THE ESCURIAL AND PHILIP II.
Before the train stopped, the students obtained
a fair view of the Escurial, which is a vast pile
of buildings, located in the most desolate place to be
found even in Spain. The village is hardly less solemn
and gloomy than the tremendous structure that towers
above. The students breakfasted at the two _fondas_ in
the place; and then Mr. Mapps, as usual, had something
to say to them:—
“The Escurial, or _El Escorial_ as it is called in
Spanish, is a monastery, palace, and church. The
name is derived from _scoriæ_, the refuse of iron–lore
after it is smelted; and there were iron–mines in this
vicinity. The full name of the building is ‘_El Real
Sitio de San Lorenzo el Real del Escorial_,’ or, literally,
‘The Royal Seat of St. Lawrence, the Royal, of the
Escurial.’ It was built by Philip II. in commemoration
of the battle of St. Quentin, in 1557, won by the arms
of Philip, though he was not present at the battle. He
had made a vow, that, if the saint gave him the victory,
he would build the most magnificent monastery in the
world in his honor. St. Lawrence was kind enough to
accommodate him with the victory; and this remarkable
pile of buildings was the result. Philip redeemed his
vow, and even did more than this; for, in recognition
of the fact that the saint was martyred on a gridiron,
he built this monastery in the form of that useful cooking
implement. As you see, the structure is in the
form of a square; and, within it, seventeen ranges of
buildings cross each other at right angles. The towers
at each corner are two hundred feet high; and the
grand dome in the centre is three hundred and twenty
feet high.
“The total length of the building is seven hundred
and forty feet, by five hundred and eighty feet wide.
It was begun in 1563, when Philip laid the corner–stone
with his own hands; and was completed twenty–one
years later. It cost, in money of our time, fifteen
millions of dollars. It has four thousand windows;
though you may see that most of them are rather small.
The church, which is properly the chapel of the monastery,
is three hundred and seventy–five feet long, and
contains forty chapels. The high altar is ninety feet
high, and fifty feet wide, and is composed of jasper.
Directly under it is the royal tomb, in which are laid
the remains of all the sovereigns of Spain from Charles
V. to the present time. The Spaniards regard the
Escurial as the eighth wonder of the world. It is
grand, solemn, and gloomy, like Philip who built it.
In the mountain, a mile and a half from the Escurial,
is a seat built of granite, which Philip used to occupy
while watching the progress of the work.”
The students separated, dividing into parties to suit
themselves. All the available guides were engaged for
them; and in a few minutes the interior of the church
presented a scene that would have astonished the
gloomy Philip if he could have stepped out of his shelf
below to look at it, for a hundred young Americans—from
the land that Columbus gave to Castile and Leon—was
an unusual sight within its cold and deserted
walls.
“I suppose you have read the lives of Charles V.
and Philip II.,” said Dr. Winstock, as he entered the
great building with his young friends.
Both of them had read Robertson and Prescott and
Irving; and it was because they were generally well
read up that the doctor liked to be with them.
“It isn’t of much use for any one who has not read
the life of Philip II. to come here: at least, he would
be in the dark all the time,” added the doctor.
“I have seen it stated that Charles V. and his
mother, Crazy Jane, both wanted a convent built which
should contain a burial–place for the royal family,” said
Sheridan.
“That is true. All of them were very pious, and
inclined to dwell in convents. Charles V. showed his
taste at his abdication by retiring to Yuste,” replied the
surgeon.
“The architecture of the building is very plain.”
“Yes,—simple, massive, and grand.”
“Like Philip, as Professor Mapps said.”
“It took him two years to find a suitable spot for the
building,” said the doctor.
“I don’t think he could have found a worse one,”
laughed Murray.
“But he found just the one he wanted; and he did
not select it to suit you and me. Look off at those
mountains on the north,—the Guadarramas. They
tower above Philip’s mausoleum, but they do not belittle
it. The region is rough but grand: it is desolate;
but that makes it more solemn and impressive. It is
a monastery and a tomb that he built, not a pleasure–house.”
“But he made a royal residence of it,” suggested
Murray.
“For the same reason that his father chose to end
his days in a monastery. Philip would be a wild
fanatic in our day; but he is to be judged by his own
time. He was really a king and a monk, as much one
as the other. When we go into the room where he
died, and where he spent the last days of his life, and
recall some of his history there, we shall understand
him better. I don’t admire his character, but I am disposed
to do justice to him.”
The party entered the church, called in Spanish
_templo_: it is three hundred and twenty feet long, and it
is the same to the top of the cupola.
“The interior is so well proportioned that you do not
get an adequate idea of the size of it,” said the doctor.
