Chapter VII (6)

I cannot sing to thee a song, O May!
New-born of beauties never sung before.
On all the tourneyed fields of poesy
Bright souls have broken lance to do thee honor.
And yet (so hard it is for youth and life
To deem to-day not brighter than the past)
I cannot think they loved thee more than I,
Those silent poets in their silent graves.
I cannot think their sunshine was as golden,
Their meads as green, their wilding flowers as rife
With the low music of the laden bee,
Their clouds as soft upon the summering sky,
Their gales as wooing in the wakened forests--
Their May as much of May as thou to us.
Moreover, this I know: the tiny bark
Of the frail nautilus may crest the wave
That swelled to clasp the bosomed argosy,
Or chafed the warrior-ship's embattled side.
And so, beneath thy deep serenity
Of sunlit blue, as, thrilled and filled with May,
I lie on earth and gaze up into heaven,
Sprite Fancy doth embody me a dream;
And I dare utter it, for I am bold
On kindly Nature's mother-breast to lay
My head, and prattle of the love I bear her.
As little, earnest children deck them dolls,
And name them for the fair ones whom they love,
I prank an image out, and call it--May.

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Thou shin'st, O May! upon my visioned hours,
A maiden in the prime of maidenhood,
Poised on the summer boundary of blooms,
Disparting child and woman; blent of each;
The child-smile pure upon the perfect lip,
And girlhood in the wavy wealth of curls
So lavish on the toying, amorous air,
And deep'ning in the blue uplifted eyes,
Like stainless heaven reflect from silent lakes,
The mystic, dawning holiness of woman.

She, o'er the cycled earth imperious,
Throned on the morning candor of the clouds,
Sits haloed with the worship of the sun.
Chosen is she of all her sister months
To be the bride of the imperial sun.
Disdainful suitor, he did pass unwooed
The paly elder beauties of the year,
Nor in the hoyden March, nor sportive April,
Nor majesty of June, his pleasure found:
He toyed familiar, yet scarce lovingly,
With the swart, sparkling nymphs of summer tide,
He schooled the autumn oreads in their tasks,
And, smiling, passed, and left them all, to shower
The splendid unrestraint of all his love,
And choice, and tenderness on May, his own.

This is the bridal season, and the earth,
Fondest of mothers, and the ardent bridegroom
Have ta'en all gems of earth, all rays of heaven,
Have beggared all the universe for charms
To deck the bride withal. She sits in beauty,
Crowned with the rarest radiance of morn,
Robed in the tissued blooms of all the world,
Yet loveliest for her own proud modesty;
Her glorious eyes the fairest of her jewels,
Her bridal blush her brightest ornament.
Thus maidenly, thus queenly in the skies
She waits against the coming of the bridegroom.
He, o'er the orient wave now eminent,
Through the concoursing rosy clouds of morn
Strides like a monarch 'mid a courtier throng,
Pushing soft adulation out of way;
Presses in grandeur up the noon-day height,
Half haste, all stateliness and majesty.

And over all the vastness of the world
Goes forth the tale of bliss. The roseate clouds
Blush down the tidings to the raptured sea,
Till all his crested waves are musical
With murmured joyfulness. The courier birds
Thrill myriad melodies through all the woods,
With this their joyous burden: "May is bride!"
The hoary oaks, and all the ancient trees,
On the high, rippling winds commune together,
Saying one to another: "May is bride!"

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And from her throne float forth cloud-messengers,
The white-winged spirits of the unborn rain:
They stoop and whisper to the dreaming flowers
Bidding their choicest petals venture out;
Then die to sight amid the morning shine,
As sudden angels, their high missions done,
Rapt from our days, resume their viewless shapes.
But the fair blossoms wake and look about them,
And find all May, and all things lapped in sunshine,
And softly call their kindred to arise,
Till every turf in all the happy fields
Is garish with their bloom, and atmospheres
Of perfume waft their homage to the seat
Of their dear sovereign. And the loving earth,
The great, dumb mother of the happy May,
With all her waving continents of trees,
Makes murmurous gestures full of ecstasy;
And up from land, and sea, and air, and sky,
Rise choral hallelujahs: "May is bride!"

------

Impressions of Spain.

by Lady Herbert.

Cordova and Malaga.

A comfortable little old-fashioned inn, with a "patio" full of orange-trees, leading to a public "sala," rather like a room at Damascus, with alcoves and fountains, gladdened the hearts of our wearied travellers. After a good night's rest (and one advantage in Spain is, that except mosquitoes, your beds are generally free from other inhabitants), they started down the narrow, badly paved streets to visit the cathedral. The exterior is disappointing, as all you see is a buttressed wall, with square towers sixty feet high, opposite which is the gateway and wall of the archepiscopal palace. But on passing through a beautiful oriental court, in the centre of which is a picturesque Moorish fountain, the rest of the space being filled with orange-trees and palms, and on the north side an exquisite giralda, or tower, from whence there is a beautiful view over the whole town and neighborhood. All the entrances to the mosque (now the cathedral) from this court are closed, except the centre one. Entering by that, a whole forest of pillars bursts upon you, with horseshoe arches interlacing one another and forming altogether the most wonderful building in the world. The Moors collected these pillars, of which there are upwards of a thousand, from the temples of Carthage, of Nismes, and of Rome, and adapted them to their mosque. Some are of jasper, some of verde-antique, some of porphyry--no two are alike. The pillars have no plinths, and divide the mosque into nineteen longitudinal and twenty-nine transverse aisles; hence the immense variety and beauty of the intersection of the arches. This mosque was built in the eighth century, and ranked in sanctity with the "Alaksa" of Jerusalem and the "Caaba" of Mecca.

