A RUN THROUGH SPAIN. 1 — X.
THE WHITE CITY AND A GLIMPSE OF AFRICA.
ʼʼSENOR, ” said our pleasant landlord, as we went out through
the patio of the Europa, “ you will return to Seville some time, for everybody makes two visits to our city, one to admire it, and the next to know it perfectly. ”
“ Very possibly ” we replied. “ One can run down to Cadiz and Gibraltar, follow around the Horn to dirty Malaga and beautiful Grenada, and is then again ready to return to Seville and take his parting look before going North again. Yes, it is very possible that we shall see Seville again. ”
Meanwhile we are packed into our compartment with some biscuit and wine, and have noticed that two fellow travellers, friends of the Escorial, are ahead of us, and undoubtedly bound for the same place, while beside us is an old friend of the good steamship Alaska whom we have again met away down here.
Seville gradually fades away, and as we look for it from time to time, building after building disappears. The Giralda looms up still, and the Cathedral actually seems larger than ever: distance lends an enchantment to the scene, and the sun as it sets is making things golden with its subdued light. Yes, we say, possibly we shall return to the old city, fast fading from sight, for it is a gem which bears inspection for a long time, and is full of an interest which only deepens with closer acquaintance.
We have left the city and are on our way to Cadiz, a town so totally different that the change is much like the jump into cold water after a Turkish bath. Seville, feverish with excitement and gaiety, Cadiz beautiful in its whiteness, quiet and full of repose, but as dead as the Dead March in “Saul. ” Nothing could be more beautiful than its rock-clad situation with the bay running around to its harbor, and girdling its other side, and the whole mass of town between, as white as snow. As you look at it from the bay side, or as one sails out of the harbor, the embattlements start directly from the sea and encircle the city for four miles as with a girdle. But one must not forget to note the startling contrast between the water and the land; as well-defined do they seem as the white figures on the drawing of a blue-print. Blue sea and blue sky, and a town of houses, roofs and walls, absolutely as white as white can be.
On landing we walked up a little street, with our baggage on a man’s shoulders. The whole mass of the houses seemed to hang out into the street, which being only about eight feet wide gave a close, cool effect not unwelcome, as the sun was shining down with terrible fierceness. The effect was owing to the little projecting bays and balconies with which each house was provided, certainly showing the neighborly feeling of the occupants, who could look into the opposite rooms almost as well as they could see around their own. In shaving or dressing of course this was an obvious gain, as you could use your neighbor’s mirror almost as well as your own, but at times it was rather embarrassing, and apt to lead to confusion amongst members of a family. Strong wooden shutters, however, were provided which could be closed, but then they absolutely shut out both light and ventilation.
Cadiz differs from Seville in the method of building the patios. Cadiz seems to prefer close ones glazed over at the top, often with two or three stories of balconies.
After getting duly settled, we strolled out through the little streets, finding little of interest save the famous sea-walk and the beautiful sea. Hailing an old boatman whose face was seamed with furrows of age, we got aboard his boat, a heavy old craft with low mast and long lateen sail, stained reddish and extremely dirty. A cigarette opened the old fellow’s vocabulary, and we found him to be a veritable sea-dog, up in all the Spanish lore of his city.
“ How many years have you been on the bay? ” we asked.
ʼʼFifty years, Señor, and have seen many changes, ” he replied. “ Has Cadiz always been as white as we see it? ”
“ Qu’en sale, Señor. I have never seen it looking any different, and have whitewashed my own abode every year. ”
“ Is it true that Cadiz was founded by Hercules long before the Christian era.
“ It is true, Señor, ” said he with a serious air, “ and you will see the motto of Hercules grappling with two lions on the walls of the city. ”
The afternoon was far spent when we turned about and pointed
back for the old pier. Lights were beginning to sparkle in the town when suddenly seaward sprung a light from a lonely beacon. “ See! ” cried he, “ The old sea-wolves have lit their lamp. ” “ The sea-wolves! ” we exclaimed.
“True, Señor, ” he replied more seriously. “ For several years that light has sprung up from the beacon, and it is thus kept lighted by the sea-wolves. ”
Thus is the electric light considered by the ignorant fisherman, who cannot understand its power, and are content to believe the imaginative lore of the city. It was interesting at any rate to talk with such old fellows, and see the simple faith that seems to cling to them, refusing to accept the well-known modern agencies that have worked change upon change.
One has, of course, to see the famous old church of Los Capuchines, not because of any intrinsic beauty, but because the poor Murillo must needs tumble headlong from his scaffold while painting the “Marriage of St. Catharine, ” and shortly after die from the injury thus received.
