youth of the land, Rome withdrew the Roman forces from the frontiers and thus delivered the disarmed country as a prey to the invaders.
The government, with its complicated hierarchical system, still existed; but its functions were now mainly confined to securing the major part of the financial resources of the country, in order to bear them to Rome; this fresh cause of enfeeblement joined to the first, led to the surrender of Gaul in a defenceless state to the barbarians. There was nothing left but a sort of abstract organization, a skeleton hierarchy; the local aristocracy had long been stripped of all influence in the country; many of its members had emigrated to Rome; those who remained at home had been subordinated to Roman functionaries and were no longer the natural chiefs of the nation; the curiales were destitute of authority and had no responsibility except to gather in the contributions for the imperial government; their burdens were looked upon as a scourge, which every one sought to escape, and they had to be imposed by force; as for the people, they had long since lost all sentiment of solidarity; the Gaulish nation had ceased to exist when Gaul became a mere province of Rome, deprived of all her separate interests and resources and held like a satellite to the Roman destinies.
[ To be continued. ]
A RUN THROUGH SPAIN. 1 — IX. THE HOUSE OF FIGARO.
I
T is well that one visits Seville before going to Granada, because one expects Moorish work as he goes South and is disappointed at not finding more of it. When, therefore, he sees such a mass of it as the Alcazar or the House of Pilate in Seville, the sight is most entrancing. But when he afterward sees Granada, the remembrance of Seville fades from the memory and becomes as a shadow.
Like a fortress wall rises the Alcazar, and one would hardly suppose so much of interest lay behind such plain walls.
It was a terribly hot day and the sun seemed as if it had engaged itself to stew and frizzle every person who appeared in the great square opposite the Cathedral. The only one who seemed at all oblivious to the heat was a little old fellow, wrinkled and twisted in form, but with a bright face, and who was selling “cooling drink, ” consisting mainly of syrups and water, the favorite drink of every Spaniard, in lieu of wine.
We entered the deserted square, and appeared at the little office for a ticket of admission.
“Americans? ” and the little man smiled. “Ah, Senor, ’tis a far country. ”
“ Yes, ” I replied, “ therefore as we have come so far, condescend to allow us to loiter in the grand old place and sketch. ”
“ It is granted, ” replied he, with the customary Spanish politeness. So we approached the wonderful palace which is identified with the life of that cruel monarch Pedro, who reigned during the middle of the fourteenth century, and whose deeds were marked by a trail of blood, which, the guide assures you, it is impossible to erase.
We have seen nothing like it thus far, and as the great door swings on its hinges and we are admitted into the first of the series of rooms, the scene is a veritable kaleidoscopic creation of an Arabian Night’s dream, and one can almost expect to see an Aladdin glide through the courts with his golden lamp, in search of something which his heart desires. But if we could have looked back to the old Moorish reign, we should have beheld a strange sight indeed. The Spanish youth courts his sweetheart in good earnest from before the iron guards of her window, the Italian courteously asks permission of the master to press his suit, the American goes about it as he pleases, the Sultan orders his mistress to his harem, while the old Moorish, sovereign was very particular; the number must be an even hundred and the conditions must be fifty rich girls and fifty poor girls;
whether good-looking or otherwise, I do not know. At any rate, all the young ladies who answered to the call were summoned into the court and passed in review, and I can imagine the old nabob pointing out his finger and remarking, “you, and you, and you, ” and so on until he had procured his requisite number.
The glorious Hall of the Ambassadors with its naranja ceiling comes next, and it is a marvel of hanging lace-like ornament in gold and color, which runs into the wall-surface of raised ornamentation and glowing tile-work. Red, blue and gold, predominate everywhere, and one can imagine how soft must have been the effect at eventide, when the beautiful old hanging-lamps shone forth with their soft lustre. Wherever there are columns they are of alabaster, if I mistake not, at least they look almost like polished ivory.
And with all this beauty surrounding him lived the old Don Pedro, completing his palace after many years of labor and then staining its beauty by the blood of those whose acts displeased him.
“ And what kind of wages do you suppose he paid his workmen? ” asked our guide.
We could not guess of course, and were rather surprised at his very suggestive motion as he drew his finger across his windpipe and remarked that “ Pedro sent them home with their heads cut off, after they had completed the work. ”
Well, well, what a horrible fellow he was to be sure; but what a delightfully simple method of settling one’s accounts; no money required, no grumbling about the exact amount and no strikes.
