The Diligence Had For Some Time Past Ceased Running,
Owing To The Disturbed State Of The Province.
I had therefore no
resource but to proceed thither on horseback.
I hired a couple of
horses, and engaged the old Genoese, of whom I have already had
occasion to speak, to attend me as far as Cordova, and to bring
them back. Notwithstanding we were now in the depths of winter,
the weather was beautiful, the days sunny and brilliant, though the
nights were rather keen. We passed by the little town of Alcala,
celebrated for the ruins of an immense Moorish castle, which stand
on a rocky hill, overhanging a picturesque river. The first night
we slept at Carmona, another Moorish town, distant about seven
leagues from Seville. Early in the morning we again mounted and
departed. Perhaps in the whole of Spain there is scarcely a finer
Moorish monument of antiquity than the eastern side of this town of
Carmona, which occupies the brow of a lofty hill, and frowns over
an extensive vega or plain, which extends for leagues unplanted and
uncultivated, producing nothing but brushwood and carasco. Here
rise tall and dusky walls, with square towers at short distances,
of so massive a structure that they would seem to bid defiance
alike to the tooth of time and the hand of man. This town, in the
time of the Moors, was considered the key to Seville, and did not
submit to the Christian arms till after a long and desperate siege:
the capture of Seville followed speedily after. The vega upon
which we now entered forms a part of the grand despoblado or desert
of Andalusia, once a smiling garden, but which became what it now
is on the expulsion of the Moors from Spain, when it was drained
almost entirely of its population. The towns and villages from
hence to the Sierra Morena, which divides Andalusia from La Mancha,
are few and far between, and even of these several date from the
middle of the last century, when an attempt was made by a Spanish
minister to people this wilderness with the children of a foreign
land.
At about midday we arrived at a place called Moncloa, which
consisted of a venta, and a desolate-looking edifice which had
something of the appearance of a chateau: a solitary palm tree
raised its head over the outer wall. We entered the venta, tied
our horses to the manger, and having ordered barley for them, we
sat down before a large fire, which burned in the middle of the
venta. The host and hostess also came and sat down beside us.
"They are evil people," said the old Genoese to me in Italian, "and
this is an evil house; it is a harbouring place for thieves, and
murders have been committed here, if all tales be true." I looked
at these two people attentively; they were both young, the man
apparently about twenty-five years of age. He was a short thick-
made churl, evidently of prodigious strength; his features were
rather handsome, but with a gloomy expression, and his eyes were
full of sullen fire. His wife somewhat resembled him, but had a
countenance more open and better tempered; but what struck me as
most singular in connexion with these people, was the colour of
their hair and complexion; the latter was fair and ruddy, and the
former of a bright auburn, both in striking contrast to the black
hair and swarthy visages which in general distinguish the natives
of this province. "Are you an Andalusian?" said I to the hostess.
"I should almost conclude you to be a German."
Hostess. - And your worship would not be very wrong. It is true
that I am a Spaniard, being born in Spain, but it is equally true
that I am of German blood, for my grandparents came from Germany,
even like those of this gentleman, my lord and husband.
Myself. - And what chance brought your grandparents into this
country?
Hostess. - Did your worship never hear of the German colonies?
There are many of them in these parts. In old times the land was
nearly deserted, and it was very dangerous for travellers to
journey along the waste, owing to the robbers. So along time ago,
nearly a hundred years, as I am told, some potent lord sent
messengers to Germany, to tell the people there what a goodly land
there was in these parts uncultivated for want of hands, and to
promise every labourer who would consent to come and till it, a
house and a yoke of oxen, with food and provision for one year.
And in consequence of this invitation a great many poor families
left the German land and came hither, and settled down in certain
towns and villages which had been prepared for them, which places
were called German colonies, and this name they still retain.
Myself. - And how many of these colonies may there be?
Hostess. - There are several, both on this side of Cordova and the
other. The nearest is Luisiana, about two leagues from hence, from
which place both my husband and myself come; the next is Carlota,
which is some ten leagues distant, and these are the only colonies
of our people which I have seen; but there are others farther on,
and some, as I have heard say, in the very heart of the Sierra
Morena.
Myself. - And do the colonists still retain the language of their
forefathers?
Hostess. - We speak Spanish, or rather Andalusian, and no other
language. A few, indeed, amongst the very old people, retain a few
words of German, which they acquired from their fathers, who were
born in the other country: but the last person amongst the
colonists who could understand a conversation in German, was the
aunt of my mother, who came over when a girl. When I was a child I
remember her conversing with a foreign traveller, a countryman of
hers, in a language which I was told was German, and they
understood each other, though the old woman confessed that she had
lost many words:
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