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A pilgrimage to it was, indeed, considered equivalent to that of Mecca, and hence the Spanish proverb to express distant wanderings, "Andar de zeca en Meca." The roof is of arbor-vitae, and is in perfect preservation. Two of the moresque chapels are exquisite in carving and richness of detail, one being that of the Caliphs, and the other the "Holy of Holies," where the Koran was kept. The beauty and delicacy of the moresque work, with its gold enamel and lovely trefoiled patterns, its quaint lions and bright-colored "azulejos" (tiles), exceeds anything of the sort in Europe. The roof is in the form of a shell, and exquisitely wrought out of one single piece of marble. The mosaic border was sent to Cordova by Romanus II., from Constantinople. When the brother of the king of Morocco came there a year or two ago, he went round this "Holy of Holies" seven times on his knees, crying bitterly all the time. The inscriptions in this mosque are in Cufic, and not in Arabic. The whole carries one back to Damascus and the East in a way which makes it difficult to realize that one is still in Europe. The choir is a horrible modern "churriqueresque" innovation, stuck in the centre of the beautiful forest of Saracenic columns, many of which were destroyed to make room for it. Even Charles V. protested against the bad taste of the chapter when he saw it completed in 1526, and exclaimed: "You have built a thing which one can see anywhere; and to do so, you have destroyed what was unique in the world." The carving of the choir is certainly fine, but the incongruity of the whole jars on one's taste too keenly for any kind of admiration. The only beautiful and solemn modernized portion of the building is the chapel of the cardinal, with fine tombs and a deep recess for the Blessed Sacrament, with a magnificent silver tabernacle. From the cathedral, some of the party went to visit the bishop, who received them very kindly, and sent his secretary to show them the treasures of the cathedral. The "custodia," of the fifteenth century, is in silver-gilt, with beautiful emeralds, and exquisitely carved; it is the work of Arphe, the Benvenuto Cellini of Spain. There are also some beautiful processional crosses, reliquaries, chalices, and pax, secreted at the time of Dupont's French invasion, and so saved from the universal plunder.

Having spent the morning in the cathedral, our travellers wandered down to the fine Roman bridge, of sixteen arches, over the Guadalquiver, looking upon some picturesque Moorish mills and orange gardens. To the left is a statue of St. Raphael, the guardian angel of Cordova; and close by is the Alcazar, now a ruin, formerly the palace of Roderick, the last of the Goths, whose father was duke of Cordova. Nothing can be more melancholy than the neglected gardens, the broken fountains and statues, the empty fish-ponds, and grass-grown walks, despite the palms and orange-trees and luxuriant creeping roses, which seemed to be striving to conceal the desolation around. The first palm ever planted in Cordova was by the Moorish king Abdulrrahman, who brought it from his much-loved and always-regretted Damascus.

After luncheon, having obtained special permission from the archbishop, our party started off in two carriages for the hermitages in the Sierra Morena, stopping first at a picturesque ruined villa, called the "Arrizafa," once the favorite residence of the Moorish king. The gardens are beautiful; passion-flowers and jessamine hung in festoons over all the broken walls, and the ground was carpeted with violets, narcissus, and other spring flowers. The view from the terrace is lovely, the town, when seen from a distance, being very like Verona. Here the road became so steep that the party had to leave their carriages and walk the remainder of the way. {322} The mountain-path reminded them of Mount Carmel, with the same underwood of cistus, lilac and white, and heaps of flowering and aromatic shrubs. Beautiful wild iris grew among the rocks, and half-way up a rushing stream tumbled over the boulder-stones into a picturesque basin, covered with maiden-hair fern, which served as a resting-place for the tired travellers. After a fatiguing climb of two hours, they reached the postern gate of the hermitage, into which, after some demur as to their sex, the ladies, by special permission of the archbishop, were admitted. There are at present seventeen hermits, all gentlemen, and many of high birth and large fortune, living each in a little separate cabin, with a patch of garden round it, and entirely alone. They never see one another but at mass and in choir, or speak but once a month. In their chapel they have a beautiful oil painting of St. Paul the first hermit, whose rule they follow in all its primitive severity. One of the cabins was vacant, and the party entered. It was composed of two tiny rooms: in the inner one was a bed formed of three boards, with a sheepskin and a pillow of straw; the rest of the furniture consisted of a crucifix, a jug of water, a terrible discipline with iron points, and Rodriguez' essay on "Christian Perfection," published in 1606, at Valladolid, and evidently much read. This cell was that of Count ----, a man of great wealth and high rank, and of a still wider reputation for ability and talent. He had lost his wife some years ago, to whom he was passionately attached; and remaining in the world only till he had settled his children, then took leave of it for ever, and resolved to spend the rest of his days in penitence and prayer. Their habit is composed of a course grey stuff, with a leathern girdle, drawers, and a shirt of serge. No linen is allowed, or stockings, and they wear sandals on their feet. They are not permitted to possess anything, or to keep anything in their cells but a glazed earthenware pot, a wooden plate, a pitcher, a lamp, and instruments of penance and devotion. They keep a perpetual fast on beans and lentils, only on high days and holidays being allowed fish. They are not allowed to write or receive letters, or to go into one another's cells, or to go out of the enclosure, except once a month, when they may walk in the mountains round, which they generally do together, reciting litanies. Seven hours of each day must be given to prayer, and they take the discipline twice a week. [Footnote 109] How strange a life for one accustomed to live in the world and in society! Yet there is no lack of candidates for each vacancy; and the prior told our travellers that the number of vocations of late years had increased. There is a fine old marble seat and cross in the garden, erected by the late bishop, from whence there is a magnificent view over the whole country. The cold in winter is intense, and they are not allowed any fires, except what is absolutely necessary for the cooking of their miserable meal. Taking leave of the prior in his little "parloir," and receiving a rosary from him made of the wood of the "carouba" by the hermits themselves, the visitors retraced their steps down the hill, feeling as if they had been spending the last couple of hours in another world; and, rejoining their carriages at the villa, made the circuit of the city walls, which are partly Moorish, built of tapia, and described by Julius Caesar.

