'_ CRAWFORD 
 
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 NEWS AGENT & 
 
THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND 
 MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID 
 
A VAGABOND IN SPAIN 
 
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A VAGABOND IN SPAIN 
 
 C. BOGUE LUFFMANN, 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET. 
 
 1895. 
 
Printed by Hazel], Watson, & Vine}-, Ld., London and Aylesbury- 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 / T^HE days of rich patrons have gone by ; t/ie wan- 
 derer and tale-teller are without a friend ! But 
 as I owe the pleasures of my journey to the poor of 
 Spain, it is to them I turn ; to those who gave me of 
 their simple fare and protection in pigsties, fowl-houses, 
 and barns ; of their cold and warm floors in prisons, 
 hospitals, and palaces ; of the cool shade of their dear 
 Mother ChurcJi, castle ramparts, and posada chimney- 
 corners ; to all who have given me their meanest 
 crust, their " maravedi"* their full-hearted pity, their 
 blessing, smile, or praise. 
 
 With all the many simple and varied friends who 
 Jielped me on my way must be joined the name of one 
 who has been my constant companion and support; one 
 who throughout each day has been a defence against 
 
 * Mite. 
 
vi DEDICATION. 
 
 malicious hands, and each night has lain beside me ; 
 the friend on whom I Jiave leaned and been helped 
 forward over all the long and stony road, who Jias 
 humoured all my wanderings, and in the hardest times 
 kept his dear old head ever close to mine. 
 
 To my Jiosts in Spain, and to the one companion who 
 is still strong and witting to accompany me to tJie end 
 to " Durandal" my walking-stick, I dedicate this story 
 of the journey we have made. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 THIS book claims to be nothing more than the 
 experiences and impressions of a tramp in 
 Spain. 
 
 My journey has not been a mere caprice. It was 
 undertaken with the object of getting a practical 
 knowledge of the condition of agriculture in Spain, 
 and of learning to understand the life and social 
 conditions of the common people. 
 
 Although warned by the English, French, and 
 Spanish authorities that I should certainly receive 
 my quietus at the hands of some of the murderous 
 brigands believed to exist in wild Spain, I was able 
 to make the journey of one thousand five hundred 
 miles, alone and unarmed, without a single inter- 
 ruption or insult. After a trot through the Gironde 
 and the great pine forests of the Landes, I passed 
 through the Basque provinces and crossed the 
 Pyrenees into Spain. On my way from Biarritz to 
 
 M309470 
 
viii PREFACE. 
 
 Malaga, I crossed ten great barriers the Pyrenees, 
 the Arriba Mountains, Montes de Navarra, Sierra 
 de Moncayo, Sierra Minestra, Montes de Toledo, 
 Sierra Morena, Sierra Nevada, Sierra Alhama, and 
 Sierra Tajedra. The last three being covered with 
 deep snow afforded anything but a comfortable 
 experience to the lonely pilgrim. 
 
 As much time as I could spare from my practical 
 researches (which will find no place in these 
 vagabond pages) was devoted to visiting the famous 
 cities and monuments of old historic Spain. La 
 Mancha, fragrant with the memory of the immortal 
 Don, had special attractions for me, and an account 
 pf the famous Cave of Montesinos (Albacete), where 
 Don Quixote encountered Merlin, will be found in 
 my journal. 
 
 During the journey of one hundred and forty-five 
 days and nights, I lived entirely in the society of 
 Spaniards (chiefly of the humbler classes), conforming 
 myself strictly to local conditions and customs, and 
 keeping eyes and ears well open. I hope the kindly 
 reader will be satisfied with the result. 
 
 A word to disarm criticism. I frankly own this 
 to be an egotistical journal. The personal pronoun 
 " I " plays first fiddle throughout my tale. 
 
 This is readily explained by the fact that " I " was 
 
PREFACE. ix 
 
 my own guide, philosopher, and friend, my own 
 " mentor," my own companion, sometimes my own 
 consoler, and always my own judge. 
 
 Another word in defence of my position as a 
 tramp. 
 
 Across my MS. a friend's hand has written : " The 
 tramp's is an ignoble life ; he does nothing, he earns 
 nothing," together with the profound, deep-reasoned 
 inquiry, " What right has one person to live on 
 the work of others?" 
 
 This last question is so broad that it embraces most 
 of the great social problems of our day. Had I 
 time, I might endeavour to show that the majority 
 of the comfortable classes live in no other way. 
 
 If I had travelled through Spain as a first- class 
 tourist, I should have seen and heard no more than 
 is known to all the world. As a tramp I have broken 
 up new ground. I have looked on life through a 
 tramp's eyes, suffered his sorrows, and rejoiced in 
 his pleasures. 
 
 I did not act the character. I lived the life in 
 real earnest. The vagrant's rest-house was my 
 only hotel ; the succour doled out by the alcalde 
 my only means of sustenance. Had I lined my 
 pocket with gold before setting forth on my journey 
 I could never have found courage to fulfil the hard 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 task I had set before me. Every now and then, 
 when I reached a large city, I came up for the time 
 being to a higher level. But the money I drew 
 there was spent within the precincts of the city, and, 
 out on the road once more, I lived the life of an 
 ordinary wayfarer. 
 
 How else could I have penetrated into humble 
 homes and learned to know the life of the toiling 
 masses ? 
 
 The road across Spain is long to him who takes 
 it on foot ; but it repays the toil. It reveals wonders 
 in nature and in art, which will with difficulty be 
 rivalled elsewhere. It shows the Spaniard under 
 many and varied aspects, for every native of Spain 
 is not either a courtier or a cut-throat. 
 
 All that this tramp saw, and a little of what he 
 felt, is at the reader's disposal. If this journal, 
 written on the spot it deals with, can enable others to 
 see and feel with the writer, they will not regret 
 their journey in his company. 
 
 C. B. L. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 VASCONGADAS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 My start. Prophets of woe. From Biarritz to St. Jean de 
 Luz. Behobia. I am in Spain. A night in Renteria. 
 San Sebastian. The Valley of Orio. The inn of 
 Andoain. Tolosa. Symptoms of fever. The turnpike 
 keeper. Farewell to Vascongadas .... I 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 NAVARRA. 
 
 In the mountains. The Arriba Pass. Down with fever. 
 A good Samaritan. Basque women. The Arga. The 
 Gorge of Irurzun. The capital of Navarra. Nocturnal 
 adventures. The church. " Here is peace !" . . 19 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 NAVARRA (continued}. 
 
 From Pamplona to Tafalla. Olite. Houses in the rocks. 
 The Wold of Caparroso. An alabaster desert. A man 
 and a brother (Senor J. Z.). Tudela. The Imperial 
 Canal. My impressions of Navarra . . . . 30 
 
xil CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ARRAGON. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A threshing-floor. The Valley of the Ebro. An unknown 
 city. Alcala. The Palace of Pedrola. Work and 
 wages. Dress. Stiletto-wearing. Zaragoza . . 46 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 ARRAGON (continued]. 
 
 In Zaragoza. Statue of Pignatelli. The theatre. The 
 Cathedral of the Holy Family. The Town Hall." At 
 the foot of the tower." The Virgin and the pillar. 
 Goya and his work. The life of the Spanish actor. 
 The moonlight promenade. Am I a penitent ? . .61 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 ARRAGON (continued}. 
 
 La Almunia de Dona Godina. Doorless churches. St. 
 lago's Day. A terrible journey. The tailor of Sabinan: 
 "The Maiden's Bell." Calatayud. A geological 
 picture. The Jalon's banks. The baths of Alhama. 
 Ariza. My impressions of Arragon . . . -77 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. 
 
 A toy church. The palace of the Marquis of Castile. 
 San Maria de Huerta. Soap of old Castile. Spanish 
 babies. A useful companion. Arcos. The last of the 
 Jalon. The carpenter of Esteraz. New Castile. 
 Algara. The Henares. A blind beggar. Guadalajara. 
 Alcala, the birthplace of Cervantes. My Undine. 
 Arrival in Madrid 103 
 
CONTENTS. xm 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 OLD MADRID. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A modern city The carved doors of San Francesco. 
 The Museum. The Palace Moncloa. A bull-fight. 
 The Escurial. "The Song of the Shirt." The shadow 
 of death 127 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. 
 
 From Madrid to Aranjuez. Pinto, "the centre of the 
 world." The big bridge. English elms. A shady 
 walk. Aranjuez. A toy court. My fellow-country- 
 men. A tramp's appetite. The black Tagus. The 
 Royal Palace. En route for Toledo. Moorish industry. 
 An airy bed-chamber. Toledo from the bridge. A 
 neglected shrine. The church the home of the 
 lonely .... ... 143 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 OLD AND NEW CASTILE (continued}. 
 
 Farewell to the Tagus. A bed on a wet floor. Sonseca. 
 Orgaz. A Sunday morning. The Valley of Yebenes. 
 The Montes de Toledo. A hospitable goatherd. A 
 costume of leather. Malagon. Ciudad-Real. A 
 Church procession. My fellow-countryman. The 
 Hotel Pissarossa and its round table of knights. A 
 learned ecclesiastic. The battle-field of Los Arcos. 
 Farewell to dreamy old Ciudad-Real . . . .165 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 OLD AND NEW CASTILE (continued}. 
 
 In Don Quixote's country. La Mancha. Valdepenas. 
 Almagro, the land of vineyards. A Spanish fair. 
 
xiv CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Bolanos and its subterranean dwellings. Manzanares : 
 a generous reception. Argamasilla. Cervantes' 
 prison. The castle of Pennaroya and my day-dream. 
 The Long Valley. The Batanes 183 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 OLD AND NEW CASTILE (continued). 
 
 DON QUIXOTE'S COUNTRY. 
 
 Julien, the rural guard. A primitive supper table. 
 The Cascade of Lunamontes and Rudiera The Lake 
 delRey. Mine host Paco. A jovial evening. Angel's 
 song. My guide and his donkey. The Lakes of 
 Rudiera. The Cave of Montesinos. A dangerous 
 expedition. St. Partridge's Day. My last look at old 
 Pennaroya. I am hospitably entertained at Argama- 
 silla. Manzanares welcomes me back. Consolation. 
 Valdepenas. The market-place. The Sierra Morena. 
 Farewell to Castile 202 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ANDALUCIA. 
 
 The Sierra Moreria. La Carolina. Bailen. A night in 
 prison. A war of words. Reminiscences of 1812. 
 Andujar. Old customs. Fair. A primitive luncheon 
 party. Spanish love-making. Marmolego. Montoro. 
 An imposing site. The reverse of Bumbledom. 
 Carpio. A ducal palace. The reliquary . . . 231 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 ANDALUCIA (continued). 
 
 The battle-field of Alcolea. Cordoba. The English Consul. 
 Palaces and penury. The \ Mosque Cathedral. 
 Carlota : a kindly Englishman. Tropical vegetation. 
 Ecija. I am taken for a spy. A revolution on the 
 
CONTENTS. xv 
 
 PAGE 
 
 tapis. An unbelieving secretario and a generous 
 alcalde. Carmona and its lazy inhabitants. Alcala 
 de Guadaira. Moorish industry. The Guadaira. 
 Aqueduct from Alcala to Sevilla ..... 264 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 SEVILLA. 
 
 My reception. The eternal enemy the Moor. A Russian 
 naturalist. A tramp's rhapsody on the glory of Sevilla. 
 The Alcazar Spanish beauties. A gentle consoler. 
 Farewell to Sevilla 285 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 FROM SEVILLA TO GRANADA. 
 
 At Arahal. Raw recruits. La Pueblo. A famous 
 wood-carver. A village schoolmaster. A gentle 
 maiden. Osuna and its prison experiences. Estepa 
 and the little hamlet of Laura. Loja : the Spanish 
 u Lucerne." Where I am told " there is something 
 wrong with my education." A night at a roadside inn. 
 An unpleasant experience. Within the walls of 
 Granada ......... 297 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 GRANADA. 
 
 My hotel. Spanish manners at table. Guide-books. My 
 impressions of the Alhambra. Albacin. The Gitanos. 
 The Cartuja. Two dreams by daylight. A pilgrim 
 in the snow. A glimpse of blue water. The end of 
 my journey 328 
 
 ILLUSTRATION. The Tramp's Passport . . Frontispiece. 
 
A VAGABOND IN SPAIN, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 VASCONGADAS. 
 
 MY START. PROPHETS OF WOE. FROM BIARRITZ TO ST. JEAN 
 DE LUZ. BEHOBIA. I AM IN SPAIN. A NIGHT IN RENTERIA. 
 SAN SEBASTIAN. THE VALLEY OF ORIO. THE INN OF 
 ANDOAIN. TOLOSA. SYMPTOMS OF FEVER. THE TURNPIKE 
 KEEPER. FAREWELL TO VASCONGADAS. 
 
 "\ T 7 HEN I threw a few things together and said, 
 * * "I am going to walk through Spain" I had 
 not one thought or care as to how I should live, 
 or what I should have to go without. If a round 
 twenty years of footing it up and down the world 
 have taught me anything, it is that only he who 
 needs little will ever get enough ! 
 
 Future ages may be interested to learn that when 
 I set forth, July 6th, 1893, w ith the intention of 
 
 I 
 
 
2 VASCONGADAS. [Cn. 
 
 walking from Biarritz to Malaga, my costume con- 
 sisted of a knickerbocker suit of brown linen, a veiled 
 hat, and extra broad welted boots, and that I carried 
 on my back a knapsack of twenty pounds' weight. 
 It held two complete changes of flannel under- 
 clothing two white flannel shirts with collars, two 
 pairs of long stockings, two pairs of flannel knicker- 
 bockers and a coat of the same ; a bandage thirty 
 feet long (in case of a weak knee), two handkerchiefs, 
 two neckties, a towel, a soft brown felt " Sombrero," 
 a cloth cap, shoes, and a rug which had sheltered 
 me through all sorts of weather during ten eventful 
 years. 
 
 A small linen bag held my spare clothes and 
 formed my pillow at night. This was rolled inside 
 my rug, and secured by a tight piece of webbing 
 with a flying loop at each end, drawing the bundle 
 tighter and tighter as I jogged along. 
 
 I also carried a satchel, shaped like a game-bag, 
 with a centre partition. One side was dedicated to 
 food, the other held my books, passport, map, " Spanish 
 text-book," writing materials, a small card-board box 
 for geological, entomological, and botanical speci- 
 mens, a silver match-box, and a flint and steel tied 
 fast by a kind hand to a book whose pages bristle 
 with needles and pins. Last, but not least, came 
 shaving materials. By way of defensive weapons, I 
 
I.] THE START FROM BIARRITZ. 3 
 
 carried a pocket-knife. It once possessed three 
 blades ; but one expired on the battle-field of 
 Magenta, and another went overboard in " Merrie 
 England," so that I was left to defend myself in 
 " navaja " *-loving Spain with a blade barely two 
 inches long, and without a point. 
 
 My most important possession is my " Recom- 
 mendation " a document informing the world of 
 Spain that I am Somebody (which is indeed true !), 
 that I have been here . . . and there . . . and am 
 going somewhere else, and wishing me " Good luck " 
 to the end. 
 
 Think of that for a Tramp ! A stout walking-stick 
 of Australian tulip-wood, and a pocket-case con- 
 taining a photograph completed my equipment. 
 
 It will be seen that I carried with me neither beef 
 lozenges nor condensed essences. I intended to 
 live on the food of Spain. If hard and unpalatable 
 I should but share the common misfortune of seven- 
 teen millions of my fellow-mortals. 
 
 As I set out from Biarritz my appearance was 
 sufficiently striking to attract a crowd of idlers, who 
 straightway proceeded to inquire into the nature of 
 my journey. 
 
 Little as I understood their foreign lingo, I soon 
 * Knife. 
 
4 VASCONGADAS. [Cn. 
 
 became aware that they were describing for my en- 
 couragement and edification all the known methods 
 of brigandage and murder. The violence of their 
 gesticulations was meant to impress my mind with 
 the fact that every other Spaniard I should meet on 
 the road would be a villain and a cut-throat ! 
 
 How consoling this was to a poor devil without 
 house or home, or one sweet face to call his own in 
 all this strange land, can better be imagined than 
 described. Fortunately, I have heard a good many 
 people talk in my time, and I could have told them 
 a few facts about former tramps of mine in other 
 lands which would have made them open their eyes. 
 So, undismayed by these blood-curdling prophecies, 
 I shouldered my bundle and set forth by the 
 southern road for Spain, the land of my dreams. 
 
 It was something like a drag from Biarritz to St. 
 Jean de Luz ten miles of wild moorland country, 
 with occasional glimpses of the sea and of the 
 Pyrenees, looking hot and dry through the dusty air. 
 After some days of dissipation at Biarritz I did not 
 feel in the right mood to enjoy my load of twenty 
 pounds and a sun pouring one hundred and twenty 
 degrees of heat on the white, glaring road. St. Jean 
 de Luz was pretty and cool and inviting, but I did 
 not linger there. Spain was beckoning me on ! 
 
 The mountains rose before me as I advanced. I 
 
I.J QUESTIONED AND EXAMINED. 5 
 
 love mountains, but these looked uncomfortably high 
 for one so burdened to scale. The high road was 
 quite " high " enough for me just then, for I was 
 growing tired, and there was neither water nor 
 habitation to be seen. After travelling over heath- 
 covered ground for many miles I sighted a valley, 
 the valley of the Bidassoa. 
 
 The road began to descend rapidly, and I found 
 myself going out of France at a headlong gait. 
 Behobie was soon reached, and I was as soon out of 
 it again. I wished to rest there, and pass in review 
 the incidents of my previous wanderings in France, 
 so that I might sum them up, and then go into a 
 new country with a clean sheet. But it was not to 
 be. The one gendarme in Behobie told me there 
 was good accommodation " across the bridge." I 
 went across the bridge and I was in Spain. 
 
 Behobie had become Behobia now, and custom- 
 house and sanitary officials seized me as their 
 lawful prey. 
 
 I was questioned and examined till officialdom 
 was tired of the game, and then, without being 
 invited to do so, I took a chair and sat down. I 
 am " only a Tramp ! " No matter, I am not to be 
 done out of well-deserved rest. 
 
 The wretched custom-house officer discovered that 
 I had brought into Spain a pound of chocolate 
 
6 VASCONGADAS. [Cn. 
 
 too much ! He informed me that it was the " pro- 
 perty of the State," and that, if I wanted it, I must 
 buy it over again. 
 
 But I never bought it at all. It was a present 
 made me by my good friend the Consul of Biarritz. 
 After a vigorous expression of opinion on my part 
 1 was given back my precious chocolate and pre- 
 sented with a sanitary passport. 
 
 I found there was no accommodation for me at 
 Behobia, but before leaving the dirty little frontier 
 town I went back to the bridge to look at the 
 famous position occupied by the Anglo-Spanish 
 allies in 1813. Before me rose the green knoll of St. 
 Marcial, where the English protected the passage. 
 
 Every slope, saddle, and peak of the surrounding 
 country is decked with earthworks, look-out towers, 
 and stone barricades. The water-way is broad and 
 unprotected. The position must have been a terrible 
 one to occupy when the surrounding heights were 
 swarming with French soldiers. 
 
 The victims of military glory sleep in that lonely 
 spot, encompassed by wild, bare hills, lying where 
 they fell. 
 
 As I stood musing on the bridge I did not hear a 
 sound. All was silence and sadness. 
 
 I journeyed on, keeping the Bidassoa on my right, 
 to Irun, where I found a dreamy, dirty, noiseless set 
 
I.] A COUNTRY ROAD. 7 
 
 of people crowding its half-dozen streets, and every 
 window darkened by dishevelled heads. 
 
 Not liking the look of the place I pegged off, along 
 the narrow dusty road which led to San Sebastian. 
 Spain did not impress me at all. I didn't like the 
 country. I felt too close to Ireland ! The Spaniard, 
 like Pat, is inseparable from his pig. 
 
 The ground floor of every house is the barn where 
 cows, pigs, poultry, and other animals herd together. 
 The odour is simply intolerable. After the filth of 
 Irun it was pleasant to strike a real country road. 
 Hills rose on either side, and apple orchards ran up 
 the slopes. The fruit was small, green, and bitter, 
 fit for making cider. Here I encountered two 
 villainously dirty carabineers (military police). They 
 were undersized, ugly little wretches, and their clothes 
 were patched in a hundred places. 
 
 To these sorry personages I had to unbend and 
 expose my all ; first my passport, \vhich they couldn't 
 read, and then my " swag " ; but here I fear that 
 curiosity, not duty, was the constraining motive. I 
 felt inclined to resist these brutes, but knowing such 
 a course would be unwise, I bottled up my indigna- 
 tion and yielded to their commands. Then I went 
 on my way. 
 
 There were many pretty, shady places where I 
 might have slept, but as the road was easy, I plodded 
 
8 VASCONGADAS. [Cn. 
 
 on till dusk, when I struck a small town. A cara- 
 bineer standing at the entrance gave me a ticket, 
 which I had to show to a little man at the town hall, 
 who was the image of Mr. Toole. He was extremely 
 affable, and offered to conduct me himself to a place 
 of rest. He did so more's the pity ! Of all the 
 disgusting odours that ever arose from a square of 
 this earth none could beat those emitted by that 
 horrible house in Renteria. I am not proud, and I 
 travel to learn ; I will also own to an acquaintance 
 with some of the plague-spots of our century. I 
 have indeed spent days in Port Said, and I have 
 passed a night in Belin. But now, those old 
 experiences have an atmosphere of virtue in com- 
 parison with my night at Renteria. Mr. J. L. Toole 
 led me to a large archway in a wall. Then he waved 
 his hand as one might do to a dog, pointed to a 
 dark staircase, and shouted something to those above. 
 A shrill female voice replied. I went up. A large 
 galley-like room presented itself on the first floor. 
 A woman, engaged in nursing a baby and peeling 
 onions at one and the same time, beckoned me in. 
 Oh the horrors of that moment ! I flatter myself 
 that I am a strong man, that I can put up with a 
 good deal, that I can rise or fall to all degrees of the 
 social barometer : I confess that I could not feel at 
 home in that unspeakable room. 
 
I.] A MISERABLE LODGING. 9 
 
 About a dozen tramps, maimed and halt beings, 
 were sitting round a long table examining the con- 
 tents of their bags. Others were engaged in cooking 
 onions and soaked bread in flat stone saucers over 
 the charcoal fires which glowed red in the "incine- 
 rarios." A few brass and bronze plates of enormous 
 size stood on a shelf above the open fireplace. Great 
 wooden beams showed on the roof, and the walls 
 were bare and covered with filth. I sat silent and 
 shuddering, till the woman asked me if I should 
 like to go to bed. She led me to a room across 
 the landing, and I thanked Heaven that I was 
 near the staircase. This room looked cleaner than 
 the kitchen. It held two beds. The woman stuck 
 an inch of taper about the substance of macaroni 
 on to a nail in the wall, and I was instructed to 
 blow it out as soon as I was ready for bed. I did 
 so, and made a discovery. I know something about 
 parasites, for I have dabbled in agriculture and 
 horticulture. I am an old hunter, having killed 
 nearly everything except a Chinaman and a white 
 elephant. But these experiences were of little ser- 
 vice now. I could not cope with the bugs and 
 fleas of Renteria. I had always believed them to be 
 sworn enemies till I came here, when I found that 
 they lived on the best of terms and on ME ! 
 
 All this happened thirty-six hours ago, but my 
 
10 VASCONGADAS. [Cn. 
 
 blood is still rushing and my flesh creeping on 
 account of the hideous experiences of that night. 
 An old man came to bed soon after me. He re- 
 lighted the taper several times to hunt for -parasites. 
 And he always crossed himself piously before 
 extinguishing it. 
 
 I only slept about an hour. Bells were tintinabu- 
 lating all night long. It was long! All the lights 
 were out in the other rooms, and snoring was general. 
 Some woke and cursed their lively bed-fellows. 
 Others lighted their tapers and smoked cigarettes. I 
 was glad of this, for the fumes dissipated the dis- 
 gusting odours from the pigsty below. 
 
 I waited nervously for the first ray of light that I 
 might up and away. It came at last accompanied by 
 ominous sounds. The boss of the establishment and 
 his wife were evidently having a row. In the midst 
 of this conjugal duet I rolled up my knapsack and 
 departed. Never did the outer air smell more sweet. 
 There was a public fountain by the roadside. Here, 
 in defiance of a printed notice to the effect that "Any 
 one using soap or washing in this flood will be fined 
 five pesetas,"* I bathed and lathered and made myself 
 feel wholesome and sweet. I was glad to shake the 
 dust of this vile place off my feet, and had no 
 desire to look back. 
 
 * Peseta = about one franc. 
 
I.] SAN SEBASTIAN. II 
 
 San Sebastian is one of the prettiest little places in 
 the Old World. This was my verdict after looking 
 at it from every coign of vantage. The streets are 
 beautifully ordered. The open spaces are decorated 
 with flowering and foliage plants. The houses are 
 lofty, and everything looks clean. The bay is a 
 perfect gem. A little belt of golden sand, not 
 more than a hundred feet deep, runs round three- 
 fourths of a circle of clear, emerald water. A cone- 
 shaped island forms a natural breakwater to the outer 
 ocean. 
 
 The patron saint of the town is treated quite 
 humanely here, compared with all the stabbing he 
 gets in other places. With only one arrow through 
 his midrib, and another planted on his right knee, 
 he stands, Mercury fashion, on tiptoe over the main 
 doorway of the church dedicated to his memory. 
 
 I set out about midday, when all the little green 
 bay was alive with women and children floating and 
 splashing in the clear water. 
 
 The road was ill-made and dusty. Cider houses 
 were frequent, and as a sou buys a large glass I 
 slaked my thirst frequently without sinking much 
 capital. My English shoes felt heavy and hot in this 
 scorching climate, and I determined to try walking in 
 " espargatos " (cloth slippers with soles of plaited flax). 
 At a small store by the roadside I offered to exchange 
 
1 2 VASCONGADAS. [Cn. 
 
 a good pair of trousers for two pairs of " espargatos." 
 After a good deal of bargaining I agreed to take one 
 pair of slippers, a plate of haricot beans, and a glass 
 of wine, and to give up my bags. 
 
 The country suddenly became very wild, and all 
 the people I met seemed equally so. I passed a lot of 
 rough, gipsy-like fellows, whose appearance did not 
 please me. 
 
 My first rural village was Hermam, which may be 
 briefly described as all pigs and filth. As I did not 
 wish for a repetition of my ghastly experience at 
 Renteria I did not linger here. Just beyond the 
 village I struck the Orio, and the scenery at once 
 became wonderfully beautiful. 
 
 The mountains are of limestone, and the waters 
 have chafed and fretted the cliffs into a thousand 
 fantastic shapes. All these nooks and crannies are 
 clothed with a rich mantle of luxuriant vegetation. 
 
 The river rushes over huge boulders, and the old 
 weirs which have been thrown across the stream lock 
 up the waters into long peaceful reaches. Watch- 
 towers and look-outs are perched on almost every 
 peak. I was enchanted with this lovely valley, as I 
 saw it bathed in the ruddy glow of sunset lights, and 
 I hoped that the Orio might be my travelling com- 
 panion for many pleasant hours. 
 
 It did accompany me all the way to Andoain, where 
 
I.] THE INN OF ANDOAIN. 13 
 
 I regret to record the youngsters received me with 
 shouts, and pelted me with canisters filled with dust. 
 
 Appealing to one of the inhabitants for a night's 
 lodging, I was referred to the alcalde, who sent me 
 under the care of a small boy to a " posada " in rather 
 a rough situation (Andoain is only a big village). 
 
 The landlord and his wife read the ticket and then 
 read me, and I think they liked the ticket best. I 
 offered the man fifty centimes, and told him that I 
 was very tired. But he did not seem in the least 
 affected by my sufferings. He kept me sitting on my 
 bundle outside in the street while he sent the boy 
 back to the alcalde. 
 
 Suddenly he changed his tune, invited me in, 
 spread a cloth on the table and gave me eggs, fried 
 bacon, bread, and wine. 
 
 Then a buxom girl brought in black coffee, red and 
 white brandy, and a green cigar. Under the influences 
 of that coffee royal and that green Indiaman, I shut 
 my eyes awhile, and alone in that Spanish inn I 
 was a happy fellow, talking with and in turn listening 
 to those I iove best in other lands. 
 
 I was shown to a dear little bedroom, everything 
 clean and white, and the pillow-case embroidered by 
 hand. Nevertheless, I arose in the morning with an 
 aching head and a pair of legs that didn't wish to 
 carry me. I thought the unpleasant sensation would 
 
14 VASCONGADAS. [Cn. 
 
 pass away with an hour's walk ; but it didn't. The 
 country was still very lovely. The hills were getting 
 higher than ever : they were dangerously high they 
 would fall and I should be killed, crushed under the 
 full weight of a giant mountain. This was the result 
 of fever. My head was going round and round, and 
 everything was topsy-turvy. When I stooped to 
 drink from the springs by the wayside I dived my 
 head quite under the water, while imagining myself a 
 foot away from it. I was in a bad way. I knew it. 
 I felt it. Had I been poisoned at Andoain? My 
 hosts had given me in the morning a glass of warm 
 sweet milk, a " bola," * and a roll, had refused to take 
 the fifty centimes, and had wished me " God speed " 
 on my journey. Was there any subtle motive for all 
 this generosity ? Ah no ! That little woman's eyes 
 had too much of the " mother " in them for her to treat 
 me with cold-blooded cruelty. I knew it, and yet 
 what had overtaken me ? I was ill. God help me in 
 this lone land. 
 
 I struggled on to Tolosa. The road swarmed with 
 people going to market there. It is an old-fashioned 
 little place, doing no trade with the rest of the world. 
 All its merchandise consisted of a few reams of coarse 
 shop-paper. It is situated on a bend of the Orio, 
 and surrounded by an amphitheatre of grandly pre- 
 * A mixture of sugar and white of egg baked. 
 
I.] IN A BURNING FEVER. 15 
 
 cipitous mountains with bold, rocky summits. Here, 
 after refreshing myself with a glass of good cool wine 
 from a skin, I visited the church, which impressed me 
 on account of being the first clean one I had seen in 
 Spain. 
 
 As I moved away from the town, I overtook a man 
 and woman driving a lot of pigs. It came on to rain 
 heavily. The pigs enjoyed it. I did not. Night 
 was drawing in. The river had now become small 
 and unimportant, the mountains higher and more 
 rugged. Dark clouds were resting on the black 
 ravines. No human habitation was in sight. I was 
 wet, cold, and ill. It was a dreary look-out. 
 
 At last we reached Lizarza, a tiny hamlet perched 
 under a great cliff. There was no alcalde, no 
 secretario to be found ; and while I was searching for 
 a tramps' rest, my/ friends with the pigs moved off, 
 and I was left alone. An old man whom I " button- 
 holed " led me to a cellar in an empty house. Here 
 I spent the night racked with pain, and in a burning 
 fever, a prey to nervous terrors. 
 
 The old man let me out at an early hour, and I 
 made off. I rambled many weary miles up a long 
 valley, ever ascending by slow degrees. The lower 
 slopes of the hills were clothed with walnut and sweet 
 chesnut trees. Tiny patches of maize, grain, and 
 root crops nestled one above the other on the sides 
 
1 6 VASCONGADAS. [Cn. 
 
 of the gully. The houses were little better than 
 barns, built of enormous stones, and roofed with 
 coarse pantiles. Holes serve for windows, and a 
 linen blind does service for a door during the day. 
 All the pigs, poultry, horses, goats, donkeys, mules, 
 and cows live on the ground floor. 
 
 In the course of the morning I arrived at a turn- 
 pike kept by a great fat man, very proud of his person 
 and his office. 
 
 I showed him my recommendation from the Consul 
 at San Sebastian, and then I offered to wish him 
 " Good-day." He pressed me to take some wine, and 
 set bread and cheese before me. I was touched by 
 his friendliness, till the secret cause came out 
 " Would I write him up in my book ? " " God bless 
 him yes." I will write up any man who helps me 
 on my way. He was charmed with my reply. He 
 would not say " a dios," but insisted on accompanying 
 me on my way. He did so for about five hundred 
 yards, when we came to a culvert across the road 
 conducting the water from a little torrent rushing 
 down the mountain side. There was a coping to this 
 culvert, and we sat down. The big, fat man stuck 
 his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat and 
 surveyed me with a bland air. Then he lifted a hand 
 from its perch, and showed me the kingdom of 
 Navarra. 
 

 I.] THE ORIGIN OF NAVARRA. I/ 
 
 " This," said he, " where I am sitting, is Vascon- 
 gadas, butyo2i are in Navarra. That little stream is 
 the original boundary in these mountains." 
 
 Ill as I was, a thrill of joy went through me as I 
 realised the importance of my position. The little I 
 had read rushed back into my mind. I thought of 
 the old, old days when Navarra did not exist, and 
 when and how it became a kingdom. It is a beauti- 
 ful, glowing story. It always touched me in the past, 
 it will touch me still more in the future. It is so like 
 Romance, and yet so true that it has the charm both 
 of the Ideal and the Real. Here are the plain 
 facts. Two weary wayfarers priests, or monks, or 
 penitent sinners set out on a pilgrimage to a shrine 
 in the West Pyrenees. They encountered a hill so 
 precipitous and dangerous that they could not find 
 strength to climb it. Accordingly, they built a little 
 nest, and set to work to make an easy road to the top 
 of the hill. They lived on native produce and on 
 gifts bestowed by grateful wayfarers. Their fame 
 spread, and these road-makers became objects of 
 worship. The mountaineers went up the high hill 
 to pay homage to the two self-sacrificing old men. 
 They looked out on the surrounding country, on the 
 towering hills, and then on themselves. They realised 
 their power ; they were six hundred strong, and 
 Hidalgos. They confessed their sins, took counsel 
 
 2 
 
1 8 VASCONGADAS. [Cn. I. 
 
 with one another, and there and then on that lonely 
 hill, to which they had come to offer their thanks 
 to the aged pilgrims, they founded the kingdom of 
 Navarra. 
 
 I thanked my good host the turnpike-keeper, bade 
 farewell to Vascongadas, and went slowly on my 
 journey, which now lay across Navarra. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 NAVARRA . 
 
 IN THE MOUNTAINS. THE ARRIBA PASS. DOWN WITH FEVER. 
 A GOOD SAMARITAN. BASQUE WOMEN. THE ARGA. THE 
 GORGE OF IRURZUN. THE CAPITAL OF NAVARRA. - NOC- 
 TURNAL ADVENTURES. THE CHURCH. "HERE IS PEACE!" 
 
 "^HE country I now passed through was beautiful, 
 -* but a sick man is a mean thing, finding interest 
 in little but himself. I got a little bread, but I could 
 not eat it. They do not make black bread in the 
 north of Spain, but their brown and white bread is 
 villainously hard and heavy stuff. 
 
 Towards evening I reached Le Cumberri, a long, 
 straggling village in a mountain gorge. I was too 
 tired and ill to trouble any alcalde, so I took up my 
 quarters in a cheap shanty. My companions were 
 a rough set hawkers, tramps, and one dreadful 
 cripple, whose legs were turned behind him and who 
 went about in a " Billy-in-the-bowl fashion " on his 
 haunches. 
 
 As he was the innkeeper's son he busied himself 
 19 
 
20 NAVARRA. [Cn. 
 
 with the dozen little pots and jars stewing over a 
 fire in the centre of the kitchen. The fireplace was 
 a circular platform, about a foot above the floor, 
 ornamented with enamelled tiles. In the centre 
 burned a charcoal fire. 
 
 The kitchen utensils in this part of the world are 
 very simple. The saucepan is unknown. Every- 
 thing is cooked in tiny jars of clay or iron. The 
 bowls, spoons, and ladles are usually of brass, very 
 old and curiously designed. The clay pitchers and 
 jars resemble those shown in the Roman rooms of 
 the British Museum. I saw a child playing with a 
 little drinking pitcher which had two handles and 
 three lips. A piece of ribbon fell loosely round the 
 neck, and heavy lace decorated the lower edge. If 
 it had come from Etruria all the art critics would 
 go mad about such a thing ; but made by a living 
 Spaniard, it is of no value. 
 
 The cost of my accommodation was not great : 
 fifty centimes paid for bed and board. Another 
 night had passed. I still felt ill, but my spirit did 
 not leave me ; I struggled on in the direction of 
 Pamplona. The stream had now become a noisy 
 cataract, rushing down in clouds of snowy foam, and 
 falling into dark depths hidden by boughs of over- 
 hanging trees and long grasses. The mountain road 
 skirted the edge of the torrent. The ascent was 
 
II.] THE ARRIBA PASS. 21 
 
 rapid and formed a double zigzag. I toiled wearily 
 along, and was rewarded by reaching a point whence 
 I could look up to hundreds of peaks, capped with 
 mist, down into deep black gorges, and away over 
 bright spots touched by the sun on the lower hills. 
 The air grew thinner and colder as I approached 
 the Arriba Pass. The water rushed from a thousand 
 springs, and the cow bells tinkled on the slopes 
 below. The winds howled round lonely rocks, and 
 through rents and rifts on the heights above. The 
 sun showed a silver disc through the misty clouds, 
 and the valley below looked like a dark death 
 hollow. It was a weird, impressive scene. 
 
 About i p.m. I reached the pass, and now for 
 the first time I was able to look eastward. A 
 stretch of wild mountainous country met my gaze, 
 A few tiny patches of cultivation showed that the 
 country was not absolutely unpopulated. My journey 
 was now all down-hill. In the evening I reached 
 Betelu, and made at once for the alcalde. 
 
 The " Civil Guard " arc generally civil to me, but 
 here, when I asked the guard to grant me a night's 
 lodging, he replied, " No entiendo," which I easily 
 translated into " didn't intend to ! " I had tried that 
 game myself in France, and now these Spanish 
 rascals were turning the tables on me. I badgered 
 that fellow for nearly half an hour reviling him in 
 
22 NAVARRA. [Cn. 
 
 all the vernaculars with which I am familiar. But it 
 was no use, I had met my match. He sent me off 
 to a casa blanca (white house), where a little hot- 
 headed woman drove me away. I went on to a 
 "posada" kept by a mother and three daughters. It 
 was very clean for a Basque house. The elder woman 
 looked suspiciously at me, and asked what brought 
 me to this out-of-the-way spot. Her daughters 
 entered into the romantic side of my pilgrimage, and 
 were enthusiastic in their remarks. They saw that I 
 was ill. They had but little to give ; but such as 
 they had was mine. They made some excellent soup, 
 and cooked me a veal cutlet. I ate this with a glass 
 of good wine, and went to bed in a clean room. 
 In the morning I gave the woman thirty-five cents 
 (the price demanded) and asked her name for such 
 kindness deserved encouragement and recognition in 
 a practical way. This she refused, and I was forced 
 to go away ignorant of the very names of those 
 who had done me such good service. One of the 
 daughters was the most beautiful woman I saw in the 
 Basque country. She was tall and well made, her 
 hair dark, her skin clear and fresh. She had fine 
 features, and a noble, generous, sensible expression 
 of countenance. The Basque women impressed me 
 favourably. They looked good. There was no 
 artfulness or hypocrisy about them ; nor were there 
 
11.] A CHAMPION TEAM. 23 
 
 any meaningless smiles. They seem to age very 
 quickly. Women of thirty are set and hard-featured. 
 The instinct of maternity does not appear to be 
 strong. There are no large families. Amorous 
 swains do not appear in public ; at all events, I have 
 looked for them in vain. The men show little 
 interest in domestic affairs. Wives and children are 
 mere accessories, and there is no " climbing of knees 
 the envied kiss to share." 
 
 I soon got away from the gloomy mountains where 
 I had suffered so much, and came out on open 
 country, where wheatfields and vines were growing 
 freely. 
 
 I passed what I shall always regard as the 
 " champion team " of the world on this bit of road. 
 It was composed of two black bulls, three grey mules, 
 a rusty-coated Jack donkey, and two brown horses, 
 pulling a dray loaded with wine barrels. 
 
 I have been a bullock " puncher," and I know that 
 a strange variety of animals is often strung together 
 to make what is called a " team " ; but I never saw 
 such a queer lot as this in all Australia. The sight 
 was so comic that I laughed aloud. 
 
 I met dozens of donkey-boys with " thimble 
 rigging " shows, and blind men with fiddles led by 
 big Basque dogs. There were girls, too, looking as if 
 they could dance a bolero, and tambourine maidens, 
 
24 NAVARRA. [Cn. 
 
 thick and clumsy limbed. It was clear that a feast 
 or a fair was in preparation. 
 
 I journeyed along for many weary miles, passing 
 through hot, dry gorges before I reached a tributary 
 of the Arga. The water was deep and clear. A 
 range of hills rises in front, and a magnificent rent 
 affords the river a clear way between massive lime- 
 stone precipices, five or six hundred feet in height. 
 This is a grand bit of scenery, well worth a weary 
 pilgrimage. 
 
 A dozen or two of eagles were towering round the 
 height. The water was rushing wildly through the 
 gorge below, and far away in the centre of a vast 
 wheatfield rose the towers of Pamplona. 
 
 The Gorge of Irurzun is more than nine miles from 
 Pamplona, and the village looked big enough to hold 
 me for the night. But the alcalde's wife was a 
 thick-headed woman, who told me that I should get 
 accommodation farther on, just a little farther on the 
 road. She gave me a handful of dried prunes, and, 
 munching these, I went on my way. I met a fat 
 priest who smiled benignly on me. I asked him if 
 he spoke English, and the old rascal replied that he 
 " didn't intend to ! " I was furious, and asked him 
 how he could possibly desire to remain ignorant of 
 a language that gave so much delight to half the 
 millions of the earth. " No entiendo," he said again. 
 
II." APPROACH TO PAMPLONA. 25 
 
 Then he pulled a two-centime bit out of his greasy 
 pocket and held it out to me. I took this as a signal 
 to decamp ! 
 
 The sun had gone down, and the lamps of Pam- 
 plona were twinkling in the distance. The roadside 
 was aflame with lights, which might have been the 
 cigarettes of crouching brigands ; but a closer investi- 
 gation proved that they were given out by peaceful 
 glow-worms. The phosphorus rubs off, so that they 
 are followed by " trails of glory " as they move along 
 the grass. 
 
 Late in the evening, I reached a little cluster of 
 houses. One was a wine shop. A big, fair man (a 
 rare sight) with a sprout of hair growing from his 
 chin, told me that this house was " bad very bad," 
 and, fearing lest some infectious illness should lurk 
 within its walls, I prepared to depart. The fair man 
 assured me that a nice rest-house existed a little 
 farther on ; but it turned out to be a villainous crib 
 with four or five crippled vagabonds lying on its 
 sand floor. 
 
 No, not for all creation will I sleep in this den 
 while there is a bit of clean earth outside. But the 
 plain of Pamplona did not boast of a single tree, 
 hedge, fence, or shed. Nearly all the corn was cut, 
 and the bare, stubbly fields did not look inviting. 
 In spite of my weariness, I felt that I would rather 
 
26 NAVARRA. [Cn. 
 
 go on to Pamplona and seek a decent bed than lie 
 down exposed to the chilly night air. 
 
 The lights of the city increased and died away in 
 turn as I journeyed up and down the rugged plain. 
 As the night grew blacker the houses seemed farther 
 off than ever. Hour after hour I trudged wearily 
 along, and just as the church clocks were striking ten 
 I entered the northern gate and stood within the 
 capital of Navarra. 
 
 I tramped round, asking directions to posadas and 
 hotels for two weary hours. A soldier handed me 
 over to the guidance of a couple of drunkards going 
 to a house which he felt sure would just suit me. 
 (Complimentary, wasn't it ?) One fellow soon be- 
 came too top-heavy to go on. So I tramped round 
 with the other singing snatches of old lays at the top 
 of his voice. It was just midnight, and I felt not a 
 bit too respectable. 
 
 At last we reached the desired haven. I disliked 
 the look of the street, but with bleeding feet, and 
 ready to drop from sheer weakness, I could not afford 
 to be particular. We made a row, and the door 
 opened. Dancing was going on. An old man with 
 a kindly face was thrumming a guitar, and three or 
 four girls were tripping up and down the kitchen. 
 The other people were rough and ready but " square- 
 headed " folk, and I felt I could trust them. I asked 
 
II.] ONE OF THE DULLEST CAPITALS. 27 
 
 for milk, but they had none. An old woman brought 
 a spoonful of poor soup, and asked me to try it. It 
 was better than nothing, so the soup was warmed for 
 me. Then I retired to rest and slept soundly on the 
 bare floor under the tiles of a five-storey house. The 
 next morning I procured some remedies from a local 
 chemist, and, feeling better, I went round the town, 
 which is one of the dullest " capitals " on the face of 
 the earth. It stands to the north-west of a broad, 
 undulating plain of wheatfields and vineyards, and is 
 surrounded by a high stone wall. The Arga bounds 
 the western side. But for this river I could have run 
 round the place in twenty minutes. It just covers a 
 quarter of a square mile. 
 
 The Plazas Constitution and Valencia are good 
 sites, and a little trouble might make them beautiful, 
 but this has not been taken. A big theatre, a few 
 dull cafes, a " tora " circle, and the Cathedral of St. 
 Ignatius, a richly gilt but unattractive edifice, exhaust 
 the sights of Pamplona. 
 
 What interested me most were my table com- 
 panions. The house turned out to be a very respect- 
 able one, frequented by dealers in live stock, grain, 
 oil, and wine, men who talked and acted roughly, but 
 who possessed a fund of practical information on a 
 variety of subjects. They were all dressed in blue 
 blouses, "espargots," and "berets," which they kept on 
 
28 NAVARRA. [Cii. 
 
 during meals ; and every man was clean shaven. 
 They were most kind to me, and did all in their 
 power to make my stay pleasant. 
 
 The meals were roughly but cleanly served, the 
 viands abundant, the cooking excellent. Here I ate 
 my first piece of chamois, and I thought it a delicious 
 meat. 
 
 As I still felt too ill to write, I wandered about the 
 dull old streets, peeping behind canvas and reed 
 blinds to see the contents of the stores ; for there 
 is not a shop with a shop-front in all Pamplona. 
 The goods are kept in boxes, barrels, and enormous 
 jars, on the ground floor. A block forms the counter. 
 Here people sit, stand, and knit stockings as the 
 goods are dealt out. It is a slow, tedious method. 
 
 I strolled one day into the little Church of St. 
 Nicolas, a mere porch with a tiny dome ornamented 
 with rich tracery in amber and gold. The light was 
 such as penitent sinners love. It was a soft blue, 
 born of the stream of sunshine flowing through the 
 cupola. I sat down, and there, in front of me, was 
 written, " Here is peace." Ah, God ! is it so ? Had 
 I come so far to find it at last ? Was I to find the 
 crisis of my life here, in the place where the great 
 Ignatius Loyola had met it ? A sweet sense of repose 
 and satisfaction stole over me. My languid state was 
 conducive to meditation. I would give the world to 
 
II.] IN ST. NICOLAS OF PAMPLONA. 29 
 
 be able to recall at will the feeling that came over 
 me that day in St. Nicolas of Pamplona, but I fear 
 I never shall. 
 
 Two pretty, sweet-voiced girls came in with their 
 mother, and fell to admiring the dome, and the blue 
 glass vault above, and the inscriptions ; and, not 
 knowing me to be a heathen and an alien, said it 
 was u Muy bonita ! " (very beautiful). 
 
 (i Si, si," I said ; and this was all the Spanish I 
 could muster. 
 
 My two days and nights in Pamplona cost me nine 
 pesetas fifty centimes ; yet I marched out of the gate 
 of San Nicolas little wiser for my sojourn there. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 NAVARRA (Continued.} 
 
 FROM PAMPLONA TO TAFALLA. OLITE. HOUSES IN THE ROCKS. 
 THE WOLD OF CAPARROSO. AN ALABASTER DESERT. A 
 MAN AND A BROTHER (SENOR J. Z.). TUDELA. THE 
 IMPERIAL CANAL. MY IMPRESSIONS OF NAVARRA. 
 
 T T was a beautiful evening when I left Pamplona. 
 * The sky line seemed farther off than I had ever 
 seen it before, nor had I ever beheld a vaster 
 extent of cloudland or a more lovely collection of 
 forms and colours. Thousands of plots of corn and 
 grape-vines, east, west, north, and south, made the 
 scene a rich one. 
 
 Pamplona was soon lost behind the evening clouds 
 which came down from the hills. 
 
 I walked nearly seventeen miles that evening, and 
 slept in a fowl-house near Garicoain. The next 
 morning it rained hard. I took shelter in the church, 
 where I found nothing to look at save half-a-dozen 
 effigies with swords stuck through their bodies. 
 
 By this time I was far away from the plain of 
 30 
 
CH.IU.] AN UGLY, INSIGNIFICANT TOWN. 31 
 
 Pamplona traversing wild, broken country, that 
 carried nothing but patches of lavender, broom, gorse, 
 rosemary, and wild brier. Just above Tafalla I struck 
 the Cidacos. It is but a drivelling creek, a tributary 
 of the Arragon ; but the people have turned its waters 
 to good account, and distribute it over the gardens 
 by means of elevated channels. Grapes flourish 
 in this little hollow, and olive trees, which serve as 
 break-winds to the vineyards in rough weather. 
 
 Tafalla turned out to be an ugly, insignificant 
 town, its only attraction being a citadel perched on 
 a clay hummock, which was held by two Basque 
 dogs and a fat woman. I drove out the Basque dogs 
 at the point of my stick, and claimed an indemnity 
 from the fat woman to wit, one green pear agree- 
 ing to evacuate the place in ten minutes. I sat down 
 on the old outer wall and looked down on the mass 
 of tiles and rotting walls and filth below. It was as 
 sad and silent and dead as Pompeii. The church of 
 Santa Maria was bigger than the other buildings, but 
 not one whit more inspiring. Having eaten my pear 
 I went off towards Olite. This is a very old and 
 fortified city, standing on a shingle spit in the 
 centre of a broad, dry valley which soon widens out 
 to the dimensions of a plain. The old buildings are 
 very paltry, and the stone walls are guiltless of 
 cement. There is not there never was a square 
 
32 NAVARRA. [CH. 
 
 yard in all this fortress which three English navvies 
 and a crowbar could not displace in ten minutes. 
 
 A brother-at-arms, a strong, well-made Frenchman, 
 tried to strike up an acquaintance with me. 
 
 He wore a grey fur cap, and a blue blouse reach- 
 ing to his heels. He carried a recommendation from 
 some important personage, but what his weakness 
 was (I think light labour) I failed to discover. He 
 pressed me to journey with him, as he was " tired of 
 travelling alone." I was not ; so I shook him off 
 and departed. 
 
 After a long fag across an open, dirty plain, I 
 reached Caparroso, on the banks of the Arragon, 
 which, like most of the Spanish rivers, has a great 
 name, a broad bed, and very little water. 
 
 Caparroso is at once striking and peculiar, in its 
 rude primitiveness and effective position. It occupies 
 the sides of two long ravines lying between three bold 
 ridges of close, gritty clay. With the exception of 
 the boulders on the bed of the Arragon, there is not 
 a stone or rock within sight, and not a vestige of 
 vegetation. Where the ravines converge near the 
 river there are a few houses of stone and sun-dried 
 bricks, but up both gullies hundreds of dwellings 
 are cut out of the solid hills. The scene is most 
 striking. There stand the houses veritable temples 
 of Kylos hewn out of masses of native clay. The 
 
III.] A CITY IN THE ROCKS. 33 
 
 world-known temple is entitled to no more respect 
 than these isolated cabins by the " hills of silence " 
 the local name for the ridges. Although the 
 architect and engineer have not been consulted, the 
 plan of construction is excellent. Enormous mounds 
 and spurs of earth have been honeycombed within 
 and decorated without, so as to afford shelter to the 
 body and satisfaction to the eye. 
 
 Difficulties have been recognised only to be over- 
 come. In many cases the hills have cracked and 
 sent the houses over towards the gullies below. The 
 floors have been squared down to a horizontal plane 
 again, and the walls, roofs, and chimneys left leaning 
 at frightful angles over the chasm. There are no 
 military earthworks half so curious as these civil 
 dwellings, and no monolith reared to perpetuate the 
 memory of a nothing or a nobody could impress one 
 more than these necessary domestic hives. 
 
 A frightful monotony reigns over all. Everything 
 wears the same shade of buff-grey. The windows 
 are but tiny holes, and the doorways are screened by 
 canvas blinds faded to the same dull hue. 
 
 The people are almost as silent as their natural 
 surroundings. There is no voice in nature here, and 
 man seems half afraid to break the stillness. 
 
 They live on the produce of a few miles of river 
 flat some distance below the town, and journey 
 
 3 
 
34 NAVARRA [Cn. 
 
 up and down with mules and donkeys laden with 
 water, corn, and garden stuff. You will never find a 
 Northern Spaniard's house situated on good ground. 
 He wants the soil for other purposes ; so he perches 
 his cabin where nothing will grow, even though it be 
 miles from wood and water. 
 
 The dwellers at the head of the ravines had to 
 carry their water fully three miles. They take their 
 bit of clothing to the river, and lave and bang it over 
 stones till it is a little cleaner than before. A really 
 clean article I have not seen in all the " pueblos" I have 
 visited. Judged as a whole, the Northern Spaniards 
 are a very dirty people ; but I, a victim to their negli- 
 gence, can afford to say and with much emphasis 
 look at the conditions they are born to ! Hard native 
 surroundings w/7/tell, and poverty produce indifference 
 to cleanliness, as long as the world runs on. 
 
 They did not treat me badly at Caparrosa. The 
 alcalde gave me a ticket entitling me to bed and board 
 at the hospital. This was not a clay dwelling ; it was 
 built of sun-dried bricks, and stood on a flat by the 
 river. It was a wretched place, but I managed to put 
 in a fair night. 
 
 I could find no shop or bakery in the morning, 
 so I started for Valtierra, trusting to pick up some 
 breakfast on my way ; but, alas ! there were n 
 houses on the road. 
 
Ill] THE WOLD OF CAPARROSA. 35 
 
 I had to cross the most terrible bit of country I 
 have yet encountered. The wold of Caparrosa is 
 twenty-four miles broad and holds only one house. 
 At this house there was no bread. I could only get 
 a glass of wine. The heat was intense, the wold a 
 blighted desert. Its composition is interesting, but 
 a tramp is a man \v\\vfeels, and you must give him 
 something to eat if you would show him anything 
 worth looking at. The wold is composed almost 
 entirely of alabaster, much of it beautifully laminated 
 and clear as rock crystal. I was able to read with 
 ease through some pieces half-an-inch thick. Some 
 rifts are mottled like marble, pink, blue, and white. 
 Other patches are clear as Parian and hard as flint. 
 
 The spot is full of interest to the geologist, but I 
 was "only a tramp," and little short of getting to 
 the end of the wold would satisfy me. 
 
 When at last I reached the valley of the Ebro I 
 " struck oil " at once. At a little stone cabin I got 
 some bread and wine, and took what I felt to be a 
 well-earned rest. Here there was a picturesque old 
 shepherd wearing a beaver hat shaped like a Chinese 
 sunshade, with two huge knobs like powder puffs 
 dangling one from the crown and one from the side 
 of the hat ; a coarse blue cotton shirt, with a dirty 
 white front let in, and large splashes of flowers 
 embroidered round the neck and buttonholes ; a 
 
36 NAVARRA. [CH. 
 
 black plush coat shorter than an Eton jacket, and 
 worn brown and ragged ; tan leather breeches, the 
 seat and pockets strengthened by patches of leather 
 fancifully scalloped round the edges and sewn in 
 cross-stich ; leather sandals on his feet, and a strip 
 of brown saddle cloth bound two or three times 
 round his lean calves, and tied with ( a bundle of 
 leather laces, the ends of which dangled as tassels 
 about his ankles. He was a very good-looking old 
 man, and I found his company, to say nothing of the 
 bread and wine, a great relief after the miserable 
 wold. 
 
