FROM MALAGA TO SEVILLE.
The Four-wheeled Galera--Caratraca--The "Mayoral"--Ecija--The
"Calle de los Caballeros"--La Carlotta--Cordova--The Archangel
Raphael--The Mosque--Caliph Abderama--The Guadalquiver--Road to
Seville.
As yet we were only acquainted with the _galera_ on two wheels; we
now had the pleasure of making a trial of one on four. An amiable
vehicle of this description happened to be about starting for
Cordova; it was already occupied with a Spanish family, and we
helped to fill it still more. Just fancy rather a low wagon, with
its sides formed of a number of wooden spokes at a considerable
distance from each other, and having no bottom save a strip of
spartum on which the trunks and packages are heaped, without much
attention to the irregularities of surface which they may present.
Above the luggage are thrown two or three mattresses, or, to speak
more correctly, two or three linen sacks, in which a few tufts of
wool but very slightly carded, float about, and on these mattresses
the unfortunate travellers are stretched transversely, in a
position very similar (excuse the triviality of the comparison)
to that of calves that are being carried to market. The only
difference is, that the travellers do not have their feet tied,
but their situation is not much more comfortable for all that. The
top consists of a coarse cloth, stretched on wooden hoops, and the
whole machine is driven by a _mayoral_ and dragged by four mules.
Our fellow-travellers consisted of the family of an engineer,
who was rather a well educated man, and spoke very good French.
They were accompanied by a tall, villanous, fantastic-looking
individual, who had formerly been a brigand in Jose Maria's gang,
and who was now a superintendent of mines. This gentleman followed
the _galera_ on horseback, with a knife stuck in his girdle and a
carbine slung at his saddle-bow. The engineer appeared to entertain
a high opinion of him, and spoke in very favourable terms of
his probity, of which he was perfectly convinced in spite of
the superintendent's old trade. It is true that in speaking of
Jose Maria himself, he told me several times that he was a brave
and worthy man. This opinion, which would strike us as slightly
paradoxical in the case of a highway robber, is that of the most
honourable persons in Andalusia. On this point, Spain is still
Arabian, and brigands very frequently are looked upon as heroes.
This is less strange than it may at first appear, especially in
southern countries, where men's minds are so easily acted on. Is it
not certain that the contempt of death, audacity, coolness, bold
and prompt determination, address, and bodily strength, and all
the kind of grandeur which belongs to a man who revolts against
society, as well as the qualities which exercise so great an
influence over minds as yet but little civilized, are exactly those
which constitute great characters, and is the people so very wrong
in admiring them in these energetic individuals, even although they
employ them in a reprehensible manner?
The cross-road along which we were journeying ascended and
descended rather abruptly through a country dented with hills and
furrowed by narrow valleys, the bottom of which was occupied by
the dry beds of torrents, and bristling with enormous stones that
jolted us most atrociously, and elicited loud screams from the
women and children. On our road we noticed some admirably coloured
and poetical effects of sunset. The mountains in the distance
assumed a variety of purple and violet hues, tinged with gold,
of the most extraordinary warmth and intensity, while the total
absence of vegetation imparted to the whole scene, consisting
exclusively of ground and sky, a look of grand nudity and savage
severity that is to be found in no other country, and which no
painter has yet transferred to canvass. We halted for a few hours
at nightfall, in a little hamlet of three or four houses, in
order to rest our mules and obtain some refreshment: but with the
thoughtlessness of true French travellers, although a sojourn of
five months in Spain ought to have rendered us more prudent, we had
brought nothing with us from Malaga, and the consequence was that
we were obliged to sup on dry bread and white wine, which a woman
in the _posada_ was obliging enough to procure for us, for Spanish
safes and cellars do not participate in that horror which Nature is
said to entertain for a vacuum, but contain nothing with the most
perfect tranquillity of conscience.
About one o'clock in the morning we set out again; and, in spite
of the awful jolting, of the engineer's children rolling over us,
and of the knocks that our heads received from bumping against
the spokes of the wagon, we soon fell asleep. When the sun came
and tickled our noses with one of his rays, as with a golden
ear of corn, we were near Caratraca, an insignificant village
which is not marked in the map, and which is only remarkable for
its sulphurous springs, which are very beneficial in diseases
of the skin, and attract to this remote spot a population that
is rather suspicious and not calculated to prove very desirable
company. Gambling is carried on there to a frightful extent, and
although it was still very early, the cards and ounces of gold were
passing from hand to hand. It was something hideous to see these
invalids with their green, cadaverous faces, rendered still more
ugly by rapacity, slowly stretching out their fingers and seizing
convulsively their prey. The houses of Caratraca, like those of
all Andalusian villages, are whitewashed; and this, in conjunction
with the bright colour of the tiles, the festoons of the vines,
and the shrubs growing around, gives them a comfortable, holiday
look, very different from the picture we are accustomed to draw, in
other parts of Europe, of Spanish filth; this notion is generally
false, and the fact of its ever having been entertained can only be
attributed to some miserable hamlets in Castile, whose wretchedness
is equalled and even surpassed by some that we possess in Brittany.
In the courtyard of the inn, our attention was attracted by a
number of coarse frescoes, representing, with primitive simplicity,
bull-fights: round the pictures were _coplas_ in honour of Paquirro
Montes and his quadrille. The name of Montes enjoys the same kind
of universal popularity in Andalusia as that of Napoleon does with
us; walls, fans, and snuff-boxes are ornamented with his portrait;
and the English, who always turn the public taste--whatever it may
be--to good account, send from Gibraltar thousands of handkerchiefs
with red, violet, and yellow printed portraits of the celebrated
_matador_, accompanied by verses in his praise.
