We embark at Gibraltar for Tangier in a small coasting steamer, crossing
the straits which separate Europe from Africa, a distance of less than a
hundred miles. As we draw away from the Spanish shore, the long range of
Andalusian mountains stands out compact and clear, the snow-white
summits sparkling in the sunshine. On the lowlands, sloping to the
water's edge, the fields are robed in a soft green attire, dotted with
herds of goats and cattle. Old stone watch-towers line the shore at
regular intervals, and coast-guard houses sheltering squads of soldiers,
for this region is famous as the resort of smugglers and lawless bands
of rovers. On the opposite coast of Africa, the Ceuta range grows every
moment more distinct, the loftiest peaks mantled with snow, like the
bleached, flowing drapery of the Bedouins. Still further on, dazzling
white hamlets enliven the Morocco shore, with deep green, tropical
verdure in the background. Ceuta attracts our interest, being a Spanish
penal colony, which is surrounded by jealous, warlike Moors,
slave-traders, and smugglers.
Tangier stands on the western shore of a shallow bay, upon a sloping
hillside, but it is not at all impressive as one approaches it. The
windowless houses rise like cubical blocks of masonry one above another,
dominated by a few square towers which crown the several mosques; while
here and there a consular flag floats lazily upon the air from a lofty
pole. The rude, irregular wall which surrounds the city is seen
stretching about it, pierced with arched Moorish gates.
Oriental as Cairo is, Tangier strikes us as even more so. In coming from
Gibraltar, one seems, by a single step as it were, to have passed from
civilization to barbarism. There is no European quarter here. Every
evidence of the proximity of the opposite continent disappears: the
distance might be immeasurable. The city has narrow, dirty, twisted
streets, through which no vehicle can pass, and which are scarcely
accessible for donkeys, camels, and foot-passengers. There is not a
straight or level street in all Tangier. Veiled women, clad in white,
move about the lanes like uneasy spirits; men in scarlet turbans and
striped robes lounge carelessly about, with their bare heels sticking
out of yellow slippers. Now we meet a tawny Arab, a straggling son of
the desert, his striped abba or white bournous (robe-like garments)
hanging in graceful folds about his tall, straight figure; and now a
Nubian, with only a waistcloth about his body. The scene is constantly
changing. There are Jews, with dark blue vests and red sashes; Jewesses,
in bright purple silks, and with uncovered, handsome faces. Here and
there is seen a Maltese or Portuguese sailor hiding from punishment for
some crime committed on the opposite continent. The variety of races one
meets in these contracted passage-ways is indeed curious, represented by
faces yellow, bronze, white, and black. Add to all, the crowd of
donkey-boys, camels, goats, and street pedlers, crying, bleating,
blustering, and braying, and we get an idea of the sights and sounds
that constantly greet one in this Moorish capital.
The slave market is situated just outside of the city walls, where the
sales take place on the Sabbath, which is regarded as a sort of holiday.
The average price of the women and girls is from fifty to sixty dollars,
according to age and good looks; the men vary much in price, according
to the demand for labor. About the large open space of the market is a
group of Bedouins, just arrived from the interior with dried fruits,
dates, and the like. Camels and men, weary after the long tramp, are
reclining upon the ground, forming a picture only to be seen on the
border of the desert, and beneath the glow and shimmer of an African
sun.
We ascend the heights, which form a background to the city. The sloping
hillside is mostly occupied by a few European merchants and the consuls
of the several nations. Their villas are very picturesque, half buried
in foliage, and located in an atmosphere redolent with fruits and
flowers. From the fronts of their dwellings the view is superb: the
broad piazzas are hung here and there with hammocks, telling of
luxurious out-door life; family groups are seen taking their morning
coffee on the verandas, and the voices of many children ring out, clear
and bird-like, floating up to the eyrie where we are perched; down
towards the shore lies brown, dingy, dirty Tangier, with its mud-colored
groups of tiled roofs, its teeming population, its mouldy old walls, its
Moorish arched gates, and its minarets, square and dominant. On our way
back we again pass through the slave market, where a bevy of
dancing-girls with tambourines and castanets look wistfully at us,
hoping for an audience.
