•:;:

YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

LETTERS FROM SPAIN
AND OTHEE COUNTEIES

LETTERS OF A TRAVELLER.

SECOND SERIES.

BY

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT,

NEW YOEK :
D. APPLE TON AND COMPANY,
346 & 848 BROADWAY.
1859.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern
District of New York.

TO THE READER.

These Letters, sent home to the United States
during recent journeys in several countries of the
European continent, are laid before the public just as
they were written on the spot, without additions, and
with no material corrections. Of their imperfections
none can be more sensible than the author ; their
merit, if they have any, consists in their being a
record of observations committed to paper while the
impression they made was yet clear and distinct.

CONTENTS.

Page
Letter I. — A Floral Exhibition at Paris.— Beautiful Arrangements.— A Foun
tain and Brook. — Tropical Plants.— Black Swans. — New Roses.— M. Vatte-
mare.— Persian. Visitors.— Delargche's Paintings.— His Queen Elizabeth.—
His three Portraits of Napoleon  11
Letter II. — The Pauper Colonies of Holland. — Their Origin. — The Dwellings
of the Paupers. — Their Neatness. — Begging Propensity of the Inmates.—
Their Manufactory.— Their Schools.— Mode of Compensation for their La
bor.— Numbers of the Colonists  17
Letter III — The Swiss Industrial Exhibition.— 'Ingenuity of the Swiss. —
Their success in Manufactures. — Freedom Of Trade. — Natural Advantages
for Manufactures.— Iron Articles. — Swiss "Watches, Porcelain, Glass, Silks,
"Woollens, Embroidery.— Carvings in Wood.— Skins of Birds.— New Palace
of the Confederation.— Swiss Paintings  22
Letter IY. — Bagneres de Luchon. — Genera. — Lyons.— Nlmes. — Melons at
Nlmes. — New Buildings. — Toulouse. — Beauty of Luchon. — Guides. — The
Yillage.— The Baths.— The Cours d'Etigny.— Sights in the Streets.— English
at the Lac d' Oo.— The Pic de TAnticade.— The Maladetta.— A Legend.... BO
Letter Y. — Bagneres de Bigorre. — Horace Yernet's Elijah. — Catholic and
Protestant Worship. — Pan. — Its Summer Dulness. — Journey to Bayonne.—
Fresh Appearance of the Environs.— Hotel du Commerce. — People of the
Town. — Journey to San Sebastian. — The Scenery. — The Basque Race seen
on a Holiday. — The Bidassoa. — Behobie.— Entrance into Spain. — Irun. — The
People. — Port of Passages. — A Gascon Coachman. — Arrival at San Sebastian. 41
Letter YL— San Sebastian. — The Pyrenees and the Atlantic. — Noises of San
Sebastian. — Compactness of the Town. — Church of Santa Maria. — Sunday
Gayeties. — Quiet of the Night— The Alameda.— Basquo Children.— No
Thieves.— Absence of Beggars.— The House of Mercy.— The Climate.— Oc
cupations of the Paupers.— The School.— The Hospital.— Sufferings from
Thirst. — Yalley of Loyola. — Basque Women.— Yineyards Abandoned  52
Letter VII. —Hall of Maternity.— Graves of British Officers.— Hats of the
priests.— Departure from San Sebastian.— Caution to Travellers.— The

8 CONTENTS. Pags
Oria.— Treatment of Trees.— A Basque Peasant.— The Chestnut Crop.—
Woollen Mills.— A Showy Country House.— A Manufacturing Village.—
Tolosa.— Night Travelling.— A Member of the Civil Guard.— Yergara.—
Neatness of the Hotel.— The Deva.— A Basque Girl.— The Cantabrian
Mountains.— Salinas.— The Roads.— Beggars.— Arrival at Vitoria  65
Letter VIII.— Spanish Politeness.— Pnblic Grounds at Vitoria.— The Alame
da.— Thriving Appearance of the Town.— Sights in the Streets.— The Ca
thedral.— Ribera's Dead Christ.— Country about Vitoria.— The Arquillos —
Winter at Vitoria.— Pigs and Women.— A Fair.— The People.— Their Ani
mals.— The Pig Market— Public Schools.— Departure from Vitoria.— A
Castilian Coachman.— Miranda de Ebro.— Swarms of Beggars.— Entrance
into Castile.— Custom-House.— A Castilian Traveller.— The Pass of Pan-
corvo. — Briviesca. — Dreary Region. — Arrival at Burgos  78
Letter IX. — Aspect of Burgos. — Spanish Courtesy. — The Alameda. — The Ca
thedral. — Beauty of its Architecture. — Its Oriental Character.— Side Chap
els. — Tomb of the Condestable. — Chapel of Santa Tecla. — A Spanish Ordi
nary. — A Public Walk. — Students Designed for the Church. — A Spanish
Beauty.— A Drive into the Country.— ConveDt of Las Huelgas. — A Lady
Abbess. — Chant of the Nuns. — Chant of Priests  91
Letter X. — The Cartuja. — Monuments of Isabella the Catholic and her Broth
er. — Cells of the Monks. — The Burial- Ground. — Poverty of the Secularized
Monks. — A Bull Fight. — The Amphitheatre. — Procession of the Combat
ants. — A Tame Bull.— Dogs brought to Attack Him. — He is Killed.— A
Savage Bull. — The Banderilleros. — Horses Killed. — Another Bull Despatch
ed. — Men Tossed in the Air. — Commercial Panic of 185S  102
Letter XL — Courts of Justice in Burgos. — Handmaidens at the Inn. — De
parture from Burgos.— A Night Journey. — Singing of the Coachmen. — Ler-
ma. — Quintanilla.' — A Spanish Breakfast— People on the Road. — Vineyards.
— The Vintage. — Grape Gatherers.— Aranda. — A Dirty Town and Inn. —
Fleas. — Boceguillas. — A Grove of Evergreen Oaks. — Jenny's Tavern. — A
Genteel Family in a Cart — Somosierra. — Buitrago. — A Spanish Venta,—
The Lozoya. — Beautiful Scene. — What Becomes of the Donkeys.— Strange
Rocks. — Cabanillas and its Inn. — A Hired Mule. — Alcobendas. — Mambrino's
Helmet— First Sight of Madrid.— Hotels  109
Letter XII. — Madrid.— Imitation of the French. — The Prado.— Costumes of
the Ladies. — Nature of Spanish Hospitality. — Social Customs. — Late Hours.
—The Amphitheatre for Bull Fights.— The Theatres.— The Pnerta del Sol.
— Idlers. — Gossip. — A Revival of Religion. — Galiano.— The Royal Museum,
—Richness of the Collection.— Raphael's Pasmo de Sicilia. — Modern Span
ish Paintings  124
Letter XIII. — Engraving in Spain. — Martinez. — Private Galleries. — Medraza's
Collection.— Making of a Doctor of Laws. — Address of Emilio Castelar. —
The Degree Conferred.— Feast of All Saints.— Burial Places.— Ceremonies

CONTENTS. 9
Page
of Commemoration.— Reservoir and Aqueduct— Newspapers of Madrid.—
Liberty of the Press. — The Spanish Ministry,— A Railway.— Railway Pro
jects.— The Future of Spain.— Recent Political Changes and their Effect-
Kindness of the Madrileflos.— The American Minister  137
Letter XIV.— Departure from Madrid.— A Hermitage.— The Tagus.— Aran-
juez. — Villasequilla. — La Mancha.— Dreary Absence of Trees in Spain.—
Aspect of the Country.— Albacete.— Spanish Daggers.— Aim ansa.— A Car-
ri to.— Unpleasant Conveyance.— A Murcian Driver.— Yillena.— A Murciau
Inn.— Garlic. — Scarcity of Water  152
Letter XV. — Departure from Yillena.— Narrow and Muddy Streets.— Sax.—
Picturesque Country.— Elda.— An Accident— Foul Roads. — Four Corners1
Tavern.— Good Fortune.— A Railway.— Civility of the Superintendents.—
Arrival at Alicante. — The American Consul, Mr. Leach.— Quijano.— His
Humane Labors, Death, Funeral, and Monument  164
Letter XVI. — Departure from Alicante. — A Spanish Gajera.— Cigarritos. —
Matches.— Elche and its Palms. — The People of Elche.— Morning Cup of
Chocolate. — Spanish Sobriety. — Curiosity of the Inhabitants. — Orange
Groves. — Orihuela.— Dialogue with a Landlady. — Language of the South
of Spain.— Olive Groves. — Olive Gatherers  173
Letter XVII. — Arrival atMurcia. — Mosquitoes. — The Cathedral. — Starers.—
Variety of Costumes.— Departure from Murcia. — Cheerful Fellow-passen
gers. — Aspect of the Country. — Cartagena. — Hotel of Four Nations. — Pic
turesque Site of the Town. — The Harbor. — Arrival of a Steamer. — Depart
ure from Cartagena. — Alraeria. — Its Port and Rocky Shores. — A Rough
Night. — Arrival at Malaga  182
Letter XYIIL— Malaga,— Aspect of the Town. — Narrow and Crooked Streets.
— The Protestant Burial-Ground. — Decline of Fanaticism. — Tropical Plants.
— Monuments. — The Public Cemetery. — Robbers.— Death of a Bandit— A
Boy made Captive. — Statuettes of Baked Earth  192
Letter XIX. — Journey to Grenada. — Aspect of the Country.— Colmenar. —
Loja. — The River Genii. — Beauty of Grenada. — The Alhambra. — Beauty of
its Architecture. — Restoration of the Buildings and Removal of the Spanish
Additions. — Garden of the Moorish Kings.— Cathedral of Grenada.— Tomb
of Ferdinand and Isabella.— Grenada in Spring. — Ugliness of the Town. —
The Gypsies. — A Spanish Visitor. — Women of Grenada. — A Castilian's
Opinion of the People. — Return to Malaga  201
Letter XX — Departure from the African Coast.— Softness of the Climate of
Malaga. — Collision of our Steamer with Another. — The Spanish Language
in the East — View of the Spanish Shore.— Pirates of the Barbary Coast. —
Landing at Merz-el-Kehir. — A Spanish Boatman. — Spanish Colonibts at
Oran. — Custom-Houses. — Beauty of the African Shore.— Orau.— Its Motley
Throngs of Inhabitants. — An Effect of the Commercial Panic  215
i*

10 CONTENTS. Page
Letteb XXI— Principal Mosque at Oran.— Its Interior.— Worshippers at
their Devotions.— An Arab Village.— An Arab Beauty— Group of Native
Youths.— The Surrounding Country.— A Troublesome Visitor.— Castles and
Fortresses.— Spaniards Living in Caves.— Return to Merz-el-Kebir and Ec-
embarkment.— Arrival at Algiers.— Lower Part of the Town.— Its French
Character.— Upper Part of the Town.— Its Strange Aspect.— Silent Popula
tion.— A Beautiful Sunset  226
Letter XXII.— The Great Mosque at Algiers— A French Public Garden.—
Moslem Cemetery and Chapels.— Women at the Graves and Tombs.— A
Crazy Man.— A Woman Asking Alms.— The Casbah. — A Native School.—
A French Girls' School.— A Moorish House.— The Kabyles.— Public Mar
kets.— Negro Women.— Departure from Algiers.— The Colony.— Its Euro
pean Population.— Health of the Country.— Decay of the Native Popula
tion in the Towns. — Slow Growth of the Colony.— An Accident. — Arrival at
Marseilles  289
Letter XXIII. — Late Discoveries of Antiquities at Eome. — Excavations in
the Campagna. — Sepulchral Chambers and Sarcophagi. — Throng of Visitors.
— Two Cardinals. — Excavations at Ostia. — Changes for the Better at Borne.
— American Artists. — Death of Bartholomew the Sculptor  253
Letter XXIV. — Aix les Bains.— Florence and its Changes.— Bologna, its
Burial-Place and New Arcades. — Ferrara. — Venice and its German Popu
lation. — Turin. — Exhibition of Manufactures. — Sardinian Silks. — Watches.
— Inlaid Wood. — Lithographs. — The Waldenses and their Worship  261
Letter XXV. — A Death at Naples.— Climate of that City. — Nervous Com
plaints. — Enervating Effect of the Air. — A CautioD  273

LETTERS FROM SPAIN
AND OTHEE COUNTRIES

LETTEE I.
THE FLORAL EXHIBITION AT PARIS  DELAROCHE'S PAINTINGS.
Paris, June 11, 1857.
There are some things which can only be done in Paris,
or at least can only be done by Frenchmen, and one of these
has furnished for the last fortnight a most attractive specta
cle for the people of this place and those who visit it. The
French not only delight in scenic effect, but produce it with
a dexterity, despatch and success which find no parallel else
where. A few weeks ago the interior of the Palais de I' Industrie,
the Crystal Palace of France, built among the trees of the
Champs Elysees,was a bare and empty space, with a floor
of dust and gravel, and rafters streaming with cobwebs. The
order for an exhibition of flowers was given, and in three or four
weeks the dusty waste was transformed into a fresh and beau
tiful garden. I went to see it the other day — a hot day for
the season. We passed from the entrance to the garden

12 TROPICAL PLANTS.
through an alley embowered with evergreens, young pines
and firs, planted for the occasion, filling the cool air with
resinous odors. On each side of the alley were benches, in
viting the visitor who might be wearied with his walk, to rest
awhile. Thence we passed into the vast area beyond the
columns which support the galleries, and here the floor was
covered with a bright green turf, closely shaven, formed into
hillocks and gentle slopes, surrounding beds of shrubs and
other plants in full bloom, and intersected by winding walks.
Here were thickets of rhododendrons of different varieties ;
here was a group of our own mountain laurel, as beautiful as
any seen in our forests ; here were showy companies of azaleas
of all tinges of color, from bright scarlet to pure white ; here
were beds of roses and wildernesses of geraniums, pampered
into innumerable diversities, perfuming the air. All had their
roots in the soil ; and a friendly soil it seemed, for though
the exhibition had already lasted a fortnight, there was
nothing faded or withered ; every blossom and leaf was as
fresh as it could have been in its native bed. The tropical
flowers themselves seemed not to miss, under this immense
canopy of glass, their own genial climate. A young date-
palm stood on one of the hillocks, with plants of its own lat
itudes clustering and blooming around it.
In the midst of the area a little fountain threw up its
waters, which formed themselves into what had the appear
ance of a winding brook. A rustic bridge bestrode the little
stream, which, to say the truth, was not quite so transparent
as one of our country brooks, for it was the turbid water of

BLACK SWANS. 13
the Seine ; but it was glassy enough on the surface to make
a mirror for some magnificent water-plants whose roots were
steeped by it. Two black swans from New Holland, as we
crossed the bridge, were standing on the brink of the water,
each supported by one broad foot, the other coiled up under
the body, and the head tucked under one wing. As we ap
proached, they suddenly pulled out their heads from under
their wings, put the uplifted foot to the ground, uttered a
clanging cry, and taking to the water sailed off among the
groups of calla and iris that fringed the bank.
The exhibition was visited by a crowd of people, and
groups of smartly-dressed Parisian ladies were hovering about
the flowers like butterflies. Among the roses exhibited were
some fine new varieties, which it is the fashion of the day to
name after eminent military commanders. A large blush-
rose bears the name of Lord Raglan, and a larger, with
flaming blood-red petals, the name of General Jacqueminot.
I believe this is regarded as a very desirable addition to the
stock of roses.
As I was about leaving the place, I observed a gentle
man looking at me with a very attentive scrutiny, as if he
thought he might have seen me before. A second glance
sufficed me to recognize him ; it was Mons. Vattemare, author
of the system of International Exchanges, looking as fresh as
any of the flowers in their beds around him. He hurried me
off to a place under one of the galleries, where he had a little
niche, in which were suspended in rows ears of maize of dif
ferent varieties, from the State of New York, and on the table

14 DELAEOCHE'S PAINTINGS.
lay the two quarto volumes of the Natural History of the
same State, which treat of its botany. The ears of Indian
corn, I was not displeased to see, made a much better appear
ance than the samples from Algeria, which were suspended
on a wall immediately opposite. As we were talking about
them, two Orientals, with glittering black eyes and jet black
beards, wearing the high, shaggy Persian cap — one of them
with features so regular and finely formed that they might
have served as a pattern for an ideal bust — came up, and ad
dressing Mons. Vattemare in French, asked him for some of
the ears of maize to take to their own country. " I will give
you them, and a great many other things beside," he an
swered, delighted to find the opportunity of pushing his sys
tem of international exchanges in a new quarter. In the
midst of the dialogue which followed, and which was carried
on with great spirit and earnestness on the part of Mons.
Vattemare, I took my leave.
The same day I went to an exhibition of the works of
Paul Delaroche, whose reputation as a painter is as great in
the United States as here. Shortly before his death he ex
pressed a desire to paint a picture the subject of which should
be of universal interest, in order to give the proceeds to un
fortunate artists and workmen in the studios of artists. His
friends have thought that the best method of fulfilling a de
sign which the artist himself was only prevented from fulfillin«
by death, would be to assemble all his pictures in one gallery
and give the profits of this exhibition to the charitable fund of
the Association of Artists, Painters, Sculptors, &c, of which

PORTRAITS OF NAPOLEON. 15
Delaroche was President. His works have accordingly been
brought together from various collections, private and pub
lic, in this country, in England and elsewhere. They illus
trate, curiously, the gloomy character of his genius. You
look about the walls, and you are in the midst of deathbeds,
executions, assassinations. The least interesting of these
pictures is the death of Queen Elizabeth. The gigantic old
woman, sprawling on her couch upon the floor, her harsh
features livid with mortal disease, is a horrid object ; nor is
there any thing in the rest of the picture to make amends
for the disagreeable impression produced by this principal
figure. The series of portraits of Napoleon forms of itself
a tragedy, and a most impressive one. The first of these is
" Napoleon crossing the Alps," with which the American
public is familiar. As he is making his way through the
mountain snows, you see that he is revolving his great plans
of conquest. You read in the eye of the young adventurer
untameable resolution and absolute confidence in his own
fortunes. In the next picture, " Napoleon in his Closet,'1
you have him in the noon of life, his ambitious desires grati
fied, and the continent of Europe at his feet. His eye is
lighted up with a proud satisfaction, as he contemplates the
strength and security of the power he has founded by his
single arm. In the third painting, " Napoleon at Fontaine-
bleau," you see the great egotist after his fall, older, grosser
in person, arrived at the palace from a hasty flight, his boots
spattered with mud, his riding coat not laid by ; one arm
hanging over the back of the chair, as if never to be re-

16 NAPOLEON AFTER HIS FALL.
moved, and his eyes staring into futurity with the fixed, sul
len gaze of despair. In all these portraits the artist has
shown a power which, it seems to me, should place him in a
high rank among painters, even if he had done nothing
else.

PAUPER COLONIES. 11

LETTER II.
THE PAUPER COLONIES OF HOLLAND.
Heidelberg, July 14, 185"7.
I have made, with my family, the tour of Belgium and
Holland, and coming down from Friesland by one of the
Hanoverian railways to the Rhine, am resting for a few days in
Heidelberg. We are the more disposed to suspend our
somewhat rapid journey here, on account of the heat of the
weather, which is very great, one hot day succeeding another,
with no interruption from showers, the sky being as intense
ly dazzling as our own.
While in the northern part of Holland, I made a visit to
the pauper colonies of Fredericksoord and Willemsoord, in
the province of Overyssel. Here are tracts of sandy soil
covered with heath and shrubs, which, from the time when
they were first formed from the bottom of the sea, till now,
have been abandoned to utter barrenness. The great calam
ity of Holland is pauperism, and somewhat more than thirty
years ago a benevolent society was formed for the purpose
of settling the poor, who had become a public charge, upon
the waste lands of the kingdom, with a view of reducing
them to cultivation. They purchased a tract of land,

18 DWELLINGS OF THE PAUPERS.
mostly uncultivated, in the province of Overyssel, where
they made a beginning with some of the poor of Amsterdam,
who had been thrown upon the public charity. The colony
thus established has now increased to a considerable commu
nity, yet it has %iade, I suppose, as much impression upon
the vast mass of pauperism in Holland, as the Colonization
Society has made upon the mass of slavery in the United
States. We took a carriage at the ancient village of Steenwyck
and proceeded over a road so sandy that we were obliged to
travel very slowly, and rendered almost impassable in
some places by an attempt to macadamize it. We passed
several comfortable looking tenements of the peasantry, with
little flower gardens in front of them, and at length the
coachman said, " We are in the colony."
I could not see that the habitations of the paupers seem
ed any less comfortable than those of the district through
which we had just passed. They were neat brick buildings,
spacious enough to contain, besides the rooms for the family,
a stable for the cow, a place for the pig, and a room for the
fuel. Near each was a little garden surrounded by a well-
pleached hawthorn hedge, and outside of the hedge a ditch ;
for the Hollander, from mere habit, always surrounds his do
main with a ditch, whether there is any occasion for it or
not. Back of the gardens were fields of rye and barley and
other crops, and beyond, in places, was a forest of shrubs
and dwarf trees, looking like the scrub-oak plains on the worst
parts of Long Island; and, in places, extensive wastes, the

NEATNESS OF THE DWELLINGS. 19
like of which is not seen in our country, covered with dark
heath of a purple tinge, and stretching out of sight.
The Director was hot at home, and we were accompanied
over the village by one of the bookkeepers, who was ready to
communicate what he knew, but who spoke French, the only
language we> understood in common, very imperfectly, and in
a low tone of voice. He took us into several of the
dwellings. The first we entered was that of a widow from
Groningen, who had two or three children able to work at
the loom. It was a miracle of neatness. The woman had
established in the outer room her summer kitchen, in which
were the pig-pen and stable, and had made it as clean as the
nicest parlor in our own country. We looked into the win
ter room — it was as nice as a new sideboard just from the
cabinetmaker's. She had a comfortable bed in a little closet,
after the Dutch fashion. In a room above were the beds of
the children, in a kind of boxes on each side. Notwithstand
ing these appearances of comfort, the woman took our courier
aside, and complained bitterly of the hardness of her lot.
She affirmed that she was half starved, and begged him to
intercede with the Director in her behalf. When the matter
was afterwards mentioned to the bookkeeper he said that
there was no end to the complaints of these people, and that
the more they got the more they asked for. We went into
another house, in which was a good-looking family of both
sexes, well clad, and living in a manner which had every
appearance of thrift. The rooms glittered with the display
of crockery and polished metal utensils, and were hung with
cheap engravings.

20 SCHOOLS OF THE COLONY.
We were taken to the manufactory of the village, a room
full of looms, where coarse cotton cloth is woven by the children
between twelve and eighteen years of age, for the Dutch sol
diery in the East Indies. The looms were clashing merrily —
the girls, in particular, jerked the shuttles backward and for
ward with incredible swiftness. " These children," said the
bookkeeper, " earn a great deal for their families : in fact,
those who come to our colony must either work or starve ; if
they are obstinately idle, they get nothing to eat."
We were shown the school-house — a building with two
spacious rooms, in which the children were taught according
to the liberal system of public education established in Hol
land. The school had been suspended for a while, as the
building was undergoing repairs. Religious teachers are pro
vided for the colony — a Protestant, a Catholic, and a Jewish
Rabbi. The colonists receive copper and iron tokens for their
labor, and this forms the money of the colony. With these
they purchase the necessaries for which they have occasion,
from the magazines of the colony, where every thing is sold
but intoxicating liquors, the sale of which is forbidden.
I could obtain no exact information of the profit or loss
of this enterprise. " These people," said the bookkeeper,
"cost the society a great deal. They come from the cities
unaccustomed to the work we require of them, and often with
families of very young children, who are of too tender an
age to work. They must be subsisted, and their subsistence is
a heavy charge."
There are now about four hundred families in the colony,

POPULATION OF THE COLONY. 21
numbering two thousand six hundred persons. To prevent
the excessive growth of the community, and to confine the
operations of the institution to their original object, all the
young, on reaching the age of twenty, are obliged to leave
it, as well as all the young who marry. As the older mem
bers drop off, their places are supplied by paupers from the
towns. In the mean time thousands of acres have been re
claimed from their primeval wild state, and turned into pro
ductive fields.

22 SWISS INGENUITY;

LETTER III.
THE SWISS INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION— THE NEW FEDERAL PAL
ACE  ANNUAL EXHIBITION OF WORKS OF ART.
Been, Switzerland, August 1, 185*7.
The Swiss are among the most ingenious of the European
nations ; they possess in a high degree the constructive fac
ulty ; you have only to look at their houses to be convinced
of this. It seems to me that they are the best carpenters in
the world. The Swiss peasantry are lodged, I believe, in
more spacious dwellings than any other peasantry in Europe
— dwellings as admirably suited to their climate as they are
picturesque. Under their overshadowing roofs, which form a
shelter from their hot suns in summer, they hang the outer
wall with balconies and galleries, which form passages above
the deep snows of their winters. The ends of the beams and
rafters and the braces are shaped into ornamental projec
tions, so that what would otherwise be the deformity, be
comes the grace of the building. The Swiss were long ago
the best bridge-builders in Europe, of which the bridge at
Schafihausen, destroyed by the French in the latter part of
the last century, constructed entirely of timber, with a span
of 365 feet, yet without any support except at the two ends,

SWISS MANUFACTURES. 23
was a remarkable example. In • the long winters of the Al
pine regions, the peasants employ themselves in carving, with
their penknives, figures and images and objects of various
kinds out of wood, with all the patience and nicety of Chi
nese artisans, and a hundred times the elegance. On the
high-roads in the valleys of the Bernese Oberland, the travel
ler will have the children of the herdsmen trotting beside
him, offering him for a single franc the miniature of a Swiss
cottage, carved with all the delicacy of frost work.
It is clear that if all this dexterity and patience were di
rected to the great branches of manufacture, the Swiss must
excel. It is so, in fact. I have just come from looking at
an exhibition of Swiss industry now open in this beautiful
city. An intelligent American gentleman went through it
with me, who was as much surprised as myself, both at the
variety of the manufactures and their excellence. The spec
tacle was to me the more interesting because the manufac
tures of Switzerland prosper without any of those helps which,
in the opinion of some, are indispensable — without prohib
itory or protective duties, or, indeed, high duties of any kind.
They prosper, too, in a country surrounded by powerful gov
ernments which yet adhere to the protective system, and on
which the Swiss have never thought it for their advantage to
retaliate. It must be admitted that the Swiss have some important
natural advantages for manufacturing pursuits. Their moun
tains abound with ores of the useful metals ; enormous forests
are at hand to supply the furnaces in which these ores are

24 FREE TRADE IN SWITZERLAND.
smelted, and the torrents which rush down the mountain
sides wield the hammers by which the metals are beaten into
plates and bars. A calculating Yankee would be shocked to
see the proportion of water-power in this country running to
waste. Mills might be built on the Swiss streams to manu
facture for the world, without much disfiguring the grand as
pect of Swiss scenery. In going up any of their mountains,
you hear the bells of the herds for a vast distance around
you. A million of neat cattle are fed in the pastures, with a
million and a quarter of sheep and goats, and the woods
which supply fuel for the forges and founderies furnish bark
for tanning the skins of these animals. In the forest cantons
the driver of your carriage will point out, from time to time,
in some gorge of the mountains, where the stream comes
down through the forest, a large building in which glass is
made. The manufacturer in Switzerland has had the ad
vantage from the first, that he has no tax to pay on the
crude material which he employs.
I was not, therefore, unprepared to see in the exhibition
at Bern a creditable display of objects wrought of iron and
other useful metals. Here were fire engines, locomotives for
the railways, which the people of the Confederation are
industriously building in all parts of their country ; engines
for the steamers on the lakes, and machines for calico-print
ing — all of admirable workmanship; here were stoves for
kitchen and parlor, of cast or sheet iron, which certainly in
finish, if not in other respects, were beyond what we produce
in our country ; here were busts and statuettes in cast-iron, well

SWISS WATCHES. ' 25
designed, of a smoothness of surface equal to porcelain, and
great precision of outline. Geneva had sent muskets, rifles
and fowling-pieces, beautifully wrought, and there were sam
ples of cutlery from the workshops of Thurgau, Argau, Bern
and Glarus, which might almost bear comparison with the
cutlery of Great Britain. The Swiss make their own pins in
the mills at Schaffhausen. Of their watches I need say
nothing, since in that branch of industry they work with
greater nicety and cheapness than the people of any other
country, and even furnish a large proportion of the mecha
nism of what are called English watches. Five cantons of
Switzerland employ in watchmaking thirty-six thousand
persons. Beside the iron stoves, there were porcelain ones — white
porcelain — of elegant forms, a much pleasanter and more
cleanly piece of furniture than the iron ones we have at home.
I cannot say much for the samples of table porcelain in the
exhibition ; they were of the homeliest kind, and had no pre
tensions to elegance. Of the plainer kinds of glass there was
a respectable share, and of elegant plate glass a few samples.
Switzerland furnishes the bottles for her own wines and min
eral waters. The tanners of the country have by no means
an idle time of it, if I might judge from the quantity of the
leather, including morocco and patent leather, and the ex
quisitely tanned skins of the chamois goat, with which the
walls of one of the lower rooms were hung.
What most surprised me in the exhibition was the perfec
tion which the silk manufacture had attained. The silk
2

26 SWISS EMBROIDERY.
cloths of Zurich, both light and heavy, were of excellent
quality, though they wanted the beauty of the French tissues,
but the ribbons of Basle and Zifrich vie with those of France
in texture, lustre, beauty of design and brilliancy of color.
Several ribbon-looms were in the exhibition — light, ingenious
machines — in one of which a landscape, and in another a
bouquet of flowers of different colors and shapes, were woven.
The housewives, I suppose, would expect me to mention the
beautiful sewing-silks of Aargau.
There are woollen mills in Zurich and elsewhere, but the
quality of the goods produced is not fine ; the Swiss sheep, I
believe, are rather coarse-woolled. The hair of the goat is
wrought into elegant and showy tissues — plaids generally,
and of brilliant colors. The cotton cloths are strong and
serviceable ; the printed cottons are of two kinds — the cali
coes and the muslins ; the calicoes ugly, and the muslins de
licate and beautiful. Fields of flax often meet the eye in
Switzerland, and acres of linen at this season are seen bleach
ing by the streams. There were many good samples of
linen in the exhibition.
One of the most remarkable departments of Swiss indus
try is embroidery, and of this there were many superb sam
ples. In one of these, the maidens of Appenzell had em
broidered their Jungfrau on an immense curtain of white
muslin. Another from the canton of St. Gallen had flowers
in high relief, the petals raised from the muslin and turning
back against it, as in a carving. In other samples were
fountains and forests ; others were of architectural design,

SKINS OF BIRDS. 21
mtermingled with graceful human figures. There are in Ap
penzell and St. Gallen six thousand persons who live by this
sort of needlework.
Of course there were many samples of carving in wood,
but these were excelled by the carvings in ivory — an art
which seems to have sprung naturally from the national skill
in wood-carving, Among these I noticed a little group of
trees, wrought with such delicacy that it seemed as if the fo
liage must tremble and turn with the wind.
In the north they slay animals for their fur ; but the
Swiss finds a substitute for fur in the skins of the birds which
haunt his lakes. There were numerous samples of muffs,
tippets and cuffs formed of this material ; some of them of a
silvery whiteness, others nearly black, all of them extremely
light, smooth and glistening. The names of the birds which
had been made to yield this singular contribution to the na
tional fair were annexed to the articles— they were mostly
water-fowl of the grebe family, and the kinds related to it.
These were the mergus merganser, the anas ferina, and others
which I do not remember.
Among the frolics of Swiss ingenuity I noticed a group
of stuffed skins, the wild quadrupeds and native birds of
Switzerland, so skilfully adjusted that one could scarcely be
lieve that they were not alive. On the shelves of what seem
ed a mountain-peak, were owls of different kinds, and other
birds, feeding their wide-mouthed young ; eagles tearing a
pigeon in pieces, foxes lurking behind the crags, a chamois
climbing a rock, and another apparently listening on the

28 PALACE OF THE CONFEDERATION.
summit for the approach of his enemies from below. An
other was a water-fall pouring over a rock, formed of some
composition in such a manner as to avoid that patched ap
pearance which generally belongs to rock-work, and half
draped with wild herbage.
I fear I have tired the readers of this letter, as I have
done myself, with this recital ; but I hope that I have given
them some idea of the variety, the pertinacity and the suc
cess of Swiss ingenuity.
The manufactures were exhibited in the barracks near
the northern gate of the city, but there was another depart
ment of the exhibition, that of the Fine Arts, which was held
in the new Palace of the Confederation. The palace, not yet
finished, is a sumptuous building, in the Byzantine style,
worthy to be the place of assembly for the representatives of
a republic like Switzerland. The quarries around Bern yield
a light-brown sand-stone, which, when first taken from its
bed, is as easily chipped as chalk, and of this the palace is
built. It surrounds three sides of a quadrangle, with a mas
sive balcony in the front of the building resting on richly-
carved brackets, and on the other side, within the quad
rangle, a vaulted ante-room resting on columns, through
which is the principal entrance. From the balcony, and the
terrace on which the palace stands, you have a view of the
green valley of the Aar immediately below you, and beyond
the hills which bound the valley rise the snowy summits of
the Bernese Oberland.
I found less to interest me in the annual exhibition of

SWISS PAINTINGS. 29
Swiss works of art than I had hoped. A Swiss friend, who
accompanied me, directed my attention to a large historical
picture, by Volmar of Bern, representing the battle of Mor-
garten, in 1315. It is painted with a good deal of knowl
edge, but it looked to me as if the artist had conceived and
studied each figure separately, and then put them all together
in a group as he best might. The light is lurid and like
moonshine. There were several historical pictures of a
smaller size, by Vogel of Zurich, full of commonplace faces
and draperies like leather. The landscapes were better.
There were a few exceedingly spirited drawings of Swiss
scenery in water colors. Calame of Geneva has an excellent
picture in the collection, called " The Torrent." Grisel of
Neufchatel, Isenzing of St. Gallen, Jenni of Solothum, Kaiser
of Staz, Koller of Zurich, Meyer of Luzern, and Zimmermann
of Geneva, had all clever landscapes in the gallery — repre
sentations of Swiss scenery, the contemplation of which ought
to make a man a landscape painter if any thing can. But
this is a mere " muster-roll of names," and I have no time for
more particular remark.

30 THE BATHS OF LUCHON.

LETTER IV.
a watering-place in the pyrenees".
Bagneres de Luchon, Hautes Pyrenees, )
September 8, 1851. j
Much as my countrymen travel, there are few of them, I
think, who come to the warm springs er baths of Luchon —
the Bagneres de Luchon, as they are Galled, here — and few
are aware what a charming spot it is, what a delightful sum
mer climate it has, and how picturesque is the surrounding
country. It is Switzerland with a more even temperature, a
longer summer, a serener sky, and mountains which less ca
priciously veil themselves in fogs at the moment you wish to
get a sight at them. The black rocks with which they are
ribbed crumble into a darker and apparently a richer soil,
which lends the verdure of their sides a deeper tinge. Here,
at Luchon, I see fields of maize and millet half-way up the
mountain sides, and patches of buckwheat, now in bloom,
whitening almost their very crests.
At Geneva I fell in with an English gentleman, who has
been botanizing industriously on the continent for seven years,
and had not seen his native country in all that time. We
told him we were going to Bagneres de Bigorre. " Go ra-

PRESENT STATE OF GENEVA. 31
ther to Bagneres de Luchon," he answered. " You will there
be in the heart of the Pyrenees, while at Bigorre you would
be only among their lower declivities. Luchon is the finest
spot in all the Pyrenees. The accommodations, are good ;
they do not fleece you there as they do here in Switzerland ;
the English have not got there yet. Besides, you will have
about you such a magnificent mountain Flora." We took
his advice, and set out for Bagneres de Luchon. But first I
must say a word of Geneva.
It was hard to believe it the same place which I saw eight
years since. The popular party which now rules Geneva have
pulled down the old walls and forts, within which it seems to
have been fancied that the city might sustain a siege ; these
have been converted into public promenades and building lots.
Geneva is now an open city, like all our own towns, and is
spreading itself into the country. Where Lake Leman be
gins to contract itself into the Rhone, and the blue waters rush
towards their outlet, large spaces on each side, lately covered
with water, have been filled up with the rubbish of the forts,
and massive quays and breakwaters extending into the lake,
have been built to form a secure harbor for the shipping. Long
rows of stately buildings, of a cheerful aspect, with broad
streets between, have been erected by the water side. En
terprising men have been attracted from other parts of Swit
zerland and from foreign countries, by the field here opened
to their activity, and with them come swarms of strange work
people. Catholic priests, in their big cocked hats and long
black gowns clinging to their legs, are now a frequent sight

32 LYONS. KIKES.
in this city of Calvin ; and the Catholics, now at length admit
ted to full citizenship, are building an elegant church on the
west bank of the Rhine. One need not wonder that those
who liked the old order of things should lament that the Ge
neva of to-day is no longer the Geneva of their youth.
In our way to Luchon we stopped for a short time at Ly
ons, which I found almost as much changed in four years as
Geneva in eight. It seems to have caught the rage of demo
lition and reconstruction from Paris. A broad street, like
one of the Boulevards of the metropolis, running from the
Place de Bellecaur to the hills, has been opened through the
heart of the city, by beating down the mass of old houses,
separated from each other by narrow and gloomy passages,
and constructing others of a more cheerful architecture in
their place. They call the new street the Hue Imperiale, to
mark its epoch. In a paved square opened in the middle of
this street, I saw a group of workmen engaged in putting up
the statues of a fountain, and not far off a crowd of them
busy in erecting a bank of elaborate Italian architecture.
Near the northern extremity of the street another company
were occupied restoring and enlarging the Hotel de Ville.
We passed a day and a half at Nimes, in the comfortable
and spacious Hotel du Luxembourg — Nimes, at this season,
quiet, dull and silent as the vast interior of its own grand
Roman amphitheatre. Its principal commerce at the moment
seemed to consist in disposing of the enormous quantities of
fine melons which I saw heaped on the pavement in its
streets. Nimes is a city for a winter residence ; the August

TOULOUSE. 33
sun glared upon us so fiercely that we were withered by the
heat. I found the turf under the bowers of evergreens, in
the garden above its famous fountain, scorched to snuff with
the summer fervors. I remembered its freshness and the
sweet December sunshine that rested upon it nearly four
years since, and almost wished it were December again. Yet,
even amidst this quiet, some new buildings were going up at
Nimes : several elegant houses and a church of a remarkably
graceful Gothic model, the light and airy shafts and arches
carved out of the cream-colored stone, so easily wrought, with
which they build in this country. There was some activity
of a different kind — they were fitting up the amphitheatre for
a bull-fight the next Sunday, but the keeper of the building
compassionately assured us that it was a very different thing
from a Spanish bull-fight, and that there was no danger in it
either to the bull or to the human combatants.
From Nimes to Toulouse, with the exception of Montpe-
lier, the environs of which seemed pleasant, and where the
air of the sea breathed upon us with a refreshing coolness, our
journey was through an arid and almost shadeless country.
Frontignan, famed for its grapes, as the delicious varieties
which bear its name with us testify, was no exception ; nor
Cette, which sends its white wines to our market ; nor dirty
Narbonne, where we got a luxurious dinner and passed a
night with the fleas. As we approached Toulouse the aspect
of the country softened, but there was the same dreary and
melancholy lack of verdure, the same absence of groves, shade-
trees and grassy turf, for which no appearance of fruitfulness

34 BEAUTY OF LUCHON.
can compensate — and yet the country is abundantly fertile.
The city of the Troubadours detained us only long enough
to look at its curious old churches, and to drive through
some of its handsome promenades, and we took the dili
gence the next morning for this place, passing over the broad
plains of the Garonne and through several very dirty French
villages — for the further south you go in France the more
dirt you find — till at length we came to where the Garonne
comes plunging and roaring from the mountains. It was like
the effect of enchantment to pass, as we did, from a dust-
colored landscape into a valley of luxuriant verdure, from a
flat level to grand mountain scenery, from silent streams to
sounding torrents, from a sultry atmosphere to airs cooled by
the eternal snows of the glaciers.
The baths of Luchon, supplied by hot sulphur springs
which gush from a mountain side, have been frequented for
the last two hundred years. For generation after genera
tion has the ingenuity of man been exerted to render the
place attractive, to multiply its accommodations, and make
the most of its natural beauties. Shady walks into which
the noon sun cannot penetrate, with seats of stone, squares
planted with pleasant trees — one of these is entirely planted
with American trees, the catalpa and the tulip-tree — paths
beside the roaring torrents, paths climbing the mountain
sides, paths into the thick forests, terraces from which you
look down into the valleys and far away among the moun
tain peaks — these you have all around you ; and then there
are excellent carriage roads which take you to picturesque

GUIDES AT LUCHON. 35
old turrets, and along the windings of beautiful valleys, and
beyond these, bridle roads which lead to cascades, to solitary
highland lakes and to lofty summits of mountains. There
are guides whose occupation it is to accompany travellers to
the most remarkable points of this region, and the calling is
often hereditary — the father training his sons to it from early
boyhood. They are a hardy race of men, healthy by their
occupation, obliging and serviceable from habit ; they hunt
wolves, bears and the wild goat in the mountains, when the
season of the baths is over ; and there is no place in the
Pyrenees to which they will not agree to conduct you. They
frequently take travellers to the top of the Maladetta, the
highest peak of the Pyrenees, covered with perpetual snow,
and only first ascended, about twelve years since, by M. De
Franqueville. The other day three of them dragged an Eng
lishman to the. top of the Pic de la Pique, or Pic de la Picade,
a slippery-looking pinnacle of rock, not far from the Mala
detta, with sides almost perpendicular, which had never be
fore been scaled.
If any of the readers of these letters should visit Lu
chon, I can cheerfully, without disparagement to any of
his brethren, recommend one of these guides, Bertrand Es-
trujo, who is certainly a favorable specimen of his tribe.
Estrujo is a fine, broad-chested figure of a man, with a good-
natured face, and civil, obliging manners. He will tell you
the legends of the region through which he takes you, and
when these are exhausted, will sing you a song in French or
Spanish, or in the patois of the mountains, as you may choose ;

36 VILLAGE OF LUCHON.
or if there is nothing to be said, and you are tired of silence,
he will crack his whip with a succession of reports like a roll
ing fire of pistol shot — a sort of tattoo turned off from the tip
of the lash, which is shivered into fibres and left floating in the
air like gossamer. Estrujo will give you excellent horses, or if
they are not always precisely what you desire, will apologize
so ingeniously for their defects, or throw in such skilful com
mendations of their real merits, that you can hardly help
being satisfied.
The main part of Luchon is a shabby village, with dirty-
looking houses, and narrow, winding streets, on each side of
which is a paved gutter, the channel of a swiftly-flowing
little stream, diverted from the torrent of the One, in which
the women are sometimes seen washing their clothes. But
the south end of Luchon, called the Cours dEtigny, in which
the visitors to the baths have their lodgings, is a noble street
— broad, planted with a fourfold row of elms and lindens, and
bordered with large, commodious houses, in nearly all of
which apartments are let. To the south, this pleasant street
terminates at the stately building erected to contain the
baths, and the pleasure ground surrounding the spring where
the waters are dispensed to those who drink them, and just
at this season it presents, all day long, one of the gayest
spectacles I ever saw.
At an early hour arrive the diligences ; the street is im
mediately in commotion ; troops of servant- women in head
dresses of bright-colored handkerchiefs, red and yellow, run
after them and crowd around them, offering the newly arrived

THE COURS D'ETIGNY. 37
travellers apartments in the houses of their employers. You
hear a sound of small bells ; a herdsman is driving his cows
to their mountain pasture, or a woman has brought her goat
to your door to be milked. Companies of people, men and
women, are departing on horseback — each with a guide, who
is known by his cap, short jacket and loaded leathern valise
strapped in front of his saddle. They are setting out, per
haps, for the beautiful Vallee du Lys, where the meadows at
this season are as fresh and flowery as our own in June, or to
the Lac cFOo, a blue pool, high among the mountains, sur
rounded by dark pinnacles of rock flecked with fields of snow,
from one of which a white cataract plunges, roaring, into the
lake. Or, perhaps, they are going to the summit called the
Pic de FAnticade, from which you look down into the valleys
of Catalonia, or to that called the Port de Venasque, whence
you look down into those of Aragon and over the mountains
of that province. If the company consist of one or three, and
these are men, perhaps they are about to ascend the Mala-
detta. Carriages are drawn up before the doors of the
houses ; they are waiting to convey the lodgers to the old
town of St. Beat, in a narrow rocky gorge of the Garonne, or
further on, to the Pont du Roi, on the frontier of Spain, or to
iSt. Bertrand de Cominges, renowned for its ancient Gothic
church, or to the Cascade des Demoiselles, on the Pique. A
sedan chair, with two strong-limbed bearers, passes through
the street ; it contains a patient whom they are carrying Jo
the baths ; two or three people in thick cloaks, and hoods
covering their heads and faces, are walking in the other di-

38 MORNING SIGHTS AT LUCHON.
rection ; they are bathers returning to their lodgings. People
are setting out upon a morning walk ; a lady and her chil
dren are trotting by on donkeys, with women for donkey
drivers ; they are going to the Cascade of Montauban, or to
that of Jaze, or to the terrace called La Sauniere, from which
you look down upon Luchon and its green and shady valley.
If they are more adventurous, perhaps they are bent upon
climbing to the summit of Superbagneres, the mountain from
the base of which flow the sulphurous springs that supply the
baths. A group of priests, in their black robes and cocked
hats, are passing ; the priests throng to Luchon, and love to
saunter in its shady alleys, and are often seen in the caval
cades that go out upon excursions among the mountains.
There go two Sisters of Mercy, in their flowing hoods of
white muslin ; they are on a visit to the lodging-houses, to
ask donations for the hospital of Luchon. Two ragged,
brown, slender men, in their red caps, knee-breeches, stock
ings without feet, and hempen sandals, are driving their
loaded asses through the street ; they are peasants from one
of the neighboring Catalonian villages. Spanish pedlars in
laced jackets and small clothes of brown velvet, are moving
about the streets, taking off their' caps to almost all they
meet, and offering their wares. Others of them have piled
their glistening foulards from Barcelona, their packages of
linen and then- silk shawls around the foot of one of the
great trees in the street, to attract the attention of the pas
sengers. When the shadow of the mountain begins to fall on the

ENGLISH AT THE LAC D'OO. 39
well-kept grounds below the edge of the forest south of the
bath-house, which is at about four o'clock in the afternoon,
a crowd of visitors in little groups seat themselves in chairs
on the terrace in that spot. Walk among them and you will
hear spoken the accented dialect of Southern France ; you
will hear French ; you will hear Spanish, but no English. It
is not quite exact to say, however, as my English acquaint
ance at Geneva said, that the English have not got to Lu
chon yet. At the Lac d'Oo, which we reached at the begin
ning of a pelting storm of rain and hail, we fell in with a party
from Liverpool, of whom five were ladies, who came, soused
and dripping, into the cabin among the rocks where we were
taking our luncheon. They were " doing up " the Pyrenees,
I think, in a fortnight, conscientiously seeing every thing set
down for them to see in their guide-books, and as they were
provided with water proof cloaks, they defied wind and weath
er. They whipped through the list of sights in a space of
time that seemed to me incredibly short, and then went off
to Toulouse in the night. The English who come here do
not stay long, but look at what is remarkable and depart.
Our party have not been so faithful to the duty of sight
seeing, contenting ourselves with a selection from the usual
excursions. One of these we made to the Pic de VAnticade.
It is a green mountain summit within the Spanish dominions,
grazed by cattle under the care of Catalonian herdsmen. The
roar of a hundred waterfalls rose at once to our ears from
the valley of the Garonne below, where I counted eleven vil
lages lying east of us — Busost and B'ila, and — a Catalan wo-

40 THE MALADETTA.
man, who had followed us up the summit to beg, gave us
their names, but I have forgotten the rest. Below us eagles
were wheeling about the crags ; and to the south, where the
Garonne came down from the mountains, vast and dense for
ests reached far down the valley. " In these forests," said
our guide, " we go to hunt bears in winter. Wolves too, are
found there, and where the rocks are steep, the isard, our
mountain goat." To the west of us rose the mountains of
Aragon, and, half seen through the mists, the white summit
of the Maladetta. Our guide gave us the etymology of the
name in this legend :
" Our Saviour," said he, " was passing over the mountain,
when he met with a shepherd and his dog. The dog flew at
our Saviour and bit him, the shepherd making no effort to
prevent it. Since that time a curse has rested on the moun
tain ; it is covered with perpetual snow, and the shepherd
and his dog keep their station there yet. They were seen
not long since, but, on being approached, they disappeared.
You understand now why the mountain is called the Mala
detta or the Accursed."
When the autumnal weather begins to grow chilly at
Luchon, the visitors generally, if they do not go home, migrate
to Bagneres de Bigorre, as we propose to do to-morrow, though
the temperature is still soft and genial here.

