Cadiz is less interesting than some others of the Spanish cities, because it is less purely Spanish: the number of foreign mercantile houses, and the concourse of strangers always to be seen in Cadiz, gives to the population a more mixed and motley aspect than that which belongs to the population of Seville, Madrid, Valencia, or indeed, of any Spanish city—with the exception, perhaps, of Barcellona: and in the mode of life, too, foreign usages have made great inroads upon the exclusiveness and peculiarities of Spanish customs. The table is better served in Cadiz than elsewhere, and strangers are more frequently seated at it: the hours of repast too are later. At the table of a person in the middle ranks of life, the puchero is seldom seen; and among the upper classes there is an affectation of a preference of French wines, sufficiently ridiculous in a city situated so near Xeres, and in a country in which every little district produces its own peculiar, and often exquisitely flavoured wine. But those very things that diminish, in some degree, the interest of Cadiz in the eyes of a stranger, render it the most attractive city in Spain, for one who desires to pass a few months agreeably. There is, there, no shrinking from the eye of the stranger; hospitality is understood in its true sense; and no one need fear, in Cadiz, that the time may hang heavy on his hands.
Externally, Cadiz has its advantages and its drawbacks; the streets are clean, and many of them sufficiently wide for the climate, which is delightful; but which, in the latitude of thirty-six, cannot be otherwise than hot; and there is no want of finely situated, commodious, and even elegant houses, for those who can afford to live in them. But the chief external charm of Cadiz, is found in its ramparts, and in the delightful promenade which they afford. The day of my arrival in Cadiz, as well as the day of my return to it from Xeres, were both too stormy for the enjoyment of a promenade; but the day following, was calm and beautiful; and I spent half the morning, and all the evening, upon the ramparts. The views are of course marine views, and scarcely to be exceeded in beauty, from the rampart fronting the bay, and Puerto de Santa Maria. The bay itself, the opposite shore, the many towns that sprinkle it, the distant Sierras of Xeres and Ronda, the vessels lying at anchor in the harbour, the innumerable boats crossing the ferry—fishing, or sailing, or rowing for pleasure—and the fine irregular line of handsome white buildings that lie along the Alameda, form altogether, a delightful and animated picture.
But Cadiz lies under this great disadvantage, that it is impossible to leave the city, and walk or ride into the country; there is no country in the immediate neighbourhood of Cadiz: the city occupies every rood of the little Peninsula upon which it stands; and before one can get into the fields, it is necessary either to travel along two or three leagues of causeway, or to cross the bay to Port St. Mary. The rampart, the squares, and the streets, are the only walks; and charming as the former is, I think if I resided in Cadiz, I should soon long for the verdure of the open fields, in place of the green sea; the shade of trees, in place of the shadow of houses; and the song of birds, instead of the ocean’s voice.
Whilst I remained in Cadiz, there was a fête and illumination one evening, in honour, I think, of the queen’s accouchement. The streets and squares, particularly the Plaza de San Antonio, were brilliantly illuminated; and in this square, which is one of the paseos of Cadiz, all the population was assembled from eight till eleven o’clock; and I of course seized so favourable an opportunity of judging of those charms which I had always heard spoken of as the peculiar distinction of “the ladies” of this gay and voluptuous city. Horace, no bad judge of these matters, celebrates the beauty of the women of Cadiz; and later and better poets than Horace, speak in raptures of the charms of these fair and frail ones. Whether it was, that so high authorities had their influence upon my judgment, or that sun-light is less favourable to Spanish beauty than the light of torches, blended with that of the moon,—or that the women of Cadiz are really deserving of the praises that have been lavished upon them, I will not pretend to determine; but I must be candid enough to admit, that while I sat at the door of a café, from which a strong light blazed across the piazza, and scrutinized the passers by, I did see some splendid forms, and some lustrous eyes,—some countenances, in short, that might remind one of Gulnare. The women of Cadiz are, beyond question, the finest in Spain.