Nearly the last sound that greets our ears, as we walk over the
irregular pavements and through the narrow lanes toward the pier whence
we are to embark, is the rude music of the snake-charmer; and the last
sight is that of a public story-teller in one of the little squares,
earnestly gesticulating before a score of eager listeners while he
recites a chapter from the "Thousand and One Nights."
The sultan of Morocco is supreme, and holds the lives and fortunes of
his subjects at his will. He is judge and executioner of the laws, which
emanate from himself. Taxation is so heavy as to amount to prohibition,
in many departments of enterprise; exportation is hampered, agriculture
so heavily loaded with taxes that it is only pursued so far as to supply
the bare necessities of life; manufacture is just where it was centuries
ago, and is performed with the same primitive tools; the printing-press
is unknown; there are no books, save the Koran; and the language is such
a mixture of tongues, and is so corrupted, as to hardly have a
distinctive existence. The people obey the local sheikhs (pronounced
_sh[=a]k_); above them are the cadis, who control provinces; and still
higher, are the pashas, who are accountable only to the sultan.
Returning to Gibraltar we take a coasting steamer along the shore of
Spain eastward to Malaga, the city of raisins and sweet wine. It is
commercially one of the most important cities of the country, and was
once the capital of an independent state. It was a large and prosperous
Phoenician metropolis centuries before the time of Christ upon earth.
The older portions of the city have all the Moorish peculiarities of
construction,--narrow streets, crooked passages, small barred windows,
and heavy doors; but the modern part of Malaga is characterized by
broad, straight thoroughfares and elegantly built houses of stone. This
is especially the case with the Alameda, which has a central walk
ornamented by flowers and shrubs, and which is bordered with handsome
almond-trees. On either side of this broad promenade is a good roadway,
flanked by houses of pleasing architectural effect, lofty and well
relieved.
There are several fine open squares in Malaga, some of which contain
statues and ornamental trees, together with well-kept flower-beds. The
discovery not long since of Roman antiquities in the environs has
created a warm interest among archæologists. The trade of the city in
wine and dried fruits is large. Four-fifths of the forty thousand butts
of sweet wine shipped from here are exported to the United States. The
present population is about a hundred and twenty-five thousand, made up
of a community of more than average respectability, though beggars are
found to be very annoying in the public streets. The old Moorish castle
crowning the seaward heights has been converted into a modern fortress,
affording a charming view from its battlements. In the squares and
streets, as well as in the market-place, women sit each morning weaving
fresh-cut flowers of rose-buds, mignonette, pansies, violets, and
geraniums into pretty little clusters, of which they sell many as
button-hole bouquets. One may be sure there is always a refined element
in the locality, whether otherwise visible or not, where such an
appreciation is manifested. The bull-fight may thrive, the populace may
be riotous, education at a very low ebb, and art almost entirely
neglected; but when a love of nature is evinced in the appreciation of
beautiful flowers, there is still extant on the popular heart the
half-effaced image of its Maker.
It is an interesting fact that Spain, in the time of Julius Cæsar,
contained nearly eighty million inhabitants, but to-day it has less than
eighteen million. By glancing at the map it will be perceived that
Spain is a large country, comprising nearly the whole of the southern
peninsula of Europe, Portugal being confined to a very small space. It
is about double the size of Great Britain, and is rich in every known
mineral, though poor enough in the necessary energy and enterprise
requisite to improve such possibilities. In many sections of the country
great natural fertility is apparent, but nature has to perform the
lion's share of the work in producing crops. In the environs of Malaga,
and the southern provinces generally, there are orange, lemon, and olive
groves miles in extent. The Moors had a poetical saying that this
favored region was dropped from paradise, but there is more of poetry
than truth in the legend. What is really required is good cultivation
and skilled agricultural enterprise. These would develop a very
different condition of affairs and give to legitimate effort a rich
reward. The sugar-cane, the grape-vine, the fig-tree, and the productive
olive, mingling with the myrtle and the laurel, gratify the eye in and
about the district of Malaga; but as one advances inland, the products
become natural or wild, cultivation primitive and only partial,
grain-fields being scarce and universal neglect the prominent feature.
[Illustration: GENERAL VIEW OF THE ALHAMBRA.]
