SARAGOSSA AND BURGOS.
The ship’s company of the American Prince departed
from Barcelona at three o’clock in the
afternoon, for Saragossa, or Zaragoza as the Spaniards
spell it. At first the route was through a beautiful and
highly cultivated country, and then into the mountains.
By five o’clock it was too dark to see the landscape;
and the students, tired after the labors of the day, were
disposed to settle themselves into the easiest positions
they could find, and many of them went to sleep.
At Manresa the train stopped for supper, which was
all ready for the students when they arrived, Mr. Lowington
had employed four experienced couriers for the
double tour across the peninsula. One was to precede
each of the two parties to engage accommodations, and
make terms with landlords, railroad agents, and others;
and one was to attend each party to render such service
as might be required of him. The journeys were all
arranged beforehand, so that trains were to have extra
cars, and meals were to be ready at stations and hotels.
The train arrived at Saragossa just before four o’clock
in the morning. The cars, or carriages as they are
called in Europe, were precisely like those in use in
England. Only six persons were put in each compartment;
and the boys contrived various plans to obtain
comfortable positions for sleeping. Some of them
spread their overcoats on the floor for beds, using
their bags for pillows; and others made couches on the
seats. Most of them were able to sleep the greater
part of the night. But the _Fonda del Universo_ was
prepared for their reception, and they were glad enough
to turn into the fifty beds ready for them.
At nine o’clock all hands were piped to breakfast.
The meal was served in courses, and was essentially
French. Some of the waiters spoke French; but there
was really no need of saying any thing, for each dish of
the bill of fare was presented to every person at the
table. After the meal, the students were assembled in
the large reading–room,—the hotel had been recently
built,—and Professor Mapps was called upon by the
principal to say something about Saragossa, in order
that the tourists might know a little of the history of
the place they were visiting. The instructor took a
convenient position, and began his remarks:—
“The old monks used to write history something
after the manner of the Knickerbocker’s History of
New York; and they put it on record that Saragossa
was founded by Tubal, nephew of Noah; but you will
not believe this. The city probably originated with the
Phoenicians, and was a place of great importance in
the time of Julius Cæsar, who saw its military value as
commanding the passage of the Ebro, and built a wall
around it. It was captured by the Suevi in 452, and
taken from them by the Goths fourteen years later. In
the eighth century the Moors obtained possession of
the city, and held it till the twelfth, when it was conquered
by Alfonso of Aragon. It contains many relics
of the Roman and Moorish works.
“Saragossa has been the scene of several noted
sieges, the most famous of which was that of 1808,
when the French captured the place after the most
desperate resistance on the part of the Aragonese.
The brave defenders of the city had no regular military
organization, and were ill–provided with arms and
ammunition. The people chose for a leader a young
man whose name was Palafox: he was as brave as a
lion, but not versed in military science. The siege
lasted sixty–two days, and the fighting was almost incessant.
It was ‘war to the knife’ on the part of the
Aragonese, and they rejected all overtures to surrender.
Famine made fearful havoc among them, and every
house was a hospital. Even the priests and the women
joined in the strife. I dare say you have all heard of
the ‘Maid of Saragossa,’ who is represented in pictures
as a young woman assisting in working a gun in
the battle. Her name was Augustina; and she was a
very pretty girl of twenty–two. Her lover was a cannonneer,
and she fought by his side. When he was
mortally wounded, she worked the gun herself. You
will find something about her in ‘Childe Harold.’
“At length the French got into the town; but the
conflict was not finished, for the people fought for
twenty–one days more in the streets. Fifteen thousand
were either dead or dying when the French entered the
city. At last the authorities agreed to surrender, but
only on the most honorable terms. It has been estimated,
that, out of a population of one hundred and
fifty thousand, fifty–four thousand perished in battle or
by famine and pestilence.”
After these brief remarks, the party separated, and
divided up into small squads to see the city as they
pleased. As usual, Captain Sheridan and Murray
joined themselves to Dr. Winstock, who was as much
at home in Saragossa as he was in Paris.
“You will find that this city is thoroughly Spanish;
and doubtless you will see some of the native costumes,”
said the doctor, as they left the hotel.
“But this hotel is as much French as though it were
in France,” added Murray, who desired when in Spain
to do as the Spaniards did, so as to learn what they do.
