SIGHTS IN MADRID.
After an early breakfast—early for Spain—the
students were assembled in a large hall provided
by the landlord; and Professor Mapps gave the usual
lesson relating to the city they were visiting:—
“The population of Madrid has fallen off from about
four hundred thousand to the neighborhood of three
hundred thousand. The city was in existence in the
tenth century, but was not of much account till the
sixteenth, when Charles V. took up his residence here.
Toledo was at that time the capital, as about every
prominent city of Spain had been before. In 1560
Philip III. made Madrid the sole capital of the country;
and it has held this distinction down to this day, though
Philip II. tried to move it to Valladolid. It is twenty–two
hundred feet above the level of the sea; and the
cutting off of all the trees in the vicinity—and I may
add in all Spain—has injuriously affected the climate.
This region has been said to have but two seasons,—‘nine
months of winter, and three months of hell.’ If
it is very cold in winter, it is probably by comparison
with the southern part of the peninsula. Like many
other cities of Spain, Madrid has been captured by the
English and the French.”
Though the professor had much more to say, we
shall report only these few sentences. The students
hastened out to see the city; and the surgeon took the
captain and the first lieutenant under his wing, as usual.
They went into the _Puerta del Sol_,—the Gate of the
Sun. Most of the city in early days lay west of this
point, so that its eastern gate was where the centre now
is. As the sun first shone on this gate, it was called
the gate of the sun. Though the gate is gone, the
place where it was located still retains the name. It is
nearly in the shape of an ellipse; and most of the
principal streets radiate from it. It usually presents a
very lively scene, by day or by night. It is always full
of peddlers of matches, newspapers, lottery–tickets, and
other merchandise.
“Where shall we go?” said the doctor.
“We will leave that to you,” replied Sheridan. “You
know the ropes in this ship, and we don’t.”
“I think we will go first to the royal palace; and we
had better take a _berlina_, as they call it here.”
“A _berlina_? Is it a pill?” asked Murray.
“No; it is a carriage,” laughed the doctor. “Do
you see that one with a tin sign on the corner, with ‘_se
alquila_’ painted on it? That means that the vehicle is
not engaged.”
The _berlina_ was called, and the party were driven
down the _Calla del Arenal_ to the palace. It is a magnificent
building, one of the finest in Europe, towering
far above every thing else in the city. It is the most
sightly structure in Madrid. In front of it is the _Plaza
del Oriente_, and in the rear are extensive gardens, reaching
down to the Manzanares. On the right of it are
the royal stables, and on the left is the royal armory.
“When I was in Madrid, in the time of the late
queen, no one was admitted to the palace because some
vandal tourists had damaged the frescos and marbles,”
said Dr. Winstock. “But for the last year it has been
opened. Your uniform and my passport will open the
doors to us.”
“What has the uniform to do with it?” asked Murray.
“A uniform is generally respected in Europe; for it
indicates that those who wear it hold some naval or
military office.”
“We don’t hold any such office,” added Sheridan.
“But you are officers of a very respectable institution.”
As the doctor anticipated, admission was readily
obtained; and the trio were conducted all over the
palace, not excepting the apartments of the late queen.
There is nothing especially noteworthy about it, for it
was not unlike a score of other palaces the party had
visited.
In the stables, the party saw the state coaches; but,
as they had seen so many royal carriages, they were
more interested in an American buggy because it
looked like home. The doctor pointed out the old
coach in which Crazy Jane carried about with her the
body of her dead husband. The provisional government
had sold off most of the horses and mules. In
the yard is a bath for horses.
From the stables the trio went to the armory, which
contains many objects of interest. The suits of armor
are kept as clean and nice as they were when in use.
Those worn by Charles V. and Philip II. were examined
with much care; but there seemed to be no marks
of any hard knocks on them. At the head of the room
stands a figure of St. Ferdinand, dressed in regal robes,
with a golden crown on the head and a sword in the
hand, which is borne in solemn procession to the royal
chapel by priests, on the 29th of May, and is kept there
two weeks to receive the homage of the people.
In another room is a great variety of articles of historic
interest, among which may be mentioned the steel
writing–desk of Charles V., the armor he wore when he
entered Tunis, his camp–stool and bed, and, above all,
the steel armor, ornamented with gold, that was worn
by Columbus. In the collection of swords were those
of the principal kings, the great captain, and other
heroes.
“There is the armor of Isabella, which she wore
at the siege of Granada,” said the doctor.
“Did she fight?” asked Murray.
“No more than her husband. Both were sovereigns
in their own right; and it was the fashion to wear these
things.”
“Very likely she had this on when Columbus called
to see her at Granada,” suggested Sheridan.
