Hope having drawn him from sad meditations, as he rapidly pursued his
way towards the south of Spain, he could not but obey the voice of
nature, which called on him from valley and from mountain, to behold
her vast and wonderous creations.
The royal province of Castile, traversed by rivers, and populous with
cities, conducted him to the extensive plains of La Mancha. Here the
palladian palaces north of the Guadiana, and avenued with glowing
vistas, were exchanged for heavy and sombre hamlets spread under the
shade of thick groves, and dark with the clusters of the black grape.
But in architecture alone, these villages were gloomy and uninviting.
It was the season of the vintage, and the whole scene teemed with
life and gaiety. Louis passed through it, enjoying with the sympathy
of benevolence, the happiness he saw. In front lay a mountainous
desart. Here he exchanged his vehicle for two stout mules used to the
precipitous road; and with Lorenzo, entered the new region.
They were now in the Sierra Morena, which separates La Mancha from the
Hesperian vales of Andalusia. The passes of the mountain were long,
winding, and melancholy; but the moment he crossed its high misty
ridge, Louis felt a difference in the atmosphere, amazing and grateful
in its contrast, as the luxuriant landscape before him, when opposed to
the frowning sterility behind.
"That is Andalusia!" exclaimed Lorenzo, pointing down to the fairest
_piedmont_ of Spain. Louis knew there was not a rill or a hillock in
that ample province, which did not once owe tribute to his family; he
also knew how they had been lost; and with mingled feelings, he turned
to the careless voice of Lorenzo, remarking on the beauties of the view.
On one side, towards the east, extended the pastoral hills of Jaen,
backed by the snowy summits of the distant Sierra Nevada of Grenada;
the last retreat of the Moors, before their final expulsion from
Spain. Louis thought on the latter circumstance, as those storied
mountains stood bright in the glowing sky. He recollected, that
amongst these persecuted people, was Don Ferdinand de Valor, one of
his own progenitors; and that his attachment to the Moorish cause had
occasioned the first sequestration of the Ripperda territories to the
Spanish Kings. He did not utter his reflections; but deeply ruminating,
gave the reins to his mule, and slowly descended the heights.
With this humble equipage, and by the side of a single attendant, he
entered the principality of his fathers. Over those very hills and
vallies, where the heroes of his name had conducted armies to assist
or to repel the sovereigns of Spain, he was journeying to seek the
representative of all their honours, an exiled fugitive in a foreign
land!--But William de Ripperda was not less worthy of their blood! And
the last of their race, did not blush at the banishment of a parent,
whose crimes were his virtues.
"My noble, glorious father!" exclaimed he, inwardly, as he looked
upwards; that look conveyed his vow to heaven. To think only of that
father; to exult only in his virtue; to mourn only his affliction; and
to regard his weal or woe, as the only future objects of his own.
When he crossed the Guadalquivir, Lorenzo checked his mule.
"From this spot, to the banks of the Xenil;" said he, "a track of many
leagues, is the Marquisate of Montemar. The castle stands on a high
promontory, far to the west, on the latter river. I never shall forget
the joy of the country, when the Duke de Ripperda paid it a visit, on
his return from Vienna."
Louis looked on the silver flood, on each side of the noble bridge they
were crossing. He, then, was lord of that branch of the magnificent
Guadalquivir! The lands he saw bore his name; the people who tilled
them, owed him homage; and he was passing through all, a stranger, and
unknown!
He descended from the bridge into a sinuous track, between long
plantations of olives; under whose refreshing foliage, the low vines,
and the waving corn, were alternately spreading their clusters, or
their yellow tops to the sun. Here again, were the reaper, and the
joyous treaders of the wine-press. He listened to their jocund voices;
their guitars, castanets, and bounding steps; and he could not forbear
thinking, with some emotion of displeasure; how little did the memory
of him live in their hearts, whose paternal policies had secured to
them the fruits of their labour! As long as they were happy, it seemed
the same to them, whether their benefactor were on a throne or in a
prison!
But it was human nature, consistent with itself, which forgets the
Providence that blesses, in the enjoyment of his gifts. The friend of
man must, therefore, imitate his Creator; and pouring his good on those
who need it, the just and the unjust, look for gratitude in the world
to come.
The travellers again occupied a wheeled carriage, and pursued their
journey with rapidity. In some parts they traversed extensive forests,
sublime in sylvan grandeur; then they wound through the shady defiles
of intersecting hills, or passed through towns and villages, whose
light and airy architecture bore evidence of Moresco origin; all
around was a fair garden. But there was a bound; a wall of mountains
rose before them, shooting up into the azure heavens, in sharp and
menacing peaks.
Here they resumed their mules. The first part of the ascent was
gradual; and as Louis mounted the rugged acclivities, (sometimes on
foot, to scale the highest points, while his beast rested;) he saw,
winding along the less abrupt tracks, the shepherds of the plains,
driving their flocks to the recesses of the upland pastures. The
practice is the same in Scotland; and the similitude pleased one, who
had passed some of his happiest hours amongst the Highland hills.
