CHOICE OF ROADS TO SEVILLE--BY LEBRIJA--MIRAGE--THE MARISMA--POST
ROAD--CROSS ROAD BY LAS CABEZAS AND LOS PALACIOS--DIFFICULTY OF
RECONCILING ANY OF THESE ROUTES WITH THAT OF THE ROMAN
ITINERARY--SEVILLE--GENERAL DESCRIPTION OF THE CITY--THE
ALAMEDA--DISPLAY OF CARRIAGES--ELEVATION OF THE HOST--PUBLIC
BUILDINGS--THE CATHEDRAL--LONJA--AMERICAN ARCHIVES--ALCAZAR--CASA
PILATA--ROYAL SNUFF MANUFACTORY--CANNON FOUNDRY--CAPUCHIN
CONVENT--MURILLO--THEATRE OF SEVILLE--OBSERVATIONS ON THE STATE OF
THE NATIONAL DRAMA--MORATIN--THE BOLERO--SPANISH DANCING--THE
SPANIARDS NOT A MUSICAL PEOPLE.
The traveller who journeys on horseback has the choice of several roads
between Xeres and Seville. The shortest is by the marshes of the
Guadalquivír, visiting only one town, Lebrija, in the whole distance of
eleven leagues. The longest is the post route, or _arrecife_, which
makes a very wide circuit by Utrera and Alcalá de Guadaira, to avoid the
swampy country bordering the river. From this latter road several others
diverge to the left, cutting off various segments of the arc it
describes; and in summer these routes are even better than the highway
itself, though heavy and much intersected by torrents in winter.
On the first-named or shortest road, the town of Lebrija alone calls for
observation. It is about fifteen miles from Xeres, and stands on the
side of a slightly-marked mound, that stretches some little way into the
wide-spreading plain of the Guadalquivír. The knoll is covered with the
extensive ruins of a castle--a joint work of Romans and Moors--which
during the late war was put into a defensible state by the French. Most
writers agree in placing here the Roman city of Nebrissa;[40] in which
name that of the modern town may readily be distinguished. It is distant
about five miles from the Guadalquivír, and contains three convents, and
a population of 4,000 souls. The Posada is excellent.
The country from Xeres to Lebrija presents an undulated surface, which
is clothed with vines and olives; but thenceforth the banks of the
"_olivifero Boetis_" are devoted entirely to pasture, and the road is
most uninterestingly flat: so flat, indeed, that there is scarcely a
rise in the whole twenty-eight miles from Lebrija to Seville. It is not
passable in winter, and but one wretched hovel, called the _Venta del
Peleon_, offers itself as a resting-place. The river winds occasionally
close up to the side of the road, and from time to time a barge or
passage boat, gliding along its smooth surface, breaks the wearisome
monotony of the scene; but in general the tortuous stream wanders to a
distance of several miles from the road, and is altogether lost to the
sight in an apparently interminable plain, that stretches to the
westward.
The misty vapour, or _mirage_, which rises from and hangs over the low
land bordering the river, produces singular deceptions; at times giving
the whole face of the country in advance the semblance of a vast lake;
at others, magnifying distant objects in a most extraordinary manner. On
one occasion, we were surprised to see what had every appearance of
being a large town rise up suddenly before us; and it was only when
arrived within a few hundred yards of the objects we had taken for
churches and houses, that we became convinced they were but a drove of
oxen. These imaginary oxen proved in the end, however, to be only a
flock of sheep. The _Marisma_,[41] for such is the name given to this
low ground, affords pasturage for immense herds of cattle of all sorts,
and the herbage is so fine as to lead one to wonder what becomes of all
the _fat_ beef and mutton in Spain.
The post road from Xeres to Seville, as I have already mentioned, is
very circuitous, increasing the distance from forty-three to fifty-six
miles--reckoned fifteen and a half post leagues.
For the first thirteen miles, that is, to the post house of _La Casa
real del Cuervo_, the road traverses a country rich in corn and olives,
but skirting for some considerable distance the western limits of a vast
heath, called the _llanura de Caulina_, whereon even goats have
difficulty in finding sustenance. The first league of the road is
perfectly level, the rest hilly. A little beyond the post house of El
Cuervo, a road strikes off to the left to Lebrija. The _arrecife_,
proceeding on towards Utrera, crosses numerous gulleys by which the
winter torrents are led down from the side of the huge _Sierra
Gibalbin_, which, here raising its head on the right, stretches to the
north for a mile or two, keeping parallel to the road, and then again
sinks to the plain. This passed, the remainder of the road to Utrera is
conducted along what may be termed the brow of a wide tract of low table
land, which, extending to the foot of the distant _Serranía de Ronda_ on
the right, breaks in the opposite direction into innumerable
ramifications, towards the plain of the Guadalquivír.
