“La rueda de la fortuna anda mas lista que una rueda de molino, y que los que ayer estaban en pinganitos, hoy estan por el suelo.”[145]—Don Quijote.
“La rueda de la fortuna anda mas lista que una rueda de molino, y que los que ayer estaban en pinganitos, hoy estan por el suelo.”[145]—
Don Quijote.
ITwas at Castrò el Rio that we last met Don Carlos; it is now eleven years since,—rather more, but still I have a perfect recollection of it. My memory, indeed, is the only thing that has served me well through life. Friends have abandoned—riches corrupted—success has hardened—ambition disappointed me; and now, as you see, my very limbs are failing me, but memory—excepting for one short period, when my brain was affected—has never abandoned me. I cannot flee from it—it pursues me incessantly: it is as impossible to get rid of, as of one’s shadow in the sun’s rays, and seemsindeed, like it, to become more perfect, as I too proceed downward in my rapidly revolving course.
Alas! it often brings to mind the words of my good father, addressed, whilst I was yet a child, to my too-indulgent mother:—“If we consult the happiness of our son, we must not bring him up above the condition to which it has pleased Providence to call him.” It was my unhappy lot, however, to become aneducated pauper. I grew up discontented, and became a profligate: I coveted riches, to feed my unnatural cravings, and became criminal: I scoffed at religion, and came to ridicule the idea of a future state of rewards and punishments. And as I thus brought myself to believe that I was not an accountable creature, nothing thenceforth restrained me from committing any act which gratified my passions. What is man, I argued, that I should not despoil him, if he possess that which I covet? What should deter me from taking his life, if he stand between me and that which I desire?Crimeis a mere word,—a term for any act which certainmen, for their mutual advantage, have agreed shall meet with punishment. But what right have those men to say, this is just, and that is unlawful?
Such were my feelings at the time I met and related to you the adventures of my early life; adventures of which I was then not a littleproud, though, nevertheless, I slurred over some little matters that I thought would not raise me in your opinion. Well was it for me that I was not cut off in the midst of my iniquitous career, but have, on the contrary, been allowed time, by penance and prayer, to make what atonement is in my power for my former sinful life.
My journey to Castrò had been undertaken at the desire of the political chief of ——, for the purpose of watching the proceedings of the Royal Regiment of Carbineers, which, as you may remember, was at that time quartered there.
I soon, under pretence of being a stanch royalist, wormed myself into the confidence of the officers, and learnt that they were in communication with the King’s Guards at Madrid, and were plotting a counter-revolution, to reestablish Ferdinand on a despotic throne. The advice I gave them, and the information I furnished the government, led to the unconnected and premature developement of their treason, and to the vigorous steps which were taken by the executive to meet and put it down.
These, however, are matters of history, on which it is unnecessary to dwell; suffice it, therefore, to say, that my good services on the occasion were rewarded by promotion to a more lucrativecorregimiento. I did not longenjoy this new post, for, on the French columns crossing the Pyrenees the following spring, I threw up my civil employment, and, collecting a small band ofguerrillas, flew to the defence of my country; joining the traitor Ballasteros, then entrusted with the command of the army of the south.
The deplorable events which followed deprived me of a home; but, leaving my wife and infant son (the only child, of three, whom it had pleased Providence to spare us) at the secluded little town of Cañete la Real, perched high up in the Sierra de Terril, I wandered about the country with a few adherents, seeking opportunities of harassing the French during their operations before Cadiz.
They afforded us no opportunities, however, of attacking their convoys with any chance of success, and my followers could not be brought to engage in any daring enterprise without the prospect of booty. The feeling of patriotism appeared, indeed, to be extinct in the breasts of Spaniards, and after a few weeks my band, which was nowhere well received, having been induced to commit excesses in some of the villages situated in the open country about Arcos, several parties of royalist volunteers were formed to proceed in quest of us; and so disheartened were my followers, that I shortly found my band reduced to a dozen desperadoes,who, like myself, had no hopes of obtaining pardon.
We betook ourselves, therefore, to the innermost recesses of the Ronda mountains, moving constantly from place to place, as well to harass our pursuers, as to avoid being surrounded by them; and such is the intricacy of the country, and so numerous are the rocky fastnesses of the smugglers (from whom we were always sure of a good reception), that we readily baffled all pursuit, and exhausted the patience of our enemies; and, at length, seizing a favourable opportunity of inflicting a severe loss upon one of their parties, the patriotic zeal of these gentry so completely evaporated, that we were left in the undisturbed command of the Serranía.
All hope of being serviceable to our country at an end, we were compelled, as a last resource, to adopt the only calling to which we were suited, viz., that of highway robbers; and for several months every road between Gibraltar and Malaga, and the inland towns, was, in turn, subject to our predaceous visits.
On one occasion a dignitary of the church, whose name and particular station it would not be prudent of me to mention, fell into our hands. His attendants, who were of a militant order, defended their master with great obstinacy. They were eventually overpowered, however, but several of my men having been badlywounded in the scuffle, were so exasperated, that they determined to shoot all those who had fallen into our hands, as well as the —— himself; who, though he had not taken an active part in the combat, had made no attempt to restrain his pugnacious adherents.
As soon as our prisoners had been secured, therefore, the portly ecclesiastic was directed to descend from his sleek mule, deliver up his money, and prepare for death. He inveighed in eloquent terms at our barbarity, pointed out to us the iniquity of our proceedings, the probability of a speedy punishment overtaking us in this life, and the certainty of having to endure everlasting torments in that which is to come. But it was to no purpose; indeed, it only tempted my miscreants to prolong his misery; and, having tied him to a tree, they insisted upon his blessing them all round, ere they proceeded to shoot him.
“My children,” said the worthy ——, “my blessing, from the tone in which you ask it, would serve you little. My life is in the hands of my Maker, not in your’s; and if it be His pleasure to make you the instruments of his divine will, so be it. I am prepared; death has no terrors for me; and may you obtainHisforgiveness for the sin you are about to commit, as readily as I grant youmine. Now, I am ready;” and, looking upwards to the seat of allpower and grace, he paid no further attention to their scoffing.
“Now Señor Bias,” said one of my men, “since he will give us no more sport, give the word, and let us finish his business.”
“Hold!” exclaimed one of the ——’s suite, addressing me, “Is your name Blas Maldonado?”
“It is: wherefore?”
“Because, if such be the case, in his Excellency’sportefuilleyou will find a letter addressed to you.”
I forthwith proceeded to examine its contents, and, true enough, found a letter bearing my address. It was from my old friendJacobo, requesting, should the —— fall into my hands, that I would suffer him to pass without molestation, in return for services conferred on him, which would be explained at our next meeting.[146]
Jacobo, though we had not met for many months, I knew was in that part of the country, following the honest calling of aContrabandista, and I felt, in honour, bound to grant this request of my old friend and ever faithful lieutenant. My followers, however, objectedstrongly to spare either the ——, or his attendants, and a violent altercation ensued; for, I declared that my life must be taken ere that of any one of our prisoners.
Four only of the band sided with me, and we had already assumed a hostile attitude, when the —— called earnestly upon me to desist.
“Peril not your sinful souls!” he exclaimed, “by hurrying each other, unrepented of your manifold sins, into the presence of an offended Maker.—Take our gold—take every thing we possess; and if those misguided men cannot be satisfied without blood, let mine flow to save the lives of these, my followers, who have stronger ties than I to bind them to this world.”
