SEVILLE—THE GIRALDASEVILLE—THE GIRALDA
The most important example of this style is the far-famed Giralda Tower, at the north-eastern corner of the Cathedral, the most renowned of minarets and one of the strongest buildings in the world. It was built in the reign of Yakûb al Mansûr by an architect whose name is variously written Gabir, Hever, and Yever. Quantities of Roman remains and statuary were used in making the foundations. The wall at the base is nine feet in thickness, which increases with the height. The lower part is of stone, the upper part of brick. For the first fifteen metres the four faces of the tower are plain; at that height begins a series of vertical windows, mostly of two lights, some with the horseshoe, others with the pointed arch; while on either side the masonry is carved into what seem panels of trellis work. There is much in the details of this decoration to interest the student of Moorish art, who will recognize in them the inception of many forms developed (and not always to advantage) at Granada.
But the Giralda as we now see it is a third as highagain as it was left by the Almohades. In their time it was crowned by a pinnacle to which were attached four balls of gilded copper—one of which was so large, we are told, that the city gate had to be widened that it might be brought hither. The iron bar supporting the balls weighed about ten hundredweights, and the whole was cast by a Sicilian Arab named Abu Leyth at a cost of about fifty thousand pounds of our money. The balls were thrown down by an earthquake in 1395, when their proportions were carefully ascertained.
It was not till 1568 that the upper stage of the fabric, a graceful Renaissance superstructure, was added by Fernando Ruiz. In the same year Morel's great statue of Faith, cast in bronze, was placed on the apex to symbolize the triumph of Christianity over the creed of Islam. It is a clever piece of workmanship, for though it weighs twenty-five hundredweights and measures fourteen feet in height, it sways and turns with every wind. Hence the name applied to the Tower—Giralda, fromque gira, "which turns."
The first thing you will be asked to do by the guides at Seville is to mount the Giralda, which you do by means of thirty-five inclined planes, up which a horse might be ridden with ease to the very top. Each stage of the ascent is named: "El Cuerpo de Campañas," after its fine peal of bells, one of which weighs eighteen tons; "El Cuerpo del Reloj," after the clock first set up in 1400—the earliest tower-clockin Spain. Then there are the prettily-named floors of the Lilies and the Stars. Some of the rooms are inhabited by the bell-ringers, who may at times be heard practising not only the chimes but the peculiar guitar-playing of Andalusia.
The view from the summit of the tower I think, on the whole, disappointing. The principal buildings of the city are too closely grouped below the spectator to give a very fine effect to the panorama, and the country round is not beautiful. Looking across the arid region beyond the river, it is hard to believe that in Moorish times it was renowned for its beauty and fertility and compared by Arabic writers to the Garden of Eden. Looking down we scan the white city, a labyrinth of lanes and alleys, only here and there a plaza opening like a lake among the closely-set roofs. Far away to the north the Sierra Morena limits the prospect. How often, when from this tower the muezzin proclaimed the Islamic profession of faith, his eyes must have lingered apprehensively on those mountains from whose crests the Christian seemed to hurl back defiance and repudiation.
For the Giralda was the minaret of the great mosque begun by Yusuf, the son of Abd-ur-Rahman, in 1171, and completed by his son and successor, Yakub al Mansûr. The earlier mosque on the same site had been destroyed by the Normans, but some portions of it seem to appear in the horseshoe arches of the Puerta del Lagarto and the northern wall of thePatio de los Naranjos. This latter court, which shuts in the Cathedral on the north side, contains the fountain at which the devout Moslems performed their ablutions. The picturesque Puerta del Perdon, through which you pass on your way into the town, is a Mudejar, not a Moorish, horseshoe arch, erected by Alfonso XI. to commemorate the victory at the Salado in the year 1340. The doors with bronze plates, despite their Arabic inscriptions, also date from that time. The gate was restored in the sixteenth century and adorned with sculptures. The terra-cotta statues of St. Peter and St Paul on the outer side are the work of Miguel Florentin, one of the earliest of the apostles of Renaissance sculpture to settle in Spain. The relief over the arch, representing the expulsion of the money-changers from the Temple, is also by him, and commemorates the substitution of the Lonja or Bourse for this gate as a rendezvous for merchants. The belfry storey is modern. At the little shrine just inside, to the left on entering, may be seen a "Christ bearing the Cross," by Luis de Vargas. The money-changers and brokers have gone, but this gate remains a favourite haunt of the gossips and loungers of Seville, and in the cool of the evening is occupied by some pleasant little family groups from the adjoining houses. The southern side of the patio is occupied by the Cathedral, the western by the church or chapel of the Sagrario. The house on the north side inside the old Moorish wall, to the right of the Giralda gate(on entering), is occupied by the Biblioteca Colombina, bequeathed by the son of Columbus. The pulpit from which St. Vincent Ferrer, the "Angel of the Judgment," thundered forth his terrific fulminations against sinners, Jews, and heretics, I omitted to notice.
SEVILLE—GARDENS OF THE ALCAZARSEVILLE—GARDENS OF THE ALCAZAR
Everyone who reaches the Patio de los Naranjos for the first time is sure to enter the Cathedral, which he should not do until the Alcazar at least has been visited. Not that the two great buildings of Seville exhibit any transition of style from the one to the other, but because, having begun the consideration of Moorish architectural work, we ought naturally to pass on immediately to the Mauresque work of the first century of Castilian rule.
The group of buildings which for greater clearness we will call, with the Spaniards themselves, the Alcazares lie to the south of the Cathedral, and are surrounded by an embattled wall built by the Arabs. This enclosure, it should be understood, includes a great many private houses and open spaces besides the Alcazar proper. Immediately inside the wall are two squares called the Patio de las Banderas and Patio de la Monteria. At the far end of the former is the office of the governor of the palace, and to the right of this is an entrance whence a colonnaded passage called the Apeadero leads straight through to the gardens, or, by turning to the right, to the Patio del Leon. On one side this latter square communicates with the Patio de la Monteria; on the other side is the Palaceof the Alcazar itself. I hope this will make the rather puzzling topography of the place a little more intelligible.
Whether or not the Roman "Arx" stood on this spot, as tradition avers, I cannot pretend to say. But there is no room for doubt that a palace stood here in the days of the Abbadite amirs, and that this building was restored and remodelled by the Almohades. To outward seeming the Alcazar is as Moorish a monument as the Alhambra. In reality, few traces remain of the palace raised by the Moslem rulers of either dynasty, and the present building was mainly the work of the Castilian kings—especially of Pedro the Cruel. But though built under and for a Christian monarch, it is practically certain that the architects were Moors and good Moslems, and that their instructions and intentions were to build a Moorish palace. Historically, you may say, the Alcazar is a Christian work; artistically, Mohammedan.
The actual palace occupies only a small part of the site of the older structures, and incorporates but a few fragments of their fabrics. Since Pedro the Cruel's day, so many sovereigns have restored, remodelled, and added to the building, that it is far from being homogeneous, though we can hardly agree with Contreras that it is "far from being a monument of Oriental art."
Pedro built more than one palace, or, more correctly, two or three wings of the same palace, in this enclosure.Traces of his Stucco Palace (Palacio del Yeso) remain. Pedro looms very large in the history of Seville. He plays as prominent a part here as Harûn-al-Rashid in the story of Bagdad. He was fond of the Moors, and affected their costumes and customs. He also favoured the Jews, and was alleged by his enemies to be the changeling child of a Jewess. His treasurer and trusted adviser was an Israelite named Simuel Ben Levi. He served the king long and faithfully, till one day it was whispered that half the wealth that should fill the royal coffers had been diverted into his own. Ben Levi was seized without warning and placed on the rack, whereupon he expired, not of pain, but of sheer indignation. Under his house—so the story goes—was found a cavern in which were three piles of gold and silver, twice as high as a man. Pedro on beholding these was much affected. "Had Simuel surrendered a third of the least of these piles," he exclaimed, "he should have gone free. Why would he rather die than speak?"
