Wanderings in Spain

The Carthusian Convent, at present bereft of monks, like all other convents in Spain, is an admirable edifice, and we cannot regret too much that it has ever ceased to be used for its original purpose. We have never been able to understand what harm could be done by cenobites voluntarily cloistered in a prison, and passing their lives in austerity and prayer, especially in a country like Spain, where there is certainly no lack of ground.

You ascend by a double flight of steps to the doorway of the church: it is surmounted by a white marble statue of St. Bruno, of a rather handsome effect. The decorations of the church are singular, and consist of plaster arabesques, truly wonderful by the variety and richness of their subjects. It appears as if the architect had been desirous of vying, in quite a different style, with the lightness and complication of the lace-work of the Alhambra. There is not a place as large as your hand, in this immense structure, which is not filled with flowers, damask-work, leaves, and guilloches: it would be enough to turn the head of any one who wanted to take an exact sketch of it. The choir is lined with porphyry and costly marble. A few mediocre pictures are hung up here and there along the walls, and make you regret the space they hide. The cemetery is near the church: according to the custom of the Carthusian friars, no tomb, no cross, indicates the place where the departed brothers sleep; but the cells surround the cemetery, and each one is provided with a little garden. In a piece of ground planted with trees, which, no doubt, formerly served as a promenade for the friars, my attention was called to a kind of fish-pond, with a sloping stone edge, in which were awkwardly crawling three or four dozen tortoises, that basked in the sun and appeared quite happy at being henceforth in no danger of the cook's art. The laws of the Carthusian brethren forbade their ever eating meat, and the tortoise is looked on as a fish by casuists. These tortoises were destined to supply the friars' table. The revolution, however, saved them.

While we are about visiting the convents, we will enter, if you please, the Monastery of San Juan de Dios. The cloister is one of the most curious imaginable, and is constructed with frightfully bad taste; the walls, painted in fresco, represent various fine actions of the life of San Juan de Dios, framed with such grotesque and fantastic ornaments as throw into the shade the most extravagant and deformed productions of Japan and China. You behold sirens playing the violin, she-monkeys at their toilet, chimerical fish in still more chimerical waves, flowers which look like birds, birds which look like flowers, lozenges of looking-glass, squares of earthenware, love-knots – in a word, an endless pell-mell of all that is inextricable. The church, which is luckily of another epoch, is gilt nearly all over. The altar-screen, which is supported by pillars of the Solomonic order, produces a rich and majestic effect. The sacristan, who served as our guide, on seeing that we were French, questioned us about our country, and asked if it were true, as was said at Granada, that Nicholas, the Emperor of Russia, had invaded France and taken possession of Paris: such was the latest news. These gross absurdities were spread among the people by the partisans of Don Carlos, in order to obtain credence for an absolutist reaction on the part of the European powers, and to rally, by the hope of speedy assistance, the drooping courage of the disorganized bands.

I saw in this church a sight that made a deep impression on me; it was an old woman crawling on her knees from the door to the altar: her arms were stretched out as stiff as stakes, in the form of a cross, her head was thrown back, her upturned eyes allowed the whites only of them to be seen, her lips were firmly closed, and her face was shiny and of the colour of lead: this was ecstasy turned to catalepsy. Never did Zurbaban execute anything more ascetic or possessing more feverish ardour. She was accomplishing a penance ordered by her confessor, and had still four more days of it to undergo.