[Transcriber's note: The image of the following footnote is blurred.
"Pardon my French."]

[Footnote 109: The Rev. Père Félix, the famous Paris preacher, in one
of his Notre Dame conferences, speaking of asceticism of this sort,
says: "Les paiens avaient épuisé la volupté: les chrétiens ont épuisé
les souffrances. De ce creuset de la douleur l'homme nouveau a sorti,
et c'est un homme plus grand que l'homme ancien. Ah! je le sais, la
pénitence corporelle, le jeûne, l'abstinence, la discipline, la
flagelation, prètent à rire à des penseurs de ce temps, qui se croieat
trop sages pour pratiquer de telles folies. Ils out plus d'égurd pour
la chair, plus de respect surtoui pour le corps, et ils disent en
souriant à l'austérité chrétienne: 'Ascétisme! Moyen àge! Fanatisme!
Démence!' La vérité est, que chátier volontairement son corps pour
venger la dignité de l'homme outragés par les révoltes, est une sainte
et sublime chose. La vérité est que pour accorder à son corps le
plaiair, il suffit d'ètre lâche, et que pour infliger à son corps la
douleur volontaire dans un but de restauration morale, il faut ètre
courageux, il faut ètre veaiment grand. La vérité est enfin que cette
race de mortifiés, mieux que tout autre, maintient à sa vraie hauteur
le niveau de l'humanité, et tient dans sa main intrépide, avec le fouet
dont elle se frappe ell-même, le drapeau du progrès. Le chemin du
progrès, comme ceiul du Calvaire, est un chemin douloureax. Le drapeau
de l'austérité chrétienne triomphera une fois de plus dans le monde du
seusualisme paien de nos joura."]

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Then one of the party went to see the Carmelite convent of St. Theresa; not one of the saint's own foundation, but one built soon after her death. It contains twenty-four nuns, the cheeriest and merriest of women, proving how little external circumstances contribute to personal cheerfulness.

The German gentleman who had so kindly served as escort to our travellers during their stay at Cordova dined with them in the evening, and gave them several very interesting details of the place and people. The next morning mass had been promised them at five, but it was six before the priest made his appearance in the fine old Jesuit church, now bereft of its pastors and frequent services; and it was only thanks to the unpunctuality of the Spanish railways that the train which was to convey our party to Malaga was reached in time.

Passing through a very fine gorge of the Sierra Nevada, with magnificent Alpine scenery, the train suddenly stopped: the guard came to the carriages, and civilly suggested to the passengers that the government could not answer for the safety of the tunnels, and, therefore, had provided carriages and mules to take them round; or else, if they preferred it, that they might _walk_, as there would be plenty of time. This sounded ludicrous enough to English ears, but, after all, they thought it more prudent to comply than to run any risk, and accordingly bundled out with their bags and manifold packages. On the recurrence of a similar warning, however, a little later, they voted that they would remain and take their chance; and nothing disastrous occurred. At the station they were met by the kind and obliging English consul, who had ordered rooms for them at the hotel called the "Alameda," pleasantly situated on the promenade, and who had done everything in his power to insure their comfort. The first days of their arrival were spent in settling themselves in their new quarters, which required a good deal of preliminary cleaning, and in seeing the so-called "lions" of the place. These are soon visited. In truth, except for climate, Malaga is as dull and uninteresting a place as can be well imagined. There is a cathedral, originally a mosque, but now converted into an ugly Corinthian pile with two towers. Only one fine old Gothic door remains, with curious "azulejos." The rest, both inside and out, is modern, heavy, and in bad taste. The high altar, however, is by Alonso Caño; and there is some fine wood-carving of the sixteenth century in the choir and on the screen, commemorating different scenes in the life of St. Turibius, archbishop of Lima, whose apostolic labors among the Indians were crowned with such wonderful success. There are one or two good pictures and monuments, especially the recumbent figure of a bishop, in bronze, of the fifteenth century. In the sacristy is a valuable relic of St. Sebastian, and some fine silver vases for the holy oils; but everything else was plundered by the French. Afterward our travellers went, with an order from the governor, to see the castle and Moorish fortress overlooking the town, built in 1279. Passing under a fine Moorish horse-shoe arched gateway, they scrambled up to the keep, from whence there is a magnificent view over sea and land. It is now used as a military prison, and about twenty-six men were confined there. The officers were extremely civil, and showed them everything. The men's barracks seemed clean and comfortable, and their rations good; their arms and knapsacks were, however, of the most old-fashioned kind. That day a detachment of troops were starting for Morocco, whose embarkation in the steamers below was eagerly watched by the garrison.

