A piece of news, well calculated to throw a whole Spanish town into a state of commotion, had suddenly been bruited about Granada, to the great delight of the aficionados. The new circus at Malaga was at last finished, after having cost the contractor five million reals. In order to inaugurate it solemnly, by exploits worthy of the palmy days of the art, the great Montes de Chielana—Montes, the first espada of Spain, the brilliant successor of Romero and Pepe Illo—had been engaged with his quadrille, and was to appear in the ring three days consecutively. We had already been present at several bull-fights, but we had not been fortunate enough to see Montes, who was prevented by his political opinions from making his appearance in the circus at Madrid; and to quit Spain without having seen Montes would be something as barbarous and savage as to leave Paris without having witnessed the performance of Mademoiselle Rachel. Although, had we taken the direct road, we ought to have proceeded at once to Cordova, we could not resist this temptation, and we resolved, in spite of the difficulties of the journey and the short time at our disposal, to make a little excursion to Malaga.

There is no diligence from Granada to Malaga, and the only means of transport are the galeras or mules: we chose the latter as being surer and quicker, for we were under the necessity of taking the cross-roads through the Alpurjas, in order to arrive even on the very day of the fight.

Our friends in Granada recommended us a cosario (conductor of a convoy) named Lanza, a good-looking honest fellow, and very intimate with the brigands. This fact would certainly not tell much in his favour in France, but on the other side of the Pyrenees the case is different. The muleteers and conductors of the galeras know the robbers and make bargains with them; for so much a head, or so much for the whole convoy, according to the terms agreed upon, they obtain a free passage, and are never attacked. These arrangements are observed by both parties with the most scrupulous probity, if I may use the word, and if it is not too much out of place when talking of transactions of this description. When the chief of the gang infesting a peculiar track, takes advantage of the indulto,[10] or, for some reason or other, cedes his business and customers to any one else, he never neglects presenting officially to his successor those cosarios who pay him "black mail," in order that they may not be molested by mistake. By this system, travellers are sure of not being pillaged, while the robbers avoid the risk of making an attack and meeting with a degree of resistance which is often accompanied with danger to them; so that the arrangement is advantageous to both parties.

One night, between Alhama and Velez, our cosario had dropped to sleep upon the neck of his mule, in the rear of the convoy, when suddenly he was awakened by shrill cries, and saw a number of trabucos glistening at the road-side. There was no doubt about the matter; the convoy was attacked. In the greatest state of surprise, he threw himself from his mule, and averting the muzzles of the blunderbusses with his hand, declared who he was. "Ah! we beg your pardon, SeÑor Lanza," said the brigands, quite confused at their mistake, "but we did not recognise you. We are honest men, totally incapable of so indelicate a proceeding as to molest you. We have too much honour to deprive you of even so much as a single cigar."

If you do not travel with a man who is known along the road, it is absolutely necessary to be accompanied by a numerous escort, armed to the teeth, and which cost a great deal, besides offering less security, for the escopeteros are generally retired robbers.

It is the custom in Andalusia, when a person travels on horseback, and goes to the bull-fights, to put on the national costume. Accordingly our little caravan was rather picturesque, and made a very good appearance as it left Granada. Seizing with delight this opportunity of disguising myself out of Carnival time, and quitting, for a short space, my horrible French attire, I donned my majo's costume, consisting of a peaked hat, embroidered jacket, velvet waistcoat, with filigree buttons, red silk sash, webbed breeches, and gaiters open at the calf. My travelling companion wore his dress of green velvet and Cordova leather. Some of the others wore monteras, black jackets, and breeches decorated with silk trimmings of the same colour, and yellow cravats and sashes. Lanza was remarkable for the magnificence of his silver buttons, made of pillared dollars, soldered to a shank, and the floss-silk embroideries of his second jacket, which he wore hanging from his shoulder like a hussar's pelisse.

The mule that had been assigned to me was close-shaved halfway up his body, so that I was enabled to study his muscular development with as much ease as if he had been flayed. The saddle was composed of two variegated horse-cloths, put on double, in order to soften as much as possible the projecting vertebrÆ, and the sloping shape of the animal's backbone. On each side hung down, in the guise of stirrups, two kinds of wooden troughs, rather resembling our rat-traps. The head-trappings were so loaded with rosettes, tufts, and other gewgaws, that it was almost impossible to distinguish the capricious brute's sour crabbed profile through the mass of ornament fluttering about it.

Whenever they travel, Spaniards resume their ancient originality, and eschew the imitation of anything foreign. The national characteristics reappear in all their pristine vigour, in these convoys through the mountains—convoys which cannot differ much from the caravans through the desert. The roughness of the roads, that are scarcely marked out, the grand savage aspects of the various places you pass through, the picturesque costume of the arrieros, and the strange trappings of the mules, horses, and asses, marching along in files, all transport you a thousand miles away from civilized life. Travelling becomes a reality, an action in which you take a part. In a diligence a man is no longer a man, he is but an inert object, a bale of goods, and does not much differ from his portmanteau. He is thrown from one place to the other, and might as well stop at home. The pleasure of travelling consists in the obstacles, the fatigue, and even the danger. What charm can any one find in an excursion, when he is always sure of reaching his destination, of having horses ready waiting for him, a soft bed, an excellent supper, and all the ease and comfort which he can enjoy in his own house? One of the great misfortunes of modern life is the want of any sudden surprise, and the absence of all adventures. Everything is so well arranged, so admirably combined, so plainly labelled, that chance is an utter impossibility; if we go on progressing, in this fashion, towards perfection for another century, every man will be able to foresee everything that will happen to him from the day of his birth to the day of his death. Human will will be completely annihilated. There will be no more crimes, no more virtues, no more characters, no more originality. It will be impossible to distinguish a Russian from a Spaniard, an Englishman from a Chinese, or a Frenchman from an American. People will not even be able to recognise one another, for every one will be alike. An intense feeling of ennui will then take possession of the universe, and suicide will decimate the population of the globe, for the principal spring of life, namely, curiosity, will have been destroyed for ever.

A journey in Spain is still a perilous and romantic affair. You must risk your life, and possess courage, patience, and strength. You are exposed to danger at every step you take. Privations of all kinds, the absence of the most indispensable articles, the wretched state of the roads, that would offer insurmountable difficulties to any but an Andalusian muleteer, the most horrible heat, with the sun darting its rays upon you as if it were about to split your skull, are the most trifling inconveniences. Besides all this, there are the factions, the robbers, and the innkeepers, all ready to plunder and ill-treat you, and who regulate their honesty by the number of carbines that accompany you. Peril encircles you, follows you, goes before you, is all around you. You hear nothing but terrible and mysterious stories discussed in a low, terrified tone. Yesterday the bandits supped in the very posada at which you alight. A caravan has been attacked and carried off into the mountains by the brigands, in the hope that their prisoners will be ransomed. Pallilos is lying in ambush at such and such a spot, which you will have to pass! Without doubt there is a good deal of exaggeration in all this, but however incredulous you may be, you cannot avoid believing something of it, when, at each turn of the road, you perceive wooden crosses with inscriptions of this kind—Aqui mataron À un hombre, Aqui murio de maupairada.

