From Malaga to Granada, there are two roads; one by Velez Malaga, the other by Loxa. The former of these roads lies a great part of the way along the sea shore, and then turning to the left, leads through Alhama to Granada. By sleeping at Velez Malaga the first night, and at Alhama the second, tolerable accommodation may be had all the way to Granada. The other road, on leaving Malaga, strikes at once into the heart of the mountains, and leads to Granada by way of Loxa. By this road, it is necessary to sleep at ventas of the very worst description,—for Loxa does not make a convenient halting place,—and although neither of these roads are safe from robbery, the latter is by far the most celebrated for the crimes that have been committed upon it. I resolved to travel by the Loxa road; chiefly, because the scenery upon it was reported to be greatly more attractive than upon the road by Velez Malaga; and learning that a gallera was about to leave Malaga for Granada by the road which I had selected, I engaged a place in it, for which I paid two dollars and a half,—a very moderate charge for so long a journey.

I took my seat in the gallera at seven in the morning, and found my fellow travellers to consist of a middle-aged woman, the wife, as I afterwards learned, of a respectable shopkeeper in Malaga: her daughter, a sprightly, intelligent, and remarkably pretty girl of nineteen, two years married to a wine grower of the neighbourhood: a young woman of two or three and twenty, comely, and finely formed, on her way to Granada on speculation,—for she was one of those unhappy persons, whose temporary home depends upon the caprice of her temporary master; and another woman, who travelled openly as the mistress of the muleteer. Such was the company in the gallera.

Leaving Malaga, the road passes along the channel of a stream, and then enters the rich and highly cultivated country that lies between Malaga and the mountains, which we began to ascend, after travelling about three quarters of a league. This is the most extraordinary ascent I ever recollect to have seen: it is computed to be three leagues and a half, upwards of fourteen miles English, from the point at which the road enters the mountains, until it reaches the summit of the range; and in all this distance there is not one yard of level ground, still less of descent. I know of no mountain road in Switzerland more abounding in magnificent scenery, or in varied and charming prospects, than this. The formation of these mountains is singular: innumerable conical hills cover the face of the range; and the road winding upward among these, is one moment shut in among the mountains, and shut out from the world,—the next, emerging from behind one of these little hills, it traverses the front of the range, disclosing an illimitable prospect of land and sea. This peculiarity in the formation of the mountain, produces an infinite variety of views. Sometimes, when looking back towards Malaga, nothing intercepts the view—the whole bay,—Malaga in its centre,—the Moorish ruins,—the cathedral, and the cultivated plain, are all spread below. At another point, only the city and the bay are seen, the mountains shutting out all the rest; while still higher up, even the city is hidden, and the sea appears to wash the base of the mountains. The views too in the interior of the mountain are beautiful: a deep valley is from time to time revealed,—the mountain slopes that encompass it, covered with vines, and in its centre the house of the vine-grower, surrounded by a belt of charming verdure, and half embowered in a grove of orange trees.

As we ascended the mountains, we met a few travellers, and a considerable number of muleteers and their trains, every one well armed with guns, and some with swords also. Many crosses stood by the way-side; and as I walked the most part of the way up the mountain, I generally stopped to read the record; some of these were of sudden death, and some of murder,—but of the latter I saw only one of very recent date.

A curious circumstance, throwing some additional light upon the morals of Malaga, occurred in the course of the morning. When we had ascended about two-thirds of the mountain, a handsome young caballero, in the richly-ornamented Andalusian dress, and mounted upon a fine powerful horse, overtook the gallera, and accosted the middle-aged woman and her young married daughter, in the language of an acquaintance. Soon after he gave his horse in charge to the muleteer’s assistant, and took his seat in the gallera, where he kept up a half-whispered conversation with the younger lady: but the nature of the liaison now became more evident. The cortejo of this young wife, for such of course was his character, asked her aloud whether she would not like to ride his horse a little way? To which she at first replied no, and then yes; and the muleteer having opportunely discovered a lady’s saddle lying in the bottom of the gallera, and contrived too for two persons, she was soon seated upon the horse, which walked in front of the gallera, and the caballero walked by her side; but the horse gained so fast upon the gallera, that the party was soon out of sight, till, upon reaching a point from which a higher reach of the zig-zag road was visible, the lady and her cortejo were seen both mounted, and trotting forward; and we saw no more of them till night, when we reached the venta, where we found the young lady in bed, and the caballero sitting by her. Her mother seemed quite satisfied with the arrangements of the day, and offered no reproof either in word or in look. The same evening the gallant set out on his return to Malaga.

After reaching the summit of the mountain, and following for a little way a level road, we began to descend into a deep valley, clothed with ilex and cork tree; and towards evening we passed under the hill, upon which the town of Colmona is situated. Upon a small bridge at the foot of the hill, a number of the inhabitants of the town were assembled, some sitting upon the wall of the bridge, some playing cards, and some lying on the ground; and a more ruffian-like sample of a town’s population, I do not recollect to have ever seen. After passing Colmona, we continued to wind among low hills that seemed the outposts of more lofty ranges,—gradually ascending, and approaching the Sierra. And nearly two hours after dark, the gallera stopped at the gate of the solitary venta, where it was necessary we should pass the night.

