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thUtewyorF
PUBLIC LIBRARY
^°t> H rouNOAT,&ft;^
■^ St. Athss Branch, "^ 2279 B.-^.OADWAY,
To.
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FrtMONDO DE AMICIS. Ml elchiHg by GabriitU D. CUm
«. ' • •
Saragossa Edition
Spain AND THE Spaniards '«' *
By EDMONDO DE
AM-fcIS * -* *
i
»
TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN . BY WlLHt#.|y^A^ ^jitW
iPUBLlC UtT'ARV.'
PVB.LIC ifHOPW reaDIhO h»w«.
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NEW YORK & LONDON ^ G. P. PUTNAM'S>i§d^S^^?==^ -^
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• •
• • •
•• •
», • • •
THE NEW ^01
• VS-rTJB, LiNOX AND J\[S)^ i^e«iDATION8.
■■ t ■ I
y
I
• • •
'•• •• •
• • ••
• • •
• •
•• •
• •• • ••
• • • • -
• • « •
• • • •• •
• • •; •
• •
• • •.
« •
•• •
• CmmiGHT^ 1880
BY -''
ik P. PUTNAM'S SONS
Electrotyped, Printed and Bound bjr
%bc ftnickerbockcr prees, l^ew ]Perk G. P« Putnam's Sons
CONTENTS.
I BARCELONA .
II SARAGOSSA
III BURGOS
IV VALLADOLID V MADRID
VI ARANJUEZ
VII TOLEDO
VIII CORDOVA
IX SEVILLE
y CADIZ .
XI MALAGA
XII GRANADA
XIII VALENCIA
APPENDIX
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PORTRAIT or EDMONDO DE AMICIS . . . FrPntttpiece
PORT OF BARCELONA S
THE GATE OF BARCELONA l8
BRIDGE AT SARAGOSSA $6
BRIDGE, GATEWAY, AND CATHEDRAL OF BURGOS . . 76
THE SERENADE 136
PORTRAIT OF ASDPUS, BV VELASQUEZ .... I4O
LA CONCEPCION, BV UURILLO I43
THE ROYAL PALACE, MADRID I4fi
the bull fight 166
tor£ro y seRorita 183
ARANjuEZ aaS
TOLEDO 339
A STREET IM TOLEDO 236
IN THE CATHEDRAL, CORDOVA 374
PRISON OF THE INQUISITION, CORDOVA . , . . 282
GOLDEN TOWER, SEVILLE 398
THE CIRALOA, SEVILLE 308
GIBRALTAR 348
PORT, QUAY, AMD CATHEDRAL, MALAGA .... 350
ON THE DARRO 374
VIEW OF GRANADA 386
MARIANO DE GRANADA, PRINCIPE DE LOS GITAN08 . . 418
ENTRANCE TO VALENCIA 433
SPAIN.
CHAPTER ■!;• . * . ■
BARCEUINA." . ' • ' ■ ■
IT was a rainy morning In February, an hour be- fore sunrise, when my mother accompanied me as far as the staircase, repeating hurriedly all the counsels she had been giving me for a month ; then throwing her arms around my neck, she burst into tears and disappeared. I stood for a moment look- ing at the door through which she had passed, al- most ready to exclaim : " Open the door ! I am not going away ! 1 will stay with you ! " Then I rushed down the stairs as if I were a burglar who was being pursued. When I reached the street, it seemed as if between my home and me were al- ready stretched the waves of the sea and the heights of the Pyrenees. Yet although I had been fever- ishly looking forward to that day for some time. I was not at all happy. At the corner of a street, on his way to the hospital, I met a medical friend of mine whom I had not seen for more than a month, and who asked : ^-s===^^?55^
" Where are v**^^f ^ '° t^V
" To Spain,'/^'ft:pliMr~'"Btrtiie fiMld hardly be-
''* SI. A^nas Branch, *»
444 Amsterdan Av«.
2 SPAIN.
lieve my statement, so little did my gloomy frown- ing face seem to announce a pleasure trip. AH alon^. the road /rbjn. Turin to Genoa, I thought only of. my>i|iother;'^^ijl^ empty room, my little library, and (3f:tfie-dear Tiabks of my home life, to all of which
;lvw^ saying farewell for many months.
Biit on arriving at Genoa, the sight of the sea, the gardens of the Acqua Sola and the company of Anton Ginlio Barili restored rfiy: usual calmness and gaiety.
/r Remember that just as^^^l'was getting into the boat
•which w\yas to take me to the steamer, a porter from
tKe/hititei handed me a letter containing only these
woVdsrv^ : . ...
" Sad^orews from Spam. The situation of an Ital-
lan at Madrid, at the time of a struggle against the king, would be dangerous. Do you persist in go- ing } Think well of it ! "
I sprang into the boat and away we went. Just before the departure of the steamer, two officers came to say good-bye. I seem to see them yet as they stood up in the boat, when the ship had begun to move.
** Bring me a sword from Toledo ! " they cried.
" Bring me a bottle of Xeres ! "
*' Bring me a guitar ! an Andalusian hat ! a dag-
Shortly after this I could only see their white handkerchiefs and hear their last shouts ; I tried to reply, but my voice choked ; I began to laugh and passed my hand across my eyes. In a short time I retired to my den, fell into a delicious sleep, and dreamed of my mother's counsels, my pocket-book, France and Andalusia. At daybreak I sprang up and went on deck. We were at a short distance from the shore — it was the French coast, the first
BARCELONA. 3
Strip of foreign land I had seen ; it is curious, I could not gaze at it enough ; a thousand vague thoughts passed through my mind*. and I said.:.
" Is it France, really Fraiixe;,; and am I ac;tuajly here?" • •- *
At noon we began to see Marseilles. The fir-st sight of a large maritime c'ty produces a sort of be- wilderment which destroys/the pleasure of surprise. I see, as if through a mist, an- injmense forest of shipsi '- a boatman who stretches , out his hand to me, ad* dressing me in some incomprehensible jargon >; a custom-house guard who makes me pay,»Hi;v.Irtve of I know not what law, deux sous pour les Prussiens ; then a dark hotel room ; then long, long streets, immense squares, a coming and going of people and carriages, troops of Zouaves, unknown mili- tary uniforms, thousands of lights and voices, and at last a weariness and profound melancholy which ends in a painful dream. The following morning at daybreak I was in a carriage of the railway which runs from Marseilles to Perpignan, with ten officers of the Zouaves, who had arrived the day before from Africa ; some with -crutches, some with canes, and others with their arms in slings, but all as gay and noisy as so many school-boys. The journey was a long one, so it was necessary to try and start a conver- sation ; yet taking into consideration all that I had heard of the ill feeling existing between the French and ourselves, I dared not open my mouth. What nonsense it was ! One of the gentlemen addressed me and we began talking.
" Are you Italian ? "
"Yes."
The result of my answer was delightful. All, with one exception, had fought in Italy, and one had been
SPAIN.
wounded at Magenta. They began recounting anecdotes of Genoa, Turin, Milan, asking me about a thousand things* a:nd describing the life they lead in AfricScL.^^'.One begat>;pa the pope. ** Aha!" I said ^o 'i^^'seff, but he went further than I, for he said that "'we ought to have tratu/ii le noeud de la gues- tioHy yind gone to the bojtjtdm of the matter without giving any thought to the 'peasantry. Meanwhile, Laa*5yc approached the Pyrenees, I amused myself by phsjerving the progressive change in the pronuncia- tidh'0T*the travellers, who* entered the carriage, and in n6tHf?^j;'hbw the French language died, if I may so express? niyself, into the Spanish tongue, to feel the approach *of Spain ; until reaching Perpignan and rushing into a diligence, I heard the first buenos dias and btien vicije, so distinct and sonorous that they gave me infinite pleasure. At Perpignan, however, Spanish is not spoken, but the people use a wretched dialect, a mixture of French, Marseillese and Cata- lan, which is distressing to the ear. The diligence landed me at a hotel among a crowd of officers, ladies, Englishmen and trunks. A waiter forced me to sit down at a table, where I ate something. I was half strangled, hurried into another diligence, and away we went.
Alas! I had dreamed for so long a time of the crossing of the Pyrenees, and I was obliged to make the i)assage by night. Before we had reached the foot of the first mountains it was perfectly dark.
Through long, long hours, between sleeping and waking, I saw nothing but a little of the road lighted by the lanterns of the diligence, the dark profile of some mountain, a projecting rock which I could have touched by stretching my hand out of the window ; and I heard nothing save the measured tread of the
BARCELONA. 5
horses, and the whistling of a dreadful wind, which never ceased blowing for a moment.
Beside me sat a young American, the most origi- nal creature in the world, who slept for I know not how many hours with his head resting on my shoulder, who waked from time to time to exclaim : ''Ah quelle nuit ! Quelle horrible nuil f without becoming aware of the fact that with his head he gave me quite another reason for making the same lament. At the station we both got out and entered a small tavern for a little glass of liquor. He — the American — asked me if I were travelling on busi- ness.
" No, sir," I replied. ** I am travelling for pleas- ure ; and you, if I may be permitted to ask? "
"I," he replied with the utmost gravity, ** am travelling for love."
*' For love ? "
•* For love," and then he proceeded, unasked, to relate to me a long story of a love affair which had been broken off, a marriage which had fallen through, abductions, duels, and I know not what be- side, concluding his narrative with the assertion that he was travelling for distraction of mind and to forget the beloved one. And, in truth, he did en- deavor to distract himself as much as possible, for at every inn we entered, from the first one to that in Gerona, he did nothing but teaze the maids ; with perfect gravity, it must be confessed, but also with an audacity which even the desire for distraction could hardly justify.
At three o'clock in the morning we reached the frontier. Estamos en Espaniiy cried a voice ; the diligence stopped, the American and I jumped out again, and walked with much curiosity into a little
6 SPAII/.
tavern to see the first sons of Spain between the walls of their own house. We found a half dozen custom-house officers, the host, his wife and children, seated around a brazier. They addressed us in- stantly. I asked many questions, to which they re- plied in a lively and ingenuous manner, which I had not expected to find in the Catalans, depicted in geographical dictionaries as a hard people of few - words. We asked if there was anything to eat, and they brought us a famous Spanish chorizo, a species of sausage stuffed with pepper, which burned the stomach, a bottle of sweet wine and a little hard bread.
** Well, what is your king doing?" I asked one of the custom-house officers after having rejected the first mouthfuls. The one whom I addressed ap- peared a trifle embarassed, looked at me, then at the others, and finally gave me this very curious answer :
** Esth reinandoy (He is reigning.)
All began laughing, and while I was preparing a more leading question I heard some one whisper in my ear :
^'Es un republicanoy
I turned and saw the proprietor of the inn look- ing at the ceiling.
'* I understand/' I said, and immediately changed the subject. Upon reentering the diligence my companion and I laughed heartily at the innkeeper's warning, both of us being astonished that the politi- cal opinions of custom-house officials should be taken so seriously by a person of that class ; but in taverns we entered afterward we heard quite a dif- ferent story. In all of them the proprietor or some adventurer was to be found reading the newspaper, surrounded by a group of listening peasants. From
BARCELONA, 7
time to time the reading was interrupted, and some political discussion arose, which I could not under- stand, as they were speaking Catalan, but the gist of which I could gather, however, by the aid of the newspaper which I had heard read. Well, I must say that in all those circles there breathed a republi- can spirit which would have made the flesh of the most intrepid follower of Amadeus creep.
One among the others — a huge man with a fierce brow and deep voice — after having talked for some time to a group of silent listeners, turned toward me, whom he had mistaken, from my incorrect Castilian pronunciation, for a Frenchman, and said with much solemnity :
** I will tell you one \k(YCi<g,cabaUerot^
-What is it?"
** I tell you that Spain is more unfortunate than France," having said which he began pacing the room with his head bowed and his arms crossed over his breast. I heard others speak confusedly of Cortes^ ministers, ambitions, betrayals, and other terrible things. One single person, a girl at the eating-house in Figueras, knowing that I was Italian, said to me smiling : ** Now we have an Italian king," and shortly thereafter, as we were going away, she added with graceful simplicity : *' He pleases me !"
It was still night when we feached Gerona, where King Amadeus, received, as it is said, with much en- thusiasm, placed a stone in the house occupied by General Alvarez during the celebrated siege of 1809. We crossed the city which seemed to us immense, sleepy as we were, and impatient to throw our- selves down for a nap in a railway carriage, and fin- ally arrived at the station, leaving for Barcelona at daybreak.
8 SPAIN:
Sleep ! It was the first time I had seen the sun rise in Spain : how could 1 sleep ? I placed myself at a window and never withdrew my head until we reached Barcelona. Ah ! no pleasure can compare with that which one experiences in entering an un- known country, with the imagination prepared for the sight of new and charming things, with a thou- sand recollections of fanciful readings in one's head, and without any anxieties or cares. To advance into that country, to glance eagerly on every side in search of something that will make you compre- hend, if you do not know it, that you are really here ; to recognize the fact, little by little, here in the dress of a peasant, there in a plant, farther on in a house ; to see as one proceeds along the route these signs, colors and forms multiply, and to compare everything with the idea one had formed of it ; to find a satisfaction for one's curiosity in everything upon which the eye falls, or which reaches .the ear ; in the faces of the people, in their gestures, -accents and conversations ; to give vent to an exclamation of surprise at every step ; to feel that one's mind is expanding and becoming clearer ; to desire together with the hope of a speedy arrival, never to arrive at all, striving to see everything, asking a thousand questions of one's neighbors, making a sketch of a village, arranging a group of peasants, and saying a dozen times in the hour : " Here I am !'* and thinking that one of these days you will tell of everything, — this is indeed the greatest and most varied of human enjoyments. The American was snoring.
The portion of Catalonia through which one passes in going from Gerona to Barcelona is varied, fertile, and admirably cultivated. It is a succession of little valleys, surrounded by hills of graceful form, with
BARCELOl<rA, $
thick groves, torrents, chasms, and ancient castles ; with everywhere a healthful and luxurious vegeta- tion, and a vivid green reminding one of the severe aspect of the valleys of the Alps. The landscape is embellished by the picturesque costume of the peas- ants, which corresponds admirably with the proud character of the Catalan.
The first whom I saw were dressed from head to foot in black velvet, wearing around their necks a species of white and red-striped shawl, on their heads a little zouave cap which was very red and fell over the shoulders ; some of them had a pair of kid-gaiters laced up to the knees ; others a pair of linen shoes, made like slippers, with a corded sole, open in front, and bound, around, the foot with crossed black ribbons.-^ A dress,, in fact, \easy and elegant, yet at the same time severe in style. It was not very cold ; still all were enveloped in their shawls, so that only the end of the nose and the point of the cigarrito were visible ; and. they looked like gentlemen who were coming out of a theatre. Not alone on account of the shawl, but from the way in which it was worn, falling on one side, and arranged in a manner that made it appear as if quite carelessly done, and with those folds and those turns which give it the grace of a mantilla and the majesty of a cloak. At every railway station there were sev- eral of them, each one with a shawl of a different color, not a few of them dressed in fine, clean clothes, almost all very neat, and posed in such dignified atti- tudes that the effect of their picturesque costume was heightened thereby. Among them were a few dark faces ; the majority, however, were white, the eyes dark and vivacious, but without the fire and mobility of the Andalusian glances.
Little by little, as we proceed, the villages, houses, bridges and aqueducts multiply, and all things which announce the vicinity of a rich and populous com- mercial city. Granollers, St. Andrea de Palomar, Clot, are surrounded by workshops, villas and gar- dens. All along the route one sees long rows of carts, troops of peasants, and herds. The stations are filled with people ; any one not knowing bet- ter would think he was crossing one of the prov- inces of England rather than one in Spain. After passing the station of Clot, which is the last before reaching Barcelona, one sees on every side large brick buildings, long boundary walls, piles of building materials, smoking towers, factories and workmen, and one hears, or seems to hear, a dull, diffused, in- creasing sound, which is like the labored breath of a great city that is moving and working. In fine, one takes in at a single glance all Barcelona, the port, the sea, a wreath of hills, and everything shows itself and disappears in an instant, and you find yourself under the roof of the railway station, with your blood in a ferment and your head in con- fusion.
An omnibus, as large as a railway carriage, carried me to the nearest hotel, in which, as I en- tered, I heard Italian spoken. I confess that I experienced as much pleasure at the sound of my native tongue, as if I had found myself after a year of travel at an interminable distance from Italy. It was, however, a pleasure of short duration. A waiter, the one whom I had heard speaking, accom- panied me to my room, and becoming aware by my smile that I was one of his compatriots, asked me with charming grace :
" Do you finish from arriving? "
BAh'CELOMA. II
•* Finish from arriving ? " I asked, in turn, open- ing wide my eyes with astonishment.
It is best to make a note of the fact here, that in Spanish the word acabar (to finisn doing a thing) corresponds with the French expression — venir de la fa ire.
This accounts for my not understanding what the man wished to say.
** Yes," replied the waiter, '* I ask if the caballero has just descended this very hour from the iron road ? '*
**This very hour! iron road! but what kind of Itah'an do you speak, my friend "i "
He was slightly disconcerted, but I afterward learned that at Barcelona there are a great number of hotel waiters, caf6 employes, cooks, and servants of every description who are Piedmontese, the ma- jority of them from Navarre, who went to Spain as boys and who speak that horrible jargon, a mixture of French, Italian, Castilian, Catalan and Pied- montese, not with the Spanish, be it understood, be- cause they have all learned the Spanish, but with Italian travellers, in this way, for amusement, just to show that they have not forgotten their native tongue. So that I heard many Catalans say : ** Ah, there is very little difference between your language and ours ! " 1 should think so ! They might also add what a Castilian chorister said to me, in a tone of benevolent superiority, on board the boat that took me five months later to Marseilles : ** The Italian language is the most beautiful of the dialects which have been formed from ours ! *'
Scarcely had I rid myself of the traces of the '"^ horrible nuit'' which the crossing of the Pyrenees had left upon me, before I dashed out of the hotel
12 $PAII^.
and began roaming about the streets. Barcelona is, in appearance, the least Spanish city of Spain. There are large buildings, of which few are old, long streets, regular squares, shops, theatres, great superb caf6s, and a continuous coming and going of peo- ple, carriages and carts from the shores of the sea to the heart of the city, and from here to the dis- tant quarters, as at Genoa, Naples and Marseilles. A broad, straight street called the Rambla, shaded by two rows of trees, crosses nearly the entire city from the harbor up. A spacious promenade, lined with new houses, extends along the sea-shore, on a high-walled dyke, in the shape of a terrace, against which the waves dash ; an immense suburb, sdmost a new city, stretches along the north, and on every side new houses break the old boundary lines, are scattered over the fields, on the hillsides, and ex- tend in interminable lines as far as the neighboring villages. On all the surrounding heights, rise villas, little . palaces, and factories, which dispute the ground, jostle each other, appearing one behind the other until they form a great wreath around the city. On every side there is manufacturing, trans- forming and renovating. The people work and prosper, and Barcelona flourishes.
It was during the last days of the Carnival. The streets were traversed by long processions of giants, devils, princes, Moors, warriors, and a troop of cer- tain figures, which I had the misfortune to meet everywhere. They were dressed in yellow, each carrying a long cane, at the top of which was tied a purse that was poked under every one's nose, into all the shops, windows, even up to the balconies of the first floors of the houses, asking for alms in the name of I know not whom, but destined, proba-
BARCELONA. 13
bly, for some classical revel on the last night of the Carnival. The most curious thing which I saw was the masquerade of the children. It is the custom to dress . the boys under eight, some as men, in the French style, in complete evening dress, with white gloves, great mustaches and long hair ; some as grandees of Spain, covered with ribbons and trin- kets ; others as Catalan peasants, with cap and man- tle ; the girls as court ladies, amazons, poetesses, with the lyre and crown of laurel : and both, too, in the costumes of the various provinces of the state ; some as flower-girls of Valencia, some as Andalu- sian gypsies, others as Basque mountaineers, alto- gether the oddest and most picturesque dresses that can be imagined ; and the parents lead them by the hand on the promenade, so that it is like a rivalry of good taste, phantasy and luxury, in which the people take part with the greatest delight.
While I was seeking the street which would lead me to the cathedral, I met a troop of Spanish sol- diers. I stopped to look at them, comparing them with the picture which Baretti draws of them when he talks of their assault upon him in the hotel, one taking the salad off his plate, and another dragging the side bone of a fowl from his mouth. One must confess that from that time to the present they are much changed. At first sight, one would take them for French soldiers, as they, too, wear the red trous- ers, and a gray jacket which falls to the knee. The only notable difference is the head covering. The Spaniards wear a cap of a particular pattern, crushed at the back, curved in front, and furnished with a vizor which folds over the forehead. This cap is made of gray cloth, and is hard, light and graceful, bearing the name of its inventor, Ros de
14 sPAm,
Olano, general and poet, who modeled it after his own hunting hat. The majority of the soldiers whom i saw, all of the infantry, were young, short of stature, dark, quick and clean, as one is accus- tomed to imagine the soldiers of an army which for- merly possessed the lightest and most vigorous infantry of Europe. Even to-day the Spanish Infan- try have the reputation of being the most indefatiga- ble walkers and most rapid runners ; they are grave, proud, and full of a national pride, of which it is im- possible to form an adequate idea without having seen them near to. The officers wear a short, black coat, like those of the Italian officers, which, when off duty, they generally throw open, thereby display- ing a vest buttoned to the throat. In their leisure hours they never carry their swords ; during the marches, like the soldiers, they wear a pair of black cloth gaiters, which nearly reach the knee. A regi- ment of infantry, in complete equipment of war, pre- sents a sight both graceful and warlike.
The cathedral of Barcelona, in the Gothic style, surmounted by bold towers, is worthy of a place by the most beautiful of Spain. The interior is formed by three vast naves, divided by two rows of very high pilasters, slender and graceful in form ; the choir, placed in the centre of the church, is orna- mented by a profusion of bas-reliefs, filagrees and figures ; under the sanctuary is a subterranean chapel, always lighted, in the centre of which is the tomb of Saint Eulalia, which can be seen through several little windows opening around the sanctuary. Tradition relates that the murderers of the saint (who was very beautiful) wished to see her nude form before giving her the death blow ; but while they were removing the last veil, a thick mist cov-
BARCELONA. 1 5
ered her and hid her completely from view. Her body is still intact and as fresh as during life, and there is no human eye which can bear the sight of it ; once, an incautious bishop, who, at the end of the last century, wished to uncover the tomb and see the sacred remains, became blind while in the act of looking at them. In a little chapel on the right of the high altar, lighted by many little jets, one sees a Christ on the cross, in colored wood, leaning a trifle to one side. It is said that this Christ was on a Spanish ship at the battle of Le- panto, and that it was bent in this manner in trying to avoid a cannon ball, which it saw coming straight toward its heart. From the roof of the same chapel is suspended a little galley, with all its oars, built in imitation of that upon which Don John of Austria fought against the Turks. Under the or- gan, in Gothic style, covered with tapestry, hangs an enormous Saracen's head, with open mouth, from which, in ancient times, sweetmeats rained down for children. In the other chapels there are a beautiful marble tomb, and some praiseworthy paintings of Villadomat, a Barcelonian painter of the seventeenth century. The church is dark and mysterious. A cloister rises beside it, upheld by superb pilasters formed of slender columns and surmounted by cap- itals overloaded with statuettes, which represent scenes from the Old and New lestamcnts. In the rloister, in the church, in the little square which stretches out before them, and in the small streets that run around them, is an air of melancholy peace, which attracts and saddens one like the garden of a cemetery. A group of horrible bearded old women guard the door.
In the city, after visitin^s the cathedral, no other
1 6 6PAJAr.
great monuments of interest remain to be seen. In the Square of the Constitution are two palaces called Casa de la DiptUacion and Cdsa Consistorial, the first of the sixteenth century, the other of the fourteenth, which still retain some portions worthy of note, the one a court, the other a door. On one side of the Casa de la DiptUacion there is a rich Gothic facade of the Chapel of St. Georgjp. There is a palace of the Inquisition, with a dismal court, and little win- dows with heavy bars, and secret doors ; but this is nearly all restored in old style. There still remain several enormous Roman columns, in the Street of Paradise, which are lost in the midst of modem houses, surrounded by tortuous staircases and dark rooms. There is nothing else which could claim the attention of an artist. In compensation for this, there are fountains with rostral columns, pyramids, statues ; boulevards lined with villas, gardens, caf6s, hotels ; a bull circus capable of holding ten thousand spec- tators ; a suburb which extends along a promontory that shuts in the harbor, built with the symmetry of a chess-board, and inhabited by ten thousand sailors ; many libraries ; a very rich museum of natural his- tory, and a building containing archives, which is one of the largest depositories of historical documents from the ninth century to the present day, that is to say, from the first Counts of Catalonia to the War of the Independence.
Outside the city one of the most notable things is the cemetery, a half hour's drive from the gates, situ- ated in the centre of a vast plain. Seen from the exterior, on the side of the entrance, it looks like a garden, and makes one hasten his steps with an al- most cheerful feeling of curiosity. But scarcely has one crossed the portal ere he stands before a novel
BAKCELONA. i;
and indescribable spectacle, quite different from that for which he was prepared. The stranger finds him- self in the midst of a silent city, traversed by long, deserted streets, flanked by straight walls of equal height, shut in at the end by other walls. He goes on and reaches a cross-road, and beyond he sees streets, other walls and other distant cross-roads. It seems like being in Pompeii. The dead are placed in the walls, lengthwise, arranged in different rows. like the books in a library. A kind of niche in the wall corresponds to every casket in Avhich is written the name of the person buried; ^where no one is buried, the niche bears the written vrord, Propiedady which signifies that the place has been purchased. The majority of the niches are en- closed by glass, others by gratings, some by a fine wire netting, and contain a great variety of objects, placed there in honor of the dead by their respective families, such as photographs, little altars, pictures, embroideries, artificial flowers, and, not infrequently, trifles which were dear to them in life, ribbons, neck- laces, children's playthings, books, pins and small pictures, — a thousand things that recall home and the family, and indicate* the profession of those to whom they belonged ; so that one cannot look at them without a feeling of tenderness. From time to time one sees one of these niches empty and all dark within — a sign that a casket is to be placed there during the day. The family of the dead are obliged to pay a certain sum yearly for that space. When they cease to pay, the casket is removed and carried to the common ditch of the cemetery for the poor, which is reached by another street. While I was there, a burial took place ; I saj placing the ladder and raisii
1 8 SPAiisr,
on. One night a crazy man hid in one of those empty vaults ; the custodian of the cemetery passed with a lantern ; the madman uttered a'fearful shriek, and the poor guardian fell to the ground as if struck by lightning, and was seized by an illness which caused his death. In an empty niche I saw a beauti- ful lock of blonde hair, which had belonged to a young girl of fifteen who had been drowned, and to it was attached a card on which was written : Querida / (Dear one !) At every step one sees something which touches the heart and mind. All those ob- jects produce the effect of a confused murmur of voices belonging to mothers, wives, children and old people, which seem to say in a suppressed tone • ** It is I ! Look ! " At every cross-road rise statues, little temples and obelisks, with inscriptions in honor of the citizens of Barcelona who performed deeds oi charity during the siege of the yellow fever in 1821 and 1870.
This portion of the cemetery, built, if one may so express himself, like a city, belongs to the middle class of the people, and holds, within, two vast divis- ions; one destined for the poor, bare and planted ^ith great black crosses ; the other set apart for the rich, larger even than the first, cultivated like a gar- den, surrounded by chapels, rich, varied and superb. In the midst of a forest of willows and cypresses, rise en every side columns, shafts, enormous tombs, and marble chapels overloaded with sculpture, surmounted ' ^y! bQld figures of archangels, which raise their arms to Heayen,-^ pyramids, groups of statues, and monu- ments, large as houses, which overtop the highest trees. Between the monuments are bushes, gratings, and dower; beds, and at the entrance, between thir "and the other cemetery, there is a superb marble
BARCELONA, 15
church, surrounded by columns, half hidden by the trees, which nobly prepares the soul for the mag- nificent spectacle of the interior. On leaving this g'arden, one crosses once more the deserted streets of the necropolis, which seem more silent and sad than at one's first entrance. Having passed the portal, one greets again with pleasure the variegated houses of the suburbs of Barcelona, scattered over the country like advance guards placed there to an- nounce the fact that the populous city is stretching out and advancing.
From the cemetery to the caf<6 is indeed a leap ; but in travelling one must needs take even longer ones. The caf6s of Barcelona, like almost all the caf^s of Spain, consist of an immense saloon, orna- mented with great mirrors, and as many tables as it will hold, of whidii by the way, one rarely re- mains empty even for a single half hour during the day. In the eveningthey are so crowded that one is often forced to. ^V^^it quite a time in order to pro- cure even a' little Jplace near the door. Around every table there is a circle of five or six caballeros^ with the capa over their shoulders (this is a mantle of dark cloth, furnished with a large hood, which is worn instead of our capeless cloak), and in every circle they are playing dominoes. It is the favorite game of the Spanish. In the caf6s, from twilight until midnight, is heard the dull, continuous, deaf- ening sound, like the noise of hailstones, from thou- sands of markers turned and returned by a hundred hands, so that one is almost obliged to raise his voice in order to make himself heard by the person sitting near him. The customary beverage is choc- olate, most aelicious in Spain, served, as a rule, in little cups ; it is thick as juniper preserve, and hot
20 SFAIN.
enough to burn one's throat. One of these little cups, with a drop of milk, and a peculiar, very soft cake, which is called bollo (chocolate tablet), is a breakfast fit for Lucullus. Between one boilo and the other I made my studies of the Catalan charac- ter, talking with all the Don Ftdanos (a name as sa- cred in Spain as Tizio with us) wno were kind enough not to mistake me for a spy sent from Mad- rid to ferret out the secrets in the Catalonian air.
People in those days were much excited about politics. It happened to me several times when speaking most innocently of a newspaper, a person, or any fact to the caballero who accompanied me, in the cafe, shop or theatre, to feel my foot touched and hear some one whisper in my ear : " Be careful, the gentleman at your right is a Carlist. Hush, that man is a republican, the other a Sagastino ; the one beside you is a radical," etc., etc. Every one talked politics. I found a furious Carlist in a barber who, discovering from my pronunciation that I was a com- patriot of the king, tried to draw me into a discus- sion. 1 did not say a word, because he was shaving me, and a resentment of my national pride might have caused the first bloodshed of the civil war ; but the barber persisted, and not knowing any other way of beginning the argument, he said at last, in a gra- cious tone : " Do you know, caballeroy that if there arose a war between Italy and Spain, Spain would not be afraid ? "
" I am perfectly convinced of it," I replied, out of regard for the razor. Then he assured me that F'rance would declare war with Italy as soon as Germany was paid ; there is no escape from it. I made no response. He was silent for a moment, and finally said maliciously : ** Great events will oc-
BARCELONA. 21
cur before long ! " The Barcelonese were pleased, however, that the king had presented himself to them in such a quiet and confident manner, and the common people remember with admiration his en- trance into the city. I found sympathy for the king even in those who murmured between their teeth : *• He is not Spanish," or, as one of them said to me : ** Do you think a Castilian king would do well at Rome ? " a question to which one must answer : ** I do not understand politics — " and the discussion is finished.
But really the most implacable are the Carlists. They say disgraceful things of our revolution in the most perfect good faith ; being for the greater part convinced that the real king of Italy is the Pope, that Italy wishes him, and has bowed her head un- der the sword of Victor Emanuel, because there was nothing else to do ; but that she is waiting for a pro- pitious occasion in order to liberate herself, as the Bourbons and others have done. The following anecdote may serve to prove it. I quote it as I heard it narrated, without the slightest desire to wound the person who was the principal actor. Once a young Italian, whom I know intimately, was presented to one of the most highly esteemed ladies of the city, and received with perfect courtesy. Several Italians were present. The lady spoke with much sympathy of Italy, thanked the young man for the enthusiasm he displayed for Spain, maintained, in a word, a bright and charming conversation with her appreciative guest for nearly the entire evening. Suddenly she asked him : " In returning to Italy in what city shall you settle ? "
** In Rome," replied the young man.
22 SPAIN.
" To defend the Pope ? " asked the lady, with the most perfect frankness.
The young man looked at her, and ingenuously replied, with a smile : ** No, indeed! "
That No gave rise to a tempest. The lady forgot that the young man was Italian and her guest, and broke out into such furious invectives against Victor Emanuel, the Piedmontese government, Italy (be- ginning from the entrance of the army into Rome, until the War of the Marshes and Umbria), that the unfortunate stranger became as white as a sheet. But controlling himself he made no reply, and left to the other Italians, who were old friends, the task of sustaining the honor of their country. The discussion lasted for a time and was very fiery ; the lady dis- covered that she had allowed herself to go too far, and showed that she regretted it ; but it was still very evident from her words that she was con- vinced, and with her who knows how many others ! that the union of Italy had been compassed against the will of the Italian people, by Piedmont and the king, from a desire for dominion and from a hatred to religion, etc.
The common people, however, are republican in their feelings, and as they have the reputation of being quicker to act than those who promise more, they are held in fear. When they wish to spread the rumor of an approaching revolution in Spain, they begin to say it will break out in Barcelona, or that it is about to break out there, or that it has already broken out there.
The Catalans do not wish to be classed with the Spaniards of other provinces. ** We are Spaniards,*' they say, " but, be it understood, of Catalonia ; " a people, in short, who work and think, and to whose
BARCELONA, 23
ears the sound of mechanical instruments is more grateful than the music of a guitar. ** We do not envy Andalusia her romantic fame, the praises of the poets nor the illustrations of painters. We content ourselves with being the most serious and indus- trious people of Spain." They speak of the affairs of their brothers in the south as the Piedmontese "once talked (now less frequently) of the Neapolitans and the Tuscans :
•* Yes, they have talent, imagination, they talk well and are amusing ; but we have, as a counterbalance, greater strength of will, greater aptitude for scien- tific studies, a greater degree of popular education, * * * and then * * * character."
I heard a Catalan, a man of genius and learn- ing, lament that the War of the Independence had fraternized too thoroughly the different provinces of Spain, because it happened that the Catalans con- tracted a portion of the defects of the south without these people having acquired any of the good quali- ties of the Catalans.
** We have become," he said, •* lighter headed," and he refused to be comforted.
A shopkeeper, of whom I asked what he thought of the character of the Castilians, replied very brusquely that in his opinion it would be a good thing for Catalonia ifthere were no railway between Barcelona and Madrid, because business with that people corrupted the character and customs of the Catalans. When they speak of a loquacious deputy they say :
** Oh, yes, he is an Andalusian."
Then they ridicule their poetic language, their softened pronunciation, their infantile gaiety, vanity and effeminacy. And the Andalusians, in their turn,
24 SPAIN.
speak of the Catalans as a capricious, literary and artistic young lady would talk of one of those house- wifely girls who would rather read the Genoese cook- book than the romances of George Sand. They are a hard people, they say, all alike, who have no head for anything but arithmetic and mechanics, — barbarians who would make a press of the statue of Montanes, and a wax cloth of one of Murillo s can- vases— real Spanish Boeotians, who are insupportable with their wretched jargon, crustiness and their pedantic gravity.
Catalonia is, in fact, perhaps the Spanish province which is of the least account in the history of the fine arts. The only poet, not great, but celebrated, who was born at Barcelona, is Juan Boscan, who flourished at the beginning of the sixteenth century, and was the first to introduce into Spanish litera- ture the hendeca syllable, ballad, sonnet, and all the forms of the lyric Italian poetry, of which he was a passionate aamirer. Upon what does such a great transformation in the literature of a peo- ple depend.^ Did it arise from the fact that Boscan went to live at Granada when the Court o^ Charles V was there, and that he made the acquaint- ance there of an ambassador of the republic of Venice, Andrea Navagero, who knew by heart the verses of Petrarch, and in reciting them said to him :
" It seems to me as if you Spaniards might write like this ? Try ! "
Boscan made the attempt; all the literati of Spain cried out against him. They said that the Italian verse was not sonorous, that the poetry of Petrarch was mawkishly efifeminate, that Spain did not need to write down her poetic inspirations on the ruled lines of any one. But Boscan remained firm. Gar-
BARCELONA, 2$
cilaso de la Vega, the valorous cavalier, a friend of his, who afterward received the glorious title of Mal- herbe of Spain, followed his example. The body of reformers increased little by little, became an army, and finally conquered and governed the entire liter- ature. The true reformer was Garcilaso, but Boscan had the merit of the first idea, and thus Barcelona the honor of having given to Spain the person who changed the style of its literature.
During the few days of my stay at Barcelona, 1 used to pass the evening with some of the young Catalans in walking on the sea-shore in the moon- light until late at night. They all knew a little Ital- ian and were very fond of our poetry ; so for hours together we did nothing but declaim, they from Zorilla, Espronceda and Lopez de la Veg^a, I from Foscolo, Berchet and Manzoni, each in turn in a sort of rivalry to see who would repeat the most beauti- ful verse. It is a novel experience, that of trying to recite extracts from our poets in a foreign country. When I saw my Spanish friends listening attentively to the narrative of the battle of Maclodio, become moved little by little, and then so excited that they seized me by the arm and exclaimed with a Castilian accent which made their words dearer still, " Beau- tiful ! sublime ! " I felt my blood stirred with emo- tion, and if it had been daylight they would have seen me turn pale as a ghost. They recited poems in the Catalan language. I say language because it has a history and literature of its own, and was not relegated to the state of a dialect until political predominance was assumed by Castile, who im- posed her idiom, as the general one, upon the State. Although it is a harsh language, all clipped words, disagreeable at first to one who has not a delicate
26 SPAIN.
ear, it has, nevertheless, many notable qualities, of which the popular poets have made admirable use as it lends itself particularly to imitative harmony. A poem which they recited to me, the first lines of which imitate the measured sound of a railway train, drew forth an exclamation of surprise. Yet without explanations, even to those familiar with Spanish, the Catalan is unintelligible. They speak rapidly, with closed teeth, without aiding the voice by gestures, so that it is difficult to catch the meaning of ever so simple a sentence, and quite an affair if one is able even to understand a word here and there. Yet even the lower classes can speak Castilian when it is necessary, although with difficulty and entirely without grace, but still decidedly better than the common people of the northern provinces of Italy do the Italian. Not even the cultivated people in Catalonia speak the national language perfectly : the Castilian recognizes the Catalan first, aside from the pronunciation, by the voice, and above all by the use of illegitimate phrases. For this rea- son, a stranger who goes to Spain laboring under the delusion that he speaks the language well may preserve his illusion as long as he remains in Cata- lonia, but when he gets into Castile and hears for the first time that burst of bon-moiSy that profusion of proverbs, subtle and telling idioms, which make him stand open-mouthed from amazement (like Alfieri before the Mona Vocaboliera when she talked to him of stockings), farewell all illusions !
The last evening I went to the Liceo, which has the reputation of being one of the most beautiful theatres in Europe, and perhaps the largest. It was filled from the pit to the gallery, so that not another hundred people could have found place. From the
BARCELONA. 2/
box in which I sat, the ladies on the opposite side looked as small as children, and in half closing the eyes they only appeared like so many white lines. one for every tier of boxes, tremulous and glistening like an immense garland of camelias bejeweled with dew and stirred by a light breeze. The boxes, which are very large, are divided by a partition that slopes from the wall to the parapet, leaving the persons seated in the front chairs partly exposed to view, so that the theatre seems to be built in galleries, and thus acquires an air of lightness which is very beautiful. Everything projects, everything is un- covered, the light strikes everywhere, and all the spectators see each other. The passages are spa- cious, so that people come and go and turn at ease on every side, can look at each lady from a thou- sand points of view, may pass from gallery to box, from box to gallery, promenade, gather in circles, and wander around all the evening, here and there, without coming in collision with a living soul. The other portions of the building are in proportion writh the principal one, corridors, staircases, land- ings and vestibules suitable for a grand palace. There are ball-rooms immense and gorgeous, in which one could put another theatre. Yet here, where the good Barcelonians ought to think of nothing but amusement after the fatigues of the day, in the contemplation of their beautiful and superb women, even here these good people buy, sell and traffic like lost souls. In the corridors there is a continuous coming and going of bank agents, office clerks, bearers of despatches, and a ceaseless hum of voices like that of a market. What barbarians ! How many handsome faces, how many beautiful eyes, what stupendous heads of dark hair in that
28 SPAIN,
crowd of women ! In olden times, the young Cata- lans, in order to captivate the hearts of their inam- orate, joined a fraternity of scourgers and went under their windows with a metallic whip to make the blood gush through their skin, and the fair ones encouraged them by saying :
** Go on beating yourself, that's right ; now I love you, now I am yours !" How many times that evening I was ready to exclaim : ** Gentlemen, in the name of charity, give me a metallic whip!"
The following morning before sunrise, I started for Saragossa, and, to tell the truth, not without a feeling of sadness in leaving Barcelona, although I had only been there a few days. This city, despite of the fact that it is anything but la flor de las bcllas ctudades del mundo, as Cervantes called it, this city of traffic and storage, disdained by poets and painters, pleased me, and its busy people inspired me with a feeling of respect. Then, too, it is always sad to leave a city, although a foreign one, with the certainty of never seeing it again ! It is like bidding farewell forever to a travelling companion with whom one has passed an agreeable twenty-four hours ; he is not a friend, yet you seem to love him like one, and you will remember him all through life with a feeling of desire more lively than you would experience toward many of those to whom you give the name of friends. Turning to look once more at the jity from the little window of the railway carriage, the words of Don Alvaro Tarfe in Don Quixote came to my lips : ** Farewell, Barce- lona, the home of courtesy, refuge for strangers, country of the valiant, farewell !" — and I added sor- rowfully : " Here is the first leaf torn from the rose- colored book of travel ! Thus everything
Barcelona. i^
passes. . . . Another city, then another, then another, . . . and then? . . . I shall return home, and the journey will have been like a dream, and it will not seem as if I had been away at all. . . . Then? . . . Another journey. . . . New cities, again sad farewells, and once more a recollection vague as a dream, . , , Then ?" It is very unfortunate for any one to allow such thoughts to take possession of him on a journey ! Look at the sky and the country, repeat poetry and smoke.
Adios, Barcelona, Archivo de la Cortesia I
CHAPTER II.
A FEW miles from Barcelona one begins to see the indented rocks of the famous Monserrate, a strange mountain which at first sight gives rise to the idea of an optical illusion, so difficult is it to believe that nature can ever have had so extrava- gant a caprice. Imagine a series of slender triangles which touch each other, like those made by children to represent a chain of mountains ; or a pointed crown stretched out like the blade of a saw ; or so many sugar loaves placed in a row, and you will have an idea of the shape in which Monserrate ap- pears at a distance. It is a collection of immense cones which rise side by side, one above another, or, better still, one single huge mountain formed by a hundred others, split from top to bottom almost to a third of its height, so that it presents two great summits, around which are grouped the smaller ones ; the highest portions are arid and inacces- sible ; the lower, covered with pines, oaks, arbutus and juniper ; broken here and there by immense grottoes andfrightful chasms, and scattered with her- mitages which are seen on the airy crags and in the deep gorges. In the opening of the mountiun, between the two principal peaks, rises the old Coh- vent of the Benedictines, where Ignatius Loyola
sahagossa. li
meditated in his youth. Fifty thousand people, between pilgrims and tourists, go every year to visit the convent and grottoes ; and on the eighth day of September a ffite is celebrated there at which a mul- titude of people from every part of Catalonia gather.
A short time before reaching the station where one leaves the train to climb the mountain, a crowd of boys burst into the carriage. They were accom- panied by a priest, and belonged to a college of some, to me unknown, village, and were going to the Convent of Monserrate on an excursion. They were all Catalans, with pretty pink and white faces and large eyes. Each one had a basket containing bread and fruit. Some carried sketch books, others opera glasses ; lliey laughed and talked, tumbled about and enjoyed themselves generally. Though I paid the strictest attention with ear and brain I could not catch one single word of that wretched lingo in which they were chattering. I began a conversation with the priest who, after exchanging a few words with me, said :
** Look, sir, that boy there," pointing to one of the number, " knows all the poetry of Horace by heart ; that other one solves the most difficult problems of arithmetic ; this one was born for philosophy," and so he continued to point out the particular gift of each one.
Suddenly he stopped and cried: '^Beretina!" All the boys took from their pockets the little red Catalan caps, and giving a shout of joy put them on their heads ; some so far back that they fell over the nape of the neck ; others quite forward until they covered the end of the nose, and at a sign of disap- proval from the priest, those who had them on the nape of the neck pulled them over their noses, and
32 SPAIN.
those who had them over their noses drew them back to the nape of the neck. Such laughs, excla- mations and hand -clappings as they indulged in ! I approached one of the most frolicsome, and for a joke, feeling certain that it would be like talking to a wall, I asked him in Italian :
*' Is this the first time you have made an excur- sion to Monserrate ? "
The boy was silent for a moment, and then re- plied very slowly :
** I — T have — already — been — there — several — times."
" Oh, dear child ! " I cried, with a feeling of con- tentment difficult to imagine, " where have you learned Italian ? "
Here the priest interrupted me to say that the father of that boy had lived several years at Naples. While I was turning toward my little Catalan to begin a conversation, a wretched whistle and then a disagreeable cry : **01esa!" which is the village from which the ascent of the mountain is made, cut short the words on my lips. The priest bowed, the boys dashed out of the carriage, and the train started. I put my head out of the window to salute my little friend :
'* A pleasant walk!" I cried, and he, detaching each syllable, replied :
.cA_di— o!"
Some may laugh at hearing these trifles re- called, yet they are the greatest pleasures one ex- periences in travelling !
The city and villages which one sees in crossing Catalonia in the direction of Arragon are almost all inhabited and flourishing, and surrounded by houses of industry, factories, and buildings in process of con-
SAHAGOSSA. 33
struction, from whence are seen, rising on every side beyond the trees, dense columns of smoke, and at every station, a coming and going of peasants and merchants. The country is an ahernate succession of cultivated plains, gentle slopes and picturesque little valleys, covered with groves and crowned by old castles as far as the village of Cervera. Here one begins to see g^eat stretches of arid territory, with a few scattered houses which announce the neighborhood of Arragon ; then as suddenly enters a smiling valley, covered with olive trees, vines, mul- berry and fruit trees, scattered with villages and villas ; on one side the high peaks of the Pyrenees appear ; on the other, Arragonese Mountains ; Lerida, the glorious city of ten sieges, stretched along the banks of the Segre on the slope of a beautiful hill ; and all around a luxuriant vegetation, a variety of views, and a magnificent spectacle. It is the last sight of Catalonian country ; a few moments later one enters Arragon.
Arragon ! How many vague histories of wars, of bandits, queens, poets, heroes, and famous loves this sonorous name recalls to one's mind ! And what a profound feeling of sympathy and respect ! The old, noble, and proud Arragon. upon whose forehead shines the most splendid ray of Spain's glory, upon whose century-old shield stands writ- ten in characters of blood : '* Liberty and Valor." When the world bowed beneath the yoke of tyranny, the people of Arragon said to their kings by the mouth of the chief justice : *' We, who are your equals and more powerful than you, have chosen you to be our lord and king with the under- standing that you preserve our rights and liberties, otherwise- not." And the kings kneeled before the
34 sJ*A///.
majesty of the magistrate of the people, and took their oath on the sacred formula. In the midst of the barbarities of the mediaeval ages the proud Arragonese knew nought of torture ; secret tribu- nals were banished from their codes ; all its institu- tions protected the liberty of the citizen, and the law had absolute dominion. They descended, ill-fitted for the restricted country of the mountains, from Sobrarbe to Huesca, from Huesca to Saragossa, and entered the Mediterranean as conquerors. Joined with strong Catalonia, they redeemed from Arabic mastery the Balearics and Valencia, fought at Murat for their outraged rights and violated consciences, subdued the adventurers of the house of Anjou, de- priving them of their Italian territory, broke the chains of the harbor of Marseilles, which still hang from the walls of their temples, became masters of the sea from the Gulf of Taranto to the straits of the Gaudalquiver with the ships of Ruggero di Lauria, subdued the Bosphorus with the ships of Ruggero di Flor ; from Rosas to Catania they traversed the Mediterranean on the wings of victory ; and as if the west were too confined a space for their great- ness, they went to inscribe on the heights of Olym- pus, on the stones of Piraeus, on the superb moun- tains which are near by the gates of Asia, the immortal name of their country.
These thoughts (although not quite in the same words, because I did not have before me a certain book of Emilio Castelar) revolved in my mind as I entered Arragon. And the first thing which presented itself to my eyes on the bank of the Cinca was the little village of Monzon, noted for the famous assemblies of the Cortes and for the alternate assaults and de- fenses of the Spanish and French, — a fate which was
common during the War of the Independe^tce to al- most all the villages of those provinces. Monzon lies at the foot of a formidable mountain, upon which rises a castle black, gloomy and enormous enough to have been conceived by the most tyrannical of the feudal chiefs who wished to condemn to a life of ter- ror the most hated of the villages. The same guide stops before this monstrous edifice and breaks out into an exclamation of timid surprise. There is not, I think, in all Spain, another village, another moun- tain, another castle which better represents the ter- rified submission of an oppressed people and the perpetual menace of a ferocious master. A giant who holds a child to the ground with his knee on its breast is but a poor simile with which to give an idea of the thing, and such was the impression it produced upon me that, though knowing nothing of drawing, I tried to sketch, to the best of my ability, the landscape, so that it should not escape from my memory ; and while scratching away, I composed the first verse of a lugubrious ballad.
After passing Monzon, the Arragonese country IS nothing but a vast plain, enclosed in the distance by long chains of reddish hills, with a few miserable villages and some solitary heights on which stand the blackened ruins of an ancient castle. Arragon, formerly so flourishing under her kings, is now one of the poorest provinces of Spain. Only on the banks of the Ebro and along the famous canal which extends from Yudela, for eighteen leagues, nearly to Saragossa, and serves at the same time as a means of irrigation for the fields and a mode of transportation for merchandise, has commerce any life ; in the other portions it is languishing or dead. The railway stations are deserted ; when
36 SPAIN.
the train stops, no other voice is to be heard than that of some old troubadour who twangs the guitar and sings a monotonous song, which one hears again at the other stations and then in the Arragonese cities, different in words, but with the same everlasting melody. As there was nothing to see out of the window, I turned to my fellow-travel- lers.
The carriage was full of people ; and as the second- class carriages in Spain have no compartments, we were forty in number, counting men and women, all in sight of each other — priests, nuns, boys, ser- vants and other personages who might have been merchants, or employes, or secret agents of Don Carlos. The priests smoked, as is the custom in Spain, their cigarettes, most amiably offering their tobacco boxes and papers to their neighbors. Others ate voraciously, passing from one to the other a species of bladder which, on being pressed with both hands, sent out spurts of wine ; others were reading the newspaper and frowning as a sign of deep meditation. A Spaniard, when he is in company, never puts into his mouth a bit of orange, a piece of cheese, or a mouthful of bread, until he has invited every one to eat with him ; for this reason, I saw fruit, bread, sardines and glasses of wine passed right under my nose, and I know not what beside, everything accompanied by a polite :
** Does it please you to eat with me ?" To which I replied :
" No, thanks," against my will, for I was as hungry as the Count Ugolino.
In front of me, her feet nearly touching mine, sat a nun, who was young, to judge from her chin, which was the only part of the face visible below the veil,
SAJdAGOSSA, 37
and from a hand which lay carelessly on her knee. I watched her for more than an hour, hoping that she would raise her face, but she remained as im- movable as a statue. Yet from her attitude it was easy to judge that she had to exercise great self- control in order to resist the natural desire to look around her ; and for this reason she awakened in me a feeling of admiration. What constancy ! — I thought — what strength of will ! What power of sacrifice, even in the smallest things ! What noble disdain for human vanities ! While immersed in these thoughts, my eyes fell upon her hand, — it was a small white hand, and I thought it seemed to move ; I look more closely, and see that it stretches itself slowly out of the sleeve, spreads the fingers, and rests a little forward on the knee so that it hangs down, and it turns a little to one side, is gathered in and reextended again. Heavens and earth ! Anything but disdain for the human vanities. It was impossible to deceive oneself any longer. All that manoeuvring had been gone through to show the little hand ! Yet she never raised her head while she sat there, and never allowed her face to be seen when she left the carriage ! Oh the in- scrutable depths of the feminine soul !
It was foreordained that during that trip I should meet no other friends than priests. An old priest, of benevolent aspect, addressed me, and we began a conversation which lasted almost to Saragossa. At the beginning, when I told him I was an Italian, he seemed a trifle suspicious, thinking me perhaps one of those who had broken the locks of the Quirinal, but having informed him that I did not interest my- self in politics, he became reassured and talked with fullest confidence. We fell upon literature. I
38 sPAm,
repeated to him all the Pentecost of Manzoni, which threw him into ecstasies ; he recited to me a poem of the celebrated Luis de Leon, a writer of religious poetry in the sixteenth century ; so we became friends. When we reached Zuera, the last station but one before arriving at Saragossa, he rose, bowed to me, and, with his foot on the step, suddenly turned and whispered in my ear : ** Be prudent with the women, for they lead to evil consequences in Spain." Then he got down and stopped to see the train start, and raising his hand in sign of paternal admonition, he said once more : " Be prudent !"
I reached Saragossa late at night, and in getting out of the train I was instantly struck with the peculiar cadence with which the porters, coachmen and boys were speaking as they disputed over my valise. In Arragon it may be said that the Castilian is spoken even by the most ordinary people, although with some defects and some rudeness, but to the Spaniard of the Castiles a half word is suffi- cient for the recognition of the Arragonese, and there is no Castilian, in fact, who does not know how to imitate that accent and ridicule it occasionally for what is rough and monotonous in it, almost as they used to do in Tuscany with the Lucca manner of speaking.
I entered the city with a certain feeling of tremu- lous reverence ; the terrible fame of Saragossa had its effect upon me ; my conscience almost pricked me for having so many times profaned its name in the school of rhetoric, when I cast it, as a challenge, in the faces of tyrants. The streets were dark ; I could only see the black outlines of the roofs and the bell towers against the starry sky, and I only heard the sound of the hotel omnibuses as they were moving
SARAGOSSA. 39
off. At certain turns of the street I seemed to see daggers and gun-stocks gleaming at the windows, and to hear the distant cries of the wounded. I would have given, I know not how much, if day would only break, in order that I might satisfy the intense curiosity with which I was possessed to visit one by one those streets, squares and houses famed for desperate struggles and horrible murders, depicted by so many painters, sung by so many poets, and dreamed of by me so many times before leaving Italy, as I said to myself with joy : ** I shall see it ! " When I finally reached my hotel, I looked closely at the waiter who showed me to my room, smiling amiably at him, as if to say : " I am not an intruder ; spare me ! " and having given a glance at a large portrait of Don Amadeus hung on the wall of the hallway in one corner, a particular com- pliment to Italian travellers, I went to bed, for I was as sleepy as any of my readers may be.
At daybreak I rushed out of the hotel. There was neither a shop, door nor window open, but scarcely was I in the street when I uttered a cry of astonishment. A troop of men were passing, so curiously dressed that at first sight I mistook them for maskers, and then I thought *' they are from some theatre, and then, no ; they are crazy." Pic- ture to yourself : For a hat they wore a red hand- kerchief knotted around the head like a ring-shaped cushion, from which issued, above and below, their disordered hair ; a woolen blanket in blue and white stripes, arranged in the shape of a mantle, falling almost to the ground like a Roman toga, came next ; then a large blue girdle around the waist ; a pair of short breeches of black velvet, tight at the knees ; white stockings, and a species
40 SPAIN,
of sandal with black ribbons crossed over the instep ; and still this artistic variety of dress bore the evident imprint of poverty ; yet with this evi- dence of poverty, a certain something so theatrical, so haughty, so majestic in their bearing and ges- tures, almost an air of fallen grandees of Spain, which made it doubtful in seeing them whether one ought to pity them, put one's hand in one's purse, or take off one's hat as a token of respect. Yet they are only peasants from the neighborhood of Saragossa. But what I have described is merely one of the thousand varieties of the same style of dress. In walking on, at every step I met a new one ; there are dresses in antique fashion, dresses in the new, the elegant and simple ones, those for fetes and those more severe, each with sashes, handkerchiefs, cravats, and waistcoats of different colors ; the women with crinoline and short skirts which allow a bit of the leg to be seen, and the hips raised out of all proportions ; the boys, even they, wear striped mantles, handkerchiefs around their head, and assume dramatic attitudes like the men. The first square which I entered was full of these peo- ple, divided in groups, some seated on door-steps, some leaning against the corners of the houses, others playing the guitar and singing, many going around collecting alms, in torn and ragged clothes, yet with their heads erect and a proud glance. They seemed like people who had just left a masked ball, where they had represented together a savage tribe from some unknown country. Little by little the shops and houses opened and the Saragossans spread through the streets. The citizens in their dress do not differ from us, but there is something peculiar in their faces. To the gravity of the in-
SARAGOSSA, 4 1
habitants of Catalonia is added the wide-awake air of the inhabitants of the Castiles, enlivened still more by an expression of pride which is peculiar to the Arragonese blood.
The streets of Saragossa have a gloomy aspect, always sad, as I had pictured them to myself before seeing them. Aside from the Coso, which is a broad street that traverses a good part of the city, describ- ing a great semicircular curve, — the Coso formerly famous for the races, tournaments and jousts which were celebrated there during the public festivals, — aside from this beautiful, cheerful street, and a few others which have been recently remade and re- semble the streets of a French city, the rest are nar- row and tortuous, lined with high houses, dark in color, illy furnished with windows, and resembling old fortresses. They are streets which bear an im- print, a character, or, as others say, a stamp peculiar to themselves, which, once seen, is never forgotten. For the rest of our life, when we hear Saragossa named we shall see those walls, doors and windows as if we had them before us. I see at this moment the square of the new Tower, and I could draw house by house and color them, each with its own color ; and it seems as if I breathed that air, so vivid are all those figures, and I repeat what I then said : ** This square is tremendous " — wherefore, I do not know ; it may have been my illusion ; it happens with cities as with faces, that each one reads them as he chooses. The squares and streets of Saragossa produced this impression upon me, and at every turn I exclaimed : **This place seems made for a battle," and I looked around as if some thing were lacking, — a barricade, the loopholes and cannons. I felt once more all the emotions which the narrations of the horrible siege
42 SPA/J\r.
had caused me, and I saw the Saragossa of 1809, and ran from street to street with increasing curiosity, as if in search of the traces of that gigantic struggle which astonished the world. Here, I thought, pointing out to myself the street, must have passed Grandjean's division ; from that point issued perhaps Musnier's division ; from there Marlot's division dashed forth to the combat. Now, let us go forward as far as the corner. Here, I fancy, the assault of the light infantry of the Vistula took place ; another turn : here the Polish light infantry made a dash ; down there the three hundred Spaniards were mas- sacred. At this point the great mine blew into the air a company of the regiment from Valencia. In that corner died General Lacoste, struck by a ball in the forehead. Here are the famous streets of St. Engracia, St. Monica and St. Augustine, through which the French advanced toward the Coso, from house to house, by force of mines and counter- mines, among the ruins of the enormous walls and smoking timbers, under a shower of balls, grape- shot and stones. Here are the squares and narrow ^ blind alleys, where were fought horrible battles hand to hand, with blows of the bayonet and dagger, scythes and bites ; the barricaded houses defended room by room, amid flames and ruin, the narrow staircases which flowed with blood, the sad court- yards which echoed cries of pain and desperation, were covered with crushed bodies, and witnessed all the horrors of the plague, famine and death.
In passing from street to street, I at last came out in front of the church Nuestra Sefiora di Pilar, the terrible madonna from whom protection and cour- age were sought by the squalid crowd of soldiers, citizens and women before they went to die on the
SARAGOSSA. 43
bulwarks. The people of Saragossa have preserved for her their old fanaticism, and venerate her with a peculiar feeling of amorous terror, which is intense even in the souls of those to whom any other re- ligious sentiment is foreign. However, from the time you enter the square and raise your eyes tow- ard the church, to the moment when, in going away, you turn to look at it for the last time, be careful not to smile, nor to be guilty, even involun- tarily, of an apparent act of irreverence ; for there is some one who sees you, watches you, and will fol- low you if necessary. If all faith is dead in you, prepare your mind, before crossing that sacred threshold, for a confused reawakening of infantile terrors, which few churches in the world have such a power of arousing in the hearts of the coldest and strongest as this one seems to possess.
The first stone of Nuestra SeHora del Pilar was laid, 1686, in a place where there rose a chapel erected by St. James as a receptacle for the miracu- lous image of the Virgin, which is still there. It is a building with a rectangular foundation, surmounted by eleven cupolas covered with variegated tiles, which give it a graceful Moorish air, the walls un- adorned and dark in color. Enter. It is a huge church, dark, bare and cold, divided into three naves, surrounded by modest chapels. The eye falls instantly upon the sanctuary, which rises in the centre ; there is the statue of the Virgin. It is a temple within a temple, which might stand in the middle of the square, if the edifice surrounding it were razed to the ground. A circle of beautiful marble columns, placed like ellipses, support a richly-sculptured cupola, open above, and orna- mented around the opening with bold figures of
44 SPAIN.
angels and saints. In the centre of the high altar, on the right, the image of St. James ; on the left, at the back, under a silver canopy, which stands out against a large curtain of velvet scattered with stars, amid the gleaming of a thousand votive offerings and in the glow of innumerable lamps, is the famous statue of the Virgin, placed there nine- teen centuries ago by St. James. It is cut in wood, worn by time, entirely covered (with the exception of her head and that of the child) by a superb Dal- matica (a tunic for priests). In front, between the columns, around the sanctuary, and in the dis- tance, at the end of the nave of the church, at every point from which the revered image can be seen, kneel the faithful, prostrate, so that their heads almost touch the ground, holding their crucifixes in their hands. There are among them women of the people, workmen, ladies, soldiers and children, and from the different doors of the church there is a con- tinual arrival of people, slowly moving on tiptoe, with the gravest expression of face. In that pro- found silence not a murmur, not a rustle is heard ; the life of that crowd seems to have been sus- pended, as if all were waiting for a divine appari- tion, a hidden, secret voice, or some tremendous revelation from that mysterious sanctuary. Even he who does not believe and is not praying, is forced to fix his eye upon the object upon which all glances are fastened, and the course of his thought is arrested in a species of anxious expectation. Oh, for a sound of that voice ! I thought ; oh, for some apparition, even if it were only a word or a sight that would turn me gray from terror, and inake me utter such a shriek as was never before ' ard upon earth, so that I might be freed forever
SAA'AGOSSA. 45
from this horrible doubt which gnaws at my brain and saddens my life !
I tried to enter the sanctuary, but did not succeed in doing so, for I should have had to pass over the shoulders of a hundred of the faithful, some of whom already began to look furtively at me because I was going around with a note- book and pencil in my hand. I made an effort to go down into the crypt, where are the tombs of the bishops and the urn which holds the heart of the second Don John of Austria, a natural son of Philip IV, but this was not permitted. I asked to see the vestments, gold and jewels which grandees, princes and monarchs of every state and country had scattered at the feet of the Virgin, but I was told that this was not the proper time, and not even in displaying a gleaming peseta could I bribe the honest sacristan. Yet he did not refuse to give me some information concern- ing the worship of the Virgin when I told him, in order to get into his good graces, that I was born at Rome, in the Borgo Pio, and that from the terrace of my home one could see the windows of the Pope s apartments.
** It is an almost miraculous fact/* he said, ** and one which could hardly be credited if it were not attested to by tradition, that from the time when the Virgin's statue was placed upon its pedestal until the present day (except at night, when the church is closed) the sanctuary has never been empty for a single moment, in the strictest sense of the word. Nuestra SeHara del Pilar has never been alone. In the pedestal there is an indentation deep enough to put my head, which has been made by kisses. Not even the Arabs had the courage to prohibit the wor- ship of Nuestra Senora : the chapel of St. James was always respected.
46 SPAIN.
" The lightning has fallen into the church, many times near the sanctuary, and even into it, in the midst of the crowded people. Well, let lost souls deny the protection of the Virgin : No one has — ever — been — struck ! And the bombshells of the French ? They burned and mined many other buildings, but in falling upon the Church of Nuestra Senora they produced as little effect as they would have done in striking on the rocks of the Sierra Morena. And the French who pillaged on every side, did they have courage enough to touch the -treasures of Nuestra Senora ? One general only allowed him- self to take a trifle as a gift for his wife, offering the madonna a rich votive offering in return, but do you know what happened ? In his first battle a cannon- ball carried off one of his legs. There does not exist the ghost of a general or king who has ever been able to impose upon Nuestra Setiara, Then, too, it is written on high that this church will last until the end of the world." * * *
And so he went on in this way until a priest made him a sign from a dark corner of the sacristy, and he bowed to me and disappeared.
Upon leaving the church, my mind filled with the image of that solemn sanctuary, I met a long row of carnival cars, preceded by a band of music, accom- panied by a crowd, and followed by a great number of carriages, which were going toward the Coso. I do not remember ever having seen more grotesque, more ridiculous, and more extraordinary papier- mach^ heads than those worn by the maskers ; so very absurd were they that, although I was alone and not in the least inclined for gaiety, I could not refrain from laughing, any more than I should have done at the close of a sonnet by Fucini. The
f SARAGOSSA, 47
people, however, were silent and serious, the mask- ers full of gaiety. One would have said that in both the melancholy presentiment of Lent was much stronger than the fleeting joy of carnival. I saw some pretty little faces at the windows, but no type, so far, of that beauty properly called the Spanish, of the deep tint and the dark eyes full of ^reyVfhxoh Mar- tinez de la Rosa, an exile at London, recalls with such deep sighs among the beauties of tfie fiorth. I passed between the carriages, out through the crowd, drawing upon myself some oaths, which I immediately put down in my note-book, and hastily crossing two or three little streets, I emerged on the square of San Salvador, in front of the Cathedral from which it takes its name and which is also called El Seo, and is richer and more magnificent than JVtiestra Senora del Pilar.
The Greco- Roman fagade, although of majestic proportions, and the high, light tower do not prepare one fn the least for the superb spectacle which the interior offers. I entered and found myself im- mersed in gloom ; for an instant the outlines of the edifice w«re hidden from me ; I saw nothing but a few rays of pale light, broken here and there by the columns^ and arches. Then, little by little, I distinguished five naves, divided by five aisles of beautiful Gothic pilasters, the distant walls, and a long series of lateral chapels, all of which filled me with astonishment. It was the first cathedral that corresponded with the idea I had formed of varied and imposing and marvellously- rich Spanish cathe- drals. The largest chapel, surmounted Jby a vast Gothic cupola in the form of a tiara, contains in itself the riches of a great church ; the high altar is alabaster, covered with roses, volutes, and ara-
4^ SPAIA.
besques ; the roof ornamented with statues ; at the right and left, tombs and urns of princes ; in a corner, the chair upon which the kings of Arragon sat to receive their consecration. The choir rises in the centre of the nave, and is a mountain of riches. Its outer circuit, upon which open some Httle chapels, presented such an incredible variety of statuettes, small columns, bas-reliefs, frieses, and precious stones, that one would need to spend a day there in order to say something at least had been seen. The pilasters of the outer aisles, and the arches which curve over the chapels, are overloaded from foundation to ceiling with statues (some large enough to support the edifice on their shoulders), emblems, sculptures, and ornaments of every shape and size. In the chapels there are a profusion of statues, rich altars, regal tombs, busts, and pictures, which, immersed as they are in a half darkness, only oxifer to the glance a confusion of colors, glittering and vague forms, among which the eye loses itself, and the imagination grows weary. After much running hither and thither, with note-book open and pencil in hand, taking notes and sketching, my head grew con- fused ; I tore out the arabesqued leaves, promised my- self not to write one word, left the church, and began wandering about the city, without seeing anything for a half hour but long dark aisles and statues gleaming at the end of mysterious chapels.
There are moments when the gayest and most impassioned tourist, wandering through the streets of an unknown city, is suddenly seized by such a profound feeling of ennui that if he could, by the utterance of a word, fly back to his home among his own family with the rapidity of a genii of the " Thousand and One Nights," he would utter that
SARAGOSSA. 49
word with a burst of joy. I was attacked with just such a feeHng as I was passing through some un- known little street far from the centre of the town, and was almost terrified by it. I recalled with great haste to my mind all the pictures of Madrid, Seville, and Granada, to rouse myself, and reawaken my curiosity and desire ; but these pictures seemed pale and lifeless to me. I was carried back in thought to my home, during the few days previous to my departure, when I was possessed with the fever for travel and could hardly await the hour for starting forth ; yet this thought only served to increase my sadness. The idea of still having to see so many new cities, of having to pass so many nights in hotels, of having to be so long among strangers, depressed me. I asked myself how I could have made up my mind to leave home ; it seemed to me suddenly as if I had gone far, far away from my country, and was in the midst of a desert alone and forgotten by all. I looked around, the street was solitary, I felt a chill at my heart, and the tears almost came to my eyes : '* I cannot stay here," I said to myself, " I shall die of melancholy ! I must get back to Italy !" I had not finished saying these words, when I almost burst out into a mad laugh ; at that moment everything resumed life and splendor in my eyes ; I thought of the Castiles and Andalu- sia with a kind of frantic joy, and shaking my head in a sort of pity for that passing discomfiture, I lighted a cigar, and went on gayer than before.
h was the last day but one of carnival ; through the principal streets, toward evening, one saw a coming and going of maskers, carriages, bands of young men, large families with children, nurses, young girls, two by two: but no disagreeable noise, no broken songs of
so A^^/AT.
the intoxicated, no crushing and crowding disturbed one. From time to time, one felt a light touch at the elbow, but light enough to seem the sign of a friend who wished to indicate his presence, rather than the blow of a careless passer-by ; and with this touch on the elbow, the sound of voices so much sweeter than the cries uttered by the Sara- gossan women of old from the windows of the tot- tering houses, and more burning than the boiling oil which they poured down upon the invaders! Oh these were not the times of which a Saragossan priest told me a few days ago at Turin, when he as- sured me that in seven years he had never received the confession of one mortal sin !
That evening at the hotel 1 saw a half-cracked Frenchman whose equal could not be found, I am sure, under the whole vault of heaven. He was a man about forty, with one of those weak faces which seemed to say : " Betray me, cheat me " ; a mer- chant, in easy circumstances, as far as I could judge, who had just arrived from Barcelona and was to leave the following day for St. Sebastian. I found him in the dining-room, recounting his aflairs to a circle of travellers who were shouting with laughter. I joined the circle and heard the story too. The man was a native of Bordeaux and had been living for four years at Barcelona, He had left France, because his wife had run away from him with the tigliest mafi in taion, leaving four children on his hands. He had never received any news from her since the day of her flight ; some said she had gone to America, some to Asia, and some to Africa, but they had only been conjectures without any founda- tion ; for four years he had looked upon her as dead. One fine day at Barcelona he was dining
9f
SAHAGOSSA. 51
w^ith a friend from Marseilles who said to him (and it was as good as a play to see the comical dignity with which he told the story) : " My friend, one of these days I wish to go to St. Sebastian."
-What for?"
•* To amuse myself.'
" Love affairs, eh ?
*• Yes — that is^-Fll tell you : it really is not a love affair, because in love affairs I like to be num- ber one ; it s a caprice. Pretty woman, though. Why, no later than day before yesterday I received a letter ; I did not wish to go ; but there are so many comes and / expect yous, and my friend y and dear friend, that I have allowed myself to be tempted." Saying which he handed his guest the letter with a grin of Don-Juan-like pride.
The merchant takes it, opens it, and reads :
" In the name of Heaven, it s my wife ! " and without saying another word he leaves his friend, runs home to get his valise, and away he goes to the station. When I entered the dining-room, he had already shown the letter to all present, and, stretched out on the table, so that every one could see them, were his certificate of baptism, certificate of marriage, and other papers which he had brought with him in case his wife did not wish to recognize him.
" What are you going to do with her 'i " all asked in one voice.
" I shall not harm her, I have made up my mind ; there will be no blood-shedding, but there will be a punishment more terrible still."
*' What then ? " asked his auditors.
** I have made up my mind," repeated the French- man with the greatest gravity, and, drawing from
52 SPAIN.
his pocket an enormous pair of shears, he added solemnly : ** I am going to cut off her hair and eye- lashes ! "
Every one shouted with laughter.
'' Messieurs," cried the injured husband ; " I have said it, and I shall keep my word ; if I have the pleasure of finding you here on my return, I shall make it my duty to present you her wig.'*
Here followed a tumult of laughter and applause, without the Frenchman's losing for one moment his tragical expression of face.
** But if you find a Spaniard in the house? " asked some one.
** I shall put him out of the window !" he replied.
" But if there were many ? "
** Everybody out of the window."
**But you will create a scandal, the neighbors, gen^ d' armes, and people will gather ! "
*' And I," shrieked the terrible man, striking him- self on the chest, '* I will put out of the window the neighbors, gens d' armes, people, and the entire city, if it is necessary ! "
So he continued to boast, gesticulating with the letter in one hand and the shears in the other, amid the uncontrollable laughter of the travellers.
Vivir para ver, live to see, says a Spanish prov- erb ; but it ought to have run viajar (travel), for it seems as if one encountered such originals only in hotels and railways. Who knows how this affair ended ?
Upon entering my room I asked the waiter what those two things were which I had observed, since the night of my arrival, hanging upon the wall, and which seemed to have some pretension to being portraits.
SAJiAGOSSA. 53
" Nothing less, sir, than the Argensola brothers," Arragonese, natives of Barbastro, ** two of the most famous poets of Spain ! ''
And these were really the Argensola brothers, genuine literary twins, who had the same passion, studied the same things, wrote in the same style — so pure, grave, and polished, — forming a bulwark with all their powers against the torrent of bad taste which began to invade, in their day (at the end of the sixteenth century), all Spanish literature. One died at Naples, as secretary of the Viceroy ; the other at Tarragona, a priest ; and they left, both of them, a dear and honored name, to which Cervantes and Lopez de la Vega added the splendid seal of their praise. The sonnets of the Argensolas are num- bered among the most beautiful in Spanish litera- ture, for their clearness of thought and dignity of ex- pression. Then there is one, of Lupercio Leonardo, which all know by heart, and the close of which ministers often quote in response to the philippics of the orators of the Left ; I add it in the hope that It may serve some of my readers as a retort to friends who reprove them for being in love, like the poet, with a woman who resoi'ted to rouge, etc.*
•* First of all I wish to confess, oh Sir John, that the white and carmine of Dona Elvira only belong to her because of the money with which she pur- chased them ; but I wish that you would confess in your turn that the beauty of her feigning is so per- fect that no beauty of a real face can compare with hers. But why should I trouble myself about such a deception, if it is known that nature deceives us all in the same manner .'* And in fact, that blue sky which we all see, is neither sky nor blue. * * What a pity that so much beauty should not be truth 1 "
• Sec Appendix for original.
