I FOUND Cordoba the same dull, sultry, loyal city as at the period of my former visit; after devoting a day, therefore, to the incomparable Mezquita, we repaired to the police office to redeem our passports, and have them visÉ for Madrid, purposing to proceed to the capital by Diligence. We there learnt, however, that our route from Gibraltar, having passed near the district wherein the cholera had appeared, the public safety demanded that our journey should be continued on horseback, and, moreover, that each day’s ride should not exceed eight leagues!

The prospect of a fortnight’s baking on the parched plains of La Mancha and Castile, which this preposterous precaution held out, was, of itself, enough to make any one crusty; but the additional vexation of finding that all our precautions had been unavailing, all our information erroneous, made us return to the posada, thoroughly out of humour with Las Cosas de EspaÑa. Our landlord comforted us, however, by engaging—if we would but wait patiently for a few days, and leave the business entirely in his hands—to get matters arranged so that we might yet proceed on to Madrid by the diligence; and, knowing the wheels within wheels by which Spanish affairs of state are put in motion, we willingly came to this compromise, and remained quietly paying him for our breakfasts and dinners during the best part of a week, receiving each day renewed assurances that every thing was proceeding “corriente.”

The second day after our arrival at Cordoba, the inhabitants were moved to an unusual degree of excitement, in consequence of an estafette having passed through the city during the night, bearing despatches from Madrid to the Captain General of the Province, and rumours were afloat that the king was so seriously ill as to occasion great fears for his life; and, on the following day, public anxiety was yet further excited by a report that the Captain General had passed through Cordoba on his way to the capital; leading to the general belief that Ferdinand was actually dead.

In the evening our host came to us with a very long face, and informed us, confidentially, that such was the case, though, for political reasons, it had been deemed prudent not to make the melancholy news public; adding, that, in consequence of this unforeseen and unfortunate event, he regretted to say the authorities had been seized with such a panic, that he had altogether failed in his endeavour to have the stain effaced from our bill of health. Nevertheless, he said, he hoped yet to be able to arrange matters so as to ensure our being received into the diligence, without any questions being asked at Andujar, if we would but remain quietly where we were for a few days longer, and then proceed to that place on horseback.

The news received from Madrid had, however, decided us to give up the plan of continuing our journey thither. I knew enough of Spain to foresee what would be the result of all the intrigues which had been carried on behind the curtains of the imbecile Ferdinand’s death-bed.

“You are quite right, SeÑor,” said Blas, to whom I made known our change of plans, “we shall now have a disputed succession, for, be assured, Don Carlos is not the man to forego his just rights without a struggle.—Alas! this only was wanting to fill my unhappy country’s cup of misery to overflowing.”

Although thus unwillingly forced to abandon the project of crossing the Sierra Morena, we determined, whilst the country yet remained quiet, to extend our tour further to the eastward, and, by proceeding along the arrecife to Madrid as far as Andujar, gain the road which leads from thence to Jaen; a city, which the want of practicable roads leading from it to the south has, until late years (during which that deficiency has been remedied), been very rarely visited by travellers.

Recommending SeÑor Blas to postpone his projected barefoot pilgrimage into Gallicia, until the rainy season had set in, and made the roads soft, we departed from Cordoba by the great post route to the capital, which, as far as Alcolea, is conducted along the right bank of the GuadalquivÍr, and is a fine, broad, and well-kept gravel road.

Alcolea is seven miles from Cordoba. It is a small village of but twenty or thirty houses, and, in the opinion of Florez, occupies the site of the ancient town of Arva. The arrecife here crosses to the left bank of the river by a handsome marble bridge, of eighteen arches, built in 1788-92. The passage of this bridge was obstinately contested by the Spaniards, in the campaign of 1808, but a party of the French, which had crossed the river at Montoro, falling upon its defenders in flank, forced them to retreat.

From hence to Carpio is ten miles. The country is undulated, and the road—along which there is not a single village, and scarcely half a dozen houses—keeps within sight of the GuadalquivÍr the whole way, affording many pleasing views of the winding stream and its overhanging woods and olive groves.

The town of Carpio is left about a quarter of a mile off, on the right. It is situated on a hill, and by some is supposed to be the ancient city of Corbulo. Pliny, however, distinctly says that place was below Cordoba, and Florez fixes it in the vicinity of Palma.

From Carpio to Aldea del Rio is twelve miles, the country continuing much the same as heretofore. At three miles, the road reaches the small town of Pedro Abad (or Perabad) in the vicinity of which is a despoblado,[151] where various medals and vestiges have been found that determine it to be the site of Sacili, mentioned by Pliny.

Proceeding onwards, the town of Bujalance may occasionally be seen on the right, distant about a league and a half from the GuadalquivÍr; and at seven miles from Carpio, we passed Montoro, a large town situated on the margin of the river, and about three quarters of a mile to the left of the arrecife. This town has been determined by antiquaries to be Ripepora.