BAGNERES DE BIGORRE. 41

LETTER V.

BIGORRE-PAU-BAYONNE-A JOURNEY TO SPAIN-SAN SEBASTIAN.

"'I

San Sebastian, Province of Gurpuscoa, Spain,
September 28th, 1857.
Since I wrote you last, I have made a short sojourn, at
Bagneres de Bigorre and another at Pau, to say nothmg of
a brief stay at Bayonne. Bagneres de Bigorre, a pleasant
watering-place, is too much like Bagneres de Luchon, in
most that is characteristic, to need a very particular descrip
tion. Like that place, it lies high, in a cool atmosphere.
At the foot of a long hill break out, I think, nearly a dozen
warm springs, of different temperatures and different degrees
of mineral impregnation, each of which has its building fitted
up with baths, and each of which asserts its specific merits
in healing certain ailments, so that whatever be your
malady, it will go hard but you will find some practitioner
of medicine to recommend one or the other. Broad paths,
embowered with trees, some of them planted long ago, lead
from one spring to the other, along rivulet or hill side.
Here you meet the visitors to the place, whether they come
for the waters or the air, idly sauntering ; here you meet
with patients carried in sedan chairs, or resting . on the

42 HORACE VERNET'S ELIJAH.
benches. Sometimes it is a well-dressed lady from Paris, or
one of the provincial towns of France, in a bonnet of the
newest pattern, and sometimes a bourgeoise, equally well
dressed, with no bonnet at all. Sometimes it is a man in
the garb of the laboring class, beside whom sits or walks his
plain wife, employed on her knitting ; sometimes it is a
woman with her distaff, industriously twirling the spindle as
she threads the long alleys. Bigorre is a town of lodging
houses, and affords ample accommodations for all these
classes. The peasants go out to shoot game for them among
the mountains ; the fruits of the south of France are brought
to them from the plain of Tarbes, and peasant girls gather
strawberries for them all summer long, going higher and
higher up the Pyrenees, from July to October. For their
spiritual wants large provision is made ; the Catholics have
here several churches, among the finest of which is that of
the Carmelites, newly built, and close to their new convent,
a good sample of the Romanesque style. I cannot think it
improved by the fresco behind the altar, just finished from
a design by Horace Vernet, representing Elijah taken up
into heaven. Elijah is an Arab, with a peaked beard, and
the Bedouin head-dress bound on his forehead by a cord of
camel's hair. Elisha is a stout friar in a brown gown
catching at the mantle which falls from his master, and an
angel in a blue robe and white wings, hovering above the
chariot of fire, holds the reins and guides the horses. The
whole conception strikes me as poor and commonplace. The
Protestants have also their temple, where a French clergy-

pau. 43
man, who preaches with great simplicity and earnestness,
conducts the worship, with a considerable congregation,
mostly of the laboring class.
At Pau, where we were delayed a few days by the indis
position of one of our party, we found only silence and slum
ber. Of the English who throng it in winter, on account of
the,, softness of its climate at that season, those alone re
mained who were lying in its cemetery. Those who, about
this time, are on their way home from St. Sauveur, or Luz,
or Cauterets, or some other of their famous watering-places
in the Pyrenees, stop now and then just to look at the castle
of Henry the Fourth and the park, and then go on. I saw
a " list of visitors " advertised on an English sign, and ap
plied to see it. " No," I was told, " we do not make it out
till winter." I was looking for a pair of cork soles for one
of our party. " They are not arrived yet," was the answer ;
" it is too early in the season." In short, Pau was in its
summer sleep ; and though it was past the middle of Sep
tember, the sun blazed with a heat like that of August, and
the trees in the handsome Park, which overlooks the brawl
ing current of the Gave, yielding to a few months' drought,
were fast dropping their yellow leaves. At length the long-
wished-for showers fell, and we set out, one fine bright morn
ing, for Bayonne — the whole country steeped and fresh with
rain. Our carriage bowled over one of those broad, smooth,
well-kept macadamized roads of France, with massive stone
bridges, and parapets wherever the ground descends on
either side of the way, which impress one strongly with

44 BAYONNE.
an idea of energy and precision in the workings of the
power of government. The rain soon returned — we trav
elled on in a deluge— and it has been raining ever since.
After passing through a fertile country, bordering the Gave
of Pau, we climbed into a barren region, which the prickly
gorse and the rigid heath made gay with their unprofitable
flowers, and then entered among pine forests, scarred with
long yellow wounds to make the trees yield them turpentine.
These gave place at length to gardens and country seats,
and almost before we were aware, our carriage rolled through
the gates of a fortified city, and we were in Bayonne.
I was surprised at the green and fresh appearance of the
fields around Bayonne, after so long a drought. The neigh
borhood of the mountains on the one side, and of the sea on
the other, perhaps so temper the air as to give the country
this verdurous aspect, while so much of the south of France
at this season is of the color of ashes. Bayonne is a half
Spanish town ; the guests in its hotels are in a considerable
proportion Spanish ; it maintains an active regular trade
with Spain, to say nothing of what is done by the smugglers,
who in the passes of the Pyrenees set the agents of the gov
ernment at defiance ; its shops have, many of them, Spanish
signs, and it is the point from which diligences set out to all
parts of Spain. Bayonne lies on two rivers which here meet
on their journey to the ocean, a league from their mouth,
and far enough inland to deprive the sea winds of their
bleakness in winter. Beyond its walls a public promenade
shaded with noble trees surrounds nearly the whole city.

A SIGHT OF THE ATLANTIC. 45
We found quarters at the Hotel du Commerce, where we
went up to our rooms by dirty staircases, and where half a
dozen serving maids, all rather tall, very thin, very sharp-
featured, and most of them talkative, attended to the wants
of the guests. What with talking and waiting on the
guests, the poor creatures, although they applied themselves
to both duties with all their might, seemed to have more
work on their hands than they were able to perform, and the
comfort and convenience of the guests suffered no little in
consequence. I had occasion to observe, in passing through
the streets, that the women were rather taller, besides being
considerably thinner, and sharper featured than those I had
seen in the more eastern departments.
We took places the other morning in the diligence that
travels between Bayonne and San Sebastian, and passing
a long alley of trees, and leaving behind the belt of
handsome country seats by which Bayonne is environed, we
ascended a height from which we saw the Atlantic ocean
spread before us. In green and purple it lay, its distant
verge blended and lost in the mists of the horizon. I can
not describe the feeling awakened within me as I gazed on
that great waste of waters which in one of its inlets steeped
the walls of my own garden, and to the murmur of which on
a distant shore, those I loved were doubtless at that moment
slumbering. From time to time, as we went on, we de
scended out of sight of the sea, and rose again to see it
flinging its white breakers against the land. The peaks of
the Pyrenees were all the while in full view, and we were

46

THE BASQUE RACE.

approaching the region where their western buttresses pre
sent an eternal barrier . against the assaults* of the ocean,
which to the north of them have hollowed out the Gulf of
Gascony. The scenery to the south of Bayonne presented the same
fresh and verdant appearance as that in its immediate neigh
borhood to the east, but the houses had a Swiss look, with
their overhanging eaves, supported by the projecting rafters,
and here and there a balcony on the gable ends, which were
striped with upright wooden posts, imbedded in the stucco,
and painted red. The rest of the exterior was neatly white
washed, and the windows were hung with shutters, painted
red or green. This is the fashion of Basque architecture, for
we were now among the Basque race, though yet several
miles from the Spanish frontier. The road was full of peas
ant men and women, coming and going; the men in flat
blue caps, short jackets, and wooden shoes, many of the
younger wearing scarlet sashes ; and the women for the most
part barefoot, their heads bound with gay. cotton kerchiefs,
and their petticoats tucked up for the convenience of walk
ing in the wet roads. Of both sexes a large proportion had
the look of premature old age ; yet among the older men I
saw many of a rather striking appearance, with their high
Roman noses, and gray hair flowing down upon their shoul
ders. It was the women who had the prerogative of carry
ing all the burdens, some of them bearing large jars, and the
others enormous broad baskets poised on their heads.
Through village after village we went, till we came to

ENTRANCE INTO SPAIN. IRUN. 47
where the little river-Bidassoa, flowing through a green val-
ley, parts the Sovereignties of France and Spain. At Beho-
bie, the frontier village of the empire, a French official in
red mustaches., looked at our passports and allowed us to go
upon the bridge ; atithe other end of the bridge, a Spanish
official, with dense coal-black eyebrows, looked at them also,
and signified to us that we were at liberty to set foot upon
the soil beyond. We were now in Spain ; yet the aspect of
the dwellings was exactly the same as in the region we had
just left, and the costume of the peasantry unaltered, except
that the scarlet sash was more frequently seen, the wooden
shoes were exchanged for hempen slippers or sandals, and
the women wore their thick, long hair gathered into a single
braid, which sometimes descended nearly to their feet.
A short drive brought us to the main street of Iran, the
first Spanish town — a steep, well-paved street, between tall
houses — tall for so small a place — with balcony above bal
cony, from which women were looking down upon us and
the crowd about us. The clean street and the well-built
houses gave us a favorable idea of the country on which we
had entered. We stopped at Irun to pay a tax of two pese
tas on each foreign passport, and to open our trunks for the
inspection of the custom-house officers, who seemed disposed
to give us as little trouble as they could. Before we reached
the frontier, our conductor had made his preparations for
passing free of duty a few goods which he had brought with
him. He first stuffed his garments, under his blouse, with a
variety of merchandise, among which was a pair of patent

48 THE PEOPLE.
leather half-boots with elastic ancles. " Here," said he to
the postilion, handing him a heavy piece of worsted goods,
" button this under your waistcoat." The man complied
without a word, and seemed only a very little the more cor
pulent for this addition to his bulk. "Madam," said the
conductor again, addressing himself to a female passenger,
and taking a new lady's cloak from a pasteboard box, " will
you do me the favor to let this hang on your arm for the rest
of the journey ? " The lady consented ; the custom-house
officers found nothing chargeable with duty, and our trunks
being replaced on the diligence, away we rolled towards San
Sebastian. While waiting at Iran, I had time to look at the people
about me, for it was a holiday, and the peasantry from the
neighboring country were in the streets, mingled with the in
habitants of the town. They had a hardy look ; we should
call them in America rather short ; but their frames were
well knit, with broad shoulders, a healthy complexion, and a
not unpleasing physiognomy ; the women seemed of scarcely
less vigorous make than the men. This was the pure Basque
race, the posterity of the ancient Cantabrians, who had kept
the mountain region to themselves from the earliest period
known to history, preserving their old impracticable lan
guage, and many of their primitive customs. I could not
help looking for something striking, characteristic, and pecu
liar in a branch of the human family which had so long kept
itself distinct from the others, but I did not see it; they
seemed cast in the common mould of our species. But as

PASSAGES. 49
we went on, I saw other indications that we had passed out
of one country into another — narrower roads, unprotected by
parapets where they led along a hill-side ; hedges un-
trimmed, lands less sedulously cultivated ; fields lying waste
and red with withered fern, and fruit-trees less carefully
tended. On the French side of the Bidassoa the apple or
chards looked fresh and flourishing ; here they were shaggy
with moss and nearly bare of leaves, bearing instead, heavy
bunches of misletoe, which had fastened on the branches and
were now in bloom. A considerable part of the tilth was
Indian corn, but neither here nor in any part of the south of
France were the harvests of this grain such as an American
farmer would be proud of. The stalks were small, and each
of them produced but a single short and light ear.
Between Irun and San Sebastian we found ourselves on
the verge of what seemed a lake among the mountains.
" The port of Passages ! " said a fellow-traveller, pointing to
wards it. I looked and saw where a chasm opened between
dark and jagged rocks to the Atlantic ocean — a breach in
the mountain wall of the Pyrenees, through which the tides
flow and sleep in this quiet basin. The passage through
which they enter is overlooked by castles which have nothing
to guard. Three vessels only were lying where a whole navy
might ride in safety from the storms ; they were moored be
side a poor-looking little town. " It is a noble port," said
my fellow-traveller, " but neglected, as every thing else is in
Spain." The river of Renteria runs into it and forms shal
lows with the deposites it brings down from the highlands.
3

50 A GASCON COACHMAN.
At Irun we had taken our fourth postilion after leaving
Bayonne, a meagre, crooked man, with sharp features, shriv
elled cheeks, a hooked nose, and a httle projecting knob of.
an under lip ; not to forget a hollow scar on the right tem
ple. He held voluble dialogues with the conductor, in which
I distinguished some words identical with the Spanish, but
of the rest I could make nothmg. " What are they talk
ing ? " I asked of my next neighbor. " It is the dialect of
Gascony," he answered ; " the postilion is from Bayonne."
But the postilion's eloquence was not confined to one lan
guage. He was somewhat of a wag, and gave us an imita
tion of the petulant tones of French declamation, and then,
changing to a grave and quiet manner, dealt out a few prov
erbs and pithy sayings in Castilian. He had, besides, a
joke in Basque for almost every young female we passed
with a basket on her head. As we were approaching,
through a narrow, fertile valley, the peninsula on which San
Sebastian is built, a troop of boys greeted us from a little
distance with shouts, and the smallest of them all, standing
in the middle of the road, and seemingly calculating the
course of our vehicle, placed a four-cornered stone exactly in
the path of our left wheels, and then leaped aside to see the
jolt it would give us. Our fluent Gascon instantly turned
his horses a little to the right, and discharged at the offender
a crack of his whip, which made him start, and a volley of
loud words, which, for aught I know, might have been the
purest and most classical Basque ever spoken.
Our vehicle crossed a bridge over a shallow arm of the

ARRIVAL AT SAN SEBASTIAN. 51
seaj and entering the peninsula, passed through an avenue
of poplars, part of the Alameda of San Sebastian, near which
stands a wooden amphitheatre erected not long since for bull
fights, and went slowly through the gates of the city, which
is surrounded on all sides by strong walls, except on the
west, where it stands against the steeps of Mount Orgullo, a
conical rock, rising four hundred feet from the sea at its
base, crowned with a castle, and bristling with other fortifi
cations. Our baggage had to undergo another inspection,
and then we were allowed to take it to the Hotel Lafitte, in
the street of San Geronimo, where we climed up a gloomy
staircase to dirty chambers. Our French host apologized for
the dirt, which was no fault of his, he said, for he had no
wife, and only Spanish domestics ; but he would endeavor to
make amends for the dirt by the excellence of the dinners ;
and in this, as his profession was that of cook, I must admit
that he kept his word.

52 SAN SEBASTIAN.

LETTER VI.

SAN SEBASTIAN.

San Sebastian, Spain, October 5, 1857.
It was a matter of course, that in lodgings so neglected
by the housekeeper as those I described in my last, we should
find the fleas uncomfortably numerous. The mosquitoes did
their part to keep us awake, but a walk the next day on the
rocky mount at the foot of which San Sebastian is built,
made amends for the annoyances of the night. The west wind
had been blowing with some strength for several days ; and
the agitated ocean was rolling its mighty breakers on one side
of us into the bay of Concha, and on the other up the river
Urumea, and in front of us dashing them against the base
of the rocks on which we stood. The two sublimest features
of nature are the sea and the mountains ; and it is not often
that in any part of the world you see them in their grandeur
side by side. Here, at San Sebastian, you have the Pyrenees
looking down upon the Atlantic. To the northwest of the
city, the sea flings its spray against the dark rocks of Mount
Ulia, to the southwest it beats against the steeps of Mount
Frio, crowned with lighthouses, and beyond, in the same di
rection, a lofty promontory stretches, like a sentinel of that

NOISES OF SAN SEBASTIAN. 53
mountain range, far into the great deep. As we looked in
land from the height we stood, we had before us an amphithe
atre of mountains, with peaked and wavy summits, embosom
ing the country about San Sebastian ; at our feet lay the
little city with its little artificial port, made by massive
seawalls, and containing its little commercial marine, and
beyond the port, where the billows rolled in upon the sands,
we saw a row of bathing tents, near which ladies were taking
their morning bath, and at some distance were men on horse
back, urging their animals into the surf.
From this place, resounding only with the roar of the
ocean, we returned to streets as noisy with the voices and
occupations of men. I think San Sebastian the noisiest
place I was ever in, and that with scarcely any help from
the rattling of carriages or the tramp of horses' feet. I seem
to be perpetually in the midst of a crowd of children, just
let loose from school. The streets resound from early morn
ing to eight o'clock at night with all manner of childish and
infantile cries ; they are calling to each other in their shrill
est accents; they are shouting, crying, singing, blowing
penny whistles, clattering castanets. Then you hear artisans
of almost every trade, engaged in their work — blacksmiths
striking their anvils, tinkers mending brass-kettles, cobblers
hammering their lasts ; you hear the screech of the file, the
grating of the saw, and the click of the stone-cutter's chis
el. Parrots are screaming to each other across the streets ;
and oxen are dragging loaded carts, running on plank wheels
without spokes, which creak lamentably as they go. Besides

54 COMPACTNESS OF THE TOWN.
all this, there is a most extraordinary yelping of dogs at San
Sebastian. Once in ten minutes a dog is flogged, or some
body treads on his tail or toes, and he makes the whole town
ring with his complaints.
"Let me show you San Sebastian," said our host, soon
after we had returned from our walk. He took us to a bal
cony, projecting from one of the windows. " There," said
he, " on one side, at three or four rods distance, you see the
city wall. In the opposite direction, the street extends a few
rods further, to that gate, through which you pass to the port.
That is the length of San Sebastian." Our host then con
ducted us to a balcony on the cross street. " Here," said he,
" a few doors to the right, the street ends at the rock upon
which the citadel is built ; look to the left, and you see where
the same street terminates at the city wall. That is the breadth
of San Sebastian. You have now seen the city ; it is but a
village, and would be nothing without its citadel." I was
obliged to agree with Monsieur Lafitte as to the extent of
the city ; which, however, within the narrow circuit of its walls,
is compactly built, and can be made no larger ; yet in this
space are crowded ten thousand persons. The streets are
straight, crossing each other at right angles, and rather nar
row ; the buildings are four stories in height, including the
ground floor ; and each story, even in the case of the wealth
ier class, is occupied by a separate family ; and as the win
dows are open all day, scarcely a baby cries in San Sebastian
without being heard all over the city.
In one place I found silence ; it was Sunday ; and I en-

CHURCH OF SANTA MARIA. 55
tered the church of Santa Maria, erected in the beginning of
the last century. Without, the church has a festive aspect,
like that of a theatre, the front being carved into scrolls and
escutcheons, flourishes and garlands, and heads of cherubs
projecting from among foliage. Within, the massive pillars,
faced on each of their four sides with Corinthian pilasters,
spread from the richly ornamented capitals into richly orna
mented cornices, and from these sprout into ribbed arches of
a broad span ; the whole in what would be called a corrupt
style of architecture, but which has a certain imposing and
magnificent effect, and that is perhaps the best test of archi
tectural merit. The church was crowded with worshippers,
of whom four-fifths were women, and of these a considerable
proportion were of the more opulent class. All were in black
veils, the national costume ; not a bonnet was to be seen ;
all were on their knees, with their faces turned towards the
altar. I observed among them many fine countenances, and
was struck with the appearance they showed of being pro
foundly absorbed in the offices of devotion. All were mo
tionless, save the priest at the richly ornamented altar, with
his bows and genuflections ; all was silence, save the prayer
he murmured, and the tinkling of the little bell, which an
nounced some peculiar part of the ceremonies. The thick
walls of the building excluded all sounds from the streets,
and on the platform before it all games are rigorously for
bidden. I came out of the church, and entering the street which
led to my hotel, found myself, at once, in a perfect hubbub of

56 SUNDAY GAYETIES.
noises. Pianos were jangling in the houses ; servant girls
were screaming to each other in Basque, and uttering shouts
of laughter ; the chorus of childish voices was shriller than
ever ; the very parrots seemed to utter their cries with more
energy, as if in honor of the holiday ; it appeared to me
that of all the inhabitants of the city not one was silent.
Close to our hotel, and within sight of its windows, lies the
great Plaza of the town, and this was full of people, notwith
standing an occasional thin shower of drizzling rain. Here
children of different ages were playing their noisy games ;
some were skipping their ropes, some dancing in a ring and
singing, some dancing by themselves and snapping their cas
tanets. Apart from these, some young people were dancing
the fandango the young men in flat scarlet caps, scarlet sashes,
and hempen sandals tied with scarlet galoon. The tumult
of merriment grew more riotous about twilight. A flute was
played at one of the corners of the streets, and a band of
young girls capered up and down to the music, with shouts
of laughter. About nine o'clock all was comparatively quiet,
and soon after that hour the watchman of the city began to
utter his cries ; for it would be inconsistent with the genius
of the place to leave the night to its natural silence. At
every stroke of the hour and of each intermediate half hour,
he proclaimed the time of night in a deep, melancholy tone,
as if lamenting its departure. "Las dos dadas ;" "las dos
y media dadas;" "las tres dadas," &c, &c, were repeated
again and again as he paced the street, in a voice which grew
less and less distinct, until it was lost in turning some dis-

THE ALAMEDA. 57
tant corner. This went on till daybreak, when other sounds
began to be heard, which gradually swelled into the usual
tumult of the day.
We have made some pleasant acquaintances here, the
wife and two daughters of a late professor in a literary insti
tution, whose kind and gracious manners make good the
claim of courtesy to strangers, which is one of the boasts of
the people of San Sebastian. The young ladies took us one
beautiful evening to walk on the Alameda, a public ground
beyond the city gates, planted with poplars, at the mouth of
the Urumea, where the waves of the sea rush, with a loud
roar, upon the sands. It was just about sunset, and the
green between the city walls and the Alameda was covered
with groups of nurses and little children, who had come out
both for the sake of the air and the music of a military
band, which played occasionally, while a small body of sol
diery were going through their exercises. I was struck with
the healthy look of these children. Some of the older ones, lit
tle bare-headed creatures, looked like dolls, with their abundant
jet black hair, white skins, and eyes like beads of black glass.
The troops, as twilight came on, took up their march for the
city, the band playing as they went, and the nurses placing
their young charges on their shoulders, hurried back with
them. We saw several ladies walking unattended in the Alameda.
" Is that the custom here 1 " inquired one of our party. " By
all means," was the answer. " Young ladies go out in
the evening, unaccompanied, without scruple. We are all

58 ABSENCE OF BEGGARS.
known here, and that protects us ; we are as safe as in our
parlors. Even if we were not known, we have confidence
in our people. The city gates are never shut even at night,
nor are our doors fastened during the day time, and it is not
for fear of theft that they are locked at night. Thefts here
are very rare, and nobody thinks it necessary to be on his
guard against them."
I was glad to hear so good an account of the morals of
the place in one very important respect, and it seemed to be
confirmed by what I saw at our hotel. The doors of our
rooms had no fastening, and seemed never to have had any.
On speaking of this to our host, he assured us that a lock was
quite unnecessary, as nothing was ever stolen. While I am
writing this letter, he has surprised me by assuring me that
he never even locks his outer door at night.
Of one nuisance, from which I had found no other part
of the continent wholly free, I had seen nothing here ; there
are no beggars. In France you will often see, at the en
trance of a village, a post, bearing a large wooden tablet,
with an inscription purporting that in those precincts beg
ging is strictly forbidden, and under it a fine, ragged fellow
will hold out his hand and whimper for charity. Here the
same prohibition exists and is respected. " What do you do
with your beggars 1 " I inquired. " Follow us," said our
young friends, "and we will show you." We crossed the
Urumea by the bridge of Santa Catalina, and passing
through another alley of poplars, entered a large building,
erected in 1840, on the site of a former Franciscan convent.

THE HOUSE OF MERCY. 59
" We put our beggars here," said one of our companions ;
" this is the House of Mercy for the district of San Sebastian."
We entered a large court in the centre of the building, with
trees and a fountain in the midst, and many of the inmates
of the place sitting or moving about — the tasks of the day
being finished. At the entrance was a chapel, dimly light
ed, from which issued strains uttered by the children of the
place, chanting a part of their evening worship. All weaned
children abandoned by their parents, and all orphans, are re
ceived into this institution ; all persons in the district found
begging are brought hither, stripped of their rags, scoured,
put into clean clothing and set to work.
As we returned, we could not help speaking of the soft
ness of the evening. The young ladies with us, and those
who were walking in the Alameda, had on only light summer
dresses, with nothing on their heads save the thinnest of
black veils, fastened to the hair behind, and falling down on
the shoulders. " We have no extremes of heat and cold,"
they said ; " the heat of the summer is not intense, the
autumn and spring are delightful, and the winter rather
rainy than frosty."
At this season we find the weather remarkably agree
able ; the heats of noon are temperate, and the evenings are
like the blandest summer evenings in our own climate.
During the week which we have passed at San Sebastian, we
have not felt the slightest autumnal harshness in the air,
even at night. The leaves are falling from the trees, not
because the frost has nipped them, but because they are old.

60 THE CLIMATE OF SAN SEBASTIAN.
" You are going to Vitoria and Burgos," said my banker, the
other day. " You are going to a country where the weather
is very different from what it is here, where it frequently
changes from warm to cold, and where the winters are ex
tremely severe, as they are with you in New York" The
people of San Sebastian claim that their city is exempt from
epidemic or local fevers, from intermittent and from fevers, both
of the bilious and typhus type. In summer the people of Mad-
ridresort to it, for the refreshment of its air and for sea-bathing ;
and the Plaza is a gay scene with these visitors promenading
at nightfall, and afterwards. At present you see bare-head
ed seiioras walking in the Plaza till near ten o'clock, or sit
ting under the arches which surround it, but they are the
ladies of the city.
I went again the next morning, with one of our party, to
the House of Mercy, and was shown over it by one of the
Sisters of Charity of the order of San Vincente de Pablo,
who have the care of it, and who are fifteen in number. She
was a plump, healthy-looking person, with an agreeable
smile, a full, black eye, in which lurked an arch expression,
and thick lips shaded with jetty down. She carried a bunch
of keys, and opened one room after another for our inspec
tion. "Here," said she, "is one of the sleeping-rooms of
the women." It was a long apartment, on the second floor,
with thirty beds ranged in rows on each side ; a bed for each
person ; clean beds, with coarse linen sheets, woollen mat
tresses and pillows, resting on enormous straw beds under
neath ; the room was clean and amply ventilated. She

OCCUPATIONS OF THE PAUPERS. 61
showed us in succession the other sleeping-rooms of the fe
males, those of the men, and those of the children, all of
them equally clean and comfortable, and in airy rooms. We
descended to the ground floor. " Here," said she, " is the
workshop of the men." A dozen looms were clashing in the
room she showed us, and at each a man was driving the
shuttle. In one corner several men were employed in mend
ing clothes ; in another sat men mending shoes ; before the
door a man was winding linen thread upon a reel. In other
parts of the building women were employed in spinning,
after the manner of this country, twirling the spindle in the
fingers ; others were knitting, others sewing, others by the
side of a huge laver, were washing ; others in a kitchen as
clean as a Dutch kitchen, were busy over huge caldrons, in
which soup was preparing for the inmates. All were em
ployed, but all seemed inclined to make their labor as
easy as possible. There was none of that alacrity shown in
their exertions which we saw in the pauper colonies of
Holland, where a system of proportional compensations is
adopted. We were taken to the school, where the children of the
institution are taught. The system of instruction does not
go very far, but they are taught to read, write, and com
pute ; and we saw some respectable specimens of penman
ship in the square Spanish style. In the school several
young girls were employed in embroidering, and some neat
samples of their skill in this art were shown us. The medi
cine room contained, in glass jars and gallipots, neatly la-

62 SUFFERINGS FROM THIRST.
belled and arranged, drugs enough to kill twice the number of
the inmates of the House of Mercy ; but we were gratified to
learn that not much use was made of them. One department
of the institution is a Hospital, with ample wards and a large
number of beds, most of which, I perceived, were unoccupied.
Here the same scrupulous neatness seemed to prevail as in
the other rooms, and the same careful attention to ventila
tion. The Hospital is divided into two departments, the
medical and surgical ; in the surgical department for males
there was no patient — beggars do not often break their
bones — in that of the women there were but two or three.
In passing through the various compartments of the in
stitution, we were taken into the bread-room, where one of
the Sisters of Charity was occupied in dividing the loaves
into rations. There was a finer and more delicate kind of
bread for the patients in the Hospital, and a coarser kind,
yet light and sweet, for the healthy inmates. "You do not
let your people suffer from hunger," said I, to the sister who
had charge of this room. " No," she replied, " of hunger
they never complain ; their great suffering is from thirst ;
they get enough to eat, they acknowledge, but they do not
get enough to drink." The history of the Almshouse of
San Sebastian is, in this respect, I suppose, like that of other
almshouses, and people qualify themselves for admission to
it by the same practices.
As we took leave of our smiling and cheerful conduct
ress, a venerable lady presented herself, who held the place
of Lady Superior among these Sisters of Charity, and who

THE VALLEY OF LOYOLA. 63
was on a visit to the institution. She inquired from what
part of the world we came, and being told from North
America, began to speak of her acquaintances in Mexico.
It was not easy to make her comprehend the distance of
New York from Mexico, so we did not insist much on that
point. As we had seen the House of Mercy in San Sebas
tian, she told us we must see that of Tolosa, which was, if
any thing, still more admirably managed ; and if we were
going to Madrid, we must see the one at Madrid. Finally,
she went and brought another distinguished sister, whom
she introduced to F., and after a short colloquy, in which
the recommendation to visit the House of Mercy at Tolosa,
and the one at Madrid, was repeated, they both embraced
and kissed my companion, and took their leave.
For myself, I wished to see a little of the environs of the
city, in the way in which they could be seen to most advan
tage, and I strayed off on a pedestrian exercise to the valley
of Loyola, a pretty spot on the river Urumea. An excellent
road led me to about two miles from the city, along which
Basque women with huge baskets on their heads were pass
ing ; the younger of them having for the most part fine fig
ures, and some of them pleasing faces. These kept up a live
ly dialogue with each other as they went, and made the val
ley ring with their laughter. To my greeting of buenos dias,
they replied with the still more idiomatic greeting of agur.
The road on which I was passing at length degenerated into
a bridle road, over which, however, I could see that the rude
carts of the country had stumbled, but it still led by coun-

64 VINEYARDS ABANDONED.
try houses, and fields of Indian com and apple orchards.
Here vineyards once flourished, from the fruit of which a
poor wine called chacoli was made, and none of any other
kind was allowed to be brought into San Sebastian till the
chacoli was drunk out. The repeal of this prohibition, I
suppose, led to the abandonment of the grape culture, and
now there are no vineyards ; yet the vine has taken posses
sion of the soil, and, on each side of the way, twines its un
fruitful shoots with the blackberry bushes and hazels, and a
sort of green briar, almost as prickly as that of our own
country.

THE HALL OF MATEENITY. 65

LETTER VII.
A JOURNEY FROM SAN SEBASTIAN TO VITORIA.
Vitoria, Province of Alava, Spain, i
October 8th, 1857. )
It was an oversight not to mention in my last that the
House of Mercy at San Sebastian owed its flourishing con
dition to private beneficence. Many persons have given it
large sums ; among others, Don Antonio de Zavaleta, a
native of the city, who, having emigrated to Havana and
become rich, bequeathed to it in 1837 one hundred and
twenty thousand dollars. I asked the Sister of Mercy in the
thin white hood and blue petticoat, who conducted us over
the place, what was the number of its inmates. " We have
in the whole," she replied, "about four hundred persons.
In the almshouse there are a hundred and four men,
about ninety women, mostly old, and ninety boys or more.
The girls, who are not so many as the boys, and the patients
in the hospitals, make up the number." There is a depart
ment of the hospital of which she said nothing, and which,
of course, was not shown us, the Sola de Maternidad, or Hall
of Maternity, a sort of Lying-in Hospital, a refuge, as it is
called in a Spanish pamphlet lying before me, for mujeres

66 GRAVES OF BRITISH OFFICERS.
ernbarazadas, in which the strictest secrecy is observed as to
the name of the person admitted, and the place whence
she comes, these being known only to the chaplain. Her
only designation is a certain number ; so that the news of
the morning in this department of the Hospital is that the
doctor has been called to Number Three, and that Number
Seven is as well as could be expected.
Do not suppose, however, that this is the extent of what
the good people of San Sebastian do for the poor. They
have their charitable associations here, as well as with us ;
and sixteen ladies are the agents by whom the contributions
thus gathered are distributed among those who, in their
opinion, need and deserve relief.
All the English who come to San Sebastian, visit, of
course, the graves of the British officers who fell in the siege
of the place, in 1813, and in the bloody civil war twenty-
three years later, in which England took part. They lie
almost in the shadow of the citadel, on a part of Mount
Orgollo, which looks across the sea towards England, among
enormous blocks of stone scattered about, as if a sudden
convulsion of the earth had broken them from the mother
rock. I cannot imagine a grander place of sepulture than
these craggy steeps, beside the ever-murmuring ocean. We
went up to the top of the citadel, which, by command of the
government, is now open to citizens and strangers without
distinction, and looked out upon a magnificent panorama of
sea and mountain, of which the central part, to the landward,
was the valley of Loyola, where it is said the founder of the

HATS OF THE PRIESTS. 67
Society of Jesuits was born, and through which the Urumea
flows, fringed with tamarisks.
The time had arrived for us to leave San Sebastian,
and on the 5th of October we took leave of our most oblig
ing host, the only fault of whose hotel was the want of a
hostess, and set out for Vitoria in a carriage hired for the
purpose. It was a wet morning, but of this we had warning
the evening before ; for a strong wind was bringing up black
clouds from the west, and driving the billows of the Canta-
brian ocean into the bay of Concha, with such fury that, but
for the sea wall which protects the narrow isthmus leading
from the city, it seemed as if they would force their way
across it and make the place an island. I had been to the
Alameda as the sun was about to set, and returned on ac
count of the wind ; but I met a throng of persons going out,
among whom were bare-headed ladies, with their veils
of black tulle fastened, on the back of the head, to their
abundant tresses, and falling down on the shoulders ;
but the figure which most drew my attention was a priest,
holding his hat before him on his breast. The hats of the
priests in the south of France are of liberal dimensions ; but
here, in the genial atmosphere of Spain, their brims expand
to a magnificent size. As the least breath of wind would
otherwise blow them off, the wearers roll up the brim on each
side, over the crown, as we roll up a map, or as the Span
iards roll up a bit of paper to make a cigar. In this way
the reverend clergy of these parts contrive to carry on their
heads a cylinder of felt and fur, nearly a yard long. The

68 CAUTION TO TRAVELLERS.
priest whom I met had found it impossible to keep his head
covered in the fury of the wind, but, unwilling to lose his
walk on the Alameda, was carrying it before him with an
air of meek resolution, quite diverting. Two hours later,
a thunder shower broke over the city; and as a thunder
shower here does not clear the air, as with us, but is the
beginning of rainy weather, the next morning dawned in
rain. I must say to those who travel in Spain, that if they
wish to avail themselves of the accommodation of the dili
gences, in their journey to Madrid from the towns in the
north of the kingdom, they should endeavor to do it before
the first of October. Until that time there are local dili
gences — that is to say, there are public coaches passing be
tween San Sebastian and Vitoria, Vitoria and Burgos, and
so on, in which you can always secure seats beforehand, and
set out at a convenient hour. After the first of October
these are generally withdrawn, and you must either hire a
private carriage, or take your chance for a passage in the
diligence from Bayonne, which may arrive crowded with
travellers, and perhaps in the night. We lingered at San
Sebastian late enough to miss the local diligence, and were
obliged to hire a vehicle at an exorbitant price.
Our course was up a narrow, winding valley, watered by
the Oria, at that time swollen and turbid with rain, pouring
down a torrent almost as yellow as gamboge. On each side
were fields of maize ready for gathering, among which were
a few green turnip patches, and here and there a fresh

TREATMENT OF TREES. 69
grassy meadow, while higher up on the hill-sides was a
rougher and less verdant pasturage, among gorse and heath
and withered ferns. Scattered over these wastes were chest
nut trees loaded with fruit, and short, stumpy oaks, the
boughs of which had been cut away for fagots, and now
sprouted with a multitude of twigs. The Spaniards do not
seem to care for trees, except when planted in a public walk
near a town. I have scarcely seen one allowed to shoot up
ward, and extend its boughs laterally, as nature would have
it ; wherever a tree grows in the country, it is made to yield
fuel ; they poll the oak and reduce it to an ugly bush ; they
strip the branches from the sides of the elm, and make it
look almost like a Lombardy poplar. In this state trees
rather deform than embellish a landscape.
About two miles from San Sebastian, a man belonging
to the laboring class, who was walking towards Tolosa under
a blue cotton umbrella, asked permission to stand on the
hinder step of our carriage, which was granted. He was a
good specimen of the Basque race ; of middle stature, but
vigorous make, and a healthy color in his cheeks. Over a
white cotton shirt he wore a knit blue one of woollen, neatly
tied with tasseled cords ; on his left shoulder he carried the
brown round jacket of the country, which clings to the
shoulder of the Basque peasant like his cap to his head,
whether he be sitting or standing, riding or walking, or even
gesticulating. The man spoke but little Castilian, but was
very much disposed to be communicative. He gave us the
names of the places through which we passed, and was quite

70 A SHOWY COUNTRY HOUSE.
inclined to talk of the abundant crops of the season. " We
have plenty of maize this year," he said, " and a large crop
of beans. The apples have failed, and we shall make
scarcely any cider, but then there are so many chestnuts ! "
On this subject he was almost enthusiastic, and seemed to
imagine that nearly every question we put to him had some
relation to the chestnut crop. We looked about us, and
saw that he had reason to be as eloquent on this head as his
scanty vocabulary would allow, for the chestnut groves on
all the hills were heavy with fruit, which, whiter than the
leaves, spotted and bowed the branches. Millions of bushels
will be gathered from these groves ; a considerable part will
form the food of the peasantry, and the rest will be sold in
the towns, or carried abroad.
The Oria is one of the most considerable manufacturing
streams of Spain. We passed several large buildings, which
our Basque friend informed us were woollen mills ; others
we perceived to be forges, in which the abundant ores of
these mountains are smelted and wrought into bars. There
is also a cotton mill here, owned by the brothers Brunet, of
San Sebastian. A little beyond the village of Lasarte we
passed a handsome building of this kind ; and very near it
stood the most showy country house I had seen in Spain.
In this region scarce any thing is done in the way of laying
out or embellishing grounds ; the art of landscape gardening
is almost unknown ; but here was an example of it which
fairly dazzled our eyes. The walls of the house were of
brilliant white ; the windows were surrounded with a bright

A MANUFACTURING VILLAGE. 71
blue border, edged with a line of crimson ; and it stood
amidst grounds washed by, the river, elaborately laid out,
and carefully tended, traversed by gravel walks, winding
among fresh grass-plots, and by plantations of choice shrubs,
and through orchards of fruit trees. These grounds were
enclosed with hedges, as neatly trimmed as any you see in
England. This was doubtless the dwelling of the proprie
tor. I looked on the other side of the way, and there, close
to the road, was a long, shabby building, two stories in
height, with many doors, at one of the upper windows of
which I saw a thin, brown woman, in a dress of the color
of her skin, combing her hair. Behind the building were
no gardens, but, instead, the space was occupied by heaps of
prickly gorse, which had been cut for the fuel of the kitchens.
These were, probably, the habitations of the people who
wrought in the mill.
We could not see much of Tolosa, which we reached
after a journey of about four hours, on account of the rain,
and we had been told at San Sebastian that there was noth
ing in it worth seeing ; but there is an ill-natured rivalry
between the two cities. We were set down at the parador
of Don Antonio Manuel de Sistiaga, a very clean inn, where
a chatty young woman waited upon us, and gave us, among
other dishes, trout fried in oil, which our party found quite
palatable, and a plentiful dessert of peaches, pears, and
grapes. Happening to mention the mosquitoes at San Se
bastian, I was assured that there were none at Tolosa, nor
fleas either, except in houses occupied by careless people.