Stories innumerable are told of this king, a good many, no doubt, being pure inventions. There is no reason to question the account of his treatment of Abu Saïd, the Moorish Sultan of Granada. This prince had usurped the throne, and being solicitous of Pedro's alliance, came to visit him at the Alcazar with a magnificent retinue. The costliest presents were offered to the Castilian king, whose heart, however, was bent on possessing the superb ruby in the regaliaof his guest. Before many hours had passed, the Moors were seized in their apartments and stripped of their raiment and valuables. Abu Saïd, ridiculously tricked out, was mounted on a donkey, and with thirty-six of his courtiers, hurried to a field outside the town, where they were bound to posts. A train of horsemen appeared, Don Pedro at their head, and transfixed the helpless men with darts, the king shouting, as he hurled his missiles at his luckless guest: "This for the treaty you made me conclude with Aragon! This for the castle you took from me!" The ruby which had been the cause of the Moor's death was presented by his murderer to the Black Prince, and now adorns the crown of England.
Nor did Pedro confine his fury to the sterner sex. Doña Urraca Osorio, because her son was concerned in Don Enrique's uprising, was burned at the stake on the Alameda. Her faithful servant, Leonor Dávalos, seeing that the flames had consumed her mistress's clothing, threw herself into the pyre to cover her nakedness, and was likewise burnt to ashes. Having conceived a passion for Doña Maria Coronel, the king caused her husband to be executed in the Torre del Oro. The widow, far from yielding to his entreaties and threats, took the veil and destroyed her beauty by means of vitriol. Pedro at once transferred his attentions to her sister, Doña Aldonza, and met with more success. If a chronicler is to be believed, he threw his brother Enrique's young daughter naked to the lions,like some Christian virgin martyr. The generous (or possibly overfed) brutes refused the proffered prey, and the whimsical tyrant ever afterwards treated the maiden kindly. In memory of her experience, she was known as "Leonor de los Leones."
The misdeeds and eccentricities of this extraordinary monarch have been chronicled by Ayala (who was a partisan of Don Enrique), and given a wider circulation by the pen of Prosper Mérimée. I cannot very well omit the oft-told tale that gives its name to the curious little street, near the Casa de los Abades, called Calle Cabeza de Don Pedro. There the king's head may be seen in effigy high up on the wall at the corner of the street. Pedro, prowling about the town after dark, had a quarrel with a passer-by to whom, of course, he was unknown, and whom he incontinently ran through the body. Thinking there had been no witness to his crime, he stalked back to his palace. Next day he summoned the Alcalde of Seville to his presence and asked for news of the town. The magistrate told him that the body of a man had been found, murdered by whom no one knew. The king would suffer no laxity on the part of his officers. If the assassin were not discovered the alcalde must pay the penalty of the crime with his own life. Luckily for the magistrate, an old dame had beheld the encounter of the previous night, and now hastened to him with the surprising news that the man he sought after was no other than his majesty. She had recognized him beyond allpossibility of doubt, not only by his features, but by the peculiar clicking of the royal knees. The alcalde hanged the king in effigy and invited him to the spectacle. "It is well," said the prince, after an ominous pause, "I am satisfied. Justice has been done."
I have told the tale rather hurriedly, as it is far from being well authenticated, and because it will doubtless be familiar in some form or another to most readers. That Pedro had a sense of humour is shown by yet another incident. A priest for murdering a shoemaker was condemned by the ecclesiastical tribune to be suspended from his sacerdotal functions for the space of twelve months. On hearing this Pedro decreed that any tradesman who murdered a priest should be punished by being restrained from the exercise of his trade for the like period.
But now let us return to the palace of which the sinister king seems the presiding genius.
SEVILLE—GARDENS OF THE ALCAZARSEVILLE—GARDENS OF THE ALCAZAR
Crossing the Plaza del Triunfo, which lies between the Cathedral and the old Moorish walls, we enter the Patio de las Banderas, so called either because a flag was hoisted here when the royal family was in residence, or on account of the trophy, composed of the arms of Spain with crossed flags, displayed over one of the arches. Pedro was accustomed to administer justice, tempered with ferocity, after the Oriental fashion, seated on a stone bench in a corner of this square. The surrounding private houses occupy the site of the oldPalace of the Almohades, and one of the halls—the Sala de Justicia—is still visible. It is entered from the Patio de la Monteria. Contreras assigns a date to this room even earlier than the advent of the Almohades. It is square, and measures nine metres across. The stucco ceiling is adorned with stars and wreaths, and bordered by a painted frieze. The decorations consist chiefly of inscriptions in Cufic characters. The right-angled apertures in the walls were closed either by screens of translucent stucco or by tapestries, "which must," says Gestoso y Perez, "have made the hall appear a miracle of wealth and splendour." It was in this hall, often overlooked by visitors, that Don Pedro overheard four judges discussing the division of a bribe they had received. The question was abruptly solved by the division of the disputants' heads and bodies. Thanks to its isolation, the Sala de Justicia escaped the dreadful "restoration" effected in the middle of the nineteenth century by the Duc de Montpensier. The house No. 3, Patio de las Banderas, formed part, in the opinion of Gestoso y Perez, of the Palacio del Yeso, or Stucco Palace, of Don Pedro.
Passing through the colonnaded Apeadero, built by Philip III. in 1607, and once used as an armoury, we reach the Patio del Leon, where tournaments used to be held, and stand in front of the Palace of the Alcazar. The façade is gorgeous yet elegant, of a gaudiness that in this brilliant city of golden sunshine and white walls is not obtrusive. Yet, despite theMoorish character of the decoration, the Arabic capitals and pilasters, and the square entrance "in the Persian style," the front is not that of an eastern palace; and it is without surprise that we read over the portal, in quaint Gothic characters, the legend: "The most high, the most noble, the most powerful, and the most victorious Don Pedro, commanded these Palaces, these Alcazares, and these entrances to be made in the year (of Cæsar) 1402" (1364). Elsewhere on the façade are the oft-repeated Cufic inscriptions: "There is no conqueror but Allah," "Glory to our lord the Sultan" (Don Pedro), "Eternal glory to Allah," etc., etc.
This is a very different entrance from that of the Alhambra, the building on the model of which the Alcazar was undoubtedly planned. From the entrance a passage leads from your left to one extremity of the Patio de las Doncellas, the central and principal court of the palace. How this patio came to be so named I have never been able to ascertain. There is an absurd story to the effect that here were collected the girls fabled to have been sent by way of annual tribute by Mauregato to the khalifa. Had such a transaction taken place, the tribute would have been payable, of course, at Cordova, not at Seville. Moreover this court was among the works executed in the fourteenth century.
The Alcazar strikes us (if we have come from Granada) as being on a much smaller scale than theAlhambra. It is very much better preserved, as it should be, seeing that it is a century younger; and if it vaguely strikes one as being fitter for the abode of a court favourite than of a monarch, it impresses one as being fresher, more elegant—in a word, more artistic—than the older building.
