At present, hardly anything else is played in Spanish theatres but translations of French dramas and vaudevilles. At Jaen, in the very heart of Andalusia, they give "Le Sonneur de Saint Paul;" at Cadiz, which is but two steps from Africa, "Le Gamin de Paris." The "Saynetes," which were formerly so gay and so original, and possessing such a strong local tinge, are at present nothing save imitations of the repertory of the Théâtre des Variétés. Not to speak of Don Martinez de la Rosa, and Don Antonio Gil y Zarate, who already belong to a less recent period, the Peninsula can still boast of several young and talented authors of great promise; but public attention in Spain, as in France, is diverted from the stage by the gravity of political events. Hartzembusch, the author of the "Lovers of Ternel;" Castro y Orozco, to whose pen we owe "Fray Luis de Leon, or the Age and the World;" Zorilla, who brought out successfully the drama of "El Rey y el Zapatero;" Breton de los Herreros, the Duke de Rivas, Larra, who committed suicide for love; Espronceda, whose death has just been announced in the papers, and whose writings were characterized by a wild and passionate energy, sometimes worthy of his model, Byron, are—alas! in speaking of the last two we must say, were, men of great literary merit, ingenious, elegant, and easy poets, who might take their places by the side of the old masters, did they not want what we all want,—namely, a sure and certain point to start from, a stock of ideas common both to them and the public. The point of honour and the heroism of the old pieces are either no longer understood or appear ridiculous, and the belief of modern times is not sufficiently definite to enable poets to describe it in their verse.
We must not, therefore, be too severe in judging the crowd, who rush to the bull-ring and seek for emotion where it is to be found; after all, it is not the people's fault that the stage is not more attractive; all the worse for us poets, if we allow ourselves to be beaten by the gladiators. In conclusion, it is more healthy both for the mind and the body to see a brave man kill a savage beast beneath the canopy of heaven, than to listen to an actor without talent singing some obscene vaudeville, or spouting a number of sophisticated lines before a row of smoky footlights.
CHAPTER XII.
FROM MALAGA TO SEVILLE.
The Four-wheeled Galera—Caratraca—The "Mayoral"—Ecija—The "Calle de los Caballeros"—La Carlotta—Cordova—The Archangel Raphael—The Mosque—Caliph Abderama—The Guadalquiver—Road to Seville.
As yet we were only acquainted with the galera on two wheels; we now had the pleasure of making a trial of one on four. An amiable vehicle of this description happened to be about starting for Cordova; it was already occupied with a Spanish family, and we helped to fill it still more. Just fancy rather a low wagon, with its sides formed of a number of wooden spokes at a considerable distance from each other, and having no bottom save a strip of spartum on which the trunks and packages are heaped, without much attention to the irregularities of surface which they may present. Above the luggage are thrown two or three mattresses, or, to speak more correctly, two or three linen sacks, in which a few tufts of wool but very slightly carded, float about, and on these mattresses the unfortunate travellers are stretched transversely, in a position very similar (excuse the triviality of the comparison) to that of calves that are being carried to market. The only difference is, that the travellers do not have their feet tied, but their situation is not much more comfortable for all that. The top consists of a coarse cloth, stretched on wooden hoops, and the whole machine is driven by a mayoral and dragged by four mules.
Our fellow-travellers consisted of the family of an engineer, who was rather a well educated man, and spoke very good French. They were accompanied by a tall, villanous, fantastic-looking individual, who had formerly been a brigand in Jose Maria's gang, and who was now a superintendent of mines. This gentleman followed the galera on horseback, with a knife stuck in his girdle and a carbine slung at his saddle-bow. The engineer appeared to entertain a high opinion of him, and spoke in very favourable terms of his probity, of which he was perfectly convinced in spite of the superintendent's old trade. It is true that in speaking of Jose Maria himself, he told me several times that he was a brave and worthy man. This opinion, which would strike us as slightly paradoxical in the case of a highway robber, is that of the most honourable persons in Andalusia. On this point, Spain is still Arabian, and brigands very frequently are looked upon as heroes. This is less strange than it may at first appear, especially in southern countries, where men's minds are so easily acted on. Is it not certain that the contempt of death, audacity, coolness, bold and prompt determination, address, and bodily strength, and all the kind of grandeur which belongs to a man who revolts against society, as well as the qualities which exercise so great an influence over minds as yet but little civilized, are exactly those which constitute great characters, and is the people so very wrong in admiring them in these energetic individuals, even although they employ them in a reprehensible manner?
The cross-road along which we were journeying ascended and descended rather abruptly through a country dented with hills and furrowed by narrow valleys, the bottom of which was occupied by the dry beds of torrents, and bristling with enormous stones that jolted us most atrociously, and elicited loud screams from the women and children. On our road we noticed some admirably coloured and poetical effects of sunset. The mountains in the distance assumed a variety of purple and violet hues, tinged with gold, of the most extraordinary warmth and intensity, while the total absence of vegetation imparted to the whole scene, consisting exclusively of ground and sky, a look of grand nudity and savage severity that is to be found in no other country, and which no painter has yet transferred to canvass. We halted for a few hours at nightfall, in a little hamlet of three or four houses, in order to rest our mules and obtain some refreshment: but with the thoughtlessness of true French travellers, although a sojourn of five months in Spain ought to have rendered us more prudent, we had brought nothing with us from Malaga, and the consequence was that we were obliged to sup on dry bread and white wine, which a woman in the posada was obliging enough to procure for us, for Spanish safes and cellars do not participate in that horror which Nature is said to entertain for a vacuum, but contain nothing with the most perfect tranquillity of conscience.
About one o'clock in the morning we set out again; and, in spite of the awful jolting, of the engineer's children rolling over us, and of the knocks that our heads received from bumping against the spokes of the wagon, we soon fell asleep. When the sun came and tickled our noses with one of his rays, as with a golden ear of corn, we were near Caratraca, an insignificant village which is not marked in the map, and which is only remarkable for its sulphurous springs, which are very beneficial in diseases of the skin, and attract to this remote spot a population that is rather suspicious and not calculated to prove very desirable company. Gambling is carried on there to a frightful extent, and although it was still very early, the cards and ounces of gold were passing from hand to hand. It was something hideous to see these invalids with their green, cadaverous faces, rendered still more ugly by rapacity, slowly stretching out their fingers and seizing convulsively their prey. The houses of Caratraca, like those of all Andalusian villages, are whitewashed; and this, in conjunction with the bright colour of the tiles, the festoons of the vines, and the shrubs growing around, gives them a comfortable, holiday look, very different from the picture we are accustomed to draw, in other parts of Europe, of Spanish filth; this notion is generally false, and the fact of its ever having been entertained can only be attributed to some miserable hamlets in Castile, whose wretchedness is equalled and even surpassed by some that we possess in Brittany.