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DON QUIXOTE was a true lover of Barcelona, which he addressed as “the home of courtesy, refuge for strangers, country of the valiant.” Its history is replete with records of its valour; its everyday life is illumined with a grave courtesy; the stranger within its gates is welcomed with a cordiality in which suspicion has no part. The Catalan is afraid of nobody on this earth; he has no use, as the Americans put it, for suspicion. He is a distinct race in costume, habits, and language; combining the grace and charm of the Spanish manner, with the mental vitality of the French, and the commercial enterprise and integrity of the English. Physically he is strong, sinewy, and active; and his dogged perseverance, his enormous powers of endurance, and his patience under privation and fatigue make him as fine a soldier as the world has seen. The Catalans take what our grandmothers used to call a proper pride in themselves. The hauteur of the proud Castilians is not theirs; they regard the poetic language and indolent gaiety of the Andalucians without envy; they know themselves to be the most serious, industrious, and progressive people in the Peninsula; they are Spaniards, but Spaniards, be it understood, of Catalonia.

This feeling is not of course peculiar to the Catalans. Spanish character, and the special localism that forms one of its most distinctive features, has changed but little since Richard Ford, writing more than half-a-century ago, said: “The inhabitants of the different provinces think, indeed, that Madrid

BARCELONA—GENERAL VIEW.

is the greatest and richest court in the world, but their hearts are in their native localities. ‘Mi paisano,’ my fellow-countryman, or rather my fellow-countyman, fellow-parishioner, does not mean Spaniard, but Andalucian, Catalonian as the case may be. When a Spaniard is asked, ‘Where do you come from?’ the reply is, ‘Soy hijo de Murcia—hijo de Granada’—‘I am a son of Murcia—a son of Granada,’ &c.” This is strictly analogous to the “children of Israel,” the “Bene” of the Spanish Moors, and to this day the Arabs of Cairo call themselves children of that town; and just as the Milesian Irishman is a “boy from Tipperary,” &c., and ready to fight with anyone who is so also, against all who are not of that ilk: similar, too, is the clanship of the highlander: indeed, everywhere, not perhaps to the same extent as in Spain, the being of the same province or town creates a powerful freemasonry: the parties cling together like old school-fellows. It is a home, and really binding feeling. To the spot of their birth, all their recollections, comparisons, and eulogies are turned: nothing, to them, comes up to their particular province; that is their real country. “La Patria,” means Spain at large, is a subject of declamation, fine words, palabras—palaver, in which all, like Orientals, delight to indulge, and to which their grandiloquent idioms lends itself readily: but their patriotism is still largely parochial, and self is the centre of Spanish gravity.

A NATIVE OF CATALONIA.

And so it happens that if the Catalan has scant liking for the romantic, pleasure-loving, guitar-thrumming Andalucian, the Andalucian, on the other hand, regards the Catalan as a hard, pedantic and unpoetic mechanic. As a matter of fact, he is straightforward without being hard, grave without pedantry, hospitable without ostentation; and, like all Spaniards, he is a poet. Poetry, as a national characteristic, is an accident of climate. Here is Barcelona, the Manchester of Spain, a hive of manufacturing industry, rejoicing in one of the most lovely sites in Europe, possessed of a climate equal to that of Naples, and with its beauty untarnished by the hand of time, or the artificer. Such an atmosphere, such skies, such stars make a people poets against their wills. I do not imply a charge against the Spaniards that they write poetry—that is an entirely different thing. They may—they do, happily, for the most part—die with all their poetry in them; but they are none the less poets; and indeed they are, as Oscar Wilde argued, the better poets on that account. For the Spanish temperament rises superior to the temptations of environment. If it were my good fortune to live perpetually beneath that star-spangled sky, I believe I could not resist the impulse to write verse. If for no other reason than for this alone I doff my beaver to the unversifying Catalan.

