The Time Was When With A Palette Full Of
Tinted Adjectives One Might Hope To Do An Unrivaled Picture Of The
Giralda; But That Time Is Gone; And If The Reader Has Not A Colored
Postal By Him He Should Lose No Time In Going To Seville And Seeing The
Original.
For the best view of it I must advise a certain beautifully
irregular small court in the neighborhood, with
Simple houses so low
that you can easily look up over their roofs and see the mighty bells of
the Giralda rioting far aloof, flinging themselves beyond the openings
of the belfry and deafeningly making believe to leap out into space. If
the traveler fails to find this court (for it seems now and then to be
taken in and put away), he need not despair of seeing the Giralda fitly.
He cannot see Seville at all without seeing it, and from every point,
far or near, he sees it grand and glorious.
I remember it especially from beyond the Guadalquivir in the drive we
took through Triana to the village of Italica, where three Roman
emperors were born, as the guide-books will officiously hasten to tell,
and steal away your chance of treating your reader with any effect of
learned research. These emperors (I will not be stopped by any
guide-book from saying) were Trajan, Hadrian, and Theodosius; and Triana
is named for the first of them. Fortunately, we turned to the right
after crossing the bridge and so escaped the gipsy quarter, but we
paused through a long street so swarming with children that we wondered
to hear whole schoolrooms full of them humming and droning their lessons
as we made our way among the tenants.
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