But if Malaga be dull in the way of sights, it is very pleasant from the kind and sociable character of its inhabitants. Nowhere will the stranger find more genuine kindness, hospitality, or courtesy. {324} Their houses, their villas, their horses, their flowers, their time, all are placed, not figuratively, but really, "á vuestra disposicion." Some of the villas in the neighborhood are lovely, especially those of Madame de H----, the Marquise L----, etc. Here one finds all kinds of tropical vegetation: the date palm, the banana, the plantain and India-rubber trees, sugar, cotton, and other oriental products, all grow luxuriantly; while the beds are filled with masses of violets, tulips, roses, arums, scarlet hybiscus, and geraniums; and beautiful jessamine, _scarlet_ passion-flowers, and other creepers, trail over every wall.

But the chief interest to the winter resident at Malaga will be derived from its charitable institutions. The French sisters of charity of St. Vincent de Paul have the care of three large establishments here. One--an industrial school for the children and orphans connected with a neighboring factory--is a marvel of beauty, order, and good management. The girls are taught every kind of industrial work; a Belgian has been imported to give them instruction in making Valenciennes lace, and their needlework is the most beautiful to be seen out of Paris. Any profit arising from their work is sold, and kept for their "dot" when they marry or leave the establishment. Attached to this school is also a little home for widows, incurables, and sick, equally tended by the sisters. This admirable institution is the offspring of individual charity and of a life wrecked--according to human parlance--but which has taken heart again for the sake of the widow and the orphan, the sorrowful and the suffering. Her name is a household word in Malaga to the sad and the miserable; and in order to carry out her magnificent charities (for she has also an industrial school for boys in the country), she has given up her luxurious home, and lives in a small lodging up three pair of stairs. She reminded one of St. Jerome's description of St. Melania, who, having lost her husband and two children in one day, casting herself at the foot of the cross, exclaimed: "I see, my God! that thou requirest of me my whole heart and love, which was too much fixed on my husband and children. With joy I resign all to thee." The sight of her wonderful cheerfulness and courage, after sorrows so unparalleled, must strengthen every one to follow in her steps, and strive to learn, in self-abnegation, her secret of true happiness. The French sisters have likewise the charge of the great hospital of St. Juan de Dios, containing between 400 and 500 patients, now about to be removed to a new and more commodious building; and also of a large day and infant school near the river, with a "salle d'asile," containing upward of 500 children, who are daily fed with soup and bread. They also visit the poor and sick in their homes, and everywhere their steps are hailed with thankfulness and joy.

The "Little Sisters of the Poor" have likewise established themselves in Malaga, and have a large house, containing seventy old and incurable people, which is very well supplied by the richer inhabitants. The nuns of the "Assumption" have lately started a "pension" for the daughters of the upper classes, which was immensely wanted (education being at a very low ebb in Spain), and which has been most joyfully hailed by the Malaga ladies for their children. The superior, a charming person, is an English woman; and the frequent benediction services in their beautiful little chapel were a great boon to some of our party. They paid a visit also to the archbishop, a kind and venerable old man, with the most benevolent smile and aspect, and who is really looked upon as the father of his people. At a grand Te Deum service, given in the church of S. Pietro dei Martiri, one of the most interesting churches in Malaga, as a thanksgiving for the preservation of the city from cholera, he officiated pontifically, which his great age generally prevents, and gave the benediction with mitre and crosier to the devout and kneeling multitude.

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There is a very touching "Via Crucis" service performed every Friday in Malaga, up to a chapel on the top of a high mountain overlooking the whole town and bay. The peasants chaunt the most plaintive and beautiful hymns, the words of which they "improviser" on the way, both up and down. It begins at a very beautiful church and convent called Notre Dame des Victoires, now converted into a military hospital, nursed by the Spanish sisters of charity. The family of the Alcazars is buried in the crypt of this church, and beautiful palms grow in the convent garden. In the old refectory are some fine azulejos tiles and some good specimens of Raphael ware.

As to diversions, Malaga offers but few resources. Those who like boating may go out daily along the beautiful coast; but the rides are few, the ground hard and dusty, and the "rivière à sec," like that at Nice, must be traversed before any mountain expeditions could be reached. There is a bull-ring, as in every Spanish town, and occasionally the additional excitement of elephants being used in the fights: but the bulls will rarely face them.

After about a month, therefore, spent in this quiet little place, it was decided to start for Granada, which promised to afford greater interest and variety.

Granada.