My hot temper, little used to contradiction, would listen, however, to no terms; my word was pledged that the —— and his attendants should go free, and my word was never given in vain. I persisted, therefore, in declaring that those must pass over my body who would touch a hair of the ——’s head, or take a maravedifrom his purse.... If he chose to make them a present after he had been released, he was his own master to do so.
This delicate hint was eagerly seized by the worthy dignitary’s attendants, and a large sum of money was distributed amongst the gang, in which I declined sharing. The ——, meanwhile, remounted his mule, and, calling me to his side, placed a valuable ring upon my finger.“I am indebted to you for my life, Blas Maldonado,” he said, with the most lively emotion; “but that is little; I owe to you—what I value infinitely more—the safety of these faithful attendants, whose attachment had led them, like Simon Peter, to defend their Pastor. Such debts cannot be cancelled by any gift I can bestow, and it is not with that view I offer you this bauble, but a day may come when you may need an intercessor—if so, return this ring to me by some faithful member of our holy church, and let me know how I can serve you: or—which is probable, considering my age and infirmities—should I, ere that comes to pass, have been called from this world to give an account of my stewardship; then, fear not to lay it at the foot of Fernando’s throne, and, in the name of its donor, beg for mercy. I trust you may not have occasion to require its services, for my prayers shall not be wanting for your conversion from your present evil ways—my blessing be upon you—farewell.”
How powerful is the influence of religion! Whilst listening to the worthy ——’s words, my head, which since the days of my childhood no act of devotion had ever led me to uncover, was bared as if by instinct; and, to receive the blessing he had called down upon me, I humbled myself to the earth!
Although those of the band who had so vehementlyopposed sparing the ——’s life had finally been satisfied with thedonationbestowed upon them, yet their disobedience made me determine on ejecting them from my band, and accordingly, accompanied only by my four supporters in the late dispute, I proceeded to my old rendezvous, Montejaque, hoping to pick up some recruits. I purposed, also, availing myself of the first favourable opportunity to remove my wife and child to that place, it being more conveniently situated, and offering greater security than even Cañete la Real.
We had been there but a few days, when I received a letter without a signature, but in the well-known characters of my bosom friend, Miguel Clavijo, under whose protection I had placed my wife and child, giving warning of impending danger to them. There was yet time to avert it, my correspondent concluded, but in twenty-four hours from the date of this communication, their fate would probably be sealed.
It was within two hours of sunset when I received this letter, and eight hours had already elapsed since it had been written. Not a moment, therefore, was to be lost. I procured a pillion, and, placing it on an active horse, set off with all possible haste for Cañete, keeping along the course of the river Ariate to avoid the town of Ronda, and traversing at full speed thevillage bearing the name of the stream, in order to escape recognition.
I reached the rounded summit of the chain of hills which forms the northern boundary of the cultivated valley of Ronda, just as the sun was sinking behind the western mountains; and, checking my horse to give him a few moments’ breath ere commencing the rugged descent on the opposite side, I turned round to see if all were quiet in the wide-spread plain I had just traversed, and that no one was following my traces. At this moment the last ray of the glorious luminary lit upon the distant town of Grazalema. The remarkable coincidence of the warning of treason I had received there on this very day, twelve years before, came vividly to mind, and with it the recollection of my extraordinary escape from the snare laid for me—the debt of gratitude due to her who had risked her life, and sacrificed her honour to save me—the cruelty with which my preserver had been treated. Poor abandoned Paca! From the moment of our angry separation, never had I once taken the trouble of enquiring what had been her fate. Scarcely, indeed, had I ever bestowed a thought upon her.
I resumed my way down the rough descent, pondering, for the first time in my life, on the ingratitude I had been guilty of, and had reached some high cliffs that border the roadbeneath the village of La Cuera del Becerro, when a pistol was discharged within a few yards of me, and, looking up, I saw a witchlike figure standing on the edge of the precipice overhanging the path—It was Paca!
Had my eyes wished to deceive me, she would not have allowed them, for, with a wild, demonaical laugh, she screamed out “Adelante, Adelante, embustero desalmado![147]—You will yet be in time to dig the grave for your child, though too late to snatch yourwifefrom the arms of her paramour. Forward, forward; recollect the old saying, ‘no hay boda, sin tornabóda;’[148]you may have forgotten Paca ofBenaocaz, but I shall never forget Blas Maldonado. The creditor has ever a better memory than the debtor. I have paid myself now, however—ride on, and see the receipt I have left for you at Cañete—ha, ha, ha!”
There was something perfectly fiendish in her laughter. A horrible presentiment possessed me.—With a hand tremulous with passion, I drew forth a pistol and fired. Paca staggered, and fell backwards; but, not waiting to see if she were killed, I put spurs to my horse, and hurried forward to Cañete.
I rode straight to the house where I had left my wife, but it was uninhabited. I turned fromit with a shudder, and proceeded to the abode of my faithful friend Clavijo, who was confined to his bed with ague. He received me with a face foreboding evil.
“Where is my wife?” I hastily demanded—“my child, where is he?”
“Alas!” he replied, “why came you not earlier?”
“Earlier! how could that be? It is but twelve hours since your summons was penned! Tell me, I implore you—what horrible misfortune has befallen?”
“But twelve hours, say you?” exclaimed Clavijo; “It is nowthree dayssince I intrusted my letter to Paca to convey to you! she it was who informed me of the plot to carry off your wife, (which has been but too truly effected,) and offered to be herself the bearer of my letter to you at Montejaque, where she assured me you were. I have not seen her since, and fancied she had not succeeded in finding you.”
I stood stupified whilst listening to this explanation—for such it was to me; the truth, the horrible truth, at once flashing upon me—and then, without waiting to obtain further information from the bed-ridden Miguel, hastened to the late residence of my wife, which one of his domestics pointed out to me. In few words, I explained to its owner the object of my visit, begging for information concerning my child.“This will explain all, Señor Blas,” she replied, taking a letter from a cupboard, and placing it in my hands; “would to God it had been in my power to prevent what has happened.”
The letter was in my wife’s hand-writing, I tore it open, and to my astonishment read as follows.
“Monster of iniquity! The veil that has but too long concealed thy unequalled crimes from the eyes of a confiding woman, has been rudely torn aside. Murderer of my brother! Apostate! Traitor! Adulterer! receive at my hands the first stroke of the Almighty’s anger. The illegitimate offspring of our intercourse lies a mangled corpse upon our adulterous bed! Yes, unparalleled villain; my hand, like thine own, is stained with the blood of my child—ourchild. But on thy head rests the sin. In a moment of delirium, produced by the sight of my husband, and the knowledge of thy atrocious crimes, the horrid deed was committed. I leave thee to the pangs of remorse. I cannot curse thee. Even with the bleached corpse of my poor boy before me, I cannot bring myself to call down a heavy punishment upon thee. We shall never meet again; but fly instantly and save thyself if possible; and may the Almighty Being, whose every command thou hast violated, extend the term of thy life for repentance; and may a blessed Saviour and the holy saints, whose mediationthou hast ever derided, intercede for the salvation of thy sinful soul.”
