CHAPTER XIX.

DOLORES-STUDY OF SPANISH-THE ALCAZAR-CASA DE PILATOS-EL MUSEO-
MURILLO-SPANISH COURTESY-BAILA-THE FRENCH DANCING-MASTER.

I ROSE betimes next morning and attended early service at the cathedral. The malicious may think I went there with the purpose of meeting Dolores; but the charitable, whose censure, in our allowance, must outweigh a whole catalogue of others, will ascribe proper motives to the act. It is true Dolores was there, with her mother. She was kneeling on the marble pavement, and gazing upward as I entered. The earliest rays of the morning sun but faintly penetrated the deep-stained glass, and all objects appeared in that chiaro-oscuro subdued light so favorable to beauty. As I approached Dolores, who, all unconscious of my presence, her eyes upturned with an expression of mingled love and reverence, and her chiseled hands crossed upon her gently-budding breast, was pouring forth her soul in prayer, I could not but liken her to that inimitable personation of ideal grace and natural loveliness, the madonna of the "immaculate conception."

I sunk down on the pavement beside her, careful by no noise to attract her attention. Her orisons finished, she rose and recognized me, and with her mother we left the cathedral. On our way home, I invited them tomar el fresco "to take the air" on the Alameda or

186

STUDY OF THE LANGUAGE.

Las Delicias the coming evening after siesta, to which they assented.

With a phrase-book, dictionary, Gil Blas, and a teacher, who gave me two lessons daily, I was soon making great progress in the Spanish language. I frequented the cafés, the theaters, and other popular resorts nightly, that I might accustom myself to the sound of the words: and, reckless of ridicule, I plunged into conversation, floundering through it the best I

could. Every one was civil, and affected to understand me. I tried to think in Spanish, and avoided as much as I could English society. By this means, within a few weeks of my arrival in Spain, I could not only make myself intelligible to others, but easily understand them when speaking slow. In acquiring so much knowledge of the language, Dolores was of great advantage to me. The words, interpreted by a smile or expressive look, carried their meaning directly to the comprehension. She corrected my errors so prettily that I sometimes made them intentionally. One such walking dictionary is worth all the encyclopædias of the world!

Don Gaetano Peickler called to accompany me to the Alcazar, one of the wonders of Seville. It is one of the best specimens of Moorish architecture left in Spain. It stands where once stood the mansion of the Roman prætor, Alcazar or Al-Kasr, signifying from the Arabic the House of Cæsar. According to Condé (la Dominacion de los Arabes) it was rebuilt by Prince Abderahman Ledin-Allah some time in the tenth century, after a great pestilence in Spain when the mortality was so great that the living became weary of burying the dead. The Roman, the Goth, and the Arab have each impressed his occupancy upon its architecture. The columns of the vestibule are Roman, surmounted with Gothic capitals, while many of the doors and ceilings are genuine Moorish. The Spaniard too has characterized his sway, and obliterated the delicate tracery and gilding of his predecessor by an overcoat of whitewash!

The Hall of the Embassadors (la Sala de los Embajadores) is more magnificent than the one with the same title within the Alhambra of Grenada. Don Pedro the Cruel employed Moorish workmen to build

it, who vied with their cotemporary rivals of the Alhambra in its decoration.

Then the gardens laid out by Charles V. with varied levels and orange-bordered plots, and secret fountains beneath the walks, are well deserving of careful admiration. You must be cautious how you step, or, when least expecting it, a jet d'eau will spring up through hidden openings, and inundate your clothes. My cicerone told me that when, during the Peninsular war, Sir John Downie (or some other Englishman with "a handle to his name") occupied the Alcazar as Governor of Seville, he was wont to invite ladies into these gardens, and when they were fairly over the fountains to touch the secret springs, whereby they were unexpect edly cooled.

From the gardens you descend to the baths, built by Don Pedro for his mistress, Maria de Padilla. They are constructed of solid stone, one hundred feet long, and four or five deep, with galleries surrounding them, and grottos at the sides. It is said that from a concealed position Don Pedro was wont to watch the ladies of his court while bathing and swimming in these vaulted baños. But let us hope that this is one of the fables with which history seeks at times to smooth her cor. rugated front.

We next visited the Casa de Pilatos, or House of Pilate—so denominated because built in imitation of that occupied by the Roman tetrarch. It is of GothicSaracenic architecture, mostly in decay; and is, indeed, chiefly to be visited as a relic of the past:

"Before Decay's effacing fingers

Have swept the lines where beauty lingers."

And thence we went to the Museo to see the Murillos, which I would be glad to describe, but that I know not

how. If it require a poet to understand poetry, none but a painter can express his own art. I felt; but the emotions that are deepest are at least susceptible of analysis. Under their domination we lose all consciousness of existence, and no after effort of the memory can revive their unprobed intensity.

One room in the Museo is exclusively devoted to Murillo. It is his kingdom, and he bears no rival near his throne. One of his chefs-d'œuvres-La ConcepcionI had seen previously in the Louvre. It had been borrowed by Marshal Soult when in Spain, who, as the Fates in the case of Hector, had forgotten to return it. It was sold to Louis Napoleon some three years since for $120,000. Inimitable as I then considered it, I found the one in the Museo, which is claimed to be the original, far superior in coloring and execution. Besides it had that attraction, indefinable and incontrovertible, which time lends to art. That in the Louvre had been recently renovated.

It

Seldom a day passed that I did not visit the Museo; and after Mr. Peickler's introduction, mostly alone. You do not desire conversation in such presence. seems inappropriate and vapid. Nor did I want the beauties of the artist pointed out to me; it is like undertaking to read "the beauties” of an author, seen by other eyes, and conveyed through other minds. No! before such inspirations one wishes to be alone, as with his God!

To visit other objects of curiosity or art that day, after Murillo, I thought would be profanity; I returned therefore to the hotel and awaited the hour of dinner. I met at the table my friend of the Anglican Church, and asked him if he had been satisfied with the bullfight. "Quite so," he said, "and satisfied not to go. again. I have gratified my curiosity—can say I have seen a bull-fight-and no consideration on earth could