The country about Aldea del Rio is rather pretty, and the place has a thriving look compared with the miserable towns we had lately seen; its population is about 1,800 souls. We halted here for the night, and found the posada most wretched.

At a distance of nine (geographic) miles from Aldea del Rio, in a south-east direction, is the town of Porcuna; its situation, Florez justly observes, agreeing so well with that of Obulco, as given both by Strabo[152] and Pliny,[153] as to leave no doubt of their identity. Inscriptions, monuments, coins, &c., which have been found there, quite confirm this opinion, and an important point is thus gained in tracing the operations of CÆsar in his last campaign against the sons of Pompey; since Obulco, which he is mentioned as having reached in twenty-seven days from Rome, may be considered the advanced post of the country that was favourable to his cause.

The present ignoble name of the town—Porcuna,—appears to have been bestowed upon it from the extraordinary fecundity of a sow; an inscription, commemorative of the birth of thirty young pigs at one litter, being preserved to this day in the church of the Benedictine friars, and is thus worded:—

C. CORNELIVS. C. F.
CN. GAL. CÆSO.
AED. FLAMEN. II. VIR
MVNICIPII. PONTIF
C. CORN. CÆSO. F.
SACERDOS. GENT. MVNICIPII
SCROFAM CVM PORCIS XXX
IMPENSA IPSORVM.
D. D.

From Aldea del Rio to Andujar is fourteen miles, making the whole distance from Cordoba to that place forty-three miles. The country is very gently undulated, and principally under tillage; the ride, however, is dreary, there being but one house on the road.

Andujar stands altogether on the right bank of the GuadalquivÍr, which is crossed by a bridge of nine arches. The town is reputed to contain a population of 12,000 souls, but that number is a manifest exaggeration. It is encompassed by old Roman walls, and defended by an ancient castle, and is celebrated for its manufacture of pottery. It is, nevertheless, a dilapidated, impoverished looking place.

By some Andujar is supposed to be the Illiturgi,[154] or, as it is otherwise written, Illurtigis of the ancient historians; but Florez fixes the site of that city two leagues higher up, but on the same bank of the GuadalquivÍr, and imagines Andujar to be Ipasturgi. The locality of the existing town certainly but ill agrees with the description of Illurtigis given by Livy, for no part of Andujar is “covered by a high rock.”[155]

The arrecife to Madrid leaves the banks of the GuadalquivÍr at Andujar, striking inland to Baylen, and thence across the Sierra Morena by the pass of DespeÑa Perros. After devoting a few hours to exploring the old walls of the town, we recrossed the river, and bent our steps towards Granada, taking the road to Jaen.

We proceeded that afternoon to Torre Ximena, twenty miles from Andujar. The country is undulated, and mostly under cultivation. The road is—or, more properly, I should say, perhaps, the places upon the road are—very incorrectly laid down on the Spanish maps; for, instead of being scattered east and west over the face of the country, they are so nearly in line, as to make the general direction of the road nearly straight. Though but a cross-country track, it is tolerably good throughout. The first town it visits is Arjona, said to be the ancient Urgao, or Virgao.[156] It is a poor place, of some twelve or fifteen hundred inhabitants, and distant seven miles from the GuadalquivÍr.

Five miles beyond Arjona, but lying half pistol shot off the road to the right, is the miserable little village of EscaÑuela; and three miles further on, the equally wretched town of Villa Don Pardo. From hence to Torre Ximeno (five miles) the road traverses a vast plain, but, ere we had proceeded half way, night overtook us, and on reaching the town we found all the entrances most carefully closed.

After making various attempts to gain admission—groping our way from one barricade to another, until we had nearly completed the circuit of the town—we perceived a light glimmering at some little distance in the country, and hoping it proceeded from some rancha, where we might obtain shelter from an approaching storm, if not accommodation for the night, we spurred our jaded animals towards it as fast as the ruggedness of the ground would admit. It proved, however, to be only the remains of a fire made for the purpose of destroying weeds; but a peasant lad, who was warming his evening meal over the expiring embers, pointed out a path leading to one of the town gates, at which, he said, we might, perhaps, gain admission.

Following his directions, we found the gate without much trouble; but a difficulty now arose that promised to be of a more insuperable nature, namely, that of awaking the guard, for the combined efforts of our voices proved quite inadequate to the purpose.

It was very vexatious, but irresistibly ludicrous; and, prompted by this mixed feeling of wrath and merriment, we determined to try what effect would be produced by a general discharge of our pistols, and, accordingly riding close up to the gate, fired a volley in the air.

A tremendous discharge of carajos! responded to our salvo, and soldiers, policemen, custom-house officers, and health-officers, sallied forth, helter skelter, from the guard-house and adjacent dwellings, making off “with the very extremest inch of possibility,” under the impression that the place was attacked.