The Patio de las Doncellas is an oblong, and surrounded by an arcade of pointed and dentated arches which spring from the capitals of white marble columns placed in pairs. The middle arch on each side is higher than the others, and springs from oblong imposts resting on the twin columns and flanked by the miniature pillars characteristic of the Granadine architecture. The spandrils are beautifully adorned with stucco work of the trellis pattern. On the frieze above runs a flowing scroll with Arabic inscriptions, among them being "Glory to our lord, the Sultan Don Pedro," and this very remarkable text: "There is but one God; He is eternal; He was not begotten and has never begotten, and He has no equal." This inscription, opposed to the tenets of Christianity, was evidently designed by a Moslem artificer, who relied (and safely relied) on the ignorance of his employers. The frieze is decorated also, at intervals, by the escutcheons of Don Pedro and of Ferdinand and Isabella, and by the well-known devices of Charles V., the Pillars of Hercules with the motto "Plus Oultre." The inside of the arcade is ornamented with a high dado of glazed tile mosaic (azulejo), brilliantlycoloured and with the highly-prized metallic glint. The combinations and variations of the designs are very ingenious and interesting. This decoration probably dates from Don Pedro's time. Behind each central arch is a round-arched doorway, flanked by twin windows. These are framed in rich conventional ornamental work. Through little oblong windows above the doors light falls and illumines the ceilings of the apartments opening into the court. The ceiling of the arcade dates from the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella, but was restored in 1856. A deep cornice marks the division of the lower part of the court from the upper storey, the front of which, with its white marble arches, columns and balustrades, was the work of Don Luis de Vega, a sixteenth-century architect.
Three recesses in the wall to the left of the entrance are pointed out as the audience closets of King Pedro; but they are much more likely to be walled-up entrances to formerly existing corridors and chambers behind.
SEVILLE—PATIO DE LAS BANDERASSEVILLE—PATIO DE LAS BANDERAS
The door facing this wall gives access to the Hall of the Ambassadors (Salon de los Embajadores), the finest apartment in this fairy palace. The doors are magnificent examples of inlay work, and were, according to the inscription on them, made by Moorish carpenters from Toledo in the year 1364. The hall is about thirty-three feet square, and exhibits a splendid combination of the various styles with the Gothic and Renaissance. The ornamentation isrich and elaborate almost beyond the possibility of description. The magnificent "half-orange" ceiling of carved wood rests on a frieze decorated with the Tower and Lion. Then come Cufic inscriptions on a blue ground and ugly female heads of the sixteenth century. Then, below another band of decoration, is a row of fifty-six busts of the Kings of Spain, from Receswinto the Goth to Philip III. These date, at earliest, from the sixteenth century. The wrought-iron balconies were made by Francisco Lopez in 1592. The decoration of this splendid chamber is completed by a high dado of blue, white, and green "azulejos." It was in this hall that Abu Saïd is said to have been received by his treacherous host.
The Hall of the Ambassadors communicated on each side with the patio and adjoining halls by entrances composed of three horseshoe arches, supported by graceful pillars and enclosed in a circular arch.
Through the arch facing the entrance from the patio we pass into a long narrow apartment, known as the Comedor, where the late Comtesse de Paris was born in 1848. To the north of the salon is a small square chamber, called the "Cuarto del Techo de Felipe Segundo," with a coffered ceiling dating from the time of that king. North of this room is the exquisite little Patio de las Muñecas (Court of the Dolls), purely Granadine in treatment. The rounded arches are separated by cylindrical pillars—I call themso for want of a better word—which rest on slender columns of different colours, reminding one of the early or Cordovan style. The capitals are rich, the pillars they uphold decorated with vertical lines of Cufic inscriptions, many of which, says Contreras, are placed upside down. The walls and spandrils are tastefully adorned with stucco work of the trellis pattern, tiling and mosaic. This court, though still harmonious and beautiful, suffered rather than benefited by its restoration in 1843; but the architecture has been not unsuccessfully reproduced in the upper storey.
This charming spot is by no means suggestive of deeds of blood and violence; yet, just as they point out the Salon de los Embajadores as the scene of the arrest of the Red Sultan by Don Pedro, so here do the guides place the scene of the murder of Don Fadrique by the truculent monarch—a fratricide to be avenged by another fratricide at Montiel. The Master of Santiago, to give the Don his usual title, after a successful campaign in Murcia, had been graciously received by his brother the king, and presently went to pay his respects in another part of the palace to the royal favourite, Maria de Padilla. It is said that she warned him of his impending fate; perhaps by her manner, if not by words, she tried to arouse in him a sense of danger, but the soldier prince returned to the king's presence. With a shout, Pedro gave the fatal signal. "Kill the Master of Santiago," he cried.Guards fell upon the prince. His sword was entangled in his scarf, and he was butchered without mercy. His retainers fled in all directions, pursued by Pedro's guards. One took refuge in Maria de Padilla's own apartment, and tried to screen himself by holding her little daughter, Doña Beatriz, before him. Pedro tore the child away, and despatched the unfortunate man with his own hand. The murder took place on May 19, 1358.
To the west of the court is a little room, elegantly decorated, and named after the Catholic Sovereigns, by whom it was restored. Their well-known devices appear, together with the Towers and Lions, among the decorations, which reveal the influence of the plateresque style. The north side of the patio is occupied by the Cuarto de los Principes, not to be confounded with a similarly named apartment on the floor above. At either end of this room is an arch, adorned with stucco work, admitting to a cabinet or alcove. That to the right has a fine artesonado ceiling, and that to the left is decorated in a species of Moorish plateresque style. An inscription states that the frieze was made in the year 1543 by Juan de Simancas, master carpenter.
East of the Patio de las Muñecas, and occupying the north side of the Patio de las Doncellas, is the long room called the Dormitorio de los Reyes Moros. All the apartments in the Alcazar are fancifully named, but the designation of none is quite so stupid andmisleading as this. The columns of the twin windows on either side of the door appear to date from the time of the Khalifate. The doors themselves are richly inlaid and painted with geometrical patterns. The three horseshoe arches leading to theal hami, or alcove, also seem to belong to the early period of Spanish-Arabic art. The room is so richly decorated that scarce a handbreadth of the surface is free from ornament.
On the opposite side of the central court is the sumptuous Salon de Carlos V., the ceiling of which was constructed by order of the emperor, and is adorned with classical heads. The tile and stucco work is the finest in the palace. There is a legend to the effect that St. Ferdinand died in this room—on his knees, with a cord round his neck and a taper in his hand—but it is unlikely that this part of the palace existed in his time. The guide pointed out the room to the west of this salon as the chamber of Maria de Padilla, but this again is, to put it mildly, doubtful.
The upper chambers of the Alcazar, which are not accessible to the general public, are very handsome. The floor overlooking the Patio del Leon is occupied by the Sala del Principe, with its beautiful spring windows, polychrome tiling, and columns brought from the old Moorish Palace at Valencia. Adjacent is the Oratory, built by order of Ferdinand and Isabella in 1504. The tile work is of extraordinary beauty, and shows that the Moors had not a monopoly of talent in this kind of decoration. The fine Visitation over thealtar is signed by Francesco Nicoloso, the Italian. On the same floor is the reputed bed-chamber of Don Pedro. Over the door may be seen four death's-heads, and over another entrance the curious figure of a man who looks back over his shoulder at a grinning skull. These gruesome designs commemorate the summary execution by the king of four judges whom he overheard discussing the division of a bribe. The royal apartments on this floor contain some precious works of art; but I abstain from mentioning the most remarkable of these, as pictures are so often transferred in Spain from one royal residence to another that such indications are often out of date before they are printed.
The Alcazar, I think, disappoints most foreigners. The architectural and decorative work of the Spanish Moors and their descendants pleases people quite inexperienced in the arts by its mere prettiness, its brilliance, its originality, and its colour; and it delights still more those who are able to appreciate its marvellous combinations of geometrical forms, its exquisite epigraphy, and all its subtle details. But the average traveller stands between these two classes of observers. He looks for grandeur where he should expect only beauty, and his eye is wearied by the wealth of conventional ornamentation. What I think is conspicuously lacking in the Alcazar, and to almost the same extent in the Alhambra, is atmosphere. Memories do not haunt you in these gilded halls. There is nothing about them to suggestthat anything ever happened here. The legends tell us the contrary; but assuredly no one was ever less successful in impressing his personality on his abode than were the founders and inhabitants of the Alcazar.