“I don’t know about that. I fancy she did not
wear it in the house, but only when she presented herself
before the army,” replied the doctor.
The party spent a long time in this building, so
interested were the young men in viewing these memorials
of the past grandeur of Spain. After dinner they
went to the naval museum, which is near the armory.
It contains a great number of naval relics, models of
historic vessels, captured flags, and similar mementos
of the past. The chart of Columbus was particularly
interesting to the students from the New World. There
are several historical paintings, representing scenes in
the lives of Cortes, Pizarro, and De Soto. A portrait
of Columbus is flanked on each side by those of the
sovereigns who patronized him.
“This is a beautiful day,” said Dr. Winstock, as
they left the museum. “They call it very cold here,
when the mercury falls below the freezing point. It
does not often get below twenty–four, and seldom so
low as that. I think the glass to–day is as high as
fifty–five.”
“I call it a warm day for winter,” added Sheridan.
“But the air of this city is very subtle. It will kill
a man, the Spaniards say, when it will not blow out a
candle. I think we had better take a _berlina_, and ride
over to the _Prado_. The day is so fine that we may
possibly see some of the summer glories of the place.”
“What are they?” asked Murray.
“To me they are the people who walk there; but of
course the place is the pleasantest when the trees and
shrubs are in foliage.”
A _berlina_ was called, and the party drove through
the _Calle Mayor_, the _Puerta del Sol_, and the _Calle de
Alcala_, which form a continuous street, the broadest
and finest in Madrid, from the palace to the Prado,
which are on opposite sides of the city. A continuation
of this street forms one end of the _Prado_; and another
of the _Calle de Atocha_, a broad avenue reaching from
the _Plaza Mayor_, near the palace, forms the other end.
These are the two widest streets of Madrid. The _Calle
de Alcala_ is wide enough to be called a boulevard,
and contains some of the finest buildings in the city.
“That must be the bull–ring,” said Sheridan, as the
party came in sight of an immense circular building.
“I have read that it will hold twelve thousand people.”
“Some say sixteen thousand; but I think it would
not take long to count all it would hold above ten
thousand. Philip V. did not like bull–fights, and he
tried to do away with them; but the spectacle is the
national sport, and the king made himself very unpopular
by attempting to abolish it. As a stroke of policy,
to regain his popularity, he built this _Plaza de Toros_.
It is what you see; but it is open to the weather in the
middle; and all bull–fights are held, ‘_Si el tiempo no lo
impide_’ (if the weather does not prevent it). This is
the _Puerta de Alcala_,” continued the doctor, pointing
to a triumphal arch about seventy feet high, built by
Charles III. “The gardens on the right are the ‘_Buen
Retiro_,’ pleasant retreat. Now we will turn, and go
through the _Prado_, though all this open space is often
called by this name.”
“But what is the ‘pleasant retreat’?”
“It is a sort of park and garden, not very attractive
at that, with a pond, a menagerie, and an observatory.
It is not worth the trouble of a visit,” added the doctor,
as he directed the driver to turn the _berlina_.
“I have often seen a picture of that statue,” said
Sheridan, as they passed a piece of sculpture representing
a female seated on a chariot drawn by lions.
“That is the Cybele.”
“Who is she?”
“Wife of Saturn, and mother of the gods,” replied
Sheridan.
“This is the _Salon del Prado_” continued the doctor,
as the carriage turned to the left into an avenue
two hundred feet wide. “There are plenty of people
here, and I think we had better get out and walk, if
you are not too tired; for you want to see the people.”
The _berlina_ was dismissed, and the party joined the
throng of _Madrileños_. Dr. Winstock called the attention
of his young friends to three ladies who were
approaching them. They wore the mantilla, which is
a long black lace veil, worn as a head–dress, but falling
in graceful folds below the hips. The ladies—except
the high class, fashionable people—wear no bonnets.
The mantilla is a national costume, and the fan is a
national institution among them. They manage the
latter, as well as the former, with peculiar grace; and
it has even been said that they flirt with it, being able
to express their sentiments by its aid.
“But these ladies are not half so pretty as I supposed
the Spanish women were,” said Murray.
“That only proves that you supposed they were
handsomer than they are,” laughed Sheridan.
“They are not so handsome here as in Cadiz and
Seville, I grant,” added the doctor; “but still I think
they are not bad looking.”
“I will agree to that,” replied Murray. “They are
good–looking women, and that’s all you can say of
them.”
“Probably you have got some extravagant ideas
about Spanish girls from the novels you have read,”
laughed the doctor; “and it is not likely that your
ideal beauty will be realized, even in Cadiz and Seville.
Here is the _Dos de Mayo_.”