One aduanero, however, more enterprising and valiant than the rest, ventured to peep through the bars of the stockade and demand our business; on learning which he encouragingly invited the urbanos to return to their military duty, whilst he despatched a messenger to the Alcalde to request instructions for their further proceedings.

We were subjected meanwhile to a most vexatious detention, occasioned by various causes. Firstly, because the village dictator was nowhere to be found. He had—so it eventually turned out—started from his comfortable seat at the fire of the posada (where, surrounded by a knot of politicians, he was discussing the justice of abrogating the Salique law), at the first report of our fire-arms, and, wrapping his cloak around him, had rushed into the street, declaring his intention of meeting death like the last of the PalÆologi, rather than be recognised and spared, to grace the triumph of a victorious enemy. Then we had to wait for the key of the gate, which had been carried off in the pocket of one of the runaway soldiers; and, lastly, for a light, the guard-lamp having been overturned in the general confusion, and all the oil spilt.

During the half hour’s delay occasioned by these various untoward circumstances, we were subjected to a long verbal examination, touching the part of the country whence we had come; for having wandered round the town in our attempts to gain admission, until we had reached a gate at the very opposite point of the compass to that which points to Andujar, the account we gave seemed to awaken great doubts of our veracity in the minds of these vigilant functionaries; and, even after a lantern had been brought, and our passports delivered up, we underwent a minute personal examination, ere being permitted to repair to the posada.

The Spaniards say, that we English are “victimas de la etiqueta;” and, certes, we may compliment them, in return, on being the most complete slaves to form. Instances in proof thereof,—which, though on a smaller scale, were scarcely less laughable than the foregoing,—occurred daily in the course of our journey. Par example, on leaving the venta at Fuente de Piedra, where our sleeping apartment was little better than the stable into which it opened, the hostess insisted on serving our morning cup of chocolate on a table partially covered with a dirty towel, saying, it would not be “decente” to allow us to take it standing at the kitchen fire.

Here again, at Torre Ximeno, the landlord was conducting us into what he conceived to be a befitting apartment, when his better half cried out, “À la sala! À la sala!”[157] We pricked up our ears, fancying we were to be in clover. The sala, however, proved to be a room about ten feet longer than that into which we were first shown, but in every other respect its fac simile; that is to say, it had bare white-washed walls and a plastered floor, was furnished with half a dozen low rush-bottomed chairs, and ventilated by two apertures, which at some distant period had been closed by shutters.

The floor presented so uneven a surface, and was marked with so many rents, that, until encouraged by the landlord’s “no tiene usted cuidado,”[158] I was particularly careful where I placed my feet, taking it to be a highly finished model of the circumjacent sierras and water-courses.

After more than the usual difficulties about bills of health and passports, we received a very civil message from the Alcalde, to say, that his house, &c. &c., were at our disposal; but our host and his helpmate seemed so well inclined to do what was in their power to make us comfortable, that we declined his polite offer.

Our landlady was still remarkably pretty, though the mother of four children—a rare occurrence in Spain, where mothers, however young they may be, usually look like old women. We had some little difficulty in persuading her that we did not like garlic, and that we should be satisfied with a very moderate quantity of oil in the guisado[159] she undertook to prepare for our supper, and on which, with bread and fruit, and some excellent wine, we made a hearty meal.

Contrasts in Spain are most absurd. We slept on thin woollen mattresses, spread upon the before-mentioned mountainous floor—the serrated ridges of which we had some little difficulty in fitting to our ribs—and in the morning were furnished with towels bordered with a kind of thread lace and fringe to the depth of at least eighteen inches; very ornamental, but by no means useful, since the serviceable part of the towel was hardly get-at-able.

On asking our hostess for the bill, we were referred to her husband, which, as the Easterns say, led us to regard her with the eyes of astonishment; for this reference from the lady and mistress to her helpmate, is the exception to the rule, and it was to save trouble we had applied to her, experience having taught us that the landlady was generally the oracle on these occasions; invariably, indeed, when there is any intention to cheat.

This, without explanation, may be deemed a most ungallant accusation; I do not mean by it, however, to screen my own sex at the expense of the fairer, for the truth is, the man adds duplicity to his other sins, by retiring from the impending altercation. This he does either from thinking that imposition will come with a better grace from his better half, or, that she will be more ingenious in finding out reasons for the exorbitance of the demand, or, at all events, words in defending it; for any attempt at expostulation is drowned in such a torrent of whys and wherefores, that one is glad, coute qui coute, to escape from the encounter. And thus, whilst the lady’s volubility is extracting the money from their lodger’s pocket, mine host stands aloof, looking as like a hen-pecked mortal as he possibly can, and shrugging his shoulders from time to time, as much as to say, “It is none of my doing! I would help you if I dare, but you see what a devil she is!”