This venta may be taken as a fair specimen of travelling accommodation in the southern and eastern provinces of Spain, in the year 1830. Groping my way through a small court-yard, and a wide gateway, I found myself in a long apartment; I do not know any word to express (a barn on the ground-story), the floor earthen—the roof, a congregation of beams and rafters—the walls, partly rough stone, as originally put together; partly white-washed. The door, by which I had entered, was nearly in the middle of the side wall, so that one-half of the apartment lay to the right, and the other to the left. To the right, I saw a dim file of mules stretching away into obscurity: on the left, at the farther extremity of the apartment, a bright blaze from a fire kindled on the floor, shewed me the way to the part appropriated to the human guests! As I walked towards the fire, which was at a great distance, the scene assumed a more picturesque and striking appearance: at a round table not far from the fire, sat ten or twelve men, every one with his little round Spanish hat and crimson girdle; and in every one’s hand a long clasp knife, with which he fished, from time to time, a huge piece of meat from an enormous brown dish that stood smoking in the centre of the table—diffusing around the usual fragrance of a Spanish stew, in which the prominent ingredients are oil and garlic. Over the blazing fire hung an iron apparatus, from which depended a large iron pot, containing something worthy the attention of a brown-cheeked, dark-haired wench, who inspected it by the help of a light simply contrived by a piece of wick being put into a small open vessel of oil; and, after having ascertained the state of the stew (for this also was a stew) she hung her lamp upon a nail affixed to a rafter over her head. On the stone bench beyond the fire, sat two or three muleteers, who seemed by their inactivity, to have already tasted the good things of the venta; for one was manufacturing a cigar in the approved Spanish mode, by rolling paper round a little tobacco: and the other had already accomplished this task, and was enveloped in a cloud of smoke—and the picture of the venta is completed, if we add two or three great lank dogs standing at the table where the supper party was seated; and two or three others lying in the neighbourhood of the fire. Such was the state of the venta, when the gallera party arrived, to claim a share of its hospitalities. The features of the scene were now greatly multiplied: one of the party was seen kneeling at the fire, intent upon the operation of chocolate-making—another was employed in heating a pot of wine—and my occupation was, watching the progress towards boiling, of some water meant to deluge the “fragrant herb.” All these preparations being completed, the gallera party proposed enjoying their various refreshments in company, adding to them, the fowl and sausages which had been brought from Malaga. But the supper-table was still occupied by the hungry guests, before whom the second supply of stew had just been placed; and who were employing the interval in passing round the wine in the southern fashion—each in his turn pouring from the tube of a glass vessel, a stream of wine, which fell from the distance of a foot, in a fine arch, into his open mouth. We were accordingly obliged to carry our refreshments into the chamber, or quarto (for the word chamber suggests something beyond its deserts), where the young lady had been seen in bed. The caballero had already taken his leave; and the pretty intrigante got up, and joined us at supper: this being finished, a difficulty arose as to our various sleeping accommodations. The mother and daughter were already provided; for the latter had secured the only mattress and sheets, when she arrived at the venta; and the doubtful lady had brought her sleeping apparatus from Malaga. The bed of the two former was already spread, and the other was speedily deposited in the opposite corner; and as there was no other quarto in the venta disengaged, it was proposed that I should make my bed in a corner of the same quarto: this was better than sitting by the fire, or sleeping on the mud floor; and I had deposited some clean straw, and my cloak, upon the ground, and had turned my back to the ladies while they retired to their mattresses, when a lucky event placed at my disposal, the comfortable bed of the single lady: the noise of a horse’s hoofs was heard, and the commanding voice of a caballero; and when I was permitted to turn round, I discovered that the lady had disappeared. Soon after, upon going to the door of the quarto, and looking into the common apartment, I saw her seated by the gentleman who had newly arrived, upon a bench near the fire; and after waiting more than half an hour, I took the liberty of approaching, and asking her when she purposed returning to occupy her bed, as the other ladies wished to lock the door, and go to sleep? To this question, the caballero replied for her, that the ladies might lock the door, and go to sleep when it was agreeable to them, as no one would disturb them; and receiving no contradiction of this from his companion, I returned to the quarto, bolted the door, and took possession of the comfortable berth of the absent owner.

It was a curious scene next morning, when, upon leaving my bed early, I could scarcely thread my way among the mattresses spread on the ground; all occupied by some sleeping or newly-awoke muleteer: round the fire, these were still more thickly strewn; and I had actually to tempt one yawning fellow from his bed, by a present of two cigars, that I might find a vacant spot where I could stand, and prepare my chocolate. It was then just day-break; and the gallera not being ready, I left the venta, and walked to the summit of a neighbouring rocky height. The evening is said to be the most solemn hour; but I have felt that the morning is solemn too, when, in a desolate scene like this, we stand alone among the dim mountains, and see the stars’ faint twinkle, and day preparing to illuminate a desert,—and hear no sound, that in peopled climes, welcomes the approach of light.

