THE SPANISH SERIES
VALENCIA AND MURCIA
THE SPANISH SERIES
_EDITED BY ALBERT F. CALVERT_
GOYA
TOLEDO
MADRID
SEVILLE
MURILLO
CORDOVA
EL GRECO
VELAZQUEZ
THE PRADO
THE ESCORIAL
VALENCIA AND MURCIA
SCULPTURE IN SPAIN
ROYAL PALACES OF SPAIN
GRANADA AND ALHAMBRA
SPANISH ARMS AND ARMOUR
LEON, BURGOS AND SALAMANCA
CATALONIA AND THE BALEARIC ISLES
VALLADOLID, OVIEDO, SEGOVIA,
ZAMORA, AVILA AND ZARAGOZA
VALENCIA
AND MURCIA
A GLANCE AT AFRICAN SPAIN
BY A. F. CALVERT
WITH 288 PLATES
LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD
NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY: MCMXI
THE BALLANTYNE PRESS TAVISTOCK STREET COVENT GARDEN LONDON
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE OLD KINGDOM OF VALENCIA 1
SAGUNTUM AND CASTELLON 26
THE KINGDOM OF MURCIA 33
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
VALENCIA
TITLE PLATE
General View 1
General View, looking South 2
View from the Puente del Mar 3
General View 4
View from the Puente del Mar 5
Entrance to the Town by the Puerta de Santa Lucia 6
The Fair at the Puerta de Santa Lucia 7
Puerta de Serranos 8
Puerta de Cuarte 9
The Market-Place 10
The Puente Real 11
Paseo de la Glorieta 12
Paseo de la Glorieta 13
Paseo de la Alameda 14
Fountain of the Alameda 15
Plaza de la Aduana 16
Plaza de Santo Domingo 17
Plaza de San Francisco 18
Plaza de Tétuan 19
Plaza de la Constitucion 20
Calle de la Bajada de San Francisco 21
Calle de San Vicente 22
Tros Alt 23
Calle de la Bolseria y Tros Alt 24
General View of the Cathedral 25
The Cathedral: Gate of the Apostles 26
The Cathedral: Puerta del Palau 27
The Cathedral: A Door 28
The Temple 29
The Miguelete 30
Church of Santa Catalina 31
Church of Santa Catalina 32
Church of Los Santos Juanes 33
Façade of San Miguel el Real 34
Church of Santa Cruz 35
Church of Santa Cruz 36
Entrance to the Church of San Andrés 37
The Campo-Santo 38
The Campo-Santo 39
The Campo-Santo 40
The Audiencia, old Palace of the Cortes 41
Royal Hall in the Audiencia, upper part 42
Royal Hall in the Audiencia, lower part 43
Interior Door of the Audiencia 44
The Exchange 45
The Exchange: Detail of the Gallery 46
Interior of the Exchange 47
Interior Door of the Exchange 48
Colegio del Patriarca 49
Courtyard in the Colegio del Patriarca 50
Courtyard of the University 51
Entrance to the Civil Hospital 52
Gate of Mosen S’Orrell 53
The Custom-House 54
The Archbishop’s Palace 55
The Bull-Ring 56
Tobacco Factory 57
A Private House 58
Statue of King Jaime 59
Statue of Ribera 60
Statue of St Christopher 61
Palace of the Marqués de Dos Aguas 62
Palace of the Marqués de Dos Aguas 63
Portal of the Palace of the Marqués de Dos Aguas 64
Palace of the Marqués de Ripalda 65
General View of Grao 66
Grao Harbour 67
Grao Harbour 68
Grao Harbour 69
Camino del Grao: Hermitage of Ave Maria 70
A “Tartana,” or Char-à-banc 71
Peasants 72
Peasants 73
Peasants 74
Types of Women 75
“Tribunal des Eaux” 76
Barbers on the Bridge of Serranos 77
Zigzag of the Cabrillas 78
A Road in Cabañal 79
A Road in Cabañal 80
The Shores of the Mediterranean 81
The Shores of the Mediterranean 82
MURVIEDRO
General View 83
General View 84
View from the Station 85
View from the Castle 86
The Castle and Town 87
The Castle 88
The Castle from one of the Courts 89
Entrance to the Castle 90
General View of the Roman Amphitheatre 91
General View of the Roman Amphitheatre 92
The Roman Amphitheatre 93
Interior of the Roman Amphitheatre 94
Principal Gate of the Roman Amphitheatre 95
Entrance to the Roman Amphitheatre 96
Entrance to the Roman Amphitheatre 97
JATIVA
General View 98
View from the Station 99
The Civil Hospital 100
ALICANTE
General View 101
The Castle 102
View from the Castle 103
The Breakwater 104
General View 105
General View 106
General View 107
Paseo de los Martires 108
Paseo de los Martires 109
Paseo de los Martires 110
Paseo de los Martires 111
Paseo de Nuñez 112
The Town Hall 113
The Town Hall 113
Monument to Quijano 115
The Bull-Ring 116
ELCHE
General View 117
General View 118
General View 119
View of the Town 120
Plaza Mayor 121
View from the Station 122
The Road to Alicante 123
The Road from Alicante 124
The Town Hall 125
Church of San Juan 126
Bridge over the Rambla de Elche 127
View from the Railway Bridge 128
The Canal 129
Washing Linen in the Canal 130
A Canal 131
Tower of Rapsamblanc, belonging to the Conde de
Luna 132
Castle of the Duque de Altamira, now a Prison 133
Mill and Castle of the Duque de Altamira 134
Castle of the Duque de Altamira 135
Castle and Mill 136
Palms 137
Country Spinners 138
Casa de la Huerta 139
A Country Road 140
A Country House 141
A Country House 142
A Famous Palm 143
A Palm celebrated for its Resemblance to a Column 144
Palm Groves 145
A Road 146
SAX
General View 147
MURCIA
General View 148
View from the Tower of the Cathedral, towards the
South 149
View of the Town 150
General View of the Town 151
General View of the Town 152
General View of the Town 153
General View 154
The Bridge 155
The River 156
The Bridge over the Segura 157
The River Segura 158
The Fair 159
The Fair 160
The Market-Place 161
Plaza de Santo Domingo on Market-Day 162
Paseo del Malecon 163
Plaza de Santa Catalina 164
Plaza de Toros, now Plaza de San Agustin 165
Paseo del Arenal 166
Plaza de San Pedro 167
Paseo de Floridablanca and Palace of the Exhibition 168
