FROM BURGOS TO MADRID.
El Correo Real; the Galeras--Valladolid--San Pablo--A
Representation of Hernani--Santa Maria--Madrid.
_El Correo Real_ in which we quitted Burgos merits a particular
description. Just fancy an antediluvian vehicle, of which I should
say that the model, long since discarded, could at present only be
found in the fossil remains of Spain; immense bell-shaped wheels,
with very thin spokes, placed considerably behind the frame,
which had been painted red, somewhere about the time of Isabella
the Catholic; an extravagant body, full of all sorts of crooked
windows, and lined in the inside with small satin cushions, which
may, at some remote period, have been rose-coloured; and the
whole interior quilted and decorated with a kind of silk that was
once, probably, of various colours. This respectable conveyance
was suspended by the aid of ropes, and bound together in several
suspicious-looking places with thin cords made of spartum. To
this precious machine was added a team of mules of a reasonable
length, with an assortment of postilions, and a _mayoral_ clad in
an Astracan lambs-wool waistcoat, and a pair of sheepskin trousers
which looked tremendously Muscovitish. When all our preparations
were completed, we set off in the midst of a whirlwind of cries
and oaths, accompanied by a due proportion of whipping. We went
at a most terrific pace, and literally flew over the ground, the
vague outlines of the objects to our right and left flitting past
us with phantasmagorical rapidity. I never saw mules more fiery,
more restive, and more wild; every time we stopped, a whole army
of _muchachos_ was requisite to harness one to the coach. The
diabolical animals came out of their stables on their hind legs;
and it was only by the instrumentality of a bunch of postilions
hanging on the halter of each one, that we succeeded in again
reducing them to the state of quadrupeds. I think that it was
the idea of the food that awaited them at the next _venta_--for
they were frightfully thin--which filled them with this fiendlike
impetuosity. On leaving one small village, they commenced kicking
and capering about in such a fashion that their legs got entangled
in the traces; whereupon they were belaboured with a shower of
blows and kicks which must be seen to be believed. The whole team
fell down, and an unfortunate postilion, who was mounted on a
horse which in all probability had never before been in harness,
was dragged from beneath this heap of animals, almost as flat as a
pancake and bleeding from the nose. His sweetheart, who had come to
see him off, began shrieking enough to break any person's heart; I
should never have thought that such shrieks could proceed from a
human breast. The ropes were at last disentangled, and the mules
set upon their feet again. Another postilion took the place of the
wounded man, and we set off with a velocity which I should say
could not be surpassed. The country through which we passed had a
strange, savage look; it consisted of immense arid plains without a
single tree to break their uniformity, and terminated by mountains
and hills of a yellow-ochreish hue, which with difficulty assumed
an azure tint even at a distance. From time to time we passed a
dusty mud-built village, mostly in ruins. As it was Sunday, we
saw, all along the yellowish walls illuminated by a sickly sun,
whole ranks of haughty Castilians as motionless as mummies, and
enveloped in their tinder-like rags, who had placed themselves
there to _tomar el sol_, a species of amusement which would cause
the most phlegmatic German to die of _ennui_ at the expiration of
an hour. This peculiarly Spanish amusement was, however, on the day
in question, very excusable, for the weather was atrociously cold,
while a furious wind swept the plain with the noise of thunder and
of an infinity of war-chariots filled with armour rattling over a
succession of brazen vaults. I do not believe that anything more
barbarous and more primitive can be met with in the kraals of the
Hottentots and the encampments of the Calmucks. I took advantage of
a halt to enter one of these huts. It was a wretched hovel, without
any windows. It had a fireplace of unhewn stones in the centre, and
a hole in the roof for the smoke to escape. The walls were of a
dark brown colour, worthy of Rembrandt.