We had left Granada in the evening, and were to travel all night. It was not long before the moon rose, frosting with silver the precipitous rocks exposed to her beams. These rocks threw their long strange shadows over the road we were following, and produced some very singular optical effects. We heard in the distance, like the notes of an harmonica, the tinkling of the asses' bells, for the asses had been sent on beforehand with our luggage, or some mozo de mulas singing some amorous couplets with that guttural tone and peculiar far-sounding pitch of voice, so poetical when heard at night and in the mountains. The song was delightful; and the reader will perhaps thank us for giving two stanzas, which were probably improvised, and which, from their graceful quaintness, have ever since remained engraved on our memory:

We soon passed Cacin, where we forded a pretty little torrent some inches deep. The clear water glittered on the sand like the scales on the belly of a bleak, and then streamed down the steep mountain-side like an avalanche of silver spangles.

Beyond Cacin, the road becomes most wretchedly bad. Our mules sunk up to their girths in the stones, while they had a shower of sparks round each of their hoofs. We had to ascend and descend, to pass along the edges of precipices and to proceed in all sorts of zigzags and diagonals, for we had entered those inaccessible solitudes, those savage and precipitous mountain-chains, the Alpujarras, whence the Moors, so runs the report, could never be completely expelled, and where some thousands of their descendants live concealed at the present day.

At a turn in the road, we experienced a very tolerable amount of alarm. We perceived, by the light of the moon, seven strapping fellows, draped in long mantles, with peaked hats on their heads, and trabuchos on their shoulders, standing motionless in the middle of the way. The adventure we had so long panted for, was about to be realized in the most romantic manner possible. Unfortunately, the banditti saluted us politely with a respectful Vayan Ustedes con Dios. They were the very reverse of robbers, being Miquelets, that is to say, gendarmes! Oh, what a cruel disappointment was this for two enthusiastic young travellers, who would willingly have lost their luggage for the sake of an adventure.

We were to stop for the night at a little town called Alhama, perched like an eagle's nest upon the top of a mountain peak. Nothing can be more picturesque than the sharp angle which the road conducting to this eyrie is obliged to make, in order to adapt itself to the unevenness of the ground. We reached our destination about two in the morning, half dead with hunger and thirst, and worn out with fatigue. We quenched our thirst by means of three or four jars of water, and appeased our hunger by a tomato omelette, which, considering it was a Spanish one, did not contain too many feathers. A stony kind of mattress, bearing a strong family likeness to a sack of walnuts, was given us for a couch. At the expiration of two minutes, I was buried in that peculiar sleep attributed to the Just, and my companion religiously followed my example. The day surprised us in the same attitudes, as motionless as lumps of lead.

I went down into the kitchen to implore them to give me some food, and, thanks to my eloquence, obtained some cutlets, a fowl fried in oil, and half of a water-melon, besides for dessert, some Barbary figs, whose prickly skin the landlady took off very dexterously. The water-melon did us a great deal of good; the rosy pulp contained inside its green rind has a most delightfully cool and thirst-assuaging look. Scarcely have you bitten it, before you are inundated up to your elbows with a very agreeably-flavoured and slightly sweet juice, which bears no sort of resemblance to that of our cantaloups. We really stood in need of this refreshing fruit to moderate the burning effects of the peppers and spices with which all Spanish dishes are seasoned. We were on fire internally and roasted externally; the heat was atrocious. We lay down upon the brick floor of our room, on which the forms of our bodies were marked by pools of perspiration. The only method we could discover for rendering the place, comparatively speaking, a little cool, was by closely shutting all the doors and windows, and remaining in complete darkness.

In spite of this Indian temperature, however, I boldly threw my jacket over my shoulder, and went out to take a turn in the streets of Alhama. The sky was as white as metal in a state of fusion: the pavingstones glistened as if they had been waxed and polished; the whitewashed walls presented a micaceous scintillating appearance, while the pitiless blinding sunshine penetrated into every hole and corner. The shutters and doors were cracking with heat, the gasping soil was full of yawning fissures, and the branches of the vines writhed like green wood when thrown into the fire; while, in addition to all this, there was the reflection of the neighbouring rocks, which cast back the rays of light even hotter than they were before. To complete my torture, I had got on very thin shoes, through which the pavement burnt the soles of my feet. There was not a breath of air, not so much wind as would have ruffled a feather. It is impossible to conceive anything more dull, more melancholy, or more savage.

I wandered at hazard through the solitary streets, whose chalk-coloured walls, pierced by a few windows, scattered far apart, and closed by means of wooden shutters, gave them a completely African appearance, until, I will not say without meeting a human being, but absolutely without seeing a living creature, I reached the great square, which is exceedingly picturesque and quaint. It is crossed by the stone arches of an aqueduct, and consists simply of a level space cleared away on the bare rock itself, which has grooves cut in it to prevent persons from slipping. The whole of one side overlooks the abyss, at the bottom of which peep out, from the midst of clumps of trees, several mills that are turned by a torrent which foams so violently that it resembles a quantity of soap-suds.

The hour fixed upon for our departure was approaching, and I returned to the posada wet through with perspiration, just as if I had been out in a heavy shower of rain, but satisfied at having done my duty as a traveller, although you might have boiled eggs by the mere heat of the atmosphere.

Our caravan again set out, proceeding through most abominable but highly picturesque roads, where no other creature but a mule could have stood without falling. I had thrown the bridle on the neck of mine, thinking that he was better qualified to direct his steps than I was, and leaving him all the responsibility of passing the dangerous points. I had already had several very animated discussions with him, in order to induce him to walk beside the mule of my companion, but I was at last convinced of the inutility of my efforts. I bow, in all submission, to the truth of the saying—As obstinate as a mule. Give a mule the spur and it will stand still; touch it with a whip, it will lie down; pull it up, and it will start off at full gallop: in the mountains, a mule is really intractable; it feels its importance and takes a most unfair advantage of it. Very often, right in the middle of the road, a mule will suddenly stop, raise its head, stretch out its neck, draw back its lips, so as to expose its gums and long teeth, and indulge in a series of the most horrible inarticulate sighs, convulsive sobs, and frightful clucking, resembling the shrieks of a child who is being murdered. During the time it is indulging in this system of vocalization you might kill it, without being able to make it move one step.

