Granada to Cordova.--An Antique City.--The Guadalquivir.--Old Roman
Bridge.--The Grand Mosque-Cathedral of Cordova.--Court of
Orange-Trees.--Army of Beggars.--From Cordova to Madrid.--Local
Characteristics of the Capital.--The Gate of the Sun.--The King and
Queen in Public.--The Royal Palace.--Spanish Ladies and
Gentlemen.--The Fan.--The Picture-Gallery of Madrid.--National
Sport of the Bull-Fight.--Cowardice!--Interesting Visit to the City
of Toledo.--The Escurial.
The journey from Granada to Cordova covers a distance of about a hundred
and twenty-five miles, and passes through a comparatively
well-cultivated and interesting country, where the vine, the orange, and
the lemon, together with the universal olive, are abundant and thrifty.
The oil extracted from the latter product forms a large source of profit
to the southern and middle provinces of Spain. The road, soon after
starting, lay through a succession of valleys and lofty hills, rendering
the construction of many tunnels and viaducts necessary. Occasionally we
came out of one of these tunnels upon a broad prairie-like plain, where
flocks of goats, sheep, and horned cattle, tended by herdsmen, were
struggling to get a scanty subsistence from very unpromising fields. Not
infrequently there came into view a pretty white hamlet of a score of
dwellings, dominated by a rude castellated structure, and a
square-towered church surmounted by a cross. Here and there were
crumbling strongholds, monuments of the days when the Moors held sway
over the land.
At last we reached Cordova, where it seemed that something untoward
must surely happen, as we were driven through the narrow, deserted,
cobble-stoned streets in a hotel omnibus, the hubs of the wheels
scraping the stone buildings on either side alternately. Nobody but
Moors would have constructed such lanes and called them streets, though
doubtless they aimed to exclude the intense heat of the sun's rays. The
neatly white-washed houses, like those in Havana, have the lower windows
all barred with iron, as if they were so many prisons, and fitted to
keep people in or out, as the occupants might desire. Looking about us
curiously it was natural to recall the slumber of Rip Van Winkle, and to
wonder seriously if the place was destined ever to wake up. How any
shops afford their proprietors a subsistence here is a marvel. The few
to be seen had but one shutter down, the rest being rusty with disuse.
There were a plenty of broad-brimmed hats with priests under them, a
sure crop in Spain, but scarcely a citizen was to be seen, or aught else
to be noticed, except a few rusty towers and antique fountains.
Everything seemed impregnated with decay, more desolate than an actual
ruin, because of its moth-eaten vitality, which left nothing to hope
for. Plainly the only life in Cordova is that imported by curious
travelers from abroad, who make pilgrimages hither to see its few
historic monuments, and to behold a Herculaneum above ground.
We looked about us for specimens of the famous breed of Cordova horses,
of whom poets have sung and kings were covetous. There were a few
animals to be seen with fine manes and tails, with arching necks and
lustrous coats, but their forms would not compare with some neglected
creatures whose blood showed through dirt and hard usage, at the Slave
Market in Tangier. There may have been noble ancestors to these Cordova
animals a thousand years ago, but they must have been crossed with
mongrel races too many times to show good traces to-day.
This is one of the most ancient cities in the country, having been the
capital of Moorish Spain a thousand years ago. The walls which still
surround it are flanked by octagonal and square towers of Saracenic
origin. From the ninth to the twelfth century it boasted a million
inhabitants, and we read of its public library which contained six
hundred thousand volumes. The present population cannot exceed forty or
fifty thousand. Is it possible that this was once the largest city in
the western world,--once the centre of European civilization? So at
least history informs us. Not even one foundation of its three hundred
mosques can be found to-day. Seneca and Lucan were born here before the
time of Christ, and the guide rehearsed with voluble facility some other
high-sounding names of historic fame who were natives of the place, but
who were quite unfamiliar to us. When we pointed, however, to the broad,
pale-yellow river crossed by the old Roman bridge, and asked its name,
he replied: "The Guadalquivir," and the name rang softly on the ear like
a strain of half-forgotten music. The old stone bridge, with its broad,
irregular arches, was an object of much interest, and is, undoubtedly,
with its two flanking towers, the oldest visible object in Cordova,
though it was an important city in Caesar's time. The bridge is about the
sixteenth of a mile in length, and after two thousand years of battling
with the elements is firm and substantial still. Romans, Moors, and
Spaniards have fiercely battled at its entrances, the tide of victory
and of defeat sweeping again and again across its roadway, which has
many times been made slippery with human blood. How often has it
witnessed royal pageants, ecclesiastical parades, murderous personal
conflicts, and how often been the rendezvous of lovers and of whispering
groups of conspirators. Here have been enacted many vivid scenes in the
long line of centuries. What a volume might that old bridge furnish of
history and of romance! During our brief stay this spot was a favorite
resort, usually supplementing our visits to the cathedral, which is near
at hand. Leaning over its stone barriers, we watched the rapid stream
which doubtless flows on just as it has done for twenty centuries.
Palaces temples, towers, and shrines crumble, nations rise and fall, but
the Guadalquivir still flows on. Just below the bridge, perhaps fifty
yards away, are the ruins of an ancient Moorish grist-mill of stone,
forming a strikingly picturesque object, in its shattered condition,
amid the foaming rapids.
We visited a museum of antiquities, but it was in a dark, inappropriate
building, gloomy and cobwebby, smothered in dust and obscurity; so out
of the way, indeed, that it was difficult to find, and our guide was
obliged to inquire where the institution was! The traveler may
conscientiously omit a visit to the blind alley which contains the
Museum of Antiquities at Cordova. The guide, by the way, we found much
more intent upon selling us Spanish lace than anxious to impart
desirable local information. To be a good guide, as Izaak Walton says of
anglers and poets, a man must be born so.