Presuming upon their charms, the ladies of this city indulge in some curious whims. Every family of any consequence, has a state-bed, highly ornamented, and placed in an elegantly fitted up apartment; and the use made of it is this:—at a particular time of the year, generally after Lent, the señora of the house, or her daughter, if she has reached, and her mother has passed a certain age, feigns sickness. Having previously made all the necessary arrangements, she takes to her bed: there she lies in an elegant night dress, under embroidered sheets, her head resting upon a rose-coloured silk pillow,—and a table stands near, with silver candlesticks, and wax lights,—a little silver bell, and several vases containing choice perfumes. There she receives company; there all her male and female acquaintances resort; and there, attired to be seen, and bent upon admiration, she listens to the language of mock condolence, pleasing flattery, and undisguised gallantry! There is another occasion, upon which the state-bed is used. When a woman is accouchée, the child is baptized next day,—and upon this day, the mother holds a levée: the company is received in the saloon; the folding doors which usually divide this reception-room from the state-bedroom, are thrown open, and the lady lies in state to receive the compliments of her many visitors. This levée is held by women of all classes, though all have not a state-bed to recline on; and it often happens among the lower ranks, that a woman will arrange the chamber, make and adorn her bed, and after having prepared it for her own reception, will pop into it to receive company. I was informed that the ladies of Cadiz are adepts in the manufactory of the female person; that in looking at them, we may frequently apply with truth the well known proverb, “all is not gold that glitters;” and that the most experienced dress-maker of the British metropolis would be “all in amaze” at the various and subtle uses to which the cork tree is put in the city of Cadiz. All this scandal, however, was told me by an English lady; and I hope for the sake of the ladies of Cadiz, as well as of my own reminiscences of the Plaza de San Antonio, that it may be calumny.
Morals in Cadiz are, if possible, even lower than in the other Spanish cities: female virtue is a thing almost unknown, and scarcely appreciated. It is with difficulty and with pain we can bring ourselves to believe, that in a civilized country, there should exist a state of society in which that purest gem—female modesty—bears no price; and it is unpleasant to have the conviction thrust upon us, that the innate virgin pride, which we have ever delighted to believe inseparable from the female character, should be so loosely rooted, as to wither away under the baleful influences of habit and opinion. Yet how can we resist this conclusion? I could give innumerable examples of the depraved state of morals in Cadiz: I have at this moment before me, a closely written page of notes, full of these; and even the names of individuals are mentioned; but I have turned the leaf, and will not sully my page with details which might indeed gratify curiosity, but which could add nothing to the truth of the statement I have made, that in Cadiz, “female virtue is a thing almost unknown, and scarcely appreciated.”
The morals of the religious bodies in Cadiz are exemplary; nothing, at all events, is said to their disadvantage; and in a city such as Cadiz, this is evidence enough in their favour. Formerly, the morals of the monastic orders in Cadiz were notoriously bad; but there is now so little disposition in that city, to affect blindness towards the feelings of the clergy—free opinions in religion have made so great progress in Cadiz—and so watchful an eye is kept upon the conduct of the religious bodies, that purity of morals could alone protect them against public obloquy.
In Cadiz, there are not many objects of curiosity to visit: it has no antiquities now visible; few public buildings worthy of notice; and a very scanty assortment of good pictures. In search of the last, I visited the churches and convents, without finding any thing to reward my labour. In one convent, indeed—the Capuchins—is found that picture which last employed the hand of Murillo. He, however, only designed it, and laid on the first colours; the work being completed by a pupil. In its colouring, there is of course nothing of Murillo to be seen; but in the composition, the genius of the master may be detected; and the picture is at all events interesting, as being the last of his works—more interesting indeed because an unfinished work—since we know in looking at it, that there, for the last time, his hand gave visible manifestation of his genius.
