THE appearance of Malaga on a near approach is mean and unprepossessing; nor is this an optical deception, for the suburbs are miserably poor and excessively dirty. This last, indeed, is a fault that the city may be charged with generally; and such is the contempt in which the virtue of cleanliness is held by the inhabitants, that, though the little river Guadalmedina[121] winds its way through the heart of the city, requiring only to be properly husbanded to keep the place sweet and clean; yet, from mismanagement, it is itself suffered to become a nuisance; the scanty stream left after supplying the fountains being in summer so obstructed by heaps of filth, brought out from the city, and thrown into its wide bed, that not having sufficient power to carry off the accumulated mass of corruption, it serves only (by keeping it constantly moist) to render the process of putrefaction more fetid and deadly.

The calm indifference with which the inhabitants of Malaga endure the intolerable nuisance thus generated by their improvidence and indolence, and the patience with which they look forward to the winter torrents to rid them of it, contrast singularly enough with the immoderate alarm occasioned by the arrival of a vessel from the Habana, and the haste with which they send it from their port to undergo purification at Minorca. Thus, whilst dreading most unwarrantably the importation of the yellow fever from a place which, at the time, perhaps, was perfectly free from it, they disregard altogether the little forcing-bed of miasmatic diseases, situated under their own immediate noses.

The city, it is true, has suffered so severely from visitations of this terrible disease, that the inhabitants may well dread its recurrence; but since they are aware that Coin, Alhaurin, and other places in the neighbourhood, situated in a purer atmosphere, are beyond its influence; surely they ought to look at home for the causes of its fatal virulence, if not of its actual production.

The winter torrents come down in great force, and, from the proximity of the mountains, the Guadalmedina rises very suddenly; rendering a wide bed quite necessary to carry it off, as well as strong walls to resist and direct it in its course. But, in spite of these precautions, the lower portions of the city are frequently inundated.

A wooden bridge, on stone piers, keeps up the communication between the two parts of the city during sweet winter; but the bed of the river, which is eighty yards wide, may be crossed dry-foot the greater part of the year.

The principal portion of the city is on the left bank of the Guadalmedina. Indeed, the part situated on the western side is, properly speaking, only a large suburb. The change on passing the bridge is most agreeable; the first object that presents itself being the Alameda, a fine open space, lined on three sides with handsome houses, and on the fourth open to the refreshing westerly breezes. A shaded carriage drive goes round the quadrangle; and down its centre, a broad gravel walk, furnished with seats, and planted with flowers and shrubs, affords the public a delightful promenade.

On a Sunday evening this Paseo is crowded with all classes of the inhabitants; and the dark voluptuous MalagueÑa, as, with mincing step, she threads the motley throng, fails not to display her skill in fanning signals to her various acquaintances. The stranger, whilst following, with admiring eyes, the graceful movements of the fluttering parchment,[122] little suspects that he is himself the subject matter of its telegraphic communications.

Besides the Alameda, there are several fine open spaces in the city, but certainly not one good street, although some few pretend to the convenience of a trottoir. The inns are tolerably good. That which is dignified by the name of “Los tres Reyes” was the best, at the period of my last visit.

Malaga is said by some to have received its name from the Hebrew work Malach, (signifying to reign) and to have been founded by the Phoenicians, eight centuries before the advent of our Saviour. Others, on the contrary, maintain that its name is derived from the Phoenician language; the same word Malach signifying in it to salt; and that the city was so called from the quantity of fish taken and cured there. The learned Florez, who inclines to this latter opinion, states that the cured fish of Malaga was so esteemed at Rome that a body corporate of merchants was established in that Capital of the world, under the name of Malacitani, as proved by an inscription found in the Campo di Flora.

By the Romans the city was called Malaca; and became one of their confederates, (of which there were but three in Boetica) as well as the great emporium for their Spanish trade; although Pomponius Mela speaks slightingly of its importance.[123] It was captured by the Moors under Tarik, A.D. 715; and probably such portions of the walls as still exist were built about that period; but the fortress on the Gibralfaro, and the Alcazaba, or Royal Palace, are said to have been erected only towards the end of the thirteenth century; when the Moors, by the rapid progress of the Christian arms, (which had already wrested from them both Cordoba and Valencia) saw the necessity of strengthening the towns of their diminished territories.

Malaga had become a separate kingdom, however, as early as the beginning of the eleventh century; when the Caliphat of Cordoba ceased under the imbecile Haccham II.

