SALAMANCA
Spain is far poorer in lakes than in mountains: and the deficiency has
compensations, as it discourages the breeding of flies. But it offers a
rare opportunity for the disquisitions of a militant geologist, for the
lakes must have swamped all other physical features in the days when the
hills were young. Liebana and the Vierzo have been already conceded, but
he regards these as drops in the ocean. Now he claims the whole basin of
the Duero from the Cordillera of Cantabria to the Sierras of Grédos and
Guadarrama, from the highlands of la Demanda and Moncayo to the rocky
barrier on the frontiers of Portugal, through which the pent-up waters
at length cleft their passage to the sea.
Now the dry bed of an ancient lake is not in itself an ideal foundation
for a landscape; particularly when its original conformation is
remorselessly emphasised by the entire omission of fences and of trees.
The mud which formed the bottom has settled unevenly; and the rivers
have eroded it into yawning channels, whose steep sides (so prominent at
Toro) are scarped and furrowed into myriads of wrinkles by the scouring
of the winter rains. The district is not unfertile, for it is a land of
corn and wine and oil-olive, and water may be found at no great depth;
yet the surface soil is parched and dusty, the villages few and far
between, and great tracts of the higher ground consist of untilled
heaths where the ilex and cistus make their profit out of the heritage
unclaimed by man.
It scarcely seems an interesting district for a walking tour, yet we
were barely started before we fell in with one who thought otherwise. He
was English, of course:--mad as usual, despite his Spanish domicile; and
we fraternised with him at a wayside fountain where he recognised us as
compatriots (by our Spanish) directly we saluted him. Our programmes had
something in common, but his was by far the more onerous, and none but
the veriest devotee of the _Wanderlust_ could have ventured to undertake
it without some inward qualms. A long solitary tramp, and mostly
through desolate country, over mountain and moorland, from Toro, all the
way to Valéncia del Cid. True, he was a naturalist and an antiquary, and
could speak the language like a native; yet, if he was proof against
boredom, he must have been very good company to himself. It is not every
traveller who could rely so exclusively on his own resources. The ideal
tramp, like Don Quixote's ideal knight-errant, needs to be equipped with
"most of the sciences in the world."
Fortunately the cyclist's self-sufficiency is not tested nearly so
highly. He moves both further and faster than the pedestrian,--covering
two days' march in a single morning's ride. For him the great Spanish
plains are shorn of half their monotony; and if he loves Spain he may
blame me for hinting at monotony even here. He finds something strangely
exhilarating in the gorgeous sunshine, the dry crisp air, the unrivalled
immensity of landscape, and the all-pervading silence, so grateful after
London's maddening din. Spain is pre-eminently a land of ample horizons,
of panoramas, and bird's-eye views. The hollow conformation of the
plains gives the widest of scope to the vision, and the pale blue peaks
which enclose them may be as much as one hundred miles away. Standing
on the summit of the Guadarrama passes, we were wellnigh able to
persuade ourselves that the peaks just above us might disclose a view
extending from the Cantabrian mountains even to the Sierra Nevada;--all
the kingdoms of Spain and the glory of them at a single _coup-d'oeil_.
The purity of the atmosphere indeed is downright bewildering, and our
first preconceptions of distances went wandering wildly astray. Even as
far on our way as Madrid, a fortnight later, we found that we had not
yet been schooled to credit the milestones against the evidence of our
eyes. Madrid lay there before us: we could tell every house, every
window. It was absurd to try and convince us that it was ten kilometres
away! Yet we passed nine stony compurgators ere we reached the Toledo
gateway; and even our own cyclometers professed themselves "all of a
tale." The illusion is accentuated by the great distances which separate
the hamlets, and the absence of any intervening landmarks on the bare
red plains between.
Meanwhile the details of the landscape are far from uninteresting. The
heath flowers are varied and plentiful and the butterflies brilliant in
the extreme. The whole air rings with the yelling of the cicadas or the
croaking of the frogs in the rare and starveling streams. Little brown
lizards are numerous even in the mountains, but here on the plains is a
more imposing breed; great green monsters fifteen inches in length, who
lie out sunning themselves in the dust of the roadway, and scuttle
wildly to cover as our shadows sweep silently by. The natives eat
them;--so possibly does the tourist also, for many are the unsuspected
ingredients which are involved in the meshes of a Spanish stew.
The birds also, such as there are, seem exclusively decorative
specimens. First among these are the hoopoes, with their black and white
barred plumage, and their feather crowns, the gift of Solomon the Wise.