 Valtierra was now in sight, and early in the 
 evening I presented myself at the Town Hall. 
 
 The secretary was a young man with a very white 
 face and a very red shirt. As neither knew the 
 other's tongue there was something like a dead lock, 
 till the secretary bethought him of a fellow-citizen 
 who knew English ; and I was soon introduced to 
 Sefior Julian Zapatero, who explained that I was 
 a " deserving case," and I was forthwith granted 
 accommodation at the hospital. I was grateful to 
 Sefior Zapatero for his assistance, but still more for 
 his conversation. He showed himself entirely free 
 from prejudice. The accuracy and force of his 
 reasoning was clear. Navarra and its people began 
 to wear a noble aspect. Zapatero spoke English 
 
III.] SENOR JULIAN ZAPATEKO. 37 
 
 well, having spent three years in London. He is-- 
 wonderful for a Spaniard a cosmopolitan. He 
 judges people and places as he finds them. Tradi- 
 tion does not influence his estimates. 
 
 We were soon at home with each other. We 
 chatted about "things in general." Then we got 
 back to Spain. What did I think of it? 
 
 I told him that I was surprised to find the 
 Northern Spaniard so unlike the character usually 
 ascribed to him. 
 
 " Yes," said Zapatero, " we are not the cold- 
 blooded savages England has heard so much about, 
 are we ? " 
 
 " How is it that the Spaniards have got such a 
 bad name?" 
 
 " That is a big question ! I consider that nothing 
 has done more to set the world against Spain than 
 the writings of the elder Dumas. He wrote at a 
 time when the world well-nigh lived on sensational- 
 ism ; and with his facile pen he made his romances 
 read like every-day facts. Dumas has made Spain 
 the stink-pot of the world. The world is slow 
 to unlearn old beliefs. The mother's fable becomes 
 the child's fact, and sticks to him through life. The 
 ' reading public ' are the stupid public, people who 
 are too lazy or senseless to prove things for them- 
 selves. The world finds it easier to swallow Dumas' 
 
38 NAVARRA. [Cn. 
 
 Spain than to adopt your plan of action. You will 
 learn to know something of Spain as it is, but I 
 fear the knowledge will sadden you." 
 
 <( But," I interposed, " will you not yourselves 
 refute this universal calumny by sheer force of 
 character and internal growth ? " 
 
 " No, we cannot grow. What is the use of great 
 men in Spain ? They cannot make her great. Men 
 do not make countries, countries make men ! 
 Washington, Kossuth, Garibaldi were great, simply 
 because they were called on at the right time. There 
 are always men for occasions. 
 
 " No," added Zapatero, and there was a ring of 
 pathos in his voice, " we are a quiet people and 
 we must remain so. We have nothing to gain by 
 being 'educated/ as the world uses the word. 
 Education is not the certain key to a better life. 
 It often leads us to neglect the little we naturally 
 possess, and to suffer accordingly. What becomes 
 of the Spaniard who professes to be educated ? He 
 neglects the needs of stomach and brain to clothe 
 his lean shanks in some town with eighty per cent, of 
 underbred people like himself. 
 
 " Our * internal growth,' as you call it, is in propor- 
 tion to our national resources. And what are they ? 
 You have journeyed nearly the entire length of 
 Navarra, and could you or your people do more with 
 
III.] A NIGHT AT THE HOSPITAL. 39 
 
 the country than we have done ? Ours is a struggle 
 for existence. We can never hope to advance. Here 
 for ages we have carried on the most intense system 
 of cultivation, and we have exercised rigid economy. 
 We have had few endemical disasters. Yet, with all 
 this, we have no surplus. We are just where we were 
 centuries ago. It is a sad fact ! " * 
 
 Senor Zapatero sent to my hotel (i.e., the hospital) 
 a note of introduction to a friend of his in Tudela. 
 This was accompanied by a few kind words and 
 good wishes addressed to myself. 
 
 There is nothing like a heart for giving a man 
 heart. If you can find a human soul it will kill all 
 the devil out of you in less time than all the salves 
 and emulsions in the world. 
 
 I cast in my lot with three old men and a woman 
 at the Hospital, and I really enjoyed being down on 
 their low level. The fare was poor, yet the feast was 
 sweet. The old men might have sat as models for 
 portraits of heroes. Their rich brown faces showed 
 above long muscular necks, looking like toughened 
 bronze. 
 
 When I set out from Valtierra the Ebro appeared 
 about three miles off. After walking for six hours 
 and passing through a couple of u'ntidy villages, it 
 seemed farther off than ever, and I was apparently 
 
 * These remarks apply particularly to the province of Navarra. 
 
40 NAVARRA. [Cn. 
 
 marking time right in front of Valtierra. It was 
 Sunday ; but I was not able to keep it holy. I had 
 to walk the whole day, anathematising the con- 
 founded idiots who caused this road to wind like a 
 watch-spring and never made one solitary yard in 
 a straight line. It looked as if the river once wound 
 round under the hills and the road followed it, but 
 the river has gone over to the opposite side of the 
 valley, and the old road still serves, so I had to 
 journey seven or eight miles for the sake of 
 advancing two or three. But at last at last I 
 reached the green river, and profited by it to wash 
 my clothes. I rested while they were drying. 
 
 Tudela rose before me a mass of red-tiled towers 
 and spires, chimney-pots, and tumble-down houses. 
 
 A line of poplars showed the river's course as far 
 as eye could reach. It spoke of new life. After 
 barren hills, sandy ridges, shingle spits, and ugly 
 hummocks of clay, I was glad to look on the strip of 
 green which followed the great river. 
 
 The country was changing rapidly. I missed 
 many things to which I had become accustomed. 
 
 I had suddenly lost the " Rebeccas " with their 
 wooden buckets banded with bright steel, the only 
 thing the Basque and Navarra folk take a pride in 
 keeping clean. I met no more tiny, black, one-eared 
 donkeys laden with country produce, and a woman or 
 
III.] ARRIVAL AT TUDELA. 4 1 
 
 two perched on top of the heavy load. I was no 
 longer tormented by the big Basque dogs, trained to 
 hunt the unfortunate tramp through every village 
 street. My ears were no longer filled with the jangling 
 music of cattle, dog, donkey, and mule bells (they put 
 a bell on everything in the north except a pig. The 
 Spaniard knows that any pig is industrious enough to 
 leave traces of his handicraft behind him.) And I 
 was leaving piggy behind me too ! He is all very 
 well when written up as "Dublin cured" or " Prime 
 York," but he is a less respectable creature when met 
 as a grunting bed-fellow. It is no misfortune to be a 
 " black sheep " in Navarra. The majority are black, 
 and the old shepherd who " drives his flock to pick 
 the scanty blade," generally gives effect to the oddness 
 of things by having two or three big crop-eared, 
 white dogs. They crop all animals here instead of 
 branding them. It is a cruel and ugly custom. 
 These people have no sense of beauty. They are 
 not to be blamed. Away from the Pyrenees there 
 are no refining influences in the north of Spain. The 
 scenery and the surroundings are always harsh and 
 brutal, and the people's spirit is governed by them. 
 
 I entered the old town of Tudela by way of an 
 early Roman bridge spanning the Ebro, which has 
 seventeen arches all of different designs. There is 
 not room for two carts scarcely for two well-laden 
 
42 NAVARRA. [CH. 
 
 donkeys to pass abreast. The bridge is neither a 
 crescent, a curve, a regular set of angles, nor a straight 
 line ; it is something unique. 
 
 Tudela is in two parts " old " and " new." The 
 " old " is very old, and the " new " far from modern. 
 The old buildings are sombre, and resemble high 
 fortresses with their walls of Roman brick and black- 
 tiled roofs. Curious contrasts are seen at every turn : 
 coats of arms and crests over doors leading to pigs' 
 hovels, and the former abodes of nobles turned into 
 the grimy haunts of vagabonds and beggars. New 
 Tudela has few attractions. It boasts a " New Plaza," 
 which is two hundred years old and looks its age. 
 
 I was here reminded of a famous fellow-tramp, 
 " Old Benjamin the Friar/' who was born in this 
 town. He journeyed round the world (which was 
 small in his time) from 1159 to 1173, and wrote an 
 account of all he saw and experienced, which, if he 
 kept eyes and ears well open, must have been a 
 considerable amount. 
 
 I found Zapatero's friend at the " Cafe Imperial," 
 enjoying himself in true Sunday fashion. He enter- 
 tained me, and then pointed out the sights of Tudela. 
 They are not many. The cathedral is an immense 
 old building, one of the earliest Gothic buildings in 
 Spain. It has some beautiful archways, and fine 
 marbles, but the effect is ruined by many repulsive 
 
III.] A NIGHT IN A GRASS HUT. 43 
 
 figures in relief on the dome, reminding my Philistine 
 eye of the decoration of a menagerie. This church 
 has played a great part in the ecclesiastical history of 
 Spain, but to a casual tramp its greatest gift was a 
 few minutes' rest and escape from the hot sun. 
 
 Coming out of this old-world building, I confronted 
 the French tramp I had left at Olite. I had some 
 difficulty in dodging the rascal, with whom I would 
 not be seen for worlds. My new acquaintance is a 
 leading man in Tudela, and no good Spaniard loves 
 a Frenchman, especially a French tramp ! But I did 
 not linger long in this dead-alive place. In the even- 
 ing I found myself out on a flat, open road, lying off 
 a mile or two from the Ebro. I journeyed along for 
 many weary miles, till I reached the village of Riba- 
 forada, where I slept in a little hut made of river grass 
 standing in a back-yard. It was clean, but hard the 
 natural earth and at daybreak a woman drove me 
 from my lowly bed. Having shouldered my bag, I 
 started for the Imperial Canal, which flows parallel 
 with the Ebro, hoping to find shade and coolness 
 amidst an abundant vegetation. But it was not so 
 pleasant as I had hoped to find it. The locality is 
 a second Venice, and, like Mrs. Partington, I was 
 visiting it when the place was in flood ! The canal 
 flows at an average distance of twelve miles from 
 the river, and the intermediate lands are cut up 
 
44 NAVARRA. [Cn. 
 
 into little blocks, over which the waters are distri- 
 buted by natural gravitation. 
 
 This artificial river is sixty-six feet wide and 
 twelve deep, and has a current of five miles an hour. 
 It is a magnificent flood, displaying in unmistakable 
 language the disposition and enterprise of these 
 Northern Spaniards. After two or three hours of 
 toilsome wandering across the boggy flats created by 
 the floods, I went back to the main road, where all 
 was bare and blighted as ever. The only welcome 
 feature in the landscape was a near glimpse of 
 Arragon. 
 
 My experience of Navarra was at an end. Two 
 ragged-faced old stones mount guard on either side 
 of the road, close to the " pueblo " of Mallen. They 
 stand as the boundaries of the two ancient king- 
 doms. I sat down beside one of them, and thought 
 of the sage of Valtierra, and of the truth of his words. 
 I felt like a man in the witness-box compelled to 
 give ugly evidence. Navarra wants re-modelling ! 
 It is not designed to meet human needs. If we 
 could pull down these barren hills, which are piled 
 to no purpose, and turn on the wasting waters of 
 the world, Navarra might breathe and grow like the 
 rest of Europe. But man is not master of all 
 matter, and all the scientific discoveries in the world 
 cannot make Navarra a great country. It needs a 
 
III.] ADIEU TO NAVARRA. 45 
 
 Moses to strike the rock and send a fertilising flood 
 down every barren range and arid plain. 
 
 Some people declare that aluminium is the coming 
 factor in utilitarian and decorative work. Navarra 
 has enough clay to produce aluminium for centuries, 
 but it lacks the working forces wood and water. 
 I have heard white-handed men glory in the fact 
 that Navarra has political autonomy. What of 
 that ? Will local government change the face of 
 nature, and the miserable condition the people are 
 born to ? Political reform does no more than knock 
 a few rascals down that another set of scamps may 
 step up. 
 
 Bad laws may injure, but they cannot kill and 
 wholly impoverish a country. Where there is native 
 wealth a people will always rise superior to the 
 decrees of men. Show me the rich countries of the 
 world, and I will show you the rich people. 
 
 For their laborious effort and great perseverance 
 in the face of tremendous difficulties the inhabitants 
 of Navarra deserve all praise. 
 
 Praise is a factor in economy. We should culti- 
 vate the habit of praising all that is worthy, as by 
 so doing we create impulses which increase the 
 native wealth of the world. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ARRAGON. 
 
 A THRESHING-FLOOR. THE VALLEY OF THE EBRO. AN UNKNOWN 
 CITY. ALCALA. THE PALACE OF PEDROLA. WORK AND 
 WAGES. DRESS. STILETTO-WEARING. ZARAGOZA. 
 
 "\ /T ALLEN, the village on the frontier of Arragon, 
 L'-* was too busy with its own affairs to pay 
 much heed to me, a tramp. It was harvest time, 
 and threshing was going on on the circular-paved 
 floors round the village. The mode is of the sim- 
 plest description. The tools forks, shovels, sieves, 
 screens, harness, and accoutrements are all of wood, 
 bent to various shapes by steam, and the straw 
 plaited or twisted with twigs. 
 
 The threshing machine is a broad sledge resem- 
 bling the bed of a cart one end turned up repre- 
 senting the footboard. The grain is spread three 
 or four feet deep on the ground, and a couple of 
 mules, yoked to the sledge, are driven round and 
 round generally by the help of a dozen youngsters, 
 all nursing babies, and highly delighted to get a 
 
 ride for nothing. 
 
 46 
 
CH. IV.] HARVESTING IN ARRAGON. 47 
 
 The bottom of the sledge is roughened with rows 
 of flints, chipped and sharpened till they look like 
 sharks' teeth. These stones cut up the straw into 
 coarse chaff. When the wheat has been trodden 
 from the ears, men with wooden forks toss the mass 
 against the wind, and so divide the chaff from the 
 grain. 
 
 The latter is then screened through sieves made 
 of straw or leather. The wind, acting on the chaff, 
 piles it in various places according to its size. By 
 this simple means a complete division of material 
 is effected with speed and economy. Wherever you 
 journey at harvest time there is the same process, 
 and you meet scores of mules and donkeys moving 
 along the roads half hidden under their immense 
 burden of chaff, which they are conveying in huge 
 nets rigged over a wooden frame to the barns. 
 
 The valley of the Ebro looked lovely as it opened 
 out before me. It is one vast garden, and as I 
 stood on a high bank overlooking eighty or a hun- 
 dred square miles of country, bearing fruit, vegetables, 
 and cereals, with occasional rows of trees, and straight 
 streaks of water showing between, I was filled with 
 the delight of living. When a tramp's eyes can feast, 
 there must be something really good before him. 
 
 There were plenty of people at work on the irri- 
 gated lands, and I received from them a generous 
 
48 ARRAGON. [Cn. 
 
 supply of fruit. With these and a piece of bread I 
 had bought at Mallen, I sat down to enjoy my feast, 
 when suddenly my French tramp came upon me. 
 
 He wanted to be friendly (I fear it was cupboard 
 love), but I didn't I shook my head and pointed 
 over the green valley, and at last, seeing the game 
 useless, he took himself off. 
 
 I followed the bank of the Imperial Canal, through 
 rough cuttings of terribly hard stone, which showed 
 how big the task had been and how energetic the 
 workers, for this great work was carried out before 
 the introduction of steam. Late in the evening I 
 reached Gallur. Gallur has cursed the whole world, 
 and made a special appeal to ME (a tramp !) to 
 make its complaint known. 
 
 By desire of the mayor I beg to inform you that 
 Gallur is not to be found on any map * which shows 
 how ignorant and careless are geographers ! Gallur 
 was born A.D. 1788. Its inhabitants are the descen- 
 dants of those hardy spirits who dug and delved the 
 Imperial Canal ; and yet, in spite of this, their heirs, 
 and the town they have built up, are to live unknown ! 
 
 This is not my speech. It is the Mayor of Gallur 
 who asks these indignant questions. He would have 
 his flock of five thousand souls made known to all 
 
 * I have since discovered that Gallur is clearly marked in the 
 map to accompany Murray's Handbook. C. B. L. 
 
IV.] THE MAYOR OF GALLUR. 49 
 
 peoples. I agreed with him. I said I would do what 
 I could for him, and, even though he chose to give 
 me no more than a shakedown in a stable between 
 mules and donkeys infested with lively fleas, I'll 
 speak of the inhabitants of Gallur as a most in- 
 dustrious people busy from dawn till dark with 
 their waterways, garden plots, and garnered grain. 
 
 I caught sight of the French tramp again here 
 only for a moment, for I rushed off to avoid his 
 company. It proved to be my last view of him, as 
 many days have passed since I saw him in the star- 
 lit street of unknown and complaining Gallur. 
 
 I began to enjoy a little shade now, for poplars 
 line the banks of the canal. Every few miles I came 
 to a lock whence the waters are dispersed over the 
 valley. Towards evening I broke away from the 
 canal to cross the green plain to Alcala. It was 
 from this place that Don Quixote's enchanted barque 
 set out on its short but classic journey. Alcala is a 
 very out-of-the-way place. I could find nothing 
 there to remind me of the age and civilisation of 
 which I try to persuade myself I form an honourable 
 part. My experience is the reverse of that of Rip 
 van Winkle, for I find that hundreds of years have 
 brought no change to this lowly spot. The houses 
 round the little plaza and the manners and customs 
 of the people are much as they were when Moor and 
 
 4 
 
50 ARRAGON. [Cn. 
 
 Arragonese lived side by side. The inhabitants are 
 silent and sly. The bells have slipped from the old 
 church tower, so there is no longer any weekly 
 rousing by Sabbath peals. The river flows hard by, 
 so I took a casual look for such a spot as the en- 
 chanted barque might have chosen to sail from ; but I 
 looked in vain for any landing-stage, nor could I see 
 any mills or barriers in the river. 
 
 I journeyed on to Pedrola, arriving at the station 
 just as the train came in from Zaragoza. 
 
 A crowd of country folk were waiting to receive 
 some grandees, who were returning to their country- 
 seat. A pair of fine mouse-coloured mules, coarsely 
 harnessed and attached to a third-rate cab, formed 
 the aristocratic chariot. 
 
 Four badly-dressed women, without face, form, or 
 intellectual beauty, stepped in. They were members 
 of a ducal family. Their house is a grand palace 
 at least it is grand for Spain standing in the centre 
 of the village, and surrounded by decayed and 
 frightfully dirty dwellings. A long deep archway 
 almost a tunnel leads from the narrow street into 
 the courtyard. 
 
 It occurred to me that this would be a favourable 
 moment to seek admittance to the palace of the 
 Duke of Villa Hermoza. A page in a showy tunic 
 led me to the entrance stairs, which were of black 
 
IV.] A SPANISH PALACE. 5 1 
 
 and white tiles with a medallion in the centre of each. 
 I noticed all I could because it occurred to me, " If 
 I am received I shall have to talk about the doings 
 of the family. This house has entertained stray 
 characters and knights without armour in its time. 
 Did not Don Quixote and Sancho Panza receive 
 good lodging here, and was not 'Rosinante' stabled 
 somewhere in sight of me ? Ah ! I thought, they 
 will like allusions to this ! There is nothing like 
 the ancient traditions of a family for touching its 
 vital spot, be it pocket or larder." (But here let me 
 say that the devil of it in Spain is that there is no 
 larder ! The people cook no more than can be eaten 
 at a meal, and when the meal is over, God help the 
 dog who is expected to fatten on the bones.) 
 
 Let me make a clean breast of it. I didn't gain 
 an audience with the Duke or with the family of 
 the Duke of Villa Hermoza. A neat maid-servant 
 informed me that cards were not received that day ; 
 she asked me to take a piece of bread instead, and 
 expressed the hope that I would find my way out ! 
 
 This I did quite easily, for the palace was in no 
 sense bewildering. It neither charmed nor dispirited 
 me ; on the other hand, I felt glad that I was a 
 tramp privileged to roam under the free canopy of 
 heaven, and not bound to such filth and unsight- 
 liness as surround the palace of Pedrola. 
 
52 ARRAGON. [Cn. 
 
 I wanted rest badly, but there was no alcalde or 
 house for vagrants in this village, and as I learned 
 there was a decent " pueblo " some three miles away, 
 I set off to it. The road was over a dry but 
 cultivated piece of plain land, all vines and wheat 
 stubble. The plain crossed, I arrived at Ferruginelles, 
 a dirty little village perched up on a ridge not far 
 from the canal. The houses are built of sun-dried 
 bricks, a strip of whitewash round the doorways 
 being the only decoration of these miserable hovels. 
 
 All the washing is done at the stream which flows 
 at the foot of the hill. The women journey up and 
 down before and after meals, first to prepare the 
 vegetables, and afterwards to wash the utensils. 
 These Northern women are great gossips. I have 
 watched them for hours, and have seen the hands 
 hang idle while the tongues worked at railroad 
 speed. 
 
 The young alcalde directed me to a house where 
 I could get a night's lodging. I was received by a 
 quiet, grave-looking woman, dressed in dingy black, 
 a kerchief round her shoulders and another on her 
 hair. 
 
 The house had two stories. A mule and some 
 pigs held the ground floor, the woman and her 
 husband lived in the room and cupboard above. 
 
 When the little oil lamp was lighted and I took 
 
IV.] A HUMBLE REPAST. 53 
 
 a look at my new home, I was in no way cheered. 
 The room was very small, and the walls black and 
 shiny as a chimney. The fireplace was a raised 
 platform of mud and stones in the centre of the 
 floor. A broad wooden tube drew up some of the 
 smoke to a hole in the wall, the rest found its way 
 through the door and light holes. A few stone 
 platters and bowls, a chocolate pot, and big cooking 
 vessels in clay, made up the decorations and furniture 
 of the chamber. 
 
 A little fire glowed on the pile of stones, and the 
 contents of a stone jar bubbled on its margin. A 
 three-legged frying-pan held something covered over 
 with a plate, and a stone jar filled with water hung 
 in the cool draught of one of the light holes. We 
 sat waiting for the husband, who came in holding his 
 hand to his face, and almost crying with toothache. 
 I had some strong mint in my bag, which I gave 
 him, and he got some relief. 
 
 The woman pulled out the small stool which 
 is the only dining-table known to the Spanish 
 peasantry placed the stone jar and the frying-pan 
 upon it, and pressed me to eat The frying-pan 
 contained the centre spines of beet leaves. I was 
 hungry and ate it gladly, although it had little flavour 
 to recommend it. 
 
 After this, she turned out the contents of the 
 
54 ARRAGON [Cn. 
 
 stone jar : potatoes, onions, and something else, 
 which proved to be snails. They had been well 
 prepared, and I ate them with much gusto. The 
 meal over, my hostess gathered the wooden spoons, 
 bowls, and cooking utensils into a hand trough, and 
 said it was time to go to bed. " He has to be up at 
 three," she explained, " and he is tired." 
 
 The labour conditions in the valley of the Ebro 
 are truly frightful. This man, who was only fifty, 
 but who looked like a worn-out old man, works in 
 the summer all the hours of daylight, and ten hours in 
 the winter. For this he receives five pesetas a week 
 (little more than three shillings), and not one single 
 extra in any shape or form. Sunday is a rest day 
 he works eight hours ! Think of this, my brother 
 Britons, and ask yourselves if the Spaniard is to be 
 most blamed or pitied ? 
 
 My heart ached for these poor human slaves born 
 to such hard conditions ; to me the terrible pang of 
 their existence lies in the fact that it knows no 
 change. A condemned prisoner hopes for a coming 
 day, but these poor mortals have no hope for the 
 morrow. The future only fills them with dread, for 
 it will find them less capable of earning their living. 
 A cloud of sadness seems to hang over the land. 
 Even the children do not play as others do. There 
 is no life no abandon in their games. They mimic 
 
IV.] A HARD-WORKED PEASANTRY. 55 
 
 the hard labour of their parents, in which they all 
 too soon have to bear a part. And this is European 
 civilisation ! 
 
 No one can complain of the Spaniards' lack of 
 friendliness if once they take to you. I lay down 
 and slept with the man and his wife on the floor 
 of the room. I was awake a long time thinking 
 of my poor bed-fellows' life and the comparative 
 blessedness of mine, even though I am but a 
 tramping vagabond. It was a short night. I left the 
 house too early to get my passport (which is usually 
 held by the alcalde when one gets assistance), so I 
 had to sit on a doorstep and wait three long hours 
 for his arrival. This afforded another opportunity to 
 watch the matutinal customs of the villagers. 
 
 Each swept the space in front of his house, and so 
 all the " calle " was clear, not because anyone values 
 cleanliness in the least, but in order to collect the 
 rubbish for manure. 
 
 Servant-girls from the big houses fagged up and 
 down to the stream for more than two hours, carrying 
 heavy pitchers on their heads or on their broad hips. 
 No wonder that they are old hags at thirty. When 
 I tell people my age, they put their tongues out and 
 try to let me see they don't believe all they hear. I 
 am a youth of twenty in the eyes of Spain. 
 
 When I had got back my passport, I took the 
 
56 ARRAGON. [Cn. 
 
 road towards Zaragoza. I came across a figtree, and, 
 as I had not breakfasted, I speedily gathered and 
 ate a dozen or two of excellent figs. Then the owner 
 came along, and though he spoke not a word he said 
 in the plainest possible way, " Come down." So I 
 came down and stood before him, and awaited orders. 
 But there were none. On recognising that I was a 
 foreigner, his voice seemed to leave him. I saw 
 his position and I held my own. I looked him in 
 the eye, indicated that I had eaten enough, and 
 departed. 
 
 The Spaniards can't fight as we understand the 
 word. If you like to enter into a war of words you 
 will be beaten, but fisticuffs are not to their taste, 
 and silence is a terror to them ! They think it 
 implies much evil. When I want to triumph over 
 a Spaniard I shall say nothing at all ! 
 
 Some of the men of this province dress very 
 fancifully. The ordinary costume is blue cotton 
 trousers, a short blouse with braid round the neck 
 and sleeves, and a handkerchief tied in a ring round 
 the head, leaving the crown exposed to the full force 
 of the sun. " Espargots " are on every foot ; but those 
 who keep up the old local dress wear knickerbockers 
 of velvet or cord, which are open from the hips and 
 loosely buttoned or caught together by loops of braid 
 to the knee. Underneath are white drawers with 
 
IV.] THE SPANISH BLADE. 57 
 
 embroidered edges, which the wearers love to display 
 especially when fresh from the " lavandera." Below 
 are black stockings and espargots. A short coat 
 cut like an Eton jacket comes down to the " faja " 
 encircling the waist. The faja does not exist in 
 Vascongadas ; to the south of Navarra it appears as 
 a heavy waistband, and it grows more extravagantly 
 large as one journeys east and south. I have 
 measured one thirty-six feet in length, and it may 
 not be the largest I have seen. 
 
 The faja is the Spaniard's pocket. In it he carries 
 all his treasures. I have seen men in the markets 
 going round with a complete sample of the season's 
 produce grains, fruits, and vegetables all rolled up 
 in the folds of their fajas. It also holds his smoking 
 requisites and usually a 2O-inch "navaja" (blade). 
 The " Spanish blade " is a bogey. It is a big pocket- 
 knife, nothing more. Rest assured the Spaniard 
 dreads the knife more than we do ! I have lived with 
 my fellow-countrymen on more than one continent, 
 and I am ready to maintain that the Spaniard fears 
 strife and is far slower to enter into it than the 
 average Englishman. True, the blade is his weapon 
 of defence as much to-day as ever it was, but he is 
 not led to take action without cause, and the best of 
 all proofs of his harmlessness is the extreme order- 
 liness of every Spanish crowd. There is a peculiar 
 
58 AKRAGON. [Cn. 
 
 hardness in the character of many Spaniards, but 
 take them all round I believe they are as humane 
 as any other men. I cannot believe England fault- 
 less and the rest of the world so much dirt. The 
 Spaniard is as much my brother as any man 
 alive, and so far as I see manliness in him I will 
 proclaim it. Don't tell me I am dreaming. I of all 
 men am testing his worth. I am asking him for 
 crumbs and he invites me to share his feast ! 
 
 But Spain is an enormous country, and its people 
 are not to be summed up in a single sentence. Each 
 province, nay, each hill, each valley has its own 
 peculiar stamp : one must always be local if one 
 would be true to its people. Climate is all- 
 powerful in the development of national customs. 
 If England shared the geographical situation of 
 Spain, mules would draw her burdens instead of 
 horses, bull-fights might take the place of horse- 
 racing, and the pleasures of the fireside would be 
 lost in the enjoyment of open-air life. 
 
 The mules of Arragon are the finest in the world. 
 They are bred to suit the climate, and the splendid 
 work they do proves that they are not bred in vain. 
 They are of immense size and splendidly propor- 
 tioned. 
 
 The valley of the Ebro grew wider and greener 
 and more luxuriant as I journeyed onward. Fruits 
 
IV.] THE JALON. 59 
 
 were in abundance. Vast areas are planted with 
 grapes, pears, and plums. Clumps of olive trees of 
 enormous size (some trunks are five feet in diameter) 
 vary the landscape, and rock and water melons are 
 too common to be noticed. 
 
 I passed through Alagon, a busy though antiquated 
 town. Thousands of tons of wheat were stacked round 
 it, and at every turn quantities of fruit met the eye. 
 
 But I was still a tramp, and few of these things 
 were for me. I took a peep at a queer old church 
 with a leaning tower, and got the benefit of a little 
 cool shade in a convent which was once a mosque. 
 The old dome is still in very good repair, decked 
 out in pantiles of very varied colours. A little 
 way beyond Alagon I crossed the Jalon, a blood- 
 red babbling stream, hurrying along a rocky bed 
 to mingle with the Ebro and change its green flood 
 into a creamy hue. 
 
 I slept that night in a miserable posada at Las 
 Caselas, and rising early the next morning I soon 
 came in sight of the tall towers of Zaragoza. I could 
 only discern one chimney, but it was evident that I 
 was nearing a great city. 
 
 The air was as clear and pure over the distant 
 town as that I was breathing on the country road. 
 " Smoke spells money," is the commercial man's cry, 
 but how much misery and discomfort does it bring 
 
60 ARRAGON. [Cn. IV. 
 
 with it ! I had grown very footsore and way -weary ; 
 but thoughts of a speedy rest (a tramp's supreme joy) 
 cheered me till I reached the Puerta de Pamplona, 
 and a new world revealed itself to me. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 ARRAGON (continued). 
 
 IN ZARAGOZA. STATUE OF PIGNATELLI. THE THEATRE. THE 
 CATHEDRAL OF THE HOLY FAMILY. THE TOWN HALL. " AT 
 THE FOOT OF THE TOWER." THE VIRGIN AND THE PILLAR. 
 GOYA AND HIS WORK. THE LIFE OF THE SPANISH ACTOR. 
 THE MOONLIGHT PROMENADE. AM I A PENITENT? 
 
 T ENTERED Zaragoza at midday, with the ther- 
 ** mometer standing, or rather jumping, at 140 in 
 the sun. The place looked like a tropical city with 
 its yards of drapery sighing and flapping over all the 
 house fronts, and its glaring atmosphere. 
 
 My first impression was of a vast barrack, for I saw 
 nothing but soldiers and soldiers' quarters. With the 
 exception of a fruit barrow and its owner, there was 
 no sign of business or a civilian. It was evident that 
 the inhabitants did not care for the sun. After a 
 time I got away from the soldiers' quarters, and 
 wandered through a maze of narrow streets which led 
 on towards the great towers of La Leo and the Holy 
 Pillar. I pulled up at the Engracia, the finest street 
 
 61 
 
62 ARRAGON. [Cn. 
 
 or boulevard I had as yet seen in Spain. The pro- 
 menade is fully two hundred feet wide. The margins 
 are planted with trees and flowers. Fountains, kiosks, 
 bath and sedan chairs are placed at intervals, and 
 trams run on either side. The surrounding houses 
 are high and well built. The best shops and cafes are 
 under a fine colonnade about three hundred yards in 
 length. 
 
 I took but a momentary glance at this fine 
 street, and then turned towards a more modest 
 quarter in search of an hotel. 
 
 A young fellow seeing me looking about offered to 
 show me to a posada. He was a genial young man. 
 There was nothing of the " don't intend to " about him. 
 He bowed to and understood all my wants. He intro- 
 duced me to the fat landlord as though I were a poor 
 child who had lost its way. He pointed to my feet 
 to indicate that I was weary, and asked to be shown 
 to a room at once. It was a decent little place with 
 two beds. I sat down on one, my guide and mentor 
 on the other. Then I had a wash and shave, dusted 
 my clothes, got out my best things and put on all my 
 feathers. My companion complimented me on my 
 improved appearance. Then he handled my belong- 
 ings, combed and brushed his hair with my articles, 
 wiped his face on my towel, and set himself down 
 again and looked smug ! 
 
V.] THE PLAZA DE LA LEO. 63 
 
 I wanted to go out ; but I wanted to go alone. 
 I asked my mentor if he would like a glass of 
 wine. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Well, then, here's twenty cents." 
 
 All his kindly smiles vanished. He looked at me 
 as though I were a toad. " Give me a peseta and I 
 will go," he said. 
 
 No doubt ! I found it necessary to show my little 
 temper, and after we had squandered a few words 
 over each other, he took himself off. 
 
 I had no reason to complain of my Zaragoza home.' 
 It stood in the plaza of La Leo. Cleanliness and 
 good breeding were all around, although I was very 
 second class. I had a live marquis for a near neigh- 
 bour, and the bishop's palace was just over the way. 
 The square was very picturesque, shaded by trees and 
 bright with flower beds, and rockeries covered with 
 showy creepers. In the centre stood " Our Good 
 Lady," pouring water from a real pitcher. Being a 
 woman of importance she stands far off from the 
 crowd, who gather round her all day long. 
 
 In the midst of a large circular pool she holds her 
 pitcher of clay, and pours an everlasting stream into 
 the long metal pipes which women and girls carry to 
 the fountain to conduct the water from the pitcher's 
 mouth to their own stone jars. By this system the 
 
64 ARRAGON. [Cn. 
 
 water can never be polluted by mischievous or dirty 
 people. 
 
 It was too hot for sight-seeing to afford any 
 pleasure, but I had no time to lose. I visited the 
 Cafe " Ambos Mundos," said to be the largest in the 
 world (which really means the world of Zaragoza). 
 The saloon, which is splendidly fitted up and lighted 
 by electricity, is two hundred and fifty by two hun- 
 dred feet. It is a marvellous place, and, what is still 
 more marvellous, it pays. Although a cup of coffee 
 usually costs fivepence in the cheapest house, here,, 
 in this gorgeous saloon, you can get one beautifully 
 served for twopence halfpenny. A little farther 
 on, the Engracia opened out on a circle of prettily 
 decorated houses surrounded by gardens filled with 
 the choicest flowers. The scene resembles the view 
 from the Arc de Triomphe looking towards the 
 Champs Elysees, but instead of the Arc rises the 
 colossal statue in bronze of Pignatelli, Bishop of 
 Zaragoza, author and giver of the Imperial Canal. 
 
 My Lord Bishop, I beg to tender you my humble 
 but sincere respects. I beg you to regard me,, 
 although a heretic and an alien, as a profound 
 admirer of your genius. I have had cause to thank 
 you a hundred times for the cool draughts I have 
 taken from the flood of your creation, for the sweet,, 
 luscious fruits which are the work of your great 
 
V.] PIGNATELLI'S STATUE. 65 
 
 hand, for the green foliage that has shaded my path, 
 and for the cool air that has fanned my brow. 
 For these and for the great blessing you have 
 bestowed upon my fellow-man receive my hearty 
 thanks. 
 
 Pignatelli's face resembles that of George III., 
 but I fancy that his brain must have been of another 
 quality ! 
 
 Zaragoza does not forget its benefactor. The 
 centenary of his death was celebrated last month 
 (June, 1893), and tons of wreaths and offerings lie 
 round the base of the column. Theatres, pleasure 
 grounds, cafes, and people of both sexes are named 
 after the great man. 
 
 Just beyond the statue of Pignatelli is the outer 
 boulevard the playground of the children of Zara- 
 goza, where mimic bull-fights, exhibitions, and 
 Spanish games take place. As I was in search of 
 a familiar feature, I made for Pignatelli's theatre, 
 and asked to see it. The door-keeper told the actors 
 that " a pilgrim was at the gates," and the principal 
 comedian came out to see me. He could speak 
 English, and being a genial soul he showed me over 
 the fine theatre, and introduced me to his chums to 
 fascinating Senora Romera, the prima donna, and to 
 the artist actor Enrique Lacasa, who could do better 
 things in a better town than Zaragoza ; and then a 
 
 5 
 
66 ARRAGON [Cn. 
 
 large party proceeded to show me round the town. 
 Ambrosio Rusti, my first friend, acted as interpreter. 
 He led me through scores of streets, some fashionable 
 and beautiful, others dreary and unclean, to the great 
 cathedral of the Holy Family a most impressive 
 shrine. The building is nearly square, and its vast 
 groined and fluted roof rests on twenty massive 
 columns a hundred feet high, with bold basements 
 of black, brown, and grey marble. It made one feel 
 rich, and glad to be alive, only to see such splendid pro- 
 portions. The marble floor shows mosaics of rosettes 
 and wheels representing the traced roof. There 
 is not a particle of stained glass in all the building, 
 and it does not seem to need it. Pictures cover the 
 walls. One large one, which might be called the 
 " offering of the firstfruits," as it represents the pre- 
 sentation of children, and flowers, and other earthly 
 glories, is a perfect gem. The grand altar has stalls 
 like those in Henry VII.'s Chapel at Westminster, 
 and the choir also resembles our Abbey, although 
 Zaragoza strikes me as larger and richer in materials 
 of art. The books in use are four feet by three, and 
 weigh each one hundred and fifty pounds. 
 
 The deep Gothic doorways show traceries in 
 stucco and carved marble which are a delight to the 
 eye. The wood carving is also very fine, and the 
 shining brass which is everywhere displayed fairly 
 
V.] THE CATHEDRAL OF THE HOLY FAMILY. 67 
 
 dazzles one. There is enough solid brass in this 
 cathedral to make a flat candlestick for all the people 
 in the world, and perhaps enough to spare to make 
 its presence felt here. Some spiral columns of rich 
 black marble are rare and very beautiful. Four of 
 these support a canopy of hand-wrought and chased 
 brass, which displays such an amount of fine work- 
 manship that one feels it must have taken centuries 
 of time and men to develope it. There is an altar 
 (one of about twenty-four), of mottled alabaster, 
 with an altar cloth bearing a fringe and a device of 
 flowers and Crusaders' armour, all of solid gold. A 
 few feet off and one feels that that cloth could be 
 taken off and shaken ; but it is not to be done. It 
 is a solid, immovable thing. Many visitors come to 
 this shrine. Pilgrims hold it dear ; and though they 
 suffer by the way, they think they have the best of 
 the bargain when they kneel within its walls. As 
 for me, I felt I was becoming Catholic to the core ! 
 I had found no romantic castles as yet, but I should 
 never tire of Spain so long as the Church doors 
 stand open. 
 
 My friends had some reverence but little admi- 
 ration for the old place. They took me off next to 
 see the palace of a former Infanta of Arragon. It 
 was not unlike a fifteenth-century English mansion, 
 although the arabesques, and Greek and Moorish 
 
68 ARRAGON. [Cn. 
 
 " plaques " around its entrance hall looked foreign 
 to my eyes. The house stands in a back street, and 
 is valued for its associations rather than for its 
 beauty. 
 
 We went to the Lonja (Town Hall), a big, richly- 
 decorated building. Here the Mayor, representing 
 the infant King of Spain, sits and draws the black 
 and white tickets which decide the fate of the con- 
 script. There are scores of colossal effigies with 
 highly-painted faces and wickerwork bodies ranged 
 along one side of the hall. These are the property 
 of the city, and are used to delight and terrify the 
 children at feast-time. They are dressed in the 
 costume of all ages, and men get inside the wicker 
 bodies and run up and down the streets after the 
 children, carrying gifts in one hand and weapons of 
 castigation in the other, so that the pursued child 
 never knows whether he is going to get a handful of 
 sweetmeats or a whipping. The discovery of this 
 time-honoured custom was pleasing, but I soon made 
 one of more importance. 
 
 When the Moors held Zaragoza they beautified 
 it in a wonderful way. Amongst other things they 
 erected a high tower, and put in it a brass bell made 
 in Fez. In dangerous times this bell was rung and 
 the people gathered to receive their arms, and be 
 marshalled for action. " At the foot of the tower " is 
 
V.] "AT THE FOOT OF THE TOWER." 69 
 
 a phrase which to this day means ready to fight. 
 Seven centuries (in 8) have slipped away since any 
 Moorish foot pressed the dust of Zaragoza, but the 
 tower (rebuilt in 1 504) stood till a few years ago, when 
 by common consent it was pulled down. Only the 
 old brass bell laughed at the Master Time, and being 
 a thing of beauty, the Spaniards decided to preserve 
 it, and it is now resting and waiting for a new term 
 of service in the Town Hall. It is about four feet 
 high, and three across the mouth, chased at both 
 ends with Moorish emblems of peace and war. 
 
 We visited the great church of " The Virgin of the 
 Pillar," and saw the paintings and frescoes of Goya. 
 The church is almost a little town hundreds of feet 
 long, and nearly as many wide and high. It has 
 domes and vaulted roofs, and sky-piercing cupolas to 
 the number of twenty-four, and within their vast and 
 airy depths Goya has displayed the wonderful virtues 
 of his brush. 
 
 What I admire about this great master is that he 
 brings his subjects so close to the spectator. He can 
 represent every type of man, woman, and child, and 
 he has a marvellous way of contrasting effects of light 
 and shade. You feel the hot rays of his sun and 
 the damp chill of his dull days as you look at the 
 little worlds he has made. 
 
 A black eagle with an outstretched wing looks 
 
70 ARRAGON. [CH. 
 
 down from one frescoed dome. It is a wonderful 
 bird ! It terrifies and maddens you, and you want to 
 get out of its way. It is not just so much paint on 
 hard stone : it is a living, greedy thing which is about 
 to swoop down and fix its talons in your flesh. 
 Goya's frescoes remind one of the " Judgment " in the 
 Sistine Chapel, and yet there is a great difference. 
 The " Judgment " is heavy and cold Goya's terrestrial 
 and celestial worlds are animate and warm. The skin 
 of his children and cherubs is full of budding life, 
 and what is more, they look and rest and play as 
 real children do. Nor does he give to his base 
 characters the grim smile and black upper lip of a 
 Judas. His men and women are such as we see 
 in every-day life. There is one allegorical figure, 
 high up in a vault of light, with a wand in her 
 outstretched hand. A blue cloud gathered round 
 her shoulders falls off into other tints about the 
 lower limbs. It is a lovely human figure, but that 
 remnant of a garment deifies and glorifies it. There 
 are some domes under which you fear to stand lest 
 those great giant rocks and rushing rivers and 
 thunder-clouds should break upon your head. In 
 the great central dome Goya has depicted wonderful 
 groups of human forms which you see through a 
 cunningly wrought gossamer-like cloud of ethereal 
 blue. You can imagine nothing more natural up 
 
V.] GOYA'S PAINTINGS. 71 
 
 the great height. Goya is numbered with the great 
 dead, but the work of his hands is safe to last long 
 in old Spain. 
 
 I went again and again to visit this church. It 
 took me out of myself, and I seemed to be sharing 
 the life of the blest. There, I was far away from 
 long pilgrimages and dusty roads, from the need of 
 beggars' crusts and fear of yelping, growling curs 
 who drove me from out the streets and obtained 
 a smile from their masters for the service. 
 
 At the Church of the Pillar I could rest. It is 
 the holy of holies, and I lived. I did not want to 
 crane my neck into a black cavern to kiss a dirty 
 stone which has a hole deep enough to put a loaf 
 of bread in, worn by the pressure of believing lips. 
 Nor did I wish to feast my eyes on the three hundred 
 odd robes which adorn the image of the Virgin, or 
 to gloat over the million pounds' worth of gaudy 
 jewels which decorate her person. Rest is the 
 tramp's luxury, and I found it here. Outside, the 
 church looks poor enough. The children and the 
 elements have wormed holes deep enough to sit in 
 along one side fronting a well-decorated square. 
 The legend of the pillar is old and tame. " Our 
 Lady " is said to have appeared to St. James stand- 
 ing on a jasper pillar, and she commanded him to 
 build a church on the spot. He obeyed her, and 
 
72 ARRAGON. [Cn. 
 
 to-day it is one of the most popular shrines in 
 Spain. 
 
 Foreigners who know anything about the English 
 always expect them to be " warm " on the subject 
 of beer. My friends of the sock and buskin took 
 me to a cafe where we drank the cool draught so 
 dear to Britishers. Then we rambled on through 
 streets like those of Naples and "old England," 
 where the light is shut out by overhanging roofs and 
 " parquets," and the sheet or counterpane stretches 
 as a sunshade from narrow balcony to balcony. We 
 got into little noisy squares and irregular spaces 
 where life seemed to be equally irregular ; we entered 
 wine shops where " swells " were taking wine side 
 by side with dirty, unkempt women, who brawled 
 and wrangled about giving two or three " perras 
 chica " (halfpennies) for a few beans or green 
 vegetables. For wine shops, greengrocers, oil sellers, 
 and fish vendors are generally enrolled as one busi- 
 ness in the north of Spain. 
 
 This was a varied day. In the morning I had 
 entered Zaragoza as a tramp ; in the evening I was 
 launched in the world of society. Only those who 
 have been tramps know how delightful it is not to 
 be one. 
 
 In the evening I shared a box at the summer 
 theatre. These summer theatres are very pretty and 
 
V.] ACTORS AND ACTING. 73 
 
 comfortable. The dress circle is on a level with the 
 stage. The ladies do not wear ordinary evening 
 dress, but something of the " tea gown " order, an 
 abundance of white lace, and far too much powder. 
 
 Not a man in the house was in evening dress ; 
 consequently, I was not out of order. I am an oddly 
 dressed stranger, nothing more. My " tramp " life 
 has not so far impressed me as to make me look 
 like one. The Spanish actors can act ! So can the 
 singers which is a rarity. They work frightfully 
 hard. 
 
 The strolling players' day is from ten in the morn- 
 ing till one o'clock (after midnight), when the curtain 
 is finally rung down. The play begins at nine, and 
 runs four hours. The first " call " is at ten, and with 
 a break of a few minutes for refreshments, they run 
 on with the thing in hand and " coming attractions " 
 till five or six in the evening. In this climate such 
 work is killing. No wonder that the Spanish actor 
 is pale and thin. 
 
 Little attention is paid to appearance so long as 
 a man can sing or act. I saw some truly wretched 
 objects in the chorus, but their music was excellent. 
 It was half-past two when 1 reached my posada in 
 the Plaza del Leo. An old-fashioned night watch- 
 man with his bunch of keys, lantern, and pike let 
 me in, and I was glad to sink upon my truckle bed. 
 
74 ARRAGON. [CH. 
 
 I spent the following day wandering up and down 
 the streets and looking into the shop windows, full 
 of glorious representations of the Virgin of the 
 Pillar. They are of all materials, some of fine 
 bronze, some of silver and gold studded with real 
 gems. 
 
 There is quite a commercial side to this myth ; 
 it practically keeps Zaragoza alive ; but I am glad it 
 exists. We should be without the frescoes of Goya 
 were it not for the church and its legend. 
 
 At night I sat in the moonlight under the shadow 
 of the statue of Pignatelli, and heard the bee-like 
 hum of the throng of promenaders in the Engracia. 
 Half Zaragoza which means fifty thousand persons- 
 must have been there. Beggars were numerous, and 
 so were fine women, many almost giantesses, with 
 rich luscious faces, spoilt, alas ! with powder. No 
 hats or bonnets were to be seen, only a mantilla 
 of black- or cream-coloured lace, and a fan or sun- 
 shade. Hats are worn at the theatres and cafes. 
 
 A belt of sweet flowers and shrubs made my 
 position a pleasant one, and I lingered long. Men 
 and women moving about the throng of strollers 
 were vending cold water and lemon juice from clay 
 pitchers and jars. 
 
 Cigarettes, lights, and a thousand odds and ends 
 were hawked for sale. Music was in the air. A 
 
V.] A MOONLIGHT PROMENADE. 75 
 
 score of string bands were playing within and without 
 the cafes. On one programme I saw selections from 
 Chopin, Weber, Liszt, Verdi, and other famed names, 
 and it seemed that the " common people " have a 
 good wholesome love for the best pieces. 
 
 There is little colour in these northern crowds. 
 Doubtless the church is the cause of so much sober 
 black. 
 
 Home once more, I held a conversation with 
 a pretty waiting maid, who enlightened me on a 
 point which had perplexed me all along the road. 
 
 I have been asked over and over again a question 
 which I could not understand. This girl's eyes speak, 
 and I can understand her. She wants to know if 
 I am walking round the world as a penitent ! No, 
 no, pretty one, I am not such a clown. She tells me 
 (with those eyes of hers) that penitents come here 
 in sad plights. They come with snuff-brown cloaks 
 and cowls, with wide green collars overlaid with 
 shells, with huge holy-wood crosses and calabash 
 (melon) water-bottles, with heavy rosaries dangling 
 from a rope girdle, with a tinsel nimbus round their 
 shaggy locks, and Moorish sandals on their bare and 
 blistered feet. They sing Ave Marias and woful dirges 
 by the wayside, they bless those who give and curse 
 those who don't, and their sole companion is a wolf- 
 like hound which protects them as they sleep. I made 
 
76 ARRAGON. [Cn. V. 
 
 it quite clear to the pretty little waitress that I was 
 no penitent, and she went away satisfied. 
 
 Before bidding farewell to Zaragoza may I say a 
 word on the all-important subject of eating and 
 drinking ? At midday the inhabitants break their fast 
 with a meal of six, eight, or ten courses, according 
 to their means and physical carrying capacity. Here 
 is a sample of how I fared in Zaragoza. Soup ; 
 salad, fairly floating in oil ; vegetables with a highly 
 seasoned sauce ; " garvanzos " ; butter beans and a 
 suspicion of garlic eaten with sippets of toast 
 instead of spoons ; sliced tomatoes, cucumbers, and 
 onion ; boiled mutton and forcemeat ; stewed beef ; 
 roast fowl ; and grilled bacon. After which dessert of 
 all the fruits in season. Then ten minutes' rest and 
 a small glass of coffee. It is an odd mixture, things 
 hot and cold by turns ; but it results in far less indi- 
 gestion than the heavy, lumpy dishes of England. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ARKAGON (continued^. 
 
 LA ALMUNIA DE DONA GODINA. DOORLESS CHURCHES. ST. lAGO'S 
 DAY. A TERRIBLE JOURNEY. THE TAILOR OF SABINAN : 
 " THE MAIDEN'S BELL." CALATAYUD. A GEOLOGICAL 
 PICTURE. THE JALON'S BANKS. THE BATHS OF ALHAMA. 
 ARIZA. MY IMPRESSIONS OF ARRAGON. 
 
 T T is a broad but truthful saying that " after the 
 -* Lord Mayor's show comes a dung cart." I went 
 out of Zaragoza smoking a bad cigar and making a 
 great show, for a notice of my journey which had 
 appeared in the morning paper made me the topic 
 of the hour, and many came to the Theatre Pignatelli 
 to see me set off on my walk of two hundred miles. 
 Here I was a " lion " and a hero. Six hours later I 
 arrived at La Muela (fourteen miles), with my tongue 
 hanging out, for I had done the last eight miles 
 without a drink, and the final four was a stiff uphill 
 climb. 
 
 But I struck gold at La Muela ! It was ten o'clock 
 on a Saturday night when I got into the little stone- 
 built and ugly village, which for a wonder was full 
 
 77 
 
78 ARRAGON. [Cn. 
 
 of good-looking and very tidy women. I may here 
 mention that the habit of open-air hair-dressing 
 affords ample opportunity for the study of female 
 charms. No Spanish woman dresses her own hair; 
 neighbours do this office for each other. About twice 
 a week the plaits are uncoiled and combed, moistened 
 with oil and spittle (I must write of things as I find 
 them), and re-arranged in the presence of village 
 gossips. 1 called on the alcalde, and my newspaper 
 report of the morning hit him hard. He was enter- 
 taining some of his friends, and he entertained me 
 right royally, and then sent me for the night to a 
 posada. I had a good bed on the floor with two 
 razor grinders, and the next morning got a couple 
 of eggs whipped up with tomatoes, vinegar, and oil 
 the lot fried together. It was not bad. I am getting 
 used to the olive in any form ; I can tackle him and 
 his oil like a native. 
 
 While eating I watched my hostess cook her own 
 morning meal. She poured a cup of olive oil into a 
 frying-pan, filled it with sliced potatoes and about 
 two inches of raw salt sausage. Then she stirred and 
 turned and agitated the poor little sausage until he 
 had lost his wind and went to pieces against the 
 edges of the browning wafers. I call this economy. 
 Enough potatoes for a dozen people, and a sus- 
 picion, a flavouring of sausage over it all. 
 
VI.] THE "FAMOUS TRAVELLER." 79 
 
 On the following morning I gave the woman my 
 best thanks, conferred my blessing on the entire 
 community of La Muela, and shouldered my bundle. 
 My journey to La Almunia under a scorching 
 sun was not a pleasant one, and how glad I was 
 to break the back of that one hundred and eighty 
 miles, which looked so endless written in kilometres ! 
 I wish they wouldn't mark the distances to such 
 far towns ! It quite sickens a poor tramp when he 
 remembers how long one kilo, (a thousand yards) is 
 in such a hot, dry land as this. Thousands of acres 
 of half-ripe grapes afforded me some sustenance, or 
 it would have gone hard with me. My fame had 
 preceded me. I was stopped by the gate-keepers of 
 Almunia, and asked if I was not the famous traveller \ 
 I owned to being that unfortunate, and a crowd 
 gathered at once. I was given bread and wine, and 
 received the usual compliments, after which I went 
 in search of the alcalde. 
 
 I found him sucking sweet juices through a straw 
 in the principal cafe. He was a generous soul, and 
 at once gave me an order for a bed within the arch 
 of the Puerta de Calatayud. 
 
 I washed in the street under the public eye, and 
 was followed to my crib in the arch by a crowd of 
 noisy children, who are now beginning to follow me 
 as they did the Pied Piper of Hamelin ! I had to 
 
80 ARRAGON. [Cn. 
 
 endure being stared at, and talked at, and laughed 
 at, and fairly mobbed. Such are the penalties 
 attached to fame ! 
 
