THE famed Alhambra[134] was the first object to which we bent our steps, after depositing our effects at the Fonda del Comercio, and sending our horses to the Posada de las Tablas. It is perched on the summit of a steep but narrow ridge, which, falling precipitously to the north, along the left bank of the Darro, terminates in a rugged point, overhanging the city, to the west; and, as I have already noticed, is supposed to have been erected by the exiled inhabitants of a town of the same name in La Mancha, captured by San Fernando about the year of our Lord 1224.

The walls of the fortress follow the various sinuosities of the scarped cliffs that bound the rocky ledge on three sides, and enclose a plateau, 770 yards in length, and 200 wide in its greatest breadth. But the form of the enceinte is very irregular, and its ground plan bears a strong resemblance to the elongated leaf of the prickly pear; the numerous towers studding the walls of the Moorish stronghold having all the appearance of the inattackable fruit that grows round the edge of the Spanish vegetable monster. The principal entrance is by the gate of judgment, situated in one of the towers on the southern front of the fortress. The approach to this gate is by a wide and well kept carriage road, which, shadowed over by luxuriant forest trees, winds up a narrow ravine, that, on this side, divides the Alhambra hill from another steep mound, which projects, in like manner, towards the city, and is occupied by the ruins of other old Moorish fortifications, called Las Torres bermejas. Both hills form part of the Cerro de Santa Elena.

On gaining the interior of the fortress, the first object that catches the eye, standing towards the centre of the plateau, and looking somewhat contemptuously down upon its Moorish rival, is the gorgeous palace of the Emperor Charles V. It is a large quadrangular building, enclosing a spacious circular court, and its four fronts, constructed entirely of cut stone, have a handsome appearance, albeit, the heterogeneous mixture of the orders of architecture they exhibit, is of rather questionable taste.

Though of so much more recent date than the palace of the Moorish kings, the stately pile of Spain’s mighty monarch seems doomed, like the throne of his successors, to fall to the ground e’en sooner than the tottering fabric of Mohammedanism itself. Indeed it is even now a mere shell, and the few remaining bolts and bars that hold together its shattered walls will, I have no doubt, shortly find their way to the same furnace that has already converted the bronze rings and ornaments with which it was formerly embellished, into the more useful form of maravedis.[135]

The celebrated palace of the Moslem princes, to which our conductor now led the way, was commenced by Mohammed Al Fakir, son of Mohammed Abou Said, the founder of the kingdom of Granada, A.D. 1275. It rests against the north wall of the fortress, and its low and irregular brick walls, overshadowed by the stone palace of the Spanish kings on one side, and by the huge tower of Comares on another, have a mean and very unpromising appearance. It looks like the dilapidated stables and remises attached to a French chateau of the “old school,” the walls of which only have withstood the levelling system of the revolution.

This unpretending exterior being common to all Moorish buildings, did not occasion disappointment. Not so, however, the interior; of which, for I was a young traveller then, I had conceived a much more exalted idea. Indeed, the disappointment was general, for all of us had expected to see, if not a palace on a grand scale and of magnificent proportions, one, at all events, containing suites of courts and apartments, which, on the score of costliness and luxury, would not cede the palm to any erected even in these days of refinement and extravagance. When, therefore, after following our guide through several long dirty passages, we were ushered into a small quadrangular court, laid out like a Dutch garden, but, unlike it, overgrown with sunflowers, larkspurs, and marigolds, so little idea had we of being within the precincts of the royal apartments, that my companions were about to pass on with eager haste, until I called out, “Do stop a moment to look at this, it is so pretty.” “Este es el patio de los Leones,”[136] said our cicerone, describing a wide circle with his stick, to draw our attention to the light and elegant colonnade that encompassed us, adding, after a short but effective pause, and pointing at the same time to a basin in the centre of the court, supported on the backs of twelve nondescript animals which were half concealed in the flowery jungle, “and those are the lions, celebrated in every part of the known world, which have given the name to this terrestrial paradise!” This grandiloquent burst was evidently occasioned by our apparent insousiance. We stood corrected, but not the less disappointed.