54 SPAIN.
The following morning I wished to indulge in an amusement similar to that which Rousseau enjoyed in watching the flight of the flies, — the pleasure of roaming about the streets at will, stopping to look at the most insignificant things, as we do in the street at home when we are waiting for a friend. Having visited several public buildings, among them the palace of the Bourse, which contains an immense hall formed of twenty-four columns, each one ornamented with four shields bearing the coats of arms of Saragossa, placed on the four fronts of the capital ; having visited the old church of Santiago and the palace of the Archbishopric, I went and planted myself in the middle of the vast and gay square of the Constitucion^ which divides the Coso, and receives two other principal streets of the city ; and from thence I started, and sauntered all over until midday with infinite pleasure. Now I stopped to look at a boy who was playing noceno, now I peeped into a little student s caf6 out of curiosity, now I slackened my pace to listen to the gossip of two servants at a street cor- ner, now flattened my nose against a bookseller's windows, now tried to tease a poor tobacco-woman by asking for cigars in German, now stopped to hold a conversation with a match-vender, here I bought a paper, there begged a soldier for a light, further on asked my way of a girl, and meanwhile thought over verses of Argensola, began facetious sonnets, hummed Riego s Hymn, thought of Florence, the wine of Malaga, the warnings of my mother, of King Amadeus, my pocket-book, of a thousand things and of no one ; and I would not have exchanged my fate for that of a Grandee of Spain.
Toward evening I went to see the new tower,
^AkAGOSSA. is
which is one of the most curious monuments o[ Spain. It IS eighty-four metres in height ; four more than Giotto's tower ; and leans nearly two metres and a half quite intact, like the tower of Pisa. It Avas raised in 1304 ; some affirm that it was built so, others that it was bent afterward; opinions differ. It is octagonal in shape, and is entirely made of brick, but presents a different aspect at every story, and is a graceful mingling of the Gothic ana Moorish. In order to gain an entrance, I was obliged to go and ask permission of some employ^ of the municipality who lives near by, and who, after looking at me attentively from head to foot, gave the key to the custodian, and said to me : *• You may go, sir."
The custodian was a vigorous old man who climbed the interminable staircase with greater rapidity than L
" You will see, sir, a magnificent view !" he said I told him that we Italians had also a leaning tower like the one at Saragossa. He turned and, looking at me, replied dryly :
" Ours is the only one in the world !" ** Oh — indeed ! I tell you that we have one too, and that I have seen it with my own eyes, at Pisa, and then if you do not believe me read here, the guide-book says so also."
He gave a glance and muttered : " It may be so."
" May be so ! You old piece of obstinacy !" I was ready to give him a blow on the head with my book. Finally we reached the top. \x. is 2^ magnificent view. Saragossa can be seen at 9 glance ; the great street of the Coso: the promenade of St. Engracia; the suburbs, and just below, so that it
$6 SPAW.
seems as if one could touch them, the colored cupolas of Nuestra Sefiora del Pilar ; a trifle beyond, the bold tower of El Seo ; farther away the famous Ebro, which winds around the city in a majestic curve ; and the broad valley, enamoured (as Cervantes says) of the clearness of its waters and the gravity of its course ; and the Huerba, and the bridges and heights, which recall so many bloody encounters and desperate assaults.
The custodian read on ray face the thoughts which were passing through my mind, and as if pur- suing a conversation which I had already begun, he commenced showing me the different points at which the French had entered, and where the citizens had offered the bravest resistance.
" It was not the bomb-shells of the French which made us yield," he said ; ** we ourselves burned the houses and blew them up with mines ; it was the epidemic. During the last days more than fifteen thousand men of the forty thousand who were defending the city lay in the hospitals. We had no time to gather the wounded or bury the dead ; the ruins of the houses were covered with putrefied bodies which poisoned the air ; a third of the city buildings were destroyed; yet no one spoke of surrendering ; and if any one had spoken of it (a scaffold had been raised on pur- pose in each square) he would have been executed ; we wished to die on the barricades, in the fire, un- der the debris of our walls, rather than bend our heads. But when Palafox found himself at the point of death, when it was known that the French had conquered in other directions, and that there was no longer any hope, we had to lay down our arms. But the defenders of Saragossa surrendered
t • ••
saHagossa. 57
with the honors of war, and when that crowd of soldiers, peasants, monks, and boys, fleshless, ragged, covered with wounds, and stained with blood, filed before the French army, the conquerors trembled with reverence, and had not the courage to rejoice in their victory. The last of our peasants could carry his head higher than the first of their marshals.
** Saragossa^ and uttering these words he was su- perb, ** has spit in the face of Napoleon ! "
I thought at that moment of the history of Thiers, and the recollection of the narration he gives of the taking of Saragossa roused in me a feeling of dis- dain. Not one generous word for the sublime hec- atomb of that poor people] Their valor, to him, is only a ferocious fanatij^ism, or war-like maiua of peas- ants weary of the tfresome life of the fields, and of monks surfeited with the solitude of their cells ; their heroic resistance is obstinacy ; their love of country a foolish pridev They did not die potir cet id^al de grafideur which kept alive the courage of the imperial soldiers! As if liberty, justice, the honor of a people, were not something grander than the ambition of an emperor, who assaults it by treason and seeks to govern it with violence! * ♦ * 'pj^^ gyj^ ^^5 setting, the steeples and
towers of Saragossa were illuminated by its last rays, the sky was very clear ; I gave one more glance around me to impress upon my memory the aspect of the city and the country, and, before turn- ing to descend the stairs, I said to the custodian, who was looking at me with an air of benevolent curiosity :
"Tell the strangers who shall come from this time forth to visit the tower that one day a young Italian, a few hours before starting for Castile, tak-
58 ^AIN.
ing leave for the last time, from this balcony, of the capital of Arragon, bared his head with a feeling of profound respect, thus — ^^and that not being able to kiss on their foreheads, one by one, all the de- scendants of the heroes of 1809, he gave a kiss to the custodian." And I gave it, and he returned it, so I went away content, and he too. Let any one laugh who chooses!
After this, I felt that I could say I had seen Sara- gossa. and I returned to the hotel, thinking over all my impressions. I had still a great desire to talk with some Saragossan, and after dining I went to the cafe, where I instantly found a master-builder and a shopkeeper, who, between one sip of choco- late and another, explained to me the political state of Spain, and the most efficacious means of saving her. They thought very differently. One, the shopkeeper, who was a small man with a hooked nose and a great bunch between his eyes, wished a federal republic without any delay, that very even- ing before going to bed ; and made as a condition, sine qua non, for the prosperity of the new govern- ment, the shooting of Serrano, Sagasta, and Zorilla. in order to convince them that ofie cannot joke with the Spanish people.
** And your king,'* he said, turning to me, " the king whom you sent us, — you will excuse, my dear Italian, the frankness with which I speak, — to your king I would give a first-class ticket to return to Italy, where the air is better for kings. We are Spanish, my dear Italian," with which he placed a hand on my knee. *' We are Spanish and we do not wish foreigners cooked or uncooked! "
** I think I understand your idea, and you," I said, turning to the master-builder, '' how do you think Spain can be saved "i "
V
SARAGOSSA. 59
" There is only one method ! " he replied, in a grave tone ; ** there is only one method ! A federal republic — in this I agree with my friend, — but with Don Amadeus as president ! (The friend shrug- ged his shoulders.) I repeat, with Don Amadeus as president! He is the only man who can uphold a republic ; not only in my opinion, but in the opin- ion of many people. Let Don Amadeus make his father understand that a monarchy does not please here ; let him call to the government Castelar, Fig^eras, Pi y Margal ; let him proclaim the repub- lic, have himself elected president, and cry to Spain : * Gentlemen, now I am commanding, and if any one interferes there will be blows ! ' Then we shall have true liberty."
The shopkeeper, who did not believe that true liberty consisted in receiving blows, protested ; the other replied, and the dispute lasted for a time. We then began talking about the queen, and the master- builder declared that, although he was a republican, he had a profound respect and warm admiration for Dona Victoria.
" She has a good deal here," he said, touching his forehead with his finger. ** Is it true that she un- derstands Greek 'i "
** Yes, indeed," I replied.
" Do you hear that? " he asked of his neighbor. '* Yes," muttered the shopkeeper, '' but you don't govern Spain with Greek, however ! "
He admitted, nevertheless, that in having a queen it was desirable to have a clever and well educated one, who should show herself worthy of the throne of Isabella the Catholic, whom, as every one knows, Lnew as much Latin as a professor, rather than •me of those light-headed queens who had no head
6o spAm.
for anything but fetes and favorites. In a word, he did not wish to see the house of Savoy in Spain ; but if anything could make him regard it with favor, it would be the queen s Greek. What a gallant republican !
There is, however, in this people a generosity of heart and a vigor of mind which justifies their hon- orable reputation. The Arragonese is respected in Spain. The people of Madrid, who find fault with the Spanish of all the provinces, who call the Cata- lans rough, the Andalusians vain, the Valencians ferocious, the Galicians miserable, and the Basques ignorant, treat with a little more reserve the proud sons of Arragon, who in the nineteenth century wrote with their own blood the most glorious page in the history of Spain, The name of Sarragossa sounds to the people like a cry of liberty, and to the army like a cry of war. But since there is no rose without a thorn, this noble province is also a hot-bed of restless demagogues, headquarters of guerrillas, ol tribes of hot-headed people, who give all the gov- ernments plenty to do. The government is obliged to caress Arragon as it would a gloomy, fiery son, who, if beaten, is capable of blowing up the house.
The entrance of King Amadeus into Saragossa, and the short stay he made there in 1871, was the occasion of many deeds which merit being narrated, not alone because they refer to the prince, but be- cause they are the eloquent manifestations of the character of the people. And first of all, the address of the mayor, of which so much was heard in and out of Spain, and which will remain among the tra- ditions of Saragossa as a classical example of repub- lican audacity. The king arrived, toward evening, at the railway station, whither the representatives ot
SaHaMssa. 6i
many municipalities, associations, military and civil bodies from the various cities of Arragon, accom- panied by an immense crowd, had come to receive him. After the usual shouts and applause there was a silence, and the alcaid of Saragossa presented himself to the king and read, in an emphatic voice, the following address :
" Sire ! it is not my modest personality, it is not the man of profound republican convictions, but the alcaid of Saragossa, invested with the sacred uni- versal suffrage, he who, from an unavoidable duty, presents himself to you and places himself at your disposal. You are about to enter the precincts of a city which, satiated with glory, always bears the title of heroism ; a city which, when the national integrity Mras in danger, proved a modern Numanzia, a city which humiliated the armies of Napoleon even in their triumphs, etc. Saragossa was the advance guard of liberty. No government seemed to her sufficiently liberal, etc. In the breast of her sons no treason was ever harbored, etc. Enter, then, into the precinct of Saragossa. If you have not the courage to do so, you have no need of it, because the sons of the ever heroic mother are openly valorous and incapable of treason. There is no shield, no army more prompt with which to defend, at this moment, your person than the fealty of the descendants of Palafox, since even their enemies find a sacred refuge under Sarragossan roofs. Think and medi- tate that if you constantly follow the road of justice, if you make every one observe the laws of strictest morality, if you protect the producer who up to this time has given so much and received so little, if you sustain the truth of suffrage, if Saragossa and Spain shall owe you one of these days the fulfilment of
62 SPAIN.
the sacred aspirations of the majority of this great people whom you have come to Vno"^ .then, perhaps, you will be ador^ied with a more splefidid title than that of king. You may be the first citizen of the nation, and the most beloved in Saragossa, and the Spanish republic will owe to you her complete hap- piness ! "
To this address, which, in the end, really signified : ** We do not recognize you as king ; but pray come among us, and we will not murder you, because he- roes do not kill in an underhand way ; and if you will be brave and serve us well, we will consent, per- haps, to uphold you as president of the republic," — the king replied, with a bitter-sweet smile, which seemed to say : '* Too much condescension ! " and pressed the hand of the alcaid, to the astonishment of all present. Then he mounted his horse and en- tered Saragossa. The people, it is said, received him joyously, and many ladies threw poetry, flowers, and doves down on to him from the windows. At different points General Cordova and General Ro- sell, who accompanied him, had to clear the streets with their own horses. While they were entering the Coso^ a woman of the people dashed forward to give him a memorial ; the king, who had passed on, became aware of this fact, turned back and took it. Shortly thereafter, a coalseller presented himself and put out his black hand, which the king pressed. In the square of Santa Engracia he was received by a gay masquerade of dwarfs and giants, who greeted him with certain traditional dances, amid the deafen- ing shouts of the people. Thus he traversed the whole city. The following day he visited the Church of the Madonna of Pilar, the hospitals, prisons, bull- circus, and everywhere he was treated with almost
SARAGOSSA. 63
monarchical enthusiasm, not without secret annoy- ance to the alcaid, who accompanied him, and who would have preferred that the Saragossan people should have contented themselves with the obser- vance of the sixth commandment : " Thou shalt not kill, " without going beyond the modest promises he had made for them. The king had an agreeable reception on the road from Saragossa to Logrono. At Logrono, amid an innumerable crowd of peasants, national guards, women, and children, he saw the venerable General Espartero. Hardly had they caught sight of each other than they hastened for- ward ; the general sought the king's hand ; the king opened his arms ; the crowd uttered a shout of joy. '* Your majesty," said the illustrious soldier, in a voice full of emotion, *' the people receive you with patriotic enthusiasm, because they see in their youth- ful monarch the firmest support of the liberty and independence of the country, and are sure that if the enemies of our future should try to disturb it, your majesty, at the head of the army and militia, would know how to confound and put them to rout. My feeble health did not admit of my going to Madrid to congratulate your majesty and your august consort on your ascension to the throne of Ferdinand. To- day I do so, and repeat once more that I will faith- fully serve the person of your majesty as king of Spain, chosen by the will of the nation. Your maj- esty, in this city I have a modest house, and I offer it to you and beg you to honor it with your presence."
With these simple words the new king was greeted by the old, best- beloved, and most glorious of his subjects. A happy augury, which future events failed to fulfil !
64 SPAIN.
It was toward midnight when I went to a masked ball at a theatre of medium size on the Coso, a short distance from the Square of the Constitution. The maskers were few and miserable ; but there was com- pensation for this in an immense crowd, of whom full a third were dancing furiously. Aside from the language, I never should have known that I was at a masked ball in a Spanish theatre, rather than at one in Italy ; for I seemed to see just the same faces. There was the usual handling, license of words and movements, the same degeneration of a ball into a loud and unbridled revelry. Of the hundred couples who passed me in dancing, only one is impressed upon my memory : a young man of twenty tall, slender, light, with great black eyes ; and a girl about the same age, dark as an Andalusian ; both ot them stately and handsome, dressed in an old Ar- ragonese costume, tightly encircled, cheek to cheek, as if one wished to catch the other's breath, rosj' as two pinks and beaming with joy. They passed in the midst of the crowd, casting around them a dis- dainful look, and a thousand eyes accompanied them, followed by a deep murmur of admiration and envy. On coming out of the theatre, I stopped a moment at the door to see them pass, and then returned to the hotel alone and melancholy. The following morning, before daybreak, I left for old Castile.
CHAPTER IIL
IN going from Saragossa to Burgos, the capital of old Castile, one must ascend all the great val- ley of the Ebro, crossing a portion of Arragon, and a part of Navarre, as far as the city of Mi- randa, situated on the French road, which passes through San Sebastian and Bayonne. The country is full of historical recollections, ruins, monuments, and famous names ; every village recalls a battle, every province a war. At Tudela the French routed General Castanos ; at Calahorra Sertorius resisted Pompey'; at Navarette Henry, Count of Transtam- are was conquered by Peter the Cruel ; one sees vestiges of the city Egon ad Agoncillo, the ruins of a Roman aqueduct at Alcanadre, and the remains of an Arab bridge at Logrofio, so that the mind is wearied in trying to remember the history of so many centuries and so many people, and the eye is wearied with the mind. The aspect of the country varies at every moment. Near Saragossa are green fields scattered with houses, winding paths, on which you see groups of peasants enveloped in their varie- gated shawls, together with carts and beasts of burden. Further on there are only vast undulating plains, which are barren and dried, without a tree, house, or path ; where one sees nothing from mile to
66 SPAIN.
mile but a herd, herdsman, and hut ; or some small village, composed of low dirt-colored houses, which one almost confuses with the ground ; rather groups ot hovels than villages, — real representatives of mis- ery and squalor. The Ebro winds in great curves along the road, now quite near, so that it seems as if the train would dive into it, now far away, like a stream of silver, that appears and disappears among the elevations of ground and bushes on the banks. In the distance one sees a chain of blue mountains, and beyond them the white summits of the Pyrenees. Near Tudela is a canal ; after passing Custe- jon the country becomes verdant ; and as one goes on, the arid plains alternate with olive trees, and some streaks of vivid green break here and there the dry yellowish look of the abandoned fields. On the tops of the distant hills appear the ruins of enor- mous castles, surmounted by broken, shattered, and corroded towers, resembling the great torsos of prostrate giants who are still menacing.
At every station of the railway I bought a news- paper ; before accomplishing half of my journey I had a stack of them : newspapers from Madrid and Arragon, large and small, black and red ; no one of them, unfortunately, in favor of Don Amadeus. 1 say unfortunately, because in reading newspapers in those days one was sorely tempted to turn his back on Madrid, and return home. From the first to the last column they were filled with insults, impreca- tions, and threats against Italy ; stories about our king, ridiculous things about the ministers, and rage against our army ; all founded on the rumor, then current, of an approaching war, in which Italy and Germany, allied, would attack France and Spain, in order to de- stroy Catholicism, the everlasting enemy of both, to
BURGOS, 67
place on the throne of St. Louis the Duke of Genoa, and secure the throne of Philip II to the Duke of Aosta, There were threats in the leading articles, in the appendix, among the news items, in prose, in verse, in the illustrations^ in critical letters, and long rows of dots ; dialogues between father and son, the one from Rome, the other from Madrid, the former asking :
** What am I to do ? "
The latter replying :
** Shoot ! " — from time to time : ** Let them come! We are ready! We are always the Spain of 1 808 ; the conquerors of the army of Napoleon fear neither the grimaces of Emperor William's Uhlans, nor the clamor of Victor Emanuel's sharp- shooters."
Then Don Amadeus was designated as the poor child, the Italian army as a troupe of ballet dancers and singers, the Italians in Spain invited to leave with the hardly courteous warning : '' Italians to the train ; " in fact there was something to supply every possible demand. I confess that, at first, I was a little disturbed by this ; I fancied that at Madrid the Italians were pointed at in the streets; I remem- bered the letter received at Genoa ; repeated to my- self thus : ** Italians to the train! " as a counsel that deserved serious meditation ; I looked with sus- picion at the travellers who entered the carriage, the railroad officials, and it seemed to me that, in seeing me at first, they would all say : *' There is an Italian emissary ; let us send him to keep company with General Prim ! "
On approaching Miranda, the road enters a moun- tainous country, varied and picturesque ; from which, on any side you looked, nothing is to be seen, as far as the eye can reach, but grayish rocks, which
68 SPAIN.
give the landscape the appearance of a sea petrified in a tempest. It is a country full of wild beauty, solitary as a desert, silent as an iceberg, which ap- pears to the fancy like an uninhabited planet, and rouses in one a mingled feeling of sadness and fear. The train passes between the walls of pointed, hol- lowed, crested rocks, worn into every shape and form, so that it seems as if a crowd of stone-cutters had been at work on them for a lifetime, cutting blindly here and there to see who would leave the most capricious traces. The road then emerges into a vast plain, filled with poplars, in which rises Miranda.
The station is at a great distance from the city, and I was obliged to wait in a caf6 until night for the train to Madrid. For three hours I had no other society than that of two custom-house guards (called in Spain carabineros), dressed in a severe uniform, with dagger, pistols, and a gun slung over the shoul- der. At every station there are two of them. The first time I saw the muzzles of their carbines at the carriage window, I fancied that they had come to arrest some one, perhaps * * * ^ind I put my hand almost involuntarily on my passport. They are handsome young men, bold and courteous, with whom the traveller who is waiting may entertain himself agreeably in talking of Carlists and smug- gling, as \ did, to the great advantage of my Spanish vocabulary. Toward evening a Mirandese, a man of fifty, an employe, who was naturally gay and a great talker, arrived, and I left the carabineros to join him. He was the first Spaniard who talked un- derstandingly with me of politics. I begged him to unravel this terrible skein of parties, of which I could make nothing, and he was delighted to do so, and gave me very explicit information on the subject.
\
BURGOS, 69
'' It IS explained in two words," he began ; " this is the state of affairs : There are five principal par- ties,— the absolutist, the moderate, the conservative, the radical, and the republican. The absolutist is di- vided into two bodies — the real Carlists and the dis- senting ones. The moderate party into two : one wishes Isabella, the other Don Alphonso. The con- servative party into four — keep them well in your mind : the Canovists, headed by Canovas del Cas- tillo ; the ex-Montpensierists, headed by Rios Rosas ; \h^/ronierizos, headed by General Serrano ; and the historical progressionists, headed by Sagasta. The radical party is divided into four sections : the demo- cratic progressionists, led by Zorilla ; the cimbrios, led by Martos ; the democrats, led by Ribero ; the economists, led by Rodriguez. The republican party is divided into three : the unionists, headed by Garcia Ruiz ; the federals, headed by Figueras ; the socialists, headed by Garrido. The socialists divide twice more : socialists with the interriazionale, so- cialists without the inter ruizionale. Sixteen parties in all. These sixteen are subdivided again. Mar- tos wishes to constitute his party, Candau another, Moret a third ; Rios Rosas, Pi y Margall, and Cas- telar are each forming their own party. There are, therefore, twenty -two parties ; parties formed and to be formed. Then add the partisans of the republic, with Don Amadeus as president ; the partisans of the queen, who would like to dispose of Don Ama- deus ; the partisans of Espartero's monarchy ; the partisans of the Montpensier monarchy ; they who are republicans on the condition that Cuba is not re- linquished , those who are republican on the condi- tion that Cuba is relinquished ; those who have not yet renounced the hope of the Prince of Hohenzol-
70 SPA/J\r.
lern ; those who desire a union with Portugal ; then you would have thirty parties. If you wish to be more exact, you could subdivide again ; but it is better to get a clear idea of things as they are. Sagasta leans toward the unionists, Zorilla depends upon the re- publicans, Serrano is disposed to join the moderates, the moderates (if occasion offered) would league with the absolutists, who, meanwhile, favor the re- publicans, and these unite with a portion of the radicals to dispose of the minister Sagasta, too con- servative for the democratic progressionists, too lib- eral for the unionists, who fear the federalists, while the latter repose no great faith in the radicals, who are always vibrating between the democrats and Sagastines. Have you a clear idea of the mat- ter ? "
*' As clear as amber," I replied, shuddering.
Of the journey from Miranda to Burgos I remem- ber as little as I would of the page of a book skim- med over in bed when one's eyes are beginning to close and the candle is burning low, for I was nearly dead with sleep. One of my neighbors touched me from time to time to make me look out. It was a clear night, the moon shining brightly ; every time I put my face to the window I saw on both sides of the road enormous rocks of fanciful shapes, so near that it seemed as if they would fall upon the train ; they were as white as marble, and so well il- luminated that one could have counted all their points, indentations, and projections as if it were daylight.
'' We are at Pancorbo," said my neighbor ; '^loofe on to that height ; there stood a terrible castle which the French destroyed in 1 8 1 3. We are at Briviesca ; look : here John I of Castile assembled the General
BURGOS. 71
States, who accorded the title of Prince of the As- turias to the heir of the crown. Look at the Bru- jola mountain, which touches the stars!"
He was one of those indefatigable cicerones who \vould even talk to umbrellas ; and always saying '* look." he would hit me on the side where my pocket was. Finally we arrived at Burgos. My neighbor disappeared without taking leave of me. I was driven to a hotel, and as I was on the point of paying the cabman, I discovered that I no longer had a small purse containing change which I generally carried in my overcoat. I thought of the General States of Briviesca, and settled the matter with a philosophical " It serves me right," instead of crying out, as many do on similar occasions : ** In Heaven's name ! what sort of a country are we in?" as if in their own land there were not dexterous people who walk off wth one s portemonnaie without being even civil enough to give one any historical or geographical information.
The hotel where I stayed was served by women. They were seven or eight great, plump, muscular, overgrown children, who came and went with arm- fulsof mattresses and linen, bent backward in athletic attitudes, so very gasping and brimful of laughter that it put one in good spirits to see them. A hotel where there are female servants is quite different from the ordinary hotels ; the traveller seems less strange there, and goes to sleep with a quiet heart; the women give it a home-like air, that almost makes those who are there forget their solitude. They are more thoughtful than men ; they know that the trav- eller is inclined to melancholy, and it seems as if they wish to relieve him from it ; they smile and talk in a confidential manner, as if to make one understand
7^ SPA/M.
that he is at home and in safe hands ; they have something housewifely about them, so that they wait upon one less as a profession than from the desire to make themselves useful ; thev sew on your buttons with an air of protection ; take the whisk out of your hand in a playful way, as if to say :
** Give it to me ; you are good for nothing."
They pick the shreds off your coat when you g-o out, and say, " Oh, poor fellow ! " when you come back covered with mud ; they recommend you not to sleep with your head too low when they wish you good-night ; and give you your coffee in bed, say- ing benevolently to you :
** Lie quietly ; don't stir ! "
One of these maids was called Beatrizy another Carmelita, and a third Amparo (protection), all hav- ing that ponderous mountain beauty which makes one exclaim in a bass voice :
'' What fine-looking creatures ! "
When they ran through the corridors the whole house shook.
The following morning, at sunrise, Amparo called out :
caballero/**
A quarter of an hour later I was in the street. Burgos, situated on the slope of a mountain, on the right bank of the Arlanzon, is an irregular city of tortuous and narrow streets, with few notable edi- fices, and the majority of the houses not older than the seventeenth century. But it has one particular quality which makes it curious and genial ; it is as variegated in color as one of those scenes in a Marionette theatre, with which the painters intend to call forth an exclamation of surprise from the ser-
iORGOS. fi
vants in the pit. It has the appearance of a city colored on purpose for some carnival festival, with the intention of whitewashing it afterward. The houses are red, yellow, blue, ash-color, and orange, with ornaments and trimmings of a thousand other shades ; everything is painted there, — the doors, railings of the terraces, gratings, cornices, brackets, reliefs, and projections. All the streets seem deco- rated as for a fete ; at every turn there is a different sight ; on every side it is like a rivalry of colors, to see which will most attract the eye. One is almost tempted to laugh, for there are hues which never before were seen on walls, — green, scarlet, purple, colors of strange flowers, sauces, sweets, and stuff for ball-dresses. If there were an insane asylum for painters at Burgos, one would say that the city had been colored some day when its inmates had es- caped. In order to render the appearance of the houses more graceful, many windows have a sort of covered terrace before them, enclosed with glass, like a case in a museum ; one on every floor gen- erally, and the top one resting on that below, the lowest one on the show windows of a shop, so that from the ground to the roof they all look like one immense window of an enormous establishment. Behind these panes of glass one sees, as if on exhi- bition, the faces of girls and children, flowers, land- scapes, figures on pasteboard, embroidered curtains, lace, and arabesques. If I had not known it, I should never have fancied that a city so constructed could possibly be the capital of old Castile, whose inhabitants have the reputation of being grave and austere. I should have imagined it one of the An- dalusian cities, where the people are gayest. I sup- posed I should see a pensive matron, and I found a
74 sPAiir,
whimsical masker. Having taken two or three turns, I came out on a large square called Plaza Mayor or Plaza de la Cofisiitucion, all surrounded by pomegranate-colored houses, with porticoes, and, in the centre, a bronze statue representing Charles III. I had not given a glance all around before a boy enveloped in a long, ragged cloak, dragging two sabots, and waving a journal in the air, ran toward me :
" Do you wish the Imparcial^ caballero f **
" No."
" Do you want a ticket for the Madrid lottery ? **
•* No, indeed."
•* Would you like some smuggled cigars ? "
« No ! "
"Would you — ?''
"Well!"
My friend scratched his chin.
" Do you wish to see the remains of the Cid?"
Heavens and earth, what a leap ! Never mind ; let us go and see the remains of the Cid.
We went to the municipal palace. An old door- keeper made us cross two or three small rooms, until we reached one where we all three stop- ped.
** Here are the remains," said the woman, point- ing to a species of coffer placed on a pedestal in the centre of the room.
I approached ; she raised the cover, and I looked in. There were two compartments, at the bottom of which were piled some bones, that looked like fragments of old furniture.
•* These," said the door-keeper, ** are the bones ot the Cid ; and these, those of Ximenes, his wife."
I took the shin bone of one and a rib of the othei
BURGOS. 75
in my hand, looked at them, felt of them, turned them over, and not being able to form therefrom any idea of the physiognomies of husband or wife, re- placed them. Then the woman pointed out a wooden folding-stool, half in pieces, which was leaning against the wall, and an inscription which said that this was the seat upon which sat the first judges of Castile, Nunez Rasura, Calvoqtu Lainus, great- grandfathers of the Cid, which is as much as to say that that precious piece of furniture has stood in that place for the trifling space of nine hundred years. I have it at this moment before my eyes, drawn in my note-book, in serpentine lines ; and I still seem to hear the good woman ask : "Are you a painter ? " as I rest my chin on my pencil in order to admire my masterpiece. In the next room she showed me a brazier of the same age as the folding- stool, and two portraits, one of the Cid and the other of Ferdinand Gonzales, first Count of Castile, both of them so blurred and washed out that they no more present the image of the originals thaii did the shin bones and ribs of the illustrious consorts.
From the municipal palace I was taken to the bank of the Arlanzon, into a spacious square with a garden, fountains, and statues, surrounded by grace- ful new buildings. Beyond the river is the suburb Bega, further still the barren hills which dominate the city, and at one end of the square the immense gate of Santa Maria, which was erected in honor of Charles V, ornamented with statues of the Cid, Fer- nando Gonzales, and the emperor. Beyond the gate appear the majestic spires of the cathedral. It was raining ; I was alone in the middle of the square, and without an umbrella ; I raised my eyes to a window, and saw a woman, who seemed to be a servant, look-
ing and laughing at me, as if to say, " Who is that idiot ? " Finding myself caught so suddenly, I was rather disconcerted, but putting the best face on the matter, I looked as indifferent as possible, and walked off toward the cathedral by the shortest road.
The Cathedral of Burgos is one of the largest, handsomest, and richest monuments of Christianity. Ten times I wrote these words in my head, and ten times the courage to proceed failed me, so inade- quate and miserable do the powers of my mind seem when compared with the difficulty of the description.
The facade is on a small square, from which one takes in at a glance a part of the immense edifice ; . around the other side run narrow, tortuous streets, which impede the view. From all thte points* of the enormous roof rise slender and graceful spires, overloaded with ornaments of dark chalk color, reach^- ' ing beyond the highest buildings in the town. On the front, to the right and the left of the fagade, are \ two sharp bell towers, covered from base to summit' with sculpture, and perforated, chiselled, and em- broidered with a bewitching grace and delicacy. Beyond, toward the central portion of the church, rises a very rich tower, covered too with bas-relief and friezes. On the fagade, on the points of the bell towers, at each story, under all the arches, on all sides, there are an innumerable multitude of statues of angels, martyrs, warriors, and princes, so thickly set, so varied in pose, and standing out in such per- fect relief from the light portions of the edifice, that they almost' present a lifelike appearance, like a ce- lestial legion placed there to guard the monument. In raising the eyes up by the facade, to the furthest point of the exterior spires, taking in little by little
BURGOS. 77
all that harmonious Hghtness of line and color, one experiences a delicious sensation like hearing a strain of music which raises itself gradually from an ex- pression of devout prayer to the ecstasy of a sublime inspiration. Before entering the church your imagi- nation wanders far beyond earth.
Enter * * * The first emotion that you ex- perience is a sudden strengthening of your faith, if you have any, and a burst of the soul toward faith, if it be lacking. It seems impossible that that im- mense pile of stone could be a vain work of supersti- tion accomplished by men ; it seems as if it affirmed, proved, and commanded something; it has the effect upon you of a superhuman voice which cries to earth, ** I am ! " and raises an^ crushes you at the same time, like a promise or a threat, like a ray of sunlight or a clap of thunder.; Before beginning to look around, you feel the need of ffevivifying in your heart the dying sparks of divine love ; the feeling that you are a stranger before that miracle of boldness, genius, and labor, humiliates- yOu; the timid no which resounds in the depths of your. soul, dies in a groan under the formidable yes which smites. you on the head. First you turn your eyes vaguely round about you, look- ing for the limits of the edifice, which the enormous choir and pilasters hide from sight. Then your glance falls upon the columns and high arches, de- scends, climbs, and runs rapidly over the numberless lines which follow each other, cross, correspond, and are lost, like rockets which flash into space, up through the great vaults ; and your heart takes pleasure in that breathless admiration, 3s if all those lines issued from your owrijp^f^^^^Sft^^in the act of looking at them witk^b^ir ^ii^y^;* tuCT^tou are seized suddenly, as if \yrai frighj^^^ ifliwi\lingfqf sad-
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ness that there is not time enough in which to con- template, intellect with which to understand, and memory to retain the innumerable marvels, half seen on all sides, crowded together, piled upon one another, and dazzling, which one would say came rather from the hand of God, like a second creation, than from the hand of man.
The church, which belongs to what is called the gothic order at the time of the Renaissance, is divided into one very long nave and two aisles, crossed by a transcept, which separates the choir from the high altar. Above the space contained between the altar and the choir rises a cupola, formed by the tower which is seen from the square. You turn your eyes upward, and stand for a quarter of an hour with open mouth ; it is a mass of bas-reliefs, statues, small columns, little windows, arabesques, suspended arches, and aerial sculpture, harmonizing in one grand and lovely design, the first sight of which causes a tremor and a smile, like the sudden igniting, bursting, and gleaming of magnificent fire- works. A thousand vague imageries of Paradise, which cheered our infantile dreams, break forth to- gether from the excited mind, and winging an upward flight, like butterflies, go to rest on the thousand re- liefs of the high vault, there moving and mingling so that your eye follows them as if it really saw them, your heart beats, and a sigh escapes you.
If in turning from the cupola you look around you, a still more stupendous spectacle is offered to your view. •The chapels are so many churches in vastness, variety, and richness. In every one is buried a prince, a bishop, or a grandee ; the tomb is in the centre, and upon it is a recumbent statue representing the de- ceased, his head resting on a pillow and hands
crossed over the breast ; the bishops dressed in their most gorgeous robes, the princes in their ar- mor, the women in their gala costumes. All these tombs are covered with immense cloths which fall over the sides and, taking the shape of the raised portions of the statues, appear as if really covering the stiffened members of a human form. On every side one turns, are seen in the distance, among the enormous pilasters, behind the rich gratings, in the uncertain light that falls from the high windows, those mausoleums, funereal draperies, and those rigid out- lines of bodies. Approaching the chapels one is astonished by the profusion of sculptures, marbles, and gold which ornament the walls, ceilings, and altars ; every chapel contains an army of angels and saints sculptured in marble and wood, and painted, gilded, and clothed ; on whatever portion of the pave- ment your eye rests, it is driven upward from bas- relief to bas-relief, niche to niche, arabesque to ara- besque, painting to painting, as far as the ceiling, and from the ceiling, by another chain of sculptures and pictures, is led back to the floor. On whatever side you turn your face, you encounter eyes which are looking at you, hands which are making signs to you, clouds which seems to be rising, crystal suns which seem to tremble, and an infinite variety of forms, colors, and reflections that dazzle your eyes and confuse your mind.
A volume would not suffice to describe all the masterpieces of sculpture and painting which are scattered throughout that immense cathedral. In the sacristy of the Chapel of the High Constables of Castile is a very beautiful Magdalen attributed to Leonardo da Vinci ; in the Chapel of the Presenta- tion, a Virgin attributed to Michael Angelo ; in an-
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other, a Holy Family attributed to Andrea del Sarto, Of not one of these three pictures is the painter - really known ; but when I saw the curtain drawn aside, and heard those names uttered in a reverent voice, a thrill ran through me from head to foot. I experienced for the first time, in all its force, that feeling of gratitude which we owe to great artists who have made the name of Italy reiverend and dear to the whole ./orld ; I understood, for the first time, that they are not only illustrious, but benefactors of their country ; and not alone by him who has suf- ficient intellect to understand and admire them, but also by him who may be blind to their works, does not care for, or ignores them, must they be revered. Because, to a man who is lacking in sentiment for the beautiful, national pride is never wanting, and he who does not even feel this, feels at least the pride of his own, and is deeply gratified to hear (if it be only a sacristan who says it) : ** He was born in Italy," so smiles and rejoices ; and for that smile and enjoyment he is indebted to the great names which did not touch his soul before he left the boun- daries of his own country. Those grand names ac- company and protect him wherever he goes, like inseparable friends ; they make him appear less of a stranger among strangers, and shed around his face a luminous reflection of their glory. How many smiles, how many pressures of hand, how many courteous words from unknown people do we owe to Raphael, Michael Angelo, Ariosto, and Rossini f
Any one who wishes to see this cathedral in one day must pass by the masterpieces. The chiselled door which opens into the cloister, has the reputa- tion of being, after the gates of the Baptistry at Florence, the most beautiful in the world ; behind the high altar is a stupendous bas-relief of Philip of
BURGOS. 8 1
Borgogna, representing the passion of Christ, an im- mense composition, for the accomplishment of which one would suppose the lifetime of a man could hardly suffice ; the choir is a genuine museum of sculpture of a prodigious richness ; the cloister is full of tombs with recumbent statues, and all around a profusion of bas-reliefs ; in the chapels, around the choir, in the rooms of the sacristy, in fact, everywhere, there are pictures by the greatest Spanish artists, statu- ettes, columns, and ornaments.; the high altar, the or- gans, the doors, the staircases, the iron bars, — every- thing is grand and magnificent, and arouses and sub- dues at the same time one's admiration. But what is the use of adding word upon word ? Could the most minute description give an idea of the thing ? And if I had written a page for every picture, statue, or bas-relief, should I have been able to arouse in the souls of others the emotion which I experienced ?
The sacristan approached me, and murmured in my ear, as if he were revealing a secret :
** Do you wish to see the Christ? "
•' What Christ ? "
" Ah ! " he replied, " that is understood, the famous one!''
The famous Christ of the Cathedral of Burgos, which bleeds every Friday, merits a particular men- tion. The sacristan takes you into a mysterious chapel, closes the shutters, lights the candles on the altar, draws a cord, a curtain slips aside, and the Christ is there. If you do not take flight at the first sight, you have plenty of courage ; a real body on a cross could not fill you with more horror. It is not a statue, like the others, of painted wood ; it is of skin, they say human flesh, stuffed ; has real
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hair, eyebrows, lashes, and beard ; the hair streaked with blood, the cliest, legs, and hands stained with blood too ; the wounds, which seem genuine, the color of the skin, the contraction of the face, the pose, look, — everything is terribly real ; you would say that in touching it one would feel the trembling of the members and the heat of the blood ; it seems to you as if the lips moved, and were about to utter a lament ; you cannot bear the sight long, and despite of yourself, you turn away your face and say to the sacristan : " I have seen it ! "
After the Christ one must see the celebrated coffer of the Cid. It is broken and worm-eaten, and hangs from the wall in one of the rooms of the sacristy. Tradition narrates that the Cid carried this coffer with him in his wars against the Moors, and that the priests used it as an altar on which to celebrate mass. One day, finding his pockets empty, the formidable warrior filled the coffer with stones and bits of iron, had it carried to a Jewish usurer, and said to him :
** The Cid needs some money ; he could sell his treasures, but does not wish to do so ; give him the money he needs, and he will return it very soon, with the interest of 99 per cent., and he leaves in your hands, as a pledge, this precious coffer, which contains his fortune. But on one condition : that you will swear to him not to open it until he has returned you what he owes. There is a secret which can be known by none but God and myself : decide — "
Whether it was that the usurers of that day had more faith in the officers of the army, or were a trifle more stupid than those of the present time, the fact remains that the usurer accepted the proposition
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of the Cid. took his oath, and gave the money. Whether the Cid paid the debt, or even whether the Jew had a litigation about the matter, is not known ; but the coffer is still in existence, and the sacristan tells you the story as a joke, without sus- pecting for a moment that it was the trick of a thorough rascal, rather than the ingenious joke of a facetious man of honor.
Before leaving the cathedral, you must have the sacristan tell you the famous legend of the Papa- Moscas. Papa-Moscas is a puppet of life-size, placed in the case of a clock, over the door, inside the church. Once, like the celebrated puppets of the clock at Venice, at the first stroke of the hour, it came out of its hiding-place, and at every stroke ut- tered a cry, and made an extravagant gesture to the great delectation of the faithful, but the children laughed, and the religious services were disturbed. A rigorous bishop, in order to put an end to the scandal, had some nerve of Papa-Moscas cut, and since that time it has been mute and immovable. But this did not stop people at Madrid, throughout Spain, and elsewhere, from talking of it. Papa-Mos- cas was a creature of Henry III, and this fact gives rise to its great importance. The story is quite curious. Henry III, the king of chivalrous ad- ventures, who one day sold his mantle in order to buy something to eat, used to go every day, incog- nito, to pray in the cathedral. One morning his eyes encountered those of a young woman who was praying before the sepulchre of Ferdinand Gonzales ; their glances (as Th^ophile Gautier would say) in- tertwined ; the young girl colored ; the king followed her when she left the church, and accompanied her to her home. For many days, at the ^me place
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and same hour, they saw and looked at each other. and displayed their love and sympathy by glances and smiles. The king always followed her home, without saying one word, and without her showing any desire that he should speak to her. One morn- ing, on coming out of church, the beautiful unknown let her handkerchief drop ; the king picked it up, hid it in his bosom, and offered her his own. The woman, her face suffused with blushes, took it, and wiping away her tears, disappeared. From that day Don Henry never saw her more. A year after- ward, the king, having lost his way in a grove, was assailed by six hungry wolves ; after a prolonged struggle, he killed three of them with his sword ; but his strength was giving out, and he was on the point of being devoured by the others. At that moment he heard the discharge of a gim, and a strange cry, which put the wolves to flight ; he turned, and saw the mysterious woman, who was looking fixedly at him, without being able to utter one word. The muscles of her face were horribly contracted, and, from time to time, a sharp lament burst from her chest. In recovering from his first surprise, the king recognized in that woman the be- loved one of the cathedral. He uttered a cry of joy, dashed forward to embrace her ; but the young girl stopped him, and exclaimed with a divine smile :
" I loved the memory of the Cid and Ferdinand Gonzales, because my heart loves all that is noble and generous ; for this reason I loved thee too, but my duty prevented me from consecrating to thee this love which would have been the delight of my life. Accept the sacrifice." * * *
Saying which she fell to the ground and expired, without finishing her sentence, but pressing the
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Icing s handkerchief to her heart. A year thereafter the Papa- Moscas appeared at the clock door, for the first time, to announce the hour ; King Henry had had it made in honor of the woman he loved ; the cry of the Papa- Moscas recalled to the king the cry -which his deliverer uttered in the forest in order to frighten the wolves. History relates that Don Henry wished the Papa- Moscas to repeat the wo- man's loving words ; but the Moorish artist who made the automaton, after many vain efforts, de- clared himself incapable of satisfying the desire of the pious monarch.
After hearing the story, I took another turn around the cathedral, thinking, with sadness, that I should never see it again, that in a short time so many mar- vellous works of art would only be a memory, and that this memory would some day be disturbed and confused with others or lost entirely. A priest was preaching in the pulpit before the high altar ; his voice could scarcely be heard ; a crowd of women, v^rho were kneeling on the pavement with bowed heads and clasped hands, were listening to him. The preacher was an old man of venerable appear- ance; he talked of death, eternal life, and angels, in a gentle tone, gesticulating with every sentence as if he were holding out his hand to a person who had fallen, and were saying : ** Rise! " I could have given him mine, crying out: ** Raise me!'' The Cathe- dral of Burgos is not as gloomy as almost all the others in Spain ; it had calmed my mind and dis- posed me quietly to religious thoughts. I went out repeating just above my breath : ** Raise me I " almost involuntarily, turned to look once more at the bold spires and graceful bell towers, and, indulging in varied fancies, started toward the heart of the city.
86 SPAIN.
On turning a corner, I found myself before a shop which made me shudder. There are some like it at Barcelona and Saragossa and in all the other Span- ish cities, in fact ; but for some unaccountable reason. I had not seen them. It was a large clean shop, with two immense windows on the right and left of the door ; at the entrance stood a woman smiling as she knit ; at the back, a boy was playing. In looking at that shop even the coldest man would have shud- dered, and the gayest would have been disturbed. Guess what it contained. In the windows, behind the open doors, along the walls, almost up to the ceiling, one above the other like baskets of fruit, some covered with an embroidered veil, others with flowers, gilded, chiselled, and painted, were so many burial caskets. Inside, those for men ; outside, those for children. One of the windows came in contact, on the exterior, with the window of a sausage- ven- der, so that the coffins almost touched the eggs and cheese, and it might easily occur that a man in great haste, while thinking he was going to buy his break- fast, mistaking the door, would stumble in among the biers — a mistake little calculated to sharpen his appetite.
Since we are talking of shops, let us go into one of a tobacco-vender, to see how they differ from ours. In Spain, aside from the cigarettes and havanas, which are sold in separate shops, there are no other cigars than those of tres cuartos (a trifle less than three sous), shaped like our Roman cigars, a little thicker, very good or very bad, according to the make, which has rather degenerated. The usual customers, who are called in Spain by the curious name of parroqiiianos, on paying something extra, have given them the selected cigars ; the most re-
Buncos. 87
fined smokers, adding a trifle to this sum, procure the choicest of the choice. On the counter there is a small plate containing a sponge, dipped in water, to moisten the postage stamps, and thus avoid that everlasting licking; and in a corner, a box for letters and printed matter. The first time one enters one of these shops, especially when it is full, one is in- clined to laugh, in seeing the three or four men who are selling, flinging the coins on to the counter so that they make them fly over their heads, and catch- ing them in the air with the air of dice players ; this they do to ascertain by the sound whether they are good, as so many counterfeits are in circulation.
The coin most in use is the realy which equals a trifle more than our five sous ; four reales make a peseta, fi\^ pesetas a duro, which is our crown of blessed memory, by adding thereto twenty-seven centimes ; five crowns make a gold doblon de Isabel. The peo- ple reckon by reales. The real is divided into eight cuartoSy seventeen ochavos, or thirty-four maravedis, — Moorish coins which have nearly lost their primitive form, and resemble crushed buttons more than any- thing else. Portugal has a monetary mint even smaller than ours ; the reis, which equals nearly half a centime, and every thing is reckoned by reis. Let us fancy a poor traveller, who arrives there without knowing of this peculiarity, and after having made an excellent dinner, asks for the bill, and hears the waiter calmly reply — instead of four lires — eight hundred reis. How his hair stands on end from fright !
Before evening I went to see the place where the Cid was born ; if I had not thought of it myself, the guides would have reminded me of it; for every- where I went they whispered in my ear : " The re-
88 SPA 11/.
mains of the Cid ; house of the Cid ; monument o\ the Cid." An old man, majestically enveloped in his mantle, said to me with an air of protection : *' Come with me, sir/' and made me climb a hill in the heart of the city, on whose summit are still to be seen the ruins of an enormous castle, the ancient dwelling of the King of Castile. Before reaching the monument of the Cid, one comes to a triumphal arch, in Doric style, simple and graceful, raised by Philip II, in honor of Ferdinand Gonzales, in the same place, it is said, where stood the house in which the famous captain was born. A little further on one finds the monument of the Cid, erected in 1784. It is a pilaster of stone, resting on a pedestal in masonry, and surmounted by a heraldic shield, with this inscription : ** On this spot rose the house in which, in the year 1026, Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar, called the Cid campeador, was born. He died at Valencia, in 1099, and his body was carried to the monastery of St. Peter of Cardena, near this city." While I was reading those words, the guide related a popular legend regarding the hero's death :
*' When the Cid died," he said, with much gravity, ** there was no one to guard his remains. A Jew en- tered the church, approached the bier, and said : * This is the great Cid, whose beard no one dared touch during his life ; I will touch it and see what he can do.* Saying which he stretched out his hand, but at the same instant the corpse seized the hilt of his sword and drew it out of its scabbard. The Jew uttered a cry and fell to the ground half dead ; the priests hastened forward, the Jew was raised, and, re- gaining his consciousness, related the miracle ; then all turned toward the Cid and saw that he still held the hilt of his sword in a menacing manner. God
BURGOS. 89
did not wish that the remains of the great warrior should be contaminated by the hand of an un- believer."
As he finished, he looked at me, and seeing that 1 did not give the slightest sign of incredulity, he led me under a stone arch, which must have been one of the old gates of Burgos, a few steps from the monument, and pointing to a horizontal groove in the wall, a little more than a metre from the ground, said to me :
** This is the measure of the Cid s arms when he was a young fellow and came here to play with his companions." And he stretched his arms along the groove to show me how much longer it was, then wished me to measure, too, and mine also was too short ; then giving me a triumphant look, he started to return to the city. When we reached a soli- tary street he stopped before the door of a church and said :
'* This is the church of St. Agnes, where the Cid made the King Don Alphonso VI swear that he had taken no part in the killing of his brother, Don Sancho."
I begged him to tell me the whole story.
"There were present," he continued, '* prelates, cavaliers, and the other personages of state. The Cid placed the holy Gospel on the altar, the king laid his hand on it, and the Cid said :
** * King Don Alphonso, you must swear to me that you are not stained with the blood of King Don Sancho, my master, and if you swear falsely I shall pray that God make you perish by the hand of a traitorous vassal.'
** The king said, * Amen ! * but changed color. Then the Cid repeated :
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" • King Don Alphonso, you must swear that you have neither ordered nor counselled the death of the king, Don Sancho, my master ; and if you swear falsely may you die by the hand of a traitorous vas- sal,* and the king said * Amen ! ' but changed color a second time. Twelve vassals confirmed the oath of the king ; the Cid wished to kiss his hand, the king would not permit it, and hated him through life from that moment."
He added afterward that another tradition held that the King Don Alphonso did not swear upon the Bible, but upon the bolt of the church door ; that for a long time travellers came from every part of the world to admire that bolt ; that the people at- tributed to it seme supernatural virtues, and that it was much talked of on all sides, and gave rise to so many extravagant tales that the Bishop, Don Fray Pascual was obliged to have it taken away, as it created a {.perilous rivalry between the door and the high altar. The guide said nothing more, but if one were ^o collect all the traditions about the Cid which are current in Spain, there would be enough to till three good-sized volumes. No legendary war- rior was ever dearer to his people than this terrible Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar. Poetry has made him lit- tle less than a god, and his glory lives in the- na- tional feeling of the Spanish as if not eight centuries but eight lustres had passed since the time in which he lived ; the heroic poem called by his name, which is the finest monument of the poetry of Spain, is still the most powerfully national work of its literature.
Toward dusk I went to walk under the porticoes of the great square, in the hope of seeing a few pe'^ple ; it poured, and a high wind was blowing, so
B (JRGOS. 9 1
that I only found several groups of boys, worknien, and soldiers, and therefore returned directly to the hotel. The Emperor of Brazil had arrived there that morning, and was to start that night for Madrid. In the rooms where I dined, together with some Spaniards with whom I talked until the hour of my departure, were dining also all the major-domos, valets, ser- vants, lackeys, etc., of his imperial majesty, who completely filled one huge table. In the whole course of my life I have never seen such a curious g^roup of human beings before. There were white faces, black faces, yellow faces, and copper-colored faces ; such eyes, noses, and mouths, not to be equalled in the whole collection of the Pasquino of Teja. Everyone was talking a different language : some English, others Portuguese, French, and Spanish ; and others still, an unheard-of mixture of all four, to which were added words, sounds, and cadences of I know not what dialect. Yet they un- derstood each other, and talked together witli such confusion as to make one think that they were speaking a single mysterious and horrible language of some country unknown to the world.
Before leaving Old Castile, the cradle of the Spanish monarchy, I should like to have seen Soria, built on the ruins of the ancient Numantia; Se- govia, with its immense Roman aqueduct*; Saint Idelfonso, the delicious garden of Philip V ; and Avila, the native city of Saint Theresa ; but after hastily performing the first four operations of arith- metic, before taking my ticket for Valladolid, I said to myself that there could be nothing worth seeing in those four cities ; that the guide-book exagger- ated their importance ; that fame makes much out of little ; and that it was far better to see little than
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much, provided that little was well seen and remem- bered ; together with other good reasons, which vig- orously corresponded with the results of my calcula- tions and the aims of my hypocrisy.
So I left Burgos without having seen anything but monuments, guides, and soldiers ; because the Castilian women, frightened by the rain, had not dared venture on their little feet upon the streets ; so that I retained almost a sad recollection of that city, notwithstanding the splendor of its colors and the magnificence of its cathedrals.
From Burgos to Valladolid the country varies little from that of Saragossa and Miranda. There are the same vast and deserted plains, encircled by reddish hills, of curious shape and barren summits ; those silent and solitary tracts of land, inundated with a blazing light, which carry one's fancy off to the deserts of Africa, the life of hermits, to the sky and the infinite, rousing in the heart an inexpressi- ble feeling of weariness and sadness. In the midst of those plains, that solitude and silence, one com- prehends the mystical nature of the people of the Castiles, the ardent faith of their kings, the sacred in- spirations of their poets, the divine ecstasy of their saints, the grand churches, cloisters, and their great history.
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CHAPTER IV.
VALLA no LID.
VALLADOLID, the rich, as Quevedo calls it, the famous dispenser of influenzas, was, of the cities lying on the north of the Tagus, the one which I most desired to see, although knowing that it con- tains no great monuments of art, nor anything modern of note, I had a particular sympathy for its name, history, and character, which I had imagined in my own way, from its inhabitants ; it seemed to me that it must be an elegant, gay, and studious city, and I could not picture to myself its streets without seeing Gongora pass here, Cervantes there, Leonardo de Argensola on another side, and, in fact, all the other poets, historians, and savants, who lived there when the superb court of the monarchy was in existence. And thinking of the court, 1 saw a confused assem- blage, in the large squares of this pleasant city, of religious processions, bull-fights, military display, masquerades, balls, — all the mixture of fetes in honor of the birth of Philip IV, from the arrival of the English admiral, with his cortege of six hundred cavaliers, to the last banquet of the famous one thousand two hundred dishes of meat, without counting those not served, to quote the popular tradition. I arrived at night, went to the first ho- tel, and fell asleep with the delightful thought that
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I should awake in an unknown city. And the awak- ening in an unknown city, when one has gone there from choice, is indeed a: very great pleasure. The thought that from the moment you leave the house, until you return to it at night, you will do nothing but pass from one curiosity to another, and from one satisfaction to another. That all which you see will be quite new ; that at every step you will learn something, and that every thing there will impress itself upon your memory throughout your life ; then that you will be as free as the air all day, and as gay as a bird, without any thought save that of amusing yourself; that in amusing yourself you will improve body, mind, and soul. That the end of all these pleasures, instead of leaving behind them a tinge of melancholy, like the evenings after fete days, will only be the beginning of another series of delights, which will accompany you from that city to another, from this to a third, and so on, for a space, a time to which your fancy assigns no limits ; all these thoughts, I say, which crowd into your mind at the moment when you open your eyes, give you such a joyful shock, that before you are aware of it, you find yourself standing in the middle of the room, with your hat on your head and the guide- book in hand.
Let us go then and enjoy Valladolid.
Alas ! How changed from the beautiful days of Phillip III! The population, which counted for- merly one hundred thousand souls, is now reduced to a little more than twenty thousand ; in the princi- pal streets the students of the university and the tourists who are on their way to Madrid, make quite a show ; the other streets are deserted. It is a city which produces the effect of a great abandoned
VALLADOLID. 95
palace, in which one still sees, here and there, the traces of business^ gilding, and mosaic ; and in the inner rooms, some poor families, in whom the vast solitude of the building inspires a feeling of melan- choly. There are many large squares, some old palaces, houses in ruins, empty convents, and long and deserted streets ; it has, in /act, every appear- ance of a fallen city. The most beautiful point is the Plaza Major (principal square), which is enormous and surrounded by great columns of bluish granite, upon which rise the houses, all three stories in height, furnished with three rows of very long little terraces, where twenty-four thousand people could be comfortably seated. The porticoes extend along two sides of a broad street that comes out on to the square, and here, and in two or three other neigh- boring streets, there is the greatest concourse of people. It was a market day ; under the porticoes and in the square were a crowd of peasants, vege- table-venders, and merchants ; and as the Castilian is admirably spoken at Valladolid, I began to saun- ter among the heads of salad and piles of oranges, to catch, when possible, the jokes and sounds of the beautiful language. I remember, among others, a curious proverb repeated by a woman provoked at a young fellow who was playing the bully :
" Sabe ustedl' she said, planting herself directly in front of him, ** lo que es que destruye al hombre ? " I stopped and listened. '• Tres muchos y Ires pocos: Mucho hablary poco saber ; mucho gastar y poco tener ; mucho presumir y nada valer ! '*
(*• Three muches and three littles destroy man : Much talking and little knowing ; much spending and litde keeping ; much presuming and little worth.")
96 SPAIN.
It seemed to me that I could distinguish a great difference between the voices of these people and those of the Catalans ; here they were softer and more silvery, and also the gestures gayer and the expression of faces more vivacious, though there is nothing peculiar in their faces and coloring, — and the dress does not differ at all from that of our com- mon people of the north. It was just in the square at Valladolid that I became aware of the fact for the first time that I had never seen a pipe since I en- tered Spain ! The workmen, peasants, and poor people all smoke the cigarrito ; and it is quite laughable to see some of these hardy, bearded men going around with that microscopic little thing in their mouths, half hidden by their whiskers ; they smoke it diligently to the last shred of tobacco, until they have nothing but a dying spark on the under lip ; yet this they hold on to (as if it were a drop of liquor), until the ashes fall, with the air of one mak- ing a sacrifice. I remarked something else, too, which I noticed afterward also — ^throughout my en- tire stay in Spain, I never heard any whistling!
From the Plaza Mayor, I betook myself to the square of Saint Paul, in which stands the old royal palace. The facade is not noteworthy, either for grandeur or beauty. I looked in at the door, and before experiencing a feeling of admiration, I felt one of sadness for the sepulchral silence which reigned therein. There is nothing which produces an impression more like that of a cemetery than the sight of an abandoned castle, — just because there exists there in all its force (more so than in any other place) the contrast between the recollections to which it giv^s7.ft5(5 aird^rhe condition to which it is actually redifc^^^ ,» -Q|i, superb -corteges of plumed
VALLADOLID, 97
cavaliers, oh, splendid banquets, oh, fevensh enioy- ments of a prosperity which seemed everlasting ! It is rather a new pleasure to cough a little before these empty sepulchres, as invalids do sometimes to test their strength, and to hear the echo of your robust voice, which assures you that you are young and healthful. In the interior of the palace is a large court, surrounded by busts in mezzo-relievo, which represent the Roman emperors, and a beautiful staircase and spacious galleries on the upper jfloor. I coughed, and the echo replied : ** What health ! " — ^so I went out comforted. A drowsy porter showed me on the same square another palace, which I had not noticed, and told me that in that
one was born the great king Philip II, from whom
*o Valladolid received the title of city ; " You know, sir, Philip the secatui, son of Charles the fifth, father of . . . ."
'* / know, I knew,** I hastened to reply, to save myself from the narrative, and, giving a gloomy glance at the dismal palace, I moved on.
Opposite the royal palace is the Convent of the Dominicans of San Pablo, with a facade in the Gothic style, so rich, and overloaded with statuettes, bas- reliefs and ornaments of every kind, that the half would suffice to embellish an immense palace. The sun lay on it at that moment and the effect was magnificent. While I stood contemplating, at my ease, that labyrinth of sculpture, from which it is dif- ficult to take one's eyes after looking at it, a little beggar, of seven or eight years of age, who was seated in a distant corner of the square, dashed from his place as if hurled from a sling, and, rushing toward me, said : |thf new YORK
- Oh, sir!— oh, Ji^f^p^^^fg^i(Xft^,iJi of you!
PUenC SCHOOL
98 SPAIN.
Th?s is something new, I thought, for the poor to make declarations of love. He came and planted himself before me, and I asked him :
'* Why do you like me ? "
** Because," he replied, very frankly, " you will give me alms."
" But why should I give you anything ? "
" Because," he replied, hesitatingly ; then more resolutely, with the tone of one who has found a good reason, '* because you have a book, sir."
The guide-book which I had under my arm ! Just see if you do not have to travel to hear some- thing new ! I had a guide, strangers carry guides, strangers give alms, therefore I was bound to give him something ; all this reasoning understood, in- stead of saying : ** I am hungry." I was pleased with the speciousness of the excuse, and I placed in the hands of that clever boy the few cuartos which I found in my pockets.
Turning into a neighboring street, I saw the fagade of the Dominican college of San Gregorio, Gothic, too, and grander and richer than that of San Pablo. Then, from street to street, until I reached the square of the Cathedral. At the moment in which I emerge upon the square, I meet a graceful little Spanish woman, to whom might be applied those two lines of Espronceda :
" Y que yo la he de querer Por su paso de andadura,"
or our " Her gait was nothing mortal," which is the chief grace of the Spanish women. She had in her walk that almost imperceptible glide the undulating movements, which the eye does not catch one by
Valladolid. ^
one, nor the memory retain, nor mere words de- scribe ; but which form together that most fascina- ting feminine something peculiar to women. Here I found myself in an embarrassing position. I saw the great pile, the Cathedral, at the end of the square, and curiosity moved me to look at the building. I saw, a few steps before me, that little personage, and a curiosity, not less lively, forced me to look at her; so not wishing to lose the first effect of the church, nor the fleeting sight of the woman, my eyes ran from the small face to the cupola and from the cu- pola back to the face, with breathless rapidity, caus- ing the beautiful unknown certainly to think that I had discovered some corresponding lines or mys- terious bonds of sympathy between the edifice and herself, because she turned to look at the church, and, passing near me, smiled.
The Cathedral of Valladolid, although unfinished, is one of the largest cathedrals of Spain : it is an imposing mass of granite, which produces in the soul of an unbeliever an effect similar to that of the Church of the Pilar at Saragossa. At one's first en- trance, one flies in thought to the Basilica of St. Peter's ; its architecture, which is grand and simple, seems to receive a reflection of sadness from the dark color of the stone ; the walls are bare, the chapels dark, the arches, the pilasters, doors, and every thing else are gigantic and severe. It is one of those cathe- drals which make one stammer out his prayers with a sense of secret terror. I had not yet seen the Escurial, but I thought of it. It is a work, in fact, by the same architect : the church was left uncompleted in order to begin the construction of the convent ; and visiting the convent one is reminded of the church. At the right of the high altar, in a small chapel, rises
588252
lOO SPAW.
the tomb of Peter Ansurez, a gentleman and bene- factor of Valladolid, and above his monument is placed his sword. I was alone in the church and heard the echo of my footsteps ; suddenly a chill crept over me together with a childish sense of fear ; I turned my back on the tomb and went out.
Upon leaving the church I met a priest of whom I asked where I should find the house in which Cervantes had lived. He replied that it was in the street of Cervantes, and showed me in which direc- tion to go ; I thanked him, he asked if I were a stranger, to which I responded ;
" Yes."
**From Italy .^ "
** Yes, from Italy."
He looked at me from head to foot, lifted his hat, and went on his way. I moved on, too, in an op- posite direction, and the idea occurred to me :
'' I would wager that he has stopped to see how a gaoler of the Pope is made."
I turned, and there he was in the middle of the square staring at me as hard as he could. I could not refrain from laughing, and I apologized for the laugh by the salutation :
*' Beso a tisted la niaiw ! "
To which he replied :
'' Bue7ios dias f and away he went; but he ought to have added, not without some surprise, that, for an Italian, I had not such a rascally face.
I crossed two or three narrow, silent streets, and emerged upon the street of Cervantes, which is long, straight, and muddy, and lined with miserable houses. I walked on for a while, meeting only some soldiers, servants, and mules, looking here and there in search of the inscription : '' A qui Vivio Cer-
VALLADOLID. lOl
vantes" etc. ; but I found nothing. Reaching the end of the street, I found myself in the open coun- try ; not a living soul was to be seen. I stood look- ing around me for a while, then turned back. I came across a muleteer, and asked him : ** Where is the house of Cervantes ? " His only reply was a blow to the mule, and on he went.
I asked a soldier ; he sent me to a shop. In the shop I questioned an old woman. She did not un- derstand me ; thought I wished to purchase Don Quixote, and so sent me to a bookseller. The bookseller who wished to give himself the air of a savant, and could not make up his mind to tell me that he knew nothing of Cervantes' house, began beating about the bush, by talking of the life and works of the famous writer ; so that it all ended in my going about my own affairs without having seen anything. Still some recollection of the house must have been retained (and I certainly should have found it had I searched for it more carefully), not only because Cervantes lived in it, but because an event transpired there, of which all his biographers make mention. Shortly after the birth of Philip IV, a cavalier of the court having met one night with some unknown man, they began disputing — it is* not known why, — and finally seizing their swords fought until the cavalier was mortally wounded. The man who gave the wound disappeared. The cavalier, all covered with blood, ran to beg assistance at a neigh- boring house, which was the one inhabited by Cer- vantes and his family and the widow of a renowned writer of chronicles with two sons. One of the lat- ter raised the wounded man from the ground, and called Cervantes, who was already in bed. Cer-
102 sPaM.
vantes came down stairs and assisted his friend to carry the cavalier into the widow's house. Two days later he died. Justice took up the affair and tried to discover the cause of the duel. It was believed that the two combatants were paying court to the daughter or the niece of Cervantes, and all the fam- ily was imprisoned. A short time afterward they were set at liberty and nothing more was known about the matter. This, too, had to fall to the lot of the poor author of Don Quixote, so that he could be said to have experienced every kind of trial.
In that same street I enjoyed a little scene which rewarded me a thousand times for not having found the house. Passing a door I surprised at the foot of the steps a little Castilian girl of twelve or thir- teen, beautiful as an angel, who held a child in her arms. I cannot find words delicate enough with which to describe what she was doing. A childish curiosity about the sweets of maternal love had gently tempted her. The buttons of her little waist had slipped out of the button-holes one by one, un- der the pressure of a wee, trembling finger. She was alone ; no sound was heard in the street ; she had hidden her hand in her bosom ; then, perhaps, had been perplexed for a moment ; but giving a glance at the baby and feeling her courage return, had made an effort with the hidden hand, and, baring the breast, held apart the baby's lips with her forefinger and thumb, while she said with ten- derness :
'* Hda aqui " (here it is), her face quite scar- let and a sweet smile in her eyes. Hearing my steps, she uttered a cry and disappeared.
Instead of Cervantes' house, I found, a little way beyond, the one in which Don Jos6 Zorilla was born.
VALLADOLID. I03
He is one of the most valiant Spanish poets of the present day ; still living, but not to be confounded, as many in Italy do, with Zorilla, the head of the Radical party, although the latter, too, has some poetry in him, and scatters it generously through his political speeches, giving it additional force by shouts and furious gestures. Don Jos6 Zorilla is to Spanish literature, in my opinion, rather more than Prati is to the Italian, although they have several traits in common ; such as, religious sentiment, pas- sion, fecundity, spontaneity, and an indescribable vague and bold something which excites the youth- ful mind, and a way of reading, as it is said, very resonant and solemn, although a trifle monotonous, about which, however, many Spaniards go crazy. As to form, I should say the Spanish poet was more correct ; both are rather prolix, and in each there is a germ of a great poet. Admirable, above every other work of Zorilla, are the " Songs of the Troubadour," narratives and legends, full of sweet love-verses and descriptions of an incomparable power. He wrote also for the theatre, and his Don Juan Tetwrio, a fantastic drama in rhyme, in eight-line verses, is one of the most popular dramatic works in Spain. It is given every year on All-saints-day, splendidly mounted, and the people all go to witness it as they would to a f&te. Some lyric bits, scattered through the drama, are quoted by every one ; especially Don Juan's declaration of love to his sweetheart, whom he has abducted, which is one of the sweetest, tenderest, and most impassioned that can fall from the lips of an enamored youth in the most im- petuous burst of passion. I challenge the coldest man to read these verses without trembling ! Yet, perhaps, the woman's reply is more powerful still :
t04 SPAIN.
** Don Juan ! Don Juan ! I implore thy noble com- passion ; oh, tear out my heart or love me, because I adore thee ! " Let some Andalusian woman repeat those lines to you, and you will appreciate them, or, if you cannot do this, try to read the ballad en- titled La Pasionaria, which is a trifle long, but full of affection and a melancholy which enchants you. I cannot think of it without my eyes filling with tears ; for I see those two young lovers, Aurora and Felix, in a deserted campagna, at sunset, as they move away from each other in different directions, turning now and then, saluting each other and never tiring of looking at one another. They are verses which the Spanish call asonantes, without rhyme, but composed and arranged so that the last syllable but one of each verse (equal or unequal), upon which the accent falls, always has the vowel. This is the most popular kind of poetry in Spain, — the Ro- 7nancerOy in which many improvise with marvellous facility. Nor can a stranger catch all its harmony unless his ear is accustomed to it.
'' Can I see the picture-gallery ? "
** Why not, sir? "
The portress opened the door of the principal col- lege of Santa Cruz, and accompanied me into the interior. The pictures are many in number, but aside from some of Rubens, Mascagni, Cardenas, and Vincenzo Carducci. the remainder are of little value, gathered here and there from convents, and scattered at random through the corridors, rooms, staircases, and galleries. Notwithstanding this, it is a museum which leaves a profound impression upon the. mind, not unlike that produced by the first sight of the bull-fights. In fact, more than six months have passed since that day, yet the impression is as
VALLA DOLW, 10$
fresh as if I had received it a few hours ago. The saddest, most sanguinary, and most horrible things that have issued from the pencil of the fiercest Span- ish painters are gathered there. Picture to yourself sores, mutilated members, heads severed from the body, extenuated bodies, people who have been flogged, torn with pincers, burned, and martyrized with all the torments that you have ever found de- scribed in the romances of Guerrazzi, or in the his- tories of the Inquisition, and you will not succeed in forming an adequate idea of the Museum of Valla- dolid. Pass from room to room, and you see noth- ing but distorted faces of the dead, dying, of those possessed with devils, of executioners, and on every side blood, blood, blood, so that you seem to see it spurt from the walls, and to wade in it like the Babette of Padre Bresciani in the prisons of Naples. It is a collection of pains and horrors, sufficient in number to fill the hospitals of a State. At first, one expe- riences a sense of sadness, then a repulsion — in fact, more than repulsion — of disdain for the butcher artists who degraded the art of Raphael and Murillo in such an indecent manner. The picture most worthy of notice among the many bad ones, although it is also of a pitiless Spanish realism, represented the circumcision of Jesus, with all the most minute details of the operation, and a group of spectators, bowed and immovable, like the students in surgical clinic around the chief operator. " Let us go — let us go! " I said to the courteous portress; '* if I re- main here another half hour, I shall leave burned, flayed, or quartered ; have you nothing more cheerful to show me? " She took me to see the Ascension, of Rubens, a grand and effective picture, which would be well placed above a high altar : it repre-
Io6 SPAIN.
sents a majestic and gleaming Virgin who is ascend- ing toward Heaven ; at the sides, above and below, there is a crowd of angels* faces, wreaths of flowers, golden heads, white wings, flying objects, and rays of light. Every thing is trembling, breaking through the air, and going upward, like a flock of sparrows, so that it seems as if from one moment to another every thing would rise and disappear.
But it was foreordained that I should not leave the museum with an agreeable image before my eyes. The portress opened a door and laughingly said to me :
** Go in."
I entered and stepped back quite starded. I seemed to have stumbled into a mad-house of giants. The immense room was full of colossal statues in colored wood, representing all the actors and all those who took part in the Passion Play, — soldiers, officers, and spectators, each in the attitude which his office required ; some in the act of beating, some who were binding, others wounding, and others still, mocking — horrible faces horribly contracted — there the kneeling women, Jesus fastened upon an enormous cross, the thieves, the ladder, the instru- ments of torture, — everything necessary, in fact, to represent the Passion as was once done on the scjuare with a group of those colossal creatures who must have occupied the space of a house. And here, too, were wounds, heads immersed in blood, and lacerations which made one shudder.
** Look at that Judas," said the woman, pointing
to one of the statues with a gallows face of which
I still dream from time to time. *' That one they
were obliged to take away when the groups were
rmed outside, because it was so sad and ugly ;
valladolw, 107
the people hated it, and wished to break it into pieces, so that the guards always had their hands full to keep the populaces from passing from threats to deeds. It was finally decided to form the group without it."
One Madonna struck me as being very beauti- ful (I do not know whether it was that of Berrug- nete, Juan de Juni, or Hernandez, for there are statues of all three). She was kneeling, her hands clasped and her eyes turned upward, with an expression of such desperate grief, that it moves one to pity like a living person, and seems, in fact, a few feet away, to be really alive, so much so, that in seeing it sud- denly, one cannot withhold an exclamation of surprise.
** The English," said the portress (because guides adopt the opinion of the English as a seal for their own, and sometimes accredit them with the most ex- travagant absurdities), ** the English say that only speech is lacking."
I joyfully acquiesced in the opinion of the Eng- lish, gave the portress the usual reales, and going out with my head full of sanguinary images, I greeted the cheerful day with an unusual feeling of pleasure, like that of a young student on leaving the anatomical-room where he has witnessed the first autopsy.
I visited the beautiful palace of the University, La plaza campo grande (where the Holy Inquisition lighted its pyres), which is large, gay, and surrounded by fifteen convents ; and some churches containing noted pictures. When I began to feel that the recol- lections of the things seen were becoming confused in my brain, I put my guide-book in my pocket and walked toward the principal square. I did the same
I08 SPAIN.
thing in all the other cities, for when the mind is weary, the desire to force* its attention from the pedantic idea of not paying proper regard to the guide-book, may be a proof of constancy, but it is baleful to one who is travelling with the object of narrating afterward this impression of the objects seen. Since one cannot retain everything, it is bet- ter not to confuse the distinct recollection of the principal things with a crowd of vague reminiscences of inferior ones. Besides this, one never retains a grateful remembrance of a city in which one has tried to do too much.
In order to see the appearance of the city at nightfall, I went to walk under the porticoes, where they were beginning to light the shops, and there was a coming and going of soldiers, students, and girls who disappeared through the little doors, slipped around the columns, and glided here and there, flying from the importunate hands of the pursuers, enveloped in their ample cloaks ; and a crowd of boys raced around the square, filling the air with their cries, and everywhere there were groups o{ caballcros, in which one heard from time to time the names of Serrano, Sagasta, and Ama- deus, alternating with the words justicia, libertad, traicion, /lonra de Espana, and the like. I entered an immense cafe filled with students, and there sat- isfied, as a choice writer would say, the natural talent of eating and drinking. But as I felt a great desire to talk, I fixed my eyes upon two students who were sipping their coffee at a table near by, and, without preamble, I addressed one of them, — a most natural thing to do in Spain, where one is always sure of receiving a courteous answer. The two students approached, and the usual discussion fol
valladolid. 109
/owed, such as Italy, Amadeus, the University, Cer- vantes, Andalusian women, bulls, Dante, and trav- els,— a course, in fact, of geography, literary his- tory, and the customs of the two countries ; then a glass of Malaga and a friendly clasp of the hand.