On the present occasion, however, we had no reason to remonstrate, for, to a very moderate charge, were added numerous excuses for any thing that might have been amiss in our accommodation, in consequence of their ignorance of our wants.

Torre Ximeno is situated in a narrow valley, watered by a fine stream; its walls, however, reach to the crest of the hills on both sides, and apparently rest on a Roman foundation. It contains a population of 1,800 souls. From hence a road proceeds, by way of Martos and AlcalÀ la Real, to Granada, but it is more circuitous than that by Jaen.

From Torre Ximeno to that city is two long leagues, or about nine miles. The road now takes a more easterly direction than heretofore, and, at the distance of three miles, reaches the village of Torre Campo. The rest of the way lies over an undulated country, which slants gradually towards the mountains, that rise to the eastward.

Jaen is situated on the outskirts of the great Sierra de Susana, which, dividing the waters of the GuadalquivÍr and Genil, spreads as far south as the vale of Granada. The city is built on the eastern slope of a rough and very inaccessible ridge, whose summit is occupied by an old castle, enclosed by extensive outworks.

The ancient name of the place was Aurinx, and it appears to have stood just without the limits of ancient Boetica. It is now the capital of one of the kingdoms composing the province of Andalusia, and the see of a bishop in the archbishoprick of Toledo. Its population amounts to at least 20,000 souls.

Jaen is in every respect a most interesting city. It is frequently mentioned by the Roman historians, was equally noted in the time of the Moors, from whom it was wrested by San Fernando, A.D. 1246, and of late years has held a distinguished place in the pages of military history. Its situation is picturesque in the extreme, the bright city being on the edge of a rich and fertile basin, encased by wild and lofty mountains. The asperity of the country to the south is such indeed, that, until within the last few years no road practicable for carriages penetrated it, and Jaen has consequently been but very-little visited by travellers; for Granada and Cordoba, being the great objects of attraction, the most direct road between those two places was that which was generally preferred.

A direct and excellent road has now, however, been completed, between Granada and the capital, passing through Jaen. This route crosses the GuadalquivÍr at Menjiber, and, directed thence on Baylen, falls into the arrecife from Cordoba to Madrid, ere it enters the dÉfilÉs of the Sierra Morena.

The castle of Jaen stands 800 feet above the city, and is still a fine specimen of a Moslem fortress, though the picturesque has been sacrificed to the defensive by various French additions and demolitions. It crowns the crest of a narrow ridge much in the style of the castle of Ximena, to which, in other respects, it also bears a strong resemblance. Its tanks and subterraneous magazines are in tolerable preservation, but the exterior walls of the fortress were partially destroyed by the French, in their hurried evacuation of it in 1812.

The view it commands is strikingly fine. An extensive plain spreads northward, reaching seemingly to the very foot of the distant Sierra Morena, and on every other side rugged mountains rise in the immediate vicinity of the city, which, clad with vines wherever their roots can find holding ground, present a strange union of fruitfulness and aridity.

The city contains fifteen convents, and numerous manufactories of silk, linen and woollen cloths, and mats, and has a thriving appearance. The streets are, for the most part, so narrow, that, with outstretched arms, I could touch the houses on both sides of them.

The cathedral is a very handsome edifice of Corinthian architecture, 300 feet long, and built in a very pure style; indeed every thing about it is in good keeping for Spanish taste. The pavement is laid in chequered slabs of black and white marble; the walls are hung with good paintings, but not encumbered with them; the various altars, though enriched with fine specimens of marbles and jaspers, are not gaudily ornamented; the organ is splendid in appearance and rich in tone.

Some paintings by Moya, particularly a Holy Family, and the visit of Elizabeth to the Virgin Mary, are remarkably good; and the Capilla sagrada contains several others by the same master, which are equally worthy of notice: their frames of polished red marble have a good effect.

The only specimens of sculpture of which the cathedral can boast, are some weeping cherubim, done to the very life. The greatest curiosity it contains is the figure of Our Saviour on the cross, dressed in a kilt; but the treasure of treasures of the holy edifice, the proud boast of the favoured city itself, in fact, is the Santa faz—the Holy face.

The Santa faz—so our conductor explained to us—is the impression of Our Saviour’s face, left in stains of blood on the white napkin which bound up his head when deposited in the sepulchre. This cloth was thrice folded over the face, so that three of these “pinturas,” as the priest called them, were taken. That of Jaen, he said, was the second or middle one, the others are in Italy—where, I know not, but I have some recollection of having heard of them when in that country.

This miraculous picture is only to be viewed on very particular occasions, or by paying a very considerable fee; but we were perfectly satisfied with our cicerone’s assurance of its “striking resemblance” to Our Saviour, without requiring the ocular demonstration he was most solicitous to afford.

Attached to the cathedral is a kitchen for preparing the morning chocolate of the priests, and which serves also as a snuggery, where-unto they retire to smoke their legitimos during the breaks in their tedious lental services.