The one great and nearly unrivaled interest of Cordova is its
cathedral, an architectural wonder, erected some sixteen centuries
since, and hallowed by age and historical associations. Beautiful are
its still remaining thousand and one interior supporting columns,
composed of porphyry, jasper, granite, alabaster, verd-antique, and
marble of various colors. Think of that vandal Charles V. destroying two
hundred of them: he who was capable of tearing down a portion of the
Alhambra to make room for his barrack of a palace! Each of the columns
upholds a small pilaster, and between them is a horse-shoe arch, no two
columns being precisely alike,--as they came from Greece, Rome,
Constantinople, Damascus, Africa, and some are said to have come from
the Temple at Jerusalem, as also from Paestum and Cumae. All the then
known world was put under contribution to furnish 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 worshiped here. We felt oppressed by a sensation
of gloom wandering amid the dark forest of pillars. It is, and always
will be, a mosque, as characteristic and typical as the most marked
shrine in the East. The Holy of Holies, as sacred to the Spanish
Arabians as Mecca to those of the East, has been preserved intact, and
is by far the most interesting portion of the structure. Here all the
original lace-like ornamentation is entirely undisturbed, and looks as
though it were a hall taken bodily out of the Alhambra. The Moslem
pilgrims from far and near came to this spot, and walked seven times
round it, the marble pavement being visibly worn by the bare knees of
devout Mussulmans.
Just outside of this large alcove, which is very similar to a side
chapel in a modern cathedral, there was pointed out to us the finest
piece of mosaic in the world. It originally came from Constantinople,
and was the gift of the Emperor Romanus II. It contains, in accordance
with the Moslem faith, no representation of any living thing; but is
perfection in its graceful vines, leaves, and scroll work. The deep
glowing colors, crimson and green dominating, are as bright to-day as
when it first came, perhaps two thousand years ago, from the artist's
hand. It recalled the contemporary productions exhumed at Pompeii, and
now to be seen in the Museum at Naples. These latter however, as we
remember them, are neither so large nor so choice as this masterpiece in
the Cordova Mosque. The cathedral, as a whole, has been pronounced by
experienced travelers to be the greatest architectural curiosity in
Europe. It is a strange conglomerate and jumble of incongruities,
half-Christian, half-Saracenic, reminding one strongly of the Church of
St. Mark at Venice,--having, like that remarkable structure, borrowed
many of its columns and ornaments from the far East. Inside and out it
is gloomy, massive, and frowning, forming the most remarkable link
between the remote past and the present existing in Spain. 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 wall and
huge gateway; its famous fountains and its mingled palms and tall
cypresses, all combine to perfect a picture suggestive of the dead and
buried races connected with its history.
This famous court-yard is of scarcely less interest than the interior of
the great Cathedral-Mosque itself. It has at each end a colonnade of
marble pillars supporting circular arches, and the grounds are broad and
spacious. Here a battalion of professional beggars were drawn up in
battle array as we entered, numbering fifty or sixty of both sexes, and
of all ages. The poor creatures formed both a pitiable and a picturesque
group, composed of the lame, the halt, and the blind. On the greensward
just back of them, under the shade of the dark-leaved orange-trees,
played troops of careless children, who had been sent here by their
parents to beg, but had forgotten their vocation. Sitting on the stone
bench, which surrounds the outside walls of the mosque, were little
groups of hale and hearty men, playing cards and smoking; while others,
stretched at full length upon the ground, slept just where the dancing
sunlight pierced the leaves and branches of the trees and mottled their
faces with its shimmering rays. Idleness is the general business of
Cordova. What a strange, weird aspect the deep shades assumed beneath
the graceful palms and slender cypresses. The Babel of pleading tongues
from the beggars, the merry voices of the laughing children, the angry
dispute of some card players, and the cool business-like aspect of the
priests shuffling about the corridors, while a little confusing was
still impressive.
The best dwelling-houses in Cordova are built upon the Moorish model;
that is, they have a central court or garden, visible from the street
entrance, which is adorned with trees, flowers, and fountains, usually
guarded by an iron gate and an inner glass door. The domestic life of
the family centres here, where in summer a broad canvas is drawn over
the top, and the meals are taken underneath in the open air. We saw,
late in March, orange and lemon-trees blooming in these areas, as well
as Bengal monthly and common white roses, tea-roses, verbenas,
tiger-lilies, carnations, and scarlet geraniums. Neither the palm nor
the orange will grow without shelter in this part of Spain,--the north
winds being too cold and piercing,--except by artificial culture. Spain
is almost a treeless country, her immense olive orchards serving but
partially to redeem the barren aspect of the southern and middle
districts. In the orange court of the Grand Mosque, the lofty old
Moorish wall forms a protecting screen. The Alameda of Cordova must be
quite denuded of foliage in winter, exposed as it is to the north winds
and frosty nights. It is a short but very broad thoroughfare, with a
tree-lined promenade through its centre, like that at Malaga, but it
seemed singularly out of place in a city so utterly void of life and
animation.
Spain is a country of beggars, but in this ancient town one is actually
beset by them. Travelers, stopping at the same hotel with us,
abbreviated their stay in the city on account of this great annoyance.
As far as one can judge, these people have no pressing reason for
begging. It has become a habit, and strangers are importuned as a matter
of course. Cannot the priests do something to mitigate this great evil?
