Tales of the Alhambra | Page 8

usages trampled out. Here I observed old men still
wearing the montero, or ancient hunting cap, once common throughout
Spain; while the young men wore the little round-crowned hat, with
brim turned up all round, like a cup turned down in its saucer, while the
brim was set off with little black tufts like cockades. The women, too,
were all in mantillas and basquinas. The fashions of Paris had not
reached Antiquera.
Pursuing our course through a spacious street, we put up at the posada
of San Fernando. As Antiquera, though a considerable city, is, as I
observed, somewhat out of the track of travel, I had anticipated bad
quarters and poor fare at the inn. I was agreeably disappointed,
therefore, by a supper table amply supplied, and what were still more
acceptable, good clean rooms and comfortable beds. Our man, Sancho,
felt himself as well off as his namesake, when he had the run of the
duke's kitchen, and let me know, as I retired for the night, that it had
been a proud time for the alforjas.
Early in the morning (May 4th) I strolled to the ruins of the old
Moorish castle, which itself had been reared on the ruins of a Roman
fortress. Here, taking my seat on the remains of a crumbling tower, I
enjoyed a grand and varied landscape, beautiful in itself, and full of

storied and romantic associations; for I was now in the very heart of the
country famous for the chivalrous contests between Moor and Christian.
Below me, in its lap of hills, lay the old warrior city so often mentioned
in chronicle and ballad. Out of yon gate and down yon hill paraded the
band of Spanish cavaliers, of highest rank and bravest bearing, to make
that foray during the war and conquest of Granada, which ended in the
lamentable massacre among the mountains of Malaga, and laid all
Andalusia in mourning. Beyond spread out the vega, covered with
gardens and orchards and fields of grain and enamelled meadows,
inferior only to the famous vega of Granada. To the right the Rock of
the Lovers stretched like a cragged promontory into the plain, whence
the daughter of the Moorish alcayde and her lover, when closely
pursued, threw themselves in despair.
The matin peal from church and convent below me rang sweetly in the
morning air, as I descended. The market-place was beginning to throng
with the populace, who traffic in the abundant produce of the vega; for
this is the mart of an agricultural region. In the market-place were
abundance of freshly plucked roses for sale; for not a dame or damsel
of Andalusia thinks her gala dress complete without a rose shining like
a gem among her raven tresses.
On returning to the inn I found our man Sancho, in high gossip with the
landlord and two or three of his hangers-on. He had just been telling
some marvellous story about Seville, which mine host seemed piqued
to match with one equally marvellous about Antiquera. There was once
a fountain, he said, in one of the public squares called IL fuente del toro,
the fountain of the bull, because the water gushed from the mouth of a
bull's head, carved of stone. Underneath the head was inscribed:
EN FRENTE DEL TORO
SE HALLEN TESORO.
(In front of the bull there is treasure.)
Many digged in front of the fountain, but lost their labor and found no
money. At last one knowing fellow construed the motto a different way.

It is in the forehead (frente) of the bull that the treasure is to be found,
said he to himself, and I am the man to find it. Accordingly he came
late at night, with a mallet, and knocked the head to pieces; and what
do you think he found?
"Plenty of gold and diamonds!" cried Sancho eagerly.
"He found nothing," rejoined mine host dryly; "and he ruined the
fountain."
Here a great laugh was set up by the landlord's hangers-on; who
considered Sancho completely taken in by what I presume was one of
mine host's standing jokes.
Leaving Antiquera at eight O'clock, we had a delightful ride along the
little river, and by gardens and orchards, fragrant with the odors of
spring and vocal with the nightingale. Our road passed round the Rock
of the Lovers (el Penon de los Enamorados), which rose in a precipice
above us. In the course of the morning we passed through Archidona,
situated in the breast of a high hill, with a three-pointed mountain
towering above it, and the ruins of a Moorish fortress. It was a great toil
to ascend a steep stony street leading up into the city, although it bore
the encouraging name of Calle Real del Llano (the Royal Street of the