Granada is situated about seventy miles north of Malaga, where set the
sun of Moorish glory, but where still exists that embodiment of romance,
the Alhambra. This palace-fortress is the one attraction of the
district. It is difficult to realize that the Moors possessed such
architectural skill, and that they produced such splendid palaces
centuries ago. It is also quite as remarkable that Time, the great
destroyer, should have spared for our admiration such minute, lace-like
carvings, and such brilliant mosaics. The marvel of the architecture is
its perfect harmony; there are no jarring elements in this superb
structure, no false notes in the grand anthem which it articulates. In
visiting the Alhambra one must be assisted by both history and the
imagination; he must know something of the people who built and
beautified it; he must be able to summon back the brave warriors and
beautiful ladies from the dim past to people again these glorious halls.
He must call to life the orange, the myrtle, and the myriads of fragrant
flowers that bloomed of old in these now silent marble courts. As we
pass from one section to another, from hall to hall, chamber to chamber,
lingering with busy thoughts amid the faded glory, the very atmosphere
teems with historical reminiscences of that most romantic period, the
mediæval days, when the Moors held regal court in Andalusia. A lurking
sympathy steals over us for that exiled people who could create and give
life to such a terrestrial paradise.
[Illustration: A RECEPTION HALL IN THE ALHAMBRA.]
Alhambra signifies "Red Castle," and the vermilion-tinted structure,
with its outlying towers, was thus appropriately named. In the days of
its glory it was half palace, half fortress; indeed, a city in itself,
capable of accommodating quite an army, and containing within its walls
an immense cistern as a water supply, besides armories, storehouses,
foundry, and every appliance of a large citadel. A considerable portion
of the far-reaching walls is still extant. Under good generalship, and
properly manned, the place must have been nearly impregnable to attack
with such arms as were in use at the period. For a long time after the
expulsion of the Moors, the Castilian monarchs made it their royal
residence, and revelled within its splendid walls; but they finally
deserted it. The place was next infested by a lawless community of
smugglers and banditti, who made it their headquarters, whence to sally
forth and lay the neighboring plains under contribution. Then came the
French as conquerors, who expelled the lawless intruders, themselves,
perhaps, quite as deserving of the title; but they did good work in
clearing what had become an Augean stable of its worst filth and
partially restoring the choicest work of the Moorish builders. To-day
the Spanish government guards with jealous care a monumental treasure
which cannot be equalled in the kingdom.
A day's journey northward brings us to Cordova, which was the capital of
Moorish Spain ten centuries ago, when the city could boast a million
inhabitants. Now it has thirty thousand. One of the most prominent
objects is the ancient stone bridge, supported by broad, irregular
arches. For two thousand years that old bridge has battled with the
elements; Romans, Moors, and Spaniards have fiercely contended at its
entrances; the tides of victory and of defeat have swept again and again
across its roadway. Leaning over its stone barriers we watch the river
pursue its rapid course just as it has done for twenty centuries.
Palaces, temples, shrines, may crumble, nations rise and fall, but the
Guadalquiver still flows on.
The one great interest of Cordova is its cathedral, erected sixteen
centuries ago. Beautiful are its still remaining hundreds of interior
columns, composed of porphyry, jasper, granite, alabaster, verd-antique,
and marble of various colors. Each of the columns upholds a small
pilaster, and between them is a horseshoe arch, no two of the columns
being alike. They came from Greece, Rome, Constantinople, Damascus, and
the Temple of Jerusalem. All the then known world was put under
contribution to furnish the twelve hundred columns of this wonderful
temple. The great mosque was changed into a cathedral after the
expulsion of the Arabs, but a large portion of the interior is untouched
and remains as it was when the caliphs worshipped here. Inside and out
it is gloomy, massive, and frowning, forming one of the most remarkable
links still existing in Spain between the remote past and the present.
It appears to be nearly as large upon the ground as St. Peter's at Rome,
and contains fifty separate chapels within its capacious walls. It has,
in its passage through the several dynasties of Roman, Moorish, and
Spanish rule, received distinctive architectural marks from each. Its
large, cool court of orange-trees, centuries old, its battlemented walls
and huge gateway, its famous fountains and its mingled palms and tall
cypresses, all combine to perfect an impressive picture of the dead and
buried thousands connected with its history.
