Eight hours’ steaming took me to Malaga, just in time for the festival of Corpus Christi. Our passengers were mostly Moors in Arab dress, Spaniards with steeple-crowned hats and fantastic round jackets, contrabandists in embroidered boots and leggings, provided with goods for their traffic. A grand procession, military and civic, priests, men, and boys with lighted candles, preceded by the crucifix, passed through the narrow streets, and made a long circuit. The balconies covered with flags and drapery of gay colors, and filled with the beautiful senoritas of the true Andalusian type, could not help but add to the attraction. Groups of fascinating creatures with black lace mantillas, fan in hand, giving it that peculiar twirl belonging to the race, were kneeling upon the rugs on the cathedral pave, and casting their captivating glances (perhaps unconsciously) upon the passing strangers. My fellow-traveller, the Spanish Consul from Gibraltar, was en route for Grenada; he had opposed the contraband trade, and was afraid of an attack.
Our miserable diligence was drawn by eight mules with rope traces; the driver guides the wheel mules with nose-straps only, without bits, and at times jumps down beside them, whipping up and crying out lustily; so they dash along the rugged roads and on the banks of precipices at the imminent risk of one’s life.
The first venta had flat stone floor, a rude table with benches, and a poor breakfast. The chambers were bare walls, no chairs, no bedstead; the people slept upon mats with no notion of comfort. The country has been disturbed by civil wars for the past seven years. Assassinations are frequent, caused by political intrigue, or love affairs. The first night we found ourselves at the town of Loza, situated in a picturesque country, in the midst of luxurious groves and gardens on the south side of a rocky gorge, through which a small river forces its way after passing the rich valley of Grenada. The place is celebrated for two sieges under Ferdinand and Isabella, in 1487, and was taken, it is asserted, through the cowardice of Bobadil. Our accommodations had improved.
We passed the Duke of Wellington’s estate, given for services during the Peninsular War; it is a pretty vega, or valley, with a village of cottages. Not far from this place an English party had been robbed. Three horsemen, with long carabines, a brace of pistols, and dirks each, presented themselves and asked them politely to get out and prostrate themselves upon their faces, while one of the number stood guard until the luggage was ransacked. They were then offered some of their own cigars, a drink of aguardiente, and left in the usual gallant manner—“Vaya con Dios.” Some eight miles from Grenada, we passed the small walled town of Santa Fè, built by Ferdinand during the siege of Grenada.
We had made the seventy-six miles from Malaga, and now saw the magnificent valley for miles in extent, the snow-capped mountains of the Sierra Nevada, with the rivers Dano and Genil forcing their passages out of them. Once Grenada was the pride and glory of the Moors; now it is the admiration of every traveller.
We found a quiet retreat upon the summit of the Alhambra hill, near a lofty tower commanding an extensive view of the city below. The unfinished palace of Charles V., and the palace of the Moorish sovereigns stood hard by. A description of the Alhambra, with its beautiful architecture, the court of the lions, its marble-paved halls, its arabesque walls and ceilings, and the many objects of admiration, I shall not attempt to describe. The cathedral, containing the monuments of Ferdinand and Isabella, the archduke Philip and his wife Joanna, has many attractions. The church of San Juan de Dios is rich in marble. The road to Cordova, a distance of eighty-four miles, we made on mule-back, there being no carriage roads. The first night we slept in a venta, upon a brick floor, among horses, mules, drivers, and others of bandit appearance. We were almost devoured by fleas; there were no beds or other accommodations. I find it worse, if possible, than a Turkish khan. We procured here an escort through the wild heath and across the mountain paths, the roads being infested with robbers. Our guides were old cut-throats, and were considered the safest, as they were to be well paid if they piloted us through in safety; they knew all the haunts of the bandits. At Alcala-el-Real we found a posada well fitted up, and the landlady reminded me of a Dutch housewife for cleanliness, which we were prepared to appreciate.
We made a tarry at Byena, and proceeded then to Cordova, and were rejoiced to arrive, as it is not pleasant to grasp one’s pistol in the night at the sound of some slight noise in the bush, not knowing what moment you may be pounced upon.
Passing through some of the small villages, the people looked so wretched one could almost excuse an attack. In other portions of the country the peasants looked well, returning from the fields of ripened grain. We escaped with one arrest, only, from highwaymen. One fine-looking, but swarthy, heavy-whiskered fellow, clad in velvet, with knee-breeches and leather-strapped leggings, pointed hat and feather, long carabine, and pistols in his belt, who carried a whistle to call his comrades, descended slowly from a craggy eminence, greeted our guides, and made his demand, which being extremely moderate we readily granted, and passed on without further molestation.
A part of the journey our guide suggested riding by night, and lying by during the day, thereby escaping the heat, and dodging the highwaymen. We started at six P.M. and halted at seven A.M., partook of a miserable breakfast, stretched our mattresses upon a cement floor, encircled with double streaks of olive oil to keep the fleas from jumping across, closed the shutters to darken the room, and reposed until the hour for dinner, after which mounted our mules again. Cordova is dull and lifeless, a large city in decay; the greatest curiosity is the Moorish mosque of eight hundred and thirty-four columns, now converted into a Catholic church. Approaching the city the country is well cultivated, and the gardens of pomegranates in blossom were quite pretty. How delightful it is for the traveller, while quite alone and exposed to danger, to meet with a familiar face. A singular rencontre took place near Cordova. We had abandoned our mule and taken the diligence, when we were met by a vehicle escorted by gensd’armes, who inquired if we had been interrupted by bandits, when to my surprise out jumped a Frenchman, whom I had last met among the ruins of Thebes and Karnak. “Bonjour, Monsieur. D’où venez-vous? Où allez-vous?” he cried out. I had scarcely time to greet him and reply, when off dashed our animals, and I have seen him perhaps for the last time. From Cordova I came to Seville, rejoiced to find comfortable quarters, get a bath, and put myself in the hands of il barbiero di Sevilla. The services of Figaro were only required in hair-cropping, as the natural Turkish and Arab eight months’ growth of beard could be still worn with impunity, but once in England the heavy crop must be harvested, or the little urchins will set up a cry.
While in Egypt an anecdote was related of an old man who had been impressed in the army from his native village. Mehemet Ali had adopted the custom of shaving the soldiery. It was found he had passed the age for service, and was told he might go: “Yes,” he replied, “go, where shall I go?” “To your village,” was the answer. “The boys and girls of my village will hoot at me,” he exclaimed, “give me back my beard or allow me to remain until it grows.” Such is the value of a beard in oriental countries. The next acquisition was a valet de place, whose duty is to point out all the remarkable sights of the city, which, when Spain possessed America, was considered the wealthiest of the realm.