72 NIGHT TRAVELLING.
From Tolosa, in the afternoon, we followed the same pic
turesque, green valley, passing by iron mills, the machinery
of which was moved by the current of the Oria, until we
reached the little village of Bensain, where a yoke of oxen
was fastened before our three mules, and we were dragged
up into a wild region, among mountain summits and wastes
overgrown with prickly shrubs. Here, after we had dis
missed our oxen, we entered Villareal, a poor village lying
in a little hollow, where we met the first beggars we had
seen in Spain. An old woman rang a little bell at one of
our carriage windows, and a little boy whimpered a long
prayer for alms, in Basque. Not far from this place we took
on another yoke of oxen, and slowly climbed a lonely moun
tain road, full of short turns, while the darkness of the night
gathered round us, and drove the rain violently against
our carriage windows. Not long after we had reached the
summit a light appeared, and when we came opposite to it
our coachman stopped his mules, alighted, and went into a
little building, where we saw at the windows and the open
door several men in a military uniform. It was a station of
the Gvardia Civil, a body of armed men by whom the high
ways are watched ; presently our coachman reappeared with
a lighted segar in his mouth and a flaming military coat on
his back. He was followed by a man in the same uniform,
carrying a carbine, who took his station on the hinder step
of our carriage, kindled a match, took a good look at our
party by its flame, lighted his segar by it, and began smok
ing away quite at his ease. To our questions he returned

VERGARA. A CLEANLY INN. 73
civil and copious answers. It was his office, he said, some
times to accompany carriages on that road, but his presence
with us that night was altogether accidental, inasmuch as he
happened to be at the station, and wished to go to Vergara.
There had been, he added, no robberies thereabouts for some
time past — only one, in fact, within the year, and before
that none for a long time. I inferred, from the strain of his
talk, that he wished to magnify his office ; but the rest of
our party were confident that it was his regular duty to at
tend carriages, passing up and down the mountain in the
hours of darkness, and protect them from robbers, and that
he was with us for that special purpose.
We now rolled down the mountain, with our new guard
clinging faithfully to the back step, rattled through Anzuelo,
with its great houses and dark streets, and entering Ver
gara, stopped at the Parador de las Postas, as nice a place as
an English inn, where we found a good-looking landlady
and neat-handed domestics, and rooms as clean and bright
as a Dutch parlor, with excellent beds. " Do not look for
luxuries, or even for what you call comforts, in the inns on
your journey to Madrid," said one of our friends at San
Sebastian. "These you will not find, but you will find
great cleanliness." We have been thus far agreeably dis
appointed in seeing the promise of cleanliness so well ful
filled. When we left Vergara, the next morning, the fogs were
hanging about the grand rocks and mountains in which the
place is embosomed, and here and there touching with their
4

74 A PEASANT GIRL.
skirts the Deva, which brawled through it. We went up the
stream, through another green valley. At a little distance
from the town a healthy-looking young woman, in a white
knit basque and blue petticoat, with a gay kerchief tied
round her head, and another crossed over her bosom, three
strings of red beads round her neck, and a large flat basket
strapped over her shoulders, suddenly made her appearance,
standing on the step at the back of our carriage. We sup
posed she was there by some understanding with the coach
man ; and as she had a bright, cheerful face, we had no ob
jection, and immediately entered into a dialogue with her.
Her name, she said, was Eusebia ; she could read a little ;
she subsisted by sewing ; she had been on a visit to Verga
ra, and was now returning to Vitoria, where she had a
brother. As we proceeded, we frequently saw peasant boys
watching flocks of long-woolled white and black sheep on the
mountain sides ; and in one place a man and woman were
busy in pulling something from the ground. " They are
gathering fern," said Eusebia. The whole region, in fact,
at certain heights from the valley, was discolored with ferns,
which had turned of a dull red. The girl pointed to some
large stacks of the same color, standing by the houses of the
peasants. " They spread them," she said, " under the feet
of the cattle."
They have grand names in Spain for ugly villages—
Mendragon, Archivaleta, Escoriaza, Castanares — through all
which we passed, the good-natured Eusebia naming them
for us. At length our coachman, who had made himself

THE CANTABRIAN MOUNTAINS. 75
hoarse and tired the day before, with shouting at his mules
and flogging them, and was now beginning to urge them
forward by the same methods, perceived by the shadow of
the carriage on the road-side that he had a superfluous
passenger, and giving her a cruel cut or two with the
long lash of his whip, compelled her to get down. We
were sorry to lose her, since, though not very fluent
in Castilian, she told us many things which we wished to
know. As the fog cleared away, lofty peaks of bare rock, of a
whitish hue, were seen rising above the greener summits by
which we were surrounded. We took on a pair of oxen, and
climbed a ridge of the Cantabrian mountains. People were
gathering chestnuts along the way ; boys, mounted on the
trees, were striking off the fruit with poles, and women be
low were stripping them from their husks, and carrying
them away in bags poised on their heads. We passed an
old, walled town, Salinas, below which, in a deep ravine,
murmured the Deva ; and here salt springs break out of the
earth, the waters of which are intercepted on their way to
the river, and evaporated to salt, by artificial heat. We
saw the smoke rising from the salt-works, three or four hun
dred feet below us.
It cannot be said that every thing stands still in Spain ;
they are certainly improving their roads, and that is one
important mark of progress. We were travelling on an ex
cellent macadamized road ; but on the opposite side of the
deep glen of the Deva was another, leading around the

76 ROADS IN SPAIN.
curves of the mountain, with a gentler ascent. "That,"
said our coachman, "is the new road to Vitoria."
" Why do you not travel it ? " I asked.
" Because," he replied, " it is longer. It is not so steep,
nor so uneven ; but it is a league further to Vitoria by that
way." It is not easy to turn the Spanish people from the old
track. They like old customs, old prejudices, old roads.
Beyond Salinas we were accosted a second time by beg
gars. Several children trotted by the side of the carriage,
asking alms, and at the summit of the mountain sat a ragged
man, with a head of enormous size, attended by a boy, whom
he sent forth as his messenger to the passers-by. We were
now in a country of pastures — a cold, high region, from
which descending gradually, we emerged into fields of tilth,
and found ourselves on the plain of Vitoria. Here the Za-
dorra eats its way through the crumbling soil, till it issues
from the plain by a pass among the mountains to the west.
We drove through a dreary straight avenue of poplars, be
tween a vast extent of fields ploughed for the next harvest,
and passing by the steep streets of old Vitoria, seated on a
hill, entered the new town, between goodly rows of houses
built within the last five years.
At the Parador de las Postas, to which we had been re
commended, we could find no rooms; and at the Parador
Viejo only gloomy ones. We applied at the Parador Nuevo,
where a dame of stately person, with the air of one who un
willingly confers a favor, showed us more cheerful ones,

ARRIVAL AT VITOEIA. 77
which we took, notwithstanding the unprepossessing man
ners of the hostess. We have since found her ungracious
demeanor imitated by her handmaids.
I must postpone to another letter what I have to say of
Vitoria.

78 SPANISH COURTESY.

LETTER VIII.
VITORIA-A JOURNEY TO BURGOS.
Burgos, Old Castile, October 13, 1857.
On arriving at Vitoria, my first care was to deliver a
letter of introduction with which we had been furnished by
kind friends at San Sebastian. The gentleman to whom it
was addressed was not in, but the lady of the house received
me with great courtesy, and said : " This house is yours,
and we are entirely at your disposal. If any thing occurs to
you in which we can be of the least service, command us freely.
He," meaning her husband, " is just now walking out, but
we shall call to-morrow morning on you and your family."
To offer one's house is one of the indispensable forms of
Spanish politeness.
After this, we all went to see the public grounds, of
which Vitoria is so proud — the Florida and the Alameda.
The Florida is a flower-garden, bordering the new part of
the city, crowded with the most brilliant flowers, in bloom
— roses, dahlias, verbenas of numerous varieties, and plants
of still rarer kinds. A few persons were slowly pacing the
gravelled walks which led through this gay wilderness. We
followed them into a little park of old trees, among which

THE ALAMEDA. 79
stood, here and there, a colossal statue on its pedestal,
and from this a long avenue of trees conducted us to the Al
ameda. The Alameda of Vitoria is a park, I should think, of
some fifteen acres, irregularly planted with trees, and on ac
count of this very irregularity, prettier than most public
grounds of the kind in Spain. A few huge, tall old ashes,
scattered about, tower above the elms, poplars, and locust
trees by which they are surrounded. Priests with the enor
mous brims of their hats rolled up on each side ; students at
the University, preparing for the same vocation, in cocked
hats of a military form, and long black cloaks ; ladies, in
their black silk vests or more substantial mantillas ; stoop
ing, elderly gentlemen in the sleekest of beavers, and
younger men in soft hats, were walking with a leisurely
pace up and down among the trees. We were disagreeably
reminded that we were no longer in the soft climate of San
Sebastian, for a wild, chilly wind was blowing roughly from
the west. Notwithstanding this, we met, on our return
through the avenue, a considerable number of bareheaded
ladies walking out to the Alameda.
The gentleman to whom my letter was addressed called
the next morning — a most courteous person, who renewed
the offers of service made by his lady. He would hardly
allow us to praise Vitoria. " No sir — no," he replied, when
I spoke of its cheerful aspect. "Vitoria has nothing to
attract the attention of the stranger ; we have no beautiful
public buildings ; we have no museums ; we have no public

80 STREET SIGHTS.
amusements ; our only resource of this sort is a reading-room.
You have seen, you say, the Florida and the Alameda ; you
have then seen all that Vitoria has to show you. It is a poor
kind of place; the old part is badly built, with narrow
streets ; the new part is pretty enough, built after the style
of Madrid, but there is little of it yet." He admitted, how
ever, that the city was increasing in population and extent ;
and really it had a thriving air ; the houses were in good
repair, the streets were kept carefully clean, and where they
descended southward to the plain new buildings were going
up. Trains of loaded mules were constantly passing under
our windows, shaking their little bells ; donkeys with bur
dens bigger than themselves, were driven along by skinny
countrywomen, or black-eyed country maidens, and some
times the poor animal had to bear a stout peasant, sitting
sideways ; diligences of enormous size, crowded with passen
gers and heaped with baggage, jarred the pavement as they
thundered over it. At the hours when the streets were least
thronged, the street-cleaners made their appearance, in their
peculiar costume — a high, shaggy, black cap, and a sort of
dark brown tunic, reaching below the knees, and bound
round the waist with a leathern girdle.
"We can show you something beside the Florida and
Alameda," said another gentleman, to whose civilities we
had been recommended ; " we have at Vitoria a picture of
the Crucifixion, by a famous painter ; and I will take
you, if you please, to see it." Under his guidance we
climed the eminence on which Old Vitoria is built, passing

RIBERA'S DEAD CHRIST. 81
one or two rows of buildings recently erected, with arcades
over the sidewalks, and mounting, by occasional flights of
steps, till we reached the narrow, quiet streets among which
stands the cathedral. Several groups of sauntering ecclesiasti
cal students, though queerly attired themselves, seemed to find
something quite as strange in our appearance, for they
stared at us with great curiosity. The boys were not con
tent at staring, but shouted to each other to look at us.
The cathedral is an old Gothic building, with nothing
remarkable except a peculiarity which deforms its architect
ure — that is to say, a kind of bridge, thrown across the nave
from each column to its opposite neighbor, about half way
from the floor to the roof. A boy opened the shutters which
darkened the sacristy, and showed us the picture which we
had come to see — not a Crucifixion, but a Dead Christ, at
tributed to Ribera. The head and figure are too merely
handsome to suit our conceptions of the Saviour ; but they
are finely painted. At the feet of the body kneels Mary
Magdalen, her hands pressed together with a look of de
spair ; the sister of Lazarus stands by its side in a more
subdued sorrow, while Mary, the mother, who supports it,
raises her eyes in sadness, but with a look of trust, to heaven.
The effect of the picture is injured by the introduction of
several cherubs, hovering about, with their pretty baby faces
distorted by crying.
I went again to the Alameda the second day after our
arrival, a little before sunset. A violent wind was driving
over the clouds from the west, and the place was deserted.
4*

82 THE WINTER WALK AT VITOEIA.
Instead of the promenaders I had seen the day before, there was
a flock of long-woolled sheep, black and white, which were to
appear at the fair the next day. They were biting the short
grass, and little girls were sweeping together and putting
into baskets the leaves which the wind was tearing from the
trees. I continued my walk beyond the Alameda into the
open country ; it was a bare, bleak expanse of stubble-fields,
or grounds freshly ploughed, or those in which ploughmen
were guiding their oxen and scattering seed. There was not
a grove, not a thicket, not a belt of trees, to break the force
of the wind that swept over it. Only a few lines of meagre
poplars appeared, making three or four great roads, which
led across the plain to the city.
" Where do you walk when the weather is bad % " I ask
ed of one of my new acquaintances at Vitoria. " We take
to the arquillos," he replied ; "we walk in the arcades which
surround the Plaza, or in those under the new buildings
which you have seen on the hill. The arcades are a great
resource in winter, for we cannot do without our daily walk."
The winters at Vitoria I was told are often severe. The
climate is not warm enough for vineyards or the cultivation
of the olive. Sometimes the snow lies for a month on the
ground, yet the sleigh is unknown here ; the pools are often
sheeted with ice, yet nobody skates.
I had not yet exhausted all that Vitoria had to show me,
whatever my friends might say. The next morning, on
looking out at my window, I saw three women, each with a
long switch in her hand, and before them walked three long-

A FAIR. 83
legged, flat-sided pigs of the country, which by allowing
them to proceed very leisurely, and pick up what they could
find worth eating by the way, were driven with uncommon
success. This was the commencement of a fair which was to
be held that day in Vitoria. Soon, small flocks of sheep and
goats, oxen in pairs, pigs in companies of four or five, be
gan to come in from the country, and mules and donkeys
loaded with all manner of country products. Booths and
stalls were opened about the Plaza and the vacant spaces in
its neighborhood, and the buying and selling began. The
market-place was spread with fruits, the principal of which
were huge piles of tomatoes, and mountainous heaps of sweet
red pepper, the pods of which were often five or six inches
in diameter. I strayed among the stalls, and found the
countrywomen providing themselves with gay kerchiefs and
coarse prints, and the men buying caps, waistcoats and shoes.
They did not seem to me so good-looking as the country peo
ple about San Sebastian; they were a wind-dried race, as
adust as the fields they tilled ; skinny women and shrivelled
men. Among the flat Basque caps were many of the black
velvet ones of Castile, and instead of hearing only Basque
spoken, as at San Sebastian, I often listened to the clearer
and softer Castilian. Castilian is, in fact, the language of
the city, though in the country Basque is also spoken.
In one place I saw at least five hundred yoke of oxen,
for in this country of tilth the ox is the great helper of man.
Many of them were noble animals, with short heads, like
those on ancient medals and gems, massive necks and deep

84 THE PIGS.
ample chests ; and all were of a soft, light-brown hue. In
one corner, a group of donkeys stood, absolutely motionless ;
in another a flock of goats, white and black, some of them
with thin, flat, twisted horns, were restlessly moving about.
Here were gathered the long-woolled sheep, with their white
and glossy or jet black fleeces; there were the merinos,
which in this country are carefully guarded from extremes of
temperature, and which here, as with us, wear their fine
close fleeces plastered with dirt.
I must be forgiven if I took most interest in the pig mar
ket. The pigs, of which I think I never sawr the equals in
length of legs -and thinness of figure, and many of which had
bristles curling over their backs, like the hair of a spaniel,
had been well fed to keep them quiet, and as long as they
were allowed to lie together and sleep on the pavement,' they
made no disturbance. It was amusing to see the buyer and
seller standing over them, earnestly discussing their good and
bad points, like horse-dealers at a fair. But as soon as the
bargain was struck, the transfer was made, and the new pro
prietor attempted to drive off his pig, the swinish nature was
roused, and an open rebellion was the consequence. I heard
a frightful screeching in one part of the street, and looking.
that way, saw two men and one woman engaged in trying to
get one of these animals into the new home assigned to him.
The men had each hold of one ear, and the woman was pull
ing him vigorously by the tail, to induce him to go forward.
Towards the close of the day, as the peasants were returning
home from the fair, I saw several pigs conducted to their new

PUBLIC SCHOOLS. 85
abodes in this manner, and came to the conclusion that, with
a man or woman at each ear and another pulling him by the
tail, a pig can be driven with as much certainty as any other
animal. I asked one of my new acquaintances at Vitoria how
many of these people could read and write. " Too many of
them cannot," he answered, "but we have now a liberal
system of public education, and with the next generation
the case will be quite different. In all the country neighbor
hoods schools are established, and men of competent educa
tion sent out to teach in them. To these the poorest man
may send his children, and in these they are taught to read,
write and compute. In the considerable towns we have
schools of a higher class, in which the sciences are gratuitous
ly taught. I am told that there is a law, but I have not seen
it, obliging all parents to send their children to the elementa
ry or other schools."
I was interested to learn, what he afterwards told me, that
although in the rest of the kingdom of Spain the salaries of
the teachers were directly paid by the government, yet that
in the Basque provinces so much of the democratic element
was preserved that the separate communities provided for the
compensation of their own teachers.
The time at length arrived for us to leave Vitoria, and
we set out one rainy morning in a poor sort of carriage, hired
specially for the purpose, for there was no room in the dili
gences for our party. It was drawn by three strong mules,
driven by an intelligent-looking and obliging Castilian, who

86 A CASTILIAN COACHMAN.
had enough to do in urging them forward by shouting and
cracking his whip over their heads. Each of the animals
had its name ; the leader was Capitana ; the right hand-mule
next to the wheel was La Platera, and the left-hand one Ma
cho gallardo. Macho gallardo was a large, sleek creature of
his kind, who had to hear his name shouted and to feel his
back pommelled twice as often as either of his companions. I
have observed that in Spain the strongest and sleekest mules
get the greatest number of blows ; being of a robust consti
tution, they bear them better and mind them less. Our
coachman would shout Capitana ! Capitana ! laying a partic
ular stress on the last syllable — La Platera! La Platera!
and next Macho ! Macho ! and then, leaning forward, would
deal on the sleek, comfortable-looking Macho gallardo a storm
of hearty blows with the stock of his whip. Macho shook
his long ears and sometimes slightly mended his pace, and
sometimes crept on as before, just as the humor took him.
From the brown expanse of stubble and ploughed fields
around Vitoria, we rode into a region of sandy hillocks,
abandoned to pasturage and ragged with tufts of furze. De
scending from this and following out the Zadorra through a
pass among the hills, here and there made pleasant by a few
trees, we reached at length the plain watered by the Ebro,
an inconsiderable stream, a string of glassy pools connected
by slender brawling shallows, on the banks of which the
stubble-fields were interspersed with a few vineyards, heavy
with their black fruit. A little beyond, we entered a wretch
ed town called Miranda de Ebro. The moment our carriage

CASTILIAN BEGGARS. 87
stopped we were surrounded by a swarm of beggars, old and
young, male and female, wrapped in yellow-brown rags, and
with yellow-brown faces. I must do the Castilian beggar,
however, the justice to say that, generally speaking, he does
not whine like a French beggar. He first seeks to attract
your attention, and then prefers his petition. Here, at Mi
randa, I was accosted with the epithet Caballero ! Caballero !
and once or twice I was touched on the elbow, but, if I paid
no attention, they went no further ; the beggars of Miranda
are too proud to ask alms of one who will not look at
them. At Miranda de Ebro, all baggage of travellers coming
from the Basque provinces into Old Castile undergoes as
strict an examination as when they cross the Spanish fron
tier from France. Besides opening and rummaging our trunks
and travelling bags, a custom-house officer crawled into our
carriage, and almost turned it inside out, looking into the
boxes and pockets, peeping under the seats, and feeling all
over the lining. At Miranda, miserable as the place appears,
is a tolerable inn, where we got a good breakfast and some
excellent pears, and after an interval of two hours, set
out quite refreshed. At a little distance from our stopping
place we descended into a little valley, so finely varied with
gentle and graceful slopes, and overlooked by rocky mountain
summits, so jagged, and toothed, and blue, that we involun
tarily exclaimed : " How beautiful would all this be, if there
were but a little green turf and a few trees ! " Close by was
the village of Ameyugo, and a little stream with a pretty

88 A CASTILIAN TRAVELLER.
name, the Oroncillo, flowed through the valley, on the brink
of which grew several elms ; but the peasants had stripped
them of their side branches, and forced them to shoot up in
slender columns of small twigs, like cypresses.
We were entertained by the sight of a man, who follow
ed on horseback close to our carriage, as if to shelter himself
from the wind, that blew a drizzling rain into his face. He
wore the black velvet cap of the Castilian, with its two worst
ed tassels ; an ample cloak made of black sheep's wool, which,
having faded into a dull brown, had been refreshed by an
enormous patch of the original color ; knee breeches, and be
low them a pair of leathern gaiters, half open at the sides,
to show the stockings. His complexion was that of the faded
part of his cloak. His feet rested in a pair of heavy stirrups,
which were studded along the edge of the sole with brass nails.
Once or twice he leaned forward over the pommel of his sad
dle, and laid himself down on his horse's mane ; it was his
mode of taking his siesta ; in short he was asleep, as was evi
dent by the passive manner in which his body swayed from
side to side. At length, as we were entering a rocky pass
beyond Ameyugo, he sat upright, and entered into conversa
tion with us.
" A poor country," said he — " a poor country. They get
little wheat from these rocks ; but these are nothing to what
you will see a little further on." He was right. A little
further on we entered the pass of Pancorvo. I had not seen, in
the Alps or the Pyrenees, any passage between mountain walls
so wild and savage, and surrounded by rocks piled in such

THE PASS OF PANCOEVO. 89
strange and fantastic forms ; perpendicular precipices of im
mense height ; loose masses so poised that they seemed ready
to topple on our heads ; twisted ribs, beetling crags, and sharp
needles of rock. I thought of the lines in Shelley's transla
tion of Faust:. " The giant-snouted crags, ho, ho !
How they snort and how they blow — "
and almost expected these strange horned masses to move
with life, and utter voices as strange as their forms. In this
pass, the French boast that in the War of the Peninsula a
small body of their soldiers held Wellington at bay, and com
pelled him to turn aside from the great highway to Biscay.
There is nothing said of this in the English guide-books.
From the pass of Pancorvo our mules were flogged and
shouted through smooth, bare, wintry-looking valleys, along
which a railway route had been surveyed, as a channel of
communication between Bayonne and Madrid ; the signal
posts were still standing. We alighted at Briviesca, pleas
antly situated on the Oca, with a decent and spacious inn,
full of guests. Some of our party were a little concerned at
being told that there was neither milk, butter, nor cheese in
the place ; but we made a comfortable meal notwithstanding.
I had heard much of Castilian gravity, but there was none
of it in the inn at Briviesca ; it rang with laughter nearly
the whole night. I walked over part of Briviesca the next
morning, before setting out, and found it a dirty place, badly
paved and apparently in decay. I saw a good many brown

90 BRIVIESCA.
beggars, but half the rest of the population resembled them
in looks and attire. The next day we climbed a dreary
height, to what our coachman told us was the highest table
land in Spain : a cold, bleak, bare region of pasturage, rough
with pale, hoary furze and greener juniper bushes, and here and
there a stubble-field. Descending from this, we descried at
a distance the citadel of Burgos on a hill, and near it the
towers of the majestic cathedral. We entered the town and
obtained lodgings at the Fonda de las Postas, one of the
best hotels in Spain, with a civil hostess, clean rooms, and
most attentive handmaidens.

BURGOS. 91

LETTER IX.
THE CITY OF BURGOS  ITS CATHEDRAL  THE CONVENT OF LAS
HUELGAS. Borgos, October 14, 1857.
The first aspect of Burgos, the ancient city of the Cid
and the chief city of Old Castile, is imposing. As the trav
eller looks at the castle on its hill, with its surrounding for
tifications ; the massive remains of its ancient walls ; its vast
cathedral, worthy, by its magnificence, to have exhausted
the revenues of an empire ; its public pleasure-grounds,
stretching along the banks of its river, almost out of sight ;
the colossal effigies of its former kings, standing at the bend
of the stream called the Espolon ; and its stately gate of
Santa Maria, where the statues of the Cid and other men of
the heroic age of Spain, frown in their lofty niches, he natu
rally thinks of Burgos as the former seat of power and do
minion. Another look at the city, consisting of a few close
ly-built streets around its great cathedral, produces the effect
of disappointment. Yet the town is much more populous
than the guide-books represent it to be ; they put down its
population at twelve thousand, while the recent enumeration
makes it thirty-two thousand.

92 THE CATHEDRAL.
After we had dined and given a satisfactory answer to
our civil hostess, who inquired whether we had dined well, I
lost no time in delivering a letter of introduction, with which
I had been kindly furnished at Vitoria. I was received with
the usual forms of Spanish civility. Esta casa es suya, " this
house is yours," said my new acquaintance, Don Luis ; a
phrase which, I am told, must be addressed to you on such
occasions, or you cannot consider yourself as a welcome
visitor. We all went next to the Alameda ; but it was yet too
early for the company with which it is thronged in fine
weather. Straight rows of poplars, elms, and locust trees
extend northward along the banks of the Arlanza, for a great
distance, and between them are beds of flowers. In these
long avenues it is easy for one to walk himself tired, without
often passing over the same ground.
The next morning, Don Luis, the gentleman to whom 1
had an introduction, called with a friend of his, Don Pedro,
to take us to the cathedral. I shall not weary those who
may read this letter, with a formal description of the build
ing, of which there are so many accounts and so many en
gravings. No engraving, however, nor any drawing that I
have seen — and I have seen several by clever Enghsh artists
in water-colors — gives any idea of the magnificence and
grandeur of its interior. The immense round pillars that
support the dome in the centre of the building, rise to a
height that fatigues the eye. Your sight follows them up,
climbing from one noble statue to another, placed on pedes-

BEAUTY OF ITS ARCHITECTURE. 93
tals that sprout from their sides as if they were a natural
growth, until it reaches the broad vault where, amid crowds
of statues and the graceful tracery of the galleries, the light
of heaven streams in and floods the nave below. It is one of
the merits of the cathedral of Burgos, that numerous and
sumptuous as are the accessories, they detract nothing from
the effect of its grandeur, and that the most profuse richness
of detail harmonizes genially with the highest majesty of
plan. The sculptures in relief, with which the walls are in-
crusted ; the statues, the canopies, the tracery, even the
tombs, seem as necessary parts of the great whole, as forests
and precipices are of the mountains of Switzerland.
As I stood under the great dome and looked at its ma
jestic supports, I was strongly reminded of the mosques at
Constantinople, built in the time of the munificent Saracen
dynasties. It was impossible not to recognize a decided re
semblance between them and this building, so different from
the cathedrals of the North. The cathedral of Burgos was
evidently designed by a mind impregnated with Saracenic
ideas of architecture ; its towers, wrought with a lightness
and delicacy which makes them look as if woven from rods
of flexible stone, are of the northern Gothic ; but its dome in
the centre, with the enormous round pillars on which it is
uplifted, is Oriental. It is wonderful how perfect is the
preservation of the purely architectural parts of this cathedral.
The sculptures have been, in some instances, defaced in the
wars by which Spain has suffered so much; the carvings
about the altar have been in some part destroyed, and inade-

94 SIDE CHAPELS.
quately restored ; but time has respected the stones of the
building, and from the pedestals of the columns up to their
capitals, they look almost as fresh from the chisel as they
must have looked four centuries ago.
We were taken, as a matter of course, to the chapel
called del Santisimo Cristo, in which is a figure of Christ on
the Cross, of the size of life, with his head bowed in the
final agony. It is a clever but somewhat frightful represen
tation of the last sufferings of the Saviour, but the devout of
Burgos hold that it exceeds the ordinary perfection of art,
and attribute to it the power of working miracles. In a book
lying before me, I am informed that, according to the " gen
erally received opinion," it is the work of Nicodemus. " It
is of leather," said Don Luis, " and so much like the living
body, that the flesh yields to your touch, and when you with
draw your finger, recovers its place."
We had passed through most of the chapels, including
that magnificent one of the Condestable, in which lie the
bones of the founders — one of the Velasco family and his
wife — under a broad marble slab, supporting their own colos
sal statues, exquisitely carved in marble, with coronets on
their heads, and ample robes of state, rich with lace and em
broidery, flowing to their feet. As we were about leaving the
cathedral by the principal entrance, Don Luis took me into
the chapel of Santa Tecla, to the north of the great portal.
" This," said he, " is the latest built of all the chapels, and
it is easy to see that it is not of the same age with any of
the others." I looked about me and felt as if I had sudden-

A SPANISH ORDINARY. 95
ly fallen from a world of beauty into a region of utter ugli
ness. The chapel in all its parts is rough with endless pro
jections and elaborate carvings, without meaning or grace,
and blazes with gilding ; the general effect is tawdry and
ignoble. How any architect with the example of the cathe
dral before him, and the beautiful chapels which open from
it, could have designed any thing in so wretched a style, I
cannot imagine.
We dined that day at the ordinary, or mesa redonda,
which was served at two o'clock, the fashionable hour at Bur
gos. With the exception of one or two, who sat at the head
of the table, the men wore their hats while eating. The
Spaniards consider the eating-room in a hotel as much a
public place as the great square, and consequently use much
the same freedom in it. I saw the guests at the table turn
their heads and spit on the floor. They shovelled down the
chick peas and cabbage with the blades of their knives,
which they used with great dexterity. They were polite,
however ; not one of them would allow himself to be helped
to any dish until after all the ladies ; at the dessert they
offered the ladies the peaches they had peeled, and they rose
and bowed when the ladies left the room. On going out, we
were again met by the hostess, who hoped that we had dined
well ; and being assured that we had, expressed her pleasure
at the information.
The talk at the table was principally of the bull-fight,
which was to take place that day at Burgos. I took a turn
after dinner with Don Luis and Don Pedro on the new pub-

96 A PUBLIC WALK.
lie walk, the Paseo de la Tinta, extending along the Arlanza
for the space of a league, and found it almost deserted ; only
here and there a solitary stroller, and a few children with
their nurses. From time to time the air was rent with the
shouts of a multitude, at no great distance. "It is the
clamor of the spectators of the bull-fight," said Don Pedro ;
" the public walks are forsaken for the plaza de toros. I do
not know whether your sight is as good as mine ; but do you
see that crowd of people on the hill 1 " I looked in the di
rection to which he pointed, and beheld an eminence, nearly
half a mile from the broad circular amphitheatre of rough
boards erected for the bull-fight, thronged with people.
" There," said Don Pedro, " is a proof of the interest which
is taken in these spectacles. Those people cannot pay for
admission to the amphitheatre, and therefore content them
selves with what little they can see of it from that dis
tance. All Burgos is either in the amphitheatre or on the
hill." Not quite all Burgos, however, was at the bull-fight. As
we walked on, we met a few priests, and next a throng of
young men, nearly a hundred in number, walking two by
two, dressed in long black gowns, and black caps, the
brims of which, made to turn up close around the crown,
were cut into points like a coronet. They looked hard at
me as they passed, seeing something, I suppose, exotic in my
appearance. " They are young men designed for the church,"
said my Spanish friends ; " the priests are rarely present at
the bull-fights."

A SPANISH BEAUTY. 97
I had made an engagement to go the next morning to Las
Huelgas, a Cistertian convent close to the city, and to the
secularized Carthusian convent, about a league off. At nine
o'clock a clumsy carriage, built like a small omnibus, was at
the door of our hotel, drawn by five mules, gay with tags
and tassels of crimson and white, and guided by two coach
men — one who sat on the box, held the reins and cracked
the whip, and another, sitting beside him, whose business it
was to leap down and run with the animals, turn them where
it became necessary, and flog them into a gallop. We pro
ceeded to the house of Don Luis, where we took in Don
Pedro and the matron of the family, with her niece, a young
married lady, who seemed to me to realize in her person
the ideal of Spanish beauty — regular features, lips and chin
as finely moulded as those of an antique statue, large dark
eyes, redundant dark locks, a face of the most perfect oval,
plump, white hands, and a stately form, rounded to a cer
tain Junonian fulness.
As soon as we had left the paved streets and crossed the
Arlanza, our second coachman — a lithe, light young fellow —
began whipping the mules over the macadamized road, laying
heavy thwacks on the sturdiest of them, till he had got them
into a rapid gallop, himself running by their side like the
wind. He then sprang upon the box, and we rattled on till
a loaded wagon, drawn by ten mules, came in our way, when
he was off his seat in an instant to guide the beasts and pre
vent a collision. The moment the pace of his mules flagged
a little, he was by their side plying his whip, and once or
5

98 LAS HUELGAS.
twice the principal coachman leaped from the box to help
him. At length we turned off from the great highway, and
struck out into a wretched, uneven road, like all the cross
roads in Spain, even under the walls of the cities, and were
jolted along for some distance beside an enclosure with high
walls, over which fruit-trees were peering. "It is the
orchard and garden of the convent," said one of our Spanish
friends. We next drove through a lofty gateway, and en
tered a broad, paved court, in the middle of which stood a
large building with windows secured by iron grates, and a
church beside it. On three sides of the court were dwelling-
houses and offices. " There," said our Spanish friends, " live
the chaplains of the convent and the other persons employed
in its service."
We went immediately to the room of the portress, where
we held a short dialogue with two or three slatternly-looking
young servant-girls. It was too early yet to see the Lady
Abbess ; it was not quite ten o'clock. We had but ten min
utes to wait, however, and at the end of that time we were in
formed that we were at liberty to go up to the convent grate.
We ascended a cold, narrow staircase, to a little room, in
which was an iron grate in the wall, and close to the grate
were a little table and five chairs, in which the ladies of our
party seated themselves. A sliding shutter behind the grate
was withdrawn, and through the opening we saw a thin old
lady, of a lively aspect, come almost bounding into the room
on the opposite side. She was in the garb of her order — an

A LADY ABBESS. 99
ample white woollen robe, with very wide sleeves, and a
white cap with a black peak, to the summit, of which was
fastened a black veil, falling over the shoulders. She kissed
the elder of the Spanish ladies through the grate, with all
the fervor of an old acquaintance, shook hands with the
younger, bowed graciously to the rest, and began to talk in
the most animated manner. " And these friends of ours,"
she asked, "where are they from?" "From America."
" Ah, I have a nephew in America, at Cordova, in Peru, and
he likes the place much ; perhaps they know him." We had
a little difficulty in making clear to her mind the distance
between New York and Cordova, in Peru ; but she went on
to give the history of her nephew, his wanderings and his
settlement at last in Peru. " And you are going whither °i "
she asked again. "To Valencia, to Alicante, to Seville,
probably, and Granada, and, finally, to Rome." " Ah, to
Rome ! You will have much to see in Rome. But I have a
nephew in Seville, and I will give you a letter of recom
mendation to him, and he will show you every thing you
may desire to see in the place."
The interview lasted about half an hour, after which the
Abbess again kissed the Spanish matron, shook hands with
the eldest lady of our party, and wishing us a good journey,
and commending us to the care of God, departed with as
light and quick a step as she came.
Entering the church of the convent, we heard a sound of
silvery voices ; they proceeded from a large and lofty side-
chapel, separated from the church by a massive iron grate,

100 CHANT OF THE NUNS.
reaching from the floor to the ceiling, behind which we be
held the nuns moving in procession, and chanting as they
walked. Several of them seemed quite young, and looked
pretty in their singular attire. " Those whom you see in
white hoods," said one of the ladies who accompanied us,
" are novices ; they wear the costume and submit to the
rules of the order for a year, at the end of which they either
take the veil, or, if they please, return to the world. If, at
the end of the year, they find that they have a vocation to a
religious life, they are received into the order, and go out of
the convent no more." " These nuns," she afterwards added,
" are Bernardines, and the rule is not an austere one. They
are all of noble families ; their convent is richly endowed ; each
of them has her own waiting-maid, and they live in comfort."
As we were listening to the chant of the nuns, we were
accosted by a youth in a black gown, with a white scarf over
his shoulder, who pointed to a little square window in the
wall, and signified that the Lady Abbess desired to speak
with us. We went immediately to the window. " I thought
you might like to look into this chapel," said the Abbess ; " it
is the famous Chapel of St. Ferdinand, who took upon him
self the order of knighthood here ; and here are buried all
the infantas of Spain." We could perceive that the place
was full of monuments, of which, however, we could take but
a very imperfect view. " Farewell again," said the Abbess,
" I shall not fail to send the letter for my nephew." At this
time, several persons in the priestly garb began chanting a
litany near to where we stood, with deep, mellow voices that

CHANT OF PRIESTS. 101
filled the lofty walls and seemed to make them shiver.
" These nuns have good music among their other comforts,"
we said to each other, but we had no time to hear more of
it ; so we returned to our carriage, and were dragged by the
galloping mules towards the Cartuja.

102 THE CAETUJA.

LETTER X.
BURGOS — THE CARTUJA — A BULL FIGHT.
Madrid, November 1st, 1857.
In our way to the Cartuja we soon turned aside into a
road still more wretchedly uneven than the one which had
led us to Las Huelgas. After half an hour of severe jolting
it took us through a massive gateway, by which the posses
sions of the convent were once entered ; but the rest of the
enclosure has entirely disappeared. Half a mile from this,
we stopped at an imposing Gothic edifice on a hill. This was
the convent, and we turned to look at the extensive view it
commanded — the view of a broad, smooth vale, stretching
league beyond league — of the brown color of the soil, with
out trees and without houses, except a village to the right,
and the city of Burgos to the left. " You should see it in early
summer," said Don Pedro, " when it is luxuriant with vege
tation." A ragged fellow conducted us into the building,
where we passed through long, beautiful, silent cloisters, from
the roof of which, in places, the fresco flowers and stars were
falling in small flakes, till we reached the chapel, and here a
priest, who was already occupied with a French artist and
his lady, took charge of us. From the chapel and the other

MONUMENTS IN THE CHAPEL. 103
rooms, all the fine pictures have been carried away, and we
were shown in their stead what were not worth looking at —
some wretched things by a monastic brother. But what
most attract and repay the attention of the visitor, are the
monuments of the father and mother of Isabella the Catho
lic, and of her youthful brother, quaintly and delicately carved
in alabaster, with a singular combination of grace and gro-
tesqueness — the grace always predominating — in which twin
ing stems, foliage and flowers, figures of quadrupeds and
birds, of men and women, and, among these, warriors, pa
triarchs an evangelists, all exquisitely and airily wrought,
are clustered together in marvellous and endless complication.
One of the cells of the Carthusian monks was shown us
— a little chamber, with a plank bed on which he slept, cov
ered only with his brown cloak. Opening from it was the
little garden, with its separate wall, which he tilled alone ;
and on another side, the little oratory, where he knelt and_
prayed. " Here," said Don Pedro, pointing to a little •
ing from the cell to the cloister, " is the window
which the friar received his meals, to be eaten in Xa&tjfde.'
As we were about to go out, I said to Don Pedro,! fUait the
custom to give a fee here 1 " " No ; " he replied, Vrth. soSE
quickness, " not by any means." I could not help suspeStingr
however, that there was something in the rules of Spanish
politeness which dictated this answer, for at that moment we
passed into the Campo Santo, or burial-ground of the convent
— a spacious area enclosed by the building, spotted with lit
tle hillocks, where the monks in utter silence dug their own

104 A BULL FIGHT.
graves, and Don Pedro said, " You see that part of the ground
has been dug up and sown with grain. The ecclesiastics who
take care of the building do this to piece out a scanty liveli
hood, for the government only allows them a peseta, the fifth
part of a dollar, a day." The graves had no monuments, but
close to the newest of them, where the earth had still a bro
ken appearance, stood an iron cross, with the lower end
driven into the ground. As we stepped from the burial-
ground into the cloisters, and the priest locked the door after
us, I put a trifle into his hand, which he received with an air
that showed he expected it.
That afternoon, at the special urgency of Don Pedro — for
I wished to postpone the spectacle till I should arrive at Mad
rid — I went with one of our party to a bull fight. " This
is the last day," said our Spanish friend ; " to-morrow the
amphitheatre will be removed, every plank of it, and we shall
have no more combats for a year." We found the place,
which they told us was capable of containing six thousand
persons, already full of people impatiently drumming with
their feet, to hint that it was high time for the sport to begin.
Nine-tenths or more of them were of the laboring class, and
their bright-colored costumes, particularly those of the women,
gave the crowd a gay appearance. Many children of various
ages were among them, and some of these, showily dressed
and attended by nurses, were evidently of opulent families.
We took our places in the uppermost circle, under a narrow
sort of roof which sheltered us from the sun ; below us was
range after range of seats open to the sky, descending to the

PEOCESSION OF COMBATANTS. 105
central circle, the arena, in which the combats were to take
place. An alguazil, in black, first rode round the arena, pro
claiming the regulations of the day. He was followed by a
procession of the performers, in their gay dresses ; the pica-
dores, glittering with gold and silver lace, on horseback,
with their broad-brimmed hats and long lances ; the chulos
on foot, with their red cloaks ; the banderilleros, with their
barbed shafts, wrapped in strips of white paper ; the mata-
dores, with their swords ; and lastly, three mules, gayly capar
isoned, with strings of little bells on their necks, who were
to drag out the slain bulls. Loud shouts rose from the crowd,
and then a door was opened, and an enormous bull, jet black,
with massive chest and glaring eyes, bounded into the arena.
He ran first at the chulos, who shook their cloaks at him, but
his rage appeared soon to subside. A picador put his lance
against the animal's forehead, but he shook it off and turned
away. The chulos again came capering about him and trying
to provoke him, but he pursued them only a few steps. Then
rose the cry of, Ah, que es manso ! que es manso ! codarde !
codarde ! * Finally, the people began to call for the dogs.
Los perros ! los perros ! rose from a thousand throats. Three
large dogs were brought, which, barking loudly, flew at -the
bull with great fury. He took them one after another on his
horns, and threw them up in the air ; one of them he caught
in his fall, and tossed him again. The dogs tore his ears into
strings, but they were soon either disabled or cowed, and only
* " Ah, how tame he is ! how tame he is ! a coward ! a coward ! "
5*

106 A BULL KILLED.
attacked him warily, while he kept them off by presenting
to them first one horn and then the other. Then the dogs
were withdrawn and the chulos tried him again, but he would
not chase them far;. the picadores poked at him with their
lances, but he declined to gore their horses. The crowd
shouted vigorously, " Away with him ! away with him ! " and
at length the door by which the bull had entered was set
wide open, that he might make his retreat. But the bull
would not go ; he was not minded either to fight or quit the
field. " Kill him ! kill him ! " exclaimed a thousand throats
— and the signal was given, in obedience to which one of the
matadores — the primera espada, as the Spaniards call him, just
as the Italians say prima donna — made his appearance with a
red cloak on his arm, and a long, glittering, straight sword
in his right hand. He shook the cloak at the bull, who made
a rush at it, while the matador at the same moment attempted
to pierce the animal to the heart through the chine. Three
times he sought to make the fatal pass ; at the third he was
successful, burying the blade up to the hilt. A torrent of
blood flowed from the creature's mouth, he staggered and
fell ; a sound of little bells was heard ; the three mules, har
nessed abreast, came in, and dragged out the lifeless carcase.
Another bull, of smaller size, but of more savage temper,
was then let into the arena. He ran fiercely at the chulos,
chasing them into the places of shelter built for them beside
the barrier, and the crowd shouted, " Es muy bravo, ese 1 muy
bravo ! " * A picador touched with his lance the forehead of
* He is very fierce, that fellow, very fierce !