On paper—in type as well as in pencil—the Alhambra has generally been represented in too glowing colours. In defence of the painter it may be said that he labours under a peculiar disadvantage, as far as truth is concerned; for, whilst the utmost effort of his art will never enable him to do justice to the lovely tints of nature, he cannot, with all his skill, avoid conveying too favourable an idea of works of art, especially in delineating architectural subjects. It follows, that, in drawings of the building now before us, the elaborately ornamented walls, the delicately wrought arcades, the spouting lions, the flowery parterres, every thing, in fact, connected with it, appears fresh, perfect, and beautiful; the dirt, weeds, cobwebs, and scribbling that disfigure the reality, being omitted as unnecessary adjuncts to the picture; and the palace is thus represented to us (embellished a little, perhaps, according to the artist’s fancy) rather such as it may have been in the days of the Moors, than what it is at the present time;—this leads to one source of disappointment. On the other hand, whilst travellers have given the dimensions of the various courts and apartments with tolerable accuracy, they certainly have misapplied their epithets in describing them. The reader is apt, therefore, to lose sight of the scale in picturing to himself these gorgeous halls, which the spectator, at the first glance, sees are neither grand nor magnificent.

We, at all events, having, from what we had previously read and seen, formed most erroneous conceptions, both as to the size of the building, and of its state of preservation, made the circuit of, and quitted the too celebrated palace, disappointed with every thing within its walls.

The false impression once removed, however, and a few days given to mourn over the sad destruction of our long cherished fancies, we again ascended the wall-girt hill; and, having now brought our visual rays to bear at a proper focus, and allowed greater scope to the imagination—in other words, changing the adjectives grand and magnificent for tasteful and elaborate, and, in some matters, suffering fancy to supply the place of reality—we received much greater pleasure from our second visit to the crumbling pile; a gratification that became less alloyed at each succeeding visit.

I should here observe that, at the period of which I write, A.D. 1822, the Alhambra, like every thing else in Spain at that epoch, was in a deplorable state of dilapidation. No steps had yet been taken to repair the damage done by the French on evacuating the fortress ten years previously; and the Royal Palace, rent and shaken by the same explosions that had thrown down the towers of the Moorish stronghold, was still strewed with ruins, partially unroofed, and exposed to the destructive influence of wind and rain. That it is yet standing we have to thank General Sebastiani, who was governor of the province during a considerable part of the late war, and bestowed great pains upon its preservation. Perhaps, indeed, but for his interference, as well as the repairs he caused to be executed, this chef d’oeuvre of Moorish art would have shared the fate of the walls of the fortress.

I am happy, for the sake of future travellers, to be able to add that, on visiting Granada many years after, I found the Alhambra in a much improved state, notwithstanding that it had in the meanwhile suffered severely from the shock of an earthquake. The government seemed at length to have decided that the Royal Palace was worthy of preservation, though the work of infidels. An officer of rank had accordingly been appointed to its guardianship, whose permission it was requisite to obtain ere the stranger could enter its gates; and an old woman was lodged therein as his deputy, to pocket the fees and do the honours.

Under the watchful eye and ever busy broom of this vigilant personage, the place is now kept in excellent “inspection order.” The white marble pillars of its corridors have, under the influence of soap and water and a scrubbing brush, been cleansed of the names, doggrel verses, and maudlin sentiment, with which, from time immemorial, travellers have thought proper to disfigure them; the rubbish of another description that concealed its mosaic pavements has been removed; the weeds with which its courts were overgrown are eradicated; and, in the words of an Arabian poet, “The spider is no longer the chamberlain at the gate of Koshrew.”

Still, however, even in its improved condition, the future visitor must not go prepared to walk through stately courts and suites of magnificent apartments, else, like me, will he be sadly disappointed. The novelty in the style of architecture, the delicacy and variety of its enrichments, the tasteful patterns of its tesselated floors, and the laboured workmanship of its vaulted ceilings, constitute its chief merits, and are, I willingly admit, masterpieces of their respective kinds.