The Parador de los Caballeros, in the Plaza del Mercado is remarkably good, and the view from the front windows, looking towards the castle is very fine.

The distance from Jaen to Granada, by the newly made arrecife, is fifty-one miles. It descends gradually into the valley of the Campillos, arriving at, and crossing the river about two miles from Jaen.

The valley is wide, flat, and covered with a rich alluvial deposit; and extends for several leagues in both directions along the course of the stream, encircling the city with an ever-verdant belt of cultivation.

For the succeeding three leagues, the road proceeds along this valley, at first bordered with gardens, orchards, and vineyards, amongst which numerous cottages and water-mills are scattered, but, after advancing about five miles, overhung by rocky ridges, and occasionally shaded with forest-trees.

On a steep mound, on the right hand, forming the first mountain gorge that the road enters, is situated the Castillo de la Guarda, and, at the distance of three leagues from Jaen, is the Torre de la Cabeza, similarly situated on the left of the road. Beyond this, another verdant belt of cultivation gladdens the eye, extending about a mile and a half along the course of the Campillos. In the midst of this, is the Venta del Puerto Suelo, on arriving at which our mozo, who for several days had been suffering from indisposition, came to inform us “que no podÍa mas,”[160] requested we would leave him there to rest for a couple of days; when he hoped to be able to rejoin us at Granada by means of a Galera that travelled the road periodically.

We could not but accede to his request, and as we purposed reaching Granada on the following day, the loss of his attendance for so short a period was of little importance; the only difficulty was, who should lead the baggage animal.—Fortune befriended us.

On our arrival at the inn we had been accosted by a smart-looking young fellow, in the undress uniform of a Spanish infantry soldier, who, seeing the disabled state of our Esquire, volunteered his services to lead our horses to the stable, and minister to their wants; and now, learning from our mozo how matters stood, he again came forward, and offered to be our attendant during the remainder of the journey to Granada, to which place he himself was proceeding.

We gladly accepted his proffered services, and, after a short rest, remounted our horses, and pursued our way; the young soldier—like an old campaigner—seating himself between our portmanteaus on the back of the baggage animal. Whilst jogging on before us, I observed, for the first time, that he carried a bright tin case suspended from his shoulder by a silken cord, and curious to know the purpose to which it was applied, asked what it contained.

Without uttering a word in reply, he took off the case, produced therefrom a roll of parchment, and, spreading before us a long document concluding with the words Io el Rey,[161] offered it for my perusal. If my surprise was great at the length of the scroll, it was not diminished on finding, after wading through the usual verbose and bombastic preamble, that it dubbed our new acquaintance a knight of the first class of San Fernando, and decorated him with the ribbon and silver clasp of the same distinguished order.

On first addressing him at the Venta, I had noticed a bit of ribbon on his breast, but, aware that the very smell of powder, even though it should be but that of his own musket, often entitles a Spanish soldier to a decoration; and, indeed, that it is more frequently an acknowledgment of so many months’ pay due, than of so much good service done,[162] I had abstained from questioning him concerning it; but that the first class decoration of a military order should have been bestowed on one so low in rank as a corporal, I confess, surprised me; and I concluded that its possessor was either the brother of the mistress of some great man, or that he was passing off some other person’s honors as his own.

Being a very young man, it was evident he could not have seen much service; my suspicions were, therefore, excusable, and I took the liberty of cross-questioning him concerning the fields wherein his laurels had been gathered. The result gave me such satisfaction that I feel in justice bound to make the amende honorable to the gallant fellow for the foul suspicions I had entertained, by giving my readers his history. As, however, it is somewhat long, I will postpone it for the present—as, indeed, not having arrived at its conclusion for several days, it is but methodically correct I should do—merely premising in this place, that, besides the Diploma, the tin case contained a statement of the particular services for which he obtained his knighthood, drawn up and attested by the officers of his regiment.

About a mile beyond the Venta where we had fallen in with our new attendant, the country again becomes very wild and broken, and the hills are covered with pine woods. The valley of the Campillos gets more and more confined as the road proceeds, and is bounded by precipitous rocks; and, at length, on reaching the Puerta de Arenas, the passage, for the road and river together, does not exceed sixty feet, the cliffs rising perpendicularly on both sides to a considerable height.

This is a very defensible pass, looking towards Granada, but not so in the opposite direction, as it is commanded by higher ground. It is about eighteen miles from Jaen.

On emerging from the pass, an open, cultivated valley presents itself; towards the head of which, distant about four miles, is Campillos Arenas, a wretched village, containing some fifty or sixty vecinos. We were stopt at the entrance by an old beggarman, who was officiating as health officer, and demanded our passports, which, on receiving, he ceremoniously forwarded to Head Quarters by a ragged, barefoot urchin, with the promise of an ochavo[163] if he used despatch in bringing them back to us.