When we left the venta, we continued to wind through the Sierra, and then traversed a deep valley, full of wood, and bounded by lofty mountains. I counted five monumental crosses in this valley. Soon afterwards, we entered a more cultivated country; and before noon, Loxa was seen before us at about a league distant. The view and situation of this old Moorish town, are beyond expression beautiful. It stands upon a slight elevation, in a valley about half a league wide; the Xenil circling round the height, and traversing the valley; the mountains that rise on either side, are covered with the most charming vegetation, and all the lower slopes near the town, are adorned with gardens, and rich groves of oranges and lemons; and these so mingle with the buildings, that the spires of the churches and convents seem to rise out of bowers; and the houses, partly hid in foliage, appear like a range of villas. We did not stop in Loxa, which is remarkable chiefly for the beauty of its situation—but passed on towards Granada. The valley of the Xenil is extremely fruitful; many ploughs were busy by the river side, and the young corn had already covered the fields with the freshest green.

A little before sunset, I climbed to the summit of a neighbouring height, to catch, if possible, a view of the Sierra Nevada,—the snowy Sierra of Granada—touched by the rosy light of evening; but just as I had climbed high enough to descry the summit of the range, a large, lean, and ferocious sheep dog made towards me, and I was satisfied to purchase an escape, at the expense of losing my labour. The ascent of this height had separated me a considerable distance from the gallera; and I still loitered behind, gathering the woodbine,—the first I had seen in Spain,—that grew profusely by the way side, until reminded of the propriety of joining my companions by the approaching dusk, and by a glimpse of two suspicious-looking men, who eyed me very scrutinizingly from a bank upon which they were sitting. Soon after overtaking the gallera, we crossed a rapid stream, by a deep, and rather dangerous ford; and after dark, we arrived at the Venta de Casin, our refuge for the night. At the same time with ourselves, another gallera arrived from Granada, so that the venta overflowed with travellers, and three quartos were all the accommodation it afforded.

Very different is the reception which the traveller meets with at a Spanish venta, or even posada, and at an English inn. At the Spanish posada, no bustling waiter with his clean napkin, bows you into the house; no smart demoiselle drops a curtesy, and leads the traveller forward with the glance of her black eyes. In the Spanish posada, the traveller is welcomed by nobody,—is never asked his pleasure, or what are his wants; he is left to feel his way along a stone wall; and is at last directed to the kitchen by a glare of light from the fire, which is kindled on the floor. It is a curious fact too, that the rank of the traveller makes no difference in his reception. There is not one kind of welcome for the gentleman traveller, another for the diligence traveller, and another for the visitor of low degree. All ranks find one level in a Spanish posada: no separate tables are set; no distinctive honours are paid; there is no scale of civility; the caballero, the merchant, the muleteer, is alike left to shift for himself.

By having walked in advance of the gallera, I had secured one of the three quartos, which I gave up to the females of the party, or rather shared it with them: and after having succeeded in getting some hard-boiled eggs, and some excellent wine, I made my bed, and retired to it; for no repetition of my good fortune occurred this night. But there was so great a number of mules in the venta, that the tinkling of their bells, and the noise of their feet, added to the unintermitting attacks of certain enemies of repose, whose name might be called “legion,” prevented the gentle approaches of sleep; and it was with great satisfaction that I hailed the morning dawn through the paneless windows. I need scarcely say that window glass is not to be seen in any village south of the Sierra Morena; and in the most southern, and in the eastern parts, even the principal posadas in the large towns have rarely glass in the windows. It is quite a mistake, to suppose that there is no occasion for glass in the southern parts of Spain. There are many days during a Spanish winter—and before leaving Spain I had experience of them—which, in England, would be thought to demand closed windows, and a blazing fire.

After leaving the Venta de Casin, we entered upon a heathy country, wild, open, and covered with aromatic plants; and after three hours travelling, we caught the first view of Imperial Granada,—yet at a great distance—backed by the lofty Sierra, with its snowy summits. At a small village famous for its fruits, I purchased a melon as large as a man’s head, for four quartos—a fraction above a penny—and found it delicious beyond any that I had ever before eaten. Granada is the most celebrated, among all the Spanish provinces, for its fruits; but, with the exception of the melon, the pomegranate, and the prickly pear, the season of fruit was passing. At Santa Fe, the country becomes rich and populous; for here we are within the influence of irrigation; and now at every step, Granada rose before us with greater distinctness and magnificence. The situation of Granada eclipses that of any city that I have ever seen; and altogether, the view in approaching it, struck me more forcibly than any other view that I could at that moment recollect. And yet, the description would not perhaps be very striking on paper; because the ingredients of its magnificence consist in the vastness and splendour of its Moorish remains—not a single Alcazar, not a few isolated ruins, whose dimensions the eye at once embraces—but ranges of palaces, and castles, and towers, covering elevations a league in circumference, rising above and stretching beyond one another, with a subject city at their feet; and almost vying in grandeur with the gigantic range of the snowy Sierra that towers above them.

