No one in approaching, excepting from th_The Picturesque Antiquities of Spain Described in a series of letters, with illustrations representing Moorish palaces, cathedrals, and other monuments of art, contained in the cities of Burgos, Valladolid, Toledo, and Seville.

Gothic edifice. You perceive an immense quadrangular enclosure, filled

apparently with cupolas, towers, pinnacles of all sorts and styles, but

less of the Gothic than any other. These belong to the numerous

accessory buildings, subsequently annexed to the church; such as

sacristies, chapels, chapter-hall, each subsequent erection having been

designed in a different style. The cathedral is inaccessible on the

south side, that which we first reach in coming from the Alcazar. It is

enclosed here within a long Italian façade of about thirty to forty feet

elevation, ornamented by a row of Ionic pilasters, supporting an elegant

frieze and balustrade. We therefore ascend the raised pavement, which,

bounded by a series of antique shafts of columns, surrounds the whole

enclosure; and having passed down the greater part of the east end, find

a small portal close to the Giralda, which admits to the church through

the court of orange-trees. Before we enter, we will look round on this

view, which possesses more of the Moorish character, than that which

awaits us in the interior. Some idea of the general plan of these

buildings will be necessary, in order that you may perfectly understand

our present point of view.

I mentioned above, that the general enclosure formed a square. This

square, the sides of which face the four points of the compass, is

divided by a straight line into two unequal parts, one being about a

third wider than the other. The direction of the line is east and west;

to the south of it is the cathedral, to the north, the Moorish court of

orange-trees. The Arab Tower, now called the Giralda, stands in the

north-east angle of the cathedral, and the small door, through which we

have just entered, in the south-eastern angle of the court, is close by

it.

The court is surrounded by buildings; for besides the church on its

south side, a chapel called the Sagrario, runs down the entire western

end. The east side and half the north are occupied by arcades, which

support the library, the gift of the son of Columbus to the cathedral;

and the remaining half side by a sacristy. The buildings of the east and

north sides lean against the old embattled wall on the outside. The

chapel of the Sagrario to the west is in the Italian style. Avenues of

orange-trees, and a marble fountain of a simple but choice design, are

the only objects which occupy the open space. Throughout it reigns an

eternal gloom, maintained by the frowning buttresses and pinnacles of

the cathedral, which overhang it from the south.

[Illustration: INTERIOR OF THE CATHEDRAL, SEVILLE.]

A small doorway, near to that by which we entered the court, gives

access to the cathedral at all hours. On entering an almost more than

twilight would confuse the surrounding objects, did it immediately

succeed the sunshine of Andalucia; and were not the transition rendered

gradual to the eye by the deep shades of the orange court. As you

advance towards the centre nave, this darkness aids in producing the

effect of immensity, which is the next idea that presents itself. In

fact the enormous elevation and width of the edifice is such as at first

to overpower the imagination, and to deprive you of the faculty of

appreciating its dimensions. It produces a novel species of giddiness

arising from looking upwards.

To arrive at the intersection of the principal nave and transept, you

traverse two side naves, both about eighty-five feet in height, and

spacious in proportion. The centre nave is a hundred and thirty-two

feet, but rises at the quadrangle, forming its intersection with the

transept about twenty feet higher. The ceiling here, and over the four

surrounding intercolumniations, is ornamented with a groining of

admirable richness. That of the centre quadrangle is here and there

tinged with crimson and orange tints, proceeding from some diminutive

windows placed between the lower and upper ceilings.

After having sufficiently examined the upper view, the eye wanders over

the immense vacuum of the transept, and rests at length on the bronze

railings which, on the east, separate you from the high-altar, and on

the west from the choir. These are superb.

That of the Capilla Mayor rises to an elevation of sixty feet, and is

throughout of the most elaborate workmanship. It is the work of a

Dominican monk, who also executed the two pulpits. The choir forms, as

usual, a sort of saloon, which occupies the centre of the church, that

is, in this instance, two of the five intercolumniations which reach

from the transept to the western portal. Passing round it, in the

direction of the western doors, where the view is more open, the plan

and style of the building are more easily distinguished. They are

remarkably simple. The area is a quadrangle of three hundred and

ninety-eight feet by two hundred and ninety-one, and is divided into

five naves by four rows of pillars, all of about sixty feet elevation.

The width of the centre nave and transept is fifty-nine feet, and the

whole is surrounded by chapels. The distance between the pillars, of

which there are only eight in each row, has the effect of generalizing

the view of the whole edifice, and imparting to it a grandeur which is

not obtained in the cathedral of Toledo, of almost equal dimensions;

while the smaller and less gaudily coloured windows shed a more

religious ray, and are preferable to those of Toledo, which,

magnificent in themselves, attract an undue share of the observation,

instead of blending into one perfect composition of architectural

harmony.

Immediately above the arches of the principal nave and transept, at a

height of about ninety feet, runs a balustrade, the design of which

consists of a series of pointed arches. Above it are the windows,

reaching nearly to the ceiling. They are painted in rather dark tints,

and afford no more than a sort of _demi-jour_, which at the east end

decreases to twilight. Rather more light is admitted towards the western

extremity, from some windows of plain glass, in the lateral chapels,

without which the pictures they contain could not be viewed; but from

this end the high-altar is scarcely discernible. The simple grandeur of

this view loses nothing by the absence of all ornamental detail: the

portion most ornamented is the pavement, composed of a mosaic of the

richest marbles. About half-way between the portals and the choir, are

inserted two or three large slabs, bearing inscriptions; one of them is

to the memory of Christopher Columbus; another to his son. There are no

other details to draw the attention until we visit the chapels, in which

all the treasures of art are dispersed. A few pictures are scattered

here and there around the eastern part of the building; all of them are

good. A large one of Zurbaran, in the north transept, is a master-piece.

It represents St. Jerome, surrounded by an assembly of monks.

At the west end of the northernmost nave, the first door opens to a vast

church, called the chapel of the Sagrario, already alluded to as forming

the western boundary of the orange-court. It is nearly two hundred feet

in length; in the Italian style; the orders Doric and Ionic, but loaded

with heavy sculpture in the worst taste. After this a series of chapels,

of a style analogous to the body of the edifice, succeed each other,

commencing with that of San Antonio, and continuing all round the

church. Several of them contain beautiful details of ornament, and

handsome tombs. That of the Kings should be mentioned as an exception,

with regard to the architecture, since its style is the _plateresco_. It

contains the tombs of Alonzo the Tenth, and his Queen Beatrix, with

several others. The most beautiful of these chapels is that of Nuestra

Señora la Antigua, situated on the south side, below the transept. It

forms a square of about thirty feet, and rises to an elevation of

upwards of eighty. The walls are divided into stories and compartments,

and covered, as is also the ceiling, with admirable frescos by Martinez

and Rovera. At a side door leading to the sacristy, are two beautiful

columns of _verde antico_. The high-altar is composed of jasper, from

quarries which existed at the distance of a few leagues from Seville.

The statues are by Pedro Cornejo; and there are handsome tombs let into

the lower part of the walls. Four antique chandeliers, one in each

corner, are designed with uncommon grace and originality. From the

summit of a short column rises a silver stem, from different parts of

which spring flat rods of the same metal, so slight as to bend with the

smallest weight: they are of various lengths, and at the extremity of

each waves an elegantly formed lamp. Each of these clusters assumes a

pyramidal form, and produces a charming effect when lighted up on days

of ceremony,--from their harmonizing with the rest of the decorations of

the chapel, no less than from the elegance of their form.

Some of the chapels of this side, and east of the transept, communicate

with other buildings, erected subsequently to the principal edifice, and

consequently not comprised in its plan, nor analogous to its style.

Thus, after passing through the chapel called Del Mariscal, situated at

the south-east of the apse, you enter an anteroom, which leads to the

chapter-hall. The anteroom is an apartment of handsome proportions,

covered, in the intervals of a row of Ionic pilasters, with a series of

pieces of sculpture in white marble. The hall itself is magnificent. It

is an oval of fifty-seven feet in length, entirely hung with crimson

velvet enriched with gold embroidery. Another of the side chapels leads

to the smaller sacristy. I call it smaller because it is not so large as

that which adjoins the orange-court; but it is the principal of the two.

It is a superb saloon, upwards of seventy feet in length by about sixty

wide, ornamented with a profusion of rich sculpture. The architect was

Juan de Herrera.

From the floor to a height of about four feet, a spacious wardrobe,

composed of large mahogany drawers, runs down the two longer sides of

the room. These contain probably the richest collection that exists of

gold and silver embroidered velvets and silks,--brocades--lace--scarfs

and mantles ornamented with precious stones: all these are the ornaments

belonging to altars and pulpits; robes, trains, and vestures of

different sorts, worn on occasions of ceremony by the principal

dignitaries. The cathedral of Seville is said to surpass all others in

these ornaments.

In this sacristy are contained likewise the treasure of gold and silver

vessels, and basins; innumerable crosses, reliquaries, chalices, boxes,

and candlesticks; and, in an upright mahogany case of about twenty feet

elevation, lined with white silk, the front of which opens like a door,

stands the Custodia--a silver ornament about sixteen feet high,

including its base. On the day of the Corpus Christi, the Host is placed

in this Custodia, and carried in procession through Seville. The silver

of which it is composed weighs seven hundred weight. But it must not be

supposed from this circumstance that the ornament has a heavy

appearance. It is a tapering edifice containing four stories, ornamented

by as many orders of architecture. The general form is circular,

diminishing up to the summit, which supports a single statue. Each story

rests on twenty-four columns, most of which are fluted, and all,

together with their capitals, remarkable for their delicacy of finish.

Among these are numerous statues of saints, in whose costumes precious

stones are introduced. In that of the statue of Faith, which stands in

the centre of the lower story, are some of immense value. This ornament

was the work of Juan de Arfe, the Cellini of Spain.

But the pictures are the richest treasure of this apartment. It is an

epitome of the Cathedral, which may be called a gallery--one of the

richest that exists--of the paintings of Spanish schools: consequently,

according to the opinion of many--one of the best of all galleries. The

pictures are not in great numbers, but they are well adapted to their

situation, being the largest in dimension, and among the most prominent

in value and merit, that have been produced by their respective

painters.

By the greater portion of spectators, the Spanish artists, of what may

be called the golden age of painting, will always be preferred to the

Italian; because their manner of treating their subject, appeals rather

to the passions than to the understanding. It is the same quality which

renders the Venetian school more popular than the other schools of

Italy; and the Italian music more attractive than the German--Rossini

than Spohr or Beethoven. I do not mean that the preference will be the

result of choice, in an individual who appreciates the two styles

perfectly; but that the difference I allude to renders the works of the

greatest masters of Italy less easily understood.

With all the intelligence and taste necessary for the appreciation of a

picture of Raffaelle, many will have had a hundred opportunities of

studying such a picture, and will nevertheless have passed it by,

scarcely noticed; merely, because on the first occasion of seeing it,

they have not immediately caught the idea of the artist, nor entered

sufficiently into his feelings to trace the sparks of his inspiration

scattered over the canvass. How many are there too careless to return to

the charge, and thus to acquire the cultivation necessary to enable them

to judge of such works, who the moment a Murillo, or a Zurbaran meets

their view, will gaze on it with delight, for the simple reason, that it

is calculated to strike the intelligence the least cultivated.

