The Picturesque Antiquities of Spain

Had Murillo not painted this picture and the Saint Elizabeth of Hungary, Spanish art must have contented itself with the second rank, and Raphael would have continued without a rival. These pictures occasion regret that such genius should have employed itself during a long period, on works of a different sort. The San Antonio and a few others, were no doubt productions worthy of the painter of the Aguas, and a hundred or two others are magnificent paintings; but the time employed on some of these, and on a still greater number of less prominent merit, would have been more profitably devoted to the production of two or three which might have ranked with these giant creations of his talent.

In viewing either of these compositions, the other speedily becomes present to the imagination, and forces you to draw a comparison between them. They have a sort of affinity in their subject as well as in their style. The sufferers of the St. Elizabeth, occupied with their torments and their gratitude, answer to those of the Aguas, engrossed also with almost parallel feelings. The Moses, tranquil and erect in the midst of the action which surrounds him, is the exact pendant of the majestic figure and compassionate countenance of the youthful princess, exercising her saintly charities. These pictures ought to be companions in the same gallery, were it possible for two such works to find their way into one and the same apartment. But that would be a consummation as hopeless as finding St. Peter's and the Duomo of Milan in the same town; Naples and Seville in one province, a London and a Paris in one country, an Ariosto and a Byron in the same language. It has more than once occurred to me, since I have seen these two pictures, that were Raphael's Spasimo and Transfiguration placed on one side of a room, and these two on the other, and the choice offered me which pair I would possess, I should never be able to come to a decision.

Another large picture by Murillo, the multiplying of the Loaves in the Desert, is suspended opposite the Aguas, and at the same elevation. On attempting to examine it, you are forcibly reminded by certain acute sensations in the region of the neck, of the unnatural position it has so long maintained, and you leave this picture, together with two others, placed near the entrance of the chapel, for a subsequent visit.

In the church of the Faubourg Triana, on the right hand after passing the bridge, are some excellent pictures, particularly a Conception by Murillo. The multitude of paintings left by this artist is incredible, when to all those scattered through Spain, France, and England, are added those preserved in this his native town. Almost all the good houses in Seville contain collections of pictures; and all the collections have their Murillos. There are no fewer than sixteen in the gallery of the Canon, Don Manuel Cepero; but this is the largest of the private collections, and the best, as it ought to be, since it is contained in Murillo's house. It is the residence occupied by him during the latter part of his life, and in which he died. Its dimensions and distribution are handsome. At the back of it there is a garden of limited extent, but in which not an inch of space is thrown away. Where there remains no room for choice flowers and orange trees, the walls are painted to prolong the illusion. The Canon possesses also several good paintings by Italian masters. I counted likewise four Rembrandts, and two of Rubens. Among the other private collections, that of the Alcalde Don Pedro Garcia is one of the richest; it contains a Santa Barbara of Cano, an exquisite picture. A Saint Joseph by Murillo, in the collection of the French Consul (a native of Seville) is admirable.

In most of the churches there is sufficient of this sort of attraction to make them worth a visit. In the convents nothing is left; in fact they no longer exist as convents. There may be one or two remaining in Seville, but I did not hear of them. The monastery of Jeronimites, and the Chartreuse—both situated in the environs—were the most considerable religious establishments of Seville. They are converted, one into a school, and the other into a porcelain manufactory. This last, the Chartreuse, contains in its church and refectory, plentiful traces of its former magnificence. An Englishman has purchased the monastery with three or four acres of ground, containing the immediate dependencies; and he is occupied with the labours which necessarily precede its appearance in its new character, replacing the butteries, kitchens, storehouses, and cells, by rows of pudding-shaped baking-houses.