HOESES KILLED. 107
the animal, who instantly rushed towards him, raised with
his horns the horse he rode, and laid him on the ground, rip
ping open his bowels. I then perceived, with a sort of hor
ror, that the horse had been blindfolded, in order that he
might not get out of the way of the bull. The chulos came
up with their red cloaks, and diverted the attention of the
bull from his victim, while the picador, who had fallen under
his horse, was assisted to rise. Four other horses were
brought forth blindfolded in this manner, and their lives put
between the picador and the fury of the bull, and each was
killed in its turn, amidst the shouts and applauses of the
crowd. One of the banderilleros now came forward, provoked the
bull to rush at him, by shaking his cloak before his eyes, and
leaping aside, planted one of his barbed shafts with its paper
streamers, in each of the animal's shoulders. Others follow
ed his example, till the bleeding shoulders of the bull were
garnished with five or six banderillas on each side. The
creature, however, was evidently becoming tired, and the
signal was given to finish him ; a matador came forward and
planted a sword in his heart, but he made a violent effort to
keep his legs, and even while falling, seemed disposed to
rush at the chulos.
I had now seen enough, and left the place amidst the
thunders of applause which the creature's fall drew from the
crowd. I heard that afterwards three more bulls and six
horses were killed, and that an addition had been made to
the usual entertainments of the plaza, with which the people

108 MEN TOSSED IN THE AIR.
were not well pleased. A class of combatants appeared,
called pegadores, who literally took the bull by the horns, al
lowing him to toss them in the air, and one of them was
much hurt by his fall. " It is a Portuguese innovation," said
my friend Don Pedro, rather innocently, as it seemed to me,
" and it is a horrible sight for us Spaniards. We do not
like to see a man tossed like a dog."
I hoped in this letter to give some account of my journey
from Burgos to Madrid, which was not uninteresting, though
neither exactly pleasant nor comfortable ; but my letter is
already too long. I am pained to hear such bad news from
the United States — such accounts of embarrassments and
failures, of sudden poverty falling on the opulent, and thou
sands left destitute of employment, and perhaps of bread.
This is one of the epidemic visitations against which, I fear,
no human prudence can provide, so far, at least, as to pre
vent their recurrence at longer or shorter intervals, any more
than it can prevent the scarlet fever or the cholera. A money
market always in perfect health and soundness would imply
infallible wisdom in those who conduct its operations. I
hope to hear news of a better state of things before I write
again.

COURTS OF JUSTICE. 109

LETTER XI.
A JOURNEY FROM BURGOS TO MADRID.
Madrid, November 5, 1857.
While at Burgos, I was taken to the Audiencia, as the
principal court is called, in which justice is administered.
In one room were three judges in black caps and lace ruffles
about the wrist, but with no other distinguishing costume,
and before them a clerk and another officer of the court were
sitting, while an advocate, perched in a kind of tribune by
the wall, was reading a manuscript argument in a monoto
nous tone. There were no auditors except those of our
party, and this I did not wonder at, for I cannot imagine
any thing less likely to awaken curiosity or fix attention.
In another hall were three judges, and a person — the escri-
bano, I believe, or clerk — was hurrying through a law paper,
which he read with a slovenly articulation, that showed it to
be some matter of form. Of course, there was nothing here
to detain us long.
The next morning, the 14th of October, at an unreason
ably early hour — if the truth must be told, it was two o'clock,
for we had been assured that we could not otherwise arrive
at Aranda that night, and there was no endurable stopping-

110 A NIGHT JOURNEY.
place till we got to Aranda— we left our quarters at the
Fonda de las Postas with some regret. The attentive and
cheerful handmaidens who commonly waited upon us, Cata-
lina and Juanita, had got a little breakfast ready for us. I
asked Catalina, a stout, round-faced girl, with a pair of what
are sometimes called butter-teeth, and who spoke Spanish
with some peculiarities of pronunciation, whether she was a
Castilian. "No," she replied, "I am from the north of
Spain. The girls in this house are all Basques ; the mis
tress, though she is a Castilian, will have no other. The
Castilian girls are dirty." I supposed there was some truth
in what she said ; my subsequent experience confirmed it.
It was a starlight morning when we left Burgos ; the
mules ceased to trot when we had proceeded a little beyond
the city gate, and our two drivers got down from the box
and walked beside them in silence. We had the same
equipage which had previously conveyed us to Las Huelgas,
but both coachmen and mules seemed to have lost all their
spirit, and were transformed to the merest plodders. After
we had proceeded thus for about an hour, the moon rose, and
showed us the same broad extent of bare plains which we had
seen about Burgos. I had fallen into a doze, when our two
cocheros, having again mounted the box, awoke me by sing
ing. They sang together a long Castilian ballad, of which
I could make but little ; it was chanted to a monotonous,
melancholy air, with harsh and somewhat nasal voices, re
minding me somewhat of the sort of singing I had heard
from the Arabs in Egypt and Palestine. As we were slowly

LERMA. Ill
climbing a hill, two men came from the road-side, and looked
sharply and scrutinizingly into the window on the back of
our carriage, bringing their swarthy faces close to the glass.
The coachmen sang for about an hour, and then the principal
one began to crack his whip, which the beasts who drew us
well understood to mean nothing, and, accordingly paid no
attention to it.
When the sun rose, we found ourselves in the valley of
Lerma, where the soil looks fertile, and where the Arlanza
winds among soft slopes, which would be beautiful if the
country had any verdure. All that it has, belongs to a few
vineyards on sunny declivities. The Duke of Lerma makes
a conspicuous figure in history, and the name suggests ideas
of magnificence, so that when we drew near to the wretched,
decayed old town which bears it, we were not a little disap
pointed. It had a ruined look, and was dreary, though the
pleasantest golden sunshine lay upon it. Its church, former
ly a collegiate church, has not been damaged by time, only
a thunderbolt fell upon its tower a few months since and
forced its three bells out of their places. Beyond Lerma, the
country became again the brown, dismal region which we
had seen further back, without trees, grass, springs or
streams, the stubble-fields and tracts fresh from the plough
only diversified by wastes, ragged with furze, the pale foliage
of which could not be called green.
We stopped at a village called Quintanilla, at an inn,
consisting of stables as the ground floor, and dwelling rooms
above, like most Spanish inns ; it was built of bricks dried

112 PEOPLE ON THE ROAD.
in the sun, and its upper floor was a foot higher on one side
than on the other. Near at hand was the place from which
the building materials were taken, a deep pit in the ground.
A tall, grim, slatternly woman, with a prodigiously sharp
voice, gave us a sort of breakfast over-seasoned with garlic,
but made tolerable by good bread and plenty of grapes. A
dessert in Spain is as much a part of the breakfast as of the
dinner, and plates of fruit always conclude the early meal.
When we resumed our journey, we needed not to be told
that we were in a great high road- between city and city, for
it actually swarmed with huge, high-loaded wagons, drawn
each by ten or a dozen mules in pairs, heavy-wheeled carts
of a like description, trains of loaded mules with their sturdy
guides, and peasant men and women, trudging on foot or
jogging along on donkeys. Among these were a comfortably
dressed man and woman, carrying a child between them, and
keeping their donkeys on a gentle trot, whom we passed
regularly every day of our journey, and who must have got
to Madrid nearly as soon as we. At Gumiel, which we
passed in the afternoon, it was a delight to the eyes to see
half the country overspread with vineyards, though sallow
with the season, and though the plants were low, without
stalk or prop, and almost trailed on the ground. Here we
fell in with large parties of laboring people, of both sexes,
travelling on foot, some astonishingly ragged and dirty, and
others in clothes tolerably whole and clean. It was remark
able how the raggedest and dirtiest herded together. They
had all a merry look, and were evidently amused at some-

AEANDA. 113
thing exotic in our appearance, for they pointed us out to
each other, laughing and chatting in what was doubtless
very good Castilian. " These are the people that gather the
grapes ; it is the time of the vintage," said one of our coach
men. The vintage, in fact, is a joyous time in all countries,
and I no longer wondered that these ragged people wore
such bright faces.
A little before nightfall we reached Aranda, and stop
ping at a wretched inn, found the dirty streets of that
wretched place full of vintagers. I walked out among these
blinking Castilians, in their knee-breeches and velvet caps,
some of them wrapped in great brown cloaks, lounging and
gossiping about. The old pavement of the town had been
trodden deep into the earth, and was covered with dust ; a
large, long building of much pretension, with turrets, proba
bly once a palace, stood unroofed, and moss was gathering
on the broken eaves. Beyond it murmured the Duero, flow
ing under a stately bridge, with a little plantation of locust
trees on the opposite bank ; but just before I reached the
Duero, I was surrounded by an atmosphere which decided
me to proceed no further. On my left, close to the road,
was a little enclosure of about half an acre, surrounded by a
low, broken stone-wall, which, to judge by its appearance,
was a place of universal resort for the people of Aranda. If
they could quote Shakspeare, it seemed to me that there was
not one of them who might not say with reference to that
spot, " Oh, my offence is rank ; it smells to heaven/'

114 A DIRTY TOWN AND INN.
I returned to our inn, and was almost as much astonished at
what I saw in the street which passed under its back win
dows. The servant women of the house had their faces lit
erally plastered with dirt. They managed, however, to put
clean sheets on our beds, and to give us a quarter of roast
lamb and some bread for supper. We inquired of our coach
man whether there was not a better inn in the place, but he
replied that they were all alike, which we afterwards discov
ered was false, for the diligence companies have established
a parador in the place, where travellers are very passably
lodged. We had an uncomfortable time that night with the fleas,
which, I suppose, swarmed up from the stables below ; and
we were not sorry to leave our beds and our dirty inn with
early light. We got down stairs by stepping over the bodies
of about a dozen muleteers, who, wrapped in their blankets,
lay snoring on the floor of an antechamber, and proceeded
on our way through a country of vineyards, to which the la
borers were going at an early hour. From some of them the
fruit had already been gathered, and goats were let in, at
tended by a keeper, to browse on the foliage. In others,
they were collecting the clusters into enormous baskets,
which were to be carried to the wine-press on the backs of
mules and asses ; the animals stood by, waiting to be
loaded. We stopped at one large vineyard, asked for some
grapes, which were given us with full hands, and the people
seemed surprised when we offered to pay for them.
At Boceguillas, where we made our midday halt, we

EVEEGEEEN OAKS. 115
found a decent inn, and were waited on by two or three come
ly and cleanly-looking young women, with whom our two
drivers seemed on very friendly terms. A few hours' drive
afterwards brought us to what we were glad to see, a grove
of scattered evergreen oaks, rising, with their dark green
dense tops, out of the ash-colored waste. Fatigued as our
eyes were with looking on barren earth and brown rocks, I
can hardly describe the. delight with which we gazed on
those noble trees, close to some of which we passed. This
grove, which covers several hundred acres, had doubtless
been spared for the sake of its fruit ; for it is this oak that
produces the bettota, the sweet acorn, gathered and eaten
raw by the people ; in Madrid it is sold at almost every cor
ner of the streets.
We had a range of mountains before us, and were rising
at every step into a chillier atmosphere, when our vehicle
stopped for the night in the neighborhood of a little village,
at a large, dismal building, called Venta de Juanilla, or
Jenny's Tavern. A well-dressed man, with a boy by his
side, was standing at the entrance, and as we alighted, hur
ried into the house, and began to call for rooms. Jenny
was not at home, but there were two half-wild servants in
the house, one of whom was remarkable for her breadth of
chest, resounding voice, and bright, round eyes ; and these
girls, after some rummaging for keys, got rooms, both for the
gentleman's party and our own. We could get nothing to
eat, however, till Jenny herself, a short, dark-browed woman,
came home from the village and opened her pantry. Our

116 A FAMILY IN A CAET.
apartment consisted of a sort of sitting-room, with a bare tile
floor, and was scantily lighted by four panes of glass, set in
the wooden shutters. Into this sitting-room opened two
dark rooms, called alcoves, in each of which were two beds.
This arrangement of sitting and sleeping-rooms is very com
mon in Spain, south of the Basque provinces.
The party who had preceded us in getting rooms, consist
ed of a gentleman and his wife, who were fashionably attired,
with two children and two maidservants. They were trav
elling in a cart, covered with an awning of white calico, and
drawn by two mules. They had resorted to this method of
travelling, because it was not possible, at this time of the
year, to obtain seats for so many in the diligence from
Bayonne, and probably, also, because it was less expensive
than such a conveyance as our own. These carts are a sort
of moving couch, I was told; the bottom is covered with
mattress upon mattress, and the passengers travel quite lux
uriantly, though, of course, very slowly.
The covered cart, with its passengers, set out before us the
next morning ; and at five we came from our gloomy rooms,
and continued the ascent of the mountain range which di
vides Old from New Castile. Smooth russet-colored pastures
sloped on each side to the road, where trickled a little brook,
which, in the course of thousands of years, had worn that nar
row pass. At the summit, about sunrise, in a keen, cold at
mosphere, we came to the village of Somosierra, seated
among rocks and mountain hollows, looking almost like a
Uttle nook in the mountains of Switzerland, with rivulets

A SPANISH VENTA. 117
from the higher summits running through the fields, and
keeping them green. Hard by the village was a forest of
oaks, and there were thickets growing luxuriantly by the
road side.
We ran down the mountain, passing our friends in the
covered cart, and leaving all this verdure behind us. Our
mid-day rest we took at Buitrago, a small, decayed place,
with an old fortress, once doubtless a jjlace of strength, and
two churches, each of which bore on its tower a large stork's
nest. Our stopping-place was a venta of the primitive sort.
A young girl showed us a room, and when we asked for
something to eat, she answered, " We can give you nothing
here, but if you want any bread or fruit, there is a plaza be
yond the nearest church, where you can buy it." We had
no alternative but to follow her suggestion ; we got some
bread, grapes and pomegranates, and made a frugal repast
in our carriage ; the two coachmen in the mean time had
found their way to the kitchen fire, and had managed to get
up for themselves a banquet of stewed meat and Windsor
beans. While the mules were resting and feeding, we walked
about the place. A little without the town I met with a
winding row of granite pillars, a quarter of a mile in length
or more, some of which had been thrown down and lay on
the ground, and of some only the pedestals remained. At
length I discovered that they had formerly borne stone
crosses — one or two supported them yet — and that the series
ended at the portal of the principal church of Buitrago.

118 A BEAUTIFUL SCENE.
Here, then, in former years, the good Catholics must have
paid their devotions, stopping and praying at the foot of each
cross, in turn ; until, at length, in some of the wars of Spain,
sacrilegious hands threw them down, to be raised no more.
Crossing this row of pillars was a road nevor marked with
the trace of wheels, which led towards the Lozoya, flowing in
a rocky glen. We were surprised at the beauty of the scene
which lay before us, and sat down on rocks black with moss
to gaze at it. In front of us ran the little river, in which,
further up the current, women were washing linen and spread
ing it on the bank. Immediately opposite to where we sat,
rose a hill-side, from which stood forth here and there narrow
perpendicular precipices, as tall as the churches of the town,
in a natural park of large evergreen oaks, and willows begin
ning to turn yellow with the season. A little to the right
the river spread into a still, glassy pool, and then ran off
noisily, over sparkling shallows, through a gorge of rocks.
Beside us was a hill pasture, on which was a flock of black
and white sheep, with their keeper, which seemed literally to
hang on the steep where they fed. As we were walking
about, one of the party called our attention to a powerful,
aromatic odor. Looking about us, we discovered that almost
every plant on which we were treading had the odor of wild
thyme or lavender. They were of the dullest possible green,
with rigid stems, scantily nourished by that arid soil, but
they breathed up a fragrance at every step.
On the way back to our carriage we had a less pleasant
sight ; we saw what becomes at last of the donkeys of Buit-

WHAT BECOMES OF THE DONKEYS. 119
rago. Just out of the streets of the close-built little town
one of these poor animals lay kicking his last, and not far
from it, in a little hollow, were many skeletons of others,
some of them bleached white by the weather, and others clean
picked, but still red. Two dogs were among them ; the foul
feeders slunk away when they saw us. We crossed the road
to Madrid ; and going into the fields on the side opposite to
the town, overlooked the country around it. All was silent ;
all seemed at first lifeless, and without human habitations ;
but at length we descried, afar off, two or three men plough
ing with oxen, a woman on a donkey, passing along one of
the bridle roads — the cross-roads are all of that description —
a little village almost out of sight, and near by, in the bot
tom of the broad valley, what had been once a convent, and
the possessor, probably, of much of the land we overlooked.
The monastic orders, with the exception of a few sisterhoods
of nuns, no longer exist in Spain ; the gowns and cowls,
brown, white and gray, have wholly disappeared ; and the
country in which the friars were, less than a century since,
the most numerous, is now the last place in which to look for
them. Resuming our journey, we passed through a Valley of
meagre pasturage, where a brook came glistening down the
rocky mountains, and crossed our road. Here had halted a
little caravan of loaded wagons and carts, from which the
mules had been taken to rest and be fed ; and here a group
of strapping muleteers lay basking in the sun. As we went
up the road, by which we were to pass out of the valley, I

120 STRANGE ROCKS.
saw some of the strangest looking rocks I ever beheld— rocks
without angles or sharp corners, yet lying close upon each
other by the road side, and looking like enormous puddings
or sacks of meal in a heap. To these succeeded pyramids of
rock, overlooking a narrow pass, cracked and split in every
direction, so that the whole mountain might be pried into
fragments by a lever. It seemed as if a mighty blow had
been dealt upon the huge mass of stone, shivering it into
splinters down to its very base, and yet not displacing a sin
gle part. Our road led us from the pass into a plain, where
we stopped for the night at a place called Cabanillas. A
freckled, light-haired landlady, of extraordinary activity, who
performed the parts of chambermaid, waiter and directress of
the kitchen, gave us a friendly welcome, a passable dinner,
with a plentiful dessert of fruit, and tolerable beds, in two
deep alcoves of a large chamber, the floor of which was cov
ered with matting. The genteel family who were travelling
in a cart arrived half an hour or so after us, and had the
second choice of rooms. It amazed us, after what we had
seen of the deliberate manner in which things are done in
Spain, to see our landlady flying from room to room, and
waiting very satisfactorily on all her guests at once.
The next day was Saturday, and as it was important that
I should arrive seasonably in Madrid, in order to see my
banker, we took a start, which our principal coachman, on
whose advice we acted, called tempranito, a little early or so —
that is to say, at two o'clock. One of our mules was out of
order, and had been left behind ; another was that morning

MAMBEINO'S HELMET. 121
hired in his place, to drag us up a long ascent, and a man
was taken on the box to lead the animal back. It was won
derful what a difference the hiring of this mule made in the
speed with which we travelled. Our cocheras seemed deter
mined to get the worth of their money out of him in the
shortest possible time. The whip was plied unmercifully ; a
storm of thwacks fell not only on the hired beast but upon
his fellows in the harness, and we went up the hill in a
whirlwind. After an hour or more of flogging and gallop
ing, we came to where the road began to descend, the hired
mule was taken out, and we proceeded at the same plodding
pace as on the day before. In due time the stars faded, the
sky brightened, and we found ourselves again in a bare
champaign country, destitute of trees and grass, with moun
tains in sight as bare as the plain.
Our morning halt was at Alcobendas, at a large inn of the
primitive sort, chilly, dreary and dirty, with ample accommo
dations for mules and scanty accommodations for travellers.
While the mules were resting we walked about, the town,
which, compared with some places seen on our journey, had
an air of neatness. The dust had been swept from the sides
of the streets into the middle, and looking into the open
doors as we passed, we saw that the stone floors of the shops,
the entrances of dwellings and the courts had undergone a
like process. It was encouraging to meet with this proof
that the toleration of dirt was not universal. Before one of
the doors swung Mambrino's helmet — a barber's basin of
glittering brass, with the owner's name and the addition
6

122 FIRST SIGHT OF MADRID.
"profesor de cirurjia y comadron " — " professor of surgery and
midwife." "These men," said a Spanish gentleman of
whom I afterwards asked an explanation, "are licensed to
bleed, and therefore assume the title of professors of surgery.
In the villages, if you wish to be in good company, you must
cultivate the acquaintance of the barber and the curate.'7
From Alcobendas, a weary road, without any habitations
in sight, led us to the poor-looking town of Fuencarreal ; and
beyond Fuencarreal an expanse equally dreary and deserted
lay before us. Yet the road was planted on each side with
rows of young trees, among which were conspicuous two
American species — the locust and the three-thorned acacia ;
and here and there, by the road side, were nurseries, from
which these and the poplar were supplied to the highways.
Roads apparently never mended, and meant only for horse
men and beasts of burden, winded away in various directions
from the great macadamized thoroughfare on which we were
travelling. At length Madrid, with its spires and towers,
appeared, lying in what seemed a little hollow of the ash-
colored landscape. Through an avenue of very young trees,
we reached a stately gate, where a sleek, well-dressed cus
tom-house officer asked us if we had brought with us any thing
subject to duty, and being answered that we had not, said
that he would not order our baggage to be taken down, but
would send a clerk to our hotel to inspect it.
We were then allowed to enter Madrid, and were struck
with its lively, cheerful aspect, and its thronged streets. We
applied for lodgings at the Casa de Cordero, to which we had

HOTELS OF THE CAPITAL. 123
been recommended. The hostess, who is commonly called La
Biscayina, offered us two sitting-rooms with alcoves, inconve
niently small for our party, and up three lofty flights of
stairs, but showily furnished, for thirty-two dollars a day, in
cluding board at the common table. From this place we
drove to the Calle de Alcald, where, in the Fonda Peninsulares,
kept in a building which was once a convent, and which
even now had not a single woman in it except those who
were guests, we obtained rooms at a somewhat more reasona
ble rate. The hotels of Madrid have the reputation, which I
believe they deserve, of being the dearest in Europe, and the
worst to be found in any of the large capitals. As soon as
our baggage was brought up to our rooms, a respectable look
ing man from the custom-house at the city gates made his
appearance, and after eyeing first our party, and then our
trunks, declined the task of inspection, and wishing us a
good morning, left us to settle ourselves in our new abode.

124 MADRID. ITS GALLICISM.

LETTER XII.
THE SPANISH CAPITAL.
Madrid, November 15, 1857.
I ought not to quit Madrid without saying something of
the great capital of the Spanish monarchy, the Court, as they
call the city ; and yet, I have seen too little to speak of it as
I could wish. The outside of Madrid, however, I have seen,
and that is as much as the majority of travellers at the pres
ent day see of any thing. Yet there are many native Span
iards who tell you that seeing Madrid is not seeing Spain.
" Madrid," said a very intelligent person of this class to me,
"is not a Spanish city; it is French — it is inhabited by
afrancesados, people who take pains to acquire French tastes,
and who follow French fashions and modes of living. Those
who form the court speak French, and when they use the lan
guage of the country, disfigure it with Gallicisms. People here
read French books and fill their minds with French ideas ; our
authors of novels give us poor imitations of Eugene Sue ; our
writers for the stage translate French dramas. From France
our absolutists import their theories of despotism, and our
liberals the follies of socialism. If you want to see Spain,
you must seek it in the provinces, where the national charac-

THE PEADO. 125
ter is not yet lost ; you will find Spain in Andalusia, in Es-
tremadura, in the Asturias, in Galicia, in Biscay, in Aragon ;
but do not look for it in Madrid."
Yet it is not fair to deny to Madrid certain characteristic
peculiarities, even when considered in this point of view. If
it be French, it is so after a manner of its own, and the pre
vailing Gallicism is modified by the national temperament,
by old institutions and traditions, and by the climate.
One of the first places we were taken to see on our arri
val in Madrid was the Prado. Here, beyond the pavements
and yet within the gates of the capital, is a spacious pleasure-
ground, formed into long alleys, by rows of trees, extending
north and south, almost out of sight. In the midst, between
the colossal figures of white marble which form the fountain
of Cybele on the north, to those of the fountain of Neptune
in the other direction, is an area of ten or twelve acres,
beaten as hard and smooth as a threshing-floor, by the feet
of those who daily frequent it. Into this, two noble streets,
the finest in Madrid, widening as they approach it, the Calle
de Alcald and the Calle de Atocha, pour every afternoon in
fine weather, at this season, a dense throng of the well-dress
ed people of the capital, to walk up and down, till the twi
light warns them home. They move with a leisurely pace
from the lions of Cybele to the sea-monsters of Neptune, and
then turning, measure the ground over again and again, till
the proper number of hours is consumed. The men are un-
exceptionably dressed, with nicely brushed hats, glittering
boots and fresh gloves ; the favorite color of their kids is

126 COSTUME OF THE LADIES.
yellow ; the ladies are mostly in black, with the black veil
of the country resting on their shoulders; they wear the
broadest possible hoops, and skirts that trail in the dust, and
they move with a certain easy dignity which is thought to
be peculiar to the nation. On these occasions, a dress of a
light color is a singularity, and a bonnet attracts observation.
Close to the walk is the promenade for carriages, which pass
slowly over the ground, up one side and down the other, till
those who sit in them are tired. Here are to be seen the
showy liveries of the grandees and opulent hidalgos of Spain,
and of the foreign ambassadors. It seemed to me that the place
was thronged on the day that I first saw it, but this the Span
ish gentleman who conducted us thither absolutely denied.
"There is nobody here," said he, "nobody at all. The
weather is chilly and the sky threatening ; you should come
in fine weather." The threat of the sky was fulfilled before
we could get home, and we reached the door of our hotel in
a torrent of rain.
The public walk is one of the social institutions of the
Spanish towns ; it is a universal polite assembly, to which
you come without the formality of an invitation, and from
which nobody is excluded ; all are welcome under the same
hospitable roof, the sky. Here acquaintances are almost
sure to meet ; here new acquaintances are formed ; here the
events of the day are discussed — its news, politics and scan
dal ; here the latest fashions are exhibited ; here flirtations are
carried on, and matches, I suppose, made. The Spaniards
everywhere pass a great deal of their time in the.streets, and

SOCIAL CUSTOMS. 127
seem to have no idea of coming together to eat and drink.
When you have a letter of introduction to a Spaniard, he
does not invite you to dinner ; but when he tells you that
his house is yours, he means to give you free access to it at
all proper hours. I can testify that the Spaniards are hos
pitable in the sense of giving you their society, and making
your stay in their country pleasant, though it is not their
habit to feast you. They place you on the common footing
of Spanish society, except that, regarding you as a stranger,
they study your convenience the more.
Here at Madrid they live upon very unceremonious terms
with each other, dropping in at each other's houses in the
evening, and calling each other by their christian names,
without the prefix of Don or Dofia. They get perhaps, if
any thing, a cup of tea or chocolate, and a biscocho. I was
several times at the house of a literary lady of Madrid, and
saw there some of the most eminent men of Spain, states
men, jurists, ecclesiastics, authors, leaders of the liberal party
and chiefs of the absolutists, who came and went, with
almost as little ceremony as if they met on the Prado. The
tertulia is something more than this ; there is more dress,
Ulumination, numbers ; but the refreshments are almost as
frugally dispensed. The stranger in Spain does not find
himself excluded from native society, as he does in Italy,
but is at once introduced to it, on the same footing with the
natives. I find one objection, however, to the social arrangements
of Madrid : that they make the evenings frightfully long.

128 LATE HO0RS OF THE NOBILITY.
People begin to call on each other after nine o'clock, and
when the theatres close, between eleven and twelve, the
number of calls increases, and these visitors remain till
some time among the short hours beyond midnight. The
example of turning day into night is set by the Court. The
Queen does not dine till ten o'clock in the evening, and
cannot sleep till three in the morning. When I first came
to Madrid, I used almost every day, a little after sunset, to
hear the clattering of horses' feet on the pavement, and the
cry of la reina, la reina / and looking out of my window, saw
three showy carriages pass, preceded by a small body of cav
alry with drawn swords, and followed by another. It was
the Queen, taking her early drive. This was the beginning
of the day with her, and she was taking the morning air at six
o'clock in the afternoon on her way to church. As the days
grew shorter, the carriages passed after the lamps were lighted.
Not far from the Prado, and just without the city walls, is
the amphitheatre for bull-fights, the favorite amusement of
the Spanish people. Here, from May to November, they are
held every Monday afternoon, and sometimes on Sundays.
One fine Sunday afternoon, just as twilight was setting in, I
heard a loud clang of military music, and the tramp of many
feet, and looking out of my window on the Calle de Alcald,
saw a large body of soldiery coming along the middle of the
street, and behind and on each side of them a vast crowd,
gentry and laborers together, amounting to thousands.
They were just returning from the last bull-fight of the sea
son, which had been postponed from one week to another, on

THE THEATEES. 129
account of the rainy weather. It had been thronged, as
usual, with spectators. I inquired why there were no bull
fights in the winter. ""The bulls are less enterprising," was
the answer, " and disappoint the people." One of those who
are in the habit of frequenting these spectacles, said to me :
" These animals are, in fact, wild beasts ; they are in a sav
age state when brought from the extensive pastures in the
south of Spain, where, they have scarcely seen the face of
man, and have never learned to be afraid of him or of any
thing else. The cold tames them, and makes them inactive."
It is wonderful what delight even people who seem of soft
and gentle natures take in this horrid sport.
The winter amusement of the people of Madrid is the
stage. There are nine theatres in this capital : one of them,
the Teatro del Principe, in which the plays of Calderon and
Lope de Vega were performed when the Spanish drama was
in its glory, and another, the Teatro Real, one of the finest in
all Europe, set apart for the Italian opera. The present con
dition of the stage is not made a matter of pride by the
Spanish critics. The plays represented are generally taken
at second-hand from the French, though, it is true, freely
altered. One theatre, the Zarzuela, performs only Spanish
vaudevilles, which also, for the most part, are of French deri
vation. A considerable part of the scenic entertainments of
Madrid consists in the national dances — the dances of Anda-
lucia, Valencia, Galicia, and other provinces, each performed
in the costume of the province from which it is derived.
Yet there is no want of talent here among the comic actors.

130 THE PUERTA DEL SOL.
The best of them, at least the most famous, are to be seen at
the theatre called El Circo, and of these, the person most
talked of now is a lady, Theodora Madrid, of whom it is
said that, eminent as she is already, she is making every day
some progress in her art. Romea, of the other sex, who ac
quired a high reputation long ago, preserves it still. There
are other performers, by whom these are ably supported, and
who need only to be seen to convince one that humor is a
special ingredient in the intellectual character of the Spanish
people. There is no appearance of elaborateness or effort in
their comic acting; nor do they seek to produce effect by
excessive exaggeration. It is not claimed, I believe, that
Spain has now any eminent tragedians.
But what shall the idler of Madrid do with his mornings?
Seven streets, if I have counted them rightly, converge at
the Puerta del Sol, which tradition says was once the eastern
gate of the city, but is now a large open square in the midst
of Madrid. Here, from my window, I see at every hour of
the day a crowd of loungers, who stand and talk with each
other in couples or in groups. Sometimes my eye rests on
one who is standing for a long time by himself; perhaps he
is waiting for an acquaintance ; perhaps this is his way of
passing time, and he is satisfied with simply being in a crowd,
till the hour arrives in which he is to go elsewhere. It is one
characteristic of the people of Madrid that they do not gen
erally seem overburdened with affairs. Where time is so
cheap, where people are so little occupied with business of
their own, it is the most natural thing in the world that they

A REVIVAL OF RELIGION. 131
should inquire into that of other people ; and this may ac
count for a part of the scandal which is current in Madrid
respecting people of note of both sexes, and much of which,
I suppose, cannot be true.
While the men gossip at the Puerta del Sol, the women
see each other in the churches. I am afraid that religion in
Spain is beginning to be considered as principally an affair
of the women. Just now, however, there is something like
a revival of religion in Madrid. The other day, as we were
walking on the Calle de Atocha, we saw numbers of women,
dressed in black, the invariable costume when they pay their
devotions, going into a large church: it was, I think, the
church of San Isidro. We were about to enter also, but I
was stopped, while the ladies of my party were admitted by
a man who told me that this was a special occasion, on which
men were not allowed to be present. It was then near four
o'clock in the afternoon ; the windows of the church, as I
afterwards learned, were darkened, and it was full of female
worshippers, kneeling with their faces turned towards an illu
minated figure of Christ. That afternoon the Archbishop of
Cuba, who is on a visit to Spain, was to preach., A series
of discourses delivered by him to the men, which I am told were
attended by crowded audiences, had closed a few days before,
and he was now in the midst of his sermons to the women. A
lady who attended these daily, said to me : " He preaches
with great plainness and simplicity, and his words take hold
of the heart. It is not by any of the tricks of oratory that
he produces an effect ; he awakens emotions of contrition by

132 GALIANO.
earnest addresses to the conscience. He is bringing the com
munity, a part of it at least, to a sense of its errors and its
duties, and in this way is doing much good. The Queen has
lately appointed him her confessor, though he would gladly
have declined the office."
The task of confessing the Queen, I am afraid, the good
man will find a little troublesome. She is very devout, as
her daily visits to the churches testify, and the rumor goes
that she is very dissolute. It is easier to preach twice a day,
and occasionally two hours at a time, as the Archbishop of
Cuba is doing, than to manage a royal penitent of this sort.
Since Spain has the electric telegraph, and is beginning
to build railways, it would be strange if she had no public
lectures. She possesses one public lecturer of great eminence.
The other evening I was at the house of an acquaintance in
Madrid, when a gentleman, eminent as an advocate and as
a writer for the journals, came in from attending an evening
lecture of Galiano. Galiano is a politician of that school, in
Spain, who desire to keep things as they are, if, in fact, they
would not rather put them back to where they were at the
end of the last century. The gentleman of whom I speak
was expressing himself in the most enthusiastic terms of
Galiano's elocution — " You should hear what he says," said
the lady of the house turning to me; "he is praising a po
litical adversary." She then inquired of her friend, what
was the subject of the discourse. "It was the social and
political condition of England." " And how did he speak?"
" Divinamente 1 divinamente! the audience were carried away

THE EOYAL MUSEUM. 133
with the charm of his oratory. Seventy years old is Galiano,
seventy years or more, and yet he has lost nothing of the
beauty of his voice, or of his power over the attention and
feelings of his hearers. Such melodious and magnificent
tones and cadences, such glorious periods, such skill in
lifting up an audience and letting it down, belong to no
other man than Galiano." "And how," I ventured to ask,
"would his discourse read if written down?" "You could
not read it at all," was the answer. "The style has neither
grace nor life ; it is neither Spanish nor any thing else ; the
thoughts are utterly trite and commonplace; it would tire
you to death. And yet, into this dead mass Galiano breathes
a living soul, by his magical elocution." I have had no
opportunity of judging fpr myself whether the severity of
this criticism is deserved.
The great collection of works of art, which goes by the
name of the Royal Museum of Painting and Sculpture, and
is contained in a large building, rising above the trees of
the Prado, is one of the first things which attract the atten
tion of a stranger. You will not, of course, expect me to
describe a collection which contains two thousand paintings,
hundreds of them standing in the highest rank of merit, and
which comprises pictures of every school that existed when
the art was in its greatest perfection. At the very first sight
of it, I could hardly help assenting to the judgment of those
who call it the finest gallery of paintings in the world. The
multitude of pictures by the greatest masters the world has
produced, amazed me at first, and then bewildered me. I

134 RICHNESS OF THE COLLECTION.
was intoxicated by the spectacle, as men sometimes are by
sudden good fortune ; I wanted to enjoy all this wealth of art
at once, and roamed from hall to hall, throwing my eyes on one
great masterpiece after another, without the power of fixing
my attention on any. It was not till after two or three vis
its, that I could soberly and steadily address myself to the
contemplation of the nobler works in the collection.
It is the boast of the Museum at Madrid, that not only
are all the other great schools of art largely represented on
its walls, but it possesses a most ample collection of the
works of the Spanish masters, who, in their day, maintained
an honorable rivalry with their brethren of Italy, and whose
full merit cannot be known to those who have never visited
Spain. The place is made glorious with the works of the
gentle and genial Murillo, whose best productions, spiritual
without being highly intellectual, and therefore not reaching
the highest dignity, like those of Raphael, have yet a beauty
of coloring which Raphael never attained. There are sixty-
four paintings by' Velasquez, fifty-eight by Ribera, eighteen
by Juanes, fourteen by Zubarran, and eighty by Alonzo
Cano. I was astonished, after this, to find the walls of one
long room almost covered with the works of Rubens, sixty-
two in number, some of them in his noblest style, and others
in his more vulgar and sprawling manner. In another quar
ter, I was lost among the Titians, for Titian dwelt and
painted year after year at the Court of Spain. Paul Ve
ronese is here in a magnificence almost equal to that in
which he appears at Venice. Here, too, are some very fine

EL PASMO DE SICILIA. 135
Guidos among the sixteen paintings which bear his name.
There are ten pictures by Raphael, in his different styles,
and among them is the one called El pasmo de Sicilia, which
is deemed the pride of the Museum. It represents the
Saviour sinking under the weight of his Cross, while near
him, several women, agitated with pity, are starting forward
involuntarily to his relief. The painter has chosen the mo
ment at which Christ uttered the words : " Daughters of
Jerusalem, weep not for me," &c. The action and expres
sion of the picture are marvellously fine, but the coloring is
most extraordinary ; a hot, red glare lies on the figures, like
the light from a furnace ; the picture must have been re
paired by some injudicious hand. Vandyck has twenty-two
pictures in the Museum, some of them very noble ones, and
of Teniers there were more than I had patience to count,
large and small ; some of them were his attempts in the
heroic style, and ludicrous enough. Several of the finest
landscapes of Claude Loraine are in this Museum.
A small part of one of the halls is occupied with Spanish
pictures of the present day, which seem as if placed there on
purpose to heighten, by the effect of contrast, the spectator's
admiration for the works of the past ages. They look like
bad French pictures, painted in the time of David, though
among them are two or three respectable portraits. I won
der how, with such examples before them as the Museum con
tains, any artist could suffer himself to paint in this manner.
Of landscapes by Spanish painters, I do not recollect one in
all the Museum, though the landscape parts of some of Mu-

136 MODEEN SPANISH PAINTINGS.
rillo's pictures, seem to me to have all the grace and free
dom of his figures. There is a Spanish landscape painter,
however, Villamil, whose works I have heard commended ;
but an American gentleman told me the other day, that
they were not such as he would care to bring home with
him. There is no wonder that there should be so little
landscape painting, where there is so little country life, as
in Spain. I have not yet said all that I have to say of Madrid, but
the letter is already so long, that I shall reserve the remain
der for another.

ENGRAVING IN SPAIN. 137

LETTER XIII.