“ Pedro was a strange man, ” he went on, “ and he liked nothing better than the adventures of midnight rambles, disguised as a lover. The story is told of his amours with a lovely maiden whom he found with another lover at her side one night, and with kingly grace stabbed him to the death. Then he ordered his alcalde to find the murderer, or lose his own head. The frightened alcalde found out who did the deed, made a puppet of the king and in due time presented it to him, with the proclamation, ʼ there is the man. ’ ” “ What a capital idea, ” we said.
“ Yes, Señor, ” he went on, “ and to show the natural sagacity of the king, hear the sequel. Pedro could not very well kill his own alcalde, neither did he deem it a pleasant proceeding to cut his own head off, so he split the difference and hung the puppet with due solemnity and went on his way rejoicing. ” Admirable method, was it not?
But to continue. Charles V found infinite pleasure in this old palace, but his pursuits were of a different nature and are seen in the beauties of the garden at the rear of the palace. At the entrance is a large font in which Charles V fished to his heart’s content and if you to-day throw in a few crumbs, hundreds of little golden-backed fish spring up and make the water a sparkling pool. All around are gardens of orange trees laden with rich yellow fruit, large date palms, huge bunches of bananas and everywhere the curious hedges of myrtle which are filled in with tropical foliage. Turning back, one may pass under the buildings and see the huge foundations of dungeons and the subterranean bath which was made for the cruel Maria, mistress of Pedro. What strange stories could these passages tell if they could speak: stories of dark deeds, of murders, the sound of which was entirely hidden from the ear of mankind and in which the cruel king revelled!
While deep in the contemplation of the character of this fearful wretch and emerging from the deep shadows of the arches, we
walked down the garden paths and could not help contrasting the two monarchs Pedro and Charles. Suddenly we seemed enveloped in a spray of water which caused us to jump and run, pell-mell. But the little jets followed on all sides, and seemed to spring from the very ground we trod, like a veritable sprinkling-bath. I suppose every one gets the same wetting. It is one of the jokes of the old king. You drop a nickle in the slot and see the fountain play. That is, figuratively speaking; an examination shows the guide’s laughing face at the end of the garden and a pavement full of little pin-holes through which the water can be turned at will.
“Aye, verily, ” laughs the guide, “ our King Charles was quite a joker in his way. ”
But the sun of Spain is warm and soon dries off the spray.
One can walk through the living-rooms of this wonderful palace and see much of the life of the Moorish kings. The walls are covered with the most intricate ornamentation of tiles, mosaics and sculpture. The courts are surrounded by beautiful columnated arches, whose delicate ornamentation seems like lace-work and the
The government, with its complicated hierarchical system, still existed; but its functions were now mainly confined to securing the major part of the financial resources of the country, in order to bear them to Rome; this fresh cause of enfeeblement joined to the first, led to the surrender of Gaul in a defenceless state to the barbarians. There was nothing left but a sort of abstract organization, a skeleton hierarchy; the local aristocracy had long been stripped of all influence in the country; many of its members had emigrated to Rome; those who remained at home had been subordinated to Roman functionaries and were no longer the natural chiefs of the nation; the curiales were destitute of authority and had no responsibility except to gather in the contributions for the imperial government; their burdens were looked upon as a scourge, which every one sought to escape, and they had to be imposed by force; as for the people, they had long since lost all sentiment of solidarity; the Gaulish nation had ceased to exist when Gaul became a mere province of Rome, deprived of all her separate interests and resources and held like a satellite to the Roman destinies.
[ To be continued. ]
A RUN THROUGH SPAIN. 1 — IX. THE HOUSE OF FIGARO.
I
T is well that one visits Seville before going to Granada, because one expects Moorish work as he goes South and is disappointed at not finding more of it. When, therefore, he sees such a mass of it as the Alcazar or the House of Pilate in Seville, the sight is most entrancing. But when he afterward sees Granada, the remembrance of Seville fades from the memory and becomes as a shadow.
Like a fortress wall rises the Alcazar, and one would hardly suppose so much of interest lay behind such plain walls.
It was a terribly hot day and the sun seemed as if it had engaged itself to stew and frizzle every person who appeared in the great square opposite the Cathedral. The only one who seemed at all oblivious to the heat was a little old fellow, wrinkled and twisted in form, but with a bright face, and who was selling “cooling drink, ” consisting mainly of syrups and water, the favorite drink of every Spaniard, in lieu of wine.
We entered the deserted square, and appeared at the little office for a ticket of admission.
“Americans? ” and the little man smiled. “Ah, Senor, ’tis a far country. ”
“ Yes, ” I replied, “ therefore as we have come so far, condescend to allow us to loiter in the grand old place and sketch. ”
“ It is granted, ” replied he, with the customary Spanish politeness. So we approached the wonderful palace which is identified with the life of that cruel monarch Pedro, who reigned during the middle of the fourteenth century, and whose deeds were marked by a trail of blood, which, the guide assures you, it is impossible to erase.
