In Toledo is the “Square Market,” as it is called; and here occurred bullfights and burnings,—one of the latter in 1560, when Philip II. was present.
We returned from Toledo to Madrid and leaving the capital, a week or so afterwards, travelled to Valladolid. The chief, indeed the only, architectural monument in Valladolid is found in the combined edifices of San Pablo’s Church, and San Gregorio’s College. The facade of the former is an elaborate example of Gothic flamboyant; but the gateway of the latter with its heraldic ornaments, coats of arms, statues in niches, and numerous figures, has a bewildering effect. Columbus and Cervantes both resided in this city; the former died in the Calle de Colon, the latter wrote the first part of “Don Quixote” in the Calle de Rastro.
Ford, in his voluminous “Guide to Spain,” at the beginning of a notice respecting Valladolid, says: “In the first street, above the bridge, is the site of the old Inquisition, the Court of Chancery, and the prison”; adding the remark: “The great Chancery or Court of Appeal for the north of Spain was moved to the present building by Ferdinand and Isabella. The inscribed motto, ‘Jura fidem ac pænam reddit sua munera cunctus’—seems rather strong, to all who know what Spanish justitia is, let alone Chancery in general.”
Incipient stages of reformation come before us in this city. One sees in imagination “The Calle del Doctor Cazalla,” of Jewish extraction, a man of renown for his Protestant work, born in 1510; he had been Court preacher and champion of orthodoxy, until he came under the influence of German reformers. But he seems by no means to have been a Martin Luther, for, when he was accused of dogmatising in a Valladolid conventicle, he solemnly denied the fact, and said he had not indoctrinated other people with his own views. His end was not heroic. After being dislocated on the rack, he recanted with a hope of life, but he found no escape. The night before his execution, when acquainted with the final sentence, the poor man said, “I must prepare to die in the grace of God, for it is impossible for me to add to what I have said, without falsehood.” We learn that, after all, he did not break with Rome, but received absolution; and then, instead of being burnt, he was strangled. His house was pulled down, the spot strewn with salt, and a column placed where the building had stood. An inscription upon it stated: “Lutheran heretics assembled here in conventicle against the Catholic faith and the Roman Church.” A namesake, Francesco de Vibero Cazalla, more valiant for the truth, remained constant to the last. Another martyr behaved heroically, only lamenting that his wife abjured, and he saw her dressed as a penitent. But we are told the husband’s look never departed from her eyes. In my “Spanish Reformers” I have given a detailed account of several sufferers for the truth at Valladolid.
Of the cathedral, Street, in his work on “Spanish Architecture,” says: “Nothing could ever cure the hideous unsightliness of the exterior”; and he adds: “The side elevation remains as Herrera, the architect, designed it, and is really valuable as a warning.” The author describes Sta. Maria l’Antigua, close to the cathedral, as the most attractive church in Valladolid. He says of the city: “It was too rich and prosperous, during an age of much work, and little taste, to have left mediæval architecture of any real value; yet as a modern city it is, in parts, gay and attractive; being, after Madrid, the most important city of the north of Spain.” From what I saw of the place, I can endorse this opinion.
We reached Burgos, after a short journey, and found the town much less interesting and agreeable than Valladolid, but the cathedral is incomparably superior. The picture of its facade, doors, windows, and towers, is vividly imprinted on my memory.
We were now approaching the border of France, and I had memories revived of a first dip into Spain, years before. Though the land be still the same and the skies the same, different feelings arise from departure out of a country, compared with one’s entrance into it. We reached a new and very comfortable hotel at San Sebastian, and there I revived recollections of curiosity and interest, felt years before, when I first crossed the border and became acquainted with the costumes, the manners and customs of Spanish life.
CHAPTER XV
1885
This year I paid my third and last visit to Rome. A comparison of the city and neighbourhood as they were during my first visit with what now appeared, was very striking. Formerly it retained much of the appearance it had in the previous century. There were narrow streets, bad pavements, old-fashioned houses; monks and friars of different orders, white, black, grey, thronging thoroughfares; cardinals’ coaches with liveried servants, in gay coats and cocked hats; the Pope, driving down the Corso, whilst the whole population watched him with reverence on bended knees: now these old sights had vanished; comparatively few ecclesiastics could be recognised by their costumes; only companies of boys, in red or blue collegiate garb, attracted attention by contrast with other people. At Easter in the olden time the ceremonies at St. Peter’s were gorgeous, the illumination of the dome brilliant, the fireworks in the Piazza del Popolo unrivalled: now Mass on Easter Sunday was far from imposing, there was no feet washing, no dinner to poor pilgrims, no Miserere in the Sistine chapel, no blaze of candles in the Pauline. The Forum had formerly lines of trees, groups of cattle, peasants in rural costume; now marble sculptures had been brought to light. The neighbourhood of St. John Lateran had been waste and void; now it was covered with modern houses. What a change in the Fontana, outside Rome, the traditional site of St. Paul’s martyrdom. The monastery, when I had seen it before was desolate, now it was surrounded by abundant vegetation; the culture of the eucalyptus plant being the secret of this transformation.
Hare laments, in the following strain, changes which had occurred in the city and were to be regretted:—