 I went to the principal church a rich old place 
 crammed with curious relics (among the latter was 
 a large pig with a bell round its neck !). The stucco 
 ceiling is lovely white floral tracery on a pale green 
 ground lined with gold. A funeral dirge was being 
 chanted for some poor departed, lying under a pall 
 bearing a skull and cross-bones in white satin. The 
 choir was composed of only four singers, yet they 
 filled the large building with beautiful sounds. The 
 women mourners wore ordinary print dresses with 
 little black cowls on their heads, and the men, in 
 their everyday working clothes, carried three-caped 
 cloaks over their shoulders. The four priests were 
 gorgeous in black and gold, over white lace ; the 
 acolytes in cardinal and white, with their chalices 
 and lamps adorned with emerald-green ribbons. La 
 Almunia is a very old-fashioned place. The city is 
 surrounded by a wall and ditch, both in perfect 
 condition. The " Consumes " is exacted on all who 
 take anything in or out of the town, and the general 
 laws and customs are such as were framed nine 
 hundred years ago. The Jalon flows near, and its 
 waters are drawn off to irrigate the few miles of 
 flat country lying round the town. I fancy that 
 
VI.] A FELLOW TRAMP. 8 1 
 
 the majority of the inhabitants of La Almunia imagine 
 the outlying hills to constitute the boundary of the 
 world. 
 
 I was quite a curiosity, for very few had seen an 
 Englishman. The children amused me by wanting 
 to touch me, and yet they were afraid to do so. 
 Spanish children are timid though far from shy. 
 The grown people have a great opinion of British 
 pluck, and showed me how they admire our fighting 
 with our fists. We are the only nation in the world 
 who do so : is it not a significant fact ? 
 
 I was told it was but a six hours' walk to 
 Calatayud. I walked all day and made perhaps a 
 third of the distance ! One continuous climb over 
 rugged hills, their summits bare, their sides clothed 
 with grape vines, and in the gullies olive trees. 
 There are a good many rivers on the map of Spain, 
 but these courses are in reality dry, scorching hollows, 
 carrying no more than the drainings of a thunderstorm 
 or the thaw of winter snow. 
 
 I was not alone. I fell in with a fellow-tramp 
 who would stick to me with the tenacity of a limpet. 
 He too was journeying towards Madrid, and was 
 rejoiced to find a companion. Under other con- 
 ditions I might have welcomed him, for he was a 
 strange character : a German-Swiss, a graduate of 
 Bonn, and a master of five living and the Greek and 
 
 6 
 
82 ARRAGON. [Cn. 
 
 Latin languages. He owned to being a ne'er-do- 
 well, with a weakness for making religious poetry 
 which no one would buy, and for visiting shrines and 
 monasteries ; though with all this display of goodness 
 he could swear excellently at everything in Spain. 
 For a while I enjoyed him, but as I had work to 
 do I wanted to be rid of him. I loitered by the 
 way, and he ditto ; I brushed along, and the pace 
 suited him admirably. I decided to steal some 
 grapes, and he admitted it to be his favourite crime. 
 In short, he " intends to " all my ways. At last I told 
 him plainly that I had work to do and must go my 
 way alone ; but all that day he hung leech-like at 
 my heels till we arrived at the village of El Frazno, 
 where I was able to bid him farewell. It was just 
 growing dark, and every dirty house reminded me 
 of Renteria. That town is always on my mind when 
 night comes on and I am unprovided with a bed. 
 
 I was directed to the hospital, but after an expe- 
 rience which well-nigh rivalled my first night in 
 Spain, I cleared out, and found very pleasant 
 quarters at a posada. Here I got a chaff bed in 
 a clean stable for three sous, and for three more I 
 had a basin of oil broth and a glass of wine. The 
 local doctor and some of his friends came in, and the 
 balance of the early night went quickly over more 
 wine and talk about many interesting things. 
 
VI] A SUBSTANTIAL ENIGMA. 83 
 
 El Frazno is not marked on the map, but it ought 
 to be, for it has more crooked streets, ugly houses, 
 meaningless walls and angles, and quaint pavings, 
 than any other place of its size in all Arragon. 
 Furthermore, it has two churches, which are the most 
 substantial enigmas I have yet encountered. 
 
 I have been round both these churches three 
 times, and nowhere could I find an entrance to either 
 of them. About forty women drove me off with 
 broomsticks and donkey and mule collars, as I put 
 my foot inside of what I at last felt sure must be 
 the church door. But no ! Both churches are on 
 eminences, and all around them cottages and mud 
 cabins are jammed together and packed into an 
 indistinguishable mass. I have not seen the interiors 
 of the churches of El Frazno I have not yet found 
 their doors ! 
 
 The public fountain and bathing pool is in the 
 plaza, and before six in the morning dozens of 
 mothers and big sisters were there with their skirts 
 gathered round their waists engaged in washing the 
 entire juvenile population of the place. Hundreds 
 of men of all ages and types loitered round or sat 
 about the sides of the square. They were dressed in 
 knickerbockers of brown leather, of black velvet 
 and plush, of blue corduroy and coloured canvas ; 
 yellow kerchiefs tied like " Billingsgate rings " round 
 
84 ARRAGON. [Cn. 
 
 their heads ; dirty-fronted but fancifully frilled shirts ; 
 velvet waistcoats with the backs " flowered," or demi- 
 blouses of blue ; blue and white stockings over their 
 long legs, and " espargots " or leather sandals on their 
 feet. The general effect of this varied dress was 
 strikingly picturesque. This is a strange place, into 
 which no trace of " modern civilisation " has yet 
 found its way. At the posada I saw some fine old 
 brass and copper ware circular, flat, and oval dishes 
 with loose brass handles ; curiously shaped and chased 
 drinking cups, a singularly formed brass lamp, and 
 a Moorish bronze pestle and mortar. There were 
 also some beautiful plates with perpendicular sides, 
 and a fine white china bowl with blue shamrocks 
 thrown over it. 
 
 There is no fuel in this region. The people make 
 their little fires entirely of olive and vine prunings, 
 and such bits of scrub and heather as they can gather 
 from the surrounding hills. In winter it is very cold, 
 and life must be hard indeed. 
 
 I set off in the company of a pleasant young 
 fellow who was journeying towards Calatayud. It 
 was July 25th, St. lago's Day (which accounted for 
 all the scrubbing I had witnessed on the plaza of 
 El Frazno), and big feasts were going on in the great 
 towns, causing great talk of them in the little ones 
 and pueblos. We had a terrible journey over barren 
 
VI.] FEAST TIME. 85 
 
 hills, sweetened here and there with the scent of 
 lavender and other herbs growing in the adjacent 
 valleys. 
 
 The sun literally burnt our skin, and we were ready 
 to faint from the intense heat. Towards evening we 
 got our first drink and sighted Parracuellos. It was 
 in its best clothes ; still it did not look well. It is an 
 odd mixture of mud-houses, narrow, alley-like streets, 
 and fig-trees boxed up together on the spur of a 
 giant hill. The Jalon flows at its foot, and orchards 
 and gardens flourish along the valley. As Parra- 
 cuellos extends no hospitality to wayfarers, who 
 rarely find their way to this remote spot, my com- 
 panion proposed that we should go to another village. 
 We wound along the river banks through orchards 
 of fruit, olives, and vines, and crossed scores of 'ducts 
 and flumes carrying water to the various plateaux. 
 It w? A s a rich, sweet, homely scene. 
 
 We met many pretty and neat-figured girls, who, 
 having nothing to " feast " on, were promenading in 
 threes and fours within the cool shade of the 
 orchards. 
 
 Sabinan was our place of refuge. Here my 
 companion had a friend the tailor of the village- 
 and we were well received and pressed to stay the 
 night. (I must own that I needed no pressing.) 
 
 The tailor was an old sportsman, and showed me 
 
86 ARRAGON. [Cn 
 
 his guns, dogs, ferrets, and pigeons with pride. He 
 had also some fine old red clay plates, cups and 
 basins enamelled with white and elegantly flowered 
 in Arabic and Spanish designs, and curious lamps 
 in iron, brass, and clay. I feel sure that his wine 
 skins and curious old bottles of glass, wood, clay, 
 and stone would be looked on at Christie's sale- 
 room by a crowd of envious eyes. Here they are 
 old and useless, nothing more. 
 
 It is the custom in this part of Spain when you 
 share a man's roof to pay for your fare and some- 
 times your host's as well ! My friend of the day 
 sent out for a sou's worth of potatoes, of tomatoes, 
 and little strips of salt cod-fish. These, cooked in 
 a large three-legged frying pan with some olive oil, 
 an onion, and a handful of herbs, made a big supper 
 for five of us. We ate from a big dish placed on 
 a stool. Wooden spoons and one knife served for 
 all, and a piece of bread was broken from in turn. 
 
 While we were supping my friend put up his hand 
 and signed me to listen. I did so, hearing for the 
 first and probably for the last time the sound of the 
 " Nina's Campanilla." It is one of the most ancient 
 customs in all Spain, and in the midst of all this 
 cobwebby bric-a-brac and primitiveness I found it 
 hard to persuade myself that I was an alien and 
 living in the nineteenth century. 
 
VI.J AN ANCIENT CUSTOM. 87 
 
 "LA NINA'S CAMPANILLA" ("THE 
 MAIDEN'S BELL"). 
 
 Many centuries ago, when the world had little 
 history but many witching legends and gruesome 
 tales, a tiny " nino," tired of play and tale, sat 
 nodding before the winter fire. His father and 
 mother pressed him to seek his bed, but in vain. 
 He feared the darkness of his solitary chamber, 
 which his fancy peopled with goblins and legendary 
 sprites. Deaf to his parents' voice, he sat dozing 
 and nodding on the hearth till, overcome by sleep, 
 he fell forward into the blazing fire. His wounds 
 were terrible, and when he rose from his sick bed 
 his sight was gone. Never more would he see the 
 sunshine or the flowers by sweet Jalon's brink. A 
 sad and sightless boy, he fretted his early years 
 away, and when his parents died he became a beggar- 
 man, wandering through the vale and begging a 
 pittance from door to door. The children learned to 
 fear him as the dead, for, in his blindness, he fumbled 
 round the doors and terrified the little heads he 
 touched with his outstretched hands. Hence the 
 blind beggar-man became a terror in Sabinan's Vale, 
 and children grew to fear their quiet beds. 
 
 Then the mothers of the valley met together and 
 sought a way to end this growing terror. The 
 form was this : the prettiest girls were called into 
 
88 ARRAGON. [Cn. 
 
 the plaza, and the mothers bade them choose a 
 " Campanilla " maiden for a year. She had to vow 
 that she would never fail, when evening came, to 
 leave play or feast, vesper or toil, to ring her 
 " Campanilla " through the vale and tell in sound 
 of every house the tale of him who bred such fears 
 in Sabinan. 
 
 The song was brief, for the maiden had to hasten 
 and repeat it often ere the sun went down : 
 
 " Children now to bed must go, 
 Or their lives be filled with woe." 
 
 And still to-day the maiden may be seen running 
 through the streets of Sabinan and ringing her little 
 silver bell. The scene is strange. Before her groups 
 and games and noisy shouts behind her silence ! 
 The little ones give but one shout, " The Nina 
 comes," and dart into their homes. No mortal, no 
 despot commands such calm as the mild maiden of 
 the bell. 
 
 What a long life is hers ! Seasons come and go, 
 but Campanilla is unchanged. Fierce wars and feuds 
 have raged within the vale ; the storms of centuries 
 and manifold disasters have all been centred there ; 
 illness and death have overtaken forty* generations 
 
 * It is recorded in Parracuellos that in the twelfth century a 
 silver bell was purchased for the Nina (por une aracion de la 
 noche), but the custom is believed to be much older. 
 
VI.] A HARD DAY. 89 
 
 of the world ; but Campanilla is a child through all. 
 Her voice will never cease till Sabinan itself is still. 
 
 This was a most delightful evening, and I took 
 leave of my simple friends the following morning 
 with real regret, for I knew I should behold their 
 cheery faces and curious little nest no more. 
 
 This day was a hard one. I said good-bye to 
 Sabinan and took another look at gloomy, fig-leaved 
 old Parracuellos. I tramped along green gullies and 
 bare hill-sides. I discovered and ransacked two or 
 three nameless pueblos. I scaled and elbowed my 
 way round mountain ledges which would have struck 
 terror into the marrows of any Swiss guide. I 
 crossed ten skeleton bridges swung high in air over 
 the Jalon, and found my way through the semi-dark- 
 ness of seven long tunnels. I begged and bought 
 and stole bread and wine and cucumbers and fruit 
 at lonely houses and from market-going girls. I sur- 
 vived the fury of a terrific thunderstorm, and found 
 safety and rest within the great church of Calatayud. 
 I looked up at its pure white plaster ceiling and dome, 
 with its throng of saints and flowers, till, tired of my 
 toils, I fell asleep in the main aisle, and was only 
 disturbed by a very masculine and unchristian kick 
 from the old verger. I called on the alcalde, who 
 gave me permission to occupy the lower floor of the 
 hospital, where I deposited my bundle and then 
 
90 ARRAGON. [CH. 
 
 marched round the old city. It is one of the dirtiest 
 yet most interesting of Old World towns. 
 
 I was assured that the castle which tops the near 
 hill is fifteen hundred years old, and that all Cala- 
 tayud is antique and beautiful. Both statements are 
 scarcely true, though I do not tell my informant so. 
 It is bad taste to wound any man's pride in his home 
 if he treats me well there. This man showed me wine 
 skins in the making ; chairs and u espargots," webbing, 
 brass, and iron ware are also made here. The "ninas" 
 (girls) make lace fit for queens to wear, and the 
 mothers and big sisters of these " ninas " were pretty 
 enough to make me wish to linger. Ah me ! I am a 
 tramp ! 
 
 I lounged in the market-place of Calatayud, with 
 its huge umbrella tents and half-naked women 
 perched under them, vending comestibles of all kinds ; 
 and, odd as it may seem for a tramp, I went shop- 
 ping ; buying of cooked fish, and white wine, and 
 " pan blando," and chocolate, and cucumber, and one 
 pear, all for the sum total of fourpence halfpenny. 
 
 Having eaten and drunk all these good things I 
 grew grumpy and moody, and fell to complaining at 
 the dulness and sameness of a vagabond's life ! I am a 
 mean, voracious creature. There is not a being in all 
 Spain getting more variety than I am, and yet I am 
 not satisfied. Doubtless I want rest I am off to bed. 
 
VI.] WOLVES versus PARASITES. 91 
 
 The foregoing paragraph was written at the close 
 of that day, and when I wrote " I am off to bed," 
 I thought that I should stay there for a few hours ; 
 but I was not equal to it. There is no doubt about 
 it, / am a tramp, and as such I am spurred to my 
 task and my misery at all hours. 
 
 I was in Bugtown Renteria the Second and all 
 the horrors of the former were around me. This den 
 below stairs was alive with every classified kind of 
 filth, so I made a move, though not without the 
 expenditure of bad language. It was nearly mid- 
 night, but I decided to clear out. 
 
 I was assured it was dangerous to take to the road, 
 as there are wolves in the hills round Calatayud. 
 But I was prepared to be attacked by forty wolves 
 rather than be eaten piecemeal by the brutes in the 
 disgusting hole I had left behind. 
 
 The streets were in total darkness, and it was 
 some time before I found my way out on to the 
 main road for Madrid. 
 
 I tramped for over six miles, and then, too tired 
 for further efforts, I turned into a hole by the 
 roadside. 
 
 The mosquitoes were abundant, and as I had 
 brought along a few of the parasites which had put 
 me to flight, I had a wretched night of it. At day- 
 break I moved ofT to a water-hole and got a refresh- 
 
92 ARRAGON. [Cn. 
 
 ing bath. Then I went on to the little pueblo of 
 La Terrer, where I breakfasted on a pint of wine 
 (price one halfpenny) and a crust of bread. 
 
 There is a singular geological picture at La Terrer. 
 A number of almost perfectly formed pyramids- 
 eleven in all rise to a height of about two hundred 
 feet. Five occupy one and five the other side of an 
 equilateral triangle, and the odd one forms the crown. 
 Standing at the base one sees what is probably one 
 of the most perfect curiosities in the geological 
 world. The composition is of hard yellow sandstone 
 penetrated by thin layers of clay, and the caps are 
 of alabaster. The scene is distinctly Egyptian. 
 
 From this spot I could look back on the accursed 
 town which drove me forth a lone pilgrim at mid- 
 night. There it stood far up the valley, its plaza 
 and principal streets on a plateau by the river, and 
 the other part of it in the hollow and slopes of a 
 rocky gorge. 
 
 Cliff dwellings, defensive walls, round towers, 
 bastions, and mimic fortresses are there by the score, 
 and, seen from a distance, the scene was a pretty one. 
 But you are a vile old place all the same, and were 
 incendiarism not a punishable crime, I could soon 
 have seen you smoking and in dust ! 
 
 After leaving Calatayud the country became less 
 poor. The hills are more moderate in height, and 
 
VI.] THE LAND OF THE VINE. 93 
 
 carry sufficient soil to admit of grape vin^s on their 
 summits. The land is still treeless (except in the 
 valleys), and there is but one water source the 
 Jalon and but one industry continually in sight ; it 
 is the vine, the vine, the vine league after league. I 
 travelled at a low level. The road crosses a railway, 
 and the railway crosses the road, and the red river 
 rushes under both a score of times in less than half 
 as many kilos, so the journey was not altogether dull. 
 Travellers by rail must get a very false impression 
 of the country, as nearly all the lines traverse river- 
 beds and watered valleys ; hence they see nothing of 
 the vast wastes which are everywhere away from 
 the railroads. 
 
 At midday I reached Ateca. A small river here 
 flows into the Jalon, and is locally known as the 
 Bouverca. Ateca, like all these riverside towns, is 
 dingy, tumble-down, and sleepy. It owns two de- 
 cidedly beautiful towers, built of thin Roman bricks. 
 One is octagonal, the other hexagonal, with curious 
 bell domes of blue tiles. The brickwork is covered 
 with fantastic designs, and the auditoriums have 
 crescent-shaped holes under the eaves instead of 
 windows. Both towers are far out of the perpen- 
 dicular, which adds to the antiquated appearance of 
 all around. I made for a chocolate agency, thinking 
 I might get a good packet of that article at a cheap 
 
94 ARRAGON. [Cn. 
 
 rate, but I was instantly met with two cents and 
 asked if I were a penitent. For pure devilment 
 I said, "Yes." "And why?" "Oh, I made merry 
 at the death of my mother-in-law, and the priest 
 got wind of it and ordered me a six months' tramp 
 in the wild districts of Spain." Poor devils, they 
 didn't understand a word of my explanation, but 
 they looked aghast (evidently believing I had com- 
 mitted some fearful crime), and pointed to the door. 
 I went off laughing, and they probably fell to telling 
 their beads, and thanking Mary for delivering them 
 from such bloody hands ! 
 
 Pear trees abound in this valley, and I ate pears 
 till I felt like one of the family. They are of all 
 classes, and grafted on quince stocks, to produce 
 hardihood, so all the fruit has a quincey flavour. It 
 is rather nice in one pear, but all quince and no pear 
 is calculated to pall on the palate, even though it be 
 a tramp's. 
 
 I drifted on to Bouverca, a tiny hamlet of mud- 
 huts, perched under a big rock beside the river. 
 Its aspect suggested parasites, so, though it was 
 growing late, I elected to go on to Alhama. 
 
 The air was sweet with the balmy herbs which 
 creep and hang about the cliffs by the roadside. 
 All the little river flats were green with garden stuff 
 and fruit trees, and Jack and Jenny donkeys, mules, 
 
VI.] ALHAMA: OLD AND NEW. 95 
 
 and goats were munching and feeding from heaps 
 of weeds which women and children were collecting 
 from between the growing crops. I got a piece 
 of bread and some tomatoes at a wayside house, 
 and, refreshed by the food, plodded on till Alhama 
 hove in sight. It looked exactly like the rest of the 
 towns I had seen an irregular pile of stone and 
 mud, with a crazy old tower or two, toppling, half 
 seas over, from its most out-of-the-way eminences. 
 Its appearance was not a bit cleaner than that of 
 the rest, and I could have wagered my only pair of 
 boots against a toothpick that there was not a white- 
 wash-, a paint-, a shoe-, or a tooth-brush in all the 
 town. Looking through a gap in the hills I could 
 see a kind of new Alhama, where houses are built 
 of stone and mortar and have glass windows and 
 clean doorways, and there is actually a little paint 
 to be seen. I could not understand this ; but I was 
 tired, and my thoughts were of the alcalde and the 
 largeness of his heart. I had been told on the road 
 that he was a " fine, fat man " ; but it was difficult to 
 believe that. I could not imagine a well-fed turtle- 
 eating mayor in this part of Spain. Rotundity is 
 no part of the country's needs. These northern 
 ofBcials meet to work, not to grow fat at the expense 
 of their poorer fellows. At least this is my candid 
 opinion, no matter how bad or ill they may treat 
 
96 ARRAGON. [Cn. 
 
 me. This alcalde was a rather stout man. He 
 read my references and exclaimed with a big oath 
 that mine was a remarkable freak ! He gave me 
 a penny and permission to sleep in the hospital. 
 
 At the hospital three women sent me under the 
 care of a sulky, frightened girl to a filthy hole up in 
 the cliffs, too disgusting for a Renterian pig to 
 camp in. But the alcalde said the " hospital," and 
 in the hospital I was determined to sleep. I told 
 the three women so till we wrangled and rowed 
 and swore at each other. 
 
 At last British determination overcame Spanish 
 churlishness, and I was granted a bed. I went to 
 sleep, supperless and hungry ; but I did not com- 
 plain, I had beaten those greedy women, and that 
 was feast enough for me. 
 
 There was no chance to wash in the house, 
 although it was a hospital, so next morning I went off 
 to modern Alhama. 
 
 A stream was rushing down over a steep rock. 
 The water was warm, nay, quite hot a big 
 thermal spring. I had a good bath and went on to 
 the Gardens of Arabe. 
 
 I was told by some one before leaving England 
 that 1 needed " a course of waters." I have been 
 taking that course ever since I came into Spain ! 
 I believe I have drunk hogsheads of the Nivelle, 
 
VI.] A COURSE OF WATERS. 97 
 
 the Orio, the Arga, the Arragon, the Ebro, and 
 Jalon, and now I had arrived at the bath of Spain, 
 the real old Roman, Moorish, Spanish baths of 
 Alhama. They are extensive, rich in alkalies, but 
 not beautiful. One Alfonso dipped here seven hun- 
 dred years ago, but where are the virtuous atoms 
 that touched his royal skin ? Perhaps crystal 
 fragments blocking Dr. Nansen's way to the North 
 Pole. 
 
 As a matter of fact, I did not feel any the better 
 for my bath in these remarkable waters. I felt 
 cleaner, nothing more ! I liked the great old- 
 fashioned ragstone baths, with three steps inside, all 
 cut out of a solid piece of stone. I liked the pools 
 of crystal water and the beautiful kiosks built by 
 the Moors. But I cannot echo the words of the 
 local guide that Alhama is " that other Eden demi- 
 Paradise ; " for the ancient lake is now a muddy 
 swamp, and the " forest " is but a break of two acres 
 of silver poplars and trembling aspens. You must 
 be a Spaniard from the bare hills before you can 
 realise that this is a " wood " and a lovely place. 
 
 I went on to Cetina, where I digested its castle 
 and a few bits of bread which I had picked up on the 
 road. I sat within the shade of the castle walls ! 
 Oh, yes ! it sounds very well, and the place looked 
 fine enough when I saw it five miles away. But a 
 
 7 
 
98 ARRAGON. [Cn. 
 
 nearer view shows it to be only a meaningless, badly- 
 built, ugly barn, with a crooked tower and minaret 
 at each corner, and half-a-dozen square holes for 
 windows on either side. It stands on a heap of drift 
 mud beside the Jalon, which drivels past, a lazy, gory 
 stream. These castles were great when man and his 
 world were little. There is now just sufficient reality 
 in their existence to enable tramps and vagabonds 
 to get an hour's cool shade under their broad walls. 
 True, they were admirable when imagination peopled 
 them with the warriors and their lady-loves of earlier 
 times, when it could be shown that here valour and 
 beauty waged their wars or took refuge from the 
 storms of a sinful world. But I must not waste my 
 time over this heap of stones and sun-dried bricks. 
 The folly of our forefathers is easy talk ; a little span 
 of years, and the best efforts of the nineteenth 
 century may appear of little worth. 
 
 My path now lay across an open plain or wold, 
 without water or habitation. For six long hours 
 I was exposed to the full force of a scorching sun, 
 and when at last I reached a hut I was ready to faint 
 and could scarcely find voice to ask for water. I had 
 arrived at Ariza. It did not please me all clay 
 heaps and tile yards, in which paving-tiles of the 
 finest quality are made. The secretario granted me 
 accommodation in the hospital. I was shown to a 
 
VI.] A COVETED TABLE. 99 
 
 decent room, where there was a nice little writing- 
 table, a thing rare yet very dear to me. 
 
 I began writing up my journey at once ; but a big 
 woman turned me out, saying this room was for 
 patients, and I was not ill, and so must sleep in a 
 kind of chaff box. 
 
 My next care was to secure a good meal. At the 
 butcher's I got some mutton for fourpence, and an 
 onion for two centimos ; with these I made a stew. 
 The woman charged me a penny for the fire, bread, 
 and seasonings, and, with another penny for wine, and 
 one to a fat baby, I made a good supper for seven- 
 pence halfpenny. I ate my stew from the three- 
 legged frying-pan in which it was cooked. 
 
 The room had nothing in it but a score of earthen 
 pans and cooking jars. See how nature controls us ! 
 These pipkins and tiny pots and pans are abso- 
 lutely necessary in a land where there is not on any 
 square mile enough wood to boil a gallon of water. 
 
 I enjoyed my evening. The family at the hospital 
 were a rough lot, but I like to be much with the very 
 poor. To my judgment they make the best pictures, 
 and show the best side of life. 
 
 I thought by giving that penny away I should be 
 allowed to use that nice little writing-table in the 
 patients' room ! But no ! that woman was like a 
 stone, and I believe she would have knifed me if I 
 
100 ARRAGON. [Cn. 
 
 had not taken myself off just when I thought it best 
 to do so. 
 
 It was quite early. I had walked nearly seven 
 miles before eight o'clock. I came across a mob of 
 navvies building a line of railway. They were break- 
 fasting, and pressed me to share some bread and wine 
 with them. Then the contractor appeared. 
 
 It was after eight o'clock, and the men were not 
 at work. He began cursing and reviling them. He 
 called on all the saints and devils known to Spain 
 to maim and blind and perish them for their laziness 
 and audacity. 
 
 Then he shook himself off his fine horse, and 
 coughed and spat, and all was well. He handed 
 cigarettes all round, and laughed and chaffed and 
 hindered the men from their work. This may not 
 be every, but it is at least one Spaniard's way of 
 " bossing the job." 
 
 He asked me my business, and was pleased to 
 compliment me on undertaking a walking tour under 
 such hard conditions, through what he declared to 
 be the roughest and hardest country in Southern 
 Europe. 
 
 He gave me a handful of cigarettes, and we there- 
 upon exchanged cards. We both laughed at the 
 oddness of this, for a man does not, as a rule, hand 
 his card to a tramp, or crave one from him. Soon 
 
VI.] A GLANCE ACROSS ARRAGON. IOI 
 
 after this interview I arrived at the southern gate of 
 Arragon The boundary is an unseen line in the 
 narrow valley of the Jalon. A triangular stone says : 
 " This is Old Castile, and this is Arragon." I have 
 walked two hundred and sixty miles in Arragon, 
 enough to see it in its fulness, and it has not 
 enchanted me. 
 
 Here is the best and the worst of it in a few words. 
 It is snow-capped mountains, with defiant rocky slopes 
 glaring glacier-like in the face of the summer sun. 
 It is broad, undulating wolds, overshot with hummocks 
 of alabaster, chalk, and sandstone, with plateaux 
 between of shifting, arid sand. It is vast highland 
 plains with a little poor soil and many stones. It is 
 bleak and dreary moorlands of gritty sand, dark- 
 stained with the juices of the casual vegetable growths 
 which are scattered over them. It is old, dry river- 
 beds of shingle, and rifts of silt and clay. It is the 
 casual and uncertain streak of river with its narrow 
 banks of green and gold, the vine and corn plots of 
 the peasant slaves. It is the long, broad valley of the 
 Ebro, the Garden of Pignatelli, nearly four thousand 
 square miles in extent. It is Zaragoza with its pecu- 
 liar distractions and attractions. It is perhaps a 
 thousand wretched pueblos, with twice as many 
 antiquated temples, to the memory of San Sebastian 
 and St. lago, St. Ignatius, San Miguel, and San 
 
102 ARRAGON. [CH.VI. 
 
 Fermin, and I would add a few to San Pignatelli 
 and San Goya. The addition would do no harm. 
 
 Arragon is hopelessly bare not a tree of natural 
 growth anywhere. It is well that her people like a 
 simple life. I can imagine no one who has made a 
 journey of five hundred miles being quite satisfied to 
 settle there. Nature has placed hard and fast limits 
 to its development : they will not soon be swept away. 
 The extremes of heat and cold are known here. In 
 summer the skies are lovely, the horizon farther off 
 than in any land I know. The sunsets are gorgeous 
 and soul-stirring, and the nights balmy, cool, and 
 sweet, making it pleasant for labour or rest. In 
 winter the cold is intense, and in these badly-built 
 and fireless houses life must be hard indeed. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. 
 
 A TOY CHURCH. THE PALACE OF THE MARQUIS OF CASTILE. 
 SAN MARIA DE HUERTA. SOAP OF OLD CASTILE. SPANISH 
 
 BABIES. A USEFUL COMPANION. ARCOS. THE LAST OF 
 
 THE JALON. THE CARPENTER OF ESTERAZ. NEW CASTILE. 
 ALGARA. THE HENARES. A BLIND BEGGAR. GUADALAJARA. 
 ALCALA, THE BIRTHPLACE OF CERVANTES. MY UNDINE. 
 ARRIVAL IN MADRID. 
 
 CHURCHES are the commonest of objects in 
 ^^ Spain, and yet not common. I have seen a 
 unique specimen on this frontier, a little white- 
 washed building, fifteen feet long and eighteen wide, 
 with a tower thirty-five feet high. It looks a toy, 
 or a boy's model, but it is a real church, used by the 
 inhabitants of a village of five houses. 
 
 The floors of these cottages are paved with fine 
 river pebbles of all sizes, forming designs of dragons, 
 palm leaves, old armour, and swords. This work is 
 all very old and choice. 
 
 After leaving this place I soon presented myself at 
 the castle of the Marquis of Castile. I sent in my 
 
 103 
 
104 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 card, and was interviewed by half-a-dozen servants in 
 showy livery. The Marquis was at Zaragoza, and the 
 house was not open to visitors. It is a tawdry but 
 interesting place everything for show, nothing for 
 neatness, comfort, or convenience. Old breastplates, 
 chain armour, saddle trees, helmets, and stirrups of 
 steel and brass, hang on the walls outside the castle. 
 The garden paths are lined with marble busts, and 
 stags' heads and plaster and mosaic plaques decorate 
 the balcony fronting the main parterre. The arms 
 two lions supporting an eagle and crown, and the 
 crest a bearded head and flaying knife surmount 
 every door and window. 
 
 Within a stone's throw of the castle stands an old 
 Bernardine monastery, said to have been the finest in 
 Spain. It is now only a jumbled mass of stone and 
 masonry, although two or three beautiful arches of 
 stone and carved doors in wood still remain. The 
 old church owns a doorway which would be treasured 
 in any museum, as well as some effigies which might 
 serve to frighten the crows. 
 
 This little valley of Santa Maria de Huerta was a 
 wicked spot in bygone times. For here once stood 
 the magnificent palace of Alonzo the Eighth, and here 
 the amorous Rachel achieved her rise, her greatness, 
 and her fall, as did her master the king. The Huerta 
 is a good place now. Little tablets in all the houses 
 
VII.] THE SOAP OF OLD CASTILE. IO5 
 
 say this is a " glorified spot," and the owners are 
 religious and you are not permitted to swear ! 
 
 I have no wish to swear in any man's house, but 
 on this occasion it seemed as if I must break the 
 decree, for I couldn't get anything to eat for love or 
 money, and I was downright hungry. 
 
 There was but one shop, and it had nothing to 
 sell ! Wine and a bit of onion was all I could get. 
 The shopkeeper was a big, ugly woman, wearing her 
 hair like a figure 8, sticking up fully three inches from 
 the crown of her head. She wore a short skirt, and 
 white stockings, with an imitation garter and a dagger 
 in open work, which did not add to the docility of 
 her appearance. 
 
 I made the discovery of a " pueblo " where they 
 don't sell wine ! Contamina has twenty-six houses 
 and no wineshops. It is probably alone in Spain. 
 
 I have not yet scented the soap of Old Castile ; in 
 fact, I believe it is, like many a boasted thing, a fraud ; 
 for I have not yet encountered an Old Castilian who 
 uses any soap whatever ! My own shaving stick has 
 almost worn away from the effects of all the curious 
 handling it gets from the natives. 
 
 Spanish babies have a rough time of it. Search 
 from pole to pole and you will not find children sub- 
 jected to harder treatment, more downright neglect, 
 than the small inhabitants of out-of-the way Northern 
 
106 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn 
 
 Spain. No wonder the people are hardy ! only those 
 born with iron constitutions can survive the first year 
 or two of life. I have observed these babies often, 
 and pitied them as frequently. They may get a 
 first washing, but I'm prepared to take my oath 
 that they don't get a second till they are able to 
 take it themselves. The peasant mother takes a 
 real pride in the thick cake of black filth which 
 coats the little skull, and rubs in a daily portion of 
 oil or fat, so that it may not crack and peel off. 
 They tell me it strengthens the hair ! It is 
 certainly strong enough to strengthen anything. 
 The youngsters have splendid heads of hair, but 
 I would rather be the " padre " of bald children 
 than own such dirty ones as I see everywhere 
 in North and Central Spain. There is one other 
 hideous custom of which the poor babe is the 
 victim. They coop up the children as greedy poultry 
 farmers do their ducks and fowls, without room 
 to turn or move. In every family is seen a kind 
 of double stool, the seats one above the other, 
 and a large hole through the centre. The child, 
 swaddled like a mummy, is fairly jammed down the 
 aperture, so that only its head and shoulders are 
 visible. It cannot kick for pleasure or spite, as the 
 under hole is very small, and there, hour after hour, 
 perhaps half a day, whilst the mother is at work 
 
VIL] SPANISH BABIES. 107 
 
 in the " campo," the child half stands and half swoons 
 in the semi-darkness of the windowless cabin. It 
 is a cruel, savage custom, and the authorities ought 
 to prohibit the use of these veritable stocks. The 
 poor little brats learn resignation early. They 
 seldom cry, and peevish, fretful youngsters are 
 unknown in the peasant homes. The babies are 
 all dressed alike when they are dressed at all. A 
 close-fitting lace cap completely covers their dirty 
 little heads, and a long yellow robe of coarse flannel, 
 edged with black velvet and fancifully scalloped' 
 seems to be their only garment. If they have shoes 
 they are home-made of strips of red and yellow 
 flannel, or list plaited into a kind of sandal. 
 
 Everybody was offended with me in Arcos because 
 I expected to find a washing basin in the place. I 
 was told that if I must wash I could go to the nearest 
 water-hole. Arcos is not a generous place. It takes 
 no pride in giving away. The night I spent in this 
 town was a lively one too lively. It was Saturday 
 night, and all the young bloods of the place were 
 tramping up and down the narrow cobble-stone "calles" 
 bawling at the top of their voices, and extracting the 
 most hideous sounds from mandolins and guitars. 
 These are sweet instruments when understood and 
 well played, but the country-bred Castilian makes a 
 discord for all who hear him. And his voice ! It is 
 
108 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [C' H - 
 
 the most hideous for any purpose I have ever heard. 
 If you should once hear a song from one of these 
 Old Castilian natives you will never mention Spanish 
 again as a part of the sweet things of earth. 
 
 Sunday morning did not unfortunately put an end 
 to Saturday night's revels. These braying idiots 
 continued to serenade me till nearly daybreak beneath 
 my lattice balcony no, no ! beneath the mules 
 manger, where I was vainly trying to sleep. 
 
 Later, the place was quiet enough. The men went 
 to work, and the girls counted their beads, and the 
 women and old men fell to housework and farming 
 out the pigsties and stables. 
 
 Arcos once owned a castle built of drain pipes 
 filled with unburnt clay. Only a part remains stand- 
 ing. I will give it credit for being cleaner in appear- 
 ance than most of its neighbours ; but Arcos was not 
 kind, and cannot expect many compliments from me. 
 
 I met a very sensible tramp here ; a man who 
 ought to go a long way and not fare badly either. 
 He was accompanied by a tame nanny goat, with 
 a fine full udder of milk, and so, go where he would, 
 his wholesome wine-bottle was ever at hand. 
 
 It looked odd, but why not a goat instead of a 
 useless dog ? The dog is a dear, good fellow, feeling 
 and sympathising with all our cares. There is no 
 one like him when the way is long and the heart is 
 
VII.] A USEFUL COMPANION. IOQ 
 
 low. You can't mistake the charity in his eyes : he 
 is everything for you, and proud to be your com- 
 panion in adversity few men and women are like 
 him in this. But you can't milk a dog, and you must 
 feed him, while this " nanny " feeds both herself and 
 her master. 
 
 I am selfish. I would like to have been the dis- 
 coverer of the advantages of a goat companion ; but 
 I will give the Spanish tramp his due : may he go 
 far, and get fat on the rich nutriment which his little 
 friend yields him. 
 
 From Arcos I got down to the present bed of the 
 Jalon, and wound along its banks sheltered by the 
 overhanging rocks from the hot rays of the sun. 
 Garden plots showed green and cool, and pilferings 
 of ripe fruit and vegetables kept me alive till 
 I came to Samaen, a village of two or three hun- 
 dred mud and red stone huts built on a horse-shoe 
 bend in the river. A castle crowned a great rock 
 above. It was a mere heap of ruins, but the sight 
 was superb. The rock forms a colossal natural arch, 
 rising high above the surrounding peaks. Viewed 
 from the river the scene is magnificent. 
 
 I moved on to a gorge, where there are some fine 
 caves and some grand rents and canons between the 
 hills. There are actually a few trees growing here : 
 the Quercus Ilex. I could hardly realise this : a 
 
110 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 wooded Spain is an anomaly ! The Jalon was draw- 
 ing to an end. It was now but a small cataract, 
 almost lost to view among the great boulders. 
 
 Juberru is a very high up place on the north-east 
 slope of the mountains of Baraena. From this ele- 
 vated spot I could see over hundreds of miles of wild, 
 broken country, all bare and blighted with the hot 
 summer suns and winter snows. Juberru is but a 
 tiny village, living Heaven knows how. As a rule 
 the people descend to the low country and gather 
 such sustenance as will enable them to exist; they 
 cannot be said to live. The place is built entirely 
 of stone. I have seen the last of the mud huts, and 
 I am not sorry. 
 
 No one could admire these towns and villages on 
 the Jalon. At the distance of half a mile they look 
 as if so many thousand tons of stone had slipped down 
 from the mountain and piled themselves in irregular, 
 shapeless heaps on the river slope, and then that the 
 flood stream had risen and deposited a thick coating 
 of mud and clay. That is what these villages look 
 like, and what in truth they are. Man has made use 
 of the fallen stones and the river mud, and without 
 an eye for beauty or anything else beyond the con- 
 struction of a bare cabin in which to eat and sleep 
 he gradually evolves a "pueblo." 
 
 I have seen the first and last of the Jalon. I have 
 
VII.] THE BANKS OF THE JALON. Ill 
 
 sat on its banks and watched it empty its sum total 
 of red water into the green Ebro, and I have seen 
 it at Sabinan, where it is clear and bright. I have 
 traversed and tramped by it for more than a hundred 
 miles, while it became a stream pushing its way eel- 
 like under a few stones, till beneath a huge red cliff 
 it shows itself a tiny, silent pool, a spring. It is not 
 a big river, and its course does not exceed one 
 hundred and fifty English miles. But, judged by 
 what it achieves, by all it feeds and clothes and 
 blesses, it is a grand stream. Long may it flow ! 
 
 I made a professional visit to Medinaceli, which 
 boasts a live duke, a palace, and other luxuries. 
 But the duke was from home, and for me his 
 
 "cupboard was bare, 
 And so this poor dog had none." 
 
 The town occupies a very fine position on the side 
 of a steep hill, and I have no doubt that if it had 
 treated me well I should be able to say some kind 
 things about it. Medinaceli blesses him that " gives " 
 and spurns him that " takes," so, cursing the hardness 
 of its heart, I went down the hill to the modern 
 " pueblo," Salinas. Straight ahead lay an open, dusty 
 road, and I was told, by way of consolation, that I 
 should get no water till I reached Esteraz, seven and 
 a half miles away ! 
 
112 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [CH. 
 
 I arrived here at dark, but could just make out 
 that the place consisted of about two dozen decently- 
 built and, marvellous to relate, whitewashed houses. 
 A group of men and women were sitting under an 
 old wall discussing local politics, and I appealed to 
 them for information about the resources of Esteraz. 
 A woman, with a long, thin, white face, wearing a 
 black dress and head-covering, acted as spokeswoman. 
 She appeared interested in me, as did her husband, 
 a great, grave-looking man, with a wealth of black 
 curls about his neck, dark flashing eyes, and a clean- 
 shaven face, showing an abundance of early wrinkles, 
 and as much good nature. This man could not read 
 or write, but he possessed a well-balanced, intelligent 
 soul, and nothing could be more touching than the 
 expression of real sadness showing through the tears 
 that rose to his eyes on account of the regret he felt 
 that he was so ignorant of the outer world. 
 
 This interesting couple offered to give me bed 
 and board for the night ; so I followed them to their 
 house, which was the cleanest T have seen in the 
 country. 
 
 I was asked to the little board truly a "little'* 
 board, a stool bearing a large dish of bread and oil 
 broth. The man, his wife, and grown-up daughter 
 ate from the bowl ; but they gave me my portion 
 on a china platter, pure white, with a wreath of red 
 
VII.] THE LARGER WORLD. 113 
 
 poppies, which had a most natural appearance, as 
 the petals were chafed and split by the wind. 
 
 My friend pressed me to accept this bit of china, 
 but, much as I admired, I could not take it from 
 this simple home. After supper we talked. 
 
 The man was greedy for knowledge. I never saw 
 any one show such signs of living on learning. I 
 was refreshed by my host's hospitality, and felt glad 
 to be able to impart some welcome news. I gave 
 him a description of some of the great cathedrals 
 raised to perpetuate his Catholic faith. I gave him 
 brief accounts of my wanderings in other lands. It 
 was all wonderful to him. 
 
 There was no mistaking the look of wistful sadness 
 that filled his fine, brave face. He longed to see the 
 world. I pitied him from the bottom of my heart 
 I doubt if I ever felt as much like a brother as I did 
 in the presence of this man. My simple words were 
 a revelation to him, and I have since wondered 
 whether I was over-wise in saying all that I did 
 about that larger world which, sad to think, he will 
 never know. 
 
 Later he showed me to a comfortable bed, and in 
 the morning woke me at five, helped me with my 
 odds and ends, and bade me farewell. 
 
 There was real emotion in his voice when he said 
 " Buenos dias," and shook my hand. I shall meet 
 
 8 
 
114 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 many before I meet a better man than the village 
 carpenter of Esteraz. 
 
 I walked twenty miles that morning before I 
 broke my fast. Five miles from Esteraz I passed the 
 boundary line between " Old " and " New " Castile. 
 This was slightly interesting, but in no way fatten- 
 ing ! Like every other Briton, I wanted my break- 
 fast. And "want" became my master. The road 
 lay through dry gorges, hot as an oven, and across 
 flat-topped hills, with stones lying as close and evenly 
 packed as if the place had been some giant's cause- 
 way. 
 
 I met a few mule teams, but they had no wine 
 or water to sell or give away, and I was in great 
 distress by the time I arrived at Sauca, a hamlet 
 down in a hole surrounded by the everlastingly 
 barren hills. I tried to get a crust at thirteen 
 different houses, but without success. Then I went 
 to a wine shop and got a glass of wine and bit of 
 bread for a penny. The wine-seller was also the 
 butcher of Sauca, and while I was eating my crust 
 of bread a girl came to buy meat. She brought a 
 square-sided stick, about a foot long, and handed it 
 to the butcher. He marked the weight and price of 
 the meat with his Spanish blade, and returned her 
 the stick 
 
 I examined it closely. There were five different 
 
VII.] WAYSIDE GRAVES. 115 
 
 kinds of marks. Those cut perpendicularly indicated 
 the price, while those cut horizontally gave the 
 weight. 
 
 Purchases were receipted by a brand burnt in the 
 wood. This relic of bygone customs helped me to 
 forget the uninteresting character of the place and 
 people. 
 
 " Where God is not the soul dies." They had once 
 a church at Sauca : it is now the quarters of the 
 civil guard, and so the inhabitants get no instruction 
 in the value and virtues of chanty. There is one 
 spot in Spain which I have not yet discovered a 
 cemetery. I now and then encounter curious tombs 
 in out-of-the-way places, and have seen many piles 
 of stones by the roadside, surmounted by a cross, 
 showing where the victims of the highway have been 
 murdered. Between Sauca and Torremocha there 
 are several of these chilling landmarks. 
 
 At Torremocha I fared very well. An old man 
 in an easy way of life took me in to his home. He 
 also showed me a curious sight : a nest of young 
 swallows resting on a horseshoe driven into a 
 beam supporting the ceiling of the living-room. 
 For thirty years two African swallows have made a 
 home and reared a brood on that horseshoe. The 
 date is well fixed in the old man's mind, for the birds 
 first appeared just before his only son was born, 
 
Il6 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 when the house was quiet, and since that time they 
 have never failed to come. I felt on better terms 
 with my fellows after the old man's hospitality and 
 stock of yarns about the French invasion and our 
 own Wellington, who is mentioned as reverently 
 as the Virgin Mother by the Spaniards of this region 
 though not so in many others ! 
 
 Before leaving this place I discovered that there 
 are some really patent fools existing in Spain. Men 
 engaged in building a new church were carrying 
 enormous stones up a forty-feet ladder, and then 
 squaring them down to the weight of a few pounds, 
 and throwing the chips overboard. At nightfall 
 I crawled into Algora, after one of the longest 
 journeys I have yet made, about thirty-five English 
 miles. Though so tired, I had to put up with being 
 hawked and poked about for two hours, before the 
 secretario's wife could persuade any one to take me 
 in for the night. At last I was accepted by an old 
 couple of the type I like best, real old-fashioned 
 folk, living the lives their forgotten ancestors did 
 well-nigh a thousand years ago. 
 
 My hostess was a dapper little woman, somewhere 
 between eighteen and eighty, wearing a lock of 
 white hair twisted like a big snail-shell on each 
 temple, and little plaits on her wrinkled brow. 
 
 I had a good look at some old culinary articles 
 
VII.] A DAY OF STARVATION. 117 
 
 in brass, copper, and delf, and then went to a good 
 bed. 
 
 Although midsummer, the night was very cold, for 
 Algora lies several thousand feet above the sea. My 
 hostess gave me an extra rug, made of plaited string. 
 These rugs are common in Spain, though very 
 singularly and tastefully worked. 
 
 The next day I passed over very bare and 
 wretched country. 
 
 At Gragangos I was nearly starving, for hot 
 weather and hard walking robs one frightfully. At 
 a wretched posada I got a little bread and wine. I 
 sat down in front of the public school, and watched 
 the boys take their first meal, consisting of a wedge 
 of brown bread and a tomato, or a raw potato. 
 All the women of this village wore red or yellow 
 petticoats. The customs, the dress, and the people 
 are changing rapidly, and one is delighted to notice 
 anything out of the common. 
 
 Tramping on in the face of hunger and dreadful 
 thirst, I got into Trajique at night, having made 
 twenty-five miles on the bit of bread I bought at 
 Gragangos. 
 
 I was almost too tired to find out the alcalde, and 
 had half decided to lie down on a heap of chaff 
 against a wall, when hunger forced me to my feet. 
 The secretario kindly invited me to his private 
 
Il8 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [CH. 
 
 house, and gave me a bed in the chaff house next 
 door to his pig ! 
 
 As my nose has long since become what a witty 
 Australian terms an " insentient excrescence," I 
 slept very well. In the morning I was regaled with 
 coffee and bread, and had a pleasant chat with the 
 local schoolmaster, the secretario, and his noble- 
 looking wife. 
 
 With many good wishes from my host and hostess 
 I bade farewell to Trajique, and an hour afterward 
 entered the castle town of Torija. I rambled up 
 and down its narrow " calles," and found nothing but 
 dirt in them. 
 
 The ruins of a very substantial castle the walls 
 eight or ten feet thick are placed on the edge of a 
 precipice. The servants' quarters in the old court- 
 yard still stand, and are used as private dwellings 
 and stables, The heat in the " calles " was stifling, 
 and I was glad to make off in the direction of a few 
 trees shading the road to Guadalajara. 
 
 My travelling map turned out to be a vile fraud, 
 for it showed a river as plain and blue as any other 
 in Spain from Trajique to Guadalajara, and in reality 
 there is not a square yard of water the whole journey 
 of eighteen miles. There is a valley but a dry one ! 
 It is called Val de Noc/ies. I prefer to call it Val de 
 Diaz. It may be all right at night, but it is a hell 
 
VII.] A RIVER IN SIGHT. 1 19 
 
 upon earth by day. The hills on either side are of 
 white clay, and the natural and refracted heat send 
 the temperature up well-nigh to boiling point. I 
 should consider six months' imprisonment in Old 
 England a pleasure, compared with a week's forced 
 residence in this death hollow. 
 
 May I never again revile a stream on account of its 
 private notions ! Rivers, like people, have a perfect 
 right to choose their own course. An old lady once 
 told me that she could never quite make out how 
 rivers manage to find their way to the sea ! Well, 
 they generally do so, unless they pull up with a round 
 turn under the lee shore of a Jungfrau or Rigi and 
 form a Bienne or a Lucerne. 
 
 Once in sight of the Henares I didn't care how 
 much it wound ! After nearly a hundred consecutive 
 miles of wretched, barren plain, anything in the way 
 of change was welcome. Three days of internal 
 and external drought had told on me sadly. I was 
 parched within and also without, for the want of a 
 bath and clean clothes. My feet were blistered and 
 scalded, and I grew more crippled each succeeding 
 hour. Before entering Guadalajara I was able to 
 have a good bath at a public fountain. 
 
 Then I found the Town Hall, and the local powers 
 consigned me to a very decent posada for the night, 
 demanding my reappearance on the morrow. I slept 
 
120 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 alongside of an itinerant guitar player, his wife, and 
 boy. In the morning he sat up in bed and strung 
 and thrummed away at his guitar. It was sweet-toned, 
 and the sounds quickened and strengthened me. 
 Fellow-tramp that I was, I gave him five cents to 
 play me the serenade from " Rigoletto," and yet 
 another five for that sweet gavotte "Stephanie." 
 Then I asked him the time of day, and he went to 
 the window, but said there was no clock in sight. 
 Later, whilst I was waiting in the plaza for the town 
 clerk, my bedfellow came along. The woman was 
 vending printed songs, and the little boy was leading 
 the man, who, since he had looked out of the window 
 for that clock, had become hopelessly blind ! I really 
 could not help admiring the admirable way in which 
 he impersonated the blind man ! Long practice in 
 the black art had made him perfect. I did not expose 
 the fraud. The man who wishes to do that can be 
 constantly employed ; but the remuneration is not 
 high! 
 
 Guadalajara is a famous old place, containing many 
 historic houses, gardens, and churches. But my time 
 was very limited, as in accordance with a local law 
 which I had unconsciously forced upon myself, I had 
 to leave the town before midday. Alas ! like poor 
 Jo, I am always " moving on." 
 
 About a mile from the town I noticed a singular 
 
VII.] A PAVED RIVER BED. 121 
 
 engineering feat : the bed of the Henares was actually 
 paved. Probably this was done to make a safe ford 
 when means were not forthcoming for a bridge. The 
 stones forming the bed are of enormous size, and the 
 paving of great width, extending several hundred feet 
 along the bed of the river. A stone bridge spans it 
 now, and one can survey a scene which may have no 
 parallel in the world. 
 
 I was not so fortunate as to be able to journey 
 with the Henares for long. It ran away on its own 
 selfish errand, hiding under rocks and cliffs, whilst I 
 was left to pursue a straight, flat, dusty road. The 
 dust did not last long, for a terrific storm broke, 
 wetting and bespattering me from head to foot. I 
 took shelter in a wine shop by the roadside, and 
 scribbled a few notes till the rain left off. 
 
 A woman was engaged teaching a child to say 
 prayers, and to count her beads. Every now and 
 then she stopped and swore in a most revolting 
 manner at a girl who was patching a donkey's pannier. 
 Yet she could afford to look on me with quite a saintly 
 expression as her lips muttered the litany. These 
 people are not conscious hypocrites. They are too 
 disgustingly ignorant to know what hypocrisy means. 
 
 I plodded on in the darkness. The road was now a 
 river of water and mud, which was far from pleasant ; 
 only one thing in my favour, it was cool. 
 
122 OLD AND NEW CASTILE, [Cn. 
 
 At last I came to a house where a lot of harvesters 
 were sleeping in the stable and out-buildings. The 
 owner of the place gave me bread and eggs for fifteen 
 cents, and I secured the entire floor space of a large 
 shed for a like amount. It was a hard bed, but clean, 
 and I would have slept comfortably enough if three 
 mules had not come in and laid down close to me ! 
 These brutes snored and bellowed all night, and 
 whenever I dozed off I was awakened with a start 
 and the fear that they would tread or roll on me. 
 This night in a mule shed was a humiliating sort 
 of prelude to the classical surroundings of the day 
 that followed. 
 
 Cervantes ! Little did I think when first I laughed 
 and cried over your immortal " Don " that I should 
 ever stand before the house that gave you birth in 
 your native town of Alcala de Henares. Yet this 
 has really come to pass. Most people regret their 
 vanished youth. I do not. Mine was not " a glorious 
 springtime fraught with golden foreshadowings and 
 fragrance of sweet flowers." All that I can recall 
 with pleasure are my old book friends. I met them 
 when I wanted them. They came to solace me when 
 no one else would do so, and a kind of unwritten, 
 unspoken compact has existed between us ever since. 
 Time and closer intimacy give a firmer grip to our 
 hands each time we meet. 
 
VII.] CERVANTES' BIRTHPLACE. 123 
 
 And now in the year of grace 1893, in sight of the 
 Calle Mayor, under the shadow of the great church 
 El Magistral, in a narrow street with big tortuous 
 river-stone paving, and houses not unlike the early 
 home of our own Shakespeare, I stood before 
 Cervantes' " casa." 
 
 No one was wise enough to be able to give me any 
 homely particulars about the great old warrior. But 
 three hundred years is a long stretch for memory, 
 and the fight for life in modern Spain is keener than 
 the desire to learn or to laugh. 
 
 I doubt if the Spaniards themselves made Cervantes 
 great. I am ungenerous enough to think that the 
 modern Spaniard is not thoughtful and earnest 
 enough to discover true greatness in anybody. 
 
 Catherine of Arragon was born at Alcala, so was 
 Ferdinand, Emperor of Germany, son of " Crazy 
 Jane." The great Cardinal and Regent Ximenes, 
 whose extraordinary versatility baffled all his con- 
 temporaries, passed the greater part of his long life 
 here, and well-nigh every page of Spanish Church 
 history records some heroic or impious deed done 
 by the illustrious dead of Alcala. Still the name of 
 Cervantes overshadows all. No one like him in all 
 the past to make the present bright and bearable. 
 
 I visited the great church El Magistral, where 
 Cervantes was christened. The walls are covered 
 
124 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 with exquisite Moorish, Spanish, and Italian tapestry, 
 representing biblical, historical, and even hunting 
 scenes. The rich colours orange, cardinal, and 
 celestial blue have a quality and strength about 
 them which modern art cannot show. 
 
