After we had been travelling so long on horseback, on mules, in carts, and in galeras, the steamer struck us as something miraculous, in the style of the magic carpet of Fortunatus, or the staff of Abaris. The power of devouring space with the rapidity of an arrow, and that, too, without any trouble, fatigue, or jolting, while you quietly pace the deck, and see the long lines of the shore glide past you, in defiance of the caprices of wind and tide, is certainly one of the finest inventions of the human mind. For the first time, perhaps, I was of opinion that civilization had its good points, I do not say its attractive ones, for all that it produces is disfigured by ugliness, and thus betrays its complicated and diabolical origin. Compared to a sailing-vessel, a steamer, however convenient it may be, appears hideous. The former looks like a swan spreading its white wings to the gentle breeze, while the latter resembles a stove running away as fast as it can, on the back of a water-mill.

But however this may be, the floats of the wheels, assisted by the stream, were driving rapidly towards Cadiz. Seville was beginning to fade away behind us, but, by a magnificent optical effect, in the same proportion as the roofs of the houses appeared to sink into the ground and become confounded with the distant lines of the horizon, the cathedral increased, and seemed to assume the most enormous size, like an elephant standing up in the midst of a flock of sheep lying down all around; it was not till that moment that I gained a just idea of its immensity. The highest church-steeples did not rise above the nave. As for the Gualda, distance gave its rose-coloured bricks an amethyst, adventurine tint, which seems to me incompatible with our dull climate. The statue of Faith glittered on the summit like a golden bee on the top of a large blade of grass. Shortly afterwards, a turn in the river concealed Seville from our sight.

The banks of the Guadalquiver, at least as you descend the river towards the sea, do not possess that enchanting aspect that the descriptions of travellers and poets attribute to them. I have not the remotest idea where these gentlemen have got the groves of orange and pomegranate-trees, with which they perfume their songs. In reality, you see nothing but low, sandy, ochre-coloured banks, and yellow, troubled water, whose earthy tint cannot be attributed to the rains, since the latter are so rare. I had already remarked a similar want of limpidity in the Tagus; it arises, perhaps, from the large quantity of dust that the wind carries into the water, and from the friable nature of the soil through which the river passes. The strong blue of the sky, also, has some share in producing this effect, and by its extreme intensity, causes the tones of the water, which are always less vivid, to appear dirty. The sea alone can dispute the palm of transparency and azure with such a sky. The river continued to become broader and broader, and the banks flatter and smaller, while the general aspect of the scenery reminded me forcibly of the physiognomy of the Scheldt about Antwerp and Ostend. This recollection of Flanders in the heart of Andalusia, seems rather strange in connexion with the Moorish-named Guadalquiver, but it suggested itself to my mind so naturally, that the resemblance must have been very striking; for I can assure my readers that I was not then troubling myself about the Scheldt nor my voyage to Flanders, some six or seven years ago. Besides, the river presented no very animated appearance, and the country which we could see beyond the banks appeared uncultivated and deserted. It is true that we were in the middle of the dog-days, during which Spain is hardly anything more than a vast cinder-heap, without vegetation or verdure. The only living creatures visible were herons and storks, standing with one leg tucked under their breast and the other one half immersed in the water, watching for some fish to pass, and so perfectly motionless that they might almost have been mistaken for wooden birds stuck upon a stick. Barks with lateen sails, diverging from each other, floated up and down the stream, impelled by the same wind—a phenomenon I could never understand, although I have had it explained to me several times. Some of these vessels had a third and smaller sail, in the shape of an isosceles triangle, placed between two larger sails, a kind of rig which is highly picturesque.

About four or five o'clock in the afternoon we passed San Lucar, which is situated on the left bank. A large modern building, built in that regular, hospital, or barrack style, which constitutes the charm of all the edifices of the present day, had on its front some inscription or other which we could not read, a circumstance that we regretted but slightly. This square many-windowed affair was built by Ferdinand VII., and must be a custom-house, or warehouse, or something of the kind. Beyond San Lucar the Guadalquiver becomes very broad, and begins to assume the proportions of an arm of the sea. The banks form only a continually decreasing line between the water and the sky. The view is certainly grand, but rather monotonous, and we should have found the time hang heavily on our hands, had it not been for the games, the dancing, the castagnettes, and the tambourines of the soldiers. One of them, who had witnessed the performances of an Italian company, counterfeited the words, singing, and gestures of both actors and actresses, especially the latter, with great gaiety and talent. His comrades were obliged to hold their sides for laughter, and appeared to have entirely forgotten the touching scene which accompanied their departure. Perhaps their weeping Ariadnes had also dried their tears, and were laughing quite as heartily. The passengers on board the steamer entered fully into the general hilarity, and seemed to vie with each other as to who should prove most successfully the fulness of that reputation for imperturbable gravity that the Spaniards enjoy in all the countries of Europe. The time of Philip II., with its black costume, its starched ruffs, its devout looks, and its proud cold faces, is much more passed than is generally imagined.

After leaving San Lucar behind us, we entered the open sea by an almost imperceptible transition; the waves became transformed into long, regular volutes, the water changed colour, and so did the faces of the persons on board. Those doomed to suffer that strange malady which is termed sea-sickness, began to seek out the most solitary corners, and to lean in a melancholy manner against the rigging. As for myself, I took my seat valiantly on the top of the cabin, near the paddle-box, determined to study my sensations conscientiously; for, never having made a sea-voyage, I did not know whether I was fated to suffer the same indescribable torture or not. The first few see-saw movements of the vessel surprised me slightly, but I soon felt better, and resumed all my usual serenity. On leaving the Guadalquiver we kept to the left, and coasted along the shore, but at such a distance as only to be enabled to distinguish it with difficulty; for evening was approaching, and the sun was descending majestically into the sea by a glittering staircase formed of five or six steps of the richest purple clouds.

It was perfectly dark when we reached Cadiz. The lanterns of the ships and smaller craft at anchor in the roads, the lights in the town, and the stars in the sky, literally covered the waves with millions of golden, silver, and fiery spangles; where the water was calmer, the reflection of the beacons, as it stretched over the sea, formed long columns of flame of the most magical effect. The enormous mass of the ramparts loomed strangely through the thick darkness.