In the entire distance to Utrera, (twenty-four miles from _El Cuervo_)
there is not a single village on the road, and but very few farms or
even cottages scattered along it. It is plentifully furnished with
bridges for crossing the various _barrancas_[42] that drain the mountain
ravines in the winter, and by means of these bridges the chaussée is
kept nearly on a dead level throughout. About midway there is another
post house. This road is so perfectly uninteresting, that, availing
myself of the earliest opportunity of quitting it and proceeding to
Seville by a more direct, if not a more diversified route, I will strike
into a well-beaten track that presents itself, edging away to the left,
about three miles beyond _El Cuervo_, and is directed on Las Cabezas de
San Juan, distant about six miles from the post road.
Las Cabezas de San Juan is a wretched little village, which inscriptions
found in its vicinity have decided to be the _Ugia_[43] of the Romans.
It is situated on a knoll, commanding an extensive view over the
circumjacent flat country, and some years since contained a population
of a thousand or twelve hundred souls. But, having been the hotbed
wherein Riego's conspiracy was brought to unnatural maturity, it was
razed to the ground during the short contest that restored Ferdinand to
a despotic throne, and "all its pleasant things laid waste."
From hence to _Los Palacios_ is ten miles. The country is flat, and but
partially cultivated. A short league before reaching _Los Palacios_, a
long ruined bridge, called _El Alcantarilla_, is seen at a little
distance off the road on the right. In the time of Swinburne, this
bridge appears to have been passable, and an inscription was then
sufficiently perfect to announce its Roman origin. It was probably
raised to carry a road from Lebrija to Utrera across a marshy tract,
which in winter is apt to be flooded by the _Salado de Moron_; or
perhaps the road over it may have been directed on _Dos Hermanos_, which
is known to be the Roman town of Orippo.
Los Palacios is a clean compact village, of about 1,000 inhabitants. A
plain extends for many miles on all sides of it, but a slight, perhaps
artificial, mound rises slightly above the general level of the place on
its eastern side, and bears the weight of its ruined castle: the walls
of the village itself are also fast crumbling to the dust. The inns are
miserable; but a Spanish nobleman, with whom we had become acquainted at
Xeres, had obligingly furnished us with a letter of introduction to a
gentleman of the place, who entertained us most hospitably, and very
reluctantly--for he wished much to detain us--gave orders to the _dueña_
of his household to have the usual breakfast of chocolate and bread
fried in lard prepared for us by daybreak on the following morning.
From Los Palacios to Seville the distance is reckoned five "_leguas
regulares_," but it is barely fifteen miles. The country to the north of
the village is very fruitful, and becomes hilly as one proceeds. At
about nine miles there is a solitary venta, on the margin of a stream
that comes down from _Dos Hermanos_; which village is situated about a
league off on the right.
It is a matter of some little difficulty to make any of the roads
between Cadiz and Seville (that is, from Port St. Mary's onwards) agree
with the route laid down in the Itinerary of Antoninus. The distance of
the _Portus Gaditanus_ from _Hispalis_ is therein stated to be
seventy-six Roman miles,[44] or, according to Florez, sixty-eight;[45]
which miles, if computed to contain eight _Olympic_ stadia each, are
equal to seventy, and sixty-three British statute miles respectively;
the actual distance from Puerto Santa Maria to Seville being, by the
chaussée, sixty-six miles; by Lebrija and the marshes, fifty-two.
On comparing these distances, therefore, one would naturally be led to
suppose that the Roman military way followed the circuitous line of the
existent chaussée, but that monuments and inscriptions, which have been
found at Las Cabezas de St. Juan and Dos Hermanos, prove those places
to be the towns of _Ugia_ and _Orippo_, mentioned in the Itinerary as
lying upon the road. We are under the necessity, therefore, of adopting
a line which reduces the distance from the _Portus Gaditanus_ to
_Hispalis_ far below even that given by Florez.
The only way of meeting all these difficulties and premises seems to be
by taking a smaller stadium than the _Olympic_. That of 666-2/3 to a
degree of the meridian[46] I have generally found to agree well with the
actual distances of places in Spain, and it is a scale which we are
warranted in adopting, since it is sometimes used by Strabo on the
authority of Eratosthenes, and Pliny admits that no two persons ever
agreed in the Roman measures.
Taking this scale, therefore (though a yet smaller would agree better),
I fix the first station, _Hasta_, at a small table hill, even now called
by the Spaniards _La Mesa de Asta_, lying N.N.W. of Xeres;[47] making
the distance from the _Portus Gaditanus_ sixteen miles, as in the
Itinerary, instead of eight, as altered by Florez: a number, by the
way, which scarcely agrees better with the actual distance from Port St.