Our path now lay through a veritable Campo Santo. The crosses erected where murders had been committed, became frightfully numerous: in the situations that were favourable to this kind of thing, we sometimes counted more than three or four crosses in less than a hundred paces; we were no longer on a road, but in a cemetery. I must own, however, that if it were the custom in France to perpetuate the memory of violent deaths by the erection of crosses, there would be quite as many of them in certain streets of Paris as there are on the road from Grenada to Velez-Malaga. The dates of a great number of these sinister monuments are already very old; it is very certain, however, that they keep the traveller's mind actively employed, rendering him attentive to the slightest noise, causing him to look very carefully about him, and hindering any feeling of ennui. At every turn of the road, he says to himself, if he sees a rock that looks at all suspicious, or a mysterious cluster of trees: "There is some vagabond concealed behind there, who is the act of taking aim, and is on the point of making me the pretext for another cross destined to edify the travellers of future generations who may happen to pass by the spot."

When we emerged from the defiles, the crosses became somewhat less frequent. Our road now lay along the bases of stern, grand mountains, whose summits were cut off by immense archipelagos of mist. The country was a complete desert, with no other habitations save the reed hut of some aguador, or vender of brandy. This brandy is colourless, and is drunk out of long glasses filled up with water, which it causes it to turn white exactly as Eau-de-Cologne would.

The weather was heavy and stormy, and the heat suffocating: a few large drops of water, the only ones that had fallen for a space of four months, from the implacable sky of lapis-lazuli, spotted the parched sand, and made it resemble a panther's skin; however, there was no shower after all, and the canopy of heaven resumed its immutable serenity. The sky was so constantly blue during my stay in Spain, that I find the following notice in my pocketbook: "Saw a white cloud," as if such an object was worthy of being especially recorded. We inhabitants of the north are so accustomed to behold the heavens covered with clouds, constantly varying in form and colour, and with which the wind builds mountains, islands, and palaces, that it soon destroys again to build elsewhere, that we cannot form any conception of the feeling of profound melancholy caused by this azure tint, as uniform as eternity itself, and which is always hanging over one's head. In a little village which we traversed, all the population were standing outside their houses in order to enjoy the rain, just as we should go in doors to avoid it.

The night has set in without any twilight, almost in an instant, as is the case in warm climates, and we were not very far from Velez-Malaga, where we intended sleeping. The mountain-steeps began to be less abrupt, and gradually subsided in small stony plains, traversed by streams fifteen or twenty feet broad, and one foot deep; their banks were covered with gigantic reeds. The funeral crosses again became more numerous than ever, and their white colour caused them to stand out distinctly from the blue mist of night. We counted three of them in the distance of twenty paces, but the fact is, that the spot presents a most lonely appearance, and is admirably adapted for an ambuscade.

It was eleven o'clock when we entered Valez-Malaga; the windows were joyfully lighted up, and the streets re-echoed with songs and the sounds of guitars. The young maidens seated in the balconies were singing verses which the novios accompanied from the street below, and each stanza was followed by laughter, shouts, and applause, which I thought would never end. Other groups were dancing the cachucha, the fandango, and the jalo, at the corners of the streets. The guitars emitted a dull hum like that of bees, the castagnettes rattled merrily, and all was music and delight. It would almost appear as if the most important business of a Spaniard's life were pleasure; he gives himself up to it, heart and soul, with admirable ease and frankness. No nation in the world appears to know less of misfortune than the Spaniards, and a stranger travelling through the Peninsula can scarcely believe that the state of political affairs can be so serious, or that he is traversing a country which for ten years has been ravaged and laid waste by civil war. Our peasants are far from possessing the happy carelessness, the joyful look, and the elegant costume of the Andalusian majos, and in the matter of education they are greatly inferior to them. Almost all the Spanish peasants can write; their minds are stored with poetry, which they recite or sing without destroying the measure; they are good horsemen, and very dexterous in the use of the knife and carbine. It is true that the admirable fertility of the soil and the beauty of the climate relieves them from the necessity of that brutalizing work, which, in less favoured countries, reduces man to the condition of a beast of burden or a machine, and robs him of those two gifts of heaven, force and beauty.

It was not without a feeling of the profoundest satisfaction, that I tied my mule to the bars of the posada.

Our supper was extremely frugal; all the servants, both male and female, were gone out to dance, so that we had to content ourselves with a simple gaspacho. The gaspacho is worthy of a particular description, and we will therefore give our readers the receipt for making it—a receipt which would have caused the late Brillat-Savarin's hair to stand on end with horror. You first pour some water into a soup-tureen; to this water you then add a small quantity of vinegar, some cloves of garlic, some onions cut into quarters, some sliced cucumber, a little pimento, and a pinch of salt. You then cut some slices of bread and let them soak in this agreeable compound, which is served up cold. In France, a dog with the least pretensions to a good education would refuse to compromise himself by putting his nose into such a mixture; but it is the favourite dish of the Andalusians, and the most lovely women do not hesitate of an evening, to swallow large messes of this diabolical soup. The gaspacho is considered very refreshing, an opinion which struck us, allowing scope for some diversity of opinion; yet, strange as the mixture appears the first time you taste it, you gradually grow accustomed to it, and, ultimately, even like it. By a providential chance we had, to enable us to wash down this meagre repast, a large decanterful of excellent dry white Malaga, which we conscientiously finished to the last pearly drop, and which restored our strength, that was completely exhausted by a ride of nine hours, over the most improbable roads, and in a temperature like that of a limekiln.

At three o'clock the conveyance set out once more upon its march. The sky looked lowering; a warm mist hung over the horizon, and the humidity of the air warned us that we were approaching the sea, which soon afterwards appeared in the extreme distance like a streak of hard blue. A few fleecy flakes of foam were visible here and there, while the waves came and died away in regular volutes upon the sand, which was as fine as boxwood sawdust. High cliffs rose upon our right. At one moment the rocks separated and left us a free passage, and at the next they barricaded the road, and obliged us to wind slowly round them. It is not often that Spanish roads proceed in a right line; it would be so difficult a task to overcome the various obstacles, that it is far better to go round than to surmount them. The famous motto, Linea recta brevissima, would in Spain be completely false.

The rising sun dispersed the mist as if it had been so much smoke; the sky and the sea recommenced their azure struggle, in which it is impossible to say which of the two is victorious; the cliffs reassumed their varied tints of reddish-brown, shot-colour, amethyst, and burnt topaz; the sand began once again to rise in small thin clouds, and the water to glisten in the intensity of the sunshine. Far, far away, almost on the line of the horizon, the sails of five fishing-boats palpitated in the wind like the wings of a dove.

