Palace of Madrid.--Masterly productions of the great Italian,
Spanish, and Flemish painters.--The King’s sleeping
apartment.--Musical clocks.--Feathered favourites.--Picture of the
Madonna del Spasimo.--Interview with Don Gabriel and the
Infanta.--Her Royal Highness’s affecting recollections of
home.--Head-quarters of Masserano.--Exhibition of national manners
there.
Monday, 24th Dec. 1787.
I shall have the megrims for want of exercise, like my friend Achmet
Vassif, if I don’t alter my way of life. This morning I only took a
listless saunter in the Prado, and returned early to dinner, with a very
slight provision of fresh air in my lungs. Roxas was with me, hurrying
me out of all appetite that I might see the palace by daylight; and so
to the palace we went, and it was luckily a bright ruddy afternoon, the
sun gilding a grand confusion of mountainous clouds, and chequering the
wild extent of country between Madrid and the Escurial with powerful
effects of light and shade.
I cannot praise the front of the palace very warmly. In the centre of
the edifice starts up a whimsical sort of turret, with gilt bells, the
vilest ornament that could possibly have been imagined. The interior
court is of pure and classic architecture, and the great staircase so
spacious and well-contrived that you arrive almost imperceptibly at the
portal of the guard-chamber. Every door-case and window recess of this
magnificent edifice gleams with the richest polished marbles: the
immense and fortress-like thickness of the walls, and double panes of
the strongest glass, exclude the keen blasts which range almost
uninterrupted over the wide plains of Castile, and preserve an admirable
temperature throughout the whole extent of these royal rooms, the
grandeur, and at the same time comfort, of which cannot possibly be
exceeded.
The king, the prince of Asturias, and the chief part of their
attendants, were all absent hunting in the park of the Escurial; but the
reposteros, or curtain-drawers of the palace, having received particular
orders for my admittance, I enjoyed the entire liberty of wandering
about unrestrained and unmolested. Roxas having left me to join a gay
party of the royal body-guard in Masserano’s apartments, I remained in
total solitude, surrounded by the pure unsullied works of the great
Italian, Spanish, and Flemish painters, fresh as the flowers of a
parterre in early morning, and many of them as beautiful in point of
hues.
Not a door being closed, I penetrated through the chamber of the throne
even into the old king’s sleeping-apartment, which, unlike the dormitory
of most of his subjects, is remarkable for extreme neatness. A book of
pious orisons, with engravings by Spanish artists, and containing,
amongst other prayers in different languages, one adapted to the
exclusive use of majesty, _Regi solo proprius_, was lying on his
praying-desk; and at the head of the richly-canopied, but uncurtained
bed, I noticed with much delight an enamelled tablet by Mengs,
representing the infant Saviour appearing to Saint Anthony of Padua.
In this room, as in all the others I passed through, without any
exception, stood cages of gilded wire, of different forms and sizes,
and in every cage a curious exotic bird, in full song, each trying to
out-sing his neighbour. Mingled with these warblings was heard at
certain intervals the low chime of musical clocks, stealing upon the ear
like the tones of harmonic glasses. No other sound broke in any degree
the general stillness, except, indeed, the almost inaudible footsteps of
several aged domestics, in court-dresses of the cut and fashion
prevalent in the days of the king’s mother, Elizabeth Farnese, gliding
along quietly and cautiously to open the cages, and offer their inmates
such dainties as highly-educated birds are taught to relish. Much
fluttering and cowering down ensued in consequence of these attentions,
and much rubbing of bills and scratching of poles on my part, as well as
on that of the smiling old gentlemen.
As soon as the ceremony of pampering these feathered favourites had been
most affectionately performed, I availed myself of the light reflected
from a clear sun-set to examine the pictures, chiefly of a religious
cast, with which these stately apartments are tapestried; particularly
the Madonna del Spasimo, that vivid representation of the blessed
Virgin’s maternal agony, when her divine son, fainting under the
burthen of the cross, approached to ascend the mount of torture, and
complete the awful mystery of redemption. Raphael never attained in any
other of his works such solemn depth of colour, such majesty of
character, as in this triumph of his art. “Never was sorrow like unto
the sorrow” he has depicted in the Virgin’s countenance and attitude;
never was the expression of a sublime and God-like calm in the midst of
acute suffering conveyed more closely home to the human heart than in
the face of Christ.
I stood fixed in the contemplation of this holy vision--for such I
almost fancied it to be--till the approaching shadows of night had
overspread every recess of these vast apartments: still I kept intensely
gazing upon the picture. I knew it was time to retire,--still I gazed
on. I was aware that Roxas had been long expecting me in Masserano’s
apartments,--still I could not snatch myself away; the Virgin mother
with her outstretched arms still haunted me. The song of the birds had
ceased, as well as the soft diapason of the self-playing organs;--all
was hushed, all tranquil. I departed at length with the languid
unwillingness of an enthusiast exhausted by the intensity of his
feelings and loth to arouse himself from the bosom of grateful
illusions.
