Wednesday, 30.
To-day we hear that all Catalonia has "pronounced," and even Madrid, and that the rejoicings of last night were for the victory of "Alcolea," just won, over the queen's troops, in which, however, the liberals have lost three thousand men. These troops were commanded by Serrano, (Duke de Torres,) who owes everything to the queen's favor; and on the queen's side by the Marquis de Novaliches, "faithful found amongst the faithless." We hear of one of her officers (the young Count de Cheste) who has shut himself with his men in the fortress of Montjuich, at Barcelona, resolving to die rather than submit. One must admire such devotion, in whatever cause it is shown. "Loyalty! the most pure and beautiful feeling of the human breast. It is a love which exists without requiring the usual nourishment of return; a feeling void of every shade of egotism; that desires and requires nothing but the happiness of loving, that causes one joyfully to sacrifice life and property for the exalted object whose voice, perhaps, never reached his ear. This feeling, in its highest purity, is the very triumph of human capacity." Such is the true definition of "Loyalty," which, like "Liberty," is often profaned and constantly misunderstood. With our pretty Spanish friends we go to see a church called the "Cave," a church only for gentlemen, where they may go privately to their confession and devotions. The confessionals are unlike those used for women, for the men go in front and kneel face to face with the priest. It is a beautiful chapel, wonderfully rich in marbles and fine vestments and bassi-relievi, and below it is a gloomy chapel from whence the church derives its name. Over the altar is represented the crucifixion. It is dimly lighted through a dome, and the figures (large as life) seem to live. Here the men go for meditation, and for the Good Friday and other solemn festivals. At one end of the chapel is a carved chair, raised on a platform, upon which the priest sits to give his instructions, while a lamp is so arranged that the light falls only upon the speaker's face, leaving the rest of the chapel in darkness. The young priest who showed us the church had the face of an angel, so fair and young and holy; or, rather, such a face as is represented in a picture of St. Aloysius Gonzaga, the patron of youth.
As we wander from shop to shop one of our pretty friends meets one of the beaux of Cadiz, whose "loyalty" she suspects and whom she berates most violently for deserting his queen in her need, and helping to embarrass his country. The pretty way with which she shakes her fan at him, and gesticulates with her hands, the expressive eyes and play of feature, is altogether charming and Andalusian.
Late this evening, we hear particulars of the late battle. Novaliches fought against fearful odds—three thousand men to sixteen thousand. He was severely if not mortally wounded, and was carried off by his men to Portugal, the only way of retreat open to them. This defeat, we suppose, will put an end to the war.
Thursday, Oct. 1.
This is the feast of the Guardian Angel of Spain, so we hear mass where the devotion of the forty hours begins. As in Italy, two by two, kneeling and holding lights, the men of the congregation keep watch before the Blessed Sacrament during these forty hours, while hundreds of adorers continually coming and going attest the devotion of this pious people. The Church of the Guardian Angel is near that belonging to the military hospital; and on the opposite side of the square is an asylum for widows, founded many years ago by a converted Moor—a most interesting institution. Widows of all ranks and conditions find shelter here when their necessities require it. Each one has her own chamber and sitting-room, and each one her little cooking apparatus separate. The court with its open corridors on every story, its pretty flowers, its fine promenade on the roof, makes it a very inviting abode; and, with the usual Spanish courtesy, the old widow who showed us about (the widow of an officer, who had been there these forty years) placed it at our "disposition." These poor women go out to walk, and to church when they wish, though there is also a chapel in the house.
We go next to see the "Albergo dei Poveri," a magnificent charity, founded and endowed by one man in memory of his mother, and dedicated to St. Helena. Here five hundred children of both sexes are taught weaving, sewing, washing, shoemaking, etc., and there is also an asylum for five hundred old men and old women. The school-rooms and dormitories are large and airy; the marble courts, where the children play, and the sewing-room, where a hundred girls sat at work, looked out upon the sea, and were deliciously cool and comfortable. The school-rooms were decorated with pictures of Bible history, and seemed to have all the modern inventions which make easy the way to learning. The sister told us how much they had been disturbed by this revolutionary movement. Her little orphan boys (who had been taught music with the view to enter the army as musicians) had been carried off at night to play the revolutionary hymn, kept out marching over the town till two o'clock in the morning, and then sent home foot-sore and with aching heads.
The most interesting thing of all was to see the old men at dinner—that helpless thing, an old man. Placed by the nice table, a man with snow-white apron served the soup, a sister gave round the meat, and then came a pudding. The bread was as white as is all the bread of Spain, (even the poorest people have bread of this very white flour,) and there seemed about a hundred of these men over sixty years of age. The rain drives us home, but by and by we go out again to buy some of the boots and shoes of Cadiz, which are the prettiest in the world and cover the prettiest of feet.
Feast Of The Guardian Angels.
Friday, Oct. 2.