The Spanish Peninsula in Travel

THERE are signs of a rediscovery of Spain by Americans. We are so greatly indebted to that peninsula for our own continent that there has always been a disposition to make some return. In spite of the antagonism between English and Spanish history, perhaps because of the picturesque contrasts, American men of letters have been drawn to Spain for subjects, and have done much toward familiarizing readers with aspects of the life there. Irving and Prescott led the way, both in historical and descriptive literature. Hay followed with a book of singular felicity, which reproduced the atmosphere of Spain as Howells’s Venetian Life did that of Venice ; and now that the tide of travel sets in that direction, we may look for many reports of the country, varying in their character according to the taste and interest of the reporter.

For certainly one must be very limited in the range of his nature who failed to find in Spain a field for the exercise of his favorite hobby. The lover of the picturesque, the student in art, the historical student, the philologist, might each claim the country as a museum arranged for his special delectation ; and the restless traveler, in search of novelty, is not likely to be driven out of Europe for a long time to come if he will but haunt this corner of it.

As an instance of the variety of occupation which a traveler may find, we have only to take up two recent books of travel, which have little in common except a general field of observation. Dr. Vincent,¹ to be sure, does not spend all his time in Spain ; he flits back and forth across *the Pyrenees, remaining most of the time by the Biscayan coast, but shooting off also nearly to the Gulf of Lyons. Yet his book connects itself in the reader’s mind with Spain, and by its treatment, as well as by the region which it covers, serves very well as an introduction to travel in Spain proper. Indeed, one might learn a lesson in travel in any region, from this agreeable little book. The leisurely manner in which the author hovers about the entrance to the country which he proposes to explore, the genuine interest which he takes in the historic apparatus of his work, and the good-natured indifference which he shows to the petty discomforts of travel all mark him as a sensible companion ; while the simplicity of his descriptions and the absence of any obtrusive rhetoric or profound philosophic speculations give one a confidence in his honesty as a reporter, He is not conspicuously a humorist in his narrative, but he is always good-tempered, and often has a playful touch which makes the reader attached to him ; as where, in describing the bathing at San Sébastian, he remarks how “ some small boys, who know well that they are on forbidden ground, surreptitiously strip under the shadow of the balcony, and scamper, like frightened snipe, to hide themselves in the water.”

The thorough enjoyment which this writer takes in his little excursion, and the absence of all hurry and the business of travel, have an influence upon the book greater, we suspect, than the author himself knows. It is impossible for a reader not to be strongly affected by the mood of his traveling companion, and he quickly learns whether his guide is of an anxious or of a genial turn of mind. Dr. Vincent’s enjoyment of his journey is that of an educated man, who likes all the by-play of travel, but gives his serious thought to that which demands thought. He does not weary the reader with his speculations regarding the Basques, nor with his reflections upon Lourdes or Loyola, but he recognizes the kind of interest which all intelligent readers will take in such subjects, and does not belittle them by flippancy. How well he can succeed in giving his impressions may be seen by his words after describing the monastery of Ignatius Loyola : —

“ With all the stony splendors of the church, and the elaborate and costly adornments of this chapel, the effect was more than tawdry and vulgar. It went deeper than that to one who knew the history of the remarkable order which it represented. It carried with it the sense of a strong, pitiless hand laid upon the breast. To a man fresh from the robust contact of men and the healthful clash of opinion ; to one with the free breath of the glorious mountains yet in his nostrils and the salt of the ocean spray scarce gone from his lips, this place was like a prison and a baby-house combined. The subtle, passionless, inexorable policy of the order seemed to have infused itself into the atmosphere. Though no warden appeared, and no attendant followed the visitor through the desolate halls, one might well feel as though a wary eye saw every movement from some secret spying-place, and that the very walls conveyed each word to a practiced ear.”

The last chapter in the book is an agreeable account of Carcassonne, that precious bit of mediævalism, which ought to be put under a glass cover and preserved for our unhappy descendants to turn to when they are discontented with modern civilization. The etchings by Smillie, Gifford, and Yale add much to the pleasure one gets from this little book, and the maps and plans interspersed give one the satisfied feeling that he has been treated with respect and liberality.