They have a strong fellow-feeling for the cyclist, and flit from tree to
tree along the road beside him with the most engaging _cameraderie_. If
they get too far ahead they will perch and await him, cocking their
crests and _hoo-poo-pooing_ encouragement; and once more resume their
swift drooping flight as soon as he draws level. Should these lines meet
their eyes they are assured that their companionship was much
appreciated. The little watery gullies where the frogs live are
generally picketted by the storks. Magpies too are alarmingly plentiful
in the wild stony districts along the feet of the mountains. Seven at a
time is all very well,--at least one knows Who to expect then,--but what
grislier horror is portended by thirteen? A Grand Inquisitor?
[Illustration: SALAMANCA
Arcades in the Plaza de la Verdura.]
Men as a rule seem scarcely so numerous as magpies, and one may ride for
miles at a stretch without encountering a soul; but those whom you do
meet are admirably in rapport with their surroundings; and though their
pursuits may be prosaic their appearance would illustrate a romance.
This solitary horseman, for instance, is probably a most commonplace
personage in reality. We shall sit next to him at _comida_ in an hour or
two, and discover that he is an eminently innocuous bagman. But out here
in the midst of the wilderness, clad in his broad-brimmed hat and his
ample black cloak which muffles him up to the eyes, he might pass as a
living embodiment of Roque Guinart himself, and we rather plume
ourselves on our resolution in venturing to keep to the road. The
Spaniard as a rule wraps himself up amazingly when he goes a-travelling;
and the Scotch shepherd sallying out to visit his flock in a December
snowstorm is not more jealously plaided than the Castilian carrier
trudging along beside his pack mules, with his purple shadow blotting
the dusty roadway at his feet. By way of contrast one may occasionally
see the small children scampering about outside the cabin doors without
so much as a rag of any description whatever--an infinitely more
enviable costume.
The greater number of the vehicles are ramshackle tilt-waggons, drawn by
a goodly array of mules, five or seven in a string. These have a horrid
habit of pulling _en échelon_, so that each beast has a clear view of
all the road ahead of him, and can make up his mind exactly what he
means to shy at. This formation occupies the whole width of the roadway,
and the driver (being a driver) is of course asleep; consequently, if
you have a rock wall on one side and an everlasting vertical precipice
on the other, you had better be careful how you pass. Indeed, it is well
to give them a wide berth in any case, for even the immortal Bayard
himself, "without fear and without reproach," professed himself anxious
about his shins in the neighbourhood of a Spanish mule. They are
harnessed with delightful inconsequence in all sorts of gay tags and
fringes, and scraps of old caparisons of yellow Cordovan leather; while
all deficiencies are eked out with string. This requires great
quantities of string. The waggons which they draw are equally
patchworky, with their cargoes bulging out on all sides in an imminently
precarious fashion. In the wine districts they generally carry an
"extra" in the shape of a huge tun slung under the axle between the
lofty wheels.
It is worthy of remark that a Spanish "gee-upper"[24] is commonly unable
to think of any worse name for a mule than its own. "Arré! Mula!!" he
cries, and collapses impotently. What more can he call it? It _is_ a
mule. To do him justice, however, he seldom resorts to blows to
reinforce his vocabulary; and the cruelty so often inveighed against in
southern countries is not very noticeable in northern Spain. The beasts
are gaunt, bony, and ill-kempt, but herein they are no worse off than
their drivers: they are too often worked when galled or foundered; yet
this is but negative heedlessness, and positive misusage is rare.
The temper of the beasts is uncertain. The ox and the ass are
phlegmatic, but the horse and mule (which have no understanding) have
decidedly fidgetty nerves. The mules are frequently gigantic animals, as
high-standing and big-boned as an English dray-horse, though much less
heavy and muscular. Mixed teams are frequently requisitioned in the
mountain districts. One sample that we met had a horse for leader, then
two mules tandem, a pair of oxen, and a mule in the shafts; another had
a mule for shafter, with two more mules outside the shafts, a fourth
ahead, and three yoke of oxen to lead the way. It is extremely
fashionable to finish off the string with a diminutive donkey (generally
the smaller the better) tacked on as a sort of afterthought at the head
of the whole cavalcade. He looks as though meant for a tassel, but is
really played as a pace-maker; for he is always the fastest walker and
the most enthusiastic worker in the team.
There was a real "little Benjamin" of jackasses that we met on the road
near Segóvia. Two men were coming into the town in charge of a bull; and
by way of getting the hulk steered with as little personal attention as
might be, it had struck them to harness this trifle to the monster's
spreading horns. Had the bull really resented the arrangement it would
have cost him but a turn of the head to heave the whole equipage over
the parapet among the tops of the poplars below. Fortunately, however,
he was not actively annoyed--only rather grumpy and puzzled. Every
few steps he would stop, shaking his head and bellowing; while his
little pilot gathered himself together, drove in his toes, and flung
himself into the collar with the exalted enthusiasm that does not reck
of odds. He fairly squirmed with glee as his charge condescended to move
a step or two forward, and evidently considered that every yard of
progress was exclusively attributable to himself.