 The church is full of lovely things, sculptures in 
 marble and alabaster, elegant wood carvings, jewelled 
 robes, sacred relics, and amid all that is beautiful 
 and costly, Virgins dressed in modern attire, which 
 would be too common for a factory girl. I was 
 charmed with the tapestry. I was lifted out of my 
 tired self by the ravishing tones of the organ and 
 choir. 
 
 But with all the historic associations of Alcala I 
 had to turn my attention to more common needs. 
 In the town of Cervantes I expended three sous on 
 fried fish, bread, and wine, and I am sure if the old 
 philosopher were to read my mention of his birth- 
 place he would not deem it too poor, considering 
 that 1 am but a tramp. 
 
 The rain of yesterday had no effect upon the 
 roads. They were as dusty as ever, the sky as 
 bright, the sun as cruel. I travelled over broken 
 country, carrying a few vines and a little garden 
 stuff, and in the early afternoon reached the Jarama. 
 This is quite a real river, and the water is of beautiful 
 quality. I decided to wash all my kit before entering 
 
VII.] A SPANISH UNDINE. 125 
 
 the capital. A group of " lavanderas " were laving 
 garments and banging them over stones and grooved 
 boards by the river-side. They looked at my efforts 
 with pity. One, a sweet girl, insisted on washing 
 two shirts for me. She did not wash them clean, but 
 in spite of my declaration that they were " no limpia," 
 they were wrung out and hung on the bridge to dry. 
 
 I have had to walk six hundred miles to meet my 
 first Undine. I am not sure that I would walk ten 
 to meet another. 
 
 The women would have it that I was an artist, 
 for all artists wear knickerbockers and have veils 
 over their hats. Argument was useless, so I allowed 
 them to enjoy their opinion. At sunset the 
 " lavanderas " departed, and I was left alone on the 
 bank waiting for the evening winds to dry my 
 clothes ; but the process was somewhat longer than 
 my patience, so, rolling the wet garments within my 
 bundle, I set off towards " Town." It was eleven 
 miles distant, and I decided to do six that evening 
 and enter the city in the morning. My six miles 
 accomplished, I pulled up at a posada. The posadero 
 was a churlish rascal, and wanted to blackmail me 
 and extract far more from me than I was prepared 
 to pay. But a couple of well-dressed fellows, who 
 were sitting drinking wine, soon brought him to 
 reason. They turned out to be artists, and we 
 
126 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. VII. 
 
 exchanged cards. Seeing the turn of affairs, the 
 landlord changed his tune completely. He gave 
 me a good bed, talked about Old England, and 
 wished me " Buenos noches " in a really generous 
 way. How much of the civilised and the savage 
 exist in each of us ! 
 
 Madrid was soon in sight. It opened out like an 
 Australian town : no smoke, no chimneys anywhere, 
 but a deeper blue haze than in the open showed 
 above it. 
 
 At El Ventas, an outlying suburban resort, where 
 the holiday-makers of Madrid meet to drink, smoke, 
 and make small meals at big prices, I made a 
 halt. All sorts of " shows " and " gaffs " were there ; 
 but the great attraction seemed to be the river, a 
 filthy hollow down which trickles a disgusting streak 
 of polluted water. Well-dressed people promenade 
 by the side of this scent-bottle, and think they are 
 in the country. Ventas gave me the qualms, but 
 Madrid proper turned out to be beautifully clean. 
 
 As I made my way down the Camino de Alcala, 
 by the Plaza de Faros, the Retiro Gardens, and the 
 Prado, the scene at every step became more and 
 more grand. I had entered Madrid at the right gate. 
 It was the most imposing entry I had ever made. 
 The Puerta del Sol, the heart of Spain, is reached at 
 last, and half my journey accomplished. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 OLD MADRID. 
 
 A MODERN CITY. THE CARVED DOORS OF SAN FRANCESCO. THE 
 MUSEUM. THE PALACE MONCLOA. A BULL-FIGHT. THE 
 ESCURIAL. " THE SONG OF THE SHIRT." THE SHADOW OF 
 DEATH. 
 
 1\ /T Y first care was to seek out a modest boarding- 
 -**-! house in the Calle del Hostalza, kept by a 
 widow named Clotilde, who hastened to assure me 
 she had " seen better days" 
 
 I notice that nearly every one looks back with 
 regret on the past. As for me, I am satisfied with 
 the present. I know more than I did yesterday, 
 and to-morrow will increase my store of experience. 
 This is the only kind of wealth I care to heap up. 
 
 The widow's terms were moderate, so I closed with 
 her at once. Her only other boarder was a young 
 girl of twenty, so that business was not brisk. 
 
 Here for a time I laid aside my character of a 
 Tramp, and went forth to explore Old Madrid. 
 Why it should be called " old " I know not, for it 
 
 127 
 
128 OLD MADRID. [Cn. 
 
 is one of the most modern-looking cities I have 
 ever seen. It is Paris in miniature the boulevards, 
 the style of architecture, the street crowds, all 
 reminding me of the French capital. 
 
 Under the protection of a beautiful grave-eyed boy 
 named Julian, my landlady's son, who was most 
 becomingly attired in a sailor suit of blue and white, 
 and an immense beret, I visited the sights of the 
 town the beautiful promenades, the Bueno Retiro 
 Gardens, and the Church of San Francesco, which 
 is being restored at the cost of thirty-three million 
 reals. The seven great entrance doors display 
 carved figures in relief representing Bible scenes, 
 or incidents in Church history. This work is truly 
 magnificent It is Ghiberti over again, and the 
 modern is equal to the old master. One is forced 
 to remember the famed " Baptistery " doors, though 
 these of San Francesco are distinctly original. 
 
 Madrid is so sensible as to open its museums, 
 galleries, and gardens early on Sunday morning, so 
 that those who wish it may enjoy an hour's com- 
 muning with the old masters, or the breath of the 
 roses in the Bueno Retiro, before breakfast. The 
 Museum affords a rich treat to the art lover, no 
 matter where or what he has seen. The display of 
 Italian masterpieces is richer than that of any one 
 gallery in Italy. 
 
VIII.] THE ART GALLERY. 129 
 
 There are forty-three Titians ; but I am growing 
 sceptical. Every gallery in the world has a few of 
 this old master, and I am inclined to think it must 
 have been " Titian and Co. Limited." We know he 
 lived ninety-nine years, and a busy man could cover 
 a lot of canvas in all that time ; still . . . one wonders 
 and doubts . . . ! One of the most famous and 
 precious pictures is a Madonna and Child by Raphael 
 the Spaniards call it " La Perla " ; and there is 
 a Christ by Correggio which even I can worship. 
 
 Albert Durer is seen to perfection here. Some 
 of his faces are so full of living intelligence that it 
 seems positively rude to stand gazing into them. 
 
 Murillo lights up many a corner, but Velasquez 
 may be said to illuminate the whole gallery. 
 Wherever one sees a crowd of gazers there is 
 Velasquez. Once seen, his " Barrachos " and " The 
 Surrender of Breda " can never be forgotten. Goya 
 is well represented in the Royal Gallery, where his 
 genius has ennobled the portraits of many a trashy 
 Bourbon. A fine bust shows this king of modern 
 painters to be a large-headed, brave-looking, grave, 
 resolute man. 
 
 Florentine tables taken at the battle of L.epanto, 
 Moorish trophies, and magnificent bronzes, figures 
 of kings and queens, fill the vast chamber. My 
 Sunday morning in the museum provided me with a 
 
 9 
 
130 OLD MADRID. [Cn. 
 
 rich feast. A kaleidoscopic picture of the world had 
 passed before me, and the " fate of all things " may 
 have saddened me for a moment ; but the world is 
 still real for those who know how to use it, and 
 the great gallery of Madrid has helped to make it 
 larger and richer for me. 
 
 The Royal Palace of Madrid is another of those 
 things which are always spoken of as " the finest in the 
 world ; " but there is a little, almost unknown palace, 
 where the guide-book's voice is all unheard, and where 
 tourists rarely very rarely come. It is the bijou 
 Palace of Moncloa, standing just outside Madrid, in 
 the direction of the Escurial. Externally it is the 
 plainest of buildings, but the interior is a dream of 
 delight. It is the merest cottage in size, its small 
 suite of rooms limned out of gossamer, margined and 
 streaked with sunbeams, rainbows, the plumage of 
 bright birds, and floral wreaths so true and beautiful 
 that they seem to scent the walls and pillars they 
 cling around. Fairies and cupids flit across the skies, 
 or rest on billowy masses of cloud, under canopies 
 blue as the heavens. What does it all mean ? Simply 
 that this palace is lined with silk panels wrought by 
 cunning hands, skilled in the art of flower-weaving. 
 The fineness of the work is marvellous, and the 
 blending and breaking up of colours so perfect that 
 one becomes enchanted with all around. 
 
VIII.] A BIJOU PALACE. 131 
 
 Isabella's boudoir represents an aviary. The walls 
 are in imitation lattice work : soft foliage and sweet 
 tendrils climb round the pillars which support this 
 mimic cage. Butterflies, moths, and wind-borne petals 
 flutter on its golden wires, and overhead, perches, 
 bars, and rings hold birds of every hue and type of 
 beauty. Spring time freshness and summer glow are 
 shown in the far-off clouds which kindly refuse to 
 cast a shadow on the fair haven. This cottage palace 
 stands a living testimony that Ferdinand VII. had 
 an eye for beauty, and that he loved luxury perhaps 
 too well. 
 
 A grand bull-fight was announced for the Sunday 
 afternoon ; and as I wished to see Spain in all her 
 moods, I lost no time in securing a seat in the " Plaza 
 de Toros." 
 
 The Madrid building holds twelve thousand, all 
 visible from every part of the arena. It is built of 
 solid grey granite in arabic design, and with hardly 
 any colour in the interior decoration; but when full 
 of people with twelve thousand coloured fans, and as 
 many more hats, bonnets, dresses, and sunshades, the 
 forty-eight thousand varied tints form a picture which 
 cannot be equalled. 
 
 A few notes from a shrill bell proclaimed that the 
 president had taken his seat, and then two knights, 
 dressed in black velvet, cocked hats with red and 
 
132 OLD MADRID. [Cn. 
 
 white plumes, and mounted on splendid horses, 
 cantered into the ring and saluted the president, who 
 acknowledged them by throwing the key of the 
 " Carol " (bull's-box) into the arena. Then the brass 
 band struck up the regular air of " Pan y toros " 
 (bread and bull-fights), and the vast fabric seemed to 
 rock and sway with the foot-stamping and shrill 
 vociferations and fan-fluttering of the great crowd. 
 A moment later all was rapt silence, as the two 
 knights galloped into the centre of the ring, doffed 
 hats, saluted the president, and retired to lead in 
 the glittering procession of toreadors. 
 
 First came the two knights, " their banners proudly 
 waving," followed by " Espadas " (swordsmen) and 
 " Bandilleros," their bright mantles flung gracefully 
 across the shoulder. The Punctilias and Chulos came 
 next, and after them the Picadors, mounted and 
 carrying long pikes ; last of all the mule team used 
 to carry off the slain. Under the president's box all 
 saluted, broke into single file, and retired to the 
 narrow seat which runs round the ring. A moment 
 later the knights and the mule team had left the ring, 
 and amidst a roar of tongues all calling " Toro," the 
 cage door flew open and the first bull rushed upon 
 the scene. 
 
 The spectacle that ensued was fascinating in the 
 extreme, but horribly cruel. The horses and bulls 
 
VIII.] A CRUEL SPECTACLE. 133 
 
 are foredoomed. No amount of courage and skill can 
 save them from death ; hence the whole thing is 
 always unfair. As a spectacle it is superb. It is im- 
 possible to conceive, without being an actual witness, 
 how a dozen or fifteen men, a few horses, and a 
 solitary bull can make up such a powerful picture. 
 Yet such it is ; and it is no wonder that in a land 
 where religion teaches nothing better than self-love, 
 and delights in the display of horrors, bull-fighting 
 should have a wondrous charm for its people. 
 
 On this occasion six bulls killed fifteen horses, 
 and nearly " finished " one human performer. A 
 splendid-looking Bandillero, richly dressed in crimson 
 and gold, was thrown three times into the air, and 
 on each occasion twirled like a top, gored right 
 through the trunk and the thigh, and the forehead 
 crushed. Thousands of women were looking on this 
 horrible spectacle apparently quite unconcerned. 
 Many of the leaders of society were there, revelling 
 in the " first-rate " nature of the performance. 
 
 The audience practically control the ring mark- 
 ing their approval or disapproval by the wildest cries. 
 The effect is bewildering when any of the actors 
 is guilty of a breach of order or makes a bad 
 move. 
 
 The audience throw bottles, fruit, confectionery, 
 hats, bonnets, fans and parasols, and everything else 
 
134 OLD MADRID. [Cn. 
 
 they can lay their hands on, into the arena. At one 
 time hundreds of cushions were flung down, in spite 
 of the high prices their owners had paid for the 
 pleasure of sitting on them. All this "flotsam and 
 jetsam " was cleared off in a twinkling, and when a 
 " fuerte " (bout) closed, showers of parcels and boxes 
 fell on the arena all containing presents for favourite 
 performers. One young debutant opened some of 
 his gifts on the spot, and I saw that they were nearly 
 all of gold and silver. If these men live six or eight 
 years before the public they secure great wealth. 
 But it is a large "if." 
 
 A comic bull-fight terminated the entertainment ; 
 but although it was most amusing, it could not efface 
 the impressions of the " real thing." 
 
 At the close of the performance I went down into 
 the arena. Looking round the great circle with the 
 clear starry roof above, I pictured what it must be 
 to stand there before a vicious raging bull, with 
 twelve thousand pair of eyes looking on in expecta- 
 tion of a bloody finale. It requires some nerve, and 
 every Toreador must possess it before he can become 
 an expert in his trade. 
 
 Armed with a permit, I penetrated to the little 
 hospital for injured Matadors, where lay poor Manuel 
 Rodas, the handsomest and most unfortunate per- 
 former of the day. There were half-a-dozen beauti- 
 
VIII.] A SLOW JOURNEY. 135 
 
 fully draped little beds in the room, adorned with the 
 arms and crests of noble donors. 
 
 The dressing-room was crowded with " aficiona- 
 dos " (amateurs) and supporters of the bull-ring. 
 
 Many of these had the manners and speech of 
 well-educated men. The bull-beef is retailed at an 
 establishment adjoining the ring. Being killed while 
 heated it is not of prime quality, and the price is 
 (for Spain) very low fivepence per pound. 
 
 My dreams that night were of the mangled bodies 
 of horses, bulls, and men, and I awoke without any 
 desire to witness again the inhuman spectacle. I 
 felt that the best thing to revive me would be a trip 
 to the mountains of Avila and the Escurial. 
 
 The dreary landscape around Madrid was not in- 
 spiriting, neither was the progress of the train, which 
 took three hours to perform a journey of forty-six 
 miles. 
 
 The Escurial is nearly four thousand feet above 
 the sea, on a little plateau shooting out between the 
 bold, bare peaks of the Guadarrama mountains. 
 
 It was a lonely, voiceless spot when Philip II. 
 (husband of our "Bloody Mary") chose it for the 
 site of his monastic home. But the silence has fled. 
 The Escurial is no longer a solitary house, it is a 
 town. A railway runs at the foot of the range. Tall 
 chimneys show above chocolate factories, and streets 
 
136 OLD MADRID. [CH. 
 
 of shops and private houses rob its claim for silence. 
 Boarding-houses, hotels, and mansions make a bigger 
 show than the great building itself. The Escurial is 
 a great building, but it is in no sense beautiful or 
 inspiring. 
 
 It is not. as so many affirm, built in the shape of 
 a gridiron, but forms an imperfect square with a 
 church and courtyard somewhere near its centre, and 
 three towers running up from the fagade. Rows of 
 small windows along the dark grey granite walls give 
 to the building a prison-like appearance, and the 
 shrill, cold winds whistling around its corners add to 
 the illusion. San Lorenzo to whom it is dedicated 
 stands over the main entrance, holding a model of 
 the gridiron on which he was toasted. 
 
 The Escurial holds many treasures of art, but, 
 unfortunately for this wanderer, they were all locked 
 up, this being the feast of San Lorenzo, and the 
 church doors were alone open. 
 
 The frescoed roof by Giordano has a great repu- 
 tation, and I found out for myself that the organ 
 was splendid. The " vox humana " seemed to speak 
 from heaven direct to the tired soul of man. The 
 statues of Felipes II. and III. father and son by the 
 high altar are very fine, and the effect is heightened 
 on realising that one is contemplating a figure who 
 swayed half the world and whom the other half held 
 
VIII.] THE FEAST OF SAN LORENZO. 137 
 
 in dread. The old hermit king is gazing wistfully 
 on the last scene he visited on earth, for he was 
 carried into the church, a filthy mass of emaciation 
 and rags, before closing his eyes for ever. 
 
 The Escurial is a wonderful building. It is vast, 
 it is singular, and perhaps if I had seen all its trea- 
 sures, I might write, it is beautiful. Its " popular " 
 attractions show that it is " big." It has over three 
 thousand windows, twelve hundred doors, eighty-six 
 staircases, three thousand feet of fresco painting, and 
 ninety-six miles of floor space. It cost millions of 
 money, and, some have said, enough blood to dissolve 
 tJie stones tJiat compose it. In order to build it 
 Philip robbed both rich and poor. 
 
 The insane bigot actually stuck a plate of pure 
 gold in the highest turret, to show that his " white 
 elephant" had not exhausted his plundered store. 
 Surely such vanity and display cannot be acceptable 
 unto God, who is not found in houses made by the 
 hand of little man. The soul will draw nearer 
 Him on the bare hill-top, in the lonely desert, or 
 beside the babbling stream, or, better still, among 
 the suffering brethren whom he can help and bless. 
 
 The Escurial is a great object lesson. The world 
 is full of them to those who have eyes and ears. 
 This Palace will go on heaping up legends and 
 superstitions as stirring as the real tragedies con- 
 
138 OLD MADRID. [CH. 
 
 nected with its past till the story will be more 
 wondrous than the reality itself. 
 
 The feast of San Lorenzo brought visitors from 
 all parts. Not only holiday-makers from Madrid, 
 but half-wild, half-naked, and strangely clad men 
 and women from the mountain districts. These 
 peasants have the lowest type of head I have seen 
 in Spain. They have round, pudgy faces, full 
 mouths, and lips that curl back, exposing prominent, 
 narrow, animal-like teeth. The cheek-bones are 
 high, the eyes small and dull, the forehead narrow 
 and slanting back to the crown of a sugar-loaf head. 
 As the men slouch along they look like ugly bundles 
 of flannel and leather straps. 
 
 The women are all head and hips. They turn 
 their toes inward, as if from continually climbing 
 hills. 
 
 Their short skirts are made of a piece of coarse 
 blanketing drawn together round the waist by a 
 couple of yellow cords. Their legs are bandaged 
 with strips of flannel, and they wear on their feet 
 leather sandals. Loose cotton blouses, and head- 
 dresses formed by showy handkerchiefs, complete 
 their attire. They were an odd-looking set. Madrid 
 and its civilising influences did not seem to have 
 touched them. 
 
 I got back to Madrid in time to dine with some 
 
VIII.] IN THE PRADO. 139 
 
 pleasant friends at the hotel made famous by 
 " Pigott," and spent the evening among the gay 
 throng who turn night into day beneath the trees 
 and lamps of the Prado. The " crush promenade " 
 is from 1 1 p.m. till 3 or 4 a.m., and this is the play- 
 time of the Madrid children. The hot, enervating 
 climate is the cause of these nocturnal habits. 
 
 In the company of an artist-friend I visited the 
 institute for the study of fine arts, founded in 1869. 
 It possesses few originals, but displays a fine collec- 
 tion of copies, and the floors are covered with the 
 easels of industrious students. The introduction of 
 fountains and masses of plants into these galleries 
 seems to connect nature with art, and must add to 
 the receptivity of those who work and study here. 
 
 The State professes to teach agri- and horticulture 
 at a college in Madrid, but with very poor results. 
 The Spaniards have more of the gift of conducting 
 fairs and feasts than of producing the materials on 
 which they make merry. 
 
 A big feast was taking place in one part of the 
 city, and all the streets were decked with bunting, 
 coloured lanterns, and oil lamps. Only the main 
 thoroughfares were left open for wheel traffic. 
 
 The other streets had become dancing-saloons, show- 
 grounds, and reserved spaces for all sorts of games, 
 exhibitions, and bands. I walked through miles and 
 
140 OLD MADRID, [Cn. 
 
 miles of streets, and still fresh vistas opened before 
 me, and the dancing, and bawling, and crowding still 
 continued. 
 
 Fairly worn out, I went back to the society of 
 my pensive widow and of my fellow-boarder, for I 
 had learned to like her company better than that 
 of the streets. She had large, dark, tender eyes, 
 a sweet musical voice, and a tall, willowy form. 
 What a life was hers ! As a milliner she earned 
 twelve pesetas a week by working eleven and a-half 
 hours on week days and eight hours on Sundays. 
 Her only day of rest was a rare saint's day. 
 
 I had made my last journey of inspection, had 
 paid my widow her modest charge, and was sitting in 
 my room waiting for the hot sun to sink a little 
 before setting forth on my travels, when Clotilde, 
 my landlady, rushed in, wringing her hands in terror. 
 
 " Oh, Senor don Carlos ! " she cried ; " oh, Madre 
 mia ! Maria este muriendo ! " Beckoning me to 
 follow her she fled from the room. I was coatless 
 and barefoot, but I hastened after her. She led me 
 to a small, dark room. On the stone floor lay Maria 
 the milliner, her face white as the robe that covered 
 her. She had slipped from Clotilde's arms in a dead 
 faint. 
 
 I lifted her up and placed her on the bed. She 
 looked the image of death. I had noticed that she 
 
VIII.] THE SLAVE OF THE NEEDLE. 141 
 
 often held one hand to her breast as though in pain, 
 and it seemed that the kiss which Gregorio, her 
 young lover, came regularly to bestow upon her was 
 a little more than she could bear. She was very 
 weak. When she rallied she cried feebly, and said 
 she was " ill, oh ! so ill." I told her that Gregorio 
 must take her to the mountains high up in the 
 cool sweet air, and that she would soon grow strong 
 again. 
 
 "High up," she murmured, "yes, VERY high up 
 I shall soon be there. I am glad to go. Madrid is 
 not kind ; but oh ! I wish Gregorio could come too. 
 I do not like to leave him here alone." 
 
 Clotilde signed to me to leave the room. I busied 
 myself with my final preparations, and then asked 
 permission to see my fellow-boarder again. A doctor 
 was with her. I saw at once that there was no hope 
 for the fragile girl. Gregorio was bending over her, 
 his face streaming with tears. I took the long white 
 hand in mine, kissed it, and left the room. Clotilde 
 told me all would be over in a few hours. The 
 doctor said the poor girl had struggled on till a 
 complete collapse of every enfeebled organ left no 
 chance for recovery. I did not linger. My way 
 is hard in Spain, and I dare not court sad scenes. 
 Ah me ! must it be ever thus ? Must I, loving to 
 see great things, be confounded by the simple 
 
142 OLD MADRID. [Cn. VIII. 
 
 incidents of every-day life ? The memory of poor 
 Maria Paz, the slave of the needle, will be fresh in 
 my mind when all the grand sights of Madrid are 
 faded or forgotten. The " song of the shirt " is 
 being sung in all lands ; wherever men and women 
 crowd, the weak are being crushed. Madrid is a 
 " S a y " city, but if you will enter into its houses 
 you will find no dearth of sorrow there. 
 
 The sun was still shining bright when I left the 
 Hostalza, though the shadow of death was over 
 my sometime home. I never learned the sequel of 
 Maria's story. I trust that she has met with true 
 rest and a rich reward. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. 
 
 FROM MADRID TO ARANJUEZ. PINTO, "THE CENTRE OF THE 
 WORLD." THE BIG BRIDGE. ENGLISH ELMS. A SHADY WALK. 
 ARANJUEZ. A TOY COURT. MY FELLOW-COUNTRYMEN. 
 A TRAMP'S APPETITE. THE BLACK TAGUS. THE ROYAL 
 PALACE. EN ROUTE FOR TOLEDO. MOORISH INDUSTRY. 
 AN AIRY BED-CHAMBER. TOLEDO FROM THE BRIDGE. A 
 NEGLECTED SHRINE. THE CHURCH THE HOME OF THE 
 
 LONELY. 
 
 A FTER ten days' diversion in " Old Madrid " 
 **- which, as every one who has seen it knows, is 
 the most modern-looking of all the old-world capitals 
 I set out once more on my travels, taking the road 
 via Aranjuez to Toledo. The road is fearfully bad. 
 I had to flounder mile after mile through heavy 
 dust lying several inches deep. My feet were soon 
 skinless and sore, and I did not enjoy the fifteen-mile 
 tramp before reaching a town. And such a town ! 
 Nothing like it can possibly exist elsewhere. Pinto 
 boasts that it is the centre of the world ! Think of 
 that. To a Spaniard Spain is always " the world." 
 
144 OLD AND NEW CASTILE [Cn. 
 
 This place is, I believe, the exact centre of Spain, 
 and in honour thereof the inhabitants of old perched 
 a church on the nearest hill. It has become a shrine 
 where Joseph and Mary are said to dispense rich 
 and unrivalled blessings. If you stick up your 
 walking-stick at Pinto at any time of the day it will 
 cast no shadow, because the sun is always right 
 overhead. A posada keeper told me this. I did 
 not contradict him I had other work to do but I 
 asked myself wonderingly how big a fool he took 
 me to be ! 
 
 The alcalde of Pinto gave me a shake-down at 
 the posada. Anyone would know this alcalde to 
 be a generous man. He has a family of nineteen 
 children, some of whom are married, and their wives 
 and children, making thirty-seven in all, living under 
 his not very spacious roof. I went into the inner circle 
 of this huge family, and all was peace and harmony 
 amongst them. The allotted work of the day went 
 on as if by clockwork a wonderful domestic picture 
 this, for old Spain. With so many mouths to feed 
 it is fortunate that the alcalde is the leading baker 
 of Pinto. 
 
 The parish church is a wicked-looking old place, 
 standing on an artificial eminence, and surrounded 
 by military ramparts. It had probably to serve as 
 a fortress in bygone times. The pulpit is cut out 
 
IX.] A PRIMITIVE THEATRE. 145 
 
 of a massive column helping to support the roof, 
 and covered from base to summit with delicately- 
 chased figures in relief. 
 
 They boast a theatre at Pinto. It was, nay, still 
 is, a barn. A few rude benches fill the pit, and 
 the boxes are just boxes, and nothing more. One 
 can be hired for fivepence. This is the cheapest 
 thing I have found in Spain unless the entertain- 
 ment be even cheaper ! 
 
 One thing more in favour of Pinto. It is the 
 cleanest town I have yet seen. All the houses are 
 whitewashed within and without ; the inhabitants 
 seem thrifty, and have a very neat appearance. 
 Corn, wine, and oil are the chief products of the 
 neighbourhood unless, indeed, the harvest of miracles 
 at the church on " the central spot of the world " rival 
 them in richness. 
 
 Well pleased with Pinto a tramp is always well 
 pleased when he is well treated I set out for Aran- 
 juez. Passing over a miserable country carrying a 
 few stunted olives and occasional patches of corn, 
 I sighted the village of Valdemora all mica and 
 clay beds and olive trees. The road did not im- 
 prove. Ploughing through the dust and scorched by 
 the sun, I went on my way growling and choking 
 by turns. All around me stretched wheat-fields un- 
 broken by fences or hedges, and in the distance the 
 
 10 
 
146 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 bare, hot hills. My knapsack hung like a ton weight 
 on my shoulders, and I was thankful to accept a 
 lift on a mule car, which took me on to the big 
 bridge, the " Punta Llargo," spanning the Jarama. 
 
 This was my second encounter with this river. It 
 was on its banks that I met my first Undine. It 
 had not lost by its journey, as so many Spanish 
 rivers do. On the contrary, it had become a broader, 
 deeper stream. And the bridge is a grand old fabric. 
 The French knocked down the original structure 
 erected many centuries ago, but the Spaniards built 
 it up again in more impregnable and elegant style 
 than before. It is now considered one of the finest 
 bridges in Spain ; nearly a quarter of a mile in length, 
 and built throughout of solid and massive blocks of 
 stone. At both ends are broad square platforms, on 
 which a small army of troops might be marshalled. 
 Square stone columns rise at each corner, surmounted 
 by heaps of finely chiselled armour and implements 
 of war, guarded by an erect and vicious-looking lion. 
 It is the bridge of bridges I have seen in Spain, 
 and to be over it, what joy ! To be within the 
 shadow of high elm trees English elms too, for 
 these mighty towers of green were brought here 
 from our own land three hundred years ago to 
 decorate the vale of Aranjuez. 
 
 What a difference vegetation and the sweet breath 
 
IX.] A ROYAL RETREAT. 147 
 
 of trees make to a land ! It is fifteen miles from 
 the Punta Llargo to the town, but amid so much 
 sweetness it seemed but a stone's throw, and I quickly 
 arrived within the sacred precincts of the country 
 retreat of Spanish royalty. 
 
 It is a toy court, well suited to the wants of the 
 present infant king. Aranjuez is a pretty little place, 
 all palace and parterres and marble paths and miles 
 of statuary and falling water. But nothing seems 
 real. Here one may well reverse the original inten- 
 tion and exclaim : " He dreamed not of decay who 
 thus could build." I forget the name of the king 
 who, falling in love with the meeting of the waters 
 of the Tagus and Jarama, founded Aranjuez on the 
 dividing plateau ; but I shall never forget some of 
 his fantastic notions. I shall remember the twelve 
 roads all diverging from a circle a hundred feet in 
 diameter, roads which for the most part lead nowhere 
 in particular, eight or ten of them forming avenues, 
 the boggy flat on which, for the sake of being within 
 sound of the artificial fall in the Tagus, the palace 
 is built, the miles of shady walks, margined by ugly 
 stone walls over which no sheltering, softening mass 
 of ivy has been allowed to creep, the thousand and 
 one ghostly statues peeping between the branches of 
 evergreen shrubs and trees, all these will be present 
 in my memory when nobler figures have faded out. 
 
148 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 The Casa de Vacas (King's Cow House) is now the 
 racing stud of the Marquis de Villamajor. Here 
 I made a call, to look for nothing in particular ; but 
 it is one of the glorious privileges of my profession 
 that such visits are never out of order. I found what 
 I did not expect three fellow-countrymen, the stud 
 groom and two jockeys, jolly light-hearted fellows 
 of the kind who love " taking of blackthorns and 
 rattle of rails." 
 
 One of them asked me in a very humorous way 
 to tell his dear mother that I had met her son in 
 Spain, and that he was " doing well." " Yes," he 
 said, " a mother . always likes to hear about her 
 son, but with all her love for him she likes still 
 better to hear that he is ' steady' and throwing his 
 ' bawbees ' into a heap." I believe my friend the 
 jockey was right. Women can have an eye to 
 the pocket even when steeped in tears. When a 
 man is in great trouble he is reckless ; when a woman 
 is bereaved she can be most acute in mundane 
 matters. My fellow-countrymen conducted me to 
 a posada, and pressed me to breakfast with them 
 the following day. A wanderer in Spain never 
 neglects a chance of getting something to eat. If 
 I were asked to name the greatest thing in the 
 world, I should reply without hesitation the appetite 
 of a tramp ! He of all men may best know " the art 
 
IX.] AN AMAZING APPETITE. 149 
 
 of taking a walk." The human world is not for him. 
 He may not call the passers-by " brother," " sister ; " 
 they will not own him as a member of the one great 
 family ; and so, he ever turns to that broader, sweeter 
 breast, the welcoming bosom of nature. This begets 
 hunger. To look and gaze and stare, to fear and 
 dread and delight, and grow weary over the continu- 
 ally changing features of a land, is to grow hungry 
 indeed. 
 
 I eat at all hours, anything and everything I can 
 get hold of. A twenty-pound bundle and a twenty - 
 mile walk will take all the bad qualities out of the 
 worst dish prepared in Spain. Here is a sample day 
 for you. 
 
 I have drunk a stiff glass of white spirit at four 
 in the morning ; eaten a pound of hard bread without 
 water at seven ; devoured a dozen tomatoes and 
 cucumbers between eleven and twelve, and made 
 the midday meal of half a gallon of lukewarm water ; 
 luxuriated over a pocketful of dry crusts during the 
 afternoon in a dry valley ; and in the early evening 
 caught, toasted, and eaten four Spanish frogs ! 
 Jupiter rains blessings on the poor, for the same 
 night I enjoyed a six-course dinner, finishing up with 
 cognac, coffee, and cigars ! 
 
 I slept in the yard behind the posada, and in the 
 early morning turned out to have a daylight view of 
 
150 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 Aranjuez. It is not sweet in reality, but it looks it. 
 It charms all who see it because it is a green valley, 
 almost an unknown feature in Spain. There is a 
 something about the place which makes it homely 
 and attractive even to a stranger. I wandered up 
 and down its many glades and groves, by its rushing 
 watercourses and water-wheels, and sauntered on the 
 banks of the black Tagus. It looked a river to fear 
 rather than to follow its waters seemed terribly 
 treacherous ; and in truth they are. Fevers and 
 epidemics ravage and at times almost depopulate 
 the place ; and it is a case of 
 
 " Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink," 
 
 nearer than the broad, sweet Jarama, two miles 
 away. 
 
 I breakfasted in English fashion at the " Casa de 
 Vacas," which has sheltered many a brave man and 
 good horse in its day. Napoleon tried to burn it 
 down in 1809, but finding it resist his efforts, he 
 lodged a regiment or two in the stubborn old place. 
 The following story comes down from this time, and 
 is dealt out very soberly by the people of Aranjuez. 
 
 A ball was given at the palace for the Spanish 
 and English officers. The French, offended at being 
 left out in the cold, began an assault on the place. 
 The servants appeared and desired the French to 
 
IX.] THE BALL. 151 
 
 go away, adding that the English soldiers did not 
 wish to be disturbed, and that they thought the 
 action of the French very rude \ Whereupon the 
 French meekly departed. Does not this story do 
 credit to all concerned? to the Spanish, who say 
 that the English, and not they themselves, frightened 
 the French ; to the French, who showed such pro- 
 found respect for the usages of society not to speak 
 of their respect for English arms ; to the English, 
 who stood fast by the beauties of that hour, instead 
 of rushing off to deeds of desperation and sacrifice, 
 as so many did from the ball at Brussels to the field 
 of Waterloo. 
 
 I was able to have a good look at the Royal 
 Palace, a big square building, half of red brick, 
 the other half of rough whitewashed masonry. Three 
 rows of attic windows on the roof, and painted black, 
 offered a strange, unsightly contrast to the white 
 walls below. The interior is " gaudy, and expressed 
 in fancy," but, on the whole, not " rich." The hall 
 and staircase are broad and well proportioned, but 
 the only embellishment consists of a coating of 
 yellow ochre and brown umber. The " Cabinette de 
 Arabe " opens from the first floor. It is a little 
 bell-shaped chamber without windows or doors. 
 The entire wall space is covered with a raised fret- 
 work on six or seven planes, the whole presenting 
 
152 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 the appearance of a vast brilliant with a million 
 facets. Every tiny facet has a contour and colour of 
 its own, and reflects the tints of some other. As a 
 matter of fact, the colours are only blue, red, and 
 gold, with base lines of white ; but it is hard to 
 believe this. The carving is so minute, and the lights 
 and shadows are so confusing, that the spectator 
 cannot make sure either of colour or pattern. The 
 cabinette is in perfect condition, and is the best 
 specimen of Moorish work I have yet seen. 
 
 The royal bedchamber is a plain room, with a full- 
 length crucifix over the bed, and the ceiling shows 
 some fine frescoes. The windows command a beauti- 
 ful view of gardens filled with statues, fountains, 
 and bright flowers. Beyond rises a little forest of 
 trees kept in bounds by a hard, sullen hill. 
 
 The Queen Regent's boudoir is a pretty and 
 spacious apartment, the ceiling covered with beauti- 
 ful frescoes of winged cupids, gossamer butterflies, 
 birds, and flowers. The walls are hung with delicate 
 mauve-coloured Barcelona silk, shot with pink roses. 
 Reflectors and rich pieces of bric-a-brac help to 
 beautify the scene. This room has a charm rarely 
 found in courts. It is restful, and one is not tempted 
 to moralise and grow moody therein. 
 
 Another room, called the " Buena Retiro," holds 
 many lovely things, but the general effect is cold. 
 
IX.] SWEET RETIREMENT. 153 
 
 If all accounts be true, he who took such pride in 
 creating the room and the name knew nothing of 
 the latter. " Sweet retirement ! " The title sounds 
 sweet. But where is it to be found ? Hardly in this 
 cold and depressing chamber. I can only compare 
 it to an enormous bell-shaped vase (seen from within), 
 the sides and dome overlaid with china flowers, 
 birds, and animals in relief. There is one set design 
 moulded in various sections, but put together with 
 such precision that the joints cannot be found. 
 Nearly every tint and shade in the natural pheno- 
 mena of the world is found here, yet the effect is 
 chilling and inartistic. 
 
 The king's morning room is large and stately, 
 containing many fine pictures notably, five scenes 
 in the life of the " Prodigal Son," by Conrado Bayen. 
 "Orpheus and Apollo," " Bathsheba and Judith," by 
 the same artist, are said to be of priceless value. 
 
 There are also lovely Sevres porcelain vases in 
 celestial blue, gold, and chocolate, and some with 
 fanciful designs of flowers and creeping things. The 
 dining-hall is crowded with curious clocks, collected 
 from all parts of the world by Charles IV. and 
 Ferdinand VII. Here mosaic figures, representing 
 rural pastimes, and the arts, music, and painting, 
 are scattered in glorious confusion over the nut- 
 brown floor. 
 
154 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 The ante-room, connecting the Regent's boudoir 
 with the chapel, is full of small paintings by celebrated 
 masters landscapes and portraits by Poussin and 
 Temmel, an exquisite female head by Mengs, and a 
 Christ by Titian. A mosaic seascape, three feet by 
 two, is the crowning triumph of this room. It con- 
 tains I don't know how many hundred thousand 
 pieces of stone, all of purely natural colours, forming a 
 picture with every detail of light and shade admirably 
 rendered. This work, executed in 1808, is valued 
 at one million pesetas. The little chapel is also rich 
 in pictures, not all sacred, and it contains some fine 
 carved figures in ivory and silver. 
 
 The cabinette of Capo di Monte Porcelaine is, 
 like the " Buena Retire," a chamber completely lined 
 with fanciful plates of porcelain in high relief. 
 Blue is the prevailing colour, and the tone is so high 
 that it jars on the sense, and almost takes the sight 
 from the eyes. It is a gorgeous apartment, but not 
 according to nineteenth-century conceptions of refine- 
 ment and beauty. 
 
 My next visit was to the Royal stables, lately 
 restored and presented by the Queen to her little 
 son. Many a horse jobber in England owns better 
 stables than these royal boxes. In the evening 
 I took a last look at the gardens surrounding 
 the palace, and started for Old Toledo. I had 
 
JX.J A SHADY WALK. 155 
 
 another six miles of shade, for the king who made 
 this place planted trees up and down the valley, 
 which, although it has always been held by farmers 
 and market-gardeners, has the appearance of a 
 private domain. 
 
 A thunderstorm overtook me on the road, and 
 gave me what the boys call a " belltinker." After 
 getting wet to the skin, and smothered with mud 
 through falling on the slippery banks, I was thank- 
 ful to reach the railway station of Castillejos, and 
 there pass the night. 
 
 The station-master allowed me to sleep in the 
 cloak room, but before doing so I shared a good 
 supper with him, which had been sent down from 
 Madrid by the night mail. Cheered by the presence 
 of a good heart I slept soundly, and the next morning 
 continued my journey towards Toledo following 
 the flow of the Tagus, but unfortunately not near 
 enough to get a bath or a drink. The soaking of 
 the previous night had given me a cold, but Nature 
 came to my relief. I found the liquorice plant 
 growing in great abundance, so pulling up an arm- 
 ful of roots I munched them as I jogged along, 
 and towards evening I had fairly recovered. The 
 Moor has left traces of his industry on this road. 
 The river flats are irrigated by means of well water. 
 This is drawn up in pitchers lashed to a circular 
 
156 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [H. 
 
 belt, which revolves on a huge wheel, the motive 
 power being a mule or donkey blindfolded and un- 
 attended by any driver, which trudges round and 
 round in a circle throughout the livelong day. These 
 elevators, which are here in thousands, are called 
 "Norias" (Persian wheels). It speaks volumes for 
 the dusky Moor that the " Norias " are never found in 
 any part of Spain which has been held exclusively by 
 the Spaniards. 
 
 It was pitch dark an hour or two before I saw 
 the lights of Toledo, apparently gleaming out from 
 the clouds. I had lost the road, which since I 
 left the shades of Aranjuez had been the merest 
 track ; so I took to the railway as the surest way 
 of getting nigh unto the town. On the line I 
 overtook a farmer-looking man. He was hopelessly 
 drunk, and had all his work cut out to balance 
 himself on his Jack donkey, which latter preferred 
 taking the main way to walking on the track beside 
 it. I felt bound to act as cicerone to the drunkard 
 till I could see him out of danger. He put many 
 questions to me, but as I was unable to answer 
 him to his satisfaction he thought me more drunk 
 than himself, and pitied me accordingly. 
 
 He said he knew of " a short cut " to Toledo. 
 We took it, and found, like Pat, that it delayed us. 
 We seemed to travel miles and miles without gaining 
 
IX.] A SHORT CUT. 157 
 
 a yard on the town. Perhaps we were " measuring 
 the road." But I must say in my own defence that 
 I had drunk no wine that day. 
 
 It was long past midnight when we arrived at the 
 bridge which spans the Tagus and gives access to the 
 famous city. For some reason the toll-keeper would 
 not allow the drunkard to pass, and while the parley- 
 ing was going on I sat down on my bundle and fell 
 fast asleep. In the morning I was awakened by a 
 fat old fellow in a white apron kicking me in the ribs 
 and shaking a bunch of keys over my head. I dis- 
 covered I had been sleeping in front of a kind of 
 sentry-box, from which my persecutor sold fruits and 
 cool drinks to those who passed over the bridge. 
 He was naturally annoyed to find my untidy body 
 lying in front of his shop door. 
 
 My companion of the night had flown. I was not 
 sorry. Toledo lay before me. It has a fine old world 
 look viewed from the bridge. It seemed to promise 
 great things, but I cannot say that it revealed many 
 to me. 
 
 The Tagus, still black and dreamy, takes a crescent 
 course through a gorge it has made in a wild rocky 
 range which dips into a small valley. Toledo stands 
 on a hill cut off by the river from the parent range. 
 The situation is most peculiar for an inland town,, 
 as it is nearly surrounded by water, and except by 
 
158 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 the bridge it can only be approached by way of the 
 plain. In the old days when it was man's arm, not 
 his ingenuity, that decided the victory, Toledo was 
 well-nigh impregnable. To-day its strongest walls 
 and ramparts could be taken by schoolboys. The 
 city rises in a succession of terraces from the river. 
 
 Church steeples and towers shoot skyward in all 
 directions ; some of sombre time-stained stone, others 
 of check-patterned tiles in black and white. 
 
 The word " fantastic " does not convey any idea 
 of the many quaint forms these towers and turrets 
 take. As it was fair time a flag or strip of bunting 
 floated from nearly every one of them. The morning 
 sun had gathered up all the hazy fragments from the 
 crags and crannies about the river, and in the blue 
 vault above there was not one discordant shade or 
 the vestige of a cloud. The ranges round are wild 
 and bare. The only strip of cultivated land skirts 
 the broad bed of the Tagus away in the direction 
 I had come the previous night. I was sadly in need 
 of a bath and clean clothes before joining the speci- 
 ally dressed throng who were crossing the bridge on 
 their way to the fair. 
 
 But it will be all over with this tramp when he 
 really stops to consider other people's opinion of him, 
 so " rough and unbeautiful " as I was I made for the 
 city. I wound round and round and round till I 
 
IX.] ACROSS THE TAGUS. 159 
 
 reached the principal plaza on the crown of the hill. 
 It is small, and in no sense effective. The houses and 
 shops are of quite ordinary design and appearance. 
 
 There are scores of towns in Spain far more 
 antiquated and picturesque than the interior of 
 this one. I am inclined to think that Toledo lives 
 on its former reputation. The Cathedral is like 
 many an ordinary woman made famous because it 
 has a dark history. Not being a great student of 
 history, I own that I prefer things that carry the hall 
 mark of superiority on their very front and figure 
 head. The cry of the new American to the Parisian 
 waiter, " Give me something I can understand and 
 digest" is also mine. 
 
 This Cathedral is the most complex and bewildering 
 I have ever seen. It has changed hands and beliefs 
 so often that it is hard to know what end some 
 portions are meant to serve. There are forms and 
 figures and utensils belonging to the outside world of 
 many centuries, rather than to the history and tradi- 
 tions of the Church. But I suppose " the Church " 
 somewhat resembles myself on this pilgrimage, in 
 that it is ready to take anything it may be offered. 
 The ante-chambers of the Cathedral contain thou- 
 sands of beautiful things, but the collection is marred 
 by the presence of incongruous and ridiculous gim- 
 cracks tin hearts and other frivolous offerings The 
 
160 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 stained windows are superb, and I find no words to 
 convey an idea of the effect of the gorgeous rays of 
 light which they pour on the pavement of this great 
 church. 
 
 The library contains thousands of rare and costly 
 books and manuscripts, and the numerous chambers 
 of the adjoining cloisters are clothed with pictures ; 
 some quaint and beautiful, others grotesque, hideous, 
 and vulgar. 
 
 The re-tablo is sublime ; the wood-carving every- 
 where of the highest excellence in art ; and the 
 choir-screen of wood, stone, and bronze is said to 
 be unique. The most striking picture is a colossal 
 figure of San Christobal nearly sixty feet high 
 nursing a child. The anatomy is bad, but the 
 herculean proportions make it effective. 
 
 The arches of the main doorway are deservedly 
 famous. They are surrounded by chastely wrought 
 figures of saints and sacred emblems. Although so 
 hard and cold, the stone seems to shed the softest 
 of tears and emit the sweetest odours from the 
 sightless eyes and lifeless flowers which have lingered 
 here through so many stormy centuries. 
 
 I confess to a love for neglected shrines. I may 
 go further, and say I like most neglected things. A 
 neglected garden speaks to me more eloquently 
 than any well-tended parterre. And so it came to 
 
IX.] A NEGLECTED SHRINE. l6l 
 
 pass that I was attracted to the little noticed church 
 and monastery of San Juan,* and held captive by 
 its voiceless yet speaking stones. 
 
 There is but one popular attraction in the church 
 save its curious draught-board-patterned tower 
 and this is the recumbent figure of a saint (a bishop 
 I believe he was) in white marble ; a work of extra- 
 ordinary beauty. I sat down to admire it. 
 
 Half-a-dozen sisters of mercy were kneeling round 
 this figure, and one of them, evidently taking me 
 for a penitent, urged me to kneel and ask a few 
 favours from the saint, whose life, she assured me, 
 had come " very near to that of the Lord Jesus." Un- 
 believing wretch that I was, I could not offer myself 
 to this cold, dead thing in stone. I looked my 
 thanks to the nun. I could have said a few words 
 to her. 
 
 She was rather young, and had a sweet, good- 
 natured face, and I'm afraid my looks betrayed more 
 devotion towards her than to the saint in marble, for 
 she distinctly blushed, and lost the serene, far-away 
 look so common to women of this order. 
 
 Within the old white walls of the Hospital of 
 
 * " Hospital de Tavera. Founded by the Cardinal Archbishop 
 Tavera 1 540, for the sick and invalids. The tomb is that of the 
 founder, and is by Berruguete ; the latter died whilst working 
 on the last details." O'SHEA. 
 
 IT 
 
1 62 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. CH. 
 
 San Juan there is still opportunity to perform holy 
 deeds, and I fancy that the quiet blue cloak and 
 cowl may cover a purer, happier heart than belongs 
 to many a prattling, commonplace woman of the 
 world. 
 
 I often meditate and speculate about the mission 
 of different generations of men, and I derive a 
 peculiar kind of pleasure from the recognition that 
 so fc\v traces of the lives and works of countless 
 millions are left behind. The yard of the above- 
 named monastery is paved with enormous blocks of 
 stone, and to look on it is to be reminded of a 
 ruffled sea. Feet, human feet, have done this ; 
 have made impressions a foot or more in depth 
 below the original surface ; and the once round pillars 
 supporting the balcony of the monastery hospital 
 are worn out of shape by the friction of human hands 
 and shoulders. 
 
 What a sentimental tramp I must appear always 
 mooning about in churches ; but has it ever occurred 
 to you that they are the only homes of the tramp ? 
 Here and here only he can lay down his unchristian 
 load, doff his hat, and enter without fear. 
 
 Ah ! we shall get rid of a good many time- 
 honoured institutions before we unship our religion. 
 Education will not " improve " us right out of it. 
 Even an increase of the masculine qualities in woman 
 
IX.] MY ONLY HOME. 163 
 
 extension of the franchise, open doors to the scien- 
 tific laboratories, and all other of her heart's desires 
 will not make her and the sons she influences 
 indifferent to all forms of faith. Men and women are 
 kneeling, not only in the primitive fanes of Old 
 Toledo, but at the Fountain-head of knowledge in 
 the Madeleine and Mayfair. Religions will change 
 and have their ups and downs, but they cannot die. 
 Man will continue to worship what he cannot com- 
 prehend. He peoples no known spot with the object 
 of his devotion. Far away in the mysterious heavens 
 he looks for light and life, and fancies j the white 
 clouds which gather o'er the blue are the only 
 barriers between himself and God. 
 
 When my tramping days are over I hope to find 
 other walls to shelter me from the rude world But 
 at present the church is my only home, and the 
 sight of a distant spire fills me with thankfulness. 
 I have seen the grey piles showing over many a hill ; 
 and looking down the long valleys, when the white, 
 dusty roads offer neither shade nor rest, my only 
 hope has been the distant haven built for God. 
 
 I was not sorry to bid farewell to the streets of 
 Toledo. They are narrow, steep, and tortuous, and 
 being pitched with enormous smooth stones, the way- 
 farer slips and slides and gets his feet pinched at 
 almost every step. Toledo as a whole did not 
 
164 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. IX. 
 
 impress me. It has taken to what Paddy calls 
 " high notions " ; that is to say, it has new-faced, 
 and whitewashed, and slapdashed so many of its old 
 things that they look either new or ridiculous. 
 
 Towards night I prepared to leave the town. As 
 I sat sipping a cup of black coffee in the principal 
 cafe, half the population crowded to gape at me. 
 Happily their attention was diverted by some other 
 attraction of the fair, and I was left free to con my 
 map before making tracks in the direction of Ciudad- 
 Real. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. 
 
 FAREWELL TO THE TAGUS. A BED ON A WET FLOOR. SONSECA. 
 
 ORGAZ. A SUNDAY MORNING. THE VALLEY OF YEBENES. 
 
 THE MONTES DE TOLEDO. A HOSPITABLE GOATHERD. A 
 COSTUME OF LEATHER. MALAGON. CIUDAD-REAL. A 
 CHURCH PROCESSION. MY FELLOW-COUNTRYMAN. THE 
 HOTEL PISSAROSSA AND ITS ROUND TABLE OF KNIGHTS. 
 A LEARNED ECCLESIASTIC. THE BATTLE-FIELD OF LOS 
 ARCOS. - FAREWELL TO DREAMY OLD CIUDAD-REAL. 
 
 the old bridge that had been on the pre- 
 vious night my airy-eerie bedchamber I took 
 my last look at the black rolling flood, and struck the 
 track over the rugged hill leading to Sonseca. I was 
 sorry to say good-bye to the Tagus. It had not won 
 my affections, but I have journeyed long enough to 
 know the value of any river, and I knew that I 
 should have to travel hundreds of miles before 
 reaching the banks of the Guadalquivir. It was 
 raining in torrents, and, crossing a cold wild moorland, 
 I got drenched to the skin and almost perished with 
 cold. 
 
 Hour after hour I trudged through the falling flood 
 165 
 
1 66 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 a dismal ending to my long day of sightseeing in 
 Toledo. Only once did I get a drop of wine, at a 
 solitary house on the moor. Late at night, fatigued 
 and ill-tempered, I reached the "pueblo" of Bourgillias. 
 The entire population seemed like myself out of 
 sorts with the weather. I could not get a shake- 
 down anywhere. 
 
 There was no alcalde, no rest-house, no hospital ; 
 only closed doors, a go-to-the-devil expression on 
 every face, and the rain still pelting down ! At last 
 I found a shelter only a wet floor, and I was soak- 
 ing. Nevertheless I stretched out and slept soundly 
 till morning. 
 
 Then I went in search of a bakehouse, and bought 
 a huge piece of bread. With this I took to the road. 
 The sun soon dried me, and I felt none the worse for 
 my rough night. I passed several hamlets before 
 reaching Sonseca, a compact, clean village which lies 
 somewhat low, and is a veritable oven. 
 
 The curious old brick houses are painted over with 
 chocolate and sky blue, and on many of them are 
 tracings of flowers, leaves, birds, and monsters. 
 
 A score of old crosses and stone columns mark 
 an ancient burial ground, where donkeys and mules 
 browse at their ease tethered to the old stones. 
 
 Half-a-dozen little chimneys rising above the house- 
 tops betray the presence of some old mills, which 
 
X.] THE PUEBLO OF ORGAZ. 167 
 
 have been turning out the best of Spanish cloth for 
 more than a thousand years. I penetrated two or 
 three of the dwellings, and some kindly women let 
 me gaze my fill upon their old china, brassware, and 
 primitive furniture. 
 
 They seemed to take a real pride in their pretty, 
 quaint homes. The country around was all olive, 
 corn, and vine land, hardened and withered by the 
 sun to the same sad grey colour which is so depress- 
 ing throughout Spain. 
 
 It was still early when I left Sonseca, and, as ill 
 luck would have it, I was overtaken by another 
 storm. Then the sun came out and laughed at me 
 till I was dry, inside and out, and just as evening 
 was taking big reefs in the broad plain, and shorten- 
 ing up the white, hot road, I got into the castle- 
 crowned old pueblo of Orgaz. 
 
 I was just in the mood to make an impression on 
 the Powers of the place. I was hungry ! I put on 
 the airs of a martyr ; showed my scars (they are 
 always and only on my feet) ; and then expressed 
 my admiration for the Spanish character ! 
 
 The thing was done ! The alcalde, the secretary, 
 and another great gun promise that I shall be well 
 cared for in their town. The alcalde accompanied 
 me himself to a " posada " and ordered my bed, a real 
 bed in a clean room, for the night. 
 
1 68 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [CH. 
 
 After us came the secretary, bringing an accept- 
 ance paper for my signature. He had named me 
 as he came along in the twilight, and this attracted 
 an immense crowd curious to see the " Ingles." They 
 were good-humoured folk, and I was fairly loaded 
 with gifts cigarettes and earthen cups of wine. 
 They simply held a public meeting over me, and 
 the clamour of tongues was prodigious. The gist 
 of it all was that Orgaz was going to see great 
 things now that an " Ingles " had deigned to 
 honour (!) it with his presence. It was midnight 
 before I could escape from the crowd filling the 
 great yard of the posada, and go off to that sweet 
 little bed surrounded by Spanish embroidery and 
 white walls. 
 
