An Artist in Spain Wrirren Add Luxurrrated ACCDICHA6L
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':• l ' ' ': ' ' ': •'>'"":'•';• .' " ' .'- " r i ' 2 f : [*• '4 EX-LIBRIS LOUISE ARNER BOYD THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA GIFT OF Louise A. Boyd xk7 I\ Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2008 with funding from Microsoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/artistinspainOOmichrich EL PASE POR ALTO An artist in SPAin wRirren add luxurrRATeD ACCDICHA6L c3l trie pierclo, que me tusqucii, Gtx el sol cleL meclioolia., "Deride, to moreuo ruure r cUrrtde la sal se cria. HODD6R ADD 5TOUGHTOn LoriDon • new york « TOROtvro GIFT CONTENTS CHAPTER I PAGE SOUTHWARD 3 CHAPTER II SEGOVIA 19 CHAPTER III SALAMANCA . 33 CHAPTER IV ZAMORA 49 CHAPTER V ALMAZAN SS CHAPTER VI MADRID *5 CHAPTER VII THE BULL-FIGHT 79 024 AN ARTIST IN SPAIN CHAPTER VIII PAGE ARANJUEZ AND TOLEDO IOI CHAPTER IX LA MANCHA . ^3 CHAPTER X CORDOBA 129 CHAPTER XI SEVILLA 139 CHAPTER XII A' A 'CAPE . 157 CHAPTER XIII GRANADA . 165 CHAPTER XIV THE SIERRA NEVADA *75 CHAPTER XV MURCIA . 185 CHAPTER XVI VALENCIA AND CATALUNA 193 ILLUSTRATIONS EL PASE POR ALTO .... Frontispiece PAGE SEGOVIA CATHEDRAL ..... 8 WORKERS IN THE FIELDS, PROVINCE OF SEGOVIA 16 VILLAGE IN SORIA 24 OLD HOUSES, ALMAZAN, SORIA ... 32 OX WAGGONS ON ROAD TO MADRID . 40 EN ROUTE FOR THE BULL-FIGHT ... 48 THE ALCANTARA, TOLEDO .... 56 THE GARDENS OF ARANJUEZ .... 64 A SHEPHERD OF LA MANCHA .... 72 ARGAMASILLA DE ALBA—LA MANCHA . 80 THE COURT OF THE ORANGE TREES, CORDOBA . 88 AN ARTIST IN SPAIN PAGE A CORNER OF SEVILLA 9 6 THE ALHAMBRA AT SUNSET . .104 THE COURT OF THE MYRTLES—ALHAMBRA . 112 THE GARDENS OF THE GENERALIFE . .120 A GRANADINE GIPSY 128 THE GENERALIFE l3 6 THE SIESTA ....... 144 THE TORRES BERMEJAS 152 NIGHT IN MURCIA 160 LA CALLE DE LA ACEQUIA, MURCIA . .168 THE GOATHERD, MURCIA . .176 'ABUELITO' 184 TARRAGONA CATHEDRAL . .192 MONTSERRAT AT DAWN 200 SOUTHWARD ! CHAPTER I SOUTHWARD THIS was how it came about. From a nail in the studio wall hung a vener- able wineskin, well blackened by the perpetual exudation of the heady Manchegan wine which it had carried in those happy days when it swung from a pack-saddle and roamed the great plains in company with a Castilian muleteer, its former master. So dry had it become through long emptiness, that it had shrunk into the merest mummy of its former rotund self; and such was the pathos of its aspect that it at- tracted the attention of our commiserating eyes. Poor neglected friend ! How often, in the old days, when our throats were parched by the burning sun of Spain, had we cooled them with a draught of its refreshing contents, holding it on high and letting the purple stream gurgle and trickle deliriously down our gullets Thus we reflected, and waxing sentimental, a longing came upon us to revisit the old scenes ; the temptation became too strong to resist, and we decided to set out. We immediately wrote to H , a jovial Gascon artist who had been the companion of our previous wanderings in the Peninsula, and who we felt sure would need little persuasion to accompany us once more. We were not mistaken, for the return mail 3 ' AN ARTIST IN SPAIN brought us a letter from Paris, in which our friend expressed enthusiastic approbation of the scheme. Within a week we had crossed the Channel, and, on our arrival at Paris, were met by H plump , and exuberant as ever. At the Douane our troubles began. The Douanier who was charged with the examination of our luggage was one of those offensive Republican officials who, by acts of petty tyranny, think to emphasise the dignity of their position. The discovery of some photographic materials rendered him apoplectic with excitement, and, with folded arms and wagging head, he opened upon us the floodgates of his l ! Gallic eloquence. Eh ! ben alors ! c'est epatant cried he. ' Here you tell me that you have nothing to declare, and I discover these articles, which appear to me to be of a highly suspicious nature.' Our assurance that the innocent boxes contained nothing but sensi- tized plates was unavailing ; he suspected contraband, and would disembowel them on the spot. H came to the rescue, and our combined diplomacy at length brought the aggressive official to a more reasonable frame of mind. Shrugging his shoulders, he left us and was soon paying his unwelcome attentions to other unfor- tunate travellers. The next morning saw us speeding southwards, en route for Hendaye, the little French frontier town where we intended spending a few days before pursuing our journey into Spain. The roaring express hurried us through the fat green acres of Touraine and Poitou, that smiled monotonously under the July