We dined at Torrequemada, a village situated on a small river which
is choked up by the ruins of some old fortifications. Torrequemada
is remarkable for the total absence of glass; the only window-panes
to be seen there are in the _parador_, which, in spite of this
unheard-of luxury, is nothing more nor less than a kitchen with
a hole in the ceiling. After having swallowed a few _garbanzos_,
which rattled in our stomachs like shots in a tambourine, we
re-entered our box, and the steeple-chase recommenced. The coach
at the back of the mules was like a saucepan tied to the tail of a
tiger, and the noise it made only served to render them still more
excited than they were before. A straw fire that was lighted in
the middle of the road nearly caused them to set off with the bit
between their teeth. They were so shy, that it was necessary for
the postilions to catch hold of them by the bridle, and cover their
eyes with their hands whenever another carriage was approaching
them from the opposite direction. It may be taken as a general
rule, that when two carriages drawn by mules meet, one of them is
destined to capsize. At last, what was to happen, did happen. I
was engaged in turning over in my brain the end of some hemi-stich
or other, as I am accustomed to do on my travels, when I saw my
companion, who was seated opposite to me, describe a rapid parabola
in my direction. This strange action was followed by a severe
shock and a general cracking. "Are you killed?" said my friend,
finishing his curve. "Quite the contrary," I replied; "and you?"
"Very slightly," was his answer. We made our way out as speedily
as possible through the shattered roof of the unfortunate coach,
which was shivered into a thousand pieces. It was with an infinite
degree of satisfaction that, at about fifteen paces off, we beheld
in a field the box of our daguerreotype, as perfect and unharmed
as if it had still been in Susse's shop, engaged in producing
views of the Colonnade of the Bourse. As for the mules, they had
disappeared, carrying off with them, Heaven knows whither, the
front part of the carriage, and the two small wheels. Our own loss
was limited to a button, which flew off with the violence of the
concussion, and which we were unable to find. In sober truth, it
would be impossible for any one to capsize more admirably.
I never in my life saw anything so ridiculous as the mayoral
lamenting over the ruins of his coach. He put the pieces together
just like a child who has broken a tumbler; finding, however,
that the damage was irreparable, he began swearing most awfully;
he beat himself, he rolled upon the ground, and imitated all the
excess of grief as represented by the ancients; the next moment he
softened down, and gave free course to the most touching elegies.
What grieved him most was the rose-coloured cushions, scattered in
all directions, torn and covered with dirt; these cushions were
evidently the most magnificent things that he, as a mayoral, could
conceive, and his heart bled to see that so much splendour had for
ever vanished.
After all, our situation was not over pleasant, although we were
seized with a most violent fit of laughter, which was certainly
rather ill-timed. Our mules had disappeared like smoke, and
all that we had left was a dismantled carriage without wheels.
Luckily, the _venta_ was not far off. Some one went and procured
two _galeras_, which came for us and our luggage. The _galera_
(galley) most undoubtedly justifies those who gave it the name it
bears. It is a cart on two or four wheels, with neither top nor
bottom. A number of cords made of reeds form, in the lower portion
of it, a sort of net, in which the packages and trunks are stowed.
Over these is spread a mattress--a real Spanish mattress--which in
no way prevents you from feeling the sharp angles of the baggage,
thrown in any how beneath. The victims arrange themselves, as well
as they can, on this novel instrument of torture, compared to
which the gridirons of Saint Lawrence and Guatimozin are beds of
roses; for on them, at least, it was possible to turn round. What
would the philanthropists, who give galley-slaves post-chaises to
ride in, say, if they saw the _galeras_ to which the most innocent
people in the world are condemned, when they visit Spain?
In this agreeable vehicle, completely innocent of anything like
springs, we went along at the rate of four Spanish leagues,
which are equal to five French leagues, an hour; just one mile
an hour more than the rate attained by our best horsed mails on
our best roads. Had we desired to have gone faster we must have
procured English racers or hunters. Our route was diversified by
a succession of steep ascents and rapid descents, down which we
always rattled at a most furious gallop. All the assurance and
skill for which Spanish postilions and conductors are famous was
requisite to prevent our being shivered into a thousand pieces at
the bottom of the various precipices; instead of capsizing merely
once, we ought to have been capsizing without intermission. We
were thrown from one side to the other like mice, when a person
shakes them about for the purpose of stunning and killing them
against the sides of the trap. Nothing but the severe beauty of
the landscape could have prevented us from becoming melancholy
and crooked in the back; but the lovely hills, with their austere
outline, and their sober, calm tints, imparted such a distinctive
character to the horizon, which was changing every moment, that
they more than compensated for the jolting we got in the _galera_.