But by far the most interesting trip is a walk around the Alameda. Imagine a lovely narrow garden encircling such a city, with huge palms, orange and lemon trees and immense cacti, while above them runs the irregular line of white roofs with little mosque-like domes on top. The walls of this promenade run straight down into the sea, and the waves dash against them with huge rollers. As beautiful is it as the promenades of Nice or Naples, and here the ladies of the town show their latest importations of dress, and talk over the gossip of the latest scandal.
We spent several days under a charming sky, and were beginning to think of passing on to the next place of interest. I had been studying up somewhat about the facilities of an African trip, and so proposed it one morning to our little group.
“Shall we go to Africa? ” said I, as we sat far out upon the forti
fications of Cadiz and gazed over the sea. Directly opposite, away across the water, was our own home America, to the North the ground over which we had passed, while to the South we had but one more place of interest before it would be necessary either to jump off the rocky promontory of Gibraltar, cross the Mediterranean Sea to the coasts of Africa, or else turn back and commence the return. The idea of visiting Africa was extremely exciting, although we could not know exactly what it meant. Childhood’s thoughts had been of sunny Africa, and a few years had added to it the thrilling experiences of savages and roast missionaries, while later study, although it had divested the country of any such canabalistic tendencies, yet replaced them by full as interesting accounts of the sandy deserts, the voluptousness of the Moors and the dusky Moslems, not to speak of the homes from which slavery drew its tan-colored recruits. We all voted to go to Africa, so I went down to the wharves to see when any boat would be sailing to the African, coast. Announcements of such events are posted on colored sheets on the walls of the town, for it is absolutely impossible to know when any boat will arrive, or sail: it is merely a matter of chance. “When the boat arrives, ” say they, “then we shall know when it will sail. ”
We found a colored placard at last with the pleasing announcement that a steamer was expected from the North on the next day
morning and would leave in the evening for Tangiers. So we wandered down to the shipping-office and demanded tickets for the trip.
“ The boat sails to-morrow? ” I asked.
“ Ah, Señor, who can say? ” he replied.
“Why, what do you mean? there are your placards of announcement. ”
“Yes, but, ” with a shrug, “ who can tell if there will be any boat here to sail. It may be delayed several days. ”
“ Do you mean there may not be any boat after all? ”
“ Certainly, Señor, if there is no boat it will be impossible to sail, of course. ”
“ Ah, yes, of course, ” we said, thinking of our own country where ocean steamers start to a minute, and telegraphic communication establishes the whereabouts of almost every boat.
THE WHITE CITY AND A GLIMPSE OF AFRICA.
ʼʼSENOR, ” said our pleasant landlord, as we went out through
the patio of the Europa, “ you will return to Seville some time, for everybody makes two visits to our city, one to admire it, and the next to know it perfectly. ”
“ Very possibly ” we replied. “ One can run down to Cadiz and Gibraltar, follow around the Horn to dirty Malaga and beautiful Grenada, and is then again ready to return to Seville and take his parting look before going North again. Yes, it is very possible that we shall see Seville again. ”
Meanwhile we are packed into our compartment with some biscuit and wine, and have noticed that two fellow travellers, friends of the Escorial, are ahead of us, and undoubtedly bound for the same place, while beside us is an old friend of the good steamship Alaska whom we have again met away down here.
Seville gradually fades away, and as we look for it from time to time, building after building disappears. The Giralda looms up still, and the Cathedral actually seems larger than ever: distance lends an enchantment to the scene, and the sun as it sets is making things golden with its subdued light. Yes, we say, possibly we shall return to the old city, fast fading from sight, for it is a gem which bears inspection for a long time, and is full of an interest which only deepens with closer acquaintance.
We have left the city and are on our way to Cadiz, a town so totally different that the change is much like the jump into cold water after a Turkish bath. Seville, feverish with excitement and gaiety, Cadiz beautiful in its whiteness, quiet and full of repose, but as dead as the Dead March in “Saul. ” Nothing could be more beautiful than its rock-clad situation with the bay running around to its harbor, and girdling its other side, and the whole mass of town between, as white as snow. As you look at it from the bay side, or as one sails out of the harbor, the embattlements start directly from the sea and encircle the city for four miles as with a girdle. But one must not forget to note the startling contrast between the water and the land; as well-defined do they seem as the white figures on the drawing of a blue-print. Blue sea and blue sky, and a town of houses, roofs and walls, absolutely as white as white can be.
On landing we walked up a little street, with our baggage on a man’s shoulders. The whole mass of the houses seemed to hang out into the street, which being only about eight feet wide gave a close, cool effect not unwelcome, as the sun was shining down with terrible fierceness. The effect was owing to the little projecting bays and balconies with which each house was provided, certainly showing the neighborly feeling of the occupants, who could look into the opposite rooms almost as well as they could see around their own. In shaving or dressing of course this was an obvious gain, as you could use your neighbor’s mirror almost as well as your own, but at times it was rather embarrassing, and apt to lead to confusion amongst members of a family. Strong wooden shutters, however, were provided which could be closed, but then they absolutely shut out both light and ventilation.