Taking leave rather sorrowfully of their many kind friends, and of the sisters of charity who had been their constant companions during their stay in Malaga, our travellers started one stormy evening, and found themselves once more cooped up in one of those terrible diligences, and slowly ascending the mountains at the back of the town. Their intention had been to go on horseback, riding by Velez-Malaga and the baths of Alhama; but the late heavy rains had converted the mountain streams into torrents, and some of the party who attempted it were compelled to return. After ascending for about three hours, leaving on their left the picturesque cemetery, with its fine cypresses, they came to a plateau 3000 feet above the sea, from whence they had a magnificent view, the whole of Malaga and its bay being stretched out at their feet, the lights glistening in the town, and the moon, breaking through the clouds, shedding a soft light over the sea-line, which was covered with tiny fishing-vessels. Beautiful aloes and cacti starting out of the bold rocks on either side formed the foreground, while a rapid river rushed and tumbled in the gorge below. But with this fine panoramic view the enjoyment of our travellers came to an end. When night came on, and they had reached the highest and loneliest part of the bleak sierra, it began to pour with rain and blow a regular gale; the heavy mud was dashed into their faces; the icy cold wind whistled through the broken panes and under the floor of the carriage, and froze them to the bone. There was some difficulty about a relay of mules at the next stage, and so our party were left on an exposed part of the road without drivers or beasts for more than an hour. Altogether, it was impossible to conceive a more disagreeable journey; and it was therefore with intense joy that they found themselves, after sixteen hours of imprisonment, at last released, and once more able to stretch their legs in the _Alameda_ of Granada. Tired, hungry, dirty, and cold, a fresh disappointment here awaited them. All the hotels were full (their letters ordering rooms had miscarried), and only one tiny bedroom could be found in which they could take refuge, and scrape the mud off their clothes and hair. One of the party found her way to the cathedral; the rest held a council of war, and finally determined to try their fate at the new "Alhambra" hotel outside the town, where an apartment was to be had, the cold and wet of the season having deterred the usual visitors to this purely summer residence. {326} They had every reason to congratulate themselves on this decision; for though the cold was certainly great, the snow hanging still on all the hills around, and the house being unprovided with any kind of fire-places or stoves, still the cleanliness and comfort of the whole amply compensated for these drawbacks, to say nothing of the immense advantage of being close to the Alhambra, that great object of attraction to every traveller who visits Granada. The way up to it is very picturesque, but very steep. After leaving the wretched, narrow, ill-paved streets, which dislocate almost every bone in your body when attempted on wheels, and passing by the Sala de la Audiencia and other fine public buildings, you arrive at an arched gateway, which at once brings you into a kind of public garden, planted with fine English elms, and abounding in walks and fountains and seats, and in which the paths and drives, in spite of their precipitous character, are carefully and beautifully kept by convict labor, under the superintendence of a body of park-keepers dressed in full Andalusian costume. The hotel is placed on the very crest of the hill, overlooking the magnificent range of snowy mountains to the right. To the left the first thing which strikes the eye is the Torre de Justicia. Over the outer horse-shoe arch is carved an open hand, upon the meaning of which the learned are divided; some saying it is an emblem of the power of God, others a talisman against the Evil Eye. Over the inner arch is sculptured a key, which typified the power of the Prophet over the gates of heaven and hell. A double gate protects this entrance, which no donkey may pass: in the recess is a very beautiful little picture, framed and glazed, of the Virgin and Child. Passing through this arch, you come to an open "plaza," out of which rise two towers; one has been bought by an Englishman, who has converted the lower part of it into his private residence. (Where shall we not find our ubiquitous country-men?) [Footnote 110]

[Footnote 110: This unexpected rencontre reminded one of our party of a
similar surprise, some years ago, in the mountains of the Tyrol. She
was riding with her husband, when they came on a very picturesque old
"Schloss," in an out-of-the-way gorge of a mountain pass. Stopping to
look at it, and pushing open a half-open door in what appeared to be
only habitable part of the ruling, they came on a group of chubby-faced
English children, sitting around a table in their white pinafores,
eating an undeniably English tea; and were told by the nurse, in answer
to their inquiries, that the present owner of this Austrian Schloss was
a London tradesman, who brought his children over every year to spend
the summer--a most sensible arrangement, as the healthy bright looks of
his little ones testified.]

The other is called the Torre de la Vela, because on this watch-tower hangs the bell which gives warning to the irrigators in the vega below. The view from hence is the most enchanting thing possible, commanding the whole country. Below lies Granada with its towers and sparkling rivers, the Darro and the Xenil. Beyond stretches the beautiful rich "vega" (or plain), studded with villas and villages, and encircled by snowy mountains, with the Sierra of Albama on one side, and the Gorge of Loja on the other. Descending the tower, and standing again in the "plaza" below, you see opposite to you a large ruined Doric palace, a monument of the bad taste of Charles V., who pulled down a large portion of the Moorish building to erect this hideous edifice, which, like most other things in Spain, remains unfinished. Passing through a low door to the right, our travellers were perfectly dazzled at the beauty which suddenly burst upon them. It is impossible to conceive anything more exquisite than the Alhambra, of which no drawings, no Crystal Palace models, not even Washington Irving's poetical descriptions, give one the faintest idea. "J'essaie en vain de penser: je ne peux que sentir!" exclaimed the authoress of "Les Lettres d'Espagne" on entering; but the predominant feeling is one of regret for the Moors, whose dynasty produced such marvels of beauty and of art. {327} Entering by the fish-pond "patio," and visiting first the Whispering Gallery, you pass through the Hall of the Ambassadors, and the Court of Lions, out of which lead the Hall of the Abencerrages, and that of Justice, with its two curious monuments and wonderful fretted roof, and then come to the gem of the whole, the private apartments of the Moorish kings, with the recessed bedroom of the king and queen, the boudoir and lovely latticed windows overlooking the beautiful little garden of Lindaraja (the violets and orange-blossoms of which scented the whole air), and the exquisite baths below. [Footnote 111] It is a thing to dream of, and exceeds every previous expectation. Again and again did our travellers return, and always discovered some fresh beauties. The governor resides in a modernized corner of the building, not far from the mosque, which has suffered from the bad taste of the Christian spoilers. He is not a good specimen of Spanish courtesy, as, in spite of letters of introduction from the highest quarters, it was with very great difficulty that our party were admitted to see anything beyond the portions of the building open to the general public. At last, however, he condescended to find the keys of the Tower of the Infantas, once the residence of the Moorish princesses whose tragical fate is so touchingly recorded by Washington Irving. It is a beautiful little cage, overlooking the ravine, with its fine aqueduct below, and rich in the delicate moresque carving of both ceilings and walls. Afterward, crossing a garden, they came to the gate by which Boabdil left his palace for the last time, and which was afterward, by his special request, walled up. The tower at this corner was mined and destroyed by the French. Our party then descended to a little mosque lately purchased by Colonel ----, and beautifully restored. This completed the circuit of the Alhambra, which is girdled with walls and towers of that rich red-brown hue which stands out so beautifully against the deep blue sky, but the greater portion of which was ruthlessly destroyed by Sebastiani, at the time of his occupation of Granada.