Just as I reached the portal of the great stairs, whom should I meet but
Noronha advancing towards me with a hurried step. “Where are you going
so fast?” said he to me, “and where have you been staying so long? I
have been sending repeatedly after you to no purpose; you must come with
me immediately to the Infanta and Don Gabriel, they want to ask you a
thousand questions about the Ajuda: the letters you brought them from
Marialva, and the archbishop in particular, have, I suppose, inspired
that wish; and as royal wishes, you know, cannot be too speedily
gratified, you must kiss their hands this very evening. I am to be your
introductor.”--“What!” said I, “in this unceremonious dress?”--“Yes,”
said the ambassador, “I have heard that you are not a pattern of
correctness in these matters.” I wished to have been one in this
instance. At this particular moment I was in no trim exteriorly or
interiorly for courtly introductions. I thought of nothing but birds and
pictures, and had much rather have been presented to a cockatoo than to
the greatest monarch in Christendom.
However, I put on the best face I was able, and we proceeded together
very placidly to that part of the palace assigned to Don Gabriel and his
blooming bride. The doors of a coved ante-chamber flew open, and after
passing through an enfilade of saloons peopled with ladies-in-waiting
and pages, (some mere children,) we entered a lofty chamber hung with
white satin, formed into compartments by a rich embroidery of gold and
colours, and illuminated by a lustre of rock crystal.
At the farther extremity of the apartment, stood the Infant Don Gabriel,
leaning against a table covered with velvet, on which I observed a case
of large golden antique medals he was in the very act of contemplating:
the Infanta was seated near. She rose up most graciously to hold out a
beautiful hand, which I kissed with unfeigned fervour: her countenance
is most prepossessing; the same florid complexion, handsome features,
and open exhilarating smile which distinguishes her brother the Prince
of Brazil.
“Ah,” said her royal highness with great earnestness, “you have then
lately seen my dear mother, and walked perhaps in the little garden I
was so fond of; did you notice the fine flowers that grow there?
particularly the blue carnation; we have not such flowers at Madrid;
this climate is not like that of Portugal, nor are our views so
pleasant; I miss the azure Tagus, and your ships continually sailing up
it; but when you write to your friend Marialva and the archbishop, tell
them, I possess what no other prospect upon earth can equal, the smiles
of an adored husband.”
The Infant now approached towards me with a look of courteous benignity
that reminded me strongly of the Bourbons, nor could I trace in his
frank kindly manner the least leaven of Austrian hauteur or Spanish
starchness. After inquiring somewhat facetiously how the Duke d’Alafoens
and the Portuguese academicians proceeded on their road to the temple of
fame, he asked me whether our universities continued to be the favoured
abode of classical attainments, and if the books they printed were as
correct and as handsome now as in the days of the Stuarts; adding that
his private collection contained some copies which had formerly
belonged to the celebrated Count of Oxford. This was far too good an
opportunity of putting in a word to the praise and glory of his own
famous translation of Sallust, to be neglected; so I expressed
everything he could have wished to hear upon the subject.
“You are very good,” observed his royal highness; “but to tell you the
truth, it was hard work for me. I began it, and so I went on, and lost
many a day’s wholesome exercise in our parks and forests: however, such
as it is, I performed my task without any assistance, though you may
perhaps have heard the contrary.”
It was now Noronha’s turn to begin complimenting, which he did with all
the high court mellifluence of an accredited family ambassador: whether,
indeed, the Infant received as gospel all the fine things that were said
to him I won’t answer, but he looked even kinder and more gracious than
at our first entrance. The Infanta recurred again and again to the
subject of the Ajuda, and appeared so visibly affected that she awakened
all my sympathies; for I, too, had left those behind me on the banks of
the Tagus for whom I felt a fond and indelible regard. As we were
making our retiring bows, I saw tears gathering in her eyes, whilst she
kept gracefully waving her hand to bid us a happy night.
The impressions I received from this interview were not of a nature to
allow my enjoying with much vivaciousness the next scene to which I was
transported--the head-quarters of Masserano, whom I found in unusually
high spirits surrounded by a train of gay young officers, rapping out
the rankest Castilian oaths, quaffing their flowing cups of champagne
and val de peñas, and playing off upon each other, not exactly the most
decorous specimens of practical wit.
Roxas looked rather abashed at so unrefined an exhibition of national
manners: Noronha had taken good care to keep aloof, and I regretted not
having followed his example.