=The Patio= (40, 42-49). It is a favourite expression to call Seville the town of bright court-yards. Those court-yards which light and fill the house with sunshine. The Sevillian house, or rather the Andalusian house, is not a building such as our houses, fronting on the street, but one that fronts to an inner court, turning its back on the street. The outsides of the houses are bare of ornament, almost windowless; a secret to the passer-by. All their beauty is displayed yardwards. There wealth obtains in all its pomp, and poverty unfolds its modest ornaments. The narrow passage--the Zaguan--leading from the street to the court is closed by a railed gate. The gallery--to which access is gained by steps leading from the court--is supported by columns. The rooms of the upper stories lead to the gallery. To cool the air there is a fountain in the middle of the court surrounded by palms, araucarias, laurels, orange-trees, oleanders and flowers in pots. The walls are covered with multi-coloured tiles. Against them brightly up-holstered furniture, chairs, and sometimes even a piano; the inevitable guitar is in a corner. Climbing plants festoon the court. Practically this is the centre of the whole family life. Friends are received here, hours passed in argument, singing, music and dancing--whether in company or alone, dreaming away the hours, listening to the plashing of the fountain, it is in the court--the soul of the house--that most time is spent. * * * * * There is nothing commonplace about Spanish houses. They still retain their peculiarity impressed on them by the patina of age. Many have tumbled down under the burden of years. Many are dead; but they “died in beauty". The period of their prosperity still lingers on in the churches and ornate façades of deserted squares. Toledo is the most Spanish of towns. It was once the heart of the country, pulsating with the great rhythm of epic history. But its heart no longer beats. Resting on steep granite hills above the deep Tajo valley stands the yellow-grey heap of houses as though rooted in the rocks. Two gigantic bridges span the river. Narrow alleys lead up hill and down dale; many-cornered and dark. The whole town seems in a fighting mood. Huge gateways and towers, the houses fort-like, the doors studded with heavy nails. Indeed, there is hardly a town that has seen so many battles rounds its walls. Spain’s history has passed over it with heavy steps. And to-day? Rent walls, ruin and silence: the town the accumulated wreckage of a thousand years (139-148).