[Illustration: SALAMANCA
Church of San Martin.]
We took our last look at the Cantabrian mountains from the crest of the
watershed between the Duero and Tormes; and the same hill that concealed
them brought us into full view of another equally imposing range to the
southward--the Sierra de Grédos, whose monarch, the Plaza Almanzor, is
only a few feet inferior even to the Rock of Ages which dominates Europa
Pikes. But it is to the fallows around us that our first attention is
owing;--a site which should stir the imagination of an Englishman as Don
Quixote's was stirred on the Campo de Montiel.
Over these bleak, red plough lands for six long July days in 1812 the
armies of Marmont and of Wellington marched and countermarched and
circled round each other like dancers in some vast quadrille or chess
players fencing for an opening. Neither leader would risk a doubtful
action; for the French Army of the Centre was rapidly approaching, and
its junction might make or mar a victory. Almost within speaking
distance, they raced for advantage in position, and scarcely once did
they pause to exchange a blow. It was a repetition of the old drama
enacted centuries before by Cæsar and Afranius upon the plains of
Lérida. But the Cæsar of this production was playing Afranius' _rôle_.
Marmont had the pace of his opponent, and Wellington pivoted round
Salamanca to guard his communications with Rodrigo. Foiled on the right,
Marmont dashed round to the left, forded the Tormes and thrust at
Salamanca from the south. Wellington still faced him; but King Joseph
was now close upon him, and within two days at furthest the English
would be hopelessly outnumbered by the junction of the hostile hosts.
Retreat was inevitable: had, indeed, already commenced; for the baggage
was on the move, and Wellington was but waiting for nightfall to cover
the withdrawal of his fighting line.
"A silver bridge for a retreating enemy," saith the Spanish proverb; but
Napoleon's aspiring young marshal had been trained in a more aggressive
school. He knew that his troops were the speedier, that Joseph's
junction would bring a winning superiority of numbers. If he could but
hold the English to their position for another day the campaign might be
finished at a blow;--and he eagerly pushed on his left under Maucune to
command the Rodrigo road. Clausel's brigade, already wheeling in from
the rear, would link the left to the centre; and his foe would be in a
cleft stick. But Clausel's march was limed in the thick web of olive
woods which mantles the hills towards Alba; the fatal gap yawned
conspicuous behind the hurrying columns; and in an instant Wellington
pounced upon Maucune.
Well was it for Marmont that the day was now far spent, and that the
fords of the Tormes had been left unguarded! For never was victory more
rapid or more complete. In forty minutes Marmont's magnificent army of
forty thousand men were a horde of disorganized fugitives; and the whole
of the central provinces lay defenceless at the feet of his foe.
It seems a little strange that Salamanca should contain no monument of
the great battle which freed half Spain from the grasp of the invader,
and which, in after years, the mighty victor himself was wont to regard
as his masterpiece--the Austerlitz of his career. Its only memorials
nowadays are a few forgotten tablets on the walls of the great
cathedral: from the roof of which the anxious townsfolk once heard the
sudden roar of the closing battle, and watched the great column of smoke
and dust soaring up slowly over Arapiles into the placid evening sky.
Salamanca shows itself off to best advantage when approached from the
southern side. It stands upon rising ground on the right bank of the
Tormes, with a fine old Roman bridge leading up to it across the stream.
The river banks are lined with voluble washerwomen,--at least a quarter
of a mile of them, fairly elbowing one another as they chatter over
their work; and behind them the red-roofed houses of the city are piled
up the slope in picturesque disarray. The most prominent object is the
great cathedral, a sixteenth century Gothic building of the type that is
only to be encountered in Spain. It is of imposing proportions, and
lavishly ornamented with a marvellous profusion of delicate carving
which could not possibly have stood the exposure to the weather in any
less favourable clime. Yet it lacks the deep mouldings and majestic
solidity of earlier works; and this somewhat academic pretentiousness
is not nearly so impressive as the stunted strength of the old
cathedral which nestles under the shadow of its more showy sister--a
typical Romanesque edifice, rude, massive, and solemn, like an oak
beside a poplar colonnade.
[Illustration: SALAMANCA
From the left bank of the Tormes.]
No city suffered more than Salamanca from Napoleon's disastrous
invasion; and what that implies let her fellow victims testify! The
French are pleased to regard themselves as the modern Athenians;--the
modern Vandals is the name that their neighbours might prefer! Gaiseric
himself never systematised pillage like Napoleon; and who can wonder at
the savage retaliation of the _Partidas_ when he sees the havoc which
was wrought in unhappy Spain? "Twenty-five convents, twenty-five
colleges, and twenty-five arches to the bridge," was the boast of the
citizens of Salamanca before the days of their visitation. But no less
than twenty colleges and thirteen convents (amongst them some of the
noblest Renaissance monuments) were razed to the ground by the
remorseless Marmont when he built his three great redoubts to fortify
the town against Wellington in 1812; and a ghastly bald scar in the
midst of the crowded city still marks the spot where the tyrant's hand
was laid. It is but poor consolation to remember that the ramparts
erected at this frightful cost crumpled up like the pasteboard helmet
beneath the stroke of his mightier foe: and that Marmont himself reaped
a small instalment of his whirlwind within actual sight of the city
which he had marred.