A village, or some old convent, built like a fortress, varied the
oriental simplicity of the view, which reminded us strongly of the
background of Decamps's picture of "Joseph sold by his Brethren."
Dueñas, which is situated upon a hill, looks like a Turkish
cemetery. The caverns, scooped out of the living rock, are
supplied with air by little bell-shaped towers, which at first
sight bear a singular resemblance to minarets. A Moorish-looking
church completes the illusion. To our left, in the plain, we
caught occasional glimpses of the canal of Castile; it is not yet
completed.
At Venta de Trigueros, a most singularly beautiful _rose-coloured_
horse was harnessed to the _galera_. We had given up mules. This
horse fully justified the one which has been so much criticised
in the "Triumph of Trajan," by Eugene Delacroix. Genius is always
right. Whatever it invents, exists; and Nature imitates it in
almost its most fantastic eccentricities. After crossing a road
skirted by mounds and jutting buttresses, which presented a
tolerably monumental appearance, we at last entered Valladolid,
slightly bruised, but with our noses undamaged, and our arms still
hanging to our bodies without the assistance of black pins, like
the arms of a new doll. I cannot say much for our legs, in which we
seemed to feel all the pins and needles that were ever manufactured
in England, as well as the feet of a hundred thousand invisible
ants. We alighted in a superb and scrupulously clean _parador_,
where we were ushered into two splendid rooms, with balconies
looking out upon a square, coloured matting, and walls painted in
distemper, yellow and russet-green. As yet we had met with nothing
which could justify the charge of uncleanliness and poverty,
which travellers make against Spanish inns; we had not found any
scorpions in our beds, and the promised insects had not made their
appearance.
Valladolid is a large city that is almost entirely depopulated.
It is capable of containing two hundred thousand souls, and the
number of its inhabitants scarcely amounts to twenty thousand. It
is a clean, quiet, elegant town, possessing many peculiar features
that tell us we are approaching the east. The façade of San Pablo
is covered with marvellous sculptures, of the commencement of the
Renaissance period. Before the entrance, and arranged like posts,
are granite pillars, surmounted by heraldic lions, holding in
every possible position a shield with the arms of Castile upon
it. Opposite this edifice is a palace of the time of Charles V.,
with a courtyard surrounded with extremely elegant arcades and
most beautifully sculptured medallions. In this architectural gem,
the government sells its ignoble salt and detestable tobacco. By
a lucky chance, the façade of San Pablo is situated in a square,
so that a daguerreotype view can be taken of it, which there is
generally a great difficulty in doing in the case of edifices of
the Middle Ages, almost always hemmed in by a heap of houses and
abominable sheds; but the rain, which did not cease for a moment
during our stay in Valladolid, prevented our profiting by this
circumstance. Twenty minutes of sunshine, piercing the streams of
rain at Burgos, had enabled us to take very clear and distinct
views of the two spires of the Cathedral and a large portion of the
portal; but, at Valladolid, we did not have even twenty minutes, a
circumstance which we regretted all the more from the fact of the
town abounding in charming specimens of architecture. The building
which contains the library, and which they wish to turn into a
museum, is built in the most pure and delicious style; and although
certain ingenious restorers, who prefer bare boards to bas-reliefs,
have scraped away the admirable arabesques in a shameful manner,
there is still enough left to render the edifice a masterpiece of
elegance. We would particularly direct the attention of draughtsmen
to an internal balcony, which cuts the angle of a palace situated
on this same Plaza de san Pablo, and forms a _mirador_ of the most
original description. The outline of the small column uniting the
two arches, is peculiarly happy. According to the tradition, it
was in this house that the terrible Philip II. was born. We may
also mention the colossal fragment of an unfinished cathedral,
of granite, by Herrara, in the style of St. Peter's at Rome.