The Spanish artists usually endeavoured to produce an exact imitation of

material nature; while the Italians aimed at, and attained higher

results. The object of the Spaniards being less difficult of attainment,

the perfection with which they imitated nature passes conception. To

that they devoted all the energies of their genius; while you may search

in vain in the best productions of Italy, not excepting the school of

Venice, the one that most resembles the Spanish,--for anything

approaching their success in that respect. By way of an example, in the

Spasimo of Raffaelle, we trace the operations of the mind, as they

pierce through every feature of every countenance, and the attitude of

every limb throughout the grouping of that great master-piece of

expression; from the brutal impatience of the one, and the involuntary

compassion of the other executioner, up to the intensity of maternal

suffering in the Virgin, and the indescribable combination of heaven and

earth, which beams through the unequalled head of the Christ; but there

is no deception to the eye. No one would mistake any of the figures for

reality; nor exclaim that it steps from the canvass; nor does any one

wish for such an effect, or perceive any such deficiency.

What, on the contrary, was the exclamation of Murillo before Campana's

Descent from the Cross? This master-piece of Pedro de Campana is seen at

the head of the sacristy of the cathedral. It was so favourite a picture

with Murillo, that he used to pass much of his time every day, seated

before it. On one occasion, his presence being required on an affair of

importance, which he had forgotten, his friends found him at his usual

post before the Descent; when, pointing to the figure of the Christ, he

replied to their remonstrances, "I am only waiting until they have taken

him down."

Although Murillo admired this perfect representation of material nature,

his own works are exceptions, in fact almost the only exceptions, to

this peculiarity of the Spanish masters. He partakes, indeed, of the

qualities of both schools in an eminent degree. In intellectual

expression and delineation of the operations of the mind, he is superior

to all his countrymen, but inferior to the first Italian painters. In

the material imitation of nature, he is superior to the greater number

of the Italians, but inferior to the other principal Spanish artists.

There is, at Madrid, a Christ on the Cross, of his, in which he has

attempted this effect--an effort he ought rather to have despised. The

picture contains no other object than the figure, and the cross of

admirably imitated wood, on a simple black, or rather dark brown

background, representing complete darkness. After sitting a short time

before it, you certainly feel a sort of uncomfortable sensation, caused

by the growing reality of the pale and tormented carcass; but it is not

to be compared to the Descent of Campana. There the whole group is to

the life, and no darkness called in to aid the effect. The drooping body

is exposed to a powerful light, and hangs its leaden weight on the arms

of those who support it, with a reality perfectly startling.

This picture is placed in the centre of the upper end of the sacristy,

as being considered the best of those therein contained: but it is not

without rivals. The few paintings placed here are first rate;

particularly the portraits of the two archbishops of Seville, San

Leandro, and San Isidore--two of Murillo's most exquisite productions.

Some of the greatest compositions of this painter are contained in the

chapels we have passed in review, where they serve for altar-pieces,

each filling an entire side of a chapel. Of these large pictures, I

think the best on the side we are visiting is the Saint Francis. The

Saint is represented kneeling to a vision of the Virgin. It may

certainly be ranked among Murillo's best efforts in the style he

employed, when treating these celestial subjects, and which has been

called his vaporous manner. To speak correctly, two of his three manners

are employed in this picture, since the Saint is an instance of that

called his warm manner.

On the opposite or north side of the cathedral, in the first chapel

after passing the door of the Sagrario, is the San Antonio. This is

probably the greatest work of Murillo in the two styles just mentioned,

and certainly the most magnificent picture contained in the cathedral.

On the lower foreground is the Saint, in adoration before the Christ,

who appears in the centre, surrounded by the Heavenly Host.

No one but Murillo could ever have thus embodied his conception of a

supernatural vision. On sitting down before this canvass, from which, as

it extends across the whole chapel, no other object can draw off the

attention, you speedily yield to the irresistible power of abstraction,

and are lost in an ecstacy, nearly resembling that which the artist has

sought to represent in the countenance and attitude of his Saint. The

eye wanders in a sort of trance through the glorious assemblage of

Heaven. The whole scene looks real: but it is only on taking time to

study the details that you discover the prodigies of talent displayed in

the drawing and finishing of this picture. An angel, suspended in front

of the lower portion of the group, more especially attracts the

attention. One leg is extended towards the spectator, the foreshortening

of which is a marvel of execution.

Over the San Antonio, as it does not reach to the ceiling, there is a

smaller picture, representing the Baptism of Christ, also by Murillo. In

a chapel at the south-west angle of the church, there are several fine

paintings by Luis de Vargas, one of the founders of the school of

Seville.

In the choir, the collection of books for the chanting services is worth

seeing. Of these immense folios, enclosed in massive covers, bound with

a profusion of wrought metal mostly silver--may be counted upwards of a

hundred. They are filled with paintings, infinite in minuteness and

beauty. For the performances of the daily services and all duties,

ordinary and extraordinary, within this edifice, more than eight hundred

persons are employed. Five hundred masses are recited each day at the

different altars: all of which taking place during the early part of the

day, an idea may be formed of the business which goes on. Of the six or

seven organs, I have heard three playing at the same time in different

parts of the church; but so widely separated, as by no means to

interfere with each other's harmony. One of them was one of the two

great organs which face each other over the choir. These two play a duet

once a year, on the day of the Corpus. The effect they produce is not so

powerful as that produced at Toledo, but far more beautiful. At Toledo

the two which correspond to these, are assisted on that occasion by a

third, as powerful as both the others united, placed over the portal of

the south transept, at an elevation of about seventy feet from the

ground.

Among the ceremonies of the cathedral of Seville is one sufficiently

unique to be deserving of notice. _El baile de los seis_ (dance of the

six), is performed by eight youths--probably by six originally--every

evening during the feast of the Conception. It takes place in front of

the high-altar, on which her statue is placed on that occasion. The

service is one of especial solemnity; and, as such, accompanied,

unfortunately as on all such occasions, by an orchestra of violins, to

the exclusion of the organs. The singing commences at four o'clock in

the afternoon, in the choir, and continues until half-past six, when all

move in procession through the great railing, across the transept, and

ascend the flight of steps which lead to the Capilla Mayor. Here they

take their seats according to rank, on benches placed in rows from east

to west, fronting a space which is left open down the centre, in front

of the altar. The orchestra occupies a corner near the railing; and on

the two front benches are seated--four facing four--the eight youths,

dressed in the ancient Spanish costume, all sky blue silk and white

muslin, and holding each his hat, also light blue, with a flowing white

feather.

The chorus now recommences, but speedily drops; when the orchestra

sounds a beautiful air in the waltz measure. This is played once by the

instruments alone, and joined the second time by the voices of the eight

boys, or youths of the age of sixteen to eighteen; who, after having

accompanied a short time, start to their legs, and continue in the same

strain. At the next reprise they all, as if by word of command, place

their hats on their heads, and one or two minutes after, the chant still

continuing, advance, and meet in the centre, then return each to his

place; advance a second time, and turn round each other, using the waltz

step.

After singing and dancing for about a quarter of an hour, the voices are

exchanged for the sounds of castagnettes, which they have held all this

time in their hands, and the measure becomes more animated; and thus

they terminate the performance. The same ceremony is repeated each night

of the seven; only varying the air of the waltz, of which they have two.

This ceremony, now belonging exclusively to the cathedral of Seville,

was originally performed in some other cathedrals; but has been

gradually laid aside in all the others, having been found to occasion

irreverent behaviour among a portion of the spectators. It was

originally introduced among the observances in honour of the anniversary

of the Conception, as a natural manifestation of joy; and such a genuine

Spanish bolero would have been: but the slow time of the music, and the

measured movements, adopted for the purpose of suiting the performance

to the solemnity of the place, have changed the nature of the dance, and

deprived it of everything approaching to cheerfulness.

LETTER XX.

SPANISH BEGGARS. HAIRDRESSING. THE GIRALDA. CASA DE PILATOS.

MONASTERIES. ITALICA.

Seville.

Mendicity is one of the Curiosities--and not the least picturesque

one--of this antique country. There should be a Mendicity Society for

its preservation, together with other legacies of the middle ages. An

entertaining book might be filled with its annals and anecdotes.

Nowhere, I should think, can beggary be a more lucrative calling. The

convents having been the inexhaustible providence of these tribes, on

their suppression the well-born and bred Spaniards consider the charge

to have devolved upon them, in the absence of all possible legislation

on the subject: and few, especially of the fair sex, turn a deaf ear to

the mute eloquence of the open hand. Even a stranger, if possessed of an

ear, resists with difficulty the graceful appeal of the well trained

proficient: _Noble caballero, un ochavito por Dios._--A blind girl made

no request; but exclaimed--"Oh that the Virgin of Carmen may preserve

your sight!"

The mendicants are classified, and assume every form of external

humanity. Being in the coach-office near the Plaza del Duque, a tall

well-dressed man, dangling a dark kid glove, entered, and, walking up to

the book-keeper, after having carefully closed the door, made some

communication to him in a low voice. The other replied in a similar

tone, and they parted with mutual bows. I was puzzled on the man's

turning to me and observing that the beggars were very annoying in

Seville; but still certain my conjecture could not but be erroneous, I

said "you don't mean to say that your acquaintance"--"Oh, no

acquaintance; I never saw him before: he only came to beg."

This species of _cavallero_ pauper should by no means be encouraged; he

is not of the picturesque sort. Nowhere do the wretches look their

character better than at Seville; as all admirers of Murillo can

testify, without consulting any other nature than his canvass. But these

consider they confer a sort of obligation on the individual they

condescend to apply to. Nothing can exceed their astonishment and

indignation when refused. Their great highway is the superb polished

mosaic marble of the Cathedral; where they divide the authority with the

embroidered dignitaries of the choir. It is useless to hope for an

instant's leisure for the contemplation of this unique temple, until you

have disposed of its entire population of ragged despots.

A sort of chivalrous etiquette is observed, in virtue of which a female

chorus is the first to form your escort from pillar to pillar. These

dismissed, you are delivered over to the barefooted Murillos. There are

two modes of escape. The rich man should go in with his two hands filled

with coin, and distribute to all, even to many who will return for a

second contribution before he has done. But if economical, you may

attain the same end, and more permanently, by sacrificing four or five

days to walking up and down the nave, without looking at anything, but

simply undergoing the persecution of the mob. After the fourth visit you

will be left in peace.

These counsels I am competent to give you from dreadful experience; more

dreadful from my having pursued a middle course. To one barefooted and

rotten-scalped embryo brigand I only gave a two-_quarto_ piece

(halfpenny) about equal in real consequence to twopence in England. If

you have ever seen, in the era of mail coaches, the look of quiet

surprise on the countenance of the well-fed charioteer, who, having,

after the sixth or seventh stage, opened the door, and muttered from

behind his _cache-nez_ the usual "coachman, gen'lemen" received a

long-searched-for deprecatory sixpence from some careful knight with a

false shirt-collar--you have noticed the self-same look, which was

leisurely transferred by the urchin from the piece of copper in the open

palm to my face, and back to the piece of copper.

Instead, however, of restoring it to me, his indignation seemed to

inspire him with a sudden resolution. He rushed to a kneeling Señorita a

few paces distant, and interrupting her devotions by a pull at the side

of her mantilla, he showed the coin in the open hand, while with the

other he pointed to the culprit. If he meditated revenge, he should have

made another choice, instead of deranging a garment, from the folds of

which a real Andalucian mouth and pair of eyes, turning full on me,

aimed a smile which, I need not inform you, was not dear at two

_quartos_.

Could such a smile have been natural, and the expression of mere

curiosity, or was it intended for a death-wound, dealt for another's

vengeance? and did the velvet language of those eyes signify a horrible

"Pallas te hoc vulnere," in favour of the ragamuffin I had offended? At

all events, the incident lost him a more munificent remuneration, by

driving me from the spot, and expelling from my head, a project

previously formed, of inviting him to my _fonda_ to be sketched.