There is, however, another characteristic which accounts for their prosperity, and excuses the tone of superiority they adopt towards the people of the neighbouring provinces—they are not afraid of work. Since the thirteenth century, when the Catalans led the way to the whole world in maritime conquest and jurisprudence, they have never thought trade to be a degradation, but rather have ennobled it by their honesty and enterprise. The Spanish race generally has lacked the trading spirit. An intelligent American writer, who has studied the causes which have brought Spain down from her ancient eminence in the affairs of Europe, finds them in a position different from that which is generally supposed. “Pride, a weak monarch, a dissolute court, religious intolerance—all these,” says our transpontine critic, “are admirable starting points from which to prove a nation’s decline. But Spain has been by no means unique in the possession of these requisites. A close examination of intrigue, and counter-intrigue, and plot at the capital reveals a condition different from that of some other countries only in being a little later in occurrence. In

THE CASCADE, BARCELONA.

fact, all these are mere effects; the cause is the absence of that which has developed the great nations of the earth, the cause on which civilisation rests, the great primitive developing agency—the trading spirit. For seven centuries she was a battlefield. During that time, while she was keeping the Mohammedan wolf from the door of Europe, there was no chance for the development of the trading spirit. What growth came in a measure to some of the coast cities was the result of local commercial relations finding an extension and expansion between nation and nation. The spirit of getting by the good right arm grew, and produced its tradition; while the precarious cultivation of land for food, an occupation ever more and more removed from the leaders, became the work of an ignorant and unrespected class.

“With the absence of trade goes the absence of knowledge of the outside world; and though a certain general knowledge was brought back by the Europe-conquering soldiers of Charles and Philip, it was a knowledge of how easily gain could be made in the old way, rather than a stimulus to the merchant.

“Without the logical traditions of buying and selling, raised up through generations, Spain could hardly avoid the errors of government which the want of such traditions bring. She could scarcely hope not to become the victim of each and every scheme for a financial millennium, as a nation, which we are all accustomed to smile at when played in the more self-evident form of personal charlatanry. And, most of all, the dignity of work has been lost. The Spanish labourer pitied himself—and was pitied.

“Up to the beginning of the Cuban war, however, a better condition had been developing. Education, and a knowledge of the outside world, were bringing home to this nation that to be the proudest man in the world it is well to have a basis for that pride in tangible rather than traditional things; and of so excellent a nature have I found the Spaniard when one knows him, that I cannot help believing in his ultimate development.

“But few, I know, cross the threshold of the Spanish house to find how good a man at heart the owner is. He is proud, it is true, and does not much favour the stranger; but it is the pride of a reserved nature, not of a weak one.”

There is indeed much truth to be found in this view of the situation. Spain has never been a great commercial nation; she

LYRIC THEATRE.

EXHIBITION HALL.

PRINCIPAL THEATRE

is, in fact, only now entering for the first time the commercial arena. No nation in Europe commenced her career on a trade basis. Conquest in the early ages was the only acknowledged industry; and the empires of Carthage, Phœnicia, Rome, Spain, and Great Britain all rose to greatness by the right of might. England was a young nation when Spain commenced to decline after centuries of conquest and supremacy, and England was ripe to receive the impression of the value of commerce as a maker and sustainer of kingdoms. Germany did not become a great power until the supremacy of trade was universally acknowledged; America was cradled in a counting house, and brought up in the atmosphere of profit and loss.

SEÑOR BÁRRIS’S HOUSE, BARCELONA.

Barcelona, of all the cities of Spain, has never been blind to the advantages of commerce; and to-day, the city, in its bustling activity, its red-hot life, its ceaseless movement and sense of prosperity resembles all the great commercial cities of the world—London, New York, Melbourne, Liverpool, and Chicago. But in one respect it more nearly approaches London in the resemblance, by reason of an ill-favoured side of approach. I have often met at Tilbury or Liverpool—but Tilbury especially—friends who have been on their first visit to our Metropolis, and I have begged them, as a personal favour, not to form any opinion of the city from the railway-carriage windows. The squalor and dreariness of the eastern approach to London is only mildly reproduced by the southern environs of Barcelona. Indeed, when one makes one’s first acquaintance with it, it is difficult to believe that it is the boastedly first city of Spain. Yet the boast is not unjustified in so far, at least, as the concerns of every-day life, polity and progress are concerned. When once the visitor is within the circle of her brighter ways, he will look in vain for any of the smudginess whose kingdom and on-coming have been heralded by smudge; he will speedily recognise the fact that here is rolling by him a greater volume of trade than in all the other great centres of Spanish commercial life put together. Everywhere in Barcelona there is apparent the lively, virile animation, bred of a prosperous and forceful existence; and it is this which constitutes one of the great charms of the place. In no town-ways of Spain, not even in those of Seville, is the visitor so well rewarded as in Barcelona.