[Footnote 111: Few have described this enchanting palace as well as the
French lady already quoted. She says, speaking of the feelings it calls
forth: "J'aimerais autant étre broyée dans la gueule de ces jolis
monstres qui ont des nez en noeud de oravate, appelés _Lions_ par
la grâce de Mahomet, que de te parier de l'Alhambra, tant cette
description est difficile. Les murailles ne sont que guipures délicates
et compilquées: les plus hardies stalactites ne peuvent donner une idée
des coupoles. Le tout est une merveille, un travail d'abeilles ou de
fées. Les sculptures sont d'une délicatesse ravissante, d'un goût
parfait, d'une richesse qui vous fait songer à tout ce que les contes
de fées vous décrivalent jadis à l'heureux àge où l'imagination a des
ailes d'or. Hélas! la mienne n'a pius d'alle, elle est de plomb. Les
Arabes n'employaient que quatre couleurs: le bleu, le rouge, le noir et
l'or. Cette richesse, ces teintes vives, sont visibles encore partout.
Enfin, mon ami, ce n'est point un palais ceci: c'est la ville d'un
enchanteur!"]

The restoration of this matchless palace has been undertaken by the present queen, who has put it in the hands of a first-rate artist named Contreras; and this confidence has been well bestowed, for it is impossible to see work executed in a more perfect manner, so that it is very difficult to tell the old portions from the new. If he be spared to complete it, future generations will see the Alhambra restored very nearly to its pristine beauty. This gentleman makes exquisite models of different parts of the building, done to a scale, which are the most perfect miniature fac-similes possible of the different portions of this beautiful palace, and a most agreeable memento of a visit to it. Our travellers purchased several, and only regretted they had not chosen some of the same size, as they would make charming panels for a cabinet or screen.

In the afternoon, the party started to see the cathedral, escorted by the kind and good-natured dean, who engaged the venerable mother of the "Little Sisters of the Poor" to act as his interpreter, his Andalusian Spanish being utterly unintelligible to most of the party. The first feeling on entering is of unmixed disappointment. It is a pagan Greco-Roman building, very much what our London churches are which were erected in the time of the Georges. But it has one redeeming point--the Capilla de los Reyes, containing the wonderful monuments of Ferdinand and Isabella, and of Philip and Joan. {328} The alabaster sepulchres of the former, wrought at Genoa by Peralta, are magnificent, both in design and execution. Isabella's statue is especially beautiful:

In questa forma
Passa la bella donna, e par che dorma.

The faces are both portraits, and have a simple dignity which arrests the attention of the most unobservant. A low door and a few steep steps below the monuments lead to their last resting-place. The royal coffins are of lead, lapped over, rude and plain (only the letter F distinguishes that of the king), but they are genuine, and untouched since the day when their bodies, so justly revered by the Spaniards, were deposited in this humble vault. Among the treasures of this chapel are likewise shown the identical royal standards used at the conquest of Granada; the kings sword; the queen's own missal; their crosier and crown of silver-gilt; the picture of the Virgin and Child by St. Luke, given to Isabella by Pope Innocent VIII., and before which mass is said every 2d of January, the anniversary of the taking of the city; and the portrait of the knight who, during the siege, rode into Granada, and affixed a taper and an "Ave Maria" on the very door of the principal mosque. In the sacristy is a "Conception," exquisitely carved, by Alonso Caño; an "Adoration of the Kings," by Hemling, of Bruges; a curious ring of Sixtus II.; a chasuble embroidered by Queen Isabella; some very valuable relics and reliquaries, and a letter of St. Charles Borromeo, which the good-natured dean allowed one of the party to copy. Besides these treasures, and the Capilla de los Reyes, there is really nothing to look at in the cathedral, but one or two good painted glass windows, some clustered columns, and a curious arch in the dome, which was made to bend downward.