THE SPANISH CAPITAL

Madrid, November 17, 1857.
My last letter concluded with a word or two on the pres
ent state of the fine arts in Spain. On painting and sculp
ture there waits a handmaid art, engraving, which invaria
bly flourishes where they flourish ; in Spain it has scarcely
an existence. The glorious works in the Museum are en
graved by Frenchmen. In passing along the streets, I have
sometimes been stopped by the sight of an engraving of a
Murillo or a Velasquez, exposed in the windows, and read
under it, " published by Goupil, in Paris and New York."
Yet Spain has, at this moment, an eminent engraver, Mar
tinez, whose engraving of one of Murillo's most beautiful
things, " The Dream," I saw in the house of Mr. Calderon
de la Barca, late ambassador from Spain to the United
States. By him I was kindly taken to the studio of the
artist, a modest, laborious young man, who in almost any
other country would have a career of improvement, fame, and
fortune open before him. He was engaged in engraving
Murillo's counterpart to " The Dream," which may be called
".The Fulfilment," and had almost finished his task; but

138 MEDRAZA'S COLLECTION.
when it should be completed, he would lack money to go to
Paris and get it printed, and in Madrid the means of taking
good impressions of steel and copper plates are wholly want
ing. The Queen of Spain had seen and admired his en
graving of " The Dream," and had commanded him to en
grave " The Fulfilment ; " the artist obeyed, but the Queen
had forgotten both the artist and the task she set him. On
the wall of his studio hung a proof impression of the portrait
of a good-humored looking little girl. " It is the portrait
of the Queen in her childhood," said the artist, " and was en
graved at her express desire." That, I thought, might be
remembered ; but even that the Queen had forgotten.
There are some very fine private galleries of paintings in
Madrid, to none of which have I asked admittance ; for I
have not had time to see even the Museum as I could wish.
Among these the most remarkable is, perhaps, that of the
elder Medraza, a painter, who in the course of a long life has
got together, I am told, a princely gallery of paintings, the
estrays of art, single works of great merit once owned by
decayed families and others, which by some accident had
dropped out of large collections. I have heard its value
estimated at a quarter of a million of dollars, and am told
that it contains many works of the very highest merit. The
veteran artist now wishes to dispose of it, with a view oi
providing for his children, but he declines all offers for any
of the pictures separately. If there be any institution in
America — as I suppose, in fact, there is not — which desires
to possess a collection of paintings rivalling the National

A DOCTOR OF LAWS MADE. 139
Gallery of Great Britain, the Vernon pictures included, here
is an opportunity.
Yet, if old arts have passed away, old usages remain —
picturesque usages of the times when Spagnoletto and Alonzo
Cano held the brush in their living hands. In our country
when we make a Doctor of Laws or of Divinity, the ceremony
is very simple — a few Latin words are mumbled, and a
parchment scroll is handed, or sent by mail, to the candi
date, and the thing is done ; but in Spain the occasion is not
allowed to pass so lightly. I was taken the other day, by a
Spanish friend, to the University, to see the degree of Doctor
of Philosophy conferred. The ceremony took place in a
large, lofty hall, hung with crimson, on the entablatures of
which were portraits of the eminent authors and men of
science whom Spain has produced. At the further end of the
hall was a raised platform, on which were seated the officers
of the University, at a sort of desk, and in front of them, on
benches on each side, the doctors of the different sciences, in
their peculiar costume. All wore ample black gowns, but
they were distinguished from each other by their caps and
the broad capes on their shoulders, both of which were of
lustrous silks. The capes and caps of the doctors of theology
were white, those of the doctors of philosophy blue, the men
of the law flamed in red, the men of medicine glistened in
yellow, the doctors of pharmacy glowed in purple. On each
side of the presiding officer stood a macer, in black gown
and cap, bearing his massive club of office, and on the front
edge of the platform, looking down upon the audience, stood

140 ADDRESS OF A SPANISH PROFESSOE.
two janitors, dressed in the same manner, but with black
plumes nodding in their caps. After a strain of music, a
young man, sitting on a front bench on the right side of the
platform, and dressed in the costume of a doctor of philoso
phy, turned his face to the presiding officer, and began to
speak. " It is Emilio Castelar," said my Spanish friend ;
" he is one of the professors of philosophy, gran democrats, y
muy elocuente — he is not more than twenty-four years old,
and yet he is a great advocate." I observed the young man
more narrowly ; he had a round youthful face, jet black
mustaches, and a bald forehead ; he gesticulated with Span
ish vivacity, in yellow kid gloves. I was not near enough
to hear very well what he said, but his discourse, delivered
in earnest, impressive tones, seemed to take a strong hold of
the audience, for they leaned forward with deep attention,
and at the pauses I could hear the murmur of "Muy Men!
muy Men dicho ! "
When he had concluded, a strong built man, who had
been sitting on the same seat, arrayed in a black gown with
a blue silk cape, but without a cap, arose amidst a flourish
of music, and was conducted by the steward, who was dressed
like the janitors, except that he wore white plumes in his
cap, to a sort of rostrum projecting from the wall, into
which he ascended and read a printed discourse prepared for
the occasion. This was the candidate for the degree to be
conferred. When his discourse was finished, he was led up
to the officers of the University, before whom he knelt, and
placing his right hand on the leaves of a large, open folio,

THE FEAST OF ALL SAINTS. 141
took the oath of his doctorate. A jewel was then put into
his hands, and the steward and janitors brought from an
other room his doctor's cap, with a sword and a pair of
gauntlets, reposing on a blue silk cushion, which were pre
sented to him as emblems of the duty now devolving upon
him as the sworn soldier of the truth. Amidst a burst of
triumphant music, the presiding officer then threw his arms
around his new associate ; the other officers embraced him in
their turn ; he was then conducted through the rows of seats
on the platform, to be hugged successively by all the doc
tors, red, white, blue, yellow, and purple. At the close of
these embracings, the steward suddenly struck the floor
smartly with the end of his massive truncheon, the music
ceased, a few words were uttered by the presiding officer, and
the session was dissolved. It seemed to me that in the in
terval which had passed since I entered that hall, I had been
favored with a glimpse of the middle ages.
This was shortly before the feast of All Saints, in which
the people of Madrid repair to the sepulchres of their kin
dred and friends, to deck them with flowers. The day before,
all the autumnal roses are cropped, the dahlias, marigolds
and china-asters broken from their stems, the beds of verbena
and heliotrope rifled, and massive wreaths of the dry flowers
of gnaphalium, or everlasting, made up, with little inscrip
tions expressive of affection and sorrow, formed by the same
flower dyed black. On the morning of the first of November,
a rainy morning, cabs and carriages, the tops of which were
gay with baskets of flowers, were passing each other in the

142 BURIAL PLACES.
street, on their way to the cemeteries. In the afternoon,
the clouds opening to let down a gleam of sunshine, I went out
to two of these burial grounds, lying just without the walls, to
the north of Madrid. They are large enclosures, laid out in
formal walks, planted with shrubs and flowers, and surround
ed with a wall from fifteen to eighteen feet high, and as
thick as the wall of a fort, with a broad portico in front, ex
tending its entire length. This wall is the place of sepul
ture ; it is pierced with five rows of cells or niches, one above
the other, into which the coffins are shoved endwise, and the
openings are then closed with tablets, inscribed with epitaphs.
All along the portico, before these repositories of the dead,
rows of large waxen tapers were burning, and the tablets
were wreathed with every flower of the season. Servants were
employed to watch the tapers, who trimmed them occasionally,
and as they flared in the wind, gathered the wax that drop
ped from them, frugally made it into balls, and laid it by.
People were sauntering from tomb to tomb, and a bell from a
little chapel in the wall was giving out a hard, sharp, monoto
nous toll. A few persons passed into the chapel, and paid
their devotions.
The affectionate remembrance of the dead is beautiful in
any shape which it takes. And yet I could not help saying to
myself, as I looked at all this : What a different sight will be
here, when Time, as at length he must, shall cause this sepul
chral wall to crumble in pieces ! What rows of grinning skel
etons will then be turned out to the air ! The sleep of the dead
in the bosom of earth is safer from such ghastly profanation.

RESERVOIR AND AQUEDUCT. 143
Near these cemeteries I visited, in company with a Span
ish friend, the reservoir which is to receive the waters of
the Lozoya, the brawling stream at which, as I have re
lated in a previous letter, we saw the women rinsing their
clothes near Boceguillas. The Lozoya is to be brought into
the city by an aqueduct about twelve Spanish leagues in
length, or forty miles, at an expense of four or five millions
of dollars. " They will do the work well," said an American
gentleman to whom I was speaking on this subject, '' for the
Spaniards are good masons, and build for many years."
Huge iron pipes lay scattered about, in which the hitherto
free stream of the Lozoya is to be imprisoned. We climbed
a few feet to the top of the reservior, and then descended
into it. We found it to consist of two spacious and lofty
chambers, separated from each other by a thick wall ; the
floor is of water-lime, and the long rows of massive brick
pillars that support the roof are plastered with water-lime
also. The work is carried on steadily, and in about two
years' time, I am told, for they do not hurry these things in
Spain, the Lozoya will run in veins through the streets of
Madrid. In several of the principal streets they are now en
gaged in making passages for it. The pavements are not
taken up as is done with us ; but a shaft is sunk at some con
venient point, and from this the engineers and laborers work
like moles under ground, mining the streets lengthwise in
the two opposite directions. When the work is completed,
Madrid will have an aqueduct rivalling that of our Croton,
though I doubt whether the Lozoya will bring in half the water.

144 NEWSPAPERS OF MADRID.
As we traversed these great subterranean chambers, the
echoes of which rang to the sound of our steps, I had no longer
a doubt for what purpose the similar constructions which I had
seen in the East were designed — such for example as the
Chamber of the Thousand Pillars — I think that is the name
¦ — at Constantinople, the spacious vaults under the tower of
Ramleh in Palestine, and others beneath ruined castles and
mosques in the Holy Land. They were, I doubt not, cisterns,
in which the water falling from the clouds in those thirsty re
gions, was collected for seasons of drought. The vaults under
the mosque of Omar, at Jerusalem, were probably constructed
as reservoirs of water.
In speaking of the public entertainments of Madrid, I
ought, perhaps, to have included what I have no doubt will,
in due time, take the place of the bull-fights — that is to say,
the newspapers. I have not been able to buy a newspaper
in the streets since I came here, yet the taste for newspaper
reading is rapidly increasing ; the time is at hand when they
will be deemed as much a necessary of life as the matches
now sold at every corner for the loungers to light their cigars.
A few years since, there were but four or five of them in
Madrid, and now there are twenty-four. I have looked
them over with much interest ; they discuss political ques
tions with ability and decorum; some of the most eminent
men in the country write for them. Escosura, now a politi
cal exile, used, I am told, while a minister, to write, at stated
periods, his newspaper article, and take his onza, or fee of
sixteen dollars. It appears to me also that these discussions

LIBERTY OF THE PRESS. 145
just now are managed with perfect freedom. In fact, the
fall of the late ministry is generally attributed to the law of
the press, the ley de imprenta, as it is called, for which,
although it was never regularly enacted, Narvaez and Noce-
dal had the address to procure from the Cortes an ordinance
giving it the force of a law until their next meeting, when it
was to be discussed and finally enacted or rejected. This
ordinance imposed upon the press in Spain the odious
shackles it wears in France, and was intended as an engine
of the most perfect despotism. The discontent occasioned
by it was so great, and manifested itself so strongly, that
the Queen, who does not like trouble, and who dreaded a
revolution, got rid of her ministers in some haste ; and the
bold and once popular Narvaez, and the active, able, and, as
his enemies say, the utterly unprincipled Nocedal, have
fallen, probably never to rise again. The ley de imprenta
will always be remembered to their shame.
I hear that there are very few of the daily newspapers of
Madrid the expenses of which are fully paid out of their in
come. It follows that they are supported in part by the
contributions of the different parties for whom they speak.
Meantime, they keep up the controversy respecting measures
and principles with as much spirit and perseverance as the
journals of our own country, without the vulgarity which is
sometimes so offensive in our party contests. In some of
the Spanish journals questions of political economy are very
ably argued ; the Discusion, for example, maintains the cause
1

146 A SPANISH RAILWAY.
of free trade, and exposes the errors of the protectionists
with skill and effect.
The new Ministry, appointed since I came to Madrid, of
which Martinez de la Rosa, an old constitutional conserva
tive, always consistent, is one of the principal members, and
in which Mon, a politician of liberal ideas in regard to com
merce, holds the place of Minister of Finance, will, it is
thought, be favorable to freedom of trade, and do something
to relax the rigor of the system under which the useful arts
in Spain languish, and smuggling flourishes. The law of
the press will probably be rejected under this administration.
The appointments which it has made of Governors of the dif
ferent provinces have already given great offence to the ab
solutists. The new ministry have released many persons ar
rested and thrown into prison, by the order of Narvaez and
his colleagues, for no other reason than that they were
men whom the absolutists disliked and dreaded.
If newsboys are to be found anywhere in a city you would
expect to meet them at the railway stations. Madrid has
one station — the commencement of a railway intended to
connect the capital with the Mediterranean, and already ex
tending a hundred and sixty miles towards the coast ; but at
that place nobody ever cries the newspapers, though the
trains leave it several times in the day. I was shown over
the place a few days since by the gentlemanly superintend
ent ; it was a scene of more activity than I had witnessed
since I came to Spain. The station extends over a square of

OTHER RAILWAY PROJECTS. 147
nearly forty acres ; hundreds of workmen were engaged in
levelling it, and hundreds of others in constructing its work
shops and other buildings, while close at hand a private com
pany was putting up a large iron foundry. The trains run
to Ahnanza, a Murcian town, from which one branch will
proceed to the port of Alicante, and another to that of Va
lencia. The branch to Alicante — from twelve to fourteen
Spanish leagues in length — is all but finished, and will be
opened in the course of the winter ; that to Valencia will re
quire more time, on account of intervening rocky hills.
When the entire track shall be completed to Alicante,
Madrid will have, for the first time, an easy, quick and cheap
communication with a seaport. The little town of Ali
cante, now the seat of a petty commerce, will start into new
life and growth. I suppose that envy of the prospects of
Alicante will hasten the completion of the branch to the city
of Valencia, and that when the effect upon the prosperity of
these two places becomes visible, an emulation will be awak
ened which will cause railways to be made from Madrid to
other cities and other marts of the sea. There is a company
already engaged in the project of a railway from Madrid to
Bayonne, but its progress is very sluggish. One of the
clerks employed in the office of the engineer at Vitoria, told
me that if it should be finished in ten years it was all that
could be reasonably expected. A railway from Madrid to
Lisbon is also one of the projects of the day.
Whether these projects ever go into effect or not, the
opening of a passage by steam to the sea coast will bring the

148 THE FUTURE OF SPAIN.
whole eastern and southern coast of Spain into immediate
communication with Madrid. All that is produced in those
rich districts, all that is woven or wrought in the looms and
workshops of Catalonia and Valencia ; the fruits of the gar
dens of Murcia and Andalucia ; and the harvests of all then-
fields, which are now conveyed to the capital by slow, labo
rious and expensive journeys, on the backs of mules or in
carts, or in the rude country wagons called galeras, will be
brought up from the provinces in a few hours and at little
cost. Not only will Madrid be thus brought near to all the
ports of the Mediterranean, but by means of the railways
proceeding from the French ports, she will become the
neighbor of all the northern capitals of Europe. The cur
rent of foreign travel which sweeps over the continent, and
is only turned away from Spain by the obstacles of bad
roads and insufficient and uncertain means of conveyance,
will rush in at the opening made for it. From Marseilles, a
brief voyage in a steamer to Alicante or Valencia, and
eight hours afterwards on the rails, will take one to the seat
of the Spanish monarchy.
What effect this will have on the material interests of
Madrid, it is easy to see ; what agency it may have in has
tening changes of another kind, now going on in Spain, is
fair matter of conjecture. The world is always in a state of
change ; but at the present time causes are at work as ac
tively in Spain as elsewhere, which thrust change upon the
heels of change more suddenly than ever before. Here is a
sea-beach which the tide is rising to overwhelm, and Spain

CHANGES AND THEIE EFFECT. 149
is only a bank lying a little higher than the rest, but equally
sure to be submerged at last.
It is impossible, in the first place, that the monastic in
stitutions, which had flourished for so many centuries in
Spain, and struck their roots so wide and deep, and over
shadowed so much of its territory, should be wrenched from
its soil without great consequences, affecting the character and
condition of its people, which even now have but just begun
to make themselves felt. The temporary restoration of these
orders under Ferdinand the Seventh, was attended with cir
cumstances which engendered bitter resentments, and their
present suppression is doubtless final and perpetual. It is
impossible, in the second place, that a system of universal
education should be adopted in a country without introducing
new ideas. The ordinance which obliges parents to send
their children to the public schools, is not, I believe, much
regarded ; but, in the mean time, the number of readers is
rapidly multiplying. Again, it is impossible that the lib
erty of printing should be allowed in any moderate degree,
without exploding many old notions and opinions, and adopt
ing others in their place. It is remarkable that, even while
the odious ley de imprenta has been in force, it is a law of
which even those who framed it have never dared to take the
full advantage ; and there is every reason to believe that, to
a certain extent, the liberty of the press will continue to be
enjoyed in Spain. Finally, it is impossible that a free inter
course should exist between nations, as is certain to be the
case between Spain and the rest of the world to a much

150 KINDNESS OF THE MADRILENOS.
greater degree than ever before, without their borrowing
something from each other in ideas and habits. The people
of different countries are becoming less and less unlike each
other every day, under influences which we cannot disarm
of their power if we would.
The administration of. public affairs in Spain will proba
bly vacillate from conservative to liberal and from liberal to
conservative ; the Moderados will be in power to-day and the
Progresistas to-morrow ; but these are mere petty agitations
of the surface ; and underlying them all, and far more pow
erful than they, and ever steadily at work, are the great
causes of change which I have already enumerated. For
good or for evil, the operation of these causes must go on.
To a hopeful temperament, however, there is nothing dis
couraging in this. All change, we know, is not for the bet
ter ; but if Spain should lose some of her old virtues, let us
hope that she will acquire some new ones in their place ; if
her people should learn some new vices, let us hope that they
will get rid of some old ones. There will still remain, I
suppose, certain distinctive elements of character, in that
mingling and proportion of intellectual faculties and moral
dispositions which the various families of mankind receive
from nature, and which cause them to differ from each other
as remarkably as individuals.
I am now on the point of leaving Madrid, and I shall
leave it with a certain sadness, as a place in which I have
found much to entertain and interest me, and in which I
have been treated with much ktndness both by Spaniards and

THE AMEEICAN MINISTER. 151
my own countrymen. Of the people of the country I ought
to carry away a most favorable impression, if such an im
pression could be produced by unwearied endeavors, with ap
parently no motive but simple benevolence, to make our stay
agreeable. The American minister, Mr. Dodge, is very at
tentive to the convenience of his countrymen, and a great
favorite with such of them as come to Madrid. He is on ex
cellent terms also with the people of the country, and has
done, what I think few of his predecessors have taken the
trouble to do — acquired their language. He has sent his res
ignation to Mr. Buchanan, that there may be no hesitation
in giving the embassy to any other person ; but should the
resignation be accepted, it is not likely that the post will be
so well filled as it now is.

152 DEPARTURE FROM MADRID.

LETTER XIV.
A JOURNEY FROM MADRID TO ALICANTE.
Carthagena, Old Spain, November 28, 1857.
We left Madrid on a chilly, rainy morning, the 18th of
November, after having waited several days for settled weath
er, that we might visit Toledo, to which a friend was to ac
company us. The fair day for which we were looking had
not arrived, and we reluctantly gave up the idea of an excur
sion to that ancient jfity, which has preserved so long the
works of her Moorish architects, and tokens of the Moorish
dominion among the later works of her Gothic builders, and
where they yet forge the famous Toledo blade, not quite
equal, perhaps, to the cutlery of Sheffield. How many other
old cities of Spain we shall have been obliged to leave behind
on our journey ! Bilbao, Salamanca, Zaragoza, and a dozen
more, all of which we should have visited, had we leisure,
and the roads and the weather allowed us. We shall leave
Spain, also, without a look at those who range the woods of
Estremadura ; without seeing any thing of Galicia or the As-
turias, and other provinces, which, inhabited by races distinct
from each other in character, costume and speech, make up
what was once the powerful and dreaded monarchy of Spain.
To see Spain well, requires time, and we feel that we are

A HERMITAGE. 153
about to leave it without having had more than a mere
glimpse of the country and its people.
The wind, as we passed through the walks of the Prado,
was tearing off and strewing over the hard-beaten soil the
sallow leaves from the elms and other trees, some of which,
however, whose foliage had not yet grown old, were still in
full leaf, and attested, by the freshness of their verdure, the
mildness of the autumnal climate in this capital. To our
surprise, for punctuality in the arrangements for travelling is
not a common virtue in Spain, the train set out at pre
cisely the appointed hour. It took us along the banks of the
Manzanares, beside a canal begun by Ferdinand the Seventh,
to connect Madrid with the sea, and after a considerable
waste of money abandoned. To the left of our track ap
peared a church, seated on a high rocky hill, rising out of
the plain. " It is the hermitage of Pintovas," said a fellow-
passenger. " These churches which you see in solitary places
are called hermitages. Until lately, some person devoted to
a recluse life had his cell in them, and subsisted on the alms
which he got from the faithful. The government has seized
upon them, or most of them, professing to regard them as
useless for the purpose of public worship, and the hermits,
like the monks, have been driven back into the world they
had left."
Some forty miles from Madrid we crossed the Tagus, swol
len with rain, and carrying to the ocean the soil of Castile in
a torrent of yellow mud. Immediately we found ourselves in
Aranjuez, among shady walks and trim gardens, rows and
17*

154 ARANJUEZ.
thickets of elms, acacias and planes, plantations of fruit trees
flourishing in a rich soil, and abundant springs breaking out
at the foot of the declivities, and keeping up a perpetual ver
dure. Here the royal family of Spain have a country palace,
and hither it is their custom to come in spring, when the
flowers and the nightingales make their appearance, which
is much earlier in Aranjuez than at Madrid ; but they leave
the place as soon as the summer sets in, on account of the
intermittent fevers which prevail here. The grounds are not
laid out with any taste, nor could the place be thought re
markably pretty in our country ; yet to our eyes, accustomed
so long to the brown fields of Castile, it seemed a paradise.
But now the walks were slippery with mud, and we were not
tempted to stop. We issued from the valley of Aranjuez,
and proceeded to Villasequilla, where we had thought to take
the road leading up to the rocks on which Toledo is built ;
but even this place we were obliged to leave behind, on account
of the continued bad weather, and passing by a few solitary
cottages, scattered at distant intervals along the railway, and
inhabited by persons in the service of the proprietors, at the
doors of which we saw the comfortable-looking families of the
inmates, the train soon whirled us into the province of La
Mancha. In all its provinces which I have seen, Spain needs a
reformer like Dr. Piper in our country — some enthusiastic
friend of trees, to show the people the folly of stripping a
country of its woods ; but in no part of the kingdom is he so
much needed as in La Mancha. If the Castiles are deplora-

LA MANCHA. 155
bly naked, La Mancha is so in a greater degree, if that be
possible. Until you begin to approach the Murcian frontier,
La Mancha has scarcely a bush ; it has no running streams,
and scarce a blade of grass makes itself seen ; the only green
it has at this season is the springing wheat, which the rains
have just quickened, and fields of which lie scattered among
the tracts of fallow ground. It is a time of rejoicing in Spain
when the rains fall soon after the wheat is sown, for that is
the promise of a plenteous harvest. When the plant is once
put in a due course of growth by timely moisture, it defies the
drought of the succeeding season. The last harvest was un
commonly large, and the people are now looking confidently
for another year of abundance. I may mention here that in
almost all the districts of Spain which produce wheat, it is
the practice to let the soil recover its fertility by rest. The
surface of the ground is stirred with a little light plough of
the rudest make ; the seed is then scattered and covered ; the
harvest is reaped in due time, a harvest of full, round, heavy
grains, yielding the whitest of flour, and then the ground is
left unfilled in stubble, till it will bear stirring again. No
growth of juicy clover, or of the sweet grasses we cultivate
for cattle, succeeds that of wheat.
But to return to the subject of trees ; they say at Madrid :
" Aranjuez is overshadowed with trees, and the place is un
healthy in summer ; trees grow along the Manzanares under
the walls of our city, and on the banks of that river you have
the tertian ague." The answer to this is, that the unhealth-
iness of Aranjuez is caused by its stagnant waters, and that

156 DEEARY ABSENCE OF TREES.
there is no proof that trees make the air in the valley of the
Manzanares unwholesome, any more than the pebbles of its
stream. It has never been found that the health of a dis
trict, subject to fever and ague, has been improved by strip
ping it of its trees, and letting in the sun, to bake the soil
and evaporate the moisture to its unwholesome dregs. It is
objected again, in the grain-producing districts of Spain,
that trees form a harbor for the birds, which devour their
wheat. For these childish reasons, whole provinces, once in
dependent kingdoms, have denied themselves the refreshment
of shade and verdure, have hewn down the forests which cov
ered the springs of their rivers and kept them perennial, and
withheld the soil from being washed away by the rains, and
have let in the winds to sweep over the country unchecked,
and winnow its clods to powder.
Ford, in his " Handbook for Travellers," says that the
rivers of the country are constantly diminishing. I do not
know what evidence he has to support this assertion ; he cer
tainly produces none ; but it may be safely taken for granted,
that they have now less depth of water in summer than when
their sources were shaded by woods, under which a bed of
leaves absorbed the rains, and parted with them gradually
to the soil, protecting them from a too rapid exhalation.
The beds of many of the rivers of Spain are dry for the
greater part of the year, and only form a channel for torrents
in the rainy season. To renew the groves, which have been
improvidently hewn away, would be a difficult task, on ac
count of phe present aridity of the soil and air, which are un-

ASPECT OF THE COUNTRY. 157
favorable to the growth and health of trees ; but with the
increase of their number, it is natural to expect that the
work of rearing them would become easier. It will require,
however, I suppose, centuries to wean the people of the
prejudice of which I speak, and then almost as long a time
to repair the mischief which is its fruit.
La Mancha has a look of cheerlessness and poverty, and
the intervals between town and town are longer and more
dreary than in the Castiles. I hear that the winds in sum
mer, sweeping over this level region without an obstacle,
drift the dust of the ways and fields in almost perpetual
clouds through the air ; but when we passed through it, the
earth was yet moist with rain, which here and there stood in
broad plashes. The towns which lay in our course, such as
Campo de Creptino and others, are mostly, as it appeared to
me, built of small unhewn stones, plastered on the outside
with red mud, the soil of the country. The inhabitants are
a slender and rather small race of men. I saw companies of
them employed on the railways near the stations ; they
seemed to work with a will, and had a healthy look. All
over the country, wind-mills, as in the time of the author of
Don Quixote, were flinging their long arms about, and in
one or two places they stood in a little host on the hill-side.
Let me say for La Mancha, however, that just before we
passed out of it, between Campo de Creptino and Villaro-
bledo, our eyes were refreshed by the sight of a forest of
evergreen oaks, small and thinly scattered, but extending
over a considerable tract of country.

158 ALBACETE. SPANISH DAGGERS.
Soon after this we glided into twilight and darkness, and
at half-past seven reached Albacete, where we left the train
and stopped for the night at a passable inn. We were now
in Murcia, the land of fruits, and they gave us for dessert
what you do not often find in Europe, some sweet and well-
flavored melons. As we were dining, we were beset with
people offering to sell us daggers and poniards, which are
skilfully wrought in this country, and often prettily orna
mented. The fellows were neatly dressed and smoothly
shaved, and all wore new black velvet caps. They address
ed themselves to the ladies of our party, whom they seemed
to consider most in need of their weapons, and it cost a good
deal of trouble to convince them that we were genie de paz,
who had come to the country without the slightest intention
of stabbing anybody in it. As fast as we got rid of one of
these men, another would make his appearance, until they
had all received the same answer, and left us to finish our
meal in quiet.
We had no time to look at Albacete, for we left it in the
fog and darkness at half-past five the next morning, when
the train came along from Madrid. When the fog cleared
away at sunrise, we were passing through a forest of ever
green oaks. The trees which had attained any size had
been polled so often that their tops were but little broader
than their trunks, and when I looked at them, I could think
only of so many barbers' blocks in green wigs. We reached
Almanza, where the travel on the railway terminates for the
present, about eight o'clock, in the morning. We break-

A CAERITO. 159
fasted at a comfortless inn, where a fresh-colored, stately
hostess, of ample proportions, paid us little attention, and
were waited upon by two remarkably skinny and shrivelled
little women.
Our first care was now to procure the means of convey
ance to Alicante. We might have proceeded in the dili
gence to Valencia, which we afterwards found to our cost
would have been the most convenient mode, but as we were
going to the south of Spain, and the nearest route lay through
Alicante, we determined to make the best of our way direct
ly to that place. There was no diligence or any other regu
lar means of communication between Almanza and Alicante.
The common conveyance of the country is a tartana, which
is a sort of cart, a two-wheeled vehicle without springs, but
provided with cushioned seats, an arched top, and glasses in
front. I found all the tartanas already in use, and the owner
of the best in town did not expect it back till night, so that
we were obliged to take up with the original of the tartana-,
a simple cart of rude construction, with cushioned seats on
each side like those of an omnibus, an awning, a covering
of painted cloth, and a floor of strong matting. They call
this a carrito, to distinguish it from the carro, which has no
seats within, and carries charcoal and cabbages to market.
I hired a vehicle of this kind to take us to Alicante, a dis
tance of about sixty miles, in eighteen hours of travel ; an
allowance of time which seemed to me discouragingly lib
eral. For my comfort, some gentlemen, who were breakfast
ing at the inn, assured me that the road was " transitable,"
as they called it.

160 ALMANZA.
In getting ready for our journey, our luggage was fasten
ed to the back of the carrito in such a manner as to keep
that part disproportionately heavy, and always inclining
most inconveniently to the ground. We looked at the vehi
cle, and looked at the streets of Almanza, which lay deep in
mud, and concluded to walk till we got out of town, picking
our way as we best might, by keeping close to the houses.
As we went, we met numbers of people with loaded donkeys
coming to market, and heavy carts and wagons, staggering
through the miry streets, their drivers filling the air with
shouts, while at every corner, and at almost every door, stood
the idle inhabitants, staring at us or nodding and smiling to
each other, and pointing to the Franceses, as they call all
foreigners in this country. We reached at length the city
gate, and passing out upon the broad highway into the open
country, turned to admire the site of Almanza, lying in a
fertile valley, among craggy mountains. Close beside it
rose, immediately out of the plain, a lofty red rock, uplifting
a massive castle of the same color, which looked as if the
cliffs had formed themselves into walls and battlements.
We now got into our carrito, the motion of which was
unpleasant enough. The road was said to be macadamized,
but this was a figure of speech ; no pains had been taken to
keep the middle higher than the sides, hollows were formed
where the water had softened the ground into mud, the
heavy carts and galeras had almost everywhere furrowed it
with deep ruts ; and wherever the mire seemed too deep for a
loaded vehicle to struggle through, a heap of coarse broken

A MURCIAN CAERETEEO. 161
stone had been thrown in a sort of desperation, whicn added
to the roughness of the way. We were tossed backwards
and forwards, and pitched from side to side as we stumbled
on. Our driver was a good-natured, careless, swarthy Mur
cian, Jose Pinero by name, as lithe as a snake, dressed in
black velvet jacket and pantaloons, with a bright parti
colored handkerchief wrapped round his head, and over that
a black velvet cap. With a beard and the Oriental costume,
he might have passed for an Arab of the purest caste. He
spoke a sort of clipped Spanish, with a Murcian lisp, and sat
on a little board in front of our cart, doubled up, much as he
doubled his whip. We had stipulated for two good horses,
hut those which were furnished us did not quite answer that
description. They were very thin, and looked old and worn
out ; they were harnessed one before the other, and the
leader, who had not been accustomed to draw except with
another by his side, had an inconvenient habit of always
crowding to the right, so that our Murcian was at his wit's
end to keep him in the road.
Beyond Almanza the country had some color; there
were bright green fields of wheat and trefoil, and tracts of
tilth between, of a chocolate brown, and low brushwood on
the hills, of a dark green hue, looking like the stubble of
what might once have been forests. Six leagues from Al
manza, where pinnacles of bare rock enclose smooth and fer
tile valleys, we reached, as the night was setting in, Villena,
a Murcian town, and stopped at the Posada de Alicante, a
wretched inn, kept in what was formerly part of a convent,

162 A MURCIAN INN.
where horses were stabled in the cloisters below, and wide
stone stair-cases led to the rooms occupied by the family and
their guests above. As we entered, we heard the tinkling
of a guitar and the clatter of castanets, and saw in a vaulted
recess, on the ground floor, half a dozen people sitting on
benches, one of whom, a young man, was playing, while be
fore him a young fellow and a little girl were dancing. We
got a great, dreary, chilly room, with one large window look
ing out upon the old court of the convent, and two deep al
coves containing enormous wide beds of straw, resting on
huge bedsteads of beam and plank, the work of some coarse
carpenter ; perhaps they were the same on which the bulky
friars, the former inmates of the place, had slept. A strap
ping Murcian woman, loud-voiced and impudent, and always
talking, laid the sheets for us, assisted by a younger maiden,
little, pretty, and quiet. For our evening meal we got a
tolerable soup, but it was with great difficulty that we pre
vented it from being flavored with garlic. The elder wait
ing woman tossed her head, and expressed her scorn very
freely when we gave repeated orders to dispense with the
favorite condiment of her country ; but we got the soup
without garlic, notwithstanding. The greatest difficulty we
had was in obtaining a sufficient supply of water for our
morning ablutions. A single large washbowl, half filled
with water, was placed on a stand in the corner of the great
room, and this was expected to serve for us all. We called
for more water, and a jar was brought in, from which the
washbowl was filled to the brim. We explained that each

SCARCITY OF WATER. 103
one of us wanted a separate quantity of pure water, but the
stout waiting-woman had no idea of conforming to our out
landish notions, and declined doing any thing more for us.
It was only after an appeal to the landlady, that a queer
Murcian pitcher, looking like a sort of sky-rocket, with two
handles, five spouts, and a foot so small that it could hardly
stand by itself, was brought in, and for greater security made
to lean against the wall in the corner of the room.

164 GETTING OUT OF VILLENA.

LETTER XV.
A JOURNEY FROM MADRID TO ALICANTE  CONCLUDED.
Cartagena, November 29, 1857.
At an early hour the next morning the muleteers were
reloading their beasts among the arches of the cloisters,
where they had been fed, and at half-past five o'clock we set
out among them.. We had made our way to the inn with
perfect ease the night before, and one of our party had re
marked upon this to the driver. " You will find Villena a
bad place to get out of," was his answer, and so it proved,
for I do not remember ever to have been conveyed, in the
night, through streets so crooked, narrow and miry. A man
had been engaged to keep beside the horses, and guide them
at the sudden turns of the streets, but even this precaution
did not seem enough. There was not a lamp in the streets,
and only a dim starlight in the sky ; but luckily, an end of
candle was found in the carriage, which, being lighted,
helped to show the way. Several times the horses stopped,
and required a great deal of encouragement from the driver
before they would attempt to draw us out of the sloughs into
which we had plunged. Once they turned suddenly about,
jerking round the carrito in a very narrow passage, with an
evident design to return to their stable. At length, after a

sax. 165
series of marvellous escapes from being overturned or dashed
against the walls of the houses, we reached the Queen's high
way in safety, and extinguished our light.
With a passable road, and a better carriage, this day's
journey would have been delightful. When the sun rose we
found ourselves in a picturesque country, bordering a little
stream, the Segura, I believe, and here lay the town of Sax
on the side of a hill, which towered above it — a high rock,
full of yawning holes and caverns, and crowned with an old
abandoned castle. We did not enter, but left it a little way
off on our right, basking in the sunshine of a pleasant morn
ing. It rang with the incessant cackling of hens, the cries
of children, and the shrill voices of women. Craggy moun
tain summits all around us kept watch over smooth valleys,
and along the huerta which bordered the stream, the peasants
were cutting and carrying home the fresh stalks of the
maize, which had been sown for fodder. Beside the road
were green fields of the Windsor bean and trefoil — the trefoil
which is so tender, juicy and brittle in its winter growth,
that, as I remember, in Egypt it is often eaten as a salad.
The road, however, seemed to grow worse as the country
became more worth looking at ; the mire was deeper, and
the way marked with deeper furrows by the wheels of the
heavy galeras. The day before we had discovered that our
driver had an unlucky knack of locking the wheels of his
cart with those of the other vehicles he met, and once or
twice had caused our baggage to scrape in a most perilous
manner against their muddy wheels. He was now to show

166 AN ACCIDENT.
us that his accomplishments went further than this. I had
taken a long walk of two or three hours that morning, for it
was an easy feat to keep pace with our horses in walking ;
and now, in approaching the town of Elda, the ladies of our
party had become so fatigued with, the incessant jolting they
had endured, that they dismounted, and picked their way on
foot by the side of the road. Our carrito had entered the
town of Elda, the driver walking beside his horses, when, as
it turned a corner, the right wheel striking against the check
stone and rising over it, overturned the vehicle with all the
baggage, bringing the wheel-horse to the ground. When we
came up with our driver, he was looking ruefully at what he
had done, and apparently meditating what he should do
next. He soon had plenty of advisers and assistants ; and
leaving our courier with him to see to our baggage, we with
drew from the crowd that were gathering about us and star
ing at us most unmercifully, and followed a by-street leading
round a corner of the town to where the main road again issued
into the fields. Here, while waiting for our carrito, we had a
good opportunity to observe the situation of Elda. It lies in
a rich plain, among mountains ; a few date palms, the first
we had seen in Spain, rising above the houses and all the
other trees, give the place a tropical aspect. We had been
made sensible all the morning that we had entered within
the bounds of a more genial climate than that of Madrid.
The air was like that of early June with us, and there was
never a softer or pleasanter sunshine than that which shone
about us.

FOUL ROADS. 167
In about twenty minutes Jose rejoined us with his cart,
and we all got in again. By that good fortune which
strangely attends some careless people, neither the vehicle,
nor the horses, nor the harness, nor our luggage, had sus
tained the slightest damage. We were now in the huerta of
Elda ; on each side of the road were rows of olive trees, the
finest and most luxuriant of their kind, loaded with fruit
which was dropping to the ground, with occasional planta
tions of sprawling fig and branching walnut-trees, under all
which the ground was green with the winter crops ; but the
road between was little better than a canal of mud, and so
painfully did our horses flounder through it, that we all soon
dismounted a second time, and walked. " You will find the
road better a league or so ahead," said a man, who, accom
panied by laborers, was trying to make it passable in some
of its worst parts.
We walked on more than two miles further, when having
left the too fat soil of Elda behind, the road became a little
better, and Jose again received the ladies into his carrito.
We now began to speculate as to what we should do when
we should arrive at our next stopping-place, the Venta de los
Cuatro Caminos, which is Spanish for the Four Corners'
Tavern — whether we should get another cart for our luggage,
or whether we should hire donkeys, on which the ladies
might make part at least, of our remaining journey to Ali
cante, a distance of three or four leagues ; I could not learn
exactly which, for the computation of distances is remarkably
inexact in Spain. Just then the plain in which stands the

168 A PIECE OF GOOD FORTUNE.
Venta de los Cuatro Caminos opened upon us, a broad fertile
tract, swelling into pleasant undulations between desolate
mountain ridges ; and showing at one view three or four con
siderable villages, the largest of which was Novelda, and be
side more than one of which rose lofty groups of palm trees.
Onr vehicle had already crossed a railway, the unfinished
part of that which is to unite Alicante to Madrid, when our
courier, who had been walking all the way from Elda, came
running after us with the good news that a train of open
trucks was to go that afternoon to Alicante, and that if we
pleased we might have a passage in it. He had seen the
engine smoking at a little distance, and the fancy had taken
him to inquire if that did not offer an easier means of con
veyance to Alicante than the one we had. We immediately
paid off and dismissed our Murcian driver, who seemed nearly
as glad to be spared the rest of the journey, as we were to
get out of his cart. But here we were met with a new diffi
culty ; the tickets we had bought for Alicante specified that
the passengers should take with them no baggage. On
representing our case, however, to the principal persons in
charge of the train, they most kindly allowed us to take our
trunks and travelling bags along with us, and treated us
with the greatest courtesy. After waiting some time for the
principal engineer to arrive, and for a shower to pass over,
which darkened the sky and smoked on the hills in the
quarter to which we were about to proceed, we set out,
shielded by our umbrellas from a thin rain beating in our
faces. About half the distance between the station of No»

ALICANTE. 169
velda and Alicante, we stopped to load the trucks with
broken stone, a dirty white alabaster, destined to be used in
building, after which we went on. The Mediterranean soon
glimmered in sight ; then appeared a bald rock with a fort
on its summit, and the other drab-colored heights by which
Alicante is sheltered ; and in a few minutes we were at the
terminus of the railway. Four Valencians took charge of
our baggage, which had required but two porters to carry it
in Madrid. When told that so many were not necessary,
they answered : " We are not Gallegos ; we are not beasts of
burden." We followed them through a short avenue of elms,
just without the city, beside a plantation of young palm trees,
profusely hung with their large clusters of fruit, to the Fonda
del Vapor, where we found pleasant rooms, and sat down to
an excellent dinner, closed by a plentiful dessert of fruit,
grapes of the finest quality in enormous clusters, and dates
just ripened and fresh from the trees that bore them.
Alicante had not much to interest us, except the kind
ness of the American Consul, Mr. Leach, and his family, and
that of the other persons to whom we had letters, and who
did every thing in their power to make our stay agreeable,
while we waited for a steamer bound for the southern parts
of Spain. It is a decayed town of great antiquity ; its peo
ple carry on a little commerce in wine, raisins, and a few
other productions of the fertile region around it ; a small
number of vessels lie in its port, and now and then one of
them is freighted with wine for the United States. The
streets are for the most part unpaved, and I could not sue-

170 A GOOD MAN.
ceed in finding a pleasant walk in the environs of the city.
" We are too poor to pave our streets," said one of the resi
dents to me ; yet the hope is cherished that Alicante will
become the seat of a great commerce, after the railway to
Madrid shall have been opened. Already they are begin
ning to build a little, in expectation of that event ; but this
is done sluggishly. It will require some powerful, immediate
impulse to break the dead sleep which for centuries has set
tled on that ancient seat of trade.
I said that Alicante had not much to interest us ; let me
recall the expression. I saw at Alicante what interested' me
more than almost any thing else which I met with in Spain,
the monument of a man most remarkable for active and dis
interested beneficence, Don Trino Gonzalez de Quijano, who
was the civil Governor of the province of Alicante from the
22d of August, 1852, to the 16th of September in the same
year, while the cholera was carrying off its thousands, and
filling the province with consternation. In early life Quijano
had been a soldier, and was always a zealous constitution
alist. Those with whom he acted had entrusted him succes
sively with the administrative power in several of the prov
inces of the kingdom, and he had made himself so popular
in the Canary Islands, to which he had been sent by the
government, that they elected him their representative to
the Cortes. Immediately upon his arrival at Alicante, he
entered actively upon the work of mercy, superintending in
person every measure adopted for the relief of the sick and
their families, attending at their bedsides, administering the

HIS HUMANE LABORS. 171
medicines prescribed by the physicians, providing for the
necessitous out of his private fortune, and when that was ex
hausted, dispensing the contributions of those who were in
cited to generosity by his generous example. As the circle
of the pestilence extended, he passed from one town to an
other, sometimes in the night and sometimes in the midst of
tempests, carrying, wherever he went, succor and consola
tion, and assuaging the general alarm by his own serene
presence of mind. When his friends expressed their fears
lest his humane labors might cost him his life, "It is very
likely they may," he answered, " but my duty is plain, and
if I can check the spread of the cholera by laying down my
life, I shall lay it down cheerfully." He was attacked at
length by the distemper, but not till he had the satisfaction
of seeing its violence greatly abated. " Do not call in the
physicians," he said, " it will create a panic and make new
victims ; let it not be known, if you can help it, that I died
of the cholera."
Quijano died, to the great grief of those whom he had
succored, and for whom he had literally laid down his life.
Three years he lay in his grave, and as soon as the physi
cians pronounced that it could be done without danger to
the public health, his coffin was taken up and opened. The
features were found to be little altered ; it seemed that even
corruption had respected and spared the form in which once
dwelt so noble a soul. The people of the province, in silence
and wonder, came in crowds about the lifeless corpse and
kissed its hand ; mothers led up their children to look at all

172 HIS FUNERAL.
that was left of the good man, to whom they owed their own
lives and those of their husbands. The corner-stone of a
monument was laid, to which the towns composing the prov
ince of Alicante contributed. It stands a little without the
northern gate of the city, a four-sided tapering shaft, in
scribed with the names of the grateful towns which he suc
cored — Alicante, Alcoy, Montforte, Elche, and others — rest
ing on a pedestal which bears a medallion head of Quijano
and inscriptions in his honor. May it stand as long as the
world. I love and honor Spain for having produced such a man
as Quijano. A pamphlet is before me, consisting of the ad
dresses made and poems recited on laying the corner-stone of
the monument under which he was again committed to the
earth — florid prose and such verse as is easily produced in the
harmonious language of Castile. I only wish that in some
part of it a plain recital had been given of his numerous acts
of beneficence, that I might have made this brief account
more particular, and, of course, more interesting.