With regard to the oft and still recurring subject of Spanish beauty,

you are hereby warned against giving ear to what may be said by

tourists, who, by way of taking a new view of an old subject, simply

give the lie to their predecessors. It is true, that in the central

provinces, the genuine characteristic Moro-Iberian beauty is rare, and

that there is little of any other sort to replace it; but this is not

the case with Andalucia, where you may arrive fresh from the perusal of

the warm effusions of the most smitten of poets, and find the Houris of

real flesh and blood, by no means overrated.

One of their peculiar perfections extends to all parts of the Peninsula.

This is the hair; everywhere your eye lights upon some passing specimen

of these unrivalled masses of braided jet; at which not unfrequently

natives of the same sex turn with an exclamation--Que pelo tan hermoso!

I surprised the other day a village matron, whose toilette, it being a

holiday afternoon, was in progress in no more secluded a _tocador_ than

the middle of the road. The rustic lady's-maid (whether the practice be

more or less fashionable I know not) had placed on a stool, within reach

of her right hand as she stood behind her seated mistress, a jug of

fresh water. This did she lift, just as I approached, up to her mouth,

into which she received as large a portion of its contents as could be

there accommodated; while with her left hand she grasped the extremity

of a mass of silken hair, black as the raven's wing, and an ell in

length. Both hands now, stroking down the mass, spread it out so as to

present a horizontal surface of as large an extent as possible, when,

suddenly, from the inflated cheeks of the abigail, re-issued with a loud

sound the now tepid liquid, and bathed the entire surface, which it

seemed to render, if possible, still more glossy than before. The rest

of the duty of the hands appeared to consist in repeatedly separating

and replacing the handfuls, until the same proceeding was reacted.

The entrance to the Giralda is outside the cathedral. Before we make the

ascent, we will walk to the extremity of the Moorish enclosure of the

orange-court, along the raised pavement which surrounds the whole. At

the angle there is an antique shaft of granite, higher than the rest of

those placed at equal distances along the edge of the pavement. From

that point the proportions of the tower are seen to advantage, while you

are at the same time sufficiently near to observe the details of the

carving, and of the windows, with their delicately formed columns of

rare marbles; and to lose in a great measure the effect of the

subsequent additions, which surmount and disfigure the work of Geber.

The Arabian part of the building is a square of about forty-five feet,

and measures in elevation four times its width. The ornaments are not

exactly alike on all the four sides. On the north side (our present

view) the tracery commences at a height of eighty feet, up to which

point the wall of brick is perfectly plain and smooth, with only the

interruption of two windows, placed one above the other in the centre.

The ornament, from its commencement to the summit, is divided into two

lofty stories, surmounted by a third, of half the height of one of the

others. The two first are divided vertically into three parts by narrow

stripes of the plain wall. The centre portions contain two windows in

each story, one over the other, making, with the two in the lower

portion, six altogether, which are at equal distances from each other.

The form of these windows is varied, and in all uncommonly elegant; some

are double, with a marble column supporting their two arches, and all

are ornamented round the arches with beautiful tracery, and furnished

with marble balconies. At one of the balconies, the Muezzin, in

Mahometan times was accustomed to present himself at each of the hours

appointed for prayer, and to pronounce the sentences ordained by that

religion for calling the people. The half-story at the summit is

ornamented with a row of arches, supported by pilasters.

On the top of the tower were seen originally, four gilded balls of

different sizes, one over the other, diminishing upwards; the iron bar

on which they were fixed, was struck by lightning, and gave way, leaving

the balls to roll over; since which period they were never restored to

their place.

The additional buildings were not erected until the seventeenth century.

They are not in themselves inelegant, with the exception of the portion

immediately rising from the old tower, and containing the bells. This

portion is of the same width as the tower, and appears to weigh it down

with its heavy effect; on the summit of the whole, at about three

hundred feet from the ground, is a colossal statue of bronze,

representing Faith, holding in one hand a shield, and in the other an

olive-branch. By means of the shield, the statue obeys the movements of

the wind, and thus gives the name of Giralda (weather-cock) to the

tower.

An interior tower, rather more than twenty feet square, runs up the

whole height of the Moorish portion of the building; between which and

the external walls an easy ascent is contrived on an inclined plane. The

necessity of introducing light throughout the ascent accounts for the

different elevation of the windows and ornaments of the different sides;

but the architect has so managed this difficulty, that no bad effect is

produced in the external view. At the lower part of the tower the ascent

is sufficiently wide to admit of the passage of two men on horseback

abreast; but it becomes narrower as it approaches the summit. Queen

Christina is said to have been drawn up in a small carriage. The walls,

both of the inner and outer tower, increase in thickness as they rise,

and as the ascending plane decreases in width: a plan which appears

opposed to the principle usually adopted by modern architects.

It is known that Geber was the architect of the Giralda, but no

certainty exists respecting its date. The Spanish antiquarian Don

Rodrigo Caro supposes it to have been erected during the reign of

Benabet Almucamus, King of Seville, shortly before the appearance in

Spain of the Almoravides; but this is no more than a conjecture, founded

on the supposed wealth of that King, who possessed larger states than

his successors, and who paid no tribute to the sovereigns of Castile.

Immediately over the highest story of the Moorish tower is the belfry.

The bells are suspended on the centre of revolving beams, which traverse

the open arches of the four faces of the tower. They are consequently in

full view, as they throw their somersets and send forth their lively

clatter on a _dia de fiesta_.

Their effect is very original, and as unlike as possible to the

monotonous and melancholy cadence of an English peal. None of them are

deep-toned nor solemn, but all high and sharp: so that being let loose

in merry disorder, and without tune, they somehow appear to harmonize

with the brilliant skies, just as the descending ding-dong in England

suits the gloom of the northern heavens. Leave Seville, and never shall

their tones steal on your memory without your being transported into a

blaze of bright sunshine.

In Spain the houses of the grandees are not called palaces, as those of

the same rank in Italy are usually termed. There is not even an

intermediate term, such as mansion,--still less the hall--abbey, or

castle. They have the last, but only applied in cases in which it is

correctly and legitimately applicable. The Arab expression _alcazar_,

composed of the article _al_ and _cazar_, is so like the Spanish _la

casa_ (the house), that, not having at hand a professor of Arabic to

consult, I will risk the assertion that it bore the same meaning;

notwithstanding the opinion of several French writers who translate it

_château_. Chenier, author of the history of Morocco, derives it from

the word Caissar, which he considers synonymous with Cæsar: but this

derivation appears to admit of much doubt, as the word would signify the

Emperor, instead of his residence. Supposing it to signify the house, it

must no doubt have meant the principal, or royal house. At present the

two words are admitted into the Spanish language as one, which is

applied indiscriminately to royal town-residences, whether castles or

not, as well as the term _palacio_. But a private residence of whatever

extent is modestly termed a house.

In this instance, as in many others, the proud contempt of high-sounding

phraseology is common to Spain and England, where some of the most

palace-like habitations are called Wentworth House, Hatfield House,

Burleigh House: the very porters' lodges being sometimes such edifices

as would claim the title of _château_ in some other countries. But this

same haughty modesty is rather individual than collective, and does not

prevail as applied to towns and cities. In public acts and addresses,

and even in the most homely precautionary warnings placarded at the

corners of streets or promenades, the form used is,--"The constitutional

Alcalde of this heroic and very invincible town of Madrid, or Seville,

forbids, or orders, &c.;" and still more splendid epithets are found for

the nation in general.

I don't know whether it has occurred to you that this progressive

dereliction of consistency is universal in human nature, although it

assumes a variety of forms. In the present instance modesty commences at

home, as they say charity should.

By the way, if charity should commence at home, together with the other

affections of the heart, such as patriotism, then did the first Brutus

make a mistake. If, on the contrary, his merit was great in sacrificing

his son to his nation, it follows, that, in causing his entire nation to

be butchered the first time they were guilty of any encroachment on the

rights of the rest of the world, his glory would have increased in the

ratio of one to some millions.

He either acted on a principle of justice, or preferred the applause of

his compatriots to the affection of his son. If, therefore, an

opportunity was ever afforded him of doing the world the above-mentioned

act of justice at the expense of his countrymen, and he abstained from

it,--it being impossible to suppose a Roman republican capable of a

dereliction of principle--it is clear that he preferred the applause of

his nation to that of the rest of the world; and all becomes a question

of taste. But what, you exclaim, has the first or any other Brutus to do

with Pilate's house, the description of which is preceded by this long

introduction? And was not his murder of his son benevolence itself,

compared to the infliction of these digressions on your patience?

The Casa de Palatos is a palace belonging to the Duke of Medina Coeli.

One of his ancestors is said to have built it in exact imitation of

Pontius Pilate's palace in Jerusalem, and to have obtained possession of

a large quantity of the ornaments and portable furniture belonging to

the ancient building, which, on the completion of his edifice at

Seville, he established, each object in the place corresponding to that

which it originally occupied.

A lofty wall, filling the side of the small square, called the Plaza de

Pilatos, and surmounted by a balustrade, forms the outer enclosure of

the palace. You enter through a large plain arched doorway, and pass

through a court, containing the porter's house, and other out-buildings

devoid of ornament. A small door on the left leads from this enclosure

to the principal court. Here you might imagine yourself still in the

Alcazar. The ornament is in the same style; only the arcades are

inferior in lightness and beauty. It contains, however, a fountain very

superior to that of the principal court of the Alcazar.

At the four angles are colossal statues of white marble, representing

deities of the Grecian mythology. They are antique, and of Roman origin.

Under the arcades a series of busts of the Roman emperors, are placed

round the walls; the greater part of them are also antique. On one side

of this court is the chapel, very small, and entirely covered with

Arabesque ornament. At one side is placed erect against the wall a black

cross, said to be a facsimile imitation of that actually carried by our

Saviour, which occupied a similar situation in the palace at Jerusalem.

Its length is about seven feet, and the thickness of the wood about four

inches by two. Opposite to the cross is a Madonna by Raffaelle. As no

light enters the chapel, excepting through a small door, and that placed

under the arcades, and the picture is hung at a considerable height, it

can only be examined by the aid of a ladder, which is kept near it, and

then only very imperfectly. At the time the chapel was habitually used,

it probably contained candles always burning.

The great staircase is very ornamental and leads to several handsome

suites of rooms. There is a colonnade on one side of the garden, under

which lies a valuable collection of antique busts, columns, capitals,

and fragments of all sorts, "in most admired disorder." The proprietor

never visits this residence, and every part of it is in a very neglected

state.

Seville lays claim to no less a founder than Hercules. A magnificent

temple dedicated to him is said to have existed on the spot at present

occupied by the parish church of San Nicholas. Near it a statue of the

demigod has been discovered, together with six columns, four of which

are sunk so deeply in the earth that they cannot be brought to light.

The other two are placed on lofty pedestals, and adorn the largest of

the promenades of Seville, that called the Alameda. One of them is

surmounted by the statue mentioned above, and the other by one of Julius

Cæsar. Venus is also stated to have shared with Hercules the devotions

of the Sevillanos. The existence of her worship in ancient times is

placed beyond a doubt by the well authenticated martyrdom of Saints

Justa and Rufina, condemned for refusing to do honour to the rites of

that goddess, and to figure in her processions.

These two martyrs to the Christian faith have pursued, on various

subsequent occasions, a conduct calculated to afford a degree of

advantage to an adversary, should he presume to accuse them of renegade

propensities. They have manifested themselves determined protectors of

the Arab tower, on every occasion of its being threatened with danger.

Numerous instances are on record; the most remarkable of which, is one

that has given rise to much controversy, and employed in more recent

times the researches of learned men. The tradition states, that, during

an earthquake, which took place in the year 1504, and of which a vivid

description may be found at the end of a book, called the Regla Vieja,

which exists in the archives of the cathedral--the two virgins were seen

to support the tower and prevent it from falling, surrounding it with

their arms, one on each side. It is also related that, on the occasion

of a previous earthquake, that of the year 1396, voices were heard in

the air, articulated by demons, crying, "Throw it down, throw it down;"

and that others replied, "No, we cannot, for those villanous saints,

Justa and Rufina, are guarding it." For these reasons it is usual, in

paintings representing the Giralda, to place the figures of the two

virgin Saints supporting it, one on either side; and a small model thus

supported by images of the two martyrs, executed in wood, is carried in

the principal religious processions. In all these representations, the

figures stand rather taller than the tower.

