After this passage of real life it was not easy to sink again to the
level of art, but if we must come down it there could have been no
descent less jarring than that which left us in the exquisite _patio_
of the College of San Gregorio, founded for poor students of theology in
the time of the Catholic Kings. The students who now thronged the place
inside and out looked neither clerical nor poverty-stricken; but I dare
say they were good Christians, and whatever their condition they were
rich in the constant vision of beauty which one sight of seemed to us
more than we merited. Perhaps the facade of the college and that of the
neighboring Church of San Pablo may be elsewhere surpassed in the sort
of sumptuous delicacy of that Gothic which gets its name of plateresque
from the silversmithing spirit of its designs; but I doubt it. The
wonderfulness of it is that it is not mechanical or monotonous like
the stucco fretting of the Moorish decoration which people rave over
in Spain, but has a strength in its refinement which comes from its
expression in the exquisitely carven marble. When this is grayed with
age it is indeed of the effect of old silver work; but the plateresque
in Valladolid does not suggest fragility or triviality; its grace is
perhaps rather feminine than masculine; but at the worst it is only the
ultimation of the decorative genius of the Gothic. It is, at any rate,
the finest surprise which the local architecture has to offer and it
leaves one wishing for more rather than less of it, so that after the
facade of San Gregorio one is glad of it again in the walls of the
_patio,_ whose staircases and galleries, with the painted wooden beams
of their ceilings, scarcely tempt the eye from it.
We thought the front of San Pablo deserved a second visit, and we were
rewarded by finding it far lovelier than we thought. The church was
open, and when we went in we had the advantage of seeing a large
silver-gilt car moved from the high altar down the nave to a side altar
next the door, probably for use in some public procession. The tongue
of the car was pulled by a man with one leg; a half-grown boy under the
body of it hoisted it on his back and eased it along; and a monk with
his white robe tucked up into his girdle pushed it powerfully from
behind. I did not make out why so strange a team should have been
employed for the work, but the spectacle of that quaint progress was
unique among my experiences at Valladolid and of a value which I wish I
could make the reader feel with me. We ourselves were so interested in
the event that we took part in it so far as to push aside a bench that
blocked the way, and we received a grateful smile from the monk in
reward of our zeal.
We were in the mood for simple kindness because of our stiff official
reception at the Royal Palace, which we visited in the gratification
of our passion for _patios._ It is now used for provincial or municipal
offices and guarded by sentries who indeed admitted us to the courtyard,
but would not understand our wish (it was not very articulately
expressed) to mount to the cloistered galleries which all the
guide-books united in pronouncing so noble, with their decorative busts
of the Roman Emperors and arms of the Spanish provinces. The sculptures
are by the school of Berruguete, for whom we had formed so strong
a taste at the museum; but our disappointment was not at the moment
further embittered by knowing that Napoleon resided there in 1809. We
made what we could of other _patios_ in the vicinity, especially of one
in the palace across from San Gregorio, to which the liveried porter
welcomed us, though the noble family was in residence, and allowed us to
mount the red-carpeted staircase to a closed portal in consideration of
the peseta which he correctly foresaw. It was not a very characteristic
_patio,_ bare of flower and fountain as it was, and others more fully
appointed did not entirely satisfy us. The fact is the _patio_ is to be
seen best in Andalusia, its home, where every house is built round it,
and in summer cooled and in winter chilled by it. But if we were not
willing to wait for Seville, Valladolid did what it could; and if we saw
no house with quite the _patio_ we expected we did see the house where
Philip II. was born, unless the enterprising boy who led us to it was
mistaken; in that case we were, Ophelia-like, the more deceived.