Our passports had now become a serious nuisance, from being completely covered with visÉs both inside and out; for, of course, the curiosity of the natives was proportioned to the number of signatures they contained, and their astonishment was boundless that we should be travelling south at such a moment. At length, our papers were returned to us, and the boy gained his promised reward by running with all his might, to prove that the tedious delay we experienced was not attributable to him.

Proceeding onwards, in three quarters of an hour, we reached the Parador de San Rafael, a newly built house of call for the diligence, recently established on this road. It is about twenty-four miles from Jaen, and twenty-seven from Granada, though, as the crow flies, the distance is rather shorter, perhaps, to the latter city than to the first named. It is a place of much resort, and we were happy to find that San Rafael presided over comfortable beds, and good dinners, though rather careless of the state of the wine-cellar.

We started at an early hour next morning, our knightly attendant, with his red epaulettes, and janty foraging cap, together with a de haut en bas manner assumed towards the passing peasantry and arrieros, causing us to be regarded with no inconsiderable degree of respect.

The road, for the first eight miles, is one continuation of zig zags over a very mountainous country, and must be kept up at an immense expense to the government, for there is but very little traffic upon it. The hills are principally covered with forests of ilex, but patches of land have recently been taken into cultivation in the valleys, and houses are thinly scattered along the road. At ten miles and a half, we passed the first village we had seen since leaving Campillos Arenas. It is about a mile from the road on the left. The country now becomes less rugged than heretofore, though it continues equally devoid of cultivation and inhabitants.

We were much disappointed at not finding a good posada on the road, as we had been led to expect. We passed two in process of building on a magnificent scale, but nothing could be had at either. At last, after riding four long leagues—at a foot’s pace, on account of our baggage animal—a farmer took compassion upon us, and, leading the way to his Cortijo, supplied our famished horses with a feed of barley, and set before ourselves all the good things his house afforded—melons, grapes, fresh eggs, and delicious bread.

We arrived at the farmer’s dinner hour, and a wide circle, comprising his wife, children, cowherds, ploughboys, and dairymaids, was already formed round the huge family bowl of gazpacho fresco, of which we received a general invitation to partake. It was far too light a meal, however, to satisfy the cravings of our appetites, and politely declining to dip our spoons in their common mess, we commenced making the usual preparations for an English breakfast, by unpacking our travelling canteen and placing a skillet of water upon the fire.

The curiosity of the peasantry on these occasions amused us exceedingly. In this instance the spectators, who probably had never before come in such close contact with Englishmen, watched each of our movements with the greatest interest. The beating up an egg as a substitute for milk, excited universal astonishment; and the production of knives, forks, and spoons, took their breath away; but when our travelling teapot was placed on the table, their wonderment defies description; many started from their seats to obtain a near view of the extraordinary machine, and our host, after a minute examination, venturing, at last, to expose his ignorance by asking to what use it was applied, exclaimed in raptures, as if it was a thing he had heard of, “y esa es una tepÀ!”[164] “Una tepÀ!” was repeated in all the graduated intonations of the three generations of spectators present; “una tepÀ! caramba! que gente tan fina los Ingleses!”

We now carried on the joke by inflating an air cushion, but the use to which it was applied alone surprised them; for our host with a nod signifying “I understand,” took down a huge pig-skin of wine, and made preparations to transfer a portion of its contents to our portable caoutchouc pillow. On explaining the purpose to which it was applied, “Jesus! una almohada!”[165] exclaimed all the women with one accord—“Que gente tan deleytosa!”[166]

Our percussion pistols next excited their astonishment, and by ocular demonstration only could we convince them that they were fired without “una piedra;”[167] but when I assured our host that, in England, diligences were propelled by steam at the rate of ten leagues an hour, his amazement was evidently stretched beyond the bounds of credulity. “Como! sin caballos, sin mulas, sin nada, sino el vapor!”[168] he ejaculated; and his shoulders gradually rising above his ears, as I repeated the astounding assertion, he turned with a look, half horror, half amazement, to his assembled countrymen, saying as plainly as eyes could speak—either these English deal largely with the devil, or are most extraordinary romancers.

If our equipment surprised them, we were not less astonished at the number of cats, without tails, that were prowling about the house; and asking the reason for mutilating the unfortunate creatures in this unnatural way, our host replied, “These animals, to be useful, must have free access to every part of the premises; but, when their tails are long, they do incredible mischief amongst the plates, dishes, and other friable articles, arranged upon the dresser, or left upon the table; whereas, docked as you now see them, they move about without ceremony, and, even in the midst of a labyrinth of crockery, do not the slightest damage. All the mischief of this animal is in his tail.”

We had great difficulty in persuading our hospitable entertainer to accept of any remuneration for what he had furnished us, and only succeeded by requesting he would distribute our gift amongst his children.