The declivities now became less steep; from time to time, a little house appeared, as white as lump-sugar, with a flat roof, and a kind of peristyle formed by a vine clustering over trellis-work, supported at each end by a square pillar, and in the middle by a massive pylone, that presented quite an Egyptian appearance. The aguardiente stores became more numerous; they were still built of reeds, but they were more natty, and boasted of whitewashed counters daubed with a few streaks of red. The road, which was now distinctly marked out, began to be lined on each side with a line of cactus and aloe-trees, broken now and then by gardens and houses, before which women were mending nets, and children, completely naked, playing about. On seeing us pass by on our mules, they cried out, "Toro! Toro!" taking us, on account of our majo costume, for proprietors of ganaderias, or for the toreros belonging to the quadrille directed by Montes.

Carts drawn by oxen and strings of asses now followed at shorter intervals, and the bustle which invariably marks the neighbourhood of a large town became every moment more apparent. On all sides, convoys of mules, carrying persons who were on their way to witness the opening of the circus, made their appearance: we met a great number in the mountains coming from a distance of thirty or forty leagues. The aficionados are as superior, by their passionate and furious love of their favourite amusement, to our dilettanti, as the interest excited by a bull-fight is superior to that produced by the representation of an opera: nothing stops them; neither the heat, nor the difficulty or danger of the journey; provided they reach their destination and obtain a place near the barrera, from which they can pat the bull on the back, they consider themselves amply repaid for whatever fatigue they may have undergone. What tragic or comic author can boast of possessing such powers of attraction? This, however, does not prevent a set of namby-pamby sentimental authors from pretending that the taste for this barbarous amusement, as they term it, is every day gradually dying away in Spain.

It is impossible to conceive anything more picturesque and strange than the environs of Malaga. You appear to be transported to Africa: the dazzling whiteness of the houses, the deep indigo colour of the sea, and the overpowering intensity of the sun, all combine to keep up the illusion. On each side of the road are numbers of enormous aloe-trees, bristling up and waving their leafy cutlasses, and gigantic cactuses with their green broad foliage and misshapen trunks, writhing hideously like monstrous boa-constrictors, or resembling the backbones of so many stranded whales; while here and there a palm-tree shoots up like a column, displaying its green capital by the side of some tree of European parentage, which seems surprised at such a neighbour, and alarmed at seeing the formidable vegetation of Africa crawling at its feet.

An elegant white tower now stood out upon the blue sky behind; it was the Malaga lighthouse; we had reached our destination. It was about eight o'clock in the morning; the town was already alive and stirring: the sailors were passing and re-passing, loading and unloading the vessels anchored in the port, and displaying a degree of animation which was something uncommon in a Spanish town; the women, with their heads and figures enveloped in large scarlet shawls, which suited their Moorish faces most marvellously, were walking quickly along, and dragging after them some brat, who was entirely naked, or who had only got on a shirt. The men, with their cloaks thrown round them, or their jackets cast over their shoulders, hurried on their way; and it is a curious fact, that all this crowd was proceeding in the same direction,—that is, towards the Plaza de Toros. What struck me most, however, in this multicoloured concourse of people, was the sight of the negro galley-slaves, dragging a cart. They were of gigantic stature, with such monstrously savage faces, possessing so little of anything human, and stamped with such an expression of ferocious brutality, that on beholding them I stopped motionless with horror, as if they had been a team of tigers. The kind of linen robe which constituted their dress rendered their appearance still more diabolical and fantastic. I do not know what crime had brought them to the galleys; but I should certainly have sent them there merely because they were villains enough to have such faces.

We put up at the parador of the Three Kings, which, comparatively speaking, is a very comfortable establishment, shaded by a fine vine, whose tendrils clustered round the ironwork of the balcony, and adorned with a large room, where the landlady sat enthroned behind a counter, loaded with porcelain, somewhat after the fashion of the Parisian cafÉs. A very beautiful servant-girl, a charming specimen of the lovely women for which Malaga is celebrated all through Spain, showed us to our rooms, and threw us, for a few minutes, into a state of desperate anxiety, by informing us that all the places in the circus were already taken, and that we should have great difficulty in procuring any. Fortunately, our cosario, Lanza, got us two asientos de preferencia (numbered seats); it is true that they were exposed to the sun, but we did not care for that. We had long since sacrificed the freshness of our complexion, and were not particular about our bistre-coloured yellow faces becoming a trifle more sunburnt. The circus was to be open during three days consecutively. The tickets for the first day were crimson; for the second, green; and for the third, blue; in order that there might be no confusion, and that the lovers of the sport might not obtain admission twice with the same card.

While we were breakfasting, a company of travelling students came in. They were four in number, and were more like some of Ribiera's or Murillo's models than theological students, so ragged, barefooted, and dirty were they. They sang some comic songs, accompanying themselves with the tambourine, the triangle, and the castagnettes. The one who played the pandero was a virtuoso in his way: he performed on his ass's skin with his knees, his elbows, and his feet, and, not content with these various means of percussion, would now and then apply the dirk, ornamented with its copper circles, on the head of some muchacho, or old woman. One of the students, who was the orator of the band, went round to collect alms, and indulged, with an excessive amount of volubility, in all sorts of pleasantry, in order to excite the generosity of the company. "A realito!" he exclaimed, throwing himself into the most supplicating postures, "so that I may finish my studies, become a priest, and live without doing anything." Whenever he obtained a small piece of silver, he stuck it on his forehead, near to those he had already extorted, exactly like the Almees, who cover their faces, bathed in perspiration, with the sequins and piastres which the enchanted Osmanlis have thrown them.

The performances were to begin at five o'clock, but we were advised to be at the circus at about one, as the corridors would be choked up by the crowd at an early hour, and prevent us from reaching our places, although they were numbered and reserved. We swallowed our breakfast, therefore, as quickly as we could, and set out towards the Plaza de Toros, preceded by our guide Antonio, a tall, thin fellow, whose waist was tied in most atrociously by a broad red sash, increasing still more his natural meagreness, which he pleasantly attributed to the fact of his having been crossed in love.

The streets were swarming with an immense multitude, which became more and more dense as we approached the circus; the aguadors, the venders of iced cebada, of paper fans, and parasols, and of cigars, as well as the calessin drivers, were creating a frightful uproar: a confused rumour floated over the town like a fog of noise.

After twisting and turning about, for a considerable time, in the narrow, complicated streets of Malaga, we at last arrived before the building, whose exterior offers nothing remarkable. A detachment of troops had considerable difficulty in keeping back the crowd, which would otherwise have invaded the Circus; although it was not more than one o'clock, at the latest, the seats were all occupied from top to bottom, and it was only by a free use of our elbows, and the interchange of a profusion of invectives, that we succeeded in reaching our stalls.