The hospital of La Caridad is one of the principal attractions to

strangers at Seville; for in its chapel is contained the picture, which

passes for the master-piece of Murillo. The chapel is narrow and lofty,

and the picture placed as near as possible to the ceiling. A sight of it

can only be obtained at an angle of about twenty degrees. But the aching

of the neck is unheeded during the examination of this superb picture.

It is called Las Aguas, the Waters. Moses has just struck the rock, and

stands in a simple and dignified attitude. In the complete contentment

of his countenance there may be traced a mingled expression of pity and

gratitude, as he looks on the scene which follows his action. The artist

has given proof of consummate talent in the choice and treatment of his

subject; which afforded him a variety of grouping, of expression, and of

attitude, of which few were capable of taking better advantage.

This picture is a specimen of his natural style, and its success is

considered, and I think justly, superior to that of any other of his

works. The imitation of material nature is here carried to as great

perfection as in many of his paintings; while at the same time nothing

can surpass the poetry of the composition, nor the exquisitely

harmonious grouping of the men and animals. In this last quality,

Murillo is certainly unequalled. He seems also in this instance, to have

reached the utmost limits of art in the expression of the countenances,

throughout the different groups, whether employed in offering silent

thanksgivings, or entirely absorbed in the eager effort to obtain for

their parched lips a draught of the bright liquid. In the feeling

displayed in these instances, and so well represented, there is, it is

true, nothing elevated, but still it is feeling; and its materiality is

amply made amends for, by the chief personage of the scene, in whose

countenance nothing but the sublime can be traced.

Had Murillo not painted this picture and the Saint Elizabeth of Hungary,

Spanish art must have contented itself with the second rank, and Raphael

would have continued without a rival. These pictures occasion regret

that such genius should have employed itself during a long period, on

works of a different sort. The San Antonio and a few others, were no

doubt productions worthy of the painter of the Aguas, and a hundred or

two others are magnificent paintings; but the time employed on some of

these, and on a still greater number of less prominent merit, would have

been more profitably devoted to the production of two or three which

might have ranked with these giant creations of his talent.

In viewing either of these compositions, the other speedily becomes

present to the imagination, and forces you to draw a comparison between

them. They have a sort of affinity in their subject as well as in their

style. The sufferers of the St. Elizabeth, occupied with their torments

and their gratitude, answer to those of the Aguas, engrossed also with

almost parallel feelings. The Moses, tranquil and erect in the midst of

the action which surrounds him, is the exact pendant of the majestic

figure and compassionate countenance of the youthful princess,

exercising her saintly charities. These pictures ought to be companions

in the same gallery, were it possible for two such works to find their

way into one and the same apartment. But that would be a consummation as

hopeless as finding St. Peter's and the Duomo of Milan in the same town;

Naples and Seville in one province, a London and a Paris in one country,

an Ariosto and a Byron in the same language. It has more than once

occurred to me, since I have seen these two pictures, that were

Raphael's Spasimo and Transfiguration placed on one side of a room, and

these two on the other, and the choice offered me which pair I would

possess, I should never be able to come to a decision.

Another large picture by Murillo, the multiplying of the Loaves in the

Desert, is suspended opposite the Aguas, and at the same elevation. On

attempting to examine it, you are forcibly reminded by certain acute

sensations in the region of the neck, of the unnatural position it has

so long maintained, and you leave this picture, together with two

others, placed near the entrance of the chapel, for a subsequent visit.

In the church of the Faubourg Triana, on the right hand after passing

the bridge, are some excellent pictures, particularly a Conception by

Murillo. The multitude of paintings left by this artist is incredible,

when to all those scattered through Spain, France, and England, are

added those preserved in this his native town. Almost all the good

houses in Seville contain collections of pictures; and all the

collections have their Murillos. There are no fewer than sixteen in the

gallery of the Canon, Don Manuel Cepero; but this is the largest of the

private collections, and the best, as it ought to be, since it is

contained in Murillo's house. It is the residence occupied by him during

the latter part of his life, and in which he died. Its dimensions and

distribution are handsome. At the back of it there is a garden of

limited extent, but in which not an inch of space is thrown away. Where

there remains no room for choice flowers and orange trees, the walls are

painted to prolong the illusion. The Canon possesses also several good

paintings by Italian masters. I counted likewise four Rembrandts, and

two of Rubens. Among the other private collections, that of the Alcalde

Don Pedro Garcia is one of the richest; it contains a Santa Barbara of

Cano, an exquisite picture. A Saint Joseph by Murillo, in the collection

of the French Consul (a native of Seville) is admirable.

In most of the churches there is sufficient of this sort of attraction

to make them worth a visit. In the convents nothing is left; in fact

they no longer exist as convents. There may be one or two remaining in

Seville, but I did not hear of them. The monastery of Jeronimites, and

the Chartreuse--both situated in the environs--were the most

considerable religious establishments of Seville. They are converted,

one into a school, and the other into a porcelain manufactory. This

last, the Chartreuse, contains in its church and refectory, plentiful

traces of its former magnificence. An Englishman has purchased the

monastery with three or four acres of ground, containing the immediate

dependencies; and he is occupied with the labours which necessarily

precede its appearance in its new character, replacing the butteries,

kitchens, storehouses, and cells, by rows of pudding-shaped

baking-houses.

He has, however, spared the chapel, which is to continue in its former

state. All the stalls, the altar, and other immoveable furniture, remain

as he found them. The pictures and statues had of course been

previously removed. The woodwork is inimitable--the best I have seen in

Spain; it would be impossible in painting to represent with more

delicacy, the very texture of the drapery, the very veins of the hands,

and hair of the beards--of figures of a quarter the natural dimensions.

You are filled with astonishment, that the infinite patience necessary

for this mechanical labour should have accompanied the genius which

conceived and executed the incomparable figures and heads. The

refectory, of which the ceiling is the principal ornament, is to be the

great show-room for the display of the china. The fortunate manufacturer

inhabits, with his family, the prior's residence--one of the most

elegant habitations in the world: surrounding a court, which contains of

course its white marble fountain and colonnades: and he is in treaty for

the purchase of the orange-grove, the park of the monastery. This

pleasure-ground is ornamented here and there with Kiosks, from which are

obtained views of Seville, and the intervening Guadalquivir.

On the confiscation of this monastery, several magnificent pictures

disappeared, a few of which have since been placed in the cathedral. Two

alabaster monuments, belonging to the family of Medina Cæli, were also

removed; they are placed in a church at present under repair. They are

erect, and fit into the wall; measuring about forty feet in height.

Their upper portion is adorned with several well-executed small statues.

The other convent--that dedicated to S. Geronimo, is situated on the

opposite side of the river, about a mile higher up. It is not so

beautiful as the Cartuja, but on a grander scale. The principal court is

magnificent; it is surrounded with upper and lower arcades, respectively

of the Ionic and Doric orders: the apartments and church are of

corresponding extent; but have either been deprived of their ornaments,

or were originally but sparingly decorated. A ci-devant governor of

Seville--a general officer, very distinguished as a linguist, has turned

schoolmaster, and taken up his abode here. The day of my visit happened

to be the general's birthday, and a scene of much festivity presented

itself. The schoolmaster's successor in his former post at Seville, had

arrived, attended by the band of a cavalry regiment; and the great court

having been converted into a ball-room, the marble arcades were made to

ring with the thrilling cadences of the hautbois and clarionette--by way

of a fitting afterpiece to the tragic chants of former days.

The relatives and friends of the students were present, so that the

youthful dancers were well-provided with partners. The performances were

French quadrilles, English hornpipes, German waltzes, Russian mazurkas,

and Spanish fandangos. I had arrived too late for the first part of the

entertainment, which consisted of a bull-fight, for which a temporary

arena had been enclosed. The bulls were what are called _novillos_--that

is, scarcely more than calves; as the full-grown animals would have been

more than a match for their juvenile antagonists.

The ruins of the Roman city of Italica, to which I have already alluded,

are situated four miles from Seville in ascending the river--and on the

opposite bank. The whole town is underground, with the exception of a

few houses in the part in which excavations have been made, and of the

amphitheatre which occupies an eminence. No notice was taken in modern

times of the existence of this buried town, until towards the end of the

last century, when the remains of the amphitheatre, the only portion of

the ruins which were visible, drew the attention of travellers: and the

authorities of Seville received orders to commence excavating. The

search yielded a large quantity of valuable remains; a temple was

discovered, in the neighbourhood of which were found several statues and

capitals of columns. A choice was made of the objects in the best state

of preservation, which were forwarded to Madrid in order to form a

museum. Large quantities of coins were also sent, and collections of

household utensils, and ornaments. The Arabs, who did not consider these

Roman relics worthy objects of antiquarian research, nevertheless had

either discovered and laid open a large portion of the town, or were

themselves its destroyers. From it they extracted the large quantities

of marble columns and slabs with which Seville is filled. The mutilated

statues, together with several funereal monuments, found in later times,

and not considered deserving of the journey to Madrid, have been

deposited in a large room in the Alcazar of Seville, where they are now

exhibited.

No record exists of the foundation of Italica. Its annals are traced to

the time of Scipio Africanus, who, on the completion of his conquest of

Spain, and the final expulsion of the Carthaginians, finding himself

embarrassed by the number of wounded and sick among his troops,

established them in this town under the protection of a garrison. He

gave to the town its name of Italica,[12] its previous name being

Sancius: the real situation of Italica has been the subject of much

controversy. Like the Grecian cities, which claimed each to be the

birthplace of Homer, several of the towns in the neighbourhood of

Seville are candidates for the honour of being representatives of the

ancient Italica; but ample proof exists of the identity of these ruins

with that city.[13] The Historia general, written by Alonso el Sabio,

book 1., chap, XV., speaks of Italica as a place of much importance in

ancient times, in allusion to the invasion of a people called the

Almunizes. He adds, in the antiquated Spanish of his time, "Las nuevas

fueron por todas las tierras de como aquellas gentes avian ganado a

España, e todos los de las islas quel oyeron crecieron les corazones por

fazer otro tal, e ayuntaron muy grandes navios, e vinieronse para

España, e entraron por cuatro partes. Los que entraron por Cadiz

vinieron Guadalquibir arriba, e llegaron a Italica e los de la villa

salieron e lidiaron con ellos, e los de fuera entraron con ellos de

vuelta por medio de la villa, e mataron los a todos, e ganaron la

villa." It is not clear what invasion is here alluded to.

The town of Italica was one of the six or seven in these provinces which

possessed the title of _municipia_; a superior one to that of _colonia_,

from its involving the privilege of retaining its ancient laws and

customs, while on the colonies those of Rome were imposed. It was among

the cities which sheltered some of the earliest converts to

Christianity. Its first bishop was the martyr Saint Geruncio, put to

death in prison. The prison, being considered sanctified, from its

containing the saint's remains, became subsequently the resort of pious

votaries from all parts of the province. In the Mozarabic ritual there

is a hymn for the day of this saint, one of the stanzas of which fixes

the epoque of his life and martyrdom, at that of the apostles.[14]

The centurion Cornelius, mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles, as

converted by the preaching of St. Peter, was, it is said, a native of

this city, and commanded a cohort raised in his native place.

