Glories of Spain Part 36

The beauty of the night, the pure pale moonlight effect, had not prepared us for the splendours of to-day: so effective, lovely and diversified a cathedral: the most remarkable exterior we had yet found in Spain. The whole square with its surrounding houses is a dream. The church dates from the eleventh century. Above the round apse of the choir at the east end--probably the oldest part of the building--rose outline upon outline, all bearing the refining mark of age. Much of it appeared never to have been touched or restored. On the south side was a tower, of which the lower part was Romanesque, the remainder fourteenth century and octagonal. Apart from the east end most of the church is transitional. The roofs are covered with pantiles, but they are not the original covering, and are not quite in harmony with the rest of the work.

The west doorways are very fine. Those that open to the aisles are of the earliest date; the central and more important is fourteenth century, deeply recessed, with a ma.s.sive b.u.t.tress on each side. This doorway rises to a triangle, above which are many statues of the apostles in Gothic niches. Above the Romanesque side doors are rose windows with rare and delicate tracery, and the south door has a finely carved relief of the Entry into Jerusalem.

The internal effect was most impressive. Few cathedrals are more solidly built, yet few display greater ornamentation. The columns are splendid, their richly-carved capitals redeeming the somewhat stern severity of the pure transition work. The piers are very ma.s.sive, and the eye is at once arrested by the early-pointed clerestory and unusually large bays.

The view of the interior of the transept, above which rises the octagonal lantern with its narrow pointed lights is especially striking.

A little of the coloured gla.s.s is very brilliant and sixteenth century, but the greater part is modern. The chancel is pure Romanesque, the chapels are chiefly fourteenth century. In the baptistery the font is a Roman sarcophagus found in the palace of Augustus.

But the cloisters are the gem of the cathedral. Here again was an architectural dream, grand in design, of n.o.blest proportions: six splendid bays on each side, each bay enclosing three round arches. These are divided by coupled shafts of white marble, decorated with dog-tooth mouldings. Above them two large circles are pierced in the wall, some retaining the original interlacing work of extreme beauty and delicacy, and of Moorish origin.

Many of the capitals are quaintly carved, with humorous subjects: one of them, for instance, representing a procession of rats carrying a cat to her burial. The cat shams death, and the too-confident rats omit to bind her. Presently the tables turn: the cat comes to life, springs upon the rats and devours them.

The verger or sacristan was very proud of these capitals, and of the whole cathedral: full of energy and enthusiasm: understood every detail, delighted to linger at every turn. He seemed intelligent and educated, and declared he was only happy when gazing upon his beloved aisles and arches. He begged us to give him an English lesson in architectural terms, which he soon accomplished. Dressed in his purple gown, he looked as imposing as any of the priests in their vestments, and more intelligent than many.

Enchanted to find our enthusiasm equal to his own, he left the cloister doorway unlocked, so that we might enter at any moment. This was a great concession, for in Spain they keep their cloisters under constant lock and key, partly for the sake of the fee usually given: a mercenary consideration quite beneath our sacristan. He talked and exhibited out of pure love for his work.

"The cathedral is my hobby and happiness," he said, "and I would rather die than leave it. I know the history of every stone and pillar by heart, could sketch every minute detail from memory. In those glorious aisles, these matchless cloisters, I feel in paradise. I love to come here when the church is closed and sit and study and contemplate. Born in a better sphere, I should have become an architect. All these outlines appeal to my soul, just as music appeals to Senor Ancora."

[Ill.u.s.tration: CLOISTERS: TARRAGONA.]

"Is he your wonderful midnight player?"

"Si, senor. Do you mean to say you have heard him?"

"We were with him last night, and spent more than two hours in the cathedral listening to his wonderful music."

"It is hard to believe. Never will he admit any one to his midnight vagaries, as I call them. I do not know how you won him over to let you in; but he seems to guess things by intuition. Something must have told him that you had a soul for music, and he could not find it in his heart to refuse you."

"A curious, grotesque man, who almost gives one the impression of being supernatural," we observed.