The Circus at Malaga is really antique in size, and will contain twelve or fifteen thousand spectators in its vast funnel-like interior, of which the arena forms the bottom, while the acroteria rises to the height of a five-storied house. It gives you a notion of what the Roman amphitheatres must have been, as well as those terrible spectacles where men were opposed to wild beasts, under the eyes of a whole nation.

It is impossible to conceive any sight more strange and more splendid, than that of these immense rows of seats occupied by an impatient crowd, endeavouring to while away the hours they had to wait by all kinds of jokes and andaluzados of the most piquant originality. The number of persons in modern costume was very limited; those who were dressed in this manner were greeted with shouts of laughter, cries, and hisses; this improved the general appearance of the audience very much; the vivid-coloured jackets and sashes, the scarlet drapery of the women, and the green and jonquil fans, prevented the crowd from presenting that black, lugubrious aspect which always distinguishes it in France, where the sombre tints predominate.

There was a great number of women present, and I remarked very many pretty ones among them. The MalagueÑa is remarkable for the pale, golden uniformity of her complexion, tinging her cheek no more than it does her forehead, for her long oval face, the bright carnation of her lips, the delicacy of her nose, and the brilliancy of her Arabian eyes, which any one might suppose were tinged with henna, on account of the length the eyelashes extend towards the temples. I do not know whether we must attribute it to the severe folds of drapery round their faces, but they have a serious, passionate look, which is completely Eastern in its character, and which is not possessed by the women of Madrid, Granada, or Seville, who are smaller, more graceful, and more coquet, and always thinking somewhat of the effect they produce. I saw some admirable heads, superb types, by which the painters of the Spanish school have not sufficiently profited, and which would furnish an artist of talent with matter for a series of precious and entirely new studies. According to our notions, it appears strange that women can like to witness a performance, in which the lives of human beings are every moment in danger, where blood flows in large pools, and where the wretched horses are gored until their feet get entangled in their own intestines; a person unacquainted with the true state of the case would be very likely to imagine that women who could do this were brazen-faced, shameless creatures, but he would be greatly mistaken.

Never did more gentle, Madonna-like faces, more silken eyelashes, or more gentle smiles ever watch over a sleeping child. The various chances of the bull's death are attentively observed by pale, lovely beings, of whom an elegiac poet would be glad to make an Elvira. The merit of the different thrusts is discussed by mouths so pretty that you would fain hear them talk of nothing but love. Because they behold unmoved scenes of carnage which would cause our sensitive Parisian beauties to faint, it must not be inferred that they are cruel and deficient in tenderness of soul; in spite of their presence at such sights, they are good, simple-minded, and full of compassion for the unfortunate. But custom is everything; the sanguinary side of a bull-fight, which is what strikes foreigners the most forcibly, is exactly that which least interests Spaniards, who devote their whole attention to the importance of the different blows and the amount of address displayed by the toreros, who do not run so great a risk as might at first be imagined.

It was not more than two o'clock, and the sun inundated with a deluge of fire all the seats on the side we were placed. How we envied those favoured individuals who were revelling in the bath of shade, thrown over them by the upper boxes! After riding thirty leagues in the mountains, the fact of remaining the whole day exposed to an African sun, with the thermometer at thirty-eight, is rather creditable on the part of a wretched critic, who, on this occasion, had paid for his place and did not wish to lose it.

The asientos de sombra (places in the shade) hurled all kinds of sarcasms at us; they sent us the water-merchants, to prevent us from catching fire; they begged permission to light their cigars at our fiery noses, and kindly offered us a little oil in order that we might be properly fried. We answered as successfully as our means would allow, and when the shade, shifting as the day advanced, delivered up one of our tormentors to the rays of the sun, the event was celebrated by shouts of laughter and an endless tumult of applause.

Thanks to some jars full of water, some dozen oranges, and two fans in constant movement, we managed not to catch fire, and we were not quite roasted, nor struck by apoplexy when the musicians took possession of the places set apart for them, and the picket of cavalry proceeded to clear the arena for a whole host of muchachos and mozos, who, by some inexplicable process, found places among the general mass of spectators, although, mathematically speaking, there was not room for one more; under certain circumstances, however, a crowd is marvellously elastic.

An immense sigh of satisfaction proceeded from the fifteen thousand breasts that were now relieved from the irksome necessity of waiting any longer. The members of the Ayuntamiento were greeted with frantic applause, and on their entering their box, the orchestra struck up the national airs—Yo que soy Contrabandista and the march of Riego—the whole assemblage singing them at the same time, clapping their hands, and stamping their feet.

We do not here pretend to give a detailed account of a bull-fight. We have already had occasion to describe one with conscientious accuracy, during our sojourn in Madrid, and shall therefore only relate the principal events and remarkable instances of skill that occurred in the course of the performances, during which the same combatants appeared three days without resting, twenty-four bulls were killed and ninety-six horses stretched dead upon the arena, without any accident happening to any of the combatants, with the exception of one capeador, whose arm was slightly gored by a bull's horn; his wound, however, was not dangerous, and did not prevent his appearance in the circus the following day.

At five o'clock precisely the gates of the arena were thrown open, and the actors in the drama about to be presented proceeded in procession round the circus. At the head were the three picadores, Antonio Sanchez and Jose Trigo, both from Seville, and Francisco Briones, from Puerto Real, with their hand upon their hip and their lance upon their foot, as grave as Roman conquerors going in triumph to the Capitol. On the saddles of their horses was the name of the proprietor of the circus, Antonio Maria Alvarez, formed with gilt-headed nails. After them came the capeadores or chulos, with their cocked-hats and gaudy-coloured mantles; while the banderilleros, dressed like Figaro, followed close behind. In the rear of the cortÉge, in majestic isolation, marched the two matadores,—the swords, as they are styled in Spain,—Montes de Chiclana, and Jose Parra de Madrid. Montes was always accompanied by his own faithful quadrille, a very important thing for the safety of the combatants; for in these times of political dissensions, it often happens that the Christino toreros will not assist the Carlist toreros when in danger, and vice versÂ. The procession was significantly terminated by the team of mules destined to remove the dead bulls and horses.

The conflict was about to commence. The Alguazil, dressed in everyday costume, and whose duty it was to carry the keys of the toril to the groom of the circus, had a spirited horse, which he managed very awkwardly, prefacing the tragedy with rather an amusing farce. He first lost his hat, and then his stirrups. His trousers, which had no straps, were rucked up as far as his knees in the most grotesque fashion, and, in consequence of the door having been maliciously opened for the bull's entrance, before the alguazil had had time to quit the circus, his fright was increased to a fearful pitch, rendering him still more ridiculous by the contortions he threw himself into on his steed. He was not, however, unhorsed, to the great disappointment of the vulgar; the bull, dazzled by the torrents of light which inundated the arena, did not instantly perceive him, but allowed him to escape without injury. It was therefore in the midst of an immense Homeric and Olympian fit of laughter that the fight began, but silence was soon restored, the bull having ripped up the horse of the first picador, and thrown the second.