Plaza de Santa Isabella 169
Calle del Puente 170
Plaza de la Gloriéta 171
Plaza de la Gloriéta 172
The Cathedral 173
General View of the Cathedral 174
Principal Façade of the Cathedral 175
Tower of the Cathedral 176
Side Door of the Cathedral 177
The Cathedral: Gate of the Apostles 178
The Cathedral: Chapel of the Marqués de los Velez 179
The Cathedral: Detail of the Façade 180
Detail of the Cathedral 181
The Cathedral: Window of the Belfry 182
The Cathedral: Principal Nave 183
The Cathedral: Lateral Nave 184
The Cathedral: Behind the Choir 185
The Cathedral: Entrance to the Chapel of the Marqués
de los Velez 186
The Cathedral: Chapel of the Marqués de los Velez 187
The Cathedral: The High Altar 188
The Cathedral: The High Altar 189
The Cathedral: General View of the Choir 190
The Cathedral: The Bishop’s Throne, in the Choir 191
The Cathedral: Detail of the Choir Stalls 192
The Cathedral: Detail of the Choir Stalls 193
The Cathedral: The Sacristy 194
The Cathedral: Tomb of Alfonso the Wise 195
Church of Santo Domingo 196
Church of Santo Domingo 197
Church of San Bartolomé 198
Façade of the Convent de la Misericordia 199
Palace of the Marqués de Villafranca de los Velez, and
Convent of Santa Clara 200
The Episcopal Palace 201
Casa Huerta de las Bombas 202
Palace of the Marqués de Almodovar 203
Palace of the Baron de Albalá 204
Palace of the Marqués de Espinardo 205
The “Contraste” 206
Monument to Salzillo 207
Roman Altar dedicated to Peace, found in Carthagena
and moved in 1594 to the Palace of the Marqués de
Espinardo 208
House in the Calle Jaboneria 209
House of the Painter Villasis 210
A Balcony in the Calle Traperia 211
Puerta Cadenas 212
Teatro de Romea 213
The Bull-Ring 214
The Town Hall 215
The Town Hall 216
Procession leaving the Church of Jesus in Holy Week--St.
Veronica 217
Procession leaving the Church of Jesus in Holy Week--The
Kiss of Judas 218
Procession in Holy Week. The Garden of Gethsemane 219
Procession in Holy Week. Our Lord Falling 220
Procession in Holy Week. The Scourging 221
Church of Jesus. The Last Supper, by Zarzillo 222
Pilgrimage of St. Blas 223
Ruins of the Arab Baths 224
Environs of Murcia: Convent of San Jeronimo 225
Environs of Murcia: Hermitage of the Fuensanta 226
Environs of Murcia: Hermitage of the Fuensanta 227
Environs of Murcia: Hermitage of the Fuensanta 228
Environs of Murcia: Castle of Monteagudo 229
Paisaje de la Huerta 230
Paisaje de la Huerta 231
Paisaje de la Huerta 232
A Cart Loaded with “Tinajas” 233
Harvest-Time 234
Environs of Murcia: The Huerta des Capucins 235
Environs of Murcia: The Huerta des Capucins 236
Environs of Murcia: View from the Huerta des
Capucins 237
Environs of Murcia: The Huerta des Capucins--Date-Gathering 238
ORIHUELA
General View 239
General View from the Puerta de Murcia 240
The River Segura 241
The River Segura from the East 242
Door of the Church of Santiago 243
CARTHAGENA
General View 244
A Partial View 245
View from the Station 246
View from the High Road 247
View from Quitapellijos 248
View from the Fort of Atalaya 249
View from the Fort of Atalaya 250
View from St. Joseph’s Mill 251
View from St. Joseph’s Mill 252
View from the Fort of Galera 253
View from the Fort of Galera 254
View of the Harbour 255
Santa Lucia and the Harbour 256
The Harbour from Santa Lucia 257
The Harbour from Santa Lucia 258
The Harbour from the Powder Magazine 259
The Harbour from Trincabatijos 260
View from the Esplanadero 261
The Entrance to the Harbour from Trincabatijos 262
The Breakwater 263
Entrance to the Harbour 264
Entrance to the Arsenal 265
Puerta del Mar 266
Puerta de Murcia 267
Plaza de las Monjas 268
The Marine College 269
The Bull-Ring 270
ARCHENA
The Baths, from La Sierra de Verdelena 271
General View of the Baths from the West 272
General View of the Baths at the Entrance to the
Village 273
Entrance to the Baths 274
The Carretera and River Segura 275
View of the Church 276
Interior of the Church 277
The Church: Altar of the “Virgen de la Salud” 278
Environs of Archena: View of Villanueva 279
Environs of Archena: View of Blanca from the Salto del
Palomo 280
Environs of Archena: View of Blanca from Bujamente 281
Environs of Archena: Village and Gardens of Ulea
from Villanueva 282
Environs of Archena: Village and Gardens of Ulea,
East Side 283
Environs of Archena: Village of Ojos and Mountains 284
Environs of Archena: The Gardens of Ojos, from the
Lovers’ Leap 285
Environs of Archena: The Lovers’ Leap 286
LORCA
General View 287
View from the Railway Station 288
VALENCIA & MURCIA
THE OLD KINGDOM OF VALENCIA
Shut in between the barren range of the Sierra Molina on the north, and
the arid plains of Murcia to the south, the ancient Kingdom of Valencia
is one of the regions of Spain least visited by the tourist. And yet, a
flowering and fruitful Eden, it lies beneath a burning sun, its waters
trained in obedience to the hand of man. It puts forth a vegetation of
tropical luxuriance. Demeter has blessed the land. Under the soft
caressing winds that sweep up from the Mediterranean the soil yields
four or five crops in the year to the industry of the peasant. And if at
times the dreaded sirocco, charged with poisonous vapours from the
Albufera, lays the country prostrate--well, for every Paradise was
devised a snake!
