As on arriving at Madrid by way of the north, so on leaving it by way
of the south, one must pass through a desolate country that resembles
the poorest provinces of Arragon and Old Castile. There are vast
plains, parched and yellow, which look as though they would echo like a
hollow passageway if one were to strike them, or crumble like the crust
of a crisp tart. And through the plains are scattered a few wretched
villages of the same color as the soil, which seem as though they would
take fire like a pile of dry leaves if one were to touch a torch to
the corner of one of the huts. After an hour of travel my shoulders
sought the cushions of the carriage, my elbow sought for a support,
my head sought my hand, and I fell into a deep sleep like a member of
Leopardi's "Assembly of Listeners." A few minutes after I had closed
my eyes I was rudely awakened by a desperate cry from the women and
children, and leaped to my feet, demanding of my neighbors what had
occurred.
But before I had ended my question a general burst of laughter
reassured me. A company of huntsmen, scattered over the plain, on
noticing the approach of the train, had planned to give the travellers
a little scare. At that time there was a rumor that a band of Carlists
had appeared in the vicinity of Aranjuez. The huntsmen, pretending to
be the vanguard of the band, had given a loud shout while the train
was passing, as if to call the great body of their comrades to their
assistance, and as they shouted they went through the motions of firing
at the railway-carriages; hence arose the fright and the cries of my
fellow-travellers. And then the huntsmen suddenly threw the butts of
their guns into the air to show that it was all a joke.
When the alarm, in which I too shared for a moment, had subsided, I
fell once more into my academic doze, but was again awakened in a few
moments in a manner much more pleasant than on the first occasion.
I looked around: the vast barren plain had been transformed as by magic
into a great garden full of the most charming groves, traversed in all
directions by wide avenues, dotted with country-houses and cottages
festooned with verdure; here and there the sparkling of fountains,
shady grottoes, flowering meadows, vineyards, and bridle-paths--a
verdure, a freshness, a vernal odor, an atmosphere of happiness and
peace, that enchanted the soul. We had arrived at Aranjuez. I left the
train, walked up a beautiful avenue shaded by two rows of noble trees,
and after a few steps found myself in front of the royal palace.
The minister Castelar had written in his memorandum a few days before
that the fall of the ancient Spanish monarchy was predoomed on that
day when a mob of the populace, with curses on their lips and hatred
in their hearts, had invaded the palace of Aranjuez to disturb the
majestic repose of their sovereigns. I had reached that square where
on the 17th of March, 1808, occurred those events which were the
prologue of the national war, and, as it were, the first word of the
death-sentence of the ancient monarchy. My eyes quickly sought the
windows of the apartments of the Prince of Peace; I imagined him,
as he fled from room to room, pale and distracted, searching for a
hiding-place as the echo of the cry followed him up the stairs; I saw
poor Charles IV., as with trembling hands he placed the crown of Spain
on the head of the prince of the Asturias; all the scenes of that
terrible drama were enacted in fancy before my eyes, and the profound
silence of the place and the sight of that palace, closed and desolate,
sent a chill to my heart.
The palace has the appearance of a castle: it is built of brick, with
trimmings of light stone, and covered with a tile roof. Every one knows
that it was built for Philip II. by the celebrated architect Herrera,
and that it was adorned by all the later kings, who made it their
summer residence. I enter: the interior is magnificent; there is the
stupendous reception-hall of the ambassadors, the beautiful Chinese
cabinet belonging to Charles V., the marvellous dressing-chamber of
Isabella II., and a profusion of the most precious ornaments. But all
the riches of the palace are as nothing to the beauty of the gardens.
The expectation is not disappointed.
The gardens of Aranjuez (Aranjuez is the name of a little town which
lies a short distance from the palace) seem to have been laid out for
a race of Titan kings, to whom the royal parks and gardens of our
country would have seemed like the flower-beds on their terraces or
the plots before their stables. Endless avenues, bordered by trees
of measureless height with arched branches interlacing as if bent
toward each other by contrary winds, extend in every direction like a
forest whose boundaries one cannot see, and through this forest the
Tagus, a wide, swift stream, flows in a majestic curve, forming here
and there cascades and lakes: an abundant and luxuriant vegetation
springs up amid a labyrinth of bypaths, crossways, and sylvan glades;
and in every part gleam statues, vases, columns, and fountains rising
to a great height and falling in spray, festoons, and drops of water,
placed in the midst of all manner of flowers from Europe and America;
and, mingling with the majestic roar of the cascades of the Tagus, a
flood of song from innumerable nightingales, which make the mysterious
gloom of the lonely paths ring with their mellow notes. In the depths
of the gardens rises a small marble palace of modest proportions
which contains all the wonders of the most magnificent royal abode;
and here one may still breathe, so to speak, the air of the inmost
life of the kings of Spain. Here are the small secret chambers whose
ceilings one may touch with the hand, the billiard-room of Charles
IV., his cue, the cushions embroidered by the hands of his queens, the
musical clocks which enlivened the playtime of his children, the narrow
staircases, the little windows about which cluster a hundred traditions
of princely caprices, and, finally, the richest retiring-room in
Europe, created at a whim of Charles V., containing in itself alone
sufficient riches to adorn a palace, without depriving it of the noble
primacy which it proudly holds among all other cabinets designed for
the same use. Beyond this palace and all around the groves extend
vineyards and olive-groves and orchards of fruit-bearing trees and
smiling meadows. It is a veritable oasis in the midst of the desert--an
oasis which Philip II. chose to create on a day when he was in good
humor, as if to enliven with one cheerful image the black melancholy
of the Escurial. On returning from the little marble palace toward
the great royal palace through those endless avenues, in the shade of
those noble trees, in that profound forest silence, I thought of the
splendid trains of ladies and cavaliers who once wandered about in the
footsteps of the gay young monarchs or the capricious and dissolute
queens to the sound of amorous music and songs which told of the
grandeur and glory of unconquered Spain; and I sadly repeated with the
poet, Ricanati,
... "All is peace and silence,
And their names are no longer heard."
But as I looked at those marble seats, half hidden in the shrubbery,
and fixed my eyes on the shadow of certain distant paths, and thought
of those queens, those lovers, and those mad pranks, I could not
refrain from a sigh, which was not one of pity, and a secret sense of
bitterness stung me to the heart; and I said, like poor Adan in the
poem _Diablo Mundo_, "How are these grand ladies made? How do they
live? What do they do? Do they talk, make love, and enjoy like us?"
And I left for Toledo, imagining the love of a queen like a young
adventurer of the Arabian Nights.