“Consider that you could put almost any church in our
own country into this one, and have plenty of room for
its spire under that dome. It is severely plain; but I
think it is grand and impressive. The high altar, which
I believe the professor did not make as large as it really
is, is very rich in marbles and precious stones, and cost
about two hundred thousand dollars.”
“That’s enough to build twenty comfortable country
churches at home,” added Murray. “And this whole
building cost money enough to build fifteen thousand
handsome churches in any country. Of course there
are plenty of beggars in Spain.”
“That is the republican view of the matter,” replied
Dr. Winstock. “But the builder of this mighty fabric
believed he was serving God acceptably in rearing it;
and we must judge him by his motive, and consider the
age in which he lived. Observe, as Mr Ford says in
his hand–book, that the pantheon, or crypt where the
kings are buried, is just under the steps of the high
altar: it was so planned by Philip, that the host, when
it was elevated, might be above the royal dead. Now
we will go into the _relicario_.”
“I think I have seen about relics enough to last me
the rest of my lifetime,” said Sheridan.
“You need not see them if you do not wish to do
so,” laughed the surgeon. “This is a tolerably free
country just now, and you can do as you please.”
But the captain followed his party.
“The French carried away vast quantities of the
treasures of the church when they were engaged in
conquering the country. But they left the bones of the
saints, which the pious regard as the real treasures.
Among other things stolen was a statue presented by
the people of Messina to Philip III., weighing two hundred
pounds, of solid silver, and holding in its hand a
gold vessel weighing twenty–six pounds; besides forty–seven
of the richest vases, and a heavy crown set with
rubies and other precious stones,” continued Dr. Winstock,
consulting a guide–book he carried in his hand.
“This book says there are 7,421 relics here now, among
which are ten whole bodies, 144 heads, 306 whole legs
and arms; here is one of the real bars of the gridiron
on which St. Lawrence was martyred, with portions of
the broiled flesh upon it; and there is one of his feet,
with a piece of coal sticking between the toes.”
“But where did they get that bar of the gridiron?”
asked Murray earnestly. “St. Lawrence was broiled
in the third century.”
“I don’t know,” replied the doctor. “You must not
ask me any questions of that kind, for I cannot answer
them.”
The party returned to the church again; and the surgeon
called the attention of his companions to the oratorios,
one on each side of the altar, which are small
rooms for the use of the royal persons when they attend
the mass.
“The one on the left is the one used by Philip II.,”
added the doctor. “You see the latticed window
through which he looked at the priest. Next to it is
his cabinet, where he worked and where he died. We
shall visit them from the palace.”
After looking at the choir, and examining the bishop’s
throne, the party with a dozen others visited the
pantheon, or royal tomb. The descent is by a flight of
marble steps, and the walls are also of the same material.
At the second landing are two doors, that on the
left leading to the “_pantheon de los infantes_,” which is
the tomb of those queens who were not mothers of
sovereigns of Spain, and of princes who did not sit on
the throne. There are sixty bodies here, including
Don Carlos, the son of Philip, Don John of Austria,
who asked to be buried here as the proper reward for
his services, and other persons whose names are known
to history.
After looking at these interesting relics of mortality,
the tourists descended to the pantheon, which is a
heathenish name to apply to a Christian burial–place
erected by one so pious as Philip II. It is octagonal
in form, forty–six feet in diameter and thirty–eight feet
high. It is built entirely of marble and jasper. It
contains an altar of the same stone, where mass is
sometimes celebrated. These mortuary chapels were
not built by Philip II., who made only plain vaults;
but by Philip III. and Philip IV., who did not inherit
the taste for simplicity of their predecessor on the
throne. Around the tomb are twenty–six niches, all of
them made after the same pattern, each containing a
sarcophagus, in most of which is the body of a king or
queen. On the right of the altar are the kings, and on
the left the queens. All of them are labelled with the
name of the occupant, as “Carlos V.,” “Filipe II.,”
“Fernando VII.,” &c.
“Can it be possible that we see the coffins of
Charles V. and Philip II.?” said Sheridan, who was
very much impressed by the sight before him.
“There is no doubt of it,” replied the doctor.
“I can hardly believe that the body of Philip II. is
in that case,” added the captain. “I see no reason to
doubt the fact; but it seems so very strange that I
should be looking at the coffin of that cold and cruel
king who lived before our country was settled, and of
whom I have read so much.”
“I think before you leave Spain you will see something
that will impress you even more than this.”
“What is it?”
“I will not mention it yet; for it is better not to
anticipate these things. All the kings of Spain from
Charles V. are buried here, except Philip V. and Ferdinand
VI.”
“What an odd way they have here of spelling
Charles and Philip!” said Murray. “These names
don’t look quite natural to me.”