 Who would not be weary for the sake of appreciat- 
 ing the simple comforts of a tavern bed ? 
 
 I was tempted to lie long after daylight, only 
 rising in time to attend mass at the old church. The 
 altar pieces have some of the lovely wood-carving 
 in which the Spaniards certainly excel. Here, as 
 usual, the congregation was chiefly composed of 
 women. They knelt in their black dresses and 
 cloaks round the altar steps, shaking and twirling 
 fans before their wrinkled faces ; while the men stood 
 in the rear, dressed in their every-day clothes, ready 
 to go to work in the Campo. They wear cord or 
 
X.] SUNDAY MORNING. 169 
 
 black velvet faded to brown, black " fajas," dark- 
 blue shirts, and hats of plush in shape like a round 
 bread-tray. Those who were independent of labour 
 for the day sat solemnly contemplating the priest's 
 movements. Some were old men, veritable patri- 
 archs, in real old-fashioned Spanish cloaks, cord 
 breeches reaching well over the knee and bell- 
 bottomed, white cotton stockings and brown leather 
 shoes or " espargots." The organ with its horizontal 
 trumpet pipes sent forth lovely music, and the singing 
 in this unknown country church was heavenly. I 
 was so rejoiced that tears rushed to my eyes. 
 George Herbert's lines 
 
 " Sweet day, so calm, so cool, so bright 
 The world were dark but for thy light " 
 
 gained fresh meaning for me on this Sunday morn- 
 ing spent in Catholic Spain. 
 
 Four heavy walls are all that remain of the castle 
 of Orgaz. I could discover no documents in that 
 ready, convenient way some trippers do when in 
 out-of-the-way and old-fashioned places. Neither 
 did I break into any dungeon keep and unearth any 
 distressed maiden seeking succour from my knightly 
 arm, so I was forced to move on. 
 
 There is no escaping from our tasks. It is a 
 .continuous journey, this life of ours. Romantic 
 
1 70 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cu. 
 
 youths and maidens and some old folks, too are 
 inclined to believe that there are shady banks, 
 rippling waters, and immortal flowers, by which many 
 rest and escape the ravages of old Time awhile. 
 But it is not so. I, at least, have discovered that 
 there are twenty-four hours in every day, and, pass 
 them where I will, there is a thorn or a chilling 
 thought in every one of them. 
 
 After one of my customary fags of a dozen miles 
 over open, plain land, I arrived at a bold range, 
 which forms the extreme northern offset of the 
 Montes de Toledo ; a steep-sided, wild, and waterless 
 range, and the road scarcely discernible in broad 
 daylight. 
 
 Having been to church in the morning, I was 
 reminded of too many good precepts to allow my 
 feelings to take shape in words, but I did want to 
 curse that confounded hill for sticking itself right in 
 my way. It took me three hours to climb up one 
 side and down the other, and there was not a soul 
 in the valley of Yebenes willing to compliment me 
 for all my hard labour ! 
 
 The inhabitants of Yebenes are evidently anxious 
 to " go one better " than any of their neighbours, as 
 they whitewash the roofs of their houses, and also make 
 white lines across the cobble stones in the "calles/" 
 to show " whos'n is whos'ii" as they say in Somerset. 
 
X.J BROKEN COUNTRY. 171 
 
 From this small valley I had a good view of the 
 Montes de Toledo. The outline is not striking. 
 They are without any backbone. 
 
 The country is what geologists call "broken." 
 There is not a ridge or spine three miles in length 
 nothing but easy cones, humps, and hollows, without 
 grace or grandeur. Valleys, dry dells, and basins 
 appear in the most unexpected quarters, and it is 
 strange that with all these natural catchment areas 
 no spring should find its way to make even a 
 solitary lake. 
 
 The few insignificant rills rising on the outer 
 slopes of the southern boundary are absorbed by 
 evaporation. The prevailing hue is a heavy rain- 
 cloud tint. It is a dreary, barren region. I should 
 not have ventured out of Yebenes without any bread 
 in my satchel had I not been assured by some 
 thick-headed fellows that there were " plenty of 
 houses near the mountains." So I decided to keep 
 my pack light, and jog on to some distant haven in 
 the black hills. Night came on whilst I was in a 
 long, dreary gorge. There were several little pools 
 of rain water, bits of quercus scrub, and pretty little 
 flowers of the crocus family growing beside my path. 
 But there was no sign of a human habitation. To- 
 wards midnight I saw two lights ahead of me, and 
 heard dogs barking. One light shone from an old 
 
OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [ CH 
 
 castle standing on a rocky promontory, the othcr 
 from the cottage of a goatherd, who sat at his door 
 puffing a cigarette. 
 
 On seeing my plight he placed bread and cucumber 
 before me, and gave me permission to sleep in an 
 empty hut. 
 
 In the early morning he directed me across the 
 Montes to Nada which I managed to miss, although 
 I kept the given course over frightfully hot, desolate 
 hills. In a dry valley I fell in with some goatherds 
 tending a flock of two or three thousand brown- 
 haired hornless goats. 
 
 No better examples of the primitive man could 
 be found in Spain. Everything they wore was made 
 of leather. Goatskin caps, shaped like an Etruscan 
 helmet the fur inside, and the outside black and 
 shiny with frequent handling ; shirts also of goat- 
 skin tanned soft as chamois, and tied down the 
 front with leather laces (instead of buttons) ; short 
 jackets of dark brown leather, with fancy scalloped 
 patches adorning the front, elbows, and pockets ; 
 buttons made of rudely-cut pieces of cow and goat's 
 horn ; and stiff, hard leather breeches. Leather 
 sandals, and a score of green leather straps bound 
 round ankles and calves, completed their attire. They 
 were tall, hardy, dare-devil-looking men, and I was 
 delighted with the strong picture they presented on 
 
X.] LEATHER CLOTHING. 
 
 their native heath. All their " kit " was equally 
 primitive. They carried their meal (for making 
 brown bread), their wine, and their water in skins. 
 Oil, used for cooking and also for dressing wounds 
 in their flocks, was held in a score or two of large 
 cow-horns, with caps and spicket holes fitted over 
 the large ends. All these horns were connected by 
 links and straps, so that they could be carried over 
 the shoulder as on mules' backs. A couple of old 
 guns with the locks outside served to throw the 
 picture into the long past. The blades stuck in 
 their waist-belts were more like old reaping-hooks 
 than knives. Rough and wild as these men were, 
 the}' were very open-hearted. They offered me of 
 their little store, and directed me to the best track 
 across the mountains. 
 
 I learned from them that I should not come across 
 a house for many miles. And they were right. 
 
 I must have walked twenty miles across this track- 
 less maze of hills and hollows before I finally got 
 away from them, and descended the long valley 
 leading to Malagon. The small river Cambron, which 
 waters this town, is subterranean in the summer. It 
 is only in winter, when the storm waters come down, 
 from the Montes de Toledo, that its course can be 
 seen ; but a subterranean stream of water which 
 follows the open river bed is perennial, and serves 
 
1/4 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [CH. 
 
 to irrigate the low-lying country, which shows very 
 sweet and green after the barren mountains. 
 
 I arrived at Malagon too late to lay siege to the 
 alcalde, and being very tired I " put up " at a posada. 
 In other words, I slept on the floor of the yard. 
 In the morning I set out by the shortest road to 
 Ciudad-Real. 
 
 Twenty-five miles two little villages, a first view 
 of the pretty Guadiana, an abundance of grapes, 
 the death of two black snakes, and then the Royal 
 City. It is as flat as a bowling green, and very small 
 to have such a big name. This is the story of its 
 origin. 
 
 Alfonso the Great, annoyed by the incessant 
 appeals for aid made by the inhabitants of the 
 old town constantly ravaged by malarial fever, came 
 and looked at it and saw that it was bad. He waved 
 his strong arm in the direction of the dry plain. 
 " Build and live over there," he said. 
 
 His subjects took him at his word. They forsook 
 the old town on the banks of the Guadiana, built 
 as the king had commanded, and so came into 
 existence the town and name of Ciudad-Real. 
 
 The Octroi is strictly enforced here ; but I passed 
 through the big gates without even receiving recog- 
 nition from the guard. My clothes and person had 
 become so faded and poverty-stricken that the toll- 
 
X.] A CHURCH PROCESSION. 175 
 
 keeper did not wish to examine my load. I hold 
 divided opinions about a tramp's dress and appearance. 
 I believe that anything that awakens curiosity will 
 do more for him than the small percentage of good 
 souls who look on chanty as a holy duty. A 
 wretched, needy, even a dirty appearance claims the 
 attention and support of many ; but I believe a 
 nimble-footed, bold-faced, quick-witted rascal gets 
 most in the long run. 
 
 The town was musical with bells : deep-sounding 
 and light silvery notes rang out from all quarters. 
 This was the greatest day of the year for Ciudad 
 Real, the day on which the Virgin is brought out 
 on a triumphal car (a veritable Juggernaut), and 
 a gorgeous procession sweeps through the town. 
 1 was just in time to witness it. The Virgin wore 
 a magnificently embroidered dress of emerald green 
 satin and a cape of cardinal silk ; a large and 
 gorgeous crown on her head, surrounded by a silver 
 aureole. The platform on which she stood was bright 
 with valuable trophies and lovely flowers. Priests, 
 gaudy as Chinese mandarins, marched on either side ; 
 and first behind the Virgin was the presiding bishop, 
 arrayed in cardinal and gold, his hands folded in 
 prayer, his eyes raised to the clouds. Four acolytes 
 held up his train, into which women [cast sweet- 
 smelling flowers. 
 
1/6 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 After the bishop came a band, and after the band 
 what was called " the procession of the virgins, '* 
 apparently all the girls of the town in white dresses, 
 bearing flowers and lighted candles in their hands. 
 Then the motley candle-bearers came not a little 
 band by any means ; they were in pairs, and nearly 
 half a mile long. 
 
 I have little inventive genius, but if I could invent 
 " an economic candle," or one " warranted not to go- 
 out throughout the longest religious ceremony," I 
 should make fortune and fame right away. I have 
 seen enough grease run to waste in Spain to send this 
 old orb of ours into space, if it could only be placed 
 within a league of its axis. 
 
 And then the bad language that bad candles- 
 provoked ! I have heard it, and I know. But perhaps 
 even this is no misfortune for the priests. 
 
 Taken as a pageant, this procession ranks high. 
 It is faultless in detail, and the remarkable feature 
 is that all the actors and audience appear sincere.. 
 This procession of the virgins is not a travesty on 
 some old-time custom ; it is the old-time custom 
 itself, brought down with all its original notions to 
 this very day. 
 
 Here wave banners which were borne aloft before 
 the centuries of our era were in their teens sceptres 
 which in former days caused vanity to grow into- 
 
X.] A FELLOW-COUNTRYMAN. I// 
 
 valour and lay down its little life on many a bloody 
 field. This show is not merely a day's delight ; 
 it is a long page of history brought into convenient 
 and attractive limits, and I for one could stand the 
 like of it often and not tire. 
 
 Illuminations, bonfires, and fireworks wind up every 
 Spanish show ; and what a splendid fact it is that 
 the people can go through all this excitement 
 without getting drunk. A Spaniard drinks when 
 he is thirsty ; he is sensible enough only to sip, 
 and that shyly, when he is not. If they didn't 
 swear they would be the finest " crowd " in the 
 world. 
 
 They use bad language very bad language. It 
 is not the sort of utterance that at times almost 
 improves and dignifies an Englishman's remarks : it 
 is low, filthy speech, not spoken in anger or contempt, 
 but for the mere sake of saying it. 
 
 I was accosted in the street by a man who wanted 
 to know if I was " the fellow he had read about." 
 How could I tell who he had or had not read 
 about ? But it turned out I was " the fellow," and 
 that a fellow-countryman was sojourning in Ciudad- 
 Real. We met we embraced each other. Spanish 
 may be " the language of the gods," but the arrogant 
 Englishman sticks fast to his own little language, 
 and loves it dearly. There is nothing like a language 
 
 17 
 
1 78 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 for opening up and blending the sympathies of 
 various members of the human family. 
 
 The men whom we like best are those who come 
 nearest to ourselves. We are never quite close to 
 those whom we cannot fully understand. 
 
 My new friend my gratitude to him for the 
 pleasant hours he afforded me compels me to record 
 his name, Joseph O'Farrell pressed me to put up 
 at the " Fonda Pissarossa " (the leading hotel), and 
 enjoy the current luxuries of the town. 
 
 I did not decline to do so. A clean bed, quiet, 
 good food, and agreeable society are scarce items 
 on a tramp's programme. 
 
 Have you ever noticed that they are usually thin 
 men who sit late at table ? I have, often so often 
 that I have but little respect for the fat porpoises 
 who strut away early with a toothpick between their 
 teeth, preferring a tete-a-tete with the maid in the 
 passage to the story of the nations which may be 
 served up after the last bottle has gone round. It 
 may sound "big" to say "the story of the nations/' 
 but who is able to maintain that any place has 
 never helped to swell the flood of history ? 
 
 Ciudad-Real is a hotbed of old soldiers. They 
 have but few clubs, but they meet regularly at the 
 " Fonda Pissarossa," discuss their pet theories, and 
 abuse the powers that be. 
 
X.] AX IRATE COLONEL. 
 
 These ancient warriors admitted me to their round 
 table, and I felt honoured to sit amongst them. 
 They welcomed me because I was a curiosity, because, 
 to use a favourite Spanish word, I was " caprichios." 
 But they approved of me less when I ventured to 
 pronounce an opinion on their country. One bluff 
 old chap, a retired colonel of engineers, told me 
 coolly that I knew nothing about Spain ! I did 
 not resent his candour. I am ever a student I 
 will listen to any man who offers to teach me. 
 The irate Colonel went on, "It is easy for you 
 travelling penny-a-liners to say what we are and 
 what we are not, but to what end and purpose do 
 you prattle and complain ? Let us be fair. We ask 
 you for nothing. Do not rob us of what we have 
 now the greatest thing in the world ! " " What is 
 that ? " I asked. " Peace" answered the Colonel. 
 
 This remark gave me my cue for action, and we 
 went off into a long talk on the subject of the 
 conflicts Spain had waged in order to secure this 
 blessed peace. 
 
 We agreed that Spain was not worth fighting for, 
 and that being hard bound by natural conditions 
 she could never advance and keep pace with the rest 
 of the world. (This is in great measure true.) 
 
 Then, having pacified the old warrior by the 
 adoption of all his opinions, I bade him good-night 
 
ISO OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 and went off to the Teatro Verano. I did not enjoy 
 the performance, for the actors could neither play 
 nor sing ; but a Spanish crowd is always entertaining, 
 and, being fair time, there was a full house. 
 
 Ciudad-Real boasts nothing of importance in the 
 way of old houses or churches. The Cathedral 
 is small, modern, and bare. You may enjoy being 
 reminded that " Tirteafuera," the birthplace of the 
 priest who baptised Sancho Panza, is within sight 
 of Ciudad-Real. 
 
 I was introduced to the Canon, a fine-looking man, 
 with a " fair round belly with good capon lined," and 
 a rich manly voice. The cardinal cross displayed 
 on the left breast of his flowing robe shows him 
 to be one of the military knights of Almagro (of 
 the old order of Calatrava). He welcomed me 
 graciously. And so I had rambled so far without 
 any certainty that I should benefit ? I replied that 
 wherever my fellows are there is always interest 
 and benefit for me. Some of the good and wise 
 stay at home in shady, retired places, and these I 
 love to discover. 
 
 " True," said the Canon ; " he who would know 
 the world must go out of it as well as into it. 
 We can only see things at a distance. The light 
 must come between the object and the eye or it 
 will only blind us. People who live always in the 
 
X.] A LEARNED CANON. l8l 
 
 world know nothing about it, because they have 
 never been sufficiently far off to see things as they 
 are." 
 
 The Canon loves the English, on account of the 
 riches they have given to his library. Shakespeare, 
 Milton, Bacon, and Ben Jonson are his intimate 
 friends. He delights in Bulwer, Dickens, and 
 Thackeray, and considers Jane Austen, the Bronte 
 sisters, and George Eliot the greatest women of 
 genius in the history of the world. But his idol is 
 Byron. 
 
 " The English are too near the North Pole to catch 
 the heat and fire of his poetry. Only those who 
 know the scenes and subjects he depicts can appre- 
 ciate their marvellous fidelity. Even his objectionable 
 passages are the greatest and gravest of facts." 
 
 The Canon lives very near to the real world, in 
 spite of being chained to dreamy old Ciudad-Real. 
 Like Emerson, he does not " build his castle high.'* 
 He "embraces the common," "sits at the feet of the 
 familiar and the low," and finds the simplest fact 
 in nature an important part of the great whole. 
 
 On parting he commended Valdes (A. P.) to my 
 attention, assuring me that I should read him with 
 advantage, no matter where my hopes or feet may 
 trend. 
 
 At the southern gate of the city I was able to look 
 
1 82 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. X. 
 
 on the battlefield of Los Arcos. It was a great 
 day for the peninsula when that battle was fought ; 
 for the Moors laid forty-eight thousand Spaniards to 
 rest in seven hours, and hoisted their standards on 
 all the most valuable lands of Spain. The memory 
 of that and many another great defeat will never 
 cease to fill the Spaniard with hatred for " his eternal 
 enemy," the dusky Moor. 
 
 My hospitable fellow-countryman filled my satchel 
 with a store of good things, and, followed by the 
 good wishes of as kind a heart as ever beat beneath 
 an English waistcoat, I set out in search of fresh 
 conquests. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. 
 
 IN DON QUIXOTE'S COUNTRY. LA MANCHA. YALDEPENAS. 
 ALMAGRO, THE LAND OF VINEYARDS. A SPANISH FAIR. 
 BOLANOS AND ITS SUBTERRANEAN DWELLINGS. MANZA- 
 NARES : A GENEROUS RECEPTION. ARGAMASILLA. CER- 
 VANTES' PRISON. THE CASTLE OF PENNAROYA AND MY DAY- 
 DREAM. THE LONG VALLEY. THE BATANES. 
 
 "TV /T Y route lay across olive groves and vineyards. 
 ** I had reached the plain of Valdepenas, the 
 famous wine district of La Mancha. It was an 
 extraordinary sight. Looking in all directions, the 
 eye met nothing but an unbroken stretch of vines. 
 All the plants were in full bearing ; big luscious 
 white grapes, little black bullety things, and fine 
 varieties of muscatel, all were there. The soil is 
 a light red calcareous, over a shingle bed many feet 
 deep. Water can be drawn from any part of this 
 vast plain ; but as the vines do well without arti- 
 ficial supply no irrigation is required, and wells are 
 infrequent. It was dark before I struck a neglected 
 
184 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 hut by the track side (there are no roads in any part 
 of this great plain). Here I camped, and the next 
 morning went on to swell the tramp population of 
 Almagro. 
 
 It was fair time (it seems to be always fair or 
 feast time in Spain), and I, being an independent 
 tramp, went to the fair. I have seen so many that 
 I seem to have placed myself under the obligation 
 of saying something about one of them. The 
 " feria n of Almagro is considered one of the largest 
 and most picturesque in all the Castiles. 
 
 It is everywhere famous for the enormous number 
 of mules and donkeys which are brought for sale. 
 These being owned by gipsy dealers and by that 
 peculiar population which haunt the Montes de 
 Toledo and Sierra Morena, bring all the variety of 
 colour and contrast which makes a country gathering 
 in Spain so quaint and delightful. 
 
 The principal " calle " is the site of the fair. There 
 are stalls, penny wonders, shooting and gambling 
 saloons, much as we see in our own villages. The 
 local industries are well worth looking at. I saw 
 excellent copper and brass ware, cutlery, and silk 
 garments. Almagro is also justly famous for its 
 lace-making establishments and the quality of the 
 material. 
 
 The " churro " stalls were thronged with customers. 
 
XL] THE "FERIA" OF ALMAGRO. 185 
 
 This is a fine unsweetened batter, forced through a 
 tube into boiling oil, which swells it to the size of 
 a Bologna sausage. 
 
 The Spanish can enjoy no gathering without their 
 "churro." It is licked and admired by large-eyed, 
 open-mouthed children, carried round by mothers and 
 fathers as a delight for those at home, or served up in 
 little rush baskets to those who make a feast of the fair. 
 
 This dainty is served out by showily-dressed girls,, 
 who seem to win more attention than any other 
 saleswomen. 
 
 A big trade is also done in hair. The dealers 
 give two to four pesetas per ounce for good black 
 hair, which they sell at treble the amount The light 
 colours are dearer. It was interesting to watch the 
 girls with " their season's crop," all finely plaited and 
 adorned with a score of showy ribbons, hawking the 
 growing tresses to the different dealers. Satisfied 
 with the offer, the scissors were applied, and a showy 
 handkerchief clapped over the head kept the girl 
 a beauty still. 
 
 Roulette tables were laid down in every corner, 
 and the quarrelling and wrangling were at least 
 audible ! I was pestered to buy castanets by a girl 
 who played them in my ears, and I was humbugged 
 by scores of tramps and maimed and halt beggars, 
 who did not seem to realise that I was a brother 
 
1 86 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 vagrant and one of themselves ; but, best of all, I 
 was taken for a toreador. To be compared to one of 
 those gaily dressed and graceful forms is a compli- 
 ment not to be despised, and I made up my mind 
 on the spot to assume henceforth the toreador strut ! 
 A Mexican Espada had been announced for the 
 bull-fight, and I, being the most foreign-looking 
 individual in the show, was taken for that celebrity. 
 
 The plaza of Almagro is worth looking at. This 
 is not a square, but a long open space two hundred 
 yards by fifty, paved with enormous stones, and 
 surrounded by peculiar old three-storey houses with 
 projecting balconies, from which dangled green blinds 
 and odd garments placed to dry. 
 
 Down the centre ran rows of umbrella tents, piled 
 with pottery, glass, and chinaware. Tons of rock 
 and water melons were placed at intervals, and 
 coarse-throated men and women were yelling and 
 bawling the merits of their wares. Under little 
 awnings men and boys were beating out on anvils 
 fixed before them all kinds of iron pots and pans. 
 The noise was hideous : and consider it never 
 ceases ! Who would choose to live in the plaza of 
 Almagro? Whatever is in season is vended here 
 -every day of the year. The pots and pans and other 
 hardy annuals are always in season, and never leave 
 the plaza till they are sold. 
 
XL] A PICTURESQUE CROWD. 187 
 
 They roll everything out at these fairs. Sacred 
 dramas and bull-fights always go together. Then 
 there is vending of corn, and wine, and oil, and 
 crowding of mules, and donkeys, and goats, and pigs 
 into every "calle," and all the country folk round 
 coming in odd, and picturesque, and ridiculous 
 clothing, and Almagro itself with its mediaeval plaza 
 and customs ; all these varied elements make its fair 
 time rich and interesting. Wherever there are fairs 
 or " toros " I fare badly ! The biggest-hearted alcalde 
 will not give up his annual feast to sit in the town 
 hall for the mere sake of dealing out tickets and 
 compliments to sturdy beggars. 
 
 Almagro had cost me several pence, and I was 
 still without a place to lay my head. Cold floors 
 under any roof would be at a premium on such a 
 night, and the gipsies, who were there by hundreds 
 with their dogs and fleas, would monopolise all the 
 open-air quarters. I determined to sleep that night 
 at Bolanos, which was but fifteen miles away. On 
 the road I met a gipsy sitting beside a well and 
 making lace. 
 
 I watched her busy fingers while she ran out 
 a yard or two, and then I bought the piece for 
 fivepence. 
 
 Bolanos is a small clean village, which, like most 
 of the tidy poor, professes to have " seen better 
 
1 88 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 days." It boasts a ruined castle, a church without 
 windows, and some curious subterranean Roman 
 dwellings, which have been inhabited for two thou- 
 sand years by the successive occupants of Spain. 
 These little beaver-like mounds, rising from a per- 
 fectly flat plain and emitting little columns of smoke, 
 have a most singular appearance. 
 
 There are two communities here, the cave 
 dwellers, and the villagers living in decent stone 
 houses with girls sitting at every door working at 
 lacemaking. I slept at the posada, and started 
 early the next morning, still surrounded by the green 
 sea of grape vines. The sun was scorching, and I 
 found little water to refresh my way. Night came 
 upon me when I was still surrounded by the 
 interminable fields of green. 
 
 It was soon pitch dark, and no house in sight. I 
 soon, got off the narrow track leading between the 
 vines, and blundered on mile after mile, quite uncer- 
 tain as to the direction in which I was moving. I 
 decided to sleep among the vines. I had just unrolled 
 my bundle and prepared to stretch out when a dog 
 barked, and betrayed the presence of a vine-dresser's 
 hut. I made for it, but the owner was a surly brute. 
 He told me there was plenty of room on the plain, 
 and on the plain I slept. 
 
 On waking I saw before me the town of Man- 
 
XI. A WARM RECEPTION. 189 
 
 zanares. It was but four miles away, and, refreshed 
 by the cool morning air, I soon put that distance 
 behind me, and got into the old plaza just as the 
 stalls and their contents were being hidden away and 
 their owners were crowding into the great church to 
 hear mass. Whilst I was taking a rest and writing 
 up a few notes in the plaza, a tall, good-looking 
 priest came along, and without asking me the nature 
 of my mission, nationality, or creed, he threw me a 
 penny ! 1 took it ! I could not thank him, but I 
 shall remember the rich benevolence of that man's 
 face for many a day. 
 
 At the " Casa Consistorial " the powers were 
 wondrous kind. The Ciudad-Real newspapers had 
 informed them of my existence, and they all agreed 
 that I was worth supporting. I did not attempt to 
 deny it ! A new world seemed to open. People were 
 not merely curious, they were generous, and all day 
 I was invited hither and thither and richly entertained. 
 One man insisted on putting me up at the posada, 
 and the mayor gave me letters of introduction to 
 the alcalde of Argamasilla de Alba, whither I 
 was bound. 
 
 Manzanares is a small compact little place, which 
 manages to squeeze in a population of sixteen thousand 
 souls. Before leaving, I visited the great "cuevas" 
 (cellars) of Messrs. Jimenez and Lamothe, and saw 
 
190 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 the rich juice trodden out by men's feet from the 
 tons of grapes hourly poured on the great floors. One 
 cellar owns nineteen enormous pipes, eighteen feet 
 by fourteen, each containing thirty-six thousand litres. 
 In another cellar are thirty-six clay jars, each holding 
 one thousand two hundred gallons of wine. Through- 
 out this vast establishment, the most primitive methods 
 of wine-making exist side by side with the most 
 modern inventions. Brandy distilleries, a chemical 
 laboratory, and the electric light are found here. 
 
 Woe betide the tramp who puts his confidence 
 in the man who shows him the " short cut." 
 
 It is only twenty-six miles from Manzanares to 
 Argamasilla, but I went round by the "short cut," 
 and got there in thirty-nine ! Such experiences are 
 of little use. I confess that I was able to express 
 myself in Spanish in a clearer and more voluble 
 manner than ever before, but the words were of 
 a decidedly common order, and only suited to such 
 occasions. I think they would look somewhat out 
 of place here. Thirty-nine miles through the great 
 vineyard, with only grapes for food, no water, and 
 a sweating sun, sent me a mere crawler into the very 
 first posada of Argamasilla. I was almost too tired 
 to take anything, but after I had managed to eat 
 some bread and eggs and drink a good jug of wine, 
 I stretched out on the hard floor and slept for thirteen. 
 
XL] THE AUTHOR OF " DON QUIXOTE." JQI 
 
 hours before I awoke ; and then it was not a fair 
 wake, for the people of the posada made such a stir 
 around me that 1 " came to " before I was properly 
 refreshed. 
 
 A white elephant would not be a much greater 
 novelty than an Englishman in Argamasilla. Half 
 the population accompanied me with my letter of 
 introduction to the mayor's house. After partaking 
 of his hospitality we set out to visit the prison of 
 Cervantes. It stands in the " calle " bearing his name 
 an ordinary two-storey brick house, with nothing 
 of the prison about it. But as it possessed the only 
 cellar in which a criminal could be safely incarcerated, 
 the honour of holding Cervantes captive fell to its 
 lot. Argamasilla cherishes the memory of Cervantes 
 as Stratford does that of the immortal WilL 
 Although not daring enough to claim it to be his 
 birthplace, it omits no incident of the old soldier's, 
 life. All his career, even his fighting at the battle 
 of Lepanto, occurred here in this very cellar, if [ 
 am to believe the local story. But I decline. As a 
 matter of fact, Cervantes passed but a very short 
 time here. The opening sentence of " Don Quixote " 
 shows that it was in this narrow cell that he conceived 
 the character of the immortal Don, and wrote his 
 earliest exploits. But the greater part of the story 
 was written after the author had regained his liberty. 
 
*9 2 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 The cause of his incarceration is still a disputed 
 point in this hotbed of Cervantine criticism. Accord- 
 ing to the most trustworthy tradition, Cervantes came 
 from Madrid to collect the king's tax an odious 
 -exaction which all endeavoured to resist. The 
 mayor, incensed by his importunity, charged him 
 with the embezzlement of the moneys collected, 
 and it was on this count now believed to be ground- 
 less that Cervantes was thrown into the dark cellar 
 which has shed so much smiling light over the 
 romantic land of Spain. 
 
 From the small entrance hall five steps lead down 
 to this long narrow cellar thirty feet by nine, and 
 seven feet four inches from floor to ceiling. A tiny 
 oriel-shaped hole admits a faint ray of light from the 
 entrance hall. There was once a second light hole 
 in the opposite wall, but there is no evidence to prove 
 that it admitted light in Cervantes' day. There is 
 .now a second cellar adjoining, but this is quite 
 modern. Part of the original door, well protected 
 with iron clamps, is likely to enjoy many more years 
 in its honoured position. At the back part of the 
 house can be seen the window where the first chapters 
 -of " Don Quixote " were thrown by the prisoner's 
 guard to those who waited below. The house, which 
 is fast tottering to decay, is used as a dwelling and 
 .shop by a shoemaker. It is also the post-office : 
 
XL] THE CELLAR PRISON. 193 
 
 letters slipped into a square hole in the wall fall into 
 a box in the cellar. It is unfortunate that no effort 
 is made to preserve this house, which has as much 
 claim to protection against the ravages of time as 
 any in the land. 
 
 At the old church, whose ruinous state leads one 
 to infer that people here are not over fond of worship, 
 are two or three old paintings, reminding one of the 
 illustrations of the " Don " and the " Licentiate." 
 (It is generally accepted in Spain that Cervantes 
 drew his great character from the Mayor of Argama- 
 silla.) There is, in fact, an oil painting of the mayor 
 who caused Cervantes to be imprisoned, which is 
 reproduced in the Spanish imperial edition, printed 
 at Barcelona 1851-1852, and copied into most of the 
 illustrated English editions. 
 
 Spanish pilgrims to the cellar prison are almost 
 unknown. 
 
 True the town has no attractions. Seen from 
 the broad and, save for the grape, bare plain of La 
 Mancha, it is a rude, uninviting place. But I must 
 not forget the hospitable nature of its inhabitants ! 
 
 1 lunched, dined, sipped, and supped with them in 
 the space of a few hours, and the Mayor, ex-Mayor, 
 and other dignitaries walked out of the little town and 
 put me on the right road for the Castle of Pennaroya. 
 
 The weather was threatening, but a self-respecting 
 
 13 
 
194 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [CH. 
 
 tramp never stops at threats ; and who, not being a 
 tramp, can feel sure that it is wiser and safer to 
 stand still than to go on ? The rain did come, and 
 the thunder and lightning made merry at the loneli- 
 ness and helplessness of my position ; but with fresh 
 interests just ahead I felt half indifferent to the 
 force of the storm. 
 
 I took shelter in a solitary house with a lot of 
 children who had been picking grapes for the wine 
 press. 
 
 Whenever the lightning flashed they crossed 
 themselves and said, " Protect me, Mary, Mother of 
 God," with very pretty simplicity. It grew dark 
 before the storm had ceased, and my castle was 
 still far away. The track leading to it, hardly dis- 
 cernible by daylight, could not be seen at all. The 
 owner of the cottage kindly pressed me to stay the 
 night, but I determined to go on. 
 
 It was a hideous walk an up-and-down journey 
 over rocky mounds and down into little basins filled 
 knee-deep with the storm water. 
 
 Trusting to the long grass growing in the marshy 
 bed of a little valley, I endeavoured to cross ; but I 
 got bogged in the centre, and for a long time found 
 it impossible to extricate myself. This was La 
 Mancha ! the land of Quixote ! surely yes ! None 
 but fools and dreamers would venture here. I told 
 
XL] THE CASTLE OF PENNAROYA. 195 
 
 myself that I was a more harebrained clown than he 
 whom Cervantes drew so largely and yet so well ! 
 
 Of course I went the way of all flesh! There 
 was no help for it. I reviled everything pertaining 
 to Spanish romance ; and well I might. I. was 
 plastered with mud from top to toe, and it was not 
 sweet mud either. 
 
 After an hour's trudge I came to a deep gorge. 
 This raised my hopes, as Pennaroya is said to be on 
 the confines of a gorge. I picked my way along a 
 winding path by pools of black, turgid, uncanny- 
 looking water, surrounded by sighing rushes and 
 bounded by steep rocky walls. At times the path 
 narrowed, and I was obliged to creep warily under 
 the overhanging cliff to avoid slipping into the water. 
 At others it crossed tottering plateaus of spongy bog, 
 which moaned and croaked as I shuffled along, and 
 yawned audibly when I reached the firm shore and 
 left it to itself again. 
 
 There was no moon. Dark clouds covered the 
 sky, and here and there between them showed a few 
 leaden-eyed stars. The rain had chilled the air, and 
 there was a " creepy-creepy " covering over every- 
 thing in sight. Positively lonely as I was, I confess 
 to having the most intense pleasure on realizing my 
 position. The old story that had charmed my boy- 
 hood came back with the freshness of yesterday. 
 
196 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 I knew that I was actually looking on the valley 
 that had been the delight of many early hours, and 
 that the dream of twenty years was at last changed 
 into solid though in this twilight questionable 
 shape. By-and-bye the grand old castle showed 
 out against the sky line. 
 
 It seemed to be almost over me, but I had a long 
 fag before I reached the winding zigzaging path 
 which leads up to it from the valley. Of the castle 
 gate only two rude piles of stone are left standing. 
 There was nothing to prevent my marching in and 
 taking possession of the central court. 
 
 Here I saw the strangest night picture I have 
 seen in Spain, and it set me dreaming. 
 
 The moon has risen, and the black veil lying over 
 the land has disappeared. The high wall, which 
 once connected the two wing towers on the edge of 
 the cliff, is no more, so, standing in this court, I can 
 look down the long valley of the Guadiana, over the 
 lands which tower above it on either side, and away 
 to the line where the river seems to meet the clouds 
 and is borne up in fragments of filmy vapour. 
 
 In the strong white light the hills look ghostly and 
 uncertain. The cork-oaks and other little trees 
 show as bottomless pits scattered over the white 
 ground ; and, wherever high peaks cause long shadows 
 to be thrown, the broad landscape is divided into 
 
XL] A NIGHT PICTURE. 197 
 
 mimic islands, surrounded by nothing more substan- 
 tial than yawning chasms. 
 
 Perched here many hundred feet above the valley, 
 it seems an easy thing, with the help of the deceptive 
 moonlight, to float off among the lights and shadows 
 of the cliff, and touch lightly down on the silver 
 streak which rests so beautifully still below. I can- 
 not persuade myself that there is no river, only 
 those little black pools and mud flats, and swaying 
 grasses, bulrushes, and bull-frogs. With the moon 
 the mists have risen and concealed that black ugly 
 bed, and now it is a soft inviting couch, covered with 
 a tapestry of silver grey, restful and sweet to look 
 upon. 
 
 The old castle towers which flank the scene rise 
 like gigantic sentinels into the still air, and on one 
 of them an old owl sits and " whoa's " and " whoo-oo's " 
 melancholy, low and a rickety belfry sways and 
 creaks in unison with the dismal bird of night. The 
 white, square stones which pave the old yard are 
 stained and embroidered with weedy growths, and 
 many shine like deaths' heads looking up beyond 
 the old walls to the stars above them. "It is in 
 solitude that we are least alone." Every spot is 
 peopled every object is a human form. 
 
 It's always the way ! A man can never have his 
 dream out. I had sat myself down on the edge 
 
198 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 of the cliff, letting my legs dangle over six hundred 
 feet of void space, and had looked up and down the 
 valley and at the old castle and the mopy owl, until 
 I was in love with it all, and felt that I could fall 
 asleep amid its quiet and repose, and then dream it 
 all over again and see how much was truth when 
 morning broke. But it didn't turn out like that : 
 I made a noise, and a dog up and barked at the 
 intruder. 
 
 I looked round, expecting to see an enchantress 
 or a belated Dorothea, but instead, an old man in 
 snowy-white night clothes, and armed with a loaded 
 gun, showed through one of the doorle^s portals, and 
 demanded an explanation of my presence within 
 his gates. He was not Giant Despair, so I was 
 Hopeful. I told him that I was a pilgrim, and 
 being tired had fallen asleep in his grounds. Then 
 he hauled his old gun down from his shoulder, and 
 bade me come in. 
 
 He was the caretaker, and lived with his pretty 
 old wife in two dungeon-like chambers of the castle. 
 
 These old folks made a bed for me on the floor, 
 wished me a good night's rest, and left me to go on 
 with my dream. 
 
 In the morning I finished my contract with the 
 loaf of bread I had brought from Argamasilla, and 
 then, in company with the old man, went over the 
 
XI.] THE BATANES. 199 
 
 castle. Save the little chapel, which is held in high 
 esteem by some local magnates, all is ruin. There 
 are some beautiful gems in a basket on the altar, and 
 a silver effigy of the Virgin, numerous brooches, rings, 
 and scarfpins of value, and some trashy trinkets 
 without which no Spanish shrine would be complete ! 
 
 Alas ! with the morning sun the long river and 
 the ghostly islands had disappeared, and nothing 
 was left but a marshy hollow with now and then a 
 sullen pool showing through the green. The witching 
 landscape had vanished and with it my dream ! 
 
 Descending into the valley, I tramped the whole 
 day, meeting with nothing worth looking at save 
 the " Batanes " immortalised by Cervantes in his 
 undying story. 
 
 These "batanes" are beaters* and troughs into which 
 newly-spun and greasy cloth from the old-fashioned 
 looms is thrown for the purpose of washing out the 
 oil and dirt. Strings of mules and donkeys, laden 
 with cotton and woollen stuffs from the far-off mills 
 of Albacete, deposit their loads here and browse 
 around till the washing and drying are over. They 
 are then reloaded with the clean material and left 
 to pick their way homeward over the hills. 
 
 Near the "batanes" are dozens of little clay pits, 
 
 * Fulling-hammers. See "Don Quixote," Chap. xx. "The 
 Adventure of the Fulling-Mills." 
 
200 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 partly filled with water. The cloth is thrown into 
 these pits and trodden by barelegged workmen into 
 the clay. When thoroughly smeared, the cloth is 
 drawn out and allowed to dry in the sun. The clay, 
 which has absorbed the oil, now peels off, and the 
 cloth is almost clean. By way of a finishing touch 
 it is now placed in the " batanes," " dumped " for five 
 or six hours, then re-dried, rolled, and placed on the 
 mules' backs, ready for the warehouses of Albacete. 
 
 The "batafies" consist of long troughs made of very 
 thick, strong wood. These troughs are fixed side 
 by side (from two to twelve in number) over a pit 
 similar to that made for a water-wheel. Throughout 
 the length of this pit a large spindle, carrying as 
 many wheels as there are water-troughs, revolves 
 by means of water falling on powerful wheels at 
 each end. Over the troughs stands a kind of gallows 
 (two uprights and a cross beam), whence depends a 
 shaft connected with a transverse piece resembling 
 the head of a hammer. This hammer, which is forced 
 backwards and forwards by the revolving wheel, 
 draws in from the stream at every blow three or four 
 feet of cloth and " dumps " it against the end of the 
 trough. By this means the dirt and ravellings are 
 pressed out and the cloth freed from all impurity. 
 
 I sat beside many of these "batafies," and was 
 rocked and splashed in turn by the jolting beams 
 
XL] A PRIMITIVE SCENE. 2OI 
 
 and spluttering water-troughs. Maidenhair fern and 
 other shade- and moisture-loving plants almost hide 
 the substructure of some of the old works. Belts 
 of lilacs, poplar, fig trees, and wild vines confine the 
 scene. The simple fellows who conduct the industry 
 are so primitive in their dress, and so limited in 
 speech, that one can readily believe no change has 
 taken place since the day of Cervantes. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 OLD AND NEW CASTILE (continued). 
 DON QUIXOTE'S COUNTRY. 
 
 JULIEN, THE RURAL GUARD. A PRIMITIVE SUPPER TABLE. 
 THE CASCADE OF LUNAMONTES AND RUDIERA. THE LAKE 
 DEL REY. MINE HOST PACO. A JOVIAL EVENING. ANGEL'S 
 SONG. MY GUIDE AND HIS DONKEY. THE LAKES OF 
 RUDIERA. THE CAVE OF MONTESINOS. A DANGEROUS EX- 
 PEDITION. ST. PARTRIDGE'S DAY. MY LAST LOOK AT OLD 
 
 PENNAROYA. I AM HOSPITABLY ENTERTAINED AT ARGAMA- 
 SILLA. MANZANARES WELCOMES ME BACK. CONSOLATION. 
 VALDEPENAS. THE MARKET-PLACE. THE SIERRA MORENA. 
 FAREWELL TO CASTILE. 
 
 THE Mayor of Argamasilla had given me a 
 letter to a rural guard living in this valley, 
 directing him to entertain me for the night and to 
 conduct me to the Lakes of Rudiera and the cave 
 of Montesinos. The guard was not at home, but 
 his sweet young wife bade me enter and await the 
 return of " Julien." He soon arrived, accompanied 
 by some fellows who had been out rabbit and 
 partridge shooting. They brought home a good bag, 
 
 202 
 
CH.XII.] HUNGRY HUNTERS. 203 
 
 and while " Dolores " prepared a giant dish of the 
 lately deceased rabbits for the hungry hunters we 
 sat drinking aquardiente and smoking cigarettes 
 outside the house. 
 
 The party was augmented by a couple of " guardias 
 civiles," and we were soon seated round an enormous 
 bowl filled with rabbits, partridges, strips of bacon, 
 and tomatoes. There was not a vestige of a knife, 
 fork, or cloth. A huge loaf of bread and a big skin 
 of wine lay beside the bowl, and each in turn 
 " whacked " off a piece of bread, dipped it into the 
 bowl of meat and tomatoes, and " wetted " his 
 throat from the wine-skin without further ceremony. 
 I wanted food badly, for I had tasted nothing since 
 morning. My kindly hosts seemed eager to give 
 me of their best, and I passed a pleasant evening 
 listening to tales of sport and local news. 
 
 The next morning Julien and I set out for the 
 great cascade of Lunamontes and Rudiera. For an 
 hour or two we walked up the narrow valley past 
 batanes and cornmills, till we reached a place where 
 the hills closed in on either side. Here stood some 
 old masonry, showing the remains of walls and vast 
 cellars below the ground level. Julien could tell 
 me nothing about them, save that a certain Infanta 
 had made a journey from Madrid to see these simple 
 ruins. Shortly after leaving them the cascade 
 
204 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [H 
 
 appeared before us, and a beautiful sight it was. 
 The valley of the Guadiana is fully a quarter of a 
 mile wide at Rudiera, and, running across it from 
 cliff to cliff, is a natural bar of ironstone and sand- 
 stone between forty and fifty feet high, which, 
 damming up the waters above and forming the 
 Lake del Rey, produces one of the most exquisite 
 cascades that can be imagined. 
 
 Being summer time the flood was not great, but 
 the little torrents and falls of snowy foam, showing 
 here and there between the fern-clad cliffs, and 
 gleaming through the branches of the tiny fig trees 
 and other green growths scattered along the ridge, 
 produce a lovely soft picture which is worth a little 
 pilgrimage to see. 
 
 In the centre the water dashes through a rift, worn 
 eight or ten feet deep in the rock, with such force 
 that it takes a clear leap into space and falls, a 
 boiling, seething mass, into a basin fifty feet below. 
 Sitting on the cliff above we distinctly felt the 
 vibration caused by the falling water. It was, for 
 Spain, an unusual scene. The Lake del Rey opens 
 out to more than a mile in width, and shows clear 
 and beautiful for a couple of miles up the valley. 
 In the clear water the hills are reflected in softer, 
 prettier colours than they really wear, and the filmy 
 fragments of cloud floating overhead are seen resting 
 
XII.] THE VALLEY OF THE GUADIANA. 205 
 
 on the great blue sky which seems to form the bed 
 of the lake. The little hamlet and tall palace of 
 Rudiera were perched in a sandbank to our right, 
 and away below, in the long valley we had lately 
 traversed, loomed the rich streak of green betraying 
 the subterranean course of the Guadiana. 
 
 This extraordinary river occasionally sinks com- 
 pletely out of sight, taking an underground course 
 for many miles, and then reappearing as a strong 
 flowing stream. A Spaniard usually appears indif- 
 ferent to the charms of nature, but Julien was fully 
 alive to the beauty of the scene. " It is without 
 fault," he said proudly. 
 
 We gathered fern fronds, flowers, and scented 
 leaves, damp mosses from between the crags in 
 the ridge, and then walked slowly back to the little 
 old hamlet, which appears to crouch submissively at 
 the foot of the palace. All the gunpowder used by 
 the ancient kingdoms of Castile used to be made in 
 this out-of-the-way place. The waters of the Lake 
 del Rey worked " polveros " (powder mills) in Rudiera, 
 and the palace was inhabited by a high military 
 official, who directed the manufacture of the gun- 
 powder. 
 
 The old mills still stand, but instead of mingling 
 that "villainous salt petre" and its allies, the villagers 
 grow fruit and vegetables within the walls. Arrived 
 
206 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 at the only posada of the place, Julien handed me 
 over to the host, with directions to guide me safely 
 to Montesinos, and to put me up while in the district 
 This was welcome news. When I carry a letter of 
 recommendation I cannot be sure whether the con- 
 tents are favourable or not, but these notes from 
 Manzanares and Argamasilla are lifting me out of 
 my tramp's position, and making of me a tripping 
 tourist ! 
 
 I wanted to start at once for the cave ; but Paco, 
 my new mentor, had no guide at hand, so I had to 
 wait till the morrow. I passed the early part of the 
 afternoon on the edge of the lake watching its con- 
 stantly changing beauties, and, later, I joined a party 
 of sportsmen, composed of the two " guardias civiles " 
 who had come up from Julien's house and a couple of 
 engineers who were taking the levels of the different 
 lakes. 
 
 My name being decreed unpronounceable I was 
 dubbed Quixote \ and, though trusted with a gun, 
 every one of my fellow-sportsmen kept at a very 
 respectful distance from me. We had plenty of work 
 and not much luck, and on returning to the posada 
 we dined together, and spent the evening right 
 merrily. 
 
 The younger engineer, Angel Candelas, was a 
 splendid-looking fellow, tall, well-made, a handsome 
 
XII.] A LOVE DITTY. 2O? 
 
 face, glossy black curls, and great, melting eyes. 
 Moreover, he had an excellent voice. When the last 
 dish had vanished Angel called for a guitar, and after 
 twanging and thrumming it for a few seconds he 
 sang to his own accompaniment the following song, 
 which I roughly translate : 
 
 ANGEL'S SONG. 
 
 41 Night's breeze, dawn's glow, or evening's chill, 
 May change this flower of love, but cannot kill 
 An immortelle. No frosts nor blasts can stay 
 Its growth, nor sharpest blade its beauties take away. 
 
 " By all the world adored, despised, maligned, 
 All powerful for awhile, by all resigned, 
 This I must hear, but cannot prove, 
 For by my joy I live, and all my joy is love. 
 
 " Come, bend thee,* list! For though my song is old, 
 My heart is young, and in its purpose bold ; 
 From me thou wilt not learn that love's a lie : 
 My heaven thou art the world for which I sigh." 
 
 Every word came from the heart of the singer, for 
 he was in love. He had confessed to me during a 
 few moments when we were thrown together whilst 
 rabbit-shooting out on the wold, that he hoped soon 
 
 * " Come, bend thee " is an appropriate appeal in Spain, as 
 serenaders woo their loves from the street, and the fair ones 
 must bend from their balconies to catch the sweet whisperings 
 of their " Angels." 
 
208 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 to marry a beauty from the Guadarama. Apart 
 from his passion, Rudiera might have seemed a sorry 
 place ; but love peopled it with visions which were 
 a thousand times fairer than the eddies of crystal 
 water babbling round it. 
 
 The sergeant (guardia civil), who scorned all 
 sentimental singing, tried to break the spell Angel 
 had cast over us, by thumping on the table with his 
 fists and roaring out a comic ditty, highly diverting 
 to those who understood Spanish idioms and subtle- 
 ties which I did not. 
 
 Then I asked Don Luis, the old engineer, for a 
 song, little thinking of the turn his talents took in 
 that direction, for his face was rather grim and 
 pessimistic ; but when he had puffed to the end of 
 a cigarette, looked into all corners of the room to 
 make sure of his audience, and ordered Demetria, 
 the domestic, to bring in more wine, he ran his fingers 
 very softly on the strings, gave the old instrument a 
 friendly hug, and sang to a plaintive air this song : 
 
 DON LUIS' SONG. 
 
 " In youth came a wondrous longing for a something distant far, 
 It spoke of the word 'ambition,' of a 'goal,' and 'hickory-star, 
 And I thought as a child to follow up up to the source of 
 
 light- 
 Would bring me a golden harvest of knowledge pure and 
 bright. 
 
XII.] THIS OLD GUITAR. 209 
 
 " Then I dreamed of love and living for one who crossed my 
 
 way, 
 And I felt that man's 'great ambition is woman's heart to 
 
 sway ; 
 
 So for her did I breast the current of life so wild and strong, 
 But the love of my youth has left me, there is nought en- 
 
 dureth long ! 
 
 " Now the night is closing round me, and the death winds, chilly 
 
 and wild, 
 Proclaim the end of the journey, and laugh at the dreams of 
 
 the child, 
 Am I forced to the sad conclusion, that all our hopes are 
 
 but dreams, 
 And the brightest joy we inherit is but as the rainbow's gleams, 
 
 " Which come between the shadows and storms of a long, long 
 
 day, 
 Giving birth to hopes that will never come true, in our wished- 
 
 for way. 
 There is nought but loving and losing I have proved it near 
 
 and far ; 
 There is nothing left but music, no friend save this old guitar." 
 
 I would gladly have reproduced a brighter theme 
 than this, but I must deal with things as I find them. 
 Doubtless Don Luis experienced a kind of happiness 
 over his regrets ; I feel sure he did, for, as Angel 
 afterwards informed me, the old man was always 
 at his best for a day or two after giving vent to his 
 favourite song. 
 
 Between the singing and playing of the two 
 engineers and the " sergeant," old Paco, the host, 
 
210 OLD AND NEW CASTILE [Cn. 
 
 chipped in with snatches of Gitanescos and Sevil- 
 lanos, till, having proved himself a singer, he was 
 forced to give us a series of short couplets, all telling 
 of the old, old, and universal story. 
 
 His post was no sinecure, for, standing in the 
 doorway, he had to divide his time between singing, 
 applauding, and giving directions to the servants in 
 the kitchen. 
 
 He was a real country host, fit for a Hogarth 
 or a Rembrandt to portray. Unlike the ordinary 
 Spaniard, he had a very red face, which was also 
 unusually round and flat. He wore over corduroy 
 trousers a bull-fighter's jacket of blue cloth, tastefully 
 faced with scalloped goatskin. A black faja partly 
 covered a clean white shirt-front, and from his narrow 
 collar hung a mere line of emerald-green silk. His 
 merry, good-natured face gave courage to the peeping, 
 half-shy Demetria, who awaited orders by his side. 
 
 This local growth in no way resembled the 
 Demetria of stageland : she was only, to keep up 
 the lingo of the stage, a "baggage," wearing her 
 clothes bundled like a life-belt about her hips, and 
 her open bodice revealed a white neck open as her 
 heart to all the winds that blow. This, and a red 
 and yellow striped skirt and short yellow stockings, 
 made up her costume. Her jet-black hair was coiled 
 in heavy rolls round the sides of her head, her eyes 
 
XII.] HALLOWED GROUND. 211 
 
 were black, half-wild, half-shy in expression, and her 
 hands " beautiful as May." Spanish women possess 
 the mysterious art of keeping their hands soft and 
 white while doing the roughest work. Demetria 
 sometimes leaned on Pace's arm, which was stretched 
 across the doorway, and seemed to regard him more 
 as a father than a master. Such is generally the 
 case in Spain : there is very great respect but no 
 distinction. The poor expect the same attention 
 as the rich and powerful, and they usually get it. 
 
 Between songs, and stories, and much puffing of 
 cigarettes, the evening passed quickly away, and 
 after partaking of a peculiar local dish composed 
 of breadcrumbs, chopped raisins, and sugar, fried in 
 olive oil, we bade each other good-night 
 
 At daybreak, an old man, Solanos by name, came 
 to offer himself as guide to the Cueva of Montesinos. 
 The magic of the word made me wide awake at once, 
 and I was soon dressed and at the door. Solanos 
 had provided himself with a strong and almost jet- 
 black donkey, very appropriately named " Carbonero." 
 As for myself, I had to use "shanks' pony." But 
 what of that? The charm of the journey would 
 outweigh every discomfort. I was treading hallowed 
 ground, ground peopled, glorified, and idealised by 
 the greatest master of Spanish romance and song. 
 When I thought over the past night, I grew baffled 
 
212 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 and uncertain as to how much was fact, how much 
 fiction. My new experiences seemed more extravagant 
 than the old diversions attributed to the place, and 
 I walked on as one in a delicious dream. 
 
 My guide was a dear old fellow, with a mop of 
 bristling white hair falling over a smiling, sheepish 
 face. He wore a blue shirt, short black jacket, blue 
 knickerbockers, white cotton stockings, and a red 
 handkerchief round his head. He coaxed and 
 persuaded Carbonero to " arrie " (get up !) with a stick 
 almost as big as a clothes-prop. 
 
 The journey from Rudiera to Montesinos is about 
 twelve English miles. The road skirts the " Lagunas 
 del Rudiera." There are thirteen of these lakes, 
 three small ones below the cascade of Lunamontes, 
 and the other ten above, all of considerable size and 
 some of indescribable beauty. 
 
 It is a daring statement that "the world is full of 
 song." It may be nearer the truth to say it is full 
 of beauty, but we know it is not. Nevertheless, 
 these lakes of Rudiera form one of the most lovely 
 and impressive pictures in the world. One must be 
 careful to avoid bias in Spain. A little luxury is 
 very apt to go a long way. Spain, as a whole, is 
 ungenerous, ugly, churlish, brutalising ; and he who 
 sees it in its fulness, remembers few natural glories. 
 
 The lakes of Rudiera are a splendid exception. 
 
XII.] LACUNAS DEL RUDIERA. 213 
 
 The short day spent wandering on their shores, 
 gazing on the encompassing hills, drinking in the 
 sweet, pure air, and gloating over the delicious 
 pictures, will never fade from my memory. 
 
