Wanderings in Spain

by Théophile Gautier

"Eurotas, Eurotas, que font tes lauriers-roses?"

To the rose-bays succeeded, like a melancholy reflection after a silvery burst of laughter, tall olive-trees whose pale leaves remind you of the white foliage of the willows of the North, and which harmonize admirably well with the ashy colour of the ground. These leaves, which are of a grave, austere, and gentle tint, were most judiciously chosen by the ancients, those skilful estimators of natural evidence, as the symbol of peace and wisdom.

It was about four o'clock when we arrived at Baylen, famous for the disastrous capitulation which is known by this name. We were to pass the night there, and while waiting for supper we went to take a stroll through the town and about the environs with the lady from Granada, and a very pretty young girl who was going with her father and mother to take sea-baths at Malaga; for the general reserve of the Spaniards quickly gives way to polite and cordial familiarity, as soon as they are certain that you are neither a commercial traveller, nor a tight-rope dancer, nor a hawker of pomatum.

The church of Baylen, the construction of which does not date much further back than the sixteenth century, astonished me by its strange colour. Its stone and marble baked by the sun of Spain, instead of turning black as such things do in our damp climate, had assumed red hues of the most extraordinary vividness, and which even inclined to saffron and purple, resembling in their tints vine-leaves at the end of autumn. At the side of the church, a palm-tree, the first I had ever seen in the open air, rose above a little wall gilt by the reflection of the sun's burning rays, and abruptly spread out its branches in the dark azure of the heavens. This palm-tree—a sudden revelation from the East—thus met unexpectedly at the corner of a street, produced a singular effect on me. I expected, every instant, to see the profile of the camel's ostrich-like neck appear in the glimmering light thrown out by the setting sun, and the white bournous of the Arab float along the ranks of the caravan.

Some rather picturesque ruins of ancient fortifications presented to our view a tower, in a sufficiently good state of preservation to allow us to ascend it by the aid of our hands and feet and the jutting out of the stones. We were rewarded for our trouble by one of the most magnificent sights it is possible to behold. The city of Baylen, with its tiled roofs, its red church, and its white houses huddled round the foot of the tower like a flock of goats, formed a charming foreground: further on were immense corn-fields, undulating like waves of gold, and right at the back, above several ranges of mountains, the ridge of the Sierra Nevada glittered in the distance like a chain of silver. Veins of snow, played on by the light, brightly sparkled and sent forth prismatic flashes; while the sun, similar to a large golden wheel, of which its disc was the nave, spread out its flaming rays, like spokes, in a sky tinged with all the hues of the agate and the advanturine.

The inn at which we were to pass the night was a large building consisting but of one immense room, with a fireplace at each end, a roof of timberwork, shiny and black with smoke, racks on each side for horses, mules, and donkeys; and having, for the accommodation of travellers, a few small lateral chambers, containing each a bed formed of three planks placed on two trestles, and covered with those pellicles of canvass, in which floated a few lumps of wool, and which hotel-keepers, with the usual effrontery and sang froid which characterize them, call mattresses; but this, however, did not hinder us from snoring like Epimenides and the Seven Sleepers all together.

We set off very early in the morning to avoid the heat, and we again saw the beautiful rose-bays, as resplendent as glory and as blooming as love, which had enchanted us the evening before. The Guadalquiver, with its troubled and yellowish waters, soon appeared to bar our passage; we crossed it in a ferry-boat, and took the road to Jaen. To our left was pointed out to us the tower of Torrequebradilla, on which a sunbeam was playing, and we soon perceived the strange outline of the city of Jaen, the capital of the province of that name. An enormous mountain, of the colour of ochre, as tawny as a lion's skin, variegated with stripes of red and brown, and enveloped in clouds of light, rises abruptly in the middle of the city; massive towers, and long, zigzag lines of fortification streak its barren sides and give them a fantastic and picturesque appearance. The Cathedral, an immense mass of architecture, which seems, from a distance, to be larger than the town itself, rears its head haughtily, like an artificial mountain by the side of the natural one. This cathedral, which is of the Renaissance style of architecture, and which boasts of possessing the true handkerchief in which Saint Veronica took the impression of our Saviour's face, was built by the duke of Medina Coeli. It is certainly a handsome building, but we had imagined it, at a distance, to be both more antique and more curious.

On our way from the Parador to the cathedral, I took care to inspect the play-bills, and found that, the evening before, Mérope had been played, and that that evening would be given "El Campanero de San Pablo," por el illustrissimo señor don Jose Bouchardy; or, in other words, "Le Sonneur de Saint Paul," by my friend Bouchardy. To have your pieces played at Jaen, a barbarous town, where the inhabitants never go out without a poniard in their belt and a carabine on their shoulder, is certainly very flattering, and very few of our contemporary geniuses are able to boast of a like success. If we formerly borrowed a few chefs-d'œuvre of the Spanish stage, we fully repay, at present, in vaudevilles and in melodramas, the value of all we have taken.

On leaving the cathedral we returned, with the other travellers, to the Parador, the appearance of which seemed to promise an excellent repast; a café was attached to it, and it had quite the look of a European and civilized establishment. Some one discovered, however, on taking his place, that the bread was as hard as a mill-stone, and asked for some other. But the hotel-keeper obstinately refused to change it. During the quarrel, another person perceived that the dishes had been warmed up, and must have already appeared on the table some time back. Hereupon, every person present began to utter the most plaintive cries and to insist on having a perfectly fresh dinner that had never appeared before. And now for the secret of this: the diligence which preceded us had been stopped by the brigands of La Mancha, and the travellers, whom they had carried off into the mountains, had not been able to partake of the repast prepared for them by the hotel-keeper at Jaen. The latter, in order not to be out of pocket, had kept the dishes, and served them up again for us; but he was deceived in his expectations, for we all left his house, and went elsewhere to satisfy our hunger. The unlucky dinner was, no doubt, presented, for a third time, to the next travellers.

We repaired to an obscure posada, where, after waiting a long while, we obtained some cutlets, some eggs, and a salad, all served up in chipped plates, accompanied by odd knives and forks, and glasses, each of which belonged to a different set. The banquet was very mediocre, but it was seasoned with so much laughter, and so many jokes about the comic fury of the hotel-keeper when he saw his company leave in procession, as well as about the fate of the poor victims to whom he would not fail to re-present his emaciated chickens, warmed up for the third time, as perfectly fresh, that we were fully compensated, and even more than compensated, for the poorness of our fare. As soon as the icy reserve of the Spaniards once begins to wear away, they immediately indulge in an infantine and naïve gaiety, full of charming sweetness. The least thing makes them laugh till the tears run down their faces.