BURGOS.--THE FONDA DEL NORTE.--THE ODOUR OF SANCTITY.--SPANISH
CHARACTERISTICS.--SCENES IN THE STREETS.--THE CONVENT OF LA
CARTUJA.--TOMB OF JUAN AND ISABELLA.--THE CASTLE.--THE CID.--THE
CATHEDRAL.--HOW PRIESTS MAKE MONEY.
We arrived at Burgos in the midst of a hurricane of piercing wind--wind
that was more easily felt by us than it will be understood by our
friends in England, who cling to the obstinate notion of the incessant
heat of Spain. The cold of that October night, far more intense than an
ordinary mid-winter night in England, was made more severe by the utter
absence of all comforts, and by the piteous appearance of the natives
who shiver and shake all over the country, rolled up into peripatetic
bundles of drapery, like denizens of frozen regions. There are people
who leave off fires and flannel waistcoats in England because it is
the first of April, although, snow may be on the ground; and we have
no doubt that several of our friends would have had us array ourselves
in white jane pantaloons and linen jackets because we were in Spain.
No, there is no reason that, because a man is clever and _au fait_
at all that concerns that state of life to which God has called him
in the British metropolis, his meteorological and thermal assertions
respecting other countries are to be believed in unreservedly by his
friends.
Meanwhile, "Burgos!" was suddenly shouted by the guard of the train,
and on looking out, we found we had arrived at that station. About
a mile off was the great cathedral, so well portrayed by our David
Roberts, looming before us ghostly in the dim light of the watery
moon. We descended on to the platform half asleep, and anxious about
the portmanteaux, while the train whisked off, leaving us alone, like
stranded mariners on an unknown shore. We looked about us, and saw
uncouth figures gliding about here and there with lanterns gleaming in
the darkness, shapeless forms wrapped up to the eyes in dirty coloured
blankets--their heads extinguished with steeple hats and other
romantic and curious gear.
A small crowd gradually gathered around us as we sat upon our pieces of
baggage, like Marius among the ruins of Carthage, and then everybody
began to talk at once with the most frightful velocity and alarming
gestures. The chorus, not very unlike that of evil demons in some weird
opera, continued for several minutes, raging with great vigour and
such rapidity that we could not make even the wildest guess at their
meaning, because, amidst the babel no words of their patois could be
distinctly singled out. However, directed we suppose by the special
providence which presides over British tourists, we eventually made
a desperate resolution to follow our luggage and cling to it to the
last. Following these tactics, we found ourselves in a short time
seated in an elongated vehicle, innocent of all springs, which had some
resemblance to a schoolroom on wheels, with all the candles put out.
In this conveyance we had the further advantage of the uninterrupted
society of a monkish gentleman with sandals, cowl, rope, and what
seemed to be a long hairy dressing-gown. Now, we have often heard of
the odour of sanctity, but if the odour by which this holy person was
accompanied was the article in question, we must say we didn't think
much of it.
The vehicle in which we were seated started with a shout, a crack,
and a jerk, very suddenly, and, to any one a little absent, without
sufficient warning. After rattling over the most fearful pavement,
past grey, gaunt buildings, and through dark, narrow, shadowy streets,
illuminated at long intervals by a misty lamp swung across from house
to house, we were landed at the door of the Fonda del Norte.
At this juncture, the fact that in this life confidence in things
as they should be, instead of suspicion of things as they are, is a
mistake, was forced upon us very decisively; for had we, on descending
from the omnibus, not considered it natural that there should be a step
upon which to place the foot, instead of regarding it as possible that
there might not be one,--especially if it was at all required,--we
should not have fallen heavily out into the road, and been smeared all
over with dirt and mire.
After holding out a handful of small coins, thus simplifying matters
by letting the omnibus-driver help himself, we were escorted in slow
procession,--the luggage going first,--by a train of four damsels,
and a very brown old woman, bearing candles, through winding passages
all whitewashed, up cold stone flights of stairs, the walls of which
seemed to be covered with any amount of black-beetles, until we
were ushered into a small double-bedded room, also whitewashed, and
adorned with violently coloured prints of saints and martyrs, with
what appeared to be fireworks fizzing and exploding out of the backs
of their heads. We were then presented with a cup of some darkly red
and rather muddy-looking fluid called chocolate, highly flavoured
with what to us is the most nauseous thing in the world,--cinnamon.