But the image of him, who was then his dear and trusted companion, rose
with the remembrance. He saw him bounding down the breezy height; his
plaid streaming in the air; and his feathered bonnet in his hand, as
he whistled gaily, and waved him from afar. Louis closed his eyes,
to shut out the association with the scene; but it would not do. The
glad smile of perfect confidence still shone on the visionary lip; the
eyes of the persecuting phantom continued to sparkle with greeting
intelligence; and even his voice seemed to sound in his ear!--Louis
shuddered to the soul, and spurring his mule, dashed forward amongst
beetling rocks and caverned ruins. They had once been a magnificent
work of man. An aqueduct, built by the Romans; and its remains clasped
the mouth of the pass which leads to the interior of the mountains.
Hence it was called the _Puerta de Ronda_; as these were the peaks of
that name, which stretch their stony ramparts between the plains of
Andalusia and the borders of the sea. The Sierra de Ronda surpasses in
desolate grandeur, even the sublime wastes of the Morena mountains.
No vegitation crowned these vast colossal rocks; bare to the sun and
tempest, they looked like the huge altar of nature, to which avenging
Jove bound the consuming, but still immortal Prometheus. All around
was either acclivity or precipice; and from between two high pyramidal
craggs, Louis caught his first view of the Mediterranean.
A small fishing town was scattered about a little bay at the foot of
the mountain. Lorenzo proposed hiring a vessel there, to take them
immediately round to Gibraltar; and his master readily acquiesced in
a plan which would exempt him from the obstacles that might accrue,
should he enter the fortress by the Spanish lines. Louis was to remain
in the mountain, to watch the mules, and Lorenzo descend by a near
foot-path he had discovered cut in the precipice, to the sea shore.
Before they parted, a spot was fixed on amongst the rocks, as a place
of rendezvous.
When Lorenzo was gone, Louis bound the animals to the remains of an
old wooden cross, which had been erected to mark a place of murder;
and putting down their corn before them, on a spot where grass would
never grow; he ascended a higher promontory, to see whether he could
discern any part of the embattled heights of Gibraltar. But the
lofty crest he sought was not within the mountainous horizon. Broken
pinnacles of granite, shattered by the deluge; and fathomless abysms,
that made the eye giddy even to glance at, hemmed him around. As he
contemplated the hideous solitude, voices suddenly sounded near him.
It was not his intention to listen, but before he could move, he heard
the name of his father, pronounced in a rough, guttural tone. He paused
breathlessly. The speakers were invisible; and the last who spoke,
continued affirming to the other, that "the Duke de Ripperda was still
as able as he was willing, to reward all who did him service." "Prove
it to me," replied his comrade, "and you shall find me ready."
"Look at this purse of ducats!" replied the other, "he will load your
felucca with bags of the same, if you carry the merchandize he bargains
for!"
A low shelving cliff, and some broken rock, divided Louis from the
speakers. He saw the dark points of their Montero caps, under the
cragg; and vaulting from his more elevated situation, stood before
them. They were two strong-bodied men, with fierce, independent
countenances; and starting on their feet, they also stood resolutely,
and eyed the no less commanding, though youthful figure, which so
boldly advanced to them.
Louis saw by their wild garb they were smugglers, and of the Gustanos
tribe, the gypsies of Spain. Lorenzo had pointed out some of these
people to him in the Sierra Morena; and explained their daring lives,
with their outlawed condition. Some carried on their desperate
traffic on the high seas, and others, in wandering bands, vended their
forbidden merchandize over the face of the country. But they all called
themselves _Seranos_; being the generic name for the inhabitants of
these fastnesses of nature; and as such Louis addressed them.
"Brave Seranos!" cried he, as he approached them; "you speak of the
Duke de Ripperda, as if you had seen him lately. I am seeking him, and
any facility you may give me, shall not be unrewarded."
The men looked on each other; but the elder of the two, striking the
head of a huge hatchet into his belt, to shew he was in a condition not
to be trifled with; answered Louis, by demanding in his turn, how he
knew that they had any concern with the Duke de Ripperda.
"By accident. I stood by my mule, on the other side of the cliff; and
heard you discourse of the Duke, as if you had recently parted from
him. Was it at Gibraltar?"
"No."
"Where, then?"
"If you are an emissary of his enemies," replied the smuggler, "you had
best return to your mule. I am not the man to betray a friend."
The blunt honour of the outlaw bore its own evidence to Louis; and
without a second thought, he answered:--
"I am his son."
"It may be so;" replied the man, "but you are also a courtier; and
flesh and blood of that cast are rarely to be trusted. If you dare face
the truth, follow me. You will find a man behind that rock, who may
tell you what I will not."
"Who might I see there?"
"One that knows whether the Duke de Ripperda has a son."
"His name?" demanded Louis, who observed a strange, treacherous leer
in the wild countenance of the other man.
"Martini d'Urbino," returned his comrade.