We still pursue a northerly course. From Cordova to Madrid is about
three hundred miles by railway, carrying us through some very
interesting and typical scenery. Occasionally a gypsy camp is passed,
pitched near our route, presenting the usual domestic groups, mingled
with animals, covered carts, lazy men stretched on the greensward, and
busy women cooking the evening meal. Long strings of mules, with
widespread panniers, are seen winding across the plain, sometimes in
charge of a woman clad in gaudy colors, while her lazy husband thrums a
guitar as he lies across one of the mules. Towards evening groups of
peasants, male and female, with farming tools in their hands, are seen
winding their steps towards some hamlet after the day's labor. Arched
stone bridges, old and moss-grown, come into view, spanning small
watercourses on their way from the mountains to join more pretentious
streams. Elevated spots show us the ruins of old stone towers, once a
part of some feudal stronghold, but the eye seeks in vain for
well-wooded slopes, thrifty groves, or cultivated fields with promising
crops. While the more practical traveller realizes a sense of
disappointment at the paucity of thrift and vegetation, the poet and the
artist will find enough to delight the eye and to fire the imagination
in Spain. The ever-transparent atmosphere, and the lovely cloud-effects
that prevail, are accompaniments which will hallow the desolate regions
for the artist at all seasons. The poet has only to wander among the
former haunts of the Moors and view the crumbling monuments of their
gorgeous, luxurious, and artistic taste, to be equally absorbed and
inspired.
When we arrive at Madrid, the first query which suggests itself is, why
Charles V. should have made his capital on this spot. True, it is in
about the geographical centre of Spain, but it is hemmed in on all sides
by arid plains, and has an adjacent river, so-called, but which in
America would be known as a dry gulch. It is difficult to see what
possible benefit can be derived from a waterless river. Like the Arno at
Florence, it seems troubled with a chronic thirst. In short, the
Manzanares has the form of a river without the circulation. In the days
of Charles II. its dry bed was turned into a sort of race-course and
drive-way, but since the completion of the magnificent Prado it has been
abandoned even for this purpose. Eight or nine hundred years ago Madrid
was a fortified outpost of Toledo--"imperial" Toledo. Though it is
situated between two and three thousand feet above sea-level, it does
not seem to possess the advantages usually following such position, the
climate being scorchingly hot in summer and piercingly cold in winter.
So that one comes to the conclusion that in point of climate, as well as
in location, the Spanish capital is a mistake.
Having been established when the furor for cathedral-building had
passed, the city has none within its borders, though there is no lack of
modern churches. Notwithstanding these criticisms, Madrid is a large and
fine city, with some four hundred thousand inhabitants; not noticeable,
like Genoa, Rome, or Florence, for palaces and ancient monuments, but it
is well laid out, the streets broad and nicely paved, while numerous
open squares ornament the several sections. Some of these are filled
with attractive shrubbery and ornamental trees, as well as statuary.
Among the latter are representations of Murillo, Philip III., Cervantes,
Lope de Vega, Philip V., Calderon, and others. The finest statue in the
city is that of Philip IV., representing that monarch on horseback, the
animal in a prancing position. This is a wonderfully life-like bronze,
designed by Velasquez. It forms the centre of the Plaza del Oriente, or
square in front of the royal palace, from which it is separated,
however, by a broad thoroughfare. According to history, Galileo showed
the artist how the horse could be sustained in its remarkable position,
the whole weight of the rider and the animal resting on the hind legs.
On the Prado, the grand public drive of the citizens, there are fine
marble statues, and groups combined with very elegant fountains. The
Puerto del Sol, that is, the "Gate of the Sun," is situated in the heart
of the city, and is always full of busy life. A dozen large streets and
boulevards radiate from this area, where the lines of street-cars also
meet and diverge. The fashionable idlers of the town hold high carnival
in the Puerto del Sol, day and night. One is half dazed by the whirl of
carriages, the rush of pedestrians, the passing of military bands with
marching regiments, and the clatter of horses' feet caused by dashing
equestrians. This plaza or square is a scene of incessant movement from
early morn until midnight. Like Paris and Vienna, Madrid does not seem
to thoroughly awaken until evening, the tide of life becoming most
active under the glare of gas-light. The Prado, just referred to, is to
Madrid what the Champs Elysées and the Bois de Boulogne are to Paris, a
splendid avenue, through the centre of which runs a walk and garden
similar to the Unter den Linden of Berlin, or Commonwealth Avenue,
Boston, save that it is more extensive than either of these last named.