In order to land, it was necessary for ourselves and our luggage to be shifted into small boats, the boatmen fighting with one another, and vociferating in the most horrible manner, for the passengers and trunks, in about the same style as that which was formerly patronised at Paris by the drivers of the Coucons for Montmorency and Vincennes. My companion and myself had the utmost difficulty not to be separated from each other, for one boatman was pulling us to the right, and another to the left, with a degree of energy that was not at all calculated to inspire us with any great confidence, especially as all this contention took place in cockle-shells, that oscillated like the swings at a fair. We were deposited on the quay, however, without accident, and, after having been examined by the custom-house officers, whose bureau was situated under the archway of the city gates, in the thickness of the wall, we went to lodge in the Calle de San Francisco.

As may easily be imagined, we rose with the dawn. The fact of entering, for the first time, a town at night, is one of the things which most excites the curiosity of a traveller: he makes the most desperate endeavours to distinguish the general appearance of the streets, the form of the public buildings, and the physiognomies of the few people he meets in the dark, so that he has at least the pleasure of being surprised, when, the next morning, the town suddenly appears all at once before him, like the scene in a theatre when the curtain is raised.

Neither the palette of the painter nor the pen of the writer possesses colours sufficiently bright, nor tints sufficiently luminous, to convey any idea of the brilliant effect that Cadiz produced upon us that glorious morning. Two unique tints struck our view; blue and white—the blue as vivid as turquoises, sapphires, or cobalt, in fact the very deepest azure that can be imagined, and the white as pure as silver, snow, milk, marble, or the finest crystallized sugar! The blue was the sky repeated by the sea; the white was the town. It is impossible to conceive anything more radiant and more dazzling—to imagine light more diffused, and, at the same time, more intense. In sober truth, what we term the sun in France is, in comparison, nothing but a pale night-lamp at the last gasp, by the bedside of a sick man.

The houses at Cadiz are much loftier than those in the other towns of Spain. This is explained by the conformation of the ground, which is a small narrow island connected with the continent by a mere strip of land, as well as from the general desire to have a view of the sea. Each house stands on tiptoe with eager curiosity, in order to look over its neighbour's shoulder, and raise itself above the thick girdle of ramparts. This, however, is not always found sufficient, and at the angle of nearly all the terraces, there is a turret, a kind of belvedere, sometimes surmounted by a little cupola. These aËrial miradores enrich the outline of the town with innumerable dentations, and produce a most picturesque effect. Every building is whitewashed, and the brilliancy of the faÇades is increased still more by long lines of vermilion which separate the houses and mark out the different stories: the balconies, which project very far, are enclosed in large glass cages, furnished with red curtains and filled with flowers. Some of the cross streets terminate on the open space, and seem to end in the sky. These stray bits of azure charm you by their being so totally unexpected. Apart from this gay, animated and dazzling appearance, Cadiz can boast of nothing particular in the way of architecture. Although its cathedral, which is a vast building of the sixteenth century, is wanting neither nobleness nor beauty, it presents nothing to astonish, after the prodigies of Burgos, Toledo, Cordova, and Seville; it is something in the same style as the cathedrals of Jaen, Granada, and Malaga; it is a specimen of classic architecture only rendered more slim and tapering, with that skill for which the artists of the Renaissance were so famed. The Corinthian capitals, more elongated than those of the consecrated Greek form, are very elegant. The pictures and ornaments are specimens of overcharged bad taste and meaningless richness, and that is all. I must not, however, pass over in silence, a little crucified martyr of seven years old, in carved, painted wood, most beautifully conceived, and carried out with exquisite delicacy. Enthusiasm, faith, and grief are all united on the beautiful face, in childlike proportions and the most touching manner.

We went to see the Plaza de Toros, which is small, and reckoned one of the most dangerous in Spain. In order to reach it, you pass through gardens planted with gigantic palm-trees of various kinds. Nothing is more noble and more royal than the palm-tree. Its large sun of leaves at the top of its grooved column, glitters so splendidly in the lapis-lazuli of an eastern sky! Its scaly trunk, as slender as if it were confined within a corset, reminds you so much of a young maiden's waist, its bearing is so majestic and so elegant. The palm-tree and the oleander are my favourite trees: the sight of one of them causes me to feel a degree of gaiety and joy that is truly astonishing. It seems to me as if no one could be unhappy under their shade.

The Plaza de Toros at Cadiz has no continuous tablas. There are kinds of wooden screens, at certain intervals, behind which the toreros take refuge when too closely pursued. This arrangement struck us as presenting less security than that in the other bull-rings.

Our attention was directed to the boxes in which the bulls are confined during the fight: they are a kind of cages, formed of massive beams, and shut by a door which is raised like the shuttle of a mill or the sluice of a pond. It is the custom here to goad the bulls with sharp-pointed darts and rub them with nitric acid, in order to render them furious: in short, all possible means are employed to exasperate their natural disposition.

On account of the excessive heat, the bull-fights were discontinued; a French acrobat had arranged his trestles and tight-rope in the middle of the arena for a performance that was to take place the next day. It was in this circus that Lord Byron saw the bull-fight which he describes in the first canto of "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage;" the description is poetical, but does not say much for his knowledge of Tauromachia.

Cadiz is surrounded by a tight girdle of ramparts, which laces in its waist like a granite corset: a second girdle of shoals and rocks defends it from the attacks of the waves, and yet, some few years since, a frightful tempest rent in twain and threw down, in several places, these formidable walls, which are more than twenty feet thick, and immense masses of which still strew the shore here and there. The ramparts are furnished at intervals with stone sentry-boxes; you can walk on the glacis all round the town, from which there is only one gate leading to the mainland, and, as you go along, view, out at sea or on the roadstead, the boats, feluccas, and fishing-smacks coming, going, describing graceful curves, crossing one another, tacking about, and playing like so many albatrosses; on the horizon, they appear nothing more than a number of dove's feathers, carried through the air by the capricious breeze; some of them, like the ancient Greek galleys, have on each side of the cutwater at the prow a large eye painted so as to resemble nature, and which appears to watch over the vessel's progress, imparting to this part of it something that bears a vague resemblance to the human profile. Nothing can be more animated, more lively, and more gay than this view.

