The Picturesque Antiquities of Spain / Described in a series of letters, with illustrations representing Moorish palaces, cathedrals, and other monuments of art, contained in the cities of Burgos, Valladolid, Toledo, and Seville.

by Nathaniel Armstrong Wells

LETTER XIV.

VALLADOLID. SAN PABLO. COLLEGE OF SAN GREGORIO. ROUTE BY SARAGOZA.

Tolosa.

I should have sent you an account of my excursion to Valladolid at the time it took place, but was prevented by the shortness of my stay and the hurry of my departure from Madrid, which immediately followed. I preserved, however, memoranda of the limited explorations which were to be made during a flying visit of three days, and will now give you the benefit of them, such as they are; as also of my experience of the public travelling in that direction. You will recommend your friends, who may visit this land of adventure, and are careful at the same time of their personal comforts, to wait the introduction of railroads, before attempting this excursion, when you hear that I met with three upsets in one night, and was afforded, in all, nearly five hours' leisure for contemplating the effect of moonlight upon the sleeping mules and an upside-down carriage!

The town of Valladolid contains monuments of much interest, although none of great antiquity. The greater number date from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and form a chain, illustrative of the progress of architecture in this country, subsequently to the abandonment of the Gothic style. This style is, however, worthily represented by two edifices, placed in juxtaposition, and ornamented each with a façade of extraordinary richness. I will content myself with the endeavour to give you some idea of these two buildings, which, although belonging to a style so common in England and France, are totally unlike all the Gothic specimens I am acquainted with in those countries.

The largest of the two is the monastery of San Pablo. It was a foundation of much magnificence, and the building has sustained very little injury, owing to its having, immediately on the expulsion of the monks, been applied to other uses, instead of being deserted and left to decay. It is now a Presidio, or central prison for condemned malefactors. The cloister is a superb quadrangle, of the pointed style of the end of the fourteenth century, and is the usual resort of the prisoners, who are grouped so thickly over its pavement, that it is with difficulty one passes between them, without adding to the clanking of chains as their wearers change their posture to make way. The façade of the church is enclosed between two small octagon towers without ornament, like a picture in a frame. Within these all is sculpture. The door-way is formed of a triple concentric arch, flanked by rows of statues, all of which are enclosed within another arch, which extends across the whole width, from tower to tower. Over this there is a circular window, surrounded with armorial escutcheons, and the remainder of the façade is covered with groups of figures in compartments, up to the summit, a height of about a hundred and thirty feet, where there is a pediment ornamented with an immense armorial shield and lions rampant as supporters, and the whole is surmounted by a cross.

The church was erected by the celebrated Torquemada, who was a monk in the establishment. Doña Maria, Queen of Sancho the Fourth, although mentioned as the founder of the monastery, only completed a small portion of the edifice compared to what was subsequently added. A handsome tomb by Pompeyo Leoni, is seen in the church. It is that of Don Francisco de Sandoval, Duke of Lerma, and his wife. The woodwork of the stalls is by Ferrara. It is adorned with fluted Doric columns, and is composed of walnut, ebony, box and cedar. The superb façade of this church and its sumptuous tracery, had well nigh been the cause of a misunderstanding between the representative of the Spanish Government and myself. To obtain admission to the interior of the building, which I was told had become national property, I addressed my humble request in writing to the gefe politico, or governor of the province, resident at Valladolid. I left the note at his official residence, and was requested to return at an hour appointed, when I was to obtain an audience. The functions of a gefe politico answer to those of no provincial functionary in England, or any other constitutional state—he has more authority even than a Préfet in France. He represents the monarchical power, with this difference, that he is uncontrolled by parliament within the limits of his province. Although not charged with the military administration, he can direct and dispose of the armed force; besides being a sort of local home minister and police magistrate; in fact, the factotum or âme damnée of the Cromwell of the moment, with whom he is in direct and constant communication on the affairs of his district.

I was at Valladolid during the regency of Espartero, when the cue given to these functionaries, relative to the surveillance of foreigners was very anti-French, and favourable to England. Now in the eyes of a gens-d'armes every one is a thief until he can bring proof to the contrary, just as by the jurisprudence of certain continental countries, every accused is presumed criminal—just as every one who comes to a Jew is presumed by him to have old clothes to sell, or money to borrow. Thus, owing to the nature of the duties of the Governor of Valladolid, every foreigner who met his eye, was a Frenchman, and an intrigant, until he should prove the reverse.

Not being aware of this at the time, I had drawn up my petition in French. On my return for the answer, my reception was any thing but encouraging. The excessive politeness of the Spaniard was totally lost sight of, and I perceived a moody-looking, motionless official, seated at a desk, with his hat resting on his eyebrows, and apparently studying a newspaper. I stood in the middle of the room for two or three minutes unnoticed; after which, deigning to lift his head, the personage inquired in a gruff tone, why I did not open my cloak. I was not as yet acquainted with the Spanish custom of drawing the end of the cloak from off the left shoulder, on entering a room. I therefore only half understood the question, and, being determined, at whatever price, to see San Pablo, I took off my cloak, laid it on a chair, and returned to face the official. "I took the liberty of requesting your permission to view the ancient monastery of San Pablo."—"And, pray, what is your reason for wishing to see San Pablo?"—"Curiosity."—"Oh, that is all, is it!"—"I own likewise, that, had I found that the interior corresponded, in point of architectural merit, with the façade, I might have presumed to wish to sketch it, and carry away the drawing in my portmanteau."—"Oh, no doubt—very great merit. You are a Frenchman?"—"I beg your pardon, only an Englishman."—"You! an Englishman!!" No answer. "And pray, from what part of England do you come?" I declined the county, parish, and house.