The date of the destruction of Italica, is as uncertain as that of its

origin. The fact of its existence during almost the entire period of the

Gothic dominion, is established, by the presence of its bishops being

recorded at the different councils. It is conjectured that its

destruction was the work of the Arabs, who were no sooner in possession

of Seville, than they considered it imprudent to allow so large a town

to be in the hands of enemies in their immediate neighbourhood. This

supposition of Spanish antiquaries seems hazarded without sufficient

reflection; since, in the first place, had the occupants of Italica

occasioned the Arabs any uneasiness, nothing was easier than to occupy

the place themselves; and secondly, the ruins bear strong symptoms of

having been reduced to their present state by some convulsion of nature,

rather than by human agency: not to mention the coins discovered in

large quantities, which would not have been neglected by human

destroyers. It is not likely that the destruction of so considerable a

place by the conquerors of the province, at the time they were too few

to defend it, would have been overlooked by their historians--who make

no allusion to the event.

The present appearance is that of a green undulating hill, which no one

would imagine to be composed of the remains of streets, palaces,

temples, and market-places. The upper portion only of the amphitheatre

remains above-ground. Its form is slightly oval, nearly approaching to a

circle. The greatest diameter is three hundred and twenty-five feet. It

has twenty rows of seats, half of which are buried; each seat is two

feet and a half in depth, and two in height. Part of the Podium remains;

and enough of the entrance, to distinguish that it consisted of three

large arches. It was constructed with Roman solidity. Nothing less than

an earthquake could have toppled over the masses of masonry, which

appear in their confusion like solid rocks. A very small portion of the

ruins has been explored: and part of that, for want of being

sufficiently cleared out, is again buried in earth, and the work is

discontinued. The objects now above-ground, consist of five or six

tessalated floors, two of which have been considered of sufficient value

to be walled in, and locked up, but without being roofed.

These ruins are well worth a visit, although the road to them from

Seville, bears terrible symptoms of having been constructed before

Macadam's day; perhaps even before that of the Scipios.

At the distance of a few hundred yards from the nearest portion of the

ruined town is situated the village of Santi-ponce, in which is the

convent of S. Isidoro, of the order of St. Jerome. The church contains

the tombs of Don Alonzo Perez de Guzman, surnamed the Good, and of his

wife Doña Maria Alonzo Coronel, founders of the ducal house of Medina

Sidonia. This family obtained from Ferdinand the Fourth, a grant of

Santi-ponce and old Seville (Italica), with the district, and temporal

and spiritual jurisdiction. Don Sancho had already rewarded the services

and tried fidelity of Perez de Guzman by presenting him with the town of

Medina Sidonia. An anecdote is told of him worthy of a Roman republican.

Being governor of Tarifa under Sancho the Fourth, he had to defend the

town against the Infant, Don Juan, who had revolted against his brother.

This prince, learning that a child of Guzman was in his power, being at

nurse in the environs of the town, sent for it; and, presenting himself

before the walls, declared to the governor that he would kill the child,

if the town were not immediately surrendered. Guzman replied by drawing

his sword, and throwing it down to the prince, who had the barbarity to

order the infant to be murdered before his father's eyes.

LETTER XXI.

PRIVATE HOUSES, AND LOCAL CUSTOMS IN SEVILLE.

Seville.

The greater number of private houses are situated in an interminable

labyrinth of winding streets, between the Calle de la Sierpe, and Plaza

de San Francisco and the city wall, which connects the Aqueduct of

Carmona with the Alcazar. It is the South-eastern half of the city. To

the west of the Calle de la Sierpe there are also a few streets

containing private residences, but they are not in so large a

proportion. Some of the most elegant are, however, on this side; which

being less Moorish and more modern, is less chary of its attractions,

and allows a part of its decoration to enliven the external façades;

while its spacious doorways frequently open to the view of the passer-by

a gay perspective of gardens and courts.

The sunny balcony, crowded with a crimson forest of cactuses, is not

more attractive to the sight, than the more mysterious vista beneath

it, of retreating colonnades, mingled with orange and pomegranate trees,

through which the murmur of the fountain is scarcely audible. Few cities

present more charms to the wanderer than one in which the houses offer a

combination so luxurious as is met with in the greater number of those

of Seville. The cool summer rooms opening into the court, in which the

drawing-room furniture is arranged on all sides of a fountain,

plentifully supplied from the aqueduct of Carmona: and, on the upper

floor, the winter apartments, chosen from their being better lighted,

for the deposit of a collection of pictures and these almost always

excellent,--and opening to the gallery; to which, during this season,

the furniture having been removed from below, is placed, together with

the work frames and portable musical instruments, on the side exposed to

the sun. One sees these houses and their amiable and happy-looking

inhabitants, and imagines there is no life to be compared to it. Yet the

experiment may be made, and fail to answer the expectations of the

stranger, who, confident in his discovery of the road to happiness, may

have pitched his tent in the midst of these bewitching regions.

Can it be fatality--or is it essential in human nature, to find ever the

least felicity there, where it looks for the greatest? The experiment,

I say, was made. An Englishman, possessing every advantage of taste,

talent, and wealth, took up his residence here, resolved to devote the

remainder of his days to the peaceable enjoyments of a literary and

social life. Thanks to his literary propensities, we are enabled to

judge of the result of the trial. In a book published by the person to

whom I allude, we find that no one could be less satisfied with his lot.

Seville and the Sevillanos meet with no mercy at his hands, and must, if

we may judge by his dislike of them, have rendered his life a burden.

This, however, is a single example, and insufficient to deter others

from the attempt. It may be that this individual had not entered fully

into the spirit of Andalucian existence. Every detail of life being here

adapted to the place and its customs and climate, no custom can be erred

against with impunity--that is, without the forfeit of some

corresponding advantage.

Seville presents two so different aspects during the two opposite

seasons of the year, that to be well understood it should be visited at

both. During the winter, the existence does not materially differ from

that of the inhabitants of most other European towns; excepting that the

intercourse of society is subjected to less formality. Cards of

invitation are rarely made use of; and you are not, consequently,

exposed to the annoyance of seeing and hearing your house invaded by a

dense crowd, on a night you have appointed a month before, without any

possibility of foreseeing whether you would be disposed or not on that

particular night to undergo such a toil. These crowds are, I believe,

unheard of in Seville; but those who are pleased in each other's

society, know where to find each other; and without waiting for

invitations, small circles are formed every evening, from which all

crushing, fatigue, and intense dressing are excluded.

The winter is also a more advantageous season for the stranger, who

would be totally debarred by the summer heats from the activity

necessary for the satisfaction of his curiosity, in visiting the objects

of interest contained in and around Seville. On the other hand, the

summer season offers to his contemplation the successful attainment of a

mode of existence suited to the burning climate; a problem found to be

solved but in few instances. The first and most essential arrangement

appears to be the turning night into day, and _vice versâ_, as far as

regards society and all locomotion. No one leaves his house until long

after sunset, and visiting commences some hours later. The morning being

consequently the time for repose, and the breakfast hour nevertheless

remaining the same all the year round, the _siesta_ is very essential,

and is judiciously placed between the dinner, which terminates at four,

and the hour for movement--nine, when the Sevillano, refreshed by three

or four hours sleep, and a fresh toilette, is infinitely better disposed

for the evening's amusements than the denizen of more northern climes,

who rises at that or a later hour from the chief repast of the day, and

is put _en train_ by the less natural and less durable stimulants of the

table.

This mode of life presents other numerous advantages. A very prominent

one is the inviolable division of time between society and solitude. We

suppose the hour for rising eight,--immediately after the

chocolate,--that of breakfast eleven. The intervening hours are

solitary, and are frequently divided between the pillow and the

toilette; while they are sometimes devoted to more useful occupations,

and added to by earlier risers. From the family meeting at breakfast

until the dinner hour, three, the time may be employed in business,

reading, in fact, in every one's habitual pursuits. No intrusion is to

be feared. No accursed idler lounges in to interrupt with his

compliments, or gossip, your letter to your lawyer, or, if you are a

lawyer yourself, that to your client; nor is the conscience of

scrupulous porters burdened with the mendacious "not at home."

These hours are sacred, and guaranteed by the very air, which renders

the streets impassable, but leaves the cool court protected from the

sun's ray by the _toldo_, (canvas awning spread at a level with the

roof, and which is reefed up at night like a sail,) and refreshed by its

ever-murmuring fountain and cool marble pavement, to the peaceable

enjoyment of its owners. The female portion of the family are thus

enabled to devote themselves to household occupations, or to their

favourite employments, without having to undergo, until the second

getting up in the evening, the fever of a complete toilette, which

would, during the day, be insupportable. The time thus devoted to

society, is amply sufficient; as it may be prolonged, as each party

feels inclined, from an hour or two after sunset, until the returning

rays drive all back to their cool retreat.

The night of the festival of St. John is, in Seville, sacred, from

remote time, to amusement and festivity. During the five or six hours of

darkness accorded by the Midsummer sun, the banks of the Guadalquivir

echo the gay melodious laugh, which enlivens the animated buzz of the

crowd; and the morning ray gilds the upper windows of the deserted

houses before their doors are opened to the supper-craving population.

The rite practised on this occasion is marked by a simplicity

altogether antique. The youth of Seville, that is the masculine

portion, have provided themselves with small boxes, containing a sort of

sugar-plum of exquisite flavour. One of these is held between the finger

and thumb of the _cavallero_, from the moment he sets foot on the

promenade. On the approach of a party of ladies he endeavours to

distinguish, as far off as the gloom permits, the features or dress of

an already selected object of preference; or, if still free to make a

selection, some countenance possessed of sufficient attraction to

determine his choice. On discovering the owner of either of these

requisites, he watches a favourable opportunity, and approaching the

lady, offers the bonbon.

The _señorita_--of course unmarried--thus selected, is obliged to accept

the compliment if properly offered, as well as the arm of the

_cavallero_ during the rest of the night; and, on arriving at her house,

he receives from her parents, or chaperon, as the case may be, an

invitation to supper. Should the lady be desirous of avoiding the

compliment, of the approach of which she is usually aware, she must

exercise her ingenuity in putting obstacles in the way of the attempt.

In this effort many are successful, since the peculiar mode of

proceeding, obligatory on those who make the offer, affords certain

facilities. The condition is not binding on the fair object of the

compliment, unless the lips receive the bonbon immediately from the

finger and thumb of the cavalier. This is a source of no small amusement

to the _señoritas_ at the expense of strangers from other provinces of

Spain. Conscious of being the object of preference of some young

beginner, or stranger uninitiated in the mysteries of the rite--and who,

let it be understood, does not happen to be an object of preference with

them--they will afford him every facility of approach, and on receiving

the present in the hand, will repulse without mercy the luckless wight,

whose retiring steps are accompanied by peals of laughter from all the

party.

The month of June is likewise distinguished by the procession of the

Corpus Christi. On this occasion all the principal streets are protected

from the sun by canvas awnings; and from the windows of every house

draperies are suspended, the materials of which are more or less rich

according to the means of their respective proprietors. From an early

hour of the morning, ushered in by sunshine and the gay orchestra of the

Giralda bells, the vast marble pavement of the cathedral begins to

disappear beneath the momentarily increasing crowd. Here all classes are

mingled; but the most conspicuous are the arrivals from the surrounding

villages, distinguished by their more sunburnt complexions and the showy

colours of their costume, contrasted with the uniformly dark tints of

the attire of the Sevillanos.

Here are seen also in great numbers, accompanied by their relatives, the

gay _cigarreras_, whose acquaintance we shall presently make in the

_fabrica de tabaco_. The instinctive coquetry discernible, no less in

the studied reserve of their looks than in the smart step and faultless

nicety of costume, indicates how easy would be the transition to the

quality of the still more _piquant_ but somewhat less moral _maja_. The

black satin, low-quartered shoe is of a different material; but the

snow-white stocking, and dark green skirt the same--and the black-velvet

bordered mantilla is the identical one, which was held tight to the

chin, when passing, the evening before, under the city walls on the

return from the manufactory to the faubourg at the other extremity of

Seville.