A piece of black bread, and a pat of something which might once have
been butter, but now resembled railway wheel-grease, or cheese, was
then given to us. Half of a cold bird, of a species, we should imagine,
nearly extinct, seemed as little calculated to please the appetite
as the bread, butter, and chocolate. These luxuries were placed upon
a chest of drawers, there being no table; and as no chair could be
found of sufficient altitude to raise us to a proper level with these
delicacies, we were constrained to stand at our feast.
The procession of curious followers had now halted, and deployed
into a semicircle around us, doubtless to watch the effects of this
astonishing banquet upon our weak minds and empty stomachs. To taste of
the half-bird was at once to come to the conclusion that the poultry
in Spain is fed chiefly on gravel. The black-eyed young ladies who
lingered round us wonderingly while we were regaling ourselves, as if
we were two specimens of some remarkable race of men, or inhabitants
of the planet Jupiter dropped into their hotel, were at length swept
off tittering by the brown old female, and we were left alone with
the pyrotechnical saints, the whitewashed walls, a couple of iron
bedsteads, two chairs, and the chest of drawers, which still groaned
beneath the weight of the remains of the viands that had formed our
initiatory banquet in the land of Spain. The wild cry of the watchman
moaning through the narrow, silent streets, the distant clang of
the great cathedral bell sounding the hour, and the misty moonlight
streaming through the casement, gave a peculiar finish to our novel
experiences of men and things; and so to bed--to a sleep confused with
all sorts of impressions, blurred and running into each other on the
palette of the mind.
Here we were in Spain; Spain, the land of historical memories--Iberian,
Celtic, Phœnician, Greek, Carthaginian, and Roman. From the Phœnicians
sprang Cadiz, Seville, Malaga, and Cordova. From the Greeks, Rhodians,
and Zanteans, arose Rosas in Cataluña, the populations of the Balearic
Isles, and the immortal Saguntum (Murviedro), which heroically resisted
Hannibal, and caused the second Punic war. From the Carthaginians,
who conquered Southern Spain (B.C. 237), sprang Carthagena, and also
Barcelona. All Spain fell beneath the Roman yoke, and continued under
it for a period of four centuries.
Spain, the land of historic memories, Gothic, Moorish, French, British;
the land of the Cid and of chivalry; the land of the Inquisition and
of bigotry, of the religious monster, Torquemada,[3] and of the great
and cruel Duke of Alva; the land of the conquerors of Mexico and
Peru, of Cervantes, Lope de Vega, and Calderon; the land of Velasquez,
Murillo, and the Ideal, not to speak of extortionate hotel-keepers who
are much attached to the Real;[4] the land of impecuniosity, bigotry,
intolerance, and fleas; the land of love and revenge, mantillas and
stilettos; the land of plenty and horror, gazelle-eyed women, and the
blue cholera; the land of bull-fights, cigarettes, blue blood, beggars,
monks, and dinners cooked in oil; the land of the wondrous architecture
of the sombre Goth and sensuous Moor; the land of a corrupted and
vicious court--of lounging, intrigue, procrastination, and pride;
the land of staunch, changeless, and noble characters, and of pure
and chivalrous hearts; the land of the vine, orange, and cypress--of
purple mountains and dreaming sea; the land of light and shadow, of
love and hatred, glory and gloom;--in fine, the land of a sensitive,
generous, warm-hearted, and graceful people, but the worst government
in Christendom.
We are in Spain, certainly; but how cold and sepulchral a city Burgos
is! It is chill and damp, and subject to violent attacks of wind, being
situated on an elevated, exposed, and treeless plain, 3075 feet above
the level of the sea, and surrounded by a wide Arabian-like yellow
desert, which, however, waves one vast sea of corn in summer, for it is
the granary of Spain. It is sepulchral because, for all the purposes
of an advanced and enlightened age, it is a buried city; and there is
nothing a Burgolese hates so much as improvement. We are many hundred
miles south of England; but how much more bleak and inhospitable is
the climate than that of our temperate Northern isle; and we can well
understand the proverb relating to the weather in this place, "_Diez
meses de invierno y dos de infierno_."
Burgos is, as we have said, much behind its time. There is no
particular trade, excepting in the simple articles considered necessary
for the population. The hotels are but second-rate, and are used
chiefly as eating-houses for the higher class of tradespeople. Few
foreigners seek their shelter.