The people of the province, with the exception of those of Orihuela,
speak that variety of the Romance which I may call Catalan, and which,
with local modification, is common all along the eastern coast of Spain
from the mouth of the Segura to the frontier of Rousillon. Limousin, as
it is sometimes called, is not a mere dialect, but a quite distinct
language, a survival of the old _Langue d’oc_. Probably it was spoken by
those Romanised Spaniards who were driven north of the Pyrenees by the
Arabic invasion. It would be restored by them when they reconquered this
portion of their old territory. The Christian population, before
Valencia was recovered by Jaime el Conqueridor of Aragon, spoke
Castilian or a tongue akin to it. But the Catalan of the new rulers was
stronger, and soon swept aside the common speech of the people.
Curiously enough, this same Catalan was not the language used in Aragon
itself, a fact which no doubt had a strong determining influence in the
choice of Castilian at the time of the unification of the two kingdoms.
Why Orihuela alone clung to its old Castilian tongue in despite of the
Conqueror is not clear, unless it was owing merely to the proximity of
Murcia.
In character the Valencians are superstitious, revengeful, relentless in
hate. “Ni olvido ni perdono” is their motto. They love the colour and
joy of life. Dancing and love-making are their chief delights. And yet
they are a laborious race. But their white, rather flabby appearance
proclaims them lacking in backbone and initiative. “Flesh is grass, and
grass is water. The men are women, the women--nothing!” says their own
proverb.
The fertile huerta has found its novelist in Blasco Ibañez, a native of
Valencia, who has beautifully described the languid life of the
province. A translation must necessarily lack the force and elegance of
the master’s style, but the following passages will at least enable the
reader to picture a summer in the south:
“When the vast plain awakes in the bluish light of dawn, the last of the
nightingales that have sung through the night breaks off abruptly in his
final trill, as though he had been stricken by the steely shaft of day.
Sparrows in whole coveys burst forth from the thatched roofs, and
beneath this aerial rabble preening their wings the trees shake and nod.
“One by one the murmurs of the night subside; the trickling of the
water-courses, the sighing of the reeds, the barking of the watchful
dogs, other sounds belonging to the day, grow louder and fill the
huerta, the crow of the cock is heard from every farm, and the village
bells proclaim the call to prayer borne across from the towers of
Valencia, which are yet misty in the distance. From the farmyards arises
a discordant animal concert--the neighing of horses, the bellowing of
oxen, the clucking of hens, the bleating of lambs, the grunting of
swine--the sounds produced by beasts that scent the keen odour of
vegetation in the morning breeze and are hungry for the fields.
“The sky is suffused with light, and with light life inundates the plain
and penetrates to the interior of human and animal abodes. Doors open
creaking. In the porches white figures appear, their hands clasped
behind their necks, scanning the horizon. From the stables issue towards
the city milch cows, herds of goats, manure-carts. Bells tinkle between
the dwarf trees bordering the high road, and every now and again is
heard the sharp “Arre, Aca” of the drivers.
“On the thresholds of the cottages those bound for the town exchange
greetings with those who stay in the fields. ‘Bon dia nos done Deu!’
[May God give us a good day!] ‘Bon Dia.’
“Immense is the energy, the explosion of life at midsummer, the best
season of the year, the time of harvest and abundance. Space throbs with
light and heat. The African sun rains torrents of fire on the land
already crackled and wrinkled by its burning caresses, and its golden
beams pierce the dense foliage, beneath which are hidden the canals and
trenches to save them from the all-powerful vivifying heat.
“The branches of the trees are heavy with fruit. They bend beneath the
weight of yellow grapes covered with glazed leaves. Like the pink
cheeks of a child grow the apricots amid the verdure. Children greedily
eye the luxurious burden of the fig-trees. From the gardens is wafted
the scent of jasmin, and the magnolias dispense their incense in the
burning air, laden with the perfume of cereals.
“The gleaming scythe has already sheared the land, levelling the golden
fields of wheat and the tall corn-stalks which bowed beneath their heavy
load of life. The hay forms yellow hills which reflect the colour of the
sun. The wheat is winnowed in a whirlwind of dust; in the naked fields
among the stubble sparrows hop from spot to spot in search of stray
gleanings. Everywhere are happiness and joyous labour. Waggons go
groaning down the road; children frolic in the fields and among the
sheaves, thinking of the wheaten cakes in prospect, and of the lazy
pleasant life which begins for the farmer when his barn is filled. Even
the old horses stride along more gaily, cheered by the smell of the
golden grain which will flow steadily into their mangers as the year
rolls on.
