MALAGA.
The next day, at sunset, the vessel was passing through the Straits of Gibraltar.
Now, as I look at that point on the map, it seems so near home that when I am in the humor and my domestic finances permit I ought not to hesitate a moment to pack my valise and run down to Genoa on my way to enjoy a second time the most beautiful sight of two continents. But then it seemed to be so far away that when I had written a letter to my mother on the rail of the ship, intending to give it to one of the passengers for Gibraltar to post, as I was writing the address I laughed at my confidence, as if it were impossible for a letter to travel all the way to Turin. "From here!" I thought—"from the Pillars of Hercules!" and I pronounced the Pillars of Hercules as if I had said the Cape of Good Hope or Japan.
"... I am on the ship Guadaira: behind me is the ocean, and in front the Mediterranean, on the left Europe and on the right Africa. On this side I see the cape of Tarifa, and on that the mountains of the African coast, which look indistinct like a gray cloud; I see Ceuta, and a little beyond it Tangiers like a white spot, and in a direct line with the ship rises the Rock of Gibraltar. The sea is as placid as a lake, and the sky is red and gold; all is serene, beautiful, and magnificent, and I feel in my mind an inexpressible and delightful stirring of great thoughts, which, if I could put them into words, would become a joyful prayer beginning and ending with thy name...."
The vessel stopped in the Gulf of Algeciras: the entire company of singers got into a large boat from Gibraltar, and went off, waving fans and handkerchiefs as a parting salute. It was growing dark when the boat started again. Then I was able to measure the enormous mass of the Rock of Gibraltar at every turn. At first I thought we should leave it behind in a few moments, but the moments became hours. Gradually, as we approached, it towered above us, and presented a new appearance every instant—now the silhouette of some measureless monster, now the image of an immense staircase, now the outline of a fantastic castle, now a shapeless mass like a monstrous aërolite fallen from a world shivered in a battle of the spheres. Then, on nearer view, behind a high rock like an Egyptian pyramid, there came into sight a great projection as large as a mountain, with fissures and broken boulders and vast curves which lost themselves in the plain. It was night; the rock stood outlined against the moonlit sky as clear and sharp as a sheet of black paper on a pane of glass. One saw the lighted windows of the English barracks, the sentry-boxes on the summit of the dizzy crags, and a dim outline of trees which seemed little larger than a tuft of grass among the nearest rocks. For a long time the boat seemed motionless or else the rock was receding, so close and threatening did it always appear; then, little by little, it began to diminish, but our eyes were weary of gazing before the rock grew weary of threatening us with its fantastic transformations. At midnight I gave a final salute to that formidable, lifeless sentinel of Europe, and went to wrap myself up in my little corner.
At break of day I awoke a few miles from the port of Malaga.
The city of Malaga, seen from the port, presents a pleasing appearance not wholly without grandeur. On the right is a high rocky mountain, upon the top of which and down one side, even to the plain, are the enormous blackened ruins of the castle of Gibralfaro, and on the lower slopes stands the cathedral towering majestically above all the surrounding buildings, lifting toward heaven, as an inspired poet might say, two beautiful towers and a very high belfry. Between the castle and the church and on the face and sides of the mountain there is a mass—a canaille, as Victor Hugo would say—of smoky little houses, placed confusedly one above the other, as if they had been thrown down from above like stones. To the left of the cathedral, along the shore, is a row of houses, gray, violet, or pale yellow in color, with white window-and door-frames, that suggest the villages along the Ligurian Riviera. Beyond rises a circle of green and reddish hills enclosing the city like the walls of an amphitheatre, and to the right and left along the sea-shore extend other mountains, hills, and rocks as far as the eye can see. The port was almost deserted, the shore silent, and the sky very blue.
Before landing I took my leave of the captain, who was going on to Marseilles, said good-bye to the boatswain and passengers, telling them all that I should arrive at Valencia a day ahead of the boat, and I should certainly join them again and go on to Barcelona and Marseilles, and the captain replied, "We shall look for you," and the steward promised that my place should be saved for me. How often since then have I remembered the last words of those poor people!