My first feeling on reading this epistle was incredulity!I, who had stopped at no crime to gratify any evil passion; even I could not persuade myself that it was not a forgery, nor believe that one so gentle, so affectionate, as Engracia, could be guilty of so diabolical an act. I took up a lamp and walked composedly to the adjoining chamber, to satisfy my doubts. With a steady hand I drew aside the curtain of the bed—nothing was visible. A thrill of delight ran through my veins. I tore off the counterpane, and—horrible revulsion of feeling!—discovered my boy, my darling boy, with anguish depicted in every feature, and every muscle contracted with excessive suffering; a cold—black—fetid—putrid corpse!
Until that moment I had not known the full extent to which the chords of the human heart are capable of being stretched. All my love of life had centred in that child. Each of his infantile endearments came fresh upon my memory. The pangs of jealousy and hate, too, had never before been so acutely felt; and, lastly, I thought of my Fernando’s dying malediction! It seemed as if a poisoned dart had pierced to the very innermost recess of the heart, and that my envenomed blood waited but its extraction, to gush forth in one irrepressible flood.
I stood speechless—awe-struck—motionless; but not yet humbled. I thought of Paca, and a curse rose to my throat; but ere I had time to give it utterance, a noise, as of many persons assembled at the door of the house, attracted my attention, and I heard an unknown voice say, “This,Tio, you are sure is the house? Then in with you, comrades, without ceremony, and bring out every soul you may find there, dead or alive.”
In another moment the door was broken open and a party of armed men rushed in. My precaution of extinguishing the lamp was vain, as several of them bore blazing torches. I rushed to a back window of the inner apartment, and drew forth a pistol to keep them at bay whilst I effected my escape by it. It had the desired effect. Not one of the dastard crew would approach to lay his hand upon me. The shutter was already thrown open; the strength of desperation had enabled me to tear down one of the iron bars of thereja; and one foot rested on the window-sill; when, rushing past the soldiers, a ghost-like female figure, whose face was bound up in a cloth clotted with gore, seized me in her convulsive grasp, and in a half-articulate scream cried, “Wretch! you shall not so escape me!"—It was Paca! I tried in vain to shake her off; she clung to me with the pertinacity of a vampire, I placed the muzzle ofmy pistol to her temple, and pulled the trigger; but, in my hurry, I had drawn that which I had already fired at her. I attempted to snatch another from my belt, but the soldiers taking courage rushed forward and overpowered me, just as Paca, from whose mouth I now perceived blood was rapidly issuing, fell exhausted upon the floor.
The commander of the party was now called in, who gave directions for a priest and a surgeon to be instantly sent for, and that I should be bound hand and foot with cords. They took the bedding from under the corpse of my son to form a rest for Paca, whose life seemed ebbing rapidly.
In a few minutes the surgeon arrived, and shortly after a tinkling bell announced the approach of the Host. The doctor having examined Paca’s wounds, pronounced them to have been inflicted by the discharge of some weapon loaded with slugs, one of which had fractured her jaw-bone, whilst another had inflicted a wound that occasioned an inward flow of blood which threatened immediate dissolution, and consequently the services of the church were more likely to be beneficial than his own. The priest then approached, and offered the last and cheering consolation that our holy religion offers to a dying penitent.
Paca opened her now lustreless eyes, andwith a motion of impatience, putting aside the proffered cup, pointed to me. “There is my murderer,” she muttered in broken accents; “Villain! monster! my vengeance is at length complete. I leave you in the hands of justice, and die ... happy.” An agonized writhe belied her assertion. She never spoke after, but continued groaning whilst the worthy priest attempted to call her attention to her approaching end.
I have not much more to add to my history. It appeared, by what I learnt afterwards, that Beltran had most miraculously escaped death, when thrown from the rock of Montejaque, and having been discovered by some French soldiers who made an attack upon the place a few days afterwards, was conveyed to Ronda, when the loss of his ears led to his being recognised by the French governor, who had, in the meanwhile, received mypresent, and discovered the trick I had played him.
Beltran’s tale thus proved to have been the true one, he was well-treated, and sent with a party of prisoners to France, where he remained until the conclusion of the war. He was then on his way back to his native country, in company with several other Spaniards, when he was arrested as being an accomplice, “sans préméditation,” in a robbery, attended with loss of life, and was sentenced to ten years’ imprisonment;but, before this term was fully completed, he obtained his release, returned to Spain, and proceeding immediately to his native province, there first learnt that Engracia had become my wife.
I think, by the way, that in the former part of my narrative I omitted to mention—for fully persuaded as Ithenwas of Beltran’s death, it was a matter of no moment—that previous to Engracia’s becoming my wife, she informed me of her having, at the urgent instances of her brother Melchor, consented to a private marriage with my rival; and from this circumstance she had expressed the greatest anxiety to ascertain his fate with certainty, and had delayed for so long a period bestowing her hand upon me.
This marriage with Beltran had taken place at Gaucin within an hour of my departure from that town, after making the arrangements for our combined attack on Ronda; and had been strongly advocated by Melchor, from an apprehension that, should any thing happen to him in the approaching conflict, his elder brother, Alonzo, who was kept in perfect ignorance of this proceeding, would abandon his friend Beltran, and insist on their sister’s marrying me, whom he (Melchor) detested.
I, however, as you are aware, had every reason to believe that Beltran had been killed by his fall from the rock of Montejaque; and therefore, oneventually eliciting from Engracia the reason of her reluctance to marry me, I had no scruple in declaring that Beltran’s dead body had been seen rolling down the shallow pebbly bed of the Guadiaro, after our action with the French. The crime I had led her to commit was consequently unintentional. Would I could as easily acquit myself of another her letter accused me of, namely, that of being the murderer of her brother: for, through my machinations was his death brought about.
Whilst the crop-eared traitor, Beltran, (theTio’srevengeful feelings were not so entirely allayed as to prevent his bestowing an occasional term of reproach on those who had thwarted his prosperous career of iniquity) was skulking about the mountains, endeavouring to obtain tidings of his re-married wife, chance threw him in the way of Paca, engaged in a similar pursuit, but with a very different purpose.
This wretched woman had, for many years after our separation, been the inmate of a mad-house; but, at length, her keepers finding that, excepting on the subject of her supposed wrongs, she was perfectly tractable, became careless of watching her, and she effected her escape.
The sole object of this vindictive creature’s life appears now to have been to wreak vengeance upon me. But not satisfied with the mere death of her victim, she sought first totorture him with worldly pangs; and informed that Engracia lived, and had given birth to a son, whom I loved with a more fervent affection than even the mother, she determinedtheyshould first be sacrificed to her revenge.
On discovering Beltran alive, however, a scheme yet more hellishly devised entered her imagination; in the execution of which he became a willing agent, though in some degree her dupe.
Well acquainted with all my haunts, she soon got upon my track; and that discovered, had little difficulty in finding out the hiding-place of Engracia. Making a shrewd guess at the person under whose protection I had placed my wife and child, she forthwith presented herself to Don Miguel, and informed him that a plot was laid, and on the eve of execution, to carry them both off; adding, that it might yet be frustrated if I could but arrive at Cañete within twenty-four hours—that she knew where I then was, and would undertake to have any warning conveyed to me which his prudence might suggest—that her messenger was sure, but still the utmost caution, as well as despatch, was necessary.