Oh, caballeros, so pleasantly remembered, fre- quenters of all the cafes, guests at all the table d' botes, neighbors at the theatre, traveling compan- ions on all the railways in Spain; you who so many times, moved by kind pity for an unknown stranger, who glanced with a melancholy eye over the Indi- cador de la Ferneovia (railway guide) or the Corre- spofideficia Espaiiola, thinking of his family, friends, and distant country, you offered him, with amiable spontaneity, a cigarrito, and, taking part in a con- versation which broke up the train of sad thoughts, left him calm and cheerful ; I thank you. Oh, cabal- leros, so pleasantly remembered, whomsoever you may be, whether Carlists, Alphonsists, followers of Amadeus, or liberals, I thank you from the depths of my heart, in the name of all the Italians who travel and all those who shall travel in your dear country. And I swear upon the everlasting volume of Michael Cervantes, that every time I hear you accused of ferocious souls and savage customs by your most civilized European brothers, I will rise and defend you with the impetuosity of an Andalu- sian and the tenacity of a Catalan, as long as I have voice enough left to cry : ** Long live hospi- tality ! "
A few hours afterward I found myself in the car- riage of a train going to Madrid, and the whistle for departure had scarcely ceased, when I struck my forehead in sign of despair. Alas ! it was late ; and at Valladolid I had forgotten to visit the room where Christopher Columbus died !
I
CHAPTER V.
MADRID.
T was day when one of my neighbors cried in my ear:
' Caballero ! "
" Are we at Madrid ? " I asked, waking up.
" Not yet," he replied ; " but look ! "
I turned toward the country, and saw at the dis- tance of half a mile, on the slope of a high mountain, the convent of the Escurial, illuminated by the first rays of the sun. Le plus grand tas de granit qui existe sur la terre, as it is called by an illustrious traveller, did not seem to me, at first sight, the immense edi- fice which the Spanish people consider the eiglith marvel of the world. Nevertheless, I uttered my Oh / like the other tourists who saw it for the first' time, reserving all my admiration for the day when I should have seen it from a nearer point of view. From the Escurial to Madrid the railway traverses an arid plain, which reminds one of that at Rome.
" You have never seen Madrid ? " my neighbor asked,
I replied in the negative.
" It seems impossible, " exclaimed the good Span- iard, and he looked at me with an air of curiosity, as if he were saying to himself:
" Oh, let me see how a man is made who has not seen Madrid ! "
MADRID, 1 1 1
Then he began enumerating the great things which I would see.
'* What promenades! What caffis! What the- atres ! What women ! For any one having three hundred thousand francs to spend, there is nothing better than Madrid ; it is a great monster who lives upon fortunes ; if I were you, I should like to pour mine down its throat."
I squeezed my flabby pocket-book and murmur- red :
** Poor monster ! "
** Here we are ! " cried the Spaniard ; " look out ! "
I put my head out of the window.
** That is the royal palace ! "
I saw an immense pile on a hill, but instantly closed my eyes, because the sun was in my face. Every one rose, and the usual bustle of
** Coats, shawls, and other rags"
began, which always impedes the first view of a city. The train stops, I get out, and find myself in a square full of carriages, in the midst of a noisy crowd ; a thousand hands are stretched out toward my valise, a hundred mouths shriek in my ear. It is an indescribable confusion of porters, hackmen, guards, guides, boys, and commissioners of casas de huespedes. I make way for myself with my elbows, jump into an omnibus full of people, and away we go. We pass through a large street, cross a great square, traverse a broad, straight street, and arrive at the Puerta del Sol. It is a stupendous sight ! It is an immense semicircular square (surrounded by high buildings), into which
1 1 2 SPAIN,
open, like ten torrents, ten great streets, and from every street comes a continuous, noisy wave of people and carriages, and everything seen there is in proportion with the vastness of the locality. The sidewalks are as wide as streets, the cafes large as squares, the basin of a fountain the size of a lake ; and on every side there is a dense and mobile crowd, a deafening racket, an indescribable gayety and bright- ness in the features, gestures, and colors, which makes you feel that neither the populace nor the city are strange to you, and which produces in you a desire to mingle in the tumult, greet every one, and run here and there, rather to recognize persons and things than to see them for the first time.
I get out at a hotel, leave it instantly, and begin roaming about the streets at random. No great palaces nor ancient monuments of art meet the eye ; but there are wide, clean, gay streets, flanked by houses painted in vivid colors, broken here and there by squares of a thousand different forms, laid out almost at random, and every square contains a garden, fountain, and statuette. Sonie streets have a slight ascent, so that in entering them one sees at the end the sky, and seems to be emerging into the open country ; but on reaching the highest point another long street extends before one. Every now and then there are cross roads of five, six, and even eight streets, and here there is a continuous min- gling of carriages and people ; the walls are covered, for some distance, with play bills ; in the shops there is an incessant coming and going ; the cafes are crowded ; and on every side there is the bustle of a large city. The street Alcala, which is so wide that it seems almost like a rectangular square, divides Madrid in half, from the Puerta del Sol toward the
MADRID. 113
east, and ends in an immense plain, that extends all along the side of the city, and contains gardens, walks, squares, theatres, bull-circuses, triumphal arches, museums, small palaces, and fountains. I jump into a carriage and say to the coachman : ** Vucla / '* I pass the statue of Murillo, reascend the street Alcala, traverse the street of the Turk, where General Prim was assassinated ; cross the square of the Cortes, in which the statue of Michael Cervantes stands ; emerge on the Plaza Mayor, where the Inquisition lighted its pyres ; turn back, and in front of the house of Lopez de la Vega, come out on the immense square of the Orient, opposite the royal palace, where rises the equestrian statue of Philip IV in the midst of a garden surrounded by forty colossal statues ; climb again toward the heart of the city, crossing other broad streets, gay squares, and cross-roads filled with people ; then finally return to the hotel, declaring that Madrid is grand, gay, rich, populous, and charming, and that I should like to stay there some time, see everything, and enjoy myself as long as my purse and the clemency of the season would permit.
After a few days a kind friend found me a casa de htiespedes (boarding-house), and I established my- self there. These guest-houses are nothing more than families who furnish board and lodging. to students, artists, and strangers, at different prices, be it understood, according to one's accommodation ; but always more reasonably than the hotels, with the inestimable advantage that one enjoys a breath of home life therein, forms friendships, and is treated more like one of the family than like a boarder. The landlady was a good woman in the fifties, the widow of a painter who had studied at Rome,
114 MADRID.
Florence, and Naples, and had retained throughout life a grateful and affectionate recollection of Italy. She, too, quite naturally, evinced a lively sympathy for our country, and displayed it every day by being present when I dined, recounting to me the life, death, and miracles of all of her relations and friends, as if I were the sole confidant she had at Madrid. I heard few Spaniards talk as quickly, frankly, and with as great an abundance of phrases, bons-mots, comparisons, proverbs, and as large a choice of words as she. During the first few days I was dis- concerted by them ; I comprehended very little, was obliged to beg her to repeat every moment, could not always make myself understood, and became aware of the fact that in studying the language from books I had wasted much time in filling my head with phrases and words which rarely occur in ordi- nary conversation, while I had neglected many others that are indispensable. Therefore, I was obliged to begin by collecting, noting down, and, above all, straining my ears in order to* profit as much as I could from the conversation of people. And I persuaded myself of this truth — that one may remain ten, thirty, forty years in a foreign city, but that if one does not make an effort in the beginning, if one does not continue to study for a long time, if one does not always keep — as Giusti said — *' the^ eyes wide open," one never learns to speak the language, or will always speak it badly. I knew at Madrid some old Italians who had lived since their youth in Spain and spoke Spanish atrociously. In fact, it is not, even for us Italians, an easy language ; or to express myself better, it presents the great difficulty of easy languages, which is, that it is not permissable to talk them badly, because it is not in-
M^ DA/D. 1 1 5
dispensable to speak them well in order to be under- stood. The Italian who wishes to speak Spanish with cultivated people, all of whom would understand French, must justify his presumption by talking it with facility and grace.
Now the Spanish language, especially because it resembles ours more closely than the French, is de- cidedly more difficult to speak quickly, and, so to express myself, by ear, without making mistakes, because one can say more easily, for instance, proprcy morluaire, ddice, without running the risk of letting propria, niortuariOy delicia escape one, than the words propio, mortuorioy delicia. One drops into the Italian involuntarily, inverts syntax at every instant, and has his own language continually in his ear or on his tongue, so that he stammers, becomes confused, and betrays himself. Neither is the Span- ish pronunciation any less difficult than the French ; the Spanish J — so easy to pronounce when alone, is exceedingly difficult when two appear in a word, or several of them in a proposition ; the Z which is pronounced like S, is not acquired save after long and patient practice, because it is a sound which is disagreeable to us at first, and many, even knowing it, will never permit it to be heard. Yet if there is a city in Europe where the language of a country can be well learned, that city is Madrid ; and the same may be said of Toledo, Valladolid, andBurgos. The populace speaks as the cultivated write ; the differ- ences of pronunciation between the educated class and the common people of the suburbs are very slight; and setting aside those four cities, the Span- ish language is incomparably more spoken, more common, and for this reason more forcible, and con- sequently more efficacious in the newspapers,
1 1 6 SPAIN.
theatres, and popular literature, than the Italian lan- guage. There are in Spain the Valencian, Catalan, Galician, Murcian dialects, and the ancient language of the Basque provinces ; but Spanish is spoken in the Castiles, Arragon, Estramadura, and Andal isia, that is to say in the five great provinces. The joke enjoyed at Saragossa is enjoyed at Seville also ; the popular phrase which pleases the pit in a theatre at Salamanca, obtains the same success in a theatre at Granada. It is said that the Spanish language of to- day is no longer that of Cervantes, Quevedo, Lopez de la Vega ; that the French tongue has corrupted it ; that if Charles V were to live again he would not say that it was the language to speak with God ; and that Sancho Panza would no longer be under- stood or enjoyed. Ah ! Any one who may have frequented the eating-houses and miserable theatres of the suburbs, reluctantly reconciles himself to this conclusion !
Passing from the tongue to the palate, a little good- will is needful in order to habituate ones self to certain sauces and gravies peculiar to the Spanish kitchen, — but I accustomed myself to them. The French, who, in the matter of cooking, are as diffi- cult to please as badly-trained children, cry out against it ; Dumas says he has suffered from hunger in Spain ; and in a book on Spain which I have be- fore me, it is stated that the Spaniards live on noth- ing but honey, mushrooms, eggs, and snails. ITiis is all nonsense ; the same thing may be said of our cooking. I have seen many Spanish who were made sick by the sight of macaroni with sauce. They mix things a trifle too much, abuse the use of fat, and season too highly ; but really not enough to take away Dumas' " appetite." They are masters,
MADRID, 117
among other things, of sweets. Then comes their puchero, a national dish, eaten every day by the Spaniards, in every place, and I tell the truth when I say that I devoured it with a voracious enjoyment. T\i^ pnchero is, in regard to the culinary art, what an anthology is to literature : it is a little of every- thing and the best. A good slice of boiled meat forms the nucleus of the dish ; around it are the wings of a fowl, a piece of chorizo (sausage), lard, vegetables and ham ; under it, over it, and in all the interstices 2cce. garbanzos. Epicures pronounce the name of garbanzos with reverence. They are a species of bean, but are larger, more tender, and richer in flavor ; beans, an extravagant person would say, which had fallen down from some world where a vegetation equal to ours is enriched by a more powerful sun. Such is the ordinary puchero; but every family modifies it according to its purse ; the poor man is content with meat and garbanzos ; the gentleman adds to it a hundred delicious tid-bits. At the bottom, it is really more of a dinner than a dish, and therefore many eat nothing else. A good puchero with a bottle of Val de Penas ought to satisfy any one. I say nothing of the oranges, Malaga grapes, asparagus, artichokes, and every species of fruits and vegetables, which every one knows are most beautiful and delicious in Spain. Nevertheless the Spaniards eat little, and although pepper, strong sauces, and salted meat predominate in their kitchen, although they eat chorizoSy which, as they them- selves say, levantan las piedras, or, in other words, burn the intestines, they drink little wine. After the fruit, instead of sitting and sipping a good bottle, they ordinarily take a cup of coffee with milk, and rarely drink wine even in the morning. At the
Il8 SPAIN-.
hotel tables d' h6te I have never seen a Spaniard empty a bottle, and I, who emptied mine, was looked at in surprise as if I were a veritable brute. It is a rare occurrence in the cities of Spain, even on a fete day, to encounter a drunken man, and for this reason, when one takes into consideration the fiery- blood and very free use of knives and daggers, there are many less fights which end in bloodshed and death than is generally believed out of Spain.
Having found board and lodging, no other thought remained than that of roaming about the city, with my guide-book in hand and a cigar worth three cicartos in my mouth ; a task both easy and agree- able.
During the first few days I could not tear myself away from the square of the Puerta del Sol. I stayed there by the hour, and amused myself so much that I should like to have passed the day there. It is a square worthy of its fame ; not so much on account of its size and beauty as for the people, life, and variety of spectacle which it pre- sents at every hour of the day. It is not a square like the others ; it is a mingling of salon, promenade, theatre, academy, garden, a square of arms, and a market. From daybreak until one o'clock at night, there is an immovable crowd, and a crowd that comes and goes through the ten streets leading into it, and a passing and mingling of carriages which makes one giddy. There gather the merchants, the disengaged demagogues, the unemployed clerks, the aged pensioners, and the elegant young men ; there they traffic, talk politics, make love, promenade, read the newspapers, hunt down their debtors, seek their friends, prepare demonstrations against the ministry, coin the false reports which circulate through Spain,
MADRID. 1 19
and weave the scandalous gossip of the city. Upon the side-walks, which are wide enough to allow four carriages to pass in a row, one has to force his way >vith his elbows. On a single paving stone you see a civil guard, a match vender, a broker, a beggar, and a soldier, all in one group. Crowds of students, servants, generals, officials, peasants, toreros, and ladies pass; importunate beggars ask for alms in your ear so not to be discovered ; cocottes ques- tion you with their eyes ; courtesans hit your elbow ; on every side you see hats lifted, handshakings, smiles, pleasant greetings, cries of Largo from laden porters and merchants with their wares hung from the neck ; you hear shouts of newspaper sell- ers, shrieks of water venders, blasts of the diligence horns, cracking of whips, clanking of sabres, strum- ming of guitars, and songs of the blind. Then regi- ments with their bands of music pass ; the king goes by ; the square is sprinkled with immense jets of water which cross in the air ; the bearers of adver- tisements announcing the spectacles, troops of raga- muffins with armfuls of supplements, and a body of employes of the ministries, appear ; the bands of music repass, the shops begin to be lighted, the crowd grows denser, the blows on the elbow become more frequent, the hum of voices, racket, and com- motion increase. It is not the bustle of a busy people ; it is the vivacity of gay persons, a carnival- like gaiety, a restless idleness, a feverish overflow of pleasure, which attacks you and forces you around like a reel without permitting you to leave the square ; you are seized by a curiosity which never wearies, a desire to amuse yourself, to think of noth- ing, to listen to gossip, to saunter, and to laugh. Such is the famous square, the Puerta del SoL
120 SPAW,
An hour passed there is sufficient to enable one to know by sight the people of Madrid in its various aspects. The common people dress as in our large cities ; the gentlemen, if they take off the cloak which they wear in winter, copy the Paris models ; and are all, from the duke to the clerk, from the beardless youth to the tottering old man, neat, adorned, pomaded, and gloved, as if they had just issued from the dressing-room. They resemble the Neapolitans in this regard, with their fine heads of hair, well-kept beards, and small hands and feet. It is rare to see a low hat ; all wear high ones, and there are canes, chains, trinkets, pins, and ribbons in their button -holes by the thousand. The ladies, with the exception of certain fete days, are also dressed like the French ; the women of the middle class still wear the mantilla, but the old satin shoes, the peifteiUy and bright colors, — the national costume, in a word, has disappeared. They are still, however, the same little women so besung for their great eyes, small hands, and tiny feet, with their very black hair, but skin rather white than dark, so well formed, erect, lithe, and vivacious.
In order to hold a review of the fair sex of Mad- rid, one must go to the promenades of the Prado. which is to Madrid what the Cascine are to Florence The Prado, properly speaking, is a very broad ave- nue not very long, flanked by minor avenues, which extends to the east of the city, at one side of the famous garden of the Buen reiiro, artd is shut in at the two extremities by two enormous stone foun- tains, the one surmounted by a colossal Cybele, seated upon a shell, and drawn by water-horses ; the other by a Neptune of equal size ; both of them crowned with copious jets of water, which cross and grace-
MADRII>, \2\
fully fall again with a cheerful murmur. This great avenue, hedged in on the sides by thousands of chairs and hundreds of benches belonging to water- and orange-venders, is the most frequented part of the IVadoy and is called the Salon of the Prado. But the promenade extends beyond the fountain of Nep- tune ; there are other avenues, fountains, and statues ; one can walk among trees and jets of water to the Church of Nuestra Senora de Atocha, the famous church, overloaded with gifts by Isabella II after the assault of February 2, 1 852, in which King Amadeus went to visit the body of General Prim.
From here one takes in, with a glance, a vast tract of the deserted country about Madrid and the snowy mountains of the Guadarrama. But the Prado is the most famous, not the largest or most beautiful of the city. On the extension of the Salon, beyond the fountain of Cybele, stretches out for nearly two miles the promenade of Recoletos, flanked on the right by the vast and smiling suburb of Salamanca, the suburb of the rich, the deputies, and poets ; on the left, by a very long chain of little palaces, villas, theatres, and new buildings painted in bright colors. It is not a single promenade, but ten, one beside the other, and each more beautiful than its prede- cessor. There are carriage drives, roads for eques- trians, avenues for people who seek a crowd, avenues for those who desire solitude, divided by endless hedges of myrtle, flanked and interrupted by gardens and groves, in which rise statues and foun- tains, and mysterious paths intersect each other. On f<6te days one enjoys an enchanting spectacle there : from one end to the other of the avenues, there are the processions of people, carriages, and horses ; in the Prado one can scarcely walk ; the
t22 SPA///.
gardens are crowded with thousands of boys ; the orchestras of the day theatres are playing ; on every side one hears the murmur of fountains, the rustling of dresses, the cries of children, the tread of the horses. It is not alone the movement and the gaiety of a promenade, but the luxury, noise, con- fusion and feverish joy of a fete. The city, at that hour, is deserted. At twilight all that immense crowd rushes back into the great Street Alcala, and then from the fountain of Cybele to the Ptierta del Sol nothing is to be seen but a sea of heads, ploughed by a line of carriages as far as the eye can reach.
As regards promenades, theatres, and spectacles, Madrid is, without doubt, one of the first cities of the world. Beside the Opera House, which is very large and rich ; beside the theatre for comedy, the theatre of the Zarzuela, and the Madrid Circus, all of which are of the first order in regard to size, ele- gance, and the concourse of people, there is a col- lection of minor theatres for dramatic and equestrian companies, musical associations, Vaudevilles ,6x'd^N\vi^' room theatres, and those with boxes and galleries, large and small, aristocratic and plebeian, for every purse, for every taste, and for all hours of the night, and there is not one among them which is not crowded every evening. Then there is the Cock- Circus, the Bull-Circus, the popular balls and the games ; some days there are twenty different enter- tainments, beginning from mid-day until nearly dawn. The opera, of which the Spanish people are very- fond, is always superb, not only during the Carnival, but throughout all seasons. While I was at Madrid, Fricci sang at the theatre of the Zarzuela and Stagno at the Hippodrome, each supported by fine artists, ex- cellent orchestras and magnificent properties. The
MADRID. 123
most celebrated singers in the world make every efiFort to sing in the capital of Spain ; the artists there are sought after and feted ; the passion for music is the only one which equals that for the bulls. The theatre for comedy is also much in vogue. Statzembuch, Breton de los Herreros, Tamayo, Ventura, D'Ayala, Guttierrez, and many other dramatic writers, some dead and some living, noted even out of Spain, have enriched the modern theatre with a great number of comedies, which, even though not possessing that true national stamp which ren- dered immortal the dramatic works of the great cen- tury of Spanish literature, are full of fire, wit, and spiciness, and incomparably more healthful in tone than the French comedies. Yet though the modern dramas are represented the old ones are not forgot- ten : On the anniversaries of Lopez de la Vega, Cal- deron, Moreto, Tirso de Molina, Alarcon, F'rancesco de Rojas, and the other great lights of the Spanish theatre, their masterpieces are represented with great pomp. The actors, however, do not succeed in satisfying the authors ; they have the same defects as ours, such as superfluous movement, ranting, and sobbing, — and many prefer ours, because they find in them greater variety of inflection and accent. Beside the tragedy and the comedy, a dramatic composition, thoroughly Spanish, is represented, i,e,y the zainetey in which a certain Ramon de la Cruz was master. It is a species of farce, which is, for the greater part, a representation of Andalusian costumes with personages taken from the country and lower classes, and actors who imitate with wonderful cleverness the dress, accent, and manners of that people. The comedies are all printed and read with great avidity, even by most ordinary persons ; the
124 spAm.
names of the writers are very popular ; the dramatic literature, in a word, is still to-day, as was the case in former times, the richest and most diffuse.
There is, too, a great rage for the ZarzueUiy which is usually represented in the theatre to which it gives its name, and is a composition something between comedy and melodrama, between the opera and Vaudeville, with a pleasing alternation of prose and verse, of recitation and song, of the serious and comic ; a composition exclusively Spanish in char- acter and most entertaining. In other theatres they represent political comedies, intermingled with song and prose in the style of Scalvini's review ; satirical farces are the subjects of the day, — a species of autos sacramentaleSy with scenes from the passion of Jesus Christ, during Holy Week ; and balls, silly dances, and pantomimes of every description. At the small theatres three or four representations are given dur- ing the evening, from one hour to another, and the spectators change at every representation. In the famous Capellanes theatre they dance every evening of the year a can- can, scandalous beyond the most obscene imagination, and there gather the fast young men and women, old libertines with wrinkled noses, armed with spectacles, eye-glasses, opera-glasses, and every kind of optical instrument which serve to bring nearer, as Aleardi would say, the forms advertised on the stage.
After the theatre, one finds all the caf& full of people, the city illuminated, and the streets filled with carriages, just as at the beginning of the even- ing. Upon coming out of the theatre, in a foreign country, one is a trifle sad. So many beautiful creatures have we seen, not one of whom deigned to bestow upon us a glance ! But an Italian at Madrid
MADRID. 12$
finds one comfort. Italian operas are almost always sung, and in Italian, so that on returning home you hear hummed in the words of your own language the airs which have been familiar to you since your infancy ; you hear a palpito here, a fiero genitor there, a tremenda vendetta further on, and these words produce the same effect as the greeting of a friend. But in order to reach home, what a thick hedge of petticoats you must pass! The palm is given to Paris, and undoubtedly she merits it ; but Madrid is not to be laughed at, and what daring, what words of fire, what imperious provocations! Finally you arrive at your house, but you have not the door key.
* Do not give yourself any uneasiness," says the first citizen whom you meet. ''Do you see that lantern at the end of the street ? The man who is carrying it is a sereno, and the serenos have the keys of all the houses."
Then you cry out: '' Serenof' The lantern approaches, and a man with an enormous bunch of keys in his hand, after giving you a scrutinizing glance, opens the door, lights you to the first-floor, and wishes you good night. In this way, by the pay- ment of one lira a month, you are relieved from the annoyance of carrying the house keys in your pock- ets every evening. The sereno is an employ^ of the municipality : there is one for every street, and each carries a whistle. If the house takes fire, or thieves break in, you have only to rush to the win- dow and cry: ''Sereno! Help!" The sereno who is in the street whistles ; the serenos in the neighboring streets blow their whistles, and in a few moments all the serenos in the quarter run to your assistance. At whatever hour of the night you wake, you hear
126 SPAM.
the voice of the sereno, who announces it to you, adding that the weather is fine, that it rains, or that it is going to rain. How many things the night- watchman knows, and how many he never reveals ! How many subdued farewells he hears! How many little notes he sees drop from the window ; ho^v many keys fall on the pavement ; how many hands, making mysterious motions, in the air ; how many muffled lovers stealing through little doorways ; lighted windows suddenly obscured, and dark figures gliding along the walls at the first streak of dawn !
I have only spoken of the theatres. At Madrid there is a concert every day, one might say : concerts in the theatres, in the academy halls, in the streets, and then a crowd of straggling musicians, who deafen you at every hour of the day. After all this, one has a right to ask how it happens that a people, so infatuated with music that it is as necessary to them as the air they breathe,! might say, have never given any grand master to this art. The Spanish refuse to be comforted on the subject !
Much paper could be covered in attempting to describe the great suburbs, gates, promenades out- side the city, the squares, and historical streets of Madrid ; and any one not wishing to omit anything would speak of the superb cafes : the Imperial in the square of the Puerta del Soly the Fornos in the street Alcala, which are two immense halls in which, if the tables were removed, a squadron of cavalry could exercise; and innumerable others, that one meets at evejy step, in which a hundred couple could ^</:^^^?i^^^(i!^ '■^\i^Vi the gorgeous shops that occupy , ,. the ground*flc^ of immense buildings, among which are the stores djf Havana tobacco (a rendezvous for the aristocrats)^ lied with cigars, small, large, huge.
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MADRID, 127
round, flat, -pointed, shaped like snakes, arches, and hooks, in every form, suited to every taste and purse; enough, in fact, to content the wildest fancy of smokers and intoxicate the entire population of a city. Then there are spacious markets, barracks for an army, the great royal palace, in which the Quirinal and Pitti could hide themselves without fear of dis- covery ; the great street of Atocha. which crosses the city ; the immense garden of the Btcen Retiro, with its large lake, its heights crowned with kiosks, its thousand birds of passage. But above every thing else, the Naval Museum and those for arms and paintings merit so much attention that one might dedicate a volume to each of them.
The Madrid armory is one of the most beautiful in the world. As you enter the immense hall, your heart gives a leap, the blood surges through your veins, and you stand as motionless at the portal as one who has lost his reason. An entire army of cavalry, clad in armor, with swords in their hands, lances in rest, gleaming ^nd formidable, dash toward you like a legion of spectres. It is an army of em- perors, kings, dukes, in the most superb armor that has ever issued from the hands of man, upon which falls a torrent of light from eighteen enormous win- dows, and this draws from the metal a gleam of rays, sparks, and colors th^t fairly make one giddy. The walls are covered with cuirasses, helmets, bows, guns, swords, halberds, tournament lances, immense muskets, and gigantic lances, which reach from the floor to the ceiling ; from the ceiling hang the ban- ners of all the armies of the world, trophies of Le- panto, San Quintino, the War of the Independence, and those of Africa, Cuba, and Mexico ; on every side there is a profusion of glorious ensigns, illus-
128 !^PaW,
trious arms, marvellous works of art, effigies, em- blems, and immortal names. One does not know where to begin to admire, and runs, at first, here and there, looking at every thing, and seeing noth- ing, and really weary before having fairly com- menced one's task. In the centre of the hall is the equestrian armor, with horses and cavaliers rang-ed in a row, by twos and threes, all turning in the same direction, like the column of a squadron ; and one distinguishes, at first sight, among others, the armors of Philip II, Charles V, Philibert Emanuel, and Chris- topher Columbus. Here and there, on pedestals, one sees helmets, casques, morions, collars, and bucklers, belonging to the kings of Arragon, Cas- tile, and Navarre, finished in fine relief of silver, representing battles, scenes from mythology, sym- bolical figures, trophies, and grotesque garlands ; some of them of inestimable value, the work of the most distinguished artists of Europe ; others ot strange shapes, overladen with ornaments, tufts, vizors, and colossal crests ; then small helmets and cuirasses of young princes, together with swords and shields, donated by popes and monarchs. In the midst of the equestrian armor, one sees statues clothed in the fantastic costumes of Indians, Afri- cans, and Chinese, ornamented with feathers and bells, with bows and quivers ; frightful warlike masks ; costumes of mandarins of woven gold and silk. Along the walls are other pieces of armor ; that of the Marquis of Pescara, the poet Garcilaso of Vega, the Marquis of Santa Cruz, the gigantic one of Frederick the Magnanimous, Duke of Saxony ; and among one and another Arabian, Persian, and Moorish banners, that are falling to pieces. In the glass cases is a collection of swords, which make
MADRID. I2g
you shudder when you hear the names of those who wielded them : such as those belonging to the Prince of Cond6, Isabella the Catholic, Philip II, Ferdi- nand Cortes, the Count Duke of Olivares, John of Austria, Gonzalez of Cordova, Pizarro, the Cid ; and, a little farther on, are the helmet of King Boab- dil of Granada, the buckler of Francis I, and the camp-chair of Charles V. In a corner of the room are ranged the trophies of the Ottoman armies : hel- mets studded with gems, spurs, gilded stirrups, the collars of slaves, daggers, scimetars in velvet sheaths, circlets of gold, embroidered and covered with pearls ; the spoils of Ali Pacha, who was killed on the flag- ship, at the battle of Lepanto ; his caftan of gold and silver brocade, his belt, sandals, and shield ; the spoils of his sons, and the banners torn from the galleys. On another side are votive crowns, crosses, and necklaces, belonging to Gothic princes. In another compartment are objects taken from the Indians of Mariveles, the Moors of Cagayan and Mindanao, and from savages of the most distant oceanic islands : such as necklaces of snail shells, pipes of wooden idols, reed flutes, ornaments made from the feet of insects, slaves' robes made of palm leaves, written leaves which served as safeguards, poisoned arrows, and executioners' hatchets. And then, on every side one turns, there are the saddles of kings, coats of mail, culverins, historical drums, sashes, inscriptions, mementos and images of all times and countries, from the fall of the Goths to the battle of Teuan, from Mexico to China ; a col- lection of treasures and masterpieces, which one leaves dazed, moved, and exhausted, to return to self-consciousness later (as if coming out of a dream), with one's memory wearied and confused.
1 30 SPAIN,
If on some future day a great Italian poet shall desire to sing of the discovery of the new world, in no place can he obtain more powerful inspiration than in the Naval Museum of Madrid, because in no place does one feel more deeply the virginal at- mosphere of the wild America and the mysterious presence of Columbus. There is a room called the cabinet of the discoverers : the poet, on entering it, if he really possess the soul of a poet, will uncover his head in reverence. In whatever portion of the room the eye falls, one sees some image that stirs the heart ; one is no longer in Europe, nor in the present century, but in the America of the i5th century ; one breathes that air, sees those places, and feels that life. In the centre is a trophy of arms taken from the natives of the discovered territorj'^ ; shields covered with the skins of wild beasts, jave- lins of cane with plumed notches, wooden sabres in osier scabbards, their hilts ornamented with manes { and hair falling in long bunches ; canes, poles, and enormous clubs, great swords indented like a saw, shapeless sceptres, gigantic quivers, clothes of mon- key skin, daggers of kings and executioners, arms ' belonging to the savages of Cuba, Mexico, New Caledonia, the Carolinas, and the most remote islands | of the Pacific, black, strange and horrible, which awaken in one's mind confused visions of terrible struggles, in the mysterious obscurity of virginal forests, within interminable labyrinths of unknown trees. And round about these spoils of a savage country are the images and mementos of the con- querors : here the portrait of Columbus ; there, that i of Pizarro ; beyond, that of Ferdinand Cortes ; on one wall the map of America, drawn by Giovanni de la Cosa, during the second voyage of the Genoese,
MADRID, I 3 ^
on a broad canvas covered with figures, colors, and signs, which were intended to serve as a guide for the expeditions into the interior of the territories ; near the canvas, is a piece of the tree under which the conqueror of Mexico reposed during the famous " Notte tristey after he had opened his path through the immense army which awaited him in the valley of Otumba ; then a vase taken from the trunk of the tree near which the celebrated Captain Cook died ; imitations of boats, barks, and rafts used by the savages ; a collection of portraits of illustrious navi- gators. Then, in the middle portion, there is a large picture which represents the three ships of Chris- topher Columbus, — ^the Ninay the Pinta, and the Santa Maria, at the moment in which American soil appears, and all the sailors, erect on the poops, waving their arms, and uttering loud cries, salute the new world and give thanks to God. There are no words which express the emotion that one experiences at the sight of that spectacle, nor tears worth that which trembles in one's eye at that in- stant, nor human soul which, in that moment, does not feel itself more grand !
The other rooms, which are ten in number, are also full of valuable objects. In the room next the cabinet of the discoverers, are gathered the memen- tos of the battle of Trafalgar ; the picture of the Holy Trinity, which was in a little room in the poop of the ship Real Trinidad, and which was taken from the English a few moments before the ship sank ; the hat and sword of Gravina, admiral of the Spanish fleet, who died that day ; a large, complete model of the ship Santa Anna, one of the few which came out of the battle ; and banners, portraits of ad- mirals, and pictures representing incidents of that
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tremendous struggle. Besides the mementos of Tra- falgar, there are many others which do not appeal less strongly to the soul, such as a chalice made from the wood of a tree called Ceiba, under \^'hose shade the first mass was celebrated at Havana, on the 19th of March, iSig ; the cane of Captain Cook : Indian idols, and stone chisels with w^hich the In- dians of Porto Rico fashioned their idols befoise the discovery of the island. Beyond this room is an- other large one, upon entering which one finds ones self in the midst of a fleet of galleys, cai^velas, fe- luccas, brigantines, corvettes, and frigates. — boats, in fact, of every country and every century, armed, beflagged, and provisioned, that only seem to be waiting for the wind to set sail and scatter over the world. In the other rooms, there is a collection ot engines, tools, and naval arms ; of pictures represent- ing all the maritime enterprises of the Spanish peo- ple ; of portraits of admirals, navigators, and sailors ; of trophies from Asia, America, Africa, Oceanica, piled up and crowded together, so that one ought to pass them on a run in order to see every thing be- fore the night overtakes him. On coming out of the Naval Museum, it seems like returning from a voy- age around the world, so fast has one lived during those few hours.
Besides this, there is, at Madrid, a large Artillery Museum, an immense Museum of Engineering, an Archeological Museum, and a noteworthy Museum of Natural History ; then there are a thousand other things worth seeing, but one must sacrifice the de- scription of them to that of the marvellous picture- gallery.
The day on which one enters for the first time a gallery lik<;^ that of Madrid, becomes a marked one
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in the life of a man ; it is an important event like marriage, the birth of a child, or the coming into an inheritance ; for one feels the effects of it to the day of his death. And this is the reason why galleries like those of Madrid, Florence, and Rome, constitute a world in themselves ; a day passed among their walls is like the year of a life, a year stirred by all the passions which vary a real life, such as love, religion, love of country, and glory ; a year for that which is enjoyed in it, for that which one learns in it, for that comfort which is extracted from it for the future ; a year in which a thousand volumes are read, a thou- sand sensations are experienced, and a thousand ad- ventures encountered. These thoughts revolved in my mind as I rapidly approached the picture-gallery, situated at the left of the Prado (for any one coming from the street Alcala) ; and such was the pleasure I felt, that on reaching the door I stopped and said to myself : ** Let us see ! what have you done dur- ing your life to deserve the privilege of entering here ? Nothing ! Very well ; on the day when some mis- fortune comes to you, bow your head and feel that you are quits with Fate."
I entered, and involuntarily raised my hat : My heart was beating and a shiver ran from head to foot. In the first rooms there are only a few large pictures of Luca Giordano. I passed on. In the second room I was no longer myself, and instead of beginning to look at the pictures one by one, I postponed the ex- amination until later, and made the tour of the gallery almost running. In the second room are the pictures of Goya, the last great Spanish painter ; in the third, which is as large as a square, are the masterpieces of the great masters. On entering, you find, on one side, the Virgins, of Murillo ; on the other, the Saints,
1 34 SPAIN,
of Ribera; a little farther on, the portraits of Velasquez ; in the centre of the room are the pictures of Raphael, Michael Angelo, Andrea del Sarto, Titian, Tintoretto, Paul Veronese, Correggio, Domenichino, and Guido Reni. Turn back ; enter a large room on the right, and you see at the end other pictures of Raphael ; on the right and left Velasquez, Titian, and Ribera ; near the door Rubens, Van Dyck, Fra Angelico, and Murillo. In another room the French school : Pous- sin, Duguet, Lorrain ; in two other large ones the walls are covered with pictures of Breughel, Teniers, Jordaens, Rubens, Diirer, Schoen, Mengs, Rem- brandt, and Bosch. In three others, of the same size, are a quantity of pictures of Joanes, CarbajaU Herrera, Luca Giordano, Carducci, Salvator Rosa, Menendez, Cano, and Ribera. You roam around for an hour, and you have seen nothing ; for the first hour it is a struggle — the master-pieces dispute the space in your soul ; the Concepciotty of Murillo, covers with a torrent of light the Martyrdom of Saint Bartholo- mew, of Ribera ; the St. James, of Ribera, crushes the St, Stephen, of Joanes ; the Charles V, of Titian, fulminates the Conde duque Olivares, of Velasquez ; the Spasimo of Sicily, of Raphael, casts into the shade all the pictures around it ; the Dru^ikards, of Velasquez, disturb with a reflection of bacchanalian joy the faces of the neighboring saints and princes. Rubens overthrows Van Dyck, Paul Veronese out- does Tiepolo, and Goya kills Madrazo ; the con- quered take their revenge upon their inferiors ; else- where they supersede, in their turn, their conquerors. It is, in fact, a rivalry of miracles of art, in the midst of which your restless soul trembles like a flame stirred by a thousand breezes, and your heart ex- pands in a feeling of pride for the power of human genius.
MADRID. 135
When the first enthusiasm has passed, one begins to admire. In the midst of an army of such artists, each one of whom might claim a volume in himself, 1 confine myself to the Spaniards, and among these, to four who aroused my profoundest admiration, and whose canvases I remember most distinctly.
The most recent is Goya, born toward the middle of the last century. He is the most thoroughly Spanish painter oi toreros, peasants, smugglers, mas- sacres, thieves, the War of the Independence, and that ancient Spanish society which was dissolved under his eyes. He was a fiery Arragonese. with an iron temperament, passionately found of bull- fights, so much so that, during the last years of his life, while residing at Bordeaux, he went once a week to Madrid for no other purpose than that of witnessing these spectacles, and he left there like an arrow, without even saluting his friends. He was a robust, sharp, imperious, and fulminating genius, who, in the heat of his violent inspirations; covered in a few moments with figures a wall or a canvas, and gave the effective touches with whatever hap- pened to fall under his hand — sponges, besoms, or sticks ; who in tracing the face of a hated person in- sulted it ; who painted a picture as he would have fought a battle. He was a very bold designer, an original and a powerful colorist, a creator of an inimitable style of painting, of frightful shadows, mysterious lights, and of extraordinary but veritable semblances ; he was a great master in the expression of all terrible emotions, of anger, hatred, desperation, and sanguinary rage ; an athletic, warlike, and, inde- fatigable painter ; a naturalist, like Velasquez ; fan- tastic, like Hogarth ; energetic, like Rembrandt ; the last flame-colored flash of Spanish genius.
1 36 SPAIN.
There are several of his pictures in the Madrid gallery, among which is a very large one, represent- ing all the family of Charles IV ; but the two into which he threw all his soul are : the French soldiers shooting the Spaniards on the second of May, and a struggle of the people of Madrid with the Marmadukes of Napoleon I, all life-size. They are two pictures which make one shudder. Nothing more tremendous can be imagined : one can give no more execrable form to power, nor frightful aspect to desperation, nor a more ferocious expression to the fury of a fray. In the first one, there is a dark sky, the light of a lan- tern, a pool of blood, a pile of bodies, a crowd of men condemned to death, and a line of French sol- diers in the act of firing ; in the other are horses, with their veins cut, and horsemen dragged from their saddles, stabbed, trodden upon, and lacerated. What faces ! what attitudes ! one seems to hear the cries, and see the blood running ; the veritable scene could not cause more horror. Goya must have painted those pictures with his eyes glaring, foam at his mouth, and with the fury of a demoniac ; it is the last point which painting can reach before being translated into action ; having passed that point, one throws away the brush, and seizes the dagger ; one must commit murder in order to do anything more terrible than those pictures ; after those colors, comes blood.
Of the pictures of Ribera, whom we know under the name of Spagnoletto, there are a sufficient num- ber to form a gallery ; the greater part of them are figures of saints, life-size ; a massacre of St. Bar- tholomew, containing many figures, and a colossal Prometheus, chaincd.to a rock. Other pictures of his are to be found in other galleries, at the Escurial,
MADRID, 137
and in the churches, as he was fruitful and laborious, like all the Spanish artists. After seeing one of his pictures, one recognizes, at a glance, all the others ; and it is not necessary to have the eye of an expert to do this. There are old, emaciated saints, with bald heads, who are perfectly nude, and whose very veins can be counted ; they have hollow eyes, flesh- less cheeks, wrinkled foreheads, sunken chests, which allow the ribs to be seen, and arms that are only skin and bones ; attenuated and decaying bodies, clothed in rags, yellow with that deathly hue of corpses, terribly covered with sores, and bleed- ing ; they are carcasses that seem to have been dragged from the bier, bearing on their faces the imprint of all the spasms of illness, torture, hunger, and insomnia ; they are figures of the anatomical table, from which one could study all the secrets of the human organism. They are admirable ; yes, for boldness of design, vigor of color, and for the thou- sand other virtues which procured for Ribera the fame of a powerful painter, but this is not true, great art! In those faces one does not find that celestial light, that immortal ray of the souly which reveals, with sublime suffering, sublime aspirations, and the secret flashes, and immense desires, that light which draws the eye from the sores, and raises the thoughts to heaven ; there is nought but the cruel pain which inspires repugnance and terror ; there is only weari- ness of life, and the presentiment of death ; there is nothing save human life, which is fleeing away, with- out the reflection of that immortal one which is be- ginning. There is not one of those saints whose image is recalled with pleasure,; ^nglooks at them, is chilled to the heart, buT^^ScBterirS^^^^on beat- ing ; Ribera never lo)^^ Yetv4EE^»assiit|^^rough
'^ St. Agnes Branch, ^
2279 BROADWAY,
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the rooms of the gallery, despite the intense feeling of repugnance which many of the pictures aroused in me, I was forced to look at them, and could not take my eyes from them, so great is the attrac- tion of the true, even though it be displeasing; and Ribera's pictures are so true to life ! I recog- nized those faces ; I had seen them in the hos- pitals, mortuary chambers, and behind the doors of churches ; they are faces of beggars, dying per- sons, and of those condemned to death, which ap- pear before me at night, even to-day, in going through a deserted street, passing a cemetery, or climbing an unknown staircase. There are several of them at which one cannot look ; a hermit, quite nude, who is stretched on the ground, and seems a ifkeleton with skin ; an old saint, to whom the wasted flesh gives the appearance of a flayed body, and the Prometheus, with his bowels starting out of the chest. Blood, lacerated members, and agony pleased Ribera ; he must have enjoyed representing pain ; he must have believed in a hell more horrible than that of Dante, and in a God more terrible than that of Philip II. In the gallery at Madrid he rep- resents religious terror, old age, suffering, and death.
The great Velasquez is gayer, more varied, and more superb. Almost all his masterpieces are there. They are a world in themselves ; everything is depicted : war, the court, the cross-road, the tav- ern, and paradise. It is a gallery of dwarfs, imbe- ciles, beggars, buffoons, drunkards, comedians, kings, warriors, martyrs, and deities ; all living and speak- ing, in novel and bold attitudes, with serene faces and a smile on their lips, full of frankness and vigor. There is a large portrait of Count Duke de Olivares
MADRID. 139
on horseback, the celebrated picture de las Meninds^ that of the Weavers, that of the Revellers, that of the Forge of Vulcan, that of the Surrender of Breda^ huge canvases full of figures, some of whose slight- est points, once seen, one remembers distinctly, such as a motion or a shadow on a face, just like living persons, met at present ; people with whom one seems to have talked, of whom one thinks a long time afterward as of acquaintances of some un- known period ; people who inspire gaiety, and rouse with admiration a smile, and make one almost ex- perience a feeling of regret that one can only enjoy them with the eyes, that one cannot mingle with them, or attain a little of that exuberant life. It is not the effect of the favorable anticipation to which the name of the great artist gives rise, one need not^ be a connoiseur of art to enjoy them ; the poor woman and the boy stop before those pictures, clap their hands, and laugh. It is nature depicted with a surprising fidelity ; one forgets the painter, does not think of the art, nor does he discover the aim, but exclaims : '* It is true ! it is thus ! It is the image I had in my mind ! " One would say that Velasquez had put none of his ideas into it, that he had al- lowed his hand to do as it chose, and that the hand had done nothing but fasten upon the canvas the lines and colors of an optical camera, which repro- duced the real personages whom he was depicting. More than sixty of his pictures are in the gallery at Madrid, and if one saw them hastily but once, not one of them would be forgotten. It is the case with the pictures of Velasquez as it is with the romance of Alessandro Manzoni, which, after read- ing it ten times, becomes so interlaced and confused with our particular recollections, that we seem to
140 SPAIN,
have lived through it. Thus the personages in the pictures of Velasquez mingle in the crowd of the friends and acquaintances (absent and present) of our entire life, and present themselves to our minds, and hold converse with us, without our even re- membering that we have seen them painted.
Now let us talk of Murillo in the gendest tone of voice that is possible. In art Velasquez is an eagle ; Murillo an angel. We admire the former and adore the latter. His canvases make him known as if he had lived with us. He was handsome, good, and pious ; many knew not where to touch him ; around his crown of glory he bore one of love. He was born to paint the sky. Fate had given him a peace- ful and serene genius, which bore him heavenward on the wings of a placid inspiration ; and yet his most admirable pictures breathe an air of modest sweetness, which inspires sympathy and affection even before wonder. A simple and noble elegance of outline, an expression full of vivacity and grace, an ineffable harmony of color are the points which strike one at first sight, but the longer one looks at them, the more one discovers in them, and astonish- ment is transformed, little by little, into a sweet feel- ing of gladness. His saints have a benign expres- sion that cheers and consoles one ; his angels, whom he groups with a marvellous mastery, make one's lips tremble with the desire to kiss them ; his virgins, clothed in white and enveloped in their blue mantles, with their great black eyes, their folded hands, so willowy, slight, and aerial in appearance,
as^q'feez .with'thi vigorous effects of Ribera, the har- monious tran^arency of Titian, and the brilliant
MADRID, 14 <
Vivacity of Rubens. Spain gave him the name of the Painter of the ConcepcionSy because he was in- superable in the art of representing this divine idea. There are four great Concepcions in the Madrid gal- lery. I passed half days before those four pictures, quite motionless and almost in a state of ecstasy. I was most completely carried away by that one in which only a part of the figure is given, with the arms folded over the breast and the half-moon across the waist. Many place this one after the others. I trembled in hearing this said, because I was seized with inexplicable passion for that face. More than once in looking at it, I felt the tears coursing down my cheeks. Standing before that picture my heart softened, and my mind rose to a height which it had never attained before, it was not the enthu- siasm of faith ; it wa^ aMesire, a limitless - aspiration toward faith, a hope^ which gave me glimpses of a nobler, richer, more 'beautiful life than T had/ hitherto led ; it was a new feeling of prayerfulness, a desire to love, to do good, to suffer fdr^ others, to expiate, and ennoble my mind and heart. I have never been so near believing as at that time ; I have never been so good and full of affection, and I fancy that my soul never shone more clearly in my face than then.
The Virgin of Sorrows, St. Anna teaching the Virgifi to read, The Crucifixion of Christ, the An- nunciation, the Adoration of the Shepherds, the Holy Family, t/ie Virgin of the Rosary, and the infafit yesuSj are all admirable and beautiful pictures of a soft and quiet coloring which goes to the soul. One ought to see on Sunday the boys, girls, and women of the people before those figures, see how their faces brighten, and hear the sweet words which issue
142 SPAIN.
from their lips. Murillo is a saint to them ; they utter his name with a smile, as if to say : ** He be- longs to us ! " and in doing so look at you as if to impose an act of reverence upon you. The artists do not all hold the same opinion regarding him ; but they love him above every one else, and do not succeed in separating this love from their admira- tion. Murillo is not only a great painter, but has a great soul ; is more than a glory ; is, in fact, an ob- ject of affection for Spain ; he is more than a sov- ereign master of the beautiful, he is a benefactor, one who inspires good actions, and a lovely image which is once found in his canvases, is borne in one's heart throughout life, with a feeling of gratitude and religious devotion. He is one of those men of whom an indescribable prophetic sentiment tells us that we shall see them again ; that the meeting with them is due to us like some prize ; that they cannot have disappeared forever, they are still in some place ; that their life has only been like a flash of in- extinguishable light, which must appear once more in all its splendor to the eyes of mortals ! One may call these ideas the errors of fancy ! — but they are cherished errors !
After the works of these four great masters, one may admire the pictures of Joanes, an artist thor- oughly Italian in style, whose correct drawing and nobility of character made him worthy of the title, though given sotto voce, of the Spanish Raphael. Not4fii^rtrjbut in life, he resembled Fra Angelico 7^'^Ki^¥^^stu4^ ^'as an oratory where he fasted and \ ;* J'di4';^^nance),ifAnd he, too, before beginning work, * ' \V^eht \o take the communion. Then there are the pic- • '; tures of AJonzo Cano ; those of Pacheco (Murillo s f rtia^cef); th-eses of Pareja, a slave of Velasquez ; of
THE NEW YORK PUBLIC UBRARV
ASTOR, Lf^NOX AND T»lD N FOUNDATIONS.
MADRID. 143
Navarrate the Mute ; of Menendez, a great flower- painter ; of Herrera, Coello, Carbajal, Collantes, and Rizi. There is little work of Zurbaran, one of the greatest Spanish painters, who is worthy of a place beside the three first. The corridors, ante-chambers, and passage-rooms are full of the pictures of other artists, inferior to those already mentioned, but still admirable for different merits. But this is not the only picture-gallery of Madrid ; there are a hundred pictures in the Academy of San Fernando, in the ministry of the Fomento, and in other private gal- leries. It would require months and months to see every thing well ; and would it.vnot take the same length of time to describe theiriv even if one had sufficient talent to do so ? One of the most power- ful writers of France, who ^ was a passionate admirer of painting and a great master of description, when he was put to the test, became frightened, and not knowing any other way of evading the difficulty, said there would be too much to say on the subject ; so if he considered it best to be silent, it seems as if I may have said too much already. It is one of the most dolorous consequences of a charming journey, this finding one's mind full of beautiful images, and the heart a tumult of intense emotions, and only be ing able to give expression to so small a portion of them ! With what profound disdain I could tear up these pages when I think of those pictures ! Oh, Murillo ; oh, Velasquez ; oh, poor pen of mine !
A few days after I had arrived at Madrid, I saw, for the first time, coming out from Alcali into the square of the Puerta del Sol, King Amadeus, and I experienced as great a pleasure in this as if I had met again one of my intimate friends. It is a curi- ous sensation that oi f.ndiner one's self in a country
144 SPAIN.
where the only person one knows is the king. One has almost the desire to rush after him, crying : ** Your majesty! it is I. I have come." Don Amadeus followed at Madrid the habits of his father. He rose at daybreak and went to take a walk in the gardens of the Moro, which extend be- tween the royal palace and the Manzanares, or be- took himself to the museum, traversing the city on foot accompanied only by an aide-de-camp. luxs criados (maid-servants) on returning home quite breathless with their full baskets, related to their sleepy mistresses that they had met him, that he had passed so near that they could have touched him, and the republican house-keepers would say : Asi debe hacer; and the Carlists, with a grimace, mur- muring : Que clase de rey ! (What kind of a king" is he !) or, as I once heard : He is determined that some one shall shoot him ! On returning to the palace he received the captain-general and the gover- nor of Madrid, who, in accordance with an old cus- tom, were obliged to present themselves to the king every day to ask him if he had no order to give to the army or the police. Then followed the minis- ters. Besides seeing them all once a week in coun- cil, Amadeus received one of them every day. When the minister had taken his departure, the audience began. Don Amadeus gave an audience of one hour at least, and sometimes two, every day. The demands were innumerable, and the object of the demands easy to imagine : assistance, pension, employment, privileges, and crosses ; the king re- ceived all.
The queen, too, received, although not every day, on account of the uncertain state of her health. ' All the works of benevolence fell to her lot. She re-
MADRID. .145
ceived, in the presence of a major-domo and a lady- in-waiting, at the same hour as the king, all sorts of people, — ladies, workmen, and women of the people, listening with pity to the long stories of poverty and suffering. She distributed more than one hundred thousand lire a month in charity, without counting extra donations to alms-houses, hospitals, and other benevolent institutions ; some of these she founded herself. On the bank of the Manzanares, in sight of the royal palace, in an open and cheerful locality, one sees a little house painted in bright colors, sur- rounded by a garden, from which, in passing, one hears the laughter, shouts, and cries of children. The queen had it built as a resort for the little chil- dren of the laundresses, who, while their mothers were working, used to be left in the street exposed to a thousand dangers. There are to be found teachers, wet-nurses, and servants, who provide for all the needs of the children ; it is a mingling of alms-house and school. The expenditures for the construction of the house and for its maintenance were met with the twenty-five thousand francs a month which the State had assigned to the Duke of Puglia. The queen also founded a hospital for foundlings ; a house or species of college for the children of the tobacco-workers ; and a distribution of soup, meat, and bread for all the poor of the city. She went several times quite unexpectedly to assist in the distribution, in order to assure herself that no abuse was made of it, and having discovered some roguery, she provided against any repetition of the offense. Besides this, the Sisters of Charity received from her every month the sum of thirty thousand lire for the assistance of those families who could not take advantage of the soup kitchen
146 sPAm.
on account of their social position. It was difficult to obtain any knowledge of the queen's private acts of benevolence because she was not accustomed to mention them to any one. Little was known also of her habits, because she did everything without ostentation, and with a reserve which would have appeared almost excessive even in a lady in private life. Not even the court ladies knew that she went to hear the sermon at San Luis de Frances, but a lady saw her for the first time, by chance, among her neighbors. In her dress there was nothing that distinguished her as queen, not even on the days when the court dinners were given. Queen Isabella wore a great mantle with the arms of Castile, a diadem, ornaments, and the insignia of royalty ; Dona Victoria, nothing. She gener- ally dressed herself in the colors of the Spanish flag, and with a simplicity which announced ..the right to the crown much more effectively t|ian splen- dor and pomp would have done. But Sp^ireh gold had nothing to do with this simplicity, fc^r^all her personal expenses and those of her children and maids were paid with her own money.
When the Bourbons were reigning, the j^ntire pal- ^ ace was occupied. The king lived in the poEtion on the left toward the Square of the Orient ; ^-fsabeHa. in the part which looks on one side into the Square of the Orient, and, on the other, into the Square of the Armory ; Montpensier was in the part opposite that of the queen ; and the princes each had an apartment toward the Garden del Moro. At the time King Amadeus resided there, a great portion of the immense edifice remained empty. He had only three small rooms, — a study, a sleeping-room, and dressing-room. The sleeping-room opened
MADRID. HI
upon a long hall which led to the two little rooms of the princes, near which was the apartment of the queen, who would never be separated from her children. Then there was a drawing-room for re- ceptions. All this portion of the palape which served as a dwelling for the entire royal family, was formerly occupied by Queen Isabella alone. When she learned that Don Amadeus and Dona Victoria had been contented with so small a space, she is said to have exclaimed, with surprise :
" Poor young people ; they cannot move there ! " The king and the queen used to dine with a major-domo and a lady-in-waiting. After dinner the king smoked a Virginia cigar (if the detractors of this prince of cigars would like to know the fact), and then went into his study to. occupy himself with the affairs of state, ^i^e used- tq, take many notes, and often consulted^lvith the qupen, especially when it was a question ofymaking peace between the min- isters, or of soothirfg the different^ opinions of the heads of the parties. ^44^^.63-4 a great; number of magazines of every kind, anonyiaous- letters which threatened his death, those which offered him advice, satirical poems, projects for a social renovation, and, in fact, every thing that was sent him. About three o'clock he left the palace on horseback, the trumpets of the guards sounded, and a servant in scarlet livery followed at the distance of fifty paces. To see him, one would have said that he did not know he was king ; he looked at the children who passed, the signs over the shops, the soldiers, the diligences, and the fountains, with an almost childish expression of curiosity. He traversed the entire street Alcala as slowly as an unknown citizen who was thinking of his own affairs, and betook himself to the Prado
148 spAm.
to enjoy his portion of the sunshine and air. The ministers cried out against it ; the Bourbon party, who were accustomed to the imposing cortege of Isabella, said that he dragged the majesty of the throne of San Fernando through the streets ; even the servant who followed him looked around with a mortified air, as if to say : "Just see what madness !" But despite of what was said, the king could not assume the habit of being afraid. And the Span- iards, it is only fair to say, did him justice, and what- ever might have been the opinion which they held concerning his mind, conduct, and style of govern- ment, they never failed to add : '* As far as courage is concerned, there is nothing to be said."
Every Sunday there was a court dinner. The generals, deputies, professors, academicians, and men noted in science and literature were invited. The queen talked with all of them about every thing, with a security and grace which quite surpassed their ex- pectations, despite all they had already known of her intellect and culture. The people, naturally, in talk- ing of what she knew, were inclined to exaggeration, and spoke of Greek, Arabic, Sanscrit, astronomy, and mathematics. But it is true that she conversed very skillfully about things quite foreign to the usual course of feminine studies, and not in that vague and flippant style which is customary to those who know nothing beyond a few titles and names. She had studied most thoroughly the Spanish language, and spoke it like her own. The history, literature, and customs of her new country were familiar to her ; nothing was lacking to make her genuinely Spanish but the desire to remain in Spain. The liberals grumbled, the Bourbon party said : ** She is not our queen ;" but all of them nourished a profound feeling
MADRID. 149
of respect for hen The most furious newspapers only said she was the wife of Don Amadeus. instead of saying the queen. The most violent of the re- publican deputies, in making allusion to her in one of his speeches at the Cortes, could not do less than proclaim her illustrious and virtuous. She was the only person in the household whom no one al- lowed himself to parody by speech or with the pen. She was like a figure left in white in the midst of a picture of wretched caricatures.
As to the king, it seems as if the Spanish press enjoyed a limitless freedom regarding him. Under the safeguard of the appellative of Savoyard, for- eigner, young courtier, the journals adverse to the dynasty said, in substance, whatsoever they chose, and said such charming things! This one quite took it to heart because the king was ugly hi face and profile ; that one was annoyed because he had such a stilted gait; a third found fault with his man- ner of returning a salute ; and various other trifles which could hardly be credited. Notwithstanding this, however, the people in Madrid felt for him if not the enthusiasm of the Stefani Telegraphic Agency , at least a very lively sympathy. The simplicity of his habits, and his goodness of heart, were proverbial even among children. It was known that he re- tained no feeling of rancor toward any one, not even toward those who had behaved badly to him ; that he had never been guilty of a discourteous act to any one ; and that he had never allowed a bitter word to escape his lips against his enemies. To any one who would speak of the personal dangers he ran, any good man of the people would reply most disdainfully that the Spanish respect those who have faith in them. His most acrimonious enemies
1 50 SPAIl^.
spoke of him with anger, but not with hatred ; even those who did not raise their hats when meeting him in the street felt their heart-strings tighten in seeing that others did not do it either, and they could not conceal a feeling of sadness. There are pictures of fallen kings over which is drawn a black curtain ; others which are covered with a white veil that makes them appear more beautiful and more worthy of veneration ; over this one Spain has stretched the white veil. And who knows whether on some future day the sight of this image will not draw from the breast of every honest Spaniard a secret sigh, like the recollection of a dear one who has been offended, or of the peaceful, benignant voice which says in a tone of sad reproach : *• Yet — thou hast done wrong ! "
One Sunday the king held a review of all the voluntarios de la libertad, who are a sort of Italian national guard, with this difference, that those lend their aid spontaneously, and these never render it, even by force. The voluntarios were to draw them- selves up in line along the avenues of the Prado, and an immense crowd was awaiting them. When I arrived there were three or four battalions already assembled. The first was a battalion of veterans, men in the fifties, and not a few of them very old, dressed in black, wearing the cap a la Ros. with galloons above galloons, crosses above crosses, as neat and gleaming as the scholars of an academy, and in the proud flashing of their eyes they might have been mistaken for the grenadiers of the Old Guard. Then followed another battalion with an- other uniform : gray trousers, open jacket, folded back on the breast with a large display of a very red cloth ; instead of the Ros caps there were hats with
MADRID. I S I
blue feathers, and bayonets fastened on to their muskets. Then a batallion with a different uni- form, and Ros caps instead of the other kind. No more display of red cloth, but with green in its stead ; trousers of other colors, and daggers instead of bayonets. A fourth battalion has a fourth uni- form,— plumes, colors, arms, and every thing quite different. Other battalions arrive in other dresses. Some wear the Prussian helmet, others the helmet without the point ; some carry bayonets, some straight daggers, some curved ones, and others still serpentine ones ; here, there are soldiers with cor- dons ; there, are some without ; further on, there are cordons again; then there are belts, epaulettes, cravats, plumes, and every thing changes at every instant. They are all gay and splendid uniforms of a hundred colors, with trinkets which hang, gleam, and wave. Every battalion has a different-shaped banner, covered with embroidery, ribbons, and fringes ; among others, one sees militia dressed like peasants, with any kind of a stripe sewed in long stitches on to a pair of torn trousers ; some are without cravats, others with black ones, open waist- coat and embroidered shirt ; there are boys of fif- teen and twelve fully armed among the lines ; there are vivandieres with short skirts and red trousers, and baskets full of cigars and oranges. In front of the battalions is a continual running to and fro of mounted officers. Every major wears on his head, on his breast, or on his saddle Some ornament of his own invention. One sees galloons, on the arms, shoulders, around the neck, of silver, gold, and wool, together with medallions and crosses so thickly scat- tered as to hide half the breast, placed one above the other, and above and below the belt ; there are
152 SPAIN,
gloves of all the colors of the rainbow, sabres, swords, small swords, large swords, pistols, and re- volvers ; a mixture, in fine, of all kinds of uniforms, arms, and armies, a variety sufficient to weary ten ministerial commissioners for the modification of dress, and a confusion in which one loses his head. I do not remember whether there were twelve or fourteen battalions ; each one choosing its own uni- form, was obliged to appear as different as possible from the others. They were commanded by the Syndic, who also wore a fantastic uniform. At the hour fixed, a sudden rushing backward and forward of the officers of the staff, and a noisy blast of the trumpets announced the arrival of the king. Don Amadeus, in fact, arrived on horseback from the street Alcala ; he was dressed as captain-general- with high boots, white breeches, an4 full-dress uni- form. Behind him was a body of generals, aides de-camp, scarlet-liveried servants, lanciers, cuiras- siers, and guards. After he had passed the entire line of soldiers, from the Prado to the Atocha church, amidst a dense and silent crowd, he returned in the direction of the street Alcala. At this point there was an immense multitude, which swayed to and fro with the noise of the sea. The king and his staff moved off, and took their stand in front of the church of San Jos6, with their backs to the fagade, and the cavalry, with great trouble, suc- ceeded in clearing a space so that the battallions could file by.
They passed in platoons. As they moved on, at a sign from the commander, they cried : '' Viva el Rey ! Viva Don Amadeo prhnero / "
The first officer who uttered the cry had an un- fortunate idea. The viva shouted spontaneously
MADRID. 153
by the first became a duty for all the others, and was the cause of the public's taking the greater or less force and harmony of the voices as a sign of political demonstration. Some of the platoons gave such a short and weak cheer that it seemed like the voice of a parcel of sick men who were calling for help ; then the crowd broke out into a laugh. Other platoons shouted at the top of their lungs, and their cry was taken also as a demonstration hostile to the dynasty. There were several rumors afloat in the tightly- packed crowd around me. One person said : ** Now such and such a battalion is coming, they are repub- licans ; you will see that they will not cheer." The battalion did not cheer ; the spectators coughed. Another said : ** It is a shame, a lack of good breed- ing ; Don Amadeus pleases me little, but I keep quiet ard respect him."
The? ivere some disputes. A young fellow cried, " Vivay' in a falsetto voice ; a caballero called him im- pertinent ; the former resented this ; both raised their hands to strike, and a third divided them. Between the battalions passed citizens on horseback ; some of them did not raise their hats, and did not even look at the king ; then one heard different voices in the crowd, crying, ** Well done! " or, *• What ill breeding! " Others, who would have saluted him, did not dare do so ; and they passed with bowed heads and blushing faces. Others, on the other hand, dis- gusted by the spectacle, braved the anger of the rest, and made a courageous demonstration in favor of Amadeus ; by passing, hat in hand, looking, now respectfully at the king, now proudly at the crowd, for the space often paces. The king sat motionless until the procession was over, with an unchanging expression of serene haughtiness. So ended the re- view.
1 54 SPAIN.
This national militia, although less disorganized and worn out than ours, is really only a mask ; the ludicrous has gnawed at its roots ; but, as a diver- sion on f&te days, although the number of volunteers has greatly diminished (once it amounted to thirty thousand), it is always a spectacle which outdoes all \}s\^ flag 'poles and red rags of Signer Ottino.
THE BULL-FIGHTS.
On the thirty-first day of March, the spectacle of the bull-fights was inaugurated. We will dis- cuss the matter at our leisure, for the subject is worthy of it. Let any one who has read Baretti s description of them, consider that he has read noth- ing. Baretti only saw the fights at Lisbon, and these are child's play in comparison with those at Madrid, which is the seat of the art. Here are the great artists, the superb spectacles, the spectators who are experts, and the judges who bestow the glory upon the victorious toreros. The circus at Madrid is the Theatre La Scala for the art of bull- fighting.
The inauguration of the bull-fights at Madrid is decidedly more important than a change in the ministry. A month beforehand a notice of it is scat- tered all over Spain ; from Cadiz to Barcelona, from Bilbao to Almeria, in the palaces of the grandees, n the hovels ot the poor, they talk of the artists and the pedigree of the bulls ; and they institute fights for pleasure between the provinces and the capital. He who is short of money begins to lay aside, so that he may procure a fine place in the circus on the solemn day. Fathers and mothers promise their studious children to take them there ; lovers
MADRID. 1 5 5
ij^ive the same promise to their sweethearts ; the newspapers assure the world that there will be a fine season ; the chosen toreros, who are already to be seen in the streets, are pointed out. Then there are rumors that the bulls have arrived ; some have seen them, and others solicit permission to visit them. There are bulls from the pastures of the Duke of Veragua, the Marquis de la Merced, and her Excellency, the widow of Villaseca, which are enormous and formidable. The subscription office is opened ; a crowd of dilettanti, servants of the noble families, brokers, and friends commissioned by the absent, flock thither ; the impresario has taken in fifty thousand lire on the first day, thirty on the second, and, in a week, one hundred thousand. Frascuelo, the famous matador, has arrived, together with Cuco, and Calderon ; in fact, they are all here. Three days more ! A thousand people talk of noth- ing else ; there are ladies who dream of the circus ; ministers who no longer have any head for their affairs ; old dilettanti who can hardly contain them- selves; workmen, and poor people, who do not smoke any more cigarritos, in order to have a few sous for the day of the spectacle. Finally, the day before arrives : Saturday morning, ere it is dawn, they begin to sell tickets in a room on the ground- floor in the street Alcala ; and a crowd has gathered even before the opening of the doors ; they shout, push, aud beat each other ; twenty civil guards, with revolvers at their belts, have the greatest diffi- culty in maintaining order ; until night there is an incessant coming and going. The longed-for day arrives ; the spectacle begins at three o'clock. At noon people commence moving from all parts of the town toward the circus, which is at the end of the
156 SPAIN.
suburb of Salamanaca, beyond the Prado, outside of the gate of the Alcala ; all the streets leading to it are filled with a procession of people ; around the edifice there is a perfect hive ; a body of soldiers and volunteers arrive, preceded by bands of music ; a crowd of water- and orange-venders fill the air with their cries ; the ticket-speculators run here and there, called by a thousand voices ; unfortunate he who has not got one — he will pay double, triple, quad- ruple for it ! What difference does it make ? Fifty, and even eighty francs, were paid for a ticket ! The king is expected, and they say the queen is coming too ; the carriages of the great people begin to ar- rive : the Duke Fernando Nunez, Duke de Abrantes, Marquis de la Vega de Armijo, a crowd of the grandees of Spain, the goddesses of the aristocracy, ministers, generals, and ambassadors, all that is beau- tiful, splendid, and powerful in the great city. They enter the circus by many doors ; but before getting in one is fairly deafened by the noise.
I entered ; the circus is immense. Seen from the exterior, there is nothing noticeable about it, for it is a round building, very low, without windows, and painted yellow ; but upon entering one experiences a feeling of surprise. It is a circus for a nation ; it holds ten thousand spectators, and a regiment of cavalry could hold a tournament therein. The arena is circular, very large, and must make ten of our equestrian circuses ; it is surrounded by a modern barrier, almost as high as a man's neck, furnished on the inside with a small elevation a few feet from the ground, upon which the toreros place their feet in order to jump over it when pursued by the bull. This barrier is followed by another higher still, be- cause the bull often leaps the first.- Between this
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and the first, which runs around the arena, there is a walk, rather more than a metre in width, in which the toreros come and go before the fight, and where stand the servants of the circus, the carpenters ready to repair any damage done by the bull, the guard, orange- venders, the dilettanti who enjoy the friend- ship of the impresario, and the great personages who are allowed to break througrh the rules. Beyond the second barrier, rise rows of stone seats ; beyond these, boxes ; under the boxes rises a gal- lery, occupied by three rows of benches. The boxes are large enough to hold two or three families each. The king's box is a great drawing-room. Beside that of the king is one for the municipality, in which the Syndic or his representative presides at the spec- tacle. There is the box for the ministers, governors, and ambassadors, — each family has one ; the young bloods, as Giusti would say, have one together; then there are the boxes to rent, which cost a fortune. All the places on the stone rows are numbered ; each person has his own ticket, and the entrance is effected without any confusion. The circus is di- vided into two parts, that where the sun strikes, and that in the shade ; in the latter one pays more, the other is occupied by the common people. The arena has four roads, almost equidistant from each other : the one through which the toreros enter, that for the bulls, that for the horses, and that for the heralds of the spectacle, which is under the king's box. Above the door, where the bulls enter, rises a sort of balcony called the Toril, and any one is fortunate who obtains a place here ! On this bal- cony, upon a bench, stand those who, at a sign from the box of the municipality, sound the trumpet and drum to announce the exit of the bull. Opposite
IS8 SPAIN.
the Torily on the other side of the arena, on the stone terrace, is the band. This whole terrace of seats is divided into compartments, each one havint;^ its own entrance. Before the spectacle beg"ins the people are permitted to enter the arena and circulate! through all the recesses of the building. They g-o to see the horses, kept in a court-yard, destined for the greater part, poor brutes, to die ; then to visit the dark enclosures, in which are fastened the bulls, that are afterward passed from one to the other, until they reach a corridor, through which they dart into the arena; and then to look at the infirmary, whither the wounded toreros are carried. Once there was a chapel, in which mass was celebrated during the fights, and the toreros went there to pray before confronting the bull. One can also go near the principal door of entrance, where are displayed the banderillas which will be struck into the bulls' necks, and where one sees a crowd of old toreros, some lame, some Without an arm, some with crutches, and the young toreros, who are not yet admitted to the honors of the Madrid Circus. Then to buy a paper, the Buletin de los Toros, which promises marvels for the day's doings, then to procure from the custo- dians a programme and a printed sheet, divided into columns, on which to note the bltfws of the lance, the thrusts, the falls, and the wounds ; then wan- der through interminable corridors and stairways among a crowd who come and go, ascend and descend, shouting and making noise enough to shake the building and finally one returns to his place.
The circus is very full, and offers a sight of which it is impossible, for any one who has not seOT it, to form an idea. There is a sea of heads, hats, fans,
MADRID. 1 59
hands moving in the air. On the shady side, where the nicer people are, all is black. On the sunny side, where the lower classes sit, there are a thousand bright colors from dresses, parasols, and paper-fans, making it look like an immense masquerade. There is not place for a child ; the crowd is as compact as a phalanx ; no one can get out, and it is with diffi- culty that an arm can be moved. It is not as buzz- ing a noise like that of other theatres ; it is totally different ; it is an agitation, a life quite peculiar to the circus. Every one is shouting, calling, and greeting his friends with a frantic joy. The children and women shriek, the gravest men behave like the younger ones ; the youths, in groups of twenty and thirty, screaming together, and beating with their canes on the steps, announce to the representative of the municipality that the hour has arrived. In the boxes there is a commotion like that of the upper gallery of a ordinary theatre ; to the deafen- ing cries of the crowd are added the shouts of a hundred venders, who throw oranges around on all sides. The band begins to play, the bulls bellow, the crowd gathered outside becomes noisy, and it is really a spectacle which makes one giddy, so that before the struggle begins one is weary, intoxicated, and fairly out of his mind.
Suddenly a cry is heard : " The king ! " The king has arrived ; has come in a carriage drawn by four white horses, mounted by servants dressed in the picturesque Andalusian costume ; the glass doors of the king's box open, and his majesty enters with a crowd of ministers, generals, and major-domos. The queen is not there ; that was foreseen, for every one fellows she has a horror of this spectacle. Oh ! but the king would not miss it ; he has always come.
l6o SPAIN.
and they say he is wild about it. The hour has ar rived, and the affair has be^un. I shall always re- member the chill that I felt in my veins at that point.
The trumpet sounds ; four guards of the circus, on horseback, wearing hats with plumes a la Henry IV, a small black mantle, waistcoats, high boots, and swords, enter through the door under the royal box, and slowly make the circuit of the arena ; the people disperse, every one going to his own seat. The four horsemen place themselves, two by two, before the door, still closed, which faces the king's box. The ten thousand spectators fasten their eyes upon that point, and a general silence ensues. From here enter the cuadrilla and all the toreros in full dress, to present themselves to the king and the people. The band strikes up, the door opens, one hears a burst of applause, and the toreros advance. First come the three espadas, Frascuelo, Lagartijo, and Caye- tano, the three famous ones, dressed in the costume of Figaro in the '' Barber of Seville," in silk, satin, and velvet, orange, blue, and carnation. They are covered with embroideries, galloons, fringes, fila- grees, spangles, and trinkets of gold and silver, which almost hide their dress ; they are enveloped in ample yellow and red capes, and wear white stockings, silken girdles, a bunch of braids on the nape of the neck, and a fur cap. After them come the banderilleros and capeadores, a band, covered like their predecessors, with gold and silver ; then come the picadores on horseback, two by two, holding great lances and wearing a gray hat, very low and broad-brimmed, an embroidered jacket, a pair of breeches of yellow buffalo-skin, quilted and lined with strips of iron ; then the chulos, or servants,
Madrid. i6i
dressed in holiday costume. All majestically cross the arena toward the king's box. Nothing more picturesque can be imagined. There are all the colors of a garden, all the splendors of a royal court, all the gayety of a troup of maskers, and all the imposing effect of a band of warriors ; in closing the eyes one sees nothing but a gleam of gold and silver. They are very handsome men : \h^ picadores tall and sinewy as athletes ; the others slender, quick, superbly formed, with dark faces and large proud eyes ; figures like the ancient gladiators, dressed with the pomp of Asiatic princes.
The whole cuadrilla stops before the king's box and salutes him ; the alcade makes a sign that they may begin ; the key of the taril where the bulls are kept is dropped from the box into the arena ; a guard of the circus picks it up and places himself before the door ready to open it. The body of toreros separates ; the espadas jump over the barrier ; the capeadores scatter through the arena, waving their red and yellow capas; some of the picador es re- tire to await their turn ; the others put spurs to their horses, and go to take their places on the left of the toril, at a distance of twenty feet one from the other, with their backs to the barrier and their lances in their rest. It is a. moment of agitation and inex- pressible anxiety ; every eye is fastened upon the door through which the bull will enter ; every heart is beating ; a profound silence reigns throughout the circus ; nothing is heard but the bellowing of the bull, who advances from enclosure to enclosure, in the darkness of his vast prison, almost crying : ** Blood! blood!" The horses tremble, the^ picadores turn pale ; another instant — the trumpet sounds, the door opens, and an enormous bull dashes into the
i62 sPa/M.
arena ; a tremendous shout bursts at this moment from ten thousand breasts to greet him, and the massacre begins.