In Spain evidence is not lacking to show that the Roman Catholic faith
inspires deep religious sentiment, but without religious principle. The
more blindly ignorant the masses of the people are, the greater is the
influence of the priesthood. Not one of the famous Spanish cathedrals
but has within its vaults so-called sacred treasures of great amount, in
gold and silver plate and other material, the intrinsic value of which
in each instance large, being aggregated, would furnish a sum nearly
large enough to liquidate the national debt. At Toledo, for instance,
the mantle called the Robe of the Virgin is covered with precious
stones, so large and choice that its value has been estimated at a
million of Spanish dollars; and this is but one item of value stored in
that rich church. So at Malaga, Seville, Cordova, and Burgos, not to
name other places of which we can speak with less personal knowledge,
each is a small Golconda of riches, yet the common people starve. A
horde of priests, altogether out of proportion to the necessities of the
case from any point of view, are kept up, the most useless of
non-producers, and whence comes their support but from this very
poverty-burdened mass of the common people? When Philip II. was told of
the destruction of the great Spanish Armada, which had cost a hundred
million ducats, he only said: "I thank God for having given me the means
of bearing such a loss without embarrassment, and power to fit out
another fleet of equal size!" And yet there were starving millions in
Spain at that time as there are to-day.
From Cordova to Madrid is nearly three hundred miles, the first half of
which distance we passed over in the daytime, lightening the journey by
enjoyment of the pleasing scenery and local peculiarities. Though it
was quite early in the spring, still the fields were verdant and full of
promise. More than once a gypsy camp was passed by the side of some
cross-road, presenting the usual domestic group, mingled with animals,
covered carts, lazy men stretched on the greensward, and busy women
cooking the evening meal. Long strings of mules, with wide-spread
panniers, came winding across the plain, sometimes in charge of a woman
clad in gaudy colors, while her lazy husband thrummed a guitar, lying
across one of the mules. Towards evening groups of peasants, male and
female, with farming tools in their hands, were seen wending their steps
towards some hamlet after the day's labor. Arched stone bridges, old and
moss-grown, came into view, spanning small water-courses, on their way
from the mountains to join more pretentious streams. Elevated spots
often showed the ruins of the old stone towers, once a part of some
feudal stronghold, but the eye sought in vain for well-wooded slopes or
thrifty groves; and yet, strange to say, the song-birds which we had
missed further south, in Andalusia and at Granada, put in an appearance
as we came north, cheering us with their soft trilling notes in the
amber sunshine that radiated about the small railroad stations. Some of
these depots were rendered attractive and pretty by nicely arranged
flower-beds and a few trees, imparting a home-like appearance. The
ever-varying scenery kept mind and eyes busy, until by and by Night
dropped her mantle over the face of nature, and with the darkness came a
cool and nipping air. Then followed two hundred miles of tedious night
travel, with no convenience for sleeping, except such as one could
obtain sitting bolt upright, so that when daylight and Madrid arrived
together, we were ready to welcome them both.
Why Charles V. should have made his capital on the spot now occupied by
Madrid it is difficult to understand--though writers suppose a half a
dozen reasons--except that it is the geographical centre of Spain. Eight
or nine hundred years ago it was a fortified outpost of Toledo,
"imperial" Toledo. 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. If there is any special benefit to be derived from a
waterless river, we have yet to learn its character. Like the Arno at
Florence, it is 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 Prado it has been abandoned for even this
purpose. Though Madrid is situated between two and three thousand feet
above the level of the sea, it does not seem to possess the advantages
usually following such a position, the climate being scorchingly hot in
summer and piercingly cold in winter. Thus, in point of climate and
location, the Spanish capital seems to be a mistake.
As Madrid was built when the age of cathedrals had passed, it has none
within its borders, though there is no lack of modern churches; but it
is a large and fine city, with some four hundred thousand inhabitants.
It is not noticeable, like Genoa, Rome, and Florence, for palaces and
ancient monuments; but it is well laid out; the streets are broad and
nicely paved; while numerous squares ornament the city, filled with
attractive shrubbery, fountains, and statues. Among the latter we
recall those of Murillo, Philip III., Cervantes, Lopez de Vega, Philip
V., Calderon, and others. The finest statue in the city, to our taste,
is that of Philip IV., representing the monarch as on horseback, the
animal in a prancing position,--a wonderfully life-like bronze, designed
by Velasquez and cast by Pietro Tacca at Florence. It forms the centre
of the Plaza del Oriente, directly in front of the royal palace, from
which it is separated, however, by a broad thoroughfare. According to
history, Galileo showed how the true balance of the horse could be
sustained in its remarkable position, the whole weight of rider and
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
fountains, representative of Neptune, Apollo, and Cybele.
The Puerto del Sol is the Place del 'Opera of Madrid, always full of
sparkle, life, and color, radiating from which there are a dozen large
streets with two or three broad boulevards. Here all the lines of
tramways meet and diverge, and the congregated fashionable idlers of the
town hold high carnival daily and nightly. Our windows overlooked the
Puerto del Sol (the Gate of the Sun), where the whirl of carriages, the
rush of pedestrians, the passing of military bands with marching
regiments, equestrians; priests decked out in church paraphernalia,
preceded by smoking incense, burning candles, etc., bound to some
death-bed; itinerant peddlers, and news-vendors, each hastening on some
individual purpose, made the plaza a scene of incessant movement from
early morning until midnight. Like Paris and Vienna, Madrid does not
seem to awake until evening, and the tide of life becomes the most
active under the glare of gas-lights which are as numerous at midnight
as the fireflies that float over a sugar plantation. The fine shops
surrounding this brilliant square, which is the real geographical heart
of Madrid, are more Parisian than Spanish. The large plate-glass windows
present a tempting array of jewelry, laces, silver-ware and rich fancy
goods, in a style and of a quality that would do no discredit to the Rue
de la Paix or the Boulevard des Italiens. Indeed, it is mostly French
people who keep these shops, and there is a manifest tendency of the
upper classes to adopt French manners, customs, and language. Paris
serves as a model to Madrid in all matters relating to fashionable life.