It is impossible to approach and to enter Granada without a thousand associations,—half reality, half romance,—being awakened within us: many centuries are suddenly swept from the records of time; and the events of other days are pictured in our imagination. A page of history is written upon every object that surrounds us. We see the Vega covered with the Christian camp, and the silken pavilion of Queen Isabella rising above the tents of the Spanish nobles: we see the queen, and the ladies of the court, and a gorgeous cavalcade, ride forth towards the Moorish city; and we see the Moorish cavalry pour through the gates into the plain, headed by the warrior Muza Ben Abel Gazan; and we see Boabdil, the last of the Moors, uncrowned and exiled, leave the city of his affections—the glory of a fallen empire—and turn round from the last eminence, to gaze yet once more upon the towers of the Alhambra; and we hear the fallen king, as he turns in silence and sorrow from the contemplation, exclaim, “Allah achbar!” God is great.

I will endeavour to convey to the reader some idea of the situation of Granada, in a matter-of-fact description.

The Vega of Granada is about ten miles long, and seven miles broad; and being subjected to irrigation, is covered with perpetual verdure, with grain of every description, with gardens, with olive plantations, and with orange groves; and it is thickly studded with villages, and country houses, and cottages. This plain is bounded on the south-east, the east, and north-east, by a semi-circular range of high mountains called the Sierra Nevada, the summits of which are always less or more covered with snow; and when we call to mind the latitude of Granada, this informs us, without the assistance of trigonometry, that the elevation of these mountains is great. Upon the outposts of the Sierra stands the city of Granada—for the most part, built upon the gentle acclivities that lie between the mountains and the Vega; but some part of it standing upon the Vega itself. Two rivers, the Xenil and the Daro, flow through the city, and traverse the Vega. Although the mountains seem from the plain to rise directly behind the city, this is not precisely the fact; two ridges, from four hundred to six hundred feet in height, separated from each other by the Daro, lie between the city and the base of the Sierra: these directly overlook the city; and upon one of them is situated the chapel of St. Michael, while the other is entirely covered by the ruins of the Alhambra. Not only are these heights covered with wood and with verdure, but the whole city is intermingled with gardens and orangeries; and, inclosing within it so many monticules, which are mostly occupied by convents and convent gardens, there is a picturesqueness about the city itself, abstracted from its Alhambra or its environs, that is peculiarly its own.

From whatever point Granada may be contemplated, it is a sumptuous city; whether viewed from the plain, or from any of the neighbouring heights: even in walking the streets, vistas of astonishing beauty are occasionally discovered; and from the windows of my apartment in the Fonda del Comercio, I have never seen any thing more gorgeous than sunset upon the city of Granada; nor any thing more beautiful than the moonlight falling upon its gardens, and groves, and convents, and towers, and neighbouring heights, and snow-clad mountains.

The first morning after my arrival, I hastened to the Alhambra. I entered its precincts by the gate of Granada, and found myself in a shrubbery, shewing many marks of the unpardonable neglect with which all the magnificent monuments in Spain are treated, by those who preside over the destinies of that ill-governed country. I was first conducted to the Xeneralife, once the residence of Boabdil el Chico, the last of the Moorish kings. This building stands upon an elevation considerably higher than the Alhambra, and separated from it by a deep ravine. Some modern additions have been made to the Xeneralife; but these may easily be distinguished from the Moorish part of the building. In the palace of Boabdil, there is nothing particularly worthy of observation; but the myrtle groves and terraces are agreeable; and from the latter, there is a charming view over the Alhambra and its gardens.

The Xeneralife, which in the Arabic signifies a pleasure house, is said to have been built by Omar, who, in that delightful seclusion, gave himself entirely up to the enjoyment of music. The inscriptions on every part of the Alhambra, interpret the uses of the different buildings and chambers. These have all been copied and translated,—and, although a record of them would be tedious, I may perhaps be permitted to introduce two or three of the most interesting, as curious relics of Moorish customs. There is only one connected with the Xeneralife, which appears worthy of recording. It is on the arcades around a court.

“Charming palace! splendid art thou, and great as thou art splendid! all is bright around thee. Worthy art thou to be praised, for divinity is in all thy charms: flowers adorn thy garden; they nod upon their stalks, and fill the air with their sweet perfume. A breeze plays with the blossoms of the orange tree, and their delightful fragrance is wafted around. Hark! voluptuous music mingles with the gentle rustling of the leaves,—sweet harmony! and verdure and flowers encompass me. Thou, oh Abulgali! most excellent of kings; guardian of the faithful, and of the law,—thou art the object of my reverence. May God be ever with thee, and may he crown thy hopes! Thy greatness throwest dignity on all that thou doest. This apartment, dedicated to thee, is full of perfection and strength,—its duration will be coeval with our faith,—it is a wonder and a triumph.”