He has, however, spared the chapel, which is to continue in its former state. All the stalls, the altar, and other immoveable furniture, remain as he found them. The pictures and statues had of course been previously removed. The woodwork is inimitable—the best I have seen in Spain; it would be impossible in painting to represent with more delicacy, the very texture of the drapery, the very veins of the hands, and hair of the beards—of figures of a quarter the natural dimensions. You are filled with astonishment, that the infinite patience necessary for this mechanical labour should have accompanied the genius which conceived and executed the incomparable figures and heads. The refectory, of which the ceiling is the principal ornament, is to be the great show-room for the display of the china. The fortunate manufacturer inhabits, with his family, the prior's residence—one of the most elegant habitations in the world: surrounding a court, which contains of course its white marble fountain and colonnades: and he is in treaty for the purchase of the orange-grove, the park of the monastery. This pleasure-ground is ornamented here and there with Kiosks, from which are obtained views of Seville, and the intervening Guadalquivir.

On the confiscation of this monastery, several magnificent pictures disappeared, a few of which have since been placed in the cathedral. Two alabaster monuments, belonging to the family of Medina Cæli, were also removed; they are placed in a church at present under repair. They are erect, and fit into the wall; measuring about forty feet in height. Their upper portion is adorned with several well-executed small statues.

The other convent—that dedicated to S. Geronimo, is situated on the opposite side of the river, about a mile higher up. It is not so beautiful as the Cartuja, but on a grander scale. The principal court is magnificent; it is surrounded with upper and lower arcades, respectively of the Ionic and Doric orders: the apartments and church are of corresponding extent; but have either been deprived of their ornaments, or were originally but sparingly decorated. A ci-devant governor of Seville—a general officer, very distinguished as a linguist, has turned schoolmaster, and taken up his abode here. The day of my visit happened to be the general's birthday, and a scene of much festivity presented itself. The schoolmaster's successor in his former post at Seville, had arrived, attended by the band of a cavalry regiment; and the great court having been converted into a ball-room, the marble arcades were made to ring with the thrilling cadences of the hautbois and clarionette—by way of a fitting afterpiece to the tragic chants of former days.

The relatives and friends of the students were present, so that the youthful dancers were well-provided with partners. The performances were French quadrilles, English hornpipes, German waltzes, Russian mazurkas, and Spanish fandangos. I had arrived too late for the first part of the entertainment, which consisted of a bull-fight, for which a temporary arena had been enclosed. The bulls were what are called novillos—that is, scarcely more than calves; as the full-grown animals would have been more than a match for their juvenile antagonists.

The ruins of the Roman city of Italica, to which I have already alluded, are situated four miles from Seville in ascending the river—and on the opposite bank. The whole town is underground, with the exception of a few houses in the part in which excavations have been made, and of the amphitheatre which occupies an eminence. No notice was taken in modern times of the existence of this buried town, until towards the end of the last century, when the remains of the amphitheatre, the only portion of the ruins which were visible, drew the attention of travellers: and the authorities of Seville received orders to commence excavating. The search yielded a large quantity of valuable remains; a temple was discovered, in the neighbourhood of which were found several statues and capitals of columns. A choice was made of the objects in the best state of preservation, which were forwarded to Madrid in order to form a museum. Large quantities of coins were also sent, and collections of household utensils, and ornaments. The Arabs, who did not consider these Roman relics worthy objects of antiquarian research, nevertheless had either discovered and laid open a large portion of the town, or were themselves its destroyers. From it they extracted the large quantities of marble columns and slabs with which Seville is filled. The mutilated statues, together with several funereal monuments, found in later times, and not considered deserving of the journey to Madrid, have been deposited in a large room in the Alcazar of Seville, where they are now exhibited.

