Tales of the Alhambra | Page 3

relates to some local scene,
or some incident of the journey. This talent of singing and improvising
is frequent in Spain, and is said to have been inherited from the Moors.
There is something wildly pleasing in listening to these ditties among
the rude and lonely scenes they illustrate; accompanied, as they are, by
the occasional jingle of the mule-bell.
It has a most picturesque effect also to meet a train of muleteers in
some mountain-pass. First you hear the bells of the leading mules,
breaking with their simple melody the stillness of the airy height; or,
perhaps, the voice of the muleteer admonishing some tardy or
wandering animal, or chanting, at the full stretch of his lungs, some
traditionary ballad. At length you see the mules slowly winding along
the cragged defile, sometimes descending precipitous cliffs, so as to
present themselves in full relief against the sky, sometimes toiling up
the deep arid chasms below you. As they approach, you descry their
gay decorations of worsted stuffs, tassels, and saddle-cloths, while, as
they pass by, the ever-ready trabuco, slung behind the packs and
saddles, gives a hint of the insecurity of the road.
The ancient kingdom of Granada, into which we[1] were about to
penetrate, is one of the most mountainous regions of Spain. Vast sierras,
or chains of mountains, destitute of shrub or tree, and mottled with
variegated marbles and granites, elevate their sunburnt summits against
a deep-blue sky; yet in their rugged bosoms lie ingulfed verdant and

fertile valleys, where the desert and the garden strive for mastery, and
the very rock is, as it were, compelled to yield the fig, the orange, and
the citron, and to blossom with the myrtle and the rose.
[1] Note to the Revised Edition.--The Author feels at liberty to mention
that his travelling companion was the Prince Dolgorouki, at present
Russian minister at the Court of Persia.
In the wild passes of these mountains the sight of walled towns and
villages, built like eagles' nests among the cliffs, and surrounded by
Moorish battlements, or of ruined watchtowers perched on lofty peaks,
carries the mind back to the chivalric days of Christian and Moslem
warfare, and to the romantic struggle for the conquest of Granada. In
traversing these lofty sierras the traveller is often obliged to alight, and
lead his horse up and down the steep and jagged ascents and descents,
resembling the broken steps of a staircase.
Sometimes the road winds along dizzy precipices, without parapet to
guard him from the gulfs below, and then will plunge down steep, and
dark, and dangerous declivities. Sometimes it struggles through rugged
barrancos, or ravines, worn by winter torrents, the obscure path of the
contrabandista; while, ever and anon, the ominous cross, the monument
of robbery and murder, erected on a mound of stones at some lonely
part of the road, admonishes the traveller that he is among the haunts of
banditti, perhaps at that very moment under the eye of some lurking
bandolero. Sometimes, in winding through the narrow valleys, he is
startled by a hoarse bellowing, and beholds above him on some green
fold of the mountain a herd of fierce Andalusian bulls, destined for the
combat of the arena. I have felt, if I may so express it, an agreeable
horror in thus contemplating, near at hand, these terrific animals,
clothed with tremendous strength, and ranging their native pastures in
untamed wildness, strangers almost to the face of man: they know no
one but the solitary herdsman who attends upon them, and even he at
times dares not venture to approach them. The low bellowing of these
bulls, and their menacing aspect as they look down from their rocky
height, give additional wildness to the savage scenery.
I have been betrayed unconsciously into a longer disquisition than I

intended on the general features of Spanish travelling; but there is a
romance about all the recollections of the Peninsula dear to the
imagination.
As our proposed route to Granada lay through mountainous regions,
where the roads are little better than mule paths, and said to be
frequently beset by robbers, we took due travelling precautions.
Forwarding the most valuable part of our luggage a day or two in
advance by the arrieros, we retained merely clothing and necessaries
for the journey and money for the expenses of the road, with a little
surplus of hard dollars by way of robber purse, to satisfy the gentlemen
of the road should we be assailed. Unlucky is the too wary traveller
who, having grudged this precaution, falls into their clutches empty
handed: they are apt to give him a sound ribroasting for cheating them
out of their dues. "Caballeros like them cannot afford to scour the roads
and risk the gallows for nothing."
A couple of