A SPANISH GALERA. 173

LETTER XVI.
A JOURNEY PROM ALICANTE TO MURCIA.
Malaga, December 2nd, 1857.
I had become quite tired of waiting at Alicante for a
steamer bound for the southern ports of Spain ; yet the roads
were so bad that none of our party but myself would venture
to perform any part of the journey by land. I therefore de
termined to proceed by myself to the city of Murcia, taking
Elche in my way, and thence to Carthagena, on the coast,
where the others were to join me. At three o'clock in the
morning of the 25th of November I was waked and conduct
ed through the miry and silent streets to the office of the dil
igence. Here I was told that, on account of the badness of
the roads, the passengers were not to be sent forward as
usual in a coche, but in a galera, which means a sort of mar
ket-wagon without springs, running on a large pair of wheels
behind, and a small, low pair next to the horses. In taking
my passage, I had paid for a seat in the berlina, or coupe, as
the French call it, and as the galera has no berlina, I was told
that I was entitled to receive twelve reals back. I took the
change, and soon found myself packed in the wagon with
eight other passengers, who did not seem in the best humor ;

174 CIGARRITOS. MATCHES.
possibly on account of the change in the mode of conveyance
— nor did they quite recover their spirits during the whole
journey. They consoled themselves with rolling up small
quantities of finely-chopped tobacco in little bits of paper, to
make cigarritos, and quietly smoking them out. For this pur
pose every true Spaniard carries with him a little unbound
volume of half the size of a pocket almanac, composed of thin.
leaves of blank paper, one of which he tears off every time
he has occasion to make a cigarrito, and drawing a quantity
of chopped tobacco from a small bag, folds it with quick and
dexterous fingers into a compact cylinder, and lighting a luci-
fer match with a smart explosion, raises a smoke in as little
time as is needed to read these lines. There is one respect
in which Spanish industry takes the lead of the world — the
making of lucifer matches for smokers. A slender wick of
two inches in length is dipped in wax of snowy whiteness,
and tipped with a little black knob of explosive matter, look
ing like the delicate anther of some large flower. Struck
against the gritty side of the little box which contains it, the
Spanish match starts into a flame which requires more than
a slight puff of wind to blow it out, and which lasts long
enough for a very deliberate smoker to light any but the most
refractory cigar.
Our galera was dragged out of town in the glare of two
torches, by eight mules, going at a pretty smart trot ; but
when the light of morning became so strong that the snap of
a lucifer match was no longer followed by an illuminatioh of
the inside of our wagon, we saw that we were travelling in what

ELCHE AND ITS PALM GROVES. 175
could not be called a highway but by a gross misapplication
of terms. It was from three to five rods in width, and worn
considerably lower than the fields through which it passed,
so that the rain-water flowed readily into it, and found no pas
sage out, making it a long, narrow quagmire. Yet we were
in the midst of a pleasant huerta, for here were groves of
olive trees, full of fruit, and rows of the dark green lentisk, from
which the fleshy pods had been gathered, and lines of mul
berry trees, already bare, and sallow pomegranate bushes, and
fig trees beginning to drop their foliage. Above these tow
ered here and there a giant palm, and, finally, at a distance,
appeared a great wood of palm trees, which seemed to fill
half the horizon, like those which in Egypt overshadow the
mounds that mark the site of Memphis, or those through which
the traveller passes on his way from Cairo to Heliopolis. We
were approaching Elche, the inhabitants of which have tend
ed their groves of palm, refreshing the trees with rills of wa
ter guided to their roots in the dry season, and gathering
their annual harvest of dates in the month of November, ever
since the time of the Moors. I seemed to have been at once
taken from Europe, and set down in the East. The work
people whom I saw beginning their tasks in the fields, or go
ing to them along the road, reminded me of the Orientals.
The Majo cap which they wore, without being a turban, im
itates its form in such a manner, that at a little distance it
might be easily taken for one ; and their gay-colored sashes
worn around the waist, their wide white drawers reaching
just below the knee, and their hempen sandals, the next thing

176 INHABITANTS OF ELCHE.
to slippers, heightened the resemblance. In our journey from
Almansa to Alicante we had often, as we approached the sea-
coast, met with cartmen and wagoners dressed in this half
Oriental garb ; but now we were on the spot where it was the
household costume, and where the needles were plied by which
it was shaped.
Passing by a large plantation of young palms, just begin
ning to rise from the ground, with trenches from one to anoth
er along the rows, leading the water to their roots, we entered
the great wood. There were palms on both sides of the way,
standing as near to each other as they could well grow ; some
of them tall, the growth of centuries, others short, though
equal in breadth of stem and reared within the last fifty years.
They hung out in the morning sunshine their clusters of dates,
light green, yellow, or darkening into full ripeness ; clusters
large enough to fill a half bushel basket, while their rigid
leaves rustled with a dry hissing sound in a light wind.
Our vehicle staggered on in the miry streets, between
low stone walls, and amidst a crowd of men and women go
ing forth to the labors of the day, entered the streets of
Elche, embowered in this forest. I saw that all the houses
had flat roofs — another resemblance to the towns in the East.
I looked around me for similar resemblance in the people by
whom the place is inhabited, and fancied that I found them.
The people have dark complexions, bright, dark eyes, nar
row faces, and for the most part high features and peaked
chins, and slight and slender figures ; such, at least, was the
sum of observations made in the slight opportunity afforded

MORNING CUP OF CHOCOLATE. 177
me. I did not see the wide white drawers so frequently in
the streets as I had seen them in the fields. The knee-
breeches and ample brown cloak of Castile were a more com
mon sight.
Our mules were stopped at an inn, where they were to
be changed, and where the passengers were told that they
could have a cup of chocolate. It was now about half past
seven in the morning. In a little room on the ground floor,
near the stables, two or three persons sitting at a table were
satisfying their early appetite with toasted bread or biscochos,
a sort of sponge cake, which they first dipped in a little cup
of very thick chocolate. I followed their example. All
over the kingdom the Spaniard breaks his morning fast on
chocolate ; it is the universal household beverage ; the manu
factories of chocolate — chocolate mills I might call them —
are more numerous than the windmills. Those who take
coffee drink it at the cafes, as an occasional refreshment, just
as they take an ice cream ; and the use of tea, though on
the increase, is by no means common. The only narcotic in
which the Spaniards indulge to any extent is tobacco, in
favor of which I have nothing to say ; yet it should be re
membered, in extenuation, that they are tempted to this
iiahit by the want of something else to do ; that they hus
band their cigarritos by smoking with great deliberation,
making a httle tobacco go a great way, and that they dilute
its narcotic fumes with those of the paper in which it is
folded. With regard to the use of wine, I can confirm all
that has been said of Spanish sobriety and moderation, and
8*

178 OEANGE GROVES.
must add that I find the number of those who never drink it
larger than I had supposed.
In walking about the streets of Elche, I found myself
quite as much a curiosity to the people of the place as they
were to me, and as they were several hundred to one, the
advantage in this encounter of eyes was clearly on their side.
So I beat a retreat, and got back to the inn, from which, at
a little past eight, we again set out, and splashed out of
Elche as we had entered it, among palms standing thick on
each side, and overshadowing the muddy way with their
scaly trunks, their plumy foliage, and their heavy clusters of
fruit hanging down below the leaves, as if to tempt the gath
erer. The road now became worse than ever, and, at the
request of the conductor, we all got out and walked for a
considerable distance. Here were hedges of the aloe plant
beside the way, and thickets of that gigantic kind of cactus
called the prickly pear were in sight, allowed to grow, I sup
pose, for the sake of their fruit. We were still in the region
of palms, some groups of which were so lofty that it seemed
to me easy to prove, by counting the circles in their bark,
made by each annual growth of leaves, that they had been
| planted by the Moors. The village of La Granja, close by
a range of bare, brown precipices, had a noble group, and
was surrounded by young plantations of palms, which at
some future day will screen it from the sight of the traveller
till he enters it. At La Granja we passed an extensive
orange grove, lying in the mild sunshine, with abundance of
golden fruit spotting the dark green foliage, and guarded by

SPANISH OF THE SOUTH OF SPAIN. 179
a high and thick hedge. We drove through a gap in that
range of precipices to Callosa, and here were other orange
groves ; and now we came at length in sight of Orihuela,
where on each side of the way were rows of young palms
just springing from the ground, which will one day supply the
markets of Madrid.
At this place the diligence stopped to bait, and I had the
honor of a seat at the same table with the conductor. A mess
of some undistinguishable materials, chopped up with an
abundance of garlic, was placed before him, while I contented
myself with eggs and bread, a bit of cheese and a dessert of
fruit ; and we both had the company of the landlady, a very
stout and rosy woman, who sat by us and chatted and gos-
sipped incessantly. She was curious to know of what coun
try I was. "A Frenchman, certainly." "No." "Not
French ; then you must be English." " I am not English."
"From Germany, then?" "Not a German, but an Ameri
can." She looked at me narrowly, as if with a purpose to
satisfy herself in what respect an American differed from a
European. "And how do you like our country ? " I could
not but praise what I had seen of it that day. " And you
understand all we say ? " I would not admit my ignorance of
the local dialect, and yet, I confess, I was obliged to pay the
strictest attention to be always tolerably certain of what she
was saying. In the south of Spain the Castilian loses its
clear, open pronunciation, and all its majesty. Among other
peculiarities, the natives, who like to do every thing in the
easiest way, neglect to pronounce the letter s in many words,

180 OLIVE GROVES.
and decline giving themselves the trouble of articulating the
letter d between two vowels. Thus, you will hear este pro
nounced ete; dado in their mouths becomes dao; nay, casa
is sometimes contracted to caa. It is just as if in English
we were to say chet instead of chest, louer instead of louder,
and hou instead of house.
Before setting out again, I walked about the town, which
presented little worthy of notice ; Orihuela being curious only
in one sense, that is to say, in the disposition which the peo
ple in the streets manifest to scrutinize the appearance of
those who seem to be foreigners. Beyond Orihuela the road
was rough with stones, rammed into the clayey soil, making
a kind of rude pavement, over which we were jolted without
mercy ; but we were compensated for this inconvenience by
the pleasant sights which our journey showed us. Along the
fertile huerta, through which we were travelling, lay here and
there extensive olive groves, composed of as fine trees of their
kind as I ever saw, stretching away to the right and left,
sometimes as far as the ranges of desolate rock that overlook
the country. They were loaded with fruit, which was dropping
to the ground ; and now that the olive harvest was come, the
soil under the trees had been carefully levelled, and the peas
ants were shaking the boughs, picking up the olives, and car
rying them away in panniers. Although so late in Novem
ber, the sun was shining with a genial light, like that of our
blandest October days. An hour or two before his setting, I
saw where the proprietors had come out to superintend the
tasks of the laborers, or to entertain their families and

OLIVE GATHERERS. 181
friends with the spectacle of the olive harvest. Amidst
groups of the peasantry, vigorously shaking the boughs and
filling the panniers, chairs were placed, where, under the shel
ter of some broad tree, sat ladies, while children sported and
shouted around them, or gave their help to the workpeople.
At a later hour, as the air grew chilly, we saw several of these
parties returning to their houses.

182 MURCIA.

LETTER XVII.
MUKCIA  CARTAGENA  ALMERIA.
Malaga, December 2d, 1857.
It was nightfall when our conveyance reached Murcia.
" Where will you stop ? " asked the conductor ; " at the Fon
da Francesa, I suppose." He was right; and a boy was
called to carry my travelling bag and show me the place. I
was led through crooked and narrow ways, where in many
places the water lay in plashes, to the dreary inn, the best
in Murcia, situated in a gloomy street, where a French wait
er, who had not been long enough in the country to speak
Spanish, showed me a room, and seemed glad to meet with a
guest who understood his own language. I had a letter for
a gentleman in the Murcian capital, furnished me by a Span
ish acquaintance in Madrid, and leaving my luggage at the
inn, I made my guide conduct me to his house in the Calle de
Gontrasta. Unfortunately, the gentleman was not in, and I
went back to the inn to write up my journal.
The mosquitos interrupted and shortened the sleep of
that November night, and at an early hour I was walking
about the city and peeping into the churches. The streets

THE CATHEDRAL. 183
of Murcia are narrow and irregular, and some of them have
only a narrow strip of pavement on the sides for foot passen
gers, like those of Damascus. The houses that overlook them
are often painted yellow or pink. Of the churches, I found
only the cathedral worthy of much attention. It has a tower
built after some modification of classic architecture, so lofty
and massive that it deserves to be noble and beautiful, but it
has neither beauty nor majesty ; and the foundation having
settled on one side, it leans awkwardly away from the main
building. An old Gothic portal forms the northern entrance
of the Cathedral, and if the building had been finished ac
cording to the original plan, it would have been an excellent
sample of the severer Gothic ; but as one century went by
after another, the later builders, proceeding from east to west,
ran into the Roman style, and spoiled the work. One of the
chapels at the east end is finished in a very singular and
striking manner ; the walls are wrought into a net-work of
interwoven rods and twigs, here receding to leave niches,
and there growing into canopies, pedestals, and other archi
tectural appendages — freakish, but exceedingly ingenious and
graceful. The principal front of the Cathedral is in that
over-ornamented style into which the Spanish architects, two
hundred years ago or thereabout, corrupted the classic orders.
It is stocked with an army of statues — the martyrs, saints and
confessors of the church — all in violent action, all with flut
tering drapery, gesticulating, brandishing crosiers and scrolls,
or wielding ponderous volumes. If one could suppose them
living they might seem a host of madmen at the windows

184 CURIOSITY OF THE PEOPLE.
and balconies of an insane asylum, ready to fling themselves
at the heads of the spectators below ; and yet, with all this,
there is a certain florid magnificence about this part of the
Cathedral which detains the attention.
As I was looking at this array of the church militant, I
found myself the object of very close observation from the
people in the great square, and to avoid it, entered the Ca
thedral. In returning to my inn I was stared at, I think,
more remorselessly than I had been anywhere else in Europe,
except perhaps in North Holland. People would pass me in
the street at a quick pace, and then turn to get a good look.
Yet the number of odd costumes in the city of Murcia ap
peared to me greater than I had seen in any other part of
Spain. Not to speak of the hats of all shapes — the sugar
loaf, the cylindrical beaver, the priests' enormous brim, the
cocked hat of the Civil Guard, and the wide-awake, black or
brown — not to mention caps of every form, from the velvet
one of the Mojo to the broad-topped cap of the Basque, and
of every color of the rainbow — here were knee-breeches by
the side of pantaloons ; here were short, wide, white drawers ;
worn by men in crimson sashes and white shirts, unjacketed ;
here were legs cased in embroidered leathern gaiters, and
other legs covered with white or blue woollen hose, reaching
from the knee to the ankle, and showing the bare chocolate-
colored foot above the sandal ; here where some who, over
their short, white drawers, wore another garment looped at
the sides, and jauntily left half open ; and here were men
who, in the chill of the morning, wore shawls with broad

VARIETY OF COSTUMES. 185
stripes of brilliant scarlet or crimson, alternating with black
and white — a Moorish inheritance — the very bornous of the
Arabs, which is to be found at this moment in the French
shops, where it is exposed as the last ladies' fashion, just from
Algiers. Yet, with all this diversity of garb, the slightest
new peculiarity attracts attention. You see mustachios on
every third man at least, but let one come among them whoso
beard is not of some well-known familiar cut, and the whole
town is electrified with wonder.
I did not wait to see the gentleman to whom I had a let
ter of introduction, though, if I had, I should have seen Murcia
to much better advantage, for the Spaniard is the most oblig
ing of men when you have such an occasion for his atten
tions ; but fearing that the steamer from Alicante might reach
Cartagena before me, I determined to proceed. There was
a galera going out to Cartagena at eleven o'clock that morn
ing ; there was a diligence which would set out at nine in
the evening. I chose the humbler mode of conveyance, be
cause I preferred to travel in the daytime, though the favor
ite practice in Spain, I know not why, is to begin a journey
in the public conveyances at night.
In a covered wagon, without springs, drawn by three
horses, twelve other passengers were packed with me, and
we left Murcia by a very passable road which led us through
a rich plain, planted with mulberry, fig, pomegranate, len-
tisk, orange and lemon trees, a few palms towering above
them all. My fellow-passengers were mostly mechanics, la
boring men and tradespeople, good-humored, obliging, and

186 JOURNEY TO CARTAGENA.
disposed to make the best of every thing. One of them was
a decided wag, and entertained the rest with his jokes. Two
wore the wide white drawers of the country, which, as they
sat, showed their bare brown knees ; they had on crimson
sashes, white knit leggings and hempen sandals. The
younger of these was as handsome a youth, I think, as I
ever saw — his features would have been a study for the
sculptor ; in Rome he might make his fortune by sitting as
a model to the artists.
We rose gradually out of the plain, till, on looking back,
the Cathedral of Murcia appeared of a mountainous size be
side the city dwellings, and its lofty tower seemed higher
than ever. Beyond the city, to the north, stood the solitary
rock of Monte Agudo, crowned with its old Moorish castle,
under the shadow of which I had passed the day before in ap
proaching Murcia. Still continuing to ascend, we threaded
a pass between arid hills, spotted all over with green tufts of
a little palmetto, somewhat smaller than the dwarf palmetto
of South Carolina and Florida, and then descended into a
plain as bare and dreary as those of Castile, bounded by des
olate mountains. The country, sinking gradually towards
the ocean side, began to clothe itself with olive groves ; we
passed through them ; entered an avenue of elms, in a fer
tile huerta, and Cartagena was before us, overlooked by half a
dozen mountain fortresses, which command her spacious har
bor on three sides. We drove through a long street between
dingy houses, almost blue with decay, and were set down at
the entrance of a large stable. I procured a guide to the Hotel

CARTAGENA. 187
of the Four Nations, Fonda de las Cuatro Naciones, kept by
a Frenchman, in a narrow, dark lane, leading out of the
main street, and here I got a lofty room lighted by one great
window, where, for half the year at least, the sun never
entered. I remembered my experience at Murcia, and
asked for a mosquito net to my bed, but none was to
be had, and that night the mosquitos came humming
about me.
The hotel, while I was its guest, was more than what its
name imported — it was an hotel of six nations. At the me
sa redonda, or ordinary, were assembled, besides myself, an
Italian and his wife, three or four Spaniards, a chattering
and sometimes smutty Frenchman, two Germans, one silent
and the other excessively loquacious, and two English com
mercial travellers, one modest and quiet and the other noisy
and impertinent. It is generally agreed, I believe, that
where there is an innate propensity to loud and conceited
talking, the profession of commercial travellers develops it
to its fullest extent. Two tiresome days and three tiresome
nights I passed at Cartagena, wondering when the steamer
from the north would arrive. I employed myself in writing
this letter, and for recreation walked about the city and its
neighborhood. It was not till the afternoon of the day fol
lowing my arrival that I discovered what a remarkably fine
promenade surrounds the city, along the ramparts, erected
when Cartagena was a place of much greater consequence
than now.
It commanded a noble view of sea, mountain and val-

188 SITE OF THE TOWN.
ley. To the north of the city, a marsh, in which the mos-
quitos that tormented me the night before were bred, and
in which pools of water were lying, formed an ugly spot ;
but beyond it, the ground rose gradually into a rich cham
pagne country. As I looked seaward, I thought of the time
wh'en the prows of the Carthaginians first broke these blue
waters ; I thought how they must have admired this noble
bay, which they afterwards made the seat of a great com
merce, and what a wonder they must themselves have been
to the barbarian natives. The palms which I saw at a dis
tance were perhaps the posterity of those which the Cartha
ginian colonists introduced from Africa. I thought again
of the time when the conquering galleys of the Romans sailed
in between these rocky promontories, and compelled the
colony to submit, and of that still later period when the
Moors, coming over from Africa, seized upon it and made it
one of their strongholds and their favorite haven, until at
length it fell into the hands of the Christians, and gradually
declined from its ancient importance.
Cartagena is built on the sides of four rocky hills, en
closed within the circuit of its walls. I climbed to a ruined
castle on the top of one of them, where I found part of a
Roman wall of hewn stone, wholly undecayed, in which is
fixed a tablet bearing a Roman inscription, with letters as
sharp and distinct as if freshly cut. Other portions of the
castle are said by the antiquaries to be the work of Phoeni
cian hands. Against the Roman wall, spacious vaults, built
by the Moors, with the form of arch peculiar to them, still

ARRIVAL OF A STEAMER. 189
remain ; and thus the ruin is a monument of three great
dominions, which have successively flourished and passed
away. Cartagena is a dull, dreary town, but it has its spacious
amphitheatre for bull-fights. In, its markets I found the
fruits of the country excellent, abundant, and cheap ; its
large clusters of grapes still fresh, and its pomegranates of
the finest flavor and the amplest size. I was complimented,
as I walked the streets, with the special notice of the inhab
itants — sometimes rather amusingly manifested. A boy who
had seen me approaching at some distance, got together his
companions to look at me, and as I passed them, said in a
voice which was not intended for my ear — parece loco — " he
seems to be a crazy man."
You may imagine that I was well pleased, when, on the
third morning, the mozo came to my room to announce that
a steamer had arrived from the north, the Tharsis, which is
French or Spanish, or both, for Tarshish, the Land of Gold.
A short time afterwards appeared our courier with the news
that my family were on board the Tharsis, and expecting
me. I was not slow to leave my gloomy lodgings, but I had
first to get the leave of the police to go on board the steamer
as a passenger. The police officer, as he was about to coun
tersign my passport, expressed his surprise at my surname,
which he said was the same with that of a brigadier-general
commanding at Cartagena, and he wrote out the name to
show that it was composed of precisely the same letters. At
last I was permitted to go on board the steamer, which,

190 ALMERIA.
about sunset, stood out of the bay, and early the next morn
ing dropped anchor in the roadstead of Almeria.
Almeria has left a distinct image in my memory. I see
yet its range of bare, white mountain ridges, looking as if
calcined by an intense fire, herbless, treeless, reflecting the
sun with a glare painful to the eye, and smoking with fur
naces in which the lead ore drawn from their bowels is
smelted. I see yet its white houses and fortresses at the foot
of this range, and eastward of these, towards the sea, its cul
tivated plain, a sort of huerta overtopped by a few palms.
The wind blew fresh all day, while our cargo was discharged
and lumps of lead were brought to us in boat-loads from the
shore. Our steamer rolled incessantly from side to side,
which made the loading slow and laborious, and several of
our Spanish passengers were so sickened by this motion that
they left us. Among them was one who came on board at
Alicante, taking passage for Malaga, and who now resolved
to perform the rest of the journey by land. This peculiar
liability to sea-sickness, I hear, is a general infirmity of the
Spaniards, and from what has come under my observation,
I should judge that the remark is true. In a mixed com
pany of passengers, the natives of Spain seemed to suffer
most. We left Almeria a little before sunset, and keeping un
der the shelter of the shore, with a west wind, we got on
pretty smoothly ; but when we turned a cape and took a
westerly course, the wind came sweeping down the Straits of
Gibraltar, and tumbled against us billows that, for aught I

ARRIVAL AT MALAGA. 191
know, were formed in the Atlantic. Our steamer was a pro
peller, and easily affected by the motion of the sea. It was
a great relief to find ourselves, towards morning, in smoother
water ; and when the sun rose upon us, it was the genial
and golden sun of Malaga.

192 CUSTOM-HOUSE IMPOSITIONS.

LETTER XVIII.

MALAGA.

Oran, Algeria, December 17, 1857.
It was a beautiful morning on which we landed from the
steamer Tharsis, at Malaga. The red hills which rise back
of the city, and the great Cathedral and the close huddled
roofs around it, were lying in a golden sunshine, and the wa
ters of the harbor were swept by airs as mild as those of our
June. Nothing could be more bland or more grateful than
the welcome which the climate of Malaga gave us — a promise
of soft and serene weather, which was kept up to the time of
our departure.
They have a way of making strangers who land at Mala
ga pay an exorbitant tax on their luggage ; a fixed rate is
exacted for every separate package, great or small, taken from
the steamer to the wharf ; another for its conveyance to the
custom-house, and a certain tribute on every thing brought
into the custom-house ; and a separate charge on every object
conveyed from the custom-house to the hotel. I heard of an
American gentleman who, in this way, by some ingenious
construction of the regulations in force, was made to pay
twenty dollars ; and then the rogue who had practised this

ASPECT OF THE TOWN. 193
imposition, told him that if he would do him the honor of
employing him when he should leave the port, he would put
his baggage on board of any steamer for a fifth part of the
money. In the Fonda de la Alameda, one of the best hotels in
Spain, we took rooms looking upon the principal public walk
of the city — a broad space, planted with rows of trees, most
ly elms, which had not yet, on the first of December, parted
with their leaves. The sun shone pleasantly into our windows
for nearly the whole day, and we felt no need of artificial
warmth. The fine weather tempted us out to look at the
town, which resembles others in the south of Spain in the
narrowness and crookedness of its streets ; the same labyrinth
of ways, no doubt, which was trodden by the inhabitants ages
since, when they wore turbans. It is proverbially said in Ma
laga, that a priest cannot turn round in them without knock
ing off his hat. Many of them have a short stone pillar
placed at each end in the middle of the passage, to prevent
carriages from attempting to enter. The little dark shops on
each side are scarcely larger than the narrow and shallow
recesses in which the traders of Cairo and other towns in the
East sit squatted among their merchandise ; but the dwelling-
houses, when the open street doors allowed us a peep at the
courts within, had a pleasanter aspect. Here was an open
square paved with black and white pebbles, in a sort of mo
saic, representing foliage and flowers, and surrounded by a
gallery resting on light stone columns with round arches.
In the midst, generally, flowed a little fountain, and the place

194 PROTESTANT BURIAL-GROUND.
was made cheerful by orange trees and other ornamental ev
ergreens, or by pots of flowers. Our walk took us by two or
three fruit markets, in which lay piles of oranges on mats,
with lemons scarcely turned yellow, and baskets of pomegran
ates and medlars, but no grapes. " At this season you must
not look for fresh grapes in Malaga," said one to whom I ex
pressed my surprise ; " however abundant they may be in
Cartagena or Alicante. The wines we send abroad bear so
high a price at the present time, that all our grapes go to
the wine-press, and after the vintage there is not one to be
seen." One of the earliest walks I took in Malaga conducted me
to the Protestant burial-ground, in which lie several of our
countrymen. The first grant of a piece of land for this pur
pose was made by the Spanish government to the late Mr.
Mark, the British consul, who obtained it after long and per
severing solicitation. Before this, the bodies of those who
died at Malaga without professing the faith of the Latin
Church, were buried on the sea-beach at low water mark. The
funeral procession bore the bier to where the last receding
wave left bare the bottom of the deep : a hasty grave was
scooped in the wet sands, and the coffin laid in a spot over
which the waters would immediately return, and over which
no monument could be erected. The soil of Spain, it was
held, should not be profaned by the carcasses of heretics, and
they were therefore given to the ocean. It was with a good
deal of difficulty that Mr. Mark effected a purchase which
assured him and his Protestant brethren, that when they died

TROPICAL PLANTS. 195
they should not have a more contemptuous burial than was al
lowed to asses and dogs. He now sleeps in the spot which
he vindicated for his own last rest and theirs, and a stately
monument is erected to the worthy man's memory.
It is said that after this cemetery was opened, and the
bodies of Protestants allowed a last resting-place in Spanish
earth, the funerals could not for some time take place with
out hootings and cries of derision from the populace, and that
fears were sometimes entertained lest the funeral services
should be riotously interrupted. At present there is nothing
of all this, and the Protestant is as welcome to the hospital
ity of a quiet grave as his Catholic brother.
The burial-place lies on the side of a mount, rising from
the sea to the citadel of Malaga, formerly a stronghold of
the Moors, and surrendered by them to the conquering arms
of Isabella the Catholic. The rains which fall on this de
clivity, ragged with scattered groups of the prickly pear,
flow naturally into a ravine, which passes by the cemetery,
and here they are gathered into a reservoir, from which, in
the dry season, they are distributed to the plants growing
among the graves. We entered the enclosure by a massive
portal, just erected, before which scowled two lions in free
stone, and behind which stood a porter's lodge, and went up
to the monuments through two rows of geraniums, of the
most luxuriant growth and spotted with flowers. "You
should see them in January," said the friend who accompa
nied me, " when they are in a flush of bloom." The walks
within were bordered with beautiful tropical plants, which,

196 MONUMENTS.
in this genial atmosphere, seemed not to miss their native
climate. The tree called flores de pascua, or paschal flower,
held forth its clusters of yellow blossoms, around which
broad circles of its leaves had parted with their natural green
color and took that of blood ; the pepper tree, as it is called,
drooped its sheaves of delicate, fresh green leaves over the
graves, shivering in the slightest breath of wind ; nor were
rows of cypresses wanting. Among the monuments were
those of several of my countrymen ; two of them from New
York, Lieutenant Coddington and young Mr. Clerke, a son
of Judge Clerke. Several graves had the space over them
formed into the shape of a coffin, in a kind of shell-work
imbedded in cement. At the foot of the declivity occupied
by the burial-place, the ocean glimmered and flung his bil
lows against the shore with an angry noise, as if he chafed
at being deprived of the dues paid him for so many years —
the corpses of the heretics, which used to be buried in the
sands of his bed with the bones of sharks and sea-lions.
The original burial-ground has been greatly enlarged by
the present Mr. Mark, the son and successor in office of him
by whom it was first projected. To him are owing the vari
ous embellishments of which I have spoken, and others which
I have not mentioned. At present, Americans are allowed
a place in it by courtesy and sufferance, and it seems to me
that it would be well if our government would, by a small
appropriation, secure to its citizens, in perpetuity, the right
of sepulture within its limits ; which, I am told, might be
done.

ITS PUBLIC CEMETERY. 197
It was some days after this, that I went with the Ameri
can Consul, Mr. J. Somers Smith, from whom and whose
family we received many kindnesses during our stay in
Malaga, to visit the city cemetery. A pleasant winding
road conducted us to it from the city gates, between rows of
olive trees, and little orange and lemon groves. I was sur
prised at the splendor of the monuments, as compared with
those of the cemeteries of Madrid. The lords of commerce,
in Malaga, sleep in far more sumptuous sepulchres than the
Castilian nobility. Over the space enclosed by the thick
walls of the cemetery are scattered tombs in the form of
chapels, urns or massive pedestals, marble statues on columns
of costly workmanship, and elaborate sculptures in relief.
The walks, at the time I was there, were bordered with roses
and other choice plants, in bloom, carefully tended.
As we stood in the centre of the grounds, admiring the
prospect it showed us, the beautiful undulations of the sur
rounding country — its airy eminences and sunny nooks, and
the great ocean to the south — the American Consul remarked
that this would be a most desirable region for country resi
dences, if the neighborhood were but safe. " We live within
the city walls," he continued, " for the sake of security. If
we have country seats, they are always in danger of the
visits of robbers."
This is, in fact, the cause which prevents those who en
rich themselves by the growing commerce of Malaga, and
who build for their families these stately sepulchres among
roses and geraniums, from covering the heights around the

198 ROBBERS.
city with beautiful country seats. The mildness of the win
ter climate allows the cultivation of almost any tropical plant
to which one may take a fancy ; indeed, the winter is the
season of bloom and verdure. They might embower their
dwellings with the palm and the orange, and twenty other
beautiful trees, which require a climate where the frost never
falls, and the vapors of the air never curdle into snow.
"It was but a little while since," said a resident of
Malaga to me, " that we were really afraid to go into the
country, except to travel on the great roads which are
watched by the civil guard. At that time there was a ban
dit who, with a few accomplices, haunted the region back of
the city, and used to waylay and carry off such persons as
he thought likely to bring a large ransom. A poor devil
was, of course, not worth the catching, but a rich man or a
rich man's son was a prize which was sure to reward his
trouble. He would send word to the family of his captive,
that on an appointed day he must have a certain sum of
money, or a forefinger of their friend would be sent them ; or
perhaps a harsher message came, that his head would be laid
at their door. At last he was shot — it was three or four
weeks ago — and his body was brought into town ; I saw it ;
it was that of a man of middle size, but of great apparent
hardihood and vigor. The wounds by which he died were
given in such a manner, that he must have been shot while
asleep. He had been a smuggler in his day ; had been de
tected and imprisoned, and on getting his liberty, betook

A BOY CAPTIVE. 199
himself to the profession of a robber. Since his death I have
ventured into the country on a party of pleasure."
Some further particulars of this man's warfare upon so
ciety, I heard before I left Malaga. Not long before he was
killed, he captured a boy just without the city gates, and
caused his father to be informed that if within a certain
time eleven thousand dollars were not deposited at a place
named in the message, the boy's ears would be sent him.
The money was deposited, and the boy restored to his family.
He related that he was well cared for, and kindly treated ;
that he was taken blindfold from one place to another,
among the solitary recesses of the mountains, and that only
when they reached one of their lurking places, the robbers
removed the bandage from his eyes. The name of the ban
dit whose story I have related — I believe I have it right —
was Manuel Diaz ; the family name Diaz is very common in
Spain, and figures in the history of the wars with the Moors.
When I heard these accounts of the Andalusian bandit, I
could not help thinking of what I had heard and seen in the
East, nearly five years ago — of the dreaded robber of Lebanon,
who infested the neighborhood of Beyrout, and was brought
into the city a prisoner, while I was there ; and of the fear
which the inhabitants of Smyrna had of the outlaws in its
environs, who held the city in a state of siege on the land
side, so that no man of substance could venture to occupy
his country place in one of the villages pleasantly seated
on the declivities of the mountains.
At Malaga they make with great cleverness little images

200 STATUETTES OF BAKED EARTH.
of baked earth, representing the different costumes seen in
the south of Spain. The artist who at present enjoys the
greatest reputation is Jose Cubero, though I believe he has
his rivals. In his collection you see the map and the maja,
the Andalusian dandy and his mate; gipsey men and
women ; peasants of both sexes, on foot or on donkeys ;
young people dancing in holiday dresses, hidalgos on horse
back wrapped in their ample cloaks ; priests in their enor
mous hats ; bandits of the mountains ; soldiers ; members
of the civil guard, with their carbines, and I know not how
many more. After the figures have been subjected to a
strong heat, they come out of the oven with a clean, sharp
outline and of a soft cream color ; a workman then takes
them, and with a pencil paints the hair, tints the eyes and
face, stains the gaiters, tracing them with embroidery, and
gives every part of the dress its proper hue. The spirit with
which these little figures and groups are designed, and the
skill and ingenuity with which they are executed, show a
capacity for the plastic art which only needs due encourage
ment to raise it to something more noble.

A JOURNEY TO GRENADA. 201

LETTER XIX.
GRENADA  THE ALHAMBRA.
Oran, Algeria, December 17, 1857.
While at Malaga we went to pass a few days among the
remains of Moorish splendor in the city of Grenada. A dil
igence goes out from Malaga on its way to that place at nine
o'clock every night, in which we took places, accompanied by
two persons of the family of the American consul, to whom
we were indebted for much of the pleasure and interest of the
journey. I have already said that the Spaniards like to be
gin their journeys in the night. A diligence was not long
since established which set out for Grenada in the morning,
but this departure from old usages met with little favor, and
was soon given up.
I shall long remember the journey of that night. It was
a soft mild evening, and the moon flooded the whole region
with brightness. Our vehicle climbed the mountains north of
Malaga, steep beyond steep, while the lights of the city and
its harbor were seen for a long time gleaming up from the
edge of the ocean far below us. Half way up we passed the
9*

202 ASPECT OF THE COUNTRY.
Queen's Fountain, Fuente de la Reyna, where Isabella the
Catholic is said, in one of her triumphant passages through
the south of Spain, to have stopped and quenched her thirst.
It pours out its waters into a marble basin, murmuring now
in the silence of night as it murmured four hundred years
ago. Along the road grew a row of evergreen oaks, flinging
their dark shadows into the path ; below us lay ravines and
gulfs, which deepened into indistinguishable darkness ; around
us stood bold headlands in the white moonlight ; a solitary
region, tilled but not inhabited ; a vast tract covered with
vines ; vineyard beyond vineyard farther than the sight can
reach, where a fierce sunshine beating upon the red soil exalts .
the juices of the fruit, and whence the vaults of a thou
sand wine merchants have been filled for century after cen
tury. The village of Colmenar came in sight. " Here," said
one of our companions, " live the smugglers of the coast, and
here the robbers I told you of have their confederates, and
are sometimes harbored." The diligence now descended into
a valley, the moonlight faded in thickening clouds, and a lit
tle before sunrise we stopped at the town of Loja for our
morning cup of chocolate. Loja is known as the birthplace
of Narvaez, the late prime minister of Spain, who has acquir
ed an infamous notoriety as author of the law against the
liberty of the press. In leaving the place, a turn in the road
gave us an opportunity of observing its beautiful situation, on
the side of a hill covered with olive groves and other fruit
trees, and sloping down to rich meadows, through which

THE RIVER GENIL. 203
wound a stream, the Genii of Grenada, bordered with an am
ple fringe of unpruned forest trees, nearly all in leaf, though
it was now the fourth of December. We had so long been
accustomed to seeing forest trees lopped and trimmed, that
we gazed with delight on these unmutilated groves, sending
forth their boughs in their native freedom, and wondered at
their beauty. Out of this valley we passed into a dreary re
gion of pasturage, where shepherds were tending their flocks
of long-woolled sheep, mostly black, and then we descended
upon the Vega of Grenada, a vast and rich plain studded
with villages. At Santa Fe, where we stopped to change
our horses, several miles south of Grenada, a mob of boys
came about us, some of them quite comfortably clad, who
clamored for alms, and several of whom, keeping pace
with our vehicle, ran beside it for more than half the way
to Grenada. At length Grenada lay before our eyes, on a hill-side, with
her ancient towers rising over her roofs and her woods, and
towering far above all gleamed the snowy summits of the
Sierra Nevada, in which her rivers have their source. We
drove into the city through a wretched suburb, and were in
stantly surrounded by a mob of young beggars, who trotted
and shouted beside the diligence, while the people gazed and
grinned at us from the doors and windows. Every city in
Spain has its particular custom-house, and our baggage had,
of course, to undergo an inspection, after which we had it
sent to the Fonda de Minerva, on the Darro, a tolerable ho
tel, but miserably sunless and chilly at this season of the

204 BEAUTY OF GRENADA.
year. After having dined in an uncomfortably airy saloon,
we went out into the pleasant evening sunshine and walked
upon the Alameda, planted with majestic elms that overhang
a broad space with their long spreading branches, and form
one of the finest public walks in all Spain. The extent and
beauty of its public walks is one of the most remarkable char
acteristics of Grenada. They surround the hill on which
stands the Alhambra, and intersect its thick woods ; they ac
company the Genii a considerable way on its course ; they
follow the stream of the Darro ; they border the town at its
different extremites and issues.
I am not about to describe Grenada. After what Irving
has written of it, I should as soon think of attempting a poem
on the wrath of Achilles in competition with Homer. Let me
say of it, however, that its site is as beautiful and striking as
its antiquities. There is but one Alhambra ; there is but one
Grenada. Could it have been the taste of the Moorish sov
ereigns ; could it have been their sense of the beauty of nature,
which led them to fix their residence in a spot presenting such
glorious combinations of mountain and valley, forest and
stream ; a spot where you hear on all sides the sound of
falling waters and the murmur of rivers ; where the hill-sides
and water-courses clothe themselves with dense woods ; where
majestic mountains stand in sight, capped with snow ; while
at their foot, stretching away from the town, lies one of the
fairest and most fertile valleys that the sun ever shone upon ?
However this may be, the place was the fitting seat of a great
and splendid dominion.

ARCHITECTURE OF THE ALHAMBRA. 205
If in any respect the Alhambra did not correspond with
the idea I had previously formed of it, it was in the minute
ness of its ornamentation. I did not expect that the figures
into which the surface of its walls is wrought, and which yet,
in most places, preserve the sharp outline of a stereotype
plate, would prove to be no larger than some engravings in
which they are represented. Yet this very minuteness, I
must admit, harmonizes perfectly with the general character
of the architecture, which is that of the utmost lightness and
delicacy possible in buildings of stone. The architecture of
the Alhambra is that of the harem ; it is the architecture of
a race who delighted in voluptuous ease, who wrapped them
selves in soft apparel, and lolled upon divans. The Alham
bra was the summer palace of the Moorish monarchs — a place
of luxurious retreat from the relaxing heats of the season —
a place of shade and running waters, courting the entrance
of the winds under its arches and between its slender pillars,
yet spreading a screen against the sunshine. To this end
the stones of the quarry were shaped into a bower, with col
umns as light as the stems of the orange trees planted in
its courts, and walls incrusted with scroll-work and foliage
as delicate as the leaves of the myrtle growing by its foun
tains. Yet, the most remarkable parts of the Alhambra are
those lofty rooms with circular vaults from which hang innu
merable little points like icicles, with rounded recesses be
tween them. These are as strangely beautiful as a dream,
and translate into a visible reality the poetic idea of a sparry
cavern formed by genii in the chambers of the rock.

206 RESTORATION OF THE ALHAMBRA.
I was glad to see workmen employed in restoring the de
faced parts of this palace. The work goes on sluggishly, it
is true, but it is a comfort to perceive that the ingenuity of
man renews faster than time destroys. I was still more pleas
ed to learn that the clumsy additions with which the Span
ish monarchs disfigured the beautiful work of the Moors are
to be taken down. On the original flat roofs they built anoth
er story, on the sides of which they ostentatiously displayed
the arms of Castile, by way of publishing their own bad taste,
and this superstructure they covered with a pointed roof of
heavy tiles.
" All that," said the keeper of the place, when I expressed
my disgust at its deformity, "is to come down ; every thing
that you see above the Moorish cornice ; and the building is
to be left as it was at first."
Besides miserably spoiling the general effect, these roofs
load the columns below with too great a weight. An earth
quake which happened two or three years since made them
reel under their burden ; it moved several of them from their
upright position, and rendered it necessary to prop others
with a framework of wooden posts and braces. When the
barbarian additions made by the Spaniards shall be removed,
it will be easy, I suppose, to restore the columns to their up
right state, and the wooden supports will become unnecessa
ry. At some future time we may hope that the visitor will
see this palace, if not in its original splendor, yet cleared at
least of what now prevents him from perceiving much of its
original beauty and grace.