The procession, headed by a band of music, and accompanied by the

dignitaries of the diocese, and civil authorities of the province,

bearing _cierges_, winds through the principal streets, and re-enters

the church to the sound of the two magnificent organs, never heard in

unison except on this anniversary. The exterior of the principal portal

is ornamented on this occasion with a sort of curtain, which is said to

contain upwards of three thousand yards of crimson velvet, bordered with

gold lace. The columns of the centre nave are also completely attired

from top to bottom with coverings of the same material. The value of the

velvet employed, is stated at nearly ten thousand pounds.

Christmas-day is also solemnized at Seville, with much zeal; but the

manner of doing it honour presents more of novelty than splendour. At

the early hour of seven the parish churches are completely filled. The

organ pours forth, from that time until the termination of the service,

an uninterrupted succession of airs, called _seguidillas_, from the

dance to which they are adapted. On the gallery, which adjoins the

organ-loft of each church, are established five or six muscular youths,

selected for their untiring activity. They are provided each with a

tambourine, and their duty consists in drawing from it as much, and as

varied sound as it will render without coming to pieces. With this view

they enter upon the amiable contest, and try, during three or four

hours, which of their number, employing hands, knees, feet, and elbows

in succession, can produce the most racking intonations. On the pavement

immediately below, there is generally a group, composed of the friends

of the performers, as may be discerned from the smiles of intelligence

directed upwards and downwards. Some of these appear, from the animated

signs of approbation and encouragement, with which they reward each more

than usually violent concussion, to be backers of favourite heroes.

During all this time one or two priests are engaged before the altar in

the performance of a series of noiseless ceremonies; and the pavement of

the body of the church is pressed by the knees of a dense crowd of

devotees.

The propensity to robbery and assassination, attributed by several

tourists to the population of this country, has been much exaggerated.

The imagination of the stranger is usually so worked upon by these

accounts, as to induce him never to set foot outside the walls of

whatever city he inhabits, without being well armed. As far as regards

the environs of Seville, this precaution is superfluous. They may be

traversed in all directions, at all events within walking distance, or

to the extent of a moderate ride, without risk. Far from exercising

violence, the peasants never fail, in passing, to greet the stranger

with a respectful salutation. But I cannot be guarantee for other towns

or environs which I have not visited. It is certain that equal security

does not exist nearer the coast, on the frequented roads which

communicate between San Lucar, Xeres, and Cadiz; nor in the opposite

direction, throughout the mountain passes of the Sierra Morena. But this

state of things is far from being universal.

I would much prefer passing a night on a country road in the

neighbourhood of Seville, to threading the maze of streets, which form

the south-eastern portion of the town, mentioned above as containing the

greater number of the residences of private families. This quarter is

not without its perils. In fact, if dark deeds are practised, no

situation could possibly be better suited to them. These Arab streets

wind, and twist, and turn back on themselves like a serpent in pain.

Every ten yards presents a hiding-place. There is just sufficient

lighting up at night to prevent your distinguishing whether the street

is clear or not: and the ground-floors of the houses, in the winter

season, are universally deserted.

An effectual warning was afforded me, almost immediately on my arrival

at Seville, against frequenting this portion of the town without

precaution after nightfall. An acquaintance, a young Sevillano, who had

been my daily companion during the first five or six days which followed

my arrival, was in the habit of frequenting with assiduity, some of the

above-mentioned streets. He inhabited one of them, and was continually

drawn by potent attraction towards two others. In one, in particular,

he followed a practice, the imprudence of which, in more than one

respect, as he was much my junior, I had already pointed out to him. A

lady, as you have already conjectured, resided in the house, in

question. My friend, like many of his compatriots, "sighed to many;" but

he loved this one; and she was precisely the one that "could ne'er be

his." She allowed him, however, a harmless rendezvous, separated from

all danger, as she thought, by the distance from the ground to the

balcony, situated on the first-floor. The lady being married, and

regular visiting being only possible at formal intervals, these

interviews had by degrees alarmingly, as appeared to me, increased in

frequency and duration; until at length during two hours each evening,

my acquaintance poured forth in a subdued tone, calculated to reach only

the fair form which bent over the balcony, his tender complaints.

The youth of these climes are communicative on subjects which so deeply

interest their feelings; and whether willing or not, one is often

admitted to share their secrets at the commencement of an acquaintance.

It was thus that I had had an opportunity of lecturing my friend on the

various dangers attending the practice in which he was persisting, and

of recommending him--the best advice of all being, of course,

useless--to revive the more prudent custom of by-gone times, and if he

must offer nightly incense to the object of his fire, to adopt the mode

sanctioned by Count Almaviva, and entrust his vows to the mercenary

eloquence of choristers and catgut--to anything--or anybody, provided it

be done by proxy. My warning was vain; but the mischief did not befall

him exactly in the manner I had contemplated.

His cousin opened my door while I was breakfasting, and informed me that

L---- was in the house of Don G---- A----, and in bed, having received a

wound the previous night from some robbers; and that he wished to see

me. I found him in a house, into which I had already been introduced,

being one of those he most frequented. A bed had been prepared in the

drawing-room, all the window-shutters of which were closed, and he was

lying there, surrounded by the family of his host, to whom was added his

sister. As he was unable to speak above a whisper, I was given the seat

by the bedside, while he related to me his adventure.

He had just quitted the street of the balcony at about nine o'clock, and

was approaching the house we were now in, when, on turning a corner, he

was attacked by three ruffians, one of whom demanded his money in the

usual terms, "Your purse, or your life!" while, before he had time to

reply, but was endeavouring to pass on, a second faced him, and stabbed

him in the breast through his cloak. He then ran forward, followed by

the three, down the street, into the house, and up the staircase; the

robbers not quitting the pursuit until he rang the bell on the

first-floor. The surgeon had been immediately called, and had pronounced

him wounded within--not an inch, but the tenth part of an inch--of his

life; for the steel had penetrated to within that distance of his heart.

My first impression was that the robbers were acting a part, and had

been hired to get rid of him,--otherwise what were the utility of

stabbing him, when they might have rifled his pockets without such

necessity? But this he assured me could not be the case, as the person

most likely to fall under such suspicion, was incapable of employing

similar means; adding, that that was the usual mode of committing

robberies in Seville. I left him, after having assured him how much I

envied his good fortune; seeing that he was in no danger, and only

condemned to pass a week or two in the society of charming women, all

zealously employed in nursing him--for such was the truth--one of the

young ladies being supposed, and I fear with justice, to be the object

of his addresses.

The ungrateful wretch convinced me by his reply (as we conversed in

French, and were not understood by those present) that his greatest

torment was impatience to escape from his confinement, in order to see

or write to the other fair one.

At the end of a week he was sufficiently recovered to be removed to the

house of his family. From certain hints, dropped during a conversation

which took place more than a month after the event, it is to be feared

that the knife of the assassin, in approaching so near to the heart of

his intended victim, succeeded, by some mysterious electric

transmission, in inflicting a positive wound on that of the lady of the

balcony.

I afterwards learned that it was usual for those who inhabited or

frequented this part of Seville, and indeed all other parts, excepting

the few principal thoroughfares and streets containing the shops and

cafés, to carry arms after nightfall; and in shaking hands with an

acquaintance, I have sometimes perceived a naked sword-blade half

visible among the folds of his cloak. These perils only exist in the

winter, and not in all winters; only in those during which provisions

increase in price beyond the average, and the season is more than

usually rigorous: the poor being thus exposed to more than the

accustomed privations.

There are towns in which assassination and robbery are marked by more

audacity than is their habitual character in this part of Andalucia. Of

these, Malaga is said to be one of the worst, although perhaps the most

favoured spot in Europe, with respect to natural advantages. An instance

of daring ruffianism occurred there this winter. A person of

consideration in the town had been found in the street stabbed and

robbed. His friends, being possessed of much influence, and disposing,

no doubt, of other weighty inducements to action, the police was aroused

to unusual activity; the murderer was arrested, and brought before the

Alcalde primero. A summary mode of jurisprudence was put in practice,

and the culprit was ordered for execution on the following day. On being

led from the presence of the court, he turned to the Alcalde, and

addressing him with vehemence, threatened him with certain death, in the

event of the sentence being put in execution. The Alcalde, although

doubtless not entirely free from anxiety, was, by the threat itself, the

more forcibly bound to carry into effect the judgment he had pronounced.

The execution, therefore, took place at the appointed hour. The

following morning, the dead body of the Alcalde was found in a street

adjoining that in which he resided.

LETTER XXII.

INQUISITION. COLLEGE OF SAN TELMO. CIGAR MANUFACTORY. BULL CIRCUS.

EXCHANGE. AYUNTAMIENTO.

Seville.

In the faubourg of Triana, separated from the town by the river, may be

distinguished remains of the ancient castle, which became the

headquarters of the Inquisition, on its first creation, in 1482. That

body was, however, shortly afterwards, compelled to evacuate the

building, by a great inundation of the Guadalquivir, which occurred in

the year 1626. It then moved into the town, and, from that period to the

close of its functions, occupied an edifice situated in the parish of

Saint Mark. Its jurisdiction did not extend beyond Andalucia. The entire

body was composed of the following official persons:--three inquisitors,

a judge of the fisc, a chief Alguazil, a receiver, (of fines,) five

secretaries, ten counsellors, eighty qualifiers, one advocate of the

fisc, one alcayde of the prison, one messenger, ten honest persons, two

surgeons, and one porter. For the City of Seville, one hundred

familiars: for the entire district, the commissaries, notaries, and

familiars, amounted to four thousand. The ten honest persons cut but a

sorry figure in so long a list. Do they not tempt you to parody Prince

Hal's exclamation "Monstrous! but one halfpenny-worth of bread to this

intolerable deal of sack?"

The Inquisition of Seville is of an earlier date than that of Toledo,

and was the first established in Spain. It was likewise the most

distinguished by the rigour of its sentences. The actual horrors of the

inquisitorial vaults were, I imagine, in general much exaggerated. A few

instances of severity, accompanied by a mystery, skilfully designed to

magnify its effect, was sufficient to set on fire the inflammable

imaginations of these sunny regions, and to spread universal terror. It

was on finding these means insufficient for the extirpation of religious

dissent, that, at length, executions were decreed by wholesale. Rather

than give credit to the voluminous list of the secret cruelties, which

were supposed by many to be exercised by the midnight tribunals, and

which could have no adequate object, since a conversion brought about by

such means could not, when known, profit the cause. I think it probable

that all acts of severity were made as public as possible, in order to

employ the terror they inspired as a means of swelling the ranks of

Catholicism.

My opinion is in some measure backed by what occurred at Toledo. On the

Inquisition of that city being dislodged from its palace,--now the seat

of the provincial administration,--it was expected that the exploration

of the subterraneous range of apartments, known to be extensive, would

bring to light a whole Apocalypse of horrors; and all who had interest

enough to obtain admission, pressed in crowds to be present at the

opening. The disappointment was immense on finding not a single piece of

iron, not the shadow of a skeleton, not a square inch of bloodstain.

Each individual, however, during the permanence of these tribunals,

lived in awe of their power; and the daily actions of thousands were

influenced by the fear of becoming the victims of their cruelties,

whether real or imaginary.

The terror which surrounded the persons of their agents invested them

with a moral power, which frequently rendered them careless of the

precaution of physical force in cases where it would have appeared to be

a necessary instrument in the execution of their designs. This

confidence was once well-nigh fatal to two zealous defenders of the

faith. The Archbishop of Toledo, subsequently Cardinal Ximenes de

Cisneros being on a visit at the residence of his brother of the see of

Granada, it occurred to them during an after-dinner conversation that,

could they accomplish the immediate conversion of the few thousands of

Moors remaining in Granada, it would be the means of rendering a signal

service to the Catholic Roman Apostolic religion.