All our attention was engrossed by Montes, whose name is popular all through Spain, and whose feats of daring form the subject of a thousand wonderful stories. Montes was born at Chiclana, in the neighbourhood of Cadiz. He is from forty to forty-three years of age, and rather above the middle size. He has a serious cast of countenance, a deliberate, measured walk, and a pale olive complexion, with nothing remarkable about him save the mobility of his eyes, which appear to be the only part of his impassible face endowed with life; he seems to be more supple than robust, and owes his success more to his coolness, the justness of his glance, and his profound study of the art, than to his muscular force. At the very first step a bull takes in the arena, Montes can tell whether he is short or long sighted, whether he is clear or dark; that is to say, whether he attacks frankly or has recourse to stratagem, whether he is de muchas piernas or aplomado, light or heavy, and whether he will shut his eyes to execute the cogida, or keep them open. Thanks to these observations, made with the rapidity of thought, Montes is always enabled to vary his mode of defence as circumstances require. However, as he carries his cool temerity to the greatest possible lengths, he has during his career received a considerable number of thrusts, as the scar down his cheek proves, and, on several occasions he has been borne out of the circus grievously wounded.

On this occasion, he wore an extremely elegant and magnificent suit of apple-green silk embroidered with silver, for Montes is a rich man, and, if he still continues to appear in the arena, it is from a love of the art, and the want of strong emotions; his fortune amounts to more than 50,000 duros, which is a considerable sum for him to possess, if we consider what the matadores have to pay for their dress, a complete suit costing from 1,500 to 2,000 francs, and, also the perpetual journeys they are always making, accompanied by their quadrille, from one town to another.

Montes is not like other espadas, contented with despatching a bull when the signal of his death is given. He is always on the watch, he directs the combat, and comes to the succour of the picadores and chulos in peril. More than one torero owes his life to Montes' intervention. One bull, that would not allow his attention to be diverted by the cloaks that the chulos were waving before him, had ripped up the belly of a horse that he had thrown down, and was endeavouring to do the same to the rider, who was protected by the carcass of his steed. Montes seized the savage beast by the tail, and in the midst of the frantic applause of the whole assembly, caused him to waltz round several times, to his infinite disgust; thus allowing time for the picador to be carried off. Sometimes he will place himself motionless before the bull, with his arms crossed on his breast, and his eye fixed, and the monster will suddenly stop short, subjugated by his opponent's look, which is as bright, as sharp, and as cold as the blade of a sword. A feat of this description is followed by shouts, bellowings, vociferations, stamping of feet and thunders of bravoes, of which it is impossible to form any idea; a feeling of delirium seizes every one present, a general giddiness causes the fifteen thousand spectators, intoxicated with aguardiente, sunshine, and blood, to reel upon their seats; handkerchiefs are waved, and hats thrown up into the air, while Montes alone, calm in the midst of this multitude, enjoys in silence the profound feeling of joy which he restrains within his own breast, merely bowing slightly like a man who is capable of performing many other feats of the same description. I can easily understand a man risking his life every minute for applause like this; it is not dear at the price. O ye singers with golden throats, ye fairy-footed danseuses, ye actors of all descriptions, ye emperors and ye poets, ye who fancy that you have excited a people's enthusiasm, you never heard Montes applauded!

Sometimes the spectators themselves beg him to execute one of those daring feats in which he is always successful. A pretty girl says to him, as she blows him a kiss, "Come, SeÑor Montes, come, Paquirro" (which is his christian name), "I know how gallant you are; do some trifle, una cosita, for a lady." Whereupon Montes leaps over the bull, placing his head on the animal's neck as he does so, or else, shaking his cape before the animal's muzzle, by a rapid movement, wraps it round him so as to form an elegant piece of drapery with irreproachable folds; he then springs on one side, and lets the bull, who is unable to stop himself, pass by.

The manner in which Montes kills the bull is remarkable for its precision, certainty, and ease: with him all idea of danger ceases; he is so collected and so completely master of himself, he appears so sure of success, that the combat seems no longer to be serious, and, perhaps, loses somewhat of its exciting nature. It is impossible to fear for his life; he strikes the bull where he likes, when he likes, and how he likes. The chances of the conflict become somewhat too unequal; a less skilful matador will sometimes produce a more startling effect by the risks and danger which he incurs. This will, perhaps, appear to be a piece of refined barbarity; but aficionados, and all those persons who have been present at a bull-fight, and felt interested in favour of some particularly courageous, frank bull, will most certainly share our sentiments. A circumstance which happened on the last day of the performances will prove the truth of our assertion as surely as it proved, rather harshly, to Montes, how strictly impartial a Spanish public is both towards man and beast.

A magnificent black bull had just been let loose in the arena. The quick, decided manner in which he issued from the toril caused all the connoisseurs present to conceive the highest opinion of him. He possessed all the qualities requisite for a fighting bull; his horns were long, sharp, and well-curved; his clean-made, slim, and nervous legs, showed his extreme agility, while his broad dewlap and well-developed flanks gave proof of an immense amount of strength; indeed, he was called the Napoleon of the herd, that being the only name capable of conveying a suitable idea of his incontestable superiority. Without hesitating a single instant, he rushed at the picador stationed near the tablas, overthrew him, together with his horse, who was killed on the spot, and then attacked the second picador, who was not more fortunate, and whom the assistants had scarcely time to help over the barrier, severely bruised and injured by his fall. In less than a quarter of an hour, six horses lay ripped open on the ground; the chulos only shook their coloured capes at a very long distance off, without losing sight of the barrier, over which they leaped immediately Napoleon gave signs of approaching. Montes himself appeared troubled, and on one occasion had actually placed his foot on the ledge of the tablas, ready to jump over to the other side, in case he was too closely pressed; a thing he had not done during the two preceding days. The delight of the spectators was made manifest by the most noisy exclamations, and the most flattering compliments for the bull were heard from every mouth. He shortly afterwards performed a new feat of strength, which wound up the enthusiasm to its highest possible pitch.

A sobre-saliente (double) de picador—for the two principal ones were too much injured to appear again, was awaiting, lance in rest, the attack of the terrible Napoleon; the latter, without paying any attention to the wound he received in the shoulder, caught the horse under the belly, and, with one movement of his head, caused him to fall with his fore-legs on the top of the tablas; then, raising his hind quarters by a second movement, sent him and his master completely over the barrier into the corridor of refuge which runs all round the arena.