On the mole, near the gateway of the custom-house, the scene is one of unequalled activity. A motley crowd, in which every nation of the globe has its representative, is hurrying, at every hour of the day, to the foot of the columns, surmounted by statues, which decorate the quay. From the white skin and red hair of the Englishman, down to the bronzed hide and black hair of the African, including all the intermediate shades, such as coffee-colour, copper, and golden-yellow, all the varieties of the human race are assembled there. In the roads, a little further on, the three-deckers, the frigates, and the brigs ride proudly at anchor, hoisting every morning, to the sound of the drum, the flags of their respective nations; the merchantmen and steamers, whose funnels belch forth a bicoloured smoke, approach nearer to the shore, in consequence of their drawing less water, and form the first plan of this grand naval picture.

I had a letter of introduction to the commander of the French brig-of-war Le Voltigeur, then stationed in Cadiz Roads. On my presenting it, Monsieur Lebarbier de Linan politely invited me, and two other gentlemen, to dine on board his vessel, the next day about five o'clock. At four o'clock we were on the mole, looking out for a bark and a boatman to take us from the quay to the vessel, which it required fifteen or twenty minutes, at most, to reach. I was very much astonished at the boatman's demanding a douro instead of a piacetta which was the ordinary fare. In my ignorance of nautical matters, seeing the sky perfectly clear and the sun shining as on the first day of the creation, I very innocently imagined that the weather was fine. Such was my conviction. The weather was, on the contrary, atrocious, as I did not fail to perceive at the very first broadsides we encountered. There was a short, chopping sea, that was frightfully rough, while the wind was sufficient to blow our heads off our shoulders. We were tossed about as if we had been in a nutshell, and shipped water every instant. At the expiration of a few minutes we were enjoying a foot-bath, which threatened to become very speedily a hip-bath. The foam of the waves entered between my neck and the collar of my coat, and trickled down my back. The skipper and his two companions were swearing, vociferating and snatching the sheets and the helm out of each other's hands. One wanted this thing and the other that, and there was one moment when they were on the point of coming to fisticuffs. Our situation at last became so critical that one of them began to mumble the end of a prayer to some saint or other. Luckily we were now near the brig, that was calmly riding at anchor, and apparently looking down with an air of contemptuous pity on the convulsive evolutions of our little skiff. At length we came alongside, and it took us more than ten minutes ere we could succeed in catching hold of the man-ropes and scramble upon deck. "This is what I call being courageous and punctual," said the commander, with a smile, on seeing us climb up out the gangway, dripping with water, and with our hair streaming about us, like the beard of some marine deity. He then gave each of us a pair of trousers, a shirt, a waistcoat—in fact, a complete suit. "This will teach you," he continued afterwards, "to put faith in the descriptions of poets. You thought that every tempest must necessarily be accompanied with thunder, and waves mingling their foam with the clouds, and rain, and lightning darting through the murky darkness. Undeceive yourselves; in all probability, I shall not be able to send you on shore for two or three days."

The wind was, indeed, blowing with frightful violence; the rigging quivered like the strings of a fiddle under the bow of a frantic player; the flag kept flapping with a kind of harsh sound, and its bunting threatened every moment to be rent into shreds and fly away to sea; the blocks creaked, groaned, and whistled, sometimes emitting shrill cries, which seemed to proceed from the breast of some human being: two or three sailors who had been mast-headed, for some offence or other, had all the trouble in the world to prevent themselves from being blown away.

All this did not prevent our making an excellent dinner, washed down with the best wines, and seasoned with the most agreeable conversation, as well as, by the bye, with the most diabolical Indian spices, which would cause even a person afflicted with hydrophobia to drink. The next day, as the weather was still so bad that it was impossible to send a boat to fetch fresh provisions from the land, our dinner was no less delicate; but it was rather remarkable from the fact of every dish being rather ancient in date. We had green peas of 1836, fresh butter of 1835, and cream of 1834; all preserved in a miraculous fashion. The bad weather lasted for two days, during which time I walked up and down the deck, never weary of admiring the scrupulous cleanliness, which would have done honour to a Dutch housewife; the finish of the details, and the talent visible in the arrangement of that prodigy of the human mind which is simply termed a vessel. The brass of the carronades glittered like gold, and the planks were as polished as the finest satin-wood furniture. Every morning the crew have to dress the vessel for the day; and though the rain were to come down like a waterspout, the deck would be washed, inundated, sponged, and swabbed all the same.

At the expiration of two days, the wind fell, and we were conveyed on shore in a boat manned by ten rowers.

My black coat, however, which was strongly impregnated with sea-water, obstinately refused, when dry, to resume its former elasticity, and was ever after spangled with brilliant crystal-like particles, and as stiff as a salted cod.

The aspect of Cadiz from the sea is charming. When the town is seen thus, with its buildings of dazzling white between the azure of the sea and the azure of the sky, you might almost mistake it for an immense crown of silver filigree work; while the dome of the cathedral, which is painted yellow, appears to be a silver-gilt tiara placed in the middle. The flower-pots, volutes, and turrets, which crown the houses, give their outlines an infinite variety. Byron has characterised the physiognomy of Cadiz in a marvellous manner, and with a single touch:

In the next stanza, the English poet does not speak in the very highest terms of the virtue of the women of Cadiz, and he, no doubt, had good reasons for his opinion. As far as I am concerned, and without at present going into this delicate question, I shall content myself with saying they are very beautiful, and that their beauty is of a very peculiar and decided cast; their complexion is remarkable for that whiteness of polished marble which shows off the purity of feature to such advantage. Their nose is less aquiline than that of the women of Seville; their forehead is small, and their cheek-bones not at all prominent; their whole physiognomy bears a great resemblance to that of the women of Greece. They also struck me as being fatter and taller than other Spanish women. Such at least was the result of the observations I was enabled to make while walking in El Salon, or on the Plaza de la Constitucion, or when I was at the theatre, where I may parenthetically mention, I saw the Gamin de Paris (el Piluelo de Paris), exceedingly well played by an actress in male attire, and some Boleros danced in a very animated and sprightly manner.