Remembering our famished condition the night before, we purchased
some provisions from our host, and among other articles, a ham, for
which he made us pay an exorbitant price. A great deal has been
said about highway robberies, but it is not on the highway that
the danger exists; it is at the road-side, in the inns, that you
are robbed and pillaged with the most perfect safety to those that
plunder you, without your possessing the right of having recourse
to your weapons of defence, and discharging your carbine at the
waiter who brings you your bill. I pity the brigands from the
bottom of my heart; such landlords as those in Spain do not leave
much for them, and only deliver travellers into their hands, like
so many lemons with the juice squeezed out. In other countries,
landlords make you pay a high price for the things with which they
supply you, but in Spain you pay for the absence of everything
with its weight in gold.
After we had taken our siesta, the mules were put to the _galera_,
each person resumed his place, the _escopetero_ bestrode his little
mountain-steed, the _mayoral_ laid in a stock of small flint-stones
to hurl at the ears of his mules, and we set out once more on our
journey. The country through which we passed was savage without
being picturesque. We beheld nothing but bare, naked, sterile,
rugged hills, stony torrent-beds, like scars made in the ground
by the winter's rains, and woods of olive-trees, whose pale
foliage, powdered over with dust, did not suggest the least idea
of refreshing verdure. Here and there, on the gaping sides of the
rocks of turf and chalk, was a solitary tuft of fennel, whitened
by the heat; on the powdery road were the marks of serpents and
vipers, while, over the whole, was a sky as glowing as the roof of
an oven and not a gust of wind, not even so much as the slightest
breath of air! The grey sand which was raised by the hoofs of the
mules fell again without the least eddy to the ground. You might
have made iron red-hot in the sun, which darted its rays on the
cloth covering of our _galera_, in which we were ripening like
melons under a glass frame. From time to time, we got out and
walked a short distance, keeping in the shade projected by the body
of the horse or the wagon; when we had stretched our legs somewhat,
we would scramble in again, slightly crushing the children and
their mother, for we could not reach our seats except by crawling
on all fours under the elliptical arch formed by the tilted roof
of the _galera_. By dint of crossing quagmires and ravines, and
making short cuts over fields, we lost our way. Our _mayoral_, in
the hope of coming into the right road again, still went on, as
if he was perfectly aware where he was going, for _corsarios_ and
guides will never own that they have lost themselves till they are
reduced to extremities, and have taken you five or six leagues out
of the right direction. I must, in justice, say, however, that
nothing could be easier than to lose oneself on this fabulous road,
which was scarcely marked out, and intersected every moment by
deep ravines. At length we found ourselves in the midst of large
fields, dotted here and there by olive-trees, with misshapen,
dwarfish trunks, and frightful forms, without the slightest signs
of a human habitation or a living being. Since the morning, we had
met only one half-naked _muchacho_ driving before him, in a cloud
of dust, half-a-dozen black pigs. Night set in, and, to augment
our misfortunes, there was no moon, so that we had nothing but the
uncertain light of the stars to guide us.
The _mayoral_ left his seat every instant to feel the ground with
his hands, in the hopes of finding some rut or wheelmark which
might direct him to the right road, but all his efforts were in
vain, and, greatly against his inclination, he was under the
necessity of informing us that he had lost his way, and did not
know where he was: he could not understand it; he had made the
journey twenty times, and would have undertaken to go to Cordova
with his eyes shut. All this appeared rather suspicious, and the
idea then struck us that we were, perhaps, purposely brought there
in order to be attacked and plundered. Our situation was not an
agreeable one, even supposing this were not the case; we were
benighted in a remote spot, far from all human help, in a country
which enjoys the reputation of concealing more robbers than all
the other provinces of Spain united. These reflections doubtlessly
suggested themselves also to the minds of the engineer and his
friend, the former associate of Jose Maria, who, of course, was
not a bad judge in such matters, for they silently loaded their
own carbines with ball, and performed the same operation on two
others that were placed inside the _galera_; they then handed us
one apiece without uttering a syllable, a mode of proceeding that
was exceedingly eloquent. The _mayoral_ was thus left without
arms, and, even had he been in collusion with the brigands, was
reduced to a state of helplessness. However, after wandering
about at hazard, during two or three hours, we perceived a light
glittering like a glow-worm under the branches, at a long distance
from us. We immediately adopted it as our polar star, and started
off towards it in as direct a line as possible, at the risk of
being overturned every moment. Sometimes a rise in the ground would
conceal it from our eyes, and all nature seemed to be extinguished.
Suddenly it would again appear, and our hopes returned with it. At
last we arrived sufficiently near a farm-house to distinguish the
windows, which was the sky in which our star was shining under the
form of a copper lamp. A number of the peculiar wagons drawn by
oxen, and of agricultural instruments, scattered here and there,
completely restored our confidence, for we were not, at first,
sure that we had not fallen into some den of thieves, some _posada
de barrateros_. The dogs, having smelt us out, began barking
furiously, so that the whole farm was soon in a state of commotion.
The peasants came out with their muskets in their hands to discover
the cause of this nocturnal alarm, and having satisfied themselves
that we were honest travellers who had lost our way, politely
invited us to enter and rest ourselves in the farm.