The gardens are really the most pleasing spot within the enclosure. They form a delicious pleasaunce, where the orange and citron diffuse their fragrance, and magic fountains spring up suddenly beneath the passenger's feet, sprinkling him with a cooling dew. I noticed some flower beds shaped like curiously formed crosses, which the gardener told me were the crosses of the orders of Calatrava, Santiago, Alcantara, and Montesa. You are also shown the Baths of Maria de Padilla, which are approached through a gloomy arched entrance. In the favourite's time they had no other roof than the sky, and no further protection from prying eyes than that afforded by a screen of orange and lemon trees. In Mohammedan times the baths were probably used by the ladies of the harem.
But if the Alcazar is a disappointment to the majority of visitors, I cannot conceive the Cathedral being so, despite the unfavourable criticism to which it has been subjected. The exterior, it is true, is unimpressive, and the vastness of the pile is largely responsible for the powerful effect proclaimed by the interior. But when the worst has been urged, this, the third largest church in Christendom, remains a grand, a solemn, and a magnificent temple, thoroughly Christian in atmosphere and details.
SEVILLE—GARDENS OF THE ALCAZARSEVILLE—GARDENS OF THE ALCAZAR
I like the story of its foundation better than the silly tales about Don Pedro, or about crucifixes helping jilted damsels. It has, moreover, the very unusual merit of being true. After the conquest by St. Ferdinand the old mosque of the Almohades was "purified," and served as the cathedral till, towards the end of the fourteenth century, it became practically ruined by earthquakes. The dean and chapter took counsel together, and at a conclave held in the Court of the Elms, on the south side of the mosque, it was resolved to build a new church forthwith. Then uprose a zealous prebendary and cried: "Let us build a church so great that those who come after us will think us mad to have attempted it!" The proposal was adopted with acclamation; and the great-hearted priests bound themselves to contribute from their own stipends as much money as might be necessary, should the revenue of the See prove unequal to the cost of the undertaking. They could never hope to see the fruit of their labours. I do not think the name of any one of them has been preserved. The architect alike has been forgotten. All concerned sought only the greater glorification of their faith. Such greatness of spirit deserved a noble monument.[*]
[*]Instances of this lofty spirit are frequent in the history of the Spanish peoples. When, after their first uprising against the mother country, the people of Honduras (Central America) met in Congress to frame a Constitution, a priest rose and proposed that before anything else was done, every slave in the country should be set free. And the measure was carried unanimously and enthusiastically by the Congress, which must have included many slaveholders. It took the United States forty years to follow this example.
[*]Instances of this lofty spirit are frequent in the history of the Spanish peoples. When, after their first uprising against the mother country, the people of Honduras (Central America) met in Congress to frame a Constitution, a priest rose and proposed that before anything else was done, every slave in the country should be set free. And the measure was carried unanimously and enthusiastically by the Congress, which must have included many slaveholders. It took the United States forty years to follow this example.
The Cathedral took one hundred and seventeen years to build, the first stone having been laid in 1402and the lantern having been finished by Juan Gil de Hontañon in 1519. Of the mosque certain portions were left: the Giralda, the Patio de los Naranjos, and the portal called the Puerta del Lagarto. The latter is named after the wooden model of an alligator which hangs from the roof. Three or four centuries ago the mummified form of a real alligator hung there. It was one of the gifts of an Egyptian khalifa to the daughter of a Castilian king, whom he sought in marriage. The saurian was accompanied from the banks of the Nile by various animals peculiar to that fertile region, but these interesting offerings failed to make any impression on the heart of the Infanta. Thus the forlorn-looking effigy of the reptile is in reality an affecting memorial of unrequited love.
Churches, it has been remarked, were considered in the Middle Ages very proper repositories for curiosities of all sorts. The cloister of the Lagarto contains also an elephant's tusk, weighing seventy pounds, and a horse's bit, said to be that of Babieca, the Cid's charger.
Very grateful is the sudden cool of the great church when you enter it from the sun-scorched plaza. Then there comes over you a feeling of profound reverence, followed very soon by an infinite restfulness. There is no place in Seville where you more willingly linger. A holy calm pervades the whole building, and you wonder that it should have suggested to Théophile Gautier such fantastic comparisons. If it were not thetemple of Christ, I could believe it to be the temple of Silence.
The Puerta del Lagarto is the favourite entrance, but when the day comes for a painstaking examination, you would do well to begin at one of the entrances in the west front. Of these there are three: the Puerta Mayor, the Puerta del Bautismo, and the Puerta San Miguel. All are enriched with good statuary, the graceful and vigorous statues of the side doors being the work of Pedro Millán, a fifteenth-century sculptor of renown. Entering, we set foot on the fine marble floor and make out the stupendous church to be composed of a nave and of two aisles on either side. The nave, you are told, is one hundred feet high and fifty feet wide. The noble columns, almost free of adornment, which uphold the spacious vaults recede in the far distance like trees in an overarching avenue. The effect, fine as it is, might have been much finer if the centre of the nave had not been blocked up by the choir. The "Trascoro," or screen, facing the west entrance, is richly adorned with red columns. Over the altar is a fourteenth-century picture of the Madonna, and a painting by Pacheco, the Inquisitor, representing St. Ferdinand receiving the keys of Seville. Over one of the beautiful little side altars of the choir is one of the rare examples of good Spanish sculpture—a Virgin, by Juan Martinez Montañez. On the altar side the choir is shut off by a sixteenth-century railing, attributed to Sancho Muñoz. Thisprotects from intrusion their reverences the canons, who sit in stalls, exquisitely carved between the years 1475 and 1538. The patterns and coloured inlaid work of the backs reveal Moorish influence. The lectern was the work of Bartolomé Morel. When the lantern collapsed in 1888, the choir was severely damaged. The architect who restored the fabric proposed to move it considerably nearer the high altar, but the proposal was stupidly rejected. A good opportunity for improving the appearance of the Cathedral was thus lost.
The retablo of the high altar is the quintessence of late Gothic sculpture. It is a marvellous work of extraordinary delicacy and elaboration. Each of the forty-five compartments into which it is divided contains a subject from the Bible or from the lives of the saints, carved, painted, or gilded with the rarest skill. Begun by the Fleming Dancart, in 1479, this wonderful triumph of the carver's art was completed by Spanish artists in 1526. The earlier work is in the middle. Crowning it is a gilt crucifix and the statues of Our Lady and St. John.
There are some very interesting objects in the Sacristy, as it is called, between the reredos and the hind wall of the chancel. The sacristan will show you the reliquary, shaped like a triptych, which came from Constantinople and was presented to the old cathedral by Alfonso the Learned. The double folding door is also said to have come from the Moorish temple.With a glance at the fine terra-cotta statues by Miguel Florentin, Juan Marin, and others, we pass behind the chancel wall, and see before us the plateresque Royal Chapel, built by Charles V. over the remains of certain of his ancestors. Beneath the altar lies the body of St. Ferdinand in crown and royal robes. He lies here in the heart of his fairest conquest, even as his descendants, Ferdinand and Isabella, sleep in the heart of Granada. You may see his sword, the handle of which was denuded of gems by Pedro the Cruel, lest they should excite the cupidity of others. That royal humorist also lies here, near his saintly ancestor and the one woman whom he ever loved, the gentle Maria de Padilla. Then there is to be seen the Vírgen de los Reyes, an image presented by St. Louis of France to St. Ferdinand of Castile. (Strange that when saints filled the thrones of Europe, things went on no better than they do now!) Another relic highly prized is the Vírgen de las Batallas, an ivory statuette which St. Ferdinand used to carry at his saddle-bow. These memorials of the heroic past give you little time or inclination for an examination of the chapel itself, which has a lofty dome, and is flanked at the entrance by twelve good statues by Peter Kempener—whom Spaniards call Campaña. At least (so I read) he drew them on the wall with charcoal for a ducat each, and they were executed by Lorenzo del Vao and Campos in 1553.