These have been so well and minutely described in Murphy’s work on the Moorish antiquities of Spain, that I shall confine my observations on the Royal Palace to the state in which I found it at the period of my last visit, in the autumn of 1833.

The female Cicero who, as aforesaid, was then charged with the exhibition of “the Lions,” happened to be one of those mechanical, dogmatical persons, who not only dislike, above all things, to leave the beaten track, but will insist upon regulating all tastes by their own. Finding, therefore, that she had laid down a “grand tour” of the premises from which nothing could persuade her to deviate, and had determined in her own mind the precise number of minutes that should be devoted to the admiration of each object, we requested she would save herself further trouble, and us annoyance, by leaving us to the guidance of Mateo Ximenes (a name rendered classic by the pen of Washington Irving), who, as a kind of Director General of English travellers in Granada, had attached himself to us in the capacity of fac totum.

Mateo being now, from the emoluments of his self-created appointment, one of the inhabitants de mas tomo[137] of the Alhambra; from his eloquent dissertations and learned disquisitions, an acknowledged dilettante and antiquary; and, as the “Minister of Grace and Justice” of most visitors, a person of considerable influence with the deputy governor of the palace, our conductress, on payment of certain dues, made not the least scruple of acceding to our proposal, giving Mateo, nevertheless, strict injunctions to have us constantly in sight, and to keep our hands from picking and stealing.

For our future visits we obtained a written permission from the commandant to make sketches, in virtue of which we were enabled to wander about wherever and as long as we pleased; a privilege which I would recommend all travellers to obtain immediately on their arrival at Granada, for, besides that this permit saves both trouble and expense, they will find no more delightful retreat during the heat of the day, than within the shaded courts and cool and airy halls of the Moorish palace.

The Patio de la Alberca, to which, following the Itinerary laid down by the Tia Manuela, I will first conduct my readers, is an oblong court, ornamented at the two ends with light colonnades, and having a long pool of water, or tank (Al Borkat, whence its name is derived), in the centre. Above, but a little retired from the northern arcade, the huge square tower of Comares rises to the height of 142 feet; and in it, on the level of and communicating with the court, is the grand hall of audience of the ambassador’s. This, however, being the principal show-room of the palace, I will, following the discreet example of our guide, keep in reserve, and proceed to the Hall of the Baths, into which a passage leads from the eastern side of the Patio de la Alberca.

Art seems to have exhausted itself in the embellishment and fitting up of this luxurious establishment. Its floors are laid with a mosaic of porcelain. Its walls, faced also with glazed tiles to a certain height, are finished upwards with the most elaborate moresques, moulded in stucco to correspond with the basement. The roof of the royal bathing apartment is arched with solid blocks of stone, bidding defiance to the sun’s rays, and is pierced with numerous starry apertures, admitting ventilation. The basins wherein the royal couple performed their ablutions are of white marble, and placed in separate alcoves, at the north end of the principal saloon. The windows open upon a garden without the palace walls, conveying perfumed breezes from its fragrant shrubs and orange trees to the epicurean bathers within.

Another apartment, communicating with the saloon of the royal baths, is called a concert room. Music room would, perhaps, be a more correct name for it, since I think it may be fairly doubted whether the Arabs ever cultivated music to such an extent as to warrant our using the term concert in speaking of it. Numerous Arabic ballads, some of considerable merit, have, it is true, been handed down to the present generation, and are yet chaunted by public singers in the east, but without the slightest attempt to attune either their voices or the instruments on which they sometimes strike an accompaniment.

The natives of Morocco, on the other hand, who may be considered as the “nearest of kin” to the Moors of Spain, have not the slightest notion of music. A diabolical noise, made by a zambomba[138] and a reed pipe, which not even a civilized dog can hear without howling, is the only attempt at a concert that I ever knew them to be guilty of executing. This discordant clamour appears, nevertheless, to afford them unalloyed satisfaction.