The worthy people were just going to sup. A wrinkled, bronzed,
and, so to speak, mummified old woman, whose skin formed, at all
her joints, large folds like a Hessian boot, was preparing a
gigantic _gaspacho_ in a red earthen pan. Five or six magnificent
greyhounds, with thin backs, broad chests, and splendid ears, and
who were worthy of being in the kennel of a king, followed the
old woman's movements with unflagging attention, and the most
melancholy look of admiration that can possibly be conceived. But
this delicious repast was not intended for them; in Andalusia it
is the men, and not the dogs, who eat soup made of bread-crusts
steeped in water. Some cats, whom the absence of ears and
tails--for in Spain these ornamental superfluities are always cut
off--cause to resemble Japanese monsters--were also watching these
savoury preparations, only at a greater distance. A plateful of
the said _gaspacho_, two slices of our own ham, and a few bunches
of grapes, of the colour of amber, composed our supper, which we
were obliged to defend from the greyhounds, who were encroachingly
familiar, and, under pretence of licking us, literally tore the
meat out of our mouths. We rose from our seats, and eat standing
up, with our plates in our hands, but the diabolical brutes got on
their hind legs, and, throwing their fore-paws over our shoulders,
were thus on a level with the coveted food. Even if they did not
actually carry it off, they at least gave it two or three licks
with their tongues, and thus contrived to obtain the first taste
of its flavour. It appeared to us that these greyhounds must
have been descended in a right line from the famous dog, whose
history Cervantes, however, has not written in his Dialogues. This
illustrious animal held the office of dish-washer in a Spanish
_fonda_, and when the girl was blamed because the plates were not
clean, she swore by everything she held holy, that they had been
washed in six waters _por siete Aguas_. _Siete Aguas_ was the name
of the dog, who was so called because he licked the plates so
scrupulously clean, that any one would have supposed that they had
been washed in six different waters; on the day in question he must
have performed his work in a slovenly manner. The greyhounds of the
farm certainly belonged to the same breed.
Our hosts gave us a young boy as guide, who was well acquainted
with the road, and who took us safely to Ecija, which we reached
about ten o'clock in the morning.
The entrance to Ecija is rather picturesque. You pass over a
bridge, at the end of which is a gateway like a triumphal arch.
This bridge is thrown over a river, which is no other than the
Genil of Granada, and which is obstructed by ancient arches and
milldams. When you have passed the bridge, you find yourself
in an open square, planted with trees, and ornamented with two
rather strange monuments. The first is a gilt statue of the Holy
Virgin, placed upon a column, the pedestal of which evidently
forms a kind of chapel, decorated with pots of artificial flowers,
votive offerings, crowns formed of the pith of rushes, and all the
other gewgaws of Meridional devotion. The second is a gigantic
Saint Christopher, also of gilt metal, with his hand resting
upon a palm-tree, a sort of walking-stick in keeping with his
immense size; on his shoulder he bears, with the most prodigious
contraction of all his muscles, and with as great an effort as if
he were raising a house, an exceedingly small infant Jesus, of
the most delicate and charming style. This colossus, said to be
the work of the Florentine sculptor, Torregiano, who flattened,
with a blow of his fist, Michael Angelo's nose, is stuck upon a
Solomonic column (as wreathed columns are here called) of light,
rose-coloured granite, the spiral wreaths of which end half-way up
in a mass of volutes and extravagant flower-work. I am very partial
to statues placed in this position; they produce a greater effect,
and are seen advantageously at a longer distance. The ordinary
pedestals have a kind of flat, massive look, which takes away from
the lightness of the figures which they support.
Although Ecija lies out of the ordinary route of tourists, and is
generally but little known, it is a very interesting town, and
very original and peculiar in its appearance. The spires which
form the sharper angles in its outline are neither Byzantine, nor
Gothic, nor in the Renaissance style; they are Chinese, or rather
Japanese, and you might easily mistake them for the turrets of some
_miao_ dedicated to Kong-fu-Tzee, Buddha, or Fo; for the walls are
entirely covered with porcelain tiles of the most vivid tints,
while the roofs are formed of varnished white and green tiles,
arranged like the squares of a chessboard, and presenting one of
the most curious sights in the world. The rest of the buildings are
not less chimerical. The love of distorted lines is carried to the
utmost possible lengths. You see nothing but gilding, incrustation,
breccia, and various-coloured marbles, rumpled about as if they
were cloth and not stone, garlands of flowers, lovers'-knots, and
bloated angels, all coloured and painted in the most profuse manner
and sublime bad taste.
The _Calle de los Caballeros_, where the nobility reside and the
finest mansions are situated, is truly a miraculous specimen of
this style: you have some difficulty in believing that you are
in a real street, between houses that are inhabited by ordinary
human beings. Nothing is straight, neither the balconies, the
railings, nor the friezes; everything is twisted and tortured all
sorts of ways, and ornamented with a profusion of flowers and
volutes. You could not find a single square inch which is not
guilloched, festooned, gilt, carved, or painted; the whole place
is a most harsh and extravagant specimen of the style termed in
France _rococo_, and presents a crowding together of ornament
that French good taste, even during its most depraved epochs,
has always successfully avoided. This Pompadour-Dutch-Chinese
style of architecture amuses and surprises you in Andalusia. The
common houses are whitewashed, and their dazzling walls stand out
wonderfully from the deep azure of the sky, while their flat roofs,
little windows, and _miradores_, reminded us of Africa, which was
already sufficiently suggested to our minds by thirty-seven degrees
of Réaumur, which is the customary temperature of the place during
a cool summer. Ecija is called the Stove of Andalusia, and never
was a surname more richly merited. The town is situated in a basin,
and surrounded by sandy hills which shield it from the wind, and
reflect the sun's rays like so many concentric mirrors. Every one
in the place is absolutely fried, but this did not prevent us from
walking about all over it while our breakfast was being prepared.
The _Plaza Mayor_ has a very original look, with its pillared
houses, its long rows of windows, its arcades, and its projecting
balconies.
Our _parador_ was tolerably comfortable; they gave us a meal that
was almost human, and we partook of it with a degree of sensuality
very allowable after so many privations. A long siesta, in a large
room, carefully shut up, very dark, and well watered, completely
restored us; and when, about three o'clock, we again got into the
_galera_, it was with a quiet air of perfect resignation that we
did so.
