"How? Do you like the houses of Seville and Cadiz, with walls that whiten a poor devil from head to foot whenever he happens to touch them? Do you like those streets along which one can hardly pass after a good dinner? And do you find the Andalusian women beautiful with their devilish eyes? Come, now, you are too indulgent. They are not a serious people. They have summoned Don Amadeus, and now they don't want him. They are not worthy of being governed by a civilized man." (These were his actual words.)
"Then you don't find any good in Spain?"
"Not the least."
"But why do you stay?"
"I stay ... because I make my living here."
"Well, that is something."
"But what a living! It is a dog's life! Everybody knows what Spanish cooking is."
"Excuse me: instead of living like a dog in Spain, why not go and live like a man in Italy?"
Here the poor artist seemed somewhat disconcerted, and I, to relieve his annoyance, offered him a cigar, which he took and lighted without a word. And he was not the only Italian in Spain who had spoken to me in those terms of the country and its inhabitants, denying even the clearness of the sky and the grace of the Andalusian women. I do not know what enjoyment there can be in travelling after this fashion, with the heart closed to every kindly sentiment, and continually on the lookout to censure and despise, as if everything good and beautiful which one finds in a foreign country has been stolen from our own, and as if we are of no account unless we run down everybody else. The people who travel in such a mental attitude make me pity rather than condemn them, because they voluntarily deprive themselves of many pleasures and comforts. So it appears to me, at least, to judge others by myself, for wherever I go the first sentiment which the sights and the people inspire in me is a feeling of sympathy; a desire not to find anything which I shall be obliged to censure; an inclination to imagine every beautiful thing more beautiful; to conceal the unpleasant things, to excuse the defects, to be able to say candidly to myself and others that I am content with everything and everybody. And to arrive at this end I do not have to make any effort: everything presents itself almost spontaneously in its most pleasing aspect, and my imagination benignly paints the other aspects a delicate rose-color. I know well that one cannot study a country in this way, nor write sage essays, nor acquire fame as a profound thinker; but I know that one travels with a peaceful mind, and that such travels are of unspeakable benefit.
The next day I went to see the Generalife, which was a sort of villa of the Moorish kings, and whose name is linked to that of the Alhambra as is that of the Alhambra to Granada; but now only a few arches and arabesques remain of the ancient Generalife. It is a small palace, simple and white, with few windows, and an arched gallery surrounded with a terrace, and half hidden in the midst of a grove of laurel and myrtles, standing on the summit of a mountain covered with flowers, rising upon the right bank of the Darro opposite the hill of the Alhambra. In front of the façade of the palace extends a little garden, and other gardens rise one above another almost in the form of a vast staircase to the very top of the mountain, where there extends a very high terrace that encloses the Generalife. The avenues of the gardens and the wide staircases that lead from one to another of the flower-beds are flanked by high espaliers surmounted by arches and divided by arbors of myrtle, curved and intertwined with graceful designs, and at every landing-place rise white summer-houses shaded by trellises and picturesque groups of orange trees and cypresses. Water is still as abundant as in Moorish times, and gives the place a grace, freshness, and luxuriance impossible to describe. From every part one hears the murmur of rivulets and fountains; one turns down an avenue and finds a jet of water; one approaches a window and sees a stream reaching almost to the window-sill; one enters a group of trees and the spray of a little waterfall strikes one's face; one turns and sees water leaping, running, and trickling through the grass and shrubbery.