No record exists of the foundation of Italica. Its annals are traced to the time of Scipio Africanus, who, on the completion of his conquest of Spain, and the final expulsion of the Carthaginians, finding himself embarrassed by the number of wounded and sick among his troops, established them in this town under the protection of a garrison. He gave to the town its name of Italica,12 its previous name being Sancius: the real situation of Italica has been the subject of much controversy. Like the Grecian cities, which claimed each to be the birthplace of Homer, several of the towns in the neighbourhood of Seville are candidates for the honour of being representatives of the ancient Italica; but ample proof exists of the identity of these ruins with that city.13 The Historia general, written by Alonso el Sabio, book 1., chap, XV., speaks of Italica as a place of much importance in ancient times, in allusion to the invasion of a people called the Almunizes. He adds, in the antiquated Spanish of his time, "Las nuevas fueron por todas las tierras de como aquellas gentes avian ganado a España, e todos los de las islas quel oyeron crecieron les corazones por fazer otro tal, e ayuntaron muy grandes navios, e vinieronse para España, e entraron por cuatro partes. Los que entraron por Cadiz vinieron Guadalquibir arriba, e llegaron a Italica e los de la villa salieron e lidiaron con ellos, e los de fuera entraron con ellos de vuelta por medio de la villa, e mataron los a todos, e ganaron la villa." It is not clear what invasion is here alluded to.

The town of Italica was one of the six or seven in these provinces which possessed the title of municipia; a superior one to that of colonia, from its involving the privilege of retaining its ancient laws and customs, while on the colonies those of Rome were imposed. It was among the cities which sheltered some of the earliest converts to Christianity. Its first bishop was the martyr Saint Geruncio, put to death in prison. The prison, being considered sanctified, from its containing the saint's remains, became subsequently the resort of pious votaries from all parts of the province. In the Mozarabic ritual there is a hymn for the day of this saint, one of the stanzas of which fixes the epoque of his life and martyrdom, at that of the apostles.14

The centurion Cornelius, mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles, as converted by the preaching of St. Peter, was, it is said, a native of this city, and commanded a cohort raised in his native place.

The date of the destruction of Italica, is as uncertain as that of its origin. The fact of its existence during almost the entire period of the Gothic dominion, is established, by the presence of its bishops being recorded at the different councils. It is conjectured that its destruction was the work of the Arabs, who were no sooner in possession of Seville, than they considered it imprudent to allow so large a town to be in the hands of enemies in their immediate neighbourhood. This supposition of Spanish antiquaries seems hazarded without sufficient reflection; since, in the first place, had the occupants of Italica occasioned the Arabs any uneasiness, nothing was easier than to occupy the place themselves; and secondly, the ruins bear strong symptoms of having been reduced to their present state by some convulsion of nature, rather than by human agency: not to mention the coins discovered in large quantities, which would not have been neglected by human destroyers. It is not likely that the destruction of so considerable a place by the conquerors of the province, at the time they were too few to defend it, would have been overlooked by their historians—who make no allusion to the event.

The present appearance is that of a green undulating hill, which no one would imagine to be composed of the remains of streets, palaces, temples, and market-places. The upper portion only of the amphitheatre remains above-ground. Its form is slightly oval, nearly approaching to a circle. The greatest diameter is three hundred and twenty-five feet. It has twenty rows of seats, half of which are buried; each seat is two feet and a half in depth, and two in height. Part of the Podium remains; and enough of the entrance, to distinguish that it consisted of three large arches. It was constructed with Roman solidity. Nothing less than an earthquake could have toppled over the masses of masonry, which appear in their confusion like solid rocks. A very small portion of the ruins has been explored: and part of that, for want of being sufficiently cleared out, is again buried in earth, and the work is discontinued. The objects now above-ground, consist of five or six tessalated floors, two of which have been considered of sufficient value to be walled in, and locked up, but without being roofed.

These ruins are well worth a visit, although the road to them from Seville, bears terrible symptoms of having been constructed before Macadam's day; perhaps even before that of the Scipios.

At the distance of a few hundred yards from the nearest portion of the ruined town is situated the village of Santi-ponce, in which is the convent of S. Isidoro, of the order of St. Jerome. The church contains the tombs of Don Alonzo Perez de Guzman, surnamed the Good, and of his wife Doña Maria Alonzo Coronel, founders of the ducal house of Medina Sidonia. This family obtained from Ferdinand the Fourth, a grant of Santi-ponce and old Seville (Italica), with the district, and temporal and spiritual jurisdiction. Don Sancho had already rewarded the services and tried fidelity of Perez de Guzman by presenting him with the town of Medina Sidonia. An anecdote is told of him worthy of a Roman republican. Being governor of Tarifa under Sancho the Fourth, he had to defend the town against the Infant, Don Juan, who had revolted against his brother. This prince, learning that a child of Guzman was in his power, being at nurse in the environs of the town, sent for it; and, presenting himself before the walls, declared to the governor that he would kill the child, if the town were not immediately surrendered. Guzman replied by drawing his sword, and throwing it down to the prince, who had the barbarity to order the infant to be murdered before his father's eyes.