On one of my visits to Barcelona, I arrived in the city during the labour riots last year. Trains had been fired at and attacked with stones, so the windows of the carriages were barricaded, and all precautions were taken for the safety of the passengers. We were allowed, however, to enter the station unmolested; and although the crowded streets were paraded by the military, and a further outburst of public feeling was expected, the force of the human volcano had evidently expended itself before our arrival. Much property had been damaged; and, on all sides, one saw windows riddled with bullets, or smashed with stones, and evidences that the industrious and law-abiding Barcelonian is a Spaniard when roused. There was an alertness akin to menace in the flashing glances that inspected us that seemed to threaten all kind of unpleasant eventualities. But we walked through the streets in perfect safety; and my good friend, who had driven in from his country house to meet me, along roads patrolled by soldiers and skirted by turbulent rioters, apologised delightfully for the insecurity of the highways which rendered him unable to offer me the hospitality of his house until the following day. The risk he had run in coming in to Barcelona to welcome me did not occur to him. I was his friend—he had not given a thought

SNAPSHOT IN SEÑOR BÁRRIS’S GARDEN, BARCELONA.

for his skin. As we promenaded the streets, he approached men and asked them questions about the riot, and the scowl disappeared from their faces as a sea-mist lifts from the cliffs as they gave us the required information. I have written that the Spaniard’s good manners are the result not of an acquired and superficial politeness, but are derived from a natural and national courtesy that is inbred in the race. There is in their attentions a vein of selfishness which is half its charm. A stranger will do you a courtesy for which your thanks can only half pay him—the other half-payment he himself contributes for the service. He has pleased you, and in so doing he has pleased himself. And one feels that he has pleasure in his own unselfishness. It is impossible to be many hours in Spain without recognising this delightful trait. You step into a shop and inquire the way to the cathedral. The friendly shopkeeper places himself immediately at your disposal. He takes down his capa, and personally conducts you to the desired spot. It is the same always. You ask for your bearings of a member of the famous guardia civil, and the pair will solemnly march you to your destination; or the first pedestrian you meet proceeding in the opposite direction, faces about on the instant, and retraces his steps through the length or breadth of a town to put you on the right road.

We have no force in this country that corresponds with the Guardia Civil; perhaps the Royal Irish Constabulary are their nearest counterpart in organisation and fine morale. This body, which is composed of 20,000 foot and 500 mounted guards, are neither soldiers nor policemen, but they combine the duties of both. Their splendid physique, and smart, soldierly bearing—only the best men in the Spanish Army are admitted to the ranks of the Civil Guards—give one a feeling of security and a sense of order that nothing else seems to impart. They are stationed in every town and small village throughout the country. They patrol the roads, they accompany every train, and are to be seen at every station; they are to be encountered everywhere, and always in pairs. Dressed in blue tunic and trousers of the same colour, with light buff-coloured belts, cocked hats, and top-boots, they carry their well-polished rifles in a manner which engenders the respect of evil-doers. In contrast with the leisurely life around them, they stride through the traffic, in it, but not of it—a class apart. They are, indeed, apart in habit

“RAMBLA DE LAS FLORES,” BARCELONA.

as well as in appearance. Their association with the outer world is almost entirely official. They live in barracks, mess together, and hold themselves aloof. Their esprit de corps is as perfect as their discipline; they cannot be bribed, nor induced to accept a reward for any service they may render you. The safety of property and life in Spain is in their keeping; and it may be said without exaggeration that they have done more to establish order in the Peninsula than any other body.

