RAMBLES IN THE PENINSULA.
No III.
BARCELONA, May 27, 1850.
My dear friend—I have been exceedingly pleased with what I have seen and experienced during the time I have already spent in this handsome and agreeable city. At present I have no traveling companion, and have moreover only encountered one of my countrymen (with the exception of the consuls) since my departure from Madrid, in January last. Besides, I seldom hear the United States mentioned, never see any papers, associate almost altogether with Spaniards, and converse chiefly in their language.
The American Consul here (who is by the way a Spaniard) has been very attentive and kind to me. We have taken several walks together, in which he has pointed out to me the most notable edifices of Barcelona. Among these is the magnificent theater called El Siceo, which is one of the grandest in the world. It is certainly the most splendid of the kind I have ever seen. It was built by subscription, at an expense of about half a million of dollars, and is capable of containing nearly six thousand persons. To my regret it is now closed. There is another very fine theater here called El Principal, which is open every evening. Last night I went to see the amusing opera of Don Pasquale, by Donizetti, which was quite laudably performed. In fact I go most every night, as I have nothing else to do, and have an excellent seat at my disposal, with which the consul has been so kind as to favor me. The appearance and manners of the audience are more interesting to me than those of the stage-actors. Besides, I like to accustom my ear to the Spanish, which I now speak with considerable fluency and correctness. I have devoted much study to this and the French language since I have been in Spain, and am now making some progress in the Italian, through the Spanish. I am convinced that no man can properly understand a people without knowing something of their language, which is in a great degree the index of their character. Moreover it is an indispensable condition to comfortable travel.
Among the distinguished characters in town is the famous Governor Tacon, who so admirably conducted the affairs of state in the island of Cuba some years since. He is staying with a particular friend of the consul, who is an immensely wealthy man and lives in the most princely style. I visited the house a few days since, before the arrival of the governor, and was delighted with the splendid taste displayed in the fresco of the ceiling, the stucco of the walls, and indeed with every article of furniture with which the rooms were supplied. On the parterre, or lower roof, was a little gem of a garden, with raised beds, blooming with beautiful plants and flowers, while in the middle was a fountain and on each side a miniature arbor of grapes. Really, nothing could be more charming and luxurious. It was like peeping into the bygone days of fairydom.
Barcelona is one of the best places in Spain for one to be during the observance of remarkable festivals. The celebration of Corpus Christi, which commences on the 30th, is said to be conducted here on a most magnificent scale. Of this I can form some conception from the brilliant procession which I witnessed yesterday afternoon, it being Trinity Sunday. The procession was preceded by two men on mules, over whose necks were strung a pair of tambours, (a kind of drum,) upon which the men were vigorously beating. Then came a priest, bearing a large and elaborately worked cross; after him came the body of the procession in regular order, consisting of young priests in white gowns, chanting as they marched; citizens in black, with white waistcoats and without hats; little girls representing the angels, in snowy gauze dresses with flowers, garlands, and a light azure scarf flowing from their heads; numerous bands of music, some of them playing solemn airs, others quick-steps and polkas; a fine display of infantry, and after all a noble body of cavalry, on fine horses, in striking uniform, each of them carrying a spear-topped banner in their hands. The general appearance of this procession, (each member of which, with the exception of the soldiers, carried a lighted candle or torch in his hand,) marching through one of the superb but narrow streets, while from almost every balcony was suspended a gay "trede," (a scarf-like awning,) either of blue, or crimson, or yellow, the balconies themselves being crowded with clusters of bright-eyed girls,—constituted one of the most brilliant and attractive spectacles that I ever witnessed. Yet they tell me that the procession of Corpus Christi will be infinitely more splendid and elaborate.
I am living here very comfortably. My rooms are pleasant and overlook the charming Rambla. My mornings are generally spent in reading and studying Spanish. At four o'clock my Irish friend and myself proceed to the fine restaurant where we are accustomed to dine: here we meet an intelligent Spanish gentleman, who completes our party, and as he does not speak English, all conversation is conducted at the table in the Spanish language. Dinner being over, we next visit a palverine cafe, where we meet a number of Spanish acquaintances, with whom we take coffee and a cigar. We all sally out together, and walk for an hour or two, either in the environs of the city, or along their mural terrace, overlooking the blue waters of the Mediterranean, closing our promenade at length upon the crowded and animated Rambla. After the theater, a stroll in the moonlight upon this magnificent promenade, and as the clock strikes the hour of midnight we retire, and bathe in the waters of oblivion till morn. My days in Spain are drawing near their end. I am ready to leave, though I shall cast many a lingering thought, many a fond recollection behind; and in future years, I shall sadly recall these hours, which, I fear, can never be recalled. But away with the enervating reflections of grief! Read nothing in the past but lessons for the future. When you think of its pleasures, think also of the cares they produced and the anxieties they cost you. Behold, they are ended, and forever. Have you reaped from them a moral, or have you been poisoned with their sting? Have you not discovered that pleasure is a phantom, which vanishes in proportion to the eagerness with which it is pursued? that by itself it fatigues without satisfying—that it knows no limits or bounds to gratify the restless and unfettered soul—that it is a feeble soil, which, without the sweat of labor and the tears of sorrow, produces nothing but the weeds of sin and the thorny briars of remorse? Have you learned all this, and are you not a wiser and a better man? Let all who have traveled for pleasure answer the question to themselves.
Truly your friend,
JOHN E. WARREN.
The Rev Henry Giles, in a lecture on "Manliness," thus designates the four great characteristics which have distinguished mankind. "The Hebrew was mighty by the power of Faith—the Greek by Knowledge and Art—the Roman by Arms—but the might of the Modern Man is placed in Work. This is shown by the peculiar pride of each. The pride of the Hebrew was in Religion—the pride of the Greek was in Wisdom—the pride of the Roman was in Power—the pride of the Modern Man is placed in Wealth."
Carlyle and Emerson.—They are not finished writers, but great quarries of thought and imagery. Of the two, Emerson is much the finer spirit. He has not the radiant range of imagination or any of the rough power of Carlyle, but his placid, piercing insight irradiates the depth of truth further and clearer than do the strained glances of the latter. A higher mental altitude than Carlyle has mounted, by most strenuous effort, Emerson has serenely assumed.