Miguel, quite taken by surprise, and unable from illness to leave his bed, wrote the short note which has already been given; and this point gained, Paca proceeded to the nearesttown to give information to the authorities that the bandit Blas, whom they were seeking in every direction, was to be at Cañete la Real on a certain night; and proposed, if a detachment of troops was sent quietly to the neighbouring village of El Becerro, that she would repair thither at the proper time, and conduct the soldiers to the traitor’s very lair.
This proposal was readily acceded to, and Paca then repaired to Cañete, to tell Miguel not to be uneasy as to the result of his message to me, as, since sending it, she had ascertained on good authority that something had occurred to postpone the elopement of Engracia for a day or two.
Bending her steps thence to where Beltran was anxiously awaiting her return, she told him that after much difficulty she had discovered Engracia was at Cañete; he had therefore but to proceed there after dark, provided with the means of carrying her off. But this, she informed him, must be done with the utmost celerity and circumspection, as the inhabitants of the place were so desperate a set, and so attached to me, that, if they got the slightest inkling of what was going forward, they certainly would handle him very roughly; and the authorities, unless backed by a body of troops, would be afraid to interfere in his behalf.
If, however, she pursued, he preferred waitinguntil an escort could be procured, that he might avoid all personal risk—but delays were dangerous, for frequently
"De la mano a la bocase cae la sopa.”[149]
"De la mano a la bocase cae la sopa.”[149]
"De la mano a la bocase cae la sopa.”[149]
The law, too, was uncertain.—He thought so also, and they proceeded together to Cañete.
Beltran, imagining that Paca had informed Engracia of his being alive, conceived that no intimation of his coming was requisite; but such was not the case, and the shock given by his unexpected visit caused the aberration of mind which led the hapless Engracia to commit the horrid crime of infanticide; and, in the state of inanition that followed, she was carried out of the town.
The letter to me was written afterwards, and delivered to the old woman of the house by Paca, the last act of whose fiendish plot now commenced.
Altering the date of Miguel’s letter, so as to make it correspond with the time arranged for the arrival of the troops atLa Cueva del Becerro, she forwarded it to me at Montejaque—what followed has already been stated.
These details became known on my trial, which took place shortly afterwards. I was condemned to suffer death by thegarrote. Theday was fixed; I sent for a priest, and entrusting to him the ring given me by the ——, begged he would forward it without delay to Madrid.
This was done, but day after day passed without bringing any answer to my appeal. At first I had been so sanguine as to the result, that I was affected but little at my position, for I knew how easily a pardon is obtained in Spain, when application is made in the proper quarter; but, as the fatal time approached, the darkest despair took possession of my soul.
I cannot indeed convey to you, Don Carlos, an adequate idea of the horrible torments I endured during the last few days preceding that fixed for my execution. The pious father Ignacio—he has since (sainted soul!) been taken from this earth, and is now, I trust, my intercessor in heaven—was unremitting in his endeavours to bring me to repentance; but Satan was yet strong within me, and my heart remained hardened. The pardon came not, and I exclaimed against the justness of the Most High: I, whom no considerations of justice had influenced in any one action of my life—who had recklessly transgressed each of His commandments!
“We must not ask forjusticeat the hands of the Almighty,” urged Ignacio; “We are all born in sin, in sin we all live;mercyis what we must pray for."
“Mercy!” I exclaimed; “Whywas I born in sin? Why led to commit crime? Why....”
“Your unbridled passions led you to transgress the laws of your Creator,” replied Ignacio; “be thankful that you were not cut short in your mad career, and that time has been allowed you for repentance.”
“Repent!—I cannot—I have ever denied, I cannot now believe in the existence of a Maker.”
“Unhappy man!” ejaculated the worthy priest; “unhappy, impious, inconsistent man! You deny the existence of the Being against whose justice your voice was raised e’en now in reproaches! Do you not look forward to behold again to-morrow the bright luminary round which this atom of a world revolves? Look on that pale moon, which perhaps you now see rising for the last time—Observe that fiery meteor which has this moment dashed through the wondrous, boundless firmament; and ask yourself if this admirable system can be the effect of accident? Do the trees yearly yield us their fruits by chance? Is the punctual return of the seasons a mere casualty? If so, how is it that this accidental atom—this globe we inhabit, has so long held togetherwithoutaccident? Has any work of man, however cunningly devised, in like manner withstood the effects of time? Is not the protecting hand of the Deity clearly perceptible in the unvarying continuance of these phenomena?
“My son, had you studied the Holy Scriptures more, and the philosophy of Voltaire and other infidels less, you would not have been brought to this strait; neither would you have shocked my ears with a confession, which, a few years since, would have consigned you to the dungeons of the Inquisition. Repent! unhappy man, repent! and save your soul—there is still time. Nay, an omnipotent Maker may even yet think fit to prolong your life here below, for the perfection of this good work, if you will but pray to him in all sincerity.”
The pious father saw that I was touched, and, pouring in promises of future happiness, brought me to reflect. I begged him to be with me early on the following morning. He came; I had passed the night in prayer; and now unburdened my mind, by making to him a full confession of my sins.
Ignacio remained comforting me, until the hour of the arrival of the post, when he repaired, as usual, to theCorregidor, to ascertain whether any pardon had reached him. He returned not, however. Eleven o’clock was the hour fixed for my execution; it came, but still Ignacio did not appear. Hours passed away, and not a soul visited me; the sun again sank below the horizon, and I yet lived.
It was evident—so, at least, I thought—that a pardon had arrived, and my spirits rose accordingly.At length, towards nightfall, Ignacio entered my cell. “Blas,” he said, “though it would appear there is no longer a chance of your receiving a pardon, yet your life has been miraculously spared this day, to give you time for repentance. I trust you have turned it to good account.”
“How!” I exclaimed, “have I not been pardoned? What, then, has occasioned this delay?”
“You owe your life,” he replied, “to a rumour, that a band of robbers had appeared in the vicinity—some of your old friends, it was thought—which caused all the troops to be sent out in pursuit. They have but now returned, and to-morrow you will be executed.”
A pang of withering disappointment ran through me, for I had confidently imagined that the delay had been the consequence of the arrival of a pardon, and Satan once more obtained dominion over me.
Ignacio read in my overcast countenance the change his information had wrought in my feelings. “Your repentance is not sincere, my son,” he observed. “Alas! when death is in sight, how fondly do we cling to this earth. And yet you have braved death in the field a thousand times!”
“Father,” I replied, “it is not death I fear—it is the disgrace of a public execution."
“What absurd sophistry is this?” said he. “Can one, who but yesterday denied the existence of a future state, care for one momenthowhe quits this world, or regard the opinion of those he leaves behind in it?—as well might he be fearful of losing the good opinion of a herd of swine. Away with such fine-spun subtilties—it is the prospect of meeting your Maker face to face that makes you quail. You are yet but ill prepared, I see. Oh! may He yet mercifully extend your life, if but a short span.”
The morrow came, but the pious Ignacio’s prayer remained apparently unheard. He repaired to my call soon after the arrival of the post, to exhort and prepare me. Alas! I was as much in want of his assistance as ever, for I had all along clung to the hope of obtaining a pardon through the influence of the ——, and was more inclined to rail than to pray.
