Kitabı oku: «The Picturesque Antiquities of Spain», sayfa 18

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LETTER XXI.
PRIVATE HOUSES, AND LOCAL CUSTOMS IN SEVILLE

Seville.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The month of June is likewise distinguished by the procession of the Corpus Christi. On this occasion all the principal streets are protected from the sun by canvas awnings; and from the windows of every house draperies are suspended, the materials of which are more or less rich according to the means of their respective proprietors. From an early hour of the morning, ushered in by sunshine and the gay orchestra of the Giralda bells, the vast marble pavement of the cathedral begins to disappear beneath the momentarily increasing crowd. Here all classes are mingled; but the most conspicuous are the arrivals from the surrounding villages, distinguished by their more sunburnt complexions and the showy colours of their costume, contrasted with the uniformly dark tints of the attire of the Sevillanos.

Here are seen also in great numbers, accompanied by their relatives, the gay cigarreras, whose acquaintance we shall presently make in the fabrica de tabaco. The instinctive coquetry discernible, no less in the studied reserve of their looks than in the smart step and faultless nicety of costume, indicates how easy would be the transition to the quality of the still more piquant but somewhat less moral maja. The black satin, low-quartered shoe is of a different material; but the snow-white stocking, and dark green skirt the same—and the black-velvet bordered mantilla is the identical one, which was held tight to the chin, when passing, the evening before, under the city walls on the return from the manufactory to the faubourg at the other extremity of Seville.

The procession, headed by a band of music, and accompanied by the dignitaries of the diocese, and civil authorities of the province, bearing cierges, winds through the principal streets, and re-enters the church to the sound of the two magnificent organs, never heard in unison except on this anniversary. The exterior of the principal portal is ornamented on this occasion with a sort of curtain, which is said to contain upwards of three thousand yards of crimson velvet, bordered with gold lace. The columns of the centre nave are also completely attired from top to bottom with coverings of the same material. The value of the velvet employed, is stated at nearly ten thousand pounds.

Christmas-day is also solemnized at Seville, with much zeal; but the manner of doing it honour presents more of novelty than splendour. At the early hour of seven the parish churches are completely filled. The organ pours forth, from that time until the termination of the service, an uninterrupted succession of airs, called seguidillas, from the dance to which they are adapted. On the gallery, which adjoins the organ-loft of each church, are established five or six muscular youths, selected for their untiring activity. They are provided each with a tambourine, and their duty consists in drawing from it as much, and as varied sound as it will render without coming to pieces. With this view they enter upon the amiable contest, and try, during three or four hours, which of their number, employing hands, knees, feet, and elbows in succession, can produce the most racking intonations. On the pavement immediately below, there is generally a group, composed of the friends of the performers, as may be discerned from the smiles of intelligence directed upwards and downwards. Some of these appear, from the animated signs of approbation and encouragement, with which they reward each more than usually violent concussion, to be backers of favourite heroes. During all this time one or two priests are engaged before the altar in the performance of a series of noiseless ceremonies; and the pavement of the body of the church is pressed by the knees of a dense crowd of devotees.

The propensity to robbery and assassination, attributed by several tourists to the population of this country, has been much exaggerated. The imagination of the stranger is usually so worked upon by these accounts, as to induce him never to set foot outside the walls of whatever city he inhabits, without being well armed. As far as regards the environs of Seville, this precaution is superfluous. They may be traversed in all directions, at all events within walking distance, or to the extent of a moderate ride, without risk. Far from exercising violence, the peasants never fail, in passing, to greet the stranger with a respectful salutation. But I cannot be guarantee for other towns or environs which I have not visited. It is certain that equal security does not exist nearer the coast, on the frequented roads which communicate between San Lucar, Xeres, and Cadiz; nor in the opposite direction, throughout the mountain passes of the Sierra Morena. But this state of things is far from being universal.

I would much prefer passing a night on a country road in the neighbourhood of Seville, to threading the maze of streets, which form the south-eastern portion of the town, mentioned above as containing the greater number of the residences of private families. This quarter is not without its perils. In fact, if dark deeds are practised, no situation could possibly be better suited to them. These Arab streets wind, and twist, and turn back on themselves like a serpent in pain. Every ten yards presents a hiding-place. There is just sufficient lighting up at night to prevent your distinguishing whether the street is clear or not: and the ground-floors of the houses, in the winter season, are universally deserted.