Inflamed with a sudden ardour, and rendered doubly fearless of results

by the excellence of the archiepiscopal repast, they resolved that the

project should be put in execution that very evening.

Ever since the Conquest of Granada, a portion of the city had been

appropriated to the Moors who thought proper to remain; and who received

on that occasion the solemn assurance that no molestation would be

offered to their persons or property, nor impediment thrown in the way

of their worship. Their part of the town was called the Albaycin, and

was separated from the rest by a valley. It contained some twenty to

thirty thousand peaceably disposed inhabitants.

The two enterprising archbishops, their plan being matured (although

insufficiently, as will appear) repaired to a house bordering on the

Moorish quarter; and, calling together all the Familiars of the

Inquisition who could be met with on the spur of the occasion, divided

them into parties, each of a certain force, and dispatched them on

their errand, which was, to enter the houses of the infidels, and to

intimate to the principal families the behest of the prelates, requiring

them by break of day, to abjure the errors of their creed, and to

undergo the ceremony of baptism.

But in order that so meritorious a work should meet with the least

possible delay, all the children under a certain age were to be conveyed

instantaneously to the house occupied by the Archbishops, in order that

they might be baptised at once.

The agents opened the campaign, and had already made away with a certain

number of terrified infants, whose souls were destined to be saved thus

unceremoniously, when the alarm began to spread; and, at the moment when

the two dignitaries, impatient to commence operations, were inquiring

for the first batch of unfledged heretics, an unexpected confusion of

sounds was heard to proceed simultaneously from all sides of the house,

and to increase rapidly in clearness and energy: and some of the

attendants, entering, with alarm depicted on their countenances,

announced that a few hundred armed Moors had surrounded the house, and

were searching for an entrance.

It now, for the first time, occurred to the confederates, that

difficulties might possibly attend the execution of their project; and

their ardour having had nearly time to cool, Archbishop Ximenes, a

personage by no means wanting in prudence and energy, during his moments

of reason, employed the first instants of the siege in taking what

precautions the circumstances admitted. He next proceeded to indite a

hasty line, destined for the sovereigns Ferdinand and Isabella, who were

journeying in the province, to inform them of his situation, and request

immediate assistance. A black slave was selected to be the bearer of the

letter: but, thinking to inspire him with greater promptitude and zeal,

an attendant thrust into his hand a purse of money together with the

document.

The effect of this was the opposite to that which was intended. The

negro treated himself at every house of entertainment on his road;

until, before he had half accomplished his journey, he was totally

incapacitated for further progress. This circumstance could not,

however, influence the fate of the besieged prelates; who would have had

time to give complete satisfaction to the offended Moors before the King

could receive the intelligence. Fortunately for them, the news had

reached the governor of Granada, a general officer in whose religious

zeal they had not had sufficient confidence to induce them to apply to

him for aid in the emergency. That officer, on hearing the state of

things, sent for a body of troops stationed at a neighbouring village,

to whose commander he gave orders to place a guard, for the protection

at the same time of the churchmen from violent treatment, and of the

Moors from every sort of molestation. This adventure of the Archbishop

drew upon him the temporary displeasure of the Court.

[Illustration: PORTAL OF SAN TELMO, SEVILLE.]

The public buildings of Seville are on as grand a scale as those of some

of the principal capitals of Europe. The college of San Telmo, fronting

the Christina-gardens, is composed of two large quadrangles, behind a

façade of five or six hundred feet in length, the centre of which is

ornamented by a portal of very elaborate execution in the _plateresco_

style. The architect, Matias de Figueroa, has literally crammed the

three stories with carved columns, inscriptions, balconies, statues

single and grouped, arches, medallions, wreaths, friezes. Without

subjecting it to criticism on the score of purity, to which it makes no

pretension, it certainly is rich in its general effect, and one of the

best specimens of its style. This college was founded for the

instruction of marine cadets, and for that reason named after S. Telmo,

who is adopted by the mariners for their patron and advocate, as Santa

Barbara is by the land artillery. He was a Dominican friar, and is

recorded to have exercised miraculous influence on the elements, and

thereby to have preserved the lives of a boatful of sailors, when on the

point of destruction. The gardens in front of this building are situated

between the river and the town walls. They are laid out in flower beds

and walks. In the centre is a raised platform of granite, forming a

long square of about an acre or more in extent, surrounded with a seat

of white marble. It is entered at each end by an ascent of two or three

steps. This is called the Salon, and on Sundays and Feast-days is the

resort of the society of Seville. In the winter the hour of the

promenade is from one to three o'clock; in the summer, the hours which

intervene between sunset and supper. During winter as well as summer,

the scent of the flowers of the surrounding gardens fills the Salon,

than which it is difficult to imagine a more charming promenade.

The cigar manufactory is also situated outside the walls. It is a modern

edifice of enormous dimensions, and not inelegant. In one of the rooms

between two and three hundred _cigareras_, girls employed in rolling

cigars, are seen at work, and heard likewise; for, such a Babel of

voices never met mortal ear, although familiar with the music of the

best furnished rookeries. The leaden roof, which covers the whole

establishment, furnishes a promenade of several acres.

I am anxious to return to the interior of Seville, in order to introduce

you to the Lonja; but we must not omit the Plaza de los Toros, (bull

circus,) situated likewise outside the walls, and in view of the river.

It is said to be the handsomest in Spain, as well as the largest. In

fact it ought to be the best, as belonging to the principal city of the

especial province of _toreadores_. It is approached by the gate nearest

to the cathedral, and which deserves notice, being the handsomest gate

of Seville. The principal entrance to the Plaza is on the opposite side

from the town, where the building presents a large portion of a circle,

ornamented with plain arches round the upper story. This upper portion

extends only round a third part of the circus, which is the extent of

the part completed with boxes and galleries, containing the higher class

seats. All the remainder consists of an uniform series of retreating

rows of seats, in the manner of an amphitheatre, sufficient for the

accommodation of an immense multitude. These rows of seats are continued

round the whole circus: but those beneath the upper building are not

accessible to the same class of spectators as the others--the price of

the place being different. This is regulated by the position with regard

to the sun, the shaded seats being the dearest. The upper story consists

of an elegant gallery, ornamented with a colonnade, in the centre of

which the box of the president is surmounted by a handsomely decorated

arch.

The circus, measured from the outside, is about two hundred and fifty

feet in diameter. Those who are desirous of witnessing to what lengths

human enthusiasm may be carried, should see a representation in this

Plaza. With seven prime bulls from La Ronda, and a quadrille of Seville

_toreros_--the enormous circumference as full as it can hold, (as it

always is,) it is one of the most curious sights that can be met with.

The origin of this amusement is not easy to be ascertained. It was

undoubtedly in vogue among the Spanish Arabs, and probably originated in

the time of the Goths, on the falling off of the representations of the

Roman amphitheatres for want of a sufficient supply of wild beasts. In

times not very remote, it had become principally an amateur performance,

and the _toreros_ were men of rank, who made choice of this arena,

subsequently to the falling into disuse of the lists, in order to

exhibit their daring and dexterity before the objects of their flame.

The science is still studied by the greater part of the Spanish youth;

just as, in England, the custom is maintained of receiving instruction

in pugilism; but an amateur is rarely seen in these days to figure in a

public arena.

The intense interest which absorbs the feelings of those present at

these representations, affords a faint notion of what must have been the

attractions of a Roman circus, in which combats were sustained by

hundreds of wild beasts. In the bull-fight--sustained by a single

animal, the interest would not probably be excited by the mere contest

for life which takes place between the man and the brute, and of which

the ultimate result is foreseen. It would, on the contrary, often yield

to the disgust produced by the needless massacre of the horses; were it

not that the graceful performance of the _toreros_, and their elegant

costume, so well calculated to set off the symmetry of their form, first

draws the attention, which, once fixed, is gradually absorbed by the

progress of the contest, and at length irresistibly won by the variety

of unforeseen incidents which follow in rapid succession.

Frequenters of theatres have been seen to fall asleep during the most

stirring scene of a melodrame; and a continual murmur of conversation

usually forms a running accompaniment to the voices of opera singers;

but no one was ever detected slumbering in a _plaza de toros_; nor is a

remark uttered that does not relate to the performance. This difference

may probably be explained by the superior attraction of the _imprévu_.

In the playhouse not only is the event known beforehand, but also every

incident by which it is preceded; whereas, throughout a _corrida de

toros_ nothing can be foreseen. No one knows, during the present minute,

whether the next will give birth to the direst of tragedies, or to the

most exhilarating farce.

At Madrid the representations are inferior to those at Seville. They are

able, it is true, to procure as fierce bulls; but they are brought from

a considerable distance, and are much more expensive. The principal

inferiority consists in the men, who at Madrid are wanting in the

rapidity of eye, and careless courage of the Andaluz. On the entrance of

a bull on the arena, whose attitude gives promise of an animated course,

almost all the Madrid _toreros_, (I have seen all,) will, at his first

onset, disappear simultaneously over the _barrera_. The _barrera_ is the

enclosure of stout planks, strengthened by posts, which separates the

performers from the spectators. It is about six feet in height. At a

height of three feet a projecting ledge runs round the whole, upon

which, in vaulting over, the _toreador_ places his foot. Behind this

enclosure an open space of four feet in width is left, and serves as a

refuge for those who are hard pressed. Very different is the graceful

and careless attitude with which the Andaluz awaits the approach of the

infuriated brute, and quietly springs aside with a flourish of his

mantle of silk, while he knows there are others at hand to draw off the

animal's attention.

With the exception of the _Toros_ the public amusements of Seville are

limited to the balls at the Lonja during the Carnival, and to the opera.

The opera varies its own pleasures, while it distributes its favours

between the two western capitals of the province. From midsummer to

midwinter Cadiz receives her share of melody, and the remaining six

months are bestowed on Seville. Xeres has, I believe, a company to

itself, supplied by a different _impresario_.

The Rossi is an excellent _primera dama_, although wanting in animation;

and Comfortini is by no means a bad tenor. The second tenor, Tosi, is

said to be ambitious of displaying his somewhat exaggerated attitudes on

the boards of the Haymarket. There is a deficiency of _ensemble_, since

the severe discipline necessary for obtaining that result does not

accord with the genius of the place--or perhaps an unexceptionable

_maestro de capella_ is too expensive a luxury to suit the Seville

purses. However this may be, the easy inhabitants, who hear the same

opera frequently six times in a week, and would hear it seven times had

not the performers a holiday on Saturday--may be taken grievous

liberties with before they utter a complaint. They, in fact, look upon

the performance chiefly as an excuse for resorting to this their

habitual lounge.

The Barbiere di Seviglia should, however, be witnessed here by every

amateur. It is only here that justice is done to the _libretto_ of

Rossini's masterpiece. Figaro becomes a real barber, and scorns all

velvets and finery; and Almaviva leaves his court-dress at home, and

takes a good _capa_ of _paño pardo_ for his nocturnal excursions. The

scenery represents the actual streets of Seville. Local customs are

introduced, and local expressions interspersed in the Italian dialogue.

On this occasion one spirit animates boxes, lunetas, orchestra, and

stage. At the opening note of the first melody the allegro, passing like

electricity from the corner of the page through the eye, brain, and arm

of the leader, appears as though it spirted like wildfire from the

extremity of his bow over stage, boxes, stalls, and galleries, lighting

up in an instant all eyes with animation and pleasure.