As the morning broke we were favoured with a glimpse of the sun,
which cheered us with its vivifying beams for about one hour, and then
the dull leaden clouds once more passed over the face of day, while
the cold winds swept down from the bare and dusty hills overlooking
the town. However, as one wanders through the quiet old streets, one
experiences a feeling of indolence which is soothing after the busy
roar of other cities. The various colouring of the quaint Spanish
streets, with the picturesque irregularity of the houses, as looked at
in perspective, is light and lively. The appearance of the balconies,
coloured matting, and painted shutters and blinds, is pleasing to
the eye of the stranger from its novelty. There are never too many
passengers to mar the repose of the scene; and on such as glide quietly
past us we look with no small degree of curiosity. How interesting it
is to see the good priest with the shovel hat, long black skirts, and
stomach-buckle of "Il Barbiere," politely saluting the olive-coloured
young lady with the graceful mantilla as she sweeps along with natural
and queen-like dignity!
However offensive may be some of the sights we see in this country,
however reluctant may be many of its fair denizens to part with
their birthright of dirt, there is grace everywhere--grace innocent
of the slightest attempt at effect, or of the smallest appearance of
affectation; natural indigenous grace, worn by all, either in manner,
dress, or bearing, from the highest to the lowest in the land. Even
the vermin-hunting beggar, sunning his idle self beneath the carved
church door, can be graceful in his rags; and an old rug flung loosely
around his form, with the folds caught up here and there, and falling
in an easy and becoming manner from his shoulder to his feet, gives to
his figure, as he paces calmly by, an air of dignity rarely to be met
with elsewhere; while the worn broad-brimmed velvet sombrero, jauntily
poised on the coloured napkin which is bound round the head and falls
in a knot on the nape of the neck, completes the well-known picture of
the proud but beggarly Don, and places him _in propriâ personâ_ before
our eyes.
At every turn the eye may fall upon beautiful old gems of Gothic
architecture, quaint and solemn old houses, carved with heraldic
blazonry, or with statues of illustrious warriors dead ages ago set in
their walls. Column, pillar, and arch are so intertwined and twisted in
all directions, that the buildings look as if they had been suddenly
paralysed whilst writhing all over in a fit of agony. One may pass
under some beautifully fretted arch, and find oneself within a ruined
court of the most graceful Saracenic device. No step breaks the sleepy
silence of its light arcades; some goats only are quietly cropping the
rank grass amongst the broken pavements of its great square; and the
clouds are passing on softly above.
In the outskirts of the town we observed some massive yellow walls,
with noble Gothic arches and windows, deep and barred, standing all
alone amidst the dust of this arid climate, and looking upon the barren
hills in the distance; but there was no living soul to attest whether
they were convent or prison. Here and there, too, some rich relics
of ancient sculpture were seen built up amidst the bricks of a barn
or storehouse--the tottering Past nursed in the arms of the strong
Present! In and around the city, feudal towers, grand old gateways, and
the palaces of ancient nobles, of the old constables of Castile, with
their _façades_ ornamented with wonderful devices, armorial bearings,
and heraldic monsters, are frequent objects of interest to him who can
read a country's history in its antiquarian remains. From the eminence
on which is built the convent of La Cartuja, situated about two miles
from the city, a general view of Burgos is obtained, with the lace-like
pinnacles of the Cathedral spiring to the skies, surrounded on all
sides by the desolate hills and far-stretching Sahara-like plains,
with scarce a patch of verdure for the aching eye to rest upon in any
direction. We, in a weak moment, hired a _calèche_ to convey us to the
convent; but as the road thither was over the most harassing ground,
now following the track of a water-course strewn with great stones,
then across level ground in which we sank up to the axles in white
dust, we came to the conclusion that, like the man in the sedan-chair
when the bottom came out, if it were not for the honour of the thing,
we might just as well walk. Indeed, we might as well have owned to
walking at once,--walking ostensibly, for though the carriage of honour
was by our side, we really had to walk half the way.