 The first lake, " Del Rey," is much larger than the 
 others. It is shaped like a Y, and a low ridge of 
 rocks, which cross it at the junction of its three arms, 
 divides the ancient kingdom of Castile from Albacete. 
 As we trudged along its banks we met a few peasants, 
 more showily dressed than any I had seen before. 
 
 At a " batafie " by a rushing stream, which ended 
 its bustling little life in the clear lake, two or three 
 women showed as bright as a May meadow : all 
 stripes and strips and splashes of colour from head 
 to foot. Domestic, clean, and shy, they were pretty 
 accessories to the lake shore. 
 
 As we advanced, the hills reared to the height of 
 mountains. We passed batanes and corn mills, 
 surrounded by wild vines, and hedged in with belts 
 of poplar and fig-trees. Our path lay along strips 
 of narrow shoreland, covered with rushes and other 
 aquatic growths. Here and there a nook was turned 
 into a primitive garden for water-melons and corn. 
 
 Noisy, yelping boys, high up among the rocks, 
 were gathering " esparto " grass, or tending herds of red 
 goats wearing bells which clang and clatter down the 
 valleys and around the sharp peaks and spurs, till 
 
214 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 distance softens them to sweet musical notes. The 
 water of the lakes is faultlessly clear. Any dark 
 object thrown in can be watched falling, down, down, 
 down, till it appears a mere atom resting on the 
 white pipe-clay bed. A stone no larger than a horse 
 bean was distinctly visible in fifty-six measured feet 
 of water. 
 
 As the hills closed in and we traversed mere 
 ledges jutting out over the water, the scene became 
 extremely grand. The hills are of sandstone and 
 pierced with fantastically distorted bands of iron. 
 The winds and storms of ages have fretted away all 
 the sandstone where it has been exposed, and the 
 ironstone rusted and softened by the elements has 
 become as vari-coloured as an artist's palette. 
 
 Bands and splashes of chocolate, yellow, and fer- 
 ruginous red, fleck the giant walls, and the brilliant 
 hues are faithfully reflected in the still waters below. 
 
 Lake Redondilla is the gem of all. It is about 
 three-quarters of a mile long, and sharp turns in the 
 valley shut it in by its beautiful self alone. 
 
 The waters have treated the shore as the winds 
 and rains have served the rocks above. The soft 
 sand has been laved and licked away by the kiss- 
 kiss of the pure waves, and the entire circumference 
 of the lake changed to a magnificent piece of fret- 
 work. 
 
XII.] A HEAVENLY RESTING-PLACE. 215 
 
 Imagine a wall twenty feet high, honeycombed, 
 wormeaten, waterworn into a ravishing circle of em- 
 broidery. It bears more resemblance to a splendid 
 wall of coral ; but here there is more daring treat- 
 ment, more diversity of design, more superb colour- 
 ing, and it is surrounded by more seductive waters 
 than those which wash the shores of the coral islands, 
 To see this lake in its wondrous home is to see the 
 perfection of nature undisturbed. The rocky plat- 
 form, along which we passed, projects forty or fifty 
 feet from the cliffs on either shore. It is undermined 
 by the lake, and here and there are holes through 
 which one sees the water below showing green and 
 wavy as it trembles in the soft shadow thrown by the 
 rocks above. 
 
 The wild outline of hills, the brilliant colouring, 
 the clear skies, the pure air and sweetness of all 
 around, combine to make the rocky shore of Lake 
 Redondilla one of the most heavenly resting-places 
 I have yet encountered. 
 
 Old Solanos, born and bred among these scenes, 
 failed to understand what charm they could possess 
 for one who had seen other lands. 
 
 I could have lingered a life away by this enchant- 
 ing lake ; but other and more famous places were 
 beckoning me on. 
 
 At the head of the last lake stands the ancient 
 
2l6 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cu. 
 
 village of San Pedro de Martel, which boasts two 
 old corn mills, a "batafie," and eleven houses all told. 
 The population consists of about twenty men, women, 
 and children, and a dozen donkeys. There is neither 
 church, cura, schoolhouse, store, nor wineshop not 
 even a venta where donkeys may be fitted with 
 shoes, so that it may be said to be a quiet place, 
 not much given to politics or reform, or likely to 
 cause much trouble to my host Julien, the rural 
 guard. 
 
 The lakes above Rudiera are : 
 
 Del Rey. Lingua. 
 
 Colgada. Redondilla. 
 
 Batanes. Seneca. 
 
 Santa Marthiana. Conseca. 
 
 Salvadora Blanca, or San Pedro. 
 
 Below : 
 
 Cueva Mounella. Collayo. 
 
 Thesapho. 
 
 Lake Blanca gives place to a green valley or 
 morass where the source of the Guadiana takes its 
 rise. A faint track forms the donkey road from San 
 Pedro to Albacete. 
 
 About a mile along this track, and then another 
 mile off to the left over an open heath, lies the cave 
 of Montesinos. Solanos and I found it without much 
 trouble, though no one accustomed to cave hunting 
 
XII.] THE CAVE OF MONTESINOS. 2 17 
 
 or exploring would dream of looking for a cave in 
 such a place. The rocks around are of a hard iron- 
 stone composition, and show no signs of having been 
 disturbed by any volcanic force. 
 
 The cave is entered by a large hole on the side of 
 a slight depression on the open heath. 
 
 It is about twenty-five feet across the mouth of the 
 cave, and, on looking down, a deep, black shaft with 
 perpendicular sides became visible. I had brought 
 a line with me, but this was not necessary, for the 
 projecting rocks render it possible, though somewhat 
 dangerous, to get down to a platform some forty feet 
 from the surface. The daylight falling on a part of 
 this platform is thrown back into a large chamber 
 which opens to the left as one descends, showing 
 dull red stone sides streaked with lime. This is the 
 only part of the cave which resembles the description 
 given by Cervantes. But the fact that he places the 
 chamber on the right and not on the left, and that he 
 is wide of the mark with regard to the geographical 
 position of the cave, leads me to believe that 
 Cervantes never saw the place himself, and described 
 it on the strength of hearsay. Coming back to the 
 ledge a great eerie cavern yawned below, and on 
 throwing a few stones they bounded over an incline 
 of wet slippery rocks, and then splashed into water 
 which gave off deep and chilling sounds. 
 
21 8 OLD AND NEW CASTILE, [Cn. 
 
 By the aid of a candle I managed to scramble on 
 to the slippery incline, and holding on to the rocky 
 projections let myself down backwards for about 
 a hundred feet. 
 
 Solanos was afraid to accompany me, so I had to 
 make the survey alone. As the angle of my descent 
 removed me from the mouth of the cave the daylight 
 was cut off, but I was compensated by finding the 
 grade easier. Leaving the wall, I walked to the 
 centre of the cavern and lighted some paper in order 
 to view the formation. It was all ironstone. Below 
 me, huge rocks were piled and jammed against each 
 other, and between them black motionless pools of 
 icy water. It is here about thirty feet to the roof, 
 and about sixty wide. Climbing over the loose rocks 
 I plunged into a large mound of soft, quaking mud, 
 which stuck to me like glue. Beyond this mud heap 
 the cavern narrows to about twenty feet in width, 
 and under the left wall flows a deep, dark stream. 
 I recognised that my position was a dangerous one, 
 for, were I to slip from the smooth, slanting ledge on 
 which I stood, I should certainly be carried by the 
 water under the opposite wall of rock, and here no 
 power on earth could save me from drowning. 
 
 I made no lengthy stay there. Creeping slowly 
 along, I got among loose rocks and stones which 
 fell splash into the water below, at almost every 
 
XII.] A DANGEROUS POSITION. 219 
 
 step I took. Perched on a safe retreat, I tied a 
 stone to the line and let it down in the stream. It 
 measured about sixteen k feet before touching any- 
 thing, but if this were the bed of the stream or only 
 a projecting rock I am unable to say. Farther on 
 the cave resembles a coarsely hewn tunnel, nine to 
 fifteen feet wide, and twelve to twenty in height. 
 Bits of wood, twigs forming torches and pieces of 
 charcoal, showed that others had explored the cave, 
 probably the local people. The bed was still com- 
 posed of huge rocks with the stream flowing beneath. 
 
 By dint of much climbing, and jumping, and crawl- 
 ing, I managed to get safely to a little shore of shaly 
 stones, where I rested, for it was hard, hot work. On 
 setting off again I got into the only opening visible, 
 a kind of tube about four feet high and two to three 
 wide. I crawled down ,this tube for about six 
 hundred feet, and then found myself confronted with 
 a pool of still water, and beyond it a dead wall of 
 water-worn stone. 
 
 The bottom of this narrow way was composed of 
 coarse, broken stone, and I feel certain that this was 
 not the true bed at all. The water had probably 
 worn its way down to a lower level, leaving the 
 passage high and dry. I took all possible care to 
 note the length of the various sections, and to see 
 that I overlooked no openings or caves running 
 
22O OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [H. 
 
 above the present water level. I cannot be sure, 
 but I believe I have traversed all the Cueva of 
 Montesinos. 
 
 It is about four hundred yards in length, and from 
 the bottom of the perpendicular shaft it takes a 
 crescent course, and, as its slowly moving waters 
 show, well-nigh at a dead level. This is the source 
 of the Guadiana, whose waters find their way through 
 the breach in the rocks to the green vale lying before 
 San Pedro de Martel. 
 
 I am the first " estrangero " (foreigner) known to 
 have visited the cave. I saw no band of sirens, 
 witches, or goblins, no angel dispensing immortal 
 life, no Merlin to remind me of death. All was cold, 
 clammy, and ghostly, but Don Quixote's band did 
 not appear. 
 
 It was a comparatively easy matter to get back to 
 daylight. Beyond the plunge into the mud heap I 
 had suffered no mishap, and I think poor old Solanos 
 suffered more terror than I, although he never saw 
 the inside of the cave. " Carbonero " had been enjoy- 
 ing two hours' rest and the flavour of some Spanish 
 thistle, and Solanos had puffed out the contents of 
 his tobacco box ; so both donkey and rider were 
 willing to turn towards home. 
 
 The sun was sinking fast, and, by the time we 
 regained San Pedro, had dropped behind the hills 
 
XII.] ST. PARTRIDGE'S DAY. 221 
 
 But every now and then, as the valley turned 
 westward, a flood of warm, red light fell upon the 
 sapphire and emerald waters of the lakes. The clear 
 morning air had not revealed all their beauties ; at 
 every turn there was some new delight, and the 
 twelve long miles that they might elsewhere have 
 been were gone, and the lakes of Rudiera with 
 them, before I was half tired. 
 
 Paco welcomed me back and provided me with 
 much needed food and drink. Then I took leave 
 of my generous host, and, accompanied by Solanos, 
 I returned to Julien's house. 
 
 Julien and Dolores entertained me that night, and 
 in the morning sent me off with a good breakfast and 
 the assurance that I was faultless! Would that it 
 were true ! 
 
 On the way down the valley of the Guadiana I 
 fell in with some sportsmen, who invited me to join 
 them. 
 
 It was September 1st, " Saint Partridge's Day." 
 By what strange irony of fate was it decreed that I, 
 a mere tramp, should shoulder a gun and go after 
 partridges on the first day of the season ? 
 
 It was a pleasant day. There was not much to 
 shoot at, but plenty to eat and drink. 
 
 Having bagged a couple of rabbits and three or 
 four doves, it was lunch time. 
 
222 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 A fire was made, the rabbits were skinned and cut 
 up, the doves were plucked, and the lot fried in a pan 
 which had been brought for the purpose. 
 
 Spanish sportsmen display all the attributes of 
 the true " pot-hunter." They will shoot anyhow 
 and anything, and eat it as soon as possible, 
 probably fearing that delays are dangerous in hungry 
 Spain. 
 
 With the rabbits, doves, tomatoes, melons, and 
 grapes, and an abundance of very good wine, it 
 may be said jthat we lunched well. Perhaps it was 
 more than a little rough, but not less sweet on that 
 account. 
 
 The " hungry hunter " is well known : in this case 
 he was combined with the hungry tramp. Only 
 those who have played both parts at once can know 
 what a delicious thing it is to satisfy the needs of the 
 inner man. 
 
 Afterwards we wandered away over the great 
 limitless heaths, getting but half-a-dozen head of 
 game for our pains. Then night began to fall. All 
 but one of the party decided to camp at a hut 
 and resume sport on the morrow. 
 
 The other, who turned out to be the veterinary 
 surgeon of Argamasilla, offered me a drive in a little 
 tilted cart behind a good mule. We passed under 
 the cliffs on whose crown rests old Pennaroya. The 
 
XII.] THE TYPICAL SPANIARD. 223 
 
 night mists were gathering round it ; it was just 
 going off to sleep, and we left it to its rest. 
 
 At Argamasilla I shared a good dinner with the 
 " vet. " and his family, and then was shown to a soft 
 white bed. 
 
 In the morning my host gave me a valuable book, 
 and wished me, in the gracious Spanish manner, 
 " felicity through all my days." Words, only words, 
 but oh ! how precious and helpful are kindly words 
 none but a homeless vagabond can ever know. 
 
 They cheered me during the long, heavy journey 
 to Manzanares, where I was most kindly welcomed 
 back. 
 
 Being Saturday night all the clubs and cafes were 
 in full swing. In company with an Englishman, I 
 went the round of them, and saw how lightly 
 Spaniards pass their time. A cigarette, a cup of 
 coffee, a soft seat and a soft companion make their 
 ideal world. 
 
 The typical Spaniard is seen in Mazanares. The 
 streets are full of graceful figures, with long, narrow 
 heads, high foreheads, and chins cut to a point. 
 Great black eyebrows, intensifying the flashing black 
 eyes, and the fierce moustache twisting upward from 
 the curled lips, have a fitting companion in the 
 Vandyke beard. 
 
 Pale skins, fine even teeth, and beautiful hands 
 
224 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 are their common property. But no rose without 
 its thorn they are vicious in temper, self-indulgent, 
 and indolent. 
 
 On the morrow, after taking leave of many generous 
 acquaintances, I started for Valdepenas. 
 
 There is practically no end to what a tramp may 
 find ! Here, in old Spain, with all its wants and ills, I 
 have actually found consolation ! and in most substan- 
 tial and lasting form. This is the name of a hamlet 
 in the vale of Depenas, in the province of La Mancha. 
 It owns a few shabby old houses, and an old church, 
 which has grown so thoroughly disgusted by the 
 world's indifference to the gift it has been holding out 
 for centuries, that it has unshipped its old tower and 
 part of its roof, and stands a tottering ruin in the 
 attitude of abject despair. " Consolation " is small, 
 and stops short. 
 
 That is common ! I was not in the least " con- 
 soled " by having to travel over ten or twelve miles of 
 a newly stoned road, from which there was no escape, 
 as it was all vines and olive trees on either side. 
 
 Valdepenas is a town with a population of, 
 report says, 18,000 souls. It is pretty, singular, and 
 interesting. 
 
 Its houses, style of business, and inhabitants are all 
 old-fashioned. I paid a real to sleep in the porch of 
 a posada overlooking the plaza, which at peep -o' -day 
 
XII.] A BULLOCK'S EYE FOR SUPPER. 225 
 
 was crowded with market people vending all that the 
 heart of Valdepenas could desire. 
 
 Men and women took up their places in rows, 
 working at their trades, and children stood in front 
 hawking the goods. 
 
 Women sat working at house-linen, lace-making, 
 darning and patching clothes, while the customer 
 waits coatless or shirtless, as the case may be. 
 One fellow was earning pennies by instructing 
 mule drivers in the art of making safe and fancy 
 knots. Another, vending frying-pans, pipkins, and 
 braseros (foot-warmers), was making his presence 
 heard by knocking out a lively tune with two brass 
 or copper spoons on the head of a frying-pan. 
 Women were selling " fry." Some sell nothing but 
 ears ; others feet, tongues, or eyes. They slight no 
 digestible article in Spain. I bought a bullock's eye. 
 It was very good, though the idea was not pleasant. 
 
 Others displayed baskets full of crawling, slimy 
 snails. 
 
 Girls stood behind tables covered with cool drinks, 
 groceries, and sweetmeats. Bread, flour, vegetables, 
 and fruit were piled in rows along the ground. 
 
 Old men, women, and little children, dodging in 
 and out among the crowd, fastened greedily upon the 
 bad fruit and refuse thrown out by the stall-keepers. 
 
 Two young pleasant-faced nuns, with large baskets 
 
 15 
 
226 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. 
 
 on their arms, begged for a scrap from every store, in 
 order to support their home for orphan girls. 
 
 Donkeys stood still as death, with flat boards fixed 
 over their panniers, containing the produce of a garden, 
 poultry run, or pig-stye. The vendors were of all 
 types, and the blending of oddities makes the daily 
 market in the plaza of Valdepenas a real show. A 
 great church, destitute of windows, as is so often the 
 case in Spain, and lighted by a row of half-moon- 
 shaped holes under the eaves, forms one side of the 
 plaza. It is said to contain some rare relics. There 
 are bolts, and bars, and padlocks enough to help out 
 this assertion, but I looked in vain for anything rare. 
 
 Valdepenas bears the reputation of being extremely 
 wealthy. The old town is said to be completely 
 undermined by cellars and store-houses holding 
 millions of " arrobas " * of wine and oil. 
 
 Traditions, legends, and superstitions run out like 
 water here, and a novelist would soon find some 
 excellent and original materials for a romance. 
 
 From Valdepenas to Santa Cruz the country is very 
 fine, from an economic point of view easy undulat- 
 ing lands of fair quality, all cultivated and pro- 
 ducing excellent samples of wine and oil, besides red 
 wheat and a great variety of fruits and vegetables. 
 
 * An arroba is twenty-five pounds. Liquids are sold in Spain 
 by weight. 
 
XII.] THE CASTILIAN " GENTLEMAN." 227 
 
 Santa Cruz de Mudela is a small, neglected look- 
 ing town, existing, like its neighbour, on the products 
 of the local soil. 
 
 The alcalde sent me to a horribly dirty house, 
 where the owner, after carefully inspecting the egg 
 boxes, told me I might sleep in the fowl-house. 
 This privilege I declined, and on making a second 
 and very plaintive appeal to the alcalde, he sent me 
 to a decent posada. 
 
 My next tramp was to El Visillo, a little hamlet 
 up on the high tableland which lies on the Castilian 
 side of the Sierra Morena. 
 
 It afforded me nothing more than a sleeping-place 
 on the floor of its posada, and a good elevation from 
 which I could take a last look at Old Castile. 
 
 From this slope of the Sierra Morena I could look 
 away to the eastern end of the Montes de Toledo, 
 with the great plain of La Mancha filling the inter- 
 vening space as a vast, misty sea. 
 
 I have not found every Castilian to be a gentleman ! 
 I have not found them of such good quality as their 
 rougher and more industrious brothers of the north. 
 
 New Castile is a vast tract of land embracing all 
 classes and types of character. North of Guadalajara 
 the natives are little less than brutes. They have 
 harsh, vulgar tongues, with manners as uncouth and 
 depraved as their speech. 
 
228 OLD AND NEW CASTILE [CH. 
 
 Madrid admits of no criticism. Like all capitals, 
 it is a compound of its provinces, with a strong leaven 
 of foreign blood to affect and perhaps strengthen it. 
 
 South of Madrid there is a marked change from the 
 north. Cleanliness becomes more general, the home 
 instinct is keener ; and the farther one journeys south 
 this becomes more and more apparent. The increase 
 of sunshine forces the inhabitants indoors, and they 
 endeavour to make their interiors attractive. 
 
 The Castilians appear to dread the heat as much 
 as the cold. I have seen whole communities hide 
 themselves in the shade from ten or eleven a.m. to 
 four p.m. 
 
 With the sun comes indolence. Although in most 
 districts, when the soil is favourable, it receives atten- 
 tion, it is evident that much more might be done 
 by ambitious and willing hands. " As much as my 
 father did is enough for me," is the general remark. 
 Where a weed or bad blight appears it is cursed 
 and talked over and allowed to take the field. 
 No sensible system, no downright effort is apparent 
 in agricultural matters, though, such is by nature the 
 true industry of the country. 
 
 Much of the bad land might produce a little, all 
 the good land much more. 
 
 With the Moors upon its surface Castile would 
 soon become a green lawn. Its present barrenness 
 
XII.] THE "MOST MAGNIFICENT COUNTRY." 229 
 
 is caused neither by climate nor poverty of soil. The 
 poverty and indolence of the " Castilian gentleman " 
 are the true causes of the miserable condition one 
 sees to-day. 
 
 I cannot agree with those who are always asserting 
 that Spain is " the most magnificent country in the 
 world." 
 
 I go flatly against them, and declare it is by 
 nature one of the worst, and it is allowed to become 
 perhaps the very worst in the world. What do its 
 admirers mean by a magnificent country ? 
 
 I take it that such a country should be capable of 
 feeding and clothing, instructing and comforting its 
 children from its own native store. This Spain does 
 not do now, and I have no ears for what she was ! 
 All lands were great when man was little. If Spain 
 ever had a hundred millions of people, she starved 
 them ; that's all ! 
 
 To-day her seventeen millions two-thirds of which 
 are shamefully underfed are not supplied from her 
 native produce, and the blame is not entirely to be 
 laid to the door of the Spaniards. 
 
 Where is her timber, and where her coal ? and 
 where is the quantity of water that a country so vast, 
 at such an elevation, and under such a sun, requires 
 of necessity to sustain and develop vegetation ? 
 
 Let us take a look at the country as it really is 
 
230 OLD AND NEW CASTILE. [Cn. XII. 
 
 see it in fallow, in seed-time, and in what should be 
 harvest. Let us look at the pros, and cons., and run 
 our fingers carefully down the return sheet of this 
 sweet land ! 
 
 I am neither for nor against the Spaniard or his 
 country. I am only anxious to show what they really 
 are to-day, so far as I am able to understand them 
 You cannot gauge Spain by the Spaniard's opinion 
 of it. He loves it ; this is natural. He will tell you it 
 is the world. But it is his pride that confounds him. 
 
 His " Rio Tintos," his " Bilboas " are sending off 
 clouds of "smoke," and enriching every square foot 
 of the Peninsula and still he starves ! 
 
 But the wind blows cold from my elevated perch 
 on the Sierra side. I ought to look back with a 
 grateful heart on the many warmings and square 
 meals the Castilian sun and sons have bestowed 
 on me. 
 
 Adieu, Senors, adieu. Felicitie 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ANDALUCIA. 
 
 THE SIERRA MORENA. LA CAROLINA. BAILEN. A NIGHT IN 
 
 PRISON. A WAR OF WORDS. REMINISCENCES OF l8l2. 
 ANDUJAR. OLD CUSTOMS. FAIR. A PRIMITIVE LUNCHEON- 
 PARTY. SPANISH LOVE-MAKING. MARMOLEGO. MONTORO. 
 AN IMPOSING SITE. THE REVERSE OF BUMBLEDOM. 
 CARPIO. A DUCAL PALACE. THE RELIQUARY. 
 
 T SAID good-bye to Castile some hours before I 
 * was fairly out of it, for the road slopes down 
 to Andalucia, miles away from the frontier line. The 
 great breach in the mountain, the Canon of Depe- 
 nasperros, is so deep that a strong stream, which takes 
 its rise on the Castilian side, flows through this gorge 
 and forms a tributary of the Guadalquivir. A rail- 
 way winds along this valley on a level with the 
 stream, except where it takes short cuts through 
 several little tunnels which pierce projecting rocks. 
 The scenery, though wild and churlish, is not 
 without charm. The deep valley helps to give effect 
 to the great bare towers of cold stone shooting up 
 to a dizzy height on either side. 
 
 231 
 
232 ANDALUCIA. [CH. 
 
 The road lay a thousand feet above the railway 
 and the foaming stream, which tumbled along in 
 very good imitation of the bustling train which now 
 and then shot past it. From the narrow coping 
 running along the edge of the cliff bordering the road- 
 side, I could get lovely little peeps at walls of rock 
 showing masses of lichen and gaily-tinted moss, 
 while from the crevices spring tiny mountain daisies, 
 carnations, and harebells. 
 
 At a sharp turn in the canon so sharp that no 
 way out is visible one seems to stand within an 
 enormous ruin, ivy-covered, damp, and silent. This 
 fancied relic of man's making is almost perfect, but 
 it is only fancy. Far away on the highest slopes, 
 little scrubby growths of wild olive, native oak, and of 
 wood and broom swayed and bent to the wild winds, 
 and, still farther up, on the lone, dull grey peaks, 
 the misty clouds were scudding and gathering as 
 they flew. 
 
 The Sierra Morena is nothing extraordinary to 
 look upon. It is a great rain gatherer and little 
 more. The road through Depeiiasperros ("the 
 dogs' stones," literally, u too bad for a dog"), in 
 spite of being the recognised road connecting the 
 two kingdoms throughout all known time, is as 
 bad as it could possibly be. It is composed of 
 rough, loose stones, over which one blunders and 
 
XIII.] "TOO BAD FOR A DOG." 233 
 
 slips at every step. An occasional mule car and 
 a regular stream of overladen donkeys are now 
 the most important patrons of this road, although 
 in pre-railway days if but a mean percentage of 
 its tradition be true it was a busy and dangerous 
 path. 
 
 Depefiasperros was for centuries the fastness of 
 the most bloody banditti in all Spain, and the long 
 record of crime has taken such a hold on the 
 minds of the natives that, even in these peaceful 
 days, they shrink from any mention of "the dogs' 
 stones." 
 
 A girl whom I met some miles below the pass 
 told me that another foreigner had passed that way 
 a few weeks before. He was an Italian bicyclist ; 
 but he couldn't bicycle Depefiasperros ! He had 
 to carry his bicycle over six miles of those lovely 
 loose stones, and, said my informant, " he didn't 
 seem to like it ! " 
 
 Every Spaniard swears by Andalucia (and every- 
 thing else he can lay his tongue to). 
 
 If you have not seen Andalucia you can know 
 nothing of natural beauty. From the Bay of Biscay 
 to the southern boundary of Castile, I have heard 
 of no other place where the perfection of nature is 
 always to be found. If so, I certainly made a bad 
 beginning. From midday to dark I fagged over 
 
234 ANDALUCIA. [Cn. 
 
 bald, bleak ridges, down craggy paths leading to 
 narrow gullies carrying nothing more remarkable than 
 a dribble of dirty water and a few weeds. No very 
 excellent discoveries so far ! Perhaps by-and-by ? 
 
 " By-and-by " came, but it brought no better 
 results. I ascended high hills, from which I could 
 obtain views of enormous stretches of country, as 
 bare and wild as that I had left behind. To the 
 south-east the Montes de Jaen presented a noble 
 appearance, but even that perhaps was due to 
 distance. 
 
 After passing through miserable villages where all 
 the inhabitants seemed to be languishing for want 
 of something to do, I found myself on the crown of 
 a bold ridge, whence I could see signs of life and 
 activity ; but it was not Spanish activity. The tall 
 chimneys which tower above Linares and La 
 Carolina proclaim the existence of silver and lead 
 mines which English, French, and German enterprise 
 have made paying concerns, as well as sources of 
 eternal complaint to the lazy Spaniard, who, to give 
 him his deserts, is very industrious with his tongue ! 
 
 Travel not only brings strange bed-fellows, but 
 strange beds, and they are liable to be more uncom- 
 fortable than strange. After the long day's walk, I 
 felt that I could endure something more downy than 
 cobble-stones and wet earth, but these formed the 
 
XIII.] LA CAROLINA. 235 
 
 share of earth's luxuries provided for me at La 
 Carolina. At No. I posada the posadero didn't like 
 the look of me, and wanted the money down before 
 I turned in. 
 
 I was tired and out of temper with the world, and 
 this latest hit of the posadero didn't please me. So 
 after exchanging a few lusty compliments, I took 
 myself off to the Posada Del Ville. 
 
 Here the posadero was more discerning, and, 
 seeing no roguery in my eye, he showed me to a 
 dark corner where I could sleep. After I had lain 
 some time, I woke to find that I was very damp, and 
 on examining the floor, found that I was lying on 
 wet and foul earth. I made a move, but it was a 
 change without much benefit. The posada floor was 
 in part pitched with large round stones, and I must 
 choose them or the wet earth. I chose the stones 
 and got some sleep, but when I woke in the morning 
 I had a terrible cold brewing, for my rug was wet 
 through, and I had been lying all night in a thorough 
 draught. I paid the posadero his real, and started 
 off before daybreak without seeing any more of La 
 Carolina. 
 
 It looks old enough to have nursed the giant babes 
 who fashioned old Rome, but as a matter of fact it is 
 a modern town. I have no doubt that every guide 
 book will tell you that it is one of the towns built by 
 
236 ANDALUCIA. [Cn. 
 
 and peopled with the Germans, imported into Spain 
 by Charles III., with the view of putting an end to 
 the brigandage and plunder so common in his day 
 throughout the land. I think these Germans must 
 have done their work thoroughly. 
 
 The little of the Teuton that is left in La Carolina 
 nearly did for me ! 
 
 They can make soft bread in Andalucia. Thank 
 Heaven ! 
 
 This is no idle remark : I am truly rejoiced to 
 record the fact. Bread is but an item with many. 
 With a tramp it is his first and last course, his three 
 meals a day and supper at night ; and hungry as he 
 always is, there is a sense of monotony and dryness 
 about his fare which makes him long for a slight 
 change. I began by disliking Spanish bread, and 
 in less than a month I had grown to detest it ! 
 
 Had I been permitted to choose I might have fared 
 a little better, but the "beggar's crust" is always a 
 hard one, and the smile of the loveliest Dulcinea in 
 Spain will not soften it to my liking. 
 
 The Spaniards always kiss the bread they are 
 about to give away.* I have seen many a dirty hand 
 and unwashed face meet on the bit of bread I was 
 going to make a meal of, and if by chance a white 
 
 * The poorest Spaniard will offer to share his crust even with 
 his social superiors. 
 
XIII.] SPANISH LEAVEN. 237 
 
 hand carried the morsel to a rose-bud mouth, and 
 luscious eyes looked down upon " the gift for God," 
 it did not make it any softer ! Truly the Spaniards 
 love a crust. They cut and slash their thin, flat 
 loaves till they expand in baking to the appearance 
 of a batch of rock cakes. Spanish bread is not a 
 common thing. In soup it is delicious as the finest 
 biscuit, and has its place in the tureens of the highest 
 in the land ; but the same bread without that good 
 soup is as mustard without beef, and if it is ever your 
 lot to eat as much of it in a month as I have done 
 you may wonder that I could speak so moderately 
 of such hard fare. Spanish bread is leavened by 
 means of a piece of sour dough which is kept over 
 from day to day. This is a very wholesome method, 
 and deserves to be widely known. 
 
 With the daylight came a warm clear sun, and I 
 soon got rid of the effects of my wretched night. 
 
 I tramped nearly all the day through olive country, 
 in some places thriving and well cultivated, in others 
 neglected and decayed. Occasional patches of vine 
 land and cork oak broke up the scenery. Only one 
 thing was lacking water. If this were conjoined 
 with man's industry the district would be very rich. 
 
 I got into Bailen just as it was growing dark. I 
 don't like the official world, it is so confoundedly 
 bumptious, and the lower the grade the higher the 
 
238 ANDALUCIA. [CH. 
 
 nose is jerked. One of these little gods told me to 
 be off about my business. This only incited me to 
 humbug him the more. 
 
 I muttered a few spirited anathemas in the face 
 of this limb of the law, and then I left him with his 
 hand on the sword which a local bye-law prohibits 
 him from drawing. 
 
 The alcalde was in the Campo, and " won't be 
 home till morning." There was an empty treasury 
 and a general dislike for vagrants, and I was again 
 invited to take myself off. Two notices to quit might 
 be enough for some people. But a tramp makes his 
 own laws, and acknowledges few others. I had 
 decided to occupy " the boards of Bailen " " for one 
 night only." After much curious enquiry from a 
 group of young men, I was, by way of variety, taken 
 to the prison and recommended to the gaoler as an 
 eligible party for a night's lodging. 
 
 The gaoler proved kinder than the other un- 
 informed rascals. He gave me No. 4 cell, and a 
 sack of straw to make my bed. His wife gave me 
 some soup and pitied me at least she said she did 
 and then I went to sleep, happy in the thought that 
 I had defeated the town guard and mayor's clerk, and 
 found some kind hearts in Bailen. 
 
 But daybreak brought sorrow. The gaoler's wife 
 found me mourning over a broken pitcher reduced 
 
XIII.] A SPANISH FIGHT. 239 
 
 to a pile of aesthetic grey chips and a pool of cart- 
 wheel dimensions. 
 
 The pitying creature of last night became a fury. 
 She was big and powerful, and her voice towered far 
 above her capacious chest. I am a match for many 
 people, but not for a Spanish woman in a battle of 
 words. In the language of those who support the 
 manly art, " She knocked me over the ring and the 
 ropes, and the belt was given to her." 
 
 I am always " a Roman in Rome,'' and after such a 
 desperate encounter, I felt as a sinner who would be 
 happier if forgiven ; so I bundled my wallets and 
 walked off to the principal church, a substantial red 
 sandstone edifice with singular and artistic decora- 
 tions in carved stone and wood. The expression of 
 the face and the animation of one colossal figure was 
 quite extraordinary : wood has rarely seemed more 
 alive. Lamps, icons, and candelabra of solid silver 
 were to be seen by the hundredweight. The sacristy 
 held fine old carved chests of splendid workmanship. 
 The carved wooden frame of a mirror is valued at 
 three thousand " duros " (600), and five thousand 
 have been offered for a similar frame at another local 
 church. 
 
 On passing through the plaza I saw a Spanish 
 fight. Two market men were having a noisy battle 
 over a rascally donkey which had devoured some 
 
240 ANDALUCIA. CH. 
 
 of the fruit and vegetables exposed for sale in 
 the plaza. It was a most amusing exhibition. 
 Perhaps the Spanish are the only people clever enough 
 to fight one at a time. The owner of the vanished 
 viands made his grievance known to every mortal 
 soul within hearing. He cursed the donkey and its 
 owner, then he cursed the owner's mother for giving 
 birth to such a rascal as he declared his enemy to be. 
 He raked up all he could against the offender's family, 
 and cited other cases in proof of his negligence and 
 the greedy appetite of his donkey, and then, by way 
 of compensation, he demanded five reals. All this 
 time the owner of the animal stood like a sheep, 
 modestly submitting to all that was said against his 
 fair name ; but no sooner were the last words out of 
 his assailant's mouth than he lifted himself into a 
 more defiant attitude, and went for the vegetable man 
 like a shark but of course only in words. There 
 were no fisticuffs, no brandishing of blades : only 
 with so many statements to contradict, and so many 
 accusations to make in his turn, he soon got out 
 of breath, and so gave the other a new chance. 
 He accepted it with alacrity, and like a wily lawyer 
 debated and repudiated all that had been uttered 
 against him, and thus, having made his sheet clean 
 again, he doffed his hat to the crowd and redemanded 
 his five reals. But the other was in readiness, and 
 
Xlir.] THE SIEGE OF BAILEN. 24! 
 
 replied in flowing speech that not a real or a cent 
 had he for the pocket of a rascal who lived by fraud, 
 deception, and even worse crimes. 
 
 This brought louder and stronger speech from the 
 vegetable man, and cheers and cross compliments 
 from the crowd. Both men took their turns and 
 fought desperately for twenty or twenty-five minutes, 
 yet there was no blood or even the sound of a blow. 
 When they were too tired to say any more they 
 dropped the subject, and so the fight ended. If the 
 donkey ever came to the rescue with the lost vege- 
 tables, or any money changed hands, I am unable to 
 say, but I am of opinion that the fight paid the bill ! 
 
 Bailen is nothing but warfare. Even I have been 
 engaged in it : I have seen others at it, and I am 
 told that it was here Napoleon waged his last battle 
 on the Peninsula.* 
 
 And in those days when Bailen was besieged, the 
 men, and the women too, fought with more substantial 
 weapons than their tongues. For sixty-seven days 
 the city was besieged by the French and defended by 
 only five hundred Spanish soldiers and the inhabi- 
 tants, who were eventually starved almost to the very 
 last man. It was in the summer of 1808. There 
 
 * This is not at all correct, but 1 record the local story of the 
 siege of Bailen. The Spaniards defeated the French under 
 Dupont. 
 
 16 
 
242 ANDALUCIA. [CH. 
 
 was very little water in the town, and in the heat of 
 the dog-days it became foul and the cholera broke out. 
 The provisions were exhausted, and all chance of 
 fresh supplies cut off. The French troops lay round 
 about and shot down all who dared to show in sight. 
 
 In desperation, little bands sallied forth to fight 
 the foe. Women stood side by side with fathers, 
 husbands, lovers, sons ; and history records that they 
 laid many a Frenchman low. The love of life made 
 cannibals of the desperate population. The wounded 
 were put to death, their bodies quartered like sheep, 
 hawked through the town and devoured. When Bailen 
 capitulated she was dead. Wounds, starvation, and 
 disease had destroyed her brave people, and the army 
 of Napoleon made its entrance into, not a city but 
 a pestilential sepulchre. 
 
 To-day Bailen is poor, very poor ; but compared 
 with bygone days it is well off. Better its sleepy 
 silence and groups of idlers, better its wordy 
 battles over broken pitchers and lost turnips, better 
 anything than such a year as 1808. 
 
 On leaving Bailen I had to do battle again, this 
 time with a hard road, made harder by the fact that 
 I was stockingless and frightfully footsore. It is 
 well that I can look round and see others as poor, 
 perhaps poorer than I. Misery likes friends, and 
 there is no dearth of misery (if poverty be misery) in 
 
XIII.] THE CHARMS OF WALKING TOURS. 243 
 
 Spain. It may be true that there is " no poverty but 
 ignorance," but that proverb was probably written 
 by a lucky sage who never felt his backbone grate 
 against his waistcoat buttons. 
 
 The little river Campana was a treat I could not 
 afford to pass lightly over. I had a much-needed 
 bath. Then I washed all my clothes, and sat under 
 an arch and waited for them to dry. And I had to 
 wait. 
 
 The clouds came up and blotted out the broad 
 blue sky, the thunder boomed, and then came a 
 downpour of cold rain. 
 
 This was comforting ! I was half naked, and the 
 balance of my clothes were " in the wash." 
 
 I sat under the arch all the afternoon, all the 
 evening, and half the night ! Then I put on some 
 of my wet clothes, rolled up the rest, and started on 
 the dark and lonely road. 
 
 Never talk hastily about the " charms " of " walking 
 tours." There are charms, but there are also discom- 
 forts which will bring bad temper and bad words 
 out of the most docile of men. A couple of hours' 
 sharp walking warmed me, and brought me to the 
 ventas of San Antonio. God bless him ! I don't 
 know anything against him, and if his good deeds 
 inspired some one to build this house, then he is 
 worthy of praise. 
 
244 ANDALUCIA. [Cn. 
 
 It was long after midnight, but I managed to wake 
 up the sole occupant of the house a little woman 
 got a stiff glass of white spirit from her, and went 
 to bed on a heap of harness which lay upon the floor. 
 The morning broke fine and warm, so I dried all 
 my clothes, munched my pennyworth of bread, and 
 started on a long, narrow- road bordered with olive 
 trees. Early in the afternoon I reached Andujar, 
 where I found fair time : feast time, posadas full 
 of good paying patrons, and posaderos quite inde- 
 pendent of vagrant tramps. I was relegated to 
 the shade of a gloomy stable, with nothing more 
 agreeable than a few million mosquitoes for company. 
 This was not pleasant ; still I confess to liking 
 Andujar. It is clean, prettily situated, full of old- 
 fashioned buildings and old-fashioned people with 
 old-fashioned customs. It has a history long, strong, 
 and noble, and many mute memorials of an extinct 
 race who camped here in the early days of the world. 
 
 To-day Andujar, which has a population of twenty- 
 three thousand souls, lives by the same means (oil 
 and wine) which gave it sustenance nigh twenty 
 centuries ago, when Julius Caesar came and took it, 
 and built a castle and forts, and strong walls, and 
 a bridge over the Guadalquivir, all of which stand 
 to this day. Then the Goths (so famed for destroy- 
 ing) built some habitations which show here and 
 
XIII.] OLD-FASHIONED ANDUJAR. 245 
 
 there in the high and narrow " calles " which the 
 Moors reared. Andujar is a big and pretty piece of 
 patchwork, made up of Roman towers on Phoenician 
 foundations, Gothic windows in Roman towers, old 
 Spanish balconies and defensive ironwork round 
 Moorish windows and doorways, and stucco and 
 carved stone effigies, arms, and crests over half its 
 giant portals. Its " calles " are quiet, yet full of song. 
 In no town in Spain have I seen such pretty windows, 
 fashioned for pent-up Dorotheas and Dolores to peep 
 from, or sit a-listening to " delire and delore ; " or 
 finer illustrations of the prowess of the chivalrous old 
 knights of Spain. 
 
 In nearly every street stands some curious device 
 in hand-beaten ironwork, depicting a feat of arms 
 or Lochinvar type of gallantry. 
 
 The casque with flying plumes, supported on 
 crossed swords and breastplate, with spurs and hand 
 shields lying round, is a favourite device. One dis- 
 played in addition two flower-pots containing repre- 
 sentations of the rose and carnation twined over the 
 armour. These things are all very finely worked 
 and exceedingly rare. Some of them have become 
 so rare that they are not to be found in Andujar 
 any more, and the owners of others have been forced 
 to remove them from conveniently low doorways and 
 place them slightly nearer to the stars. 
 
246 ANDALUCIA. [Cn. 
 
 The main entrance to the parish church displays 
 seven different styles of architecture, each said to 
 have been executed in its respective period. Ac- 
 companied by the town ckrk, I went up into the 
 tower of this church, and got my first glimpse of 
 the Guadalquivir. I wonder v/hy this river is so 
 famous. It is known to all people, and usually in 
 song. Many who cannot pronounce the word bring 
 it into their story which is generally of the heart. 
 What Horatius, or Leander, or Perimele of the Moors 
 for it is a Moorish name did this old river bear up 
 that it has grown so great ? Looking down from my 
 perch the waters showed as a shiny satin band, twisted, 
 twirled, and coiled among the unending forest of 
 olive trees. Its banks are irregular enough to please 
 the most fastidious of lovers, but as love does not 
 walk out in Spain what purpose can they serve? 
 Near the town silver poplars and aspens produce a 
 slight variation in the grey monotony of the olives, 
 while mountains east and west guard and limit the 
 vast scene. From below came the sound of music 
 and merry-making. 
 
 Andujar is as conservative as it looks. 
 
 The people delight in keeping up old customs, 
 hence the " feria " of this town is one of the most 
 charming in Spain. I found a friend in the "secre- 
 tario," and we went to the fair. It is one of the 
 
XIII.] A "CITY OF DELIGHT." 247 
 
 prettiest things of the kind imaginable : not made 
 up merely of gaudy caravans and gipsies, coster- 
 mongers, and showmen, screeching and canvassing 
 for customers. 
 
 It was held on a fine, broad, natural terrace, 
 bounded on one side by an old Roman wall and on 
 the other by the Guadalquivir. The long open space 
 was transformed into a veritable summer " City of 
 Delight." A double row of tastefully designed and 
 well-built kiosks, dancing-rooms, cafes, and "salons 
 de musica " lined a fine promenade. Between these 
 stand neat little stalls filled with curious " dulces " 
 and "bebes." 
 
 The town clubs transfer their quarters here during 
 the " feria." All classes are represented. There is the 
 fashionable " Circulo de la Pearl," the " Liceo," the 
 " Primativa " and the unassuming " Ordinaries," and 
 even one more, the " Solteros " (bachelors). Each has 
 its ball-room, its band, its working staff in fanciful 
 uniforms, and a pretty display of bunting. Every 
 night a fine programme of dances is gone through by 
 senors and senoras in plain and fancy dresses, while 
 music and games are provided for non-dancers in the 
 ante-chambers, besides which there is the charm 
 of promenading in the " pasco." 
 
 Rows of lamps and bright-coloured lanterns flood 
 the promenade with light, revealing a series of ever- 
 
248 ANDALUCIA. [Cn. 
 
 changing pictures as the merry crowd moves up 
 and down. 
 
 Flowers (in pots and tubs) are packed in thousands 
 to form parterres, banks, and grottoes round specially 
 made fountains ; and all these hues and sweet odours, 
 mingling with the dresses and perfumes of the wearers, 
 make the evening air heavy yet refreshing. 
 
 The knight and his steed have passed away, hence 
 there can be no riding a-tilt for lady's love from the 
 high crupper of a caballo. To-day the Andujar 
 knights win their ribbons on bicycles ! 
 
 The beauties of the town and they are many 
 furnish handsomely embroidered silk and satin 
 scarves, which are placed at regular distances on a 
 long horizontal bar, each being attached to a silver 
 ring. The modern knights, armed with little canes 
 like a conductor's baton, ride at a dashing pace under 
 the bar, and each endeavours to " ring " the scarf of 
 the girl of his heart. At least let us hope he does. 
 A large stand, fixed near this seat of love's warfare, 
 was filled with the beauties of the town. Not one 
 man dared show himself among them. I own to 
 standing a very long time before that stand. It was 
 a picture not all loveliness, but still a picture. 
 
 The finest women I have seen in Spain were in 
 Zaragoza and Madrid, and here in Andujar. 
 
 Every girl had a new frock and fan, liberty's free 
 
XIII.] THE SPANISH CLOWN. 249 
 
 smile in her eye, and a bunch of pale pink or yellow 
 roses or carnations in her hair. If her beauty was 
 that of youth, her cheek wore a faint colour as 
 delicate as her assumed shyness. But those who are 
 forced to " make up " for time's ravages are powder- 
 puffed and besmeared in a most hideous manner. 
 
 This practice does not annoy Spanish men. They 
 say very idly, "It is a costumbre (custom), nothing 
 more." Be it to their credit or otherwise, the Spaniards 
 are not exacting in the matter of female dress. 
 
 Of course the ordinary attractions of fairs were 
 here shows, merry-go-rounds, theatres on wheels, 
 organ-grinders, and a big circus. 
 
 The Spanish clown is a sad dog at least he looks 
 it, for wherever I have seen him he has been 
 dressed in funereal black ; and to make the contrast 
 complete, his long, loose combination robe is relieved 
 by white bats, tarantulas, frogs, cockroaches, and 
 other little monsters of the night. 
 
 His dress is the only thing strange to English 
 eyes. He wears his hat on his hip or his elbow, 
 puts his tongue out, and turns his toes in, just as 
 our Grimaldis do. He poses with one hand resting 
 on nothing at all just above his thigh, and lifts his 
 straight, black eyebrows till they mingle with his 
 forelocks in the good old-fashioned way. 
 
 He even has the same complaints, cries in the 
 
250 ANDALUCIA. [Cn. 
 
 same key, and pinches his finger under his own foot, 
 as we have so often seen him do before. He is master 
 and lackey at the same moment, a miserable failure 
 in every useful art, and yet capable of bringing the 
 house down at a " bound." And in one other par- 
 ticular he is essentially " homely," for when he is 
 "off" you may be sure to find him at the nearest 
 canteen, as merry and ready to drink your health 
 in a glass of grog as any clown in England 
 would be. 
 
 The patrons of the fair are the population of the 
 province. They come from the Montes de Jaen, 
 the broad valley of the Guadalquivir, and the slopes 
 and dells of the Sierra Morena. They are of all 
 stations and estates, and their varied dress and 
 manners make the great crowd motley and delight- 
 ful. From the peasant of the plains and the mountains 
 to the beauties who are dressed in the latest Paris 
 fashion is a long stretch, and all the little fancy and 
 quaint touches which come between make the assem- 
 blage one big masquerade extending over the styles 
 and fashions of three or four centuries of sluggish 
 time. This fair takes place during the first week 
 in September, and if you should ever visit Cordoba 
 or any famed place near, you would do well to 
 include it in your programme. 
 
 I varied the charms of my long and pleasant 
 
XIII.] A LUNCHEON PARTY. 251 
 
 evening by making my bed in the fore-mentioned 
 stable. 
 
 The mosquitoes nearly skinned me, and I soon 
 lost the little respectability I might have brought to 
 Andujar. 
 
 In the morning I met an Englishman, and we 
 went together in search of novelties. We found and 
 looked over old houses, old churches, old monasteries, 
 the market, and the Plaza de Toros. We visited the 
 gaming tables (in the upper stories of a convent), and 
 won five reals over a " spec." on " Monte," and then 
 we went to lunch with a Spanish lawyer. 
 
 I mention him to show how the generality of 
 Spaniards live at home. The lawyer was married. 
 He had a beautiful wife with fair, golden ringlets, 
 and around her clung nine little sons. 
 
 He was an educated man, as the phrase goes (it 
 too often goes for nothing), and welcomed us with 
 an air of genuine good nature. The meal was in 
 readiness. It consisted of one course only, and there 
 was no wine or coffee. It was the " puchera," a 
 very good puchera of " garvanzos," rice, cauliflower, 
 and bacon all boiled together. 
 
 The bacon was cut in little strips like dominoes. 
 There was no tablecloth, no napkins, no plates, no 
 knives, forks, or spoons. We ate from one dish 
 host, hostess, nine little boys, the Englishman, and 
 
252 ANDALUCIA. [Cn. 
 
 myself (thirteen at dinner and no bad luck followed 
 us). The mother used her fingers, as forks seemed 
 to be scarce. The father pressed me to eat freely, 
 assuring me there were tons more in the kitchen 
 (though there was probably not an ounce), and 
 picked out dainty bits of bacon with his fingers 
 and tossed his hand before me, as one would a bone 
 for a dog to catch, that he might poke it into my 
 mouth. I took all his baits, so did my fellow- 
 countryman, and we felt none the worse for what 
 we had eaten. 
 
 This was rude simplicity and no mistake ! At 
 what period of civilisation does Spain now stand ? 
 She certainly represents a bygone age from our point 
 of view. 
 
 The guardian of the city purse is a generous man 
 and a progressist. He wants to see Spain opened 
 up, colonised if you will, and her position better 
 understood by the outside world. He will support 
 any man who will travel on and say that Spain 
 has a chance to be vastly superior to what she is, 
 and with the belief that I shall fulfil his desires 
 he helped me on my way and bade me "go with 
 God ! " 
 
 This is the record ! I put a red cross against the 
 town of Andujar, prayed for long life for its dis- 
 cerning (?) " secretario," and shouldered my bundle. 
 
XIII.] SPANISH LOVE-MAKING. 253 
 
 Barring the mosquitoes, I had been treated right 
 well. 
 
 The sun was on the wane when I crossed the 
 Guadalquivir on my way to Marmolego. I was 
 assured, as usual, that it was quite a short distance 
 a mere lover's walk. So I found it. But I have 
 heard of lovers taking very long walks. By the way, 
 they make love very modestly in Spain. I wonder 
 how an Englishman can ever win a Spanish woman. 
 The process would kill me, even though I were as 
 hardy as old nails. 
 
 A man can get used to most things, but what 
 Britisher would have patience and strength to look 
 up at a third-storey window through the day, and 
 content himself with making gestures and grimaces 
 at his love, under the light of the street lamp or the 
 fickle moon, through four or five hours of every 
 night ? Lord John Russell wrote 
 
 "The women of old Spain can scarcely spell a letter, 
 
 But then, their mirth's so unconstrained one loves 
 them all the better ! " 
 
 Spanish beauties rarely send love-letters ; the 
 reason is as simple as it was in Lord John's day 
 they cannot write ! There are writing shops where 
 the letter can be moulded in the latest fashion and 
 in the most exalted language for the modest sum 
 of one brown penny. 
 
254 ANDALUCIA. [CH. 
 
 I reached Marmolego about midnight, having 
 taken the longest and the worst of two bad roads ; 
 and after a short night's rest on the floor of a posada 
 I set off to visit some thermal springs bubbling up 
 on a hillside sloping towards the Guadalquivir. 
 
 These springs used to be famous. Everything 
 used to be famous, if we can trust to local tradition. 
 It was all better in the old days, and when we were 
 younger, and looked up, up, up, to the great world 
 which we now look down upon with so much disdain. 
 
 Whatever travellers' tales may be told about Spain, 
 there is one indisputable fact, that it is " sunny Spain." 
 It can blow and snow and be downright cold when 
 it likes; but taking it all in all, it is a very sunny 
 land. I have spent weeks without seeing anything 
 which might truly be called a cloud. Flaky mists 
 and gossamer remnants, too delicately transparent to 
 cast shadows, lie along the sky at evening, and 
 celestial worlds of ether reveal themselves at morning 
 if one is up in time to see the faint dews vanish from 
 the scanty herbage. 
 
 I was glad, at the end of a long, hot, scorching 
 day's tramp, to come in sight of the old city of 
 Montoro. This is the Toledo of Andalucia. The site 
 is not less secure or imposing. It is perched on a 
 high, bold, triangular mass of rock, and the river 
 flows round two of its three sides. 
 
XIII.] A PROFITABLE INDUSTRY. 255 
 
 Seen from the river on the northern side, the picture 
 is most charming. The houses are piled one above 
 the other, the foundations of those above appearing 
 to rest on the roofs of those below. It has a crazy, 
 past-hope appearance, and even the showy-tiled 
 towers of its many churches cannot redeem it from 
 the look of despair which seems to show on every 
 crumbling wall. 
 
 The Moors made Montoro one of their strongholds. 
 Its fine position rendered it a safe retreat. Kings 
 held court here, and there was once a beautiful 
 Alcazar for the king's favourites, and fine gardens 
 and arbours on the banks of the river. These have 
 disappeared. Montoro knows nothing of kings and 
 of court beauties now. The people are sober-sided 
 as the old houses they inhabit. True, they have 
 their bit of pride, but it is in a good living cause. 
 Montoro is surrounded by four million olive trees. 
 The oil is pressed out in four hundred different mills. 
 The industry gives employment to eighteen thousand 
 souls, and an annual average return of thirty-four 
 million reals. The inhabitants rejoice over this fact, 
 and I do not think them vain. I should like to see 
 more rejoicing over what Spain produces. If her 
 people would only believe that a hard hand is a 
 badge of honour, they would fare much better, and 
 soon increase their store. 
 
256 ANDALUCIA. [Cn. 
 
 Good luck seldom dogs the heels of a tramp, but 
 curiosity is frequently my salvation. I was followed 
 by an inquisitive crowd, which caused me to attract 
 the attention of the town guard. I was marched off 
 to the Town Hall, and asked to explain the reason 
 of my intrusion within the sacred precincts of the 
 old town. 
 
 The Mayor was extremely civil, and offered to 
 succour me with two pesetas. I told him that I 
 did not need money. " Never mind," he said, " so 
 much the better. Take them : a fat purse is a good 
 passport ! " (Think of this in official " Bumbledom " 
 at home !) 
 
 A beggar on horseback does not always ride to 
 the devil! 
 
 Although so well off, I paid but twenty-five cents 
 for a bed on the posada floor, and a twopenny loaf 
 went for supper and carried me over the next day. 
 
 As my journey lengthens so does my strength, 
 and also my weakness. I find it easier to deal with 
 the people ; but I grow daily farther away from 
 that world of which I have usually felt a part. 
 
 Nature is neither very beautiful nor very busy in 
 Spain, and her votaries are few. To live down to 
 Spanish customs is not refreshing, and I grow poorer 
 as I learn more. Spain is too much of a " sleepy 
 hollow." There is a great deal of work to be done 
 
XIII.] THE PALACE OF CARPIO. 257 
 
 and I want to brush along and do some of it. It 
 is rarely a long road for a Spaniard. He mounts 
 his mule, goes to sleep, and wakes up at his desti- 
 nation. When he has had a row or an argument 
 with some wayfarer, he turns in and sleeps again. 
 Spaniards of more than one rank sleep in their 
 clothes. The countryman and small " middle man " 
 are usually without any bed or covering when on 
 the road, and even in their homes a pallet of straw 
 or heap of grass suffices them. 
 