From his farm, which is called the Cortijo de los Arenales, to Granada, is nine miles. The country, during the whole distance, is undulated, and mostly covered with vines and olives. On the right, some leagues distant, we saw the town and tajo of Moclin; and at three miles from the Cortijo crossed the river Cubillas, which, flowing westward to the plain of Granada, empties itself into the Genil. A little way beyond this the Sierra de Elvira rises abruptly on the right, and thenceforth the ground falls very gradually all the way to Granada.

Our sojourn at Granada was prolonged much beyond the period we had originally intended, by the difficulty of ascertaining the truth of a report that the cholera had appeared at Malaga; but, at length, it was officially notified by a proclamation of the captain-general, that in answer to a despatch sent to the governor of Malaga, he had been assured that city was perfectly free from the disease; and a caravan, composed of numberless galeras, coches, and arrieros, that had been detained at Granada for a fortnight in consequence of this rumour, forthwith proceeded to the sea-port.

Sending our baggage animal forward, directing the mozo—whose indisposition had abated so as to allow of his rejoining us, and resuming his duty—to proceed along the high road to Loja until we overtook him, we set off ourselves at mid-day to visit the Soto de Roma.[169]

The road thither strikes off from the arrecife to Loja, soon after passing the city of Santa FÉ,[170] and traversing Chauchina, after much twisting and turning, reaches Fuente Vaquero, a village belonging to the Duke of Wellington, where his agent, General O’Lawler, has a house.

From thence a long avenue leads to the Casa Real, which is situated on the right bank of the Genil. The avenue, both trees and road, is in a very bad state. On the left hand there is a wood of some extent; the forest-trees it contains are chiefly elms and white poplars, but there are also a few oaks. The ground is extremely rich, and was covered with fine crops of maize and hemp; and, on the whole, it struck me the estate was in better order than the properties adjoining it.

The house, however, which at the period of my former visit to Granada was in a tolerable state of repair, I now found in a wretched plight. The court-yard was made the general receptacle for manure; the coach-house and stables were turned into barns and cattle-sheds; the garden was overgrown with weeds; and, basking in the sun, lay young pigs amongst the roses.

From having been the favourite retreat of the Minister Wall, it has degenerated, in fact, into a very second-rate description of farmhouse. This change, however, was inevitable; for, besides that the taste for country-houses is very rare amongst Spaniards, and that the difficulty of procuring a tenant who would keep it in order would, consequently, be very great, the situation of the house is not such as a lover of fine scenery would choose in the vicinity of Granada.

The estate of the Soto de Roma has suffered great damage within the last few years, from the Genil having burst its banks, laid waste the country, and formed itself a new bed; and the stream not being now properly banked in, keeps continually “comiendo”[171] the ground on both sides. This evil should be corrected immediately, or, in the event of another extraordinary rise in the river, it may lead to incalculable mischief. The best and cheapest plan of doing this, would be to force the stream back into its old channel. The elm woods on the estate would furnish excellent piles for this purpose, and, by being cut down, would clear some valuable ground which at present lies almost profitless.

After recrossing the Genil we arrived at another village, inhabited by the peasantry of the Soto de Roma, and soon after at a wretched place called Cijuela. The country in its vicinity was flooded for a considerable extent, and we had great difficulty in following the road, and avoiding the ditches that bound it. At length we got once more upon the arrecife, and reached Lachar; a vile place, reckoned four leagues from Granada.

From thence to the Venta de Cacin is called two leagues, but they are of Brobdignag measurement. The road is heavy, and the country becomes hilly soon after leaving Lachar. A league beyond the Venta de Cacin is the Venta del Pulgar, situated in the midst of gardens and olive plantations.

It was 11 P.M. when we arrived, for, having missed our way in fording the wide bed of the river Cacin (which crosses the road just beyond the Venta of that name), we had wandered for two hours in the dark; and might have done so until morning, but that our progress was cut short by the river Genil. We thought the wisest plan would be to return to the venta, and endeavour to procure a guide, which we fortunately succeeded in doing. The ventero had previously informed us that he had seen our mozo pass on with the baggage animal towards Loja, which made us rather anxious for its safety, otherwise we should have rested at his house for the night.

On arriving at the Venta del Pulgar, we found our attendant established there, and in some little alarm at our prolonged absence. Indeed the faithful fellow was so uneasy, that he was about proceeding on a fresh horse in search of us. The night was excessively cold, and we duly appreciated the fire and hot supper his providence had caused to be prepared.

This venta is but a short league from Loja, the ride to which place is very delightful, the rich valley of the Genil (here contracted to the width of a mile) being on the right, a fine range of mountains on the left, whilst the river frequently approaches close to the road, adding by its snakelike windings to the beauty of the scenery.

The town of Loja stands on the south side of a rocky gorge, by which the Genil escapes from the fertile Vega of Granada. The mountains on both sides the river are lofty, and of an inaccessible nature, so that the old Moorish fortress, though occupying the widest part of the dÉfilÉ, completely commands this important outlet from the territory of Granada, as well as the bridge over the Genil.