The road from Ecija to La Carlotta, where we were to pass the
night, traverses a very uninteresting country, which appeared to
be arid and dusty, or at least the season gave it that look; it
has not left any very remarkable impression on my mind. A few
olive plantations and clumps of oak-trees appeared from time to
time, and the aloes displayed their bluish foliage which is always
so characteristic. The dog belonging to the superintendent of
mines (for, besides the children, we had some quadrupeds in our
menagerie) started a few partridges, two or three of which were
brought down by my companion. This was the most remarkable event
during this stage.
La Carlotta, where we stopped for the night, is an unimportant
hamlet. The inn is an ancient convent, which had first been turned
into barracks, as is almost always the case in times of revolution,
military men feeling at their ease, and installing themselves in
buildings arranged for monastic life more easily than any other
class of persons. Long-arched cloisters formed a covered gallery
all round the four sides of the courtyard. In the middle of one of
the sides yawned the black mouth of an enormous and very deep well,
which promised the luxury of some very cold and very clear water.
On leaning over the edge, I saw that the interior was completely
lined with plants of the most beautiful green, that had sprung up
between the stones; and, indeed, to find any kind of verdure or
coolness, it was necessary to go and look into the wells, for the
heat was so great, that any one might have supposed it was caused
by a large fire in the immediate neighbourhood. The only thing
that can give the least idea of it is the temperature of those
hot-houses where tropical plants are reared. Even the air burnt
you, and ignited molecules seemed to be borne along in each gust
of wind. I endeavoured to go out and take a turn in the village,
but the stove-like vapour which greeted me the moment I had crossed
the threshold, caused me to turn back. Our supper consisted of
fowls cut to pieces and laid pell-mell on a bed of rice, as highly
flavoured with saffron as a Turkish pillau, with the addition of
a salad (_ensalada_) of green leaves in a deluge of vinegar and
water, dotted here and there with drops of oil, taken, doubtless,
from the lamp. After we had finished this sumptuous repast, we
were conducted to our rooms, which were, however, already so full,
that we sallied out to pass the rest of the night in the middle of
the courtyard, with our mattress wrapped round, and a chair turned
upside down instead of a pillow. There, at least, we were only
exposed to the mosquitos; by putting on our gloves, and covering
our faces with our handkerchiefs, we escaped with merely five or
six stings, which were simply painful, but not disgusting.
The people of the inn had a slightly hang-dog look, but this was
a circumstance about which we had long since ceased to concern
ourselves, accustomed as we were to meet with faces more or less
repulsive. A fragment of their conversation which we overheard
proved that their sentiments corresponded to their faces. Thinking
that we did not understand Spanish, they asked the _escopetero_
whether they could not do a little stroke of business by lying in
wait for us a few leagues further on. Jose Maria's old associate
replied, with most perfect nobleness and majesty, "I shall suffer
nothing of the kind, as these two young gentlemen form part of the
company in which I myself am travelling. Besides, they expect to
be robbed, and have only as much as is strictly necessary for the
journey, the rest of their money being in bills of exchange on
Seville. Again, they are both strong tall men; as for the engineer,
he is _my friend_, and we have four carbines in the _galera_." This
persuasive mode of argument produced its effect on our host and
his acolytes, who, on this occasion, contented themselves with the
ordinary method of plundering that the innkeepers of all countries
are permitted to practise.
In spite of all the frightful stories about brigands which are
related by travellers and the natives themselves, this was our
only adventure, and the most dramatic incident during our long
peregrinations through the provinces which are accounted the most
dangerous in all Spain, and at a time that was certainly favourable
for this kind of meeting: the Spanish brigand was for us a purely
chimerical being, an abstraction, a poetic fiction. We never once
perceived the least sign of a _trabuco_, and we became, as far as
robbers were concerned, as incredulous as the English gentleman
mentioned by Mérimée, and who, having fallen into the hands of a
band of brigands who plundered him, would insist that they were
only theatrical supernumeraries dressed up and posted there to play
him a trick.
We left La Carlotta about three o'clock in the afternoon, and
halted, in the evening, at a miserable gipsy's hut, the roof of
which was formed of simple branches cut off the trees, and thrown,
like a kind of coarse thatch, over cross pieces. After drinking a
few glasses of water, I quietly stretched myself out before the
door, upon the bosom of our common mother, and began watching the
azure immensity of heaven, where the large stars seemed to float
like swarms of golden bees, while their twinkling formed a kind
of luminous haze, similar to that which a dragon fly's invisible
wings produce round his body by the immense rapidity with which
they move; but it was not long before I fell into a profound sleep,
just as if I had been reposing on the softest bed in the world. I
had, however, for a pillow nothing but a stone wrapt up in the cape
of my cloak, while some very respectable flints were stamping an
impression of themselves in the hollow of my back. Never did a more
beautiful and milder night envelope the globe in her mantle of blue
velvet. At about midnight, the _galera_ set out once more, and,
when morning appeared, we were not more than half a league from
Cordova.
It might, perhaps, be supposed from my description of all these
halts and marches, that Cordova is separated by a great distance
from Malaga, and that we had gone over an enormous deal of ground
in the course of our journey, which did not occupy less than four
days and a half. The distance we went, however, is only twenty
Spanish leagues, that is to say, about thirty French ones, but
the vehicle was heavily loaded, the road abominable, and no fresh
mules waiting for us at regular distances. Besides, the heat was so
intolerable that it would have suffocated both man and beast, had
we ventured out during the time that the sun was at its height.
This journey, however, slow and wearisome as it was, has left a
pleasing impression on my mind: excessive rapidity in the means of
transport, deprives the road of all charm; you are hurried along
like a whirlwind, without having time to see anything. If a man
comes to his journey's end directly, he may as well stop at home.
For my part I think that the pleasure of travelling consists in
travelling, and not in arriving at your destination.