But however agreeable Cadiz may be, the idea of being cooped up within its narrow limits, first by the ramparts and secondly by the sea, makes you desire to leave it. It seems to me that the only wish islanders can have, is to go upon the Continent; and this explains the perpetual emigrations of the English, who are everywhere save at London, where there are only Italians and Poles. As a proof of this, the people of Cadiz are perpetually crossing from Cadiz to Puerto de Santa Maria, and vice versÂ. A sort of marine omnibus, in the form of a small steamer, which leaves every hour, sailing vessels, and boats are always lying in readiness, and exciting the vagabond inclinations of the inhabitants. One fine morning my companion and myself recollected that we had a letter of introduction from a friend of ours in Granada to his father, who was a rich merchant in Jeres. The aforesaid letter was couched in these terms: "Open your heart, your house, and your cellar, to the two gentlemen whom you will receive herewith." This being the case, we clambered on board the steamer; in the cabin we saw a bill stuck up, announcing a bull-fight, interspersed with comic interludes, to take place the same evening, at Puerto de Santa Maria. This filled up our day admirably, for by taking a calessin, we might go from Puerto to Jeres, stop there a few hours, and return in time to witness the bull-fight. After having swallowed a hasty breakfast in the Fonda de Vista Alegre, which most certainly deserves its name, we made a bargain with a driver who promised that he would bring us back by five o'clock, in time for the funcion, which is the name given in Spain to every public amusement, no matter what. The road to Jeres runs through a hilly, rugged plain, as dry as a piece of pumice-stone. This desert is said to be covered, in the spring, with a rich carpet of verdure, enamelled with wild flowers; broom, lavender and thyme, scent the air with their aromatic emanations; but at the time of year when we beheld it, all traces of vegetation had disappeared. The only thing we saw was, here and there, a little plot of dry, yellow, filamentous grass all powdered over with dust. This road, if we may believe the local chronicle, is very dangerous, being much infested by rateros, that is to say, peasants, who, without being professional brigands, avail themselves of the opportunity of taking a purse whenever they can, and never resist the pleasure of plundering any solitary traveller. These rateros are more to be dreaded than real robbers, who always act with the regularity of an organized body, under the command of a chief, and who spare the travellers, in order to extort something more from them at some other time. Besides this, you do not attempt to resist a brigade of twenty or twenty-five on horseback, well equipped and armed to the teeth, whereas you will struggle with a couple of rateros, and get killed, or at least wounded. And then the ratero who is about to attack you, may be that cowherd just passing, that ploughman who touches his hat to you, that ragged, bronzed muchacho who is sleeping, or pretending to sleep, under a narrow strip of shade, in a cleft of the ravine, or even your calesero himself who is taking you into some snare. You do not know where to look for the danger—it is everywhere and nowhere. From time to time the police cause the most dangerous and best known of these wretches to be assassinated in some tavern quarrel, got up expressly for the purpose by its agents. This is rather a summary and barbarous mode of justice, but it is the only one possible, on account of the absence of all proofs and witnesses, and the difficulty of apprehending criminals in a country where it would require an army to arrest each single man, and where a system of counter-police is carried out with such intelligence and passion by a people who entertain ideas with respect to meum and tuum, hardly more advanced than those of the Kabyls of Africa. On this occasion, however, the promised brigands did not make their appearance, and we reached Jeres without the slightest accident.

Jeres, like all the small towns of Andalusia, is whitewashed from head to foot, and has nothing remarkable in the way of buildings, save its bodegas, or wine warehouses, immense structures, with tiled roofs and long white walls devoid of windows. The gentleman to whom the letter was addressed was absent, but it produced its desired effect in spite of this circumstance, and we were immediately ushered into the cellars. Never was a more glorious spectacle presented to the gaze of a toper; we walked through alleys of casks, of four or five stories high. We were under the necessity of tasting every wine there, at least all the principal kinds, and there is an infinity of principal kinds. We ran through the whole gamut, from the sherry that was eighty-four years old, dark and thick, having the flavour of Muscat, and the strange colour of the green wine of BÉziers, down to the dry, pale straw-coloured sherry, with a flavour of gun-flints, and a resemblance to Sauterne. Between these two extreme notes, there is a whole register of intermediate wines, with tints like burnt topazes or orange peel, and an extreme variety of taste. They are all, however, more or less mixed with brandy, especially those intended for England, where they would not otherwise be found strong enough, for, to please English throats, wine must be disguised as rum.

After so complete a study of the Œnology of Jeres, the difficulty was to regain our carriage with a sufficiently upright and majestic bearing, so as not to compromise France in the eyes of Spain; it was a question of national pride; to fall or not to fall, that was the question on the present occasion, a question which was rather more embarrassing than that which so greatly perplexed the Prince of Denmark. I must say, however, with a degree of very legitimate self-approbation, that we walked to our calessin in a very satisfactory state of perpendicularity, and represented our well-beloved country with great glory in this struggle with the most heady wine of Spain. Thanks to the rapid evaporation produced by a heat of thirty-eight or forty degrees, on our return to Puerto, we were perfectly capable of discussing the most delicate points of psychology, and duly appreciating the various incidents of the bull-fight. Most of the bulls were embalados, that is to say, they had balls at the ends of their horns; two only were killed, but we were highly amused by a variety of burlesque episodes with which the proceedings were enlivened. The picadores, who were dressed like Turks at a masquerade, with Mameluke trousers of cambric muslin, and large suns on the back of their jackets, reminded us most forcibly of those outrageous Moors whom Goya represents with three or four strokes of the graver in his plates of the Toromaquia. One of these worthies, while waiting for his turn to attack the bull, blew his nose in the end of his turban with the most admirable philosophy and coolness. A barco de vapor, made of wickerwork, covered with cloth, and manned by a crew of asses, decorated with red braces, and wearing, somehow or other, cocked hats on their heads, was pushed into the middle of the arena. The bull rushed at this machine, goring, overturning, and throwing the poor donkeys into the air in the most comical manner imaginable. I also saw a picador kill a bull at one thrust of his lance, in the handle of which some fireworks were concealed, that exploded with such violence that the bull, the horse and its rider fell down all together,—the first because he was dead, and the two others from the force of the recoil. The matador was an old rascal, dressed in a seedy, worn-out jacket, and yellow silk stockings, with rather too much open work about them, and looked like a Jeannot of the OpÉra Comique, or a street tumbler. He was several times overthrown by the bull, the thrusts of his lance being so feeble and uncertain that it was at last necessary to have recourse to the media luna in order to put the animal out of his misery. The media luna, as its name indicates, is a kind of crescent, fitted on a handle, and very like a pruning hook. It is used for houghing the bull, who is then despatched without danger. Nothing is more ignoble and hideous than this; as soon as there is an end to the danger, you feel disgusted, and the combat degenerates into mere butchery. The poor animal crawling about on its haunches, like Hyacinthe at the ThÉÂtre des VariÉtÉs, when he plays the Female Dwarf, in that sublime piece of buffoonery, the Saltembanques, is the most melancholy sight it is possible to conceive; and you only desire one thing, and that is, that the bull may still have sufficient strength left to rip up its stupid tormentor with one last butt of its horns.