The first who mounted the throne of Malaga was Ali Aben Hameth. But it does not appear that the crown was regularly handed down in one family; it seems rather to have been a constant object of strife; and its power over other states seems to have varied according to the talents of him who wore it; for sometimes we find the sovereign of Malaga owning obedience to the Princes of Seville and Cordoba; at others claiming dominion over those kingdoms; and generally, over the city of Granada.

Ishmael, a prince of the house of Alhamares, was the last king who dwelt within the walls of the Alcazaba. From the time of his being called to the throne of Granada, (A.D. 1313), Malaga was governed by a prince of the royal blood.

Malaga was one of the last cities that fell to the Christian arms, Ferdinand and Isabella having succeeded in capturing it, after an obstinate siege, only five years prior to the conquest of Granada, viz., A.D. 1487.

The Gibralfaro is, or rather has been, a fortress of great strength and considerable extent. Its ruins occupy the crest of a rugged mountain, from which, and a signal tower that formerly stood on the summit, it receives its present name, Gibel al faro.

The rocky ridge stretches east and west along the Mediterranean shore, falling precipitously towards the beach, and roughly and rapidly in the opposite direction, but less abruptly as it approaches the city, which it partially shelters to the S.E. A narrow, walled passage connects the castle with the Alcazaba, which, standing on a plateau near the termination of the rocky tongue, has a better and more immediate command over the city and harbour than even the Gibralfaro itself.

The walls of the fortress were evidently constructed at the cost of some proud Roman temple, and were probably run up in great haste, as numerous fragments of columns, capitals, &c., are built in with the more suitable bricks which the Moors generally used when they bestowed pains upon their works.

The walls of the Alcazaba, like those of the fortress, are studded with these venerable fragments, and are in an equally ruinous condition. The principal gateway is, however, tolerably perfect, and affords a fine specimen of Moorish architecture. The Alcazaba answered the triple purpose of a royal palace, an advanced work of the more elevated citadel, and a dock or arsenal for the city galleys. The docks were situated under its north wall; but they have long since been buried under the ruins of the impending building, and are now covered over with houses.

The Cathedral of Malaga, commenced about the middle of the sixteenth century, is a handsome building; but, from one only of its towers having been finished, its appearance is much injured. How frequently has it happened, and how much is it to be regretted, that edifices, dedicated to the worship of the Deity, have, as in this instance, been planned and partly executed on a scale of magnificence totally disproportioned to the means possessed for completing them according to the original design.

Besides the deformities that offend the eye in these patched-up buildings, and the unpleasant feeling to which the contemplation of an unfinished Christian church ever gives birth, a deplorable conviction is forced upon the mind, that these splendid piles were erected rather with a view to commemorate their founders than to promote the well-being of mankind; and that large sums of money have thus been vainly squandered, or, at best, lain profitless for ages; which might have been otherwise beneficially employed in the interests of Christianity.

Let me not lead my reader to suppose, however, that I dislike to see stately temples raised for the worship of our Creator. On the contrary, the lofty towers, high vaulted aisles, and gorgeous windows of many of our Christian churches are well calculated to predispose the mind to devotion; since, wonderful as they are, considered as works of man, how contemptible do they appear, compared with the mighty works of our Maker! and, viewed in this light, they cannot but impress us with a sense of His power and our utter insignificance.

With such feelings I have ever regarded the splendid cathedrals of Antwerp, CÖln, Rheims, Ratisbon, Vienna, &c., which are amongst the number of those that remain to this day in a more or less unfinished state, though, in other respects, they are some of the finest specimens of Gothic architecture extant.

The cathedral of Malaga is of noble proportions, but of a heavy, over-ornamented, composite style of architecture; and it is disfigured in an extraordinary degree with gilt chapels, carved saints, and votive offerings. It contains little worthy of notice besides the carved wood-work of the seats in the choir, the jewels, dresses, &c., in the Tesoreria[124], and one good painting by Alonzo Cano, in the chapel of the Rosario.

The tower of the cathedral is 300 feet in height, and commands a fine view, though not equal to that obtained from the Gibralfaro, since this latter includes the whole city, as well as the extensive plain of the Guadaljorce, and the various ranges of mountains that stretch along the Mediterranean shore between Monda and Marbella.

Immediately under the Alcazaba stands an immense and rather handsome edifice, built not many years since for a custom-house; but, meeting with few customers in that line of business, it has recently been converted into a Royal cigar manufactory, and is now in a thriving condition.

Previous to the establishment of this assistant, the Royal manufactory of Seville had imposed on it the impossible task of supplying cigars and snuff for the whole of Spain; and even now, with such additional means of production, the demand is ten times greater than the two factories have the power of furnishing, as the following statement will, I think, pretty clearly show.