This edifice was abandoned for the Escurial, that lugubrious and
fantastic production of Charles V.'s melancholy son.
In a church that was closed, we were shown a collection of pictures
that had been made at the time the convents were suppressed, and
taken to Valladolid in obedience to an order of the superior
authorities. This collection proves those who pillaged the convents
and churches to be excellent artists and admirable connoisseurs,
for they left none but the most horrible daubs, the best of which
would not fetch fifteen francs in a broker's shop. The Museum
contains a few tolerable specimens, but nothing at all first-rate;
to make up for this defect, there is a great quantity of wood
carving, and a large number of ivory figures of our Saviour, but
they are more remarkable for their size and antiquity than for
the actual beauty of the execution. Persons who go to Spain for
the sake of purchasing curiosities will be greatly disappointed;
they will not find a single valuable weapon, a rare book or a
manuscript. Such objects are never to be met with.
The _Plaza de la Constitucion_ at Valladolid is very handsome and
very large. It is surrounded by houses, which are supported by
columns of bluish granite formed of a single block. These columns
produce a fine effect. The Palace _de la Constitucion_ is painted
russet-green, and ornamented with an inscription in honour of the
_innocente Isabella_, as the little queen is called here; it also
possesses a clock which is illuminated at night, like that of the
Hôtel de Ville at Paris, an innovation whereat the inhabitants
seem greatly to rejoice. Under the pillars are established swarms
of tailors, hatters, and shoemakers, whose callings are the three
most flourishing ones in Spain. Here, too, are the principal
coffee-houses, and the whole life of the population seems to be
centered in this one spot. In the other parts of the town you will
only meet at rare intervals some straggling individual or other,
a _criada_ going to fetch water, or a countryman driving an ass
before him. This appearance of solitude is augmented still more
by the large extent of ground occupied by the town, in which the
squares are more numerous than the streets. The _Campo Grande_,
near the principal gate, is surrounded by fifteen convents and
could make room for a great many more.
On the evening of our arrival, the performance at the theatre
consisted of a piece by Don Breton de los Herreros, a dramatic
author who is greatly esteemed in Spain. This piece bore the
strange title of _El Pelo de la Desa_, which signifies when
literally translated, _The Hair of the Pasturage_, a proverbial
expression which it is rather difficult to explain, but which
answers to the French saying, "La caque sent toujours le hareng"
(what is bred in the bone will never come out of the flesh). The
plot of the piece turns upon the fact of an Aragonese peasant
being about to marry a young girl of noble birth, but having
the good sense to feel that he can never be fitted for polite
society. The comicality consists in the perfect imitation of the
Aragonese dialect and accent, a kind of merit that is not easily
perceived by foreigners. The _baile nacional_, without resembling
the "Dance of Death" quite as much as that at Vittoria, was but
a poor affair. The next day they played Victor Hugo's _Hernani,
ou l'Honneur Castillan_, translated by Don Eugenio de Ochoa. We
took care not to neglect so fine an opportunity. The piece is
rendered verse for verse with scrupulous exactitude, save some few
passages and scenes which were necessarily omitted to suit the
public taste. The Scene of the Portraits is reduced to nothing,
because Spaniards consider it insulting, and imagine that they are
indirectly ridiculed in it. There are also some passages omitted
in the fifth act. In general, Spaniards feel affronted when they
are spoken of in a poetical manner; they assert that they are
calumniated by Victor Hugo, Mérimée, and most of the authors who
have written on Spain; yes--calumniated by being represented nobler
than they are. They most strenuously disavow the Spain of the
Romancero and the Orientals; they almost invariably assert that
they are neither poetical nor picturesque, and their assertion is,
alas! but too well founded. The drama was well played. The Ruy
Gomez of Valladolid was most certainly equal to that of the Rue de
Richelieu, which is not saying a little. As for the Hernani, that
_rebelle empoisonné_, he would have been highly satisfactory, had
he not had the bad taste to dress himself up like the troubadour on
a clock. The Doña Sol was almost as _young_ as Mademoiselle Mars,
without her talent.
