Seville, Fonda De Paris.
September 23, 1869.
The train leaves Cordova at six A.M., and we are delighted to be again on our journey. The route proves of little interest between Cordova and Seville; the Guadalquivir is first on one side of us and then on the other; the hills and mountains bound each side of the plain, where are olive groves, and peaceful flocks, and ploughmen, as if no revolution were occurring around them. At Almovar, (situated on a high hill,) we see the ruins of a Moorish castle where that half-Moor, Peter the Cruel, confined his sister-in-law, Doña Juana de Lara. Carmona is another town which has the same celebrity. Here he imprisoned many of his female favorites when tired of them. We grow very hungry in spite of these tragic histories, and our young gentleman buys a great melon de Castile, which, proving very delicious, we make a good breakfast à l'espagnol; but are not sorry to see the towers of the Giralda, and soon after we enter Seville—the most charming of all Spanish towns; the city of Don Juan and Figaro; the gayest, the most celebrated for its beautiful women, its graceful men, its bull-fights, its gypsies, its tertulias, its fandangos, its cachuchas, its Murillos, its cathedral, (said to rival St. Peter's,) and its Alcazar, which is almost as wonderful as the Alhambra.
After dinner, we hasten to the cathedral through busy, crowded streets, by handsome shops; passing occasionally a pretty Sevillian whose black dress, bare arms and neck seen through the black lace mantilla, with the dainty pink rose peeping from beneath it, harmonize exactly with one's idea of the Spanish woman. And presently, upon a terrace ascended by several steps, we see before us this wonderful pile of buildings: the Giralda (Moorish tower) on one side; the Sagrario (the parish church) on the other; the chapter house, and offices facing the cathedral; and in the centre of all these the court of oranges! The cathedral is entered from this court by nine doors. We scarcely know how to describe this magnificent gothic building, which has affected us more than any we have ever seen. Coming upon us so immediately after the mosque of Cordova, (each of these a perfect specimen of its kind,) one sees in each the reflection of the different faiths they represent. The graceful, elegant mosque seems to appeal more to the senses, to speak of a faith which promises material joys, while the grand and majestic gothic cathedral carries one's heart to the heaven in which these lofty arches seem to be lost. In despair of being able to do justice to so high a theme, I must borrow from O'Shea's guide-book the following description of this building:
"The general style of the edifice is gothic of the best period of Spain, and though many of its parts belong to different styles, these form but accessory parts, and the main body remains strictly gothic. Indeed all the fine arts, and each in turn, at their acme of strength, have combined to produce their finest inspiration here. The Moorish Giralda, the Gothic cathedral, the Greco-Roman exterior, produce variety, and repose the eye. Inside, its numerous paintings are by some of the greatest painters that ever breathed; the stained glass, amongst the finest known; the sculpture, beautiful; the jewellers' and silversmiths' work unrivalled in composition, execution, and value. The cathedral of Leon charms us by the chaste elegance of its airy structure, the purity of its harmonious lines; the fairy-worked cimborio of that at Burgos, its filagree spires, and pomp of ornamentation are certainly more striking; and at Toledo, we feel already humbled and crushed beneath the majesty and wealth displayed everywhere. But when we enter the cathedral of Seville, there is a sublimity in these sombre masses and clusters of spires whose proportions and details are somewhat lost and concealed in the mysterious shadows which pervade the whole, a grandeur which quickens the sense, and makes the heart throb within us, and we stand as lost among these lofty naves and countless gilt altars, shining dimly in the dark around us, the lights playing across them as the rays of the glorious Spanish sun stream through the painted windows. Vast proportions, unity of design, severity and sobriety of ornament, and that simplicity unalloyed by monotony which stamps all the works of real genius, render this one of the noblest piles ever raised to God by man, and preferred by many even to St. Peter's at Rome."
It is said that the canons and chapter resolved to make this church the wonder of the world; and with this view, sent for the most celebrated architects and artists of the world to adorn it, denying themselves almost the necessaries of life to accomplish the great work.
The pillars are one hundred and fifty feet high; the church, four hundred feet long, two hundred and ninety-one wide, with ninety-five windows and thirty-seven chapels; and nearly each one of these contains some pictures of Murillo, Cespedes, Campana, Roelas, or some Spanish painter of celebrity. We go from chapel to chapel, gazing upon these, lingering before the altar "Del Angel de la Guarda," where is Murillo's exquisite picture of the guardian angel with the young child by the hand (so often reproduced,) and lost in awe before his grand picture of St. Anthony of Padua, to whom the infant Jesus descends, amidst angels and flowers and sunbeams, into the arms ecstatically extended toward him. In a little chapel we come upon a lovely Virgin and Child, by Alonso Caño, called N. S. de Belem, (Bethlehem.)
But the sun declined, and we ascended the Giralda to see his last beams shine upon so much beauty. What a strange and charming scene! The forest of white houses painted with delicate blue and green; the flat roofs decorated with gardens; the four hundred and seventy-seven narrow streets, some hardly admitting two people abreast, through which toiled the patient mules bearing burdens of stones, mortar for building, wood, and vegetables; the one hundred ornamented squares and promenades; the orange gardens; the plaza de Toros; the cathedral just beneath us, with its hundreds of turrets; the Torre del Oro, (Tower of Gold,) so named from its yellow hue; the Lonja, (Exchange,) with its pink color; the grey Alcazar; the palace San Telmo by the Guadalquivir, which winds through the city and over the plain; and convents, and churches, and palaces; and, beyond all, the verdant plains and the blue mountains! As the sun sank, the convent bells rang the "Ave Maria."
"Blessed be the hour!
The time, the chime, the spot."
Certainly we all "felt that moment in its fullest power"!