A party of soldiers at length arrived, and I was led off in chains to the place of execution. A vast crowd was assembled from all the neighbouring towns to witness my punishment. Ignacio addressed the multitude on our way, saying, I was a repentant sinner, and implored the prayers of all good Christians. For myself I said not a word, and the crowd gave no signs of either gratification or commiseration. I mounted the scaffold, the fatal instrument wasplaced round my throat, a curse was yet on my lips, when a distant shout attracted the Father’s attention. Laying a hand upon the arm of the executioner to stay his proceedings, he watched with eager eyes the signs of some one who was approaching at a rapid pace, holding a paper high in the air. The paper was handed to Ignacio by the breathless messenger. “It is a pardon,” he exclaimed; “your life is miraculously spared—it has been sent express from the Escurial! Return your thanks, to Him, who has been pleased thus to extend his mercy towards you.”
I had already sunk on my knees—I prayed earnestly for the first time in my life.
Marvellously, indeed, had my life been preserved. But for the rumoured appearance of the band of robbers, I should have suffered death the day before; again, this day, but for Ignacio’s presence, the pardon would have arrived too late.
I was immediately released, but a fever, caused, probably, by my previously excited feelings, confined me to my bed for many weeks. I became delirious, and my life was despaired of. Ignacio tended me like a brother. A second time he saved my life; but, alas! he himself contracted the contagious disorder, and fell a victim to his warm and disinterested friendship.
I expended all I was worth in masses for his soul, and was once more thrown upon the world to seek a livelihood.
I thought of applying to the —— to procure me some employment, but learnt that he too had closed his mortal career. The fever had given such a shock to my constitution, that old age, I may say, came suddenly upon me, and to gain a livelihood by hard labour was out of the question. I had no relations; my friends were all new; so that I had no claims on any one: my present occupation presented itself, as the only one I was fit for; and, thank God, it enables me to earn my bread without begging, and even to lay by a little store for pious purposes:—for much of my time is devoted to the performance of penances and austerities, to expiate the sins of my past life. Thrice, on my knees, have I ascended to theErmitayou see there peeping through the clouds gathered round the peaks of the Sierra Morena. Once, too, have I walked barefoot to prostrate myself before theSanta faz[150]of Jaen; and this winter (God willing!) I purpose visiting the most holy shrine ofSant’ Iago de Compostela.
It is a long journey, and will, probably, be my last pilgrimage, for I feel myself sinking fast.
You have now had the history of my whole life, Don Carlos—I wish it could be published. It might, probably, warn my fellow-creatures to rest contented with the lot to which it has pleased God to call them; and, if so, I may have lived to some purpose.
UNFORESEEN DIFFICULTIES IN PROCEEDING TO MADRID—DEATH OF KING FERDINAND—CHANGE IN OUR PLANS—ROAD TO ANDUJAR—ALCOLEA—MONTORO—PORCUNA—ANDUJAR—ARJONA—TORRE XIMENO—DIFFICULTY OF GAINING ADMISSION—SUCCESS OF A STRATAGEM—CONSTERNATION OF THE AUTHORITIES—SPANISH ADHERENCE TO FORMS—CONTRASTS—JAEN—DESCRIPTION OF THE CASTLE, CITY, AND CATHEDRAL—LA SANTA FAZ—ROAD TO GRANADA—OUR KNIGHTLY ATTENDANT—PARADOR DE SAN RAFAEL—HOSPITABLE FARMER—ASTONISHMENT OF THE NATIVES—GRANADA—EL SOTO DE ROMA—LOJA—VENTA DE DORNEJO—COLMENAR—FINE SCENERY—ROAD FROM MALAGA TO ANTEQUERA, AND DESCRIPTION OF THAT CITY.
UNFORESEEN DIFFICULTIES IN PROCEEDING TO MADRID—DEATH OF KING FERDINAND—CHANGE IN OUR PLANS—ROAD TO ANDUJAR—ALCOLEA—MONTORO—PORCUNA—ANDUJAR—ARJONA—TORRE XIMENO—DIFFICULTY OF GAINING ADMISSION—SUCCESS OF A STRATAGEM—CONSTERNATION OF THE AUTHORITIES—SPANISH ADHERENCE TO FORMS—CONTRASTS—JAEN—DESCRIPTION OF THE CASTLE, CITY, AND CATHEDRAL—LA SANTA FAZ—ROAD TO GRANADA—OUR KNIGHTLY ATTENDANT—PARADOR DE SAN RAFAEL—HOSPITABLE FARMER—ASTONISHMENT OF THE NATIVES—GRANADA—EL SOTO DE ROMA—LOJA—VENTA DE DORNEJO—COLMENAR—FINE SCENERY—ROAD FROM MALAGA TO ANTEQUERA, AND DESCRIPTION OF THAT CITY.
IFOUNDCordoba the same dull, sultry, loyal city as at the period of my former visit; after devoting a day, therefore, to the incomparableMezquita, we repaired to the police office to redeem our passports, and have themviséfor Madrid, purposing to proceed to the capital byDiligence. We there learnt, however, that our route from Gibraltar, having passednearthe district wherein the cholera had appeared, the public safety demanded that our journey should be continued on horseback, and, moreover, that each day’s ride should not exceed eight leagues!
The prospect of a fortnight’s baking on the parched plains of La Mancha and Castile, which this preposterous precaution held out, was, of itself, enough to make any onecrusty; but the additional vexation of finding that all our precautions had been unavailing, all our information erroneous, made us return to theposada, thoroughly out of humour withLas Cosas de España. Our landlord comforted us, however, by engaging—if we would but wait patiently for a few days, and leave the business entirely in his hands—to get matters arranged so that we might yet proceed on to Madrid by the diligence; and, knowing the wheels within wheels by which Spanish affairs of state are put in motion, we willingly came to this compromise, and remained quietly paying him for our breakfasts and dinners during the best part of a week, receiving each day renewed assurances that every thing was proceeding “corriente.”
The second day after our arrival at Cordoba, the inhabitants were moved to an unusual degree of excitement, in consequence of anestafettehaving passed through the city during the night, bearing despatches from Madrid to the Captain General of the Province, and rumours were afloat that the king was so seriously ill as to occasion great fears for his life; and, on the following day, public anxiety was yet further excited by a report that the Captain Generalhad passed through Cordoba on his way to the capital; leading to the general belief that Ferdinand was actually dead.
In the evening our host came to us with a very long face, and informed us, confidentially, that such was the case, though, for political reasons, it had been deemed prudent not to make the melancholy news public; adding, that, in consequence of this unforeseen and unfortunate event, he regretted to say the authorities had been seized with such a panic, that he had altogether failed in his endeavour to have the stain effaced from our bill of health. Nevertheless, he said, he hoped yet to be able to arrange matters so as to ensure our being received into the diligence,without any questions being askedat Andujar, if we would but remain quietly where we were for a few days longer, and then proceed to that place on horseback.
The news received from Madrid had, however, decided us to give up the plan of continuing our journey thither. I knew enough of Spain to foresee what would be the result of all the intrigues which had been carried on behind the curtains of the imbecile Ferdinand’s death-bed.
“You are quite right, Señor,” said Blas, to whom I made known our change of plans, “we shall now have a disputed succession, for, be assured, Don Carlos is not the man to foregohis just rights without a struggle.—Alas! this only was wanting to fill my unhappy country’s cup of misery to overflowing.”