Barcelona, besides being a busy, wide-awake, and rapidly-growing commercial and industrial centre, contrasting strongly with some other Spanish cities that still seem to be shrouded in the mists of the middle ages, has also acquired the reputation of being a beautiful city—beautiful, of course, in the modern sense; for, where modern enterprise rules, the old-time beauty is apt to take flight. Its situation, on a slope running down from the mountains to the sea, is both healthful and picturesque. Its streets and boulevards are wide, regular, and well made; and its main avenue, the Rambla, has been styled, not without justice, the “Unter den Linden” of Barcelona. This line of promenade, formed by the Ramblas of Santa Monica, del Centro, de San José, de Estudios, de Canaletas, and the Paseo de Gracia is a veritable triumph of boulevarding. Europe may be challenged to produce anything finer. It runs from the port right through the heart of the town, and out into the country, a practically uninterrupted series of carriage drives and public promenades, shaded nearly all the way by over-arching plane-trees. The lower portions are lined with handsome shops and cafés, with the best hotels and theatres; and all the upper reach—the Gracia Paseo—with the imposing blocks of houses of the Ensanche, the residential region, par excellence, of the city.

The little Rambla de San José, too, may justly be accorded its more popular name of “de las Flores:” for here each morning is held the flower market, when both sides of the broad central walk are lined with stacks heaped up in dazzling profusion with all the floral wealth which southern sunlight, nature, and art can produce. Here, amid the splendid highways of the city, one may find a continual occupation for both eye and mind in the ever-shifting and gorgeous colouring, and in all the movements of the colossal game of life. The hour does not signify—early or late, morning, afternoon, or night, it is all one—for Barcelona folk seem to be able to do without sleep; and at all times the air is deliciously soft, and yet so fresh, from the sea and from the hill-country which backs up the city, that one is ever impelled onwards. In the full artery of the life of it, one comes across the Lonja, the Casas Consistoriales and Diputacion, but one looks in vain for the great cathedral, the Churches of Santa Maria del Mar, Santa Ana, Santa Maria del Pino, the old Benedictine Monastery of San Pablo del Campo, the Roman remains, and the fine Renaissance houses. These are not for those who run to see, but are hidden away, tucked out of sight, so to speak, in a most vexatious and puzzling manner.

In Barcelona, we have the old town with its narrow, tortuous lanes, and the new town with its streets laid out at right angles, its handsome houses, and its air of general prosperity. The trade of the city is ever increasing, and its prospects are almost illimitable. The wealth of the city has overflowed into the handsome suburb of Paseo de Gracia, with its villas and miniature palaces, and its population of nearly 40,000 inhabitants. The port of Barcelona has, in the process of improvement, effaced the historical Muralla del Mar; and its site is now occupied by a broad, handsome quay, laid out with palms, and enriched with a wonderful stone and bronze column, 197 feet high, surmounted with a statue of Columbus. More handsome and lofty houses are to be found in the Plaza Real; the finest

THE COLON (COLUMBUS) PROMENADE, BARCELONA.

shops are situated in the Calle de Fernando; while the Calle Ancha is given over to banks and insurance offices. In the Plaza del Palacio is the beautiful fountain in Carrara marble representing the four Catalonian provinces of Barcelona, Lérida, Tarragona, and Gerona. Another superb piece of street ornamentation is the Columbus Memorial, which was erected in 1889. It is built at the end of the Rambla in the Plaza de la Paz, and has the picturesque silhouette of Montjuich for a background. The pedestal, which is octagonal in form, rests on a circular base, flanked by four spacious ledges, decorated with eight lions, and from it rises the iron column, crowned by a magnificent Corinthian capital supporting a bronze globe; above which, in graceful pose, is seen the statue of the immortal discoverer, also in bronze. Many historical and allegorical statues embellish this memorial, and also high reliefs in copper depicting the chief events in the life of Columbus and a great number of ornaments and other details, all equally elegant. From the ground to the top of the statue the monument is 180 feet in height. The vaulted arches underneath are used as a burying-place for distinguished Catalan sailors. A lift runs inside the column to the top, and a magnificent panoramic view is to be obtained from the capital. I have referred especially to this column and the fountain because to my mind they are the most imposing of the many columns, pyramids, and statues that abound in the squares and thoroughfares of the city.