The Alhambra 2
But though a great part of Spain is deficient in the garniture of groves
and forests, and the softer charms of ornamental cultivation, yet its
scenery is noble in its severity and in unison with the attributes of
its people; and I think that I better understand the proud, hardy,
frugal, and abstemious Spaniard, his manly defiance of hardships, and
contempt of effeminate indulgences, since I have seen the country he
inhabits.
There is something, too, in the sternly simple features of the Spanish
landscape, that impresses on the soul a feeling of sublimity. The
immense plains of the Castiles and of La Mancha, extending as far as the
eye can reach, derive an interest from their very nakedness and
immensity, and possess, in some degree, the solemn grandeur of the
ocean. In ranging over these boundless wastes, the eye catches sight
here and there of a straggling herd of cattle attended by a lonely
herdsman, motionless as a statue, with his long slender pike tapering up
like a lance into the air; or beholds a long train of mules slowly
moving along the waste like a train of camels in the desert; or a single
horseman, armed with blunderbuss and stiletto, and prowling over the
plain. Thus the country, the habits, the very looks of the people, have
something of the Arabian character. The general insecurity of the
country is evinced in the universal use of weapons. The herdsman in the
field, the shepherd in the plain, has his musket and his knife. The
wealthy villager rarely ventures to the market-town without his trabuco,
and, perhaps, a servant on foot with a blunderbuss on his shoulder; and
the most petty journey is undertaken with the preparation of a warlike
enterprise.
The dangers of the road produce also a mode of travelling resembling, on
a diminutive scale, the caravans of the East. The arrieros, or carriers,
congregate in convoys, and set off in large and well-armed trains on
appointed days; while additional travellers swell their number, and
contribute to their strength. In this primitive way is the commerce of
the country carried on. The muleteer is the general medium of traffic,
and the legitimate traverser of the land, crossing the peninsula from
the Pyrenees and the Asturias to the Alpuxarras, the Serrania de Ronda,
and even to the gates of Gibraltar. He lives frugally and hardily: his
alforjas of coarse cloth hold his scanty stock of provisions; a leathern
bottle, hanging at his saddle-bow, contains wine or water, for a supply
across barren mountains and thirsty plains; a mule-cloth spread upon the
ground is his bed at night, and his pack-saddle his pillow. His low, but
clean-limbed and sinewy form betokens strength; his complexion is dark
and sunburnt; his eye resolute, but quiet in its __EXPRESSION__, except
when kindled by sudden emotion; his demeanor is frank, manly, and
courteous, and he never passes you without a grave salutation: “Dios
guarde à usted!” “Va usted con Dios, Caballero!” “God guard you!” “God
be with you, Cavalier!”
As these men have often their whole fortune at stake upon the burden of
their mules, they have their weapons at hand, slung to their saddles,
and ready to be snatched out for desperate defence; but their united
numbers render them secure against petty bands of marauders, and the
solitary bandolero, armed to the teeth, and mounted on his Andalusian
steed, hovers about them, like a pirate about a merchant convoy, without
daring to assault.
The Spanish muleteer has an inexhaustible stock of songs and ballads,
with which to beguile his incessant wayfaring. The airs are rude and
simple, consisting of but few inflections. These he chants forth with a
loud voice, and long, drawling cadence, seated sideways on his mule, who
seems to listen with infinite gravity, and to keep time, with his paces,
to the tune. The couplets thus chanted are often old traditional
romances about the Moors, or some legend of a saint, or some love-ditty;
or, what is still more frequent, some ballad about a bold
contrabandista, or hardy bandolero, for the smuggler and the robber are
poetical heroes among the common people of Spain. Often, the song of the
muleteer is composed at the instant, and relates to some local scene, or
some incident of the journey. This talent of singing and improvising is
frequent in Spain, and is said to have been inherited from the Moors.
There is something wildly pleasing in listening to these ditties among
the rude and lonely scenes they illustrate; accompanied, as they are, by
the occasional jingle of the mule-bell.
It has a most picturesque effect also to meet a train of muleteers in
some mountain-pass. First you hear the bells of the leading mules
breaking with their simple melody the stillness of the airy height; or,
perhaps, the voice of the muleteer admonishing some tardy or wandering
animal, or chanting, at the full stretch of his lungs, some traditionary
ballad. At length you see the mules slowly winding along the cragged
defile, sometimes descending precipitous cliffs, so as to present
themselves in full relief against the sky, sometimes toiling up the deep
arid chasms below you. As they approach, you descry their gay
decorations of worsted stuffs, tassels, and saddle-cloths, while, as
they pass by, the ever ready trabuco, slung behind the packs and
saddles, gives a hint of the insecurity of the road.
The ancient kingdom of Granada, into which we were about to penetrate,
is one of the most mountainous regions of Spain. Vast sierras, or chains
of mountains, destitute of shrub or tree, and mottled with variegated
marbles and granites, elevate their sunburnt summits against a deep-blue
sky; yet in their rugged bosoms lie ingulfed verdant and fertile
valleys, where the desert and the garden strive for mastery, and the
very rock is, as it were, compelled to yield the fig, the orange, and
the citron, and to blossom with the myrtle and the rose.
