WE “had heard, but not believed,” that the line of railway between Granada and Malaga, as far as Loja, was to be opened on or about the day we proposed leaving; and we determined that, if the train really ran, we would be among its first passengers. But oh! the dreary difficulty of learning anything from anybody about anything in Spain! We ran hither and thither, we despatched messenger after messenger, but in vain; ““No sÉ,” I know nothing—was the invariable answer received in each case, and the nearer the time approached, the greater seemed the uncertainty. But had it not been officially announced, and were we not bound to believe an official announcement in official Spain, however at fault individual information might be? So we quietly allowed all doubts and disbeliefs to clear from our minds, and declared our intention of proceeding to Loja by the first train, trusting to miracles that the train would run. There is nothing like trusting to miracles in Spain. You are promised that such and such a thing shall be done; you speculate anxiously, it may be, but of necessity, curiously, as to the how and the when; you wait, and wait, and wait, and without any apparent intervention, the thing grows up like the prophet’s gourd.

So it was in this case. Nobody took any trouble about the train; no one seemed responsible for the starting of the train; no one but ourselves wanted to start by the train, and yet, after all, the train went. It was like the old nursery story—water wouldn’t quench fire, fire wouldn’t burn stick, stick wouldn’t beat pig, pig wouldn’t get over the stile, and on a sudden water began to quench fire, fire began to burn stick, stick began to beat pig, etc.

The train was to start for Loja at twelve o’clock precisely, but, of course, we were driven to the station a good hour and a half in advance. What a laughable scene it was! All the wags of Granada had come out to see the train start, quite believing, I am sure, that it would not start that day. The Andalusian is light-hearted, ready-witted, and prone to say smart things. Here was a fine occasion of quibs and puns, and it was not neglected. The train was treated like a charlatan or tumbler who has promised to perform a certain trick, and at the eleventh hour would fain call off. Every one and every thing connected with it came in for a share of raillery, the priests who were to consecrate it, the guards who were to drive it, the stokers who were to keep it going, the passengers who were going by it, and the crowd who came to see it.

The very beasts of burden seemed to be in league against that unfortunate train. We had driven down to the station in an omnibus drawn by two handsome mules, that had been docile as possible on former occasions, but, like all true-born Granadinos, they were thorough-going conservatives, and would have nothing whatever to say to the train. So, no sooner had we got in sight of the engine and line of carriages, than they kicked, pranced, and, finally, ran right into a ditch. They were stormed at, whipped, pulled, and coaxed out somehow; but neither blows nor entreaties could induce them to move a step nearer the platform. This incident naturally offered food for merriment to the wags, who seemed divided between their admiration of the mules who wouldn’t approach the train, and of amusement at the unfortunate travellers whom they had upset. Having, after some delay, procured our tickets, we crossed over to the platform, where a little crowd was already assembled to witness the inaugural ceremony. By-and-by, two or three sacristans appeared and erected a temporary altar, trimming it with gay artificial flowers and ribbon. Then there was a pause of some minutes, at the end of which came the Archbishop of Granada, dressed in gorgeous purple vestments, accompanied by several priests. The Archbishop had a grand look, irrespective of his robes. He was an old man with beautiful features and a pure, intellectual expression. The priests would have looked coarse and commonplace anywhere, but by the side of him they looked doubly so; indeed a stronger term than either of these might have been applied to them. They had almost a vicious look. And now the candles were lighted, the Archbishop put on his mitre, the crowd fell on their knees and the ceremony began. A litany was chanted first of all, I think; then a prayer was read; and, last of all, the engine was sprinkled with holy water, and the crowd received a benediction. Everybody seemed a little distrait except the good old Archbishop, which was, perhaps, natural. How could people think of anything serious at such an exciting time?

As soon as the consecration had finished the train really did start, and great was the stir and loud the cheering, as we began to move off. It was a sight to see the wall of eager faces on either side of us as we glided slowly out of Granada. There were old men and women of ninety, who held up their trembling hands and called on the Virgin in wonder; there were gamins and children of all sizes, who stood open-mouthed at the sight; there were middle-aged peasants from the mountains, who became children, too, in their great bewilderment. If only a John Leech had been there to see and to sketch!

The cheers and shouts broke out intermittingly all the way to Loja, like the signal fires that told of the taking of Troy from Asia to Greece. At every village or station, or convenient point of sight, had collected crowds of peasants, ladies in mantillas, priests, arrieros, and all seemed disposed to welcome the new era.

The journey to Loja was beautiful. We had a good view of the Sierra Nevada for the greater part of the way, and the fields of snow lying lightly on the lapis lazuli mountains had a dreamy and sweet effect.

We reached Loja in about two hours. All the town had turned out to see the train come in, and the platform was a gay scene with its tiers of brightly-dressed ladies, fanning themselves in the sun. Spanish crowds are never in a hurry to disperse, so we quietly waited half-an-hour in our cosy carriage, by the end of which time we saw a little room on the platform for ourselves, our bags, and our books.

A good-tempered, well-dressed man packed the latter on his donkey’s back, and accompanied us to the town, about three-quarters of a mile from the station. It was a very pretty walk along the river-side, and the sky was of brilliant burning blue. Our light water-proof travelling cloaks were much too warm.

