BARCELONA.--HISTORICAL REMINISCENCES.--CASTLE OF MONJUICH.--THE
CATHEDRAL.--THE GRAND OPERA.--THE PLAZA DE TOROS.--THE LITTLE
ROPE-WALKER.--MONTSERRAT.
Barcelona, once the rival of Venice, and now the chief sea-port of
Spain, seems to be a bright, clean, and prosperous city. Its aspect,
so far at least as regards its principal thoroughfares, is that of a
feeble imitation of Paris. Its streets in general are as bad specimens
of paving as are to be found in the Peninsula. The only truly national
thing about the place is the odours, which we must regard as essential
properties of a Spanish town. The long-suffering traveller's nose
must resign itself with the best grace possible to the incessant
inhalation of that variety of oleaginous and ammoniac smells which to
Spaniards, we suppose, must be among the necessities of existence.
There are few Moorish remains, as the Moors held Barcelona only for
the comparatively short space of eighty-eight years, being expelled in
801 by Charlemagne, who added the city to his duchy of Aquitaine. The
wise and the curious have determined amongst themselves that Barcelona
was founded by Hamilcar the Carthaginian, who was also called Barca
(_Anglice_, thunderbolt). However, it is quite certain that Augustus
Cæsar raised it to considerable importance, making it a _colonia_ under
the appellation of Julia Augusta, Pia, Faventia, and the rest. During
the Middle Ages, Barcelona was the centre of learning and the resort
of troubadours. Columbus was there received by the Catholic king to
whom he had given a world. In 1543, steam was first applied to ships of
200 tons at Barcelona by Blasco de Garay; but from certain political
complications and rivalries the experiment, though successful, was
discouraged. Of course we had the constant pleasure of meeting,
"whene'er we took our walks abroad," our old friends the sunburnt
cigarette-smoking beggars, who with Maffeo Orsini cried, "_Il cigaretto
per esser felice!_" Black with sun-burn, dirt, and age, having
apparently nothing on earth to do, and plenty of time to do it, with
lots of people to help them, they lounged about the portals of those
wonderful churches one meets with so often in Italy and Spain--church,
barn, and fortress lumped together, as if the building had not yet made
up its mind what order of architecture it wanted to belong to--to what
purpose, temporal or sacred, it was to be devoted.
"_Donde el mar?_" cried we, on descending from the knifeboard.
"_Par ici, M'sieu_, coom vid me, _va bene_--all right;" and away we go
with the commissionnaire, having provided ourselves with towels, to the
boats, and in a quarter of an hour were lying on our backs on the dark
blue wave, as on a sofa, looking up at the great brown isolated hill
of Monjuich, with its fortress crest rising eight hundred feet sheer
out of the sea, turning our eyes to the forest of masts in the distant
harbour, regarding with interest the white sparkling town, its domes,
towers, and wharves roaring with busy life, backed in the distance by
clusters of purple mountains, or curiously watching the sea-gulls, as
with their white pinions they wavered slowly in the soft warm blue air
above us. This was luxury. The French say the English do not understand
_luxe_. Ignorance is a voluntary misfortune, and it is a pity that our
censors don't see to it.
The red-capped, lazy, brown, one-eyed old boatman was much astonished
at the fact that any human beings could be so mad as to enjoy a dip in
the sea in such a glorious climate. When he had so far overcome his
surprise as to be able to row us back to shore, we flew on the wings
of hunger to a breakfast of fresh sardines, cutlets, quails, figs, and
amontillado, the interval between each dish being occupied by smoking a
cigarillo, _à la manière Espagnole_.
By the way, in order to illustrate the carelessness, timidity,
obstinacy, malice, or whatever flaw it may be in the Barcelonese
boatman's character, I may observe that, having placed great confidence
in the fact of my having a boat ready to follow me in my swimming
excursion, I quietly swam in this delightful blue, warm, and buoyant
water about a mile out to sea, never dreaming but that the boatman
would follow. Upon turning round, however, with a view of re-entering
the boat, I descried it, to my amazement, about a quarter of a mile
astern, and in it two human beings, apparently engaged in fierce
dispute, gesticulating violently and waving about their arms. These
were the boatman and my friend, who had just emerged himself from his
bath. The latter naturally wished the boat to follow me, in case of any
sudden current carrying me away to seaward, but the boatman distinctly
objected to that proceeding, remarking, "Me no go, Engleeshman out dare
too mosh wash!" meaning, "This friend of yours out there has swam out
too far for me to care about following him, so now he will have to come
back by himself, for I shall go no farther." However, the oars were
soon in the stalwart hands of my friend, and in a few minutes the boat
was alongside of the Englishman who had "too mosh washed" himself.