Ah ! it is well to have strong nerves ; for, despite the fact, one becomes as pale as a ghost !
I do not remember, save confusedly, what hap- pened during the first few moments ; I do not know where my head was. The bull dashed toward the first picadoTy then retreated, continued his course, and dashed against the second ; whether a struggle ensued I do not recollect ; a moment afterward the bull dashed toward the third, then ran into the mid- dle of the arena, and stopped and looked around him.
All that portion of the arena which the bull had passed was streaked with blood ; the first horse lay on the ground, his body torn open, the bowels scat- tered ; the second, with the breast opened by a broad wound, from which blood issued in floods, went staggering here and there ; the third, which had been thrown down, tried to rise ; the chulos hastened forward, raised the picadores, took oflF the saddle and bridle from the dead horse, and tried to put the wounded one on his feet ; and a horrible shout resounded on all sides. This is the way the spectacle generally begins. The first to receive the attack of the bull are the picadores, who await it, with a firm footing, and plant their lances between the heart and the neck of the animal, as he bends to strike the horse with his horns. The lance, be it noted, has only a small point, which can only open a slight wound, and xhe picadores are obliged, by the strength of their arm, to hold the bull off, and save their horses. For this, a steady eye, an arm of bronze, and an intrepid heart, are necessary ; they do
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not always succeed ; in fact, they rarely do ; the bull plants his horns in the horse's belly, and the pica- dare falls to the ground. Then the capeadores hasten forward, and while the bull is extracting his horns from the bowels of this poor victim, they wave the capos across his eyes, attract his attention, and make him follow them, and so save the fallen horseman, whom the chulos assist into his saddle, if the horse can still stand, or to carry to the infirmary, if he has broken his head.
The bull, standing in the centre of the arena, with bleeding horns, looked around him as if to say : " Have you had enough? " A band oi capeadores ran toward him, surrounded him, and began provok- ing him, teazing him, and making him run here and there, shaking their capas in his eyes, passing them over his head, attracting him, and flying from him with rapid turns, to come back and torment him, and flee from him again ; and the bull to follow them one after the other, as far as the barrier, and then to butt against the partitions, to kick, and caper, bellow, rebury his horns, in passing, in the belly of the dead horses, try to leap into the walk, and to run around the arena. Meanwhile, the other picadores entered, to take the places of those whose horses had been killed, and stationed themselves, quite 4 distance from one another, on the side of the toril, their lances in rest, waiting for the bull to at- tack fhem. The capeadores dexterously drew him to that side ; the bull, at the sight of the first horse, dashed toward him with lowered head. But this time his assault failed ; the lance of the picador fast- ened itself into his shoulder, and kept him back ; the bull resisted, struggled, used all his strength, but in vain ; the picador held him firmly, the bull retreated,
i64 SPAM.
the horse was saved, and a loud burst of applause greeted the hero. The other picador was less for- tunate : the bull attacked him ; he did not succeed in planting his lance, the formidable horns pene- trated the belly of the horse, with the rapidity of a sword, struggled in the wound, were withdrawn, and the intestines of the poor animal fell out, and kept dangling like a bag nearly to the ground ; the pica- dor remained in his saddle. Here a horrible sight was witnessed. Instead of dismounting, on seeingr that the wound was not mortal, he gave spurs to the horse, and went and placed himself on the other side to await a second attack. The horse crossed the arena, with the intestines hanging and hitting its legs with every step ; the bull followed it for a mo- ment, and then stopped. At that point the blast of a trumpet was heard ; it was the signal for the pica- dores to retire, a door opened, and they galloped off one after the other ; two horses were killed, and, here and there, were streaks and splashes of blood, which two chtdos covered with earth.
After \h^ picadores came the bafiderilleras. For the profane this is the part of the spectacle most amus- ing, because least cruel. The banderillas are arrows, two palms in length, ornamented with colored paper, furnished with a metallic point, made in such a way that, once stuck in the flesh, they cannot be de- tached, and the bull, struggling and shaking himself, only drives them farther in. The banderillero takes two of the darts, one in each hand, and goes and takes his stand about fifteen paces from the bull ; then raising his arms, and shouting, he provokes him to the assault. The bull dashes toward him ; the banderillero. in his turn, runs toward the bull ; the latter lowers its head to run its horns into his
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body, and the man plants the banderiUas in its neck, one here and one there, and, with a rapid whirl, saves himself. If he bends, if his foot slips, if he hesitates an instant, he will be pierced like a toad. The bull bellows, snorts, leaps, and begins following the capeadores with a terrible fury ; in a moment all have sprung into the walk ; the arena is empty ; the wild beast, with foaming nostrils, bloodthirsty eyes, neck streaked with blood, stamps the ground, strug- gles, strikes the barrier, demands revenge, wishes to kill, and is thirsting for a massacre ; no one attempts to confront him ; the spectators fill the air with cries.
** Forward ! courage ! "
The other banderillero advances, plants his arrow, then a third, then once more the first. That day eight were planted ; when the poor brute felt the last two, he uttered a long bellow, agonized and hor- rible, and dashed after one of his enemies, followed him to the barrier, took the leap with him, and fell into the walk ; the ten thousand spectators arose to their feet in an instant, crying : *' He has killed him! " But the banderillero had escaped. The bull ran backward and forward between the two barriers, under a shower of blows with sticks and fists, until he reached an open door which led into the arena ; the door was closed behind as he passed through it. Then all the banderilleros and all the capeadores dashed toward him again ; one, passing behind him, pulled his tail, and disappeared like lightning ; an- other, rushing past him, dropped his capa around his horns ; a third had the audacity to go and take off with one hand the little silk ribbon which was at- tached to the mane ; a fourth, bolder than all, planted a pole in the ground while the bull was running, and
1 66 SPAIN.
took a leap, passing over him and falling on the other side, throwing the pole between the legs of the astonished animal. All this was done with the rapidity of magicians and the grace of ballet-dancers, just as if they were playing with a lamb. Mean- while the immense crowd made the circus resound with laughter, applause, and cries of joy, surprise, and terror.
Another trumpet sounds ; the banderilleros have finished : now comes the espadds turn. It is the solemn moment, the crisis of the drama ; the crowd becomes silent, the ladies lean out of their boxes, the king rises to his feet. Frascuelo, holding ni^ne hand his sword and the muleta, which, is a piece ^of red stuff attached to a little stick, enters the atpdki presents himself before the royal box, rajses his:4ea|>i and consecrates to the king, in pronouncing sorfi^ poetical phrase, the bull which he is goihg to^Jcyil then throws his cap up into the air, as 3" to -siay: { '* I will conquer or die ! " and, followed try thel^-j perb cortege of capeadores, he moves witb-resiwirte step toward the bull. Here follows a genuine hand- to-hand struggle, worthy of a canto by Homer. On one side the animal, with its terrible horns, its enor- mous strength, its thirst for blood, maddened by pain, blinded by fury, surly, bleeding, and frightful ; on the other, a youth of twenty, dressed like a bal- let-dancer, alone, without any means of defense save the light sword in his hand. But he has ten thou* sand glances fastened upon him ! The king is pre- paring a gift! His sweetheart is up there in a box with her eyes fixed upon him ! A thousand ladies tremble for his life ! The bull stops and looks at him ; he looks at the bull, and waves his red cloth before him ; the bull dashes under it, the espada
MADRID. 167
Steps aside, the terrible horns graze his hip, hit the cloth, and strike empty space. A thunder of ap- plause bursts from all the seats, boxes, and galleries. The ladies look on with opera-glasses, and cry : *' He has not paled ! " Then follows a silence ; not a voice nor a whisper is heard. The audacious torero waves the mtileta several times before the eyes of the infuriated animal, passes it over his head, be- tween his horns, around his neck ; makes him recede, advance, turn, jump ; provokes attacks ten times, and ten times by a slight movement escapes death. He lets his muleta fall, picks it up under the eyes of the bull, laughs in his face, provokes him, insults him, and amuses himself. Suddenly he stops, puts himself on his guard, raises the sword, takes aim ; the bull looks at him ; another instant, and they will dash at each other ; one of the two must die. Ten thousand glances run with the rapidity of lightning from the point of the sword to end of the horns ; ten thousand hearts beat with anxiety and terror ; every face is motionless ; not a breath is heard ; the immense crowd seem petrified, — another instant, — the moment has arrived! The bull dashes forward ; the man raises the sword ; one single loud cry, fol- lowed by a burst of tempestuous applause, which breaks out on every side ; the sword has been buried up to its hilt in the neck of the bull ; the bull staggers, and, emitting a torrent of blood from its mouth, falls as if struck by lightning. The man has conquered! Then ensues an indescribable tumult ; the multitude seem crazed; all rise to their feet, waving their hands and uttering loud shouts ; the ladies wave their handkerchiefs, clap their hands, shake their fans ; the band plays ; the victorious espada approaches the barrier, and makes the circuit of the arena.
1 68 SPAII^.
As he passes, from the seats, boxes, and galleries, the spectators, carried away by enthusiasm, throw him handfuls of cigars, purses, canes, hats, — even* thing, in fact, upon which they can lay their hands. In a few moments the fortunate torero has his arms filled with things, calls to his assistance the capeadorcs. throws back the hats to their owners, thanks them, responds as best he can to the salutations, praises, and glorious titles which are showered upon him from all sides, and finally arrives under the royal box. Then all eyes turn toward the king, who puts his hand into his pocket, draws out a cigar-case full of bank-notes, and throws it down ; the torero catches it in the air, and the multitude burst out into applause. Meanwhile the band plays a funeral air for the bull ; a door opens, four immense mules, ornamented with plumes, bows, and yellow and red ribbons, driven by a body of chulos who shout and crack their whips, enter on a gallop, drag away, one after the other, the dead horses and then the bull, which is instantly carried into a neighboring little square, near the circus, where it is waited for by a troop of ragamuffins, who dip their fingers into the blood ; then it is skinned, cut up, and sold. When the arena is cleared the trumpets sound, a drum is beaten, another bull dashes out of the cage, attacks the picadores, tears open the bellies of the horses, offers its neck to the banderiUas, is killed by the espada\ and so six bulls present themselves in the arena, one after the other, without any interruption.
How many shocks, how many shudders, how many chills at the heart, and rushes of blood to the head you feel during that spectacle ! How many sud- den pallors. But you, stranger, you alone, grow pale; the boy who sits beside you laughs ; the girl in front
MADRID. 169
of you is wild with joy ; the lady whom you see in
the neighboring box says she never enjoyed herself
so much before! What shouts! What exclamations!
That is the place to learn the language ! The bull
appears, is judged by a thousand voices : ** What a
handsome head ! What eyes ! He will draw blood !
He is worth a fortune ! " They call out phrases of
love. ** He has killed a horse : Bueno I See how
much he has dragged from the belly ! " A picador
misses his aim and awkwardly wounds the bull, or
hesitates to confront it ; then comes a deluge of
opprobrious epithets: ** Lazy creature! Impostor!
Assassin ! Go and hide yourself! Let yourself be
killed! " All rise to their feet, -point their fingers at
him, shake their fists, throw orange-peel and the
stubs of cigars in his face, and threaten him with a
stick. When the espada kills the bull at the first
blow, then follow the words of a lover, wild with
delight, and the gestures of madmen : " Come here,
angel ! God bless you, Frascuelo ! " They throw
him kisses, call him, and stretch out their hands as
if to embrace him. What a profusion of epithets,
bon-mots, and proverbs! How much fire! How
much life !
But I have said nothing save of the doings of the bull ; in an entire corrida a thousand accidents occur. During that day a bull drove his head under the belly of the horse, raised horse and rider, and carried them in triumph across the arena, and threw them on to the ground like a bundle of rags. Another bull killed four horses in a few moments ; a third used a picador so badly that he fell, struck his head against the barrier, fainted, and was carried away. But not even for this, or yet for serious wounds, or even the death of a torero is the spec-
I/O SPAIN.
tacle interrupted ; the programme says so ; if one dies there is another ready to take his place. The bull does not always attack ; there are some cow- ardly ones, who go toward the picador, stop, and, after a moment of hesitation, run off; others, after the first assault, make no second one ; others, mild and good tempered, do not respond to the provoca- tions, allow \h^ picador to get on to them, permit the lances to be planted in their necks, retreat, and shake their heads as if to say : " I do not wish to! " fly, and then turn suddenly to look with astonishment at the band of capeadores who are following him, as if to ask : *' What do you wish of me ? What have I done to you ? Why do you wish to kill me ? " Then the crowd break out into imprecations against the bull, against the impresario, against the toreros ; and then, first, the dilettanti of the ToriL then the spectators on the sunny part, then the gentlemen on the shady side, then the ladies, and finally, all the spectators of the circus cry out in one voice : '' Banderillas de fticgo!'' The cry is directed to the alcade ; the banderillas of fire serve to infuriate the bull. They are baftderillas furnished with a cracker, which lights at the moment it penetrates the flesh, and burns the wound, causing atro- cious pain, which stuns and irritates the animal to the point of changing him from a coward into a brave creature, and from a quiet one into a fury. The permission of the alcaid is necessary in order to use the ba?tderillas de fuego ; if the alcaid hesi- tates to give it, all the spectators rise to their feet, and there is a wonderful sight One sees ten thou- sand handkerchiefs waving like the banners of ten regiments of lancers, and they form from the boxes of the arena, all around, a white billowy stratum under which the crowd almost disappears ; and ten
MADRIV, 171
thousand voices cry: **Ftugo/ ftiego! fuego!*^ Then the alcaid yields ; but if he is persistent in his *'no," the handkerchiefs disappear, fists and sticks are raised, and curses break out : " Don't be a fool! Don't spoil our fun! Las banderiUas al alcalde. Fuego al alcalde ! "
The agony of the bull is tremendous. Sometimes the torero does not aim well, and the sword goes in up to the hilt, but not in the direction of the heart. Then the bull begins to run around the arena with the sword sticking in his flesh, uttering terrible bellows, shaking and twisting himself in a thousand ways, to free himself from that torture ; and, in that impetu- ous course, sometimes the sword flies away ; some- times, it is driven further in, and causes death. Often the espada is obliged to give him a second thrust, not infrequently a third, occasionally a fourth. The bull bleeds profusely ; all the capas of the cape- adores are covered with blood, the espada is spat- tered, the barrier besprinkled, and the indignant spectators overwhelming the torero with reproaches. Sometimes the bull is seriously wounded, falls to the ground, but does not die, and lies there immov- able, with its head high, and menacing, as if to say : ** Come on, assassins, if you have courage ! " Then the combat is finished ; the agony must be short- ened ; a mysterious man bestrides the barrier, ad- vances cautiously, places himself behind the bull, and, at the proper moment, gives him a blow from a dagger on his head, which penetrates to the brain, and kills him. Often even this blow does not suc- ceed : the mysterious man gives two, three, four ; then the indignation of the people breaks loose like a tempest ; they call him a brute, a coward, an in- famous creature, wish his death, and, if they had
172 SPAJJ^.
him in their hands, they would strangle him like a dog. At other times the bull, wounded mortally, staggers a little before falling, slowly withdraws from the spot where he was struck to go and die in peace in a quiet corner ; all the toreros follow him slowly, count his steps, and measure the progress of his final agony ; a profound silence accompanies his last moments, and his death has something solemn and majestic about it. There are uncon- querable bulls, who will not bow their heads sav^e in; drawing their last breath ; bulls whir^h, while shedding torrents of blood through their mouths, still threaten ; bulls which, pierced by ten blow^s oi the sword, beaten and bloodless, again raise their necks with a superb movement, which makes the body of their tormentors recede half way across the arena ; bulls which suffer an agony more frightful than their first fury : they lacerate the dead horses, break the barriers, paw furiously the capas scattered over the arena, leap into the walk, run around with their heads held high, looking at the spectators with an air of defiance, then fajl, rise again, and die bel- lowing.
The agony of the horses, of shorter duration, is more painful still. Some have a leg broken ; others are pierced through the neck ; others are instantly killed, by a blow in the chest, without shedding a drop of blood ; others, seized by fear, take to flight, rushing straight on before them, and hitting their heads with a terrible shock against the barriers, then fall dead ; others struggle for a long time, in a pool of blood, before dying ; others, wounded, bleed- ing, maimed, gallop around in a frenzy, run toward the bull, fall down as if dead, rise and fight again until they are carried away torn to pieces, but living.
MADRID. 1 7i
Then the intestines are replaced, the belly sewed up, and they serve again ; others, frightened, at the approach of the bull, tremble all over, paw the ground, recoil, neigh, and do not wish to die ; these are the ones which arouse the most pity. Some- times a single bull kills five ; sometimes, in one corrida, twenty die, all the picadores are covered with blood, the arena is scattered with smoking in- testines, and the bulls are tired of killing.
Even the toreros, have their disagreeable m(j- ments. The picadores sometimes, instead of fall- ing under the horse, fall between the horse and the bull; then the latter precipitates himself upon them to kill them ; the crowd utter a shriek, but a courageous capeador flings his capa over the brute's eyes, and, imperilling his life, saves that of his companion. Often, instead of dashing at the rrndeta, the bull rushes at the espada, grazes him, strikes him, follows him, and forces him to throw away his sword, and save himself, pale and trembling, on the other side of the barrier. Sometimes he strikes him with his head, and knocks him down ; the espada disappears in a cloud of dust; the crowd cry : ** He is dead ! " the bull passes, and the espada is saved. Some- times the bull raises him with his head, and throws him to one side. Not infrequently the bull will not let him take aim with the sword ; the matador does not succeed in hitting in front ; and, as he is not al- lowed to wound him, according to the law, except in a given place, in a certain way, he tries in vain for a long time, and, growing weary, gets confused, and runs the risk of being killed a hundred times. Meantime, the crowd shrieks, hisses, and insults him ; until the poor man, made desperate, resolves to slay, or die, and gives a blow at random, which
1 74 SPAIN.
is either successful, and he is raised to heaven, or. failing, he is vituperated, derided, showered with orange-peel, even if he be the bravest, most intrepid, and renowned torero of Spain.
In the crowd, too, during the spectacle, many ac- cidents occur. From time to time a dispute arises among two of the spectators. Pressed together as the people are, some blow of a stick hits the neigh- bors ; the neighbors seize their canes and begin beating too. The circle of beaters enlarges, the quarrel extends throughout the rows of seats ; in a few moments, there are hats in the air, cravats in pieces, bloody faces, deafening cries, all the specta- tors on their feet, the guards in motion, and the toreros, from actors become spectators. At other times, a group of young men will turn, for a joke, all in one direction and cry :
'* There he is!" —
-Who?"
No one ; but meanwhile the spectators rise, the farthest off jump on to their chairs, the ladies lean out of the boxes, and in a moment the whole circus is in disorder. Then the group of young men break into a laugh ; their neighbors, in order not to apf>ear like fools, do the same, and the laugfhter extends through box and gallery, and ten thousand persons join in it. Sometimes, a stranger, who sees the bull-fight for the first time, faints away ; the news spreads like lightning, every one rises, every one looks, every one shouts, and the greatest tumult is made. Often it is a facetious person who salutes his friend on the opposite side of the theatre in a voice which is like a clap of thunder. That great crowd is stirred in a few moments by a thousand conflicting emotions; it passes from terror to enthu
MADRID, 175
siasm, from enthusiasm to pity, from pity to anger, from anger to joy, astonishment, and incontroUable gayety in ceaseless rotation.
The impression, in fine, that this spectacle leaves upon the mind is indescribable ; it is a mixture of sensations in which it is impossible to comprehend anything clearly. One does not know what to think of it. At certain moments, you are horrified and would like to fly from the circus, and you swear never to return there again ; at others, you are as- tonished, carried away, almost intoxicated, and do not wish the spectacle ever to end. Now you feel ill ; now, even you, like your neighbors, break out into a laugh, a shout, or applause ; the blood makes you shudder, but the marvellous courage of the men rouses you; the danger tightens your heart-strings, but you exult in the victory ; little by little the fever which moves the crowd takes possession of you ; you no longer recognize yourself, you have become another personality. You, too, have attacks of anger, ferocity and, enthusiasm ; you feel yourself vigorous and bold; the combat fires your blood; the glancing of the sword makes you shiver; and then those thousands of voices, that uproar, that music, that bellowing, that blood, those profound silences, sud- den bursts of applause, that vast space, that light, those colors, that indescribable something so grand, strong, cruel, and magnificent, bewilders, stuns and excites you.
It is a beautiful sight to see the people leave the circus ; there are ten torrents which pour out of the ten doors, and spread, in a few moments, through the suburb of Salamanca, the Prado, the boulevards of Recoletos, and the street Alcald ; thousands of carriages are waiting in the vicinity of the buildings '
1^6 SPAIN.
for an hour, from every direction in which one looks, nothing is to be seen but a crowd, as far as the eye can reach, and all quiet. Their emotions have ex- hausted them all ; only the sound of their footstej>s is to be heard, and it seems as if the multitude wished to vanish secretly ; a species of sadness un- derlies all the noisy joy of a short time before. I, for my part, on coming out of that circus for the first time, had hardly strength enough to stand ; my head whirled like a top, my ears buzzed ; I saw bulls' horns on every side, with blood-shot eyes, dead horses, and the gleaming of swords. I took the shortest road home, and as soon as I reached there, I jumped into bed and fell into a heavy sleep. The following morning the landlady came in great haste to ask :
** Well ? how did you like it. Were you amused ? Are you going again ? What do you say to it ?"
'' I do not know," I replied. ** It seems as if I had been dreaming ; I will talk to you of it later; I must think it over."
Saturday came, the day before the second bull- fight.
'* Are you going ?" asked the landlady. '' No!" I responded, thinking of something else. I went out, passed through the street of Alcala. found myself, without being aware of it, before the shop where the tickets are sold ; there was a crowd of people ; I said to myself. - Shall I go ?— Yes ?— No ?
'' Do you wish a ticket?" asked a boy ; ** a seat in the shade, number six, near the barrier ; fifteen reales ?"
And I replied, ** Here !"
But in order to understand thoroughly the nature
• «
MADRID, 177
of this spectacle, it is necessary to know something of its history. When the first bull-fight took place, there is no means of ascertaining with any certainty ; tradition narrates, however, that it was the Ctd Cam- peador who was the first cavalier to descend with the lance into the arena, and kill, on horseback, the formidable animal From that time to this, young nobles dedicated themselves with great ardor to this exercise ; at all the solemn festivals there were bull- fights, and to the nobility alone was conceded the honor of fighting ; kings themselves went into the arena ; during all the mediaeval ages this was the favorite spectacle of the courts, and the favorite ex- ercise of warriors, not alone among the Spanish, but also among the Arabs, both of whom vied with each oth.er in the bull-arena, as they would on the field of battle. Isabella the Catholic wished to prohibit bull-fighting, because, having seen it once, she was horrified thereat ; but the numerous and powerful partisans of the spectacle dissuaded her from carry- ing^ this intention into effect. After Isabella, the bull-fights increased. Charles V himself killed a bull in the largest square in Valladolid. Ferdinand Pizzaro, the celebrated conqueror of Peru, was a valiant torero ; the King Don Sebastian of Portugal won more than one laurel in the arena; Philip III had the circus of Madrid oritamented ; Philip IV fought there ; Charles II protected the art ; under the reign of Philip V several circuses were built by the order of the government. But the honor of act- ing as torero belonged exclusively to the nobility ; no one did this except on horseback, and with beau- tiful horses, and yet no blood save that of the bull was shed. Only toward the middle of the last cen- tury did the art extend to the common people, and
178 SPAIN.
the toreros (really called artists of the profession, who fought on horseback and on foot) begin to exist The famous Francisco Romero de Ronda perfected the art of fighting on foot, introduced the custom of killing the bull, face to face, with the sword and muleta, and made the rules and regulations for the art. From that time to the present the spectacle became a national one, and the people rushed to it with en- thusiasm. The King Charles III prohibited it ; but his prohibition only served to convert the popular enthusiasm, as a Spanish chronicler declares, into a perfect epidemic. King Ferdinand VII, a passion- ate admirer of bulls, instituted a school for the art at Seville. Isabella II was more enthusiastic on the subject than Ferdinand VII ; Amadeus I was not less so than Isabella II. And now there is more bull-fighting than ever in Spain ; more than one hundred great landowners raise bulls for this purpose ; Madrid, Seville, Barcelona, Cadiz, Valen- cia, Terez, and Porto de Santa Maria have first-class bull circuses ; and there are no less than fifty little circuses capable of holding from three to nine thou- sand spectators. In every village where there is no circus the corridas are held in the squares. At Madrid they take place every Sunday, in the other cities as often as possible ; and everywhere there is an immense concourse of people from the neighbor- ing cities, villages, country, mountains, islands, and even from out of the country. Not all Spaniards are wild about this spectacle, it is true ; many never attend it ; not a few disapprove of it, condemn it, and would like to have it banished from Spain ; some journalists raise a protest against it from time to time ; some deputies, the day after the killing of a torero, talk of a petition to the government ; but
Madril. 179
all these enemies are timid and weak. On the other hand, apologies are written for the bull-fights, new circuses are built, the old ones are repaired, and they deride strangers who c«^y out against Spanish bar- barity.
It is not only during the summer that the bull- fights are held, nor 's the spectacle always equal. During the winter there is a representation every Sunday in the circus at Madrid ; they are not the handsome and fiery bulls of the summer, nor the great artists whom Spain admires, that take part at this season ; but only small bulls of little spirit, and toreros who are not yet proficients in the art. Yet there is a spectacle by some means or other, and although the king does not attend it, nor the flower of the citizens, as during the summer, the circus is always filled with people. Little blood is shed ; only two bulls are killed ; the affair ends with fireworks ; and is an amusement, as the impassionate admirers say, fit for servants and children. There is an episode, however, in the winter spectacles, which is quite vjntertaining. When the toreros have killed the toros de nitierle, the arena remains at the dis- posal of the dilettanti, and people leap into in on all sides. In a moment there are a hundred workmen, students, and ragamuffins, some with a cloak in their hands, some with a shawl, others with any kind of a rag, gathered on the left and the right of the torily ready to receive the bull. The door opens, a bull with his horns bound up, dashes into the arena, and then begins an indescribable kind of hurly-burly ; the crowd surround him, follow him, draw him here and there, capeo him with their cloaks and shawls, and provoke and torment him in a thousand ways, until the poor animal, not being able to bear it any
1 80 sPaM.
longer, is allowed to leave the arena, and another takes his place.
It is incredible the audacity with which those boys dash under him, pull him by the tail, jump on to his back, and incredible the agility with which they avoid the blows. Sometimes, the bull turning suddenly, hits some one, knocks him down, throws him into the air, or raises him on his horns ; at times he overturns a half dozen, and bull and man disappear in a cloud of dust, and the spectator fears for an instant that some one has been killed. Not the slighest danger of it. The intrepid cape- adoreSy with bruised bones and dusty faces, shrug their shoulders and begin again. Nor is this the finest episode of the winter's spectacle. Sometimes, instead of the toreros, the toreros (women) confront the bull ; women who are dressed like tight- rop)e dancers, with faces, before which, not the angels, but Lucifer himself would
'' Make a shield for his eyes with his wings."
The picddoras are mounted on mules ; the espada (the one whom I saw was an old woman of sixty, called la Martina, an Asturian, known in all the cir- cuses of Spain), the espada on foot, with a rapier and muleta, like the most intrepid matador of the stronger sex ; all the ctiadrilla accompanied by a body of c/uilos with great wigs and humps. Those poor unfortunate women risk their lives for forty lire. A bull, the day I was present, broke the arm of one of the banderillera, and so tore the shirt of another, that she was left in the middle of the arena with scarcely clothing enough to cover her decently.
After the women, the wild animals. At different
MADRID. l8l
times they made the bull-fight with bears and tigers. A few years ago one of these combats took place in the circus at Madrid. The one which Count Duke de Olivares ordered, to celebrate the birthday (if I remember rightly) of Don Baltasar Carlos of Austria, prince of the Asturias, is noted. The bull fought with the Hon, the tiger, the leopard, and con- quered them all. Also in a combat, of a few years ago, the tiger and the Hon had the worst of it. Both of them dashed impetuously on to the bull, but before they succeeded in getting their teeth into his neck, they fell to the ground in a pool of blood, pierced^ by his terrible horns. Only one elephant, an enormous elephant, who still lives in the gardens of the Recoletos, carried off the victory. The bull attacked him ; the latter did nothing but put his head on to its back and press, and this pressure was so delicate that the unfortunate assaulter was crushed like a croquette. But it is pleasant to im- agine what dexterity, courage, and imperturbable tranquility of mind is needed by the man who con- fronts with a sword, the animal which kills a Hon, attacks an elephant, and which crushes, breaks, overturns, and covers with blood every thing that it touches. And there are men who confront them every day.
The toreros are not merely artists, as any one might suppose, who are to be classed with jugglers, etc., and for whom the people entertain no other feeling than that of admiration. The torero is re- spected even outside the circus, enjoys the protec- tion of the young aristocracy, goes to the theatre in a box, frequents the finest caf^s of Madrid, and is saluted in the streets with a low bow by persons of taste. The iUustrious espaday like Frascuelo, Lagar-
1 82 sPAm.
tijo, and Cayetano, earn the delightful sum of ten thousand francs a year, own villas and houses, live in sumptuous apartments, dress superbly, spend loads of crowns on their silvered and gilded dresses, travel like princes, and smoke Havana cig^ars. Their dress, outside the circus, is very curious ; it consists of an Orsini hat of black velvet, a tight- fitting jacket, which is left unbuttoned and does not reach the trousers, waistcoat open to the waist, which displays a very fine white shirt, no cravat, a sash of red or blue silk around the hips, a pair of breeches fitting the legs like the stockings of the ballet dancers, a pair of morocco shoes ornamented with embroidery, a little braid of hair hanging down the back ; then gold buttons, chains, diamonds, rings, trinkets, in fact, an entire jewelry iestablish- ment on their persons. Many of them keep saddle horses, some carriages, and when theyi ^re not fighting, they are always wandering around the Prado, Puerta del Sol, in the gardens of Reco- letos, with their wives or sweethearts '.who are superbly dressed, and regard them with *amocous pride. Their names, faces, and gestures are more noted by the people than those of the commanders of the army or the ministers of State. Toreros in comedy, toreros in ballads, toreros in pictures, toreros in the shop windows, statues representing toreros^ fans with the portraits of /^r^r^^, handkerchiefs with ^^' ures o( toreros diVG to be seen over and over again on all sides. The profession of torero is the most lucrative and the most honored one to which the courageous sons of the people can aspire. Many, in fact, dedi- cate themselves to it. But very few are successful ; the majority of them remain mediocre capeadores ; few reach the point of being banderilleros of note.
'.^-.^h
fewer still celebrated picadores ; and only the chosen few of nature and fortune become great espadas ; one must come into the world with that talent ; one is born an espada as one is born a poet. Very few are killed by the bull, one could count the number on his fingers for a length of time ; but the maimed and wounded and those reduced to a state where they can no longer fight are innumerable. One sees them throughout the city with sticks and crutches, some without arms, others without legs. The famous Tato, who was the first of the contempo- raneous toreros, lost a leg ; during the few months that I was in Spain, a banderillero was half killed at Seville, a picador was seriously wounded at Mad- rid, Lagartijo was hurt, and three amateur capeadores were killed in one village. There is scarcely a torero who has not shed sQj^e bipod in the arena.
Before leaving l^^drid J wished to ti^lk with the celebrated Frascuplo, the .prince . of the <?^^a^^j^, the idol of the peoplelof Madrid^ the gk)ryx)f the art. A Genoese, the captain of a ship^ who knew him, took it upon himself to make the, presentation. We set- tled the day and met in the imperial caf^ of the Puerta del SoL I feel like laughing 'when I think of the emotion I experienced in seeing him appear in the distance, and come toward us. He was dressed very richly, loaded with trinkets, and gleaming like a general in full uniform ; he crossed the caf6, a thousand heads turned to look at him, at my friend and me ; I felt myself growing pale !
** Here is Signor Salvador Sanchez," said the cap- tain (Frascuela is a surname), and then presenting me to Frascuela, he said :
" This is Signor so-and-so, one of your admirers." The illustrious matador bowed, I did the same.
1 84 sPAm.
and then we sat down and began to converse. What a strange man ! To hear him talk one would say that he had not the heart to stick a pin through a fly. He is a young fellow of twenty-five, about me- dium height, quick, dark, handsome, with a firm, eye, and the smile of an absent-minded man. I asked him a thousand questions about his art and his life ; he spoke in monosyllables, so that I was obliged to draw him out word by word through a series of ques- tions. He replied to the compliments with a modest glance at his feet. I asked him if he had ever been wounded ; he touched his knee, hip, shoulder, chest, and said : " Here, here, here, and here," smiling all the time with the simplicity of a child. He wrote down the address of his house, asked me to call and see him, gave me a cigar, and went away. Three days later, at the bull-fight, I was in a place near the barrier ; he passed before me to pick up the cigars which the spectators had thrown him. I flung him one of those cigars from Milan, wrapped in straw; he took it, looked at it, smiled, and ti-ied to discover who had thrown it : I made him a sign, and he ex- claimed :
''Ah / the Italian^
I seem to see him yet ; he wore an ash -colored costume, covered with gold embroidery, and one hand was stained with blood . . .
Now for a final opinion on the subject of the bull- fights ! Are they or are they not a barbarous thing, unworthy of a civilized people ? Are they, or are they not a spectacle which ruins the heart 1 Now for an honest opinion ! An honest opinion ? I do not wish, in replying in a certain way, to draw down upon my devoted head a shower of invectives, and, in another, be hauled over the coals, so I am bound
MADRID, 185
to confess that I went to the circus every Sunday. I have described the affair, and the reader knows as much about it as I do, let him decide therefore, and allow me the privilege of keeping silent about the matter.
I saw at Madrid the famous funeral ceremony which is celebrated every year on the second of May, in honor of the Spaniards who died fighting, or were killed by the arms of the French soldiers, seventy-five years ago, on that tremendous day which filled Europe with horror, and caused the out- break of the War of the Independence.
At dawn the cannon sounded, and in all the par- ish churches of Madrid, and before an altar erected beside the monument, they began to celebrate mass, which was kept up until evening. The ceremony consists in a solemn procession which generally starts in the neighborhood of the royal palace, assists at a sermon in the church of St. Isidore, where the bones of the dead reposed until 1840, and then proceeds to the monument to hear mass.
In all the streets through which the procession was to pass, were stationed battalions of volunteers, regiments of infantry, squadrons of cuirassiers, civil guards on foot, the artillery, and cadets. On every side drums and trumpets sounded and the bands played ; . in the distance one could see above the crowd, the continuous waving of generals* hats, ad- jutants' plumes, banners, and swords ; from all the different streets came the carriages of the Senate and Cortes, as large as triumphal chariots, gilded down to the wheels, lined with velvet and silk, overloaded with fringes and bows, and drawn by superb, plumed
i86 iPAii;.
horses. The windows of all the houses were oriicl- mented with tapestries and flowers ; all the popula- tion of Madrid was in motion.
I saw the procession pass through the street AI- cala. First came the huntsmen of the civil militia on horseback ; then the boys belonging to all the colleges, asylums, and charitable institutions of Madrid, two by two, in thousands ; then the inva- lids of the service, some with crutches, some with bound heads, others supported by their comrades, others still, decrepid and almost carried ; then sol- diers and generals in old uniforms, their breasts covered with trinkets and ribbons, wearing long swords and plumed hats ; then a crowd of officers of all the corps, gleaming in gold and silver, and dressed in a thousand colors ; these followed by other employes of the State, the deputies from the prov- inces, members of Congress and senators. Then came the heralds of the municipality and chambers, with ample velvet togas and silver maces ; then all the municipal employes, the Alcaids of Madrid, clothed in black, with medals at their necks ; at last, the king, dressed as a general, on foot, accompanied by the Syndic, captain-general of the provinces, generals, ministers, deputies, ordnance officers, and aides-de-camp, all with uncovered heads. The pro- cession was closed by the hundred mounted guards, gleaming like warriors of the mediaeval ages, the royal guards on foot, with great fur caps in the style of the Napoleonic guards, red swallow-tail coats, white trousers, two large shoulder belts crossed on the breast, leggings reaching their knee-s, swords, bows, cordons, clasps, and trinkets ; then more vol- unteers, infantry soldiers, the artillery, and people. - All walked with slow, measured pace, the bands
MADRID. 187
played, and the bells rang ; the populace was silent, and that gathering of children, mendicants, priests, magistrates, mutilated veterans, and grandees of Spain, presented a lovely and magnificent appear- ance, which inspired at the same time a feeling of tenderness and reverence.
The procession emerged upon the Prado, and pro- ceeded toward the Monument. The avenues, fields, and gardens were full of people. The ladies were standing up in their carriages, on chairs and the stone seats, with children in their arms ; there were people in the trees and on the roofs ; at every step there were banners, funeral inscriptions, lists of the victims of the second of May, poems fastened to the stalks of plants, newspapers edged with black, prints representing episodes of the massacre, gar- lands, crucifixes, small tables upon which were placed vases for alms, lighted candles, por- traits. Statuettes, and playthings for children with the picture of the monument. Everywhere souve- nirs of 1808, signs of mourning, rejoicing, and war. The men were all dressed in black ; the women in holiday costume, with long trains and veils ; there were crowds of peasants from all the villages, in their festival dress, and in the midst of all this crowd rose the deafening cries of water-venders, guards, and officers.
The Monument of the second of May, which rises on the spot where the greater number of Spaniards were shot, although its artistic value does not equal its fame, is, to make use of an ordinary but significant expression, imposing. It is simple, bare, and even heavy, and lacking in grace when compared with others ; but it arrests one's attention even if one does not know what it is ; for at first
i88 SPaIS
sight one understands that some extraordinary event must have occurred in that place. Above an octagonal granite base of four steps, rises a grand sarcophagus, square in form, covered with inscrip- tions, coats of arms, and a bas-relief which repre- sents the two Spanish officers killed on the second of May in the defence of the Artillery Park. On the sarcophagus rises a pedestal in doric style, upon which are four statuettes that symbolize love of country, valor, constancy, and virtue. In the midst of the statues rises a tall obelisk, upon which is written in characters of gold : Dos de Mayo. Around the monument extends a circular garden, intersected by eight avenues that converge toward the centre ; every avenue is flanked by cypresses and the garden is enclosed by an iron railing, sur- rounded in its turn by marble steps. That group of cypresses, that enclosed and solitary gardeh in the centre of the gayest promenade of Madrid, is like a picture of the dead in the midst of the joys of life. One cannot pass without giving it a glance ; one cannot look at it without thinking ; at night, when the moonlight falls on it, it seems like a fan- tastic apparition, and casts around it an air of sad solemnity.
The king arrived, mass was celebrated, all the regiments filed past, and the ceremony terminated. This is the way in which the anniversary of the sec- ond of May has been observed from 1814 up to the present time, with a dignity, an affection, and a vener- ation that not only do honor to the Spanish people, but to the human heart. It is the only national festival in Spain ; it is the only day of the year in which all party hatreds are set aside, and all hearts unite in a common sentiment. Nor is there, in this feel
MADRID. 189
ing, as might be supposed, any bitterness toward France. Spain has cast all the blame of the war and the massacre upon Napoleon and Murat, who were the causes of it ; the French are amicably received like all other strangers ; the unhappy days of May are only spoken of to render honor to the dead and the country ; everything, in this ceremony, is both noble and grand, and before that monument Spain has none but words of pardon and peace.
THE COCK FIGHTS.
Another thing to be seen at Madrid are the cock- fights.
I read one day in the Correspondencia the follow- ing announcement :
" En la funcion que se celebrarit manana en el circo de Gallos de Recoletos, habrit^ entre otras, dos peleas en las que figurardn gallos de los conocidos a£ctonados Francisco Calderon y Don yosl DieZy por to que se espera serit muy animada la diver sion^
The spectacle began at noon, and I attended it. I was struck by the originality and grace of the the- atre. It resembles a kiosk on the hillside of a gar- den ; but it is large enough to hold nearly one thou- sand people. The form is perfectly cylindrical. In the centre rises a species of circular box, rather more than three hands high, covered with a green carpet, and enclosed by a railing the height of those of bal- conies ; it is the battlefield of the cocks. Between the iron rods of the railing extends a fine net- work of wire, which precludes the escape of the comba- tants. Around this kind of cage, the floor of which is the size of a large dining-table, runs a row of arm- chairs, and behind these, a little higher, a second;
IQO SPAIN.
both covered with red cloth. On several of the for- mer is written in large leKers : Presidente — Secre- taria — and other titles of personages who compose the tribunal of the spectacle. Beyond the arm- chairs rise seats in the shape of an amphitheatre, back to the walls, in which opens a gallery, supported by ten slender columns. The light falls from above. The bright red of the chairs, the flowers painted on the walls, the columns, the light, and air, in one word, the theatre has something novel and picturesque about it which pleases and enlivens one. At first sight, it seems as if in that place one ought rather to listen to gay and lovely music than tq witness the combat of beasts.
When I entered, there were a hundred persons present. What kind of people are these ? I asked of myself. And really the audience of the cock-circus resembles that of no other theatre ; it is a mixture, sui generis, which is only to be seen at Madrid. There are no women, boys, soldiers, nor workmen, because it is a work-day and an inconvenient hour ; yet, nevertheless, one notices there a greater variety of faces, dresses, and attitudes than in any other public gathering. They are all people who have nothing to do the entire day long ; they are comedi- ans, with long hair and bald heads ; toreros (C'dlderon, the famous picador, was there) with their red sashes around their waists ; students, bear- ing on their faces the traces of a night passed at gambling ; cock merchants, elegant young men, old gentlemen amateurs, dressed in black, with black gloves and large cravats. These surround the cage. Farther on are rari nantes, some English, some block- heads, of the kind which are seen everywhere, ser- vants of the circus, a courtesan, and a civil guard. Between the foreigners and the guard, are the others
MADklD. 191
— ^gentlemen, toreros, shopkeepers, and comedians, all of whom know eac^ other, and discuss, in one voice, among themselves, the quality of the cocks which have been announced in the programme of the spectacle, the wagers of the preceding day, the accidents of the combat, the claws, feathers, spurs, wings, beaks, and wounds, making use of the very rich terminology of the art, and citing rules, exam- ples, cocks of former times, famous struggles, win- nings, and losses.
The spectacle began at the appointed hour. A man presented himself in the middle of the circus with a paper in his hand, and when he began to read all were silent. He read a series of numbers that indicated the weight of the different pairs of cocks which were to fight, because none of the pairs are al- lowed to outweigh a standard determined upon by the cock-fighting code. The chatting began again, then suddenly ceased. Another man with two boxes in his arms came forward, opened a gate in the railing, mounted the platform, and fastened the boxes to the two ends of the scales hanging from the ceiling. Two witnesses convinced themselves that the weight was nearly equal, all sat down, the presi- dent took his place, the secretary cried, Silencio ! — the weigher and another servant each took a box, and placing them at the opposite gates on the rail- ing, opened them together. The cocks came out, the gates were closed, and the spectators preserved a profound silence for some moments.
They were two Andalusian cocks of English breed, to make use of the curious definition given me by one of the spectators. They were tall, slender, straight as arrows, with a long and very flexible neck, completely without feathers behind, and from
1$^ SPAM.
the chest up ; they had no crest, a small head, and a pair of eyes which revealed their warlike character. The spectators look at them without a word. The aficionados (amateurs) in those few moments judge from the color, shape, and movements of the two which one will probably be the victor ; then offer their wagers. It is a judgment, as any one can under- stand, which is very uncertain at best ; but it is just this uncertainty which gives life to the affair ; sud- denly the silence is broken by a burst of shouts :
Un duro (a crown) for the right one / A crown for the left one / Dotie / Three crowns for t/ie dark one / Four crowns for the gray one / Una oma (eighty lire) for the little one / Done / etc.
They are all shouting, waving their hands, mo- tioning to each other with their sticks, bets are ex- changed in every direction, and in a few moments there are a thousand lire at stake.
The two cocks do not look at each other from the beginning. One is turned in one direction, the other in another ; they crow, stretching out their necks toward the spectators, as if they were asking, '* What do you wish ? " Little by little, without giving any signs of having seen each other, they ap- proach ; it seems as if each wished to take the other by surprise. Suddenly, as quickly as a flash, they take a leap with outstretched wings, strike in the air, and fall back, shedding a cloud of feathers around them. After the first blow, they stop, and plant themselves opposite each other, with their necks outstretched and their beaks nearly touching, look- ing fixedly at each other, and quite motionless, as if they wished to poison one another with their eyes. Then they dash at each other again violentiy, ^ter which the assaults succeed each other without any
MADRID. 193
interruption. They wound with their claws, spurs, and beaks ; they clasp each other with their wings, so that they look like one cock with two heads ; they each dash under the other s breast, beat against the iron railing, chase each other, fall, slip, and fly ; lit- tle by little, the blows fall more thickly, more feath- ers fly from their heads, their necks become flame- color, and they lose blood. Then they begin beat- ing each other with their heads, around the eyes, in the eyes ; they tear each other's flesh with the fury of two demoniacs who are afraid of being separated ; it seems as if they knew that one of them must die ; they utter no sound, not even a groan ; nothing is heard but the noise of rustling wings, of breaking feathers, of beaks which are hitting the bone ; and there is not an instant's truce ; it is a fury which ends only in death.
The spectators follow intently all these movements with their eyes, they count the fallen feathers, num- ber the wounds, and the shouting becomes more ex- citing, and the wagers larger :
Five crowns for the little one ! Eight crowns for the gray one ! Twenty crowns for the dark 07ie J Dofie / Done !
At a certain point, one of the two cocks makes a movement that betrays the inferiority of his strength, and begins to give signs of weariness. While still holding out, the blows of the beak become fewer, its cla wings weaker, and its leaps lower ; it seems to understand that it must die ; it does not fight to kill, but not to be killed ; it recedes, flees, falls, ri^es, re- turns only to fall again, and totters as if seized with giddiness. Then the spectacle becomes horrible. In the presence of the enemy, who is surrendering, the victor grows more ferocious ; its peckings fall
194 :SPAIJ^.
thick and fast and pitilessly into the eyes of its vic- tim, with the regularity of a sewing-machine ; its neck stretches out and acts with the vigor of a spring ; its beak seizes the flesh, twists and tears it ; then pen- etrates the wound, and works itself therein, as if searching for its most hidden fibre ; then gives blow upon blow on the head, as if to open the cranium and extract the brain. There are no words which can describe the horror of that continuous, indefati- gable, inexorable pecking. The victim defends itself, escapes, makes the circuit of the cage, with its ad- versary behind, beside, and upon it, as inseparable as a shadow, with its head bowed over that of the fugitive, like a confessor, always pecking, piercing, and lacerating. There is something of the convict, keeper, and executioner about it ; it apears to be saying something in the ear of its victim, and seems to accompany every blow with an insult. There, take that, suffer, die, no ! live, take this, and this, and this ! A little of its sanguinary rage takes posses- sion of you ; that cowardly cruelty awakens in you a mania for revenge ; you would gladly strangle it with your hands, or crush it with your feet. The con- quered cock, all covered with blood, featheiless and tottering, attempts an assault from time to time, gives several pecks, flees, and dashes itself against the iron railing to seek a mode of escape.
Those who are betting grow more excited and shout louder. They can no longer bet on the strug- gle, so they bet on the agony :
Five crowns that it does not make three more at- tacks ! Three crowns that it does "not make five / Four crowns that it docs not make tivo ! Done! Done!
At this point I heard a voice which made me shudder : Es ciego (it is blind).
MADRID. 195
I approached the railing, looked at the conquered cock, and turned away my face with horror. It no longer had any skin or eyes, its neck was only a bloody bone, the head was a skull, the wings, re- duced to two or three feathers, dragged like two rags ; it seemed impossible that, in such a state, it could live and move, for it no longer had any form. Yet those remains, that monster, that skeleton dripping with blood, still defended itself, struggled in the dark, shaking its broken wings like two stumps, stretching out its fleshless neck, moving its skull here and there like a new-born dog, and was so repulsive and horrible that I half closed my eyes so to see it indistinctly. And the victor continued to peck at the wounds, to dig out the eyes, and to hit the bare cranium ; it was no longer a conflict, it was a torment ; it seemed as if the creature wished to pick its victim to pieces without killing it ; at times, when the poor thing remained motionless for a moment, the victor looked down at it with the attention of an anatomist ; at times moved off and looked down with the indiffer- ence of a grave digger, then dashed at it again with the avidity of a vampire, pecked at it, sucked it, and tortured it with fresh vigor. Finally, the dying creature, stopping suddenly, dropped its head as if overcome by sleep, and its executioner, looking at it attentively, desisted from its attacks.
Then the shouting was redoubled ; they could no longer bet on the convulsions of the death agony, so they took wagers on the symptoms of death : Five crowns that it never raises its lie ad ! Two crowns that it does raise it f Three crowns t/iat it raises it twice / Done / Done /
The dying cock slowly raised its head ; the brutal
196 SPAIN.
Victor, quite ready, overwhelmed it with a shower of blows. The shouts burst out again ; the victim made another slight movement, was hit again, shook itself, received another blow still, blood is- sued from its mouth, it tottered and fell. The cow- ardly victor began to crow. A servant comes and carries both of them away.
All the spectators rose and began a noisy conver- sation ; the winners laughing loudly, the losers swearing ; both parties discussing the merits of the cocks and the incidents of the fight. A good fight! Good cocks ! Bad cocks / They are worth nothing ! You do not understand it, sir ! Good! Bad !
Be seated, gentlemen ! shouted the president ; all sat down and another fight began.
I gave a glance at the battle-field, and went out. Some may not believe it, but that spectacle caused me more horror than the first bull-fight. I had no idea of such ferocious cruelty. I did not believe, before seeing it, that a creature, after having ren- dered another powerless, could torture, martyrize and torment it in such a manner, with the fury of hate, and the enjoyment of revenge. I could not believe that the fury of any brute creature could reach a point attained by the most desperate human wicked- ness. To-day still, and a long time has elapsed since then, every time I recall that spectacle, I in- voluntarily turn my head to one side, as if to escape the horrible sight of the dying cock, and I never happen to place my hand on a railing without drop- ping my eyes with the idea of seeing the ground scattered with feathers and blood. Should you go to Spain, take m v ftcj vi(Q.e_; _ .
** Be content, fluftferte people. With the sight of the bulls." /.v - 1 - ^' : .
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THE CONVENT OF THE ESCURIAL.
Before leaving for Andalusia I went to see the famous convent of the Escurial, the leviathan of architecture, the eighth marvel of the world, the greatest mass of granite which exists on earth, and if you wish other grandiose denominations, imagine what you choose, but you will not find any which has not yet been applied to it. I left Madrid early in the morning. The village of the Escurial, which gave the name to the convent, is eight leagues from the city, a short distance from the Guadarrama, and the road crosses an arid and depopulated country, shut in on the horizon by mountains covered with snow. When I reached the station of the Escurial, a fine, cold rain was falling, which made one shiver. From the station to the village there is an ascent of half a mile. I took an omnibus, and a few moments later was landed in a solitary street, flanked on the left by the convent, on the right by the houses of the village, and shut in at the end by the mountain. At first sight one grasps nothing clearly ; one ex- pected to see an edifice, but sees a city, and does not know whether he be inside or outside of the convent. On every side those walls are seen ; one goes on and finds himself in a square, looks around and sees streets, which one scarcely enters before the convent surrounds him, and he has lost the points of the compass, and no longer knows which way to turn.
The first feeling is that of sadness ; the whole building is of dirt-colored stone, and striped with white between the stones ; the roofs are covered
TAt IwlW IrtimfH edifice
with strips of lead earth. The walls
»Pe B^ieny LhsfeAawi par
St. Agnes Branch,
^UBiiC SCHOOLl II 227A B R O A D W A^M
198 SPAIN.
tain a great number of windows which have the ap- pearance of loopholes. One would call it a prison rather than a convent. Everywhere one sees that dark, dead color, and not a living soul ; there is the stillness of an abandoned fortress about it ; and be- yond the black roofs lies the black mountain, which seems to overhang the building, giving to it an air of mysterious solitude. The locality, the forms, the colors, everything, in fact, seems to have been chosen by him who founded the edifice with the in- tention of offering to the eyes of men a sad and sol- emn spectacle. Before entering, you have lost all your gayety ; you no longer smile, but think. You stop at the doors of the Escurial with a sort of trepi- dation, as at the gates of a deserted city; it seems to you that, if the terrors of the Inquisition reigned in some corner of the world, they ought to reign among those walls. You would say that therein one might still see the last traces of it and hear its last echo.
Every one knows that the basilica and convent of the Escurial were founded by Philip 1 1, after the battle of San Quintino, in fulfilment of a vow made to St. Laurence, during the seige, when the beseiged had been forced to bombard a church consecrated to that saint. Don Juan Batista, of Toledo, began the work; Herrera completed it ; and the labor upon it lasted twenty years. Philip II desired that the edifice should present the form of a gridiron, in commemo- ration of the martyrdom of St. Laurence, and such, in fact, is the shape. The foundation is a rectangu- lar parallelogram. At the four corners rise four great square towers with pointed roofs, which repre- sent the four feet of a gridiron ; the church and the royal palace that rise on one side, symbolize the
MADRID, 199
handle ; the interior buildings which join the two longest sides, take the place of the cross-bars. Other minor edifices project beyond the parallelo- gram, at a short distance from the convent, along one of the long sides and one of the courts, and form two great squares ; on the other two sides are gar- dens. Facades, doors, atriums — every thing is in harmony with the grandeur and character of the building ; and it is quite useless to heap description upon description. The royal palace is superb, and it is better to see it before entering the convent and church, in order not to confuse the separate impres- sions produced by each. This palace occupies the north-east corner of the edifice. Several rooms are full of pictures, others are covered from floor to ceil- ing with tapestries, representing bull-fights, public balls, games, ffetes, and Spanish costumes, designed by Goya ;' others are regally furnished and adorned ; the floor, the doors, and the windows are covered with marvellous inlaid work and stupendous gilding. But among all the rooms the most noteworthy is that of PhiHp II ; it is rather a cell than a room, is bare and squalid, with an alcove which answers to the royal oratory of the church, so that, from the bed, by keeping the doors open, one can see the priest who is saying mass. Philip II slept in that cell, had his last illness there, and there he died. One still sees some chairs used by him, two little stools upon which he rested the leg tormented with gout, and a writing-desk. The walls are white, the ceiling flat, and without any ornament, and the floor of brick.
After seeing the royal palace, you leave the build- ing, cross the square, and re-enter by the principal door. A custodian attaches himself to you ; you cross the broad vestibule, and find yourself in the
200 SPAIN.
court- yard of the kings. There you can form a first idea of the immense framework of the edifice. The court is enclosed by walls ; on the side opposite the doors is the facade of the church. On a spacious flight of steps there are six enormous doric columns, each of which upholds a large pedestal, and every pedestal, a statue. There are six colossal statues, by Battiste Monegro, representing Jehoshaphat, Elzekiel. David, Solomon, Joshua, and Manasseh. The court- yard is paved, scattered with bunches of damp turf. The walks look like rocks cut in points ; every- thing is rigid, massive, and heavy, and presents the fantastic appearance of a titanic edifice, hewn out of solid stone, and ready to defy the shocks of earth and the lightnings of heaven. There one begins to understand what the Escurial really is.
One ascends the steps and enters the church.
The interior of the church is sad and bare. Four enormous pilasters of gray granite support the ceil- ing, frescoed by Luca Giordano ; beside the high altar, sculptured and gilded in the Spanish style, in the inter-columns of the two royal oratories, one sees two groups of bronze statues kneeling, with their hands clasped, toward the altar. On the right Charles V, the Empress Isabella, and several prin- cesses ; on the left, Philip II, with his wives. Over the door of the church, thirty feet from the ground, at the end of the principal nave, rises the choir, with two rows of seats, in the Corinthian style, simple in design. In a corner, near a secret door, is the chair which Philip II occupied. He received through that door letters and important messages, without being seen by the priests who were chanting in the choir. This church which, in comparison with the entire building, seems very small, is nevertheless one of the
MADRID. 201
largest in Spain, and although it appears so free from ornamentation, contains immense treasures of marble, gold, relics, and pictures, which the darkness in part conceals, and from which the sad appearance of the edifice distracts one s attention. Beside the thousand works of art that are to be seen in the chapels, in the rooms contiguous to the church, and on the staircases leading to the tribune, there is, in a corridor behind the choir, a stupendous crucifix of Avhite marble, by Benvenuto Cellini, bearing the inscription, Benvenutus Zelinus, civis Florentinus facebat^ 1562. In other portions are pictures of Navarrete and Herrera. But every feeling of sur- prise sinks into that of sadness. The color of the stone, the gloomy light, and the profound silence which surrounds you, recalls your mind incessantly to the vastness, unknown recesses, and solitude of the building, and leaves no room for the pleasure of ad- miration. The aspect of that church awakens in you an inexplicable feeling of inquietude. You would divine, were you not otherwise aware of it, that those walls are surrounded, for a great distance, by nothing but granite, darkness and silence ; without seeing the enormous edifice, you feel it ; you feel that you are in the midst of an uninhabited city ; you would fain quicken your pace in order to see it rapidly, to free yourself from the incubus of that mystery, and to seek, if they exist anywhere, bright light, noise, and life.
From the church you pass through several bare, cold rooms into the sacristy, which is a large arched chamber, in which one wall is entirely covered by wardrobes of very fine wood, variegated, con- taining the sacred ornaments ; the opposite wall by a series of pictures of Ribera, Giordano, Zurbaran,
202 SPAIN.
Tintoretto, and other Italian and Spanish painters ; and at the end is the famous altar of the SafUa/orma^ with the celebrated picture of poor Claude Coello, who died of a broken heart because Luca Giordano was called to the Escurial. The effect of this picture surpasses all imagination. It represents, with life- size figures, the procession which was formed to place the Santa forma in that spot. The sacristy and altar are portrayed, the prior kneeling on the steps, with the wax and sacred wafers in his hands ; around him are the deacons ; on one side Charles II on his knees ; beyond are monks, priests, seminarists, and other faithful ones. The figures are so lifelike and speaking, the perspective so true, the coloring, shade, and light so effective, that upon first entering the sacristy one is apt to mistake the picture for a mir- ror which is reflecting a religious service being per- formed at that moment in a neighboring room. Then the illusion of the figures disappears ; but that of the background of the picture remains, and one is really obliged to go near enough to touch it, in order to convince himself that that is not another sacristy, but a painted canvas. On fete days the can- vas is rolled up, and there appears in the centre of a little chapel a little temple of gilt bronze, in which one sees a magnificent pyx that contains the sacred host, inlaid with ten thousand precious stones, among which are rubies, diamonds, amethysts, and garnets^ set in the form of rays that dazzle one s eyes.
From the sacristy we went to the Pantheon. A custodian with a lighted torch preceded me. We descended a long granite staircase and reached a subterranean door, through which not a ray of light penetrated. Above this door one reads the follow- ing inscription in gilt bronze letters ;
MAMib. 203
"GREAT AND OMNIPOTENT GOD !
" This is a place consecrated by the piety of the Austrian dynasty to the mortal remains of the Catholic kings, who are awaiting the desired day, under the high altar sacred to the Redeemer of man- kind. Charles V, the most illustrious of the Caesars, desired this final resting-place for himself and his lineage ; Philip II, the most prudent of kings, de- signed it ; Philip III, a sincerely pious monarch, be- gan the work; Philip IV, noted for his clemency, constancy, and devotion, enlarged, embellished, and finished it in the year of our Lord 1654."
The custodian entered, I followed him, and found myself in the midst of sepulchres, or rather in a sepulchre dark and cold as the grotto of a moun- tain. It is a small octagonal room, all marble, with a little altar in the wall opposite the door, and in the remaining ones, from the floor to the ceiling, one above the other, are the tombs, distinguishable by ornaments in bronze and bas-relief ; the ceiling cor- responds with the high altar of the church. On the right of the altar are buried Charles V, Philip II, Philip III, Philip IV, Louis I, the three Don Carlos, Ferdinand VII ; on the left, the empresses and queens. The custodian placed his torch near the tomb of Maria Louisa of Savoy, wife of Charles III, and said to me with an air of mystery :
- Read.'"
The marble is striped in different ways ; with a little difficulty I succeeded in discovering five let- ters ; they form the word Luisa, written by the queen herself with the points of her scissors.
Suddenly the custodian extinguished the torch, and we were left in the dark. The blood froze in my veins.
^64 SPAM.
" Light It ! " I cried.
The custodian gave a long and lugubrious laugh, which seemed like the rattle of a dying person, and replied :
- Look !"
I looked ; a very faint ray of light, falling through an aperture near the ceiling, along the wall, almost to the floor, illumined scarcely enough to make them visible, some of the tombs of the queens, and looked like a moonbeam, and the bas-reliefs and bronzes on the tombs gleamed in that ray of strange light, as if they were dripping with water. In that mo- ment I perceived for the first time the odor of that sepulchral air, and a shudder ran over me. I pen- etrated, in imagination, those tombs, and saw all those rigid bodies. I searched for a means of escape above the ceiling, found myself alone in the church, fled from the church and lost myself in the laby- rinths of the convent ; then recovered myself, in the midst of those tombs, and felt that I really was in the heart of that monstrous edifice, in the deep- est portion, in the coldest corner, in the most over- whelming recess. I seemed to myself a prisoner, buried in that great mass of granite, as if everything were gravitating toward me, crushing me on all sides, and closing the exit to me. I thought of the sky, the country, the open air, as I would have done of a remote world, and with an ineffable feel- ing of sadness.
** Sir," said the custodian, solemnly, to me before going out, as he pointed to the tomb of Charles V. ** the emperor is there, just as he was when they laid him there, with his eyes still open, so that he seems alive and about to speak. Who lives will
see.
MADRID. 20^
Saying which, he lowered his voice as if he feared the emperor would hear him, and making a sign of the cross, he preceded me up the staircase.
After the church and the sacristy, one visits the picture-gallery, which contains a great num- ber of works by artists of every nation, not the best of course, because these were carried to the Madrid Museum ; but such as quite merit a half day s visit. From the picture-gallery one goes to the library, passing by the great staircase over which curves an enormous vaulted ceiling, painted in fresco by Luca Giordano. The library is com- posed of a very vast hall, ornamented with great allegorical paintings, and contains more than fifty thousand precious volumes, four thousand of which were presented by Philip II, and beyond this, a room where there is a rich collection of manu- scripts. From the library one goes to the convent.
Here human imagination loses itself. If anyone of my readers has read L Estudiante de Salamanca of Espronceda, he will remember that indefatigable youth, when, in following a mysterious lady whom he met at night at the foot of a tabernacle, he passes through street after street, square after square, alley after alley, turning, twisting, turning again, until he finally reaches a point where he no longer sees the houses of Salamanca, and finds himself in an un- known city. He continues to turn corners, cross squares, traverse streets, and, as he proceeds, the city seems to enlarge, the streets lengthen out, and the alleys grow thicker. He goes on and on with- out rest, and does not know whether he be dream- ing, awake, intoxicated, or insane ; terror seizes his iron heart, and the strangest fancies crowd into his wandering mind. So it is with the stranger in the
206 3PAW.
convent of the Escurial. Pass through a long sub- terranean corridor, so narrow that you can touch the walls with your elbows, low enough almost to hit the ceiling with your head, and as damp as a submarine grotto ; you reach the end, turn, and you are in another corridor. You go on, come to doors, look, and other corridors stretch away before you as far as the eye can reach. At the end of some you see a ray of light, at the end of others an open door, through which you catch a glimpse of a suite of rooms.
From time to time you hear the sound of a step, you stop, and hear it no longer ; then you hear it again ; you do not know whether it is above your head, at the right, left, behind, or before you. You look through a door and start back alarmed ; at the end of that long corridor, into which you have glanced, you have seen a man, as motionless as a spec- tre, who was looking at you. You proceed, and emerge on a narrow court, enclosed by high walls, which is gloomy, overgrown with weeds, and illu- mined by a faint light, which seems to fall from an un- known sun, like the courts of the witches, described to us when we were children. You leave the court, ascend a staircase, come out on a gallery, and look down upon another silent and deserted court. You pass through another corridor, descend another staircase, and find yourself in a third court ; then other corridors, staircases, and suites of empty rooms, and narrow courts, and everywhere there is granite, a pale light, and the silence of a tomb. For a short time you think you would be able to retrace your steps ; then your memory becomes confused, and you remember nothing more ; you seem to have walked ten miles, to have been in that labyrinth for
MADRID. 207
a month, and not to be able to get out of it. You come to a court and say : ** I have seen it already! " but you are mistaken ; it is another. You fancy you ar« in one portion of the building, and you are really in an opposite part. You ask the custodian for the cloister, and he replies : "It is here " — and you keep on walking for a half hour. You seem to be dreaming ; catch glimpses of long frescoed walls, ornamented with pictures, crucifixes, and inscrip- tions; you see and forget; and ask of ^'^urself: " Where am I ? *' You see a strange ligh , do not understand it, and wonder whether it be the effect of the reflection of the granite, or the light of the moon. It proves to be daylight, but it is sadder than that of darkness, and is a false, gloomy, and fantastic light. On you go, from corridor to corri- dor, court to court ; you look ahead with suspicion ; almost expect to see suddenly, at the turning of a corner, a row of skeleton monks, with their hoods drawn over their eyes, and their arms folded ; you think of Philip II, and seem to hear his retreating step through dark hallways ; you remember all that you have read of him, of his treasures, the Inquisi- tion, and all becomes clear to your mind s eye ; you understand everythmg for the first time ; the Escu- rial is Philip II, he is still there, alive, and frightful, and with him the image of his terrible God. Then you would like to rebel, to raise your thoughts to the God of your heart and hopes, and to conquer the mysterious terror which the place inspires in you ; but you cannot do this ; the Escurial sur- rounds, holds, and overwhelms you ; the cold of its stones penetrates to your marrow ; the sadness of its sepulchral labyrinths invades your soul ; if you are with a friend you say : " Let us leave ; " if you were
208 SPAIN.
with your love you would press her to your heart with a feeling of trepidation ; if you were alone you would take flight, At last you mount a staircase, enter a room, go to the window, and salute with a burst of gratitude, the mountains, sun, freedom, and the great and beneficent God who loves and pardons.
What a long breath one draws at that window !
From here you see the gardens which occupy a restricted space, and are very simple ; though they may be said to be elegant and beautiful, and quite in keeping with the edifice itself. Then you see twelve graceful fountains, each one surrounded by four squares of myrde, which represent the royal shields, designed with such exquisite taste, and rounded with such finish that in looking at them from the window they seem to be woven of plush and velvet, and produce a very pretty effect in the white sand of the pathways. There are no trees, flowers, nor ar- bors ; nothing is seen in the garden but fountains, squares of myrtle, and two colors, green and white ; and such is the beauty of that noble simplicity, that one cannot take one's eyes from it; and when the eye has been removed, one's thoughts return to it, and rest there with a very keen pleasure tempered by a sort of sweet sadness. In a room near that which looks upon the garden, a series of relics were shown me, which I gazed at without allowing the custodian to suspect my private doubts as to their genuineness. There was a splinter of the holy cross presented by the Pope to Isabella II ; a piece of the wood bathed in the blood, still visible, of St. Laur- ence ; an inkstand belonging to St. Theresa ; and other objects, among which was a small portable al- tar of Charles V, a crown of thorns and a pair of
MADRID, 209
pincers used for torture, found I know not where. From thence I was taken to the cupola of the church, from which one enjoys a magnificent view. On one side the eye takes in all the mountainous country between the Escurial and Madrid ; on the other, one sees the snow-capped mountains of the Guadarrama ; below, one embraces, with a glance, the enormous edifice, the long lead-covered roofs, and the towers ; one sees the interior of the courts, cloisters, porticoes, and galleries ; one can traverse, in thought, the thousand passages of the corridors and stairs, and say : " An hour ago I was down there, here, up there, below, and over there " ; grow astonished at having taken such a walk, rejoice at having issued from that labyrinth, from those tombs, shadows, and at being able to return to the city, and to see one's friends again.
An illustrious traveller said that after having passed a day in the convent of the Escurial, one ought to feel happy throughout one s life, in simply thinking that one might be still among those walls, but is no longer there. This is almost true. Even at the present day, after so great a lapse of time, on rainy days, when I am sad, I think of the Escurial, then look at the walls of my room, and rejoice ; during sleepless nights I see the courts of the Escurial ; when I am ill, and fall into a disturbed or heavy sleep, I dream of roaming through those corridors alone, in the dark, followed by the phantom of an old monk, shouting and knocking at all the doors without finding an exit, until I go to the Pantheon, and the door closes loudly behind me, and I remain buried among the tombs. With what pleasure I saw once more the thousand lights of the Puerta del Sol, the crowded caf6s, and the great noisy street of the
no sPAm.
Alcalk! Upon entering the house I made such a noise that the maid, who was a good and simple Gallician, ran to her mistress, quite breathless, and said :
** I think the Italian has gone mad ! "
I was more amused by the deputies of the Cortes than by either the cocks or bulls. I succeeded in procuring a small place in the tribune of the journal- ists, and I went there every day, and stayed there to the end with infinite enjoyment. The Spanish par- liament has a more juvenile aspect than ours ; not because the deputies are younger ; but because they are neater and more carefully dressed than ours. There one does not see the disordered hair, unkempt beards, and those colorless jackets which are seen on the benches of our Chamber : there the beards and hair are nicely arranged and shining, the shirts embroidered, coats black, trowsers light, gloves orange-colored, canes silver-headed, and flowers in the button-hole. The Spanish parliament follows the fashion plates. The dressing and speaking are alike : both lively, gay, flowery, and sparkling. We lament that our deputies are more governed by the form than is fitting political orators ; but the Spanish deputies cultivate it more studiously still, and, it is only fair to confess, with better grace. They not only speak with a marvellous facility, so much so that it is a rare occurrence to hear a deputy interrupt himself in the middle of a sentence to seek for a phrase ; but there is no one who does not strive to speak correctly, and to give to his words a poetical lustre, a classical flavor, and a little of the imprint of the grand, oratorical style. The gravest
Madrw. 2tl
ministers, the most timid deputies, the most rigor- ous financiers, even when they are speaking on subjects quite foreign to those allied to rhetoric, em- bellish their speeches with the fine forms of anthol- ogy, graceful anecdotes, famous verses, apostrophes to civilization, liberty, and the country ; and proceed quite rapidly, as if they were reciting something com- mitted to memory, with an intonation always meas- ured and harmonious, and a variety of poses and gestures which leaves no place for ennui. The newspapers, in criticizing their speeches, praise the elevated style, the purity of the language, los rasgos sublimeSy the sublime flashes, which one admires — if it concerns their friends, be it understood ; or, they say, with scorn, that the style is sesquipedal, the language corrupt, the form, — in a word, that blessed form ! uncultivated, ignoble, unworthy of the splen- did traditions of the art of Spanish oratory. This worship of form, this great facility of speech, degen- erates into bombastic vanity ; and while it is certain that one must not seek for the models of true po- litical eloquence in the parliament of Madrid, yet that which is universally admitted is not the less true, viz. : that this parliament is, among those of Europe, the richest in fruitful oratory, in the or- dinary sense of the word. One ought to hear a discussion on a subject of important political interest, which stirs the passions. It is a veritable conflict! They are no longer speeches, but inundations of words, calculated to drive stenographers mad and confuse the minds of the auditors in the tribunes! There are voices, gestures, impetuosity, and rhap- sodies of inspiration, which make one think of the French Assembly in the turbulent days of the Revolution !
U2 iPAM.
There you hear a Rios Rosas, a very violent orator, who dominates the tumult with a roar ; a Martos, an orator of the chosen form, who slays with ridicule ; a Pi y Margall, a venerable old man, who terrifies one with gloomy prophecies ; a Collantes, an inde- fatigable speaker, who crushes the chamber under an avalanche of words ; a Rodriguez, who, with marvellous flexion of reasoning and paraphrase, pur- sues, confuses, and stifles his adversaries, and among a hundred others, a Castelar, who vanquishes and fascinates both enemies and friends with a torrent of poetry and harmony. And this Castelar, noted throughout Europe, is really the most complete ex- ample of Spanish eloquence. He pushes the wor- ship of form to the point of idolatry ; his eloquence is music ; his reasoning is the slave of his ear ; he says or does not say a thing, or says it in one way better than in another, according to the turn of the sentence ; he has harmony in his mind, follows it, obeys it, and sacrifices to it everything that can of- fend it ; his period is a strophe ; in fact, one must hear him in order to credit the fact that human speech, without poetical measure and song, can so closely approach the harmony of song and poetry. He is more of an artist than a politician ; has not only an artist intellect, but an artist heart also ; it is the heart of a child, which is incapable of hatred and enmity. In none of his speeches can one find abuse ; in the Cortes he has never pro- voked a serious personal dispute ; he never has re- course to satire, nor does he adopt irony ; in his most violent philippics he never lets drop a dram of gall, and this is a proof of it, that though a republican, adversary of all the ministers, a warlike journalist and perpetual accuser of him who exer-
MADRID. 2 1 3
cises any power, and of him who is not a fanatic for liberty, he has never made himself hated by any one. However, his speeches are enjoyed, not feared ; his style is too beautiful to be terrible ; his character too ingenuous to admit of his exercising a political influence; he does not know how to tilt, plot, and to make way for himself by bribes ; he is only fitted to please and to shine ; his eloquence, when It is grandest, is tender ; his most beautiful speeches draw forth tears. To him the Chamber is a theatre. Like improvisators, in order to have a clear and serene inspiration, he is obliged to speak at a given hour, at a fixed point, and with a certain allowance of time before him. Therefore, on the day he is to speak, he takes certain measures with the president of the Chamber ; the president ar- ranges matters so that his turn comes when the tribunes are crowded and all the deputies are in their places ; his newspapers announce his speech the evening before, so that the ladies may procure tickets ; for he requires a certain amount of expec- tation. Before speaking he is restless, and cannot keep quiet one instant ; he enters the Chamber, leaves it, reenters, goes out again, wanders through the corridors, goes into the library and turns over the leaves of a book, rushes into the caffi to take a glass of water, seems to be seized with fever, fancies that he will not know how to put the words together, that he will be laughed at or hissed ; not a single lucid idea of his speech remains in his head ; he has confused and forgotten everything.
** How is your pulse ? " his friends ask, smilingly.
When the solemn moment arrives, he takes his place with bowed head, trembling and pallid as a man condemned to death, who is resigned to losing
214 SPAIN.
in a single day the glory acquired with so many years of fatigue. At that moment even his ene- mies feel pity for his condition. He rises, gives a glance around him, and says :
" Senores ! "
He is saved ; his courage returns, his mind grows clear, and his speech comes back to him like a for- gotten air; the president, the Cortes, the tribunes, disappear ; he sees nothing but his gestures, hears nothing but his own voice, and feels nought but the irresistible flame which burns within him and the mysterious force that sustains and upholds him. It is beautiful to hear him say these things :
** I no longer see the walls of the room," he ex- claims, " I behold distant people and countries which I have never seen."