sun, wearying us and making us long for the dolorous expanse of the Landes, and the great lamenting 4 SOUTHWARD pine-woods, through which we must pass before reach- ing that sterner country which lies beyond the Pyrenees. As we approached our destination, I fell into a heavy sleep, from which I was suddenly awakened by H , who, bringing his palm down with a resounding thwack on my knee, leapt up, snapped his fingers and pirouetted thrice, balancing his portly form on the points of his toes. The cause of his excitement was obvious, for those dark masses which loomed against the starlit sky were the Pyrenees, at whose feet he had passed his childhood. Within a short time we had espied the lights of Hendaye, and H hurriedly started to collect his numerous packages, for, like all Southerners, he has a marked predilection for hand luggage. There were paint-boxes and sketching easels, bags, baskets, and paper parcels, and last but not least, in its leathern case, the guitar which always accompanies him on his travels, and on which he is a notable performer. The train glided into the station, and we got down to find ourselves among a crowd of men and women, talking volubly in bad Spanish, mingled with worse French, for every one here is bi-lingual. All the men wore the national c boina,' a sort of diminutive tam-o'-shanter, made of dark blue cloth, but lacking that bob which usually adorns the Scottish headgear. We noted that s the true I blood' sported a boina' of the tiniest dimen- sions, which he posed rakishly on the back of his close-cropped bullet head. Beyond this, there was nothing remarkable in the costume of either men or women. Most of the people in these parts have fair 5 AN ARTIST IN SPAIN complexions, whilst their faces present the usual national characteristics, the long hooked nose and small piercing eyes. On leaving the station, we were besieged by a swarm of hotel touts, who contended most ferociously for our patronage, abusing each other in French, Spanish, and Vascuence, which, for vituperative pur- poses, is almost as effective as Welsh. Having freed ourselves from these pests, we got into a 'bus and were driven to a modest hotel, where, for an inclusive sum per diem, we were lodged and regaled with food and wine, this latter being of an acidity so pungent, that even now we shudder to think of it. We shared our quarters with swarms of mosquitoes of exceptional size and virulence, but a still greater nuisance was the common house-fly, which was so abundant that we were obliged to eat and drink with the greatest circum- spection. The following morning we sallied forth, eager to feel once more the scorching rays of the Southern sun. We prowled the streets of Hendaye, but found nothing of particular interest. There are a few old houses, but most of the town consists of small villas, which are occupied by French families during the bathing season. About a mile off there is a fine beach, which is disfigured by several large modern hotels. We descended to the margin of the Bidassoa, where we stopped to look across at Fuen- terrabia, girt with its siege- scarred walls. The once picturesque aspect of the little border town is now com- pletely marred by several enormous structures of brick which rise from its river front, barrack-like and hideous. These architectural fungi are the convents erected 6 SOUTHWARD by French religious societies, who, after their expulsion, settled upon the Spanish side of the Bidassoa, choosing a position whence they could uninterruptedly gaze across at that chere patrie which means so much to every Frenchman. Anxious to become more closely acquainted with Fuenterrabia, we arranged with a boatman to convey us to the other side. This was not accomplished without much chaffering, for the fellow was as grasping and hardheaded as are the Basques in general, who, it is said, can drive nails into a stone wall, using their heads in lieu of hammers. These boatmen of Hendaye have always a copious stock of smuggling yarns, with which they delight the ears of Gallic tourists, who, all agog for i quelque chose qui a du caractere,' gulp down the highly coloured fabrications with unquestion- ing credulity. Our man proved no exception to the rule, for no sooner were we seated in the boat, than he opened the subject by pointing out, on the neighbouring heights, the watch towers used by the carabineros for the prevention of the contraband trade. Then he regaled us with tales of smuggling adventures, in all of which he seemed to have played a part of con- spicuous heroism, and after that, his imagination becoming more inflamed, he told of men who had rolled to their deaths down awful precipices, of murdered carabineros, and of thrilling escapes from justice.