A bridge across the Guadalquivir, which at this point is tolerably
broad, leads into Cordova as you come from Ecija. Close to it are
the ruins of some ancient arches, and of an Arabian aqueduct. The
head of the bridge is defended by a large square embattlemented
tower, supported by casemates of a more recent date. The city
gates not being yet open, a large collection of carts drawn by
oxen majestically crowned with tiaras of yellow and red spartum,
mules and white asses loaded with chopped straw, countrymen with
sugar-loaf hats, and brown woollen _capas_, which fell down before
and behind like a priest's cape, and which are put on by thrusting
your head through a hole made in the middle, were all waiting with
the calmness and patience peculiar to Spaniards, who never appear
to be in a hurry. A similar crowd at one of the Paris Barriers
would have created a horrible disturbance, and given vent to all
sorts of invectives and abuse, but here we heard no other noise but
the tinkling of the brass bell attached to the collar of some mule,
and the silvery sound of that hung round the neck of the _coronel_
ass changing his position, or resting his head upon the neck of one
of his long-eared brethren.
We took advantage of this temporary stoppage to examine, at our
leisure, the external aspect of Cordova. A handsome gateway, like a
triumphal arch, of the Ionic order, and of such good taste that it
might be supposed to be of Roman origin, forms a majestic entrance
to the city of the Caliphs, although I should prefer one of those
beautiful Moorish arches, shaped like a heart, similar to those
you see at Granada. The Cathedral Mosque rises above the outer
walls and the roofs of the town more like a citadel than a temple,
with its high walls denticulated with Arabian embrazures, and its
heavy Catholic dome cowering on the Oriental platform. It must be
confessed that the walls are daubed over with a very abominable
yellow. Without being precisely one of those who admire mouldy,
black, leprous-looking edifices, I have a particular horror of
that infamous pumpkin colour which possesses such attractions for
the priests, the chapters, and the vestry-boards of all countries,
since they never fail disfiguring with it the marvellous edifices
confided to their care. These buildings always should be, and
always have been painted even during the purest periods of the art,
only the peculiar shade and nature of the coating they receive
ought to be selected with more taste. At last the gates were open,
and we had the preliminary gratification of being searched rather
strictly by the custom-house officers; after which, we were at
liberty to proceed, accompanied by our luggage, to the nearest
_parador_.
Cordova has a more African look than any other town in Andalusia.
Its streets, or rather its lanes, with their confused, irregular
pavement, that resembles the dry bed of some mountain torrent,
are all strewn with the short straw which falls from the loads of
the different asses, and have nothing about them which reminds
you of the manners and customs of Europe. You walk on between
interminable chalk-coloured walls, diversified at rare intervals by
a few windows defended with rails and bars; while the only persons
that you meet are some repulsive-looking beggar, some devotee
enveloped in black, or some _majo_, who passes with the rapidity of
lightning on his brown horse with white harness, causing thousands
of sparks to fly up from the flints of the road. If the Moors could
come back, they would not have much trouble in making themselves
at home. The idea that many people have, perhaps, formed, when
thinking of Cordova, that it is a town with Gothic houses, and
carved, open spires, is completely wrong. The universal use of
whitewash imparts a uniform tint to all the buildings, fills up the
architectural lines, effaces all their delicate ornamentation, and
does not allow you to read their age. Thanks to whitewash, the wall
which has been erected a century cannot be distinguished from that
which was erected yesterday. Cordova, which was formerly the centre
of Arabian civilization, is at present nothing more than a confused
mass of small, white houses, above which rise a few mangrove-trees,
with their metallic green foliage, or some palm-tree, with its
branches spread out like the claws of a crab; while the whole town
is divided into a number of separate blocks by narrow passages,
where it would be a difficult matter for two mules to pass abreast.
All life seems to have deserted this great body, formerly animated
by the active circulation of Moorish blood; there is nothing of it
left save the white, calcined skeleton. But Cordova still possesses
its Mosque, which is without a rival in the whole world, and quite
new, even for those travellers who have had an opportunity of
admiring the marvels of Arabian architecture at Granada or Seville.
In spite of the Moorish airs it gives itself, Cordova is a true
Christian city, placed under the especial protection of the
Archangel Raphael. From the balcony of our _parador_, we could
see a strange kind of monument raised in honour of this celestial
patron, and we resolved to examine it more closely. The Archangel
Raphael, who is standing upon the top of a column, with a sword
in his hand, his wings outstretched and glittering with gilding,
seems like a sentinel eternally watching over the city confided to
his care. The column is formed of grey granite, with a Corinthian
capital of gilt bronze, and rests upon a small tower or lantern
of rose-coloured granite, the sub-basement of which is formed of
rockwork, on which are grouped a horse, a palm-tree, a lion, and a
most fantastic sea-monster; the whole decoration is completed by
four allegorical statues. In the plinth is buried the coffin of
Bishop Pascal, who was celebrated for his piety and devotion to the
holy Archangel.
On a cartouche is the following inscription:
YO TE JURO POR JESU-CHRISTO CRUZIFICADO,
QUE SOI RAFAEL ANGEL, A QUIEN DIOS TIENE PUESTO
POR GUARDA DE ESTA CIUDAD.
But, the reader will ask, how was it known that the Archangel
Raphael, and not some one else, was the patron of the ancient
city of Abderama? To this I reply, by means of a song or
complaint, printed by permission at Cordova, and to be procured
at the establishment of Don Raphael Garcia Rodriguez, Calle
della Libreria. At the head of this precious document is a wood
engraving, representing the Archangel, with his wings expanded, a
glory round his head, his travelling-staff and fish in his hand,
majestically placed between two splendid pots of hyacinths and
peonies. Underneath is an inscription to this effect: "The true
history and curious legend of our patron Saint Raphael, Archangel,
Solicitor of the Plague, and Guardian of the City of Cordova."