He speaks by the hour, and not a deputy leaves the room, not a person moves in the tribunes, not a voice interrupts him, not a gesture disturbs him ; not even when he breaks the regulations has the president sufficient courage to interrupt him ; he displays at his ease the picture of his republic, clothed in white and crowned with roses, and the monarchists do not dare protest, because, so clothed, they, too, find it beautiful. Castelar is master of the Assembly ; he thunders, lightens, sings, rages, and gleams like fireworks ; makes his auditors smile, calls forth shouts of enthusiasm, ends amid a storm of applause, and goes away with his head in a whirl. Such is this famous Castelar, pro- fessor of history in the university, a very fruitful writer on politics, art, and religion ; a publicist who makes fifty thousand francs a year in the American newspapers, an academician unanimously elected by the Academia Espanola, pointed out in the streets,
MADRID. 2 1 5
feted by the people, beloved by his enemies, and a charming, vain, generous, and handsome youth.
Now that we are discussing political eloquence, let us give a glance at the literature. Let us imag- ine a room in the Academy full of noise and confu- sion. A throng of poets, novelists, and writers of every kind, all having something French in their faces and manners, although studiously striving to conceal it, are reading and declaiming their works, each one trying to drown the voices of the others, in order to make himself heard by the people crowded into the tribunes ; who, on their part, refrain from reading the newspapers and discussing politics. From time to time a vibratory and harmonious voice makes itself heard above the tumult ; and then a hundred voices break out together in a corner of the room, shouting : '' He is a Carlist ! " and a salute of hisses follows the cry ; or, ** He is a republican! " and another burst of hisses, from another side, stifles the vibratory and harmonious voice. The academicians throw paper balls at each other, and shriek in each other's ears :
" Atheist ! Jesuit ! Demagogue ! Weather-cock ! Traitor ! "
By straining one s ear in the direction of those who are reading, one catches harmonious strophes, well- turned periods, and forcible phrases. The first effect is pleasing ; they are really poems and prose full of fire, life, beams of light, felicitous comparisons taken from all that shines and sounds in the sky, on the sea, and upon earth ; and every thing is vaguely illu- mined with Oriental colors and richly clothed in Italian harmonies. But alas ! it is only literature for the eyes and ears ; it is only music and painting ; rarely the muse, in the midst of a nimbus of flowers,
2l6 SPAIN.
lets fall the gem of a thought ; and nothing remains of this luminous shower but a light perfume in the air, and the echo of a soft murmur in the ear. Mean- while, one hears in the street the cries of the people, discharges of guns, and the sound of drums ; at every moment some artist deserts the ranks, and goes forth to wave a banner among the crowd ; they disappear two by two, and three by three, in crowds, and go to swell the body of journalists ; the noise and the continuous vicissitudes of events, divert the most tenacious from lengthy works ; in vain does some solitary person in the crowd cry : ** In the name of Cervantes stop ! " Some powerful voices are raised above that cry ; but they are the voices of men grouped on one side, many of whom are about start- ing on the journey from which there is no return. It is the voice of Hatzembuch, the prince of drama ; it is the voice of Breton de los Herreros, the prince of comedy ; it is the voice of Zorilla, the prince of poetry ; it is an orientalist, who is called Gayango, an archeologist called Guerra, a writer of comedies called Tamayo, a novelist called Fernando Caballero, a critic called Amador de Los Rios, a romancer called Fernandez y Gonzales, and a troop of other bold and fruitful geniuses ; in the midst of whom the memory of the great poet of the revolution is still alive, Quintana ; the Byron of Spain, Espronceda; of a Nicasio Gallego, of a Martinez de la Rosa, and of a Duke de Rivas. Yet tumult, disorder, and discord, like a torrent, invade and envelop every thing. But to leave allegory, Spanish literature is almost in the same condition as ours ; there is a body of illus- trious men, now in their decline, who have had two great inspirations : religion or country, or both together, and they have left a particular and
MADRID. 217
lasting trace in the field of art. There is a troop of young men who are feeling their way forward, ask- ing what they have to do, rather than doing any thing ; wavering between faith and scepticism ; or, having faith without courage, or not possessing it at all, they are induced by custom to simulate it ; not secure of their own language, and vibrating between the academies, which cry : " Purity ! " and the peo- ple, who cry : ** Truth ! " hesitating between the law of tradition and the need of the moment ; left in a corner by the thousand who give fame, and vitu- perated by the few who set their seal upon it ; they are forced to think in one way and to write in another; to half express themselves, to let the present flee away in order not to detach themselves from the past, and to make their way as best they can between opposing difficulties. Good fortune may keep their real name afloat, for some years, in the torrent of Frencli books with which the country is flooded. From this rises the discouragement which attacks first their own strength, and then the national intellect. And this, too, is either the cause of the imitation that permeates mediocrity, or the abandonment of the literature of great studies and great hopes, for the easy and profitable scribbling in the newspapers. Alone, amid so many ruins, stands the theatre. The new dramatic literature no longer contains any thing of the antique style, nor of the marvellous invention, splendid forms, and that original imprint of nobility and grandeur, which was peculiar to a people domi- nating Europe and the New World ; and less still the incredible fecundity and endless variety ; but in com- pensation for this lack it has a more healthful doc- tn'ne, a more exquisite delicacy, and a greater con- formity to the true aim of the theatre, which is to
2i8 SPAm.
correct customs, and ennoble the heart and mind In all literary works, then, as in the theatre, — ro- mances, popular songs, poems, and history, there is, always living and dominating, the feeling which per- meates Spanish literature more profoundly, perhaps, than any other European literature, from the first lyric attempts of Berceo to the vigorous warlike hymns of Quintana, — that of national pride.
Here we must speak of the character of the Span- ish. Their national pride is the same to-day. after so much misfortune and such a fall, as to make the stranger who lives in their midst, doubt whether they be the Spaniards of three hundred years ago, or the Spaniards of the nineteenth century. But it is a pride which does not offend one, a pride inno- cently rhetorical. They do not depreciate other na- tions to appear greater in comparison with them ; no, they respect, praise, and admire them, but allow one to perceive the feeling of a superiority which, to their minds, draws from that admiration a very clear evidence of the fact. They have for other nations that benevolence which Leopardi justly says is pe- culiar to men full of self-conceit ; who, believing themselves to be admired by all, love their fancied admirers also, because they think it in keeping with that superiority with which they believe fate has fa- vored them. There cannot have existed in the world a nation prouder of their history than the Spanish people. It is really an incredible thing. The boy who blacks your boots, the porter who car- ries your valise, the beggar who asks alms of you, raise their heads and send out flashes from their eyes at the name of Charles V, Philip II, Ferdinand Cortes, and Don John of Austria, as if they were he- roes of their time, and they had seen them enter the
MADRID. 219
city in triumph the day before. The name of Es- pana is pronounced in the tone with which the Ro- mans in the most glorious times of the republic used to pronounce the name oi Roma. When Spain is mentioned all modesty is banished, by the most nat- urally modest men, without there appearing upon their faces the slightest indication of that exultation for which one condones intemperance of language. They exalt coldness from habit, without being aware of it. In the speeches in Parliament, in the newspa- per articles, in the writings of the Academy, they call the Spanish people, without any paraphrase, a . people of heroeSy the great nation, the marvel of the world, and the glory of centuries. It is rare to hear said or read a hundred words by any person and be- fore any audience, without having the burden of the song become, sooner or later, Lepanto, the discovery of America, and the War of Independence, which is always followed by a burst of applause.
It it just this tradition of the War of Independence which constitutes in the Spanish people an immense inherent strength. No one who has not lived for a greater or lesser time in Spain can believe that a war, no matter how glorious or fortunate, has the power to leave in a people such a profound faith in their national valor. Baylen, Victoria, and San Marcial are more efficacious traditions for Spain than Marengo, Jena, Austerlitz for France. The same warlike glory of the armies of Napoleon, seen through the War of Independence which cov- ered it with its first veil, seems to the eyes of the Spaniards much less splendid than to any other peo- ple in Europe. The idea of a foreign invasion gives rise in the Spaniards to a smile of disdainful scorn ; they do not believe in the possibility of being con-
220 SPAIN.
quered in their own country ; one ought to have heard in what a tone they spoke of Germany, when there was a rumor that Emperor William was re- solved to uphold the cause of the Duke de Aosta, And there is no doubt that, if they had to fight a new War of Independence, perhaps they would fight with less success, but with a prowess and constancy equal to the marvellous one they developed at that time ; 1 808 is the '93 of Spain ; it is the date which every Spaniard keeps before his eyes written in characters of fire ; the women glory in it, so do the boys and the children who are just beginning to talk ; it is the war cry of the nation.
This same pride they have in their writers and ar- tists. The beggar, instead of saying Espaiia, says to you sometimes, the country of Cervantes. No writer in the world ever enjoyed such popularity among his people as the author of Don Quixote. I believe that there is not a peasant nor a shepherd, from the Pyrenees to the Sierra Nevada, from the coast of Valencia to the hills of the Estremadura, who, on being questioned about Cervantes, would not reply with a smile :
He is the immortal autfior 0/ Don Quixote.
Spain is perhaps the country where they most frequently celebrate the anniversaries of great writers ; from Juan de Mena to Espronceda ; every one has his solemn day, on which a tribute of song and flowers is laid on his tomb. In the squares, in the cafes, in the railway carriages, everywhere you hear quoted the verses of illustrious poets, by every class of people ; he who has not read it, has heard it read ; he who has not heard it read, repeats the quo- tation like a proverb, from having heard it from some one else ; and when one recites a verse, every one
MADRID, 22 1
listens. Any one knowing a little of Spanish litera- ture, may take a journey in that country with the certainty of having something to discuss and some- thing with which to inspire sympathy, wherever he may happen to find himself. The national literature is really national there.
The defect of the Spanish which strikes the stranger from the first is this : that in estimating things, the men and events of their time and coun- try, they make great mistakes ; they enlarge every thing ; see every thing as if through a lens which magnifies disproportionately the outlines. Not hav- ing had for a long time any immediate participation in the common life of Europe, they lack the oppor- tunity of comparing themselves with other states, and of judging of themselves by comparison. For this reason their civil wars — the American, African, and Cuban — are to them, what are to us, not the little war of 1 860-61 against the Papal army, or even the revolution of i860 ; but the great war of the Crimea, that of 1859, and that of 1866. Of the battles, sanguinary without doubt, but not great, which illustrated the Spanish arms in those wars, they speak as do the French of Solferino, the Prus- sians of Sadowa, the Austrians of Custoza. Prim, Serrano, and O'Donnell are generals who cast into the shade all the most noted ones of other countries. I remember the noise made at Madrid by the victory gained by General Morriones over four or five thou- sand Carlists. The deputies, in the conversation- room of the Cortes, exclaimed emphatically : Ah ! Spanish blood ! Some went as far as to say that if an army of three hundred thousand Spaniards had been placed in the position of the French in 1870, they would have marched straight to Berlin. And
122 SPAIN.
certainly one cannot doubt Spanish valor, which gave so many proofs of itself; but is it permissible to suppose that one can draw any comparison be- tween routed Carlists and Prussians gathered in army corps ; between soldiers of Europe, to go fur- ther, and soldiers of Africa ; between great battles, where the shot destroys life by the thousand, and the encounters of ten thousand soldiers on a side, with great disparity in arms and discipline ? And as they talk of wars so they speak of every thing else ; not the common people alone, but cultivated persons also. They bestow extravagant praises upon their writers ; they call rndLXiy grande poeta, whose names have never been heard out of Spain ; the epithets irreproachable, sublime, and marvellous are current coin, which one spends and receives without the slightest doubt as to the security. One would say that Spain looks at and judges every thing of its own rather like an American people than an European na- tion ; and that instead of being separated from Eu- rope by the Pyrenees it is divided by an ocean, and that an isthmus joins it to America.
Otherwise how closely they resemble us! To hear the people talk politics, seems like being in Italy ; they do not discuss them, they give their de- cisions ; they do not censure, but condemn ; any subject is sufficient for a judgment, and any sign or indication suffices for the forming of an argument. This minister ? He is a rascal. That one ? He is a traitor. That other one ? He is a hypocrite ; they are all a quagmire of thieves ; one has had the trees of the gardens at Aranjuez sold ; the other has car- ried off the treasures of the Escurial ; a third has emptied the coffers of state ; a fourth has sold his soul for a bag of doubloons. They have no longer
MADRID, 223
any faith in the men who have been interested in politics for the last thirty years ; even in the com- mon people there exists a feeling of discouragemenf . so that one hears on every side such expressions as these : Poor Spam ! Unhappy country ! Unfortu- nate Spaniards !
But the irritation of the political passion and the fury of the internal struggles have not changed, at the bottom, the ancient Spanish character. Only that portion of society to which is given the name of the political world is corrupt ; the people, though always inclined to those blind, and sometimes savage im- pulses of passion which betray the mixture of Ara- bian and Latin blood, are good, loyal, and capable of magnanimous and sublime bursts of enthusiasm. La Iwnra de Espana is still a motto which sets all hearts beating. And then they have such frank and pleasant manners ; perhaps less fine, but certainly more amiably ingenuous than those for which the French are praised. Instead of smiling at you they offer you a cigar ; instead of saying something po- lite they press your hand, and are more hospitable in deed than in word. Nevertheless the formulas of salutation retain the old court-like imprint ; the man says to the woman : ** I am' at your feet ; " the woman says to the man : '* I kiss your hand ; " the men, to each other, sign their letters Q. B. S. M., que besa sus manoSy as a servant to his master. Only friends say adieu, and the people have their affectionate salutation ; Vaya usted con Dios (God be with you), which is worth more than all the kisses on your hand.
With the warm and expressive nature of this people, it is impossible to remain a month at Mad- rid without making a hundred friends, even without
224 SPAI/V,
seeking them, Fancy to yourself how many you could make by seeking them. This was my case. I cannot say all were real friends, but I had so many acquaintances, that it did not seem like being in a strange city. It is very easy to obtain access to the illustrious men, and, therefore, it is not necessar)\ as is the case elsewhere, to have a quantity of let- ters and messages from friends, in order to reach them. I had the honor of knowing Tamayo, Hatz- embuch, Guerra, Saavedra, Valera, Rodriguez, Cas- telar, and many others, noted in science and letters^ and I found them all alike : frank, cordial, fiery ; men with white hair, but with the eyes and voices of youths of twenty ; devoted to poetry, music, and painting ; gay, full of gestures, and with a fresh and sonorous laugh. How many of them I saw grow pale, weep, and spring to their feet, as if touched by an electric spark, and showing all their soul in their gleaming eyes, when reading the verses of Quintana or Espronceda ! What youthful souls ! What ar- dent hearts ! How much I enjoyed (in seeing and hearing them) belonging to this poor Latin race, of which we now say so many disagreeable things ; and how much I was cheered in thinking that we are all, more or less, cast in the same mould, and that, although we may become accustomed, little by little, to envying the character of others, we shall never quite succeed in losing our own individuality. After more than three months' sojourn in Madrid I was obliged to leave, in order not to be overtaken by summer in the south of Spain. I shall always remember that beautiful morning in May, when I quitted, forever perhaps, my dear Madrid. I left to go and see Andalusia, the promised land of travel- lers, the fantastic Andalusia, of which I had so often
MADklJb. ^^S
heard the marvels besung in Italy and Spain, by romancers and poets ; that Andalusia for which I may say I undertook the journey ; yet I was sad. I had passed so many charming days at Madrid ! I left so many dear friends there ! On my way to the station I traversed the street of Alcala, saluted from afar the gardens of the Recoletos, passed before the palace of the Museum of Painting, stopped to look once more at the statue of Murillo, and reached the station with a sinking heart. Three months ? I asked myself, a few moments before the train started : Have three months passed already ? Has it not been a dream ? Yes ; it seems as if I had dreamed it ! Perhaps I shall never see again my good landlady, nor the little girl of Sefior Saavedra, nor the sweet, calm face of Guerra, nor my friends of the Caf6 Fornos, nor any one else ! But what nonsense ! Can I not return ? Return ! Oh, no ! I know full well that I shall never return ! So, then, farewell, my friends ! Farewell, Madrid ! Fare- well, my little room in the street of Alduana ! It seems as if a heart-string were snapping, and I feel the necessity of hiding my face.
CHAPTER VI.
ARANJUEZ.
AS in arriving at Madrid, from the north, so in leaving it by the south, one passes through an uninhabited country, which reminds one of the poorest provinces of Arragon and Old Castile. There are vast, dry, and yellowish plains, in which it seems as if the earth, on being rapped on. ought to resound like a vault, or cnimble like the crust of a crisp tart ; and a few miserable villages of the same color as the soil, which look as if they might ignite like a |)ile of withered leaves, should one apply a match to the corner of a house. After an hour's travel, my shoulders sought the back of the carriage, my elbow a resting-place, my head reclined in my hand, and I fell into a profound doze, like a memticr of Leopardi's Atenco d' AscoUazione. A few moments after, closing my eyes, I was roused by a cry of desperation from the women and boys, and I sprang to my feet, asking my neighbors what had happened. Before my question was finished, how- ever, a general laugh reassured me. A troop of huntsmen, scattered over the country, on seeing the train arrive, had planned to give the travellers a ' little fright. In those days they talked of the ap pearance of a band of Carlists in the vicinity of Aranjuez ; the huntsmen (pretending to be the ad- i
ARANJUEZ. 227
vance guard of the band), while the train was passing, had given a great shout, as if to call their companions, and while shouting, they had made be- lieve to fire at the railway carriages ; this was the cause of the fright and cries of my travelling com- panions ; and then these men had suddenly kicked their guns into the air, to show that it had all been a joke. When the little fright had passed (from which I, too, suffered slightly), I fell into my aca- demic doze again ; but was aroused once more, a few moments later, in a manner decidedly more agree- able than before.
I looked around : the vast deserted plain was transformed, as if by magic, into an immense garden filled with graceful shrubbery, traversed in every di- rection by broad avenues, scattered with little coun- try houses and huts enwreathed in verdure. Here and there were fountains playing, shady nooks, flowery fields, vineyards, small pathways, and a greenness, a freshness, a spring-time odor, and an air of gaiety and pleasure which was quite enchant- ing. We had arrived at Aranjuez. I got out of the train, made my way through a beautiful avenue, shaded by two rows of gigantic trees, and found my- self, after a few steps, opposite the royal palace. The minister Castelar wrote a few days ago in his memorandum that the fall of the ancient Spanish monarchy was predestined on the day when a crowd of people, with abuse on their lips and hatred in their hearts invaded the palace of Aranjuez to dis- turb the tranquil majesty of their sovereigns. I was just on that square where, on the 17th March, 1808, the events took place which were the prologue of the national war, and, as it were, the first word of the sentence which condemned to death that ancient
228 SPAm.
monarchy. I instantly sought with my eyes for the windows of the apartment of the Prince of Peace ; I pictured him to myself as he fled from room to room, pale and dishevelled, in search of a hiding- place, followed by the shouts of the multitude which were climbing the stairs; I saw poor Charles IV place, with trembling hands, the crown of Spain on the head of the Prince of the Asturias ; all the scenes of that terrible drama presented themselves before my eyes ; and the profound silence of the place, and the sight of that closed and abandoned palace, chilled me to the heart.
The palace, which is in the form of a castle, is built of brick, with trimmings of white marble, and covered with a slate roof. Every one knpws that Philip II had it constructed by the celebrated arohi- tect Herrera, and that nearly all the succeeding kings embellished it, and resided there during ^he summer season. I entered ; the interior is supeif)^; there . is a huge room for the reception of the amlassado^^, a beautiful Chinese cabinet of Charles Il^I, a pretty dressing-room of Isabella II, and a profusion of most precious objects of ornament. But all the riches of the palace do not compare with the view of the gar- dens. Anticipation is realized. The gardens of Aranjuez (Aranjuez is the name of the small city which lies at a short distance from the palace) seem to have been laid out for the family of a Titanic king, to whom the parks and gardens of our kings must appear like terrace flower-beds or stable-yards. There are avenues, as far as the eye can reach, flanked by immensely high trees, whose branches interlace (as if bent by two contrary winds), which traverse in every direction a forest whose boundaries one cannot see ; and through this forest the broad
»«
ARANJUEZ, 229
and rapid Tagus describes a majestic curve, forming here and there cascades and basins. A luxuriant and flourishing vegetation abounds between a laby- rinth of small avenues, cross-roads, and openings ; and on every side gleam statues, fountains, columns, and sprays of water, which fall in splashes, bows, and drops, in the midst of every kind of flower of Eu- rope or America. To the majestic roar of the cas- cade of the Tagus is joined the song of innumerable nightingales, who utter their joyful vibratory notes in the mysterious shade of the solitary paths. At the end of the gardens rises a small marble palace, modest in appearance, which contains all the marvels of the most magnificent royal palaces, and in which one still breathes the atmosphere, so to speak, of the private life of the kings jof Spain. Here are to be found the Httle secret Vooms whose ceilings one can touch with hwf Jjahd, the billiard-iroorn of Charles IV, his cue, the cushions' embroidered bjc the queen's own hand, the musit^l clddks "which . enlivened the idle hours of the children, the little steps, the small windows which i^fetaift'^ a - hurr<5f.ed' traditions of princely caprices; and, finairy, the richest toilette- chamber in Europe, that owes its origin to a fancy of Charles IV, and from which one could take riches enough to fill a palace without depriving it of the noble primacy that is its pride among all the other cabinets destined for the same purpose. Beyond this palace, and all around the shrubberies, extend vineyards, olive groves, plantations of fruit trees, and smiling meadows. It is a genuine oasis sur- rounded by the desert, which Philip II chose in a day of good-humor almost, as if to temper with a gay picture the gloomy melancholy of the Escurial. In returning from that little palace to the great royal
230 SPAm.
abode, through those long avenues, under the shade of those measureless trees, and in the profound si- lence of the forest, I thought of the superb proces- sions of ladies and cavaliers who one day used to roam there behind the wild young monarchs or the capricious and insensate queens, to the sound of amorous music or the songs which told of the gran- deur and glory of unvanquished Spain ; and I re- peated with a feeling of melancholy the words of the poet of Recanati (Leopardi) :
" All is peace and silence. And those who are gone are never named."
Yet, in looking at certain marble seats half hidden by the shrubbery, fastening my eyes upon distant walks, and thinking of those queens, those loves and follies, I could not suppress a sigh, which was not one of pity ; and a secret feeling of bitterness stole into my heart, as I said, with poor Adam in the Diablo Mundo : *' How are these great ladies made ? How do they live ? What do they do ? Do they talk, love, and enjoy as we do ? " And I left for Toledo, imagining what the love of a queen might be, just like a young adventurer of the Tkau- satid and One Nights.
CHAPTER VII.
IN approaching an unknown city, one ought to be near some one who has already seen it, and who can say when it is the proper moment to put one's head out of the window and catch the first view of it. I had the good fortune to be warned in time. Some one said to me ; " There is Toledo! " so I sprang to the window, uttering an exclimation of surprise.
Toledo rises on a steep and rocky height, at the foot of which the T^jus describes a majestic curve, From the plain nothing is seen but the rocks and walls of the fortress, and beyond the walls the points of the bell towers and steeples. The houses are hidden ; the city seems closed and inaccessible, and presents rather the aspect of an abandoned rock than that of a city. From the walls to the bank of the river, there is not a house nor a tree ; every thing is bare, dry, shaggy, and steep ; not a living crea- ture is to be seen ; you would say that to reach it you would be obliged to clamber up, and it seems to you that at the appearance of a man upon those precipices a shower of arrows would fall upon you. You leave the train, get into a carriage, and arrive at the opening of the bridge. It is the famous bridge of Alcantara, which crosses the Tagus, sur-
232 SPAIN.
mounted by an Arabian gate in the form of a tower, which gives it a bold and severe aspect. After passing the bridge, you find yourself in a broad street that winds up to the top of the mountain. Here you really seem to be under a stronghold of the middle ages» and to find yourself in the shoes of an Arab, Goth, or a soldier of Alphonso VI. On all sides you see precipitous rocks, stone walls, towers, and the ruins of old bastions overhanging your head ; and farther up, the last boundary wall of the city, which is black, crowned with enormous battle- ments, and opened here and there by great breaches, behind which appear the imprisoned houses ; as you climb higher and higher, the city seeras.-to shrink back and hide itself. Half way up the as- cent, you reach the Puerta del Soly a gem of A^'a- bian architecture, composed of two embattled towers, that unite above a very graceful double- arched portico, under which the whole road passes. Beyond, if you turn back, you look doWn on the : Tagus, the plain, and the hills. Pass onward, and J you find other walls and ruins, and finally reach tKe first houses of the city.
What a city ! At the first moment my breath was taken away. The carriage had passed through a street so narrow that the hubs of the wheels almost touched the walls of the houses.
"Why do you go this way.'^" I asked of the driver.
The coachman began to laugh and replied :
** Because there is no broader street.'*
**0h! is all Toledo built like this.'^" I asked again.
*' Yes, it is all built like this/' he replied.
** It is impossible ! " I exclaimed.
li^ St. Agnes Brjifich, 22 7 » BRO/DW^„
h^m\
'^^y
TOLEDO. 233
•• You Will see," he added.
In truth I did not believe it. I stopped at the hotel, threw my valise into a room, and rushed down stairs to go out and see this very strange city. A hotel employ^ stopped me at the door and asked, smilingly :
" Where are you going, caballerof**
" To see Toledo," I replied.
"Alone?"
'* Certainly ; why not ? "
" But have you been here before ? **
" Never."
" Then you can not go alone."
"Why not?"
" Because you will lose your way.**
" Where ? "
"As soon as you leave th^ house.'*
" For what re^on ? "
" The reason is tKis," he replied, pointing toward a wall, to which was festened a plan Of Toledo. I approached, and saw a confusion of white lines on a black ground, which seemed like one of those flour- ishes which children mak*e bo a slatfe to use up their chalk, and annoy their teacher.
" No matter," I said \. '* I wish to go alone ; and if I am lost, sonle one will find me."
" You will not go a hundred paces," observed the man.
I went out, and passed through the first street, so narrow, that in stretching out my arms, I touched both the walls. After taking fifty steps, I found myself in another street, narrower than the first, and from this one I entered a third, and so on in this way. I seemed to be roaming, not through the streets of a city, but through the passages of a build-
234 SPAIN.
ing ; and I went on with the idea of coming out, from one moment to another, on to an open space. It is impossible, I thought, that a city can be built in this way ; one could not live here. But as I pro- ceeded, it seemed as if the streets grew narrower and shorter ; every moment I was obliged to turn ; after a curved street, came one that was zig-zag; after this another, in the shape of a hook, which led me back into the first ; and so I wandered for some time among the same houses. From time to time, I came out into a cross-road of several alleys that ran off in opposite directions, one of which was lost in the darkness of a portico, another ended, after a few paces, at the wall of a house, a third seemed to descend into the bowels of the earth, and a fourth climbed up a steep ascent ; others were hardly broad enough to allow the passage of a man ; others were squeezed in between the walls, without doors or windows; all were flanked by buildings of great height, which barely allowed a narrow streak of the sky to be seen between the roofs ; and had windows, with iron gratings, great doors, studded with enor- mous nails, and dark and narrow courts. I walked for some time without meeting any one, until I emerged upon one of the principal streets, all lined with shops, and filled with peasants, women and boys; but which was little broader than an ordinary hall- way. Every thing is in proportion with the street : the doors look like windows, the shops like niches, and one sees all the secrets of the house : the table, which is laid ; the children who are in the cradle ; the mother, who is combing her hair ; and the father, who is changing his shirt. Every thing is on the street, so that one does not seem to be in a city, but rather in a house inhabited by one large family.
TOLEDO. 235
I turn into a less frequented street, and nothing is to be heard but the buzzing of a fly. My step re- sounds up to the fourth floor of the buildings, and some old women appear at the window. A horse passes ; it seems as if a squadron were going by ; and every one rushes to see what is happening. The slightest noise echoes on every side ; a book falls in a room on the second floor ; an old man coughs in a court-yard ; a woman is using her hand- kerchief, I do not know where ; and everything is heard. At some points all sound ceases suddenly ; you are alone, and no longer see any signs of life ; there are houses of witches ; cross-roads suitable for conspiracies ; alleys for betrayal ; blind alleys, which seem made for crime ; windows for the conversa- tions of infamous lovers ; and dark doors, that give rise to the suspicion of staircases stained with blood. Yet in all this labyrinth of streets there are no two alike ; each one has something peculiar about it ; here there is an arch, there a little column, and farther on a bit of sculpture. Toledo is an em- porium for art treasures ; whenever the walls peel a little, records of all centuries are discovered, such as bas-reliefs, arabesques, Moorish windows and statu- ettes. The palaces have doors furnished with plates of chased metal, historical knockers, nails with chis- elled heads, coats of arms and emblems ; and these form a fine contrast to the modern houses, painted in garlands, medallions, cupids, urns, and fantastic animals. Still these embellishments take nothing from the severe aspect of Toledo. Wherever you turn your eyes, there is something which reminds you of the fortified city of the Arabs. Though your imagination may not be an active one, it will suc- ceed in recomposing, with the traces left here and
236 SPAIN-,
there, all the design of the cancelled picture, and then the illusion is complete ; you see the great Toledo of the middle ages, and forget the solitude and silence of its streets. It is an illusion that lasts a few moments ; after which you fall back into your sad meditations, and no longer see the skele- ton of the ancient city, the necropolis of three em- pires, and the great sepulchre of the glory of three nations. Toledo reminds you of the dreams which come to youths after reading romantic legends of the mediaeval ages. You have probably seen many times, in dreams, dark cities, surrounded by deep ditches, very high walls, and inaccessible rocks ; and have passed over those drawbridges, have entered those moss-grown and tortuous streets, and have breathed that damp, tomb-like, and prison-like air. Very well, you have dreamed of Toledo-
The first thing to see, after having taken a gen- eral view of the city, is the cathedral, which is verj' justly considered one of the most beautiful in the world. The history of this cathedral, according to popular tradition, goes back to the times of the Apos- tle Santiago, the first bishop of Toledo, who is said to have designated the place where it was built ; but the construction of the edifice, just as it stands to- day, was begun in 1227, under the reign of San Fer- dinando, and terminated after two hundred and fifty years of almost continuous labor. The external ap- pearance of this immense church is neither rich nor beautiful, like that of the Cathedral of Burgos. ! .l^^TQ^i ^\ tl\e fagade is a small square, and it is the : , (^al:f>-:p9i9?:.frpmi which one can take in with a glance \ a large portion jof the edifice ; all around it runs a \ street;, fropi AyHich, no matter how much one may .■ twbi hJ8;tt«ck,|nothing can be seen but the hicrh
TOLEDO. 237
boundary wall that encloses the church like a fortress. The facade has three great doors, called Pardon, Inferfw, and justice ; and is flanked by a strong tower, which ends in a beautiful octagonal-shaped cupola. No matter how immense you may have found the building in walking around it, you experi- ence a feeling of intense surprise upon first entering it ; and, immediately thereafter, one of keen pleas- ure, which comes from that freshness, quiet, lonely shade, and a mysterious light that, falling through the colored glass of the innumerable windows, is broken into a thousand blue, yellow, and roseate rays which steal here and there along the arches and columns like the stripes of the rainbow. The church is formed of one great nave divided into four aisles by eighty-eight enormous piers, each one com- posed of sixteen turned columns, which are as close together as a bundle of lances ; a sixth transcept cuts these five at a right angle, passing between the high altar and the choir ; and the ceiling of the nave rises majestically above that of the aisles, which seem to bow as if rendering it homage. The variegated light and the clear color of the stone give the church the air of subdued joy that tempers the melancholy aspect of the Gothic architecture, without taking from its pensive and austere gravity. In passing from the streets of the city among the aisles of the cathedral, is like passing from a dungeon to a square. One looks about him, breathes again, and feels life returning.
The high altar, should one wish to examine it minutely, would require quite as much time as the entire church. It is a church in itself, a confusion of little columns, statuettes, leaves, and variegated or- naments, which project along the corners, rise above
238 SPAIN.
the architraves, wind around the niches, support one another, accumulate, and hide themselves, pre- senting on every side a thousand profiles, groups, foreshortenings, gildings, colors, and every variety of artificial lightness, so that they present all together an appearance fijU of majesty and grace. In fi-ont of the high altar is the choir, divided into three rows of seats marvellously sculptured by Philip of Bour- gogne and Berruguete, with bas-reliefs representing historical, allegorical, and sacred incidents, and it is considered one of the most noteworthy monuments of the art. In the centre, in the form of a throne, is the seat of the archbishop ; all around is a circle of enormous jasper columns ; on the architraves are colossal statues of alabaster ; and, on the two sides, are enormous bronze pulpits, upon which are gigantic missals, and two immense organs (one in front of the altar), from which it seems as if a torrent of sound, sufficient to make the roof tremble, might burst forth at any moment.
The pleasure of admiration in these great cathe- drals is almost always disturbed by the importunate guides who wish you to amuse yourself in their own particular way. Unfortunately, I had the conviction forced upon me that the Spanish guides are the most obstinate of the race. When one of them has made up his mind that you are to pass the day with him, the matter is settled. You may shrug your shoul- ders, refuse to answer him, let him get out of breath without turning your face toward him, wander around on your own account as if you had not seen him ; it is all the same. In a moment of enthusiasm, before a picture or a statue, some word, gesture, or smile escapes you ; it is quite sufficient ; you are bound, you are his property, you are the prey of
TOLEDO. 239
this implacable human pieuvre, which, likethat of Victor Hugo, does not leave its victim until it has cut off its head. While I stood looking at the statues in the choir, I saw one of these pieuvres out of the corner of my eye. He was a wretched old creature, who approached me slowly and sidewise, like a cuthroat, looking at me all the time with the air of a man who is saying : *' You are there." I continued to look at the statues ; the old man came to my side and began looking too ; then, suddenly, he asked :
•* Do you wish me to accompany you ? "
** No," I replied, ** I do not need your ser- vices."
Then he said, without the slightest discom- posure :
** Do you know who Elpidius was ? "
The question was so strange that I could not help asking in my turn :
" Who was he ? "
" Elpidius was the second bishop of Toledo."
" Well, what about him? "
*' It was the Bishop Elpidius who conceived the idea of consecrating this church to the Virgin, which is the reason why the Virgin came to visit the church."
*' Ah, how is that known ? "
** How is that known ? Why, you see it ! "
" Do you mean to say that it has been seen ? "
" I mean to say that it is still to be seen ; be kind enough to come with me."
Saying which he moved on, and I, very curious to know what this visible proof of the descent of the Virgin could be, followed him. We stopped before a species of tabernacle near one of the great
240 SPAIN.
pilasters in the middle nave. The guide showed me a white stone set into the wall, covered with a wire netting, around which was the following inscription :
'' Quando la reina del cielo Puso los pies en el suelo En esta piedra los puso."
" So," I asked, ** the holy Virgin really placed her foot upon this stone } "
** Yes, really upon this stone," he replied, and passing his finger through the net- work and touching the stone, he kissed his finger, made a sign of the cross, and made a sign to me, as if to say :
** It is your turn."
" My turn ?" I replied ; ** oh, forsooth, my good friend, I really cannot do it"
-Why?"
" Because I do not consider myself worthy of touching that divine stone."
The guide understood, and looking fixedly at me, asked :
" You do not believe, sir?"
I looked at the pilaster. Then the old man made me a sign to follow him, and moved off toward a corner of the church, murmuring with an air of sad- ness ;
'* Cadauno es dueno de su alma " (every one is master of his own soul).
A young priest who was near by, cast a sharp glance at me, and muttering something I could not hear, withdrew in a different direction.
The chapels are in keeping with such a church ; almost all of them contain some fine monuments. In the chapel of St. Jago, behind the high altar, are two magnificent alabaster tombs, which hold the remains
TOLEDO. 241
of the constable, Alvaro de Luna, and his wife. In the chapel of St. Idelphonso is the tomb of the Car- dinal Gil Carillo de Albornoz. In the chapel of los Reyes nuevos are the tombs of Henry II, John II, and Henry III. In tl^e chapel of the shrine, there is a superb collection of statues and busts in marble, silver, ivory, and gold, together with numerous crosses and relics of inestimable value, the remains of St. Leucadia and St. Eugenia enclosed in two finely-chased silver caskets.
The Mozarabe chapel, which corresponds with the tower of the church, and was built to perpetuate the tradition of the primitive Christian rite, is, perhaps, the most noteworthy of all. One of the walls is entirely covered with a Gothic fresco, representing a battle between the Moors and Toledans, which has been most marvellously preserved even to the finest shadings. It is a painting which is worth a volume of history. One sees the Toledo of those times, with all its walls and houses, the uniforms of the two armies, the weapons, faces, — every thing, in fact, has been depicted with a wonderful fidelity and un- usual beauty of coloring, that corresponds perfectly with the vague, uncertain idea which we form of those centuries and people. There are two other frescoes, on either side of the first, representing two ships that are conveying the Arabs into Spain, and these also contain a thousand minute details of the mediaeval navy, and that air, if I may so express myself, of those times, which makes one think of and see numberless things not represented in the picture, just as one is reminded of distant music in looking at a landscape.
After seeing the chapels, you visit the sa- cristy, in which there is a sufficient accumulation
242 SPAIN.
of riches to replenish completely the exchequer of Spain. There is, among others, an immense room, on the ceiling of which is a fresco by Luca Giordano, representing a vision of Paradise, with myriads of angeL, saints, and allegorical figures, which sweep through the air, or stand out in a thousand such bold and surprising attitudes, and foreshorten ings, that they seem to have been chiselled, and to pro- ject beyond the cornice of the walls. The guide, pointing to \\\2X prodigio de imaginacion y de trahajo^ which, in the opinion of all artists, is — ^to make use of a very curious Spanish expression — of an atro- cious merit, suggests that you look attentively at the ray of light which is falling from the middle of the ceiling toward the walls. You look, and take, while looking at it, a turn around the room, yet no matter where you may be, it seems as if that ray were falling directly upon your head. From this room you pass into one which is also admirably frescoed by the nephew of Berruguete, and from this into a third, where a sacristan displays to you the treas- ures of the cathedral. There are the enormous silver candlesticks, the pyxes, gleaming with rubies, the ostensoriums, studded with diamonds, the vest- ments of damask, embroidered in gold, and the robes of the Virgin, covered with arabesques, flowers, and stars of pearls, which, at every move- ment of the material, sent out rays and gleams of a thousand colors, that the eye can scarcely bear. An hour hardly suffices for the hasty inspection of these treasures, which would certainly satisfy the ambition of ten queens, and enrich the altars of ten basilicas. When the sacristan, after showing you every thing, seeks in your eyes for an expression of surprise, he only finds that of stupefied astonish-
TOLEDO. 243
ment, which tells that your imagination is wander- ing elsewhere, — in the fabulous palaces of the Arabian legends, where the beneficent genii accu- mulated all the riches dreamed of by the ardent fancy of enamored sultans.
It was the eve of Corpus Domini, and the robes
for the procession were being prepared in the
sacristy. There can be nothing more distasteful,
and out of keeping with the quiet and noble majesty
of the church, than that theatre-like bustle, which is
always seen on such occasions. It really seems like
being behind the scenes on the evening of a dress
rehearsal. From another room of the sacristy, a
crowd of half-dressed boys kept coming and going
with a tremendous racket, carrying armfuls of shirts,
stoles, and capes. Here there was a sacristan in
bad humor, who was opening and slamming the
doors of a wardrobe ; there, a priest quite red in
the face calling in an angry voice to a boy who
did not hear him ; other priests were running
through the room with half their vestments on and
half of them dragging ; some were laughing, some
were shouting, some screaming from one room to
another, at the top of their lungs ; and everywhere
one heard the rustling of petticoats, or labored
breathing, and an indescribable tramping and
stamping.
I went to see the cloister ; but as the church door which leads to it was open, I saw it before entering. In the middle of the church one catches a glimpse of a portion of the cloister garden, a group of great shade trees, a grove, and a mass of luxu- riant verdure, that seems to shut in the door, and looks as if it were framed under an elegant arch, and between two slender columns of the portico,
244 SPAIN.
which runs all around it. It is a delicious view that reminds one of oriental gardens, seen betweeD the columns of the mosques. The cloister is large, is surrounded by a portico, both graceful and severe in style, and the walls are covered with frescoes. Here the guide advised me to rest, before climbing the bell tower. I leaned against an old wall, under the shade of a tree, and remained there until I felt strong enough for another expedition. Meanwhile, my guide held forth to me on the glories of Toledo, and carried the impudence of the love of country so far as to call it a great commercial city, which could buy out Barcelona and Valencia, and a city so well fortified as to wear out, were it necessary, ten German armies and a thousand batteries of Krupp's cannon. At every one of his boasts I kept urging him on, and the good man enjoyed himself immensely. How much amusement one can obtain in making these people talk! Finally, when the proud Tole- dan felt himself so puffed up with glory that the cloister could no longer contain him, he said, ** We can go now ;" and he moved off toward the door of the bell tower.
When we had climbed half-way up, we stopped to take breath. The guide knocked at a little door, and a presumptuous little sacristan appeared and opened another door leading into a corridor, where I saw a group of gigantic puppets most curiously dressed. Four of these (so the guide told me) re- presented Europe, Asia, America, and Africa, and two others, Faith and Religion. They were made so that a man could conceal himself in them and raise them from the ground.
** They are taken out," added the sacristan, ** on royal f6te days, and are carried about the city."
TOLEDO. HS
Then, wishing to show me the modus operandi, he got under the petticoats of Asia. Next he led me to a corner where there was an enormous monster, which, touched at some point, extended a very long neck and a horrible head, with deafening noise. He could not tell me, however, what that horrible crea- ture meant, and begged me to admire instead, the marvellous Spanish imagination, which created so tnany neiv things that it could furnish them to all the known world. I admired, paid, and continued the ascent with my Toledan pieuvre. From the top of the bell tower one enjoys a magnificent view of the city, the hills, the river, and an immense horizon ; and below, that great pile, the cathedral, which looks like a mountain of granite. There is, however, an- other height, at a short distance from which one sees everything better ; and, therefore, I remained but a few moments on the tower, because the sun was so strong that all the colors of the city and coun- try were bathed in an ocean of light.
After seeing the cathedral, my guide took me to the famous church of San yuan de los Reyes, situated on the banks of the Tagus. My mind is still con- fused when I think of the twists and turns we were obliged to make in order to reach it. It was mid- day ; the streets were deserted ; little by little, as we went farther and farther away from the heart of the city, the solitude became more intense. Not an open door or window was to be seen, nor was the slightest noise to be heard. At one time I fancied that the guide was in league with some assassin to decoy me into a quiet place in order to rob me ; for he certainly had a suspicious-looking face, and, added to this, he kept glancing here and there with the air of a man who is meditating a crime.
246 sPaW.
" Have we much farther to go ? " I asked, from time to time, and he always replied ; ** it is right here," but we never reached it. At a certain point my anxiety changed to fear : in a tortuous little street a door opened, two bearded men came out. made a /sign to \k\^ pieuvrcy and came behind us. I thought ' my hour had arrived. There was only one means of escape ; and that was to give a blow to the guide, throw him down, pass over his body, and take to my heels. But which way should I go ? On the other hand, the extravagant praise which Thiers lavishes on the jambes Espagnoles in his " History of the War of the Independence " came to my mind ; and I thought that flight would only be an expedient which would enable my enemy to plant his dagger in my back instead of my heart, Ah, me ! Was I to die without seeing Andalusia ! To die after hav- ing taken so many notes, after having given so many pour boireSy to die with my pockets full of letters of introduction, my purse filled with doubloons, my passport with so many signatures, to die through be- trayal ! As good fortune willed it, the two bearded men disappeared at the first turn of the street, and I was saved. Then, filled with repentance at having suspected that this poor old man was capable of crime, I moved on to his left side, offered him a cigar, told him that Toledo was worth two Romes, and paid him a thousand compliments. Finally we reached San ytia?i de los Reyes.
It is a church which looks like a royal palace. The highest portion is covered by a terrace surrounded with a perforated and sculptured parapet, upon which rises a number of statues of kings, and in the centre is a beautiful hexagon-shaped cupola that completes the perfect harmony of the church. From the walls
toLEbo. m
hang long iron chains that were taken from the Christian prisoners after the conquest of Granada, and which, together with the dark color of the stone, give to the church a severe yet picturesque ap- pearance. We entered, crossed two or three great bare rooms without any pavement, filled with piles of earth and debris, climbed a staircase, and came out on a high tribune inside the church, which is one of the most beautiful and noble monuments of Gothic art. It is a single, great nave, the roof of which is divided into four vaults, whose arches cross under rich roses. The pilasters are covered with garlands and arabesques ; the walls ornamented with a profusion of bas-reliefs, with enormous shields from the arms of Castile and Arragon, eagles, chimeras, heraldic animals, leaves, and emblematical inscrip- tions. The tribune, which is perforated and sculpt- ured with richness and elegance, runs all around ; the choir is supported by a very bold arch ; the color of the stone is light-gray, and everything is admir- ably finished, and still intact, as if the church had been built a few years since, instead of at the end of the fifteenth century.
We went from the church down into the cloister, which is a marvel of architecture and sculpture. There are slender and lovely columns that might be broken in two by the blow of a marble hammer, re- sembling the trunks of young trees, that sustain the capitals overladen with statuettes and ornaments, from which project (like curved boughs) arches or- namented with flowers, birds, grotesque animals, and every kind of frieze. The walls are covered with in- scriptions in Gothic characters, mingled with leaves and very delicate arabesques. No matter where one looks, one finds grace and richness combined with a harmony that is bewitching; in an equal
^4^ sPAm.
space, one could not collect, with more exquisite art, a greater number of lovely and beautiful things. It is a luxurious garden of sculpture, a great room dec- orated with embroideries, quiltings, and brocades in marble, a grand monument, majestic as a temple, magnificent as a royal palace, delicate as a plaything, and graceful as a bunch of flowers.
After the cloister, one must see the picture-gal- lery, which only contains some pictures of little value ; and then the convent, with its long corridors, narrow staircases, empty cells, falling into decay in some places, and quite in ruins in others, and every- where as bare and squalid in appearance as a byild- ing after a fire.
At a short distance from San yuan de los Reyes^ there is another monument worthy of being seen ; a curious record of the Judaic epoch ; the synagogue now designated by the name of Santa Maria Blanca. One en^rs a neglected garden, knocks at the door of a wretched-lookirlg house, the door opens .... and one experiences a pleasant feeling of surprise, and beholds a vision of the East, the sudden revela- tion of another religion and another world. There are five narrow aisles, divided by four long rows of little octagonal columns, which support as many Turkish arches upheld by capitals of stucco in dif- ferent forms ; the ceiling is of cedarwood, divided into compartments of equal size ; here and there on the walls are arabesques and Arabic inscriptions ; the light which falls from above making every thing white. The synagogue was changed by the Arabs into a mosque, and the mosque was transformed by the Christians into a church ; so that it is really not one of these three things at present, though it preserves the character of the mosque, and the eye
TOLEDO. 249
sweeps over it with delight, and the imagination fol- lows from arch to arch the fleeting images of a voluptuous paradise.
Having seen Santa Maria la Blanca, I felt too weary to look at any thing else, and repulsing all the tempting proposals of the guide, I ordered him to take me back to the hotel. After a long walk through a labyrinth of solitary little streets, we reached iL I put a peseta and a half in the hand of my innocent assassin, who found the sum a small one, and asked me for (how I laughed at the word) a sma^ gratification ; and I entered the dining-room to eat a cutlet, or chuletay as the Spanish call it, a name which would make people turn up their noses in some provinces of Italy.
Toward evening I went to see the Alcazar. The name makes one hope for an Arabian palace ; but there is nothing Arabian about it except its name ; the edifice which one admires to-day was built under the reign of Charles V, on the ruins of a castle, which existed in the eighth century, although only very vag^e indications of the fact are to be found in the chronicles of that period. This building stands on a height in the centre of the city, so that its walls and towers can be seen from all the higher portions of the street, and the stranger may use it as a guide out of the labyrinth. I climbed to the height by a long winding street, like the one which leads from the plain to the city, and found myself before the door of the Alcazar. It is an immense square palace, at whose corners rise four great towers which give it the formidable appearance of a fortress. Before the facade extends a large square, and all around it a belt of embattled bulwarks in the oriental style. The entire edifice is of a decided chalk color, varied with
250 SPAIN.
a thousand shadings by that powerful painter of mon- uments, the blazing sun of the south ; and is ren- dered brighter by the very limpid sky, upon which the majestic outlines of its walls stand out in bold relief. The fagade is sculptured in arabesques with a taste full of nobility and elegance. The in- terior of the palace corresponds with the exterior ; there is an immense court, encircled with two rows of graceful arches, one above the other, which are supported by light columns ; with a magnificent marble staircase, that rises in the centre of the side opposite the door, and is divided, at a short distance from the ground, into two parts, which lead, on the right and left, to the interior of the palace. In order to enjoy the beauty of the court, one must go to the point where the staircase branches off, for there one embraces with a glance the whole harmony of the building which causes a feeling of pleasure like con- certed music produced by scattered and unseen artists.
With the exception of the court, the other por- tions of the edifice, such as the staircase, rooms, corridors, and every thing, in fact, are already in ruins, or falling into decay. Now they are at work on the palace changing it into a military college. The walls are being whitened ; the walls are torn down to make great dormitories ; the doors num- bered ; and this royal dwelling is being converted into a barracks. The subterranean portions, how- ever, which served as stables for Charles V, and which can hold thousands of horses, are still intact. The guide made me look out of a window, from which I saw an abyss that gave me an idea of their vastness. Then we climbed a series of rickety stairs, into one of the four towers; the guide
TOLEDO. 2^1
opened, with pincers and a hammer, a nailed-up window, and said to me, with the air of a man who is announcing something marvellous :
** Look, sir ! "
It was a stupendous panorama. One gets a bird's-eye view of the city of Toledo, street by street, house by house, as one would see the plan stretched out upon a table. Here is the cathe- dral, which rises above the city like an immense castle, and makes all the surrounding edifices look as small as play-houses ; there, the terrace (covered with statues) of San Juan de los Reyes ; in another point the embattled towers of the new- gate ; the bull circus ; the Tagus, that flows at the foot of the city, between the rocky banks ; beyond the river, near the bridge of Alcantara, on a steep rock, are the ruins of the old castle of San Servando. Farther away lies a green plain, and beyond are rocks, hills, and mountains, as far as the eye can reach. Above, is the clear sky, and the setting sun, which gilds the tops of the old buildings, and makes the river gleam like a silver scarf.
While I was contemplating that magical spectacle, the guide, who had read the history of Toledo, and wished to make the fact known, related every sort of story to me, in that half poetical, half facetious way, which is peculiar to the southern Spaniard. First of all, he wished me to hear the history of the works of fortification ; and although where he de- clared that he saw quite distinctly all that he was pointing out to me, I saw nothing, I succeeded in understanding something about it.
He told me that Toledo had been encircled with walls three times, and that one could still clearly see the traces of all three boundaries.
2^2 SPAIN.
" Look," he said ; " follow the line which my finger describes : that is the Roman boundary, the closest, and one can see its ruins yet. Now, look further on. That other, broader still, is the Gothic boundary. Then describe a curve with your eyes, which will take in the two ; that is the Arabian boundary, the most recent of them all. The Arabs built a narrow boundary on the ruins of the old one ; that you certainly can see. Now observe the direc- tion of the streets which converge toward the high- est portion of the city ; follow the line of the roofs, like this: you will see that all the streets ascend zig-zag ; and were laid out thus on purpose to de- fend the city even after the walls were destroyed ; and the houses were built thus close to one another, so that people could leap from roof to roof, you see. The Arabs left a writing to this effect, and this is the reason why the gentlemen from Madrid make me laugh when they come here and say: * Pah ! what streets ! ' It is plain to be seen that they do not know the first thing about history ; if they knew a little more about it ; if they would read a trifle instead of passing their days at the Prado and Recoletos, they would understand that there is a reason for the narrow streets of Toledo, and that it is not a city for ignorant people."
I began to laugh.
"You do not believe me } " continued the guide ; " It is an absolute fact. Not one week ago, to cite a case, one of these Madrid dandies came here with his wife. Even when they were mounting the steps they began saying all sorts of things of the city and its narrow streets and dark houses. When they stood at this window, and saw those two old towers down there on the plain, on the left bank of the
TOlmDo ^53
Tagus, they asked me what they were, and I re- plied : * Los palacios de Galiana.' * Oh, what beauti- ful palaces ! ' they exclaimed, beginning to laugh, and looking in another direction. Why did they do it ? Why, because they did not know their history ; and I do not believe that you know it either ; but then you are a stranger, and that is another matter. You must know that when the great Emperor Char- lemagne was very young, he came to Toledo. King Galafro, who was reigning then, lived in that palace. This king had a daughter called Galiana, who was as beautiful as an angel ; and as Charlemagne was the king s guest and saw the princess every day, he fell desperately in love with her, she reciprocating his affection. However, there was a rival, and this rival was none other than the King of Guadalajara, a gi- gantic Moor of herculean strength, and as coura- geous as a lion. This king, in order to see the prin- cess without being discovered, had had a subterra- nean passage opened that led from the city of Guadalajara to the foundation of the palace. But what did this avail ? The princess could not bear the sight of him, even in miniature, and as many times as he came just so many times did she send him back disconsolate. This, however, did not pre- vent the enamored king from paying her court, and, in fact, he hung around her so much that at last Charlemagne, who was not a man to submit to this sort of thing, lost his patience, as you may well imagine, and in order to put an end to the matter, challenged him. They fought ; the struggle was terrible ; but the Moor, although he was a giant, got the worst of it. When he was dead, Charlemagne cut off his head, and went and laid it at the feet of his inamorata, who appreciated the delicacy of the
254 BPAW.
%
offering, became a Christian, gave her hand tc the prince, and left with him for France ; there she ^as proclaimed empress."
** And the head of the Moor, what becaire of that ? "
" Oh, you are laughing at me, but I assure you this is a solemn fact. Do you see that old building in the highest part of the city ? It is the church of San Gin^s. Would you like to know what is in it ? Well, nothing more or less than the door of a sub- terranean passage which extends to the distance of three leagues from Toledo. You do not believe it ; well, listen : On the spot where the church of San Gin^s stands, there was once, before the Arabs in- vaded Spain, an enchanted palace. No king had ever had the courage to enter it ; those who might have dared do it, did not, however, because, accord- ing to the tradition, the first one who passed the portal would have been the ruin of Spain. Finally, King Roderic, before starting for the battle of Gua- dalete, hoping to find therein some treasures which would furnish a means of defending himself against the invasion of the Arabs, had the doors pulled down, and, preceded by his warriors, who lighted the way, he entered. After a great deal of difficulty in keeping their torches lighted, on account of the strong wind which was blowing in these subterra- nean passages, they reached a mysterious chamber, where they saw a coffer, upon which was written : * He who opens me will see marvels.' The king ordered it to be opened, which they only succeeded in doing with great difficulty ; but instead of gold and diamonds they merely found a rolled canvas, upon which some armed Arabs were painted, and under them was this inscription : * ^ain will be de-
TOLEDO. ^55
stroyed in a short time by these men' That same night a violent tempest broke out, the enchanted palace fell, and shortly thereafter the Arabs entered Spain. You do not seem to believe this!" ** Oh, nonsense ; who should believe it? " ** This history is connected with another. You doubdess know that the Count Julian, commandant of the fortress of Ceuta, betrayed Spain, allowing Arabs to pass, to whom he should have barred the passage. You cannot know, however, why Count Julian betrayed Spain. He had a daughter at To- ledo, and this daughter went every day to bathe in the Tagus, together with several of her friends. Unfortunately, the place where she bathed, which was called Los banos de la CavUy was near a tower, in which King Roderic used to pass the warm hours of the day. One day the daughter of Count Julian, whose name was Florinda, tired of playing in the water, seated herself on the banks of the river, and said to her companions : * Let us see who has the most beautiful leg ! ' * Let us see ! ' they all replied. No sooner said than done, for they seated them- selves around Florinda, and each displayed her beauties. Florinda, however, bore off the palm ; and, unfortunately, just as she was saying, * Look ! * King Roderic appeared at the window, and saw every thing. He was young, and a libertine, so took fire like a match, paid court to the beautiful Florinda, seduced and abandoned her, and this caused the fury for revenge in Count Julian, as well as the betrayal and invasion."
At this point I thought that I had heard enough, so I gave the custodian a couple of reales, which he took, and put into his pocket in a dignified way, and giving a last glimpse at Toledo, I went down from the tower.
2S6 SPA /AT.
It was the promenade hour ; the principal street, which is scarcely wide enough to admit of the pas- sage of a carriage, was full of people. There may have been some hundreds of persons, but they seemed to be a great crowd. It was growing dark : the shops were closing, and a few lights began to shine here and there. I went to dine, and left the house immediately afterward, in order not to lose the spectacle of the promenade. It was night ; there was no other illumination than the light of the moon ; one could not see the people's faces ; it seemed to me like being in the midst of a proces- sion of spectres, and I was seized with a feeling of melancholy. " To think that I am alone," I said ; *' that in this whole city there is not one soul who knows me ; that if I were to fall dead at this mo- ment, there would not be a dog who would say ; * Poor fellow ! He was a good creature ! * " I saw gay youths, fathers of families, with their children, and wives (or those who seemed to be wives) with a dear little thing in their arms, going by ; every one had a companion ; they were all laughing and talking, and they passed without even giving me a glance. How sad I was ! How happy I should have been if a boy, a beggar, or a policeman had come to say : " I think I know you, sir ! " " It is impossible ; I am a stranger ; I have never before been at Toledo ; but never mind ; don't go away ; stay here ; we will talk a little while, for I am alone! "
At a happy moment I remembered that at Mad- rid a letter of introduction had been given me for a gentleman in Toledo ; I rushed to the hotel, got it, and had some one take me immediately to his house. The gentleman Was at home, and received me cour- teously. On hearing my name uttered, I experi-
TOLEDO. 25J
enced such a feeling of delight, that I could have thrown my arms around his neck. He was Antonio Gamero, the author of the much esteemed history of Toledo. We passed the evening together ; I asked him about a hundred things ; he told me of a thou- sand ; and read me several fine pages from his book, which gave me a greater knowledge of Toledo than I should have acquired after a month s sojourn there.
The city is poor, or more than poor, it is dead ; the rich people have abandoned it to go and live at Madrid ; the men of genius have followed the lead of the rich ; there is no commerce ; the manufac- ture of Toledo blades (the only industry which nour- ishes) provides maintenance for some hundreds of families, but it is not sufficient for the entire city ; popular education has fallen away ; and the people are inert and miserable. Yet they have not lost their beautiful ancient characteristics. Like all the people of the great decayed cities, they are proud and chivalrous ; abhor base actions ; mete out justice with their own hand, when they can, to assassins and thieves ; and although Zorilla, in one of his bal- lads, has called them, without any metaphor, an im- becile people, this is not the case, for they are both wide awake and bold. They share the gravity of the Spaniards of the north, and the vivacity of those of the south ; and hold their own place between the Castilian and the Andalusian. Spanish is spoken by them with great taste and with a greater variety of accent than by the people of Madrid, and with less carelessness than by the people of Cordova and Se- ville. Poetry and music they wgj are proud to enumerate among^^^rtt^^^^^ftifej gentle Garcilaso de la Vega, ^~
258 SPAIN.
poetry, and the clever Francis de Rojas, the author of Garcia del Castanar ; and they are delighted to see artists and savants from all the countries in the world gather within the walls of their city to study the history of their nations and the monuments of their civilizations. No matter, however, what its people may be, Toledo is dead ; the city of Wamba, Alphonso the brave, and Padilla, is now only a tomb. From the time Philip II removed his capi- tal, it has been declining, is declining still, and is consuming itself little by little, alone on the summit of its sad mountain, like a skeleton abandoned upon a rock in the midst of the waves of the sea.
I returned to the hotel just before midnight The moon was shining; and on moonlight nights, although the rays of that silvery orb do not pene- trate into the little narrow streets, the lamps are not lighted, so I was obliged to walk, feeling my way al- most as a thief would do when committing a burg- lary. With my head full, as it was, of fantastic ballads, in which the streets of Toledo are described as being filled at night with cavaliers enveloped in their mantles, who sing under the windows of the fair sex, fight, kill each other, place ladders up against palace and abduct the young girls, I might have imagined that I should hear the sounds of guitars, the clashing of swords, and the cries of dying people. Nothing of the sort ; the streets were silent and deserted, the windows dark ; and I barely heard from time to time, at the corners and cross-roads, some light rustle or fugitive whisper, so that one could not tell exactly from what direction they came. I reached the hotel without having ab- ducted any young Toledan, which might have caused to me unpleasantness, but also without re-
TOLEDO. 259
ceiying any holes in my body, a circumstance cer- tainly rather consoling.
The following morning I visited the hospital of the San Cruz; the church of Nuestra Senora del Transito, an ancient synagogue ; the remains of an amphitheatre and of a naumachy of the time of the Romans ; and the famous manufactory of arms, vrhere I purchased a beautiful dagger with silvered handle and arabesqued blade, that 1 have this mo- ment on my table, and which, when I close my eyes and seize it, makes me feel that I am still there, in the court-yard of the factory, a mile from Toledo, under a mid-day sun, among a crowd of soldiers, and in a cloud of cigarette smoke. I remember that on returning to Toledo on foot, while I was crossing a plain solitary as a desert and silent as a catacomb, a formidable voice shouted :
** Out with the stranger ! "
The voice came from the city ; I stopped, I was the stranger, that cry was directed against me, I was startled, and the solitude and silence of the place increased my fright. I went on, and the voice shouted again :
** Out with the stranger ! "
*' Is it a dream?" I exclaimed, stopping again, '* or am I awake ? Who is it that is shouting ? and wherefore ? "
I resumed my walk, and a third time came the voice :
*' Out with the stranger ! "
I stopped the third time, and while I glanced around me quite uneasily, I saw a boy seated on the ground, who looked laughingly at me and said :
" It is an insane person who thinks he is living in the time of the War of the Independence ; there is the Insane Asylum J*
26o SFAIN.
He pointed out the asylum, on 1 height, among the most distant houses of Toledo, and I drew a long breath which would have extinguished a torch.
That evening I left Toledo, with the regret of not having had time enough to see and see again all that is antique and noteworthy there ; this regret was mit- igated, however, by the ardent desire I had to reach Andalusia, which gave, me no peace. How long a time I had Toledo before my eyes ; how long I saw and dreamed of those steep rocks, enormous walls, those dreary streets, and the fantastic appear- ance of that mediaeval city ! To-day, even, I often revive the picture with a sad pleasure and severe melancholy, and this picture leads my mind back to a thousand strange thoughts of remote times and marvellous occurrences.
CHAPTER VIIL
ON reaching' Castillejo I was obliged to wait un- til midnight for the train for Andalusia ; I dined on hard-boiled eggs, and oranges, with a little Val de Penas wine, murmured the poetry of Es- pronceda, chatted a trifle with the custom-house officer (who, by the way, made me a profession of his political faith : Amadeus, liberty, increase of salary of the custom-house officers, etc.), until I heard the desired whisrie, when I got into a railway carriage filled with women, boys, civil guards, cushions, and wraps ; and away we went at a speed unusual on Spanish railways. The night was very beautiful ; my travelling companions talked of bulls and Car- lists; a beautiful girl, whom more than one devoured with his eyes, pretended to sleep in order to excite our fancy with a sample of her nocturnal attitudes ; some were making cigarriios, some peeling oranges, and others hummmg arias of Zarzuela. Neverthe- less,! fell asleep after a few moments. I think I had already dreamed of the Mosque of Cordova and the Alcazar of Seville, when I was awakened by a hoarse cry:
"■^ Daggers f"
" Daggers ? In heaven's name ! For whom ?'
Before I saw who had shouted, a long sharp blade
262 SPAIN.
gleamed before my eyes, and the unknown person asked :
** Do you like it? "
One must really confess that there are more agreeable ways of being waked. I looked at my travelling companions with an expression of stupor which made them all burst out into a hearty laugh. Then I was told that at every railway station there were these venders of knives and daggers, who offered travellers their wares just as newspapers and refreshments are offered with us. Reassured as to my life, I bought (for five lire) my scarecrow, which was a beautiful dagger suitable for the tyrant of a tragedy, with its chased handle, an inscription on the blade, and an embroidered velvet sheath ; and I put it in my pocket, thinking that it would be quite use- ful to me in Italy in settling any questions with my publishers. The vender must have had fifty of them in a great red sash which was fastened around his waist. Other travellers bought them too ; the civil guards complimented one of my neighbors on his capital selection ; the boys cried :
** Give me one too ! " — and their mammas replied: " We will buy a longer one some other time." ** O blessed Spain ! " I exclaimed, as I thought, with disgust, of our barbarous laws which prohibit the innocent amusement of a little sharp steel.
We crossed the Mancha, the celebrated Mancha. the immortal theatre of the adventures of Don Quixote. It is just as I imagined it. There are broad bare plains, long tracts of sandy earth, some wind- mills, a few miserable villages, solitary paths, and wretched, abandoned houses. On seeing those places, I experienced a feeling of melancholy which the perusal of Cervantes' book always rouses ; and
CORDO VA, 263
I repeated to myself what I always say in reading It : ** This man cannot make one laugh, or if he does, under the smile the tears spring up." Don Quixote is a sad and solemn character ; his mania is a lament ; his life is the history of the dreams, illu- sions, disappointments, and aberrations of us all ; the struggle of reason with the imagination, of the true with the false, the ideal with the real ! We all have something of Don Quixote about us ; we all take windmills for giants; are all spurred upward, from time to time, by an impulse of enthusiasm, and driven back by a laugh of disdain ; are all a mixture of the sublime and the ridiculous ; and feel, with profound bitterness, the perpetual contrast between the greatness of our aspirations and the weakness of our powers. O beautiful, childish, and youthful dreams, generous proposals to consecrate our lives to the defense of virtue and justice, cherished fancies of confronted dangers, daring struggles, magnani- mous exploits, and lofty loves, which have fallen, one by one, like the leaves of flowers, on the narrow, monotonous path of life, how you have been revivi- fied, and what charming thoughts and profound in- struction we have derived from you, O generous and unfortunate cavalier of sad figure !
At dawn we reached Argasamilla, where Don Quix- ote was born and died, and where poor Cervantes, the collector of the Grand Priory of San Juan, was arrested, in the name of the special magistrate of Consuegra, by irascible debtors, and kept a prisoner in a house that, as they say, is still in existence, and in which he is said to have conceived the idea of his romance. We passed the village of the Val de Penas, that gives its name to one of the most delicious wines of Spain, a wine bUck, sparkling, and exhilarating (and
264 SPAIN.
the only one, perhaps, which permits to the stranger from the North the copious libations to which he is accustomed at meals), and finally reached Santa Cruz de Tudela, a village famous for its manufac- tories of navajas {^vlw^s and razors), near which the road begins to ascend gradually toward the moun- tain.
The sun had risen, the women arid children had left the carriage, and peasants, officers, and toreros^ who were going to Seville, had taken their places. There was in that restricted space a variety of dress that would not be seen with us even on a market day. There were the pointed hats of the peasants of the Sierra Morena, the red trowsers of the soldiers, great sombreros of the picadoresy the shawls of the gypsies, the tnantas of Catalans, the Toledo blades hung on the walls, and capes, sashes, and trinkets of all the colors of a harlequin.
The train moved on among the rocks of the Sierra Morena, which separates the valley of the Guadiana from that of the Guadalquiver. made famous by the songs of poets and the exploits of brigands. The road runs, from time to time, between two walls of stone cut into points, and so high, that in order to see their tops it is necessary to put one's head en- tirely out of the window, and turn the face upward as if to look at the roof of the carriage. At some points the rocks are farther away, and rise one above the other ; the first in the shape of enormous broken boulders, and the last upright, slender, and like bold towers raised upon measureless bastions. In the centre, there is a pile of rocks, cut like teeth, lad- ders, crests, and dwarfs, some almost suspended in the air, others separated by deep caverns and fright- ful precipices, which present a confusion of strange
CORiX>VA. 265
forms, fantastic outlines of buildings, gigantic figures and ruins, and offer at every step a thousand shapes and unexpected aspects ; and on that infinite variety of forms there is as great a variety of colors, shades, rays, and floods of light. For a long distance on the right, the left, and above, nothing is to be seen but stone, without a house, a path, or a particle of earth where a man could plant his foot ; and as one goes on, the rocks, caverns, precipices, and every thing, in fact, become broader, deeper, and loftier, until the highest point of the Sierra is reached, where the sovereign majesty of the spectacle draws forth an exclamation of surprise.
There the train stopped for a few moments, and all the travellers put their heads out of the window.
*• Here," one person said to another, ** Cardenio (one of the most notable personages in Don Quix- ote) leaped in his shirt from rock to rock in order to do penance for his sins."
** I would," continued the traveller, " that Sagasta were forced to do the same."
All laughed, and each began xo look, on his own account; for some invidious politician, upon whom to inflict, in imagination, that species of punishment. One proposed Serrano, another Topete, and the rest others ; so that in a few moments (if their desires had been fulfilled) we should have seen the Sierra peopled with ministers, generals, and deputies in their shirts slipping from ledge to ledge, like the famous rock of Alexander Manzoni.
The train started again, the rocks disappeared, and the delicious valley of the Guadalquiver, the garden of Spain, the Eden of the Arabs, the para- dise of poets and painters, the blessed Andalusia disclosed itself to my eyes. I feel again the tremor
266 SPAIN.
of childish joy with which I dashed to the window, saying to myself, as I did so :
** Let me enjoy it !"
For a long distance the country offers no new as- pect to the feverish curiosity of the tourist. At Vilches there is a vast plain, and beyond there, the open country of Tolosa, where Alphonso VIIL King of Castile, gained the celebrated victory de Ids Navas over the Mussulman army. The sky was very clear, and in the distance one could see the mountains of the Sierra di Segura. Suddenly, there comes over me a sensation which seems to respond to a sup- pressed exclamation of surprise : the first aloes, with their thick leaves, the unexpected heralds of tropical vegetation, rise on both sides of the road. Beyond, the fields studded with flowers begin to appear. The first are studded, those which follow almost covered, then come vast stretches of ground entirely clothed with poppies, daisies, lilies, wild mushrooms, and ranunculuses, so that the country (as it presents itself to view) looks like a succession of immense purple, gold, and snowy-hued carpets; In the dis- tance, among the trees, are innumerable blue, white, and yellow streaks, as far as the eye can reach ; and nearer, on the banks of the ditches, the elevations of ground, the slopes, and even on the edge of the road are flowers in beds, clumps, and clusters, one above the other, grouped in the form of great bou- quets, and trembling on their stalks, which one can almost touch with his hand. Then there are fields white with great blades of grain, flanked by planta- tions of roses, orange groves, immense olive groves, and hillsides varied by a thousand shades of green, surmounted by ancient Moorish towers, scattered with many-colored houses; and between the one and
COJii>oP'A. 267
the other are white and slender bridges that cross rivulets hidden by the trees. On the horizon ap- pear the snowy caps of the Sierra Nevada; under that white streak lie the undulating blue ones of the nearer mountains. The country becomes more varied and flourishing ; Arjonilla lies in a grove of olives, whose boundary one cannot see ; Pedro Abad, in the midst of a plain covered with vineyards and fruit-trees ; Ventas di Alcolea, on the last hills of the Sierra Nevada, peopled with villas and gardens. We are approaching Cordova, the train flies along, we see little stations half hidden by trees and flowers, the wind carries the rose leaves into the carriages, great butterflies fly near the windows, a delicious perfume permeates the air, the travellers sing, we pass through an enchanted garden, the aloes, oranges, palms, and villas grow more frequent; and at last we hear a cry : ** Here is Cordova !"
How many lovely pictures and grand recollections the sound of that name awakens in one s mind !
Cordova, the ancient pearl of the West, as the Ara- bian poets call it, the city of cities, Cordova of the thirty suburbs and three thousand mosques, which enclosed within her walls the greatest temple of Islam ! Her fame extended throughout the East, and obscured the glory of ancient Damascus. The faithful came from the most remote regions of Asia to the banks of the Guadalquiver, to prostrate themselves in the marvellous Mihrab of her mosque, in the light of the thousand bronze lamps cast from the bells of the cathedrals of Spain. Hither flocked artists, savants, and poets, from every part of the Mahome- tan world, to her flourishing schools, immense libraries, and the magnificent courts of her Caliphs. Riches and beauty flowed in, attracted by the fame
268 sPAil^r
of her splendor. From here they scattered, eager for knowledge, along the coasts of Africa, through the schools of Tunis, Cairo, Bagdad, Cufa, and even to India and China, in order to gather inspiration and records ; and the poetry sung on the slopes of the Sierra Morena flew from lyre to lyre, as far as the valleys of the Caucasus, to excite the ardor for pilgrimages. The beautiful, powerful, and wise Cor- dova, crowned with three thousand villages, proudly raised her white minarets in the midst of orange groves, and spread around the valley a voluptuous atmosphere of joy and glory !
I leave the train, cross a garden, look around me, I am alone ; the travellers who were with me disap- pear here and there ; I still hear the noise of a car- riage which is rolling off; then all is quiet. It is midday, the sky is very clear, and the air suffocating. I see two white houses ; it is the opening of a street : I enter, and go on. The street is narrow, the houses as small as the little villas on the slopes of artificial gardens, almost all one story in height, with windows a few feet from the ground, the roofs so low that one could almost touch them with a stick, and the walls very white. The street turns, I look, see no one, and hear neither step nor voice. I say to my- self: ** This must be an abandoned street! " and try another one, in which the houses are white, the windows closed, and there is nothing but silence and solitude around me. ** Why, where am I? " I asked myself. I go on ; the street, which is so narrow that a carriage could not pass, begins to wind ; on the right and the left I see other deserted streets, white houses, and closed windows. My step resounds as if in a corridor. The whiteness of the walls is so vivid that even the reflection is trying, and I am
CORDOVA. 269
obliged to walk with my eyes half closed, for it really seems as if I were making my way through the snow. I reach a small square ; every thing is closed and no one is to be seen. At this point a vague feeling of melancholy seizes me, such as I have never experienced before ; a mixture of pleasure and sadness, similar to that which comes to children when, after a long run, they reach a lonely rural spot, and rejoice in their discovery, but with a certain trepida- tion lest they should be too far from home. Above many roofs rise the palm trees of inner gardens.
0 fantastic legends of Odalisk and Caliphs! On
1 go, from street to street, and square to square ; I begin to meet some people, but they pass and disap- pear like phantoms. All the streets resemble each other ; the houses have only three or four windows ; and not a spot, scrawl, or crack is to be seen on the walls, which are as smooth and white as a sheet of paper. From time to time I hear a whisper behind a blind, and see, almost at the same moment, a dark head, with a flower in the hair, appear and disappear. I look in at a door * * *
A patio ! How shall I describe a patio? It is not a court, nor a garden, nor a room ; but it is all three things combined. Between xh^ patio and the street there is a vestibule. On the four sides of the patio rise slender columns, which support, up to a level with the first floor, a species of gallery, en- closed in glass; above the gallery is stretched a can- vas, which shades the court. ' The vestibule is paved with marble, the door flanked by columns, surmounted by bas-reliefs, and closed by a slender iron gate of graceful design. At the end of the patio, in a line with the door, rises a statue ; in the centre there is a fountain ; and all around are scat-
270 SPAIN.
tered chairs, work-tables, pictures, and vases of flowers. I run to another door ; there is another patio y with its walls covered with ivy, and a number of niches holding little statues, busts, and urns. I look in at a third door ; here is another patio^ with its walls worked in mosaics, a palm in the centre, and a mass of flowers all around. I stop at a fourth door ; after the patio there is another vestibule, after this a second patio^ in which one sees other statues, columns, and fountains. All these rooms and gar- dens are so neat and clean that one could pass his hand over the walls and on the ground without leav- ing a trace ; and they are fresh, fragrant, and lighted by an uncertain light, which increases their beauty and mysterious appearance.