GARDEN OF THE KINGS. 207
I was told that visitors are no longer allowed admission
to the garden under the walls of the citadel, called the Gar
den of the Moorish Kings ; but a letter to the Governor of
the Alhambra, with which I had been furnished at Madrid,
opened it to our party. Here an enormous vine, said to be
of the time of the Moors, twists its half-decayed trunk around
a stone pillar. It looks old enough, certainly, to have yielded
its clusters to Arab hands, and perhaps will yet yield them
to their descendants, when, in the next century, the Arab
race, imbued with the civilization of Western Europe, and
becoming fond of travel and curious in matters of antiquity,
shall visit hospitable Spain to contemplate the vestiges of
power and splendor left in that land by their fathers. Two
lofty cypresses, planted by the Moors on this part of the hill
of the Alhambra, yet stand in their full vigor and freshness
— a sight scarcely less interesting than the Alhambra itself.
These trees have survived wars and sieges, droughts and
earthquakes, and flourish in perpetual greenness, while gen
erations, and dynasties, and empires have passed away, and
while even the massive fortresses built by those who planted
them are beginning to crumble. Thus they may outlast not
only empires, but the monuments of empires.
A general letter of introduction from Archbishop Hughes,
of New York, obtained for us access to the relics of Ferdi
nand and Isabella, in the Royal Chapel of the Cathedral,
and to the vaults below, in which their remains are laid.
The mausoleum of these sovereigns before the altar is one of
the most superb things of its kind.in the world ; their colos-

208 TOMB OF FERDINAND AND ISABELLA.
sal effigies lie crowned and sceptred in their robes of state,
and on the sides of their marble couch is sculptured the
story of their conquests. I was amused by an odd fancy
of one of our companions : " Do you perceive," said he,
" that the head of Ferdinand makes scarcely any impres
sion on his pillow, while the head of Isabella sinks deep
into hers ? The artist no doubt intended to signify that
the Queen's head was much better furnished than that of
her consort."
An ecclesiastic sent to accompany us, by the Archbishop
of Grenada, called to an attendant, who brought a light, and
removing a carpet on the floor between the mausoleum and
the altar, pulled up a trap-door, below which, leading down
to a vault, was a flight of steps. We descended, and here
we were introduced to the coffins of Ferdinand and Isabella,
immediately under the monument which we had just been
admiring. They are large, shapeless leaden boxes, in which
the bodies of the royal pair were enclosed at their death,
and deposited near to the spot where the priests chant their
litanies and offer the sacrifice. The contrast between the
outside of this sepulchre and what we now saw, was striking ;
above, in the beautiful chapel, every thing was pompous and
splendid, but here lay the dead within a bare dungeon of
hewn stone, in dust, darkness and silence. When we again
ascended to the chapel, the ecclesiastic caused the crown and
sceptre of Isabella, and the sword of Ferdinand, to be brought
forth and shown us, along with one or two other relics,
among which was a dalmatico, or ecclesiastical mantle, heavily

GRENADA IN SPRING. 209
embroidered with thread of gold by the pious hands of Isa
bella, to be worn by the priests in the ceremonies of the
church. The crown, I must say, appeared to me to be rather
a rude bauble of its kind, but it had been worn by a great
sovereign. We could not help regretting, every moment of our stay
at Grenada, that we had not visited it earlier in the season ;
for now the air, after the first day, was keen and sharp, and
the braziers brought into our room were quite insufficient to
remove the perpetual comfortless feeling of chilliness. Still
more fortunate should we have been if we could have visited
Grenada in the spring. That is the time to see Grenada,
and not to see it merely, but to enjoy it with the other senses
— to inhale the fragrance of its blossomed orange trees, and
of other flowers just opened ; to hear the music of the night- •
ingales, with which its woods are populous ; to listen at open
windows to the murmur of its mountains and streams, and
to feel the soft winds that blow over its luxuriant Vega, and
all this in the midst of scenes associated with a thousand ro
mantic memories.
As a town, Grenada forms a perfect contrast with the
beauty that surrounds it ; it is ugly ; the houses for the most
part mean, and the streets narrow, winding, and gloomy, in
some places without a pavement, and generally, owing to
certain habits of the people, nasty. There is a group of beg
gars for every sunny corner, at this season, and I suppose
for every shady one in summer. The people of the place are
said to have the general character of the Andalusians ; that

210 THE GIPSEYS.
is to say, to be fond of pleasure, mirth, and holidays, and
averse to labor; improvident, lively, eloquent, given to ex
aggeration, and acutely sensible to external impressions.
Every afternoon during our stay, a swarm of well-dressed
people gathered upon the public walk on the other side of
the Darro, before our windows, where we saw them slowly
pacing the ground, and then turning to pace it over again.
A few seated themselves occasionally on the stone benches,
in spite of the keen air, which they bore bravely. I had a
letter to a gentleman, a native of Grenada, an intelligent
man, who, under one of the previous administrations, had
held a judicial post in Valencia. At his first visit, I spoke
of calling to pay my respects to him at his house. " Why
give yourself that trouble ? " he asked ; " I will come to see
you every evening." And come he did, with the most exact
punctuality, and informed me of many things which I de
sired to know, and manifested much more curiosity in regard
to the institutions and condition of our country than is usual
among Spaniards.
In looking across from the Alhambra to the Albaicin,
which is the old Moorish part of the town, we saw the hill
side above the houses hollowed into caverns. " There live
the gipseys," said our guide ; " they burrow in the earth like
rabbits, and live swinishly enough together ; but in some re
spects they set a good example ; the women are faithful to
their marriage vow, and the gipsey race is kept unmingled."
A practised eye easily discerns the gipsey, not merely by the
darker complexion and by the silken hair of the women, but

BEAUTIFUL WOMEN. 211
by the peculiar cast of countenance, which is more than I
have been able to do. " There," said our guide one day,
pointing to a man who stood by himself in the street, " there
is the captain of the gipseys." For my part, I could not
have distinguished him from the common race of Andalu
sians. He was a small, thin man, of sallow complexion,
wearing the majo dress — a colored handkerchief tied round
his head, and over that a black cap ; a short, black jacket,
an embroidered waistcoat, a bright crimson sash wrapped
tightly round his waist, black knee-breeches, and embroider
ed leathern gaiters.
The women of Grenada appeared to me uncommonly
handsome, and this beauty I often saw in persons of the
humblest condition, employed in the rudest labors. The
mixture of races has had a favorable effect in raising the
standard of female beauty — casting the features in a more
symmetrical mould, and giving them a more prepossessing
expression. I had frequent occasion to make this remark
since I left the province of New Castile. The physiognomy
changes, as you pass to the softer climate of the country lying
on the sea-coast, where the blending of the different branches
of the Caucasian stock has been most miscellaneous and most
complete. On the eighth of December, at ten o'clock in the even
ing, we took passage in the diligence from Grenada to
Malaga, and passing through the extensive olive groves of
Loja, in the early dawn of the next morning, we came, about
6unrise, to where the road winds with a steep ascent up

212 A CASTILIAN'S OPINION OF GRENADA.
among bare, bleak mountains. I got out to walk, and was.
joined by a passenger from another compartment of the dili
gence. He was a Castilian, who had lived thirty years in
Grenada, engaged in trade, and, as I inferred, successfully.
" Grenada," he said, " is declining, but it is the fault of the
inhabitants. These Andalusians like only to be amused,
and there is no contempt like the contempt they have for
money. All that they earn they must get rid of ; a work
man who has a dollar in his pocket will do nothing till it is
fooled away. It is therefore that the Grenadans are poor,
and their city in decay."
" But what will you say of Malaga ? " I asked. " Malaga,
you must admit, is thriving."
" It is the Castilians," he replied, " who have made it
the prosperous city it is. It was a poor place enough till
the Castilian merchants saw the advantages of its situation
and settled there." And then he went on to enumerate the
eminent Castilian merchants who had built up, as he said,
the prosperity of Malaga, until the diligence, overtaking us
on a piece of level road, put an end to his eulogy of Castilian
enterprise, by an intimation that it was time to take his seat
within. At Colmenar, where we stopped to breakfast, the beggars
came about us in such numbers that we could with difficulty
get in and out of the carriage, and were obliged to poke
them out of our way. Here a passenger joined us, who
spoke of the distemper which of late years destroys the
grape. This year, he said, the fruit had suffered more from

ARRIVAL AT MALAGA. 213
the mildew than in any previous season ; and if no remedy
was found, the culture of the vine must be abandoned. I
looked round on the almost boundless mountain side, planted
with low vines almost trailing on the earth, and thought
what a change would occur in the pursuits of the people
when these should be uprooted. " That vineyard," pursued
he, pointing to a field by the wayside, " is mine ; in good
years it has yielded twelve hundred arrobas of wine ; last
year I had but a hundred. It is true, I am in part compen
sated by the higher price ; for the same quantity of must,
that formerly brought me three reals, now brings me twenty-
four. You see, however, that on the whole, I lose seri
ously." We were now descending the mountains towards Malaga,
and began to be sensible of its more genial climate. A
bright sunshine lay on the red hills, and though the wind
blew with great strength, there was in it no harshness or
chilliness. We reached Malaga, submitted to an examina
tion of the shirts, night-gowns and slippers we carried with
us, and were allowed to take them to an hotel.
Our visit to Malaga was ended. Cadiz and Seville, and
the rock of Gibraltar, we had not seen, as we had hoped to
do, including a possible excursion to Cordova ; but travelling
in Spain, even by passing in steamers from port to port on
the coast, is slow, and we found that if we proceeded fur
ther, it would take more time than we could spare from our
intended visit to Italy. A steamer from Rouen, bound to
Marseilles by way of Oran and Algiers, made its appearance

214 STEAMERS PROCEEDING FROM MALAGA.
at Malaga. After some comparison of the advantages of
coming this way instead of proceeding to Marseilles by any
of the lines which touch at Alicante, Valencia, and Barcelo
na, we decided in favor of the African route, and took pas
sage in the steamer Normandie, which brought us hither.

CLIMATE OF MALAGA. 215

LETTER XX.
A VOYAGE TO THE AFRICAN COAST  ORAN.
Algiers, December 20, 1857.
It was a beautiful evening when we went on board of the
steamer Normandie, anchored in the port of Malaga ; the
sea as smooth as a mirror, and the sky in the west flushed
with an amber light, which gave its own tinge to every ob
ject lying below it. It was not without regret that we found
ourselves about to leave the agreeable climate of Malaga, with
out the hope of finding any thing like it in the countries to
which we were going. " This is our winter weather," the
residents of the place would say to us, when we spoke of the
serenity and genial softness of the season. In fact, winter in
Malaga has nothing of that dreary dampness or of those keen
winds which make so many days unpleasant in other parts
of the south of Europe. From the bleak north wind it is
shielded by mountains ; and it welcomes rather than dreads
the sirocco or south wind. In Africa the hot and dry breath
of the sirocco parches the soil and withers its vegetation ; in
passing over to Italy it loads itself with all the vapors of the
Mediterranean ; it drenches Naples with rain and involves

216 DEPARTURE FOR AFRICA.
Leghorn in clouds ; but on Malaga it blows genially, bringing
in gentle showers. There is just enough of sea between the
Spanish coast and Africa to take off its fatal dryness, and to
make it a temperate sea wind, instead of the burning wind
of the desert. " In fact, we have hardly cold enough in win
ter," said a gentleman who had lived at Malaga for several
years, " to brace us for the heats of summer ; and one of the
maladies of the country, occasioned by this softness of the cli
mate, is an enlargement of the blood-vessels of the skin — the
appearance of varicose veins on the limbs, which often make
it necessary to wear an elastic bandage or stocking." I have
no doubt, for my part, that the winter climate in Malaga is
one of the most equable in every respect, and most friendly to
the health of invalids, in the world.
It was five o'clock in the afternoon when we went on
board of the steamer Normandie, which had the reputation
of being an excellent sea-boat, commanded by an obliging
and experienced captain ; but it was not till a httle past nine
that we raised anchor and ploughed our way out of the port.
At eleven o'clock the sky was bright with stars, and the
ocean sleeping in a perfect calm, and I had betaken myself
to my berth for the night, when a shock was felt which jar
red the vessel from stem to stern, followed by a hurried tramp
ling of feet on the deck above me, a stormy rattling of ropes,
and loud shouts. Of course everybody was immediately on
deck, and it was found that by some gross stupidity, on one
side or the other, we had struck a steamer coming into port,
amidships, opening a breach in her side which let in the sea,

A COLLISION AT SEA. 217
and caused her to settle fearfully in the water. The first in
quiry was, whether we were going down ; the next, what had
become of the steamer we had struck. The Normandie had
sustained no serious injury, and boats were instantly lowered
to go to the help of the other steamer ; but after the search
of an hour or two they returned, not having been able to find
her. A violent east wind arose soon after midnight, which
tumbled us about most uncomfortably; and the Normandie
was kept passing backwards and forwards near the spot where
the collision took place, until day broke, when we stood for
the port. As we entered, there lay the vessel we had struck,
aground, with her prow in the air and her stern in the water.
Immediately after the accident, her commander caused the
pumps to be worked by the engine, in order to keep her afloat,
and made all speed for the port, where he ran her ashore.
Lighters were now at work taking out her cargo. She proved
to be a Dutch steamer, bound from Marseilles to Rotter
dam. This accident obliged us to remain two days longer at
Malaga, which we only regretted as it was so much to be de
ducted from our contemplated visit to Italy ; but these days
were to be passed in a finer climate than Italy can boast.
On the evening of the 15th of December we were again sum
moned on board, but we did not go out of the harbor till the
next morning. While we were waiting our departure, I hap
pened to stand near a slatternly woman, who had established
herself with a brood of children on a part of the deck among
carpets and shawls somewhat after the Oriental fashion. She
10

218 THE SPANISH LANGUAGE IN THE EAST.
asked me in Spanish if I was going to Oran. " I am." Are
you a Christian ? " The question surprised me a little, but I
answered, "Certainly; what are you?" "lam an Israel
ite." "Born in Oran?" I inquired. "No, I was born in
Tangier." " And do the Jews in Tangier and Oran speak
Spanish ? " " Certainly ; they all speak Spanish."
What she said of Tangier and Oran is true of the Jews
of all the coast of Northern Africa. When the Hebrew race
were so cruelly expelled from Spain, they carried with them,
wherever they went in considerable numbers, the language
of that country, as spoken and written in their day, and they
preserve it yet as their household speech. The Jews of Mo
rocco read the Hebrew scriptures in old Spanish ; and I re
member to have seen a copy of a folio edition of this transla
tion, printed in Amsterdam for their use. The Jews in Cairo
speak Spanish ; in the Jews' quarter at Smyrna you will hear
the children prattling Spanish ; the Jews in Constantinople
speak the same language, and an intelligent Greek once told
me that Spanish is the language of the Jews of Thessalonica,
in Macedonia — so widely did the exile and dispersion of the
Spanish Jews diffuse the language of Castile.
As we stood out from Malaga to the southeast, the moun
tainous coast of Spain, which we were leaving, seemed to rise
higher the farther we receded from it. The bare, steep ridges,
cloven with hollows deepening from the summit downward,
seemed to bathe their feet in the sea, and lost not their dark
red hue in the distance. At their base along the shore was
seen here and there a town or village, but the buildings on

PIRATES ON THE BARBARY COAST. 219
their sides were few, and, I was told, were only those con
taining the wine presses, to which the grapes are brought
in the time of the vintage. We could now understand
how, in that extensive region of ravines and precipices, far
from the habitations of men, robbers could lurk and elude
pursuit. Next morning we found ourselves gliding along on a
smooth sea, opposite to the African coast ; a coast of dark
mountain ranges, projecting in capes ; the shores of Algeria
stretching along our right, and behind us. To the west, rose
dimly the heights of Fez. We were now in waters still
haunted by pirates. It is generally imagined, I believe, that,
since the conquest of Algiers, the inhabitants of the Barbary
coast have ceased to plunder the commerce which passes
through the Straits of Gibraltar ; but this is a mistake. All
along that part of the Mediterranean, where the coast recedes
between Ceuta on the west and the Habibas Islands to the
east, they levy their old tribute on the vessels of Christendom,
though in a somewhat different manner. They have their
lurking-places among the tall reeds of the shore ; and when
they descry a vessel becalmed, they put forth in their boats,
armed to the teeth, and climbing on board, take what they
find worth carrying away. They are a little careful of shed
ding blood, except in cases of resistance ; and carry off no
prisoners, contenting themselves with simple pillage. Some
attempts, I was told at Malaga, have been made to pursue
and punish them, but without success. Their boats were not
to be found ; it is supposed they had contrived to hide them

220 MERZ-EL-KEBIR.
in the sand, and the sea-robbers who navigated them were
safe in their mountains and deserts.
I asked the commander of the Normandie if these robber
ies were frequent.
" Most certainly," he replied. " In calm weather these
waters are unsafe for merchant vessels. It was only about
eight months ago that a Bavarian prince, who was in his
yacht, amusing himself in this part of the Mediterranean,
was robbed by them. You must have seen the account in
the newspapers. He did not yield with a good grace, and
there was a little encounter, in which he was wounded by a
ball in the arm."
We approached the Habibas Islands — dark rocks, rising
out of the water, between us and the shore — we passed them,
and steered south for the bay of Oran. As we drew near the
coast, we were struck with the contrast it presented to the
bare, herbless region we left the day before. Its rocky steeps
were tinged and brightened with patches and stripes of ver
dure. About twelve o'clock we reached a landing in the bay
at the distance of some five miles from the town of Oran,
called by the Spaniards Marsalquivir — but the French write
it, probably with more attention to its Arabic etymology,
Merz el-Kebir. Here, on a precipice that rises over the land
ing, stands a fortress ; and at its foot, a French settlement
extends for some distance along the road to Oran. A min
gled crowd of Franks and Orientals stood on the wharves,
and among the latter I observed two or three whose flowing

LANDING ON THE AFRICAN COAST. 221
garments of white and blue illustrated, very strikingly, the
superior grace and dignity of the Oriental costume.
The moment we dropped anchor, our steamer was sur
rounded with boats manned by Arabs and Spaniards, who
came to take us to land. A dozen Arabs sprang instantly
on board, barelegged and barefooted, with smooth-shaven
heads and little close red caps, leaping like so many African
monkeys over the boxes and barrels on deck, accosting the
passengers one after another in a sort of Arab-French, and
seizing on the baggage of those who were about to go on
shore. We made choice of a Spanish boatman, as one with
whom it was most easy to communicate — a man of enormous
breadth of back and shoulders, who took us in his boat to
the shore. With him was one of his countrymen, a lively
chattering fellow, who was a candidate for the job of taking
us in his carriage to the town. I inquired of him how long
he had been in Oran. " Eight years," he answered ; " I
emigrated in the time of the great drought." I had heard
of this drought in Alicante ; in a considerable part of that
province and the adjacent region, there was no rain, they
told me, for nine years. " The country," they said, " be
came almost a desert ; the vegetation was utterly dried up ;
the inhabitants abandoned it ; thousands of them went to
Oran, on the African coast ; and if you were now to go to
Oran you might fancy yourself in a province of Spain."
Here then, we were at Oran, and found this description true
— the common people speaking a less provincial and more
intelligible Spanish than those in the country we had just

222 ASPECT OF THE COUNTRY.
left. I inquired what was the number of Spanish emigrants
in the department of Oran. " There are twenty-eight thou
sand of them," I was answered, "mostly settled on the
coast ; the number of French is at most fourteen thousand."
We had with us, on landing, a few things which we
brought on shore with the design of passing a night or two
at Oran ; these were carried into the Custom-house, where
they were rigorously searched by a stupid fellow in uniform,
who would scarcely be satisfied without unfolding every
pocket-handkerchief, and turning every stocking inside-out.
At length, it fully appearing that we were no smugglers, we
were allowed to proceed. The road leading to Oran from
the landing is a broad, hard, winding, parapeted highway,
cut in the living rock which skirts the sea. One of the first
cares of the French government has been to make macad
amized roads along the coast, and from village to village, in
a region where there had been no roads since the time of
the Romans. We passed through the French neighborhood,
where women were screeching at their children in the shrill
est French, and military veterans in white mustaches were
sitting before the doors. Half a mile beyond, we left, on our
right, in a little recess of the mountains, the populous village
of St. Andr6, entirely peopled by Spanish emigrants. "That
village," said our loquacious driver, " is only six years old."
I was struck with the verdurous appearance of the shore
along which we were passing. The crags that overhung the
road sprouted with many different shrubs and herbs of the
freshest green ; here were beds of blue violets, patches of

ARRIVAL AT ORAN. 223
young grass, white tufts of the sweet alyssum in the clefts of
the rocks, and the face of the perpendicular precipices was
often draped with pendant strings of a prostrate plant, hav
ing thick fleshy leaves, like the air-plant ; a sight refreshing
to eyes wearied with the glimmer of the sea.
We turned a projecting rock, and found ourselves at
Oran, a city of forty thousand inhabitants, partly lying on
the strand and rising up from the water through a ravine to
the sides of the hills where stand its forts, old and new.
Two lofty minarets overlook its dwellings, with the humbler
towers of its two or three churches, and two broad, white,
macadamized roads lead from the lower to the upper town.
I shall long remember the sights that met our eyes on enter
ing Oran ; Arabs in their loose attire of dirty white, sitting
in the sun, or walking by loaded donkeys ; Zouaves stroll
ing about in their Oriental garb of red and white turbans ;
soldiers in the ordinary French uniform, marching in compa
nies ; Jews in black caps or turbans, and black tunics, talk
ing with Franks, and probably driving bargains ; Spaniards
in their ample cloaks, with one corner drawn over the mouth,
to keep out their great dread, the pulmonia ; masons and car
penters at work on buildings by the way-side ; Franciscan
monks in brown gowns ; Dominican monks in white ; Cath
olic priests in broad-brimmed Quaker hats, with long beards
— for though they must be clean-shaved in Europe, they have
permission to wear their beards in Algeria ; French ladies in
bonnets ; French servant women in caps ; Arab women tod
dling about, wrapped in white woollen from head to foot,

224 SIGHTS IN THE STREETS OF ORAN.
with but one eye uncovered ; other Arab women in calico
gowns and coarse crimson shawls on their heads, drawn over
the lower part of the face ; horsemen reining spirited steeds
of Barbary — sometimes a French officer, sometimes a brown
Arab, the better rider of the two, and proud of his horseman
ship ; camels with their drivers resting at an angle of the
way ; little drays drawn by a single horse or mule, briskly
trotting along with an Arab driver ; files of mules dragging
loaded wagons, and tinkling their little bells, and rattling
Droshkas rapidly driven past all these, on their way to the
landing or some neighboring villages. Through this mis
cellaneous crowd we made our way up the hill, and alighted
at the Hotel de France, where we found rooms looking upon
a great public square, in which figures like those we had
just seen were constantly passing to and fro, as in a phan
tasmagoria. This letter is already so long, that it will not be possible
for me to include in it all I have to say of my visit to Al
geria ; I therefore stop here for the present. Several of my
letters from America congratulate me on having wandered
beyond the limits of the commercial panic, which has so con
vulsed our own country. This may be true of Algeria, in
which I now write, but it was not quite true of Spain. I
had occasion, while at Malaga, to negotiate a draft on my
banker at Paris ; and being told that there would be no diffi
culty in doing it, I deferred taking any step in the matter
till my return from Grenada. But the panic made its ap
pearance in Malaga during my absence, like the sudden

SPREAD OF THE COMMERCIAL PANIC. 225
breaking-out of an epidemic. News of the great failures in
Hamburg had been received, and several houses which were
powerful and prosperous on Monday evening were bankrupt
on Tuesday morning. Money seemed to have disappeared
in the course of a night ; to hear people talk, one would have
supposed that there were not five hundred dollars in all
Malaga. So I reduced my draft to half the sum I thought
of at first, and even this amount would not have been ob
tained but for the special good offices of the Consul. I am
happy to learn that in America the cloud is passing over, and
that, one by one, the broken links of commercial intercourse
are rejoined.

10*

226 A MOSQUE.

LETTER XXI.

ORAN — ALGIERS.

Steamer Normandie, Off Majorca. 1
Malaga, December 22d, 1857. )
The city of Oran was held for three centuries by Spain.
In 1791 a terrible earthquake shook down a part of the town,
and soon afterwards the Spaniards, thinking it not worth
while to defend the remainder against the Algerines, who
harassed them with continual hostilities, finally abandoned it.
I was not surprised, therefore, to find in parts of the town a
strong resemblance to those I had lately visited in Spain.
Before our hotel, on the other side of the square, was a street
of shops, and through this we walked. At its entrance sat
half a dozen native vendors of small wares, with their legs
tucked under them, on little platforms, in the open air. Of
the shops, some were mere niches in the walls, where sat the
Oriental traders among their goods ; others occupied by the
Franks were but little larger, and reminded me of the shops
of Grenada and Malaga.
Taking another direction, we entered a street leading to
the lower part of the city, and passed through a Moorish por
tal, rough with arabesque ornaments, into the court of the

INTERIOR OF THE BUILDING. 227
principal mosque of Oran. Here we found several workmen
occupied in making repairs, for the French government
charges itself with the support of the Mohammedan worship
in Algeria, as it does with that of the Christian and the Jew
ish worship in France. It repairs and rebuilds the mosques,
gives salaries to the Imaums, and makes the Muezzins its
dependants and stipendiaries. " You may enter freely," said
the workmen, " but if you step on the mats you must first
take off your shoes." We entered, and found ourselves in a
forest of square and round pillars, supporting Moorish arches
and the domes above them, the square pillars standing in a
circle under the central dome. The arches were quaintly and
superlatively Moorish, the two ends of the horse-shoe approach
ing very near each other, but in other respects the architecture
was exceedingly plain ; the capitals were of the rudest work
manship, and the whole interior as white as simple whitewash
could make it. " This is a very copy of the great Cathedral
of Cordova, which was formerly a mosque," said one who
attended us ; "in all but the ornamentation and the dimen
sions, the two buildings are precisely alike." We walked about
on the stucco floor, among the numerous pillars, -taking care
not to pollute with our shoes the mats with which nearly half
the floor was covered. In the eastern part of the building
were two worshippers on their knees, with beads in their
hands, one of whom took no notice of us, but continued to
murmur his orisons and to strike his forehead against the
floor, but the other fixed a steady gaze upon us till we with
drew.

228 AN ARAB VILLAGE.
From one of the city gates several parallel foot-paths over
the green led to an Arab village, which we visited, passing
by the Civil Hospital on the right, a modern structure in the
Moorish style, and an old fortress on the left, now used as a
prison. On each side of the way the grass was long enough
to wave in a gentle wind. The village is a collection of low
flat-roofed houses, whitewashed, with a broad street running
north and south through the middle, and narrow lanes diverg
ing to the right and left among the houses. As we were
approaching it, an Arab overtook us, a thin-bearded little
man, with a face slightly tattooed in two or three places, and
wearing a blue outer garment. He greeted us with bonjour,
and added, "vous bromenief" I shook myliead as not com
prehending his question, and he, after repeating it two or
three times, substituted the word basear. I then perceived
that he was explaining the French word promener by the
Spanish pasear, for the Arabs of these" parts confound the p
with the b. " Certainly," said I, " we are walking out."
" Will you walk to my house ? " he asked. I declined, but
he immediately repeated the question to one of the ladies,
who, not aware of my refusal, accepted the invitation, and on
we went under his guidance, until we entered an enclosure
surrounded by a wall freshly whitewashed, in one corner of
which stood his house, of the same bright color with the wall.
Within it, and facing the open door, was a glittering display
of small dishes and plates of blue and white porcelain on
several rows of shelves ; a pallid woman, apparently ill,
lay on a mat at one end of the room, and at the other

AN ARAB BEAUTY. 229
there sat on the floor, with a bright-eyed little girl beside her,
a young woman of rather pleasing aspect, extremely fat, with
well-formed lips and chin, and large black eyes, wearing a
gay-colored handkerchief tied round her head, and another
tied under her chin, and a loose blue muslin robe, from under
the skirt of which appeared one of her naked feet. On each
cheek was a little blue mark, and her jetty eyebrows were
joined by a streak of black paint. In her little plump
hands, tattooed and stained with henna, she held a bellows,
with which she was coaxing a flame in a little furnace filled
with charcoal, on which stood a small dish of potatoes. Our
host, whose name, as he afterwards told me, was Gannah,
found a bench for the ladies and a chair for me, seating him
self on the floor ; and at a word from him, the little girl took
the potatoes from the fire, and put in their place an open tin
coffee-pot, full of powdered coffee and water, and the plump
round hands of the fat lady again plied the bellows to raise
a flame. " You must drink coffee with me," said Gannah.
We sought to decline his hospitality, but Gannah was reso
lute, and a contest arose, to which I was fortunately enabled
to put an end by pointing to the clouds, apparently big with
rain, and making the approach of a shower a reason for our
hasty departure. While we were excusing ourselves from the
importunities of our host, a negro woman in a loose white
dress, with bare arms and uncovered legs, as fleshless and
almost as slender as the crooked black staff on which she
leaned, a bracelet of beads on her bony wrists, a long string
of brown beads hanging from each ear, and another round

230 GROUP OF NATIVE YOUTHS.
her neck, presented herself at the door, looking in with an
aspect of curiosity and a good-natured smile ; but a word
from Gannah sent her away. Two lively-looking little girls
entered and squatted down by the fat lady, but Gannah
growled at them till they took their leave also. The young
woman, in the mean time, had reached out her plump hands,
and taking hold of the dresses of the ladies, one after another,
examined them attentively, making some brief remark to
Gannah at the close of each inspection. As I rose to take
my leave, I put my right hand into my waistcoat pocket, and
immediately her open palm was held out to me ; I placed a
piece of money into it, over which the plump fingers closed
eagerly. "It is not well," said Gannah; "it is not well;"
but I could perceive he was not displeased.
We returned to the hotel, and amused ourselves with
watching the motley crowd constantly moving in the large
square under our windows. Among those who contributed
most to our entertainment was a group of native youths,
from fifteen years old upwards, dressed in the scantiest at
tire, a red cap and a white woollen shirt, some of them be
longing to the pure negro race, and the rest of different de
grees of Arab intermixture, who chattered, laughed, shouted,
sang, capered, chased each other about the square, and teased
each other in a hundred different ways, as long as the sun
shine, which had now returned, lasted, and through the bril
liant twilight that followed.
The next morning I wandered into a village lying east
of the city gates, and inhabited principally by emigrants

THE SURROUNDING COUNTRY. 231
from Spain, but the signs over the shop windows were all in
the French language, which seemed to imply that the gift of
reading and writing was possessed in a much greater degree
by the French population than by the Spanish. I followed
the highway onwards to a gentle eminence, where stood half
a dozen windmills, greeting those whom I met in Spanish,
and receiving an answer in the same language. From the
summit I had a view of the broad plain extending southward
to the mountains, a fertile region, where great tracts of
springing wheat were separated by intervals of luxuriant
grass, which a few cattle were eagerly cropping. A cross
road brought me to the Arab village which I had visited the
day before. As I entered it, two youths passed me dressed
in the Oriental garb ; they were talking to each other in
Spanish. Here and there stood a gray-bearded Arab, mo
tionless, in his white head-gear and white underdress, with
a dark-colored outer garment reaching nearly to the feet —
thin, spare men, to whom their costume gave a certain air of
majesty. Children were playing about, laughing, shouting,
and crying, just as children laugh, shout, and cry in the
most civilized countries. Women, looking like bolsters
placed on end and endowed with locomotion, were stealing
along the streets from house to house.
Eeturning to town from the village, I was surprised by
the salutation of bonjour from somebody at my elbow, and
turning, saw my Arab acquaintance of the day before. " 1
was going to your hotel to see you," said Gannah. " Come
then," I answered, and we proceeded to the hotel together.

232 CASTLES AND FORTRESSES.
As soon as he was fairly seated, he drew from under his
cloak a fowl, freshly killed, with the feathers on, and placed
it on the table. "What have you there, my friend?" I
asked. "I have brought you a fowl," answered Gannah,
" you will buy it to eat." I explained to him that this would
be extremely inconvenient ; that we were supplied with
every thing at the hotel, and on board of our steamer ; that
we could not cook his fowl if we had it ; and that he would
do well to dispose of it in the market. To each branch of
my explanation, Gannah returned a resolute " No ; " and sat
waiting the time when I should enter into a negotiation for
the fowl. I lost patience, and leaving the room, sent our
courier to get rid of him. Our landlady afterwards told me
that this man was very fond of making the acquaintance of
strangers arriving at Oran, and was sometimes rather troub
lesome with his attentions.
In walking that morning about the town, we came to a
minaret, and asked to see the mosque. A tall Alsatian sol
dier presented himself with a bunch of keys, and we discov
ered that the mosque had been converted into quarters for
the troops. He, however, took us to the top of the minaret,
commanding a view of the city and its neighborhood. The
hills around us were covered with the strongholds of war,
rising one over another. I pointed to an old castle, which
had a ruinous look. " It is strong enough within," said he ;
" it is the prison for the natives." Another old fortress near
us, he added, was the prison for the colonists. " There," he
said, " is the new fort built by the French ; yonder is a for-

SPANIARDS IN CAVES. 233
tification erected by the Spaniards when they possessed
Oran ; on that hill-side is the storehouse for munitions ;
those white tents further up are occupied by the soldiery."
I looked down into the streets where people were coming
and going, and it seemed to me that at least every fifth man
was a soldier. It is thus that the colony is held ; the gov
ernment requires soldiers to keep the colonists submissive,
and the colonists require soldiers to overawe and restrain the
natives. It is a military colony, subsisting by force and
fear ; and while my eyes rested on the spectacle before me,
I could not help thinking how slow would be the growth of
a settlement in our own country, which held its existence on
such calamitous conditions.
The Alsatian told me, that in the Arab village which we
had visited the day before, only the poorer part of the native
population lived ; the more opulent have their dwellings within
the gates of the town, and some of them, he added, are as rich
as noblemen in France. I directed his attention to several
dark mouths of caverns, and doors fitted into the rock, on
the hill-side rising to the west of the town. " These," said
he, "are underground habitations, where Spaniards live.
Last year we had so much rain that the earth and stones
over some of these caverns were loosened by the water, and
came down upon the poor creatures, crushing them to
death." Another pleasant drive under the rocks, with the dashing
sea on one side and the flowery cliffs on the other, brought
us back to the fort and landing of Merz-el-Kebir, and at

234 ARRIVAL AT ALGIERS.
four o'clock in the afternoon we stood out of the bay of Oran,
on our way to Algiers. We had a beautiful evening, with
the African coast always in sight, and the morning found us
gliding over a smooth sea, with the shore on our right rising
into dark mountains. It was past noon when we turned to
approach the land, and began to distinguish the white houses
among the deep green of the shrubs and other vegetation
which made the rocky declivities beautiful. " These are the
country seats," said a passenger whom we took up at Oran,
" not only of the French colonists, but of the rich Jews and
of the Moors engaged in commerce. Some of the richest of
the Mussulman inhabitants, however, went away when the
French came in ; went to Tunis, to Morocco, and to Alexan
dria, and other places where the Mussulmans are the mas
ters.'! Now came in sight the city of Algiers, rising from the
water up the hill-side, a vast cone of flat-roofed houses, as
white as snow, so compact as to look like a gigantic bee
hive, with not a streak, or patch, or shade of any other color
between them ; not a red roof nor a shrub to break the uni
form whiteness. We passed the pleasant-looking village of
St. Eugene, and coming before the town saw where the bay
swept deeper inland to the south-east, bordered with a bright
green shore and scattered country seats. On expressing my
surprise at the number of these, a passenger answered that
there was no occasion for surprise, for the police system was
as perfect here as in France, and a country residence as safe.
An Arab boatman took us to the land with our baggage,

LOWER PART OF ALGIERS. 235
at which the custom-house officers declined to look. We
could not obtain rooms at the Hotel de P Orient, where we
meant to stop, but obtained them at the Hotel de la Regence,
a house to which I cannot conscientiously advise others to go.
Yet it is well situated on the Place Royale, a broad esplanade,
built, it is said, over the cells in which the Christian slaves
were formerly confined, and at all hours of the day thronged
with men of the various races of the East and West, making
it look like a perpetual masquerade. Before the door of our
hotel a copious fountain threw up its waters with a perpetual
dashing ; four rows of orange-trees, protected by a massive
iron chain, glittered with golden fruit, and I never looked
out that I did not see Arabs or native Jews sitting on the
stone benches under them.
The lower part of Algiers, near the water, is a mere
French town ; it has its broad streets for carriages, its shops
with plate-glass doors, its cafes, its restaurants, its theatre,
its library, its museum, its statues in the squares, its bar
racks, its guard-houses, its arcades on each side of the way,
like those of the Rue Rivoli in Paris. All that was charac
teristic, or that recalled the memory of the Moslem dominion,
has been demolished. The palace of the Deys, which looked
upon the Place Royale, has been pulled down ; the ancient
cemetery which contained the mausoleum of the six Deys,
all elected and murdered within twenty-four hours, has been
ploughed up and levelled, to form a square for military ex
ercises. I was soon satisfied with the view of this part of
Algiers, and struck into the streets that ascend the hill, of

236 UPPER PART OF ALGIERS.
which the town is principally composed. Here I found my
self in an Oriental city at once, and soon met with nobody
but Orientals. I walked in- a sort of twilight, in narrow
winding lanes, into which the sun never shone, where the
wind never blew, and where the projecting walls of the
houses often met overhead. No windows look from the
dwellings into those shadowy lanes ; nobody was standing at
the quaint Moorish doors. Arab men, in their dresses of
dull white, were creeping about ; I did not hear their voices.
I met little companies of native women, swaddled in white,
from the crown of their head to where the pantaloons were
gathered about the bare ankles, above the slippered feet ;
they passed me in silence ; only the younger looked at me ;
I could see that they were younger by a glance ; for age
plants its marks as distinctly about the eyes as on any other
part of the face. In a spot where the streets opened a little,
I passed a row of Mussulmans sitting on the pavement, with
their backs against the wall ; they turned their great Orien
tal eyes upon me, and if I heard their voices at all, it was
only a low, indistinct murmur. I could almost fancy myself
in a city of the dead, walking among the spectres that
haunted it. My own footsteps sounded disagreeably loud in
this stillness, and it was a relief to hear the click of a don
key's small hoofs against the pavement, and the voice of his
driver urging him along passages where no carriage can
pass, and not even a hand-cart was ever trundled. It was a
relief, also, to come, as I sometimes did, to a little row of
shops where the Moorish traders sat among their goods.

ITS STARVING POPULATION. 237
Occasionally I saw where houses had been thrown down by
the earthquake which happened two years since, and where
others had been shaken from their upright position and made
to lean against each other. It was clear to me that if the
shock had been a little more violent, those narrow streets
would have offered the inhabitants no means of escape, and
that they would have been hopelessly entombed in their
dwellings. It was some time before I could find my way out of this
maze of twilight lanes into the broad streets along the shore,
full of light and of activity, and when I did so, it was like a
return from the abodes of death to the upper world.
The melancholy impression which this ramble in the
streets of Algiers left upon me was not without good reason.
" They are dying very fast on the hills, poor creatures," said
a resident of Algiers to me the next morning ; " their bodies
are going to fill their cemeteries. Within two years past,
we have had the cholera here, which swept them off by thou
sands ; now they are perishing by famine, and the fevers of
the country and other disorders occasioned by unwholesome
nourishment. While Algiers was under the rule of the
Deys, a native could subsist on a few sous a day, and this
was a liberal allowance ; now all the necessaries of life are
dear, and they are starving ; the trade with France has
brought in French prices. While the prickly pear was in
season, they lived upon that, the cheapest fruitof the country ;
what they live on now, I am sure I do not know. The

238 A BEAUTIFUL SUNSET.
French government has lately taken some measures for their
relief;" That day closed as the most beautiful days of Italy close,
with a glorious amber light at sunset, tinging the whole at
mosphere, and streaming in everywhere at the windows, even
those which looked north and east. We had dates that day
for our dessert at the Hotel de la Regence, dates from the
palms of the neighborhood, but they were not so fine as the
dates of Elche, which we found at Alicante.

THE GREAT MOSQUE. 239

LETTER XXII.

ALGIERS  ALGERIA.

Marseilles, December 29, 1857.
The day after our arrival in Algiers was like one of the
balmiest days of spring. We all went to see the great Mosque
near the Place Royale. Before it, a portico of massive Sara
cenic columns encloses a court in which flows an abundant
fountain for the ablutions of the worshippers. Within, the
appearance is striking ; the massive horseshoe arches, which
are crossed by broad horizontal flutings, descend to low, heavy
pillars, which have the effect of a grove of vast trunks, spread
ing upwards into lofty canopies. I cast my eyes beyond them,
and there, looking no larger than insects beside these great
columns, were half a dozen natives at their morning devotions.
A strange-looking man, with an air of abstraction, was wan
dering about. " He is crazy," said a gentleman who had
kindly conducted us to the mosque; "and being crazy, is
regarded as a saint and called a marabout." Some of the
columns of the mosque had been broken and a part of the
wall damaged by the late earthquake, and workmen employ
ed by the government were busy in repairing it.

240 A PUBLIC GARDEN.
On our return from this building, we peeped into the hall
of an Arab tribunal, where the muftis and cadis still dispense
justice. It was a room of very moderate dimensions, on the
lower floor, and at that time open to the street, but the mag
istrates were not in session, though their cushions were ready
to receive them. At a little distance from this is the New
Mosque, remarkable only for being built in the form of a
church, under the direction of a Christian slave, and for the
fate of the architect, whose head was struck off, by order of
the Dey, for his audacity in making a temple of the faith
ful resemble the temples of the infidel.
We followed the main street northward till we issued
from the city by the northern gate, the Bab-el- Wad, or River
Gate ; for here a ravine, called by the Arabs the river, de
scends to the sea, and overlooking it rise the northern walls and
battlements of Algiers. From these battlements, they tell you,
the Deys caused prisoners of state to be thrown alive, and
their bodies being caught on the ends of iron spikes below,
they were left to perish by slow tortures. Those who had
the means bribed the executioner to strangle them before
throwing them down. From the gate, a broad Macadamized
road led us up to a public garden, laid out by the French,
within which a winding walk, where a species of oxalis, new
to me, made a beautiful deep green border, spotted with
showy crimson flowers, separated beds filled with the fairest
plants of the tropics. Among these was the India-rubber
tree ; and by the wayside were rows of young palms, of which
those that were already ten or twelve years old had stems

MOSLEM CEMETERY AND CHAPELS. 241
scarcely a foot in height, for the date-palm is of slow growth,
and when it once germinates begins a life of many centuries.
In a nook of the garden stood a group of paper-mul
berry trees, the leaves of which were withered and rolled up,
as if scorched by fire or seared by frost. I inquired what
might be the cause of this phenomenon. "It is the sirocco,"
answered the gentleman who was with us ; "a sirocco which
blew here three weeks since. No one, who has not felt the
sirocco, can form any idea of its effects ; it withers up vege
tation in a few hours ; it dries up the springs ; it bakes the
soil, and makes it open in long and deep clefts. Men and
animals suffer as much as the plants and trees." The leaves
of the paper-mulberry, which is a native of a moister climate,
were, it seems, scorched beyond remedy by this wind of the
desert, while the leaves of the native trees had recovered
their freshness.
About this time the muezzin was proclaiming the noontide
hour of prayer from the minaret of a mosque further up the
hill, and towards this we proceeded, leaving the garden. We
came first to a Moslem cemetery, and here we were in a sacred
neighborhood ; for here was not only a mosque, but two mara
bouts, or little Moslem chapels, each containing the remains
of some holy man of the religion of Islam ; and low arched
passages led from one enclosure of the cemetery to another,
and from mosque to marabout, and in these passages foun
tains were gushing for the ablutions of the faithful. Women
in white, their faces covered with white veils, showing only
the eyes, hovered about the graves, which looked quaintly,
11

242 WOMEN AT THE GRAVES.
with their little borders of thin stone, set edgewise in the
ground, and the Arabic inscriptions on the stones at the head.
Wherever I turned my eyes, veiled women, dressed in white,
were softly coming up the streets from below, or down the
paths that led from the top of the hill. Women are the same
tender, affectionate, religious creatures in Algiers as in more
civilized countries ; they cherish as warmly the memory of the
dead, and their hearts open as readily to the feeling of an
intimate relation with an omnipresent and benevolent Power.
We entered the mosque, which contained nothing remark
able, and the marabouts, which did. In each of them was the
sarcophagus of a saint, and one of them was furnished with
two or three, covered with a silken cloth of a dark yellow color,
heavy with gold embroidery, and hanging down like a pall.
About them women were kneeling, most of them apparently
absorbed in their silent devotions, occasionally kissing the
drapery of the tomb, but not a word was uttered. The young .
girls gazed at us with their black, almond-shaped eyes, and
one or two of the elder ones looked at us, I thought, as if they
wondered what business we had there. The women in Mo
hammedan countries are excluded from the mosques, but there
are other holy places open to them, and they throng to the
burial-places and the marabouts. We saw only one or two
men, who came in and soon went out again. In one of the
marabouts, a man in a large turban, walking with a fantastic
gait, approached the tomb of the saint, smiling a silly smile,
pressed the embroidered cloth to his lips, and went out with
the same smile on his face, touching me gently with his hand

A WOMAN ASKING ALMS. 243
as he passed. " Poor fellow," said the gentleman who was
with us, " he has lost his wits : his wife died, and he became
crazy in consequence."
As we descended the hill, we passed several little compa
nies of women, and some who sat by the wayside and asked
alms. One of these was a little thin woman in a clean white
dress, whose eyes, which were all of her face that could be
seen, gave token of the middle age of life. She silently held
out a small hand, with nails sharpened to a point Uke the
nib of a pen, and the ends of the slender fingers were red
dened with henna. I see that delicate, thin hand now as I
write, and as I always see it when I recollect our walk of
that day, and my heart smites me when I think that I put
nothing into it.
We afterwards went up to the Casbah, a former residence
of the Deys, serving both as a fortress and a palace, but now
turned into barracks for the troops. A great deal that was
characteristic in this building has been altered or defaced,
but the court of the harem, with its slender columns carved
in Italy, and the tiles brought from Holland, with which its
walls were inlaid, are there yet, though the rooms are occupied
by the French officers and their families. There also were
the openings in the parapets of the roof, through which the
ladies of the seraglio looked upon the town below, themselves
unseen. I wondered that the whole was not preserved as near
ly as possible in its original state, if not as a curiosity, yet at
least as a memento of the conquest of a city which had so
long defied all Christendom and compelled it to pay tribute.