“When the harvest has levelled the panorama and cleared the great
stretches of wheat sprinkled with poppies, the plain seems vast, almost
illimitable. Farther than the eye can reach stretch its great squares of
red soil, marked off by paths and trenches. The Sunday’s rest is
rigorously observed over the whole countryside. Not a man is seen
toiling in the fields, not a beast at work on the road. Down the paths
pass old women with their mantillas drawn over their eyes, and their
little chairs hanging to their arms. In the distance resound, like the
tearing of linen, the shots fired at the swallows, which fly hither and
thither in circles. A noise seems to be produced by their wings ruffling
the crystal firmament. From the canals rises the murmur of clouds of
almost invisible flies. In a farm all painted blue, under an ancient
arbour, there is a whirlwind of gaily-coloured shawls and petticoats,
while the guitars with their drowsy rhythm and the strident cornets
accompany the measures of the Valencian ‘Jota.’
“In the village the little plaza is thronged with the field-folk. The
men are in their shirt-sleeves with black sashes and gorgeous
handkerchiefs arranged mitre-like on their heads. The old men lean on
their big Liria sticks. The young men, with sleeves turned up, display
their red nervous arms and carry mere sprigs of ash between their huge
knotted fingers.
“In the afternoon, towards the fountain along the road, bordered with
poplars which shake their silvered foliage, go groups of girls with
their pitchers on their heads. Their rhythmical movements and their
grace recall the Athenian Canephori. This procession to the well lends
to the huerta something of a Biblical character. The Fontana de la Reina
is the pride of the huerta, condemned to drink the water of wells, and
the red and dirty liquid of the canals. It is esteemed as an ancient and
valuable work. It has a square basin with walls of reddish stone. The
water is below the soil. You reach the bottom by means of six green and
slippery steps. Opposite the steps is a defaced bas-relief, probably a
Virgin attended by angels--no doubt an ex-voto of the time of the
Conquest. Laughter and chatter are not wanting round the well. The girls
cluster round, eager to fill their pitchers but in no hurry to depart.
They jostle each other on the steps, with their petticoats gathered in
between their legs, the better to lean forward and to plunge their
vessels into the basin. The surface of the water is unceasingly troubled
by the bubbles rising from the sandy bed, which is covered with weeds
waving in the current.”
The exuberant natural life pictured in these passages is not altogether
due to the bounty of nature. The scorching sun would have brought death
instead of life to Valencia without the co-operation of man. The whole
province is a triumph of irrigation. The Moors were masters of hydraulic
science. They tapped the Jucar and the Guadalaviar and drew their
waters through the Moncada and seven smaller but magnificent canals into
every corner of the land. This was the legacy they left behind when they
were so suicidally expelled. Their successors, as Mr. Richard Ford so
eloquently puts it, exercise “a magic control over water, wielding it at
their bidding”--presumably as Gilbert’s hero Ferdinando brandished the
turtle soup!
Bequeathed also directly by the Moors, the Tribunal of the Waters is the
most interesting sight of Valencia. It is independent of all law; no
Government has ever touched it; it has no written records. The court
meets every Thursday morning at eleven o’clock at the Apostles’ Gate of
the Cathedral in the capital, to try all cases and disputes in regard to
the precious water that is the life-blood of the province. There are
seven judges, one for each canal, elected by the peasantry of the
districts, and each is known by the name of his canal--Mislata, Cuarte,
and so forth. They are grave, stoutly-built men, with tanned faces and
close-cropped hair. They wear black, the colour beloved by the
comfortably situated working man all the world over; but they have not
degenerated quite so far as to discard the native handkerchief round
their polished brows, or the espadrilla, the Valencian shoe.
Except that the turban has given place to the sombrero and the divan to
an ancient sofa, the proceedings of the tribunal are as patriarchal as
of old. In the plaza a crowd of litigants are collected, chattering,
gesticulating, arguing their wrongs according to the manner of their
kind all the world over. With an air of importance befitting the
occasion the Alguazil of the tribunal places the magisterial bench in
the shadow of the great Gothic portal. A light rail will keep the vulgar
at a distance. Then the peasant magistrates take their seats, and the
oldest pronounces the words, “Se abri el tribunal” (The tribunal is
open). A portentous silence falls, for any one who speaks before his
turn must pay a fine. One by one the litigants are introduced within the
railing and plead their cause bareheaded before the court. Woe to the
insolent wight that dare stand covered in its presence. The Alguazil
will tear the handkerchief from off his head, and he will also be
mulcted in a fine. Each must await the tapping of the presidential foot
before he ventures into the presence. But the severity of the discipline
does not suffice to make the fiery Valencians restrain their feelings.
At every moment there is an explosion of wrath or indignation, a heated
expostulation from one or other of the parties. The fines collected must
be a considerable sum. Out of their own wisdom the judges give their
decisions, which are almost invariably received without discontent. The
Valencians are anxious to preserve their unique tribunal from criticism
and interference, for they know that in Spain, as in other countries,
royal justice is a costly matter.
The history of Valencia for all practical purposes is that of its
capital and namesake. “Its name,” says Mr. Ford, “is fondly derived
from, or considered equivalent to, Roman, because Ρὡμη in Greek
signifies power, as Valencia does in Latin.” The principle is doubtless
excellent, but seems to be that of _lucus a non lucendo_.
When the warriors of Viriathus surrendered to Rome on the death of their
chief, Valencia was granted to them by the Consul D. Junius Brutus.
Destroyed by Pompey, it became a _colonia_ when rebuilt and the capital
of the Edetani. But the history of few Roman colonies, as it has reached
us, is of interest. The province had the usual martyrs under the
persecution of Diocletian and Decius, and was the place of banishment of
the zealot Ermengild. Proud of its haughty name, Valencia has yet
allowed itself to be taken and retaken oftener than any other city in
the world. In 413 it yielded to the Goths, and three hundred years later
with great nonchalance transferred its allegiance to the Moor. It formed
at one time part of the Khalifate; and again, one or more petty kingdoms
in itself.