This chapel and the reredos of the chancel must becalled, I suppose, the great sights of the Cathedral, though to some its chief treasures will be the numerous works of Murillo enshrined in its chapels and dependencies. For myself, I like the building for its own sake, or, to use a very hard-worked word, for its atmosphere. As you cross the nave, looking upwards, where the light streams through the tall clerestory windows, you will be tempted to neglect the dark chapels in the aisles, and to revel for a while in these exquisite symphonies in coloured glass. Few of them are of Spanish workmanship. Master Christopher the German (Micer Cristobal Aleman) began the first—the first stained-glass window in Seville—in 1504, the work being afterwards carried on by the German Heinrich, the Flemings Beernaert of Zeeland and Jan Beernaert, Carel of Bruges, and Arnulf of Flanders. The best windows are those adorned with the Ascension, St. Mary Magdalen, Lazarus, and the Entry into Jerusalem, by Arnulf and his brother, and the Resurrection, by Carel of Bruges.
In the south transept is a monument, striking in itself and of very recent erection, which will in the course of time attract more pilgrims than the soldier saint's shrine. For here are contained the remains of a man who added not a Moorish city but a continent to the realm of Leon and Castile. The ashes of Christopher Columbus repose in a coffin which is borne on the shoulders of four figures of bronze, representing the kingdoms of Castile, Leon, Aragon, and Navarre.
SEVILLE—INTERIOR OF THE CATHEDRALSEVILLE—INTERIOR OF THE CATHEDRAL
These figures are not wanting in majesty and expression. All are crowned and wear semi-sacerdotal garb. Castile holds an oar, Leon a cross. Behind them come Aragon and Navarre, sombre of countenance, wearing shirts of mail. On the bosom of each is displayed the national escutcheon: the Towers of Castile, the Lions of Leon, the Bats of Aragon, and the Chains of Navarre. The pall bears words traced by Isabella herself:
and round the pedestal is an inscription which relates how the body of the immortal Admiral of the Indies was brought here when the "ungrateful America" revolted from the Spanish yoke. But however much the Spain of to-day may honour Columbus dead, it is hardly for her to reproach any land with ingratitude towards him.
Half-way between the main entrance and the choir, the Great Navigator's son is buried. An inscription on a slab invites the reader to pray for the soul of Don Fernando Colon, who, as Ford very truly says, would have been considered a great man if he had been the son of a less great father. He rendered important services to literature, and left behind him a library of 15,000 volumes, including some manuscripts of extreme rarity. It was ultimately acquired by the Crown, and constitutes the basis of the Biblioteca Columbina, housed in the Patio de los Naranjos.
The Royal Chapel is flanked by two little chapels, one of which, dedicated to St. Peter, contains some Zurbarans, impossible to distinguish in the dim light; while in the other (Capilla de la Concepcion grande) is a fine monument of Cardinal Cienfuegos and a crucifix attributed to Alonso Cano. Opening on to the north side are the chapels del Pilar, de las Evangelistas, de las Doncellas, de San Francisco, de Santiago, de las Escales, and del Bautisterio. In the latter is one of Murillo's most famous works, "The Vision of St. Anthony of Padua." Of Cano's works there is a specimen, the "Virgin and Child," over the altar of Belen, adjacent to the Puerta de los Naranjos. Valdés Leal and Juan de las Roelas are represented in the chapel of Santiago, and Herrera the younger by an ambitious "Apotheosis of St. Francis" in the chapel of that saint. In the Capilla de las Escalas are two works of Luca Giordano, strong in drawing, colour, and character. The same chapel contains the fine tomb of Bishop Baltasar del Rio, dating from about 1500.
In the south aisle are the chapels of the Mariscal, San Andres, las Dolores, la Antigua, San Hermenegildo, San José, Santa Ana, and Santa Laureana. These chapels are richer in sculpture than in painting. Kempener designed the beautiful altar-piece in the Capilla del Mariscal, and Montañez the grand statue of St. Hermenegildo in his chapel. On the west side of the Puerta de San Cristobal, over a small altar, is the "Generacion" of Luis de Vargas—the muchpraised "leg" picture which has given its name to the chapel. The fresco of St. Christopher that faces it is remarkable only for its size. You find such pictures of the saint at the entrances to many Spanish churches, the old belief having been that those who gazed upon it would not die unpreparedly that day. A much more ancient and interesting mural painting in the Byzantine style is to be seen in the large chapel of the "Antigua," where it was placed in 1578. The retablo of St. Anne's Chapel is also very old, and comes from the former cathedral. The next chapel, San José, is adorned by Valdés Leal's "Espousals of the Virgin." The Cathedral does not contain any fine ancient tombs. One of the best is that of Archbishop Mendoza, by Miguel Florentin, in the Antigua Chapel.
As every visitor to Seville professes a special devotion to Murillo, he will probably overlook the fine "Nativity" by Luis de Vargas to the right, on entering, of the Puerta del Nacimiento, and hurry at once to the more famous master's "Guardian Angel," between Puerta Mayor and Puerta del Bautismo. His "St. Leander" and "St. Isidore" are to be seen in the great Sacristy, where they are eclipsed by Kempener's beautiful "Descent from the Cross," before which Murillo himself used to stand for hours in rapt contemplation. The French cut this priceless work into five pieces, intending to remove it, and although their design was frustrated, the subsequentrestoration was badly effected. The Sacristia de los Calices is a storehouse of art treasures. Here you may see Goya's "Saint Justa and Saint Rufina," a "Trinity" by "El Greco," the "Angel de la Guarda" and "St. Dorothy" of Murillo, the "Death of a Saint" by Zurbaran, and the superb crucifix of Montañez. A "Conception" by Murillo is in the Chapter House, a splendid hall in the Renaissance style.
In the great Sacristy is preserved the "treasury" of the Cathedral. It includes a wonderful monstrance by that prince of goldsmiths, Juan de Arfe; and something more interesting in the shape of keys presented to St. Ferdinand on the surrender of the city. The key presented by the Jews is iron-gilt and bears the inscription in Hebrew: "The King of Kings will open, the King of all earth will enter." The key offered by the Moors is silver-gilt, and the Arabic inscription reads: "May Allah render eternal the dominion of Islam in this city."
Attached to many (if not to all) Spanish cathedrals, one finds large chapels which are the official parish churches of the cities—the parochial clergy being distinct from the diocesan chapter. At Seville, as at Granada, this chapel is called the "Sagrario," and is built at the west end of the Patio de los Naranjos and entered from a door in the north aisle of the Cathedral, near the Capilla del Bautisterio. Built between 1618 and 1662 by Miguel Zumarraga and Fernando deIglesias, the church is in the Baroque style, and roofed with a single and very daring arch. The rich statues that adorn the interior are by Dayne and Jose de Arce. There is a notable retablo by Pedro Roldán that came from a Franciscan convent now suppressed. In one of the side chapels is a fine "Virgin" by Montañez. Beneath this church the Archbishops of Seville are now buried.
SEVILLE—PATIO DE LOS NARANJOSSEVILLE—PATIO DE LOS NARANJOS
As we emerge from this vast temple, we remain for a few seconds dazzled by the sunlight. Then as we turn to the left we notice a rectangular, classic-looking building, standing between the Cathedral and the walls of the Alcazar. This is one of the numerous deserted Lonjas or Exchanges of Spain. The Patio de los Naranjos was formerly infested by the merchants and brokers of the city, to the great scandal of the devout. Archbishop de Rojas prevailed upon Philip II. to erect an Exchange or Casa de Contratacion, as Sir Thomas Gresham had just done in London. The building was begun in 1598, at precisely the moment when the commerce of Seville began to decline. It reflects the spirit of Philip II. and of his architect, Herrera—stern, sober, simple. There is a fine inner court, with Doric and Ionic columns. Here the South American archives are deposited, a rich mine for some future historian who shall have the patience to examine them. As an exchange, the Lonja soon proved a failure. It was early deserted by business men, and is best remembered as the seat of Murillo's Academy of Painters.