The Theatre at Valladolid is of a very pleasing shape, and although
the interior is only decorated with a coat of white paint,
ornamented with cameos on a grey ground, it produces a pretty
effect. The decorator has hit upon the strange fancy of painting
the partitions of the stage-boxes, so as to resemble windows with
spotted muslin curtains, exceedingly well imitated. These windows
have a very singular appearance. The balcony and the front of the
boxes are formed of open-work, which enables the spectator to see
whether the women have small feet and well-made shoes; indeed,
it also enables him to see whether they possess a neat ankle and
well-fitting stocking. This, however, cannot be at all disagreeable
to Spanish women, who are nearly always irreproachable in this
respect. I perceived by a charming _feuilleton_ written by my
literary substitute (for the _Presse_ penetrates even into these
barbarous regions), that the boxes of the new Opéra Comique are
constructed on the same plan.
Beyond Valladolid the character of the country changes, and the
vast heaths recommence. They possess, however, the advantage over
those of Bordeaux of being dotted with clusters of green dwarf
oaks, and fir-trees that spread out more at the top, and somewhat
resemble a parasol in shape. But they are marked by the same
aridity, the same solitude, the same look of desolation. Here and
there are scattered heaps of rubbish, pompously called villages,
which have been burnt and devastated by the various contending
factions; and wandering about among their ruins are seen some few
inhabitants, looking tattered and miserable. The only picturesque
objects are a few petticoats, of a very bright canary colour,
enlivened with embroidery of various hues, representing birds and
flowers.
Olmedo, where the coach stops for the passengers to dine, is
completely in ruins. Whole streets are deserted, and others choked
up by fallen houses, while grass grows in the squares. Like the
doomed cities mentioned in Holy Writ, Olmedo will soon contain
no inhabitants save the flat-headed viper, the blear-eyed owl,
and the dragon of the desert, who will drag the scales of his
belly over the stones of the altars. A girdle of old dismantled
fortifications surrounds the place, and the charitable ivy throws
its cloak of verdure over the nudity of the gutted and yawning
towers. Nature endeavours to repair as well as she can the ravages
committed by Time and War. The depopulation of Spain is frightful:
in the time of the Moors she possessed thirty-two millions of
inhabitants, and, at present, the numbers, at most, ten or eleven
millions. Unless some very fortunate change takes place--a thing
that is not excessively probable--or the marriages are blessed
with supernatural fecundity, many towns that were once flourishing
will be abandoned altogether, and their ruins of brick and clay
insensibly become amalgamated with the soil which swallows up all
things--cities as well as men.
In the room where we dined, a tall woman, built like a Cybele,
kept walking up and down, carrying under her arm an oblong basket,
covered with a piece of stuff. From this basket there issued little
plaintive cries, rather like those of a very young child. I was
somewhat puzzled at this, because the basket was so small that if
it had contained a child the latter must have been of the most
microscopic and phenomenal proportions--a Lilliputian that ought
to be exhibited at fairs. It was not long before the enigma was
explained. The nurse--for such she was--drew out from the basket a
coffee-coloured puppy, and sitting down, very gravely suckled this
new description of baby. She was a _pasiega_ going to Madrid to
take a situation, and was afraid that her supply of milk might dry
up.