Mary's to Xeres--at which latter place he fixes Hasta--than the sixteen
miles of the original.
The next place mentioned in the Itinerary is _Ugia_; determined, as has
been already stated, to have stood where Las Cabezas de San Juan is now
situated; and the distance from the _Mesa de Asta_ to this place,
passing through _Nebrissa_ (Lebrija--omitted in the Itinerary, as not
being a convenient halting-place for the troops), agrees tolerably well
with that specified, viz., twenty-seven Roman miles. The remaining
distances, viz., twenty-four miles to _Orippo_ (Dos Hermanos), and nine
to _Hispalis_ (Seville), agree yet better, though still somewhat below
the scale I have adopted.
The appearance of Seville, approaching it on the side of the _Marisma_,
is by no means imposing. Stretching as the city does along the bank of
the Guadalquivír, its least diameter meets the view; and, from its
standing on a perfect flat, the walls by which it is encircled conceal
the most part of the houses, and take off from the height of the hundred
spires of its churches--the lofty _Giralda_ being the only conspicuous
object that presents itself above them.
The wide avenue which, after crossing the river _Guadaira_, leads up to
the city gate, is, however, prepossessing; a spacious botanical garden
is on the left hand, and, in advance of the city walls, are the
Amphitheatre, the Royal Snuff Manufactory, and several other handsome
public buildings.
Seville is generally considered,--at all events by its inhabitants,--the
largest city of Spain. It is of an oval shape, two miles long, and one
and a quarter broad; and, washed by the Guadalquivír on the eastern
side, is enclosed on the others by a patched-up embattled wall, the work
of all ages and nations.
The city is tolerably free from suburbs, excepting at the Carmona and
_Rosario_ gates on its western side; but numerous extramural convents,
hospitals, barracks, and other public edifices, are scattered about in
different directions, which, with the town of Triana, on the opposite
bank of the river, materially increase the size of the place, and swell
the amount of its population to at least 100,000 souls.
Seville cannot be called a handsome city, for it contains but one
tolerable street; the houses, however, are lofty, and generally well
built, the shops good, and the lamps within sight of each other, which
is not usually the case in Spanish towns. Most of the houses in the
principal thoroughfares are built with an edging of flat roof
overlooking the street. This part of the house is called the _Azotea_,
and, with the lower orders, serves the manifold purposes of a dormitory
in summer, a place for washing and drying clothes in winter, and a
place of assignation at all seasons.
In hot weather awnings are spread from these _azoteas_ across the
streets, rendering them delightfully cool and shady; the canvass
covering, fanned by the breeze, sending down a refreshing air, whilst it
serves at the same time as a shelter from the sun. Even in the most
sultry days of summer, I have never found the streets of Seville
_impracticable_.
There are several spacious squares in various parts of the city; in the
largest, distinguished by the extraordinary, though, perhaps, not
_unsuitable_ name of _La Plaza de la Incarnacion_, the market is held.
This is abundantly supplied with bread, meat, fish, poultry, and all
sorts of vegetables and fruits, and is, perhaps, the cheapest in
Andalusia; it certainly is the cleanest.
The _Alamedas_, of which there are two, are equally as well taken care
of as the market, though in point of beauty they are not quite deserving
of the praise which has been bestowed upon them. One is in the interior
of the city, and becomes only a place of general resort when the weather
is unsettled. The other more commonly frequented walk is between the
walls of the town and the Guadalquivír, extending nearly a mile along
the bank of the river, from the _Torre del Oro_ to the bridge of boats
communicating with Triana. It is well sheltered with trees, and
furnished with seats, and is indeed a most delightful and amusing
promenade, being nightly crowded with all descriptions of people, from
the grandee of the first class to the goatskin clad swineherd, who
visits the city for a _sombrero_ of the _ultima moda_, or a fresh supply
of _bacallao_.
The carriage drive round the walk is generally thronged with equipages
of all sorts and ages, any one of which, shown as a _spectacle_ in
England, would most assuredly make the exhibitor's fortune. The _blazon_
on the pannels, and venerable cocked hats and laced coats of the drivers
and attendants, bespeak them, nevertheless, to belong to _sons of
somebody_; and the wives and daughters of somebody seated therein, seem
not a little proud of possessing these indubitable proofs of the
antiquity of their houses. Few of these distinguished personages,
however, excepting such as labour under the infliction of gout,
rheumatism, or the indelible marks of old age, are satisfied to remain
quiet spectators of the gay scene; but, after driving once or twice
round the _paseo_ to see _who_ has arrived, alight, and join the flutter
of their fans, and, with grief I say it, their loud laugh and
conversation to the already over-powering din of the "promiscuous
multitude."