From the Xeneralife, I descended by a steep path shaded by fine elms; and crossing the ravine, entered the precincts of the Alhambra, by what is called the Gate of Iron. The remains of seven gates are passed before reaching the inner court, where Charles V. had the bad taste to project the erection of a palace, which yet remains in an unfinished state: close to this palace stands the Alhambra, the most perfect monument of Moorish magnificence that the world contains. Passing through an oblong court, with a colonnade at each end, I found myself in the Court of Lions, a fine and perfect specimen of Moorish taste. The Court, formerly paved with marble, has been converted into a garden; it is surrounded by a colonnade of one hundred and forty elegant white marble pillars; and in the centre, is a fountain supported by thirteen lions: there, the last of the Moorish kings were doubtless wont to retire from the council, to ruminate upon their misfortunes, and the probable termination of their empire.

Upon the alabaster bowl which the lions support, there is a long inscription,—great part of it is without beauty; and owing to the darkness in which the events of Moorish history are buried, it is for the most part unintelligible. This indeed is an observation which may apply to many of the inscriptions in the Alhambra. The conclusion of the inscription is as follows:—“The purity of the alabaster and of the water may vie with each other. If thou wouldst distinguish the water, look narrowly into the bowl; for both might be liquid, or both solid. The water seems to envy the beauty of the basin where it lies; and the basin is jealous of the crystal water. Beautiful is the stream that issues from my bosom, thrown high into the air by the profuse hand of Mahomed. His generosity excels the strength of the lion!”

From the court of Lions you enter various halls, each of them distinguished by the singularity, and some by the beauty of their walls and roofs, which are of the same materials as those of the Alcazar of Seville, but of better workmanship, and more vivid in colour. Of these halls, the most magnificent is the hall of the ambassadors, or audience chamber. The bed-chamber of the king and queen is a curious sample of Moorish taste, and throws some light, too, upon the customs of these days. There are two alcoves for the separate beds of the king and queen, with pillars before them; and in the middle of the chamber there is a marble fountain: the floor is of porcelain, and the only light is admitted through the door. Immediately adjoining the bed-room, are two baths. The boudoir of the queen is in a more elevated part of the building, in a circular tower, from which a magnificent prospect is enjoyed. Many foolish persons have torn away pieces of the fretwork from the walls, in different parts of the Alhambra; but the old woman who now accompanies the visitor, looks so keenly after her charge, that, unless she be accessible to bribery, I should think it difficult to commit a theft.

One of these gardens was formerly called Lindaraxa; and as an example of the extravagant, I shall quote the inscription which refers to this garden. “The beauty and the excellence that are in me, proceed from Mahomed. His goodness surpasses that of beings that have passed, and that are to come. Among five stars, three turn pale beside his superior brightness; my master gives lightness to the murkiest atmosphere: the stars sicken with love of him; and to them, he communicates the perfume of plants, and the sweet odour of virtues. Their business is to enlighten the firmament, else would they dart from their places, and seek his presence. By his command, stones are firmly rooted: it is his power that communicates to them their delicate workmanship; and by his will do they remain firm. The marble softens at his voice; and the light of his eyes scatters darkness. Where is there a garden like unto this? its verdure and its fragrance excel all others; and its freshness is diffused far around!”

I must not omit to make mention of the Hall of the Abencerrages, so called from an historical fact with which it is connected, and which is probably known to the reader. It was in the year 1491, when Abdali was king, that two great families, the Gomels and the Legris, conspired the ruin of the Abencerrages, the greatest of the Moorish families. To effect this, they invented a tale, by which they fixed dishonour upon the queen, and connected it with Albin Hamet, the chief of the family. The king in his fury, resolved to extirpate the family; and they were sent for to the Alhambra, one by one, and the moment they entered, each was beheaded beside an alabaster vase, which yet stands in the hall, and which is said to have overflowed with their blood. Thirty-five of the family fell victims; but the rest being warned by a page who escaped, they raised the city in their cause, penetrated the palace, and slew many of the Gomels and the Legris, who there defended the king, who took refuge in a neighbouring mosque. The conquest of Granada speedily followed this event.

No description can convey to the reader any just idea of the Alhambra of Granada; nor is it merely the courts, and halls, and fountains, that excite the interest of the traveller: with every one of these, there is some historic and romantic association; and he that would fully enjoy the hours, or days, spent among these splendid tokens of the Moorish empire, must prepare himself by a perusal of that delightful work, “the Chronicle of the Conquest of Granada.” He will there find a thousand stirring, romantic, or affecting pictures, peopling the Alhambra with recollections—interesting, as human passions and human affections can make them; and if they be not as vivid as they are interesting, the fault will be in himself, and not in the writer, who with so graphic a pen has sketched the scenes from which they are drawn. I spent the morning of several days wandering over the Alhambra, and found no diminution in the interest awakened by these majestic remains. I did not forget to visit the postern gate through which Boabdil el Chico went forth to surrender his empire, and which he requested might be closed up, that no one might enter or pass out by the same gate. Accident has now sealed the request of the Moorish king, for the entrance is closed up with stones.[C]