Don Feodoro Lleorente speaks of “the slave kings” of Valencia. It is
certain that many of its rulers were slave adventurers from the palace
of the Khalifa, who, like the janizaries of Turkey had literally carved
their fortunes with their swords. One of these princes added the
Balearic Isles to his realms and unsuccessfully attempted the conquest
of Sardinia.
The kingdom thus founded by military adventurers was overthrown by the
most famous of that warlike brood.
The Moors had made the desert blossom like the rose. Wealth and
prosperity had been secured to the province. The Moslem paradise was
located here. Medinat-u-Tarab was its capital--the City of Mirth. The
greedy eyes of Christian neighbours were inevitably drawn to such a
region, and the break-up of the Ummeyah dynasty offered an excellent
opportunity for interference.
Valencia was split up into factions, and the King or Amir Kadir was
merely the puppet of the two opposing parties, who alternately supported
him on his tottering throne. But the Moors were a proud race and felt
themselves dishonoured in yielding homage to so weak a ruler. Headed by
Ibn Jahhaf, the people rose in revolt. Kadir fled, but was detected
under his woman’s disguise, was taken and beheaded. That strange
anomaly a Mohammedan republic was formed. A council of the leaders was
constituted with Ibn Jahhaf as President.
A people which arrogates the right to choose its ruler has ever been
considered a sort of pirate among the nations, and fair game for more
powerful States. Kadir, at the time of his deposition, had been under
the hardly disinterested protection of the Cid, who, under pretence of
avenging his _protégé’s_ death, immediately advanced on Valencia. For
some time Ibn Jahhaf, who seems to have had some of the qualities of a
great general, amused the Campeador with negotiations, while he pushed
hastily forward preparations for defence. Discovering that he was being
played with, the Cid swept through the country and threw his army round
Valencia, which for twenty months made a stubborn resistance. The city
falling at length, Jahhaf, who had become a special object of hatred to
the Conqueror, was burnt alive in the plaza. Until his death in 1097,
the Cid ruled the kingdom as absolute lord and despot. The legend runs
that Ximena, his wife, defended the city for two years after her
husband’s death. And so great was the reputation and the terror of the
Campeador that she finally won a victory over the Mussulmans and carried
him to his last resting-place at Cardeña by the stratagem of placing his
corpse fully armed upon his war-horse with his celebrated sword in his
hand.
But for two centuries longer Valencia followed the law of the Prophet.
It was finally wrested from the yoke of Islam on the memorable 28th of
September 1238, when the standard of the victorious Jaime I. of Aragon
was hoisted over the tower of Ali Bufat, and the Crescent bowed before
the Cross. The conquest in the history of Aragon ranks with the taking
of Seville in the history of Castile. Granada was the joint conquest of
both kingdoms. The way in which the Moors in these old days surrendered
their whole kingdom to the Christians, sometimes after only one battle
had been fought, stands out in dark contrast with the tenacious
resistance offered by their descendants in Algeria in modern times.
Enervated by the climate of Spain the Mussulmans of that country were
absolutely incapable of maintaining a prolonged guerilla warfare. If a
fortified capital was taken they at once handed over the whole kingdom
to the conqueror. They were not of course peculiar in this respect. The
sentiments of nationality and physical courage are characteristic far
more of the modern than of the ancient world. We have only to compare
the resistance of the Anglo-Saxons to the Normans with that of the Boers
to the British, of the French in the Hundred Years War with that of
their descendants in 1871, to realise how much more of manliness and
endurance we possess than did our ancestors. We must go back to the days
of Leonidas and Regulus to find parallels for the exploits of our own
Indian Army; to Numantia and Seguntum for parallels to Saragossa and
Gerona. National and individual self-respect withered under feudalism,
and revived only on the introduction of free institutions.
The commerce and wealth of the country now fell into the hands of the
Jews, who came over in great numbers from Aragon. For a long time the
industrious people lived, hated it is true, but unmolested, in their own
quarter of the city. But one ill-fated day a band of children, urged on
probably by some fanatic, marched against the Jewry crying that they had
come to baptize the unbelieving dogs, and that the Archdeacon of Seville
was close upon their heels. In terror the wretched people retreated to
their homes, firmly barricading themselves. Some of the Christian
children got shut up in the quarter. Like wildfire the rumour spread
through the streets that the Jews were submitting them to untold
tortures behind their barred doors. The whole populace went mad with the
rage for blood, attacked the wholly unprepared Jews, and the most
horrible scenes of massacre ensued. This was in 1391. The prosperity of
Valencia suffered its first severe blow with the barbarous expulsion of
the Moors at the command of Philip III. Another fell some time later
when, on account of its strenuous opposition to the French claim to the
Crown, Philip V. confiscated the liberties of the province and imposed
an enormous fine.
But Valencia, though fallen from its old estate, is nevertheless to-day
a thriving prosperous province; its capital is handsome and progressive.
Busy life pulsates through the streets; the _cafés_ are alive with the
hum of voices. There is little to recall the days of its allegiance to
the Prophet, and it has not retained more monuments of the past than
most other cities. From the sightseer’s point of view it is not
intensely interesting; from the stranger’s, even less convenient, since
indications of the names of the streets are few and far between. New and
splendid avenues are arising, which, in pleasant contrast to the dull
uniformity of most Continental town perspectives, contain houses
original and individual in style. You enter the town by one of two
massive castellated gates, which give a note of the mediæval picturesque
to their respective quarters. The fourteenth century Torres de Serranos
form a narrow archway flanked by two fine octagonal towers. Above, are
windows with elaborate panelling, and heavy machicolations crown the
whole building. The Torres de Cuartes, of a century later, are very
similar, but the parapet is itself borne on corbels and machicolated.
