JOURNEYINGS IN There is no carriage-road between Granada and Cordova, and we were obliged to perform the journey on horseback. This is even a slower mode of travelling than by coach, for a muleteer's horses can scarcely be beaten into a faster gait than a walk. Twenty-five or thirty miles a day was the greatest speed we could make, although we started before daylight in the morning, and continued in the saddle until seven or eight o'clock at night, with the exception of an hour at noon, when we alighted by the road-side, to take our morning meal. The Arriero from whom we hired our mules and horses is known in Granada by the name of Napoleon, and a very honest fellow we found him. Napoleon was quite a gentleman in his manners, and, as it appears, had a great sense of propriety; for the evening prior to our departure, he hinted to me that as there were some ladies of the party, in order to avoid any scandal, it would be better to start very early in the morning, and to send our horses outside of the gates of the city, where we could mount and depart unseen. Taking Napoleon's advice, we left Granada the next morning, before the sun had removed the misty veil from the beautiful vega. At about eight miles from the city, we passed El Puente de Pinos, a stone bridge, which crosses a small stream. Tradition says that it was on this bridge that Columbus, hurrying in disgust from the delays and disappointments he had met with at the Court of Ferdinand, was stopped by a messenger from Isabella, saying she would espouse his plans of discovery. Leaving the vega, our way lay through mountain defiles, and amid picturesque scenery, until we arrived at Alcala el Real, an old Moorish town, built upon the summit of a hill, where we passed the night. Our next day's journey brought us to Baena, likewise an ancient Moorish town, containing a population of ten thousand, built upon the slope of a hill, crowned by a picturesque castle. From Baena we passed through a wild, uncultivated country; and when evening stole upon us, we were still far distant from Cordova. Night closing in, the way became so obscure that we were obliged to trust to the instinct of our horses, to carry us in the right direction. As we advanced, the country became more broken and hilly, and the road so bad that our poor beasts, nearly exhausted with the long day's journey, went stumbling at every few steps. Finally Napoleon gave us the agreeable information that we had lost the way; and he got down from his horse and went on ahead to search for it. But his search was useless; and so we continued to stumble on, not knowing SPAIN. where we were going, and trusting entirely to our beasts, until after two or three hours of uncertainty we descried, far away in a valley beneath us, the lights of Cordova. No port was ever hailed with more pleasure by the tempesttossed mariner than were the lights of that city. But they were still distant, and the way appeared to lengthen as we advanced. Finally our course was intercepted by a river-the Guadalquiver!-and I hope I will not shock the poetical reader when I say we crossed it in a Scow! Arrived on the other side, a short ride brought us to the city, and to the door of our hotel, where we were right glad to dismount, after having been fourteen hours in the saddle. Cordova was a flourishing city under the Romans and Goths, but it reached its greatest splendour after the Moorish conquest. In 756, it threw off its allegiance to the Caliphate of Damascus, and under Abderahman it rose to be the capital of the Moorish Empire in Spain, and became the rival of Bagdad and Damascus. Its most flourishing period was about the year 1009, when it contained nearly a million inhabitants. Toward the middle of that century, the power of the Caliphate began to diminish, and in the early part of the thirteenth century, internal discord had so weakened the government that in 1235, Ferdinand the Third, or Saint Ferdinand, made an easy conquest of Cordova and the whole kingdom. Cordova has sadly decayed under the Spaniards; and at the present day, the stranger finds little to interest him in roaming through its narrow, tortuous, and almost deserted streets. After he has walked around its picturesque Moorish walls, and visited the Cathedral, he is ready to shake the dust from his feet, and proceed on his journey. It would have been thus with me, but for one circumstance. Before leaving home, a particular friend put a letter of introduction into my hands, addressed to Cordova. "You will doubtless visit that city in your tour through Spain," said he, "and if you do, I wish you particularly to deliver that letter. Some years since, I passed a winter in that country, several months of which were spent in Cordova. "Finding poor accommodations at my hotel, I searched for quarters in a private family, and after many ineffectual efforts, at last found all I desired at the house of an old gentleman of decayed fortune, but of excellent family. I had lived for more than a week with Don Antonio, before I discovered he had a daughter. One evening, the Don and I were walking in the garden enjoying our cigars, when all at once the notes of a guitar broke upon our ears, and after a short prelude, a sweet voice sang one of those beautiful ballads of Spain. "I placed my hand on the old man's arm, and we both paused until the strain was finished. "What sweet voice is that, Don Antonio?' said I. "Why, it is my daughter's, the little Carmencita.' "Is it possible?' I replied; and you have never told me before that you had a daughter.' "Ah, Senor, she is still very young and timid, and not accustomed to see strangers. But come; you are in my house, and I will not make a