LETTER XXI.

PRIVATE HOUSES, AND LOCAL CUSTOMS IN SEVILLE

Seville.

The greater number of private houses are situated in an interminable labyrinth of winding streets, between the Calle de la Sierpe, and Plaza de San Francisco and the city wall, which connects the Aqueduct of Carmona with the Alcazar. It is the South-eastern half of the city. To the west of the Calle de la Sierpe there are also a few streets containing private residences, but they are not in so large a proportion. Some of the most elegant are, however, on this side; which being less Moorish and more modern, is less chary of its attractions, and allows a part of its decoration to enliven the external façades; while its spacious doorways frequently open to the view of the passer-by a gay perspective of gardens and courts.

The sunny balcony, crowded with a crimson forest of cactuses, is not more attractive to the sight, than the more mysterious vista beneath it, of retreating colonnades, mingled with orange and pomegranate trees, through which the murmur of the fountain is scarcely audible. Few cities present more charms to the wanderer than one in which the houses offer a combination so luxurious as is met with in the greater number of those of Seville. The cool summer rooms opening into the court, in which the drawing-room furniture is arranged on all sides of a fountain, plentifully supplied from the aqueduct of Carmona: and, on the upper floor, the winter apartments, chosen from their being better lighted, for the deposit of a collection of pictures and these almost always excellent,—and opening to the gallery; to which, during this season, the furniture having been removed from below, is placed, together with the work frames and portable musical instruments, on the side exposed to the sun. One sees these houses and their amiable and happy-looking inhabitants, and imagines there is no life to be compared to it. Yet the experiment may be made, and fail to answer the expectations of the stranger, who, confident in his discovery of the road to happiness, may have pitched his tent in the midst of these bewitching regions.

Can it be fatality—or is it essential in human nature, to find ever the least felicity there, where it looks for the greatest? The experiment, I say, was made. An Englishman, possessing every advantage of taste, talent, and wealth, took up his residence here, resolved to devote the remainder of his days to the peaceable enjoyments of a literary and social life. Thanks to his literary propensities, we are enabled to judge of the result of the trial. In a book published by the person to whom I allude, we find that no one could be less satisfied with his lot. Seville and the Sevillanos meet with no mercy at his hands, and must, if we may judge by his dislike of them, have rendered his life a burden.

This, however, is a single example, and insufficient to deter others from the attempt. It may be that this individual had not entered fully into the spirit of Andalucian existence. Every detail of life being here adapted to the place and its customs and climate, no custom can be erred against with impunity—that is, without the forfeit of some corresponding advantage.

Seville presents two so different aspects during the two opposite seasons of the year, that to be well understood it should be visited at both. During the winter, the existence does not materially differ from that of the inhabitants of most other European towns; excepting that the intercourse of society is subjected to less formality. Cards of invitation are rarely made use of; and you are not, consequently, exposed to the annoyance of seeing and hearing your house invaded by a dense crowd, on a night you have appointed a month before, without any possibility of foreseeing whether you would be disposed or not on that particular night to undergo such a toil. These crowds are, I believe, unheard of in Seville; but those who are pleased in each other's society, know where to find each other; and without waiting for invitations, small circles are formed every evening, from which all crushing, fatigue, and intense dressing are excluded.