There is a large fountain and mammoth basin of water in the centre of
the square, a stream being forced to a height of fifty or sixty feet, in
a graceful column, night and day, the effect of which is heightened by
the brilliant array of gas-lights. The sidewalks are here at least forty
feet wide, upon which, in business hours, many merchants are accustomed
to meet for the discussing of affairs, and to gossip before the several
hotels which front on the plaza.
Speaking of the fountain in the Puerto del Sol recalls the fact that the
citizens owe it to the energy and skill of foreign engineers that they
enjoy the luxury of an ample supply of good water; and foreign engineers
are doing or have done the same thing for other Spanish cities, though,
in fact, only restoring the ancient supplies first constructed by the
quick-witted Moors, and wantonly permitted to crumble into ruin by the
Spaniards. They are not sufficiently enterprising or progressive to
originate any such scheme for the public good. They even dislike the
railroads, though they are compelled to use them; dislike them because
they force them to observe punctuality, the native instinct being of the
Chinese school, retrospective and retrograding. Everything is exotic in
Madrid; nothing is produced in or near the city which its daily
consumption demands. Strawberries, butter, cheese, fruits, meats, each
comes from some special region far away to this human hive located in
the desert. The city adds to its other drawbacks that of being very
unwholesome as a residence, and would die out from natural causes if its
population were not constantly renewed from the several provinces. There
is a native proverb to the effect that so subtle is the air of Madrid,
it kills a man but does not put out a candle. Why it is so unhealthy a
place, especially for strangers, it is impossible to say. The same
extreme difference between the sunshine and the shade is here realized
which one experiences at Nice, Mentone, and Naples. The air seemed pure
and clear enough during our two weeks' stay, but every one admitted its
very unwholesome character. When the breeze swept down from the snowy
Guadarrama, it cut like a knife, but that was a condition of temperature
which one could guard against, not an atmospheric impurity. If Madrid
were surrounded by and ornamented with trees, like Wiesbaden or
Baden-Baden, it might prove a favorable sanitary measure, besides adding
so much to its beauty. In Paris, Rome, or Venice, fires are not common
in domestic living rooms, except in extremes of weather; but at Madrid,
if the day is cool and damp, the cheerful, warmth-diffusing fire is
lighted and regarded as a necessity.
The king and queen of Spain passed through the Puerto del Sol in an
open carriage nearly every afternoon during our stay, attended by half a
dozen outriders, and drawn by four superb horses; for Alfonso's royal
stable, as we can testify, is justly celebrated. The king rides with his
hat in his hand in response to the ceaseless recognitions of respect by
the people, who, however, never cheer him, and yet he appears to be
fairly popular with the masses. He has seemed thus far to follow rather
than to lead public sentiment, perhaps realizing the precarious nature
of his seat upon the throne; remembering that the nation has a rather
erratic manner of changing its rulers when displeased with them. He is
quite youthful in appearance. The queen, though by no means handsome,
has a pleasing face, and is represented to be of a very amiable
character. It will be remembered that his first wife, Mercedes, died
while yet a bride, at the age of eighteen, much regretted and much
beloved. Alfonso has, in a few public instances, shown a progressive and
enlightened spirit; but were he to permit himself to be demonstrative in
this direction, he would not be supported either by his councillors or
the public, who are imbued with the true Castilian dormancy even in this
nineteenth century. He has undertaken, out of his private purse, to
restore many decaying monuments of the country, and is noticeably
spending money freely for this purpose, not only in Cordova, but also at
Toledo, Madrid, and Burgos.
On the occasions when the king and queen drove out, the royal carriage
was generally attended by a second, in which was ex-empress Isabella, at
the time on a visit to the royal palace, though she makes her home at
present in Paris. She is fat, dowdy, and vulgar in appearance, with
features indicative of sensuousness and indulgence in coarse appetites.
The last time we saw her was in the Puerto del Sol, as she rode in a
carriage behind the royal vehicle, with a lady companion by her side, to
whom she was talking very earnestly, accompanying her words with the
most energetic and emphatic gesticulation of the right forefinger. The
more we heard of this woman, the less we could respect her; and yet we
were told by intelligent natives that she is to-day very popular in
Madrid, much more so than in other parts of the country. If this is
true, it is only a reflection upon the moral instincts of the people
themselves. The royal palace is located upon a slightly rising site, and
is so isolated as to give full effect to its fine architecture and
excellent general design. It is the only building of a remarkable
character, architecturally, in the city; which, for a European capital,
is in this respect very ordinary and plain. The Madrid palace is
undoubtedly the largest and finest in Europe, and belongs to the Tuscan
style. It cost between five and six millions of dollars a hundred years
ago. The base is granite, but the upper portion is built of a fine white
stone, closely resembling marble. The royal family being at home, as
well as the ex-queen being there, we could not visit the palace, but
were told of its interior magnificence, by those familiar with it. It
contains a rich chapel, library, and theatre, with a remarkably
beautiful collection of tapestries. The throne room is said to be
gorgeous and its ornaments of lavish cost. In the absence of the royal
occupants, strangers are admitted under proper auspices.