“That is very true; but we shall come to the true
Spanish hotel in due time, and I have no doubt you
will get enough of it in a very short time,” laughed
Dr. Winstock. “There are three classes of hotels in
Spain, though at the present time they are all about the
same thing. A _fonda_ is a regular hotel; a _posada_ is
the tavern of the smaller country towns; and a _venta_
is a still lower grade of inn. A drinking–shop, which
we sometimes call a ‘saloon’ in the United States, is
a _ventorro_ or a _ventorillo_; and a _taberna_ is a place
where smoking and wine–drinking are the business of
their frequenters. A _parador_ is a hotel where the diligences
stop for meals, and may also be a _fonda_.”
“A _fonda_ is a hotel,” said Sheridan; “and we may
not be able to remember any more than that.”
“When you see the names I have given you on the
signs, you will understand what they mean. But our
business now is to see this city. Like Barcelona, it has
one principal wide street extending through the middle
of it: all the other avenues are nothing more than
lanes, very narrow and very dirty. It is on the Ebro,
and has a population of some eighty thousand people.”
“How happens it that this place is not colder? It
is in about the same latitude as New York City; and
now, in the month of December, it is comfortably
warm,” said Sheridan.
“These valleys have a mild climate; and the vine
and olive are their principal productions. It is not so
on the high table–land in the centre of Spain. At
Madrid, for instance, the weather will be found to be
quite cold at this time. The weather is so bitter there
sometimes that the sentinels on guard have to be
changed every quarter of an hour, as they are in
danger of being frozen to death.”
The party walked first to the great square, in the
centre of which is a public fountain. They paused to
look at the people. Most of the men wore some kind of
a mantle or cloak. This garment was sometimes the
Spanish circular cloak, worn with a style and grace
that the Spaniard alone can attain. That of the poorer
class was often nothing but a striped blanket, which,
however, they slung about them with no little of the air
of those who wore better garments. They were generally
tall, muscular, but rather bony fellows, with an
expression as solemn as though they were doing duty
at a funeral. Some of them wore the broad–brimmed
_sombrero_; some had handkerchiefs wound around their
heads, like turbans; and others sported the ordinary
hat or cap.
The party could not help laughing when they saw,
for the first time, a priest wearing a hat which extended
fore and aft at least three feet, with the sides rolled up
close to the body. Everybody was dignified, and
moved about at a funeral pace.
At the fountain women and girls were filling the jars
of odd shape with water, and bearing them away poised
on one of their hips or on the head. Several donkeys
were standing near, upon which their owners were loading
the sacks of water they had filled.
“Bags of water!” exclaimed Murray.
“They do not call them bags, but skins,” said the
doctor. “You can see the legs and neck of the animal,
which are very convenient in handling them. These
skins are more easily transported on the backs of the
donkeys than barrels, kegs, or jars could be. Many
kinds of wine are transported in these skins, which
could hardly be carried on the back of an animal in any
other way. Except a few great highways, Spain is not
provided with roads. In some places, when you ride in
a carriage, you will take to the open fields; and very
rough indeed they are sometimes.”
The party proceeded on their walk, and soon reached
the Cathedral of San Salvador, generally called _El Seo_;
a term as applicable to any other cathedral in Aragon
as to this one. It is a sombre old structure: a part of
it is said to have been built in the year 290; and pious
people have been building it till within three hundred
and fifty years of the present time. There are some
grand monuments in it; among them that of Arbues,
who was assassinated for carrying out the decrees of
the Inquisition. The people of Aragon did not take
kindly to this institution; but the murder was terribly
avenged, and the Inquisition established its authority in
the midst of the tumult it had excited. Murillo, the
great Spanish painter, made the assassination of Arbues
the subject of one of his principal pictures.
Saragossa has two cathedrals, the second of which
is called _El Pilar_, because it contains the very pillar
on which the Virgin landed when she came down from
heaven in one of her visits to Spain. It appears
that St. James—Santiago in Spanish—came to Spain
after the crucifixion of the Saviour, in the year 40, to
preach the gospel to the natives. When he had got
as far as Saragossa, he was naturally tired, and went to
sleep. In this state the Virgin came to him with a
message from the Saviour, requiring him to build a
chapel in honor of herself. She stood on a jasper
pillar, and was attended by a multitude of angels. St.
James obeyed the command of the heavenly visitor,
and erected a small chapel, only sixteen feet long and
half as wide, where the Virgin often attended public
worship in subsequent years. On this spot, and over
the original chapel, was built the present church. On
the pillar stands a dingy image of the Virgin, which
is said to be from the studio of St. Luke, who appears
to have been both a painter and a sculptor. It is
clothed in the richest velvet, brocade, and satin, and
is spangled with gold and diamonds. It cures all diseases
to which flesh is heir; for which the grateful
persons thus healed have bestowed the most costly
presents. It is little less than sacrilege to express
any disbelief in this story of the Virgin, or in the
miracles achieved by the image.