On I go, at random, from street to street. As I walk, my curiosity increases, and I quicken my pace. It seems impossible that a whole city can be like this ; I am afraid of stumbling across some house or coming into some street that will remind me of other cities, and disturb my beautiful dream. But no, the dream lasts ; for every thing is small, lovely, and mysterious. At every hundred steps I reach a deserted square, in which I stop and hold my breath ; from time to time there appears a cross-road, and not a living soul is to be seen ; every thing is white, the windows closed, and silence reigns on all sides. At each door there is a new spectacle ; there are arches, columns, flowers, jets of water, and palms ; a marvellous variety of design, tints, light, and per- fume ; here the odor of roses, there of oranges, farther on of pinks ; and with this perfume a whiff of fresh air, and with the air a subdued sound of women's voices, the rustling of leaves, and the sing- ing of birds. It is a sweet and varied harmony that
CORDOVA. 271
Without disturbing the silence of the streets, soothes the ear like the echo of distant music. Ah ! it is not a dream ! Madrid, Italy, Europe are indeed far away ! Here one lives another life, and breathes the air of a different world, for I am in the East !
I remember that at a certain point I stopped in the middle of the street, and became suddenly aware, I know not how, that I was sad and anxious, and that in my heart there was an immense void, which neither pleasure nor surprise could fill. I felt an irre- sistible desire to enter those houses and gardens ; to rend, as it were, the veil of mystery which surrounds the life of the unknown people who were there ; to participate in that life ; to seize some hand ; and to fix my eyes on two pitying ones, and say : ** I am a stranger, and alone ; I too wish to be happy ; let me remain among your flowers, let me enjoy all the secrets of your paradise, tell me who you are, how you live, smile on me, and sooth me, for my head is burning! " This sadness reached such a point that I said to myself: *' I cannot stay in this city, for I am suffering here. I will go away ! "
And I should, indeed, have left if I had not fortu- nately remembered that I had in my pocket a letter of introduction to two young men in Cordova, brothers of a friend of mine in Florence. I set aside the idea of leaving town, and went in search of them.
How they laughed when I told them the impres- sion that Cordova had produced upon me! They proposed going instantly to see the cathedral ; we passed through a little white street, and on we went.
The mosque of Cordova, which was changed into a church after the expulsion of the Arabs, but which is always a mosque, was built on the ruins of the
±72 SPAIN.
primitive cathedral, at a short distance from the banks of the Guadalquiver. Abdurrahman began the construction of it in the year 785 or 786. " Let us erect a mosque," he said, ** which will surpass those of Bagdad, Damascus; and Jerusalem, and that shall be the largest temple of Islam, and the Mecca of the West." He began the work with great zeal ; the Christian slaves brought the stones for the foun- dation from the ruins of the destroyed church. Abdurrahman worked, himself, one hour each day. The mosque, in the space of a few years, was built ; the Caliphs who succeeded Abdurrahman embel- lished it, and after a century of nearly continuous labor the work was completed.
** Here we are," said one of my hosts, stopping suddenly before an immense edifice.
I fancied it was a fortress, but it proved to be, however, the wall that encircles the mosque ; an old, 'embattled wall, in which were once opened twenty great bronze doors, surrounded by very beautiful arabesques and arched windows, supported by slender columns, now covered with a triple stratum of plaster. A turn around that boundary wall is a nice little walk to take after dinner ; by this, one can judge of the size of the building.
The principal door of the boundary is at the west, on the spot where rose the minaret of Abdurrahman, on the point of which waved the Mahometan stand- ard. We entered ; I fancied that I should instantly see the interior of the mosque, and I found inyself in a garden filled with oranges, cypresses, and palms, surrounded on three sides by a very light portico, and closed on the fourth side by the facade of the mosque. In the centre of this garden there was, in the time of the Arabs, the fountain for their ablu-
C0Rix)rA. 273
tions ; and under the shade of these trees the faithful gathered before entering the temple. I stood for some moments looking around me, and inhaling the fresh and odorous air with a very keen sense of pleasure. My heart was beating at the thought that the famous mosque was near, and I felt myself im- pelled toward the door by intense curiosity, and re- strained by a sort of childish trepidation.
" Let us enter," said my companions.
" One moment more," I replied ; ** let me enjoy tne pleasure of anticipation."
Finally, I made a move, and without looking at the marvellous doors, which my companions pointed out, I entered.
What I may have done or said as I got inside, I do not know, but certainly some strange sound must have escaped me. or I must have made a curi- ous gesture, for some people who were coming toward me at that moment began laughing, and turned back to look around, as if to try and discover what could have produced such a profound impres* sion upon me.
Imagine a forest, fancy yourself in the thickest portion of it, and that you can see nothing but the trunks of trees. So, in this mosque, on whatever side you look, the eye loses itself among the columns. It is a forest of marble whose confines one cannot discover. You follow with your eye, one by one, the very long rows of columns that interlace at every step with numberless other rows, and you reach a semi-obscure background, in which other columns still seem to be gleaming. There are nineteen aisles which extend from north to south, traversed by thirty- three others, supported (among them all) by more than nine hundred columns of porphyry, jasper,
274 SPA/AT.
breccia and marbles of every color. Each column upholds a small pilaster, and between them runs an arch, and a second one extends from pilaster to pilaster, the latter placed above the former, and both ct them in the shape of a horseshoe ; so that, in im- agining the columns to be the trunks of so many trees, the arches represent the branches, and the similitude of the mosque to a forest is complete. The middle aisle^ much broader than the others, ends in front of the Maksura, which is the most sacred part of the temple, where the Koran was wor- shipped. Here, from the wandows in the ceiling. falls a pale ray of light that illuminates a row of columns ; there is a dark spot ; farther on falls a second ray which lights another aisle. It is impossi- ble to express the feeling of mysterious surprise which that spectacle arouses in your soul. It is like the sudden revelation of an unknown religion, nature and life, which bears away your imagination to the delight of that paradise, full of love and voluptuous- ness, where the blessed, seated under the shade oi leafy plane trees and thornless rose-bushes, drink from crystal vases the wine, sparkling like pearls, mixed by immortal children, and take their repose, in the arms of charming black-eyed virgins! All the pictures of eternal pleasure which the Koran promises to the faithful, present themselves to your mind bright, gleaming, and vivid, at the first sight oi the mosque, and cause you a sweet momentary in- toxication, which leaves in your heart an indescrib- able'sort j of melancholy! A brief tumult of the mind, andla spark of fire rushes through your veins, — such is the first sensation one experiences upon en- tering the- cathedral of Cordova. .^^.^}ie. began to wander from aisle to aisle, observ-
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CORDOVA. 275
ing every thing minutely. How much variety there is in that edifice which at first sight seems so uni- form ! The proportions of the columns, the designs of the capitals, the forms of the arches change, one might say, at every step. The majority of the col- umns are old, and were taken from the Arabs of Northern Spain, Gaiil, and Roman Africa, and some are said to have belonged to a temple of Janus, on the ruins of which was built the church that the Arabs destroyed in order to erect the mosque. Above several of the capitals one can still see traces of the crosses that were cut on them, and that the Arabs broke with their chisels. In some of the col- umns there are buried bits of curved iron, to which, it is said, the Arabs bound the Christians ; and one, among others, is pointed put to, which, according to tradition, a Christian was: chaiilidi^V; m years, and during this timtf ^ Hfe scratched witKjhis nails a cross in the stone tli^t the giiideg' show ^ith great veneration. \ . a v i a ij u^ ^ v ^ , ^
We reached the McSc^wa;/ Oiyhich is Xke vtiost com- plete and marvellous^ WQi"^*^ in the tenth century. In front of 1t'^i'e"'cbntiguous chapels, with roofs formed of indented arches, and the walls covered with superb mosaics representing groups of flowers and sentences from the Koran. At the back of the middle chapel, is the principal mikraby the sacred place where the spirit of God rested. It is a niche with an octagonal base closed at the top by a colossal marble shell. In the mihrab was deposited the Koran, written by the hand of the Caliph Oth- man, covered with gold, studded with pearls, and nailed above a chair made of aloe wood ; and it was around this that the thousands of pilgrims came to make seven turns on their knees. On approaching
27© SPAM.
the wall I felt the pavement giving way under me ; the marble was hollowed out !
On coming out of the niche, I stopped for a long time to look at the ceiling and walls of the prin- cipal chapel, the only part of the mosque that is quite intact. It is a dazzling gleam of crystals of a thousand colors, a network of arabesques, which puzzles the mind, and a complication of bas-reliefs, gildings, ornaments, minutiae of design and coloring, of a delicacy, grace, and perfection sufficient to drive the most patient painter distracted. It is impK)ssi- ble to retain any of that pretentious work in the mind. You might turn a hundred times to look at it, and it would only seem to you, in thinking it over, a mingling of blue, red, green, gilded, and luminous points, or a very intricate embroidery changing con- tinually, with the greatest rapidity, both design and coloring. Only from the fiery and indefatigable im- agination of the Arabs could such a perfect miracle of art emanate.
We began to wander about the mosque again, looking here and there on the walls, at the ara- besques of the old doors, which are being discovered from time to time under the detestable whitewash of the Christians. My companions looked at me, laughed, and murmured something to each other.
** Have you not noticed it yet ? " one of them asked me.
- What ? "
They looked at each other and smiled again.
"Do you think you have seen all the mosque?" began one of my companions.
" Why, certainly I do/' I replied, looking around me.
" Well, then," said the first, " you have not seen it
COHDOVA. 277
all ; and that which remains to be seen is nothing less than a church/'
•* A church ! " I exclaimed, with surprise ; " but where is it ? "
•' Look/' replied the other, pointing, "it is in the very centre of the mosque/'
" Heavens ! " and I had never seen it at all.
One can judge of the size of the mosque from this fact. We went to see the church, which is beautiful and very rich, with a magnificent high altar, and a choir worthy of a place beside those of Burgos aud Toledo ; but like all things that are out of place, it arouses one's anger rather than admiration. Without this church the general appearance of the mosque would have been much better. The same Charles V,who gave the chapter permission to erect it, repented when he saw the Mahometan temple for the first time. Beside the church is a sort of Ara- bian chapel, admirably preserved, and rich in mosa- ics, not less varied and superb than those of the Maksura, in which it is said the ministers of the re- ligion gathered to discuss the book of the prophet.
Such is the mosque of to-day, but what must it have been in the time of the Arabs ? It was not surrounded by a wall ; but open, so that one could catch a glimpse of the garden from every part of it ; and from the garden one could see to the end of the long aisle, and the air was permeated even under the Maksura with the fragrance of oranges and flowers. The columns, which now number less than a thousand, were then one thousand four hundred ; the ceiling was of cedar wood and larch, sculptured and enamelled in the finest manner ; the walls were trimmed with marble ; the light of eight hundred lamps, filled with perfumed oil, made all the crystals
278 SPAIN.
in the mosaics gleam, and produced on the pave- ment, arches, and walls a marvellous play of color and reflection. " A sea of splendors," sang a poet, " filled this mysterious recess ; the ambient air was impregnated with aromas and harmonies, and the thoughts of the faithful wandered and lost them- selves in the labyrinth of columns which gleamed like lances in the sunshine."
Frederick Schack, the author of a fine work en- titled, The Poetry atid Art of the Arabs in S^in and Suifyjgsve a description of the mosque on a solemn fete day, which presents a very vivid idea of Ma- hometan worship, and completes the picture of the monument
On both sides of the almimbar or pulpit wave two standards to signify that Islam has triumphed over Judaism and Christianity, and that the Koran has con- quered the Old and New Testaments. The almnedani climb upon the gallery of the high minaret and intone the selam or salutation to the prophet Then the naves of the mosque fill with believers, who, clothed in white and wearing a festive aspect, gather for the oration. In a few moments, throughout the edifice nothing is to be seen but kneeling people. By the secret way which joins the temple to the alcazar, comes the caliph, who goes and seats himself in his elevated place. A reader of the Koran reads a Sura on the reading-desk of the tribune. The voice of the ntiu- cin sounds again, inviting people to the noonday prayers. All the faithful rise and murmur their prayers, making obeisances. A servant of the mosque opens the doors of the pulpit and seizes a sword, with which, turning toward Mecca, he admon- ishes all to praise Mohammed, while the prophet's name is being celebrated from tlie tribune by the
CoRtx>yA. ^79
singing of the mubaliges. After this the preacher ascends the pulpit, taking from the hand of the ser- vant the sword, which recalls and symbolizes the subjection of Spain to the power of Islam. It is the day on which Djihad^ or the holy war, is to be pro- claimed, the calf for all able-bodied men to descend into the battle field against the Christians. The multitude listen with silent devotion to the discourse (woven from the heads of the Koran), which begins like this :
" Praised be God, who has increased the glory of Islam, thanks to the sword of the Champion of the Faith, and who, in his holy book, has promised aid and victory to the believer.
** Allah scatters his benefits over the world.
** If he did not impel men to dash armed against each other the earth would be lost.
" Allah has ordered that the people be fought against until they know there is but one God.
" The flame of war will not be extinguished until the end of the w^orld.
"The divine benediction will fall upon the mane of the war-horse until the day of judgment.
" Be you armed from head to foot, or only lightly armed, rise, and take your departure !
•* O believers ! What will become of you if, when you are called to battle, you remain with your face turned toward the ground ?
'* Do your prefer the life of this world to that of the future ?
'* Believe me : the gates of paradise stand in the shadow of the sword.
** He who dies in battle for the cause of God, washes with the blood he sheds all the stains of his siiis.
28o SPA/y.
" His body will not be washed like the other bod- ies, because in the day of judgment his wounds will send out a fragrance like musk,
" When the warriors shall present themselves at the gates of paradise, a voice from within will ask : What have you done during your life ? '
" And they will reply : * We have brandished the sword in the struggle for the cause of God/
** Then the eternal gates will open and the war- riors will enter forty years before the others.
" Up, then, O believers ! Abandon women, children, brothers, and worldly possessions, and go forth to the holy war !
" And thou, O God, Lord of the present and fu- ture world, fight for the armies of those who recog- nize thy unity ! Destroy the incredulous, idolaters, and enemies of thy holy faith ! Overthrow their standards, and give them, with all they possess, as booty, to the Mussulmans ! "
The preacher, when he has finished his discourse, exclaims, turning toward the congregation : " Ask of God !" — and prays in silence. AH the faithful, touching the ground with their foreheads, follow his example. The mubodiges sing : ** Amen ! Amen, O Lord of all beings !" Like the intense heat that precedes the tempest, the enthusiasm of the multi- tude (restrained, up to this time, in a marvellous silence) breaks out in loud murmurs, which, rising like the waves of the sea, and inundating the temple, finally make the echo of a thousand united voices resound through the naves, chapels, and vaults in one single shout : " There is no God but Allah !"
The mosque of Cordova is still to-day, by universal consent, the most beautiful Mussulman temple, and one of the most wonderful monuments in the world.
CORDOVA. 281
When we left the mosque, a great portion of the hour of siesta had passed, which every one takes in the cities of Southern Spain, and which is quite ne- cessary, on account of the insupportable heat ; and the streets began to be peopled. ** Alas !" I said to my companions, " how badly a high hat looks in the streets of Cordova ! H o w have you the heart to fasten fashion plates to this beautiful oriental picture ? Why don't you dress like the Arabs ?" Dandies, workmen, and girls passed. I looked at them all with curiosity, hoping to find some of those fantastic figures which Dor6 pictured to us as the represen- tatives of the Andalusian type ; with that dark brown coloring, those thick lips, and great eyes. I met none of them however. On going toward the heart of the city, I saw the first Andalusian women, ladies, young ladies, and women of the people, almost all small, slender, well-made, some of them beautiful, many sympathetic, and the greater number, as in all other countries, neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. In their dress, with the exception of the so-called mantilla, there is no difference between the French women themselves and our own ; they wear great masses of false hair, in braids, bunches, and long curls ; and short petticoats, full ones and those with plaits ; and shoes with heels like the points of daggers. The ancient Andalusian costume has disappeared from the city.
I thought that the streets would be crowded toward evening, but I only saw a few people, and these in the streets of the principal quarters of the town ; the others were as deserted as during the hours of the siesta. It is just through these deserted streets that one ought to pass in order to enjoy Cor- dova at night. One sees the lights gleaming in the
^82 SPAIJ^.
patios; the pairs of lovers holding sweet converse in dark comers; the girls, for the most part, at the windows, with their hands carelessly hanging outside the gratings ; and .the yoiing men near the wall, in sentimental attitudes, their eyes on the alert, but not sufficiendy so to make them remove the hands from their lips, until they discover that some one is passing ; and'one hears the sound of guitars, the murmur of foriiitains, sighs, the laughter of children and mysterious rustlings.
The foHowing morning, ^till disturbed by the oriental dreams of the night, I began wandering again about the city. It would take. an entire volume to describe all that is worthy of: note ; for it is a veritable museum of Roman and Arabian an- tiquity. Here one finds a profusion of hiilitary .col- umns, inscriptions in honor of the empei-ors, -the remains of statues and bas-reliefs, six old gates ; a ; large bridge over the Guadalquiver, of the time of* Octavius Augustus, and reconstructed by^ the Arabs; ruins of towers and walls; houses which be'longe<fTO the Caliphs, and still retain the subterranean columns and arches of the bathing-rooms. In fact, on every side there are doors, vestibules, and staircases enough to delight a legion of archeologists.
Toward midday, in passing through a solitary street, I saw written on the wall of a house, near a Roman inscription : ** Casa de huespedes. Almuerzos y comidas :'' and in reading it I felt the cravings, as Giusti would say, of such a low appetite that I de- termined to gratify it in this little place, whatever it might be on which I had stumbled. I passed through a small door and found myself in 2l patio. It was a miserable patioy without marble or foundations, but as white as snow and as fresh as a garden. Not
\i
V>1
J),!. I
CORDO VA. 283
seeing either table or chair,- 1 feared that I had made a mistake in the door, and started to leave, when an old woman, who appeared from I know not where, stopped me.
** Can one have something to eat here ? " I asked.
" Yes, sir."
" What have you ? "
'• Eggs, sausages, cutlets, peaches, oranges, and Malaga wine."
*' Very well ; bring me every thing you have."
She began by bringing the table and chair, and I sat down and waited. Suddenly I heard a door behind me open; I turned. Ye heavenly powers, what did I see ! The n>ost b^giutifiil of all beautiful Andalusian woirien, not alone of those seen at Cor- dova, but of sdl; those which I . afterward saw at Seville, Cadiz,r; and .Granada^ She v^as an over- whelming sort .\of girl, who would .make one take flight or commft-My kind of a disviltry ; and had one of those faces which Hiade Guiseppe Baretti cry : ** Oh poor me ! " when he was travelling in Spain. She stood motionless for a few moments, with her eyes fastened upon ne, as if to say : ** Ad- mire me;" then turned toward the kitchen and called: " Aunt, make haste ! " which gave me the opportu- nity of thanking her in an embarassed way, and her the pretext of approaching me, and replying : ** Oh, not at all," with such a lovely voice that I was forced to offer her a chair, which she accepted. She was a girl in the twenties, tall, straight as a palm, dark, and with two great eyes full of sweetness, and so moist and glistening that they seemed to have just been shedding tears. Her hair was very black and heavy, and she wore a rose in her braids. She looked like one of the Arabian virgins of the Usras tribe, who made people die from love.
284 SPAIN.
She began the conversation herselC
" You are a stranger, sir, I think ? '*
" Yes."
" French ? "
" Italian/'
" Italian? Ah, a countryman of the king?*
- Yes."
" Do you know him, sir ? "
" By sight."
" They say he is a good sort of fellow."
I made no reply ; she began to laugh, and said :
" What are you looking at, sir? "
And continuing to laugh, she hid her foot which, in sitting down, she had put well forward, so that I could see it. Oh! there is not a woman in that country who does not know that the Andalusian feet are famous throughout the world.
I seized this opportunity to draw the conversation upon the fame of Andalusian women, and I expressed my admiration for them in the most enthusiastic terms in my vocabulary. She allowed me to say what I wished, looking all the time with the gravest attention at a crack in the table, then raised her head, and asked :
" How are the women in Italy ? "
** Oh ! they are beautiful in Italy too."
" They must be cold, however."
" Oh, no, indeed ! " I hastened to reply, " but you know that in every country the women have an 'in- describable something ' about them which is quite different from that of other countries, and among these * indescribable somethings ' that of the Andalu- sians is, perhaps, for the traveller whose hair is not gray, the most dangerous of all. There is a word which just expresses what I mean ; if I could remem- ber it, I should say : ' St-^i^r\tck \rou are the most — '
CORDOVA. 28 s
'* Salada / " (exclaimed the girl, covering' her face writh her hands).
** Salada ! . . the most salada Andalusian in Cordova."
Salada, salted, is the word quite commonly in use in Andalusia when you wish to say of a woman that she is beautiful, graceful, lovely, languid, fiery, and any thing else in fact ; a woman who possesses two lips that seem to say : ** Drink me,*' and two eyes that force you to bite your lips to keep out of mis- chief.
The aunt brought me the eggs, cutlets, chorizo (sausage), and oranges, and the girl continued the conversation.
" You are an Italian, sir ; have you seen the pope r
" No ; I regret to say that I have not.'*
** Is it possible ? An Italian who has not seen the pope ! Tell me, sir, why do you Italians treat him so badly? "
** Treat him badly ? in what way ? "
" Yes ; they say that you have shut him up in a house, and that you throw stones at his windows."
*' What nonsense! Don't believe it! There is not a shadow of truth in it, etc., etc."
" Have you seen Venice 1 "
" Venice, — oh, yes."
** Is it true that it is a city which floats on the water ? "
Here she begged me to describe Venice, and tell her about the people of that strange city, how they are dressed, and what they do all day long. While I was talking, aside from the difficulty I had in ex- pressing myself nicely, and trying to swallow a badly- cooked ^^^ and very stale sausage, I was obliged to
286 SPAlHr.
see her draw nearer and nearer, perhaps without being aware of it, in order to hear better ; to draw so near that I caught the perfume of the rose in her hair and the heat of her breath, and I had to make three efforts at a time to restrain myself : one with my head, the other with my stomach, and the third with both together when I heard her say every now and then : ** How beautiful ! '* a compliment which referred to the grand canal, and which produced upon me the same effect that the sight of a bag of napoleons, swung under his nose by an impertinent banker, would do upon a beggar.
•* Ah ! Seiiorita ! " I said at last, beginning to lose my patience, ** what difference does it make in the end whether a city is beautiful or not ? A person born in it takes no notice of it ; nor the traveller either, for the matter of that. I arrived in Cordova yesterday ; it is a beautiful place, no doubt, but, will you credit it ? I have already forgotten every thing I have seen ; I do not wish to see any thing else ; in fact, I no longer know where I am. Palaces ! mosques! they make me laugh! When there is a fire in your soul which is consuming you, do you go to V mosque to extinguish it ? Pardon me, but will you kindly move a little farther away ? When you are attacked by such a mania that you could crack plates with your teeth, would you go to look at a palace ? Believe me, the life of a traveller is a very hard one ! It is one of the hardest penances ! It is a martyrdom ! It is a * * * A prudent blow from her fan closed my mouth, which was going rather too fast with words and actions ; *so I attacked the cutlet.
" Poor fellow," the Andalusian murmured, laugh- ing, after giving a glance around her ; ** are all the Italians as fiery as you ? "
CORDO VA. 287
" How do I know ? Are all the Andalusian women as beautiful as you ? "
The girl stretched her hand out on the table.
" Will you hide that hand ? " I said,
*' Whv? " she asked,
* * Because I wish to eat in peace."
" Eat with one hand."
-Ah!"
I seemed to be pressing the hand of a child of six ; my knife fell to the ground, and a dense veil settled over the cutlet.
Suddenly I felt my hand empty ; I opened my eyes, saw that the girl was greatly excited, and turned around ; gracious heavens ! There stood a fine-looking fellow, with a spruce jacket, tight trowsers, and a little velvet hat, A torero, in fact. I gave a start as if I felt two banderillas de ftcego planted in my neck.
" Ah, I see how matters stand," I said to myself, and I fancy any one would have done so. The girl, slightly embarrassed, made the presentation :
•*This is an Italian who is passing through Cor- dova," then she added, hastily, '' and who wishes to know what time the train starts for Seville." ^
The torero, who had scowled at the sight of me, became reassured, told me the hour of departure, seated himself, and entered amicably into conversa- tion with me. I asked him the news of the last corrida at Cordova, for he was a banderillero, and he related all the day s doing minutely. The girl, meanwhile, was gathering flowers from the vases in Xh^ patio. When my breakfast was ended, I offered a glass of Malaga wine to the torero, drank to the successful planting of all his future banderillas, paid my bill (three pesetas, with the beautiful eyes in-
288 SPAIN.
eluded, be it understood), and then becoming quite bold, and wishing to dissipate even the shadow of a suspicion in the soul of my formidable rival, I said to the girl :
**Senorita! No one ever denies anything to a person who is going away. I am like a dying per- son to you. You will never see me again. You will never hear my name mentioned ; so please give me some souvenir ; give me that bunch of flowers."
" Here it is," the girl said. ** I had gathered it for you."
I gave a glance at the torero, who made a sign of approval.
" I thank you with all my heart," I replied, mak- ing a move to go. They both accompanied me to the door.
" Have you any bull-fights in Italy ? " the young man asked.
** O Heavens, no ! We have none yeL"
" What a pity ! Try to introduce them into Italy too, and I will come and banderillear at Rome."
" I will do all that I can. Seiiorita, will you tell me your name that I can say good-by ? "
** Consuelo."
" God be with you, Consuelo ! "
" God go with you, Senor Italianol **
There are no noteworthy Arabian monuments tc be seen around Cordova. Yet at one time, superb edifices were scattered all through the vaJley. Three miles from the city, on the north, on the slope of a hill, rose Medina Az-Zahra, " theyK?«r- ishing city,** which was one of the most marvellous works of architecture of the time of Abdurrahman III, started by the Caliph himself in honor of his favorite, whose name was Az-Zahra. The
foundations were laid in the year 933^ and ten thousand workmen labored thereon for twenty - five years. The Arabian poets celebrated Medina Az-Zahra as the most superb earthly palace, and the most delicious garden in the world* It was not a building, but an immense collection of palaces, gardens, courts, porticoes, and towers. There were exotics from Syria, fantastic jets for the very high fountains, rivulets lined by palms, and immense basins filled with mercury, which gleamed in the sun like lakes of fire. There were doors of ebony and ivory studded wkh pearls, thousands of columns of the most precious marble, great aerial terraces, and among the innumerable multitude of statues there were twelve animals of massive gold (gleaming with pearls), from whose noses and mouths fell sprays of perfumed water. In this immense palace was a troop of servants, slaves, and women, and musicians and poets flocked hither from every portion of the world. Nevertheless, this Abdurrahman III, who dwelt amid so many delights, who reigned for fifty years, was powerful, glorious, and fortunate in every undertaking, wrote before his death that during his long reign he had never been happy but fourteen days ! His fabulous ** flourishing city " was invaded, sacked, and burned by a barbarous horde seventy- four years after its first stones had been laid, and to- day those which remain hardly suffice to recall its name. Not even the ruins are to be found of another superb city, called Zahira, which rose on the east of Cordova, and which was built by the power- ftil Almansur, the governor of the kingdom ; for a body of rebels reduced it to ashes shortly after the death of its founder.
"All things return to the grand old mother earth."
296 sPa/J/.
Instead of taking a drive in the environs of Cor- dova, I gave myself up to wandering here and there, and to indulging in fancies about the names of the streets, which, in my opinion, is one of the greatest pleasures a man can enjoy in an unknown city. Cordova, alma tngeniarum parens, might write at every corner of her streets the name of an artist or illustrious sarvant bom within her walls ; and, let it be said to her honor, she has remembered them all with maternal gratitude. You find there the little square of Seneca, and there, perhaps, is the house in which he was born ; there is the street of Lucan, the street of Ambrosio Morales, the historian of Charles V, the continuer of the General Chronicle of Spain, begun by Florian de Ocampo ; the street of Paul Cespedes, painter, architect, sculptor, archeolo- gist, author of a didactic poem, Tlie Art of Painting. which, though, unfortunately, unfinished, contains some beautiful passages. He was very enthusiastic about Michel Angelo, whose works he had admired in Italy, and he addressed a hymn of praise to him in his poem which is one of the finest things in Spanish poetry ; and despite myself, some of the last lines escape from my pen. He says he does not believe that the perfection of painting can be better shown.
* " Que en aquella escelente obra espantosa Mayor de cuantas se han jamas pintado^ Que hizo el Buonarrota de su mano Divina, en el etrusco Vaticano !
" Cual nuevo Prometeo en alto viielo Alzdndose, estendib las alas tan to. Que puesto encima el estrellado cielo Una parte alcanz6 del fuego santo ; Con que tornando enriquecido al suelo
See Appendix for traoBlatton.
CdkDovA. igt
Con nueva maravilla y nuevo espantop
Di6 vida con eternos resplandores
A roar moles, k bronces, k colores.
I O mas que mortal hombre ! i Angel divino
O cual te momare ? No humano cierto
Es tu ser, que del cerco empireo vino
Al estilo y pincel vida y concierto :
Tu mostraste h los hombres el camino
Por mil edades e$condido, incierto
De la rein a virtud ; a ti se debe
Honra que en cierto dia el sol renueve.**
While murmuring these lines I came out on the street of Juan de Mena, the Spanish Ennius, as his fellow-citizens call him, the author of a phantasma- gorical poem, entitled TAe Labyrinthy an imitation of the Divine Comedy, which had great fame in its day, and is not without some pages of great and in- spired poetry ; but very cold, and filled, as a whole, with pedantic mysticisms. John II, King of Castile, was quite enthusiastic about this Labyrinth, kept it beside the missal in his closet, and carried it with him to the hunt ; but, behold the caprice of a king ! The poem had only three hundred chapters, and these seemed too few for John II ; do you know why? Simply because there were three hundred and sixty- five days in the year, and he thought there ought to be just as many chapters in the poeni. So he begged the poet to compose sixty-five more ; and the poet obeyed, very glad, the flatterer ! to have the pre- text of flattering his sovereign more, although he had already gone so far in his adulation as to beg the king to correct his verses ! From the street of Juan de Mena I passed into the street of Gongora, the Marini of Spain, not less gifted intellectually, but perhaps a greater corrupter of his literature than Marini has been of ours, because he spoiled, maimed,
29^ SPAil/.
and degraded the language in a thousand ways, so that Lopez de la Vega makes a follower of Gongora ask one of his listeners :
" Do you understand me ? "
" Oh, yes," the other replies. To which the poet responds :
** You lie ! because I do not even understand my- self!"
Yet not even Lopez is quite free from Gongorism, when he dares write that Tasso was only like the first rays of Marini s sun ; nor was Calderon, nor many greater men, free from it either. However, enough of poetry, for I am digressing!
After the siesta I hunted up my two com- panions, who took me into the suburbs of the city, in which I saw, for the first time, men and women of the true Andalusian type, just as I had imagined them, with the eyes, coloring, and attitudes of the Arabs. There I heard, too, for the first time, the real Andalusian style of speaking, which is softer and more musical than in the Castiles, and gayer, more imaginative, and accompanied by more viva- cious gestures. I asked my companions if that which is said of Andalusia is really true, .viz., that the early physical development causes greater vice, more voluptuous habits, and unbridled passions. " Too true ! " they replied, as they proceeded to give me explanations and descriptions, and tell me anecdotes which I withhold from my readers. We returned to the city, and they took me to a fine club-house, with gardens and superb rooms, in one of which (the largest and richest, ornamented with the portraits of all the illustrious men of Cordova) is a sort of stage, from which the poets read their poems on the even- ings set aside for public trials of genius ; and the
CORDOVA. 293
victors receive a wreath of laurel from the hands of the most beautiful and cultivated girls in the city, who are seated, in a semicircle, on chairs wreathed with roses. That evening I had the pleasure of meeting several young Cordovans who devote themselves to the cultivation of the Muses. They were frank, court- eous, and very vivacious, and had a medley of verses in their heads, and a sprinkling of Italian literature ; so that, as my readers may fancy, from twilight until midnight, in those mysterious little streets which had made my head whirl on the first evening, there was a continuous and increasing interchange of sonnets, national hymns, and ballads in the two languages (from Petrarch to Prati, and from Cervantes to Zorilla),and a gay conversation ended aod sealed by many cordial handshakings, and promises to write and send books to each other, to come to Italy and return to Spain, etc., etc.. They were only empty words, it is true, but none the less agreeable for that.
On the following day I left for Seville. At the station I saw Frascuelo, Lagartijo, Cuco, and the whole company of toreros from Madrid, who greeted me with a benevolent look of protection. I dashed into a dusty carriage, and when the train started and Cordova appeared to my eyes for the last time, I took leave of it with the words of an Arabian poet, which are, if you choose, a trifle too sensual for the taste of a European, but really quite suitable to the occasion :
'* Farewell Cordova! I should like to live as long as Noah, in order to dwell forever among thy walls. I should like to possess the treasures of Pharoah, to spend them on wine and the beautiful Cordovese women, whose lovely eyes seem to invite kisses,"
CHAPTER IX.
THE journey from Cordova to Seville arouses none of that suqjrise which is awakened by that from Toledo to Cordova, but it is more beauti- ful still ; for there are always those orange and end- less olive groves, the hills covered with grape-vines, and those fields filled with flowers. At a short dis- tance from Cordova one sees the rocky towers of the formidable Castle of Almodovar, standing on a very high rock, which dominates an immense space round about it. At Hornachuelos, there is another old castle on the top of a hill, in the centre of a soli- tary and melancholy landscape. Farther on, lies the white city of Palma, hidden in a thick grove of oranges, encircled, in its turn, by a wreath ofkitchen- and flower-gardens. And so we pass on through fields whitened with grain, flanked by hedges of In- dian fig-trees, rows of little palms, groves of pines, and fine plantations of fruit-trees. At every step one sees hills, castles, torrents, slender bell towers belonging to the villages hidden among the trees, and the blue summits of distant mountains.
The little country-houses scattered along the road are more beautiful than any thing else. I do not re- member having seen any of them which were not as white as snow. The house, the parapet of the
SEVILLE. 295
neighboring well, the low wall which encloses the garden, the two pilasters of the garden gate are all white, and every thing looks as if it had been white- washed the day before. Some of the houses have one or two little Moorish mullion windows ; others, some arabesques over the door; others, still, have varigated roofs like the Arabian houses. Here and there, scattered through the fields, one sees the red and white capes of the peasants, velvet hats in the midst of the verdure, together with sashes of every color. The peasants whom one sees in the furrows, or who have to watch the train pass by, are dressed, just as they are represented in the pictures, in the costumes of forty years ago. They wear a velvet hat with a very broad and slightly upturned brim, which has a crown like a sugar loaf ; a short jacket, open waist-coat, knee-breeches like those of the priests, a pair of gaiters that reach the trousers, and a sash around their waists. This style of dress, which is beautiful, though inconvenient, adapts itself admirably to the slender figures of those men who much prefer being beautifully uncomfortable, than to be comfortable without grace, and who willingly spend a half hour on their toilette every morning, in order to get into a pair of breeches which will display a fine shaped hip and leg. They have nothing in common with our hard-faced, stony-eyed peasants of the North. The former look at you with a smile ; the great black eyes cast audacious glances at the ladies who put their heads out of the windows, as if to say : " Do you not recognize me ?" they hand you a match before you have asked for it ; some- times reply in rhyme to your question; and are quite capable of laughing on purpose to show you their white teeth.
29^ SPAM.
At the Rinconada, one begins to see, in a line with the railway, the bell tower of the Seville Ca- thedral ; and on the right, beyond the Guadalquiver, the beautiful hillsides covered with olive groves, at the foot of which lie the ruins of Italica. The train sped along, and I said to myself, more and more hurriedly as the houses became more frequent, with that breathlessness full of desire and joy which one experiences in climbing the staircase of one's sweet- heart :
** Seville! Seville is here! She is here, the queen of Andalusia, the Spanish Athens, the mother of Murillo, the city of poets and loves, the famous Seville, whose name! have uttered since my childhood with a feeling of sweet sympathy ! Who would have said, a few years ago, that I should have seen it ! Yet it is not a dream ! Those houses are in Seville, those peasants over there are Sevillians, and the bell tower which I see is the Giralda! I at Seville? It is strange! I feel like laughing ! What is my mother doing at this mo- ment ? If she were only here ! If such and such an one were here too ! It is a pity that I am alone ! Here are the white houses, gardens, streets. . . We are in the city. . . Now we leave the train. . . Ah I how beautiful life is ! . ."
I arrived at a hotel, tossed my valise into ^Lpatio^ and began roaming about the city. I seemed to see Cordova enlarged, beautified, and enriched ; the streets are broader, the houses higher, and the pcUios more spacious ; but the general aspect of the city is the same. There is the same spotless whiteness, that intricate network of small streets, the diffused odor of oranges, the lovely air of mystery, that oriental appearance which awikens in the heart a
very sweet feeling of melancholy, and in the mind a thousand fancies, desires, and visions of a distant ivorld, a new life, an unknown people, and a terres- trial paradise full of love, delight, and peace. In those streets one reads the history of the city ; every balcony, fragment of sculpture, and solitary cross- road recall the nocturnal adventures of a king, the inspirations of a poet, the adventures of a beauty, an amour, a duel, an abduction, a fable, and a feast. Here is a reminder of Maria de Pedilla, there of Don Pedro, farther on of Cervantes, and elsewhere of Columbus, Saint Theresa, Velasquez, and Murillo. A column recalls the Roman dominion, a tower, the splendors of Charles V's monarchy, an alcazar, the magnificence of the court of the Arabs* Beside the modest white houses rise sumptuous marble palaces ; the little tortuous streets emerge on immense squares filled with orange trees; from the deserted and silent cross-road one comes out, after a short turn, into a street traversed by a noisy crowd. Everywhere one passes he sees, through the grace- ful gratings of the patios, flowers, statues, fountains, suites of rooms, walls covered with arabesques, Ara- bian windows, and slender columns of precious marble ; and at every window, in every garden, there are women dressed in white, half hidden, like timid nymph „ among the grapevines and rose bushes.
Pas:>ing from street to street I reached at last, on the bank of the Guadalquiver, a promenade called the Christina, which is to Seville what the Lungarno is for Florence. Here one enjoys an enchanted spectacle.
First I approached the famous Torre del Ore. This noted tower, calletTj^T^^JJ^SBB^ received its name either from tH^iJ^^^Ahat k^^^ the gold
29d ^Aiir.
which the Spanish ships brought from America, or because the King Don Pedro hid his treasures there, It is octagonal in shape, with three receding floors, crowned with battlements, and washed by the riven Tradition narrates that this tower was constructed by the Romans, and that the most beautiful favorite of the king lived there for some time, when the tower was joined to the Alcazar by a building that was destroyed to make place for the Christina promenade.
This promenade extends from the palace of the Duke of Montpensier to the Torre del Oro, and is entirely shaded by oriental plane trees, gaksjjij'ipres- ses, willows, poplars, and other northern trees, w^Wch the Andalusians admire as we shoul^, admire 'wp palms and aloes in the fields of Piedmcjift ' and Loni- bardy. A great bridge crosses the ri^^'^and lead(» to the suburb of Triana, from which boe sees tli^ first houses on the opposite bank. Aloog rd.w oif ships, goletas (a species of light boaC), and ISiarki extend along the river ; and between the Ttjrre ^6l Oro and the duke's palace there is a continual com- ing and going of boats. The sun was setting. A crowd of ladies swarmed through the avenues, troops of workmen passed the bridge, the work on the ships increased, a band hidden among the trees was playing, the river was rose color, the air was filled with the perfume of flowers, and the sky seemed all aflame.
I reentered the city and enjoyed the sight of Seville at night. The patios of all the houses were illuminated ; those of the smaller houses by a half light, which gave them a mysterious grace ; those of the palaces were filled with tiny flames, which made the mirrors gleam, the sprays of the fountain glisten
SEVILLE. 299
like drops of quicksilver, and the marbles of the vestibules, the mosaics of the walls, the glass in the doors, and the crystals of the tapers, shine in a thou- sand colors. Within one saw a crowd of ladies, heard on all sides the sound of voices, laughter, and music. It seemed like passing through so many ball-rooms, for from every door there came a flood of light, fragrance, and harmony. The streets were crowded ; among the trees on the squares, under the vestibules, at end of the alleys, on the balconies, and on every side one could see white skirts floating, disappearing, and reappearing in the shade ; little heads ornamented with flowers peeping from the windows; groups of yaungnien moving through the crowd with gay shtouts ; people saliiting each other and talking from;"v)^ndow to street ; "and on all sides a quickened pace^ a btistle, laughter, and a carnival- like gaiety. Seville was nothing but an immense garden, in which 'a^trpwd filled with youth and love was revelling. ^ ^^
These moments are sad ones for a stranger. I remember that I was ready to dash my head against a wall. I wandered here and there half bewildered, my head drooping and my heart saddened, as if all those people were amusing themselves simply out of disrespect for my solitude and melancholy. It was too late to deliver any letters of introduction, too early to go to sleep. I was the slave of that crowd and gaiety, and I should have to bear it for many hours. I experienced a sort of relief in forc- ing myself not to look in the faces of the women, but I did not always succeed, and when my eyes encountered the dark pupils by chance, the wound was more bitter (because it was unexpected) than if I had dared the danger with a ready heart. I was
300 SPAIN.
in the midst of those Sevillian women who are so tremendously famous! I saw them pass on the arms of their husbands and lovers, I touched their dresses, inhaled their perfume, heard the sound of their low sweet words, and the blood rushed through my head like a wave of fire. Fortunately I remem- bered having heard from a Sevillian at Madrid, that the Italian Qonsul was in the habit of spending the evening at the shop of one of his sons. I hunted up the establishment, found the Consul there, and pre- senting him with a letter from a friend, said to him in a dramatic tone which made him laugh : ** Dear sir ! please take charge of me, for Seville frightens me!
At midnight the appearance of the city had not changed ; there was still the same crowd and light ; I returned to the hotel, and shut myself up in my own room with the intention of going to bed. Worse and worse I The windows of the room opened on a square where a crowd of people were swarming around a band which never stopped play- ing. When the music did cease at last, the guitars, shouts of water- venders, songs, and laughter began, and all night long there was uproar enough to wake the dead. I had a dream which was both delicious and tormenting at the same time, perhaps rather the latter, on the whole. I seemed to be tied to the bed by a long black braid twisted into a thousand knots, to feel on my lips a fiery mouth which took away my breath, and around my neck the vigorous little hands that were .crushing my head against the handle of a guitar.
The following morning I went immediately to see the cathedral.
In order to describe this enormous building fit
SBVILLB. 301
tingly, one ought to have ready a collection of the most extravagant adjectives and the most exagger- ated similes which ever issued from the pens of the hyperbolical writers of all nations, every time they ivere obliged to depict something prodigiously high, monstrously broad, frightfully deep, and incredibly grand. Whenever I talk of it to my friends, in- voluntarily I too, like the Mirabeau of Victor Hugo, g^ve un colossal mouvement d'ipauleSy swell my throat, and increase my voice, litde by little, in imitation of Salvini in the tragedy of Samson, when with an ac- cent that makes the parquette tremble, he says he feels his strength returning in his nerves. To talk of the Seville Cathedral wearies one like playing a great wind instrument, or keeping up a conversation from one bank to the other of a noisy stream.
The Cathedral of Seville stands alone in the mid- dle of an immense square, and yet one can measure its size with a single glance. At the first moment, I thought of the famous speech made by the Chapter of the primitive church, in decreeing the construc- tion of the new cathedral on the eighth of July, 1 401. " Let us erect such a monument that pos- terity will say we were madmen." Those reverend gentlemen did not fail in their design. However, one must enter in order to convince one's self of this. The external appearance of the cathedral is grand and magnificent, but much less so than the interior. The facade is lacking ; a high wall surrounds the entire edifice like a fortress. No matter how much one turns and looks at it, one is unable to impress upon the mind a single outline which, like the pref- ace of a book, gives a clear conception of the design of the work ; one admires it, and breaks out more than once with an exclamation : ** It is wonderful!"
302 SPAIN.
but still it does not satisfy, and one hastily enters the church, desirous of experiencing a more thorough feeling of admiration.
At your first entrance you are bewildered, feel as if you were wandering in an abyss, and for several moments do nothing but glance around you in that immense space, almost as if to assure yourself that your eyes cffe not deceiving nor your fancy playing you some trick. Then you approach one of the pil- lars, measure it, and look at the more distant ones which, though as large as towers, appear so slender that it makes you tremble to think that the building is resting upon them. You traverse them with a glance from floor to ceiling, and it seems as if you could almost count the moments it would take for the eye to climb them. There are five aisles, each one of which might form a church. In the centre one, another cathedral with its cupola and bell tower could easily stand. All of them together form sixty- eight bold vaulted ceilings, which seem to expand and rise slowly as you look at them. Every thing is enormous in this cathedral. The principal chapel, placed in the centre of the great nave, and almost high enough to touch the ceiling, looks like a chapel built for giant priests, to whose knees the ordinary altars would not reach. The paschal candle seems like the mast of a ship, and the bronze candlestick which holds it like the pillars of a church. The choir is a museum of sculpture and chiselling which merits a day s visit. The chapels are worthy of the church, for they contain the masterpieces of sixty- seven sculptors and thirty-eight painters. Mon- tanes, Zurbaran, Murillo, Valdes, Herrera, Boldan, Roelas, Campana, have left there a thousand traces of their hand. The chapel of Saint Ferdinand, which
SEVILLE. 303
contains the sepulchres of this king and his wife Beatrice, of Alphonso the Wise, the celebrated min- ister Florida Blanca, and other illustrious person- ages, is one of the richest and most beautiful of all. The body of Ferdinand, who redeemed Seville from the dominion of the Arabs, clothed in his uniform,.with crown and mantle, rests in a crystal casket, covered with a veil. On one side is the sword which he carried on the day of his entrance into Seville ; on the other, a staff of cane, an emblem of command. In that same chapel is preserved a little ivory virgin, which the holy king carried to war with him, and other relics of great value. In the remaining chapels are other large marble altars, tombs in the Gothic style, statues in stone, wood, and silver, inclosed in broad crystal caskets, with breasts and hands covered with diamonds and rubies ; and immense pictures, which, unfortunately, the faint light that falls from the high windows does not sufficiently illuminate to enable the visitor to admire all their beauties.
One always returns, however, from the inspection of the chapel pictures and sculpture to admire afresh the cathedral in its grand, and, if I may use the expression, formidable aspect After having dashed up to those dizzy heights, the eye and mind fall back to earth, almost wearied by the effort, as if to take breath before climbing again. The images which fill your head, correspond with the vastness of the Basilica ; they are immense angels, heads of monstrous cherubim, wings large as the sails of ships, and the waving of huge white mantles. It is a perfectly religious impression, not a sad one, which this cathedral produces upon you ; it is the feeling that transports the thoughts into the interminable space and tremendous silence in which Leopardi's
304 SPAiH.
thoughts were drowned. It is a feeling full of desire and daring ; the involuntary shudder which comes over one on the brink of a precipice ; the disturbance and confusion of great ideas ; the divine terror oi the infinite.
As it is the most varied cathedral in Spain (be- cause Gothic, Germanic, Graeco- Roman, Arabian, and what is vulgarly termed //ijz/^r^i^/^^ architecture, have each left their imprint upon it), so is it also the richest and most privileged. In the time of the greater power of the clergy, twenty thousand pounds of wax were burned there every year ; five hundred masses were celebrated every day. upon eighty al- tars ; and the wine consumed in the sacrifice amounted to the incredible quantity of eighteen thousand seven hundred and fiftv litres. The canons had a royal suite of servants, went to church in splendid carriages drawn by superb horses, and, while they celebrated mass, made the young priests fan them with enormous fans ornamented with feath- ers and pearls ; a privilege granted them by the pope, of which some of them take advantage even to-day. It is not necessary to speak of the f&tes of holy week, which are still famous all over the world, and to which people flock from every part of Europe.
The most curious privilege, however, of the Se- ville Cathedral, is the so-called dance of los seiseSj which takes place every evening at twilight, for eight consecutive days, after the festival of Corpus Domini. As I was at Seville during those days I went to see it, and I think it is worth de- scribing. From what I had heard. I thought it must be a scandalous buffoonery, and I entered the church with my mind prepared for a feeling of in- dignation at the profanation of this sacred place.
SE VILLE. 305
The church was dark ; only the principal chapel was illuminated ; a crowd of kneeling women occupied the space between the chapel and the choir. Sev- eral priests were seated on the right and left of the altar ; before the steps was stretched a broad carpet ; and two rows of boys, from eight to ten years old, dressed like Spanish cavaliers of the mediaeval age, with plumed hats and white stockings, were drawn up opposite each other in front of the altar. At a signal given by a priest, a low music from violins broke the profound silence of the church, and the boys moved forward with the steps of a contra- dance, and began to divide, interlace, separate, and gather again with a thousand graceful turns ; then all broke out together into a lovely and harmonious chant, which echoed through the darkness of the vast cathedral like the voice of a choir of angels, and a moment later they commenced to accompany the dance and chant with castanets. No religious cere- mony ever moved me like this one. It is impossi- ble to describe the effect produced by those small voices under that immense vault, the little crea- tures at the foot of the enormous altar, that grave and almost humble dance, the ancient costumes, prostrate crowd, and, all around, the darkness; I left the church with my soul as peaceful as if I had been praying.
A curious anecdote was told me apropos of this dance. Two centuries ago, an archbishop of Seville, who thought the contra-dances and castanets did not worthily praise the Lord, wished to prohibit the ceremony. A great tumult followed in conse- quence, the people rebelled, the canons raised their voices, and the archbishop was obliged to call the pope to his assistance. The pope, who was curi ous, desired to see the dance with his own eyes in
3o6 SPAIN.
order to give his judgment in the matter. The boys, dressed like cavaliers, were taken to Rome, re- ceived at the Vatican, and made to dance and sing before his holiness. The pope laughed, did not disapprove of it, and wishing to satisfy the canons without displeasing the archbishop, decreed that the boys should dance until the clothes they had on were worn out ; after which the ceremony might be considered as abolished. The archbishop smiled, and the canons laughed in their sleeves like people who had already discovered a way of outwitting both bishop and pope. In fact, they renewed one part of the boys' dress every year, so that it could never be said that the costume was worn out ; and the archbishop who, as a scrupulous man, took the pope's order au pied de la lettre, could never make any opposition to the ceremony. So they continued to dance, do dance, and will dance as long as it pleases the canons and the good Lord.
Just as I was leaving the church, a sacristan made me a sign, led me behind the choir, and pointed out a stone in the pavement, upon which I read an inscription that set my heart beating. Un- der the stone are buried the bones of Ferdinand Columbus, son of Christopher, born at Cordova, died at Seville the 12th July, 1536, at the age of 5o years. Under the inscription are several Latin dis- tiches which have the following signification :
'* What does it avail that I should have bathed the entire universe with my sweat, that I should have traversed three times the New World discovered by my father, that I should have embellished the banks of the tranquil Beti, and preferred my simple tastes to riches in order to gather around thee the divinities of the Castalian spring, and ofifer thee the treas-
SEVILLE. 307
ures already gathered by Ptolemy, if thou, in pass- ing silently over this stone, dost not give at least a greeting to my father and a slight thought to
The sacristan who knew more about the matter than I did, explained the inscription to me. Fer- dinand Columbus was, when very young, a page of Isabella the Catholic and the Prince Don John ; he travelled in the Indies with his father and brother, the Admiral Don Diego ; followed the Em- peror Charles V in his wars ; took other journeys in Asia, Africa, and America, and everywhere gath- ered with great care and expense most valuable books, with which he started a library, that after his death passed into the hands of the Chapter of the cathedral, and remains there still under the famous title of the Columbian Library. Before dying, he himself wrote the Latin distiches which one reads on the stone of his tomb, and manifested a desire to be buried in the cathedral. During the last moments of his life, he had a platter full of ashes brought to him, and covered his face with them, saying in the words of the Holy Scripture : Me- mento homo quia pulvis es, intoned the Te Deum, smiled, and expired with the serenity of a saint. In- stantly I was seized with a desire to visit the library, and I left the church.
A guide stopped me at the door to ask if I had seen the Patio de los Naranjos (the Court of the Oranges), and having replied in the negative, he took me there. The Court of the Oranges is situ- ated at the west of the cathedral, and surrounded by a great embattled wall. In the centre rises a fountain, encircled by a grove of orange trees, and on one side, near the wall, Vincent Ferrer is said to
308 SPAIN.
have preached. In the space covered by this court, which is very large, rose the ancient mosque that is believed to have been erected toward the end of the twelfth century. No trace of it remains, however. Under the shade of the orange trees, on the edge of the fountain, the good Sevillians go to enjoy the fresh air en las ardientes siestas del estio ; and noth- ing remains which recalls the voluptuous paradise of Mohammed but the lovely verdure and the em- balsamed air, with now and then some beautiful girl whose great black eyes dart glances at you as she flies through the distant trees.
The famous Giralda of the Seville Cathedral, is an old Arabian tower, built, so it is affirmed, in the year one thousand, after the design of the architect Gaver, inventor of algebra ; modified in its upper portions after the conquest, and then changed into a Christian bell tower ; but it is always Arabian in appearance, and decidedly prouder of the fallen standards of the vanquished than of the cross which the victors have recently placed upon it. It is a monument which produces a novel sensation ; it makes one laugh ; for it is as immense and impos- ing as an Egyptian pyramid, and at the same time as gay and lovely as the kiosk of a garden. It is a square brick tower, of a very beautiful rose color, quite bare up to a certain point, and from here up ornamented with little Moorish mullion windows, scattered here and there at random, and furnished with small balconies that produce a pretty effecL On the floor, upon which the variegated roof for- mert5n%?sted, surmounted by an iron beam that sup- ported four enormous gilt balls, rises the Christian bell tower, three floors in height ; the first occupied by the bell, the second encircled by a balustrade
SEVILLE. 309
and the third formed by a species of cupola, upon which turns, like a weather vane, a colossal statue of gilt bronze, representing Faith, with a palm in one hand and a standard in another, visible at a great distance from Seville, and when the sun strikes it, gleaming like an enormous ruby, set in the crown of a Titan king, which is dominating with its eye the whole Andalusian valley,
I climbed the top, and there was amply repaid for the fatigue of the ascent. Seville, as white as a city of marble, encircled by a wreath of gardens, groves, and avenues, in the midst of a country scat- tered with villas, extends before the eyes in all its oriental beauty. The Guadalquiver laden with ships traverses and embraces it iix one broad turn. Here the Torre detGro mirrors its. graceful form in the blue waters of tfi^* river, there the Akfjizar raises its austere towers, farther away the Morftpensier gardens thrust above the'roofs of the buildings ah immense mass of verdure. The glance penetrates the bull- circus, into the gardens of the Squares, ^^ patios of the houses, the cloisters of the**churches, and into all the streets which converge around the cathedral. In the distance one discovers the villages of Santi- ponce, Algaba, and others which gleam on the hill- sides ; on the right of the Guadalquiver is the great suburb of Triana : on one side, far, far away, are the indented crests of the Sierra Morena ; on the oppo- site side are other mountains varied by an infinite number of blue tints ; and above this marvellous panorama lies the purest, most transparent and en- chanting sky that ever smiled on the eye of man.
When I came down from the Giralda, I went to see the library, near the Patio de los Naranjos. After looking at a collection of missals, Bibles, and
9 \
3IO SPAIN.
precious manuscripts, one among which is attributed to Alfonso the Wise, entitled The Book of tfu Treas- ure, written with the greatest care in the old Span- ish language, I saw — let me repeat it — I saw with my own moist eyes, and, pressing my hand on my heart which was beating quickly, I saw a book, a treatise on cosmography and astronomy, in Latin, with its margin covered by notes, in Christopher Columbus' hand. He had studied that book when he meditated upon the great design, had kept night watches over its pages, his divine forehead had perhaps touched them in those fatiguing nights when he had bent over that parchment in weary abandonment, and had bathed them with his sweat! It is a thought which makes one tremble ! But there is something else too ! I saw a writing in the hand of Columbus, in which are all the prophecies of the old sacred and profane writers about the discov- ery of the New World ; a manuscript that he used, as it appears, to induce the sovereigns of Spain to furnish him with the means for his undertaking. There is, among other things, a passage from the Medea of Seneca, which says : Venient annis sceada seris, quibus oceanus vincula rerunt laxet, et ingetts pateat telhis. In the volume of Seneca, which is also in the Columbian Library, near the passage quoted, is an annotation by the son Ferdinand, that says : ** This prophecy was verified by my father, the Admiral Christopher Columbus, in the year 1492."
My eyes filled with tears ; I should like to have been alone to kiss those books, to weary myself by turning them over, and to have loosened a fragment to carry away with me as something sacred. Chris- topher Columbus ! I have seen his writing ! Have
S£ VILLE. 3 1 1
touched the leaves which he has touched! Have felt him so near to me ! On coming out of the li- brary, I do not know why • . . I could have thrown myself into the flames to save a child, could have taken off my clothes to help a poor person, or would gladly have made any sacrifice, so rich was I. After the library, the Alcazar ; but before reach- ing the Alcazar, although it stands on the square with the cathedral, I realized for the first time what the sun of Andalusia really was. Seville is the hottest city in Spain during the warm hours of the day, and I hap- pened to be in the warmest part of the town. There was an ocean of light there ; not a window or door was open, nor a living soul to be seen ; if I had been told that Seville was uninhabited, I should have be- lieved it. I crossed the square slowly, with my eyes half closed, my face wrinkled up, the perspiration running in great drops down my cheeks and breast, and with my hands so wet that they seemed to have been dipped in a bowl of water. Near the Al- cazar, I found a species of booth belonging to a water- vender, and I dashed under it with the precip- itation of a man who is seeking shelter from a shower of stones. When I had recovered my breath I moved on toward the Alcazar.
The Alcazar, an ancient palace of the Moorish kings, is one of the best preserved monuments in Spain. Seen from the exterior it looks like a fort- ress, for it is entirely surrounded by high walls, embattled towers, and old houses, which form two spacious courts in front of the fagade. The fagade is bare and severe like the other exterior portions of the edifice. The door is ornamented with gilded and painted arabesques, among which one sees a Gothic inscription that refers to the time when the
3 1 2 SPAII/.
Alcazar was restored by order of the king Don Pf> dro. The Alcazar, in fact, although an Arabian pal- ace, is rather the work of Christian than of Arabian kings. Begun, it is not known in precisely what year, it was rebuilt by King Abdelasio toward the end of the twelfth century ; taken possession of by King Ferdinand toward the middle of the thirteenth century ; altered a second time in the following cen- tury, by Don Pedro ; inhabited for more or less time by nearly all the kings of Castile ; and, finally, chosen by Charles V in which to celebrate his mar- riage with the Infanta of Portugal. The Alcazar was the witness of the amours and crimes of three races of kings, and each of its stones awakens some mem- ory or guards some secret.
One enters, crosses two or three rooms, in which nothing Arabian remains but the ceiling and some mosaics at the foot of the walls, and comes out on a court where one is struck dumb with amazemeaL A portico with elegant arches extends on four sides, supported by small marble columns, joined two by two ; and the arches, walls, windows, and doors are covered with sculpture, mosaics, and intricate and delicate arabesques, sometimes perforated like a veil, in places as thick and close as woven carpets, in others projecting and hanging like bunches and gar- lands of flowers. Aside from the many-colored mosaics every thing is as white, clean, and gleaming as ivory. On the four sides are four great doors by which one enters the royal rooms. Here marvel is changed into enchantment. Every thing that is rich- est, most varied, and splendid, which the most ar- dent fancy could imagine, is to be found in these rooms. From the floor to the ceiling, around the doors, along the corners of the windows, in the most
SBVILLB. J13
distant recess, wherever the eye may chance to fall, appear such a multitude of gold ornaments and pre- cious stones, such a close network of arabesques and inscriptions, such a marvellous confusion of designs and colors, that before one has taken twenty steps, he is stunned and confused, and the eye wanders here and there, almost as if searching for a bit of bare wall on which to take refuge and rest. In one of these rooms the custodian pointed out a reddish spot, covering a good part of the marble pavement, and said with a solemn voice :
** This is the trace of the blood of Don Fadrique, Grand Master of the Order of Santiago, killed in the same place in the year 1358, by order of the king Don Pedro, his brother."
I remember when I heard these words I looked the custodian in the face with the air of saying :
** Let us move on," and that the good man replied in a dry tone :
" CabaUerOf if I were to tell you to believe the
thing on my word, you would be perfectly right to
doubt it ; but when you can see the thing with your
own eyes, I may be mistaken, but — it seems to me ft
m
" Yes," I hastened to say, ** yes, it is blood, I be- lieve it, I see it, don't let us talk any more about it."
If one can joke over a spot of blood, one cannot do so, however, about the tradition of that crime ; the appearance of the place awoke in my mind all the most horrible particulars. One seems to hear Don Fadrique's step resound through those gilded rooms, as he is being pursued by the archers armed with clubs ; the palace is immersed in gloom ; no other noise is heard save that of the executioners and their victim. Don Fadrique tries to enter the
314 SPAM.
court Lopez de Padilla seizes him, he breaks away, is in the court, grasps his sword, maledictions on it ! the cross of the hilt is entangled in the mantle ot the Order of Santiago, the archers arrive, he has no time to draw it from its sheath, so flies here and there as best he can; Fernandez de Roa overtakes and fells him with a blow from his mace, the others fall upon and wound him, and he expires in a pool of blood.
This sad recollection is lost, however, amid the thousand pictures of the delicious life of the Arabian kings. Those lovely little windows, at which it seems as if the languid face of an Odalisk ought to appear at every moment ; those secret doors, before which you stop, despite yourself, as if you heard the rust- ling of a dress ; those sleeping-rooms of the sultans, immersed in a mysterious gloom, where fancy hears the sighing of the girls who lost their virginal purity there; the prodigious variety of colors and friezes, resembling a rapid and ever- changing symphony, exalt your senses to such a point that you are like one in a dream ; that delicate and very light architecture, and little columns (which look like women's arms), the capricious arches, small rooms, ceilings, covered with ornaments that hang in the form of stalactites, icicles, and bunches of grapes — all rouse in you the desire to seat yourself in the middle of one of these rooms, pressing to your heart a beautiful dark Andalusian head, which will make you forget the world and time, and with one long kiss, that drinks away your life, put you to sleep forever.
On the ground-floor, the most beautiful room is that of the ambassadors, formed by four great arches which support a gallery of forty-four minor ones, and above, a lovely cupola that is sculptured, painted, and embroidered with inimitable grace and fabu*
SEVILLE. 315
lous magnificence. On the first floor, where the winter apartments were, nothing remains but an ora- tory of Ferdinand and Isabella the Catholic, and a small room, which is said to be the one where the king Don Pedro slept. From here you descend by a narrow, mysterious staircase, into the rooms inhab- ited by the famous Maria di Padilla, a favorite of Don Pedro, whom popular tradition accuses of hav- ing instigated the king to fratricide.
The gardens of the Alcazar are not very large, nor extraordinarily beautiful ; but the memories which they rouse are worth more than mere size or beauty. Under the shade of those oranges and cy- presses, near the murmur of those fountains, when a great pure moon shone in that clear Andalusian sky, and the crowd of courtiers and slaves lay down to rest, how many long sighs of enamored sultanas were heard! how many humble words of proud kings! what stupendous loves and embraces ! ** Iti- mad! my love! " I murmured, thinking of the famous favorite of King Al-Motamid, and meanwhile I roamed from path to path, as if following her spirit ; — ** Itimad! Do not leave me alone in this silent paradise! Stop! Give me one hour of bliss this night! Dost thou remember? Thou camest to me, and thy lovely locks fell over my shoulders like a mantle ; and as the warrior seizes his swerd, so I seized thy neck, which was whiter and sqjjter than a swan's! How beautiful thou wast! How my anx- ious heart sated its thirst on thy blood-colored lips! Thy beautiful body issued from thy splendidly em- broidered robe, as a gleaming blade leaves the sheath ; and then I pressed with both hands thy great hips and slender waist in all the perfection of their beauty! How dear thou art, Itimad! Thy
3i6 ^AlM.
kiss IS as sweet as wine, and thy glance, like wine, makes me lose my reason ! "
While I was uttering my declaration of love in phrases and images taken from the Arabian poets, and just at the moment when I was entering a path- way lined with flowers, I felt a jet of water between my legs ; I jumped back, received a dash in my face ; turned to the right, a spray on my neck ; to the left, another on the nape of my neck ; then I began run- ning, and there was water under me, over me, and on both sides of me, in jets, sprays, and showers, so that in an instant I was as wet as if I had been dipped in a tub. Just at the point when I was about to open my mouth and shout, I heard a loud laugh at the end of the garden ; turned, and saw a young man leaning against a wall, who was looking at me, as much as to say : " Did you like it ? " When I left, he showed me the spring he had touched in order to play that trick, and comforted me with the assurance that the Seville sun would not leave me long in that wet state, into which I had passed so brusquely, ah me ! from the amorous arms of my sultana.
That evening, despite the voluptuous images which the Alcazar had roused in my mind, I was calm enough to be able to contemplate the beauty of the Sevillian women without being obliged tc take refuge in the arms of the consul. I do not be- lieve that there exist in any country women who are so thoroughly fitted to suggest the idea of abduction as the Andalusians, not only because they arouse the desire to commit all sorts of deviltries, but be- cause they really seem created on purpose to be seized, bundled up, and hidden away, so small, light, plump,' elastic, and soft are they. Their little feet
SBVILLB. 3^7
could easily be got into your coat-pocket, with one hand you could lift them by the waist as you would a doll, and by pressing them lighdy with your fin- ger, you could bend them as you would a reed. To their natural beauty is added the art of walking and looking at you in a way to turn your head. They slide, glide, and float along, and in a single moment, while passing you, they show you their foot, make you admire their arm or waist, display two rows of white teeth, shoot a long veiled glance at you which is transfixed and dies in yours, and then go on their way, confident of having raised a tumult in your breast.
In order to form an idea of the beauty of the wo- men of the people, and of their dress, I went, on the following day, to the tobacco manufactory, which is one of the largest in Europe, and employs not less than five thousand operatives. The building is op- posite the large gardens of the Duke de Montpen- sier ; the women are almost all in three immense rooms, divided into three parts, by three rows of pil- asters. The first effect is stupendous. Eight hun- dred girls present themselves at once to your view. They are divided into groups of five or six, and are seated around work-tables, crowded together, those in the distance indistinct, and the last scarcely visi- ble. They are till young, but few are children ; in all, eight hundred dark heads of hair, and eight hun- dred dusky faces from every province of Andalusia, from Jaen to Cadiz, and from Granada to Seville. You hear the buzzing that you would in a square full of people. The walls, from one end of the three rooms to the other, are covered with skirts, shawls, handkerchiefs, a^^^^^^^^^ted curiously enough, that whole iwt^i^ ^f^xp^^m^^^ould be
3i8 SPAi^r.
sufficient to fill a hundred second-hand shops, pre- sents two predominating colors, both continuous, one above the other, like the stripe of a flag. The black of the shawls is above, the red of the dresses below, and mixed with the latter, are white, purple, and yellow, so that you seem to see an immense fancy costume shop, or a large dancing-room, in which the ballet girls, in order to obtain more free- dom of movement, have hung every thing on the wall which is not absolutely necessary to cover them decently. The girls put on these dresses when they leave, but wear old things while at work, which, however, are white and red like the others. The heat being insupportable, they lighten their clothing as much as possible, so that among those five thou- sand there may be hardly fifty whose arms or shoulders the visitor will not have the opportunity of admiring at his leisure, without counting the exceptional cases which present themselves quite unexpectedly in pas- sing from one room to the other, behind the doors, columns, or in distant corners. There are some very beautiful faces, and even those that are not ab- solutely beautiful, have something about them which attracts the eye and remains impressed upon the memory — the coloring, eyes, brows, and smile, for instance. Many, and especially the so-called ^//iz«^, are dark brown, like mulattoes, and have protruding lips ; others have such large eyes that a faithful like- ness of them would seem an exaggeration. The majority are small, well made, and all wear a rose, pink, or a bunch of field flowers among their braids. They are paid in accordance with the amount of work they do ; the most skillful and industrious earn as much as three francs a day : the indolent ones, las fiolgazanaSy sleep with their arms crossed on the
SEVILLE. 319
table and their heads resting on their arms. The mothers work while rocking the cradle by means of a rope tied to one leg. From the cigar-room you pass to that of the cigarettes, from the latter to that of the boxes, from this to the one of the packing cases, and everywhere you see rose-colored petti- coats, black hair, and great eyes. In each of these rooms how many histories of love, jealousy, aban- donment, and misery one might find ! On coming out of jthe factory, you seem to see on every side, for a time, black pupils which look at you with a thousand different expressions of curiosity, ennui, sympathy, sadness, and drowsiness.
That same day I went to see the picture-gallery.
The museum of painting in Seville does not pos- sess a great number of pictures ; but those few are worth a large gallery. There are the masterpieces of Murillo, among which is the St. Anthony of Padua^ called the most divinely inspired of his crea- tions, and one of the greatest marvels of human genius. I visited the museum with Senor Gonzalo Segovia and Ardizone, one of the most illustrious young men in Seville, and I wish that he was here be- side my table to testify with his signature that when I looked at the picture I grasped him by the arm and uttered a cry.
Only once in my life have I experienced an emo- tion similar to that which seized me at the sight of this picture. It was on a beautiful summer night, the sky was full of stars, and the immense plain, which one could take in at a glance from the height where I stood, was wrapped in a profound silencel. One of the noblest creatures whom I have ever known was beside me. A few hours before, we had read several pages in a book of Humboldt's. We
320 sPAi^r.
looked at the sky, and talked of the earth's motion. of the millions of worlds, and of the infinite, in thai subdued tone of voice which comes involuntarily when one is speaking of such things at night, and in a silent place. At a certain time we became silent, and each one abandoned himself, his eyes g^az- insr heavenward, to his own fancies. I do not know by what train of thought I was led to the point I reached, what mysterious effect was produced upon my heart, nor what I had seen or dreamed, but I know that suddenly a veil seemed to be rent before my mind, and I felt within me a perfect conviction of that which up to this time I had rather desired than believed. My heart expanded into a senti- ment of supreme joy, angelic sweetness, and bound- less hope ; a flood of scalding tears filled my eyes, and seizing that friendly hand which sought my own, I exclaimed from the depth of my soul : •* It is true ! It is true!" and began to cry like a child.
The St. Anthony of Padua caused the same emo- tion. The saint is kneeling in the middle of his cell ; the infant, Jesus, half veiled in a white, vapor- ous light, attracted by the force of his prayer, is de- scending into his arms, and St. Anthony, in a state of ecstacy, dashes forward with all his soul and body toward him, throwing back his head, the face radi- ant with an expression of gratitude. So great was the effect this picture produced upon me, that after a few moments' contemplation, I was as weary as if I had visited a great gallery, and was seized with a tremor which lasted as long as I remained in that room. I afterward saw the other great pictures of Murillo : a ConcepcioUy a Saint Francis embracing' Christy another Vision of Saint Anthony^ and not less than twenty others, among which is the be-
witching and famous Virgin of the Napkin^ painted by Murillo upon a real napkin, in the Convent of the Capuchinos at Seville, to satisfy a desire ex- pressed by the lay-brother who was serving him. It is one of his most delicate creations, into which he has thrown all the magic of his imimitable color- ing ; yet none of these pictures, although objects of marvel to all the artists of the world, could draw my thoughts and heart from that divine Saint An- thony.
There are also in that museum pictures by the two Herreras, Pacheco, Alfonso Cano, Paul de Ces- pedes, Valdes, and Mulato, who was Murillo s ser- vant, and admirably imitated his style ; and last of all, the famous great picture of the Apotheosis of St. Thomas of Aquinas ^ by Francis Zurbaran, one of the most eminent artists of the seventeenth century, surnamed the Spanish Caravaggio, perhaps superior to the latter in truth and moral sentiment, a power- ful naturalist, vigorous colorist, and an inimitable depictor of austere monks, emaciated saints, pensive hermits, and terrible priests ; and above all a poet who was not vanquished by penitence, solitude, and meditation.
After having showed me the picture-gallery, Se- Bor Gonzalo Segovia took me through a number of little streets, to the famous Francos Street, which is one of the principal ones of the city, and stopping before the small shop of a clothes merchant, smil- ingly said :
" Look ; doesn't this shop make you think of any thing ? "
" Really, nothing."
^ Look at the number."
•• It is number fifteen ; but what of that ? *
3^2 SPAIN.
" Oh, gracious ! " exclaimed my amiable guide
" Number fifteen. On the left hand ! •*
" The shop of the Barber of Seville / ** I cried.
" Exactly that," he replied, " the shop of the barber of Seville; but be careful, if you talk of it in Italy, not to take your oath on the matter, be- cause traditions are often treacherous, and I do not wish to assume the responsibility of an historical as- sertion of so much importance."
At that moment the merchant came to the door, and divining the reason of our presence, laughed and said : — ** No estd." — *' Figaro is not here ; " then graciously bowing, withdrew.
I begged Sefior Gonzalo to show me a patio. one of those enchanting /^zV?^ which, in looking at them from the street, had made me dream of so many delights.
** I wish to see at least one of them," I said to him ; ** I want to unravel its mysteries, to touch its walls, and to assure myself that it is a real thing, and not a vision." My desire was instantly gratified. We entered the patio of one of his friends. , Sefior Gonzalo told the servant the object of our visit, and we were left alone. The house had only one floor. The patio was not larger than an ordinary room ; but was all marble and flowers, had a jet of water in the centre, pictures and statuary all around, and from roof to roof was stretched an awning to keep off" the sun. In one corner was a work-table ; here and there were chairs and footstools, upon which, per- haps, but a short time before, had rested the feet of some Andalusian, who was now peeping at us through the slats of the blind. I looked at every ^.hing attentively, as I should have done in a house
SEVILLE. 323
abandoned by the fairies ; seated myself, closed my eyes, and imagined myself the master ; then rose, dipped my hand into the fountain, felt of a small column, went to the door, picked a flower, raised my eyes to the windows, laughed, gave a sigh, and said ;
" How happy the people who live here must be." At that moment I heard some one laugh, turned around, and saw two eyes (which instantly disap- peared) gleaming behind the shutter.
•* In truth," I said, ** I did not believe that anyone could live so poetically. To think that you enjoy these houses all through your life, and that you have any desire to rack your brains with politics ! "
Sefior Gonzalo explained all the secrets of the house.
** All this furniture," he said, " these pictures, and vases of flowers disappear as autumn approaches, and go upstairs, which is the spring and winter dwelling-place. As summer draws near, beds, wardrobes, tables, chairs, and every thing are brought to the rooms on the ground- floor, and the family sleeps and eats here, receiving their friends, and working among the flowers and statuary to the murmur of the fountain. As the doors are left open at night, one sees from the sleeping rooms the patio illuminated by the moon, and perceives the odor of the roses."