Thus refreshed, we could now enjoy a stroll in the town. The day was
beautiful, the sun shining brilliantly. And so onwards through the
shady boulevards and the cool narrow streets, in which we mingled with
a half-bred sort of French provincial capital population. The fine
mule, with its gaudy trappings, is not frequent here; and all such
Spanish sights as picturesque, dirty men in old velvet hats, sashes,
coloured blankets, and sandals, are, alas! as rare as ortolans in
Tottenham-court Road. In the course of our walk we came to the town
gates, and emerging from them, found ourselves on a white road, glaring
beneath the rays of an African sun, the heat insupportable, and the
dust insufferable. Picking our way among stones and aloes, we began the
ascent of Monjuich, the name of which is derived from _Mons Jovis_--a
temple dedicated to Jupiter having been built upon the summit of this
mountain by the Romans.
From the fortress cresting the mountain is seen the entire town of
Barcelona lying below, with the harbour and its crowd of shipping gay
with the flags of every nation. On the southern side is spread out
a wide tract of pestilential marshes, seething in the sun, and yet
occupied by a number of human habitations. Fever, it need scarcely be
said, rages throughout these regions the greatest part of the year.
Only those who are compelled by the hardest necessity live and work in
such an unhealthy locality. It is painful to think that in a scene so
attractive, where nature clothes herself in some of her most beautiful
forms, sickness and death should strike down so many victims. To the
west, the sunny slopes of the distant mountains are seen gradually
lessening in the far haze, until they appear to be lost in the sea.
The castle of Monjuich is a most important stronghold, and in case
of revolution, invaluable to those in possession of it, its guns
commanding the entire town.
Barcelona is the second largest town in Spain, and the most prosperous
and flourishing in a mercantile point of view. Its marts, quays,
and ware-houses are strongly built, and the general aspect of this
Manchester of Spanish Lancashire is busy, thriving, and cheerful.
Connected with the Atlantic ports by railways, and with the world by
the sea, upon which it is so charmingly situated, Barcelona, with its
industrious, bold, intelligent, and good-natured population, should
allow no rival to supersede it in the arts of commerce. The climate
of its winter is bright, mild, and even. Snow is seldom seen, and the
average number of days in which rain falls is but sixty-nine out of
the 365. The heat of summer is no doubt great, but it is tempered by
the Mediterranean breezes. In the country around the city, the plains
are covered with orange and pomegranate groves, and the hill sides
are variegated with the pretty country seats, or _torres_, which so
enraptured Washington Irving.
It must be confessed, however, that it is rather disappointing to find
so little of the real Spanish element in so large a town of Spain.
Valladolid and Barcelona are alike, inasmuch as they both possess
arcades; but where one is intensely Spanish, the other is terribly
Lowtherian, and recalls Burlingtonian memories. The system of begging
seems, too, to be carried on here in a very refined manner. In one of
the most frequented _plazas_ in the city, we were, on one occasion,
suddenly accosted by an elderly lady covered with a quantity of black
lace, and otherwise dressed with great care and propriety. Upon taking
off our hats to inquire what service we could have the happiness of
rendering her--thinking, perhaps, that she might be ill and wished us
to call a _fiacre_, or still better, that she was going to ask us to
dinner--she simply demanded a few reals "for the love of God and Saint
James."
During the recent revolution a few urchins, either from mischief or
from the design of their dupers, shouted one day upon the public
promenade, when at its fullest, the words _Viva Prim!_ Instantly the
over-zealous gendarmes on duty pointed their carbines in the direction
from whence issued the cry, and a flight of bullets was sent among the
terrified groups of people in the streets. Several perfectly innocent
persons, including two ladies and an infant, were mortally wounded. The
knowledge of this melancholy fact, which had occurred only recently,
did not make it more pleasant to us during the hours which we spent
daily in the society of a Spanish gentleman who had taken a fancy to
us. Being a violent democrat and of a most impulsive disposition, he
was in the constant habit of talking in a dangerously free manner, in
a painfully loud and distinct tone of voice, about the above-named
general, bringing out the word "Prim" so sharply and distinctly that we
really expected, every time he uttered it, to experience the sensation
of being riddled with balls and slugs from any point of the compass.