Dr. Winstock and his young companions went from
the churches, to take a walk in the older part of the
city. The narrow streets reminded them of Constantinople,
while many of the buildings were similar, the
upper part projecting out over the street. The balconies
were shaded with mats, like the parti–colored
draperies that hang from the windows in Naples.
Many of the houses were of the Moorish fashion, with
the _patio_, or court–yard, in the centre, with galleries
around it, from which admission to the various apartments
is obtained. Saragossa has a leaning tower
built of brick, which was the campanile, or belfry, of
the town.
The party of the surgeon spent the rest of the day in
a walk through the surrounding country, crossing the
Ebro to the suburb of the city. Near the bridge they
met a couple of ladies who wore the mantilla, a kind of
veil worn as a head–dress, instead of the bonnet, which
is a part of the national costume of Spain. All over
Spain this fashion prevails, though of course the modes
of Paris are adopted by the most fashionable ladies of
the capital and other cities.
At four o’clock the ship’s company dined at the
hotel, and then wandered about the city at will till dark.
They were advised to retire at an early hour, and most
of them did so. They were called at half–past four in
the morning, and at six were on the train. At half–past
eight they were at Tudela, the head of navigation on
the Ebro. At quarter past one they were at Miranda,
on the line from Bayonne to Madrid, where dinner was
waiting for them. This meal was decidedly Spanish,
though it was served in courses. The soup was odorous
of garlic, which is the especial vice of Spanish
cookery to those who have an aversion to it. Then
came the national dish, the _olla podrida_, a kind of stew
made of every kind of meat and every kind of vegetable,
not omitting a profusion of garlic. Some of the
students declared that it was “first–rate.” A few did
not like it at all, and more were willing to tolerate it.
We do not consider it “bad to take.” The next dish
was calves’ brains fried in batter, which is not national,
but is oftener had at the hotels than _olla podrida_. The
next course was mutton chops, followed by roast
chicken, with a salad. The dessert was fruit and
raisins. On the table was plenty of _Val de Peñas_ wine,
which the students were forbidden to taste.
At half–past two the tourists departed, and at twenty
minutes to six arrived in the darkness at Burgos. The
port watch went to the _Fonda del Norte_, and the starboard
to the _Fonda Rafaela_. The doctor and the captain were
at the latter, and it was more like the inns of Don
Quixote’s time than any that Sheridan had seen. It
had no public room except the _comedor_, or dining–room.
The hotel seemed to be a number of buildings thrown
together around a court–yard, on one side of which was
the stable. Sheridan and Murray were shown to a
room with six other students, but the apartment contained
four beds. It was large enough for four more,
being not less than thirty feet long, and half as wide.
It was comfortably furnished, and every thing about it
was clean and neat. The establishment was not unlike
an old–fashioned country tavern in New England.
Dinner, or, as the students called it, supper, was
served at six o’clock. The meal was Spanish, being
about the same as the one they had taken at Miranda.
Instead of the _olla podrida_ was a kind of stew, which
in the days of Gil Blas would have been called a
_ragout_.
“This isn’t a bad dinner,” said Murray, when they
had finished the third course.
“It is a very good one, I think,” replied Sheridan.
“I have been reading books of travel in Spain for
the last two weeks, most of them written by Englishmen;
and I had come to the conclusion that we should
be starved to death if we left the ship for more than
a day or two. The writers found a great deal of fault
with their food, and growled about garlic. I rather like
garlic.”
“The doctor says the English are very much given
to grumbling about every thing,” added Sheridan. “I
don’t think we shall starve if we are fed as well as we
have been so far.”
“Our room is as good as we have found in most of
the hotels in other countries. So far, the trains on the
railroads have been on time instead of an hour late, as
one writer declared they always were.”
“If one insists upon growling, it is easy enough to
find something to growl at.”
In the evening some of the party strolled about town,
but it was as quiet as a tomb; for the rule in Spain is,
“Early to bed, and late to rise.” But the students
were out of bed in good time in the morning, and
taking a view of the city. They found a very pretty
promenade along the little river Arlanzon, whose waters
find their way into the Duero; and at a considerable
distance from it obtained a fine view of the great
cathedral. It is impossible to obtain any just view of it,
except at a distance, on account of the mass of buildings
which are huddled around it, and close to it. But the
vast church towers above them all, and presents to
the eye a forest of spires great and small. Near the
river, in an irregular _plaza_, is an old gateway, which is
quite picturesque. The structure looks like a castle,
with round towers at the corners, and circular turrets.