Loja is very interesting and beautiful. We should like to have remained there a month. The Parador was not a luxurious place; but if white-washed walls, brick floors nicely sanded, a wash-hand basin, and clean beds, are not enough to satisfy a weary traveller, what would be? We rested on our beds delightfully for an hour, and then descended to see if there was any possibility of getting mules and saddles for a little excursion. But there was none: so, taking a guide with us, we set out on foot. We strolled first through the narrow, crooked, Moorish-like streets to the river-side, where we found a scene quite unique in tone and colour. From the side of a lofty rock issued ten springs of crystal water, and around each were gathered peasant women, in red and yellow petticoats, busily washing their gay rags of clothing in the sunset. The brilliant hues of the sky, the gay dresses of the women, the dark rocks, the limpid river, the old Moorish fort that towered above all, made a picture not easily to be forgotten; but when we had climbed to the fort, and looked across the Alpuxarras flaming in the last rays of the sun, and the bright green plain below, and the river narrowing to a thread in the distance, we thought we had seen no more beautiful view in Spain. The fort is now turned into a prison, and to reach the rampart we had to pass through a low, gloomy room, full of soldiers and convicts returning from their day’s labour on the railway. Wherever there is road-making or rail-making to be done in Spain, you see lines of prisoners at work linked in twos and fours, under strong military surveillance; which seems a healthy and profitable prison system. We sat down on a broken wall overgrown with prickly cactus, and watched the sun set over mountain and plain, river and village, whilst our guide chatted with the soldiers about themselves, their neighbours, and their doings. A Spanish guide is not in the least conventional. He undertakes to conduct you to a certain place, and there his responsibility ends; he does not bore you with historical and geographical facts; he never knows anything about anything; he picks up a companion on the way, and, whilst smoking his tiny cigarette, talks over the affairs of the place. Our present cicerone was no exception to this rule. He had called for a friend as we came through the town, and the two young men, who were very intelligent and well-mannered, seemed to enjoy the walk as much as we did. They spoke no French, of course; but our imperfect Spanish never elicited a smile from them. The Moro-Andalusian has certainly imbibed dignity of bearing as well as other good things from the Arab.

After enjoying to the utmost the magical splendours of the sunset and the sweet mountain air that seemed to blow from all corners of the earth, we descended to the town and our parador. We were somewhat footsore, and no wonder; for the pavement of Loja is a sort of hardbake, of flints and stone.

At six o’clock we descended to dinner, and what a funny dinner it was! The comedor, or salle À manger, was as big as a barn, and at the upper end sat ten commercial travellers, laughing and talking with the black-eyed, noisy mistress of the house. The cloth had been laid just anyhow, and the dishes were brought on anyhow too. We helped ourselves to plates and knives, and then to whatever came in the way. The fare was certainly bountiful. First, came soup; secondly, the favourite dish of lengua de vaca, or hot ox-tongue; thirdly, an odd mess of cabbage and broth; fourthly, pork—for the Spaniards, as Ford says, combine Bacon with Belief,—not good; fifthly, partridges, very good; lastly, raisins, figs, cakes, and coffee. But it was the behaviour of our landlady that made the dinner so entertaining. She seemed to think it incumbent upon her, being hostess, to keep her guests in a roar of laughter, ab ovo usque ad mala. She spoke so fast, and used so many proverbs, and provincial expressions, that it was very difficult to catch her meaning; but she went over the ground again for our benefit sometimes, and seemed delighted to make us laugh too. Proverb followed proverb, repartee came after repartee, story after story, till the peals of laughter became so deafening that we were glad to retire to our rooms.

Will it be believed that we had to wait till midnight for the diligence? Fancy having to wait at Tavistock ten hours for the Launceston coach! But the truth is, that the railway company and the diligence company don’t like each other at all, and between them both unfortunate travellers have a hard time of it. We had to pay the full diligence fare from Granada to Malaga, though we only took places from Loja to Malaga, and the railway fare for the two hours journey from Granada to Loja was so high that I verily believe we paid the whole railway fare too. I name this imposition as an exceptional fact in our Spanish experiences. We had both travelled a good deal, in America, Algeria, Italy, Germany, and we were constantly saying to ourselves, when discussing the matters of bills, waiters, porterage, and all other things incidental to travellers, “They manage these things better in Spain.” I cannot too strongly condemn the unfair assertions of English travellers about Spain and the Spaniards; and I name the Grenada-Loja-Malaga Unlimited Travellers’ Discomfort Company, because the treatment we received at their hands was wholly unprecedented throughout our travels in the Peninsula.

But the waiting at Loja was by no means disagreeable, even when night came on, for we lay on our comfortable beds, and drowsed and dreamed till midnight, when we were suddenly aroused by the diligence dashing up the street, horn blowing, bells jingling, whips cracking, driver hallooing. The noise was so sudden, and so infernal, that the very night seemed too disturbed to settle into silence again. To add to it, in rushed our hostess hurried and excited to such a pitch that you would have fancied it must be at least an earthquake that so disturbed her, crying, “La diligencia! La diligencia!” “Yes,” we said, quietly putting on our bonnets, “we heard it.”

But she did not heed our answer, and rushed about the room, snatching up our bags and bundles, knocking down coffee-cups and glasses, and still crying “La diligencia! La diligencia!” The broken crockery and the spilt coffee only increased her agitation, and she dashed out of the room as she had dashed in, leaving us no little amused and amazed at so much energy displayed upon so trifling an occasion.

We quite enjoyed the journey to Malaga. First came the starlight and the weird, wild aspect of plain and sierra; then the cold grey dawn and the re-creation of the world from end to end; then the lovely flush of sunrise over the many-coloured hills, as if of altar fires raised to the Power that had created them.