The trigness of Dr. Vincent’s volume and the modesty of its aim find an interesting antithesis in Mr. Lathrop’s and Mr. Reinhart’s book of travel in Spain proper.² From Dr. Vincent’s sketches we get the impression that he was on a vacation jaunt; Spanish Vistas suggests a more deliberate, picturesque tour, undertaken for the purpose of working up a good subject, and making a special literary and pictorial report. The result, though of a different sort, leaves an equally agreeable impression of truthfulness and thoroughness. Whatever other use Mr. Lathrop or Mr. Reinhart might have made of their studies in Spain, they have given the reader in this handsome volume no merely desultory notes, but a succession of clearly defined pictures of Spanish life. They entered Spain at Burgos; went thence to Madrid, and then to Toledo ; from Toledo to Cordova, and thence to Seville, Granada, and the Alhambra; they struck down to Malaga on the sea-coast, and there taking to the sea, cruised along the southern and eastern shores of the peninsula to Barcelona, where they bade good-by to Spain.

The effect of a succession of pictures is enhanced by the absence of detail in traveling from one point to another, and by the contrasts which Spain herself presents, as one shoots from city to city, leaving a place at dark, and waking at a new and strangely different place. The conglomerate character of the kingdom is well shown in the change from Castile to Andalusia, to Granada, and to Aragon, when each stride in the journey brings to light some new and strange grouping.

Mr. Lathrop’s strength is in his artistic sense of what is essential to a complete picture, and he employs words to reproduce the scenes in so decorative a manner that one is affected by the richness and suggestiveness of the phraseology. When, for example, in speaking of the people of Burgos, he says, “ The splendidly blooming peasant women showed their perfect teeth at us, and the men, in broad-brimmed pointed caps and embroidered jackets, whose feet were brown and earthy as tree-roots, laughed outright,” the grotesque suggestion gives a distinct touch to the picture over and above the clear description. There is indeed a constant exuberance of fancy, which serves to heighten the artistic quality of the work. The sights which are depicted are less likely to call out Mr. Lathrop’s ethical reflections than his purely fanciful constructions. “ As I looked,” he says, when approaching the Alhambra hill, “ at the rusty red walls and abraded towers palisading the hill, the surroundings became like some miraculous web, and these ruins, concentring the threads, were the shattered cocoon from which it had been spun.”

It is primarily as an artist that Mr. Lathrop views Spain ; yet he has the interest also of a student in history and society, and very possibly, if he were to go again and stay longer, he would more frequently ask and answer questions. He gives, as he is bound, a faithful description of a bull-fight; but with a just sense of effect, he uses low tones in his picture, and trusts to the severity of his lines. Part of this is due, doubtless, to resolution, and part to the impression which such scenes make upon a self-possessed man of slight sympathy with mere animal excitement. The cold blood of the thing, he says, impresses him, — the business-like manner in which the brutality is carried to its conclusion ; and he turns away from the spectacle with this curious bit of information : “ The utter simple-mindedness with which Spaniards regard the brutalities of the sport may be judged from the fact that a bull-fight was once given to benefit the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals! ”

It is, however, the picturesqueness of Spain which appeals chiefly to this writer, and the reader is not called upon to take more than a superficial view of the country. There is thus an evenness of merit in the work and a singleness of aim which render it exceedingly satisfactory. The pictures by Mr. Reinhart admirably agree with the spirit and temper of the narrative, and often enrich it in an unexpected manner. Indeed, when the text and the picture describe the same scene, each seems complete by itself, yet each often embroiders the other. In Toledo, Mr. Lathrop was amused by the drowsiness of humanity : “ Men and boys slumber out-of-doors, even in the hot sun, like dogs ; after sitting meditatively against a wall for a while, one of them will tumble over on his nose, — as if he were a statue undermined by time, — and remain in motionless repose wherever he happens to strike.” Mr. Reinhart saw the same group which may have suggested the description, and his humorous treatment is cleverly realistic, while his sly parenthesis is in a recumbent statue in a niche of the wall against which two of the figures are lying. The pictures throughout the book are vigorously drawn, and richly engraved. They harmonize, as we have said, with the text, and altogether the general effect of the book is so satisfying that the reader stops to consider what a happy conjunction it was which brought these two travelers together; for each saw and pictured the same subjects, the one with pen, the other with pencil. Had Mr. Lathrop also drawn, or had Mr. Reinhart also written, we please ourselves with thinking that there would not have been so fine a diverse unity.