Although thus unwillingly forced to abandon the project of crossing the Sierra Morena, we determined, whilst the country yet remained quiet, to extend our tour further to the eastward, and, by proceeding along thearrecifeto Madrid as far as Andujar, gain the road which leads from thence to Jaen; a city, which the want of practicable roads leading from it to the south has, until late years (during which that deficiency has been remedied), been very rarely visited by travellers.
Recommending Señor Blas to postpone his projected barefoot pilgrimage into Gallicia, until the rainy season had set in, and made the roads soft, we departed from Cordoba by the great post route to the capital, which, as far as Alcolea, is conducted along the right bank of the Guadalquivír, and is a fine, broad, and well-kept gravel road.
Alcolea is seven miles from Cordoba. It is a small village of but twenty or thirty houses, and, in the opinion of Florez, occupies the site of the ancient town of Arva. Thearrecifehere crosses to the left bank of the river by a handsome marble bridge, of eighteen arches, built in 1788-92. The passage of this bridge was obstinately contested by the Spaniards, in thecampaign of 1808, but a party of the French, which had crossed the river at Montoro, falling upon its defenders in flank, forced them to retreat.
From hence to Carpio is ten miles. The country is undulated, and the road—along which there is not a single village, and scarcely half a dozen houses—keeps within sight of the Guadalquivír the whole way, affording many pleasing views of the winding stream and its overhanging woods and olive groves.
The town of Carpio is left about a quarter of a mile off, on the right. It is situated on a hill, and by some is supposed to be the ancient city of Corbulo. Pliny, however, distinctly says that place wasbelowCordoba, and Florez fixes it in the vicinity of Palma.
From Carpio to Aldea del Rio is twelve miles, the country continuing much the same as heretofore. At three miles, the road reaches the small town of Pedro Abad (or Perabad) in the vicinity of which is adespoblado,[151]where various medals and vestiges have been found that determine it to be the site of Sacili, mentioned by Pliny.
Proceeding onwards, the town of Bujalance may occasionally be seen on the right, distant about a league and a half from the Guadalquivír; and at seven miles from Carpio, wepassed Montoro, a large town situated on the margin of the river, and about three quarters of a mile to the left of thearrecife. This town has been determined by antiquaries to be Ripepora.
The country about Aldea del Rio is rather pretty, and the place has a thriving look compared with the miserable towns we had lately seen; its population is about 1,800 souls. We halted here for the night, and found theposadamost wretched.
At a distance of nine (geographic) miles from Aldea del Rio, in a south-east direction, is the town of Porcuna; its situation, Florez justly observes, agreeing so well with that of Obulco, as given both by Strabo[152]and Pliny,[153]as to leave no doubt of their identity. Inscriptions, monuments, coins, &c., which have been found there, quite confirm this opinion, and an important point is thus gained in tracing the operations of Cæsar in his last campaign against the sons of Pompey; since Obulco, which he is mentioned as having reached in twenty-seven days from Rome, may be considered the advanced post of the country that was favourable to his cause.
The present ignoble name of the town—Porcuna,—appears to have been bestowed upon itfrom the extraordinary fecundity of asow; an inscription, commemorative of the birth of thirty young pigs at one litter, being preserved to this day in the church of the Benedictine friars, and is thus worded:—
C. CORNELIVS. C. F.CN. GAL. CÆSO.AED. FLAMEN. II. VIRMVNICIPII. PONTIFC. CORN. CÆSO. F.SACERDOS. GENT. MVNICIPIISCROFAM CVM PORCIS XXXIMPENSA IPSORVM.D. D.
From Aldea del Rio to Andujar is fourteen miles, making the whole distance from Cordoba to that place forty-three miles. The country is very gently undulated, and principally under tillage; the ride, however, is dreary, there being but one house on the road.
Andujar stands altogether on the right bank of the Guadalquivír, which is crossed by a bridge of nine arches. The town is reputed to contain a population of 12,000 souls, but that number is a manifest exaggeration. It is encompassed by old Roman walls, and defended by an ancient castle, and is celebrated for its manufacture of pottery. It is, nevertheless, a dilapidated, impoverished looking place.
By some Andujar is supposed to be the Illiturgi,[154]or, as it is otherwise written, Illurtigis ofthe ancient historians; but Florez fixes the site of that city two leagues higher up, but on the same bank of the Guadalquivír, and imagines Andujar to be Ipasturgi. The locality of the existing town certainly but ill agrees with the description of Illurtigis given by Livy, for no part of Andujar is “covered by a high rock.”[155]
Thearrecifeto Madrid leaves the banks of the Guadalquivír at Andujar, striking inland to Baylen, and thence across the Sierra Morena by the pass ofDespeña Perros. After devoting a few hours to exploring the old walls of the town, we recrossed the river, and bent our steps towards Granada, taking the road to Jaen.
We proceeded that afternoon to Torre Ximena, twenty miles from Andujar. The country is undulated, and mostly under cultivation. The road is—or, more properly, I should say, perhaps, the places upon the road are—very incorrectly laid down on the Spanish maps; for, instead of being scattered east and west over the face of the country, they are so nearly in line, as to make the general direction of the road nearly straight. Though but a cross-country track, it is tolerably good throughout. The first town it visits is Arjona, said to be the ancient Urgao, or Virgao.[156]It is a poor place, of some twelve or fifteen hundred inhabitants, and distant seven miles from the Guadalquivír.
Five miles beyond Arjona, but lying half pistol shot off the road to the right, is the miserable little village of Escañuela; and three miles further on, the equally wretched town of Villa Don Pardo. From hence to Torre Ximeno (five miles) the road traverses a vast plain, but, ere we had proceeded half way, night overtook us, and on reaching the town we found all the entrances most carefully closed.
After making various attempts to gain admission—groping our way from one barricade to another, until we had nearly completed the circuit of the town—we perceived a light glimmering at some little distance in the country, and hoping it proceeded from somerancha, where we might obtain shelter from an approaching storm, if not accommodation for the night, we spurred our jaded animals towards it as fast as the ruggedness of the ground would admit. It proved, however, to be only the remains of a fire made for the purpose of destroying weeds; but a peasant lad, who was warming his evening meal over the expiring embers, pointed out a path leading to one of the town gates, at which, he said, we might, perhaps, gain admission.
Following his directions, we found the gate without much trouble; but a difficulty now arose that promised to be of a more insuperable nature, namely, that ofawaking the guard, forthe combined efforts of our voices proved quite inadequate to the purpose.
It was very vexatious, but irresistibly ludicrous; and, prompted by this mixed feeling of wrath and merriment, we determined to try what effect would be produced by a general discharge of our pistols, and, accordingly riding close up to the gate, fired a volley in the air.
A tremendous discharge ofcarajos!responded to oursalvo, and soldiers, policemen, custom-house officers, and health-officers, sallied forth, helter skelter, from the guard-house and adjacent dwellings, making off “with the very extremest inch of possibility,” under the impression that the place was attacked.
Oneaduanero, however, more enterprising and valiant than the rest, ventured to peep through the bars of the stockade and demand our business; on learning which he encouragingly invited theurbanosto return to theirmilitary duty, whilst he despatched a messenger to theAlcaldeto request instructions for their further proceedings.