Upon arriving at the gloomy portal of the convent, with its yellow
walls, grated windows, and strong buttresses, upon which the long weeds
were waving in the blast like the wild straws in the head of some
melancholy maniac, we lifted a heavy knocker, and with it produced
some blows which sounded dismally and preternaturally loud amidst the
silence within. In answer to our summons, a cavernous, lean, pale face
appeared for a second or so at a grating to inspect the intruders,
and our exterior probably attesting the fact that no danger was to
be apprehended from us, the heavy door was swung open by a poor
dilapidated son of religion, in a long serge gown and sandals, who
looked so depressed and shy with life-long dulness and superstition,
that it was no wonder he could not lift his eyes higher than the knees
of his visitors. We then entered an elegant little church with pointed
arches, of the florid Gothic style, beneath a _façade_ emblazoned with
the arms of Castile and Leon. In the midst of the subdued light of the
holy place, there suddenly broke upon us the magnificent tomb of Juan
II. and Queen Isabella of Portugal, formed of white marble. It is truly
wonderful that in the recesses of these lonely and decaying walls,
in this forlorn spot of earth, inhabited only by five wretched and
poverty-stricken monks, are seen objects of interest which, in their
marvellous beauty, are unequalled, perhaps, in the world. Executed in
pure Carrara marble, octagonal in shape, and raised about six feet
from the pavement, with a circumference of nearly thirty-six feet, the
tomb of Juan and Isabella perfectly tortures the eye by the amazing
intricacy of its detail. Sixteen lions, bearing the royal escutcheons,
stand in pairs at each angle; groups of innumerable statuettes, each
individual a masterpiece of itself, appear resting under filigree
canopies, and within a perfect network of marble lace of infinite
delicacy; while festoons and bowers of feathery foliage, fruits and
flowers, support birds and insects treading in their marble imagery
with the springy touch of life. The statues of the royal pair lie side
by side, robed in drapery which might be the finest needlework were it
not stone.
In a recess in the wall near by is another wonderful tomb of the same
profuse ornament and delicate finish, that of Don Alonzo, son of the
above. Over the high altar is a _retablo_, a mass of gorgeous gilt
woodwork representing angels sitting on very solid clouds, while whole
coveys of little winged cherubim, with very red cheeks, hover round the
great central figure of Christ hanging on the cross, and surmounted
by a pelican tearing her breast to feed her young. The entire height
of the _retablo_, from the kneeling figures of the king and queen
below to the summit of the topmost clouds amidst which the Assumption
of the Virgin is represented, must be nearly forty feet. The gilding
with which this magnificent work is profusely adorned, is said to be
part of the gold brought by Columbus from America. The finely-carved
walnut-wood stalls of the choir are specimens of the wonderful industry
and exquisite taste of olden times, and a characteristic of all Spanish
churches.
In the central ground of the silent convent cloisters the rank weeds
wave over some hundred graves of Carthusian monks. As time rolls on the
weeds rise higher and tangle thicker, but the stoneless mound gradually
sinks down to the general level of the earth. However worthy the
actions or great the deeds of the poor, their graves are ever silent,
their names are but writ in water, and the very grass above them
withers not so soon as their memory.
After having seen everything that attracted our curiosity, we returned
through the deep white dust, and over the stony tracts, with our
very useful vehicle jolting behind us, the coachman wrapping more
closely round him his ample garment,--a garment with considerably more
pretension to hair than to shape, being composed of the skins of many
goats. I suppose he rarely, if ever, took it off, night or day; and it
is probable, if he ever ventured to dispense with a vestment which had
become almost a part of himself, he might have felt the consequences of
his rashness.
We fear it is our painful duty to remind the reader that Burgos and
the Duke of Wellington were once associated together. Glory is a fine
thing, but it is apt after a time to become a _bête noire_ to many
excellent readers; however, that is their look-out. In November, 1808,
Burgos became the head-quarters of Napoleon. Wellington, fresh from his
victory of Salamanca, invested the town; but, in consequence of the
insufficient support of the Spanish general, was compelled to raise
the siege in order to escape being captured by Marshal Soult, who
was approaching with an enormous force. To join Hill was the Duke's
necessary object, as his troops were few in number, badly provisioned,
and worn out by a continued struggle against great odds and many
disadvantages, the little band having with them to carry on the siege
but three field-pieces and five howitzers, against twenty-six of the
French. After a loss of two thousand men, the retreat of the English
was carried out with much hazard; but in June, 1813, the fortune of
war was changed, and King Joseph, upon the approach of the Duke of
Wellington, evacuated the citadel, after blowing up the fortifications,
and with them several hundred Frenchmen.
In the Castle at Burgos, once a sumptuous palace as well as a citadel,
the marriage of the Cid took place; also that of Edward the First of
England and Eleanor of Castile. Burgos is illustrious among cities, as
having given birth to the Cid, who in 1040, first saw the light in a
house which stood on the spot where now stands an obelisk, in the Calle
Alta, erected by Charles III. in 1784. There are, of course, a large
number of people who know all about the _Cid_, and the derivation of
the word. But as we are equally certain there are a fair amount who do
not, we may as well mention the following particulars in connection
with that semi-mysterious personage, to whom frequent allusions are
unavoidable in a book about Spain.
