The English cemetery, laid out upon a terraced hill-side just out of the city borders and overlooking the harbor, is a very interesting resort, admirably kept and appropriately ornamented with choice trees, shrubs, and flowers, tropically luxuriant from its southern exposure. In the squares, streets, and market places of Malaga, women sat each morning weaving fresh-cut flowers, fragrant clusters of rose-buds, mignonette, pansies, violets, and geraniums, pretty little clusters of which they sold for about one shilling, and found ready purchasers. One may be sure there is always a refined element in the locality, whether otherwise visible or not, where such an appreciation as this is manifested. The bull-fight may thrive; the populace may be, as they often are in Malaga, riotous and mischievous; education may be at a very low ebb, art almost entirely neglected; but where a love of nature, as evinced in the appreciation of beautiful flowers, is to be found, there is still extant on the popular heart the half-effaced image of its Maker.
The Spanish heart is by no means all bad. That the bull-fight fosters a spirit of cruelty among the masses no one can doubt, and that cruelty is a characteristic of the Catalan race is also only too well known. No other people would tolerate such cruelty; and that it is a disgrace to the nineteenth century every intelligent person outside of Spain will admit.
It is a very interesting fact, but seldom realized, that Spain in the time of Julius Cæsar contained nearly eighty millions of inhabitants, but to-day it has less than eighteen millions. In glancing at the map it will be perceived that Spain is a very large country, comprising nearly the whole of the southern peninsula of Europe (Portugal being confined to a small space), and extending north and south over six hundred miles. It is about double the size of Great Britain, and is rich in every known mineral, though she is poor enough in the necessary energy and enterprise requisite to improve her extraordinary possibilities. In many sections of the country great natural fertility is apparent, but nature has to perform the lion's share of the work. We were told by intelligent residents that many parts of Andalusia, for instance, could not be exceeded for rural beauty and fertility in any part of Europe, though we saw no satisfactory evidence of this; indeed, what we did see led to a contrary conclusion. In the environs of Malaga and the southern province generally, there are orange, lemon, and olive groves miles in extent; and the Moors had a poetical saying that this favored region was dropped from paradise, but there is more of poetry than truth in the legend. What is required is good cultivation and skilled agricultural enterprise. These would develop a different condition of affairs, and give to legitimate enterprise a rich reward. The sugar-cane, the grape-vine, the fig-tree, and the productive olive, mingling with the myrtle and the laurel, gratify the eye in and about the immediate district of Malaga; but as one advances inland, the products become natural or wild, cultivation primitive and only partial; grain fields are sparse, and one is often led to draw disparaging contrasts between this country and those of more ambitious and industrious agricultural nations.
While the more practical traveler is filled with a sense of disappointment at the paucity of thrift and vegetation, the poet and the artist will still find enough to delight the eye and fire the imagination in Spain. The ever transparent atmosphere, and the lovely cloud effects that prevail, are accompaniments which will hallow the desolate sierras for the artist at all seasons. The poet has only to wander among the former haunts of the exiled Moors, and view the crumbling monuments of his luxurious and artistic taste, to be equally absorbed and inspired.
CHAPTER XI.
From Malaga to Granada.—Military Escort.—A Beautiful Valley.—A Dream Realized in the Alhambra.—The Moor in his Glory.—Tangible Poetry.—A Brief Legend.—The Generalife.—The Moor's Seat.—The Home of the Gypsies.—A Gold Bearing River.—A Beautiful Residence.—Early Home of the Ex-Empress Eugénie.—City of Granada.—Spanish Beggars.—The Remarkable Tomb of Ferdinand and Isabella.—French Vandals.—The Cathedral.—Precious Relic.—The Cartuja.—Love of Music.
The distance from Malaga to Granada is about seventy miles, but in Spanish style it requires eight or nine hours to accomplish it. Needless delay is the rule here, and forms a national infirmity; but in the present instance we did not feel in special haste, nor regret the snail's pace at which the cars were run, as the road lay mostly through a very beautiful valley, lined on either side by high hills extending back until they terminated in lofty, snow-clad ranges. The contrast between these ice-crowned elevations not very far away, and the orchards of oranges and lemons in full bearing so near to us, was certainly striking. The dull, dusty green of the olive orchards, of which there were more than of all other trees combined, gave a rather sombre appearance to many miles of the route; but the cheerful light verdure of the occasional grain fields and pastures afforded relief to the eye.
There were but few people to be seen, quite unlike European agricultural districts generally, where human life is ever so conspicuous. The cultivated spots seemed to be very far away from the hamlets whence the owners must come for field labor. It was obvious that for some strong reason the populace, sparse at best, herd together. There were no isolated farm-houses or huts. The cultivators must ride or walk long distances to reach the field of labor. Perhaps mutual protection, as in the olden time, was the inducing cause of the country people thus keeping together, and the necessity of congregating for mutual support in an exigency has by no means entirely ceased. Now and then the cars would dart suddenly into a dark tunnel, when we skirted the mountain sides, to emerge again upon a scene of redoubled sunlight, for a moment quite tantalizing to the vision, reminding one forcibly of some Swiss and Italian roads where car-lamps are burned all day. As occasional bands of brigands appear, and, stopping the trains, rob the passengers, government kindly complimented us with an escort of a dozen soldiers, and we were told that these redoubtable warriors now accompany each train, besides which two or three good-looking high privates, in neat uniforms, were observed at each of the stations where we stopped, marching up and down before the train and eying the passengers, as though they half suspected us of being banditti in disguise. It is clear that the administration is endeavoring to render traveling safe throughout the country, and if they would only render it comfortable and expeditious at the same time, the reform would commend itself to universal approval. Punctuality is not a Spanish word, being neither practiced nor understood from Malaga to Burgos. You take your seat trustingly for some objective point, but when you will reach it is a profound and subtle mystery which time alone can solve.