As we repeatedly urged upon our "dear friend," we did not in the least
care who was who, or what was what. It was a matter of no concern to us
that in Spain the wrong men were in the wrong places--the square men in
the round holes, and the round men in the square holes--nor would it
cause us the slightest uneasiness if they remained there till Doomsday.
All this we took the greatest pains to impress upon our acquaintance,
especially after hearing the before-mentioned anecdote; but still, at
disagreeably short intervals, the word PRIM, ever and anon, rang out
with startling distinctness, causing us as much uneasiness as we should
have felt if we had every moment expected the explosion of a shell at
our sides.
The cathedral, of course, had to be _done_; and it is wonderful how
instinctively the tourist hunts out his natural mental food unaided.
In Italy, after breakfast, at any new place, it is always "Now for
the _Duomo_!" And so in Spain, in spite of the intricate windings
of streets and general labyrinthine state of the towns, sure as the
trained hunter upon his quarry, does the tourist seek out and find his
_chasse café_--the cathedral. Well, perhaps, there is nothing on earth
more sublime, majestic, and imposing than one of those masterpieces of
Christian architecture, a Spanish cathedral, no temple more fit and
worthy for the worship of the Eternal.
The Cathedral of Barcelona, like many others in Spain, is built upon
the site of a Moorish mosque, and is magnificent in design, though
the impression which it produces is perhaps rather sombre. Darkened
chapels, dimly lit with twinkling lights, throw out a subdued blaze
of splendour from their gorgeous _retablos_ and glinting brazen
railings. Above, the glorious Gothic arches meet in all their florid
beauty, like the trees in some heavenly avenue. Long rows of stalls and
seats--miracles of wood-carving, surmounted with spiry pinnacles of
the darkest oak, whose wondrous tracery seems like a canopy of heavy
lace spread upon them--surround the choir. Bare marbles gem the walls,
the air is stained with rich and solemn colouring from the gorgeous
windows, and the fragrant smoke of incense rolls in slow grey clouds
around the ancient columns.
The Royal Opera-house of Barcelona is one of the largest in the world,
and when it is filled has a most enchanting aspect. As the Barcelonese
are particularly partial to amusements, and, in fact, to all kinds of
gaiety, they have acquired such taste in self-decoration and personal
adornment, that a very fine general effect is produced when the great
_salle_ is packed to overflowing with the _beau monde_. At this
opera-house one sees a perfect galaxy of dark, and, we may say, blazing
beauty; for amidst the rich silks, the gorgeous satins, and the gay
ribbons of all colours, brilliant with sparkling jewels, there shines
out from every female face the yet brighter jewelry of large Spanish
eyes flashing the quick emotions of the human soul as the music falls,
stirring like a breeze, upon its chords. The number of uniforms, too,
glowing from all parts of the great theatre, render the scene very
gorgeous; and the manner in which the glittering multitude occasionally
rises excitedly _en masse_ to applaud and wave their kerchiefs, as they
spontaneously feel the sudden effect of some passage of unusual power,
is perfectly electric.
The performance, however, compared with that witnessed at Madrid, and
still more with that of the London or Paris Operas, was, when we were
at Barcelona, tame and mediocre. The whole company seemed more or
less in a general state of chronic melancholy and chromatic scales.
Roderigo chiefly relied upon his legs and one high note, and was
continually poising himself on one of his feet like a zephyr beginning
his training. Why, we wonder, are all Othellos on the lyric stage in a
general state of perspiration? And when a gentleman in an opera wants
to curse his daughter, why does he invariably dress himself in black
velvet and imitation point lace, while the lady herself must appear
with her back hair down? It certainly is very curious, though quite
Spanish, to observe, in about four minutes after the descent of the
curtain at the end of each act, the entire opera-house filled with the
smoke of tobacco, and one experiences a novel sensation when, walking
on the grand staircase, he stops to light his cigarillo at one of the
gilded lamps. It is of little use for English ladies to complain of
tobacco in Spain, and it is questionable taste in them to be indignant,
as we have seen many, on finding themselves involved in clouds of
smoke. Besides which, all mankind have to bear their burdens in one
way or another, and the fragrant scent of the Havannah leaf is surely
a trial light enough to endure amongst the greater trials of life.
Men have to tolerate women in their _vapours_, why should women not
make the same allowance for men during theirs? Each nation, like each
individual, has its idiosyncrasy, and the great maxim, "What can't be
cured must be endured," ought never to be forgotten by travellers,
especially those who are strangers to the customs of the country in
which they are temporarily sojourning.