On leaving Olmedo, the country does not offer any great variety
of scenery; the only thing worth notice that I remarked, before
we reached our quarters for the night, was an admirable effect
of sunset. The rays of light illuminated one side of a chain of
very distant mountains, all the details of which stood out with
the greatest clearness, but the portions that were plunged in
shadow were almost invisible; and the sky bore a most saturnine
appearance. Were a painter to transfer this effect exactly to
canvas, he would be accused of exaggeration and inexactitude. On
this occasion the posada was much more Spanish than any we had
hitherto seen. It consisted of an immense stable surrounded by
chambers with whitewashed walls, containing four or five beds
each. The whole place was miserable and naked, but not dirty;
the characteristic and proverbial filth did not yet make its
appearance. In fact, the dining-room contained an incredible
example of sumptuousness in the way of furniture,--namely, a
set of engravings representing the Adventures of Telemachus,
not the charming vignettes with which Célestin Nanteuil and his
friend Baron, have illustrated the history of the wearisome son
of Ulysses, but those horrible coloured daubs with which the Rue
Saint Jacques inundates the whole world. We set off again at two
in the morning, and, as soon as the first streaks of day enabled
me to distinguish the different objects, I beheld a sight that I
shall never forget as long as I live. We had just changed horses
at a village called, I think, Santa Maria de las Nieves, and were
toiling up the first ridges of the chain of mountains we had
to traverse. I almost imagined I was passing through some city
built by the Cyclops. Immense blocks of sandstone, that assumed
all sorts of architectural shapes, rose up on all sides, their
outlines standing out upon the background of the sky like so many
fantastic Towers of Babel. In one place, a flat stone that had
fallen across two other rocks bore a most astonishing resemblance
to the _peulven_ or _dolmen_ of the Druids; further on, a series
of lofty fragments, shaped like the shafts of columns, represented
porticoes and propylæa; in another place, you saw nothing but a
chaos--an ocean of sandstone suddenly frozen when in a state of
the utmost fury. The bluish-grey of these rocks augmented still
more the singularity of the view, while, at every moment, from out
the interstices of the stone there gushed forth, in the shape of
drizzling vapour, or trickled down like tears of crystal, numerous
mountain springs. But what particularly enchanted me was the snow
which had melted and run into the hollows, forming little lakes,
bordered with emerald-coloured grass, or framed in a circle of
silver, composed of snow which had resisted the action of the
sun. Pillars raised at certain distances, and serving to direct
the traveller when the snow throws its perfidious mantle over the
right road and the precipices, gave the scene a sort of monumental
appearance. The torrents foam and roar in every direction; the road
passes over them by means of the bridges of uncemented stone so
frequent in Spain, and which you meet at every step you take.
The mountains continued to tower higher and higher, and when we had
ascended one, another, which we had not before seen, rose up before
us. The mules were no longer equal to their task, and we were
under the necessity of procuring a team of oxen, which gave us an
opportunity of alighting, and performing the rest of the ascent on
foot. I was actually intoxicated with the pure bracing air; I felt
so light, so joyous, so full of enthusiasm, that I cried out and
capered about like a young goat. I experienced a desire to throw
myself down all the charming precipices, that looked so azure, so
vapoury, and so velvet-like. I wished to be carried away by the
cascades, to dip my feet in all the springs, to pluck a leaf from
every fir, to roll myself in the glittering snow, to be mixed up
with all the objects around, and melt like an atom in the immensity
before me.
The lofty mountain crests glistened and sparkled in the sun, like
the skirt of a dancing-girl's robe under its shower of silver
spangles; others, again, had their peaks surrounded by clouds, and
merged imperceptibly into the sky, for nothing resembles a mountain
so much as a cloud. The whole view was composed of one succession
of precipices and undulations. It is beyond the power of art,
whether of the pen or the pencil, to convey an adequate idea of
their different colours and forms. Mountains realize all that the
imagination can picture of them, and this is no small praise. The
only difference between the reality and the idea we form of it,
arises from the fact of our fancying mountains look larger than
they do. We are only aware of their enormous size by comparison. On
gazing attentively, you perceive that what, at a distance, you took
for a blade of grass, is a fir-tree sixty feet high.
