All the left bank of the Guadalquivir is a succession of orange groves,—beautiful to the sight, and filling the air with their refreshing and indescribably delicious perfume. When the wind blows from the east, nothing can be more charming than an evening stroll down the river side: the broad Guadalquivir gliding by the fertile and richly-wooded banks that lie opposite, rising gradually to the hill of St. John, and diversified by country houses, and convents, and convent gardens; the delightful fragrance wafted from the orange groves on the left, and the sight of the yellow and golden fruit clustering among the broad and bright green leaves of its lovely tree; and, above all, the charm of a balmy air, and the indescribable beauty of Andalusian skies.
I was intimately acquainted with the principal orange proprietor and merchant of Seville, and found his orange groves a delightful resort in hot weather; for, even independently of the shade, there is something cooling in the smell of oranges and lemons. From this gentleman I obtained some information respecting the orange trade of Seville, which I shall make no apology for transferring to these pages.
The oranges chiefly used in England, are from Portugal, Malta, the Barbary coast, and Seville; but by far the greatest number are from Seville; the export from which, equals that of all these other places. About forty vessels are yearly freighted with oranges from Seville; each cargo consists of four hundred chests, and each chest contains eight hundred oranges, so that the average number exported from Seville, is twelve million, eight hundred thousand oranges; of this quantity, about one tenth part are bitter. The price paid by the London merchant to the Seville exporter, is one hundred and twenty reals a chest, which is fourpence halfpenny per dozen, or one farthing and a half a piece; so that if the freight and other expenses be added, one can scarcely expect a good orange much under a penny. The cargo of each vessel is generally consigned to about ten persons; so that the trade is a secure one, and to the grower, sufficiently profitable. The best oranges are allowed to remain long on the tree; the tree blossoms in March, and the choicest fruit still hangs on the tree when the blossom of another crop begins to appear. The Spaniards do not esteem them as thoroughly ripe till then; but, in this state, they are of course unable to bear exportation. The chief part of the export takes place in November and December, and a small number is shipped in January: if the fruit shipped so late as this, happens to be detained long on the voyage, the greater part of it arrives in England in a state unfit for use; but if the voyage be short, this is the finest fruit that comes to the English market.
As my lodgings were in the immediate neighbourhood of both the cathedral and the alcazar—under the roof indeed of the latter—it may be supposed that it was not long before I visited both of these stupendous and magnificent structures. The cathedral of Seville is inferior in riches, but equal in size to that of Toledo; and, in the wealth of pictures, it far surpasses every other cathedral in Spain. One of the most esteemed of these, is the great picture of St. Anthony of Padua, which I have already slightly mentioned, in the chapter dedicated to Murillo. This picture, however, although a splendid performance, is not in Murillo’s happiest style. In its colouring, it is far inferior, as a work of art, to the pictures in the Capuchin convent, and in the Hospital de la Caridad; but in the conception of the figure of St. Anthony, and in the celestial expression of his countenance, all the peculiar graces of Murillo are displayed. A picture that pleased me better than this, but which has a less honourable niche, is “An Angel leading a Child;” benign and glorious is the countenance of the angel, as he seems to point out to the little innocent the way to heaven; and the child naturally draws back, alarmed by the blaze of celestial light that shines upon the path. This exquisite composition is only a sketch, and being placed in rather an obscure corner, it is seen to greater advantage; for, with a more favourable light, it would appear defective as a work of art. The cathedral contains several other pictures of merit, both by Murillo and by other artists, particularly Morales, and Louis de Vargas, and Campaña, whose famous Descent from the Cross I have mentioned in my memoir of Murillo. The riches of the cathedral surprised me less, after having seen Toledo; but I believe they are second only to Toledo and the Escurial. As for relics, they profess to have as valuable a store of them as their neighbours. The organ—the principal organ—is the most perfect in the world: it contains five thousand three hundred pipes, and one hundred and ten stops, being considerably more than are possessed by the organ of Haarlem; nothing can exceed the majesty of the music awakened by this organ. I rarely missed morning service while I remained in Seville; and if, as was sometimes the case, this heavenly music filled the aisles after day-light had deserted them, the effect was almost too overpowering for human senses.
The tower of the cathedral, is one of the boasts of Seville: it is of Moorish architecture—the work of a Moor, and is three hundred and fifty feet high. There are no steps; the summit is gained by an easy ascent, winding around an inclined plain so gradually, that the queen was driven up in a small carriage. The view from the top is superb. An almost boundless plain stretches around Seville, its centre and queen; and the Guadalquivir traverses its whole length. I counted no fewer than one hundred and twenty spires and towers, belonging to the city and the neighbouring villages and convents. The ecclesiastics of the cathedral do not enjoy a sinecure. I passed through the body of the church many times every day,—for this saved me a circuit,—and I never recollect to have seen it once without some religious ceremony going forward. There are said to be upwards of five hundred masses performed daily at the different altars; and the number of persons directly employed in, and supported by, the cathedral, exceeds six hundred.
The only convent in Seville that attracted me within its walls was the Capuchin convent, famous as the depository of many of the most remarkable works of Murillo. I have already spoken of some of these pictures; but there is still something more to be gleaned. There are here twenty-five pictures of Murillo, any one of which would suffice to render a man immortal. Among these, the most remarkable are, “the Archbishop of Valencia giving alms to a kneeling Beggar;” “the Virgin, the Child, and St. Felix,” which I have already spoken of as beautifully illustrating Murillo’s power of handling the gentler emotions. “The Assumption,” “St. Bienventura and Bernardo,” “St. John, the Virgin and Child,” “St. Antonio,” and “the Annunciation.” The paintings in the hospital de la Caridad I have also mentioned as the efforts of Murillo’s ripest genius. Several of these, particularly “the Prodigal Son,” and “the Deliverance of St. Peter from Prison,” are no longer to be found there; but “John of God,” “Moses striking the Rock,” and “the Miracle of the Loaves and Fishes,” have escaped the chances of war, and the dangers of covetousness.