This scene of gaiety is prolonged until long after the sun has ceased
to gild the mirror-like surface of the Guadalquivír. The walk, indeed,
is still in its most fashionable state of throng, when a tinkling bell,
announcing the elevation of the Host, marks the concluding ceremony of
the vesper service in a neighbouring church. At this signal the motley
crowd appears as if touched by the wand of an enchanter. Each devout
Romanist either reverentially bends the knee, or stands statue-like on
the spot where the homage-commanding sound first reached the ear. The
men take off their hats--the ladies drop their fans. The coachmen check
their hacks--the hacks hang down their heads--not a whisper is heard,
not an eye is raised. The bell sounds a second time, and animation
returns, the breast is marked with repeated crosses, the dust brushed
off the knees, "_conques_" innumerable take up the interrupted
conversation, and once more
"Soft eyes look love to eyes which speak again."
So ludicrously observant are the Spaniards of this ceremony, that, on
the ringing of the bell, I once remarked a water-carrier stop in the
midst of his sonorous cry, "_A...._" and devoutly uncovering his head,
and crossing himself, wait until the second tinkle permitted him again
to open his mouth; when, with most comical gravity, he finished the
wanting syllable "_gua!_ _Agua fres--ca!_"
The Guadalquivír is about 200 yards wide at Seville, where it forms a
kind of basin, and is navigable for vessels of 150 tons burthen. It is
so liable to be swollen by the freshes poured down from the mountains in
the upper part of its course, that a permanent bridge has never been
attempted; and the banks are so low, that the floods have frequently
reached to the very gates of the city. The influence of the tide is felt
some little distance above Seville, rendering the water of the river
unfit for general purposes. The water of the wells, on the other hand,
is considered unwholesome, so that the city is, in a great measure,
dependent for its supply of this most necessary article on an aqueduct,
that brings a stream from _Alcalà de Guadaira_, a distance of about nine
miles.
The populous town of Triana is still worse off than Seville, for, as the
expedient of a leather pipe has not yet been thought of, the "essential
fluid" has to be carried across the river on men's or asses' backs,
rendering it a most expensive article of consumption; a circumstance
that accounts, in a great measure, for the very Egyptian complexion of
the inhabitants.
The public buildings of Seville fully entitle the city to its boasted
title of the Western Capital of Spain. It contains no less than sixty
convents and nunneries, besides numerous other religious establishments
and hospitals. The Archiepiscopal Church is the largest in Spain,[48]
its dimensions being 450 feet by 260; and it is one of the most splendid
piles in the universe. The architecture of the exterior is heavy and
tasteless, so that one is but little prepared for the striking change
which meets the eye on drawing aside the ponderous leathern curtain that
closes the portal, and entering the vast vaulted interior.
It is built in the gothic style, not of a florid kind, however, but
simple, aërial, and imposing. The colour of the free stone used in its
construction is a subdued white; the pavement is laid in squares of
black and white marble, and the stained glass windows, which are of
extreme beauty, shed a warm, variegated glow throughout the building,
that produces an effect well suited to its character. Indeed, no
cathedral that I have any where seen either presents a more striking
coup d'oeil, or draws forth, in a greater degree, that instinctive
feeling of devotion implanted in the human breast. The walls, too, are
not so disfigured with tawdry chapels, as those of most Roman Catholic
churches, and the few paintings with which they are decorated are _chef
d'oeuvres_ of the best Spanish masters.
One modern painting has, however, been admitted to the collection,
rather, I should think, out of compliment to the ladies of Seville, than
on account of its own merit. It represents two maidens of this saintly
city, who, "_mucho tiempo hay_,"[49] to use our conductor's expression,
having been accused of some heretical practices, were exposed to be
devoured by a ferocious lion. The gallant sovereign of the woods and
forests, instead, however, of making a meal of these tempting morsels of
human flesh and imagined frailty, "_se echó à sus pies_," and began
caressing them after his feline fashion, to the great astonishment of
all beholders! This miraculous want of appetite on the part of the lion,
making the innocence of the damsels evident, led, of course, to their
liberation, and their names are now enrolled upon the long list of
saints of Seville.
The tower of the cathedral, commonly called _La Giralda_, from a
colossal statue of _Faith_, at its summit, which, with strange
inconsistency of character, wheels about at every change of wind, is by
no means a handsome structure. It was built by the Moors, about 250
years before the city was captured by San Fernando, and originally was
only 280 feet in height; but a belfry has since been added, which makes
it altogether 364 feet high. The tower is fifty feet square, and the
ascent is effected by an inclined plane, by means of which, some queen
of Spain is rumoured to have ridden on horseback to the gallery under
the belfry.