The Prado nearly joins the Public Garden of Madrid, on the borders of
the city proper, in which there are also fine carriage-drives, roadways
for equestrians, many delightful shaded walks, and paths lined with
choice flowers. On Sundays and holidays these grounds are thronged with
citizens and their families for out-of-door enjoyment; several military
bands distributed about the grounds add to the attraction.
The royal palace is located upon a slightly elevated site, and is so
isolated as to give full effect to its appearance. It is the only
building of a remarkable character, architecturally speaking, in the
city; being the largest, and one of the finest, royal palaces in Europe.
It belongs to the Tuscan style, and cost between five and six million
dollars a hundred years ago. The base is of granite; but the upper
portion is built of a fine white stone, very closely resembling marble.
In its splendid art collection of the Museo, the city has a treasure
only equalled by the Louvre at Paris and the galleries of Florence. To
artists it is the one attraction of Madrid, and is principally composed
of works by Spanish masters, though also containing many other fine
works of art. Here we may see forty examples by the hand of Murillo,
sixty-four from Velasquez, sixty by Rubens, twenty-five from Paul
Veronese, thirty-four by Tintoretto, and many by Andrea del Sarto,
Titian, Vandyke, and others of similar artistic fame. It is believed
that Murillo appears at his best in this collection. Being a native of
Seville, he is seen, as it were, at home; and artists declare that his
works here show more power and expression than anywhere else. So we go
to Antwerp to appreciate Rubens, though we find him so fully represented
elsewhere. The same may be said of Velasquez as of Murillo; he also was
at home here, and cannot be fairly, or rather fully, judged outside of
the Madrid gallery.
When the French were masters in Spain, they proved to be terrible agents
of destruction; leaving marks of their devastation everywhere. Not
content with stealing many unequalled works of art, they often wantonly
destroyed what they could not conveniently take away with them. In the
tomb of Ferdinand and Isabella, at Grenada, they pried open the royal
coffins, in search of treasure; at Seville they broke open the coffin of
Murillo, and scattered his ashes to the wind; Marshal Soult treated the
ashes of Cervantes in a similar manner. War desecrates all things, human
and divine, but sometimes becomes a Nemesis (goddess of retribution),
dispensing poetical justice; as when Waterloo caused the return to Spain
of a portion of her despoiled art-treasures.
The bull-ring of the capital will seat eighteen thousand spectators.
Here, on each Sunday of the season, exhibitions are given to
enthusiastic crowds, the entertainments always being honored by the
presence of the state dignitaries, and members of the royal family. The
worst result of such cruelty is that it infects the beholders with a
like spirit. We all know how cruel the English became during the reign
of Henry the Eighth. Sunday is always a gala-day in Madrid, though the
attendance upon early mass is very general, at least among the women. It
is here, as at Paris and other European capitals, the chosen day for
military parades, horse races, and the bull fight. Most of the shops are
open, and do a profitable business; especially is this the case with the
liquor and cigar stores and the cafés. The lottery-ticket vendor makes
double the usual day's sales on this occasion, and the itinerant
gamblers, with their little tables, have crowds about them wherever they
locate. The gayly dressed flower-girls, with dainty little baskets rich
in color and captivating in fragrance, press button-hole bouquets on the
pedestrians, while men perambulate the streets with cakes and candies
displayed in open wooden boxes hung about their necks. In short, Sunday
is made a holiday, when grandees and beggars come forth like marching
regiments into the Puerto del Sol. The Prado and public gardens are
crowded with gayly dressed people, children, and nurses, the costumes of
the latter being of the most theatrical character. No one who can walk
stays within doors on Sunday at Madrid.
The cars will take us forty miles hence to Toledo, where the rule of the
Moor is seen in foot-prints which time has not yet obliterated. It seems
like realizing a mediæval dream to walk the narrow, sombre streets of
this famous old capital. Strangely steep, winding, and irregular, they
are! The reason for constructing them thus was doubtless that they might
be the more easily defended when attacked by an enemy. In the days of
her prime, Toledo saw many battles, both inside and outside of her
gates. One can touch the houses of these streets, in many instances, on
both sides at the same time by extending the arms. There are scores of
deserted buildings, securely locked up, the heavy gates studded with
great iron nails, while the lower windows are closely iron-grated. Some
of them are open and unguarded, having paved entrances or court-yards,
with galleries around them, upon which the rooms open. Everything
bespeaks their Moorish origin. Some of these houses, which were palaces
once, are now used as storehouses, some as carpenter-shops, some
occupied as manufactories, while the appearance of all shows them to
have been designed for a very different use.