The spacious days of Charles V. and Philip II. were productive of innumerable public buildings, mostly in a quasi-Roman style and all very pompous and oppressive. The Town-hall or Ayuntamiento of Seville is an extremely ornate structure, in what is called the plateresque or Spanish Renaissance style. It stands in the Plaza de la Constitucion, where the electric cars perform intricate evolutions. Its effect is lost through its being placed on the ground level, without terrace, steps, or approach, or even railings to prevent inquisitive urchins staring in at the windows. The building is long and remarkably narrow, and of two storeys. I have seldom seen a public building more elaborately adorned or more badly placed. The interior is more satisfactory. The lower council chamber is a magnificent hall, worthy, as a Spanish writer remarks, of the Senate of a great republic. A noble staircase, with a fine ceiling, leads to the upper council chamber, which has some splendid artesonado work. Opposite—that is, on the east side of—this building is the Audiencia or Court-house, where I whiled away a hot afternoon by assisting at a Spanish trial. The case was of no particular interest, but the differences in the procedure and constitution of the court from our own were worth noting. There were three judges, who wore black silk gowns, without wigs or bands. Over their heads was the arms of Spain, and on the desk, facing the president, a large crucifix. The jury sat on chairs on each side of the judges. A desk was reserved for the public prosecutor, anotherfor the prisoner's advocate. The judges took far less part in the proceedings than they do in France. The case seemed to be left entirely to the public prosecutor, who, it is just to say, allowed the accused to make long rambling statements, without the least attempt to interrupt or confuse him. The public at the rear of the court appeared to take far more interest in the proceedings than any immediately concerned in them.
The Plaza de la Constitucion, outside the court, is the place of execution. But the death penalty is very rarely inflicted in Spain. Two or three years ago the Crown could find no pretext for pardoning two particularly atrocious murderers, who were accordingly put to death by the garrote in this square. The people of Seville, not being accustomed like the more enlightened Britons to some two dozen executions a year, showed their sense of the awful occurrence and of the disgrace to their city by donning the deepest mourning.
But the stranger does not come to Seville to visit courts or to hear about public executions—unless these happened two or three centuries ago, when as Sir W. S. Gilbert somewhere observes, they are looked at through the glamour of romance. The searcher for the beautiful is usually rewarded here by finding it in unexpected corners of the monotonous labyrinth of lanes and alleys. Plunging into the maze of white-walled dwellings in the north-eastern quarter of the city, a minaret only lessbeautiful than the Giralda seems to beckon us from afar. It appears and reappears, and we lose our way a dozen times before we stand at its foot. It is a beautiful tower in the purest Almohade or Mauritanian style, without any features borrowed from Christian architecture. The highest edifice, this, in Seville, except the Giralda. From its summit Cervantes used to scan the streets below, at certain hours of the day, for the form of a local beauty of whom he was enamoured. Here, of course, stood a mosque in Mussulman days, on the site of the adjacent church of San Marcos. The portal is very fine, but the Moorish features are the work of Mudejar and not Almohade artisans.
We wander on, and are presently surprised by the superb frontal of the convent church of Santa Paula. It is faced with white and blue azulejos, the work of Francesco of Pisa and Pedro Millán. Over the arch are disposed seven medallions illustrating the birth of Christ and the life of St. Paul, the figures white on a blue ground. On the tympanum of the arch is displayed the Spanish coat of arms in white marble, flanked by the escutcheons of the inevitable and ubiquitous Ferdinand and Isabella. Having seen this, it is hardly worth our while to enter the church, which contains the tombs of the founders, Dom Joao de Henriquez, Constable of Portugal, and his wife Donha Isabel. In the same quarter of the city, though some distance away, is a monument of someinterest—the church of Omnium Sanctorum, built in 1356 on the site of a Roman temple. Here again there is a tower graceful enough, in its lower storey recalling the Giralda. The church exhibits a rather happy combination of the Moorish and Gothic styles. On one of the doors is the coat of arms of Portugal, commemorating the pious generosity of Diniz, king of that country. This must have belonged to the earlier structure.
SEVILLE—PLAZA DE SAN FERNANDOSEVILLE—PLAZA DE SAN FERNANDO
Finding your way back to the Sierpes, you may inspect the interesting Church of the University. Here repose the members of the illustrious Ribera family, which looms very large in the history of Seville. Their remains were brought hither on the suppression of the Cartuja, outside the town. The oldest tomb is that of the eldest Ribera, who died in 1423, aged 105. He thus lived through the reigns of Alfonso XI., Pedro the Cruel, Enrique II., Juan I., Enrique III., and Juan II., yet, as is usually the case with centenarians, he failed to engrave his name as deeply on history as did some of his shorter lived descendants.
The famous Duke of Alcalá, the owner of the Casa de Pilatos, is commemorated by a fine bronze effigy—one of the few sepulchral monuments of this kind in Spain. At the feet of Don Lorenzo Figueroa a dog is sculptured, most probably the symbol of fidelity, but some say, his favourite. Over the altar are three good pictures by Roelas, one of the ablest interpretersof the Andalusian spirit. Here, too, are a couple of works by Alonso Cano, "St. John the Baptist" and "St. John the Divine." The statue of St. Ignatius Loyola by Montañez is said to be a faithful likeness of the saint. It was coloured by Pacheco the Inquisitor.
The adjacent University was originally a Jesuit college, and was built in the middle of the sixteenth century, after designs by Herrera. It is not very well attended to-day, and from the outside would be taken for an inconsiderable college. It seems to have been much more flourishing a hundred years ago, when our countryman Blanco White attended its courses. The original university was founded by Canon Rodrigo de Santuella in 1472, in the Colegio Maese Rodrigo, near the Cathedral.
From the last resting-place of the Riberas in the centre of the town it is not far to their old home, the Casa de Pilatos, though Dædalus himself might easily get lost in this labyrinth of streets resembling each other as closely as those of an American city. The names of some of these thoroughfares—Francos, Gallegos, Genovés—remind us of the days of St. Ferdinand, when the room of the banished Moors was filled by settlers, not only from all parts of Spain, but from the rest of Europe. It was the same with all the towns resumed by the Spaniards. These foreign colonies had their own laws and customs, and yet they were entirely absorbed by the natives and left no trace or influence behind them. The Spaniardspossessed, in those days at any rate, the same wonderful capacity for the absorption of other races displayed by the Anglo-Saxons in America. There was nothing new in this; for they had absorbed the Visigoths, just as they had absorbed the Romans before them. The Castilian tongue is indeed Latin, but I fancy that the people of Spain are as much the children of the soil—autochthones—as the Athenians themselves.
Reflections like these—which I do not expect will profoundly influence ethnologists—occupied me as I pursued my tortuous course to the Casa de Pilatos. When I at last found it, I was struck by the plain and dignified exterior. To the left of the door I observed a plain cross of jasper. The story goes that in October, 1521, the Marquis de Tarifa, on his return from a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, placed this cross against the wall and counted thence the fourteen stations of the Cross, according to their order in the Holy City. The last fortuitously coincided with the Cruz del Campo, raised near the Caños de Carmona in 1482. I doubt if the marquis had any such thought when he raised this jasper cross, for the distance from the Prætorium at Jerusalem to the chapel in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre that marks the site of Calvary is greatly less than the distance between the two points mentioned here in Seville. But why the house was called after Pilate is not easy to determine. It was begun in 1500 and finished thirty-three years after byDon Per Afan de Ribera, first Duke of Alcalá, and sometime Viceroy of Naples. This great nobleman was the Mæcenas of his generation. Not only did he enrich his house with priceless works of art and a fine library—since removed to Madrid—but he made it the rendezvous of all the art and talent of Andalusia. Hither came Gongora, the poet, to converse, it is said, with Cervantes. Here Pacheco, the artist-inquisitor, discussed the mission of art with Herrera. Here came Rioja, Cespedes, Jauregui, and others of less note. The example set by the Medici was followed by many of the great grandees of Spain at this time. The Velascos presided over a coterie of literati at Burgos; the Duke of Villahermosa, at Zaragoza, affected to delight in the company of the brilliant and learned. Even so small a place as Plasencia had its own patron of the arts in Don Luis de Avila, and in Madrid there was "the feast of reason and the flow of soul" at the mansion of Don Antonio Perez. But for all its associations, like the Alcazar, the Casa de Pilatos remains very much like a museum.