The book relates how the blessed Archangel appeared to Don Andres
Roëla, gentleman and priest, and made, in his room, a speech, the
first phrase of which is precisely that engraven on the column.
This speech, which the legendaries have perceived, lasted more than
an hour-and-a-half, the priest and the Archangel being each seated
on a chair opposite one another. The apparition took place on the
7th of May, in the year of our Lord 1578, and the monument was
erected to perpetuate the remembrance of it.
An esplanade, enclosed by railings, stretches all round the
monument, and enables it to be seen on every side. Statues in this
position have something elegant and graceful about them which
pleases me very much, and which serves admirably to conceal the
nudity of a terrace, a square, or a courtyard that is too large.
The small statue on the porphyry column in the courtyard of the
Palais des Beaux Arts, at Paris, will convey a faint notion of the
ornamental effect which might be produced by arranging figures in
this fashion; they assume, when so placed, a monumental aspect
which they would otherwise not possess. The same thought struck me
when I saw the Holy Virgin and Saint Christopher at Ecija.
We were not greatly struck by the exterior of the Cathedral, and
were afraid of being wretchedly disappointed. Victor Hugo's lines:
"Cordoue aux maisons vielles
A sa mosquée où l'œil se perd dans les merveilles."
appeared before we had visited the building to be too flattering,
but we were soon convinced that they were only just.
It was the Caliph Abderama I., who laid the foundations of the
Mosque at Cordova, towards the end of the eighth century, and the
works were carried on with such activity that the whole edifice
was completed at the commencement of the ninth; twenty-one years
were found sufficient to terminate this gigantic monument! When
we reflect that, a thousand years ago, so admirable a work, and
one of such colossal proportions, was executed in so short a time
by a people who have since fallen into a state of the most savage
barbarism, the mind is lost in astonishment, and refuses to believe
the pretended doctrines of human progress which are generally
received at the present day; we even feel inclined to adopt an
opinion diametrically opposite, when we visit those countries
which formerly enjoyed a state of civilization which now exists no
longer. I have always regretted, for my own part, that the Moors
did not remain in possession of Spain, which certainly has only
lost by their expulsion. Under their dominion, if we can believe
the popular exaggerations so gravely collected and preserved by
historians, Cordova contained two hundred thousand houses, eighty
thousand palaces, and nine hundred baths, while its suburbs
consisted of twelve thousand villages. At present it does not
number forty thousand inhabitants, and appears almost deserted.
Abderama wished to make the Mosque of Cordova a place of
pilgrimage, a western Mecca, the first temple of Islamism, after
that in which the body of the prophet reposes. I have not yet
seen the _Casbah_ of Mecca, but I doubt whether it equals in
magnificence and size the Spanish Mosque. One of the original
copies of the Koran and a still more precious relic, a bone of one
of Mahomet's arms, used to be preserved there.
The lower orders even believe that the Sultan of Constantinople
still pays a tribute to the King of Spain, in order that mass may
not be said in that part of the building especially dedicated to
the prophet. This chapel is ironically called by the devout, the
_Zancarron_, a term of contempt which signifies, "Ass's jawbone,
carrion."
The Mosque of Cordova is pierced with seven doors, which have
nothing ornamental about them; indeed its mode of construction
prevents their being so, and does not allow of the majestic portals
imperiously required by the unvarying plan of Roman-catholic
cathedrals; there is nothing in its external appearance to prepare
your mind for the admirable spectacle which awaits you. We will
pass, if you please, through the _patio de los naranjeros_,
an immense and magnificent courtyard planted with monster
orange-trees, that were contemporaries of the Moorish kings, and
surrounded by long arched galleries, paved with marble flags. On
one side rises a very mediocre spire, which is a clumsy imitation
of the Giralda, as we were afterwards enabled to see, at Seville.
There is said to be an immense cistern under the pavement of the
courtyard. In the time of the Ommyades, you entered at once from
the _patio de los naranjeros_ into the Mosque itself, for the
frightful wall which now breaks the perspective on this side, was
not built until a more recent period.
I can best convey an idea of this strange edifice, by saying that
it resembles a large esplanade enclosed by walls and planted with
columns in quincuncial order. The esplanade is four hundred and
twenty feet broad, and four hundred and forty long. The number of
the columns amounts to eight hundred and sixty, which is, it is
said, only half the number in the first mosque.
The impression produced on you when you enter this ancient
sanctuary of the Moslem faith cannot be defined, and has nothing
whatever in common with that generally caused by architecture;
you seem rather to be walking about in a roofed forest than in a
building. On whatever side you turn, your eye is lost in alleys
of columns crossing each other and stretching away out of sight,
like marble vegetation that has shot up spontaneously from the
soil; the mysterious half-light which reigns in this lofty wood
increases the illusion still more. There are nineteen transepts
and thirty-six naves, but the span of the transepts is much less
than that of the naves. Each nave and transept is formed between
rows of superimposed arches, some of which cross and combine with
one another as if they were made of ribbon. The columns, each of
which is hewn out of one solid block, are hardly more than ten or
twelve feet up to the capitals, which are Arabic-Corinthian, full
of force and elegance, and reminding you rather of the African
palm than the Greek acanthus. They are composed of rare marbles,
porphyry, jasper, green and violet breccia, and other precious
substances; there are some even of antique origin, and are said
to be the remains of an old temple of Janus. Thus the rites of
three religions have been celebrated on the spot. Of these three
religions, one has for ever disappeared, with the civilization it
represented, in the gulf of the past; the second has been driven
out of Europe, where it has now but a precarious footing, to take
refuge with the barbarism of the East; and the third, after having
reached its apogee, has been undermined by the spirit of inquiry,
and is growing weaker every day, even in those countries where it
once reigned as absolute sovereign. Perhaps the old mosque built
by Abderama may still last long enough to see a fourth religion
installed under the shade of its arches, and a new God, or rather a
new prophet,--for God never changes,--celebrated with other forms
and other songs of praise.
