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

With the exception of the Toros the public amusements of Seville are limited to the balls at the Lonja during the Carnival, and to the opera. The opera varies its own pleasures, while it distributes its favours between the two western capitals of the province. From midsummer to midwinter Cadiz receives her share of melody, and the remaining six months are bestowed on Seville. Xeres has, I believe, a company to itself, supplied by a different impresario.

The Rossi is an excellent primera dama, although wanting in animation; and Comfortini is by no means a bad tenor. The second tenor, Tosi, is said to be ambitious of displaying his somewhat exaggerated attitudes on the boards of the Haymarket. There is a deficiency of ensemble, since the severe discipline necessary for obtaining that result does not accord with the genius of the place—or perhaps an unexceptionable maestro de capella is too expensive a luxury to suit the Seville purses. However this may be, the easy inhabitants, who hear the same opera frequently six times in a week, and would hear it seven times had not the performers a holiday on Saturday—may be taken grievous liberties with before they utter a complaint. They, in fact, look upon the performance chiefly as an excuse for resorting to this their habitual lounge.

The Barbiere di Seviglia should, however, be witnessed here by every amateur. It is only here that justice is done to the libretto of Rossini's masterpiece. Figaro becomes a real barber, and scorns all velvets and finery; and Almaviva leaves his court-dress at home, and takes a good capa of paño pardo for his nocturnal excursions. The scenery represents the actual streets of Seville. Local customs are introduced, and local expressions interspersed in the Italian dialogue. On this occasion one spirit animates boxes, lunetas, orchestra, and stage. At the opening note of the first melody the allegro, passing like electricity from the corner of the page through the eye, brain, and arm of the leader, appears as though it spirted like wildfire from the extremity of his bow over stage, boxes, stalls, and galleries, lighting up in an instant all eyes with animation and pleasure.

In the scene of old Bartolo's discomfiture the melodies of the maestro are totally extinguished beneath the din of overturned tables and chairs, and cracking furniture; and the joyous exclamations of the entire assembly, unite with the jibes of the actors, and seem to pursue the poor old guardian with one overwhelming peal of derision.

But it is only in this one instance that representations come off in such a manner. On the contrary, the company exhibit habitually all the aristocratic nonchalance of larger capitals. Their business there is society. It is there that les affaires de cœur hold their Royal Exchange; and observation, conjecture, and speculation,—but usually without ill-nature,—sufficiently occupy those who are not actors in this general by-play. The youth of these climes do not put in practice the same arts of concealment and reserve as are adopted in colder cities; but each, unconscious of evil, makes for the box of his enamorata; or, if that is impossible, for the nearest vacant situation. Advise, therefore, any friend who may intend visiting Seville, not hastily to pay his visit of curiosity to the opera, but to wait, if possible, until offered a seat by some habituée in her box. This Senora may possibly not have any affaire of her own on hand; in fact the married ladies of course form an exception, if not in all cases, at least as far as regards such undisguised manifestations of preference:—in this case she will take delight in putting him au fait of all those that are going forward.

If in a conversable humour she will do more. Commencing with the nearest, or the most conspicuous of the performers in these mute dramas, she will relate to him the vicissitudes of the respective histories up to the time then present, and the probabilities which each case may suggest for the future. Thus your friend, instead of having sacrificed an entire evening to the dubious amusement of following the plot of a single opera, which may have been a bad one, or interpreted by bad actors, will return to rest with some score of plots and romances filling all the corners of his memory—all possessing the zest of reality and actuality, as he will have contemplated the heroes and heroines in their mortal shape, and clothed in indisputable capas and mantillas; besides, another advantage which these romances will possess over all the popular and standard novels—that of omitting the most insipid chapter of all, the one containing the dénouement.

There only remain two public buildings worthy of notice; but they are such as to rank among the most remarkable of Spain. The Lonja (Exchange) was erected during the reign of Philip the Second, in the year 1583, by Juan de Herrera. At this period the excesses committed in all parts of Spain by the architects, no longer restrained by rule of any sort, had brought about a salutary effect, after a sufficiently lengthened surfeit of extravagance. Herrera took the lead in the reaction, and followed the more correct models of art.

Among the authors of some of the most lamentable specimens of aberration of style scattered throughout Spain, are found several names high in rank among the painters of the best period. These artists, desirous of emulating some of the great masters of Italy, who had attained equal superiority in architecture, painting, and sculpture, risked their reputation in these different pursuits with greater confidence than just appreciation of their peculiar genius. At the head of them was Alonzo Cano, one of the most distinguished painters of the schools of Andalucia; and who has been called the Guido of Spain. He may certainly lay a more legitimate claim to that title than to that of the Michael Angelo of Spain, accorded to him by some of the less judicious of his admirers for no other reason than that of his combining the three above mentioned arts.

His paintings are characterized by a peculiar delicacy of manner, correct drawing, and exquisite finish. The sickly paleness of his flesh is sometimes unpleasing, and his personages are gainers by the addition of drapery, in the arrangement of which he approaches to the excellence of the best Italian schools. The life of this artist was varied by more adventure than usually falls to the lot of those of his profession. His talent as a painter had already become celebrated while he was still a monk, having taken the vows very early in life. He had been from the first an enemy to the subordination of the cloister, and at length a series of irregularities led to his expulsion from his monastery.

Alonzo was not, however, the original inventor of this eccentric style. A Roman architect, Francisco Borromini, the rival of Bernini, and of whom it was said, that he was the first of his time in elevation of genius, and the last in the employment of it,—is supposed to have first introduced it. Followers and imitators of these sprung up in great numbers, and Spain was speedily inundated with extravagancies: façades, moulded into more sinuosities than a labyrinth,—cornices, multiplying their angles like a saw, murderously amputated columns, and broken-backed pediments. Juan de Herrera was not, probably, possessed of more talent than the Roman; but of what he had he made a better use. His reputation was beginning to make rapid progress when he was selected, on the death of Juan Baptista de Toledo, to continue the Escorial. His task there was not the simple one of continuing the unfinished pile according to the plans already traced.