The view from the summit of the tower fully repays one, even for the
labour of ascending it on foot, and I am not quite sure but that the
inclined plane rather increases than lessens the fatigue of mounting.
From hence alone can a correct idea be formed of the size and splendour
of Seville. The eye, from this elevation, embraces the whole extent of
the city, its long narrow streets, wide circuit of walls, its gateways,
magnificent public buildings, and spacious plazas, its verdant
orangeries, and its house-top flower-gardens. Beyond the busy city, a
fruitful plain extends for several miles in every direction; on one side
bearing luxuriant crops of corn and olives, on the other, giving pasture
to countless herds of cattle; the lovely Guadalquivír winding through
and fertilizing the whole.
The Archiepiscopal palace occupies one side of a small square, that is
immediately under the _Giralda_; the façade of this building is
handsome, but we had not an opportunity of seeing the interior, as its
worthy occupier was unwell. Near the cathedral, but on the opposite side
to the Archbishop's residence, is the _Lonja_; a splendid edifice, which
(as the name implies) was originally built for an exchange. But, though
the lower suites of apartments are still set apart for the use of the
merchants, the building is so inconveniently situated, that no
commercial business is transacted there, and the whole of the upper
story has been fitted up as a repository for the "American archives."
These records are most voluminous, and are preserved with as much care,
and ticketed with as great regularity, as if Spain shortly intended to
resume the sovereignty over her former vast transatlantic possessions.
As a mark of especial favour, the tip of my little finger was permitted
to rest upon the edge of the first letter written from the _other
world_; the keeper of the archives requesting me, at the same time, not
to press too hard upon the valuable MS., and assuring us, that most
persons were obliged to be satisfied with looking at the precious
document bearing the signature of the adventurous Columbus, in its glass
case.
The whole of the shelves, drawers, &c., are of cedar; a wood which has
the property of preserving the papers committed to their charge from all
descriptions of insects. The floors are laid in chequers of red and blue
marble, and the grand staircase is composed of the same, which is highly
polished and remarkably handsome. One of the apartments of the vast
quadrangle contains two original paintings of Columbus and Hernan
Cortes.
A little removed from the _Lonja_, is the _Alcazar_, or Royal Palace.
This is kept up in a kind of half-dress state, and has a governor
appointed to its peculiar charge, who usually resides within its
precincts. It is built in the Moorish style, and is generally supposed
to have been the work of Moorish hands, though raised only--so at least
a Gothic inscription on its walls is said to state--by "the puissant
King of Castile and Leon, Don Pedro."
There is probably some little exaggeration in this, and, in point of
fact, perhaps, the mighty monarch only repaired and added to the palace
of the Moorish kings, which the neglect of a hundred years had, in his
time, rendered uninhabitable. It is a very inferior piece of workmanship
to the Alhambra, but, nevertheless, contains much to admire,
particularly the ceilings of the apartments (of which there are upwards
of seventy), and the walls of one of the courts.
The different towers command very fine views over the city and adjacent
country, and the gardens are delightful, though of but small extent. The
walks are laid with tiles, between which little tubes are introduced
vertically, that communicate with waterpipes underneath, and, by merely
turning a screw, the whole of the valves of these tubes are
simultaneously opened, and each shoots forth a diminutive stream of
water. This plan was adopted, as being an improvement on the tedious
method usually practised in watering gardens. It affords the facetiously
disposed a glorious opportunity of inflicting a practical joke upon
unwary visiters to the Alcazar; who, conducted to the garden, and then
and there seduced, out of mere politeness, to join in the complaint
expressed of a want of rain, suddenly find themselves _over_ a heavy
shower, and under the necessity of laughing at a piece of wit from which
there is no possibility of escape.
The _Casa Pilata_ is another of the sights of Seville. It is a private
house, said to be built on the exact model of that of the Roman governor
of Jerusalem. It is fitted up with much taste, but its chief beauty
consists in a profusion of glazed tiles, which give it actual coolness,
as well as a refreshing look.
Most of the other subjects worthy of the traveller's notice are situated
without the walls of the city. The first in order, issuing from the
Xeres gate, is the _Plaza de los Toros_, or amphitheatre, an immense
circus, one half built of stone, and the other half of wood, and capable
of accommodating 14,000 persons. The next remarkable object is the
_Royal Tobacco Manufactory_, (the term seems rather absurd to English
ears,) a huge edifice, so strongly built, and jealously defended by
walls and ditches, as to appear rather a detached fort, or citadel,
raised to overawe the turbulent city, than an establishment for
peacefully grinding tobacco leaves into snuff, and rolling them into
cigars. The manufactory employs 5000 persons, and of this number 2600
are occupied solely in making cigars. But, as I have elsewhere shown,
even with the assistance of the Royal Manufactory lately established at
Malaga, the supply of _lawful_ cigars is not equal to one-tenth part of
the consumption of the country.