The finest point of view in the neighbourhood of Granada, is not from the Alhambra; because the view must be imperfect, unless the Alhambra be itself one of the features. The chapel of St. Michael, upon the opposite height, is the spot to be attained; and to this little excursion, I devoted a morning. The hill upon which the chapel stands, is one labyrinth of aloes and Indian fig, which form an impenetrable thicket, unless where the zig-zag path is cut; and of so sturdy a growth are these, that the prospect towards the city and the Vega is entirely shut out. But this mount is curious and interesting on another account: every ten or twelve yards, you pass the exit of a narrow path cut through the aloes, and leading, a few yards forward, to the door, or rather the mouth of a hovel, excavated in the face of the hill. These habitations are tenanted by the very lowest of the population, as may well be believed; and I counted a hundred and forty of them. I requested permission to enter one, at the door of which, a young woman in rags, sat spinning flax; she told me that her husband was out with his gun seeking rabbits, and the only other inmate of the hovel, was a child, asleep upon a mattress on the ground. I saw no furniture, excepting two stools and this mattress, and the light found its way in, and the smoke its way out, at the entrance, to which there was no door; but the woman said, that before winter, they meant to supply this want; and that they also intended to construct a chimney, or, at least, a hole by which the smoke might escape. I noticed that some of the other hovels had chimneys, but I saw no one with a door. I was not sorry, when, after many times losing my way in this labyrinth, set upon by fierce hungry dogs, and meeting many suspicious-looking persons, I gained the summit of the mount, and an open space where I could see around me. The view was superb: in front stood the old Moorish town—on the left, lay the ravine of the Daro—and beyond it, the whole range of the Alhambra, with its towers, and walls, and arches, and pillars, and the rocky ridge upon which it stands, beautifully shaded and coloured by the woods, over which late autumn had thrown his rich and nameless tints: still higher, stood the Xeneralife; and above this range, the dark defiles and snowy summits of the Sierra, towered into the serene skies. The view was of a different character, looking towards the west: Stretching from the foot of the Alhambra, lay the city, with its many spires and towers, and all its groves and gardens; and still farther, was spread out the rich and fertile Vega, traversed by its winding rivers, and losing itself in the hazy distance. Not wishing to run the risk of losing myself again in the labyrinth of prickly pear, or to encounter the dogs—some of which owed me a grudge, for having threatened them with a stone—I succeeded in finding another road back to the city. In this walk, I could not but observe the remarkable changes of temperature to which Granada is subject.—Walking up the sunny side of the mount, I many times blessed the friendly shade of the prickly pear, and the enormous leaves of the aloe; so scorching was the sun; and yet, under the wall, on the shaded side of the mount, the hoar frost was lying; and this same evening, I found it so cold in the hotel, that I drank tea, and received some visitors in bed.

The second night I slept in Granada, I was awoke about midnight by an extraordinary confusion of sounds: bells from the seventy or eighty convents and churches, rung out an alarm; sometimes in discordant chorus, sometimes one ceasing, and another commencing—sometimes, after a moment of perfect silence, all again breaking into a general peal—trumpets, distant and near, filled up the intervals, or pierced shrilly through the crash of bells—and mingled with these sounds, were heard the roll of drums, the hurrying of footsteps, and the howling of dogs. Naturally supposing that all this must indicate something, I hastily dressed, and putting on my hat, hurried down stairs; but the master of the fonda stopped me at the door, telling me he could upon no account allow me to go out; the cause of the disturbance, he said, was a fire, and it would be extremely imprudent for a stranger to trust himself in the streets. Recollecting Malaga, I did not contend the point with him, but contented myself with looking from the window of my apartment. The noise still continued, and the fire not being speedily got under by human efforts, stronger measures were resorted to: the sound of bells and trumpets was exchanged for the song of monks. I heard the monotonous hum from several quarters; lights in long lines were seen approaching; and soon one procession, and then another, headed by a silver virgin, or a wooden saint, crossed the Plaza; and all the while, the streets were paraded by single friars, each tinkling a little bell, and crying aloud “Holy Mary! Blessed Virgin! save this city!” This proved effectual, for the fire was subdued before morning. I need scarcely add, that before these processions issue from the convents, a hint has been received, that the fire will speedily be got under,—and who can be surprised that the brethren of St. Francis, or St. Dominick, should seize so excellent an opportunity of publishing a miracle?

Among the objects most worthy of notice in Granada, the cathedral must not be passed over. I was already almost surfeited with marbles and gilding, and paid little attention to these; but there are some other things deserving of observation. Among them, the most remarkable and the most beautiful, are the Sarcophagi of Ferdinand and Isabella, the conquerors of Granada: which are of white marble,—sculptured with great taste and delicacy. The sword and sceptre of these illustrious personages, are preserved in the sacristy. I observed a curious notice affixed to every conspicuous part of the walls, forbidding any man to speak to a woman within the cathedral under the pain of excommunication, and the penalty of two ducats, to be given to holy purposes; thus making good spring out of evil. There were formerly some good pictures in the cathedral, but they did not escape the rapacity of the French.