Don Rodrigo Diaz de Bivar, otherwise the Cid, was a gentleman of very
warlike tendencies, and spent most of his time in giving vent to the
martial ardour within him. He has consequently been regarded by his
countrymen of all times as their national hero, and wrapped in a bright
haze of fabulous glory and fame. He, however, accomplished a good deal
of the work attributed to him, and chased, harassed, conquered, and
imprisoned the Moors throughout Spain to a most satisfactory extent.
His love for the beautiful and heroic Ximena exemplifies the adage
that none but the brave deserve the fair, and shows his prowess in the
bowers of Venus as well as in the field of Mars. Shortly after his
death a grand poetical glorification of his exploits was offered to his
manes in the "Chronicle of the Cid;" and another, a very long time
after, by the immortal Corneille in his masterpiece of "Le Cid." Upon
the occasion of a great victory, some Moorish notables came to the hero
and prostrated themselves at his feet, saluting him with the title of
_Seid Campeador_, or Champion Prince--whence the appellation _Cid_.
Valencia was the last Moorish stronghold which fell to his arms; and
there, after hanging up his spurs and horse-bit upon the Cathedral
wall, where they remain to this day, he died in the year 1099. Any
inquiring traveller may now satisfy the combined bent of a historical
and anatomical mind by inspecting within a wooden urn in the Town Hall
of Burgos, the bones of the immortal Don Rodrigo and his lovely Ximena.
Only to see the Cathedral of Burgos would amply serve as a grateful
end to a pilgrimage from the uttermost parts of the earth. Coming
suddenly from round the angle of some narrow street, there bursts upon
the eye that glorious Gothic pile, with all its airy pinnacles. In the
interior how rich is this majestic temple with that unequalled pomp so
significant of the Roman Catholic faith, while the solemn walls are
fretted with chaste ornaments of the rarest beauty, and with groups of
slender, graceful pillarets which rise arrow-like to the lofty roof.
When one views it, as Scott recommends us to view Melrose, in the pale
moonlight, how profound is the impression produced by the weird-like
appearance of the immense building, the design of which is so noble, so
perfect! The awed pilgrim from other lands, when his eyes first rest
on this unequalled shrine, stands enchanted, as if rooted to the spot,
his soul leaping within him, transported with the beauty of so rare a
spectacle.
As the great carved door swings back behind us, and shuts out from
the senses the glare of the Spanish day, the head is instinctively
bowed, and the knee bends in worship; for everything in this
consecrated temple of the Divinity is calculated to excite the spirit
of adoration, and to raise our faith heavenward. When we stand silent
on the threshold of that holy place, beneath the lofty arches of the
vaulted roof, supported by rows of colossal columns melting away
into the distance; when we slowly pace the long aisles, with the
tombs of the mighty dead on each side; or when we kneel with the
devout worshippers before the altars in the various chapels, gemmed
by hundreds of star-like lamps, the soul feels the reality of things
unseen; while with the deep diapason of the organ, blended with the
holy song of bands of choristers, its aspirations mount like clouds of
incense to heaven. Never shall I forget the profound impression which I
experienced when, in that noble fane, I felt that religious faith was
at once the grandest and the most genuine growth of the human soul.
The staircase, which descends in graceful curvings from the altar to
the marble floor beneath, with great griffin heads terminating the
balustrades, is very beautiful, and was much admired by our own David
Roberts. How magnificent, too, is the choir, with its two hundred
stalls, adorned with spires, which are ornamented with the richest and
most minute carving! The dark walnut-wood is all chased, chiselled, and
traced from pinnacle to floor with one mass of amazing ornamentation,
amidst the intricacies of which the sight loses itself, and becomes
dim. The choir is entirely surrounded by tall brass railings of
exquisite workmanship; and in the fifteen chapels, each enclosing
objects of marvellous interest or beauty, the altars are supported by
jasper pillars and columns of rarest marbles, while the _retablo_ rises
to the roof--a perfect labyrinth of gilt wood-carving, crowded with
subjects of wondrous device. On a shelf in a sacristy is mouldering
away into chips a great wooden chest which belonged to the Cid, for
the indulgence of looking at which not very remarkable article of this
hero's outfit a priest did not charge us more than a shilling a head.
FOOTNOTES:
[3] In the course of sixteen years, Torquemada, first
Inquisitor-General of Spain, committed to the flames eight thousand
eight hundred victims.
[4] About twopence halfpenny. The real is the basis of the whole
monetary system of Spain.
[Illustration: [++] Decorative Image]
[Illustration: [++] Decorative Image]