Unfortunately the walls of the city have perished.
The Cathedral, the Lonja, and the Picture Gallery exhaust the sights of
Valencia. The Cathedral was founded in 1262 on the ruins of the Great
Mosque, which in its turn had replaced the Temple of Diana. It is far
inferior to most of the great Spanish churches in beauty and interest.
Originally Gothic, it was considerably enlarged in the fifteenth
century, the height, however, being left unaltered. The principal
entrance, in the receding circular form, is an outrage, but the north
door, called the Puerta de los Apostoles, richly sculptured and
delicately moulded, exhibits the skill and industry of the fourteenth
century at its best.
Above the semicircular Puerta de Palau is an interesting series of
medallions. These represent the heads of fourteen men and women. These
are the seven knights of the Conquest and the seven fair ladies they
sought in the surrounding provinces, from whom the whole Valencian
nobility is said to be sprung. This doorway is evidently by the same
hand as the Puerta de los Infantes at Lerida. But the most striking part
of the Cathedral is the imposing Miguelete Tower. Its sculpture is
indifferent, but seen from a distance the effect is fine. It is the
great landmark of the district, and the Valencians speak of exile as
“losing sight of the Miguelete.”
The plan of the Cathedral, like most Spanish churches, is cruciform. In
1760 the interior was modernised in a manner that makes the
beauty-loving traveller long to tear his hair--or that of the
perpetrator of the “restoration.” Over-decoration is its chief defect.
The walls have been encrusted with marbles, the Gothic columns almost
concealed by Corinthian pilasters, the pointed arches rounded off. The
church may merit its surname of “La Rica,” but it has lost that
atmosphere of remote beauty that calls forth the instincts of religion
in the worshipper. During the French occupation of 1809 the magnificent
silver altar was melted down, but fortunately its protecting door panels
were uninjured. These are painted with six pictures by Francisco Pagano
and Pablo de San Leocadio, disciples of Leonardo da Vinci, and ascribed
by some to the master himself. The spurs and bridle of Jaime el
Conqueridor, presented by him on the day he took the city to his Master
of the Horse, are preserved on one of the pillars on the Gospel side.
The choir is for the most part modern, with plain and classical walnut
stalls. The rear portion, or _trascoro_, dates from the fifteenth
century, and is decorated with a fine series of Biblical scenes in
alabaster. The chapels have little of interest, except the tomb of Tomás
de Villanueva, the holy Archbishop of Valencia, in the one dedicated to
him. Over the crossing rises the fine octagonal lantern, which was built
in 1404 and restored in 1731. It was once adorned by many trophies,
among them the flags taken from the Genoese by Ramon Corveran, a famous
sea-dog of Valencia. These, however, have long since vanished.
After the Cathedral the Lonja de la Seda, or Silk Exchange, is the most
interesting sight of Valencia. Built in the Gothic style (though not of
the purest) it is one of the best specimens of civil architecture of the
Middle Ages that we have remaining. Its square tower, crenellated
chimneys, open galleries and high windows give an extremely fine effect.
The hall has spirally fluted pillars that branch out into graceful
clusters of palm-leaves. The ceiling is painted with stars and round the
walls runs the legend, “He only that shall not have deceived nor done
usury shall be worthy of eternal life,” which (let us hope) has guided
generations of merchants into the paths of commercial integrity. The
Audiencia, in good Renaissance style, is well worth a visit, where in
the Salon de Cortes the old provincial States assembled till the middle
of the eighteenth century. As a building the University is beautiful,
if it is a little backward in thought. Here Fernando VII. raised the
noble sport of _Tauromachy_, or Bull-fighting, to the dignity of a
Faculty!
The smaller churches are interesting enough, but not striking, and the
visitor will do well to prefer the almost deserted Picture Gallery.
Until the name of Velasquez dwarfed that of every other Spanish artist,
Valencia boasted a school of painting second to none in the country.
Ribalta, Juanes, Ribera, Espinosa, and Orrente all lived and loved and
painted in the old kingdom. The story of Ribalta is romantic. The son of
a ploughman, he deemed himself on the high road to fortune when he
entered a Valencian studio as a pupil. But alas! the black eyes and
pretty figure of his master’s daughter proved more alluring than canvas
virgins. Ribalta was dismissed the studio in disgrace. He wandered
towards Italy, the land of promise, and studied under the brothers
Carracci. Some years later he returned. His mistress was in possession
of the studio, her father having gone out. A wooden and lifeless Madonna
stood on an easel. Ribalta seized a brush and painted furiously until
sunset, and when the artist returned a masterpiece was awaiting him.
Astonishment, admiration, tears, and gratitude--no artist could forbid
his daughter’s _fiançailles_ with a man of genius. Ribalta afterwards
devoted his whole life to the adornment of the churches of his native
kingdom.
But Valencia is hardly less distinguished for its theatre than for its
painting. Here at the end of the sixteenth century was founded the
celebrated society of “Nocturnes” which welcomed the youth of Lope de
Vega. Guillen de Castro was its head, a man of wit and honourable
family, whose adventurous life ended in the gutter. He is best known as
the author of _Las Mocedades del Cid_, a tedious drama with a fine
heroic touch, whence Corneille drew his inspiration.