“Who’s she?” asked Murray, looking rather vacantly
at a granite obelisk in the middle of an enclosed garden.
“It is not a woman,” replied the doctor.
“Excuse me; I think you said a dose of something,”
added Murray.
“That monument has the name of ‘_El Dos de
Mayo_,’ which means ‘the second of May.’ It commemorates
a battle fought on this spot in 1808 by the
peasants, headed by three artillerymen, and the French.
The ground enclosed is called ‘The Field of Loyalty.’”
“What is this long building ahead?” inquired Sheridan.
“That’s the Royal Museum, which contains the richest
collection of paintings in Europe.”
“Isn’t that putting it pretty strong, after what we
have seen in Italy and Germany?” asked Sheridan.
“I don’t say the largest or the best–arranged collection
in Europe, but the richest. It has more of the old
masters, of the best and most valuable pictures in the
world, than any other museum. We will go there
to–morrow, and you can judge for yourselves.”
“Of course we are competent to do that,” added
Murray with a laugh.
“We haven’t been to any churches yet, doctor,” said
Sheridan.
“There are many churches in Madrid, but none of
any great interest. The city has no cathedral.”
“I am thankful for that!” exclaimed Murray. “I
have seen churches enough, though of course I shall go
to the great cathedrals when we come to them.”
“You will be spared in Madrid. Philip II. was
asked to erect one; but he would appropriate only a
small sum for the purpose, because he did not wish any
church to rival that of the Escurial.”
“I am grateful to him,” added Murray.
“The Atocha church contains an image which is
among the most venerated in Spain. It works miracles,
and was carved by St. Luke.”
“Another job by St. Luke!” exclaimed Murray.
“That is hardly respectful to an image whose magnificent
dress and rich jewels would build half a score
of cheap churches.”
“Are there any theatres in Madrid, doctor?” asked
Murray.
“Of course there are; half a dozen of them. The
principal is the Royal Theatre, near the palace, where
the performance is Italian opera. It is large enough
to hold two thousand; but there is nothing Spanish
about it. If you want to see the Spanish theatre you
must go to some of the smaller ones. As you don’t
understand Spanish, I think you will not enjoy it.”
“I want to see the customs of the country.”
“The only custom you will see will be smoking; and
you can see that anywhere, except in the churches,
where alone, I believe, it is not permitted. Everybody
smokes, even the women and children. I have seen a
youngster not more than five years old struggling with
a _cigarillo_; and I suppose it made him sick before he
got through with it; at least, I hope it did, for the
nausea is nature’s protest against the practice.”
“But do the ladies smoke?”
“Not in public; but in private many of them do. I
have seen some very pretty girls smoking in Spain.”
“I don’t remember that I have seen a man drunk in
Spain,” said Sheridan.
“Probably you have not; I never did. The Spaniards
are very temperate.”
This long talk brought the party back to the hotel
just at dark. The next day was Sunday; but many of
the students visited the churches, though most of them
were willing to make it a day of rest, in the strictest
sense of the word. On Monday morning, as the
museum did not open till one o’clock, the doctor and
his _protégés_ took a _berlina_, and rode out to the palace
of the Marquis of Salamanca, where they were permitted
to explore this elegant residence without restraint.
In one of the apartments they saw a large
picture of the Landing of the Pilgrims, by a Spanish
artist; and it was certainly a strange subject. Connected
with the palace is a museum of antiquities quite
extensive for a private individual to own. The Pompeian
rooms contain a vast quantity of articles from
the buried city.
“Who is this Marquis of Salamanca?” asked Sheridan,
as they started on their return.
“He is a Spanish nobleman, a grandee of Spain
I suppose, who is somewhat noted as a financier.
He has invested some money in railroads in the United
States. The town of Salamanca, at the junction of the
Erie and Great Western, in Western New York, was
named after him,” replied Dr. Winstock.
“I have been through the place,” added Sheridan.
“This is not a very luxurious neighborhood,” said
Murray, when they came to one of those villages of
poor people, of which there were several just outside
of the city.
“Generally in Europe the rich are very rich, and the
poor are very poor. Though the rich are not as rich in
Spain as in some other countries, there is no exception
to the rule in its application to the poor. These hovels
are even worse than the homes of the poor in Russia.
Wouldn’t you like to look into one of them?”
“Would it be considered rude for us to do so?”
asked Sheridan.
“Not at all. These people are not so sensitive as
poor folks in America; but, if they are hurt by our
curiosity, a couple of _reales_ will repair all the damages.”
“Is this a _château en Espagne_?” said Murray. “I
have read about such things, but I never saw one
before.”