So great an exploit caused thunders of applause. The bull was master of the field, galloping about victoriously, and amusing himself, in default of any other adversaries, by tossing into the air the dead bodies of the horses he had already gored. The supply of victims was exhausted, and there were no more horses in the stables of the circus to mount the picadores. The banderilleros were seated astride upon the tablas, not daring to harass with their darts, ornamented with paper, so redoubtable an adversary, whose rage most certainly stood in no need of artificial excitement. The spectators became impatient at this pause in the proceedings, and vociferated, Las banderillas! las banderillas! Fuego al alcade! To the stake with the alcade for not giving the necessary order! At last, at a sign from the director of the games, one banderillero detached himself from the rest, and planted two darts in the neck of the furious animal, immediately retreating as speedily as possible, but yet not quickly enough, as the bull's horn grazed his arm, and tore up his sleeve. On seeing this, and in spite of the hooting and vociferations of the public, the alcade gave the death order, and made a sign to Montes to take his muleta and his sword, contrary to all the rules of Tauromachy, which require that a bull shall have received at least four pairs of banderillas before being delivered up to the sword of the matador.

Instead of advancing, according to his usual custom, into the middle of the arena, Montes posted himself at the distance of some twenty paces from the barrier, in order to have a place of refuge in case of failure. He was very pale, and, without indulging in any of those sportive acts and tricks of courage which have procured him the admiration of all Spain, he displayed the scarlet muleta, and called the bull, who required no pressing to come up to him. Montes made two or three passes with his muleta, holding his sword horizontally on a level with the monster's eyes; suddenly the bull fell down, as if struck by lightning, and after giving one convulsive start, expired. The sword had pierced his forehead and entered his brain, contrary to the rules of the art, which require the matador to pass his arm between the horns of the animal, and stab him between the nape of the neck and the shoulders, thereby augmenting the danger of the man, but giving some chance to his four-footed adversary.

When the public understood the blow, for all this had passed with the rapidity of thought, one universal shout of indignation rose from the tendidos to the palcos; a storm of abuse and hisses, accompanied by the most incredible tumult, burst forth on all sides. "Butcher, assassin, brigand, thief, galley-slave, headsman!" were the gentlest terms employed. "A centa Montes! To the stake with Montes! To the dogs with Montes! Death to the alcade!" were the cries which were everywhere heard. Never did I behold such a degree of fury, and I blush to own that I shared in it myself. Mere vociferations, however, did not long suffice; the crowd commenced throwing at the poor wretch fans, hats, sticks, jars full of water, and pieces of the benches torn up for the purpose. There was still one more bull to kill, but his death took place unperceived, in the midst of the horrible tumult. It was Jose Para, the second espada, who despatched the bull, with two very skilful thrusts. As for Montes, he was livid; his face turned green with rage, and his teeth made the blood start from his white lips, although he displayed great calmness, and leant with affected gracefulness on the hilt of his sword, the point of which, reddened against the rules, he had wiped in the sand.

On what does popularity depend! On the first and second days of the performance no person would ever have conceived it possible that so sure an artist, one so certain of his public as Montes, could be punished with such severity for an infraction of the rules, which was, doubtless, called for by the most imperious necessity, on account of the extraordinary agility, strength, and fury, of the animal. When the fight was concluded, he got into a calessin followed by his quadrille, and swearing by all that he held sacred that he would never put his foot in Malaga again. I do not know whether he has kept his word, and remembered the insults of the last day longer than the triumphs and applause of the two preceding ones. At present, I am of opinion that the public of Malaga was unjust towards the great Montes de Chiclana, all whose blows had been superbly aimed, and who, in every case of danger, had displayed heroic coolness, and admirable address, so much so, indeed, that the delighted audience had made him a present of all the bulls he killed, and allowed him to cut off an ear of each, to show that they were his property, and could not be claimed either by the hospital or the proprietor of the circus.

We returned to our parador, giddy, intoxicated, and saturated with violent emotion, hearing nothing, as we passed along the streets, but the praises of the bull, and imprecations against Montes.

The same evening, in spite of my fatigue, I procured a guide to conduct me to the theatre, wishing to pass immediately from the sanguinary reality of the circus to the intellectual emotions of the stage. The contrast was striking; the one was full of life and noise, the other was deserted and silent. The house was almost empty, only a few spectators being scattered here and there over the melancholy benches; and yet the entertainments consisted of "The Lovers of Ternel," a drama by Don Juan Eugenio Hartzembusch, and one of the most remarkable productions of the modern Spanish school. It is the touching and poetical story of two lovers, who remain unalterably faithful to one another, in spite of a thousand various seductions and obstacles. Notwithstanding all the author's endeavours—which are often very successful—to vary a situation that is always the same, the piece would appear too simple to a French audience. The passionate portions are treated with a great deal of warmth and impulse, occasionally disfigured by a certain melodramatic exaggeration, to which the author abandons himself too easily. The love of the Sultana of Valencia for Isabel's lover, Juan Diego Martinez Garces de Marsilla, whom she causes to be drugged with a narcotic and brought into the harem; the vengeance of this same Sultana when she sees that she is despised, the guilty letters of Isabel's mother, which are found by Roderigo d'Azagra, who uses them as a means of marrying the daughter, and threatens to show them to the deceived husband, are, perhaps, rather improbable incidents, but they afford an opportunity for touching and dramatic scenes. The piece is written partly in verse and partly in prose. As far as a foreigner can judge of the style of a language, all the niceties of which he can never fully appreciate, Hartzembusch's verses struck me as being superior to his prose. They are free, bold, animated, and offer a great variety in their form; they are also tolerably free from those poetical amplifications into which the facility of their prosody often leads the poets of southern countries. His prose dialogue appears to be imitated from that of modern French melodramas, and offends by its heavy, bombastic style. "The Lovers of Ternel" is really a literary work, far superior to the translations, arranged, or deranged, from the pieces played in the Boulevard theatres of Paris, and which inundate the Peninsula. In "The Lovers of Ternel," you perceive traces of the old ballads and great Spanish dramatists; and it is greatly to be desired that the young poets on the other side the Pyrenees would pursue this course rather than translate a quantity of wretched melodramas into a Castilian more or less pure.