The court of the Lions, which, proceeding from the baths, is entered on its north side, is a rectangular peristyle, 100 feet long, (east and west) and 50 wide. The pillars are of white marble, extremely light and beautiful, and they support a fantastic but elegant series of arches, the superstructure of which is covered with an elaborate fretwork of stuccoed mouldings, representing moresques, and flowers, interspersed with sentences from the Koran, &c.

The pillars, I should observe, are perfectly plain; and, though methodically arranged, yet, from being disposed in corresponding groups of two, three, and four, produce a very bizarre effect.

In the centre of the court is a handsome fountain. The basin, into which the water rises, is of oriental alabaster, as are also the twelve animals that support it on their backs, and which, by some strange zoological blunder, have been called lions, for panthers would be more proper. The reservoir that receives the stream they disgorge is of black marble.

It is not improbable that, on the decadence of Cordoba, this fountain was brought from the famous palace of Zehra, built by the Kaliph Abdalrahman III. as a country retreat for his favourite sultana; which, embellished, according to common report, with the works of Grecian artists, is said to have contained numerous sculptured animals; and, amongst others, some golden (meaning probably gilt) lions, that spouted water into a basin of alabaster, are particularly mentioned by Moorish historians.

On the north side of the Court of the Lions is the Hall of the Two Sisters; so called from two large slabs of delicately white marble that occupy the centre of its floor. This apartment looks upon the fountain in the centre of the court, and directly facing it, on the south side, is the Hall of the Abencerrages, to which the legend of the cruel massacre of the chieftains of that noble race has given a mournful interest. If the tale be true, (and from the distracted state of Granada under its two last kings there is every reason to believe it is) there can be little reason to doubt that the stains, yet visible in the white marble pavement, were occasioned by the blood of Boabdil’s unfortunate victims.

On the same side the Court of the Lions as the Hall of the Abencerrages is a small apartment, wherein, in former days, the Moslem sovereigns sought the Kiblah,[139] and made their private prostrations. It was the burial place of Ishmael Farady, fifth king of Granada, one of the most enterprising monarchs that occupied the throne, but whose voluptuous excesses led to his assassination, A.D. 1322.

The Hall of Judgment is situated at the upper end of the court, and at the eastern extremity of the palace.

All these apartments are almost equally beautiful, though differing from each other in size, shape, and every part of their elaborate decorations. If any one can claim pre-eminence over the others, it is the Hall of the Two Sisters, the ceiling of which is composed of delicate stalactites in stucco, and the colouring and gilding are perhaps fresher and more gaudy. The windows in the back, or north, wall of this apartment look upon the garden of Lindaraja, which is now laid out with some little taste and care.

From this garden, or, by retracing our steps through the baths, we gain a small and exquisitely finished apartment, upon which the Spaniards have bestowed the name of El Tocador, or Dressing Room of the Sultana. It is situated in a kind of tower, or buttress, that projects beyond the walls of the fortress, and commands a lovely view in every direction. The mosaic pavement of this little room is of extreme beauty.

The situation of the Hall of the Ambassadors, or “Golden Saloon,” to which we will now proceed, has already been described. It is a square of 36 feet, and occupies the whole space enclosed by the walls of the tower of Comares which are of extraordinary thickness. The height of this apartment is 60 feet, and its ceiling, vaulted in a singularly graceful manner, is inlaid with a mosaic of mother of pearl.