"We all think he is bordering upon it," returned the sacristan; "half man, half angel. Curious and almost deformed as he looks, he is the envy and admiration of the whole town, has the most beautiful wife and loveliest children. He came here twenty years ago, a pale, slight, ethereal youth of eighteen, looking as though he had dropped from the stars, or some far-off paradise. People still wonder whether he did so or not.--Look senor," pointing upwards. "Did you ever see such outlines, such a vision of beauty? Is it not the very spot for such a soul as Senor Ancora's?"

We were standing in the cloister garden, where orange trees and graceful shrubs grew in wild profusion and exquisite contrast. In the centre of the garden a fountain threw up its spray and plashed with cool musical sound. Surrounding us were the wonderful cloister bays with their round arches resting on the white marble columns, all enclosed in an outer pointed arch. Above them rose the cathedral against the deep blue sky.

Outline above outline; Romanesque and Gothic; the lantern crowning the whole. The shadows of the marble columns upon the ancient cloister pavement were sharply defined.

"No wonder you love it," we said to the sacristan. "Rather we wonder you do not apply for permission to live in the chapter-house, and take up your abode here altogether."

"Ah, senor, like Ancora, I also have my domestic ties: a wife and children to think about. But, alas, my wife has no soul, and cannot even understand my love for the cathedral. That indeed ought to have been my wife, and I should never have married commonplace flesh and blood. Here I have been day after day for thirty years, in constant attendance, and I grow to love it more and more, and daily discover fresh beauties.

There are no cloisters in the world like these. There is no vision on earth to be compared with this, as we stand here and look upwards and around. None."

As we stood listening to the sacristan's enthusiasm, a pale, refined, grave-looking ecclesiastic pa.s.sed out of the beautiful doorway leading from the church, and with silent footstep walked through the cloister to the chapter-house. He was dressed in a violet silk robe or ca.s.sock, over which was a white lace alb. As he went by he bowed to us with great gravity, but said not a word. There was a sorrowful, subdued look upon the clear-cut features, the large grey eyes.

"That is one of our canons," said the sacristan, after he had disappeared into the chapter-house; "the one I like best. He too loves this wonderful building."

"He is sad-looking. One could almost imagine he had mistaken his vocation, or gone through some great sorrow in life."

"You are right, senor: right in both instances. He was a man of n.o.ble family, never intended for the church. Engaged to a lovely lady to whom he was devoted, she died the very day before they were to have been married. He remained inconsolable, and at last took orders. At one time he had an idea of becoming a monk; but he is very clever, and was persuaded to take up a more active life in the church. As you saw him now, so he always is; grave, subdued, gentle and kindly. No one goes to him for help in vain. Here he is venerated."

We felt drawn towards this refined ecclesiastic and wished to know him, but no opportunity presented itself. The cloisters seemed to gain an added charm by his presence. His dress and appearance exactly suited them, giving them an additional touch of picturesque romance and human interest. The whole scene inspired us with a strange affection for Tarragona, and there are few places in Spain we would sooner revisit.

A little later, when we were going round the precincts, they seemed suddenly to swarm with a small army of boys. These were turning out of the new seminary, a mongrel building designed on old lines, therefore neither one thing nor the other. We entered, and turning to the left, found ourselves in modern cloisters echoing with the shouts of boys at play: cloisters attractive only from the fact that they enclosed a small, very ancient church--the church of San Pablo--a rare gem in its way; with a square-headed doorway and Romanesque capitals, and a small turret holding the bell, above which was a thin iron cross. It was a lovely building, and lost in admiration we stood gazing. The boys who came round us without the least shyness could not understand it.

"What do you see in it?" asked one of them. "We should like to knock the old barrack down. It takes up our play-room. A wretched old building, neither use nor ornament. But we can't get rid of it. It won't burn; it is so solid that we can't demolish it; and we daren't use dynamite. We have to put up with it."

"And you would rather put up with the grapes and the oranges in the market-place?" we suggested.

"We should like to put them _down_, senor. Only try us."

Having invited the challenge, it had to be accepted: and the whole troop tore off with one consent to drive bargains with the fruit-women. One boy, however, remained behind; a fair, thoughtful lad of about fifteen, with large, dreamy, beautiful brown eyes.

"Why don't you join them, and take your share of the spoil?" we asked him.