“Carlos Quinto is the Spanish for Charles Fifth;
and Ferdinand Seventh is Fernando Septimo, as you
see on the urn. But our way of writing these things is
as odd to the Spaniards as theirs is to us. The late
queen and her father, when they came to the Escurial,
used to hear mass at midnight in this tomb.”
“That was cheerful,” added Sheridan.
“They had a fancy for that sort of thing. Maria
Louisa, Philip’s wife, scratched her name on one of
these marble cases with her scissors.”
The party in the pantheon returned to the church to
make room for another company to visit it. Dr. Winstock
and his friends ascended the grand staircase, and
from the top of the building obtained a fine view of
the surrounding country, which at this season was as
desolate and forbidding as possible. After this they
took a survey of the monastery, most of which has
the aspect of a barrack. They looked with interest at
some of the portraits among the pictures, especially at
those of Philip and Charles V. In the library they
glanced at the old manuscripts, and at the catalogue
in which some of Philip’s handwriting was pointed out
to them.
They next went to the palace, which is certainly a
mean abode for a king, though it was improved and
adorned by some of the builder’s successors. Philip
asked only a cell in the house he had erected and consecrated
to God; and so he made the palace very simple
and plain. Some of the long and narrow rooms
are adorned with tapestries on the walls; but there is
nothing in the palace to detain the visitor beyond a
few minutes, except the apartments of Philip II. They
are two small rooms, hardly more than six feet wide.
One of them is Philip’s cabinet, where he worked on
affairs of state; and the other is the oratory, where he
knelt at the little latticed window which commanded a
view of the priests at the high altar of the church.
The old table at which he wrote, the chair in which he
sat, and the footstool on which he placed his gouty leg,
are still there. The doctor, who had been here before,
pointed them out to the students.
“It almost seems as though he had just left the
place,” said Sheridan. “I don’t see how a great king
could be content to spend his time in such a gloomy
den as this.”
“It was his own fancy, and he made his own nest
to suit himself,” replied the doctor. “He was writing
at that table when the loss of the invincible armada
was announced to him. It is said he did not move a
muscle, though he had wasted eighteen years of his
life and a hundred million ducats upon the fleet and
the scheme. He was kneeling at the window when
Don John of Austria came in great haste to tell him
of the victory of Lepanto; but he was not allowed to
see the king till the latter had finished his devotions.”
“He was a cool old fellow,” added Murray.
“When he was near the end, he caused himself to
be carried in a litter all over the wonderful building
he had erected, that he might take a last look at the
work of his hands,” continued the doctor. “He was
finally brought to this place, where he received extreme
unction; and, having taken leave of his family, he died,
grasping the crucifix which his father had held in his
last moments.”
The party passed out of the buildings, and gave
some time to the gardens and grounds of the Escurial.
There are some trees, a few of them the spindling and
ghostly–looking Lombardy poplars; but, beyond the
immediate vicinity of the “eighth wonder,” the country
is desolate and wild, without a tree to vary the monotony
of the scene. The doctor led the way down the
hill to the _Casita del Principe_, which is a sort of miniature
palace, built for Charles IV. when he was a boy.
It is a pretty toy, containing thirty–three rooms, all of
them of reduced size, and with furniture on the same
scale. It contains some fine pictures and other works
of art.
The tourists dined, and devoted the rest of the day
to wandering about in the vicinity of the village.
Some of them walked up to the _Silla del Rey_, or king’s
chair, where Philip overlooked the work on the Escurial.
At five o’clock the ship’s company took the slow
train, and arrived at Madrid at half–past seven, using
up two hours and a half in going thirty–two miles.
“I am sorry it is too dark for you to see the country,”
said the doctor, after the train started.
“Why, sir, is it very fine?” asked Sheridan.
“On the contrary, it is, I think, the most desolate
region on the face of the globe; with hardly a village,
not a tree, nothing but rocks to be seen. It reminds
me of some parts of Maine and New Hampshire, where
they have to sharpen the sheep’s noses to enable them
to feed among the rocks. The people are miserable
and half savage; and it is said that many of them
are clothed in sheepskins, and live in burrows in the
ground, for the want of houses; but I never saw any
thing of this kind, though I know that some of the
gypsys in the South dwell in caves in the sides of the
hills. Agriculture is at the lowest ebb, though Spain
produces vast quantities of the most excellent qualities
of grain. Like a portion of our own country, the numerous
valleys are very fertile, though in the summer
the streams of this part of Spain are all dried up. The
gypsys camp in the bed of the Manzanares, at Madrid.
Alexandre Dumas and his son went to a bull–fight at
the capital. The son was faint, as you may be, and
a glass of water was brought to him. After taking a
swallow, he handed the rest to the waiter, saying,
‘Portez cela au Manzanares: cela lui fera plaisir.’