The Convent of San Geronimo, now transformed into barracks, contains a Gothic cloister with two arteries of arcades of rare character and beauty. The capitals of the columns are ornamented with foliage and fantastic animals of the most capricious nature and charming workmanship. The church, at present profaned and deserted, exhibits the peculiarity of having all its ornaments and architectural reliefs painted in imitation on grey grounds, like the roof of the Bourse, instead of being executed in reality: here lies interred Gonzalvo of Cordova, surnamed the great captain. His sword used to be preserved there, but it was lately taken away and sold for a few duras, the value of the silver which ornamented the handle. It is thus that many objects, valuable as works of art or from associations, have disappeared without any other profit to the thieves than the pleasure of doing wrong. It appears to us that our revolution might be imitated in something else but its stupid Vandalism. It is this sentiment we all experience on visiting a tenantless convent, on beholding so many ruins and such devastation, the utter loss of so many chefs d'œuvre of every kind, and the long work of centuries destroyed and swept away in an instant. No one has the power to prejudge the future: I, however, doubt if it will restore what the past had bequeathed us, and which we destroy as if we possessed wherewithal to replace it. In addition to this something might be put on one side, for the globe is not so covered with monuments that it is necessary for us to raise new buildings on the ruins of the old ones. With such reflections was my mind filled, as I wandered, in the Antequerula, through the old convent of San Domingo. The chapel was decorated with a profusion of all sorts of gewgaws, baubles, and gilding. It was one mass of wreathed columns, volutes, scroll-work, encrusted work of various coloured breccia, glass mosaics, checker-work of mother-of-pearl, and burgau, bevilled mirrors, suns surrounded by rays, transparencies, and all the most preposterous, misshapen, ugly, and strange embellishments that the depraved taste of the eighteenth century and the horror of straight lines could invent. The library, which has been preserved, is almost exclusively composed of folios and quartos bound in white vellum, with the titles written on them in black or red ink. They consist, for the most part, of theological treatises, casuistical dissertations, and other scholastic productions, possessing but little attraction for the mere literary man. A collection of pictures has been formed at the convent of San Domingo, composed of works from the various monasteries that were either abolished or suffered to go to ruin, but, with the exception of some few fine heads of ascetics, and a few representations of martyrs which seem to have been painted by the hangman himself, from the proficiency in the art of torturing which they exhibit, there is nothing remarkably good, which proves that the persons who were guilty of these acts of pillage are excellent judges of paintings, for they never fail to keep the best things for themselves. The courtyards and cloisters are admirable, and are adorned with fountains, orange-trees, and flowers.

How excellently are such places adapted for reverie, meditation, and study, and what a pity is it that convents were ever inhabited by monks, and not by poets! The gardens, left to themselves, have assumed a wild, savage aspect; luxuriant vegetation has invaded the walks, and Nature has regained possession of her own, planting a tuft of flowers or grass in the place of every stone that has fallen out. The most remarkable feature in these gardens is an alley of enormous laurels, forming a covered walk which is paved with white marble, and furnished, on each side, with a long seat of the same material, with a slanting back. At certain distances from each other, a number of small fountains maintain a refreshing coolness beneath this thick vault of verdure, at the end of which you have a splendid view of a portion of the Sierra Nevada, through a charming Moorish mirador, which forms part of an old Arabic palace, enclosed in the convent. This pavilion is said to have communicated, by means of long subterranean galleries, with the Alhambra, which is situated at some considerable distance. However, this is an idea deeply rooted in the minds of the inhabitants of Granada, where the least Moorish ruin is always presented with five or six leagues of subterranean passages as well as a treasure, guarded by some spell or other.

We often went to San Domingo to sit beneath the shade of the laurels and bathe in a pool, near which, if the satirical songs are to be believed, the monks used to lead no very reputable sort of life. It is a remarkable fact, that the most Catholic countries are always those in which the priests and monks are treated most cavalierly; the Spanish songs and stories about the clergy rival, in licence, the facetiæ of Rabelais and Beroalde de Verville, and to judge by the manner in which all the ceremonies of the church are parodied in the old pieces, one would hardly think that the Inquisition had ever existed.