The Plaza de los Toros, or Bull Ring, situated in the _quartier_
called Barceloneta, where the poorer and labouring classes, together
with a community of ship-chandlers, reside, has no pretensions in
appearance to anything else than what it is, namely, a great wooden
slaughter-house. When we arrived in the city the bull fights were over
for the season, and the ring was used as a circus and gymnasium for
acrobats and athletes. We witnessed within it, however, a spectacle,
bloodless indeed, but still with the scent and thirst of blood--and
human blood, too--about it, which we may hope can scarcely be
witnessed in any other civilised land, whose fiercer passions are
not kept in a chronic state of ferment by festive shows of wanton
cruelty, and whose tender youth are not deadened from the dawn of
their sensibilities to all love of mercy and sympathy for suffering.
A female child of seven years was brought into the great arena, which
was covered with human beings, their faces all turned upwards. She
was engaged to walk the entire length of a rope inclined from the
floor on one side of the building up to the roof on the other, about a
hundred feet in height. Upon taking her place on the rope, just before
commencing her perilous journey, the poor child, suddenly seized with
a panic, burst into tears, and evidently shaking with fear, implored
to be excused. At this sight, the helpless child trembling in sight
of her death, it might be, what emotions filled the breast of the
great crowd? Sorrow for young innocence in deadly peril for the idle
amusement of the spectators? An imperative desire to rush forward and
rescue that tender child from wanton destruction? Did any mother's
heart, fluttering with loving thoughts of her own infant, yearn for
the rescue of this poor little being, tricked out in sparkling tinsel
and pink gauze, trembling alone in mid air on a single rope? No! they
all thought only of the value of their miserable pence, and loud rough
voices were heard in all directions execrating the child. "Push her
on--make her go," they cried, and shook their fists at the poor little
creature, whose tears now rained down her cheeks as she looked from
side to side, imploringly for one friendly glance. But there was none.
With a sudden impulse, however--apparently of pride--she shook her head
defiantly, gulped down a sob, and grasping the balancing pole, started
on her high and narrow path. She arrived, thank God, at her destination
safe and sound, not only, however, without a note of approval or
applause, but amidst hisses and jeers. This certainly was a painful
page in the study of a nation's characteristics, without one redeeming
trait to soften the painful effect it produced, it is to be hoped, on
many minds.
Near Barcelona is Montserrat, the _Mons Serratus_ of the Romans. Upon
a wild and rugged mountain, hewn and carved into a weird distorted
mass by the mysterious forces of nature, is pitched a monastery. The
view from the summit is, of course, magnificent, and the innumerable
grottoes with which the great serrated mountain is honeycombed, are
as usual very dark, damp, fatiguing, and unwholesome. Though no doubt
they are curious and wonderful, one is apt, after having done a certain
amount of grottoes and stalactite caverns in various parts of the
world, to say, when the words "How marvellous!" are dinned into the
ear, "We wish to goodness it was impossible!" as Dr. Johnson observed
when he was listening to some celebrated performer on the fiddle. The
blunt lexicographer, who was no respecter of persons, was, however,
possibly right, for, when flatterers meet, Satan goes to dinner--there
is no need for him to stay, in fact; those whom he leaves behind him
will do all the work for him.
The railway from Barcelona to Gerona passes through a succession of
lovely landscapes. The traveller is carried past lofty chains of hills
clothed up to their summits in the deep green of the waving pine. The
iron road then passes through sweet valleys, the gentle floors of
which, smiling in the sunshine, are covered with the richest verdure.
Occasionally the eminences which crown these valleys are crested with
the broken masonry of other days; as we journey onwards--castles,
forts, old ramparts, crumbling walls, rear up in all directions like
skeletons of the past. When the scene begins to show signs of human
habitation, we pass white villas and farm-houses, terraced round and
hung with balconies, over which grow luxuriant creepers. Solitary
mansions are sometimes seen gleaming out from the dark verdure of the
woods, or sitting on the velvet surface of ample plains. Then the
railway carries us past the channels of dried-up rivers, and over stony
plains, which appear to stretch away until, in the distant horizon,
they meet the soft blue line of the Mediterranean. There we enjoyed
from a considerable distance our last few glimpses of those fairy
waters, with many a white lateen sail resting upon them, like the weary
wings of some exhausted sea-bird.
[Illustration: [++] Decorative Image]