The following morning, after an early service at the Capuchin convent of St. Antonio, one of the party started on an expedition with the sisters of the town, and winding up a beautiful and steep ravine, in the holes and caverns of which gypsies live and congregate, they came to a picturesque wood planted on the side of the mountain. Here they left their carriages, and scrambled up a zigzag path cut in the hill, with low steps or "gradini," till they reached a plateau, on which stands both convent and church. The view from the terrace in front is the most magnificent which can be conceived. On one side are the snowy mountains of the Sierra Nevada, with a rapid river tumbling into the gorge below, the valleys being lined on both sides with stone-pine woods, amid which little convents and villages are clustered. On the other is the town of Granada, with its domes and towers; and sharply standing out on the rocks above the ruins, against the bright blue sky, are the coffee-colored towers of the beautiful Alhambra. There is a Via Crucis up to this spot, the very crosses seeming to start up out of the rocks, which are clothed with aloes and prickly pear; while in the centre of the terrace is a beautiful fountain and cross, shaded by magnificent cypresses. The church is built over some catacombs, where the bodies of St. Cecilia and eleven other martyrs were found, who suffered in the persecution under Nero. The superior of this convent, now converted into a college, is Don José Martin, a very holy man, though quite young, and revered by the whole country as a saint. He is a wonderful preacher, and by his austere and penitential life works miracles in bringing souls to God. His manner is singularly gentle, simple, and humble. He kindly came to escort the party through the catacombs, and to show them the relics. The sites of the different martyrdoms have been converted into small chapels or oratories: in one, where the victim perished by fire, his ashes still remain. Little leaden tablets mark the different spots. {329} Here also is the great wooden cross of St. John of the Cross, from the foot of which he preached a sermon on the "Love of God" during his visit to Granada, which is said to have converted upward of three thousand people. "I always come here to pray for a few minutes before preaching," said simply Don José Martin, "so that a portion of his spirit may rest upon me." After spending some time in this sanctuary, the party reluctantly retraced their steps, and returned to the town, where they had promised to visit the great hospital of San Juan de Dios. It is a magnificent establishment, entirely under the care of the Spanish sisters of charity of St. Vincent de Paul, with a "patio" or quadrangle in the centre, and double cloisters round, into which the wards open: all round the cloisters are frescoes describing different scenes in the life of the saint. The church is gorgeous in its decorations, and in a chapel above rests the body of San Juan, in a magnificent silver shrine, with his clothes, his hat, the basket in which he used daily to go and collect food for his sick and dying poor, and other like personalities.

This saint is immensely revered in Granada. He was the first founder of the order of Brothers of Charity, now spread all over Europe, beginning his great work, as all saints have done, in the humblest manner possible, by hiring a small house (now converted into a wayside oratory), in which he could place four or five poor people, nursing them himself night and day, and only going out to beg, sell, and chop wood, or do anything to obtain the necessary food and medicines for them. The archbishop, touched with his burning charity, assisted him to build a larger hospital. This house soon after took fire, when San Juan carried out the sick one by one on his back, without receiving any hurt. It is thus that he is represented in the Statue Gallery of Madrid. The people, inflamed by his loving zeal, and in admiration of his great wisdom, humility, and prudence, came forward as one man to help him to build the present hospital, which remains to this day as a monument of what may be done by one poor man of humble birth, if really moved by the love of God. His death was caused by rescuing a man in danger of drowning from the sudden rising of the river, and then remaining, wet and worn out as he was, while caring for the family. He died on his knees, repeating the "Miserere," amidst the tears of the whole city, to whom, by the special command of the archbishop, he gave his dying benediction. His favorite saying was: "Labor without intermission to do all the good works in your power while time is allowed you;" and this sentence is engraved in Spanish on the door of the hospital.

The following day happened to be the anniversary of his death, or rather of his birthday in heaven, when a touching and beautiful ceremonial is observed. The archbishop and his clergy come to the hospital to give the holy communion to the sick in each ward. A procession is formed of the ecclesiastics and the sisters of charity, each bearing lighted tapers, and little altars are arranged at the end of each ward, beautifully decorated with real flowers, while everything in and about the hospital is fresh and clean for the occasion. A touching incident occurred in the male ward on that day, where one poor man lay in the last stage of disease. The eagerness of his look when the archbishop drew near his bed will never be forgotten by those who were kneeling there; nor the way in which his face lighted up with joy when he received his Lord. The attendant sister bent forward to give him a cordial afterward: he shook his head, and turned his face away; he would have nothing after _that_. Before the last notes of the "Pange Lingua" or the curling smoke of the incense had died out of the ward, all was over; but the smile on the lips and the peace on the face spoke of the rest he had found. Afterward there was a magnificent service in the church, and a dinner to all the orphans in the sisters' schools.

{330}

Another interesting expedition made by our travellers was to the Carthusian convent outside the town. Sebastiani desecrated and pillaged the wonderful treasures it contained; but the tortoise-shell and mother-of-pearl doors and presses remain, reminding one of those in the Armenian church at Jerusalem, at the shrine of St. James. There are also two statues of St. Bruno, by Alonso Caño; wonderful for their life-like appearance and expression, but still not equal to the incomparable one at Miraflores. There are some beautiful alabaster and agate pillars still left in the chapel behind the high altar, which it is to be supposed were too heavy for the spoilers to carry off. In the cloister are some curious frescoes of the martyrdoms of the Carthusians, at the time of the Protestant Reformation, by Henry VIII. of England. The guide who accompanied our travellers said slyly to the only Catholic of the party: "We had better not explain the subject of these. Let them imagine they are some of the horrors of of the Inquisition--_that always takes with English people!_" Another picture was startling both in subject and coloring; it was that of a dead doctor, much venerated in life, who, on a funeral panegyric being pronounced over him, started from his coffin, exclaiming that "his life had been a lie, and that be was among the damned!" The friar who showed our party over the now deserted convent was like Fray Gabriel in Fernan Caballero's novel of La Gaviota. When the rest of the Carthusians were turned out by the government, he would not go. "I was brought here as a little child," he said, "and know no one in the world;" and so he sat himself down by the cross and sobbed. They let him stay and keep the garden and the church, but his life is over. "The blood does not run in his veins--it walks!" Like Fray Gabriel, he will die kneeling before the Christ to whom he daily prays for those who have so cruelly wronged and robbed him. The view from the terrace in front of the church is beautiful, overlooking the rich and cultivated plain of Soto de Roma, the property of the Duke of Wellington, with the mountain of Parapanda above, the hills of Elvira, and the pass of Moelin, which forms the bridle-road to Cordova. The gardens also are delightful: no wonder the poor monks clung to their convent home!