We were subjected meanwhile to a most vexatious detention, occasioned by various causes. Firstly, because the village dictator was nowhere to be found. He had—so it eventually turned out—started from his comfortable seat at the fire of theposada(where, surrounded by a knot of politicians, he was discussing the justiceof abrogating the Salique law), at the first report of our fire-arms, and, wrapping his cloak around him, had rushed into the street, declaring his intention of meeting death like the last of the Palæologi, rather than be recognised and spared, to grace the triumph of a victorious enemy. Then we had to wait for the key of the gate, which had been carried off in the pocket of one of the runaway soldiers; and, lastly, for a light, the guard-lamp having been overturned in the general confusion, and all the oil spilt.
During the half hour’s delay occasioned by these various untoward circumstances, we were subjected to a long verbal examination, touching the part of the country whence we had come; for having wandered round the town in our attempts to gain admission, until we had reached a gate at the very opposite point of the compass to that which points to Andujar, the account we gave seemed to awaken great doubts of our veracity in the minds of these vigilant functionaries; and, even after a lantern had been brought, and our passports delivered up, we underwent a minute personal examination, ere being permitted to repair to the posada.
The Spaniards say, that we English are “victimas de la etiqueta;” and, certes, we may compliment them, in return, on being the mostcompleteslaves to form. Instances in proof thereof,—which, though on a smaller scale, were scarcely less laughable than the foregoing,—occurred daily in the course of our journey.Par example, on leaving theventaat Fuente de Piedra, where our sleeping apartment was little better than the stable into which it opened, the hostess insisted on serving our morning cup of chocolate on a table partially covered with a dirty towel, saying, it would not be “decente” to allow us to take it standing at the kitchen fire.
Here again, at Torre Ximeno, the landlord was conducting us into what he conceived to be a befitting apartment, when his better half cried out, “à la sala! à la sala!”[157]We pricked up our ears, fancying we were to be in clover. Thesala, however, proved to be a room about ten feet longer than that into which we were first shown, but in every other respect itsfac simile; that is to say, it had bare white-washed walls and a plastered floor, was furnished with half a dozen low rush-bottomed chairs, and ventilated by two apertures, which at some distant period had been closed by shutters.
The floor presented so uneven a surface, and was marked with so many rents, that, until encouraged by the landlord’s “no tiene usted cuidado,”[158]I was particularly careful where Iplaced my feet, taking it to be a highly finished model of the circumjacent sierras and water-courses.
After more than the usual difficulties about bills of health and passports, we received a very civil message from theAlcalde, to say, that his house, &c. &c., were at our disposal; but our host and his helpmate seemed so well inclined to do what was in their power to make uscomfortable, that we declined his polite offer.
Our landlady was still remarkably pretty, though the mother of four children—a rare occurrence in Spain, where mothers, however young they may be, usually look like old women. We had some little difficulty in persuading her that we did not like garlic, and that we should be satisfied with a very moderate quantity of oil in theguisado[159]she undertook to prepare for our supper, and on which, with bread and fruit, and some excellent wine, we made a hearty meal.
Contrasts in Spain are most absurd. We slept on thin woollen mattresses, spread upon the before-mentioned mountainous floor—the serrated ridges of which we had some little difficulty in fitting to our ribs—and in the morning were furnished with towels bordered with a kind of thread lace and fringe to the depth of at least eighteen inches; very ornamental,but by no means useful, since the serviceable part of the towel was hardly get-at-able.
On asking our hostess for the bill, we were referred to her husband, which, as the Easterns say, led us to regard her with the eyes of astonishment; for this reference from the lady and mistress to her helpmate, is the exception to the rule, and it was to save trouble we had applied to her, experience having taught us that the landlady was generally the oracle on these occasions;invariably, indeed, when there is any intention to cheat.
This, without explanation, may be deemed a most ungallant accusation; I do not mean by it, however, to screen my own sex at the expense of the fairer, for the truth is, the man adds duplicity to his other sins, by retiring from the impending altercation. This he does either from thinking that imposition will come with a better grace from his better half, or, that she will be more ingenious in finding out reasons for the exorbitance of the demand, or, at all events, words in defending it; for any attempt at expostulation is drowned in such a torrent of whys and wherefores, that one is glad,coute qui coute, to escape from the encounter. And thus, whilst the lady’s volubility is extracting the money from their lodger’s pocket, mine host stands aloof, looking as like a hen-peckedmortal as he possibly can, and shrugging his shoulders from time to time, as much as to say, “It is none of my doing! I would help you if I dare, but you see what a devil she is!”
On the present occasion, however, we had no reason to remonstrate, for, to a very moderate charge, were added numerous excuses for any thing that might have been amiss in our accommodation, in consequence of their ignorance of our wants.
Torre Ximeno is situated in a narrow valley, watered by a fine stream; its walls, however, reach to the crest of the hills on both sides, and apparently rest on a Roman foundation. It contains a population of 1,800 souls. From hence a road proceeds, by way of Martos and Alcalà la Real, to Granada, but it is more circuitous than that by Jaen.
From Torre Ximeno to that city is two long leagues, or about nine miles. The road now takes a more easterly direction than heretofore, and, at the distance of three miles, reaches the village of Torre Campo. The rest of the way lies over an undulated country, which slants gradually towards the mountains, that rise to the eastward.
Jaen is situated on the outskirts of the great Sierra de Susana, which, dividing the waters of the Guadalquivír and Genil, spreads as far south as the vale of Granada. The city isbuilt on the eastern slope of a rough and very inaccessible ridge, whose summit is occupied by an old castle, enclosed by extensive outworks.
The ancient name of the place was Aurinx, and it appears to have stood just without the limits of ancient Bœtica. It is now the capital of one of the kingdoms composing the province of Andalusia, and the see of a bishop in the archbishoprick of Toledo. Its population amounts to at least 20,000 souls.
Jaen is in every respect a most interesting city. It is frequently mentioned by the Roman historians, was equally noted in the time of the Moors, from whom it was wrested by San Fernando, A.D. 1246, and of late years has held a distinguished place in the pages of military history. Its situation is picturesque in the extreme, the bright city being on the edge of a rich and fertile basin, encased by wild and lofty mountains. The asperity of the country to the south is such indeed, that, until within the last few years no road practicable for carriages penetrated it, and Jaen has consequently been but very-little visited by travellers; for Granada and Cordoba, being the great objects of attraction, the most direct road between those two places was that which was generally preferred.
A direct and excellent road has now, however,been completed, between Granada and the capital, passing through Jaen. This route crosses the Guadalquivír at Menjiber, and, directed thence on Baylen, falls into thearrecifefrom Cordoba to Madrid, ere it enters the défilés of the Sierra Morena.
The castle of Jaen stands 800 feet above the city, and is still a fine specimen of a Moslem fortress, though the picturesque has been sacrificed to the defensive by various French additions and demolitions. It crowns the crest of a narrow ridge much in the style of the castle of Ximena, to which, in other respects, it also bears a strong resemblance. Its tanks and subterraneous magazines are in tolerable preservation, but the exterior walls of the fortress were partially destroyed by the French, in their hurried evacuation of it in 1812.
The view it commands is strikingly fine. An extensive plain spreads northward, reaching seemingly to the very foot of the distant Sierra Morena, and on every other side rugged mountains rise in the immediate vicinity of the city, which, clad with vines wherever their roots can find holding ground, present a strange union of fruitfulness and aridity.
The city contains fifteen convents, and numerous manufactories of silk, linen and woollen cloths, and mats, and has a thriving appearance. The streets are, for the most part, sonarrow, that, with outstretched arms, I could touch the houses on both sides of them.
