Glories of Spain

by Charles W. Wood

It was a certain disappointment to find our favourite Four Nations—at that time one of the best hotels in Spain—closed. We had to put up with the Falcon, not by any means the same thing. It is pleasant to return to familiar quarters and people who welcome you as old habitués. The atmosphere of the Falcon was also more commercial and had no repose about it. Yet it was on the Rambla, and the next morning we awoke to the well-known cries of Barcelona, the old familiar scene.

A very Spanish scene, with its broad imposing thoroughfare and double row of well-grown trees rustling in the wind, glinting in the sunshine, filling the air with music and flashes of light. As the morning went on, the broad road became more crowded. Stretching far down, under the trees, were flower-stalls full of lovely blossoms. Roses, violets and hyacinths scented the air. It was delightful to see such profusion in November; to find blue skies and balmy airs rivalling the flowers. This land of perpetual summer is highly favoured. If a cold wind arises, turning the skies to winter, it is only for a short interval. Though it be December, summer soon returns, and the sunny clime is all the lovelier by contrast.

Like the Hôtel Falcon, the element of Barcelona is, we have said, commercial. It is perhaps the most flourishing and enterprising of all the towns of Spain. There are immense ship-building yards, and all sorts of ironwork is made, but the town itself has no sign or sound of manufacturing. It has been called the Manchester of Spain, yet its skies are for ever blue, the air is clear and untainted: a peculiar brilliancy and splendour of atmosphere not often met with even in the sunny South.

The country for many miles around is beautiful and undulating; beyond the immediate hills it has often a wild and savage grandeur that sometimes reaches the sublime. Year by year the town grows in extent. Well-organised tramways carry you to and fro through endless thoroughfares. The richer merchants have built themselves streets of palatial residences that stretch away into suburbs. Few cities are so brilliantly lighted. If Spain is a poor country, Barcelona seems to have escaped the evil. There is animation about it, perpetual movement, a quiet activity. For it is quiet with all its business and energy, and so far has the advantage over Madrid, where the commercial element was less evident but the noise infinitely greater. There people seemed to like sound for its own sake. In Barcelona they were intent upon making money, and as far as one can see, gained their object. Everything prospered. It was delightful to go down to the fine harbour and watch the vessels loading and unloading, the flags of all nations vividly contrasting with the brilliant blue sky as they flashed and fluttered in the wind. The port is magnificent. Its waters are blue as the heaven above them, and a myriad sun-gleams light up its surface. Nothing can be more exhilarating and picturesque. The faintest outline of a ship possesses a nameless charm; suggests freedom, wide seas, infinite space: speaks of enterprise, danger, and courage, yet is an emblem of absolute repose; hours and days and weeks where the world cannot reach you, and its cares and worries are non-existent.

Nowhere is the element found under more favourable conditions than in Barcelona. Few harbours are so well placed. Climb the heights for a bird's-eye view of the port, and the scene is enchanting. Low-lying shores undulate towards the mouth of the harbour; green pastures, glittering sandhills, the blue flashing sea stretch beyond. If your vision could carry so far, you might gaze upon the lovely Island of Majorca, rising like a faultless gem out of its deep blue setting of the Levant. Nothing meets the eye but the broad line of the horizon, broken here and there by a passing vessel.

On the other side the water, beyond the shipping, lies a small new settlement of houses called Barcelonita. It is not aristocratic and is the laundry of the mother town, where dwell the ladies who undertake to rapidly bleach and destroy one's linen with unrighteous chemicals, and have earned for Barcelona an unenviable reputation. Ship-builders and fishermen alone dispute the right of way with these women of the wash-tub. Turning back to the town, the broad thoroughfare running down a portion of the quays is lined with magnificent palms, giving it an almost Oriental aspect. At one end rises a monument to Columbus; at the other an enormous triumphal arch, combining the Oriental with the classical; the former quite the pleasanter. Everything bears witness to the well-being of Barcelona. Its quays are lined with bales of goods. Men keep tally with the monotonous sing-song one knows so well. Boxes of oranges betray themselves by their exquisite perfume, and the whole year round brings a succession of fruits. In this lovely climate the earth is abundantly productive. It is a land of corn and wine; the warm days of winter more beautiful than those of summer.

Of Barcelona this is especially true. Its climate seemed more relaxing than that of any other Spanish town. Even Valencia, so much farther south, appeared less enervating. Long walks were out of the question. All one could do was to hire one of the open carriages and drive lazily about: a luxury obtained at a trifling cost. But vehicles and drivers hardly seemed to share in the general prosperity; both appeared equally shabby, worn-out and antediluvian. Their horses looked no less forlorn.

In the afternoons the Rambla was crowded with people, strolling to and fro under the shadow of the trees. All the town seemed to close ledgers, lock up counting-houses, and turn to the very innocent pleasure of taking the air.

Ladies appeared with mantillas and fans; the younger women here as in Madrid using a distinct language of fan and eye. Large, softly flashing eyes, full of expression for the most part. H. C.'s susceptible heart had no chance of repose. His dreams were feverish and disturbed by night; his leisure moments by day devoted to love-sonnets. These lovely ladies in their first youth are certainly very captivating and poetical; and a slight touch of the voluptuous, dolce far niente element is a distinct characteristic of their subtle grace and charm.