At the turn of a bridge, admirably adapted for an ambuscade of
brigands, we beheld a small column surmounted by a cross. It was
erected to the memory of a poor devil who had ended his days in
this narrow pass, in consequence of his having fallen a victim to
_manoairada_ (violent death). From time to time we met travelling
_maragatos_, in their costume of the sixteenth century, which
consists of a tight-fitting leathern doublet, fastened with a
buckle, wide breeches, and a broad-brimmed hat. We also met several
_Valencianos_, with their white linen drawers, like the robes of
the Klephts, their handkerchief twisted about their head, their
white gaiters bordered with blue, and without feet, after the
fashion of the antique _Knemis_, and their long piece of cloth
(_capa de muestra_), crossed diagonally by bright-coloured stripes,
and draped over their shoulders in a very elegant manner. All
that we could perceive of their flesh was as tawny as Florentine
bronze. Then, again, we saw strings of mules, caparisoned in the
most charming fashion, with bells and party-coloured fringe and
housings, while their _arrieros_ were armed with carbines. We were
enchanted, for we had found an abundant supply of the picturesque
of which we were in search.
The higher we ascended, the thicker and broader became the strips
of snow; but a single sunbeam made the mountains stream with water,
like a woman laughing in the midst of her tears; on every side
little brooks, scattered about like the dishevelled tresses of some
Naïad, and clearer than crystal, forced their way downwards. By
dint of climbing, we reached the summit of the range, and seated
ourselves on the plinth of a large granite lion, which is situated
on the further side of the mountain, and marks the boundary of Old
Castile; beyond this lion the province of New Castile commences.
We took a fancy to cull a delicious red flower, whose botanical
name I do not know, and which was growing in the fissures of the
mountain. This necessitated our clambering up on a rock, which
is said to be the place where Philip II. used to sit to see how
the works of the Escurial were advancing. Either the tradition is
apocryphal, or Philip II. must have possessed most astoundingly
good eyes.
The coach, which had been toiling up the precipitous steeps, at
last rejoined us once more. The oxen were unyoked, and we descended
the declivity in a gallop. We stopped to dine at Guadarrama, a
little village crouched at the foot of the mountain. The only
ornament of which it can boast is a granite fountain, erected by
Philip II. At this place, by a strange reversion of the natural
order of dinners, goats' milk soup was served up as dessert.
Madrid, like Rome, is surrounded by a desert; it is impossible
to convey an idea of its aridity and desolation. There is not a
tree, a drop of water, a green plant, or the least appearance
of humidity; nothing but yellow sand and iron-grey rocks; and
when you leave the mountain, you do not find even rocks, but
large stones. From time to time you perceive a dusty _venta_, a
cork-coloured spire, just showing its nose on the horizon, large
melancholy-looking oxen dragging along one of the cars we have
already described; a countryman on horseback, or on a mule, with
a fierce expression of face, a carbine at his saddle-bow, and a
sombrero slouched over his eyes, or long strings of whity-brown
asses, carrying chopped straw, which is corded up with a network
of small ropes, and that is all. The ass which walks first, the
_coronel_, has always a small feather or rosette, indicating his
superiority in the hierarchy of the long-eared tribe.
At the expiration of a few hours, which our impatience to reach our
destination caused to appear still longer than they really were, we
at last perceived Madrid with tolerable distinctness. A few minutes
afterwards we entered the Spanish capital by the _Puerta de
Hierro_, and drove along an avenue planted with dwarf pollards and
bordered by small brick towers which serve to raise water. Talking
of water, although the transition is not very well timed, I forgot
to mention that we crossed the Manzanares by means of a bridge that
was worthy of a river of a more serious description; we then passed
by the Queen's Palace, one of those edifices which people are
pleased to designate as tasty. The immense terraces on which it is
raised give it rather a grand appearance.
After having undergone the visit of the custom-house officials, we
proceeded to take up our quarters in the immediate vicinity of the
_Calle d'Alcala_ and of the _Prado_; the name of our street was the
_Calle del Caballero de Gracia_, and our hotel was called _La Fonda
de la Amistad_, where Madame Espartero, Duchess de la Vittoria,
happened at that time to be staying. The first thing we did was to
despatch Manuel, our temporary servant, a most ardent _aficionado_
and tauromachist, to procure us tickets for the next bull-fight.