This hall is certainly the pride of the Alhambra. Its proportions are more just, its stuccoed walls more highly finished, and the colouring and gilding of its ornaments more brilliant, than those of any of the other apartments. The tower in which it is situated projects far beyond the curtain wall of the fortress; so that, whilst it looks into the refreshing court of the Alberca on one side, from windows in the other three, it commands extensive views over the city, and the dark valley of the Darro. It is the only one of the principal apartments of the palace that possesses this advantage, and it was therefore peculiarly well adapted to the purpose of a hall of audience; since, the wide circumvallated city spread out below, the fertile plain over which, as far as the eye can range, it commands a view, and the fearful height of the massive walls, upon which its casements look down, could not but impress visitors with a sense of the wealth and power of the ruler of this fair realm, and of the strength of his proud mountain citadel. The windows too of this audience hall, elevated some hundreds of feet above the rocky banks of the Darro, afforded every facility for disposing—after the wonted manner of the Mohammedans—of any contumacious heir presumptive, or other troublesome friend or relative, whose journey to paradise might require hastening.

The view from the eastern window, looking up the valley of the Darro, embraces several objects of much interest; on the right, projecting boldly into the valley, is the tower surmounted by the Sultana’s Tocador, which, seen almost to its base, gives a good idea of the height of the Alhambra’s walls above the crouching city. Beyond, but situated on the same bank of the river as the fortress, is seen the Palace of the Generalife, and, above it, the Silla de los Moros,[140] a scarped rock, whereon the Moslems were in the habit of watching the setting sun, as he cast his gorgeous rays upon their beloved Vega. On the opposite side of the valley is the Sacro Monte convent, an immense pile, now crumbling to the dust.

The bassi relievi of the stuccoed compartment round this window are very curious, and I should say they represented groups of fishes intermixed with arabesques, but that several great authorities have declared, that in all the decorations of the Alhambra there are no traces of animal or vegetable life.

There are many other objects well worthy of notice within the Royal Palace. Amongst others, the cicerone does not forget to point out the apartments wherein the Sultana Ayxa and her unfortunate son Mohammed Abi Abdilehi, or Boabdil, were confined by the licentious Muley Hassan,and the window in the tower of Comares, whence the young prince,—who thus early, even in a father, deserved the surname of El Zogoybi,[141] afterwards bestowed upon him,—was lowered down and escaped from Granada.

The palace contains also a very handsome porcelain vase, said to be of Moorish manufacture. Another, which was discovered at the same time in the vaults under the royal apartments, was taken away by Count Sebastiani. The Granadinos abuse the French general in most unmeasured terms, for what they term this theft; but, if he carried off nothing else from the city, it must be admitted he charged them moderately enough for his guardianship of what he left behind—treasures on which, at that time, they seemed to set no value.

Independent of the interest with which the traveller explores the abode of Granada’s Moslem sovereigns, his attention is called, in no slight degree, to the examination of the crumbling ruins of the fortress enclosing it; over every nook of which a fresh charm has been thrown by the delightful tales of Washington Irving, whose fidus Achates, “Mateo,” stoutly maintains that the accomplished writer has drawn but slightly on the stores of his imagination.

The views from the walls and lofty towers of the fortress are most extensive and varied. The most comprehensive is from the Torre de la Vela,[142] situated at the western extremity of the Alhambra, whence, besides the view over the city and plain, the eye embraces the whole range of the magnificent Sierra Nevada, the peaks of which are several hundred feet higher than the loftiest points of the Pyrenees; and though not, as is usually supposed, covered with perpetual snow, are generally capped with it during nine months of the year. The highest points of the range are the Cerros de Mulahacen and de la Veleta, bearing S. E. from Granada, and both computed to be upwards of 11,000 feet above the level of the Mediterranean.

On my last visit to Granada, in the month of October, the mountains were perfectly free from snow, and “Mateo” had succeeded in persuading me to mount to their summit under his guidance; a journey of twenty-four hours from the city. The day was fixed accordingly, but, during the night preceding our intended scramble, the whole ridge put on its winter covering, and rendered the undertaking impracticable.

Leaving the fortress by a low sally-port on its north side, we will proceed to visit the Generalife, or summer palace of the Moorish kings, situated rather above, but on the slope of the same ridge as the Alhambra, and separated from it by a deep ravine. The path is perfumed with groves of myrtle, orange, and other odoriferous trees; and is shaded with eglantine, woodbine, and wild vines, whose red autumnal leaves, entwined in the evergreen boughs of the overhanging carobs and ilexes, offer an impenetrable shield against the mid-day sun.