The special occupation of this miserable wretch, who was only a matador, when not otherwise employed, was eating. He would absorb six or eight dozen hard eggs, a whole sheep or calf, and so on. From his thin appearance, I should say that he did not get work very often. There were a great number of people present; the majos' dresses were rich and numerous; the women, whose characteristics were entirely different from those of the women of Cadiz, wore on their heads, instead of a mantilla, long scarlet shawls, which were admirably adapted to their fine olive faces, almost as dark as those of mulattoes, in which the pearly eyes and the ivory-like teeth stand out with singular brilliancy. These pure lines, and this tawny, golden tint, are marvellously suited for painting; and it is greatly to be regretted that LÉopold Robert, that Raphael of peasants, died so young and never travelled through Spain.

Wandering at hazard through the streets, we came out upon the market-place. Night had set in. The shops and stalls were lighted up by lanterns, or lamps suspended from the roof, and formed a charming scene, all spangled and glistening with spots of brilliancy. Watermelons, with their green rind and rosy pulp, cactus figs, some in their prickly shells and others ready skinned, sacks of garbanzos, monster onions, yellow, amber-coloured grapes, that would put to the blush those brought from the Land of Promise, alder wreaths, spices, and other violent products, were heaped up in picturesque confusion. In the small free passages left between the different stalls, country people passed and re-passed, driving their asses before them, as well as women dragging their brats. I noticed one especially. She was remarkably beautiful, with her jet black eyes glistening in her bistre, oval-shaped face, and her hair, that shone like satin or the raven's wing, plastered down on her temples. She walked along with a serious but happy expression, no stockings on her legs, and her charming foot thrust into a satin shoe. This coquetting with the feet is general throughout Andalusia.

The courtyard of our inn, laid out as a patio, was ornamented by a fountain surrounded by shrubs, and inhabited by a whole population of chameleons. Just fancy a pot-bellied sort of lizard, six or seven inches long, or, perhaps, less, with a disproportionately wide mouth, out of which it darts a viscous, whitish tongue, as long as its body, and eyes, like those of a toad, when you chance to tread upon it; these eyes start out of the creature's head; they are enveloped in a membrane, and perfectly independent of each other in their movements, one looking up towards the sky while the other is turned upon the ground. These squinting lizards, who, according to Spaniards, live on air alone, but whom I very distinctly saw eating flies, have the power of changing colour, according to the place they happen to be in. They do not suddenly become scarlet, blue, or green, but, at the expiration of an hour or two, they imbibe the tints of the nearest objects. On a tree, they are a fine green; on anything blue, a slatish grey; and on scarlet, a reddish brown. If they are kept in the shade, they lose their colour, and assume a sort of neutral yellowish white hue. One or two chameleons would produce a fine effect in the laboratory of an alchemist, or a second Doctor Faustus. In Andalusia, it is the custom to hang a piece of rope of a certain length to the ceiling, and place the end between the fore-paws of a chameleon. The animal begins crawling up, until he reaches the roof, on which his paws have no purchase. He then comes down again to the end of the rope, and, rolling his eyes about, measures the distance between him and the ground. After having made his calculations he crawls up the rope again with the most admirable seriousness and gravity, and continues this manoeuvre for an indefinite period. When there are two chameleons on the same rope, the sight becomes most transcendentally ridiculous. Spleen itself would die of laughter on seeing the horrible looks of the ugly brutes when they meet. I was exceedingly anxious to provide myself with the means of indulging in this amusement when I returned to France, and accordingly bought a couple of these amiable animals, which I put in a cage. But they caught cold during the passage, and died of disease of the lungs, on our arrival at Porte Vendres. They had dwindled completely away, and their poor little anatomical system peeped out from their shrunken and wrinkled skin.

Some few days later, the announcement of a bull-fight—the last, alas! that I was destined to witness—caused me to return to Jeres. The circus at Jeres is very handsome and very capacious, and is not without a certain monumental appearance. It is built of brick, faced at the sides with stone, which produces a pleasing effect. There was an immense, motley, variegated, ever-moving crowd, and an endless flourishing of fans and handkerchiefs. In the middle of the arena was a stake with a kind of little platform upon the top. On this platform was crouched a monkey, dressed up as a troubadour, making faces and licking his chaps. He was fastened by a tolerably long chain, which allowed him to describe a pretty large circle, of which the stake formed the centre. When the bull entered, the first object that attracted his attention was the monkey upon his perch. A most amusing comedy followed. The furious animal commenced butting violently against the stake, and shook our friend the monkey in a terrible fashion. The latter was in an awful state of alarm, which he expressed by the most irresistibly comic grimaces. Sometimes, being unable to hold on to his plank, although he grasped it with his four paws, he actually fell upon the bull's back, where he stuck with all the energy of despair. The hilarity of the public knew no bounds, and fifteen thousand smiles lighted up all the swarthy faces around. But the comedy was succeeded by a tragedy. A poor negro helper, who was carrying a basket filled with fine earth to sprinkle over the pools of blood, was attacked by the bull, whom he imagined was occupied somewhere else, and thrown up twice into the air. He lay stretched out upon the ground, motionless and lifeless. The chulos came and waved their cloaks before the bull, and drew him off to another part of the arena, in order that the negro's body might be carried away. He passed close to me; two mozos were carrying him by the head and legs. I remarked a singular fact; from black he had become dark blue, which is apparently the tint that negroes assume when they turn pale. This circumstance did not interrupt the proceedings. Nada; es un mozo; "It is nothing, he is only a black;" such was the funeral oration of the poor African. But if the human spectators were indifferent to his death, the case was different with the poor monkey, who threw about his arms, uttered piercing moans, and exerted all his strength to break his chain. Did he look upon the negro as an animal of his own race, a brother monkey who had got on in the world, and who was the only friend worthy of understanding him? However this may be, it is very certain that I never beheld an instance of deeper grief, than that of this monkey bewailing this negro; and the circumstance is the more remarkable, as he had seen the picadores unhorsed and their lives in danger without manifesting the least uneasiness or sympathy. At the same moment, an enormous owl alighted in the middle of the arena. He had come, no doubt, in his character of a bird of night, to carry off this black soul to the ebony paradise of Africans. Out of the eight bulls in this fight, four only were to be killed. The others, after having received half-a-dozen thrusts with the lance, and three or four pairs of banderillas, were conducted back again into the toril by large oxen with bells on their necks. The last one, a novillo, was abandoned to the spectators, who tumultuously invaded the arena, and despatched him with their knives, for so great is the passion of the Andalusians for bull-fights, that they are not contented with being mere spectators; they require to take a part in the fight, without which they would retire unsatisfied.