The whole valley which Toledo overlooks, now lying so dead and silent,
once teemed with a dense population, and sent forth armies, and fought
great battles, in the days of the Goths. The cathedral of this old city
is visited by architects from all parts of Europe and America, solely
for the purpose of professional study, it being one of the finest
examples of the Gothic order in existence, while the richness of its
ornamentation and its artistic wealth, not to mention in detail its gold
and silver plate, make it the rival of most cathedrals in the world,
with the possible exception of that at Burgos. Its size is vast, with a
tower reaching three hundred feet heavenward, the interior having five
great aisles, divided by over eighty aspiring columns. It is said to
contain more stained-glass windows than any other cathedral that was
ever built. The high altar, a marvel of splendid workmanship and minute
detail, is yet a little confusing from the myriads of single statues,
groups, columns, and ornaments generally.
Toledo stands upon the boldest promontory of the Tagus, a dead and
virtually deserted city. Coveted by various conquerors, she has been
besieged more than twenty times; so that the river beneath her walls has
often flowed red with human gore where it is spanned by the graceful
bridge of Alcantara. Phoenicians, Romans, Goths, Moors, and Christians
have all fought for, and at different times have possessed the place.
Only the skeleton of a once great and thriving capital remains. It has
no commerce, and but one industry, the manufacture of arms and
sword-blades, which gives occupation to a couple of hundred
souls--hardly more. The coming and going of visitors from other lands
gives it a little flutter of daily life,--like a fitful candle, blazing
up for a moment, and then dying down in the socket, making darkness only
the more intense by the contrast. The one sword factory is found to be
of little interest, though we are told that better blades are
manufactured here to-day than of old.
In looking at the present condition of this once famous seat of industry
and power, recalling her arts, manufactures, and commerce, it must be
remembered that outside of the immediate walls, which formed the citadel
of a large and extended population, were over forty thriving towns and
villages in the valley of the Tagus, under the shadow of her wing. These
communities and their homes have all disappeared, pastures and fields of
grain covering their dust from the eyes of the curious traveller. The
narrow, silent, doleful streets of the old city, with its overhanging
roofs and yawning arches, leave a sad memory on the brain as we turn
thoughtfully away from its crumbling walls and picturesque, antique
Moorish gates.
Thirty-five miles from Madrid by rail will bring us to the Escurial,
which the Spaniards call the eighth wonder of the world. This vast pile
of stone buildings is more than three hundred years in age, and nearly a
mile in circumference,--tomb, palace, cathedral, monastery, all in one.
It was the royal home of that bigoted monarch Philip II., but is now
only a show place, so to speak, of no present use except as an
historical link and a royal tomb. One hall, over two hundred feet long
and sixty wide, contains nearly seventy thousand bound volumes, all
arranged with their backs to the wall so that the titles cannot be read,
a plan which one would say was the device of some madman. The shelves,
divided into sections and ornamental cases, are made of ebony, cedar,
orange, and other choice woods. What possible historic wealth may here
lie concealed, what noble thoughts and minds embalmed! In the domestic
or dwelling portion of the Escurial, the apartments are very finely
inlaid with various woods, besides containing some delicate and antique
furniture of great beauty. A few cabinet pictures are seen upon the
walls, and one or two large apartments are hung with tapestry, which,
though centuries old, is as fresh as when it was first made. It might
have come from the manufactory during this present year; for it
certainly could not look brighter or more perfect.
The grounds surrounding the structure are laid out in pleasant gardens,
where fountains, flowers, and a few inferior marble statues serve for
external finish. On the outside, high up above the broadest portion of
the dome, was placed the famous plate of gold, an inch thick and
containing some ten square feet of surface, forming a monument of the
bravado and extravagance of Philip II., who put it there in reply to the
assertion of his enemies that he had financially ruined himself in
building so costly a palace as the Escurial.