The cathedral is a very handsome edifice of Corinthian architecture, 300 feet long, and built in a very pure style; indeed every thing about it is in good keeping for Spanish taste. The pavement is laid in chequered slabs of black and white marble; the walls are hung with good paintings, but not encumbered with them; the various altars, though enriched with fine specimens of marbles and jaspers, are not gaudily ornamented; the organ is splendid in appearance and rich in tone.
Some paintings by Moya, particularly a Holy Family, and the visit of Elizabeth to the Virgin Mary, are remarkably good; and theCapilla sagradacontains several others by the same master, which are equally worthy of notice: their frames of polished red marble have a good effect.
The only specimens of sculpture of which the cathedral can boast, are some weeping cherubim, done to the very life. The greatest curiosity it contains is the figure of Our Saviour on the cross, dressed in a kilt; but the treasure of treasures of the holy edifice, the proud boast of the favoured city itself, in fact, is theSanta faz—the Holy face.
TheSanta faz—so our conductor explained to us—is the impression of Our Saviour’s face,left in stains of blood on the white napkin which bound up his head when deposited in the sepulchre. This cloth was thrice folded over the face, so that three of these “pinturas,” as the priest called them, were taken. That of Jaen, he said, was the second or middle one, the others are in Italy—where, I know not, but I have some recollection of having heard of them when in that country.
This miraculous picture is only to be viewed on very particular occasions, or by paying a very considerable fee; but we were perfectly satisfied with our cicerone’s assurance of its “striking resemblance” to Our Saviour, without requiring the ocular demonstration he was most solicitous to afford.
Attached to the cathedral is a kitchen for preparing the morning chocolate of the priests, and which serves also as a snuggery, where-unto they retire to smoke theirlegitimosduring the breaks in their tedious lental services.
TheParador de los Caballeros, in the Plazadel Mercadois remarkably good, and the view from the front windows, looking towards the castle is very fine.
The distance from Jaen to Granada, by the newly madearrecife, is fifty-one miles. It descends gradually into the valley of the Campillos, arriving at, and crossing the river about two miles from Jaen.
The valley is wide, flat, and covered with a rich alluvial deposit; and extends for several leagues in both directions along the course of the stream, encircling the city with an ever-verdant belt of cultivation.
For the succeeding three leagues, the road proceeds along this valley, at first bordered with gardens, orchards, and vineyards, amongst which numerous cottages and water-mills are scattered, but, after advancing about five miles, overhung by rocky ridges, and occasionally shaded with forest-trees.
On a steep mound, on the right hand, forming the first mountain gorge that the road enters, is situated theCastillo de la Guarda, and, at the distance of three leagues from Jaen, is theTorre de la Cabeza, similarly situated on the left of the road. Beyond this, another verdant belt of cultivation gladdens the eye, extending about a mile and a half along the course of the Campillos. In the midst of this, is theVenta del Puerto Suelo, on arriving at which ourmozo, who for several days had been suffering from indisposition, came to inform us “que no podía mas,”[160]requested we would leave him there to rest for a couple of days; when he hoped to be able to rejoin us at Granada by means of aGalerathat travelled the road periodically.
We could not but accede to his request, andas we purposed reaching Granada on the following day, the loss of his attendance for so short a period was of little importance; the only difficulty was, who should lead the baggage animal.—Fortune befriended us.
On our arrival at the inn we had been accosted by a smart-looking young fellow, in the undress uniform of a Spanish infantry soldier, who, seeing the disabled state of our Esquire, volunteered his services to lead our horses to the stable, and minister to their wants; and now, learning from ourmozohow matters stood, he again came forward, and offered to be our attendant during the remainder of the journey to Granada, to which place he himself was proceeding.
We gladly accepted his proffered services, and, after a short rest, remounted our horses, and pursued our way; the young soldier—like an old campaigner—seating himself between our portmanteaus on the back of the baggage animal. Whilst jogging on before us, I observed, for the first time, that he carried a bright tin case suspended from his shoulder by a silken cord, and curious to know the purpose to which it was applied, asked what it contained.
Without uttering a word in reply, he took off the case, produced therefrom a roll of parchment, and, spreading before us a long document concluding with the wordsIo el Rey,[161]offered it for my perusal. If my surprise was great at the length of the scroll, it was not diminished on finding, after wading through the usual verbose and bombastic preamble, that it dubbed our new acquaintance a knight of the first class ofSan Fernando, and decorated him with the ribbon and silver clasp of the same distinguished order.
On first addressing him at the Venta, I had noticed a bit of ribbon on his breast, but, aware that the very smell of powder, even though it should be but that of his own musket, oftenentitlesa Spanish soldier to a decoration; and, indeed, that it is more frequently an acknowledgment of so many months’ pay due, than of so much good service done,[162]I had abstained from questioning him concerning it; but that the first class decoration of a military order should have been bestowed on one so low in rank as a corporal, I confess, surprised me; and I concluded that its possessor was either the brother of the mistress of some great man, or that he was passing off some other person’shonorsas his own.
Being a very young man, it was evident he could not have seen much service; my suspicions were, therefore, excusable, and I took theliberty of cross-questioning him concerning the fields wherein his laurels had been gathered. The result gave me such satisfaction that I feel in justice bound to make theamende honorableto the gallant fellow for the foul suspicions I had entertained, by giving my readers his history. As, however, it is somewhat long, I will postpone it for the present—as, indeed, not having arrived at its conclusion for several days, it is but methodically correct I should do—merely premising in this place, that, besides theDiploma, the tin case contained a statement of the particular services for which he obtained his knighthood, drawn up and attested by the officers of his regiment.
About a mile beyond the Venta where we had fallen in with our new attendant, the country again becomes very wild and broken, and the hills are covered with pine woods. The valley of the Campillos gets more and more confined as the road proceeds, and is bounded by precipitous rocks; and, at length, on reaching thePuerta de Arenas, the passage, for the road and river together, does not exceed sixty feet, the cliffs rising perpendicularly on both sides to a considerable height.
This is a very defensible pass, looking towards Granada, but not so in the opposite direction, as it is commanded by higher ground. It is about eighteen miles from Jaen.
On emerging from the pass, an open, cultivated valley presents itself; towards the head of which, distant about four miles, is Campillos Arenas, a wretched village, containing some fifty or sixtyvecinos. We were stopt at the entrance by an old beggarman, who was officiating ashealthofficer, and demanded our passports, which, on receiving, he ceremoniously forwarded to Head Quarters by a ragged, barefoot urchin, with the promise of anochavo[163]if he used despatch in bringing them back to us.
Our passports had now become a serious nuisance, from being completely covered withvisésboth inside and out; for, of course, the curiosity of the natives was proportioned to the number of signatures they contained, and their astonishment was boundless that we should be travelling south at such a moment. At length, our papers were returned to us, and the boy gained his promised reward by running with all his might, to prove that the tedious delay we experienced was not attributable to him.
Proceeding onwards, in three quarters of an hour, we reached theParador de San Rafael, a newly built house of call for the diligence, recently established on this road. It is about twenty-four miles from Jaen, and twenty-seven from Granada, though, as the crow flies, the distance is rather shorter, perhaps, to the lattercity than to the first named. It is a place of much resort, and we were happy to find that San Rafael presided over comfortable beds, and good dinners, though rather careless of the state of the wine-cellar.