The demand for snuff may probably be fully met by the Royal Manufactory;
for the Spaniards are not great consumers of tobacco through the medium
of the nose; and most of the snuffs prepared at Seville are extremely
pungent, so that "a little goes a great way." There is a coarse kind,
however, called, I think, "Spanish bran," which is much esteemed by
_connoisseurs_.
The Royal Cannon Foundry is in the vicinity of the Tobacco Manufactory,
and though this establishment for furnishing the means of consuming
powder is not in such activity as its neighbour employed in supplying
food for smoke, yet it is in equally good order, and, on the whole, is a
very creditable national establishment. The brass pieces made here are
remarkably handsome, and very correctly bored, but they want the
lightness and finish of our guns--qualities in which English artillery
excels all others. Two of the "monster mortars," cast by the French for
the siege of Cadiz, are still preserved here.
The Cavalry Barracks, Royal Saltpetre Manufactory, Military Hospital,
and various other edifices, planned on a scale proportioned to Spain's
_former_ greatness, together with numerous convents, equally
disproportioned to her present wants, follow in rapid succession in
completing the circuit of the walls. The most interesting amongst the
religious houses is a convent of Capuchins, situated near the Cordoba
gate. It contains twenty-five splendid paintings by Murillo, "any one of
which," as a modern writer has justly remarked, "would suffice to render
a man immortal."
Murillo was certainly a perfect master of his art. His style is
peculiar, and in his early productions there is a coldness and formality
that partake of the school of Velasquez; but the works of his maturer
age are distinguished by a boldness of outline, a gracefulness of
grouping, and a depth and softness of colouring, which entitle him to
rank with Rubens and Correggio.
The paintings of Murillo, though met with in all the best collections of
Europe, where they take their place amongst the works of the first
masters, are, nevertheless, valued by foreigners rather on account of
their rarity than of their execution. The fact is, those of his
paintings which have left Spain are nearly all devoted to the same
subject--the Madonna and Child; and, even in that, offer but little
variety either in the disposition, or in the colouring of the figures.
The Spanish artist is, consequently, accused of want of genius and
self-plagiarism. Nor does Murillo receive due credit for the pains he
took in finishing his paintings; for, amongst those of his works which
have found their way into foreign collections, there are few which have
not received more or less damage, either in the transport from Spain, or
by subsequent neglect; and, in many instances, the attempts made to
restore them by cleaning or retouching have inflicted a yet more severe
injury upon them.
Those persons only, therefore, who have visited Spain, and, above all,
Murillo's native city--Seville--can fully appreciate the merits of that
wonderful artist. The vast number of master-pieces which he has there
left behind him, and the variety of subjects they embrace, sufficiently
prove, however, that, whilst in versatility of talent he has been
equalled by few, in point of _industry_ he almost stands without a
rival.
Besides the twenty-five paintings in the Capuchin convent, already
noticed, the _Hóspital de la Caridad_ contains several of Murillo's
master-pieces; two, in particular, are deserving of notice--the subjects
are, the miracle of the loaves and fishes, and Moses striking the rock.
The great size of these two paintings saved them from a journey to
Paris, but the French, in their zeal for the encouragement of the fine
arts, stripped the chapel of all the other works of Murillo that
enriched it--only a few of which were restored at the peace of 1815.
Other paintings of the Spanish Rafael are to be found in the various
churches of Seville, and every private collector (of whom the city
contains many,) prides himself on being the possessor of at least one
_original_ of his illustrious fellow-citizen.
The theatre of Seville has ever held a comparatively distinguished place
in the dramatic annals of Spain; and, lamentable as is the condition to
which the national stage has been reduced, the capital of Andalusia may
still be considered as one of the most _playgoing_ places in the
kingdom. This may, perhaps, partly be accounted for by the number of
dramatic authors to whom the city has given birth, partly by the
peculiar disposition of the inhabitants of the province, who are deeper
tinged with romance, and have more imagination than the rest of the
natives of the Peninsula.