An effectual warning was afforded me, almost immediately on my arrival at Seville, against frequenting this portion of the town without precaution after nightfall. An acquaintance, a young Sevillano, who had been my daily companion during the first five or six days which followed my arrival, was in the habit of frequenting with assiduity, some of the above-mentioned streets. He inhabited one of them, and was continually drawn by potent attraction towards two others. In one, in particular, he followed a practice, the imprudence of which, in more than one respect, as he was much my junior, I had already pointed out to him. A lady, as you have already conjectured, resided in the house, in question. My friend, like many of his compatriots, "sighed to many;" but he loved this one; and she was precisely the one that "could ne'er be his." She allowed him, however, a harmless rendezvous, separated from all danger, as she thought, by the distance from the ground to the balcony, situated on the first-floor. The lady being married, and regular visiting being only possible at formal intervals, these interviews had by degrees alarmingly, as appeared to me, increased in frequency and duration; until at length during two hours each evening, my acquaintance poured forth in a subdued tone, calculated to reach only the fair form which bent over the balcony, his tender complaints.

The youth of these climes are communicative on subjects which so deeply interest their feelings; and whether willing or not, one is often admitted to share their secrets at the commencement of an acquaintance. It was thus that I had had an opportunity of lecturing my friend on the various dangers attending the practice in which he was persisting, and of recommending him—the best advice of all being, of course, useless—to revive the more prudent custom of by-gone times, and if he must offer nightly incense to the object of his fire, to adopt the mode sanctioned by Count Almaviva, and entrust his vows to the mercenary eloquence of choristers and catgut—to anything—or anybody, provided it be done by proxy. My warning was vain; but the mischief did not befall him exactly in the manner I had contemplated.

His cousin opened my door while I was breakfasting, and informed me that L– was in the house of Don G– A–, and in bed, having received a wound the previous night from some robbers; and that he wished to see me. I found him in a house, into which I had already been introduced, being one of those he most frequented. A bed had been prepared in the drawing-room, all the window-shutters of which were closed, and he was lying there, surrounded by the family of his host, to whom was added his sister. As he was unable to speak above a whisper, I was given the seat by the bedside, while he related to me his adventure.

He had just quitted the street of the balcony at about nine o'clock, and was approaching the house we were now in, when, on turning a corner, he was attacked by three ruffians, one of whom demanded his money in the usual terms, "Your purse, or your life!" while, before he had time to reply, but was endeavouring to pass on, a second faced him, and stabbed him in the breast through his cloak. He then ran forward, followed by the three, down the street, into the house, and up the staircase; the robbers not quitting the pursuit until he rang the bell on the first-floor. The surgeon had been immediately called, and had pronounced him wounded within—not an inch, but the tenth part of an inch—of his life; for the steel had penetrated to within that distance of his heart.

My first impression was that the robbers were acting a part, and had been hired to get rid of him,—otherwise what were the utility of stabbing him, when they might have rifled his pockets without such necessity? But this he assured me could not be the case, as the person most likely to fall under such suspicion, was incapable of employing similar means; adding, that that was the usual mode of committing robberies in Seville. I left him, after having assured him how much I envied his good fortune; seeing that he was in no danger, and only condemned to pass a week or two in the society of charming women, all zealously employed in nursing him—for such was the truth—one of the young ladies being supposed, and I fear with justice, to be the object of his addresses.

The ungrateful wretch convinced me by his reply (as we conversed in French, and were not understood by those present) that his greatest torment was impatience to escape from his confinement, in order to see or write to the other fair one.

At the end of a week he was sufficiently recovered to be removed to the house of his family. From certain hints, dropped during a conversation which took place more than a month after the event, it is to be feared that the knife of the assassin, in approaching so near to the heart of his intended victim, succeeded, by some mysterious electric transmission, in inflicting a positive wound on that of the lady of the balcony.

I afterwards learned that it was usual for those who inhabited or frequented this part of Seville, and indeed all other parts, excepting the few principal thoroughfares and streets containing the shops and cafés, to carry arms after nightfall; and in shaking hands with an acquaintance, I have sometimes perceived a naked sword-blade half visible among the folds of his cloak. These perils only exist in the winter, and not in all winters; only in those during which provisions increase in price beyond the average, and the season is more than usually rigorous: the poor being thus exposed to more than the accustomed privations.

There are towns in which assassination and robbery are marked by more audacity than is their habitual character in this part of Andalucia. Of these, Malaga is said to be one of the worst, although perhaps the most favoured spot in Europe, with respect to natural advantages. An instance of daring ruffianism occurred there this winter. A person of consideration in the town had been found in the street stabbed and robbed. His friends, being possessed of much influence, and disposing, no doubt, of other weighty inducements to action, the police was aroused to unusual activity; the murderer was arrested, and brought before the Alcalde primero. A summary mode of jurisprudence was put in practice, and the culprit was ordered for execution on the following day. On being led from the presence of the court, he turned to the Alcalde, and addressing him with vehemence, threatened him with certain death, in the event of the sentence being put in execution. The Alcalde, although doubtless not entirely free from anxiety, was, by the threat itself, the more forcibly bound to carry into effect the judgment he had pronounced. The execution, therefore, took place at the appointed hour. The following morning, the dead body of the Alcalde was found in a street adjoining that in which he resided.