244 THE CASBAH. A SCHOOL.
The view of the surrounding country from the height of
the Casbah is very striking — its fertile valleys in their win
ter verdure ; the dark range of the Atlas to the southeast,
and beyond the Atlas, the snowy range of the Djudjura. A
scarcely less interesting sight was before us in the housetops
of the natives, where were sometimes seen the women in
their light gauze dresses, without their veils, occupied in their
domestic tasks. " These housetops," remarked our compan
ion, " were fatal to some of the French, when they first occu
pied Algiers, and had not learned the necessity of caution.
They were naturally curious to get a peep at the Moorish
women, and carrying their investigations too far, were shot
through the head, without its being ever known from what
hand the ball came."
In going down from the Casbah through the dreary maze
of dim lanes, that made me think of the passages in an ant
hill, we came to an Arab school, the door of which was open
to the street. In the midst of a crowd of boys, seated with
out any particular order on the floor, sat the long-bearded and
turbaned master, in a white Arab dress, with his back against
the wall, and a stick in his hand, like that with which the
New England farmers drive their oxen, long enough to reach
the most distant corner of the room. The boys were all
shouting their lessons together, and woe to the wight who was
silent. Just before we entered upon the broader streets of the
city, we stopped at a building, once a Moorish dwelling of
the first order, in which a French school for young ladies

A MOORISH HOUSE. 245
was now kept. A polite young woman showed us over the
rooms. Here at the entrance was the spacious ante-room,
where the guests of the Moorish owner were lodged, and be
yond which no person of the male sex was allowed to pene
trate ; here was the inner court, with its columns sculptured
in Italy, and its fountain in the midst ; here were walls gay
with Dutch tiles ; here was the staircase leading to the se
cret apartments, and here on the third floor, was the mara
bout, or little chapel, in which the family offered their pray
ers. It is now dedicated to the Virgin, a little image of
whom, crowned with a chaplet of artificial roses, in miniature,
stood on a pedestal. I inquired the number of pupils in
this school. " There are one hundred and twenty-nine of
them," said the young lady. "Any natives?" "Many;
the daughters of Israelites, who here receive a European ed
ucation." At an early hour on the following day, we went to visit
the markets of Algiers. We followed a street cut through
the graves of an old cemetery, where the cells of the dead in
the ground could be distinguished in the bank on either side.
A large building, too spacious for so slender a commerce, for
the present at least, serves as an oil market. Here goat
skins, filled with oil, and shining and slippery with the fluid
they contained, lay in heaps on the ground, and around stood
groups of people from the interior. " They are Kabyles, the
ancient Berbers," said our companion ; " they inhabit the
Atlas and the Djudjura mountains ; observe them closely,
and you will perceive in what respects they differ from the

246 THE KABYLES.
Arabs." I took a good look at them, and before I left Al
giers, I thought I could generally distinguish a Kabyle from
an Arab. They have a clearer complexion, and features
moulded, if not with more regularity, certainly with more
delicacy. They are like the Basques, a primitive race, in
habiting like them the mountains which their fathers inhab
ited in the time of the Roman empire. They seemed to me
an intelligent-looking race ; and if put into the European
costume, they would attract no particular notice in our coun
try, by any peculiarity of physiognomy or color, though im-
memorially an African branch of the human family.
We entered next the great country market, heaped with
all those vegetables which are the summer growth of our own
gardens. Here, too, were piles of oranges from Blidah, the
finest of their kind, already sweet, while the oranges of
Malaga are almost as sour as lemons. Here were men sit
ting by huge panniers of olives ; they were Kabyles, the
sides of whose mountains are shaded by olive groves. In an
adjoining enclosure, donkeys were tied, and camels. were rest
ing on the ground. After eight o'clock this market is
closed, the Arab cultivators get upon their donkeys and de
part for the villages of the plain ; the Kabyles mount their
camels, and are on their way to the mountains.
In returning to our hotel, we passed several negro women
sitting by the way, with baskets of bread or of fruit for sale,
and met others carrying burdens on their heads or in their
arms. " These persons," said our friend, " were slaves some
years since, and the French conquest set them free. Their

NEGRO WOMEN. 247
conduct since shows what good creatures they are ; their for
mer owners have fallen into extreme poverty, and these
women support them by their industry." Of course, those
who were slaves before the French conquest, which took
place in 1830, could not be very young now, yet I was
astonished to see how some of them had been dried to skele
tons by time and the climate ; they seemed the very person
ification of famine.
This morning, the 20th of December, we received a sum
mons to return to our steamer, which was about to leave the
port. We should have thought ourselves fortunate if at this
agreeable season — for such we found it on the African coast
— we could have found a little time to make excursions into
the surrounding country ; to visit Blidah, pleasantly embow
ered in its orange groves ; the picturesque village of Ste.
Amalie, famous for its Roman ruins ; the no less remarkable
region of Koleah, celebrated for its magnificent mosque,
erected close to the tomb of a benevolent Arab, venerated as
a saint ; or to penetrate into one or two of the fresh valleys
of the Atlas ; but we had taken our passage for Marseilles,
and otherwise so arranged the plan of our tour that we had
no time to spare for Africa. At noon we went on board,
and our steamer left the bay. As we receded from the shore,
the site of Algiers looked more imposing than ever, with its
lofty cone of white houses rising from the edge of the sea,
and crowned with the great fortress of the Casbah, and on
each side its declivities of vivid green, spotted with country
houses.

248 EUROPEAN POPULATION OF ALGERIA.
Those parts of the colony of Algeria which came under
my observation, gave me an impression of activity and pros
perity. The French seem to take great pride in this off
shoot of their power, and apply to the rule of their new
provinces all the energy and precision of their peculiar po
litical and social organization. The possession of Algeria, a
larger territory than France, though part of it extends over
deserts, gratifies their love of dominion, and justifies the
claim of their government to be entitled an empire. Yet, the
growth of the European settlements is really slow. In the
three different provinces of Algeria, the European popula
tion, in the year 1852, amounted to 124,000 ; in 1856 it
was 160,000. An increase of thirty-six thousand in four
years certainly does not imply that emigrants are very pow
erfully attracted to that quarter. There may be various
reasons for this : they may prefer a country with freer insti
tutions than Algeria offers them ; they may prefer a colony
maintained at less expense ; or they may doubt the healthi
ness of its climate. I do not refer to the plague, which has
several times desolated Algiers, or to the cholera, which two
years since made frightful ravages among the native pojjula-
tion, but to permanent local causes of disease. Oran, since
it came into possession of the French, has several times been
visited by fatal epidemics ; the year 1850 is memorable for
the havoc they made. Yet they will tell you at Oran that
the place is healthy and the air pure ; and that the only
cause of disease is the filthy manner in which the Spanish
population live. In the province of Algiers there are numer-

HEALTH OF THE COUNTRY. 249
ous places chosen as the site of colonies which are proverbial
ly unhealthy. At Foudouk, twenty-four miles from the
capital, the population has been swept off and renewed seve
ral times. Of La Chiffa the same thing is said. Bouffarik,
on the rich plain of Mitidja, has been called a cemetery, so
surely did the colonists who went thither go to their graves.
Various other stations of the European population have a
reputation which is Httle better than that of Bouffarik. Yet
there are answers ready, when this objection is brought
against Algeria as a place of settlement for the superfluous
population of Europe. There have been marshes, it is said,
which made a pestiferous atmosphere ; but the marshes have
been drained and the causes of insalubrity carefully removed.
No doubt something has been done in this way, but the fact
remains, that the country is subject to fevers, and that these
are of a peculiarly obstinate character. One who had re
sided several years in the city of Algiers, said to me : " You
would be much interested by an excursion into the country,
but you would have to be on your guard against our fevers,
even in the winter."
Earthquakes also are frequent and terrible in Algeria,
overturning the towns and burying the inhabitants under
their walls. Several times has Algiers been shaken by
earthquakes into a mass of ruins ; the last earthquake, two
years since, destroyed several houses and made others un
safe. The whole plain of Mitidja, so late as 1825, was des
olated by an earthquake, which laid waste several villages,
11*

250 DECAY OF THE NATIVE POPULATION.
and extending to Blidah, one of the pleasantest towns in the
province, threw down all the dwellings.
Of the hundred and sixty thousand emigrants from Eu
rope, not quite two-thirds are French. The Spaniards
amount to nearly forty-two thousand, and they come from
the south-eastern coast of Spain, and from the Balearic
Islands. The hot island of Malta, which sends such num-
bers to every part of the East, has furnished seven thousand
to Algeria. There is about the same number of Germans
and Swiss, and of Italians there are nine thousand. The
number of Protestants in all this population is a little less
than five thousand ; but they have brought with them their
worship and their religious teachers. The rest of the Eu
ropean emigration is Catholic, and the Gallican Church has
its bishops in each of the three provinces of Algeria.
The time must shortly arrive when Algiers will be alto
gether a French city, and all the ports on the coast will be
inhabited by families of European origin or descent. At
present, Algiers is supposed to contain in its walls and sub
urbs a hundred thousand persons, chiefly of the original
Moslem population, but of these the number is rapidly di
minishing. They have but few arts or occupations which
they can successfully pursue in competition with the artisans
and workmen from Europe ; and while this is the case it will
be their fate to waste away from year to year. As they
drop off, their places will be supplied by emigrants from
Europe. A vast mass of Moslem population will remain in

DEPARTURE FROM ALGIERS. 251
the interior, which for a long time to come will be but slowly
affected by the influences of European civilization.
In the mean time, it may be instructive to hear what the
French themselves say of the colony of Algeria. They com
plain that the great proportion of those who migrate thither
from France, do not go to cultivate the soil, but to make
their fortune by some speculation — by the commerce in
wines and liquors, by opening hotels, cafes, and restaurants,
by purchasing lands to be sold at a higher price, and a thou
sand other ways which involve no necessity of labor. The
proportion of the town to the country population shows this
complaint to be well founded. The rural population of Al
geria derived from Europe is but sixty thousand, and of these
not quite fifty thousand are engaged in agriculture. The
colony is still too much a military and commercial colony to
increase rapidly.
It was a delightful afternoon when we left Algiers, but
before we lost sight of it, a black cloud gathered above its
hills, and, apparently, broke over it in a deluge of rain. The
rain reached us also, a little after sunset, and then a strong
head wind sprung up, roughening the hitherto sleeping sea,
and making the night most uncomfortable. At every high
wave, the rudder of the Normandie had a trick of thumping
I the timbers on each side, with a succession of quick and vio
lent blows, which shook the vessel fearfully, and made sleep
impossible. We labored on in this manner until the second
night after our departure, when, as we were passing between
Majorca and the neighboring island of Minorca, an accident

252 ARRIVAL AT MARSEILLES.
happened to an air-pump of the steam engine, which obliged
us to stop in the middle of our course. For fourteen hours
we lay idly rolling on the water, with the mountainous coast
of Majorca beside us. The air-pump was at length mended,
and we proceeded, gaining next day a view of the snowy
summits of the Pyrenees, which sent towards us a keen,
sharp wind from the north-west. On the fourth morning we
arrived at Marseilles, which gave but a chilly welcome to
those who had just left a region glowing with sunshine, and
fanned by airs that make the winter only a longer spring.
Marseilles is a stately and prosperous city, nobly situated on
a harbor, which I wonder not that the Greeks should have
chosen as the seat of their commerce with Gaul ; but its
damp and frosty winds, and its sunless streets, make it just
now a gloomy and dreary abode. The grippe is a prevalent
malady here, and we are only waiting for one of our party
to recover a little from an attack of it, to flit to a warmer
coast.

ANTIQUITIES AT ROME. 253

LETTER XXIII.
DISCOVERY OP ANTIQUITIES AT ROME  RECENT CHANGES.
Rome, May 21, 1858.
I have one or two things to say of Rome which may fur
nish matter for a short letter.
Rome has its rich collections of ancient art in the Vatican,
but there is a still richer museum in the earth below. The
spade can scarcely be thrust into the ground without turning
up some work of art or striking upon some monument of the
olden time. Most of the fine statues in the public galleries
have, I believe, been discovered in digging to lay the founda
tions of buildings ; and who can tell what masterpieces
of Greek sculpture are yet concealed under that thick layer
of rubbish which overlies the ancient level of the city — what
representations of
"The fair humanities of old religion''
are waiting the hour when they shall be restored to daylight
and the admiration of the world — prostrate Jupiters, nymphs
with their placid features and taper limbs imbedded in the
mould and merry fauns that have smiled for a thousand
years in the darkness of the ground !

254 EXCAVATIONS IN THE CAMPAGNA.
The present government of Rome is turning its attention
to the excavation of those spots which promise most. As I
was passing, the other day, in a street leading towards the
Colosseum, in company with an American artist residing here,
he said, pointing to certain ancient columns, the lower part of
which stood deep in the earth : " The Pope wants to dig
about these columns, but the spot is leased, and he cannot.
If it were but in the possession of those who own the fee he
might take it, but he cannot interfere with a lease. At the
foot of those fine old columns he would probably find some
thing worth his trouble."
This passion for excavation has been fortunately gratified
elsewhere. If you look at Sir William Gell's Map of the
Environs of Rome, you will see traced, from near the gate
of St. John towards Monte Cavo, beyond the Alban lake, an
ancient road bearing the name of Via Latina. If you look
for it on the Campagna, you will find it covered with grass,
and cattle grazing over it. On the line of this buried street,
and not far from the city walls, workmen employed by the
Pope are breaking the green turf and trenching the ground
to a considerable depth. They have laid bare several solid
masses of Roman masonry, and the foundations of an ancient
Christian church, a basilica, over which were scattered, in
the soil, many marble columns with Corinthian capitals and
bases on which is carved the figure of the cross, indicating
beyond a question the purpose of the building. But the
most remarkable of these discoveries are two places of sepul
ture, consisting of vaulted rooms in the earth, to which you

SEPULCHRAL CHAMBERS. 255
descend by staircases of stone. The earth had fallen into
the entrances and closed them, but had not filled the space
within, so that the stucco medallions and paintings overhead
were found in as perfect preservation as when they came from
the hands of the artist. In one of these tombs, which con
sisted of a single vaulted chamber with a pure white surface,
I found an artist perched upon a high seat over two huge
stone coffins, copying the spirited and fanciful figures of men
and animals, in stucco, with which the arched ceiling was
studded. The other tomb is larger and deeper in the ground,
and consists of two vaulted chambers, communicating with
each other, against the walls of which stood marble sarcoph
agi, rough with figures in high relief. On the ceiling of
one of the rooms, among the stucco medallions, were ara
besques in vivid colors, and landscapes in fresco, which show
a far more advanced stage of this branch of the art than
any thing which has been found at Pompeii. They are
painted in what seemed to me a kind of neutral tint. Here
are trees with gnarled branches, and foliage drawn with a
free and graceful touch, and buildings rising among the trees,
and figures of people engaged in rural employments ; and all
is given with a decided and skilful aerial perspective, the ob
jects becoming less distinct and sharp in outline as they
are supposed to recede from the eye. " Ten years hence,"
said the artist who accompanied us on this excursion, " you
may see all these figures engraved and published in a book.
Here at Rome we never do any thing in a hurry."
It is not unlikely that the admission of the external air

256 THRONG OF SPECTATORS.
will cause the stucco to peel from these vaults, or at least
will cause the paintings to fade. " I think," said our friend,
the artist, " that the landscapes are less distinct now than
they were ten days since." In the mean time, all Rome is
talking of this discovery ; it is the great topic of the time.
Numbers of people are constantly passing out of Rome to
visit the excavations on the Via Latina. As we approached
the city the other day, by the magnificent paved road called
the New Appian Way, we wondered why all Rome should be
rushing into the Campagna ; so many people did we meet
walking, and so many carriages rattling out of the gate of
San Giovanni. When at length we visited the excavations,
this was all explained. There was quite a throng about the
principal tomb, where a man in uniform stood at the entrance,
admitting only a certain number of visitors at a time, in
order that they might not be in each others' way. A few
strangers were among them, but the greater number were
Romans of different classes — portly men of a slightly bluish
complexion, who came in carriages accompanied by well-
dressed ladies — and persons of an humbler condition who
came on foot, the women sometimes bringing with them their
infants — quiet creatures, asleep on their mothers' shoulders.
There was a great deal of animated and eager discussion
under the stucco figures and arabesques, for in Rome art is
one of the few subjects on which people are allowed to speak
freely. As we left the spot and entered the New Appian Way to
return to the city, we met two portly ecclesiastics, whose

TWO CARDINALS. 257
plump legs were encased in purple stockings, while a little
way behind them marched three servants in livery, and at a
still further distance, followed two carriages with purple
cushions and trimmings. " They are cardinals, poor fel
lows," said our friend ; " they are not allowed to walk in
the streets of Rome ; the dignity of their office forbids it.
So, whenever they are inclined to fetch a walk, they are
obliged to order their carriages and drive out to this solitary
Campagna, where they can alight and stretch their legs
without reprehension. A cardinal, who lives near the church
of Trinita del Monte, was desirous to walk to the church, and
asked to be so far indulged, but his application was denied."
Their Eminences, I suppose, were going to take a look at the
newly-discovered sepulchres.
Besides what he is doing on the Via Latina, the Pope is
digging away vigorously at Ostia on the sea-shore. Here
the foundations of several villas of vast dimensions, with the
lower part of their walls, have been uncovered, and a large
number of statues have been found.
It has been an infinite relief to us to come away from
the noisy and dirty city of Naples, swarming with black
guards and beggars, and pass a few days in this quiet place.
I remember when Rome was as dirty as Naples ; it has now
become a city of clean, well-swept streets — a city from which
New York might, in this respect, take example. There is
here no ostentatious display of rags and disgusting deformi
ties by those who ask alms, such as you encounter at every
step that you take in Naples. There are beggars here, it is

258 CHANGES FOE THE BETTER.
true — quite enough of them — but not so many as formerly.
Every time I come to Rome I see some external change for
the better ; I perceive that something has been done for the
embellishment of the city or for the public convenience.
Since I was here last, five years since, the New Appian
Way, a broad, well-paved road, with causeys over the hol
lows, leading from Rome to Gensano, has been com
pleted, crossing the beautiful woody glen of Lariccia and
the deep ravine of Gensano with stupendous bridges,
which, if they make the road less pretty, shorten it great
ly and keep it at a convenient level. Within a few
years past the small round stones with which the streets of
Rome were formerly paved, and which were the torture and
the terror of all tender-footed people, have been taken up,
and the city is now paved throughout with small cubic blocks
of stone, which present a much smoother and more even sur
face. The streets in the night were, not very long ago, be-
wilderingly dark ; they are now well lighted with gas. New
houses have been built, and those who have employed their
money in this way, I am told, find their advantage in it.
Studios for painters are erected on the tops of old houses, the
lower rooms of which are let to sculptors ; yet I hear that
last winter, notwithstanding the number of new studios
which have been built, there was not a vacant one to be had
at any price.
The increase in the number Of houses implies an increase
in the population. There is certainly an increase in the
number of artists residing here, and Rome is now more the

AMERICAN ARTISTS AT ROME. 259
great general school of art than ever. When I first came to
this place, in 1835, there was not an American artist at
Rome, that I could hear of; now the painters and sculptors
from our country are numerous enough to form a little com
munity ; they amount, every winter, to thirty or more. The
veterans of art from different parts of the European continent
sometimes come, in a quiet way, to pass a winter at Rome.
Cornelius, whose frescoes are seen on the walls and ceilings
of the finest public buildings of Munich, was here last win
ter, and occupied the same rooms which formed his studio
when, more than thirty years since, he was here to study the
grand frescoes of Michael Angelo, Raphael, and Guido. I
perceive that in the New York journals very full accounts have
been given of what the American artists here are doing, so
that with regard to them I have nothing to tell which would
be news. It is remarkable that they find Rome a better
place for obtaining orders from their own countrymen than
any of the American cities. Men who would never have
thought of buying a picture or a statue at home, are infected
by the contagion of the place the moment they arrive. No
talk of the money market here ; no discussion of any public
measure ; no conversation respecting new enterprises, and
the ebb and flow of trade ; no price current, except of mar
ble and canvas ; all the talk is of art and artists. The rich
man who, at home, is contented with mirrors and rosewood,
is here initiated into a new set. of ideas, gets a taste, and
orders a bust, a little statue of Eve, a Ruth, or a Rebecca,

260 DEATH OF BARTHOLOMEW THE SCULPTOR.
and half a dozen pictures, for his luxurious rooms in the
United States.
You have heard of the death of poor Bartholomew, the
sculptor. He came to the hotel at Naples, where I was, the
evening before I went with my family to Castellamare ; I
was absent a week, and when I came back he was dead and
in his grave. He had fought a hard battle with poverty,
and had just won it ; orders were beginning to come in upon
him from all quarters, and his great grief, when he breathed
his last, was, that he could not place his mother in that state
of comfort which he would easily have secured to her if a
brief respite from death had been allowed him. I have been
to his studio since my arrival in Rome, and there I saw the
last work of his hand — a fine statue, justifying the reputa
tion he has lately acquired — Eve, after the Fall, in an atti
tude of dejection, and wearing an expression of profound
sorrow. I could scarcely help fancying that the marble figure
mourned the death of the artist to whom it owed its being.
The French hold Rome yet — for the Pope. Every morn
ing the streets resound with the tramp of Gallic cavalry.
Troops of heavy Norman horses drink from troughs filled
by the waters of the Claudian aqueduct, and in the massive
Baths of Diocletian are locked up the thunders which at a
moment's notice may batter down the city. The stranger
who strolls near them with a segar is warned away by the
French guards. There is a French police here, to which the
Italian police is subsidiary, and it is said to be much the
better of the two.

AIX LES BAINS. 261

LETTER XXIV.
THE CITIES OP NORTHERN ITALY.
Aix les Bains, Savoy, July 1, 1858.
While we are stopping for a day at the ancient watering-
place of Aix les Bains, I employ an hour or two in writing
of some things I have observed in the journey through Italy,
northward. This place has the reputation of a remarkably healthy
air, and it is certainly the abode of a healthy-looking, fresh-
colored population. They boast that its harsh, saline springs,
strongly impregnated with sulphur, attract to it in summer a
crowd of strangers, who, at that season, swell its population
of four thousand to twice the number. Yet it is a very un
attractive watering-place, compared with the German ones
near the Rhine, and the French ones among the Pyrenees.
Its hotels are well kept, but no pains have been taken in
opening and embellishing grounds and laying out walks for
those who frequent Aix for the benefit of its waters and its
air. Its only walks are along dusty carriage-roads, and
mostly in the glare of the sun ; and in this respect it is dis
advantageous^ contrasted with the places I have mentioned.
A spacious and massive building for the baths is now, how
ever, going up, the cost of which is partly defrayed out of

262 FLORENCE.
the Sardinian treasury, and it is very likely that commodi
ous paths will be planned along the shady border of the clear
stream that winds through the valley, and out to where the
blue waters of Lake Bourget, near at hand, sleep at the foot
of overhanging precipices.
In the city of Florence, which we saw in the early part
of June, I found that some changes had taken place. The
street called Lung' Arno, so pleasant in winter, formerly ended
in the west at the bridge which bears the name of Carraia,
and beyond, the foundations of the houses stood in the waters
of the river. These buildings have now been pulled down,
and the whole bank of the Arno, as far as that spacious pub
lic promenade, the Cascine, has been opened to the winter
sunshine, and is overlooked on the north side by a stately
row of new houses. Troops of stonecutters and masons are
busy in repairing and restoring the public buildings ; the
fine old church of Santa Croce, which has stood for centuries,
with a ghastly and ragged mass of dark brickwork forming
its front wall above the portal, is to be finished according
to the magnificent original design, and other churches in
the same state, I was told, are to be finished in their turn.
At Bologna we found workmen employed by the papal
government in finishing the ancient church of San Petronio,
in- which Charles V. received the crown of the Roman em
pire. Those were the prosperous days of Bologna, now in
decay, and held in a sullen quiet by rulers whom it hates.
The only other symptom of enterprise I observed, was the
late enlargement and adornment of their public burial-place.

THE BURIAL-PLACE AT BOLOGNA. 263
I thought of the silk-worm spinning its own beautiful shroud
just before it goes into its winter sleep. The Campo Santo
of Bologna provides the most sumptuous repository for the
bodies of the dead which I ever saw. We drove out to it on
a hot June day over a dusty road, on each side of which the
blue-flowered clematis twined over a row of young locust
trees — for this tree of our North American forests, intro
duced into Europe under the name of acacia, has within the
last twenty years taken possession of the continent from the
latitude of Paris, and even further north, to the extremity of
the Italian peninsula. As we entered the cemetery, we
found ourselves among the beautiful cloisters of an old Car
thusian convent, built some four hundred years since, the
church of which is now the chapel of the burial-place. Here,
under the long galleries, are several tombs of the middle
ages, dark with time, which had stood for centuries in the
open air, and had been removed hither for shelter ; and
hither also had been brought from the churches many monu
ments of distinguished men — mural tablets, sculptures in re
lief, busts and statues, among which I observed several from
the chisels of Canova and Tenerani. In the open space
within the cloisters, where once the Carthusians had their
nameless graves, are buried those whose fortunes do not allow
a more costly sepulture. As the cemetery has grown popu
lous, new ranges of cloisters have been built around other
enclosures, the patrician dead . sleeping under the arches in
the thick walls, and the poor finding a humbler resting-place
in the enclosed squares. At one time a fashion of painting

264 VAULTED GALLERIES. ARCADES.
fresco monuments on the walls prevailed, but this has been
interdicted ; the painter has been thrust out, and no memo
rial is allowed to be put up except it be of metal or stone.
Besides these far-stretching galleries, open on one side,
several sepulchral halls have been built opening into them —
long vaulted passages of massive masonry, which made me
think of the tomb of Apis, in Egypt, but not like that, lying
in darkness, for here the light of day shines in through a
lofty iron grate at each extremity. I looked along these
apartments of the dead, and saw the white statues on either
hand keeping watch in the silence, while at the end where
the light came in, the branches of trees and shrubs, touched
by the sunshine, were seen swaying in the wind. In one or
two of them stood monumental figures at the intersection of
the passages, like mute sentinels of the place. A gigantic
Bolognese, one of the keepers, who was dignified by the title
of dimostratore, opened and shut the iron-grated doors with a
clash, which sounded strangely in that stillness.
" You will go back, of course, by the arcades," said our
coachman ; and accordingly we were taken by the side of a
new arcade for foot passengers, of nearly a mile in length,
joining the cemetery to the row of ancient arcades which,
beginning at the city gate, extend for the distance of three
miles to the church of Madonna di San Luca, on the hill,
where they show you an ancient picture of the Virgin from
the pencil of St. Luke. " This new row of arcades," said
our guide," has been built by free contributions — wholly by
free contributions. There, on the wall, between the columns,

FERRARA. VENICE. 265
you see the names of the givers — wealthy families of Bologna,
charitable women, rich men, who remembered the cemetery
in their wills — the company of cordwainers have built one of
the arches, the workers in brass another, the company of
grocers have given several, and so have the tailors. A
funeral procession can now walk dry-shod in rainy weather,
from the city to the burial-place."
So sleep the dead at Bologna. Their city is built with
arcades on the streets ; they walk all their lives under ar
cades ; they are carried under arcades to their graves, and
are laid under arcades in death.
At Ferrara, I found the living engaged in beating down
the old houses of the city to make room for gardens, and
several people were busy in the street before the house of
Ariosto and in other places, picking out the grass that grew
between the paving stones. In Venice I was told of one
new house going up, but it was on an old foundation. But
though the buildings of Venice remain the same, in other
respects its aspect has strangely altered within a few years
past. A new northern invasion has descended upon these
islets of the lagoons from the banks of the Danube, bringing
with it Vienna beer, sausages, and sourcrout. You meet, at
every other step, people with flaxen hair and white eye
brows ; listen, and you perceive that they are talking Ger
man ; they are an importation from Austria. German beer-
gardens are opened; German restaurants abound where a
few years since it was not easy to find an eating-house ; men
in military uniform, speaking the harsh dialect of Southern
12

266 GERMANS IN VENICE.
Germany, are strolling about everywhere. At the principal
hotels you are served by German waiters and chambermaids ;
at the Hotel Danielli, which I would advise all travellers to
avoid, there is an Austrian director. All travellers who
come to Venice visit the Arsenal, which has been regarded
as one of the great curiosities of the place ; but since the
revolution of 1848, it has been placed under regulations
which deprive it of much of its interest. You are no longer
allowed to see the ancient arches under which the fleets of
Venice, in the days of her power, were built, the old Navy
Yard of the Republic. The hall containing ancient weapons
and armor you are permitted to enter, but your Venetian
guide is obliged to wait without, and you find the collection
newly arranged. The massive helmet of Attila, which you
were formerly allowed to take in your hands, and put on
your head if you pleased, is hung up against the wall ; and
every object particularly worthy of note is now provided with
its long German inscription, as if to intimate that they are
Italian no longer, but are to be numbered among the tokens
of Austrian dominion, like the cannon in the fortresses, and
the muskets borne by the soldiery.
Milan is not Germanized to the same degree as Venice,
but I doubt whether the people are better satisfied with the
rule under which they live. " The revolution," said one of
them to me, " took place ten years ago, and yet they treat
us as if it were an event of yesterday. At every hour of the
day we are made to feel that we are a conquered race. The
military chief under the Austrian government, General Giu-

MILAN. 267
lay, the successor of Radetzky, is the harsher master of the
two." It was saddening to remain among a people submitting
gloomily to their condition of slavery, and it was with a
sense of relief that I entered the Sardinian dominions, and
passing first through a tract of yellow-green rice-fields, and
then through a region of fertile meadows between the grim,
rocky steeps of the Alps on one side, and a range of culti
vated hills on the other, reached the city of Turin. I seemed
to breathe more freely in a freer country. In Turin you are
surrounded with the tokens of cheerful activity, and see
marks of prosperity for which you look vainly in any of the
Italian cities under the governments to the east and south of
it. A representative government, freedom of the press, and
freedom of trade, have brought back to this part of Italy the
impulses to enterprise, the energy and steadiness of action,
which centuries ago made the Italian republics so great and
powerful. While at Turin I had the satisfaction of seeing another
remarkable example of the success with which human inge
nuity exerts itself when not encumbered with either the re
straints or the patronage of the government. It happened
that an exhibition of the products of Sardinian industry was
open in the palace called the " Valentino," built two hun
dred years ago, by Catherine of France, in the pleasant en
virons of the city. These exhibitions are held once in five
years, and they bring together samples of whatever is pro-

268 TURIN. MANUFACTURES.
duced in the workshops, the looms, the furnaces, and the
alembics of all the provinces and isles of Sardinia.
I was taken to see the exhibition by a very enlightened
and agreeable member of the Sardinian Parliament, Signor
Lorenzo Valerio, to whom I was fortunate enough to have a
letter of introduction. As we passed through the crowded
streets, I could not help remarking that the people seemed
well formed for active pursuits — thin, spare men, but with
well-knit frames and a healthy look. The first thing I ob
served, on entering the lower galleries of the Valentino, was
a long case of shelves, filled with models of the different va
rieties of cultivated fruits, executed with such skill as fairly
to deceive the eye. I took them for real fruit, till I was told
better. Here were the finest varieties of the pear, the Bon
Chretien, the Duchesse d'Angouleme, the Chaumontel, and a
hundred others ; here glistened the green gage, the magnum
bonum, and tribe after tribe of the plum family ; here were
apples and quinces of all sorts, so well imitated that you
almost seemed to inhale their fragrance ; here were the dif
ferent varieties of the fig, the pomegranate, and the grape,
with every tint and stain and peculiarity of shape, so per
fectly copied, that any variety of fruit might at once be re
ferred to its true appellation by comparing it with the model
in the case. In this lower part of the palace, were rows of
ploughs, corn-shellers, fanning-machines, and other agricul
tural implements, making it look like one of the departments
of an agricultural fair in the United States. A machine for
feeding silk-worms and keeping them clean, was among

SARDINIAN SILKS. 269
them. Here also were steam-engines, which the people of
Sardinia have now learned to make for themselves, and iron
stoves, and church-bells cast in the foundries of Savoy. I
do not recollect whether it was in these lower galleries that
my Italian friend showed me an ingenious improvement of
the electric telegraph, by which a message is delivered in
the very handwriting of the person sending it — a perfect fac
simile being produced. I could perceive, at first, no practical
use of this invention, except to put a new weapon into the
hands of those who persecute distinguished persons for their
autographs, but it might serve in certain cases to authenti
cate a message.
The display of silks in the upper galleries of the Valen
tino was absolutely dazzling. The silk-worm of Piedmont
spins a beautiful fibre, regular, firm and glossy, and samples
of raw silk in the exhibition were strikingly fine ; some of
the most so were from the mulberry orchards of Ferigliano.
Of this material, quantities amounting in value to four mil
lions of francs are annually sent to foreign countries. The
silk fabrics were no less remarkable for excellence. From the
vaulted roofs of the chambers, rough with figures in relief,
and blazing with gold, the walls were tapestried with silk
tissues of the greatest beauty, rivalling the products of the
French looms. " This branch of industry," said Signor Va
lerio, " has grown up amidst complete liberty of trade, and
within a few years past has made rapid progress." I looked
round upon the long stripes of brocade descending from the
ceiling to the floor ; on the silk velvets, blue, red, and green,

270 WATCHES.
wrought by the work-people of Genoa ; on the brilliant scarfs
woven at Chambery ; on the beautiful moires and foulards,
the damasks and ribbons, and the glittering cloths of gold
and silver from the looms of Turin — and felt a certain pleas
ure in reflecting that all this was the fruit of the simplest
and earliest method of dealing with the industry of a nation
— the policy of leaving it to itself.
The woollens of Sardinia are superior to those of Switz
erland, though by no means of the first class. I saw samples
of delicate flannels woven on the streams of the Vaile Mosso,
in the province of Biella. " The cotton goods of our coun
try," said my Turinese companion, showing me several sam
ples, " are equal in quality to those of France, and consider
ably cheaper." In another part of the exhibition I saw
several cases filled with watches and time-pieces. " These
before you," said he, "are from Cluses in Savoy; these
others are from Bonneville, and these, again, are made at
Sallenches. The manufacture of watches has at length
crossed our frontier from Geneva, and, of late years, we
make chronometers which rival those of Switzerland." Some
light and graceful articles of porcelain attracted my atten
tion. The porcelain of Sardinia is superior to that of Switz
erland ; but the glass from the furnaces of Savoy is hardly
as good — it bears a tinge of smoke.
I shall be tedious — perhaps I am so already — if I go on
to speak of the various other objects which attracted my at
tention — the musical instruments of wood and metal, which
made one department of the exhibition look like a huge or-

DESIGNS IN WOOD INLAID. 271
) -
chestra abandoned by the musicians; the massive slate of
the country chiselled into tables and other articles of furni
ture ; the tiles of a delicate grain, like marble, yet resisting
heat like our fire-bricks ; the products of the laboratory, piles
of ulue vitriol, pyramids of alum, stacks of sal-ammoniac, and
the like ; the delicate filigree work in silver ; the gloves of
Turin, just inferior to those of Paris, and as cheap again ;
and a hundred other things, all testifying to the vast variety
of ways in which the industry of the country, under a sys
tem of freedom, voluntarily unfolds and extends itself.
I was struck with the beauty of some lithographic en
gravings in the exhibition. "They are line engravings,
surely," said I to the gentleman who was with me. " By no
means," was his answer, "they are lithographs; they are
placed in that department, and cannot be any thing else." I
examined them again, and such was the fineness and sharp
ness of the lines that I could hardly avoid shaking my head
in sign of doubt. Some specimens of cabinet work, with
inlaid pictorial designs, were scarcely less remarkable. They
were executed with a kind of wood full of dark veins and
spots, and with a skill and effect which were really astonish
ing. In several instances the designs were borrowed from
the works of eminent masters, and in one instance the arti
san had been daring enough to put the Transfiguration of
Raphael on the doors of a writing-desk.
One of the days which I passed in Turin was Sunday,
and I looked in upon the Waldenses, who, under the new
system of religious freedom in Sardinia, are allowed to wor-

272 CHURCH OF THE WALDENSES.
ship openly in the cities. Their church in Turin is a hand
some building, in the Romanesque style, with an ample
semicircular recess for the communion at one end, and a pul
pit built against one of the graceful pillars on the left side of
the nave, as you enter. In the morning an elderly minister
gave a sensible discourse in French, in which he did not
spare either Nicodemus, who came to Jesus by night, nor his
timorous imitators of the present day. He insisted on a
frank, fearless, and sincere expression of opinion on religious
subjects, with the admonition that it be uttered in all kind
ness and gentleness. The afternoon service was for the
Italian part of the congregation, and was conducted by a
young man, who gave a common-place sermon, but who had
the merit of a very distinct elocution, so that I lost not a
word. The prayers were mostly read by the minister from
a book, but otherwise there was nothing in the services to
distinguish them from those of a Presbyterian church in New
York, if I except the language — and really it seemed strange
to hear religious services of this sort in the tongue of Catholic
Italy. Neither in the morning nor the afternoon was the
congregation large, but its manner was attentive and devout.
It was composed of persons manifestly of different conditions
in life, the opulent and the laboring ; the women sitting
apart from the men ; and scattered among the men were
several persons in the uniform of the Sardinian army, both
officers and soldiers.

DEATH OF HELEN RUTHVEN WATERSTON. 273

LETTER XXV.
A DEATH AT NAPLES  CLIMATE OF THAT CITY.
Evesham, England, August 9, 1858.
I had not thought of writing again to the Evening Post
before leaving Europe, but I am prompted to it by a letter
containing the following sad announcement, which I beg may
also be placed among the deaths in the Evening Post :
"At Naples, Sunday, July 25, departed this life, after an ill
ness of three months, Helen Ruthven "Waterston, aged 17 years,
the beloved and only daughter of Robert and Anna Waterston, of
Boston, U. S. A."
Some of the pleasantest as well as some of the saddest
recollections of my present visit to Europe, relate to this
charming young person and her premature death. I must
say a word of her, and of the dangers which, in some cases
at least, attend a residence in Naples.
It was at Heidelberg, a little more than a year since, that
I met the Reverend R. C. Waterston, of Boston, with his
wife and their daughter, an only child. I confess that I
felt a certain pride in so magnificent a specimen of my
countrywomen as this young lady presented — uncommonly
12*

274 CLIMATE OF NAPLES.
beautiful in person, with a dignity of presence and manner
much beyond her years, and a sweetness no less remarkable
than the dignity. Wherever she went, it was easy to see
that she was followed by looks of admiration. A further
acquaintance with her showed that her intellectual and moral
qualities were equal to her personal graces. Her mind was
surprisingly mature for her time of life. She was kind, true,
sympathetic, religious, and overflowing with filial affection —
the most dutiful as well as most beloved of daughters. After
we left Heidelberg, we saw no more of her, until her parents,
in April last, after a winter's residence in Rome, brought her,
apparently in full health, to Naples, where we then were, and
took lodgings at the Vittoria Hotel, in the street of that
name, looking out on the beautiful bay.
The streets of Chiatamone, Vittoria and the Chiaja con
tain the best hotels in Naples, and their situation is highly
attractive to the stranger. The public garden called the
Villa Reale, extends in front of them, the only promenade
for pedestrians in Naples ; and a pleasant one it is ; the grand
peninsula of Posilipo, studded with stately country seats, and
overhanging the sea with its tall gray precipices, bounds the
sight to the west ; to the east you have in view Castellamare
and Sorrento with their background of airy mountain sum
mits; in front rises the rocky isle of Capri, and close at
hand the waters of the Mediterranean dash and murmur all
day and all night on the shingly beach in front of the houses.
The glorious prospect, the broad open streets, full of Nea
politan bustle, and the warm winter sunshine, allure travel-

NERVOUS COMPLAINTS. 275
lers to fix themselves in this part of Naples in preference to
any other. Yet this beautiful quarter has a bad reputation
for health among the Neapolitans. A friend of mine, who
had resided for some years at Naples, said to me ; "I know
a lady who has a palace on the Chiatamone, and who declares
that as soon as she makes trial of living in it, she suffers
with disordered nerves. So she is obliged to let it, and to
live a little way back from the shore ; a short distance will
answer. The same thing happens to many others. They
abandon their desirable mansions to those who are willing
to live in them." From other quarters I heard, not long
after my arrival, that people living in this spot were subject
to low nervous fevers. What may be the cause I do not pre
tend to say. The sewers of the city have their mouths here
in the edge of the bay, and under the very windows of the
houses there runs one of these foul conduits, with frequent
small openings, which send up offensive exhalations. Possi
bly this is the main occasion of the mischief.
It was in an hotel in this part of Naples that Mr. Waters-
ton took rooms for his family. They had scarcely occupied
them three days, when Miss Waterston was seized with the
malady which ended her life. It was attended from the
first with great weakness — so great, that before it became
clear to her parents that it was desirable to remove her, a
removal was impossible. Once or twice the disorder put on
a favorable appearance, and they were flattered with the
hope of her recovery ; but at length it became manifest that
it was a disease of the heart, and must prove fatal. Whether

276 ENERVATING EFFECT OF THE AIR.
she might have escaped the attack in a more healthful at
mosphere, I will not presume to cpnjecture, nor whether in
a different climate the medical remedies applied would have
had a better chance of success ; but it is at least highly prob
able that she would have escaped the deplorable weakness,
which almost at once made her removal to a more friendly
atmosphere, impossible.
When I mentioned to my banker at Florence that we
had left Miss Waterston very ill at Naples, he exclaimed
with great energy, " Her father must get her away as soon
as he can ; it is certain death for her to stay ; the climate of
Naples is the most relaxing in the world." But whether a
removal would have been beneficial or not, it had long been
an impossibility. She grew weaker and weaker, bearing
her sufferings with a patience and resignation so sweet and
saint-like, that even the physicians, familiar as they were
with the experiences of the sick-room and the death-bed,
were melted to tears. At length, a little before her end,
her mind began to wander, but in such a manner that it
seemed as if she was admitted to a glimpse of the brighter
world to which she was going, and she passed away in what
might almost be taken for a beatific vision — a happy life
closed by a happy death — leaving her parents broken-heart
ed, but for the strong religious trust which supported them.
I heard many persons, while I was in Italy, speak of the
unfavorable influences of a residence in Naples on persons
subject to nervous complaints, and many instances of it were
related to me. Perhaps the cases were confined to this quar-

A CAUTION. 277
ter so much dreaded by the Neapolitans themselves. So con
vinced was I of the prejudicial effect of its atmosphere in
such cases, that I caused the one of our party whose illness
— a nervous fever — detained us so long at Naples, to be
removed from the street called Vittoria to the Pension d'
Europe, away from the shore, on higher ground, and among
the gardens ; and the removal, I thought, was attended with
immediate and manifest advantage. The profound sorrow
in which I pen these lines would be without its proper fruit,
did I neglect to caution those who are liable to nervous com
plaints, and who fear to be reduced by them to a state of
extreme bodily weakness, against the climate of Naples, and
particularly against a residence in that quarter which I have
described.

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