The Prado is to Madrid what the Champs Elysees and the Bois de Boulogne
are to Paris,--a splendid avenue, through the centre of which runs a
continuous walk and garden, with elaborate stone fountains, somewhat
similar to the Unter den Linden of Berlin, or Commonwealth Avenue,
Boston, save that it is more extensive than either. The Prado nearly
joins the Public Garden on the borders of the city, in which there are
also fine carriage drives, roadways for equestrians, many delightful
shaded walks, and paths lined with flowers, myrtles, groves, and
sweet-leaved hedges, intermingled with fountains, lakes, arbors,
refreshment houses, etc. On Sundays and fete days these grounds are
thronged with citizens and their families for out-door enjoyment,
riding, and driving. Here also several military bands are distributed,
adding to the accumulated attractions. There is a certain dignity and
appearance of refinement observable among the gentlemen one meets on the
Prado and in the streets, but we look in vain for the traditional
sombrero, which has been superseded by the conventional stove-pipe hat;
while the graceful Spanish cloak has given way to the stiff European
body overcoat. The Spanish ladies, with their large black eyes and dark
olive complexions, are generally quite handsome, but they rouge, and
powder, and paint their faces in a lavish manner. Indeed, they seem to
go further in this direction than do the Parisians, obviously penciling
eyes and eyebrows,--an addition which their brunette complexion requires
least of all. With the public actress this resort is admissible, where
effects are necessary to be produced for distant spectators in large
audiences; but in daily life even custom does not rob it of its
inevitable aspect of vulgarity. True, all nations resort to such
artifices, more or less, especially in southern Europe. The Chinese
ladies carry the practice of painting their faces so far as to amount
to caricature; and if the Japanese ladies do not so generally follow the
example, they do blacken their teeth, which one must confess is more
objectionable still. In these faithful notes it must be admitted that
even the Japanese ladies paint cheeks and lips with such a tinge of
vermilion as is thought to be becoming, and enamel their faces and
necks. This, however, it must be remembered is before marriage. After
that relationship has taken place, as has before been intimated, it
becomes the ridiculous practice of every Japanese wife to render herself
as unattractive as possible, forgetting that she is thus liable to
become as disagreeable in the eyes of her husband as in those of other
people.
The Spanish lady, like her Japanese sister, is a great devotee to the
fan, and neither are ever seen abroad in full dress without this
conspicuous accompaniment. The importance of this article of female
requirement is fully recognized at Madrid, where many stores are devoted
solely to its manufacture and sale; while artists give much time and
genius to their elaborate ornamentation, the prices ranging from a few
shillings to ten doubloons. The indispensable veil, covering more or
less head, neck, and face, would prove but a poor substitute for the
dainty French bonnet on the Parisian boulevards; but in Castilian
atmosphere it is as appropriate and becoming as the florid-colored
plumage of birds in the tropics. There is a certain harmony between the
dark, smooth skin, the glossy raven hair, the long, dark lashes, the
blue veins of the temples, and the national head-dress of the Spanish
ladies, which gratifies the artistic eye. Ah! if the mind in those
lovely women were but as noble as their faces! Unfortunately, perhaps,
their very beauty makes their defects the more conspicuous. Ermine must
be spotless.
In her splendid art collection of the Museo, the city has a treasure
only equaled by the Louvre at Paris and the galleries at Florence. To
artists, it is the one attraction of Madrid, and is principally composed
of works by the Spanish masters, though also containing many other gems.
Here we find forty-four examples of Murillo, sixty-four from Velasquez,
sixty by Rubens, twenty-five from Paul Veronese, thirty-four from
Tintoretto, and many from Andrea del Sarto, Titian, Vandyke, Goya,
Ribera, and others of similar artistic fame, in such profusion as to be
a constant source of surprise to the stranger. Here one is sure to meet,
daily, intelligent Americans, French, Italians, and English, but very
rarely Spaniards. It is believed that Murillo appears at his best in
this collection. Being a native of Seville, he is in a measure seen at
home; and artists declare that his work shows more of light, power, and
expression here than anywhere outside of the Museo. So we go to Antwerp
to appreciate Rubens, though we find him so ably and fully represented
elsewhere. Velasquez cannot be fairly judged outside the Madrid gallery.
He also was at home here, and his paintings are not only the most
numerous, but are decidedly his best. The arrangement of the pictures of
the Museo is severely criticised; some of the best are hung too high,
while those one does not care to study, or scarcely to see at all, have
been accorded the best lines in the gallery. There seems to be no system
observed; the hangings are frequently altered, and the printed catalogue
is thus rendered of very little use. The building itself is a large and
admirable structure, well adapted to the purpose, quite worthy to
contain the choice art treasures beneath its roof. When the French were
masters in Spain they proved to be terrible iconoclasts, leaving marks
of their devastation nearly everywhere in one form or another. Not
content with stealing many unequaled works of art of priceless value,
they often wantonly destroyed what it was impossible to carry away. In
the tomb of Ferdinand and Isabella, at Granada, it will be remembered
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, dispensing poetical justice, as when Waterloo caused the return
to Spain of a portion of her despoiled art-treasures.
The bull-fight is very properly called the national sport of Spain, and,
we are sorry to add, is typical of the natural cruelty of her people. It
was the opening exhibition of the season which was advertised to take
place during the first week of our stay in the city, and it was
announced for Sunday afternoon, the day usually selected for these
occasions; but as it proved to be rainy it was postponed to the
following Thursday. The bull-ring of the capital is said to contain
seating capacity for eighteen thousand persons; and yet such was the
demand for tickets of admission, that it was a work of some hours to
procure them at all, and only consummated finally at a considerable
premium. Our seats were near to those of the royal party, consisting of
the king, queen, and ex-queen Isabella, with a number of ladies and
gentlemen of the household. The easy and graceful manners of the queen
were in strong contrast to the arrogant and vulgar style of Isabella,
whose character is so dark a stain upon Spanish royalty. Every seat of
the large circular theatre was occupied. Open to the sky, it was not
unlike what the Coliseum of Rome must have been in its glory, and held
an audience, we should judge, of over seventeen thousand. Nearly all
classes were represented, for a Spaniard must be poor indeed who cannot
find a dollar to pay his way into the bull-ring. The better seats were
occupied by ladies and gentlemen, the lower priced ones by the
masses,--both sexes being fully represented in each class of seats.
Those located on the east and southerly sides are covered to protect the
grandees, while the masses sitting in the sun hold fans or paper screens
before their eyes.