Talking of baths, I will here relate a little incident which proves that the thermal art, carried to so high a degree of perfection by the Arabs, has lost much of its former splendour in Granada. Our guide took us to some baths that appeared very well managed, the rooms being situated round a patio shaded by a covering of vine-leaves, while a large reservoir of very limpid water occupied the greater part of the patio. So far all was well; but of what do you think the baths themselves were made? Of copper, zinc, stone, or wood? Not a bit of it, you are wrong; I will tell you at once, for you will never guess. They were enormous clay jars, like those made to hold oil. These novel baths were about two-thirds buried in the ground. Before potting ourselves in them we had the inside covered with a clean cloth, a piece of precaution which struck the attendant as something so extremely strange, and which astonished him so profoundly, that we were obliged to repeat the order several times before he would obey it. He explained this whim of ours to his own satisfaction by shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head in a commiserative manner as he pronounced in a low voice the one word: Ingleses! There we sat, squatted down in our oil jars, with our heads stuck out at the top, something like pheasants en terrine, cutting rather grotesque figures. It was on this occasion that I understood for the first time the story of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, which had always struck me as being rather difficult to believe, and had made me for an instant doubt the veracity of the "Thousand-and-One Nights."

There are, also, in the Albaycin, some old Moorish baths, and a pond covered over with a vaulted roof, pierced by a number of little holes in the shape of stars, but they are not in working order, and you can get nothing but cold water.

This is about all that is to be seen at Granada, during a stay of some weeks. Public amusements are scarce. The theatre is closed during the summer; the bull-fights do not take place at any fixed periods; there are no clubs or establishments of this description, and the Lyceum is the only place where it is possible to see the French and other foreign papers. On certain days, there is a meeting of the members, when they read papers on various subjects as well as poetry, besides singing and playing pieces, generally written by some young author of the company.

Every one employs his time, most conscientiously, in doing nothing. Gallantry, cigarettes, the manufacture of quatrains and octaves, and especially card-playing, are found sufficient to fill up a man's existence very agreeably. In Granada you see nothing of that furious restlessness, that necessity for action and change of place which torments the people of the north. The Spanish struck me as being very philosophical. They attach hardly any importance to material life, and are totally indifferent about comfort. The thousand factitious wants created by the civilization of northern countries, appear to them puerile and troublesome refinements. Not having to protect themselves continually against the climate, the advantages of the English home have no attractions in their eyes. What do people, who would cheerfully pay for a breeze or a draught of air, if they could obtain such a thing, care whether or not the windows close properly? Favoured by a beautiful sky, they have reduced human existence to its simplest expression: this sobriety and moderation in everything enables them to enjoy a large amount of liberty, a state of extreme independence; they have time enough to live, which we cannot say that we have. Spaniards cannot understand how a man can labour first in order to rest afterwards. They very much prefer pursuing an opposite course, and I think that by so doing, they show their superior sense. A workman who has gained a few reals leaves his work, throws his fine embroidered jacket over his shoulders, takes his guitar and goes and dances or makes love to the majas of his acquaintance, until he has not a single cuarto left; he then returns to his employment. An Andalusian can live splendidly for three or four sous a day; for this sum he can have the whitest bread, an enormous slice of water-melon, and a small glass of aniseed, while his lodging costs him nothing more than the trouble of spreading his cloak upon the ground under some portico or the arch of some bridge. As a general rule, Spaniards consider work as something humiliating and unworthy of a freeman, which, in my opinion, is a very natural and very reasonable idea, since Heaven wishing to punish man for his disobedience, found no greater infliction than the obliging him to gain his daily bread by the sweat of his brow. Pleasures procured, as ours are, by dint of labour, fatigue, and mental anxiety and perseverance strike Spaniards as being bought much too dearly. Like all people who lead a simple life approaching a state of nature, they possess a correctness of judgment which makes them despise the artificial enjoyments of society. Any one coming from Paris or London, those two whirlpools of devouring activity, of feverish and unnaturally excited energy, is greatly surprised by the mode of life of the people of Granada, – a mode of life that is all leisure, filled up with conversation, siestas, promenades, music, and dancing. The stranger is astonished at the happy calmness, the tranquil dignity of the faces he sees around him. No one has that busy look which is noticeable in the persons hurrying through the streets of Paris. Every one strolls leisurely along, choosing the shady side of the street, stopping to chat with his friends, and betraying no desire to arrive at his destination in the shortest possible time. The certitude of not being able to make money extinguishes all ambition: there is no chance of a young man making a brilliant career. The most adventurous among them go to Manilla or Havannah, or enter the army, but on account of the piteous state of the public finances, they sometimes wait for years without hearing anything about pay. Convinced of the inutility of exertion, Spaniards do not endeavour to make fortunes, for they know that such things are quite out of the question; and they therefore pass their time in a delightful state of idleness, favoured by the beauty of the country and the heat of the climate.