SEVILLE—CASA DE PILATOSSEVILLE—CASA DE PILATOS
The building illustrates the fashion of the Mudejar and Renaissance styles, almost to the effacement of the former. In the architecture of this epoch we usually find an Arabic groundwork nearly concealed by ornament of the newer style. The geometrical designs remain, but the flowing inscriptions, so important a feature of Moorish decoration, have gone. A thousand details would show the veriest tyro that this was notthe work of Moors, yet the central court bears a general resemblance to the Alcazar. Pedro de Madrazo directs attention to the harmonious variety of the arches and windows, and compares it to the admired disorder of the forest and plantation. I imagine the architect had the Court of the Lions, at Granada, in his mind. Here dolphins uphold the upper basin of the fountain, and noble statues of the deities of Greece and Rome—the gift of Pope Pius V.—stand in the angles of the court. Hence you pass into the so-called Prætorium, with its splendid coffered ceiling and beautiful tiling, where you may distinguish the Spanish azulejos of the best moulds by the designs stamped on them of fanciful monsters, grotesques, and escutcheons. Then there is the superb staircase with its "half-orange" ceiling, and the chapel with its mixed Gothic and Mudejar features. What grandee in Europe has a finer home than this? And yet, I am told the owner, His Grace of Medinaceli, comes here but seldom.
There are many old mansions in Seville worth a walk on a cool day—and a glimpse. They are not great sights, such as those we have already seen in the city, or such as are more numerous in Paris and Rome, Brussels and Venice. But those visitors who are really interested in Seville, and are capable of appreciating Moorish and plateresque art in their various imitations and combinations, will enjoy these little excursions. There is an interesting old house atNo. 6, Abades. It is now a boarding-house, and you may live there in princely fashion for six francs a day. No one knows how old it is. It belonged at the beginning of the fifteenth century to a family of Genoese merchants called Pinelo. In 1407 the Infante Fadrique, uncle of Juan II., lodged there. What was the occasion of his visit to Seville I forget. Afterwards it became the property of the "abbés" or "abades" of the Cathedral. Many of these reverend gentlemen still patronize the establishment, and may be seen puffing their "Puros" in the court, which is said to be a fine example of the Sevillian Renaissance style. That style I conceive to have been compounded of all pre-existing styles. Digby Wyatt, however, considered the house to be much more Italian than Spanish. It is a vast place, where dark corridors seem to lead indefinitely into space.
There is rather less to reward your curiosity at the Palacio de las Dueñas, a vast mansion belonging to the Duke of Alba. Once it boasted eleven "patios," with nine fountains and one hundred columns of marble. A fine court, surrounded by a graceful arcade, remains. The staircase recalls that of the Casa de Pilatos. Our countryman Lord Holland stayed here a hundred years ago. He was a great admirer of Spanish literature at a time when it was hardly as much a matter of interest to foreigners as it is at present.
Then there is the Casa de Bustos Tavera, where, according to Lope de Vega, Sancho the Brave used tovisit the "Star of Seville"; and the Casa Olea, in the Calle Guzman el Bueno, with a hall of Mudejar workmanship dating from the days of Don Pedro.
It is the romantic aspect of Seville that has impressed some visitors much more than its historical or archæological side. Over the poets and dramatists of the Romantic school the city exercised a strange fascination. Byron and Alfred de Musset found the atmosphere of the place most congenial. Through their rose-coloured spectacles every girl they met in these narrow white streets seemed "preternaturally pretty." The principal business of the inhabitants in the 'twenties and 'thirties of last century, to judge by the French poet's descriptions, was love-making, strumming the guitar, and duelling. That Spain was ever a romantic country in the vulgarly accepted sense of the term, I doubt. Roman Catholic customs and institutions forbid that free intermingling of the sexes from which result the thousand and one emotions, complications, situations, and catastrophes that are the ingredients of romance. In countries like Spain, where the canon law obtained, there could be, for instance, no runaway matches, no desperate flights in a post-chaise to a church (say) over the Portuguese border, with an irate father in pursuit. There could not have been, and cannot be at the present time, any walks with the beloved down the moonlit grove, any trysts by the stile or the ruined keep, any rendezvous among the rose-bushes. If a Spanish girl did any of these things, she would indeed, in French parlance,have thrown her cap over the mill. The affair would no longer have the complexion of a romance but of a sordid intrigue. This being so, I was delighted to hear that occasionally clandestine marriages are resorted to in Spain, and that fond lovers find a means of uniting in defiance of stern parents, even in Andalusia. The couple, accompanied by a few friends, contrive to sit next to each other in church, as far out of sight of the rest of the worshippers as possible. Their troths are plighted in an undertone just loud enough for the witnesses to hear, the ring slipped on under cover of the mantilla, and the hands joined at the precise moment the all-unconscious celebrant turns towards the congregation at the end of the mass and pronounces the benediction. In the eyes of the Church the two are married as irrevocably as if the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of Toledo had performed the ceremony. The vows have been exchanged before witnesses in a sacred edifice, and an anointed priest has simultaneously blessed the contracting parties from the altar. What can parents do? The Don may rage, the Doña may upbraid, but when the Church makes itself an accomplice of lovers, even in Spain the law must acquiesce. And there is no divorce!
That genuine romance tinges the lives of Spanish men and women, few who know them can doubt. But the Andalusia of musical comedy, the creation of which is largely due to the poets of the Romantic school, does not exist. Seville never was a glorified Cremorne; andpersons of a Byronic turn would find adventures suitable to their mood more readily by the banks of the Thames and the Hudson than by those of the Guadalquivir.
SEVILLE—CASA DE PILATOSSEVILLE—CASA DE PILATOS
For all that, some romantic stories are told about old Seville, and one of these has some foundation of truth. About the middle of the seventeenth century, the city re-echoed with reports of the wild and desperate doings of a certain wealthy gallant, Don Miguel de Marana by name. By some he is called De Mañara. Marriage with the heiress of the Mendoza family did not sober him, though an alliance with so solemn a thing as money generally brings the most hot-headed Latin youth to his senses. Like many other wicked persons, our gallant had a nice taste in art, and is said to have encouraged Murillo. Now comes the remarkable and the improving part of the story. It is not safe to vouch for the accuracy of the details of any part of it. One morning Seville woke up to find—no doubt to her unspeakable consolation—the wicked De Marana a changed man. He became a saint—an ascetic in the seventeenth-century acceptation of the word. The wine-bibber forswore even chocolate as too strong a beverage.
What had happened to produce so edifying a change? Accounts vary. The most picturesque explanation is that the Don, prowling about the streets one night, perceived a funeral procession approaching. Curiosity impelled him to look at the face of the corpse, which was uncovered, and lo! it was his own.