On the front are a number of figures carved in stone.
Breakfast was served at half–past ten, and dinner at
six, at the _Fonda_; but special tables were set for the
students at more convenient hours. A Spanish meal
could not be agreeable to nice and refined American
people. The men often sit with their hats on, and
between the courses smoke a cigarette, or _cigarillo_ in
Spanish. They converse in an energetic tone, but are
polite if addressed, though they mind their own business
severely, and seem to be devoid of curiosity—or at
least are too dignified to stare—in regard to strangers.
The food is very odorous of onions and garlic, and in
the smaller inns consists largely of stews or ragouts,
generally of mutton or kidneys. New cheese, not
pressed, is sometimes an item of the bill of fare. _Val
de Pañas_ wine is furnished free all over Spain at the
_table d’hote_; but it always tastes of the skins in which
it is transported, and most Americans who partake of
it think it is poor stuff. Great quantities of it are
exported to Bordeaux, where it is manufactured into
claret.
After breakfast, the students were assembled to enable
Professor Mapps to tell them something about the
history of the city, to which he added a very full account
of the Cid. Of his remarks we can give only an
abstract.
Burgos is one of the most famous cities of Castile, of
which it was at one time the capital. The name comes
from the same word as “Burg,” and means a fortified
eminence; and such it is, being on the watershed between
the basins of the Ebro and the Duero. It was
founded in 884 by a Castilian knight. It was the
birthplace of Ferdinand Gonzales, who first took the
title of Count of Castile, shook off the yoke of Leon,
and established the kingdom of Castile. The city is
on the direct line to Madrid from Paris. The French
captured the place in 1808; and it was twice besieged
and taken by the Duke of Wellington in the peninsular
war.
The Cid is the popular hero of Spain, and especially
of the people of Burgos. He was the King Arthur of
Spain, and there is about as much romance in his history
as in that of the British demigod. The Cid Campeador,
“knight champion,” was born about 1040, and
died when he was not much over fifty. His name was
Rodrigo Ruy Diaz; and his marvellous exploits are
set forth in the “Poem of the Cid,” believed to have
been written in the twelfth century. It is the oldest
poem in the Spanish language. His first great deed
was to meet the Count Gomez, who had grossly insulted
the Cid’s aged father, in a fair fight in the field, and
utterly vanquish him, cutting off his head. The old
man was unable to eat from brooding over his wrong;
but, when Ruy appeared with the head of the slain
count, his appetite was restored. By some he is said
to have married Ximena, the daughter of his dead
adversary. Great was the fame of the Cid’s prowess
after this exploit. Shortly after this event, five Moorish
kings, with a powerful force, entered Castile; and
the Cid roused the country to oppose their progress,
and fell upon the enemy, routing the five kings with
great slaughter, and making all of them his prisoners.
Then he fought for King Ferdinand against the Aragonese,
and won all that was in dispute. When France
demanded the homage of his king, he entered that
country, and won a victory which settled the question
of homage for all time. After this event he did considerable
domestic fighting when Castile was divided
among the sons of the dead sovereign; and was finally
banished by the new king. He departed with his
knights and men–at–arms, and took up a strong position
in the territory of the Moors, where he made war,
right and left, with all the kingdoms of the peninsula
except his own country, which he had the grace to
except in his conquests. He took Valencia, where he
seems to have established himself. His last exploit in
the flesh was the capture of Murviedro. Then he died,
and was buried in Valencia.
Now that the Cid, who had been the scourge of the
Moors, was dead, the Christians could no longer hold
out against the infidels, and were in danger of losing
what they had gained. In this emergency they clothed
the corpse of the dead hero in armor, and fastened it
on his war–steed, placing his famous sword in his hand.
Thus equipped for battle, the dead Cid was led into the
field in the midst of the soldiers. The very sight of
him struck terror to the hearts of the Moslems, and
the defunct warrior won yet another battle. He was
marched through the land, the enemy fleeing before
him in every direction, to Burgos. He seems not to
have been buried when he got there, but was embalmed
and placed in a chair of state, where he went into the
business of working miracles. His long white beard
fell upon his breast, his sword was at his side, and he
seemed to be alive rather than dead. One day a Jew,
out of bravado, attempted to take hold of his venerable
beard, when the Cid began to draw his sword, whereat
the Jew was so frightened that he fainted away. When
he recovered he at once became a Christian. The Cid
was a fiery man, and did not hesitate to slap the face of
a king or the pope, if he was angry. Even after he was
dead, and sitting in his chair, he sometimes lost his
temper; and Ximine found it expedient to bury him, in
order to keep him out of trouble.