Leaving Valencia we run southward as far as Alcira without a stop. Here
we cross the Jucar, which strikes terror into the hearts of the
townsfolk. Rising in the rainy season with terrible rapidity, with
constant shiftings of its channel, it sweeps over the countryside,
swallowing up whole villages in its destructive, impetuous course. When
the sky grows black and the river starts to rise, the panic-stricken
inhabitants run to the churches and seize the images. Then with frenzied
prayers to the _Pare San Bernard_, they dip the holy forehead in the
water, hoping to stay the onrush of the torrent. But the inundated
country to-day will in a few years bear heavy rice crops and luxuriant
orchards. The swampy unhealthy lagoon, the Albufera (which gave its
name to one of Napoleon’s marshals) is becoming filled up with the
_débris_ brought down from the mountains. Soon it, too, will be a
fertile huerta. Meanwhile, trees are being planted on the rugged
hill-side, a wise measure which it is hoped will check the violence of
the floods and the denudation of the arid soil.
Jativa will be our next stopping-place. Like most of the towns in this
country it is rich in historic interest. Past cottages, embosomed in
palm-and orange-trees, you climb up to the hill where the old and new
castles stand side by side. Here in 1284 the Infantes de la Cerda,
rightful heirs to the throne, were confined by their Uncle Sancho el
Bravo. Here too the Duke of Calabria, heir of Naples, languished for ten
years after having trusted himself to the honour of Gonzalo de Cordoba,
who betrayed him. This was one of the three deeds of which Gonzalo is
said to have repented at the last. Indeed the castle of Jativa seems to
have greatly troubled his death-bed, for we learn that the second of
these three misdeeds was the imprisonment in the same place of the
infamous Cæsar Borgia. The Borgias--those super-men of the
Renaissance--had their origin in the neighbourhood of Jativa, which also
boasts itself the birthplace of the artist Ribera.
The smaller coast towns of Alicante attract the weary traveller by their
beautifully sounding names: Benidorm, Villajoyosa--what pleasant chords
they strike in the imagination! But time is short. You think of them
regretfully and hurry towards the capital. But first, if the month is
April, you must turn aside for a flying visit to Alcoy, where every year
a mediæval joust takes place to the glory of Saint George (the city’s
patron saint) and the discomfiture of the Moors. This is to celebrate
the taking of the town from the Moors by Jaime el Conqueridor in 1253.
Alicante, the largest town in the province of that name, and the second
in the Kingdom of Valencia, is as dull as most thriving commercial
centres. Its broad white quays are thronged with a busy bustling
humanity. Touches of vivid colour in the dress of the women, who are
labouring like navvies, a burning sun overhead, and the blue of the
Mediterranean, make a not unpleasing picture. Behind the town towers an
enormous rock--a second Gibraltar--crowned by the old castle of Santa
Barbara. A deep fissure in the rock recalls the stubborn siege of 1707,
when the English General and all his garrison were blown to pieces by a
mine.
Southwards still, to Elche, the City of Palms, or, less poetically, “The
Frying-pan!” A mist of heat seems to hang over the little
Oriental-looking town. Not even in the palm groves that shut out the
desert can you avoid it. These magnificent trees (it has been estimated
that there are 80,000 in the belt that encircles the town) provide
practically all the palms used by the Christian churches in Passion
Week. In the shade of their avenues flourish the laurel, the rose, and
the geranium; beyond, extend crops of lucerne and wheat, watered by the
carefully regulated Vinalapo.
But though Elche makes an agreeable impression on travellers, in Spain
it is chiefly celebrated for its Passion or Mystery Play, the only one
of its kind in the kingdom. Elche is under the special protection of Our
Lady of the Assumption, who sent her miraculous image over the seas
along with the words and music of the opera inscribed _Soy para Elche_
(I am for Elche). To this image, supposed to have been found in 1370 by
a coastguard named Canto, many houses and palm plantations round the
city belong. They are all marked with a crown and the initials M.V. The
image is said to have been carved by St. Luke, but hardly reflects
credit on his skill. However, the miracles it performs seem highly
satisfactory, judging by the magnificent jewels and garments that have
been presented by the faithful.
The opera is presented on August 13 and 14, the eve and the feast of the
Assumption. In a country where the sister of Cervantes was allowed to
install a theatre in her convent and herself play the leading _rôles_,
you are not surprised to find that the representation takes place in the
church, which is, however, for the occasion, carefully stripped of
sacred images.
The scenery, as in mediæval days, is simple. There is a little cave for
the Garden of Gethsemane, a plain coffin for the Holy Sepulchre. Angels
playing harps on a blue cloth stretched across the roof betoken the
celestial regions. Hence, by an ingenious arrangement of ropes and
pulleys, angels will presently come down to take the Virgin up to
heaven. Apostles and saints, their names legibly inscribed on cardboard
haloes, the holy angels and the Trinity itself have all their appointed
parts. The Virgin is a small boy of eleven. Unfortunately that touch of
vulgarity which seems inseparable from modern Continental Catholicism
liberally decorates the angels with well-greased hair, vivid sashes, and
paper flowers of startling hues. However, the crowded audience is not
critical and very real emotion at times interrupts the continuous
chatter and shaking of fans. There seems something singularly human in a
religion so all-embracing.
Orihuela, in its fertile plain, rendered independent of rain by the
waters of the Segura, will be our last stopping-place in the southern
portion of the kingdom. Here the Goths made a last resistance under
Theodomir. Orihuela is the only city in the district where Castilian is
spoken. Its square towers and domes shaded with palms are decidedly
Oriental in appearance. A visit to the Cathedral shows some beautiful
choir-stalls of carved mahogany, but the interior of the building has
been hopelessly barbarised. There is little else to detain us here, so
we take train again for Valencia and the north.
