancho a simpleton at Antiquera; but
Sancho knew where to find the _tesoro_."
While we were diverting ourselves with his simple drollery, a solitary
beggar approached, who had almost the look of a pilgrim. He had a
venerable gray beard, and was evidently very old, supporting 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 the grave courtesy that is to be remarked in the lowest Spaniard. We
were in a favourable mood for such a visitor; 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 either to drink or leave; but
the bread I may 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 language, too, though simple, had occasionally something
picturesque and almost poetical in the phraseology. I set him down for
some broken-down 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
seventy-nine 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 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 gray 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."
[Illustration]
The old man was on his way to his native place, Archidona, which was in
full view on its steep and rugged mountain. He pointed to the ruins of its
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 ribbon up the mountain's 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 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
pick-axes 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.
[Illustration]
I have remarked that the stories of treasure buried by the Moors, so
popular throughout Spain, are most current among the poorest people. Kind
nature consoles with shadows for the lack of substantials. The thirsty man
dreams of fountains and running streams; the hungry man of banquets; and
the poor man of heaps of hidden gold: nothing certainly is more opulent
than the imagination of a beggar.
Our afternoon's ride took us through a steep and rugged defile of the
mountains, called _Puerta del Rey_, the Pass of the King; being one of
the great passes into the territories of Granada, and the one by which
King Ferdinand conducted his army. Towards sunset the road, winding round
a hill, brought us in sight of the famous little frontier city of Loxa,
which repulsed Ferdinand from its walls. Its Arabic name implies guardian,
and such it was to the _vega_ of Granada, being one of its advanced
guards. It was the stronghold of that fiery veteran, old Ali Atar, father
in-law of Boabdil; and here it was that the latter collected his troops,
and sallied forth on that disastrous foray which ended in the death of
the old _alcayde_ and his own captivity. From its commanding position at
the gate, as it were, of this mountain-pass, Loxa has not unaptly been
termed the key of Granada. It is wildly picturesque; built along the
face of an arid mountain. The ruins of a Moorish _alcazar_ or citadel
crown a rocky mound which rises out of the centre of the town. The river
Xenil washes its base, winding among rocks, and groves, and gardens, and
meadows, and crossed by a Moorish bridge. Above the city all is savage
and sterile, below is the richest vegetation and the freshest verdure. A
similar contrast is presented by the river: above the bridge it is placid
and grassy, reflecting groves and gardens; below it is rapid, noisy, and
tumultuous. The Sierra Nevada, the royal mountains of Granada, crowned
with perpetual snow, form the distant boundary to this varied landscape,
one of the most characteristic of romantic Spain.
[Illustration]
Alighting at the entrance of the city, we gave our horses to Sancho to
lead them to the inn, while we strolled about to enjoy the singular beauty
of the environs. As we crossed the bridge to a fine _alameda_, or public
walk, the bells tolled the hour of orison. At the sound the wayfarers,
whether on business or pleasure, paused, took off their hats, crossed
themselves, and repeated their evening prayer: a pious custom still
rigidly observed in retired parts of Spain. Altogether it was a solemn
and beautiful evening scene, and we wandered on as the evening gradually
closed, and the new moon began to glitter between the high elms of the
_alameda_. We were roused from this quiet state of enjoyment by the voice
of our trusty squire hailing us from a distance. He came up to us, out
of breath. "_Ah, señores_" cried he, "_el pobre Sancho no es nada sin
Don Quixote._" (Ah, señors, poor Sancho is nothing without Don Quixote.)
He had been alarmed at our not coming to the inn; Loxa was such a wild
mountain place, full of _contrabandistas_, enchanters, and _infiernos_;
he did not well know what might have happened, and set out to seek us,
inquiring after us of every person he met, until he traced us across
the bridge, and, to his great joy, caught sight of us strolling in the
_alameda_.
[Illustration]
The inn to which he conducted us was called the _Corona_, or Crown,
and we found it quite in keeping with the character of the place, the
inhabitants of which seem still to retain the bold, fiery spirit of the
olden time. The hostess was 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 chestnut 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 waist to match;
_bottinas_, or spatterdashes, of the finest russet leather, elegantly
worked, and open at the calf to show his stocking; and russet shoes,
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 a 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
broad-mouthed blunderbusses hung behind the saddle. He had the air of
one of those _contrabandistas_ 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 a 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 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.
[Illustration: _Moorish Gate, Ronda._]
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 peseta (the fifth of a duro, or dollar) per day, and has dignified
him with the title of Don.
I was amused to behold his swelling language and demeanour. He was
evidently a thorough Andalusian, boastful as brave. His sabre was always
in his hand or under his arm. He carries it always about with him as a
child does its doll, calls it his Santa Teresa, and says, "When I draw
it, the earth trembles" (_tiembla la tierra_).
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, guerrilla 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 money-coiners shut up
there from the time of the Moors; and that the Moorish kings kept their
treasures in those caverns.
I retired to bed with my imagination excited by all that I had seen and
heard in this old warrior city. Scarce had I fallen asleep when I was
aroused by a horrid din and uproar, that might have confounded the hero
of La Mancha himself, whose experience of Spanish inns was a continual
uproar. It seemed for a moment as if the Moors were once more breaking
into the town; or the _infiernos_ of which mine hostess talked had broken
loose. I sallied forth, half dressed, to reconnoitre. It was nothing more
nor less than a _charivari_ to celebrate the nuptials of an old man with
a buxom damsel. Wishing him joy of his bride and his serenade, I returned
to my more quiet bed, and slept soundly until morning.
While dressing, I amused myself in reconnoitring the populace from my
window. There were groups of fine-looking young men in the trim fanciful
Andalusian costume, with brown cloaks, thrown about them in true Spanish
style, which cannot be imitated, and little round majo hats stuck on
with a peculiar knowing air. They had the same galliard look which I have
remarked among the dandy mountaineers of Ronda. Indeed, all this part of
Andalusia abounds with such game-looking characters. They loiter about
the towns and villages; seem to have plenty of time and plenty of money;
"horse to ride and weapon to wear." Great gossips, great smokers, apt at
touching the guitar, singing couplets to their maja belles, and famous
dancers of the _bolero_. Throughout all Spain the men, however poor, have
a gentlemanlike abundance of leisure; seeming to consider it the attribute
of a true _cavaliero_ never to be in a hurry; but the Andalusians are
gay as well as leisurely, and have none of the squalid accompaniments
of idleness. The adventurous contraband trade which prevails throughout
these mountain regions, and along the maritime borders of Andalusia, is
doubtless at the bottom of this galliard character.
In contrast to the costume of these groups was that of two long-legged
Valencians conducting a donkey, laden with articles of merchandise; their
muskets slung crosswise over his back, ready for action. They wore round
jackets (_jalecos_), wide linen _bragas_ or drawers scarce reaching to
the knees and looking like kilts, red _fajas_ or sashes swathed tightly
round their waists, sandals of _espartal_ or bass weed, coloured kerchiefs
round their heads somewhat in the style of turbans, but leaving the top
of the head uncovered; in short, their whole appearance having much of
the traditional Moorish stamp.