[Illustration: MOSQUE, CORDOVA.]
In the time of the Caliphs, eight hundred silver lamps, filled
with aromatic oils, illuminated these long naves, caused the
porphyry and polished jasper of the columns to sparkle, spangled
with light the gilt stars of the ceiling, and showed, in the
shade, the crystal mosaics and the verses of the Koran wreathed
with arabesques and flowers. Among their lamps were the bells
of Saint Jago de Compostella, which the Moors had won in battle;
turned upside down, and suspended to the roof by silver chains,
they illuminated the temple of Allah and his Prophet, and were,
no doubt, greatly astonished at being changed from Catholic bells
into Mahomedan lamps. At that period, the eye could wander in
perfect liberty under the long colonnades, and, from the extremity
of the temple, look at the orange-trees in blossom and the gushing
fountains of the _patio_, inundated by a torrent of light, rendered
still more dazzling by the half-day inside. Unfortunately, this
magnificent view is at present destroyed by the Roman-catholic
church, which is a heavy, massive building squeezed into the very
heart of the Arabian mosque. A number of _retablos_, chapels,
and sacristies crowd the place and destroy its general symmetry.
This parasitical church, this enormous stone mushroom, this
architectural wart on the back of the Arabian edifice, was erected
after the designs of Hernán Ruiz. As a building it is not destitute
of merit, and would be admired anywhere else, but it is ever to
be regretted that it occupies the place it does. It was built, in
spite of the resistance of the _ayuntamiento_, by the chapter, in
virtue of an order cunningly obtained from the emperor Charles V.,
who had not seen the mosque. Having visited it, some years later,
he said--"Had I known this, I should never have permitted you to
touch the old building; you have put what can be seen anywhere in
the place of what is seen nowhere." This just reproach caused the
members of the chapter to hang down their heads in confusion, but
the evil was done. In the choir we admired an immense carving, in
massive mahogany, representing subjects of the Old Testament. It
is the work of Don Pedro Duque Cornejo, who spent ten years of
his life on this prodigious undertaking, as may be seen by the
inscription on the poor artist's tomb; he lies stretched upon a
slab some few paces distant from his work. Talking of tombs, we
noticed a very remarkable one, shaped like a trunk and fastened
by three padlocks, let into the wall. How will the corpse, so
carefully locked up, manage on the day of judgment, in order to
open the stone locks of his coffin, and how will he find the keys
in the midst of the general confusion?
Until the middle of the eighteenth century, the original ceiling,
built by Abderama, of cedar and larch, was preserved with all its
compartments, soffits, lozenges, and oriental magnificence; it has
now been replaced by arches and half-cupolas, of a very mediocre
effect. The old slabs have disappeared under a brick pavement,
which has raised the ground, partly concealed the shafts of the
pillars, and rendered still more evident the building, which is too
low for its size.
All these acts of profanation, however, do not prevent the mosque
of Cordova from still being one of the most marvellous buildings
in the world. To make us feel, as it were, still more bitterly the
mutilations of the rest, one portion, called the _Mirah_, has been
preserved as if by a miracle, in a state of the most scrupulous
integrity.
[Illustration: CHAPEL IN MOSQUE, CORDOVA.]
The wooden roof, carved and gilt, with its _median aranja_,
spangled with stars, the open windowshafts, garnished with railings
which render the light so soft and mellow, the gallery of small
trefoiled columns, the mosaic tablets of coloured glass, and
the verses from the Koran, formed of gilt crystal letters, and
wreathed about with the most gracefully complicated ornaments
and arabesques, compose a picture which, for richness, beauty,
and fairy elegance, is to be equalled nowhere save in the
"Thousand-and-One Nights," and could not be improved by any effort
of art. Never were lines better chosen or colours better combined;
even those found in the most capricious and delicate specimens of
Gothic architecture have something poor, weakly and emaciated about
them which betrays the infancy of the art. The architecture of the
_Mirah_, on the contrary, is an instance of a state of civilization
which has reached its greatest development, of art arrived at its
culminating point; all beyond it is nothing but a retrogression.
Nothing is wanting, neither proportion, harmony, richness, nor
gracefulness. On leaving this chapel, you enter a little sanctuary
profusely ornamented, the ceiling of which is formed of a single
block of marble, scooped out in the form of a shell, and carved
with infinite delicacy. This was probably the _sanctum sanctorum_,
the dread and sacred place where the presence of the Deity was
supposed to be more palpable than anywhere else.
Another chapel called _Capilla de los Reyes Moros_, where the
caliphs used to pray apart from the common herd of the Faithful,
also offers some curious and charming details; but it has not been
so fortunate as the _Mirah_, its colours having disappeared under
an ignoble coating of whitewash.
The sacristies are overflowing with treasures; they are literally
crammed full of monstrances glittering with precious stones, silver
reliquaries of enormous weight and incredible workmanship, and as
large as small cathedrals, candlesticks, gold crucifixes, and copes
embroidered with pearls, the whole forming a collection that is
more than royal, and altogether Asiatic.
As we were on the point of leaving the building, the beadle, who
had served as our guide, led us mysteriously into a remote obscure
corner, and pointed out, as an object of the greatest possible
curiosity, a crucifix, which is said to have been carved by a
Christian prisoner, with his nail, on a porphyry column, to the
foot of which he was chained. To prove the authenticity of the
story, he showed us the statue of the poor captive some few paces
off. Without being more Voltairean than is necessary in the matter
of legends, I can not help thinking that people must formerly
have had very hard nails, or that porphyry was extremely soft.