If you doubt the sincerity of Don Miguel's conversion, you have only to visit the Church of La Caridad, which, together with the adjoining hospital, he founded and wherein he was buried. I do not think you will share the opinion of Sir W. Stirling-Maxwell that this is the most elegant church in Seville, but you will be rewarded for the visit by seeing some very remarkable works of art. Near the entrance are the two extraordinary pictures which proclaim the artist, Valdés Leal, to have been a master of realism. One of these exhibits a corpse at which, Murillo declared, you must look with your nostrils shut. The church contains six canvases by Murillo himself—"Moses Striking the Rock," "The Miracle of the Loaves and Fishes," "The Charity of St. Juan de Dios," "The Annunciation," "The Infant Jesus," and "St. John." The third is really the finest of these pictures, though the first, commonly called "La Sed" (Thirst), is the most generally preferred. The figures are, as usual in this master's compositions, ordinary Seville types. Over the altar is another great work, "The Descent from the Cross," by Pedro Roldán.
The "Caridad" has indeed the most important collection of pictures in southern Spain, next to the Museo, as the old Convent of La Merced is now called. There, of course, some of the greatest works of art by Spanish masters are to be seen. There you may see the "St. Thomas of Villanueva" givingalms, Murillo's favourite picture; his beautiful "St. Felix of Cantalicio," and "St. Leander and St. Buenaventura," and his famous "Vírgen de la Servilleta" which wasnotpainted on a serviette. On the south wall hangs his "Saints Justa and Rufina" (holding the Giralda), exquisitely coloured, and on the north wall the admirable "St. Anthony de Padua." But one grows a little weary of Murillo in Seville. Zurbaran, the great painter of monks, is well represented by the wonderful "St. Hugh in the Refectory," and "Apotheosis of St. Thomas Aquinas." This last picture, I am told, was carried off by Soult, and recovered by Wellington at Waterloo. The older Herrera's "St. Hermenegild" is good, but by no means Andalusian. The native temper finds more truthful expression in the works of Roelas, Valdés Leal, Cespedes and Frutet, which may be studied to the best advantage here. Curiously enough, the gallery contains not a single work by Velazquez, who was born in Seville; nor any paintings by Alonso Cano or Luis de Vargas. Spanish sculpture, of which one sees so little, is not unworthily represented by a beautiful St. Bruno by Montañez, and by some busts and crucifixes of less importance. The students of Andalusian art must also visit the Hospital de la Sangre, near the Macarena Gate, for some splendid works by Zurbaran and by his less-known forerunner Roelas. The three pictures ascribed to the last named are, however, very awkwardly placed and difficult to see.
Murillo's house is still standing in the Plaza de Alfaro in the old Ghetto. Here he died on April 3, 1682, after his fall from the scaffolding at Cadiz. His studio is shown filled with several undoubted works of his brush. The house belongs to the executors of the late Dean Cepero.
The Duke de Montpensier has a fine collection of pictures at his ugly Palace of St. Telmo, near the Torre del Oro. Among them is included a sketch by our late Queen, when she was still a princess. The palace looks on a parade which is much resorted to by the Sevillanos in the summer months. Here you see the boys playing at the inevitable bull-fight. One who takes the part of toro has a real bull's horns with which he "gores" his comrades with great ferocity. The insistence on this brutal "sport" among the Andalusians has taken the form of acute monomania. Exasperated strangers have been heard to declare that in southern Spain you hear of but two things—Toros y Moros. In another corner of the promenade, you will come upon a party of little girls going through the peculiar and stately dances, or rather measures, of their country, to the accompaniment of a low chant and a clapping of hands, in which the boys, looking on from a distance, will join. Boys and girls, unless they are quite babies, are seldom seen together. You pass on and find a group of citizens seated at the little tables round a kiosk, refreshing themselves with lemonade and being entertained by a conjuror—a fine-looking man—who sends round the hat after every two or three tricks. In the ordinary way you are asked for alms more often than in Granada, but not, of course, to anything like the same extent as in London. English travellers are given to commenting on the mendicity in foreign cities, but I must confess that nowhere have I met with so many beggars as in our own capital. In Spain the fraternity chiefly haunt the steps of churches, the one spot in our happy country that they seem to avoid.
We reach the beginning of the Delicias Gardens, which extend two or three miles southward along the river bank. All the rank and fashion of Seville—and a great deal besides—turns out in summer evenings to drive in the Delicias. The concourse of vehicles is immense, but reminded me rather of the return from the Derby than of Rotten Row. The great ambition of the Spaniard is to possess a conveyance, and he seems to care little how dilapidated or ancient it may be, so long as it goes on wheels. Side by side with the handsome equipages of the Sevillian aristocracy, you will see a wretched Rosinante painfully dragging what I took to be the original "one-hoss shay," or the carriage in which Lord Ferrers was driven to the scaffold. It is impossible to restrain a smile, but after all a conveyance is a real necessity in a climate like this, and if a man cannot afford a good carriage, he must needs put up with a bad one. The traffic is well regulated by mounted police. The foot-paths are also crowded, and when night falls, everyone adjourns to the numerous open-air cafés and kiosks to drink light beer and lemonade. Sober, steady Spain! How certain of our reformers at home would love you, if they but knew you! Where in the world (except in the East) are men more abstemious or women more staid and demure?
If you wish (as of course, being a modern traveller, you are sure to do) to study the life of the people, you had better betake yourself to the other end of the city—to the Alameda de Hercules, so called after two columns which the natives believe were presented by that muscular demigod. Here a perpetual fair seems in progress. There are the usual booths, with fat ladies, boneless wonders, and dwarfs, and more questionable exhibitions. On a platform sat three depressed and underfed wretches, who, I thought, were to be immediately garrotted. Suddenly one sprang up and gave a very clever rendering of the arrival and departure of a train at a country station. He was vociferously applauded, and, thus encouraged, danced a sort of "cellar-flap" with great animation to the indispensable accompaniment of hand-clapping. In a popular assembly of Andalusian town and country folk, the modern observer ought, I am well aware, to find many extraordinary and significant phases of humanity, exhibiting the striking individuality of the people, their race-consciousness, their psychological import, their evolutional significance, and so forth. Iblush to confess that in the crowds applauding the ventriloquist or gaping at the fat lady, I saw only a collection of good-humoured ordinary people, enjoying themselves much after the fashion of ordinary people in England.
SEVILLE—GARDEN OF THE CASA DE PILATOSSEVILLE—GARDEN OF THE CASA DE PILATOS
Perhaps the Sevillano is more his real self on these occasions than when disporting himself at the world-famous fair, which begins on the Monday after Easter and attracts strangers from all parts of Europe. Though a somewhat overrated festival, I think it more distinctive and original in certain of its aspects than the gorgeous religious ceremonies by which it is preceded. The wealthier families of Seville rig up for themselves on the fair-ground "casetas," or temporary residences of wood or canvas, with two or more apartments. A great deal of expense is lavished on the upholstering and decoration of these pavilions, and those of the four principal clubs are fitted up in the most luxurious fashion. In the evening thejeunesse doréeof the city drive out to the fair in smart traps drawn by dashing little horses with jangling little bells, and visits are exchanged at the casetas, where as the evening becomes cooler, dancing takes place, to the sound of the piano, the guitar, and the castanet. The pretty señoritas of Seville have no objection to going through the graceful measures of the South in full view of an uninvited audience who crowd round the opening of the tent and from time to time give vent to admiring "Olés!" and bursts of hand-clapping.Dancing will be interrupted at 8.30, when everyone comes out to look at the firework display. Then of course there are the usual popular amusements—the inevitable bioscope, the gramophone, and all sorts of shows. Peasantry and aristocracy alike dress their very best on this occasion. The smartest toilettes and the most picturesque of native costumes are seen side by side, the latest confections of Worth and Paquin and costly heirlooms handed down from the days of Boabdil and Gonsalvo de Cordova.
Whether such an intermingling of all classes, of the richest and the poorest, could take place with mutual enjoyment and comfort in any country but Spain, is a matter open to doubt.