SAGUNTUM AND CASTELLON
Leaving the city of Valencia, the traveller journeys northwards through
one of the most luxuriant garden-plains of southern Europe. Groves of
olive, almond, and orange trees crowd thick upon each other, their
almost monotonous fruitfulness broken only by an occasional graceful
cluster of stately palms. Soon there comes in sight a hill crowned with
an irregular line of battlemented walls. Its silhouette is warm against
the sky-line. This is Saguntum, famed in story.
You pass out of the station and on your left rise up the eastern slopes
of the Saguntine hill. At its feet are huddled the dark green tiled
roofs of the village, from among which the little church of San Salvador
detaches its quadrangular tower, proudly conscious that (in the eye of
its worshippers at least) it is the oldest Christian foundation in the
whole of Spain. Tiny cottages gleam white in the dark places of the
rocks, between thickets of aloes and prickly-pear. And far above, the
reddish walls of the castle with its huge square towers stretch in
slanting belts along the summit of the hill, keeping watch over the
ever-retreating sea that has so often been studded with the ships of
enemies.
To the right, coaches from Teruel and Segorbe lumber along a white
ribbon of road, smothered in clouds of dust. Clambering up the fence of
masonry that separates populace and passengers a dozen Saguntine youths,
burnt by the sun, with eyes like sloes and jet-black hair, hail you in
eager tones. They thrust towards you sinewy arms holding cups of milk or
wine and plates of savoury meats, with branches of oranges or wands
garlanded with fruits and sweet-smelling flowers.
But it is a silent town, Saguntum (or Murviedro as it is generally
called), and seems to brood on memories of the past. Founded in 1389
B.C. by the Greeks of Zacynthus, it has been held in turn by
Carthaginian and Roman, by Goth, Moor, and Spaniard. Its place in
history is unique. The story of its famous siege has repeatedly been
told.
It is the year 219 B.C.--the eve of the Second Punic War. Hannibal,
having sworn war to the death on Rome, is gathering his forces for a
crushing blow. The wealth of Saguntum attracts him; impoverished by the
loss of Sicily, its position as frontier town appeals to him as a
strategist; as the ally of Rome it draws his hatred. Suddenly a force
of a hundred and fifty thousand Carthaginian soldiers is hurled against
the town; battering-rams thunder at the gates; huge catapults scatter
death among the startled townsfolk. Then begins a struggle that can be
compared only with Numantia in ancient or Saragossa in modern times.
Force and cunning have met their match in desperate heroism.
The siege lasted for eight months. Rome was appealed to, but her
Ambassadors were not allowed to land. They turned to Carthage and
entered the Senate House. “I bring you peace or war,” cried Valerius
Flaccus; “choose which you will have!” and resounding cries of “War!
War!” initiated one of the fiercest struggles of antiquity. But though
fighting against a common enemy, Rome deserted her Spanish ally.
A city beseiged is a city doomed. Saguntum could hold out no longer.
Hannibal named his terms--life and two garments to each individual.
Arms, wealth, and Fatherland must all be given up, and the inhabitants
must drift to whatever part of the world the conqueror decreed.
Immediately, by order of the Senate, a scaffold was erected in the
public square. All the wealth from the public treasury was flung upon
it. Private citizens added their treasures to the holocaust, and with
the courage of despair flung themselves into the flames. Then a shout
arose from the walls; one of the towers had fallen and the attacking
army swarmed over the ramparts to wholesale massacre. Such is Livy’s
account, but it is probably an overstatement. For though the
Carthaginians, being a Semitic race, were capable of any cruelty,
history records that the first act of the Scipios, on rebuilding the
town four years later, was to buy back the exiled inhabitants.
Two thousand years later Saguntum was once again the theatre of war,
when in 1808 it was attacked and taken by Marshal Suchet. But Napoleon’s
success was as ephemeral as Hannibal’s. The French violet could not take
root in the granite of Spain.
The present castle is principally Moorish, though some traces of the old
Saguntine walls can be distinguished. It is probable that the keep
described by Livy occupied the site of the present citadel. There are
some old Moorish cisterns to which the girls of the village climb in the
evening with water-jars on their shoulders.
A little lower down the hill lies the ancient Roman amphitheatre, the
most nearly perfect of its kind that exists to-day, not even excepting
those of Italy. The separate entrances that Roman ceremony required for
knights and magistrates, for women and for the common people, can still
be recognised in spite of the depredations of Suchet and the
Philistines. Its thirty-three tiers of bluish grey pebbles, cemented
cunningly together to look like huge blocks of stone, rise with the
sloping hill-side. The theatregoer of Murviedro had little to complain
of in the old days. If the play was tedious, he could turn his eye to
the beautiful scenery that lay before him. His lot was enviable beside
the Londoner’s.
The plain that now separates Murviedro from the sea is rich in ruins of
a bygone age. Desultory excavations have yielded some results. In 1795 a
magnificent mosaic was discovered representing Bacchus astride a tiger
in the midst of revellers, which, unfortunately, has since been lost.
For the antiquary with money at his back and method in his brain a rich
and interesting harvest lies waiting.
Leaving Saguntum we continue northwards past the picturesque old castle
of Almenara; past Nules, famous for its mineral springs; past Burriana,
whose oranges you have eaten in every country of Europe; and the train
steams at length into Castellon de la Plana. To the eye this city is
uninteresting enough, but the imagination is touched by the recital of
its history.
A league to the north of the town the barren mountains of the Desierta
rise from an arid plain. Here can be seen some crumbling grey walls and
a hermitage in honour of St. Mary Magdalena. The walls mark the site of
the old town captured in 1233 by Jaime I. of Aragon. A few years later
the inhabitants petitioned the King’s lieutenant for leave to remove
their town to the fertile plain on the coast where it now stands. Not
only was this granted but considerable privileges were bestowed on the
enterprising city.