Glories of Spain

by Charles W. Wood

VALENCIA proved more modern and bustling than we had imagined. After the quiet streets of Tarragona it appeared to us the most crowded place we had ever been in; tramcars ran to and fro; there was much noise and excitement. Half the crowd was composed of the student class. All seemed in an uproar, but it was only their natural tone and manner. The Valencians, especially the lower classes, are devoted to pleasure; the work of the day over, they live for enjoyment.

Involuntarily we were reminded of our old days in the Quartier Latin; but there, excitement often meant revolutionary mischief. The Valencians are peace-loving, and their climate forces them to be gay and lively. Though passionate and hasty, like a violent tornado the rage soon passes. This evening, in spite of much movement, a constant buzzing of voices, an excitement that filled the air, everything was in order. Laughter and chatter abounded, far more so than we had found in most Spanish towns. Until now the character of the Spaniard on ordinary occasions had seemed rather given to silence: in Valencia we came upon a new element, approaching the French or Italian.

The city has lost much of its ancient interest. As late as 1871, the wonderful old walls, massive and battlemented, were pulled down to find work for the poor. Twelve gates admitted to the interior: and what the walls were may be judged by the few gates that remain.

Within the city the air is close and relaxing, the skies are brilliant, the sun intensely hot, the streets narrow and densely packed with houses. This was designed to keep out the heat, but also keeps out air and light. The houses in the side-streets are tall, massive and sombre-looking, and here some of the wonderful old palaces remain. The principal thoroughfares are commonplace; one has, as it were, to seek out the beauties. It is in its exceptional features that Valencia shines, and gradually steals into your affections. Not, however, as Tarragona the favoured. The pure air, stately repose and dignified charm of that Dream of the Past is very opposed to the noisy unrest and crowded thoroughfares, constant going to and fro, and confined atmosphere of this ancient city of the Cid.

Nevertheless it has its ecclesiastical attractions in the way of churches: some with interesting towers, though few with fine interiors. It is an archbishopric, therefore has a cathedral. It possesses a university, and most of the crowd we saw evidently thought that the bow cannot always be strung and Homer must sometimes nod. They fill the cafés and theatres, go mad with excitement in the bull-ring when the Sunday performance is given, and occasionally have a free fight amongst themselves; when some of them get locked up by way of warning to the many rather than as a punishment to the few. After such an outbreak, never very desperate, peace reigns for a time: peace that is never seriously broken.

It was a relief that first evening to return to the comparative repose of the hotel. When the hour for dinner had struck, de Nevada in clerical garments came to our rooms and carried us off to his own sitting-room where dinner was served. We seemed fated to fall in with the clerical element in Spain, and as yet had certainly not regretted it. De Nevada was evidently well known and highly considered by the hotel people, who exerted their best efforts in his favour, which also fell to our portion. His conversation was a mixture of grave and gay, with much wit and humour. He had outlived his sorrows, it may be, yet their influence remained. Every now and then a chance word or allusion seemed to vibrate some long-silent chord in heart or memory. A momentary shadow would pass over his face as a small cloud passing over the sun for an instant overshadows the earth. It was over in a flash, and he would at once be his genial, jovial self, full of strong spirits toned down by excellent breeding and the thought of what was due to his cloth. Probably we saw more of his inner character than if we had dined with the de la Torres. We had him to ourselves, his undivided attention, and amongst various topics he gave us a great insight into many of the by-ways of the Spanish Church. "It is a subject in which I am deeply interested," he said. "I am writing a book thereon, and devoting considerable space to the vexed argument of the Inquisition. It has never been properly handled, and I am not afraid to say that it was a serious blot, if not on the characters, at least on the judgment of Ferdinand and Isabella. Souls were never yet gained nor religions established by cruelty and torture. It is partly for that reason that I am here. The Archbishop has a magnificent library, and I want a week of reference amongst the books. We are as brothers, and I should take up my quarters in the palace, only that I like to be independent. To-day he is at Puzol, where he has a country house. When here I generally dine with him; was to have done so to-morrow night; but it is an informal engagement, and if you will promise to meet me again at the same hour, we will dine here together. And now the hour sounds for the de la Torres. Let us be punctual, as we must be so in leaving. Did you ever see so charming, so devoted a couple? Who would not dwell in such a fools' paradise?"

He sent our maître-d'hotel to inquire if it would be agreeable to them to receive us, and in response Count Pedro appeared upon the scene. All our rooms adjoined.

"We are more than ready," he cried. "I am quite sure," laughing, "that you think we spend all our time sitting hand-in-hand and looking into each other's eyes. My dear Nevada, we are quite a sober couple, with a great deal of matter-of-fact sense about us."