Perhaps it is hardly too much to assert that at the end of the
eighteenth century Salamanca must have been the most magnificently
housed university in the world. Even now, after all her losses, I can
think of no other on the Continent which can so well stand comparison
with our own. But, alas! she has fallen upon evil days. The famous Irish
college had a population of seven (Dons and Students included) at the
time of our visit; and the salaries of the professors are such as no
master of a board school would consider adequate in England. The
Augustan age of Salamanca commenced in the reign of Ferdinand and
Isabella; and was perhaps already declining when Gil Blas visited it
with his adventurous young mistress masquerading in her doublet and
hose. Then the city had more students than it has now inhabitants; and
even Paris and Bologna admitted the superiority of the Salamanca
schools. She was a progressive university too; and albeit she rejected
Columbus, she at least accepted Copernicus--a considerable step on the
way. In one respect her example might inspire present-day universities,
for here it was that a lady first held a professorial chair.
The great gate of the Library is now the chief relic of these bygone
glories: and that gem of the early Renaissance is worthily supported by
the arcaded quadrangles of some of the colleges and schools. They are
built of the warm golden-brown stone which is common to most Salamancan
monuments, and their richly-carved parapets and fantastically-shaped
arches have an air of oriental opulence which is very taking to the eye.
But even apart from its churches, convents, and colleges, Salamanca
would still remain notable by reason of its palaces alone. First among
these is the _Casa de las Conchas_,--spangled all over with the great
stone scallop shells from which it derives its name. It is even more
striking and original than its larger and lordlier rival, the famous
_Palacio de Monterey_; and I owe it a special acknowledgment for the
liberty which I have taken with it in pirating its façade to serve as
the cover of this volume.
The Castilian and Leonese _casas_ have much in common with the typical
Florentine palaces; and even their cousins of Aragon only differ from
them in so far as they are brick instead of stone. Towards the street
they present a square and solemn façade, plain or heavily rusticated,
and pierced with but few windows, which are always stoutly barred. The
entrance is large and plain, and generally arched over with enormously
deep _voussoirs_, which have a very imposing effect. Within is an open
_patio_ surrounded by a double arcade. A fine staircase in a recess
gives access to the upper tier; and the rooms which are ranged around
the gallery all open direct into the air. The centre of the _patio_ is
occupied by a well or fountain, and is often filled with flowers. The
type seems exceptionally suitable to a semi-tropical country; yet modern
builders will have none of it; and, though common in all provincial
capitals, it is nowhere to be met with in Madrid.
In a second and smaller type of house the great entrance doorway
occupies practically the whole of the ground-floor frontage. Obviously
it was generally entered on horseback, and the hall within (like that of
a village _posada_) served as antechamber both to the living rooms above
and to the stables behind. The family lived on the first and second
floors, while the third was originally a _belvedere_. But nowadays the
latter has been enclosed and the ground floor generally converted into a
shop.
[Illustration: SALAMANCA
The Puerta del Rio, with the Cathedral Tower.]
It is one of the penalties of sketching in a crowded city that everybody
who has no immediate occupation of his own becomes consumingly
interested in yours. There is but one spot in Salamanca where one is
quite secure from surveillance, and that is opposite the porch of San
Martin, perhaps the most frequented corner in the town. Here, balanced
gingerly upon a narrow ledge, you overlook the heads of the bystanders,
and even the most agile urchin can find no foothold in your rear.
Yet the immunity is hardly worth winning. At best it is very
uncomfortable; and if you submit to your heckling, the entertainment is
not all on one side. At the bridge head it even secured me the offer of
a commission. The Boniface of the little wine-shop was urgent with me to
reproduce my sketch enlarged upon the front of his bar. My recompense
was to comprise full board and lodging during the operation,--and that
would have been no trifle. But he must have had considerable faith in
the covering capacity of water colours to pit a little twenty-pan
paint-box against fifty square feet of deal boards.
But it was at the _Puerta del Rio_ that I found my _entourage_ of most
practical utility. It had been snowing overnight in the mountains, and
the Sierra de Grédos was draped from base to summit in a mantle of
dazzling white. In spite of the brilliant sunshine the wind was
incredibly bitter, and the miserable sketcher would have been frozen
without his human screen. Truly "Winter is not over till the fortieth of
May" within reach of those icy summits. The Duke of Wellington asserted
that the coldest thing in his recollection was the wind at Salamanca in
July!