In the wild passes of these mountains the sight of walled towns and
villages, built like eagles’ nests among the cliffs, and surrounded by
Moorish battlements, or of ruined watch-towers perched on lofty peaks,
carries the mind back to the chivalric days of Christian and Moslem
warfare, and to the romantic struggle for the conquest of Granada. In
traversing these lofty sierras the traveller is often obliged to alight,
and lead his horse up and down the steep and jagged ascents and
descents, resembling the broken steps of a staircase. Sometimes the road
winds along dizzy precipices, without parapet to guard him from the
gulfs below, and then will plunge down steep and dark and dangerous
declivities. Sometimes it struggles through rugged barrancos, or
ravines, worn by winter torrents, the obscure path of the
contrabandista; while, ever and anon, the ominous cross, the monument of
robbery and murder, erected on a mound of stones at some lonely part of
the road, admonishes the traveller that he is among the haunts of
banditti, perhaps at that very moment under the eye of some lurking
bandolero. Sometimes, in winding through the narrow valleys, he is
startled by a hoarse bellowing, and beholds above him on some green fold
of the mountain a herd of fierce Andalusian bulls, destined for the
combat of the arena. I have felt, if I may so express it, an agreeable
horror in thus contemplating, near at hand, these terrific animals,
clothed with tremendous strength, and ranging their native pastures in
untamed wildness, strangers almost to the face of man: they know no one
but the solitary herdsman who attends upon them, and even he at times
dares not venture to approach them. The low bellowing of these bulls,
and their menacing aspect as they look down from their rocky height,
give additional wildness to the savage scenery.
I have been betrayed unconsciously into a longer disquisition than I
intended on the general features of Spanish travelling; but there is a
romance about all the recollections of the Peninsula dear to the
imagination.
As our proposed route to Granada lay through mountainous regions, where
the roads are little better than mule-paths, and said to be frequently
beset by robbers, we took due travelling precautions. Forwarding the
most valuable part of our luggage a day or two in advance by the
arrieros, we retained merely clothing and necessaries for the journey
and money for the expenses of the road; with a little surplus of hard
dollars by way of _robber purse_, to satisfy the gentlemen of the road
should we be assailed. Unlucky is the too wary traveller who, having
grudged this precaution, falls into their clutches empty-handed; they
are apt to give him a sound ribroasting for cheating them out of their
dues. “Caballeros like them cannot afford to scour the roads and risk
the gallows for nothing.”
A couple of stout steeds were provided for our own mounting, and a third
for our scanty luggage and the conveyance of a sturdy Biscayan lad,
about twenty years of age, who was to be our guide, our groom, our
valet, and at all times our guard. For the latter office he was provided
with a formidable trabuco or carbine, with which he promised to defend
us against rateros or solitary footpads; but as to powerful bands, like
that of the “Sons of Ecija,” he confessed they were quite beyond his
prowess. He made much vainglorious boast about his weapon at the outset
of the journey; though, to the discredit of his generalship, it was
suffered to hang unloaded behind his saddle.
According to our stipulations, the man from whom we hired the horses was
to be at the expense of their feed and stabling on the journey, as well
as of the maintenance of our Biscayan squire, who of course was provided
with funds for the purpose; we took care, however, to give the latter a
private hint, that, though we made a close bargain with his master, it
was all in his favor, as, if he proved a good man and true, both he and
the horses should live at our cost, and the money provided for their
maintenance remain in his pocket. This unexpected largess, with the
occasional present of a cigar, won his heart completely. He was, in
truth, a faithful, cheery, kind-hearted creature, as full of saws and
proverbs as that miracle of squires, the renowned Sancho himself, whose
name, by the by, we bestowed upon him, and, like a true Spaniard,
though treated by us with companionable familiarity, he never for a
moment, in his utmost hilarity, overstepped the bounds of respectful
decorum.
Such were our minor preparations for the journey, but above all we laid
in an ample stock of good-humor, and a genuine disposition to be
pleased; determining to travel in true contrabandista style; taking
things as we found them, rough or smooth, and mingling with all classes
and conditions in a kind of vagabond companionship. It is the true way
to travel in Spain. With such disposition and determination, what a
country is it for a traveller, where the most miserable inn is as full
of adventure as an enchanted castle, and every meal is in itself an
achievement! Let others repine at the lack of turnpike roads and
sumptuous hotels, and all the elaborate comforts of a country cultivated
and civilized into tameness and commonplace; but give me the rude
mountain scramble; the roving, hap-hazard, wayfaring; the half wild, yet
frank and hospitable manners, which impart such a true game-flavor to
dear old romantic Spain!
Thus equipped and attended, we cantered out of “Fair Seville city” at
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