The manufactory of Malaga employs 700 persons (women and children) in making cigars. A good pair of hands at the work may furnish three hundred a day; but (as the children cannot make half that number), taking the average at two hundred, gives a daily supply of 140,000. The manufactory of Seville employs 1,000 men and 1,600 women. These 2,600 persons may be calculated as furnishing, on an average, 250 each per diem; or, altogether, 650,000. Add to this number the 140,000 made at Malaga, and we have 790,000 as the “total of the whole” manufactured daily in Spain. But, as there are but six working days in the week, and seven smoking—indeed the lungs ought to be calculated as doing double work in Spain on Sundays and Saints’ days, whilst the hands are quite idle—we must reduce that amount by one seventh, to obtain the average number of cigars furnished for each day’s consumption throughout the year, which amounts therefore but to 677,143.

Now, taking the population of the country at 11,000,000 of souls, and supposing (which is a moderate computation) that but one million and a half of that number are consumers of tobacco, it is evident that Spain, with her present means, can supply her smokers with but seven sixteenths of a cigar per ora, per diem; and, consequently, as my proposition advanced, with less than one tenth part of the demand.

It follows, as a corollary, that great encouragement is given to the pernicious habits of smuggling and smoking papelitos[125].

The persons employed in the manufacture of cigars are paid at the rate of one real vellon for fifty, which enables even a first-rate maker to earn but fifteen pence a day. The best cigars are made entirely of Habana tobacco, and are sold at the factory at the rate of thirty reales vellon a hundred, or about three farthings, English, each. The second quality, composed of mixed tobaccoes, (that is, the interior of Habana leaf, and the outside of Virginia) cost eighteen reales vellon per hundred, or something under a half-penny each.

It may be seen, from this statement of the cost of cigars of the Royal Manufactory, that smuggling cannot but prosper; since, at the Habana, the very best cigars are sold for twelve dollars a thousand (or a trifle above a half-penny each), whilst those of inferior quality may be had for one fourth that price.

One of the most interesting sights of Malaga is the Studio of SeÑor Leon, the most renowned of the numerous modellers in clay, for which the city is celebrated. His figures are admirably executed, as well as strikingly characteristic; and, from first to last, are the work of himself and family. His sons form them by hand of a very ductile clay; he goes over such parts as require the finish of an experienced artist; and they are then passed over to his daughters, who give them life by their exquisite taste and skilful management of the pencil. The price is high, the most simple figures costing four dollars (about seventeen shillings) each. A group of nine equestrian figures that SeÑor Leon had just executed for the Infante Don Francisco de Paula, when I last visited Malaga, he valued at nine thousand reales vellon, or ninety four pounds!

The population of Malaga is estimated at sixty thousand souls. It was formerly much greater, and, not many years since, considerably less, having been reduced from 80,000 to 40,000, by repeated visitations of the yellow fever, about the commencement of the present century. But the city has been exempted from any very severe infliction of this scourge for some years past, and the amount of its population, and, consequently, its commercial prosperity, are rapidly increasing.

The place is celebrated for its manufactures of silk, linen, and hats; but the quantity of these articles now made is trifling, the greater portion of the inhabitants being employed in the more profitable occupation of preparing wines and dried fruits for the foreign markets.

Upwards of 18,000 butts of wine—sweet and dry—are annually shipped from Malaga, of which the chief part is taken by the Americans; but a vast quantity of the latter, under the name of Malaga Sherry, finds its way also into the cellars of “the trade” in England; whence, after undergoing a simple metonymical process, it flows down the public throat under its new name of “old brown,” or, perchance, “curiously old dry Sherry.”

The cured fish of Malaga, though not so celebrated as in the gastronomic days of ancient Rome, continues nevertheless to be a profitable branch of its trade; anchovies being annually exported from thence, to the amount of 20,000 quintals.

The export of olive oil is also very great, the average quantity being about 10,000 arrobas per annum. But, perhaps, the most profitable article of produce shipped from Malaga is fruit—almonds, oranges, and raisins; the preparation of which costs little, whilst they are always sure to find a market and fetch a good price. The quantity exported is enormous.

The harbour of Malaga is artificially formed by a stone pier, that, protruding upwards of a quarter of a mile into the sea, screens it perfectly from the prevailing easterly gales. In the opposite direction it is nearly as effectually sheltered by the coast itself, which bends for some distance to the S.W. So that, in fact, the anchorage is exposed only to a due south wind, which, besides being one that seldom blows in this part of the Mediterranean, cannot, from the proximity of the African shore, occasion a heavy swell.