The deplorable atrophy under which the drama has of late years been
languishing in every part of Europe[50] had, aided by various
predisposing circumstances, long been undermining the at no-time very
robust constitution of the Spanish theatre; which, like a condemned
criminal, existed only from day to day, at the will and pleasure of a
despotic sovereign; and had, moreover, constantly to combat the
hostility of the priesthood: a bigoted race, prone at all times to
discourage an art, which, by enlarging the understandings of the
community, tended to diminish the respect with which their own profane
melo-dramatic mysteries were regarded. The priests, in fact, have always
been, and ever will be, averse to their flock being fleeced by any other
shears than their own.
Considering, therefore, the obstacles which the Spanish theatre has had
to contend against, obstacles which were yet more formidable in that
country in times past than they are at the present day, it cannot but be
admitted that the drama was cultivated in Spain with a degree of success
which could little have been expected.
Our own early dramatists, indeed, drew largely from the prolific sources
opened by Lope de Vega, Calderon, and other Spanish writers of the
sixteenth century; and, perhaps, to the example set by those authors is
our stage indebted for its release from the thraldom in which others
are yet held, by a preposterous, though _classic_, adherence to the
preservation of the unities.
The drama (in the strict sense of the term) never, however, became a
popular amusement with the Spaniards generally. The legal disabilities
imposed upon the performers by the intrigues of the Romish church
brought the profession of an actor into disrepute, and, as a natural
consequence, checked the progress of the histrionic art. The stage had
no door opening to preferment, and the knight of the buskin (to whom, by
the way, the _Don_ was interdicted), though endowed with the talents of
a Talma or a Kemble, of a Liston or a Potier, ranked below the lowest of
the train of bullfighters, and could never expect to amass a fortune, or
hope to be considered otherwise than as a "diverting vagabond." A
Spanish actress was yet more discouragingly circumstanced, as, however
irreproachable her character, she held only the same grade in society as
the frail Ciprian whose beauty gained her livelihood.
Labouring under such disadvantages, it is not surprising, therefore,
that Thalia and Euterpe should eventually have been driven from the
Spanish stage, and a licentious monster--the illegitimate offspring of
Comus and Impudicitia--have been crowned with the palm-wreath snatched
from the brows of the immortal Parnassides.
The modern Spanish dramatic authors--if it be not profanation so to call
them--pandering to the vitiated taste of the day, indulge in all the
licence of Aristophanes, without varnishing their obscenities with the
brilliancy of his wit. They write, in fact, for auditors, who, whilst
endowed with a quick perception of the ridiculous, are too ignorant to
discriminate between right and wrong, and cannot perceive where
legitimate satire ends, and libertinism commences; who, possessing a
vast stock of native wit, inherit with it a coarse, degenerate taste.
The human frailties of the monastic orders are, consequently, the
favourite subjects now held up to ridicule on the stage, as if to prove
the truth of Voltaire's lines,
_"Les prêtres ne sont point ce qu'un vain peuple pense,
_Notre credulité fait toute leur science_;"_
and no modern _saynete_[51] is considered perfect, unless some member of
their church is brought forward to serve as a recipient for the ribald
jokes of an Andalusian _majo_, or to become the amatory dupe of an
intriguing _graciosa_.
These pieces are not suffered to appear in print; or rather, I should
say, perhaps, would not _sell_ if they were printed, for the press of
the day has far exceeded the bounds of decorum in giving light to many
of the somewhat less objectionable productions of _Sotomayor_,
_Comella_, and other prolific scribblers of Vaudevilles. The only modern
dramatic writers who have been at all successful in obtaining public
favour on worthier grounds, are _Iriate_, _Martinez de la Rosa_, and
_Moratin_, but their writings are by no means numerous.
The plays of the last-named (who is considered the Terence of Spain) are
always well received at Seville, where the dramatic taste is somewhat
more refined than in the minor provincial towns. They are full of
incident, without being encumbered with plot, like those of the old
Spanish school; and the dialogue is natural and sprightly, without
falling into licentiousness or vulgarity. This author's translation of
Shakspeare's Hamlet is lamentably weak, however, for his language is not
sufficiently elevated for tragedy. To Molière he has done more justice.
The Spanish language is remarkably well adapted to the stage, being not
less melodious than emphatic and dignified; and there is a raciness
about it well suited to comedy, though, on the whole, I should say, it
is better adapted for tragedy. The national taste is, however, in favour
of comedy, which, besides being more congenial to the character of the
people, speaks more intelligibly to their uncultivated understandings.
And, indeed, it must be confessed, that but for the infinite superiority
of the language, the long speeches of the heroes of Spanish tragedy
would be yet more wearying to listen to, than even the jingling, rhymed
declamations of the French drama.