The only other pictures that repaid the labour of a visit,—and they well repaid it,—are in the possession of Mr. Brackenbury, his majesty’s consul at Cadiz. Nowhere is there a more exquisite morsel of Murillo to be seen, than the “Infant Bacchus,” tasting, for the first time, the juice of the grape. He looks as if he quaffed immortality; and as a work of art, this is one of the finest specimens, both in colouring, and in every other excellence, of the best days of Murillo. In this collection there are many other admirable pictures; among these, a “Bassano,” greatly superior to either of the two in the Madrid gallery. But I understand, that some of the choicest works of Murillo, have been sent by Mr. Brackenbury to England; and that the amateurs in this country, may probably have an opportunity of increasing their knowledge and admiration of Murillo, by contemplating these admirable productions of his genius. I cannot allow this opportunity to escape, without expressing my warm acknowledgments to Mr. Brackenbury, not only for the pleasant hours enjoyed in his society, but also for the valuable information upon many points which I received from him. Nor can I help adding, that if those who speak so much, and so loudly, respecting the high emoluments derived by his Majesty’s consuls, would visit Cadiz, they might find cause to alter their opinion. No representative of the English government ought to have any temptation to shut his doors against those who are recommended to him,—those who need his protection,—or even those who come accidentally in his way. Generous minded men, such as the representative of the British government in Cadiz, do not, and cannot yield to the temptations of avarice,—perhaps the suggestions of prudence. But the claims upon consular hospitality are ruinous in a city like Cadiz, where, besides its own trade, half the vessels bound for Gibraltar, call; and where the steam-boat for the Levant, every fortnight discharges its passengers. A consul, at such a port, is exposed to many inconveniences, and has a difficult duty to perform. Nothing is so easy as to obtain a letter to a consul: friends and relations in England,—men who have travelled, and once dined with him,—consuls in other ports,—an ambassador will seldom refuse an application for a letter to the British consul at this, or that port; for he is considered a sort of public property, bound, almost by the duties of his office, to pay attention to strangers; and if a traveller carry a letter to a consul, and is not offered the hospitalities of his house, he is immediately set down as a very penurious representative of the British government. All this is wrong, and ought to be righted. I am not advocating ostentation, extravagance, or over liberality in his Majesty’s consuls. They are not called upon to be princely in their hospitalities; but they are expected to act like Englishmen, and gentlemen; and although it forms no part of their consular duties, to invite to their tables every stranger who brings an introduction in his hand, there are some noble feelings in the breast, that are felt to be more urgent than mere duties; and it is not for the respectability of the British monarchy, that these feelings should be entirely repressed. The remuneration of consuls ought to vary with the calls for expenditure that are made upon them. Those variations in commercial prosperity, which affect the different ports, require that a new scale should, from time to time, be adopted.—I will not pursue farther, a subject that may perhaps be called a digression.
The only buildings in Cadiz worth visiting, are the two cathedrals; the old and the new. The old is not remarkable for any thing excepting some treasures and relics; the new is chiefly interesting, because it is gradually falling into ruin. It was begun more than a hundred years ago, and the fund, derived from a duty upon imports from America, was entrusted to a board of commissioners. The commissioners quarrelled,—the fund did not find its way into the proper channel, and the cathedral was left unfinished,—and unfinished it will certainly for ever remain. The style of the building was meant to be in the most gorgeous taste of Composite architecture: ornament is heaped upon ornament; and both in material and in workmanship, its richness cannot be exceeded; but it is fast falling into decay. In many parts it is uncovered; the excellence of workmanship has yielded to the influence of the weather, and the marbles have lost their beauty and freshness. The principal area of the interior is used as a rope-walk, while other parts have been converted into depositories of mahogany. Underneath the building are vast vaults, by some said to have been intended as a pantheon; by others, believed to have been excavated with a view to religious persecution and punishment. From an inspection of these vaults, the former surmise appeared to me the more probable.