stranger of you any longer. I will show you my Carmencita, my little jewel, all that is left in this world to gladden my heart amidst my poverty.' "The old gentleman took my arm and led me into a small room, the windows of which looked upon the garden. As soon as we entered, a beautiful, bright-eyed girl ran forward to greet her papa with a kiss. "Carmencita was shy at first; she did not appear to like the society of the stranger; but after a week or two, her shyness passed away, and she learned to consider me as one of the family. When I returned, after my daily rambles through the town and surrounding country, she always ran to greet me with her bright sunny smile; and when I spent the mornings or evenings at home, she would read to me some passage from the adventures of the Don, or some famous old ballad, or her fingers would stray over the chords of the guitar, and she would break forth in one of those touching Spanish melodies, which thrill the very soul. "Days and weeks flew by, and I put off my departure from Cordova, although I scarcely dared to acknowledge to myself that it was the magic spell which the child Carmencita had thrown around me, which caused my delay. "But Carmencita, although a child in years was not a child in growth and feeling in this sunny clime, the plant is soon matured. : "Yet I do not believe that Carmencita had ever dreamed of such a thing as love. We had lived together like brother and sister; and as for myself, it was not until I was obliged to leave Cordova that I felt the power of the silken bands she had woven around me. "At length the day of my departure arrived. I was to go to Malaga, thence to leave Spain, in all probability, for ever. The old gentleman was grieved at my departure. He pressed my hand, and said, 'You must return soon.' Carmencita looked sad, and was silent. My horse was at the door, and my guide in readiness. I mounted hastily, with an almost bursting heart; and as I turned to take a last farewell, I saw the tears were streaming from Carmencita's eyes. This was too much for me; I felt I could not endure the agony a moment longer, and putting spurs to my horse, I was soon far distant from Cordova. "I have never returned to Spain since; nor have I ever heard from Don Antonio, or his lovely daughter; but if they are still living, I am sure they will be glad to hear from the stranger who spent so many days under their roof, and that they will receive you with the same kindness which they extended toward me." Hunting among a pile of letters of introduction, many of which were never fated to be delivered, I found the desired epistle, and immediately sallied forth in search of the address. In a gloomy, deserted street, I found the house of Don Antonio. I knocked at the door, and the venerable domestic that opened to me led me through a hall into a large apartment on the ground-floor, which opened to the garden. On entering I perceived a fine-looking old gentleman seated at the window, deeply engaged in a large volume before him. He rose to receive me; and as he glanced over the letter which I handed him, I saw his eyes sparkle with pleasure, and a benignant smile overspread his countenance. He immediately held out his. hand and welcomed me most cordially, and then commenced asking numerous questions about my friend; but suddenly stopping in the midst of them, he called the old servant and sent him in search of Carmencita. A light foot was soon heard descending the stairs, and one of the most lovely beings I ever beheld stood before me. It was Carmencita, grown to a lovely woman, surrounded with all that grace and fascination which characterize her country women. During my stay at Cordova, my visits to Don Antonio's were of daily occurrence. Carmencita was always there, ready to tune her guitar and warble for me one of her beautiful ballads; and the old gentleman, who was learned in all the antiquities of the place, was always delighted to impart to me his knowledge. In a few days I took leave of Don Antonio and his lovely daughter, carrying with me many kind messages for my friend. But alas! he never lived to receive them. When I returned home, I found the turf was green upon his grave. The Cathedral of Cordova, which was formerly a mosque, was commenced by Abderahman, in 786, and in splendour was second only to that of Mecca. Externally, it presents nothing attractive; in fact, its square towers and castellated appearance are rather forbidding than otherwise. On entering the building the effect is most curious; one is, as it were, amid a forest of columns. There are nearly one thousand of these columns, no two of which are alike, some being of jasper, others of porphyry, and others of different coloured marbles. The curious effect is heightened by the extreme lowness of the arched aisles, which are not more than twelve or fourteen feet in height, and the half day-light which pervades this vast edifice. The most beautiful and best preserved portion of the building is a chapel in which the Alcoran was placed. This is entered through an arched portal of blue and gold mosaic, of most exquisite finish, and which, notwithstanding the flight of centuries, retains all its primitive freshness. The chapel is an octagon of fifteen feet, the roof of which is in the form ofa scollop, wrought | summit of a rock, and surrounded by Moorish out of one piece of marble. The pavement is fortifications. likewise of marble, and around the wall is worn deeply by the multitudes of pilgrims who for centuries worshipped at this shrine. Cordova, like all Spanish towns, has its beggars, which the stranger will find it almost impossible to shake off. They will frequently follow on his track for hours together; and although he may endeavour to get rid of them by all the kind Spanish words with which his memory is supplied, he will too frequently find them ineffectual. He will then probably try harsh terms; but these will have no better effect; and if his heart becomes touched, and his charitable spirit induces him to give alms, this only makes matters worse, for he will soon have all the beggars of the town at his heels. There are two magic phrases, however, which the beggar knows well, and which, in the mouth of a Spaniard, are always effectual; these are, Perdone von por Dios hermano-Pardon me for God's sake, brother!