“_Châteaux en Espagne_ are castles in the air,—things
unreal and unsubstantial; and, so far as the idea of
comfort is concerned, this is a _château en Espagne_. When
we were in Ireland, an old woman ran out of a far
worse shanty than this, and, calling it an Irish castle,
begged for money. In the same sense we may call
this a Spanish castle.”
The carriage was stopped, and the party alighted.
“You see, the people live out–doors, even in the
winter,” said the doctor. “The door of this house is
wide open, and you can look in.”
The proprietor of the establishment stood near the
door. He wore his cloak with as much style as though
he had been an hidalgo. Under this garment his clothes
were ragged and dirty; and he wore a pair of spatterdashes,
most of the buttons of which were wanting, and
it was only at a pinch that they staid on his ankles.
His wife and four children stopped their work, or their
play, as the case was, and gazed at the unwonted
visitors.
“_Buenos dias, caballero_,” said the doctor, as politely
as though he had been saluting a grandee.
The man replied no less politely.
“May we look into your house?” asked the doctor.
“_Esta muy a la disposicion de usted_,” replied the
_caballero_ (it is entirely at your disposal).
This is a _cosa de España_. If you speak of any thing
a Spaniard has, he makes you a present of it, be it his
house or his horse, or any thing else; but you are not
expected to avail yourself of his generosity. It would
be as impolite to take him at his word as it would be
for him not to place it “at your disposal.”
The house was of one story, and had but one door
and one window, the latter very small indeed. The
floor was of cobble–stones bedded in the mud. The
little window was nothing but a hole; there was no
glass in it; and the doctor said, that, when the weather
was bad, the occupants had to close the door, and put
a shutter over the window, so that they had no light.
The interior was divided into two rooms, one containing
a bed. Every thing was as simple as possible.
The roof of the shanty was covered with tile which
looked like broken flower–pots. In front, for use in
the summer, was an attempt at a veranda, with vines
running up the posts.
The doctor gave the smallest of the children a _peseta_,
and bade the man a stately adieu, which was answered
with dignity enough for an ambassador. The party
drove off, glad to have seen the interior of a Spanish
house.
“Why did you give the money to the child instead
of the father?” asked Sheridan.
“I suppose your experience in other parts of Europe
would not help you to believe it, but the average Spaniard
who is not a professional beggar is too proud to
receive money for any small favor,” replied the doctor.
“I have had a _peseta_ indignantly refused by a man who
had rendered me a small service. This is as strange
as it is true, though, when you come to ride on a _diligencia_,
you will find that driver, postilion, and _zagal_ will
do their best to get a gratuity out of you. I speak
only of the Spaniard who does you a favor, and not
those with whom you deal; but, as a general rule, the
people are too proud to cheat you.”
“They are very odd sort of people,” added Murray.
“There is one shovelling with his cloak on.”
“Not an unusual sight. I have seen a man ploughing
in the field with his cloak on, and that on a rather
warm day. You notice here that the houses are not
scattered as they are with us; but even these shanties
are built in villages,” continued the doctor.
“I noticed that the houses were all in villages in all
the country we have come through since we left Barcelona,”
said Murray.
“Can you explain the reason?”
“I do not see any reason except that is the fashion
of the country.”
“There is a better reason than that. In early days
the people had to live in villages in order to be able
to defend themselves from enemies. In Spain the
custom never changes, if isolated houses are even safe
at the present time.”
“What is that sheet of paper hanging on the balcony
for?” asked Murray. “There is another; and
now I can see half a dozen of them.” The _berlina_
was within a short distance of the _Puerta del Sol_.
“A sheet of white paper in the middle of the balcony
signifies that the people have rooms to let; if at
the corner, they take boarders.”
The party arrived at the hotel in season for dinner;
and, when it was over, they hastened to the _Museo_, or
picture–gallery. The building is very long, and of no
particular architectural effect. It has ten apartments
on the principal floor, in which are placed the gems of
the collection. In the centre of the edifice is a very
long room which contains the burden of the paintings.
There are over two thousand of them, and they are the
property of the Crown. Among them are sixty–two by
Rubens, fifty–three by Teniers, ten by Raphael, forty–six
by Murillo, sixty–four by Velasquez, twenty–two by
Van Dyck, forty–three by Titian, thirty–four by Tintoretto,
twenty–five by Paul Veronese, and hundreds by
other masters hardly less celebrated.
The doctor’s party spent three hours among these
pictures, and they went to the museum for the same
time the next day; for they could better appreciate
these gems than most of the students, many of whom
were not willing to use a single hour in looking at
them. Our party visited the public buildings, and
took many rides and walks in the city and its vicinity,
which we have not the space to report. On Wednesday
morning the ship’s company started for Toledo.