The steamer the Ocean, was lying in the harbour, ready to start; the bad weather, that superb bad weather which I have already mentioned, had detained her for some days; we went on board her, with a lively feeling of satisfaction, for in consequence of the events in Valencia, and the troubles which ensued, Cadiz was, after a fashion, in a state of siege. The papers were no longer filled with anything, save pieces of poetry or feuilletons translated from the French, and on the corners of all the streets were posted rather uncomfortable little bandos, prohibiting all groups of more than three persons, under pain of death. Besides these reasons for wishing to leave as soon as possible, we had been travelling forwards with our backs turned on France for a long time; it was the first time for many months that we had made a step towards our native land, and, however free a man may be from national prejudices, he cannot help feeling a slight longing to behold his country once more, when he is so far away. In Spain, the least disrespectful allusion to France made me furious, and I felt inclined to sing of laurels, victory, glory, and warriors, like a supernumerary of the Cirque-Olympique.

Every one was on deck, running about in all directions, and making all sorts of signs of adieu, to the boats that were shoving off to return to shore. Hardly had we gone a league when I heard on all sides such exclamations as, "Me mareo! I feel ill! some lemons; some rum; some vinegar; some smelling salts." The deck offered a most melancholy spectacle. The women, who but a short time previously had looked so lovely, were as green as bodies that had been immersed in the water for a week. They lay about on mattresses, boxes, and counterpanes, with a total forgetfulness of grace or modesty. A poor parrot, which was taken ill in its cage, and could not at all comprehend the agony it was suffering, poured forth its vocabulary with the most mournful and comic volubility. I was lucky enough not to be ill. The two days I had passed on board the Voltigeur had no doubt hardened me. My companion, who was less fortunate than myself, plunged into the interior of the vessel, and did not reappear until we reached Gibraltar. How is it that modern science, which displays so much solicitude for rabbits who have got a cold in the head, and finds delight in dying duck's bones red, has not yet endeavoured to discover some remedy against this feeling of horrible uneasiness, which causes more suffering than actual acute pain?

The sea was still rather rough, although the weather was magnificent; the air was so transparent that we could distinguish with tolerable distinctness the coast of Africa, Cape Spartel, and the bay at the bottom of which Tangiers is situated. That band of mountains resembling clouds, from which they differed only by their immovability, was then Africa, the land of prodigies, of which the Romans used to say, quid novi fert Africa? the oldest continent in the world, the cradle of Eastern civilization, the centre of Islamism, the black world, where the shade which is absent from the sky is only found on the faces of the people, the mysterious laboratory of Nature, who, in her endeavours to bring forth man, first changes the monkey into a negro! What a refined and modern instance of the punishment of Tantalus was it merely to see Africa, and be obliged to pass on.

Opposite Tarifa, a little town whose chalky walls rise on the summit of a precipitous hill, behind a small island of the same name, Europe and Africa approach nearer, and seem desirous to kiss each other in token of alliance. The straits are so narrow that you see both continents at the same time. It is impossible, when you are here, not to believe that the Mediterranean was, at no very remote epoch, an isolated sea, an inland lake, like the Caspian Sea and the Dead Sea. The spectacle before us was one of marvellous magnificence. To the left was Europe, and to the right Africa, with their rocky coasts, clothed by distance in light lilac and shot-coloured tints, like those of a double-woofed cloth; before us was the boundless horizon, continually increasing; above us, the turquoise-coloured sky; and below, a sea of sapphire so limpid that we could distinguish the whole hull of our vessel, as well as the keels of the smaller craft which passed near us, and which appeared rather to be flying in the air, than floating in the water. All around us was one mass of light, the only sombre tint perceptible for twenty leagues in every direction, being the long wreaths of thick smoke which we left behind us. The steamer is truly a northern invention; its fires, which are always fiercely glowing, its boiler in a state of constant ebullition, its chimney which will eventually blacken the sky with its soot, are in admirable keeping with the fogs and mists of the north. Amidst the splendid scenery of the south, however, it is a blot. All nature was gay; large sea-birds grazed the surface of the waves with the tips of their pinions; tunny-fish, doradoes, and fish of every other description, all glittering, shining, and sparkling, leaped up and performed a thousand quaint antics as they sported on the top of the water; sail succeeded sail every moment, as white and swelling as the bosom of a Nereid would be, could we see her rise above the billows. The coasts were tinged with all kinds of fantastic hues; their folds, precipices, and gaps produced the most marvellous and unexpected effects in the sunshine, and formed a panorama that was incessantly changing. About four o'clock we were in sight of Gibraltar, waiting for the health officers to be kind enough to come and take our papers with a pair of tongs, and see that we had not brought in our pockets some yellow fever, blue cholera, or black plague.