In the afternoon our travellers walked up to the Generalife, a villa now belonging to the Panavicini family, a branch of the great Genoa house, but formerly the palace of the Sultana. Passing through vineyards and fig-trees, they arrived at the gate of the fairy garden, with its long straight borders, fringed with myrtle, irrigated by the Darro, which is carried in a little canal between the flower-beds, and with a beautiful open colonnade overlooking the Alhambra, while a less formal garden sent up a shower of sweet scents from the orange trees and jessamine trellises below. Through this colonnade they passed into the living-rooms, exquisite in their Moorish carvings and decorations. In one of them there are a number of curious though somewhat apocryphal portraits, including one of Boabdil, and of another Moorish king of Granada, with his wife and daughter, who turned Christians, and were baptized at Santa Fé. In the outer room are portraits of an the "bluest blood" of Granada. But the gardens form the greatest charm. The ground was covered with Neapolitan violets and other spring flowers. Roses climbed over every wall, and magnificent cypresses, and aloes in full flower, shaded the beds from the burning sun. The largest of these cypresses, called the Sultana, is twelve feet in circumference, and to this tree the fatal legend of the fair Zoraya is attached. Behind these cypresses is a flight of Italian-looking steps, leading to another raised garden, full of terraces and fountains. On the steep brow of the hill is an alcove, or summer-house, from whence the views over Granada and the Alhambra are quite enchanting, every arch being, as it were, the setting or frame of a new and beautiful picture. {331} Above this again, is a Moorish fortress, and a knoll called the Moors Chair, from whence the last Moorish king is said to have sadly contemplated the defeat of his troops by the better-disciplined armies of Ferdinand and Isabella grouped in the plains below. Scrambling still higher up, our travellers came to the ruins of a chapel, and to some curious caverns, with a peep into a wild gorge to the right leading into the very heart of this mountainous and little-visited region. Boabdil's sword, and other relics and pictures of the fifteenth century belonging to the Pallavicini family, are carefully preserved by their agent in their house in the town, and had been courteously shown to our travellers when they called to obtain permission to visit the villa. Returning toward their hotel, they thought they would prolong their walk by visiting the great cemetery, or "Campo Santo," which is a little to the north of the Generalife. Long files of mourners had been perpetually passing by their windows, the bier being carried on men's shoulders, and uncovered, as in the East, so that the face of the dead was visible. Each bier was followed by the confraternity to which he or she belonged, chanting hymns and litanies as they wound up the long steep hill from the town to the burial-ground. But all appearance of reverence, or even of decency, disappears at the spot itself, where the corpse is stripped, taken out of its temporary coffin, and brutally cast into a pit, which is kept open till filled, and then, with quicklime thrown in, closed up, and a fresh one opened to be treated in a similar manner. It is a disgrace to Catholic Spain that such scenes should be of daily recurrence.

Another villa worth visiting in the neighborhood of the Alhambra is that of Madame Calderon, where the obliging French gardener took our travellers all over the gardens and terraces, the hot houses and aviaries, the artificial streams and bridges, till they came to the great attraction of the place-- a magnificent arbor-vitae, or hanging cypress, falsely called a cedar of Lebanon, which was planted by St. John of the Cross, this site being originally occupied by a convent of St. Theresa's. The house is thoroughly comfortable inside, with charming views over the "vega," and altogether more like an English house than anything else in Spain. If anyone wished to spend a delightful summer out of England, they could find no more agreeable retreat; perfect as to climate, and with the most enjoyable and beautiful expeditions to be made in every direction. It is worth remembering, as Madame Calderon, being now a widow, is anxious to let her residence, having another house in Madrid. There is a church close by, and a dairy attached to the garden, which is a rarity in Spain, and a public benefit to the visitors at the Alhambra; and the clever and notable French wife of the gardener makes delicious butter, and sells both that and the cream in her mistress's absence--luxuries utterly unknown anywhere else in the Peninsula.

Bad weather and heavy snow (for they had visited Granada too early in the year) prevented our travellers from accomplishing different expeditions which they had planned for the ascent of the Sierra Nevada, and visiting Alhama and Adea, and other interesting spots in the neighborhood. But they drove one day to the Alameda, where all Granada congregates in the evening, and from whence the view looking on the mountains is beautiful.

Returning by the Moorish gateway, called the Puerta de Monayma, they came to an open space, in the centre of which is a statue of the Virgin. Here public executions used to take place, and here, in 1881, Mariana Pineda, a lady of high birth and great beauty, was strangled. A simple cross marks the spot. Her crime was the finding in her house a flag, maliciously placed there by a man whose addresses she had rejected.

{332}

From this "plaza" our travellers drove to the conflux of the rivers Darro and Xenil, which together form the Guadalquiver; and from thence proceeded to a mosque, where a tablet records the fact of its having been the place where the unfortunate king Boabdil gave the keys of the town to the Christian conquerors, Ferdinand and Isabella, and then himself rode slowly and sadly away from his beautiful palace by a mountain still called the "Last Sigh of the Moor," immortalized both in verse and song. The accompanying ballad, with its plaintive wailing sound, still echoes in the hearts and on the lips of the people:

Ay de mi Alhama
Paseabase el Rey Moro
Por la ciudad de Granada
Desde la puerta de Elvira
Hasta la de Bibarrambla
Ay de mi Alhama!