*• Oh, that s enough," I exclaimed, "that s enough ; Sefior Gonzalo, have some pity for strangers ! " and both laughing heartily, we left the patio to go and see the famous Casa de Pilatos.
In passing through a solitary little street, I saw in the show-window of a hardware establishment a collection of such immensely long, broad knives that I was instandy seized by the desire to purchase
324 SPAIN.
one. I entered ; twenty or more were spread out for my inspection, and I had them opened one by one. Every time a blade was opened I gave a step backward. I do not believe one can imagine a more horrible or barbarous- looking weapon than this. It has a copper, brass, or horn handle, is slightly curved, and cut in open work which shows little streaks of various-colored isinglass, opens with a noise like that of a rattle, and out comes a blade as broad as your hand, and two palms in length, in the shape of a fish, as sharp as a dagger, and orna- mented with chasings colored red (so that they look like stains of congealed blood), and menacing and ferocious inscriptions. On one is written in Spanish : •* Do not open me without cause, or close me with- out honor ; " on another : •* Where I touch all is fin- ished ; " on a third : ** When this snake bites no phy- sician is of any avail ; " and other pleasant mottoes of the same nature. The proper name of these knives is navajay which also means razor, and the navaja is the weapon with which the com- mon people fight their duels. Now, it has rather fallen into disuse, but once it was in great demand. There were masters in this art, each one of whom had his secret thrust, and the people fought duels in accordance with all the rules of the cavaliers. I purchased the most enormous navaja in the shop, and we continued our route.
The Ca^a de Pilaios belonging to the Medina- Coeli family, is, after the Alcazar, the most beautiful monument of Arabian architecture in Seville. The name came from the fact that the man who built it, Don Enriquez de Ribera, the first Marquis of Tarifa, had it copied after the, dwelling of the Roman prelate, which he had seen at Jer- usalem, where he had gone on a pilgrimage. The
SEVILLE. 325
external appearance of the house is simple ; the in- terior is marvellous. You first enter a court, not less beautiful than the enchanting one of the Al- cazar, girdled by a double row of arches supported by beautiful marble columns, which form two very light galleries, one above the other, and so delicate as to make one fear that the first breath of wind may destroy them. In the centre is a graceful foun- tain, upheld by four marble dolphins, and crowned by a head of Janus. The waHs are ornamented, at their base, by dazzling mosaics ; farther up, they are covered with every kind of capricious arabesque ; and here and there open into beautiful niches which contain the busts of Roman emperors. At the four corners of the court rise four colossal statues. The rooms are worthy of the court ; the ceilings, walls, and doors are sculptured, embroid- ered, beflowered, and covered with historical scenes, all executed with the delicacy of a miniature. In an old chapel of mixed Gothic and Arabian style, most elegant in form, is preserved a small pillar, lit- tle more than three feet in height, donated by Pius V to a descendant of the builder of the palace, who was at that time Viceroy at Naples ; and it is to this pillar, according to tradition, that Jesus Christ was bound for his scourging ; all of which proves that Pius V did not believe this, otherwise he would scarcely have committed the unpardonable error of depriving himself of such a valuable relic for the benefit of the first comer. The whole palace is filled with sacred associations. On the first floor, the custodian shows you a window that corresponds to that near which Peter was seated when he de- nied Jesus, and the little window from which the maid servant recognized him. From the street you
326 sPAi/r.
see another window with a little stone balcony that occupies precisely the place of that where Jesus w^as shown to the people with a crown of thorns. The garden is full of fragments of ancient statues brought from Italy by this same Don Pedro Afan de Ribera, Viceroy of Naples. Among the other fibs which they tell about that mysterious garden is, that Don Pedro Afan de Ribera had placed there an urn, brought from Italy, which contained the ashes ol the Emperor Trajan, and that some curious person having awkwardly overturned the urn, the emper- or s ashes were scattered in the grass, and that no one ever succeeded in gathering them together again. Thus the august monarch, born at Italica, had returned, by a strange accident, to the neigh- borhood of his native city, not quite in a condition to go and meditate upon its ruins, it is true ; but, nevertheless, he was near them.
After all I have jotted down, it may be said, not that I saw Seville, but that I began to see it. I stop here, however, because all things must have an end ; so leave on one side the promenades, squares, gates, libraries, public palaces, houses of the grandees, gardens, and churches ; confining myself to the remark that after having roamed about for sev- eral days from sunrise to sunset, I was obliged to leave Seville with my conscience overwhelmed by a feeling of remorse. I no longer knew which way to turn. I had reached such a stage of weariness, that the announcement of something new to see filled me with more alarm than pleasure. The ex- cellent Sefior Gonsalvo inspired me with courage, comforted me, and shortened my road by his very pleasant society ; but the fact remains, that I only retain a very confused idea of the things seen dur- ing those ^ast few days.
SEVILLE. 327
Seville, although it no longer deserves the glori- ous title of the Athens of Spain, as in the time of Charles V and Philip II (when, mother and hostess of a great and choice body of poets and painters, it was the seat of civilization and the arts of the vast empire of its monarchs), is always among the cities of Spain (with the exception of Madrid) the one where artistic life is most flourishing, as regards the greatest number of genuises, the labors of the pa- trons of art, and the nature of the people, who are passionately devoted to the fine arts. There is a flourishing academy of literature, a society for the protection of the arts, a famous university, and a body of sculptors and savants who have a great rep- utation in Spain.
The person most noted in literary circles at Se- ville is a woman, Catherine Bohl, the authoress of the novels which bear the name of Fernan Caballero, are very popular in Spain and America, have been trans- lated into nearly all the languages of Europe, and are known alsa in Italy (where some of them were pub- lished a short time ago) by every one who is at all interested in foreign literature. They are admirable pictures of Andalusian life, full of truth, soul, and grace, and, above all, such a powerful, vigorous faith, such intrepid religious enthusiasm, and such ardent Christian charity, that the most sceptical man in the world would be touched by them. Catherine Bohl is a woman who would meet martyrdom with the firmness and serenity of St. Ignatius. The con- sciousness of her own strength reveals itself on every page. She does not confine herself to defend- ing and preaching religion, but she assails, threat- ens, and denounces its enemies ; not alone the ene- mies of religion, but also every man and every thing
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which is imbued with, to make use of a common phrase, the spirit of the age, because she never excuses any thing that has been done in the world from the time of the Inquisition to the present day, and is more in- exorable than the Syllabus. This is, perhaps, her greatest defect as a writer, because her religious dis- sertations and invectives are too frequent, so that when they do not disgust one, they weary and preju- dice him, rather than produce the desired effect. However, there is not the shadow of bitterness in her soul, and what she is in her books, that she is in her life : lovely, good, and charitable, and, therefore, is worshipped like a saint in Seville, She was born in that city, married very young, and is now a widow for the third time. Her last husband who was am- bassador from Spain to London, killed himself, and from that day she has never left off her mourning. She is nearly seventy, was very beautiful, and her noble and serene face still bears the imprint of beauty. Her father, who was an extremely clever and cultivated man, made her learn several lan- guages when she was young ; so that she under- stands Latin thoroughly, and speaks Italian, German, and French, with marvellous facility. Yet although the European and American newspapers and pub- lishers make her large offers, she never writes at all now, but still does not lead an idle life. She reads from morning until night every kind of book, and while reading either knits or embroiders, because she feels that her literary studies ought not to take one moment from her feminine occiipations. She has no children, lives in a solitary house, the best portion of which she has given up to a poor family, and she spends the greater parj^of her property on charity. One very curious trait of her character is
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the strong affection she has for all kinds of animals ; she has her house filled with birds, cats, and dogs ; and she is so extremely sensitive in this regard that she has never been willing to put her foot into a carriage lest a horse should be whipped on her account. Kvery kind of suffering affects her as if it were her own ; the sight of a blind man, a sick person, or of any species of misfortune, disturbs her for the entire day. She cannot go to sleep, if she has not first dried some weeping eyes, and she would gladly give up all her fame to save an unknown person from a heartache. Before the revolution she lived less alone; the Montpensier family received her with great honor ; the most illustrious families of Seville vied with each other in entertaining her ; but now she lives only among her books and a few friends.
During the time of the Arabs, Cordova took the first rank in literature, and Seville in music. Averroes said : '* When a savant dies at Seville, and they wish to sell his books, they send to Cordova ; but if a musician dies at Cordova, they send his in- struments to Seville to be sold." Now Cordova has lost her literary prestige, and Seville has them both. Certainly these are no longer the days in -which a poet, by singing of the beauty of a girl, could draw a crowd of lovers about her, from all parts of the kingdom ; or one prince envied another simply be- cause a poem had been written in his honor, which was more beautiful than any he himself had inspired ; or a caliph rewarded the author of a fine national hymn with a present of a hundred camels, a band of slaves, and a golden vase ; or when an ingenious strophe, improvised at the right moment, loosened the chains of a slave, or saved the life of one condemned to death, — ^those days, when musicians
idP SPAW.
walked through the streets of Seville followed by a
•train of monarchs, or the favor of poets was sought like that of the kings, and the lyre was more feared than the sword. Yet the Sevillians are still the most poetical people in Spain. The bon-mot, the term of endearment, and the expression of joy and enthusiasm burst from their lips with a bewitching grace and spontaneity.
The common people of Seville improvise verses, talk so that they seem to be singing, gesticulate as if they were declaiming, and laugh and frolic like chil- dren. One never grows old at Seville. It is a city where life melts away in a continuous smile, without any other thought than that of enjoying the beauti- ful sky, lovely houses, and luxurious gardens. It is the most quiet city in Spain ; is the only one, in fact, which, from the revolution up to the present time, has not been agitated by any of those sad polit- ical demonstrations which have convulsed the others. Politics do not extend beyond the surface ; they spend their time in making love, take every thing else as a joke {iodo lo tomar de bromay as the other Span- iards say of the Sevillians) ; and, in truth, with that perfumed air, those small streets, like oriental cities, and the little women full of fire, why should they trouble themselves about any thing ? They are badly spoken of at Madrid, where it is said that they are vain, false, changeable, and given to gossip. It is nothing but jealousy ! The Madrid people envy them their happy temperament, the sympathy which they inspire in strangers, their girls, poets, painters, orators, Giralda, Alcazar, Guadalquiver, life, and his- tory ! At least so the Sevillians declare, while beat- ing themselves on the breast, and sending out a cloud of smoke from their inseparable cigarrito; and
SEVILLE. 331
their beautiful little women revenge themselves on those of Madrid and the rest of the world, by speak- ing with a contemptuous pity of the long feet, large >vaists, and dead eyes, which in Andalusia would not be honored by a glance or sigh. They are a beautiful and amiable people, in truth, but, alas ! one must look at the other side of the picture. Super- stition reigns, and there are few schools (as is the case throughout almost all of Southern Spain), which is, in part, their own fault, and partly not ; but, perhaps, they are most to blame in the matter.
The day fixed for my departure arrived most un- expectedly. It is strange, but I scarcely remember any of tlie particulars of my life in Seville. It is quite a marvel if I can tell myself where I dined, what I talked about to the consul, or how I passed the evenings, and why I arranged to leave on a cer- tain day. I was not quite myself, and was really bewildered during my entire sojourn in that city. Aside from the museum and patio, my friend Segovia must have found that I knew very little ; and now, I do not know why, I think of those days as a dream. No other city has left upon me so vague an impression as Seville. Even to-day, while I am very sure of hav- ing been at Saragossa, Madrid, and Toledo, sometimes in thinking of Seville, I am seized by a doubt. It seems to me like a city much farther away than the last boundaries of Spain, and that to return to it I should be obliged to travel for months, cross un- known territories, great seas, and meet people quite different from us. I think of the streets of Seville, of certain little squares and houses, as I would think of spots on the moon. At times the image of that city passes before my eyes, without my mind being able to grasp it at all ; I see it in smelling an orange
332 SPAW.
with my eyes closed ; and in taking the air at certain hours of the day, at a garden gate ; or in humming a melody which I heard sung by a boy on the stair- case of the Giralda. I cannot explain this secret to myself, for I think of it as I would do of a city still to be seen, and I enjoy looking at the pictures and books I purchased there, because they are the things which prove to me that I have been there.
A month ago I received a letter from Segovia, which said to me: "Come back to us;'' which gave me great pleasure, but I laughed, at the time, as if some one had written : '' Take a trip to Pekin." It is just for this reason that Seville is dearer to me than all the cities of Spain ; I love it as I should an unknown woman, who, in passing through a myste- rious thicket, had given me a glance and thrown me a flower. How many times when a friend shakes me, saying : " What are you thinking about ? " (whether it be in the parquet of a theatre or in a caf6) I am forced, in order to return to him, to leave Maria de Padilla s little room, a boat that is gliding under the shade of the plane trees on the Christina promenade, the shop of Figaro, or the vestibule of a patio filled with flowers, sprays of water, and lights !
I embarked on a ship of the Segovia Company, near the Torre del Oro, at an hour when Seville was buried in a profound slumber, and a burning sun covered it with a sea of light I remember that a few moments before our departure, a young fellow came on board to look for me, and handed me a let- ter from Gonzalo "Segovia, which contained a son- net, that I still preserve as one of the most precious mementoes of Seville. On the boat was a company of Spanish singers, an English family, some work-
S&P^ILLM.
333
men, and children. The captain, like a good Anda- lusian, had a kind word for all. I instandy began a conversation with him. My friend Gonzalo is a son of the owner of the ship ; we talked of the Segovia family, Seville, the sea, and a thousand pleasant things. Ah ! poor man, he was far from thinking that a few days later that unfortunate ship would have gone down in mid ocean, and he would have come to such a terrible end ! It was the Guadaira which burst its boiler a short distance from Mar- seilles, on the 1 6th of June, 1872.
At three o'clock the ship started for Cadiz.
CHAPTER X.
' I 'HAT evening was the most delightful of" ail J^ my journey. Shortly after the steamer had started, I'nere rose one of those light breezes which play, like the hand of a child, with the bow of the cravat and hair on one's temples ; and from bow to stern came the voices of women and children, as is always the case with a party of friends at the first snap of the whip which announces the departure for a gay trip into the country. Al! the passengers gathered at the stern under an awning as variegated as a Chinese pavilion, some sitting on the cordage, some stretched out on benches, others leaning 3ver the railing, and all turning toward the Torre del Oro, to enjoy the famous and enchanting sight of Seville as it withdraws and disappears from view. Some women's faces were still bathed with the farewell tears, the children were still bewildered by the noise of the machinery, and some ladies had not yet fin- ished scolding the porters because they had ill- treated their trunks ; but a few moments later alt grew quiet, began eating oranges, lighting cigars, passing small flasks of liquor, entering into conver- sation with strangers, humming and laughing, and in a quarter of an hour we were all friends. The
CADIZ. 335
ship glided with the ease of a gondola over the quiet and limpid waters which reflected like a mirror the white dresses of the ladies, and the air brought us the odor of oranges from the groves on the shore peopled with villas. Seville was hidden behind its girdle of gardens ; and we could only see an im- mense mass of very green trees, above them the black pile, the cathedral, and the Giralda, all rose- color, surmounted by its statue flaming like a tongue of fire. As we got farther and farther away, the cathedral appeared grander and more majestic, as if it were keeping behind the ship and gaining on us ; now it seemed, although following us, to with- draw from the shore ; now that it was astride the river ; one moment, appeared to have suddenly re- turned to its place, and an instant later was appar- ently so near as to make one suspect that we were going back. The Guadalquiver wound along in short curves, and Seville appeared and disappeared, according to the direction the steamer took. Now it peeped out on one side as if it had stretched be- yond its boundary ; now sprang suddenly above the groves, gleaming like a height covered with snow ; then showed some white streaks here and there among the green, and hid itself again, playing all sorts of coquettish tricks like a capricious woman. Finally it disappeared and we saw it no more ; then only the cathedral remained. At this point every one turned to look at the shore. We seemed to be floating on the lake of a garden. Here was a hill covered with cypress, there a flowery slope, farther on a village scattered along the bank ; under the arbors in the gardens, or on the terraces of the vil- las were ladies looking at us through opera- glasses. Here and there were families of peasants dressed in
33^ SPAM.
bright colors, sail-boats, and naked boys who were diving and tumbling about in the water, screaming, and waving their hands at the ladies on the ship, who straightway covered their faces with their fans. Some miles from Seville, we met three steamers quite close to each other. The first came upon us so suddenly, in a turn of the river, that I, unaccus- tomed to that style of navigation, feared for a moment there would be no time to avoid a collision* The two boats passed so near as almost to touch each other, and the passengers on both saluted one another, threw oranges and cigars, and exchanged messages for Seville and Cadiz.
My travelling companions were almost all Anda- lusians ; so that after an hour's conversation, I knew them from the first to the last, as if they had been friends of my childhood. Each one instantly told those who would listen, and those who would not, who he was, how old he was, what he was doing, where he was going, and some even men- tioned how many sweethearts they had had, and the number of pesetas in their purses. I was taken for a singer, and this will not seem strange to any one who knows that in Spain the people believe three- quarters of the Italians gain their livelihood by singing, dancing, and acting. A gentleman, seeing that I had an Italian book in my hand, asked me point-blank :
" Where did you leave the company ^ "
" What company } " I said.
** Oh, are you not the one who was singing with Fricci at the Theatre of the Zarzuela } "
** I am sorry ; but I have never been on the boards of a theatre."
** Indeed ; then I must say that the second tenor and you are as much alike as two drops of water."
99
* 99
CADIZ. 337
" Is that so ? "
" Pray, pardon me/
*' Don't mention it.'
" But you are an Italian ? "
" Yes."
** Do you sing ? "
" I regret to say that I do not"
" That 's curious. To judge from the formation of your neck and chest, I should have said that you ought to have a powerful tenor voice."
I struck my chest and throat, and replied :
" That may be ; I will try ; one never can telL I possess two of the necessary qualities : I am an Italian, and have the throat of a tenor ; perhaps the voice may come."
At this point the prima donna of the company, who had overheard the dialogue, took part in the conversation, and all the rest of the company fol- lowed her example.
" The gentleman is Italian } "
** At your service."
" I ask because I want a favor done. What is the meaning of those two lines in * Trovatore ' } "
** Non pu6 nemmeno un Dio Donna rapirti a me."
(Not even a God can take you from me.)
** Is the lady married ? "
AH began laughing.
" Yes," replied the prima donna ; " but why do you ask ? "
" Because — not even a God can take you from me, is what your husband, if he has two good eyes in his head, ought to say to you every morning and every evening.^
33^ SPAm.
" Ni Dios ntismo podria arrancdrmela.** The others laughed ; but the prima donna thought this fancied pride of her husband so strange, this afifirming himself secure even from a God, while perhaps she knew that she had not always been wise enough to avoid the men, that she barely re- turned my compliment with a smile to show me that she had understood it. Then she immediately asked me the explanation of another verse, after her the baritone, after the baritone the tenor, and after the tenor the second lady ; so that for some time I did nothing but turn bad Italian verses into the worst Spanish prose, to the great satisfaction of those good people who, for the first time, were able to say that they comprehended a little of what they had Deen singing with the air of understanding thor- oughly. When every one knew as much as he de- sired, the conversation broke up. I remained some- time with the baritone, who hummed me an aria of the Zarzuela ; then I attached myself to one of the chorus, who told me that the tenor was making love to the prima donna ; then I drew the tenor aside, and he betrayed to me the little secrets of the baritone's wife ; after which I talked with the prima donna, who, in her turn, said the most horri- ble things of the whole troupe ; yet they were all great friends, and meeting each other in the prome- nade up and down on deck, the men pinched one another, the women threw kisses, and all exchanged o^lances and smiles that revealed secret understand- ings. Some sang the gamut here, others hummed there, one did a trill in this corner, and another tried do in the chest, which ended in a rattle, and mean- while they all talked together of a thousand trifles. Finally, the bell rang and we rushed to table with the
CADIZ. 339
impetuosity of so many officers invited to a grand dinner given in honor of the unveiling of a monu- ment. At that dinner, amid the cries and shouts of all those people, I drank, for the first time, a glass of that strong wine of Jerez, whose praises are sung at the four corners of the globe. I had scarcely swal- lowed it before I felt a spark running through my veins, and my head became as heated as if it were full of sulphur. All the others drank, were seized with an unbridled spirit of gaiety, and indulged in an irresistible style of conversation. The prima donna began talking Italian ; the tenor, French ; the bari- tone, Portuguese ; the others, in dialect ; and I, in every language. Then followed the toasts, songs, cheers ; glances, pressure of hands above the table, touching of feet underneath, and the declarations of sympa- thy were exchanged in all directions like the imper- tinences in Parliament, when the Right and the Left get disputing. At the close of the dinner, all went on deck, in the best of spirits, quite enveloped in the smoke of cigarettes. There in the light of the moon, which made the river look like silver, and covered the groves and hillsides with a very soft light, the conversation grew noisier than before. After the conversation came the songs, not little airs of the Zarzuela, but from grand operas with flourishes, duets, terzettes, and choruses, accompan- ied by gestures and stage strides, interspersed with the declamation of verses, anecdotes, tales, loud laughter, and great applause ; until breathless and worn out all were silent. Some fell asleep with upturned faces, some went to crawl under cover, and the prima donna seated herself in a corner to look at the moon. The tenor snored, and I made the most of this opportunity to have a little air of the
340 SPA/AT.
Zarzuela sung to me : Bl Sargento Federico. The courteous Andalusian did not wait to be begged, but sang immediately ; suddenly, however, she stopped and bowed her head. I looked at her and she was weeping. I asked her what was the matter, to which she sadly replied : " I was thinking of a perjury." Then burst out into a laugh, and began singing again. She had a flexible, harmonious voice, and sang with a tender sadness. The sky was studded with stars, and the boat glided along so smoothly that it scarcely seemed to move. I thought of the gardens of Seville, the not distant Africa, of a dear one who was awaiting me in Italy, became lachry- mose, and when the woman stopped singing, said to her :
" Sing on " — for
** Mortal tongue can never tell That which I felt within my breast"*
At daybreak the boat was on the point of enter- ing the ocean, the river was immensely broad, the right bank hardly looked, in the distance, like a strip of land, beyond which shimmered the waters of the sea. Some instants thereafter, the sun appeared above the horizon, and the ship left the river. Then such a spectacle spread out before our eyes that, if one could combine in a single representative art poetry, painting, and music, I believe that Dante with his greatest imageries, Titian with his most gleaming colors, and Rossini with his most powerful harmonies, would not have succeeded in producing its magnificence and fascination. The sky was a marvellous blue without a single cloud, and the sea so beautiful that it looked like an immense carpet oi
' CADISL 34 1
shining satin, and shone on the crests of the little waves which the light wind caused, as if it were cov- ered with azure gems. It formed mirrors and lu- minous streaks, sent out in the distance flashes of silvery light, and displayed, here and there, tall white sails, resembling the floating wings of gigantic fallen angels. I have never seen such vivid coloring, wealth of light, freshness, transparency, and purity of water and sky. It seemed like one of those dawns of the creation which the fancy of poets have depicted as being so pure and gleaming that ours are like a pale reflexion in comparison to them. It was more than the mere awakening of nature and the rousing of life ; it was like a f6te, a triumph, a rejuvenation of creation, which felt a second breath of God expanding itself into the infinite.
I went down to fetch my opera-glasses, and when I got on deck I saw Cadiz.
The first impression it produced was that of doubt as to whether it really was a city or not ; then I laughed and turned toward my travelling com- panions with the air of a person who wished to be assured that he was not deceived. Cadiz looks like an island of plaster. It is a great white spot in the midst of the sea, without a dark shading, a black point, or a single shadow upon it ; a spot very pure and white, like a hill covered with driven snow, which stands out against a beryl and turquoise- colored sky, in the midst of a vast watery plain. A long narrow strip of ground joins it with the main- land, and it is bathed on all sides by the sea, like a ship ready to set sail and only fastened to the shore by a cable. Little by litde we could distinguish the outlines of the bell towers, the shapes of the houses, and the openings of the streets. Every thing
342 SPAM.
seemed whiter and whiter as we approached it, and as long as I looked at it through my glasses, I was unable to discover the smallest black spot on the buildings around the harbour or in the most distant suburbs. We arrived in port, where there were only a few ships at a great distance from each other. I got into a boat without even taking my valise with me (because I was to leave that same evening for Malaga), and so great was my desire to see the city, that when the boat touched the shore, I jumped too soon, and fell to the ground like a dead body which still feels, alas ! the pains of a live one.
Cadiz is the whitest city in the world ; and it is useless to contradict me by saying that I have not seen all the cities, for I am right in declaring that a city whiter than one which is completely and super- latively white, cannot exist. Cordova and Seville do not compare with Cadiz ; they are as white as paper, but Cadiz is as white as milk. In order to give an idea of it, one could not do better than write the word ** white " with a white pencil on blue paper, and make a note on the margin : '* Impres- sions of Cadiz." Cadiz is one of the most extrava- gant and graceful of human caprices. Not only are the external walls of the house white, but the houses themselves, their courts, walls of the shops, the stone seats, pilasters, the most remote corners, darkest houses of the poor, or most unfrequented streets. In fact, every thing is white from attic to cellar, where- ever the point of a brush can reach, even to the holes, cracks, and birds' nests. In each house there is a deposit of lime, and every time the scrutinizing eye of its inmates discovers a small spot, they make a raid with the brush and it is covered. No servant who does not understand whitewashing is received
CADIZ. 343
in any family. A scratch of charcoal on the walls is a scandalous thing, an attempt to disturb the public peace, and an act of vandalism. You may wander about the entire city, look behind all the doors, poke your nose into every hole, and you will find noth- ing but that everlasting white.
Yet, despite this fact, Cadiz does not resemble in the slightest degree the other Andalusian cities. Its streets are long and straight, the houses high, and without the patios of Cordova and Seville. The city, however, does not strike the stranger less agreeably on this account. The streets are straight, but very narrow, so that, as they are very long too, and most of them cross the whole city, om\ can see, at the end, as through the crack of a door, a small strip of sky, which almost makes it look like a city built on the top of a mountain, cut into points on all sides. Moreover ; the houses have a large num- ber of windows, and every window is furnished, as at Burgos, with a species of projecting enclosed bal- cony, which rests on that of the window above, and supports the one of the window below ; so that in many streets the houses are completely covered with glass. You hardly see a bit of wall, and seem to be walking through the corridor of an immense museum. Here and there, between the houses, project the superb branches of a palm ; in every square there is a luxurious mass of verdure ; and at all the windows there are tufts of grass and bunches of flowers.
In truth, I was far from imagining that it could be so gay and smiling, — this terrible and unfortunate Cadiz, burned by the English in the sixteenth cen- tury, bombarded at the end of the eighteenth, dev- astated by the plague, and then entertainer of the fleets of Trafalgar, the seat of the revolutionary
544 sPAiiir.
Junto during the War of Independence, the theatre of horrible massacres in the revolution of 1820, the standard-bearer of the revolution which drove the Bourbons from the throne, is always restless and turbulent, and the first of all to give the war-cry. Nothing remains to tell the tale of all these struggles and vicissitudes but cannon balls buried in the walls, for over the other traces of destruction has passed the inexorable brush, which covers every shame with a white veil. As in the case of the latest wars, neither are there any traces of the Phoenicians who founded it, or of the Carthaginians and Romans who embellished it, unless one chooses to consider as a trace the tradition which says : ** Here rose a temple to Hercules, there rose one to Saturn/' But time has done something worse than take from Cadiz its ancient monuments. It robbed her of commerce and wealth, after Spain lost her possessions in America ; and now Cadiz lies inert on her solitary rock, await- ing in vain the thousand ships which used to come, gaily beflagged, to bring her the tributes of the New World.
I had a letter of introduction for our consul, carried it to him, and was courteously taken by him to the top of one of the towers, from which I could take in the whole city at a glance. It was a novel and intense surprise! Cadiz, seen from a height, is white ; yes, as perfectly, purely white as when seen from the sea. There is not a roof in the entire city. Every house is closed at the top by a terrace surrounded by a white-washed parapet. From almost all these terraces rises a small tower, white, too, which, in its turn, is surmounted by an- other terrace, cupola, or species of sentinels box ; every thing white. All these litde cupolas, points,
CADIZ. 34S
and battlements, which form a curious and very varied outline around the city, stand out and appear whiter still against the blue of the sea. The eye traverses the entire isthmus joining Cadiz to the mainland, takes in a long stretch of the distant coast, upon which gleam the cities of Puerto Real and Puerto Santa Maria, together with villages, churches, and villas, and sweeps over the harbor, ocean, and a very beautiful sky which vies with the sea in clear- ness and light.
I could not gaze long enough at that strange city. By half-closing the eyes, it looked as if covered with an immense sheet Every house seems to have been built like an astronomical observatory. The entire population, in case the sea should inundate the city, could betake itself to the terraces, and re- main there (barring the fright) in ease and comfort. I was told that, a few years since, on the occasion of some eclipse, this spectacle was witnessed. The seventy thousand inhabitants of Cadiz all climbed on to the terraces to watch the phenomenon. The city, from being all white, became a thousand colors ; every terrace was crowded with heads, so that one could see at a glance quarter after quarter, and the entire population, in fact. A low, diffused murmur arose, like the roar of the sea, and a great movement of arms, fans, and spy-glasses, turned upward, made it appear as if all were awaiting the descent of an angel from the sphere of the sun. At a certain mo- ment there was a profound silence ; when the eclipse was over, the entire population uttered a shout that seemed like a burst of thunder ; and, a few moments thereafter, the city became white again.
I descended from the tower to visit the cathedral, an immense marble edifice of the sixteenth century,
346 SPAiy.
which certainly cannot be compared with those of Burgos and Toledo, but still of a bold and noble ar- chitecture, and rich, like all the Spanish churches, in every kind of treasure. I went to see the convent where Murillo, while painting a picture above the high altar, fell from the scaffolding and received the injury which caused his death, I took a run through the picture-gallery, containing some beautiful works by Zurbaran. I entered the bull-circus, which is en- tirely of wood, and was built in a few days in order to offer a spectacle to Queen Isabella- Toward evening I took a walk on the delicious promenade along the sea-shore, among the oranges and palms, where the most beautiful and elegant women of the town were pointed out to me. In my humble opin- ion (whatever that of the Spaniards may be), the feminine type of Cadiz was not less attractive than that celebrated one at Seville. The women are a little taller, a trifle stouter, and rather darker. Some fine observer has asserted that they are of the Greek type ; but I cannot see where. I saw nothing, with the exception of their stature, but the Andalusian type ; and this sufficed to make me heave sighs deep enough to have blown along a boat, and oblige me to return as soon as possible to my ship, as a place of peace and refuge.
When I went on board, it was night ; the heav- ens were twinkling with stars; and the breeze brought, now and then, snatches of music from the band playing on the promenade at Cadiz. The singers were sleeping ; I was alone, and the sight of the city lights, that music, and the recollection of the beautiful faces of the Cadiz women, made me mel- ancholy. I did not know what to do with myself ; so went below, seized my note-book, and began the
CADIZ. 347
description of Cadiz. However, I only succeeded in writing a dozen times the words : white, blue, snow, splendor, colors ; after which I sketched the little figure of a woman, and then closed my eyes and dreamed of Italy.
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T
CHAPTER XL
HE following day, at sunset, the ship crossed _ the Strait of Gibraltar.
Now, in looking at this point on the map, it seems so near home, that I ought not to hesitate one mo- ment (if the desire seized me. and my domestic ex- chequer would permit} to pack my valise, and start for Genoa to go and enjoy once again the beauti- ful view of the two continents. At that time, how- ever, I seemed to be so far away, that, having writ- ten a letter to my mother, on the railing of the ship, with the intention of giving it to some passenger getting off at Gibraltar, to mail, while addressing it I laughed at my good faith, as if it were almost impossible that the letter should reach Turin. " From here ! " I thought ; " from the pillars of Her- cules ! " and I said the pillars of Hercules as I should have said the Cape of Good Hope or Japan.
" I am on the ship Guadatra, — I have at
my back the ocean, and before me the Mediteranean ; on the left, Europe, and on the right, Africa. I see on one side the Cape of Tarifa, and, on the right, the mountains of the African coast, which seem a little indistinct, like a gray cloud. I see Ceuta; a litUe beyond, Tangiers ; and, in a line with the ship, the rock of Gibraltar. The sea is as quiet as a lake, and
^" St. Agnes Branch,
MALAGA. 349
the sky rose- and gold-color. Every thing is peace- ful, beautiful, and magnificent, and I feel in my mind an inexplicable and very sweet confusion of grand ideas which, if they could be translated into words, would come out in a joyous prayer begun and ended
with thy name
The ship stopped in the Gulf of Algesiras ; the en- tire troupe of singers got into a great boat which had come from Gibraltar, and moved off, waving their fans and handkerchiefs as a salute. When we started again, night was falling. Then I could measure on every side with my eye that enormous pile of rock, Gibraltar. At first it seemed as if we should leave it behind us in a few moments, but il was hours before .we did so. Little by little, as we approached each 'other,: it increased in size, present- ing some newvaspect^;9.t every moment. Now the profile of a huge nvonsterj new the form of an im- mense ladder, nCw ^he shape of a fantastic castle, now a shapeless .nriass, like a monstrous aerolite, fallen from a world destrdyed in a battle of worlds. Then it presented gradually, behind a tall point re- sembling an Egyptian pyramid, a protuberance as large as a mountain, with clefts and rocks cut in points on very long curves which were lost to the eye on the level. It was night ; the rock defined its dark contours as clearly and distinctly against the moonlit sky, as a bit of black paper on a pane of glass. We could see the lighted windows in the English barracks, the sentinels' boxes on the summits of the aerial crags, and some uncertain out- lines of trees, that hardly looked as large as a tuft of grass on the nearest rocks. For a long time it seemed as if the boat were not moving, or that the rock was following us, so near was it always ; then,
3 so SPAIN.
little by little, it began to increase in size ; but out eyes grew weary of gazing, before the rock did of threatening us with its fantastic transfigurations. At midnight, I gave a last salute to that formidable dead sentinel of Europe, and then crept into my small nest.
I awoke at day rbteak, a'^ few miles from the har- bor of Mgilaga...
The city of Malaga, seen from the port, presents an agreeable appearance, not wholly without grandeur. On the right is a rocky mountain, upon whose summit ^nd down one of whose sides are the blackened ruins of the Castle of Gibralfaro, famous for the desperate resistance offered by th Moors to the army of Ferdinand and Isabella^ th Catholic; and on the sk)pes of the mountain is. the cathedral, which rises majestically above all the sur-» rounding buildings* lancing toward heavtep, as a bold poet would say, '.two beautiful, towers iartd a very high bell tower. Between the castle anji the church, and in front arid .on the sides of the* mountain, there is a multitude, or, to express myself k la Vic- tor Hugo,. a canaille of smoky houses, placed one above the other, at random, as if they had been thrown down like rocks from a height. On the left of the cathedral, along the shore, is a row of houses, ash, violet, and yellowish in color, with a white line around the windows and doors, which remind one of the villages on the Ligurian Riviera. Be- yond lies a garland of green and reddish hills, that enclose the city like the walls of an amphitheatre ; on the right and left, along the sea-shore, are other mountains, hills, and rocks, as far as the eye can reach. The harbor is almost deserted, the sea- shore quiet, and the sky very clear.
<(0
yVc Public
o
f^ St. Agnes Branch 2279 BROA
Malaga. 35 i
Before landing, I took leave of the captain, who was to pursue his journey to Marseilles ; bade fare- well to the boatswain and passengers, telling them all that I would be at Valencia on just the day the ship arrived, and that, therefore, I would embark with them again to go on to Barcelona and Mar- seilles. The captain said, ** We shall expect you," and the steward promised to save a place for me. How many times since then have I remembered the last words of those poor people !
I landed at Malaga, with the intention of leaving that same evening for Granada. The interior of the city contains nothing of note. Aside from the new part, which occupies the space formerly covered by the sea, and is built like modern places, with broad straight streets 4^d great bare houses, the rest of the city is a labyrinth of tortuous streets, and a con- glomeration of' houses without Color, without patios, without grace. There are' sonie spacious squares, with gardens and fountains, some columns and arches of Arabian edifices^ but.no modern monument, much filth, and not many people. The environs are very beautiful, and the climate milder than Seville.
At Malaga I had a friend, whom I looked up, and we passed the day together. I had a curious bit of information from him. Here there is a literary academy composed of more than eight hundred mem- bers, in which they celebrate the anniversaries of all the great writers, and twice a week there is a public lecture on the subject of science or literature. That very evening a solemn festival was to be held. Some months previous, the Academy had offered a premium of three beautiful gold flowers, enameled in various colors, for the three poets who should compose the best ode on Progress, the best romance on the re-
352 sPa/M
covery of Malaga, together with the best satire against one of the commonest vices of modern civil society. There had been a competition among all the poets of Spain, the poems had rained in promiscuously, a jury had secretly judged them, and that same evening the verdict was to be given. The ceremony was to be celebrated with great pomp ; the arch- bishop, governor, the commandant of the navy, the consuls, and the most prominent personages of the city in evening dress and scarfs, and a great number of ladies in full toilette, were to take part. The three most beautiful muses of the city were to be present on a sort of stage decked with flags and garlands, each one to open a parcel containing the prize poem, and proclaim three times the name of the author. If the author responded he was to be invited to read his verses, and receive the flower ; if he did not respond, they were to read them. In the whole city nothing was talked of but the Acad- emy. They conjectured the names of the winners, predicted marvels in all three poems, and praised the decoration of the hall. This poetical festival, to which they give the name of jtiegos fioreales, had not been celebrated in ten years. Others may judge whether these competitions and these grand prepa- rations are injurious to poetry and poets. . For my part, no matter how doubtful and fleeting may be the literary glory bestowed by the sentence of a jury and the homage of a bishop or a governor, I think that the receipt of a gift of a golden flower from the hand of a beautiful woman, under the eyes of five hundred Andalusian women, to the sound of sweet music, and amid the perfume of jessamines aud roses, may be a keener and deeper joy than that which comes from real and lasting glory. No } Ah 1 we are sincere i
MALAGA. 353
One of my first thoughts was to taste a little Malaga wine, if for no other reason than to compen- sate myself for the headaches and colics from which I had suffered in drinking that wretched mixture prepared in most of the Italian cities, and sold under the recommendation of this name. Whether it was that I did not know how to ask, or they did not wish to understand me, certain it is that the wine given me at the hotel burned me terribly and went to my head. I could walk straight to the cathedral, however, from thence to the Castle of Gibralfaro, and some other places, and form an idea of the Malaga beauties without seeing them double and tremulous, as evil-disposed persons might fancy.
While we were walking, my friend told me about the Malaga people, so famous for their republican tendencies, who are always making some kind of a demonstration. They are fiery, inconstant, but amiable, like all people who feel a great deal, think little, and act more from the impulse of passion than from the force of conviction. A trifle is sufficient to collect a crowd and raise such a tumult that the en- tire city is upset ; but, generally, a resolute act from some man in authority, a display of courage, or a flash of eloquence, can quell the tumult and disperse the crowd. The character of the people is good in the main, but superstition and passion have an evil influence upon it. Superstition is probably more deeply rooted at Malaga than in any other city in Andalusia, on account of the greater amount of ig- norance there. Taking it all in all, Malaga is the least Andalusian city I have seen, for even the lan- guage is corrupted there, as they speak worse than at Cadiz, where they speak badly enough !
I was still at Malaga, but my imagination wan-
354 SPAIN.
dered through the streets of Granada, and in the gardens of the Alhambra and Generalife. A few hours after midday, I left, and, to tell the truth, this was the only city in Spain which I quitted without a sigh. When the train started, instead of turning to salute it as I had done all its sisters, I murmured the lines sung by Giovanni Prati, at Granada, when the Duke d'Aosta left for Spain :
^ Non pih Granata h sola Sulle sue mute pietre ; L' inno in Alhambra vola Sulle Moresche cetre."
(" Granada is no more alone upon its mute stones. The national hymn flies over the Alhambra, on Moorish lyres.")
And now, in rewriting them, I feel that the music of the National Guard band at Turin can better in- spire joy and peace than Moorish lyres, and that the pavement of the porticoes of Po is smoother and more even than the stones of Granada.
CHAPTER XII,
THE journey from Malaga to Granada was the most full of adventure and the most unfor- tunate one I took in Spain.
In order that the compassionate readers may pity me as much as I desire, they must know (I am really ashamed to entertain people with such trifles) that at Malaga 1 had only had a light Andalusian break- fest, of which, at the moment of my departure, I had hardly a confused recollection. But I started with the firm conviction that I should be able to get out at some railway station, where there is one of those large rooms (or public strangling places) into which one gallops, eats breathlessly, and pays in rushing off to return to the crowded carriage, suffocated and robbed, to curse the time-table, journeys, and the minister of public works who cheats the country, 1 started, and the first hours were delightful. The country was all gentle slopes and green fields, scat- tered with villas, crowned with pines and cypresses; and in the carriage, between two old people who kept their eyes closed, there was a little Andalusian, who looked around with a roguish smile which seemed to say: "Go on, cast languishing glances at me ! " The train moved with the slowness of a broken-down diligence, and we only stopped a few
356 SPAIN.
moments at the stations. At sunset my stomach gave signs of impatience, and to render the stimulus of appetite fiercer, I was obliged to do a good bit of the road on foot The train stopped before an unsafe bridge, all the travellers got out and filed along two by two to wait for the carriages on the other bank of the river. We were in the midst of the rocks of the Sierra Nevada, in a wild deserted place, which made us appear like a set of people held as hostages by a band of brigands. When we had climbed into the carriages again, the train re- sumed its former snails pace, and my poor stomach began to suffer more than ever. We arrived, after a long time, at a station filled with trains, where the majority of the passengers had rushed out before I could get my foot on to the steps.
" Where do you wish to go ? " one ' of the rail- road officials asked me, seeing me descend, " To dine," I replied. *• But you are going to Granada? " "Yes."
" If that s the case you have no time ; the train starts instantly."
" But the others have gone out." ** You will see them come running back in a mo- ment."
The freight trains which were ahead of us pre- vented me from seeing the station ; I thought it was at quite a distance, so I did not stir. Two minutes passed, five, eight, the travellers do not return, and the train does not move. I jump down, run to the station, see a cafe, enter an immense room. Ye heavenly powers ! Fifty famished people were stand- ing round a refreshment table, their noses buried in their plates, elbows in the air, with their eyes on
GRANADA. 3i7
their watches, devouring and shouting ; another fifty were pushing each around the counter, seizing and pocketing bread, fruit, and candies, while the owner and waiters, breathless as horses, reeking with perspiration, ran, worked as hard as they could, shrieked, stumbled over the chairs, knocked into the purchasers, and threw spurts of sauce and bouillon here and there. One poor woman, who must have been the mistress of the caf6, was a prisoner in a little niche behind the besieged coun- ter, and ran her hands through her hair in sign of despair. At this sight my courage failed. But I instantly gathered strength and joined in the sack- ing. Repulsed by one elbow, I dashed forward again ; thrown back by a blow in the stomach, I sum- moned all my courage for a third assault. At that moment the bell rang. There was a burst of im- precations, then a falling of chairs, a smashing of plates, a crash, a perfect pandemonium. One per- son, in swallowing in haste the last mouthful, be- came livid, and his eyes started out of their sockets, like those of a man being hanged ; another, stretch- ing out his hand to seize an orange, hit by a person who was hurrying off, dived into a pot of cream ; a third roamed around the room in search of his valise with a dash of gravy on his cheek ; another who, having wished to drink without breathing, choked with the wine and began coughing violently; and the officials at the door shouted: Quick! and the travellers in the cafe replied : Ahdgate / (suf- focated !). The poor waiters pursued those who had not paid ; the ladies fainted, those who wished to pay did not find the waiters ; the children shrieked, and every thing was in confusion.
I was fortunate in being able to get into the train before it started.
35* ^PAm.
But there a fresh misery was awaiting me. The two old men and the little Andalusian, who must have been the daughter of one and niece of the other, had succeeded in getting something in the midst of that frightful crowd around the counter, and they were eating as hard as they could. I began looking at them with a melancholy expression of face, counting the mouthfuls, as a dog does at his master's table. The young girl noticed this, and showing me something that looked like a croquette, with a gracious inclination of the head, asked me if I would have some of it.
** Oh, no, thanks ! " I replied with the smile of a dying man, ** I have been eating."
" My angel," I instantly said to myself, " if you knew that at this moment I would prefer your croquettes to the sour apples, as Messer Niccol6 Macchiavelli nobly says, gathered in the famous gardens of the Hesperides ! "
"Try a swallow of liqueur at least!" said the uncle.
I do not know from what childish pique against myself or those good people, but it was a pique even men experience on similar occasions, I re- plied this time too :
" No, thank you, it would hurt me ! "
The good old man looked at me from head to foot with the air of saying that I did not seem to him like a man to suffer from a drop of spirits, the Andalusian smiled, and I became crimson from mor- tification.
Night came on, and the train continued at the pace of Sancho Panza's steed for I know not how many hours. That evening, the first time in my life, I experienced the torments of hunger, which I
CkANAbA. 359
thought I had already felt during the famous day of the 24th of June, 1866. To alleviate these tortures, I persistently thought of all the dishes which I dis- liked, raw tomatoes, snails in soup, roasted crabs, and slugs in salad. Alas! a derisive voice cried out from my vitals that if I had any of them I would have licked my fingers afterward. Then I began to make an imaginary mixture of horrid dishes, like cream and fish, sprinkled with wine, a handful of pepper, and a layer of juniper preserves, to see if I could keep my stomach in order. Oh, unfortunate man ! The cowardly stomach did not even repel that mess. Then I made a last effort, and im- agined being at table in a hotel at Paris, during the time of the siege, and of raising by his tail, from some sauce piquante, a small mouse, which, sudden- ly regaining life, bit my thumb, and fixed two en- raged little eyes upon me, and myself, with my raised fork, either in doubt as to whether I should let him go or run him through the body without any pity. But, thank the Lord, before I made that horrible de- cision as to whether I should do a thing the equal of which was never met with in the history of the besieged, the train stopped, and a ray of hope re- vived my weary spirits.
We had arrived at some unknown village. While I was putting my head out of the window a voice shouted :
** Those going to Granada must get out ! " I jumped down from the carriage, and found my- self facing a tall, bearded man, who took my valise out of my hand, saying that he was going to put it on the diligence, because from that village to I know not how many miles from the imperial Granada there is no railway.
360 sPaiM.
" One moment ! " I cried, in a supplicating^ voice, to the unknown. " How long before we start? "
* Two minutes! " he replied.
" Is there an inn here ? "
'* Over there."
I rushed to the inn, swallowed a hard-boiled egg, and dashed off toward the diligence, saying :
*' How much time is there now ? **
** Two minutes more ! *' replied the same voice as before.
I returned to the inn, despatched another ^%^ and ran back to the diligence, asking again :
** Are you going to start ? "
*' In a moment ! "
Back to the inn again, a third ^'gg^ and then to the diligence :
** Are we going } "
" In half a minute !"
This tjme I drew a long breath, ran back to the inn, swallowed a fourth ^^^ and a glass of wine, and dashed toward the diligence. But hardly had I gone ten steps when I felt my breath failing, and I stopped, with the ^^^ half-way down my throat. At this point the whip cracked.
" Wait ! " I shrieked in a gasping voice, waving my hands like a drowning man.
'' What 's the matter "i " asked the driver.
I could not reply.
"He has an ^^^ half-way down his throat,** re- plied some unknown person for me.
All the travellers burst out into a laugh, the eg^ went down, I laughed too, caught up with tni* iili gence, which started instantly, and when I got my breath, I related my tale of woe to my travelling companions, who were more amused and filled with
GRANADA. 36 1
pity by it than I had dared hope, after that cruel laugh at my strangulation.
But my troubles were not at an end. One of those irresistible attacks of drowsiness, which used to seize me during those long nocturnal marches with the soldiers, suddenly took possession of me, and tor- mented me until we reached the railway station, without my being able to sleep for a moment. I fancy that a cannon ball, suspended by a cord from the roof of the diligence, would have caused less an- noyance to my unfortunate fellow-travellers, than did my poor head, swinging on all sides, as it did, as if only fastened to the neck by one nerve.
1 had, on one side a nun, on the other a boy, in front of me a peasant, and throughout all that trip I did nothing but thump those three victims with my head, with the monotonous vibration of the tongue of a bell. The nun, poor creature, allowed me to hit her, and was silent, perhaps in expiation of her sins of thought ; but the boy and the peasant woman muttered, from time to time : " He is a barbarian ! " " This can't go on ! " " His head is like lead ! " Finally, a joke of one of the travellers liberated all four of us from that torture. The peasant having complained a little louder than usual, a voice at the end of the diligence exclaimed :
** Console yourself! If he has not broken your head by this time, you may rest assured that he won't do so ; for it will be a sign that it could stand the blow of a hammer ! "
Every one laughed ; I waked, and asked their pardon, and the three victims were so content to find themselves freed from that everlasting knocking, that instead of revenging themselves with bitter words they said :
3^2 SPAW.
** Poor fellow ! You have slept very badly i You must have hurt your head ! "
We finally reached the railway ; and, behold the irony of fate ! alone though I was in the carriage, where I could have slept like a sultan, I did not suc- ceed in closing my eyes. I felt the deepest regret when I thought that I had taken that journey by night, and that I had not seen any thing, and should not be able to enjoy the spectacle of Granada in the distance ! And the sweet verses of Martinez de la Rosa passed through my mind :
'* O beloved country ! I see thee at last once more ! I see again thy beauteous soil, thy fertile and joyous fields, thy splendid sun, thy quiet sky !
" Oh, yes ! I see the famous Granada extend along the plain from hill to hill ; her towers rise amid eternally verdant gardens ; her crystal streams kiss- ing her walls ; the superb mountains surrounding her valleys, and the Sierra Nevada crowning the distant horizons!
** Oh ! the recollection of thee followed me on every side, Granada! disturbed my pleasures, my peace, my glory, and my oppressed soul and heart! On the frozen banks of the Seine and Thames I re- membered the pleasant borders of the Darro and Xenil, and sighed ! Very often, and in humming a joyful ballad, my pain became bitter, and the ill- suppressed tears choked my voice !
** In vain the delightful Arno offered me her banks, enamelled with flowers, the asylum of love and peace. The plain watered by the quiet Xenil/' I said, ** is more flowery still ! The sojourn in beauti- ful Granada is dearer to me I ** and I murmured these words in disconsolate accents, and, remember- ing the home of my fathers, I raised my melancholy eyes to heaven :
CHAN ADA, 363
*' What is thy magic, thy ineffable charm, O country, O sweet name so dear to us ! The African, far away from his native desert, looks with sorrow- ing disdain on verdant fields ; the rough Laplander, torn from his maternal soil, sighs for the perpetual night and perpetual ice ; and I, I to whom a benevo- lent fate granted the favor of being born and grow- ing up in thy blessed bosom, blessed by so many gifts from God, I, far from thee, could I forget thee, Granada? "
When I reached Granada, it was very dark, and not the outline of a house was to be seen. A dili- gence, drawn by two horses
" anzi due cavallette
Di quelle di Mos^ 1^ deir Egitto "
landed me at a hotel, where I was obliged to wait an hour for a bed to be made, and, finally, after three o'clock in the morning, I was able to lay my head on a pillow. But my misfortunes were not at an end. When I began to doze, I heard an indistinct murmur in the neighboring room, and then a mas- culine voice which said quite clearly : ** Oh, what a little foot! " Any one with bowels of compassion may judge of the effect ! The pillow was slightly ripped, I drew out two bits of wool, stuck them into my ears, and going over my journey in thought, I fell into a heavy sleep.
The following morning I went out betimes, and roamed around the streets of Granada, until a re- spectable hour arrived for me to go and drag out of his house a young Granadine, whom I had known at Madrid, in the house of Fernandez Guerra, Gon- gora by name, the son of an illustrious archeologist
364 spAm.
and descendant of the famous poet of Cordova, Louis Gongora, of whom I have said a little. The portion of the city which I saw during those few hours did not come up to my expectations. I fancied I should find mysterious little streets and small white houses. as at Cordova and Seville ; I found, on the contrarj% spacious squares, some beautiful straight streets, and the others tortuous and narrow, it is true, but lined with high houses, painted in imitation bas-reliefs, with cupids, garlands, bits of curtain, and veils of a thousand colors, without that oriental aspect pecu- liar to the other Andalusian cities. The lowest part of Granada is almost entirely built with the regular- ity of a modern city. Passing through those streets, I was seized with a feeling of disdain, and should certainly have carried to Signor Gongora a clouded face, if, by chance, in that careless roaming about, I had not come out upon the famous Alameda ^ which enjoys the reputation of being the most beautiful promenade in the world, and which compensated me a thousand times for the odious regularity of the streets that lead to it.
Let my reader imagine a long avenue of extraor- dinary width, through which fifty carriages in line could pass, flanked by minor avenues, along which run rows of immense trees, that form at a great height an enormous arch of verdure, so thick that not a ray of sunshine can penetrate it ; and, at the extremities of the middle avenue, two fountains, which throw up water in large streams, that fall again in a fine vaporous rain; and, between the ave- nues, crystalline springs; and, in the centre, a garden filled with roses, myrtle, jessamine, and sprays ol water. On one side, the river Xenil, which flows between two banks shaded by groves of laurel, and,
(SRAI^ADA. 365
far away, the mountains covered with snow, upon which the distant palms rear their fantastic heads ; and, all about, a vivid green, very thick and luxur- iant, which allows one to catch a glimpse here and there of a strip of blue sky that is bewitching.
Returning from the Alameda, I met a great num- ber of peasants who were coming from the city, two by two, and in troops, with their wives and children, singing and joking. Their costume did not appear to me different from that of the peasants about Cor- dova and Seville. They wore velvet hats, some with large brims, others with high brims turned back ; a jacket made of strips of various- colored cloth ; a red or blue sash ; tight breeches, buttoned down the sides ; and a pair of leather gaiters, open on one side so that the leg could be seen. The women were dressed as in the other provinces, and there was no noticeable difference even in their faces.
I went to the house of my friend, found him buried in his archeological studies, before a pile of old medals and historical stones. He received me with joy and a charming Andalusian courtesy. Af- ter having exchanged the first greetings, we both pronounced in one voice that magical word, which in every portion of the world awakens in every soul a tumult of grand recollections and a feeling of se- cret desire ; that gives the last impulse toward Spain to any one who has conceived the idea of travelling and not yet arrived at the determination of starting ; which makes the hearts of poets and painters beat, and the eyes of women glisten — the Alhambra!
We rushed out of the house.
The Alhambra is situated on a high hill which
3^ sPaIa^.
dominates the city, and presents, from a distance, the appearance of a fortress, like almost all the ori- ental palaces. But when I started with Gongora through the street of los Gametes, to visit that famous castle, I had not yet seen its walls even from afar, and I should not have been able to tell in what part of the city it stood. The street of los GameUs rises gradually and describes a slight curve, so that, for quite a way, one sees nothing before him but houses, and may fancy that the Alhambra is still distant. Gongora did not speak ; but I saw by his face that he was thoroughly enjoying the thought of the delight and surprise which I should experience. He looked smilingly at the ground, replied to all questions with a sign that seemed to say : " In a moment," and from time to time raised his eyes almost furtively to measure the road which lay be- fore us. And I so enjoyed his pleasure that I could have thrown my arms around his neck and thanked him.
We arrived before a great gate that shut in the street ; Gongora said to me : " Here we are ;" — I entered.
I found myself in a large grove of trees of an im- mense height, inclining toward each other on either side of a broad avenue, which ascends the hill and is lost in the shade. They are so thick that a man could scarcely pass between them, and in whichever direction one looks, nothing is to be seen but trunks which shut in the road like a continuous wall. The boughs of the trees cross above the avenue ; in the grove, not a ray of sun penetrates, the shade is very dense ; and on every side rivulets murmur, night- ingales sing, and a spring-like freshness is felt.
" We are already in the Alhambra/' said Gon-
GRANADA. 367
gora to me; " turn around and you will see the towers and embattled walls of the boundary."
•* But where is the palace ? " I asked.
" That is a mystery," he replied ; '* let us go on at random."
We climbed an avenue which runs along the great middle boulevard, and winds up toward the summit of the hill. The trees form a pavilion of verdure over it, so that not a bit of the sky is to be seen, and the grass, bushes, and flowers make on the sides two light espaliers, variegated and odorous, slightly inclined toward each other as if they were trying to unite, attracted by the beauty of their coloring and the softness of their fragrance.
*• Let us stop for a moment," I said ; " I wish to take a full breath of this air ; it seems as if it con- tained some mysterious germs which, infused into the blood, would prolong life ; it is air that breathes of youth and health ! "
*' Here is the door," exclaimed Gongora.
I turned as if I had been struck, and saw, a few steps before us, a large square tower, dark in color, crowned with battlements, and having an arched door, above which one sees a chiseled key and hand.
I questioned my friend about it, and he said it was the principal entrance of the Alhambra, and was called the Door of Justice, because under that arch the Arab kings used to pronounce their sentences. The key signifies that that door is the key to the fortress, and the hand is a symbol of the five princi- pal precepts of Islam : Prayer, Fasting, Benevo- lence, Holy War, and Pilgrimage to Mecca. An Arabic inscription testifies that the edifice was con- structed four centuries ago by Abul Hagag Yusuf,
368 SPAIN.
and another, that one reads at the same time on the columns, says : *' There is no God but Allah ; and Mahomet is his prophet ! There is no power nor strength aside from Allah ! "
We passed under the gateway and continued to climb an embanked road, until we found ourselves at the summit of the hill in the middle of the level enclosure of a parapet scattered with plants and flowers. I instantly turned toward the valley to en- joy the view ; but Gongora seized me by the arm and made me look on the Opposite side. I was facing a great palace in the style of the Renaissance, half in ruins, and flanked by some miserable-look- ing little houses.
** What joke is this?" I asked; "you bring me here to see an Arabian castle, and I find my road blocked by a modern palace ? Who conceived the disgraceful idea of erecting that edifice in the centre of the garden of the city } "
*» Charles, the Fifth."
** He was a vandal — I have not yet pardoned him for that Gothic church planted in the middle of the mosque at Cordova ; and now this barracks makes me hate his crown and his glory. But where in the aame of heaven is the Alhambra ? "
** It is there."
" Where, there } "
'* Among those wretched houses.**
" Oh, come now! "
** I give you my word of honor."
I folded my arms and looked at him ; he laughed.
'' Well, then, this great name of Alhambra is only one of the usual charlatan-like hyperboles of poets. I, Europe, the world at large, have all been ridicu- lously fooled 1 Was it worth dreaming of the Al-
GRANADA. 3^9
hambra for three hundred and sixty-five nights in succession, to come and see a group of deserted hovels with some broken columns in their midst, and some dingy inscriptions? "
" How much I am enjoying this ! " replied Gon- gora, bursting out into a laugh. ** Cheer up and come and persuade yourself that the world has not been fooled. We will go into the hovels."
We entered by a little door, crossed a corridor, and found ourselves in a courtyard. I seized Gon- goras hand with a sudden bound, and he asked me in a tone of triumph :
*• Are yoii persuaded?"
I made no reply, I did not see him, I was already far away from him ; the Alhambra had .already be- gun to exercise upon me that deep and mysterious fascination from which none escape, and which no one is able to explain.
We were in the patio de losArrayanes (court of the myrtles), which is the largest in the building, and presents at once the appearance of a hall, courtyard, and garden. A large basin of rectangular form, filled with water, surrounded by a hedge of myrtle, extends from one side to the other of the patio, and reflects, like a mirror, the arches, arabesques, and in- scriptions upon the walls. On the right of the en- trance stretch out two rows, one above the other, of Moorish arches, upheld by light columns ; and on the opposite side of the court rises a tower, with a door, through which one sees the inner semi-obscure halls and the twin windows, and beyond the win- dows, the blue sky and the summits of the distant mountains. The walls are ornamented, to a cer- tain height from the ground, with superb mosaics, and from the mosaics up, they are arabesqued in a
370 sPAiir.
very fine design, which seems to tremble and change at every step, and here and there, between the ara- besques and along the arches extend, twist, and in- terlace like garlands, Arabic inscriptions, which in- clude salutations, sentences, and legends.
Near the door of entrance is written in large characters: *' Eternal salvation! Benediction! Pros- perity / — Felicity ! — Praised be God for the benefit of Islam ! "
At another point is written : ** I seek my refuge in the Lord of the Morning," — elsewhere : " O God ! To Thee we owe everlasting thanks and undying praises ! "
In other places are verses from the Koran, and entire poems in praise of the caliphs.
We remained for some moments looking around us without opening our mouths ; not the buzzing of a fly was heard. From time to time Gongora made a move toward the tower, and I, holding him by the arm telt that he was trembling with impatience.
" But we must hurry," he finally said, ** else we shall not get back to Granada until evening."
** What do I care for Granada ! " I replied " what do I care about evening, morning, or myself. I am in the East I "
" But you are only in the antechamber of the Al- hambra, my dear Arab," said Gongora, pushing mc forward ; '* come, come with me where it will seeir more like being in the East than even here ! "
And he led me, reluctantly, to the sill of the towei door. There 1 turned to look once more on the court of the myrtles, and uttered a cry of surprise. Between the little columns of that arched gallery which faces the tower, on the opposite side of the
GRANADA. 3/1
court, was a girl with a beautiful dark Andalusian face, and a white mantle wrapped around her head and falling over her shoulders. She stood, leaning on the parapet in a melancholy attitude, with her eyes fastened upon us. I cannot describe the fan- tastic effect which that figure produced at that moment ; the grace that it received from the arches which curved over the head, and from the two columns that formed a frame, and the beautiful har- mony that it gave to all the court, almost as if it were a necessary ornament to that architecture, con- ceived by the brain of the architect when he designed the whole. She appeared like a sultana who was waiting for her lord, thinking of another sky and an- other love. And she continued to watch us ; my heart began beating, and I questioned my friend with my eyes, so as to assure myself that I was not dreaming. Suddenly the sultana laughed, dropped her white mantle, and disappeared.
" She is a servant," said Gongora.
I remained puzzled.
It was in fact a servant of the administrator of the Alhainbra, who was in the habit of playing that trick upon strangers.
We entered the tower, called the tower of Comares, or vulgarly of the Ambassadors.
The interior of the tower forms two halls, the first of which is called the hall of the boat, some say because it is boat-shaped, and some because it was called by the Arabs Hall of the Baraka, or benediction, which word might have been perverted by the ignorant into that of barca (boat). This hall does not seem like human work : it is all an enormous tracery of embroideries in the form of garlands, roses, branches, and leaves, which cover the ceiling, arches, and
372 SPAIN,
walls on every side, and in every way, closely twisted, interlaced, and placed one above the other, yet marvellously distinct, and combined in such a manner that they are all seen at once at a single glance, and present an appearance of magnificence that dazzles, and a grace that fascinates one. I ap- proached one of the walls, fixed my eyes on the farthest point of an arabesque, and tried to follow Its twists and turns on the wall ; the eye loses itself, the mind becomes disturbed, and all the arabesques from the floor to the ceiling seem to move and mingle, to make you lose the thread of their inex- tricable network. You may make every effort not to look around, fix all your attention on only one span of the wall, put your face to it, and follow the thread with your finger : it is useless ; after a moment the embroideries grow mixed, a veil stretches out be- tween you and the wall, and your arm falls. The wall seems woven like a cloth, is rich as a brocade, transparent as lace, and veined like a leaf; you can- not look at it closely, cannot remember the designs ; it would be like wishing to count the ants in an ant- hill ; you must be contented with giving a vague glance at the walls ; then rest, look again, and rest- ing, think of something else, and talk. After having gazed around a little with the air of a man seized with a vertigo rather than a feeling of admiration, I turned toward Gongora so that he might read in my face what I wished to say to him.
" Let us enter the other deserted place," he re- plied, smiling, and he pushed me into the great Hall of the Ambassadors, which occupies the entire interior of the tower, because the hall of the Barca really be- longs to a small building which, although joined to the tower, actually forms no part of it. The hall is
GRANADA. 373
square in shape, spacious, and lighted by nine large arched windows in the form of doors, which present almost the appearance of so many alcoves, so thick are the walls ; and each one is divided in half, toward the outside, by a little marble column which supports two elegant small arches, surmounted in their turn by two little arched windows. The walls are covered with mosaics and arabesques multiform and in- describably delicate, with innumerable inscriptions which extend in the form of broad embroidered rib- bons over the arches of the windows, up the corners, along the friezes, and around the niches, in which vases filled with flowers and perfumed water were placed. The ceiling, which is very high, is com- posed of pieces of cedar wood, white, gilded, and blue, put together in the shape of circles, stars, and crowns ; and forms so many little ceilings, cells, and small windows, through a hundred of which falls a soft light ; and from the cornice that joins the ceiling to the walls, hung pieces of stucco worked and em- broidered like stalactites and bunches of flowers. The throne was placed in a window opposite the en- trance.^ From the windows of this side one enjoys a magnificent view of the valley of the Darro, deep and silent, as if it, too, felt the fascination of the majesty of the Alhambra ; from the windows of the other two sides are seen the boundary walls and the towers of the fortress, and from the side of the en- trance, in the distance, the light arches of the Court of the Myrtles, and the waters of the basin, which reflect the azure of the sky.
'* Well," asked Gongora, " was it worth the trouble of dreaming three hundred and sixty-five nights about the Alhambra? "
** It is strange," I replied, *• what is passing
374 SPAIN.
through my mind at this moment. That court, as we see it from here, this hall, these windows, these colors, all that surrounds me, does not appear new to me ; it seems as if it corresponded with an idea I had in my head, for I do not know how long, confused among a thousand others, perhaps born of a dream, who knows ? When I was sixteen I was in love, and that child and I, looking into each other s eyes when alone in a garden under the shade of a hut, uttered involuntarily a cry of joy, which ex- cited us as if it had issued from the mouth of a third person who had discovered our secret. Well, then I often desired to be a king and have a palace ; yet, in giving form to that desire my imagination never stopped at the gilded palaces of our countries, but flew to distant lands, and there, on the summit of some high mountain, it built a palace of its own de- sign in which every thing was small and lovely, and illuminated by some mysterious light. There were to be seen long suites of rooms decorated with a thousand capricious and delicate ornaments, with win- dows at which only we two could stand and little col- umns behind which that child could scarcely have hid her face to play a joke upon me, if she heard my steps approaching from hall to hall, or the sound of my voice in the midst of the murmur of the fountains in the garden. Without knowing it, in building in im- agination those palaces, I was building the Alham- " •* ^ "^ bra ; at such times I have imagined something sim- ilar to these halls, windows, and that court we see . from here ; so like them, in fact, that the more I 4ook around me. the better I remember it, and it seiems as if I were recognizing the place rather than seeing it for the first time. When people are in love they all dream a little of the Alhambra, and if
Craj^ada. 375
they could translate in line and color all those dreams, we should have pictures which would astonish one from their resemblance to what one sees here. This architecture does not express power, glory, and grandeur, but rather love and voluptuousness ; love with its mysteries, caprices, expansions, and its bursts of gratitude to God ; voluptuousness with its bits of melancholy and si- lence. There is thus a strong link, a harmony be- tween the beauty of this Alhambra and the souls of those who have been in love at sixteen, when de- sires are dreams and visions. From this arises the indescribable charm that this beauty exercises ; and for this reason the Alhambra, although so deserted and half in ruins, i^-stlH the most fascinating palace of the world, ^^' in seeing it fqr .the last time strangers shed ;tears. It is because ip, saluting the Alhambra, one'l)ids a last farewell to tlie most beau- tiful of his youthful dreams,- which; are revived for the last time among" ita w^llsj -One says adieu to faces indescribably dear whfeh have broken through the oblivion of many years to look for a last time through the little columns of these windows ! One bids farewell to all the fancies of youth, farewell to that love which never lives again ! "
" It is true! " replied my friend ; ** but what will you say when you have seen the Court of the Lions! Come, let us go to it ! *'
We hurriedly left the tower, crossed the court of the myrtles, and arrived before a little door facing that of the entrance.
" Stop ! " cried out Gongora.
I stopped.
" Will you do me a favor ? *'
« A hundred."
37^ sPAi}r.
" Only one : close your eyes and do not open them until I tell you to do so."
'* They are closed."
** But be careful to keep them so; if you open them I shall be annoyed !"
** Do not be afraid ! "
Gongora took me by the hand and led me for- ward, I trembling like a leaf.
We took, perhaps, fifteen steps and stopped. Gongora said in a voice full of emotion :
- Look ! "
I looked, and I swear on the heads of my readers, I felt two tears running down my cheeks.
We were in the Court of the Lions.
If I had been forced to leave it as soon as I had entered, I should not have been able to tell what I had seen. It is a forest of columns, a mingling of arches and embroideries, an indefinable elegance, an indescribable delicacy, a prodigious richness, a something light, transparent, and undulating, like a great pavilion of lace ; with almost the appearance of a building which must dissolve at a breath ; a va- riety of lights, views, mysterious darkness, a con- fusion, a capricious disorder of little things, the ma- jesty of a palace, the gaiety of a kiosk, an amorous grace, an extravagance, a delirium, the fancy of an imaginative child, the dream of an angel, a madness, a nameless something — ^such is the first effect pro- duced by the Court of the Lions !
It is a court not larger than a large ball-room ; rectangular in form, with walls as high as the Andal- usian houses which have only one floor. All around runs a light portico, upheld by slender columns of white marble, grouped in a symmetrical disorder, two by two; ^nd three by three, almost without any
OkAi^AbA. Vll
pedestal, so that they seem like the trunks of trees placed on the ground. They are finished with varie- gated capitals, tall and slender, in the shape of small pilasters, over which curve little arches of graceful form, which, rather than leaning, seemed to be sus- pended over the columns in the shape of curtains, that sustain the columns themselves, like ribbons and waving garlands. From the middle of the shortest sides advance two groups of columns, which form two species of square temples, of nine arches each, surmounted by as many colored cupolas. The walls of these little temples and the exterior of the portico are a real lace- work of stucco, embroid- eries, and hems, cut and pierced from one side to the other, and as transparent as net- work, changing in design at every step. Sometimes they end in points, in crimps, in festoons, sometimes in ribbons waving around the arches, in kinds of stalactites, fringes, trinkets, and bows, which seem to oscillate and mingle at the slightest breath of air. Large Arabic inscriptions run along the four walls, over the arches, around the capitals, and on the walls of the lit- tle temples. In the centre of the court rises a great marble basin, upheld by twelve lions, and surrounded by a little paved canal, from which start four other small canals that, describing a cross between the four sides of the court, cross the portico, enter the neighboring halls, unite with other conduits, and run around the entire building. Behind the two small temples, and in the middle of the other two sides, open halls and suites of halls, with large open doors, that allow one to see the dark terminus against which the little whitejcolljrnns gleam as they would do before the m^^^eCSi^^la At every step one takes in tK^courfefirfin^^fore^W' columns
378 SPAM.
seems to move and change place, to form again in another way ; behind one column, which seems alone, two, three, or a row will spring out ; others separate, unite, and separate again. To look from the end of one of those rooms, every thing seems changed ; the arches on the opposite side appear very distant, the columns out of place, the little temples of another form ; one sees through walls new arches and columns appearing here illuminated by the sun, there in the shade, beyond scarcely visible in the dim light which falls through the in- terstices of the stucco ; further on they are lost in darkness. There is a continual variety of views, distances, deceptions, mysterious and optical illu- sions, caused by the architecture, the sun, and your overheated and excited imagination.
** What must this court have been," said Gon- gora, '* when the interior walls of the portico were glistening with mosaics, the capitals of the columns gleaming with gold, the ceilings and vaults painted in a thousand colors, the doors closed by silken cur- tains, the arches filled with flowers, and, under the little temples and in the rooms ran perfumed water, and from the nostrils of the lions burst a thousand sprays which fell back into the basin, and the air was full of the most delicious perfumes of Arabia ! "
We remained for more than an hour in the court, and it passed like a flash ; I, too, did what almost all people do, be they Spanish or strangers, men or women, poets or not. I ran my hand along the walls, touched all the little columns, and passed my two hands around them, one by one, as around the waist of a child ; I hid among them, counted them looked at them on a hundred sides, crossed the court in a hundred ways, tried if it were true that
GRANADA. S79
in saying a word, sotto voce, into the mouth of one lion, one could hear it distinctly from the mouths of all the others ; I looked on the marbles for the spots of blood of poetic legends, and wearied both eyes and brain over the arabesques. There were many ladies there. Women do all sorts of childish things in the Court of the Lions ; they put their face beween the twin columns, hide in dark cor- ners, sit on the ground, and remain for hours mo- tionless, their head resting in their hand, dream- ing. These ladies did the same thing. There was one dressed in white who, passing behind the dis- tant columns, when she thought she was unseen, assumed a certain easy, majestic gait, like a melan- choly sultana, and then laughed with her friends ; it was enchanting to see them. My friend said to me :
** Let us go."
I replied :
** Let us go," without being able to move one step. I not only experienced a sweet feeling of astonish- ment, but I trembled with pleasure, and was seized with the desire to touch, examine, and see between those walls and columns as if they were of some mysterious substance, and as if the first cause of the fascination which that place exercises upon all, were to be found in their hidden recesses. In all my life I have never thought, nor said, nor shall I say, so many foolish, stupid, pretty, senseless things as I thought and said in that hour.
** One must come here," said Gongora, **at sunrise, at sunset, and on moonlight nights to see all the marvels of color, shade, and light ! It is really enough to make one lose his reason ! "
We went to see the halls. On the eastern side
38o SPAIN.
there is one called the Hall of Justice, which one reaches in passing under three great arches, each one of which corresponds with a door opening on to the court. It is a long and narrow hall, whose archi- tecture is rich and bold, the walls covered with intricate arabesques and precious mosaics, and the ceiling all points, bunches, and knobs of stucco that hang from the arches, along the walls, and here and there crowd together, droop, emerge from one an- other, and seem to dispute the space like the bubbles in boiling water, presenting in many points the traces of antique colors, which must have given to that ceil- ing the appearance of a pavilion covered with sus- pended fruit and flowers. The hall has three small alcoves, in each one of which, on the ceiling, one still sees an Arabic painting, to which the age and the extreme rarity of work of the pencil by the Arabs, give a great value. The paintings are done on leather, and the leather is fastened to the wall. In the middle compartment are represented, on a gold background, ten men, who are supposed to be ten kings of Granada, dressed in white, seated upon embroidered cushions, with hoods drawn over their heads, and their hands resting on scimitars. The paintings in the other two alcoves represent castles, ladies, cavaliers, and hunting and love scenes, whose signification it is difficult to grasp. The physiognomy of the ten kings, however, correspond marvellously with the idea that we have formed of that people. There is olive color, the sensual mouth, the black, penetrating, and mysterious eye, which one always seems to see gleaming in the dark corners of the halls in the Alhambra.