It is not surprising, therefore, that the impatient _Andaluzes_,--whose
whole thoughts are bent upon the coming Bolero and laughter-causing
farce,--should complain of the interminable "_platicas importunas_" of
their tragedies, and even of their _serious_ comedies; especially since
they are delivered in a diction which to the lower orders is almost
unintelligible, the dialogue being generally carried on in the second
person plural, _vos_: a style which is never now heard in common
parlance, and is, therefore, quite unnatural to them.
I will, however, draw the curtain upon Spanish tragedy, and bring the
graceful _Baylarinas_ upon the stage; at the first click of whose
castañets, whilst even yet behind the scenes, every bright eye sparkles
with animation, and every tongue is silenced.
The Bolero, which is the favourite national dance, admits of great
variety as well of figures as of movements, for it may be executed by
any number of persons, though two or four are generally preferred. It is
a purified kind of _Fandango_, and, when danced by Spaniards, is as
graceful and pleasing an exhibition as can be imagined. It is altogether
divested of those dervish-like gyrations, and other wonderful displays
of limbs and under-petticoats, that are so much the vogue on the boards
of London and Paris, and on which, in fact, the reputation of a
_Ballerina_ seems to depend. In Spain the taste in dancing has not yet
reached this pitch of refinement; for, even in the _Cachucha_, when the
dancer turns her back upon the spectators, a Spanish lady deems it
necessary to turn her face from the stage.
The castañets, though furnishing but little to the entertainment in the
way of music, afford the performers the means of displaying their
figures to advantage; and are yet further useful, by giving employment
to the hands and arms; which, with most dancers, public as well as
private, are generally found to be very much in the way.
There are other dances of a less _modest_ character than the _Bolero_,
which are performed at the minor theatres; but it may be said of Spanish
public dancing generally, that it is light, spirited, and _poetic_, and
admits of the display of considerable grace without being _indecent_.
Although of all modern languages--that of dulcet Italy alone
excepted--the Spanish is the best adapted to song, yet the Spaniards
have little or no relish for musical entertainments. The truth is, they
are not a musical nation. In expressing this opinion, I am aware that I
declare war against a host of preconceived notions; but in proof of my
assertion I will ask, what country possesses so little national music as
Spain? Has a single _known_ opera ever been produced there? Is not her
church music all borrowed? Is not the trifling guitar the only
instrument the Spaniard is really master of? Is not the _Sostenuto_
bellow of the _arriero_ almost the only approach to melody that the
peasant ever attempts?
Spanish music consists of a few simple airs, which are probably
heir-looms of the Saracens; and a medley of _Boleros_, that may be
considered mere variations of one tune. Neither their vocal nor
instrumental performances ever reach beyond mediocrity, and in concert
they invariably sing and play _a faire casser la tête_.
A fine climate and a gregarious disposition lead the peasantry to
assemble nightly, and amuse themselves by dancing and singing to the
monotonous thrumming of a cracked guitar; and this habit has earned for
the nation the character of being musical--a character to which the
Spaniards are little better entitled than the _Tom Tom_-loving black
_apprentices_ of our West India islands.
There are exceptions to every rule, and I willingly admit that I have
heard an opera of Rossini very well performed by Spanish "_artists_."
But that they do not _pride themselves_ on being a musical nation is
evident from their always preferring Italian music to their own, though
they like to sing Spanish words to an Italian opera.
The Theatre is a place of fashionable resort at Seville. It fills up a
vacuum between the Paseo and the Tertulia. And when the times are
sufficiently quiet to warrant the outlay, a sufficient sum is subscribed
to bribe a second-rate Italian company to expose their melodious throats
to the baneful influence of the sea breezes. The house is large and
rather tastily decorated, but so ill-shaped that, unless one is close to
the stage, not a word can be heard; and if there, the prompter's voice
completely drowns those of the performers. The fall of the curtain at
the conclusion of the _Bolero_ is generally the signal for the _beau
monde_ to retire, leaving the highly seasoned _Saynete_ to the enjoyment
of the "_gente baja y desreglada_."[52]
This breaking up is not the least amusing part of the play. The
antediluvian carriages are again put in requisition; and now, besides
the cocked-hatted attendants, each vehicle is accompanied by two or more
torch-bearers on foot; so that the blaze of light on first issuing from
the Theatre is most dazzling and astounding,--astounding, because it is
only on walking into the gutter, or over a heap of filth in the first
cross street one has occasion to enter, that the want of lamps in these
minor avenues renders the utility of this extraordinary illumination
apparent.
Each carriage, after "taking up," moves majestically off, its
torch-bearers running ahead to show the way, scattering long strings of
sparks, like comets' tails, amongst the humble pedestrians.
The Tertulias commence after the families have supped at their
respective houses, that is to say, at about eleven o'clock; and are
generally kept up until a late hour.