The aspect of Gibraltar completely confuses all your ideas: you no longer know where you are, nor what you see. Just fancy an immense rock, or, rather, a mountain, fifteen hundred feet high, rising suddenly and bluffly from the midst of the waves, and based on a tract of ground so flat and level that you can scarcely perceive it. Nothing prepares you for it, nothing accounts for its being there; it is connected with no chain of mountains; but it is a monstrous monolith thrown down from heaven, the corner of some planet broken off during a battle of the stars—a fragment of some broken world. Who placed it in this position? God and Eternity alone know. What adds still more to the singular effect of this inexplicable rock is its form. It looks like an enormous, prodigious, and gigantic Sphinx, such as Titans might have sculptured, and compared to which, the flat-nosed monsters of Carnac and Giseh are but what a mouse is in comparison with an elephant. The outspread paws form what is called Europa Point; the head, which is somewhat truncated, is turned towards Africa, which it seems to look at with profound and dreamy attention. What thoughts can this mountain be revolving in its mind, in this sly meditative attitude? What enigma is it about to propose, or endeavouring to solve? The shoulders, loins, and hind-quarters stretch towards Spain in nonchalant folds and beautifully undulating lines, like those of a lion in a state of repose. The town is situated at the bottom of the rock, and is almost imperceptible, being a wretched detail lost in the general mass. The three-deckers at anchor in the bay look like German toys—little miniature models of ships, such as are sold in seaport towns—and the smaller craft seem to be flies drowning in milk; even the fortifications are not apparent. The mountain, however, is hollowed out, mined and excavated in every direction; its belly is full of cannons, howitzers, and mortars; it is absolutely crammed with warlike stores. It is an example of the luxury and coquetry of the Impregnables. But all this offers nothing to the eye, save a few almost imperceptible lines, which are confounded with the wrinkles on the face of the rock, and a few holes through which pieces of artillery furtively thrust their brazen mouths. In the Middle Ages, Gibraltar would have bristled with donjons, towers, turrets, and battlements; instead of taking up its position below, the fortress would have scaled the mountain, and perched itself, like an eagle's nest, upon the highest peak. The present batteries sweep the sea, which is so narrow in this part, and render it almost impossible for a vessel to force a passage. Gibraltar was called by the Arabs, Giblaltah,—that is to say, the Mountain of the Entrance; and never was a name more appropriate. Its ancient name was Calpe. Abyla, now Ape's Hill, is on the other side of the straits in Africa, close to Ceuta, a Spanish possession, the Brest and Toulon of the Peninsula; it is there that the Spaniards send their most hardened galley-slaves. We could distinctly make out its rocky precipices, and its crest enveloped in clouds, despite the serenity of the surrounding sky.

Like Cadiz, Gibraltar, situated on a peninsula at the entrance of a gulf, is only connected with the continent by a narrow strip of land called the Neutral Ground, where the custom-house lines are established. The first Spanish possession on this side is San Roque. Algeciras, whose white houses glisten in the universal azure, like the silvery stomach of a fish floating on the surface of the water, is exactly opposite Gibraltar; in the midst of this splendid blue, Algeciras was having its little revolution. We heard indistinctly the popping report of fire-arms, like the noise made by grains of salt when thrown into the fire. The ayuntamiento even took refuge on board the steamer, and began smoking cigars in the most tranquil manner in the world.

The officers of health not having found that we brought any infectious disease with us, we were surrounded by small boats, and, in another quarter-of-an-hour, we were on shore. The effect produced by the appearance of the town is the strangest it is possible to conceive. By taking one step, you have your five hundred leagues, which is rather more than even Tom Thumb did in his famous boots. Just now you were in Andalusia, at the next moment you are in England. From the Moorish towns of Granada and Murcia, you suddenly alight at Ramsgate: you see brick-houses with their areas, their low doors, and their English windows, exactly like those at Twickenham or Richmond. If you go a little further, you will perceive cottages with their painted railings and gates. The public walks are planted with ash and birch trees, with elms and the green vegetation of the north, so different from those small plates of varnished metal which pass for foliage in southern climates. Englishmen have so strong an individuality that they are everywhere the same, and I really cannot understand why they travel, for they carry all their customs with them, and bear their houses on their backs exactly like snails. Wherever an Englishman may be, he lives precisely as he would do in London; he must have his tea, his rumpsteaks, his rhubarb pies, his porter, and his sherry, if he is well; and his calomel, if he is ill. By means of the innumerable packages he lugs about with him, the Englishman always enjoys his home and his comfort, which are necessary to his existence. How many objects do our insular neighbours require in order to live—how much trouble do they give themselves to feel at their ease?—and how much do I prefer to all this complicated array, Spanish abstemiousness and privation! It was a very long time since I had seen a female with one of those horrible coal-scuttle affairs, one of those odious pasteboard cases covered with a slip of stuff, and called bonnets, in which the fair sex bury their faces, in so-styled civilized countries. I cannot express the disagreeable sensation I experienced at the sight of the first Englishwoman I met, with a bonnet and a green veil on her head; I seemed, all at once, to be placed face to face with the spectre of civilization, that mortal enemy of mine, and this apparition struck me as a sort of warning that my dream of vagabond liberty was at an end, and that I should soon be obliged once more to re-enter the mode of life of the nineteenth century, never to leave it again. Before this Englishwoman, I felt quite ashamed of having neither white kid gloves, eye-glass, nor patent leather shoes, and I cast an embarrassed glance on the extravagant embroidery of my sky-blue mantle. For the first time during six months, I felt that I was not presentable, and that I did not look like a gentleman.