(Carry that to the Manzanares: it will give it pleasure).”
“Good for Dumas, _fils_!” exclaimed Murray.
“There is a prejudice against trees in Spain. The
peasants will not plant them, or suffer them to grow,
except those that bear fruit; because they afford habitations
for the birds which eat up their grain. Timber
and wood for fuel are therefore very scarce and very
dear in this part of the country. But this region was
not always so barren and desolate as it is now. In
the wars with the Moors, both armies began by cutting
down the trees and burning the villages. More of
this desolation, however, was caused by a very remarkable
privilege, called the _mesta_, granted to certain of
the nobility. It gave them the right of pasturage over
vast territories, including the Castiles, Estremadura,
and La Mancha. It came to be a legal right, and
permitted immense flocks of sheep to roam across the
country twice a year, in the spring and autumn. In
the time of Philip II., the wandering flocks of sheep
were estimated at from seven to eight millions. They
devoured every thing before them in the shape of grass
and shrubs. This privilege was not abolished till
1825.”
“I should think Philip and the rest of the kings who
lived at the Escurial would have had a nice time in
going to and from the capital,” said Sheridan. “He
did not have a palace–car on the railroad in those
days.”
“After Philip’s day they did not live there a great
deal of the time, not so much because it was inconvenient
as because it was a gloomy and cheerless place.
They used to make it a rule to spend six weeks of the
year there; though the last of the sovereigns did not
live there at all, I believe. But they had good roads
and good carriages for their time. The Spaniards do
not make many roads; but what they do make are first–class.
I am sorry we do not go to Segovia, though
there is not much there except the cathedral and the
Roman aqueduct, which is a fine specimen. But you
have seen plenty of these things. Six miles from Segovia
is La Granja, or the Grange, which is sometimes
called the palace of San Ildefonso. It is a _real sitio_, or
royal residence, built by Philip V. It is a summer
retreat, in the midst of pine forests four thousand feet
above the sea–level. We went through Valladolid in
the night. Columbus died there, you remember; and
Philip II. was born there; but there is nothing of great
interest to be seen in the city.”
When the train arrived at Madrid, a lot of small
omnibuses, holding about eight persons each, were
waiting for the company; and they were driven to the
_Puerta del Sol_, where the principal hotels are located.
Half of the party went to the _Grand Hotel de Paris_,
and the other half to the _Hotel de los Principes_. Dr.
Winstock and his _protégés_ were quartered at the
former.
On shore no distinction was made between officers
and seamen, and no better rooms were given to the
former than to the latter. As two students occupied
one wide bed, they were allowed to pair off for this
purpose. It so happened that the captain and the first
lieutenant had one of the worst rooms in the house.
After they had gone up two pairs of stairs, a sign on
the wall informed them that they had reached the first
story; and four more brought them to the seven–by–nine
chamber, with a brick floor, which they were to
occupy. The furniture was very meagre.
In Spain hotels charge by the day, the price being
regulated by the size and location of the room. Such
as that we have just described was thirty–five _reales_. A
good sized inside room, two flights nearer the earth,
was fifty _reales_, with an increase of five _reales_ for an
outside room looking into the street. The table was
the same for all the guests. The price per day varies
from thirty to sixty _reales_ in Spain, forty being the
most common rate at the best hotels out of Madrid.
From two to four _reales_ a day is charged for attendance,
and one or two for candles. Two dollars a day
is therefore about the average rate. Only two meals
a day are served for this price,—a breakfast at ten or
eleven, and dinner at six.
It is the fashion in Spain, for an individual or company
to conduct several hotels in different cities. The
Fallola brothers run the grand Hotel de Paris in
Madrid, the ones with the same name in Seville and in
Cadiz, and the Hotel Suiza in Cordova; and they are
the highest–priced hotels on the peninsula, and doubtless
the best. The company that manages the Hotel
de Los Principes in Madrid also have the Rizzi in
Cordova, the Londres in Seville, the Cadiz in Cadiz,
and the Siete Suelos in Granada, in which the prices
are more moderate. The Hotel Washington Irving at
Granada, and the Alameda in Malaga, are under the
same management, and charge forty–four and forty
_reales_ a day respectively, besides service and lights.
Though Spain is said to be an expensive country to
live in, these prices in 1870 were only about half those
charged in the United States.
Railroad fares are about two cents and a half a mile,
second class; and about a third higher, first class. A
one–horse carriage for two costs forty cents an hour in
Madrid; and for four persons, two horses, fifty cents.
A very handsome carriage, with driver and footman in
livery, may be had for five dollars a day.
After supper the students walked about the _Puerta
del Sol_, and took their first view of the capital of
Spain.