The students went to the cathedral first. It is a vast
pile of buildings, and is considered one of the finest
churches in Europe. There is an immense amount of
fine and delicate work about it, which cannot be described.
The dome is so beautiful that Philip II. said
it was the work of angels rather than men. The choir
is quite a lofty enclosure, which obstructs the view
from the pavement. The archbishop’s palace, and the
cloister, on one side, seem to be a part of the church.
It contains, as usual, a great many chapels, each of
which has its own treasures of art or antiquity. In
one of them is the famous Christ of Burgos, which is
said to have been made by Nicodemus after he and
Joseph of Arimathea had buried the Saviour. As
usual, it was found in a box floating in the sea.
The hair, beard, eyelashes, and the thorns, are all
real; and a French writer says the skin of the figure
is human. The image works miracles without number,
sweats on Friday, and even bleeds at times; and is
held in the highest veneration by the people.
In another chapel is the coffer of the Cid, an old
worm–eaten chest bound with iron. When the champion
was banished by the king, as he wanted to go off
with flying colors, and was in need of a large sum of
money, he filled this chest with sand and stones, and,
without allowing them to look into it, assured a couple
of rich Jews that it was full of gold and jewels. They
took his word for it (strange as such a transaction would
be in modern times), and loaned the money he needed.
When he had captured Valencia, he paid the loan, and
exposed the cheat he had put upon them. Of course
they were willing to forgive him after he had paid the
money.
The next point of interest with the students was the
town hall, where they were permitted to look upon the
bones of the Cid and his wife, which are kept in a box,
with a wire screen over them to prevent any heathen
from stealing them. The bones are all mixed up, and
no one can tell which belong to the Cid and which to
his wife.
At noon Dr. Winstock procured an antiquated carriage
at the hotel stable, and took Sheridan and Murray
out into the country. After a ride of a couple of miles
they reached Miraflores, which is a convent founded by
John II., and finished by Isabella I. Its church contains
the royal tomb in which John II. is buried, and is
one of the finest things of the kind in the world, the
sculpture being of the most delicate character. Several
other Castilian kings are buried in this place.
The little party took the carriage again, intending to
visit the Monastery of San Pedro de Cardeña. There
was no road, only an ill–defined track across the fields;
and very rough fields they were, covered with rocks so
thick that the vehicle often had to pass over many of
them. The passengers were terribly shaken up. On
the way they occasionally met a peasant riding on or
leading a mule or donkey loaded with various commodities
carried in panniers. They were interesting as a
study.
San Pedro is nothing but a ruin. It was established
in the fifth century; and in the ninth the Moors destroyed
the edifice, and killed two hundred monks who
lived in it. It was rebuilt; and, being the favorite convent
of the Cid, he requested that he might be buried in
it. The monument is in a side chapel, and looks as
though it had been whitewashed at no very remote
period. The doctor read the inscription on the empty
tomb. A dirty peasant who joined the party as soon
as they got out the carriage followed them at every
step, almost looking into their mouths when they spoke.
When the party started to return, things began to be
very lively with them. First Sheridan rubbed his legs;
then Murray did so; and before long the doctor
joined in the recreation.
“What’s the matter?” asked the surgeon, laughing.
“I don’t know; but my legs feel as though I had
an attack of the seven–years’ itch,” replied the captain
with a vigorous attempt to reach and conquer the difficulty.
“That’s just my case,” added Murray, with an
equally violent demonstration.
“I don’t understand it,” continued the captain.
“I do,” answered the surgeon, vigorously rubbing
one of his legs.
“What is it?” asked Sheridan, suspecting that they
all had some strange disease.
“_Cosas de España_,” laughed the doctor.
“But that is Spanish; and I don’t understand the
lingo.”
“A _cosa de España_ is a ‘thing of Spain;’ fleas
are things of Spain; and that is what is the matter
with you and me. The lining of this carriage has
been repaired by covering it in part with cloth with a
long nap, which is alive with fleas.”
“The wicked flea!” exclaimed Murray.
“He goeth about in Spain, seeking whom he may
devour,” added the doctor.
When they reached the hotel, supper was ready;
but they did not want any just then, for no one feels
hungry while a myriad of fleas are picking his bones.
Garments were taken off, and brushed on the inside;
the skin was washed with cologne–water; and the party
were happy till they took in a new supply.
At about eleven at night, the ship’s company took
the train south, and at quarter past eight the next
morning were at _El Escorial_.