There was a cold, murderous, business-like aspect to all the
arrangements, and everything, however repulsive to strangers, was taken
by the audience at large quite as a matter of course. The immense crowd
were not very noisy or demonstrative, contenting themselves with smoking
and chatting together. It was curious and interesting, while waiting for
the commencement of the performance, to study the features of the
audience, and watch their earnest gesticulations; for the Spaniards,
like the Italians, talk with their whole bodies,--hands, arms, head,
trunk, and all. The ladies, as usual, were each supplied with that prime
necessity, a fan; and it is astonishing what a weapon of coquetry it
becomes in the delicate hands of a Spanish beauty. Its coy archness is
beyond comparison, guided by the pliant wrist of the owner, concealing
or revealing her eloquent glances and features. With her veil and her
fan, a Spanish woman is armed _cap-a-pie_, and in Cupid's warfare
becomes irresistible.
The author had seen the cruelty of the bull-ring exhibited years ago in
the Spanish West Indies, yet to visit Madrid, the headquarters of all
things Spanish, and not to witness the national sport, would have been a
serious omission; and therefore, suppressing a strong sense of distaste,
the exhibition was attended. The hateful cruelty of the bull-ring has
been too often and too graphically described to require from us the
unwelcome task. Suffice it to say we saw six powerful and courageous
bulls killed, who, in their brave self-defense, disemboweled and killed
thirteen horses. No man was seriously injured, though several were
dismounted, and others run over by the enraged bulls in headlong career
across the arena. The picadores were mounted on poor hacks, since the
fate of the horse that entered the ring was as certain as that of the
bull himself. The banderilleros and chulos, who took part in the combat
on foot, were fine looking, active young fellows; and the matadores, who
performed the final act of killing the bull single-handed, were as a
rule older and more experienced men. It must be a practiced hand that
gives the last thrust to the many-times wounded and nearly exhausted
creature, who will always fight to the very last gasp.
The matadore is regarded as quite a hero by the masses of the people,
receiving a princely remuneration for his services. He holds his head
very high among his associates. One of these matadores was long the
disgraceful favorite of Queen Isabella. We came away from this
exhibition more than ever convinced of the cowardly character of the
game. The requisite, on the part of the much lauded bull-fighter, is not
courage but cunning. He knows full well when the bull is so nearly
exhausted as to render his final attack upon him quite safe. A dozen
against one, twelve armed men against one animal, who has the protection
only of his horns and his stout courage. The death of the bull is sure
from the moment he enters the ring, but the professional fighters are
rarely hurt, though often very much frightened. Another most shameful
part of the game is the introduction of poor, broken-down horses, who
have yet strength and spirit enough to faithfully obey their rider, and
so rush forward regardless of the horns of the bull, which will surely
disembowel and lay them dead upon the field. The matadore who finally
faces the bull single-handed, to give him the _coup-de-grace_ with his
Toledo blade, does not do so until the animal has struggled with his
other tormentors nearly to the last gasp, is weak from the loss of
blood, and his strength exhausted by a long and gallant fight, so that
he already staggers and is nearly blind with accumulated torments. The
poor creature is but a sorry victim for the fresh, well-armed, practiced
butcher, who comes to give him the finishing stroke. We would emphasize
the remark that the whole game of the bull-ring is, on the part of the
chulos, picadores, and matadores, a shameful exhibition not only of the
most disgraceful cruelty but also of consummate cowardice.
Black is the almost universal color worn by ladies and gentlemen in
public. Parisian fashions as to cut and material are very generally
adopted; and, as has been intimated, the French model is paramount in
all things. A business resident remarked to us that the French language
was becoming so universal that it absolutely threatened to supersede the
native tongue. Bonnets are worn in walking and driving; but at the
bull-fight, the concert-room, and the theatre the national lace
head-dress is still tenaciously and becomingly adhered to. In manners
the better class of Spaniards are extremely courteous, and always
profuse in their offers of services, though it is hardly to be expected
that their generosity will be put to the test. Gentlemen will smoke in
the ladies' faces in the street, the corridors, cafes, cars, anywhere,
apparently not being able to comprehend that it may be offensive. Even
in the dining-rooms of the hotels, the cigar or cigarette is freely
lighted, and smoked with the coffee while ladies are present. In short,
tobacco seems to be a necessity to the average Spaniard, both sleeping
and waking, for they smoke in bed also. Perhaps this apparent obtuseness
on the part of gentlemen arises from the well-known fact that many of
the ladies themselves indulge in the cigarette, though rarely in public.
The writer has more than once seen the practice as exhibited in popular
cafes whither both sexes resorted. At the bull-ring many of the common
class of women had cigarettes between their lips.
Sunday is an acknowledged gala-day in Madrid, though the attendance upon
early mass is very general, especially 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
realize a profitable business, and especially is this the case with
those devoted to the sale of cigars, liquors, fancy goods, and the
cafes: with them it is the busiest day of the whole week. The lottery
ticket vendor makes a double day's work on this occasion, and the
itinerant gamblers, with portable stands, have crowds about their tables
wherever they locate. The flower-girls, with dainty little baskets, rich
in color and captivating in fragrance, press buttonhole bouquets on the
pedestrians, and, shall we whisper it? make appointments with
susceptible cavaliers; while men perambulate the streets with bon-bons
displayed upon cases hung from their necks; in short, Sunday is made a
fete day, when grandees and beggars complacently come forth like
marching regiments into the Puerto del Sol. The Prado and public gardens
are thronged with gayly-dressed people, children, and nurses,--the
costume of the latter got up in the most theatrical style, with broad
red or blue ribbons hanging down behind from their snow-white caps, and
sweeping the very ground at their heels. No one stays within doors on
Sunday in Madrid, and all Europe loves the out-door sunshine.