A very comic saynete followed the serious piece. It set forth the troubles of an old bachelor, who takes a pretty servant of "all-work," as the advertisements say. The little rogue first introduces as her brother a great strapping Valencian, six feet high, with enormous whiskers, a tremendous navaja, an insatiable appetite and inextinguishable thirst; she then brings into the house a cousin, who is quite as wild a gentleman as her brother, and is bristling with an unlimited number of blunderbusses, pistols, and other dangerous arms. The said cousin is followed by an uncle, who is a smuggler, and carries with him a complete arsenal and a face to correspond, to the great terror of the old man, who is very repentant for his improper levity. All these various rascals were represented by the actors in the most truthful and admirable manner. At last, a nephew appears, who is a well-behaved young soldier, and delivers his uncle from the band of ruffians who have taken up their quarters in his house, embraced his servant while they were drinking his wine, smoked his cigars and pillaged his dwelling. The uncle promises never to be served for the future by any but old men-servants. The saynetes resemble our vaudevilles, but the plot is less complicated, sometimes consisting merely of detached scenes, like the interludes in Italian comedies.

The performances terminated with a bayle nacional, executed by two couples of dancers and danseuses, in a very satisfactory manner. Although the Spanish danseuses do not possess the correct and accurate precision, or the elevated style of the French danseuses, they are, in my opinion, vastly superior to them by their graceful and fascinating appearance. As they study but little, and do not subject themselves, in order to render their bodies supple, to those terrible exercises which cause a professional dancing-room to resemble a chamber of torture, they avoid that race-horse sort of thinness which makes our ballet-dancers look rather too deathlike and anatomical; they preserve the outlines and fulness of their sex; they resemble women dancing and not danseuses, which is a very different thing. Their style has not anything in common with that of the French school. In the latter, the immovability and perpendicularity of the upper part of the body are expressly recommended, and the body never takes part in the movement of the legs. In Spain, the feet hardly leave the ground; there are none of those grand pirouettes or elevating of the legs, which make a woman look like a pair of compasses opened to their fullest extent, and which, in Spain, are considered revoltingly indecent. It is the body which dances, the back which undulates, the sides which bend, the waist which moves with all the suppleness of an Almee or a serpent. When a Spanish danseuse throws herself back, her shoulders almost touch the ground; her arms, in a deathlike swoon, are as flexible and limp as a floating scarf; you would think that her hands could scarcely raise and rattle the ivory castagnettes with their golden strings, and yet, when the proper moment is come, this voluptuous languor is succeeded by the activity of a young African lion, proving that the body as soft as silk envelopes muscles of steel. At the present day, the Moorish Almees follow the same system; their dancing consists of a series of harmoniously wanton undulations of the bust, the hips, and the back, with the arms thrown back over the head. The Arabian traditions have been preserved in the national dances, especially those of Andalusia.

Although the Spanish male dancers are but mediocre, they have a dashing, bold, and gallant bearing, which I greatly prefer to the equivocal and vapid graces of ours. They are taken up neither by themselves nor the public, and have not a look or a smile for any one but their partner, of whom they appear passionately enamoured, and whom they seem ready to defend against all comers. They possess a ferocious kind of grace, a certain insolently daring demeanour, which is peculiar to them. After wiping off their paint, they would make excellent banderilleros, and might spring from the boards of a theatre to the arena of the circus.

The MalagueÑa, which is a dance confined to Malaga, is really most poetical and charming. The cavalier appears first, with his sombrero slouched over his eyes, and his scarlet cloak thrown round him, like that of some hidalgo walking about in search of adventures. The lady then enters, draped in her mantilla, and with her fan in her hand, like a lady who is going to take a turn in the Almeda. The cavalier endeavours to catch a glance of the mysterious siren, but she manoeuvres her fan so coquetishly, and so well, she shuts and opens it so opportunely, she twists it about so promptly on a level with her pretty face, that the gallant is completely baffled, and retires a few steps to think of some new stratagem. He rattles the castagnettes under his cloak. Directly she hears them, the lady pricks up her ears; she smiles, her breast heaves, and the tip of her little satin shoe marks the time in spite of her; she throws aside her fan and her mantilla, and appears in a gay dancing costume, glittering with spangles and tinsel, with a rose in her hair, and a large tortoiseshell comb at the back of her head. The cavalier then casts aside his mask and cloak, and the two personages execute a deliciously original dance.

As I returned along the beach, and looked upon the sea which reflected in its mirror of dark steel the pale visage of the moon, I reflected on the contrast between the crowded circus and the empty theatre,—on the eagerness displayed by the multitude for brutal reality, and its indifference for the speculations of the mind. As a poet, I could not help envying the gladiator, and I regretted having given up action for reverie. The day before, at the same theatre, they had played a piece of Lope de Vega, which had not been more attractive than the work of the younger writer; so that ancient genius and modern talent were not worth a thrust from the sword of Montes!

Nor are the other theatres in Spain much better attended than that at Malaga, not even the Teatro del Principe in Madrid, although there is a very great actor there,—namely, Julian Romea—and an excellent actress, Matilde Diez. The course of the old Spanish drama appears to be hopelessly dried up; and yet never did a more copious stream flow in a broader channel,—never did there exist a more profound and inexhaustible amount of fecundity. Our most prolific vaudeville writers are still far behind Lope de Vega, who never had any one to assist him, and whose works are so numerous that the exact number is not known, and there is hardly a complete copy of them to be found. Without including his comedies de cape et d'ÉpÉe, in which he has no rival, Calderon de la Barca has written a multitude of autos sacramentales, which are a kind of Roman-catholic mysteries, in which strange profundity of thought and singularity of conception are united to the most enchanting and luxuriously elegant poetry. It would require a whole series of folio catalogues merely to enumerate the titles of the pieces written by Lope de Rueda, Montalban, Guevara, Quevedo, Tirso, Rojas, Moreto, Guilhen de Castro, Diamante, and a host of others. The number of theatrical pieces written in Spain during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries surpasses all that we can imagine: we might as well endeavour to count the leaves in the forest or the grains of sand upon the sea-shore. They are almost all composed in verse of eight feet, varied by assonants, and printed in two columns quarto, with a coarse engraving as a frontispiece, each forming a book of from six to eight leaves. The booksellers' shops are full of them; thousands may be seen hung up pell-mell in the midst of the ballads and legends in verse sold at the bookstalls in the streets. Without any exaggeration, the epigram written on a too prolific Roman poet, who was, after his death, burnt upon a funereal pile formed of his own books, might be applied to most of the Spanish dramatic authors. They possess a fertility of invention, an abundance of incidents, and a complication of plot, of which no one can form any idea. Long before Shakspeare the Spaniards invented the Drama; their works are dramatic in the broadest acceptation of the word; and, with the exception of some few erudite puerilities, they copy neither from the Greeks nor the Romans, but, as Lope de Vega says in his "Arte Nuevo de hacer Comedias in este Tiempo,"—

" ... Cuando he de escribir una comedia

Encierro los preceptos con seis llaves."