Cadiz differs from Seville in the method of building the patios. Cadiz seems to prefer close ones glazed over at the top, often with two or three stories of balconies.
After getting duly settled, we strolled out through the little streets, finding little of interest save the famous sea-walk and the beautiful sea. Hailing an old boatman whose face was seamed with furrows of age, we got aboard his boat, a heavy old craft with low mast and long lateen sail, stained reddish and extremely dirty. A cigarette opened the old fellow’s vocabulary, and we found him to be a veritable sea-dog, up in all the Spanish lore of his city.
“ How many years have you been on the bay? ” we asked.
ʼʼFifty years, Señor, and have seen many changes, ” he replied. “ Has Cadiz always been as white as we see it? ”
“ Qu’en sale, Señor. I have never seen it looking any different, and have whitewashed my own abode every year. ”
“ Is it true that Cadiz was founded by Hercules long before the Christian era.
“ It is true, Señor, ” said he with a serious air, “ and you will see the motto of Hercules grappling with two lions on the walls of the city. ”
The afternoon was far spent when we turned about and pointed
back for the old pier. Lights were beginning to sparkle in the town when suddenly seaward sprung a light from a lonely beacon. “ See! ” cried he, “ The old sea-wolves have lit their lamp. ” “ The sea-wolves! ” we exclaimed.
“True, Señor, ” he replied more seriously. “ For several years that light has sprung up from the beacon, and it is thus kept lighted by the sea-wolves. ”
Thus is the electric light considered by the ignorant fisherman, who cannot understand its power, and are content to believe the imaginative lore of the city. It was interesting at any rate to talk with such old fellows, and see the simple faith that seems to cling to them, refusing to accept the well-known modern agencies that have worked change upon change.
One has, of course, to see the famous old church of Los Capuchines, not because of any intrinsic beauty, but because the poor Murillo must needs tumble headlong from his scaffold while painting the “Marriage of St. Catharine, ” and shortly after die from the injury thus received.
But by far the most interesting trip is a walk around the Alameda. Imagine a lovely narrow garden encircling such a city, with huge palms, orange and lemon trees and immense cacti, while above them runs the irregular line of white roofs with little mosque-like domes on top. The walls of this promenade run straight down into the sea, and the waves dash against them with huge rollers. As beautiful is it as the promenades of Nice or Naples, and here the ladies of the town show their latest importations of dress, and talk over the gossip of the latest scandal.
We spent several days under a charming sky, and were beginning to think of passing on to the next place of interest. I had been studying up somewhat about the facilities of an African trip, and so proposed it one morning to our little group.
“Shall we go to Africa? ” said I, as we sat far out upon the forti
fications of Cadiz and gazed over the sea. Directly opposite, away across the water, was our own home America, to the North the ground over which we had passed, while to the South we had but one more place of interest before it would be necessary either to jump off the rocky promontory of Gibraltar, cross the Mediterranean Sea to the coasts of Africa, or else turn back and commence the return. The idea of visiting Africa was extremely exciting, although we could not know exactly what it meant. Childhood’s thoughts had been of sunny Africa, and a few years had added to it the thrilling experiences of savages and roast missionaries, while later study, although it had divested the country of any such canabalistic tendencies, yet replaced them by full as interesting accounts of the sandy deserts, the voluptousness of the Moors and the dusky Moslems, not to speak of the homes from which slavery drew its tan-colored recruits. We all voted to go to Africa, so I went down to the wharves to see when any boat would be sailing to the African, coast. Announcements of such events are posted on colored sheets on the walls of the town, for it is absolutely impossible to know when any boat will arrive, or sail: it is merely a matter of chance. “When the boat arrives, ” say they, “then we shall know when it will sail. ”
We found a colored placard at last with the pleasing announcement that a steamer was expected from the North on the next day
morning and would leave in the evening for Tangiers. So we wandered down to the shipping-office and demanded tickets for the trip.
“ The boat sails to-morrow? ” I asked.
“ Ah, Señor, who can say? ” he replied.
“Why, what do you mean? there are your placards of announcement. ”
“Yes, but, ” with a shrug, “ who can tell if there will be any boat here to sail. It may be delayed several days. ”
“ Do you mean there may not be any boat after all? ”
“ Certainly, Señor, if there is no boat it will be impossible to sail, of course. ”
“ Ah, yes, of course, ” we said, thinking of our own country where ocean steamers start to a minute, and telegraphic communication establishes the whereabouts of almost every boat.