-and Dios ampare à von -May God protect you! When he hears either of these he gives up all hope, and walks away in disgust. After Carmona the road led through pleasant olive-orchards, and toward evening the towers of Seville arose to view. Passing by orangegroves and gardens on the right, and leaving a well-preserved Roman aqueduct on the left, which still supplies the inhabitants with water, I entered the gates of this famous old city. Seville is situated on the left bank of the Guadalquiver, in a fertile and ever-blooming plain. It is surrounded by walls of concrete tapia, and is entirely Moorish within and without. The streets are narrow, in order to keep them shady during the heat of the day. The houses are built after the same style, and are very plain externally. The enormous windows are barricaded with huge rejas, or iron gratings, which make them look like prisons; and the large portal which gives entrance to the court is likewise protected by an iron gate. The court-yard, which can be seen from the street, is more or less adorned, according to the wealth and position of the occupant. The handsomest are surrounded with galleries, supported by marble columns, and ornamented with fountains, flowers, and shrubbery. In the summer-time, the court-yard is covered with an awning; and here, amid the perfume of flowers and the music of the fountain, the family spend the greater part of the day. One day, I was followed by three very troublesome mendicants, among whom was a venerablelooking old man, enveloped in a thread-bare cloak, patched in innumerable places, which he wore with all the dignity of a Roman. The two youngest of the party, after a long chase, gave Walking through the streets at night, you up the pursuit, and left the ground clear to the will often see a form enveloped in a cloak beold man, who followed me to the outside of the fore a reja; and if you observe more closely, walls of the city, where I lighted a cigar, and you will perceive another behind the bars. sat down to rest myself. As soon as I was This is a novia paying court to his novia. seated, he made an attack upon me by first un- It is thus that courtship usually comcovering his venerable head, and then running mences; and it is not before the lover has laid on with a string of such piteous solicitations a regular siege to his mistress's heart in this that I found it impossible to resist any longer, way that he is allowed the privilege of entering and putting my hand into my pocket with the the house. After having obtained this privilege, intention of giving him a trifle, I found I had should anything occur to cause the parents to come out without my purse. His countenance object to his visits, he is obliged to retreat again brightened up for a moment when he saw the to the reja, through whose inexorable bars, in a movement; but when I explained to him the favoured moment, sighs, sweet words, and procircumstances of the case, his features imme-mises are still mutually exchanged. diately relaxed into their wonted gravity. He paused a short time, and then said: "Senor, you have no money to give me, and therefore I will go away satisfied if you will bestow upon me the stump of your cigar when you are done with it." I could not resist this modest demand, and, pulling out my cigar-case, I presented him with a genuine Havana. He held out his trembling hand and seized it with delight. Then bowing to the ground, he gave vent to a perfect shower of blessings, and repeating many times "Dios selo pa gara à von, Senor!" ("God will repay you, sir!") went on his way rejoicing. From Cordova I took a private conveyance to Seville, making the journey, which is about one hundred miles, in three days. The first night I stopped at a very pretty little town called Ecija. The second I was at Carmona, most picturesquely situated upon the The Cathedral of Seville is one of the largest and most beautiful of Spain. It is built upon the site of a Moorish mosque, and still retains many of the characteristics of its Moorish origin. The square towers, and the red tapia walls which surround it, are almost entirely the work of the Mussulman. Passing through a rich gateway, you enter El Patio de los Naranjos, a court so named from being thickly planted with orange-trees. To the right of the entrance is an immense fountain, where the Moor performed his ablutions. To the left arises the Giralda, so called from a vane on its top representing a female figure, fourteen feet high, made of bronze, and weighing three thousand pounds. This tower is a square of fifty feet, and is three hundred and fifty feet in height. The ascent to the top is by easy steps, so that a troop of horse might ride up without difficulty. The view from above embraces the whole city, with its Roman and Moorish walls, its towers, its numerous steeples, and its blooming gardens, with the beautiful Guadalquiver winding gracefully at its feet. The cathedral was commenced in 1401, and finished in 1500. It is built in the Gothic style, and, next to Toledo, is the most splendid