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

PRIVATE HOUSES, AND LOCAL CUSTOMS IN SEVILLE.

Seville.

The greater number of private houses are situated in an interminable labyrinth of winding streets, between the Calle de la Sierpe, and Plaza de San Francisco and the city wall, which connects the Aqueduct of Carmona with the Alcazar. It is the South-eastern half of the city. To the west of the Calle de la Sierpe there are also a few streets containing private residences, but they are not in so large a proportion. Some of the most elegant are, however, on this side; which being less Moorish and more modern, is less chary of its attractions, and allows a part of its decoration to enliven the external façades; while its spacious doorways frequently open to the view of the passer-by a gay perspective of gardens and courts.

The sunny balcony, crowded with a crimson forest of cactuses, is not more attractive to the sight, than the more mysterious vista beneath it, of retreating colonnades, mingled with orange and pomegranate trees, through which the murmur of the fountain is scarcely audible. Few cities present more charms to the wanderer than one in which the houses offer a combination so luxurious as is met with in the greater number of those of Seville. The cool summer rooms opening into the court, in which the drawing-room furniture is arranged on all sides of a fountain, plentifully supplied from the aqueduct of Carmona: and, on the upper floor, the winter apartments, chosen from their being better lighted, for the deposit of a collection of pictures and these almost always excellent,—and opening to the gallery; to which, during this season, the furniture having been removed from below, is placed, together with the work frames and portable musical instruments, on the side exposed to the sun. One sees these houses and their amiable and happy-looking inhabitants, and imagines there is no life to be compared to it. Yet the experiment may be made, and fail to answer the expectations of the stranger, who, confident in his discovery of the road to happiness, may have pitched his tent in the midst of these bewitching regions.

Can it be fatality—or is it essential in human nature, to find ever the least felicity there, where it looks for the greatest? The experiment, I say, was made. An Englishman, possessing every advantage of taste, talent, and wealth, took up his residence here, resolved to devote the remainder of his days to the peaceable enjoyments of a literary and social life. Thanks to his literary propensities, we are enabled to judge of the result of the trial. In a book published by the person to whom I allude, we find that no one could be less satisfied with his lot. Seville and the Sevillanos meet with no mercy at his hands, and must, if we may judge by his dislike of them, have rendered his life a burden.

This, however, is a single example, and insufficient to deter others from the attempt. It may be that this individual had not entered fully into the spirit of Andalucian existence. Every detail of life being here adapted to the place and its customs and climate, no custom can be erred against with impunity—that is, without the forfeit of some corresponding advantage.

Seville presents two so different aspects during the two opposite seasons of the year, that to be well understood it should be visited at both. During the winter, the existence does not materially differ from that of the inhabitants of most other European towns; excepting that the intercourse of society is subjected to less formality. Cards of invitation are rarely made use of; and you are not, consequently, exposed to the annoyance of seeing and hearing your house invaded by a dense crowd, on a night you have appointed a month before, without any possibility of foreseeing whether you would be disposed or not on that particular night to undergo such a toil. These crowds are, I believe, unheard of in Seville; but those who are pleased in each other's society, know where to find each other; and without waiting for invitations, small circles are formed every evening, from which all crushing, fatigue, and intense dressing are excluded.

The winter is also a more advantageous season for the stranger, who would be totally debarred by the summer heats from the activity necessary for the satisfaction of his curiosity, in visiting the objects of interest contained in and around Seville. On the other hand, the summer season offers to his contemplation the successful attainment of a mode of existence suited to the burning climate; a problem found to be solved but in few instances. The first and most essential arrangement appears to be the turning night into day, and vice versâ, as far as regards society and all locomotion. No one leaves his house until long after sunset, and visiting commences some hours later. The morning being consequently the time for repose, and the breakfast hour nevertheless remaining the same all the year round, the siesta is very essential, and is judiciously placed between the dinner, which terminates at four, and the hour for movement—nine, when the Sevillano, refreshed by three or four hours sleep, and a fresh toilette, is infinitely better disposed for the evening's amusements than the denizen of more northern climes, who rises at that or a later hour from the chief repast of the day, and is put en train by the less natural and less durable stimulants of the table.

This mode of life presents other numerous advantages. A very prominent one is the inviolable division of time between society and solitude. We suppose the hour for rising eight,—immediately after the chocolate,—that of breakfast eleven. The intervening hours are solitary, and are frequently divided between the pillow and the toilette; while they are sometimes devoted to more useful occupations, and added to by earlier risers. From the family meeting at breakfast until the dinner hour, three, the time may be employed in business, reading, in fact, in every one's habitual pursuits. No intrusion is to be feared. No accursed idler lounges in to interrupt with his compliments, or gossip, your letter to your lawyer, or, if you are a lawyer yourself, that to your client; nor is the conscience of scrupulous porters burdened with the mendacious "not at home."

These hours are sacred, and guaranteed by the very air, which renders the streets impassable, but leaves the cool court protected from the sun's ray by the toldo, (canvas awning spread at a level with the roof, and which is reefed up at night like a sail,) and refreshed by its ever-murmuring fountain and cool marble pavement, to the peaceable enjoyment of its owners. The female portion of the family are thus enabled to devote themselves to household occupations, or to their favourite employments, without having to undergo, until the second getting up in the evening, the fever of a complete toilette, which would, during the day, be insupportable. The time thus devoted to society, is amply sufficient; as it may be prolonged, as each party feels inclined, from an hour or two after sunset, until the returning rays drive all back to their cool retreat.