The convents of Granada are not distinguished for their pictures; but the admirer of fine marbles will find nothing in the Escurial equal to the marbles that adorn some of the convents of this city. I visited four of the convents—the Dominicans, the Hieronomites, Juan de Dios, and the Carthusians. The Dominican convent is remarkable as the depository of a piece of marble found in the Sierra Nevada, upon which is distinctly represented the flight into Egypt; or at all events, a pictorial resemblance of the objects which are generally selected by the painter to illustrate this piece of history: the marble is in so elevated a situation, that suspecting some deception, I obtained a ladder, and examined it closely; but I found that the friar had not deceived me. Juan de Dios contains, besides much fine marble and innumerable relics, the real body of John of God. The urn was formerly placed within a dome of pure silver, supported by silver pillars, but the French carried off these, and a wooden temple has been substituted: it is somewhat curious that the French should have respected the saint so much as to leave the silver urn in which his body is contained. Judging however, by the order which he has instituted, the memory of John of God is entitled to veneration. The monks of this order do not spend their lives in sloth, but devote them to the succour of the wretched: there is always an hospital attached to a convent of this order. The Carthusian convent of Granada is one of the most splendid, and one of the richest in Spain: its revenues are immense; and being inhabited by only eleven monks, who live on fish and fruits, the convent treasury must be well stored. The marbles of this convent are beyond price; and all the doors and the panels round the sacristy are mosaic of mother-of-pearl, ivory, ebony, and tortoise-shell. They have some pictures, said to be from the hand of Murillo; but this I disbelieve.

It is said, that formerly five thousand poor were fed daily in Granada by the archbishop and by the convents: at present, however, only four of the convents supply the needy; but the archbishop gives all that he can spare. His revenues, which formerly amounted to one hundred thousand dollars, do not now exceed forty thousand. I went one morning to the archepiscopal residence, to obtain an order to see a country-house belonging to this dignitary; but he was in bed, unwell; and while the majordomo was sent for, I entered at one of the doors opening from the yard, and found myself in the kitchen. Four dishes were preparing for his lordship’s breakfast;—a white soup, a stew of pigeons, pig’s feet, and stewed cellery—which, with dessert and wine, was a tolerable breakfast for a sick archbishop.

Among the letters which I carried with me to Granada, one was addressed to General O’Lowlor, Lieutenant-Governor of the province, and Commissioner for the Duke of Wellington, in the management of his Grace’s estates in this neighbourhood. From Gen. O’Lowlor I obtained accurate information respecting the state of agriculture in the Vega of Granada, as well as regarding the property of the Duke of Wellington; and I have great pleasure in recording my acknowledgments to this gentleman, for the many kind and polite attentions which I received from him.

The following is the usual rotation of crops in the Vega of Granada. After the land has been fully manured, hemp is put in; and two, or sometimes three crops of wheat, according to the nature of the land, are taken in the same year: a crop of flax, and a crop of Indian corn follow the next year, and beans and Indian corn are taken the third year. For this last crop the land is half manured; and then it is fully manured for the hemp, to begin the next rotation. The hemp is considered necessary to prepare the land for wheat, which otherwise would come up too strong after the manure. This is the rotation on land which is subjected to the process of irrigation.

Agriculture, in the best parts of Spain, is not in a flourishing condition; agricultural produce of every kind, the value of land and rents, have all fallen. Ten years ago, land in the Vega of Granada was worth from fifty to a hundred dollars per acre: at present, it does not average above sixteen. Wheat sold, ten years ago, at three dollars the fanega; now, it does not average, year by year, more than one dollar and a half. Rents are of course fallen in proportion; and low as rents are, they are difficult to be recovered. Upon the lands which are not capable of being irrigated, the crops are extremely precarious; and where a money-rent is required, it is next to impossible to find a cultivator for the land. As a remedy for this, proprietors of high lands are contented to receive a certain proportion of the crop—generally a fifth; and upon land subject to irrigation, a tenant is willing to pay one fourth part of the produce. Land, generally, in the Vega of Granada, returns four per cent., taxes paid; but a considerable quantity returns as much as six per cent. The return from land under tillage, is greater than that from meadow land.

The estates belonging to the Duke of Wellington, lie in the lower part of the Vega, about two leagues from Granada; and all the land is capable of irrigation. His Grace’s estates return about fifteen thousand dollars per annum; his rents are paid in grain—a fixed quantity, not a proportion of the crop; a plan beginning to be pretty universally followed by other land-owners. The Duke has three hundred tenants, from which it appears that very small farms are held in the Vega of Granada; for if the whole rental be divided by three hundred, the average rent of the possessions will be but fifty dollars each. The tenants upon the Duke’s estate are thriving; they pay no taxes; and these estates are exempt from many of the heavy burthens thrown upon land. A composition of six per cent. is accepted from the Duke of Wellington, in lieu of all demands.