Burgos is situated about two hundred miles north of Madrid, and is
reached by railway. Here the first impression upon the stranger is that
of quaintness. It is a damp, cold, dead-and-alive place, with but three
monuments worthy of our attention. These are its unrivalled cathedral,
its Carthusian monastery, and its convent of Huelgas; and yet there is a
tinge of the romantic Castilian period about its musty old streets and
archways scarcely equalled elsewhere in Spain, and which one would not
like to miss. It is very amusing, on arriving in such a place, to start
off in the early morning without any fixed purpose as to destination,
and wander through unknown streets, lanes, and archways, coming out upon
a broad square,--the Plaza Mayor, for instance, which contains a bronze
statue of Charles III.; thence to another with a tall stone fountain in
its centre, where a motley group of women and young girls are filling
their jars with water; and again, through a dull dark lane, coming upon
the lofty gate of Santa Maria, erected by Charles V., and ornamented
with statues of the Cid (a noted knight and warrior), Fernando Gonzales
(famous Spanish general), and the emperor. Strolling on, we presently
come to another open square, full of busy groups of women and donkeys,
gathered about piles of produce. It is the vegetable market, always a
favorite morning resort in every new locality. How animated are the
eager sellers and buyers! What a study is afforded by their bright,
expressive faces; how gay the varied colors of dress and of vegetables;
how ringing the Babel of tongues and the braying of donkeys!
The cathedral, which the Emperor Charles V. said ought to be placed
under glass, renders the town a famous resort of travellers, being one
of the largest, finest, and most richly endowed of all the Spanish
churches. This lofty structure, like that at Antwerp, is situated behind
a cluster of inferior buildings, so as greatly to detract from its
external effect, though from the opposite side of the river Arlanzon a
favorable view is obtained of its open-work spires and its tall
corrugated roof. The columns and high arches of the interior are a maze
of architectural beauty in pure Gothic. In all these Spanish churches
the choir completely blocks up the centre of the interior, so that no
comprehensive view can be had. Above the space between the altar and the
choir rises a cupola, which, in elaborate ornamentation of bas-reliefs,
statues, small columns, arches, and sculptured figures, exceeds anything
of the sort in this country so famous for its cathedrals. The hundred
and more carved seats of the choir are in choice walnut, and form a
great curiosity as an example of artistic wood-carving, presenting human
figures, vines, fantastic animals, and foliage. The several chapels are
as large as ordinary churches, while in the centre of each lies buried a
bishop or a prince. The great number of statues and paintings scattered
through the interior of the cathedral are almost as confusing as the
pinnacled and statue-covered roof of the Milan cathedral, whose beauty
disappears amid accumulation. In a side apartment the attendant will
show us many curious relics, among them the well-known effigy of Christ
on the Cross, which devout believers say was carved by Nicodemus just
after he had buried the Saviour.
Our course is still northward. From Burgos to San Sebastian by rail is a
hundred and fifty miles. As we leave the ancient town, memory is busy
for a moment recalling its legends and history. We remember that
centuries ago a knight of Castile, Diego Porcelos, had a lovely daughter
named Sulla Bella, whom he gave as a bride to a German cavalier, and
together they founded this place and fortified it. They called it Burg,
a fortified place, hence Burgos. We recall the Cid and his gallant
war-horse, Baveica, we think of the richly endowed cathedral, and the
old monastery, where rest Juan II. and Isabella of Portugal in their
elaborately carved alabaster tomb. But gradually these memories fade
away as we awaken to new and present surroundings while rushing along at
railway speed. Sparkling watercourses, with here and there a fall, give
power to some rickety old stone mill and add variety to the scene. On
the not far-off hills are castles, border fortresses in ruins, whose
gray towers have borne witness to the conflicts of armor-clad warriors
in the days of Castilian knighthood and glory. What interest hangs about
these rude battlements! In looking back upon the ancient days it is
fortunate that the mellowing influence of time dims the vision, and we
see as through a softening twilight; otherwise we should behold such
harshness as would embitter all. The olden time, like the landscape,
appears best in the purple distance.
The general aspect of the country since we left Malaga in the south has
been rather disappointing, and the rural appearance on this beautiful
trip from Burgos to San Sebastian is therefore the more heartily
appreciated. It should be called the garden of Spain, the well-watered
valleys and plains being spread with a carpet of exquisite verdure. In
the far distance one detects snow-clad mountains, which in fact are not
out of sight during the entire journey. Thousands of acres are covered
by the vine from the product of which comes our sherry wine. It is
impossible not to feel a sense of elation amid the delightful scenery
and while breathing the genial air. Nature seems to be in her merriest
mood, clothing everything in poetic attire, rendering more than
beautiful the gray hamlets on the hillsides, over which rise square
bell-towers, about which the red-tiled cottages cluster. Outside of
these are seen family groups, some sewing, some spinning, while children
gleefully tumble about and play in the inviting grass.