In Seville there are several private collections of pictures,—one of these, the gallery of Mr. Williams, rich in the works of Murillo. Among these pictures I cannot help naming a few of the most remarkable. There is that delightful portrait of Murillo, by himself, which I have mentioned elsewhere; there is a Christ on the Cross, painted upon what was formerly the lid of a relic box, but now let into a frame,—a gem of great beauty and value. There is a passage in the life of St. Augustin, who, when washing the feet of some pilgrims, discovers that one of them is our Saviour; the expression of mingled love and fear, which the painter has thrown into the countenance of the Saint, when, having made the discovery, he raises his eyes towards Christ,—is most happily conceived and executed. But the true gem of this collection is a “Christ crowned with Thorns,” one of the happiest efforts of Murillo’s ripest genius. Besides these there are four sketches of “the Prodigal Son receiving his Inheritance,—setting out upon his journey,—devouring his living, and feeding swine;” certain passages in the life of St. Thomas, a Virgin and Child, another Christ, a Madonna,—all of Murillo; and several good pictures by Velasquez, Morales, and Españoletto.
There is also a collection of pictures in the house of Mr. Bravo. Among a great many indifferent pictures in this collection, there is an excellent “Magdalen,” that most difficult of all subjects,—in which the painter must represent human passions, and yet passions no longer triumphant,—heaven before, and yet earth still in sight. There is a curious picture here, of St. Anthony preaching to the Fishes. The Saint, it seems, had preached to the people, who would not listen to him, and to convince them of his divine appointment, he went to the sea-shore and addressed the fishes, who are seen with their heads above water gasping for breath, and gaping for wisdom.
As the alcazar of Seville is far inferior as a Moorish remain, to the alhambra of Granada, I will not dwell upon its description; the building itself would indeed be difficult to describe. There are seventy-eight rooms, all communicating with each other,—most of the walls of carved wood-work, or of composition. The only really curious and splendid room, is the ambassador’s hall. The garden is more curious and more interesting than the palace; and from its shade, its fountains, and the delightful fragrance of its trees, shrubs, and flowers, I found it at all times a delightful morning retreat. The hedges are of small-leafed myrtle; geraniums, and that delicious plant, yerba Louisa, cover the walls, and hang among the bushes; and through the whole there is a thick shade of orange and lemon-trees,—the various tinted fruit, from the pale straw to the deep golden, beautifully mingling with the fresh and unfading green: every where around are seen fountains throwing out the clearest water; and by very simple machinery, a thousand minute pipes dispersed over the walks and beds, shower a thousand crystal streams upon the paths, and wake new fragrance from the drooping flowers. The garden is surrounded by a high wall, near the top of which there is a walk under an arcade, supported by innumerable pillars. From this walk there is a most enchanting prospect,—on one side the fine fertile plain, with its innumerable gardens and orangeries,—on another, the towers of the cathedral, and the numerous and more distant spires of the city; the old Roman aqueduct, with its four hundred arches,—the river seen gliding by the openings left between the orange groves,—the magnificent convent of the Carmelites on the opposite bank, with its deep surrounding shades and stately palm-trees; and below, encircled by the Moorish wall, the pleasure grounds of Moorish kings, with all their rich variety of beautiful and mellow fruit,—their mingled fragrance of myrtle, and geranium, and orange, and their cool and sparkling fountains.
I did not leave Seville without visiting the snuff manufactory—the most celebrated in Spain. The building in which the manufacture is carried on, is more like a fortified palace, than a house destined for the preparation of tobacco. It has four regular fronts; two of them six hundred feet long—the other two, four hundred and eighty feet. This manufactory is sadly on the decline; in other times, the complement of men and women used to exceed three thousand, and upwards of three hundred mules and horses were employed; forty years ago, that number was reduced to one thousand seven hundred workmen, and a hundred mules. When I visited it, no more than four hundred men were employed, and eleven mules; and in place of two hundred grind-stones, which formerly were constantly at work, four only were in requisition. This falling off is to be attributed partly to the extensive contraband trade carried on through the free ports of Gibraltar and Cadiz; and partly to the high price which government puts upon the manufactured article. The stock on hand at present exceeds two millions of arobas (fifty millions of pounds); forty years ago, the stock on hand amounted to five millions of pounds; of the snuff at present on hand, there are eight thousand canisters fifty years old. It is not likely, according to the present policy of the government, that this stock will diminish; the price was only lately raised from thirty-two to forty-eight reals, and the demand has constantly diminished. I have been speaking of what is called Seville snuff; there is another department, for the manufacture of rappee, which is now more in vogue, and does not accumulate in the same ratio as the other. Government derives a profit upon the manufacture and sale, of seventy per cent. before paying the expenses of the establishment. The workmen employed are paid six, seven, and eight reals per day, according to their ability—those who twist cigars, work by the piece. It happened to be the hour of dismissal when I visited the establishment, and I noticed that each workman was taken into a little inclosed place, and underwent a rigorous search; they were even obliged to take off their shoes. Most of the workmen looked unhealthy. I learned that during the heats of summer, as many as twelve are sometimes carried to the hospital in a day; and that they almost invariably die of disease in the lungs at an early age.