The depth of water inside the mole is not sufficient to allow line of battle ships to lie there; and the port is otherwise inconvenient, from the difficulty of “making” it, when the wind is blowing strong on shore. But it is an excellent place of refuge for steamers, which need not apprehend so much the danger of getting on a lee shore. A light-house stands on the pier head, and the entrance of the harbour is guarded by several batteries.

The society of Malaga is very changeable. During the constitutional frenzy, the principal inhabitants were extremely liberal in their entertainments, as well as in their ideas; were fond of bull-fights, dancing, singing, ponch y huevos,[126] and even, because it was English, of bottled porter. But a sad change afterwards came over them. These festive meetings were, on the return of absolutism, deemed vulgar, democratical, and illegitimate; and a more dull and gloomy city than Malaga, after the star of liberty had set, can hardly be imagined. I speak, of course, of the Spanish portion of the inhabitants only. The foreign merchants of the place have at all times been, and still continue to be, noted for hospitality.

Most of the leading men of the city have country houses, to which they retire with their families during the heat of summer. One of the most delightful of these sin cuidados,[127] is “El Retiro de San Tomas,” situated at the foot of the mountain range that bounds the vale of Malaga to the west, and distant about eight miles from the city. This charming retreat is said to occupy the site of a villa built by one of the Moslem sovereigns of Malaga, and destroyed by the Spaniards in one of the devastating inroads made upon the fertile valley of the Guadaljorce, in the time of Ferdinand and Isabella. The present edifice, erected shortly after the kingdom of Granada was annexed to the crown of Spain, was also a royal seat, and so continued to be until the time of Philip V., who bestowed it upon an illegitimate son, then bishop of the diocese; from whom, he being of the order of San Domingo, it received its present name, El Retiro de San Tomas. At his death it went to the Dominican convent, of which he was a member, but has since passed into other hands, and, at the period of which I write, was occupied by Mr. Roose, the consulgeneral of Prussia, who, in favour of a letter of introduction with which I had been furnished, gave my friends and self a most courteous reception.

The Retiro is celebrated for the rare productions and luxuriance of its gardens, the fragrance of its orange and citron groves, the splendour of its jets d’eau, and the beauty of the scenery it commands in all directions.

After seeing all the external sights of the place, we were introduced to one of a much more novel character in Spain, viz., a large circle of ladies, assembled round a steaming urn, in the fragrant enjoyment of a “cup of tea.” We needed but little pressing to join in the imbibition of the refreshing beverage, at all times acceptable, but especially in this country, where, excepting in an apothecary’s shop, the cherished leaves of the invaluable shrub are seldom to be seen. From the salon we were conducted to a secluded part of the grounds, where another agreeable surprise awaited us, the peasantry of the neighbourhood, decked out in their holiday suits, having been assembled there, to do honour to the patron saint of the village, by belabouring the gazon vert with an interminable fandango.

The natives of the south of Spain are passionately fond of this dance, which, like a Scotch reel, is usually kept up as long as fingers or lungs can be found to mark time for the exhibitors. A few notes thrummed on the guitar are quite sufficient to set a fandango on foot; or, in default of that instrument, a monotonous ditty chaunted by one of the bystanders answers the purpose.

Sometimes, when the vocalist is a gracioso,[128] his part of the performance is by far the most entertaining, as he will improvise couplets on the various gymnasts, who, from time to time, relieve each other at the laborious amusement, seasoning his verses plentifully with Andalusian wit.

This dance is certainly of Oriental parentage. It is the same, in fact, as that of the Ghawazies of Egypt, but clothed with South of Europe decency. The balancing movements of the arms are precisely the same in both, and the contortions of the body differ but slightly, though the Spanish dancers have more regard for decorum than the tattoued-faced jezebels of the East. In the Fandango also, the co-operation of the feet is at times much more active, affording a wide field for the display of personal activity, if offering but small opportunity for the exhibition of grace. In the end it becomes a most fatiguing affair, either to witness or take part in; and no one, without personal experience, can form an idea of the serious engagement he enters into, by inviting a fair MalagueÑa to stand up to un poquito de Fandango; the Caballero exposing himself to much badinage should he be forced to give in before the lady.

The Cachucha is a refined species of Fandango; but it is seldom witnessed in Spain, except on the stage. It is doubtless a very graceful dance, but, as performed in its native land, tant soit peu libre.