I saw nothing of Spanish pride; nothing is so deceptive as the reputation bestowed on individuals and nations. On the contrary, I found them exceedingly simple-minded and good-natured; Spain is the true country of equality, if not in words at least in deeds. The poorest beggar lights his papelito at the puro of a powerful nobleman, who allows him to do so, without the slightest affectation of condescension; a marchioness will step, with a smile, over the bodies of the ragged vagabonds who are slumbering across her threshold, and, when travelling, will not make a face if compelled to drink out of the same glass as the mayoral, the zagul, and the escopetero of the diligence. Foreigners find great difficulty in accustoming themselves to this familiarity, especially the English, who have their letters brought upon salvers, and take them with tongs. An Englishman travelling from Seville to Jeres, told his calesero to go and get his dinner in the kitchen. The calesero, who, in his own mind, thought he was honouring a heretic very highly by sitting down at the same table with him, did not make the slightest remark, and concealed his rage as carefully as the villain in a melodrama; but about three or four leagues from Jeres, in the midst of a frightful desert, full of quagmires and bushes, he threw the Englishman very neatly out of the vehicle, shouting to him as he whipped on his horse: "My lord, you did not think me worthy of sitting at your table, and I, Don Jose Balbino Bustamente y Orozco, do not think you good enough to sit on the seat in my calesin. Good evening!"

The servants, both male and female, are treated with a gentle familiarity very different from our affected civility, which seems, every moment, to remind them of the inferiority of their condition. A short example will prove the truth of this assertion. We had gone to a party given at the country-house of the Señora – ; in the evening, there was a general desire to have a little dancing, but there were a great many more ladies than gentlemen present. To obviate this difficulty, the Señora – sent for the gardener and another servant, who danced the whole evening without the least awkwardness, false bashfulness, or servile forwardness, but just as if they had been on a perfect equality with the rest of the company. They invited, in turn, the fairest and most noble ladies present, and the latter complied with their request in the most graceful manner possible. Our democrats are very far from having attained this practical equality, and our most determined Republicans would revolt at the idea of figuring in a quadrille, opposite a peasant or a footman.

Of course, there are a great many exceptions to these remarks, as there are to all other generalities. There are, doubtless, many Spaniards who are active, laborious, and sensible to all the refinements of life, but what I have said conveys the general impression felt by a traveller after a stay of some little time, – an impression which is often more correct than that of a native observer, who is less struck by the novelty of the various circumstances.

As our curiosity was satisfied with regard to Granada and its buildings, we resolved, from having had a view of the Sierra Nevada at every turn we took, to become more intimately acquainted with it, and endeavour to ascend the Mulhacen, which is the most elevated point of the whole range. Our friends at first attempted to dissuade us from this project, which was really attended with some little danger, but, on seeing that our resolution was fixed, they recommended us a huntsman named Alexandro Romero, as a person thoroughly acquainted with the mountains, and possessing every qualification to act as guide. He came and saw us at our casa de pupilos, and his manly, frank physiognomy, immediately pre-possessed us in his favour. He wore an old velvet waistcoat, a red woollen sash, and white linen gaiters, like those of the Valencians, which enabled you to see his clean-made, nervous legs, tanned like Cordovan leather. Alpargatas of twisted rope served him for shoes, while a little Andalusian hat, that had grown red from exposure to the sun, a carbine and a powder-flask, slung across his shoulder, completed his costume. He undertook to make all the necessary preparations for our expedition, and promised to bring, at three o'clock, the next morning, the four horses we required, one for my travelling companion, one for myself, a third for a young German who had joined our caravan, and a fourth for our servant, who was intrusted with the direction of the culinary department. As for Romero he was to walk. Our provisions consisted of a ham, some roast fowls, some chocolate, bread, lemons, sugar, and a large leathern sack, called a bota, filled with excellent Val-de-Peñas, which was the principal article in the list.