The chief attraction of the Generalife, (House of Love) are the refreshing coolness of its courts and apartments, the sweetness and abundance of its crystal waters, the luxuriance of its flowers and fruits, and the beauty of the views that its impending balconies command.

The stucco fretwork and porcelain mosaics, with which the apartments are ornamented, are in the same style as those of the Alhambra; but with the highly finished and gorgeous decorations of the Royal Palace yet fresh in the recollection, those of the Generalife appear far inferior. In the opinion of Mr. Murphy, however, the mosaic work in the portico of the Generalife not only surpasses any other specimen of Moorish workmanship, but “for variety of execution and delicacy of taste is fully equal, if not superior, to any Roman mosaics which have come down to our times.”

I should have been unwilling to admit this, even at the time he wrote; but the late discoveries at Pompeii have brought to light mosaic pavements far exceeding, as well in boldness of design as in beauty of execution and colouring, any thing of the kind that has ever been produced in modern times; and which, whilst causing us to estimate more highly than heretofore the proficiency of the ancients in the art of drawing, make us regard the mosaics of the Moors as mere pieces of mechanism.

The wood-work in the roofs of the various apartments of the Generalife is worthy of remark, not only from the beauty of the workmanship, but from its state of preservation. Murphy has fallen into error in translating Nogal (of which they are composed) chesnut—he should have said walnut.

The walls of one of the apartments are decorated with portraits of some of the most renowned warriors who figured in the siege of Granada; amongst others of Gonzalvo, “the great Captain;” Ponce de Leon, the captor of Alhama; El Rey Chico, Boabdil; and Ferdinand and Isabella. They are all said to have been “taken from life,” and the work of one individual.

The gardens of the Generalife are more pleasing from the luxuriant growth of their flowers and fruits, than for the manner in which they are laid out. One must taste the pomegranate of the Generalife to appreciate fully the value of that refreshing fruit; and he who has eaten of its muscatel grapes can have no doubt of the wine house, from whence Ganymede supplied the cups of the thirsty olympics.

At a certain cypress-tree that grows within the walled court of the palace, “Mateo” mysteriously wags his head; and should any curiosity be evinced at this intimation of a tale that he could unfold, will open a budget of Royal scandal, purloined from Florian, and other romancers, which furnishes him with the means of displaying his historic lore for the rest of the evening.

Descending from the Generalife, and crossing the “golden” Darro ere it enters the city, we will mount the rough streets of the Albayzin. The hill side is perforated with numerous caverns, many of which are tenanted by a singularly savage race of beings, who, differing in character from either Moors or Spaniards, appear to be descended from the aborigines of the country.

Several curious wells, arches, and other Moorish remains, are to be seen in the quarter of the Albayzin; and the view it commands is one of the finest in Granada, embracing the greater part of the city, and the richly wooded bank, whereon are perched the bright Generalife, and the sombre Alhambra, backed by the snow-clad ridge of Nevada.

Amongst the numerous Moorish reliques that the city contains, the most perfect, perhaps, are the baths. But, at every turn, a ruined bridge, a dilapidated gateway, or some other memento of the Saracens, presents itself, giving Granada peculiar interest in the eyes of the seeker after Moorish antiquities. Neither in modern sights does it fall short of other more populous and flourishing cities.

The Cathedral is not so large nor so handsome as that of Malaga. The interior is heavy, excessively gaudy, and fitted up in the worst possible taste. The architecture is Corinthian, but of a very spurious sort. Some good paintings are to be found distributed in the various chapels; the best are in that of the Santissima Trinidad, viz.—the Trinity, by Cano, and a Holy Family by Murillo—the latter a masterpiece.