It was a place of great strength in times past, and Ferdinand and Isabella were repulsed with great loss on their first attempt to gain possession of it. The second attack of the “Catholic kings,” made some years afterwards (i. e. in 1487), was more successful, and the English auxiliaries, under the Earl of Rivers, particularly distinguished themselves on the occasion.

Loja is proverbially noted for the fertility of its gardens and orchards, the abundance and purity of its springs, and the loose morals and hard features of its inhabitants. Its situation is peculiarly picturesque, the town being built upon a steep acclivity, unbosomed in groves of fruit trees and overlooked by a toppling mountain. The view of the distant Sierra Nevada gives additional interest to the scenery. It contains a population of 9000 souls.

From Loja to Malaga is forty-three miles. The country throughout is extremely mountainous, but the road, nevertheless, is so good as to be traversed by a diligence. Soon after leaving Loja, a road strikes off to the right to Antequera, four leagues; and this, in fact, is the great road from Granada to Seville, and the only portion of it that is interrupted by mountains.

The arrecife to Malaga, leaving the village of Alfarnate to the left, at sixteen miles, reaches the solitary venta of the same name; and two miles beyond, the equally lonely venta of Dornejo, considered the half-way house from Loja. The view from hence is remarkably fine, and we enjoyed the scenery to perfection, having remained the night at the venta, and witnessed the splendid effects of both the setting and rising sun.

This is the highest point the road reaches, and is, I should think, about 4000 feet above the level of the Mediterranean.

From the Venta de Dornejo the road proceeds to El Colmenar, eight miles. The mountains that encompass this little town are clad to their very summits with vines, and from the luscious grapes grown in its neighbourhood is made the sweet wine, well known in England under the name of Mountain.

From El Colmenar the road is conducted nine miles along the spine of a narrow tortuous ridge, that divides the Gualmedina, or river of Malaga, from various streams flowing to the eastward, reaching, at last, a point where a splendid view is obtained of the rich vale of Malaga, encircled by the boldly outlined mountains of Mijas, Monda, and Casarabonela. The coup d’oeil is truly magnificent; the bright city lies basking in the sun, on the margin of the Mediterranean, seemingly at the spectator’s feet; but eight miles of a continual descent have yet to be accomplished ere reaching it.

The engineer’s pertinacious adherence to his plan of keeping the road on one unvarying inclined plane, tries the patience to an extraordinary degree, but the work is admirably executed. In the whole of these last eight miles there is not one house on the road side, though several neat villas are scattered amongst the ravines below it, on drawing near Malaga.

This difficult passage through the SerranÍa has been effected only at an enormous cost of money and labour; but, as a work of art, it ranks with any of the splendid roads lately made across the Alps. The scenery along it, especially after gaining the southern side of the principal mountain-chain, when the Mediterranean is brought to view, surpasses any thing that is to be met with in those more celebrated, because more frequented, cloud-capped regions.

Another very fine road has been opened through the mountains between Malaga and Antequera. The scenery along this is very grand, though inferior to that just described. The distance between the two places is about twenty-eight miles, reckoned eight leagues. The road is conducted along the valley of Rio Gordo, or Campanillos; and, it is alleged, through some private influence was made unnecessarily circuitous, to visit the Venta de Galvez. This, and two other ventas, are almost the only habitations on the road. About four miles from Antequera, the road reaches the summit of the great mountain-ridge that pens in the Guadaljorce, which falls very rapidly on its northern side.

Antequera is situated near the foot of the mountain, but in a hollow formed by a swelling hill, which, detached from the chain of sierra, shelters it to the north. It is a large, well-built, and populous city, contains twenty religious houses, numerous manufactories of linen and woollen cloths, silks, serges, &c., and 40,000 souls.

An old castle, situated on a conical knoll, overlooks the city to the east. It formerly contained a valuable collection of ancient armour, but the greater part has been removed.

The city of Anticaria is mentioned in the Itinerary of Antoninus; but, as no notice is taken of it by Pliny, it probably was known in his day by some other name. Some antiquaries have imagined Antequera to be Singilia; but this is very improbable, as it is nearly four leagues distant from the Singilis (Genil).

Even the Guadaljorce does not approach within a mile of the city, which depends upon its fountains for water; for though a fine rivulet flows down from the mountains at the back of the city, washing the eastern base of the castle hill, and sweeping round to the westward, where it unites with the Guadaljorce, yet it merely serves to render the valley fruitful, and to turn the wheels of the mills which supply the city with flour and oil.

At a league north-east from Antequera a lofty conical mountain, distinguished by the romantic name of El PeÑon de los Enamorados (Rock of the Lovers), rises from the plain; and a league beyond it is the town of Archidona, on the great road from Granada to Seville.