We have said that the Spanish capital was deficient in buildings of
architectural pretension. This is quite true; but the country is rich in
the character of her monuments, possessing one order of architecture
elsewhere little known. Our guide called it very appropriately the
Morisco style, which has grown out of the combination of Moorish and
Christian art. The former attained, during the Middle Ages, as great
importance in Spain as in the East. This is, perhaps, more clearly
manifested in Andalusia than elsewhere; here its harmony is presented in
many brilliant examples and combinations. The greatest wealth of the
country is to be found in its historic monuments, its well-defined Roman
period being especially rich in architectural remains; and, as to
cathedrals, nowhere else are they to be found so richly and superbly
endowed.
The cars took us to Toledo, a distance of about forty miles, in an hour
and a half, landing us in a strange, old place, the very embodiment of
antiquity, and the capital of Gothic Spain. Here let us drop a hint
gained by experience. If the reader makes the excursion to Toledo from
Madrid, he will most probably start early in the morning and get back
late at night, as one day in the place will afford all the time
absolutely necessary to visit and enjoy its most notable objects. A
prepared luncheon basket should be taken from Madrid. This will obviate
the necessity of encountering the dirt, unsavory food, and extortion of
the fifth-rate hotels of Toledo. It has been said that banditti have
been suppressed in Spain; perhaps so, on the public roads. It may be
they have gone into the hotel business, as a safer and less conspicuous
mode of robbing travelers. At Toledo the rule of the Moor is seen in
foot-prints no time can obliterate, and to visit which is like the
realization of a mediaeval dream. The sombre streets are strangely
winding, irregular, and steep; the reason for constructing them thus
was, doubtless, that they might be the more easily defended when
attacked by a foreign 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 on both sides at the same time, by merely extending the
arms.
There are scores of deserted buildings locked up, the heavy gates
studded with great, protruding, iron-headed nails, while the lower
windows are closely iron-grated. These houses have paved entrances,
leading to open areas, or courts, with galleries around them, upon which
the various rooms open. The galleries are of carved and latticed wood,
generally in good preservation, but the main structure is of stone, most
substantially built, everything testifying to their Moorish origin. Some
of these houses, once palaces, are now used for storage purposes; some
for business warehouses, manufactories, and carpenters' shops. One would
suppose, in such a dull, sleepy, dormant place, that the streets would
be grass-grown; but there is no grass. Yet between the loosely-fitting
slabs of stone pavement, here and there, little fresh flowers, of some
unknown species, struggled up into a pale, fragile existence, with stems
white in place of green, showing the absence of sunlight, so necessary
to both human and vegetable life. They had no fragrance, these stray
children from Flora's kingdom, but looked very much like forget-me-nots,
reminding one of the little flower which sprung up through the hard
pavement of Picciola's prison. Dilapidation is written everywhere in
this Oriental atmosphere. The Moors of Morocco still believe that they
will yet be restored to the Spanish home of their ancestors, and the
keys of these Toledo houses have been handed down from generation to
generation as emblems of their rights, tokens which were pointed out to
us at Tangier; but not, until we had visited Toledo, was the idea which
they involved fully appreciated. One cannot but realize a certain
respect for the Moors, while wandering among these scenes of the
long-buried past. Whatever may have been their failings, they must have
contrasted favorably with the present occupants, who seem strangely out
of place. In those ancient days the city contained a quarter of a
million of inhabitants; to-day it has barely fifteen thousand. The river
Tagus almost surrounds Toledo, and is not, like the Manzanares, merely a
dry ditch, but a full, rapid, rushing river.
The cathedral at Toledo is its most prominent object of interest, and
has a deservedly high fame; while clustering about it, in the very heart
of the old place, are many churches, convents, and palaces,--though a
large share of them are untenanted, and as silent as the tomb. But
before entering the cathedral we visited the Alcazar, formerly a royal
palace of Charles V., and now the West Point of Spain, where her sons
are educated for the army. Under the Moors, ten centuries ago, it was a
fortress, then a palace, now an academy, capable of accommodating six
hundred pupils. The view from the Alcazar, which dominates the entire
city, is vast and impressive, the building itself being also the first
object seen from a distance when one is approaching Toledo. It is upon a
bleak height. As you come out of the broad portals of the Alcazar
(Al-casa-zar, the czar's house), you walk to the edge of the precipitous
rock upon which it stands, and contemplate the view across the
far-reaching plain, gloomy and desolate, while at the base of the rock
rushes past the rapid Tagus. This whole valley, now 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 is visited by
architects from all parts of Europe and America, solely as a
professional study. It is a remarkably fine sample of the Gothic order,
which Coleridge called petrified religion, and exhibits in all its parts
that great achievement of the art, entire harmony of design and
execution; 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 other cathedrals in the world, with the possible
exception of that at Burgos. Its size is vast, with a tower reaching
three hundred feet heavenward, and the interior having five great naves,
divided by over eighty lofty columns. It is said to contain more
stained-glass windows than any other cathedral that was ever built. The
effect of the clear morning light, as imparted to the interior through
this great surface of delicately-tinted glass, is remarkably beautiful.
The high altar, a marvel of splendid workmanship and minute detail, is
yet a little confusing, from the myriads of statues, groups, emblems,
columns, gilding, and ornaments generally; but it seems to be the
purpose of most of these Roman Catholic churches to turn the altars into
a species of museum. Guides are always plentifully supplied with
marvelous legends for travelers; and ours, on this occasion, simply
bristled all over with them as regarded this church. One of these, which
he persisted in pouring into our unbelieving ears, was to the effect
that, when the cathedral was completed and dedicated, so perfect was it
found to be that the Virgin descended bodily to visit it, and to
express, by her presence, her entire satisfaction!