The pillars round the Altar Mayor—above which rises the Dome—are richly gilt; and the light admitted by painted windows, above and behind, has a fine effect. Some paintings by Cano, under the Dome, are very good, and the Cathedral is ornamented with two busts of great merit, (Adam and Eve) by the same master, whose talented hand directed the chizel with the same success as the pencil.

The Capilla de los Reyes Catolicos communicates with the Cathedral, but is under a separate roof. It is of Gothic architecture, and celebrated for a flat arch of remarkable boldness, which supports its roof. The remains of Ferdinand and Isabella, and their immediate successors, Philip and Joanna, are deposited in this chapel. Their tombs, executed by order of the Emperor Charles V., are superbly sculptured. That of the “Catholic Kings” is the most elaborately wrought and highly finished; but the other is lighter, and displays more elegance of design. The recumbent figures of Ferdinand and Isabella are remarkably well carved;—the repose in the queen’s countenance is incomparably expressed. The same cannot be said of the manner in which the “mad” Joanna and her Austrian husband have been sculptured; with the latter of whom, at all events, the artist could not offer the usual excuse, that crowned heads are difficult subjects to manage, since the Spaniards themselves surnamed Philip “El Hermoso.”[143]

In ascending rather too hastily and unguardedly from the tomb of the conquerors of Granada, I struck my head against the iron grating above, and was laid prostrate and senseless at the foot of the altar. It required a good pint of the church wine—which our worthy, priestly cicerone insisted upon administering, both internally and externally—to set me up again; and, as a reward for my patience under suffering, he showed us the splendidly illuminated missal, used by the “Catholic Kings,” and deposited with the crown, sword, and sceptre of the great Ferdinand, in the sacristy of the Cathedral.

The church of San Geronimo is one of the oldest in Granada—which city boasts of being the first in Spain that embraced Christianity—San Cicilio, one of the seven apostles ordained by Peter and Paul, having founded a church at Eliberi, in the first century.[144] It contains some paintings said to be by Murillo, but is more celebrated as being the burial-place of Gonzalvo de Cordoba. A plain white marble slab, let into the pavement at the foot of the principal altar, and bearing the following simple inscription, is all that marks the spot where the remains of the greatest captain Spain ever produced were interred.

Gonzali Fernandez
de Cordova
Sui propri virtute
magni ducis nomen
proprium sibi fecit
ossa
perpetua tandem
luci restituenda
huic interea loculo
credita sunt
gloria minime consepulta.

The church of San Juan de Dios is well worthy a visit; though its decorations are rather gaudy than handsome. It contains a few small, but very good paintings by Cano, and a valuable silver urn, embossed with gold, wherein are deposited—so the Spaniards assert—the bones of our Saviour’s favourite disciple, who died at Granada.

There are many other churches deserving of the traveller’s notice, but it would be tedious to enumerate them. To the lovers of Rossini’s music, however, I would recommend a visit to that of San Domingo during High Mass. I once heard there the whole of the airs from MosÉ in Egitto, besides various pezzi scelti from the Gazza ladra, to which, in England, we dance quadrilles.

The Carthusian Convent (extra muros) is noted for its riches, and collection of paintings. We could not gain admission on our first visit; as, after toiling up the eminence on which it is situated, we found the grating in the portal closed by a board, announcing “Hoy se sacan animas”—To-day souls are extracting from purgatory;—a praiseworthy occupation, from which it would have been sinful to take the worthy friars; although it was gently hinted to us, that a few pesetas would remove any scruples they might entertain. The day following, however,—the funds for suborning the devil having been exhausted,—we were admitted to inspect the interior of the convent. It contains numerous paintings, some few said to be by Murillo, others by Cano; but I doubt whether either of those great masters ever touched them. The rest are mere daubs, representing the persecutions of the monks by Henry VIII, by the Moors, and by the German Lutherans.

The Hermita de San Anton is a small edifice on the outskirts of the city, which, on a certain day in the spring of the year, is endowed with the singular power of curing horses of the cholic; all that is required being to ride them nine times, at a brisk pace, round the exterior of the church—ni mas ni menos.