We have seen nothing like it thus far, and as the great door swings on its hinges and we are admitted into the first of the series of rooms, the scene is a veritable kaleidoscopic creation of an Arabian Night’s dream, and one can almost expect to see an Aladdin glide through the courts with his golden lamp, in search of something which his heart desires. But if we could have looked back to the old Moorish reign, we should have beheld a strange sight indeed. The Spanish youth courts his sweetheart in good earnest from before the iron guards of her window, the Italian courteously asks permission of the master to press his suit, the American goes about it as he pleases, the Sultan orders his mistress to his harem, while the old Moorish, sovereign was very particular; the number must be an even hundred and the conditions must be fifty rich girls and fifty poor girls;
whether good-looking or otherwise, I do not know. At any rate, all the young ladies who answered to the call were summoned into the court and passed in review, and I can imagine the old nabob pointing out his finger and remarking, “you, and you, and you, ” and so on until he had procured his requisite number.
The glorious Hall of the Ambassadors with its naranja ceiling comes next, and it is a marvel of hanging lace-like ornament in gold and color, which runs into the wall-surface of raised ornamentation and glowing tile-work. Red, blue and gold, predominate everywhere, and one can imagine how soft must have been the effect at eventide, when the beautiful old hanging-lamps shone forth with their soft lustre. Wherever there are columns they are of alabaster, if I mistake not, at least they look almost like polished ivory.
And with all this beauty surrounding him lived the old Don Pedro, completing his palace after many years of labor and then staining its beauty by the blood of those whose acts displeased him.
“ And what kind of wages do you suppose he paid his workmen? ” asked our guide.
We could not guess of course, and were rather surprised at his very suggestive motion as he drew his finger across his windpipe and remarked that “ Pedro sent them home with their heads cut off, after they had completed the work. ”
Well, well, what a horrible fellow he was to be sure; but what a delightfully simple method of settling one’s accounts; no money required, no grumbling about the exact amount and no strikes.
“ Pedro was a strange man, ” he went on, “ and he liked nothing better than the adventures of midnight rambles, disguised as a lover. The story is told of his amours with a lovely maiden whom he found with another lover at her side one night, and with kingly grace stabbed him to the death. Then he ordered his alcalde to find the murderer, or lose his own head. The frightened alcalde found out who did the deed, made a puppet of the king and in due time presented it to him, with the proclamation, ʼ there is the man. ’ ” “ What a capital idea, ” we said.
“ Yes, Señor, ” he went on, “ and to show the natural sagacity of the king, hear the sequel. Pedro could not very well kill his own alcalde, neither did he deem it a pleasant proceeding to cut his own head off, so he split the difference and hung the puppet with due solemnity and went on his way rejoicing. ” Admirable method, was it not?
But to continue. Charles V found infinite pleasure in this old palace, but his pursuits were of a different nature and are seen in the beauties of the garden at the rear of the palace. At the entrance is a large font in which Charles V fished to his heart’s content and if you to-day throw in a few crumbs, hundreds of little golden-backed fish spring up and make the water a sparkling pool. All around are gardens of orange trees laden with rich yellow fruit, large date palms, huge bunches of bananas and everywhere the curious hedges of myrtle which are filled in with tropical foliage. Turning back, one may pass under the buildings and see the huge foundations of dungeons and the subterranean bath which was made for the cruel Maria, mistress of Pedro. What strange stories could these passages tell if they could speak: stories of dark deeds, of murders, the sound of which was entirely hidden from the ear of mankind and in which the cruel king revelled!
While deep in the contemplation of the character of this fearful wretch and emerging from the deep shadows of the arches, we
walked down the garden paths and could not help contrasting the two monarchs Pedro and Charles. Suddenly we seemed enveloped in a spray of water which caused us to jump and run, pell-mell. But the little jets followed on all sides, and seemed to spring from the very ground we trod, like a veritable sprinkling-bath. I suppose every one gets the same wetting. It is one of the jokes of the old king. You drop a nickle in the slot and see the fountain play. That is, figuratively speaking; an examination shows the guide’s laughing face at the end of the garden and a pavement full of little pin-holes through which the water can be turned at will.
“Aye, verily, ” laughs the guide, “ our King Charles was quite a joker in his way. ”
But the sun of Spain is warm and soon dries off the spray.
One can walk through the living-rooms of this wonderful palace and see much of the life of the Moorish kings. The walls are covered with the most intricate ornamentation of tiles, mosaics and sculpture. The courts are surrounded by beautiful columnated arches, whose delicate ornamentation seems like lace-work and the