The winter is also a more advantageous season for the stranger, who would be totally debarred by the summer heats from the activity necessary for the satisfaction of his curiosity, in visiting the objects of interest contained in and around Seville. On the other hand, the summer season offers to his contemplation the successful attainment of a mode of existence suited to the burning climate; a problem found to be solved but in few instances. The first and most essential arrangement appears to be the turning night into day, and vice versâ, as far as regards society and all locomotion. No one leaves his house until long after sunset, and visiting commences some hours later. The morning being consequently the time for repose, and the breakfast hour nevertheless remaining the same all the year round, the siesta is very essential, and is judiciously placed between the dinner, which terminates at four, and the hour for movement—nine, when the Sevillano, refreshed by three or four hours sleep, and a fresh toilette, is infinitely better disposed for the evening's amusements than the denizen of more northern climes, who rises at that or a later hour from the chief repast of the day, and is put en train by the less natural and less durable stimulants of the table.

This mode of life presents other numerous advantages. A very prominent one is the inviolable division of time between society and solitude. We suppose the hour for rising eight,—immediately after the chocolate,—that of breakfast eleven. The intervening hours are solitary, and are frequently divided between the pillow and the toilette; while they are sometimes devoted to more useful occupations, and added to by earlier risers. From the family meeting at breakfast until the dinner hour, three, the time may be employed in business, reading, in fact, in every one's habitual pursuits. No intrusion is to be feared. No accursed idler lounges in to interrupt with his compliments, or gossip, your letter to your lawyer, or, if you are a lawyer yourself, that to your client; nor is the conscience of scrupulous porters burdened with the mendacious "not at home."

These hours are sacred, and guaranteed by the very air, which renders the streets impassable, but leaves the cool court protected from the sun's ray by the toldo, (canvas awning spread at a level with the roof, and which is reefed up at night like a sail,) and refreshed by its ever-murmuring fountain and cool marble pavement, to the peaceable enjoyment of its owners. The female portion of the family are thus enabled to devote themselves to household occupations, or to their favourite employments, without having to undergo, until the second getting up in the evening, the fever of a complete toilette, which would, during the day, be insupportable. The time thus devoted to society, is amply sufficient; as it may be prolonged, as each party feels inclined, from an hour or two after sunset, until the returning rays drive all back to their cool retreat.

The night of the festival of St. John is, in Seville, sacred, from remote time, to amusement and festivity. During the five or six hours of darkness accorded by the Midsummer sun, the banks of the Guadalquivir echo the gay melodious laugh, which enlivens the animated buzz of the crowd; and the morning ray gilds the upper windows of the deserted houses before their doors are opened to the supper-craving population. The rite practised on this occasion is marked by a simplicity altogether antique. The youth of Seville, that is the masculine portion, have provided themselves with small boxes, containing a sort of sugar-plum of exquisite flavour. One of these is held between the finger and thumb of the cavallero, from the moment he sets foot on the promenade. On the approach of a party of ladies he endeavours to distinguish, as far off as the gloom permits, the features or dress of an already selected object of preference; or, if still free to make a selection, some countenance possessed of sufficient attraction to determine his choice. On discovering the owner of either of these requisites, he watches a favourable opportunity, and approaching the lady, offers the bonbon.

The señorita—of course unmarried—thus selected, is obliged to accept the compliment if properly offered, as well as the arm of the cavallero during the rest of the night; and, on arriving at her house, he receives from her parents, or chaperon, as the case may be, an invitation to supper. Should the lady be desirous of avoiding the compliment, of the approach of which she is usually aware, she must exercise her ingenuity in putting obstacles in the way of the attempt. In this effort many are successful, since the peculiar mode of proceeding, obligatory on those who make the offer, affords certain facilities. The condition is not binding on the fair object of the compliment, unless the lips receive the bonbon immediately from the finger and thumb of the cavalier. This is a source of no small amusement to the señoritas at the expense of strangers from other provinces of Spain. Conscious of being the object of preference of some young beginner, or stranger uninitiated in the mysteries of the rite—and who, let it be understood, does not happen to be an object of preference with them—they will afford him every facility of approach, and on receiving the present in the hand, will repulse without mercy the luckless wight, whose retiring steps are accompanied by peals of laughter from all the party.