Toledo stands there 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 the walls has
often flowed red with human gore, where it is spanned by the graceful
bridge of Alcantara. Phoenicians, Romans, Goths, Moors, and Christians,
all have fought for and have possessed, for a greater or less period,
the castle-crowned city. Its story is written in letters scarlet with
blood and dark with misery; illustrating Irving's idea that history is
but a kind of Newgate calendar, a register of the crimes and miseries
that man has inflicted on his fellow-man. 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 visible by contrast. The
once celebrated sword factory was found to be of little interest, though
we were told that better blades are manufactured here to-day than in
olden time, when it won such repute in this special line. So well are
these blades tempered, that it is possible to bend them like a watch
spring without breaking them. 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 form the citadel, as it were, of a large and
extended population, were over forty thriving towns and villages,
located 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 traveler. 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
away from its crumbling walls and antique Moorish gates.
An excursion of thirty-five miles, to a station of the same name, took
us from Madrid to the Escurial, which the Spaniards in their egotism
call the eighth wonder of the world. This vast pile of buildings,
composed entirely of granite, and as uniform as a military barrack, is
nearly a mile in circumference,--tomb, palace, cathedral, monastery, one
and all combined. The wilderness selected as the site of the structure
shows about as little reason as does that of the locality of Madrid;
utter barrenness and want of human or vegetable life are its most
prominent characteristics. Here, however, are congregated a vast number
of curious and interesting objects, while the place is redolent of vivid
historical associations. One of the first objects shown us here was the
tomb of Mercedes, the child-wife of the present king; also, in a deep
octagonal vault, the sepulchres of some thirty royal individuals, kings
and mothers of kings. Among them were Philip II., Philip V., Ferdinand
VI., Charles V., etc. The niche occupied by Philip IV. attracted special
notice from the fact that the eccentric monarch, during his life-time,
often seated himself here to listen to mass, an idea more singular than
reverential. The coffin of Charles V. was opened so late as 1871, during
the visit of the Emperor of Brazil, when the face of the corpse was
found to be entire,--eyebrows, hair, and all, though black and
shriveled. The last burial here was that of Ferdinand VII. This octagon
vault is called the Pantheon of the Escurial; but it is nothing more
than a theatrical show room: nothing could be more inappropriate. While
we were in Madrid, ex-queen Isabella visited the vault,--her own last
resting-place being already designated herein,--and caused mass to be
performed while she kneeled among the coffins, as Philip IV. was
accustomed to do. She does this once a year, at the hour of midnight,
but why that period is chosen we do not know.
A room adjoining the church, close beside the altar, is shown to the
visitor, where that prince of bigots, Philip II., passed the last days
and hours of his life. It is a scantily furnished apartment, with no
upholstery, hard chairs, and bare wooden tables; with a globe, scales,
compasses, and a few rude domestic articles, writing material, half a
dozen maps, and three or four small cabinet pictures on the walls,
forming the entire inventory. A large chair in which he sat, and the
coarse hard bed on which he slept and died, are also seen in a little
adjoining room scarcely ten feet square. It was here that he received
with such apparent indifference the intelligence of the destruction of
the Spanish Armada, which had cost over a hundred million ducats and
twenty years of useless labor. Everything is left as it was at the time
of his death. A sliding panel was so arranged in the little
sleeping-room that the king could sit or lie there, when too ill to do
otherwise, and yet attend upon the performance of public mass. With this
door put aside, the king lay here on that September Sabbath day, in the
year of our Lord, 1598,--after having just ordered a white satin lining
for his bronze coffin,--grasping the crucifix which his father, Charles
V., held when dying, and with eyes fixed upon the high altar, attended
by his confessor and children, the worn-out monarch breathed his last.
Little as we sympathized with the character of the royal occupant, there
was yet something touching in the stern simplicity with which he
surrounded his own domestic life. Self-abnegation must have been with
him a ruling principle. The cell of a Franciscan monk could not have
been more severely simple and plain than that small living and sleeping
apartment.
A few statistics, as rattled off by our guide, will give the reader some
idea of the vastness of the Escurial. There are sixteen open courts
within its outer walls, eighty staircases, twelve thousand doors (?),
and some three thousand windows. There are over forty altars. The main
church is as large as most European cathedrals, being three hundred feet
long, over two hundred wide, and three hundred and twenty feet high. We
know of no cathedral in Italy so elaborately and beautifully finished,
and yet this was only a part of the princely household of Philip II. The
Escurial is now only a show place, so to speak, of no present use except
as a historical link and a tomb. There are a few, very few, fine
paintings left within its walls, most of those which originally hung
here having been very properly removed to the Museo at Madrid. In the
refectory will be noticed a choice painting by Titian, of which we are a
little surprised that no more has been said, for it is a remarkable
painting. On the same wall are two or three canvases by Velasquez, but
none by other artists of repute. On the walls of a large hall, called by
the guide the Hall of Battles, is painted a most crude and inartistic
series of pictures, only worthy of a Chinese artist, representing a
series of battles supposed to depict Spanish conquests.
We were also shown, preserved here, a large and useless library, kept in
a noble hall over two hundred feet long and fifty or sixty wide, the
books being all arranged with their backs to the wall, so that even the
titles cannot be read,--a plan which one would say must be the device of
some madman. The bookcases are made of ebony, cedar, orange, and other
choice woods, and contain some sixty thousand volumes. 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 on the doors, dado,
and on the floors; besides which they contain some delicate antique
furniture of great beauty, finished mostly in various patterns of inlaid
woods. A few cabinet pictures are seen upon the walls, and one or two
large hall-like apartments are hung with tapestry, which, although
centuries old, is perfect in texture and the freshness of the colors. It
might have come from the Gobelins' factory during this present year of
our Lord, and it could not be brighter or more perfect.
The grounds surrounding the structure are laid out, on the south side,
in pleasant gardens, where fountains, flowers, and a few inferior marble
statues serve for external finish. On the outside, high up above the
dome, is seen the famous plate of gold, an inch thick, containing some
ten square feet of surface, and 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. We may expect one of these days to hear of its having
been taken down and coined into shining doubloons.