 While turning over these manners and customs in 
 my mind, I wound my way through the narrow 
 " calles " of Carpio. It is a big village, nothing more, 
 scattered over a conical little hill, situated about a 
 mile from the Guadalquivir. A fine Moorish town on 
 the summit is conspicuous for many miles around. 
 
 This is not the only trace of the Moor's handiwork. 
 A tremendous weir lies across the bed of the river, 
 and ponderous water-wheels (eighty feet in diameter) 
 lift water far above the river level and distribute it 
 over a large plateau, which was in Moorish times 
 a vast and beautiful garden. A few badly kept 
 orchards and fields now occupy the ground. 
 
 It is not difficult to get into society in Spain. 
 You have but to appear odd and " todas el mundo " 
 invites you at once. I am not going to divulge 
 all my experiences in Spain, so I shall not say 
 
 17 
 
258 ANDALUCIA. [Cn. 
 
 what particular virtue made me welcome at the 
 palace of Carpio. Enough that I was welcomed by 
 a kindly Britisher, and under his, or rather the 
 Duke of Alba's roof I found the best bed and board 
 I had hitherto encountered in Spain. A ducal 
 palace is enough to embarrass and overawe a real 
 tramp, and set him wondering if he is awake or 
 dreaming ! But there was no doubt about it, I found 
 all things too substantial for dreamland, and some 
 heart pangs which I would gladly have felt only in 
 dreams. I was pressed to stay at the palace to enjoy 
 a rest, a square meal or two, and, when it pleased me, 
 to unfold the story of my wanderings. I agreed, and 
 a day or two passed pleasantly and quickly. 
 
 My palace home had more of interest than luxury 
 about it. It has for centuries been the home of the 
 Dukes of Alba, which is shown by the rare circum- 
 stance that thirteen dukes (two of whom were arch- 
 bishops) lie side by side in a vault below the little 
 church hard by. The present Duke is Charles Stuart 
 who claims to be heir to the throne of Scotland, 
 and nephew to Napoleon III. and the Empress 
 Eugenie. The house is small, inartistic, and very 
 much out of repair, and without any of the charm 
 of age. 
 
 The Empress Eugenie has often graced Carpio 
 with her presence, and many of her bits of furniture 
 
XIII.] A PRECIOUS RELIQUARY. 259 
 
 and other treasures are stowed away here. How 
 much these musty things might tell ! The Albas 
 possess the most precious private reliquary in Spain. 
 Among its treasures are two silver and crystal 
 cabinets containing skulls and bones of the eleven 
 thousand virgins ; another holding some bones of 
 St. John the Divine ; another a nail of the true cross. 
 Two quaintly fashioned silver coffers filled with the 
 bones of saints and pious martyrs are dated 1643. 
 
 A statuette of San Francisco is a remarkable work. 
 It is about twenty inches in height, and said to be 
 carved out of a solid piece of wood. The saint is 
 dressed in the garb of a ragged pilgrim, his sandals 
 and robes patched and cobbled in true penitent 
 fashion. The patches, stitches, and everything else 
 are of wood, and I am asked to believe that the grain 
 of wood shows the required colour. But I have proof 
 to the contrary, for I picked out one of the wooden 
 stitches which had been so neatly let into the patch 
 it is supposed to hold in place. But admitting this 
 hard fact about San Francisco, he is still a very 
 artistic and faithful model. 
 
 But the unique treasure of the reliquary is a hair 
 of the Virgin enclosed in the perpendicular column 
 of a level crystal cross. It shows a light brown 
 colour, and is fine in texture. I do not give these 
 particulars about this relic on account of any great 
 
260 ANDALUCIA. [Cn 
 
 respect for it ; but perhaps there are a few who would 
 like to know of its existence. Besides these very 
 valuable relics there are many others, all venerable 
 enough to satisfy the most devout and antiquated 
 tastes. Viewed as a whole, the reliquary is a pretty 
 little work of art 
 
 In one of the side chapels of the church stands 
 the gorgeous effigy of Santa Theresa. Long ago, so 
 runs a story, when a Duke of Alba died in Naples his 
 body was enclosed in this figure, and thus brought 
 to Carpio in order to escape the taxes levied on dead 
 bodies passing through Italian and Spanish towns. 
 Santa Theresa had never been heard of as a sub- 
 stantial figure before ; but ignorance does not stop 
 to think. 
 
 The people came in crowds to help the Saint over 
 all the bad roads to her final home. A throng of 
 priests^' attended her from stage to stage, and she 
 and her burden arrived safe at the little church. 
 Then they laid the dead duke beside his fathers, and 
 set up Santa Theresa in the chapel ; and even to-day 
 men and women kneel before that impious fraud, 
 and I verily believe feel the happier for having done 
 so. I saw a young girl with her hair cut off close to 
 her head. The lost tresses hung from a peg in the 
 wail of the church. A boy friend of the girl's brother 
 was ill ; the brother said an offering to Mary might 
 
XIII.] THE EVIL EYE. 261 
 
 restore his companion to health. The maiden was 
 poor : she had nothing but her hair : a beautiful plait 
 of great length and glossy blackness. The boy did 
 recover. 
 
 I saw a hideous figure splashed with blood and 
 covered with gaping wounds, which is a sort of rain- 
 fetish in this district. When it will not rain and 
 the people are too poor to pay the priests for any 
 big effort, they sally to the church, bring out the 
 rain-god, and have a kind of masquerade through the 
 streets. They say the rain always comes afterwards ! 
 
 Ignorance is everywhere the lash that whips us 
 all ; but he who is in search of downright super- 
 stition and blind idolatry should go to Spain. 
 
 My host was married, and had a sweet little boy. 
 He fell ill suddenly. An old nurse came to see him. 
 She stood with her hands crossed over her breast 
 looking steadily at the child. " He cannot live," she 
 said slowly. " Why ? " asked the alarmed parents. 
 " Some one has cast an evil eye on htm," replied the 
 old woman. Her words proved true. In spite of all 
 our efforts the child passed from this world. When 
 it was known that the little one was dead, the 
 villagers came to offer their sympathy. According 
 to custom the parents stayed in their private rooms, 
 and the fulfilment of all the necessary duties fell to 
 stranger hands. 
 
262 ANDALUCIA. [H. 
 
 Acolytes in red and white gowns came with enor- 
 mous candles, and awaited the arrival of the strangely 
 dressed babe. It wore a white dress covered with 
 bows of white and orange satin, and ornamented with 
 rich gold embroidery, white leather shoes, a crown of 
 pink and white flowers, and a gilt spray in its right 
 hand. Thus adorned it lay in state all day. Women 
 came 'dressed in rusty black, with lace mantillas, and 
 after viewing the little body, and kneeling before a 
 candle, would sit in solemn silence for an hour or two 
 and then depart. 
 
 As the solitary companion of my host, I was called 
 on to represent his family and Old England at the 
 grave-side. Of all the sad hours I have known in 
 Spain this was the saddest. I was the last of a 
 large crowd of mourners. When the little coffin had 
 been placed in a niche of the cemetery wall (they 
 hold no service at the grave), and the mourners 
 all filed past it, I had to stand and listen to expres- 
 sions of sympathy for those who were spared. 
 
 The crowd hurried off through a misty rain, and I 
 was left alone. The evening shadows were gathering 
 over the land, the sun was low and reflected a few 
 rainbow tints on the dreary sky. I was glad they 
 were rainbow tints. Without them what would life 
 be to us all ? I walked back to the palace, my cheeks 
 wet with the first tears I had shed in sunny Spain. 
 
XIII.] GRIEF AND PAIN. 263 
 
 Carpio had offered me a change of scene and of 
 subjects. It had been as the world is all things by 
 turns. Standing by the dust of dead dukes and of 
 a dead babe I had felt anew that humanity is one. 
 Surely there is no escape from sorrow. Wander from 
 east to west, and assume what character we may, 
 wherever humanity's voice is heard will come the 
 notes of grief and pain. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 ANDALUCIA (continued). 
 
 THE BATTLE-FIELD OF ALCOLEA. CORDOBA. THE ENGLISH 
 CONSUL. PALACES AND PENURY. THE MOSQUE CATHEDRAL. 
 CARLOTA: A KINDLY ENGLISHMAN.' TROPICAL VEGETA- 
 TION. ECIJA. I AM TAKEN FOR A SPY. A REVOLUTION ON 
 THE TAPIS. AN UNBELIEVING SECRETARIO AND A GENEROUS 
 ALCALDE. CARMONA AND ITS LAZY INHABITANTS. ALCALA 
 DE GUADAIRA. MOORISH INDUSTRY. THE GUADAIRA. 
 AQUEDUCT FROM ALCALA TO SEVILLA. 
 
 I LEFT Carpio at 6 p.m. on a fine sunshiny day. 
 After my rest the road was light, and I arrived 
 at Alcolea (seven and a half miles) in less than three 
 hours. Extremes are always meeting! After sleeping 
 in a palace, I had to content myself with sharing a 
 chaff loft with three other tramps. 
 
 In the morning I went to view the battle-field of 
 Alcolea dear to every Spaniard because it is of 
 recent date and about a woman ! Here Isabella, with 
 her insurgent troops, met her foes and took a beating 
 from them in very good style. How every man 
 fought and bled I dare not pretend to know. The 
 story is so variously told, that I might add to the 
 
 264 
 
CH.XIV.] A CUP OF COFFEE. 265 
 
 complications which already exist. Only this 
 the battle lasted a day and a night. A fine bridge 
 over the Guadalquivir was held by the imperial 
 troops in a manner which has brought forth poetry 
 as eulogistic as that which tells of him who kept the 
 bridge " in the brave days of old." 
 
 It was a very hot morning, and I soon pulled up 
 at a roadside ventas. Poor starving country as 
 Spain is, you can get anything you may care to 
 order, or at all events an imitation of the genuine 
 article. 
 
 The owner of the ventas had neither wine nor 
 aquadiente, and the water was bad. Did I like 
 coffee ? Did I not ! So she broke up a handful of 
 maize-corn between two stones, clapped them in a 
 large brass ladle, and placed it on a tiny fire. When 
 the corn was heated and browned, she poured it into 
 a jug, added boiling water, and then went to the 
 door, calling, " Nee, nee, nee, Cabra, cabra, cabra 
 Benga, benga, benga." Up trotted a skinny she- 
 goat, and propped itself ready to be milked. Though 
 the goat was thin, the milk was rich, and, without 
 sugar or a silver spoon, my coffee so rudely prepared 
 out of maize-corn and goat's milk was a delicacy I 
 could enjoy when no more a thirsty tramp. Soon 
 after leaving the ventas I ascended a little hill, from 
 which I could see the big dome of the famed 
 
266 ANDALUCIA. [CH. 
 
 cathedral of Cordoba, and an hour's steady walking 
 brought the old city full in sight. 
 
 To the visitor who has " dreamed " of Cordoba, 
 the first impression must ever be disappointing. It 
 is huddled together over an uneven piece of ground 
 beside the Guadalquivir, and presents an array of 
 angles and odd corners, crooked, tortuous "calles" 
 and parti-coloured masonry, which must be a delight 
 to the class of beings who love " patch and crazy " 
 work. 
 
 Every one knows Cordoba is old, and it looks it. 
 Its plazas and its people echo the language and 
 sentiments of centuries long dead, and should a 
 modern fabric show in sight, it is but a gaudy 
 intruder, which mars and disfigures the scene. In 
 order to know Cordoba one needs fancy, imagina- 
 tion, a fine memory, and the keys of the town, and 
 then it may become a delicious dream. I have none 
 of these advantages, so I can speak of Cordoba only 
 from a tramp's point of view. While moving up and 
 down this old-fashioned place I lighted on the 
 English Consulate, and having the usual wants and 
 audacity of my class, I appealed for such assistance 
 as every Britisher abroad feels it his privilege to 
 expect from these worthy men. The Consul proved 
 himself " a man and a brother " by inviting me to 
 become his guest during one delightful week 
 
XIV.] HOUSE-HUNTING IN CORDOBA. 267 
 
 Having found a home I became an independent 
 member of society, and could take my walks abroad 
 with the air of a man \vho owned something and 
 needed a place in which to store it. The Consul was 
 in search of a house, so we went " house-hunting " 
 together. 
 
 It is a grand scheme ! If all others of your own 
 invention should fail, and you want to see a lot of 
 old houses and people " at home " when visitors are 
 not expected, go in search of a house. It is easy to 
 be pleased and admire everything, and equally easy 
 to decline making any bargain before first consulting 
 some absent body. Had I not gone house-hunting, 
 my acquaintance with Cordoba would have been 
 small indeed, but now it seems that I lived there 
 through centuries of changeful and eventful time. 
 
 Cordobose houses are not mute memorials of the 
 historic past. They speak aloud, and with eloquent 
 tongue. They tell of the life, and power, and learning, 
 and glory, and victory, and defeat, and death of great 
 people and great kings. Although "change and 
 decay " are written on all around, the air is alive with 
 the spirits of departed souls. This sometime " fount 
 of learning, arts, and religion," the "ornament of 
 the world " and " wonder of earth," is now all dead 
 or dying, and yet it speaks in feverish tones of the 
 transitory nature of all earthly glory. 
 
268 ANDALUCIA. |_ CH - 
 
 Cordoba has had a good many royal palaces, but 
 only one remains. It is called the Vieja Alcazar, 
 and is to let. We went and saw it. It is a tiny bijou 
 palace, standing on a pretty flat beside the river. 
 The house seems to have been built for two lovers 
 to play hide and seek. Inside, it is a miniature 
 Hampton Court maze, odd little chambers and pas- 
 sages with tiny windows and dark-stained glass, 
 which appear to have been made to shut out, rather 
 than let in the light of day. The front of the house 
 is ablaze with showy coloured enamel tiles, let into 
 white porcelain cement. Round its balconies and 
 verandahs cling old-fashioned climbing plants, and 
 a marble fountain, which stands before the principal 
 portal, is pressed out of shape by the many hands 
 which have rubbed against it. The fishing and 
 bathing pools are surrounded by natural flowers, and 
 rich ornaments, and floral wreaths, in cold stone. 
 
 The garden is sweet with the scent of orange 
 blossoms, and there are shady, inviting rest-houses 
 where the court beauties of old may have confessed 
 their romantic loves. We can take this palace, 
 garden, and all the story of it for 20 a year ! And 
 the tax collector shall not trouble us for another 
 cent. We went to another house under the eye of 
 the prison and the fine old bridge, a stupid, com- 
 fortless old place, without entrance hall or corridors. 
 
XIV.] A NOBLE MARQUIS. 269 
 
 The rooms themselves formed the passage, and the 
 amount of doors to be opened and closed on making 
 a short journey through the house was too much for 
 the patience of any Britisher. In the bedrooms,, 
 curtains composed of solid masonry hung from the 
 ceiling round the space convenient for the bed. 
 
 The kitchen was at the top of the house, another 
 proof, if it were needed, that " modern inventions " 
 are somewhat old. As this house did not suit our 
 requirements, we went to that of a noble marquis,, 
 who, being possessed of but a small family and still 
 smaller income, wished to let three-quarters of his 
 establishment and content himself with passing his 
 days in attic modesty, and spending his nights, and 
 the rent, in the salons on the " Gran Capitan." 
 
 The Marquis was a plain man, and not above 
 doing a little business if it meant money. 
 
 He welcomed us to his little den (it was a den), 
 and commanded us to sit down, and as he was in his 
 shirt sleeves we did not hesitate to obey. 
 
 There is really no moral reason why a marquis 
 should not be seen in his shirt sleeves, and, as the 
 weather was hot and he was fat and juicy, we forgave 
 the negligence of his attire, and proceeded to question 
 him about his house. He would take four thousand 
 reals (40) per annum, and he called in the Marquesa 
 to bear him out that the place was worth the money.. 
 
270 ANDALUCIA. [Cn. 
 
 Both these noble personages were horribly dirty, and 
 all about them miserably wretched and unclean. 
 
 The pedigree of the Marquis looked well as it hung 
 from the time-stained walls, and even his own sheet 
 may be free from crime ; but we could not feel that 
 it would increase our self-esteem to share his house, 
 so, after seeing little more than its inmates, we " try 
 again." We came upon a lovely little abode stand- 
 ing within great gardens which once afforded delight 
 and retirement to the beauties of the Moorish camp. 
 
 The house was shut out from the rude world by 
 a labyrinth of grape vines, pomegranates, oranges, 
 and other luscious fruits. The air was heavy with, 
 the scent of flowers, and all around was so rich and 
 sweet that Nature seemed to fairly overflow. 
 
 A portion of the old Roman wall stands in this 
 garden. We ascended it by a flight of stone steps, 
 whence we got a grand view of this old-world domain. 
 
 We were in the heart of Cordoba, yet we could 
 see nothing but greenery, shady arbours, fruits and 
 flowers. Here were quiet and rest ; and to him who 
 finds nothing but fatigue in the bustling world, how 
 much that word contains ! At the end of the old 
 wall standsjwhat was once the principal Roman gate 
 of the city. It is now, alas ! changed into an 
 impromptu ?stye for two Spanish pigs. We saw other 
 houses, other gardens, all overflowing with that inde- 
 
XIV.] THE MOSQUE CATHEDRAL. 271 
 
 scribable charm which now hangs round the cities of 
 the past. 
 
 I went to the cathedral without a guide-book, 
 for I am a refractory tramp, and do not like to be led 
 up to things or beliefs. Here are my notes : " This 
 cathedral has impressed me more than any building 
 I have entered in Spain, and yet I can say nothing 
 about it. I have been mooning around it for two 
 whole days. I have wandered up and down its 
 many aisles, round and round its hundred shrines, 
 pondered and dreamed as I have leaned against 
 nearly all its four hundred marble columns, till I 
 have grown weary and bewildered by the thoughts 
 it has aroused. I know nothing of its history, nor 
 do I feel I need to. It is a great living force which 
 speaks out a world of infinite variety." 
 
 Powerful as this fabric is, it does not inspire any 
 religious reverence. I think " Christians " must view 
 it as a great pagan temple. It is essentially an 
 earthly temple, but though made by my fellow-men, 
 they have invested it with a something which baffles 
 and is above my understanding ; and that something 
 may be the voice of the Moslems' God. Priestly vest- 
 ments, always attractive in Spain, look out of place 
 here. One expects Moorish robes, turbaned heads, 
 yellow sandals, and jewelled scimitars on the forms 
 which glide about its silent courts. 
 
2/2 ANDALUCIA. [Cn. 
 
 But these have had their little day, and the less 
 gaudy priest is the only coloured object one looks 
 on now. 
 
 The choir and chapel which the Catholics have 
 fashioned in the centre of the building form a 
 splendid monument of Spanish art, though they are 
 condemned by all who would view the Mosque 
 Cathedral in its original form. The retablo and 
 screen are of wood, carved and polished till they 
 look like massive copper. The white ceiling adorned 
 with cherubs and other angelic creatures, with faces 
 all as natural as life, yet perhaps a little too pure 
 and beautiful for this world, holds one entranced and 
 happy. Time counts for nothing in this building. 
 What one sees is too vast for treatment, what one 
 feels and delights in is not to be got rid of in words. 
 
 I cannot presume to say what is the wondrous 
 charm, or wherein lies the beauty of Cordoba 
 Cathedral. Gloomy and profound, it must arrest 
 and fascinate the lightest heart, and push its way 
 into the head of him or her who is already over full 
 of this world's glories. 
 
 There are six hundred priests in Cordoba ! 
 
 Cordoba is bankrupt nothing less ; but it tries 
 to keep its head up and indulge its light loves. 
 It pays for big toros and keeps scores of cafes and 
 gaming-houses going, and the patrons of these 
 
XIV.] FAREWELL TO CORDOBA. 273 
 
 resorts claim to be highly respectable and very 
 much alive. 
 
 There is not a single art or industry in force here. 
 The people boast of their beautiful silver work ; 
 but it is only what is known as " Cairo work," silver 
 wire, plaited and twisted into cheap trinkets. The 
 " Gran Capitan " is a fine " pasco," but it is not an 
 unmixed blessing. Cordoba is not so large that she 
 needs big lungs. If her people would turn out and 
 cultivate the silent hills which lie in idleness and 
 neglect around them, theirs would be a better life 
 than such as they can obtain in the " Gran Capitan." 
 
 This city, which was once looked up to by the 
 whole world for its magnificence, learning, and power, 
 is now all that is poor and low. It needs but a 
 shower of hot dust and ashes, or a high tide in the 
 old river, and it would consent to be crushed out 
 of being as certainly as Pompeii and Herculaneum. 
 
 My pleasant week came to an end, but the memory 
 of it will live long. 
 
 I slip into harness and proper company with great 
 facility. No sooner had I left Cordoba than I fell 
 in with two other tramps : one a Frenchman bound 
 for Cadiz, the other a little Spanish cripple, who 
 was going to Melilla to fight the Moors. 
 
 Every Spaniard thinks himself big enough to fight 
 his " eternal enemy," and this little chap much 
 
 18 
 
274 ANDALUCIA. [CH. 
 
 under five feet in height and a miserable cripple in 
 both legs pegs along right cheerfully, for he is sure 
 he will be accepted as a volunteer and get a stripe or 
 two before the war is over. The Frenchman is not 
 so philanthropic. He is going to Cadiz simply because 
 a tramp must always be going somewhere, or he 
 would get no support. He can speak Spanish, but 
 " he doesn't intend to " he profits by his ignorance. 
 Three tramps in company are all too much on a 
 Spanish road ; starvation or blackmail is inevitable 
 unless we part. After my week's rest I was fresh, 
 and, their news-bag exhausted, I took them at a 
 pace which soon grew too hot. One by one they 
 lagged behind, and I have not seen them since. 
 
 A walk of some hours in the darkness brought me 
 to a tiny village, sleepy and still as death. I could 
 find no stable or barn-door open, so the only bed 
 left to me was Mother Earth. The night was 
 bitterly cold : a sharp white frost, and when morning 
 broke my limbs were so stiffened and sore that it 
 was some time before I could muster strength enough 
 to continue my journey. 
 
 At Carlota, which is the sister town to La Carolina 
 built by Charles III. and named after his two 
 daughters, I fell in with an Englishman, who treated 
 me with much frank generosity. I passed a day and 
 a night under his roof, gained some practical advice 
 
XIV.] WIDE HORIZONS. 275 
 
 about local and agricultural matters, and was accom- 
 panied by him for some distance on the road towards 
 Ecija. 
 
 The " temperate clime " was now behind me, and 
 palms and other subtropical vegetation began to 
 show themselves. These growths indicate a change, 
 nothing more. The country is still as monotonous 
 and wild, and water scarcer than ever. This dry 
 monotony is the dominant characteristic of a Spanish 
 landscape, but no doubt it has a fascination for the 
 native born. Spain is ever a land of wide horizons. 
 From the farthest hill one looks down on a wide 
 world. The air is usually so thin and clear that 
 tiny objects can be made out at a distance of miles. 
 Where mountain chains are in sight one may be 
 certainly interested by the lights and shadows, clouds 
 and colours which the winds and sun cast around 
 them. 
 
 From the roadway I could see the famous old 
 castle of Almaduna, which is perched on a high peak 
 rising near the bed of the Guadalquivir. Beyond 
 the castle runs the Sierra Morena, all glittering and 
 sparkling in the evening sun. The space lying 
 between the Sierra and the road is filled with olive 
 trees. These throw a grey, sad shadow over the 
 landscape, and lend a tinge of melancholy to the 
 scene. The olive mills and occasional dwellings 
 
276 AXDALUCIA. [Cn. 
 
 all snowy white show through the dreamy ether, 
 and nothing speaks of active life save the hope which 
 enables this tramp to push on. 
 
 At Ecija I found a pleasant change. The river 
 Genii is large, and its banks carry a broad margin of 
 shady trees. I cast about me for a modest posada 
 suited to my needs. A tramp is always in need ! 
 " That eternal want of pence which vexes public men " 
 must have been the plaint of a tramp ! I found a very 
 crowded posada, where for a penny I got a bed in the 
 chaff-house amongst fully a dozen other wayfarers. 
 They left me very much alone, for I heard them 
 whispering that I was a spy picking up information 
 about Melilla a topic which was sending the 
 country folk mad with fanatical notions. 
 
 Ecija by daylight is a really pretty old town. 
 The Spaniards have it that one Austin or Astor 
 founded it immediately after the destruction of Troy 
 (by this the Spaniards profess to have a much better 
 knowledge of the Asiatic city than we), and it has 
 gone on distinguishing itself ever since. It resisted 
 Romans and Moors, and sent its bravest sons to wage 
 the siege of Granada. 
 
 But she worked too hard. She gave of her 
 children, and her wine, corn, and oil, till she became 
 very poor ; and now, Spanish-like, she has nothing 
 but her pride to soothe and delight her. She has 
 
XIV.] THE THIRTEEN BOYS OF ECIJA. 277 
 
 no trade and no industry save politics. The 
 " secretario " tells me they do a big business in this 
 article, that matters took an upward tendency last 
 evening, and that " there will be a grand revolution 
 to-night ! " Won't I stay and see it ? No, thank 
 you. I am not in love with revolutions over matters 
 which I do not understand. 
 
 But I can understand the plain fact that Ecija is 
 overtaxed. Its people refuse to pay a " consumes " 
 duty equal to two hundred per cent, on all that 
 comes into it, and to-night they mean to fight the 
 authorities and make a tariff which the Governor 
 will have to accept as final. I hope they got 
 their rights without much fighting. They are a 
 tidy people to look at Ecija is very clean, and its 
 inhabitants ditto a population almost unique in 
 this respect. I didn't see anything of " the thirteen 
 boys of Ecija ; " doubtless they are all in their graves. 
 The " trece Ninos de Ecija " were an old band of 
 robbers who haunted the roads of Central Andalucia 
 for many many years. The circumstance which 
 keeps their memory green in the heart of all Spain 
 is the singular fact that they were always thirteen 
 in number ; though occasionally broken up by the 
 police and shot down by civilians, whenever they 
 reappeared it was always as thirteen. They were 
 not cold-blooded rascals, and were well spoken of by 
 
278 ANDALUCIA. [Cn. 
 
 all (except their victims) for their extreme humanity 
 and their care for a few old monks who were fed 
 and clothed almost entirely from the spoils of the 
 boys of the road. 
 
 Excepting this little blemish I know of nothing 
 against Ecija. I don't stick up for it because I got 
 any great assistance from it, for I did not 
 
 I called on the " secretario," and he spurned me 
 with the most contemptuous frown he could call into 
 his smug little face. He was an old man, and could 
 be caustic without any downright effort. 
 
 He told me that Spain was for the Spaniards, 
 and not for English tramps. 
 
 Then he asked me how long it would be before I 
 had completed my plan for an attack on Spain (by 
 the English), and if I should enjoy a few months' 
 solitary confinement in their little prison previous 
 to bringing me up for public justice to be done. 
 
 I assured him that this was all very interesting. 
 It was so new, so unlike any experience I had ever 
 endured before, that I begged he would continue in 
 the same strain. The sun shone so fiercely, and the 
 nights were, on the contrary, so intensely cold, that 
 to follow him in fancy to that pleasant retreat where 
 none but " guardias civiles " and town guards come, 
 was quite refreshing, and looked more agreeable than 
 many of my actual experiences have been. 
 
XIV] A TOKEN OF "ETERNAL RESPECT." 279 
 
 There is not a man on earth who can stand against 
 a natural fool ! The " secretario " was convinced I 
 was of that order, so he told me to be off, and " the 
 devil look out for himself if he fell in with me." 
 
 I didn't go to the devil. I went to the alcalde, who 
 was a very different man, and regretted his heart 
 could not swell beyond his means. Ecija was under 
 a yoke. " But if you should come round this way 
 again. . . ." " Now, really, I don't think it likely 
 that I shall, but thanks all the same ! " 
 
 I carried the order he wrote for me to the " secre- 
 tario," and on beholding me for the second time, the 
 look of surprise and disgust which overspread his 
 face far out-did the expression it wore when I first 
 addressed him. He saw he had made a mistake. He 
 owned that he was blind as an owl at midday. He 
 begged me to excuse the slight he had offered me. 
 
 Of course I would ! I, a tramp, not willing to be 
 charitable when I expect all to be charitable to me ! 
 I assured him that there was "no faulte," and his 
 shrivelled-up little face relaxed into a bland and 
 generous smile which hung fire there during the time 
 I was in his company. " He blossomed in an hour," 
 as the song says. He took me by the hand and said 
 I was . . . ! He told me where to go, and what to 
 see, and finally he gave me a book as a lasting 
 token of his eternal respect ! 
 
2cSo ANDALUCIA. [Cn, 
 
 Ecija is as full of colour as a circus waggon. Its 
 churches, palaces, and houses are nearly all striped 
 and splashed with showy colours, and although the 
 hands which laid on these curious traceries were 
 not highly skilled artists, the effect is decidedly 
 picturesque. From a gentle hill near the town I 
 looked down on seventeen tall towers, all painted 
 from summit to basement, and presenting a very rare 
 and effective picture. 
 
 The road from Ecija to Luisiana was dull and 
 monotonous. I slept in the stable of a ventas, after 
 sharing with the kindly family their evening meal of 
 boiled chestnuts, olives, and bread. 
 
 My way now lay through rich but sadly neglected 
 country. The soil was deep and rich, but it yielded 
 no crop. Such neglect in the presence of such want 
 as I had left behind me in Ecija showed all too 
 plainly where the fault lay. It is not more law. 
 but more individual effort that is wanting in Spain. 
 The people have lost their self-respect. There is no 
 longer any honour in labour or any dishonour in 
 laziness and indifference to probity and justice. On 
 the road I was subjected to a rigorous search by 
 three " guarclias civiles," who overhauled everything I 
 possessed, and took copies of such notes as I had 
 in Spanish. They were, as ever, very respectful, 
 and set me wondering what system of discipline 
 
XIV.] THE ONLY WORKING FORCE. 281 
 
 makes this body so different from all other Spanish 
 officials. 
 
 Satisfied that I had a clean sheet, they let me go y 
 and before evening I reached the loftily situated town 
 of Carmona. As it was Sunday, all the world and 
 his wife were promenading in the principal " calles." 
 " Un poseo " (a walk) is the great luxury of poor 
 Spain. To stroll and look at other strollers is a 
 never-failing source of delight. 
 
 Carmona is an attractive town. It shows fine 
 arches of Moorish construction, a large old castle and 
 many Moorish houses. The church of San Pedro has 
 a beautiful painted tower. It is of great height, and 
 possesses some fine carved stone-work. I took pot 
 luck at a very good posada, where every one was 
 raving about Melilla and too excited to notice me. 
 I slept in the chaff-house with other tramps, and 
 found the bill all the lighter for having done so, for 
 while a tramp gets his " doss " for a penny, a 
 traveller's bed is a " real." 
 
 There is nothing but parasitism in this district. 
 The people live on each other, and the only working 
 force is the poor donkey or mule. If I ask what 
 they manufacture, they say flour ! A flour mill or 
 a press that gives out a few hundred gallons of oil is 
 quite a big industry, and sufficient to satisfy a town 
 as large as Carmona (16,000 souls). 
 
282 ANDALUCIA. [Cn. 
 
 The cultivated lands around it do not total ten 
 square miles, yet there are hundreds of miles lying- 
 waste. I longed for enough Spanish to curse these 
 lazy rascals to their face. But there, what is the use of 
 grumbling or swearing at a Spaniard ? He likes both, 
 and enjoys a wordy row as much as his dinner ; so I 
 must hold back my bad language for another occasion. 
 
 Just beyond Carmona the Giralda shows in sight, 
 and I felt inclined to rush on, but my bundle was 
 no lighter, and the tramp who hurries loses ground. 
 Twenty-five miles stretched from Carmona to 
 Alcala de Guadaira, and as the sun was hot, and the 
 way was dry, my day was not an easy one. From 
 the open ridge which the road takes, I looked over 
 a great black valley. The earth is black with white 
 houses showing here and there, so that it looks like 
 a wintry sea flecked with white sails. 
 
 I ought to be well-nigh purified and fit for " Happy 
 Land " by this time, for I have drunk hogsheads of 
 holy water since I started on this journey. Nearly 
 every well and fountain yields up its cleansing flood 
 in the name of " Our Lady " or some saint, and why 
 the Spanish public should remain so worldly in the 
 presence of so much grace is another of the problems 
 which remains to be solved. Here at Alcaia is a 
 precious flow said to be the direct gift of San 
 Joachim to the people of the town. 
 
XIV.] MOORISH ENGINEERS. 283 
 
 In the morning I had a big wash of clothes that 
 I might make a decent entry into Sevilla. 
 
 At Alcala are the remains of a Moorish castle and 
 fort, forming one of the largest ruins in Spain. It is 
 over a thousand feet long, and broad in proportion. 
 It occupies the crown of a hill projecting itself 
 towards a half-circular vale, along whose bed flow 
 the clear waters of the Guadaira, Nothing more than 
 bits of outer walls and towers remain, just enough 
 to show its former size and strength. As I wound 
 along the road by the river-side I got a fine view of 
 the old place. On the western side thirteen towers 
 shoot towards the clear sky, and behind them, on 
 what was once the courtyard of the castle, rises a 
 little church, whitewashed and lively looking in com- 
 parison with the decaying towers as if the Christian 
 shrine were gaily crowing over the downfall of 
 the Moor. Nearly everywhere the triumph of the 
 Spaniard is marked by the substitution of a church 
 or monastery for the Moorish castle or fort. 
 
 The Moors were great engineers. Their systems 
 of raising and conducting water are known and appre- 
 ciated by the whole world. There are large tracts of 
 land in Spain on which the Moors introduced water, 
 and made the scheme profitable, and yet, in spite of 
 the progress of science, modern engineers are unable 
 to deal with the same localities, or understand the 
 
284 ANDALUCIA. [H. XIV. 
 
 extraordinary success of the Moors. Here, from 
 Alcala to Sevilla, a distance of ten miles, the Moors 
 made an aqueduct to supply the latter with pure 
 water. They raised the water to high levels by 
 means of enormous wheels, bored through hills of 
 rock and sand, erected bridges and flumes over 
 streams and canons, and brought this great volume 
 of water into Sevilla in a manner that must ever 
 compel the admiration of the Spaniard who hates 
 them. There is an elevated aqueduct nearly four 
 miles in length. I tried to count the arches, but 
 grew tired. Three or four miles are enough to speak 
 for themselves. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 SEVILLA. 
 
 MY RECEPTION. THE ETERNAL ENEMY THE MOOR. A RUSSIAN 
 NATURALIST. A TRAMP'S RHAPSODY ON THE GLORY OF 
 SEVILLA. THE ALCAZAR. SPANISH BEAUTIES. A GENTLE 
 CONSOLER. FAREWELL TO SEVILLA. 
 
 T HAVE read that the approach to Sevilla is 
 * always beautiful, but it showed nothing very 
 attractive to me on my entrance. The situation is 
 good from a commercial point of view, as all Sevilla 
 stands on a flat by the river, but the " calles " being 
 narrow and crooked, one rarely gets a view of more 
 than a couple of hundred yards in extent. I had been 
 taught to believe that the Sevilla streets and houses 
 are all quaint and beautiful, but this is not the case. 
 Some of the " calles " show some lovely dwellings, 
 but the vast majority are poor and uninteresting. 
 
 Taking it all round it is not " beautiful old Sevilla." 
 It owns some rare beauties, but there is no hard 
 hunting necessary to discover blots and imperfections, 
 which tell heavily against its boasted perfection. 
 
 285 
 
286 SEVILLA. [CH. 
 
 I must confess that Sevilla did not receive me well. 
 All Spain was just then mad over the last row with 
 the Moors, and the Sevilla street arab was undis- 
 cerning enough to take my light baggy knicker- 
 bockers for the costume of his " eternal enemigo." 
 The cry of " Une Moro ! " was raised, and I was 
 followed along the narrow streets by hundreds of 
 boys and (shall I call them ?) men, who threw stones 
 and garbage at me, forcing me at last to take refuge 
 in a tram. To have fallen so far below the English 
 standard as to be taken for a miserable " rifeno " was 
 hard indeed, and I ceased to be vain of my appear- 
 ance as a tramp. Policemen do exist in Sevilla, but 
 they have their own private and important business 
 to attend to. Large and noisy as was the mob, no 
 " active and intelligent officer " came in sight, nor did 
 I hear a solitary remark in my defence from any 
 street passenger. Sevilla is famous for its bull-fights, 
 and, consequently, for its brutality. 
 
 Clear away from the mob I found a home, a 
 "happy home," in the Calle Genova. The name, 
 " Fonda Alegria," spoke for itself ! 
 
 Here I found blissful retirement, and when I chose 
 to break the silence, some pleasant moments with a 
 very strong and singular character in the person of 
 a Russian naturalist who, like myself, was a de- 
 spised alien in the town of the Giralda. The next 
 
XV,] A STUDENT OF NATURE. 287 
 
 best thing to a fellow-countryman is a fellow- 
 stranger. 
 
 There was a marked resemblance between the 
 Russian's life and my own. We had both rebelled 
 against that crowd which is called " the world," and 
 yet we imagine that, like lesser Newtons, we pick up 
 grains, and shells, and sand, which afford us truer 
 joys than are known to the vulgar mob hurrying 
 along the street outside. My friend could afford to 
 speak lightly of "degrees." He boasted of nothing 
 save the need of knowing more. 
 
 After taking high honours at the University of 
 Kieff, an insatiable love for the simple things in 
 nature set him roving. He had made a complete 
 tour of the coasts of the cold Black Sea throwing 
 his grappling net for the salt weeds and "curled 
 darlings " which shroud the rocks submerged around 
 its shores. Then journeying down to Marmora he 
 had studied a phase in the lives of the innumerable 
 wild fowl which cross that sea in their migrations 
 from Lower Poland to their winter quarters on the 
 brackish fens of Asia Minor and the Persian 
 valleys. 
 
 He had culled rare lichens, zoophytes, and fine 
 fossils from the rocks and reeds of tiny islands of 
 the Levant ; and then he had gone on to Smyrna, 
 Galilee, and Egypt, and, without venturing into 
 
288 SEVILLA. [CH. 
 
 " Shepherd's " of Cairo, or the seductive cafes of 
 Alexandria, had found more real and substantial 
 pleasures in the small still life which blooms and 
 fades without a name on the low hills beside the far- 
 spreading Nile. What an innocent life ! His worst 
 crime is the slaughter of some little creature that he 
 may study its structure and provide, maybe, a new 
 antidote for the suffering world. 
 
 I believe that Platon Koulakoff is storing up little 
 by little knowledge which will one day be eagerly 
 welcomed by the students of science. 
 
 At the end of three delightful days my Russian 
 comrade set off for Madrid, and I was left to find 
 new interests in old Sevilla. It holds many attrac- 
 tions, but the greatest of all is the Alcazar. 
 
 Could the nations of the world see this one triumph 
 of the Moors, I think they would subscribe a fund 
 large enough to keep the remaining stock in affluence, 
 that they might teach future generations the lesson 
 of beauty which the religion of Mahomet inspires. 
 The Spanish say that " the truth and the roses have 
 thorns," and accordingly some faults are to be found 
 with the Alcazar. Let them snarl ! There is still 
 more perfection here than is crammed into any 
 similar space on this planet. 
 
 The heart is quickened and grows faint by turns 
 .as one moves shyly within its gorgeous apartments, 
 
XV.] A POETICAL MOSAIC. 289 
 
 till the surroundings grow into an Arabian nightmare, 
 and one awakes to find oneself all the poorer for 
 having seen this poetical mosaic. 
 
 Who can describe, who can presume to say what 
 this palace is like, how it is ordered and what it 
 contains ? I can only say that it is faultless in detail 
 and equally perfect as a whole. One grows by 
 custom indifferent to the choicest things, and the 
 most delicious sweets are the quickest to cloy ; but 
 who ever tired of the Alcazar? It is usual to worship 
 where we cannot understand, and who can under- 
 stand this wonderful palace, even though it be the 
 work of an inferior brother ? 
 
 I asked an Englishman wherein the secret of its 
 beauty lay ; and he answered, "In its reality ! The 
 Alcazar is not a toy. You recognise a convenient 
 and sensible dwelling into which it is a positive 
 sacrilege to trespass." 
 
 The main entrance opens on a courtyard flanked 
 by the palace walls. A long and splendidly decorated 
 corridor penetrates to the centre of the building. 
 Here is a large, open " patio " surrounded by white 
 marble columns which support walls and balconies, 
 overlaid with intricate mosaic work in every variety 
 of colour. The spectacle, though dazzling, is yet soft 
 and harmonious. The state rooms open from this 
 " patio." No two are alike in shape or in decoration, 
 
 19 
 
290 SEVILLA. [CH. 
 
 and there is not one in which it would not be a joy 
 to be kept a prisoner for life ! They are all ablaze 
 with rich coloured embroidery-like tracings, and, 
 although entirely destitute of furniture, the very 
 floors must seem a bed of roses to all who are privi- 
 leged to rest on them. The gem of these apartments 
 is the " Salon des Ambassadors," situated at one end 
 of the beautiful " patio," and next to the room in 
 which the deposed Isabella was born. The "salon" is 
 square, and the walls run up to form a dome. From 
 the marble floor to the crown of the ceiling the entire 
 wall space is ornamented with the finest hair lines 
 and touches of colour, the most prominent being 
 celestial blue, orange, crimson, ivory, and gold. But 
 it is not the mere painting of a smooth wall surface. 
 Every inch has been first carved and chased in the 
 most exquisite and varied Oriental designs, and the 
 touches of colour seem to have been literally breathed 
 into them. The softest hand would be too heavy 
 to paint these lilies. 
 
 There is a meaning in all these tracings, hiero- 
 glyphics, and fantastic masses of colour, but the key 
 to the wondrous enigma is lost. But you do not 
 want to reason here ; you do not want knowledge ; 
 you only want to be, and, given breathing space, you 
 will be as happy as the wisest of earth. The Alcazar 
 must be seen ; it defies description. You are a 
 
XV.] THE ORNAMENT OF THE WORLD. 291 
 
 prince of the pen, and you are a queen of song, but 
 neither of you can sing the praises of one square foot 
 of this enchanting palace. Presumptuous man aspires 
 to many things which are above him, but here he is 
 compelled to bend humbly before the work of his 
 fellow-man. 
 
 As the Alcazar is the offspring of many minds and 
 hands, it may be that no one man will ever be able 
 to convey more than a vague impression of the 
 magnificence of the whole. All the floors are of the 
 finest marble or enamel work. Arches of exquisite 
 mould give access to the rooms. Look, wander 
 where you will, all is loveliness. It is the shrine of 
 shrines for artistic effect. To stand at the northern 
 end of the " patio " and look towards the Salon des 
 Ambassadors is, I verily believe, the sight of the 
 world. It matters nothing that it was restored by 
 a cruel king. 
 
 All the virtues find a footing here. Patience, 
 industry, love, beauty, strength, wisdom, hope, faith, 
 charity, religion, are embodied in these walls, and 
 it is a living testimony to the intelligence and dignity 
 of the Moorish artists and artisans. Bear it in your 
 memory and make a little pilgrimage to Sevilla that 
 you may not quit this life without having seen the 
 " ornament of the world." 
 
 After the Alcazar, all the other sights of Sevilla 
 
2Q2 SEVILLA. [CH. 
 
 are poor. They must be seen first or they cannot 
 charm. 
 
 The tower of Sevilla, the Giralda, throws its shadow 
 over the Cathedral, which is of splendid proportions 
 and beautifully decorated within and without. The 
 " Guardian Angel " and the " Vision of San Antonio " 
 fMurillo) are its " popular " treasures. The latter 
 is surrounded by fresh interest from the fact that it 
 was recently stolen and taken to America ; but the 
 Church authorities scented out the sacrilegious rogues 
 and brought their idol back and set it up in one of 
 the chapels, where it now hangs protected by strong 
 iron bars. 
 
 I did not see the " beauties " of Sevilla at every 
 turn. Perhaps they were making the most of a 
 late summer at San Sebastian or Trouville. I went 
 to the tobacco factory, where I was told I should 
 see the Sevillana in all her glory. I saw her, but 
 not her glory ! It was a wet day and she probably 
 felt " dumpy," and not inclined for the accessories 
 of dress, scent, and powder. About two thousand 
 women are employed in this great national tobacco 
 factory, and a plainer or more unkempt lot it would 
 be hard to find. 
 
 The Sevillana whom young men sigh for and old 
 men talk about is not a real beauty. She is as far 
 removed from that hand-on-hip, coquettish damsel, 
 
XV.] THE LACK OF GOODNESS. 293 
 
 with short skirt and showy stockings, white lace 
 mantilla and pearly teeth, as is the veriest blacka- 
 moor from Old Guinea. 
 
 She is just a black-eyed, sullen-faced, thick-ankled, 
 and dowdily dressed baggage, who, if she does laugh, 
 does it without much show of reason. 
 
 If I were asked what the face of the Spanish 
 woman most regularly lacks, I should say GOODNESS. 
 One rarely sees a good face in Spain. 
 
 The women of some provinces are clean and 
 thrifty, patient under pressure, and thoughtful for 
 the home-coming of the bread-winners from their 
 labour ; but that indefinable something which shows 
 out of the eyes and comes forth from sweet lips in 
 soft, but strong speech, and which we know as 
 goodness, is non-existent in the Spanish woman. 
 
 The Spaniards say their women are " virtuous and 
 brave." An idiot may be both and not call for our 
 special respect. I have looked closely at thousands 
 of women, and the wise counsellor, the woman who 
 sees what is wrong and would help do what is 
 right, the woman whose love imposes obligation, is 
 still unknown to me. When I have seen a good 
 face it has usually been passive. There was restful- 
 ness in it, but it was not marked by sufficient spirit 
 to increase the good of the world. 
 
 The Spanish woman is always shielded and pro- 
 
294 SEVILLA. [Cn. 
 
 tected, because she is not supposed to know or do 
 anything. She is more than half a Moor in her 
 indifference to progress, and is so much in need of 
 grace to sustain herself, that none can escape for 
 the benefit of those around. I consider the absence 
 of a good type of woman the greatest calamity of 
 Spain. The woman must mother the world, or it 
 will decay. The Spanish woman is not motherly. 
 She is distinctly unconscious of the importance of her 
 office. The man who calls her to be his wife is her 
 only example, and, be it bad or good, she draws but 
 little from it. She loves money and hoards it as 
 the means to purchase salvation for her soul, and 
 this ignorance, born of fear, binds her and keeps her 
 a low, unaspiring thing. 
 
 I remained in Sevilla eight days. Each day I 
 took my simple meal alone and sought my dessert 
 out of doors in the sights of the city. 
 
 Only on one occasion did the dessert come to me. 
 My room in the " Fonda Alegria " was at the top of 
 a six-story house, and the Fondero and his wife, being 
 rather bulky people, seldom came to know if I stood 
 in need of anything. A little, beady-eyed damsel 
 with a deathly pale face came each day to make 
 my bed and leave the food I had ordered, and these 
 offices performed, she was seen no more till the mor- 
 row. But a day or two before I left, she appeared at 
 
XV.] MY GENTLE CONSOLER. 295 
 
 midday with some fruit, and asked me to accept it. 
 It was a dull, dark day, and the world my world 
 seemed very gloomy, and perhaps the maiden 
 saw that I was not too happy. At any rate, she 
 said " Pobre caballero," looked kindly at me, and 
 wiped a very human tear from her eyes. 
 
 Poor little soul ! she would have done much for 
 poor me I know she would ; but ere I could tell 
 her that there was no cause for tears, she had gone, 
 and in place of the brief ray of sunlight came the 
 shadow. Sevilla was dull, and my attic was dull. 
 I often recalled the experiences of Beranger and 
 Balzac and Thackeray in their attic homes in old 
 Paris. I, in old Sevilla, was even more alone, less 
 talented and more friendless, and yet my gentle 
 consoler had the power of brightening my world 
 for a moment as did theirs. 
 
 The local press said that I " preserve a sym- 
 pathetic appearance," and that " I spoke generously 
 of Spain." (This is kind, and much to my credit, 
 considering the ungracious reception I received.) 
 But do they mean it? In a land where you can 
 buy and are expected to sell "truth and justice, 
 religion and piety," for the sum of a penny a bar- 
 gain, I am slow to accept words as facts. However, 
 I think it politic to say, " Mil gracia, Sevilla and 
 thy people ; fare thee well ! " 
 
296 SEVILLA. [CH. XV. 
 
 There is nothing, after all, like the road for a 
 tramp. It is his proper place. He forms a natural 
 part of the landscape, and the people he meets there 
 treat him more humanely than do those of the 
 crowded towns. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 FROM SEVILLA TO GRANADA. 
 
 AT ARAHAL. RAW RECRUITS. LA PUEBLA. A FAMOUS WOOD- 
 CARVER. A VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER. AND A GENTLE 
 MAIDEN. OSUNA AND ITS PRISON EXPERIENCES. ESTEPA 
 AND THE LITTLE HAMLET OF LAURA. LOJA. THE SPANISH 
 "LUCERNE." WHERE I AM TOLD "THERE IS SOMETHING 
 WRONG WITH MY EDUCATION." A NIGHT AT A ROADSIDE 
 INN. AN UNPLEASANT EXPERIENCE. WITHIN THE WALLS 
 OF GRANADA. 
 
 T HAVE got down in my note-book, " The road 
 * from Alcala (just beyond Sevilla) to Arahal is 
 a vile brute," and I am not inclined to alter the 
 statement. 
 
 The land is good and in some places well cultivated, 
 but the road is flat, bad, and uninteresting. A few 
 wretched houses showed here and there, but I could 
 get no bread anywhere, and the number of times I 
 was told to " go with God " was all I had to sustain 
 me till I arrived at Arahal, a walk of nearly twenty 
 miles. As it was the time of olive-gathering, the 
 roads were thronged with men and women of all 
 
 297 
 
298 FROM SEVILLA TO GRANADA. [Cn. 
 
 ages, journeying in search of work in the groves and 
 mills. Many of the women were dressed in male 
 attire, and it was only by their softer faces that they 
 were distinguishable from the men. The object of 
 the male dress is to facilitate tree-climbing, stand- 
 ing on ladders, and creeping about to pick up the 
 olives. They all smoked, and their bad language 
 was coarser and more frequent than that of the men. 
 The Spaniard who stays at home thinks those who 
 journey about as olive-pickers are a bad lot. This 
 is probably true, but although I met thousands of 
 them between Sevilla and Granada, they always 
 treated me with courtesy. 
 
 At Arahal I was overhauled at the posada of 
 the " Sun " by the guard, who, on finding no treason 
 about me, instantly turned friendly, and offered to 
 present me to the dignitaries of the place. Arahal 
 has but four thousand inhabitants, but no town is too 
 small to have its share of great men. 
 
 The village Hampdens were assembled this night 
 in council to hear and consider the pleas of certain 
 poor widows and others who objected to their sole 
 supports being sent to wage war against the Moors 
 in Melilla. 
 
 I saw these widows, and other poor and helpless 
 people, crying pitifully, and telling sad tales of their 
 distress, as 1 was ushered into the council chamber 
 
XVI.] THE WISE MEN OF ARAHAL. 299 
 
 of the town. About a dozen of the fattest men I 
 have ever beheld were seated round a board. Evi- 
 dently the people of Arahal think that brains and 
 bigness go together. 
 
 A very fat and ruddy-faced priest, who was one 
 of their number, acted as spokesman. On learning 
 that I was interested in agriculture, the great and 
 august body warmed and proceeded to welcome me 
 as only fat men can. 
 
 They pressed me individually and collectively to 
 give them my opinion of agriculture in Spain. I 
 was glad to be able to tell the wise men of Arahal 
 that they were in the midst of great national wealth, 
 which they appeared to be making sensible efforts 
 to increase. Of course this pleased them, and they 
 left off praising me, and went in for praising them- 
 selves. They told me what quantities of corn and oil 
 they grew, and how fat it had made them. 
 
 I could not deny this ! Furthermore, they confided 
 to me that since they had found that energy meant 
 success, Arahal had been daily growing in wealth. 
 This was so far removed from ordinary Spanish 
 talk, that I found myself wondering what manner 
 of men these could be, and from what source they 
 had derived their simple wisdom. 
 
 Their generosity turned out to be as great as their 
 size, for they gave me a pocketful of cigars and 
 
300 FROM SEVILLA TO GRANADA. [Cn. 
 
 cigarettes, and ordered a good supper for me at the 
 posada of the Sun. Meanwhile, the poor women and 
 a crowd of curious idlers were kept shivering in the 
 street. It was a sight to make one shiver, for Arahal 
 stands high and much exposed, as there are broad 
 plains all around it. 
 
 At the posada a crowd of young fellows were held 
 captive by a few rural and provincial guards. These 
 raw recruits seemed to think they would be able to 
 mate with whom they pleased, and be expected to 
 lead an attack before they had been in red trousers 
 twenty-four hours. I heard them making compacts 
 and promises to stand by each other in life and 
 death, and to send relics to the lonely old mother 
 or pining sweetheart they were leaving behind, 
 though it was more than probable that they would 
 be ordered back to their wooden ploughs as " mis- 
 fits" before they got out of their native province. 
 We sat late round a tiny fire made of corncobs which 
 smouldered in a brasero on the posada floor. The 
 recruits told many simple human tales about Mi 
 casa (home), and the old days both of which 
 seemed to have gone for ever. When the fire had 
 burned out, and the last tale had been told, I went off 
 to the chaff-house, where I lay and shivered till 
 morning. Arahal's last gift was a cold, and I had to 
 walk my hardest to get rid of it before night. I 
 
XVI.] A TRAMP'S LOVE PASSAGES. 3OI 
 
 struck across a long uneven plain, whose bed was well- 
 cultivated corn land, and the little rising ground was 
 capped with olives and cork oak. 
 
 The towers of Carmona and the peaks of the Sierra 
 Morena showed away to the west, the plain ran up 
 to the horizon on the north and south, and, far away 
 to the east, rose the snow-capped Montes de Maron, 
 and still farther off the peaks of Antequera. 
 
 Towards evening I got away from the plain and 
 struck a road shut in between long stretches of grape 
 country and forests of olives. Now and then a 
 snowy white house showed from a strip of garden 
 filled with lemons and oranges. The Pinus maritima 
 shoots up here and there, and the smaller cabins 
 inhabited by the peasants are thatched with its fine 
 branches. 
 
 I managed to buy a bit of bread and fruit on the 
 road, and this kept my heart a-beating till at last, 
 footsore, I arrived at La Puebla de Cazalla. 
 
 Have you ever been so varied in your thoughts as 
 to wonder if a tramp may have thoughts of love ? I 
 really believe he has. I have heard the most ancient 
 and miserable specimens chirp very hopefully about 
 certain maiden and widowed hearts, who sigh for 
 them. I, too, have had my love passages. 
 
 Passing a posada, I saw three very pretty girls 
 sitting in the doorway, and they saw me. What 
 
302 FROM SEVILLA TO GRANADA. [H. 
 
 then? Why, I saw that I was welcome and went 
 in. The place was full, but room was made for me. 
 