San Sebastian is a somewhat famous watering-place, situated on the
boisterous Bay of Biscay, and drawing its patronage largely from Madrid,
though of late many English people have resorted thither. It is a small
city, but the thriftiest and most business-like, when its size is
considered, to be found in the borders of Spain. The place was entirely
destroyed by fire when captured from the French by the English, a piece
of sanguinary work which cost the latter five thousand lives! It was on
this occasion that Wellington is reported to have said, "The next most
dreadful thing to a battle lost is a battle won."
After leaving San Sebastian our first stopping-place is Bayonne; that
is, "Good Port." It is a city of some thirty thousand inhabitants,
situated at the junction of the Adour and Nive rivers, in the Lower
Pyrenees. Here again the cathedral forms the principal attraction to
travellers. Though very plain and with little architectural merit, still
it is very old, gray and crumbling, plainly telling the story of its
age. The city has considerable commerce by the river, both in steam and
sailing vessels, and exports a very respectable amount of domestic
produce. Here we see the palace where Catharine de Medici and the Duke
of Alva planned the terrible massacre of the Huguenots of France. A
large, well-arranged public garden begins just at the city gate and
extends along the left bank of the Adour, and there are many pleasant
drives in the environs.
From here we take the cars for Bordeaux, France, a distance of over a
hundred miles, the road running mostly through what seems to be an
interminable pine forest.
In leaving Spain we pause for a moment to contrast her past and her
present. In the sixteenth century she was the most powerful nation in
the world. In art she held the foremost position. Murillo, Velasquez,
and Ribiéra were her honored sons; in literature she was represented by
Cervantes, Lope de Vega, and Calderon; while of discoverers and
conquerors she sent forth Columbus, Cortez, and Pizarro. The banners of
Castile and Aragon floated alike on the Pacific and the Indian oceans.
Her warriors were brave and adventurous, her soldiers inherited the
gallantry of the followers of Charles V. She was the court of Europe,
the acknowledged leader of chivalry. How rapid has been her decadence!
As in the plenitude of her power she was ambitious, cruel, and
perfidious, so has the measure which she meted to others been in turn
accorded to herself, until to-day there are none so lowly as to do her
homage.
Bordeaux is reckoned the third city in France as to its commercial
importance. The form of the town is that of a crescent extending along
the shore of the Garonne, which here forms a broad and navigable harbor,
always well filled with foreign and domestic shipping, though it is
sixty miles from the sea. There are many interesting Roman antiquities
and monuments to be seen in and about the city, venerable with the wear
and tear of eighteen centuries. The public buildings are commanding in
their architectural effect, and are many of them adorned with sculpture.
The most ancient part of the town, like nearly all others we visit in
Europe, has narrow and crooked streets, but the modern portion is open,
airy, and well arranged for business and domestic comfort. The Grand
Theatre is a remarkable piece of effective architecture, with its noble
Ionic columns, and was built a little more than a century since by Louis
XVI.
The distance from Bordeaux to Paris is about four hundred miles. The
route passes all the way through a charming and highly cultivated
country. The well-prepared fields are green with varied crops, showing a
high state of cultivation. Flocks of sheep, tended by shepherdesses with
tall Norman caps of white linen and picturesque bright colored dresses,
enliven the landscape. These industrious women are seen knitting as they
watch their charge. Others are driving oxen while men hold the plow.
Gangs of men and women together in long rows are preparing the ground
for the seed, and all seem cheerful and happy. The small railroad
stations recall those of India between Tuticorin and Madras, where the
surroundings are beautified by fragrant flower-gardens, their bland,
odorous breath acting like a charm upon the senses amid the noise and
bustle of arrival and departure. Now and again as we progress the
pointed architecture of some picturesque château presents itself among
the clustering trees, with its bright verdant lawn and neat outlying
buildings, and so we speed swiftly on until by and by we glide into the
large station at Paris.