"Senor, I would rather study this old chapel than eat all the grapes in Catalonia," he replied. "My father is the sacristan of the cathedral. He loves old buildings too, but not as I do, I think. I have made up my mind to be an architect, and when I can do as I like I will build great churches on such models as these, like the mighty men of old."

So the father's love had descended to the son, and in the latter may possibly some day bear good fruit. The boy looked a genius. We turned away, and he turned with us.

"What is your name?" we asked him.

"Hugo Morales, senor. Will you let me show you my favourite spot, senor," he said; and forthwith led us to a short street of steps, something like the streets of Gerona, ending in a lovely old arched pa.s.sage, through which one caught a glimpse of ancient houses beyond.

Above the archway rose a wonderful old house with an ajimez window of rare beauty, and other Gothic windows with latticed panes and deep mouldings. Then came the overhanging roof covered with pantiles. The tone was perfect. Next to this was a small church with a Norman doorway, crowned by a graceful belfry in which a solitary bell was hung. If not the most ancient, it was certainly the most picturesque bit in all Tarragona.

"And you really love it?" we asked this singular boy.

"With all my heart," he answered. "I often come here with my books and do my lessons sitting on that old staircase that you see on the left.

The house is empty and no one interferes with me. But I must be off home. A Dios, senor."

[Ill.u.s.tration: SAN PABLO: TARRAGONA].

"Good-bye, Hugo. Keep to your ideals and aspirations."

"No fear, senor. I mean to do so."

And away he went, none the less happy for sundry coins that rattled musically in his pocket and would probably be spent in something more lasting than fruit and flowers; whilst we went back to our beloved precincts and studied the outlines of the Middle Ages.

One sunny afternoon we hired a conveyance and started for the Roman Aqueduct. It was the only conveyance of the kind to be found in Tarragona. The owner, who drove us himself, called it a victoria, and seemed proud of it. Large and heavy, it might have dated from the days of the Caesars. Its proper place undoubtedly was the Museum of Roman Antiquities to which we had just paid a visit; and so perhaps there was something a propos in the idea of its conveying us to a Roman aqueduct.

Our driver was dressed in a smock frock, and in the high seat in front of us looked perched up like a lighthouse upon a rock--or a modern Caesar in a triumphal progress.

We rattled through the streets, and soon found ourselves on the broad white road that in time, if we persevered, would take us to Lerida the chivalrous and true. Not the least intention had we of paying that interesting old town a second visit, but the very fact of knowing that our faces were set that way, brought our late experiences vividly before us.

We wondered how it fared with our much-tried landlord; whether the waiter was yet out of hospital, and he and the Dragon had made up their differences or agreed to differ. Though the well had been dragged, it was possible that the skeletons were still there; perhaps had risen to the surface to refute the old saying that dead men tell no tales. We thought of our polite captain, and almost wished we might come across him in Tarragona. He would be sure to know our silent but interesting old canon of the violet robe, and would open many doors to us. Above all we wondered how Alphonse fared. By this time his wife would be resting in her grave; and he, poor lonely wayfarer, would haunt the sad precincts of the cemetery, and dream of his early days and of walking through the world with the wife of his youth. No doubt he was right and would soon follow her to the Land o' the Leal, hailing the hour of his release.

But all this had nothing to do with our present journey. On each side of the road we found a rich undulating country. We were in the neighbourhood of vineyards, and the wine, when pure, is some of the best that Spain produces. Here and there stood a picturesque farm-house, with whitewashed walls and green venetians, and heaps of yellow pumpkins, cantaloupe melons and strings of red peppers dangling from the balconies: the usual thing in Spain and Italy and the countries of the South. On a hillside, an occasional village slept in the sunshine; a quiet little place, apparently without inhabitants or any reason for existence.

[Ill.u.s.tration: AN OLD NOOK IN TARRAGONA.]

Presently we caught sight of the wonderful aqueduct built by the Romans so many centuries ago, yet still almost perfect. In the days of the ancients it brought the water to the city for a distance of twenty miles. Those were the days when the Tarragonese called themselves lords of the earth; when Augustus reigned in his palace and the amphitheatre was the scene of wild sports, and temples existed to the heathen G.o.ds.

The portion of the aqueduct visible from the road was as it were a gigantic bridge with two tiers of arches. It had all the tone of the centuries, all the solidity which had kept it standing firm as a rock.