Nor is this crucifix the only one of its kind; there is a second,
on another column, but it is far from being so well formed. The
beadle likewise showed us an enormous ivory tusk, suspended from
the middle of the cupola by iron chains, and looking like the
hunting-horn of some Saracenic giant of some Nimrod of the world
that has disappeared: this tusk is said to have belonged to one
of the elephants employed in carrying the materials during the
building of the mosque. Being well satisfied with our guide's
explanations and complaisance, we gave him one or two small coins,
a piece of generosity which appeared to be highly displeasing to
Jose Maria's old friend, who had accompanied us, and elicited from
him the following slightly heretical remark:--"Would it not be
better to give that money to some brave bandit, than to a villanous
sexton?"
On leaving the cathedral, we stopped for a few moments before a
pleasing Gothic portal, which serves as a façade to the Foundling
Hospital. Anywhere else it would be admired, but, in its present
position, it is crushed by its formidable neighbour.
After we had visited the cathedral, there was nothing more to keep
us at Cordova, which is not the liveliest place in the world to
stop at. The only amusement a stranger can take, is to bathe in the
Guadalquiver, or get shaved in one of the numerous shaving-shops
near the mosque; the operation is very dexterously performed, with
the aid of an enormous razor, by a little barber perched upon the
back of the large oaken arm-chair in which the customer is seated.
[Illustration: MOORISH MILLS, CORDOVA.]
The heat was intolerable, being artificially increased by a fire.
The harvest had just been got in; and it is the custom in Andalusia
to burn the stubble as soon as the sheaves are carted away, in
order that the ashes may improve the ground. The country was in
flames for two or three leagues all round, and the wind, which
singed its wings in its passage through this fiery ocean, wafted
to us gusts of hot air, like that which escapes from the mouth
of a stove. We were placed in the same position as the scorpions
that children surround with a circle of shavings, which they set
on fire; the poor creatures are obliged to make a desperate effort
to get out, or to commit suicide by turning their sting against
themselves. We preferred the first alternative.
The _galera_ in which we had come to Cordova took us back by
the same road, as far as Ecija, where we asked for a calessin,
to convey us to Seville. We succeeded in finding one, but when
the driver saw us, he found us too tall, too big, and too heavy,
and made all sorts of objections. Our trunks, he asserted, were
so enormously weighty, that it would require four men to move
them; and the consequence was, that they would immediately cause
his vehicle to break down. The truth of the last objection we
disproved, by placing, unassisted and with the greatest ease, the
portmanteaus thus calumniated, on the back part of the calessin.
The rascal, having no more objections to raise, at last decided on
setting out.
For several leagues the view consisted of nothing save flat, or
vaguely-undulating ground, planted with olive-trees, whose grey
colour was rendered still more insipid by the dust upon them, and
large sandy plains, whose uniform appearance was broken, from time
to time, by balls of blackish vegetation, like vegetable warts.
At La Sinsiana, the whole population was stretched out before the
doors of the houses, and snoring away in the open air. Our vehicle
obliged the rows of sleepers to rise and stand up against the
wall in order to allow us to pass, grumbling all the while, and
bestowing on us all the treasures of the Andalusian vocabulary. We
supped in a suspicious-looking _posada_, more liberally furnished
with muskets and blunderbusses than cooking utensils. A number of
immense dogs followed all our movements with the most obstinate
perseverance, and seemed to be only awaiting the signal to fall on
us, and tear us to pieces. The landlady looked extremely surprised
at the voracious tranquillity with which we despatched our tomato
omelette. She appeared to consider the repast quite superfluous,
and to regret our devouring so much food, which would never be
of any good to us. In spite of the sinister aspect of the place,
however, we were not assassinated, and the people were merciful
enough to allow us to continue our journey.
The ground became more and more sandy, and the wheels of the
calessin sank up to their naves in the shifting soil. We now
understood why our driver had so strongly objected to our specific
gravity. To ease the horse a little, we got down, and, about
midnight, after having followed a road which wound round a steep
rock in a zigzag direction, we reached Cormana, where we were to
pass the night. Some limekilns cast their long, reddish reflection
over the line of rocks, producing most powerful and admirably
picturesque Rembrandt-like effects.
The room into which we were shown was ornamented with some wretched
lithographed plates representing various episodes of the revolution
of July, such as the taking of the Hôtel de Ville, and so on.
This circumstance pleased and almost moved us; it was like seeing
a piece of France framed and hung up against the wall. Cormana,
which we had scarcely time to look at, as we once more got into
our calessin, is a little town as white as cream; the campanilas
and towers of an old convent of Carmelite nuns give it a very
picturesque appearance, and that is all we can say about it.
Beyond Cormana, luxuriant plants, cactuses, and aloe-trees, which
had for some time deserted us, now appeared again more bristling
and ferocious than ever. The landscape was less bare and arid, and
more varied; the heat, too, had lost something of its intensity.
We soon afterwards reached Alcala de los Panaderos, celebrated
for the excellence of its bread, as its name signifies, and for
its _novillos_ (young bulls) fights, to which the _aficionados_
of Seville resort when the circus there is closed. Alcala de los
Panaderos is situated very pleasantly at the bottom of a small
valley, irrigated by a river; it is sheltered by a hill, on which
the ruins of an old Moorish palace are still standing. We were
approaching Seville; in fact, it was not long ere the Giralda
displayed on the horizon its open lantern and then its square
tower: a few hours afterwards we were passing through the Puerta
de Cormana, whose arch enclosed a background of dusty light, in
which galeras, asses, mules, and carts drawn by oxen, some coming
to the town and others leaving it, crossed each other in a flood of
golden vapour. To the left of the road arose the stone arcades of
a superb aqueduct, of a truly Roman appearance: on the other side
were rows of houses built nearer and nearer to each other: we were
at Seville.