On the northern side of the court there is another hall called that de las dos Hermanas (the Hall of the
GRANADA. l%\
Two Sisters), from the two great slabs of marble which form its pavement. It is the loveliest hall in the Alhambra. It is small, square in shape, covered by one of those ceilings in the form of a cupola, which the Spaniards call half oranges, supported by small columns and arches placed in a circle, all ornamented like a grotto with stalactites, in numberless points and indentations, colored and gilded, and so light in ap- pearance that they seem to be suspended in the air, and, if touched, would tremble like a curtain, rend like a cloud, and disappear as if they were a collection of soap bubbles. The walls of stucco, as in all the other halls, and covered with very delicate ara- besques, are one of the most marvellous productions of human fancy and patience. The longer one looks, the more the innumerable lines gather and interlace. One figure is formed from another, a third grows out of this, and all three present a fourth, which has hitherto escaped the eye. Then this divides itself suddenly into ten, and is once more decomposed and transformed. One never ceases to discover new combinations, because where the first reappear, hav- mg already been forgotten, they produce the same effect as before. One could easily lose his reason and sight in trying to find the end of that labyrinth. It takes an hour to see the outlines of a window, the ornaments of a pilaster, and the arabesques of a frieze ; but an hour would not suffice to impress upon the mind the design of one of the great cedar doors. On two sides of the hall there are two small alcoves ; in the centre is a little basin with a pipe for a water jet, which is joined to the canal which crosses the court and goes to the Fountain of the Lions. In a straight line from the door of entrance, on the opposite side, there is another door through
3^2 sPAinr.
which one enters a second long^, narrow path called the Hall of the Oranges. From this hall, through a third door, one enters a little cabinet called the Cabinet of Lindaraja, exceedingly rich in ornaments, and closed by a very graceful two-arched window which looks out on the garden.
In order to enjoy all the beauty of this magical architecture, it is necessary to go out of the Hall of the Two Sisters, cross the Court of the Lions, and enter the Hall of the Abencerrages, on the southern side, opposite that of the Two Sisters, which it closely resembles in form and ornamentation. From the end of this hall the eye sweeps across the Court of the Lions, passes the Hall of the Two Sisters, enters that of the Oranges, penetrates into the Cabinet of Lindaraja, and so into the garden, whose luxuriant verdure appears imder the arches of that exquisite window. The two apertures of this window, which, seen from the distance, appear so small and full of light at the end of that suite of dark rooms, look like two eyes, making one fancy that beyond them must lie some of the mysteries of Paradise.
After seeing the Hall of the Abencerrages, we went to look at the baths lying between the Hall of the Two Sisters and the Court of the Myrtles. We descended a little staircase, passed through a narrow corridor, and came out in a splendid hall called that of the Divans, in which the favorites of the kings used to come, and rest on Persian carpets, and listen to the sound of the lyre, after their bath in the neighboring rooms. This hall was rebuilt on the ruins of the old one, and arabesqued, gilded, and painted by Spanish artists, as the other one must have been ; so that it may be considered as a room of the time of the Arabs, which has been preserved
en AN ADA. 383
intact. In its centre is a fountain. In two opposite walls are two species of alcoves (in which the women reclined), the tribunes occupied by the players being higher. The walls are striped, speckled, dotted, and picked out with a thousand different colors, so that they present the appearance of Chinese stuffs wrought with gold threads, and that interminable net-work of figures which would drive the most patient mosaic worker in the world quite crazy !
Yet a painter was working in that room ! He had been occupied three months in copying the walls ! He was a German. Gk)ngora knew him, and asked : ** It is a maddening sort of work, is it not ? " To which the man smilingly replied : ** It does not seem so to me," as he bent again over his picture.
I looked at him as I should have done at a crea- ture from another world.
We passed into the little bath rooms, which are vaulted and lighted from above by means of some holes in the wall in the shape of stars and flowers. The tubs are of a single piece of marble, very wide, and fastened between the walls. The corridors leading from one room to the other are so low and narrow that a man can hardly pass, but are deli- ciously cool. Looking in at one of those little rooms, I was suddenly seized by a sad thought.
" What is troubling you ? " my friend asked.
" I am thinking," I replied, " how we live, sum- mer and winter, in houses which look like barracks ; in rooms on the third floor that are either dark, or else filled by a flood of light ; without marble, water, flowers, or little pillars, and that we must live all our lives in this way and die among such walls, without having even once experienced the luxury of these enchanted paiaces ; that, even in this miser-
3^4 ^PaM.
able earthly life, it is possible to enjoy immensely ; but I shall enjoy nothing! I might have been born a king of Granada, four centuries ago, instead of which I am simply a poor man ! "
My friend laughed, and, taking my arm between his first finger and thumb, as if to give me a pinch, replied :
** Don't think of that; think rather of how much that was beautiful and lovely these tubs have seen ; of the little feet that played in the perfumed water, of the long hair that spread over their edges, of the great languid eyes that looked at the sky through the holes of this ceiling, while, under the arches of the Court of the Lions resounded the hastening steps of an impatient caliph, and the hundred fountains in the palace said with a quickened murmur : * Come, come, come ! ' while, in a perfumed room, a slave, tremb- ling with reverence, drew the rose-colored cur- tarn.
** Oh ! do leave my soul in peace ! " I said, shrug- ging my shoulders.
We crossed the garden of the Cabinet of Lindar- aja, a mysterious-looking court called polio dela Reja, and through a long gallery looking out on the country, we arrived at the top of one of the farthest towers of the Alhambra, under a small pavilion opened on all sides, and called Tocador de la reina^ (the queen's toilette), which seemed to be sus- pended over an abyss, like the nest of an eagle.
That the spectacle one enjoys from this point is not equalled on the face of the earth, I am sure may be said without fear of contradiction from any one.
Imagine an immense plain, as green as a field covered with young grass, traversed in all directions by endless rows of cypresses, pines, oaks, and pop-
Cl^A}/Ai)A. 3^5
lars, scattered with thick groves of oranges (which, in the distance, look like bushes), and great kitchen and flower gardens, so filled with fruit trees that they present the appearance of hillsides covered with verdure. Across this immense plain flows the Xenil, shining among the groves and gardens like a silver ribbon. On all sides are wooded hills, and beyond these hills, very high rocks in fantastic shapes, which seem like a girdle of walls and titanic towers separating this paradise from the world. Directly under one s eyes lies the city of Granada, partly stretched over the plain, partly on a hillside scattered with groups of trees and shapeless masses of verdure, rising and waving above the tops of the houses, like enormous plumes, which seem to spread out, join together, and cover the entire city. Farther down is the deep valley of the Darro, more than covered, filled, almost overwhelmed, by a pro- digious accumulation of vegetation rising like a mountain, beyond which projects a grove of gigan- tic poplars which wave their tops under the windows of the tower almost within reach of one's hand. To the right beyond the Darro, on a hill rising straight and bold, like a cupola, toward heaven, is the palace of the Generalife, crowned by aerial gardens, and al- most hidden amid a grove of laurels, poplars, and pomegranates. On the opposite side, is a marvel- lous spectacle, an incredible thing — the vision of a dream ! the Sierra Nevada, the highest mountain in Europe, after the Alps, white as snow, to within a few miles of the gates of Granada, white as far as the hills where the palms and pomegranates rear their heads, displays in all its splendor an almost tropical vegetation. Fancy now above this im- mense paradise, containing all the smiling graces of
386 sPa /iV:
the East, and all the grave beauties ot the North, which unites Europe to Africa, bringing to these nuptials all the most beautiful marvels of nature, and sending up to heaven in one, all the perfumes of the earth ; fancy, I say, above this blessed val- ley, the sky and sun of Andalusia, which, turning^ toward the West, tints the summits rose-color, and the slopes of the Sierra with all the colors of the iris and all the shades of the clearest blue pearls. Its rays become golden, purple, and ashy, as they fall upon the rocks crowning the plain ; and sinking in the midst of a brilliant conflagration, cast, like a . last farewell, a luminous crown around the pensive towers of the Alhambra, and the enwreathcd pin- ' nacles of the Generalife. Tell me, then, wfetlier the world can offer any thing more solemn, glorious, or intoxicating than this love feast of the ^rth and*, j sky, before which, for nine centuries, Grahada has I trembled with voluptuousness and pride. ; - " \
The roof of the mirador de la reina is supported by small Moorish pillars, between which stretch flat arches, that give to the pavilion a strangely capricious and graceful aspect The walls are painted in fresco, and the initials of Isabella and Philip V, interlaced with cupids and flowers, extend along the frieze. Beside the entrance door there still lies a stone of the old pavement, perforated, on which, it is said, the sultanas were placed, that they might be enveloped in the cloud of perfume burning underneath. Every thing up there breathes of love and joy ! Here, one inhales an air as pure as that of the mountain tops ; perceives a mingled fragrance of myrtle and rose ; and no other sound is heard save the murmur of the Darro, which dashes between the stones of its rocky bed, and the song
GRANADA. 387
of thousands of birds hidden in the dense verdure of the valley. It is a veritable nest for lovers ; a hanging alcove, in which to go and dream of an aerial ter- race, where they might climb to thank God for being so happy.
" Ah ! Gongora," I exclaimed, after having con- templated, for a few moments, that enchanting spec- tacle, ** I would give ten years of my life could I summon here, by the stroke of a magician's wand, all the dear ones who are waiting for me in Italy ! "
Gongora pointed out a large space upon the wall, quite black with dates and names, written in pencil and charcoal, and cut with pen-knives, by visitors to the Alhambra.
" What is writtjpn here ? " he asked.
I approached, anci uttered a cry —
" Chateaubriand ! "
" And here? '■
"Byron!"
" And here ?
" Victor Hugo !
Coming down from the mirador de la reina I thought that I had seen the Alhambra, and was im- prudent enough to say as much to my friend. If a stick had been in his hand, I am sure he would have given me a blow ; but not having one, he contented himself by looking at me with the air of one asking if I had lost my reason.
We returned to the Court of the Myrtles, and visited the halls on the other side of the Tower of Comares, the greater part half ruined, others al- tered, some perfectly bare, without pavement or roof, but all worth seeing, because of the associa- tions they awaken, and in order to understand thor- oughly the structure of the edifice. The old mosque
388 SPAIN.
was converted into a chapel by Charles V ; a great Arabian hall into an oratory. Here and there one sees remains of arabesques, and ceilings of carved cedar. The galleries, courts, and vestibules seem like those of a palace devastated by the flames.
Having visited also this portion of the Alhambra, I really thought there was nothing more to see, and again I was imprudent enough to say so to Gongora. He could contain himself no longer, and leading me into the vestibule of the Court of the Myrtles, up to a plan of the building, which was fastened to the wall, he said :
'' Look ! and you will see that all the rooms, courts, and towers, which we have already visited, do not occupy a twentieth part of the space enclosed by the Alhambra walls ; that we have not yet seen the remains of three other mosques, the ruins of the house of the Cadi, the Water-tower, together with those of the Infanta, the Prisoner, the Candil Pico, Poignards, Siete Suelos, Captain, Massacre, Hidalgos, Cocks, Heads, Weapons, Cubes, Hom- age, La Vela, Powder, what is left of the house of Mondejar, the military quarters, iron gate, internal walls, cisterns, and promenades ; for, you must know that the Alhambra is not a palace, but a city! One might pass a lifetime there in looking up ara- besques, reading inscriptions, discovering each day some new view of the hills and mountains ; and in going into ecstasies regularly one hour out of every twenty-four ! "
And I thought I had seen the Alhambra !
I did not wish to do any more sight-seeing that day, and heaven only knows what a state my head was in when I reached the hotel. The following morning, at sunrise, I returned to the Alhambra ;
GRANADA. 389
went back at evening : and, in fact, continued to go there every day during my sojourn at Granada, either with Gongora, other friends, guides, or alone, as the case might be. The Alhambra always seemed vaster, and more beautiful to me, when I wandered back through those courts and halls, passing hours seated between the columns, or leaning against the windows, with an ever-increasing pleasure, as I dis- covered each time new beauties, and abandoned myself to those vague and delicious fancies, which had filled my mind on the first day. I should not be able to tell through what entrances my friends led me into the Alhambra, but I remember that every day, in going there, I saw walls, towers, and deserted streets, that I had never seen before, and it seemed as if the Alhambra had changed its site and been transformed, or that new buildings, spring- ing up, as if by magic, around it, had entirely al- tered its former aspect. How could any one de- scribe the beauty of those places when the sun was setting ! that fantastic thicket, with the moon- light falling upon it! the immense plain, and snow- clad mountains on quiet nights ! the grand outlines of those enormous walls, superb towers, and high trees, against the starry sky! or the continuous rustling in the breeze of those boundless masses of verdure, which fill the valley, and cover the hill- sides I It was a spectacle, in the presence of which my companions (born at Granada, and accustomed to witnessing it from their infancy) remained quite speechless, so that we walked for long distances in silence, each one buried in his own thoughts, his heart filled with a gentle sadness, that at times made our eyes moisten, and our faces turn heavenward in a burst of gratitude and tenderness 1
390 SPAm.
The day of my arrival at Granada, when I reen- tered the hotel at midnight, instead of silence and quiet, I found the patio lighted like a ball-room ; people seated at tables sipping sherbet, and others running here and there, talking and laughing, so that I was forced to wait an hour before going to bed. However, I passed that hour very agreeably. While I stood looking at a map of Spain fastened to the wall, a huge man, with a face as red as a beet, ap- proached me, and, touching his cap, asked if I were an Italian, to which I replied in the affirmative. Then he added, smiling :
" And I too ; I am the proprietor of the hotel."
" I am glad to hear it, all the more so because I see that you are making money."
*' Yes, — " he replied in a melancholy tone. " Yes, I cannot complain ; but, believe me, dear sir, no matter how well affairs may go, when one is away from his own country, he feels a great void here" (striking himself on his enormous chest).
I looked at his protruding stomach in silence,
" A great void/' repeated the landlord ; " for one never forgets his own country — ^from what province are you, sir ? "
From Liguria — and you ? From Piedmont. Liguria! Piedmont! Lom- bardy ! Those are countries ! "
*'They are very beautiful, without doubt; but still, you have no reason to complain of Spain, You live in one of the most beautiful cities of the world, are the proprietor of one of the finest hotels in the city, have a crowd of strangers all the year round, and then I see that you enjoy excellent health."
" But the void r*
41
GHANADA. 391
I looked again at his stomach.
" Oh ! I understand, sir ; but you are wrong, you know, to judge by appearances ! You cannot imag- ine what I feel when an Italian comes here. It may be weakness, — I do not know, — but I should like to see him every day at table ; believe me, if my wife did not object to it, I would send him, on my own account, a dozen dishes for the first course."
•• What time do you dine to-morrow ? "
" At five o'clock. However, one eats little here — warm countries — every one lives lightly — no mat- ter what his nationality may be — it is a rule ! But have you not seen the other Italian who is here ? "
Saying which, he turned around, and a man who was watching us from a corner of the court ap- proached. After a few words, the landlord left us alone. The stranger was a man in the forties, wretchedly dressed, who talked with his teeth tightly closed, and continually twisted his hands in a ner- vous manner, as if he had great difficulty in restrain- ing himself from using his fists. He told me he was a Lombardian, a chorus singer, and had arrived the previous day at Granada with other artists, who were engaged at the opera for the summer season.
"A suicidal kind of country," he exclaimed, with- out any preamble, looking around as if he were about to give a discourse.
" Then you don't like living in Spain ? " I asked.
** In Spain .^ I ? Excuse me ; but you might as well ask if I liked living in the galleys."
"Why?"
•* Why } Don't you see what a people the Span- ish are : ignorant, superstitious, proud, sanguinary, impostors, rogues, charlatans, and rascals."
Then be stood motionless for a moment io.an ia-
-^-' 1
592 SPAIN.
terrogative attitude, with the veins of his neck so swollen that they seemed ready to burst."
" Pardon me," I replied, ** your opinion is not suf- ficiently favorable to admit of my agreeing with you. As for ignorance, you will excuse me, but it does not do for us Italians, who still have cities where the schoolmasters are stoned and the professors who give their pupils a cipher are stabbed, to find fault with others. As to superstition, oh, poor us! When we see in the city of all Italy — the one in which popular education is most diffused — a regular tumult take place because a miraculous image of the Virgin has been found by some wretched woman in the middle of the street. Then, as to crime, I tell you frankly that if I were obliged to make a comparison between the two countries, statistics in hand, in the presence of a Spanish audience, without having first informed myself as to the causes and results, I should be very much frightened. I do riot mean to say by this that we, taking all things into consideration, are not in a better condition than the Spaniards ; but I do mean that an Italian, in judging Spaniards, if he wishes to be just, must be indulgent."
'' Excuse me, but that does not satisfy me — it is a country without any political bias / a country which is 2. prey to anarchy. Tell me the name of any great Spaniard of the present day ! "
" I really cannot — there are so few great men any- where.
" Cite me a Galileo ! "
•* Ah, they have none!"
** Cite me a Ratazzi ! "
" They have none either."
•' Cite me — but they have nothing ! Do you think the country beautiful ? "
GRANADA. 393
** Ah ! excuse me ; that is a point which I will not cede. Andalusia, to cite a single province, is a para- dise. Seville, Cadiz, and Granada are magnificent Cities.
** What ? Do you like the little houses of Seville and Cadiz, which whiten any poor devil from head to foot who happens to graze their walls ? Do you like the narrow streets, which one can hardly pass through after a good dinner ? Do you find the An- dalusian women, with their demoniacal eyes, beau- tiful ? Nonsense ! You are too indulgent. They are not a serious people. They called Don Ama- deus, and now they wish him no longer! It is just because they are not worthy of being governed by a civilized man\ " (textual).
*' Then you find nothing good in Spain?"
" Nothing ! "
" Why do you remain here, then ? "
" Simply because I earn my bread here.**
" That is something."
** But -what food! I live like a dog, with this Spanish cooking ! "
** Pardon me ; but instead of living like a dog in Spain, why da you not go and live like a man in Italy ? "
This remark rather confused the poor artist ; and in order to relieve him from his embar- rassment, I offered him a cigar, which he took and lighted without uttering a word. Nor was he the only Italian in Spain who spoke in this manner of the country and its inhabitants ; deny- ing even the clearness of the sky and the grace- fulness of the Andalusian women. I cannot see what pleasure there is in travelling in this way, with one's heart closed to every charitable feeling, al-
394 SPAIN.
ways ready to censure and despise, as if every good and beautiful thing found in a foreign country had been stolen from our own, and as if we could not boast of being worth any thing 6urselves except on the condition of undervaluing others. People who travel in this frame of mind, inspire in me more pity than annoyance, because they deprive themselves voluntarily of many pleasures and comforts. At least, so it seems to me, in judging others by myself: because wherever I go, the first feeling that people and things waken in me is one of sympathy ; a de- sire not to find any thing to censure ; a wish to em- bellish in my own eyes all lovely things, to conceal from myself all that is displeasing, to pardon defects, and to say distinctly to myself and others that I am content with every thing. I am not obliged to make any effort to reach this point, for every thing pre- sents Itself almost spontaneously to my eyes under its most agreeable aspect ; and my imagination benignly covers all other aspects with a little couleur de rose. I am very well aware that one cannot study a country in this way, write critical essays, nor ac- quire the reputation of being a profound thinker , but I know that one travels with a tranquil mind, and that the journeys are very profitable.
The following day I went to see the Generalife, a summer villa of the Moorish sovereigns, whose name is associated with that of the Alhambra, as that of the Alhambra is with that of Granada ; although very few arches and arabesque of the ancient Gen- eralife remain. It is a small, simple, white villa, with few windows, an arched gallery, and a terrace, and is hidden in the midst of a thicket of laurel and myrtle, on the summit of a flowery mountain rising on the right bank of the Darro, opposite the hill of
^kANAJbA. 395
the Alhambra. In front of the facade of the palace extends a little garden, and other gardens rise one above the other, almost in the form of a terrace, up to the top of the mountain, where a high loggia rises, forming the boundary of the Generalife. The avenues of the gardens, the broad steps that lead from one to another, and the beds full of flowers, are flanked by high espaliers, surmounted by arches, and divided into arbors of curved myrtle, and inter- laced with graceful designs. At each landing rise small white houses, shaded by trellises and groups of orange trees and cypresses. The water is as abundant now as in the time of the Arabs, and gives to the place a grace, freshness, and life which is quite indescribable. On all sides you hear the murmur of brooklets and fountains. You turn from one avenue and meet a jet of water, look out of a window and see a spurt that comes up to the window-sill, enter a group of trees and receive the spray from a cascade in your face. Everywhere you turn there is water, which is leaping, running, falling, gurgling, or sparkling amid the grass and shrubs. From the top of this loggia the eye falls upon all those gardens descending in slopes, and stairs ; sinks into the abyss of vegetation which separates the two mountains ; takes in all the bound- ary of the Alhambra, with the cupolas of its little temples, distant towers, and paths that wind among its ruins ; extends over the city of Granada, the plain, and hills ; and traverses with a single glance all the summits of the Sierra Nevada, which seem within an hour's reach. While you are contemplating this spectacle, your ear is soothed by the murmur of a hundred springs, and the distant sound of the city bells, coming up in waves, from time to time, to-
396 si>AW.
gether with a mysterious perfume of an earthly
paradise, that makes you tremble with delighL
Beyond the Generalife, on the top of a higher mountain, now bare and squalid, there rose, in the time of the Arabs, other royal palaces with gardens joined together by great avenues lined with myr- tles. Now, all those marvels of architecture, crowned by groves, fountains, and flowers, those enchanted aerial palaces, those superb nests filled with love and delight, have disappeared, and scarcely a pile of debris, or a litde bit of wall, remains to show the traveller where they stood. Yet these ruins, which elsewhere would give rise to a feeling of mel- ancholy, do not have this effect in the presence of that beautiful nature, whose fascination has never been equalled by even the most marvellous works of man.
Upon reentering the city, I stopped at one end of the Carrera del Darro (course of the Darro), before a house richly ornamented with bas-reliefs, repre- senting heraldic shields, armor, cherubim, and lions, with a small balcony on one corner, over which, partly on one wall, partly on the other, I read the following mysterious inscription in large lettters :
" ESPERANDO LA DEL CIELO,"
which signifies, literally translated : Awaiting that of fieavcn. Curious to know the hidden meaning of these words, I wrote them down, to ask the gifted father of my friend about them. He gave me two explanations,.'One -oiL-Which. js probably correct, but not romantic ; 'the Dth^r romantic, but decidedly doubtful. Here is the latter ; The house belonged
GRANADA. 397
Co Don Fernando di Zafra, secretary of the Catholic kings, who had a beautiful daughter. A young hidaigo, of a family either inimical or inferior to that of the Zafra, became enamoured of the daugh- ter, and his love was returned, and he asked for her hand, but was refused. This refusal of the father added fuel to the flame of these young people s love. The windows of the house were low, and the lover succeeded, one night, in climbing by a ladder into the girl's room. Whether he over- turned a chair in entering, coughed, or gave a cry of joy at the sight of his lovely sweetheart with loosened hair and open arms, tradition does not narrate, but certain it is, that Don Fernando di Zafra, hearing a noise, rushed in, discovered every thing, and, blind with rage, dashed upon the unfor- tunate youth to put him to death. The young fellow succeeded in making his escape, however, and Don Fernando, in following him, stumbled across one of his own pages, a partisan of this affair, who had helped the hidalgo to enter the house. Without waiting to hear any explanations or prayers, he had him seized, and hanged from the balcony. Tradition states that while the poor victim cried : *' Pity ! pity ! " the offended father replied, pointing to the terrace : ** Thou wilt stay there esperando la del cielo / " a reply which he afterward had en- graved upon the stone over the wall, to the per- petual terror of seducers and go-betweens.
I devoted the remainder of the day to the churches and convents.
The cathedral of Granada deserves, even more
than that of MalaF^]!J5v^[p57^io5K4 beautiful and magnificent), to be pfs^jilped iffi^^ fey, fart ; but there
398 SPAIN.
have been enough descriptions of churches already It was begun in i529 by the Catholic kings, but re- mained unfinished. It has a great facade, with three doors, ornamented by statues and bas-reliefs ; and is formed by five naves, divided by twenty im- mense pilasters composed of a group of slender pillars. The chapels contain paintings of Bocca- negra, pieces of sculpture by Torrigiani, tombs and precious ornaments* The most beautiful of all is the principal chapel, upheld by twenty Corinthian columns, divided into two rows, on the first of which rise colossal statues of the twelve apostles, and on the second an entablature covered with garlands and heads of cherubim. Above runs a row of lovely stained glass windows, representing the Passion, and from the frieze which crowns them spring ten bold arches that form the roof of the chapel. In the arches supporting the columns are six great paint- ings of Alonzo Cano, which have the reputation of being his most beautiful and complete work.
Since I have named Alonzo Cano (a native of Granada, one of the most valiant Spanish painters, of the sixteenth century, who, although a disciple of the Sevillian school rather than a founder, as others assert, of a school of his own, is not less original than his greater contemporaries), I wish to jot down some of the traits of his character and inci- dents of his life, which are litde known out of Spain, but very noteworthy. Alonzo Cano was the most quarrelsome, irate, and violent of the Spanish painters. He passed his life in litigation. He was an ecclesiast, and from 16S2 to i658, for six con- secutive years, without one day's interruption, he quarrelled with the canons of the Granada Cathe- dral, of whom he was the accountant Before leav-
GRANADA. 399
ing Granada, he broke into pieces with his own hands a statue of St. Anthony of Padua, which he had made by order of an auditor of the chancery, because the latter ventured to observe that the price seemed a Httle dear. He was nominated drawing- master of the prince imperial, who, it would seem, was not born with a talent for painting, and treated his pupil so badly that the latter was obliged to have recourse to the king in order to be taken out of his hands. Sent back, by special favor, to Granada, to the chapter of the cathedral, he retained such a feeling of rancor about his old quarrels with the canons, that he would never do another stroke with his pencil for them. This is very little. He nourished a blind, brutal, in- extinguishable hatred against the Jews, and had taken the fancy into his head that the touching of a Jew in any way, or of any effect touched by him, would bring him misfortune. This fixed idea made him do some of the most extraordinary things in the world. If, in passing through the street, he touched a Jew, he would take off the infected gar- ment, and return home in his shirt sleeves. If by chance he succeeded in discovering that a servant had received a Jew into the house during his absence, he would discharge the servant, throw away the shoes with which he had trod the pavement profaned by the circumcised, and sometimes even had the pave- ment entirely made over. He found means to quar- rel even when he was dying. When his last hour arrived, and a confessor presented him a common crucifix made with a hatchet, that he might kiss it, he pushed it away with his hand, saying as he did so : *' Father, give me a bare cross, so that I may wor- ship Jesus Christ as he really is, and as I see him in my mind." Despite all this, he had a good and
400 SPAIN.
charitable heart, despised every low action, and loved deeply and purely the art in which he made himself immortal.
Returning to the church, when I had made the tour of the chapels and was preparing to leave. I was sud- denly seized with the idea that something still re- mained to be seen. I had not read the guide book, and no one had told me any thing ; but I heard a voice within me saying : " Seek!" and indeed I look- ed around me in every direction without knowing of what I was in search. A guide noticed me, ap- proached sidewise, as they all do, and asked, with a mysterious air :
" Do you wish any thing ? "
•* I should like you to tell me," I replied, " if then is any thing to be seen in this cathedral besides thai which one sees from here ! "
'• Is it possible," exclaimed the guide, " that yoi have not seen the royal chapel ? *'
" What is there in the royal chapel ? " " What is there ? Caramba ! Nothing less thar the tombs of Ferdinand and Isabella the Catho- lic ! "
I thought so ! There was a place in my mind prepared for this idea, and the idea was not there! The Catholic kings must, of course, have been buried at Granada, where they fought the last great chival- rous war of the mediaeval ages, and where they commissioned Christopher Columbus to arm the ships that took him to the New World! I ran rather than walked to the royal chapel, preceded by the limping guide ; an old priest opened the door of the sacristy, and before allowing me to enter and see the tombs, he led me to a species of glass cabinet filled with precious objects, and said :
CRANAbA. 4^1
"You know that Isabella the Catholic, in order to furnish Christopher Columbus with the money for the arming of his ships, and not knowing where to find any, as the coffers of state were empty, put her jewels in pawn."
'* Yes ; well ? " I asked impatiently, and foresee- ing the answer, felt my heart beating rapidly.
" Well," replied the sacristan, ** this is the box in which the queen placed her jewels when sending them to pawn ! "
Saying which, he opened the door, took out the box, and handed it to me.
Let strong men say what they choose ; for my part, these things make me tremble and weep. I have touched the box which contained the treasures by means of which Columbus was enabled to dis- cover America! Every time that I repeat these words, my blood is stirred within me ! and I add : ** I have touched it with this hand," and I look at my hand.
That cabinet also contains the sword of King Fer- dinand, the crown and sceptre of Isabella, a missal- and several other ornaments of these two sov- ereigns.
We entered the chapel, between the altar and a great iron railing which separates it from the re- maining space, in front of two large marble mauso- leums, ornamented with statues and bas-reliefs o( great value. On one of them are stretched the statues of Ferdinand and Isabella, dressed in their royal robes, with crown, sword, and sceptre. On the other were the statues of two other princes of Spain. Around the statues were lions, angels, coats of arms, and various ornaments, which present a re- gally austere and magnificent aspect.
402 &f>A//r.
The sacristan lighted a torch, and, pointing to a kind of trap-door situated in the pavement which separates the two mausoleums, begged me to raise it, so that we could go down below. The guide as- sisted me, we opened the trap the sacristan de- scended, and I followed him down a narrow staircase to a little subterranean room, in which were five lead caskets, each one marked with two initials sur- mounted by a crown. The sacristan lowered the torch, and, touching them one by one, said to me in a slow and solemn voice ;
** Here reposes the great Queen Isabella the Cath- olic."
** Here reposes the great King Ferdinand V."* ** Here reposes the King Philip I." ** Here reposes Queen Joanna the mad." " Here reposes Dona Maria, her daughter, who died at the age of nine years."
** God have them all in his holy keeping." Then planting his torch in the ground, he crossed his arms and closed his eyes, as if to give me time for my meditations.
One might grow quite humpbacked leaning over a table while he described all the religious monuments of Granada. There are the superb Cartoja, the Mon- tesacro, containing the grottos of the martyrs ; the Church of San Geronimo, where the great captain Gonzales di Cordova is buried ; the convent of St. Dominic, founded by the inquisitor Torquemada ; that of the Angels, which contains pictures of Cano and Murillo ; together with many others, but I fancy that my readers may be much more weary than I, so will spare them a quantity of descriptions which would probably only give them a confused idea ol things.
GkANADA 403
However, as I have mentioned the tomb of El Gran Capitan, Fernando Gonzales of Cordova, I cannot refrain from translating a curious document referring to him, and which was given me in the Church of San Geronimo by a sacristan who was a great admirer of that hero's exploits.
The document is in the shape of an anecdote, be- ginning as follows :
** Every step of the great Captain, Don Gonzales di Cordova, was an assault, and each assault was a vic- tory. His sepulchre in the convent of the Gerono- mites at Granada was adorned with two hundred ban- ners taken by him. His envious rivals, and espe- cially the treasurers of the kingdom of Naples, in i5o6, induced the king to demand of Gonzales an account of the great sums he had received from Spain for the war in Italy, and, in fact, the king was so small as to consent, and be present at the Con- ferencia.
** Gonzales received the demand with the greatest scorn, and made up his mind to give a severe lesson to the treasurers and king as to the manner in which the conqueror of a kingdom should be treated.
** He replied with great indifference and serenity that his accounts should be prepared for the follow- ing day, and he would show which was the debtor, the exchequer or himself ; the former reclaiming one hundred and thirty thousand ducats consigned to him, as the first sum, eighty thousand for the sec- ond, three millions for the third, eleven millions for the fourth, thirteen for the fifth ; and so the grave, gangoso (of the nasal voice) and foolish secretary who authorized such an important act went on read- ing,
" Gonzales kept his word. He presented himself at the second audience, and drawing out a volumi-
404 SPAIN.
nous book, in which he had written his justifications, he began reading, in a high and sonorous voice, the following words :
" * Two hundred thousand seven hundred and thirty-six ducats and nine reales to the monks, nuns, and poor, so that they might pray for the triumph of the Spanish arms. .
" ' One hundred thousand for shovels, spades, and pickaxes.
" * One hundred thousand in powder and balls. Ten thousand ducats in perfumed gloves to protect the soldiers from the smell of the bodies of the enemy scattered on the field of battle.
** * One hundred and seventy thousand ducats to replace the bells destroyed by ringing for continu- ous new victories gained over the enemy.
" * Fifty thousand ducats in brandy for the sol- diers on a day of battle.
" * One million and a half of ducats for the mainte- nance of prisoners and wounded.
" ' One million in masses of thanks and Te Deum to the Omnipotent.
" * Three hundred million in masses for the dead.
" * Seven hundred thousand four hundred and ninety-four ducats for spies ; and —
** * One hundred million for the patience I dis- played yesterday in hearing that the king asked for accounts from the man who had given him his kingdom.'
" These are the celebrated accounts of the great Captain, the originals of which are in the possession of Count d' Altimira.
" One of the original accounts, with the autograph of the great Captain, is in the Military Museum of London, where it is preserved with great care."
GRANADA. 405
After reading this document, I returned to the hotel, making malicious comparisons between Gon- zales di Cordova and the Spanish generals of the present day, which reasons of state, as they say in the tragedies, prevent me from repeating.
I saw something entertaining in my hotel each day. There were many university students, who had come from Malaga and other cities in Anda- lusia to undergo their examinations for the doctor s degree at Granada. I do not know whether it was because they were less severe here, or for what other reason. One morning at breakfast, one of them, a young fellow just past twenty, announced that he was to have his examination for canonical rights at two o'clock in the afternoon, and that not being very sure of himself he had decided to drink a glass of wine, in order to refresh the sources of eloquence. Not being accustomed to drink any but watered wine, he was imprudent enough to take down at one swallow a glass of Jerez. His face in- stantly became so altered, that if I had not seen the change with my own eyes I should not have be- lieved it to be the same face as before.
** That is enough ! " cried his friends. But the young man, feeling that he had become both strong and bold, cast a compassionate glance at his com- panions, and ordered another glass from the waiter, with a dignified gesture.
** You will become intoxicated," they said.
The only reply he vouchsafed them was to swal- low a second glass.
Then he became very loquacious. There were about twenty people at table, and in a few moments he had entered into conversation with them all. He made a thousand revelations of his past life, and his
406 SPAM.
designs for the future. He said he was from Cadiz, had eight thousand lire a year, and wished to de- vote himself to a diplomatic career, because, with that income, and something an uncle was to leave him, he would be able to cut a good figure. He stated that he had made up his mind to take a wife at thirty, and to marry a woman as tall as himself, because, in his opinion, the wife ought to be of the same stature as the husband, in order to prevent either from getting the upper hand. He went on to say that when he was a boy he had been in love with the daughter of an American consul, who was as beautiful as a rose and solid as a pine, but with a red spot behind one ear, which looked very badly, although she understood quite well how to cover it with her mantilla, and he showed with his nap- kin just how she did. He announced that Don Amadeus was too ingenuous to govern Spain, and that he had always preferred the poet Espronceda to Zorilla ; that ceding Cuba to America was non- sense ; that he did not fear the examination for canonical rights, and that he wished to drink a little more of the Jerez wine, which was the first in Europe.
He drank a third glass, despite the good counsels and disapprobation of his friends, and after having chattered a little more amid the laughter of his au- dience, he suddenly stopped, looked fixedly at a lady opposite him, dropped his head, and went to sleep. I thought he would not be able to present himself for examination that day, but was mistaken. An hour later his friends waked him ; he went up stairs to wash his face, rushed off to the university quite sleepy still, took his examination, and was promoted, to the great glory of the wine of Jerez and Spanish diplomacy.
GRANADA. Af>7
The following days were employed in seeing the monumenLs, or, better to express myself, the ruins of the Arabian monuments, which, beside the Al- hambra and Generalife, attest to the ancient splen- dor of Granada. As it was the last bulwark of Islam, Granada is, among all the Spanish cities, the one which retains the greatest number of souvenirs. On the hill called the Dinadamar (fountain of tears), are traces of the ruins of four towers, that rose at the four corners of an immense cistern, into which flowed from the Sierra all the water used in the highest part of the city. There, were baths, gardens, and villas, of which no trace is left, and from these one could take in at a single glance the city with its minarets, terraces, and mosques gleaming amid the palms and cypresses. Near here is still seen an Arabian gate, called the Elvira gate, formed by a great arch covered with battlements. Farther on are the ruins of the palaces of the caliphs. Near the Alameda promenade is a square tower, containing a large room, ornamented with the usual Arabian inscriptions. Close by the convent of San Dominic are the remains of gardens and palaces which were once joined to the Alham- bra by means of a subterranean passage. Within the city is the Alcaiceria, an Arabian market almost intact, formed by several small, straight streets, as narrow as a corridor, and flanked by two rows of shops, one joining the other, that present the strange aspect of an Asiatic bazaar. Indeed one cannot take a step in Granada without meeting an arch, an arabesque, a column, and a pile of stones that recall her fantastic past, when she was a Sultana.
How many turns and twists I made through those tortuous streets, in the warmest portion of the day,
408 SPAIN.
under a sun that was perfectly scorching, without meeting a living soul ! At Granada, as is the case in all the other Andalusian cities, people do not show themselves until night ; and at night they make up for their imprisonment during the day by gathering and crowding in the public promenades with the haste and bustle of a multitude, one half of which is looking for the other on account of urgent busi- ness. The thickest crowd is on the Alameda, and yet I passed my evenings there with Gongora, who talked of Arabian monuments, a journalist who dis- cussed politics, and another young man who talked of women, not infrequently all three together, to my infinite pleasure, because that school-boy sort of meeting, at times, refreshes my soul, as does the sum- mer shower (to steal a beautiful comparison) when it falls with quickened motion on the grass-
If I were obliged to say any thing about the people of Granada, I should really be quite embarrassed, because I did not see them. During the day, I never met any one in the street, and at night one could not see them. No theatres were open, and when I might have found some one in the city, I was wan- dering through the halls or avenues of the Alham- bra. Then, too, I had so much to do to see every thing* in the time I had allowed myself, that there were no odd moments when I could have begun a conversation, as I did in other cities, in the streets or cafes, with the common people upon whom I hap- pened to stumble.
Judging from all that I heard of the Graiiada people from those who were able to give me reliible information concerning them, I should say that they do not enjoy an excellent reputation in Spain. They are said to be bad-tempered, violent, vindictive, and
GRANADA. 409
given to the use of the knife, which is not contra- dicted by the city chronicles in the papers, and it is well known, although not said, that popular educa- tion is less general here than in Seville, or even other small Spanish cities. Then, too, every thing which cannot be done by the sun and ground (which do so much), goes to the bad, either through indo- lence, ignorance, or confusion. Granada is not con- nected by railway with any important city. She lives alone, in the midst of her gardens, within the circle of her mountains, rejoicing in the fruits which the earth produces under her hand, rocking herself softly in the vanity of her beauty and pride of her history, idling, dozing, dreaming, and con- tenting herself by replying with a yawn to any one who reproves her for her condition : '* I gave to Spain the painter Alonzo Cano, the poet Luis di Leon, the historian Fernando di Castillo, the sacred orator Luis di Granada, and the minister Martinez de la Rosas ; I have paid my debt ; leave me in peace ! " a reply made by most of the southern cities of Spain, so much more beautiful than wise or industrious, alas! and so much prouder than civil- ized. Ah! no one who has seen them can refrain from exclaiming : **What a shame! "
'* Now that you have seen all the marvels of Ara- bian art and tropical vegetation, you must see the suburb of the Albaycin, in order to say that you know Granada. Prepare your mind for a new world ; put your hand on your pocket-book, and follow me."
So said Gongora, the last afternoon of my stay in Granada. We had with us a young journalist, Mel- chiorre Almago by name, director of the Idea, a charming, agreeable fellow, who, in order to accom-
4to sPAm,
pany us, sacrificed his dinner, and an editorial, which he had been thinking over since morning. We started out, and reached the square of the Audiencia. There Gongora pointed out a tortuous road which mounts a hill, and said to me :
** The Albaycin begins here ;" and Melchiorre, touching a house with his stick, added :
** Here commences the territory of the republic."
We passed through the narrow street, from this iijto another, then into a third, climbing all the time, without my seeing any thing extraordinary, although I was looking curiously about me on all sides. There were narrow streets, miserable houses, old women asleep on the doorsteps, mammas who were examining their children's heads, dogs which were yawning, cocks crowing, ragged boys running and screaming, and other things that are always seen in suburbs, but so far there was nothing else. Little by little, as we climbed, the aspect of the houses and people began changing : the roofs were lower, the windows fewer, the doors smaller, and the inhabi- tants more ragged. In the middle of every street ran a rivulet in a walled bed in the Arab style ; here and there, above the doors, and around the win- dows, one could still see arabesques, and fragments of little columns ; and in the corners of the squares were mountains and walls of the time of the Moor- ish dominion. At every hundred steps we seemed to be going back fifty years, toward the time of the Caliphs. My two companions touched my elbow from time to time, saying :
** Look at that old woman — that child — ^thatman/*
And I looked, and asked :
*• What kind of people are those ? "
If I had found myself there suddenly, I should
GRANADA. 4I I
have fancied, in seeing those men and women, that I was in an African village, so different were the faces, manner of dressing, moving, speaking, and looking (at such a short distance from the centre of Granada), from those of the people whom I had come in contact with up to that time. At each turn I stopped to look in the faces of my compan- ions, who said to me :
** This is nothing ; we are still in the civilized portion of the Albaycin ; this is the Parisian quarter of the suburb. Let us go on ! "
On we went ; the streets looked like the beds of a stream, or paths dug out of the rock, were all ele- vations or ditches, mounds, and stones ; some of them so steep that a mule could not climb them ; others so narrow that a man could scarcely pass ; others, still, filled with women and children seated on the ground ; and again, they were moss-grown, deserted, and wearing a bleak, savage, strange aspect, of which our most miserable villages could furnish no idea, because this is the poverty that bears the im- print of another race and the colors of another con- tinent. We wandered through a labyrinth of streets, passing, from time to time, under a great Arabian arch, or through a high square, from which we could take in at a glance the immense valleys, mountains cov- ered with snow, and a portion of the city below, and, finally, reaching the end of a street, stonier and more narrow than any we had yet seen. We stopped to take breath.
** Here,*' said the young archeologist, ** the real Albaycin begins. Look at that house ! *
I obeyed ; it was a low, smoky, and half-ruined dwelling, with a door resembling a cellar window, before which we could see moving, under a mass of
412 SPAIN.
rags, a group, or rather a heap of old women and children, who, at our appearance, raised their sleepy eyes, and, with fleshless hands, removed from the sill some filth that impeded our progress,
'* Let us enter,'* said my friend.
** Enter ?". I asked.
If they had told me that beyond that wall there was a duplicate of the famous Court of Miracles de- scribed by Victor Hugo, I should not have hesitated to believe them. No door had ever said more im- peratively to me : ** Keep back ! ** I can find no better comparison than that of the wide open mouth of a gigantic witch, which exhaleni a breath full of pestilential miasmas However, I took courage, and entered.
Oh, marvel of marvels i It was the court of an Arabian house, surrounded by graceful little columns, surmounted by very light arches, W4th those inde- scribable traceries of the Alhambra around the small doors and mullion windows, the beams and partitions of the ceiling sculptured and colored, niches for vases of flowers and perfume urns, the bath in the centre, and, in fact, all the traces of the delicious life of an opulent family. That house was inhabited by poor people !
We came out, entered other houses, and found in all of them some fragments of Arabian sculpture and architecture. Gongora said to me, from time to time : " Here there was a harem ; there the women's bath ; up there the little room of a favorite." And I fastened my hungry eyes on all those bits of ara- besqued wall and the small columns of the windows, as if to ask them the revelation of some secret, a name, or a magic word with which I could recon- struct in an instant the ruined edifices, and invoke
GRANADA. 4^3
the beautiful Arabian women who had lived there* But, alas ! amid the columns and under the arches of the windows nothing was to be seen but rags and wrinkled faces !
Among other houses, we entered one in which we found a group of girls who were sewing under the shade of a tree in the court, guarded by an old wo- man. They were all working upon a large piece of black and white striped cloth, which looked like a carpet or bed cover. I approached and asked one of the seamstresses :
•* What is that ? "
They all raised their heads, and, with one accord, unfolded the cloth so that I could see their work well. As soon as I saw it, I cried :
** I will buy it."
They began laughing. It was the mantle of an Andalusian mountaineer, made to wear on horse- back, in the shape of a right angle, with an aperture in the middle through which to pass the head, em- broidered in bright- colored wools along the two shortest sides and around the opening. The design of the embroideries, representing fantastic birds and flowers, green, blue, white, red, and yellow, all in a mass, was rough as a child would make it ; but the beauty of the work lies in the perfect harmony of the colors. I cannot describe the feeling which the sight of that mantle produced, unless I say that it laughs and arouses gaiety, and that it seems impos- sible to imagine any thing gayer, brighter, or more childishly and gracefully capricious. It is a thing to look at when one wishes to get out of bad humor, to write a lovely strophe in a lady's album, or is ex- pecting a person whom he desires to receive with a most pleasing smile.
414 SPAIN.
** When will these embroideries be done ? " I asked one of the girls.
" To-day," they all replied in chorus.
" What is this mantle worth ? "
** Five . . . . " stammered one of them.
The old woman shot a glance at her that was meant to say : ** You goose ! " and replied hastily:
** Six durosy
Six duros are thirty lire ; it did not seem much to me, and I put my hand on my pocket-book.
Gongora, giving me a glance that said , ** You stu- pid," and holding me back by the arm, said :
** Wait a moment ; six duros are entirely too much ! "
The old woman gave him a glance that meant, *' brigand ! " and replied :
** I cannot give it for less."
Then Gongora looked at her, as much as to say : ** What a fib!" and remarked :
'* Come now, you can give it for four duros ; you do not ask any more from the people of the coun- try.
The old woman was persistent, and we continued for a time to exchange with the eyes such polite titles as stupid, swindler, spoil-trade, liar, miser, and spendthrift, until the mantle was sold me for five duros. I paid the sum, gave my address, and we left blessed and recommended to God by the old woman, and followed for a good distance by the great black eyes of the embroiderers.
We continued walking from street to street, among more and more miserable houses, blacker and blacker faces, and more disgusting rags. We never seemed to reach the end, and I said to my companions :
GRANADA. 4^5
" Be kind enough to tell me whether Granada has any confines, and where they are. May one ask where we are going, and how we shall manage to get home again ? "
But my friends only laughed and kept on,
" Is there any thing stranger to be seen ? " I asked, at a certain point.
*• Stranger ? " they both replied. ** This second quarter of the borough which you have seen still belongs to civilization ; it is, if not the Parisian, at least the Madrid quarter of the Albaycin ; there is decidedly more to see, so let us go on."
We passed through a very long street filled with half-clothed women, who looked at us as if we were people who had fallen from the moon ; crossed a small square full of children and pigs, quite amicably mixed ; went on through two or three wretched little alleys, now climbing, now descending, now among houses, now among ruins, now among trees, or now among rocks, and finally reached a solitary place on the slope of a hill, from whence we saw opposite us the Generalife, on the right the Alhambra, and be- low a deep valley covered with a thick grove.
It began to grow dark, no one was to be seen, and not a voice was heard.
** Does the borough end here ? " I asked.
My two companions laughed, and replied :
" Look on that side."
I turned, and saw a street which was lost in a dis- tant thicket, and endless row of houses . . . ol houses ? I should say caves dug in the earth, with a little wall in front, some holes for windows, and cracks for doors, and wild plants of every kind on all sides. They were the dens of beasts, in which, by the reflection of small lights, scarcely visible, we
4l6 SPAIN.
could see the gitani swarming by the hundred, — ^a people living in the sides of the mountains, poorer, blacker, and more savage than any yet seen. An- other city, unknown to the majority of the Grana- dines, inaccessible to the agents of the police, shut to those who take the census, ignorant of every law or government, existing one knows not how, in un- told numbers, strange to the city, Spain, and modern civilization, with a language and usagesof their own, superstitious, false, thievish, mischievous, and fero- cious.
" Button up your overcoat ; look out for your watch," said Gongora ; " and let us move on/'
We had not taken a hundred steps, when a half- naked boy, black as the walls of his den, espied us, uttered a cry, and making some sign to the other boys to follow him, dashec? toward us. Behind the boys came women ; behind the women men ; then old men and women with children, and in less time than it takes to tell it, we were surrounded by a crowd. My two friends, recognized as Granadines, succeeded in making their escape, and I alone was caught. I seem to see yet those ugly faces, to hear those voices, and feel all those hands upon me. Gesticulating, shouting, saying a thousand things I could not understand, dragging me by the coat-tails, waistcoat, and sleeves, they pressed on to me like a troop of famished people, breathed in my face, and took away my breath. The majority of them were semi-nude, thin, with shirts torn into fragments, dis- hevelled and dusty hair, and so horrible to look upon, that I felt as if I were Don Roderick in the midst of the crowd of the plague-stricken, in that famous dream of the August night.
•• What do these people want } " I asked myselC
GRANAOA 417
" Where have I allowed myself to be brought ? How shall I get out of this ?•• I really experienced almost a feeling of terror, and looked around un- easily. Little by little I began to understand some- thing.
'* I have a sore on my shoulder," said one ; " I cannot work ; give me some money."
" I have broken my leg," said another.
" I have a paralyzed arm."
•• I have had a long illness."
** Un cuarto, senorito / "
" Un real J cabaUero ! "
" Un peseta para todos /"
This last suggestion was greeted with a shout of approval.
'* Uh peseta para todos / " (a lira for all of us).
I drew out my portemonnaie with a little trepida- tion ; all got on tip-toe ; the nearest poked their chins into it ; those behind placed their chins on the heads of the first, and the most distant stretched out their arms.
'* One moment," I cried ; " who has the most au- thority among you ? "
All with one voice, pointing toward a single per- son, replied, '* That one ! "
She was a frightful old woman, all nose and chin, with a great bunch of white hair standing straight up on her head like a plume, a mouth that looked like a letter box, very little clothing on» black, shriv- elled, and dried up. She approached me, bowing, smiling, and stretching out her hand to take mine.
'* What do you wish ? " I asked, stepping backi
*' To tell your fortune," they all shouted.
" Well, then, tell my fortune," I replied, extend- ing my hand.
41 8 SPAIN.
The old woman took, in her ten, I cannot say fingers, but shapeless bones, my poor hand, placed her sharp nose upon it, raised her head, looked fix- edly at me, pointed her finger at me ; swaying her- self, and stopping at every sentence, as if she were reciting verses, she said to me, in an inspired tone :
•• You were born on an auspicious day/*
** The day you die will be a notable one.'- •
" You possess immense wealth."
Here she muttered something about sweethearts, weddings, happiness, from which I gathered that she supposed me to be -married, and then added :
•* The day you married there was a great festival at your house ; there was^mV^ and taking^
" Another woman wept"
*• And when you see her the wings of your heart open/' w
On she went in this way, saying that I had sweet- hearts, friends, treasures, and jewels awaiting me each day in the year at every corner of the globe. While the old woman was speaking, all were silent, as if they believed she was prophesying truly. Fin- ally she closed her prophecy with a formula of dismissal, and ended the formula by stretching out her arms and taking a leap in a dancing attitude. I gave X^Li^ peseta, and the crowd broke out into a shout, applause, and songs, making a thousand strange ges- tures around me, saluting me with pokes and slaps .^ ^JlQ.jbfi.i sihoulder, like old friends, until, by force of •twistrtig an4i striking right and left, I succeeded in • *-' A bpening'^a f^ssage and reaching my friends. Here, however, a pew peril threatened us. The notice of ., the arrival' qf a stranger had spread abroad, the tribe Wis .in motion, and the city of the gypsies was in an
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GRANADA. 4t9
uproar. From the neighboring houses, distant dens, the top of the hills, and bottom of the valleys, flocked boys, women with children in their arms, old men with sticks, lame and sick impostors, and septua- genarian fortune-tellers wishing to tell fortunes ; a crowd of beggars, in fact, who rushed upon us from all sides. It was night ; there was no time for hesi- tation ; we took to our heels, and ran like school- boys in the direction of the city. Then such a fiend- ish burst of shouts broke out, and the fleetest began following us. Thanks to heaven, after a short gal- lop we found ourselves out of danger, but tfred, breathless, and covered with dust.
** We had to escape at any cost," said Sefior Mel- chiorre laughingly to me, ** or else we should have returned home in a shirtless condition."
" And remember," added Gongora, ** that we have only seen the gates of the gypsy quarter, — the civil- ized portion ; . not the Paris or Madrid, but, at least, the Granada of the Albaycin. If we had only been able to go on ! If you cpuld ohly have seen the rest ! " - .
" How many thousands are there of these peo- ple ? " I asked.
** No one knows."
** How do they live ? "
" We cannot understand that either."
** What authority do they recognize ? "
" Only one — the kings, heads of the families or houses, those who are oldest or have the most money. They never leave their quarter, know nothing, and live quite in the dark as far as any thing outside the circuit of their houses is con- cerned. Dynasties fall, governments change, armies fight, and it is a miracle if the news ever reaches
their ears. Ask them whether Isabella is on the throne or not ; they do not know. Ask them who Don Amadeus is ; they have never heard his name. They are born and die like flies, and live as they did centuries ago, multiplying without leaving their own boundaries, ignorant and unknown, seeing nothing during all their life save the valleys lying at their feet and the Alhambra which towers above their heads.*'
We returned by the streets through which we had come, now so dark and deserted that it seemed as if they were unending. We climbed, descended, twisted, and turned, and finally reached the square of the Audiencia, in the centre of Granada. We were once more in the civilized world. At the sight of the caf^s and lighted shops, I experienced the same feeling of pleasure that I would have done in returning to city life after a year's sojourn in an un- inhabited country.
The following day I left for Valencia. I remem- ber that a few moments before starting, while paying my hotel bill, I remarked to the landlord that one candle too much had been charged, and asked him, laughingly :
-Will you take it off?"
He seized his pen, and subtracting twenty cen- times from the total, replied in a voice intended to convey emotion :
" Diavolo ! among Italians ....!**
CHAPTER XIII.
VALENCIA.
THE journey from Granada to Valencia, taken all de un tiron, as they say in Spain (or all in one breath), is an amusement in which a sensible man only indulges once during his life. From Granada to Menjibar, a village on the left bank of the Guadal- quiver, between Jaen and Andtijar, is a night's ride in a diligence. From Menjibar to the Alcazar of San Juan takes a half day on the railway, in a carriage without curtains, across a plain as bare as the palm of one's hand, and under a scorching sun. From Alcazar del San Juan to Valencia (counting an entire evening passed at the station of the Alcazar waiting for the train) is another night and morning be- fore you reach the desired city at noonday, when nature, as Emile Praga would say, recoils at the hor- rible idea that there are still four months of sum- mer.
Yet it must be confessed that the country one passes through from the beginning to the end of this journey is so beautiful, that if the traveller were capable of any sentiment when nearly dead with sleep and exhausted from the intense heat, he would be very enthusiastic about it. It is a journey of unexpected views, sudden changes, strange con- trasts, spectacular effects of nature, if I may so ex-
4^2 sPa/M
press myself, and marvellous and fantastic transfer* mations, which leave in the mind a vague illusion of having traversed not a portion of Spain, but the most varied countries of an entire meridian. From the Veg'a of Granada, which you cross in the moon- light, almost opening a road for yourself through the groves and gardens, in the midst of a luxuriant vegetation crowding around you, like an angry sea, to envelop and swallow you up in its breakers of verdure ; you come out among bare and rocky mountains, where not a trace of human habitation is to be found, clear the edge of precipices, follow the banks of torrents, run along the bottom of chasms, and seem to be lost in a labyrinth of rocks. From here you emerge again among the green hills and flowery fields of upper Andalusia, and then sud- denly the fields and hills disappear, and you find yourself in the midst of the stony mountains of the Sierra Morena, which hang over your head, and shut in the horizon on all sides, like the walls of an immense abyss. You leave the Sierra Morena and the barren plains of the Mancha spread out before you. After crossing the Mancha, you pass through the flowery plains of Almansa, varied by every kind of cultivation, which presents the appearance of a chess-board, painted with all the shades of green that can be found on the palette of a landscape painter. Finally, beyond the Almansa plain, there opens a delicious oasis, a land blessed by God, a veritable paradise, the kingdom of Valencia. From this point to the city you move on amid gardens, vineyards, thick groves of orange trees, white villas surmounted by terraces, gay villages, all painted in bright colors, in groups and rows ; thickets of palms, pomegranates, aloes, and sugar-cane, endless hedges
VALENCIA. 423
of Indian figs, long chains of hills, cone-shaped heights, converted into kitchen, flower-gardens, and swards ; all these divided minutely from top to bot- tom, and as variegated as bunches of grass and flowers. Everywhere, in fact, there is a luxurious vegetation, which covers every vacancy, overtops every height, clothes each projection, rises, waves, sweeps along, crowds together, interlaces, impedes the view, shuts in the road, dazzles you with green, wearies you with beauty, confuses you with its caprices and tricks, and produces the effect of a sudden upheaving of earth seized by a fever, from the fire of a secret volcano !
The first building you see, upon entering Valen- cia, is an immense bull circus, situated on the right of the railway, fornied by four rows of arches, one above the other, supported by large pilasters, built of brick, and resembling, in the distance, the Col- osseum. It is the bull circus, where, on the fourth of September, 1871, King Amadeus,.rn the presence of seventeen thousand people," shook hands with the celebrated torero, called Tato. who had but one leg, and who, being the director of the spectacle, had asked permission to present his homage in the royal box. Valencia is full of souvenirs of the Duke de Aosta. The sacristan of the cathedral possesses a gold chronometer, with his initials in diamonds, and a chain with pearls, given him by the duke when he went to pray in the chapel of Nuestra Senora de los Desamparados {^Mother of the Forsaken or Desolate). In the asylum of this name the poor remember hav- ing once received their daily bread from him. In the mosaic manufactory of one Nolla are preserved two bricks, upon one of which he cut his own name,
4^4 SPAIN.
and on the other that of the queen. In the Plaza di Tetuan the people point out the house of Count di Cevellon, in which he was entertained, and which is the same house where Ferdinand VII, in 1824, signed the decrees annulling the Constitution, where Queen Christina abdicated in 1840, and where Queen Isabella passed several days in i858. In fact, there is not a corner of the city in which one cannot say :** Here he pressed the hand of a com- mon man ; here he visited a hospital ; and here he passed on foot, far away from his suite, and
surrounded by a crowd, but trustful, calm» and smil-
• »>
ing.
It was just at Valencia, since I am speaking of the Duke de Aosta, that a child of five, reciting some verses, touched on the terrible subject of a foreign king, with the noblest and most sensible words that have, perhaps, been uttered in Spain for many years ; words which, if Spain had remem- bered and meditated upon, might perhaps have saved her from many of the calamities that have come, and may come to her ; words that, per- chance, some day, Spaniards will remember with a sigh, and which up to this time draw from events a marvellous light of truth and beauty. The poem is entitled God and the King^ and runs thus :
" DioSy en iodo Soberano^ Cre6 un dia d los mortales,
Y d todos nos hizo iguales Con su poderosa mano.
No reconocid Naciones Ni colores ni matices,
Y en ver los honibres felioei Cifr6 sus aspiraciones.
£1 Key, che su imdgen es, Su bondad debe imitar; Y el pueblo no ha de indagar Si es aleman 6 francos.
Porqu^ con cefto jrpcundo Recharzarle siendo bueno ? Un Rey de bondades lleno Tiene por sa patria el munda
Vino de nacion estrafia Cdrlos Quinto emperador,
Y conquist6 su valor
Mil laureles para Espafla.
Y es un recuerdo glorioso Aunque en guerra cimentadOv El venturoso reinado
De Felipe el Animoso.
Hoy el tercero sois Vos Nacido en estrafio suelo Que vieno d ver nuestro cielo Pure destello de Dios.
Al rayo de nuestro sol Sed bueno, justo, y leal, Que d un Rey bueno y liberal Adora el pueblo espaiioh
Y d vuestra frente el trofeo Cefiid de perpetua gloria. Para que diga la historia Fu^ grande el Rey Amadeo."
See appendix for translation.
Oh, poor little girl, how many wise things you said, and how many insensate ones others did I
426 sPaiM.
The city of Valencia, if we enter it thinking over the ballads of the poets who sang of its marvels, does not seem to correspond with the beautiful idea formed of it ; and yet, on the other hand, it has none of that gloomy appearance for which we pre- pare ourselves, when we think more of its just fame as a turbulent, warlike city, the fomenter of civil wars, one rather preferring the smell of powder to the fragrance of its orange groves. It is a city built on a vast and arid plain on the bank of the Guad- alquiver, which separates it from its suburbs, a short distance from the bay, which serves as a harbor, all tortuous streets, flanked by high, ugly, and many- colored houses, and therefore less pleasing in ap- pearance than the streets of most Andalusian cities, and entirely lacking in that lovely oriental aspect so pleasing to the fancy. On the left bank of the river is an immense promenade formed by majestic ave- nues and beautiful gardens, which are reached by leaving the city through the gate of the Cid, flanked by two great embattled towers named after the hero because he passed through it in 1094 after having driven the Arabs from Valencia. The cathe- dral, erected on the spot once occupied by a tem- ple of Diana in the time of the Romans, then by a church dedicated to St. Salvador in the time of the Goths, then by a mosque in the time of the Arabs, converted again into a church by the Cid, changed a second time into a mosque by the Arabs in iioi, and for a third time into a church by King Don Jayme after the definite expulsion of the invaders, is a large edifice, very rich in ornaments and treasures, but cannot in the least compare with the majority of Spanish cathedrals. There are several palaces worth seeing, such as the palace of the Atidiencia, a beau- tiful monument of the sixteenth century, in which tjjc
V'AL^NCIA. 427
Cortes of the kingdom of Valencia were convened ; the Casa de AyuntamientOy built between the fif- teenth and sixteenth centuries, in which Don Jayme s sword is preserved, together with the keys of the city and the banner of the Moors ; and, above all, the Lonja, or merchants* Bourse, on account of its noted room, formed by three great naves, divided by twenty-four twisted columns, over which curve the light arches of the ceilings, producing a pleasant and harmonious effect upon the eye. Last of all is a • picture-gallery, which is not one of the most insig- nificant ones of Spain.
To tell the truth, however, during the few days I remained at Valencia waiting for the ship, my head was more full of politics than art, and I experienced the truth of the words of an illustrious Italian, who is thoroughly at home in Spain : ** The stranger," he says, ** who lives only for a short time in Spain, becomes, little by little, without being aware of it, intensely interested in politics, as if Spain were his own country, or the fate of his own country de- pended upon that of Spain. The passions are so strong, the struggle so fierce, and the future wel- fare and life of the nation are so evidently at stake in this same struggle, that it is not possible for any one with Latin blood in his veins to remain an indiffer- ent spectator. He must take part, talk at meetings, be affected by the elections, join the crowd which is making political demonstrations, break with a friend, join a set of people who think as he does, and be- come a Spaniard up to the whites of his eyes. As he becomes Spanish, he forgets Europe, as if it were at the antipodes, and ends by not seeing any thing but Spain, as if he were ruling it, and all its interests were in his hands." This is true, and was the case
428 sPaiI^.
with me. During those few days the conservative ministry was shipwrecked, and the radicals had the wind in their sails; Spain was all in an uproar; governors, generals, and employes of all grades and administrations lost their places ; a crowd of new people burst into the offices of the ministries, utter- ing cries of joy. Zorilla was to inaugurate a new era of prosperity and peace; Don Amadeus had had an inspiration from heaven ; liberty had con- quered, and Spain was saved. Even I, in hearing the band play in front of the new governor s house, on a starry night, among a crowd of gay people, had a ray of hope that the throne of Don Amadeus might extend its roots, and I repented having prophesied evil too soon. And that comedy played by Zorilla at his villa, when he would not accept the presidency of the ministry, sent back his friends and the deputations, and, finally, worn out with refusing, made the mistake of saying yes, gave me then an- other idea of the firmness of his character, and in- duced me to think well of the new government. I said to myself that it was a pity to leave Spain when the horizon was clearing, and the royal palace at Madrid was assuming a roseate hue, and, indeed, be- gan to make plans for returning to Madrid, in order to enjoy the satisfaction of being able to send to Italy some consoling information, which would com- pensate for my imprudence in not having told any stories about affairs up to that time. I repeated the lines of Prati :
** Oh qual destin t' aspetta Aquila giovinetta !
*f
(Oh, what a destiny awaits thee, young eagle!)
\
VALENCIA. 4^9
which, with the exception of a little exaggeration in the appellatives, seemed to contain a prophecy, and I fancied seeing the poet in Piazza Colonna, at Rome, running to meet him, in order to offer him my congratulations, and pressing his hand.
The most beautiful thing to be seen at Valencia is the market. The Valencian peasants are more strangely and artistically dressed than any in Spain. If they wished to produce quite an effect among the maskers at our veglione (masked balls), they would only have to enter the theatre just in the dress they wear on f&te and market days in the street of Valencia, and on the country roads. One is seized by a desire to laugh when he sees the first who are dressed in this way, and it is difficult to be- lieve that they are really Spanish peasants. They have the air of Greeks, bedouins, jugglers, rope- dancers, women half undressed, the silent characters in tragedies, or a fun-loving people, who wish to raise a laugh at their own expense. They wear a full white shirt in the place of a jacket, a variegated velvet waistcoat, open at the chest, a pair of trowsers like those of the zouaves, which only come to the knee, look like drawers, and stand out like the skirts of ballet-dancers ; a red or blue sash around the waist, a kind of white embroidered woolen leggings, which display the bare knee, and a pair of rope sandals like the Catalan peasants. As a covering for the head (which is almost shaved like the Chinese), they wear a red, blue, yellow, or white handkerchief, twisted in the shape of a cartridge, and knotted on the tem- ple or nape of the neck. Upon this they place a little velvet hat, shaped like those worn in the other Spanish provinces. When they go to town, they
4y> SPAM.
generally carry over their shoulders or arms, some- times in the shape of a shawl, mantle, or scarf, a woolen capa, long and narrow, with bright- colored stripes (usually white and red), and ornamented with tufts of fringe and rosettes. The appearance of a square, where hundred of men dressed like this are gathered, is easily imagined. It is a carnival scene, a fete, a tumult of colors, inspiring gaiety like a band of music ; a spectacle, in fact, which is, at the same time, charlatan-like, lovely, grand, or ridiculous, and to which the frowning faces and majestic attitudes, distinguishing the Valencian peasants, add a shad- ing of gravity that increases its extraordinary beauty. If there is a false and insolent proverb, it is the old Spanish one which declares that in Valencia the flesh is grass,the grass is water, the men are women, and the women nothing. Setting aside the part referring to the flesh and grass, which is a fable, the men, espe- cially among the lower classes, are tall and robust, and as hardy in appearance as the Catalans and Arra- gonese, with a brighter and more vivacious expres- sion of eye. The women are, by the universal con- sent of all Spaniards and the strangers who have travelled in Spain, the most classically beautiful of the country. The Valencians who know that the eastern coast of the peninsula was first occupied by the Greeks and Carthaginians say : " It is clear that the Greek type remained here." I do not dare give any opinion on the subject, because defining the beauty of the women of a city in which one has passed only a few hours would seem like the license taken by the compiler of a guide-book. However, it is easy to see the difference between the beauty of the Andalusian and Valencian women. The lat- ter are taller, stouter, lighter, have more regular
VALENCIA. 431
features, softer eyes, and more matronly gait and pose. They are not as spicy as the Andalusians, who make onfe feel like biting his finger to calm the sudden insurrection of capricious desires the sight of them arouses ; but they are women upon whom one looks with a more quiet admiration, and while looking says, as La Harpe did of the Apollo Bel- vedere, notre tite se relive y notre maintien s ennoblit ; so that instead of dreaming of a little Andalusian house in which to hide them from the eyes of the world, he desires a marble palace in which to re- ceive the ladies and cavaliers who might come to render them homage.
According to the other Spaniards, the Valencian people are ferocious and cruel beyond imagination. If any one wishes to rid himself of an enemy, hq can find a serviceable man who, for a few crowns, will accept the commission with as much indifference as he would that of carrying a letter to the post. A Valencian peasant who happens to have a gun in his hand when some stranger is passing by, will say to his companion : Voy a ver si acierto (let us see how well I can aim), takes aim, and fires. This is re- counted as an absolute fact, which took place not many years since. In the cities and villages of Spain the boys and young men of the people are in the habit of playing at bull-fighting. One is the bull, and does the butting; another, with a stick fastened securely under the shoulder-blade, like a lance, and carried on the back of a third, who repre- sents the horse, repulses the attacks of the first. Once a band of young Valencians thought that they would add a novelty to this play which would make it resemble the bull-fights more closely, and afford
432 SPAIN.
more amusement to the artists and spectators. The novelty consisted in substituting for the stick a long, sharp knife, one of those formidable navajas which we saw at Seville, and in giving to the man who played the part of the bull two shorter ones, which, firmly fastened in either side of the head, would take the place of horns. This seems incredible, but is true ! They played the game, shed seas of blood, several were killed, some mortally wounded, others maimed, without the affair changing into a strife, the rules of the art being once violated, or any voice being raised to put an end to the massacre !
Relata refero, and I am very far from believing all that is said of the Valencians, but certain it is that at Valencia, public safety, if not a myth, as our newspapers poetically say when speaking of Ro- magna and Sicily, is assuredly not the first blessing enjoyed after that of life, I convinced myself of this fact the first evening of my stay in the city. I did not know how to reach the harbor, and thinking it might be near, I asked my way of a shopwoman, who uttered an exclamation of surprise.
** You want to go to the harbor, caballerof**
-Yes."
** Holy Virgin, to the harbor at this hour? "
Then she turned to a number of women who were standing near the door, and said in Valencian dialect :
" Women, answer this gentleman for me ; he wishes to know how to get to the harbor ! "
The women all replied in one voice :
" God preserve him ! "
*' From what .^ "
" Don't trust yourself!''
" But for what reason '' ?
VALENCIA. 433
" For a thousand reasons.''
" Give me one?"
" You might be assassinated*^
This one reason sufficed, as any one can under- stand, and I did not attempt to go any farther.
However, at Valencia, as was the case elsewhere, in my slight dealings with the people, I never met with any thing but courtesy as a stranger, and, as an Italian, received a friendly welcome, even from those who wished to hear nothing of foreign kings in gen- eral, and princes of the house of Savoy in particu- lar, and who, although in the majority, were polite enough to say to me in the first place : ** Don't let us touch on that subject." To the stranger who. when asked where he is from, replies : ** I am a Frenchman," they give a civil smile, as much as to say : •* We know each other." To those who an- swer: * I am German or English," they make a slight inclination of the head, which means : ** I bow to you ;" but to those who respond : " I am an Italian ! " they extend their hands quickly, as if to say : " We are friends," look at them with an air of curiosity, as we do for the first time at a person whom we have been told resembles us, and smile complacendy at hearing the Italian language spoken as we do when we hear some one who, without wishing to make fun of us, imitates our voice and accent. In no country of the world does an Italian feel less far from home than in Spain. The sky, language, faces, and costumes remind him of it ; be- sides, the veneration with which they utter the names of our great poets and painters, that vague and pleasant feeling of curiosity with which they speak of our cities, the enthusiasm with which they listen to our music, the demonstrations of affection,
434 sPAm.
the fervor of the language, rhythm of the poetry, eyes, of the women, and the air and sun ! Oh ! An Italian must indeed be lacking in love for his own country if he does not feel drawn toward this one, is not in- clined to pardon its errors, sincerely deplore its mis- fortunes, and wish it good luck. Beautiful hills of Valencia, smiling banks of the Guadalquiver, en- chanted gardens of Granada, little white houses of Seville, superb towers of Toledo, noisy streets of Madrid/ venerable walls of Saragossa, and you, kind hosts and courteous travelling companions, who talked to me of Italy as of a second country, thus dissipating with your gaiety my fits of melancholy, I shall always retain for you, in the depths of my heart, a feeling of gratitude and affection, shall keep your image in my memory as one of the most pre- cious recollections of my youth, and shall ever think of you as one of the beautiful dreams of my life !
I said these words to myself, looking at midnight at Valencia still illuminated, as I leaned over the railing of the ship, Genii, which was on the point of leaving. Several young Spaniards, who were going to Marseilles, to sail from thence to the Antilles, where they were to remain for several years, had embarked with me. One of them was weeping by himself. Suddenly he rose,-loDked tow^rd'Ttia shore, between the ships that were lying at ancborji and exclaimed in a tone of despair : ** Oh, my God ! I hoped she would not come ! "'
A few moments-- ^'lat^r/ a ,b6at Approached the steamer ; a little white figure, "folliwed by a man enveloped in a mantle, hastily climbed the gang- way, and, giving a great sob, threw herself into the arms of the young man, who had rushed forward tc meet her.
VALBNCiA.
435
At that point the boatswain cried : " Gentlemen, we are going to start ! "
Then we witnessed a most heartrending scene; they were obliged to separate the young people by force, and carry the girl, almost fainting, to the boat, which moved off a little and stopped.
The ship started.
At this moment the young man dashed like one desperate to the railing, and cried, sobbing in a voice that went to one's heart : " Adieu, darling ! Adieu ! adieu ! "
The Kttle white figure stretched out its arms, and perhaps replied; but the voice was not heard. The boat moved off and disappeared.
One of the young fellows whispered in my ear : •* They are betrothed."
It was a beautiful night, but a sad one. Valencia was quickly lost to sight, and I, too, wept, thinking that I should perhaps never see Spain again.
THB BND.
3ffW
APPENDIX.
IMS 9MM 53.]
** Yoot qniero confesar, don Juan, primtft (joe aqael bianco y carmin de dofta EWira No tiene de ella mas, si bien se mint. Que el haberle costado su dinero :
Pero tambien que me confieses qaieio Que es tanta la beldad de su mentira. Que en vano k competir con ella aspira Belleza igual de rostro verdadero.
Mas que mucho que yo perdido and« Por un engafio tal, pues que sabemos Que nos engafta asi naturaleza ?
Porque ese cielo azul que todos vemot So es cielo, ni es azul ; l&stima granda Que no sea verdad tanta belleza ! "
^n PAMs i9iv9gi.J
Mark that excellent wonderful work. Greater than all ever painted. That Buonarrota created with his hand Di¥ine, in the Etruscan Vatican !
Mark how that new Prometheus, in high haan
Uprising, extended so his wings.
That astride the star of heaven
He obtained a part of the sacred fire |
Therewith returning enriched to earth
4S7
438 APPENDIX.
With new marvels and new wonden»
He gave life with eternal brightness
To marble, to bronee, to color.
O more than mortal man ! Angel divine 1
O what shall I call thee ? Assuredly not hnnum
Canst thoa be — for from the empyrean circle
Life and harmony to style and brush.
Thou hast shown to men the way.
For a thousand ages hidden, uncertain
Of the queen virtue ; to thee is owing
Honor, which the sun renews on the fitting di^ \
[SBS PAGBS 4S4'^5*]
God, Soveceiip over aU* One day created mortals. And made us all equal With his powerful hand*
He knew not nations. Nor colors, nor mixtuio,* And to see men happy Limited his desires.
The king, who is his imagi. Should imitate his goodnea ; And the people need not adc Is he French or German.
Why with angry frown Repel him — ^be he good? A king full of kind acts Has the world for his coontiy;
Came from a foreign nation The Emperor Charles V, And his valor conquered Thousands of laurels for Spates
*l«^efeotoif.
And it is of glorious memory.
Although founded in war*
The fortunate reign
Of Philip the Courageous. ^^ ,
•" ~ -^ r
)
OCT 2 C 1339