At Gibraltar, which has become heretic since the English occupy it, there are a great number of Jews, who have either been driven away, or looked on with an evil eye by the Spanish, who, if they have no more religion, still possess superstition. They walk about the streets, displaying their hooked noses, thin lips, and yellow, polished foreheads surmounted by rabbinical caps, placed on the back of the head, and their threadbare, narrow, sombre-coloured robes. The Jewesses, who, by a singular privilege, are as beautiful as their husbands are hideous, wear picturesque black cloaks, bordered with scarlet and having hoods. Their appearance caused us to think vaguely of the Bible, of Rachel at the well, and the primitive scenes of the time of the patriarchs, for, like the women of all oriental races, they still preserve in their long black eyes and the golden tints of their complexions, the mysterious reflexion of a world that has now disappeared. There are, also, at Gibraltar, a great many natives of Morocco, as well as Arabs from Tangiers and the places along the coast: they have little shops, where they sell perfumery, silk sashes, slippers, fly-flappers, ornamented leathern cushions, and other knick-knacks of barbarous industry. As we wished to purchase a few trifles and curiosities, we were conducted to one of the principal dealers, who lived in the upper part of the town. We had to pass through a number of streets like staircases, which were less English in their character than the streets in the lower part of the town, and whence, at certain turnings, our eye glanced over the gulf of Algeciras, which was magnificently illuminated by the last rays of daylight. On entering the Morocco merchant's house, we were enveloped in a cloud of oriental perfumes: the sweet, penetrating odour of rose-water greeted our olfactory organs and made us think of the mysteries of the harem and the marvels of the Thousand-and-One Nights. The merchant's sons, two fine young men about twenty years of age, were seated on benches near the door, enjoying the coolness of the evening. They possessed that purity of features, that limpidity of look, that careless nobleness, and that air of amorous and pensive melancholy which belong to pure races. Their father had the grave, majestic look of a Magian king. We considered ourselves very ugly and mean-looking by the side of this solemn personage; and it was in the most humble tone, with hat in hand, that we asked him if he would deign to sell us a few pairs of yellow morocco slippers. He nodded affirmatively, and, on our observing that the price was rather high, he replied in Spanish, with great grandeur, "I never overcharge; such practices are only good for Christians." Thus our want of loyalty in commercial transactions renders us an object of contempt in the eyes of barbarous nations, who cannot understand that a man will perjure himself, in order to make a farthing or two more.

Having made our purchases, we went down again to the lower part of the rock, and took a stroll along a fine promenade planted with trees of northern climes, intermixed with flowers, sentinels, and guns, and where you meet with broughams and horsemen just as you do in Hyde Park. All that is wanting there is the statue of Achilles Wellington. This promenade is outside the town, at Europa Point, in the direction of the mountain inhabited by the monkeys. This is the only spot in Europe where these amiable quadrumanes live and multiply in a savage state. According as the wind changes, they pass from one side of the rock to the other, and thus serve as a barometer: every one is forbidden to kill them under very heavy penalties. As for myself, I saw none; but the temperature of the place is hot enough to allow the most chilly macacuses and cercopithecuses to fully develop themselves, without fires or air-stoves. Abyla, if we can believe its modern name, must delight, on the coast of Africa, in a similar population.

The next day we left this park of artillery and land of smuggling, to be wafted towards Malaga, with which place we were already acquainted, but which we had great pleasure in again beholding, with its white, slender lighthouse, and its harbour full of perpetual movement. Viewed from the sea, the cathedral looks larger than the town, and the ruins of the ancient Arab fortifications impart to the sloping rocks a most romantic effect. We returned to our inn of the Three Kings, and the pretty Dolores uttered a cry of joy on recognising us.

The next day we again embarked with a cargo of raisins; and, as we had lost some time, the captain resolved to pass by Ameria, and to go direct to Cartagena.

We kept close enough to the coast of Spain never to lose sight of it; but the coast of Africa had, in consequence of the widening of the Mediterranean, long since disappeared from the horizon. On one side, therefore, our view consisted of long rows of bluish cliffs, with curiously-formed steeps, full of perpendicular cracks, and marked, here and there, with white spots, announcing the presence of a little village, a watch-tower, or a custom-house officer's hut; and, on the other, of the boundless sea, now ruffled and goffered by the breeze or tide, now of a dull blue and dead colour, or as transparent as crystal, and then brilliant and undulating, like the basquina of a dancing-girl, while at other times it was opaque, oily, and as grey as mercury or melted lead; forming altogether a variety of tones, and assuming such various aspects as would throw any poet or painter into utter despair. A procession of red, white, and other light-coloured sails, of ships of every size and nation, enlivened the scene, and took away that melancholy which ever attends infinite solitude. A sea in which no sail is visible, is the most sad and dispiriting spectacle that any one can well behold. Fancy not one thought on so large an extent of space, not one soul to comprehend all the sublimity contained therein! And yet, only place one white and almost imperceptible speck on this fathomless and unbounded main, and its immensity will be peopled; it will then contain an interest, a drama.

Cartagena, which is called Cartagena de Levante, to distinguish it from Cartagena in America, is situated at the end of a bay, a sort of funnel of rocks, where ships find complete shelter from every wind. Its form has nothing picturesque about it; the deepest impressions produced on us there were made by two windmills, decorated with black drawings on a light sky-blue ground.

The aspect of Cartagena differs entirely from that of Malaga. Buried in its crown of bare and sterile rocks, which are as dry as the Egyptian hills of the ancient Pharaohs, Cartagena is as dull and grim as Malaga is gay, cheerful, and animated. You no longer see whitewashed walls, for they are all dark-coloured, and the windows are grated with a complication of iron-work; while the houses, still more ill-looking, possess that prison-like appearance which distinguishes all Castilian mansions. Yet, as we do not wish to fall into the error of that traveller who wrote in his note-book, "All the women at Calais are cross, red-haired, and hump-backed," because the landlady of his inn united in herself these three defects, we must own that we perceived at these barred windows none but charming features and angelic faces: it is perhaps on this account that they are grated so carefully. While waiting for dinner, we went to visit the naval arsenal, an establishment of the grandest proportions, but at present in a state of grievous dilapidation; its vast basins, its stocks and idle dockyards, in which another armada might be built, are used for nothing now. Two or three half-constructed hulls, looking like the stranded skeletons of so many cachelots, are rotting unheeded in a corner; thousands of crickets have taken possession of those large deserted vessels, and you cannot make a step without crushing some of them; the noise they make, too, with their little rattles, is so great, that you can hardly hear yourself speak. In spite of the love I profess to have for crickets, love which I have expressed both in prose and verse, I must frankly own that here there were somewhat too many for me.

From Cartagena, we went as far as the town of Alicant, of which I had mentally formed, from a verse in the Orientale of Victor Hugo, a much too denticulated sketch:

"Alicante aux clochers mÊle les minarets."