In the scene of old Bartolo's discomfiture the melodies of the _maestro_

are totally extinguished beneath the din of overturned tables and

chairs, and cracking furniture; and the joyous exclamations of the

entire assembly, unite with the jibes of the actors, and seem to pursue

the poor old guardian with one overwhelming peal of derision.

But it is only in this one instance that representations come off in

such a manner. On the contrary, the company exhibit habitually all the

aristocratic _nonchalance_ of larger capitals. Their business there is

society. It is there that _les affaires de coeur_ hold their Royal

Exchange; and observation, conjecture, and speculation,--but usually

without ill-nature,--sufficiently occupy those who are not actors in

this general by-play. The youth of these climes do not put in practice

the same arts of concealment and reserve as are adopted in colder

cities; but each, unconscious of evil, makes for the box of his

_enamorata_; or, if that is impossible, for the nearest vacant

situation. Advise, therefore, any friend who may intend visiting

Seville, not hastily to pay his visit of curiosity to the opera, but to

wait, if possible, until offered a seat by some _habituée_ in her box.

This _Senora_ may possibly not have any _affaire_ of her own on hand; in

fact the married ladies of course form an exception, if not in all

cases, at least as far as regards such undisguised manifestations of

preference:--in this case she will take delight in putting him _au fait_

of all those that are going forward.

If in a conversable humour she will do more. Commencing with the

nearest, or the most conspicuous of the performers in these mute dramas,

she will relate to him the vicissitudes of the respective histories up

to the time then present, and the probabilities which each case may

suggest for the future. Thus your friend, instead of having sacrificed

an entire evening to the dubious amusement of following the plot of a

single opera, which may have been a bad one, or interpreted by bad

actors, will return to rest with some score of plots and romances

filling all the corners of his memory--all possessing the zest of

reality and actuality, as he will have contemplated the heroes and

heroines in their mortal shape, and clothed in indisputable _capas_ and

_mantillas_; besides, another advantage which these romances will

possess over all the popular and standard novels--that of omitting the

most insipid chapter of all, the one containing the _dénouement_.

There only remain two public buildings worthy of notice; but they are

such as to rank among the most remarkable of Spain. The Lonja (Exchange)

was erected during the reign of Philip the Second, in the year 1583, by

Juan de Herrera. At this period the excesses committed in all parts of

Spain by the architects, no longer restrained by rule of any sort, had

brought about a salutary effect, after a sufficiently lengthened surfeit

of extravagance. Herrera took the lead in the reaction, and followed the

more correct models of art.

Among the authors of some of the most lamentable specimens of aberration

of style scattered throughout Spain, are found several names high in

rank among the painters of the best period. These artists, desirous of

emulating some of the great masters of Italy, who had attained equal

superiority in architecture, painting, and sculpture, risked their

reputation in these different pursuits with greater confidence than just

appreciation of their peculiar genius. At the head of them was Alonzo

Cano, one of the most distinguished painters of the schools of

Andalucia; and who has been called the Guido of Spain. He may certainly

lay a more legitimate claim to that title than to that of the Michael

Angelo of Spain, accorded to him by some of the less judicious of his

admirers for no other reason than that of his combining the three above

mentioned arts.

His paintings are characterized by a peculiar delicacy of manner,

correct drawing, and exquisite finish. The sickly paleness of his flesh

is sometimes unpleasing, and his personages are gainers by the addition

of drapery, in the arrangement of which he approaches to the excellence

of the best Italian schools. The life of this artist was varied by more

adventure than usually falls to the lot of those of his profession. His

talent as a painter had already become celebrated while he was still a

monk, having taken the vows very early in life. He had been from the

first an enemy to the subordination of the cloister, and at length a

series of irregularities led to his expulsion from his monastery.

Alonzo was not, however, the original inventor of this eccentric style.

A Roman architect, Francisco Borromini, the rival of Bernini, and of

whom it was said, that he was the first of his time in elevation of

genius, and the last in the employment of it,--is supposed to have first

introduced it. Followers and imitators of these sprung up in great

numbers, and Spain was speedily inundated with extravagancies: façades,

moulded into more sinuosities than a labyrinth,--cornices, multiplying

their angles like a saw, murderously amputated columns, and

broken-backed pediments. Juan de Herrera was not, probably, possessed of

more talent than the Roman; but of what he had he made a better use. His

reputation was beginning to make rapid progress when he was selected, on

the death of Juan Baptista de Toledo, to continue the Escorial. His task

there was not the simple one of continuing the unfinished pile according

to the plans already traced.

The religious fervor of Philip the Second was on the ascent, and during

the progress of the building he had resolved to double the number of

monks, for whom accommodation had been provided by the original plan. To

meet this necessity, Herrera raised the buildings to double their

intended elevation. His completion of this immense work, rendered more

difficult than it would have been had the original design been his own,

or even had that of his predecessor been persisted in (for various

other modifications were commanded, especially with regard to the plan

of the church,) fully established his fame; and the edifice would

probably have gained, had Philip not, at the last moment, yielded to a

new caprice, and called in another artist (the architect of the famous

country-house of the Viso) to erect the great staircase.

The object of Herrera, traceable in all his works, was the

re-establishment of antique art in all its purity. In cathedrals success

was more difficult of attainment than in civil edifices; but the effort

is easily discerned, striving against the difficulties inseparable from

the system, which applies to the purposes of one creed the principles of

art invented for ministering to other forms. His cathedral of Valladolid

is an instance of this: the most unsuccessful portion of which (the

tower) has fallen before the completion of the edifice. Should the works

ever be continued, this would be a most fortunate circumstance, were it

not that the future builders are sure to persist in the same course, and

to disfigure the pile with another similar excrescence, in contempt of

symmetry and rule.

The Lonja of Seville is a structure so perfect as to bid defiance to

criticism. It might have been built by Vitruvius. The general plan is a

quadrangle, enclosing a court surrounded by an arcade. There are two

stories, ornamented externally by pilasters. The order is Tuscan, both

above and below. The court, staircase, and various apartments, are

decorated with a profusion of the rarest marbles. The whole is a

specimen, almost unique, of chaste elegance and massive solidity. In

this edifice, the resort of wealthy traders during the period of the

colonial prosperity of Spain, are contained, among the archives, the

original despatches of Columbus: and, it is also said, those of Cortez

and Pizarro.

The Ayuntamiento, or Town Hall, is an edifice of another sort. It is of

the _plateresco_ epoch. But Seville, having been apparently preserved by

especial favour from the introduction of specimens of bad taste; it is a

building of extreme beauty. The façade is divided into two unequal

parts. The smaller of the two is covered with sculpture, and contains an

open porch or vestibule, decorated throughout with a profusion of

ornament. I could not learn the name of the artist to whom these

sculptures are attributed, but they are worthy of the chisel of John of

Bologna. The other portion of the front is without ornament from the

ground to the first story, along the whole extent of which runs a series

of open arches supported by columns. These columns and arches are models

of lightness and grace.

The Ayuntamiento is situated in the Plaza de San Francisco; from one

extremity of which a street leads to the cathedral: at the other

commences the principal street of Seville, called the Calle de la

Sierpe. Here are all the best shops, and the principle cafés. It leads

also to the post-office, to the opera, and to the Plaza del Duque, so

called from its containing the house of the Duke of Medina Sidonia; but

it possesses, likewise, two other ducal residences, besides others of

almost equal pretension. These mansions are scarcely ever occupied by

their proprietors. It is a small irregularly formed place, and its ducal

habitations, whatever they may be internally, by no means improve its

appearance.

A few streets further on is the Alameda. This is a place magnificent in

extent, but possessing no architectural merit. Its principal ornament is

an avenue of elms, of about half a mile in length, at the head of which

are placed the two antique columns and statues of the temple of

Hercules. At the further extremity, on the left, is the church of the

Jesuits, closed since the revolution.

THE END.

LONDON:

Printed by S. & J. BENTLEY, WILSON, and FLEY,

Bangor House, Shoe Lane.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The very polite individual alluded to no longer fills the post of

Consul at Bayonne.

[2] The following inscriptions are placed at the feet of the respective

statues:

"Aqui yace el muy Ilustre Señor Don Pedro Hernandez de Velasco,

Condestable de Castilla, Señor del estado, y gran casa de Velasco, hijo

de Don Pedro Hernandez de Velasco, y de Doña Beatriz Manrique, Condes de

Haro. Murio de setenta y siete años, anno de mil cuatro cientos y

noventa y dos, siendo solo Virey de estos reynos por los Reyes

Catolicos."

"Aqui yace la muy Ilustre Señora Doña Mencia de Mendoza, Condesa de

Haro, muger del Condestable Don Pedro Hernandez de Velasco, hija de Don

Inigo Lopez de Mendoza, y de Doña Catalina de Figueroa, Marqueses de

Santillana. Murio de setenta y nueve annos, anno de mil y quiniento."

[3] The above woodcut may, it is hoped, serve as a guide to future

travellers in their search for this head, of which it has no pretension

to give an adequate idea.

[4] It will be seen that this letter was written shortly after the

Queen's return to Spain, and previous to the publication of her

marriage.

[5] It is probable that this threat, supposing it real, may have

assisted in determining the Queen's resolution, since executed, of

publishing the marriage.

[6] The crown was valued in Cadiz at a hundred and sixty thousand

pounds, of which the emerald, which supports the cross, represents forty

thousand.

[7] She is of a wood, whether artificially or naturally, of a tint

between the darkest mahogany and ebony.

[8] The Author has in every instance made use of the word Gothic, in

preference to the employment of any sort of periphrasis; considering

that the chief intention of a name is, not that its application should

accord with its derivation, but rather that it should present to all who

know it, or have dictionaries, an identical meaning, in order that the

idea of the individual employing it may be speedily caught. Now the word

Gothic having always been applied to this architecture, it is

comprehended. A dismounted highwayman is termed a pad. The oblong area

in the centre of Madrid is called a door. "What's in a name?"

[9]

"Who does a kindness is not therefore kind.--

Perhaps the wind has shifted from the East."--POPE.

[10] Feeling his powers as a draughtsman inadequate to do justice to

this court, the author has inserted the above sketch merely to show the

general architectural design.

[11] He had put to death the "Master of St. Bernard," a title of those

days possessed by the chief of that order appointed by the Pope. It was

Urbano V, who, on the occasion of this act, resented at the same time

various other offences.

[12] The above is gathered from the following passage of Appianus

Alexandrinus. "Relicto, utpote pacata regione, valido præsidio, Scipio

milites omnes vulneribus debiles in unam urbem compulit, quam ab Italiâ

Italicam nominavit, claram natalibus Trajani et Adriani, qui posteris

temporibus Romanum imperium tenuere."

Elius Sparcianus, in the life of Adrian, says, "Origo imperatoris

Adriani vetustior a Picentibus, posterior ab Hispaniensibus manat;

siquidem Adriâ ortos majores suos apud Italicam, Scipionum temporibus

resedisse in libris vitæ suæ Adrianus ipse commemorat."

[13] No other town is so placed as to accord with the description given

by Pliny, who passes it on the right bank of the river, and arrives at

Seville lower down on the left: "Italica et a lævâ Hispalis colonia

cognomine Romulensis."

Lucas de Tuy, who wrote four centuries back, says, "Italica est Hispalis

Antigua."

[14]

Hic fertur Apostolico

Vates fulsisse tempore:

Et prædicasse supremum

Patrem potentis filii.

Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:

Alonza Cano=>Alonzo Cano (1)

Abderrahman=>Abderahman (1)

Andalusia=>Andalucia (1)

The Picturesque Antiquities of Spain Described in a series of letters, with illustrations representing Moorish palaces, cathedrals, and other monuments of art, contained in the cities of Burgos, Valladolid, Toledo, and Seville. · 第 6 / 6 章

No one in approaching, excepting from the west, would imagine it to be a