 One of the maidens darned my stockings, another 
 put some stitches in a shirt, and one sensible minx 
 prepared a good bowl of soup. If you feed a man 
 he will love you, and I cultivated a liking for my 
 ministering angel right away. The other two were 
 beauties, but what had they done for me ? 
 
 Two of the girls had made a little journey in the 
 world, and they fell to telling me what they liked 
 best in Spain, which was of course the Church. 
 Spanish women never tire of hearing of the histories 
 attached to their sacred buildings. In the course of 
 our talk I learned that a carpenter of La Puebla was 
 the carver of those wonderful doors which are to be 
 seen on the Church of San Francesco in Madrid. 
 
 I soon found a man willing to accompany me to 
 his little home. Truly genius crops up in unex- 
 pected places. Edoardo Martin is an ordinary- 
 looking little man, but he is a true genius, and one 
 who will take no honour to himself. He showed me 
 his chests containing thousands of steel tools, and he 
 tells me that all the virtue of his work lies in them. 
 
 He has certificates and complimentary letters 
 signed by royal hands, and a few engravings of his 
 best works hanging on the walls of his simple home ; 
 and I know of no other possessions which could 
 
XVI.] A PRIMITIVE SCHOOL. 303 
 
 prevent his feeling very poor. The doors of San 
 Francesco were the work of two men, Antonio Varela 
 (an Italian) and Martin. The former is dead, and 
 Martin may be looked on as dead to the world. His 
 roof shelters a strong character, who once yearned to 
 pull down what his host loves to build up. Hypolito 
 Pauly was a member of the Carlist band in Spain, 
 and of a Radical Association which flourished in 
 France under the late Empire. He has now lost his 
 belief in a change of rule as a panacea for all ills, 
 and is a calm, kindly man, whose sole ambition is 
 the improvement of those around him. He has long 
 since proved that he can do more good by preaching 
 peace in the village of La Puebla than by noisy 
 denunciations of the powers that be on the banks of 
 the Manzanares or the Seine. 
 
 Teaching is his occupation, and the schoolmaster 
 and his scholars formed a delightful old picture he 
 in his black silk skull cap and long cotton gown, they 
 in clothing of all colours, shapes, and states of decay. 
 The little chamber with its white instead of black 
 board, and charcoal instead of chalk, and its oil 
 amps hanging round walls on which the rudest out- 
 lines of maps were roughly drawn, looked like a 
 school that might have held its own against the 
 storms and threatenings of a thousand years. 
 
 La Puebla being Spanish to the core, is strictly 
 
304 FROM SEVILLA TO GRANADA. [Cn. 
 
 conservative, and although the teacher has seen 
 London and Paris in stirring times, " his new fangled 
 notions " do not make way with this self-satisfied 
 public. He told me of the " pomps and vanities " he 
 had witnessed in various capitals, described Bismarck's 
 laugh in his young days as something between a bark 
 and a sneeze, and spoke in generous praise of the 
 Empress Eugenie's singing. He was honest enough 
 to admit that he had been the servant of rich, vain 
 clowns, who were flattered and deceived by his telling 
 them what he knew they wanted to hear. To-day 
 he is doing better work, and although his average 
 income is but a shilling a day, he is a happier man. 
 Beside the little fire of his artist friend, he told me 
 some pages of his early life, and I can but hope that 
 he may be long spared to instruct the dull boys of 
 La Puebla. 
 
 Martin and Pauly took me to an oil mill, built 
 after a Roman design, which has been standing for 
 many centuries. I cannot attempt to explain the 
 mechanism of this big old thing in wood and stone. 
 It is said to pay just as well as any modern invention, 
 and therefore why complain ? 
 
 I returned to find the posada crowded with a 
 motley throng of olive pickers and lavender sellers. 
 The latter owned a mob of donkeys, laden with sacks 
 of the sweet herb, which they were taking to Sevilla. 
 
XVI.] A MOTLEY THRONG. 305 
 
 There were also a man and his wife who would cer- 
 tainly have to watch the wind, or it would carry them 
 away, for they were draped with hundreds of yards 
 of cream-coloured sausage skins which they were 
 hawking round to the butchers' shops. The women 
 were all busy cooking oil broth and an endless variety 
 of soups over the little heaps of charcoal hissing and 
 sighing on different parts of the posada floor. Tired 
 out, I went to sleep on the cold floor in the close 
 neighbourhood of the lavender sellers, and of the 
 man and his wife, nick-named " The Balloons," who 
 sold the sausage skins. 
 
 When the time for starting had come, Francisca, 
 the daughter of the house, who had prepared the 
 soup for me, came to my side, and, stretching out 
 her hands so that I might take them, said, "You 
 are the first Englishman I have seen, and I don't 
 want you to go away ! How different you are from 
 the Spaniards ! " 
 
 There was that in the girl's voice which forced 
 me to take the words as a compliment. I told her 
 that I did not pretend to represent the Englishman 
 at home. 
 
 " Will you ever come here again ? " she asked. 
 
 " No, never." 
 
 " And is England far away ? " 
 
 " England is quite close, as I count distances, but 
 
 20 
 
306 FROM SEVILLA TO GRANADA. [CH. 
 
 my only home is where night finds me, and when 
 I leave Spain I shall go right away to the other 
 side of the world." 
 
 The maiden hung her head, and could say no 
 more. 
 
 Just then her mother, a woman with a beautifully 
 calm, sweet face, came to tell me that a mule car 
 .was starting for Osuna, and I could get a lift. I 
 thanked her, pressed the hand of her gentle daughter, 
 and, after stowing my bundle and myself amongst 
 a lot of flour sacks, Francisca and La Puebla were 
 soon lost to sight. 
 
 As the driver of the mule car was a dull customer, 
 and the country no better, I lay under the broad 
 awning, musing over the incidents of my stay in 
 the village, till Francisca appeared the very embodi- 
 ment of Byron's " Haidee," and I fell to wondering 
 what her future would be. Judging from the life 
 around her, it would be simple, and if anything 
 more, hard. 
 
 I have heard it said that Osuna has "a great 
 name and little worth," and there appears to be 
 some truth in the remark. One really wonders how 
 the town exists. A rich piece of country to the 
 south of it carries nothing but occasional patches 
 of corn, and as there are no manufactures, one is 
 
XVI.] BLACKMAILING. 307 
 
 left to wonder how such a big stomach as Osuna is 
 fed. True, it knows nothing of fashion or luxury, 
 but its common needs call for more than it earns. 
 
 It is rich in churches and in open spaces, some 
 of the latter carrying a few stunted trees, and others 
 bare of everything but dirt ! 
 
 The mule car halted before a very clean posada, 
 and I decided to stay at the same house for the 
 night. 
 
 I found an excellent fire a luxury in a tramp's 
 life and after I had eaten a basin of bread soup, I 
 sat in amongst a knot of scissors-grinders, umbrella- 
 menders, bird-cage and trap makers, and other 
 tramps, and listened to tales of the road ! 
 
 Those who were known at the posada were 
 allowed to sleep round' the fire, but I, being an 
 alien, had to share a chaff loft with a rascal who 
 ground his teeth in such a hideous and savage 
 manner that he kept me awake the whole night. 
 
 In the morning I paid the posadera for my bed 
 and board, shouldered my knapsack, and was march- 
 ing off, when I was asked to pay eight reals as the 
 fare between La Puebla and Osuna. 
 
 This looked like blackmailing, and I indignantly 
 refused to be detained on the plea of such a debt. 
 But I had to yield to superior strength. 
 
 The scissors-grinder and umbrella-mender came 
 
308 FROM SEVILLA TO GRANADA. [Cn. 
 
 to the aid of the posadera, and between them I 
 was made prisoner. I was offered my liberty if I 
 would give my sleeping rug in payment of the fare. 
 As I had not the slightest intention of parting with 
 my only comforter, 1 insisted on their sending for 
 the guardia civil. But the cunning dogs sent for a 
 municipal guard, a local rogue who favours those 
 he knows. This worthy appeared, and with great 
 pomposity he summed up the case before hearing 
 the evidence ! Taking his long sword in one hand, 
 and grasping an old horse pistol, which he carried 
 on his hip, in the other, he informed me that Osuna 
 was no place for me to try my little game. The 
 posadera told her tale, and the guard said, " Clear." 
 The scissors-grinder testified to the desperate nature 
 of the arrest, and again he said, " Clear." The bird- 
 trap and umbrella-makers gave corroborative evi- 
 dence : " Clear ! " The mob who had gathered 
 round seemed anxious to lynch me, and to all their 
 vicious remarks the guard responded, " Clear." 
 
 There was nothing that was not clear to this 
 Dogberry, save his own obtuseness. Would I pay 
 the debt (the posadera was the owner of the car 
 and mules) or go before the " beak " ? I told them 
 that I would go before forty beaks before I would 
 give up the only thing that had kept me alive o' 
 nights. 
 
XVI.] MY EVIDENCE IS "CLEAR." 309 
 
 As it was Sunday, and the Casa Consistorial was 
 closed, I had to be detained till the morrow. My 
 enemies took me to a stable and turned the key on 
 me. During the day I was given bread and olives, 
 and at night I was brought forth like a chained 
 tiger, and allowed to toast my legs for ten minutes 
 in front of the fire. Then I was led back to my 
 manger bed ; and although I was a prisoner in a 
 strange land, and the world of Osuna was quite 
 ready to hang me, I could afford to go to sleep in 
 the belief that to-morrow would not be the worst 
 of all days to me. 
 
 In the morning, leaving my knapsack as security, 
 I was allowed to go in search of some one to 
 defend me. 
 
 I went to the Town Hall and gave my version of 
 the case, and the alcalde and the secretario found it 
 to be " clear." They apologised for the treatment 
 I had received, and sent a guard to fetch my bag- 
 gage from the posada. 
 
 When I had got my precious bundle once more 
 on my back, my old enemy, the municipal guard, 
 hove in sight. How pleased I was to be able to 
 look that limb of the law in the face, and show him 
 that he had been badly beaten on his own ground ! 
 Then I looked round for the road to Estepa. I 
 was so disgusted with the clear-sighted guard, and 
 
310 FROM SEVILLA TO GRANADA. [Cn. 
 
 so unpopular with the street idlers, that I was glad 
 to make the shortest way out of the town, without 
 entering any of the many churches and disused 
 monasteries, or visiting the pantheon of the dukes 
 of Osuna, which the alcalde told me was remarkable 
 for the extraordinary beauty of its architecture. 
 
 At midday I crossed a small river bearing the 
 name of an adjacent village Aquadulce, though just 
 then it was Aqua-rubia, for its waters were blood 
 red. 
 
 The country near the river is rich, and in places 
 quite pretty. The village rests in a hollow, and just 
 then the hills around were golden with the dying 
 leaves of the poplar trees. 
 
 Between Aquadulce and Estepa, a mountain of 
 white chalky stone rises abruptly. I had been told 
 by the mayor of Osuna that in a basin on the crown 
 of this hill are the remains of a Roman theatre. 
 
 As night was coming on, I did not see this curiosity 
 with my own eyes, but on making inquiries of a 
 friend whom I afterwards met, he endorsed the 
 mayor's description, adding that there was strong 
 local evidence that the Romans must have been very 
 numerous in the province, and attained to a high 
 degree of civilisation. 
 
 Estepa, which is built on a slope of the great white 
 hill, forms an exceedingly fine picture, and commands 
 
XVI.] A STRONGHOLD OF THE MOORS. 311 
 
 one of the most generous views I have seen in Spain. 
 The landscape is composed of hundreds of square 
 miles of corn, and wine, and oil, intersected here 
 and there by dark irregular lines indicating water- 
 courses, and there is actually one little lake reflecting 
 the sunlight. Estepa was a stronghold of the Moors. 
 A fine tower, and some massive walls forming the 
 ramparts of a citadel, still stand as memorials of 
 their presence. Some of the old Spanish houses are 
 of great beauty. One, in the principal calle, has a 
 facade of polished grey marble ; its Attic windows 
 and porch are supported on spiral columns of the 
 same, while a knight's arms and floral trophies on a 
 shield form the keystone of the portal. 
 
 From Estepa eastwards the country is very hilly, 
 and the narrow road winds corkscrew fashion in order 
 to avoid the hills. In a tiny vale, with high limestone 
 cliffs shading it through half the longest day, rests 
 the sleepy little hamlet of Laura. The valley is well 
 watered and the soil good, so that fruit trees and 
 garden plots are abundant. The changing tints of 
 autumn were over it all ; wherever the eye fell it 
 rested on golden-bronze and rich brown hues, and as 
 coloured foliage and babbling waters are rarities in 
 Spain, I found it pleasant to halt here for an hour, 
 and gather a few wild scents as a memento of the 
 sweet little spot. 
 
312 FROM SE VILLA TO GRANADA. [Cn. 
 
 New experiences awaited me at Casariche, where 
 I was arrested and dragged to the Casa Quarte 
 on suspicion of being a spy. I had to reproduce my 
 signature to show that it tallied with those on my 
 passport and health certificate, and I was cross- 
 questioned about the whys and wherefores of my 
 journey till I fairly lost patience. My tormentors 
 pried into my letters, papers, and note-books, wrote 
 down all I said in my own defence and obliged me 
 to sign it, and then with very solemn faces and half 
 doubts as to the wisdom of the proceeding they let 
 me go ! 
 
 It was nearly ten miles from Casariche to Alameda, 
 and I had to find my way through half wild and 
 neglected country. The road, which had gradually 
 been growing narrower, now ceased altogether to 
 exist. As there had been much rain, the heavy clay 
 soil made the walking greasy and heavy. 
 
 From midday till night I trudged over the un- 
 peopled space, and it really looked like putting in 
 a night on the cold ground ; but, with just enough 
 light to guide me clear away from some straggling 
 olives, I discovered Alameda a couple of miles ahead, 
 showing as an extensive farm building in the 
 midst of a vast stubble field. I was so dead beat 
 that I made for the first posada that came to hand, 
 though it had a miserably tumble-down appearance. 
 
XVI.] THE CURIOSITY OF MY COMRADES. 313 
 
 The posadero took me in, for she says tramps 
 are her usual customers and so it seemed ! 
 
 There was certainly a goodly number of the 
 fraternity here this night ; rough antiquated old 
 chaps most of them, and, by contrast, the girl-wife 
 of a blind guitar-player. He was a tall, dark- 
 skinned, sullen-faced man of twenty- eight, and look- 
 ing much older ; while his wife was a tiny, red-haired, 
 blue-eyed girl of seventeen. She had a pretty face 
 and figure, and looked in every way too good for 
 the life she had been called to lead. Doubtless the 
 poor blind Gonzalo needed a cheery companion to 
 make up for the terrible loss of sight, but how he 
 had been able to woo and win such a genial and 
 faithful little attendant it was difficult to imagine. 
 
 When the house had been locked up, as is cus- 
 tomary in Spain at nightfall, the musician began his 
 songs and tales, and the wife her canvass for coppers. 
 I was surprised to see how liberally the wayfarers 
 gave from their little store of centimes and crusts. 
 As for myself, my mite was reserved till morning, 
 as I did not wish to increase the curiosity of my 
 comrades. 
 
 Before going to bed I scribbled a few notes by 
 the light of a torch which a girl held over me. As 
 the sleeping places in the posada were few I was 
 relegated to the corner of a small loft with Gonzalo 
 
3 14 FROM SE VILLA TO GRANADA. [Cn. 
 
 and his wife, when in spite of the noise they had 
 made all the evening with their songs and jokes 
 and tales, I found them quiet room-mates. 
 
 Rain was falling heavily when I left Alameda, and 
 it poured steadily all day, though by pushing along 
 through heavy country I managed to keep warm and 
 fairly comfortable till I reached Archidona. Here, 
 aided by the attention of a kind woman and a good 
 fire, I soon made my things dry and clean again. I 
 was entitled to some comfort after a climb of two 
 solid hours up a road which ought to be a flight of 
 steps, before reaching the town. It is scattered 
 along a terrace on one side of a great hill, magni- 
 ficently wild and rugged. Far above the town, 
 on what look like inaccessible crags, stand an old 
 castle, a church, and some fragments of defensive 
 walls. 
 
 Archidona though drowsy is said to be rich. And 
 it ought to be. There is some splendid land in the 
 valleys below, and the climate is good enough to 
 satisfy the most fastidious farmer. 
 
 Although the posada was dedicated to St. John 
 it was not a paying concern. A pedlar and myself 
 were the only patrons, and the pedlar having nothing 
 interesting to say, I went to bed early in my little 
 chaff-house. With the morning came more rain 
 and no prospect of its clearing, for I was daily 
 
XVI.] THE COLD RIVER. 315 
 
 getting into a more mountainous country, and the 
 winter season was drawing on apace. 
 
 It so happened that a man whom I had met some 
 days before in another town came along with a troop 
 of donkeys, and he promptly offered me a ride as far 
 as Loja. Of course I accepted, and after priming him 
 with a deep glass of " Spanish delight " (aquadiente), 
 I mounted my humble steed, and we jogged off 
 through the little town, much to the glee of some 
 street urchins. 
 
 We journeyed many miles through a valley carry- 
 ing a small river, the mountains running up shaggy 
 and terrible on either side. After leaving the river 
 we made a miserable climb over churlish, stony hills, 
 entirely destitute of vegetation and everything else, 
 save a few look-out towers and heaps of stones, 
 apparently of Moorish construction. 
 
 Beyond these hills dipped another valley and a 
 stream aptly named the " Cold River." So we 
 found it. 
 
 At a solitary house near the fording place we 
 fortified ourselves with more " Spanish delight," and 
 then made another long climb, happily the last, 
 for, on gaining the top of the hill, we looked down 
 on the rambling, picturesque old city of Loja. 
 
 I was not allowed to enter it unmolested. The 
 " guardias civiles " were as cautious and painstaking as 
 
316 FROM SEVILLA TO GRANADA. [Cn. 
 
 ever, and, in spite of my being wet and cold, they 
 held me for some time, till, satisfied that I had not 
 come to blow up Loja, they gave me a glass of wine 
 and my liberty. 
 
 The donkey-man had gone his way, and I was 
 left alone, very much alone, for no one would take 
 me in. Doubtless the rough weather had roughened 
 my appearance, and I was told that the " next " and 
 the " next " posada was the place for me, till at last 
 there was no " next " left, and I had to show my 
 colours and insist on being taken in. The posada 
 where I elected to stay was full of a very mixed 
 crowd. There were a couple of well-dressed com- 
 mercial travellers, several hawkers of a lower grade, 
 and a great many unclassified rascals like myself! 
 One or two of the faces would have enchanted an 
 artist in search of a villain. The Spaniard is usually 
 seen at a disadvantage. He professes to be clean 
 shaven, but it is only once a week or fortnight that 
 he visits the barber, and then for the day he looks 
 clean and manly, after which he drops back into 
 a blackguardly ruffian. It takes a very good face 
 to show through a black growth a week old ; hence 
 it is in a great measure the beard that makes Spain 
 so full of bad and repulsive faces. 
 
 The posada fire was made of almond shells. A 
 little heap was lighted early in the evening, and 
 
XVI.] THE "GARBANZO." 317 
 
 when it had burned low, the posadero collected the 
 halfpennies from those who patronised it and put 
 on more shells. 
 
 All the house fires burning in Spain would not make 
 so big a pile as you may see on a 5th of November 
 in the Bishops' Close at Exeter or Bridgewater. A 
 " candella " (fire) in winter is a Spaniard's most 
 precious luxury. 
 
 Being a stranger I was questioned about England 
 and the way we live there, and when I said that 
 "garbanzos" (chick peas) are unknown, a young fellow 
 wanted to know what on earth we lived on ! 
 
 The " garbanzo " is to Spain what the potato is to 
 Ireland, only more so. It is served up in company 
 with a little oil or bit of fat bacon, and such bits 
 of green vegetable as may be in season, three times 
 a day from the cradle to the grave of two-thirds 
 of the population of Spain. The " puchara " is the 
 dish of Spain ; it varies in its composition in the 
 different provinces, but it is always wholesome, and 
 a keen appetite prevents it becoming stale. Although 
 the Spaniards are more than vulgar they are hope- 
 lessly indecent and disgusting at table, they still 
 find cause to complain of the defects of strangers. 
 The meanest beggar in Spain will ask you to share 
 his crust, even though he sees you partaking of 
 much better fare. 
 
318 FROM SEVILLA TO GRANADA. [Cn. 
 
 It is considered a compliment to be fed with the 
 fingers of another, and yet if, in supplying a light, 
 you don't offer the fiery end of a cigarette to a 
 Spaniard, he regards you as an uncivilised brute. 
 The commercial travellers at the posada promptly 
 told me there was " something wrong with my edu- 
 cation," because I did not ask them to share a hard 
 crust I was trying to get my teeth through. Fortu- 
 nately, I am a thick-skinned tramp, or the many 
 shocks of this kind which I have received would 
 have " settled me " long ago ! 
 
 Here is an illustration of the value of nroney in 
 Spain. 
 
 In the course of the evening the posada was 
 turned well-nigh upside down, and every one made 
 to look like a rogue, about a penny which the 
 posadero had lost through a hole in his pocket 
 
 It is impossible for pen and ink to convey an 
 idea of the downright excitement raised by this 
 missing penny. It led to searching everybody and 
 everything in the house ; it led to scores of tales 
 about other lost pennies, and peculiar ways of recover- 
 ing them, or their eternal disappearance, until a long 
 evening passed in what might truly be called a 
 " Penny Lecture." The posadero appeared to be 
 very well off, but that made no difference ; the penny 
 was lost clean gone and she wanted to know the 
 
XVI.] THE "INFERNO" OF SPAIN. 319 
 
 manner of its going. The penny was not found before 
 I went to bed in the chaff-house, and the sad faces 
 of mine host and his wife on the morrow told me 
 that the rascally " brown " was still absent from the 
 bolso (purse). 
 
 I had thought Loja pretty in the rain, but it was 
 sweet in the sunshine. The valley was so full of 
 autumn colour and richness, the river made such 
 poetic windings, the town was so old and hoary, and 
 the hills around it so wild and defiant, that it made 
 a beautiful old-world picture, with just a strip of rail- 
 way and a tunnel's mouth to remind one of the new. 
 
 Loja is Lucerne without the lake, the Glacier 
 Gardens, the Lion, and Tell's plateau ; yet it has many 
 features in common with the Swiss town. I dare 
 make this confession in face of the fact that Loja 
 is known as the hell of Spain ! 
 
 But I enjoyed my glimpse at the infernal regions 
 at least, the Inferno of Loja. It is not a hot place, 
 for it is formed by a fall in the river. There is 
 a break in the rocks at the lower level, and within 
 this breach lies a great rock, shaped like an egg- 
 cup. The waters from above empty themselves into 
 this hollowed stone, and then rush round boiling and 
 foaming in a most fantastic manner. A surrounding 
 wall of water is constantly forced back by the torrent 
 falling from above. 
 
320 FROM SE VILLA TO GRANADA. [H. 
 
 It is a strange and original little scene, and in a 
 land where natural wonders are scarce the Inferno 
 of Loja counts as a big thing. 
 
 The town guard was at his post, and not anxious 
 to conduct me to the guardian of the city purse. 
 But I hit him hard by dealing out my usual thrust- 
 that he was only a town guard and not the alcalde. 
 Once in the mayor's presence I was warmly received, 
 and regaled with such coffee and cognac as might 
 tempt a tramp with a bad memory to say nothing 
 but kind things of Spain. 
 
 Take my word for it, Andujar and Loja are good 
 towns for English tramps ! You may get a first 
 night among the mosquitoes or in the rain, but, 
 depend upon it, you'll finish well ! 
 
 It is customary for tramps to "post " all the good 
 places, and I want to whisper it very distinctly in 
 your ear, that if you should ever be hard up in 
 Spain (and God knows who may not be hard up), 
 you must try and make round for Andujar or Loja ; 
 and as 1 left both places with the sweet word 
 " Felicitie " sounding in my ears, you may believe 
 I was not in bad odour, and that it might do you 
 no harm to mention my name. 
 
 I cannot omit mention of the horrible sights I 
 saw in the principal church of Loja. The real hell 
 was there ! A series of pictures representing souls 
 
XVI.] GEMS OF ART. 321 
 
 in torment, showed all the miserable agonies and 
 writhings of which the human form is capable. 
 Limbs and fragments of bodies were painted with a 
 ghastly realism which well-nigh sickened me. These 
 were the gems of art in Loja ! It shocked and 
 saddened me to realise that there can exist to-day 
 in Europe a religion which offers such incentives as 
 these to faith in an all-merciful Saviour. 
 
 Loja good and bad kept me till long past noon, 
 and then I started for Granada, thirty-four miles 
 away. It was a very good road and a pretty 
 one. It lay beside the Genii, and the stretches of 
 land on either side were well stocked with fruit 
 trees, extensive tracts of sugar beet, and garden 
 produce. 
 
 Towards sunset I came to a tributary of the Genii, 
 which, as the bridge was broken down, I was obliged 
 to ford. As it was a cold evening, and the bed of the 
 river was covered with sharp stones, I did not enjoy 
 having to strip and carry my bundle and clothing 
 across on my head. By the time I had dried and 
 dressed myself it was nearly dark, and I knew that 
 the nearest village was many miles farther on the 
 road. Close to the river stood a solitary house, a 
 ventas, at the door of which stood two women, who 
 called to know where I was going, and offered to put 
 me up for the night. I was cold and careless after 
 
 21 
 
322 FROM SEVILLA TO GRANADA. [Cn. 
 
 my forced bath, and, without thinking much about 
 the nature of the house, I turned in. 
 
 It was built in ordinary posada style, the ground 
 floor only open space, and a series of arches 
 keeping up the ceiling. There was an immense 
 open chimney in one corner, and within its circular 
 dome were placed stone seats and a few brackets for 
 holding water pitchers and delf. Whilst the women 
 were shutting in the fowls and locking up the house, 
 I managed to take a few pence out of my bag 
 and tied the balance of my store in various articles 
 of clothing. There was a " puchara " simmering on 
 the small fire, and I agreed to take a share of it for 
 twenty-five cents. 
 
 Just as the women had turned the " puchara " into 
 a clay dish and stood it out on the floor, three men 
 rapped at the door and asked to be admitted, saying 
 that they were " aceituneros " (olive gatherers) from 
 Antequerra, going towards Granada. Two were 
 medium-sized men, and very fair for Spaniards, and 
 the other was a tall, dark-skinned, sharp-faced fellow, 
 with very restless flashing eyes. The two women 
 and myself sat down to the " puchara," and as the 
 men would not join us they found nothing better to 
 do than to ask questions about me. They asked who 
 I was, where I was going, was I alone, and finally,, 
 was I worth looking after? The two smaller men 
 
XVI.] RUFFIANLY PROJECTS. 323 
 
 fell to talking under their breath, and I soon heard 
 enough to make me believe they meant mischief. 
 How I managed to go on eating and preserve an 
 indifferent demeanour, I hardly know. 
 
 They spoke of the river, and of the ease with which 
 one could be drowned in it, and my heart almost 
 failed me. I am not a timid being. I do not fear men 
 or death if either come to me in any guise which I 
 may call fair ; but the idea of being put out of the 
 world by such wretches as these for the sake of the 
 little I possessed was simply unbearable. In a 
 moment I reviewed my whole life, and could call 
 up nothing good I had done that would survive me. 
 If I were killed this night there was little chance 
 that my end would ever be known. I took out my 
 note-book, wishing to write a few words, so that if 
 any of my effects were ever found they might record 
 my fate, but I could only muster courage to write : 
 " At the ventas just over the olives, where the bridge 
 is broken down ; a rough crowd whom I do not like. 
 I dread the sleeping part of the night ; indeed, there 
 will be very little sleep for me." And so it proved. 
 
 When the meal was over, the three men, who by 
 this time spoke quite openly of their ruffianly pro- 
 jects, asked to be shown to their sleeping place. 
 One of the women told me to accompany them, but I 
 made the excuse that I wished to sit up and mend 
 
324 FROM SEV1LLA TO GRANADA. [Cn. 
 
 my stockings, so the three were lighted to a loft by 
 one of the women, and the other stayed with me. 
 Whilst we were sitting in the semi-darkness another 
 loud knock came to the door, and a man spoke from 
 the outside. The woman recognised his voice and 
 opened at once. 
 
 He was a big, old man, dressed as a farmer, and 
 in a few seconds the two were talking and posing in 
 a manner which led me to think them a pair of 
 ancient lovers. The man and the two women went 
 off into a small room at the opposite end of the 
 posada, and I was left alone. 
 
 Near where 1 sat was a small doorway, and curi- 
 osity tempted me to look into the chamber. It was 
 evidently meant for a store-room, but was now quite 
 empty, except that a sack-bed lay in the centre of 
 the floor. 
 
 This looked like a safe sleeping-place, and I waited 
 for the women to return that I might make a bargain 
 and sleep there. 
 
 I felt that it would be better to go to the room 
 where the man and the women were, rather than 
 endure this killing suspense. But I was unnerved 
 I confess it and I waited and waited, because I had 
 not strength to move ! 
 
 At last the three came out of the room. The old 
 man had a big " bolsillo " (sack purse) in his hand, 
 
XVI.] A STRANGE DEPARTURE. 325 
 
 and when the women were seated he emptied the 
 contents of it into their laps. It was about a thou- 
 sand pieces, all in copper (a little over three pounds). 
 The tally seemed satisfactory, and the money placed 
 in the bag again, the old man wished the women 
 " good-night," mounted his donkey, which had been 
 tied to a pillar outside, and rode away. 
 
 It was nearly midnight, and a howling wind 
 made the night more wretched. I thought this late 
 departure strange, for the Spaniards dread night 
 travelling, and are ever conscious of the traditional 
 dangers of the road. 
 
 The man away, I asked permission to sleep in 
 the little room. One of the women said, " Yes," on 
 payment of a real, but the other would not allow 
 it at any price. So I gave in, and elected to sleep 
 on the floor in the chimney corner. 
 
 The women went off to their room, and I cooled 
 down ; in fact, I grew quite cold, and the thought 
 of that straw bed was too much for me. I gathered 
 up my rug and knapsack, went in and lay down 
 on it ; but in a few moments I heard a heavy door 
 open and shut, then whispering from a man's and 
 then a woman's tongue ! Heavens ! what was going 
 to happen ? I seized the bag which held my 
 clothing, also my satchel and rug, and crawled to 
 a corner of the room behind the door. And not a 
 
326 FROM SE VILLA TO GRANADA. [CH. 
 
 moment too soon, for it was pushed open, and 
 something which rattled like a chain was thrown, 
 and fell heavily on the bed where I had been lying. 
 All was darkness. The two voices grew nearer ; 
 they came into the room ; I heard sounds of dis- 
 robing ; the sack bed was shaken Up, and the dreaded 
 visitor or visitors went to sleep. Then I crawled 
 out of the room and sat down on a chair, and asked 
 myself if I was awake or dreaming. 
 
 At last I stretched out under the great chimney 
 and looked up at the stars and piling clouds 
 which the wind was driving rapidly along. Slowly, 
 very slowly came the first gleam of daylight, and 
 when it penetrated the chimney and threw a gleam 
 of light across the door beyond which lay the 
 mysterious sleepers, I felt that I was safe. In spite 
 of the horrors of that night, in part real, in part 
 imaginary, I felt that all would soon be well 
 with me. 
 
 When the light had increased, the door of the little 
 room opened, and out came the old man and the 
 younger of the two women. He carried the bag of 
 money in his hand ; this was what I had heard fall 
 on Ihe bed. 
 
 The incidents that wrought that unhappy night 
 were now plain to me. 
 
 But whatever the moral character of the old man 
 
XVI.] SAVED FROM BAD HANDS. 327 
 
 may be, I am glad he came to the ventas that 
 night, for I have little doubt that he was the in- 
 direct means of saving me from bad hands. His 
 arrival and subsequent movements about the house 
 prevented the three men from carrying out their 
 designs. 
 
 The latter left before me, and I saw them no 
 more. 
 
 When I had paid my little bill I took a good 
 look at the ventas by the river, and thanked ray 
 lucky stars that I had survived the most unpleasant 
 night I have known in sunny Spain. 
 
 Fear is quickening, for that day I walked nearly 
 twenty-five miles, and at night found rest and 
 security within the walls of Granada. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 GRANADA. 
 
 MY HOTEL. SPANISH MANNERS AT TABLE. GUIDE-BOOKS. MY 
 IMPRESSIONS OF THE ALHAMBRA. ALBACIN. THE GITANOS. 
 THE CARTUJA. TWO DREAMS BY DAYLIGHT. A PILGRIM 
 IN THE SNOW. A GLIMPSE OF BLUE WATER. THE END OF MY 
 JOURNEY. 
 
 '"~P V HERE is a house in Granada well known to 
 * every traveller in Spain. It is owned by 
 Agrela Brothers, and very real brothers they are to 
 those who call on them. I called, and after a short 
 interview I found it convenient to take up my quarters 
 at a hotel in the " Plaza Pineda," a plaza with a 
 heroine in its centre, the now pure and spotless 
 Maria Pineda, a revolutionist of fifty years ago, who 
 was first put to death and then pardoned. 
 
 My motto has always been, "If you want to know 
 a people make yourself one of them." Whilst I am 
 on this journey, I want nothing from Paris or 
 Piccadilly. In town or country the Spaniard and 
 his fare shall be mine, and if I don't enjoy many 
 
 328 
 
CH.XVII.] PLEASURES OF THE TABLE. 329 
 
 easy luxuries, I shall certainly get a better chance of 
 understanding native customs than at the monotonous 
 board of the universal tourist. 
 
 At the house where I stayed were several military 
 men of good rank, a couple of colonels, and others 
 but a step or two lower in degree. There were 
 also two families whose dress and accessories indic- 
 ated that they considered themselves members of the 
 upper class. A handsome and showily dressed man, 
 who was an " impresario " running an opera in the 
 town, sat near the two matrons, and seemed very 
 anxious to make love to both at the same time 1 
 These with myself formed the resident boarders. 
 
 No Englishman could look on this group and 
 expect to find less than decent manners at table, 
 but, alas ! these were absent. Soups were shovelled 
 into the mouth or sucked up from the plate ; objec- 
 tionable morsels were shifted from plate to plate, 
 and where kindness was shown it took the form 
 of piggishness, as little bits were fingered and clawed, 
 bitten in pieces and poked in the mouths of those 
 befriended. The children regularly amused them- 
 selves by throwing pellets of bread at the shakos 
 of the military men, and by placing olives about the 
 floor that people might slip and be accused of being 
 drunk. The dessert served to entertain more than to 
 satisfy the body's needs. It was cut and chopped up 
 
330 GRANADA. [CH. 
 
 and used as missiles to annoy and soil every one in 
 turn. This was not a mere child's game or exceptional 
 breach. It formed a set portion of the table pro- 
 gramme, and was looked on as quite decent and 
 proper form. I was counted out of these "revels," 
 and thought a very sad and particular dog because I 
 could not see the fun of them and raise a laugh over 
 such animal play. 
 
 Later I had a peep at one or two clubs the 
 " Circulo Artistico " and " Liceo " where I heard 
 some good music and saw some pretty pictures, 
 and was permitted to draw a breath of Granada 
 "life." It is chiefly composed of "coffee" and 
 " talk," but much coffee is debilitating, and the other 
 is a light and unsatisfactory article in Spain. 
 
 Guide-books of Granada are easily made, conse- 
 quently they are abundant. All Spain has raved and 
 shed its salt tears here. Cervantes; has been selected 
 to u speak a piece," and Chateaubriand lauds it in 
 -company with Washington Irving. Coming down to 
 modern times, I read with delight the majestic out- 
 burst of a great military genius of the United States 
 army, and the equally flashy prattle of a merchant of 
 Denver city. Granada needs none of these to make 
 its idols worthy of worship. But the Spanish guide- 
 book maker loves " fat " and gush. I once heard 
 a famous woman say that " the highest sense of 
 
XVIL] THE ALHAMBRA. 331 
 
 civilisation was shown in seeking to be amused." 
 Does a guide-book amuse? Is that its mission? 
 But I am not here to write a guide-book, only to 
 record a few impressions. 
 
 As a "thing of beauty" the Alhambra has lost 
 much of its old charm. In company with most 
 respectable old things, it loves the shade, and it 
 gets enough of it. It is always in the shade, for 
 Charles V.'s unfinished palace hugs two of the sides ; 
 and the church and monastery Walls of Santa Maria 
 tower above a third, and a little wilderness of tall 
 trees which fill the spaces between these build- 
 ings and rise around the front of the Alhambra 
 hide it from every direct ray of sunlight. It is 
 so completely shut in and so low that it is with 
 difficulty, when standing on the opposite hill of San 
 Nicolas, which is but a few hundred yards away, that 
 one distinguishes it between the larger buildings. 
 Have you always thought the Alhambra a big 
 building, a kind of Quirinal-Tribune or Versailles ? 
 It is not! It is a tiny palace. It is its story which 
 stretches it out over such a vast area ; but the area is 
 not ground space, only time and tradition. And yet 
 though so little, how long it takes to get through it ! 
 It is so full. There are no bare walls, no corridors, 
 passages, or patios which do not count. The eye 
 never rests in the Alhambra. There is a something 
 
33 2 GRANADA. [Cn. 
 
 to be noticed everywhere. To-day that something 
 is only enough to show how beautiful it has been in 
 the past The great charm consists in the symmetry 
 and harmony of the whole. The decoration is daring, 
 but the combinations of colour never offend the eye. 
 Nature has been wooed to bestow her sweetest pictures 
 on these walls and ceilings. 
 
 You look up at blue heavens peopled with 
 beckoning stars and fragments of moon-lit clouds, 
 all as far away and ethereal as those which the real 
 night reveals. You see the Muses and Graces of 
 the Orient garnering earth's flowers and fruits, or 
 hand-in-hand treading lightly to a measure which 
 sets your pulse a-ticking to summer heat, even though 
 it be a dull November day. Some guide-books say, 
 " The Alhambra is sensual but severe." I quote but to 
 complain of these hard words ! I saw the Alhambra 
 first with surprise (I was disappointed), then with 
 wonder, and lastly with much delight ; and when I made 
 my farewell visit I found more to help me upwards 
 than to tempt me down. The Alhambra has buried 
 all its sorrows and its sins. It is no longer the pas- 
 sion-firing shrine it is said to have been in the past. 
 To-day it is untenanted. I underline the word with 
 some reason, for the visitor feels so forcibly that no 
 earthly or sensual influence steals over him here. 
 The warmth, the brightness, the life of the Alhambra 
 
XVII.] PAST AND PRESENT. 333 
 
 have gone for ever, and its most substantial trophies 
 wear the garments which time puts on all things. 
 The marble columns have become discoloured ; 
 mosses and lichens are struggling to possess them- 
 selves of the white marble floors of its patios. The 
 fountains are no longer young: they do not play, 
 and the tanks and fonts of once crystal waters are 
 green, turgid, and foul. The shrubs and flowers have 
 outgrown their allotted space and degenerated into 
 unkempt weeds. The little beehive-shaped towers 
 and domes, once ablaze with showy enamelled tiles, 
 have yielded to the sombre tones which time lays on 
 all things ; and the lattice windows in these towers, 
 which were once made fantastic by man, have also 
 been- re-stained by the master artist. The divans, 
 cubinals, and alcoves, once so full of sweet-scented 
 loveliness, are now dank, cold, and clammy : no 
 longer tiring-houses for the happy living, their pure 
 white walls, all fretted and hung around with fantastic 
 draperies in stone, look like the cerements of the 
 grave. 
 
 One is continually reminded of the two Alhambras 
 past and present. There is no doubt about the 
 past ; who does not worship it in book, and who 
 would not love it more on looking on the old reality ? 
 But drop all knowledge of it, forget its story and 
 come to it I don't say on a dull November day, but 
 
334 GRANADA. [Cn. 
 
 when the air is hot with an August sun, when all the 
 trees are green, and the birds are carolling in them, 
 or better still, when they are all silent, save the 
 nightingale and the cigarone, and comparing your 
 impressions with the rhapsodies of the guide-books, 
 see how moderate they will be. 
 
 The Alhambra is a great novel, and its characters 
 are just as real as the world likes to make them. 
 The personality of the Moor is over it all. The life 
 and history of a marvellous people are said to be 
 written within its walls ; but we dare not separate 
 fiction from fact. We must stick fast to the pre- 
 judices of early beliefs, for the cold material things 
 before us will not suffice to preserve the witchery of 
 the old idol. 
 
 In the company of an intelligent old Spaniard I 
 went to Albacin, the most perfect example of a 
 Moorish town in Spain. 
 
 It covers the hill of San Nicolas, and is in full 
 view of the Alhambra. There are hundreds of houses 
 of entirely Moorish construction, and the interior walls 
 are covered with fantastic figure relief work, which is 
 delicate and lovely as the choicest lace embroidery. 
 
 The patios within these houses are in many 
 instances veritable pictures of mediaeval luxury, as 
 it was known to the ordinary citizen. 
 
 The grape-vine, cypress, and myrtle grow beside 
 
XVII.] A MOORISH TOWN. 335 
 
 the white walls, and afford a strong relief to the 
 gipsy-patterned tiles ornamenting the windows and 
 doorways. The hanging balconies are still green 
 and sweet with jessamine and carnations ; and the 
 beauties of the place wear red petticoats, white 
 sandals, and cream and pink mantillas about their 
 heads and shoulders, and cast side-long glances 
 because they dare not speak, much as we may 
 suppose the Moorish maidens to have done in these 
 same courts five hundred years ago. 
 
 I mention the Albacin because it is not as well 
 known and recorded as the more classical sights of 
 Granada. We saw the Gitanos in their caves which 
 lie round the base of the hill. They are so many I 
 need not write " questionable " characters, as it is well 
 known whence the beautiful Granadina gipsy draws 
 her praises. 
 
 The crowns of gold and the tombs and coffins of 
 Ferdinand and Isabella are displayed in the " Capilla 
 Real " of the old cathedral, and in the Calle Gracia 
 stands the plain little house where the Empress 
 Eugenie was born. Hard by, at an old-fashioned 
 and splendid house bristling with little brass cannon 
 from basement to roof, we found the sword of 
 Boabdil lying in a sheath of leather and gold, the 
 leather work beautifully coloured with Oriental mosaic 
 work. 
 
GRANADA. [Cn. 
 
 We promenaded in Bib Brambla now a plain 
 open square surrounded by very high Parisian-like 
 houses, but once the famed of all famous arenas 
 for the baiting of bulls and the breaking of Moorish 
 and Christian lances to defend the name and fame 
 of the beauties of old. Here stands Columbus 
 presenting his petition to Isabella. He has been 
 doing this for three years, and shows no sign of 
 fatigue. 
 
 Every one must enjoy visiting the sacristy and 
 chapel of the Cartuja, with their artistic blendings 
 of marble, wood, tortoiseshell, ivory, mother-of-pearl, 
 gold, and silver. The massive cabinets placed around 
 the sacristy were fashioned by friars of the monastery. 
 Each was the work of a lifetime, and a lasting proof 
 of devotion to their Church. A cross, painted high 
 up on the wall, is so well executed, that the birds are 
 constantly flying in and endeavouring to perch on 
 the arms. I am glad the mob treated San Bruno 
 badly, or this lovely monastery might never have 
 existed. 
 
 We should not speak of the castles, but rather 
 of the churches of Spain. The church is the national 
 theatre of all lands, but more especially of Spain, 
 where the performance is always going on. Here 
 your programme includes the world's history, 
 detailing incidents from the time of Moses to the 
 
XVII.] GRANADA CHURCHES. 337 
 
 last pilgrimage to Rome. The actors are finished 
 artists and know their public well. You can get 
 your delight, be it music or oratory, with splendid 
 scenic effects, or if you will, as plain as an undress 
 rehearsal. The manager is a genius who knows 
 the value of the kaleidoscopic pictures he presents 
 to the faithful. 
 
 I saw Granada churches by day and night when 
 they were made homely by the presence of the living, 
 and weird and uncanny by the spirits of the dead. 
 There is no building like a church for pleasing and 
 scaring you, driving you away and whispering you 
 to come back and rest on its motherly bosom. 
 
 When you have seen Granada piecemeal and have 
 grown weary, as I confess I did, of trying to fathom 
 the mystery which hangs about all its parts, you 
 should climb the hill behind the Alhambra and 
 Generaliffe, and, sitting in old Boabdil's Chair, con- 
 template the picture as it lies below. It is a hard 
 seat of cold stone ; but if you believe there is 
 interest in all that is beautiful you will be warmed 
 into life, even though the winds blow from the 
 heights of Mully-Assan. 
 
 Who has not heard that the view from the 
 Alhambra is the finest from any royal palace in 
 the world ? It is a wonderful scene. One looks out 
 on a portion of everything except the sea. Were 
 
 22 
 
33 8 GRANADA. [Cn. 
 
 there only one little headland a single blue wave 
 and line of sand then the world would lie in 
 miniature at our feet The mountains behind are 
 capped with deep snow ; bare hills slope down to 
 the right, and below them are gardens of cactus and 
 orange trees. On one of these right-hand peaks 
 is a little chalet-like house, and running down 
 towards the fruit trees, is an old Arabic wall. From 
 Roabdil's Chair there is a leap of six or seven 
 hundred feet into a soft shady vale all foliage and 
 rushing water. Beyond lies the hill of San Nicolas, 
 and the Albacin rising terrace above terrace, its 
 narrow " calles " showing between the lichen-covered 
 roofs and white walls. Half a dozen churches send 
 their towers above the rest, and beyond stretches the 
 long, broad valley of the Genii, now all green and 
 gold, for it is autumn and the leaves have not yet 
 fallen. A tall chimney shows here and there in the 
 distant valley (sugar refineries). The scene is bounded 
 by great bare hills, relieved by several watch towers, 
 which keep one in memory of old times. Slightly 
 out of the centre of the picture stands the famed 
 city as motley and beautiful as Man and Time could 
 make it. The mingled waters of the Darro and 
 Genii send a silver streak through the green lawn 
 which stretches towards Santa Fe. A stream of 
 rich emerald light pours through a breach in the 
 
XVII.] A DAY-DREAM. 339 
 
 southern hills, as if borne direct from the sea which 
 lies beyond. The strong walls of the citadel pre- 
 vent our seeing the southern slopes of the Sierra 
 Nevada, now sparkling in the sunshine. 
 
 These are the easy features of this famed spot. 
 I closed my eyes to see how much I could call up 
 and inflict upon a surfeited world. I brooded and 
 pondered till I almost wept, and, no mistake about 
 it, I had got hold of some ideas which pleased me 
 immensely. I stuck fast to the dream, and the 
 panorama unfolded itself splendidly. I had well- 
 nigh got at the most sacred secret of all the glory of 
 this scene, when I heard a rattle of feet, then a 
 girl's dress, and before I could open my eyes and sit 
 upright, a rich contralto voice called, " Come on, 
 Jack ! " Now wasn't this enough to make a man 
 swear ? There had I been sitting like a blind idiot 
 getting all my " ribbons " in order that I might drive 
 the general public over the ground in true four-in- 
 hand fashion, and yet though I occupy a king's chair 
 I must be disturbed in this rude way ! My dream 
 is for ever gone ! I cannot tell you a word of what 
 I was going to say. I looked round for the intruders 
 a governess with six bonny little boys and girls, and 
 " Jack " was the very worst of them. He had not 
 the least respect for the creeping ivies and other 
 modest greens which the Zegries may have planted. 
 
340 GRANADA. [CH. 
 
 and scrambled and bound himself up in their long 
 tendrils till he became a pretty little prisoner. The 
 straight path was not romantic enough for him, or 
 in any way to his liking. He was hungry and he 
 said so. He would stray away and get lost, or he 
 would go home and fill himself with Spanish chestnuts. 
 So Jack was obeyed, and the English children and 
 my dream of Granada passed away. 
 
 I had another dreamy moment in old Granada, 
 when an invisible presence seemed to keep me 
 company. Perhaps in the by-and-by I shall be 
 saying, " Don't you remember the morning when we 
 sat together on the parapet wall of San Nicolas and 
 looked at that wonderful piece of world that lay 
 around, and above, and below us? 
 
 " Can't you see now, as plainly as you did then, 
 the old Moorish quarter of the Albacin lying at our 
 feet, and, flowing past it, the rattling, prattling 
 Darro ; and up the poplar-decked slope, now golden 
 with lingering autumn leaves, the Alhambra towers 
 showing through a maze of cypress and other 
 greens ; and away to the left, still higher up on the 
 hillside, the plain-faced palace of the Generalise, and 
 Boabdil's Chair of everlasting stone, and in the back- 
 ground fifty miles of craggy peaks, bold headlands, 
 and wild ravines, all sparkling and glittering in the 
 sunshine under a deep mantle of November snow ? 
 
XVII.] THE VIEW FROM SAN NICOLAS. 341 
 
 u You remember how long we looked, marvelling 
 more and more that these inanimate glories should 
 last for ever, and we, the highest atoms in the world, 
 should so soon pass away? 
 
 " And then the valley, the vega of the Genii, the 
 great plain laid out as a vast carpet, twenty by 
 thirty miles in dimensions ; the church towers, and 
 factory chimneys, and the most complex city in 
 Spain sending up its murmurs to our ears as we 
 sat and looked and dreamed ; the clear blue sky, the 
 wild hills, the rivers and the trees, the watch-towers 
 on every peak, and the labour of twenty centuries 
 crumbling round us?" 
 
 Granada made a fool of me. I was fired with an 
 extravagant imagination all the time I was there. 
 
 I came near making an enemy in Granada. A 
 newspaper man would have me go to the Alpujaras 
 and I would not ! He dared to tell me that if I 
 did not go there I should know nothing of Spain. 
 And now I want to know how many people do 
 know Spain if this man spoke the truth. 
 
 Alpujara is famous. I remember the pretty ballad 
 which goes 
 
 41 Twas thus Granada's fountain by spoke Alpujara's daughter." 
 But what if she did drop her earrings in the well ? 
 
342 GRANADA. [H. 
 
 Is it my place to fish them out, or go in search 
 of the house where " that old-time maiden lived ? 
 No ! I went in search of Dulcinea's house in Toboso 
 and didn't succeed, and that was enough. This man 
 says Alpujara has the loveliest scenery in the world ! 
 But then to what world does he allude ? Probably to 
 his own ! I expect he was born there or fell in love 
 with some beauty of the place. Birth and first love 
 make a paradise for us all. The loveliest places I 
 
 can recall are those where I walked with . Love 
 
 makes more and keeps more things beautiful and 
 satisfying than all else in this world. 
 
 On leaving Granada, I took the shortest road to 
 Malaga, and after three days saw what was more 
 delightful to me than a hundred Alpujaras the sea ! 
 I slept the first night at La Mala, and the next day 
 I made a frightful journey of thirty miles through 
 deep and still falling snow. 
 
 At Alhama on the Mount (there is another in the 
 valley) I was succoured for the last time by the, 
 authorities, who granted me a resting-place on a 
 posada floor.* 
 
 * The record of a journey across Spain would be incomplete 
 without reference to the amusing tavern signs one sees at every 
 turn. A common one in South and Central Spain is the inscrip- 
 tion, "Vino de Valdepenas." The literal statement is plain 
 enough, as Valdepenas wine is famous, but the words are 
 frequently mutilated so that they can be construed, " Wine for 
 
XVII.] THE MEDITERRANEAN. 343 
 
 The country was very wild and uninteresting, but 
 the prospect before me brightened the way. 
 
 From Alhama I took a mountain-track, which, 
 as it was bearing south, I knew must lead me to 
 the coast. The way was terribly wild ; I encountered 
 not a soul or sight of a habitation until nearly mid- 
 day, when I arrived at a gap in the Sierra Tajedra, 
 
 nothing " (" Vino de Valde " is painted on one side and " penas " 
 on the other). A wine shop north of Madrid stands facing a 
 cemetery. A hand on the sign-board points to the Rest-house 
 over the way, and bears the inscription, " Tis better to be here 
 than there." 
 
 At El Palo, near Malaga, one can choose between '' The New 
 Five Minutes" and "The Old Five Minutes." "The House of 
 Progress " is a common sign. Other taverns bear the discreet 
 names of "The Reformation," "The Thought," "The Star," 
 " The Lighthouse," " The Truth." 
 
 "Here It Is" and "Here is Everything'' are frequently in- 
 scribed ever grocers' shops and cafes. The shoeing-smith 
 displays an iron horse fashioned out of shoes. The unqualified 
 medical man shows a dainty foot and arm, with a streak of 
 blood flowing from the wound made by his lance. In a callc 
 not far from the Puerta-del-Sol in Madrid, a corset of gigantic 
 proportions is placed over the door of a " corseteria " ; on it is 
 written, " Inside we make little ones." 
 
 The wine-skin maker hangs fully blown skins over his door, 
 and sometimes adds an inscription in praise of their quality. 
 In a street in Pamplona I saw painted on a huge skin swinging 
 to and fro over the door, " I am so strong that I can carry eight 
 arrobas the whole year long" (two hundredweight). 
 
 It is not the barber's pole, but his bowl, that one sees in Spain. 
 He hangs out two shining discs of brightly burnished brass r 
 recalling Mambrino s helmet, and, as these attract and reflect the 
 
344 GRANADA. [Cn. 
 
 from whence I got my first glimpse of the Mediter- 
 ranean in the far distance. 
 
 Oh the joy of looking on the wide waters once 
 again ! for it meant the end of my journey. These 
 many months I have been more alone than any one 
 could be made to understand. Yes, I have laughed 
 and capered, and rattled off Spanish songs, and 
 appeared quite merry ; but it was laughing against 
 fate. I have lived hard, worked hard, slept hard ; 
 and these three make the world a weary place ; and 
 I have been awake to feel a few of the most bitter 
 pains and pangs that mortal may know. 
 
 It was easy work to descend to the village of 
 Vinuela, where I passed the night at a posada in 
 company with several other " men of the road." 
 
 sun's rays like little suns, they are probably the most striking of 
 all the Spanish signs. 
 
 In many plazas and cloister gardens stands a cross with a 
 coarse bell rope and a board saying, " Here we administer 
 extreme unction.'' 
 
 Perhaps the most touching of all the inscriptions is that which 
 is often seen over a hole in the walls of certain nunneries. The 
 unfortunate Spanish girl has no claim on the man who degrades 
 her. When her child comes into the world, her only resource 
 lies in cloaking her misery by placing it in the convent cradle, 
 which fills the hole in the wall. This is made to revolve, allow- 
 ing any one to turn the portion containing the little bed towards 
 the outer world. The mother deposits her babe, rings the heavy 
 bell, and departs. Over the cradle are the words, " You are 
 neglected by your parents and received into the hands of God." 
 
XVIL] THE END OF MY JOURNEY. 345 
 
 The next morning saw me at Velez-Malaga. It 
 was at this little port that Cervantes landed after 
 his captivity in Morocco ; and here, I, the prisoner 
 of my own free will in the wilds of Spain, regained 
 my liberty as I walked the shore of La Torrox. 
 
 As Malaga was still over seventy miles distant, 
 I set out along the beach, and before nightfall covered 
 more than half the way. The fisher folk afforded 
 me some pretty pictures, " and brightened all the 
 strand," till, night coming on, I was forced to halt 
 at a very clean cottage, where I was accommodated 
 with a fish supper and a bed in the chaff-house. 
 
 The bright sunny morning which followed sent 
 my spirits up to jubilee point, as I realised that I 
 had come to the end of my journey across Spain, 
 and could lay aside the character, as well as the 
 knapsack, of a Tramp. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesburj.. 
 

YB 5^149 
 
 M309470