Before the loss of the colonies, taxation was light; the revenue being mainly supported through them. This loss was a severe and irrecoverable blow; and whether by the burthens which it has thrown upon land,—by drying up the former sources of revenue,—or by the extinction of the best and only sure market for Spanish manufactures, it is a blow felt throughout every department of Spanish industry. Before the loss of the colonies, there was in Granada an extensive manufactory of ribbons, which found in South America a wide, ready, and exclusive market,—no fewer than two thousand hands were employed in it; but since that event, it has entirely fallen. Many persons who were in that trade, and were accounted the richest in the city, have become bankrupts; others have closed their concerns, and turned their attention to agriculture; and hundreds of the artizans are in a state of perfect destitution, supported only by charity or thieving: to so great an extent has theft been carried, that in one night, while I was in Granada, twenty-six persons were arrested in the act. The export trade in oil has also suffered severely from the loss of the colonies: before that event, it fetched from eighty to one hundred dollars the arroba; and now, it cannot command more than from twenty to twenty-six dollars. The export wine trade from the southern provinces, has suffered the least: the imposition of import-duties has, of course, somewhat limited the demand, by increasing the price in America; but in articles of taste, such as wine, or any thing that is the exclusive produce or manufacture of a mother country, the separation of colonies but slightly affects the market: the colonists have acquired a taste for such produce, and they will continue to give a preference to it, notwithstanding a political separation.

I will venture to say, that no city in Europe can boast of promenades so delightful as those of Granada. Besides the many romantic walks in the neighbourhood of the city—to the hill of martyrs; to St. Michael’s mount, and to the nearer ridges of the Sierra; there are two professed alamedas: one, along the banks of the Xenil; the other, by the margin of the Daro: the former is within the city, and is the most frequented; the other is a path above the Daro, which flows through a deep and finely wooded ravine. Nothing in Switzerland excels the romantic and striking scenery of the valley of the Daro,—for along with the picturesque views within the valley, magnificent glimpses of the glorious Alhambra, and the gorgeous city, are frequently caught beyond it.

The appearance of the population of Granada differs little from that of the population of Malaga; there is nearly an equal quantity of beggary and idleness; but it occurred to me, that among the lower orders, there was more rudeness than in any of the other cities of the south: strangers are more stared at than elsewhere; and it is rarely that one passes a group of idlers, that a gibe and a laugh do not follow. This may perhaps be accounted for, from the greater rarity of strangers in Granada than in Cadiz, Seville, or Malaga. One morning, my walk conducted me through the market-place, which is not appropriated to edibles only, but which contains all kinds of goods, exposed in stalls: it is in fact, a general bazaar. The central part is occupied by meat, fruit, and vegetables; and round the sides, the other goods are exposed. At one end, under a range of sheds, all kinds of trades are carried on. I remarked an extraordinary shew of vegetables and fruits, especially dried fruits; but among all the articles exposed for sale, nothing appeared to be so much in demand as hot potatoes; the supply of which was constantly kept up by a regular apparatus of fire, water, and a steamer. This seemed a favourite breakfast, for scores were sitting upon the ground enjoying it; a little boy, to whom I gave a trifle for shewing me a barber’s shop, immediately upon receiving his quartos, sat down upon the ground with his purchase of potatoes, apparently highly delighted with the treat. I noticed a Franciscan, perambulating the stalls with an image of Christ under his arm, and those who gave him any thing were permitted to kiss the image,—a favour that seemed to procure him ample supplies. I inquired the prices of some articles in the market, and found them to differ little from the prices of Malaga: eggs were a halfpenny a-piece, in place of a penny, as in Malaga; bread was somewhat cheaper, and all kinds of game extremely low in price.

The manner of life in Granada differs little from that of Malaga; only that being inland, and having less communication with strangers, Spanish usages are more unmixed. Every one takes chocolate, and goes to mass in the morning. Every lady dresses, and seats herself upon her couch with her fan in her hand, her basket at her feet, and her embroidery before her, waiting the arrival of visitors; every one dines a la cuisine EspaÑole,—eats melon and pomegranate, and takes a siesta,—and every one goes to the paseo in the evening. When I was at Granada, a Neopolitan company gave operas every second night. The prima donna, SeÑora Cresoti, would have done honour to any opera in Europe,—but she was only indifferently supported. It is a curious fact, however, that several of the provincial towns of Spain—poverty-stricken Spain! should be able to support an Italian opera; and that in England, London alone, and with difficulty, supports an indifferent company. This can only be accounted for from the absence of musical taste in England; for there is not a country town to which the expense could be any barrier. What salaries are paid to the singers in Malaga and Granada, I have no access to know; but where a whole box may be engaged for 7s., and the price of the pit is only 10d., these cannot be very extravagant.

The origin of Granada is hidden in the obscurity of antiquity. It is said to have been founded nearly three thousand years before the Christian era; it is at all events certain, that during the time of the Romans, Granada was a place of some importance: but the name of the founder, as well as the precise date of the foundation, are altogether matter of conjecture.