At the appointed hour, the horses were before our house, while Romero was hammering away at the door with the butt-end of his carbine. Still scarcely awake, we mounted our steeds, and the procession set forth, our guide running on beforehand to point out the road. Although it was already light, the sun had not risen, and the undulating outlines of the smaller hills, which we had passed, were spread out all around us, cool, limpid and blue, like the waves of an immovable ocean. In the distance, Granada had disappeared beneath the vapourized atmosphere. When the fiery globe at last appeared on the horizon, all the hill-tops were covered with a rosy tint, like so many young girls at the sight of their lovers, and appeared to experience a feeling of bashful confusion at the idea of having been seen in their morning déshabille. The ridges of the mountain are connected with the plain by gentle slopes, forming the first table-land which is easily accessible. When we reached this place, our guide decided that we should allow our horses a little breathing time, give them something to eat, and breakfast ourselves. We ensconced ourselves at the foot of a rock, near a little spring, the water of which was as bright as a diamond, and sparkled beneath the emerald-coloured grass. Romero, with all the dexterity of an American savage, improvised a fire with a handful of brush-wood, while Louis prepared some chocolate, which, with the addition of a slice of ham and a draught of wine, composed our first meal in the mountains. While our breakfast was cooking, a superb viper passed beside us, and appeared surprised and dissatisfied at our installing ourselves on his estate, a fact that he gave us to understand by unpolitely hissing at us, for which he was rewarded by a sturdy thrust with a sword-stick through the stomach. A little bird, that had watched the proceedings very attentively, no sooner saw the viper disabled, than it flew up with the feathers of its neck standing on end, its eye all fire, and flapping its wings, and piping in a strange state of exultation. Every time that any portion of the venomous beast writhed convulsively, the bird shrunk back, soon returning to the charge, however, and pecking the viper with its beak, after which it would rise in the air three or four feet. I do not know what the serpent could have done, during its lifetime, to the bird, or what was the feeling of hatred we had gratified by killing the viper, but it is certain that I never beheld such an amount of delight.

We once again set out. From time to time we met a string of little asses coming down from the higher parts of the mountains with their load of snow, which they were carrying to Granada for the day's consumption. The drivers saluted us, as they passed by, with the time honoured "Vayan Ustedes con Dios," and we replied by some joke about their merchandise, which would never accompany them as far as the city, and which they would be obliged to sell to the official who was entrusted with the duty of watering the public streets.

We were always preceded by Romero, who leaped from stone to stone with the agility of a chamois, and kept exclaiming, Bueno camino (a good road). I should certainly very much like to know what the worthy fellow would call a bad road, for, as far as I was concerned, I could not perceive the slightest sign of any road at all. To our right and left, as far as the eye could distinguish, yawned delightful abysses, very blue, very azure and very vapoury, varying in depth from fifteen hundred to two thousand feet, a difference, however, about which we troubled our heads very little, for a few dozen fathoms more or less made very little difference in the matter. I recollect with a shudder a certain pass, three or four pistol-shots long and two feet broad, – a sort of natural plank running between two gulfs. As my horse headed the procession, I had to pass first over this kind of tight-rope, which would have made the most determined acrobats pause and reflect. At certain points there was only just enough space for my horse's feet, and each of my legs was dangling over a separate abyss. I sat motionless in my saddle, as upright as if I had been balancing a chair on the end of my nose. This pass, which took us a few minutes to traverse, struck me as particularly long.