As soon as we had accepted our fate, while as yet the sun had not set
behind the clouds which had kept it out of our rooms all day, we hurried
out not only to escape the rigors of our hotel, but to see as soon as we
could, as much as we could of the famous city. We had got an excellent
cup of tea in the glass-roofed pavilion of our beautiful cold
dining-room, and now our spirits rose level with the opportunities of
the entrancing walk we took along the course of the Arlanson. I say
course, because that is the right word to use of a river, but really
there was no course in the Arlanzon. Between the fine, wide Embankments
and under the noble bridges there were smooth expanses of water
(naturally with women washing at them), which reflected like an
afterglow of the evening sky the splendid masses of yarn hung red from
the dyer’s vats on the bank. The expanses of water were bordered by
wider spaces of grass which had grown during the rainless summer, but
which were no doubt soon to be submerged under the autumnal torrent the
river would become. The street which shaped itself to the stream was
a rather modern avenue, leading to a beautiful public garden, with the
statues and fountains proper to a public garden, and densely shaded
against the three infernal months of the Burgos year. But the houses
were glazed all along their fronts with the sun-traps which we had noted
in the Basque country, and which do not wait for a certain date in the
almanac to do the work of steam-heating. They gave a tempting effect to
the house-fronts, but they could not distract our admiration from the
successive crowds of small boys playing at bull-fighting in the streets
below, and in the walks of the public garden. The population of
Burgos is above thirty-seven thousand and of the inhabitants at
least thirty-six thousand are small boys, as I was convinced by the
computation of the husband and brother of the Chilian ladies which
agreed perfectly with my own hasty conjecture; the rest are small girls.
In fact large families, and large families chiefly of boys, are the rule
in Spain everywhere; and they everywhere know how to play bull-fighting,
to flap any-colored old shawl, or breadth of cloth in the face of
the bull, to avoid his furious charges, and doubtless to deal him his
death-wound, though to this climax I could not bear to follow.
[Illustration: 05 THE IRON-GRAY BULK OF THE CATHEDRAL REARS ITSELF FROM CLUSTERING WALLS AND ROOFS]
One or two of the bull-fighters offered to leave the national sport
and show us the House of Miranda, but it was the cathedral which was
dominating our desire, as it everywhere dominates the vision, in Burgos
and out of Burgos as far as the city can be seen. The iron-gray bulk,
all flattered or fretted by Gothic art, rears itself from the clustering
brown walls and roofs of the city, which it seems to gather into its
mass below while it towers so far above them. We needed no pointing of
the way to it; rather we should have needed instruction for shunning it;
but we chose the way which led through the gate of Santa Maria where
in an arch once part of the city wall, the great Cid, hero above every
other hero of Burgos, sits with half a dozen more or less fabled or
storied worthies of the renowned city. Then with a minute’s walk up
a stony sloping little street we were in the beautiful and reverend
presence of one of the most august temples of the Christian faith. The
avenue where the old Castilian nobles once dwelt in their now empty
palaces climbs along the hillside above the cathedral, which on its
lower side seems to elbow off the homes of meaner men, and in front to
push them away beyond a plaza not large enough for it. Even this the
cathedral had not cleared of the horde of small boys who followed us
unbidden to its doors and almost expropriated those authorized blind
beggars who own the church doors in Spain. When we declined the further
company of these boys they left us with expressions which I am afraid
accused our judgment and our personal appearance; but in another moment
we were safe from their censure, and hidden as it were in the thick
smell of immemorial incense.
It was not the moment for doing the cathedral in the wonted tiresome and
vulgar way; that was reserved for the next day; now we simply wandered
in the vast twilight spaces; and craned our necks to breaking in trying
to pierce the gathered gloom in the vaulting overhead. It was a precious
moment, but perhaps too weird, and we were glad to find a sacristan with
businesslike activity setting red candlesticks about a bier in the area
before the choir, which here, as in the other Spanish cathedrals, is
planted frankly in the middle of the edifice, a church by itself, as if
to emphasize the incomparable grandeur of the cathedral. The sacristan
willingly paused in his task and explained that he was preparing the
bier for the funeral of a church dignitary (as we learned later, the
dean) which was to take place the next day at noon; and if we would come
at that hour we should hear some beautiful music. We knew that he
was establishing a claim on our future custom, but we thanked him and
provisionally feed him, and left him at his work, at which we might have
all but fancied him whistling, so cheerfully and briskly he went about
it.
Outside we lingered a moment to give ourselves the solemn joy of the
Chapel of the Constable which forms the apse of the cathedral and is its
chief glory. It mounted to the hard, gray sky, from which a keen wind
was sweeping the narrow street leading to it, and blustering round
the corner of the cathedral, so that the marble men holding up the
Constable’s coat-of-arms in the rear of his chapel might well have ached
from the cold which searched the marrow of flesh-and-blood men below.
These hurried by in flat caps and corduroy coats and trousers, with
sashes at their waists and comforters round their necks; and they were
picturesque quite in the measure of their misery. Some whose tatters
were the most conspicuous feature of their costume, I am sure would have
charmed me if I had been a painter; as a mere word-painter I find myself
wishing I could give the color of their wretchedness to my page.