religious edifice of Spain. On entering the portal, one is struck with the grandeur of the architectural design. Its lofty naves, supported by gigantic columns of stone, its numerous chapels filled with works of art, and its exquisitely painted glass-windows, strike the beholder with wonder and admiration: in fact, the Cathedral of Seville is a large museum; and to describe the paintings, the sculpture, and the innumerable objects of interest which attract on every side, would far overstep the limits proposed in these sketches. Among the most remarkable of the chapels is the Capilla Mayor, which is a church in itself, being fifty-nine feet wide, eighty-one feet long, and one hundred and fifty feet high. In front of the altar lies the body of Saint Ferdinand, the conqueror of Seville, in a silver and glazed shrine. The body is well preserved, and isdisplayed to the public thrice a year, namely, on May 30th, August 22nd, and November 23rd. This chapel is closed by a large open-worked iron portal, and I found it impossible to gain an entrance, although I tried the effect of a good bribe upon the sacristan. Among the exquisite paintings to be found in the various chapels, there were two which made an indelible impression on my memory. The first was a Saint Antonio, which is said to be the chef-d'œuvre of Murillo. The painting represents the infant Saviour attended by cherubim, visiting the monk, who is kneeling in the attitude of prayer. The angelic expression depicted in the face of the saint is beyond all description; the beholder is at once entranced with the magical effect, and the more he gazes, the greater is his admiration. The second is El Angel de la Guarda, a guardian angel holding a beautiful child by the hand. This is another of the sublime efforts of Murillo, and may be studied for hours with increasing pleasure. After the Cathedral, the next object of attention is the Alcazar, or palace of the Moorish kings. This was built by Abdalasis, who brought the most famous architects from the East to superintend its erection. The building in the course of ages has undergone many alterations, both during the reign of the Moors and since the conquest. Externally, it is dark and forbidding, the gloomy walls which surround it jealously hiding all the splendours within. Entering the court-yard through a modest door-way, the grand portal of the palace is immediately in front. This is a chef-d'œuvre of Moorish art, which has been restored within a few years, without losing any of its former characteristics. The portal and the arch above are literally covered with a lace-work of stone, the ground-work of which is painted in red and blue. Passing the portal, you enter an interior court of vast dimensions, which strikes the beholder with wonder and admiration. The walls for the distance of several feet from the pavement are covered with a mosaic of azulejos, or painted tiles, of most exquisite finish and design, and from thence to the ceiling are ornamented with stucco-work in plaster, filled with delicate tracery, intermingled with verses from the Alcoran. A beautiful light gallery surrounds the whole, the delicate open-worked arches of which are supported by slender white marble columns, with most exquisitely-carved capitals. In the centre of the court, which is paved with white and coloured marble, there is a beautiful fountain. It was in this voluptuous spot that the king and his favourites passed the greater part of the day. And no more delicious retreat could be found during the heats of an Andalusian summer, for the air was refreshed by the spray of the fountain, and perfumed by the breath of the myriads of flowers that bloomed in the adjoining garden. From this court you enter the Hall of Ambassadors, which has a beautifully-sculptured dome, and in its ornamentation and arrangement resembles that described in the Alhambra. At the end of this hall a gallery conducts to the Patio de las Munecas (the court of dolls). This is a repetition of the first-described court, in miniature-the same porticoes, the same pillars, and the same curious tracery on the walls. But the whole has suffered much from the effects of time and dampness. The apartments of the second storey have undergone more alteration than those of the first storey, and hence are less interesting, as they have lost much of their Moorish character. The gardens are beautiful, and in perfect harmony with the palace. They are laid out in terraces, divided by hedge-rows of orange-trees, where flowers, and fountains, and grottoes, and the never-ceasing sound of running waters delight the senses. Seville is the most beautiful and interesting city of the Peninsula. Here the artist and the antiquary will find occupation for months; while for the mere pleasure-seeking traveller it is a most agreeable place of sojourn, as it affords more amusements and more comforts than are to be met with in any other part of Spain. The public promenades are delightful. Las Delicias, which extends along the banks of the Guadalquiver, is a charming spot, shaded with fine trees, and skirted on the left by the magnificent gardens of the Palace of San Telmo. On fête days and on Sunday evenings this beautiful resort is crowded with promenaders and elegant equipages. Here the stranger may wander for hours, indulging in the pleasing study of Spanish beauty; for the Andaluza is what we would call the type of the Spanish woman. Large, dark, and sparkling eyes, a profusion of glossy raven hair, arranged in the most becoming style, harmonize well with the warm tints of her clear brunette complexion. Her form is slender and graceful, and in her walk and movements there is an indescribable grace, |